#we are ruined for the upteenth time

[1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt]

Mom: Want to watch The Wrath of Khan?

Me: Absolutely!

*Me, Mom, my partner, crying on the couch*

Me: Why do we do this to ourselves?

[jetblack4realz]

battle baths - jacaerys velaryon x reader

summary - jace runs off to fight the greens and you're left to clean up the wounds

word count - 3.7k

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"she doesn't understand! why won't she just trust me?" he shouted, running a hand through his hair as he sighed exasperatedly. you stayed laying in your bed, back propped against the headboard as you watched him with an apologetic smile.

"she's worried for you is all," you tried, earning another dramatic sigh from the prince.

"she needn't be. i am well-trained in both dragonriding and the sword, i would be perfectly fine on my own," he said.

"i know that, my love," you said. "but i think she fears your loss. if she were to lose you, after already losing luke... it'd ruin her. just as it would ruin me."

"and yet you still would allow me leave. you believe me capable to fight in this war, a fight for not just her throne, but mine as well," he said, looking to you with raised brows.

you hesitated, offering him a small shrug of your shoulders. "i have no doubts in your capabilities, jace. i cannot say that i would not be terrified if you left to fight, but i have enough faith in you that i could let you go. i understand the implications of your position and your desire to fight - it's the same as i."

"is she sending you with the dragonseed on the morrow?" he asked. "will you and baela be flying against the greens? she wouldn't divulge her intentions for you."

you sighed deeply, leaning further into the headboard. "i am tasked with the retrieval of my father. your mother believes that i have the best chance at staying his hand and calling him home since apparently he left immediately after an altercation they had. and well, he wouldn't listen to baela."

"when did she tell you this?"

"just after supper. just before i came to bed," you hummed with a thin smile. "i leave in two days' time. i was wondering if you would like to accompany me?"

"i doubt she would even allow that. she was in shambles when she discovered my leave to the twins," he answered with a shake of his head. he let out another huff of angry breath. "she even sends you away and yet keeps me trapped here. what does she expect me to do? how does she expect me to become an honorable king when i cannot even fight for my own claim?"

"jace," you said finally, his eyes drawing to you with a desperate sort of look in them. you smiled softly, tilting your head as you looked at him. "we will figure out something to do; you will fight in this war. but, it is doing you no good to dwell on it now, we will find something in the morning. for now, come to bed. you need rest, love."

he sighed for the upteenth time, nodding in resignation. he slipped out of his boots, his night clothes already adorning his body, and stalked to his side of the bed, blowing out the only remaining candle in the room that rested on his nighttable. after sliding down so your head rested on the pillow once more, you drew his blankets for him and held your arms out.

instead of falling into your arms as you expected, he wrapped you in his own, causing yours to wind around his torso. he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lying on his back and causing you to lie halfway on top of him, legs intertwined beneath the thick blankets that winter required. his muscles soothed as your hand ran up and down his chest to his shoulders and neck and back down again, prompting him to relax.

"rest, my sweet," you mumbled, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. he breathed out through his nose, his eyelids fluttering closed as his hold on your waist tightened. he turned his head so it was next to yours, the pillow shifting as he nodded.

"you do too, okay?" he said softly, his fingers tracing circles on your nightdress-clad hip. "goodnight, my love."

"goodnight jacaerys."

--

the next morning you were awoken by the sun, a slight groan slipping from your lips as you rolled over in efforts to avoid the light. you pulled the blankets to your chin once more, scooting further down the bed to reach jacaerys.

except you soon found the edge of the bed - your husband wasn't there.

you sat up with furrowed brows, squinting your eyes to adjust to the light and see if he'd entered the bathroom, but he hadn't.

"jace?" you called out. "jace!"

in moments you were out of bed, a sinking feeling in your stomach. you quickly dressed in your riding clothes, tugging your boots on as you stumbled towards the door.

you raced to the dragonpit, ignoring the looks the maidservants were giving you as you passed them and waving off the guards as they called for you.

"vyraxes!" you called. "māzigon! adere! (come! quick!)"

you could hear your dragon moving through the mount, her loud screeches too similar to caraxes' bringing your heart to some semblance of ease. the red and gold dragon suddenly appeared in front of you, waiting patiently for you to mount the saddle. you were quickly to do so, offering her grateful pats before urging her forward.

"iksis vermax kesīr, ñuha riña? (is vermax here, my girl?)" you mumbled.

you flew through the caves and tunnels to where you knew the dragon normally rested, but you couldn't find him. you knew exactly where he was - and where he'd taken his idiot rider. you cursed under your breath as you returned to the landing. "i'm going to kill him."

--

during your time in harrenhal, you waited for word from him, or any word of how his and the dragonseeds' escapes were going. it seemed no one knew anything of their endeavors, though daemon was incredibly impressed with the young prince's defiant leave of station.

"he needs to be on the battlefield," he'd told you as you walked through the cursed halls, the sounds of his armies training echoing through the stone corridors. "he's the crown prince - knowledgable of both the sword and the dragon."

"father, i know," you answered. "that's not my problem. i agree he needs to be out, but i simply need to know if he's alright. and next time, i need him to tell me where he's going before he goes."

daemon laughed. "of course, young one. keep the reigns on your husband."

"not reigns, just communication," you answered with a roll of your eyes. you eyed the soldiers filling the courtyard as they trained, their movements sloppy and unpracticed as they fought one another. "no offense, but i do not wish for him to end up as you - running off out of the blue with no word to your wife of where, why, or when you'll be home."

he considered your words with a nod, hands clasped over his sword. "yes, i wish that for you as well. i reckon it worries you so."

"it does. and though i know exactly where he is, with those blasted dragonseed and baela, i would have preferred him to tell me. i trust in his abilities, but if something were to happen and he not come home? i haven't said goodbye," you said, tone solemn as you continued on with your father. your words rendered him silent as he mulled them over, coming to a realization himself.

"return to dragonstone. bring word to rhaenyra that i have an army for her and that we intend to march in a few days. i will attempt to return to her before then, and there we will speak," he said finally.

your eyes flashed to the man, a soft smile pulling at your lips. you paused in your steps, hand reaching out to rest on his forearm. "you do have a heart, kepa," you hummed with a light laugh. "i'll tell her. thank you."

he sighed deeply, giving you a reluctant smile before pulling you into a hug. "you're welcome. i expect to see you on the battlefield next to the prince here soon. i've trained you accordingly."

"i know. perhaps you can convince the queen to allow me upon your arrival. and maybe argue for jace's case as well - i imagine she is not pleased."

"no, i doubt she is," he sighed, stepping back but keeping you an arm's length. he smiled at you again, a fatherly smile that always eased your heart as a child and continued to do so now. "i will ensure you are entered into the fight. it would not be wise to keep vyraxes hidden away when she could be a fiercesome foe to vhagar."

"she's not that big yet," you said with furrowed brows.

"no, but if it is her and vermax against the beast you'll likely win. she's already injured from meleys' attack," he answered, nodding encouragingly. a small smirk pulled at one side of his mouth. "or you and i could have a go at the old hag. our win would be inevitable."

"i'll await your arrival then," you said with a small laugh. "farewell, father. i will see you soon."

"yes. be safe," he said, letting go of your shoulders and nodding to where your dragon was waiting on the outdoor cobblestone walkway that exited the castle, her scales gleaming in the sunlight.

"you as well," you wished him, offering him a curtsy and wave as you rushed towards your dragon. "māzigon va, riña (come on, girl)."

you mounted her quickly, ushering her into the sky with a clap of the reigns and a call of, "bē (up)!"

--

it was nearly a week before daemon arrived in dragonstone, the man rushing to his and rhaenyra's shared chambers and disappearing for hours before emerging again. you reckoned the queen was relieved at his appearance given the reaction she'd given you when you informed her of his intentions. you sat at a table in the dining hall, an old valyrian romance in your hands as you lounged. you missed the presence of joffrey and the two little boys at that moment, remembering the way they would beg you to read aloud or abandon the book altogether and join them in play. their absence, and their elder brothers', different may they be, were all reminders of the raging war surrounding your secluded island.

"she received word a few nights ago." you looked up quickly, brows raised as you lowered your book to look at your father fully. he stood in the doorway, one hand on the hilt of his sword as he watched you, nodding slowly. "they're to return as soon as they can. apparently things did not go to plan at riverrun and they need to recoup. i've convinced her to allow you to leave with them."

"and jace? is she going to send him out once more?" you asked, sitting up straighter. he offered a grim smile.

"yes. the prince will see battle again," he answered.

"good. thank you," you told him before suddenly furrowing your brow. "i'm sorry, did you say she heard of their return a few nights ago? and she did not inform me?"

he sighed deeply, glancing at the wall as if there was a script for him to read as an answer to your concerns. "jacaerys is... not in good condition. in the raven it was insisted upon that he was okay, but a second paper from baela implied his injury. she didn't want to worry you."

"didn't want to worry me? i could've gone out and helped, i could've retrieved him-"

"which is the exact opposite of what she needed you to do. your sudden appearance could have incited chaos and things were rough enough as it was. be patient, child, and he will return just fine," daemon said, brows raised as he cut you off.

"but-"

the doors were slammed open suddenly, two guards panting for breath entering as they looked to both you and the king consort. one of them swallowed hard, standing straighter.

"your graces, the dragonriders have returned."

you raced out of the room and down the hall, making your way back to the dragonpit in order to welcome them in. a rushing maester yelled your name as he passed, catching your attention.

"the prince is in your chambers. we are tending to his wounds now and i'm confident he would appreciate your company," the man told you. you offered him a grateful smile and turned on your heel, following him to your rooms.

when you entered, the first thing you noticed was how dirty, grimy, and bloody his skin and clothes were. there were small cuts adorning his hands, one scraping across the top corner of his forehead. his legs were covered in ash, his cloak charred at the ends as he laid on the bed, his face twisted in pain. you then noticed the gash across his abdomen that the maesters were picking at, carefully peeling his tunic and chest covering from the wound.

"jace," you breathed out, entering the room more fully and shutting the door behind you. the maesters barely spared you a glance before continuing with their work, finally removing the strips of cloth and beginning to clean the bloody, dirty, potentially infected cut with alcohol.

the prince grunted, eyes screwing up as he gripped the sheets tightly. you were at his side in a moment, opting for the opposite side of the maesters in order to stay out of their way. he instinctively reached out for you, taking your hand and gripping it tightly. he opened his eyes and offered you a lopsided, pained smile.

"hello, love," he said, his voice scratchy from too much use.

"what the hell happened to you?" you breathed out, brushing his hair from his face and looking over the cuts and bruises that were splattered on his skin. he shrugged lamely.

"war," he muttered. "we were ambushed in the night. i'm lucky i'm as good as i am with a sword or else i'd be dead."

"is baela okay?" you asked worriedly. you had fond memories of swordfighting with your father in the training yard, but baela had no part in any of them. her and rhaena spent most of their time with their mother, laena, and you reveled in your time with daemon. with this caused you worry - baela had no experience in the sword. had she made it out?

"she'd been keeping watch on moondancer," he answered shortly, wincing as the maesters began pressing a balm into his raw skin. "she's perfectly fine."

"thank the gods," you breathed out. you looked at him with a gentle look, worry evident in your gaze. "are you going to be alright?"

"i'm fine, love," he said, feigning a smile before the maesters touched a particularly sore spot and he squeezed your hand, eyes shutting quickly as he breathed out sharply. when he looked back at you, the dishonest smile returned. "just fine."

the maesters continued their work as you sat with him in silence, simply running your thumb over the back of his hand soothingly and letting him rest. once he was suitably wrapped, the men stood, looking to you and your husband.

"we will send for the maidservants to bathe you. do not worry for the safety of the wrappings, they can be wetted and they will dry quickly. you must get much rest tonight, your highness, and drink water. i will be back on the morrow to change the bandages," the maester who had led you here said, nodding to you both.

"no need to send for the servant girls," you told him, offering a thankful smile. "i can handle it. thank you for your services."

"of course. goodnight, your highnesses," he said, all three bowing before exiting your chambers.

you looked to your husband, smiling softly as he looked back at you.

"do you want to bathe now, or would you like a few moments?" you asked. he sighed deeply, shaking his head.

"no, let's get it done with," he said.

"alright, my love. wait here and i will ready the bath."

he kept his eyes train on your figure as you filled the tub with hot water that had been left at the door, sprinkling soothing salts into it and gathering the vanilla scented soaps that had been gifted him by a woman from dorne at his last name day. you stood straight again, looking to him with a confused smile.

"what?" you asked, tilting your head. "why do you stare?"

