#ive torn through these books

[novemberocean]

Murderbot diaries be like: something happens

Murderbot: and I couldn't use my top speed...

[the-holy-ghosted]

Can't find the ask from somebody asking me if I've read either of John Lynch's books, but id like that person to know I have now read both Torn Water and Falling Out of Heaven. Suffice to say I'm not well

[brailsthesmolgurl]

Remember me?

Preview: You had gotten into a terrible accident. What happens when your memory of him had faded? What would he do to regain your love for him?

Warnings: Angst with comfort. Suggestive as well ;)

P.S: Xavier girlies really be getting a treat because I made sure to make his part a little longer than usual as i always struggled with writing Xavier :,)

ZAYNE

Rushing into the ER, Zayne’s footsteps came to a sudden halt when he watched you getting pushed into a room on a stretcher, a crash cart finding its way next to your side. He had received a call from your colleague Tara, crying on the phone explaining that your heroic actions had been a disastrous one as your were outnumbered by a sudden influx of wanderers. You managed to kill most of them, but in return, you too sustained some severe injuries.

Prior to Tara's call, you had tried to call Zayne, or in fact, just trying to reach out to anyone possible as you knew that you were not going to pull through the next hit. But as you were about to press the green dial button, a wanderer charged towards you from behind and successfully knocked you down. You would have easily avoided that collision if you were not in such a weakened and drained state. When your back hit the ground, your vision immediately turned black like a television that got turned off.

“Dr. Zayne, you have to leave.” The attending instructed the nurses to push him back but Zayne turned, knowing the Hippocratic oath he had taken had to be respected as the other doctors would serve you within your best interest. The man returned to his office, his mind a blank slate as he did not know nor expected to see you in such a condition. You were knocked out cold, blood painting your face as it flowed down from the top of your scalp. Your clothes were torn and roughed up, showing lacerations that calls for infections. Doctors and nurses in the ER swarmed you, tugging off the covers to reveal a gaping hole on the side of your hip.

He could not bring his feet to leave, stagnant at his current spot as he watched nurses intubated you, doctors drawing cultures from your body so it could be tested in the lab. It did not fazed him when this is a norm for him on a daily basis, yet he could not help but to be bothered at the fact he could not do anything as he watched you from the point of a bystander. The memories of you laying in the scarlet tainted bed would never be out of his mind ever again.

The next day, Zayne stopped by your room during his lunch break, a paper cup in his hand, filled with hot chocolate. His lunch break would usually be spent in his room, with one of the nurses stopping by to hand him his meal and he shall eat in peace in his office while going through patient files or simply read a book for his own entertainment. But it is different this time, he had abandoned his lunch break routine just to stand at the window that views directly into your room.

He mentally counted the amount of tubes that were attached to your limbs. Two IV poles stood on each side of your bed, like guards on duty, holding up packs of liquid substances that works to provide nutrients for your injured body. Your face had a couple of plasters on them, mimicking patches of your skin, while protecting your wounds from getting contaminated. Zayne had to constantly remind himself that you were just taking a nap but his logical mind would not let him succumb to those imaginary thoughts. You are in fact, in a concussed state.

It took two days for Zayne to receive a notification from his pager informing him about you regaining consciousness and the cardiologist was quick to dismiss his current patient, jotting a quick prescription and handing it to them. When he was asked why was he in a hurry, he came up with a banal excuse that has something to do with a toilet break and he rushed out of his room with hasty footsteps. Taking the stairs straight to the second floor instead of riding the elevator as he has no time to waste. When he arrived at your room, he waltzed right in. Your attending stood next to you, going through the charts, chatting with one of her cohorts, fingers pointing on the chart from one end to another, perhaps discussing about another possible upcoming diagnosis.

“Y/n.” His voice was surprisingly calm as he approached you but the attending doctor of yours held him by his arm and a shake of her head indicated a warning sign. Zayne looked at the two doctors and back towards you, eyes of hazel-green meeting yours. “What is the diagnostic?”

“She had just woken up from her concussion, head trauma might suggest short-term amnesia. But it was unsure how long it would take for her to recover her memories. So, if she does not remember you, I would suggest taking things slow.” The doctor informed Zayne, her tone professional but certainly held hints of wariness. It was rare to see Zayne being emotional over a patient, let alone this patient who is not even within his care. She surely is a special one to Zayne, the attending assumed and together with her colleague, they both left the room to give Zayne and y/n some space.

You watched the guy doctor approached, his face held no emotions. You caught the black name tag on his coat, ZAYNE. He looked surprisingly young to be a doctor, it made you wonder what department he works in. His raven hair was neatly styled, framing his chiseled features well. For a moment, you had a sense of deja vu, as if you remembered him from somewhere. But the memories vaporised as soon as you tried to recall it, making this man in front of you a total mystery.

“Hi.” You smiled, cheery as ever but with a nasally voice. You figured he must care for you if he were to come and visit you during his working hours right? Zayne’s eyes lit up as he took a seat right next to your bedside. “Thanks for visiting me, although…I am not quite sure who you are. But still, thank you.” The doctor’s emerging smile dropped, realising that your amnesia would have been more serious than what was estimated.

𓆩⟡𓆪

Weeks had passed by, then came along with months but even till now, your memories remained black. You do not recall Zayne at all, his face provided not even a bit of a vague memory of both of your shared past, his voice sounded still as stoic and foreign, but you always had this bubbling feel within your belly, and it only ever comes around when you are with him. This applies for the moments when he would come to your office to pick you up, suddenly stopping by your house to hand you some of desserts that he managed to discover, and spending what you thought was unnecessary effort for someone that he 'barely knew'.

Pushing the glass door open, you stepped into a coffee shop, the waft of coffee beans and freshly baked pastries enveloped your nose. This place looked familiar to you with cosy warm lightings on all corners, booth seatings made out of plush velvet cushions and wooden tables that have carvings on it that surely cost the coffee shop a pretty penny. Your eyes scanned the occupied seats and rested upon a figure in a man in a white button up. His posture was straight, head tilted just low enough to capture the phone's screen.

Once you got close enough, the doctor reacted naturally when he spotted the outline of your shadow. He did chose to sit in an obscure corner, so if someone were to approach, he would automatically assume its you. With a tap of a button, the screen on his phone turned dark and he looked up, adjusting his spectacles that was perched on his nose bridge. “You are late.” He stated as he quietly studied your outfit for today. A white turtle neck with a pair of black jeans, put together with a black leather jacket that compliments your jet black boots. Simple but stylish. “I had already ordered for you, the usual of course.” He held up the ceramic cup and drank from it, feeling the warm coffee hitting the back of his throat, leaving a bitter trail for his taste buds.

“I’m sorry, I just got delayed by traffic but thank you for ordering for me, it was nice of you to do so.” Too nice. Ever since you had regained full range of motion and slowly got back onto your feet, you had became too nice that it was a strange phenomenon for Zayne. Low-key, he missed your borderline witty retorts and occasional petty remarks. That was a part of you that he longed for. “So, why are we here again?”

The young man swirled the coffee in his cup, watching the liquid sloshed around. “I just figured you might remember this coffee shop.” His attempt to make you remember him is still very much present and ongoing. “As this was where we had our first date.”

“Well, it does look familiar.” You looked around, taking in the view of the amazing cafe. “But, still nothing comes to my mind. I am sorry Zayne.” Another failed attempt which was already expected by Zayne the moment you had entered the doors to this cafe. Hearing you addressing his name every time was a comfort and yet a curse because you calling his name did not mean anything anymore.

The doctor sat in front of you provided both you and himself a smile of solace. “It’s alright. You do not have to apologise every time if you do not recall the memories we once had. I will just keep on trying.” The waitress then approached the both of you, laying down the desserts and pastries that Zayne had ordered. “Here, have it as much as you want. It shall be on my tab.”

Staring at the array of desserts, your vision paused at the strawberry roll. The cylindrical delicacy doused in a layer of butter and decorated heavily with fresh whipped cream and strawberries. Before you could manage to taste a piece, your daydream beckoned you, flashes of memories came along, showing visions of you eating desserts with Zayne. The both of you standing side by side, debating on which coffee would match which dessert better and finally deciding on the strawberry roll. The same strawberry roll that earned him a toothache and you eventually accompanied him to the dentist, your nags could be heard through the playback in your head. “Are you alright y/n?” Zayne’s voice interrupted your vision.

“I…I need the washroom.” You pushed your chair back and hurried off into the bathroom. Jamming yourself into one of the stalls, you sat yourself down onto the toilet cover and held your head in your palms. The throbbing pain on your frontal lob causing you to feel waves of nausea. Your breaths started quickening as you felt like you were strapped down to a roller coaster of emotions involuntarily, going through tunnels at light speeds, replaying all of your memories along the way. Then it stopped. You just sat on the toilet cover now, tears stinging your eyes as you take in your surroundings.

The day before you went onto a mission, Zayne and you had a fallout, arguing over the fact he was too busy with his schedule and constantly cancelling his meet ups with you just to attend to his patients. You knew he had an important role to play within the hospital, but his last minute cancellations was the main reason you got riled up when you confronted him about it. Not to mention his indifference further fuelled your anger. The argument that night was inconclusive, the both of you agreed to have your own time, only to result in solemn sighs and quiet cries. The next day, the fight between the both of you partially held the blame when you were in the middle of the battlefield, too drained from your lack of sleep. Then, your inability to focus while fighting Berserk Wanderers made you pay the price.

But when Zayne caught sight of you for the very first time in the stretcher, the fight never mattered anymore. If apologising would bring you back, he would have done it without hesitation. He took the blame too, silently cursing himself, questioning himself if things would have taken a better turn if he chose to hold you close and apologise for that night, to promise you that he would spend more time with you. The promise was only played out when you regained consciousness. How he wished you could have remembered, seeing that he had made time for you just the way you would have wanted him to.

He would always accompany you to your physiology appointments, visiting you often after he is done with his shifts, forgiving you every time you do not remember scenarios or locations that had played a significant part in both of your relationship. It must have been an aching journey for him. From the throbbing pain, your head started feeling heavy and you collapsed in the stall.

𓆩⟡𓆪

Waking up, your hands pushed down against satin sheets in an attempt to sit yourself up. The room you are in is definitely not yours, the pristine white walls with darkish blue accents belong to Zayne’s. Just as you thought of him, he appeared through the doorway, wooden tray in hand as he walked over to you. A cup of water with pills in a transparent plastic cup, and two pieces of bread sat on the tray. “You passed out when you were in the washroom earlier on, but I do not sense anything serious so I brought you home and figured Ibuprofen would settle your issue for now.”

“Zayne.” The way you called him made him perked his ears up as he laid the tray down. “I am sorry for everything.” He looked at you, the lights in his room casting a glow on his face, showcasing the creases in between his brows as he was confused over your apology. “I am sorry I don’t remember you.” The tears of yours got released and they flowed down your face. Your sincerity broke his guard and he leaned forward hugging you, pulling you tautly against his torso. Nobody could explain nor understand the amount of relief that was rushing through his system now, shooting endorphins and dopamines straight through the roof of his head.

He nuzzled into your neck, breaths taken in long and slow drags as he tried to calm himself down. He was never used to showing emotions but just for this one time, he could let himself loose. “You don’t have to be.” He rubbed his palms on the side of your arms, consoling you from sobbing.

“I missed you so much.” Your arms wrapped around him in return, smiling at his overwhelming response. “I really missed you. You did so much just for me.”

He pulled back, hands cupping your face immediately, sighing in relief. “I only did what was deemed necessary to bring you back to me. No matter how long it takes, I will keep on trying.” Lurching forward, your lips caught his in heated passion, thanking him for his efforts through your actions. You had missed his kisses, lips overlapping over one another then parting, allowing tongues to dance for dominance. His arms snaked around your waist and he pulled you to sit onto his lap, a tent evidently pressing against you. His other hand went to the back of your neck and he pulled back, searching your expressions for a confirmation to his further actions. “Would you like me to continue?”

“Yes.” Your one-worded answer approved of his arousal and the both of you continued kissing fervently. This time with your hands exploring the expanse of his upper torso, feeling his muscles with every touch. “I love you.”

Getting to hear those words coming from your mouth again, he picked you up by your thighs and laid you onto his bed, climbing over on top of you as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, eyes raking through your body, desperately wanting to reveal what was underneath your conservative clothing and wanting to revel himself in pleasing you. “I love you too.” Your hands reached up to cup his cheeks this time, smiling. “Allow me to take this slow, all night. Till you remember me fully.”

XAVIER

“You take the two on your right and I will take on the big one.” Summoning your guns out of thin air, you gripped it familiarly within your palms, the metal grips on your guns cold to your touch. You looked at the wanderer in front of you. The size of it outweighed the wanderers that Xavier was tasked to deal with. The wanderer is shaped like a dragon, floating above the ground, with metallic scales all over its body that forms a shield as part of its defence mechanism. Talons sharp and hard as a diamond came slashing at the speed that could only be counted in milliseconds and you dodged it at the perfect timing, a few strands of your hair suffered the damage of its talons. “Tsk, you are certainly feisty.”

“Are you hurt?” Xavier is already dashing over to you, him dealing with the two wanderers barely took 5 seconds. It was a simple slash and dash for him. You regained your stability, standing up straight and getting into a combative stance, the blond man joining you by your side, sword raised and aimed at the foul wanderer. “Let’s take it down together.”

The both of you moved in sync like a dance is taking place in the middle of battlefield. The wanderer utilised its talons and tail to its best attempt to attack the both of you but the bigger they are, they tend to be slower in motion. That added an advantage to both Xavier and you. The man hollered at you as he jumped up, distracting the dragon and you denoted his instructions, charging in at full speed. The talons of the dragon then came towards you. Yet, everything seems to happen in slow-motion as you kicked yourself off of the ground and did a somersault, counteracting against the movement of the talons and safely avoiding it. Xavier appeared beneath you, his teleportation abilities an extremely useful tactic for displacement.

Dropping on one knee, he reached his hand out and you used the platform on his palm to provide a leverage for you to gain momentum for height, springing yourself up into the air, rotating in circles before angling yourself face-first towards the dragon like creature. The dragon roared as it spotted you, talons now flying upwards to stop your strike. You waved your hand and the guns switched to a blade similar to Xavier’s but with a silver hilt and a red tip. Fast as a bullet, you avoided the attack of the dragon yet again and this time jammed the blade right onto the top of its head. The dragon screeched before fading into dust particles and the Protocore that it carried fell to the floor with a clink. “How was that move just now?” You smirked, awaiting a compliment as you landed onto the ground steadily.

“It can use some work.” Xavier spoke nonchalantly, bending down to pick up the Protocore before crushing it in his hands, not wanting anyone else to get their hands on it, especially those who are not associated with your organisation. You placed a hand onto your chest and gasped dramatically, feigning being insulted. “You deserve that for letting me deal with the weaker ones and with you dealing with the dragon all by yourself. You could easily get hurt.” His display of puppy eyes might fool everyone else other than you. You can see the smirk right through him.

“Well you’re always the show off, it is time for me to grab that spotlight by now.” You huffed, arms crossing over your chest in disappointment and he laughed, walking over to you and pulling your arms away from your torso, his smile genuine this time.

“I can never win an argument against you, so I give up okay?” He raised his hand up and brushed what seemed to be left of the dragon ashes off of your head. The sudden interaction of his got you speechless. “Nothing to say? Cat got your tongue?” He teased and you sent a light punch towards his way, aiming right at his torso. “Ouch.”

At this point, both of you could not hide your feelings for one another. It was so obvious to the point Tara would always mock that the both of you ‘are a force so great that gravity could not even pull you both apart’. Tara’s point was widely agreed by everyone else within the same department and even reaching towards the data mining department and the HR department. Well, looking onto the bright side, at least you guys have more support than rejection. Captain Jenna however, presented her disapproval towards their relationship as ‘business and personal matters are not a good concoction’ as quoted by the superior of theirs. Still, majority decision matters and Xavier have strong beliefs that the both of you would be able to still keep things professional while pursuing a relationship.

“Let’s grab some ramen, I am hungry.” The usual routine ensues. It is not a routine if there are no food gatherings after a mission, or specifically, one that involves you. “This time, it will be on me.”

