#reminds me to make a masterpost actually for ease of reading

[spontaneousglitterbees]

are you ok with other people using your translyrics? they're very nicely written !!

Absolutely! Just two things to keep in mind:

1) Make certain they're mine/ your crediting the right source, translyric credits should always be in my descriptions (and if its not let me know, they'd be mine but i like to state it outright)

and

2) I'd love to see it if you do!

[manicpixiefelix]

he wanted to be in love (but you got in the way) // epilogue

{ head, heart, hand. masterpost }

Summary: Oliver is haunted by what he's done to get his happy ending in Felix's arms. His guilt is only made worse when he meets the first member of your family to actually remind him of you. Unfortunately, he does not find it to get better from there.

{ context; please read he wanted to be in love (but you got in the way) first }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons. YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD IN THIS ONE, but you do get to haunt the narrative. congratulations?

Warnings: discussions of death/overdose, lots of guilt, manipulative oliver, felix being upset, vaguely unhealthy oliver/felix, lotsa angst, oliver quick reckoning with the sunk-cost fallacy.

A/N: 6828 words. first, i don't usually do part 2s when i say something is a oneshot, so this is a rare occurrence. secondly im sorry this is almost 7k there's something wrong with my brain i think. thirdly bro, bro, listen to me; ANGST. HURT NO COMFORT. HURT NO COMFORT. it's soft in the middle THE SOFTNESS IS A LIE. ITS GONNA HURT ALL THE WAY DOWN (apart from nana i love her nd i hope you will too)

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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One hour and fifty three minutes.

Rounded up, because all things considered, he should round it up, that's two hours.

Two hours. Like the blink of an eye in the scope of a whole life. But a very long time when you sit and count it out.

One hundred and twenty minutes. Seven thousand, two hundred seconds. He's always counting two hours, seeing exactly how long it feels like, how he can fill that amount of time. Seconds pass like a steady heartbeat.

He can do a lot in two hours.

Oliver tries to occupy himself nowadays more than ever, and really tries not to be alone, but it's hard. Farleigh left for Oxford. Venetia, before she decided to backpack across Europe and find herself, wouldn't let anyone touch her anymore.

Oliver doesn't like leaving Felix alone, but sometimes he has to be. You're laying cold in a family crypt somewhere next to a grandfather you never knew, and while Elspeth and Sir James don't comment on it, they both scowled when your parents sprung the announcement on everyone at the funeral.

Felix spends a lot of time alone at the edge of the maze. He's making a fairy garden where you had waited. Sometimes he'll drive into town without telling anyone, and come back with quaint, second-hand miniatures to add. It's beautiful, shining with greens and golds when the setting sun hits it just right.

So Oliver finds time to occupy himself, when he's alone and all he can think about is you sitting by the maze. You laying by the maze. You alive when he'd run from the maze. And the two hours that followed.

Sometimes he leans out of his window and shouts to the gardeners so far away they look like ants; even at this distance, his voice carries, and he sees them turn, search for him, ask if he's okay. He is, and he apologises, and he think about how far his voice carries.

On occasion, out of the blue, he'll lift Felix up when he hugs him, able to get his feet off the ground as Felix wriggles and clutches him out of surprise. Of course Felix lifts him with ease in return, spins him around, but that's not the point. Oliver is stronger than he looks; he wonders if he could lift you, could carry you far, if he could have dragged you if it had come to it.

Some nights he wakes up in a fright, your rapid heart rate beneath his fingers and he swears he could hear you whispering for help amid your shallow breathing. Please. Pleading. Begging. You were alive when he'd left you. He presses two finger to Felix's pulse point beside him, and tries to calm his breathing, to focus on Felix's slow, steady heartbeat.

And some days he sneaks into the computer room and curses how long webpages take to load when he looks up statistics on overdoses. Symptoms. Niche forums where he can learn what it felt like from survivors. People luckier than you. Their words, their stories, the recollections of those horrifying sensations stick with him, even as he diligently erases any trace of his browsing history.

And he thinks about how fucking long two hours is.

"Nan's coming over later," Felix tells Oliver idly one Sunday afternoon, "we're having tea of you'd like to join us." They're laying out in the grass, Oliver in the grass finding shapes in the clouds, Felix on his side, chewing on the stick of a lollypop he'd finished an hour ago and gently tracing abstract patterns on Oliver's chest.

"I thought you said your granny haunted Saltburn," when Oliver looks at Felix, he still can't help the way his heartrate picks up. Felix Catton touching him in the most gentle, caring way; he'd never stop feeling lucky for getting here, and never forget what he did to earn it.

Felix's gaze moves with his fingertips, up Oliver's warm, bare chest, twisting two fingers in the delicate chain around his throat. He looks pensive; but shakes his head after a beat.

"Different nan," he says distractedly, plastic straw trapped between his teeth. He tugs the chain experimentally, like he's forgotten it's attached to Oliver at all. He's in his head again; Felix is always in his head nowadays, but there's still often echoes of who he was, echoes of what Oliver has fallen for in the first place.

And he's finding himself falling more and more for this version of Felix too. So he tell himself that it was all worth it.

"Love," all these pet names - Love, Darling, Sweetheart - because if he slips up, tries to call him Fi, Oliver knows he'll only get ice in return, "is everything okay?" Oliver carefully reaches up to cover Felix's large, warm hand by his throat with his own. Felix meets his gaze, and gives a faint smile, an attempt to reassure him when he says he's fine. It doesn't work, but Oliver lets it go, and lets Felix tug him in by his chain for a kiss.

"Tea sounds lovely," Oliver murmurs against his lips.

There's something about this visit has Felix alive and buzzing the he way he hasn't in a very long time. Still he's quiet, but his eyes are bright as he follows behind the staff members setting up tea and biscuits in the garden. He goes through all the DVDs the family has and picks out a stack he thinks would be suitable, making sure they're all perfectly stacked by the DVD player. Oliver floats along behind him, and simply allows himself to admire Felix's energy.

Still, Felix finally takes a moment to breathe right as it becomes noon, and decides to have a bath to freshen up before his guest's arrival; two hours before she'd be here, Felix reminds him.

Two hours.

Oliver feels drawn to his own room. He doesn't allow himself to be alone in Saltburn often anymore, doesn't like the thoughts that crop up when he does. Perhaps it's a kind of punishment, a painful reminder, penance for what he's done.

There's a scrap of paper that he keeps tucked in a book in his nightstand, his own handwriting stuffed amongst a collection of Edgar Allan Poe's short stories, words he'd clung to and scribbled out the minute he'd gotten the chance so he'd never forget them exactly.

From the coroner's report, according to Duncan and Sir James. Time of Death; around 2am. Cause; narcotics overdose, and there were signs of alcohol poisoning.

On the back, he'd written '12:07'.

"Mum and dad both say it was a tragic accident," Felix's voice in the dead of night, the night they'd gotten the full report, riddled with guilt and unspilled tears, betrays his disbelief regarding the sentiment. Felix doesn't talk about how his last words to you were shouted with anger. Felix doesn't talk about how your last words to him were a desperate plea for him through tears. Felix doesn't think that it was an accident; only Oliver knows that he's almost right, just not in the way he thinks. Or dreads. But he has to bite his tongue on the truth, and let the man he loves live with this unjust guilt.

The water starts loudly draining for the tub, and Oliver isn't sure how long he's been sitting on the edge of his bed with his eyes squeezed so tightly shut, but he scrambles to stuff the page back into the book, and toss it back into it's drawer. He can smile again, and admire whatever outfit Felix chooses for the rest of the day, and pretend like he doesn't feel your rapid heartbeat or hear your shallow breathing every time he touches that paper, like he had the night he left you.

With the hour drawing ever closer to two, Felix keeps checking his watch. The minute he deems it to be time, he gives up all pretence of small talk - which had been another thing severely lacking as of late - and snatches Oliver's hand, pulling him through the house. They even outstripped Duncan and the footmen by the door when there comes a firm knock. Its the only time Oliver has ever seen any of the Cattons open the doors for themselves.

And it's not Felix's grandmother.

"Hi, nan," Felix sounds so genuinely happy as he hugs the older woman at the door with a warm smile and your eyes.

Oliver feels like he's frozen, like he's seeing a ghost. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Duncan actually standing aside, giving Felix and your grandmother a quietly fond smile.

"I swear you get taller every time I see you, oh, my lovely boy," she says with a warm laugh that sounds so damn familiar, "or maybe I've been shrinking, you get to my age and people tend to do that," and Felix laughs, actually fucking laughs. Oliver realises it's been a long time since he'd heard Felix give a proper laugh like that. As the hug ends, Felix let's her tuck her arm in his as she continues, "just you wait, one day you'll only be six-foot tall." Another laugh, and Oliver can see how genuine and broad he's smiling, how his eyes shine when their gazes meet. She's surprisingly sprightly for her age, it seems. Oliver recognises your grandmother from your funeral, but hadn't made the connection at the time, so he's surprised when Felix goes to introduce him and her eyes sparkle with recognised.

"Nan, I don't know if you've been properly introduced, but this is -"

"Your Darling, Oliver," and it's said with such warmth; her hug feels almost like home, "you strange, little thing," she laughs, "it's called a hug; are you not a hugger? I should have asked," but she doesn't apologise, nor does she let go for a few more beats. Oliver gives into this moment, closes his eyes tightly and hugs her back.

"Our Darling Oliver," Felix echoes with such admiration, and when Oliver opens his eyes, it's the first time since you'd passed where his gaze has held only the love and pride Oliver had been craving since he'd first laid eyes on him.

Once Nana - she'd insisted Oliver call her that too - lets him go, she tucks her arm in his, and is waving Felix over to her other side, briskly asking where tea was to be held. Duncan leads the way and she fawns over him too, apparently downright overflowing with love for Saltburn and everyone and everything in it. She talks more than she doesn't, but considering who Oliver is and who Felix has become, that suits them both just fine.

It's been too long since they've had tea together, she insists, and doesn't talk about why exactly that would be. She doesn't bring you up, not while you were all making your way through the house, but once she's settled outside, she takes a moment. The way she looks at Oliver in this moment makes him queasy; the smile, that look in her eyes, the way her gaze takes all of him in. A woman, whose time is so precious to her, taking her time to make him feel seen. Felix is quiet, intrigued by the exchange.

Your phantom heart beats beneath Oliver's fingertips.

"You're Y/N's grandma," Oliver says quietly, breaking the tension. Present tense still, they all play pretend. She smiles, and finally leans back. The moment is broken; Felix pours them each a cup of tea. Nana takes a jammy dodger and looks over the gardens with a smile.

"Of course, dear," she says sincerely, taking a bite of the biscuit, but being so eager to talk that she spoke through half a mouthful, "and when they were thirteen they told me I was Felix's grandmother too, because they'd overheard Felix's mum talking about how she hoped they'd get married some day." Felix snorted a laugh at that, turning pink around the ears as he prepared everyone's tea, as if on autopilot.

"Does that -" Oliver begins awkwardly, but he tries to smile, "do you think in time, they would have ask the same of you about me?"

"Considering how they spoke about you," there's a twinkle in your Nan's eyes as she turns back to him, smile knowing, "there's absolutely no doubt in my mind, my dear." All you had ever done was love him; love him and stand in the way of the love he desperately craved.

Oliver watches his tea for a long while, spinning the ornate cup on its matching saucer, while your Nana almost immediately picked hers up and took a tentative sip. Watching out of the corner of his eyes, Oliver notes the way her face goes on a journey of emotions, from pleased, to confused, to a sudden realisation as she looks to her cup.

"I should have asked you how you liked your tea," Felix realises too late, apology in his voice as Nana puts her cup down with a forlorn, yet fond look.

"No, darling, it's nice to know you know how my grandchild liked their tea," and she holds her cup delicately, looking into it's warm, brown depths, "just the same as I always made it for both of us when they were much, much younger."

"I am so sorry to ask," Oliver hears himself blurt out, unable to help himself, "but how does all this love just skip a generation?" It comes out far worse than he intends it to; he means to ask how someone so loving as you come from parents so uncaring, yet how did either of those parents turn out the way they did when the woman in front of him was clearly bursting with just as much love as you had been. Thankfully, instead of being offended, your grandmother laughs.

"My daughter is a wonderful, intelligent, compassionate, impressive woman," she begins, but sighs with unmistakable disappointment, "but my late husband was never capable of even trying to be a father over pursuing his own interests, and it's one of the few traits she actually inherited from him," she shook her head, "and she went on to fall in love with a man who loved her but suffered from that exact same defect," after a beat, she looked up with a warm, reassuring smile, "it's why I love Y/N so fiercely, and so hard," her grin turns soft and adoring, looking between the two boys before her, "the only way my daughter has ever disappointed me is as a mother, but I will never be disappointed in Y/N as my grandchild."

Oliver knows there's tears in his eyes, and Felix has ducked his head. Immediately Nan begins apologising, realising she'd set both of them off. Despite this, Oliver tries to wave her away, insisting it's fine, before he asks about her; he's heard bits and pieces he thinks, but Y/N had always been so cagey about their family. Honestly he's surprised that your grandmother knows so much about him when he feels like he's barely heard about her.

Despite turning out to be an incredibly decorated artist, with paintings selling for more than Oliver's pretty sure his own family's house is worth, your Nana is quick to downplay her own successes, simply insisting that it took decades of hard work. Again, he sees you in her eyes.

"We've got a few up around the house," Felix adds, "most of them actually from before we even met Y/N," and your Nana gives him a shove, as if flustered and embarrassed by the idea. But Felix is beaming, happy to be showing off her accomplishments, just as he always took joy in celebrating you; "there's one in your room."

"What?" Oliver asked, and your grandmother also seemed surprised, though touched by the thought.

"It used to be their room, actually, but Ollie moved in there, so Y/N was staying with me," he explains a little awkwardly, wanting to skim around as many implications as he could. Thankfully she doesn't comment. All she asks is which one. Felix and Oliver both think about the room; Felix about the few pieces of art on the walls, Oliver about your time of death in the drawer. You were alive when he left you -

"That one of the stars, and that person smoking; I think you actually gave it to them as a gift," he frowns for a beat, "for when they turned seventeen, I think?"

Oh, Oliver knows that one. It's enchanting, blues so deep, so rich it's like you could swim in them, stars that seemed to actually glow on the canvas, and the hazy, dark outline of the window in the foreground, and part of a figure against the windowsill, lit cigarette the lone spot of fire, of red or orange, that makes everything else warmer for it.

"That one really surprised me actually," Nana admits, giving Felix a shrew smile, though he only seems confused, "did they ever tell you anything about it?"

"Said you painted it for them; pretty sure I remember them crying about it," he says fondly, reminiscing, "one of the best gifts they ever got, I'm not lying, they say it every year. It's beautiful." Then, as if recalling what she'd actually said, he looks at her curiously, "surprised you?"

Her smile widened into something both knowing, and endeared.

"I asked them to send me a photo, a postcard, their very best drawing, anything, as long as it was their favourite place in the world - do you really not recognise it?" The tea and biscuits are gone by now, the tea portion of their afternoon is coming to a close. Felix shook his head, almost looking like a lost child, as if he was aware there was something he was supposed to be understanding but couldn't quite get it, "Felix, my dear boy, they sent me a photo of you; that's their dorm room window from boarding school."

Felix looks winded, and a bit like he's about to cry.

"Oh you two were impossibly sweet," she reaches over and holds his hand tightly, looking over to Oliver earnestly, "you take care of this dear boy and his heart, you hear me?"

"Yes," Oliver all but trips over his words to agree, "of course, nan." And she gives him a pleased grin.

They move indoors after this, Felix quiet but lending his arm to Nana, which she takes, while she explained that usually you and Felix would visit a few times a year when they were on break, but she thought it would be best to come to Saltburn this time, given the circumstances.

"You should come see the place when you get the chance," she insisted, patting Oliver's hand.

"It's mostly where Y/N was raised before they ended up staying at Saltburn," Felix supplied with a grin, piquing Oliver interest.

"Y/N's childhood home? Oh I have to see that," he grins, and your grandmother grins brightly for a long moment.

"I'm sure Y/N would love that, they can give you the grand tour -" but her face falters, falls, as if she'd just remembered. Sombre silence, the spell is broken. "I'd love to have you around, dear," she corrects, much softer this time.

Felix lets her pick a movie, while Oliver settles himself awkwardly on the sofa. He wants to reach out to Felix, to touch his cheek, feel his boyish smile and know that it's real. But Felix isn't really even looking at him. There's something childlike about his enthusiasm here, about how he sits on his knees on the floor, watching with rapt attention as your grandmother pores over them. He practically glows as she praises his choices. When she picks one, she hands it over and he scrambles on all fours across the short floor space to the DVD player, fumbling with the case like he can't put it in fast enough. There's a softness in your grandmother's eyes as she watches the boy who has seemingly forgotten the man he is; when she looks at Oliver, its like he sees her asking how easy is he to adore, what a beautiful young man.

"You don't mind watching a movie do you, Oliver, dear?" She asks, though it's clearly an afterthought. He's already shaking his head, assuring her it's fine. Felix is already scrambling back, remote in hand. Oliver tries to make space for him on the sofa between himself and your Nana, but he seems content to sit on the floor in front of her, leaning back against the sofa with her knees gently pressed against either of his shoulders. Handing her the remote, Felix twists to give Oliver an expectant smile.

"Come here, mate," he insists, patting his lap, his legs kicked out in front of him. At Oliver's obvious confusion, Felix blinks for a few moments. It's like he's waking from a dream. His face falls, he goes to apologise, strained smile on his face, "sorry, I know that's weird, you don't have to -"

Slowly, Oliver moves from the sofa, sitting beside Felix on the floor. Your grandmother's knee is pressed gently to his back, but he's not quite sure if he's capable of relaxing enough in this moment to mind. She's playing with Felix's hair, having already started the movie.

"This is what you and Y/N would do," Oliver said softly, and rested his head on Felix's shoulder. Felix takes his hand, and laces their fingers together.

"Do you like it when people play with your hair, Oliver?" Your grandmother asks idly.

"Um, sometimes," he answers, still feeling rather awkward. He hears her chuckle warmly.

"It's okay if you don't want me to; Felix likes it so much he lets me braid it when it's long like this."

"Oh, I know Felix loves it," Oliver hears himself agree, "if he were a cat he'd be the kind to purr any time someone scratched between his little cat ears." And while both he and your grandmother share a fond laugh, he can hear Felix's smile in his words. He gives Oliver's hand a squeeze.

"I can't even argue; I wish I could purr right now."

Oliver wants to bottle this moment forever, keep it locked tight in his chest.

But the movie is a long one. One hour and fifty six minutes. Two hours rounded up. A whole two hours. Enough time to fall asleep with his head in Felix's lap the way they both said you used to. He wakes with your heartbeat in his ears, rapid, alive, left for dead.

"You okay buddy?" Felix looks at him with genuine love and concern; it's been such a long time since he'd seen that look, even with everything that had been happening, "I'm here, you're okay," he assured. Over by the television, putting the remote back, your grandmother glances over at the interaction with a warmth that makes Oliver feel queasy in this moment.

And he'll look up from the book, from his notes from the coroner's report crammed in, obscuring the end of one story while The Tell-Tale Heart begins on the other. Felix will be getting ready for bed in the other room, but he won't sleep there. He can't sleep there. Can't sleep in that bed without you, can't move the costumes from that night that hang side by side as a reminder of the hole you'd left behind in his life. Oliver will read approximately two am in his own messy handwriting, and look at the digital clock on his bedside that had read 12:07 when he'd crashed into his room and locked the door and sunk down against it. The numbers had been shining red in the darkness. On the wall behind, that starry night sky and the hint of Felix and his cigarette; a home you'll never return to hung up in the home you'll never truly leave.

He put enough coke in that bottle to kill a fucking lion. He'd given you the bottle. He'd told you he loved you. He'd left you like that.

He knew you were dying.

He'd left you alive.

Two hours.

The book snaps shut. In the silence he thinks he hears your breathing. Please, Ollie, help. Paranoia is a cruel thing, he has to tell himself; paranoia and guilt.

"Can I ask you something?" Felix joins him just as he's putting the book back in it's drawer. Oliver, heart beat racing - never as fast as the memory of yours, oh now it's all he can think about again - nods quickly. Felix sits on the end of the bed, clearly preoccupied, fussing with the buttons of his pyjama shirt. The days are getting cooler now; Oliver misses his bare skin against his, but he still feels too precarious to make such an observation.

"It's about Y/N," Felix swallows, can't meet his eyes, "about that night." Oliver feels his mouth go dry; the worst fucking night of his life. The night he doesn't know if he'll ever figure out if he regrets all he'd done.

He nods again.

"Were you the last person they spoke to?" It's like Felix is forcing himself to not shy away from this moment, giving Oliver the attention he thinks he deserves for such an important question. Then, after swallowing hard, he can't help but drop his gaze, "why," he can barely get it out, there's already a lump in his throat, "didn't they come into the maze too?" Oliver can't even give him that.

You'd been such a mess on your way to the maze, even with Oliver supporting you. Crying, furious, apologetic; you were everything at once. Even when you couldn't bring yourself to go in, everything about you had been sliding from one emotion to the next. But then it had stopped.

"I can wait for Fi here." It's the most sure that he'd seen you all night. It's when he knew. It had to be you, even if he loved you too. He'd never forget how clear your smile was, how sincere you'd urged him into the maze to follow the tail of what he thought was right. The sight of you, waiting, obedient and loyal for your master to return; "I'll be here, I promise; I'll wait."

Oliver knew before he'd even entered the maze that Felix's return to you would be too late.

In the present, Felix waits too, diligent, expectant. Oliver thinks about lying. Oliver thinks about how the truth will break his heart. Oliver thinks about how close Felix will hold him in his guilt riddled grief.

"I don't think they wanted to interrupt -" Oliver tries to start, but Felix immediately swears, hangs his head.

"Can't fucking believe I did that," he spits, "I was angry, and off my fucking face, sure, but that was fucking low, even for me," he admitted, pitching himself back on the bed, whole face scrunched up with guilt, barking out an upset fuck far louder than the others, prompting to Oliver to tentatively ask what he means. Felix took a moment, as if forcing himself to calm down, before he admits, voice low like he was sharing a secret, "I never even took Eddie into the maze," he sighed. After a beat, he conceded, "no, okay I did, but we didn't do anything - we made out a bit, but -"

"You didn't fuck you ex-boyfriend in the maze," Oliver connected the dots quickly, "but you did fuck your best friend's ex-not-girlfriend who you kind of stole from them, out of spite after kicking them out of your the bed you've been sharing all Summer?"

"Fucking hell, Ollie!" Felix sounds especially wounded when he lays it all out like that.

"Sorry," immediately, Oliver apologises, knot in his stomach when he hears Felix's pained tone. He wonders if this was what it was like for you all through the night of his birthday. Fuck, he can't think about that.

"No, but you're right," Felix admits, eyes finally opening, looking all hurt and vulnerable. Oliver lays himself down next to Felix, going the other way, both of them looking up at the ceiling. Oliver's hands rest on his chest, trying again, softer this time.

"So was a special place to them?" He gets no response other than a guilty nose from Felix, "you think that's why they wanted to wait by the entrance?"

"They wanted to wait for me," Felix says weakly, clearly in his head about that night once more, "didn't want to interrupt even as I was fucking defiling our-" but he catches himself turning bitter again, mouth snapping closed, "after everything I said that night," he mumbles, "fucking hell," he chokes out. The pain in his voice is audible. This is the sweet spot, Oliver thinks.

"I can wait for Fi here," Oliver whispers amid Felix's faint sobs.

"What?"

"You asked me what their last words were," Oliver told him as softly as he could manage; Felix sits up, eyes wide, distraught, so full of guilt and love and - "only thing they were properly coherent about; waiting for you," Oliver props himself up, reaches out to wipe a tear from Felix's cheek.

"You're not- Ollie, please tell me you're not kidding," Felix practically begs.

"I can wait for Fi here," Oliver reiterates, making sure to meet Felix's gaze as he holds his face, "'s the last thing they said- they said; I'll be here, I promise; I'll wait."

God he can see it in Felix's eyes; it's like the man's entire world crashes down around him. But he clings just as Oliver had hoped he would. As Felix holds him tightly, Oliver can't look at the glaring, red numbers of the clock on his bedside, the constant reminder of the two hours where he could have done something. Two hours and those wouldn't have been your last words.

He looks at the painting. At the stars. At Felix and his cigarette and your idea of what home looks like. The stars look just like they did that night. Just as bright. Oliver closes his eyes. Guilt twists people into shapes they don't often recognise; Oliver just holds Felix, hopes they twist into something together.

Except Oliver's guilt isn't the kind that twists, it's the kind that bites. It's like moths, eating him from the inside out. The guilt leaves him with jagged edges and thoughts he'd rather not be having; there are shades of Felix Catton that he loves, but shame and revulsion bites just behind the guilt as the months pass and he realises more and more this is not what he wanted. This is not the Felix he wanted.

