#i was hoping for more apology in plodding on but they just gave me more of reece having Emotions watching the montage

[kitmarlowe]

of course they had another fight in that episode…

[nincompoopydoo]

Could I request a oneshot with Remus Lupin with the promt "kiss me so i can feel alive again". Also congratulations on 1000 followers 🎉✨💕

ALIVE AND TRUE

PAIRING: Remus Lupin x reader WORD COUNT: 2k (whoops) SUMMARY: Having found a lost friend, living in the countryside of Yorkshire, feelings of once hidden affection start to bloom in the need to be alive and good things to be real. A/N: Thank you for requesting and I’m so sorry for taking so long! This is one of my favorites because it’s so soft and romantic and I adore this request. Please tell me what you think of it xo. WARNINGS: Angst. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERLIST

It’s the house you see from trudging down the walkway that forces you to double take your previous steps. Silent and empty, it seems to twist into the forest from afar. Bent trees adorn the lane with overgrown greenery at its feet and ancient brick walls that run along with it. The fields in Yorkshire are vast and immaculate but right now, you are alone and suddenly the far stretch of land doesn’t seem to have the shine of the countryside. Your eyes shift to the house that sits behind a rusted gate, joints barely holding together from the years of rotting and exposure to the heat and rain. It’s barely a house but more of a cottage. No, it’s not even a cottage. Semi-derelict and tumbledown, it looks more like the ruins of what used to be a home.

You look down to the note in your hand, parchment torn at the edges with the cursive words of your handwriting that make up an address and coordinates. Visually, there’s no indication of where exactly you are but according to the coordinates, you are precisely where you need to be. For the past three years, your investigation into finding your friend has proven to be impossible and almost met with the acceptance that you will never see him again. Yet, after an anonymous tip had been owled to your doorstep, indicating the suspicions of the presence of a werewolf somewhere in Yorkshire as overheard by the locals of a nearby town, gave you a tinge of hope to reconnect with someone you lost.

The sight bears a high chance that he may be hiding here, unfortunately. It makes it hard to believe that someone you saw had so much life in him, is living in this condition.

Anxiety starts to creep onto you as you push the worn-down gate. It creaks with the rustling of the wind, a sign of an imminent storm. The sun doesn’t shine anymore, clouds of grey congregate in the skies above in the chorus of rainfall. You don’t do too well with apparition, thankfully having only lost half of your hair during the war. Hence, if the anonymous tip turns out to be a fake, you would have to make your way out of the countryside in the rain or even worse, take the Knight Bus.

You hate the Knight Bus.

Attempting to conjure up whatever courage you have left, you steadily make your way into the compound, plodding through the overgrown grass. As you grow closer, the cottage looks even worse than it was from afar, climbing plants of dull green embellish the walls of the ruins.

Then, in your periphery, you catch a glimpse of violet—Bluebells. The same flowers that used to grow on the forest floor of the forbidden forest. You remember him telling you about how he had seen a white bluebell, rare to its nature.

Warmth fills your chest, you know he is here.

The door is wooden, climbing plants seem to have made their way to it, branching around its handle.

You knock once. No answer.

You knock twice. There’s footsteps, they’re heavy.

With the swing of the door, you are met with none other than Remus Lupin. He looks older, dark circles below his eyes that have lost their intensity of blue, hair unkempt and shabby, and a beard, tracing along his jawline. He has his wand directed to you in defense. Probably because no one ever visits.

The smile on your face is impossible to suppress. It's bright at the recognition of the familiarity of his face. “Remus,” you breathe, eyes crinkling and gleaming with the bliss from the effort and worth of your investigation to find this very man, who stands just a couple of inches away from you. You swallow, not wanting to blink away the possibility that this may all be a dream. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

He says your name through a whisper like it’s the answer to the millions of prayers recited and uttered from his lips as he drifts off to slumber under the moonshine, beaming through the shattered glass of the windows by his bedside. He dreams of you, often in times when his body is too weak to endure the aftermath of a full moon.

Yet, you're here and very real.

Then, he watches your grin falter and how your eyes move around the curves of his face. The deep cuts are there and visible. Although magic heals, time and energy play a crucial factor in healing wounds. In an instant, his apprehension creeps in, and suddenly, he feels small. The memories of you are forever intertwined with the rest of his friends, memories too painful to endure.

Your hand reaches out for his face but he staggers back in his step.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He doesn’t mean it. Remus really wants you here. To feel your warmth, your touch, the smell of your hair and to hold you but he sees the way you bring your arm down to your side, shoulders slump in near defeat. In reality, you would never let him go that easily.

“Don’t say that, Remus.”

The crinkle of your eyes is gone, now sharp with the frustration of his tendency of locking himself away from the world out of paranoia. It’s been a minute since you’ve seen his face after three long years and he’s already trying to chase you away.

Typical Remus.

An odd sense of nausea takes over him, knees buckling as his surroundings begin to spin like he is on a sailing boat at sea. His body is frail and with a blow, he will fall. His eyes are trained on you as he feels his feet give way and his body drifting towards the ground. Just then, he feels your touch, arms around him like an embrace. You’re holding him in his weakened stance, stabilizing his balance by moving his arm to hang around your shoulder. He immediately shifts his weight on you, uttering a soft apology.

“You don’t have to apologize for something you can't control.” Your voice is soothing, speaking so close to his ear. Your tone is laced with knowing and care. You both know those words have been articulated from your very lips many times before. And your hands are gentle upon the curve of his waist, against the rough material of a dress shirt but your grasp is strong—the true touch of a healer’s hands, precise and careful. Remus always knew you would turn to become a highly-skilled healer.

With every cautious step, the creaks of the parquet flooring are loud and lasting. It’s as if the house itself cries for its condition, like a child with a wound to their knee after taking a nasty fall. The wailing wind outside doesn’t help with the fact that everything seems to be falling apart.

You guide him to the armchair by the fireplace, pressing him by the shoulders to sit. He plops onto the chair with a heavy sigh and feels a sense of regret sinking in his chest at the sight of the visible scowl of your lips and the turn of your brows.

Your open palm finds his cheek. He hears the drag of your deep exhale. You don’t say anything, only to pull out your wand from your back pocket. Yet, Remus is quick to grab your hand, halting you in your movement. Your frown a little deeper, sharp eyes finding him.

“Just let me heal you. It’s the least I can do.”

It’s a promise, a vow, uttered from your very lips filled with dignity and hope. So, he lets you, just to feel you close to him.

—

The rain is yet to arrive. Thunder booming through rolling clouds above and still not a single drop of rain but there’s a peak of sunlight between the cracks of the storm. Maybe, it’s because you’re here and sunshine always seems to trail your steps, no matter where they lead.

Now, Remus is seated on the toilet seat facing you, who has settled for a shaky stool to perch on as your gentle hands hold the edge of his jaw while the other grips onto a straight razor, gazing along the cheek. He cannot take his eyes off the crease between your brows and the way your eyes slowly shift along with the moving blade.

Magic is meant for convenience in small but necessary tasks like these yet you insisted on doing it in the traditional muggle way—using your fingers. Your hands work wonders, beautifully moving as a paraclete. You hold him like you’re maintaining his strength, to keep from fracturing into pieces. You look at him like he’s your masterpiece, carving every curve and bend of his skin and structure.

You lift the blade away from his face, dabbing it onto a rag cloth hung by the sink. Remus finally finds the time to speak. “You don’t have to do this.” You simply laugh and it comes out like a puff of air. Your eyes are still trained on cleaning off the razor. “Of course, I don’t. But, I also don’t want you competing with Dumbledore’s beard.”

Remus laughs, truly laughs. It’s loud and echoes within the walls of the tiny toilet. “I could never beat him.” You’re laughing too, grin wide as ever. Then, after a beat of silence, your grin suppresses into a small smile, lips pressed together as you place the razor aside. You’re clearly in deep thought.

“Come away with me.”

Remus blinks. “What?”

You turned to him, eyes glinting with expectancy. “Stay with me. I live a few blocks from St Mungos...and you get to see me at work.” You watch how his mouth is now agape, half of his chin still in shaving cream.

“And I’m sure you look magnificent in green but you know I can’t—”

“You can, Remus. You can come here a week before the full moon and then come back to my place. I’ll help you heal, a lot faster and you know that’s true. Maybe, I could get hold of aconite for Wolfsbane at the hospital— ”

You hadn’t realized your rambling until Remus began to shake you by the shoulders, calling out your name with an odd sense of serenity and hint of urgency for you to stop. So, your words immediately halt with a turn of your head to meet his gaze. Your expression is soft. His hand drifts to yours, holding it in his. “You know I can’t because if they find out you are living with someone with lycanthropy, you will lose your job and I don’t want you to lose it for my sake,” he squeezes your hand with assurance. “But, thank you. Thank you for always being so kind to me.”

The candle flickers from behind you, sitting idly on the ceramic shelf above the sink. No sunlight beaming through the room and only the hues of flame, beginning to shrink with the melting of its wax. Your hair presents an illusion of golden threads against the candlelight, face as warm as your hand on his as you shift your fingers to the back of his palm. Gradually, you sigh whilst raising his palm to you and press your lips to the arch of his hand. It’s quick but affectionate.

Your stare is strong and his heart stutters for the millionth time since your arrival.

Remus is drawn to you and the thought of how your lips should be on his. He drifts closer, eyes roaming your face, feeling your breath against his skin.

“Can I kiss you?” your question is soft, a whisper, only for his ears. A secret so sacred that you’re afraid nature would hear the words of your confession that was solely reserved for your mind and the man you are confessing to. He nods, it’s slight but it’s true, feeling like this is all a dream. He doesn’t want you to dream anymore. For you are here, hand tangled in his, thinking about his lips on yours.

Then, he whispers as the candle flickers once more. “Kiss me so I can feel alive again.”

So, you do. You kiss him, gentle and sweet, your hand still in his.

[fleckcmscott]

Coffee & Donuts

Summary: Arthur’s thrilled to be part of a crowd. Though the evening doesn’t go perfectly, Y/N’s flirtations make it sweet.

Warnings: Smut

Words: 4,602

A/N: Alright. After the heart wrenching angst of my last piece (which I love, by the way; don't get me wrong! 😂), I had to write another story in which Arthur and Y/N are happy and together. It's inspired by one of Arthur's visions during their kiss. I hope you all like it! Special thanks to @jokerownsmysoul for beta-ing!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Parties and celebrations weren't foreign to Arthur. He'd worked plenty, enough to make him realize what he'd been missing out on. He was well-versed in pin the tail on the donkey, musical chairs, and balloon animals. But as an adult, those activities didn't satisfy. He wanted to be included rather than paid. Connect with people, introduce himself. Discuss his experiences and pursuits. Feel sufficiently at ease to loosen up a little and have a good time.

Now he was a guest - a certified guest - at Patricia Gorman's fifty-sixth birthday party. The first party he'd been invited to since being the weird kid in class who'd rotated between three worn out sweaters and could never afford a gift.

He'd been a tad apprehensive about going to Burnside. Gotham's nicest borough had a reputation for high rents and low tolerance. When Y/N and he had entered 2E, however, Patricia's greeting ("You made it!") and the apartment were thoroughly welcoming. Crocodile brown walls and forest green shag carpet made the spacious living room a cozy hideaway. Marigolds leapt across the polyester of the T-cushion sofa and its easy-chair companion. The floor lamp's amber, crimped glass shades cast the spacious living room in a glow borrowed from warm autumn days.

Patricia's husband, Robert, was out on an emergency call. An HVAC had gone haywire in a residential building in Hinckley. Her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson had been by for lunch. That meant the only other guests were Matt - Y/N's old boss - and a bottle-blonde in a black halter dress and spike heels, who Y/N introduced as Laura. ("She's Matt's ex-wife," Y/N later disclosed. "He's been trying to win her back since I moved to Gotham.") Both shook Arthur's hand when he offered it, and he felt a little thrill whirl his stomach when Y/N laid claim to him by telling the woman, "This is my husband."

A collection of appetizers served as dinner, a fun and novel menu. The slow cooker meatballs Y/N and he had lugged over on the subway were a bit tangy; he still couldn't believe the recipe called for grape jelly. The deviled eggs with paprika, a pleasant mix of savory and sweet, was a dish he'd heard about on television. Cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches were light and airy, a good match for his iced tea. Only the artichoke and spinach dip gave him pause. Its beans and hot sauce made his taste buds wince.

That unpleasant flavor was quickly forgotten when Y/N pulled him to sit next to her on the sofa, so Patricia could open her presents. She proudly showed off the orange, clay ashtray her grandson had made for her. Arthur, having successfully kept the secret of her light smoking from Y/N, chuckled at Patricia fibbing she'd put candy in it. She thanked Matt and Laura for the champagne, wrapped in a silver bow with a simple "Happy Birthday" tag. The bottle wasn't popped. Upon peeking into the large giftbag Y/N placed on her lap, she made a soft sound. The Dazey whirlpool bath, which attached to the side of the tub and had three strength settings, was a hit. She announced her plans to try it in the morning. The dark blue Rexbuilt briefbag was intended to replace her cracked, leather briefcase, Y/N explained. Patricia ran her fingertips along the expanding inner compartments, the personalized planner that included the credential "CLA" after her name, and flipped through the included steno pads, eyes brimming.

She sipped at her cocktail and put an arm around Y/N. Melancholy tinged Patricia's voice. "At my age, the people in your life tend to stay the people in your life. Whether you like them or not." She reached further and patted Arthur's knee. "I'm glad an old dame like me gets to call you all friends." His throat clenched in gratification, though he wasn't daring enough to squeeze her hand and thank her for deciding he was a friend.

Still on top of the world an hour later, Arthur sauntered to the red and white enamel dining table to serve himself a second slice of upside-down pineapple cake. The evening had gone well, better than a guy with a natural inability to mingle could've expected. He bobbed his head to the beat of "Come Fly with Me." It was a happy coincidence that Patricia's taste in music aligned with his. She'd regaled him with tales of seeing Sinatra and Count Basie on her and Robert's honeymoon in Vegas. Arthur took a bite absentmindedly, wondering how long it would take for him to save the money to surprise Y/N with plane and concert tickets.

The daydreaming didn't last long. Matt's plodding footsteps preceded him, followed by a long sigh as he propped himself on the beige stone of the dining area's accent wall, across from the u-shaped kitchen. He held out a Budweiser and smirked. "Marriage is a hell of a lot of work."

Pleased that he was being treated like one of the guys, like a regular husband with a regular relationship who got to speak about his regular wife, Arthur accepted the beer and considered the comment. Matt's sentiment was hard to grasp. Dr. Sally had said marriage could be difficult, and Y/N's first hadn't survived the ripples of her life. But it didn't feel like work with her. Their arguments were minor. Her nagging him to find a primary doctor for annual check-ups, even though he'd survived this long without one. Or back in Missouri, when he'd told her to stop shielding him and trust he could take anything she had to give.

Arthur adopted a similar nonchalant posture and jutted his hip against the table's edge. "I like it. It's easy to take good care of her." He wasn't able to completely erase the smugness of success from his tone.

"You're what? Two years in with the most headstrong woman in Gotham? She's great and all, but she spikes my blood pressure." Matt slapped Arthur's back and let out a hearty guffaw. "Give it five more and you'll be in my office trying to avoid alimony."

"Don't. Say that." Arthur crinkled the can in his grip and glared up at him.

"Hey," Matt started, withdrawing even as he tried diplomacy. "It was just a joke. I didn't mean anything by it."

Flinching, pulling at the cuffs of his red sweater, Arthur fought the surge of anger in his veins. It wouldn't do to lose control and cause a scene. Of course Matt's comment about them splitting up was supposed to be a joke. But Arthur didn't find it one bit funny. Even with his complete faith in her and his firm belief that they were meant to be together, the possibility that she'd stop wanting him hurt. It didn't occur to him that the implication of the punchline could be that he'd get sick of Y/N.

With a muttered apology, Matt walked to the others in the kitchen. Arthur glanced over to see her laugh tipsily, until she grabbed her stomach and swatted Patricia's shoulder, a stark demonstration of how much he and Y/N differed. She always knew how to respond to people, the right comebacks. Appropriate timing and levels of interaction. It seemed she was in her natural element, the loveliest swan on a lake. Whereas after years of therapy and practice with her, he was still a fish out of water, flopping around on the shoreline in hopes some stranger would take pity on him and throw him back into the sea.

Maybe that was the real punchline. Eventually their contrasts would no longer complement each other and instead become a chore.

Scowling, he ambled towards the record player stationed before two double-hung windows. Increased the volume to drown out the intrusive notions. It didn't really work. He settled on a grounding technique he'd practiced, all the while lamenting that he couldn't handle a party without needing it. His attention went to the spinning LP, the needle following its grooves. The bright blue album cover, where Ol' Blue Eyes beckoned him, the scuff marks on the cardboard's corner edges. He acknowledged the spider plants sat on the windowsill, worried a papery leaf until it broke off. He stared out the window, taking in the whole of the city. Pinpricks of light dazzling in the darkness.

"Gotham's beautiful at night," Y/N said from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to watch her approach. Her cheeks glowed with alcohol and good cheer, the collar of her ivory blouse unbuttoned. "There's a life behind every light out there. Ten million of them. Here. Try this." She offered her hurricane glass, filled with an off-white slush.

He sipped the pina colada with cautious skepticism and grimaced as soon as it hit his tongue. The blend of pineapple and coconut tasted of cheap sunscreen and tropical imitations, the kind advertised in smudged brochures for bad cruises to islands with made up sounding names. "No, thanks."

Snorting, she shrugged and embraced his back at the waist. "How are we doing?" she asked, curling into his side. After a few seconds, she prodded him. "Had your fill of Matt?"

"He was just joking." Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.  She set the drink next to the record player and brought her hand to his, trailed it over the inside of his wrist, up his forearm. She pecked his chin and nudged him until he turned to her. As soon as their gazes met, the concern in hers told him she'd continue to pepper him with questions. But he wasn't about to let his misplaced doubts spoil her evening. And he knew the perfect way to distract them both.

A new song started. An oldie that sang of Jupiter and Mars, playfulness among the stars. He cupped her cheek, thumb sweeping the corner of her mouth. "Dance with me," he said. Before accepting his proffered palm, she laid a sloppy kiss on him. With a flutter of her eyelashes, she grinned, and his smile grew to match her own. As he held her side, led her in a slow, swaying circle, he marveled at her. At her ability to soothe every molecule, every lingering ache. Self-assurance welled in him, chased away his earlier dejection. He cradled her to his lanky frame, trembled and felt himself blush. She was the only woman for him. That was as certain as his cigarette habit.

Despite Patricia's reassurances she was fine, that Robert working late wasn't unusual, Y/N insisted on staying until he got home. Though Arthur would have preferred they take their leave an hour earlier, being allowed to smoke inside blunted his grumbling. The disarming flirtations she bestowed on him also didn't hurt. She'd pour herself a drink (four in total, if he counted correctly), help Patricia make a plate of leftovers for her husband, then throw him a wink. Whisper and cackle while cleaning, then kiss his temple.

Around midnight, Patricia put her foot down. Ushered them out with a promise to call and a hug fierce enough to crush his ribs. She raised a brow at Y/N's unsteady gait, grasped Arthur's arm, and said with a wry, tired smile, "Make sure you put that woman straight to bed." His dark brows shot up and held. Had she intended a pun? Or had Y/N's spare caresses caused the interpretation? Either way, he liked being trusted to take care of her. And the hint of arousal that flared in his belly.