𓆩⟡𓆪

Xavier’s superbike engine increased in volume as the acceleration increases. Wind hitting the both of your faces like some form of karmic payback for going so fast on the streets. Clouds were being shoved in the skies, eating up the sun light that once provided warmth and exchanging it for clouds of storms. The rain then poured rampantly, wetting everything in its path and coating the tar roads in a sheen of wax-like surface. Xavier twisted the handle further and that pushed the bike faster, you holding on tighter to his waist as he registered himself to be in a race with the rainstorm. Something about Xavier riding his bike like a wild man does something to me :,)

They are almost at their destination, the marker point for the restaurant could be seen on Xavier’s phone screen that had the GPS system running. “We are almost there.” He called out from his helmet, the indicator of his speedometer showing that he is nearly achieving the top speed on his superbike. The good thing about modern technology nowadays is that there are no struggles to speak in a normal tone when there is a built in microphone within the helmet. Back in the days, talking on a motorbike in motion would involve a lot of yelling as the deaden wind noises would act like giant ear plugs in one’s ears, making it difficult to communicate.

Turning a corner, his tyre screeched in rejection, a normal phenomenon for him using wet tyres that provides a better grip on slippery roads during such rainy seasons. What was unexpected however, was the lorry that appeared right in front of them, blaring its horns as the driver was seen stepping onto the brakes, inertia taking over when his body was jerked back, praying for his brakes to take control of the vehicle. “Xavier!” You screamed out as Xavier turned the bike’s head over to the other side to prevent colliding into the lorry but it was too late. A loud bang came through and you just remembered falling harshly onto the ground, landing on back first and darkness took you right away.

𓆩⟡𓆪

Beep. Beep. Beep. Machines were heard, your body struggled to move as if chained down by restraints. Your head felt like it just went through a lobotomy, aching in deep throbbing pain. You slowly opened your eyelids, welcoming the sun light that had invited itself into your room. Your surroundings are clean, smelling like iodine and sterile alcohol. You looked down and realised you are in a loose blue hospital gown. You are in a hospital. For what reason though?

Your mind emitted a high pitched ringing as you tried to recall your last moments that had landed you into the hospital. All you managed to recall was you coming in contact with a wanderer alone, and after you had defeated it, everything else is a mystery. Hearing the door sliding open, you looked over, spotting a man walking in through the entrance. He is wearing a white oversized hoodie, layered over a baby blue T-shirt and matched with a pair of black jeans. This man looked like a model, with blond hair that could easily blend in with the sunlight and with eyes that is twinning with his T-shirt. “How are you doing?” His voice was not as deep as what you had predicted, but it does give it a distinct personality of its own.

“I’m fine, I guess.” You tried to sit up but the pain that jabbed your chest made you winced. The man took a seat next to you and with the press of a button, your bed slowly moved upwards. “Thanks.”

He watched you, eyes holding a glimmer of hope that you could not pinpoint on what he was hoping for. His hand reached out towards your face and you instinctively moved back, eyes widened in shock. He looked at you, face turning pale as he realised the reality of the situation. “Do you know who I am?”

“No.” Your quick response made him blinked twice, not knowing what to say at all. “Are you someone I know?” He could have heard his own heart cracked at that question of yours.

The nurses who were in charge of you had already acknowledged Xavier to be your sole caretaker. The lack of parents and caretakers within your family history indicated that you had nobody to rely on, other than this blond bloke that had constantly been bugging the nurses about your condition. They had informed him about the side effects of a concussion, including a period of amnesia. Xavier had seen this coming but it still hurts, given that he is the one to be held accountable for this outcome.

After that day at the hospital, Xavier no longer rode his bike, the damage inflicted upon the metal piece of garbage was so great that it now sat in the garage of his condo. Other than that, he was also traumatised by his accident that nearly costed the both of your lives. His self-recrimination got to him so much that it had affected his working attitude and causing him to be more closed off than ever.

𓆩⟡𓆪

Having the day all to yourself, you decided to explore the city on your own and hopefully you get to go to an arcade and catch one of those plushies that you have been eyeing for the past few days. The lack of Xavier in your life did not affect you as much. Since you had been discharged he would drop by your house every once in a while and you came to learn that he stays within the same building as you. But what you found interesting was the fact he would always buy you food that you crave for, and seemingly had always presented a liking for. It got you wondering if the both of you actually had a history together but since he did not say anything, you did not find the need to pry either.

The store stood proudly in between a coffee shop and a convenience store, its neon lights and floating holograms of this season's featured plushies made it a fanfare, inviting everyone that catches sight upon the store and kidnapping all of the families who are spending time for an outing. Couples are seemingly reeled in as well, leaving the singletons sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the cramped space. Just like y/n, sliding smoothly in between couples and families to arrive at the back of the store, where the plushies hailing from an older season would be secreted. Crowds would not clump at the back here given that the need to keep up with the latest plushies is a cool trend nowadays. But y/n’s decision to settle for an ‘out-of-the-season’ plushie characterises her to be a sentimental and loyal individual.

You exchanged for a couple of tokens, enough to fill a small bowl and you walked over to the machine of your choice, eyeing the bunny plushie in the middle of the pool of plushies. “Here I come.” You inserted a token into the coin slot and the machine jerked awake, lights flashed in front of you and a fast-paced nursery rhymed filled the silence. You looked into the mirror stationed at the back of the cubicle of the claw machine and a bright light pierced through it, swallowing you entirely. Then you were stood right next to the same machine, but you were focused on the couple manoeuvring the machine you had paid for. You were about to stop them till you realised that it was you and Xavier, standing next to one another, chatting and laughing as you guys watched the claw machine worked its magic.

You could not bring yourself to snap out of your own reverie, not when the presented scenario is full of warmth and …love. Your guts has been right all this while, the fuzzy confusion you get whenever he is near you, the sense of heightened self-awareness when he leans in to study your expressions, a slither of unknown jealousy coursing through you when you realised the nurses were asking for his contact information. It finally placed your brain back into your head. When you are brought back to reality, you blinked away your tears that stung at the back of your pupil and you recollected yourself, walking away from the machine and towards the exit. You are going to look for Xavier.

You knocked onto his door multiple times, series of knocks, pause, series of knocks, pause. Took him a good seven minutes to open the door. His hair is messy, eyes half lidded and yawns so dragged out that he could easily break the world record for being the best yawner. “Is everything alright?” The man in the pyjamas asked, looking concerned. But you dashed through his door and attached yourself into his embrace, the young man awoken in an instant. His arms now beside his torso, halfway upwards into the air when he tried to process what is happening at the start of his day.

“It’s not your fault Xavier.” You mumbled through his shirt, still loud enough to reach his ears. “I don’t want you to blame yourself.” You remembered the day you were deep in your dreamland till you were woken up by muffled sobs, your hands feeling wet to the touch. When you opened your eyes, you saw Xavier’s face was plopped in your hands and his body was jerking to every heave and pants he took. He was crying within your palms, blaming himself for the amount of pain he had inflicted upon you while he gets to walk off unharmed. Just the thought of seeing him cry again pains you.

He gets to reap faster than what he had initially sowed, with a mere expectation that you might get your memories back after a couple of months, but to get your memory back within two months time, he would have kissed heavens if he was allowed to. You felt his weight pressed into you and you stumbled backwards, back hitting against the closed door as a response. His arm now around your waist, steadying you before he pulled you closer, sandwiching you between the door and also his torso. “I wanted to do this for a long time.” His breath fanned your bangs, heating your cheeks up. “Would you mind if I do things to you that nobody else gets to?”

You gained just a tad bit of courage to look up at him and you gulped, seeing his orbs darkened, gleaming lustful desires behind it. He is not the only one with such dirty thoughts in his mind, for you bear the same thoughts as him. You want him just as much as he wants you, but there was just a gap between the both of you the whole time, the hesitant, the doubt and the fear of a mistake that was holding the both of you back. But as of now, perhaps not anymore.

Responding to your eager lust, you pressed your lips against his and he reciprocated it. Your lips parted and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in, caressing the insides of your mouth. His hand traced to your bum and he smoothed his palms over it, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. "Did I ever told you how sorry I was about your accident?" He whispered against your plump lips, a passionate emblem brewed behind his cerulean orbs. Gasping, he lifted you up by swiftly hooking his arms under your thighs and pinning you harder against the door. "Tonight, let me apologise sincerely, and allow me to make it up to you." The night then gets darker but younger.

RAFAYEL

Seated on a wooden chair tucked behind a huge desk, the young artist crossed his legs under the table, eyeing the cue cards that he was given so he could get an idea on what answers he could opt for. But as what Thomas has predicted, Rafayel's fish brain would not even appreciate the aid of a script. Rafayel positioned the cue card at the very edge of the table and awaited for the curtains to be withdrawn.

Jazzy tunes started playing and the host of the interview roared out Rafayel's name belatedly. Heavy maroon drapes slowly drew back, revealing a standing ovation from the crowd and a grumpy Rafayel behind the desk. "Welcome Rafayel!" The young woman introduced herself to be Miss Kony. Everyone, Miss Kony even, are in awe with his effiminate features. Men hate his feminine looking features but women dig it. Rafayel on the other hand, knows that he owns the stage the moment he was revealed.

Almost at the end of the interview, MIss Kony was asking some handpicked fan-favourite questions towards Rafayel. "So what if, just what if you found out that someone you love someday had lost their memory about you?" The woman asked, hands smoothed over her yellow chiffon blouse and placing the cue card onto her lap, leaning in to catch his answer.

The young artist shrugged. "I don't know really. I think I would just get disappointed and leave." He was known for his impatience to everything except for his own artwork. "As I do have time for other things other than tending towards someone who barely remembers me. I might just take the time to continue doing what I do."

His answer received praises and whistles, earning admiration from his fanbase for someone being true to himself and also having to think of the 'bigger picture'. The interview that had took place ended on a particularly neutral note but the end of the night seemingly turned sour. Not only was he tailed by paparazzis all the way to his car and that he was late for a movie. The one movie that you would never shut up about, featuring some sappy drama with a very predictable ending. Rafayel wanted to express his distaste towards your movie choices but seeing you getting so excited over something so minute, his heart could not help but to be wrapped around your fingers. Sliding himself into the bucket seat of his hyper car, the artist held up a hand, signifying a blatant goodbye and to cease further questions. Starting the ignition, the car roared to life and he stepped onto the gas pedal and steered out of the parking lot.

You stood at the front of the cinema, eyes darting everywhere to search for a sign of a 6’ tall man with purple hair, good sense of fashion and dashingly good looks, but he was nowhere to be seen. You picked up your phone, squinting your eyes when you checked the time. He is late. Which is unusual of him. Before you could even control yourself, your mind had already started stirring up different scenarios of what could have happened to Rafayel and you got increasingly worried over him. Your fingers hovered over the green dial button, Rafayel’s name on your screen before you were interrupted by the screams of the general public.

Rafayel's phone vibrated for a few times before he picked it up, hearing your voice on the other end through the speakers of his car. "Rafayel, I think there is a bombing happening near—” A huge whirring could be heard and a high pitched ringing sent the call directly to an end note. The line emitting a no-signal dial tone caused Rafayel's heart to plunge. He looked at the phone, your name and profile picture the only thing that filled the screen before it turned off and the young man stepped pedal to the metal, the car’s turbine sound cutting through the quiet night.

His car screeched to a halt when he was greeted with barricades in the middle of the road, fire ablaze on multiple buildings and rubbles filled the once bustling streets. Security and medical forces are already at the scene, scavenging for survivors and treating victims of the unfortunate circumstance. “Tara!” He called out when he spotted a familiar outline of a female similar to your height but with a bob. The girl turned at the call of her name and her eyes widened, probably not expecting your boyfriend to be at the scene. “What happened here? Did you saw y/n?”

Tara looked like she had gagged onto the smoke but minus the coughing and actual physical struggle. Words are not pouring out of her mouth despite she is a proud extrovert. “There was a bombing.” She managed to mutter after a while of silence and intense staring. “We have yet to find her. We don’t know where she is.” She hesitantly looked down to check her hunter’s watch to avoid his gaze. She could tell that he is not taking the answer well.

“She was last seen at the cinema. Have you searched there yet?” He asked and watching Tara being hesitant again, he did not bother asking and he walked right in, getting a clearance from the authorities issued by Tara. He walked past rubbles, hearing for anything that could get him to locate you easier. Then, he stopped at the sight of a hand peeking out from under one of the cement rubble. The promise ring of his laid dormant on your ring finger, the ashen skin nearly similar to the rubble you are laid underneath.

“Y/N!” He shouted, sinking to his knees and started to dig through the rubble, his sudden movement caught the eyes of a few of the fire marshalls stationed at the site. They rushed over with their gear. “Please help, my lover is underneath the rubble!” He called out, still digging through the rubble.

“Sir, we are gonna need you to step back.” One of the man pushed him back, the young man indicated signs of reluctance but he knew that he does not have any tools that could lift up the huge piece of rubble anyways. “Once we get her out, you can be on the ambulance with her.” Another marshall placed a hand on his back, his voice and gaze reassuring enough to get Rafayel to back off to let them do their work. He stood aside, peering over their shoulders every once in a while, wanting to catch a glimpse of what they could manage to find. It didn’t take them long to lift your body out of the piles of rocks. Your body was limp, eyes closed and scarlet red painted a few streaks of colours on your beautiful yet pale face. “Y/n!” He called out to you but there were no responses, his legs matched the pace of the marshalls lifting your injured body towards the ambulance.

He got in right after the stretcher and sat down next to you, grabbing hold of your hand in his. He kept mumbling your name, peppering kisses over the back of your hand as if he was praying to a god. Ironic. The ambulance’s sirens wailed as the paramedics strapped themselves into the driver seats. “Hang on tight.” The driver’s voice could be heard through the plastic pane separating the patient’s mobile room. With the rev of an engine, the force of inertia caused Rafayel to jerk backwards as the ambulance sped through the traffic.

𓆩⟡𓆪

Batting your eyelashes a couple of times, you invited the sunlight into your vision after who-knows-for-how-long it has been. Your body felt sore as if you had been lifting weights too heavy for you, your head felt groggy like your nap had been too good, your hearing sense prickled whenever someone made too loud of a noise. By that, you meant the man in front of you who would not stop calling out your name when he opened the door to see your opened eyes. This man, his lilac-pinkish hued orbs widened with what you may describe as excitement. His smile is nothing less than dashing, he seemed like he is made for the television shows. Everything on him, from his head to his toe, a simple black formal button up, a pair of black slacks, and a pair of normal sneakers looked expensive on him. Maybe he does adorn those branded items, but you could not possibly tell at this moment.

“Do you remember me, my love?” His smile had reduced a little bit, perhaps due to your unresponsiveness when you initially woke up from your days of deep slumber. “Y/n?”

“I don’t know you.” You frowned, gaze avoiding his. You could hear slight shuffling, squeaks caused by the friction between the waxed tiled floor and the soles of his sneakers. “Do I happen to know you beforehand?” You tilted your head up and you watched the young man took a seat next to you, a face of disbelief tattooed onto his features. “Would you like to—”

“I’m Rafayel.” The man in front of you beamed, his sappy look somewhat disappeared into thin air. Although he knew that it would hurt for you to not remember him, but he felt like slapping himself in the face now. Saying something along the lines of not giving two shits to someone he loves if they were to forget him is just plain ignorant when he sits in front of you now, watching the love of his life not remembering him and yet he could not go forth with what was mentioned at the interview a couple of days back.

You still had one of your eyebrows quirked up, looking at him as if he is an alien. Still does not deny the fact that he is handsome according to your standards. "Do you at least remember your name and your job?" He crossed his arms in front of his chest. His shirt was tight enough for you to get a good peek at his taut chest.

"My name is y/n and I am a deepspace hunter. Yeah I guess I remember that bit." Judging at the way Rafayel barely spared a blink your way, you bit your lip and started to stir your memory. A little bit goes a long way when you caught hold of your other responsibility. "I am a bodyguard for someone I think."

Rafayel's lips curled into a smirk, nodding. He relaxed his arms and leaned back against the chair. "Good, we can work with this."

𓆩⟡𓆪

Slamming the oak doors, you gasped in shock when you spotted Rafayel laying motionless on the floor. "Rafayel!" You shouted, grabbing him by his shoulders and shaking him like a cocktail shaker. "Rafayel, are you okay?"

The man's eyes suddenly widened and you dropped him, his head colliding with the hard floor with a thud. "OUCH!" He wailed in pain, rubbing the back of his head immediately. "Why would you do that?"

"You left me 13 calls when I was out at the field, I thought it was an emergency!" You fished your phone out of your pockets, revealing his name highlighted in red with a big number 13 next to his name. "Then I rushed here to see you lying on the floor like a dead fish!"

"It is an emergency." His pout emerged. "I am having a painter's block, I needed your input on my painting." He slowly sat up, dusting imaginary dust off of his shoulders.

Sighing, you stood up from your kneeling position. "Can't that wait till after I am done with work? I took half day off just for your so-called emergency." The annoyance in your tone was not as aggravating as what he had to endure before you had lost your memory. You held your hand out to him still, a frown fell upon your face.