Felix is like an echo, like the sun without it's warmth; he can look just the same, smile, talk, charm just the same if it was required of him, but there was something clearly missing from every interaction. Guests to Saltburn would pull his parents aside and ask if everything was alright. He is, but he is not the same as he once was.

Every day Oliver looks in the mirror and sees something grotesque behind his eyes that no-one else seems to notice. Felix Catton was meant to be the prize, the one who tossed aside everything but the best, the one who made the world fight for his attention, and feel heartbroken when he merely looked the other way. After all this, Felix Catton was not someone Oliver expected to be bored by.

Oliver Quick had lied for, lied to, betrayed the trust of, worked to gain the trust back of, loved, made fall in love with him, and literally murdered the love of his life who he also loved and was themselves also in love with Oliver while still considering Felix the love of their life, just to get a chance to spend his life by Felix fucking Catton's side. He wasn't allowed to not want this.

Felix smiles at him, says he loves him, fucks him, but it's not the dream Oliver once had. Something is always missing. No. Oliver deliberately took that thing away. But he can never admit that, nor can he ever regret that; too far gone. Oliver doesn't want to talk about the past, Felix can't being himself to talk about the future. Trapped together in the present, living lives that no longer feel like enough. Their routine becomes suffocating. Even Venetia, the few times she's stopped back at Saltburn, can barely manage a disdainful look, as if merely inconvenienced by Oliver's presence.

The growing apathy of the estate and it's occupants is exhausting. The cost of this lifestyle has long since surpassed it's value. He's even bored of being haunted. Two hours feels like fucking nothing when the days drag on the way they have been. Behind his eyelids he doesn't see you begging for help, you hiss for him to run, to get out.

He should have listened.

"Ollie, can I show you something I found?" Felix sounds bright today, and though Oliver wants to roll his eyes at the idea of anything in this house being new or novel enough to show off, he smiles back instead.

"'course Felix, what is it?"

Except Felix isn't smiling at him. Felix is looking far more serious and determined, sitting on the edge of their shared bed. Oliver immediately frowns.

"Have you been hiding something from me, Ollie?" It's a trap; a forced confession. Oliver shakes his head, plays dumb. Felix takes a deep breath, the kind that shifts his whole body, his expression remaining firm, "before I show you this thing, I want you to be honest with me; you promised you wouldn't lie to me anymore, you remember?" Oliver tries to lighten the mood, leaning against the window with a warm smile.

"Of course, my lovely Felix, no more lying," he assures, but the hairs on the back of his neck stand up with the way Felix remains quiet.

"What's seven-past-twelve mean?" Felix is watching him closely; too closely. Scrutinising his every move. It's like Oliver's been doused in ice water, even his tongue frozen in his mouth, "and what's it got to do with what happened on the night of your birthday?"

Felix doesn't even look at the night table as he opens it; his gaze is solely on Oliver. It's clear he'd done this before, pulling out the book, flicking through it's pages, and pulling the delicate, incriminating piece of paper out from where it had been safe for so many months.

"Felix, I-"

"What does twelve-oh-seven mean?"

Oliver is the deer again, trapped in Felix's accusatory gaze. For just a moment, Felix's voice drops, pleading with him for some other explanation, that Oliver wasn't somehow caught up in what happened, more closely, more malevolently than he'd ever said -

"Tell me," there's tears in his eyes, the furious kind, the ones where he's desperate to love and hope against all odds, "Oliver," he pleads through gritted teeth, "tell me you didn't know."

"Know what?" Oliver's voice is a hoarse whisper; he knows he is caught, all he has left now is borrowed time and a desperately silver tongue he doesn't know if he can rely on anymore. But Oliver's tragically weak denial is enough for Felix to all but jump to the right conclusion.

In a rush, Felix has Oliver by the collar of his shirt, pressed to the window -

"You knew they were dying and you fucking left them there."

This is the tipping point, the end of whatever good this had been. Felix could hurt him, Felix had hurt countless people on your behalf, he'd seen it himself. But Felix had always been the bleeding heart; you were the one who had to be kept on a leash. Felix could hurt him, could probably maim him for what Oliver was about to say, but he never shared your stomach for true Machiavellianism.

"Of course I knew," Oliver managed coldly, despite Felix attempting to crush all the air from him, "the amount of coke I gave them in that champagne could have killed a rhino-" it needed to be unforgiveable, the confession, so Felix would let him leave, would never want to see him again. He hadn't expected the force of Felix's rage to have the glass behind him give out.

Oliver falls from the second story window into the hedge garden below. Felix's shouting is tearing through the whole house it seemed, making his way downstairs, while Oliver tries to regain his breath and figure out if anything's broken. He's pretty sure it's not, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt as Felix drags him by his feet from the hedges, demanding at the top of his lungs that Oliver get the fuck out of Saltburn.

Every single person who'd been in the house comes outside to view the commotion, to see Oliver struggling to his feet, to get away from Oliver. Elspeth looks helplessly between the two boys, wondering what happened -

"Tell her what you did," Felix demanded, once more getting into Oliver's space, jabbing at his chest, "tell her what the fuck you just told me -" and Oliver's strength isn't insignificant, but Felix is in a fury, flooded with rage and adrenaline, and he grabs the back of Oliver's shirt like he's scuffing a cat, shoving him towards his mother like an offering. Oliver struggles because he feels like he has to, feels wild, feels feral, but it's the most of anything he's gotten from Felix in so long. His mouth stays shut, won't give him the satisfaction of a confession.

"He killed them," Felix doesn't even let Oliver have his power play before he grows bored. He shoves Oliver just a little, grip unyielding despite Oliver's best efforts, like he means nothing to him. Elspeth and Sir James are confused, looking between them both, but Felix isn't done with stringing Oliver up for all of Saltburn to see, "Y/N; he intentionally dosed their drink and left them to die outside the maze."

The Catton parents immediately look crestfallen; it's the first time in months Oliver's felt genuine guilt again. Oliver stops fighting. Felix lets him go. Elspeth asks him if this is true; that heartbroken hope is going to make him sick.

"Just send me away already," he drops his head.

"Oliver," Elspeth's voice is firmer this time; when he looks up, she's stepping towards him, tears in her eyes despite how hard she's clearly trying to hold herself together, "is Felix telling the truth?" Is this it? Is this the final gate to his freedom from Saltburn.

"Yes."

Elspeth slaps him so hard her ring draws blood. Oliver hadn't thought that was even possible, but his head is ringing from the collision.

"Get. Out." She hisses with absolute malice as he's hunched over, clutching his face. Felix is by his mother's side in a heartbeat, arm around her, looking at Oliver with contempt. Behind them, Sir James is ordering Duncan and the other staff members to get Oliver off of the property as quickly as possible, but the look in Elspeth's eyes is burning, "this is my family, you monster."

At first, it almost feels worth it to leave Saltburn. To leave the Cattons and their bullshit and their games behind. He thinks he knows them well enough to trust that they don't want the kind of scandal a murder on their hands would be, and for the most part, he's right.

It's not the Cattons who haunt him after Saltburn, though they may be pulling the strings. It's you. It's you sitting on Felix's bed in his dorm room reading every single detail of Michael Gavey's file with threats on your tongue. It's the casual way you talked about being able to access his academic files to change his grades if he wanted. It's you, tipsy at Saltburn, admitting that you got Eddie transferred without his consent to a university on the other side of the country after he cheated on Felix with Venetia.

There's no place for Oliver to return to at Oxford... He's not entirely surprised about that, however, there's also apparently no record of him ever attending. Any calls or enquiries he makes are shut down with the kind of immediacy that seemed reserved for shows about government conspiracies. When applications open for other universities, it seems websites shut down the minute he fills out his damn name. Nowhere in the world seems willing to consider him.

Having him audited seems like overkill. When it happens the next year, despite no employer willing to even consider him for an interview, the existential dread of his situation sets in.

Felix never had the stomach to finish the job; he'd let you haunt Oliver forever.

[justplainwhump]

Smile

Mark and Gemma get a Pet - p XXXI

Tag list: @painful-pooch @for-the-love-of-nsfwhump @abitefullofwhump @whumpinggrounds @dragyouthroughthewhump

(Just one more chapter to go... Hope you enjoy!!)

Cw for BBU, pet whump, conditioned and messy whumpee mindset, dubcon stripping

[Masterpost] [Part I] [< Previous] [Next >]

"Smile, Ira." She did. It wasn't much effort, these days. Ms Gemma was pleased with her, and Ira was so happy, it made her stomach hurt sometimes. "Turn your head to the side? Perfect."

Yesterday, Ms Gemma had been out with her friends. She had been a little different that day, irritated and emotional, and Ira had been stressed, too. She hated being alone, without her owner. Still, it was better being alone by herself than being alone with Mr Mark, she'd told herself. It wasn't appropriate for a pet to judge her owners, but Ms Gemma insisted that Mr Mark had never actually been her owner; and Ms Gemma hated him so deeply that Ira decided it might be okay for her to dislike him in her own right.

"Chin up," Ms Gemma said and snapped another photo. Her voice was a little hoarse. Ira suspected it was due to the hangover. She'd prepared some pills and isotonic drinks for Ms Gemma in the morning, and then they'd shared fries for lunch, which Ms Gemma would usually never do. Ira had liked it a lot.

"Strip."

Ira tilted her head and cast Ms Gemma a coy smile, before she took the seam of her dress and slipped it off in one slow, languid motion.

"Oh wow," Ms Gemma whispered. "That was lovely. Wait, do it again, I'll make a video."

Ira repeated it with ease, shy smile, downcast gaze, fluid movements, a sequence of motions and gestures deeply ingrained in her. She'd trained it to perfection. Good pet.

Gemma sighed contently. "Sweet. Yes, that'll do nicely. They'll love it."

Ira blushed a little, a little learned, a little genuine. It didn't matter who "they" were, she reminded herself. The only thing that mattered was her owner's approval.

She ran her hands down over her sides, fingers brushing over her breasts, her belly, until her thumbs hooked into her lace panty. She looked at Ms Gemma, while she rolled her hips and slid the panty down slowly.

"Oh, oh no," Ms Gemma hurried to say and slipped the broken phone into her pocket. "No this is not porn! It's enough, Ira!"

Ms Gemma stepped forward and pulled up the panty again. Her hands lingered on Ira's hips for a second, warm and gentle and Ira couldn't help but moan softly. Ms Gemma was so beautiful. It felt so good to be touched.

"You are truly precious, aren't you?" Ms Gemma whispered, and ran her hands up over her, following the lines of her scars. When she fondled her breasts, Ira's head fell back and she closed her eyes, ready to give in to whatever her owner wanted.

Gemma's hand wandered up over her sternum, until it met the collar. "I didn't, at first, but I can see how people pay money for this."

"I'm made to fulfil your every desire," Ira mumbled, desperate for more touch. "Please, Ms Gemma. Allow me to please you."

"Later." A finger hooked into her collar, and Ms Gemma pulled her down to press a short kiss onto her lips. "I'll have to finish some transaction on my computer first. But we'll cuddle after."

Ira fought back her disappointment when Ms Gemma pulled back and tried to focus on the lingering memory on her lips.

"Yes, Ms Gemma. What... What do you want me to do until then?"

Ms Gemma went down to pick up the discarded dress to hand it back, taking her body in with another appreciative look. "Get decent and then, well, whatever pets do to relax. I have no need for you. Just... Enjoy yourself."

Ira frowned and gestured vaguely between her legs. "En... Enjoy myself like...?"

"Hell, no! Gross. No. Read a book or watch TV, or..." She ran a hand through her ginger hair and Ira winced at her impatience, tried to calm her heartbeat. Everything was fine. "Whatev, I'll just turn something on for you."

Ira nodded nervously. She felt her owner's eyes on her, more thoughtful than usual. "You so peculiar, Ira. You know what? I might even miss you a little."

Ira bit her lips. That was wrong. She should miss her owner, not the other way around. "I can.... I can come to the office with you?"

For some reason, that made Ms Gemma chuckle and ruffle Ira's hair. "Not like this, bab-, pet. Just wait here and be good, alright?"

Ira nodded eagerly and sat down on the edge of the couch.

She'd be good. And then they'd cuddle.

Everything was perfect.

[Next >]

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hi steph! how are you today? in case you or anyone needs it, here's your reminder to stay hydrated and take care of yourself or i'll grab ur ankles LMAO i'm just kidding.

not a fic req actually but i wanted to ask for some advice about collecting fics. i love how organized you make them and i'm thinking about starting one for a different fandom myself. who better to ask than the literal lifesaver for everything johnlock?

you don't need to give any if you don't want to and i mean that. anything and everything would be massively appreciated <33

another thing i wanted to ask was where do you keep your lists? (other than the full fic rec list you have linked on your acc) I was thinking of using a google doc and taking advantage of the outline feature.

oop- this ask is getting a bit too long. i hope you and whoever else reads this has a great day!! love u <33

Hey Nonny!

Ahh, sorry I took so long to reply to this! I knew the answers existed elsewhere and I just couldn't remember which posts they were.

I wrote some posts in the past that answered the organization question before:

I want to start a fic rec blog in another fandom, any advice?? (Long post with links to my other informative posts. This post is the most recent and will be the best one to read first)

I wanna start a fic rec blog, any tips?

How do you sort and organize so many fics?

How do I start a blog like yours?

As for where I keep my lists? RTF files in a folder on my desktop.

Would NOT recommend this method LOL. It only works for me because I HATE changing a method I have streamlined over 3 or 4 years and can now just do really quickly.

Oh and I keep an offline RTF file of every post on my blog since 20...18? 17? The fic lists START about half way down my RTF file, and all the fic-related posts end about 3/4 down. This document is 300 pages at 2.6 mb currently. If you know anything about text file sizes... 2 MB is HUGE for a text file that has no images in it, LOL. I should post it up for y’all to see. You want a meta masterpost, that’s the ultimate masterpost, LOL

All my fics themselves are sorted on separate lists, the three most used ones on my desktop for ease of access (Ao3, FFNet, and MFLs).

So yeah, my sorting method is a cluster of fuckery, honestly, hahha. I would not START with my method. Do a spreadsheet or your outline idea, hahah. Seriously will probably make it less stressful, LOL.

ANYWAY, please feel free to ask me anything I don't cover above that you have more questions about. I love talking about my dorky sorting methods, because it's so absurd that people LITERALLY don't believe me until I show them how much work running a fic rec blog is and how ridiculously my brain works. Gives me a good chuckle.

Cheers, Lovely <3

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART FOUR

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: some sexual tension and light flirting. Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: Meet your roommate’s brother, Jake. Charming, right? Thank you as always to the loves of my life, @lantern-inthenight and @myownparadise96. They’re the best editor and inspiration respectively. 

MASTERPOST

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed

@bigblack-catattack @myownparadise96 @lara-gvf @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies​

The weekend had come with the prediction for cooler weather. You had complained about it on the couch as you brought up the weather app on your phone. He had quickly reminded you that 62 degrees was not cold. Not even chilly, by Michigan standards, but that’s just about the coldest it ever got back where you were from. 

It had been a tradition for Josh to put in a DVD of cartoons on Saturday morning, and you had to admit, you kind of liked it. It was one of the many things he did that was delightfully soft. He didn’t ever seem to take himself too seriously, which you had been guilty of for nearly your whole life. He was really beginning to remind you of the lighter side of life, and you couldn’t say that you minded. 

After breakfast, you sat on the opposite end of the couch as him, reading what parts of your presentation you had put together. 

“The content is good so far, but you’re still not looking up from your paper.”

You chanced a glance up at him, giving a defeated look. “I’m nervous,” you admitted, setting your notebook down in your lap. 

“It’s just me,” he assured, placing a hand over his chest. “You just have to make a connection with your audience.” 

You gave him a frown, reaching up to anxiously tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “How?”

“Well,” he started, leaning across the couch. He wrapped his finger and thumb around your chin and tilted your head up until you were looking straight at him. You wanted to laugh, but you had a feeling it would come out sounding nervous. “It helps to improve your posture, first off. You want to be straight but not rigid, so let’s loosen up a bit.”

He mimicked shaking out the tension, so you followed suit, trying to be more fluid. You hadn’t noticed how tight you were before.

“And think about this presentation in the context of ‘I have information that will be really valuable to these people’.”

You groaned, curling your knees up to your chest and setting your chin on them. “It seems like it comes so effortlessly to you.” 

He gave you a little smile, raking his teeth across his bottom lip absently. “Well, it doesn’t. Confidence comes from yourself, yah know? It’s all about tricking people into believing that they should like you and want to listen to you. Humans are weird that way.”

You gave a hum, nodding. It all sounded good in theory.

“The next time you read me this paper, pretend that you’re a top executive at an important company and you’re trying to convince me about the importance of your subject.”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Oh, you wanna role play?” 

He snorted, giving you a playful eye roll. 

+++

On Sunday, you had planned to do chores - you had even started a little calendar for you two to follow. This week it was supposed to be your turn to do laundry, but since you weren’t anywhere near close to finishing your paper, Josh had graciously offered to switch chores so you wouldn’t have to leave the house. You had sent him out with two full baskets of laundry, indescribably grateful that you wouldn’t have to brave the cold. 

After taking a relaxing shower, you were posted up in your room, absently tapping the eraser of your pencil against the side of your notebook as you reread through a paragraph in your textbook. You went to jot down a note when a knock on the door caused you to jump a bit. 

As you made your way to the living room, you had assumed it must just have been Josh, not able to grab out his key while juggling all of the laundry too. You had told him to message you when he was leaving the laundromat so you could help him, but he wasn’t the best at following instructions. 

As you swung the door open, your body went rigid, because standing before you seemed to be a clone of your roommate, except his long, silky looking hair fell around his shoulders and over his chest. Some of the slopes of his face were a bit off too, and his outfit seemed to be one of the very last things Josh would ever wear.

You opened your mouth to say something, but not a single word came to mind. Instead, you opted to reach up and pull the towel from your head, letting your damp hair slip down around your face. 

His eyebrows raised at you expectantly, a humored smirk playing across his lips. 

“Uh, hey,” he offered. “Josh here?” 

You broke your eyes away from him, shaking your head. “No, sorry, he went to do laundry. You must be his brother.”

He nodded at you as you stepped out of the way for him to enter. “You must be his new roommate.” 

“Newish,” you agreed, raking your fingers through your locks and trying to make it look slightly more put together for company. “Can I get you some coffee?” 

“That sounds great,” he agreed, shooting you a smile. 

You were sitting in the living room with him, chatting easily about school when Josh fumbled his way through the door, his frame hidden behind a stack of laundry baskets. You rushed over to help him, setting your mug on the coffee table. Once the top basket was out of his arms, he was easily able to set the other one down on the hardwood. 

“Okay, it’s all done except I didn’t fold anything.”

“Uh, that’s fine,” you laughed breathlessly. “We have company.”

His eyes flicked up to Jake’s form, sitting- no, lounging- on the couch. He was practically melted into the worn cushions, and his ease made you a little envious. He seemed like the kind of person that never looked out of place.

 “How’s it going?” Josh asked as he stood from his bent position. 

Jake shrugged in return but paired it with a smile that told you all you needed to know about how it was going. “I just wanted to get my wallet back.”

“Oh, shit, right.” Josh disappeared into his room, and the sound of him talking himself through where he put it was clearly audible in the living room. When he returned it to Jake's waiting hand, he gave a half-hearted apology. 

“Why did you have his wallet?” you chanced through a suspicious smile.

He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, his cheeks suddenly taking on a flushed tone. “I, uh. Had a lot to drink at that party the other night and mistook it for mine.”

“Even though they look nothing alike,” Jake chimed in cheekily before continuing on in a more genuine tone than you’d heard him use thus far. “It was nice to see you having a good time though.”

You had been amusedly watching Josh react to the ribbing until the last bit of Jake’s comment. His features leveled out instantly, slipping from the obvious enjoyment of attention to something more somber. 

In an effort to turn the tide, you stood and gestured toward the kitchen. “Jake, did you want to stay for lunch?” 

He shook his head at you politely. “I have plans in a bit, but could I take a rain check?” 

“Of course,” you agreed. The goodbyes were simple and didn’t drag on, and as soon as Jake was gone, Josh cocked his head at you.

“So. What’s for lunch?” 

You snorted a laugh at him, having expected something more informatory. “I’m not sure. What would you like?” 

“Should I make us some salad or something?” 

You shook your head at him, giving him a sour look. “No way I’m letting you make lunch - you just did all of the laundry.”

He gave you a bright-looking smile in return, looking pretty pleased for the recognition. “Were you able to get any homework done?”

“Not really,” you admitted with a slight cringe. “Jake showed up as I was getting out of the shower.”

“Ah yeah, he can pop up at really inconvenient times.”

You shot him a smirk over your shoulder as you pulled a head of lettuce from the fridge and started ripping it apart. “I’m going to assume you share that trait as well.”

“Who, me?” he teased, leaning forward onto his elbows on the kitchen counter.

 You paused, unsure how to continue with the question you wanted to ask. 

“Do you and him...have a good relationship?” 

His brows furrowed, his mouth setting into a puzzled line. “Yeah, I think so anyway. Why do you ask?”

You bit your bottom lip, turning to look at him face to face. “It just seemed to get a little tense there at the end.��� Your fingers reached up to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear. “Is there something I should know about?”

He gave you (what you can only assume was meant to be) a reassuring smile as he placed his hand on your shoulder. His skin felt warm against you, even through the fabric of your long-sleeved shirt. 

“There’s nothing you need to worry about.” 

You hadn’t been convinced until you actually looked into his eyes, somehow finding a pleasant warmth in the deep honey color. 

So when you gave him an “okay”, you actually meant it. 

You turned to him again after a moment with a sly look. “Hey, is your brother single?”

Just as you had expected, his eyebrows shot up in a dumbstruck look. You watched him open and close his mouth a few times before he figured out how to speak again, but this time with a smirk. “I mean, he’s always at least kinda single, I think.”

You nodded amusedly. You had gotten that kind of vibe from him as well. 

“Why, are you thinking of moving in on him?” he tried, crossing his tan arms over his chest. 

You feigned a surprised look. “Who, me?” you asked, mimicking what he had said to you just moments before. “Nah, that sounds messy. I’m actually thinking maybe for Kate. She seems like she wouldn’t want anything too serious.”

He lets out a breathy laugh as he nods. “Then she sounds like the girl for him.” 

You hummed contentedly as you let a few olives drop into the salad bowl. “And what if she wants some kind of Romeo to sweep her off her feet and treat her like a princess?” 

Your tone had been as light as a feather but when he smiled wide enough to show you his pearly teeth, it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

“Then she sounds like the girl for me.” 

+++

“Okay. So you’re saying he showed up while you were in the shower?” Kate was looking at you with the highest amount of interest you’d seen her give anything thus far. “And...he saw you naked?”

You laughed a little louder than you should have in the semi-quiet classroom. “No, are you even listening to me? It’s not a rom-com, it was just a normal situation.”

“Okay, so. What’s going to happen?” She was still looking at you like she expected you to tell her some grand story.

“Well, I was thinking about giving him your number. Then he could see you naked and you could tell me about it.” You flashed her a cheeky smile to pair with your teasing tone.

She sat back in her chair, wrapping her arms around her frame. Her eyes were fixed on the dark slate of the tabletop, looking like she had a lot to take in. After a brief moment of dragging her teeth over her bottom lip in thought, she replied, “Yes. That seems perfectly acceptable. But then can you also see Josh naked and tell me about it? I have a theory about twins I want to test out.”

You gave her a playful look of disgust. “If that ever did happen - and it would be an accident, if it did - I would definitely not tell you about it.”

She rolled her eyes lovingly at you. “I think you’d be surprised.” 

“With what-” 

Your question was cut off by the boisterous greeting of your professor as he entered the room. She shot you a triumphant smirk after effectively having had the last word. 

As she walked you out at the end of class you asked her, “Do you want to have lunch with us today?” 

“Hmm.” She pretended to ponder it for a moment. “Yes. But do you both want to come with me to Subway instead of eating here?”

You gave her a frown. “I’d love to, but our money is pretty tight.”

She flashed you a smile that made you feel warm and fuzzy as she materialized a black credit card from the pocket of her mom jeans. “My daddy’s buying.”

+++

You had texted Josh to meet you by the D doors on the south side of the building for lunch, and you and Kate waited there until you saw him round the corner. He gave you both a smile and a little wave as he got closer. 

“Kate, right?” he asked, holding his hand out for her to take. “She talks a lot about you.”

She grinned over at you, making you smile awkwardly. “I’ve seen you around at parties, but it's nice to meet you for real. She talks about you a lot too.”

Your eyes widened at that and despite yourself, you could feel your cheeks turning pink. 

“Yes, yes, I’m very fond of the both of you, now can we go?” you asked, trying to appropriately portray your annoyance as you ushered them toward the parking lot. 

“Shotgun?” she asked you as you approach a beat-up sedan. You nodded in agreement and hopped into the front seat. 

As Josh shuffled into the back, he leaned forward between the front seats. “So, you’re buying us lunch?”

