#i meant to add more coat details to it to make it look more worn in but honestly this felt like enough work for what i was trying to do

[linovadraws]

Beloved! Beloathed!

[sockablock]

hey are requests still open bc I am still FULLY CRYING about Molly coming back to life holy SHIT. I have a thing I want to request and that’s Molly having to come to terms with whatever changes his body went through - new blood hunter abilities, longer hair, the much larger scar from Lucien’s v gory death - after he comes back to life.

Molly doesn’t ask what happened to Nott. He doesn’t ask them where they are. He doesn’t even ask who Essek is, and only gives Caduceus a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning away and wandering off.

His feet are bare on the soft teal grass. This time of year in the Blooming Grove, faint glowing insects hover around his ankles. The leaves of the old blue wisteria trees hang like a sheet across the sky. He is wrapped in a cloak of quiet moonlight, grey on the graves as he passes by.

Eventually, he comes to a lone headstone. It is long, and flat, and smooth. He sits down.

If he is different in any way, nobody says. It’s taken him a few days to find his words again, and it’s clear that his memories are still trickling back. Veth had joked that he used to be more entertaining, but they all know that his returning in any capacity is already nothing short of a miracle. To the Mighty Nein, he is still as miraculous as before.

To himself—to Mollymauk, he thinks he’s a bit leaner. He’d never really been one for rigorous training—not aside from what it took to throw a sword and catch it—and yet, this body seems hardened, now. It’s still a bit sore in some inconvenient places, and the tall one, Caduceus, mentioned that he shouldn’t do anything too strenuous to avoid opening his scar. This newest mark runs like a seam down his shoulder to his navel, making the rest of his scars look like paper cuts. He isn’t exactly sure how to feel about that, yet. Beau offered to help him design a tattoo to cover it, and he isn’t sure how to feel about that yet, either.

A faint breeze runs through the Grove, tousling his hair. It’s longer now, and Molly might have liked that more if he’d been around to enjoy it. He suspects that he might have been, in one way or another, though not nearly present enough to make the executive choices. Otherwise, he might have tried braids. Maybe hair dye. Not  only that, but the...what had Caleb called him? The “previous occupant” had taken off Molly’s horn charms and necklaces. For the second-life of him, Molly can’t remember if he’d kept them. He can’t remember much about the last ten months—which might be alright. He doesn’t know if he wants to.

(He does remember some things, though. He remembers taking his shirt off the first night at the Grove and seeing the other scar left behind. It is closed now, and healed well over with blood magic, but when Molly reaches up and traces it down, he can feel how the cut drips into his abdomen. He remembers how it felt to have the blood pouring over, to boil with fury and die of shock, under the stars.)

He looks at them now. They haven’t changed a bit.

Another wind kicks up. Molly isn’t sure exactly what time of year it is, but he shivers. The Clays are kind, but the whole family towers over Molly, so their spare clothes fit him poorly. Firbolgs are also—well, furred—and Molly suspects that this borrowed tunic is on the thin side. His tail curls inward as he realizes he’s going to sneeze. He feels his muscles tense, he breathes in—

And suddenly, something warm is draped across his shoulders. He glances up.

“Oh. Yasha?“ His voice is strained. It feels as if Molly hasn’t spoken in a year, but at the same time, he feels like his throat is worn. Almost like he’s been giving frequent speeches with wild abandon. Now that he’s had some time to recover, the combined effect sounds like someone trying to remember how to talk, but only being allowed to do it through a rusty pipe.

“Come to join me in my musings?” he still says, stubbornly.

“She’s not the only one. ‘Sup.”

Molly doesn’t have to turn to know that Beauregard has walked into the rows of graves just behind Yasha. The two of them have been pretty attached to each other lately, except for when Yasha comes to check on Molly. The strongest part of him, the part that hung on the longest, is privately quite pleased by this.

“And you’ve given me your cloak.” He grins, but just at Yasha. “How kind of you, my dear.”

Okay, so not that privately.

“I was worried you’d be cold,” Yasha says, concern endearing. “Sorry your old coat wasn’t doing better. Jester says she can probably Mend it, or try to paint you a new one—“

Molly waves his hand. “No, no need, dear. I should do it. It’ll give me a thing to work on.”

Yasha nods. “I’ll let her know.”

Distantly, Molly can hear footsteps approaching. He counts four, maybe five pairs, if one of them is lighter. After a moment, there’s the sigh of cloth, and six pairs are walking.

Movement joins Molly on the headstone. He turns, and now Beau is seated beside him. Yasha stands like a guardian at his back.

Both of them are much, much wearier, Molly notices. Even though it’s been less than a year since his “death,” Beau is riddled with new scars from combat, and Yasha’s tattoos have gotten much bolder. Oddly, that’s reassuring.There’s something in the fact that Molly’s body changed, but theirs did too. And even if he can’t remember it, that’s something they have in common.

On the other hand, though, it makes him feel...he shakes his head. He gazes outward.

He asks, “Why did you follow me, then?”

Beau responds first. She does so with a snort. “Of course we’d follow you, you idiot. You were our friend—or...okay, technically, at the time you’re actually a crazy cult leader—“

“No, I meant—“

She cuts him off. “Right, yeah, details. Not important. Listen, it...it was a whole long thing, and it was complicated, but the important part is that we really, just really wanted you back. That’s why we did any of it. All of it. And why nothing could stop us.”

“Not even me?”

“Hell, no. Since when could you stop me?”

Molly chuckles at that. He glances at Yasha. “Is that true?”

“Which part?” she says. Then she says, “Yes. It is.”

He matches the tiny smile on her face. Then he turns back to stare at the woods past the graveyard while behind him, the rest of the Mighty Nein come to a halt.

His smile widens. “What I was actually trying to ask, though, is why you all followed me here. Just now. I thought you were going to prepare for dinner?”

“My parents took over,” Caduceus says. “They told us to take a break.”

“Besides!” With a burst of jewelry and her flouncing skirts, Jester squeezes onto the other end of Molly’s headstone. “We wanted to spend more with you!”

“Now that you’re interesting again,” adds Nott, taking a seat at the base of the stone with Fjord. He reaches up to wink at Molly, “Hey, roomie.”

“I thought I should get to know you as well,” says the new voice. Molly remembers that his name is Essek. “We, ah...we are both purple, so that is something we already have in common.”

Molly laughs at that. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Caleb. “It’s like there are two of you now. Like your shadow. Or a duplicate.”

“I am still the funny one,” Caleb says. “I plan on defending that title. Even from you.”

Molly laughs again, and this time, he does turn. He can see that the whole group have gathered around him now, sitting beside him, standing behind him, in the grass.

They are all so tired. They are all much stronger. Molly has gathered from the scars on their bodies—as well as from the scars on his own—just how powerful they must be now. He knows that he isn’t the same, either. Sometimes his blood feels like its boiling. Sometimes he is moving, and he can swear that it’s through snow.

But the Mighty Nein are here. There are nine of them, now. And that, he thinks, in and of itself, must be a miracle. And as he looks at them now, drinking their presence in, he thinks...

Maybe some things haven’t changed, after all.

—

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

[binxyu]

Jungkook was meant to be just a guilty pleasure. Not your guilty pleasure, but a guilty pleasure. You knew never to fall in love with a man that thought loyalty was showing up on time. He was everything you never needed, but here you were. Your fingers pressed on the trigger that would start the flame of pain.

>>Pairing: Jeon Jungkook (dom) x fem!reader (sub) | fuckboy!jk x witch!reader

>>Word Count: 7.5k

>>Genre: Mini Series / Smut & Angst

>>Warnings/Kinks: Arguments, breast play, creampie, cum play, disloyalty, degrading, exhibitionism, fingering, hair pulling, marking, oral (receiving), praise, unprotected sex, and witchcraft

Jungkook was too beautiful for his own good.

From his pouty lips and sharp jaw line to his starry eyes. The man was perfection.

Even you had fallen for him, a woman that stopped believing in love.

But, all you could do now was remember the times you had together as the fire slowly burns in front of you.

As your love for Jeon Jungkook disappeared into nothingness.

Your fingers typed away at the keyboard, writing the second of three essays you had due. It was nearing the end of the semester and, while you were ecstatic at the mere thought of summer vacation, the stress of exams was looming over you.

“Can you look over this paragraph for me?”, you peeked up over your laptop and nodded, moving your own device out of the way to make room for Namjoon’s. Kim Namjoon was a journalist in the making, a man that knew exactly how to put events into words. He was quite different from you, but study sessions together were always eventful. You were the perfect person to correct his grammar mistakes or to help add detail to his work and he was the perfect person to help explain a certain historical detail you may have missed.

Studying religions was what you had decided was your interest considering your unique practice. You enjoyed learning about the beliefs of people centuries ago but the facts could get scrambled in your brain and that’s where Namjoon came in. He almost seemed to have a never ending timeline in his brain.

“I’d add more emphasize on Jungkook. He did beat the record after all”, you quickly realized when you read the paragraph that he was writing for the school paper again. Despite your attempts to persuade the man that he could do much better with his time, he continued to write for it.

“That’s true. Wait, how did you know about that?”, you let out an amicable chuckle. Of course Namjoon would assume you did not know. Just because you despised sports did not mean you were deaf. The whole school had been talking about the student since the track meet. While you couldn’t remember the exact record he beat, it was still a record.

“People talk”, you shrugged and Namjoon nodded. It was peaceful for a moment as you went back to typing, managing to push aside your emerging migraine. Your body was begging for a good nap, but you had to get this done. You were, among less appealing qualities, a hard worker. Perhaps it was due to the pressure put on you as a child or maybe it was because that diploma was just out of reach. Either way, nothing was going to get in the way of your future.

And, like the biggest fuck you from the universe, Jeon Jungkook walks in.

Yet, you hadn’t realized and kept typing until Namjoon cursed loudly, drawing you out of your world.

“Are you okay?”, your voice was soft before your eyes met the issue. Oh, poor clumsy Namjoon.

He had spilt his coffee all over his shirt, staining the freshly new white blouse he had worn. You couldn’t help but laugh as you dug in your bag for a napkin.

“Don’t bother, it’s too much for a napkin. I’ll go to the restroom. Be right back”, you gave him a brief nod and a thumbs up. Still, you got up with your little pack of napkins and tried to clean up the remaining coffee staining into the table. The librarian is sure to kill you both if it does end up staining the wood. Standing back to examine your work, you almost screamed.

Standing by your laptop was a tall figure with the most sinister smirk you’ve ever seen.

Jeon fucking Jungkook spilt your coffee all over your notes and laptop.

Your mouth hung open for a moment before fury overtook the shock. You stomped up to the broadly built man and yes you didn’t believe in violence as a solution but all you wanted to do was slap the smirk right off his gorgeous face.

“Why did you do that?”, you also wanted to yell but the librarian was already eyeing the table and you couldn’t draw attention to the mess.

“Because I like to watch you suffer, sourpuss”, how have you not killed the man in front of you? You had no idea. Because that name infuriated you.

You knew it was the student’s way of messing with you, wanting to strike that minuscule nerve inside of you. No one else believed you could get angry but Jungkook knew you could. Mostly because he had caused that anger.

“And why is that? Because Jimin told you another lie about me?”, Jeon Jungkook was so impossibly similar to Park Jimin that it was uncanny who he had learned his traits from. Truth be told, you had the smallest crush on the man in front of you during freshmen year. He was so affectionate, caring, and friendly back then.

But, instead of ending up with the sweet heartthrob, you had ended up with Jimin for that year and the next.

Starting out, he was simply a popular boy and loved you with his whole heart. But, time went by and his true colors shun through like the sunlight through your irritatingly useless blinds. He was a playboy. An awfully good one at that for you to have never noticed the extra pairs of undergarments that laid on his floor when you slept over at his dorm.

He cheated, but he blamed it all on you and even Jeon Jungkook hates your guts because you were sure Jimin had told him exactly what he had told most of your friends. That you had broken his heart with your “horrifying” witchcraft and that you were dangerous. It explained why so many students asked to see your devil shrine the next day or tried to barge into your dorm to look at what Jimin talked about.

The most ironic thing was that you had never used magick around the man and you barely used it to begin with. You supposed it was for good reason considering that happened the first time you told someone about it.

“Jimin doesn’t lie. He’s never lied to me and I’m sure you’re well aware of what you did”, his finger jabbed harshly above your breast, just slightly lower than your collarbone. Among many things, Jungkook was dense and forgetful. You noticed that quickly when you started spotted reminders written on his fingers or palm. Just like the little note saying “library 7pm” was written on the finger jabbing you.

Unless the track star had another reason to be in the library he never visited, he wrote that down just to catch you in time.

“Tell me, Jeon. What did I do?”, you tilted your head and moved away from him, realizing the coffee was now leaking onto the floor. You desperately wished Namjoon would hurry up and get back to help you.

“You broke his heart. Using magick or something”, you bit your lips in annoyance and turned around to face him.

“Or something? Jungkook, I never did anything to Jimin. I know you won’t believe it because you look up to him like some god, but he cheated on me. He broke my heart”, you jabbed back, hitting the same spot he hit you, “and, if you haven’t noticed, Jimin doesn’t seem heartbroken, does he?”. If he dared to say yes you may have to use that horrifying magick Jimin lied about because your ex was anything but heartbroken. He was with a new woman almost every night and, even with this knowledge, they lined up to be with him. Who could deny the charming Park Jimin?

Finally, Jungkook shook his head, his curly black hair bouncing as he did the movement. If he wasn’t such a nuisance, you might’ve wished you could run your fingers through it. It looked so fluffy.

“Then, leave me alone. It’s been years of your torment and I’m tired of it”, you sighed and slung your bag over your shoulder after shoving your slightly wet laptop into it, walking out of the library after sending a text to Namjoon that you had felt bad because no one really knew about your fights with Jungkook and Namjoon would surely try to beat his ass if he found out about it.

Leaving the coffee on the table was a bold move but a part of you hoped that the asshole would clean it up. It was his mess after all. Not your’s.

“You’re coming to the track meet, right?”, the voice startled you and you sat up on your bed, making direct eye contact with Kim Taehyung. The only guy with a key to your dorm.

“Tae, I love you but you know I do not do sports”, you grumbled and flopped back onto your bed. Your classes had you beat and the need for a nap was too great to give up. Even if it was for your best friend.

“I know but it would mean so much if you were there”, don’t do it. Don’t do it.

You did it.

You made direct eye contact with those big puppy eyes Taehyung always used to get his way. You had fallen victim once again.

Which was why you had ended up in the cold, shivering as you watched the team run around the track for what felt like an eternity.

Taehyung had done great considering he barely moved before the season but who really stood out was Jungkook. His back muscles were only moments away from ripping through the flimsy shirt he was wearing and sweat was coating his hair. He was aware of how good he looked. He always was. He even was ballsy enough to wink at one of the girls screaming his name in the crowd.

Thankfully, the pleasant bliss that was drinking kept your mind off how irritated you were. You had snuck in a beer to drink (not that everyone else didn’t) and the alcohol loosened you up a bit.

After the meet was over, a sweaty Taehyung was clinging to you like a massive koala. He was high off adrenaline and couldn’t decide whether he wanted to cuddle or jump around.

“Tae, take this before you pass out on top of me”, you handed him a water and he gratefully took it, still leaning against you as he chugged down the drink.

Taehyung and you were polar opposites. He was an athlete, quite dorky, a great singer, and was overly optimistic. You, on the other hand, liked to keep to yourself, was not the best of singers, and always stuck to the reality of things. Even if you could manipulate that reality the tiniest bit.

“Let’s get you home”, you let the man lean his weight on you tiredly as you started to walk towards the exit of the field.

“Sourpuss, I need to talk to you”, that voice was definitely not the one you needed to hear when you were this tired and already agitated. What does a girl have to do to spend time in her bed?

“I’m a little busy if you haven’t realized”, you gestured to Taehyung, who was breathing directly on your neck and nuzzling his nose against the skin. It wasn’t an odd gesture considering your close friendship but his face was so cold it send goosebumps down your spine.

“I’ll help”, Jungkook offered, quickly coming to your rescue by crouching down and getting Tae on his back. The man grumbled but was happy to take the ride considering it was less soreness for his legs to endure the next day.

The Jeon Jungkook helping? What a trip.

“What do you want?”, you winced at how rude it sounded. Sure, Jungkook most definitely deserves said rudeness, but he was helping you.

“I’m sorry”, you legitimately thought you were hearing things and turned your head to look at him, stopping in your tracks.

“Can you say that again? I don’t think I heard you correctly”, the athlete groaned before turning to look at you, frustration evident on his face.

“I’m sorry. You were right about Jimin. He’s been talking shit behind my back for months and I had no idea”, if it wasn’t for your “told you so” attitude, you would’ve felt sorry for him. Jimin was one of his closest friends after all.

“Hate to say I told you so but”, he glared at you to shut up and you quickly did. His glare was so cold that a shiver went up your spine.

“Sorry, it was a joke. Jimin is really manipulative so don’t let him bring you down”, you reassured him, even bringing your hand up to pat his shoulder. By the way he flinched away, you would’ve assumed your hand was made of lava.

Noted. Jungkook hates being touched.

“I assumed so much about you and that was immature of me”, the man smiled softly at you. It felt like arrows pierced your heart. He had such a cute smile for an asshole. Like a bunny.

“It’s fine. Lots of people assume things about me”, you shrugged as you both started walking again, Taehyung looking down at you to make sure you’re okay. He was like your protective older brother and you couldn’t be more thankful to have him around.

“But they shouldn’t. So what if you follow a different religion? It doesn’t mean you’re evil”, that was probably the first time someone agreed with your practices besides Taehyung and Namjoon (mostly because he understood it better than others).

“Thank you for saying that. It means a lot”, you finally smiled back at him, sending his heart right into his chest as his heartbeat picked up. Needless to say, he adored your smile.

“I hate to ask this of you but could you tutor me on Epidemiology? I regret ever taking it and I’ll pay you”, you were wide-eyed with shock to say the least. You didn’t expect Jungkook to go out of his way to learn. Especially, not with you.

“Sure, you can join Namjoon and I in the morning”, you nodded before you saw the way Jungkook’s nose crinkled up in displeasure.

“What? What’s wrong with that?”, he sighed in response to the question as you both reached your dorm building. You’d just let Tae stay with you for the night.

“Namjoon hates my guts. We’re way too different. Besides, aren’t you two dating? I don’t want to be some third wheel”, Jungkook almost sounded disgusted at the idea, probably imagining you making out with Namjoon in front of him.

“I’m not dating him. He’s just the only other intelligent male I can tolerate”, he seemed to relax once you finished speaking but there was still tenseness evident in his shoulders which wasn’t due to the large man on his back.

“I still don’t get along with him despite the fact that he writes about me all the time. He once yelled at me for cheating and wrote an article about it”, that was a slap right to your face. Right, Jungkook was a player and he could throw your feelings aside like one of his cigarettes. Do not get attached.

“Well, don’t cheat”, you said because, let’s be real, it’s the truth. You unlocked the door and helped Taehyung off of his back.

“Bye Koo, thanks again”, your words were quick and you kicked the door closed with your shoe, your hands full thanks to the oversized man child clinging onto you.

Koo. He liked that.

Weeks had ticked by and, somehow, Jungkook had managed to get your number. Honestly, Namjoon probably slipped it out or Taehyung gave it to him. According to Tae, the man had been oddly friendly to him and they were (borderline) friends now. They played video games together, practiced together, and even barged into your place for snacks together.

Great. Now you had two man-children to take care of and feed. It was definitely taking a chunk out of your paycheck each week to get extra snacks for the two. They ate like starving animals whenever they came over. A small part of you even thought it was just to piss you off even more.

Jungkook finally managed to get you to agree for a tutoring session with him. Just one. If this one went well then maybe you would agree to more.

The only sad thing about the session was that it was scheduled to happen right after your last class on Friday in your previous dorm. The dorm you had just finished cleaning up since the last time the two adult toddlers had destroyed it.

Surprisingly, when you had woken up one morning, Jungkook was still there. You assumed he and Tae were too drunk to get back to their own dorms and had decided to just sleepover at your’s. It was quite annoying if you were to be honest, but the way Koo looked actually interested in your religion was enticing.

He didn’t look scared or disgusted when he looked at your little collection of crystals on your desk or the jar resting on your end table sealed with candle wax. If anything, he actually looked amused or even impressed.

“I’ll pick you up after class. I can’t believe you don’t drive and walk to your dorm every day”, Jungkook shook his head as he walked beside you. Coincidentally, your last classes were next to each other but you were shocked to hear him offer to give you a ride.

“Don’t judge me, Mr. Playboy. I just have a fear of hitting someone. Have you seen the lunatics at this campus? They will run out into traffic for fun”, the man chuckled wholeheartedly at the pout on your lips. Plus, your joke was actually pretty accurate. Even he had almost hit a drunk idiot when trying to get back to his dorm late one night.

“Okay, that’s fair. So, you okay with me driving you?”, you nodded cautiously. While Jungkook was guaranteed to know every path to your dorm by now, you were still guarded. Being in that tight of a space with him was going to be difficult.

No, you don’t get those so-called “butterflies” when you were with him. Honestly, those butterflies were typically a bad sign to you. Feeling sick because you loved someone sounded a bit odd and almost contradictory.

You actually found yourself with more powerful emotions than anything. If Jungkook made you angry, you were angry. If he made you happy, you were happy.

Everything just felt so much stronger when you were around him. Thankfully, he almost always made you happy. He made you laugh because, once he discovered that beautiful sound, he couldn’t get enough.

So, after your class, you met him out in the hall and he walked you to his car. Now you realized how such an undetermined man got into college.

He was filthy rich.

Sitting there in the parking spot was a brand new Mercedes Benz. Its black color almost matched the distinct leather jacket that he decided to wear today. It very much screamed Jeon Jungkook.

However, it did not scream you whatsoever. You were almost afraid to get near it.

“Hop in. My grade isn’t getting any lower”, he opened the door for you and you weren’t sure if it was because you were friends, or whatever the fuck you two were, or if it was because he wanted a discount.

That’s not fucking happening. He’s already stolen plenty of money through snacks from your cabinets.

Meekly, you got into the vehicle, immediately buckling your seatbelt as if it was going to hurl itself into motion at any moment. Jungkook shut the door and went around to get into the drivers’ seat. Apparently he trusted his own driving so much that he never wore a seatbelt (Namjoon would’ve had a stroke if he was told that) and he drove with one hand (scratch that- make it two strokes).

Despite those things, he was an actual good driver. You felt safe and he drove the speed limit. Maybe it was just because you were in the car with him?

Getting out of the luxurious leather seats proved to be a hassle considering you knew your seats in your dorm were no where near as comfortable. You could sleep in that passenger seat without a care in the world compared to your own bed. Still, you forced yourself to get out and you two went up to your dorm. Jungkook is way too familiar with the place now considering he barely talks to you. It’s your place and, yet, he comes here for Tae.

“Alright, what unit do you need help on?”, you asked softly as you took the needed supplies out of your bag. You actually already took Epidemiology. It had nothing to do with your major but it was interesting to you. Who wouldn’t want to learn about the science of the world’s biggest killer: disease?

Jungkook simply looked at you, blinking a few times and pressing his tongue into his cheek in that nervous habit you realized he had.

“Oh- for fucks sake, Koo”, you grumbled as you realized how long of a process this was going to be.

It had been months since you began tutoring the student and, finally, there was progress.

Standing proudly with his shoulders back was Jeon Jungkook holding a test with a big number ‘92’ on it in red ink. Your heart swelled with pride.