He took your hand and stood up, his height easily towered over you. "I will make it up to you by bringing you out for dinner at any restaurant you want okay?" He placed both of his hands on your shoulders and he slowly guided you towards the corner that he always brainstorms for his pieces. His suggestion made you huffed in objection, but then, you are not entirely rejecting his idea.

Standing in front of the artwork, you analysed it, strokes in wavelike pattern covered most of the canvas, with a sketch of what seem to look like a jetty etched out on the bottom of the canvas. The artwork presents a setting held during twilight, the sunset and night sky bleeding into his art. A sudden high pitched ringing made you winced and you fell to the floor, clutching your head in agony. "Y/N!" You could hear him calling out to you but his voice slowly got muffled, like he was drowning in the waters drawn on his painting.

𓆩⟡𓆪

You woke up to the day you first met Rafayel, at the fair where he did this little trick to catch a small fish for you from the small pool. Your flashbacks then went on, projecting all of the moments you had spent with Rafayel and coming to the day he asked you to be his girlfriend while presenting the promise ring to you and to the moment the bombing happened before you could watch the movie at the cinema.

This time, you actually sat up, gasping for air as you felt cold sweat trickling down your forehead. Your memories of Rafayel had been revived and you could not hold back the tears that came. "Y/n, are you---" Rafayel's voice caught your gaze and you pushed yourself off of the bed and sprinted towards him, ambushing him with a hug so tight the artist nearly fell backwards. "Hey, hey what's wrong?"

"Raf...Rafe..." You sobbed, head buried into his cleavage. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The artist ran his hands through your hair, feeling the smooth and soft strands to his touch. "I'm sorry I don't remember you."

Rafayel at this moment, with you in his arms, felt nothing but relief crashing over him. One might think that he would be excited, and to pull her into a rib crushing hug to express his excitement. But, he did the exact opposite. His breath was calm, hands still working their way through your hair before he caught your jaw and angled your face upwards. Your eyes looked right into his coloured irises, adoration radiating through his gaze. "I missed you, do you know that?"

Your hands snaked up his forearms and you cupped your hands over his. "I am sorry for making you so worried, Rafayel." His thumbs brushed over your cheeks in sync, wiping off the tears that are coming to a near stop. He did not allow you anymore space to apologise by leaning down and kissing you. He eventually pried your lips opened by darting his tongue out to caress your soft lips for the opening.

His hands heaved you up by your thighs and you wrapped your legs around his waist, the fervent kiss providing a headstart for the long night ahead. Your back hit against the plush beddings and he ran his fingers teasingly up the inside of your thighs, making you hiss in pleasure. He pulled back, pupils dilated and breath ragged, rubicund dusted over his cheeks and ears. "You have to pay for making me so worried over you, yeah?" He danced his fingertips to the fly of your pants, but stopped right at the zipper. "If you do not want me to, tell me to stop."

Now it is your turn to run your finger teasingly down his neck, your nail drag leaving a hot trail on his skin. "I would actually ask you to stop if I do not remember you." You bit down onto your lip, eyeing him as he slowly started to unzip your pants with his skilled digits.

"If it's so, I will take my time all night to prove to you how much I love you until I am satisfied." He smirked and dived his head down to catch your lips once again, allowing his fingers to travel south, already planning to make you cry only his name for the rest of the night.

[gretavanmoon]

an omnipresent force•

hey friends, so in recent days I've realized that Tumblr is nothing but an open place to dump our wild, running thoughts, right? a place to express our art and let creativity flow in its rawest form, whether or not the work is unfinished or tied up with a big red bow. my docs is littered with unfinished ideas and half-written junk, and they're just sitting there. why? they're collecting dust, and I don't like dust.

ive consulted with my nearest and dearests on if this thought process is wack or not, and they don't think it's TOO wack, I hope. but anyways, here's a little preview of something I started a long time ago. It's got a couple chapters complete, a couple outlined, but it has no end in sight. and I don't really care. I wanna share it, because I love it, and completing multi-book works is a feat I'm familiar with from writing the Vigilance & Valor worlds, and without @gretavangroupie encouraging me to write like the wind, those things would STILL be sitting in our docs COLLECTING DUST (with absolutely no fault to her stamina, but by fault of mine lol)

so I'm gonna post this, it's messy and unfinished and kind of unedited, because who cares? we read for indulgence and escapism, and we write for the same reasons.

maybe I'll finish this one day, maybe I won't. nevertheless, enjoy it my loves ;)

also ily so much @builtbybrokenbells & @farfromthehomelands for the encouragements

Warnings: Mentions of Death & Dying, Pain, Loss, Crying

•

“Do you remember it, Y/N? Do you? Are all of your memories still alive? Do not ever let your mind be one to settle, my love. You know that. That is essential.”

His voice is strangled and pained as he tries to speak quietly in the shadows that have fallen across the large room, pushing his words out with haste as his eyes scan behind me. Waiting, anticipating someone to come unnoticed into the room with us. I take sight of his rigid and shaking body laid out across the cot, the white sheet wrapped around his freezing self.

"What did they give you, Paps? What did they drop into your eyes?" I beg. His pupils are dilated and the whites of them are now a deep red, swollen and blotchy as he struggles to focus in on me.

"My memories, my love... they've tried to take them. But the rash, it's taking me faster..." he moans.

His calloused hands desperately grab at mine, the beds of his fingernails torn and caked with dirt. “Promise me you’ll never forget… the things we thought we’d have forever are long gone, now, and we’re never getting them back. Keep your memories, Y/N, think about everything that you can, often. Speak them, share them- but only when you know you’re surrounded by those you can trust. Otherwise, keep them within yourself, and use them to keep going. Keep pushing through to the next sunrise…” His wrinkled and bruised palm then rests gently across my chest as it heaves with sorrow and exhaustion. I can’t stop this… There’s nothing more I can do for him…

“I won’t, I won’t ever forget…” My promise feels futile in the moment as I croak the words out, but I know that I will take charge of myself and bring it to fruition when the time is right. When I don’t feel as though I’m going to drown in my own tears as they feel like puddles around me. When my chest isn’t weighed down with the guilt of leaving him behind without a proper burial. When my body isn’t begging me to run as fast as I can. 

I squeeze his hand. 

“We’ve never seen times this dark, my love, and I fear that you will be the one to see them even darker. But don’t fret, darkness is only the absence of light. And where there is light, there is love. Never let yourself forget.” A quick and tight smile ghosts my lips as I remember his favorite song. “The photos, the books, the songs… sing them all the time. Keep the melodies alive, and don’t ever let yourself forget the words.”

His fingers drift down the line of ink that paints my forearm, each tattoo a memory of times that we will never get back, sounds that we will never hear again unless we sing them out loud, hoping that our memories serve us right. His sullen eyes snap to me again as we both hear a crash in the room behind us. I rip my sleeve back down to cover my arm. Nothing to show my identity.

My body urges itself to prepare to run, and though he knows that I must, he pulls me back down to speak to me again, his voice still hushed and dry as his body wracks with pain.

“Remember when you were a child, no bigger than a grasshopper, and I’d sit you on my knee, teaching you how to put the needle on the record so you’d always have the ability? And how we’d sing the songs together, and I’d play the melodies on the piano… you’d dance, oh my love, you’d dance!”

“I remember, of course I do!” I cry through a weakened smile, the memory of standing on his feet as he twirled me across the firelit living room now feeling like it was a thousand years ago. 

“Never cease your movements, my sweet.” His eyes scan behind us again, his weak hands squeezing mine in return. “Move until your muscles are sore, move until your feet are tough and hardened. Keep your body in good health, because in turn your mind will act along with it. Remember the trees, remember the clouds. The grass, the streams, the way the air smells before a rain, keep it all…memorize it. Categorize, record, and repeat. Your grandmother’s recipes, they’re still in the book. Her plant descriptions, her foraging tools, her gardening plans… study them, Y/N. Memorize. I’ve taught you well, we all have, you must seek and find what’s on the other side of this, my love. You’re prepared, it’s up to you. Find your clan, sweetheart. This isn’t the end. Many have forgotten what the emotion feels like, by now. But you know what love is. Track it down, and hold onto it with everything you’ve got left. Do you hear me? Love, honey. There are more of us. The good ones, they're still left. Find them. Find them!”

I nod harshly as the noise behind us crashes again, likely pulling down my makeshift barrier of tables and chairs. His breathing is weakened, and his chest rattles with a sound no man should ever make.

“They can take our things, but they can’t take our memories. Ever.” He taps the side of his temple with one finger. He knows just as well as I do that they can take our memories, and they have. They've already begun to take his. But his immunity to their drugs and schemes still proves itself strong, just like mine does.

“Share them, please… pass them along, and remember the memories that others share with you, too. You’ve always had the biggest heart of all of us, don’t try and argue with me. You’ve got more wit in your little finger than we all had from our heads to our toes. And any of us would have willingly admitted that, my sweet. Go- get out of here, while you still can. Remember my words, my love. Our history can’t be unwritten if you keep it here, in your heart.” His frail, bruised fingers tap my chest again as if to remind me where my heart sits, still beating with strength as his struggles to pump his blood supply. “Run, love, go! And don’t even think about turning back for me. I’ll have taken my last breath before you even cross the threshold. 

I love you, you love me.”

As I bring his hands up to my trembling lips, I feel the coldness of them like I’ve never felt before, as if they had been sitting in a bowl of ice water. The sound behind me crashes again, this time louder, and I know they are getting closer to us, now. I kiss his digits and smooth his silver hair back, whispering out a choked ‘I love you back’ before I turn and let my feet carry me toward the light peeking from under the towering double metal doors.

I hear his voice in the distance, crackled but still just as powerful as the man that made it.

“Remember, your memories are your own. Go and find the good ones, Y/N! Find them!"

•

Taglist:

@gretavangroupie @britney-gvf @sacredstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @farfromthehomelands @takenbythemadness @writingcold @builtbybrokenbells @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @fleet-of-fiction @milkgemini @gvfpal @ageofcj@dancingcarbon @highway-tuna @stardustjake @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @gvfmarge @gracev0609 @myleftsock @literal-dead-leaf @peaceloveunitygvf @ageofbajabule @slut4lando @jordie-gvf @sadiechar @tinydancer40 @rosabellagvf @capnjaket @lyndz2names @thetroublegetssoloud71 @gretavanomens @spark-my-nature @josh-iamyour-mama @anythingforjtk @alwaysonthemend @danieljlmwagner @klarxtr @fortunatelytinybasement @demonrat444 @gretavansara @watchingover-hypegirl @hippievanfleet @digitalnomadz @raviolilegs @lipstickitty @hippievanfleet @klarxtr @strange-whorizons @do-it-jakey-baby @myownparadise96 @gvf-luna @starshine-wagner @cassiesgreta @joopsandjangs @whimsiliz @kiszkas-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick @kiszka-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick @jenniferkiszka

[lanafofana]

To soothe, Ignites

It's been three days since i had this thought hit my brain like a freight train and ive been chewing on it ever since in a google doc and anyway here you go

Pairing: Halsin x (female) Tav

Warning: the weight of burgeoning, unresolved tension

Summary: It's just a nice friendly, platonic massage, what's the worst that could happen?

Rating: M just to be safe. Nothing really overly explicit

Halsin rubs the back of his neck and leans back a little, stretching, a faint frown on his weathered face. Across the camp, Tav watches discreetly over the edge of her book. It’s not the first time she’s witnessed him absently soothing an ache at the end of the day. 

It occurs to her that, for being such a large man, he must get quite the cramp in his neck from always having to bow his head to talk to her and her companions. Someone calls to her and she turns away, distracted from the vein of thought. 

It isn’t until later, after they’ve eaten their dinner and people have started to drift back to their own tents, she picks up the thread again. First watch is barely a chore at all with how her mind, resistant to settling down for the evening, spins through a dizzying whirl of thoughts. 

Generally she stokes the fire with naught but a book for company, occasionally walking the perimeter of camp and puzzling on the mystery of the Absolute. Tonight though, the cult is a distant problem, distant as their destination in Baldur’s Gate anyway. With Ketheric defeated and another long stretch to their journey waiting for morning to begin she finds her mind wandering to topics much closer at hand. 

The elf was a powerful druid. His command of the druidic arts was a sight to behold though she only caught glimpses of it during the assault on Moonrise. Of course, she vividly remembers the warmth of his healing magic mending her seconds after an arrow had caught her between the ribs. It had been quick. The pain had torn through her concentration like a blaze of hellfire. She had crashed to her knees, the taste of iron and mortality on her tongue, her vision blurring with shadows. She’d barely had time to suck in a wet sounding wheeze when his hands had been on her, nature’s divine magic enveloping her entirely. 

“You’re all right, lass,” he’d said firmly, as if so secure in the inevitability of her being alright that he would brook no argument on the matter. From her or her fatal injury. The pain had reduced to a manageable ache and she’d sucked in a lungful of air greedily, hardly aware of it when he’d dragged her back to her feet. Until she’d seen the bugbear running up behind him, bloody axe raised high, and then she’d shoved him away and instantly thrown herself back into the fray of violence. 

The archdruid had proven himself more than just a valuable ally, but a good companion too. Perhaps even a friend. He’d always been polite and sincere, if a little distant. More attentive to his god, paying an impressive amount of time dedicated to his prayers and meditations rather than the camaraderie and dramas of their little camp. Still, even if he did not seek out her or anyone else’s companionship he was always willing to sit with her during her watch when she sought out his. Putting down his book or whatever he was doing with that scrap of wood he was always carrying and putting the full weight of his attention and focus on her entirely. 

Since reuniting the two halves of Thaniel’s spirit it seemed to Tav that Halsin also seemed more whole. As if a missing piece of his own spirit had finally slotted back into place. His smiles seemed warmer and his attention more focused outward than in. 

As if summoned by the force of her thoughts, Tav caught movement from the corner of her eye and was surprised to see the druid himself emerge from the gloom of the forest. He was on his way to his own tent but paused when he saw her in the glow of the campfire. 

“Good evening,” he greets, approaching. He’s doffed his shirt, a common habit of his in the evening but the glow of the fire gives the planes of his chest an otherworldly glow. 

Tav feels the corners of her smile lift, the clattering of her thoughts stilling. “That it is,” she agrees. “For once.”

With the shadow curse lifted she can finally spy the twinkling of stars between the boughs of the trees. When a breeze flutters through camp it feels like fresh air being breathed into the land instead of a death rattle come to herald some horrific doom. 

Halsin, following her gaze to the sky, smiles and nods in assent. “And for many more nights to come, I believe.” 

Lost in thought he doesn’t feel her gaze as she takes the opportunity to openly study him. He looks well, not relaxed per say, but a little stiff. Absentmindedly the druid raises a hand and rubs at his neck, cocking his head as if to relieve a persistent ache and Tav comes to a sudden decision.

“Come. Sit,” she gestures to the space before her by the fire. Halsin gives her a quizzical smile, his brows furrowed. “You’ve been worrying that neck of yours like a dog with a bone, let me help.”   

“It is nothing to be concerned about,” he tries to defer but Tav is adamant. 

“Nonsense. Can’t have my favorite archdruid suffering,” she teases. “Not when I have the means to alleviate it very easily. Come.” She reaches down from her perch on the log they’ve been using as seating and pats the ground between her feet expectantly. “Allow me.”  

Hesitating for the span of a breath Halsin relents, sitting himself before her. At her feet he spies a book and picks it up curiously. “A travel guide?” 

Tav hums and widens the gap between her knees, gently guiding him closer for a better reach. Despite the cooling autumn night air his bare skin radiates heat and she tries not to think too much about any other circumstances where her legs might bracket his body so close to hers. Or of his proximity to her own budding source of heat. Swallowing, mouth suddenly very dry, Tav refocuses on the task at hand. “Would you like to read it? Probably not much new information for you but the author’s particular, ah, outlook is quite something. An entertaining read if not a wholly informative one.” 

Halsin chuckles, opening and scanning the text. “Thank you, I’ve found my own reading material quite exhausted of late.” 

Brushing his tawny hair off his shoulders, Tav tsk’s with mock reproach. “You should have said, I’ve quite the collection now. When you’ve finished with that one, let me know.”

“You are incredibly generous,” Halsin murmurs but it’s so low she can’t be sure if she was meant to hear it. 

At first it feels clumsy as she maps out the expanse of his wide shoulders. In truth, it’s been a very long time since she’s done anything like this for someone but, much like picking up the sword again after a decade or so of neglecting the craft, her hands seem to know their way around better than her mind. With dextrous skill she gets to work, alternating between using her thumbs and the heel of her palms to glide over thick muscle, coaxing each gnarl to release. 

The camp is quiet, the rest of her companions lost to slumber, and she quickly loses herself to the lull of the crackling fire and the delicate flutter of turning pages as Halsin reads. They don’t speak but the silence is comfortable, easy. 