"i missed you these last days," he told you.

your smile softened, turning almost sad as you approached him, offering him your hands for him to rise. he did as you requested, swinging his legs slowly off the edge to begin standing, your proximity awfully close as he did so. "i missed you too, jace."

you led him carefully to the bath, having him hold the edge for stability as you assisted him in undressing. you tried not to stare at his body too much, but you were not blind to the smirk that pulled at his lips as you examined his toned chest and arms. you set the bloodied clothes to the side and held his arm as he stepped into the bath.

you pulled the stool to your vanity to the edge of the tub, sitting behind him with the soaps at your side. you poured some into your hand, dipping your fingers into the water at his side before lathering it in your hands. once sufficiently bubbly, you began rubbing it over his shoulders and arms. you took extra care around the small cuts by his neck and scrubbed at bit of dried blood and ash on his chest.

"you have to tell me before you leave," you told him as his head rolled back in contentment, your fingers beginning to work the knots out of his shoulders. "i knew where you'd gone, yes. but i was worried sick. i'd like to wish you off next time."

"mother said you will be with me next time," he answered, turning his head enough to glance at you. you continued to knead his tense muscles, watching as his stress visibly left his figure and eased his features. "i am glad to have you at my side, though i have to admit my worries for you as well. i apologize for not telling you - i thought you would be scared for me and that maybe if i left without your knowing i'd ease you of some of that burden. i realize now that it likely made it worse."

"it did," you answered, hand cupping as you dipped it into the water and rinsed off his shoulders. once that was finished, you began wetting his hair, turning his face forward again. "but, i understand that you thought it would help. it will be better when we go off together. we'll be able to protect one another."

"that would ease my worries," he hummed as you began massaging more soaps into his hair. "being able to watch over you."

"mine as well," you said. your fingers worked expertly through his curls, rubbing circular motions on his scalp and scraping it gently with your fingernails the way you knew he enjoyed.

"your a godsend, my sweet wife," he said, nearly moaning at the sensation of your head scratches. you giggled.

"you will surely sleep well tonight," you told him.

"yes, i will," he agreed, leaning back into your touch even more. you took extra time as you washed his hair, continuing the scalp massage for much longer than normal. his eyes were closed when you finally moved to rinse it out, his breathing becoming more shallow. you laughed quietly to yourself as you rinsed all the soap from his curls, before returning your fingers to his shoulders. you leaned around and pressed a kiss to his cheek, whispering in his ear, "wake up, love. let's get you to bed."

he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut before sitting up fully again. you offered him a hand as he stepped out, grabbing a towel off the dresser and beginning to wrap him in it. you helped him dry off and then to change into his sleep clothes, grabbing the silkiest tunic as to not bother his skin.

"i'll go without," he told you, shaking his head as you offered it to him. "just some trousers, please."

you smiled slightly as you followed his request, the boy slipping the trousers up his legs before following you to your large bed. you realized quickly that the sheets were stained with his blood and char.

"allow me," he said, beginning to strip the bed of its covers. he moved with surprising ease, the only change in his posture being an awkward bend at the waist.

"thank you, my prince," you said, grabbing the fresh linens from a closet by the bed. he tossed the soiled ones at the base of the bed and helped you pull the new ones across the mattress. after placing the final blanket, you began blowing out the candles, but before you could reach the last one, jace grabbed your arm.

"what is it?" you asked, looking up at him. he shrugged, smiling softly.

"i'd just like to kiss my wife in the light," he said, pulling you towards him and pressing his lips firmly to yours. instinctively, you tilted your head, allowing him to capture you in a breathless kiss that reemphasized his being gone for weeks. you really had missed him.

your hands raked through his wet curls, his finding a home on your waist as he kissed you again and again and again. finally, after you began giggling into his mouth, he removed himself from you with a cheeky grin. he pecked your lips again.

"alright. time for bed."

you blew out the last candle slipped under the covers, jacaerys immediately turning over to wrap you securely in his arms, your own being careful of the wound at his side.

"thank you, my love," he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "goodnight."

you sighed contentedly, leaning into his embrace and pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

"goodnight, love."

[ode-to-fury]

By Firelight

Pairing: Gale/Tav (pre relationship denial)

Summary: Gale can’t sleep, and he’s not… happy about Tav being up, but he’s not not happy about it. (I.e. I was trying to practice my showing not telling and I actually quite liked it)

Gale turned over for the upteenth time before huffing out a frustrated breath. Damn his godsforsaken back to the hells. No matter the position he attempted to lie in, something hurt. His bedroll was hardly a bulwark against the cold, hard, frankly unfathomably rocky ground.

He knew in reality it was the orb. It was always the orb. The artifact that Tav had given him had helped. Slightly. Not enough.

His ears were still ringing faintly, and if he lay still too long it felt as though he spun through the space behind his eyes, which reminded him far too much of nights as an apprentice after the Yawning Portal. The muscle spasms hadn’t quite started yet, but they would. He was all too aware they would. His cure was no cure anymore, and it worried him. Greatly.

To add insult to injury, he was perfectly aware he could probably conjure himself a comfortable featherbed.

He was also perfectly aware that such an act would expose him to enthusiastic and earnest ridicule from the rest of their merry little band.

He huffed once more, and decided he would give up for the night and try and read for a while. He grabbed the first book he could find in the darkness of his tent and crawled out through the flap.

It was a dark night tonight. The moon was only a small sliver amongst the stars, and occasional clouds obscured even that faint light.

The fire was crackling merrily, and Tav sat with her back to the stone in the middle of their camp, staring at the dancing flames. There was the small line of a frown between her brows, and Scratch lay with his head pillowed on her lap, her fingers absently scratching behind one upright ear.

He cleared his throat so he wouldn’t startle her, and her grey eyes flicked to him, then back at the fire.

“I was under the impression you’d already taken your watch earlier this evening,” he said.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she replied shortly. “Thought I’d let Wyll get some more rest instead of both of us being awake.”

“Very prudent of you.”

He groaned as he sat down next to her, leaning back against the rock. It was cool, which was soothing against the aching in his back.

She glanced sideways at him, then back at the flames. From here, he could only see one corner of her mouth, a faint scar trailing along her jaw. He found himself wondering how she’d gotten it. Scratch reached out his nose to sniff at Gale’s hand, then, when he had determined there was no immediate threat, returned to being pampered.

He was glad, selfishly, that she had told Wyll to go back to sleep. He… he enjoyed her company. Was glad of it tonight. It seemed to him, no matter how bleak their circumstances appeared to be, when she grinned her crooked grin, that everything would end up perfectly fine.

“What book?” She asked after a while. Gale started slightly, realizing he’d been sitting there with the book unopened for too long.

He cleared his throat.

“A treatise on the crafting of magic shields and the various attributes of each different type,” he said. “I found it in that ruined temple we explored, though I haven’t yet found the time to study it. Of course, there are quite a few thoughts in the school of abjuration on various magic shields and their uses, and then you have the regional differences, I mean- if you’ve ever read a text originating from Amn and the wizards there you’ll find they approach the entire concept differently from even the beginning of spellcasting when compared to here or even Calimshan. Though the Calishite school again has other ideas on the concept but the point I was trying to make is how region and even regional ways of thinking can influence- “

He stopped when he realised she was looking at him with a small smile on her face.

“What?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, jerking her head toward the fire. “I- I suppose I always thought a shield was a shield.”

He laughed.

“Believe me," he said, grinning, “Many an apprentice thought the same thing before our first abjuration lesson at Blackstaff.”

She looked over at him, frowning, then shook her head.

“You’ve never had any instruction?” He asked.

“Would it make a difference?” She asked sharply.

He held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“A simple question. In fact, I think it’s very impressive you’ve managed so much with no education, especially given the volatile nature of your magic. There was one sorcerer in my class at Blackstaff, but he was of a draconic line, and to my understanding their magic is much less erratic than some other origins’.”

She was still frowning at him.

“Sometimes,” she said slowly, “I can’t tell whether you’re giving me a compliment or not.”

He winced.

“I assure you,” he said, somewhat apologetically, “It was intended as one.”

He tried for a sheepish smile.

“I’m afraid I’m out of practice.”

One of her eyebrows lifted.

“At compliments?”

“Partly.”

He realised they were moving into dangerous territory, and if she asked any further questions he would not have answers for her. He- he didn’t want to tell her about the orb, or Mystra. Asking for artefacts had already somewhat broken her trust in him.

It was… nice. To have a friend. Besides Tara, of course. Though Tav was much less of a nursemaid than Tara was. Between the two of them he’d never be short on scathing remarks, however. Or stubbornness. For the time being, he would pretend as though he was not a shell of his former self, merely until he had found a different way of sating his arcane hunger. Then he would cease being a burden or a liabillity to her and the others.

“I’ve had… some instruction,” she said, snapping him back tot he present. “Over the years, whenever I liked a spell someone cast, or needed to learn something for survival. Other things just happened naturally, like throwing up a shield the first time an arrow came firing at me.”

He watched as firelight flickered across her face. Her nose was turned upward, and he found himself tracing the slope of it with his eyes.

“And summoning a cow to drop from the sky?”

She tried and failed to hide a grin as she shot him a look. A deep dimple appeared in her cheek. He’d never met anyone with dimples before her. Such an endearingly human imperfection.

“That doesn’t count,” she said. “I didn’t do that on purpose.”

He shook his head.

“It took me two months to work out how to summon a tressym,” he said.

“In this world, Gale, there are people with talent,” she lay a hand on her chest, “And people without.”

She looked at him pointedly, and he burst into laughter.

Again, she watched him with that small smile, and he found himself returning it.

“If it makes you feel any better, my father was livid.”

He shrugged.

“My mother was not much better, but she forgave me eventually, I suppose. And let me keep the tressym.”

She snorted softly.

“Good for you.” Her gaze returned to the flames, and he realised he might have touched on a sensitive subject.

“You still owe me the rest of that story, you know,” he nudged her arm with his elbow, regretted it immediately when she tensed.

“You still owe me that drink to go with it,” she said. He did not miss that she moved away from him slightly.

“I could, ah, read to you,” he found himself saying, if only diffuse the tension he had just created. “If you wish. Though the book may be out of date by several decades, if not centuries, based on the penmanship alone.”

She grimaced, looking over at the book he held as though she was looking at a particularly unpleasant bug.

“A treatise? On magic shields?” She asked.

“Forgive me,” he said, feigning understanding, “I could also explain some of the more foreign concepts, as your lack of education would be a hindrance.”

She rolled her eyes at him, and only the faintest shadow of a dimple showed in her cheek.

“I normally prefer different books.”

“Different?”

“More interesting?”

“More interesting than an ancient academic treatise on shields?” He asked in mock outrage.

She rolled her eyes at him.

“I like adventure stories,” she said finally. “You know, where the valiant prince rescues the maiden in distress, or vanquishes a dragon, or two young lovers have to stand up to their families.”

He grinned.

“You didn’t strike me as the type.”

“No?”

“No. You seem far too cynical to be caught up in any adventures that are not your own.”

“Well,” she said, shrugging, “Looks can be decieving.”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she looked at him, just for a second, and a dimple showed again as she gave him another crooked grin. So different from the cynical adventurer he had met but a week ago.

“I suppose they can be,” he said softly, and found that he was grinning back at her again.

She looked back at the fire, and Gale cleared his throat slightly, feeling suddenly as though he shouldn’t be looking at her at all.

“You can read to me,” she said. “If you’d like. Believe it or not, I like learning. About magic especially.”

She shrugged.

“If anything it will make the time go more quickly.”

So Gale did.

And later, just before dawn, when her head drooped onto his shoulder he told himself he didn’t think much of it, and that she was simply tired.

He let her sleep, however, without complaint, savouring the first friendly touch he’d felt since she’d pulled him from that rock, and realised that he had forgotten to worry about the orb since the moment he’d set eyes on her.

[lol-jackles]

It was listed on multiple sites during the release of S3 of The Boys, that Jensen took home $800,000 for the entire show. Since most tend to believe those sites more than tumblr gossip bloggers, I'm guessing that is why people are doubting you. The other interesting fact is when you state that Jared made $300K for Walker? Aside from your cute little blog, no one in the actual industry is reporting that. It may be true, but I doubt you have any real knowledge, as Jared doesn't call you personally to review his contracts. Then again, maybe he does.

Where are these "multiple sites" you speak of? Why is it every time Anons claim there are many sources saying this and saying that about Jensen, they never pony up the sources? I've been asking for sources from y'all for years! And if their source comes from a single website called celebrity networth, it's useless because they use "proprietary algorithm" for estimating networth and salaries and have exactly zero accountability for providing accurate numbers and often inflate the numbers as click baits. Actors have debunked the site's inflated claims on their own accounts.

"The other interesting fact is when you state that Jared made $300K for Walker?"

Did you ever wonder why the Successions actors were able to negotiate pay raise from under $100,000 per episode to $300,000 per episode by the 3rd season even though the show was only getting about 550K people watching its Sunday nights episode?

"It may be true, but I doubt you have any real knowledge,"

Just read my posts in the "salary" tag going back to 2017. Boy did I piss people off! Until the 2023 SAG-AFTRA strike happened when actors showed off their pitiful residuals and revealed their low streaming salary and reiterate that actors with regular job on broadcast network shows still get high salaries under the old systems. All this confirmed what I've been saying on my cute little blog for 6 years leading up 2023. You, little Anon, is just the upteenth pre-2023 Anons in my Askbox frothing in the mouth that I ruined their fantasies that their favorite actors were not being paid the worth they think they should be paid.