“I passed! This was the exam review test so I’ll pass the exam, right?”, you smiled brightly as you looked at his excited eyes. You never thought Jungkook would ever be excited over passing a class but you can’t judge people by their covers, right?

“Yeah! Just keep up with the studying and you got it”, you nodded quickly, looking away from his puppy eyes when you felt happiness engulf you like a fire.

Ironically, you were actually playing with fire. Your hand tugged on the trigger and a flame flickered from the end of your lighter. You brought it down and lit the candle in front of you. To be honest, you were a bit of a goodie two shoes but you did break one rule.

No fire in the dorms.

“Hey, I really wanted to thank you. I’m actually passing all my classes now and it fills like my life has purpose again”, woah, didn’t expect that.

“No problem, Koo. Your life always has purpose. What do you mean?”, you looked up from what you were doing, noticing he was leaning against the frame of your door.

“All I did was party and drink. Sure, I was a good athlete but that can only take you so far”, you nodded in understanding and stood up, walking towards him.

He followed your every move like prey waiting for the predator to attack them.

But, instead of an attack, he was met with a warm, genuine, and, all around, great hug.

“Do you think of me as everyone else does?”, you looked up at him, meeting his starry eyes.

Oh, you hated them because of how much you loved them. They held the galaxy within them and you could stare into them for hours if given the chance.

You were many things but, tragically for Jungkook, a liar wasn’t one of them.

“Honestly, I did before. I’ve seen you do some of the things the rumors talk about-“, smoking, cheating, fighting, “but now I know that’s not all you are. There’s more to you, Koo”.

All Jungkook had been able to think about was your words. Sure, he didn’t care about your opinion before but it truly did make him happy to know you thought better of him.

“Jk! Where have you been?”, oh no.

“Jimin? I’ve just been at the gym a lot”, lies. He had been with you a lot.

“Ah, I see. How’s the bet going?”, the shorter man asked, running his fingers through his precisely cut hair. What a born model.

The bet. The bet you had no clue about. The bet Jungkook was too dense to refuse.

“It’s going. She hugged me yesterday”, Jimin scoffed and then chuckled, vastly different sounds that almost made Jungkook double over in fear. Truth be told, he despised Jimin. He despised him because he scared him. The only other man more influential than him was Jimin and that meant Jimin could ruin his reputation in a matter of seconds.

“That’s all? Damn, she really is void of love”, the bet Jimin was referring to was the one he made with the younger at the beginning of the year.

“I bet you can’t make her fall in love with you. She didn’t even love me, Koo! Me! I’m telling you, if you make her fall in love with you then I’ll get you anything you want”.

Time was running out with exams coming up and Jungkook needed to hurry if he was going to win such a bet. But, was it worth it if it meant disappointing you? Jimin may be scary but you made him feel so happy and so proud.

The only time he had seen you disappointed was when Taehyung broke one of your jars, resulting in a mess of coins, herbs, and wax on the floor. That’s the day he decided he never wanted to be on the receiving end of one of those looks.

“Yeah, she’s guarded which is understandable-“, wait- did Jeon Jungkook just grow some balls? “I’d be void of love too if everyone judged me for something I believed in”. He did.

“Where is that coming from? She deserves it, doesn’t she? Come on, JK. Keep that head in the game!”, Jimin patted his head like he was a child with all A’s on his report card, which, for once, was actually true thanks to you.

What game? You? Were you truly just a game to him?

“Alright, I’ve got this”, damn. Maybe you were.

Most nights you found yourself at the library now. It was the only place that was filled with peace and quiet. Especially on a Friday. Not even the librarian was here.

“Guess who”, hands covered your eyes and you would’ve punched the man behind you if you didn’t immediately recognize his husky voice. It was soothing with just the perfect mix of roughness. You couldn’t help but wonder what it sounded like when he just woke up.

“An asshole who thinks it’s okay to sneak up on women in a deserted place”, you grumbled and Jungkook immediately removed his hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you”, oh here we go. Argument number two thousand.

“I wasn’t scared. I was just saying that, one, you’re an ass and, two, don’t do that to women”, he nodded in agreement and you thought that was the stopping of an argument. Boy, oh boy, were you wrong.

“I won’t anymore but you’re so weak. I’ve scared you so many times now”, you glared at him. Thanks to months of being by Jungkook’s side, you had become a bit more out of control. The feelings you used to keep caged up were now more out in the open. You cussed more often, even tried drinking (and almost spit it out on him), and your frustration was no longer hidden from the world.

“Jungkook, you are a menace to society and I would like it if you leaved”, it was a pointless threat. You didn’t really mean it. You adored his company but you wouldn’t admit that with a gun to your head.

“Liar, you love me”, shit. Did you? No, don’t ask that. It was just a joke.

Damn you and your overthinking.

“No, I hate you. Shut up”, that was also a useless threat. Jungkook never shut up. He was quite the talker and shutting up was not in his vocabulary.

“No, you hate me. Shut up”, he sat on the table you were previously working on, knowing this would take a while. Your arguments always lasted between thirty minutes to two or three hours. You both hated to back down.

“No, I love you. Shut the fuck up”, wait a second-

“As you wish”, he smirked victoriously and leaned closer, his face so close to your’s that you could smell his musky cologne.

“That was wrong”, you glared at him and he shook his head, “don’t open your mouth aga-“ you were cut off as his lips connected with your’s. He kissed you so intensely that your mind was fogged up, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

Finally, with your brain still hooked on adrenaline, your hands found their way to his cheeks, cupping his well defined face as you kissed back. You could feel him smile into the kiss before he pulled away, leaving a spark traveling down your body. Now, that’s a good feeling.

“Ah, I love when you shut the fuck up”, you were so close to beating him with your bag.

Everything was weird after the kiss. Life wasn’t some fairytale where you both lived happily ever after in some old palace somewhere.

No, you were both actually stuck in that “fuck, what are we?” mess.

Love wasn’t something you could control and that was why you never let it get that far, but, with Jungkook, it felt uncontrollable, spreading like wildfire.

So, you avoided him.

Of course, it wasn’t the most humane or easiest form of dealing with your feelings but it worked.

Well, for a little bit until Koo decided to block you off in the library, cornering you into the back section of the religious books. Oh, how ironic.

“What’s wrong?”, his voice made your knees want to give out. It was early and you assumed he woke up early just to catch you. His attire said that enough from his sweatpants to the tank top hugging his upper body. He obviously just threw something on before he left.

“What are you talking about?”, you tilted your head and tried to act innocent, but, once again, a liar you were not.

“Oh please, you’re obviously pissed off or scared of me or something”, bingo. You were horrified of what you were feeling and, in tune with it, Jungkook.

“I don’t know! Why do you even care? You’re obviously going to pass your exam so what am I needed for anymore?”, you winced at your own words, watching as the man’s usual bright expression turned into a sorrowful one.

“It’s much more than that, y/n”, that was probably one of the first times he had said your name. He usually called you nicknames like princess, sourpuss, or whatever else he came up with depending on his mood.

“Then what is it?”, the stare he gave you made you want to hide further into the corner. It was so predatory that your body was trying to fight its own instincts to run away and avoid the problem. You were always a flight over fight type of girl.

“You”, the one word made your eyebrows furrow, racking your brain for a response or understanding of what he meant. Jungkook shook his head as you watched your face twist in confusion.

“You’re so dense. Why would I kiss you if it wasn’t all for you?”, he leaned closer to you, hand resting on the shelf of the bookcase behind you. You silently thanked the universe that no one else was in there yet.

“Discount?”, it was the first thing you thought of and it caused a low chuckle to rumble out of Jungkook’s chest. He looked up into your eyes and it almost knocked the air out of you.

“Hmm, unless it’s a fuck buddy discount then I don’t think I want it”, he raised an eyebrow cockily and your eyes went wide. Little did Jungkook know that he just complicated your relationship even more.

“And what if I’m okay with making such a discount?”, the student practically groaned at the words, free hand finding its way on your hip, squeezing it. You don’t know where your new found confidence came from but you had gotten rather blunt since hanging out with Jungkook.

“Then I’d say you’re not the person I thought you were”, he hummed, leaning in to whisper in your ear. The way his breath tickled your ear sent sparks through your body.

“Is that what you want? For me to take you here against these books?”, yes you did. Looking around, you were met with many versions of Bible and other holy books of all religions. It was absolutely filthy and wrong to do it there which was why it was perfect.

“Yes, I want that”, your nails dug into the wood behind you, trying to ground your emotions down. It had always been an escape tactic to you.

“How naughty”, now you understood why he had chosen today of all days to corner you. He loved the skirt you were wearing and how easily it gave access to everything delicious underneath. Plus, your legs were perfect to him.

His fingers danced along your thighs before he pushed up your skirt, revealing the black lace panties underneath. Oh, you knew what was going to happen today and you definitely knew Jungkook liked his black.

“So pretty. Just for me?”, the question took you off guard, your own questions flooding your brain. Ultimately, after a few moments of silence, you decided he probably had a possession thing. Who didn’t like to feel powerful?

“Just for you, Koo. Fuck, touch me please”, so you decided to feed his little ego, edging him on until he pulled the panties to the side to reveal your glistening pussy.

The dim light of the library truly didn’t do it justice but he couldn’t help himself from finding it to be also perfect. He was in deep shit now.

His long fingers ran down your slit until they reached their destination: your pussy. He rubbed around it before he slowly plunged his middle finger into the wetness, curling against your walls.

Fuck, you always hated that finger but with it inside of you? Maybe you could make an exception.

Your body shook in response to the stimulation since you hadn’t been touched in so long, your hands gripping the wood tighter to keep yourself steady. Jungkook smirked when you clenched around his finger before he added another, stretching you out wonderfully as he scissored you open.

And that was when Jungkook found his favorite sound in the world.

“Jungkook! Oh god”, you moaning his name sounded like music to his ears and he couldn’t get enough. The only thing he hated was how quiet it was since you were still conscious of the library around you. He wanted you to scream it.

“You like that, princess? You want more?”, you obediently nodded, not in the mood to be denied an orgasm (which you were sure Jungkook would do if you didn’t obey). The man chuckled and leaned down, still pumping his fingers steadily as if it took no effort at all. If you had done this yourself then your fingers would have been cramping by now.

Your body jolted when Jungkook’s plump lips wrapped around your clit, sucking harshly on the nerve as if he was starving. To be fair, he had skipped breakfast.

You feared for the books behind you as your body spasmed, orgasming on the man’s fingers. You took deep breaths once you were finished and watched as Jungkook pulled away, pulling his cum covered fingers out of you.

With prolonged eye contact, he slipped the digits into his mouth and sucked the juices off of them. A new wave of arousal went through you when he tapped your lips with them, making you open your mouth. You gagged briefly when they hit the back of your throat but you sucked on it, licking your way up his middle finger.

“Good girl”, now that was going to haunt you forever. You whined when he pulled his fingers away and he smiled teasingly at you.

“I’m going to need to see these”, your eyes went wide when he gripped the collar of your shirt and ripped it clean down the middle, tossing it aside as if it didn’t cost you a fortune.

“Jeon Jungkook! That was expensive”, you huffed but he paid you no mind, just reaching behind you to remove your bra too so it can join the rest of your clothes.

“What if someone sees? I can’t cover these up quickly, Koo”, you crossed your arms over your chest, looking around cautiously. Jungkook just laughed and pulled your arms away, pinning your wrists above your head so he can press his body against your own.

“Take my shirt off and you can put that over you for the day. It’s fine, sourpuss”, oh you would’ve slapped him if you weren’t so turned on. He let go of your wrists and you quickly removed his shirt for him, revealing a muscular chest you could’ve never imagined.

And he never imagined how beautiful you’d look with your hard nipples pressed against the thin fabric of his white t-shirt. He grabbed them immediately and you failed to see the spark in his eyes as he squished them together.

“That was one of my favorite shirts. What a di-“, you yelped when he pulled your leg up over his shoulder, yanked his pants and boxers down, and pulled your panties aside to rub his angry tip against your folds. Your head rested back as he rubbed against your clit, covering his cock in your juices.

“What a dick indeed”, Jungkook chuckled deeply, arousal blurring his world into nothing but you. The only thing that mattered at that moment was feeling you.

His lips attached to your neck and you were so out of reality that you didn’t realize he was littering the skin with his marks, a silent claim on you as he pushed himself inside of you.

“Oh shit, it’s exactly as I imagined. So tight and warm”, and he was just as you imagined. So very big. You didn’t think anyone else could stretch you out as much as Jeon Jungkook and that thought made you groan.

“You’ve been imagining it?”, it was your turn to smirk and, for the first time ever, the man in front of you blushed.

“Oh please princess. I know you’ve been thinking about it too”, and you had been. Not that you’d ever admit that after he just basically friends with benefits zoned you.

“Just move you asshole”, Jungkook gripped your hair, tugging on the soft strands as he finally kept pushing, bottoming out inside of you perfectly.

His big hands moved to grip your hips, a little help to keep you up as he started to snap his own into your’s. He was mildly uncomfortable at first but, as you adjusted to his size, bliss filled your body.

Finally, you were doing something to make yourself happy and pleased. Maybe Jeon Jungkook wasn’t the best man to do it but he was making you feel so so good.

The man snapped you out of your thoughts as he brought your hand down to your clit. You understood and started to rub it, happy knowing that Jungkook was also looking out for your own pleasure too. Not that you’d know he had been thinking about you creaming on his big cock for months now.

“Keep doing that”, he whispered despite the heavy groan that threatened to come out. He was referring to the uncontrollable clenching you were doing around his dick, sucking him into your walls with each muscle movement. You listened and (despite knowing you were going to keep doing it anyways) clenched once again.

“Can I cum inside?”, you whimpered at the idea of Jungkook’s cum filling you up and, knowing you’re on grade A birth control, you nodded. While Jungkook was effortlessly attractive, kids were not part of your plans by far.

“You close too, princess?”, you nodded, a small moan spilling past your lips despite your best efforts to be quiet. With that knowledge, the man orgasmed and you could feel his seed start to coat your insides. The feeling made you tumble over into your own orgasm, coating his softening cock with your release.

“I think that’s the best sex I’ll ever have”, you praised him as you tried to put your cramping leg down off his shoulder. Instead, he held it tighter and pulled himself out of you. He watched as his cum started the spill out of you, dripping down your thighs beautifully.

So, he’s a man who likes to admire his work.

You almost screamed when he pushed it back inside of you with his finger due to the sensitivity.

“See you later, sourpuss”, Jungkook smirked and put your panties back to their original position before he pulled his own boxers and pants back up. He walked off and you were left gobsmacked with his cum dripping out of you onto your panties.

As the weeks passed by, the world became more vibrant and cheerful but also more chilling and worrisome.

Exams were over and you were free to go wherever you pleased but, somehow, you always found yourself wanting to be with what was supposed to be your secret guilty pleasure. Now, he was your everything. He truly brought color into your world; sadly, color always comes with black and white.

“I won the bet, Jimin. I want what I asked for”, you listened intently from the other aisle of books. The library had become your go to spot to find Jungkook. Surprisingly, the once unmotivated student was more frequently in here because of the sheer relief he got when you stood before him with a proud smile. What a softy.

“Really? She fell for you? Damn, you still got it. I can’t believe you asked for this though”, the disgust in your ex’s voice was evident and you so desperately wanted to see what he was referring to. You truly thought Koo had stopped being friends with Jimin after he apologized but apparently you were wrong about a lot of things. Most of all, you were wrong to love again.

Feeling your tears start to spill down your cheeks for the first time in years, you forced yourself out of the library. You should’ve seen it coming. What would a playboy want with you? A woman looking for a serious relationship? You’re an idiot and you’ll fix it.

Said playboy must’ve spotted you because you could hear his heavy footsteps behind you as you rushed out of the library, hurrying into a run with the safety of your dorm in mind. It was time to end this.

So, here you were. Remembering everything from the past few months as the candles in front of you burned, getting so desperately close to the string connecting them. You had carved an evident ‘JK’ on one and your initials on the other, bonding them to the people who needed to be apart from one another.

Watching his candle, you noticed the wax dripping down the long wick and you knew they were tears. You knew because of the loud banging coming from your dorm door, the man on the other side screaming and sobbing for you to let him explain.

Your candle, however, burned strongly with vengeance. It stood so tall compared to Jungkook’s and, as the fire finally burned through the string tying you both together, you felt free. It was like Jeon Jungkook had never affected you before and his name slowly slipped from your mind.

Eventually, the banging stopped as the candles reached their ends and the fire flickered out under your gaze. You felt so blissfully numb as you walked towards the door, opening it to reveal a confused Jungkook looking up at you.

“What did you do? It’s like-“, you cut him off with your hand, pulling him up rather roughly.

“You never knew me. That’s how I want it, Jeon Jungkook. You never knew me and I never knew you. Now, get your prize and leave me alone”, you slammed the door in his face. You felt pure relief but Jungkook could still feel a pang of want in his body.

You had failed to notice the little wax left of his candle that stood strong as you dumped it in the trash and he failed to notice that he had left his “prize” outside your door as he rushed off.

A gorgeous rose quartz necklace.

What a way to declare your love to a witch who just cut it all off.

[sp00kymulderr]

The smoke's the ghost that keeps you close (Javier Peña x Reader)

Warnings: Angst, emotions, mentions of smoking, reader is a smoker, a couple swears, mention of blood, sad!Javi, i don’t know it’s just sad.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 2,043

Request: Prompt - A desperate yearning to run away, to leave everything behind. Requested by @javierpenaspinkshirt​  a long, long time ago. 

A/N: Reminder I am not good at following prompts. Should probably point out that I have no idea when this is set within the Narcos timeline so please don’t think about that. Beautiful moodboard below by the ever talented @huliabitch​.

It’s one of those cold Colombian nights, a chill in the air coming earlier than usual. The park is quiet at this time of night, especially with the cooler weather, so it’s easy to spot him sitting on the bench alone awaiting your arrival.

In silence, you sit besides him and he offers you the cigarette that had been pursed between his lips. You accept and take a long drag from it, inhaling deep and blowing out a puff of smoke that surrounds you for a moment. It’s difficult not to get in to the habit, working with the people you do. With him especially.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to show tonight” he mutters, taking the cigarette back. How many of those had you watched him smoke, rapt with his every movement? Even before the two of you had started this, you had always found some odd solace in this constant. He had told you once he thought about quitting, but how could he exist without the comforting smell of tobacco following everywhere he went? The familiar scent made it easier to feel like you were with him, when you couldn’t be, that’s probably why you hadn’t quit.

“I needed the walk” you tell him simply, pulling your coat tighter around you as a cool breeze passes through the trees surrounding you. He scoots closer silently, his body heat warming you slightly when you lean against him.

Of course you would come, you always did when he asked you to. And here too? On the bench in the park where you had first properly gotten to know each other. When you were new and couldn’t stand to be cooped up in the embassy all day long, taking lunches out here in the warmth. Your DEA colleague Javier would often be out too, somehow still dark and stormy even in the sunshine, cigarette perpetually hanging from his mouth. You offered him a seat, half a sandwich, and then a willing ear for his frustrated rants. And after a couple weeks you’d offered him much, much more.

Now the sun slowly sets above you, the sky growing darker gradually. It adds to the sombre mood, the unspoken sorrow in your heart and the unease in Javier’s. The week had been a shit-show on all accounts, one you knew he was still on edge from. Blood ran on the streets and it felt like no one could put a stop to it, hard as they tried

“Fuck this week” he sighs, “Are you alright?”

You nod, maybe something of a lie but he doesn’t need to know it.

“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier. The guys in the office...they’re dicks, so am I. I should’ve told them to shut up. You shouldn’t have had to listen to that crap” He mutters, reminding you of the earlier conversation between Javier and some of the other men in the team, them patting him on the back for his sexual conquests. He was, after all, something of a legend in that respect within the agency. 

“It’s fine Javi, I’ve worked here long enough to be used to it. Besides we made an agreement, right? Clean and simple. No strings, I won’t get offended if you talk about fucking someone else” you squeeze his knee lightly, quietly adding “As long as they don’t know about me”.

He shakes his head, no one knows about you and him. You’ve been his best kept secret, he had made a promise to you. You watch as he drags on the cigarette again, orange embers lighting up his face as the colour fades from the sky above. He’s looking away, exhaling away from you for courtesy sake. With the slightest movement he covers your hand on his knee with his own, warm and rough skin filling you with a familiar comfort.

“You know that’s not what this is any more”

He’s right, of course. You had agreed to keep things simple, but the emotional attachment that had formed over the last year was getting impossible to ignore no matter how hard you tried. You’ve known this for months now; what he means to you, the way he makes you feel. The love, unspoken so far but true all the same.

“I know” you agree in earnest, feeling the mood shift. You watch him drop the cigarette and stub it out with his shoe. 

“Are you alright?” you repeat his question.

He just turns to you, brings up a hand to gently cup your cheek and gives you a smile that never reaches his eyes. He looks so worn, now you see his face fully, so tired and forlorn and it makes you want to cry. He leans in, offering you a surprisingly chaste kiss. When he pulls away you wrap your arms around him.

The wracked sigh that leaves him when you hold him tight could break your heart entirely. He’s given you a lot of himself, but this pain, this emotion that comes off him in waves now is something you think he’s been keeping to himself for far too long. He mumbles something against you, sounds like an apology but you can’t make it out, his hands holding on to you so tight it’s like he needs to make sure you’re really there. This is why he needed you here, not to say sorry for an overheard conversation you had already forgotten about. He needed to let out the pain.

And you feel it, every ounce of his suffering as he lets it go. The way it affects you, the sadness you feel washing over you at his anguish, that’s how you know. You love him. It makes you realise just how much you want to see him happy, make him happy. You love him and it hurts you to admit that now, because if you don’t it makes things so much easier - makes leaving him so much easier.

But you break and know that you can’t do that now. You love him, and rash as it may be, you have to tell him. 

“Javi, I need to tell you something” you whisper, pulling away from him to look him in the eye. There’s a glisten in his eyes, and your heart lurches painfully at the knowledge that he’s holding back tears. You feel the sear of anger within you at Escobar, the cartels, the DEA, and everyone else who made him feel this way. Your grasp his hands with yours and begin to finally tell him.

“I...I got offered a post in New York. A while back.” you tell him, breaking eye contact, “I accepted it”. Keeping this secret has been difficult with him, it’s become so easy to tell him everything, but you were in too deep now to just slip away without giving him a reason.

“They’re transferring you? Why?” he asks, confused for a moment.

“No. Well, yes, but only because I asked to be transferred” you admit, a shaky breath leaving you before you continue. “Javi, I can’t be here. I’m not strong enough. I can’t do it; Watching everyone around me die, watching on as innocent people die on the streets, never knowing if it’s going to be over. Watching you slowly kill yourself over this job” the last part is barely said, a whisper in to the cold night air.

He barely reacts, the single flicker of confusion crosses his features and then he’s drawing away. 

“I love you, Javi. I love you and I want you to survive. More than survive, I want you to live. For something other than this” you sweep your hand in the direction of the embassy and turn back to him, steady your quickening heartbeat before continuing “Come with me? I’m leaving in two weeks, I know it’s sudden but... Come with me, please. I want to be with you, but I don’t want us to be here any more. I love you.”

You know what this job means to him, the mission he’s put himself on to stop the violence and suffering in this country and beyond. You know in reality that this is more important to him than his own wellbeing. And you just want to scream at him to be selfish, for once. You ache with how much you want to leave, and even more with how much you want him to leave with you. It’s what you need more than anything. You want him to need it too.