“My dad is” she informed, meeting his eyes through the rearview mirror as she started the engine. “He gave me a credit card for emergencies, so I can’t do it very often, but every now and then I’ll treat myself to some takeout and a bottle of nice shampoo.”

You hummed, smiling over at her. “That’s why your hair always looks so nice, huh?”

She flicked it back, but it was short and silky enough that it didn’t catch on her shoulder. “Well, that and genetics. I’ll let you use it if you come sleep over some time.”

“Me too?” Josh teased, earning him an eye roll from her and a huffy laugh from you. 

+++

It was later, back at the apartment, that he finally said something about your lunch experience. The both of you were full from dinner and posted up on the couch, an open textbook on your lap and a notebook off to the side. You were supposed to be working on one of the three chapters you were meant to be taking notes from, but you had been pleasantly distracted watching Penny lazily swim around in her bowl on the coffee table. You found it rather charming that if Josh was in the house the goldfish usually wasn’t too far away from him. 

“Hey,” he started, plucking the pencil from your fingers and laying it along the spine of your notebook.  You met his eyes curiously. “Thank you for inviting me to lunch today.”

You gave him a look. “Of course. I like having you along.”

He smiled down at his hand, rested on top of the blanket between the two of you. 

“She seems like a good friend. You should invite her over here. I can even vacate - leave the apartment for you guys.”

“That is absolutely not necessary. You could be a bro and invite Jake over some time. And if that happens to be when Kate is here then maybe that’s just a happy coincidence.” 

He snorted a laugh. “Wow, you really want that to happen, huh?” 

“Okay, honestly. I half want it because I think he's handsome and they’d get along, and the other half is because I love that their couple name would be Jakate.”

He frowned over at you, eyes squinted. “There’s a lot to unpack there. Firstly, you think he’s handsome? And secondly, why wouldn’t you simplify it to Jate?”

“Hmm. Yes, obviously he’s handsome - I know he’s your brother but even you have to know that.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you but didn’t say anything else. 

“And their full first names fit together so perfectly. Why would you waste that?” 

He smiled as he absently picked up your pencil and drew a tiny circle on your notebook paper. 

After a moment of silence, you asked him, “What was it like growing up here?”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours for only a moment before they were back on his doodle. 

“Well,” he started, tilting his mouth down on one side as he tried to find the correct words. “I didn’t grow up exactly here - about an hour away.”

You smiled at him, prompting him to continue. 

“It was nice. We had a great childhood, a nice home, lots of love and attention.” 

It was quiet for a beat as you watched him draw a smiley face inside of the little circle (facing your way, so it was a little sloppy, but you thought that made it even cuter).

“I’m excited to see snow.”

He looked up at you with an inquisitive grin. “You’ve never seen snow before?”

You shrugged at him. “Only in movies.”

He gave you a breathy laugh. “You’re going to love it,” he promised. “At least for the first couple of days, then it gets old and you start to miss the sun.”

You knew what you wanted to say, but it took you longer than you’d like to admit to work up the courage to get the words out. 

“Being around you is like having your own personal sun.”

[katymacsupernatural]

The Proposal Part 12

Jensen Ackles x Reader

Story Summary:  Jensen needs help keeping his life in order. To keep the media off his back. In order to do so, he comes up with a plan. Y/N, just a producer’s assistant, is pulled in to play a part she never thought she would have. Jensen’s fiancee. Only will it stay as a part to play, or will she start to want more?

Catch Up Here: Masterpost

The party was the least of your worries. As soon as you left the offices, Jensen was pulling you to the side. “I have a short filming schedule today. Why don’t we get your stuff packed up and bring it on over to my place? We can have dinner brought in. Maybe talk about what needs to happen first.”

“I’m not sure I can leave early,” you argued. You didn’t want to sound argumentative, but you weren’t the star. You were just a personal assistant that could be replaced in an instant. Leaving early wasn’t always an option for you, no matter if you wanted to or not. 

“Leave that to me,” he winked one of those gorgeous green eyes your way. Which made you notice the blood covering his eyebrow and temple. And while that would have worried anyone else, you had to remind yourself it was just makeup. He was taking a break from playing Dean Winchester, the hottest monster hunter you had ever seen. 

Squeezing your shoulder as he passed, he headed straight for the offices you had just vacated while you forced yourself to keep moving. Past the trailers to the food tent. Pouring yourself a cup of coffee and grabbing a muffin, you sat down at one of the picnic tables, taking a deep breath. Sipping at your coffee, you knew you only had moments before you would be pulled back to work. 

“You seem frazzled,” Ruth sank down across from, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. “Need an ear?”

“You’ve already done so much,” you started to say but she waved it off. “I just feel really in over my head right now. I’m barely staying afloat, and I fear things are just going to get worse.”

“What is it now? I thought the weekend in Texas had gone smoothly.”

Picking at the muffin, you were surprised at how close to tears you were. It wasn’t that you were that upset. But things kept getting piled up on your shoulders and you felt as if you might crack. “It did. His family was nice, and he was very understanding. But now he wants me to move in with him. Today actually. And Jim is already planning a fancy engagement party up here. Warning me that I need to be on my best behavior. I don’t want to do another party. Especially with all the office big shots. And he’s inviting media. I’m not used to being in front of them. What if I disappoint Jensen?”

She squeezed my hand just as one of the producers came into the tent, motioning for me to move on. “Dearie, you won’t disappoint him. Just be yourself, and let those buffoons in suits fall in love with you.”

You smiled at her before making your way back to set, seeing the disapproving glares of the fellow assistants. They had already heard the news, and it seemed as if you were being judged by them as well.

“Y/N, we need you over there,” the producer ordered. “You need to clean up all that glass.”

There was fake glass everywhere. Sam and Dean were being pushed through a window, and of course, it had to be cleaned up after every shot. 

“Unless she thinks she’s too good for that now,” one of the other assistants muttered loud enough for you to hear. “Throwing herself at the actors, spreading her legs just to get some media notice. I bet Jensen’s just using her.”

The words stung, but you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself by retorting. Ignoring them, you began sweeping up the glass just as Jensen and Jared came back in. Jensen waved at you as did Jared, and you ducked your head, not wanting any other nasty comments coming your way. 

Jensen came striding over. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just some jealous people making their thoughts known.”

He frowned. “I wish you didn’t have to go through that. If there’s anything I could do…,”

You shook your head. Anything he would do now would only add fuel to the fire. “But I did talk to Jim, and we’re both leaving at 2. I’ll drive you to your apartment, and we can gather some stuff up today, pick up the rest another day. Sound good?”

“Yeah.”

He headed back to his chair just as the director set up the shot and you stepped to the side, working hard to get the props set up in order that they would need them. Keeping to yourself, you listened as Jensen and Jared rolled through their lines with ease, laughing when there was a pause in filming. 

“Hey Y/N,” Janelle whispered as she brought over some extra blood in case they needed a touch-up. “Why didn’t you let me know about you and Jensen? That’s some juicy gossip I would have loved to hear about.”

“We were keeping it a surprise,” you whispered back. “The office is trying to control things.”

“Watch your back,” she warned. “Those girls are jealous.”

Filming was wrapped only five minutes later, and Jensen came jogging over to you. “Ready to go?” 

Nodding, you were surprised when he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you against him and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Y/N and I have a busy night planned. See everyone tomorrow!” He called over his shoulder. 

You were sure the other girls were just seething, but you couldn’t care. You loved the feeling of his lips against yours. It had been a nice surprise. He ducked into his trailer, changing into street clothes, joining you not even five minutes later. There was still a slight smudge of fake blood on his temple, and you reached up, brushing it away.

“We’re taking Cliff’s SUV. It should be large enough to haul most of your stuff. Then you get to pick dinner tonight, okay?”

“Sounds great,” you answered, slightly nervous at spending so much time with Jensen. Alone. In your apartment, and then his. A man that you wished would just kiss you once again. 

Read Chapter 13

Dean/Jensen tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278   @bi-danvers0  @cap-just-said-language @colette2537   @deansgirl215  @flamencodiva @hamiltrash1411 @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @justanotherwinchester @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller  @krys198478 @librarygeekery @magssteenkamp @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk  @mrspeacem1nusone @nothinbuttrouble2 @ria132love @ruprecht0420  @screechingartisancashbailiff   @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @team-free-will-you-idjiot @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @thoughts-and-funnies @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666 @beabutterfly987 @pink-sparkly-witch @sexyvixen7

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[1iliketrains1]

Intro & Info.

choo choo welcome to hell FUCKERS.

hi, no idea why you're here but you can call me trains. people follow me because they think im funny or something. i prefer they/them pronouns but feel free to use she/her.

rest of my stuff is down below.

table of contents

stuff you can find here

my tags

byf & dni

etc.

stuff you can find here. . .

generic tumblr shitposts

fandom bull

instrospective stuff

helpful lists (for college, life, etc.)

things about neurodivergence

things about mental illness

basically whatever i want

my tags. . .

v rarely i post my own art, will see if i do enough to make an art tag. if so will add here.

if you're looking for specific content i usually reblog posts i deem significant as #masterlist or #masterpost. examples include a poem about sad cats and a record of the secret dashboards on tumblr.

posts i generally agree with or feel relation to are tagged with #thonkies. these are more lighthearted but can still get pretty deep.

i usually add the tag #trains.rbg or #trains.txt when i put in my own opinions on stuff

these are all tagged in this post for ease of access.

byf & dni. . .

i usually q.reblog so i don't add other tags to posts unless i have comments, if there's anything you feel i should tag feel free to send me an ask.

you don't need to know every single thing about me especially not what traumas i have or whatever, im literally just vibing so... also reminder you should block liberally instead of sending death threats to people please and thanks?

terfs fuck off, radfems fuck off. MAPs & pedos fuck off.

etc. . .

pirate from disney and other AAA companies that can't be bothered to actually pay their employees. go unions.

one of my alts is @trainsreblogblog, which is mostly full of art tips and pretty pictures. it's my reference blog which i use occasionally.

i have read homestuck. it was... homestuck.

i like a bunch of media, including but not limited to; outer wilds, hollow knight, yurucamp, bee and puppycat, bang dream (bandori), & splatoon.

in terms of music i listen to a bunch of stuff. rock & alt, jazz, lofi, etc. here are a bunch of artists i like:

SHISHAMO & Yorushika (J-Pop / Rock)

Penelope Scott & Soddiken (Alternative)

dodie, Phemiec, chloe moriondo, & Egg (Singer/Songwriter, maybe Pop?)

The Crane Wives & They Might Be Giants (Rock)

definitely not near all of them but i tried to keep it short. this post is wayyy too long alr.

remember to take care of yourself out there. much love to my friends @ the CBC + MNF <3

[evehere]

2ha QWS-AU

I decided to try my hand at this AU! Hope you'll like it!

You can find the masterpost here. There's no need to have read QWS (Wife is First) or watched Minglan before, though I really recommend them (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

Spoilers of 2ha, but not of QWS or Minglan.

Warnings: character death, knife, blood.

Mo Ran 1.0

Mo Ran’s execution

Mo Ran made no move to dodge the stones thrown at him. One hit his eyebrow, and blood dripped down his face.

There was a flare of pain. But it didn’t hurt.

Nothing hurt since Chu Wanning had breathed his last.

Stones and rotten vegetables continued to rain over him, as people shouted around the cart Mo Ran was being carried in. The cart was a cage with wheels, letting everyone see the proud Taxian general reduced to this sorry, pathetic state, with his head and hands bound in a cangue and kneeling in repentance.

The fearsome, all-powerful general, Hero of the North, Marquis of Nanping.

A tiger without claws and teeth.

“Wasn’t he the one who drove the northern barbarians out of our lands?” A woman said in the crowd, asking his husband with a hand on his arm. “That didn’t count for something?”

“Not anymore,” he answered, spitting on the floor, “not since he tried to overthrow the emperor.”

I didn’t, Mo Ran wanted to say. I didn’t do it, someone framed me.

Yet what would he get saying it? Would Chu Wanning come back from the dead?

If there was a way to bring him back, Mo Ran would do anything. He would let them parade him like this fifty times if it was necessary. Chu Wanning had been the most innocent party of all this plot someone had staged to bring Mo Ran down. To this day, Mo Ran still didn’t know who to blame. Who to hate.

Who was he trying to trick? The fault for this whole situation and Chu Wanning’s death, ultimately, lay in him.

But hate was more easy to manage. Sometimes, regret and shame threatened to gobble him whole when he remembered the last eight years. He had spoiled his concubines and neglected his lawful husband, letting him have the worst kind of life for a proud and soft-hearted man. The worst sort of man for the schemes and plots that lurked in a household like Mo Ran’s.

Chu Wanning should have left him behind, like his concubines and servants had done. Mo Ran wouldn’t have blamed him.

“Have you seen him?” A scholar admonished his child, a big eyed boy no older than five. “Be an upright man, never act like this beast.”

The child merely nodded his head, struggling to understand what Mo Ran had done to deserve such treatment from the public. They were throwing dirty things at him! That was a rotten egg splashed on the man’s back!

“Traitor! Bastard!”

“Worse than pigs and dogs!”

“I hope you die a horrible death!”

The last one almost sparked a bit of amusement in Mo Ran. After all, he was on his way to a horrible death, paraded through the city, all the way from the imperial prison to the execution ground. This parade should serve as a reminder and a warning to all citizens, the soldiers had said.

Though it was more likely just a good way to dispose of their spoiled food.

Something hit him on his temple. Mo Ran looked down. It was a carrot, wrinkled and soft. What a waste, Mo Ran thought. It was overripe, but mostly good. He would have given everything to have something like this to bring to Chu Wanning in his last days, when they either got a broth that was merely muddy water or a mouldy bao for the two of them every couple of days.

It was funny, Mo Ran concluded, with no trace of hilarity. When he was the influential and wealthy Taxian general, with the world at his feet and whatever riches he desired at the grasp of his hand, he had given nothing to Chu Wanning. Well, nothing if you didn’t count eight years of suffering and grievances. It was much later, when he had lost everything, that he wished he had given Chu Wanning more.

Even if just to improve his health.

Perhaps, if Chu Wanning had been more selfish, he wouldn’t have died, Mo Ran ruminated. Maybe he’d have demanded Mo Ran to give him what he was allotted to as the husband of a Marquis, and his health would have been better when Mo Ran’s household collapsed. Maybe he’d have never entered the prison to be with his husband, for a crime he had nothing to do with. Maybe he wouldn’t deceive Mo Ran and let him have all the food when it got scarce.

Baobei, it was my fault, Mo Ran thought often. He hoped Chu Wanning could get a swift passing in the underworld and get a good reincarnation. Was the underworld a cold place? He wondered. Chu Wanning hated the cold.

No matter. He’d find it out soon.

When one was lost in their own thoughts, time flied. In no time, they were already at the execution grounds, a tall and thick post in the middle of a dusty arena. People surrounded the place, eager to observe how they carried out the execution of the infamous Taxian general.

Lingchi. The death by a thousand cuts.

Mo Ran let the executioners tie him to the post, offering no resistance. Briefly, he asked himself if it would be long. When the sentence arrived at his cell, he had already lost all his money and power, so he couldn’t pay the executioners to make a first cut in his neck, letting him bleed out quickly. Besides, he hadn’t really cared at the time, too busy letting his grief swallow him whole.

Chu Wanning had died the day before.

As he was tied, the executioner brought out an imposing knife, as long as his forearm, and dipped the blade in salt water.

“It will be quick,” the man said gruffly. “General Xue paid for a swift death.”

Xue-bofu, Mo Ran realised with a startle.

After his imprisonment, Xue-bofu and Xue Meng had really exerted all efforts to get them out, but to no avail. Mo Ran had felt an intense guilt for his estrangement and disrespect towards them in the last years. When he had fallen to his darkest, only Nangong Si, his wife Ye Wangxi and the Xue family had stayed with him.

A quick execution must have cost his uncle dearly as well, he sighed. He was thankful it was the last time he’d imposed on them like this.

Mo Ran’s numbed senses took a while to feel the first cut.

It was a lick of fire, heated and intense on the front of his thigh. His nerves caught on the fire seconds later, every inch of skin burning and in pain. His leg trembled, and he knew he’d have fallen if they hadn’t tied him to the post. He didn’t scream, he still had that pride.

Distantly, he felt the blood trickling down his leg.

The next one was on his chest, and another one on his shoulder. A sliver of his old impatience and ire flickered up, and he threw a dark look to the executioners. Wasn’t it supposed to be quick?

One of them shivered under the weight of his gaze, but the other, the one holding the knife, merely shrugged with an impish smile.

“Lord Mo must understand this humble one…” he whispered, holding in a snicker. “It’d look suspicious if we made it too quick and this humble one would get into trouble.”

Bah. Mo Ran merely closed his eyes and turned his head the other way. It wasn’t as if he could actually do anything about it. Let Xue-bofu ask him for a refund once Mo Ran was dead.

Though it didn’t ease his disappointment at the loss. He had allowed himself a bit of hope that he’d die before they degraded his body to the utmost. Maybe then he’d reach the underworld mostly intact, and he wouldn’t scare Chu Wanning too much when he saw him.

Given the circumstances, it’d be best if the deities sent him directly to hell, instead of letting his husband see his wretched state.

Finally, when Mo Ran had lost count and his forehead was covered in sweat, the executioner reached his knife to Mo Ran’s neck. Probably he found disappointing that he didn’t scream and decided to end things before lord Xue could complain to him.

As the blood covered him, Mo Ran was freezing. He was cold before, but now the chill bit into his flesh and seeped into his bones. He could feel his heart beating frantically in his chest, and his breathing catching up, trying to get more blood flow to his body. At least he was no longer in pain.

His eyelids weighted a lot. Soon, he had trouble opening his eyes, and the blood loss made him dizzy and sleepy.

Well. It wasn’t as if he wanted to open them again.

Wanning… it was my fault… will you forgive me?

You were a man of unmeasurable genius and grand ambitions… yet you had to spend your days locked up in the manor, like a forgotten toy in a corner.

I’m sorry…

If there’s a next life…

I will make it up to you.

***

Cangue: it was a device designed for public humilliation and punishment in Ancient China (and not so ancient times too). It's a must in c-dramas.

Bofu (伯父): uncle, especifically, father's elder brother. Remember Lan Zhan's shufu? That's your father's younger brother. Chinese genealogy 😂

Lingchi (凌迟): it's literally "death by a thousand cuts". People did pay executioners to make a cut on the prisoner's neck, asking for a quick death.

***

If you liked it, please support me by reblogging! Thanks!

[badjoices]

My Life With You

I. Move-in Day Dean and Cas move into a new home and start to build a life together with baby Jack.

[Read on AO3] | [Fic Masterpost]

The sun was sitting high in the sky, creeping towards the apex of its arc, when the U-Haul pulled up outside the modest two-storey on a quiet, tree-lined residential street. The crisp spring air was warm, moving through the green leaves and blush blossom with a quiet rustle. The sound of the late Sunday morning was largely void; defined by its absences more than anything; no children playing or parents chit-chatting over their hedges just yet, as most in the neighbourhood were making the most of the last lie-in of the week.

Except for Dean Winchester, and his better half Castiel, who had been up since the sun first began to peek over the horizon, packing, stacking and taping boxes in the bunker. Several chaotic and disorganised hours later, all was packed and prepped, and here they were; home. They’d seen it before of course, but this was the first time seeing that house become their home.

“I can’t believe it,” Dean said, after silencing the rumbling engine. “My own white picket-fence.”

Cas, unsurprisingly unsentimental about fencing retorted with confusion. “The fence isn’t white.”

Dean rolled his eyes, lovingly, and made to get out of the truck without a response.

“We could paint it white, if you’d like?” Cas continued, once he too had disembarked, and had met Dean on the pavement side.

“No, man, I like it as is.”

The two walked up their front path - theirs - their steps springy with giddiness as they approached the front door. Pulling a pristine silver key from his jacket pocket, with a turn and click, Dean swung open the door to their new life. The pair stood on the front porch for a moment, not quite believing that this door was for them.

“Should I carry you over the threshold?” Dean joked, leaning over to Cas, face plastered with a grin.

Cas looked to his side and met Dean’s gaze, holding for a moment before-

“I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Cas took the first step and walked into the entranceway. Dean quickly followed behind. The house was dark, with all the blinds left closed, the only light now streaming in through the open door, silhouetting Dean and Castiel in the narrow doorframe. Cas stood there, studying the blank walls, mentally populating them with where he envisioned they would put up photos of their family, past, present and future. Something about those blank white walls, the canvas for him to paint a picture of the life he had chosen, caught the angel off guard as he became overwhelmed with joy. The moment was only sweetened when Dean, who was having equally soppy thoughts about the prospect of a coat rack - a real place to hang his hat - intertwined his fingers in Castiel’s. Neither said a word for a good minute or two, not wanting the moment of pure indulgent fantasy to end - they were so unused to complete unapologetic wanting that it was so nice to bask in it even for a minute.

“We need to start unpacking at some point.” Dean broke the silence.

“Yes, Sam’s bringing Jack by tomorrow morning,” Cas agreed. “We need to have his room ready by tonight at the very least.”

Despite their agreement, they were still glued to the spot, hands still locked together.

“You gotta let go, Cas.”

“You first.”

The two began to stare at each other in a mix between a loving gaze and a challenge. Cas intensified his gaze.

“Same time.” he said.

Dean nodded, eyes never drifting from Cas’s. They each pulled their hand away at the same time, eyes still locked, and broke into a soft laughter.

“You let go a little earlier than me.” Dean teased.

“Actually, you started to pull your hand away six milliseconds before I did.” Cas retorted playfully.

Dean started back out towards the U-Haul with Cas in tow, turning his head back as he walked to reply;

“You can’t prove that.”

Dean opened up the back and the pair were reminded of the magnitude of the task ahead of them.

“Well,” Dean said, nodding his head slowly in a pre-emptive defeat. “Where do we start?”

Cas stepped up and made for a stack of two boxes. “I can take all the heavy ones.” he said, lifting the boxes with ease.

Angelic strength or not, Dean felt compelled to protest. “I can carry the heavy ones too.”

“There’s no need, Dean. It’ll be faster if I do it.” Cas replied, his voice earnest as he offered his help as always.

Dean scrunched up his face in a faux irritation. Of course, Cas was probably right, and even still, Dean wasn’t one to complain about having a literal angel do the heavy lifting for him. Dean opted for a double-box stack too, but ones marked ‘clothes’; an acceptable compromise for him.

Box after box, Dean and Castiel ferried their life from its transit state into its permanent home. With only one box left, Cas began to unpack and sort their contents on the empty living room floor, while Dean went to fetch the last box. The sun now sat directly overhead. This, paired with the strenuous back-and-forth, had lead Dean to ditching his flannel over-layer a while ago.

“Oh, hello!”

A cheery female voice chirped from behind Dean as he began to close up the U-Haul. Dean turned and was greeted by the broad smile of a mid-thirties woman in yoga pants. Welcome to suburbia, huh.

“You must be my new neighbour!” she continued.

“Uh, yeah, hey,” Dean said, holding his hand over his eyes to shield them from the piercing sunlight. “I’m Dean. You live next-door?”

“Carol,” she replied. “And yes, I’m your right-side neighbour!”

“Awesome.” Dean nodded. Despite typically being effortlessly charismatic, Dean definitely felt out of his depth; he was simply not accustomed to the rules and decorum required in scenarios like these.

“You know if I’d known you were moving in today, I’d have made a casserole,” Carol began to ramble. “Do you like casserole? Oh, everybody likes casserole. In the next few days, you’d better expect a casserole.”

“Sure, I love casserole.” Dean shrugged, humoured somewhat by this strange, incredibly enthusiastic woman.

“Great,” Carol sighed, face still plastered with a big grin. “I hope your wife won’t mind.” Carol gestured to Dean’s wedding ring.

Dean licked his lips and started rolling his wedding band around his finger as he was put in the not unusual bet never pleasant situation of having to correct someone to explain himself.

“Husband actually,” he corrected. “And uh, he won’t mind; I do most of the cooking anyway.”

Carol clapped her hands over her mouth in a melodramatic gasp. “Oh! A husband of course! My bad! How long have you been married?” Carol said, frantically attempting to recover from her faux-pas.

“‘Bout three months.” Dean answered.

“Oh! Newlyweds!” Carol cooed, already seeming to have completely recovered from her earlier embarrassment. “Any kids?”

“Just one, he’s four.” Dean grinned proudly, his earlier reservations melting away as the joy he felt at the opportunity to talk about his family took over. “My brother’s bringing him over tomorrow once we’ve settled in.”

“Aw! So cute! So you’ve been together a while then?”

“Six months.” Dean replied honestly without thinking.

Carol paused, unable to hide her confusion as the cogs in her brain connected dots in ways her traditionally-wired brain couldn’t comprehend.

“Wow,” Carol laughed awkwardly. “You got married after three months; that’s so fast!”

There was another pause. Just then, Cas emerged from the still open front door and strolled over.