How this industry conduct business hasn't changed for the past 25 years when I was in the thick of it (What I did in Hollywood and why I left ) It's actually gotten worse for actors except for those in broadcast network shows. Until 2024, then those same actors had to agree to pay cap or pay cuts during the contraction era.

"Jared doesn't call you personally to review his contracts. Then again, maybe he does."

He doesn't. I just know how business affairs departments works and what actors' quotes are when they are of the same tier as Jared and Jensen. It's why we had a good laugh over the 2018 quote ban.

One of the reasons why I started my cute little Tumblr blog in 2016 was because my twitter account got deactivated in 2015 (X). for talking too much about BTS stuff. Clearly I didn't learn my lesson about not tagging shit and got my account deactivate again in 2021 (X). A few readers think I'm Kamran Pasha, who wrote for a few CW shows and also seen his twitter get deactivated for dishing too much BTS stuff.

Nobody cares about Tumblr because it can't be monetized and it doesn't have real influence (which is why Misha Collins let his tumblr blog rot), therefore blogs rarely get deactivated. It's why I'm here.

[sleepyboywrites]

Kinktober day 1: Uniforms |Lingerie | Evil Twin -Liu Woods/Sully Woods x GN!Reader

HAAAAPPPYYY Spooky month everyoneeeee!!! I hope you have a wonderful October~ I apologize if this is bad I don't normally write smut ""-v- (ps I procrastinated and didn't get ahead so I apologize if I fall behind in advance!! <33) without further ado~

~1,122 words, yayy

Why Liu wanted to do a prisoner and officer couples halloween costumes didn’t fully go over your head. You're acutely aware that he wanted to get frisky but what you didn't suspect was Sully coming in from work, instead of Liu. Sulking and irritated like he had just had to deal with the nuisances of an insect infestation, and seeing as you didn't really know his occupation, maybe he had.

“Bad day love?” You'd ask, walking over to him in your prisoner uniform halloween costume and taking off his hat, as your boyfriend’s more aggressive personality possessively clung to you and buried his head into your neck.

“Like you couldn't imagine I ran into Jeff… so we fought… again.” He'd snip against your skin, pinching your flesh between his teeth irritated and attempting to self soothe through nipping you.

“I'm sorry…”

You knew what Jeff had done to Liu, so it was no wonder now to why Sully was fronting, and you loved them both. You loved your boyfriend in his entirety. You gently stroke his hair, a soft frown on your face, as you place a kiss to his forehead feeling sad that he had to deal with the person who caused him so much pain and torment.

“mm looks like this prisoner could use some special treatment, yes?” He asks nipping at your neck. Color nearly immediately rose to your cheeks in realization of just how he wanted to let off steam with you. It wasn't surprising, they never wanted to hurt you, though Sully notably treats you rougher, in a way that slightly hurts even when it feels good. It's a weird mixture but it's nice, like he can't get enough of you, it feels like he needs you, like your air in his lungs and he won't let you go even if you begged, even if you ran. He makes you feel like you're his favorite person alive, his favorite little chew toy. Like a pretty sweet little thing for him to wear and ruin.

Not that that's all you are to

Sully and not that Liu doesn't make you feel like you're his favorite person alive, it's crystal clear with him. You're so much more than just sex to the both of them but with Sully it's easy to forget that despite his often cold, albeit equally clingy, demeanor, he still adores you, that’s until he's buried in your heat and leaving love bites all over your skin as claims. Then it's all you can think about. Well that and the way he smiles into your skin as you come undone beneath him for the upteenth time. Losing count of just how many times he's wrecked you until he has his fill and then some, until you can't necessarily move anymore.

“Yes?” He repeats, voice gruff and hot against your ear as he asks again. You would nod a bit dazed as your mind feels fuzzy. “I need you to use that pretty little mouth, prisoner~ yes or no?”

“Yes please officer, sir” You'd reply shakily, turning to face him and pressing a kiss to his lips sweetly.

Earning a growl from him as he takes your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Hey, don't get too sweet, *I* want to play tonight~ I *deserve* to play tonight, as a reward. I'm in charge right now aren't I, doll?”

“Yes sir.” You'd obediently respond as he picks you up, having you wrap your legs around his waist, his hands firmly on your ass, as he kisses your neck and carries you upstairs to your shared bedroom.

Kicking the door closed behind him, hoisting you up with one arm and locking the door with his free hand leaving a couple rather impressive love bites on your neck. Before pushing you onto the bed. Using the plastic handcuffs to pin your arms above your head to the headrest of the bed and positioning himself between your legs grinding his hips to slot perfectly against you through your clothes as much as the costume material allows. Until you press up against him back.

“Ah ah,” he reprimanded, “I call the shots. I'll take care of you but you have to be good, stay still.”

You found yourself wishing you had something to muffle a whine into as Sully continues to grind his hips against your sweet spot, littering your neck with bite marks, and ripping off your shirt for more places to leave love bites on. Giving you nothing more until a soft noise escapes you which is when he reaches into his pocket and he opens a bottle of lube, coats his fingers, and slides them under your pants waistline. Plunging them inside you to open you up for him. A guttural moan escapes you that he swallowed in a hungry, needy, kiss as he works you open with little patience but plenty of muscle memory care. Pressing against all the little spots that make you feel so good you whine if he dares to stop. Which he does, but only after you tremble in completion beneath him.

“mmm atta’ doll.~ I think you're ready~” he murmured against your skin as he kissed down your stomach and ripped off your bottoms and underwear. Before kissing back up to your lips and taking your lips in his teeth, kissing them, and then plunging himself deep into your warmth, swallowing the cry of surprise, pain, and pleasure that escapes you. “How many times in a row do you think I can make you cum? I know six is our current record, maybe we can up that to eight? Hmm?” He practically growls against your lips beginning to move his hips at just the right angle and speed to make sure you see stars over and over again.

Liu wakes you up with kisses on your shoulders and groans into your neck once he knows you've awoken. “I missed all the fun... ugh!” He grumbles into your neck in annoyance at himself.

“Good morning love and maybe just a bit, I still probably have a few rounds left in me, officer, if you'd like to offer me less time~” You'd tease softly, sweetly, as you turn to face your boyfriend placing a soft kiss to his lips.

“After Sully? King of greed? Gruff and Rough? Sex Demon? Baby you're still shaking. Tonight maybe, but not right now.” He replied just as lightheartedly kissing all over your face and lips before getting out of bed to make the two of you breakfast to share together while cuddled up in bed. To which you reminded him he's just as good through giggles and burrowing further under the covers at the absence of your lover's heat.

[shadedheart138]

Too Much Thinking Is Bad For My Health (Part Two)

Several hours had passed, and Wars hadn't woken. If anything, he'd gotten worse. Wind and Time refused to leave his side, Wind holding one of his hands and Time constantly checking and rechecking him over. Wind's sobs had long been quieted, but his eyes were red-rimmed and still teary.

Wars' breathing had stayed painfully shallow and he'd barely moved once. Hyrule had tried his magic, hoping to ease at least some of his brother's pain, but it hadn't touched the agony. Legend had pulled him back with a tired, remorseful expression on his face.

Four was curled up against Wild, still shaking and talking to themself. Their colors refused to be quiet. Twilight had taken to pacing, while Sky just watched with fear.

"Are ya sure 's hemlock?" Twilight asked, for the upteenth time.

"Yes, Twilight. It's hemlock." Time said quietly.

"Are you-" "Hush." Legend snapped. "We're worried enough as is, we don't need you pacing and fretting and driving us up the fucking walls. Sit down."

Twilight wrung his wrists and frowned deeply, before sitting down near Sky. He seemed ready to leap up at any given second, but at least he was sitting.

There was no known antidote for hemlock. At all. Even the tiniest amounts were fatal. Potions didn't touch it, no amount of Hyrule's healing magic was able to help, and even the fairy that brought him back didn't treat it.

They could only hope he didn't die again. They only had three fairies amongst them all.

XXX

That hope was short lived, and before the end of the night, they were down to two fairies. It was Time who was up and pacing now, just as frantic as Twilight had been. Wind had been corralled to sleep near Four and Sky, held tight to try and keep him soothed.

"Are there any Fairy Fountains nearby?" Time asked Twilight, voice wavering and cracking in the middle. He was grasping at straws, trying to find some sort of way to keep his brother alive and make him better.

He refused to lose Warriors.

"Not that I can recall. But we can always go lookin'. There ain't many that I can actually think of."

"Fuck." Time whispered under his breath, crouching to run his hand over Warriors' forehead, feeling the still-climbing fever. They really shouldn't move him. He was frail enough as it were.

"Do you have a map, by any chance?" Time's voice was even quieter, now that he was closer to Warriors.

"No. Usually didn't need one, anyhow. If we weren't so far from Ordon, I'd say we take him to th' spring. But that's about a day's walk, at our normal pace, from here. It would take more time than I reckon he has."

It would. In maybe six, seven hours, Warriors had needed two fairies. He was barely hanging on. They only had two left, so maybe they had about seven hours, eight if they pushed it, to get to the spring before they were out of them. But the spring was the only chance they had.

No one in camp was really asleep. It didn't take long for Time to have them up and aware.

"Let's pack up camp. Sitting here, waiting, none of it is going to do Warriors any good. He'll only get worse. Hyrule, Wild, while camp's being broken, can you go looking for fairies? If we're going to get to Ordon in any reasonable time at all, we're going to need more than just two."

Wild and Hyrule went off into the woods, for once without the intent of play or exploring.

Time settled down near Warriors, and started packing up his brother's things. A notebook, his pens. Time folded his scarf neatly, hands trembling. How many times had he himself been wrapped in it, when he'd had one nightmare too many, or was too sick to get out of bed? No matter how bitter he was, during the war, he'd loved this scarf almost as much as the owner of it. It was a comfort, even now, as Time ran his hands over it.

Time opened Warriors' bag a little more to fit the scarf, not wanting it to get ruined. There really was no other place for it, other than someone's hands or Warriors' neck. The bag was crammed full of things, and even though there was so much, it was neat and tidy.

Time pulled out a book, hoping taking it and putting it somewhere else would make room for the scarf. He caught a glimpse of the cover.

Old and worn, this was the book that Warriors had used to teach both Wind and Time how to read and write.

Time's eyes immediately teared, and he held it with a gentle grip. Why did Wars still have this old thing? At the bottom, in Warriors' scraggly handwriting - not neat like he would for war papers - were the words "The Good Ones".

Good what, exactly? Time opened the book, seeing the simple, childish shapes and letters. He smiled, and turned to a dog-eared page.

Oh.

So this was what he meant by the good ones.

The good memories, of the war. There were pages taped over pages and scribbles and drawings. Many of them were Time's own, when he'd barely known how to hold a pencil. Some of them were Wind's, when he was older, of Wars, of Mask, of the seagulls and the flowers and the things that reminded him of family. Of home. Some of them were Warriors', of a sleeping Mask and Wind, of Proxi, of Artemis. Pages of Wind learning how to spell. Pages of Mask learning how to draw a cat that didn't look like triangles.

Time didn't realize he was crying until a tear dropped onto a lovingly laminated page. He gently wiped it, then his own eyes. He tucked the book back where it belonged, in Warriors' pack. The scarf could be held. It didn't need to get shoved in here, unorganizing things Warriors clearly had in certain places. Time got up, zipping up the pack.

Time made his way over to Wind, who was folding up his bedroll.

"Here. Can you hold onto this?" Time asked, holding out the scarf. Wind's eyes widened. "Are you sure? I- I don't-" "It won't fit in his bag, and I won't have the hands to carry it. Please."

Wind took it in shaking hands and just sort of looked at it. He hadn't lived the war yet. This version of him was still fourteen, hadn't seen everything that he and Mask could get up to. Hadn't seen Warriors two years before now, commanding an army. But he'd naturally gravitated towards Warriors. It wasn't hard to see who had won his favor first.

Wind carefully wrapped the scarf around his neck, having to do it three times more so that it didn't touch the ground. "Thank you." He said quietly.

Time had already made his way back to Warriors. It hurt to see just how thin and weak Warriors had gotten. How had Time not noticed? How did he let it get this bad?

Time carefully helped Warriors out of his bedroll, and moved him to lean against a tree. He was so out of it, he almost looked like a doll. Limp and fragile. Time packed up the bedroll quickly, then scooped Warriors up gently, like a child. Warriors' head was easily pillowed against Time's chest, and he seemed to cling to the cold, hard armor.

He held Warriors while everyone waited for Wild and Hyrule to return. It didn't take long, maybe four more minutes. Wild's face was muddy and Hyrule's hands were scraped.

"We didn't find many. They gave us a run for our rupees trying to catch them. We only got three." Hyrule's voice was slightly breathless.