He’s silent, for a longer time than you expect. He stares away, looking towards the city of Bogota, towards the embassy and everything past it. Grinding his jaw slightly as he seems to contemplate your words. He’s going to say no, you think, he hates me for giving up. You start to feel the tears prick in your eyes, they start to fall because you’ve never offered your heart to anyone before but you meant every single word.

And then he turns back towards you, pulls you to him and kisses you softly. You gasp when he pulls back, when he tells you “Yes” and then kisses you once more.

“Yes” he says, and it’s the most hopeful sound you’ve ever heard.

----

In the days that pass, you feel light in a way you haven’t in a long time. Although you barely get a chance to see Javier, passing him in hallways where your hands touch for a moment and then he’s gone for hours at a time. He’s busy as usual, but the way he looks at you now is different and it’s enough to keep you going.

You start to pack away your life, ready to begin it again in New York. You wonder if Javier is doing the same, but when you sneak upstairs to see him there’s no answer – another late night at work. You need to talk to him properly, make arrangements and discuss the details you didn’t get around to on the night he said yes.

It’s a shock then, when you come in to the office 10 days before you’re due to leave, and hear about the upcoming op in Medellin – due to take place the week that you leave, and lead by him. In the conference room he doesn’t look at you, and your stomach drops as you come to a realisation.

He’s not coming with you.

“Javier” you rush after him when you leave the conference room, trying not to draw attention. A hand on his arm to stop him, he let’s you pull him towards the empty kitchen. For a long minute you  are both quiet, the buzz of the office outside the only sound. You don’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to say what he needs to.

“You’re not coming to New York are you?” you blurt out the question, the hurt in your voice making him wince.

He takes a long breath, then shakes his head, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry”.

“But you said yes” it’s almost a whimper, pathetic and miserable, and he stands there awkwardly before taking your hand in his.

“I know. I know. I just- I can’t leave. I don’t blame you for wanting to, for getting out, but I can’t leave – not now.”

Part of you isn’t surprised, of course. Part of you can’t even imagine him away from here, doing anything other than this. But the rest of your suffers, a clutching pain inside of you that makes you feel nauseous and weak. You don’t even think about where you are, who might see, when he brings his arms around you and pulls you to his chest, holding you gently. His apology once again repeated against your skin.

“I love you, you know” he whispers, the unspoken words hang in the air between you – I love you but I can’t be with you

Maybe he’ll change his mind, maybe when you’re gone he’ll realise he wants to get out too. There are so many maybes. But the reality is that Javier knows how to live with regret, he’s been doing it for years. So maybe you’ll have to learn to forget him, however long that takes. 

Maybe one day you’ll be able to quit.

Permanent tag list:

@princessbatears​ @catfishingmorales​ @hdlynn​ @fleetwoodmactshirt​ @chews-erotically​ @keeper0fthestars​ @marydjarin​ @readsalot73​ @a-seeker-of-imagination​

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light: Chapter 6: Enchantress

A/N: Hey everyone. Going to start uploading at night so I can focus better during the day. Enjoy this short bit. Kendra isn’t going to get a lot of action at this point, so it’s training for her. 

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

Chapter 6: Enchantress

The following morning, Kendra had Ronodin’s bag of gifts organized on the craft table in the library. Ronodin had added little labels, listing the general source and possible magic properties of each item. The ingredients were kind of icky. Fabric that was various blends of cotton, wool, hair of zombie, hair of Litche, milkweed, nettles, and deathknell spider silk, was in the first section. Wood blocks were in the second section, varieties of elder, damnation redwood, wood from the heart of hamadryad trees, blinding pine, and some from the Dedona forest of insanity. Paint mixtures in the third section, they came with various combinations of fairy blood, unicorn blood, phantom tears, poison, and reverent spit.

She decided that the wood blocks were the least gross and least possible to screw up. Reading more into their descriptions, she settled on balsa wood from the heart of a hamadryad tree. Hamadryads were nature spirits, connected to specific trees. It seemed a vulnerable wood that would help her craft an amulet for protection.

Without her memories, she felt vulnerable. Ronodin had given her an idea of who she was, but that wasn’t the same as being the person he knew. It wasn’t even the same as wanting to be that person, even though old Kendra sounded pretty cool.

Ronodin had assured her that while her family had disapproved, being an enchantress was her passion. The art of crafting magical items was almost entirely lost, but Kendra was one of the few that could bring it back. Her family had been worried about an influx of magical items falling into the wrong hands though, destroying their monopoly on the magical market. Luckily Ronodin had managed to secure most the replacements for the stuff she had forgotten to take with her.

She and Ronodin had read the how-to chapters together, and he specified which parts she was able to skip due to her status as fairy kind. She didn’t need pentagrams or runes, for example, but she did need to imbue the item with intent.

An amulet seemed like a good start. They were one of easiest since they were meant to be worn, and didn’t have a functionalty/magic property duality to worry about. She wanted a protective amulet, and browsing through her guidebook’s symbol glossary, Kendra settled on one that would make her enemies feel weak and distracted the closer they got to her.

Kendra carefully selected the knives she would need, and sketched out her design. A chain broken in six different places, at the points of a star, would go around the edges, and it would encircle a blob human. Circle for a head, hunched forward, the back at a diagonal, knees bent, hands on knees.

The second half of how to make the amulet was to ‘work the feelings into the material that makes the effect desirous’. Ronodin had explained that part too. She would take a hold of a little part of her magic, not all of it, but a little bit of the flame inside her, and feed it with emotion, bringing out that specific aspect of her magic, metaphysically drawing it into her hand and her tool. Then she would focus on separating that magic from herself, pushing it into an object with every touch, before cutting it off. Negative emotions worked best, because those lasted much longer than positive emotions, were easier to work, and attached themselves more readily to physical objects.

She took fear: fear of seeing people blasted into ash, fear of being stolen away in the night, fear of jump scares, fear of the dark she sometimes felt, pressing in around her. She took annoyance: annoyance with Ronodin’s stupid games, of being stuck underground, or losing her memories. And she took dismissiveness: it wouldn’t hurt them, just make them weak enough that she could escape or disarm them. They were in her way and needed to remove themselves, like Ronodin’s uncomfortable flirting, like the block on her memory, and like that loud dragon that kept yelling at everyone.

With each emotion, she physically made a pinching motion near her heart, and pulled out a thread of her magic and added it to the wood she carved through her knife. Technically she didn’t have to do the physical motion, the magic followed her will not her body, but it helped her focus. How good she was at this part was debatable, because while she should have been focusing on the emotions and pressing the magic into the wood, she kept having to refer back to her woodcarving guide for advice on what to do next.

Kendra cut herself twice, small knicks that stopped bleeding by the time she got the bandages out. She tried to wipe her blood off, but probably didn’t get everything. Hopefully her blood wouldn’t spoil the enchantment. Sanding until smooth felt very satisfying, letting her muscles get used in ways they hadn’t since trapping herself here. The finished product was pretty round (she could fit it into the top of her water glass), a little smaller than her palm, but good for her first try after forgetting everything.

She was a little surprised she wasn’t tired yet. One of the perks of living on your own while hiding out from your family was no one was around to tell you when to go to bed. Still, she didn’t want to throw her sleep schedule off too much, and so one paint job before bed. Instead of trying to paint in the details, she would make it all one color. When she got better at painting, maybe she could add in the details of the chain and the figure, and adding the effects of the paint would hopefully make up for what she couldn’t do in carving.

Looking over her selection of paints, which Ronodin promised were fairly sourced, she tried to feel out her options. When imagining the effect she wanted to have, it involved people turning pale, like the moment you stand up too fast, and you feel weak and can’t move.

Looking over the whites, she had three options: a silvery one of primer mixed with unicorn blood, a creamier one with magic goat milk and naiad tears, and a standard white that used Hemlock and Lethe water. She didn’t want the creamy color, and Lethe water was all about forgetting important things, which she had enough of to last a lifetime, so Kendra selected the paint with unicorn blood.

It was so fascinating what contained magical properties. Tears, blood, milk, poison, hair, it was said something about sacrifice and DNA and where magic comes from that was absolutely fascinating. She was starting to understand why she had been obsessed with it before.

Painting didn’t take nearly as much concentration as carving, and from the first dip of the paintbrush she focused on weakening those who wished her ill. Whatever she had done, the person occupying this body couldn’t be responsible for the past. Imagining her magic travelling from insider herself, down her arm, into the paintbrush, it smeared and soaked into the amulet. Harm her body or harm her spirit, and the enemy would start falling apart before they could touch her. Celebrant, the dwarf that took her memories, they would fall to the ground before they got close to her, too weak to do anything but watch her escape.

When she felt good about the paint coating, she went to the library and hung it over her fire to dry. Tired after that little bit of crafting, she picked up the book she had been reading before to take it with her to bed.

Kendra settled into bed and tried to find the page she was on before Ronodin made her drop it. She had been ending a page, and…the next page had been torn out. She hadn’t noticed it on her first read through. She had liked this book! And the gray areas those pages talked about were exactly what Ronodin had said she was interested in that her family wasn’t. It would have been nice to learn about it from another source.

The next page picked up on what was known about the Fair Folk, the Forgotten Crown, because while they were equal to the others in power technically their neutrality limited them so much as to keep anyone from caring about them. In modern times, people only ever referred to the Five Crowns, or the Five Thrones, but they shouldn’t discount the Fair Folk…

[mejcinta]

So You and Alien Girl...

This is another one of my gems from a03 that I found fun to write and read. Imagine Hank and Dick learning to be more civilized with each other? Giving each other relationship advice? Not always at the verge killing each other😄??? Well, that happened in this story. Check out my a03 for more Titans TV fanfic, y'all!

*“For fuck sake, Grayson—relax!”

Dick stopped to glower at Hank, only just noticing that he had indeed been pacing.

Really, he didn’t get how Hank—or anyone else in the Tower—could do it: waiting on others, without wanting to pull the hairs off their heads. Only this time, it was not a mission Kory was out at. She was out to just enjoy herself but Dick’s head had taken several trips down ‘Worry Street’ as it is.

Hank poured himself some juice into a glass, his eyes on Dick glinting with curiosity.

“Two hours,” Dick explained with a sigh, swinging open the fridge to fetch himself a beer, “and not a single update from Kory.”

“And Dawn,” Hank emphasized, as though Dick had gravely ignored her. “The girls can handle their time alone if that’s what got you in a shitty mess.”

Hank’s gruff comment took Dick by no surprise. The enormous man looked a tad bit odd drinking juice, and perhaps Dick had not helped his bad mood by pulling out a beer.

“Or is that why you sent Conner with them?” the non-drunken outburst went on. “Sure makes a fucking good referee.”

Dick unscrewed the top of his beer bottle against the edge of the island with more force than he had intended.

“I’ll act like you just didn’t say that,” he blew out, before taking a seat across from Hank.

“It’s no secret some things needed clearing up between Dawn and Kory. A common dick, for one.”

Dick took a long swig of his beer before he could say anything he regretted; before he could wound up disappointing Kory again.

He had come too far, had done away with too much of Robin’s thorny baggage, to go running back to his short-tempered ways. After all, and understandably so, Hank was not as adept at embracing change as Dick had in a matter of a few weeks. So Dick braced himself for another fire shot as Hank leaned his weight against the island.

The ex-quarterback seemed contemplative as he stared down at his bruised fist. When he finally glanced up at Dick, though, he looked wounded and worn. Like a stray dog. “Sorry,” came the word, a yelp of self-humiliation.

Dick put his beer down. “Forget about it.”

“No. I don’t want you sending phantom girl and Tiger boy after my ass. Trust me.”

Hank’s attempt at a joke was a joke in itself, and it had Dick’s ribs tingle a bit despite of himself. “Who’ll I have game night with, assuming that I do?” Dick laughed, light and genuine.

There was something small but tangible growing between Hank and him and he had made an oath with himself to nurture and maintain it, just as he was doing with Jason. It was difficult at times, nonetheless, because that meant remembering all the gritty details of his past failures as a friend and leader.

Oh, thank God for Kory—now more than ever! After Donna and Deathstroke, she had taught him persistence and hope in achieving positive change just by her mere existence; by the way her graceful form walked the Tower up and down in an effort to hold together, and bring back whatever life and fire had been stolen from her since her sister happened.

Things would never be the same after the mistakes Dick had committed in the past, but they certainly didn’t need to get any worse either.

“So, alien girl and you…” Hank had his eyebrow shot up, smirking.

“Kory?” Dick gulped, “Friends, is all.” He tried to sound dismissive, sound. But the panic of Hank poking holes at his privacy was just this close to make him want to bolt to the control room.

“Man, I don’t know,” Hank sung, whirling the juice in his glass like wine. “The way she looks at you, and from the way she works it, you can’t tell me you never wanted to—”

“Maybe I do like her!” Dick blurted out. Kory was already getting enough unwarranted attention from Connor of late. To have Hank add to his list of ‘competition’ was just too much.

Besides, he couldn’t take Hank’s insinuation that Kory was just another mere ‘drive-through’ (like most of the women from his past) lying down. Kory was worth more to Dick than anything he would ever imagine on this planet, and if Hank now knew his secret—fuck it.

“He speaks!” Hank’s grin was wide and smug as he held up his glass. “Grayson’s whipped! Let’s cheers to that.”

“I know what you’re up to,” Dick chuckled breathily, keeping his bottle down. “You’re trying to get me drunk and it won’t work.” The memory of one particular woman in thigh-high boots and a magnificent fur coat came to Dick’s mind, and his smile literally grew out of his face. “Ask Kory.”

“Warning in advance.” Hank slumped his shoulders. “No double dates for me. I’ll scare off Dawn.”

Dick sat straighter. He had gotten none—if very little—chances to talk with either Hank or Dawn about their apparent separation.

“How’re you holding up?”

“She hates me,” Hank replied, his voice low. “How do you expect am holding up, Dick?”

“She still loves you, Hank. Maybe she just needs space. Maybe she’s not at her personal best in life.”

Thinking of Kory and how he had not been there for her in her hard times drew a sigh from Dick. His guilt was a far cry from over but that didn’t mean that he should not encourage others.

“It’s been a pretty rough couple of weeks, anyway,” he added, giving a small smile, “Took a toll on all of us naturally.”

Hank snorted. “I’m guessing Kory told you all that?”

“No, just observed her,” Dick admitted. He clenched his jaw as the back of his eyes stung. “Kory and I…we haven’t really had a chance to talk since the funeral. I’ve been a dick to her—no surprise there,” Dick looked to find Hank still with him, his face surprisingly soft. “But here we are, aren’t we? We’re healing. Maybe soon, when our lives have taken some shape, she’ll come to me. See where we can go from here.”

“For real this time,” Hank held his juice up and Dick agreed, clinking bottle with glass.

“Cheers.”

They drunk in companionable silence until Hank cleared his throat huskily. “Kory’s one heck of a woman!”

“Don’t say that too loud,” Dick blushed from behind the top of his bottle. “Dawn might hear you.”

“Well, I’m a single man, Dicky.”

For the first time in his life, Dick found himself in complete peace with Hank. Selflessness had its rewards, he guessed. And being there for his friends, just as Bruce had said, turned out to be the remedy he had needed…longed for…all along.

This time he was the one to lift his bottle and offer cheers. “To your happiness, anyways, Hank. Everything’s possible.”

Hank frowned, looking positively revolted. “God, who are you and what’ve you done to Dick Grayson?” *

[enchanted-seokjin]

The 1; kim seokjin.

↬ summary: Y/N meets Jin after six months following their break-up.

↬ genre: one shot

↬ word count: 2.6k

↬ warnings: very slightly smut insinuation

↬ note: inspired by the 1 by taylor swift

I hold my breath when I see him walk through the door. He smiles widely at my friend and hands her over the gift which stands out from every other I’ve seen so far. And I’ve seen them all, for I’ve been here even before people arrived.

My friend wanted me to help her with the last details, setting the table, making sure everything looked neat and smell good. It was a façade. I realized once I crossed that same goddamn door and saw that my friend had opened a bottle of wine and served two glasses. That could only mean that it was a setup. I didn’t say anything, though. I was reminded that it was her birthday and I had to put up with any crazy idea she had in mind.

Many thoughts crushed my brain. Was she going to cancel the party? Was she going to ask me to tell one of the people she’d invited that the party wasn’t going to happen after all? 

I laugh as I remember how naïve I must’ve looked caressing the cat while my friend told me that she had invited Jin.

I didn’t get mad, but I was indeed shocked. I knew they got along well but I wasn’t aware that they were that close. For a moment, I thought she was going to confess that they were dating and my heart sunk just by the thought of it. When I asked her directly if they were more than friends, she looked at me confused and then disgusted. She assured me that Jin was her friend and nothing would ever change that. She was sorry for not letting me know earlier but it was kind of a last-minute invitation since she wasn’t sure how I would feel. She also said, “I understand if you want to leave.”

I couldn’t leave.

Now I wish I had.

My friend looks at the present, surprised by the presentation. It’s a tiny box, wrap in an elegant white paper with a red ribbon. I try not to smile but I fail and I look down at the cat moving between my legs and I’m thankful I’ve found this empty couch with no one around to bother me as a hang onto the glass of wine as if my life depends on it.

Jin has always had a good eye for details and I know that my friend appreciates it. I know I did. I know anyone would. 

When I look back up, I see Jin greeting a few of the people who are standing close to the door. He’s wearing black jeans and a dark shirt tucked inside his jeans which accentuates his waist. He looks stunning, smiling cordially, and having chit-chats with strangers. He’s always been good at that, too. The first time he invited me to an event I was nervous. I hate crowded places so I tried to turn him down but he assured me that everything would be okay and I believed him. He was right. He made me feel comfortable and included. He showed me a side of me I had never seen, one that glowed every time I stood next to him, talking to strangers and making new friends.

None of the people I’ve met during those events are my friends now.

As Jin moves, I want to get up, take the cat and fly upstairs but instead, I stay where I am because, at least, the floor isn’t quicksand here.

He’s late to the party, nevertheless. I noticed that as I was drinking my third glass of wine, thinking about how I should react once I see him after six months following our break-up. He’s never late. He’s always early. If he had a meeting at the dentist, he’d be there twenty minutes earlier. He doesn’t mind waiting but hates the idea of making other waits.

I guess he has changed.

Our eyes meet and I can feel my whole body turned numb as Jin gives me a tiny smile. A shy smile. The kind of smile which has always made my heart flutter, now makes me want to disappear.

I want him to keep chit-chatting with the blonde guy but I know he’s apologizing when he interrupts him to walk towards me. 

I forget how to breathe.

“Hey,” he says, smiling. His hands inside his pockets. He looks stunning under the white artificial light which makes his black hair shine. “New friend?” he asks, nodding towards the cat, now sitting next to my legs.

“She’s protecting me,” I reply, gazing at the cat as well. I don’t know if I’m holding the glass properly so I lower it to the armchair. I’m not leaving it at the little table. I’m afraid the waiter may come and take it away--- I wouldn’t know what to do with my hands either. I don’t have pockets as Jin does. I wish I hadn’t worn this stupid black dress.

I wish I was at home.

“From whom?” Jin asks.

I smile without saying anything. I don’t know what to answer. This situation is way too awkward for me.

“You’re late,” I point out instead and I wish I hadn’t. Though, Jin doesn’t seem to mind it. He stares at the window. A black cloudy sky displays through the lime curtains.

“I had to take care of a few things,” he replies, calmly and I wonder if he’s feeling his world crashing as mine is because I can sense everything coming down to pieces with him so close to me and I want it to stop.

I sigh and, this time, I gather the strength to put the glass on the table. I wait for the waiter to come and get it as a mouse waiting for a piece of cheese to drop. He doesn’t.

It’s time for me to go home.

“Well…” I begin as I get up. The house spins around for a second but I manage to keep control. Jin stares at me intently and I ignore his gaze. Instead, I focus on the cat, which meows and leaves. I’m completely alone with Jin. Great. “I hope you have fun,” I smile. I hope it sounds genuine. 

“Are you leaving?” he inquires, confused.

“Yeah, I have an appointment tomorrow,” I explain. It’s a lie, so I don’t get into any detail. I know enough not to reveal too much information when you’re lying, especially when you’re drunk. I pass past Jin, hoping he’d let me go but he follows me.

“Let me take you home,” he whispers as I take my black coat. 

“No,” I simply say.

I put it on and hear him sigh with impatience. Even though I’m not looking, I know he’s scratching his ear.

“My car’s right outside. I’ll take you home and then I’ll come back,” he begs. I turn to look at him. I’ve my bag between my hands, clutching onto it as hard as I was clutching on the glass of wine.

I smile ironically. Does he think I’m preoccupied he might miss this party?

“No, Jin,” I argue, slowly. “I’m good.”

I’m not getting into that hell of a car with you. I’m drunk, not stupid, I want to add. However, I choose silence and aim to walk towards the door when Jin steps in the way.

“Your house is not far,” he protests. “Let me walk you, then. It’s late.”

It’s true. It is late. The plan wasn’t for me to leave the party, I was supposed to help my friend clean up the mess afterward and stay overnight, and I was excited to have a girl’s night. I hadn’t had one in such a long time; I yearned for a little bit of fun. Yet, seeing Jin changed everything. 

“Fine,” I give up. I also know that he won’t let this go. If I leave without saying a word, he’d still follow me so it’s better this way.

“Great,” he smiles. “Are you going to say goodbye?”

I deny, reaching the door. As much as I love my friend, if I see her now and get the chance to say a word to her, it would be something far from “Happy birthday! I love you,” so I’d rather leave quietly.

Outside, the air is cold. I listen to the door close behind me and Jin approaching me as I start walking in the right direction.

“Aren’t you cold?” I ask. The answer is obvious; I can see Jin shrugged with his hands inside his pockets. He’s lucky there’s isn’t any wind. “Didn’t you bring a jacket?”

“No,” he barely looks at me so I stare at the empty street. “It was kind of a last-minute thing, coming here. I forgot to bring a jacket.”

“That present didn’t look like a last-minute thing,” I point out before I can stop myself and I hate how bitter my words sound.

“It wasn’t,” Jin answers, ignoring the bitterness. “I was going to give her the present even if I didn’t come tonight.”

“Of course you were,” I agree. “You’ve always been meticulous over important dates,” These words shouldn’t be charged with resentment but they are.

Jin takes a deep breath and I gaze at him. Our eyes meet for a second and I feel I’m about to break so I turn my head straight, though I can feel his piercing eyes on me.

“I wasn’t sure if I was going to come because I knew you were going to be here,” he explains with a little bit of frustration. My heart sinks but I ignore it.

“For what’s worth, I didn’t know you were coming until today.”

He stays silent for a second.

“I should’ve told you.”

“I blocked your number, remember?”

Jin quiets again. This time, it feels like an eternity. Then, his voice echoes in my brain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I never meant for any of this to happen,” he goes on and I lower my head, closing my eyes for a second as his sincerity burns inside my chest. 

“Don’t say that,” I beg.

Jin takes a deep breath.

“I’ve been wondering about you, you know?” he says. And I want him to stop but I don’t say anything because my heart’s in half and I forget how to speak. “What you’ve been doing… If life’s been treating you good…”

I laugh and look at the other side. Job wise? I’m good. Study wise? Getting there. Love wise? Still can’t get over him. I was at the bus stop last week and my soul left my body for an instant when I thought the man driving a black Mercedes was him.

“I’m good,” I answer. “I’ve been focusing on my studies.” 

“Trying to get into Art School?”

I smile as memories come flashing back.