By the time they stumbled into their apartment, that arousal had reduced to a dull exhaustion. She kicked off her heels on the way to the bathroom, calling a slurred "night!" as she closed the door. Yawning, he put dish soap and hot water in the crockpot, scrubbed burned bits of sauce from its rim, turned it upside down on a towel to dry. Once he'd brushed his teeth for one minute rather than the recommended two, he tossed his sweater, trousers, briefs, and socks in the hamper, and went to the bedroom. He found his blue pajamas in their usual spot, the chair in the corner, and slid them up his skinny but toned legs. Tucked in next to her, he was carried to sleep on waves of fatigue and her quiet, wet snoring.

~~~~~

A tickle threatened to rouse him. Whispers along the waistband of his bottoms. Heat snuggled his back. Delightfully drowsy, he cuddled deeper into cozy, cream-color sheets, already returning to a pleasant, dreamless slumber. But a rumble of exhaust, likely from a bus that needed a new muffler, dragged him to consciousness. Arthur grumbled and tucked his arm under his pillow, not ready to transition to a world of overcrowding and concrete, commotion and bad jokes.

Yet, Y/N's insistent grazes continued, luring him with promises of placid pleasure. Her toes wiggled at his heel until he made space for her to slip her foot between his ankles. The corner of his mouth quirked. He was reminded of last night's playfulness, her endless teasing. The way he'd held the crockpot as a shield to fend off her advances on the train home, her forwardness to the point that he would've preferred having a laminated card to present on her behalf. Forgive my wife: she has a condition. It causes frequent and uncontrollable displays of affection.

Nimble fingers edged lower, loosened the tie of his pajamas before dipping beneath the loose elastic to lace through his dark brown curls, darker than the chestnut hair on his head. Her knuckles ran over him, lazy caresses full of intent. Up and down, up and down. Delicate. Deliberate. The blood racing to his groin, the pleasant swelling, made his abdomen twitch. Soon full and heavy, the sensitive tip straining the cotton seams, he pressed his lips together. When she skimmed the tender skin resting on his inner thigh, he flexed the muscle at the base of his erection. It bobbed and hit her wrist and she let loose a girlish giggle, more intoxicating than wine.

With her left leg draped over him at the knee, she undulated against his rear. Plush lips brushed the boney knobs of his spine, damp breath fanned the nape of his neck, labored, needy. Pebbled nipples grazed his back through the thin nylon of her nightgown, taunting and compelling. He made up his mind to throw an arm around her, to yank her on top of him. To eagerly take part in her seduction.

But she withdrew from his bottoms to palm his stomach and plant a gentle kiss to the shell of his ear, whispering, "Sleep tight." The mattress shifted and she rolled away from him. He furrowed his brows. She rarely relented this easily - other times he'd awakened, hard and aching, enveloped by the captivating wetness of her mouth. What was she up to?

Covers rustled. Her calf bumped his. And the opposite of what he'd assumed occurred. Instead of light footfalls leading out of the room, there was silence, silence that seemed to stretch on and on...

Until a hitched gasp gave her away.

Touching herself. She was touching herself. She'd just been all over him, acted like he was some sort of model on the cover of Vue magazine, and now she was touching herself. Right beside him! Ecstatic to have inspired such brazenness, he grinned and fisted the pillow. Her fleeting, stifled moans tangled him in knots, implored him to give her what they both burned for.

He flipped in her direction, his hand shooting under the sheet to grab hers. "Gotcha."

Eyes wide, she gaped at him in surprise. But adoration softened her expression as she entwined their fingers. "How long have you been awake?" she asked.

"Long enough."

He stretched to rewind the shades, the diaphanous curtains staying in place. Sunlight diffused over them, wrapped around her face, lent her disheveled hair a warm luster. He twirled a feathered lock and pecked her eyelids. "Finishing what you started on the subway, hm?"

"Me?" Y/N brought his knuckles to her mouth.  "You're the one who came to bed without any underwear."

"Well, it was a late night." The pad of his thumb tugged at her bottom lip to reveal the pink tip of her tongue. He bent to claim it. "I was lucky to find my pajamas."

Chuckling, she broke their connection. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah. The cake was good. And the music. Everyone was nice."

"Patricia loved having you there. She thought you were very sweet." A pause as she mapped a dimple. "Matt said he'd upset you. Something stupid about breaking up?"

Vague shadows of discomfort flashed through Arthur, a frustration he'd mostly moved on from. He did his best to ignore it, waving her concern away. "Don't worry about it."

"He was just jealous, you know." Her nails ran along the small of his back. "He wants Laura to look at him the way I look at you."

Arthur had spent so much of his life yearning for change, to understand his purpose in the world and improve himself. The idea that a man with a good education, a successful career, and no disabilities could ever be jealous of him was, frankly, bizarre. But he didn't correct Y/N, instead locking her praise within his heart, preserving it for when he needed it most. He boosted himself on his forearm and fiddled with her V-neck, traced its button loops as he slipped the plastic knobs through them. "And how's that?'

A hint of scandal glimmered in her irises. She arched into him as he eased a strap down her upper arm to reveal her shapely breast, the lilac fabric momentarily catching on its taut peak. "Like I can't get enough of you."

He huffed at that, fondled her faintly before his lips met the velvety skin of her chest. A tonic comprised of the musk oil she'd dabbed on before the party and distinct sexual wanting wafted to his nostrils. He licked at her nipple, the bumps on her areola, and drew it between his teeth. She whined softly and lifted the bottom of her nightdress to her waist.

Hurriedly, he yanked on the waistband of her cotton panties, pushed them past her knees. She kicked them off while he knelt to lower his bottoms. Straddling her, he pumped himself back to hardness and opened the drawer of her nightstand. He searched haphazardly until he retrieved a small, glass bottle of lubricant. (She'd ordered it from a mail catalog, both of them a bit too bashful to walk into an adult shop, even together.)

She snagged it from him and poured half a teaspoon in her hand, then palmed herself. He moved between her legs and she grasped his length, coating him with the warm, slippery liquid. He pushed forward into her. Gradually, slowly, savoring every millimeter of her enticing heat. He noted the stretch of her mouth, the jut of her jaw, the lifting of her upper lip. "Mmm..." she breathed and begged him to keep going. When he did, her head tilted back into the pillow, eyelids falling shut. A smile cut across her cheeks as she purred her satisfaction. "Arthur, I love you."

His touch wandered down the curve of her thigh. At the sight of her subtle writhing beneath him, the sway of her slightly uneven breasts in time with his languid thrusts, he pushed her knee into the mattress, splayed her wider. He grunted lowly. "Look at me."

Their gazes met but didn't hold for long; hers dropped to where they were joined. She caressed right above his pubic bone. "I love seeing you like this." Her fingertips walked a line up his sternum to his chest. "And touching you like this." She wrapped her arms around his middle and drew him to her, locked their lips in a greedy kiss. "And making love like this."

He snorted. "I think this is the only reason you married me."

"Well, not the only reason. There's your good hair, too."

"I've been thinking about cutting it. Trying something new."

"Don't you dare." She tugged at his loose curls, wore her best pout. "What else would I hold onto when we're doing this?"

Laughing lightly, he bumped his nose to hers. Falling into her was like falling into his old fantasies, the ones that'd sustained him through years of isolation. Dates at diners, at comedy clubs, at donut shops, at home. Their shapes had changed as he'd matured, his role in them, his aspirations and infatuations. But they'd remained a warm comfort nonetheless, a place that felt like belonging. And now he belonged with her. Hunger filled him. Happiness. And love. So much love, more than he'd ever believed he'd carried in him. He bucked a little harder. "You feel so good," he murmured. "You make me feel so good."

A strained cry left her and her pelvis answered his steady rhythm with demands of its own. Her calves rose to squeeze him closer, encircle his narrow hips. They were pressed together so tightly; it felt like they were one flesh. He never wanted it to stop. But a dizzying euphoria had ignited, one that eclipsed the romantic yearnings of his heart, twisting his desire to last all morning into the desperate drive to possess her. Gasping, Arthur raised himself to his knees, delving deeper with each push. Their foreheads met and he grit his teeth at the scald of her, the texture of her walls. She fit as though she'd been made for him.

He supposed she was.

Pressure began in the base of him, building and building in terrific torment. The muscles of his inner thighs contracted inward. Tingling climbed his shaft, his tailbone, his spine. He wove his fingers into the sheet, his grip a vise that wrested its corner from the mattress. She kissed the spot where his jaw met his neck, all the while murmuring encouragements for him to let himself go.

Bliss shot through him, from the tips of his toes to the follicles on his scalp, and his back stiffened as he whimpered and poured into. Fever engulfed his frame, sublime in its frenzy, leaving him in a heady stupor. Aftershocks made him tremble. Once, twice. Until, sated and spent, he landed on top her. He closed his eyes, ribs rising and falling as he forced air into his lungs.

A minute later, he swallowed and looked down at her. "You didn't come."

She carded through his sweaty locks. "It's all righ-"

"Shh." He slid out of her and settled at her side, reached between her legs to swipe at her core. "I'm not done," he declared, tracing the edges of her entrance, slick and swollen. One of his favorite things about getting her off was demonstrating his prowess in bed, how well he'd learned with her. His thumb met her plump clitoral hood, and he felt her throb beneath his ministrations.

Nails biting his bicep, she rocked upwards. A bewitching blush crept up her breast, her neck, spread across her cheeks. Shallow pants hit his face, short puffs suffused with high-pitched whines, utterly irresistible. He circled her nub at a steady cadence, tapping when she'd shiver, and she clasped the back of his hand. He swirled his tongue around her nipple, sucked the pretty peak, and lowered the other strap of her nightgown to bare her completely. A hushed plea fell from her lips. "Please, please..."

Suddenly, her vulva grew white hot and she seized, her hips stuttering with each flutter of his touch to her folds. She thrusts her breasts towards him, a sharp moan caught in her throat. Liquid pooled against his fingers, proof of her rapture that made him wish, with mild amusement, that he could be an unmedicated young man again. He would've gladly taken her a second time.

Giggling and rubbing her temple, she released a long exhale and opened her eyes. He brushed her hair back and grinned, completely smitten, like the first time he'd heard a joke and understood the punchline. The light brown picture frame on his nightstand caught his attention, and he regarded the wallet size photo in it, one of the shots of Y/N from the booth at Amusement Mile. The last thing he looked at before turning in each night. He lay his head her shoulder and hummed, listened to the drum of her heart.

She smooched his hairline and wriggled out from beneath him to stand. Her nightie had been reduced to a crumpled stripe of lilac cinched about her waist. It felt tawdry and shameless and he wanted to see her in it for the rest of the weekend. But she peeled it down her legs, wrinkling her nose when it got stuck on her thighs, and stepped out of it one foot at a time. She dropped it on the floral bedspread and retrieved her bathrobe from the closet. "Meet you in the kitchen," she said, opening the door.

The sun had risen higher, its beams slanting across the covers. He basked in it, catlike, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pulled on his pajamas, got a new pair of socks from their dresser, and made his way to the kitchen. He washed off the remnants of Y/N's arousal from his fingers, popped open a prescription bottle and took a tablet. He poured water into the coffeemaker, grabbed the can of grounds from the second shelf, added three scoops to the paper filter. Their three-tone brown mugs sat in their spot next to the machine, waiting to be filled.

When the glass coffeepot was half full, Y/N emerged from the bathroom, chuckling to herself. She opened the breadbox on the opposite counter and took out a wax paper bag. "Do you have any idea how dull this morning would have been if we'd never met? I'd have read the Sunday paper, had a drink. Probably worked on a file." He handed her a couple dessert plates, watched her put a donut on each one. "I wonder where you'd be. What woman you'd have breakfast with, what jokes you'd be writing, what magic tricks you'd have learned."

"Um..." At first he wanted to ask where this speculation had come from, if Matt had let her in on exactly what he'd said. But the confident slant of her smirk told Arthur she was teasing. He tried to play along but winced. No matter how appealing, how extraordinary she found him, his gut told him there wouldn't have been another woman. There'd be no more stand-up routines, no more Carnival. He certainly wouldn't be taking care of Penny. He'd likely be locked up in the hospital, maybe even dead. Without an anchor, his life would have lost what little sense it had.

Y/N was one of his anchors now, hooked into the sand alongside his material, treatment, the ability to pay bills. He seized her hand and squeezed it tight, unaware he was squishing her fingers. "I don't wanna think about it," he said quietly.

She sidled up to him and pulled him to her side. Rubbed his flank soothingly and pecked the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry." She took his chin and guided him to look at her. The intimate comfort of her smile helped him believe her next words, even before she spoke them. "I'll always be here."

~~~~~

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[auggieparkhurst]

Labyrinth

Perhaps he could not find respite in the shadows of their shared hearth, the second chair now occupied by someone else,  but he could still find it  within dust-filmed tomes. The bell’s chime welcomed Augustine into Stacks. It was  an old, decrepit bookstore. Haphazardly wedged between two towering buildings, as if it’s been an afterthought.  Even late in the evening, as Augustine had left the house at nine bells, the door to the shop remained unlocked. Ever confident was the Archivist in her security measures. The runes of her ingenuitive mind were etched into the doorframe, their lament light barely visible. He blinked up at them, flashed a smile, and stepped inside. Immediately the young man was met by the dower countenance of the Archivist. A gnome, who showed the first signs of grey as testament to her age, by the name of Tinkara, perched behind an adjacent counter. The ledger sprawled across her desk marked by a quill as she peered over horn-rimmed glasses.

“Hello again, Augustine.” She spared no time for pleasantries. Any kind word to be offered by him promptly silenced by an upheld hand. She licked a fingertip and flipped a few pages in her ledger. The crow’s feet at her eyes deepened as she strained to read. Her lips puckered in an indignant pout, nail tracing along a line of text. “Here we go.  Alchemical Principles and Runic Associations,” -she quirked a thin brow- “Just got it in, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

He forced his smile to grow beyond its limits, revealing a sliver of teeth, while he stuffed any misgivings down his throat. The passenger in his bag squirmed. “Oh,” he chittered, clutching his satchel’s strap in a  white-knuckled grip. “Um...Not tonight, actually. I was just looking to browse.”

“Hmph.” Tinkara squinted. Milky gaze traipsed up and along his length until it lingered on his face. Another chuff. She flipped the ledger closed with a satisfying smack. “Look to your heart’s content, I suppose.”

“Thank you.”

Just as he turned to leave, Tinkara beckoned him back. “One moment, Augustine.”

He froze in the aisle, gaze fixed on some distant point. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You don’t have that cat with you, do you?”

His laugh was effortless. Light and airy, he expelled it like any other breath as he shook his head- extra sure to jostle his curls just so. “Of course not.” He looked over his shoulder to the Archivist, canting his head. “Wouldn’t dream of bringing her inside. Not after what happened last time.”

“Uh. Huh.” Tinkara pushed the spectacles further up her nose. She gave Augustine another once over.  “I should hope so.” She waved him on.

Augustine dipped his head in gratitude and scurried down the seemingly endless aisle of books. That was the magic of Stacks.  It’s exterior belied little of it’s interior. A street view would lead by-passers believing the shop to be little more than an insubstantial accrual of second-hand books. Only those who ventured inside knew the truth-- that the shop was bigger on the inside. Augustine ventured down the aisle, hand trailing along the spines of leather-bound books, and veered right when the path forked. And continued to choose right whenever the opportunity presented itself.  Further and further, he dove into the labyrinth. His shadow growing into itself by glow of alchemical lanterns. The tension in his shoulders began to unwound as the thick shelves swallowed any idle sounds made by the Archivist. Sure that he had placed enough distance between himself and her, Augustine paused. Knelt down and opened his satchel. From its fold, a black coil spilled onto the floor. A pleasant purr rolled from the feline shade as she nudged his hand.

“Yes, hello.” Augustine ran his hand down Calcifer’s back, and smiled when she rewarded him with the languid swish of her tail. He rose onto his haunches, arm extended down. “Come on then.” A devious smile curled at his lips as he added in a haughty tone, “As it please you, my Shadow.”

Green gaze wrinkled beneath the weight of the cat’s smug grin. She plodded up his arm and curled herself around his neck- tail coiled just under his chin.  

The two continued their journey- always right, never left- until they reached the emporium’s heart. The endless line of books opened into a central chamber lit by alchemical lanterns and furnished with a handful of weathered tables and accompanying chairs. A few ink pots and quills dotted the separate work spaces for anyone who chose to use them, stacks of parchment kept at the head of each table. Everything always kept in order, no matter the occasion, by an unseen force which enacted on the Archivist’s demand for organization.

Augustine expected the space to be vacant, as it normally was at this time of evening, and found himself a bit miffed when a mysterious man occupied his favored spot. A Kaldorei reclined back in the chair closest to the trolley of books. One hand supported the back of his head while the other held a weathered-novel folded back on its spine. He read with an impassive countenance. Skimmed through the pages as if they were little more than filler.

Retorts churned in Augustine’s stomach. Unsure if he could muster them beyond a shy whisper, he continued to swallow them down. His fingers flexing as they worked the icy-pricks of annoyance from his hands. Resolving to leave the man alone and choose another spot, he turned on his heel-

-and froze when the gentleman cleared his throat.

“Master Parkhurst?”

Augustine bit back a crestfallen smile as he faced the man. “Oh. No. You must have me mistaken for my sister- Max Parkhurst.”

The Kaldorei rose from his chair with the shake of his head. Stepping out from the shadows and into the lantern’s glow, Augustine caught a better glimpse of the man.  He was such a miserable specimen. Ears cropped to a length far unusual, cheeks hollowed and eyes - faintly lambent and silver- sunken into his skull. Wisps of black hair, dull and a bit lackluster, pulled into a haphazard tail. Only the wire-thin hairs of a goatee brought softness to his features. Augustine might’ve thought him to be bitter with his ill-fitting clothes and slight limp. But then, the man’s thin lips curled in a beaming smile. All teeth and no eyes.

“No. I am quite certain I have the right man.” He dipped his head low. “Augustine Parkhurst, yes?”

Augustine cast him a dubious look. “Yes…” A tentative hand reached for Calcifer, finding remedy to his nerves in the down of her fur. “That’s me- I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Laughter eased the bite from the man’s appearances. He extended a callused hand out to Augustine. The chemical stains on his fingers contrasted against his ash-grey skin. “My apologies, young master. I am Hyleass Duskbough.”

An excited current danced up Augustine’s spine. “You’re...The Hyleass Duskbough?” he breathed, lips curling in a manic grin. He promptly took Hyleass’s hand in both his own. “The Glasswork Alchemist?”

“Anu’dora,” -Hyleass turned bashful gaze skyward- “That is one of my many titles. Though, these days I’m referred to as Councilman Duskbough.”

The sudden realization sapped the warmth from Augustine’s blood, and settled heavy in his stomach. He pulled his hands from Hyleass. Swallowed back the lump crawling up his throat. “High Alchemist…” He folded himself over in a low bow- Calcifer spilling from his shoulders. “I-I am so sorry for the disrespect! Had I known- If I was more observant… I’d wouldn’t have guessed you of all people would frequent- erm. Um! Not saying you couldn’t visit a bookstore,  but tha-”

Hyleass culled Auggie’s stream of incoherent babble with an upheld hand. His smile turned gentle. “It is quite alright. I am no more a man than you. Amongst these stacks, we are equals. So, please, just Hyleass.” He left no room for interjection as he canted his head.

Augustine nodded slowly as he rose. His gaze remained rooted to the ground. “Then it is an honor, Hyleass.” A moment’s contemplation passed before he cracked a meek grin, stealing a glance up at  the elder alchemist. “I am a big fan of your work.”

“As I of yours, young master.”

Inklings of warmth swelled in Augustine’s chest. “Really?”

The Kaldorei gave an affirming nod. Either of his hands came to rest in the depths of his coat pockets. His gaze found the young man’s, twinkling with aged whimsy. “Quite. Unique ideas with execution of equal measure. And your dissertation?” A breath of laughter filled the momentary quiet. “It I was none the wiser, I’d have sooner thought you a wordsmith rather than alchemist.” The gaiety all but withered from his smile. “A pity,” he lamented with the twitch of an ill-cropped ear, “That the Board refused to advance it.”

For all the praise in the world, Augustine couldn’t ignore the thin dagger which those words slid between his ribs. Old wounds never quite healed reopened with a simple reminder. The rejection still lived rent free in his head. Denied advancement. Try again next year. He tried to not let the disappointment show in his smile. Brushed it off with a half-shrug. “It gives me plenty of time to re-evaluate. To hone in on my research. As they say, ‘A jack of all trades is a master of none.’”

“Dora’ dor,” Hyleass remarked, “Though, you neglect the entirety of the quote.” He ventured back to the table, gaze thrown over his shoulder. “ ‘But oftentimes better than a master of one.’” A knowing smirk given as he began to collect his things. “You’ve remarkable potential, Augustine. Let not the word of a few pious individuals sully your thirst.”

The tailspin of emotions had begun to make Augustine dizzy. He entered Stacks with a seedling of resentment in his chest. So quick it shifted. Like the passing of a season. First to annoyance. Then annoyance rolled into excitement. To embarrassment. To pride then shame. And now, he stood in a dizzying stupor. Strength siphoned from the current dancing up his spine. Not a name to be given to this buzz as he merely beamed at Hyleass. For once, he was left speechless.

Hyleass filled the silence for him.

“It was a pleasure to meet you in person. Unfortunately, I’ve other duties to attend to.” He paused beside Augustine, casting the young man a knowing look. “Shall I see you here tomorrow, same time?”

Augustine blinked out of his stupor. Met the question with an eager nod. “Oh. Um. Yes, sir!”

A dubious brow was quirked at Auggie. He quickly checked himself. “I mean- Yes, Hyleass.”

The elf grew a face-splitting grin. “Excellent. Until then, ande’thoras’ethil.”

And with a departing nod, Hyleass ventured into the labyrinth of books. Augustine left to simmer in his excited buzz until Calcifer’s delicate chirp plucked him dust-filled clouds. He smiled down at his feline shadow.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, reaching down to stroke Calcifer’s ear.

The cat responded with the deft thump of her tail.

Tomorrow.

[Prelude] | [Audience] 

[kyber-queen]

Cold Feet (Din Djarin x F!reader)

Summary: Reader is a badass medic/bounty hunter who happens to be hopelessly in love with her stoic, metal-clad shipmate. Lil bit of jealous Din, some good old bed sharing, and a little bit of fluff :)

Rating: Everyone

Word Count: 2k ope

Warnings: mentions of food and drink, brief mentions of surgery, mentions of alcohol

Author’s Note: Hi guys!! This is my first fic so I’d really appreciate it if you gave it a read and some feedback. I might be writing a part two to this but we’ll see. Enjoy!!

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

You had only been on this ice planet for two rotations, but the chill had already crept its way into your insides. Your bones ached and your joints creaked, and you wondered how the little green child you had been tasked with managing seemed entirely unaffected by the unforgiving cold. You and the kid had holed up quite nicely for the past two days, bundling yourselves in blankets and tucking the child away into its pod, which had been outfitted with a temperature regulation system. Lucky bastard. While it slept peacefully inside its cradle, you had used up nearly all of the water reserve on the Crest. You’d been taking hour-long trips to the refresher, the scalding water providing little relief from the dull, cold ache that gnawed at your shivering limbs. Mando previously explained that successfully catching this bounty would take four rotations, give or take, and you had been too exhausted to ask questions or remember to replenish your food and water reserve. Now, your supplies were running low and you were dreading the mile-long walk into town to restock.

You strapped traction spikes onto your sturdiest boots and wrapped yourself in your warmest layers, stealing one of Mando’s old cloaks for good measure. Once you checked to make sure the child was asleep and comfortable in its pod, you set off across the frozen landscape. Ice rose like a parted sea to your left and right, and in the distance, you saw the gentle flicker of a lantern in the window of a dome-shaped structure. You picked up the pace as you walked; dusk was upon you and although you knew you could take care of yourself, you feared what could be hiding inside the many caves that marked the surrounding ice-walls.

You were an herbalist by trade, first catching Mando’s eye with your skill in preparing poisons. You had taken out two trandoshans with two quick, well-aimed throws of a dart tipped with your poison of choice—it was fast acting and non-lethal, and Mando in his curiosity and awe was just distracted enough for the third trandoshan to slip a dagger through the gap in his beskar. You finished off the third trandoshan easily enough, and Mando quickly became acquainted with your second skill set. You dragged him back to his ship, prepared a hemostatic tincture, stripped him of his beskar chest plate, and stitched up a two-inch laceration to his spleen. You insisted on staying with him until you could confirm that his wound had healed, but it had been three months and the two of you had reached a sort of mutual understanding. You cared for the child and assisted on bounties, and he gave you free room and board and an overly generous 30% of the bounty profit. Somewhere between bandaging his wounds, assisting him on bounties, and caring for his child, you had noticed a certain tightness in your chest whenever your hand brushed his. You would find yourself seeking out his company more and more, relishing in quiet conversation as he piloted you through the stars. You were falling. Hard. And you knew even on the off chance that he returned a fraction of the feelings you were developing for him, it could never happen. You’d never see his face or know his name. It was stupid, really. You were business partners, together purely out of convenience. You needed to get this silly crush out of your system before you managed to screw up the tentative friendship the two of you had grown.

Once you haggled for rations and water, you made up your mind that you would go to the nearest cantina and spend the rest of your credits on forgetting your troubles for a while. Although your plodding pace didn’t seem to carry you any further towards the lantern in the window, you were now only a few yards away from the village outpost. You quickened your stride, rushing into the hemispherical stone building and relishing in the warmth that overwhelmed you as the door slammed shut against the cold. You had been so lost in your thoughts you had nearly forgotten to shiver. You leaned casually over the counter to begin your haggling, the man behind it matching your sorry attempt at negotiating lower prices stride for stride. He was handsome, with an easy smile and a voice that rumbled deep from within his chest.

“I’ll do thirty portions, at three quarters of a credit each, but that’s the highest I can go,” you stated confidently. You fiddled with the ring on your right hand, hoping he couldn’t tell just how little experience you had at this.

The man, Linor, grinned. “I think we can arrange that—but only if you join me for a drink after this. I’ll throw in the water rations on the house.”

A drink couldn’t hurt, right? You were planning on headed to the bar anyways.

“It’s a deal, then,” you smiled, reaching out to shake his hand.

“It’s a deal,”.

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

You were four drinks in, and you were finally feeling warm. Your laughs bubbled in your throat, and the raucous atmosphere of the cantina dulled the cold ache that had settled in your bones. The room had taken on a soft, undulating glow, and your cheeks were flushed and gleaming. Linor was an excellent conversationalist, but the pair of you had been at the cantina for three hours, and you could tell he was itching to take you back to his ship. His hand had migrated from the top of your knee to your upper thigh, and when you laughed his eyes lingered on your parted lips for just a moment too long. You crossed your legs, effectively removing his hand from your thigh, and cleared your throat.

