#oh shit is she the last sheep that exists here

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

The meeting room at House Blossom was a beautiful place, with flowers dripping from the walls and the door propped open to let in the spring breeze and wandering sheep. Jimmy returned Katherine's encouraging smile as he entered, glad for the mask that covered all but his mouth and thus kept his nervousness hidden too.

"Hi Jimmy! I'm so glad you could make it." Katherine didn't stand to greet him, busy stroking a lamb that had wandered in to lay its head in her lap, but she gestured to a seat. "Not a lot of us today, but maybe that's better for your first meeting."

Right, she had told him the last time they spoke that alliance meetings weren't mandatory, but rather took place monthly and were open invitation to anyone with free time in their schedule. There were only two others seated at the table today: an elf with snowy white wings and blue hair, and a man who looked almost human but for a sleek tail with a tufted tip.

"This is Pixlriffs, king of Pixandria," said Katherine, and the brown-haired man nodded once in greeting, "and Prince Scott of Rivendell, brother to King Xornoth."

"Er, hi," said Jimmy as he sat, trying not to stare too hard at the elf's beauty. "I'm Jimmy. I've just been assigned to govern the Codlands on behalf of the Codfather. It's, um, part of the Ocean Empire, bordering Myth - "

"Yes, we know where it is," said Scott. "Our empires' memories aren't nearly so short as the human ones." He sipped at his tea. "I believe it was in my grandfather's time that Mythland relinquished that region to the Ocean Empire."

"I don't know if 'relinquished' quite describes it," said Pixlriffs. "Mythland's own history books would say that the Ocean Queen took it by force, after flooding the land as divine retribution for some unrecorded slight."

They both looked at Jimmy as if expecting him to clarify, but he just cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um...right. Anyway, Katherine heard of my appointment, and invited me to join the alliance, so - here I am. Oh, and I'm authorized to speak on behalf of the Ocean Queen, too, for most matters anyway. For now. She's unable to attend meetings in person as often as she'd like, because of...matters."

Scott raised an eyebrow at his vagueness, and he flushed under the haughty gaze. This was turning out to be more difficult than he thought.

He kept quiet for the rest of the brief meeting, deciding it was too early to judge if Rivendell or Pixandria could be potential allies in the codfolk's war against the salmon. Lizzie's network of spies reported that several of the mainland empires had fallen for salmon propaganda, believing the cod to be the aggressors in a war that had been ebbing and flowing since before some of their kingdoms had even existed.

That was why he had left the comfort of the Prisma Palace to live in the swamp, why he hid more than his face behind his carved mask. Enemy armies that had been successfully pushed back were suddenly growing, aided by supplies and weapons that should have been well beyond their means. He needed to find out who was helping them, and figure out a way to put a stop to it. Maybe he could even befriend them and convince them to change sides.

Once official business was concluded, Scott moved closer to Katherine to coo over a second lamb who had wandered in to see what its flockmate was up to and was chewing affectionately on Katherine's dress. Just as Jimmy was trying to decide the least awkward way to excuse himself, Pixlriffs caught his eye from across the table.

Jimmy gave him an awkward half-smile from under the mask, watching warily as Pix approached. He perched himself on the edge of the table right next to Jimmy, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Hello," said Jimmy nervously, and Pix's grin widened.

"The more of me you take away, the larger I grow. What am I?"

Shit. Katherine warned him about this, when she was giving him pointers on how to make a good impression on each emperor. Jimmy had never thought himself particularly clever, but as advised, he showed Pix respect by at least considering the question and giving a genuine attempt at an answer instead of brushing it off.

"Er - um...Oh! Hope. It's gotta be hope, hasn't it?"

Pix stared at him, long enough that Jimmy began to wonder if Katherine was wrong about the part where she said the sphinx never actually punished anyone for getting his riddles wrong. Then he grinned with delight, and for a moment Jimmy felt like he was being dazzled by the desert sun itself.

"That's right," he said, and chuckled when Jimmy punched the air with a triumphant yes!

Jimmy stood to make his goodbyes, muttering something about having to make a report of how the first meeting went, and Scott came to stand by Pix's side as they watched him leave. He glanced over at his friend, a knowing smirk playing on the corner of his mouth.

"I thought the answer to that one was 'hole'."

Jimmy was no longer in sight, but Pix continued to stare down the path anyway. "Yes. Well." He smiled at Scott, and there was an eagerness and wonder in his gaze he usually reserved for ancient texts. "He wasn't wrong, though, was he? I do think getting to know him better will be quite an adventure.

The Codfather's Court AU

[augment-techs]

Six-Word Starter Prompts (part I)

Watching quietly from every door frame.

Catholic school backfired. Sin is in!

Savior complex makes for many disappointments.

Nobody cared, then they did. Why?

Some cross-eyed kid, forgotten then found.

Born in the desert. Still thirsty.

I asked. They answered. I wrote.

No future, no past. Not lost.

Joined army. Came out. Got booted.

Almost a victim of my family.

The psychic said I'd be richer.

Painful nerd kid, happy nerd adult.

Fourteen years old, story untold.

One long train ride to darkness.

Wolf! She cried. No one listened.

I'm my mother and I'm fine.

All day I dream about sex.

I still make coffee for two.

I like girls. Girls like boys.

Never should have bought that ring.

Stranded by ten-thousand-mile crush.

Time heals all wounds? Not quite.

Made a mess. Cleaned it up.

Says deaf boyfriend: You're too quiet.

My family is overflowing with therapists.

Boy, if I had a hammer.

Followed white rabbit, became black sheep.

Followed Yellow Brick Road. Disappointment ensued.

Nerdy girl smutmonger. Now, baby fever.

Recent doctorate means overeducated and underemployed.

Taking a lifetime to grow up.

Bad breaks discovered at high speed.

In the office. It smells here.

I am trying, in every regard.

Happiest when ignoring huge financial debt.

Not pretty enough, so now unemployed.

Mistakes were made, but smarter now.

Likes everything too much to choose.

Curly haired sad kid chose fun.

Now I blog and drink wine.

Egomaniac with inferiority complex defies odds.

I thought I was someone else.

Dancing for now, one day farming.

I grew and grew and grew.

Starving artist. Lucky break. Life downhill.

The Hustle: turn champion into sucker.

I was born 'some assembly required.'

I drank to much last night.

Took scenic route, got a date.

I like big butts, can't lie.

I'm enjoying even this downward dance.

Without ideas, intelligence could not exist!

I hope I outlive my regrets.

All night phone calls complete me.

Tragic childhood can lead to wisdom.

Which comes first: tequila or accident?

A sundress will solve life's woes.

I recognize red flags faster, now.

I sucked even the lobster legs.

Nothing profound, I just sat around.

Others left early: he continued cooking.

Quiet guy; please pay closer attention.

I sell hamburgers and french fries.

the shit invariably hits the fan

and he nerded as never before

tow truck drivers are my psychiatrists

should have used condom that time

infinite calm beset with emotional architecture

won the fight; lost the girl

slightly psychotic, in a good way

found true love after nine months

Afraid of everything. Did it anyway.

I wrote it all down somewhere

lost and found, rescued by dog

afraid of becoming like my mother

What the hell. Might as well.

Hexed: curse of the happy childhood.

Can't tonight, watching Law & Order

my life's a bunch of almosts

It's not you. It's me. Honest.

Thought I would have more impact

this is aggression in pink, bitch

oh, to have just one puff!

at the end of Normal Street

found great happiness in insignificant details

spent life looking for dead people

enjoying my fuck ups too much

an unusual turn of gender circumstances

hiding in apartment knitting against depression

they kissed me and said yes!

always dreamt of kissing pretty girls

everyone who loved me is dead

it was embarrassing, don't ask

Verbal hemophilia. Why can't I clot?

the car accident changed my life

burned my bridges and my britches

Batteries are cheap. Who needs men?

Clueless meets Ophelia, without the suicide.

anything possible--but I was tired

I ate, drank, and was hairy

still have not learned to swim

glass half full; pockets half empty

you are all in my imagination

school geek married a luscious cheerleader

I couldn't protect me from myself

aspiring lady pirate, disillusioned, sells boat

I was and now I'm not.

oh sweet nectar of life, coffee

no shit I'm critical--you're flawed

It's pretty high. You go first.

Wasn't noticed so I painted trains.

running away: best decision I made

when she proposed, I said yes

Nobody knows how I have suffered.

Dweeb, pussy...stronger than anyone knows.

too many lovers--too little time

couldn't cope so I wrote songs

long lost girl recently found, unharmed

born a twin, died a loner

It was worth it, I think.

Dorothy Gale had the right idea

take a left turn, then fly

I was never the pretty one

born at 23, childhood doesn't count

memory was my drug of choice

gay physician designed life-saving AIDS drugs

never lived up to my potential

never really finished anything, except cake

cursed with cancer; blessed with friends

crappy parents killed my self esteem

lonely artist turned waitress in love

my life is just like yours

lucky in everything else except love

I'm just here for the beer

With three cats I'm never unloved

came, saw, conquered, had second thoughts

the weather up here is better

baby dyke now raising two babies

Stoned. Boned. Where am I now?

town car, tailored suit, dirty nails

I fell far from the tree

the image was large with silence

after you jump, the net appears

I colored outside the lines

should not have eaten those mushrooms

Wanked furiously. Married. Furious no more.

even the quietest sounds make noise

many hands have kept me afloat

all of my students hate me

I managed not to destroy anything.

[jessthebaker]

Ugh, Adira, my heart. So many feels here. I get why this chapter took you some extra time to write.

The subtle homage to the original game cast, that took me how many thousands of words to finally pick up on? Brilliant.

Sheep being called the fluffy shits. Bahaha.

The reverence given to Ellie's knife and Joel's watch.

"Whatcha reading, Ellie?" "oh, just porn." made me guffaw.

This, super Dad Joel knowing all about loving fiercely. Ooof:

Spoilers and Maria Appreciation under the cut

I loved the attack, as hard as it is to envision. The allusion to Abby being scared of heights and not knowing that the Roost is uplifted, yes I also wonder if the teens came with a plan and then had to ditch it at the last minute for a new plan? In any case, fuck them kids. Sorry their families got murdered, but fuck off.

Maria seemingly coming around to Joel's particular set of skills after a year of knowing him, and now that his skills are needed in defense of Jackson, she doesn't disapprove.

Side tangent: Maria is a wonderfully complex character and she gets a lot of flak in fandom for being so judgemental of Joel at first, but I appreciate the hard position she's in. Running a functioning town in the middle of nowhere at the end of the world? Keeping her people safe while also helping them regain their humanity? Seeing an older man travelling alone with a young girl, and that man being Big Bad Joel who she's heard about from Tommy? That's a hell of a situation for her to be put into. And you can't tell me any reasonable person in OUR world would ignore that giant red flag. I appreciate Maria so so much. She feels vaguely hypocritical in this particular plot point, and Lark calls her on it, but she's not wrong. Jackson is vulnerable as long as outsiders know of its existence, and she has to consider the safey of the many over the desire to return to a gentler humanity.

And on Joel's return: "He’s taking his time coming down. Doesn’t want to force himself back into a space so safe and quiet after pushing through one so big and mean." - Your prose is so lyrical. Mate. Love it.

Joel apologising to Lark, her gentle redirection of who he really needs to apologise to, and the quiet way it's done and acknowledged without Lark getting involved, yet she sees the results of that conversation later on.

The shadowbox with the watch inside, ready to be taken off a wrist for good (or maybe just for now?), and still being clearly on display and not shoved in a drawer and forgotten, or mourned privately. Everyone in Joel's family knows who the watch signifies and he doesn't hide it away anymore. I think I love this point the most, because he is allowing Sarah to exist in the world again, at peace with her memory, not hiding it away and lashing out at people out for daring to speak her name. He can lay down the burden of keeping her a secret and just...live. Wonderful stuff, Adira.

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 4: Winter

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: Mature.

Warnings: Mentions of sex but nothing explicit. Canon-typical violence, bodily harm, death,  (blood, broken bones, knife wounds, shooting, blunt force) and PTSD.

Summary: Revenge comes calling and you work though it as a family.

A/N: Series set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although it does use some characters/elements from the second game.

I’m so sorry it’s taken this long to get to winter. This one was difficult for me to face writing for reasons that may be made clear. But it was very rewarding. <3

The air is thin and cold this morning, takes your breath and makes a show of it as you quickstep it down to the stables. The sun is just starting to make the frost sparkle and no doubt Goldie will be using up the rest of the firewood at the Roost today.

Good thing you have a Joel who’s ready to chop more.

Although he’s also a Joel that’s forgotten his tea, the “stuff with the things in it” that Willa gave him for the stiffness in his knees. With this cold he’s going to want it today on patrol and the last thing you think you can stand is the tug in your heart when he comes home complaining of the cold and the ache and you sitting warm and cozy with his thermos on the counter when you had the legs to trot it on out to him.

It’s a relief to round the corner and find the patrol party still at the stable gate, Tommy helping one of the teens with their rifle strap, and Joel waiting on horseback, weaving his gloved fingers together, packing them down at the valleys to get his hands all the way in.

He’d laid one of those hands on your cheek this morning. Gentle. First thing you saw when you opened your eyes. Like most mornings now. His thumb rounding the rim of your cheek so he could lean in and take a good long drink of a kiss.

He likes it that way…soft, slow. Likes to pull you in as close as he can, twist his forehead into your temple when he hits his peak, jaw clenched in agonized pleasure, kisses along your jawline when you find yours, his eyes half-lidded and watching you in a hazy awe. He’s quiet but thorough, completely  present like he can’t believe he’s got this little slice of warmth, sighs a hushed curse in your ear and calls you sweetheart in the same breath, and then sleeps like a baby the whole night through.

He doesn’t like to talk about the past much, but listening’s your specialty and it comes out in bits and pieces, stuck between the little he does say. You come to understand that he very rarely got to be very close with anyone while Sarah was growing up. There were the years when everything was a nightmare. Then there was Tess and she brought him out of that, thank goodness. But it took time. And there was also denial and survival and means to their ends. There might indeed have been strong love there. But you have the feeling he’s not had this–or anything like it–for a long, long time.

So if he wants it soft and slow, then who are you to deny him?

Maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising that it was him who pulled you in a little closer.

“What if you didn’t move in with Tommy and Maria this winter?” He’d lingered the morning after Christmas, leaning one shoulder against the frame of your bedroom door, savoring the show of you getting dressed for the day.

“And waste the fuel? Why? So we can cuddle up now and then without your brother down the hall? You keep me plenty warm, Joel Miller, but I’m not going to heat this whole house just for me and your more-than-casual visits. Everyone’s got a responsibility here to conserve in the winter. This is how I do my part. And besides,” you purred as he stepped in to button up your flannel for you, freeing up your fingers so they could run through his curls, “I know where you live and your bed’s good as mine.”

“You seem to like it there well enough.”

“I do.” His beard was growing in all but a patch on his jaw that was now your right to kiss.

“Well I was thinkin’ we just make it ours for the winter.”

His hands had circled your hips and his words had stopped your heart, but there was little for to say with his lips pressed against yours.

So mornings often started as they did today, waking to find Joel beside you, roused because you can feel him watching you with that little half smile that reveals the crack in his weary heart where the light shines through. Who needs spring to come with sunshine like that to turn to? Now there are family breakfasts with Ellie and cozy days knitting in the company of Maria and Riley and then warm nights with Joel on one of those pillowtopped mattresses that were all the rage before the outbreak…the ones that are great when you have a stiff back, but even better because the springs don’t squeak…

“Aw dammit,” Joel says when he sees you nearing the stables with the thermos, “Knew I forgot something.”

“Two somethings,” you say pointing to his bare head and passing your hat up to him in the saddle. “Your ears are already bright red. Here. Take my hat.”

“This’s Ellie’s.”

“Huh. Guess I just grabbed one on my way out. Oops. Be a man. Wear a pompom.”

He pulls it down over his ears and smiles. “Matches my scarf.”

You’d had a small batch of deep red wool you’d managed to squeak a hat and scarf out of and gifting the hat to Ellie around Christmas, but the scarf went to Joel. He may not want anyone to think of him as sentimental, but it was worth your while to make it easy on him by giving him something that was also practical. Even if he had his jacket zipped up all the way, it was always there, tucked around his neck; he may leave his ears to the elements but he never went anywhere without that scarf.

The line of horses start making their way toward the Jackson gates and you squeeze Joel’s shin before stepping out of the way, letting him and his horse follow the group. He simply lets a gloved finger glance your cheek as he passes by.

All the way out here on this side of the apocalypse and humans still have a million variations on saying “I love having you around and I’d like to keep it that way.”

________

“Ellie’s more than welcome around here if you and Joel don’t want to leave her home alone.”

Maria’s lightly bouncing a wet-faced and blubbering Riley on her lap, trying to tempt him with a frozen carrot for his teething. He has tommy’s curls and they sproing with every boing.

“Nah, she wants to come out. We’ll be dividing the ewes and driving part of the flock into the old town for the rest  of the overwinter and she wants to see how it's done. Should see it, if she thinks she’ll be entering the rotation at any point. Speaking of,” you grunt, leaning down to gather your knitting basket and gather your things, “I promised I’d meet her after school. She’s gotten into collecting cassette tapes and the commissary says she’s hit her quota on goods this week. Gonna give up a couple credits so she can discover the wonders of Joan Jett and the Beastie Boys.”

“That’s throwing gas on the fire. She pick those out herself?”

“Nope. My points, my choice. And I say that girl needs to fight for her right to party and put another dime in the jukebox, baby.”

Maria rolls her eyes, chuckles, goes light on the sarcasm. “You’re the coolest auntie.”

“Don’t I know it,” you laugh, tying up your boots.

“Joel’s gonna just love that.”

Leaning in to bop a quick kiss to Riley’s head, you give Maria a crazed grin. “So much.”

Ten minutes later, Ellie has her doubts, holding up a cassette at the commissary. “But there’s a dinosaur on this one! How can it not be great?”

“Listen, missy. I’m not saying Dinosaur Jr. doesn’t have a place in music history, but I’m telling you that you’re likely to be disappointed. Trust me. Just this once.”

Ellie makes a face but you glance past it, distracted by what you see through the window behind her. Following your focus, she turns to look too. “Who’re they?”

All of the patrol horses coming back in have two people on them–a member of the party, and a stranger. And all the strangers can’t be more than teenagers.

“Dunno, but it looks like you’re about to get some new classmates. I’ll sign these out. You go ahead and make a good first impression.”

“You’re just sending me out there because you know if they’re infected, I can’t catch it.”

“If they were infected, they wouldn’t be on those horses or inside those gates. I’m sending you out there because you have a way of reading people. Go.”

Something in that puts a gasp in her throat and a sparkle in her eye and her ponytail whips behind her as she goes, striving to live up to the compliment.

But really, you just want half a minute to take a good look at the kids without Ellie asking questions. They’re all scrawny and filthy. Backpacks. Been traveling and living rough for a while now. Where’d they come from? What’s their story? Not an adult among them. How have they survived? You’d swear something feels off, but that’s the world now. Can’t be too careful. Everything seems off all the time. 

Question is, off by how much?

You find Joel in the group; he’s the only one riding with a kid in front of him rather than hanging on behind. And once he gets down off the horse and reaches up to help his passenger down, you can see why.

She’s pregnant.

Shit. She’s what, fifteen? Sixteen?

Shit.

“There’s a house up near mine has good plumbing turned on.” Tommy’s speaking over his shoulder to the small group and leading his horse to the stable door as you come out of the commissary. “We’ll get you all washed up and fed. There’s at least two beds there and some other furniture fit to sleep on if it makes you comfortable to stay together. Give me a minute to put Lady away here and we’ll walk on up together. Joel? A word?”

Handing off the pregnant girl’s backpack to her, Joel takes the reins of his horse and follows his brother inside, leaving the newcomers to look around them and take in the town.

All but one. A girl with hair that’s neither light brown or dark blonde, somewhere in between. Your mother would have called it dirty dishwater blonde and you always thought that was rude. But your mother also would have said the girl had a hatchet of a face with a strong jaw like that. And it’s that girl whose head whips around the second she heard Joel’s name, quickly scanning the patrol to ascertain who belonged to it, and stands watching the stable door in thought long after the Miller brothers were gone.

Was Joel her father’s name? Her brother’s? Is it hers or close to hers? Is she a Jo or Joelle?

“Abby. Hey,” a boy calls and she turns. “Mel should get a bed and we can share. Manny and Nora can share too…if you’re okay with taking a couch.”

“Fine,” Abby says. Her eyes and mouth all unmoving lines.

“Hey. Welcome to Jackson. I’m Ellie.” Your starling jams her hands in her pockets as all the new eyes turn her way. “It looks like you’ve been wandering. Where you coming from?”

The boy who spoke before blinks and opens his mouth to say something, hesitates. You’d take him for the leader up until the moment Abby speaks for him.

“West of here. QZ. Seattle.”

“Oh. Cool,” says Ellie with a bounce to her nod. Easy. Instantly welcoming. “I came out of Boston.”

Seattle QZ. The same one your dead husband and his sister came from. Not a good place. Warring factions and nothing but oppression and disease, last you heard. Good that they got out. They’re gonna need to be de-loused. 

But Seattle’s also much harder than most zones to break free of. You’ve been told the Western Liberation Front makes FEDRA look like a bucket of clowns.

“Seattle?” Now it’s your turn to pull focus from the group. “We’ve had refugees from there before. You really get out of there in one group like this? With no grown ups?”

Abby rips her eyes away from Ellie. “It’s a long story,” she says, shutting the questioning down.

There’s a moment that hangs between you and that stinks faintly of threat, but is mostly just the smell of feral kids. Tension breaks as the men emerge from the stable.

“We all ready?” Tommy says, making his way down the road and waving a hand for them to follow. “New home’s this way.”

Ellie starts to fall in with the group and you pull her back in close, speak low. “Go with them if you want, but keep your distance.”

“What? Why?”

“These are your first refugees. You’ll learn that they sometimes bring things with ‘em.”

Her face screws into a question mark. “What things?”

“Fleas. Lice. Viruses. Just give ‘em some space for a while.”

After the quickest flash of disgust, Ellie’s tried and true compassion kicks in and she gives an understanding nod as she turns to go, tape cassettes clattering in her jacket pocket.

You keep watching her even as you speak to the owner of the hand snaking around your waist. “Where’d you find them?”

“Up at the old crossing. They were under attack.”

“Jesus.”

“Nope. Infected.”

“Been a while since we’ve seen any of those stumble through here.”

“Infected? Or the kids.”

Turning to him in exasperation you look him over. “Both. And the same goes for you as for Ellie, Foxy. Let’s take you home and wash that scarf and hat. Run a fine-toothed comb through that hair just to make sure.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he says, stopping when he catches your zero-temperature glare. If it’s something else you love about Joel, he recognizes when something’s important to you and answers a lady with composure and respect. “Yes, ma’am.”

____

“You couldn’t have found her some Cash or Fleetwood Mac or something?”Joel grumbles into the fireplace as he places another log on the coal bed and moves the poker around like he’s doing something.

Ellie sits on a blanket near the fire, reading a comic book, headphones on, Joan Jett’s grinding guitar bleeding out into the otherwise quiet living room. With his face turned to the fire and Ellie facing away from you, she most likely can’t hear the conversation that’s happening around her if you keep your voices low.

“You’re just jealous that she asked me to pick something out instead of you,” you smile on the couch, picking up your feet and swinging them into his lap as he sits down beside you. “80’s rock is good for her spiky little soul.”

“80’s means trouble,” he counters, considering her as his hands absently squeeze and rub at your feet.

You go back to your book. Seemingly anyway. It’s easy to steal observing glances from where you are. The thoughtful concern he has for Ellie. You can see him looking over the wood in the hopper and calculating how many days of fuel he has before you all head out to the Roost. A twist of a lip tells you he’s realized he might be a day short and needs to chop more. His gaze drops to his lap as he lightly massages your feet–just running his hands along their contours, pressing a thumb in here and there to tenderize a muscle. The firelight loves him, plays at the edges of his curls, slides down his nose, kisses the purse of his lips.

You jump as he slides a tickling fingertip up the sole of one foot. “Hey!”

“What you get for staring.”

“I wasn’t staring at you, I was reading.”

“Must be pretty small print you don’t turn a page for five minutes.”

Taking off your readers and closing the book, you sit up and deposit them on the coffee table. From here it’s easy to scoot up to him and lean an elbow on the couch back. “What’s got you so thinky tonight, hmm? You look like you’ve got your worry pants on.” There’s a curl right behind his ear that’s so easy to twirl in your fingers and you indulge. You’ve found a little touch helps him open up.

“I can’t help thinking about those kids, thinkin’ they could just wander out in the world like that. If it weren’t for us hearing the runners….” He goes quiet a minute and you let him, his gaze haunting Ellie’s direction but living somewhere in the past. “They gotta be somebody’s kids. I can’t believe Seattle’s so bad they just let ‘em run wild…let ‘em run away from the best you got for ‘em.”

A faint guitar blares from Ellie’s headphones as she flips a page, purses her lips, absently nods along.

“Yeah, well teenagers rebel, Foxy. That’s what they do.”

“No,” he says, softly, resolutely, a tick of his jaw. “Not all of ‘em. Not if they’re loved. And fiercely. And I don’t know a love that isn’t fierce.”

It’s the look on his face that makes you believe him.

Love isn’t a word that Joel bandies about. It’s easy to see it work in him. The way he tells Ellie no when she wants to do something reckless but promises her something just as exciting, going to any length to make her smile. The way he holds Riley’s head in the crook of his arm, his other hand reflexively coming out in defense if anyone gets too near the baby’s soft spot. The way he shoves his brother with a laugh when Tommy picks on him or how he helps Maria to her feet when she’s been on the floor too long, even if she says she doesn’t need it.

The way he… with you he…

His hands work at your feet again. He understands the minute levels of his strength, knows how firm to go without bringing pain.

With you, it’s the way he rolls over and shows you his soft places, invites you in to be a part of it.

Not really what you’d call fierce. Does that mean he doesn’t–

“Is a cherry bomb like a little bomb or a big bomb?” Ellie asks, an earpad pulled away from her ear and spilling Cherie Currie’s stuttered chorus.

“It’s a little one. A firework. But it packs a big punch. It’ll take your fingers off. Hello, world, I’m your wild girl, I’m your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch cherry bomb,” you sing, pushing your foot against Joel’s thigh with every beat. 

“Alright, that’s it,” he says, wrapping a big hand around your ankle to secure it. “Ellie, run on up and get my guitar. Lemme teach you a better song.”

In the minute it takes for her to come back, Joel foregoes softness for force, tickling relentlessly, almost ending up with a foot in his face with how much you squirm.

___

Church isn’t really your thing, never was. You have your own way of listening to the beauty of the earth that doesn’t mean sacrificing a morning sleeping in to listen to lessons you’ve already learned and hold true.

But today you’ve come to the after-brunch curious to welcome the new residents and managed to show up a little early. So you’re standing in the back of the mess hall with Maria and Riley, waiting for the final hymn to end, for the preacher to call an end to the service and a beginning to the meal.

Maria leans in and murmurs in your ear as the final chorus comes. “Tommy and the crew are working on one of those bigger houses with the vaulted ceilings in the new district so the church can have its own building.”

“They’re not gonna like having to walk over there.”

She shrugs, adjusts Riley’s teething toy and bounces him up a notch. “Might cause some of them to move over there. Thin out the density. Easier on the power grid. We do have five new residents.” 

You watch as one of the new boys–Owen–helps the pregnant Mel to her feet. “Soon to be six.”

Once the kitchen starts serving, Owen and Mel find their way over to your table, eager to meet Riley and ask Maria all kinds of questions about childbirth and your friend finds herself in a mentoring role she didn’t ask for. She’s not opposed to being helpful, just lets her judgment slide through on the whole babies having babies thing which completely flies over the kids’ heads.

They’re good enough kids, but something tastes a little sour when Owen tries to include you in the conversation.

“What about you? You and…is his name Joel? You gonna have any kids?”

It’s a rude question. He’s earned your side eye and he knows it, but smiles through it, playing innocent.

“Already got one. One’s enough,” you laugh, sly, chewing through some boiled oats and letting him know you’re gonna let that one slide.

“Oh, yeah, right. Ellie, right?” he asks, with a flick of his eyes to a table behind you. Turning, you find Abby at a table with some other residents and when you turn back it’s with a dry expression that tells him he’s worn out his turns at beating the bush and should be out with it.

“We just were wondering if she’d show us around,” Mel explains. “She’s the only one of the children here who will talk to us.”

You snort. “Don’t let Ellie hear you call her a child. She’s short for her age, but she’s not much younger than you. She likes people, but that won’t win you any points.”

“And don’t worry about the other kids,” Maria takes over, shooting you a look. “They’ll come around. A lot of them were born here and they don’t see a ton of new people.”

“Are they not coming to the brunch today?” Owen asks.

“Who?”

“Ellie and Joel.”

Shaking your head, you swallow your latest bite. “Joel and Tommy are off getting some work done in the new sector and Ellie would bite my face off if I woke her up before high noon on a weekend. But she knows where you’re staying. I’ll send her around to you once she’s up and acting like a whole human.”

You’re about to change the subject and ask them a few questions of your own but Riley starts fussing and Mel asks to hold him and the whole baby talk starts up again.

When you look over your shoulder, Abby is gone from the table. Left her dish for someone else to clean up.

There’s a thought creeps in that maybe Ellie can teach them all some manners. And then you remember the mouth on your starling and smile.

____

“And Owen showed me some of his drawings and they’re so amazing. He’s like a fucking Picasso or something. He says he’ll give me lessons if I can get Mr. Scowlface here to take him out hunting. Says he misses hunting deer with his dad. And Abby wants to go too. I told her how you taught me to use a shotgun and she seemed really interested to learn. She might want to join the patrols some day. But I told them not this week since we’re going out to the Meadow and they all had questions about that. Abby especially–” 

Ellie has a remarkable talent for chewing and talking at the same time. She catches a piece of apple that escapes her mouth, slurping it off the back of her hand where it landed, then downs the rest of the milk and wipes her mouth with the cuff of her sweater, leaving you to negate your silent praise of her manners from earlier in the week and giving you a break in the chatter to speak.

“Well, you’re a little young to be recruiting your own Roostlings, but if Abby or any of the others want to come out sometime and see what the fuss is about, they’re welcome. I’d rather them wait until spring though, or at least until we get the whole of the flock back from the deep winter holding grounds. Chickadee’s taking up the caboose on that.”

As you push the carafe of chicory coffee toward Joel and clear the breakfast plates, Ellie snatches the last hunk of bread you left on yours, shaking her head. “Abby’s afraid of heights. Didn’t even have time to tell her about the Roost being up on stilts. What’s a caboose?”

Joel scoffs. “Last car on a train.” He takes a long, loud drag of his coffee, pouring on the annoyance to get a glare out of the girl and succeeds. “Well, if she don’t like heights, she’s not going to enjoy learning patrol duty either, not with the watchtowers and the mountain trails. And don’t go promising services you can’t guarantee. I’m not a scout leader.”

“What’s a scout leader?”

“Someone with a lot more patience than me. Get.”

Taking up her backpack, Ellie makes her way to the front vestibule to pull on her gear.