“They say it’s never too late,” I look at him with a smile and he smiles back. We both know it was he who convinced me of that. “Don’t know if I’ll get in, though.”

“You’re really talented, Y/N,” he says with all seriousness. It’s always been like that when it came to my dreams. “Don’t throw yourself under the bus. You have a bright future ahead of you.”

I did have one. Once. With you.

“Thanks,” It takes me a few seconds to gather the strength to keep talking. “What about you?”

“Same old, same old,” he replies without looking at me. “Still working.”

“That’s good,” I babble as our eyes meet again and he flashes a tender smile. My heart sinks again and I feel tears burning behind my eyes. “Love wise?” I ask and look away. I’m not sure how I’ve mustered the strength to ask this. It’s as if someone else has taken control over me… Or something…

Jin doesn’t reply right away and I ignore the urge to start running because if I did, I don’t know if my legs would be strong enough to support me.

“Tried online dating,” he responds. “But it wasn’t for me,” he continues and I know he means it as a funny anecdote but it doesn’t sound like that. The air has shifted and I can feel the weight of these past six months over my shoulders. “You?”

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. 

It’s funny to hear that he’s been trying to move on while I’m still trying to get used to waking up alone every morning.

Jin sighs again and scratches his nose. I know he’s about to say something serious even before he opens his mouth.

“I did love you. You know that, don’t you?”

Of all the things I was expecting to hear from him, this was at the bottom of the list.

I shake my head as I bite the inside of my cheek. It’s all too real. It’s all too raw. I can’t take this, but Jin doesn’t take into account my feelings.

“After we broke up,” he mumbles as if he’s measuring his words. And I know for sure that he is. Jin’s too afraid to break me. “I’ve made up scenarios in my mind where everything worked out. I think it could’ve if we’d tried.”

I let out a weak laugh because it’s better than crying.

“I didn’t know you wanted to try.”

“I wanted everything that had to do with you.”

I smile, trying to hide my sadness. Suddenly, the shakiness in my hands is gone.

“You should’ve shown it.”

Jin looks down for a moment, and I know he’s regretting his decisions.

“We were something, don’t you think so?”

I nod. Yes, we were. All our friends and family were so sure we were going to end up together for the rest of our lives. I thought so, too. I thought Jin was the one. My family thought Jin was the one. I guess it would’ve been fun, to grow old together. To keep learning from each other until we’ve memorized every aspect of our personality, every inch of our bodies.

I see my house in the corner and we slow down our pace. Maybe it’s our subconscious working for us.

“Yeah,” I agree.

Jin lowers his head again.

“I’m seeing someone,” he lets out carefully.

I don’t react. There’s nothing else he can break in me.

“I’m glad you’re happy.”

“You’ll find someone, too.”

I guess I will. Someday.

I picture Jin with this new person, hanging out with his family. I picture them visiting Jin’s family every Sunday and Jin’s mom teaching them how to cook. That’s what I did every Sunday, at least. It was fun. Jin’s mom would end up amazed at how useless I was in the kitchen while Jin would assure me that I didn’t have to worry about anything because I had him.

We stop when we reach my house. He walks me to the porch and I turn to him. I open my mouth, ready to ask him if he believed that we would be together now if only one thing had been different… But I say nothing.

“Thank you, Jin,” I mutter instead.

“It was nice seeing you, Y/N,” he smiles but he doesn’t move.

I know that, in a different time, he’d come in with me, have a glass of wine. He would be telling bad jokes as alcohol starts to hit us while I fall in love with him as every second passes by. I wouldn’t wear this black dress for too long, he’d get rid of it as soon as he gets the chance and I’d enjoy each torturous moment unbuttoning his shirt.

“It was nice seeing you, too, Jin. Have fun at the party,” I state as I walk in because I should be the strong one; as I always have.

Still, tears fall in silence knowing that Jin is on the other side of the door and I will wake up alone tomorrow, again.

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shackled - Ch 12

Summary: After nearly ten years, Sam Winchester calls Miriam Bard to collect on a life debt. Unfortunately for Miriam, Sam leaves out a few important details.

WARNINGS CHANGE EACH CHAPTER, PLEASE CHECK EACH TIME. 

Warning: implied loss of family, grieving, depression, cursing, mention of emotional manipulation/mind fuckery/psychological manipulation, emotional exhaustion, depression

Word Count: 2945

Author’s Note: You made it this far; thanks for sticking with me! I can’t tell you how lovely everyone has been throughout posting this story. I’m going to hopefully start posting my next story “Walk Me Home” sometime within the next week, so if you’d like a tag, let me know. I’ll be posting the preview again tonight. Thank you all for lovely words and flailing, and here’s hoping I’ll see you again at the next story. 

Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67​ for all the flailing. It means so much to me, I don’t have enough or proper words. @cracksinthewalls​​ , you kept me going, you kept this story going. Like. Babe. Seriously. @thoughtslikeaminefield​ , I would have no Dean stories without you, probably would not have even entered the fandom without you. This story was first and foremost for you, and it’s only right the last thanks on it be for you. 

I love you all.

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In case you missed it:

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11

Masterlist

Chapter 12

Miriam swam back to consciousness as gentle fingers probed her face. The pain flared once, a bright flame that consumed every cell of her body before extinguishing all at once. She gasped, her lungs unrestricted and easy, and grabbed at the closest thing she could reach. Her wrists were whole again, functional, and she sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and wild as fear shot through her gut. Strong arms, for some reason clad in a tan trench coat, supported her as her head swam crazily. 

“Miriam, I presume. I’ve got you, everything’s alright now. Dean is cured. You’re safe.” She looked into his eyes and saw the sincerity and strength there. She nodded slowly, willing her heart rate to calm. She took slow, measured breaths until the spinning stopped. 

“Miriam!” Then Sam was in the doorway, rushing over to help her up, Dean following closely behind. What with Sam and the other man already pulling Miriam to her feet, Dean stood a safe distance away, unsure of his reception. 

Miriam thought this wise of him. 

She wobbled unsteadily long enough that Sam insisted on taking her back to her room to rest. She was too wiped out to argue and gladly accepted his support. She glanced back at Dean as Sam led her from the room, and she was startled at the depth of sorrow and pain she saw there. 

Then she turned the corner with Sam and realized the pull she felt from Dean, that insatiable hunger for the darkness, was almost completely gone. 

Almost.

…

Miriam lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, resolutely ignoring Sam’s instructions to sleep. Though she doubted she’d have any new visits from the demon, she could feel her other nightmares waiting at the edge of her consciousness, with a few new additions from her recent misadventures with the Winchesters to add a little spice to the mix.

A soft knock on her door pulled her out of her miserable reverie, and she sat up slowly. She wasn’t in pain, the angel (Castiel, Sam had explained) had healed her completely, but she was unsteady with exhaustion and shock.

“Come in, Dean,”

He entered hesitantly, still unsure of his welcome. He’d showered, shaved, and changed into a t-shirt, sweats, and a gray bathrobe. She had to admit he looked a lot better for it. Considering how appealing she thought he’d looked before, that was saying something. 

They studied each other for a long moment, seeing each other as they really were for the first time in nearly a decade. Dean still stood tall and firm, wearing his “comfy clothes” better than most models wore a suit, but she could see the weight of the world dragging at his shoulders, staining his expression with grief and regret. 

But there was less ferocity to him now. He’d lost the feral hunger, the malevolence of his earlier presence that had drawn her in so strongly. She’d never call Dean Winchester soft, not in a thousand years, but this Dean, the real human Dean, was appealing to her in a way she hadn’t expected. Despite everything that had happened, he still exuded a sense of strength and confidence that had little to do with his appearance and more to do with a natural gravity that spoke of protection and safety rather than danger and oblivion.

Then again, she thought, maybe I can just see the light on the other side of the darkness now. Maybe that said something good for the both of them.

But it hurt, looking into that light. Looking away from the darkness without shielding herself meant admitting that life without Aaron wasn’t just possible, that it was necessary. 

She’d taken care of him for so long, leaned on him without realizing she was doing so. Now her universe was off-balance in the worst way, vertigo without promise of reprieve. Every day felt like freefall, and she hated that swooping sensation that tore through her gut whenever she opened her eyes and realized he wasn’t just one bed over.

But he was gone. And she wasn’t. 

And now she had to decide what she was going to do with those facts, because she couldn’t continue her dim, half-existence anymore, no matter how much easier it was than facing an Aaron-less life.

And right now, in this moment, that meant addressing her own personal ex-demon.

Miriam offered him a half-smile and indicated the chair by her bedside. He wavered, his jaw working as his frown deepened, but she let him have his internal debate without interruption. After a moment, he made up his mind and sat heavily in the chair, elbows resting on the arms, hands dangling over his lap. He glared down at his socked feet as if angry they weren’t supplying him with the right conversation starter.

“How are you feeling?”

He started at her question and turned incredulous eyes on her, mouth gaping.

“How am I feeling? I nearly killed you, and you’re worried about...Miriam, god, I...I…”

“I know,” she said. He dropped his face into his palms, fingers digging hard into his forehead. His hands strained, veins standing out starkly under his skin, and her heart broke for him.

Dean was a good hunter, a good brother, a good man. He’d been seized by a literal demon, and if anyone besides possession victims could understand that, maybe even forgive it, it was Miriam. And, miracle of miracles, for once she knew the right thing to do.

She arranged her pillow behind her and reclined. Then she lifted the covers, opened her arms, and cleared her throat.

“Come here.”

He looked up at her with red, confused eyes. He straightened up and opened his mouth, and she knew he was about to refuse, say something manly or defensive, or both. She beat him to the punch.

“We are both done, Dean. I’ve got nothing left. I hurt you, you hurt me, we both did horrible things. Now is not the time to make comparison lists of sins. We’ve got tomorrow to tear ourselves new ones. Answer me one question right now, and you’d damned well better tell me the truth.”

He nodded slowly, watching her with wary eyes. 

“Aren’t you tired, Dean?”

He stared hard at her, waiting for something else, maybe a rebuke or an insult, but when he realized she was finished, he sat for a moment, thinking. Then his shoulders slumped, and he scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

“Exhausted,” he finally answered. 

She nodded.

“Then take your damned robe off and get over here. And keep your hands where I can see them, sir.”

Turns out, Dean Winchester wasn’t too bad at following directions, once properly motivated. 

Dean fit into her shoulder with the perfection of a worn-out child cradled in trusted arms. As his face relaxed, Miriam thought she saw the briefest glimpse of that sweet, carefree little boy in his smiling mother’s arms. 

Something tugged loose in her chest, and she knew then she’d done the right thing by coming here, no matter the damage she’d sustained. She glanced across the room to see Aaron staring back from the mirror. A tiny smile lifted the corner of his mouth. 

“I love you,” she said. She meant so much more, and she knew Aaron understood that. 

Dean shifted in her arms, murmuring something on the edge of dozing, and his frown returned. She moved automatically to smooth her thumb over his furrowed brow, massage the anxious crease that had formed between his eyes. Still drowsing, he nuzzled closer, his freshly shaven cheek sliding over her collarbone. Unable to resist, she pressed her nose to the crown of his head, inhaling softly.

Miriam had done a few hunting jobs in the Northwest, near the coast, and she’d fallen in love with the forests there. Unbelievably tall trees, disappearing upwards until you almost fell over backwards trying to see the tops. Damp and lush, there was a green, mossy smell that hung in the air and mingled with traces of fresh earth and mist.

Dean smelled as if he’d just stepped out from under those trees. Clean, a hint of cedar, and something warm and spicy. She hesitated, a new kind of want blooming in her chest as she held him close, reveling in his solid heat. She pressed a kiss to his temple and smiled when he curled tighter into her embrace.

“Hands where I can see ‘em, missy,” he murmured, eyes still closed. His arm slid under hers until it curled protectively around her back. “Sleep, Miri. I’ve got you.”

She took a deep breath, and settled into the exhale, resting her cheek against his damp hair.

Yeah, she thought, a welcome lethargy spreading through her thoughts. You do.

…

“Sure you don’t want to rest another day or two?” Sam asked. She didn’t have to look up from her packing to know his face was lined with concern. Dean leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, pretending he didn’t want to say the exact same thing.

“Sorry, Sam, another day of rabbit food, and I might starve. Gotta get some meat before I waste away. Dean, you’re welcome to come with if you aren’t worried about ruining your girlish figure.”

Dean barked a laugh from the doorway, and Miriam straightened up in time to see him wipe the smile off his face under the heat of Sam’s stern glare. She grinned, and Dean winked.

“Gonna go pull your car around. Meet you out front?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean straightened and nodded, disappearing from view.

“You really could stay a little longer,” Sam repeated, his voice low and earnest. For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed small, diminished by worry and uncertainty. Dark circles stood out starkly under his eyes, and his entreating smile was probably the weakest she’d ever seen it.

“Sam, I-” she paused, hesitating, then closed the space between them, reached up, and pulled him into a full hug. After a moment, Sam’s good arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her tight against his chest as his head bent down, his nose resting on top of her head. She held him close, waiting for Sam to pull away when he was ready.

“I can’t,” she murmured into his hair. “Not right now. It’s too fresh. I need to...deal with it. Actually deal with it,” she added as he leaned back far enough to give her a sharp look. She noticed he didn’t pull completely away from their embrace, though.

“I’m going to figure some things out, I promise. Again, you strong, heroic men didn’t magically fix my issues. But maybe you gave me the push I needed to do that for myself.”

“You’re welcome back here anytime,” Sam said. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and stepped back, releasing her. He gazed down at her face for a moment, and she could see he was choosing his next words carefully. 

“I’m glad you’re going to...deal with it. I get what you’re working through. Not that I’m a paragon of mental health, but I’ve been there. A couple of times. If you ever want or need to talk about everything that happened, about anything at all, you can call me.”

Miriam felt a mischievous smile stretching across her face. “Everything? Well, Sam, when you were gone, there was this one thing that Dean did in one of my nightmares that-”

“Not everything!” Sam yelped, and she laughed, feeling the ever-present knot in her chest loosen just a little more. He chuckled, shaking his head, and squeezed her hand. 

“Don’t lose my number, Miriam. I’ve...We’ve got your back.”

…

“Sure you don’t want to stay for another round of Sam’s ‘queen-wah’ salad?” Dean smirked. His green eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and she was surprised at the pleasurable twinge she felt upon receiving that smile. 

“Get your ass off my car, Winchester,” she ordered, feigning exasperation. He pushed up from the hood and opened the back door, lifting the duffel from her hands and tossing it in the back seat.

“Where ya headed?” Dean asked, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. He stared at the ground between them, and she couldn’t help but smile. After all they’d been through, even after chastely sharing a bed for the last three nights, she felt awkward around him, too, though both were too stubborn to admit it aloud.

“Maybe Washington state or Oregon, check out some of the rainforests. The couple of times we had jobs over that way, walking around under all those giant trees made my issues seem pretty small. Could help me put some things in perspective. Anyway, I’ve got some time off saved up. I think I’ve earned a real vacation.”

He finally met her eyes, and the corner of his mouth turned up. He took a step closer.

“Yeah? Sounds pretty...majestic.” He dodged her blow easily, grinning. “I’m kidding. Some time off sounds pretty damn good, come to think of it. Don’t really remember what that’s like. It’s one disaster after another around here.”

“I kinda got that feeling,” Miriam said, pushing the back door shut. She stepped up to him, holding her arms open in invitation. Though he still hesitated, in the end, he relented and allowed her to pull him into a close hug that sent little flutters through her stomach. Just as she started to pull back, Dean’s arms tightened, holding her against his chest.

“We both need to take some time,” she said quietly. He nodded, turning his face inwards, pressing his lips to her temple. “We’ve got a lot of baggage to sort through and shit to deal with and other metaphors about mentally healing. Darkness to yank out by the roots and all that.”

He pulled back, his face drawn with concern. “Miriam, I need you to know. Those dreams you had, I didn’t...I could see them all whenever you came inside the trap.” His complexion darkened, and if she didn’t know better, Miriam would have thought Dean was actually blushing.

“But I didn’t send them to you. When you were outside the dungeon, outside the devil’s trap, I couldn’t do that.”

She nodded slowly, feeling some of the sunlight's warmth leeching away. She’d come to that conclusion herself, after listening to some conversations over the last couple of days between the boys and their guardian angel. 

“I know. And that’s something I’m going to have to work through. There’s darkness in me, and it really, really liked the darkness I found in you.”

They both glanced significantly down at his right arm, their eyes drawn to the dark, ugly mark, before looking up again.

“I just...wanted it to be easy, like you, the demon you, said. I was, I am so tired, and I just wanted to be done.” She could say the words now, as she couldn’t say them only days ago. 

Such a simple thing to say, she thought, and I had to nearly die to admit it.

“Awfully strong drug for any hunter,” Dean agreed, and though she hated that he knew the feeling well enough to understand, part of her was not-so-secretly glad that for the first time in months, she no longer felt alone in her pain.

“But I can work through it. And I think you can, too. I have no clue how, for either of us, but I’m willing to work on it if you are.”

He nodded slowly, and his eyes flicked to her lips for just a moment before his eyebrows raised questioningly. He looked ready to be rejected, braced for her dismissal, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single decent reason to do so.

This time, the only pull she felt was Dean’s arms drawing her closer.

The kiss was soft, simple, and sweet. His hands, scarred and so gentle, slid over her jaw, threading into her hair. He tilted her face to the side, finding a better angle for both of them, and her hands found their way to his waist, tugging him further into her space. After a moment, they broke apart. Dean’s eyes were still closed as she stretched up to kiss his forehead.

“We can work on that, too,” Miriam said. Dean licked his lips, swallowed, and nodded as he straightened. They released their hold on each other reluctantly, and Miriam slid into the driver’s seat before she did something irrational like change her mind.

She cranked the car, stared out the windshield, and sighed. She had to go, needed some time and space to work through her thankfully no-longer-literal demons, but…

She really wanted to come back.

“Hey, Dean,” she said suddenly. He dropped a hand to the hood of her car, leaning down so he could see her through the open window. “You like cowboy movies?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You ever seen The Quick and the Dead?”

His face transformed from sad to wondering to glee in less than a second. “Wild West shootout, Sharon Stone at her hottest, Gene Hackman at his bad ass-est?”

Miriam giggled. “That’s not a word, but yeah. Got a copy?”

“No, but I can get one.”

She smiled, feeling warm and light down to her toes. “Give me a month or two, try to take some time off yourself. Call me when you’ve got a copy of the movie, and maybe we can have a movie night. I’ll bring the popcorn.”

The warmth of the kiss he brushed across her cheek lingered for hours.

[haylanmakesstuff]

Living Statue Costume

I always loved seeing living statue street performer costumes in person, or even just photos. When done well, these street performers look so realistic! I think the first time I saw them was in New Orleans. I always wondered if I could make one that would be believable, and what it would be like as a performer in that costume, so in 2017 I made one, but Halloween night was totally rained out and freezing cold, so Austins big street party/show was non-existent. I saved the costume for 2018 and finally got to wear it out. It was a hit and one of the more comfortable costumes I’ve worn down there. 

It was hard to get a good quality picture of this one in the low lights of downtown. 

The base of this costume is a wedding dress I got off of ebay for $9 back in 2007. I used a thrifted shirt to add the arms and back (the dress was sleeveless/backless) and material to build the hips out. Added a zipper, flowers, lace, etc. to finish off the dress. 

The wig, a detail of the front above, is actually two wigs sewn together and some hair extensions added. The Marie Antoinette look I was going for meant the hair needed to be reasonably big, in period style, and have *things* in it, as they did back then. So, I opted for a tiara int he front, and a birds nest, birds/eggs, pine cone on one side, and a flower and hair rolls on the other. 

Other accessories included the fan, the gloves to hide my hands (ya know make up like this on your hands is TERRIBLE to deal with). Originally I had earrings and a necklace, but since they scraped the makeup off my skin, i ditched them to keep the costume looking good. 

The next step was to make the dress, wig, and accessories look like..well, a statue. Starting with copious, ridiculous amounts of grey spray paint, I covered every surface multiple times, making sure no other color or material showed through. This took some bending and prying since there are folds all in the dress and painting hair to be solid is challenging and time sucking. After that base grey layer, I did a little bit of stone texture spray paint here and there. Then it was time for detail paint, to give the statue an old weathered look; this meant acrylic on brushes and sponges in different shades, both light and dark, all over the costume making highlights, low lights, and distressing. Why stop there! A real statue would have moss and lichen in my part of the country, so i added those, too. I sealed the whole thing with acrylic clear coat to give it a little durability since I thought the paint might chip some. All done! It was a really fun costume and one people really enjoyed. I got tipped for the first time! It made me want to get a buskers permit and wear it out during festivals and much to see if I could make some bucks. 

[songxiaolin]

untamed fall fest

day 20: spice

rating: general word count: 1,257

On the counter sat the eggplant, long and purple and foreign. Lin Ming stared it down as if she expected it to jump at her or run away. Her mouth was pulled into a deep frown. In her hand, she held a knife with a sharp blade and worn, chipped wooden handle. The fingers of her other hand drummed against the tile counter as she thought.

“You look as if you’re going to stab it, not cut it.”

Lin Ming paused, knife still in hand, and looked over at Song Lan. To most people, his expression would be unreadable or even cold but she knew better. There was a softness in his eyes and to the slight curve of his mouth.  

I am. We’re having stabbed eggplant, she signed. 

“Lin Ming.”

A grin was her answer to the gentle rebuke, crooked, as she turned back to the eggplant. She held it carefully and began to slice it lengthwise, trying to keep the pieces even. Pushing away the scraps, she gathered up the eggplant and turned. Her face almost met Song Lan’s chest and she jerked to a stop.

“Am I in your way?” he asked.

She nodded, hands full.

“Sorry.”

He stepped out of her way and she nudged his side lightly with her elbow as she passed. Lin Ming dumped the eggplant pieces into the bowl of now room temperature water. She poked a few pieces, making sure they were submerged before turning back to the wok.

It took her a moment to find the bottle of oil and the thought crossed her mind that it needed to organized better, if only for Xiao Xingchen’s sake. She picked it up and shook it, listening to the liquid slosh inside. Taking a step back, she felt her shoulder bump against something firm. Lin Ming looked up.

“I thought I had moved out the way,” said Song Lan, hands on her shoulders to steady her.

Her mouth quivered slightly as she tried not to smile.

Yes, she signed with one hand. And then you moved back in the way.

“I’ll be more careful,” he said.  

As she moved past him, she touched his cheek affectionately, a smile on her face.

She poured some of the oil into the wok, heat and the nutty smell of the sesame rising, and then poured some more in, just to be safe. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Song Lan leaned against the counter. Right in front of the ginger and garlic she had set aside. She sighed, stepping up to him.

“Oh.” He looked down. “I’m sorry. What do you need?”

Ginger and garlic.

Song Lan reached behind him and handed her both, nose wrinkling slightly.

“How much ginger are you going to add?” The concern was clear in his voice.

Her eyebrows shot up, mouth open in a wide smile.

I think that depends, she signed.

“…Lin Ming,” he said as he backed up, trying to find a spot in the small kitchen where he wouldn’t be in the way. “I said I was sorry.”

Still smiling, she dumped the ingredients in, listening to the sizzle and pop. For a moment, she stood, going over the steps of the recipe in her head. Already she was fuzzy on the details. Behind her, Song Lan leaned over her shoulder, one hand resting lightly on her back.

It was comforting and gentle and when she turned to retrieve the bowl of water where the eggplant was soaking, it meant he was in her way again.