Five fairies total. Maybe fifteen hours to get Wars to the spring, if his cycle of decline stayed the same. Time nodded. "You did what you could. Keep them close. Let's be off."

XXX

Warriors' cycle of decline did seem to stay consistent, even three hours later. One more fairy down. Twilight was heavily skeptical about reaching Ordon in time. Even with the brisk pace they'd set, it was hard to keep it.

There was no warning when Warriors started to seize, jolting Time out of the half-aware state he'd been in. It had been a frantic rush to get him on his side and stay near him, fairies at the ready if they were needed.

That was thirty minutes ago. Currently, they were surrounded.

Wolfos, and lots of them. Not to mention the lizalfos. Legend tossed Twilight one of his fire rods, and drew his sword. Hyrule stayed near Time, ready to heal. He'd never been a fighter. He would, if needed. But he would heal, before he fought. Time gritted his teeth.

They didn't have the time for this. Wild climbed a tree and readied his bow, and started letting ice arrows fly. Wind was fighting, Sky was fighting, Four was fighting, they were all around, getting rid of the enemies.

Time was standing there, doing nothing.

Time gently set Warriors down near Hyrule, but before he could take his hands away, Twilight put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go. Pick him back up, we can't afford to fight here. Th' others'll stay back and fight them off. We've gotta get him to th' spring." Time looked at his boys, his brothers. He didn't want to leave them to their own devices, what if they needed him? A shiver wracked Warriors' body, making Time look down. This brother needed him more than the others did.

"Alright. Let's go." Time whispered. He scooped Warriors back up, and with Twilight at his side, they bolted from the battlefield.

XXX

One fairy. They had one more left and they were several hours away from the spring. Running for so long was making Twilight wheeze, and Time had reluctantly made them take a break. Chest heaving, Time put his head in his hands and cried. They wouldn't make it to the spring in time, he just knew it. No matter how they rushed and ran, they wouldn't make it.

Time had failed.

Worst of all, he'd failed his brother. Someone who took care of him, who loved him, who taught him that all life was to be cherished. And Time couldn't even repay him the same favor. Warriors would be dead, by the next sunrise. Time would never hear his laugh, his teases, his advice, his comforting voice ever again. Time would never be able to forgive himself.

Twilight looked down at his hands. Eight hours, that's all they needed. They only had about three. They wouldn't make it. No amount of praying to Hylia to save Warriors would help. They just wouldn't make it.

Time had himself convinced of that fact, when Twilight scooped Warriors back up. He'd given up. They'd never reach the spring in time. He kept chasing his thoughts in circles, while Twilight watched him. What were they going to do? XXX

holy shit the people who reblogged this, that messaged me, that read this, holy shit. You guys are amazing! This part two is for all you guys because WOW. I didn't think it'd be received with so much enthusiasm! But guess what? I'm gonna have to make a part three >:)

@rrainydaydreams, @rebornofstars I thought you guys would like to know :)

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on Ao3

Rated M

The high collared throat of his jacket couldn’t mask the canned air of Shinjuku Station. Japanese Metro facilities were usually pristine compared to those overseas, but most passengers were blind to the Residual matrix littering the city’s above and underground railways. Scrutinizing the luminescent stains on the walls, Satoru swiped his IC card on the scanner and headed towards the boarding dock, waiting with some other strangers for the midnight train to take him home. Not that he was itching to return. He needed time to himself, to mull over recent events.

“You’re the reason she’s here…”

For the upteenth try, the white-haired Sorcerer jammed his left hand into his pocket, twirling the irritable ring with his thumb, hoping with enough persistence it would pop off, but it was useless. The little collet dug into his skin with every vehement twist, every tug. The Six Eyes essentially made him a Jujutsu locksmith, an exorcizing Houdini, but no matter how much he pulled, twisted, scraped, or bit, the ring stayed on. He wanted so badly to incinerate the gold like he did the Curse from the previous night. The girl needed the protective charm, not him. If it weren’t for the Reverse Technique, his finger would be rawed red by now. He heard a merry jingle chime through the intercom.

“Rapid train will be arriving at platform 10 shortly,” announced a placid voice. “For your safety, please wait behind the yellow line. We thank you for your cooperation.”

Lights shone in the distance, reflecting off his shades. He forfeited the ring when the train emerged from the tunnel and hissed to a rolling stop. Sliding doors opened and Satoru boarded the coach, peering over his shoulder to make sure no one suspicious was following; a habit amongst his lot. Nope. Just the typical old ladies and salarymen this time, their thermographic silhouettes colored in blobs of red and orange. Perfectly normal.

“Doors are now closing,” the conductor spoke. Satoru was only half listening. “This is a Chūō Line train bound for…Priority seating is reserved for elderly, handicapped passengers, expecting mothers…” Eventually the metro moved with a jolt. His stance kept him from falling over, though he refused to take a seat because, like most trains he typically rode, neon residue caked almost every square surface of the coach, from the handlebars to the chairs. It wreaked of Cursed Energy, decayed and cold. Satoru lifted his boot off the floor to inspect the wad of paranormal entrails ruining the Italian leather. Makoto’s sure to kill me when I get home, he thought. It would take more than a bucket of bleach to wipe this shit off. Frustrated, he brought the boot down, squishing the residue under his weight until he heard the coach groan from the force. Anger churned inside him, festering, growing hotter. Damn them. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

How was it that he, the strongest Sorcerer alive, descendant of the Vengeful Spirit, Sugawara no Michizane, inheritor of the Six Eyes and the Limitless, the first Gojo to possess both Cursed Techniques in over 400 years, had somehow been bested by a couple of old fogies and a foreign aristocrat he’d never heard of until very recently?

Satoru stared out the window, listening to the “tha-chuck, tha-chuck” of the monorail passing over the tracks. Tokyo blurred into smoke. His mind wandered back to the moment his life forever changed. That cold, gloomy trip he made to England four months ago.

A portly man with a balding head, wearing what must’ve been expensive coattails, sat across a lacquered table, the Cuban in his right hand emitting chalky grey fumes, while jeweled fingers tapped the table rhythmically. The fat bastard was enjoying himself too much for Satoru’s liking and the tobacco was starting to give him a headache, combined with the harsh glare curoscating through Roccoco chandeliers. Everything about this interaction offended him; The heady smoke, the bright lights, the three-piece Brioni he’d been forced to wear, which quickly became too hot, and then this Oswald Cobblepot wannabe sitting before him, all smug, dressed like a cliché supervillain just asking to get punched. It took immense restraint not to grab hold of the cigar and shove it down the earl’s suilline gullette. He hated this man. He hated this place.

As if sensing his contempt, the earl puffed another heaping cloud. “Gentlemen,” he crooned. “To what do I owe the honor?” His voice caused the muscles along Satoru’s jaw to tighten. Honor? What did this motherfucker know about honor?

One of the elders spoke amidst their small caravan, rising from his seat. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Thames,” he answered emphatically. “You know why we’re here.” He drew himself up stiffly. “We’ve come for the seer.”

Thames flashed his ivory stained teeth. “Ah, yes,” he relished gleefully. “Why, of course you have. How silly of me to think otherwise.” He flicked the cigar ashes on a tray, leaning back into his chair that accommodated his rotund girth. “But I am a man of principle, you see? They say there hasn’t been a living seer in — what — one hundred, two hundred years, or so? Given that reason alone, I couldn’t possibly hand her over to you free of charge, now, could I? No. That would be bad business on my part. Very bad business.” He twisted the coarse hairs in his beard, before taking an indulgent drag from his Cuban. His eyes sharpened. “Name your price, Jujutsu Sorcerers. If I find your negotiating skills up to snuff, she’s yours for the taking.”

And negotiate they did, each side throwing out numbers in rapid succession, turning them down, then proposing new ones. But Satoru broke from the proceedings when the amount reached eight figures, opting to take in the room instead. Anything to keep his mind off the money and what they were using it for.

He made quick inventory.

Two…

Six…

Fifteen….

Twenty display cases oriented themselves around velvet settees and ottomans, stocked with just about every treasure one could fathom; opal lozenges, slabs of lapis lazuli the width of dinner plates, columns of verdant emeralds and tsavorites, their raw conchoidal fractures glinting under the lights. Magenta spinels faceted to metal rods. Satoru could tell by the inclusions embedded in the gemstones that they weren’t fakes. Their incessant brilliancy meshed loudly with the Savonnerie botanicals carpeting the floor, not including the infrared radiation he was attempting to suppress. His eyes felt like they were shrinking. He’d forgotten his sunglasses back in London. Infinity blocked the tobacco from reaching his nose, but it couldn't screen the myriad of light and invisible color from assailing his vision. Hell. Makoto was right. He should’ve brought the Bufferin tablets with him when he had the chance. Spreading his tongue between his molars, he tried in vain to relieve the growing headache from clamoring up the nerves in his skull. His head pounded furiously like waves hitting a rocky promontory, innumerous, unceasing. Don’t think too much, he told himself. Keep looking.

In one curio table lay a medieval manuscript, its Latin faded and withered upon dog-eared parchment. Another case held an impressive mini replica of a seventeenth century galleon, bedecked with ten sails, The Naiad painted on both sides of its bow; Faberge eggs, gold coins, jadeite bottles, enameled pill boxes, silk tapestries threaded with mollusk and sapphire beads, portraits of dead people hanging on red damask, junk, junk, junk. It’s all junk to him. Of course, his Six Eyes noticed other things normal eyes could not.

The billions of microscopic dust particles hovering in the air like fallout. An overlapping stitch puckering from a brocaded cushion on the other end of the room. Switching to infrared for a short spell, he saw volts of bright electricity thrumming outside cables in the walls. And scurrying under the floorboards were three little mice, their rodent cheeks stuffed with kindling. There was probably a nest somewhere the occupants weren’t aware of. He smirked at the thought. Served them right.

However, a bronze instrument, a lyre, was mounted to a wall near an old grandfather clock. Might've been the oncoming headache, or the tobacco smoke, but he swore the polymer wires strung between the harp were not so. They held an unusual sheen to them, keratinous, humanlike. He could make out the individual filaments in the strings, black and shiny, too thin in diameter to be horsehair, but that wasn’t the creepiest part about the room.

A mural of naked mermaids luring sailors to their deaths stretched across the ceiling above him, their long hair and pearly smiles beguiling. Some men looked away in abject terror, while others leaned in for a fatal kiss, the ship going down in the middle of a raging sea. Satoru snorted, thinking the panorama a tad histrionic. They were nothing like Japanese mermaids with mouths like monkeys and golden fish scales. But now that he thought about it, weren’t sirens supposed to have feathers? Whatever the case, the painting was frighteningly lifelike, he’d give them that. Perhaps if he stared long enough, one of the feminine creatures would leap out of the watery fresco and pull him under. He almost wished it would because the sound of flesh-on-flesh cemented in a firm handshake told him the proceedings were over. A bargain had been struck. All they needed then was his signature to solidify the deal.

That evening in Berkshire, Gojo Satoru purchased his bride for a whopping thirty million pounds sterling, close to four and a half billion in Japanese yen, essentially pocket change. Well done, Satoru, he mocked as he signed his name upon the dotted line. You are here by guilty of human trafficking. However, it wouldn’t be until his wedding day that the Sorcerer finally laid eyes on the woman he would call his wife.

“Train is now stopping.”

The train slowed to a crawl, jerking him forward a little as it came to a halt. The pulsing in his head abated. Tobacco smoke feathered out. Lord Thames’ crooked smile vanished into the night and the doors slid themselves open. This was his stop.

Satoru exited the train and stepped onto the outdoor platform, hearing the locomotive speed off shortly after. The April chill had yet to recede and it smelled like macadam and fresh rain. By his estimation, the school campus was approximately three miles away. Through the dense pine brush, he could make out the striped road leading up the highlands, a couple kilometers north from the Meiji no Mori Takao National Park entrance. His phone read 12:15 A.M. and a message from Makoto. “Dinner’s in the fridge,” her unobtrusive way of asking him where he is. He told her not to cook him anything since he’d gone out, but the housekeeper knew him too well. And after storming out of the izakaya, Satoru realized he hadn’t eaten much except a few bites of mackerel and a club soda. He was more than a little hungry. Better get a move on then.

He began the ascent, his residual stained boots scuffing the pavement as he trudged up the street, unconcerned with getting run over. Cars rarely made the drive here. He could walk in the middle of the road as much as he damned well pleased. Higher and higher he went, immersing himself into the tectonic rock and ancient pines, the painted asphalt looping this way and that.