“Don’t forget your hat and scarf!” You call to her, but smile at Joel as you perch your butt against the table and tuck a little curl behind his ear. He’ll ask you to cut it soon. And you’ll put it off for as long as possible.Tickles, he'll say. I know, you'll say.

“Thanks, Gramma Betty!” she calls back and pulls the door shut behind her as Joel lays a warm hand on your outer thigh.

“What’er you getting up to today?” he asks.

You shrug. “I’m in carding mode. Got a whole bag of washed fleece needs combing. I’d ask you what you’re up to, but I assume you and Tommy are gonna be tearing down some poor old house.”

There’s a moment where he squints, thiinking. His thumb tracing the outer seam of your jeans. 

“I want you to come with me. Got something to show you.”

“Really. Well I like the sound of that. I could use a little walk in the bitter cold with a mystery at the end of it. Gonna have to go pull on a heavier sweater though. Might need to take this one off first. You wanna come watch?”

There’s a knock at the front. Tommy. The door opening.

Joel only grins fondly and pats your thigh, sending you off, before pushing the chair back from the table and separating himself from his coffee mug. “I’ll catch the later show. ‘Specially if it calls for audience participation.”

Five minutes later, bundled and booted, the three of you head out toward the new section, Joel with his scarf tucked in tight and hat pulled down low, and Tommy with a set forced upon him because you’re quickly becoming the winter clothing police around here.

It’s not a long walk. Jackson was never more than a few miles wide and this is just the first expansion of the wall. You’ve wandered over during the construction crew’s activities enough to know the way without being led, but what you’re expecting is for Joel to lead you away from the furthest street, away from the beautiful A-frame house so neatly repaired along with its pretty neighbors and up the street with Tommy to the next clutch of houses they’ve been working on. 

But instead, Joel tells his brother he’ll be along in a minute, and Tommy smiles knowingly as he continues on, leaving the two of you in the walkway up to the pretty A-frame that’s so much like the Roost’s bigger sister.

“You know what today is?” Joel asks, hands in pockets, squinting up at the peaked roof.

“Friday?”

“Probably,” he says, shifting focus to his boots. “I was thinking more holiday-wise.”

The air’s particularly crisp today, hitches in your lungs as you take each mental step and catch up with him.

February 14. Valentine’s.

As your mouth drops open, he jerks his chin at the house. “You like this one, right?”

“What…what are you….Joel?”

There’s a cringe that belies his confidence, maybe a tinge of regret. “I just figured we were gettin’ along so well, that maybe you’d… It was just an idea–”

He can’t even look you in the eye until you yank his hand awkwardly out of his pocket and wrap your gloved hand around his. He seems almost shocked to see your tears welling up–true, half from the cold–but he’s also relieved. Big breath in, big breath out. That must have been the hard part.

Words aren’t Joel’s way. This is how he tells you just how deep his feelings go. You know he’s had time to imagine with every window replaced, every floorboard leveled out, every load bearing wall reinforced,  just which family was going to get to live in this house and what kind of life they might make in it.

What kind of life you might make together here.

So you take his lead and say only what’s necessary, as steadily as you’re able. 

“Take me inside.”

His sheepish grin confirms that it was exactly what he’d hoped to hear.

The interior’s simple, but gorgeous. The dark wood gleams, and the whole back wall of the A frame is windowed. The triangle at the top replaced with a leaded stained glass in a sunrise of orange and rose that reflects the undertones in the timber inside and the pines out the window, the mosaic just high enough to catch the last rays that will come in over the mountains at the end of the day and turn the whole place into a dream. The open floorplan has the kitchen near the door, but over by the windows….

Joel gives the tour. The hand-laid stones in the fireplace. The built-in shelves for your books. This is the corner where your favorite chair can go, nearest the fire and where there’s good light for spinning. This rug was here, still good. He points out to the little shed in the back–a place for wool dying, he can hang pegs in there however you need them.

If he weren’t so occupied in explaining the wood he chose to finish the countertop, the way he followed the original dovetailing in the doorframe, the pattern he made with the reclaimed wood in the floorboards, he may have seen you admiring the most important part of the house…or, rather, the most important person in it.

There’s more. Two bedrooms, one off each side of the main part of the house, each with its own bathroom, the larger one with its own porch overlooking a little creek.

“The basement’s not quite done, but I figure I’ll just use that for my own. Felt you might not like the…vibe…”

Ah yes. The former owners. He took care of that too. 

He took care of everything.

“I love it, Joel.”

“Yeah?”

“If there was a stronger word, it would be yours, believe me.”

He only wraps his arms around you as you dive in to squeeze him.

“Good,” is all he says. Breathes in the scent of your hair. “That’s good.”

________

The ewes hate the leader ropes, but they follow, bleating now and then as you slowly guide them through the woods toward the Meadow’s north entrance. Joel’s got two behind his and Ellie’s horse, and you’ve got four behind yours, a small party, but the only ones that were ready to come on back out after the coldest weeks.

Goldie’s happy to lead them out to the rest of the flock while you and Joel go up and get situated, get warm, get ready for the week ahead. Ellie follows Goldie and Joel hangs his watch by the door. All’s quiet in the Roost.

Until Joel’s tongue clicks. “That beam is bowing,” he points up to one of the main rafter struts on the far side of the room. “Wood stove keeps this side warm and the snow melts off, but there’s no balcony on the other side. No way to rake the snow off the roof. Tommy should have known better.”

“Well it’s not like he’s had a lot of practice with big boy tree forts, I’m guessing,” you say, dumping a sack of potatoes near the cook pile and throwing the stack of fresh sheets onto the bed. “Does it need to come down?”

“Don’t think so. But come spring we’ll add on another balcony and do some reinforcement.”

As he runs his hand up the wall seam, you come up behind him, hugging him from the back with the sole purpose of distracting him, your way of letting him know he’s obsessing like an old man. It gives you the right angle to grab onto his open jacket and start pulling it off him. “Take this off and stay awhile.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Goldie takes her leave on your horse, guiding Joel and Ellie’s behind, glad to be going back to more warm water than she can heat on a stovetop, and Ellie helps to cart a few buckets of the colder variety up from the stream so you can all just stay in for the night.

Then it’s stew and cards, and Ellie kicking Joel’s ass at Scrabble, all of you bundled in wool sweaters and slippers handmade by you and Chickadee, the firelight glinting off the game tiles, highlighting the glee in the girl’s eyes, the resigned agony in Joel’s smile.

Almost a whole year now she’s been coming out here with you, and it’s wondrous how much she’s grown inside and out. You never felt lonely at the Roost, in fact, you had always very much enjoyed the solitude. Now you don’t think you could abide it. It’s only a home for a week at a time, but only when they come out here with you now.

It’s a nice night. Stars are out. Ellie’s still staring out at them as you and Joel fall asleep in the big bed.

_____

It’s the scent of woodsmoke that wakes you in the middle of the night, sitting you up straight in bed. Or so you think, except that the embers in the stove are low, so it can’t be that. 

No. It’s a voice outside.

“Burn in hell, Joel Miller!”

Is that…Ellie? What’s she doing outside? No. Not Ellie. No it’s–

“Abby?” Ellie says blearily from the bunk above you.

There’s someone in the room moving swiftly toward you from the windows, hulking, with a rifle–

Joel.

“Get up. Both of you. Get out. The place is on fire.” 

It doesn’t register.

“What? What fire? Joel? What’s happening–”

He shakes your shoulder, pulling you from the bed. “Get Ellie out. Now!”

There’s no other thought, just fumbling in the dark as Ellie jumps down beside you and dives for her jacket, shoving her feet into her boots without doing up the laces while you reach out one hand to catch hers for when it comes to you. The other gropes the near table for the walkie and thumbs the button.

“Meadowlark to patrol. Meadowlark to Goldfinch. We’re in trouble, there’s a fire and–”

The whole cabin sways. A gunshot from the balcony. Joel growling over his shoulder. “Get out! Now!”

“Joel–!”

“NOW!”

The ladder is still sliding down into place when you jump on it and ride it part of the way down, still waking up as Ellie’s boots come fast, almost kicking you in the face as she follows you down the rungs two at a time, moving through a plume of choking blackness only to come out below it to a roaring bonfire that’s eating through the Roost’s supports.

Oh god. The Roost…

is burning….

“JOELLLLLL!” you scream up as your stocking feet hit the ground hard, as you catch Ellie and pull her off the ladder and stumble backward, as something hits your head hard and causes you to let go, as separate sets of arms grab each of yours and drag you roughly backward, fast enough to keep your feet from catching up until you’re on your knees.

There’s a crackle in the air– “Patrol to Meadowlark. What’s the trouble?” 

The walkie lies somewhere in the pine needles just out of reach and you’re screaming at it for help but all that comes out of your mouth is a string of names and no’s and helps. You’re able to yank your non-dominant arm free, pitching forward, clawing for the radio, until a flash of hard silver–a meteorite, exquisitely dense and smooth, malignant, swift, direct–cracks down on your forearm with a sickening thud, shattering the bone.

The world slides out of focus through a screen of sudden pain.

At first, you assume you’ve been shot in the arm. But then a figure steps around to your line of sight. Abby. With a golf club? What? Why? Where did she get that? The commissary? Why the fuck would they stock golf clubs? What the fuck is going on? 

And you watch as Abby picks up the walkie. Tosses it into the fire.

The hands are back upon you now, forcing you back to your knees, and a third set joins them, wrapping around your forehead and chin, pulling you back against a belly and you struggle.

Where’s Ellie.

You’re able to twist your head to one side despite being held. She’s there on the ground, face down, groaning, with Owen’s knee in her back.

“Ellie? Honey?”

One pair of hands holding you twists you hard, meaning to pull you further away from her without compliance from the other hands or consent from your muscle structure and there’s a sickening pop as your shoulder leaves its socket and then your scream drowns out everything even the roar of the fire.

“She keeps it in her pocket,” Abby says. Rooting into Ellie’s pocket, Owen finds the knife and pulls it out–the one she cherishes, imbued with the legend of her mother, given to her on the same day as her name, her life, and her orphanhood.

The day Ellie told you the story, you’d taken steel wool to the knife and cleaned it. Oiled the hinge. Shined it up good and pretty.

It flips open easily in Owen’s paw. It twirls swiftly around, and points downward, his fingers closing over the hilt, thumb curling over the butt of the handle to give it more leverage when he’s ready to bring it down.

The night is horribly black and lit along the edges in orange fire.

There’s a loud crack. Owen’s thigh explodes in a splatter of blood and he falls backward off Ellie, screaming. The hands around your head let go and Mel runs to him.

Joel stalks out of the plume of black smoke, cocking the rifle, pointing only long enough at Owen to confirm he’s down and then swinging the barrel around to Abby.

A stand off. No sound or movement but the whoosh of flames and a few ground-muffled cries from Owen, a few sniffles and shushes from Mel.

“Who the fuck are you,” Joel growls out over the steel barrel, his cheek quivering in barely hinged anger.

Abby stands, solid, unyielding, straight as the blonde braid hanging down her back, club wound up tight, ready for the pitch, a face full of lines and soot and destruction.

“The last survivors of the Firefly massacre. You didn’t think to check the rest of the compound? Like the whole team was just one-offs? Like none of them had family, you sick fuck? You fucking orphaned us. Left us to fend for ourselves. Go ahead and shoot, old man. Marlene always said you weren’t so good at keeping kids alive, actually surprised you got as far as you did. So go ahead. Not like we’ve got nothing to lose. We just came to return some favors and finish the job.”

It’s only in the moments later, before the dawn, when you’re laying on your back looking up at the stars, one arm laying broken and useless in the snow beside you, the other cradling a weeping Ellie Williams as tight as you can, that you’ll be able to slow the film of your memory and play out the next thirty seconds frame by frame.

The series of snaps and cracks as the support under the Roost gave way and the whole structure tumbled out and away from the scene, pulling several pines down with it, the crashing and burning the only sound you remember now.

Ellie trying to shuffle along the ground toward you and away from the fire.

Owen pulling himself up enough to raise the knife and bring it down into the meat of Ellie’s calf.

Owen’s body flying backward as a bullet ripped through his skull.

A wrench of your neck and the warm splash of blood from above you as another shot rang out, one person holding you falling away and back, gone, but still pulling you down with their dead body.

The roar of an angry Abby and the clank of a club shaft on a rifle barrel.

Another gunshot.

The sound of metal hitting flesh.

Thirty seconds. And now you can see the stars. Orion. The Milky Way.

Somehow you’re lying yards from the little patch of burning trees with Ellie cradled in your good arm. Someone dragged you here.

There are voices and flashlights. The patrol. Bear and Tommy. Goldie and Willa and Chickadee.

And Maria. Laying on the ground beside you, exhausted from the effort of dragging two humans out of the burning thatch of trees.

“Joel. Where’s Joel.” It hurts to speak. Breath comes fast and shallow.

Then he’s there with the others, a bruise blooming purple beneath his eye, saying only what scant words he needs to move past them and get to you. To Ellie. 

His hands are gentle, but his eyes are cold.

Two still, black pools reflecting fire.

_______

Perhaps unsurprisingly, you dream of Troy, his mangled face open and bleeding, laying in the hole next to Ash, mutilated, stopped at the moment of transformation into something more sinister, your ex-husband and his sister lost to you because they were headstrong, foolish, too devoted to each other….

Ash’s eyes open, what’s left of them anyway. “Abby’s afraid of heights. Didn’t even have time to tell her about the Roost being up on stilts. What’s a caboose?”

They didn’t know the Roost was elevated. They followed us out here and didn’t have a good plan. Is that it?

They don’t answer. They get up and climb out of the hole, turn their backs on your and walk into the forest. You call after them, desperate to have them back after all this time, begging them not to leave you.

But you’re calling after them wrong. You can’t seem to say Troy. You can’t say Ash.

You’re only calling out for Joel and Ellie.

_____

The next thing you know, you’re sitting up in the snow, leaning against Goldie, the girl patting at your cheek as you’re coming around. “Come on, come on back, baby.”

The sun’s up, but not high enough to breach the mountains circling the meadow. Everything’s still lit by the slowly dying flames.

The one two punch of Willa setting the bone and popping your shoulder back in must have sent you off. Looking down, you see you must have thrown up as well. 

“Holy shit,” you groan, “I’m sorry. Oh my god, holy shit that hurts.”

“I know, I know,” says Goldie, smoothing your hair and kissing your forehead. 

“Here,” says Willa, handing you some dark root. You forget what it’s called, you just know you gotta chew. “Don’t swallow,” she reminds you. “You ride with Goldie. She’ll keep you upright once that sets in.”

“I gotta get up,” you mumble, struggling to stand and inhaling sharply at the twinge of pain the movement brings to your bandaged and immobilized arm. Goldie’s able to help get you up, but seems hesitant to let you go. “Ain’t nothing wrong with my feet, lemme go. Where’s Ellie?”

But you don’t need to ask, she’s just behind you, laying on her back in the snow, one arm flung over her eyes, breathing heavy to manage the pain, leg bandaged and tourniqueted.

Good. Next priority. “Where’s Joel?”

Goldie points to the fire. It’s starting to die down, enough to make out the bodies of three teenagers consigned to the flames. Past them, the group of the regular patrol. Joel shaking his head at them, speaking. Jacket zipped up to the top, no scarf, no hat; probably got left behind in the Roost. Rifle over one shoulder. A backpack over the other.

But not his backpack. Why would he have someone else’s backpack? Why would he have one at all…

He’s…. No.

Pushing off Goldie, you immediately find out that walking is hard. Even if the pain’s just in one arm, everything’s connected, everything hurts; it’s disorienting. Your knees are bruised and even your soft sleep pants feel like sandpaper on them. Feet cold and wet, no boots…

Joel sees you struggling to get to him and walks away from the group and the fire, meeting you partway, catching your good arm as your fist falls hard on his shoulder and yanks, fingers digging in hard to his coat, doing your best to hold on tight, to keep him here, to convince him not to go.

“Don’t you dare, Joel Miller. What do you think you’re fucking doing???”

He says nothing, only lets you collapse onto his chest, to sob. There’s not even an arm to comfort you, he gives you nothing but the bare necessity, a wall to keep you standing, and you know nothing you say will make a difference. In essence, he’s already gone.

“Please. Joel. Don’t. Please don’t go.”

“Trail’s fresh. Best to get on before it snows and covers the tracks. One of them’s the pregnant girl. One of them’s bleedin’. They can’t get that far.”

“You don’t have to. Just come home.”

“They’ll just come back. Maybe not soon, but someday.”

He’s right. You know he’s right. Stepping back, it hurts to look at him. The Joel you love has been asked to step aside, the care and fondness he’s come to show you locked up somewhere secure, somewhere where it won’t get in the way. 

I warned you, this Joel seems to say, void of emotion, jaw set, brow even and low, hand on the strap of his rifle. You took me in knowing exactly what I am.

He’s right.

“I need you here, Joel. Ellie needs you here. Don’t you dare go…unless you can come back.”

“I need you here too. ‘S why I’m going.”

Nothing. No kiss goodbye, no waiting for approval, he just turns and walks. 

Maybe this is the last of it, just one last loose thread, then he can finally leave off wandering, finally shake off the killer and just come home, just be your Joel.

Convincing yourself of this is the only choice you’ve got.

________

You find yourself out on Maria’s back porch that night. Unable to sleep from the ache of the mending bone and the swell of your assaulted shoulder, it seemed like the best remedy was to find the toughest jerky in the kitchen, to sit on the porch in the cold and chew through the pain, and to lean back in one of the porch chairs with a soothing snowpack between it and your back.

The moonlight plays illusions like the canteen filmstrips–a summer image of Tommy and Joel teaching Ellie the mechanics of tackle football. The twinkle of the fireflies lending veritas to the picture…which in reality is only the twinkle of a dusting of new snow.

Not enough snow to make tracking impossible, but enough to make it difficult.

The back door opens and a blanket lands over your lap.

“Was gonna ask you if you wanted company, but then I decided, it’s my house and you don’t get a choice.”

Maria plops her own blanket in a nearby chair before disappearing and returning with two steaming mugs of tea as offering for the table between you. She takes her time covering you just so before wrapping herself up and joining you on the porch. “Suppose I should have asked if you want that cold pack changed before I get too comfortable,” she says, not really offering, but leaving the suggestion there between you if you need it.

It’s not necessary to talk for a while. She knows exactly what you’re thinking. Sees what you see.

“Did I wake you?”

“No. Riley did,” she lies. You’d heard her shift when you got up from the bed–her bed, well, hers and Tommy’s. But hers and yours for now.

“Thanks for taking care of us.”

“You say that like you’re not my family.”

“Well then, thanks for staying behind as if you are.” 

It’s hard to see her out of the corner of your eye, backed by dark shadows. But the moon plays little crescents on her face, the curve of her nose, her cheek, her chin. Her voice comes out velvet from the dark.

“I know you’re pissed at Joel for going, but he’s doing the right thing.”

Now you make the effort to turn, rotating more from the waist than the neck to save the injury from twinging, but it does anyway, mirroring your spike in irritation. “Really? You think so? Is that why you sent Tommy with him? After all that time you spent bemoaning the things Joel made Tommy do all those years ago–”

“This is different. This is about the greater good.”

“You know that’s what the villain always says, right?”

She presses her lips together, hating that you’re right. “Okay, so maybe not the greatest good for the morality of the remainder of the human race, but. For the good of Jackson.”

“Two grown men hunting down two teenage girls is the greater good.”

“They won’t be teens forever. They’ve both got reasons to come back for their revenge. And now they know where Jackson is. They get taken in by the wrong people, and then the wrong people will know where Jackson is too and when they come back they won’t be alone. They’ll know exactly how many and what kind of folk to bring.” She holds your gaze for a few seconds, steady and wise but also warning, her warmth only thinly veiling the matronly protectress behind it, like a Durga on her throne. “You know why we have patrols. You know what happens to people that get too close. Two more drops in the bucket is all.”

“Three. One of those little girls is pregnant.”

She has no answer to this. Rather, your dig brings no new argument to the table. It’s just words, just a fact on the wind. It doesn’t sway the needle one way or the other.

It’s exactly what you’d been thinking about, staring up at her bedroom ceiling. Then out here on the porch. It’s like she knew you needed to hear the justification out loud.

“They would have killed him, lady. And Ellie. And you. I’m surprised you don’t want them hunted down like dogs.”

You turn your attention to the back yard, the smallest hump of leaves under the big tree there not quite scattered to the wind, sparkling with snow cover. You can almost still hear Ellie’s high laughter as it sounded the day she experienced her first leaf pile.

“Oh, I want them run down,” you say. “I’m all for that, let ‘em eat lead. I just didn’t want…” It’s not really necessary to continue. Maria knows exactly what you want. She always does. That’s why she sent Tommy with him. To keep him tethered to humanity.

To the way Joel watched Ellie jump and disappear into a poof of leaves. The sun in his smile. At peace. At home. Free from the old violence. Reborn.

I just didn’t want Joel to be the one to do it.

______

Maria’s dinner table feels empty. Funny, you think, it was always the two of you. For a while there was four, what with Troy and Ash, but most of the time just the two. Then Tommy. Then Joel and Ellie. Now Riley…well, that is, if he’s still up during family dinner.

You’ve slept through most of the light of day and was hoping to talk to Ellie at dinner, but Maria’s been taking all her meals to the guest room for her. Mostly so she doesn’t have to walk down the stairs on her healing leg, but also because Ellie’s not been talking since that night.

And you can guess why. It has less to do with the injury and assault or the fire, and more about the truths she learned during them. 

Not much to do. The arm has to stay stable, strapped to your body. At least they fucked up the non-dominant one so you can still hold a fork, still brush your teeth. But knitting? Spinning? Helping Maria clear the dishes? Fat chance.

Not much to do but chew root, smoke wild weed, and sleep it off.

Maria reappears with a plate needs washing. “There’s a break in the clouds. I got three whole words out of her. This might be your chance.”

“Oh. Joy.” It’s getting to be less of an effort to stand now that you’ve got rest and food in you. The stairs are daunting only because of the conversation that waits at the top.

A knock on her door only grants you silence.

“I’m coming in, Starling girl. Best not be naked.”

No answer. You take that as the opposite of opposition. Tolerance.

She’s sitting on the bed, propped up by pillows behind her back and under her knee, her bandages freshly changed, no more blood pooling or free bleeding. She plays with the cuffs of her sweater, tugging at a loop in the knit, a book abandoned by her side as if she’d put it down when you knocked. A good sign. She doesn’t want to hide.

You crawl in beside her, awkwardly, one-handedly, a big showy sigh of relief when you finally land. “You know, if I was your mom, I’d probably start off with ‘what’cha reading there, kiddo?’ just to get you to say something, but I’m not your mom and I’m not here to make you talk if you don’t wanna–”

“Well I don’t.”

“Good. I didn’t come up here to hear you yap anyway.” You detect the tiniest twitch of her cheek, not quite a smile, perhaps a sneer…to scare away a smile. “Don’t talk, just listen.”

“I don’t wanna do that either.”

“Tough titties. I’m cashing in exchange for all the time I had to listen to you go on about Sally Fucking Ride.”

Now she does smile. Barely. Gives you the teenager face you wanna slap sometimes. “Tough titties? Really?”

“They didn’t have tough titties in the orphanage? Seems off-brand.” The smile fades. “Tell me how you’re healing. I’m not asking, I’m demanding.”

A big breath in. But the air doesn’t come rushing back with a dramatic sigh, just melts out of her with a single tear she doesn’t move to brush away.

So you do. “That bad, huh.”

“It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks so bad.”

“Heh, tell me about it. I miss the good old days of ibuprofen. Shit. I miss morphine. You’re young though, you’ll be up and running in a week or two. Me? I’m gonna be aching for–”

“He fucking lied through his teeth.”

Ah. There it is.

Now the colony of tears follows the first scout, pouring out over the plains of her cheeks until she covers her face with those cuffs she’s been picking at, relieved at being able to let it all out in front of someone who might understand, but probably scared as hell to let herself be this messed up in front of someone who might not. A gamble.

And a win. You’ve still got one good arm and you put it to good use, pulling her into your side. “Yeah, you’re right. He totally did. He’s a fucking asshole. Why the hell would he do that.”

“It wasn't time that did it,” she hiccups from under her woolen cuffs.

“I don’t know what that means, Starling” you say, unable to stop yourself from kissing the crown of her head.

She wipes her nose and comes up for air. “I mean I know why. But he fucking lied about everything. Straight to my face.”

“Well, you’ve got every right to demand an explanation and an apology when he comes back. Straight to his face.”

“If he comes back.”

You let that sit a moment between you. It’s her way of saying that she knows you’re mad at him too, that she heard the conversation you had with him when he left. It’s her way of poking at your own fears and getting you on her side.

“Those girls aren’t armed and the Miller boys have a lot more experience with being hunters than those kids do being prey. He’ll be back.”

“I hate him.”

“I know. But also. You don’t.”

“I had a… a purpose. A fucking purpose.”

“Well….I know you did, but…probably not so much as you think.” She looks up at you but you can’t meet her eye, she’s right to mourn, and you can’t deny her that. “Remember what I told you about my sister and her treatments?”

“The research hospital.”

“Yeah. Cancer’s been killing people on this earth far longer than cordyceps and they’d had millions of patients to test on. Still couldn’t crack it. How many people are immune like you? Because if it ain’t millions, you just become one part sample in a petri dish and another part dead body that maybe give some vague clues and then you’re all parts in the bin, end of story. I mean, I’ll be honest. I don’t blame him. You’re quite a keeper.”

Now her sigh is dramatic. “And then he fucking lied about it.”

“So you would feel good about it. Accomplished in your goal. Also so you wouldn’t hate him for caring about you more than you do.”

“Why didn’t he just say–?”

“Do you know that man to be good with words?”

This quiets her. Both of you. For a few minutes. She goes back to picking at her sleeves.

The sun’s set completely now and her little bedside lamp can’t even drown out the stars so bright on the other side of the window. Clear night. Cold out there.

After a moment you take your arm back, jostle her with your shoulder. “Hey. I’m going out to the Meadow tomorrow, check in with Willa, look over the damage. If I bring you back a piece of the Roost, you wanna do some carving or whittling or something? We’ll build a platform like the old one and it’s probably just gonna be a tent up there for a while like it used to be, but hopefully this spring or summer we’ll get a structure up there and we’ll need a cornerstone or a plaque or something signifying its importance. Since you’re on your ass all day with nothing better to do, and you’re the star recruit, I’d love for you to do it.”

Her lips twist, half smiling at the request, but then in regret. “I lost my knife.”

“The one from your mom?” She nods. “Well if you’ll do some carding for me while I’m out there, I promise to look for it, ask around, maybe one of the patrol picked it up, okay?”

“Okay. Oh. By the way…How are you healing?”

“I’ve been worse. But mostly I’ve been better. Thanks for asking. ‘S kind of you. But don’t you worry about me.”

“Okay. Um…I’m…sorry about telling them about the meadow and all.”

“Why? You’re a Roostling. It’s your story to tell.” Sliding off the bed you head for the door. “Oh hey. I meant to ask–” you nod at the book by her side. “What’cha reading?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh…just porn.”

“Cool. G’night.”

“‘Night. Hey Meadowlark?”

You poke your head back in before the door closes completely. “Hm?”

“Thanks. For all that. But mostly for not calling me kiddo.”

You smile. Nod. Give her a warm wink. “Sure. I gotchu, kiddo.”

It’s worth the eyeroll you catch as you close the door.

________

The most sickening part of coming in through the north passage isn’t seeing the burn scar on the pine grove in the middle of the Meadow, isn’t missing the outline of the Roost through the trees, but rather the feeling that your home has been breached, that for a moment it wasn’t safe and now you’ll always wonder if it will be.

Riding across the north plain, you close your eyes and breathe, let the horse plod on without your guidance, he knows the way. Once spring comes and the valley fills with flowers and the music of the lambs calling for their ewes takes over from this cold silence that comfort will be renewed. 

But for now, there is no comfort on the Meadow in winter, not without a pretty little fireplace and a warm spot to watch the snow build up on the mountains.

You know what’s coming, but it turns your heart inside out all the same when you open your eyes.

Where once there was a cabin in the treetops is now a void leading downward to a pile of blackened rubble and debris. Off to the side under some lower trees is the old canvas tent with the vent hole and a friendly little trail of smoke rising from it. Willa always knew her way around a fire and didn’t mind keeping a low one going on the inside. You never were that confident, even with a fire-treated tarp.

She’s been at work out here, pulling useful things out of the rubble. The woodstove. The pulley jacks. A few timbers that are mostly unburned. 

But there’s a pile of other things too, useless items that shouldn’t be mixed back in with the earth: a burned walkie. Twisted silverware and blackened plates. The iron tools from the rafters. Shattered tile. Your charred and mangled boots.

All that’s left in the major wreckage is wood. And glass. And bones.

Three blackened skulls, three sets of eye sockets and three jaws gaping up at the sky as if they were caught in the moment of realizing their plans were going terribly awry. 

Stupid fucking kids. ….Just kids.

If someone asked you how you knew which one was Owen’s, you wouldn’t be able to say. You just know. The memory of him sinking that knife into Ellie’s leg…of hurting her…intent to kill… His skull breaks like a cracker when you put your weight on it.

Willa doesn’t say anything when she comes up along side to stare down at the bones with you. It's not the first time you've stood with her at the edge of a burned down home.

"I hate that it’s gonna take me a while to sift though all this,” you say.

“We’ve decided to skip your turn for a while. At least until there’s a new platform.”

You nod, resigned. You don’t love it, but it’s best. Trauma lingers longest of all hurt. 

“How’s the flock?”

“They’re over it.”

“Figures. Fluffy shits. Any chance you found a pocket knife out here?” You ask her.

She nods, reaches into a jacket pocket and there it is, like it’s been waiting to come back to its keeper, made itself shiny and easily found. It’s passed between you like a sacred object, holy, a relic saved and cared for, a thing infused with deep love and meaning. There’s an instant relief as your fingers curl around it, your shoulders relaxing and releasing a little of the pain.

“Thank you.”

“There was this too.” From the same pocket Willa pulls a disk of silver and glass, turning it over and placing it in your hand with the knife.

The watchband is burned away. But it’s otherwise unharmed.

Willa may be a stoic, but she knows enough to recognize a release through tears and to hold you while you cry.

Later that afternoon when you knock on Ellie’s door, you’ll hand her the knife and a piece of the old Roost to carve to consecrate the new one. And then you’ll give her the watch and ask her to be your hands, to help you with one more thing.

________

Two days later, you’re standing in Joel’s living room, never having been here when it’s so quiet, dark, and cold. With you and Ellie staying with Maria, there’s been nobody here to light a fire, to make the place live. You wouldn’t be here if Maria hadn’t made a side comment about maybe you and Ellie’d been in the same clothes for a day too many. Not that you thought you’d be with her that long.

She was right. It was nice to change into something clean–a soft fleece and some sleep pants. While the sword of Damocles kept things in check at Maria’s house, it did feel just this side of an extended girl’s night sleepover, might as well dress for it. Ellie had asked for something soft and comfy so you decided to go for it, an assortment of sweats and sweaters in the duffel at your feet.

What you’re eyeing at the moment is an empty hook on the wall by the fireplace.

You put your hand in your jacket pocket and pull out the watch.

Ellie did a beautiful job with it, took directions like a champ. Sitting together on her bed, listening to Joan Jett and Pat Benetar, you’d instructed her how to design the plaid stripes into the strap, how to knot and plait in patterns.