“Dean, I was wondering where you’d got to.”

“Hey Cas, come here I’m meeting the neighbours,” Dean beckoned Cas closer and placed an arm around his waist. “This is Carol from next-door.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Castiel.” Cas said, plain and business-like.

“Wait, but your son’s four?” she continued to work through her thoughts aloud. “Oh, is he from a previous relationship, or?”

“Jack?” Cas answered, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation. “No, we adopted him.”

“Before you were a couple?”

Dean figured now was the time for a little lie of convenience, undoubtedly the first of many.

“He’s the kid of a friend of ours,” Dean half-lied. “She died when he was born so we took him in; me, Cas and my brother.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about your friend,” Carol said, her confusion fading. “But that’s so sweet. Well, I won’t keep you, I’m sure you’ve got tonnes of unpacking to do!”

“Yeah, well, great to meet you Carol, see you around.” Dean said with a smile.

“You sure will, with casserole!” Carol assured before she headed off along the street.

Dean’s smile lingered as he stood there, outside the house he shared with the love of his life, who was right there pressed to his side. He let the noon sun shine down on his face and the gentle breeze flush over him.

“Dean,” Cas spoke, tentative to break Dean’s moment of euphoria. “I came out here to tell you that we left all the crockery and kitchenware at the bunker.”

“Shit.”

[the-sympathetic-villain]

You Belong With Me - Chapter 24

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description:  Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he  didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.  

Word Count: 7665

Chapter Warnings: Romance, Angst, Anxiety, Low-Self Worth, Restraints (Let me know if I need to add anything!)

Author’s note: If you didn’t realize, I posted two chapters last weekend! If you didn’t catch that, make sure you read Chapter 23! Otherwise, this is going to be super confusing! I’m going to leave that chapter pinned to the top of my blog for a while and the ‘Previous’ link should work too.

-

    Logan yawned, stretching his arms above his head. His eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the soft morning light peeking through the slit in the curtain. He blinked uncertainly for a moment before remembering where he was. Logan smiled as Roman stirred next to him. He stilled his movement, careful not to wake the man snoring adorably next to him.

    A few seconds later, Roman settled back into sleep and Logan relaxed, letting his arm rest gently Roman's shoulder. He wrapped his hand around the back of Roman’s neck, staring up at him. The warmth of Roman’s legs resting against his radiated up through his body and he sighed, breathless.

    Roman’s face was peaceful even as he slept. He was still beautifully put together, despite the fact that his usually pristine hair was mussed from sleep, dropping down over his eyes. Logan smiled as he slowly pushed the hair out of Roman’s eyes, attempting to do so without waking the sleeping prince. He chuckled softly, knowing he'd failed as he felt Roman's arm wrap tighter around his waist. Logan's skin tingled as Roman’s fingers moved across his back. He looked up to see Roman’s big, brown eyes sparkling down him in the morning light.

    “Good morning.” Roman smiled peacefully.

    “Morning, princey.” Logan yawned, smirking playfully up at Roman.

    Roman cracked a smile at him. His eyes were only half open as he raised an eyebrow. “You’re getting to be awfully bold, Lo.”

    Logan blushed nervously. “Is that okay?”

    “Of course. Never stop, Lo.” Roman grinned, pulling Logan closer. “I like it when you're brave.”

    Logan smiled as he reached his hand up, brushing his fingertips down Roman’s jaw. Roman's eyes closed and he leaned into Logan's hand, exhaling slowly.

    “What does this mean for us, princey?” Logan asked, sadness creeping into his voice.

    “What do you want it to mean?” Roman leaned his head forward, gently resting his forehead on Logan's.

    “I don't know.”

    “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Roman reassured him. “not if you don't want it to.”

    Logan was quiet for a long moment. He pondered Roman's words for a moment before replying. “I want it to mean something, Roman.”

    “Then, it means something." Roman tipped his head up, kissing Logan’s forehead. "This is whatever you want it to be, Logan.”

    “Roman," Logan's voice ached with sadness. He hesitated, barely able to spit out his words. "Please, stop. You can't—”

    Roman froze. He nearly pulled his hands away as he turned down to look at him, but he froze at the sight of Logan's eyes glistening with tears. "What do you want me to stop, Logan?"

    Logan bit his lip, growing tense. He seemed to hold his breath before exhaling sharply. “You can't keep just giving me what I want.”

    “Why not?” Roman’s tension eased as he started to tease Logan. “I enjoy giving you what you want.”

    “Roman, be serious for one minute.” Logan frowned. “What do you want out of this?”

    Roman relaxed his head down on the pillow, speaking thoughtfully.“I want to give you everything you want, Logan.”

    Logan started to pull away from him when Roman reached his hand up around the back of Logan’s neck. Logan looked up at him to see a serious expression on the princes face.

   “I'm not joking, Logan. I want to make sure you never want for anything again.” Roman stared dreamily into Logan's bright blue eyes. “Your smile makes me weak and I'd give anything to see it, love.”

    “Roman, I…” Logan's voice trailed off as he stared up into Roman's eyes, still at a loss for words.

     After a moment of silence, Roman spoke again. “Logan, I am all in right now. Whatever moments with you I can steal from this world that would keep us apart, I want them. That's why this is your choice, Lo. You set the boundaries of what you feel comfortable with and I will take whatever that ends up being. Okay?”

    “There’s no scenario where this works out well for either of us.” Logan whispered.

    “It's not a situation that is likely to work out in our favor.” Roman sighed, leaning back from Logan. He looked down into Logan’s eyes. “Logan, I want to remind you that you don't have to do any of this. If this morning with you is all I get, then so be it. I will respect whatever decision you make.”

    Logan looked away, hesitantly putting a hand on Roman's arm. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke again. "What would happen if our relationship was discovered?”

    “In all likelihood, nothing at all, Logan.” Roman rolled over onto his back. “I am a prince. It is more or less expected for me to entertain other relationships outside of the suitors court for my attentions.”

    Logan raised his hands to Roman’s chest and looked up at him nervously. “It's not against the law then?”

    “God, no.” Roman’s grip on him tightened. “I wouldn’t consider taking the risk if it was illegal. You’re not getting arrested on my behalf again.”

     “Is it safe, Roman?”

     “Nothing is without risk, Lo, but the only people with enough power to cause problems for us are the acting king" Roman paused hesitantly. "and possibly Remus, if he made enough of a fuss.”

    Logan tensed.

    “We can hold this secret from Remus. He never needs to know and even if he did, I would have to give him reason to think I am not capable of doing my job.” He paused. “And my father will only intervene if our relationship impairs my ability to follow through on my duties.”

    Logan bit his lip, his hands instinctively clenching onto the fabric of Roman's shirt. “Roman, I've done nothing but distract you from your duties from the moment I met you.”

    “Lo, you saved my life. Whether you realize it or not, you are already in my father's good graces.” Roman smirked Not to mention, though you may at the center of my thoughts rather constantly, it hasn't affected my ability to do my job. I know it is hard to believe but I do actually work when I leave you with Virgil.”

    Logan smiled up at him, relieved. “I'm grateful to head that the chaos I've caused hasn't been a detriment to your responsibilities.”

     “Not at all. If anything, I've been more energized to handle my responsibilities in a timely manner with you around.” Roman  looked into Logan’s eyes and brought their interlaced hands up to his face, kissing Logan’s knuckles. He sighed. “Logan, I'm going to be transparent with you.”

    “Okay.” Logan’s hairs on his arm stood on end with anxiety.

    “If we got involved, I would still have to entertain suitors.” Roman paused, exhaling slowly with a serious look in his eyes. “I’m expected to marry for political gain, and if I were to stop, it would raise concern about our relationship affecting my priorities.”

    Logan was quiet, staring down at their hands, interlaced together.

    “It doesn’t have to mean anything, Lo. I can fake my way through that. Honestly, it wouldn't be much of a change from before. Those who have come seeking my hand have had a track record of being rather boring.”

    Logan pulled his hand back from Roman's. Gently, he pushed Roman’s hand open so that their outstretched palms pressed against each other in between them.

    “But eventually, you'd have to follow through." Logan said tiredly. “You can't remain a perpetual bachelor in your position.”

    “You’re right, Lo. I can't promise you a happy ending.” Roman nodded and leaned close. “I'll understand if you want to don't want this.”

    “You're not giving me a choice, Roman.”

    Roman opened his mouth to protest but before he could make a sound, Logan's lips pressed against his own. He ran his fingers through the prince's soft hair. He wrapped his hand around the back of the Roman’s head pulling him closer. Logan took over, kissing Roman until he was out of breath.

     When Logan finally pulled away, he rolled onto his back, breathing hard. He spoke between breaths, resting his head as he smiled up at Roman. “It's entirely irrational, but I want to see where this goes. Truly, we have passed the figurative point of no return.”

    Roman smiled, raising an eyebrow. “You don't have to say ‘figurative’. I am aware we aren’t at a literal point of no return.”

    Logan blushed, smiling at him. “A little clarification never hurt anyone.”

    Roman smiled and then paused, his face becoming serious. “Are you sure about this, Lo?”

    “Absolutely certain, my prince.” Logan leaned into Roman’s chest, feeling Roman hesitantly wrap his arms around him. They laid together for a long while, simply enjoying each other’s warmth, until Logan heard a bell tower toll in the distance. Logan lifted his head, counting the strikes of the bell. Roman groaned as the tower chimed the either hour.

    Logan turned his head down to him, concerned. “What's wrong, Ro?”

    Roman moaned, leaning his forehead into Logan’s shoulder. “I have to go.”

    “Don’t go.” Logan whined. "Stay with me a little longer."

    Roman laughed quietly. “What happened to not distracting me from my responsibilities?”

    “I reserve the right to change my mind.” Logan grumbled pitifully.

    “I'm sorry, Lo. I can't be late for this meeting.” Roman smiled as he turned and jumped off the bed, leaving Logan looking dejected.

    “Who's really going to miss you, Ro?” Logan teased, hanging his arm over the edge of the bed as he watched Roman scramble to gather himself.

     “My father will probably notice if I don’t show up, so I think this is one for me to take seriously.” Roman called over his shoulder while digging through his wardrobe.

    Logan exhaled dramatically. Honestly, he had to admit it was entertaining to watch Roman get flustered while he rushed. “Fine. I suppose I will accept that as valid excuse for abandoning me.”

    Roman paused to look back at him with an over-exaggerated roll of his eyes before smiled at Logan and turning to pull various articles of clothing out of the drawers.

    “Alright. If you must go, I’ll leave you to get dressed.” Logan smiled at him and rolled lazily off the bed and turned to go.

    “I'll be out in a minute, Lo.” The prince called after him and he smiled as the door closed behind him.

-

    Logan wandered into the main room, staring at the ground with a happy smile. Lifting his head, he froze in place. A chill ran up his spine as he noticed a fire already burning in the fireplace. He stepped forward slowly, cautiously eyeing the edges of the room as he moved. Skirting the end of the couch, he peeked over the corner and relaxed, seeing Virgil lying haphazardly across the cushions.

    “Good morning, Vee.” Logan straightened and smiled, coming around the front of the sofa. Heat radiated out of the fireplace and Logan shivered, enjoying the warm contrast to the chilling morning air.

    “Morning, L.” Virgil muttered tiredly, making room for Logan.

    Logan dropped down beside him and yawned. “You’re here early.”

    Virgil shrugged and sunk deeper into the corner of the armrest. “I knew princey had to leave early this morning.”

    “How long have you been out here?” Logan crossed his arms across his chest, curling himself into the opposite corner.

    “About an hour or so.”

    “I'm sorry, Vee. If I’d realized, I would have come out sooner.” Logan ran his fingers through his hair and leaned his elbow onto the back of the couch.

    “It's all good, L." Virgil smiled. "You both needed your rest.”

    “I appreciate the thought.” Logan smiled, biting his reddened lip, knowing well that he had certainly not been asleep for the past hour.

    “Did you sleep okay?” Virgil crossed his arms over his legs, leaning forward.

    “Better than I have in a long time.”

    Virgil raised an eyebrow and Logan couldn’t help notice him glance back at Roman’s door before turning back to Logan curiously. “Good, L. I'm glad.”

    Logan paused for a moment, stiffening as he glanced around the room. “Where’s Patton?”

    Virgil shrugged. “He had to go back to work. I escorted him to the greenhouses this morning before I came here.”

    “Is that safe?” Logan looked at him cautiously, still concerned.

     Virgil nodded tiredly. “I assigned one guard to accompany him and another two to guard each entrance to the greenhouse he's in today. Even if Remus has a few of them in his pocket, they won't act openly in the middle of the day. Not when I know the identities of the men I left him with.” Virgil smirked. “I also informed those men if anything happened to him, I'd personally ensure they spent the rest of their miserable lives in prison.”

    “You have the authority to do that?” Logan asked, surprised.

   “To give them life in prison?” Virgil snorted. “No, but they don’t need to know that.”

    Logan looked at him with confusion. “But you have the authority to reassign them at your own will?”

    “Yes.” Virgil smirked, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “You've seen me give orders to the guard before. Why is that so surprising?"

    “I suppose you're correct.” Logan furrowed his brow. “I guess I was under the assumption that they followed your orders because they recognized me as Roman's charge. I didn't assume the guards acted on your authority alone.”

   “Well, I am officially ranked as part of the kingdom’s knighthood.” Virgil smirked at the look of shock on Logan’s face. “So, yes. They damn well better answer to my authority.”

    “You're a knight?” Logan looked at him in disbelief.

    “What's so hard to believe?” Virgil prodded, smiling at Logan.

    “I'm sorry. I just…” Logan paused, trying to find the words. “To be frank, I guess I may have based my expectations for a knight on a inaccurate stereotype.”

    “Nah, your stereotype if probably more accurate than you think. My appointment was not typical. Most knights are the children of nobles looking to gain a little notoriety by serving under Roman. They apprentice to be one and spend years learning to fight,” Virgil shrugged nonchalantly but Logan could see pride in his eyes as Virgil looked up at him. “but I was knighted as an honor for services to the crown.”

    “Services to the crown?” Logan asked, curiously.

    “I’ve saved Roman's life a few times over the years. The king apparently thought that it'd be best to give me a title with the ability to issue commands under Roman's authority." Virgil winked at him with a cocky expression on his face. "Just in case princey gets himself in trouble, and needs me to bail him out again."

    Logan chewed on his lip nervously. “Doesn’t that mean that you owe loyalty to the all of the royal family?”

    Virgil snorted in disgust. “No. I only agreed to swear fealty to Roman. I owe no more loyalty to the kings or Remus than you do.”

    Logan raised an eyebrow “The king allowed you to stipulate conditions on your knighthood?”

    Virgil proud grin widened. “At first, I flat-out refused the appointment. I think that surprised the acting king. He pried into my reasoning for denying him and I chose not to hide my distrust of authority. Fortunately, my loyalty to Roman is absolute. He chose to allow me to only swear fealty to Roman, because he knows I will do everything in my power to keep him safe.”

    "The acting king?"

    Virgil nodded. "There are two kings. Roman and Remus' fathers, but only one of them controls the throne. He is the acting king."

    Logan blinked, confused. "This may be an odd question, but are Roman and Remus biological heirs to the throne?"

    "It's complicated, but yes. The throne has access to magical healers that are well above Patton's level. The rulers of our kingdom have the ability to conceive through the use of a surrogate mother, if they need to do so." Virgil paused. "Though it is worth noting that if the kings had chosen to adopt, the child would have been recognized as a legitimate heir to the throne. Roman's family remains in power so long as they are deemed worthy of the throne. They earn their right to rule through their actions, not through supposed divinity like other kingdoms. The bloodline doesn't matter so much as their how well they do their job."

    "Does that mean he can lose his throne?"

    Virgil shrugged. "Not easily, but yes. For instance, if he's a bumbling idiot and gives an official oath, failure to keep his promise could get his claim to the throne revoked."

    “Interesting.” Logan pondered out loud, lost in thought. “So, if you're a knight, shouldn’t I refer to you by title? Like Sir Virgil?”

    “If you call me that, L, I will personally cut out your tongue.” Virgil snarled with a wicked grin.

    “Don't threaten Logan, Virgil.” Roman said, coming out of his room, idly fixing the cuffs on his shirt as he moved about distractedly.

     “Logan brought this on himself, princey. You can't protect him from me.” Virgil called over to him in a mocking tone. “Besides, you don't have time to be stop me. You’re going to be late.”

    “You’re right. Sorry, Lo. You’re on your own.” Roman smirked looked around. “You've sorted out Patton, Virge?”

    “He's protected. I imagine we'll join him again here shortly.”

    “Thank you for your help, Virgil.” Roman said, appreciatively. “Do either of you need anything else from me?”

     Virgil looked to Logan. “I think we're good, princey.”

    “Lo?” Roman inquired.

    “I'm okay. I'll see you later today.” Logan smiled sweetly at him.

    Roman smiled back. “Okay. I will see you both later. Take care of yourselves.”

    Virgil and Logan said their goodbyes as Roman headed out the door. As the door swung shut, Logan turned back to Virgil. “So what now, Vee?”

    Virgil jumped to his feet. “I promised Patton I'd bring you down to him so he can take a look at that cut on your face.”

    “Okay.” Logan nodded. “Well, I supposed it is fortunate that I still have some clothing here from when we were stuck here for a week.”

    “Yeah, that’s true." Virgil paused, watching Logan stand up, thoughtfully. "We probably should eventually get you settled back in your place again.”

    Logan was careful to keep his face neutral as his heart dropped. He felt a twinge of disappointment, knowing he couldn’t spend every night with Roman. “You’re probably right, Vee.”

    “Yeah.” Virgil looked like he might say something but he shook his head. “I'm not sure how that's going to work anyway. It was one thing when Roman and I were trading off protecting you, but now, we've got to keep an eye on Patton as well.”

    Logan bit his lip, feeling guilty. “I'm sorry for all the inconveniences I've caused you.”

    Virgil stared at him for a moment. “Stop apologizing, L.”

    “Sorr—”

    Virgil raised an eyebrow.

    Logan paused and sighed. “I don't know how to stop, Vee. I can't possibly convey how much I appreciate what you guys have put yourselves through to help me.”

    “I'm not saying you can’t appreciate our support, L,” Virgil looked up at Logan. “but you don't need to feel guilty. You’re worth the effort.”

    Logan fidgeted uncomfortably as another wave of guilt washed over him. Virgil moved over to him, gently resting his hands on Logan’s shoulders. “I can't imagine how all of this has affected you, but you don't need to worry. I told you so much the first day I met you. Roman doesn’t abandon people and neither do I.”

    Logan suddenly felt weak. Virgil’s words were simultaneously comforting and overwhelming.

    “In almost any case, we'll embrace you, L.” Virgil smiled as Logan glanced up at him appreciatively. “I'm sorry. That was pretty heavy. Go get dressed and let’s go find Pat, okay?”

    “Okay, Vee.” Logan took a step back and started to head to the other room before pausing thoughtfully. “Virgil?”

    “Yeah, L?” Virgil looked over at him as Logan turned around.

    “I am a bit overwhelmed at the moment but your words—” Logan looked up at him with a grateful smile. “—they help. Thank you.”

    “Good.” Virgil smiled.

-

    “Logan! Good morning!” Patton came running up to him as he followed Virgil into the greenhouse. This building was one he'd visited with Roman, when he'd first been introduced to Patton. The greenhouse had dozens of rows of planters arranged in neat rows, all separated out by plant type. The air smelled sweet from the exotic greenery as Patton dashed between them.

      Patton nearly knocked him over with the force of his hug as he bounded over to them. A guard slowly followed behind him and Logan tensed, watching him over Patton’s shoulder as they approached while he spoke to Patton. “Good morning. It would seem you finally got an adequate amount of rest, Pat.”

    “I feel a lot better.” Patton beamed up at him. “How about you, kiddo? Did you sleep okay?”

    “I slept better than I have in years, Patton.” Logan smiled appreciatively. “Thank you.”

    Patton beamed at him. “Good. I'm glad. How's the rest of your body feel?”

    Logan “My muscles are still weak and little stiff, but the pain is basically negligible at this point.”

    “Good, Lo. I think, if everything looks okay, the bandages could probably come off today. Except for your face, of course.”

    “You think so?” Logan asked, surprised.

    “Yeah, at this point, it'd be better if they could breathe a little, kiddo. Assuming they've closed, we shouldn't have to worry about infection anymore.” Patton paused. He glanced over to Virgil. “You still need to be very careful though. Too much activity could open them up again.”

    “What’s that look for, Pat?” Virgil teased, leaning on the wall. “Do you think I was going to work him too hard?”

    “Can you blame me?” Patton looked at him suspiciously. “You won’t tell me what you’re doing with him today and it makes me nervous.”

    Virgil's expression softened a bit. “Pat, nothing I'm planning on doing anything that will get him hurt. You don't have to worry.”

    “So, tell me—”

    “No.” Virgil cut him off sternly. “It’s better for everyone if only Logan knows.”

    Logan looked between their serious expressions in confusion. He could feel the hair on his neck stand on end as the tension in the room grew unbearable for him. “Can I know what we're doing, Vee?”

    Virgil glanced away from Patton, noticing Logan’s nervousness. He flashed Logan a reassuring smile and put a hand on Logan’s good shoulder. “After we leave here, L. Patton's just being overprotective. There’s nothing to worry about, okay?”

    “Okay, Vee.” Logan exhaled forcing himself to relax. “I trust you.”

    “Okay, fine. Let’s get started then. Come on, Lo!” Patton brightened and gestured overly enthusiastically for them to follow him to his hut. Logan smiled, appreciating Patton’s attempt to defuse the tension of the situation.

     Logan turned to follow him, flinching back as the guard behind Patton followed them toward the exit. He crossed his arms across his chest shrinking away from the armed man. A breath of relief escaped him as Virgil stepped between him and the guard, waving him away. The guard nodded an acknowledgement, moving away from them.

     Logan gasped with relief as Virgil wrapped an arm around him, leading him away. “T-thank you, Vee.”

     “Not a problem, L.” Virgil whispered, tightening his grip on Logan’s shoulder. “I want you to be comfortable.”

-

    Patton smiled at him. “Your wounds have closed properly, kiddo. I’m going to leave them be, but I'll give you a balm to keep them from drying out. You'll have to apply that a few times a day, but otherwise, just be careful not to overextend yourself.”

    “Will do, Pat.”

    Patton finished dressing Logan's face and started putting his things away. Logan buttoned his shirt and turned to Virgil.

    “What's next, Vee?”

    Virgil stood up and came around to stand by Logan, offering him a hand up. He pulled Logan to his feet. “Well, we take Patton back to the greenhouse. Then, we'll head up to my chambers.”

    “Why are we going to your place?” Logan pressed him, his curiosity growing.

    “I'll explain when we get there, L.” Virgil smiled reassuringly at him before pausing. “Patton, can you get away this afternoon?”

    Patton tilted his head in confusion. “I'd assume so. Why?”

    “I'd like to try and make it to the library to see if we can do anything about Logan's cursed amulet.”

    Patton’s face lit up in realization. “Oh, sure, Virge! I'll find a way to get away!”

    “Thanks, Pat. We'll come by and grab you some time this afternoon.” Virgil turned back to Logan. “Are you ready, L?”

    Logan nodded, warily.

    “Good, let's go.”

-

    Logan lengthened his stride to keep up with Virgil as they climbed the stairs of the northern tower of the castle. He'd never been down these particular halls. The shadows seemed darker than the rest of the castle and the halls were nearly empty as they neared the top of the tower. The quietness of the empty halls held an ominous aura that Logan couldn't quite shake. He couldn't help but be glad that Roman hadn't assigned his personal accommodations to this tower

    Moving quickly, Logan nearly plowed into Virgil as he stopped abruptly in front of him, glancing behind them. Virgil’s eyes flicked around nervously before he turned and unlocked the door next to them. He held it open for Logan, gesturing for him to enter and then followed him quickly into his room, shutting it resolutely behind them.

     Once inside, Virgil locked the door behind them. Logan couldn't help noticing the multiple locks and chains on the door lined up on the door. He watched Virgil set to work locking all of them. “Are you honestly that worried about someone breaking in?”

    Virgil turned, raising an eyebrow. “After all that's happened to you and Patton,  can you blame me?”

    “Those encounters happened recently, Virgil.” Logan gestured at the door skeptically. “Those locks appear to have been installed long before any issues with Patton and I would have occurred.”

    “In my line of work, it's best be safe. It's easy to make enemies and my room is not nearly as well guarded as Roman's.” Virgil shrugged. "This isn't the first time Roman and I have gotten on the wrong side of some bad people."

    “I suppose not." Logan thought about it for a minute, staring at the door, before looking up at Virgil again. He glanced around the room. Unlike his own, Virgil's seemed to only have the bare minimum. The walls were undecorated stone and the room only had a few pieces of old-looking furniture. "Okay then, Virgil, I do believe you owe me an explanation for why I'm here.”

    “Okay.” Virgil’s expression turned serious. “Just to be clear, you do not have to do this.”