With each rigid cord of muscle she rubs into submission the druid relaxes a little more, the occasional sigh reaching her ears that makes her smile with smug triumph. When she finds a particularly persistent knot she increases the pressure of her stroke eliciting a grunt. 

“Gods, sorry,” she murmurs hastily, easing her touch to rest lightly against his warm skin, feeling her cheeks flush with chagrin at her over enthusiasm. Halsin merely shakes his head. He turns his face to eye her with a gentle smile, the hazel of his eyes dark against the backdrop of the firelight.

“Nothing to apologize for,” he assures her softly. “I am quite unharmed. Continue if you wish.” 

Trusting he’s not merely humoring her she resumes her ministrations with more care. She devotes her attention to increasing the pressure when necessary with exacting precision. Working her way across his shoulders until she comes to the tight line of muscles branching up his neck. Each stroke is steady and firm. 

Between the monotony of the movements and the intensity of her focus it’s some time before she realizes he hasn’t turned a page in a while. His shoulders are lax and when she strokes a thumb up the nape of his neck he leans into it, only slightly, as if unconsciously. 

Tav is not unaware of the intimacy of the moment. She’d put her own lustful thoughts in a box and buried it deep in the back of her mind since his gentle rebuffment of her clumsy advances at the tiefling party. An entire age ago from this moment, but it springs open now. 

With a detached sort of curiosity, as if she is watching her hands from outside herself she runs deft fingers through his hair and scratches at the delicate skin at the base of his scalp. He shivers and releases a sound that is more akin to a sensation rumbling up from his chest and buzzing along her fingertips like electricity. It feels like crossing an invisible line. 

The druid and the ranger still, as if both caught together in a web they don’t quite know how to navigate. He doesn’t move away and, pulse suddenly hammering in her throat, Tav rests her hands on the top of his shoulders gently. She drags the pads of her fingers down his back, skimming the warmth of his body and he exhales heavily, a sound that travels up Tav’s spine with expectation. An ache begins to bloom inside her core, a greedy hunger that flexes and curls under her skin with intoxicating heat and intent. 

“My my, isn’t this cozy?” 

The dulcet tone of Astarion’s voice breaks the delicate thread of something that had risen up between them like the sharp crack of a snapping live wire and Tav jerks her hands away guiltily, embarrassment drowning out the previous brief flickerings of passion. 

“Astarion,” she greets and hopes he doesn’t pick up on the breathless waver in her tone. No such luck, his red eyes practically gleam in the dim evening light as he takes them in by the fire. She clears her throat, her scattering thoughts tangling in on themselves while she looks for solid ground. “What are you–”

“Second watch, darling.” The vampire’s expression is too sharp, too knowing. “Off to bed you pop. Our fearless leader should be well rested for the journey ahead.” 

Halsin stirs from his place on the ground, shifting and rising as if lumbering out of a trance. “Of course,” he says and offers his hand to pull her up from the log. “It’s later than I realized. Forgive me.” 

Whatever spell had enthralled them is broken and the look in his eye is friendly, polite. It burns more than the embarrassment had. Her hand is still in his and she withdraws it, feeling uncertain of her footing and hating it. 

“Gentlemen.” She feels like she’s still mentally gathering the parts of her that had spilled out and stuffing it all inside a deep dark hole inside herself. An easier task if she also didn’t feel like instead of flesh, her entire person was made of sticky goop. “See you in the morning.” 

“Sweet dreams, dear,” Astarion calls out to her, something in his dark voice suggestive. She raises a hand without looking back and beats a hasty retreat. 

The air is cold now, especially away from the fire. Curling up in her little makeshift tent, Tav does little to resist the memory of being wrapped in the warm glow of the druid’s body heat. She stares at the ceiling of her little world and wonders what the hell was that. 

[agentrouka-blog]

One of my favorite interactions in the books is between Arya and Lady Smallwood.

Lady Smallwood never officially finds out who Arya is, and she struggles to understand her character. She tries and fails to fit Arya into the box of a standard highborn girl, giving her baths (one highly necessary, the other superfluous) and clothing her in delicate dresses. Her own daughter's dresses, in fact.

But in the end she accepts her for who she is with no fight, adhering to the spirit of her own advice:

The gods give each of us our little gifts and talents, and it is meant for us to use them, my aunt always says. Any act can be a prayer, if done as well as we are able. Isn't that a lovely thought? Remember that the next time you do your needlework.  (ASOS, Arya IV)

She eventually gives Arya boy's clothes to travel in safely. Her own late son's clothes, in fact. Giving new purpose to precious memories, and making Arya's use of this role as valid as that of a daughter's.

It's one of the kindest interactions GRRM gives Arya on her journey through war-torn Westeros.

[daenerystargaryen06]

" we have ample evidence from the books that there can/will be a Targ Restoration, but it won't end with the Targs on the throne"

could you tell me which ones?

The evidence for a Targ restoration is laid within small hints and foreshadowing within the books. It is subtle and not easily caught, but if you take a moment to go through the books with a careful eye and speculate over the reasons GRRM has written certain things in Dany and Jon's chapters, it can be led as a potential hint/speculative potential of Dany and Jon to be the ones to carry out the Targ legacy/restoration.

Let's begin with the beginning foundations of Dany and Jon being set up to meet:

"A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . ." -A Clash of Kings - Daenerys IV

"We should have twenty trebuchets, not two, and they should be mounted on sledges and turntables so we could move them. It was a futile thought. He might as well wish for another thousand men, and maybe a dragon or three." -A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

"Sometimes she would close her eyes and dream of him, but it was never Jorah Mormont she dreamed of; her lover was always younger and more comely, though his face remained a shifting shadow." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

"All in black, he was a shadow among shadows, dark of hair, long of face, grey of eye." -A Clash of Kings - Jon I

Jon and Daenerys are meant to meet, and a relationship will spark between them, as hinted at within the books. GRRM has also stated to D&D (as said by them) that the main point of GoT/ASOIAF is Jon and Daenerys meeting. Two people who struggle with politics, leading, and coming to terms with their true identities. Daenerys just wants peace and a home, Jon just wants to know who his mother was and a home for himself as well.

Now where does Targ restoration come into play and is hinted at? We have a few select lines within the books that give us some subtle cues:

"Drogon killed a little girl. Her name was … her name …" Dany could not recall the child's name. That made her so sad that she would have cried if all her tears had not been burned away. "I will never have a little girl. I was the Mother of Dragons." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys X

"I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb." -A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Both Jon and Daenerys think of having children, but both resign into accepting that they may never have children of their own. Daenerys due to believing she was cursed by Mirri Maz Duur, and Jon due to being a sworn brother of the Night's Watch along with thinking that he is a bastard.

There is also the fact that when Daenerys is out upon the Dothraki Sea, she has a miscarriage:

"When she woke, gasping, her thighs were slick with blood. . . For a moment she did not realize what it was. The world had just begun to lighten, and the tall grass rustled softly in the wind. No, please, let me sleep some more. I'm so tired. She tried to burrow back beneath the pile of grass she had torn up when she went to sleep. Some of the stalks felt wet. Had it rained again? She sat up, afraid that she had soiled herself as she slept. When she brought her fingers to her face, she could smell the blood on them. Am I dying? Then she saw the pale crescent moon, floating high above the grass, and it came to her that this was no more than her moon blood. If she had not been so sick and scared, that might have come as a relief. Instead she began to shiver violently. She was bleeding, but it was only woman's blood. The moon is still a crescent, though. How can that be? She tried to remember the last time she had bled. The last full moon? The one before? The one before that? No, it cannot have been so long as that. . . As she splashed her face, she saw fresh blood on her thighs. The ragged hem of her undertunic was stained with it. The sight of so much red frightened her. Moon blood, it's only my moon blood, but she did not remember ever having such a heavy flow." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys X

When Daenerys has the miscarriage, she thinks it's her menstrual cycle. But the blood is too heavy, and occurs after she has eaten green berries and drank polluted water upon the Dothraki Sea- which could have resulted in her losing the pregnancy. This is a subtle hint that Daenerys can get pregnant, and likely will get pregnant again with Jon's child in the future, and will carry it to full term.

There are also hints within the books of Viserion exhibiting nesting like behavior, which can also result in bringing more dragon eggs into the world, that would eventually hatch and bring a new age of dragons:

"Viserion had shattered one chain and melted the others. He clung to the roof of the pit like some huge white bat, his claws dug deep into the burnt and crumbling bricks." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys VIII

"For a moment he saw only the blackened arches of the bricks above, scorched by dragonflame. A trickle of ash caught his eye, betraying movement. Something pale, half-hidden, stirring. He's made himself a cave, the prince realized. A burrow in the brick. The foundations of the Great Pyramid of Meereen were massive and thick to support the weight of the huge structure overhead; even the interior walls were three times thicker than any castle's curtain walls. But Viserion had dug himself a hole in them with flame and claw, a hole big enough to sleep in." -A Dance with Dragons - The Dragontamer

Dragons are mentioned within the book to be genderless, truly, and they can switch their gender at will. Which means that any one of Daenerys' dragons could lay eggs and bring more dragons into the world, but Viserion might be the one to do so first.

"No one ever looked for a girl," he said. "It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought . . . the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it." Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. "I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger." -A Feast for Crows - Samwell IV

As for Jon and Daenerys not winding up on the throne, that is mere speculation. But Jon and Daenerys both long for home, and even though their arcs are centered around ruling, leading, politics, etc. they necessarily don't want the burden of ruling as well. Both are thrust into their positions of power and are doing the best they can with being so young and having to deal with all of this going on. Which means that in the end they could very well turn away from ruling to lead their own lives of peace within a home they find for themselves with their future potential children.

"If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old … and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should be enough for any woman … but not for the dragon. With Viserys gone, Daenerys was the last, the very last. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and so too the child inside her. She must not forget." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys VI

"Meereen was not her home, and never would be. It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy's city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys X

"We will have it all back someday, sweet sister," he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. "The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King's Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back." Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I

"Of the ride back, Jon Snow remembered little. It seemed shorter than the journey south, perhaps because his mind was elsewhere. Pyp set the pace, galloping, walking, trotting, and then breaking into another gallop. Mole's Town came and went, the red lantern over the brothel long extinguished. They made good time. Dawn was still an hour off when Jon glimpsed the towers of Castle Black ahead of them, dark against the pale immensity of the Wall. It did not seem like home this time." -A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

"Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, but above him the clouds were breaking up. Jon searched the sky until he found the Ice Dragon, then turned the mare north for the Wall and Castle Black. The throb of pain in his thigh muscle made him wince as he put his heels into the old man's horse. I am going home, he told himself. But if that was true, why did he feel so hollow?" -A Storm of Swords - Jon V

"When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father's face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn't, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night's Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she whispered, her skin dissolving in the hot water, the flesh beneath sloughing off her bones until only skull and skeleton remained, and the pool bubbled thick and red." -A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

There is also the fact that apparently GRRM told D&D that Bran would become King. Now, I don't exactly believe that myself as stated in another post made by me here. And there is also the fact that GRRM could change Bran's ending/role, or make him King of something else (such as King of the North). But if Bran DOES become King of the 7k as stated by D&D for GRRM's planned ending, Jon and Daenerys bringing a Targ restoration together within their own form of home away from ruling is another ending I can imagine for them. We have the groundwork and subtle cues/hints/foreshadowing for such a thing to happen. Of course, I do want Jon and Daenerys to wind up ruling together as equals over the 7k with a family of their own and their dragons, but in the end- I'll accept any ending just as long as my babies wind up together and happy. Thanks for the ask! :)

[pumpkinrootbeer]

Not enough Avatar fans recognize how good of a bender Bolin is bcuz he's mostly busy being played as comic relief. But even just at the end of TLOK he's praised by his personal hero Toph Beifong and is one of 3 known lavabenders, has gone toe to toe and bended alongside Toph's talented daughters and displays similar feats.

And he's shown to practice bending seriously and improve between time jump, b/c have you noticed that he observed and mastered the Red Lotus lavabender's lava glaive trick and uses it to cut through platinum in Book 4? That and Toph said that she'd be willing to teach Bolin metalbending b/c she brags about being able to teach anyone metalbending (Toph's metalbending school comics reference yay) & in the TLOK comics Toph is shown to go out of her way to leave the swamp & head to Rep. City to hang out with her granddaughter and her future grandson-in-law, so I'm betting Bolin's been getting some tutoring in and officially become one of Toph's students.

TLDR I hope Bolin shows up in the new Avatar series and shows up how strong he is at old age, b/c half his canon appearances so far are him at 16 and he's underratedly really good.

no because Bolin is genuinely an unparalleled bender. he has sheer power on the level of avatars, see how catches an entire building dropped on a room full of earth benders before anyone else and then was the only one holding it up despite TOPH BEING IN THE ROOM? for one.

he also has the drive to be good at his bending that we don't really see with mako or even really korra in the show. sure, we see korra learn air bending but then she's just frustrated it's not coming naturally. with Bolin we see him struggle with his bending and still become the best. see how quickly he mastered an element with No One to teach him or him throwing himself at metal bending over and over. Which I'm honestly torn if I want him to learn it? On one hand, literally op earthbender which is amazing yes please. On the other, I kinda like that metal bending, something that is traditional earthbending techniques taken to the extreme, is what Bolin struggles with.

It's pretty heavily implied Bolin and Mako had no formal bending teacher and are completely self taught. In fact, the times we see Bolin do the most traditional earthbending moves are in season 4, which takes place after the 3 year jump. This is also when he's working for Kuvira and is probably the only time he did get formal training in earthbending, so it would make sense he would incorporate that more.

and ive talked about this before but, Bolin is the quickest earthbender in the entire show. he is incredibly talented in his craft and no one else in the entire show bends like he does. like, okay. This?

that move? that spin kick he's doing? That's a fire bending move.

he's doing a fire bending move with earth. kinda like iroh's move for redirecting lighting, bolin's entire bending style is this quote "when you take (wisdom) from only one place it becomes rigid and stale. understanding others, other nations, will help you become whole" Bolin is an earth bender who grew up learning to bend by watching fire bending. and that is a huge part of why Bolin is such a unique and talented fighter.

tbh I hope he never learns metal bending because the contrast between him and toph is nice. Toph is someone who excels at traditional earthbending, to the point of inventing a new type of sub-bending. whereas Bolin is so skilled at adapting and integrating different bending styles that he's able to master a volatile element that is eath that behaves like water with properties of fire at 17 with no teacher.

so yeah I agree 100% I would fucking love to see Bolin older because he would be a fucking powerhouse.

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

if you're still taking words: book, table, green, sky

Thank you my friend! I am always happily taking words! Thank you for your patience it's taken a bit to get through the associated sprints, thank you for the inspiration :)

Book from copenhagen:

The fucking plane suddenly felt too small as it began to take off. Roy was torn between wanting to run to the back of the aeroplane and beg Jamie to tell everyone the truth or open the emergency exit and jump.  He pulled out his latest book as a distraction, reread the same paragraph six times and then gave up and closed it. He could feel Beard watching him out of the corner of his eye, probably wondering if he or Nate were going to be acting manager when Roy was placed on leave.  It was an accident.  He hated Jamie was hurting, but it was an accident for fuck’s sake. 

Added 225 words in a sprint :)

Table from the next chapter of false confidence:

Ted let his hand fall onto Jamie’s shoulder before he violently shrugged it off. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Jamie scrambled off the bed, almost falling again, knocking into the movable table, bouncing off that until he steadied himself on one of the chairs. At some point, the IV had been pulled from Jamie’s arm. Ted wasn’t sure when, but there was blood dripping down Jamie’s hand, dripping off his fingers, in small droplets on the floor.  “Don’t fucking touch me!”

I added 133 words via sprint.

Green from a hostile reception aka the kindergarten cop au no one asked for:

“What do you mean you have food poisoning?” Jamie stood against the closed bathroom door, the only sound he heard was Keeley's breathing and Keeley’s retching. The toilet flushed, followed closely by the sink, and finally, the door opened. Keeley Jones stood on the other side, looking the palest green Jamie had ever seen. Her hair was plastered to her face or pulled up in a messy bun, and her eyes were glassy.  “I mean, I have food poisoning,” Keeley said as she slipped by him to curl into the fetal position on her hotel bed. “I already talked to Captain Beard; he said you have to go in my place.” “No, no, no,” Jamie shook his head. “I can’t teach little kids!”