“Macrame. MACrame. Mac. Ra. Mayyyyyy,” Ellie’d chanted. “It’s a fun word to say. What’s it mean?”

“Fringe. Knotting. It’s just the name of the technique. I dunno. Probably something prettier in French.”

The strap clasps had been lost in the fire, so you’d had Ellie work him a new strap out of dyed and tightly-spun wool, something a little longer so he could tie it on. Most likely he’d come back here first, so you want to put it somewhere he’d see it, that way he could have it again without a lot of fuss but knowing at the same time you were thinking of him. So you slip the end loop over the hook, gently let it slip through your fingers and rest against the wall.

If he comes back…

The front door opens. Boots on the wood. The thump of a backpack.

By the time you’ve turned, he’s coming in through the front hall.

When he sees you standing here, he stops.

You never imagined this moment. You should have. It might have prepared you for the yellowing bruise on his face, the majority of his left pant leg browned with dried blood, his knuckles raw and just beginning to heal over.

You struggle with finding the right question. Find ‘em? They dead? Finish the job? No survivors?

I’d ask you what the hell you did, but I know and I don’t wanna hear you say it.

Instead all you can muster is a nod at the blood on his jeans.

His eyes slide to the staircase, already looking to move on, and he only answers with a short and shallow nod of his own before doing just that.

You find yourself sitting on the couch, staring at your hands, the duffel, the watch, back at your hands. Listening as he moves around upstairs, dropping boots, his belt buckle clapping to the floor. The shower running for a long, long time.

Sun’s going down. Getting colder.

The squeaks from the staircase are slow, softer than usual. He’s taking his time coming down. Doesn’t want to force himself back into a space so safe and quiet after pushing through one so big and mean.

He barely shifts the couch as he sits on the far side. Clean shirt. Clean jeans. A pair of socks you knit him.

“Where’s Ellie?” He sounds like he hasn’t spoken to anyone in days. You’d wager he hasn’t.

“With Maria. We’ve been staying there. I was just getting us some clothes. Didn’t think you’d be gone this long.”

“Neither did I. They had a head start. Younger. Faster. But you’re safe now. You’re both safe now.” He’s quiet long enough for the house to give a settling creak as the wind picks up outside. “How’s that arm?”

“Joel, you can’t keep us safe from the world. The world is what it is.”

“The fuck I can’t,” he whispers back, defiant, stubborn, with enough venom that he seems to scare himself and he breathes in deep, keeps it, holding back.

All you want is your Joel back. Even in all this mess. All you want is for him to lay down his fear and love you the right way. 

So instead of arguing, you get up and stand before him, give him the time it takes to understand you’re going to straddle his lap whether he helps you or not. He reaches for you on your way down, guides and supports you, allows you to rake through his wet curls before leaning in to take possession of his lips, to will him–by kissing through to his very soul–to come back to you.

He can’t help but respond, his whole body coming to life, and in the cold, twilit living room, you become a tangle of silhouettes as his hand pushes up under your sweater–somehow still keeping an aura of care around your ruined and wrapped arm–to squeeze almost painfully at your curves, rough and wanting, panting between devouring kisses as he paws beyond the waistband of your sleep pants, sucking at your neck when you throw your head back as he reaches what he was searching for….what you hoped he’d find…

There’s a tousle of repositioning and a clatter of belt and zipper. You’re both raw and rough and needy, and you both take advantage of the emptiness of the house to fill it with the sounds of desperation, of effort, the song of casting off of all inhibition, a duet of total and grateful release. 

But through it all, it’s the way he holds onto you that tells you how much he wanted to get back to you, how close he intends to hold you and never let you go, a desperation that tells you exactly where his faults lay…

…that it was necessary–and always will be–to eliminate any chance of someone taking you from his world by force.

It’s not so much possession as a fierce and burning need to be possessed. A need to belong, concentrated down to its basest form.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he softly kisses your temple, spooning you in the afterglow that burns bright in the darkening room.

“For what? You didn’t hurt me.”

“Rushed it a little. Tend to act before thinkin’ sometimes.”

You’re not completely sure what he means by that. At first you think he’s talking about the rough sex, but you get his meaning. Stalking off after Abby and Mel so impulsively. For being impulsive in general.

For acting out of trauma.

Or love.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to for that, Joel.”

You can tell the moment he understands when his forehead gently meets your shoulder. “Shit.”

It’s probably the best time to break it to him, while he’s still a little softheaded and euphoric. “She’s ready to listen. But I won’t promise it’ll be easy. It might just be you and me here for a while.”

Once his breathing evens out, he shifts, still holding onto you, but just coming back down, settling back in.

“What’s that?” He mutters, just on this side of falling asleep, lazily pointing at the watch on the hook by the fireplace.

“Your Valentine’s Day present. From both of us. Sorry it’s late.”

________

Taking some shifts off from the Meadow rotation affords you time to start slowly moving things over to the new A-frame, Maria helping you to load up a skid now and then and unload it, walking beside you as you lead the horse that tows it.

After a week or two, Ellie’s up and walking–well, limping, but healing–and starting to talk to Joel at dinner again. She’s on the verge of actually gracing his bad jokes with a smile or even a laugh, but she’s making him work hard for it. Good for her.

You haven’t asked either of them how the talk went. Don’t know if you ever will. That’s between them, the less you interfere, the better.

But you know that things are on the mend when you find Ellie playing Joel’s guitar–learning some Johnny Cash song you know he loves.

And you have a feeling that spring is on the way when you drop off another load at the new house and find a new frame on the wall–a handmade, custom carpentry display shadowbox.

With a watch hanging inside.

_______

PREVIOUS: AUTUMN

NEXT: SPRING AGAIN (coming soon)

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cardinaldante]

Greetings Siblings of the church! It is ritual night!!!! The party is already in full swing in the church, and I let Aether go off and party with the other ghouls instead of following me around all night. Don't tell ANY of the Papa's, or sister imperator, but Sodo snuck me a bottle of wine, and told me to go off and see Jacob while he distracted the other ghouls enough for me to escape. He's really starting to finally like me, which I'm happy about. I happily agreed and headed off to town. The moon is full, and finally, I feel somewhat at peace. I met Jacob by his house, and we ran off nearby to drink the wine and have a nice time.

Jacob reaaaaly knew how to drink wine- he said red was his favourite. It took me a little to like the taste- it was a little too sweet for my taste, but after a while, we were sharing the bottle and rambling about things that we cared about. It was nice. Jacob's sweet and kind- and I liked sharing the bottle with him. He asked where I got the bottle, and I told him I'd gotten it from one of the ghouls- and then had to explain what a ghoul was. He seemed not suprised. Apparently, he'd figured it out when I brought Mist along the first time. She 'didnt act like a human'. I told him that Mist was gone and about Aether being my ghoul now, and he asked if Aether was going to follow me around like the last three did.

I told him no, and that Aether would mostly do his own thing unless I needed him. He also asked if it was a struggle to get around on my crutches- what I was using to get around. I told him it was, but it was better than having my whole leg removed- which is what would have happened if Omega and the others hadn't been able to heal my leg. After we finished the bottle, we sat around talking for a long time before the moon started to lower and I knew I had to get back before someone noticed I was gone. I walked him back, and that's when we ran into a whole nother priest, and Jacobs mother. Thankfully we'd left the wine bottle at the spot, and thankfully I was just in my normal sweats, as his mother did not seem like she liked me. The priest seemed very, very nice(maybe too nice?) when we came up.

He called himself Father DeFroque, and for some reason, his name sounded familiar. Oh well, maybe I heard it somewhere, or someone in the church had the same name. He was very happy to meet me (for some reason??) and excitedly asked me multiplie questions about the church- even some that I didn't awnser because it was a little too pushy. He told me that he was here to help purge the disrespectful(whatever the fuck that meant) and that he wouldn't hurt us at the Satanic church as we were apparently just misguided sheep. It ended when Aether ran up to us, telling me that I had to go, as the ritual was over, and they were about to lock up the gates for the night. I was very, very happy to leave, told Jacob goodbye and that we'd talk later (I gave him my number, finally. I hadn't yet as my phone had broken last year, and I was posting all of these from my computer) and followed Aether. When we were far enough away, I asked if I was in trouble, and he told me I wasn't, and he was just worried about me as he hadn't been able to smell my scent in the church. He did say that I would possibly be in trouble if any of the Papa's ever found out I stole wine(Apparently he could smell it on my breath), but he wouldn't tell, as I was just a teenager, and teens did stupid shit.

I asked if he knew who DeFroque was and told him what the man sad, but he just shrugged and told me that crazies existed in all religions, even ours. He told me to not worry about DeFroque, but tommorow if I wanted, I could tell the Papa's about him. The party with the adults was still going, but the one for the kids was done, and the younger kids were already in bed. Aether told me there was a party going on with the other teenagers, and I could join, but I told him I was headed to bed, and that he could go back to the adult party. Ritual may have been 'over', but I knew that the adult parties lasted till the early morning.

He agreed, and I headed to my room. Someone had fixed it up, and everything looked much better than it had a few days ago. i changed my clothes and now I'm in bed, updating you all on everything going on. I wonder what was up with that man, though. Father DeFroque. I wonder what was wrong with him.

[monikafilefan]

Love your writing so much! Can you write a New Year’s fic set in season 6 where they actually kiss? No Fowley angst if you can? Thank you

Thanks so much. This turned out longer than I hoped so I’m a little late, but I hope you enjoy. Takes place just before Tithonus.

——

10:02 PM: Mulder swallows another mouthful of Shiner Bock, letting the alcohol warm him from the inside out. He sets the beer bottle next to the other empty ones with a clink and the beat of the music vibrates along the golden table cloth beneath him. Laughter and muffled conversations of fellow agents fill the silence of isolation he’s purposely surrounded himself in.

He doesn’t want to be here. Not at this New Years Eve bureau mandated banquet, sticking out like a black sheep among the herd of Kersh-loving ass-kissers, and certainly not forced to appease the Deputy Director in the name of another successful year of wielding justice. He sure as hell doesn’t want to celebrate the loss of his life’s work to his ex-wife and Kersh’s errand boy he’s currently hiding in a dark corner from. Wielding justice…

What a crock of shit.

But Scully is here, and the loss of his near constant contact with her is something he will never celebrate acknowledgement of. Not ever. He feels their absence on the files like a missing puzzle piece, teasing him with its existence lingering just out of his reach. Yet as he stares longingly at her across the room in her black satin dress, drinking wine as red as her lips, and smiling with their peers from the bullpen, Mulder can’t help but smile in return.

10:38 PM: Scully turns his way and scans the room, her big blue eyes flickering from person to person. She’s searching for him, he thinks. He knows. He’d told her hours earlier he decided to forgo following rules forcing him to be social. And still she looks for him, hopeful, unable to accept he can truly leave her partnerless for even one night. She’s right. As he sips at another Shiner, Mulder knows the heat of the beer isn’t the only thing warming his chest tonight.

A slow song begins to play as the lights dim. His pulse quickens at the thought of asking her to dance. Of holding her petite body close to his. Of kissing her at the stroke of midnight. He stands, unable to resist the pull of her proximity a moment longer, when another man swoops into his eye-line and offers Scully his hand.

Mulder’s fists clench as an agent from the lab arrogantly claims her bare back with his meaty hand, sloppily twirling her around the dance floor. Her surprised laughter is as loud as it is fake, but she doesn’t pull away. She accepts his hand with a tight-lipped smile and promptly stares at her three inch stilettos instead of at the man attempting to woo her.

Mulder does the same while his nostrils flare with every indignant breath.

Turning away, he picks at the yellow label on the bottle until only the brown glass reflecting his scowl is showing.

10:55 PM: He hears Scully laugh again. Then again and again. He doesn’t know what she’s chuckling about or who with, but it doesn’t matter when she’s enjoying her last remaining hours of 1998. She’s having fun drinking and dancing, he tells himself. She deserves this. He wants her to be happy, always. He just refuses to watch someone else make her that way.

This time, when a high-pitched, unScully-like laughter slices through the sound of his heart thudding against his eardrums, his gut clenches along with his fists.

11:02 PM: One hour and four - no five - beers later, Mulder is ready to leave. To flee, more like it, when a thick hand slaps at his back.

“Agent Mulder,” Skinner’s voice booms over the music. “Glad to see you decided to show up.”

He scoffs, “I was summoned.”

Skinner glances at him, his heavy hand squeezing the meat of Mulder’s shoulder; hard. “You mean she asked or you wouldn’t be here,” he corrects, nodding towards Scully draining yet another glass of wine. “She wants you here, Mulder. I suggest you remember that.”

11:32 PM: Mulder does remember that. In fact, that’s all he’s been thinking about for the past half hour when he lost sight of Scully within the crowd. After dodging both Diana and Spender, three agents requesting a dance, and one persistent secretary’s offer for much more than that, Mulder halts his search for his partner and ducks into the restroom to break the seal.

He glances at his cell phone. No service. Goddammit.

The entire time he’s been looking for Scully, the sickening thought of her having left with someone else has weighed heavily in the back of his mind. He should’ve taken Frohike up on his offer of Mexican and movies and saved himself the heartache.

11:44 PM: “Yes, I do know I’m leaving before the ball drops, and no, I don’t have a date I’m waiting for,” Mulder repeats to Agent Matthews at the coat check.

“You want one?” he asks, smirking. “Because I’m outta here in ten.”

“Oh uh,” Mulder can’t help but smile. “Thanks, but I’ll have to pass.”

“I knew it. But hey, a guy can dream.” The man shrugs and hands Mulder his jacket. “Agent Scully is one lucky woman.”

“You’ve seen her?” Mulder questions, ready to interrogate the poor guy. “Did she leave?”

“Maybe,” Matthews says, chuckling at Mulder’s unabashed desperation. “But I’ve seen her walk by looking for someone special a couple times earlier, though. I guess that someone was you.”

“Yeah, thanks. Have a good night,” Mulder groans as he walks away, feeling more and more like an asshole as the minutes tick by.

11:50 PM: Mulder makes his way down the side stairwell and shuffles past the ladies room tucked away in an alcove at the end of the hall. Fireworks spark outside the window next to him and he can’t help but wonder if Scully is looking at them, too.

He sighs, takes three steps, and stumbles when a flash of red catches his eye.

“Scully?”

“Mulder, you’re here!” she praises, her cheeks flushed with wine. Her eyes flick down to his coat slung over his arm and her smile fades. “You’re leaving.”

He falters, shifting in his Wingtip Oxfords he’d worn just for her. “You know me, Scully,” he feigns nonchalance. “I’d rather pull out my hair than kiss the asses of the ‘powers that be’ more than I’m forced.”

Scully shakes her head and is quiet a moment before boldly brushing a lock of hair from his brow. “Can’t have that now, can we?”

He stifles a moan. The familiar feeling of her touch lulls him where they stand. “A full head of hair means that much to you, does it, Scully?”

“Mm…” She nods while his hand covers hers sliding gently across his scalp. “You do have great hair.”

“Melvin will be crushed.”

She laughs - this it’s time for him - and Mulder swears it’s the most beautiful sound echoing through the hall. They continue to stand in the hallway, staring at one another as her fingers dance through his hair, letting the soft melody of the muffled music fill the silence.

“So why show up then?” she finally asks, her fingers trailing over the shell of his ear, down to his cheek, hovering there. “Why come at all?”

The alcohol that flows through her veins, leaving her open and vulnerable deserves only honesty from him. “Because you’re here,” Mulder confesses.

“I am.” Her eyes hone in on his fingers twining through hers. “And you were about to leave without saying goodbye?” She arches a brow, pins him with an accusatory stare. “Or hello, for that matter?”

“I-you were enjoying yourself out there. You were…” he sighs, guilt washing over him for not being a better partner to her. For not walking out on that dance floor and showing her exactly how much he appreciates her. How much he loves her. “Scully…”

“Mulder, it’s okay. I get it, really.” She rolls her eyes, tapping his tie with a manicured nail. “Plus, Skinner told me that if you’re as smart as your IQ says you are, you’d be here to ring the new year with me.”

“Ha!” It’s Mulder’s turn to roll his eyes, imagining the AD just itching to dance with his beautiful partner. “I’ll bet he did.”

“I told him you were smarter.”

Mulder’s heart began to race at the husk in her voice. “And if I hadn’t shown up?” he wonders. “I have a feeling Skinner and every other person in that ballroom would give anything to dance with you tonight.”

“They asked to dance with me, Mulder, not date me.”

Mulder’s jaw clenches at that, his free hand dipping down to settle gently at the base of her spine.

“And besides,” she arches into him, amused and emboldened. “There’s only one person I wanted to dance with tonight.”

“Scully.” His voice catches when her sapphire eyes snap up to lock onto his, imploring him to say more. “I-you looked… you look...” The liquid courage swirling though his mind gives him the nudge he needs. He touches her face, softly tracing the slope of her jawline from her ear to her chin. She hums and he melts. "...Stunning, Scully. You look stunning.”

Her half-grin twitches higher. "Bet you say that to all the girls, Mulder."

“No,” he denies in earnest. “Only you.”

She nods slowly, unblinking, as if she’s always known. Her eyes are large and luminous in their dimly lit corner, the deep blue sea of them beckoning him into dangerous waters. Lashes fluttering under his gaze, she leans into him like a feral kitten, fierce and unyielding in her affection. And it’s a good thing, Mulder thinks as he leans in too, that he’s an excellent swimmer.

“You showed up, Mulder,” she whispers. Her tiny hands skim down to his waist and tug his body flush to hers. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me for that,” he begs. “Don’t thank me for anything.”

He palms her neck and she allows his hand to wander up into her hair, tangling the silky waves through his fingers. He watches her eyelids flutter half shut, her lips parting.

“And why did you come, Scully?” he blurts, curious.

“Why do you think?” she retorts, challenging him. Suddenly, Mulder knows exactly why she came. Why she’s still here, staring up at him with dark eyes and rocking against him with hardened nipples.

He forgets to breathe.

“Tell me,” he says, cradling the base of her skull and letting his forehead fall forward against hers.

“No,” she breathes while stroking the curve of his ribcage, nudging the tip of his nose with her own. “I’ll show you.”

Her eyes flutter shut and a gush of warm breath tickles his cheek. As he leans down, her cushy lips press softly to his and his heart threatens to burst from his chest.

Her mouth tastes of red wine and sugar - a tart sweet-filled sin laced with a hint of blush-colored lipstick. She tastes more satisfying than any dessert. She tastes like raw desire.

Reluctantly, he pulls his hips away from her soft belly when his rock hard want for her becomes impossible to ignore.

She whimpers with her arms now wrapped around his neck, tugging him down for more.

Mulder gulps and kisses her nose, her cheek, inhales the fruity scent of her shampoo. He breathes her in while keeping a lung full of her essence within his chest. The warmth of her baby soft skin beneath his lips makes him wonder if he’s having an out of body experience: an erotic X-File, as his soul quite possibly ascends into the unknown.

A sudden cacophony of cheers bursts through the cracks of the heavy ballroom doors. Mulder jumps while Scully clutches at his back, keeping him close. Their heavy breathing mingles with the chorus of Auld Lang Syne playing in the background as fireworks boom outside the window pane. Bursts of copper and cerulean stream across the ink-black sky and it rumbles the carpet beneath their feet, reminding him that, yes, his feet are still on solid ground.

Two hours, two minutes, and one kiss from Dana Scully are all it takes for his world to tilt on its axis.

“Wow. Wha… what was that?” he gasps dumbly.

Scully arches brow. "I would have thought that's fairly obvious," she purrs. "You asked me why I came here, so I kissed you."

"Yeah, I know that, Scully, believe me. But...” Fuck, he berates himself. Why does his conscience hate him so damn much?

“Shh, just shut up and kiss me again,” she slurs.

His eyes flutter shut. He wants this - wants her - more than his next breath, but she’s been drinking, he remembers. They both have. “Shit, I want to, badly. But I think,” he hesitates, no more than a whisper, “I should hail us a cab.”

“Mulder…”

“In case you don’t remember these last few minutes when you wake up in the morning,” Mulder explains further. “Or worse, you regret them when you do.”

“But…” Scully frowns, hiccuping as she sways within his arms. “Okay…” she sighs, rolling her forehead against his sternum and mumbles to herself, “Fine, but the cab’s on you.”

“Deal,” he chuckles, his love for her growing with each passing second. His lips brush against the crown of her head, his palms smoothing over her hair and down to the lithe bare blades of her shoulders. “I can do that.”

“Happy New Year, Mulder.”

12:10 PM: This year, Mulder thinks as he waves down a cab. This year will be different. When Scully’s pinky loops through his, he squeezes it in promise. This year, he will do better.

“Happy New Year, Scully.”

And next time, when he looks into her eyes and tells her he loves her again, Scully will finally believe.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[unmaskedagain]

Wolves don’t Party with Sheep

I got this request last week, and I thought it was a neat idea. Thanks @etsuko-99​ for sending me the ask.

When the Akuma alert sounded, most of the class had been at the end of year party at the park. They had been planning it for weeks and had been careful not to reveal its existence to the class problems aka Marinette, Chloe, and Nathaniel. The three had been has exiled from the rest of the call all year for their bullying of Lila and mean accusations that the girl was lying.

Class president? They voted to replace Marinette the first day of school.

Class picnics; the three weren’t invited.

Field trips; they got Bustier to exclude the three in the beginning of the year. Not that it mattered anyway; all the wonderful trips they had wanted to take had fallen through. They never had enough money to take it. And they never did the required paperwork.

Birthday parties; they weren’t invited to anyone’s in the class. No one went to Nathanial’s birthday party. Or Chloe’s. No one even bother to accept Marinette’s birthday party invitations, she mailed out a month ago. They even missed the required RSVP date on the front on purpose. The invitation was clear, if you don’t confirm your planned attendance, you can’t come. Then they told Marinette they were going to a party for Lila instead.

No one wanted the drama. No one wanted Lila to feel like she wasn’t welcome. And if the three found out, then maybe they should’ve been nicer.

Again, everyone from the class who was invited showed up apart from Adrien to Lila’s dismay. Alya assured the tearful girl that Adrien was probably just busy at a photoshoot, he’d be there if he could.

Lila had just stepped away from for a moment to take a call from Prince Ali when the Akuma alert sounded.

           It was a socialite hurt by the malicious lies her so-called friends said about each other by each other’s back decided that everyone should be forced to reveal what they really think. The Akuma was called Two-faced (As soon as Two-face from Gotham heard about the new villain, he contacted his lawyer; someone was getting sued.) Every time someone talked; the world would hear their inner voice say what they really thought about you.

“We should wait for Ladybug,” Alya said. “She’ll be here soon. Nino, turned down the music we don’t want to attract the Akuma’s attention.”

“You don’t kiss me enough,” Alya’s voice was suddenly heard throughout the party, though the girl’s mouth was shut. “You’re amazing. I love how much you dream. You’re a little naïve. We’re perfect for each other. But what’s a girl got to do to get to third base?”

           Nino blushed a scarlet red. There were snickers from the fellow students.

“Babe, a little awkward; maybe no one should talk.” Nino said. But as soon as his mouth closed. “I’ve already named all of our children.”

           The laughter that resulted from this laughter the couple paralyzed.

“This is so amazing,” Rose burst out. As soon as she stopped talking. “Juleka? Look at me! I have been flirting with you for three years. You know what I got for it? Nothing. Do you like me or not? You think you got it bad, Alya. I once showed up at her house drenched in rain, in a t-shirt, and Juleka didn’t bat an eye.  Stop complaining. At you got a boyfriend who wants to kiss you. All I got from Juleka was insecurities.”

           Juleka looked torn between wanted to die from embarrassment and looking utterly pleased with the situation.

           Alix snorted, “Still think it’s amazing.” She mocked. Her eyes widened when she realized she spoke. “Rose, you’re the definition of a ditzy of blond. I can’t believe we’re friends.” There were gasps. Rose looked at Alix with hurt eyes. “Honestly, I can’t believe your friends with me. You’re nice, girly, and super sweet. A freaking ray of sunshine. Everything I’m not. I love you for it. I kind of hate you too. You’re the daughter my wishes she had. I can’t stand you sometimes.”

“Ouch!” Kim said and gasped. His inner voice added. “This is way too serious for me. I should’ve just hung out with Ondine. And how is no one talking about how killer Max’s ass looks in those jeans?”

           The questions was met with blinks.

“Damn, I owe Luka ten bucks,” Juleka slipped out. She quickly covered her mouth but she couldn’t stop what came next. “Luka dislikes all of you. It’s why he left Kitty section. He’s thinks you’re all gullible idiots. He always told me to watch my back around you. After what happened with Marinette, I see why.”

           Mylene frowned. She thought Luka left the band because he didn’t have time for it anymore. “That’s really mean.”

“Truthfully, I saw it coming,” Mylene’s inner voice said. “What’s a guy like that doing in a band called Kitty Section? I mean really. But yeah, I totally called in it Kim being a little into Max. Like back in third grade. The Chloe thing was a massive attempt to hide his crush. I get it. Max can do better than a Neanderthal.”

“Hey!” Max glared. “Like you’re one to talk!”

“Have you seen Ivan,” Max’s inner voice hissed. “He’s a future UFC champion. You’re a future kindergarten teacher. Mylene, beauty, Ivan, beast. It only works out in Disney movies, honey. Besides at least Kim’s funny, and cool, and nice, and hot. Wow, I can’t believe he likes me. I’m a geek.”

           Kim grinned, “I like that you’re a geek.” His inner voice, “He’s thinks I’m hot. He think I’m hot. He thinks I’m hot. …I wonder if Nino would be cool with a joint wedding.”

“NO!” Nino and Alya yelled together. Their inner voice, “NO!”

           After that everyone was too scared to speak; scared of what they really thought be heard.

           That when Lila came back to the party. A happy grin on her face. “Sorry everyone, Prince Ali was insisting I attend his ball. I hope he’s isn’t going to purpose again.”

“You’re all a bunch morons,” Lila’s inner voice echoed through the park. “But useful ones. I’ve never even met Prince Ali.”

           Lila paled, “I didn’t say that!”

“Crap,” Her inner voice cried. “What the hell is going on? Do you know how hard it is to keep my stories straight? How hard I work to get these sheep to believe me? Well, not that hard. They’re idiots. I few grand tales and practically believe I shit gold.”

           The class stared at her horrified.

“It’s not me!” Lila stomped her foot.

Her inner voice cried out, “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the dumbasses who believed me. It’s your own fault. I only told you what you wanted to hear. Add a few tears and you did whatever I wanted.”

           Alya gasped, “Marinette was right.” Her inner voice, “What have I done. My blog is ruined. I’ll lose all my fans.”

           Lila fought not to glare, “Marinette’s a mean bully,” She whined. “Remember? She’s been so awful to me since I got here.”

“She called me out on my lies,” Lila’s inner voice snickered. “I warned her I’d get her back. I told her I’d take all her friends away. She should’ve believed me. You guys are idiots who believe everything I saw. Oh, Marinette picking on! Why doesn’t Marinette like me? Did I do something wrong? Waa! Waa! Now I’m here and she’s not. So there! I won!”

           Lila finally picked up one what was going on and covered her mouth. The class remained silent torn between wanting to scream at the girl and keep what they really thought secret.

           At that moment, Marinette, Nathaniel, Luka, Adrien, and Chloe strolled to through the park with ice cream cones in their hands and big smiles on their faces. They talked pleasantly with each other, stopping when they saw the party streamers and the class.

           Marinette didn’t blink twice, “Another class party?” She said sweetly. “Our invitations must have been lost.”

           Her inner voice was cold, “Doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t have come to your party if you paid me. Why do you think I put the deadline on the invites? I knew you’d pretend to forget to RSVP. I only invited you to my birthday party because my mom made me. Something about being nice or whatever.”

           The students of Bustier’s class reared back as if struck.

“It really pity you can’t come,” Chloe drawled. Her inner voice, “In addition to forgetting to RSVP, you must have forgotten that Marinette’s knows Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale and a bunch of other celebrities; all of which are going to be at the party.”

“They’re having loads of fun here,” Adrien said brightly. “The party looks great.”

           His inner voice was a lot colder, “I told them! I told Marinette, Chloe, and Nathaniel every time you had this party, and every other party, a picnic, a guy’s night, a girl’s night, anything. I told them Alya was the one who got Bustier to not let them on the class trips. Why did you think I never showed up to any events? They’re my friend I showed them the group texts where you all did nothing but insult Marinette. You were bad friends. You trusted a perfect stranger over freaking Mariette Dupain-Cheng. That’s why I stopped returning your texts, Nino! Why I stopped returning all of your texts! We’re not friends anymore.”

           Mouths dropped. To his credit, Adrien let his ground and just sent a cold glare to his classmates.

“Mom saw the texts, Juleka,” Luka shook his head. “She’s disappointed in you.” His inner voice, “So am I. I couldn’t believe it at first. How could my own sister be so cruel? So vile. I know Lila didn’t get into your head. But I think feared did. You were scared these idiots in your class would turn on you too. You knew it was wrong treating Marinette the way you did but you did it anyway. I don’t recognize you anymore. I don’t even want to look at you right now.”

           Silent tears slipped down Juleka’s cheeks. Rose did her best to comfort the other girl.

“We should go,” Nathaniel told his friends. “There’s nothing for us here.” His inner voice, “Honestly you guys ditching us was the best thing that could ever happen. I have best friends now. Chloe, Adrien, and Marinette are literally the freaking best. I told them how much I liked Marc, and they listened. Chloe actually ended up locking in a supply closest but it all worked out. We’re dating now! I only got a little claustrophobic too.”

“You locked them in a closest?” Marinette pinched her nose. “That wasn’t the plan. It’s kidnapping.”

           Marinette’s inner monologue, “I’m not going to jail for you! Oh who am I kidding? Of course I’d go to jail for you. Better be for something cool.”

“It will be,” Chloe preened. Her inner voice, “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I’d pick you over all high-end couture in the world.”

“I’m not bailing you out for less than a felony,” Adrien chimed in with a smile. His inner voice, “Chances are I’m going to be right next to you.”

           Marinette rolled her eyes, “Nathaniel’s right. We have to get ready for our trip. And my party.” She said. Her inner voice. “Thank you Alya for getting pushover Bustier to remove us from the class trip. Now while you guys are headed to the amusement park. We’re going to Metropolis, and Gotham, and New York City. We’re going on the best trip of our entire life while you guys watch Kim puke up fifty chili dogs… Again.”

           Still the class was too scared to speak. Apart from Lila who glared angrily, “Oh please, like your birthday party will be any good?”

           The five looked at her and the class with smirks.

“Oh course not,” They chimed together. “It’ll be a small get together.”

“If you call a thousand people small,” Adrien’s inner voice said. “I still can’t believe Marinette has so many friends. People are coming from all over the world for her birthday. Prince Ali’s going. My dad’s going! And he barely remembered my birthday this year. Like what the fuck! How did Marinette become the favorite child? Fine, though, I stole her parents. Also her room.”

           Marinette side-eyed him. She knew had been finding more and more of Adrien’s stuff in her room. But she thought she was imagining things. Chloe did the same. Then the top bunk was always made. Again, she let it go. He slept over a lot. Chloe did too. Then he took over a drawer or two for some of this things. Again, not surprising. Chloe did the same; except she took over half of Marinette’s closet. Sometimes she’d come home and he’d be hanging out in her room playing video games. It was fine. Chloe tended to do the same; except for it was laying on Marinette’s bed on her phone.