A slow look of realization crossed his face.

“-- oh no.”

Every time, I’m adding more peppers, she signed.

His shoulders slumped.

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

She put a hand on his waist and moved him out of her way, picking up the bowl and grinning.

Would you drain this? she mouthed the words.

“Of course,” he said, the nod he gave as he moved to complete his task solemn, serious.

Lin Ming’s face softened as she watched him before grabbing the jars of soy sauce, black vinegar, and bean paste, adding enough of each to create the base of the yu xiang sauce. By the time she had mixed it well with the long wooden spoon, Song Lan returned with the eggplant, his nose wrinkling even more as the aroma hit him.

“That smells spicy.” A beat. “Is this good?”

He held out the bowl to her and she examined it, giving him a short nod of approval before taking it to the counter and searching for the bag of cornstarch. Song Lan followed after her. When the first shelf she looked over yielded nothing, she turned around towards the cabinet and collided with Song Lan. He caught her by the arms.

“I promise I’m not doing this on purpose,” he said. There was a look of embarrassment mixed with amusement on his face, the situation so ridiculous that even he couldn’t help but find the humor in it.

Giving an exaggerated sigh, she signed, I know. Chop the green onions, there in the basket.

“I can do that.” He rubbed her arms in apology. “And I will stay out of the way.”

One of her eyebrow’s quirked upwards as if she didn’t quite believe him and then returned to the task at hand. When the cornstarch was found, she lightly coated the eggplant with it. That on purpose and the cornstarch that clung to her clothing and hands on accident.

She wiped her hands on the towel that hung on a hook, considered doing the same for her clothing and decided against it. Her eyes narrowed. There was an ingredient she was missing. Scanning the kitchen, she saw the jar of chopped and pickled peppers she had set aside earlier and then forgotten about. Carefully, she moved to grab it, keeping an eye on Song Lan the entire time. Just in case.

“Are you adding all of that?”

The words sounded so dejected that Lin Ming froze like a rabbit that had been spotted by a hawk. Song Lan had paused in middle of chopping, knife poised over the remaining green onions, looking at the jar in her hand with trepidation. She had been about to dump the entire contents into the wok. The look on her face became sheepish and she shook her head.

No, I won’t add it all. Just a little, she signed.

He smiled at her.

“Thank you, Lin Ming.”

True to her word, she only shook a bit of the pickled peppers out, mixing it into the sauce that was now a dark, close to black, reddish-brown. He brought over the green onion, dumping it in as she continued to mix. It looked right. Only one step left. She tilted her head, looking past Song Lan, to where the eggplant sat. This time, she squeezed past him, not bothering to move him out of the way. It seemed to be a fruitless task. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Almost done, she signed after she dumped the eggplant in, coating it with oil and sauce, mixing it as she watched it cook. When it looked close to done, she lifted the spoon and tasted the sauce.

“Is it good?” asked Song Lan.

Lifting herself up on her the tips of her toes, she kissed him, the mix of ginger and pepper cut with the saltiness of the soy sauce. He brushed a bit of cornstarch off her chin.

“A little spicy, but I don’t mind.”

[hedwigstalons]

High Expectations - Ch19

Sorry for the two week delay - life, work and insomnia combined to make writing a bit of a slog.  Anyways, on with the show.  

Thanks (maybe) to @willow-salix who has been helping with the direction this is taking.  She is far too under the thumb of Scott though and now I have rather more chapters lined up to write.  Also thanks to @gumnut-logic who popped up as a cheerleader when I was having a wobble over last lines.  I’m still not totally happy but it gave me the confidence boost to at least get something set down.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Nineteen

The temperature at Marineville was a solid 15 degrees lower than Los Angeles with a weak sun that bathed the parade ground in a pale and washed out light.  The chill January air had a bite to it as it blew across the square but Jeff sat straight and unflinching despite those around him shuffling and wrapping themselves up tighter in their coats.

The formal part of the commissioning ceremony was nearly over.  There had been speeches, the inevitable demonstration by the Marineville drummers and all that was left was for the latest cohort of the WASP officer training school to march past their assembled families before moving inside for the more informal reception.

This was the culmination of six months of hard training.  Six months of commitment and dedication that not all had managed to complete despite WASP’s rigorous selection process.  When he had said his goodbyes to Gordon he had done so with confidence that his son would make the grade but Jeff reflected with some shame that this hadn’t always been the case.  I8 months ago he had been adamant that Gordon needed to go to college, even a year ago he’d harboured some doubts over his fourth son’s suitability for military life though he had done his best to keep those doubts hidden.  

The commands were shouted out causing the newly minted officers to snap to attention with regimented precision.  The ranks of men and women in immaculate grey marched past their loved ones with a uniformity that Jeff found himself unable to find fault with.  The display was in stark contrast to the march past of the Olympics; for a start the emotions of the WASPs were unintelligible, locked away behind expressions schooled to careful neutrality.  Jeff hoped that some of the happiness that Gordon had displayed so freely at the Olympics was still being felt by his son now.

The contrast didn’t end at the bearing of the participants.  The Olympic opening ceremony had been all bright colours and beaming smiles, spotlights and camera flashes.  Today was still celebratory but with a slightly sombre undertone.  The speeches of those two events had shared the common themes of honour, glory and self-sacrifice but in the background every family present at Marineville knew there was a chance their son or daughter might not come home.  Military service always came with a risk.  It was a risk Jeff himself had taken, a risk currently being taken by Scott, and now Gordon had stepped up to serve too.  

He had watched with pride as Gordon had sworn an oath to protect the world.  It was an oath that Jeff hoped his son would continue to live by beyond the scope of his military life as the rescue outfit plans moved closer to fruition.  If Gordon should consent to join them as an aquanaut, and add his soon to be acquired skills to the operation when the time came, it would extend the scope of the services they could offer to humanity, enhancing their ability to save lives.  It was a conversation Jeff was yet to broach with his fourth son but he had confidence that Gordon would see the sense in his plans and join the rest of the family when he made the offer.

Almost the rest of the family.

Scott was still being difficult and Jeff couldn’t help the tremor of a frown that flitted across his features at the thought of his eldest son.  Scott was meant to be his field commander and pilot of the organisation's flagship craft.  He should have leapt at the opportunity to take control of the rocket plane.  He should have wanted to join their cause to help save lives and prevent other families from experiencing the grief and trauma they themselves had gone through.  He couldn’t understand Scott’s reluctance to resign his commission in the Air Force and swell the familial ranks.  It wasn’t even as if he was asking Scott the step away from his military career right away; his plans were still a year or two off completion, although he would need Scott on site sooner than that in order to familiarise himself with the aircraft that was to be like no other on the planet.  

A tug on Jeff’s sleeve brought him back to reality.  “Uh, Dad?  Time to get moving, Gordon will be waiting for us at the reception.”

The stands around them were almost empty as spectators hurried to get out of the cold.  There was no sign of Gordon or the other officers who had marched off to the hall ready to meet up with their families.  Jeff nodded his acknowledgement to Virgil and followed after the crowds heading off to be reunited with their loved ones, Virgil and Alan trailing along behind in his wake.

It didn’t take long to find Gordon in the reception hall, or rather it didn’t take long for him to find them.  He had been eagerly watching the doors as the relatives arrived in small clusters and barrelled up to his  father and brothers the moment they had deposited their coats on the racks. 

“So, what do you think?”  He spread his arms to better show off the uniform.

“You look great, son.  I’m proud of you.”  It was going to take some getting used to, seeing Gordon in military garb.  The shoulder detailing, complete with the shining new rank slides of an Ensign, emphasised his swimmers physique but the cap looked a touch too large and reminded Jeff of just how young Gordon really was.  Scott had worn his uniform like a second skin from the outset but then he had let the family know from an early age that the Air Force was his chosen path, conforming to expectation.  He had also been that much older when he had followed the call to arms.  WASP was a path that had appeared out of left field and, while he’d had plenty of time to reconcile himself to Gordon’s choice, it still felt a little surreal seeing his son in the garb of an aquanaut.

Gordon felt his arms sagging slightly as the weight of those words hit him.  Pride was a feeling more usually directed towards one of his older brothers.  It still felt unusual to hear those words aimed at him at himself without a medal in his hand as a focus for that feeling.

“Thanks Dad.”

“Y’know, it’s going to take some getting used to, seeing you in uniform”

“I’ve worn a uniform before, Virg.”  Gordon rolled his eyes in response.

“Technically true, if you count team colours as a uniform, but I mean on dry land.  You’re going to be wearing this a bit more full time than your trunks.  I never had grey down as your colour before but you look good.”

“You’re not doing so bad yourself.  Finally got some dress pants that fit then?”  He aimed a dig at Virgil who shuffled uncomfortably at the reminder of his birthday faux pas.

“Dad insisted we both get new suits” Alan grimaced, clearly uncomfortable in the stiff outfit that was far removed from his usual jeans.

If Alan and Virgil looked uncomfortable in their suits, Jeff was a complete contrast.  He had opted for his own dress uniform to mark the occasion and wore it with his habitual confidence.  No longer hidden behind an anonymous winter coat the brothers could sense the stirrings in the room that always happened whenever their father was in attendance.  It didn’t help that the senior officers from WASP were by now well aware of who was in their latest cohort and were beginning to circle in order to congratulate their honoured guest and extol Gordon’s virtues; they weren’t to know that such flattery rarely worked on Jeff but Gordon decided to make himself scarce before being subjected to the embarrassment.

Grabbing Alan and Virgil by the arm, Gordon led his brothers away on the pretext of finding some refreshments, leaving their father to handle the military small talk.  They joined the long queue waiting to order drinks.

“So, how was it, really?” Virgil asked, the ever present concern for a brother clearly evident.

“It’s great, Virg.  Honestly it is.”  He took in the skepticism in his brother’s eyes.  “This is the right choice for me.  I know you’re not sold on the whole military thing but this is where I belong.  And now I’ve got the basic training out the way it’s going to start getting really interesting.  In two days I get to start my pilot training on the Merlin class subs.”

“Two days?” Alan let out a devastated wail, “So does this mean you aren’t coming back with us?  I thought you got some leave after basic training?  We didn’t see you at Christmas and I barely got three days with you at Thanksgiving.  You’ve had even less time off over the last six months than Scott has.”

Gordon felt the guilt rise up in him.  Graduating cohorts generally did get a week of leave before going on to their advanced training but he had volunteered to forgo this in order to get his hands on the Merlin.  The small patrol sub appealed to him far more than some of the larger vessels in WASP’s fleet which is where he would likely have ended up if he had taken advantage of the standard vacation.  He hadn’t really considered how this decision would go down with his youngest brother when he stepped forward to claim the opportunity.

“Uh, sorry Al.  But the good news is that my break gets shunted to when your birthday is so I’ll be home for your 16th.”  His brother brightened up considerably at this prospect.  “I thought that would be better than taking it now while you still have Virg and John for company.  Where is John by the way?  I thought he was going to be here.”

“You aren’t the only one making the most of advanced training” Virgil explained.  “John got specially selected for a stint on one of the orbital communication posts so he’s currently in quarantine.”

“Already?  I didn’t think you guys actually got to leave the ground until at least Easter?”

“This is John” Virgil shrugged, as if that explained everything.

“At least there was no chance of my school getting in the way of me being here” Alan smirked.

“Yeah, how’s the whole online gig going for you?”

“It’s good, I tell ya I don’t miss the High School at all.”

“What, not even your friends?  It can’t be that great being stuck on your own all the time.”

The snort Gordon got in response did not fill him with confidence.  The High School might not have been great but he worried how isolated Alan now was with the move to online school.  Looking back, however, he realised Alan had always been pretty isolated.  His brother, like the rest of them, had never had many friends outside of the family.  It was the curse of being a Tracy.  Each of the brothers had one or two bad experiences etched in their memory, friends that proved false as the other party was exposed for being after money, power, influence or a combination of it all.  Alan had watched his brothers get hurt, and been hurt enough times himself, to have decided fairly early on that sticking with family was safest.  The problem was there was no longer any family left at home for him to stick with.  

“Don’t worry Gords, Alan isn’t alone that much.  John and I get a visitor pretty often.  If I wasn’t only there on a short course we’d see about renting a bigger apartment so we could have a guest room.  As it is, there’ll be a spare room anyways once I finish at Tracy College.  Actually,” Virgil turned to his littlest brother, “seeing as John’s heading topside and Gordon isn’t coming back, how about I take you back to Kansas for a bit after this shindig is over.”

“Sounds great.  Does this mean I get John’s bed rather than the sofa this time?”

Gordon quirked an eyebrow at Alan who flushed slightly with embarrassment.  The two brothers had spent enough of their lives with just each other for company that they didn’t always need words to get their point across.  Alan knew exactly why his brother was getting at.  The vile accusations of Virgil taking on charity cases and pity projects rose in his memory, accusations that he had known deep down were unfounded but that he had still flung out in a fit of rage and heartbreak.  Virgil, however, seemed oblivious to the silent exchange.

“Sure, as long as you don’t mess up his room.  You can do your school work while I have class and then maybe I can give you a few more flying lessons.”

Gordon felt infinitely reassured that things had been patched up between Alan and Virgil.  If Alan was regularly spending time in Kansas then he has every confidence that the youngster was being looked after.  Virgil and John would keep an eye on things and make sure he wasn’t becoming too insular or crushed under the pressure of being the only one at home with their father.  He also knew that Alan would not be permitted to slack off his school work during these trips.  Perhaps the move to online school, which had worried him so much when Alan first told him the news, was for the best after all.  It certainly had to be better than Alan bunking off for weeks on end.

The brothers had finally reached the head of the queue and stood in front of the urns debating what to get.  The smell of scorched grounds assaulted Virgil’s nose and mortally offended the coffee connoisseur.

“Sorry” Gordon shrugged, “no single origin blends here. Just count yourself lucky that the cream is fresh, the preserved stuff they serve on the subs is particularly nasty. The best you can say about the coffee we get given is that it’s hot and wet.”

“I suppose one cup won’t kill me” although Virgil’s tone suggested he doubted the truth in that statement.  “I’ll grab mine and Dad’s if you two can sort yourselves out and maybe grab a couple of those cake slices.”

The brothers loaded themselves up and made their way back towards their father.   

xoxoxox

Scott had been like a bear with a sore head all day.  Those in his unit had discovered very early on that the young Captain, normally so amenable to those around him, was not in a mood to be trifled with.  Anything that could be found fault with was picked over and many of the airmen under his command found themselves on the receiving end of harsh words.  It was out of character and had the whole unit on edge.

There had been a lot of change in the unit lately and it was taking a while for the new status quo to be found.  His well deserved promotion to Captain had coincided with some retirements further up the rank structure and the whole chain of command had been reorganised.  Superiors that he had respected were no longer in place and those he now reported to seemed to have a dislike for the Tracy name.  He had spent so long proving himself as his own person, determined not to play off his father’s reputation, but the sneer he had received upon meeting his new commanding officer showed that the man did not believe he had reached Captain off his own merits.  He had tried not to let it affect his performance, to remain professional, but today he was seething.  Today he should have been at Marineville watching a brother receive his own commission but instead he was stuck on base, his request for leave denied seemingly for no other reason than that he was a Tracy.  Scott found himself thinking distinctly uncharitable thoughts towards his new commanding officer.

The end of the working day, which had been filled with trivial and meaningless tasks, saw Scott hurrying back to his quarters.  Once inside the sanctuary of his own space he dug out his phone, not even bothering to change out of his uniform first; some things were more important.  He had been filled with worry, imagining scenarios in which their father belittled Gordon and the service he had fought so hard to join.  It only took 2 rings for the call to be answered by the brother that had been in his thoughts all day.

“Hey Gords, how’d it go today?”  

“Great, Scott, just great.  Absolutely freezing out on the parade square but can’t have everything.”

“So you’re a proper squid now.”

“Yup, got the hat to prove it and everything.”  He grabbed his cap from where he had thrown it on the night stand and waved it in front of the camera.

“I’m surprised I caught you.  The night of my commissioning ceremony the base bars pretty much ran dry.”

“Actually it’s pretty quiet here, most folks have gone off for a week and the barracks are near enough deserted.  Y’know, I get a room to myself tonight for the first time since I went home at Thanksgiving.  The only snores I have to deal with tonight are my own.”

Memories of shared dorms flared in Scott’s mind.  He’d always appreciated having his own personal space meaning the communal living element of basic training had in some ways been more of a challenge for him than the Air Force training proper.   

“So you’re not out celebrating?”

“I might wander out later, see if this place has any night life.  There hasn’t really been any opportunity to explore before now, training was pretty full on.”

“I can imagine.  Well take it easy, I keep forgetting you’re still under age so stick to soda, the military police are not to be trifled with.  Getting a DND is bad enough, getting one as a minor will see you out of WASP quicker than you can say submarine.”

“Yes, Dad.”  Gordon responded with mock sincerity and a half-assed salute.  The mention of Dad reminded Scott of just why he had been so on edge.  

“How was he today, anyway?  Cos if he gave you any grief…”

“Relax Scott” Gordon could almost feel the tension vibrating though his older brother “Dad was fine.”  He received a single raised eyebrow in response.  “Honest, he was.  You can check up with Virgil if you want.  He...he said he was proud of me.”

Scott felt his heart ache at the slight crack that had appeared in Gordon’s voice.  At least their father seemed to have held off with the criticism he was normally so quick to dispense in Gordon’s direction.  “Well he has every reason to be proud of you.  Seriously, there’s not many that make it into WASP at your age, let alone as an officer.  I wish I could have been there today.  I should have been there.”

“Chill Scott, it’s fine.  I never made it to your commissioning ceremony either.  Call it even.”

“Gords, when I got my commission you were about twelve and off swimming in Europe somewhere.”

“Thirteen and Singapore.”  The instant response had Scott widening his eyes in surprise.  Gordon just grinned and shrugged his shoulders.  “You aren’t the only one that keeps tabs on the important stuff.”

This surprised Scott and he wondered just what else Gordon was hiding below the surface.  Growing up Gordon had only ever seemed to care about his swimming, an athlete with a focus that was single minded to the point of being selfish.  It was an impression that Jeff had done nothing to disabuse him of over the years.  This perception had come crashing down with the exposure of Gordon’s role in Alan’s life and now it would appear that the fourth Tracy had also been paying attention to those above him in the age hierarchy.  Scott felt a gnawing guilt at the past wrongs he had heaped at his brother’s door.

“I still should have been there today.  Christ, Gords, you’ve worked your ass off to get to this point.  It’s been killing me today, not being able to be there with you.  It’s not just Dad that’s proud of you, I am too.”  The guilt only intensified when he realised Gordon wasn’t quite meeting his eye, still unaccustomed to the praise that flowed more freely now.

“Yeah, well, I’m just glad I didn’t let you down.  You took a risk, standing up for me against Dad.  Thanks for that.”

“You couldn’t let me down.  I know whatever the outcome you would have tried your best, it’s what you do.  I always used to think John was the single-minded one but when you get an idea in your head you can blow him out the water for focus.  So anyway, how come you aren’t heading off on leave like everyone else?”

“Got a chance to get my hands on a Merlin.  I know they are being phased out but those of us signed off on the Merlin will be the first to get trained on the Stingray when it comes in and I’m gonna be putting myself firmly in that queue.”

Scott grinned at the enthusiasm pouring off his little brother, although as a commissioned WASP officer perhaps Gordon wasn’t so little any more.  He remembered that feeling of excitement about getting his hands on a new craft, in his case it had been planes rather than submarines, but the thrill was still the same and from what he could tell that Stingray was going to be one hell of a craft.  He listened happily as Gordon prattled on, regaling him with tales from basic training and thoughts on the opportunities about to come and when they cut the call nearly an hour later he did so with the confidence that Gordon really was happy with his choices.  The family fish had taken to WASP like, well, like a fish to water and Scott just knew Gordon would make a success of it.

Scott wished he could summon up that same enthusiasm about his latest assignment.  With the call to his brother over he turned to the mission briefing he had brought back to his quarters.  The details in it were scant and the intelligence it was based on looked questionable but his earlier attempts to raise his concerns with the new CO had been meant with a swift reprimand for daring to question authority.  

With an audible sigh he examined the paltry file in as much depth he could, liking what he saw less and less as he read between the lines of the report.  He had enough experience to know that casualties were likely to be high on all sides.  The weight of command sat heavy on him; soon enough he would be expected to brief his unit then lead them out on this mission that in all honesty he could not bring himself to support.  

[argylemnwrites]

Change of Plans - Part 2

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (An It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe AU, set nearly 3 years after that epilogue)

Word Count: ~3500

Rating: PG-13 (just some adult language)

Summary: Living in NYC in March 2020 is redefining normal for Drake and Riley. Life doesn’t always go according to plan during a pandemic, after all.

Author’s Note: Alright, I said this was going to be a two part AU inside my AU, but I lied. There will be three parts because I don’t know how to be brief, and I’ve really enjoyed exploring this scenario with these two.

Just like part 1, this does hint at or reference some events from the prologue and the first couple of chapters of Why Are We Still Waiting?, but it does not spoil the core content of the story. And again, Trigger warning for coronavirus discussions.

Riley checked over her appearance in the mirror, making sure her eyeliner looked even on both sides. It may be the middle of a pandemic, but she figured she was allowed a little vanity on her wedding day. Even if it was going to be a courthouse wedding with only one witness, she still wanted to look and feel like a bride, at least as much as was possible given the circumstances.

Finding a white dress had been difficult. Her actual wedding dress was with Hana for some “finishing touches” that she’d wanted to add, and other than a couple of button downs for work, white wasn’t really a color she ever chose for herself. For a hot minute last night, as she stood in front of the closet, taking in lots of bright and dark colors, she’d considered just saying “Fuck it” and wearing something red, but then she remembered the white dress she’d picked out for her bachelorette party when Hana was in New York a couple of months ago for a meeting with her North American directors. Sure, a white shift with some sparkly embellishments at the neckline and a hemline that was short enough that she had to be careful about bending over probably wasn’t the most “bridal” piece of clothing out there, but she had to work with what she had.

She really did want to make their elopement as close to a “standard” wedding as she could. As much as Drake insisted he was fully on board with eloping and that the details didn’t matter, as much as he would scoff if she ever mentioned it to him, she knew that the traditional marriage ceremony meant more to him than it did to her. He might not be big on over-the-top, storybook romantic gestures, but he definitely had more of a sentimental streak than she did, and she knew that part of him was going to miss having the chance to take those vows in front of friends and family, miss having those closest to them get together and celebrate taking that step. They hadn’t decided whether or not they were going to still have the reception in Texas as originally planned, but even if they did, Riley knew it wouldn’t feel quite the same for Drake.

To be honest, the thought of eloping had popped into Riley’s head numerous times over the past year or so. Back when they postponed the first time, a large part of her had wanted to march down to whatever municipal building they needed to and just do it. Growing up, it’s not like she dreamed of some fairy tale princess wedding or anything, and while the wedding she and Drake had put together sounded nice to her, it wasn’t something she needed. Plus, the thought of organizing everything again for a later date had sounded just miserable. 

She’d thrown the idea out there once. Eloping had wormed its way back into her mind right after they’d gotten back from Cordonia, about one week after their wedding was supposed to happen. Not able to shake the thought, she’d hinted at just getting married soon in New York. She remembered laying there on their couch, her head in Drake’s lap as she painted her fingernails with turquoise glitter polish, Drake combing his fingers through her hair absentmindedly as he watched the 11 o’clock news. She’d told him it was such bullshit that they weren’t married, that she wasn’t good at waiting. He’d been sweet, thanking her and telling her it would be worth it in the end, but it had been clear to her that he still wanted to go through with the whole wedding down on the ranch, even if it would take them a bit to save up money for new deposits. She had known that if she’d told him point blank that she wanted to elope, he would have done it. But that wouldn’t have been fair to him.