“What time is it? I promised my friend I’d be home by midnight,” a white lie, of course, but Linor didn’t need to know that.

“It’s quarter to eleven—comm them, let ‘em know you’ll be late. You’re coming to my place, right?” You didn’t like the sound of Linor’s tone, it was too confident, too demanding. His hand was back on your upper thigh as well, this time a rough squeeze jarring you fully back to reality. The more aware you became of your situation, the more you mentally kicked yourself for letting yourself end up in the cantina in the first place. You had left the baby in its pod, for maker’s sake. What if someone raided the ship, or the pod shut off, or the child got sick, or—

“Actually, she was just leaving,” a rough voice explained from behind you. A familiar voice. Mando.

You turned quickly to face him, and nearly wobbled off your stool. Maybe you had more to drink than you thought. You gave him a lazy once-over, letting your gaze linger on his armored form, and aptly assessed that he didn’t have the bounty with him.

“Didja get the bounty?”

“He’s in the carbonite freezer on the ship, the baby’s asleep. Let’s go,” He sounded pissed.

You stood from your stool, and promptly tripped face-first into his beskar chest-plate. You definitely had more to drink than you thought. You issued an insincere apology to Linor, who was making some very intense eye contact with the wood grain of the bar. As much as you hated to say it, you loved the effect Mando had on people. Tall, confident Linor wouldn’t even look him in the eye. Mando could be downright scary, and the best part was that he didn’t even seem to realize it. You enjoyed your little train of thought for a moment, until you circled back to the fact that his scary-bounty-hunter-tone was directed at you. His visor had not left your face the entire time you were lost in thought. You wobbled again, against your will.

“You’re drunk,”. His head tilted, the black t of his helmet fixating on your flushed face. He sighed, muttered something about talking about this in the morning, and scooped one arm under your knees and another at the small of your back. He carried you back out into the cold and you shuddered involuntarily as he dumped you onto the cold metal of the speeder. He shuffled in behind you on the speeder, his armored thighs bracketing yours. You lost your balance yet again, and as you steadied yourself against Mando’s chest you were suddenly very grateful that he had seated you in front of him rather than behind. He fired up the engine, and the two of you flew across the frozen landscape back to the ship.

If you thought you were cold before, now you were freezing. The wind bit at your exposed face, and despite bundling yourself in Mando’s old cloak, the icy air slipped in between the grain of the fabric and sapped the residual warmth from your limbs. You shifted further back into Mando’s chest, fixating on the rumble of the engine as you approached the Crest. The speeder skidded to a stop, and Mando slid off and fiddled with his vambrace for a moment before giving you a quiet, “C’mere,” and carrying you through the cold into the Crest. He carried you right past your little blanket pile and set you down in a corner of the ship. He punched a few more buttons on his vambrace, and a door opened behind you, revealing a small room with a bed and—was that a heated blanket?

“It’s warmer in here, I’ll take the cot,” Mando explained.

“Hey, no. Wait, is this your room? I’m not gonna steal your bed,” you crossed your arms defiantly, leaning back on the wall for support.

“I’m asking you to,” his voice betrayed a hint of exasperation, and you remembered the long, exhausting day he most definitely had. “Look, you’re shivering. If you freeze to death in that cot the kid’ll never forgive me,”.

You sensed you were fighting a losing battle.

“But if you freeze to death in that cot, the kid’ll never forgive me,” you mentally patted yourself on the back for that excellent stroke of logic.

“I’ll be fine, just go—”

“Why don’t we just share? Body heat, right?” Did you really just say that? You were sober enough to know that you definitely should have kept your mouth shut. You probably just made him uncomfortable, what if it was against his creed? You were mentally kicking yourself for the second time tonight.

Mando paused a moment before responding.

“Alright—the helmet stays on, though,” He was already stripping himself of his beskar, but his mechanical movements betrayed his exhaustion.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” You made your way over to the bed, shucking off your shoes and quickly slipping under the covers. The thin mattress was softer than the cot, but barely. Was being comfortable against the Way?

You were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that tipsy you would be sharing a bed with the man you’d been crushing on for months. With your luck, you’d probably drool on him in your sleep. Mando hit the lights, and moments later you felt a depression on the other side of the mattress, and Mando’s warm, solid body against your back. You scooted further back against him, and as if on instinct, he draped his arm around your waist. You were finally comfortable—you felt warmer than you had at the cantina. You were quickly drifting off to sleep, and by the sound of Mando’s modulated breathing, he was out like a light. A slight snore from under the helmet confirmed your suspicions. The man was like a generator. He practically radiated heat, and you suddenly felt less guilty that you hadn’t taken the cot like you had originally insisted on. You bent your knees, slipping your cold toes in between his calves.

CLANG

His helmet hit the durasteel wall, and you felt his entire body jolt.

“Why the fuck are your feet so cold?”

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 77: Like a Good Old-Fashioned Barn Raising

Chapters: 77/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time

Summary:  Buridag begins!

Loki was awake long before you were, getting preparations ready, loose ends tied up, last minute orders sent out. He allowed you to sleep until you woke on your own, having removed his little illusory alarms from you some time ago.

Sometimes flower petals still rained upon you, and perfume rose from your footsteps, but no more snakes in the bath.

So you rose slowly, stretching and yawning the grogginess away at your own pace. Time was very hard to tell by looking out windows at this time of year, but when Loki entered the room carrying an egg sandwich, a little pile of fresh potato chips, and a glass of coffee, you placed yourself firmly within brunch territory.

Loki flicked on your sunlamp, gestured at the chair, and handed you your brunch once you'd taken your seat.

You munched your food and absorbed your light while Loki laid out the day's plans. You'd get dressed in a ceremonial outfit that included your armor and helmet, and join the parade that was gathering even now.

They were initially going to put you on Sleipnir. You had asked them not to. Sleipnir was magnificent, but you had no connection to him, nor to Leynarodd, who was the second choice. Your sweet, stout, shaggy little Acorn was who you preferred, a horse that belonged to no one initially, but who had formed a trusting bond with you.

Your clothing was, predictably, green, the underdress and apron a dark mossy color, hemmed on all edges with fine gold braid, embroidered with stripes of delicate knotwork, and your mark, also in gold. Over the top of this went your quilted tunic, in it's shimmering jade, and then your armor; the breastplate, the tassets, the bracers, pauldrons, greaves, and poleyns, though the last two were not visible. They went on over the leather trousers you'd been given to wear under your dress. They were sleek things, made of tough black leather, pleated in diagonal patterns, just like something Loki would wear. You thought the pleats had the advantage of putting more leather between you and any danger, and were flexible as well.

There were actually places where your familiar oval brooches could be fastened, your strings of shining beads strung between, your chatelaine dangled. Your belt was tooled leather and brass findings, hung with a leather purse, your Yggdrasil phone case, a small drinking horn carved with your mark, and of course, your knife. A little burst of deep pink against all the gold, green, and black.

You wore a minty-green velvet cape, a gift from Andsvarr, and your beautiful helmet to top it all off. You truly looked like something out of a fantasy novel, someone who looked like they should be standing next to the legendary figure that Loki currently cut.

He looked enormous, with his many asymmetrical layers, and molded shoulder guards, his billowing cape and hair spilling from beneath his magnificent curling horns. He shone with nornbein, and his cloak, shot with silk, shimmered subtly.

“You're so beautiful.” you mumbled. Loki smiled, and leaned down to adjust your cape, cheeks dusted with pink.

“Thank you.” he said, “I make every attempt. Though I think I will fade into the background under the power of your radiance.”

Warmth rushed to your face.

“Um, I know we've got to hurry and get Acorn, but I want to ask you a favor, Loki.”

“Anything. Tell me what it is and I'll make it so.”

You took a deep breath.

“I need you to stop trying to impress my father.”

The pink on his cheeks transformed into bright red.

“Ah. Yes, I rather hashed that, didn't I? I apologize. I thought that was still standard procedure, but your father, uh, explained otherwise.”

“Mhm, I'll bet he did. Look, I know you wanted to surprise us, but when it comes to things like that, you really oughta run it by me first. I could have told you that wouldn't work out the way you thought it would. You know, saved you from being chewed out like that. You can let me save you sometimes too.”

“ Like with the Huldra.”

“Kinda. Dad's not as bloodthirsty as she was, but he's a lot more stubborn.”

“Like father, like daughter, hm?” he teased.

“You have not seen me be stubborn yet.” you warned, and he gave you a quick smooch.

“A blessing, I'm sure. Very well, I agree. Surprises get run by you. Anything to save me from another tongue lashing. That man truly does not hold back.”

“I mean it though.” you persisted. “I'm not saying that you can't have any surprises at all, but talk to me about big stuff like that. If it's something that Asgardian law or custom would demand, but would be insulting to a human, we can maybe hash out an alternative that would satisfy both. That's the point, isn't it? Please, I really don't want to deal with anymore trouble between you two. Don't get hung up on impressing him, he has every reason to reject it, and he will. No more gifts, no toasts, no calling attention to him in public, nothing. He hates being the center of attention. Just let him be a guest, and see, without interference, that his little girl is doing fine on her own.”

“I really didn't mean to make him so angry.” Loki said, a little crestfallen. “And the more I tried to explain, the angrier he became. I just wanted him to know how much I value you. I wanted you to know too.”

“Material culture is different where I'm from. There are places in the world where that would have been understood and appreciated, but we've stopped doing it. In the same vein, fathers don't make all the decisions for their daughters anymore, so you don't actually need his approval. But...I need you to understand, it's not just that you took away his child, though that's bad enough. It's that I'm the only family he has left. My grandma only had one kid, and that was my dad. And she's dead, and so's my granddad, before I was even born. And then my mom died, and Beth too, and so I'm all that's left for him. And I have this giant Sword of Damocles hanging over my head all the time, and he's had to worry about that for my whole life. Most of the women on my mom's side all died from this, but occasionally, rarely, there's one that doesn't. I'm starting to hope that might be me. Maybe the magic is protecting me. But he's not going to be able to accept that so easily. I'm all he had left, and you took me away. That's all that's going to be important to him. You didn't even have to do the things you did in New York, this is the worst possible crime you could commit, in his eyes.”

Loki heaved a sigh of remorse. “And I cannot even return you to him. It seems there is one more thing I cannot set right.”

“The best you can do is make sure I'm okay. And don't bother him anymore. And maybe let him come visit more often. The more he sees me living my life and being fine, the more confidence he will have that I'm actually safe here.”

“I shall endeavor to help you thrive.” Loki promised.

“All right, so if that's settled, we should go get our horses.”

                                                                         ******

Acorn was, like you, a bit overdressed in your opinion. Long tabbards and blankets covered her from nose to rump, green and gold, embroidered with oak leaves. They were so long, they almost brushed the ground. Ribbons were braided into her wild mane and tail, and bells jingled with every movement. Like you, she could barely be seen under her splendor. But she was probably warm, and happily accepted a carrot from your hand. Placid as always, she let you up on her back, and fell into step behind Leynarodd, who likewise, followed up behind Sleipnir, whose hooves still rang like bells even over the thin layer of packed snow that covered the recently cleared streets.

There was a whole procession of people-this was a parade after all, and Thor, on Sleipnir, was preceded by the twin Valkyries, carrying Asgardian banners, as well as several musicians, and Beli, who chanted an ancient epic on the exploits of Buri.

Saga had translated the chant for you a while ago, and it sounded something like the sensationalized, self-aggrandizing boasts of pharaohs, or Mesopotamian kings-the kind that claimed to be rulers of the world, or rulers of the heavens themselves, to have battled armies of demons, killed giant lions with only a stick-that sort of thing. But when Beli called out those verses in such an ancient dialect of Asgardian, the words themselves felt powerful.

Thor followed slowly, Sliepnir plodding along, both of them absolutely huge. Loki and Leynarodd came right behind, only slightly smaller. And then you and Acorn, almost comical in your stature, diminutive by comparison. You were keenly aware of it, but either all of Asgard was too polite to say anything about it, or they simply didn't care.

The human guests, corralled in roped off areas, whooped and cheered when when you passed. Behind you, more musicians played, and a circle of Seidkonas walked in silent dignity. Then came more banners, the rest of the Valkyries, representatives of each noble house and guild, and the rest of the Aesir in Asgard, provided they didn't already have another position in the parade.

After them, the gathered Asgardians began following, lengthening out the procession, bright balls of magical light bobbing overhead. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, and would be slinking away in a mere three or so hours, so the mage lights sparkled everywhere. Helpful Einherjar herded the humans to the next specially roped off area, so they could follow the parade as well; you caught a few amused faces at the playful rowdiness displayed by celebrating humans.

That was just how humans were when they were excited about something. Humans loved to holler, to jump, and dance, and clap. Some of them were even trying to keep time with the music.

You weren't actually able to pick out your father or Tara in the crowd, nor anyone else you knew, so you just kept your head forward and your back straight, trying to look as dignified as you could.

You'd only ever seen a few of what you considered 'proper' parades: in a small town a parade mostly consisted of people waving from the backs of neighborhood pickup trucks and tractors, maybe decorated with balloons or paper chains, blasting music from dusty old speakers. In the autumn, there might be pumpkins and corn stalks, and usually hayrides. But never anything like this spectacle.

As you got closer to the construction site, the apprentice mages responsible for all the floating lights started throwing sparks from their hands, like colorful sparklers. The gathered Asgardians began lining up in their designated areas, ready to play their part. The foundations had already been dug, and everything that needed to go into them was already there. All that remained was the pouring.

Thor, Loki, and yourself dismounted as close to in unison as you could manage, the horses carefully lead away to a temporary enclosure. You headed to the stack of decorative bricks, and took your place among the Asgardians there, while Thor gave the order for the cement to pour.

While this went on, Beli gathered his students and skalds in front of the Huldrastone to recite a modern epic. Within the first few verses you realized that it was about the Huldra's attack, and your confrontation with her.

Of course, the poem was much cleaner and more elegant than the actual events had been, but certain things had still been included. Your ears burned beneath your helmet when Beli reached the part where you had 'bestowed upon the fallen prince, a gentle sacrificial kiss, knowing that to trade life for life would grant him breath once more.'

You had finally spotted your father and Tara in the crowd; he crossed his arms and glared upon hearing the verse, while Tara gave you a cheezy grin and thumbs up.

As the poem reached its conclusion, the cement finished pouring, and a new recitation began. As Thor and Loki knelt and began scratching ritual runes into the wet cement, Beli's current group of student came forward and began telling the story of Beli, while apprentice mages illustrated the words with colorful, stylized illusions.

There were harrowing battles against huge stone people, the construction of the original Bifrost, which at that time connected a fleet of alien ships to one another. The illusions showed the gathering of construction materials, the building of a platform in space, and the grand revelation of the crystalline platform upon which Asgard slowly grew. Mountain and plain, river and ocean, building after magnificent building rose into the sky. Their ships captured and carved an asteroid, then set it in orbit as a bright new moon. All this was accomplished by the use of a glowing, icy blue cube that was difficult to look directly at. It was compelling though; it caught and held your attention with its beautiful, sparkling light.

You knew what that device was: you had learned about it in your lessons with Saga. It was the object known as the Tesseract, a four dimensional creation meant to house the incredible energy of an Infinity Stone. Perhaps that was why it was simultaneously fascinating, yet hard to perceive. Your curious human brain was drawn to its uniqueness, yet equally unable to fully fathom it.

That device was the key to Asgard's existence and eventual success. It was unthinkable to you that Odin had just lost it on Earth, as Sagas histories had proclaimed. It must have been a terrible loss.

Thor and Loki completed their carving, and began the process of imbuing the foundations with divine power. Goosebumps rose on your arms, and there was a pricking in your sinuses, like you were about to sneeze. There was almost a flavor to it.

The actual blessing didn't take nearly as long as the rune carving ritual, and soon, the two brothers stepped back, to allow others to begin their work. More mages worked a spell together that lifted the water out of the cement, drying it within moments. People came forward with wires and pipes, floor and wall supports, insulation, hammers, plaster, bricks, and mortar. In rotating lines people laid flooring and installed fixtures, scraped grout and assembled frames. Every now and then youths moved through, sweeping up dust, always away from you.

It suddenly became clear that that was why you were so far back in line, why you'd been assigned a decorative brick, something that would be placed near the very end of the construction. There would be no dust then. Gratitude swelled in your chest, but you said nothing. There was singing now, simple, repetitive melodies that sounded like work songs.

Every hour, volunteers carted huge, heated cauldrons around the lines and groups of human spectators, dipping out hot drinks like witch's potions, and it was possible that there was a simple sort of magic in things like hot chocolate, strong coffee, and buttered rum on a cold day.

The building went up faster than you thought possible, the widows, doors, and lights being set into place as auroras began ribboning across the sky.

Finally, there was one brick left. You lifted it up, as the singing seemed to intensify, scooped some mortar from the pail, and fitted it all into the only remaining slot. Giving the brick a light pat to make sure it was secure, you turned back to the assembled crowd.

“We did it.” You said, and the cheering began.

[bonniebird]

Tommy x Reader

Requested by Anon

The new house was large. It still wasn’t fully furnished. There was a bottle whiskey loosely in your had as you walked around the hall, having been let in by a maid, the thought of the Shelby family having a maid was amusing.

“What do you think?” Tommy asked proudly.

“I think it’s a large home which will be very empty. There's more rooms than you could possibly fill Tommy.” You said playfully and he smiled.

“Well, I suppose you could always stay. A couple brothers, fill a few rooms.” He trailed off and laughed when you huffed.

“I see. So you invited me. To see the new home you wanted to invite me to live in.” You accused and he yielded jokingly, accepting the bottle of whisky you offered him.

Your independence had been a novelty to the Shelby boys, an inspiration to Ada and a scorn to Polly, you had no interest in settling for any of her nephews. Though she softened into pride when she realised that you’d rather be alone than with anyone but the Shelbys.

While you knew of the boys less than honest streak, they were all careful to ensure your record was squeaky clean. Though the police were sure to call at you as they broke up whatever mischief they were planning, sending you on your way, reminding you what trouble the boys where.

As you walked through the rooms and looked around it was clear that decorating the house had been a forthaught, while there was still huge spaces and some rooms that simply had no furniture in it. You couldn’t help but think back. The old house had been small and cramped, but that was what gave it such a charm.

Fighting for a place on one of the sofas or chair. The mismatched kitchen chairs shoved around the table as Polly pilled the food high and chaos broke out to grab something to eat.

The cold winters would bite at you as you raced along the road, bursting into the Shelby’s home would be like wrapping in a warm blanket, it was never cold in their home, everyone was welcome.

You imagined that this would be much the same. Or maybe not. It wasn’t hard for you to willingly ignore the Shelby family’s business. But you weren’t deaf. You heard people talk about what they did.

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

“I will admit that it’s nice to have the countryside on the doorstep.” You said to Tommy who’d agreed to walk with you.

It had been several hours and although the chill of the morning sank into your bones, neither of you minded, enjoying the peace of the morning.

“Well the offer still stands.” He joked with a smile.

“How can you stand being so out of the way. It’s always so busy in the city, everything happens at once.” You said happily, as you admired the trees that lined the Shelby property.

“It suits us just fine. Better in fact.”

“Ah, yes, less police officers to pull you up when you hooligans steal bikes.” You mused playfully, recalling the time when you were all younger, seeing Tommy and John dragged off by officers.

“Well I suppose that is a perk. But we’re safer here.” Tommy muttered. He frowned when cars started pulling up on the drive. Arthur was out of the door, rushing over to the two of you as he rushed you inside.

“Didn’t know they were showing up Tommy.” He muttered.

Tommy didn’t answer as he dragged you through his office and into a door that seemed to be built into the book shelves. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He muttered as he turned on the lights that hung from the walls and shut the door.

There was a small armchair, a table of alcohol and a few glasses and some books. Of course the booze came before the other luxuries. It wasn’t the first time something shady had happened and you’d been hidden out of sight.

When you pressed against the bookcase you could hear the family talking about whoever was outside. Knowing better than to listen to much you sat down and flicked through one of the books. Tommy’s mother had hoped you’d be a good influence on her boys. Polly claimed it was the mother Mary’s doing that they weren’t a bad influence on them.

Tommy seemed always tasked with charming you. Arhur would bumble about with nervous doting and John’s overconfident bound and the smile on his face was never anything more than brotherly. Arthur had steeled his nerves and John had the common sense to at least pretend he wasn’t gleeful, even when downing pints at the Garrison. Tommy had never grown out of being charming.

“What’re you going to do about (Y/N)? She doesn't want to stay, you can’t tell her why she’s not safe at him!” Polly said sharply. She was close to the door and you could hear her more clearly. Soft footsteps led away and there was a scraping noise at the edges of the bookcase.

“(Y/N)?” Tommy asked as he opened the door. It had been a good few hours since you’d been rushed into the hidden room. He called for you as if he half expected you to have found a way out without his notice.

You wanted to snap at him, shout and breathe him. Point out how much you put up with, be cruel and spit out that he was lucky you were still his friend. Though from the guilty look on his face he already knew all that. 

For the first time you realise just how tired he looked. Like it seeped into his bones, draining him of life until he just plodded on like one of Charlie’s old cart horses walking the same track everyday.

“We have a room ready for you upstairs, I’ll show you which one.” Tommy said. That was all he said. There was no explanation, for the men in cars, the panic of the family or the rush to shut you out of sight. Though there never was an explanation with Tommy. Arthur would have exaggerated the danger, John would have bragged of his heroics, Tommy would stay quiet and watch. Tommy never told, he would observe you the way you watched him now. If you tried to question him when he was younger you might have been rewarded with a wry smile that lifted the corner of his lips, only showing in his eyes if he looked at you. You didn’t ask Tommy questions anymore.

He took your hand and led you through the big house. There was a heavy air in the house. A thick uncomfortable feeling, that seemed to choke the delight that had filled it for the last few days, the kind of feeling that stagnated conversation as it settled.

Passing a room you saw Arthur, leaning on a desk with his head in his hands. Another room John was hugging Esme who rubbed his back gently, both looking worried. Ada passed the halls as you passed her. If Tommy hadn’t placed his hand on your back to move you on faster, you might have pulled away, reached for Ada. That was what you wanted more than anything just then. To hug Ada and stop her pacing like a trapped animal, rush on to John and Esme, assure them that if they stuck together they’d be fine. You’d take Arthur's big hands in yours and remind him of the words he’d tell you if he saw you were nervous, that if he was brave enough nothing would stop him.

Walking up the stairs seemed like walking to another world. Leaving the fearing Shelby’s behind to ascend with Tommy to the floor that was filled with rushing housemaids. It was as if the mood couldn’t dig its claws in here. The rushing maids bustled about and disrupted it’s clutch.