           …Wait, what?

“Jagged Stone performing for his favorite niece Marinette,” Chloe inner voice sang. “Clara Nightingale’s performing. Luka’s singing. They both invited all the celebrities they knew. MDC’s party. Did you hear about that?” The class gasped in shock. “It’s trending literally everywhere. Marinette Dupain Cheng’s party. It’s practically a red carpet event now. By the way Adrien, Sabine and Tom like me best.”

           Again, Marinette had to side-eye her friends. Did they move in when she wasn’t looking? How did they move in? When did they move in? For god’s sake’ yesterday, she caught Chloe working behind the register while Marinette’s parents worked in back. She caught her dad teaching Adrien how to bake cookies and croissants.

“Peter Parker’s going,” Luka’s inner voice added on. “Marinette and him met each other at camp. And where Peter Parker goes, his parents follow. His parents: Tony Stark and Steve Roger ring any bells. And if Iron Man and Captain America’s going, the rest of the Avengers follow. They all RSVP’d.”

“Harry Styles,” Nathaniel’s inner voice repeated like six times. “If I wasn’t dating Marc, I’d go for it. Like, you have no idea; how much I’d go for it. Marc’s concerned. …He should be.”

           Marinette smiled as her inner voice spoke what she was always too nice to say, “You were terrible friends. You turned against me for basically no reason. You threw me away. You followed Lila Rossi, the world’s biggest liar, because she told you grand stories and promised you things and opportunities. I’m happy you’re not going to my birthday party. Because you’re going to miss the chance to meet all those celebrities Lila lied about knowing. The chance to talk shop and create connections with the rich and the famous and be famous yourselves; the real reasons you ditched me. Most of the guests don’t know. But that’s fine because I’ll have real friends at the party; and you won’t be among them. Because you’re not real friend. You’re mindless, gullible sheep. …And Adrien, Chloe, I swear to the all gods, if you think you can just take over my room, you got another thing coming!!”

           Both blonds didn’t bother to even pretend to look remotely shamed or scared. They just smirked.

           It was at that moment, the Akuma two-faced came crashing into the party. All the documents, those in the class and not, scattered off screaming. The five took that opportunity to transform.

           Ladybug, Chat Noir, Queen Bee, Viperion, and Renard Rouge came swinging to the scene.

           Alya couldn’t believe her eyes. She had been replaced. How could Ladybug just replace her? She didn’t even have the guts to tell Alya!

           Fury overcame her, “Ladybug!” The glasses-wearing screamed. Her inner voice, “Look at me. How could you do this? Why?”

           Ladybug looked at her teammates. They nodded her a: Go for it. Ladybug swung over the the reporter. “What, Alya?” Her inner voice, “Why are you bothering me now?”

“You replaced me,” Alya stomped her foot. “I’m the fox hero. Not that poser.” Her inner voice, “I’m a much better hero than he’ll ever be. I should’ve been made permanent. I should’ve been made an official partner of you and Chat Noir.”

           Ladybug glared, “You posted lies on your blog. You never fact checked. And my sources told me you frequently took part in bullying of three students.” Her inner voice, “You’re a bad journalist. Why did you think I stopped giving you interviews? All those lies you post from Lila Rossi about her, about me. You never even bothered to research anything. Then you ice’d out Marinette; the sole reason I even bothered to give you a chance. You and your classmates really hurt her and the other students. You were mean bullies. And you’re unworthy of being a hero.”

           Alya froze. “But, I, it’s not fair!” She cried. “I didn’t know Lila wasn’t telling the truth.” Her inner voice “Crap! I forgot you knew Marinette. She probably told you everything. Ugh, why does she always have to be right all the time? It’s so annoying. At least Lila was fun. Besides, Marinette never even bothered to offer let me meet any of her celebrity friends. Or even mentioned she knew them And that’s so not cool. What kind of girl does that to her bestie? If Marinette had just told me she knew them, I’d have never believed Lila.”            

           Ladybug just stared at Alya in disgust, “We’re done Miss Césaire.” Her inner voice, “Forever.” Then she was gone.

           When the Akuma was defeated, and Ladybug put everything back to the way it was. The students didn’t know what to say or do. Lila had taken the time to vanish form the party. The five continued they stroll through the park. Unfortunately, they had to walk past the class party again.

“Hey!” Nino called. “You guys can come join us if you want.”

“We’re really sorry,” Rose yelled.

           Juleka didn’t say anything just looked at her older brother with pitiful eyes.

           Alya rushed over, followed by the other students. “Girl, you were so right about Lila. She’s such a liar.” The classmates nodded. “I’m your bestie. I should’ve never forgot to RSVP for your party. If it’s not too late, I’d love to go. Maybe we can even join you on your trip overseas. I’d love to go the Daily Planet.”

“Yeah, me too!” Nino grinned.

“Count me,” Alix cheered and high-fived Kim.

           Marinette looked them up and down, “It’s too late. Far too late,” She told them. “To go to my party, to go on the trip, to get back into my good graces, to be friends again. We’re not friends. And we never will be again. None of you be celebrating my birthday with me.” She gave them a cold smirk. “Wolves don’t party with sheep.”

[riversofmars]

So for today's update, seeing as I'm trying to give all my WIPs equal love: back to the headmistress and her sheep farmer! Here is part two! <3 Weather continues to be shite in West Yorkshire, hope it's better where you are!

Rating M (language and sexual themes)

TW: reference past abuse (but not a lot)

Read below or on AO3

Home Is Not A Place - Part 2: The Storm

“F-Bloody cold, bastard weather,“ Gillian groaned as she slammed the door shut. It had been storming all day, and she was soaked to the bone from being out on the farm.

“Gillian?“ Caroline appeared in the hallway, mug in hand and wrapped in a large woolly poncho. It was Saturday and she was counting her blessings that she had no reason to leave the house. Flora was staying with Greg in Manchester this weekend, and Raff and Ellie were spending the weekend with Ellie’s mother who was helping them house-shop. With Gillian out on the yard, Caroline had been left to enjoy the peace and quiet and taken the opportunity to catch up on her reading in front of the fire. At least that’s what she had been doing until she had been interrupted by the sheep farmer’s return and her colourful curses.

“Don’t even f-bloody say anything!“ Gillian snapped, peeling off her coat which had done sweet fuck all to protect her from the rain.

“For God’s sake, Gillian,“ Caroline chose to comment - regardless of her warning - upon realising the state she was in. Gillian’s hair stuck to her cheeks that were red from the cold, and her clothes were dripping. “What have you been doing?“ Caroline demanded to know and picked up the coat that Gillian had abandoned on the floor in her stroppy mood. She followed the sheep farmer into the living room and put the coat over a chair by the fire.

“Bloody foxes bothering sheep again,“ Gillian huffed, and the frequency of her curses told Caroline everything she needed to know about her mood.

“And that couldn’t have waited till the storm had passed?“ Caroline crossed her arms in front of her chest, like she might with an unruly student she expected an explanation from.

“Can’t do with losing any more to ‘em,“ Gillian mumbled, dropping her scarf onto the chair with the coat, but avoided meeting the headteacher’s eyes. She knew she was right. She should have come back inside upon finishing all the strictly necessary tasks and not faffed about going after a fox that she still hadn’t managed to shoot.

“You’re gonna catch your death, if you’re not careful,“ Caroline scolded, willing her voice to remain steady and not get distracted when Gillian pulled her shirt off revealing a tank top that clung to her body. Her shoulders were strong, despite her small frame, from years of working on the farm. Caroline wondered what it would be like to hold on to them if Gillian decided to put her strong hands to good use.

“What? And leave you in charge of farm, don’t think so. Gonna take a bit more than a storm to knock me out, you should know that by now.“

“I do know that, yes,“ Caroline had to agree. Her period of peace and quiet was over. Gillian was like a whirlwind of chaos and emotion but Caroline couldn’t pretend to be annoyed by that anymore. “Get yourself changed and sit by the fire, I’ll put the kettle on,“ she announced after brief consideration. “I’m not nursing you when you can’t get out of bed.“

“Oh that’s a shame, when nothing would make me happier than you waiting on me hand and foot,“ Gillian smirked and Caroline rolled her eyes.

“I bet,“ she huffed and made her way to the kitchen, allowing herself a moment to contemplate how nice it might be to dap a cold flannel to Gillian’s brow and smooth her hair behind her ears… She indulged the fantasy for the time it took her to fill the kettle with water and set it to boil. Then she glanced over into the living area and her heart nearly stopped. She gave a completely undignified squeak that drew Gillian’s attention, so she quickly followed it up with: “Jesus, Gillian, talk about boundaries!“ She couldn’t very well just remain standing there, watching Gillian strip down to her underwear, without shooting a suitably shocked comment her way.

“Shit, Caroline, I thought you’re making tea,“ the sheep farmer exclaimed, which was rich considering the fact that the living and cooking area were connected. She reached for a t-shirt to cover herself up but Caroline couldn’t pull her eyes off her the whole time.

“It’s open-plan!“ Caroline exclaimed, mortified, and Gillian huffed as she turned around, fishing for dry trousers in a pile of clean washing that had been dumped onto one of the sofas and was to be ironed at a later date. This, of course, required her to bend over, and Caroline watched with fascination and dread as she did so. Inwardly, the headteacher reprimanded herself, sternly, for the thoughts that crossed her mind. She was determined that she would not, under any circumstances, share them with anyone or ever act upon them. She wasn’t sure whether that made it better or worse.

“I couldn’t be arsed to go upstairs when there’s a pile of ironing right here,“ Gillian was quick to justify herself as she pulled on a pair of jeans and struggled to do so as her skin was still damp.

“You never lock the door either, anyone could have walked in.“ Caroline gestured towards the front of the house, trying to distract herself from her intrusive thoughts.

“Everyone is out, and our parents would have rung first if they wanted to pop round,“ Gillian shot back quickly and turned to face her again once halfway decent.

“Right,“ Caroline huffed, fully aware she had lost the argument and turned back to the kitchen to carry on making the tea and distract herself of the image of Gillian’s lean frame, water glistening on her toned stomach and soft curve of her breasts and… Well, Caroline wasn’t exactly distracting herself from it, she committed it to memory, allowing herself a moment to appreciate it in the privacy of her own mind.

“Sorry I’m… guess, I’m still not quite used to you being here all’t time,“ Gillian’s voice drew her back to the present. Caroline looked back around to find Gillian glancing across the room to her, her brow knitted into a frown of concern. It was that frown that she made whenever she wondered if she had done something wrong. Perhaps she wondered if she had made Caroline uncomfortable, rather than aroused.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m not… trying to make you uncomfortable in your own home,“ Caroline was quick to respond. If anything, she should be the one apologising to her for ogling her the way she had.

“Our home. Halfsies, remember?“ Gillian gave her a hopeful smile that made Caroline’s heartbeat a little fast.

“Right…“ She responded with a smile of her own and finished preparing the mugs. “Here… I put some brandy in it,“ she explained as she returned to the living area and handed over the hot drink.

“Now, this is why I like having you 'round,“ Gillian grinned as they both dropped onto the sofa in front of the fire.

“Because I drive you to drink?“ Caroline chuckled and Gillian laughed:

“Because you drive me to drink with someone, not by meself.“ She took a sip of the tea that warmed her insides quickly, and silence fell between them as they watched the fire. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, far from it. They each turned to their thoughts, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the drink as well as - certainly in Caroline’s case, she couldn’t speak for Gillian - each other’s company.

“Does it surprise you?“ Caroline asked after a while, her eyes resting on the sheep farmer’s strong hands wrapped around her mug.

“What?“ Gillian asked, taking a sip, glancing at her expectantly.

“How well this is working?“ Caroline clarified, and Gillian chuckled:

“Should it?“

“No! No…no I mean… it was a bit of a rash decision, fuelled in no small measure to spite my mother…and yes, there are advantages to it, yes, sure, but… I expected it to be… harder,“ Caroline admitted thoughtfully. This, of course, made things difficult for her to keep straight in her head. Her attraction towards Gillian wasn’t new, it had developed over time and intensified in the last few years since she had moved out into the countryside herself. She had never paid much heed to it. There was just something about the sheep farmer, there always had been. It was evident by the sheer number of suitors she acquired. Given Caroline’s interest in women, she had merely assumed that she wasn’t immune to whatever it was. Her feelings towards Gillian hadn’t factored into her decision to move in together. It genuinely had seemed like the right decision for both of them and it was proving to be just that. Whatever concern Caroline may have had given that attraction, she had assumed that it would fade given time. Surely, living with Gillian - her mess, her moods, her… well, everything - was bound to put her off and end that idealised fantasy she had dreamed up in her head. Sadly, the opposite had occurred. While there were times where they still wound each other up, all things considered, being close to Gillian had made her realise how much she adored everything about her. Even the things she had expected she would hate. Now, all she could do was ignore her feelings and hope they would pass eventually. She would have to apply one of her mother’s approaches to problems: if you don’t talk about them, they don’t exist.

“Are you saying you expected me difficult to be round?“ Gillian smirked, never missing an opportunity to tease her.

“No! No! Well, yes, but not like…“ Caroline started and stopped herself when she realised what she was saying. She had been too preoccupied contemplating her crush on her, to mind her words.

“Keep digging,“ Gillian grinned, while clearly not taking offence, not really, anyway.

“No, I’m just… it’s nice,“ Caroline exclaimed, hoping to put the matter to bed. Not unlike she would have hoped to bed the sheep farmer but that was a different, none-existent matter that she wouldn’t talk about. “And I would have hoped it would be but… it’s nice to have it confirmed.“

“I like having you around,“ Gillian was more to the point than Caroline’s babbling mess of a statement.

“Even if I’m a snotty bitch?“ Caroline felt they were entering safer waters again.

“Particularly 'cause you’re a snotty bitch, you give the place a certain measure of class,“ Gillian laughed.

“A sheep farm with class?“

“A sheep farm with class,“ Gillian repeated with a nod. “It’s certainly stopped Cheryl trying to pick on us… and that new guy from ‘cross the moor stopped dropping by unannounced, he were a right pain.“ She grimaced at the memory of it.

“Think he had a bit of a thing for you,“ Caroline chuckled, contemplating the matter. Of course he did, show me one person attracted to women who doesn’t have a thing for Gillian bloody Greenwood, Caroline thought miserably.

“Well, he can fuck off with his fancy arse yellow tractor,“ Gillian huffed.

“Bit of a statement that, isn’t it.“

“You think?“

“Yes, like a peacock, flashing his feathers,“ Caroline mused, remembering him popping by the farm in it at one point. At the very least it had been great entertainment for Flora and Calamity but only until the point where they had started making fun of it, embarrassing them in front of what could have been a perfectly nice new neighbour.

“He were well confused when you opened door to him in your nighty that one time,“ Gillian grinned and Caroline feigned outrage.

“Well, he shouldn’t have called at bloody 10 o’clock at night, should he?“

“Probably hoping I’d invite him in, weren’t he.“ Gillian rolled her eyes.

“He must have heard of your stellar reputation,“ Caroline hummed into her tea, contemplating the matter that she was probably the envy of most of the male population of West Yorkshire when it came to “staying over at Gillian’s“. Shame it didn’t entail the same benefits for her that it had for many men in the past.

“Old Gillian would’ve,“ the sheep farmer mused, driving the point home painfully.

“He wasn’t even a looker,“ Caroline exclaimed, trying her best to keep her jealousy in check.

“Don’t have to look at his face if he has other qualities,“ Gillian shrugged matter-of-factly.

“Ew.“ Caroline contemplated adding some more brandy to her tea if the conversation was going to carry on the way it was. She glanced at the window. The rain hadn’t stopped, if anything, the storm was only getting worse, and there was absolutely no reason to be leaving the house. So what if it was only 11am? The brandy was tempting.

“You used to shag John, you can’t be that repulsed by it.“ Gillian demanded her attention with a knowing smirk.

“I liked John… for a time, loved him even, so I got over it but now… don’t think I could go back, honestly, I just… like women too much, should have stuck with them after uni,“ Caroline stated.

“That would have spared us the indignity of me shagging your ex-husband,“ Gillian had to admit.

“Ah, but then, we would have missed out on so much fun,“ Caroline elbowed her.

“Sorry… again… about all that,“ Gillian responded with a moment of sincerity while nursing her tea.

“It’s forgotten. If John could see us now, living together, his head would explode,“ the headteacher chuckled. “God knows what he’d presume was going on…“

“Hm… what indeed,“ Gillian hummed and Caroline struggled to interpret her response to an off-hand comment she already regretted making. Before she could attribute more meaning to it, Gillian concluded: “Men are idiots, aren’t they?“

“I have been saying this for some time.“ Caroline nodded with a smirk.

“Is it easier?“ Gillian asked, after finishing her drink in one final gulp.

“What?“ Caroline frowned, needing her to be more specific, and the sheep farmer took a moment to provide context, seemingly a little insecure.

“Dating… you know… women?“

“Oh. Uh- well, depends on the woman. Whether you have the same interests, want the same things out of life…“ Caroline suddenly found the inside of her mug very interesting indeed. “You for instance are…“ She broke off when she realised what she was saying but she seemed to have peaked Gillian’s interest:

“What?“ She asked curiously.

“Well, we… work well together, don’t we, we’re very different and yet…“ Caroline shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of a spring or something digging into her back. Anything to distract her from the sheep farmer.

“Are you coming on to me, Caz?“ Gillian smirked and Caroline’s face fell.

“No! No, no, don’t be ridiculous.“ Her voice was higher than usual and she shook her head vehemently.

“Hey, I’m not that bad, am I?“ The sheep farmer carried on, seemingly intent on exploiting a moment of weakness.

“Can’t win with you, can I,“ Caroline cleared her throat and focused her thoughts, she finished her tea, to give herself something to do.

“Relax, I’m only winding you up,“ Gillian elbowed her and Caroline became aware of how closely they were sitting together.

“Right.“

“Been with a girl once.“ Gillian added in an off-hand sort of way and got to her feet. She grabbed Caroline’s mug out of her hand who just stared at her in shock.

“What?“ Her mind was reeling from the statement and she couldn’t be sure if Gillian was trying to wind her up more or if she was serious, sharing one of her many sex-capades of the past for a laugh. Perhaps it was a bit of both. The sheep farmer didn’t answer immediately. She made her way into the kitchen and poured brandy into their mugs, forgoing the tea altogether. Caroline was watching her every move, tense for an answer, as Gillian took her time returning to the sofa. She handed her one of the mugs and took a sip of her own before sitting back down. There was a moment of quiet anticipation as Gillian appeared to be contemplating how to best tell the story.

“You know when… things were right bad with Eddie,“ she started at last and Caroline felt a lump forming in her throat. Eddie. How she longed never to hear that name again and for Gillian to forget all about him, but he would, forever, be a part of her, of them. Caroline hated hearing about that part of Gillian’s life because of how helpless it made her feel and how much she wished it had never happened. But there was also a part of her that was keen to listen, not out of morbid curiosity, but because it meant a lot to her that Gillian felt she could talk to her about him. She was, after all, the first person she had ever told of the real circumstances of her husband’s untimely death. Caroline felt honoured that Gillian confided in her, so she listened, for her, as much as it might hurt. She hadn’t anticipated this sharp change of pace and topic but perhaps it was something Gillian needed to get off her chest.

“He was controlling too, wan’t he, and wouldn’t really let me see other men, so…“ Gillian took a deep breath and a sip of the brandy to steady her nerves. “Guess he wasn’t that threatened by women so there was this lass, up in, uh... Huddersfield, actually, funnily enough.“ Gillian chuckled but there was no joy to it. “There was this one time where Eddie, he got really p-pissed on a night out there and got in a fight. Coppers had to break it up and he got arrested… I was g-gonna pick him up but when I were stood outside police station, I couldn’t make myself go in.“ She took another sip of her drink and Caroline reached out for her free hand. Gillian’s voice was more shaky now, there was the stammer too, that she got whenever negative emotions threatened to swallow her up. “C-Cause I knew if I did and bailed him out that night, he’d be…in a t-terrible state and he’d be right f-fucking pissed for having been arrested and…“ She broke off, curling her fingers tightly around Caroline’s. “Well anyway, I turned round, went to pub instead. Didn’t know it were a… gay bar or whatever, did I… but I really needed a drink and there was this girl…and she were nice and apparently liked the look of me and, by that point, I was just relieved to be away from Eddie for night and I… t-took opportunity, didn’t I. Stayed over. Picked up Eddie in’t morning. Told him coppers wouldn’t let me pick him up that night so I h-had to wait.“

“And he believed that?“ Caroline asked gently, running her thumb over the back of her hand.

“N-No. But he didn’t guess what I’d been up t-to that night, else he would have done more than give me a black eye, wouldn’t he…“ Gillian took a deep breath, eager to wrap up the story. “Saw her a couple times after that too, but couldn’t keep finding reasons to go to bloody Huddersfield, could I, so it fizzled out eventually.“

“I’m sorry, Gillian, I…“ Caroline didn’t know what to say. She wanted nothing more than to pull her into her arms, hold her close and tell her that everything would be alright but that would betray a depth of emotion that would probably overwhelm her. These were the times when Caroline was reminded of how fragile the other woman really was. She was staring into her mug, seemingly attempting to divine meaning from the amber liquid but coming up short. Caroline was struck - and not for the first time - by how small Gillian looked when she retreated into herself. Yes, physically, she was obviously far smaller than Caroline but her loud personality and presence usually more than made up for it. When the pretence of confidence fell away, what remained was the broken woman Eddie had left behind. Caroline couldn’t blame her for having killed him, not for a moment.

“’S fine,“ Gillian mumbled.

“It’s not fine,“ Caroline insisted, anger boiling up inside her.

“No, but it’s in the past,“ Gillian countered with surprising calmness as she finished off her drink. She glanced at Caroline and there was an odd sense of acceptance in her eyes, of hopefulness, of determination not to be defined by the past and to move forward. She gave Caroline’s hand a squeeze. “The girl was the point of the story, not Eddie,“ she said and managed a little smile, encouraging the conversation along to more pleasant matters. “Bloody hell, Caroline, I was hoping you’d at least be a little bit shocked or something.“ She managed a chuckle.

“So… what’d she look like?“ Caroline asked after another moment of silence, as she contemplated how to steer clear of the gloominess of the past.

“Who?“ Gillian frowned.

“The girl!“ Caroline exclaimed and let go of her hand. She watched Gillian with delight at the blush that suddenly crept onto the sheep farmer’s cheeks.

“Oh! Uhh- dunno.“ Gillian looked into her mug, which was now empty and provided no distraction.

“Yes you do,“ Caroline teased.

“Blonde. Tall,“ Gillian sighed, exasperated.

“Ohh, do you have a type,“ Caroline joked, trying to brush over a wave of jealousy.

“She was no uptight bitch if that’s what you’re bothered about,“ Gillian’s snark returned in full force.

“That's a no-go, is it?"

“It was good though…“ Gillian went on, completely ignoring Caroline's question.

“What?“ The headteacher frowned confused.

“The sex,“ Gillian smirked, causing Caroline to nearly spit out her drink.

[scabopolis]

the gift of gab, the gift of you

Here it is @thisonesatellite! your 2020 CS Secret Santa gift. It was a complete and total delight to get to be your gift giver this year. That is not hyperbole - you are a gosh dang delight! Each of your message responses left me in stitches and while I will NEVER try and convince you a movie you think is bunk is good, I am delighted at the opportunity to recommend rom coms that don’t make you want to gouge your eyes out. 

This fic is heavily inspired by your love of coffee shops AUs (except...you know, a pub), your travel stories (which I shamelessly incorporated into the fic) and I believe rates about a 4 on the reindeer scale of Christmas cheer.  You’re a total eagle eye, so I just need to say I am well aware that Colin O’Donoghue’s accent in no way resembles an accent from Cork, but I just need that to be ignored, please and thank you.

Also, I’ve decided we’re fandom friends now. Okay? Okay! Finally, thank you to @cssecretsanta2020 for organizing this exchange and being the actual best and most patient fandom soul. 

*** Title: the gift of gab, the gift of you

Summary: Emma needs an Irish man. Wait! No! It’s not what it sounds like. And then the universe just has to go and provide her with the world’s chattiest, flirtiest, blue-eyesiest Irish man in existence. 

Available on AO3. ***

Emma is in no position to complain. From where she sits both literally – (perched upon a comfy barstool in the world’s coziest pub) – as well as existentially – (traveling abroad for the first time in her life) — she is fortunate and blessed. 

It’s just – 

It’s just it would be easier to enjoy it all if she didn’t have to deal with a rather annoying request from her rather annoyingly persistent mother. 

Her headphones are in but Emma still takes great care to speak in hushed tones over video chat. There’s nothing she wants less than to be the loud American who shares her private conversation with an entire establishment. The pub she found is at the end of a quiet lane off of Cork’s high street. The customers within the pub appear to be locals well known by the staff who tend the pub. In truth, she wouldn’t even be having this conversation if it wasn’t for —

“Who have you talked to today?” her mother asks. 

“Uh, I’m pretty sure I thanked the barista who made my coffee. And I ordered a pint in this pub.” 

“That’s not talking.” 

“It is by definition talking.” 

“That’s not what I meant. How else are you going to get to know the city?” Her mom interrupts before Emma can properly formulate a snarky reply. “And don’t you dare say ‘guidebooks.’ Your father and I raised you better than that.”

“Mom, please don’t make me do this.” 

“You said I could have anything I wanted as a souvenir.”  

“What about a mug? I bought Grandma Ruth one with a big fat sheep on it.” 

“Sounds lovely, sweetie, but no.” 

“Mom.” Emma realizes that as a twenty-six year old woman it is probably unbecoming to whine, but her mother is being absolutely ridiculous. Where is her dad when she needs him to rescue her? All he requested was a bottle of whiskey. What a sensible person!

“No. It’s fine. If you don’t want to get your mother the one thing she asked for on this trip that’s okay. I won’t say one word about paying for this celebration trip, or paying for graduate school, or —” 

“Shit, mom. Did you take a Guilt Trip 101 class or just Google how to?”

“Oh, this is natural talent. My present, please.” 

“Fine.” There’s a group of bearded men, the ones she pegged as locals, tucked into one corner of the pub. They’re probably her best bet, but she just arrived last night, and the combination of jet lag and travel nerves make her feel not yet up for that. Which leaves the staff working the bar. 

One of the two men she’s seen pouring pints and serving up food has gone missing. Besides, Emma wouldn’t trust herself in her sleep-deprived state to not say something utterly absurd to the blue-eyed, dark-haired, scruffy bartender. Probably a good thing he’s gone. Much safer is the other man working the bar – the one who refused to serve her Guinness but was very kind about it. While arguably attractive, he is a decidedly less intimidating sort of handsome. Unfortunately, he is in the midst of a heated discussion with one of the patrons, the two of them gesticulating to something happening with a football match on the screen. Which leaves the blonde haired woman currently polishing glasses. 

Emma lightly clears her throat. “Excuse me, ma’am?” When the woman turns to look at her, Emma smiles, and signals her over. She sets aside the pint glasses and tucks the polishing rag into her apron. Her mother, on the other end of the video call, is not satisfied. 

“Did you say ma’am?” 

“Mom,” Emma whispers.

“I said an Irish man, Emma Blanchard Nolan. Man.”

“No. You said person.” 

“The man was implied.” 

“Then you should have been more specific.” 

“Ready for another?” the woman at the bar asks. 

Emma looks down at her half-full pint. “Not quite.” She frowns. “And, uh, you’re not Irish, are you?” 

“No. Canadian.” 

“Ah. Okay.” Emma lowers her voice again and looks at her phone screen. Her mother remains unimpressed. “That’s foreign. Technically she’s a foreigner.” 

The sternness of Mary-Margaret’s expression is evident even over the video call. “Emmaline —” 

“Not my name, mother.” 

“Emmaline Blanchard Nolan, you promised me.” 

“I’ll find an Irish person tomorrow.” It’s about this time Emma realizes she’s rudely ignoring the very kind and apparently Canadian bartender. The one she asked to speak with. What’s more, the very kind and apparently Canadian bartender has been joined by the curly haired bartender. Both of whom peer at her with matching expressions of amused befuddlement. Emma removes her headphones and addresses the man. “You’re Irish, right?” 

“Well, miss,” and the gentle brogue of his accent, even with those two short words, is quite evident, “you are in Ireland.” 

“Excellent! Can you talk to my mom?” She detaches the headphones from her phone and turns the camera around to face the man and woman. “My mom wants to have a conversation with an Irish person.” 

“Irish man,” her mother corrects.

“An Irish man. Out in the wild.” The bartenders stare at her, nonplussed. “It’s her souvenir.” 

The woman presses her lips together – an obvious attempt to stifle a laugh. 

“Well, uh, aye.” The man tugs at his ear. “I guess I could —” He’s interrupted from his stuttering by the return of the blue-eyed, stubbly bartender, hauling a new keg into the back of the bar. 

“Actually,” the woman cuts in. “My husband,” she hip checks the curly-haired man, “needs to replace the keg.” 

“I do?” he asks. 

“He does?” This from tall, dark, and holy hell! also possesses an Irish accent. 

“But Killian is in the middle—”

“Shh,” the blonde woman interrupts her husband. 

“Yeah. Killian is—”

She goes on to shush the man Emma now knows to be Killian. 

“Oh no,” Mary Margaret whispers over the video call, “there’s two of them.” 

“What is happening?” Emma’s not sure which of the two men asked, this whole interaction spinning rather absurdly out of control. 

“I don’t know,” Emma says.

The woman ignores all of them. “I’m Elsa, this is Liam, and that,” she points to Killian, frozen with a hand on the keg like he’s uncertain what to do, “is my very single, very Irish brother-in-law.” And all at once it becomes clear what Elsa’s intentions are. “Killian, can you come over here and help our lovely patron and her lovely mother?” 

“Oh, Emma, Killian even sounds like an Irish name.” 

“Mom!” Originally she found her mother’s request to be silly but harmless. The more people who become involved, however, the quicker it approaches mortifying. Emma watches as Elsa whispers something to her brother-in-law, likely explaining the unconventional request. 

“I’m very friendly,” Mary-Margaret reassures anyone who might be listening. 

“You are a flirt, is what you are,” Emma scolds. “And what would dad say if he found out about this?”

“He asked for whiskey. I asked for this.” 

“Come on, lass. Don’t deprive me of a dashing rescue.” Killian leans across the bar, his hand reaching out for her phone. All that stubble and the blue-eyes and the accent are worse when directed directly at her. “Besides, your mum sounds like a woman after my own heart.” 

“If you’re sure—?”

“Absolutely.”

To her abject horror, the moment she hands Killian the phone, he walks away with it in hand. 

“As requested, milady,” he says to the screen, “one genuine Irish man.”

Her mother’s delighted giggle is embarrassing for all Americans everywhere but it seems to delight Killian. She can just makeout her mother’s question about where he grew up when he rounds the corner, out of her hearing. 

“Where is he going?” Emma asks, craning her neck. “Where is he taking my phone?” 

“If I know Killian, your mum is probably about to get the most thorough oral history of Irish pubs she could have asked for,” Liam says, tossing a towel over his shoulder. 

“Oh. Okay.” She drums her fingertips on her glass. “I’m sorry about all the trouble.” 