Crickets hummed. Frogs croaked. The cool breeze wisped through his hair. Trees gently swayed and a break in the clouds revealed a waxing crescent moon, brightening the conifers in a pale lunar glow. Perched on a branch, a couple yards to his left, he spotted a scops-owl with blood and feathers emanating from its beak, a dead hawfinch caged between two talons. On the ground, a female tanuki rummaged through forest leaves for juicy beetles and wild berries, sniffing the air for predators. He watched an elegant sika deer cross a trickling stream and hedge its way deeper into the valley. There were no streetlights. It’s only because of the Six Eyes he's able to capture this nocturnal world, this thriving ecosystem. He stopped to admire it, the stars glinting above the mountaintops, untainted by Tokyo’s light pollution. What it must be like to be way up there, far away from this chaos and disorder.

Satoru felt as though he were mourning the aftermath of a death. The death of his old life for this new uncertain hell he’d woken up in. Years of ingrained Buddhist philosophy remind him that life is a series of impermanence, a constant flow of change. “All things are passing illusion.” wrote the wise monk, Kenkō. “What is there that remains unchanging?” Nothing, of course. Fighting this truth will only lead you further down the path of suffering and reactivity. In other words, he needed to “quit his bitching,” like Nanami so eloquently stated, and accept life’s unexpectancies for what they were; use “skillful means” to avoid getting struck by that “second arrow.” And yet knowing what he ought not, Satoru found himself despairing anyway, like he’d nose dived off the edge of a cliff and was waiting for the ground to flatten him. He’d already experienced this once before, the day his best friend walked out on him.

“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru? Or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?”

Right now? He wished he were neither.

Lost in himself, the Sorcerer wasn’t aware he was walking again until he approached the school entrance, moonlight reflecting off the mokoshi roofs like snow caps. The Gojo estate was located farther north off campus. Satoru made it past the temple gates, shuffled past the student dormitories, when suddenly a melodic sound reached his ears. A sweet sound akin to a woodwind instrument. He paused to listen. Weird. Who the heck was playing music this late at night? Now vaguely curious, he changed directions and headed towards the sound like a hound chasing a scent, desperate to reach its source. And the closer he got the more he understood the sound wasn’t recorded music, but a voice. Someone was singing from the women’s bathhouse it seemed.

There were no female students studying in Tokyo at that time. The voice was too young to be an elder or staff member, which meant...

Satoru bent over a little known hole in the wall and saw her.

“...A-mach air bhàrr nan stuagh ri gaillinn Fuachd is feannadh fad o thìr Bha mo ghaol dhut daonnan fallain Ged is maighdeann mhara mi…”

She was sitting on the edge of the pool, her smooth legs submerged in the steaming water. A towel was wrapped around her waist, but it wouldn’t hide much. Satoru's been involuntarily looking through clothing since he was four years old. That towel wasn’t gonna cover jack-shit. The naked plane of her back was exposed to him, wet and glistening. When she raised her arms to slide a toothed comb through her long garnet hair, he’d catch the sides of her breasts, and sometimes a lovely pink nipple would peep behind the mist as she continued detangling her wet tresses. The white linoleum channeled her song into ringing echoes, numbing his brain, curling around his insides. He felt his scrotum burgeoning against his thighs, swelling like a blimp. He couldn’t help himself really. She sounded so fucking good, so soft, so clear, like water welled from a spring; a crystalline soprano. Maybe if he just unzipped his fly and allowed himself to…wait.

What the hell was he doing? Was he under a Cursed Technique of some kind? Because, damn, it certainly felt like one.

“Chan eil mo chadal-sa ach luaineach Nuair bhios buaireas air an t-sìd' Bha mi'n raoir an Coire Bhreacain Bidh mi'n nochd an Eilean Ì…”

Seriously, what language was that? It was unlike anything he’d ever heard. English alone was gibberish, but this language was on a whole different level of strange.

Satoru had long believed there was nothing new for him to experience in this world. When Fushiguro Tōji plunged his “Inverted Spear of Heaven,” into his throat and enabled him to reach the level of understanding necessary to perform the Reverse Cursed Technique, and fuse Red and Blue to make Hollow Purple, what greater high was there? What earthly pleasure? What worthwhile goal? And if all things were passing illusion, what was the point? Even the activities that he used to enjoy no longer satiated him the way they once did; sex, video games, movies, sex, caffeine, pissing off Utahime, sweets, more sex, etc. Nothing wowed him, nothing excited him. He’d forgotten what it was like to live for the present, existing, more or less, in a perpetual state of lukewarmness. To put it mildly, he was twenty-four and bored.

Then Hannah Thames entered his life - or rather - she barged in, flipped his world upside down, and threw it off its axis, together with his sense of control.

She really wasn’t what he expected.

On their wedding day, with her chin wedged between his fingers, he couldn’t deny she was beautiful, though not in the conventional sense of the word. The partners he often coaxed into bed tended to be…well endowed. Hannah was dainty by comparison, tiny, fragile looking, someone he wouldn't have chosen for himself if given the option. However, her proportions weren’t entirely undesirable either; long hair, a cinched waist, moderately sized breasts, all of which he found annoying because he was hoping to find something not to like about her. But those eyes? Holy crap. He’d inscribe those verdant brown eyes to memory, along with her rich auburn hair, her tiny freckles scattered across her cheekbones that could only be seen up close, and her innocence. So much unadulterated innocence staring back at him he could almost choke. It didn’t take an expert to know she was a virgin, which twisted his stomach into knots. Made him nauseous, angry. Furious even.

Why!? he wanted to scream, grab hold of her shoulders and give them a fierce shake as she slid that ring onto his finger. Why would you do this to yourself? You stupid girl. Can’t you see? He could still feel his thumb on her lips, soft as rose petals. I’ll only break you.

Innocence? Satoru didn’t know what to make of innocence. The virtue held little value to him. Their marriage was simply a means to an end, a show of good faith for the higher-ups; He’d (begrudgingly) marry the foreign woman as promised, and in return, they’d offer him a teaching position at Jujutsu High. It didn’t matter whether she possessed The Sight, or that they wanted him to retrieve the Sukuna fingers. He wasn’t planning on taking their relationship a step further. Simple as that.

“...Seall is faic an grunnd na fairge Uamhan airgid 's òir gun dìth Lainnearachd chan fhaca sùil e Ann an cùirt no lùchairt rìgh..."

So, why did he feel like an asshole the moment he ditched her after the wedding? Why couldn’t he erase those innocent hazel eyes from his mind? When he held her in his arms last night, why had it scared him to imagine her with a bullet through her head? Like Amanai Riko all those years ago. And why the fuck did her voice make him wanna bust a nut right then and there like a adolescent teenager? Shit, what would Suguru do, if he were —

“That psychopath isn’t your friend, Satoru. He’s a traitor. A murderer.”

Gojo let out a quiet huff.

Right. Suguru’s gone, he thought, and he ain’t showing signs of coming back. Each passing day served as a reminder to Satoru that he was on his own.

The Sorcerer looked back through the peephole at the bathing woman, still singing at the water's edge, combing her long skeins of hair, oblivious she was being watched.

He then stared fixedly into his palm at the wedding ring on his finger. He flexed his digits, balled them into a fist and closed his eyes, listening to her sweet music drown every part of him and the onsen.

“Hù-bha is na hoireann ù-bha 'S ann le foill a mheall thu mi…”

He remained motionless, breathing calmly in and out of his nose to settle the uneasiness in his soul and the throbbing between his legs.

“...'S ann le foill a mheall thu mi…”

Satoru’s hand fell to his side, his will power slipping away.

He waited there, seconds, minutes, hours. He wasn’t sure. Hannah’s serenading eventually ended and he stopped to hear her petite frame exit the pool. He could hear water droplets plopping to the floor as she moved, remembering the curvature of her ass underneath that towel draped around her waist, how soft she looked, how supple. Then his mind reeled back to her breasts, fantasizing how those lovely pink nipples would feel inside his mouth, tightening and melting on his tongue. Tossing her wet hair to one side, the ventilation system caught wind of her scent just as she entered the hallway and brought it to his nose like a gift. She smelled like lilies after a morning rain. His brain went fuzzy, helping little to soften his erection as he finally acquiesced and brought a hand down to unzip his pants, eyeing the damp spot on his boxers as he filled out some more, groaning in relief. Ah, much better. He then panted a short laugh, unable to recall the last time he’d been this hard. By a voice, no less.

He should’ve been ashamed of himself for it.

But he wasn’t.

Instead, he became vastly intrigued. After all, he’s never been one to stay on the downlow for very long and any woman who’s able to arouse him this good is definitely worth “getting to know.” Maybe this’ll be fun. He’s never pursued a person like her before. I mean, if this is Hell, there’s no reason why it can’t be an enjoyable Hell, right? And she’s pretty easy on the eyes.

Fine, he ultimately decided. He’d cooperate just this once. And if he didn’t like it, he’d switch back to Plan A and keep his distance. For now though, he’d humour the idea and see where it took him.

This whole marriage thing.

Chapter Contents

[symphonicmetal101]

Babysitting in the Devildom

Chapter Six: Beel- Dinner Indifference

"Beel n-"

Solomon had to cast a teleportation spell before he could even finish his sentence. Beel's wings fluttered furiously as he burst through a portal and into Solomons arms instead. He immediatly clamped down on Solomons shoulder and started to chew. Solomon sighed as he watched his cloak get drooled on, big violet eyes watching him back as more of the cloth disappeared into his mouth.

Solomon paused. Should he take Beel to you? You seemed to know what you were doing but you also already had Asmo and portioning out food for the rest of the kids...Beel would be in the presence of food either way. He glanced back down and the chipmunk-cheeked Beel and considered trying to take the cloak out of his mouth.  Buuuuut if Beel cried again it was his fault, again...but he really shouldnt be eating fabric...not that it would ruin his appetite but-

He was running out of time to make a decision as the delivery person made their way back to the door. Beel seemed content eating his cloak for now. Beel would be fine, right? Yeah- its Beel. Solomon tightened his grip just slightly on the baby as he approached the front door again, ready to take the bags.

He should have taken Beel to you.

It was like fighting Taz from Looney Toons as Solomon stumbled about, half eaten cloak and a blur of movement around him as he used small portals to keep the bag of food away from Beel.

Barbatos had walked into the kitchen with Luke, wondering if he could help somehow. You had taken Luke from him and used one hand while also sometimes directing him on how to help you while Asmo followed behind him to make sure each plate "looked pretty". Everything was going really well....until the other bag of food appeared suddenly in your free hand and you heard a demonic screech come from the hallway and a loud buzzing noise which was curiously silenced soon after, though Asmo had given you wide berth after hearing that. You sighed and asked Barb to continue portioning things and to go tell the rest of the kids that if they had to go to the bathroom, the time was now. You held Luke close to you as you ventured just outside the kitchen doors and nearly bumped into Solomon.

".....I can expl-"

"Why is Beel eating your clothes?"

You didnt really want to laugh for fear of waking Luke up, but a wide silly smile bloomed on your face as you watched Beel use both his tiny fists to stuff more of Solomons cloak into his mouth, wide eyes staring at you as he cooed a bit and continued to stuff his face, Solomons cloak almost gone.

Solomon had a combination of exasperation and amusement on his face. "Uh...well I didnt want him to cry or attack the food- o-or you so I.....I fed him my cloak."

"....wHY? Earlier you were summoning food for him- you could have done that again right- or multiplied the food we already have even if he ate the bags worth of food-"

You were still smiling, the whole situation a little ridiculous as Beel finished Solomons cloak and started to sniffle, pouting and making grabby hands to the air for more.

Solomon paused before a goofy smile spread across his face as he summoned a popsicle to give to Beel. "I. Dont. Know." He laughed a bit before smiling fondly at you. "This is why you're the one in charge." He started to walk past you into the kitchen, but not before a quick kiss was planted on your temple and a small smirk at your expression was given to you. You gave yourself a moment before joining him and Barb, and a slightly startled looking Asmo.

".....can I have a posicle before dinner too?"

Asmo looked up at Solomon, pleading who just shrugged. "Thats not up to me." He looked at you and smirked a bit. *Motherfucker*

Asmo gasped and skipped his way to you, big, pleading amber eyes as he batted his eyelashes. "May I have a posicle before dinner too please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

It was too much. From the way he asked politely, to the way he said popsicle, to his little pose and big ole eyes-

You looked around the table of happy faces as all the kids destroyed popsicles that Solomon had summoned for them, all save for Beel, Barb, Diavolo, and Lucifer untouched food in front of them.

"POPSICLES FOR DINNNNNERRRRR!"

"They said we still have to eat our food if we want to have dessert tomorrow."

"But I'm not hungry anymore..."

"....I guess I can try to eat some food but Im full from the popsicle..."

"LOOKIT IM PUTTING MY FRIES IN MY ICE CREAM!  But I aint havin the green stuff, thats yucky."

"You're yucky Mammon."

"HEY-"

"My father would NEVER let me do this!! Thank you MC!!!!"

A chorus of thank yous came from all of the kids, luckily before another fight. You sighed softly and forced a small smile as you said "youre welcome". You figured they wouldnt eat their food if they had popsicles. The bigger kids had eaten their food, and Beel had no problem eating his portion and Belphies who....oh. Belphie was sleeping in his mashed potatoes. You glanced around the table again, noting all the sticky faces and hands and...bodies in Satan and Luke's case. Solomon looked exhausted as he summoned another piece of food for Beel. Asmo was trying so hard to eat some more of his food but only ate a few more bites and looked a little upset. Mammon had eaten his fries, at least.