“Just ask if you need anything.” Tommy said as he led you to the end of a corridor. He paused outside a door that had fresh flowers set on a table next to it. Sunlight streamed in through the window at the end of the corridor and you could see the woods and lands stretching into the distance. Tommy hadn’t let go of you. Was he waiting for you to demand to go home? He couldn't think you would leave them now. The silence between you had started to become awkward so he let go of your hand and opened the door. As you moved in his hand fell away from you back.

The room was large, lavish and beyond anything you would choose to fill a house with. Ornate and beautiful but for show. As you looked around he stayed in the doorway, as if stepping in would drag in all the chaos going on below and dampen the room.

You turned to thank him, but your words fell short. Feeling more like a captive you weren’t sure if you should thank him. That perhaps doing so would make the pained look, that occasionally played over his face as he watched you, worse.

For the first time since you’d known him, you had no idea how to cheer Tommy up, it set a fluttering nervousness through you.

“I’ll... Try and get everything sorted.” He said quickly. His voice cracked as if his statement was an apology for keeping you there. When he didn’t move you realised he was waiting for an objection, some fight and spirit, a negotiation that ended with you living on as usual with a little interference from the Peaky Blinders. But you couldn’t find it in your heart to fight him. Tommy had always managed to be charming, keep the worry of his world from his face, join his siblings in revealing in your blissfully cheerful world.

With quick steps you walked back towards the door. Before he could step out of your way you crashed into him with the tightest hug you could muster. He let out a breath against your ear that could have been mistaken for the ghost of a fond laugh. His arms wrapped around you and for a moment you stayed that way. Until you spotted a nervous housemaid over his shoulder, staring at her feet so hard she might well burn holes through the floor beneath her, and pulled away.

“I’m sure it’ll all work out. That’s what you’re good at Tommy.” You assured him. His reply was a curt nod as he moved away from the doorway and started off down the hall. You decided to save the housemaid from her statuesque position and invited her into your room, helping with the blankets and spare clothes she was carrying. Tommy paused at the end of the landing and looked back at you, comforting the girl who seemed mortified to have encroached on the moment. He smiled, the smile that you coaxed out of him on occasion, comforted that no matter what went wrong over the next few weeks. He had his own piece of sunshine tucked away for the worst days.

[blarrghe]

"I called you at 2am because I need you" for... is it too indulgent to ask for Dorian x Anders?

never too much! Decided on a straight sequel to the last one, so here’s modern au resident!Anders and politician!Dorian after a long shift. --

He had three hours left in his shift when he got the text from Barb. He looked suspiciously down at his phone when it buzzed. Barb’s contact was in his phone with a little butterfly next to her name, to match the tattoo on her ankle and the bright and fluttery nature of her personality. He liked Barb, but she was almost definitely asking him to cover her shift, and he debated opening the message for several minutes before doing so with a reluctant sigh. Barb was going through some things; messy divorce, two little kids to look after all on her own, the pay they made here and the stress that came with it. 

“Can’t find a sitter, can you take a shift?” read the first text, Anders was going to say yes anyway, but then two more came in, buzzing in quick succession. “unless you want to babysit? I’d give you my pay!” bright, chipper texting tone, accompanied by several hopeful looking emojis, “and brownies! 🍫” Barb did make really excellent brownies. He considered taking her up on the second offer, but he really wasn’t sure he had the energy for kids who weren’t bed-ridden or in need of medical care. He could turn on Fun Doctor Mode like a lightswitch for the kids down in pediatrics, but kids who wanted to refuse bedtime and stay up watching TV they weren’t mature enough to handle? He shook his head, half smiling over the offer of brownies, half frowning over the decision he’d made before he even opened the first message. Barb deserved to get the time with her kids, anyway. 

“I’ve got you covered.” Kissy face cat emoji, knife and fork emoji. 

“Lifesaver!!!!!” every single colour of heart.

He pencilled his name in on the clipboard for the next rotation, and began to regret the fact that he’d so quickly stuffed down the pastry Dorian had brought him earlier as he tried to remember if he had enough coins in the pockets of his coat for both a bag of pretzels from the vending machine and the bus home. He didn’t, but he’d have more luck charming the bus driver into a free ride than the vending machine into giving up its snacks, so he went to his locker and fished out the last of his bus money. 

The rest of his shift went by in a blur of activity, up and down halls as his white-soled shoes squeaked and squawked along the linoleum floors, up and down stairs that were faster than waiting for elevators, thankless pages from doctors all across the sprawling hospital, avoiding his shift supervisor in case she asked about Barb. Then Barb’s shift was much the same, for the four and a half hours after that. It was nearing two am when he finally staggered out to the bus stop, and well past it by the time he arrived home — on foot, because the bus driver had not, in fact, let him ride for free. Just what he got for putting hope into the kindness of strangers. One kind act was, apparently, the extent of his daily karma allotment. Fair enough — he could still almost taste the honey of that pastry on his lips; either an uncommonly good morsel, or he was just drastically underfed. The latter, but the pastry-giver was certainly more than he deserved.

Shit. Dorian. He’d asked him to call. Anders looked blearily at the clock on his stove as he kicked off his shoes and plodded over to the cabinet to dish out some kibble for Ser Pounce. The cold tile floor was a welcome relief on his worn out feet, though the fact that he could feel it at all was a testament to the grave state of his socks. Ser Pounce pounced down from his perch above the cabinets to give some love and a swath of shedding cat hair to Anders’ legs, then nibbled at his food while Anders opened his fridge to try to figure something out for himself. He sniffed at the milk, decided it was probably still fine, and then poured it over a heaping bowl of sugary cereal. Yeah, he’d have made a pretty shit babysitter. 

Anders took his bowl with him to his bed, flopping down on the lumpy mattress with a sigh that fully emptied his lungs, and pulled out his phone. He opened his message history and pulled up the conversation with Dorian. Not much there, but what there was made him smile. Mostly short, friendly messages. No emojis except for the one he’d stuck next to Dorian’s name in the contact page — a snake, not his first choice, but he’d embarassed himself by asking the man which one he’d like when he first scored his number, and snake was what he’d picked. Anders would have gone with the diamond, or the little tophat, or maybe the cat with hearts for eyes…

Anyway, then it had turned out that Dorian was a very formal texter. Proper punctuation and fully articulated words and all that. Anders had spent far too many minutes in their text-based conversations together fretting over how immature it would come off to use an abbreviation for laughter versus spelling out the words “haha”, or if even that was too juvenile. But he and Dorian were both all sarcastic humour and chastising bits of flirtation, and he also fretted about the tone of that without it. 

“you up?” he wrote, then hovered his thumb over the send button for thirty or so seconds before deciding that it was worth the shot. Worse came to worst, Dorian would reply with a friendly apology and an offer to chat the next morning. He was dependable like that. 

“Depends, is this a booty call?” came the almost instant reply. Alone in his room, Anders blushed. 

Blushing emoji, monkey covering his eyes emoji, sweat-smile emoji… delete, delete, delete. “No, just miss you,” DELETE, definitely delete. He tried typing some other things. “Just got in, but thinking of you…” no. “You wish lol” haha? Neither. He erased the message and began again, but then the phone screen lit up with “Dorian🐍”, buzzing as it rang. 

“The little dots were driving me mad. Did you just get in?” His voice was like honey, too. 

“Yeah, covered for Barb.” 

“Again?” 

Anders leaned back against his pillow, closing his eyes as Dorian’s concern blanketed over him. “She couldn’t find a sitter.” 

“You’re too nice for your own good.” Dorian scolded him gently through the phone, and it probably said something unhealthy about Anders that hearing Dorian admiringly call him nice made the whole last five hours of life-draining overtime and bitter walk home worth it. 

“She offered me brownies,” he shrugged the compliment off, “what can I say? I’m a sucker for chocolate.” 

“I’ll remember that.” Dorian purred, causing Anders to almost second guess his response to the idea of a booty call, exhausted or not. “So, not a booty call then?” Anders groaned inwardly, wishing it were, but no. Not unless Dorian wanted to talk to him on the phone the whole way over to keep him from falling asleep before he arrived, and even then.

“I just — uh…” he was going to say something about the book, but he hadn’t actually had time yet to look at it. His heart rate quickened with panic, he needed to find something to keep Dorian on the phone. “Thanks for the visit today.” Yes, because that warranted a phone call at three in the morning. “Sorry if I woke you…” 

“Nonsense. I’m always awake at this hour. It’s a terrible habit of mine.” Dorian did indeed sound very wakeful. Probably also very disappointed in the grogginess of Anders’ own voice. 

“Mm,” Anders muttered, his eyes closing under the warmth of Dorian’s voice through the phone again. 

“But you sound awful.” 

“Ran out of bus fare,” Anders explained, “had to walk… long day.” On a better night, Dorian might listen to his work gossip and share some rants of his own; they made quite a pair, both always seeming too short on time and too packed with stress to get out much, both always angry with their bosses — though Dorian was frustrated by beaurocracy constantly getting in the way of his efforts at world-saving, while Anders’ patients gave him fulfilment enough, it was just that his pockets were perpetually empty and all his managers were slave drivers. 

“Why don’t you have a bus pass?” Dorian sighed at him. A bus pass was a hundred bucks up front at the beginning of the month, and with payday always landing two weeks after but every other bill needing to paid right then too… but he didn’t really want to explain that particular predicament to Dorian, who had a flashy suit for every day of the week and a car that cost about as much as Anders was worth in medical school debt. “Well, you can call me next time. I’d give you a ride.” he purred on that note too, having fun with his double entendres. Anders chuckled. 

“I’ll keep you in mind,” he promised. Though the thought of begging his quasi-boyfriend for a ride at two am made him shudder. Still, not quite a lie; he always seemed to have Dorian on his mind at the end of a long shift. 

“Since I have you, dinner?” The inflection of the question was a little high. Anders crunched on a mouthful of cereal with his eyes still closed and mumbled something unintelligable. “You’re off Friday, aren’t you? Do me a favour and don’t pick up any more shifts. I have a place in mind I think you’ll like.” 

“Mm?” He thought about the kind of places Dorian would think were good spots for a dinner date, and was very glad that he couldn’t see the blue-tinted milk running down his chin. 

“It’s a surprise.” Back to low purring, that nervousness or whatever it had been apparently gone again. Anders liked the warm flirtatious tone, but the little breaks into uncertainty were what kept him coming back for more. So much in common. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Anders “mm”’d through his mouthful of cereal in the affirmative. 

“Amatus?” Even his pet names were classy. Anders would go with “love” if it weren’t so close to an unthinkable state of being, or “babe” if it weren’t for the fact that Dorian outshone that by a mile with amatus. His thoughts were all cat-with-heart-eyes emoji at the sound, and not much else.  

Anders swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Get some sleep.” 

“Mm.” Anders moved the bowl from his lap to the cluttered chair at his bedside, and leaned deeper into his pillow. “See you Friday, Dor” Dor, was that really the best he could do? 

He heard Dorian hum contentedly on the other side of the line, “looking forward to it.” he said. 

“Night, love.” Anders muttered, then very very quickly he hit end call, and shut his eyes tight. 

[liemonyellow]

such unimaginable things - (a sky full of song)

read on ao3

previous

Summary: Roman just needed some space. Janus gave him all he had.

Pairings: roceit (requited unrequited love)

Warnings: major character death, implied/referenced suicide, roman angst

"I'm here to apologize."

Roman glared hard at Jan- Deceit, ignoring Patton's traitorous presence beside the slimy serpent.

"Save it. I’m not interested in hearing it."

Ja- Deceit's crestfallen face tugged at his heart for only a moment before he steeled himself. In time, Roman would might bring himself to forgive him, but he wasn't feeling very forgiving towards anyone lately.

"Roman-" The prince's sharp scowl stopped Patton from continuing.

"Are we done here? Unlike some of us, I have work to be doing and I totally have time to waste on apologies from people I don't want to see." He hoped Deceit could taste the bitter lies. He hoped they stung. He hoped he couldn't tell which one it was.

If they did, the yellow side didn't show it. Instead, he asked, "What can I do to earn your forgiveness?" To earn back your love?

There was something to his voice in the way he said it. Quiet. Vulnerable. Desperate, even.

Roman almost broke, but didn't. He wanted so much to pull the serpentine side into his arms and never let go, to kiss away the frown on his lips and the watery sheen in his eyes, to finally declare to him and all the world that he loved him, and at last openly accept all that silent, overflowing adoration he could sense so constantly from him.

But he couldn't. Not right now.

"Nothing," he said. "Just... leave me alone."

Patton put a hand on Deceit's shoulder and said something about waiting for another time. Deceit stared despondently into Roman's determined eyes before he turned toward the moral side and nodded. Roman's fists clenched tighter. No. No matter his unspoken feelings, or Janus's, he had to stand by his convictions. Why should he feel possessive or jealous over him when they had no real relationship beyond furtive glances, longing gazes, and lingering stares? (Even if Roman could practically feel their combined romantic emotions rolling off of both of them in ever-increasing waves.)

They left.

Roman stormed into his room, slamming the door behind him. He stood there, unsure where to look or what to do.

He spotted something yellow, buried underneath the disorganized heap of abandoned and discarded art projects that he hadn't yet had the heart to get rid of. Roughly fishing it out, a corner of it messily tore off as it caught on something else. He gingerly held the torn piece in place and gave it a good look.

It was an unfinished watercolor painting of some red-and-white striped roses laying alongside some nemophilas, with a fluffy bumblebee resting on one of the latter’s petals. He'd already painted in the bee and the baby blue petals when he suddenly realized he hated it, so he’d tossed it aside and ultimately forgot it as more and more of his unsatisfactory work piled up on top of it.

Roman was staring, mind adrift, at the mangled tatters of it clutched in his fists before he realized he'd shredded it, his fat, wet teardrops splattering and soaking into the torn scraps as they fell from his eyes.

He plodded over to his desk and laid the pieces down gently, flattening the creases and puzzling them together into a broken approximation of what it once was.

He pulled out a new, crisp sheet of watercolor paper, his favorite pens, and his very finest paints, and set to recreate the piece.

A sudden, inexplicable sense of dread caused him to pause mid-stroke. A drop of scarlet splattered onto the bee, which Roman hurriedly wiped away before it soaked into the paper. It didn’t, but the bee now had a slight orange tinge. It looked fine, so he continued, ignoring the escalating feeling of something being missing until he finished.

Hours later, he put down his brush. The new painting was similar, but not the same. The flowers were better rendered, the lines more confident and sure, the ink darker and richer, the watercolor more vibrant. The bee, however, was now nestled among the striped petals of the rose.

He considered his art for a few minutes. It still felt incomplete. He was missing something.

Without really thinking about it, he allowed his instinct to guide his hand, drawing out in looping curls some of the finest calligraphy he’d ever done.

For my beloved Janus

Roman realized he was smiling, but also tearing up again. He rubbed at his heart. Something was missing, still.

Then came a knock on his door.

It wasn't typical for anyone to knock. Roman left his door unlocked to let the other sides simply walk in or, in Remus's case, barge in unannounced. Virgil knocked, but his was much more hesitant and shy, not crisp and solid as this one was, and he had graduated to knocking and then letting himself in a few months after he was accepted.

Janus had never visited Roman personally. Not before that morning, and Patton had knocked then, a rapid, fluttering knock, greeting Roman with a sad smile before letting the other side take the stage.

Roman almost fell over himself scrambling to get to the door, yanking it open, his heart hammering in his ears as it pumped pure hope into his veins.

It was Remus.

Roman tried not to let his disappointment show as his smile faltered. (When did he start smiling again?)

Wait.

Remus never knocked.

"Hey," Remus said. He looked unblinkingly into Roman's eyes, some strange, unidentifiable emotion brewing behind his crimson irises. He let out a breath, looking away.

"I don't know how to tell you all nice-like and shit, but… he's gone."

Roman blinked, not understanding. "Who's gone?"

Remus just gave him a look. He seemed almost... sad? Roman almost wished Jan- Deceit was here to translate his brother's unusual moodiness. No one really got Remus, save him. Roman supposed he could understand how the snack mamba might learn to tolerate his brother since they were both Dark Sides for so long, but best friends? He didn't understand it, and probably never would.

Remus continued without answering. "Patton's pretty torn up about it, y'know. Probably thought he coulda stopped it. If I knew what he was planning, I would have stopped him. I know you would've, too.”

Roman had no idea what he was talking about. The strange sensation in his heart grew heavy with unfathomable loss.

His brother paused for a moment, chewing on his words, then said, “It's not your fault."

Wait, what?

Remus held out a pale yellow envelope.

"He left this for you," he said somberly and far too softly for his usual self. Roman took it, half-aware of what he was doing, focused as he was on the dark, watery eyes of his brother. "I'm sorry, Ro."

Remus gave him one last despairing look, then turned around and left.

Roman stared at the envelope for a full minute before he went into autopilot, breaking the seal carefully - absently noting the gorgeous floral design impressed into the lovely honey-gold wax - and pulled out the letter. There was a single, fresh rose petal, striped red-and-white, tucked inside the folded paper, smelling of sweetness and spice. The note read, in Janus's graceful cursive lettering:

As you wish.

And below it, in smaller writing:

No.

I'm sorry.

I love you.

No.

For the second time that day, Roman found himself weeping over a piece of paper.

Roman stepped into his room, barely registering the door shutting behind him.

He leaned back against it, sliding into a heap on the floor, clutching the letter to his heart, shoulders trembling violently as he sobbed silently. How had everything turned out so badly?

Janus.

Janus was gone.

Forever.

Roman had been planning to confess after the wedding. First, he would apologize, and explain that he'd done what Thomas would have done anyway, because it was the right thing to do. And, in this imagined conversation, Janus would have agreed and said something along the lines of, "You did what you thought was best, and however it turned out, you did well," and then Roman would declare his love, which he knew for a fact that Janus reciprocated, and then they would embrace and kiss and become the most sickeningly-sweet lovers in the mindscape. But instead…

This was all his fault, wasn't it? If only he had chosen the callback, if only he had let Janus say his piece about mental health without kicking up such a fuss, if only he had more gracefully responded to the reveal of his name, his wonderful, beautiful, perfect name that Roman never deserved to know, let alone speak, not after this.

If only he'd explained what he had meant by "nothing" and “leave me alone”.

Because Janus didn't need to do anything more for Roman to forgive him after he apologized. Because Roman knew he would forgive him, eventually. He just needed time. He thought Janus understood.

But he hadn’t.

And now he never would.

Roman cried.

[shapes-den]

Art Prompt Competition Entry

(I had to cut down my submission for the WD competition, by a lot, to match the maximum word count, but I thought I'd post the longer version (that's been spell-checked, haha) for anyone who wanted to read it. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I'm enjoying going through everyone else's submission so far!

Content warning for: Hallucinations/visions, themes of death and mortality, body horror, animal death, mind-altering substances, blood, other horror themes)

.

.

“My name is Bu’ha.”

 “Bu’ha?” Ourkan squinted. “I can’t see you to tell if the name fits.”

“How rude of me, elder.” She stepped forward to allow the old wolf to sniff her.

“A yearling?”

“Yes, I’m a trainee healer, my parents suggested I go on this journey to gain confidence in myself.”

Ourkan huffed. “You seem old for a yearling.”

“Well…” Bu’ha paused, laughing nervously. “I was planning to get over my fear of corpses first.”

Ourkan laughed. “A wolf afraid of food? Well, I won’t ask the real reason.”

“It sounds stupid, but it’s true.”

“Strange.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m doing this for. Mother says I should gain enough life experience that silly things like that won’t upset me”.”

“I’m tired,” Ourkan cut her off, slowly stretched out his front paws and scratched at his ear, looking pained, “You should go find my grandson. Big red wolf, you can’t miss him.” He turned away and curled up, tucking his nose under his tail tip. Ignoring her.

"Goodbye... Elder."

----------------------------

Bu’ha plodded up the winding path she had found just past the rude elder's resting spot. Perhaps this pack might help her get over her embarrassing phobia? Ever since she was small the thought of death and dying had terrified her. She even sympathised with the prey her pack caught, apologising before eating, but her mother said this was a good quality in a healer. Compassion. Just… maybe not this much. Catching her own food had already driven home the message, the necessity of prey death, but she simply couldn’t rationalise predator death. They fed no one. It seemed so... senseless.

Sniffing out the presence of other wolves, Bu'ha picked up the pace. Ferns, damp from the mid-morning rain, grabbed at her forelimbs as she brushed past them. Chalky-smelling rocks crumbled into a slurry beneath her toes, but she didn't mind, her thoughts were focused on the two wolf pups who were passed out on a bed of sweet-smelling herbs ahead of her, blocking the path.

Smiling to herself, Bu'ha nosed the closest pup, but the smile soon turned to a deep frown. These poor pups were freezing in the cold autumn wind! Angrily she looked around for either parent, before realising that the pups hadn’t moved an inch.

An icy feeling went down her spine. Could they be…?

“What are you doing?!” Her thought was interrupted by the harsh bark of a middle-aged female. “Get away from my nephews!”

“They’re… alive?”

“What a rude, unobservant yearling! My sister’s twins are just sleeping. They happen to have been born with gifts that make them tired.”

Bu’ha took another look, feeling foolish as she saw that both pups were breathing deeply. How could she be so stupid? The two wolves were joined at the hip. Every healer knew that unusual puppies like that were often colder than normal wolves. It was their connection to dead things that made them that way. That same connection meant that they didn’t live long, and she had just been the most ignorant she could possibly have been. Not a great first impression.

“I’m so terribly sorry, your healer and their parents must be amazing at caring for them. Your nephews seem very happy and healthy.”

“Of course, our healer’s the best in the valley!” She said, with a cunning glint in her eye. “In fact, you should go and see her, perhaps you might learn a thing or two about etiquette.”

“Oh! I would love to; I’m planning to be a healer.” Bu’ha wagged her tail, happy to have found an excuse to leave. Meeting the medicine wolf would be a bonus to her learning too. 

----------------------------------

The pup’s aunt had given her very precise directions, seeming to enjoy making her stay and listen for an uncomfortably long time. It served her right though; she had disrespected the poor female’s family members. Bu’ha took a deep breath as she picked her way delicately through puddles and sharp rocks at her feet. It was slow going, but it gave her time to think about her manners at least.

The air was getting colder, but through the damp and moss, she could smell that the healer was close. Herbs and poultices had a distinct leafy smell, that seemed almost bitter to her, and she could've recognised it from a mile away.

Trailing plants hung down over a rocky cliffside at the end of the temporary stream, but there seemed to be no wolf or den in sight. She put her nose to the floor, hoping to pick up a scent, but all she could smell were puddles and an odd metallic tang that made her gag. Probably some rare type of medicine or plant, not that it made the stench of it any less disgusting. Maybe there would be a path on the cliff somewhere? Bu’ha stepped forward and nosed at the sodden, dripping vines. The revolting scent was stronger here, but so was a much sweeter smell of dried flowers, that seemed to be carried on a breeze blowing out of the rock itself. Of course! The medicine wolf must have a den hidden behind the plants. How clever, she thought, to keep any sick wolves where they would be undisturbed. Good for recovery. Now if only she could remember what the healer’s name was…

“Hello?” she whined, “Is a wolf name Huth here? Your packmate Auru sent me.”