“Nonsense,” he waves her off. “This is the most exciting thing to happen in our pub since Seamus and Willy hosted their wedding reception here.” He jerks his chin towards the group of bearded men she noticed earlier, though which one is Seamus and which is Willy she can’t be certain. 

After another fifteen minutes, Emma has finished her pint and Killian still has possession of her phone. He crossed through the room once, merrily chatting with her mother as he regaled  her with the story of how he got the scar on his cheek. 

Elsa is filling a series of pint glasses for a group of women standing at the bar, and Emma feels the need to apologize again. “This isn’t what I expected,” she explains. 

“What’s that?” Elsa asks. 

“I was kind of thinking, best case scenario, there’d be an exchange of hellos and that would be that.” 

Elsa nods, hands the pints off to the women, and then fills one more. “Are you familiar with the legend of the Blarney stone?” 

Emma nods. She has absolutely no intention of kissing the dang thing (her research indicates local teens do all manner of ungodly things to the stone, knowing that tourists intend to kiss it), but it’s on her list to go see. 

“Well, Jones family legend —”

“I take it your husband and his brother are Jones’?” 

“And me by marriage. Jones family legend has it that Killian must have been birthed upon the stone because never has there been a man more endowed with the gift of gab.” Elsa finishes pouring the pint and sets it in front of her. 

“Oh, I didn’t order this.” Right at that moment, Liam returns to the bar and sets a turkey sandwich in front of her. “Or this,” Emma says. 

“Knowing my brother, you might be here a while,” Liam explains. 

“Gift of gab?” 

He nods, pleased that the Jones family lore has reached her. “Gift of gab.”

Liam proves to be correct, which means Emma has ample time to get to know both Elsa and Liam. The two of them are freakishly adept at juggling bartending, interacting with their customers, and keeping up a steady flow of conversation with her. The highlight is hearing the full story of Seamus and Willy (she is able to identify them by their matching navy sweaters – sweaters which Willy apparently handknits for the both of them), two men who worked on the same fishing boat for decades before realizing they were in love. 

“Once they sorted that bit out, they got married three weeks later,” Elsa says. 

“So which one of them is the designated driver?” Emma asks. 

“That whole lot lives down the street.” Liam raises his voice so the group can hear them. “And they do nothing but hassle me every day of my life!” The group all raise their pint glasses and cheer, indicating this kind of teasing is something central to the pub’s dynamic. 

Killian returns from wherever it was he was busy flirting with her mother and sets her phone on the bartop. She looks down at the display only to find it blank.

“Uh, your mum had to run to the market, but she indicated she’ll call you later.” 

“She didn’t even say goodbye? Unbelievable.” As Emma gears herself up for peak mom-annoyance, she gets a text message. “Speak of the devil.” 

4:38 PM - Mom to Emma hubba hubba

“Ah, geez, mom,” she grumbles. 

“What’d she say about me?” Killian asks. 

“What makes you think that text was about you?” 

“Because you have roses in your cheeks.” Emma frowns. She what? “You’re blushing,” Killian says. 

“No I’m not.” 

“It’s getting deeper, I’m afraid.” He takes away her empty pint glass. “Another?” 

“Yes, please.” 

He sets another pint of Murphy’s in front of her (Liam was the one to inform her that one drinks Murphy’s when one is in Cork). “Your mother is lovely.” 

“Yeah, she’s something alright.” She sips the beer and licks the foam off her lip. “What were the two of you talking about for so long?”

“Oh, just having a chat. She wanted to know about the pub and how Elsa and Liam met.” 

“The gift of gab.” 

“Ah,” he says, “Elsa told you of that, then?” 

“Like my mom didn’t tell you anything about me?” 

“It was all good, Emma.” 

She snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure.” 

“Why a conversation with an Irish man?” Emma frowns at Killian, not quite certain of what he’s asking. “For a souvenir. That’s truly all your mum wanted?” 

“Oh, that. In between flirting, did she tell you anything about her and my dad?” Killian shakes his head. “It’s kind of a long story.” 

As if waiting for his cue, Liam comes up behind Killian and slings an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “My dear little brother has time.” 

“Younger brother,” Killian corrects. 

“Shorter brother.” Liam bumps Killian towards the other side of the bar. “Why don’t you keep Emma company?” 

“I have another three hours on my shift.” 

“I think Elsa and I can handle it until Will arrives.” 

“Liam.” 

“Don’t make me fire you.” 

“You can’t fire me. We’re co-owners.” 

“Fine. Don’t make me quit.” 

Killian rolls his eyes but slides out from under Liam’s arm. He crosses to the other side of the bar and sits beside Emma. “I’ll take a pint, then.” He raps his knuckles on the bartop. “And make it quick.” 

Emma hides her smile in her pint glass. Both Liam and Elsa have been so lovely. There’s no reason to switch allegiances at this point. Regardless of how much she might be tempted by the stubbly-faced, blue-eyed flirty Irish man sitting beside her. 

“Between the two of them and my mother,” Emma says. 

“Yeah, not the most subtle lot.” Liam shoots Killian a glare as he sets the pint down to which Killian responds with the cheekiest grin Emma has ever seen. The interaction has older and baby brother written all over it. “So, your mom and Irishmen. Go.” 

“Oh, that.” Unlike her mother, and even her father, Emma holds the details of her life close to her chest. She’s made the mistake in the past of sharing too much too fast. When people leave her, either by choice or circumstance, it physically pains her to know there are people out in the world with knowledge of her worries, fears and dreams. But maybe it’s the sandwich sitting warm in her stomach, or the jet lag, or simply the buzz of international travel, because she feels inclined to share at least a few details of her life with Killian. 

“My mom and dad both took a gap year after high school and met while backpacking across Europe. They met at the Roman Colosseum, decided to match up their itineraries, and by the time they arrived in Budapest five months later they were in love and my mom was pregnant.” 

“And they’ve been together ever since?” 

“Almost 27 years.”

“That’s quite the story.” 

She nods. “They cut their year of travel short, and went to live with my Grandma Ruth, my dad’s mom. They always talked about returning to Europe, finishing their trip at some point, but by the time I was old enough to leave behind with my grandma, dad was in vet school, mom was teaching, and they were running a wildlife rescue from the family farm. They kept making new plans to travel but they just kept getting pushed back and back and back. Until, one day, they decided to put all that money towards sending me on my first trip instead. So, as much as I fight every silly request she has of me, I would do anything if it made her smile.”

“Your mum and dad never made it to Ireland?” 

“Nope.”

“Thus the strange request.” 

“Thus the strange request.” 

“Well, it gave me a reason to chat with the lovely lass at the bar, so for that I’ll be forever grateful.” 

Her Grandma Ruth, Aunt Ruby, and frankly everyone who knows her parents well, routinely comment on the resemblance between Emma and her dad. Apparently in temperament and affectation they are almost identical. But maybe she’s more like her mom than anyone knows because the conversation between her and Killian flows fast and easy. Easy enough that she barely notices when she and Killian finish their pints and Elsa slides new glasses in front of them. Emma’s head is feeling a little buzzy, and that turkey sandwich was more than a couple hours ago. Maybe she can hint at Killian that she wants to go to the Christmas market. Hint even more specifically that she wouldn’t hate if he went with her. 

No, she can’t do that. To even think such a thing would be ridiculous. 

She can’t possibly ask a practical stranger to walk up and down the stalls of the festive market with her. She can’t expect him to want to sample all the baked goods and food they can handle. Or to hold her hand while they drink spiked apple cider. That kind of thinking is romantic, and hopeful, and not at all her brand. 

“This is really your first trip out of the states?” Killian asks.

“I mean, Canada, but that’s so close to home it doesn’t count.” Emma catches herself, eyes darting to Elsa. “Don’t tell your sister.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Killian angles his body on the stool to face her more directly. Without Emma realizing it, they’ve drifted close enough together over the past hour or so that the move makes it so their knees knock together. Emma could move away, put some distance between them, but everything is foggy and hazy in that delicious way, and she can’t bring herself to move. “What does that make me, then? The ruggedly handsome foreigner you intend to seduce as a notch on your bedpost?” 

“Who said anything about seduction?”

“You’re giving me bedroom eyes.” 

“I do not make eyes of any kind. Especially bedroom eyes.” 

Elsa jumps in, setting glasses of water down for each of them. “Yeah, but Killian does. And he needs to put them away.”

Emma tries to react quickly enough to Elsa’s teasing to evade Killian’s detection, to turn away and hide her smile in her shoulder so he can’t see, but the gentle tug on the end of her braid indicates he caught her. 

“Think that’s funny, do you?” 

“You and my mom ganged up against me. I deserve to join with your family against you.” 

“Your mum is great.” He shrugs. “Well, based on the little I know.”  

“I know she can be a little intense. I hope she didn’t—”

“She was as lovely as her daughter.” Before his words can fully sink in, perhaps bringing that blush back to her cheeks, he’s moved on. “You’ll have to bring her with you when you return.” 

She rests her chin on palm, blinking up at him. Okay, maybe she sometimes makes eyes. “What makes you think I have any plans to come back?”

“Ireland gets in your blood. You’ll be back.” 

This time they’re interrupted by Liam. He swipes away the pint glasses in front of them, remaining beer and all. “That’s about all I can stomach of that.”

“What do you mean?” Killian asks. 

“You’ve been flirting with the kind tourist long enough. Time to go.” 

Oh. Emma looks down at her boots. A surge of deep embarrassment heating her cheeks and causing her stomach to churn. “Sorry,” she says quietly, her eyes turned down. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No!” The twin cries from both Liam and Killian startle her. She’s not sure which one appears more stricken by her announcement she intended to leave.   

“Apologies, Emma, I wasn’t clear,” Liam says. He extends his hand to Killian. “Apron.” It takes Killian a moment to react but when Liam stays in his place, his hand extended, Killian removes his apron and hands it to him. “See you tomorrow, little brother.” 

“Younger.”

“Dumber.” 

“Stubborner.”

“Not a word.” Liam stalks back over to Elsa who is shaking her head at the whole display. “They’re both idiots,” Liam says, and Emma is just going to pretend she didn’t hear that, thank you very much. 

“Have you been to the Christmas market yet, Emma?” Killian’s voice brings her back to the pub, and this particular bar stool, with this particular man. This particular man who has somehow intuited the secret desire of her heart to go to the town’s Christmas market with him. 

“No. No. Not yet.” 

Killian jumps down from his seat and extends a hand to Emma to help her down. “Come on, love. Let’s sail away.” 

There’s 100 ways Emma could respond to that. She could tell Killian she isn’t his love. She could jump down from the stool on her own. She could insist she’s fine going to the market by herself. But she tries to channel a little magic, that particular magic which for her mom and dad turned one day in Rome into a lifetime, and chooses differently. 

(Not that she’s saying she expects—)

She takes Killian’s offered hand and his answering grin is all the confirmation she needs she made the right decision. 

And so they go to the Christmas market, and at Killian’s insistence she tries mulled wine but quickly trades it in for a cup of boozy cider. They ride the ferris wheel, the cold stinging her cheeks from the top, the lights of Cork spread out before her, and that thrum of love for this place beats loudly in her veins. Suddenly every travel story her parents have ever told her makes sense and maybe Killian is right  – maybe Ireland is in her blood. 

They walk together side-by-side and at a point Emma can’t remember – somewhere between sampling whiskey, buying several bottles for her dad, and licking salt and malt vinegar from hot chips off her fingers – they transition to walking hand-in-hand. The heat of Killian’s skin, even through two layers of gloves, is what she blames for the fact that she actually starts humming along to Christmas carols. Where’s that deep cynicism she has been committed to for her life when she needs it? 

“Told you,” Killian says after the two of them step away from a stall with handmade ornaments. She must have been channeling her mom because she couldn’t stop herself from striking up a conversation with the vendor. Somehow by the end of the interaction she’d agreed to join him and his wife for their annual holiday pub crawl the following night. 

“Told me what?” 

“That you would fall for Ireland.” 

“You get the honor and privilege of keeping me company on my first full night on my first real trip out of the country and all you can say is ‘I told you so’?” 

“I believe what I am trying to say, love, is you appear very much at home here.” 

The sentiment makes everything in Emma buzz, but she does what she does best and works to diffuse it. “Well, uh, I don’t know. Does it ever snow here?” 

“Eh, we get about 50 mm every year?” At her look of confusion Killian smiles. “Not much.” 

“Have you ever had a white Christmas?” 

“Can’t say I have. They’re pretty rare in Ireland.” 

“In that case, I think this means you should come to Maine. We do a great white Christmas.” 

“Maybe I will.” 

“Great. Next year sound good?” 

Killian laughs and squeezes her hand. “Sounds great.”

She hears the faint echo of advice her dad once gave her. It was right when she was fresh off her heartbreak with Neal and wasn’t sure she had it in her to apply for grad school. He said something to her about moments. About the need to notice good moments even in the midst of bad ones. 

Standing here hand-in-hand with a man she met only five hours ago, the glow of Christmas lights dancing in technicolor hues against his cheeks and hair, Emma is absolutely certain this is a good moment. 

“Emma?” 

She answers Killian’s question by rising up on her toes and kissing him. It’s quick and fleeting, barely a brush of her lips against his, but the look on his face as she pulls away, all bright eyed-wonder, deserves to be classified as a good moment all on its own. 

It takes self-control Emma wasn’t aware she possessed to not drop their shopping bags to the ground, grip him by the lapels of his jacket, and kiss the crap out of him. Instead she loops her arm in his. 

“It’s getting late,” she says. “Want to walk me back to my hotel?” 

He swallows, that poleaxed expression still on his face. “Aye.” 

The next morning, Emma is woken up by the sound of her video call alert and boy it was a mistake to not extend her do not disturb until noon. She reaches out and blindly bats at the bedside table until she makes contact with her phone. As soon as she swipes up on her mom’s call, she squeezes her eyes shut again. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, sweetie. Are you still jet lagged?” 

“And a little hungover.”

“Sounds like you had a very eventful night.”

Killian grumbles from somewhere behind her. “What time is it?” he asks.

It’s right about this moment Emma realizes her error. Her mom goes quiet and Emma considers taking the opportunity to end the call. And then maybe ignore every call thereafter for the next five days. 

“Emma Nolan. Is there a man in bed with you?” 

“No,” Emma answers, though it’s perfunctory and not at all convincing. 

Killian presses closer to her, and shifts so his chin rests on her shoulder. “Hello again, Mrs. Nolan. And this must be Mr. Nolan.” 

That gets Emma’s attention and she opens her eyes enough to see her mom and dad sitting beside one another on the couch. While her mom is positively gleeful, her dad looks as though he wishes he could melt into the couch cushions and disappear. 

“There are certain things I don’t care to see,” her dad says. “Certain things I don’t care to know.” 

Emma rotates in bed and onto her back, holding the phone above her head so both she and Killian are still in view of the camera. “Oh hush, Dad, you and mom did it the first night you met.” 

“You told her that?” 

In response, her mom shrugs. “She asked.” 

“And not that it matters, but Killian and I didn’t have sex.” 

Though it didn’t stop them from trading long, slow kisses that left her dizzy and wanting more, more, and more. Killian must have felt the same because it took little to no convincing to get him to stay the night. Perhaps most remarkably, after extending the invitation, Emma had no desire to retract it or pretend it didn’t mean anything. 

“Your daughter was far too drunk to have sex.” Emma turns her head so fast in Killian’s direction she hears something crack. 

“That, for instance, is one of the things I don't want to know about,” her dad says.  

Killian cheerfully waves at the camera, ignoring both her father’s indignation and her glare. “I’m Killian, by the way. Happy to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Nolan.” 

Emma elbows Killian. The man is a total menace. “I’ll call you guys back when I’ve had coffee,” 

“I want details,” her mom says. 

“And I want no details.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Emma hangs up the phone and tosses it in the direction of the foot of the bed. She flips over onto her side and Killian mirrors her, reaching out to trace the freckles on the bridge of her nose. “So that was my dad.” 

“He seems a charming fellow.” 

“Don’t let the responsible tough guy act fool you,” she says, and snuggles closer to Killian. He responds just as she hoped, by wrapping his arms tight around her. “He once spent all his money on a cross country train ride and stole oyster crackers from the dining car for food. And during a California road trip, my mom almost froze to death sleeping in her wet bathing suit on the side of the road.” 

Killian chuckles, the vibrations of his laugh making her feel even warmer. “You’re saying they can deal with a half naked man in their daughter’s hotel room?”  

“Yeah, they can deal.” After a moment’s hesitation, Emma slips her hands up and under Killian’s shirt. It’s the one he wore to work, and she can still smell the faint aromas of beer and fried food that linger. She presses her palms against his back and bunches the shirt up, up, and then over his head. 

“Emma?” 

A girl could get used to the way his voice moves over the syllables of her name. “They might have a problem with a fully naked one, though.” She kisses his bare shoulder.

Killian’s hands move under her shirt to span her waist. Goosebumps breakout across her skin. By the slight twist of his lips, Killian notices. “So you’re saying—?” 

“I’m saying you should quit gabbing and kiss me before they call again.” 

“As you wish.”

And a week later, when she is back in Maine celebrating Christmas with her family and Killian is in Ireland with his, Emma convinces herself she imagined it. She must have. She must have imagined how safe she felt in the presence of another person. Imagined the comfort she felt as he joined her for a quick road trip to Dublin. Imagined that it could feel like your heart was split in two, half residing in the chest of a person you just met. 

But the week of New Year’s Eve, when he arrives in Maine to celebrate with her, she’s startled to find it was all real. 

The morning after Killian arrives, she sits with her mom in her parents’ breakfast nook, the two of them sipping coffee as Killian and her dad make waffles. 

“Not such a dumb souvenir after all, huh?” her mom whispers.

Emma shakes her head, too happy to even react to her mom’s shameless gloating. “No. Not so dumb.” 

[chemicalpink]

Trust Fund Baby ♡ Kim Seokjin

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x reader

Genre: Fluff + Softcore Smut with a side of Comedy

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: includes softcore porn, mc cries during sex bc too much feelings, fake engagement, Jin’s mum dislikes YN

Summary: Kim Seokjin is the biggest Trust Fund Baby, it is no secret but he’s almost thirty and on the line to inherit his dad’s CEO position, which makes his family set a deadline for his engagement or he loses it all.

OR

The one where Seokjin is no good with buried feelings but Y/N isn’t any better (they kinda hate each other and they have to share a bed okay, thats the cliche here)

A/N: banner made by me, whoa I finally got this bad boy finished that took quite some time, well, I hope you enjoy, these past few days haven’t been nice to me but I’m slowly working on it. Much blessing to all of you reading this first attempt at a slightly longer shot.

Seokjin has always been one to enjoy the finest things in life, traveling around the world at any given time? check. shopping without checking the price tag? check. attending a top tier university? also check. 

The thing is, one can only live so long without having to actually work for every single swipe of a black card. He is about to turn 28, youngest child of the most successful tech innovator in Korea and a former second-place Miss Universe, and he has yet to bring a girl home that provides him with some kind of secured future to the family name.

“We are not getting any younger” his mother had said the first few times the topic was brought up during their usual family Sunday brunch, but the words fell on deaf ears.

When his dad started getting involved in the matter, Seokjin knew he was over and done with.

But as much as his dad was headstrong, Jin was one himself too, he entered each blind date knowing that he would make whoever was sitting across from him, absolutely despise him after less than an hour went by, which was quite a hard task in itself, seen as he was pretty good looking and with a heavy amount of money under his name. 

See, he would have probably agreed to marry to some of the girls that his dad sent his way, but every time he sat down for dinner with each of them, they were not even trying to fake being interested in him, just his lifestyle, whether it is if his dad was about to name him CEO any time soon or how much money they could blow off in the wedding.

He could do it for the rest of his living days, scaring off his father’s candidates, that is. It was somewhat fun, earning a weirded out look when he mentioned he liked bathing in goats milk religiously, or how he allegedly liked being put to sleep like a baby, he even once went as far as admitting a fake toe kink in the most perverted way possible when one of them just wouldn’t budge.

Then again, his fun could only last so long, as his father called him up to the office to give him a 30-day ultimatum or his trust fund would be taken away for good. Now that had the gears in his head working, how on earth would any sane enough person agree to marry in a month-long time.

“I’m not saying you’re not a keeper, hyung but I honestly don’t think I can take up such a responsibility,” Namjoon laughed as they sat in one of the campus’ lounge chairs while they waited for their class to start, the elder groaned in response.

“Could you imagine having to marry THE Kim Seokjn in less than a month, but also having to meet the standards of tech genius Mr Kim and universal beauty Mrs Kim” Jungkook laughed at his friend as he patted his shoulder in pity “I don’t think anyone is willing to put themselves through it hyung”

“Could you just- I don’t know, help me out a bit? I already know I’m fucked” 

“Okay, let’s say… who could pass the scrutinising judgemental eye of the Kims?” the blond one offered, just a bit of teasing in his tone “They would have to be a girl, your father seems adamant on that one” he paused as if in thought “ A nice family name would help too”

“She would have to be good looking too, my mum says Seokjin-hyung’s mum can never be seen without looking like she is about to own a runway” 

“Well that’s about it, I will be broke for the rest of my life, I won’t be able to pay my student loans, it was nice knowing you guys, I’ll just have to work at some greasy old diner to pay for a one-bedroom apartment somewhere out of the city and we’ll never hang out again because I’ll be a disgrace of society, this handsome face will just wrinkle and spot without the high maintenance and- ugh” he buried his face in between his hands, resting on the table in an overexaggerated manner after his rant, making the youngers try to stifle a laugh

“Whoa, what is the drama queen crying about now?” Taehyung, another friend of theirs approached the table after hearing the not so subtle commotion “Hyung, if your night cream went out of stock again, you know I can get my mum to ship some to you, we’ve talked about this”

If Seokjin’s dramatic outburst from before had made them laugh, Taehyungs’ confession made them burst in a fit of laughter that had both of them holding onto their sides “You’ve- you’ve had to restock Seokjin-hyung on- on night cream before?” 

“And now he’s going to kill me, stop laughing!” he took a seat next to them “What is this about anyway?”

“His dad said he has to marry or they will completely obliterate his spending rights” 

“Oh but, how hard can it be? You’re Kim Seokjin, just ask a girl to fake marry you” 

“He’s just worried that after having a taste of Worldwide Handsome, they won’t let go ” Seokjin let out an overdramatic groan at that, continuing to fake cry, sound muffled by his arms

“Then just ask someone that doesn’t give two shits about your money or reputation to fake marry you”

“I don’t think such a person exists, hyung”

“Yah, Y/N is a good option, her family is filthy rich too” 

“But isn’t Y/N… you know, a bastard child?” Taehyung was known amongst their scene as a social butterfly, not caring about the protocol they were subdued into when they were children, so it made sense that while for them it was almost a rule to never consider an illegitimate child a friend of theirs, Taehyung would just jump over that fact.

“Which is exactly my point, if you show up to your parents’ house, saying you’re ‘oh so in love with this black sheep’ I could bet my life, they’ll let you off the hook”

 So maybe Taehyung was right, you were his best shot so far. Contrary to what most people new to the scene of Korea’s high society believe about your social status as an illegitimate child of the car emporium’s CEO and national treasure, he knows you are more of an insider, having grown up with him but… pretty much on the side. It wasn’t like you were alien to his lifestyle, but as you both grew up and he was involved more in the family business, you had grown apart, going as far as rebelling against your father once you were grown up enough to understand what being a bastard child meant for you. 

He never stopped seeing you around though, once you started going MIA on business dinners and family trips, he thought enough to see you during classes.

However, you stopped being recognisable after he attended a semester abroad, coming back home to see pigtails and pink puffy dresses long gone, in their place, ripped jeans, which were completely unacceptable for a lady, according to his mum, and driving one of your dad’s self-proclaimed archnemesis designs. 

It was a spring semester in high school, he could recall the time as if it were a precious memory, while the rest tried to pretend it had never happened in the first place; at age 27 he doesn’t have to try so hard to recall the way you burst into one of your father’s celebratory cocktails, drunk off your ass, barely managing to get a hold of some mic and screaming into it how he, and everyone else attending the party, had a stick up their asses that didn’t let them see anything but price tags before you were dragged off stage by security. He had giggled at it but his mother had scolded him, asking him to pretend as if you had never existed in the first place.

So of course, the secure way out of an arranged marriage was simple: you. 

Now, this promised to be no easy task, he knew you hated his family almost as much as you hated your own father, but he also happened to know his way into negotiating an infallible plan that would get you to rebel against the system you were so adamant on taking down. 

“Wait wait wait, so you’re telling me, asking me, to marry you” so perhaps approaching you on your way to class wasn’t the smartest way to do it, seen as you halted your hasty walk to turn to look at him, books in hand and looking like you hadn’t slept in days.

“Yeah, fake marrying me though” 

“I would still sign a contract, Jin you do know we would be legally married, right?” he just raised his shoulders as if to dismiss your statement.

“Say, hypothetically I do it, I don’t think your parents would approve of me” you resumed your walk and he found it appropriate to play dumb with a smile on his face.

“Why wouldn’t they?” 

You stopped walking again and blinked a few times his way as if debating inside your head if he really was that dense“Jin… I’m a bastard child, you know how it goes around here”

“Hmmm I’m willing to look past that, yeah” you stared at him for a few seconds before smiling in a knowing way, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at him,  not being able to see past his words to his true intentions on the matter since you two hadn’t really hung out for years “So what do you say?”

“No thank you” you weren’t about to turn around once you started to walk away once again, but out of the corner of your eyes you could see him hanging his mouth open in that drama fashion he was known for.

Days passed and each one seemed to go by faster than the last, by the time two weeks were left, he could practically hear the ticking clock inside his head, reminding him that maybe he should have gone for an easier target, perhaps some girl from the country club that seemed to always try so hard to steal a glance from him. But then again, he wouldn’t get rid of her for all he’s worth.

Seokjin tries, again and again, everytime ending up with a no from you, he starts actually trying as his days run low, peer pressure, you’d call it as he set up a huge booth full of roses just outside your dorm building, a mic held in his hand as everyone around him took videos of THE Kim Seokjin making a fool of himself for a girl, your cheeks blazing red as you walked up to him, finally fed up with him as you angrily whispered to him “You’re asking me because you don’t think I am on your level, you honestly think less of me, why? because I didn’t grow up in a golden cradle like you and your friends? because I actually have to work for what I have? You’re an asshole Kim Seokjin, but I will prove you, I can absolutely charm both of your parents, I’ll do it” Seokjin’s grin taking over his features.

The first time you officially posed as Seokjin’s girlfriend, you wouldn’t have thought it would be one of the most nerve wrecking experiences in your life, having grown in a wealthy family, after your mother decided to leave you with your biological dad and his rightful heirs, you were no stranger to their roundabouts, their lifestyle and everything in between.

“Well you cleaned up nicely, Y/N” Seokjin said in a mocking tone, body resting against his black car just outside your dorm building as he watched you close the glass door, ready to drive both of you to his family’s vacation house all the way in Jeju Island

“Why aren’t you a gentleman and help me with my stuff?” you groaned as, once again, your suitcase betrays you and tries to slip away from your grasp.

“Nah, not really my thing” he adjusted his sunglasses perched on his nose as he mockingly added “...darling”

“Kim Seokjin, I am the one doing you a favour by going with you!” you shouted back at him, in a futile attempt to get him to help you as he was already buckling himself up  inside the driver’s seat.

In all wealthy family fashion, as soon as Seokjin phoned back home to let his parents know that he was ‘finally ready to bring his girlfriend over’ his mum had gone all out and invited most of the inner Kim family for a weekend get together in one of their houses in Jeju, with just a text the night before having to leave campus as a heads up for you to get ready, currently on your way to catch a plane. 

“Wait so let me just get this straight” you said, surprised at Seokjin’s story of how the conversation with his mum went down, turning in your seat to face him more clearly “just after month of your parents trying to set you up, you just went ahead and straight up lied to your mother by saying that you’re bringing your long time girlfriend that you just somehow never mentioned before?”

“Yeah, Y/N, didn’t you hear me out the first time?”

You let out something between a laugh and a scoff as you melted into your seat “We’re so screwed”

Two hours and a lot of bickering later, you are still pushing your own suitcase forward as you and Seokjin made your way to a rented car just outside the airport.

“Listen so- these family things are kinda..”

“Stuck up?”

“I was gonna say etiquette-driven, but yeah, stuck up probably fits best” he said as you buckled your seatbelt on, him beginning to drive away and towards his family address, somewhere from the side of your eye you could see his hand trembling lightly on the steering wheel. Could it be that Kim Seokjin was nervous? The Kim Seokjin? 

“Relax Jin, I know exactly how to handle it. We grew up together, remember?” you said smiling at him as he turned your way for a second; to calm him down, but honestly it was more a thing to try and calm yourself down, having ran away from such a lifestyle, stirring things up in your family, only to end up somehow at the center of it all was sure a wild ride to be on.

“Yeah, I sometimes kinda forget you used to be so much better at this stuff than your sisters” his eyes lingered on you a second too long as you stopped at a red light, a small smile taking over his lips and the car behind you being quick to make it known that Seokjin was taking up too long to start the car going again when the light changed.

The ride was pretty much silent and kinda awkward but soon over with as the car pulled up to a familiar villa, white houses with fancy front gardens and over the top luxury cars lining up together as Jin parked on the third house on the right, just beside the one that used to be your father’s, and probably still was.

A woman was waiting by the entrance door, which you soon recognised to be Seokjin’s mum, looking just a tad older than how you remembered her from all those years ago, a bright smile on her face as she rushed to the driver’s side to greet her son.

“Ah Seokjinnie! You never visit anymore, look at you! Are you eating well? You look so thin!” she said as she placed two sonorous kisses on her son, one  on each cheek.

“Yah, eomma, we talk on the phone a lot though” 

“Wait so who’s the lucky lady you’ve brought home?” you stood kind of awkwardly on the front of the car to greet her with a small bow and a faltering smile, your heart speeding up at the memories of what your life used to be, fingers gripping your bag tighter in an attempt to not run away as soon as her eyes landed on you and her smile fell “Y/N? Seokjinnie, is Y/N really the girl you brought home?”

“Surprise?” Jin said from behind her as she not so subtly let out a huff and entered the house as you tried not to notice how your heart sinked at the sight, surely, you had always known deep down that you were quite the talk of the town amongst the families, with you being a bastard child and all, which was exactly why Seokjin had asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend, so his parents would drop the topic, very much preferring to see his son single rather than married to an out of marriage offspring, which not only made you realise that what you had promised yourself to make Seokjin down his words would never be true, you could never in a million years make his parents love you, and you didn’t calculate just how much it would hurt yourself as you tried.

“You can take the room upstairs, I’ll call you when your sister’s back so we can have dinner together” his mother said as she made her way inside without another word

“So I don’t think your mother likes me” you blurted out as soon as you closed the door to the room “Which I guess, goes exactly as you planned, after this I don’t think they’ll be pestering you to marry”

“Y/N that’s the least of our problems”

“What are you talking about?”