But now that the world had changed so drastically, eloping was Drake’s idea. And while Riley was fully on board with this change in their plans, she knew there was probably a part of Drake that was going to mourn the loss of their outdoor wedding on the ranch. Since she knew he was doing this largely for her benefit, she figured the least she could do was try and make everything feel as much like a wedding as possible. Try and make everything feel more like a celebration, not a desperate move to get her health insurance.

So, she had scrambled to throw together something resembling their wedding last night, after they got back from the Marriage Bureau with their license in hand. Drake had logged in remotely for work, trying to get ahead as best he could, hoping to be done with his work for tomorrow by noon while Riley had flipped through the binder Hana had put together for them, full of tips and advice she gained from her own wedding. Some parts obviously got pitched out from the start. There would be no toasts, no music, no personalized vows. On the other hand, some tasks couldn’t be easier. They already had their rings, for instance, and as far as photographers went, well Daniel and a smart phone was really their only option.

All things considered, Riley felt like she’d done a decent job with what she’d thrown together. Truth be told, winging things and just rolling along, letting her whims guide her felt so much more natural to her than filling out all those damn charts and timelines and tables that Hana had given her. After all, so many moments in her life had been defined by impulsive decisions, including accepting Maxwell’s invitation and getting on that flight to Cordonia. Throwing together a wedding in 24 hours felt almost fitting.

Giving her appearance a last once over in the mirror, she threw her lipstick and eyeliner in her purse that already held their license, the rings, and their passports and walked out of their bedroom. She’d heard the locks on their front door, and the kitchen sink was running, so she knew Drake was back from taking out Anderson for a quick walk. It was time to go.  

“Alright, you ready?” Riley asked as she walked into the main living space and over to the door, grabbing her leather jacket off the hook and slipping it on. 

“Yeah, we’re just gonna have to hail a cab because Dryve is in surge. Probably everyone trying to avoid-” Drake replied as he shut off the water with his elbow and grabbed the towel, but he stopped abruptly as he looked up at Riley. “Damn.”

Riley smiled as she finished putting on her jacket, flipping her hair out of the way. Drake had insisted he didn’t want to see what she was wearing until the last minute, just further proof to her that he really did crave those wedding traditions. She walked over to him with an exaggerated roll of her hips, unable to resist teasing him just a little. “Avoid what?”

His eyes traced over her body slowly. “What?”

“What is everyone trying to avoid?” she widened her eyes, trying to make herself look as innocent as possible as Drake’s gaze left her legs and snapped back to her face. But he just shook his head slightly, giving her a little smile, not taking her bait.

“Shit, I need to change. You look perfect, and I’m just-”

Riley rolled her eyes, grabbing the lapels on Drake’s sport coat and pulling him down into a gentle kiss. “You don’t need to sweet talk me. I already put my name on the marriage license,” she quipped as she pulled back. 

Drake lifted his hand to cup her cheek, but stopped himself, instead giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’m serious, Liu. You’re so beautiful. Why did you tell me that jeans and a sport coat would be fine?”

“Because it is,” she said, shaking him lightly by his lapels, “While I’m glad you like this improvised look, keep in mind that this dress was originally intended to be worn to a trashy nightclub.”

“Does saying that I’m glad that didn’t happen make me a jealous asshole?” Drake asked, eyes roving over her legs quickly before jumping back to her face, “But seriously, I’ll go put on a suit if you want me to.”

She shook her head no emphatically. “You aren’t supposed to upstage a bride on her wedding day, Drake. Besides, you in some denim and me in some leather just kind of feels… right, ya know?”

He nodded slowly, sliding his hand from her shoulder down to her hand, lacing their fingers together. “So, you ready?”

“Absolutely.”

They walked the few blocks over to Church Avenue hand in hand, knowing they would have an easier time hailing a cab there than on their street. They had actually had a bit of a debate on how best to get to the Marriage Bureau, wondering if prolonged time stuck in a car with a driver would be riskier than braving the subway, but ultimately they’d decided one driver into Manhattan and one back would have to be safer than mass transit. Still, Riley could tell Drake was a bit on edge, particularly when their driver coughed once.

The traffic into lower Manhattan wasn’t terrible for a Wednesday afternoon, and soon enough they were pulling up outside the City Clerk Office building. Daniel was already there, standing off to the side of the steps, wearing a mask. Daniel being their witness was actually why they were going to the Manhattan location, not the slightly closer Brooklyn one. Daniel still lived in Manhattan, and his apartment was close enough that he could walk to this site. Since he now had no income coming in with the bar and restaurant closure order, it had seemed like a huge imposition to ask him to have to pay for transportation, particularly when his coming out for this at all was already a massive favor.

Daniel waved when he saw them getting out of the cab. “Are you guys excited?” he called out. When Riley had texted him with their plans and asked if he would possibly be willing to be their witness, he’d called back, very enthusiastic. After all, he’d told her, she never would have met Drake if it weren't for him. “I brought a wedding present for you guys.”

Riley laughed as he handed them a bottle of hand sanitizer. “This is probably the most sought after item in the city. We’re honored.”

After buying a little bouquet of calla lilies from a vendor at Daniel’s suggestion, they made their way inside. Security guards were there, staggering different groups of people, trying to maintain some distance in the long, narrow room. The three of them presented their IDs with the license, Drake took the ticket with their number, and then all they could really do was sit on the light green couches and wait.

Riley could tell Drake was antsy. He would alternate between sitting next to her, knee bouncing up and down slightly and pacing in front of her. Under normal circumstances, a clearly anxious groom might be the butt of some joke, but today nearly everyone seemed on edge. The atmosphere was tense, like every person there was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. The Marriage Bureau was busy, and she was sure she and Drake weren’t the only couple scrambling to tie the knot. 

As she looked over at him, repeatedly checking the time on his watch, she just knew he was worried they wouldn’t get called up today. She understood why that had him on edge. Not only would they have exposed themselves to dozens of people for no good reason, but it probably wouldn’t be too many more days before the Marriage Bureau was shut down as a non-essential court service. She knew that marrying her and getting her onto his health insurance had cemented itself in his mind as the one thing he could do to keep her safe, and if he wasn’t able to do that, he would feel like a failure. 

She placed her hand on his thigh, hoping to both calm him and stop his fidgeting, but he just wove their fingers together and squeezed tightly, his leg continuing to bounce beneath their hands. Oddly enough, for all his anxiety over the whole situation, Riley felt calmer than she had in a long time. All the struggles to get that wedding in Texas rescheduled, only for the world to throw a pandemic at them and force them to change their date again now could be forgotten. They were getting married on a whim in their city, basically just the two of them. It felt right, in a strange way, to her.

After their number was called the first time, after they had paid the fee for the ceremony and taken care of the final paperwork with Daniel, Riley had hoped that Drake might calm down slightly. After all, the ceremony was definitely going to happen now. They’d already signed and dated the papers. But as they moved back towards the couches, Riley realized how foolish that hope was. Drake had worked himself into a ball of tension. If she didn’t find a way to calm him down soon, he would be miserable all the way through the ceremony.

Back in the day, she had some signals with Daniel, both for when she needed rescuing and when she needed him to back off. Granted, the backing off had usually been when a table of men had been a manageable level of flirty, but she flashed those three fingers behind her back at this point not because she was hoping for an excellent tip, but because she needed some one-on-one time with Drake. Thankfully, Daniel recognized her move quickly, excusing himself to the restroom.

Riley sat down on the couches, hoping that Drake would sit next to her so she could talk to him and get him back in a calm mood. However, he continued pacing in front of her. Sensing that she needed to break his mental cycle sooner rather than later, she called out. “I’m gonna need you to chill out, just a little bit. Otherwise, I’m gonna start thinking it’s the thought of marrying me that has you all stressed.”

“How can you even say-” Drake started, whipping his head around to face her, but stopping when he saw the look she was giving him. Letting out a big sigh and running his hand through his hair, he started again, “I just don’t like being stuck indoors with this many people. Maybe we should have worn masks like Daniel. I don’t know. It just makes me uneasy. And the longer we have to sit here, the more people that walk past, and every time someone coughs or sneezes, I just feel sick to my stomach. I thought this was a good idea, but now I’m wondering if we just took a really foolish risk.”

“Drake,” Riley said, shaking her head slightly, “everything we do these days is a risk. Either of us taking Anderson out is a risk. Next time we need to buy food will be a risk. Hell, I was still going into the office less than a week ago. We’re doing everything we can to minimize that risk, though. And that’s all we can do. Right?”

Drake nodded briskly, but he continued his pacing. Riley sighed, wishing she’d thrown a flask in her bag. A little bit of whiskey might help him take the edge off right now. But she hadn’t, plus she got the feeling that openly drinking in a government building might not be the best idea. Oh well, time to try another distraction technique.

“I’m not wearing any underwear,” she said quietly, hoping only Drake could hear her.

“What the hell, Liu?” he asked, stopping his pacing immediately to pivot to face her fully. 

She shrugged and glanced around. “I just wanted to take your mind off everything that’s stressing you out.”

“So your strategy was… to tell me you aren’t wearing underwear? Even though that’s not true?”

“You don’t know it’s not true.”

He crouched down in front of her, staring straight into her eyes, trying to tell if she was bluffing or not. She just raised an eyebrow and gave him a coy little smile. 

“I don’t buy it,” Drake said after several moments, pushing himself back up to standing. However, he didn’t resume his frantic pacing.

“But you can’t really be sure, can you?”

Drake rolled his eyes and shook his head, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Yup!” she responded brightly, dancing and shimmying a little in her seat before bursting out in laughter, “And you chose to tie yourself to me for life anyway!”

 Drake chuckled, plopping down on the couch next to her. “What was I thinking?”

“It’s not too late. You could still make a run for it.”

“Nah,” Drake said, grabbing her hand and nodding at Daniel as he walked back over to them, “I already signed the paperwork.”

Maybe 20 minutes later, they were called over to the next room with several other couples. Knowing they would be up soon, Riley tucked her engagement ring in the box with their wedding bands and squirted some hand sanitizer into both of their hands. And then, C875 was being called, and suddenly they were walking into a room with a rainbow painting, one bench, and a podium. For all the years of planning, for all their waiting around this afternoon, it almost felt surreal that this was really happening. 

As Drake clutched her hands, she barely was able to process that the ceremony had started. But the officiant was there and was speaking, even though Riley wasn’t really listening to the words he was saying. All she could do was focus on Drake, staring at her with such intensity and such earnestness, she thought she might cry. 

As Drake said “Yes” in response to whatever the officiant had been saying and slid her rings onto her finger, she knew she should probably pay attention to the officiant, because her turn was coming up next. But all she saw was Drake, his large hands working so gently to put those rings onto her left hand. Those hands that had held her and clung to her and that had been a constant in her life for so many years now.

Once the rings were in place, she heard the officiant start speaking again, this time asking her if she promised to love, honor, cherish, and keep Drake as her husband. But all she could think about was the steadiness Drake had brought to her previously flaky existence, his utter understanding of her as a messed up human being, and his complete acceptance of both her flaws and strengths. So when the officiant paused, she said “Yes.” It didn’t matter that she’d missed half the words he was saying. Committing to this man who saw her as she was, who trusted her and who she trusted just as much was not a hard thing to do. So she grabbed his band out of the box and worked it on to his finger, hopeful that he knew the slight tremble in her hand came not from nerves, but from adrenaline.

Riley looked up to find Drake’s eyes locked on her face, and she gave him a small smile as the officiant finished the ceremony with some words that she still was finding it hard to focus on. Somewhere in there, she heard “state of New York” and “married,” but before she could fully process that Drake was now her husband, he was tugging her close and kissing her, sliding his hands around her waist as her arms looped around his neck instinctively, one hand snaking into his hair, the other still clutching her bouquet.

When they pulled apart, the officiant immediately handed them their marriage certificate before briskly walking out of the room. That was it. After years of planning and just over 24 hours of scrambling, they were officially married with a ceremony that couldn’t have taken more than 60 seconds. Riley couldn’t help but chuckle. It somehow felt perfect for them - take it slow until you decide to barrel full steam ahead had always been their pattern.

“Holy shit, Drake!” she said with a laugh, pulling him down for another quick kiss, “We’re married.”

“I know, Riley. I know.”

“I love you so much.”

“Yeah, me too. So damn much.”

She threaded her right hand into his left, noticing the way his ring felt against her fingers as she tugged him towards the exit. The world might be a mess of uncertainty, but they would face it together as a team.

Permatag: @ravenpuff02 @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5 @speedyoperarascalparty @mfackenthal @lilyofchoices @thequeenofcronuts @jamesashtonisbae

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC only: @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley--walker @notoriouscs @butindeed @axwalker @drakesensworld  @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment: @wickedgypsymoon @thesumofmychoices @cosigottahavefaith @thequeenchoices @katedrakeohd @feartheendlesssummer @ao719 @ooo-barff-ooo @sunnyxdazed​  

[luwupercal]

alright, i meant to post this when i had nine of them done, not six, but we’ll make this a three-parter, sigh

recently on twitter i voiced the idea of making nice casual outfits for the (...30k, so we can have all of ‘em) primarchs, pretty heavily (as you can tell) inspired by their homeworlds!

this is part one of three. feel free to reply with suggestions, ideas, whatever - even just suggesting which primarchs you want to see next!

in order: konrad curze (censored because i don’t like it anymore, i’ll remake it... eventually), leman russ, sanguinius, two outfits for rogal dorn you go rogal dorn (inwit is cold!! he needs a coat), ferrus manus, jaghatai khan and magnus the red

bunch of miscellaneous notes under the cut! please enjoy!

re: curze; his outfit consists of an under-power-armor overalls-plugsuit-thing, bc he’s greasy and doesn’t change his clothes, plus a People Skin cloak and some old ratty tunic-shirt-thing he threw on (mostly covered up by the censoring)

re: russ; he’s wearing short sleeves and it annoys me to no end that i painted behind the mannequin’s transparent arms, but what can ya do. i think silver fits him far better than gold - something something werewolves - , so i gave him silver accents to give a more royal air to his clothes! i’m pretty sure the huge fucking furry cloak draped over his shoulder is actually an Entire Bear or something that he killed with his bare hands. 

also, he’s wearing a slightly-deconstructed light blue kilt that adds a bit of color to the whole thing - no in-universe reason for it really, but it looks way better than without, and. well. i know russ is viking themed but i’m using sutherland’s existence as my excuse for this one ok?

re: sanguinius; his was the idea on which i based the entire project, but i modified it and i’m... not entirely happy with my modifications? i think i should make some alternates probably lol. in the original, he was wearing biker shorts, not tights. 

the tunic-y top is mostly based on clothes worn by cultures that live near deserts; i didn’t find out which one, specifically, my ref images were from, which is .Regret dot jpeg but oh well. i shortened the hem significantly (from three-fourths down the calf to mid-thigh!) and added leggings for ease of flying (and some shiny details, albeit i think i should’ve added more...)

re: dorn; his was actually the most difficult one to make! theres not a lot to go off culturewise, re:inwit, so i was free to mostly make up whatever i wanted. i ended up going with a mixer blend of medieval european winterwear and common constants between nomadic cultures in winter climates (which, according to the wiki, was what inwit’s people were, once upon a time). i have actually some mspaint design notes -

re: ferrus; his outfit’s initial concept was hard to get a grasp on but once i settled on drawing from the more mechanical aspects of medusa it was easy peasy! i originally thought of taking the planet’s greek name and more... and i am quoting the lore on this one, “barbaric” civilization and doing something myceanean-inspired, and i WILL gift you all Boobs Out Ferrus Manus in Bright Fuck Myceanean Fabrics one day, but then (with help of a discord pal who loves ferrus) i decided to settle on a more mechanic-y situation. 

he’s got steel toed boots (name taken quite literally) to match his arms, his wrapped-overalls-with-undershirt-showing is my compromise between overalls and showing off his arms, and as decoration, a glove and possibly a cleaning cloth? hanging from his pocket. i originally colored the cleaning cloth both in a copypasted tartan pattern (it was late at night, okay?) and in a hand-drawn myceanean pattern, to keep the original inspo, but the tartan looks better so it’s the one getting posted to tumblr. it’s tartan because according to my sources (my pal who loves ferrus) the medusan clans are inspired by scottish clans :)

re: khan; his was one of the easiest, tbh, considering mongolian people are alive and well today and mongolia is a dang country. i dressed him up in a deel and some boots shaped like the traditional mongolian ones, and then referenced a pattern off official art of his (specifically this piece) to add some extra decoration to the deel. (one thing that i’d like to comment about khan, though, that amuses me: i spent like, an entire afternoon rereading the same info in 300 different websites, trying to figure out if there were any huge no-nos to deels. i found little but i still feel unsure... we need to start deelposting more, u guys)

re: magnus; egyptian people did... not... wear a lot of clothing. i had promised mutuals and pals that i would draw primarch boobs. i don’t really have an excuse for him to be completely shirtless other than this. but i tried to compensate for the simpleness of the clothes with egyptian-looking decorations! i think i leaned too hard into egypt though; i’m not fully happy with it. i’ll rework some of the stuff later to be more geometrical maybe? prosperan (well, tizcan) style strikes me as more of that. oh, and maybe try to end up with a more greco-roman style -- feels appropiate.

the "leopard” skin (it’s probably not a real leopard, but it’s probably a real skin) is because in ancient egypt, high-ranking people such as nobles would allegedly wear animal skins (such as leopards and tigers) to denote their station, and, well. magnus is canonically Kind of a Fancyboy. not as much as some of his brothers (cough fulgrim cough), but!. my favourite pieces of jewelry he’s wearing are the upper-arm snake-shaped bracelet, the two-necklace combo (so much teal...), and the cute little anklet.

[bastillewolf]

The Grand Tranquility Hotel (VII)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: An eccentric hotel owner and an inquisitive writer find solace in each other when they both seemed to be at the edge of rock bottom.

Notes: Two chapters in one day because I had a lot of inspiration. Make sure you didn’t miss chapter six!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

Chapter VII - Batphone

It was an early morning for her, and perhaps it was because of the renewed feeling of tranquility she’d gotten after speaking with mister Turner. She felt as if she’d taken big steps forwards with him, especially when it came to gaining his delicate trust, and though she didn’t want to admit it, she was looking forward to spending more time with him soon.

She’d thrown on a floral dress for no particular occasion, and her brown shoes tapped down the stairs in search of the way to the dining hall. However, when she heard the distinct sound of voices coming from the lobby, she took a detour.

She was greeted with the sight of the hotel owner himself, joined not only by his staff, but by Miles as well. A smaller suitcase stood next to him on the floor and he was wearing a dark trench coat with its collar lifted. His eyes, covered by his aviator shades, finally noticed her figure in the doorway and he motioned for her to come closer. Miles gave her a quick kiss on the cheek to greet her before Alex stepped her aside. “I’m afraid your novel research is going to be delayed for a bit,” he explained, “Miles and I have some unforeseen business to attend to. However, I’ll ask Matthew to keep you entertained with a few of his notorious tales about the hotel. I won’t be gone for longer than a day.”

“Oh, alright,” she replied stumblingly, “Why are you so suddenly keen on helping me write this novel? It appears as if you’re really going out of your way to provide me with all the details. Don’t bother Matthew with it though, I’m sure he’ll have enough to do as it is while you’re gone, mister Turner.” She saw a glint of something she couldn’t place flash across his eyes. “Who’s seeing ulterior motives behind everything now, writer?” he asked in amusement. She narrowed his eyes at him, to which he only gave a smirk.

“Matthew, I’m leaving you in charge,” Alex proclaimed, handing him the main set of keys. “Don’t set anything on fire, please.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Matt replied innocently. Alex snorted and Matt smiled, but as the hotel owner turned his back to him she noticed him tucked the keys in his pocket with a shaking hand. What was going on? His eyes were darting to the doors and as they walked to the car to wave the two men off, he kept his gaze searching across the yard.

As soon as they were inside, she turned to the man at hand. “Matthew, you’re acting strange and I can tell it’s not because of mister Turner’s absence. What’s happening?”

“It’s nothing, miss,” Matt replied, trying, but very much failing, at sounding casual. “I was just checking if the gardener had already finished his job.” She hummed, “Sure you have.” He raised his brow at her. “There’s no need for concern, miss, truly. And after all, you already have mister Turner to worry about. No need to add fuel to the fire.” Her mouth dropped open as a pink colour dusted her cheeks. He’d ran out the front entrance before she was able to smack him.

“Is there anything I can help you with today, Nick? I get awfully bored these days,” she mused. Nick gave her a meek smile. “Glad we’re such good entertainment for you, miss. Do you have any experience with accountancy?” “Loads,” she replied, “Used to do the taxes for my mother, too.” “Great. It’s the box in the back office, the newer files need to be taken care of and sorted, if you have the patience for it.” “Only for you, Nicholas.”

Taking her seat at the desk behind the television screens, she was reminded of the incessant static noise filling the room. She decided to try to refrain from ripping the plugs out of their sockets and focused on the heaping box in front of her. It was a disorganized mess, but having experienced the way her mother used to sort things, she knew she’d do fine.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it was only when reading the last file that needed to be sorted, did she notice something strange. It led her to reach for older transcriptions that she’d previously sorted, and the non-matching data only confused her more.

When Nick finally showed up again, looking like a dishevelled mess, he asked her if she could go and help Matt outside for a moment, instead.

“Uh, sure,” she replied half-heartedly, her eyes still glued to the papers, “By the way, I was just going through your accounts and I found a returning bank account you’ve been transferring money to for a while. It’s cashed under ‘taxes’, I think?” She said, handing him one of the invoices. “Oh, that’s just what we pay Miles as additional taxes to the rent,” Nick explained. “Yeah, I thought that was the case, but when I checked the credit numbers they didn’t match with the ones you’ve been sending the actual rent to. Just thought you might want to look into it, just in case.”

Nick furrowed his brow in worry. “Uh, I’ll take a look at it. You better go and help Matt and Jamie, though. I think they’re right outside.” “Sure.” As she stepped out, she heard Nick hurriedly dial a number on the office’s phone.

She eventually managed to find them at the stables, and only then did she realize what had caused Matt to look so stressed and Jamie so upset. “What the fuck happened?” she sputtered.

The door was open, and Mardy’s box was empty.

“I couldn’t tell Alex, miss,” Matt explained sadly, “You’ve gotten him in such a good mood since yesterday, I didn’t want to see him pissed again.” She raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry to elaborate. “I-I think I remember locking the door…” She groaned, “Matthew.” “Alex put me in charge not knowing I lost his fucking horse, I know.” He rubbed his hands over his face tiredly, “I’ve been up all morning and I’ve searched the entire terrain, but I couldn’t find her.”

“Give me your car keys.”

“What?”

“I said, give me your car keys. I’m going to look for her myself. Go call the cops and inform them of a missing horse.”

It took her a while to convince Matt to stay, though he insisted Jamie tagging along, to which she begrudgingly agreed. However, when Jamie was about to step into the driver’s seat, she told him she’d throw him out of the car while they were driving if he didn’t hand her the keys. Jamie didn’t question her again after that and silently let her be behind the wheel.

The black Cadillac wasn’t exactly meant to cross over the countryside, but she surely wasn’t going to start looking in the city for a horse. Stopping when she came across cyclers, playing children and farmers ploughing their fields, she asked each and every single one of them if they’d seen their stallion, but to no avail.