A nose suddenly touched her own, causing her to jump at least 10 feet into the air in surprise.

“A visitor!” said the greying muzzle poking out from behind the curtain of greenery, “I never get visitors, come in!” Just as quickly as the nose had appeared, it vanished again, back into whatever cave or crevice it's owner lived in.

“Do… Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Bu’ha asked, both curious and confused.

“Of course not! It’ll be obvious enough when you get in here, hurry up!”

The yearling laughed, it seemed like learning from this wolf might be fun. Thank goodness this pack’s healer wasn’t as abrasive as the rest of them. She pushed her way eagerly into the cave, taking in her surroundings as her eyes adjusted to the dim light.

An elderly wolf with large patches of fur missing here and there, greeted her with a wagging tail.

“Don’t worry, I’m not contagious if you were wondering,” The old wolf sized her up, almost jealously despite her warm smile “As we get older, healing comes much slower.”

“Oh, of course, I didn’t mean to stare.” This wolf, Huth, was clearly old enough to be envious of the yearling’s youth, but she sounded friendly, and all those years of wisdom would be fascinating to hear about.

Bu’ha fluffed out her fur, not wanting to appear judgemental. Old wolves aren’t dead wolves, she thought to herself, though, she didn’t really believe it looking at Huth.

“You look half-starved. Did my cranky relatives bother to feed you?”

“No, but I- “

The older wolf cut her off by shoving a chunk off meat under her nose.

“Eat up!” She said cheerfully, not pausing for a response.

“… Thank you.” Bu’ha sighed, knowing she couldn’t refuse the hospitality of a shared meal, and whispered a quick apology to the unidentified creature she was eating.

“Custom of your pack?” Huth enquired. The elder was sharp, she hadn’t missed Bu’ha’s quirk. Should she lie? “No, you seem touchy about it. Don’t worry, I won’t judge you. Spirits aren’t just superstition, you know.”

“Oh?”

“I can show you, after your meal. Spirits make the herbs more potent, full of nutrition. Good for growing wolves.” The elder gave her a kind, almost pitying look.

----------------------------------

Both wolves padded softly over snow. Mist rose from the surroundings, but Huth had told Bu’ha this was the magic of the place. Tall, slender trees were silhouetted against the early evening light, in an eerily beautiful way. Bu’ha was enjoying herself, she had already learned a few things, and the air was cool and pleasant to her nose.

“How do you feel?” Huth asked softly.

“Hm? Cold, mostly.”

“Good… Good. Tell me when you can see it.”

The young wolf tilted her head, looking around. Now that she mentioned it, the trees seemed to be swaying in time with her breath, each exhale blowing condensation into the still air. The ground was breathing with her, glistening dewdrops shining with life.

“Do… You mean… spirits?” For some reason her words were slow to reach her mouth. Each step was becoming harder, and yet Huth seemed unaffected by the energy of the forest.

“Shh, shh, you tell me when you see. Tell me what it says.”

“Huuuth…?” Bu’ha felt nauseous, her blood rushed in her ears. Everything felt darker than before. The tree (… were they trees?) moved with greater intensity, with purpose. “What…?”

Black blood dripped down blacker bark, each tree a twisted limb that uprooted itself to crash forwards towards her. Moss melted and bubbled underfoot. Howls of air almost knocked her down as she cowered before a mighty beast. Ragged breaths, bright dead eyes, its ribcage heaved as hers did, sucking the air from her lungs and forcing it back down her throat with no care for her mortal whims.

Each inhale brought a wave of sickness; each brought a tide of death. Small critters curled up and died before her, plants withered and rotted to nothing. All consumed by the black, black blood.

That corpse-like, canine face, an emaciated grimace that pulsated with an air of indifference. Urine soaked into her tucked tail. The slender spirit did not care.

“Tell me what it says!” Her vision was blocked as Huth let out a ragged screech. “I need to know what to do!”

Bu’ha stared up in fear at the mess of flesh that was the older wolf. Every inch of Huth's muzzle throbbed with open yellow pustules, bubbling like molten fat, barely clinging to her rotting bones. Her jaw hung loosely, teeth gnashing at nothing as strangled sounds of desperation left her throat. Her eyes were no more. Instead, her sockets poured forth dark, sticky liquid, that fell down her cheeks and hit the ground with a sickening squelch. Her cries were getting louder. Her head was twitching violently. One paw held Bu’ha pinned to the ground. Her empty sockets remained focused on the yearling.

Not to be ignored, nor constrained by the mere laws of physics, the tall, twisted sprit passed through the medicine wolf, it’s head almost comically small compared to its sinewy neck. Both wolf and spirit blended into one as a strange sense of calm overtook Bu’ha.

How idiotic she had been. Death was inevitable. Death did not care. Death was not…

Her vision faded into

nothingness.

-----------------------------------

Pitiful.

Useless.

Pathetic.

Huth kicked her back legs with each contemptuous thought. What a waste of time. The twisted corpse behind her had showed such promise, and yet…

“Too much mountain toad?” She pondered. What a moron. If only she hadn’t been so focused on the approaching winter, she wouldn’t have messed things up for the twins. Might even have cured them before the snow drifts got too deep.

The old wolf’s muscles ached as she bitterly kicked a clump of large icy earth at the yearling.

“Help…” A soft whine came from behind Huth... had she imagined it? Excitement overtook rationality as she turned sharply towards the ‘corpse’. There! Shallow breaths, despite the lifeless eyes.

“Perfect!”

Perhaps she wasn't so useless after all.

[superthiccthighssavelives]

Angsty Prompts

Alright @primaba11erina, here is part 1/2 of your prompts.

It’s long af, so I had to split it into 2 pieces, it’s really sad honestly, and my heart hurts from writing it, but hopefully this is what you wanted from them. ❤

Please listen to:

*Ocean Eyes - Billie Ellish*

*Everything to Help You Sleep - Julien Baker*

*The Beach - The Neighbourhood*

(and whatever heartwrenching music you have to get into the mood)

The 2 prompts from the angsty list are in bold

48- “You’re hurting me”

49- “Please just let me go”

@alyss--in--wonderland, @linseykalynn, @jolovesfandoms and whoever else wants to read it.

I’m 3 months into my first semester at college, and I’m completely miserable. I missed my family, I missed my friends, and I especially missed my boyfriend. I knew it was going to be hard, without everyone, but not this hard. I walked around with a black cloud over my head, I couldn’t sleep, I lived off black coffee and my best friend was a tube of concealer. 

My boyfriend, Taron, and I had been together since middle school, ya know the innocent puppy love, developing into a more serious relationship. We were always together, we never fought, well rarely, it was so easy with him. He was my best friend. We barely talk. Between classes, studying, sleep?, and everything else, it’s usually twice a week. A quick goodnight here and there, and maybe facetime on the weekend. This sucks. I haven’t even seen him since I left.

He stayed back in London, going to a drama school. His talent was too good to pass this opportunity up. We agreed before I left to make sure nothing would change, we both cried like babies, and couldn’t let one another go. After a few hours, I had to tear myself away or I’d end up staying. 

Now, 3 months later, I feel like we’re strangers. It may be naive to think that we could keep this relationship from destructing, especially being so young, but, we really do have an amazing thing going. Or did. I tried to concentrate on school, but as time passed, and more time passes, my thoughts get farther and farther away from that, and are planted in worry and ...that uncomfortable, writhing, anxiety ridden feeling in my stomach.

It’s Friday, and I’m about to finish my last class. I wish I could go home for the weekend, maybe take a day or two off after, to see my mom, my sister, and Taron. I don’t even think we’ve talked in a week, the anxiety was building back up again. We basically were playing phone tag, he’d call when he was free, but I was in class, I’d call him but he’d be in rehearsal. I hate this. I hate this so goddamn much. 

I drag myself back to the dorms, skipping the coffee, I just want to sleep. I feel like a snail, I’m practically crawling back. Halfway down the hall, I see someone standing by my door. My eyesight is terrible, I can’t see anything more than 6 feet in front of me. I try to focus my gaze, figuring it was another dude my roommate was banging. As I get closer, my heart speeds up, I see him, my boyfriend, and I very nearly knock him over as I plow into him with a hug. 

“Oh my god, what are you doing here?”

He smiled, god, I love his smile, I missed it.

“Surprise!”

I felt tears welling up in my eyes, I couldn��t believe it. He was really here. 

All I could do was stare at him, study his face, the color of his eyes, his pink lips, the way the front of his hair has a little curl to it. I barreled myself into him again, squeezing as hard as I could. I don’t care if we just stay like this for however long he’s here, I don’t want to let him go. 

He pulled back, placing his hands on either side of my face. 

“Are you alright sweetheart?” 

I sniffled, realizing I had actual tears dripping down my face. 

“I just, I really missed you.” “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I was going crazy not being able to talk to you, I’ve been miserable.” “My mam got sick of me, I was kind of being a dick, so she bought me a bus ticket to come for the weekend.”

I grabbed his hand, pulling him into my room. My legs were starting to get weak, the walk to the dorms is a bit aways from campus, and I hadn’t slept proper in weeks. A yawn slipped out, maybe I should have grabbed that coffee after all. 

“Bored of me already?” A cheeky smile spread across his face

“Sorry, I’ve had a rough couple of weeks, I’m just a little tired.”

I moved closer, sitting on his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my forehead to his.

“I’m so so so so so happy you’re here, I can’t even tell you how much.” I could feel my eyes watering again, I really was draining myself so much that I’d become an emotional mess. 

He wiped my stray tears away with his thumb, and gave me a gentle kiss. I wanted to stay like this forever. He felt like home, comfort, my heaven. My lips returned to his, just wanting to feel him, his body, his energy, his whole being, just close.

This feeling was so overwhelming, I stopped and just pulled him closer again, my head on his shoulder. His arms were wrapped as tight as they could be around me, rubbing my back.

He soothed me, whispering in my ear, kissing my cheek, my temple. 

Eventually I let the craziness pass, and asked what he wanted to do while he was here.

He shrugged “Really, just wanted to see you.”

I couldn’t help but smile. He brought out what I hadn’t felt in months, happiness. 

We ordered a pizza and watched movies on my laptop, while I struggled to stay awake. His body was warm, and familiar, and my eyes were drooping, and I ...was...so...tired. 

I snuggled up as close as I could get to him, his arm wrapped around me, his hand twirling around in my hair. I felt more and more relaxed as each second passed, I couldn’t fight it any longer. 

I jumped up abruptly, not knowing what day or time it was, thinking I was late for class. It took me a second as I looked at the clock that read 11:13, to figure out if it was AM or PM. 

My brain started to wake up, glancing beside me to see Taron looking at me concerned. “Are you alright love?”

“Yeah, is it morning or night?” 

“Morning, you’ve been out for 12 hours, are you sure you’re alright?”

I plopped back down, pulling him to me for a kiss, even though I’m sure my breath was terrible, I just wanted to make sure he was still there and I wasn’t dreaming. 

“Of course, I’ve not been sleeping well, and I think my body just decided to take over. I’m sorry I slept so long, is there anything you wanna see, or do today?”

“Whatever you'd like.”

I thought for a moment, unsure of where to take him. There is that bookstore/cafe I go to a lot when I need to get away from my roommate and her endless stream of men. It was late autumn, so a walk through the park to see all the beautiful colored trees and landscapes would be nice too. 

After a shower, and doing the minimum on my hair and makeup, I hurried back to my room. I didn’t want to waste any time doing anything but being with him. 

We had an amazing weekend, I took him to all my favorite places, we tried a new restaurant I’d been afraid of eating at, and crashed back at my room. We definitely made up for lost time, I forgot how incredible he felt and what he could do to me and my body. It was almost enough to make me quit school and go back home with him. 

Sunday afternoon was upon us, and I dreaded sending him off. I just hope this feeling would linger after he’s left, enough to keep me going for another month until winter break.                    

He gave me the sweetest kiss and whispered that he loved me, and then he was gone, like he was never there at all.

I had the urge to chase after the bus, and beg him to stay with me, just for a little while, but my brain was too rational and instead, I sat on a nearby bench and text him all the things I couldn’t say before he left. Have a safe trip, text me when you get there, thank your mom for me, I already miss you, I can’t wait until winter break…

The next month plodded along, it felt like a damn eternity. I worked extra hard on my assignments, I needed the distraction. I packed as much as would fit in my suitcase and took a taxi to the bus station. It took a few hours to get home, which of course, felt like days, I just wanted to relax for a few weeks. My stomach was in knots with every mile closer. 

The last time I spoke to Taron was 2 weeks ago, I hadn’t gotten a moment to call him, and he must have been on the same schedule, because I’ve heard nothing from him, not even a text. 

We had one phone call the week he returned back to London, but he was distracted, at rehearsal, every time I tried to say something, he’d yell back to someone in the background, laugh, apologize, say a few words, and repeat. I’d gotten frustrated and told him to just go back to whatever he was doing, I wanted to hang up on him, but I knew I’d regret it after 5 minutes.

He seemed so distant, and after the weekend we had, I thought that would bring us closer after all that time apart. But...guess not.

I did text him a couple of days ago to remind him I’d be in on Saturday afternoon, and couldn’t wait to see him. But, no reply. I was a little upset, but really, I just wanted to get home and wrap myself around him. I’m sure there was a good explanation. 

I finally arrived, running the moment I caught a glimpse of my mom. Again, my emotions were flooding out of me and couldn’t help but cry and squeeze the living daylights out of her. 

The house looked different, but the same, that weird being away thing that affects your thinking. I text Taron, telling him I’d made it back, and was looking forward to seeing him, again. Mom made the best meal I’ve eaten in months, I caught up with my sister, going over the latest high school drama. 

I kept checking my phone, every other second, waiting, but still nothing. I was starting to worry, and run through a thousand ridiculous scenarios, which caused my awful feeling to build. 

I snuck away for a moment, and tried to call him, but it went straight to voicemail. It was becoming too late to go anywhere to see if he was home or ...who knows where. 

I felt awful, my stomach wouldn’t stop twisting, making me nauseated. I didn’t know what was happening, or why he hasn’t even contacted me in weeks. As tired as I was, I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, emotions, for a lack of a better word, suck.

I threw on a jacket and flittered out to sit on the front porch with a cup of coffee. I tried to pick out the constellations I could spot, text some of my friends to plan a meet up, and tried Taron again. Same straight to voicemail. I was halfway between detrimental anger and wanting to cry my eyes out. It was just about midnight, and I had no idea what to do. Everyone in the house was asleep, I felt completely alone. 

I raided the bathroom cabinet to find something to knock me out, I definitely was going to need help falling asleep. I found some allergy meds that were supposed to make you sleepy, I crossed my fingers downing 2 pills. It kinda worked, I passed out for a couple of hours, but woke up with a racing heart around 3am. My phone blinded me, lighting up with a text.

Taron - ‘See you soon xx’

I stared at the screen, waiting for more, something else, an apology, an explanation, that he missed me, anything but some generic ass, nondescript text. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

I threw my phone, thankfully it landed on my area rug and not the wood floor. I was so pissed. After 3 weeks, that’s all he has to say? 

My mouth was dry and I had a terrible taste on my tongue, I darted downstairs for a drink, trying my hardest not to grab caffeine. I poured a glass of milk, and grabbed some cookies, I guess I was hungry too. 

Halfway up the stairs, I almost dropped my glass when my phone started chirping, loudly. Taron.

I should ignore it, like he’s been ignoring me. I watched it for a moment, and sighed answering.

“Yes?”

“Baaaaaaabyyyyyyyy, where are you?” He was clearly drunk.

“Taron, I’m home, remember?”

“Come see me, I’m…” The sound was muffled and I heard shuffling, then laughter.

“Oops, I dropped you.”

I rolled my eyes, my anger turning red hot. He was out, getting wasted, and hasn’t even attempted to contact me. 

“Taron, It’s 3am, I’m going to bed.”

More laughter and voices in the background. 

“Taron?” “Hello?’ 

“Sorry, where are you love?”

His speech was slurred, and quick. 

“Home, in bed.”

“Bed, ooh, what are you wearing?”

“Goodnight Taron.”

I waited for him to say something, but I just heard some people in the background laughing more and mumbling things I couldn’t make out.

“Ok, bye then.” I hung up, frustrated and upset. 

A minute later, my phone was lit up with another call. I ignored it. 

And another.

He left a voicemail, I couldn’t make out half of what he was saying. 

He tried to call again. I shut off my phone and took some deep breaths to calm down. 

I woke up to the smell of bacon and pancakes. My nose carried me downstairs, only to find Taron in the kitchen with my mom, shoving a cinnamon roll into his mouth.

“Mornin sunshine!”

I glared at him, pouring myself some orange juice. He came up behind me, crossing his arms around my waist, whispering in my ear, “Missed you.” then kissing my cheek. 

Mom excused herself sensing something off.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes bulged. “What do you mean? I wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me so bad that you didn’t text or call me for 3 weeks? And then wouldn’t reply to anything either? Then you call at me fucking 3am drunk?”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, we had a good first show, so we celebrated.”

“Oh, good to know, maybe if I knew, I could have been there to see, but, it’s cool.”

He reached for my hand, but I withdrew, pulling my robe tighter.

“I’m sorry, I am, it’s been just really crazy lately, you know?”

“I guess.”

“Babe, come on, don’t be mad at me, please?”

He made an exaggerated sad pout, causing me to yet again roll my eyes. 

“Stop, I wanna be mad at you.”

Honestly, looking at him, and those ridiculous puppy dog eyes he was giving me, was breaking me down. 

He kissed my cheek “Come on.” *kiss* “Let’s eat.” *kiss* “I’ve missed you.” *kiss* “You look so cute with your hair a mess.” *kiss* “I’m so happy you’re home”

“Alriiiiight, stop.” He was so damn charming, he could get away with murder. I couldn’t help the grin spreading across my face. 

He kissed my lips, and grabbed my hand to lead me to the table.

We spent the next couple weeks glued to one another, the only time we were apart was a few hours on the weekends when he had a show to do, he slept over almost every night. 

I found some time to hang out with some of my girlfriends, do some shopping, catch up on our lives. I still had 3 more weeks at home, and I couldn’t have been happier, and avoiding every thought that entered my mind about going back.

Taron’s break was much shorter than mine, so time with him after that was few and far between. He did invite me to one rehearsal, that was fun. The rest of the time I just lounged as much as I could, read a few books, and mapped out my new classes. 

It was my last weekend home, thinking about going back to school was making my stomach turn. I didn’t want to leave. 

Taron took me out for a semi-fancy dinner the night before I had to head back. We, of course, again, promised each other things would be ok, and to never let more than a week go by without speaking. We had every good intention to.

We ended up at a pub for a few drinks with all our friends, I wasn’t going to see anyone again for 6 months. I didn’t want to be hungover on the long bus ride back, so I kept it to a minimum. Can’t say the same for Taron though. I had to basically carry him to the taxi and then to his doorstep. I was a little disappointed that this was our last night together, and I couldn’t even talk to him properly. I got him to his bed, covered him up and sat down beside him. His eyes were closed, but not yet passed out. I pushed his hair back from his forehead, running my fingers along his cheekbones, lips, jawline. I wanted to memorize every piece of him.

His eyes sprung open, a silly grin on his face, and pulled me down to him. “I love you.” He gave me a rough kiss on my cheek and was out for the rest of the night. I gave him a gentle kiss on his lips, took one last look and made my way out.

Another sleepless night was ahead of me, I felt different, I didn’t know exactly what ‘it’ was, but I knew it felt like a change. 

The drive to the bus station was quiet, save for the dripping rain down the windows. I hugged mom goodbye, and she promised to come visit me soon. 

Back at the dorm, it felt empty, and cold. I unpacked, and just laid in my bed staring at the ceiling. I hadn’t even looked at my phone since before I left. Of course, there were messages from him.

Taron - “Are you still here?”  12:42pm

“Please tell me I didn’t miss you leaving?” 12:55pm

“I’m so sorry, I swear, I didn’t mean for the night to go like that.” 1:14pm

“Text me, call me when you get there, please.” 1:47pm

“I miss you, it feels so empty when you’re gone.” 3:02pm

“Are you home yet?” 4:55pm

“Please call me.” 5:33pm

The last text was just my name and a sad emoji. 6:01pm

There were a few missed calls from him, and only one voicemail, no words, just a few seconds of a sigh, and a *click*

I was tired, I still had one more day before school started again, and I was going to use it for sleep. 8:35pm

I woke up too early the next morning, and needed the coffee I had been avoiding at home. I threw on whatever was visible on my floor, threw on a beanie and headed out the door. 

My phone was dead, I must have forgotten to charge it. Oh well. 

The coffee was so hot, and exactly what I needed. I took the long way back, opting for a few detours through the city. It was lightly raining, and chilly, but somehow it felt like the best thing ever at that moment.

I gazed at the dead, bare trees, the grey, gloomy sky, and the droplets of water gently plopping to the ground, it was beautiful. Even though everything was dead, decaying, it would be reborn, and more glorious than before. No, this wasn’t some metaphor for my life, or maybe it was. I don’t know. 

When I returned back to the dorms, my roommate was back, unpacking. We exchanged some light words, and she headed out, leaving me to my own devices again. I binged watched some Netflix shows, and avoided charging my phone. It was still in my handbag, and I didn’t feel like getting up. I passed out early, awaking the next morning right on time to start my new semester.

Eventually, my phone was revived, strangely it took me a few days to even bother. A few messages cascaded in, from mom, my sister, one of my friends, and only one from Taron. 

Taron - “I’m sorry.” Monday 1:37am

I called mom, assuring her everything was fine, caught up with my sister, replied to my friend, and left the last message unanswered.

I didn’t know what to say right now, and I needed more time to think before I decided to say anything. 

A few weeks passed, surprisingly that black cloud lightened, and the sun came out. I was doing extremely well in all my classes, and I had met a few new people from my dorm hall, and my psychology class. I started to go out more, enjoy life, find myself. I took an art class even though I have no artistic talent, I hoped maybe it was hidden. 

I felt a heaviness over me at times, I hadn’t replied to Taron at all. I had to eventually, either resolve it, or just ...no, I didn’t want to think about it. I was in a sort of bubble, and I didn’t want to burst it, not yet.

I dialed his number, listening to the multiple rings before his voicemail hit. 

“Hey...we need to talk, umm, yeah, call me when you get this.” I hung up before I changed my mind.

Around 9pm I heard a knock at my door. His hair, and clothes were soaked. His face was covered in worry and somberness. 

I stood there, in awe for a moment. 

“Get in here.” 

I grabbed a towel,  handing it to him. 

“What are you doing here?” This felt familiar.

He just looked at me, mouth open, taking a moment, while attempting to dry himself off.

“What’s going on?” “What’s happening?” “I’m worried.”

I sighed, I honestly had no idea what to even say. 

“Take off your clothes.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking amused.

“They’re soaked, You’re not sitting on my bed all wet.”

I dug through my drawer, finding a t-shirt and oversized pajama pants for him to put on.

“Why haven’t you answered any of my calls, or messages?” “Is everything alright?”

I remained quiet, still not sure of what was going on myself. 

“I don’t know.” was all I could come up with.