    “You haven’t even revealed what we’re doing.” Logan crossed his arms, growing impatient.

    “You can't tell Roman or anyone else that I showed you this little trick. I'm not allowed to teach anyone this without permission from the king.” Virgil paused. “Not even Roman has the authority to allow me to teach you this.”

     Logan looked at him suspiciously. “Teach me what?”

     “I want to show you a few things, but today, I’m going to start with showing you how pick locks.” Virgil stared at him, gauging his reaction. “But you don't have to if you don't want to, L.”

     “You’ve piqued my interest, Vee.” Logan stared at Virgil, confused. “Why are you so concerned that this topic might distress me?”

    Virgil flashed a sympathetic glance at him before leaning down and reaching underneath the sofa. Tense, Logan watched as he pulled a black, leather case and move to set it on the table behind them. Virgil paused briefly before flipping it open to reveal dozens of locks. Logan swallowed, nervously crossing his arms and stepping back as he noticed several pairs of shackles and cuffs.

    Virgil watched Logan’s face carefully. “Judging by the state of your wrists, it seems Remus enjoys binding his captives. I think it would be best if you knew how to get out of them, L.”

    Logan was quiet, almost frozen in place.

    Virgil watched him carefully.  “You don't have to do th—”

    “No, Vee. You’re right.” His voice was strained, almost shaking as he stared, unblinking, down at the case. “I want to learn.”

    “Don’t worry, L.” Virgil stepped forward, gripping Logan’s shoulder. “We're not putting them on anytime soon. I have other locks for you to start with.”

    Logan nodded numbly.

    “I have a key to all of them.” Virgil reassured him. “You can back out at any time.”

    “I'm fine, Vee.” Logan muttered.

    “You don't seem fine.”

    “I am.” Logan brushed him off, stepping forward. “Where do we start?”

    Virgil dug around in the case and pulled out an old, brass lock. “We'll start simple and work up to more complicated locks. This one is good for getting used to manipulating the pins.”

     “Okay.” Logan nodded seriously.

    “I'll show you how to use my lock-picking kit first,” Virgil paused, reaching into his pocket. “but I've got some other less obvious items you could keep on you that work okay in a pinch.”

    Virgil pulled out a ring of long metal tools and began to demonstrated how to use them to move the pins to open the lock. Logan nodded along quietly. He tucked his hands behind his back as he listened intently to Virgil’s instructions, watching closely as he picked the lock. He finally blinked only as the lock popped open in Virgil’s hand.

    “Give it a shot.” Virgil said, clicking the lock shut and holding it out to Logan.

    Logan nodded. He took the lock from Virgil, sitting down at the desk. He fiddled with the tools clumsily. Gradually, he started to manipulate at pins in the lock.

    “That's good, L.” Virgil commented, leaning over his shoulder. “but slow down. Get used to feeling how the pins move.”

    Logan took a breath, focusing on moving the pins. He worked in silence for a few minutes until he heard a soft click of the lock popping open.

    “Good, L.” Virgil picked the lock up, clicking it shut again. He slid it across the table back to Logan. “Do it again. Faster.”

    Virgil made him pick the same lock half a dozen more times until he could do it in a matter of seconds before trading it out for another.

    They continued for this way for a while. Occasionally, Virgil changed out the locks or gave Logan different tools to work with. When Logan struggled, Virgil would demonstrate again until Logan was able to open the lock. As the hours passed, Logan’s movements became more confident. He nearly forgot to be worried as he focused on the task in front of him.

    After several hours, they’d worked through most of Virgil’s simple locks and had started into some of the more intricate locks.

    Virgil finally relaxed and leaned back on the couch behind him. “You're a natural, L. Before long, you'll be able to pick them all.”

    Logan leaned back, satisfied. Only a moment passed before his contentment turned to a frown. He reached over and picked up a pair of shackles that looked similar to ones he'd been bound with in his cell. “Maybe it's time to for a different challenge.”

    Virgil looked uncomfortable. “You've been going for a long time, L. You've got to be exhausted. Maybe we should come back to it tomorrow.”

     Logan pondered, feeling the metal in his hands. “Is this not the ideal time for me to practice? Should I find myself in that situation again, it is reasonable to assume my state of mind will be less than ideal.”

    Virgil thought about it for a moment. “It's a good time to practice but not necessarily a good time to learn, L. You should get used to the feelings before you try it exhausted.”

    “Just let me try, Vee.” Logan looked up at him, determined.

    Virgil bit his lip uncertainly and sighed, gesturing for Logan to follow him. “Fine. Come sit over here then. I want a better line of sight if you’re going to do this.”

    Logan followed him around the edge of the room and Virgil gestured for him to sit on one end of the couch. “Sit there and face me.”

    Logan complied. He sat across from Virgil, crossing his legs in front of him.

    Virgil looked at him sternly. “If this gets uncomfortable for you, we stop. Okay?”

     Logan nodded.

     “I need to hear you say it, L.” Virgil waited until Logan looked up at him and smiled patiently at him. “The last thing I want to do is trigger a panic attack.”

    Logan's shoulders slumped and his gaze slipped to the ground, despondent. “It didn’t trigger a panic attack at the Fae Crossing.”

    “You were in danger, L.” Virgil replied sternly. “Believe it or not, it's easier to let the panic take over somewhere that feels safe.”

    “That's irrational.” Logan didn't look up.

    “You have to process that fear at some point, but you can't do it while you’re in danger. Your brain waits until it's safe.”

    “I guess there’s a trace of logic to your statement.” Logan admitted quietly, staring at the shackles sitting on the cushions between them.

    “I still haven’t heard you say it, L.”

    Logan sighed and looked up at him. “If I’m uncomfortable, we will stop.”

    “Okay. Hold out your hands.”

    Logan held out his wrists and Virgil snapped the shackles on his wrists, locking them with the key. Virgil laid the key on the couch in between them within Logan’s reach. Logan's skin crawled at the familiar weight of his binds.

    “Okay, L. Keep your breath steady.” Virgil waited for Logan to meet his gaze. “Count if you need to. Inhale for four. Hold for seven. Exhale for eight. Just like we've done before.”

    Logan closed his eyes. He focused on his breath, ignoring the binds until he felt calm again. Logan nodded at Virgil.

    “Okay. Start with the cuff on your non-dominant hand. Your range of motion is limited so work with what gives you the most control.” Virgil watched him carefully. “It's a simple lock, but the angle makes difficult to keep your hands steady.

    Logan nodded and slipped the lockpick into the cuff on his right hand. He bent his wrist to start to manipulate the pins. He could feel the strain on his wrist to hold the tools in place.

    “I know it's not comfortable but be patient.” Virgil shifted to get a better sight line. “Rushing only makes it harder.”

     Logan breathed, trying to focus on the moving pins. His wrist started to burn from the unnatural positioning of his hand. He managed to get the first two pins before his hand started shaking from the effort.

    “Take a break, L.” Virgil scooted closer, putting his hand on Logan’s knee. “You'll get it.”

    Logan could feel frustration and anxiety start to build inside him. After only a moment, he tried again. This time, he only managed to get one pin before his hand cramped. He groaned and clenched his fist trying to stretch the muscles in his wrist.

    Virgil watched sadly as Logan winced in pain. He slowly reached over and took Logan’s right hand, gently massaging the muscles on Logan’s wrist until the cramp subsided. Logan clenched his jaw in frustration.

    “You’re doing fine, L.” Virgil smiled over at him. “You’re not used to using these muscles. Be gentle. We'll practice until they’re stronger.”

     Logan nodded and smiled back sadly.  He could feel his frustration start to dissipate. Virgil pulled his hand back, resting it on Logan’s knee again.

    Logan tried again. He made more progress on his second attempt. He managed to stretch his wrist a little further and get the first two pins with ease. The third pin fell into place as his wrist started to burn. He decided to give up before it cramped completely.

    Virgil smiled reassuringly. “Try the other one for a bit. You may not get out of them today but building those muscles gets you that much closer to doing it tomorrow.”

    Logan struggled with practicing the other arm for a while. He worked for several minutes and Virgil watched his progress closely. Logan focused intently but despite his effort, he made less progress on this wrist before he was forced to stop by a sudden cramping in his wrists.

    Virgil reached over and started to massage Logan's other wrist. “Be patient, L. You don't have to push yourself until your hand cramps up."

    “I want to get it.” Logan looked down at the shackles, defeated.

    “You will. I'll make sure of it.” Virgil grabbed the key off the couch and reached over to unlatch Logan’s binds. Logan didn't move as they came loose. Virgil dropped the shackles off the side of the couch, reaching over and resting his hands on Logan's knees. Logan looked up at him. The dark circles under Virgil’s eyes were suddenly more pronounced in the dim light. “Seriously, you got pretty damn close for your first attempt. It's not even lack of skill that's the problem. You just need a little more strength and flexibility to hold the tools steady.”

    “I guess.” Logan looked dejected, absentmindedly rubbing his wrists.

    “You're not going anywhere, L. You've got the time to learn.” Virgil watched Logan intensely.

    “This isn’t over, Vee. It's impossible to predict when they will make their next move. I don't know how long I have to learn.” He gritted his teeth.

    Virgil looked over at him, picking his head up from where it was resting in his hand. “They?”

    Logan’s head shot up, looking at Virgil with wide eyes. His eyes darted down to his neck, waiting for green sparks, but nothing came.

    “L,” Virgil looked at him seriously. “Was there someone other than Remus involved the other night?”

    Logan tore his gaze from Virgil, feeling the metal heat up around his neck. “I—”

    “Don’t answer. Your hesitation is enough for me to make assumptions.” Virgil watched Logan curiously as he sank back in his seat, relieved. He crossed his legs up on the couch, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hands. “That’s interesting, Logan. I didn’t think Remus was capable of playing nice with his anyone else, let alone letting them have a role in whatever he's planning.”

    Hanging his head, Logan stared down at his lap. He could feel the heat around his neck begin to dissipate slowly as he attempted to clear his mind. The heat had nearly gone completely when a thought entered his mind. Logan turned his head up to stare at Virgil, feeling the heat return to his neck.

     Virgil watched him curiously, noticing the sudden determination in his eyes. He leaned closer. “What?”

    “Virgil, I was never told I couldn’t talk about Remus.” Logan took a deep breath, trying to convince himself as Virgil that this didn't break the amulet’s rules.

     Virgil paused, confused. “Okay, but we know about Remus. I don’t see how that changes anything.”

     “It doesn’t.” Logan smirked confidently. “We are only discussing topics you already know about, Vee.”

    “Okay…” Virgil watched him carefully.

    “You know that Remus didn't hurt Patton,” Logan pointed to the bandages on his face. “and that he wouldn’t have caused me harm if I hadn't called out to you for assistance.”

    Virgil watched him quietly and nodded, still unsure of where Logan was going with this line of thought.

    “Now, you mentioned you found these behaviors to be atypical of Remus, given his treatment of me in the past.”

    “Yeah. I thought it was weird." Virgil stared at him blankly. “I don't know what you’re trying to tell me, L.”

    “I'm only reiterating ideas you had come to on your own.” Logan smiled knowingly. The metal around his neck was cool as he continued to speak. “What you infer about why Remus acted the way he did is entirely on you.”

    Virgil stared at him, quietly contemplating Logan's words. He was silent for a long time. Logan had begun to lose hope when Virgil finally spoke again. He looked up at Logan seriously. “Whoever he's working with kept Remus from hurting you. didn't they?”

    Logan bit his lip, keeping his face neutral despite his excitement. “I can’t say.”

    “So, yes.” Virgil shook his head, looking up at Logan. “I don't like the idea that someone’s giving direction to his destruction.”

    “I don't—” Logan nearly clamped down on his tongue as heat radiated off the amulet and it glowed with a bright green light. He tensed himself for impact. A single spark escaped the gem, burning into his skin. He groaned, relaxing only as the ember slowly abated.

    “Okay. We're done playing this game.” Virgil leaned forward. “Don't hurt yourself.”

    “I'm fine, Vee.” Logan muttered breathlessly, looking away. “It’s not that bad.”

    “You’re not a good judge of what is or isn't a normal level of pain, L.” Virgil scolded gently. “You need to stop.”

    “I—I can keep going.” Logan pleaded quietly. “It's important.”

    “You don’t need to, L.” Virgil leaned forward sympathetically. “This was good, but you don’t have to hurt yourself. We'll figure it out without torturing you for information.”

    “But what if we don’t, Vee?” Logan suddenly found himself unable to stop his fingernails digging into his skin as his arms crossed tighter across his chest. “What if we fail—” He glanced sadly up at Virgil. “—and I could have made a difference if I pushed myself a little further?”

    “We’re going to figure it out.”

    “You can't know that, Vee.”

    “You don’t that this will help either, L.” Virgil sighed. “It could do nothing but hurt you.”

    “I can take it,” Logan growled. “especially if it means all of you would be safe.”

    “You’re not hearing me, L.” Virgil smiled faintly at him. “I’m not going to let you hurt yourself. None of us are willing let you get hurt to save our own skin.”

    Logan looked down at his lap. “What we're doing, it has to be enough, Vee.”

    “It will be.”

    “You don’t have enough data to assert that conclusion.” Logan muttered quietly, biting his lip.

    “Fine.” Virgil sighed. “It either will be enough or it won’t. No amount of stress changes that. We’re spending all day making sure you’re ready if something happens and we're going to spend tonight trying to figure out how to get rid of that amulet around your neck.”

    “If I can develop these skills at a quick enough pace, I can increase the probability of success of foiling Remus and—” Logan hesitated, correcting himself. “—of foiling Remus' plan.”

    Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Driving yourself into the ground doesn’t do anyone any good.”

   “It has to be enough, Vee,” Logan muttered quietly and he was quiet for a long time before he looked up at Virgil. Virgil jolted upright as he noticed tears in Logan's eyes. “This has to be enough or this is the cruelest torture Remus has forced me to endure.”

    “Whoa, L.” Concerned, Virgil slid across the couch toward him, pulling Logan into his arms. “What does that mean?”

    Logan leaned in to Virgil’s warmth. “Allowing me to experience a life with you, Patton, and Roman, only to have him rip that away from me would be far crueler than anything he's done to me thus far.”

    “Come here.” Virgil turned and pulled Logan closer to him. Logan laid his head on Virgil’s shoulder, letting his muscles relax as Virgil ran his fingers through Logan’s hair. “You’re not going anywhere, L.”

    “You can't know th—”

    “Yes, I can. Roman, Patton and I are here to protect you and Remus doesn’t stand a chance against us.”

    “I’m sorry, Vee.” Logan was breathless, lost between his racing thoughts and Virgil’s light touch.

    “Stop apologizing, L.” Virgil said gently as he brushed Logan’s hair behind his ears. He looked down at him. “We don't want you to go anywhere. You know that, right?”

    Logan was quiet, almost like he was holding his breath.

    “This is your home Logan, and we'll fight to keep you here.” Virgil reached down to Logan’s shoulder, pulling his shoulder down so Logan was looking up at him. “You belong here with us, Logan.”

    Logan nodded up at Virgil, closing his eyes. His breathing became deeper and slower as Virgil’s fingers ran through his hair.

    “I belong here.” The words felt unfamiliar on Logan’s tongue but still, a smile formed on his face from how good it felt to say.

    Virgil smiled down at him, contented to see Logan let go of some of his fear.

    “L,  promise me you won’t run yourself into the ground.” Virgil looked down at him. “Promise me you’ll at least try to enjoy your life, even with everything going on.”

    Logan closed his eyes, feeling Virgil's fingers in his hair. “If you make the experience this pleasurable, I don’t think I'll have the will to fight you.”

    “I'll take that challenge, L.” Virgil smirked down at him.

    Logan smiled, letting himself relax again. “When are we supposed to meet Patton?”

    “Soon.” Virgil shrugged.

    “Should we go?” Logan blinked tiredly.

    “Are you ready to go?”

    “I can be, if necessary.”

    “We can stay here for a little longer, L.” Virgil smiled as Logan relaxed into his lap. “We'll head out in a bit, okay?”

    “Okay, Vee.” Logan closed his eyes. He leaned into the warmth radiating off Virgil’s body, breathing in time with Virgil’s breathe and, despite his best efforts, Logan found himself drifting off to sleep.

-

General Taglist:

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[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 04

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, light angst, insinuated smut

; Word Count: 3.3k

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: This week...you get two chapters! The usual Sunday chapter will also occur, but I didn’t want to leave you waiting for the second half of their date too long! So...consider this my Black Friday deal I guess? Let me know what you think, I love reading you love your this <3

; Flower Masterpost

-

Inhaling deeply, you let your cheeks puff out as you slowly let out the breath that you’re trying to use to calm yourself down. Tonight is officially the night, the date. Or whatever he wanted to call it. And here you were, in the outfit in your best friends had picked, waiting for one Jung Hoseok to appear.

You’d been terrified all day that he wouldn’t actually turn up. That he’d ghost you, and you’d have to fight the tears as you called Soyeon and Chungha to tell them that the emergency supplies were in fact necessary. Even though Hoseok had messaged you again this afternoon, reminding you of your date.

As if you were somehow going to forget a scheduled date with him!

But you were here, at the appointed time outside of the large modern art statue in the centre of the city. It was a common spot for people to meet up as it allowed for quick and easy access to most places within walking distance so you weren’t surprised that he’d picked here. Plus, it was in public and you appreciate all the people who were around.

Pulling your phone out of your bag, you turn the screen on and check the time once more, frowning slightly when you see that he’s two minutes late. It might not seem a lot, but you always got a little antsy and worried when people were late. You usually turned up fifteen minutes early and then just waited around. 

Better to be early rather than late.

“Y/N?” The deep voice comes from your left, causing you to squeak in surprise as you jump, whirling around almost comically to face one Jung Hoseok. Who looks even more handsome than his photos make out, which is just plain wrong. That should not be allowed. You were probably a colossal disappointment in comparison.

He was dressed equally casual to you, black skinny jeans with rips clinging to his legs and ending in leather military style boots while a plain white shirt adorned his chest beneath a black leather jacket and thick silver chains around his neck. You couldn’t help but take a small step back, looking over his visage with wide eyes as your mind accepted the fact that people like him really did exist in real life.

His hair was styled for once, swept off his forehead in a look that had obviously been done on purpose and yet looked completely effortless while the nearby lights from a shop front shone off the silver ring in his lower lip. 

“We match.” You say dumbly, pointing at his clothes before cringing at how dumb you sound. It throws him for a moment, dark brows rising on his statuesque face before his eyes run over your body before looking down at his own. And then he smiles, and you swear your knees go a little weak.

Because if Jung Hoseok is handsome normally, then he’s out of this world when he smiles. It positively lights up his face and his eyes almost gleam with happiness as he lets out a raspy laugh.

“So we do. You look very beautiful. Your makeup is amazing!” Hoseok exclaimed, eyes widening as he leans a little closer to take in the carefully placed makeup that you’d spent half an hour putting on. It’s nothing hugely special, a little bit of a smokey eye with black eyeliner and a shimmer of rose glitter on the lids of yours with a touch of silver glitter liquid eyeliner. You’d wanted to match your outfit and put in a little bit of an effort, but not make it look like you were ready to walk a red carpet.

Still, your stomach swirled with a combination of happiness at his compliment and nerves at the overall meeting. The teenage part that still lived in you wanted to scream and jump at the fact he’d called you beautiful. Hands clutching at nothing once you put your phone away, you glance at him from beneath your mascara covered eyelashes and smile shyly.

“Thanks. You look good too.” The words are almost mumbled out and you grimace at yourself, nose wrinkling as you wrack your brain for what you’re supposed to say to him now. You never had any idea how these kinds of conversations were meant to go and you made a slightly odd noise before gesturing lamely. 

“So...what do you, I mean...what are we doing for our date-I mean...hang out? Or whatever this is.” Idly, you eye the fountain ahead of you and wonder how quickly he might leave if you just jumped into it and refused to come out. Because the awkwardness was building and you felt jumpy with the nerves and anxiety, desperate to give him a good impression but so unaware of how to do that.

He doesn’t laugh at you thought, just gives you a gentle smile before gesturing down one of the streets. You start to move automatically, the ghost of pressure from his hand on your back sending tingles around your body and you look up at him through wide eyes, noting how beautiful his side profile is.

Your side profile probably didn’t look that pretty.

“Well...I guessed that you might be a little nervous about tonight given how quickly you tried to back out of talking to me...so I thought we could do something that means we have to work together and talk, without actually having to talk about anything serious. So...I booked us an escape room and then we could have dinner after?” He sounds so carefree about it and you pause for a moment before gasping in delight.

“Oh my god! I’ve always wanted to do an escape room! Is it themed? I saw there was a Harry Potter one somewhere and that would be so cool! I don’t really know how they work and I’ve always been a little afraid to do them in case I’m too stupid to figure them out.” You don’t realise your babbling till you catch sight of his grin once more, body heating in embarrassment as you duck your head and apologise.

Immediately though he’s soothing your fears, giving you little cooing noises and an overly dramatic expression that has you snorting out a laugh. “Hey, don’t do that! It’s cute, I’m glad you’re excited. That’s what I wanted. I wanted to try and find a way to make you a bit more comfortable. I know how nerve wracking first dates are and I’ve been pretty nervous too.”

You look at him then, a look of pure disbelief written all over your face so plainly that he lets out a bark of laughter, his hand coming up to cover his mouth as he points at you with the other. “Oh god, your face. I have! I’m not lying. I know I can look pretty intimidating but I’m just a guy and first dates are just as scary for me.”

“Mmm, I’m sure they are. Especially when you look like...this.” A brief movement of your hand gestures to his whole body and he looks down with a breathy laugh again, shaking his head before looking at you, tongue running along his lower lip. 

“I get the feeling you’re pretty blunt and sarcastic. Am I right?” Immediately you look away, shoulders hunching as your hands grip your bag tightly. 

“Sorry. I don’t mean to. I don’t mean to sound like that, it just comes out.” He’s shaking his head though, smiling to himself as he looks forwards and directs you down another street before pointing at the sign for the escape room.

“It’s okay. I like people who speak their mind. As long as I know that you’re joking if you say something mean…” You go to protest at that but it dies at the sign of mischief in his eyes, recognising that he’s coaxing you out of the shell he obviously knows you must have built so strongly around yourself. And your heart warmed in response, glad that he’s not immediately pushing you away and in fact encouraging you.

“We’ll see if you still think that after we’ve got out of the room...if we can get out.” Hoseok hums, tapping his finger against his lip ring before grinning brightly, opening the door to the business and giving a completely over the top and ridiculous ‘enter’ gesture that has him bowing comically. Even as silly as it looked, he still looked amazing yet you felt a little more at ease with how open and friendly he was being.

“After you my lady. I have full faith we will get out. How hard can these things be?”

-

“What the actual fuck was that. Seriously! We didn’t even get out of the first damn room, I didn’t even know they had more than one room!” Hoseok rants, his cheeks slightly red as his brow creases while he gesticulated wildly through his rant. You watch him, amused for a few moments before continuing to walk along with him.

Despite his bravado at the start, you had both actually done abysmal in the escape room. You’d quickly discovered that Hoseok had absolutely no idea what he was doing in there and you’d tried your hardest, only to discover that you’d been fixating on a strange looking picture which actually had absolutely nothing to do with anything.

The staff had been incredibly amused when they finally let you out after an hour, telling you both cheerfully that no one had ever not managed to get out of the first room before. At least you’d made an impression on them, and you’d probably be an amusing story for Hoseok’s friends too.

He certainly was going to be for Chungha and Soyeon.

It had been fun though, oddly fun to say you were making no progress. Hoseok was funny, the kind of guy who made you laugh without even realising he was trying as he’d talked to himself in confusion, brows knitted together before exclaiming in a loud and suddenly thick dialect. You’d ended up spending a lot of time giggling at him and surprisingly, you’d managed to find out more than you’d expected during that hour.

He’d talked about how his friends would love to come and do this but that he wasn’t sure if they’d do worse or better. Apparently, the thought that two called Yoongi and Seokjin would probably do well. They were both sales account managers at Seokjin’s father’s company while someone called Taehyung worked as a customer service rep at the same company.

He was apparently the blue haired guy in Hoseok’s profile picture on Facebook, while the pink guy was Jimin. He worked as a bartender at the usual place Hoseok and his friends drank at; a dive bar basically that was frequented by bands trying to start their career. Jungkook was in college, doing a postgrad degree in sports psychology and his final friend, Namjoon, was a lawyer. 

The diversity of his friends bemused you, but he’d said that was because most of them he’d met in college. Jungkook was apparently one of Taehyung’s friends who’d slowly become integrated with Hoseok’s friend group once he’d gone to college whilst Namjoon was a childhood friend. You’d found it fascinating that he considered six people his close friends when you couldn’t imagine having more than two or three.

It was then that he’d queried your friends, asking if you had anyone who might like to come to an escape room. Chungha would have been happy to get involved but you knew that Soyeon didn’t like the idea of being locked in somewhere. She had claustrophobia and while it wasn’t bad enough to make her panic in an escape room, she wouldn’t be happy at not being able to escape.