Her last hope turned out to be her saviour, because the old man at the train station told her of travellers who’d mentioned a beautiful brown beast close to the tracks.

It was where she found Mardy, stuck in a barbwire fence.

“It’s good to come back to find my hotel not having been burnt down,” Alex breathed, setting down his suitcase, “I presume everything was fine?”

“Uh, of course,” Nick grumbled, his eyes turning back to the nonsense he’d been scribbling down to appear busy.

“Alright. I think I’ll clock out for the night then-“ The ringing of the phone interrupted his sentence. Nick’s hand shot out across the desk, but it was already too late.

“The Grand Tranquility Hotel, this is Alex Turner speaking. How may I direct your call?”

…

“Is that so?”

…

“I’m not sure, I’ll ask him. Please hold.”

Alex glanced up at Nick with raised brows and said in an overly interested voice, “Officer James Ford wants to know if our horse has been found. What should I tell him, Nicholas?” But it was the look in his eyes that made the employee aware of how much trouble he was really in.

 She’d managed to scrub off all the grime Mardy had transferred onto her while cleaning her cuts. They weren’t deep, and it relieved her and Matt incredibly that they didn’t have to call the vet in the end. She had shifted back into her comfortable nightwear, and had only just opened up the page of the book she’d left off in when a knock came from her door.

“How was business?” she asked, being greeted with a familiar set of intense brown orbs. He didn’t answer her, instead opting to just invite himself into her room, to which she threw her arms up at. He took a moment to glance out of the window onto the dark yard, before he took a seat at the edge of her bed. He flipped through the pages of the worn book.

“I’ve been gone for a day,” he said, “And my staff has managed to lose my horse. And my guest took the task upon herself to go and find it.” He glanced up at her. She shrugged, taking a seat next to him and folding her legs underneath her. “I couldn’t just leave her out there, all by herself.”

His intense gaze didn’t wander away from her for a moment. “And not only did she save my horse, she made me aware of the fact that an anonymous party has been stealing money from me.”

Her brows raised in surprise. “So, it wasn’t going to Miles?” He shook his head. “Nick called me immediately after you went out to help Matthew and Jamie. When I confronted Miles about it, he said he’d never added any extra taxes to our rent. We’ve informed the authorities about it.” “I’m glad,” she replied, “You’ll have one less financial thing to worry about.”

He nodded, fumbling with something in his pocket, before revealing the item to her. It was some sort of business card, but it felt more personal than that. He placed it in her hand and wrapped his around hers.

“It’s come to my closer attention that I can trust you more than my own staff,” he murmured, “Which is why I want you to have this number. I’m asking you to hold it to yourself, as it’s the only number you can reach me directly through, at all times.”

She looked down at the text on the card. “The Batphone?” she laughed, “You’ve named your personal number ‘The Batphone?” He smirked. “If you ever need me, in whatever situation you find yourself to be in, you can dial this number, and I’ll be there.”

She blinked at him, feeling at a loss for words. “I- I don’t know what to say, mister Turner. Thank you.”

He hummed, the corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly, but his eyes holding something undoubtedly more serious. He shifted and leaned over to her, until his hand held her cheek and his warm lips were pressed softly against the other. Her breath hitched in her throat as he moved back. “I’m the only one who has to say thank you. I owe you my deepest gratitude, miss.”

The tingling sensation on her face didn’t stop for long after he’d left.

[ephemeral-afterlight]

Mourning at Midnight

(UwU so Hey. i’m back with some more trash)

Word Count: 7480

Summary: It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

Warnings (could potentially be small spoilers, nothing too big, but if you don’t have any triggers I’d suggest you skip reading this!):

There are no u!sides in this, nor does anyone have malicious intent, but the other main three (Virgil, Patton, Roman) and Thomas, to a lesser extent, treat Logan unkindly (not on purpose) and don’t realize their errors. This will be resolved! Just… not yet OwO

Being ignored/talked over

Mental/emotional breakdown

An unidentified illness with symptoms including: [extreme persistent nausea (lots of mentions), vomiting (once), bile, weakness/weariness, shaking, lightheadedness, double vision (once), headache, body aches/pains, breathing difficulties]

General negativity including: [self-doubt, self-deprecation/depreciation, feeling worthless or unloveable, self-hatred]

Anger management/temperament issues

Unintentional self-harm (not anything like c-tting, Logan gets a bruise as a result of an angry outburst)

Separate small, vague allusion to self-harm, but it’s not outright and not detailed in the slightest. Could be read as not even talking about self-harm

Potentially triggering descriptive imagery (metaphors and similes to describe how a character feels or percieves a situation, not anything that actually happens) including but not limited to: [glass, sharp things, blood, injection, live wires, loud noises, screaming, general mentions of pain, masochism, sound torture, knives/blades, wounds, drowning/suffocating, pressure]

Temporarily unresolved tension between Logan/Deceit/Remus and the other sides/Thomas (there will be a happy ending in the next fic, though, don’t worry!)

A few vulgar threats of violence (somewhat explicit, be careful) to the other sides from Remus (out of protectiveness; Remus means well but he does Not express it in a healthy way) that is not carried out or even humoured

Remus’ morning star and descriptions of its destructive capabilites

Loceit as a romantic pairing (for now…. UwU)

Sympathetic “dark” sides

That should be it for warnings! Let me know if I need to add anything!

A/N: So! This is finally done :D !! I’ve been working on it on and off for the past week or so, and although I know it could be way better, I think this is where I’ll keep it! This is technically a sequel to my other fic Tea at Twilight and it takes place in the same universe, and although you don’t need to read that before this to understand the story, I strongly suggest reading that first to get more of a feel for the dynamic! 

This is inspired by @illogicallyinclined and her absolutely amazing Disaster Trio™ headcanons/au, and was prompted by this post so I just started writing! I meant for it to be a bit shorter, but of course my brain would Not let it go, even despite my ADHD, executive dysfunction, and massive amounts of writer’s block. 

This is also unfinished! It is the second of three main works, all happening chronologically in the same universe. The first one is Tea at Twilight as stated previously, then this one, and there will be a third and final installment added to finish off this short little trilogy! I’ll be adding this to the series on AO3, so when the final fic is up, it’ll all be together for an easy reading experience. It is also possible that there will be other small fics in this universe (UA, as has been recently coined) that operate outside of the timeline of the main story, so be sure to watch out for that! 

Thanks to Jay once again for creating these lovely headcanons that haunt my dreams every night, and for inspiring me to get back into my writing groove despite a writer’s block that’s lasted for over three years! Hope this isn’t too terrible, Jay! ilyy <333</p>

Also, a huge thank you to @illogical-anxieties for being such a good cheerleader/enabler! You really do help to keep me motivated and on track (and keep my ADHD in check), which is probably why this was even able to become a full-fledged story rather than a WIP to be buried where unfinished fics go to die T~T Love you tons <3</p>

(If I’m being honest with myself, this is just an excuse for me to live up to my IRL title of “Living Thesaurus”, coined by a friend many years ago and has since spread around to other friends and family. My title is thriving, and I suppose that means I should actually have proof of it, so there’s that.)

(Cross-posted to AO3)

(Read Part 1 here)

He can feel it building.

There’s far too much left to be desired when it comes to frustration. The natural helplessness that makes way for anger when you try so hard to do something or be something for someone and you’re pushed down by anything and everything between ignorance and antipathy. The fear that nothing you can do or say will ever be good enough. The buzzing, ticking, pinpricks upon pinpricks of heat injected into you until your blood and heart have been replaced with glass, fragile as a crumbling stone wall. It’s not as if he hasn’t had his outbursts before, spurred on by the familiar sharp pulse of rage that courses through him in a split-second whirlwind. It builds inside him, and he can feel the pressure in his limbs expand until it feels like his muscles are being squeezed out of existence and then he snaps like a rubber band that’s been pulled too taut. He’s not in denial of the fact that his impulsive, blinding reaction when met with frustration is not okay, and only detrimental to the demeanour he’s trying to retain. He knows it’s childish. He knows it’s immature, and pathetic, and wholly invigorating, at least until the adrenaline has worn off and he’s in the aftermath of his knee-jerk reaction to the tension coiled in his arms and legs and head.

It doesn’t mean that Logan is particularly in control of it though, despite his self-awareness being far above the level that most people with anger management issues are at. Maybe there’s a certain quality to it that allows for growth; it’s not as if Logan stays angry, or that he wants to hurt people. He loves the others, painfully so (as much as he loathes to admit it), to the point where he’s so desperate for their approval that he tampers down his passion, that spark that used to drive him to learn and speak and be happy just to avoid being cast out and abandoned, alone in the way he never wants to be. He wants to find a way to temper the fall into those dark, consuming waters, a way to mute the buzzing and ticking. He wants to seal those exposed live wires and release the tension to the point where he never lashes out ever again. He wants to, and he doesn’t know how to, and that fact infuriates him in an ironic, endless cycle of self-imposed and self-directed enmity.

Logan still thinks on this often, even now, wracking his brain for solutions to problems that realistically won’t be solved as easily as he wishes they would. Excerpts and quotes and data and statistics from many different studies about anger and temper management and irritability and everything in between seem to figuratively run amok through his brain, a screaming crowd of witnesses to the chaos and failure found in his ability to filter through the nonsense and come to a satisfying conclusion, any conclusion at all. He notices how his fingers tremble as they slip into the handle of his coffee mug, endures the dull ache in his mid-to-lower back from falling asleep at his desk for the majority of the day under the guise of work so important he holed himself up in his room to complete it. He ignores the way his head pounds, how he feels so dizzy that he might fall over and pass out any second from lightheadedness. He suffers through the loud conversations between the other three that are typical to the dinner routine that Logan cannot deal with today, not with this headache poking at him like figurative needles in his head.

When he senses the summons from Thomas stirring up the familiar but nonetheless odd ticklish sensation on the back of his neck, Logan can feel the tension knot up his muscles, and the combination of the two just makes him want to growl in irritation. The others, having also felt the summoning, seem to get impossibly louder, ringing and stinging and singing in his head. He still persists, despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t be out doing anything today that’s likely to exacerbate his sickness, because Thomas is important, more so than Logan himself. No matter how much he wants to hole himself up in his room and sleep the day away, his host needs him, so Logan simply forces his mask of indifference to melt into steel. He refuses to budge, not for the first or last time, and he rises up in the real world standing straight and rigid and as put together as he’s always expected to be.

When he’s finally settled into his usual spot, as still as he can possibly be to not exacerbate the roiling nausea disquieting his stomach, he’s able to take in the other four arranged in their usual positions in Thomas’ living room, already having begun a conversation that Logan has missed the premise of entirely through his all-eclipsing, obfuscating malady. His vision doubles, like broken fractals of glass reflecting onto themselves, and then it pulls back together, merging back into something visible, something manageable.

“Well, I’m sure Danny likes you, too! You just gotta ask him, kiddo!” Patton exclaims, high voice pushing through the heavy, suffocating cotton in Logan’s ears, and the words snap the bespectacled side to attention. He needs context, needs to know what they’re talking about, needs to be able to help for once. Maybe he has to endure the bad to be able to put out the good, and this is where the climax is, the top of the rollercoaster at such a high altitude that oxygen is thin and dispersed before he shoots down the tracks in a rush of fresh air, relieving and calm and sanguine as he’s finally able to ground himself. A shiver runs through Logan’s body, between his shoulder blades and down his hip and through his leg, and his eyes flutter under the weight of consciousness. It recedes, the flow is ebbed, and his head clears to a more sustainable level.

“Oh, that’s so boring, Padre! Thomas should hire a band to play! And we can rig up streamers and confetti and there can be a cake and dancing and a party to celebrate!” Roman crows, throwing his arms and hands up into his signature pose to match his full, booming tone. Patton squeals, clutching his cardigan in his hands to pull excitedly at the sleeves as he bounces giddily on his feet. At the suggestion, as the polar opposite to Patton’s reaction, Virgil grimaces, hunching over even further in his jacket as he protests with every way he can think of that the situation could go wrong. Unsurprisingly, Roman takes personal offense to it and refutes Virgil’s points with the same intensity and fervour that’s been present in himself and his interactions with the anxious side since day one. Logan sort of understands, can infer that they’re discussing how to ask out Danny, a new friend of Thomas’ who has very quickly turned into a crush. In that case…

“If I may interrupt? While I don’t share all of Virgil’s worries, I do agree with his position in regards to the fact that there isn’t a need for such extravagance. It might embarrass Danny, for one, and for two, there are many ways such an excessive venture could backfire, such as technical difficulties or general human error. The idea is, while exciting, frankly outrageous,” Logan says, his role as the voice of reason renewed once more. It’s his job to sift through the conversations they have and get to the important parts, and he likes his job. He’s good at micromanaging, mediating the chaos, good at storing information to sort and consider and veto and bolster. It’s how he operates, how he copes. “We can think of something else to–”

“Oh, shut it, Pocket Protector. We all know you don’t care about romance, but this is important! Thomas wishes to find love with the second most handsome prince in the world! After me, of course,” Roman exclaims, in that boisterous, self-aggrandizing way of his, the way that hides his real insecurities he buries so deeply in himself he doesn’t know how to find them again. Oddly enough, it’s not Roman’s defense mechanism that throws Logan off, it’s the way that Logan stopped talking almost reflexively to allow the other side to finish his statement, as if the prince’s words were more important than his own, and it speaks as testament to how much Logan’s been conditioned (or maybe he’s conditioned himself all on his own) into putting everyone else before himself, even when it hurts him or Thomas. Logan is ignored in the face of his implicit trust, and he hates that even as it pours salt in the open wound, he finds himself taking a depraved, spiteful comfort in the familiarity of it all.

“That’s not what I–”

“Awe, c'mon, Logan! Thomas deserves to have a happy relationship and someone he can live out the rest of his life with! Doesn’t that sound nice, to grow old together with someone you love? Isn’t that romantic? Oh, it just makes me so warm and fuzzy thinking about it!” Patton interrupts, hands clutching each other over his heart as he swoons. Logan knows Patton doesn’t mean to be rude, but he still can’t help but be a little hurt by it, especially since he’s now been ignored twice consecutively. He’s just trying to help, and if that means reigning in Roman’s exorbitant ideas that border on egregious at times, then Logan knows it must be done. Although he encourages Thomas to seek a relationship to improve his mental health and provide more financial stability, there is a limit to how much he can disregard himself and others in doing so, and that doesn’t mean that Logan is the bad guy for pointing that out. He knows that. He knows that, so why does the dismissal still feel so sharp in his chest?

“Yeah, romance is cool and all, but what if it doesn’t work? What if Danny actually hates us? What if we ask and he laughs at us or says no and then we’ll be standing there like an idiot and then he’ll never wanna talk to us again because he thinks we’re pathetic and stupid and–”

“Hey, now, don’t be such a Debby Downer, kiddo! I’m sure it’ll go just fine! We’ll just ask him. The worst thing that can happen is he’ll say no, right? Shouldn’t we give it a shot?” Patton consoles before Virgil can go into a spiral. Although his well-meaning reassurances are meant to be comforting, his voice just grates on Logan’s ears, tinny and hollow and misdirected.

“That’s what I’m afraid of!”

Logan wants to keep listening, he really does, but the noise is rising to levels where it’s too much to handle. He’s already sensitive from his illness, but the discussion that is very quickly turning into an argument falls in pulses through his head, sound torture to the broken, hopeless masochist. He’s barely holding onto himself at this point, consciousness like a dangling thread that swirls and dances and twirls with even the tiniest breeze, a hint of movement sending it shivering and quivering as it spins. It wouldn’t take much for the thread to fray from the weight pulling it down, or to saw through it in a clean slice that leaves it floating feather-light upon air currents, petals spiraling to the ground.

Petals. Flowers. Thomas could bring Danny flowers! It’s perfect! Danny is especially predisposed to gardening, and he frequently talks about different flowers and what they mean based on the type and colour. His interest in botany could make this a sweet gift, to show that Thomas pays attention to what Danny enjoys, and can be the perfect segue into asking him on a romantic outing. Yes, this could work! It would appease Roman’s inclination to classic romanticism while still being practical and not unreasonably expensive, give Patton his ideal relationship fantasy (and a “warm and fuzzy feeling”, apparently), and allow Virgil a little more breathing room, so-to-speak. This is something they all should be agreeable towards, and that confidence is enough to supply Logan with enough energy to push past his lightheadedness and offer a solution. He’s proud of himself for taking the others’ feelings into account, something he knows he’s not always been the most proficient at, and for coming up with a compromise that will likely satisfy everyone’s wants and needs.

“What about bringing him flowers?” Logan asks, pleased and antsy as he feels hope well up in his chest. He doesn’t push it down this time, and he thinks maybe, just maybe they’ll finally listen to him, that they’ll tell him that he did well, that he’s being considerate and maybe even say thank you–

“How would you even know, Roman? It’s not like we just go out and hire mariachi bands every Saturday!” Virgil says with furrowed brows, and Roman huffs in indignation, and Patton sighs as he looks between the two of them, and Logan’s words fall on deaf ears. They didn’t even hear. They didn’t listen. They didn’t care they didn’t care–

“Uh, hey, Virgil, what if–” Logan tries once more to speak, nausea rolling angrily in his gut, head spinning dizzy round and round and round and round and Virgil flinches.

He flinches. Because of Logan.

Virgil hasn’t been afraid of any of them for a long time. Sure, in the beginning, when they fought one another on nearly a day-to-day basis, there would be a moment before he could pull on his figurative mask that a flash of fear would go through Virgil’s eyes, and the sadness kept within wouldn’t subside even when he growled and snapped and blustered whichever side had the misfortune of picking a fight with him during a time where his first instinct was to keep away the pain and longing and loneliness the only way he knew how. Over time, that flash of fear dulled, morphed into something more manageable, more trusting. The sadness never really went away, but it was met with warmth, a soft contentedness that danced in his eyes when he realized he had a family to turn to. He hasn’t been afraid for a long time. And yet, he flinches away from Logan, just from him speaking.

Is he really that bad?

Does even simply the sound of his voice have such a negative association for Virgil that it prompts genuine fear and discomfort? Has he really scared Virgil that much? What did he do? How can he fix this?

Maybe he shouldn’t.

Logan’s felt disconnected from the others for quite a while now. He loves them, of course he does, but he doesn’t feel like he fits. He’s the metaphorical jagged puzzle piece, the one that should snap into the final vacant space but is so broken beyond repair that it doesn’t fit quite right. He wants to belong, to feel at home whenever he’s with them, but he doesn’t. He yearns for the acceptance that Virgil earned, the support that Roman is held up by, the respect and adoration Patton seems to acquire so casually and naturally that it’s like he doesn’t even have to try. Logan wants to be like them. He wants to be loved, but… that isn’t really his place, is it?

Love is not an inherent thing. It’s something that’s earned, by doing good things and being important enough to someone that they give it freely. It’s something Logan doesn’t understand, but despite that, still desperately, painfully yearns for. He wants to be loved, the way he loves the others. He wants to be a part of their famILY, to have that implicit trust in each other that only comes from acute, profound, deep-seated love. He wants that fondness directed towards himself, that devotion borne from hapless, radiating appreciation. The humbled esteem, the maudlin, theatrical longing, the passion and yearning and helpless, acquiescent love that bursts from the seams in a manner that will never diminish or fade. He wants that. Badly. And he’s finally ready to accept that he will never have it. He’s okay. He’s okay. He just needs a moment. He just needs to breathe.

The others must have continued with their arguments long ago, seemingly unaware of anything outside of themselves. Logan supposes he shouldn’t really berate them for that since he often falls victim to getting lost in debate as well, but something is wrong with Thomas, going by his expression and demeanour and the logical side can’t ignore it anymore. It’s highly unlikely that the other three will come away from themselves for long enough to notice, and it doesn’t sound like they’re anywhere close to coming to a conclusion amongst themselves, so Logan is perfectly fine with bearing that responsibility upon himself to check up on his host and make sure he’s okay. He’s the most important one here, after all, and it’s Logan’s job to help him, guide him in his life and decisions.

“Thomas? Is there something wrong?” Although the words come out clear and precise as usual, Logan’s throat burns, and he can barely breathe. He wants to sleep, he wants to sleep, but Thomas needs him, and that doesn’t happen often nowadays, so Logan does nothing but wait impassively. His host bites the inside of his cheek, then sighs as he stares off at the wall, lost in thought. Since he says nothing, the logical side assumes he will continue to say nothing for a few more moments, and decides to give him a once-over to gather more information and any possible context. Thomas’ eyebrows are furrowed, and his posture far from adequate. His expression is troubled, and his arms are crossed loosely, a pointer finger scratching at his elbow unconsciously. There is no obvious cause for his confusion and/or upset in himself or anywhere in the room, apart from the current dilemma, but he was fine before, so something must have changed to distress him now. Logan cannot ascertain what Thomas needs simply from observing him, so he concludes that the best thing for him to do is wait.

So he does. And he does so for a minute, two, five. Every second that ticks by feels like a needle is being shoved into his eyes, his brain, his legs, his everything and it takes more effort to stand than he’s used to. Breathing is difficult, but that isn’t exactly a new development, so at least he knows how to ignore it. Eventually, ten minutes pass with only the sound of the other three arguing in the background, and it doesn’t seem like Thomas is really all there. Although the action makes him want to throw up, Logan shifts forward, moving out of his usual spot and into Thomas’ own. He still doesn’t acknowledge any kind of input outside himself, so Logan lays a hand on his host’s arm gently, which snaps him out of his trance in a slow, unhurried kind of way. Thomas gives him a glance when his logical side sighs, tampering down any audible signs of his nausea in a manner that is unbeknownst to the host, but returns to staring at the wall without a second regard.

“Thomas?” Logan murmurs, bile rising in his throat and shoving his hidden suffering even closer to the forefront of his mind, as though it hasn’t been there all along. It’s hard to think, through all of the white noise and weary irritation and the tiniest sliver of hope that he crushes immediately, but thinking is his job, and he needs to help. “Are you alright? You can talk to me.”

And then Thomas is shrugging him off, turning away as he tells him he should “just stop” with piercing words, that he “can’t do anything to help”, and the rejection feels like a metaphorical knife has been shoved into his gut. Logan can feel the pain and the heartbreak and the insecurity materialize into a cold blade, twisting and twisting just to make him hurt more. Logan is ignored for the fourth time today, by the person it hurts to come from the most, and he can feel the sun whipping and screaming in his chest. His breath is stuck, sucked down into his throat, a sharp pain localizing in his neck, and he can’t help but bring his hand up to rub at the spot with trembling fingertips as he unsteadily lurches back to his regular spot. The others don’t notice, of course, or if they did, they don’t care. Then the nausea he’s been fighting against surges like a violent wave at full force, drowning him and the hurt is forcing its way into his mouth, his throat, his lungs, and he can’t breathe–

His fist flashes down from his neck to the banister, punching the railing so hard it echoes in the reverberation created from his vicious, angry snarl.

It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

There’s a very short window of time where the logical side rushes into the en-suite bathroom after rising up in his bedroom, trembling legs aching with exhaustion. Barely a second passes between him falling to the floor and emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the toilet, the bile burning in his tender throat as a reminder of his failure. The floor is cold and hard beneath him, ridges of tiles pressing unrelenting into his knees through his wrinkled jeans. His head spins, unbalanced as it whirls through itself, words and thoughts and ideas that mean nothing and everything simultaneously existing hollowly in a falling echo. There is pain, and aching, and soreness, and exhaustion, and Logan wants to sleep.