“You don’t know what?”

“Anything.”

It was quiet for a minute.

“Things aren’t the same, don’t you feel it?”

He stared, searching my eyes, trying to understand.

“I don’t know, maybe a bit.” “But life never stays the same, things always change.”

“Yeah, they do, and …” I pinched my lips, trying to figure out how to put the next sentence together. “And I think we’ve changed, too much.”

It grew quiet again.

“I’m sorry.” was the only thing that slipped from his lips. His head down, arms rested on his knees, and his hands running through his hair.

“Don’t be, I mean, it happens, as much as we don’t want it to, it happens. It’s no one’s fault” 

“How can you be so, calm?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think. Until right now, I didn’t know what was happening, it tore me apart, it’s been ripping me to shreds for months, ever since I first came here. I missed you so much, I spent so many nights lying awake, crying, wanting to just say forget it and go back home. I was so incredibly happy when you came to visit that day, I thought if I just waited it out, things could be good again, but things never work out like we plan.”

“I’m sorry, I swear, I didn’t mean for that night to end up like it happened, I promise, I will do anything, let’s just work this out, we can figure out how to make this work.”

I shook my head, I couldn’t. Not anymore. It was killing me, everytime he leaves, or when the phone doesn’t ring for 2 weeks, I let a little piece of him break away.

“Taron, I can’t, I just, can’t.” I was feeling that nauseous feeling creeping back in, and my heart bursting into millions of pieces. 

“Please, I know we can.” He grabbed my hands, pulling me towards him. “Look at me, please.”

I was afraid to, I knew I was either going to buckle and give in, or immediately start crying. 

He tilted my head up to him, his finger under my chin. He went on and on, trying to convince me we could make it work, that we can schedule times to talk, and we’ll visit every other weekend.

I couldn’t take it anymore, my eyes betrayed me, spilling salty tears down my cheeks.

“Taron, stop, you’re hurting me, please just let me go.”

I could barely get the words out, I was out of breath, I felt ill, I couldn’t stop bawling.

I turned away, trying to calm myself. He came around to face me, placing his hands on my face, gazing deep into my eyes. “I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you, I’m sorry.” Tears were forming in his eyes, making them glisten. He gave me one last lingering kiss on my forehead, grabbed his things and walked out the door. 

[dragonstoravens]

Babylon Vol. 1: Freeze Frame, Little Victories, Handled

[ID: a blue patterned banner with text reading “BABYLON.” End ID.]

(Ok this one’s a LONG one, I’ll admit it! But these three chapters-- one Big Boy and two much shorter epilogues-- really go together very well, I didn’t want to separate them. This is one of my favorite parts of book one honestly, so I hope you guys enjoy it too.)

CW: Panic attack

8. Freeze Frame

    There wasn’t really any reason for it, it had just been a very long day. A very long day punctuated, of course, by yet another endless fancy dress event, one Trinity needed out of right now. The problem being that he wasn’t alone at this event. He was used to being the brooding wallflower, the kind of man who was noticed when he needed to be, but who no one would notice if he slipped away. Having Azzy there, even though they’d been to several events together by this point, was a very slight change to his usual strategy that made everything just a touch more difficult. Which meant that, right now, it made everything seem pretty much impossible. Trinity wondered if Azzy had noticed how long it had been since he moved his eyes. Or took a breath. He wasn’t sure himself, and if that awareness was slipping it was really time to go. He couldn’t do this in front of her. 

    “I’ll be right back, dear. Restroom,” he murmured to her, hoping those were the actual words that came out of his mouth. He felt a bit like he was staring at the back of his own head, or watching a vaguely interesting silent film from the back of a drive in theater. He walked away without waiting for a response-- it wasn’t as if he’d hear it, anyway-- making a conscious effort to swing his arms in opposition to his legs as he walked. In his head, he slowly began listing prime numbers, with just enough forethought to pull away from the comm link beforehand. 1. 2. 3. 5. 7. 11. 13? 13. A bead of sweat formed on his temple and rolled slowly down his face. He knew a spot that would be deserted at this time. 17. 19. 23. He turned the corner, and disappeared out of sight from the main ballroom.

    Trinity had left all too quickly. Azure wasn’t used to the crowds quite yet, but something in the urgency with which he left concerned her. The comm had been giving her something like static before it turned off entirely, and he almost never turned that off unless he had to. He liked to know when she was getting nervous. Was the link malfunctioning? She was here, alone, and she didn’t even know where he went. Before she could begin mentally mapping the ballroom out to figure out where the bathrooms even were around here, someone in an all-too-boring suit and his date in a tacky, glittery number walked up. She blinked, plastering a smile on her face. 

    “And to what do I owe the pleasure, Mister…?”

    “Please, just call me James. Where is Trinity? I just saw him around here a minute ago, then he disappeared!” Whoever he was, he seemed friendly. Even if his date was sizing her up something fierce. She ran through her last few events, looking for a James in there somewhere to remember. Maybe she should start sticking around for the tax talk. Oh! This was the one from the security agency. She could field that without fucking it up, he’d mentioned it before. She just had to be really noncommittal. Pretend like she knew anything. That’s how Trinity said he used to do it as a teenager.

    “Trinity’s currently takin’ care of something elsewhere, I’m sure you understand.” She picked her words carefully. “He should be back in a moment, but these things are always so busy, hardly any time to actually get from A to B without some stops in between.” She tried to remember the way Trinity danced his way through small talk to get to the heart of these issues faster. She’d never understood how he did it, but she’d have to try. She tested the comm and got nothing back. “Honestly, I’m sure the borin’ work things can wait until you see him next time. Please, go enjoy yourselves! I’ll gladly let him know y’all came to see him, he’ll be sorry he missed ya.”

    That evasion seemed polite enough for the two of them, as they gave their sincere apologies for not getting to him before he left and went on their merry way. She gave a big exhale, some small sparks shaking off her hands. She shouldn’t stay in one spot or it’d happen again, and this brand of over-polite and accommodating was not her base setting. If she was too formal for too long, she was almost certain she’d begin to chafe. She began a beeline for the refreshments table, eyes always looking out for her date, the stubborn line of her jaw covering for an increasing amount of concern for him. 

    Her shoulder brushed against someone, jostling her from her thoughts slightly. She really only saw a pristine suit and a hand covered in rings. No, that wasn’t something she could handle right now. Too rich for her blood, and literally.

    “Excuse me, my apologies-” was all she offered, continuing on her way. By the time she reached the table, full of wine glasses, she realized too late she’d been followed. But not by the person she’d bumped into. She plastered another smile to her face, picking up a glass and masking her urge to wrinkle her nose at the smell of the wine. She recognized this one: Usually she was with her boy-toy of the week, but today she was alone.

    “Denicia, to what do I owe the pleasure? Where’s that darlin’ blond of yours, or have you broken another young man’s heart within the last week?” She punctuated the sentence with a laugh, making sure it was clear she was telling a joke. Internally, she cringed. She wished Trinity was with her, this was where he’d let out a big breath and quietly note some disheveled detail to pick on to make her leave. She didn’t have the eye for it, nor the vocabulary to really properly pull off that particular exit. That was really more Crim’s thing. Which meant she was stuck.

    “I was about to ask you the same thing, I’ve looked for him everywhere and I simply can’t imagine you’d cut him loose as quickly as I cut mine, Camilla.” The woman gave a smile full of teeth and Azzy wondered if they were fake or if she just had that big of a mouth. No soft chuckle and joke in return. The silence in the comm made her lonely, but she pushed it aside.

    “Oh he’s around. Probably drawin’ up a contract somewhere, you know how he is, always work, no play.” She affected her best pout. This was her least favorite face to put on, the spoiled and slighted lover. If anyone looked at her hands, calloused and scarred, they’d know she was bullshitting, without a doubt, but these people simply weren’t observant or ballsy enough to try and call her on it, and somehow that was worse. 

    “You poor dear, he’ll come around soon I’m sure. Inboxes don’t stay full forever when that’s the pace you work at.” Denicia patted her on the shoulder sympathetically. “I suppose I won’t bother you with my business then, you’ve got a man to locate before he forgets you’re here. Good luck dear!” and with that she whirled around to disappear into the crowd again, leaving behind a thick floral perfume that made Azure gag. She shook out more sparks and gave a long sigh. She had no idea how Trinity had done this on his own for so long. She looked around to see if anyone was watching too closely, and finished her drink in a single gulp. Then she turned, bumping into another someone with way too many rings.

“Oop, my bad, excuse me!”, she offered a small curtsy and continued on her way, beginning her hunt for Trinity anew, wherever he was. A piercing gaze followed her, but with so many sets of eyes on her already, what was one more? She was so, so close to the bathrooms when a man exited. He recognized her, and plodded in her direction. She wanted to groan.

    She knew this one too.

    “Camilla! Powdering your nose I assume? The lady always looks ravishing, I can assure you that from where I’m standing you don’t need to.”

    “Great to see you, Mister Phineas.” She gave a coy smile, keeping an eye on the doors behind him, mentally cataloguing anyone entering and exiting. She prayed Trinity would save her from this one. “Has your evenin’ been kind to you? You seemed to be spinnin’ one helluva yarn when I passed by earlier.”

    Mister Phineas gave a deep belly laugh, and she narrowly kept her smile on well enough to avoid wincing. God, he was so loud. Trinity hadn’t left the bathroom yet, and she wasn’t sure he’d leave her hanging out here if he knew it was Phineas she’d been cornered by.

    “Ah Camilla, that’s more a story for your lad Trinity! Something for us men to share.” He patted her shoulder, and she threw up in her mouth a little. “Where is the boy anyway? I haven’t seen him since the two of you entered.”

    She wanted desperately to just leave. Tell him to fuck off, turn heel and go. He was useless to Trinity by the man’s own admission anyway so a tiny little shock really wouldn’t hurt him too much, with all the insulation he had. Instead of any of that though, she tittered. No point in being violent because someone’s annoying, that would be unladylike at best and evil at worst; her whole reason to be here was making things easier for Trinity. “He’s indisposed, handlin’ some affairs he said just couldn’t wait a minute longer. Shall I pass somethin’ along? I’ve got no idea when he’ll be back around.” She tapped at the comm one more time. Nothing. Ugh.

    “Oh, poor form, leaving a pretty thing like you to wander a wolf’s den like this.” For once she thought maybe Phineas had a point, but she’d never admit that. “I’ll handle my business with him myself, would hate to make you work harder than you need to.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it and she smiled, while internally screaming. He waved and off he went, and she fought the urge to wipe the slime his mouth left on her hand off onto her dress. She looked around.

    Trinity still hadn’t returned. She couldn’t reach him in the comm, and in the minute or so she’d kept an eye on the men’s room, he hadn’t entered or exited. At least out in this hall, she could get a feel for the size of the building. It wasn’t huge, just fancy with a lot of gardens. Trinity wouldn’t leave the building she didn’t think, not if she was going to be stuck here. That left a few stairwell corners and some alcoves she already knew were full of the sort of illicit rendezvous Trinity wasn’t really inclined to. She exited the hall with the bathrooms, knowing full well that’s where the alcoves were and not the stairwells. She took a deep breath and entered the throng, smiling and waving where her attention was drawn but not stopping to converse. Crimson’s voice rang in her head: “If you look purposeful enough, anyone with sense will get out of your way, and anyone without sense should follow suit.”

    So through the crowd she strode, head high, step as sure as she could fake it, a wake of static left behind her every step as she tried to quell her rising concern for Trinity’s well being. Her face was set as neutrally as she could manage, knowing her default was an expression of stubborn irritation. To others, she was a woman on a mission. To herself, she was mentally planning every step she took, desperately praying she’d see him pop up in the corners of her vision.

    She was almost to the set of hallways on the other side of the room when, in her desperate focus to Get To The Other Side Of The Room, she barely registered the bejeweled hand on her shoulder. Internally, she sighed. Externally, she carefully took the hand off her shoulder, barely sparing a long enough glance to be heard. “I’m very sorry sir, I’ve got somethin’ urgent to attend to.”

    “Urgent?” The man lifted a perfect dark eyebrow in a bone-pale and starkly handsome face, and pulled his hand back slowly from where it had been draped in the air after she’d removed it from her person. The nails were painted blood red, and gold and silver rings glinted in the light. His voice was far more polite than any of the others she’d talked to, soft and smooth as silk, but she still really didn’t have time for that. 

    Did I fuckin’ stutter, sir?   

    A slight static from the comm answered her unspoken question, then nothing. 

    “I’m afraid so. I assure you,” she tossed over her shoulder and began walking away, more static in her wake. “I’m a horrible liar.”

    He only blinked. “I believe you.” The words were quiet, but followed her down the hall anyhow. He turned with a flash of purple-- was that a purple velvet suit, really?-- and was out of sight, finally. She fought the urge to stick her tongue out or give a loud sigh or do something, anything to vent the frustration she felt at being stopped again, but she managed to keep it together. She wandered the thinning crowds in the hallway, ascending a set of stairs with purpose to a floor that seemed almost deserted.

    “Trinity?” She called softly, not wanting to alert anyone to his disappearance. If he wasn’t here, she’d look like a crazy person, and she already had enough of that. She stayed quiet and listened over the din of the event downstairs. She didn’t hear anything, but there was a slight shadow down one of the empty hallways, unmoving, but vaguely human shaped. She strode towards the shape, slowing as she went. 

    “Trinity?” she called softly from a few feet away.

    It was him, she could see as she approached. He stood, leaning against the wall in the deserted hallway, perfectly still and unmoving. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. His face was expressionless, gaze vaguely fixed at a point across the hall where the wall met the floor, eyes frozen in place. He hadn’t blinked since she’d been watching him, and her eyes started to water in sympathy. He didn’t react to her presence. After a long moment, he blinked. The movement began and ended in only his eyelids.

    She stopped only a few feet from him, just outside his periphery. She reached a hand out, hesitant. She had no idea what was going on, he’d completely shut her out this whole time. No warning, just silence. If she was honest, she’d been pushing the thought that maybe she’d messed up somehow away all night. But she couldn’t find what she’d done, and it wasn’t like Trinity to give a punishment like the silent treatment. He’d call in a drone strike, or something. Ruin her credit score. Tease her mercilessly until she apologized. She turned off the cybernetics in her arm, reaching for his shoulder.  

    “Terra to Trinity, pagin’ Hotshot. We need you back here on the ground, buddy.” Her voice came out softer than she’d known it could ever be. He was so still. She frowned, glancing around them. No one. He was certainly good at finding hiding spots. She moved into his line of sight. “Trinity, what’s goin’ on?”

    As she got close to him, she could see why it looked like he wasn’t breathing. He was taking incredibly shallow breaths, so much so that his chest and mouth didn’t move at all, and the breaths were coming far faster than was healthy. He didn’t respond to her voice or even to her touch except to blink again— the only hint that any stimulus was reaching him. She’d never seen him do anything even close to this before, he was always so well put together she’d begun to think he was a robot designed exclusively to chat easily with the rich and powerful. She couldn’t piece together what the hell was going on. Was he having a seizure? It didn’t look quite like the ones she’d seen Cadet have, but maybe there were more kinds. Or maybe it was something else. Had something happened to him? She wouldn’t know until either he could talk or passed out, and who knew when that would be. If he was having a seizure she’d know soon enough, and then maybe she’d be able to help. But in the meantime?

    She plopped onto the ground, back resting against the wall as she stretched out to lounge right there on the floor. Her arm was pressed lightly but firmly against his leg. Something to anchor himself to, if he needed to for some reason. She gave an exaggerated yawn. 

    “Yeah I don’t blame you for bein’ quiet, this is stressful. I was downstairs on my own for a fraction of what you usually deal with and I’m already done with it.” She spoke as though he was going to respond, giving his silence some time to fill the air in response. “I ran into Phineas and he left some of his mouth slime on my hand. I think he got….rounder.” She puffed her cheeks out and made a noise one would attribute to a Large Formless Blob. “I think it’s all the shit he talks, he’s swallowing some. The methane’s inflating him AND his ego.”

    She chanced a look up at him before she continued. “I think that probably he’s the worst. He’s just so damn loud. It’s nicer up here. Quiet and you can actually breathe a little without catching someone’s four thousand credit perfume in your mouth. Have you noticed how overdone the smells are? I was thinking about makin’ a little particle-incineratin’ barrier for my nose just to come to these things without havin’ to leave with a headache.”

     A slightly louder inhale and exhale this time. Maybe something… or maybe not. Still, his chest moved a little with the breath, just the slightest twitch. He blinked. She grinned and continued in her lounging, gesturing dramatically. “I mean, how many innocent flowers died in the making of that migraine? How much you wanna bet they don’t even like the smell themselves? It’s the luxury of it all. Poor posies never imagined it would end like that, slathered on a high-falutin’ neck for the drama.” She was trying to be funny, in the hopes he’d maybe smile. She also tried to keep her voice low enough that only he could hear her, even from her ridiculous position splayed out on the floor. She made an attempt at keeping a cadence to her inflection as well. Something easy to follow, soothing.

    His head made a robotic movement, up and down almost imperceptibly as if mimicking the idea of a nod. It seemed like more of an automatic response, something cultivated to try and convince people there was nothing wrong, rather than an indication he understood or processed what she was saying. Not that it would convince anyone, it was the least natural motion she’d ever seen from him, but at least it meant he could hear her. 

    She took a deep breath and moved a little, stretching out in front of him now, right at his feet, still making sure some part of her touched him. She looked around. Still no one, not that it mattered much. This was the most comfort and fun she’d had all night, which really said something about the company they kept at these events. She smiled up at him. “And some of these people are tacky as hell. I have no idea who let them out of the house lookin’ like that. Though I guess honestly I’m not sure who let them out in general, they don’t know how to act right.” She rested her head on a gloved hand, stabilized by her elbow on the floor. She hummed a little in thought. “I wonder what the market would be like for a little robot that tells you when you’ve got a few too many rings on. Absolutely ridiculous, you jack off with that hand?” She lifted her head and counted on her fingers. “I think more than like three per hand is pushin’ it. How do you even lug your own limbs around? Do something useful that’s not stoppin’ me when I’m busy.”

    He actually stopped breathing for a moment at something she’d said in there. Hard to say which part, she’d said a lot of shit. She could ask later. If she remembered. For now she was just looking for something, anything to talk about. “...Yeah, you’re right, it is a little rude not to even try to act like I care.” She continued as if he’d responded to her. “Like I said, I got no idea how you did this on your own for so long. It’s awful. I can only imagine how much more you’d rather be home, curled under a blanket or something. Some hot cocoa instead of this weird champagne with alien fruit in it. I’m not even sure what it is. Do you know of any green fruits with a rind like an orange and the texture of an apple? Tasted awful, and I even double checked, you are supposed to eat it.”

    She was about to barrel on, but some instinct told her to wait. After a moment, Trinity twitched at her side, seeming to struggle for a big enough breath to speak. “Zmenclok.” His voice was empty of all emotion, a blank monotone without inflection. “Antrian fruit.”

    She nodded thoughtfully, a wave of relief crashing over her to hear him speak at all. “The Antrians are a strong people then, because that was the worst fruit I’ve ever put in my mouth by a long shot.” She examined her nails, as though she really cared much. “Left a smell on my hands, I’ve washed them twice already.” She’d also tried to burn the smell off with electricity, but that also hadn’t worked. “I wonder if instead of water soluble sugars, it’s made of something else? That would explain why I hated it, humans might not actually be compatible with the chemical makeup. We’ll know when the bathroom lines reach out to the cars, I suppose.”

    “Uh… huh.” It was almost a sound of agreement, or at least meant to sound like one, with about twelve of those fast, shallow breaths between the syllables. When she glanced up at him, his eyes had gone unfocused and cloudy.

    He could kind of talk, which was good. She didn’t want to push her luck by drawing attention to the state he was pulling himself out of. So she just kept going, starting with a very long, deep inhale and sigh. Maybe he’d get the hint. She usually did when Crim did it, but everyone’s different. “Y’know, I talk a lot of shit, but I do have fun at these sometimes. It’s not the worst thing to look nice and eat weird food. Can’t say I’d recommend the “whole spoonful of just Gensoran caviar” thing but it’s a great story since I’m at these things all the time lately anyway.” She thought for a moment. “The dancin’s pretty alright too. I get some of my best thinkin’ done when I’m not hangin’ upside down, it turns out. I sent off a blueprint to my shop back home, they’re doin’ the rough fabrication for me so I can get the fine tunin’ out of the way on my own. I used to drive ‘em all nuts, gettin’ way too precise.” She had a faraway look in her eyes. She really didn’t think he’d notice. “I kinda miss my mechanics. With just Kelly to watch all of ‘em, I’d hope they can focus hard enough to get anythin’ done.” 

    He might have attempted to follow her example of a deep breath, but he didn’t make it far. His breathing got harsher as she spoke, but no slower or deeper. “A-Az—ure.” He could barely get the word out through his tight, shallow, breaths. His hand closest to her flexed, opening like he was searching for something to grab onto, and she could feel his leg start to tremble against her. He swayed on his feet, unsteady. He was moving now, but it seemed like his frozen state had been compensating for the lack of oxygen he was getting. Any clarity he’d been grasping for answering her questions was fading, and as it did that odd static fuzz picked up through the com again. Somehow, the sound was almost frantic, making her tense up as it invaded her mind.

    She shoved the static away. She could have a secondhand panic at home, with Crim or Perry or something. Priority one: Trinity Jericho does not pass out on the floor of the balcony level stairwell in a ritzy ballroom. Priority two: Trinity Jericho does not get his panic revealed to the general public. In one fluid motion, she got to her feet. Somewhere, a violin bow began a slow trek along its strings. She caught the hand that had been flexing in her own, her other wrapping around his waist as she stepped in close. The same way he’d kept her upright countless times while she was still stumbling around in heels like a newborn giraffe. She was a lot shorter, but her cybernetics kicked in a little to help. Someone walked up the stairs and she gave them a shy smile, brain endlessly working. They passed by with little thought given to the couple dancing in the empty hallway. She thought into the comm, as soothingly as she could.

    Lean in. I’ll lead this time. I promise you’re not heavy. Breathe, Trinity.

    She wasn’t completely sure she was reaching him, but once he had something supporting him at least he could stop fighting so hard to hold himself upright under his own power. Almost his full weight dropped into her, and his head fell to her shoulder. She could feel tiny, hot puffs of air against her neck, as he fought to slow his breathing. His face was still blank of all emotion or expression, but the comm registered his terror— he couldn’t stop, couldn’t control it. His hands twitched, tightening around hers. She gave him a gentle squeeze back.

    Breathe with the music. In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four.

    She continued counting for him, keeping time with the lazy tune playing on the floor below as it floated up to them. She took no real steps, but kept a slow, steady, easy sway. She did the breathing herself, trying to drown his static with her own soothing patterns. Eventually, the rhythm of the swaying and the music started to break through the static— he managed a deep breath in, struggling to release it again as it caught in his chest, until he finally let it all out with a choking exhale. The next time he tried, it was slightly smoother, and he staggered in place. He would have fallen if it weren’t for her arms holding him up. His chest heaved in and out a few more times, and his legs trembled slightly. 