I added 329 words in a sprint : )

Sky from old habits die screaming:

“You were in prison?” Jamie asked. Beard nodded, he once thought everyone who looked at him saw the word convict tattooed across his forehead, that people could tell he had done time simply by looking at him. When had that changed? Had it been the way he carried himself? Or had it been that he could read others so he assumed they could read it in him as well? Was it that he could see the ones who had been inside in the way they carried themselves? The way they reacted to a door closing, to the sound of a lock? The way they hated when they couldn’t see the sky from where they were?  The way they always sat with their back to the wall so no one could get behind them?The way they reacted when someone touched them?  Along the road he had become more than a former inmate, he just was unsure when.  Or how.  Along the road, he had become the sum of his parts. His past misdeeds were a part of him the same way his favourite colour or his mastery of chess. But they were still a part of him, and they were still part of his story. It was still a way he could help Jamie. 

He went to the freezer to gather his thoughts under the guise of ice for Jamie, which he needed anyway. He handed him the refrozen peas for his eye and a larger pack to hold under the sweatshirt on his ribs. He took the chair again, adjusted his seat, crossed his legs and opened himself to the man he closed himself off to. 

Added 434 words via sprint with this one!

[anastasiareadsnwrites]

Formal request for part 3 of At Last 🫶🏼 I love love love how you show the soft side of Portia 🥹

At Last Part III (Portia Featherington x Fem! Reader)

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV

Author's note: Hiya, love. Awe thank you so much for requesting a Part III. I do hope this finds you well and I certainly hope I did not disappoint. I've been very busy with "business" meetings and scheduling and rescheduling appointments. But don't worry everything will be out and about soon enough.

Summary: Penelope decides to apologize for her actions and soon realizes how bad she had messed up but she wants to make things right as she head over to your home. Rekindling such fire can be hard.

Warning(s): Emotional confrontation, family reconciliation, mentions of past hurt and relationship doubts, emotional resolution, tender moment, implied social pressure, flustered Portia, Gossip

The MAIN Masterlist

The Bridgerton Masterlist

Days passed, but the lingering weight of the confrontation in the garden had yet to lift. The tension between Portia and Penelope remained thick, though they barely spoke to each other. Portia had retreated into herself, her mask of propriety stronger than ever, refusing to let her guard down again. Penelope, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the guilt that gnawed at her.

The more she thought about it, the more Penelope realized how wrong she had been. Her mother had been hurt—truly hurt—for far longer than she could have ever imagined, and Penelope’s own harsh words had only deepened that pain. The reality of what her mother had endured, especially with her father, weighed heavily on her heart.

But what troubled Penelope most was how her mother had experienced love for the first time—with you. She had overheard it all: the truth about Archibald, how he had treated Portia, and how you had given Portia something she had never had before. Love. Real love.

And Penelope had torn that away from her.

Unable to bear the weight of her guilt any longer, Penelope decided to pay you a visit. She knew she needed to make amends—not just for her own conscience, but for her mother’s sake. She couldn’t let this silence and pain continue. Not when there was still time to fix it.

She found your residence, a small but charming townhouse just outside the city. Her heart raced as she approached the door, her mind filled with the memory of how you had stormed off in anger after the confrontation. Would you even hear her out? Would you slam the door in her face?

Taking a deep breath, Penelope knocked on the door, fidgeting with the hem of her dress as she waited.

After a moment, the door opened, and there you stood. Your expression immediately shifted when you saw who it was—a mixture of surprise, wariness, and a hint of the hurt that still lingered in your eyes. For a long, awkward beat, neither of you spoke.

Finally, Penelope broke the silence. “I... I wanted to talk to you,” she said quietly, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “If you’ll let me.”

You hesitated for a moment, your expression guarded, but eventually, you stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. Penelope walked in, feeling even more nervous now that she was inside your home. The space was cozy and warm, a reflection of you—filled with books, flowers, and soft touches that made it feel welcoming.

You closed the door behind her and folded your arms, waiting for her to speak. The silence hung heavy between you.

Penelope took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “I... I came to apologize,” she began, her eyes downcast. “For everything I said to my mother. For everything I said to you.”

You remained silent, your eyes watching her intently, but you didn’t interrupt.

“I didn’t understand,” Penelope continued, her voice shaky. “I didn’t understand how much my mother had been through... with my father... with all of it. I’ve always known my mother to be strong, but I never realized how much she was hiding.” She paused, swallowing hard. “And I didn’t realize how much you meant to her. I... I’ve been a fool.”

You exhaled softly, your arms lowering as some of the tension left your body. “Penelope,” you said quietly, “your mother... she’s been through a lot. More than you or anyone else knows. I never wanted to come between the two of you, but what we had—what we have—is real. She deserves to be loved for who she is, not for who society expects her to be.”

Penelope’s eyes filled with tears as she nodded. “I know. And I’ve ruined that, haven’t I?” Her voice cracked slightly. “I was so worried about what people would think, about how it would affect our family, that I didn’t even stop to think about what it would do to her. I never knew... that she didn’t feel love with my father. I never knew how trapped she felt.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face as the memories of the last few days washed over you. “You didn’t ruin everything,” you said, though the hurt was still evident in your tone. “But you hurt her. Badly. She’s trying to hold it together, but she’s breaking inside. She feels like she can’t have this... that she can’t be happy because of the expectations everyone has for her.”

Penelope bit her lip, the tears now slipping down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I was just... I was scared. Scared of what people would say, scared of losing her to something I didn’t understand.” She wiped her tears quickly, trying to compose herself. “But now I know that I was wrong. So wrong.”

She looked up at you, her eyes pleading. “Please, if there’s any way to fix this... I’ll do whatever it takes. I just want my mother to be happy. And I can see that she’s only happy with you.”

Your heart ached at Penelope’s words, and you felt a small flicker of hope inside you, but the pain of Portia’s rejection still stung. “It’s not that simple, Penelope,” you said softly. “Your mother is scared. She’s convinced that this kind of love isn’t meant for her, that she can’t have it without ruining everything she’s worked for.”

“I know,” Penelope whispered, her voice barely audible. “But she deserves to have it. I realize that now. And I... I want to help her see that.”

You studied her for a moment, seeing the genuine remorse in her eyes. Penelope had been blind before, but now, she was beginning to understand.

“I can’t promise that things will go back to the way they were,” you said finally. “But maybe... maybe if she sees that you’re on her side, it’ll help.”

Penelope nodded fervently, relief flooding her expression. “I’ll do whatever I can. I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her... that I was wrong. And that I just want her to be happy.”

You offered her a small, tired smile. “That’s all anyone wants.”

Penelope hesitated for a moment, then took a step closer to you. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Thank you for loving her... and for standing by her when no one else did. I know it wasn’t easy.”

You shook your head. “It wasn’t. But I don’t regret it.”

Penelope’s eyes filled with gratitude, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability in her that she often hid behind her sharp wit and strong demeanor. “I’ll make this right,” she promised.

As she turned to leave, she paused at the door and looked back at you one last time. “I’ll talk to her. And I hope... I hope you’ll come back to her. She needs you.”

You didn’t respond right away, but the weight of her words hung in the air as she walked out, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It wasn’t long after that Penelope returned to the Featherington estate, determined to make amends with her mother. But when she found Portia sitting in the parlor, elegantly composed as always, the weight of what she was about to say pressed down on her.

“Mother,” Penelope began softly, stepping into the room.

Portia looked up from her tea, her expression unreadable. “Yes, Penelope?”

Penelope hesitated for a moment, the memory of your conversation fresh in her mind. She knew she had to be careful, but she also knew she couldn’t avoid the truth anymore.

“I... I spoke to her,” Penelope admitted quietly, her eyes meeting Portia’s. “The woman you’ve been seeing.”

Portia’s hand froze midair, her grip on her teacup tightening. For a long moment, she said nothing, her face carefully blank.

“What did she say?” Portia asked finally, her voice measured.

Penelope swallowed hard, her heart racing. “She... she loves you, Mother. And she’s hurt. Hurt because you pushed her away.”

Portia’s composure cracked, just for a moment, as her eyes softened with a hint of vulnerability. “Penelope, I had to—”

“No,” Penelope interrupted, her voice shaking. “You didn’t. You didn’t have to push her away because of me, or because of what people will think. I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

Portia blinked, her expression shifting as she processed her daughter’s words.

“I just want you to be happy,” Penelope continued, tears welling up in her eyes. “And if she makes you happy, then... then I’ll support you. No matter what.”

For the first time in days, something shifted in Portia’s demeanor. The mask she had been wearing began to crumble, and for a brief moment, Penelope saw her mother not as the perfect, composed Lady Featherington, but as a woman who had been deeply wounded and was now searching for a way to heal.

The ballroom was a scene of elegance and sophistication, with ladies adorned in the finest gowns and gentlemen in their best attire. The air was filled with lively chatter and the soft melody of violins playing in the background. You had attended many of these balls before, but tonight felt different—heavy. You weren’t sure if it was because you knew Portia would be here, or if it was because this was the first time you would see her since everything had fallen apart.

The weeks since your separation had been unbearable. You had tried to move forward, but no matter what you did, thoughts of her lingered, like a wound that refused to heal. You were haunted by the memory of her tears, the sound of her voice breaking when she told you it couldn’t last. But tonight, as you stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching the couples waltz by, you felt the unmistakable presence of Portia Featherington.

When your eyes finally found her, you felt your heart skip a beat. She was as stunning as ever, her gown a deep emerald that matched her eyes, her hair swept elegantly to one side. But there was something more vulnerable about her tonight, something softer in the way she moved, as though she were carrying the weight of something unspoken.

Portia’s gaze met yours across the room, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. Her breath caught in her throat, and you could see the hesitation in her eyes—the same hesitation that had caused her to push you away. But this time, there was something else, too. Regret. Longing.

Without thinking, you made your way toward her, your heart pounding in your chest with every step. The closer you got, the more palpable the tension between you became, until finally, you stood before her, the rest of the world fading into the background.

“Portia,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the music. You hadn’t intended to say her name like a prayer, but it came out that way, filled with all the emotions you had been holding inside.

Portia’s lips parted, her expression softening as she took a deep breath. “I... I’ve been meaning to speak with you,” she said quietly, her voice trembling just slightly. “I’ve spent these last days thinking about everything... and I realized I was wrong. So wrong.”

You stood there, your heart aching as you listened, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to respond.

“I pushed you away because I was scared,” Portia continued, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Scared of what people would think, scared of what it might mean for my family. But I was wrong. I was wrong to push you away. I was wrong to think I couldn’t have this... have you.” Her voice faltered, and she reached out, her hand trembling slightly as it found yours. “You mean more to me than any of that. More than I ever realized.”

Her words broke something inside you, and before you knew it, tears were spilling down your cheeks, falling freely as you stood there, overwhelmed by the raw emotion in her voice. You tried to speak, but no words came—just the sound of your soft, ragged breathing.

Portia’s eyes widened in alarm as she saw the tears falling from your eyes, her grip tightening on your hand. “Oh no,” she whispered, her voice panicked. “Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to—”

Before she could finish, you stepped forward, cupping her face in your hands and pulling her into a kiss. The moment your lips met, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace. The kiss was soft, slow, and filled with everything you had been holding back—the longing, the pain, the love.

Portia melted into the kiss, her arms wrapping around you as she kissed you back with a tenderness that took your breath away. All the fear, all the doubt, seemed to disappear in that moment, replaced by the certainty that this—you—was what she wanted. That she had been wrong to let go, and now, she was ready to hold on.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, Portia rested her forehead against yours, her eyes closed as she whispered, “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Tears continued to slip from your eyes, but this time, they were tears of joy, of relief. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice thick with emotion.

Nearby, Colin and Penelope stood together, watching the tender moment unfold between you and Portia. Penelope’s eyes were wide with surprise, but Colin, ever the supportive husband, leaned down and whispered into her ear.

“You see?” Colin murmured softly, a smile tugging at his lips. “That’s what love looks like. Your mother deserves to be happy, Pen. She’s been through enough.”

Penelope glanced up at her husband, still processing what she had just witnessed. A part of her had always struggled with the idea of her mother finding love again, especially in such an unexpected way. But now, watching the two of you together—seeing the way Portia looked at you, the way you held each other as though the world had fallen away—she couldn’t deny it.

“They do look happy, don’t they?” Penelope whispered, her voice soft as she watched her mother smile in a way she hadn’t seen in years.

Colin nodded, placing a reassuring hand on her back. “Happier than I’ve ever seen her.”

Penelope sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she leaned into Colin’s side. “Maybe... maybe I was too hard on her.”

Colin smiled down at her, kissing her temple. “You were scared. We all were. But it looks like things are falling into place.”

Penelope watched as you and Portia continued to hold each other, the love between you undeniable. She realized then that her mother hadn’t just found something new—she had found something real, something that had been missing from her life for far too long.

With a soft smile, Penelope nodded. “I think you’re right.”

Colin chuckled softly, wrapping his arm around her waist. “I usually am.”

As the music played on and the couples continued to dance around you, you and Portia remained in each other’s arms, your foreheads still pressed together, lost in the moment. The weight of the past weeks had finally lifted, replaced by the promise of something new—something beautiful.

“I’m not letting go again,” Portia whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, brushing a tear from her cheek as you kissed her again, softer this time. “Neither am I.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of her love, you knew that nothing could tear the two of you apart.

The music in the ballroom swelled softly around you as you and Portia remained locked in each other's embrace, the world seemingly forgotten. Her arms tightened around you, her face buried in your neck, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of her breath against your skin. It was as if all the hurt and confusion of the past few weeks had dissolved in the warmth of her embrace, and now there was only this—only you and her.

As the music shifted, signaling the end of the current dance, you pulled back slightly, your hands resting on her waist as you gazed into her eyes. Portia’s face was radiant, her eyes shining with unshed tears, but this time they were tears of relief, of joy. The raw vulnerability in her expression made your heart swell with emotion.

“I can’t believe I almost lost you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

You shook your head gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You never lost me, Portia,” you murmured softly. “I was always here.”

Her lips quivered into a small, tender smile, and she leaned forward to press her forehead against yours. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispered. “But I’m not going to let my fear take this away from us. Not again.”

You smiled back at her, feeling the warmth of her words settle into your chest. “We’re in this together now,” you said softly, tightening your hold on her. “No more running, no more hiding.”

Portia nodded, her eyes filled with love as she leaned in and kissed you again—this time slower, more tender, as if she were savoring the moment. And you kissed her back, your heart filled with the certainty that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

As the two of you pulled away, the sound of soft footsteps and a familiar voice caught your attention. Turning, you saw Penelope and Colin standing nearby, having clearly witnessed the entire exchange. Colin had an approving smile on his face, and Penelope... well, she looked a bit emotional, her lips pressed together as if trying to hold back tears.

Portia noticed them too and stiffened slightly, as though the weight of her daughter’s presence brought her back to reality. But before she could say anything, Penelope stepped forward, her face softening as she spoke.

“Mother,” Penelope began, her voice quieter than usual. “I wanted to... I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Portia blinked in surprise, her hand instinctively reaching for yours as she faced her daughter. “Sorry?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly. “For what?”

Penelope bit her lip, casting a glance at Colin before looking back at Portia. “For the way I acted. For the things I said... about you and your happiness.” She hesitated, then continued, her voice filled with sincerity. “I was wrong. I didn’t understand what you were going through, and I didn’t realize how much this—how much she—meant to you. And I’m sorry for that.”

Portia stared at her daughter, clearly taken aback by the apology, her grip on your hand tightening slightly. You could see the tears welling up in her eyes again as she processed Penelope’s words.

“I just... I’ve never seen you like this before,” Penelope continued, her voice soft. “I’ve never seen you look so... free. And I think... I think you deserve that. You deserve to be happy.”

For a long moment, Portia said nothing. She simply stood there, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. You could feel the emotion radiating off her, the way her hand trembled slightly in yours.

Finally, Portia let out a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, Penelope.”

Penelope offered a small, tentative smile. “I just want you to know... that I’m on your side. No matter what.”

The tension in the air seemed to melt away as Portia’s expression softened, her eyes filled with a motherly warmth. She released your hand for just a moment to step forward and embrace Penelope, pulling her daughter into a tight hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” Portia whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “More than you know.”

Penelope��s face softened into a genuine smile as she hugged her mother back. “And I’m proud of you too.”

Colin, who had been standing quietly nearby, finally stepped forward with a grin. “Well, isn’t this a heartwarming moment,” he said with a chuckle, earning a playful swat from Penelope.

“Don’t ruin it, Colin,” Penelope teased, though there was no malice in her voice.

Colin raised his hands in mock surrender, but his eyes twinkled with warmth. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the tender moment between mother and daughter settled, Portia turned back toward you, her eyes still glistening with emotion. She reached for your hand again, pulling you close. The touch of her fingers was steady now, filled with reassurance and certainty.

“Thank you,” she whispered to you, her voice barely audible to anyone else. “For waiting. For being here.”