It’s hard to rise to his feet, head throbbing and knees shaking as he wipes the spit from his mouth on a folded square of toilet paper. The pain nags at him, persistent and irritating in its attempts to shut Logan out, almost clear in a way that belies the foggy haze blanketing his nearly incoherent thought process. Marking a clear vantage, a faultline to anchor onto is no easy task, and all Logan wants as he stumbles over to his bed is a landmark to pinpoint and find his way back to. He careens toward the mattress once he’s close enough, finally letting his legs give out underneath him when he’s as near as he can bear. It’s so difficult to stay upright in stiff misery, pangs and twinges of sharp pain coursing through his limbs and his back as his muscles are forced together under pressure.

In another familiar, frustrating bout of anger that seizes his breath before it can escape his lungs, Logan shoves his fingers in the knot of his tie, yanking it forcefully even as the motion jerks his own head forward uncomfortably along with it. His fingers run down the length of the fabric, and it falls apart at the end of its cycle, much like Logan has, and he snaps his arm back to chuck the dark blue, silky length to the ground in a motion that does little to relieve the rage built up inside him.

He can feel it building. The buzzing, the pressure, the glass in his veins running on shards. He feels the pinpricks upon pinpricks, the fire burning in his lungs, and the stone crumbles, and tumbles down, and he’s like a rubber band pulled taut.

He cracks, shrill pressure in his knuckles and head and torso, and nothing happens.

Then Logan hears the telltale squeak of his door swiveling on mildly rusty hinges, and a familiar voice echoes right through his bubble, shatters the stone wall like a bulldozer running at full speed, and then the wetness spills over his lashes and over his stony, impassive face.

“Oh, Lo,” Deceit murmurs, sad and tender as the breath rushes out of him and Logan can’t do this. He wants to throw out his fist in a wide arc and pummel the wall next to him until his knuckles are raw and bloodied and bruised beyond repair. He wants to scream until his throat is torn and his voice is gone, lost in the uncaring, empty void that coldly swallowed up his passion. Happiness has never seemed further away, and he knows he deserves it. But then he remembers all of the times where the pressure in his limbs and the buzzing in his brain forced him to lash out, to hurt others, and he thinks that maybe it’s okay for him to hurt right now to even the score. With the last of the metaphorical wall around him in tiny pieces, fragments of a life he never wanted to live but he desperately fought to keep, he lets his guard down for the first time in years.

Logan’s face crumples under the weight he’s burdened his being with, body immediately drooping under the heaviness that he’s forced himself to fight through. He finally submits, and the tears come in an endless stream over his cheekbones, itchy and hot and terribly, mindlessly relieving. It feels so good to finally let the negative emotion he’s pent up inside him out, to fall out of his cage he’s lived in high above a swirling ocean of release and fear and freedom. And he’s so, so lucky because he has someone to save him from the fall.

Deceit’s kneeled down in front of him, wiping away the tears as they fall with uncharacteristically degloved thumbs, and Logan can feel the smoothness of the scales twisting and trailing down his fingers. Every so often, Deceit’s pointed thumbnails catch lightly on the skin of Logan’s cheek, and it just causes him to cry harder. The vulnerability in the room is palpable, a wispy breath of worry and insecurity and trust trailing over their skin, blanketing the room in a warmth that runs even warmer when Logan reaches up to gently lay his hand over Deceit’s own. He shows his appreciation through tactility when the words he so desperately wishes to say are lost in his throat, blocked by the barrier that separates his newfound submission and the part of him that’s still clinging to the feeble grasp at acceptance he craves so dearly.

Logan can barely tell what’s in front of him through the kaleidoscope in his vision, but he doesn’t really need to see to throw himself forward off the bed and bury himself in Deceit’s chest, of whom lets out a surprised noise but doesn’t hesitate a single second in wrapping his arms tightly around the other side. He strokes Logan’s back comfortingly and offers him whispered reassurances through the heart-wrenching sobs and broken, croaky whines that disappear into his cloak, hand coming up to cradle his head in the overwhelming reflexive instinct to keep the logical side safe and happy. It feels like a dagger has gone through Deceit’s chest at the knowledge that Logan has been suffering for so long and hasn’t been able to let it out or just simply be held, the self-preservation that is at the core of his function as a side going off like alarm bells with every sniffle. Logan curls into the first person who’s ever offered him physical affection and emotional safety, and his fists clench the fabric at the snake-like side’s shoulders as tightly as he would if he were to never, ever let go.

Logan is out of breath even as his heart begins to calm, beating and beating in his ribcage and in his lungs. The lump in his throat prevents him from speaking, but he figures it’s okay to not be heard audibly, just this once, and speak with his actions. Although he doesn’t know what he’s saying when he pulls back and wraps his arms around Deceit’s neck, laying his face in the crook of other side’s neck like a small child would, not really, he hopes that his intent still comes across in some sort of intelligible, hopeful way. Deceit seems to take this as a request, a promise, and slides his grip to a point where he can hoist the smaller side up in his hold, carrying him just like a parent carrying their kid to their bed after they fell asleep during a visit to a friend’s house. This situation is much more loaded, stained with impurities and unsure withering, but it’s just as raw, just as real, and Logan finds himself feeling safer than he ever has before.

At some point, they end up on the bed, Logan having been manhandled into a more comfortable position for both of them, which is laying across Deceit’s lap without ever having let go of his neck. The logical side feels small and vulnerable, something that he would normally hate, squash down, bury so deep within himself that he doesn’t even have to acknowledge it. But honestly, right here, right now, he’s so goddamn exhausted, and forcing himself back into the state of repression he’s been in for so much of his life would take too much of a toll, more than he already has on himself. The wetness rolls down his cheeks, bold, blue precipitation falling in droplets onto his skin and the fabric of Deceit’s cape, sinking and spreading and thinning out into airy nothingness. And the nothingness enraptures him, pulls him in even as he breaks and whimpers and spills wisps of forgotten feelings into empty space, at least until his bedroom door opens once more with a loud click, because nothing Remus ever does is truly quiet.

“Hey, are you guys having a sexy party without me? How c–… are you… crying?” Remus asks, suggestive tone split and watered down into something confused, and surprised, and angry. The younger twin kicks the door shut behind him with his foot, more out of muscle memory than conscious forethought, something that stands with nearly every action Remus executes. Logan turns his head wearily, not lifting it from where it rests on Deceit’s collarbone. The latter of the two takes that chance to clear away some of the tears that didn’t get absorbed into his clothing, hoping that since the stream is slowly dispersing, his cheeks will stay dry this time. Remus slowly approaches, body tense and eyes piercing as Logan’s face is wiped off for the nth time, offering no other sounds or words as he crouches down to examine how the bespectacled side’s skin is rubbed red and sensitive.

Logan just whines softly, stare falling to the bedsheets, observing nothing in particular as he tries to figure out why words are failing him. Something that’s such an intricate part of himself, the communication of thoughts and ideas and knowledge that defines so much of who he is and how he exists, it’s dwindled and diminished into nothing. Deceit seems to understand, he always does, and reads him so perfectly it’s a wonder the two didn’t become closer in the beginning, with how much they truly are alike. A scaled hand makes it’s way up to Logan’s head and cards through the soft, disheveled hair there, scratching lightly at his scalp in a motion that seems to draw the aching tension caused by his distress out of his body, leaving his muscles to relax and melt into the chest that holds him upright.

“Something happened before I came in here. I assume it has to do with the others,” Deceit murmurs into thick, heavy air, stale with shame and tired hopelessness. Remus’ eyes flick to Logan’s own, actively searching for some sort of confirmation or denial. There’s a beat of silence, and Logan’s eyes flutter in a fatigued attempt to stay awake, and the nausea creeps its way into his stomach once again like a predator stalking its prey. Deceit repositions himself quietly, pulling the smaller side impossibly closer, as if he knows that he’ll need the added comfort. With his body squished into a protective embrace, and his tie laying flat on the floor below, forgotten and scorned for what it represents, Logan swallows hard around the sharp block in his neck and nods through his nonverbal affliction.

At the minimal admission, something in Remus’ eyes darkens, bathing the bright craze that typically resides there in something hateful, and vicious, and dripping with chemical absolution. He shifts away, rolls onto his haunches in a way that doesn’t read as entirely intentional, as though he’s been physically forced back with the weight of the confession. There’s so much there, in the way his breath comes out shallow and gravelly and low like a beast biting and snapping at the bars that contain it, fighting against the cage it’s locked inside. Nostrils flare, and jaw sets, and fists clench white as bone, and Remus straightens up to his full height, intimidating and looming and dangerous.

“Who?” he spits, venom coursing through the single word in molten streams. It’s a protective fire, serious in a way Remus rarely is, and the storm in his eyes and aura only becomes more turbulent and intense and solid as he reaches behind himself to slowly seize his morning star from where he keeps it at the ready. Pulling it to the front of him is an unexpectedly slow event, yet still ferocious in its quiet, cold fervour. The silver weapon swings in a steady arc around the side of Remus’ body, catching the dim light in a threatening glint, the gleam alluding to its deadliness in a way that’s almost unexplainable. The spiked mace finally comes to its resting point, hovering in the air just beside the fierce side’s leg, unassuming and ready to drive its way into an unlucky antagonist’s skull.

“I’ll cut their fucking throats. I’ll rip off every single limb from their bodies until they’re nothing but a pile of flesh and blood. They’re gonna pay for this,” Remus snarls, each threat bathed in acrimony and malice and choked by fury ripping through the tempest. Logan stares through misty eyes, half-lidded and concerned but too out of it to muster much of a coherent thought. Thankfully, Deceit is still there, soft and warm and well-equipped to deal with Remus and his behaviour. The snake-like side sighs, reaching out to just barely snatch up a frilly black sleeve, tugging him closer and meeting surprisingly little resistance despite the rigidity of the tallest side’s posture. Each breath from Remus comes out like a bullet, brisk and arduous and punctuated by a pang of impermeable guilt.

Even as Deceit motions Remus to lower himself onto the bed in front of them, the latter of the two is still apprehensive, terse movements and restless eyes that flit between anything and everything they can to avoid stagnation. It’s almost fearful, in a way, primal in its aptitude to think, and cultivate, and vindicate a wrongdoing that was never his fault or responsibility in the first place. Logan hates that they need to save him, hates that he doesn’t truly believe they actually care. There’s a level of certainty with himself and with others that the logical side hasn’t reached yet, and it feels too close and yet too far, kept obscure and secluded and almost clandestine in the way it’s ostensibly unreachable.

With the help of Deceit’s hand to guide his way, Remus slowly lets go of his morning star, tossing it to the side with a pensive, trembling swallow. It clatters to the ground, metallic clang resounding in vibrations, tilde-shaped waves that bounce off the façade and yell out to one another. Muted shrieks upon perfect, flat, neutral paint, sepulchral oscillations attacking the drywall.

“You can’t hurt them. I know you’re angry. I am too. But hurting them won’t solve anything, Rem, you know that more than anyone,” Deceit says meaningfully, smiling in a way that’s sad and distant but caring and compelling and relaxing for the tension wrapped so tightly around the three of them. The snake-like side lifts the hand that’s not in Logan’s hair and reaches out to grab Remus’ own, firmly but gently as he squeezes his fingers in a way that reassures, and consoles, and reprimands, not unkindly. He admonishes, and breaks that anger and frustration, and builds up positivity and alleviation and reprieve from everything that allows that buzzing, ticking, those pinpricks upon pinpricks. His care and concern washes over you, paternal in a different way than Patton operates, and it’s why Deceit is so comforting to be around. He manages a respite from vexation, a refuge in sanctuary, discreet freedom for the flawed, defeated dreamer.

“I’m mad. I’m mad that they hurt you, Lo-Lo. I want them to feel the pain you’re feeling,” Remus mutters, frigid and defeated, head bowed and gaze distant in that transparent manner of his that easily broadcasts all of his thoughts and feelings and wishes. Logan feels the pride welling up in his chest without even realizing it, quietly delighted at the progress Remus has made in being clear and forthcoming with his emotions and impulsivity. A weary grin makes its way onto his face, predictably aggravating the soreness in his cheeks, yet he finds himself indifferent to it, unperturbed by the plight that’s ravaged his body for the day, and probably longer without his notice. He wants to reassure the younger twin, to smile and laugh and brush all of it off, but his eyelids droop, and a pathetic mewl is the only thing able to escape his lungs. Of course, since there’s something Logan wants to say, Deceit somehow knows how to communicate it, just as prompt and courteous and perceptive as always.

“We can talk about this later after Logan has slept. Don’t worry too much, Rem, and don’t do anything stupid. If you get angry again, please go to your paints instead of your legs,” Deceit instructs, more of a suggestion than a demand, but he hopes Remus will listen and be mindful anyway. The latter of the two bounces his leg anxiously, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath as he stands up in one swift, fluid motion. As Remus makes his way over to exit the room, Logan nudges Deceit’s hand with his head gently, trying to bring his attention back to the massaging motion that ceased sometime during the conversation. The snake-like side’s eyes flick downward to meet the smaller side’s own half-lidded, teetering gaze, and he huffs a laugh after a moment of searching. Logan doesn’t know what he finds, but he realizes that he doesn’t really care that much about worrying over every little interaction anymore.

Remus finally turns and glances back as he swings the door open, brows still furrowed and shoulders still hunched, but simply shakes his head and leaves. The door closes much softer than before, thankfully, so as not to be too harsh on Logan’s migraine, an unusually conscientious thought from someone that rarely shows consideration to the needs of others that the logical side appreciates that much more. As the sound of Remus’ footsteps slowly fade with his retreat down the hallway, the two of them left are bathed in silence, one that is marginally less heavy and thick than before.

A small while passes afterward, only punctuated by soft breathing and light scratching noises from nails trailing through messy hair. Logan feels like he might pass out any minute, what with the comfortable, quiet understanding the two have come to rest at, but some part of him says to wait, to push through the mind-numbing exhaustion for just a little while longer. That part of him is probably just being considerate toward Deceit, who Logan can’t imagine would be very comfortable with another side falling asleep on him and laying on him for an extended period of time, but he figures that it’s a good of a reason as any. It’s not about him feeling like a burden. It’s not.

Eventually, Deceit must start to get tired as well, or maybe he’s sore from Logan’s weight on his legs, so he sits forward, apologizing quietly for disturbing the peace, and he moves them into a more comfortable position. The new arrangement is far more snug and cozy than the previous one, Logan thinks drowsily, as his head hits the pillow across from Deceit. They lay there on top of the blankets but make no move to pull them up, just content to stare lazily at one another in the dim, ambient light cast by the desk lamp in the opposite corner of the room.

“Why?” Logan finally asks, and although he loathes disrupting the silence, he needs to ask. The words are scratchy in his tender throat, a charcoal whisper on a steel canvas that scratches and sketches away with nothing viable left to keep through the wind that blows the dark dust off the surface. “Why are you helping me? Why do you care?”

Deceit just hums, sending Logan a weak, distracted smile. He mulls over the words, tossing about the meaning and possibilities in his head and on his silver tongue, rushing in an uncertain river through valleys of golden sand.

“I am self-preservation at its core. I exist to keep Thomas safe and healthy and thriving, and that also means you and the other sides by extension. But… it’s not just that. Even though I feel physical pain whenever one of you or Thomas is hurt, I specifically want to help you because… I care about you, Logan. I love you, and want to see you healthy and happy. I haven’t really been doing a good job of that lately,” Deceit mutters, gaze somewhere on their shared pillow, and there’s a quality to his tone that’s bitter beyond the line of frustration. Although Deceit doesn’t expand on it, doesn’t offer up a single clarification despite the heavy air and his resigned demeanour, Logan gets it. He understands, and he wants to prove him wrong.

So he does.

And that comes in the form of surging forward, fighting against the current, the pinpricks in his stomach and shoulders and abdomen, disregarding the exhaustion for just a little while longer so that he can let Deceit’s lips meet his own. Logan’s so close he can feel the shocked rush of air leave Deceit’s nose, feel the vibrations through the air as his body trembles in fear and anticipation and relief. The other side eases in, sinks closer, closer, and finally moves his lips in a careful, emotional dance that leaves Logan dizzy and breathless, for entirely different reasons that have plagued him for the past day.

“Lo,” Deceit breathes, low, wanting, and he pulls back to give Logan a chance to catch up. A scaled hand comes up to caress the logical side’s cheek, a soothing, cool balm for the raw skin beginning to heal there. “I didn’t… I didn’t think…”

“I love you,” Logan breathes, the words he’s refused to say, to acknowledge, to confront welling up through his throat and for the first time, he lets them spill out. The dam has broken, debris left to descend and submerge in the depths of the sentiment crashing through in a roaring, passionate rapid at the narrowest point yet. The words come, and they don’t stop, and Logan almost can’t believe how right they feel on his tongue. “I love you, I love you, I–I love you so much, Dee.”

Logan is like a rubber band, pulled taut and still and trembling under the pressure. And maybe he’ll split, shoot apart, torn in two pieces that will never fit back together again. But maybe he won’t. Maybe instead of snapping in half, he’ll snap back, and that thought alone gives him a quiet comfort that he’s not used to allowing himself. He’s waiting, hoping, and he’s okay enough for now.

[chillyravenart]

You mentioned you might do a post on the outfits you hated the most? Not to pole the bear too much but I would love to hear your opinion! I love talking costumes on the show.

Ok I hope you’re ready, because I was largely very unimpressed with a lot of the outfits on the show- several of these are truly terrible, and several are just too repetitive and boring, make of that what you will. Whilst I’m glad we didn’t get typical medieval reenactment attire (and skimpy hose lmao) and I am appreciative of the unique twist they tried to give the clothing on GoT, a lot of it was very lacklustre and boring and should have stayed as curtains or sofa fabric.

A wise man once said, “Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab.” Unfortunately we got a LOT of drab.

 Again this is just my personal opinion, if anyone liked any of these outfits, I’m glad you could find some joy from all the misery. Its going to be a long post so I’ve added a ‘read more’ break, but I doubt it will work because Tumblr likes torturing us. Right, off we trot!

1. I have to mention this one first because I fucking hated it so much lmao. Basic, dull, blue on blue, awful heavy cape for the climate, plain boring sick of it haha I won’t linger, I have a lot to get through.

2. I’m going to bunch these all together because these dresses were all awful. When I was in Year 8 we had a Design & Textiles class and I remember sewing something equally misshapen and sack-like. long story short, it ended up in the bin. What the fuck was that neckline, lord it turned my stomach. (This ghastly neckline will make several reappearances, rest assured).

3. Same goes for Catelyn, her dresses were drab and dire (no pun intended) and the neckline made me want to kill myself. She just looked like a frumpy old school teacher, not the wife of the Warden of the North. ( I did like the fur detail on the sleeves of the first dress, however the main body of the dress itself is very dull)

4. Shit dresses seemed to be a trend for the Tully sisters, and my God, Lysa’s were no better. I expected better from the Arryn seamstresses. What is it with the heavy collars and same fucking drapey arms???

5. Really wasn’t a fan of Arya’s “on the run” outfit, it looked moldy and vile and I know she’s meant to be an impoverished urchin but I’d rather it was a plain tunic/jerkin combo that this rotten mess. And that fucking awful neckline again.

6. Ok so Margaery had some overall nice outfits, but what was this fucking catastrophe? Was Olenna Tyrell away from home the day they commissioned this tragedy? She looked like a lampshade- or as @naomimakesart put it a ‘soda-can’.

7. This deserved a separate post because after leaving the South to head up North, Sansa clearly couldn’t find a decent dress designer, and I don’t blame her. It’s the North remember? Her wedding dress was a cross between an anaemic peanut and a marshmallow, the neckline, the sleeves- vomitous! And her Winterfell dress was no better. The Boltons probably had shit tailors.

8. Look I know Jon was in the middle of a war but that’s no excuse to wear a ratty old surcoat nicked off a decaying corpse. No excuse. You are the Warden of the North Jonathan! 

9. Let’s do Dany again. I’ve said time and time again that if anyone deserved to be dressed in silken grandeur with embellishments and veils and jewels and intricate bodices, then it was Daenerys fucking Targaryen, but instead we got this plain, curtain-like shroud. Why is the material so heavy and thick AND UNADORNED???? Boring boring boring, yawn, next.

10. Did they seriously lack for creativity when it came to Dany? Why were all her outfits cut from the same cloth/template? Why did she have massive shoulder pads like an 80s businesswoman? Why did they dress her in the drab habit of a nun???? Why can I upholster my sofa in that same fucking fabric, are DFS in breach of copyright here????? So boring, so homogeneous, so fucking disappointing. Not to mention the pukesome hemline and dreary shade of charcoal- where was the pitch black and vivid scarlet combo I dreamt of???? Oh but it had red detailing- bitch where???? Can’t see a thing without a magnifying glass!

11. I’m not done, you all asked for this haha. It pains me to dredge up this memory, especially when I’ve spent every moment since season 7 aired trying to expunge it from my mind. What. In. The. Name. Of. Fuck. Was. This. Shit? I’m not even going to talk about the casting choices or the wig, I won’t, you can’t make me, but why in Aegon’s name was he wearing an old potato sack and she a Forever 21 2017 summer collection dress the colour of snot? Someone explain this to me right this minute. And what is that wrapped all around it? Did someone make that from papier-mâché??? HEINOUS.

12. The Sand Snakes. Oh the Sand Snakes. Poor girls. Done so so so dirty it makes a wartime latrine look sanitary. What the fuck were they wearing? Where were the elaborate outfits Oberyn’s daughters dressed in (bar Obara ok)???? What is this mess????

13. Erm so I know Euron was a bit of a joke but I didn’t expect him to dress like a washed-up Alice Cooper fanboy. Then again none of the Greyjoys had decent outfits and travelling all around the world surely didn’t improve Euron’s dress sense either. Next!

14. Now I know people loved Dany’s fur coat, however I was not one of those people. Fine, I was willing to endure it the first time, notwithstanding the fact that she was swamped in it yet again and it’s a good thing Em is adorable and gorgeous otherwise she would have looked like an albino hamster, but why in heaven’s name was the design recycled so often and so unvaried? Furry stripes and shoulder pads folks! Oh adding red to the stripes was a great touch was it? Groundbreaking! It all looks the same, in fact the striped leather coat looked like the fur one after it had been scalded and plucked. Yes I said what I said.

15. I don’t usually rant but lately, I’ve felt the need to get things off my chest. And so I have to add this monstrosity. The hair looks like someone coiled an old hemp rope and pinned it to her head, and the dress, good god the dress is so fucking ugly???? Easily the worst thing Cersei’s ever worn, good thing her gowns improved in the later seasons because holy shit this dress was as grim as the execution itself.

16. Last but not least, this leather coat was ugly and I hated it. So glad we never saw it again after season 1. I’ll add here that the men were all given the same jerkin/surcoat combo with pants and boots and it became very boring after a while. No variance, no style. The only ones with swag were Joff and Oberyn, and dare I say it even Littlefinger’s coats were better than the recycled swill we got with the others.

And that concludes this shitshow. I know we’ve been slating D&D’s writing and the shit plot and awful direction the show took but the costumes were always so underwhelming for me. I expected colour and variety and texture from a fantasy/pseudo-medieval setting, not my grandma’s curtains. And the black emo phase was just laughable, but clearly it reflected the deep sense of mourning and tragedy that befitted the end of this memorable show. Sigh. Thank you for bearing with me. I’ve left LOADS of outfits out FYI but you get the gist haha.