Other than that, it had mostly been passing comments that had led to small discussions between the two of you as you both tried to figure out what you were doing. Which evidently hadn’t worked, given you hadn’t gotten out but it had relaxed you all the same. You’d almost felt comfortable around him by the end, the fact it was a date pushed out of your mind until you’d both finally walked out of the door.

And now you were faced with the dinner. On the one hand, you were eager because you were hungry but on the other hand, it meant that you had to finally talk one on one, without the interruption of something else. Hoseok doesn’t seem to notice your sudden quietness, his hands gesticulating as he continues to talk about your previous activity and you follow along.

You don’t know where he’s taking you, but you hope it’s somewhere nice and not too fancy. Somewhere that you’ll actually enjoy the food. He pauses suddenly, mouth open and letting you get a glimpse of the silver ball in the middle of his tongue and you feel warm at the sight, wiggling slightly as your best friends comments race through your head out of nowhere.

“Oh god, imagine getting oral from him. That tongue and piercing...oof...yes please.” Soyeon sighed, fanning her face and looking up to the ceiling as Chungha lets out a low whistle. The photo they’re looking at is one where Hoseok is sticking his tongue out fully, a festival scene behind him and his tongue piercing clearly on display.

Her comment makes your cheeks heat while you squirm slightly, embarrassed at what she said but even more embarrassed at the fact you too had thought of that already. There was no way in hell that you would admit to perhaps touching yourself to the thought of that tongue doing things to you.

“I bet he knows how to use it too. That man has the confidence of someone who’s brought many to orgasm. Girl, you are going to be so lucky if everything works out!” Chungha giggles, pushing at your shoulder while you whine softly to her. You could only hope that you wouldn’t end up hyper fixating on that piercing, because it had become one of your little group of friends favourite things about him.

Needless to say, that hadn’t worked and you let out the quietest breath as he ran that tongue over his teeth slowly, eyes focused away from you and completely unaware of just how ridiculous hot he was right now. It was just plain wrong, yet you can’t pull your eyes away from the straight lines of his jaw, nor the way the tendons in his neck strain just right as he looks down the street.

“Are you okay?” You croak out, coughing slightly to clear your throat and you hope he hasn’t noticed how husky your voice sounds. Thankfully though, he jerks in response to your voice and looks at you slightly dazed for a moment, dark eyes focusing again before he smiles lopsided.

“Yeah, sorry. I just...I don’t remember how to get to the restaurant I was thinking of. Do you like Indian food? There’s this really great place...that I know is here somewhere. I think we need to backtrack and then I can find it,” He pauses before giving a self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry, you’ve discovered flaw number one already. I am useless with directions. Don’t ever ask me to find somewhere. We’d end up in France. Don’t ask how, we just would.”

The laugh that leaves you is unexpected and loud, but you can’t help it and you see him grin in response out of the corner of your eye. He’s looking at you expectantly though, one brow raised as he reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair. Eyeing him for a moment, you nod your head and grasp desperately for the right words.

“That’s fine, I’m great with directions, luckily. I think I know where you mean, it should be back down the street and then to the right.” Pointing, his eyes follow your hand and he lets out a little ‘ah’ noise before smiling brightly.

“Great. Let’s go. I want to eat some good ass food. Mmmm, it’s been so long.” He moans out and you almost choke on your own spit at the sound, body feeling very warm at the overly sexual sound. The man just oozes sex appeal and it’s almost appalling how attractive you find it, but it also leaves you very flustered and unsure what to do.

So you just begin walking in the direction you’d pointed, staring down at the ground while your hands grasp at your bag and your shoulders rise up almost to your ears. A huff of laughter is behind you before the sound of shoes hitting the ground takes over, echoing over the quiet street and then he’s next to you again.

“Hey don’t leave me! How will I ever find it?” Hoseok pouts almost comically and you watch him for a few seconds before raising your brow.

“You’re a big boy. I’m sure you know how to use Google.” There’s a moment of silence and you wince, just about ready to tell him that you’re sorry and you didn’t mean to insult him. Because he was probably insulted, or offended. Or something at you. Either way, you could’ve been nicer.

But instead, he just lets out a loud laugh and shakes his head in amusement before looking you over with an expression that’s almost fond. “Point taken. Let’s go get some food. I want some naan bread.” 

“Did you know that naan just means bread in Old Persian so technically you’re just asking for bread bread?” The words come out automatically, your natural instinct to just give a random fact and you don’t even realise it. It was something you’ve always liked to do, looking up information and absorbing it like a sponge. Your friends liked to joke that you were always prepared for a general knowledge quiz.

“Yeah? Why do we call it a naan bread then?” Hoseok asks cheerfully, interest laced in his voice and you shrug in response.

“For the same reason we say chai tea or Sahara desert. There’s also Lake Tahoe, because Tahoe apparently comes from a Native American word meaning, you guessed it...lake. Another favourite of mine is Table Mesa, which just means table table.” You carry on, remembering more examples as you continue and you laugh in amusement at yourself.

Hoseok chuckles as he walks alongside you, giving you a look that you don’t notice as you babble on about places that are also similarly named, letting you telling him more and more places while he just listens. Finally, you realise that you’ve been talking for too long and give him a chagrined look before apologising.

He just shakes his head and grins. “No...it’s okay. Oh...I know of one! The Los Angeles Angels! That just means The The Angels Angels. You’d think that we’d take into consideration the original language meaning sometimes wouldn’t you? Though I guess every language does it.”

The casual acceptance he gives you of the random tangent you’d just gone on warms something inside you and the fact he’s even actively got involved makes you smile ever so softly. Nodding at him, you note that you’ve finally arrived at the restaurant and duck your head down.

“Okay...let’s go...oh my god. I should tell Jungkook about that naan thing. He can just say ‘let’s get this naan!’” You frown in confusion but he just laughs in response, shaking his head and gently pushing you through the door. “I’ll explain inside. Come on, I want to eat!”

[twokinkybeans]

The Arachnoids: ROCK BAND AU [Starker] - Chapter 6: HEADSTART HERO

READ “CHAPTER 6: HEADSTART HERO” ON AO3

Find the masterpost with all the chapters linked here!

Taglist: @crystallinecrimsonmoth​​​​ & @staticwhispersinthedark​​​​ (Let me know if you want to be added!)

-

Chapter 6: Headstart Hero

Peter knows exactly what it feels like to be standing in the crowd, anticipating the start of a show. The strange connection you feel with all these people that you’ve never met, the laughter, the chatter, the excitement coursing through your veins as you wait for the lights to finally dim.  Standing backstage holds the same kind of elation; yet it’s completely different. He too, is waiting for the lights to dim. Every time the lights flicker, every time the crowd makes a little more noise, he feels his heart skip a beat. It can’t be healthy to be so tense. His ribcage feels tight and he swallows. Peter tries to shift his guitar strap a little in the hopes of gaining some breathing space. Not that it helps of course, ‘cause it’s not the strap that restrains him.

Next to him, MJ and Ned are fighting equal battles with themselves. Playing for the New Year’s Eve show had been challenging enough, but somehow, this feels different. Like they’re gonna have to prove their worth. This is their chance to get their name out. To connect with potential fans. It’s overwhelming. Very, very much so.

It shouldn’t be long now, please, please don’t keep him waiting any longer. He-

The lights dim at last, and Peter is hit with the screams emerging from the crowd. Astonished, he knows he should jump to action right now. It’s almost as if someone else takes over his body when a broad smile plasters itself on his face and he runs into the stage lights.  “Welcome!” MJ laughs into her microphone. She looks absolutely stunning. Her aquamarine dress swirls around her loosely as she walks. Venus, for sure. “We are the inner concentric, the outer radial lineament, the spider-like volcano-tectonic structures from Venus. We have come to Earth to give you a hint of the whirling desire that is found on our planet. We are… The Arachnoids!”

Ned kicks off with a fast-paced rhythm, the deep vibrations of the bass drum tingling on Peter’s skin. Everything about this makes him feel so utterly hyped up. He lets his pick rain down on the strings, earlier nerves forgotten. His fingers glide over the notes so easily. The stage lights are blinding, but he knows how big the arena is. He knows exactly how many people are out there- watching him, cheering for him. 

He walks forward, dancing to MJ’s sweet harmony, and slides to his knees to get a break from the lights for a quick second. The group of young adults pressed against the front barrier raise their hands to him and scream. Peter’s eyes widen when he sees one of the girls is wearing a bright-pink tee with ‘The Arachnoids’ written on it with a black marker. He grins widely at her and winks. The girl instantly tears up and brings her hands together in a heart-shaped symbol. “I love you, Peter!” She mouths excitedly.

Peter can’t help the stunned chuckle that rises from his chest and he stands up again, walking over to MJ while quickly waving to the girl in the crowd once.  Then, he turns around and leans against MJ, his head dropping backwards onto her shoulder. MJ plays along. She moves her hand up to ruffle through Peter’s hair as she keeps on singing through the high notes of the chorus. “And now we’re hoooo-hoooooome!”  Peter jumps away from her and bounces on the balls of his feet and moves his head along to the music. He runs towards the other side of the stage, giving the crowd a good show as he keeps playing with his instrument raised high in the air.

Somehow, his glance is pulled towards the small backstage area he can see from there. Tony’s seated on top of the transport cases again, watching the show intently. Peter can’t help feeling surprised at the fact that Tony’s here watching them play. 

Peter swallows when he realizes that his solo is coming up, the exact one Tony had given him the unsolicited advice about earlier today. He presses his lips together and makes the split-second decision to play it Tony’s way. He may not have practiced it yet, but he knows he can do it. He wants to. Why he wants to please Tony so badly is a mystery to him, but he doesn’t have time to think about it. That’s how he takes a few steps closer towards the edge of the stage and takes a deep breath. His fingers find their usual pattern, his pick hitting each snare perfectly- D-string, he reminds himself. Play the F on the D-string. 

And oh, Tony had been right. Peter flies through the solo so much easier than ever before. Endorphins release from his brain and make him feel nice and warm all over. He turns his head to look at Tony again. The man’s eyes are wide as he watches Peter play all the way through the solo with ease, and Peter wonders if the man had expected him to actually listen. Peter most certainly didn’t.

As soon as the solo ends, he breaks his gaze with Tony’s and resumes playing chorus’ rhythm, walking over to Ned who’s happily smashing on his drums. The new kit suits him perfectly. Peter has to suppress the urge to look at Tony again and he scoffs quietly to himself. He’s starting to get weirdly attached to the other guitarist. Asshole or not, there’s… something about the man and it’s inherently annoying to Peter. So, that’s why he refuses to look over even once for the rest of the show, and by the end of the set, he’s nearly forgotten that it even happened. 

Nearly.

-

“You guys were fantastic out there- Woah!” Harley laughs and pulls Peter into a tight hug. Peter chuckles, patting the other boy’s back in return. It’s a little awkward, with his guitar between them, but the intention is what matters most. “Thanks, dude!” Peter sighs happily and pulls back. He only then realizes how much his shirt is sticking onto his skin. “Ugh, I need a change of clothes.” Harley chuckles at that. “One month into this tour and you won’t even notice anymore,” he jokes. “We’ll all walk around smelling like shit- part of the fun, I say!” Peter laughs and shakes his head at that. Harley, in return, looks very pleased with himself.

“Hey, I gotta go switch the stage set-up- eh, tell MJ I’ll talk to her later?” Harley asks, leaning in a little as if he doesn’t want anyone else to hear it. MJ’s standing a couple of feet away from them, talking to Liz, one of the other roadies working on this tour. “Uhh, sure!” Peter answers, noticing the small blush that spreads on Harley’s cheekbones. The blonde grins and glances over at MJ once more before taking a step back. He finger guns at Peter and winks. “You’re a hero!”

Peter snorts, it’s adorable how clearly the boy is trying to get MJ’s attention. Not that he actually has to try very hard. MJ and Harley have been messaging each other every single day since the New Year’s Eve show. Sometimes they even facetime. Peter can tell that MJ is slowly starting to open up to the idea of Harley possibly liking her, but he’ll keep his mouth shut about it. She has to figure it out herself. In her own time. 

“Hero,” Tony scoffs from behind him. Peter has to actively keep himself from rolling his eyes at the remark and he turns around. “That’d be me,” he deadpans. Tony lets out a surprised laugh at that and Peter feels a stupid happy feeling emerging in his chest. No, he reminds himself. Don’t let him get to you. He doesn’t want to befriend the man so quickly. He might be less of a prick today, but that doesn’t mean he’s suddenly a kind presence to be around. He’s very much not that. “Space hero… Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” “I guess.” Peter eyes the man, unsure what he wants from him. Tony licks his lips once and tilts his head.

“So,” Tony starts slowly. “Seems my advice wasn’t that bad after all, mmh?” “I never said it was bad.” “But you didn’t like it.” “I didn’t ask for help, Tony.” Peter narrows his eyes a little, trying to read the man’s face. Tony’s deep brown eyes hold something so… Unexplainable. It’s no fragility, neither is it playful. It’s some weird mixture of every possible emotion out there. It makes it feel both very intense and deep, and closed-off at the same time. There’s so much to see that it’s impossible to know what’s truly going on. Peter sighs. “Unsolicited, but it worked. Yes. Thank you.”

“Ah,” Tony exclaims proudly and Peter instantly wishes he hadn’t said it. It’s irritating and he knows that whatever words Tony will speak next, it’s gonna be something cocky again. “When the student is ready, the teacher appears. Mmh, never thought it was true. When do we start your classes?” Peter huffs and looks away for a second.  “I’m not taking classes from you. I’m sure you got better things to do than waste your time on beginners like us.” Peter instantly regrets his words when he sees a flash of rejection on Tony’s face. The man straightens his shoulders, eyebrows furrowing together. Peter knows that whatever he said, it triggered the man’s jerkiness full force. “Fine, I’m just trying to be nice. But you’re right, Peter. I got better things to do,” Tony spits out and he stalks off.  “Fuck,” Peter mutters to himself. He messed up. Nice job, Parker. Keep going like this and you’ll find your ass on a plane back to New York first thing in the morning. He wishes he knew what had set Tony off so much, but at the same time, he can feel anger bubbling up inside him. It’s so utterly frustrating that Tony can’t handle anything without stomping his feet and throwing a tantrum. It’s not Peter’s problem. It’s not his issue to solve. “Go fuck yourself,” he mumbles quietly. Feeling annoyed with the fact that the whole, hazy feeling of post-concert bliss has shattered. 

“Hey Pete, we killed it out there!” Ned interrupts his thoughts as the drummer nudges his side. “And those fangirls in the front, can you fucking believe it? We got fans!” Ned’s enthusiasm instantly lightens Peter’s mood a little. Tension leaves his body and he grins widely at Ned. “We’re gonna be huge, Leeds. One day, I’m telling ya!” “Let’s toast to that, boys!” MJ chimes in and hands both of them a small bottle of water. Peter eagerly takes it from her hands and skews the cap off.

“You,” he says as he brings the bottle to his mouth, “-are a lifesaver.” “I know,” she smirks and chugs some water down as well. “Has anyone seen Harley? He said he’d see me after our set,” she then asks, voice wavering slightly. She cranes her neck to try and spot him. “He just hopped by, told me to tell you he’d see you later. Not sure what he was up to, but running ‘round as always,” Peter tells her. MJ seems pleased with the information that Harley told Peter to make sure she wouldn’t feel left behind. “Poor dude,” Ned mumbles. “I’m sure he doesn’t get paid even half of what he deserves.” “He loves the job, though,” MJ smiles. She tilts her head at Peter. “I saw you talking to Tony, by the way! He seemed nice today?”

Peter scoffs. “He sorta was, in his own way. But one wrong word and he turned all bitchy again.” “Ugh, there’s always some issue with him, isn’t there? Do you still wanna watch their set after that?” “Yes,” Peter answers. “They’re a good band. Who knows when we’ll be kicked off the tour, we should enjoy it while it lasts.” He tries to bring it jokingly but knows it sounds petty as fuck. Dammit, Tony sure brings out the worst in him.  “Yeah,” MJ smiles. “I vote we stay.” Peter simply nods and takes another big sip from the water and wipes the small stains of sweat from his forehead using his sleeve. He still feels low-key guilty about the whole encounter with Tony. The least he can do is watch the show and give them their support. He’ll have to try to ignore the nagging thoughts clawing at his mind. He can do that, he hopes.

-

Read the next chapter >> 7: Ice Cream Ignition

[awkwardpenguinproductions]

Melee

Part 3 of the Dragon of the Yuyan

Read on AO3 | Series Masterpost

Zuko has been living in Pohuai Stronghold for two months, and would very much like winter to be over now, please.

It had snowed a few weeks ago, just enough to cover the top of one's foot when one stepped in it, and Zuko had hated it at first sight. There was just something unnatural about how Koh-damned cold it was, forcing his inner flame to burn hotter in his chest to compensate. Most of the snow is gone now, only little piles of dirty slush left in the corners of the yards where the weak winter sun doesn't quite reach, but it is now somehow colder than it had been when the snow had first arrived. None of the other Archers are firebenders, and Zuko honestly has no idea how they cope—Kai actually seems to like it, but Kai is also mildly insane and not to be trusted.

Zuko is now triply glad that he took the Commander's deal. He gets three meals a day (plus access to all the snacks he could ever want—all he has to do is blink and people shove food at him), he'll be learning from the most badass soldiers in the entire world (although he has yet to actually start training—Dr. Atsuko says he needs to gain more weight before she'll let him even touch a bow, and Dr. Atsuko is really scary so he doesn't want to cross her), and he gets Agni-blessed warm clothes (Zuko will bite anyone who touches his koala-sheep wool cloak—Zheng and the twins make fun of him for his attachment to it, but Zuko ignores them with the ease of someone who literally couldn’t care less). And all Zuko has to do is figure out new and interesting ways of getting past the Stronghold’s security, like the voyage through the ventilation system he’d taken last week that had allowed him to access the single most secure prisoner holding cell in the entire complex without even Captain Katsuro, leader of Banli Squad and the oldest and most experienced member of the Troop, knowing where he was.

Considering that two months ago he’d been staring starvation in the face, Zuko feels that maybe the luck that he’d used up just by being born is starting to come back.

Now if only winter would end.

Zuko is sitting with Kai and Jiyoti at breakfast in the mess, watching with increasing skepticism as Kai discourses the merits of arrows made out of ice, of all things. He’s neglecting his bao, and Zuko waits until Jiyoti distracts him with a salient point—how would one make ice arrows without waterbenders?—before swiping one. Mmm, sweet bean paste.

Kai pouts at him when he realizes what has happened, but Zuko is distracted by Commander Toshiaki coming their way.

Privates, Zuko, good morning, he greets them.

Good morning, Commander, they sign in unison.

Zuko, you need to report to Dr. Atsuko in the medical wing when you finish breakfast, the Commander informs him.

Zuko nods. Yes, sir.

Commander Toshiaki nods, the faintest trace of a smile playing at his stern expression, and Zuko feels like a million gold pieces. The Commander had been impressed with his breaking into the secure cell, and Zuko can’t wait to impress him again on his next “mission” to test the Stronghold’s security. He can only hope that nobody’s too disappointed when he inevitably proves how much of a failure he is at archery and non-bending hand-to-hand. He’s already resigned himself to never completing his firebending training, since the Yuyan are all non-benders. He’ll just have to hope that he never gets into a situation where firebending is his only weapon. He wonders if the Commander will let him continue learning the dao, since it’s a non-bending form of combat.

He still needs to be cleared by Dr. Atsuko though, so after Commander Toshiaki signs for them to carry on, and he steals Kai’s other bao (and ducks the listless protesting swipe the older boy aims at his head), Zuko heads over to the medical wing.

For once, the CMO seems pleased to see him, and within moments Zuko is stripped to his underwear and standing on a scale. He tucks his hands in his armpits and shivers in the chilly air of the medical wing.

“Good news, you’re just on the right side of healthy weight for a boy your age and height,” Dr. Atsuko declares briskly. She allows him to step down and get dressed while she scribbles on the scroll that contains his medical information.

Does that mean I can start training? He asks, smiling hopefully.

Dr. Atsuko rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, you can start training, put that look away, you brat,” she grouses. “But don’t overdo it, understand? If I see you in here because you did something stupid, I’ll have Toshiaki triple the time you spend on the bench for recovery.”

Zuko nods rapidly as Dr. Atsuko scribbles on a small square of paper and rolls it up. “Take this to Toshiaki,” she orders, handing the note to him. “And tell the Commander that I’ll have his hide if he breaks you in ways I can’t fix.”

Zuko has absolutely no intention of telling the Commander that; he’s not a complete idiot, no matter how stupid Father and Azula and his tutors and combat instructors thought he was. He knows perfectly well that he’s exactly one screw-up away from being tossed out of the Stronghold on his ass, Zheng and the twins never let him forget it. Better to keep his mouth shut and his hands still unless spoken to directly—he’ll likely have fewer bruises for doing so when they do finally get sick of him and kick him out.

The sentiment is appreciated, though. Dr. Atsuko is scary (not quite as scary as Azula—it’s doubtful that anyone’s as scary as Azula except maybe Father—but Dr. Atsuko is close), but she cares in her own way. Zuko forms the Flame and bows, she scoffs and waves him off, and he departs.

His grin hurts his face, especially where the muscle of his cheek wrinkles the stiffened scar tissue of his burn. He doesn’t care, though—he can finally start training with the Troop, instead of watching from the side like someone’s useless kid brother! He can’t wait to tell Kai!

But first he has to find Commander Toshiaki. At this time of the morning, the Troop is usually on the target range, working on speed drills.

Commander Toshiaki is exactly where Zuko thought he would be, along with the rest of the Troop. He presents the scroll to the Commander, who favors him with a quietly pleased expression.

This is excellent news, he declares. He then assigns Zuko to Chihese Squad for PT and weapons training. Zuko and Kai exchange grins, and Zuko ignores the ferocious glare Zheng sends him.

Captain Hiroki, Chihese Squad’s leader, looks Zuko up and down. Ever touch a weapon before, kid? He asks, and Zuko can see the sarcasm in the way his hip is cocked, his half-lidded eyes, and the smirk lurking just below the surface of his stoically flat mouth.

Something about him reminds Zuko of Azula when she was fishing for something to torment him with, and his spine snaps straight. I studied the dual dao for three years with Master Piandao before my father demanded I stop, he answers, keeping his hands and expression tightly under control. Father forbidding him from continuing his studies with the Master is a memory almost as painful as that of the Agni Kai, but he powers through it, refusing to let this potential Azula-replacement have any kind of ammunition against him. My Uncle helped me continue learning, as well as helping me learn other blade techniques. Such as this.

As fast as thought, Zuko draws his pearl dagger, flips it to grasp by the tip of the blade, and throws it handle-first at the closest archery target. It hits a fraction of an inch off of dead center, buried to the hilt. The target is at least twenty feet away.

Kai looks like Summer Solstice has come early. Mika and Jiyoti are smirking. Zheng is audibly grinding his teeth, dark eyes narrow and furious. Captain Hiroki looks… impressed.

The Captain walks over to the target, pulls out the dagger, and examines it as he walks back. Zuko watches like an eagle-hawk, but all Captain Hiroki does is look it over, shine the blade on the sleeve of his tunic, and hand it back to Zuko, who immediately tucks it into the sheath in his belt.

Very nicely done, he signs, all traces of sarcasm gone from his face and body. And quick, that’ll serve you well with a good set of real throwing knives. Why did your father make you stop learning from Piandao? I thought he was supposed to be the best swordmaster in the Fire Nation.

My father didn't like Piandao, and believed that weapons were beneath a firebender's dignity, Zuko replies, and doesn't miss the sneer that crosses Zheng's face. Annoyance churns in his gut, but Zuko's been ignoring Zheng's sneers and jibes since he was able to understand the Yuyan hand-language, and he's not about to break that streak.

A firebender, Captain Hiroki signs, almost absentmindedly, hairless eyebrows furrowed in thought.

I'm not very good, Zuko shrugs.

It seems as though Zheng can no longer hold his peace. You can't possibly be going through with this, Cap! He signs, fury in every line of his body, his hands flying so fast that Zuko can just barely keep up. He's a thief! He should be shipped back to the Home Islands in chains, not be trained in our ways like he's actually one of us!

Shut up, Zheng! Kai's hands snap out. Don't pretend you're not just jealous that Zuko's better at shadow walking at fourteen than you are at twenty!

Why would I be jealous of a spirits-damned street rat? Zheng replies, sneering. He's obviously lying about studying under Piandao, wanting the Captain to fawn over him the way the Commander does, while all he's doing is using his ridiculous street rat tricks to make it seem like he's actually useful and not planning on selling us all out to the closest dirt-eater forces––

Zuko can't take it anymore. He's many things: a failure, a soft-hearted weakling, a useless embarrassment to his father and family. But he is here now in this new life because he believed, and still believes, that it is wrong to sacrifice loyal subjects of the Fire Nation as battle fodder. The idea that he could be a traitor to his people burns even worse than Father's fire-whips, or the handful of flames he'd held to Zuko's face.