    “I’m. Fine. O—ok.” The words were robotic and clipped.

    “That’s a lie, but you can talk now so I’ll take it.” She continued their swaying, keeping her breathing deep and slow. Her head turned to hide her mouth in his shoulder, away from anyone nearby who might be able to read lips and was piecing it all together. There was no one, realistically, but at this point she also just enjoyed the warmth. “I think I got cornered by every friend you’ve got at these damn things while tryin’ to find you. We can probably dip as soon as you’re ready. They can wait. You can go home, Hotshot. You don’t have to stay on this time.” 

    “Yes. I want to go… soon.” It was like he was reading a teleprompter. They swayed for a bit longer, as his breathing evened out, and after a moment, he tapped her on the shoulder, like he was trying to get her attention. “Can… we sit.” 

    " 'Course we can sit." She slowed them to a stop and let him onto his own two feet as gently as she could, easing him to the ground after that. She flopped down beside him with much less care and ceremony. She nestled herself into his shoulder, just in front of him enough to suggest she was ready to support his weight sitting, if he needed it. "Better?"

    He braced himself against the wall as he slid to the floor. In the back of her mind, through the comm, she could hear what sounded vaguely like numbers, prime numbers, she realized after a moment. Soon enough, they stopped, and he took in another trembling breath. “Yes. Better.” He still didn’t sound like Trinity. It was hard to hear him sound so... absent. “I’m. Coming back.” He paused. “Know where I am. Sorry I… left.”

    She leaned into him gently, lounging as casually as you can in a floor length gown. If he'd been mentally present, she'd have looked like a really old Terran lounge singer. All she was missing was a piano. Her mouth curved into its standard lopsided smile. "If you were just dealin' with what I think you were, I can't say I blame ya for dippin' out. Not exactly fun, Crim's told me." She rolled her shoulder a little. "I wasn't kiddin', you know. I managed to excuse you from the clutches of three of our favorites for the night. We really can just go home once you're back to basics."

    He nodded stiffly, before letting his head loll back against the wall, as if he couldn’t quite hold it up on his own. “Panic attack. No reason. Just too much.” He pressed his hands to the cold tile of the floor, seeking something to feel. “In… a minute. I want to leave. Soon, I can… fake it. Enough to get out.”

    She nodded back, eyeing another set of people making their way up the stairs. She sat up straight, shielding him from view, leaning in a little farther than she might normally, even for what she was here to pretend to be. "Take your time, Trinity." She whispered quietly. He couldn't really keep up an act right now, so she was going to have to put up twice as much. Sorry about this. I'm going to touch you, I'll try to make it as little as I can. She settled her arms around him, head on his shoulder. Her face said adoration while her eyes betrayed the thought involved as she tried to keep the touch as minimal as she could.

    A shudder ran through him as the sounds of the other couple reached them, and his green eyes stared through Azzy instead of at her even as she leaned in close to shield him from their view. His breathing had begun to speed up just slightly, but he managed to at least keep it steady and deep with the help of a quiet chant of prime numbers that slipped into the back of her mind from his, clearly a strategy he had to keep focus and not fall back into whatever empty place he’d been before. 

    The passersby soon left their immediate vicinity, and Azzy pulled away from him slowly. With Crim, there was a 50/50 chance she'd be forbidden from moving and letting him go after a panic attack, so she wanted to give Trinity the option, if he could tell that's what was being offered. She searched his body language for what he needed, other than an opportunity to leave. She briefly wondered if just breaking down a wall and making their own door was that bad of a plan. 

    Trinity made no move to keep her in place, and his body language, like his face, was so still and blank that she couldn’t glean much of anything from it. She wondered what in his life had taught him to panic like this— silent and so absolutely contained that he nearly ceased to exist entirely. She took a deep breath, letting herself also slump against the wall and, for the first time since she found him like this, she looked away. Her eyes remained fixed on the stairwell, quietly willing the partygoers below to stay away as she continued to count the beat of the current song. She took herself away from being pressed to him entirely, giving him some few inches of space. Her part in this was done. All that was left was to wait it out. He’d pulled away from the comm again, closing his thoughts off, but she could hear him breathing steadily behind her as he pulled a bit more fully back to himself. 

    It took a few minutes, but eventually she heard movement behind her as Trinity shifted, clearing his throat. “Alright. I think I should be ready to go now, as long as we don’t have to stop and talk to anyone.” His voice moved up and down in a manner very similar to its usual inflection, but somehow after witnessing what she just had she could tell that it was all very intentional. It wasn’t his real voice, just a very clever approximation that would probably fool anyone who didn’t know him very well. With luck, it would be enough for them to make it out of the building. She got the feeling that it wasn’t going to get any better than this as long as they were still in the place where it had happened.

    She stood and brushed herself off, rolling her shoulder and setting her jaw in its usual stubborn position. She offered him her hands to pull him to standing. “I’ve got it on the way out. Smile and nod like I’m sure you were plannin’ on anyway.”

    In response, he simply smiled. Very convincing, except his eyes were still faraway and empty. “Of course. I’ve had to do this a couple of times before.” He didn’t say ‘alone,’ but she knew what he meant. It was maybe as close to a thank you as he could manage to get out right now. She gave a slightly sadder smile in response. She’d always been easy to read. It made her easy to talk to. Eyes becoming steely, she pulled him up. 

    “Okay, let’s go back to hell.”

    “Already there.” He gave that same empty smile and followed.

    She took his hand in hers and led him down the stairs. The difference from the lazing, relaxed person who’d just sat with him and held him literally upright, to the person leading him through the throng of the rich and forgettable was astounding. She’d never walked this tall at an event before, each step falling exactly where she’d intended it to. In her head, she tracked where she’d entered from, where there were the fewest people they knew and where there were the fewest people in general. She kept an eye out for people who’d been looking for him, breezing past Phineas without him sparing either of them so much as a glance. The usual easy gracefulness she was trying for was replaced with a purposeful stride, static in the air where she stepped.

    She really just wanted to leave as soon as possible. Her brother’s voice rang in her head once more: “People with sense will get out of your way”. She hoped he was right, Trinity needed some fresh air at least. She wove through the crowds, exchanging passing pleasantries through kilowatt smiles and an ever so slightly played up drawl. Trinity barely had to look at who she was speaking to. 

    Somewhere along their way, so close to the exit, she turned a bit quickly, bumping into someone in a purple suit with an overabundance of jewelry. She heard the tinkle of breaking glass and the splash of liquid scattering from the broken cup. The man she’d just spilled wine on looked up from the tablet he’d been occupied with, his face, which might have been familiar had she bothered to think about it, written over with genuine surprise. Trinity’s hand tightened on hers, and she could feel his pulse pounding where his wrist pressed close to hers. She gave a quiet noise of surprise before collecting herself and trying to mind her manners without getting trapped by conversation. “My bad, s’cuse me sir-” She quipped out as she pushed past, pulling Trinity with her without a second thought, stride still sure. Was his breathing starting to speed up again? All the more reason to get out as fast as possible.

    When they finally made it through the doors with no further issues and reached the empty stretch of driveway the car had been called to, Trinity dropped her hand and took a few more breaths to calm himself down again. He didn’t always trust what he saw in this state, but…

    “Oh God,” He muttered, his voice dropping back into its low monotone. “Tell me he’s not following. I can’t…” words failed him, and he rubbed his hands together, trying to generate some feeling. He prayed the car would arrive soon. She looked behind them. No one.

    “No one followed us, Hotshot. What’s got you bent outta shape again? I said excuse me.” Her words were callous, but she sounded genuinely concerned. She thought she’d done well, and he certainly seemed like he had more important things to worry about than her being a little rude on accident.

    “I know.” He took in a breath too fast, and forced it to exit more slowly. “But he’s too observant. I can’t let him see… this. You-- you know how he is, don’t you.” It should have been a question, but the phrase didn’t go up at the end to indicate it.

    She raised a brow, moving to touch his shoulder lightly, hoping to steady him on his feet a little better and give him something to ground with. “Tacky?” She, again, sounded genuine, making a little joke to lighten this bizarre mood they’d cooked up.

    He turned to face her, and somehow her response shocked an actual expression out of him, his eyes slightly widened. “Azure. That man was…” a very slight twitch of the corner of his mouth, like this was something he really didn’t want to address. “My employer.”

    Her mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ the moment the final syllable was out. It closed a moment later, and her brow furrowed, guilt all over her features. “That really is a problem then, ain’t it? Shit Trinity, I’m sorry. I was just tryin’ to get us both outta there. It’s not like its exactly my forte, bein’ in crowds.” She ran her hand through her curls, bunching them up at the base of her neck. Her hands sparked some but she didn’t shake them out. “Still I’m...shit, I’m sorry.”

    He took a few calming breaths, trying to look reassuring, but he was clearly still struggling to be expressive. “It’s alright. He… didn’t notice anything. Won’t bother with it… once it’s not interesting anymore.”

    Azzy bit back her Sounds like a real peach to know comment, only to realize a moment later she still had her comm in, and the sardonic tone was not subtle. She cleared her throat. “As long as you’re fine. I don’t exactly have a lot to fear from ‘im, so if you think you’re fine then you probably are.”

    “I’m not afraid of him.” He sighed slightly and glanced down the road impatiently, waiting for the car to arrive. “But showing weakness is dangerous.”

    Somehow, Azure managed to say nothing for long enough to choose her next words carefully. “Guess it’s good I didn’t see anythin’ then.” Her mouth molded the words in such a way that when they left her mouth, they carried the clear reminder she was technically a vigilante by trade as well as a cybernetic engineer: She was offering him the option to ask her to forget. To ignore the whole night, act like it had never happened. Nothing gained, nothing lost. Just a black box of a night she’d never bring up again.

    He looked at her, putting together her meaning. After a moment, he gave a slow nod of his head. His eyes held hard steel that said he understood, and a flash of gratitude that she assumed was the last indication she’d get that anything happened, before he turned away again. 

    “I appreciate your company at these events, Azure. It certainly serves its purpose.”

    She simply nodded in understanding as the car finally pulled up the drive, jewelry glinting in the moonlight and features placid. Face blank. Like nothing had happened. She glanced around to make sure there wasn’t anyone outside, before opening the door for him. A friendly gesture. 

    He smirked at her, this one closer to genuine than she’d seen all night, as he got into the car. “What a gentleman. Come on, you have to get back to the ship.”

    She rolled her eyes and got in the car herself. “The lady’s in a rush to be rid of me. Forsooth, my heart. It breaks.” His smirk reflected back at him. He smacked her shoulder lightly as she got in, and the car finally pulled away from the event, headed for home.

9. Little Victories

    Azzy’s feet hit the cold metal of the ship over and over, shoes in one hand and excessive skirt bunched high in the other as she ran clear across the entire crew quarters level from the entrance, leaving a trail of static in her wake. She’d long since abandoned any idea of propriety now that she was back on her own home turf. Her run stopped at the end of the hall, where hers, her brother’s, Periwinkle’s, Indigo’s, and Smalls’ cabins were clustered. Breathless and eyes alight with excitement, she knocked on Perry’s door, finally doubling over to pant and wait for them to answer.

    The door opened on Perry’s confused face. “Azure, what—?”

    Azzy stood up straight once the door opened, beaming if a little embarrassed by her own energy. “I want you to guess what I did today, you’ll think it’s hilarious.”

    “Ok, well…” they blinked at her, clearly baffled. “You were off the ship today. With a ‘friend,’ wasn’t it?” It was an affectation— many of the people on the ship had figured out at this point where Azzy went when she was planetside and who she was with, and Perry specifically had probably known since date number two, but it was an unspoken rule to pretend they didn’t. 

    Azzy rolled her eyes at the implication. Trinity was a friend, and a good one. Even if he was, by every account, very shady. So were all of them, so who were they to talk? She pushed the retort back in favor of continuing to beam. “I ran into Fate. Quite literally, I might add. Spilled wine on him, heard the “oh!”, all of it. Ruined his shirt, I guarantee you, maybe that awful purple suit too. Not sure he knew it was me, because I sure as hell had to be told who he was. Why didn’t you tell me he was so tacky?”

    Perry blinked, expression caught somewhere between abject terror and the sort of expression one might make after being smacked upside the head with a brick— and then he laughed out loud, the sound ringing down the halls of the ship. “I’m sure I’ve mentioned all those goddamn rings at least once.” She grinned, sharklike. “Bumping into him, spilling on his shirt, and worst of all, not knowing who he was? That sounds like his worst nightmare.”

    Azure loved seeing her friend smile. Made her all fuzzy inside. She grinned back. “I think I might have blown him off a few more times before that too. I was tryin’ to find my date and he just kept puttin’ himself in my path. Like I didn’t have better things to do. I’m a livin’ taser, he’s lucky he wasn’t fried. I was already anxious as hell, it was more than possible.” She gave a little yawn. “Anyway, I’m beat. Have fun eatin’ puddin’ with my brother.”

    Perry’s soft chuckle followed her down the hall as she left.

10. Handled

    It didn’t hit Trinity until much later that night what exactly Azure had done while he’d been… incapacitated. He knew he was still far too anxious to sleep, no matter how exhausted he was, so he’d taken the advice he vaguely remembered from while Azzy’d been chattering to him earlier that evening and wrapped himself in a blanket on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate. There was no need to wake up his sister this late-- he’d just sleep tomorrow. 

    He’d already had the cocoa made when he remembered that it was Azure who’d mentioned it in the first place, and as he’d sat and slowly unraveled his tangled, panic laden memories of the night, he’d begun to piece together everything else she’d said and done. The first thing was how she’d handled finding him in that state. Others who’d stumbled upon him in the past had done everything from trying to shake him out of it to calling an ambulance, and not one had actually been helpful. He knew his attacks were strange and unfamiliar even to people who had ones of their own, but she’d simply waited, using sound and touch to bring him back until she could see what he needed. In some ways, he barely knew her, and yet she’d helped him out of it more quickly and painlessly than anyone except perhaps his sister ever had. How had she known, and honestly, why had she bothered? He’d almost believed she would just leave once he disappeared for long enough.

    The next fact that rose to his mind as he considered everything else she’d said was the reason they’d been able to leave so quickly in the first place. Not only had she expertly hidden his compromised state from passerby while he recovered, but she’d been on her own in the crowds the whole time he’d been gone. He had no real concept of how long that had been, but it was impressive at any amount. Not only had she been able to wade through the masses of humanity successfully, she’d apparently expertly handled each business partner or contact he’d been meant to speak with tonight, to the point that not a single person had accosted them or vied for Trinity’s attention on the way out. Even the run-in with Fate, as stressful as it had been at the time, he was sure had been purely accidental. This one night alone had given Trinity more confidence in Azzy’s ability to conduct herself well at these events, more than any dancing improvement or small talk or perfect dinner etiquette. More than that, it was yet another example of something she absolutely didn’t have to do, but did anyway, for a reason he couldn’t puzzle out.

    The final piece to the puzzle was her very last gift to him as they waited for a car-- an unspoken promise to forget this moment of weakness, never to bring it up again. It was easy to forget the real business she was in sometimes, that she traveled with a ship of vigilantes with checkered and secretive pasts and plenty of issues of their own. It was unlike him, but somehow he felt he could trust her with that weakness. Not only did he believe her when she said she would treat it as though it never happened, but he wasn’t afraid of it coloring her interactions with him. Even subconsciously. His memories of the night were still hazy and sorting through them was exhausting and painful work, but if he knew one thing, it was that he could trust Azure. If he’d thought it before, now he was sure. 

    Trinity pulled his blanket tighter around himself and took a sip of cocoa. She was right, this was much better than being in a crowded ballroom. He should do this more often.

Taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @glitterandstarshine @rainbowcoloreddays @the-starlight-chills @erased-in-stone @charlottedotexe

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[ivanshatov]

happy birthday freak

wc: 1.5k

i feel like i need to start writing again and i also feel more comfortable posting my work here but? i thought this way a good leeway into that or whatever anyways all my ocs are freaks and i will shove them at you!

You make your own birthday cake.

At least, that’s the rule in this household. When he tried to do it last year, though, he burned his hand in the oven, and his parents reprimanded him for not wearing his gloves and being foolish enough to touch the tin. We’ve told you, Cvetko, hundreds of times— Don’t touch the stove. It’s your own fault.

His parents are in Belgrade, now, and most of his siblings are off in various bits of Europe. It’s April for certain. Buds are forming on the trees, the grass is getting somewhat greener, yet the air is still bitingly thick with cold and wind howls around the house each night. And now, seemingly forever stunted in growth since he turned 8, Cvetko now comes on his 10th birthday with some indifference.

Arina is downstairs when he toddles down in his oversized nightshirt, a hand-me-down from Aleksandar. “Happy birthday,” she says blankly as he peeks over the countertop at her. “Mama will be mad at you if you use the oven this time. Don’t try. Anya got you some candy, it’s on the table.”

Cvetko swiveled to the small bag that waited for him. “Where is Anya?” he asked, his voice small.

Arina gave a shrug. “I need to go.” She ruffled his hair, hurrying to the door but not before she boomed her sibling’s name. “Luka, watch your brother.” She shouted, the door slamming behind her. An affirmative groan resounded from upstairs.

For a moment, Cvetko waited at the bottom of the stairs, wringing his hands and wondering if Luka’s footsteps would foretell his coming. Nothing could be heard, however, and Cvetko toddled back into the dining room.

Anya’s thoughtful gift of sweets and chocolate was wrapped nicely in a bag, done up with a ribbon and a note.

Happy birthday, flower.

Followed by,

In Zagreb. I had to get away. No worry, I will bring you a gift!

Anya

It’s a nice gesture. He appreciates it. He pops a candy into his mouth and thinks.

Stacked up on the counter are Luka’s application papers. It’s for Vienna, London, New York— Neuroscience programs. He’s a bright kid, bound to do amazing things, just like his brothers before him. Cvetko sifts through them, careful not to upset the precise order, for his workbook. Or rather, Arseny’s workbook, but he erased all the answers and markings left on the questions and gave it to Cvetko with a smile. There are still some faint markings and eraser shreds peppered through the equations and word problems, but he uses it nonetheless, letting his eyes slip out of focus in order to block out the correct answers still present in faint pencil.

He likes this. He sits at the counter, his legs dangling high above the tiled floors, flipping through the old workbook for something he’s yet to tackle. His parents noticed this, too, and were quick to hand him crossword puzzles, sudoku, complicated packets of math, and already began to enroll him in a series of Bees and programs for the young mathematician. Some of it still eludes him. He’s never brought home a prize, either, and always clams up on stage or when being judged. The answer is on the tip of his tongue, though he’ll never say it. It never comes out. Of course, Papa’s never quite happy about that. “When Luka was your age, he got first place.” Or, “We ought to practice much more, hm?”

And think of the devil, a pair of heavy footsteps plodded down the old stairs with a yawn. Luka appeared in the door, his eyes darkened with exhaustion and a Gameboy dangling off his fingers. “What are you up to?” he asks without so much as a greeting, shuffling up behind Cvetko. “Math?” Cvetko can’t quite tell if the rank is simply morning breath or the penentrating smell of alcohol, but he scrunches up his face and forces an unbothered look.

“Math,” he affirms, crossing his legs and nodding.

Luka replies with a scoff and snatches the book out of his hands, replacing it with the old Gameboy. “It’s your birthday. April 1st. How old are you now, ten?” He sounded unsure of even that as he peeked up from the math problems at Cvetko, who was fiddling with the old device. “Don’t do this bullshit, go have fun. Go run around in the yard, or something. Go.”

“That’s a bad word,” Cvetko commented, and Luka slapped down the workbook.

“How old is this?” he snapped, ignoring his little brother’s comments and skimming to the front pages of the book. “Arseny gave you this? No wonder. Here, I will go into town and get you a real workbook. Consider it a birthday gift.” 
Cvetko nodded, and with a start, Luka got to his feet. “Mind putting on the stove for me? I need tea,” Luka said, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn.

Cvetko set down the little device and toddled over to the stove. His head barely reached above the knobs, yet he ran his hands across them and thought patiently, recalling the pattern of lighting the stove. The second knob on the left, that’s it. It has to be. Luka’s back is turned, standing over the garbage as he tears out the yellowing pages of the old workbook. He’s so busy ripping them from the spine, dozens at a time, that he doesn’t realize what’s happening until his brother cries out in pain.

“Oh, fuck me!” The ribbed workbook is dropped as Luka dashes to his brother’s side, hurriedly shutting off the stove and ripping a whimpering Cvetko’s hand from the iron kettle. He sits his brother on his lap, observing his reddening palm with a sigh. “Fucking hell, Cvetko.”

His bottom lip in a pout, Cvetko whimpered as Luka gently traced his fingers over his injured hand, and yelped when Luka dragged him to the sink and stuck his little brother’s hand in the stream of cold water. “There,” Luka said, crouching down and wiping away the tears on Cvetko’s face with his sleeve. “You’re all better.”

Luka rose, stepping over the workbook. “You really ought to not play with fire anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Cvetko murmured, nursing his trembling left hand.

“Don’t apologize to me, you’re the one getting injured.”

They’re silent for a moment before Cvetko appeared besides his brother, three heads shorter and not even reaching his shoulder. “Are you going away?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?” Luka incredulously looked back to his little brother. It’s only now he first realizes how similar they look. Cvetko has the same round face, those same freckles. Sure, Bojan and Arseny almost have the exact same appearance as Luka, the only difference in their ages and hair, yet Luka can’t help seeing himself in that tiny brother of his. Cvetko, expressionless, gestured to the behemoth of papers on the table.

A smile tickled Luka’s mouth and he forced a bitter laugh. “I’m not going far,” he said, pausing as he placed a firm hand on Cvetko’s shoulder. “I’m going to Amsterdam. I’ll see Alex there.”

Cvetko looked away with another pout.

“Oh, don’t be like that. You have Arina and Anya, and Dmitrije’s family lives an hour away. And Mama and Papa are right here.”

Without saying much of anything else, Cvetko wrapped his stick-thin brother in a squeeze. Luka, startled for a moment, ruffled his brother’s hair and grinned. “We’re all right here, kiddo.”

***

It had been a hard two months, and he had almost forgotten about his own birthday. After all, his whole life, it’d been a nonoccurrence. No celebration, no wonder, only a gift of some sweets or novels.

That’s why it came as a surprise to him, when sifting through a stack of official papers and getting lost in the jargon and formalities, Cvetko was surprised to stumble upon Agim, standing like a spectre in his office, holding a small box in his hand.

Cvetko, startled, bumped into the doorway and gathered his papers with a laugh. “Blin! You scared the crap out of me!”

Agim grinned and gestured to the coffee table. “I tried to get Komnena and Laszlo to come, but...”

Cvetko shrugged. “It’s fine, I appreciate the thought anyway. They’re busy.”

They sat opposite, Cvetko undoing the string on the rice paper box that unraveled into a tiny pastry. Agim fished a lighter from his pocket, bringing it to a light and holding it out. In the lens of his glasses, the flame lapped back and forth. “Hope this is an alright alternative to a candle.”