".....if youre full, give your food to Beel. Dont make yourself eat anymore, its ok. I just need to talk to Sol for a minute, ok?" You smiled as you walked to take Belphie out of his highchair and gestured to Solomon to put Beel in. He was a little confused but did so as you wiped some of the potatoes off Belphies face.

Levi spoke up very quietly. "Can we still have dessert tomorrow if we didnt finish our food for dinner?" The sound of plates being pushed towards Beel paused as the kids all looked at you, waiting for an answer.

".....it depends on how well you eat your breakfast tomorrow.." you smiled as the kids thanked you again as you asked Barb and Lucifer to make sure Beel didnt eat the actual plates as you took Solomon and Belphie into the kitchen.

"How are you feeling...you look exhausted.." geniune concern on your face once you had Solomon basically alone. His face twisted slightly and he sighed. "I had hoped the rejuevenating spell I casted would re-energize me more than it did...why? Are you worried?~" he smirked slightly, though it fell just short of smug. You rolled your eyes a bit and ruffled is hair, your turn to smirk as his face turned light pink and started to protest, pouting when you stopped, though you werent sure if it was because you stopped or because you ruffled his hair in the first place. You stopped his protesting by asking your next question, also avoiding answering his question. "Do you have enough energy to clean all of them or am I going to bathe them in an actual bath..."

"....I? It should be we..."

"Well if you're tired you should rest...I'll need your help tomorrow too..."

"I can sleep after the baths..."

"But if we're doing the baths then I need you to cast one last spell to keep the water in the tubs..."

"So I'll sleep after that spell...maybe..."

You gave him a withering look before sighing, though appreciative of his stubborness....for once. You smiled a bit.

"Alright then. Bath time. Especially for the babies. The bigger ones can probably just shower.... Belphie, Luke and Satan need baths the most. Beel made sure his food ended up *in* his mouth....the others..." you chuckled as you peeked back into the dining room, seeing only Barbatos' face clean, and Lucifer and Asmo both fussing over the little mess they had on themselves, Lucifer using Asmos mirror, and Asmo following Lucifers every action to get clean. You brought your attention back to the sleeping Belphie in your arms.

"....do you think he'll stay asleep for bath time?"

"Its Belphie. He could sleep through anything."

"Dont jinx it." You sighed softly and looked out at the kids again, some playing tag, others just watching. Satan continued to mash his food onto the platter in front of him, Luke giggling and copying in glee. Solomon tapped your shoulder to get your attention again.

"Are you ok? The bags under ypur eyes could hold all my potions-"

"Shut up- maybe if a certain sorceror had been more careful I wouldnt be as tired....not to mention the popsicle before dinner was a bad mov-" you were interrupted by Barb lightly tapping your arm.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I was just wondering if you want me to wash the dishes or just leave them in water in the sink....or if you have a dishwasher..." you were a little surprised when you turned and saw him carrying all the dishes from the table, and Lucifer behind him with garbage. Simeon was wiping down the table with a cloth, but gave the younger ones in high chairs some room. Diavolo was trying to talk to Lucifer, who just kinda kept nodding and saying "oh thats cool" before looking at you almost desperately. His look brought you back to your senses as you nodded at Barb.

"Just in the sink with water is fine, thank you Barbatos. Thank you for cleaning up Lucifer, Simeon. It makes a huge difference to me."

Barb and Simeon beamed, and Lucifer managed a small smile before shooting Diavolo a dirty look, but the other boy didnt notice, too busy rambling on about how this was so much better than home for the upteenth time. Ypu ruffled Lucifers hair as he walked by, and noted Diavolo's slight stumble in words as he eyed you a bit, but rushed past to go talk to Barb, glancing back at you, almost pleading, though your attention was divided again as you felt Levi hug you and snuggle into your side wordlessly. You patted his head softly and turned back to Solomon.

"I'll answer that question later. For now lets clean up. Then bath time."

Levi squeezed you a bit and beamed. "I love bath time!! I can do it myself! I promise, I can! I can!"

Though Levi couldnt see it, Mammon was mocking him from behind. You gave him a bit of a "look" before the hem of your shirt was being tugged at and you were met with those same amber eyes that had persuaded you into giving everyone treats for dinner. "I love bath time too! Me too! But you have to watch me. I make great bubble hair dos! A-and guess what? In the water, it might look like I have legs, but really Im a mermaid!"

"And Im a sea dragon!!" Levi cried out, still wanting your attention. "And Asmo, you're not really a mermaid-"

"Am too!"

"Are no-"

"Everyone can be who or whatever they want to be, in the water or otherwise. Fooooor example, I'm actually a sheep, see I go baaaaa" you smiled softly, and winked at Levi before turning to Asmo again who was practically dancing at your side, bursting to ask you a question. "Whats the prettiest animal you like mc?!!!"

"....whats your favourite sea animal mc?"

"Whats the coolest animal mc! No wait- whats your favourite animal?!"

"Yeah, whats your favourite animal?!"

"Oi, I asked em first!"

"Guys its ok, you can all be my or your favourite animal. Theres more than one of each." You chuckled, listing off animals as more questions were asked, meowing at Satan as you handed Belphie to Sol and took him out of his chair, who happily meowed back as you lead your noisy little zoo to the communal bathroom.

Masterlist

[anna-justice]

Crash My Party - Upstead

Summary: Hailey receives some terrible news and suffers a severe panic attack, and like always, Jay is there for her. (Pre-Established Upstead/8x03 never happened)

Warnings: fluff, swearing, maybe mentions of violence

Requested: Yes! #66, “I can’t do this alone anymore.”

…

The walk up the stairs to his apartment building seemed longer than normal. Her hands shook as she fiddled with her keys, the clinking creating white noise that echoed through the stairwell. She pushed the door at the top open and made her way down the hall, subconsciously reading the numbers on every door as she passed.

When she reached his door, she took a deep breath, running her hand through her blonde hair that - for once - was falling over her shoulders. She raised her hand to knock, but held it there for a second. Something about this didn’t seem right, her showing up unannounced with a million things to drop on him. Even though they had both done it a thousand times, there was always a voice in the back of her head that told her that it wasn’t his problem.

She fought the feelings and knocked on the door, shifting on her heels as she waited. She stared at the ground and squinted hard, pushing the possible tears back down. The door swung open a few seconds later, revealing a smiley and very shocked Jay. Hailey watched as his face contorted from a big grin to confused, and then to concern. She wished the floor would just swallow her up. “Hailey?”

“Hey.” She said quietly. She knew she should have called or texted, or maybe even stayed home to face it alone, but she always felt better after a drink with him. After the day she had, she just needed to be close to him.

Jay stepped slightly in front of the door, closing it partly behind him. It was then Hailey realized he probably wasn’t alone. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He asked, genuinely.

Hailey blinked back tears for the upteenth time that day, the thought of Jay spending his Friday night with any other girl but her cut deep. She knew she was jumping to conclusions, but right now, he heart couldn’t take it.“Yeah, yeah, I-”

“Jay!” Someone called from inside the apartment, “What’s taking you so long to get a pizza?” Jay’s cheeks heated up and Hailey let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Kevin.

“Oh, sorry.” Hailey said, fighting the urge to smile (an action that hadn’t crossed her mind in hours). He had company, and she didn’t want to interrupt, but every part of her was extremely relieved that it was just their friends hiding behind the door. “I didn’t realize you were busy. I’ll just go.” She turned to walk away, but Jay placed a hand on her shoulder, stepping out of the doorway.

He shook his head, “I’m not. It’s just the guys. What’s up?”

Hailey was opening her mouth to protest when she was interrupted again. “Jay, quit flirting with the delivery guy and get back in here. You’re missing the game.” Another voice yelled, which Hailey assumed was Severide.

Jay held up his hand, motioning for her to give him a second. He leaned his head back in the apartment, “Give me a second.” He shouted.

“Jay, really, it’s fine. I’ll see you later.” She said, trying (and failing) to give him a reassuring smile.

Jay cocked an eyebrow at her, “You sure?” Hailey nodded, even though she wasn’t. Even though hers was long gone, she didn’t want to ruin his night.

She was about to leave again when they heard footsteps behind them, “Okay, I need to see what this girl looks like-” The door swung open to reveal Will, who stopped dead in his tracks. “Hailey, hi.” He said, a lot louder than he needed too. Hailey blushed and Jay rolled his eyes. Will glanced between the two of them, a tiny smirk showing on his face. He looked at Jay, “Take your time.” Before either of them could say a thing, he shut the door.

Jay chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, sorry about him. They thought you were the delivery guy.”

Hailey nodded, “Yeah, I got that.”

He took her in, noticing the fading tear marks on her cheeks and the half smile on her face. She wasn’t okay, and he knew that. “You wanna come in? We have beer and a hockey game.” He asked, gesturing at the door.

Hailey shook her head, glancing at the ground. “That’s okay. You guys have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.” They both retreated to where they came from, Jay shutting the door and leaning against it. He couldn’t shake the sad look in her eyes. He made his way back to his couch, surprised to see the three grown men already there watching him expectantly. “What?”

“How’s Hailey?” Will asked, smirking again.

Jay sighed, “I don’t really know, she looked upset.” He glanced between the three of them. “I think I need to…” He said, looking back at the door.

“Of course, man, we get it.” Kevin said, taking a swig of his beer.

“Yeah,” Kelly agreed, “We’ll just sit here, drink your beer and eat your food.”

“And miss you.” Will added and Jay rolled his eyes, “Seriously, it’s Hailey, go.”

Jay smiled at his friends, “Thanks guys.” He grabs his coat and his keys and was out the door in a matter of seconds.

They heard the door close behind him and Kelly shook his head, taking a sip of his drink. He nodded his head in the direction that Jay left. “He’s so whipped.”

Kevin and Will both laughed, nodding in agreement. “So…” Will said.

“It’s honestly kind of sad.”

…

By the time Hailey made it inside of her apartment, she was pulling hard on her fingers. She could feel her pulse picking up, and the pain of squeezing her anxious hands was keeping her grounded. It felt like it was a hundred degrees inside and she aggressively pushed off her coat, throwing it over a chair. She crossed the room, gripping the edge of her counter while trying to focus on her breathing.

Her chest felt tight and her knuckles were white from her tight grip. She clamped her eyes shut, pushing herself away from the counter and squeezing her hands in a fist at her sides. She stood in the center of the room, looking up at the ceiling as she blinked back tears. She wouldn’t cry again, no, she couldn’t cry again. That didn't stop her though, the salty liquid began to trickle down her face.

Hailey let out a frustrated groan - the distraught noise coming out very un-Hailey-like - and gasped for air, finding her way back to the counter. She refused to give in, it had been so long since this had happened, and she was going to fight like hell to make sure it didn’t follow through. She thought she was past it, she thought she was old enough to deal with things correctly.

However, her mind and her body had a different idea. Her chest burned and her throat felt like sandpaper, she almost didn’t even notice her phone buzzing on the counter. She absently reached out and picked it up, letting out a sob as she read the caller ID. A second later, her phone hit the wall next to her, shattering and falling to the floor along with any sense of calm she had left.

She heaved, she felt almost like she was floating. The only thing keeping in place was the counter in front of her. She finally let herself slip, she stopped fighting the pain and let it consume her.

Jay was almost to her door when he heard the crash inside, “Hailey!” He yelled, immediately kicking the door in (not even bothering to see if it was open).

Everything happened so fast. The commotion behind her caused Hailey to look up from her fixed gaze on the granite and the sudden movement sent her head spinning. Jay watched it all happen, catching her just before she hit the floor. “Hailey, Hailey.” He said, panicking. She slumped against her chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Jay held her to him on instinct, noticing her trembling body. “Hailey breathe, please.” He said, trying to sit her up as she heaved.

“I can’t, I can’t,” She choked out, clutching her chest. Her crying continued as Jay wracked his brain for what to do. He was sure she was having a panic attack, he had had quite a few of his own, but he was in shock. His calm - put together - force to be reckoned with - Hailey was nowhere to be found.

He shifted so that he was in front of her, hands braced on her upper arms to keep her upright. “Look at me Hailey, deep breaths. It’s okay, everything is going to be okay.”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “Make it stop,” She gasped, “Please Jay, make it stop. It hurts.”

Jay felt his heart clench in his chest, he absolutely hated seeing her like this. And it was probably good that he had no idea what was going on, because otherwise he would be planning a murder in his mind. “Hailey,” He said, but she was lost somewhere. “Hailey, look at me.” His words were gentle, but firm, and it grabbed her attention. Her head snapped up and her teary blue eyes met his. He cracked a smile, letting his hand slide up to her shoulder. “Good, now try to match my breathing.” She nodded, fixing her eyes on his chest and watching it rise and fall.