His eyes opened up to emphasize along with his hands dramatically pointing towards the bed “There’s only one bed and I have a bad back so I’m not about to sleep on the floor”

“Well that’s the least you could do Kim, I’m not about to share a bed with you”

“Take the couch?” he said as he pointed to a small couch that faced the window 

“Kim Seokjin I’m doing this much for your sorry ass, so unless you want me to go down and tell your mother that all of this is a set up, you take the damn couch”

“Well I never knew you looked that hot while yelling at me, Y/N”

“You’re insufferable” 

“Y/N come on, I don’t fit in that couch” he whined at you as you walked towards the bathroom to freshen up

“Do as you please Seokjin, but you’re not sleeping with me” 

As if dealing with Seokjin’s mum wasn’t enough, his sister was about to burst your head either from all the questioning or out of spite from the looks she was giving you as you sat across from her on the dinner table

“So Y/N, your sisters never mentioned you dating our Seokjin”

“Oh yeah- it was more of a very private matter, we dated for awhile just to see how it went, right Jinnie?” you said the nickname in a honey dripping voice that fitted the fake scenario you had going on

“Ahh yeah, yeah, Y/N and I, we uh- we like keeping to ourselves”

“And I haven’t seen you at your dad’s company dinners after- well, the incident”

“Seung” their oldest brother said sternly, catching up with her intentions “We’re just glad to see you again, Y/N”

“Thanks”

After dinner, Jin and you walked upstairs saying your goodbyes to the rest of his family to enter the bedroom, separately doing your night routines, you lied on one side of the bed as Seokjin prepped a few blankets and pillows in order to lie on the floor “I was just joking, you know? You could sleep on the other side of the bed” you said, feeling somewhat guilty at how he had taken your past statement as a rule

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable” he was quick to say, already tossing at being uncomfortable lying on the floor.

“Oh so now you’re being considerate?” you scoffed- sure, Seokjin was kind of a dick, most of the time, but he wasn't half as bad as most people his age and social status, but honestly speaking, if he was so preoccupied on making you uncomfortable, he wouldn’t have even proposed to make you go through this whole ordeal “After what I just had to go through with your sister?”

“Well you kind of accepted to come” he retorted in a soft voice, one you hadn’t listened to him use before, as if over the course of the short dinner time, something had changed in your relationship “A friend doing me a favour, you know?”

“Seokjin…” you trailed off, however as far as you two went back, after news broke that you were somewhat cut off from your father’s heirship, and everyone started treating you cold as ever, you would have thought Jin had gotten the clue “We stopped being friends a long time ago”

“What are you talking about” the night was filled with silence apart from your two whispering voices in the dark as both of you laid there

“Yeah after… that time, we hadn’t talked to each other until now” Describing your relationship with Seokjin was one of the most difficult things to do, while you were still part of the official lineage of your father’s, the Kims had actually even rooted for you to marry Seokjin, whomst you were head over heels at the time, both of you were, but Jin being the good son and heir to a tech emporium, had always disliked the way you stood up against your father and the whole elite thing your families had going on; needles to say, you both completely cut off any strings attached after you proclaimed your despise to the whole wealthy ordeal and you were vanished from your dad’s will. 

“I fail to see your point” and for a second you would have loved to believe his soothing voice in the dark, to still be in friendly terms at least, with him, after all this time.

“Nevermind just- goodnight” you said as you turned on your side to cuddle the pillow in between your arms, his soft voice reaching your ears once more and for the last time in the night.

“Goodnight Y/N”

“I’m just going straight to the point here, Y/N what exactly do you plan on achieving by marrying my son?” Jin’s mother said as soon as you came down the stairs, Seokjin having left the room a while back

“Nothing ma’am, we’re just really in love” something inside you twisting at the lie that could have been truth if things were just a tiny bit different than how they were evolving at the time, the words leaving your lips sounding as the mere truth to your ears nonetheless

“I don’t buy that lovebirds facade, Y/N drop the act now” she turned to look directly at you, trying to sound menacing, which, would have worked, had it not been for you handling her for quite some time now, so you just tried your sweetest smile at her “Whatever you and Seokjin had when you were teens, your father and Seokjin’s father called it off”

“I know” you tried to conceal just how much the reminder hurted, the memories flooding into your mind, of you and Jin being engaged even before meeting each other, the good times you both spent together as friends, a few months as something more, then the lonely nights when it was all over and it had seemed like a dream that just wouldn’t ever come true.

“Just so you know, I’m keeping a close eye on you two” were her last words before leaving the kitchen, off to some other place in the house.

“Yes ma’am”

“Hey, Y/N, we’re heading to the beach you coming?” Seokjin asked as he laid his elbow on the counter, you pull him towards you, taking his hand in your smaller one as you watched his mother closing in on you two from the distance before she set her eyes elsewhere

He leaned in to you, whispering “What was that for?”

“Your mother knows something’s up” you shortly answered

“Y/N, I didn’t know you were coming” Seokjin’s father looked just as he did the last time you saw him years ago, his face contorting into an incredule one as he saw you descend from one of the cars that took you to the beach “Are you and your father on a better place now?”

“Oh no sir, I’m accompanying Seokjin” if he hadn’t believed your presence at first, he surely wasn’t believing the words leaving your mouth; Seokjin’s father had always had a soft spot for you, my hardest working tobe daughter-in-law, he had once said, and even after you and Seokjin’s engagement was called off, mainly by your father even when Jin’s mum said otherwise, his dad had offered you a place in his company’s headboard after you graduated, which you politely denied, knowing that someday, Seokjin would be CEO and you would have to work under his name directly.

“Seokjin? my son?” you nodded “What has Seokjin ever done to deserve you as his fiancee?”

“The same thing I keep repeating myself” you mutter more to yourself than for him to hear

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing!”

The weekend with Jin’s family was as monotonous as you remembered them to be, with family dinner after a day at the beach, plus the constant scrutinising eye of his mother on you two, which made you both hold hands more than the normal amount a real couple should, only to have to spend the night at a lonely bed.

 “Jin, I’m cold” 

“Well you sure aren’t planning on also taking my blanket from me, you’ve taken my bed already” he joked from his made up bed on the floor, which in hindsight, was probably even colder for him than for you

“Jin”

“No can’t do”

“Come cuddle me then” the words had left your mouth before your brain could even complete to process them, the situation all too familiar from years before, like muscle memory, your brain had just dwelled into a common relationship between the two, too easy to slip away from.

“Ohhh you’re already falling for worldwide handsome” he joked, only you knowing the truth his words hid behind them and you felt your face heat up, somehow deciding against backing up.

“Shut up just-” torn between spilling your “new found” feeling for him that were remains from a past love or keeping it the bare minimum “I’m cold”

“Fine, I’ll be there” he paused, and you knew him all too well to know that he was wearing a stuid grin on his face, wondering if by any chance the innocent banter had a deeper meaning for him too as he added “Almost fiancee”

You could hear a shuffling  of blankets and him throwing his pillows on the bed before he literally jumped on it, whole body hovering over yours, his eyes glistening as they bore into yours as he kept his body weight on his extended hands, a familiar twist in your heart at the distance, his lips on yours in the blink of an eye for less than a second before he rolled off to the empty side of the bed

“What was that for?!” you panicked, not loud enough for anyone to hear but him

“I don’t know it felt right”

As you turned to confront him, the air suddenly didn’t feel as cold as before, a warmth enveloping you both that felt like home, like this place and time was exactly where you were supposed to be all along, your hands coming up to caress the side of his face as his larger ones tugged you closer to him effortlessly without breaking eye contact; both of your faces coming closer to each other, noses brushing against each other before your lips found his, an all too familiar setting for the both of you, everything feeling as if both of your lives had been a movie that had been unwillingly paused and someone had pressed play just as you were close like this, feeling as if all those years apart were nothing when together, his hot tongue lapping your lower lip as you granted him entrance, tongues dancing with one another as time seemed to slow down, a gasp escaping your lips as his cold hand found its way into your pajama pants “sorry, is this okay?” he whispered against your lips, to which you agreed, your own hands scurrying under his top to caress his torso, his lips finding your sweet spot under your ear all too easily, as if he had never forgotten about it, his pants straining by each passing second as you felt him grow harder against your thigh, hand going under the covers to palm him over the fabric, which made him exhale a moan in your ear, feeling yourself grow wetter at the display, all too familiar, yet not enough, you lunged yourself over him to straddle his hips, clothed core rubbing against his covered length in a futile attempt to ease the tension “ah- you’re sure about this, Y/N?” he found himself checking in with you before you both lost yourselves to pleasure “a hundred percent, Jin”.

Seokjin was quick to rid you both of your clothing, both of you grimacing at the cold and giggling about it for a second before you resumed your ways with one another, Jin’s tongue working its way down your body until he reached your folds, eating you out like a man starved, his hand finding yours to grip tight as he went down to business, lapping up your juices and working you to your first quieted orgasm of the night with a questionable experience, were you two to have never broken up in the first place; you quick to turn you both over so you were on top and ready to ride his apparently aching length as soon as he disctrated himself by kissing you post-bliss tasting yourself on his tongue, a smirk forming in his features as he reached on the bed side table to roll a condom on himself, your hands teasing him already as you muttered a “Your parents are in the next room” that was soon answered with a cocky “We shouldn’t let them hear then” before you lined him up with your entrance and slided down on him, hands gripping each other’s as you started working a pleasurable deep pace, moans tangling with the other’s, eyes fluttering shut and a lonely tear rolling down you cheek at all the emotions that you had pent up and were slowly releasing by each thrust as you buried your face on his neck, startling Jin  and making you look down on him to check on you as he noticed you crying “Y/N, are you okay?” he muttered sweetly before kissing your lips in the sweetest form, hips stilling as he was buried deep inside you, him tossing you underneath him, angling his hips better and taking over a more passionate pace, plump lips kissing away your falling tears, as if knowing that they were caused by something bigger than the both of you “God you’re so beautiful” he said as his pace became erratic “Come with me please, Y/N” whether his words or the newly found position as he pulled a leg over his shoulder, hitting all the right spots, worked you to your second orgasm, followed by him spilling in the condom, would remain a mystery as he was quick to dispose the used condom and clean both of you as you edged on sleep, his naked torso colliding with your bare back as he cuddled you.

“What are they doing here?” You muttered under your breath as Jin leaned into your frame, your right arm intertwined with his as you both rounded the corner to greet the guests that Jin’s mother had so carefully selected for the engagement party

“What? Who?” his eyes scanned the room rapidly 

“My father and- Seoyun and Junghee” his free hand rested on top of yours in an attempt to let you know he was there for you, having witnessed first hand all the history between you and your family and mentally cursing his mother for playing you so dirty

“Shit”

“Seokjin I can’t keep doing this” you turned to him, eyes panicked and wide on the verge of tears, his mind racing a hundred miles per second in search for the right words that would make you stay, he had already lost you before, and even though things didn’t quite turned out the way he had planned, he wasn’t about to let you slip away again “I can’t face them again, after all they’ve put me through, Seokjin, they took away my dreams just because I wouldn’t pace around like the rest of them,  this is your life, not mine I’m so sorry” you had ran out of his grip and out the door before his brain could even begin to process it, blinking a few too many times before he called out to you 

“Seokjinnie! What’s taking you so long?” his mother had gathered the guests in the garden for the grand entrance of the newly announced engagement, tired of being kept waiting, walking up to him

“I’m so sorry eomma, I’ll- I just- I have to go” in his mind he was already out the door looking for you, had it not been for his mother’s hand on his bicep keeping him on place and turning him to look at her

“Kim Seokjin, we get it. Your father and I will wait until you find a girl to marry, one that suits you well” Seokjin’s mother was sure a woman that could not be fooled, but this one time perhaps it was Jin that had been fooled by himself on letting himself get close to you and fall in love all over again, just the way it happened all those years ago, just the way it was supposed to be

“That’s what you don’t get mum, I’ve already found the one” 

“Y/N? Jinnie, Y/N is not part of our world, you know it” 

“Then I want to be part of hers. I don’t care if you take my trust fund, take everything, I’ll build myself up, just like she did all those years ago and all of us, we all turned our backs on her, I want to be there for her, like it should have been from the start” he would have loved to record the incredulity in his mother’s eyes as she let her arms fall to her sides defeated, the first time Kim Seokjin had fail to complied with his mother was about none other than in an engagement matter.

Truth be told, you couldn't go far, there was no possible way you could just run home all the way from Jeju Island, but somehow seeing your tear stained face as you slumped over an old set of swings that he now recalled, you two used to go to back in the day, had his heart filling up, butterflies roaming his tummy

“...Jin” you exhaled his name, his mind quickly recalling the night before, how your eyes spilled love all over, how the past days watching you go on your daily routine alongside him, had him imploding with the purest kind of love

“Y/N? Listen I-” he began, a thousand words tangled in his mind waiting to be released

“I don’t think I made it”

“Made what?”

“Your parents to like me” a smirk appeared in his features as his hand came up to caress the side of your face lovingly

“Well you certainly made me like you” he said, close enough to your lips that you could have sworn both of your breaths mixed into one

“I don’t think you ever stopped liking me” a mirroring grin traced your lips before you leaned in to kiss him, whatever the path you two were once destined to walk, it was all different now, whatever turns it may take the only sure thing was that you two would walk it down together after all those years apart. 

Plus, technically speaking, Jin’s trust fund should remain intact since he found a wife in less than a month’s time, and you could always ask his dad for that place in the company he was always talking about.

[lomlmarvel]

It’ll Always Be You II

Randall Carpio x fem!Reader Series

Part Two [Part One]

For the past few hours, you had been catching up on some reading. There wasn't much to do since classes hadn't begun yet. Hamish was getting ready for his first day of class by looking over his scheduling log and re-reading the material he was going to cover the first day. You felt like you didn't even need to attend his first class since you had heard him repeat his speech a dozen times in the past hour.

Lilith had gone to the store to buy groceries and toiletries. She returned and left again to go on a run. The den was quiet, other than Hamish's muttering in the corner of the room as he rehearsed his speech again. He had been making drinks in between and offering them to you while he practiced his speech. You had taken a few, but you could feel the alcohol start to intoxicate your body, and you didn't want to get drunk the day before classes began.

You didn't want to be drunk if Randall came back to the den and wanted to talk to you about what had happened earlier. Honestly, you hadn't stopped thinking about it since it had happened. Why did he keep leaning in if he was going to back out last second? Did he even mean to lean in, or did he even realize it? Did he have feelings for you? Did he know about your feelings towards him?

Your mind was buzzed with all the possibilities as to why Randall leaned in and why he pulled away quickly. Part of you had hoped that it was a mistake and that it meant the two of you would remain friends forever. But the other part hoped that he was as infatuated with you as you were with him. 

You took another large gulp of the alcoholic beverage that Hamish had prepared for you. It had been placed in your hand for the last 10 minutes, but your thoughts had been so busy with Randall that you had forgotten it was there. It was the afternoon, Randall should've been done with doing the last tour and checking in with everyone. He should've been at the den by now. That's if he decided to sleep in his room at the den. Maybe he decided to stay at his dorm to help the freshmen settle in their first night.

 It sucked, knowing this would be the busiest time of year for Randall. It meant you would have to deal with all the Order newbies with Hamish and Lilith, not that they weren't good company, but you preferred to be with Randall.

"What's wrong?" Hamish called out to you. He had been watching you for the past few minutes, seeing as you harbored the alcoholic beverage in your hand. You would usually take it all in one sip, but this time was different. He knew something was up when you showed up at the den by yourself and without Randall. The two of you were always together, even when Randall had to be working. 

"Nothing. Just tired of reading 'Hamlet' again. I finished 'Ready Player One' a couple of days ago, so this is the only book I have left," You replied, lifting the old cover of 'Hamlet' that was in your hands.

"You can get started on the philosophy readings you have to do--" Hamish started, but you cut him off.

"No, thanks. I have one day of summer left, and I do not want to spend it doing homework," You stated. Hamish smiled at you, placing his lesson plan on the table and walking over to you on the couch. 

"First off, Professor Krowchuk is thinking of adding three more books to the lesson plan, so you might want to rethink starting your reading now. Secondly, I know something happened with Randall," Hamish commented. You sat up from laying down and faced Hamish's concerned expression.

"C'mon, you can tell me," He softly said. He placed his hand over yours, and you smiled at him sweetly. 

"It's just--We were out by the tree earlier, and we were talking. I mentioned how I got into Krowchuk's class and when I turned to look at him, I didn't realize how close we actually were. I guess he didn't realize it either, but he wasn't pulling away. I figured I was finally going to shoot my shot and kiss Randall," You told Hamish, explaining what had been on your mind for the past few hours. Hamish stared wide-eyed at you, waiting for you to continue telling the story.

"And..."

"And, I started to lean in, because I thought he wanted to kiss me too, but then last second he pulled away. Pulled away, as in, he literally jumped two feet away from me to put distance between us. He got all weird, started packing up, and made some lame excuse about going back to the dorms. So I came here," You said, shrugging your shoulders at the memory. 

"Maybe he was just scared?" Hamish asked. You sent him a glare.

"It's Randall. He's not scared of shit."

"Look, maybe he just got nervous. Don't give up on him or yourself. Shoot your shot if he won't do it first," Hamish advised. You nodded and set your book down. 

"Thanks, Hamish." You pulled him in for a hug. When you pulled away, your phone vibrated in your pocket and saw a text from Jack.

Meet me at the Blade and Chalice for a drink? It's on me :) 

Oh, by the way, Randall's coming too

You showed Hamish the screen, and he shrugged. 

"Shoot your shot," He replied. You stood up and grabbed your sweater as you made your way to the door. 

When you arrived at the B&C, the two guys were sitting at a table with two beers in front of them. Randall immediately made eye contact with you the second you stepped into the room, but quickly avoided your gaze until you stood two feet from them.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Jack greeted you. You smiled and took the seat in the middle.

“How was orientation?” You asked. Grabbing what you assumed to be Randall’s beer and took a sip out of it. He stared at you for a moment before looking down at his hands.

“Let me get you a drink. I promised I would,” Jack said, watching you set the bottle back down in front of Randall.

“No, it’s fine. Randall doesn’t mind, we share beers all the time,” You responded. Jack turned to look at Randall, who nodded in return. He gave you a look before answering your question.

“It was fine. Didn’t really need to have a tour. You know Pete would talk about it all the time, I have like a mental snapshot of the map”

“He was rejected by his tour guide,” Randall cut in after Jack. You stared back at Jack, who rolled his eyes.

“I’m not interested in her,” Jack replied. His attention fell to the corner of the room where a posse of freshmen was seated.

“You into him or her? Or the other him?” Randall asked Jack, bumping his shoulders. You leaned over the table and punched Randall in the arm.

“Ouch!” Before you could respond to Randall, Jack cleared his throat to get your attention.

“What do you know about the Hermetic Order of The Blue Rose?” He asked. You looked at Randall, smirked, and turned back to Jack.

“It’s a crock of shit,” You stated. Randall agreed and discreetly pulled your chair closer to his. You turned your head to catch Randall leaning next to you, with his stare already on you. You sent him a small smile, which he returned.

“I think they may have been recruited, and I’m trying to figure out what they have in common.”

“Besides being...” Randall asked.

“Elitist assholes?,” You replied to Randall, causing him to chuckle.

“Hey, a lot of good people are members. Michelle Obama, Warren Buffett, Oprah,” Jack defended himself. You gave him a serious look and heard Randall shuffle next to you. You turned around, and he was starting to talk.  Did he move his chair so the two of you would be touching legs?

“You know who’s also supposed to be members? Bad people, like Benito Mussolini, George W. Bush. Oprah,” Randall said. He glanced at you and noticed you staring at him.

“For people that don’t believe, you two sure know a lot about them,” Jack observed. You turned away from Randall’s stare.

“Randall’s Wikipedia smart, and I’m just the unfortunate one who listens to him talk all day,” you started. Randall softly kicked your foot with his. “Look, even if they do exist... I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

Jack gave you a glare and took a sip of his beer. “Why is that,” he asked, a hint of hurt in his tone.

“They want sheep, and from what I remember, you’ve got a mind of your own,” you replied. Jack nodded and raised his bottle to you.

“Well, who wouldn’t want unlimited power?” Jack commented. The three of you looked at each other and nodded.

“I have to do something, so I’ll catch up with you later, alright?” Jack said as he looked at you. You nodded and pulled him in for a hug.

“I’ll see you later. Thanks for the beer, Randall,” Jack said, turning to the dark-haired male next to you.

“See you around,” Randall replied. The two of you watched as Jack walked out of the bar. An awkward silence settled as you turned to look at each other. You weren’t sure whether to bring up what had happened a few hours ago or pretend that it never happened.

“So, Jack seems real--”

“Hey, sorry about earlier-”

You and Randall stared at each other, cutting each other off. Neither of you said a word, you kept looking into each other’s eyes. 

“About earlier, I just wanna say I’m sorry,” Randall was the first to talk. “I’ve been thrown off this entire week for some reason, and I don’t know what I was thinking. You’re my best friend, and I guess I just got caught up in the moment,” Randall stated. You felt your heart fall, and your throat tighten. You wanted to cry, but you kept in your tears. It was just like how you had thought, he never had feelings for you. 

“No, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. It’s the beginning of the school year, we’ve got a lot of pressure. I don’t blame you,” You lied, placing your hand on his arm. He looked down at your hand and smiled. 

“C’mon, let’s go back to the den. I have a feeling these assholes are gonna start using bad magic soon,” you said. Randall nodded and laid a $20 bill on the table. The two of you got up and made your way out. 

-

The next two weeks were stressful for everyone.  Jack had managed to get involved with the Order, but you only found out because Randall had told you. Randall and Lilith had been hunting down this thing that was killing pledges. Hamish had been busy with his class, and you had been busy helping Lilith and Randall figure out what the creature was. You had found some books in the basement, but Randall said it would be quicker to just search on Google. Being how you were so in love with him (and majorly because you didn’t want to read all those old books), you followed his direction.

With Randall, the two of you had gotten back into your regular routine. It was as if nothing had happened. You never revealed that you did, in fact, have feelings for him, but since he clearly didn’t have any for you, you decided to not say anything. You treasured your friendship too much to risk losing it.

However, things got interesting one day. You had gotten back from your last class of the day and started prepping snacks for the movie night you and the Knights would be having. Yet, when you arrived, the front door was swung open. You entered the living room and began scanning the rooms. But a particular smell led you to the basement. There, you found ripped up clothes. You searched for a wallet and saw that it belonged to the one and only Jack Morton. You immediately called everyone else and went out to search for the newly-turned werewolf.

[moonlit-han]

a sweet ride ↠ yang jeongin

genre: bad boy!jeongin, high school au, fluff word count: 3.5k warnings: swearing, mention of smoking & underage alcohol consumption, almost suggestive request: yes (yangomangos, prompt included: “Don’t cry.”) a/n: this one’s for the jeongin enthusiasts~ 

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

every morning as you wait outside your high school for classes to start

you hear the thunder of his motorcycle

it’s loud, mildly obnoxious, and occasionally spits out fumes

but you don’t care

you actually like the sound of the bike and how the vibrations rumble in ur chest

it’s a sleek black and built almost entirely by him: old chassis, long handle bars, and a satisfying growl as the engine ignites

if you stand too close when he pulls up in the parking lot in the morning, you can feel the vibrations coming through the pavement

(your mum would probably lock you in a tower only a knight could enter if she ever found out you’d been on a motorcycle

…..not that you’d been on one

yet (ﾟ▽ﾟ｀*)? )

the owner of that motorcycle is your high school’s one and only bad boy

♡･｡.:*.ﾟyang jeongin ﾟ.*:.��･♡

(but please call him “I.N.” because he’s actually out of the preppy, popular crowd  ( ｀^´ ) )

he could ride that motorcycle straight through your heart and you wouldn’t care

okay maybe not your heart bc that would hurt (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )

but definitely through your bedroom

that would be

f i n e (⊙‿⊙✿)

……….

all your friends cover their ears and turn away when jeongin pulls up

there isn’t a rule against a senior having a motorcycle and riding it to school

there are people who drive cars to school and that’s fine

he has a license and always wears a helmet

and he wears a thick leather jacket and heavy, black boots

(you’ve seen those boots

they look like they could stomp through concrete or smth)

there is no way he wouldn’t be safe

well, besides the fact that he rides a motorcycle

but you, still not caring, just kinda stare as he rides into the parking area in front of the school

he always does this cool lil swing into his designated “motorcycles only” spot

and then takes off his helmet

to do that fucking hair shake that you always see in movies

that can only mean “hot guy on a motorcycle”

fucking hell

oh and he then runs his fingers through his black hair

to make it appropriately ~windswept~

and, yes, he looks way too god damn hot

unnecessarily so in your humble opinion (๑`^´๑)

you almost flip your shit every morning just bc of him

he’s handsome like a fucking movie star

angled cheekbones, a defined nose and chin, a jawline so sharp it could ki— it could seriously hurt you

and don’t even start on his eyes

jeongin’s eyes are so dark you often wonder if they’re actually brown

if he looks at you in the halls, you immediately get the sense he could somehow see into your soul

and, judging by the dark aura he has, probably can

jeongin isn’t particularly horrible or anything, but he’s known throughout the school to, honestly, not give a flying fuck

about anything

he’s….a little chaotic

for example, he flouts any rule he doesn’t like

and he talks back if a teacher says something he doesn’t agree with

(this has lead to some very heated discussions in class

although, you were actually inclined to agree with him most of the time, since he usually brings up some good points and such

(it’s generally a good idea, you’ve mused on a regular basis, to treat people like human beings and not like machines only in existence to produce goods and perform services to a select few)

most of your classes are with him

and he’s really smart

like the kind of smart where he barely does any work but still passes the class with an A

i mean, who said he could do that??!!?!

who allowed such sorcery

heCk

and you know he’s passed all his courses

he may or may not occasionally smoke or drink behind the school but you know for a fact there are people who do much worse and nobody says anything about them

maybe it’s the leather

and the moodiness

but um;;;;; that’s kinda hot, you know?

you’re not really sure why people think he’s the “bad boy”...

you’ve never seen or heard him be mean or rude to anyone, so how bad can he be?

okay okay yes you’ve seen the knife hilts poking out of his boots

but who the fuck cares?!! ( • ̀ω•́ ) 

it’s not like he’s ever pulled them on anyone

that you know of

.............

OH

and you’re pretty sure he knows you kinda watch him, too

bc one day he parked his bike facing the school instead of away

and you were just ~there~ as usual

but feeling very alone and exposed

since your dumbass friends had all decided to abandon you in your hour of need by walking away just before he rode up

and then, like a herd of sheep, they all turned to watch you as he did

ahahah friends? what are they?! nah don’t need them;;;

so there you were standing out on the pavement

very obviously looking at him

w e l p  Σ(☉‿☉✿)Σ(☉‿☉✿)Σ(☉‿☉✿)

but, of course, he just had to look up

and this lil shit winked at you

actually winked

EXCUSE ME YANG JEONGIN

W H A T

;;;;;;;;;;;;

your friends teased you all day

“ooooh look it’s lover boy”

“shut up shut up shut up”

“but he just lookeD AT YOU”

“you’re lying”

“Y/N YOU FOOL”

“HHHHHHHH”

and it only gets worse from there (....um, you sure about that y/n?)

now whenever jeongin arrives in the mornings

he makes a point at looking over at you

you don’t always notice, unfortunately

and he ends up with a sad lil smile on his face bc he knows you’re having fun with your friends

but fuck!!!!

you’re just so!!! cute!!!!!

how can he not notice you??!!!

especially when you’re in all of his classes

and obviously watch for his motorcycle every morning

it makes him feel kinda cool, tbh

he’s also noticed that you like strawberries

a  l o t (≧◡≦)

as in, your backpack is a strawberry

you have strawberry pins on said strawberry backpack

your raincoat has a pattern of strawberries on it

your pencil case may or may not be a lil cat eating, yes, a strawberry

SO

jeongin being the smooth guy (he thinks) he is

gets you a strawberry sweetbread

and is all excited to give it to you

so after class on friday, he decides today’s his chance

(also, the sweetbread isn’t gonna last forever alfdjghafkgj)

aaaand you both try to walk out the door at the same time

which doesn’t work

but WOW YOU’RE NOW REALLY CLOSE TO HIM

jeongin: *vibrates*

ACTUALLY TOUCHING SHOULDERS

WHAT

…..fuck (￢_￢;)

and since when do you smell really good, too?? alkjhsjfghajhf

jeongin’s just a little overwhelmed, you know?

ANyWaY;;;;;;

y/n, blushing furiously: “oh my god sorry”

jeongin, spluttering: “no, no after you”

((oh wow his voice dropped since the last time you saw him

how is that even possible??? guys….))

after a couple tries back and forth through the doorway

(your teacher’s trying not to laugh in the background)

you finally both make it out of the classroom

and you start to speed walk away since your friends are waiting so you all can hang out

“hey, y/n!” comes down the hall after you

ALSDJHADJFLHG what ;;

you turn around quickly to find jeongin standing right behind you

“um, so i noticed you really like strawberries”

e x c u s e  m e (O_O);;;

first of all:

yang jeongin—your school’s super hot bad boy, the guy you’re only a little obsessed with bc he rides a motorcycle, the inexplicably brilliant student, and total badass—just spoke to you

WHAT

((really, Y/N?? r e a l l y?????))

second of all:

he’s holding something wrapped in absolutely adorable cat (and strawberry) wrapping paper

that’s completely against his aesthetic

but matches yours to a tee ( ◡‿◡ ♡)

huh….

“y/n?” *holds out package*

you have to mentally shake yourself a little

but you’re back now

hhhHHHH

“me?”

“Yeah, I got you this. I hope you like it.” (●´ω｀●)

“thanks?” you say a bit lamely

you take the package and get a whiff of sweetbread

s w e e t b r e a d!!!! (*♡∀♡)

ajfhakljfhgjdsfgh your fav

you’d half expected jeongin to blast on outta there asap

but now he’s just standing in front of you, just kinda shifting back and forth

wait…is he nervous??

you slowly unwrap the package, careful not to damage the wrapping paper

(you are so going to reuse it or hang it on the wall or something ajdsdjfg)

and inside is a rounded sweetbread with strawberries delicately placed on top amongst swirls of pink icing

you gasp quietly

fucking hell it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen

jeongin’s just watching you, a small smiling spreading across his face

(which you don’t notice bc  b r e a d)

you take a small bite of the treat and

。*:゜♡ヽ(*’∀’*)/♡゜:。*。

IT’S SOOOOO GOOD!!!!

you take another bite before looking up at jeongin and you finally see his smile

( ◡‿◡ ♡) (♡‿♡) (*♡∀♡)

it’s actually the best thing you’ve ever seen

there’s so much genuine happiness, and just a hint of mischievous mirth, in his smile

you feel like you’re looking into the sun, it’s so bright

why did jeongin, of all people get you, of all people, a sweetbread?

jeongin, completely unable to look cool anymore and shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet: “is it good?”