He breathes, and exhales fire. The force of his rage produces a plume of reddish gold flame that roars toward Zheng like a stampeding komodo-rhino, causing everyone to jump back to avoid being burned.  

Zheng is white under his Yuyan tan. Kai once again looks like the Summer Solstice has come early, with his birthday next. Mika's eyes are wide, and Jiyoti is practically hiding behind the older woman. Captain Hiroki looks thunderous, but before he can even move his hands, Zuko is already signing.

You don't know a damn thing about me, you giant piece of shit. His entire body is trembling, he’s so angry he feels like he’ll actually burst into flames. He doesn't even care that he might get kicked out for this. Zheng's been a boarcupine quill in his side since Commander Toshiaki and Chihese Squad had pinned him to the storeroom wall, and Zuko is done. I stole so that I wouldn't starve, because I was dumped in the middle of Koh-damned nowhere with the clothes on my back and a single useless knife, and I didn't even make it out of the Stronghold before I got caught anyway. I was going to die. I was supposed to die, but the Commander decided to let me live because he thought I would be useful. And I will never be able to repay him for that, for giving me a home and a new life, so I will stay here and learn everything I can and be as useful as I can possibly be, and you can shut up and stay the fuck out of my way!

He can feel the force of his glare in the pressure on his temples and the ache in his scar where his left eyebrow used to be, and the expression must be something because even Captain Hiroki seems reluctant to get close to him.

A hand lands gently on his shoulder, and Zuko flinches hard before whirling around to face the new threat, which is—

Kai, with an easy smile on his face, though his dark eyes are pained. Come on, he signs, let’s go to Master Arata and get you kitted out. Cap can deal with Zheng.

Kai leads him away, and Zuko glances back to see Captain Hiroki turning on a still white-faced Zheng.

Master Arata, the bowmaker for the Yuyan Archers, takes one look at Zuko and gives him the one bow with the single lightest draw weight in the entire Stronghold. Kai laughs himself sick as Zuko tries and fails to draw the bowstring back to his chin.

The Commander finds them in one of the training areas used by the regular Army companies that are stationed at the Stronghold. Kai is showing Zuko the strengthening and conditioning exercises the Yuyan use as part of their archery training, and Zuko recognizes many of them from both firebending and sword training, so they're in the middle of a planking contest when boots appear in Zuko's vision. He falls flat on his face when he realizes just who those boots belong to.

He and Kai both snap to attention, but Zuko can't look anywhere but at the ground, shaking as he awaits the Commander's punishment for firebending at Zheng. His shoulders ache with tension. He wishes the Commander would just hit him and get it over with.

Boots reappear in his vision, and Zuko squeezes his eyes shut and braces for the impact.

And nothing happens. Slowly, the fuzzy buzz of panic enveloping Zuko like a suffocating blanket falls away, and after a few moments he gathers every scrap of courage he possesses and opens his eyes.

The Commander is crouching in front of him, his head level with Zuko's chest, looking up at him with calm dark gray eyes. In this position, Zuko is head and shoulders taller, instead of the Commander looming over him, and he can't understand why the Commander would do this because it has to be absolutely demeaning for the leader of one of the world's best strike forces to take such a position before a useless idiot child like him––

Peace, Cadet Zuko, Commander Toshiaki signs slowly, expression serene.

Oh. Duh. As if Zuko needed another reminder that he's an idiot.

Captain Hiroki has informed me of your altercation with Private Zheng, the Commander continues. As the instigator of the incident, Private Zheng has been reprimanded and assigned a punishment detail. He has also been transferred to Banli Squad, per recommendation from Captain Hiroki and Sergeant Mika. However, firebending at someone outside of training scenarios or active combat is forbidden here in the Stronghold, by order of Colonel Shinu, and I'm afraid that means that I need to give you a punishment detail as well.

I understand, sir, Zuko signs haltingly.

You are to report to the komodo-rhino barn half an hour after dawn for the next two weeks, where you will perform tasks assigned by Stablemaster Guo until the mess opens for breakfast, the Commander declares.

Zuko blinks. He can't have understood that correctly. The Commander wants him to help take care of the komodo-rhinos… as a punishment?

But he has definitely learned to hold his tongue in front of superiors, and has probably pushed his luck enough for the next year, so he simply signs Understood, sir, and bows with the Flame.

I have also spoken to the Stronghold's firebending master, and he is happy to take you on as a student, Commander Toshiaki adds. You will report to him at dawn every day after your punishment detail is complete. He wished me to inform you that he understands if you have gotten lax in your meditations in the recent past, but he expects you to resume them immediately, so that you are well in the habit once your training resumes.

For the second time in as many moments, Zuko is shocked. He honestly hadn't expected to be allowed to continue his firebending training, and he could admit that a small part of himself had been just a tiny bit relieved. Before, even with Uncle's intervention, firebending training had not been a pleasant activity. No one had dared to physically harm the Fire Prince, but Zuko knew full well how the palace masters compared him to Father, to Uncle Iroh, to Azula, and never really seemed to care if he hurt himself in the process of trying to prove himself worthy of them.

But now, there's no one to compare himself to other than the soldiers who bend, and the master who oversees them. Anyone to whom he might try to prove himself wouldn't care about his firebending, because they don't bend themselves. Zuko isn't the Fire Prince, the Crown Prince, anymore, he doesn't have anyone's boots to fill but his own.

And that is a very exciting prospect.

So he grins widely at the Commander and signs Yes sir!

Previous | Next

[saladejin]

Call An Uber? | 03

BTS x Reader | idolverse au, uber driver!Reader, translator!Reader |  Fluff, flirting, super slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, mature themes and eventual smut

Summary:  Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right?

What happens when all of this occurs, but you’re still doing something you love AND getting a large sum for it? Now there’s something to think about, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.

Warnings: Might seem a little too unrealistic, whoops...

Word Count: 2.5k

< masterpost >

»»————- <<prev | next >> ————-««

      My pen glided across the paper with ease, and I couldn’t help but smile when my signature looked back at me from the page on the table.

Reading through the three folders of fresh information had taken nearly an hour and a half to finish, but I only had myself to blame for that. I always took way too long to analyse everything I was getting myself into, never one to take massive risks when it came down to business.

I knew I would never refuse this deal though. 

It had been a week since the ‘fateful’ encounter. The spontaneous incident in which my entire world had forever changed, and the evidence sat right in front of me on the very table my knees knocked lightly against in anticipation. The same table situated in the main Bighit Entertainment building itself.

“Well shit, I knew I recognised the car!”

A familiar voice broke me from my trance, and I flicked my eyes upwards to see a very excitable Jungkook jogging towards me. His face was split into a somewhat shy grin, and I could immediately see how the corners of his eyes crinkled in joy as he finally reached my side.

To my shock, the surprises didn’t stop there, and I watched as six other very familiar people followed in their youngest member’s stead. The sliding doors to the company’s building finally slid shut, and so did my mind as the sudden nerves took hold.

“Hello noona, what a surprise! What brings you here?” Jungkook queried as he stood beside the couch where I was seated. I stopped my eyes from flickering over to where the other members of Bangtan were standing a few meters behind and smiled warmly at the younger boy.

“You probably thought you’d seen the last of me, right? It’s a bit of a long story, and all of you are probably busy so I won’t keep you.” I swallowed apprehensively as my eyes tore from his widened ones to gaze further behind. All of them were here, in the same proximity as me.

Controlling my breathing was a priority, sorry Kook.

I looked up again when someone made a loud noise of recognition, and Jimin jolted forward with his eyes blowing wide cutely. All of them were in light, breathable active wear of sorts due to the heat, but the sight of Jimin’s exposed biceps in particular made me sweat profusely.

“(Y/n)-ssi? Wah, I knew Jungkook wouldn’t just go up to a random girl like that. How are you doing?”

I laughed as the maknae huffed at his elder’s words, and crossed one leg over the other to face them properly. Seeing as I’d met these two before, the going was a little less rough as it would have been if all seven of them had just jumped straight over.

“Nice to see you again Jimin-ssi. I’m doing amazing surprisingly, how about all of you?” The smile was natural, but I was surprised I could even keep a level tone when my emotions were positively storming beneath the surface.

I could see Hoseok and Seokjin exchanging curious murmurs with each other as they observed the interaction from afar, while Taehyung was animatedly questioning Namjoon much to the latter’s gradual irritation. Yoongi remained still, but he had tugged one of his earphones out to gather snippets of whatever was happening. He wasn’t glaring, but his thoughtful gaze speculated as it switched between me, the maknaes and eventually Namjoon instinctively.

“We’re great, just about to start daily practices, actually,” Jimin responded and returned my smile instantly. I nodded my head in understanding, my ruffled hair swinging into my eyes yet again. The amount of times I had run my hands through it in the past hour or so caused it to become messy, and it had been infuriating me more and more as time dragged on.

I caught Namjoon’s inquisitive gaze behind Jungkook’s shoulder when I flipped the straying hair away. The rapper tightly smiled before gracing me with a tiny courteous wave. It was easy to see he was just as curious as Jungkook had been about my presence in the Bighit building.

I waved back, and saw Taehyung joining into the silent exchange with his own doubly excited hand gestures. I couldn’t believe how instantly warm and friendly the boy already seemed in person.

“Are those the things you had to sign after…the other day?” Jungkook wondered aloud after looking back at his hyungs, then down to the sheets of paper sprawled on the table. My pen loudly tapped on the documents twice before I smirked.

“Nope, those were signed on the day. This’ll sound pretty straightforward, but I somehow got a job here.”

“You what?” Jungkook’s bulging eyes and slacked jaw made themselves known, and he exchanged surprised gazes with Jimin and Namjoon behind him before smiling widely. “That’s great noona, what will you even be doing?”

Namjoon, upon hearing the sudden shift in conversation, couldn’t douse his flames of curiosity any longer it seemed. He tentatively made his way over with his large hands stuffed deeply in the pockets of his shorts.

“What’s happening, kids?”

“(Y/n)-ssi just said she got a job here, that’s amazing,” Jimin gushed and I bowed in gratitude towards both him and Jungkook as they congratulated me. Namjoon’s eyes flashed with a few emotions before settling down. His eyebrows raising high before furrowing, then lifting high again as he nodded with a gentle smile appearing on his tanned face. I could understand if he was suspicious, as my entrance into the company had not been the most professional one out there.

“That’s great (Y/n). I guess you can let us know the details later, but for now, welcome to the Bighit family.” His dimpled grin and outstretched hand of welcoming and acceptance caused many feelings to swirl around within me. I was so truly blessed this fortnight, seeing as though I’d landed a brilliant job and met some of my favourite people in the process. Experiencing Namjoon’s kindness was just a sweet cherry on top.

“Ah, thank you so much. I know I’ll love being here,” I grasped his significantly larger palm and shook it confidently, relishing in the feeling of his slightly calloused hand engulfing my own. I knew I probably held his gaze for a heartbeat too long, but it didn’t remain. The moment was interrupted by some staff calling them from down the hallway.

Probably their choreographers.

“Oh, when will we see you again? You still didn’t mention what you’re doing,” Jungkook spluttered when the older members began traipsing away to follow the sound of the impatient voice. Taehyung looked back with a pout, and I pouted back light-heartedly to let him know I was just as eager as he was to finally meet. The others, including Namjoon, left with polite smiles and waves, obviously having their priorities straight unlike the two vocalists standing before me.

“I’m an interpreter now. And you two should seriously think about getting to practice.” I raised an eyebrow, craning my head to see where the others had disappeared to down the hall. Jimin at least had the sense to start making his way backwards, futilely tugging on Jungkook’s shirt. My suggestion had a delayed effect, but Jungkook finally bowed again before turning around to follow the blonde boy.

“Have fun, I’ll talk to you guys another time!” I called out and returned to my paperwork after hearing their hasty farewells.

My hands and face were tingling from all the interaction I had barely been able to comprehend. How was I not a stuttering mess whenever they acknowledged me? I’d always thought for sure something like that would be the case if I ever met them. Hell, whenever I thought about meeting them, it would always be at some kind of fan meeting where I would only get a few choice words to say…or rather rehearse.

With a sigh, I recalled how this situation had morphed into an integral part of my life, that part being my career. Even though I was only a mere Uber driver, it seemed pure luck had rained down upon me within the span of just two days. I must have cured diseases in my past life for these things to be granted to me so suddenly.

~

“If I said I was fluent in Spanish, would that help?”

The woman whipped her head around to gaze at me thoroughly, and I suddenly felt uncomfortable. Why had I just gone and boldly inserted myself into their predicament? Bighit was a large and successful company, they could figure something out for sure. Rescheduling to add another day wouldn’t even be a problem if the donor could stay in a hotel somewhere in the city, just for example.

Still, it’s not like I know the circumstances.

“Uh, Miss-” The woman stopped her awkward approach when Bang PD raised a hand suddenly. His smile turned in my direction, and I felt my shoulders relax when I was reminded yet again of his direct, but kind attitude.

“You’ve done us a great service already Miss (L/n) (F/n), we couldn’t trouble you further.”

I opened my mouth to respond when the loud ringtone of the woman echoed along the walls of the dormitory reception. She picked it up and I kept an eye on Bang PD’s face while he scanned over her. When her facial expression winced, Bang PD frowned deeply with a sharp exhale, and he turned back to me once she’d shaken her head at him. This obviously indicated something I’d missed, but it most likely meant whatever help they had tried to line up for themselves had failed.

“Well, it turns out we may need your help once more. Miss (F/n). I’m afraid I won’t be able to pay you as much as I already have.”

“Please, I seriously don’t need to be paid for this one. It’s on me.” I smiled and my keen, pointed gaze left no room for argument. The short man sighed and shook his head with a chuckle, looking at his assistant beside him before gesturing for me to follow them outside. “We’ll be heading to the actual Bighit building for this meeting, are you an experienced interpreter?”

The woman begrudgingly agreed with her boss’ plan and fell into step beside me. I wouldn’t be driving my own car out of here, but would be dropped back later apparently. I answered him as we all clambered into a transport van. “I’ve done some work with interpreting, and I have a bachelor’s degree of International Studies to support it. I earned that back in (Y/c).”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she exchanged a glance with her equally impressed boss before returning it to me. “So how many languages are you fluent in?”

“Five actually, that’s Korean, English, Spanish, (language choice 1) and (language choice 2). They’re at different levels of fluency, but I can definitely hold conversations in each.” I smiled, feeling proud of my achievements so far.

Yes, even though I was only a mere Uber driver, I still had big plans for my future. Hence why I was even travelling to Korea in the first place. It was to continue my studies and gain experience for various languages. I was planning to enrol into a famous university at some point during the next couple of years, and I was filled with overwhelming glee that I was going to receive some first-hand work experience with interpreting today. Only a couple of months into my travels!

“That is truly amazing, every company needs someone like you,” Bang PD spoke in awe, and I dipped my head to him in appreciation. The woman wrote something on her planning clipboard and then reached down to punch out a text to whomever had called her before.

“Say, how would you feel if I asked you to work for Bighit, Miss (Y/n)?”

His words shocked me to my very core, and I almost choked on my own saliva in response. The woman also balked at his words before an understanding and calculating expression appeared. She nodded slowly and then met my eyes with her strikingly serious ones.

“You would be such an asset, as our current interpreters are only numbered few. They don’t have the extent that you do either, and a wider range of languages means a wider range of opportunities. Boss, this is…” She trailed off and her hair whipped around with her head as she caught Bang’s chuckling grin.

“I know, why do you think I asked?”

My mind was reeling from the new turn of events. Working for Bighit? I was surely dreaming. This was something majority of fans wished for with their whole, open hearts. To be close to their favourite idols for most days of the week, and to see what goes on behind the scenes of the various shows and schedules.

How do I even wrap my brain around this?  

“I-I would actually love to, but it’s not really that easy, right?” I stammered, my eyes blown wide and my heart erratically hitting my ribcage with every spoken syllable.

“No, there’ll be heaps of paperwork and necessary background checks, etcetera etcetera,” Bang PD began. “But I basically had an interview with you before. I would love to have you on our team, and I’m sure you’d love to be on ours.”

His smirk and chuckle was enough to have me burying my face into my hands in embarrassment. Heat was flaring up my neck, and I knew the tops of my ears weren’t dissimilar. “I know I’m a fan, but I promise it wouldn’t get in the way of anything.”

I laughed along with him, my emotions almost spilling out onto my cheeks as I fully revelled in what had happened.

I’m going to work for them? And in turn help the process of Bangtan’s success? Bloody hell what has even happened to my life?

The music industry had actually interested me as well during my teenage years, but getting to try both career pathways in one bundle was legitimately too good to even be true. My heart was fluttering.

“Yes, well, we’re going to see how you go in the meeting here, but from what I’ve already gathered you have very strong willpower and morals. I easily judge people when I meet them, and I can tell you put everything into what you do. You’re compassionate and make decisions quick and easy, as shown by how you rescued our little ones today. Without your help, they would have struggled, and with your help now, I know we can strive for larger goals in Bighit’s future. Additionally, that’s helping our artists strive for larger goals within their careers too.”

I closed my eyes, unable to stop the spread of inevitable happiness throughout my very being. Breathing deeply, I joined his gaze from across the car seat with a sparked confidence, and I saw the assistant even smile at me approvingly.

“I won’t let you down, Bang PD-nim.” 

          Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.

tagged: @l4life​

[starlightinhumanform]

Midas

Fandom: Sanders Sides 

Ship: Romantic Loceit, Background Platonic Logincality

Summary: Greek myth tells of King Midas who could turn anything he touched to gold. Damian hates New Years but when his friends drag him to a party, he meets a man makes everything around him just a little better.

Warnings (in order of strength): A lot of drinking/alcohol mentions/partying (none underage), Mild language throughout, (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: Fluff, Mild Angst with a happy ending, Human (college) AU 

A/N: Deceit’s name is Damian in this fic :) ALSO I know there’s quite a few younger kids in this fandom and if you’re reading this (first of all, hi I love you) please please PLEASE do not take this fic as an inspiration to abuse alcohol. Underaged drinking/partying can be extremely dangerous. Ok enough being serious!! I hope you enjoy! Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Link    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Damian wasn’t a fan of New Years. It shouldn’t mean anything- he knew that. It was just another random day; the fact that people liked to put special significance on it didn’t actually do anything.

But all the talk of new times got into his head, made him think. It made him think about how many things had changed- the friends he had lost, the goals he had once held dear now thrown away. It made him think about how little he had grown- the bitterness he held onto, the stagnation that had settled across him. He was in his third year of grad-school; soon he would be shoved out into the real world with no academic purpose to shelter him.

“New Year, New Me.” Damian didn’t even know who he was.

If there was one thing he hated more than New Years, it was New Years parties. He would go so far as to say the things were the bane of his existence. The music was bad, people got loud and overly exuberant, and strobe lights were used were used far more than ever reasonable. Alcohol always floated around with disturbing prevalence. He hated how fuzzy it made his head- throwing off his balance and slowing his thoughts- but at least it made the party easier to handle.

Damian threw back a shot of cheap, bight blue tequila and winced as it hit the back of his throat. Disgusting. Just because he was trying to get drunk didn’t mean he lacked class.

He set the glass down on a table behind him so he could pretend he hadn’t touched the repulsive thing. He was sitting on a sofa tucked against the back corner of a living room in a house he had never been to before. Next to him, someone was already passed out. They would be starting their new year with a killer hangover.

Across the room, he could see the friends who had dragged him to the houseparty. Roman and Patton were dancing in a crowd of other students, broad grins painted across both of their faces. At least they were happy.

A young man weaved his way through the crowd and threw himself onto the sofa next to Damian with a mixture of disdain and defeat. Damian had seen him around a few times; they had a philosophy class together the last semester. What was his name? Lucas? Landon? Bradon?

“Hey,” Lu-nd-on elbowed him in the side, “You want some champagne?”

Damian raised an eyebrow as he turned to face the man, “Excuse me?”

He pulled a bottle of champagne from somewhere in his coat. The gold foil at the top was already ripped away and he popped the cork off with ease, taking a swig before offering it.

Damian tried not to stare incredulously, but it was a difficult task when his brain was short-circuiting, “Did you just drink out of a champagne bottle like it was a beer?”

“Sure. Why not.”

Damian reached out hesitantly to take the bottle. He was beginning to doubt that this actually was the guy he had shared a class with. That one looked like the type who wouldn’t have been caught dead at a party. The only similarity was the way they dressed- round wireframe glasses, a corduroy jacket over a black button down, and black skinny jeans. His hair- dark brown and pulled into a long ponytail- was the same too.

“Did- did we have a class together?” He took a drink. It was good- expensively good.

“Historical philosophy. You probably don’t remember me- my name’s Logan. You’re Damian, right?”

“Yep. I hear I’m kind of hard to forget,” Damian waved his hand at the dark red birthmark that stretched messily across the left side of his face.

“No. Well, yes. That is, I remember you for a different reason.”

Logan stared at him like he was supposed to understand what that meant. Damian stared back, hoping to convey the fact that he, in no way, understood what was going on.

“So, uh,” Damian searched for something to keep the conversation going, “can I ask about the champagne?”

“You’re asking why I have it?”

Damian nodded, “I am, yeah. Also why you pulled it out of your jacket?”

“As for the first question: people seem to have made a tradition out of getting wasted on New Years Eve and I decided to join them this year.”

Damian had never heard someone speak so matter of factly about getting drunk. He shook his head, laughing, “So you bought an entire bottle of champagne? There are easier methods, you know that right?”

“If you’re referring to the blue monstrosity everyone keeps offering, please know that I’m not a heathen.”

“Oh, so you tried one of those awful things too?”

Logan rolled his eyes with a ruthful smile, “I may have made that mistake.”

Damian handed the bottle back to Logan who took another drink before locking his gaze on Damian’s eyes. He stared like there was a problem in them and he just couldn’t figure out how to solve it. Damian was used to people staring, but not like this. Usually, they would take one look at him and their eyes would glaze over. Whatever the conversation might be, they would always be partially focused on the splatters some god had painted on his face long before he had a say in the matter. It wasn’t that Damian disliked his birthmark. He just hated the way people always saw it instead of him.

But Logan. He was looking at him. Into him, through him. He had no idea what to do with that.

Damian laughed nervously, “What are you looking at?”

Logan cleared his throat and stared out into the crowd, “Anyways I had it in my jacket because these people are all animals and I’d prefer they didn’t rob me of my 35 dollar champagne.”

Logan had handed him the bottle back and Damian choked on the mouthful he had been trying to drink, “I’m sorry, what? So let me get this right: you bought a champagne bottle which is worth more than I usually spend on food for a week. And now you are sharing it with me of all people?”

“Why not you of all people?”

Logan was staring at him again like answers to all of these riddles were obvious.

Damian blinked back, feeling more lost than he had in years. Even that stupid Advanced Geometry course he had decided to take in his freshman year hadn’t screwed him over this badly. Maybe the alcohol was finally getting to him. It would explain why he couldn’t hold a single coherent thought and why he was so hypnotized by the pale freckles that dusted Logan’s nose and cheekbones. They were so light they nearly melted into his skin and seemed to be phasing in and out off existence as the dim lighting played against Logan’s face. He had never noticed them before. Then again, he had never gotten this close before. It was a shame; Logan was mesmerizing. Damian wished he could get closer.

“So what are you going to do after we get out of here?”

It took Damian a moment to realize Logan was asking about a career and not what he would be doing after the party once they left- apparently together. That would have been strange; it was weird his brain even jumped to that conclusion.  Maybe he should stop drinking that damn champagne.

He sighed as his mind returned to the actual question. He wanted to make something up, hide behind a lie of certainty and determination. But it was too much work to weave that fabrication together. Especially on the spot. Especially with how his head was feeling. Especially in front of Logan. He hung his head, “Honestly I have no clue. I’ve always been interested in social sciences but beyond that... no plan, no clue.”

A beat of silence played out between them.  

“So what about you?” The forced brightness in his voice tasted fake and bitter in his mouth.

“I want to teach sciences,” Logan’s eyes glittered.

“A college professor, huh? I could definitely see it,” Logan handed him the bottle and Damian threw yet another swallow back. Didn’t he say he was going to stop?

“High school level, actually.”

“Really? That doesn’t seem-“ Damian pointed at the champagne bottle in an attempt to remind Logan of what a bougie, extra bitch he was, “ -sophisticated enough for you.”

Logan shrugged, “I kind of have a fascination with high schoolers-“

“Ok, that’s creepy.”

“Not like that! I mean the culture, the slang, the way it’s its own little society interacting within a larger one!” Logan’s face had split into a grin as he talked, waving his hands excitedly.

Damian didn’t even resist urge to smile back. Seeing Logan like this, well, there was something contagious about it. He couldn’t help but feel slightly in awe of the passion he saw in Logan, “You really like this stuff, don’t you?”