They sat on the floor together for at least fifteen minutes. Hailey watching Jay breath steadily and trying to match it. She was hyper focused, she didn’t dare let her mind wander. It had proven to be dangerous territory. Jay though, he felt like his brain was going to explode.

When Hailey finally felt like she could control herself, she slid onto her bottom, leaning her back against the kitchen counter. She ran her hands on her eyes and pulled her knees to her chest, partly to collect herself, partly because she was absolutely mortified. She sniffled, taking a few deep breaths on her own.

Jay relaxed as well, sitting back on his heels and keeping his distance. His eyes never left her, like if he looked away she would fall apart again. She looked so sad, so scared and it made him feel physically ill. “I think I broke your door.”

Hailey laughed out loud at his bad excuse for lightening the mood, “It’s okay.” She said quietly, running a hand under her nose. They sat there for a moment, just looking at each other. Hailey felt a strange sense of calm, one that she only felt around him, and it was a nice contrast to the past hour of pure panic.

“Are you okay?” He asked, giving her a pointed look.

It felt like such a loaded question, and honestly it was one. Jay had asked her that a million times, but there was no doubt that this time was different, she couldn’t backtrack this, not after what just happened. And as easy and safe to brush it off her shoulder and tell him that she was fine, she couldn’t, and she didn’t want to. Hailey’s gaze shifted down and she shook her head slowly.

Jay sat in front of her, legs crossed and a somber expression on his face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Hailey sniffled again, shaking her head. She rested it in her hand and took him in, something about him sitting on her kitchen floor felt so right. So right that she didn’t want to ruin it with how wrong everything in her life was. She didn’t want to tell him that her mom called her for the first time in years to tell her that her father was dying - and not only that - but that she wanted Hailey to come see him and possibly donate a piece of her major organ to him. She didn’t want to admit that she couldn’t do it, that she couldn’t bring herself to save him. She didn’t want to tell him that despite all the terrible things her father had done, she still felt sadness over his possible passing. She didn’t want him to know that a mere phone call had sent her into such a tailspin. She didn’t want him to know anything.

But here he was, looking at her the way no one else ever had, caring in a way no one else ever had. What was she supposed to do with that? “I can’t do this alone anymore.” It came out quiet, and neither of them were sure that she was actually talking to him. It felt more like a realization than anything.

“Hailey,” Jay said, taking the hand that was resting on her knee on her own. “You don’t have to, you never had to.”

The look on her face when he said those words was something Jay would never forget, the utter shock that showed so clearly. It pained him at how surprised she looked to hear something that had never been a second thought to him. She was his rock, his compass, at this point, maybe his entire life. How did she not see it?

“I thought it would be easier, to ignore it all.” She said, eyes glassing over again. She leaned her head against the wall, sighing. “I just can’t run fast enough to escape it.” Jay gave her a soft, but pointed look, urging her to continue. “My dad, um, he’s sick. Really sick, and, my mom, she called me to tell me. And she asked if I would come see him and if I would -” She laughed cynically “- if I would consider giving him a piece of my liver.”

“What?” Jay said, the word sort of just tumbling out of his mouth.

Hailey nodded her head, giving him a fake, tight lipped smile, “Yep.” She took a breath, “I don’t know, it was like years and years of suppressed pain just all came flooding back at once. So I went to your place, but you were busy and…” She gestured to them, implying that that is why they ended up where they were. “I’m sorry, that you had to see me like that.”

“Don’t apologize, I’m glad I was here.” Jay said, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand that was still in his. “I always want to be here, you just have to let me in.”

The genuine and vulnerable look in his eye was too much for Hailey to handle, so she avoided his gaze. “I don’t know, you seem to be pretty good at getting in on your own. You did break my door.”

Jay laughed, knowing that the joke was meant to offset the realness of the moment. He didn’t blame her, he was scared too. “I’m serious Hailey, this is where I want to be. All the time, with you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Here he was: her beautiful, emotionally stunted, action first partner laying his heart on the floor in front of her. “I want you here.”

“Good,” He said, “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each of them lost in their own thoughts. There was so much more that needed to be said, so much more that needed to be clarified, but at that moment it didn't matter. They were just them. “Is it bad that I don’t want to help him, does that make me a terrible person?” Hailey asked, breaking the silence.

“No,” Jay said immediately, “Not at all. It means you are strong.” She nodded, but Jay could tell that she didn't really believe him. “Hailey you are the strongest person I know, you make me stronger, you make me better. He doesn’t deserve your help, especially if you don’t want to give it.” He stood up, holding out a hand to her and pulling her up off the floor. “He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to forgive him.” She confessed.

Jay shrugged, “That’s okay.”

Hailey looked up at him, complete adoration in her eyes. He smiled down at her and even though she had doubted it before, she didn’t now. Something was different, something had shifted, he felt the same way she did and it was dulling the ache inside her. “Jay-” She started.

“I know.” He said, his grin growing a bit. “Me too. But we don’t have to talk about any of that right now. Let’s just get some sleep.”

Hailey hesitated, the thought of being alone terrifying her. “Will you be here when I wake up?” She asked, fixing her gaze on the floor in between them.

“Hailey,” Jay said, taking a step forward and cupping her cheek with his hand, “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

…

A/N: This was so fun to write, also, I’m alive haha. Sorry I haven’t posted in forever, I am so ridiculously busy, but I’m hoping that within the next month I can start posting regularly again. Thanks for reading! <3

[brelione]

Rivers (The Best Boys)

Warnings:Car crashes,mentions of sex,blood.

Im sorry in advance.This shit might hurt.

Series Masterlist

Rafe glanced over to you, obviously knowing what this was about.He gulped and nodded, agreeing to go outside to speak to Topper.You tapped your fingers on the table anxiously as they walked outside of the house and slammed the slider door behind them. 

“What do you think thats about?”Kelce asked, setting down his burger.Shit.This was it, Topper was gonna find out what you and Rafe did.It was bad enough that they knew about the kiss but this was even worse.

And it didnt help that you told Topper that you didnt like Rafe like that.Now all you felt was guilt.Guilt for hooking up with Rafe,guilt from even talking to Topper about your problems when you knew that it would probably put stress on him.Now you were screwed,head in your hands.

“You guys did things while we were gone?You kissed her last week, you gave her a hickey tonight.Whats gonna happen next week?Are you gonna get her pregnant?Do you even care about what’s happening in her life?Do you even fucking care about her at all or is she just another one of your toys that you use for sex and then just ditch?Do you not care that we all made a deal?Do you even realize what youve done?”Topper had tried his best not to yell.

Rafe stared at the blonde, eyes wide. “Dont even say that I dont fucking care about her!You’re the one that went along and dated Sarah and wouldnt shut up about it to (Y/N)!I would never-I would fucking never.You dont even know what we did!We didnt even do anything-she was freaking the hell out earlier, punching herself and hitting thins.She probably smacked herself on something before I showed up but no.You didnt even think of that possibility your mind just went straight to me fucking her.Do you know why?Its because you’re jealous.You’ve always been jealous of Kelce and I and we’re fucking tired of it.”Rafe glared, waiting for Topper to throw a punch.

He didn't though,simply staring at Rafe. “You guys didn't do anything?”Topper asked.Rafe nodded, the action barely visible in the dark.This is exactly what Kelce had feared.He was always right about most things.You even accused him of being a prophet once. 

“What time is it?”Topper yawned,sitting up on the couch.You shrugged,reaching for your phone and looking between the tired boys. “What time do you guys think it is?”You asked,turning on your phone and checking for yourself. “Umm....I dunno....like 9.”Rafe shrugged.You looked over to Topper,waiting for his answer. “I think its eight.”He answered,still half asleep. “Im gonna bet its 11:47.”Kelce replied,waiting for you to confirm.You glared at him. “Fuck you,propet.”You grumbled.

“But you still kissed her.You knew what you were doing and you did it right after we all made that deal.Do you just not care anymore?”Topper asked, still angry.Rafe stood there, not knowing what the correct response would be. “Right, alright.Im gonna go home, you guys have fun.”Topper went back in the house,slamming the slider door shut behind him.

Rafe opened the door, following him inside and praying to whatever god that would listen that his friend wouldnt throw a fit.Topper simply grabbed his phone, taking another sip of his soda. “Im going home.I’ll see you tomorrow.”He went to rush past you, making your heart drop.

No hug,no forehead kiss and no explanation.Something was seriously wrong. Even when he was in a bad mood he would still give you a hug and peck your forehead before he left.

“Topper-you didnt finish your food!We didnt finish the movie either!”You exclaimed,making him stop near the door and turn around. “I know, I know.I just think I should go home now, i’ll see you tomorrow.”He opened the door, about to leave when you stopped him again.

 “Text me when you get home!”You shouted to him, seeing him nod quickly before closing the door behind him, getting into his car and driving off.You looked up at Rafe, the boy still standing by the slider door in a silent shock.

 “What happened?”Kelce asked, looking between you and Rafe hoping for an explanation for Topper’s sudden exit.You couldn't say anything, too afraid of what would come out,instead just resting your head in your hands.

Rafe gulped, trying to figure out what to say.He didn't understand why he should have to hold his feelings back because of Topper’s feelings.It wasn't fair to you or him. “Did I miss something?”Kelce asked, still not understanding.

Rafe shrugged,sitting back down next to you at the table,looking at the empty chair that Topper had been sitting in a couple moments ago. “I don't know.Were you guys arguing about something?”You asked Rafe,turning to face him in the chair.He shifted nervously, looking away from you.That little nervous action gave you the exact answer you needed.

 “Alright, lets just sleep it off and enjoy our night.It doesn't have to be ruined because Topper decided to go home,okay?”Kelce asked,eating a chicken nugget.You nodded, feeling uneasy.Topper never did this.He always hugged you before he left, he wouldnt just walk out like that.You created a new note in your phone, typing something and showing it to Rafe. 

Does he know what we did?

He read the message,quickly shaking his head. “Hey,what are you guys doing?”Kelce asked,leaning across the table in attempts of seeing the phone screen.You quickly placed your phone down,looking up at your confused friend. “Nothing,Kelce.Don't worry about it.”You told him,bouncing your leg up and down.

Something was very wrong.You didnt know why you felt so sick all of a sudden or why you were shaking,snapping out of your thoughts when Rafe reached his hand across,his hand on your leg to get it to stop bouncing. “Lets take our food and finish it in the living room while we watch the movie.”Kelce suggested, already standing up.

Topper drove down the street,approaching the bridge that made him so nervous.There were two bridges on the island,the one that separated Figure Eight from The Cut and the one that was built right over a quickly flowing river that lead from one mainroad to another.

It was the quickest way for Topper to get home from your house, it wasnt his favorite way because it always cause him to be anxious but it was quicker than the twenty minute alternative path.The bridge was old and was a popular spot for drug deals and couples that were looking to write their initials somewhere.

It had been built sometime back in the sixties before the river started to rise and the current became strong.He drove slowly,his heart pounding quick.He wished that he had taken the other way but it was far too late to leave now,already half way down the bridge.

He must’ve been shaking more than he realized,everything happening quick as he lost control of the steering wheel,sending himself right through the rusting metal bars of the bridge.

Time slowed down as the car fell from the structure,hitting the cold,quick moving water.He was forced forward as the front of the car hit a large rock,smacking his head off the steering wheel,the seatbelt locking a moment after.The cold water was filling the car quick,the whole vehicle submerged,Topper trapped by his seatbelt,unconscious.

“Topper hasnt texted me.”You frowned,checking you phone for the upteenth time within that half hour.Kelce’s eyebrows furrowed,leaning his head against your shoulder. “Im sure he’s fine,maybe he’s just tired and fell asleep when he got home or something.”That was probably a very logical explanation to a normal person but to you it seemed absolutely ridiculous.

Topper would always text you when he got home.Rafe nodded,agreeing with Kelce. “I wouldnt worry to much,its Topper.What’s the worst thing that could’ve happened?”Rafe asked,none of you paying attention to the movie.

Pennywise killing and manipulating people definitely was not helping with the situation. “Im serious.I think I should call him.”You mumbled,pressing the call icon,holding the phone to your ear.No answer. “He didnt answer, something has to be wrong.”You insisted.

Kelce took out his own phone, deciding that maybe Topper was just ignoring you and Rafe for now.His thoughts were proved wrong when Topper ignored him too. “Yeah, hes probably just asleep.”Kelce put his phone away, pulling you close to him in attempts to calm you down. “Should we go to his house?”You asked,looking over at Rafe.

He decided to just pause the movie, figuring this would be a long conversation. “He’s asleep, (Y/N).If we go there we’ll have to throw rocks at his window so he’ll wake up, its not like any of us can drive there.”He reminded you.You shrugged, feeling Kelce’s hand grip yours,his thumb rubbing circles. “Do you think he’s mad at me?”You asked, hoping that that wasnt the case.