“OH MY GOD YES!!!”

and then you do something you never thought you’d do

ever

in the whole world ever

you throw your arms around yang jeongin’s neck

and give him a really big hug

his arms come up and around you to hug you back almost immediately,

which you were expecting even less than your own actions

but his hug is wonderful, even if he’s holding you like fine china

in a moment, you remember yourself and quickly step back

jeongin is blushing so much that he looks like a strawberry

(so good you just wanna eat him up (◕‿◕))

((y/n pls,,,,, not here....))

and you know you’re blushing just as much

you splutter an apology and run off down the hallway

and because you’re running off,

you don’t notice that jeongin is staring after

like a lovesick puppy (◕︵◕)

your friends are all over you about the sweetbread

bc they love it too

but you just say that you forgot you’d brought it with you that day

for some reason, you didn’t want to tell about your encounter with jeongin

when you get home, you savor the sweetbread,

remembering the warmth of jeongin’s smile~

the next friday, you’re outside at the picnic tables during lunch

it’s an absolutely beautiful day, with a light breeze~ (⌒ω⌒)

against the better judgement and fervent suggestions of your friends

you decide that it’s a great idea to get on top of one the tables

and dance

why?

someone had started playing ABBA’s “Dancing Queen”

no one can resist that song

so you’re having the time of your life

just dancing around on the table that your friends have since vacated bc they

a) don’t want to get kicked in the head, and

b) feel quite embarrassed to associate with you while you’re like this

......traitors (๑`^´๑)

and as anyone with an ounce of sense does when dancing to ABBA

you occasionally close your eyes in happiness

and suddenly you’ve stepped into air

your heart lurches and your eyes fly open 

and your mind goes completely blank with panic

but you never reach the ground

you’re now surrounded by the smell of leather, metal, and.....

boy

someone had saved you from falling

the arms holding you are strong and well-muscled

and, surprisingly, comfortable

“i’ve got you,” a voice murmurs

you look up into the face of none other than jeongin

(⊙__⊙✿) 

welp

you think to yourself “what... i thought he didn’t care about people??”

((nope y/n, he cares about YOU bc you’re the cutest and so lovely))

he smirks down at you, then sets you back down on the ground

“try to be more careful. okay, y/n?” he says, smoothing a wayward piece of your hair, then just walks off

you blush

(this seems to be becoming a common occurrence with jeongin)

and just stand there, dumbfounded

as jeongin saunters away to sit under a tree at the far end of the lawn

it’s a good saunter, and the tight, black skinny jeans only help (⊙ __ ⊙);;;;

your friends rush you, asking if you’re okay and asking what was up with jeongin

you say that you have no idea

......although, that’s not entirely true

since you now have a sneaking suspicion that *gasp* jeongin might have a crush on you?

maybe??

(hopefully!! (ﾟ▽ﾟ｀*)?) 

your friends just continue dithering as you stare at jeongin, who’s watching you right back

he winks

ALKJSDHGAKLDJFGADJKFGBADJF

you really wish he’d stop doing that bc it’s making your heart pound like a herd of horses and now yOu CAn’t EveN THinK

FUCK!!

later that day as school’s letting out

jeongin comes up to you, leather jacket slung over his shoulder

he’s got on a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up a couple times

and ooooooh my

you’d never noticed before

(well, besides during lunch when he caught you)

but yang jeongin has really nice arms

and pecs (⊙‿⊙)  

and now you’re staring (oh fuck,,,,, not again)

“uh;;;; hi, jeongin!” you manage to squeak out alkdjfhsldjf

“hey, i was wondering if you wanted a ride”

eXCusE Me wHAt??? ∑(ﾟﾛﾟ〃)

“on the motorcycle. i have an extra helmet, since my sister sometimes rides with me”

O H 

your mouth takes control before you even have time to think

“sure! i’d love to!!”

a minute later, you’re standing in front of that sleek, black motorcycle that you’ve admired for months

the young man riding it helps the matter quite a lot, too

there’s even this little carrier container on the back of the bike that he puts his (small) backpack into

he reaches out for yours and stows it

then, jeongin hands you a helmet with lime green racing stripes on its sides

you briefly wonder if his sister is anything like him

probably

“have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?” jeongin asks

you shake your head, unable to speak bc you’re so excited and also kinda nervous

your mom’s words fly through your head

don’t you dare get on a motorcycle, y/n. ever. don’t you dare! they’re too dangerous by half and— well, if i ever find out you’ve been on one, you won’t be allowed out of the house, except for going to school, for a month. you mark my words, y/n! (; ･`д･´)

you promptly ignore her voice in your head and slid the helmet down over your head

the world suddenly becomes slightly more vibrantly colored as the visor shields your eyes

jeongin had swung his long legs over the bike, straddling it with his feet still on the ground

“so, the important thing is to stay in line with me. what i mean is that if i lean to one side or the other, you’ve gotta lean with me. otherwise, we’ll fall over and that really wouldn’t be good. just hold on tight to my waist and, sorry i don’t mean to sound rude, but please don’t scream.”

jeongin looks only a little rueful as he says that

but you don’t blame him

you wouldn’t want someone screaming in your ears as you tried to concentrate either

“okay, right. lean with you. hold on tight,” you say

jeongin sits down, one foot still on the ground, and pats the seat behind him

“come on! take a seat—i promise you’ll be fine, y/n”

tentatively, you clamber onto the motorcycle behind jeongin

and wrap your arms around his waist

you can feel . . .

holy shit his abs feel like a fucking washboard

ExCuSE mE?????!!!! (＠_＠)

heCk

((y/n, pls. calm down;;; we know he’s got muscles))

so um,,,, yeah

it’s really actually quite comfy to lean against his back

but then hen he lays his hands over yours

and looking back over his shoulder says, “ready, babe?

B A B E

HHHHHHHHHHHH

***y/n has officially malfunctioned***

damn tho

this boy is bold as fuck

wow

you’re not exactly complaining

bc you now know that you like being called “babe”

it makes you feel special (✿◠‿◠)

and you like how it sounds coming from jeongin

you can tell jeongin is grinning under his helmet

“yep, i’m ready,” you manage to say

and then you feel and hear the thunder of the engine igniting

it’s exhilarating and you hadn’t even started moving yet

jeongin yells over the engine “hold on!”

in one smooth motion he kicks the kickstand up, brought his foot off the ground, released the brake and clutch

and then...

and then you feel like you’re flying

even though you’re not going 70 mph (113 kph)

the wind tears at your clothes

making you feel freer than you’d ever felt before~

you thought you’d guessed what it would feel like to ride on a motorcycle

but even your wildest imaginings couldn’t come close to reality

you hold on tightly to jeongin’s waist, feeling every shift of his body as he guides the motorcycle along the roads surrounding your school

all too soon you find yourself back in the parking lot of your high school

you don’t release your hold on jeongin until after he’s shut off the engine

jeongin takes off his helmet, shaking his hair as usual, and hangs it on a handlebar

then he turns on the seat

you lean back

but jeongin reaches out and gently removes your helmet to place it on the seat between the two of you

even without touching it, you could feel that your hair was mussed

so you shake out your hair, too

and immediately understand why jeongin does it

you feel strangely powerful and a bit sexy

it’s a fun, new feeling

jeongin smiles like you’re the loveliest flower he’s ever seen

and, for the second time that day, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear

“how was it?” he asks, a look of concern on his face

you beam, feeling infinitely more at ease around jeongin

“amaaaaazing!”

“yeah? oh, don’t cry, y/n”

“what? oh” you realize that you are, indeed, crying

you wipe the tears from your face

after all, they’re just tears of happiness

“jeongin, it was incredible, oh my god. can we do it again? please?”

he laughs, throwing his head back 

and you glimpse the dimple at the base of his throat

“maybe another day, babe” jeongin concedes

you pout

“oh, okay. thank you”

there’s a look in jeongin’s eyes that you can’t quite place

is it sadness? fondness? desire?

he exhales, then the corner of his mouth quirks up

you feel the warmth of his fingers caress your cheek

“y/n, may i kiss you?”

***yet again, we regret to inform you that y/n has malfunctioned***

what the ever loving flipping fuck

d— did jeongin just,,,,

did he?

ALKJHGALKJFHG;AKLHFGAKLJGHKAJH

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable” jeongin says in a rush, dropping his hand

shit.

SHIT!

“no no no!! it’s fine, yes. please. that’s fine. that would be— that would nice. yes, very nice.”

wow you sounded almost hysterical

“good,” jeongin says simply

and leans in to softly press his lips to yours

you immediately kiss him back

and feel him smile against your mouth

just a moment later, he draws back, respectful, a question in his eyes

you chase his lips, not wanting to waste the precious opportunity to actually be kissing the yang jeongin!!

his hands come up to cup your neck

and you rest your palm against his chest, feeling the trembling beat of his heart

he tastes like like elderberry and cinnamon and clove all wrapped into one intoxicating milieu 

you could kiss him for days and never tire

after what seems like hours, you break apart

“y/n,” jeongin begins

“oh just shut up and keep kissing me,” you say without hesitation, surprised at your own boldness (again)

it seemed that was becoming a habit around jeongin, too

he doesn’t bother responding

and, instead, kisses you until you’re breathless

again, you feel like you were flying

* . ∗ ̥ ⋆ ݃ *♡٩( ｡⌒▽⌒｡)۶♡* ݃ ⋆ ̥∗ . *

[hermits-that-craft]

Love Run, The Song You Know's Begun.

"Though some would harm you, none - not one - no none Would raise to you a hand nor thumb Not while by you I stand and hum" - The Amazing Devil, Love Run Reprise --- The afterlife. Choices. Broken Promises.

Cross posted on ao3. Link in reblog

He wakes up in a meadow, surrounded by lilies, marigolds, poppies and white carnations. He blinks slowly, looking up at the sky. It’s synthetic. Perfectly painted. The sky is a beautiful baby blue, and he can see the paint strokes in the clouds.

He isn’t angry though. He can’t find it in himself to be angry. He hardly remembers who he is.

Where he is.

He stands, running his hand through his hair. He’s wearing a long sleeved white shirt, with a red collar and arms. His pants are beige, pockets filled with rocks and faded photos. His heart yearns, but he doesn’t move, the flowers growing through his feet and anchoring him to the meadow. Blood pools at his feet, runs in front of his eyes. His skin is littered black and blue.

But he isn’t in pain.

He can’t move.

“You have a choice” The universe whispers to him, gently in the breeze. “You can go back, or you can move forward. You were ripped from that world too soon.”

It’s regret, what's on her voice. At least, thats what he thinks it is.

“Why can’t I remember anything?” He asks her. “What’s my name? Why am I bleeding?”

“You have a choice,” The universe reiterates. “You can go back, or you can move forward. I cannot tell you about your past. I will not tell you of your future. This choice is entirely yours.”

“How will I know?”

“You will feel it. You will feel the pull towards one option or another.”

“What if,” He pauses, uncertain. “What if I don’t want to choose?”

“Then you will be split between both. Half will move forward. Half will go back.” The universe seems to want to say something, as though she believes that she is leaving something out that is important.

“Can I stay here?” His voice is small, uncertain. “I don’t want to be hurt again. I don’t want to be an adult anymore.”

A woman appears in the meadow. Her dark, shoulder length hair flows gently in the breeze, golden cloak swaying with the grass. She wears a black, sleeveless top and black cargo pants, alongside leather boots. She turns to him, and her eyes look like the stars. She isn’t Clara - the emptiness of the void does not exist here - but he knows her.

He’s seen her in the photos on someone’s walls. Heard about her in another’s tales. Felt her in a person’s embrace.

She is the universe.

She is Kristen.

She walks to him silently, tears welling in her eyes as she pulls him into a hug. It’s warm, the warmth he craved from before, but not dangerously so. He isn’t cold anymore. She holds him as he breaks. He doesn’t know his name, he doesn’t know what he left behind. He doesn’t know where he is or what he is. But he knows her.

“I can’t keep you here.” She whispers to him. “My boy, my son, how I wish I could. Someone awaits you on both sides. You should go to one of them.”

“But what about you?”

“I will join you when the last member of our family joins you.”

“Mum-”

“You have to decide, now.” She pulls away from him, and wipes the tears from his eyes. “Where will you go?”

“I can’t. Both?” He watches her with sad eyes. “Will I remember both?”

“When half of you decides to move forward, then you will remember what the half that moved back will remember.”

“Then both.” He says, and Kristen - the universe - smiles at him. She is kind.

“Go back to sleep. When you wake up, all will be well.”

----

Ghostinnit wakes in his dirt house, floating just off of the bed. He sits, confused. What does he remember?

“TO REVOKE THE CITIZENSHIP-” “Let’s be the bad guys, Tommy.” “I don’t give a FUCK about spirit.” “Let’s blow that motherfucker to smithereens” “Sorry doesn’t cut it. “The only universal language is violence.” “Down with the revolution boys, it was never meant to be.” “I wanna see WHITE FLAGS!” “We’re fucked, we were fucked the minute we were thrown out.” “He would drop us at the SECOND he realised we’re not in the lead anymore.” “Do you know what happens to traitors, Tubbo?” “L’Manburg can be independent, but L’Manburg can’t be FREE.” “The most logical thing to do. For Tommy to be… Exiled. From L’Manburg.”

Oh.

So that’s what he remembers.

Ghostinnit doesn’t know who he can trust. He remembers dying, painful, slow and full of fear, but he doesn’t remember much from between doomsday and death. Perhaps he was happy? Or at least, not scared? He shouldn’t trust anyone, just in case.

Ghostinnit floats out of his house, ‘walking’ towards Eret’s castle. As much as Tommy wants to hate the king for betraying L’Manburg, Tommy remembers seeing Eret fight alongside him during doomsday. Go head to head with Dream and Techno and Philza. The admin and Tommy’s family. Eret fought to help him. So Tommy should be able to at least forgive the king, or steal from him.

He’ll make up his mind on the way there.

Ghostinnit floats, not paying much attention to his surroundings, until he stops. He’s not sure what made him stop, but he looks at the flower garden that grows around Eret’s base. Wild poppies grow on the lawn, and Tommy sits down, picking them. He doesn’t know what possess him to make the flower crown, but it doesn’t feel right until he stops.

A flower crown made of poppies.

A crown of blood.

Tommy holds the flower crown gently, taking great care not to bend it wrong. He floats into the grand castle, wandering until he hears a shout.

“He’s gone, Tubbo!” It’s Jack, his mind happily supplies. He has a few bad memories of the man, he recognises the shout, but he doesn’t have any recent memories of him, so he surely could trust Jack! “He’s gone and the server is thriving!”

“How could you be so heartless!” Tubbo screams, and Ghostinnit floats over to the doorway. Niki and Jack stand to one side, idly watching as Eret holds Tubbo back. Ghostinnit’s friend (ex-friend? They did have a falling out) is struggling against Eret’s grip, screaming and thrashing. Phil and Techno are there, both glaring at Jack and Niki. Tommy doesn’t understand it.

A casket lies on a pedestal, the L’Manburg flag draped over it. A soldier's burial, for Wilbur perhaps. Tommy knows that getting his body from the prison would be a hassall. One that those who hate him wouldn’t go through, even if those people were his father and brother. Sam and a sheep woman stand guard over it, though their eyes are clouded with pain. Quackity and Sapnap weap, Karl holding onto them protectively. Perhaps not Wilbur’s funeral then, he doesn’t remember Wilbur being close to either of the two, though he might have become close in the happy memories.

“What's wrong?” Ghostinnit asks quietly, floating into the room. The crowd looks at him, and Ghostinnit wants to curl up in the air. There are too many people looking at him, they’re angry, they’re going to kill him-

“Tommy?” The sheep woman’s voice breaks, and somewhere in his mind he digs up a name. Puffy. “Oh Void-”

“You’re Puffy, right?” His voice is small. “I don’t have any memories of you, so you must have been a good memory.”

“What?” Eret chokes out. “I thought-”

“I only have bad memories. I guess the universe wanted me to make better memories.” Ghostinnit shrugs, though he can’t quite make the panic subside. He wishes everyone would just look away-

“You look like shit.” Jack says, glaring at him.

“Well, I was beaten to death by my abuser.” Ghostinnit shoots back, though he floats back from the man. Something is off about him. He doesn’t seem quite right. “And I’m sorry for not exactly having enough time to look at myself. I wanted to come see Eret. Who’s funeral is this?”

“It’s yours.” Sam says, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I’m so sorry-”

“You didn’t kill me.” Ghostinnit says. “You did what you had to do.”

“We’ll bring you back.” Tubbo says, his eyes full of promises he can’t keep. “I don’t care what we have to do. What deals we have to make.”

“Don’t.” Ghostinnit shakes his head. “The revive book isn’t real. I don’t want to come back. I’m only here because I’m waiting.”

“For what?” Techno asks, and Quackity glares at Ghostinnit’s older brother, who ignores Tubbo’s wails. “What are you waiting for?”

“Whoever Kristen says she’s waiting for.” Ghostinnit shrugs. “Then I’ll go back to the meadow.”

And with that, Ghostinnit turns to leave. He’ll talk to Eret after the ceremony. After his funeral. After all, he doesn’t want to watch as his father and brother’s faces fall with the memory of his mother. He doesn’t want to listen to Tubbo and Puffy’s wails. He just wants to let Eret know that he was forgiven. He places the flower crown on a table underneath a mirror, somehow having made his way into one of Eret’s bathrooms.

He sees his reflection in the mirror, and stares at it in shock. The black eye that he was given as he was beaten to death is no more, instead replaced with a bouquet of forget-me-nots. In fact, all of his bruises are the small, blue flowers. The blood that fell from the side of his mouth and his nose is gone, replaced by a poppy. He wears a red sweater, not unlike Ghostbur’s yellow one, or Glatt’s blue one, and his skin is grey.

His eyes are blue though, not whited out like he imagined. Pure blue, no glowing white or void like black. A bright, sky blue.

He smiles, and poppy petals fall from his lips.

---

Tommy hops off the train that left the meadow, a bag over his back. He’s wearing his normal clothes, and the injuries he once sustained are gone. He feels solid, but also not solid. Scared, but not. He remembers everything, and somehow nothing.

He doesn’t know which stop to hop off at, so he doesn’t. He watches as others hop off at different stops, ghosts going to worlds. Perhaps to be reborn, perhaps to meet the afterlife. Maybe even to become a member of someone’s chat.

The train stops, and he’s the only one on his carriage. The end of the line.

Tommy gets off, worry in his gut. What if he doesn’t see Wilbur here? What if Wilbur hopped off at another stop. What if Wilbur doesn’t want to see him?

What if he does see Wilbur?

Tommy looks around the station, hugging himself as he tries to find a familiar face. Maybe Schlatt will be there, maybe not. He’d take anyone , at this point.

He’s the only person who hops off at this station.

“Tommy?” It’s Wilbur’s voice that pulls him out of his frantic searching. “You’re not supposed to be here, the void wasn’t preparing for you. Why are you here?”

Tommy turns, and sees his brother. Still in his Pogtopia coat, but cleaner. Warmer. Tears pool in Tommy’s eyes, and he runs to his brother, getting pulled into a hug. He’s with Wilbur again. He’s nearly home .

“Who hurt you, Toms?” Wilbur sounds choked up, upset. “Why are you here?”

“Dream.” Tommy says quietly. “He beat me to death.”

“I’ll kill him.” Wilbur swears, and Tommy laughs wetly.

“Don’t. I promised that I’d see you soon.” Tommy pulls out of Wilbur’s hug, reaching for his hand. “Let’s go home, I’m tired of being an adult. Let’s be a family again.”

“I’m not supposed to see you for another fifty years.” Wilbur accepts the hand Tommy offers him, smiling sorrowfully. “But I’m glad you hopped off the train here.”

“I wouldn’t have hopped off anywhere else. Too much pull to here.”

They both walk out of the station, hand in hand. Tommy sees the outline of Schlatt and Mexican Dream in the distance, and he knows that his family will come through, sooner or later. He’ll see them around, but for now he’ll spend time with his older brother and his friends.

He has an eternity to spend with everyone else, when they arrive.

[dcomicsficrecs]

Do you have any fics with Jason just being a Bro™️? Or any with him rejoining the family after UTRH?

For the sake of this post not being too long, I am going to rec only one fic or series from an author, but all of these authors are great writers so I recommend checking their other works as well. Hope you will enjoy this fics as much as I do!

1. Jason and Damian being bros

1.1 Bet on it by Lysical  

Even Damian could admit that his older siblings occasionally had their uses. __

"I need your assistance," Damian said, voice low and tense.

"No," Jason replied, and hung up.

Short but adorable story of Jason helping out Damian to hide something from their father, just like big brothers out to do.

1.2 Cracked Foundation by Cdelphiki    

The last thing Damian expected to happen when he ran away from home was to spend a day crammed into a small space with Jason Todd.  His father's second son was a black sheep.  An outcast.  An angry, insanity driven criminal who enjoyed screwing with the batfamily in every way he could. At least, that's what Damian thought.  Maybe he was wrong about Todd.

Perfect hurt/comfort with a lot of family feels and Damian and Jason bodning. Bonus points: Jason actually apologizing for shooting him; exploration of Bruce’s relationships with them both too.

1.3   Good Grief by lysiabeth                

“I know who you are, you know. I got my degree at GCU.” The girl says, eyes boring into Jason’s chest as if the red bat were still plastered on it, and Jason’s back stiffens.

“Right.” Jason’s teeth click together as he closes his mouth. He’s eighteen-hundred miles out from Gotham, and of all the Goddamn vet centres he could have broken into it’s probably the only one around that knows anything about his city.

WIP with 8K words so far but worth early reading and bookmarking/subscribing. Case fic, plus Damian and Jason bonding as siblings through Talia? Leviathan also plays a part in this story? Hell yeah.

1.4 Jason and the Three Terrors by Cdelphiki                

One moment, Jason was peacefully sleeping, perfectly content with his life with the League of Assassins.  Okay, so maybe not content content, but he wasn't unhappy, either.  Then Talia woke him up at 2 am, threw three children at him, and told him to get them to America and far away from Ra's al Ghul.

What the fuck.

The last thing he wanted was to see Bruce. But with three brats relying on him and no Talia, there weren't many options for sanctuary. He just didn't expect the kids to grow on him so much in two short weeks.

A superb AU where Jason helps Damian escape League of the Assassin (against his wishes and with two unwanted additions to boot, which is half the pleausure). They aren’t brothers, stictly speaking, at the start of the fic, but become them as the story progresses.

It’s a WIP but it has 50K already and it will be so much more. I am excited with every update and I’m sure you’re gonna be, too.

2. Jason being a brother to Cassandra

2.1 Nests and Cages series by LanternWisp, Lysical starting with Needles or Pins  

Jason Todd's journey back to the Batfamily. Takes place in the Frankenstein's monster of a canon I've stitched together. Each plot is rather self-contained, but the fics do flow into one another

Jay and Cass are bio siblings, and Jason’s slow return to the fold. I love this series, and I think it’s one of the greatest take on Lady Shiva being Jason’s mother too.

2.2 Didymous  by   Hinn_Raven

Didymous: adjective: growing in pairs or twins.

Cassandra and Jason are born twins, raised by their father to be killers. Two heads are better than one.

It’s a great AU with Jay and Cass being biological siblings.

2.3 the patron saint of the lost causes series by evanescent

Pre-Flashpoint AU based on canon what-if Lady Shiva was not only Cassandra's biological mother, but Jason's, too. Mostly focuses on Cass and Jason's relationship, and how that fact changes the dynamics in Batfamily.

It is also a great series with Cass and Jay being biological siblings and I recommend reading every fic of this series.

2.4 Rebirth by Ionaperidot                

"The boy is clearly ill, and while she’s almost certain that he is, impossibly, Jason Todd, almost is not good enough. She can’t drop heartbreak on her beloved’s doorstep, and she can’t run the necessary tests when Damian is vulnerable to her father’s wrath. There’s no way around it. He’ll have to come home with her."

Unexpectedly in charge of a second son, Talia struggles to raise her children without unwanted attention from the Demon's Head.

An AU where Talia is the one who unites Cass and Jason. It also contains Damian, and he’s a little brother to them both.

3. Jason and Duke being bros

3.1 Bats are Dorks by   Reah22                

Duke hadn’t meant to literally trip and fall on to Jason. He really hadn’t. For the record, he blamed Steph. It was probably one of her old pranks that she forgot to take down. That, or she deliberately left it up for someone to trip over in the dark.

Just Duke and Jason, hanging out. Super nice.

3.2 oh, where do i begin? by LazuliQuetzal

“No, no, nothing’s wrong,” Jason says. “We’re a-okay. Just peachy. Good times.”

“Oh,” Duke says, lamely, working himself out of crisis mode. There’s an awkward silence for a moment before he speaks up again. “Why did you call?”

“Right, right," Jason mumbles, which seemed a little out of character to Duke. His sort-of wayward brother was generally intimidating, even when he wasn't trying to be. "Uh, Dick said that you had a guinea pig when you were younger. How do you take care of a guinea pig?” _____

AKA, not-exactly accidental guinea pig acquisition

Absolutely adorable short story about Jason going to his little brother for advice.

3.3 rockstar au series by addiebey starting with disconnect:

jason and duke bond. dick just doesn't get it, but what's new?

Another great no-capes AU. Only two fics from the series, both under 1k, are focused on Duke and Jason, but they are so great. The whole series is, actually, though it’s not finished. I am just grateful even this much exists, but I am definitely bookmarking and subscribing it in case there will be more. Please give this series the attention and praise it deserves.

There are, alas, not many Duke and Jason-centered fics. Though there is another one I wanted to recommend, about Jason training Duke, but I can’t find it for some reason. It was short and funny, and if anyone recognizes this description, I would be glad if you told me.

4. Jason and Dick being bros

4.1 i was naive and hopeful and lost by heroics (figure8)

Clark and Bruce take in a troubled teen.

The The Fosters AU no one asked for.

It’s a part of the series which is one of the best no-capes AU I’ve read, if not the best, and it’s a great family-focused fic with a good parent Bruce. The road for Jason to become Dick’s and the rest of the kids’ brother is slow but greatly written.

4.2 To Reconcile by CasualDanger      

“Babs slapped me at your funeral.”  Jason goes to laugh, but it’s just a cough and his mouth barely even twitches up.  “She hated me in that moment.  I mean, really, really hated me, like I did Talia after I found out Damian had died.  And I wondered,” his voice cracks, eyes glassy now, “did you hate anyone when I was gone?  Because I was gone?”

Short and emotional fic where Dick and Jason open up to each other during pressing circumstances.

4.3  Five Times Dick Grayson Read about Jason Todd in the Newspaper by Engineerd              

If Dick hadn’t been special ordering the Gotham City Gazette, he wouldn’t have found out for - well. Years, at this rate.

Short and very full of emotion story. I love the exploration of Dick’s almost unchanging attitude toward Jason - well, unchanging right before the last time he would read about him (or almost the last time). They’re not really close here, and won’t grow closer, but sometimes siblinghood is like that.

4.4 The View From Jade by lowflyingfruit                

Being transported to the past is not the sort of thing one normally expects. But this having happened, and with no easy way back, Jason's determined to make the most of it. Though the Bat still stalks Gotham's streets, the city's crime is run by the mobs instead of the rogues. There's no Joker yet.

There's no Robin.

Maybe there shouldn't be.

Time Travel Jason&Dick focused AU! One of the best time travel fics where they actually change stuff even if it doesn’t transit to their universe - for exception of their more strong brotherly relationships.

5. Jason and Stephanie being bros

5.1 this time, the loser wins by parkerstorms

They were two sides of the same coin.  They understood each other.  It was nice.  It was a downright relief.  She’d never had a big brother before.

There’s not a lot of Jason and Steph being bros stories I have not mentioned before, but this one is one of them, and a great one too.

6. Jason and Tim being bros

6.1 Bonding Habits of Robins by  GoAwayOlivia                

Giving each other shit is how the bat brothers show they care. Jason and Tim do it particularly well.

It’s a funny and nice fic with exactly what’s said in the summary.

There’s a lot of fics with Jason and Tim being bros but my memorie went blank when I tried to recall. Which is not a statement about their relationships or quality of fics that depict them, it’s just sometimes my memory doesn’t work properly. This is the case with the Jason and Steph, too. As soon as I remember or discover new fics about their relationships, I am going to update this post or maybe create a new one just for the three of them. We’ll see!

7. Batfam Jason-featured sibling relationships

7.1 If the Sky Comes Falling Down (For You)  by  lurkinglurkerwholurks

or, 5 times Jason Todd saved his siblings... and one time they saved him.

It was only by luck that Jason was still there when the bodies came crashing down the street. Bad luck, he would argue. He could hear them long before he could see them, their bodies preceded by the thunderous pounding of boots of asphalt and shouted curses. Three or four figures flashed by his little alleyway, a tight mob followed by a lone, slender figure in a streaming cape.

Summary speaks for itself. It’s a gradual description of Jason slowly coming back to the family after UtRH and starting feeling like their brother.

7.2  this is a long drive (for three robins who don't agree on much) by   drakefeathers

(Bad Robins road trip AU!) Steph’s trip home to Gotham takes a huge detour thanks to Jason and Damian’s conflicts with airport security. She’s stuck driving the two brothers cross-country to reach Tim’s wedding in time.

Damian, Jason & Steph bonding road trip AU that warms your heart. Seriously, if you like any of these characters, you read this.

7.3 on a thin chain of moments and something like faith series  by irnan

Jason really oughta know better than to talk to Bats.

Jason bonding with both Steph and Cass! Love it. It’s fluff and angst, which is hard to pull off together, but it works here. It also, in places, incredibly funny. I love re-reading it from time to time.

7.4   Tremor by  LueurdeLaube              

Nobody can tell Jason Todd that joking about his own death is not a valid coping mechanism.

Not about Jason being a bro per se but about Batfam and Jason so I hope it counts!

7.5. the lost sidekick society by  redtruthed                

The batkids make a group chat.

Chaos ensues.

One of the best groupchat AU for Batfam.

[thecrenellations]

Return of the Thief Notes, Part Three: The Book of Pheris, Volume 2, Chapters 6-14 and “Alyta’s Missing Earring”

Notes from my first read, October 2020. (Part One | Part Two | TaT)

Contents:  Elephants, guesses about gods and dead men, villain team up, the unexpected, AAAAAAH, elaboration on the word cloud above (which is one big Gen, medium Pheris, medium love, and scattered other names), and more quantitative analysis! I love this book.

Format:  Page number. My thoughts (Context?)

Chapter 6

285. unkingly moment, last night with her at home

MISMATCHED STOCKINGS (I have a thing about this.)

Wedges of ribbons?

285. cute

286. a pitneen? A drunk bird?

Wait. Gift of animals??? Did he steal the thunderbolts wearing it?

A canary no longer

287. Hilarion and Ion, wow

Throw a cup of wine on me

288. War pants! War pants!

What’s Attolia wearing?

Sophos! (the whistling!)

288. Ok fine it’s gonna be sad ... I say as if I didn’t just experience the trial (the last lighthearted moment)

Pepper!

Be careful Pheris

Also Relius went to Dite and Juridius, right? (I was convinced Dite would show up)

Sinerine!

290. SOCKS! Yay <3 magus

I was resigned to not much magus but he is HERE!

He’s … so much nicer than he was to the kids in the Thief, lol

A CART!

Lamb, falling in same paragraph. Worried.

Gen :( Gen you ran all over the palace and leapt in the water last night. You are so stupid.

292. Yay Sophos I love you

Math buddies!

294. I’M SAD.

They have had this convo before

I love them

It’s because I can that I think I should

295. Do not overreach. Eddis is right

Danger in self indulgence?

I love her! “I was outside chasing your brother with a stick”

296. My heart. You have to trust yourself. I don’t know if I can. Then you have to trust us.

Tactical Irene!

Thanks I’m gonna hold on to it: “The Call of life is a s powerful as the call of death, and it is no weakness to answer to it”

297. Oh no. My children. Tell each other things like that!

Great time to be childish, Gen.