Logan nodded vigorously, “Do you know the new word high schoolers today have invented and are using?”

“Hmm?” Damian prompted. Anything to keep Logan talking like this. Damian wasn’t sure why he wanted to keep Logan talking. It had something to do with the way warmth was spreading out from his core in a way that was far gentler than anything drinks could do.

“Yeet.”

In the adjoining room Damian could see two groups standing on opposite tables chanting “Yeet, Yeet, Yeet, Yeet” as they tossed a smaller student (who looked like they were having the time of their life) back and forth.

“Uhh, I think college kids use that too,” Damian didn’t want to burst Logan’s bubble but he felt like he was losing his mind. At any moment he was going to start cackling.

Logan paused, giving him a pointed stare, “Maybe you do.”

Damian broke. He collapsed forward, glad he had handed the bottle back as he wrapped his arms around his shaking body. He could hardly breathe but he couldn’t stop laughing either. His head was light and buzzing warmly. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but as tears started streaming out of his eyes, he knew he was officially drunk. Who gave a shit? That had been his goal, right?

He fell all the way down, letting his head land on Logan’s knee. He still couldn’t stop laughing even though it had developed solely into wheezes at that point.

Damian felt a hesitant hand tap on his back before actually settling there, “Are you ok?”

Damian sat up and wiped away the tears that had gathered at the corners of his eyes, “Bro, you’re so judgmental.”

Logan’s face shifted from concern into a scowl, “Oh. Sorry.”

The heavy bass of whatever song was playing took over the space between them. Damian kept thinking about destroying that gap. All he would have to do would be lean over, rest himself against Logan, maybe fall asleep. Maybe it was the overpriced buzz in his head talking, but he felt safe around Logan.

Out of the blue, Logan stood up, adjusting the hem of his jacket as he turned to face Damian, “Well, I won’t be bothering you anymore. Maybe I’ll see you around campus sometime. You can finish that if you want.”

Damian looked down by his feet where Logan was pointing to the champagne bottle, “Wait, I don’t understand. You’re leaving? Where?”

Logan glanced around, looking anywhere but Damian’s face. Damian was used to that but this felt different. Logan was different. At least under usual circumstances, he knew why people so adamantly refused to acknowledge his existence. He made them uncomfortable; he didn’t like it, but he got it. Here, he was absolutely clueless.

Logan finally managed to make eye contact. He was trying for a smile but as an expert liar, Damian could see straight through to the grimace beneath, “Oh, I’m sure I’ll find someone else who will tolerate my presence for a few moments.”

“Hey,” Damian acted on impulse. After all, Logan’s hand was just hanging there. It was far too empty. And at the moment, reaching forward to grab Logan’s wrist was Damian’s only way to insure that Logan wouldn’t walk away. He knew Logan was a smart guy and would probably see his honeyed whines as deception, but he had to try, “You’re really just going to get me drunk and then ditch me? Who knows what could happen?”

Logan’s eyebrows creased but he didn’t say anything. He looked like he was in pain, eyes sharp and teeth clenched behind a grimace. It was enough to make Damian drop his hand.

“Logan, it’s entirely your choice but if you would like to stay with me, I would enjoy that very much,” Truth wasn’t his strong suit, but he figured it was worth a try.

Logan squinted at him, confused or at least doubtful, “I thought you disliked my judgmental attitude.”

Damian groaned, “Dude... I didn’t mean it like that. I thought it was funny. I think you’re funny.”

“Oh,” Logan looked like he was having a hard time processing Damian’s words. It made him wonder just how many of those tequila shots Logan had thrown back before walking over. He had to be drunk. It was the only way to explain why he was acting so strange.

Damian reached out again and slowly pulled Logan back. He was hesitant but didn’t resist. Logan sat down next to Damian as if he didn’t understand his own actions. His eyes picked Damian apart like he was looking for the fine print.

“You’re sure you don’t mind me?” Logan’s expression was completely open. He was looking for the truth and Damian didn’t think he’d be able to lie if he wanted to. It was a good thing he didn’t need to.

He smiled, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Oh. Ok,” Logan settled back into the couch but his eyebrows were still weaved together. Apparently his programs finished running because he suddenly turned to Damian, grinning brightly, “I’m glad.”

Damian smiled back. He was happy to see Logan with that sparkle back, if a little confused as to how he had caused it, “You’re glad... I don’t mind you?”

Logan nodded, “Some people think I’m a little strange.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Damian winced and tried to rush out his next words, “Not, like, I think you’re strange- I think you’re really cool. I just mean people think I’m strange too.”

Damian swore he could map constellations in the stars floating in Logan’s eyes, “You think I’m cool?”

He shrugged, “I mean, yeah. You always seem to have it all together and you have determination and goals and it’s so obvious that you’re going to reach them. That passion is rare to see any more. I mean, I don’t have any of that. You don’t know how much I looked up to you in that class.”

Logan blinked at him like a deer in headlights for a moment before he began frowning, “But you’re incorrect.”

Damian looked up from where had been trying to see how much champagne was left in the bottle, “What do you mean?”

“You obviously have passion. You always had points to bring up during discussions and it was clear you had deep interest in the topics. You don’t know how in awe of you I was. You always found the least likely angle to take and still managed to make a convincing argument,” Logan took the bottle out of Damian’s frozen hands and took a drink, “It was art.”

Damian opened his mouth but all memory of speech had escape him. He looked away, trying to find something safe to stare at while he tried to gather his thoughts. His head was full of fragments, dulled glass shards that floated through fog and bumped against the edges of his mind. It hurt to try to put them all back together into one piece.

So Logan had noticed him in that class. And had remembered him; quite clearly it seemed. Except the way he was talking... nobody had ever spoken to Damian that way before. He was tempted to ask Logan if he had mistaken him for someone else.

He found his eyes wandering down to the space between them. More accurately, he was staring at how little space there was between them. When Logan had sat down the second time, he had done so right next to Damian. Like, right next to him. Now their legs were pressed together, hips and knees bumping together every time one of them shifted. Damian marveled at the fact that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Damian?” He looked up into Logan’s concerned face. God, they were so close, “Are you ok? Your eyes kinda glazed over.”

Damian laughed. It sounded breathy and far away, “Yeah, I’m good.”

From another room, someone started yelling, “LAST 15 MINUTES OF THE YEAR!!”

Logan squinted down at his watch before glaring in the direction of the voice, “There’s only five minutes left.”

Damian chuckled, watching the lines of Logan’s frown as he grimaced at the sea of people around them. There was something endearing about the blunt disdain Logan had for the idiots around them. It was nice to know he didn’t fit into that group, that he had- by some miracle- managed to fit into Logan’s bubble.

“So... you usually celebrate New Years like this?” Logan had suddenly become quite fidgety, wringing his hands in his lap. Damian tried to ignore it. He was having a hard enough time working on his own thoughts; he couldn’t even begin picking apart Logan’s thoughts.

Damian shook his head, “You mean a party? Nah, I usually don’t even celebrate. What about you?”

“Same. I don’t generally go to parties at all.”

Ah, so Damian’s original impression had been correct, “So what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Logan deftly avoided the question with a smirk. Damn, he was good at this.

Damian rolled his eyes, “Some friends dragged me here. Now you tell me what a straight-laced nerd like you is doing in a place like this.”

Logan snorted, “Don’t remember the last time anyone described me as straight- anything.”

“What?”

“What?”

Damian wanted to shake his head like a dog getting out of water. Maybe then, the pieces would fall into some sort of pattern he could recognize. So Logan wasn’t straight. Why did that make him so happy?

He ran his hands through his hair and tried to gain some composure, “Ok, so what is someone like you doing in a place like this?”

Logan looked out across the crowd, his mouth a tight line. On the other side of the room someone took a running start and flung themselves on a pool table that had currently been in use. The thing cracked in half.  

“I was-,” Logan paused, hands tapping quickly against his leg, “-convinced.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, “I’ve never heard someone talk so ominously about going to a party; what is that even supposed to mean?”

Logan winced. His hands were doing full cardio now, clenching into fists over and over again, “I was told someone was going to be here. I just really wanted the chance to talk to him again.”

“But you’ve only talked to me.”

“Yes,” Logan gave him that stare again like Come on, dude, the puzzle pieces are right there- just put them together. He rubbed his eyes in his hands, “Maybe this was a mistake. I didn’t mean to get you drunk. I thought you’d still be able to figure out-“

Click.

Damian’s mouth fell, “Wait, I’m the one you wanted to talk to?”

Logan gave him a small smile. It was the first time Damian had seen him look unsure of himself, “Well, yeah.”

“Oh,” Damian’s head was swimming. He could have blamed it on the champagne or how late it was or the way the lighting had began strobing, flickering between bright neon shades. But he knew that wasn’t it. He couldn’t lie this time- not even to himself.

Logan’s eyes were wide, staring into Damian. Not into his eyes- him. It was unnerving in the best way possible. The shifting light played across his irises, making them every colour of the rainbow.

“Is that ok?”

Logan’s voice startled him back to the present. He had leaned forward, supposedly to be heard above the shouting that had started. Amongst all of the raised voices, Logan’s had only gotten lower. His breath played against Damian’s ear.

Damian looked up, startled slightly but smiling, “Yeah, yeah, that’s good. That’s great.”

Logan smiled, “Yeah? Great?”

He was definitely leaning forward.

Damian huffed out a sigh but smiled even wider, “Shut up. I’m pretty sure you’re drunk.”

Logan scoffed, “And you’re not? You’re a total lightweight.”

“Shut up.”

“TEN!”

The entire house shook as the ridiculous number of students began screaming in unison

“You know, it’s also tradition to kiss someone on New Years,” Logan looked infuriatingly smug.

“NINE!”

Damian usually hated this part, everyone around him creating one huge voice- everyone but him.

Damian raised an eyebrow, “Are you asking to kiss me?”

“EIGHT!”

What he always hated most was the way the entire world seemed to be celebrating- without him. The whole damn planet filled with joy for one tiny moment and he could never figure out why.

Logan smiled like the Cheshire Cat- except the Cheshire Cat had just won the lottery, “Maybe.”

“SEVEN!”

At this point, his heart rate usually would have been spiking, feeling the pressure of “new opportunities” pressing all their expectant eyes on him.

Damian laughed, “Did you come over to talk to me just so you could get a kiss tonight?”

“SIX!”

There was always a part of Damian that would scorn him for not being happy, question why he had turned out to be such a sad, useless lump while everyone else was happily looking forward to the future.

“No,�� Logan set his jaw like a stubborn toddler, “I came over here to talk to you so I could get a kiss from you tonight.”

“FIVE!”

No matter what he did, the New Year would plague him. His whole apartment complex would rattle as chanting counted down. The first hours of the year would often find Damian wandering through empty streets, desperate to escape the celebration.

Logan slid his hand onto Damian’s knee, “So can I? Kiss you?”

“FOUR!”

The whole event was just one monstrous reminder. It was an ugly mar on the calendar that whispered Look at all the things you’ve ruined. Look at how far you’ve fallen. Look at how little your future holds.

Damian nodded dumbly. His heart was pounding in his ears.

“THREE!”

New Year made him think of his parents. He always put on a bright mask for them, feeding them lies of empty aspirations and opportunities that didn’t exist. How would they feel to know their son was barreling headfirst into a dead end?

Damian was learning he didn’t need alcohol; Logan was intoxicating enough. The shine in his eyes, the self-satisfied tug to his lips, the way he kept getting closer and closer- it made Damian’s thoughts slow to a halt and everything around him lose focus.

“TWO!”

Every year, the day after would be exactly like the day before. Everyone else seemed to be determined to make themselves better. As much as he searched, Damian could never find the ways to change. New Years was usually taunting, reminding him that he would always be broken and would never be able to fix himself.

Logan’s hands played across his chest, smoothed over his shoulder, ran through his hair. His eyes found Damian’s soul. Damian couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“ONE!!”

Damian had always hated New Years.

Logan leaned all the way forward and his lips were on Damian’s. It was deeper than Damian was expecting, both of their mouths slightly open. Logan kept surging forward with his whole body, destroying the few inches left between them. Damian happily followed his lead, mindlessly falling into synchronous rhythm as Logan kept moving his lips. Except it wasn’t just his lips; Logan kissed with his whole body. He leaned against Damian and his hands were always roaming, leaving little touches as they danced over Damian’s body.

Sure, Damian had kissed other guys before. But he was pretty sure this was the first time anyone had kissed him.

One of Logan’s hands found its way to Damian’s face. His fingers tapped lightly across his birthmark. Damian remembered the kids who stared without shame, the eyes that would dart away as soon as they saw him, the way he could never hold a conversation without his birthmark joining as an unwanted guest star. Logan hadn’t done any of that. Damian had no words to describe what that man was but he liked it.

Damian broke away, completely out of breath. He had no idea how long they had been kissing- it could have been hours for all he knew- but his lungs didn’t have the same luxury of losing track.

Logan’s chest was heaving as it pressed against Damian’s side. His eyes were wide and glazed, staring a million miles away.

“Hey, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes regained their sharp focus. He smiled brightly, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“You’re a dork. But really,” Damian sighed, “thank you.”

Logan gave him a puzzled smile, “What for?”

“I’m pretty sure this is the first New Year I’ve ever actually enjoyed,” Damian snuggled himself closer to Logan, smiling when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders.

Logan spoke with measured, careful words, “If you like, we could, you know, make our own New Years tradition out of this.”

Damian could feel his eyelids falling and rising every time he blinked like the great velvet currents of a theatre. They were heavy and he was warm and his head was a vague haze. He yawned widely and wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist, “I don’t think we have to wait until New Year to do this again.”

He fell asleep listening to Logan stuttering out some happy response. Maybe New Years wasn’t so bad.

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist just send me an ask or reply to this post :p 

~ @phan-fander @abi-beehive ~

[writing-the-end]

WS Chapter 55- Rallying Cry

Previous Chapter

Masterpost

Only five more chapters before the end! It’s so close, and it’s be such a wonderful ride with Red and Ecto, I couldn’t have asked for better people to collab with! And all of you, reading and commenting! That’s why i wanted to do this minesona event, was for you all to be a part of the ride as you already are!

Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block

Bre belongs to @mintyhotchocolate​

Star belongs to @thatonewannabedragon​

Perri belongs to @hyperfixatingparrot​

Pierre belongs to @cabbagesenpai​

“Why are dark oak forests so big?” This is the second time Ecto has found herself within the dark shadows of the massive oak trees. She’s lost among the enormous mushrooms, but at least she doesn’t have to worry about creatures of the night in this one. It’s a little sparser, more mushrooms and the trees are more variable in height. Lilacs grow in large bundles at the base of roots, fungi as large as the trees that shelter them from the sunlight. 

Doesn’t stop the rich forest from being hot. And not the kind of hot that Ecto likes. That dry heat that the desert brings- no, this is warm and wet. Sticky, the sunlight warming the dew from the morning and suspending it into the air. Ecto unscrews her water bottle, whimpering as she discovers it’s already empty. She forgot to refill it last time. 

Looking around, she spots a stream trickling through the forest, and follows it to a rocky ledge. The cool water falls free from the creek bed, showering across mossy rocks and blooming flowers before continuing downstream. Ecto doesn’t bother to check how safe the water was- it was better than no water, especially with as sweaty as she feels. She thrusts her bottle under the falling stream, listening to droplets of water trickle across the metal like a bell. It sounds like someone laughing. 

Someone is laughing. Ecto doesn’t change her body language, but she reminds herself where her sword is. Paranoia creeps over her, feeling the sensation of being watched. A hellspawn is near. The green foliage shifts and stutters as a footstep slips against the moss, and Ecto reels around. Dropping her bottle and unsheathing her weapon. “Oh! Oh- oh dear, I didn’t mean to scare you!” 

It’s not a hellspawn. Her hair is dark brown, eyes blue and panicked beneath the flower crown resting on her head. Definitely not a hellspawn. But as Ecto looks over the stranger as she slips trying to get up, she notes the potion bottles and books at her hips. Eventually, the girl gives up, and opalescent dragonfly wings spread open. She lifts herself up, brushing off the dirt on her shorts. Ecto lowers her blade. “Are you an alchemist?” She remembers what Kai scolded her about last time. “I’m Ecto, by the way.” 

“I’m called Bre, and yes- I make potions. Do you need some? I’d be happy to help.” Bre offers a gentle smile, rocking on her heels and pulling out a variety of potions. She begins to list off the properties of each, potions Ecto didn’t even know existed. 

“Actually, I think there’s more ways you can help me and my friends.” Ecto picks up her half empty bottle, screwing it shut and inviting the fae to listen to her spiel. 

___________________________________________

Avon flies above the roofed forest, the thick canopy is like another layer of grass, and the trunks are roots rather than branches. Beneath Avon, she holds tight onto Jessie. The little dragonet has her wings out, trying to gain some understanding with flying. Her chirps are beginning to deepen into growls and roars. She’s getting bigger by the day, and her wings are strong enough to take her weight. 

But Avon doesn’t know when the baby needs to be let go. When to take away her hands, and trust Jessie to keep up her own weight. That her black wings, massive for her body size as she grows, will hold her up. That she’ll know how to push against the air to maintain flight. She’s been watching Avon long enough. Avon didn’t have anyone to learn like Jessie does. People wished she’d fall when she’d jump from roofs. Hope she’d break her neck and be gone. But she learned to fly all the same. Jessie deserves more than that. 

Jessie tips her ears to the side, blinking glowing purple eyes as she hears something. “Hey, what are you doing?” Avon questions, struggling to keep hold of the dragonet as her black wings beat against Avon’s arms. Avon has to hover midflight, her own wings cresting and curving to keep hold. “Stop it Jessie! You’re going to fall!” 

The little dragon chitters and growls, before finally slipping free from Avon’s grip. She opens her wings wide, and claws dig into the leather of Avon’s gloves as she leaps free. But rather than fall- Jessie flies. Black wings spread wide, catching the air and letting her soar across the sky. A few nervous flaps shake and stutter along, but she dips low. 

And Avon realizes Jessie isn’t flying alone. Another creature is flying beside Jessie. Another dragon, elongated and without wings, about as large as Jessie. The noodle dragon dips into the canopy, disappearing among the leaves. Jessie dives after it, crashing through branches. Avon follows, unwilling to let Jeane’s daughter get lost.

If landing in a normal forest was hard, a roofed forest was impossible. Wings are caught in branches and twigs, until Avon collapses to the ground beneath the trees. She sits up as soon as she hears another voice. A soft song whispers across the forest, and Avon snaps her head around to find it’s source. 

A lanky person sits with Jessie, black and grey freckled fingers petting down Jessie’s spines. Tufted blue hair spikes outward, with the noodle creature resting on a black hoodie. They look up, a short gasp escaping the stranger’s lips as they lay eyes on Avon. “Is...is she yours?”  They peer closer, eyes wide. “You have dragon wings!” 

“Uh, yeah?” Avon isn’t sure someone’s ever had a positive reaction towards her wings. But this person seems shy but curious about her. 

“I’m sorry… it’s been years since I’ve seen an ender dragon. I thought they went extinct here as well. I’m Star, and what a cute dragonet!” They pick up Jessie, who squeaks and gains an ego with such praise. 

Avon bites her lip, sitting down next to Star. They don’t seem dangerous, or at least not someone who will cause a fight. “Jessie’s mom died, I’ve been taking care of her since the invasion.” 

“Invasion? Here too?” Star sighs. “Why don’t we have some lemonade and I can hear the story you have to tell?” 

______________________________________________

Red laughs as the parrot before her imitates the distant bark of a dog. It’s higher pitched, but close enough for her to believe it really is a puppy. The parrot then begins to imitate her laugh, which only makes her giggle even more. Soon, the entire forest is full of laughter. 

Red doesn’t know why more people don’t call the jungle home. This place is great! It’s so bright and green, with trees taller than he’s ever seen and rivers that wind through the biome at it’s own leisurely pace. The humidity wraps around him like the ocean, comforting and heavy as a blanket. 

“Alright, little birdies. I gotta keep on walking. Unless you know someone who can help me stop a massive army of fiery death?” Red stands up, stretching his arms over his head. 

“We know just the person!” Red jumps out of his skin as the parrots respond. Not just imitate, but respond. 

“You guys can talk?” Red tilts his head, peering at the blue macaw in front of him. Watching for it to respond.

The bird squawks, but it’s mouth doesn’t say anything. But the voice returns. Rather, it’s behind Red. “They can’t, but this little birdy can!” 

Red sees blue feathers dance in the air as a bright figure leaps from the vines to the ground. A stunning array of greens, blues, and yellows welcome Red to the new person before him. Blue hair, feathery as the blue wings, curls around a small face. Just a little taller than Red, but shorter than Avon. “You aren’t a human? What are you?” 

“I’m a kipling! And I’m Red, by the way. Who am I talking to?” The person before him eases back, the antsy nerves returning to bouncy joy. 

“I’m Perri, nice to meet you Red the Kipling. What brings you to this neck of the jungle?” A parrot comes to rest on Perri’s shoulder, the two twittering a short conversation with one another. 

“I’m looking for people, friendly people who want to help me and my friends with something big.” Red hates knowing that he’s asking for people to help cause trouble, to fight for something they hardly understand. But they need the help. And maybe someone like Perri can help it be less deadly. 

Perri’s quick to catch onto Red’s change in emotions. She leans forward, tapping Red’s shoulders. “I’m sure whatever it is, I can do something. What’s the problem?” 

“There’s a fight coming.” Red can’t help but agree with Perri’s grimace at the word ‘fight’. She seems just as happy about a battle as Red. “But we can’t avoid it, unfortunately. We exhausted our attempts to. You don’t seem like the kind of person to get into a fight.” 

“No, I’m not.” Perri sighs. Red’s shoulders fall, and he starts to stand. To continue looking for someone to cause more damage. “But… maybe you guys could use someone to heal your wounds? I can do that.” 

“You want to help us? To save our world?” A nervous smile appears on Red’s cheeks. 

“I will do anything to protect what I care about.” Perri’s wings open as she stands. Ready for the fight, even if she won’t be on the front lines. 

___________________________________________

“We should avoid a village.” Avon whispers to Jessie, the dragonet taking off from her shoulder. Jessie has been near impossible to keep out of the sky since she learned to fly with Star’s familiar. They went separate ways, Star towards the hermits setting up camp while Avon continued her search. “They don’t really like dragons, Jessie. Trust me.” 

The baby dragon lands on  a branch of orange acacia wood, stretching perpendicular to the dry savanna grass. She looks so curious, so interested in seeing the town before them. Such innocence. Avon sighs, and turns around. 

Running right into the sturdy metal of an iron golem’s chest. Avon topples over, crying out as the lumbering beast towers over her. Avon pulls free her trident, putting it between herself on the ground and the looming sentinel. She didn’t think that golems wandered this far from villages! 

The golem sees Avon’s threat displays, and firmly presses it’s arms down onto Avon’s wings. Pinning her to the ground. She kicks out, swinging her trident to no avail. She doesn’t like golems, and they never like her. Jessie leaps from her perch on the tree, landing quite heavily on Avon’s chest. She opens her wings and lets out as fierce a growl a few-weeks old baby dragon can. 

“Rusty, no! That’s not how we greet visitors!” A voice shouts, followed by the clack of metal as someone appears. A pair of arms pushes the iron golem away from Avon, the golem listening to the person and letting go of Avon’s wings. She scoops Jessie into her arms, rolling backwards and away from the golem. Wings spread wide and trident at arm's length. “I’m so sorry, stranger, Rusty must’ve thought you were a phantom or something!” 

The golem’s friend turns around, offering a smile as warm as the savanna sun. Tanned dark skin stained with redstone dust and short hair mussed with the dust. Redstone alights and locks across the person’s legs, an advanced redstone contraption that Avon totally doesn’t understand. She knows nothing about redstone. She stands up, ignoring the friendly hand offered to her. “It’s not the first time a golem has attacked me, at least...err, Rusty was gentler.” 

“Are those wings real? Wait, hold on. I’m Pierre, what’s your name?” He smiles, waving to himself, his maroon waistcoat. 

“Avon, and yes.” She looks past him, watching as the golem lumbers back towards a home at the edge of the biome. Jessie leaps free, awing Pierre as she chases after the fox that appeared beside him. The two chirp and tussle beside Pierre and Avon. “Are you a redstone engineer?” 

“I like to think I am. I mean, I built these.” He shows off his redstone legs, proud of his handiwork. “What makes you ask, Avon?” 

“Would you be willing to help me and my friends with something?” Avon tilts her head, feathery blonde hair falling around her. 

“Depends on what it is, but I’m sure I can at least aid you and your friends. Why don’t you come rest up at my house, and we can talk about adventures?” Pierre nods his head towards the house. 

“I have a feeling there may be an opportunity for another adventure at hand, if you’re ready to protect your home.” Avon’s shoulders ease, watching the golem warily but following Pierre. Watching as the dragonet and fox  wrestle in the tall grass. Let’s hope Jessie doesn’t realize she has fire breath in this biome.