You smiled at her, your heart full. “I would have waited forever for you, Portia.”

She smiled back at you, her eyes brimming with affection and gratitude. And as the music in the ballroom swelled again, you found yourselves swept into the next dance, Portia’s hand in yours, her heart finally free of the burdens she had carried for so long.

As you and Portia moved together, lost in each other, Penelope and Colin watched from the sidelines. Penelope leaned into her husband, her heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

“You were right, you know,” Penelope said softly, her head resting against Colin’s shoulder. “About all of this.”

Colin smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I usually am.”

Penelope chuckled, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Don’t get used to it.”

They both watched as Portia laughed—a sound that had become so rare in recent years—as you twirled her across the dance floor. It was clear to anyone watching that the two of you belonged together, that Portia had found something real and true in you.

“I think everything is going to be okay,” Penelope said quietly, her eyes softening as she watched her mother finally find happiness.

Colin smiled down at her, squeezing her hand gently. “I think so too.”

And for the first time in a long time, everything did feel okay. The future, once uncertain and clouded by doubt, now seemed full of hope and possibility. Portia had found love, and with you by her side, there was nothing she couldn’t face.

As the night went on and the stars began to twinkle in the sky outside the grand windows, you and Portia remained wrapped in each other’s arms, the music of the ballroom carrying you into a new chapter of your lives together.

As you and Portia danced across the ballroom floor, the warmth between you undeniable, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in the atmosphere around you. Though most of the guests were too caught up in their own conversations and dances, a few pairs of eyes followed your movements, whispers beginning to float through the room like the quiet rustling of leaves.

You could feel Portia tense slightly in your arms, her body stiffening just a little as she caught the murmurs. You knew what she was thinking—what she had feared all along. That the whispers of society would eventually catch up to her, that her love for you would become the subject of scandal.

But you weren’t about to let anyone or anything spoil this moment.

As the dance came to a graceful end, you leaned in, your lips brushing her ear as you whispered, “Let them talk.”

Portia blinked, her eyes flickering with uncertainty as she pulled back slightly to look at you. “But they’ll—”

“Talk,” you finished for her, giving her a reassuring smile. “They’ll talk, Portia. They always do. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”

Portia stared at you for a moment, her lips parting as if to argue, but then she saw the determination in your eyes. The certainty that had once eluded her now shone brightly in your gaze, and slowly, she began to relax. Her grip on your hand tightened slightly as she exhaled a quiet breath.

“You’re right,” she whispered, almost as if she were reassuring herself. “Let them talk.”

You smiled warmly at her, your heart swelling with pride as she held her head a little higher, her shoulders squaring with a newfound confidence. The whispers might linger, but you knew Portia was stronger than all of them. And now, so did she.

As the music swelled for the next dance, you leaned down again, your voice teasing as you spoke. “What do you say we leave them to their gossip and take a walk in the garden? I think I owe you some privacy.”

Portia’s cheeks flushed at the suggestion, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I suppose a walk wouldn’t hurt,” she said, her tone light, though you could hear the flutter of excitement beneath her words.

Taking her hand, you led her out of the ballroom, past the curious gazes of onlookers, and through the grand doors that led to the estate’s sprawling garden. The cool night air greeted you both as you stepped into the moonlit paths, the soft glow of lanterns lining the garden walkways. The quiet of the night, accompanied by the rustle of leaves and the chirping of crickets, felt like a sanctuary away from the judgmental stares and whispers of the ballroom.

Portia walked beside you, her hand still tightly clasped in yours, though her mind seemed to wander. She glanced up at the sky, where the stars twinkled faintly, and sighed softly.

“It’s beautiful out here,” she murmured, her voice softer now, the tension of the evening slipping away.

You grinned, taking the opportunity to let your teasing nature surface once again. “Not as beautiful as you, though,” you said, giving her a playful smirk.

Portia’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink, and she let out a small, exasperated huff, though you could tell she was secretly pleased by your compliment. “You’re incorrigible,” she muttered, though her lips curved into a reluctant smile.

“Only for you,” you replied smoothly, squeezing her hand as you led her down a more secluded path in the garden. The lanterns cast soft pools of light over the gravel walkway, illuminating the flowers that bloomed in the beds surrounding you. The scent of roses filled the air, mingling with the crisp night breeze, creating a sense of peace that contrasted sharply with the bustle of the ball inside.

Portia stole a glance at you, her eyes softening as she caught sight of your smile. “I suppose I shouldn’t complain,” she said with a soft chuckle. “It’s just... I’m not used to this. Not used to feeling so... flustered.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a smirk. “Flustered? You?” you teased, stopping beneath an overhanging tree where the shadows provided even more privacy. “I thought nothing could rattle the great Lady Featherington.”

Portia huffed again, crossing her arms in mock indignation, though the playful glint in her eyes gave her away. “Don’t tease me,” she said, though there was no real anger in her voice.

You stepped closer, your hand gently trailing up her arm, and Portia’s breath hitched slightly as you leaned in, your lips hovering just near her ear. “I like it when you’re flustered,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing. “It’s adorable.”

Portia’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and she turned her head away slightly, though you could see the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, but there was no denying the way her heart raced when you were near.

You grinned, your hand resting lightly on her waist as you pulled her a little closer. “Maybe,” you murmured, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. “But you love it.”

Portia’s blush deepened, and she shot you a look of mock annoyance, though you could see the affection dancing in her eyes. “I suppose I do,” she admitted, her voice soft as she gazed up at you.

For a long moment, the two of you stood there, the garden quiet around you, the world reduced to just the two of you. The distant murmurs of the ball, the whispers of society—they all faded into nothing as you lost yourself in the warmth of her gaze.

Portia sighed softly, her arms uncrossing as she reached up to cup your cheek, her touch gentle. “I still can’t believe you’re here,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe. “That after everything... I didn’t lose you.”

You leaned into her touch, your heart swelling with emotion. “You never lost me,” you said softly, your voice filled with all the love you had held for her from the beginning. “And you never will.”

Portia’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but this time they were tears of joy, of relief. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that was soft and full of promise—a promise that, no matter what, the two of you would face whatever came next together.

When you finally pulled back, you smiled down at her, your heart light. “Now, what do you say we let the rest of them talk while we enjoy this beautiful night?”

Portia chuckled softly, nodding as she leaned into your side, resting her head on your shoulder. “Let them talk,” she murmured with a contented sigh. “I have everything I need right here.”

As you walked through the moonlit garden, the world seemed a little brighter, a little softer, and for the first time in a long time, the future felt full of possibility.

[eebydeebyderby]

Keep you Safe (REVISED)

In which Reader returns to field calls after a three-month recovery, and Egon struggles with past trauma.

A continuation of this one-shot, but it can be skipped without missing any context.

General info:

Egon x fem!Reader, established romantic relationship, hurt/comfort, the boys are dorks, good vibes

Part 1 of 5

Content warnings: blood mention, a spooky little guy

~5.1k words

(I was unhappy with the previous version of this chapter, but I'll leave it up so that people can see the huge improvements that two great proofreaders (@bookswinalways and @mirandamnit(derogatory) can make between drafts.)

You gasped in delight. That’s it.

You closed the book in your hands and trotted across the room to Egon, who was peering intently into his microscope. “Spengs," you said, a smile spreading  across your face, "I think I’ve identified your ghost.”

He pushed his chair back and looked up at you, openly adoring. “Tell me.” 

“It sounds like a revenant of Buer to me,” you said excitedly, handing him back his field book. 

He furrowed his brow a bit, and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not familiar with that entity.” 

“It’s a lower level demonic entity associated with healing and eternal life." You scuttled over to the bookshelf and pulled out your large, tattered copy of Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, its spine held together by several layers of yellowing clear tape. “I’ve always wanted to get my hands on a Buerian ectoplasmic sample,” you said as you flipped through the withered pages and handed Egon the textbook, “but it’s assumed they went extinct when the Shandorian cultists slaughtered the only remaining nest back in the twenties.”

Egon shrugged, reading over the text. “Perhaps we were wrong in our assumption. The description seems to fit perfectly, and this is entirely unique from cases we’ve previously had.” 

“Egon.” He couldn’t suppress the small smile creeping over his face from the giddiness bubbling in your voice. “If this really is Buerian, and if we could secure a live ectoplasmic sample and construct a viable protein expression vector plasmid, it would be an absolute game changer in our research. Just imagine if we could isolate the enzyme production responsible for Buer’s regenerative properties.”

“This creature is a Class IV quasi-corporeal specter,” he said, reading over your notes written in the margins of the tattered pages. “I'm sorry to say that I don’t think it’s possible to get a fully serviceable sample back to our lab on time for it to be of any use. It would destabilize far too quickly. The site is almost eighty miles out.”

“Well,” you said a bit hesitantly, “I should be able to stabilize it in the field long enough to get it back here in workable condition, but only…but only if I go on the call with you guys.”

Egon’s head shot up from the textbook and he locked eyes with you. You saw the split second of panic on his face before he almost immediately forced it back. It took him a moment to summon his voice. “If you believe that is best.” 

For just a few moments, a tense silence smothered the lab. 

"Yeah. I'm coming to the next call with you guys," you said, trying and failing to sound firm. “I could show you or one of the guys how to stabilize the sample long enough to get it here, but it’d take a few weeks. The entity will disappear after Sagittarius passes tomorrow. We’d have to wait at least another year for it to come back.”

You searched his face as he kept his gaze intently on the textbook, avoiding your eye. “You don’t seem too thrilled about me going.” 

He swallowed. “It’s something I’d have to get used to again,” he said. “That's all.” 

You sighed. "You used to get so excited when I'd go on busts with you…"

His eyes flitted to the thick scars torn along your forearm.

You followed his gaze and yanked your sleeve down to your wrist, your face burning. “I think more than enough time has passed for me to start going on field-calls again, don’t you think?”

He stayed quiet, his gaze still on your arm. After a moment, he cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. “It’s 2:58,” he said, a bit strained. “Our debriefing for tomorrow’s call is in two minutes, so we’d better head upstairs.”

“Please don’t avoid my question.”

He fiddled with his collar and clenched his jaw, avoiding your eye. “Can we discuss this later?”

You sighed again. “Alright.”  

The other boys were already seated around the kitchen table and munching on snacks when the two of you entered. The homemade rat-trap Egon designed sat ominously beneath the table, sizzling quietly. 

Winston popped open a can of seltzer and leaned back in his chair. “Any updates on identifying our mystery ghostie?”

“We’re looking at a revenant of Buer,” you said. “It’s a low-level demonic entity. Pretty mellow.”

“I thought the Shandor freaks killed them all off seventy years ago,” Peter said.

“I did, too,” you said. “But I think this one may be the last of its kind. In all honesty this call can be skipped because the demon is gonna disappear once Sagittarius is over tomorrow.”

“‘But’?” Peter prodded, sensing your excitement. 

A small smile crept across your lips. “But I really, really would love to get an ectoplasm sample off it. So if you decide to keep it booked, I’m gonna tag along on this one.”

Excitement exploded between the three boys, their cheers and delight deafening in the small kitchen. Peter accidentally kicked the rat trap in his excitement and yelped with the jolt of electricity that shot up his foot. Egon remained quiet, his face a bit pale. Winston cracked open another can of seltzer and forced it into Egon’s hand, somewhat concerned that Egon was about to vomit next to him. 

Once the boys tired out their celebrations, Ray asked, “What sort of danger are we looking at?”

“None, really. It won’t attack unless attacked, but it’ll try to scare the crap out of you. It’s really only a two-person job, so a few of you could stay behind if you’d like." Your gaze momentarily flitted to Egon, but he averted his eyes.

“Are you kidding?!” Ray asked eagerly, practically bouncing out of his seat. “Your first bust after three months and a one-night-only one-of-a-kind ghost? We should all go! If Janine was here then we’d make her come, too!” 

“Anything special with this demon?” Peter asked, rubbing his foot, “Or is it just the typical ‘trap it in a salt circle’ routine?”

“We’re just gonna trap it in a salt circle and harvest some goo,” you said. “Nothing special.”

Winston finished his seltzer. “Anything else before meeting adjourned?” 

“Yes, actually,” Egon said, his voice uncharacteristically authoritative, but a bit cracked. He cleared his throat. “I want you all to re-read the first-aid protocols and be especially cognizant of emergency procedures. I myself am taking the time to do so as soon as the meeting’s over.” 

Peter cocked an eyebrow. “You’re giving us homework? Don’t you think that’s being a bit—ow!” he gasped when Winston kicked him under the table. 

“We’ll get it done, doc,” Winston said brightly, getting to his feet. “Good chat, everyone! I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The meeting ended and all the boys went their separate ways: Winston, Ray, and Peter headed home, and Egon returned to the lab. You decided to stay in the kitchen and make yourself something to eat, both because you were hungry and because you wanted to give Egon a bit of space. 

Egon had all the medical kits out on a lab table when you went back into the lab, a clipboard next to each one.

“Whatcha doing, Spengs?” you asked, placing a full plate on his desk. 

“I’m double-checking the first-aid kits’ inventories to make sure everything is in-place.” 

“Oh, I see. What’s that one you’ve got? I don’t recognize it.”  

He tilted the ampule in his hands so it was a bit so the label was easier for you to read: Norepinephrine intramuscular injection. “This is for only the most dire of situations. It increases blood pressure in the event of severe but controlled blood loss to prevent hypoxia and subsequent organ damage. In layman's terms, it temporarily makes the remaining blood in the body more efficient at moving oxygen.” 

"That’s a pretty intense little item there."

He placed it back into the kit. “There was a time where it was needed and not available. That is a scenario that must never happen again.” 

The remorse of his voice made your heart sink a bit. “Makes sense,” you said, not wanting to make him pursue the topic any further. “Anyways, who’s your connection for all this kind-of-not-legal medical stuff you got a hold of?” 

“My old roommate in my undergraduate dorm.”

You cocked your head a bit. “I thought Ray was your undergrad roommate.”

“Yes, he became my roommate after the first one went to jail.”

“Why?” 

“Crime, presumably.” 

You grabbed one of his coats off the coat rack and pulled it over your shoulders. "It's getting late. I'm gonna head home before it gets dark out."

"Alright, sweetheart." He walked over to you and pulled you in for a kiss on your brow. "I'll see you in a couple of hours."

Egon was still rummaging through the medical kits when Peter came trotting down the stairs. Egon, figuring that he was simply down there to swipe a treat from the sweets’ drawer, said, “Careful with the rat trap, Venkman. I don’t want you getting burned again.”

"Spengler." Egon turned around to see Peter standing in front of him, uncharacteristically serious. “How are you?”

The question threw Egon for a bit of a loop. “I’m doing well, thank you.” 

Peter planted his hands firmly on Egon’s shoulders. “Eegs, bud, I love you,” he said in a surprisingly tender voice. “And I don’t want to sound like an ass, but I’m calling BS. You look like absolute shit. Winston is keeping emesis bags in his pocket because you look like you’re ten seconds away from throwing up. We’re worried about you.”

Egon sighed, suddenly looking very tired. He reached forward and grabbed Peter’s shoulder, returning the gesture in a rare moment of affection. “I think that, once tomorrow is over, we’ll all be better off for it.” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Egon's face was stuck to the pillow in a mess of dried tears when he awakened, exhausted, his heart pounding in his chest. He instinctively reached forward to feel your warmth, but your side of the bed was empty and cold. The bedroom was bathed in the deep, rich blue of the cold early morning, illuminating its interior with a soft glow.   

He stumbled into the restroom and cringed with the sharp ache that settled behind his eyes when he switched the light on, not yet fully shaken from the waves of sleep, his hands tightly gripping either side of the sink. He squeezed his eyes shut to give them a moment to adjust to the harshness of the fluorescent light and soon managed to open them without fuss. The reflection in the mirror was somewhat blurred without his glasses, but he saw the redness and swelling around his eyes, the rawness of his nose and the flush in his cheeks. He blew his nose with some toilet paper, splashed water on his face, but it did little to conceal his congestion or the discoloration on his cheeks. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He stood completely still for a moment, trying to calm the blood pounding in his ears. 

He saw your silhouette sitting on the couch in the dim morning glow when he entered the living room, curled up near the armrest. You were scribbling equations in your notebook, trying to clean up the stats of your most recent experiments as your hot morning cocoa steamed on the nearby coffee table, perilously close to the portable computer. You were in pajamas, bundled up in his old coat that was far too large for you, cozy in the chilly winter morning.

It was really you this time. Warm, loving, safe.

And alive.

“You’re up early,” you said simply, switching your focus to your clunky laptop.

He came up from behind and snaked his arms around you, rested his chin on your shoulder, his flushed cheek pressed against yours. The position would very quickly grow uncomfortable for him, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to be close to you, to feel your presence pressed directly against himself, despite the muscles in his back already searing in protest. 