Yeah honestly. It’s bothered her FOREVER

299. Pull it together, kids!

Thx Helen

Inkpots … :( :( :(

Chapter 7

302. See … that Continent occupation isn’t good either!

303. Unfortunately that is NOT an alternative. Bc volcano.

305. This is stressful.

Chloe, interesting

306. Elephants

Oh my god it’s better than I ever could have imagined (there was like 10 years of lead up to the elephants, and I thoroughly enjoyed them)

I love him

Gen wtf

Yes drink up those guards (“We could keep [an elephant] in the guard’s bathhouse! There’s plenty of room.” “And the guards will bathe ...?” “In the palace reservoir.” “Our drinking water.”)

#6 Gen about elephants

308. This is gonna be a disaster

Hilarion with an eyeglass

Fuck Pheris is making this up.

Gen I love you

Oh my god

Honestly idk if Gen is having fun but I AM

They’re. They’re such a power couple.

Also Bu-seneth is so rude to Attolia

309. so vague about battle, but I’m sure it’s horrible

310. hero talk. Chills.

311. all the woman comparisons for Gen (“Would [a world with no war and no heroes be a bad thing?” “That’s a woman’s question”)

Wow. Interesting. Anonymity

312. Don’t listen to them Gen!

Bad tempered cooks

313. lol. Good looks.

Gen. the hand joke. Why

Well that was … a scene (I don’t know my Henry V)

Reassuring to have a glove. Which one?

314. No. Bad. This is what I was afraid of. (Nahuseresh baiting Gen with Kamet)

Ok Pheris

315. That cannot be true. (it was not!)

Gen. No. No.

316. Wow. That worked out well. So far.

They called him annux. If Kamet is really dead…

319. Yeah Attolia is RIGHT

Yeah I can’t actually either!

Irene knows. In his story!

320. Glove resolved very fast

Interesting reversal (Gen and his dad)

Maddening!

Chapter 8

322. who’s charging off in a haze of glory now

Philologos wounded

Wait, the attendants follow him in to battle...

Cleon RIP

Temenus <3

No. Stenides

If they ever returned.

His brother died in an explosion

Gen’s tears

This is sad.

323. lion lamb :(

325. At least they have each other

Morality is an illusion. Like safety?

326. that’s what Costis was mapping, right? (nope)

How many has Gen killed now

328. Who. Pol? Ambiades? (The cairn man question remains)

Oh no

Oh no. you can fall from a horse

HILARION!

Is Fordad a spy?

I am just not accepting this yet

WAIT THE MEDES TOOK HIM! (I thought the Attolians had taken Gen, or Gen’s body, at first.)

330. wow things only Pheris can do

GDI Erondites

WOW THIS IS A VILLAIN TEAM UP

332. You gave it to him dude (Nahuseresh asking “Why does he still have this?” about Gen’s hook)

I love Gen. I wonder if he’s afraid.

This is bad.

Whose treason, whose betrayal?

333. Yeah! Kamet said so (“Tell me again that you are king.” “Annux, if you prefer.”)

334. Oh god.

Get your stories straight bastards

Rolled in a rug!

336. Oh gen

Oh god

Yeah this is …

Be careful what you ask for

338. What did he sign as, though, Attolis? Eugenides?

Nomenus wtf

What does mwt have against facial hair (Fordad, Nahuseresh)

Costis please come (idk how I thought he was going to help, but I was in Costis Denial and expected him to show up at any moment)

Everyone must be going through a lot

A face like an open grave

Gen.

Gen I love you

YES

YES

Is he … invulnerable now?

Gen what.

Is he possessed? Is he already a god?

341. Yeah same. (“I think he meant that I should not fear him, either. I did, though ... I still followed him”)

This isn’t being self indulgent or overreaching, is it?

342. RIP Ion Nomenus

“My work”

Oh Nomenus

Does he just exist for the morally gray and loyal angst feelings? It works (...)

344. What did he DO

Yes! Swearing Gen!

345. love all caps Gen

Those names

Aaah

346. Ooof.

Chapter 9

347. moon promises

Yeah

Noooo Philologos :(

Legarus … :(

349. Gen what what

Sparks

Costis? Stenides? STENIDES?

Wow ok he killed Bu-seneth

350. god

See I said Nahuseresh shouldn’t have said that

Also is Gen a bastard

351. WHAT (“Because your council had just voted to kill him”)

Oh Helen

Oh Irene

Does he invite him in?

This is reassuring to the reader (“He can bear his god a little while without losing himself”)

Aaaaah Galen

354. Gen that’s a lot. A lot.

Don’t kill everyone.

So so so x7 of doom

Bye Yorn

I hope he wins too

Go away Nahuseresh

Omg

another fall

Interregnum

Ok it was Lader (when you don’t know who the man at the cairn was, keep on guessing!)

Yeah the circumstances thing is back

Oh god

Oh no

Chapter 10

361. how long has it been?

362. three days

I love them (Elephants! My excellent queen!)

You promised to trust him

364. Oh no. Oh no. (Relius)

370. These Helen convos…

371. Sad. :(

372. Emtis and Lader

Yeah.

Omg

374. Wow

Steal by elephant?

377. Don’t forget about Dite!

378. He’s gonna kill him?

379. Is Dite dead too?

Oh Sejanus

Oh I see

He’s got a mercy taste too

380. Switching!

Lying in moonlight. Hm.

381. Yesss

Nooooo

383. I’m nervous

Gods blessing on your road

Wow. <3

They would have fallen… (if Pheris had gone through with his plan, that’s how they both would have died)

Did not expect Sejanus feelings in Rott.

Chapter 11

386. He’s gonna know. But the trust.

Ion knows.

390. Gen…

Pheris is Lyopidus?

I’m scared

393. I kind of love Ion

More Sejanus, bring it on

I’m nervous

Hmmm… who could it be

395. MoW :( <3 I will not be ok if he dies too

Gen knows the way bc Costis (nope)

Oh my god these two (“I lied” “I know”)

Chapter 12

398. Oh no.

This is not

Her Thief

Irene. “only sleeping” this is what Eddis said to her

But mist… water???

Face touch

402. not living or dead. King

Yes. But no.

403. crying at everything and the MoW next to him

There he went

It was the Eddisians. He fought with them.

404. yeah that’s a lot to deal with, Pheris

405. what a mystery man (Sejanus)

Lol mysterious exit averted

Excuse me that was a difference

406. :(

Am I king

407. Helen is once again right. She’s also always right

MOIRA was Melisande???!??!? (who even knows)

409. ?? Irene?

Same as for Dite. Man loves his brothers. (nephews. you know what I mean.)

Nice.

AAH yup. Add it to the list (“How neatly you tie them together” ... the list of is ways Gen and Irene are becoming more like each other)

410. speaking of which where is Costis!

Hm… what god was that

I love their reactions

411. SPLENDID.

Oh Irene. It’s true <3

It’s so true (“When the king gives his heart he gives it completely”)

Now I’m crying again, at them

412. Gen, she has a point.

Amazing. I … I don’t think she meant to ask like THAT

Jesus, Gen.

You do not know a wagon from a wheelbarrow

413. Irene!

She’d better get home safe.

Gen!

Omg

414. I have another bad feeling, about Gen

415. High king or queen though?

Magus <3

Chapter 13

416. “of course”

That’s ominous

417. No! Sejanus!

A gut wound yikes

418. sadness

419. lol “ill will”

We’re in Roa. My heart’s pounding.

422. I love Gen.

YESSS

Yes I love them.

Sheep.

Kamet!!!

?!?

Costis. Mattresses exist.

424. Oh no.

426. roof dream

Good roof dream

Good job Helen

428. TWINS. Everyone was RIGHT

Reyatimi

Oh shit. The sky.

Oh dear. :( aaah

430. Climbing the rigging!

“it’s just that you have so many least favorite things”

431. I love them (Gen and Irene)

432. I love them (Gen and Helen)

433. RIGHT! I was thinking

I can’t <3 (they’re naming the baby after the MoW, and it’s perfect, and she’s not gonna tell us, huh)

OH MY GOD!!! (baby thief!)

WOW!

434. AAAAAAH (Hector! @threetoadswaltz​ finished reading before me and knew that I would explode about this and I DID, I threw my arms in the air! HECTOR!)

PERFECTION!

435. AAAAAAAAH (this was when it became clear they were going to dance on the roof)

Yes she was (as surefooted as the king)

Is this the first time she’s Irene

Yes.

I’m filled with happiness

Celia and Lavia again … lol.

Lol Chloe

THALIA

CRENELATED wall

HE’S ALIVE

Kamet is a sweetheart

The gods!!!

The gods!

Aracthus

Mystery goddess?

Ula?

Moira! Yes!

(I was very happy. The page itself:)

Alyta’s Missing Earring

Wait. Was it Alyta.

Glad we got a bi god (with all due respect to Immakuk and Ennikar, whose bi-ness and godliness is perhaps more up to the reader)

Got very bi very fast

Also. He’s Gen.

Interesting difference in story

Kathodicia!

Are we literally getting ALL the answers? (No. But so many more than I expected!)

Gen’s grandfather sucks

An urn huh

Omg. Heiro’s earrings?

Oh my gosh.

Same, Gen. Same.

Obvs Phresine knows.

Is Phresine a goddess?

Same, Gen. Same.

She got to tell a story! She is so happy!

I think he’s a little scared

Moleskin

Yeah peace huh

This series is socially sanctioned silliness

1000 Eugenides. Wow.

They did melt though

Little thief.

<3 <3 <3

He’s a character in a story

A big question

Tamarisk? Takima? (We are not getting all the answers.)

That’s it! Thank you for reading - it feels very self-indulgent to type up all of these, but I will honestly take most chances to relive the intense and wonderful experience of reading this book for the first time, which often means looking back at my own notes and sometimes means sharing them with people. Also, I really love reading liveblogs/real-time book thoughts, so here is one from awhile ago ... all at once.

Anyway, check out this word cloud from all of the notes (made with this site):

It’s ... mostly just character names, with a variety of words that express my enthusiasm and feeling (love, lol, wow, yes, excuse me...). Gen is the biggest because I said his name 115 times! Here are some totals for the other characters who came up a lot:

115 - Gen (and 10 Eugenides)

42 - Pheris

26 - Costis

18 - Irene (and 6 Attolia)

16 - Helen (and 8 Eddis)

10 - Sophos (and 4 Sounis)

12 - the magus

11- Kamet

11 - Teleus

10 - Relius

9 - Ion

6 - MoW

6 - Moira

5 - Sejanus

These don’t fully represent how much I had to say about them, because I didn’t always refer to people by name or title ... which kind of explains why Costis’s total is ridiculously high compared to how much he is in the book -  I likely have more notes about other characters, but I didn’t need to bring up their names because they were already present in the scenes I was taking notes on (for example, I think I talked about Relius more than Teleus, the magus, or Kamet, but many of those just referred to him as he, because it was obvious to me who I meant). But also I was just looking for Costis! Anyway. My use of names and titles for the monarchs also really illustrates how much this book reshaped the way I think of these characters’ relationship to them, Gen’s and Irene’s especially.

It’s representative of my feelings about this series that I wrote “I love them” about so many combinations of characters. Who, exactly? And how many times? Well...

5 - Gen and Irene

4 - Gen and Helen

2 - Gen and Pheris

1 - Gen, Irene, Helen, and Sophos

1 - Helen and Sophos

1 - Costis and Kamet

1 - unknown combo of Gen, Pheris, and Relius on p.166, I love them all and can’t remember. Kamet’s map was there, too, and I do love Kamet, so maybe he was in there too.

no matter what the numbers say, I love them all endlessly, and I love this book.

be blessed in your endeavors, yes I will take any questions about these notebook screams, etc.

[fuzzyporcupine]

lead me with your hands tied | chapter 4

chapters:

FULL - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

rating: explicit

word count: 8,104

summary:

In the midst of a crumbling kingdom at war, Levi Ackerman is commissioned by King Jaeger to paint a portrait of his overzealous son.

chapter 4:

The sun was high and hot in the sky. The summers in Shinganshina left hardly anyone unaware of their presence each year. The rays beat in boldly from the studio windows as Levi impatiently paced the floor. The prince should have appeared at least an hour ago. Levi had been quite clear with the instructions he passed along to Petra. Arrive no later than midday, he’d said. And like the grand fool he was, Levi actually believed Eren Jaeger might heed his request. Yet there he stood, the afternoon shine beginning to warm his skin.

“To hell with it,” Levi muttered, low under his breath. He refused to spend the entire day waiting around like an eager hound after its master. 

Gathering his brushes from the easel, Levi carefully placed each tool on an expanse of brown leather. He began rolling the material, not unlike a baker kneading dough; pulling the leather tight enough to ensure that no brushes would fall loose and slip out unnoticed. The tasks were methodical, and Levi appreciated the simplicity in the quiet moments he often found himself after the muse had left. 

A piece of twine was wrapped around the bundle and pulled snuggly. Levi’s lip quirked in annoyance when he noticed the number of frays the rope had acquired. It would have to be replaced soon, he mentally noted. Levi was still inspecting the loose ends when the door creaked open loudly behind him.

“Leaving already?” Levi’s fingers slipped around the rough string as it fell from his hands. The prince leaned against the door frame, face full of mirth as he regarded Levi. Unlike their last encounter, this time the man was appropriately clothed. The black velvet of his tailcoat gleamed, highlighting strong shoulders and lithe arms. White breeches traced the curve of the man’s thighs down to the onyx riding boots trailing up beneath the knee. The man even looked as if he’d brushed his hair. Levi was understandably amazed. “We’ve not even started.”

“We should have started an hour ago, Your Highness.” Levi tried to keep the bite out of his tone.

A grin cracked across Eren’s face as he pushed himself off the frame. “Ah, you’re no fun. I see why father hired you.” Levi wanted to tell the cocky little shit that he wasn’t hired to be fun. He was hired to paint. Which he really would like to- “I’ve seen your work before, artist.” Levi’s breath caught in his throat.

“Oh?” he replied simply, watching as Eren moved closer. 

“Yes. On a holiday in Sina.” Levi tried not to cringe. Sina was a dreadful place, full of aristocrats with heads shoved deeply up their own asses. The man who’d commissioned the portrait was no different. Fat and smelly with a horrible disposition. A crook, as well, only paying Levi half of the agreed-upon price after the piece was completed.

“It was a portrait of a nobleman whose name I can’t quite recall. But I remember the painting, though.” Long, dexterous fingers danced up the side of the canvas Levi had set up prior to the arranged meeting time. “I think about how in awe I was, all the bright lines and dark shadows. It was so realistic.” The prince’s hand stilled on the canvas and stiffened around the edge, drawing Levi’s attention to the way the tanned skin tightened ever so delicately around the joints. “Hell, I imagine at the time I would have believed that painting hung in front of me to be more alive than the very man immortalized in it.” 

Levi bowed his head slightly. “I’m honored, Your Highness.” 

“Yes, I’m sure you are.” He tried not to be too off-put by the prince’s rebuttal. It had only been a night’s rest since he witnessed the man prance into the dining room in all his stockinged glory. No matter how self-assured Eren appeared to him now, Levi would always remember the prince as he truly was -  a brat screaming about in his nightclothes.

“Tell me, artist, do you really want to be here?” He looked up at that, brows furrowed in a questioning glance. Did he really want to be there? Levi knew the answer to the query, but he wondered how open to the truth the young prince truly was. Eren set him with a firm look, large green eyes alight with something Levi couldn’t quite place. “Answer me.” 

He clenched an empty fist and schooled his expression into an apathetic frown. “Of course, Your Highness.” The prince’s eye twitched at the way he spoke the words, dead and hollow. It was likely not the answer Eren was expecting. Probably guessed Levi would be falling to his knees in a physical display of unwavering loyalty. However, Levi would kneel for no man, especially not one as selfish and tone-deaf as the Prince of Shinganshina.

“I can’t tell if you are bold or simply stupid.” The prince’s voice held no malice, but Levi still bristled at the accusation. He may be a fool, but he was not stupid. “It’s treasonous to lie to a king.” Levi caught himself from rolling his eyes deep into his skull. He watched the so-called king cock his head to the side as a playful smile broke across his face. Eren was toying with him, and Levi couldn’t help but feel like a rabbit caught in a lethal trap. 

“My head should be safe on its shoulders then, Your Highness.” The prince’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it spread further. 

“You’d make a fine jester shall you decide to abandon this artist’s plight.” Levi was wise enough to know when he was being teased. All the time spent in Kenny’s presence had hardened him to most mockery. However, watching Eren’s taunting smirk goad him from across the room was enough to send a burning wave of frustration beneath his skin. 

“If it pleases you, Your Highness, I would like to retire to my chambers.” Levi bowed the upper half of his body lowly while addressing the prince. He was unable to see the confoundment as it morphed into Eren’s face, but Levi surely heard the stutter in the tone as the prince rushed a reply. 

“N-no!” The sound mimicked a small child squealing after being denied a sweet treat. Eren quickly cleared his throat. “No, artist, it does not please me. Has your existence here not been due to your ability to paint? I would assume mulling about in your chambers was not what my father requested.” 

“Nor was it to entertain long-winded conversations about my desire to be here, Your Highness,” Levi retorted tartly as he lifted his head. A fierce redness crept up above Eren’s high collar and extended past the man’s jawline. He watched as the muscles there tightened and silently wondered if Eren still thought of him to be so comical. 

His question was soundlessly answered as Levi observed the prince’s nostrils flare angrily. 

He didn’t back down from the glare tossed in his direction, instead challenging it head-on with his own gaze of indifference. Levi was not scared of the prince’s poor attempt at intimidation. He knew that beneath that veil of false confidence was simply a mutt trying to convince a sheep it was a wolf. Until the king’s crown rested upon Eren’s head, Levi knew that he had nothing to fear from the spoilt prince. 

A terse knock broke the strained silence, followed by the studio door creaking alive. 

“Mr. Ackerman, sorry to bother you. I’ve brought tea.” Petra’s voice cut sharply through the air as the sound of jostling porcelain followed her words. As if finally noticing the silent confrontation, the footfalls paused. “Is everything alright, Your Majesty?” 

The anger suddenly flooded from the prince’s face, being replaced with a melancholy discontent. Wordlessly, Eren shuffled past Petra and out into the hall, abandoning Levi with the woman who seemed prepared to ask a thousand questions. 

He took a deep, heavy breath in through his nose, shoulders relaxing on the exhale. “My apologies, Ms. Ral.” Levi turned to face her. “I will bring the tea to my chambers if that is satisfactory.” 

Petra nodded, “Of course, sir.” They stood in uneasy silence for what felt like hours, Levi too awkward to excuse himself and Petra far too polite. He watched as her bottom lip was worried harshly until finally, her thoughts became audible. “Mr. Ackerman, if I may?” Levi offered no opposition, and the woman took the silence for what it was. “The prince is stubborn and willful and outrageously frustrating.” He quirked a brow, wondering where this insult was leading. “But he has suffered more than most. I’ve watched him grow up experiencing things no child should ever have to witness. He…” Petra paused and heaved a deep sigh. “He is not as you have constructed in your mind, sir.”

“And how would you know what image that may be?” Levi sneered, shoulders straightening ever slightly. 

“You hold the same fury in your eyes as the whole of the peasants across Shinganshina.” He stiffened at the accusation. All the bitterness that had risen within him suddenly deflated and Levi was left looking thoroughly conflicted. “I shall bring the tea to your chambers, sir.” He watched her turn, the porcelain chattering to the beat of her footsteps. Before moving through the doorway, she paused, gifting Levi one last glance. “He’s not his father, sir.” 

And then she was gone.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Horror Villains / Misc x Reader || Drabbles

Plot: You accidentally summon Beetlejuice because he convinced you that he could help you with your Slasher problem, but he becomes an even worse problem. So, you need your Slasher to help you exterminate him, instead.

Includes: Chucky / Charles Lee Ray and Freddy Krueger

Warnings: It’s got nasty gremlin man in it (Meaning, gross language, dirty jokes and such), and also Slashers (Meaning, gore, swearing, course and suggestive language). Groping (Himself) 

Notes:

Okay, those of you who were with me at MainstreamBaddies; You remember that post I wrote about some rando killer trying to get the reader, so reader goes to the Slasher that’s also trying to kill them for help?

Well this is basically that but with (Movie) Beetlejuice as the rando.

THERE WAS MEANT TO BE MORE CHARACTERS!! But its late and I wanna slep ^^ Hopefully I’ll do Ghostface and Jason tomorrow! 

~~~

THE START / ‘Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice’

“So… “Worrying my bottom lip, I look from the wall where I can think properly to the small, ‘fun size’ version of ‘Beetlejuice’ who’s looking expectantly at me. Excited even. 

Although I guess that’s a given. If I was that small and had the possibility sitting right in front of me, of growing back to full size, and full power again, I’d be jazzed too. But, still, there’s something very off about this guy, and it isn’t just the fact that he’s the size of maybe 2 thumbs snapped off at the knuckle and taped one on top of the other. He’s very enthusiastic.

In a Gollum-Swamp Monster-Chick Hicks kind of way.

“’So’, what? I don’t have all day baaaaaay – well, I do have all day. I got nowhere to be – not many fun joints for a guy to go to at this size, amiright? Yeah, but, that’s not the point! Do you wanna get rida’ your lil’ problem or not? Eh?” Beetlejuice is practically vibrating, like an alarm clock and I have the most impulsive urge to call his name three times just to stop it.

Luckily, I have impulse control.

“Of course, I do. I… “Eyeing him pointedly, I start wringing my hands. “I just don’t want to create a new problem, in its place.”

He rolls his dark, feral racoon-panda eyes, muttering something lightning quick to himself before throwing out his arms and yelling. “BABE! I promise ya, really, sweetheart. Baby-lemon pie-dumpling-doll-dollar-sugar-tea, I’m just gonna fix your problem! All I want in the world right now is t’ cum-plete our deal! Get rida’ your Slasher, and be on my way! Unless theirs somethin’ else you ask of me, eh? When I’m back to my normal size? You know, I’m big in all the right places sugar tit- “

I took a deep, necessary breath in when he started on the ‘something else’ and now have the required breath to drown out the last words. “Oooookay!! I wont need that.” I say quickly, as a statement. He licks his lips. “But, um… Are you sure you can get rid of them?” ‘Them’. The bane of my existence right now. The co-star in the horror movie of my life. That them.

“Trust me, babe-sickle. It’ll be sinch.” For a moment, he looks absolutely calm. No vibrating, no yelling, no talking really fast. And it hits its intended mark – my assurances. Okay.

“Alright.” I wring my hands one last time, then clap them and step back from the town diorama that Beetlejuice is roaming in. I cross my arms, then drop them to my sides and look around, then finally back at the impatient ghost… who’s doing squats. Good grief, how much energy is in this guy? “Beetlejuice.”

He gasps, jumps up to his feet, nearly falling over because his weight landed wrong and then rubs his hands together. “Here we go!”

“Beetlejuice.”

“Oh. You do it right, babe.”

Oh my god, here we go. Hopefully this can’t make my situation any worse- I mean, I am being targeted by a killer. What are the odds that this goofball of a ghost could ruin my life anymore? “Beetlejuice.”

“PRESTO!”

Human! Chucky / Charles Lee Ray – Chucky’s POV:

I figure this is going to be a pain, when a screech tears from the ugly old house before I even get in. Confused, and more then frustrated because this spells out nothing but problems for me for when I get in, instead of the nice peaceful kill I was intending to enjoy, I open the screen door -bitch didn’t even lock the front door, it’s like she wants me to kill her,- and rush up the stairs to where the sound came from. “Hold on, I’m not there yet!!”

What the hell is going on?!

“Look, in my professional experience, the screamin’ doesn’t start til the killer takes out a knife, sometimes even before but not before I even get into the house, lady. The audacity of you, here- “

What am I looking at here?

In front of my eyes, my fucking eyes, stands of course Y/N, my victim. And some kind of zebra - one that’s been dead and left out in the swamp for a fuck-long time. He’s got crazy eyes if I’ve ever seen them, and have you seen mine? That’s saying something. Who is this joker? In my coat, I grip the gun I keep just in case strangulation goes awry, but don’t bring it out just yet. Not until this guy reveals his cards, first.

The guy’s eyes flicker in smug amusement from my face, to my gun pocket -evidently, he realises something’s up. Can’t blame the guy, damnit, -, then whips right around, leaving his back wide open for me and my weapon, to my facepalming victim. I smirk at her. “I take it that’s the guy you want rid of, toots?”

“Uh… yeah… “She looks adorable and awkward. The guy lets go of her waist, which he was holding close to his body as she leaned away before, when I walked in and he literally, and I’ve never seen any person do this before, halted in his tracks. Stopped breathing, stopped shifting, it even seemed like the history around him stopped for that ‘caught’ moment. And I swear I heard the sound of record music abruptly being turned off come from his mouth.

And for some odd reason, I get the feeling he’s not human. Can’t conjure a reason why, though.

I should be saying this shit out loud, I’m wasted on myself.

Figuring this guy’s been hired to get rid of me, I take out my gun. “Okay, you’re gonna have to catch me up on what’s happening... Oh, no? Well, okay.”

BAM!

A bullet flies across the room and sticks into the freak’s chest, and that is the end of things going my way.

Because the force of the bullet somehow sends him slamming across the room and through a wall in the back. His body goes ‘poot’ down two stories outside and theirs a silence that doesn’t last long enough for either Y/N or I to digest what just fucking happened before the bastard’s grotty fucking hand spiders up my spine from behind. I wriggle out of his reach immediately on impact, because it’s like a real fucking spider, and whip around, waiving my gun- which is useless now, of course.

Games are over.

The guy looks over at Y/N and grins, throwing his arms out in a ‘ta da!’ way. She winces and just narrows her eyes in a glare. “What’d you think of that, sweet cheeks? I got a flare for the dramatic, you know? Ssssexy! Eh?” When she sticks her tongue out at him, for lack of any words to respond to that with I guess -I mean, I, can think of some choice words for the guy, but she’s clearly not as creatively gifted in the art of insult as I have been told I am. But, a tongue out works, - he grins the most fucking horny grin I’ve ever seen and clutches his sack. Her jaw drops.

“Where the ever-loving fuck did you pick crazy pants up from??” I ask, looking accusingly at Y/N. She chews on the inside of her cheeks and looks even more awkward then before.

“Truce?” She asks, instead of answering my question. I’m genuinely curious.

I roll my eyes. “Ughh, fine.”

“Oh well that won’t do,” The guy speaks up again, looking between us and letting his Johnson go, thank god. The boys have to breath! “Baby girl, blossom, light of my FUCKING DEATH! You wound me. riGHT IN THE HEART! Let me show you, sweetgums, why that was a bad idea.”

Her eyes widen, and I suddenly feel real unsafe. “How about you don’t- “

“Watch this!”

He turns to me, makes some overdramatic hand gestures, throwing his back out in the process and momentarily acting like he’s out of order.

Then he whips back into action and shoots me with finger guns,

And then suddenly everything around me looks 4 times bigger then before. Oh, well, its that or… I’m closer to the ground.

Because I’m a fucking doll again.

I slowly look up from the little black baby shoes and the edges of the godamn jean jumpsuit, to the infected condom in black and white grease paint. “… You son-of-a-bitch.”

He chuckles and turns to Y/N, and gives her finger guns too, but the only other thing that happens this time is he winks at her. “Now, baby! Time to get hitched!”

“What?!” She shrieks.

Freddy Krueger – Freddy’s POV:

“I’m going to die of boredom before this bitch catches winks. I’m gonna pummel her with the counting sheep she clearly needs when she gets here.” The corners of my mouth lift up from the deep scowl I was wearing before, at the idea. It has merit.  

Behind me the fine folks of Pompeii run for their lives and a red and green striped Vesuvius explodes molten lava over their little town when I remember it’s been 2 days since she’s fallen asleep. Or found some fucking Hypnocil. Or killed herself. Who knows, really. I have a… deadly effect on women.

But damn, it would be a bummer if she killed herself. I was having fun with her. I had plans.

Have, have. I have plans. I won’t give up hope yet.

An hour, or who knows how long later -time is a human construct and doesn’t exist in the dream plain, - , I’m lying on the ground watching Psycho play in the sky when that familiar tingle rushes through me, telling me someone’s entered my world.

I’m just getting up and brushing myself off, taking my damn time like she left me to wait -besides, I can turn back time and make it seem like I appeared instantaneously if I want to. Time’s a construct, remember? And this is my world. I’m just doing this for me, to make me feel better, - when she comes out of fucking nowhere and nearly knocks me over. Im-ee-diate-ly I open my mouth to ask her why she’s so eager, but she beats me to the punch, causing me sadness.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

Hold on, I definitely think there’s something off here. Don’t I make the fucking demands?! “Bitch- ”

“Wake!”

“-I haven’t done anything to you yet.” 

“Up!”

“Goddamn!”

What is going on here!?

“I’ll do anything you want, just please. Wake me up!” Her eyes are deadly serious, and I can’t help the greedy smile I get at her submissive idea. What could have made her this way? I laugh.

“Ohhh, I’ll think it over. Tempting offer, though~” She lets out a growl and let’s go of me in pure frustration, looks around quickly for something and then lays eyes on my glove. She picks it up, and my eyes widen in surprise at what she does next.

The blade slices through the skin in her upper arm before I can take any control of the situation, and a nauseous feeling suddenly rolls me and she whimpers from the pain of slicing herself open, as the world goes blurry around us and she wakes up- of course, still holding my glove, which is attached to me, so I go with her.

“Fucking he- “

Much quicker than you think it will be, we both turn up back in the fucking reality. She hops up immediately and flies across the room to a first aid box.

I’m just assuming, I mean. Because I don’t make any move to leave the bed at all and just close my eyes and groan, and resist the urge to cry.

I hate this placceeeeeeeeee.

“BABES, YOU’RE BACK!”

Now I resist the urge to scream and phase out of existence, because a man just appeared on the bed with me and called me his babes. Instead, I slowly turn my head to him and sinisterly narrow my eyes- and hope he doesn’t notice my distress from a second ago.

I’m starting to understand why Y/N was so intent on getting back here. If this guy, a dung beetle with… oh, god. Clearly, some kind of terrible illness if that smell indicates anything, was hanging around me while I slept, I’d be… slightly bothered too. If only for the stink!

He squints, and while he does, his hair flickers through the various colours in the rainbow, confused. “Sweetbottom, theirs something different about you. Did you get contacts?”

As a knee jerk reaction, I stab him in the gut with my blades. “Stranger danger, bitch!”

My panic dissolves into glee as I jerk the knives upwards… just to turn back into panic when he starts tearing all the way in half from my stab wound up to the top of his head with minimal effort from me. I gulp, and retreat from him to where Y/N is, taping her bandages securely around her arm. I gesture to the freak who’s padded onto the floor and is zipping himself back together in front of my eyeballs. “… the fuck is that?”

“That’s Beetlejuice, he’s a ghost=

“With the most, baby.” ‘Beetlejuice’ stands up straight and rests his hands on his hips, chest puffed out and winks at Y/N. 

“-What do we do?”  She asks, looking with wide eyes at me. 

What does she think I am? The Fairy Godmother of the dead?? I’m no godmoth-

… I could use this. A slow grin spreads across my mouth. “First, you go over there and distract him.” 

For a split second she looks like she’s actually going to go with it, then looks with furrowed, unimpressed eyebrows at me. ‘Beetlejuice’ makes grabby hands at us, and she starts to look more panicked by the second. “And what will you do??”

I yank the bedroom door open. “Run!!”