The heat of the small flame drew Cvetko closer, and he found himself mesmerized by the dollop of orange light.

Don’t touch the stove.

A faint smile crossed Cvetko’s face, and he tilted his head, the light pockmarking the darkness that cloaked the whole room.

“Perfectly alright,” he replied, sampling the pastry with his finger. “Thank you for the gift.”

His long and prominent face illuminated by the flame, Agim grinned. “Happy birthday.”

[guiltysecretpasttime]

Adversity

A fanfic story

Overview: Lin and Tenzin are both at the height of their respective careers – she with the Metalbending Police and he with the Air Nation. Questions about their future begin to arise and things come to a head when Lin responded to an emergency call. Would her job take them from each other forever? Eventual HEA. Non-canon compliant, AU. (Notes at the end of the post.)

Chapter 1

Lin was once again pulling a double shift, finishing up this month’s crime stats report that needed to be filed at city hall tomorrow. Aside from having the routine meeting at city hall, tomorrow also marks Lin’s first ninety days as the chief of police.

She lightly rubbed a crick at her neck as she proofread the document.

Having taken over the Republic City Police Department when her mother, the metalbender Toph Beifong, stepped down, Lin Beifong recognized that taking on this responsibility goes beyond upholding the family legacy.

She pushed on, double checking the figures. Hoping that this was enough at least to keep the council contented. While some of the council members saw her growing up, she knew they were going to be fair as in all their dealings. However, the rest of the members were likely to be more difficult with her, with the mistaken notion that they needed to compensate for the perceived bias of the city founders. It also did not help that her mother was not as charismatic as the other founders.

Lin sighed tiredly as she pulled out another case folder; she had her work cut out.

-------------

Tenzin frowned deeply at his bowl, as though the stew his mother prepared offended him greatly.

His sullen mood was out of place amidst the boisterous laughter of his family at the dinner table. On another day, he would have eaten his sea prune stew with gusto. Tonight, he should have done so as well, given that his mother went all out with the dishes as the extended family was present.

Bumi, his eldest brother, arrived two days ago on shore leave. His uncle Sokka, meanwhile, landed at Air Temple island that afternoon, in preparation for tomorrow’s council meeting.

His uncle continued to regal the table with stories, getting more and more exaggerated as the night wore on. His father, the Avatar Aang laughed accordingly at the right moments, encouraging the stories further. Beside Sokka, his wife Suki held his glass upright without skipping a beat as he pounded on the table in emphasis on how heavy the imported cabbages were in the Southern Water Tribe. Tenzin’s sister Kya chatted their aunt’s ear off at her other side.

It was a lovely meal indeed and the company was not so bad either. In fact, Tenzin was looking forward to this family dinner. The week was ending and it was particularly challenging one.

He had a long session with the new Air Acolytes earlier and he had a vague impression that they were not taking him seriously as they would his father. He just wanted to have a relaxing night with the family and Lin.

Granted, Lin was practically family. But it was her that Tenzin was specifically anticipating to spend time with that night. He had a lot of things on his mind but he knew Lin’s presence would help tamp down his worries.

Katara noticed her son’s preoccupation as the dinner went on. Every couple of minutes or so, Tenzin would look up at the doorway, as though expecting someone. As the night went on, his mood turned sour.

Presently, he attempted to stab the sea prune with his spoon.

“Tenzin, dear, would you like a fork?” Katara called out, lightly touching his arm, startling him from his reverie.

“Wha-?” Tenzin was drawn out of his thoughts, as the stew splashed on his robes when the prune slipped from his utensil.

“Fork? Or a knife?” His mother held out a small table knife to him. “Is something bothering you?” Katara had an inkling on what (or rather who) was on his mind. “How was the session today?”

Tenzin shrugged but took the knife. “It was fine, mother.” He wanted to share his misgivings about the air acolytes but did not want his siblings to overhear. “We were able to start and end on time.” Lame as it was, that was the only positive outcome of that meditation session.

“That’s good to hear,” Katara took a bite of her own stew. “They are from the Southern Air Temples, right? How is the restoration going on from their end, did they share anything about it?” She intended to draw him away from his obviously stormy ruminations.

Just as Tenzin was about to respond, Sokka suddenly turned his attention to mother and son. “Heeey – I knew I forgot something! Where’s Lin?”

Tenzin grew uncomfortable as the table went silent, each person looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat as he loosened his collar. “She’s still at the precinct, I believe.” He did not miss Katara and Aang share a look but he chose not to acknowledge it.

“That young lady is working too hard,” Sokka run his hand at his beard. “On the other hand, look at her sister Suyin, with two kids at the age of twenty-four. I mean, sure they’re both productive, if you get what I mean. Am I right?” He elbowed his wife, looking for affirmation. Suki looked nonplussed. So he leaned to his other side, elbowing Bumi instead, who gave him a thumbs up.

-------------

Finally, at half past eleven in the evening, Lin found herself unlocking the door to the apartment after satisfactorily completing the documents in time for tomorrow’s meeting.

“Tenzin, I’m home.” She called out, as she took off her boots and removed her armor. “I’m sorry I’m late.” She pulled her long black hair from the bun it was in the whole day. “Had to finish up some paper-.” She finally realized she was alone. “Work.”

The dark and empty room puzzled her but she ignored the unease that crept and proceeded to the bathroom to wash her face.

Seeing the empty space where she and Tenzin kept their toothbrushes and toiletries, Lin cursed.

She just realized she forgot something tonight.

-------------

After somewhat successfully averting the disaster called Sokka’s big mouth by introducing dessert, Katara followed her youngest child who excused himself to the patio once dessert was served. She studied his stiff posture as he gazed at the distant lights of Republic City.

“Son, is everything okay with Lin?” Katara was not one to beat around the bush. “She’s not in trouble, is she?”

Tenzin shook his head quietly. “She’s fine, Mother.” He really did not want to discuss his relationship right now.

“Don’t mind Sokka,” Katara plodded on. “He’s just probably excited to hear about more grandchildren within our group. You know how he doted on Iroh when Zuko used to bring him over.” She smiled in recollection how Sokka had pranced around with the toddler on his back, pretending to be a dragon.

“Iroh is just a couple of years younger than me.” Tenzin grumbled, not liking where the conversation was headed.

Katara waved him off. “You were well in your teens by then – a far cry from toddling little Iroh.” Seeing no further comment coming from her companion, she gestured to the side buildings. “Do you want me to call on the Air Acolytes to prepare Oogi tonight? I had them bring him to the barns as I thought you’d be staying overnight. They can easily prepare him for your quick trip back to Republic City though.”

“No, it’s fine.” The tall airbender was starting to hate that word: fine. “Oogi’s probably resting already. And I haven’t decided yet if I’ll stay tonight,” His equanimity would be sorely tested should he see Lin now.  “I can always borrow a glider to get back to the mainland.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” His mother gave him a side hug. “You know your father and I are always here for you and Lin, right?”  She felt him nod. “Don’t stay out too late – it’s a bit chilly these nights.”

-------------

Lin fought with herself as to whether she should drop a call to Air Temple Island at this time. She wanted to speak to Tenzin. Correction: she needed to apologize for forgetting about the family dinner.

Seeing that it was almost midnight with no hint of Tenzin or Oogi in sight, Lin decided to risk waking the household up.

“Pick up, pick up,” Lin murmured as she heard the phone ringing.

-------------

Unbeknownst to her, the raucous cacophony made by a drunk Sokka, Bumi and Kya drowned out other noises within Aang’s house.

Rolling his eyes as he saw Bumi throwing back a large tankard, Tenzin decided to retreat to his bedroom to bid his time before going home to Lin. There was no way he would allow himself to be dragged into Sokka’s drinking game, which was likely to happen should they see him crossing the threshold to glide away. With a highly skilled waterbender in said drinking group, he did not want to take any risks of possibly being pulled into the ocean at this late hour.

-------------

With fatigue eventually overcoming him, Tenzin barely felt the mattress shifting nor did he feel the bed dip with the weight of another person joining him. He sighed sleepily as he curled closer to the source of warmth beside him.

-------------

Note:  Hello to my lone reader! So here’s my trial in creating a Linzin fanfic (cross-posted in archiveofourown too). I’m hesitant to post something online but it felt nice to share it with you. Not sure if this plot has already been done, or if this is a familiar trope already, but just the same I’ll be posting it here as I’ve started to rediscover the fandom recently. I’ve been fascinated by the Linzin pairing and I wanted to give it a shot. There was something very poignant about them and while I’m a sucker for angst, I wanted to try to give it a try to give them a happy ending. This is also non-canon compliant, obviously. Let me know what you think! 😊

==

Other chapters here:

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

[ohyangchon]

pray for me

I have Changjae brainworms and I will scream 

More Secret Forest fic because 2 weeks couldn’t fly by soon enough! 

Characters belong to Lee Sooyeon and TvN, Yeonjae’s iteration is my own (kinda). 

She'd sat in silence for the longest time after processing Changjoon's letter. It was there and then that it'd finally sank in that he was gone: taken, robbed from her on his own terms. He'd broken his promise to her to be with her in sickness and in health, and the gavel had fallen in that until death, did they part. Returning the letter where she'd gotten it, she got up and left, not acknowledging the prosecutor who'd offered her it in the first place.

The walk to her car was longer than she remembered, her body moving as if she was on autopilot. She had the route memorised, Changjoon having walked her through the same hallways so many times when she'd come to visit him in between work, and as she plodded on with her head held high, she caught the snippets of people gossiping around her as they passed her by. There was no need for her to lower herself to the opinions of such folk, though, but she soon found herself in front of her car, searching for her keys in her clutch before catching the glimpse of the wedding ring on her left hand.

He'd been so proud of it, the day he'd finally proposed to her. It was two decades since then, but memories kept swimming to the surface, mocking her for not noticing the subtle changes in her husband leading up to the decision that would change her forever. She pulled her gaze away, sticking her hand inside decisively to let herself in before leaning back against the seat of the car, closing her eyes and allowing her tears to fall.

This was why he'd sent her away. He didn't want her to see him make that decision and try to stop him. Yeonjae's glare fell on the ring again, and she brought it up to her eye level once more.

"Why were you so stupid," she asked herself quietly, addressing someone who was no more, "We swore a sacred oath together...yet you kept your suffering from me this whole while..." With a resigned exhale, she turned on the ignition and began to drive, her thoughts muddled with his final words and everything that'd led to whatever she was now experiencing.

Yeonjae felt like she was slowly burning away whenever she was reminded he was gone, smoldering at the edges as a part of herself died with him. They'd been inseparable since their marriage, and one was rarely seen without the other. Suddenly, everything had changed overnight, and even as she fidgeted with the two rings on her left hand, she felt the hollowness deep within her.

Everything seemed to remind her of his absence. The empty space where he'd sleep next to her, sneaking into bed during late nights with his customary wiggle to kick his shoes off in the hopes that he wouldn't wake her. The study he would recline in during his days off to read and sort his documents, oftentimes breaking out of a deep reverie with a wide, goofy grin seeing her approach. The dinner table that seemed a little too long for just her and her alone. The chill that'd set into the now-far-too-big house.

She remembered every set of platform shoes she'd put away since his death, polished to a shine but never seeing the light of day again, and the neatly-pressed suits she'd put into a box for safekeeping, only keeping one hanging in their shared closet as if wilfully hoping this was all just a dream and he would return the next day to put it on. There were his cardigans too, the casual attire he'd wore at home around her: a red one laid on her bed next to her while she slept, and she would curl over in a feeble bid to seek his familiar scent, but it all felt like sand slipping through her grasp.

-----

On her request, he'd been dressed in one of the cardigans and a comfortable pair of slacks. The suits were too burdensome, more a set of chains that'd tied him down for the past two decades. He could finally be free of both, and she'd declined looking at his body throughout the matter. She'd cried far too much, and more than enough: she couldn't possibly let him go the moment she saw his lifeless form before her.

Even then, as they began lowering the coffin into the plot for burial, Yeonjae continued to stare blankly forward, allowing this to occur with an air of resigned silence. Nobody had dared showed up for the funeral, not after Changjoon's bombshell exposing her parents' company and pulling the rug under all the contacts he'd been close to. They'd sooner spit on his corpse and label him a traitor than truly come to honor him, and she was happy for the silence that surrounded them both.

It'd always been him and her against the world. Even to the end. As the coffin began to disappear under the piling soil that was shoveled over it, she watched the rays of the setting sun bathe the cemetery in a brilliant orange glow and shut her eyes, allowing its warmth to seep into her weary bones. For the first time since he'd passed, she tilted her head upwards and gave a small smile, feeling the evening breeze sweep through her hair and the fists balled to her sides sagging.

"Thank you, yeobo," she managed to whisper, hoping that wherever he was that he could hear her, "I'll continue for us. You worked hard. You can rest now...I'll try to finish what you started. I'm sorry." Opening her eyes once again, the plot had already been filled, and in its place stood the large mound with the carving on the tombstone that sealed everything- Lee Changjoon Rests Here.

-----

She poured some soju over the mound, carefully withdrawing her hand as she began to reminisce. "When I first drank soju at the pojamacha, you were there with me," she chirped, keeping her voice steady but tears beginning to brim once more in her eyes. Her voice quaked as the accusations she'd wanted to scream died out, instead coming out as a whimper of "Why didn't you tell me? You should've told me."

"You made me feel so safe," she continued, lost in thought while she monologued, "What are you doing, tucked away six feet under?"

Her voice finally cracked as her final words hitched against her breathing. "Are you...at peace there?" her voice cautiously ventured, before she apologised, over and over as she finally broke down. No apologies would bring him back, she knew this deep in her heart, but she felt that so much she'd wanted to say had now lost meaning with his demise.

Lee Yeonjae, the all-powerful, had her moments of vulnerability. She'd only loved once, and only one man was for her, who was now the mound that stood before her.

As she covered her mouth with the back of her right hand, the soju bottle still in her other, the morning sun continued to beat down relentlessly upon them both, mocking their eternal separation.

-----

After a while, she'd started growing her hair out, letting it curl naturally at the ends in a light bounce. She didn't really keep that style before: it was impractical for her then, but she wanted to try something new to signify her growth.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she tilted her head from side to side in a confident smile, before glancing out towards the window at the sun peeking in through the curtains. "Cheeky bastard," she scoffed quietly, opening the blinds and staring out into the horizon, "Making the sun shine brightest whenever you want to see me. Did you get a permit for it?"

She laughed to herself at the joke she'd made: and could almost feel his deep laughter tittering alongside, slipping on her heels and adjusting the watch on her wrist- its screen had a slight crack upon it, but that was all the damage it'd sustained during the fall. It didn't fit her style, argued her secretary once when she'd pointed out the silver watch she'd always had on while entering work, but a dirty look from the older woman was enough to silence her.

What did she know? Yeonjae's grin didn't waver as she stepped out of the house, heading towards the office. Even as the sun beat down upon her frame, it didn't seem hot or discomforting: in fact, it felt like a warm embrace. As she entered her office, her smile finally faded, and she opened the blinds of her office to allow the sun to filter through.

Her phone lit up: a picture of Changjoon and herself, her seated and his hand on her shoulder while the other rested in his pocket as they stared at the camera. While they'd both looked stern in the portrait itself, Yeonjae knew the little secret of how silly he'd been behind the scenes when he'd tried to make a pose someone would actually take seriously.

Something's happened in Tongyeong, came the message that illuminated her screen, It might be linked to two years ago. Do you want to look into it?

They needed to say no further. Yeonjae scooped the phone up, her fingers flying across the keypad on the screen.

Ask better questions. Of course I will get involved. I promised him as much. His legacy is mine.

Once she was done, she leant back in her plush chair, hands folded on her stomach as she tilted her head backwards with an indulgent smile.

She remembered, and endeavored to ensure she wouldn't forget...and now, she could finally fulfill it.

[monicalorandavis]

Let’s all quit fucking around and give Renee her Oscar for ‘Judy’ now

I am several months late to the ‘Judy’ party. But due to a trip getting cancelled last minute I’m having a staycation instead of a vacation. (Tomato, tomahto!) Needless to say, I’ve got time on my side and I’m watching movies, baby. Time for Judy Garland, baby. Because that’s showbiz, baby!!!

I regret even joking about the razzle dazzle of show business because for Judy Garland show business, the very business she adored, also destroyed her. And that whole journey through the dark, twisted roller coaster of entertainment is sort of the thesis statement of this whole thing.

“The biz” was a cruel bitch to the greatest entertainer of all time. Her nic-name was Miss Show Business for crying out loud and yet when we meet Zellweger, playing the title character in ‘Judy’, she’s in the final year of her life, struggling to keep a roof over her children’s heads. She’s gaunt, exhausted, addicted to pills, alcohol and can’t manage to meet a decent man to save her life.

And instead of nitpicking every wrong choice that led her there, director Rupert Goold allows us into the plodding sojourn that was Judy Garland’s final tour in England. She’d lost custody of her children to ex-husband no. 3 and finally went across the pond where her fans were still willing to pay top dollar for the Hollywood legend. 

But when she gets to England we peer into the sheer loneliness that encompasses the lives of the super famous. No friends to share dinner with, kids thousands of miles away, and vulturous men always lurking on the sidelines. It’s grim and bleak and you can’t imagine things ever getting so bad. And yet they were. But, again, and I have to stress this because some power of Judy Garland compels me to underline this as a fellow woman in the arts, this is not the story of how Judy Garland ended up broke. It’s the story of how she tried her damnedest to make enough money to get her kids back because we actors are tryers.

She was a relentless performer who tried. Over and over again. She tried and tried and tried. She tried to put on a good show every night and we watch Zellweger lose the battle to those cloying pills and that seductive martini until she quite literally falls on her face. No, she doesn’t pretend like it didn’t happen. She gets up and is booed off stage and she barks back. And then she gets fired and gets word that her children want to stay with their father in Los Angeles. The final twist of the knife. Zellweger delivers that final conversation to her youngest daughter with aplomb and grace. The Judy Garland we wanted to know - Judy Garland, the mother. Tortured, flawed, generous and loving. A sensitive, soulful singer who had to fight for every scrap of dignity she ever got.

And I kept finding myself wanting to change how things turned out. She was so, so good. So talented. So kind. So willing to give herself to the audience, to new friends. She deserved more.

In one scene, that gives me chills to even think about, she asks two male fans to dinner and they can’t believe their luck. Only after dragging Judy Garland around the streets of London all night in hopes of a meal do they agree to host her at their home just blocks away. She obliges graciously and, of course because a living legend is in your home, they totally ruin the meal. And she couldn’t be a more gracious guest. She eats the terrible, soggy eggs, then, sings while her new friend plays the piano and, then, comforts him when he crumples into a ball of tears, overcome by this grand situation he finds himself in. She knows, and we know, that these two men are gay and the point is not belabored or sentimentalized. Instead, Goold treats us, the audience, like grown-ups with enough context to understand how important Judy Garland was to the gay community. She was their patron saint. Be it all the struggle, the pain under the surface and the resolve to put one foot in front of the other and sing her heart out in spite of it all. A metaphor for being gay, perhaps. Her life and legacy meant something to the community and still does. (The Stonewall Riots occurred on the day Judy Garland died and I think it played no small part in pushing things over the edge that fateful day.)

What a fight it was to be Judy Garland. A star who’d been spit out by Hollywood. Any actress over 40 will tell you their version of the story. And maybe no one understands that today quite like the star of ‘Judy’, Miss Zellweger.

I don’t think Renee Zellweger’s ever been better. She fucking soars. She sings her ass off (and I didn’t know the bitch could sing, not like this). In some instances, the resemblance is so striking between Zellweger and Garland it baffles the mind to reconcile that you are not looking at the original Judy, herself. Somehow, Zellweger completely transforms even the expression in her eyes as if the thought process, or the experience, or perhaps even the torment, is the same between both starlets. How else can an actor arrive at the exact same place as the person they are imitating? How do you achieve not just a version of a person, but the person, themselves?

I do not know what spiritual voodoo Zellweger achieved (move over, Christian Bale!). But this performance is an achievement of the highest order. I imagine Garland herself, at times her toughest critic, would be thrilled to watch the film even in its hardest moments.

Because Judy, and I suspect Renee, are consummate performers. Completely engrossed. Not engrossed. Obsessed. No, not obsessed. Addicted...

Judy Garland was completely addicted to the stage. Yes, Lady Gaga coined “I live for the the applause” but that’s only because she did her homework. Any diva in training gives their respect to the o.g. Judy Garland devoted her entire heart and soul to her performances. Often to her detriment, and to the detriment of those around her.

To be so completely talented, I imagine, is a curse to the performer. And when you’re a mother, a curse to your children. The performer’s gift has the power to kill them. It can drive them to the brink of self-destruction. The pressure and the anxiety of not performing at the same level again and again, night after night, drove Judy to the brink. The pills and the booze became absolutely necessary.

Years ago, I recall news stories about Renee Zellweger suggesting addiction and anorexia. She had wasted away, rumors swirling of drug abuse chased her - she’d been branded with a scarlet letter.

And then, I saw her in person, in Santa Monica. I was inside a Barnes and Noble bookstore (a rare occurrence nowadays in the era of dwindling brick and mortar). She was skin and bones. I barely recognized her. She looked...deranged. Her eyes were bulging nearly as much as the veins in her neck. I didn’t know why she was so distraught but my eyes fixed on her like a cheetah staring down a gazelle. She was just on the other side of the glass, and then she locked in on me. Suddenly, she was the cheetah. She stared at me, then a sour look fell upon her and she dashed away. I was shaken. I had never felt so judged by a famous person before. I had never shared such a fraught moment with a star of her caliber. But then, I wondered, maybe she hadn’t been looking at me at all. What if the glass was opaque and she wasn’t staring at me at all? What if she was looking at her own reflection that whole time? Could it be that she stared at herself that way, with that loathsome look in her eyes?

And now my heart breaks because I do believe she saw herself. She saw something in herself that she couldn’t stand and she fled from the reflection. Just like Judy would’ve ran. Just like Judy.

I’ve asked so many questions and I apologize but I must ask a few more:

What if Renee Zellweger doesn’t win an Oscar for ‘Judy’? Oof. Yes, I remember that she won for ‘Cold Mountain’ in 2004 but it was sort of payback because she’d been nominated for ‘Chicago’ in 2003 and was a shoe-in (but lost) and even that had been a sort of a gimme nom since she’d been nominated in ‘02 for ‘Bridget Jones’ Diary’ and lost even after she stole the entire world’s heart.

In a parallel way, Garland was famously snubbed for a ‘Star is Born’ in 1955 when she gave the performance of her life and lost to the quintessential Hollywood beauty, Grace Kelly. After a lifetime of comparisons and cruel remarks about her looks, it had to feel like a stab to the heart to lose to the pretty girl, the princess. Poor Judy. She just wanted to be beautiful and thin. But instead she was talented and charming. And that’s not to say she wasn’t beautiful and thin, she just didn’t fit the stupid, totally arbitrary model of beauty. And she eventually wasted away to a skeleton. Why did we do that to her? Why do we do that still?

I don’t know. But I do know that Renee Zellweger should win this god damn Oscar.