You reached over your shoulder and ran your fingers through his plushy hair, still typing with your free hand. “Hey, Spengs.” You awkwardly craned your neck and quickly planted a few small kisses on his face, nipping a bit at the bridge of his nose, but it didn’t yield a reaction, as if he didn’t register it. You chalked it up to him still being half-asleep and resumed typing on the laptop. 

"I can’t seem to get this ANOVA to run properly…” you muttered to yourself, staring intently at the laptop screen. “I’ve got the fixed effect models running. I’ve got all the means programmed in. I’ve got the confounds accounted for…” You idly flexed your wrist and stretched your arm up to relieve a bit of tension starting to build up from hours of typing. “The CSV is running. I double-checked all the data sets. Something is wrong…” you grumbled, unaware that your sleeve slipped down to your elbow, fully revealing the long, pale scars torn along your forearm. 

The sight sent a harsh jolt of dread down his spine. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

You were completely engrossed in your work as your fingers flashed over the keyboard, whispering obscenities at the numerous error windows popping up. 

He reflexively tightened his grip around you, almost painfully. He started shaking and his breath hitched in his throat. You stopped typing. He felt the immediate change in your demeanor and he knew he'd been found out. 

“Bad night?”

He didn’t answer.  

You gently shut the laptop, its fans angrily whirring, and propped it up so the vents would cool. “Let’s get back to bed.”

In the bedroom, you slipped into the bed behind him and wrapped your arms around him, throwing your leg over him to pull yourself as close to him as you could, tucking his head under your chin. “Hey, Spengs.” 

He grabbed one of your hands and pressed a kiss to your palm, held it against his cheek, feeling the slightest bit of the tension in his stomach unwind from the warmth of your touch. 

You knew the answers to the questions you were about to ask, but you wanted to hear them said in his own words. “What are you feeling?”

A moment of silence passed. 

His voice was thick and quaking when he was finally able to summon it, breaking the tremulous silence. “Dread.”

“About?”

“Tonight.” He cleared his throat. “It isn’t my decision to make for you, nor should it be,” he said, holding your hand to his chest. “And I really, really want to try and convince you to reconsider, but I shouldn’t, because objectively, your choice is perfectly rational.” He swallowed. “But, I’m terrified, and I want to want you to go, but I don’t. To be perfectly honest, I think yours is the best idea for putting a new foot forward, but I’m absolutely dreading it with every fiber of my being.”

 "Maybe you should sit it out."

He shook his head. “I think I need this call much more than you do.”

You were inclined to agree, but you kept that to yourself. “I think it’ll be good for both of us.” You adjusted your position to one a bit more comfortable. “Try to get some sleep, Spengs.”

He stayed quiet, holding your hand tightly to his chest. He trembled from the tension radiating across his body. 

“I’ll stay here for a while, if you’d like.” 

He took a breath and sighed deeply, and you felt some of his tension relax.

“Thank you.” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The Ecto-One was parked just outside the large tunnel of a decayed storm drain covered in layers of  faded graffiti, with sickly pale yellow weeds growing in its numerous cracks. The day was just passing into evening, the sun sat swollen and red on the horizon as everyone readied their gear. The smog caused the glowing skyline to flicker, blurring the boundary between the city and the darkening sky.

All the boys now had their own emergency medical kit strapped to their proton pack, which added an additional five pounds to its heavy bulk. You opted to skip carrying a proton pack, instead carrying a large bag with refrigerated canisters and numerous tools for sample collecting. You stuffed a freshly harvested rabbit from the butcher into one of your oversized jumpsuit pockets, along with a few stones of Aztec turquoise. 

Winston finished strapping on his equipment and looked around. “It’s exactly as we left it,” he said brightly. “Disgusting.” 

“Oh, hey!” Peter trotted to the front of the tunnel and pointed to a large scorch mark. “This is where I blew up that one cult lady!” He put his hands on his hips. “Can’t believe it’s still here three years later,” he mused. 

“Do you mean a ghost?” you asked as you prepped your streptolysin solutions. “Or did you blow up a live person?”

“Oh, I absolutely blew up a person. Oh!” He trotted over to another, much larger scorch mark. “And here’s where Egon nailed two at once!” 

You snickered and glanced at Egon. Ray was muttering to him as the two readied their gear. Egon's hands were violently shaking as he struggled to secure the straps of his proton pack around his chest. Ray gently put his hands over Egon’s and held them steady until each strap was buckled into place. You turned away,  providing them a bit of discretion.

“Why do I have to be the one to lure it out?” Peter whined.

“You volunteered for it,” Winston said. “But I’ll do it instead if you’d like.”

“No,” Peter said. “I want to do it.” 

You held up the PKE meter, and it started glowing. “It’s resting in the tunnel.”

Peter poured out a half-circle of blessed salt with about a ten-foot radius, and stood just behind it, with its open end facing the tunnel. 

“You remember how to lure it out?” she asked. 

Peter nodded, rubbed his hands together, and cupped them over his mouth. “Oh, boy!” he hollered. “I would sure love to make a deal to acquire some supernatural knowledge in exchange for my delicious, tender Kosher-friendly flesh!” 

You cocked an eyebrow at his crass phrasing, but now was not the time to acknowledge it. 

The PKE meter flared in your hand just as the scent of rancid meat flooded the clearing. 

Something began stirring from within the tunnel. Slowly, the demon uncurled from its sleeping position and stood up. Its flesh was partially rotted away and hanging from its skeleton, wet and gangrenous; it stood on gangly lion-like paws, emaciated; its arms dragged on the ground as it moved forward, painful and slow, very hesitant to put weight on one of its legs. The creature was grotesque, deformed and decaying as it slowly limped towards Peter, walked into the center of the circle and halted a few feet from him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said pleasantly. “You  don’t really look like the picture you placed in the Singles Newspaper ads.” 

“Reddite carnem vestram, desertam a pastore vestro te ducere cognitionis deo,” the creature growled at Peter, its breathing labored and ragged between its words, unaware that you were rapidly pouring salt on the ground and closing the circle. 

"Oh, I'm very flattered. But, I'm married. Dana already has claim to my flesh. You’ll need to take it up with her before we go through with anything." 

You gave him a thumbs-up and he nodded back at you. “She’s trapped in there, right? No way to get out?” 

“She could decorporealize her form and remanifest in her home realm,” Egon piped up, his deep voice somewhat strained. “But, in our world, she’s limited to the perimeter of the salt circle.”

“Good. I wanna see what will happen if I say something Christian-y to her.”

“Don’t say something Christian-y to her!” you, Ray, Egon, and Winston all exclaimed at once. 

Peter stood at the edge of the salt circle and locked eyes with the beast, his mouth twisted into a devious sneer. “Bless you.” 

The creature shrieked in outrage and Peter yelped as he was showered with a harsh downpour of ectoplasm. He stood rigid for a moment with his head ducked, absolutely drenched in thick, hot goo as the creature paced in the salt circle, shaking its head. “You never mentioned that she could slime the hell out of us,” he said, dripping ectoplasm on the ground. “Would’ve been useful info to have. Thanks.”

“I didn’t know Buerian entities could do that!” You couldn’t hide the excitement in your voice. “This is going to be the first documented report of it ever happening.” 

“Guys, I’m gonna tap out on this one,” Peter said flatly. He walked a few paces, every movement accompanied by a wet squelch, and laid down on his back with his arms outstretched. “Goodnight.” 

You started walking towards the salt circle. The creature snarled at your approach and Egon instinctively seized your forearm with an iron grip, but immediately let go when you gasped, “Ow!” 

“I’m sorry,” he stammered quickly, struggling to keep the quiver in his chest from reaching his voice. 

The beast cackled in delight. “Ab hoste maligno defende me, Anima Christi,” it croaked jeeringly, baring several rows of filthy human teeth. 

“We don’t mean you harm,” you said, walking up to the edge of the salt circle and bowing. “Do you speak English?”

The PKE meter in your hand whirred excitedly and rapidly flashed through different color signals, jerking back and forth in your hand like a captured fish and almost jumping out of your grip. 

The creature hissed again and backed itself as far as it could within the confines of the salt circle. "What is that?!"

"Spectrometer. It helps us find spirits." You silenced the PKE meter and stuck it in your back pocket, your head still bowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m actually very excited to meet you.” 

After warily eying you for a moment, the creature lowered its hackles and bowed its head in return. 

“I brought you some gifts, and I have some questions if it’s okay with you,” you said, stepping into the salt circle. The creature cocked its head as you laid the rabbit and turquoise on the ground. “Who is your master?”

“I serve my Lord and Shepherd Buer, master of knowledge and power,” it growled, lifting the rabbit up by one foot and looking it over. “Commander of The Fifty Legions and the greatest of Kings. Praise be to Him.” 

“Are you the last of his legion in our world?” you asked. 

The creature hungrily sank its teeth into the rabbit’s belly with a sickening squelch and tore out a mouthful of innards, swallowing them without chewing. “Yes. Until my Lord ascends from the depths and lays claim to this world as an expansion of His kingdom.” 

“Thanks for the heads up!” Ray piped up from behind the salt circle. “That is incredibly foreboding.” 

The creature cackled in amusement, its teeth and chin filthy with gore. “It is upon the nature of your shepherd to keep you sheep ignorant of your impending slaughter. My ilk is that of knowledge, which you so scornfully cast away as the original sin for fear of what it may unearth.” 

“How many languages do you know?” Ray asked.

“My good and generous Lord blesses me and my brethren with knowledge of all tongues of Man. Can you truthfully say the same for your Lord your kind so desperately grovels to?” It bit the head off the rabbit with a swift crunch and swallowed it whole. “Can you even guarantee the merit of your beliefs?”

“That’s a pretty loaded question,” Ray said. “We vacuumed up a chumbo out of a Caribbean restaurant last month, and an oni at the Shinto temple four days ago, so I don’t know what the heck is happening on your guys’ side of the realm. You should consider unionizing.” 

“The sun is due soon," you said to the beast as it gnawed on its rabbit, "and you can't stay here. I don't want to leave you trapped here to cook at dawn, and I don't want to lock you away in a box to decay for your last few hours. Sagittarius will be over today. You should go home."

“Did she just tell it to go to hell?” Peter muttered to himself. 

The beast chuckled at Peter's remark, but kept its attention on you. "You are the most cordial of exorcists. Perhaps the fearful grip of your Lord is slipping? Why does He so jealousy forbid knowledge in His domain?” It bowed its head again. “For your generous gift of flesh, I shall take my leave per your request back to the domain of mine Lord Father upon this dying breath of the sigil.” The beast quickly devoured the rest of the rabbit and crossed its arms over its chest. 

“Nearer mine God to thee, oh great Lord of Buer. May it serve thee well.”

A pop, a flash of black flames, and the creature was gone, leaving behind a scorched mark in the dirt. 

You pulled the PKE meter out of your back pocket and switched it back on, but it remained silent. “It's gone.” 

"Woo!" Ray hollered, pumping his fist in the air. "A bust can't go any more perfectly than that!"

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard as much blasphemy as I did tonight,” Winston mused. “But she was very polite.”

You bent over and pocketed the turquoise, now colored black. “Oh, yeah. Higher intelligence demons are pretty affable. It’s easier to sway people by being friendly.” 

“Yeah, I found her to be incredibly friendly, YN," Peter said bitingly. "Just like you said."

You walked over to Peter, who was still lying flat on his back with his arms outstretched, absolutely filthy with ectoplasm, and crouched down next to him. “How are you doing, Pete?” 

"She slimed me…" he said flatly.

“That’s great!” Winston and Ray said in unison.

"Stay still," you said, pulling out a field sample kit from your bag. 

"You and Janine are the experts," he said as you swiped a swab across his forehead. "How can I get this stuff out of my hair in time for our dinner tomorrow?"

"Let it soak in unrefined coconut oil for about two hours, then wash it out twice with lukewarm water and a shampoo with sodium laureth sulfate as its main surfactant. Don't use hot water because the slime will cook in your hair like scrambled eggs and be a nightmare to wash out."

Peter sat up. "Do you swear by this method?"

"Yeah." You snapped off the swab inside the collection tube and screwed on its lid. "It works pretty w—”

Plap. 

“Ah!" you yelped when Peter slapped a handful of ectoplasm on top of your head. "My hair!" you whined. You ran your hand through your hair and pulled away a handful of hot, stringy slime, absolutely disgusted. "Peter!" 

"You're a Ghostbuster again, girlie. Get used to—AAAAH!" he yowled when you tackled him over with a vicious snarl, spattering slime all over the place as you wrestled him to the ground. 

“Alrighty, kids. Break it up before I have to call your parents.” Winston tapped your heel with his boot and you released Peter. 

“Second time this month I’ve had to rescue you from your own sister, Venkman,” Winston said as you got to your feet, completely covered in a thick, mucousy layer of slime from head to toe and smiling like a goon. 

You turned to Egon, who no longer looked like he was seconds away from becoming violently ill, and handed him back the PKE meter, now absolutely drenched in filth. He was still trembling a bit from residual nervousness, but the familiar gleam that had been missing for the past few  months had partly returned to his tired eyes. "I'm proud of you. You did well." 

You grinned at him with absolute delight, globs of fluorescent ectoplasm dripping off her head like raw egg whites. “I got my Buerian ectoplasmic sample.” 

“Yes, I see. You’ve got about a gallon of it dripping off your head.”

“I think you need a hug, Spengs.” 

"That won't be necessary. I feel much more reassured and my stress will greatly decrease in the coming hours once the cortisol in my blood is metabolized an—Oh…" Egon muttered in defeat as you pulled him into a tight hug with a sickening squelch, trying to get as much ectoplasm on him as you could. A smile slowly crept across his lips. "Oh, yes. Thank you, sweetheart. Yes, I love you, too." 

"I also love you, Eegs," Peter said as he approached Egon with open arms.

"I love you as long as you stay at least five feet away from me right now, Venkman."

Peter put his arms down. "Yeah, alright. That's fair." 

Part 2

[quidfree]

do you have a favorite character from TSH? if so, who and why? what about between papenathy?

i can’t believe this isn’t immediately apparent from my writing but my deathly serious tsh character ranking list goes like this

francis

judy poovey

everyone else

bunny & julian

also re papenathy as a rule of thumb whatever my #1 ship is usually includes my top 2 characters from a medium. i would never pair a flop with one of my faves*

*in tartt universe all characters are on the flop-menace spectrum but that’s why the pairings work internally

i was about to hit post when i realised you also asked why. ive already made multiple posts analysing the tsh charas or their relationships which i feel gets into the meat of it anyway so please peruse those tags for longer explanations but as a quick breakdown of my takes:

judy: i just find her so funny and refreshing throughout the whole book; she serves a great meta purpose in breaking the illusion of richard’s trustworthiness as a narrator; she’s actually one of the nicer people we meet relative to all the other assholes in richard’s life; her scenes speak to both her commonalities and differences with richard and i enjoy them a lot. also i love that she’s based on a real person who then did costuming for succession.

francis: do i even need to explain this… hes an icon. i love all the layers to francis (which we only even get to see bc him & richard are so #real worsties)- how he’s so dramatic and emotive but can compose himself at will, how hes both confrontational and cowardly, his random kindnesses and mean quips, his completely fucked sense of priorities at all times…. also his insane childhood & his self-made tragedy in the epilogues. enfant terrible!

i do also love richard for all that he’s a nightmare. hes suuuuuch a mess wrapped within an I Am Normal package #tarttcore. love the way he teeters between reckless self-destruction and “umm you guys are weird” judgment. his self-censorship and revisionist tendencies as a narrator. his outsider role and his actual desperate liking of his murderous rich friends who do not particularly care about him. hes literally 19…. he should have been in the club….

henry & camilla are both interesting but henry is like The Statue and camilla is The Shadow in the sense that theyre both not fully realised ppl bc of richard’s pov/pedestal. henry is kind of the mvp of tsh of course, greattttt lines, compelling character, drives the action, but ultimately hard to crack as a complete person and full of hubris that annoys me. i respect that he gave us hot takes and drama the whole way through. camilla i enjoy the pieces of- beef with judy, french post murder fever, mysterious phone calls, entanglements- but lbr she is the least characterised individual in the book and thus hard to connect to outside of fanon. i still like her tho i esp enjoy how unbothered she is living her own side stories. and i just know she suffered incalculable martyrdom running amongst those men.

charles is more of a real person to richard than the above and he compels me also. such a jarring (if telegraphed) shift from part i to part ii. in a way his descent into darkness humanises him the most bc at least hes torn up about the whole murder business in the first place! but by god his relationships are fucked.

bunny is at best funny. but hes just like. a conservative asshole whos not even smart enough for the course he nepo-babied his way into. and then julian has fun literature class bits and is admittedly also funny (he is so not willing to get dragged into the drama it’s comical) but is just a nefarious elitist weirdo. they get nothing from me.

[ceasarslegion]

Yknow i think growing up in such a censored and sanitized place for so long is largely what made me so anti-censorship today. You dont exactly respond well to born and raised westerners using phrases like "irredeemable media" when you had to sneak books into the country via secret backpack pockets you sewed into inconspicuous places lest you read about fictional surveillance states and get funny ideas, all the movies in the cinema had entire scenes chopped out of them if they were against the morality code, and your school textbooks just had pages egregiously torn out of them if they ever mentioned sex or body parts because it was "pedophilic and pornographic."

Like fam ive seen the end result of this attitude, i lived in it. You dont want it. If you see werewolf erotica in your local library thats actually a good thing and you should be incredibly grateful for the amount of access you have to information because some of us have had mail intercepted and confiscated at the border because it was a gift for my little sister who wanted walkie talkies and the police took it away because they couldnt listen in on our conversations through them.

Do not try that "x shouldnt be written about" SHIT with me of all people

[alexanderlightweight]

Malec prompt idea - misunderstanding angst. Probably Magnus thinking Alec is still in love with Jace

Thank you for the prompt! This is angst. There’s some recklessness. Mentions of canon typical: violence, self-harm, and canonical death and events. I hope you like it

—

Magnus loathes Jace with the fervor of a dying realm, and yet Alexander never seems to notice.

When Magnus is returned — has torn himself from Edom — he tries to stifle his instincts, but he fails.

But Alexander never pushes. He stays quiet, but steadfast in encouraging the trust that Magnus also inspires.

It’s hard, sometimes, interpreting the depth of Alexander’s emotions. And often, Magnus wants to ask, but also doesn’t want to hear the answer.

The fallout comes — though he doesn’t know it— when Jace is injured, again.

He’s been increasingly more reckless ever since Clary lost her memories and left, and it’s shown in how often Jace ends up in the infirmary.

Magnus has had a very, very long week and an even longer day and so as he steels himself to become exhausted in his efforts, he wonders bitterly, just who Alec loves more.

He feels both selfish and hollow, because Alexander came to Edom for Magnus, but the part that Camille tore out of him never healed. And it festers and is more painful every time Magnus lets himself wonder just how much his husband loves him.

Magnus reaches out a hand, magic beginning to gather and the magic dissipates as familiar fingers thread through his own.

Alexander is looking up at him, tired, but clearly relieved to see him. The bitterness Magnus feels is both confused and taunted and Magnus swallows down the whirlwind of emotions inside him.

Because Alexander almost looks worse than Jace, who is hooked up to so many tubes and IV’s and is a battered mess of bandages and bruises.

“I need you to do something for me.” Alec says softly, and Magnus sighs internally, but his hand is gentle as he cups Alexander’s face.

“Whatever you need.” Magnus murmurs and hopes he has the strength to follow through.

To his confusion, Alexander doesn’t seem pleased by his promise. If anything he looks more devastated.

“I, Magnus you can— no, okay,” Alec pauses. He swallows heavily and closes his eyes before opening them. His gaze is locked in on Magnus’. “I need you to portal us both back to the loft. Right now. And I need you not to ask questions until you’re done.”

Magnus is, quite frankly, both shocked and a little unnerved. But he pulls himself together and before anything else can surprise him, has them both in the loft. Magnus wanted to take them to their bed, but something tells him this is not a conversation to have in bed.

“What’s going on? Do you need me to go back to heal Jace?” Because Alexander looks like he’s about to break apart and Magnus sits in confusion as Alexander shakes his head.

“He’s healing and has been adequately treated. I called you after he was looked over by a Silent Brother.”

Magnus blinks in surprised confusion and Alexander makes a pained noise as he kneels in front of Magnus rather than sit next to him.

“You called me after Jace was treated?” Magnus doesn’t know why he feels so confused, but he is.

Alexander leans his head on Magnus' knee and plays with the rings on Magnus' hand.

“You know how to heal, but it’s not something your magic specializes in. I knew it exhausted you, but I didn’t realize it was because your magic specializes in other things until I read that baby warlock book to Madzie. If we wanted an emergency healer, we should have been petitioning Catarina and found a backup healer as well. Not that you haven’t done perfectly every time you were called.”

Something inside of him preens a little at the praise. Especially because Alexander is correct, and even though Magnus can heal, the bloodline of Asmodeus was never meant to soothe wounds, only to create them.

Not that Magnus has ever let his father’s legacy stop himself from succeeding the impossible.

“Magnus, you are my husband. You are Jace and Izzy’s brother by bonding. You are the partner of the highest ranked shadowhunter in New York. You are not my siblings or the Institute's personal warlock liaison. And you’re not Jace's personal healer, especially when he’s being so reckless on purpose. That you even deign to heal us is a gift.”

Magnus feels something in him crack open, the things he’s been burying — trying so hard not to upset the balance in the life he and Alexander are building together— flooding out.

Alexander is still talking, so sweetly. Earnest as he holds Magnus hands and Magnus, Magnus loves him so dearly and for once Magnus doesn’t feel like he doesn’t know who Alexander loves more.

“And, and even we really did need you. We would pay both an advanced healing fee and an emergency priority fee! As we should have been doing this entire time.” Alexander heaves in an unsteady, shaky breath and then continues.

“Magnus, do you have any idea how shocked I was when I asked Underhill if our budget for your services needed to be raised and he said there wasn’t one anymore! That it hadn’t been used since you crashed that stupid wedding so eventually they wrote it off!”

Alexander sounds heartbroken and quite frankly, Magnus is both too stunned to soothe him and some hidden part of himself needs to hear this. Magnus needs to hear how upset Alexander is on his behalf, and Magnus knows he deserves to.

“I thought.” And Magnus realizes he doesn’t actually know what he thought. He was so busy chasing Alexander while trying to still protect himself and also trying to figure out how to keep his people alive in back to back terrorism and wars.

“I couldn’t handle losing you.” Magnus finally admits, “and after I drove you away. I became that much more desperate to keep close to you.” Magnus takes a deep breath and then admits, “it’s why I broke so badly when you left me.”

Alexander lets out a wounded noise and kisses Magnus’ knuckles in fervent apology. Magnus is never happy that Alexander is in pain, but it soothes him every time he’s given proof that Alexander broke both their hearts that awful, awful night.

“In my rather ardent courtship of you, I didn’t really focus on anything but using any opportunity to see you. If it meant doing a little work pro-bono—“ and Magnus can’t help the cheeky wink he sends Alexander. It gets him a flustered huff and a pouting glare that disappears as Alexander kisses Magnus knuckles again. “Well, for me your company and well-being has always been my payment. And I considered it time and energy well spent.”

“Like I wasn’t constantly asking for you to come by for the same reason.” His Alexander mutters quietly. Magnus watches red trails up Alexander’s neck and ears and realizes in delight that his shadowhunter is embarrassed.

It’s adorable.

Magnus holds back a delighted titter because that will only pull Alexander into himself. And Magnus is enjoying this sudden honesty and introspection.

Alexander gives Magnus an almost snotty look — the same way he looked when he used to quote “the law is hard but it’s the law”— and continues with, “the difference is that I thought you were being paid at the same time. I didn’t realize the Clave was trying to extort you by pimping me out.”

Magnus can’t help the delighted and shocked laugh he lets out.

Alexander once complained to Magnus about how uncivilized the streets of mundane New York are. Apparently all shadowhunters are meant to have a crash course in the city they're stationed in, so as Head and Commander of the Institute, Alexander had to do research. Which meant finding out about pimps and mundane sex workers.

Before that, Alexander had only ever known about the Seelie, vampire and warlock pleasure houses. Which are completely different and in Alexander’s words at the time, “on an entirely different moral and ethical standard compared to mundanes.”

Every time Alexander and Cat have a little too much wine, they both start disparaging the mundane system and lament how much better it would be if mundanes treated pleasure and sex specialists with the respect they deserved.

So to hear Alexander so frustrated as to compare the situation with the Clave as similar to mundane pimps, was hilarious.

Alexander is smiling at him when Magnus finally gets a hold of himself. But there’s something sad under his smile and Magnus widens his legs and hooks his calves around Alexander’s back, pulling him closer.

“My heart, what’s wrong?”

“I want you to value yourself as much as I do, but then I found out about these things and I realized maybe you don’t know how much you mean to me.”

Magnus’ heart stutters in his chest.

“Alexander.” Is all he can murmur, breathless at the depth of Alexander’s words.

“When Jocelyn died. When I stood there and watched Clary grieve and thought that I’d murdered Jace’s mother. My orphaned parabatai who was given hope and I stole that, orphaning him again. When I could still feel her blood on my hand and the beat of her heart in my palm as we released her soul to Raziel. I didn’t pray to Raziel. I prayed to you.”

Alexander gives a bitter little chuckle and presses harder against where he’s cradled by Magnus’ legs.

“I didn’t even realize it at first. And it’s not an excuse. But it didn’t occur to me how much it could cost you to go to Edom. Because I didn’t think you would risk yourself so greatly, when I needed and wanted you so much.”

Magnus lets the confession rest between the two of them and then he greedily accepts it. Presses Alexander’s words to the still raw bits of himself that never fully healed when he went to Edom… because of Jace, but for Alexander.

“Jace is a part of my soul, Magnus, but he’s not the one who soothes and heals it. And a lot of the time he’s even the one who hurts it. So please, please say no. For yourself, and also for me. Because I’m too selfish, Magnus and we’ve both already given up too much. I lost you because I wasn’t selfish enough, and I never want to make that mistake again.”

Magnus knows how to set boundaries. He just didn’t… because he wanted too much to risk it by being careful.

Letting Alexander in, letting himself fall for a shadowhunter, it’s been the most painful but also the most rewarding, but from the moment Magnus let himself want; it has always been a risk.

But it’s always been a risk that Magnus felt was worth it.

“There is no one among my people that I can guarantee will prioritize both of our wellbeing. Not even in my family. I hate seeing you tired and when you’re in pain, I feel my soul aching, even worse than when I share Jace’s injuries.”

“Part of the reason I’ve never declined healing him, is because I don’t want you in pain.” Magnus tells his husband and he’s given a sad, weary but understanding smile.

“I know. But Jace isn’t going to stop. And I can’t keep letting him manipulate us both into lessening the consequences. I doubt he’s doing it consciously. But either way it’s not helping anyone.” Alexander takes a deep, steadying breath and murmurs. “I blocked our connection through the rune. I won’t feel his pain, and he’ll still heal, just slower than when you healed him.”

Magnus is more than shocked. “I thought you never wanted to block or numb the bond after the… last time.”

Alexander shrugs, a small gesture for the impact of his next words.

“This is hurting you. That’s more important.”

And Magnus. Magnus can’t take it and pulls Alexander up. His husband gasps in surprise and Magnus claims his mouth with a searing kiss.

They can finish the conversation later. Magnus and undoubtedly Alexander will both ensure it. It’s too important to not continue. But what’s also important is Magnus not spending another second not kissing Alexander.

Because Magnus knows now just how important he is to his husband, and he’s never felt more loved, or more powerful.

[swifty-fox]

mmmmm gimme that 18 and 22

18. from that one WIP thats no plot just vibes

all my MOTA fic is plot but ive got an old wolfstar supernatural murder mystery i abandoned

Remus is dreaming. Or at least he thinks he is.

It’s the type of dream where he can feel the tips of his fingers and the weight on his chest and every single molar in his jaw. The type of dream where dread and horror and fear sit in his lungs and prevent him from drawing breath. 

He is buried alive. 

He can feel the rich fertile earth covering his body, taste the clay and silt in his mouth. Crawling, desperate, hungry things slither over his body. He can hear the sounds of their chewing in his ears and he wants to scream only if he opens his mouth that will let them in. His flesh rots, his eyeballs melt out of his skull. The skin around his lips turns wizened and desiccated, peeling back from his teeth like the pages of a book.

Remus is bones, is decay, the worms feed on his decomposition and snakes slither through the latticework of his sternum. He breathes, and his lungs fill with mushrooms and soft nesting things. Butterflies alight on his corpse and sip the sweetly soured decaying flesh. There is a buzzing in his mouth, a soft wet bumblebee struggling to get out.

He opens his mouth. Mud fills his throat. The bee ceases her noise and a giant black spider emerges, scuttling past his lips and into the forest. 

His parents are screaming his name, screaming for him. To run. To fight.

Fight it, fight it Remus, you have to fight it.

Remus opens his mouth. He opens his mouth and the spider escapes. He opens his mouth and the hungry things come pouring in, devouring him from the inside out. He opens his mouth and screams.

There is a bird who sits on a tower. With beady eyes so clever. Who sees the curling petal. Of every single flower.

A boy is staring at him. A boy with blue eyes and blue lips and blue, bruised, dead skin. His palms are stained and his body is bare, dehydrated and loose-limbed like a porcelain doll torn from its stand. He smiles at Remus with bloody, perfect teeth.

22. that is so blissfully indulgent

me hwne Gale angst and also he loves John

Gale takes a deep breath to compose himself, tucks the jagged angry edges of himself back to face inwards. “You said you would write.” 

He glances up at Bucky and it's the other man who averts his gaze this time, face paling. He sits down heavily across from Buck and rubs a hand across his mustache, still avoiding eye contact.

“I meant to.” He finally says then laughs sharp and bitter, “I musta put pen to paper a thousand times. But I- well. The words just wouldn’t come. Figured eventually I might as well drive out and fetch you back with me.” 

Gale's anger stutters and then goes out completely, leaving him hollow. Of course, of course he wasn't the only one with memories that nipped at his heels. And John, the man that he was, had decided to do something about it for the both of them. Who shouldered a sixteen hour drive because of course a letter wasn’t good enough, he’d already chased Buck into the heart of enemy territory, what were a few state lines?

“John Egan,” Buck drawls, “always to the rescue.” Bucky laughs, a genuine noise that sounds so foreign in the cold bare kitchen.

John was fake on the surface and all real underneath. Real bravery and real heart, a man who jumps on an armed German guard to save his friend. Who volunteered on the next mission out all because his friend had been shot down. And Gale, well he was just the opposite wasn't he? All real on the thin top layer and below that nothing much of substance. A good soldier, a good leader; good at being a man in all the ways that garnered approval and respect. He honed it to perfection, perfect responses full of bravado, not too harsh but not too intimate either. But below that…there was very little to behold. No matter how many times the other guys told him, he told himself, there would always be the fact that John faced down armed guards and Buck ran

[the-holy-ghosted]

As the number 1 John Lynch enjoyer, have you read his books? Or know more about them?

ok hes written two books and i do own both of them however. i have only made it about halfway through Torn Water. and as much as i am naturally a slow reader i have to tell you that i had to take a LONGGG fucking break for the fact that he writes about adolecent grief like nothing else i have seen portrayed before and it hit a liiittle too close to home and its GOOD but the thing is that its TOO good. yknow what let me just

SPOILERS. I SUPPOSE

the thing about john lynch is that he writes in a very straight forward and simple way thats still very descriptive. and one of the things ive liked so far about torn water is how his way of description shoots past the fluff and excessive way of phrasing things and still manages to PIERCE your fucking feelings SO poignantly. to me it does at least.

the thing about torn water is that there isnt like. a lot of plot going on? in short words of follows the growing up of a young boy who's very well-known father dies in the line of duty and he is left to be raised without a father and some very complicated familial relationships. and its VERY good the way he writes these relationships i feel them very strongly. but what he writes about that gets to me the most is james' relationship with his own father that he never really met because hes told so much about his father and all he can do is just kindof string a personality together himself with his imagination? and make him up as he goes and its SO upsetting at certain points

at the end of every chapter is a letter or a passage james writes involving the events of the chapter before it or the one to come after, as a sort of coping mechanism as i gather, more often than not involving his father (among others such as his kindof estranged mother and her scummy boyfriend who james hates viscerally), and the way its written is just so . POIGNANT. and so accurate, in a way that i have not seen, to the way a child/teenager would cope with grief that fucking slays me and made me have to put the book down for weeks before i could try it again

and the one thing that gets me more than the letters he writes to his father is when he writes letters from his father to himself and i CRY and CRY and CRY and CRY. Coping with loss though your imagination of who this person could have been to you, piecing them together with bits that youve been told from everybody else without getting to experience them yourself. its like nothing ive read before and it cut me A LITTLE DEEP. and i had to put the book down for a long time for this reason

ANYWAYS. in conclusion. i love john lynch more than words can describe and torn water is an excellent book that i will continue reading. for somebody whos only gotten through half the damn thing i really do have a lot to say about it