Rafe shook his head, throwing the thought of that out the window. “He has no reason to be.He might be mad at me-he’s definitely mad at me but he’ll be over it by tomorrow.He’ll probably call in the morning, it’ll be fine.”Rafe forced a smile on his face.

You just had to hope he was right, leaning into Kelce,your arms around his torso.You noticed a look of jealousy on Rafe’s face, understanding why but choosing to ignore it.The way Kelce was shaped made him very easy to hug and cuddle with,his sweatshirt smelling like McDonalds and cologne. 

“Lets watch something that’s not scary.”Kelce grabbed the tv remote,exiting out of the movie before either you or Rafe could fight him. “I vote that we watch Victorious.”You looked up at Kelce as he flipped through different options.He looked over to Rafe, silently asking for his opinion.

Rafe gave him a nod,watching as Kelce’s fingers twirled your hair,grazing over your temple and cheek as he pushed it past your shoulder,beginning to braid it.The first episode of Victorious was playing.You were sure by now that you had seen the entirety of the show at least twenty times.

You had listened to the soundtrack even more than that, Kelce being the one who insisted that you listen to it. “What time are you guys leaving tomorrow?”You asked,eyes glued to the tv.Kelce sighed, not wanting to think about the fact that he had to spend the whole day with three of his cousins. 

“Maybe like….10.”Kelce answered, knowing that you probably wouldnt be awake at that time.You looked over to Rafe,waiting for his answer. “I dunno….I should probably be there early so Ward isnt waiting for me at the door.He’s gonna be up my ass all day.”He had seen all the texts from both Ward and Rose on his phone.

They were furious.It didnt really matter though, the worst they would do is yell at him.They couldnt really ground him, he was an adult anyways. “Sorry.”You muttered.Rafe grinned,shaking his head. “Dont worry about it,that party was stupid anyways.I swear to god I thought there was gonna be a fight between Mavis and Eleanor.”He chuckled,earning a smile from Kelce.

 “Imagine that, the two of them just hitting each other with their canes.What would they fight about?Like,how dare you take my pie recipe and claim it as yours you old rat!”Kelce tried to sound old,his voice squeaky like he had a bad cold.

You laughed,messing up the braids Kelce was trying to do in your hair. “Or like, my grandson is prettier than yours and they have the same father!”He continued,glad he could make you laugh when you had been so stressed.Your eyes widened,sitting up. 

“Wait,do their grandsons actually have the same dad or are you fucking with me?”You asked, unable to tell if he was joking or not.Kelce shrugged. “I mean, Im just saying that they look similar.Rafe,stop laughing and listen.Im just saying ive never seen Owen’s dad in the same room with Joshua’s dad.Have you?”He asked, his tone becoming serious.

You thought back to all the parties and events you had been forced to go to,trying to think if you had ever noticed either of the boys.They were two years younger than you and your boys meaning that you had never really had to pay attention to them at all, always caught up trying to beat Topper in virtual cup pong.It was one of the few virtual games that he was actually good at.

“You know,I dont think I have.”You admitted, giving into his theory.Rafe rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “There’s no way, doesnt Joshua’s dad live with him?”He asked, trying his best to remember.Kelce bit the inside of his cheek, about to answer when you spoke up. “He could be living a double life!People do that sometimes.”You reminded him.Kelce shrugged, trying to think of more ways to prove his theory.

Topper’s eyes opened again when the water was up to his knees.All he could see was black,his legs feeling numb from the cold,his left arm hurting like it had never hurt before.He cursed,trying to unbuckle his seatbelt but to no avail,the material digging into his neck and the car swaying from the tough current.

He reached for his phone that had ended up in the cupholder, only then noticing the blood coming from his sore arm.He chose to ignore it,dialing 911 as fast as he could,tears streaming down his face.If only he had taken the other way home.

 “911,whats the emergency?”A feminine voice asked,hearing his shallow breaths from the other end of the phone. “My car- I drove into Crescent River-The water is in my car.”His voice sounded like he was drunk,probably because he had bit through the tip of his tongue when he crashed. “What’s your name?”The woman asked, sending everyone to the river to search for the car.

 “Topper-please tell Rafe that im sorry!Tell (Y/N) that I love her!Please-fuck im gonna die.”He began sobbing, knowing that he’d never see you or Rafe or Kelce ever again.He wouldnt be able to apologize for all the dumb shit he had done over the years.

He was going to die because he and Rafe got into an argument about you.He couldve laughed.It was funny how the universe worked. “Topper, you’re gonna be just fine.Help is on the way.Can you break the window?”The dispatch asked.Topper tried to move,everything blurry.The rush of water filling the car was loud,the cold liquid now up to his chest.

 “Somethings wrong with the seatbelt!Im stuck-I cant move.I cant fucking move and the water is so cold and I cant move….god please just tell my friends that im sorry.”He cried, lifting his head up so he was staring at the ceiling of the car,getting as much air as he could before the car would be completely full. 

“Topper, you can tell them yourself.Help is on the way, please stay on the call.”She waited for Topper to say something else, for any sign that he hadnt drowned only to hear the sound of static before the call cut out.

“Are you guys tired yet?”You asked the boys,pulling a blanket up to your chest,still in Kelce’s lap. “No, im not going to bed until this dumbass admits that he’s wrong.”Kelce insisted, annoyed by Rafe. “Im just saying the I never saw JFK’s son when he was younger and Matt Dillon in the same room.”Rafe repeated it for the third time,still not being helpful.

 “Because they werent friends!”You shouted at him, Rafe flicking your forehead. “You cant be friends with yourself!Now listen.13 bloodlines of the illuminati,right?Right.So they discover time travel so JFK’s son assassinates his dad because he couldnt support his passion for acting,right?So then he goes back in time in a different time line to become an actor and change his name to Matt Dillon.Its just like Spiderverse!”Rafe exclaimed, trying to get you guys to believe him.

You shook your head,looking back up to the tv. “Rafe, did you even pay attention to Spiderverse?”You asked, making him finally shut up. “Wait, I want to watch conspiracy theories now.”Kelce mumbled,his fingertips now tapping against your hip.You handed him the remote, letting him put on top ten craziest conspiracy theories.

When the ambulances,cop cars, fire trucks and rescue trucks showed up Topper had been without air for nearly two minutes.The lights of his car were dim but they were luckily able to spot it,sending the divers down.They were in full gear,helmet and radio included.

There were two divers,seeing that the glass had given out and smashed,some of the glass causing small cuts over Toppers body.The were able to get the car door open,cutting off the seatbelt,telling Schoope through the radio that they had gotten him,fire fighters waiting for them to bring his body up,handing him into the arms of the fire captain who then got him onto a stretcher,letting the EMT’s take him.His arm was bent in all sorts of ways,a large cut at his hairline,blood still flowing from his mouth.

“You guys believe in the moon landing, right?”You asked,moving in Kelce’s lap so you could see both him and Rafe.Kelce was hesitant to answer, not knowing what to think after watching that last theory.Rafe bit the inside of his cheek, making you groan.

 “Really?”You asked, checking the time to see that it was already two in the morning. “Hey, im gonna go upstairs to sleep.Will you guys stay in the guest rooms?”You asked,sitting up with the blanket around your shoulders, cold despite the fact that you were wearing Topper’s hoodie.

 “Why?”Kelce asked, letting out a loud,dramatic yawn. “Because the door is right there and so is the window...at least in the other rooms it’ll take longer for them to kill us.”You explained, grabbing your phone off the table.

 “Alright, im setting alarms for 8,8:30,9 and 9:30.”Kelce announced,setting them in his clock app.You sighed,knowing that his alarms would probably wake you up as well. “For why?”You asked,already at the end of the staircase. “So I can make you guys breakfast.”He answered in a tone that made you feel dumb, almost like the answer was so obvious.

 “You dont have to.”You replied, knowing that that wouldnt change anything.He shrugged,not really caring.Rafe turned off the tv,standing up and stretching out his limbs,almost touching the ceiling.You laid down in your bed after saying goodnight to them, your eyes wandering to the closet,to the window,to under the bed.

The fact that somebody had probably been in your room without you even knowing freaked you out.You turned on the flashlight on your phone,keeping it on as you scrolled through tik tok.That was probably an even worse idea since your entire for you page consisted of serial killer facts because of you liking too many Criminal Minds videos.

Eventually you decided to just go and sit in the bathroom,just so you could be anywhere else but your bedroom.You sat on the toilet,checking if Topper had been active on Snapchat,Instagram or Tumblr.Nothing.That was very unlike him even if he had been tired and fallen asleep as soon as he got home.

After twenty minutes of sitting on your toilet you decided that you couldnt go back to your bedroom.It was too creepy.So here you were,tiptoeing across the floor of your own house to one of the guest rooms at the end of the hall,knowing that’s where Rafe was.

You let out a soft sigh,carefully opening the door. “Rafe.”You called out to him softly.You could barely make out his figure on the bed,arms and legs spread out like a starfish.You sighed,deciding not to bother him.

You used your flashlight as you made your way down the hall,opening Kelce’s door. “Hey,Kelce.”You whispered,seeing him move,eventually sitting up and squinting,trying to figure out what was going on.

 “(Y/N)?”He asked,trying to make sure that you were you and not some imposter.You let out a quiet sigh of relief,entering the room and closing the door behind you. “Hi.”You answered,sitting at the end of the bed. “Are you okay?”He asked,turning on his own flashlight,flipping his phone so the screen was against the mattress,the small light making it so he could see you.

 “Yeah,cant sleep in my room.Can I sleep in here?”You asked.He tried to hide how happy he was,nodding. “Yeah,yeah thats fine.”he patted the spot next to him,grinning as you slid under the covers,your arm falling over his torso,head against his back as you closed your eyes.He eventually turned on his side so he could face you and you could get more comfortable,holding him like a koala,your head resting on his shoulder.

You couldnt remember anything after that which meant that you had fallen asleep clinging to your friend.You woke up when Kelce got off the bed,leaving a frown on your face. “Go back to sleep.”He whispered to you.

When they got Topper ot the hospital they were still trying to find out how bad his injuries were.He was still knocked out,eyes twitching every few moments as he was rushed down the hall and into surgery to fix his mangled arm,removing the glass that had been lodged deep inside his leg.They were glad to find that none of his injuries were fatal despite him being technically dead for 15 seconds when they had first got him out of the river.

It was determined that he had a pretty nasty concussion that would take a good couple of months until it was completely healed.The surgeon had to stitch the long cut on his hairline shut,bringing it forward ever so slightly.They had noticed his medical records,calling his mother to tell her about the horrible accident. 

“Is the car okay?”She had asked,making the nurse who had called frown and tell her no,the car was definitely not okay. “Unfortunately im in California so I cant be there.Maybe just give his little girlfriend a call.”She suggested carelessly,not even bothering to ask about the condition her son was in.

Something about the way she said it sounded like she was disgusted by the idea of you.Almost like a child talking about vegetables.The nurse had asked for the number of his girlfriend,his mother reading off yours that she had stashed in her phone just in case of emergency.

When you woke up you were warm and comfortable,seeing two texts.One was from Kelce to let you know that he had left and that eggs and bacon were on the stove.The other was from Rafe telling you that he had left and got home safely.

He probably only texted you that because he had seen how worried you were when Topper hadnt.You checked your snapchat notifications,seeing that you had lost your 785 day streak with him.That really made you upset,knowing that it would take two years to get it to that point again.

You sent out your streaks,getting up with a loud yawn,stumbling as you made your way downstairs and into the kitchen,a shiver running up your spine from the cold tile.A glass plate sat on the stove,a layer of tinfoil covering it.

You peeled off the foil,placing the plate in the microwave when your phone rang.Your heartbeat picked up,hoping that it was Topper calling to tell you that he was sorry for nto calling you last night and that he was perfectly fine,frowning when you saw that it was an unknown number.

 “Hello?”You asked,hoping that it wasnt gonna be ghost face on the other end. “Um...is this Topper Thornton’s girlfriend?”the voice asked.You frowned,looking around your kitchen.You had no idea who it could be or why they would think your were Topper’s girlfriend but you decided to go with it anyways,saying yes.

There was a pause before the woman spoke again. “Im sorry to inform you but your boyfriend drove into Crescent River last night.He’s got an awful concussion and a severely broken arm as well as 12 stitches.He’s currently at Kildare Hospital if you’d like to come see him.”The woman explained.

And just then everything was over.You were always terrified of getting a call like this.That Rafe had overdosed at a party or that Kelce had been hit with a golf club to the head.But you never thought it would happen.

You felt like you couldnt breath,your hand gripping the phone so hard that you thought it might crack.You didnt know how you would get to the hospital.Rafe was at home and would take too long to get to your house,Kelce was at his cousin’s house on the complete opposite side of the island.

You knew what you had to do,grabbing your keys that had stayed in the junk drawer for the past two years,a layer of dust covering the metal.You rushed out of your house with nothing but your keys and phone,not bothering to slip on pants or even grab your bag,going into your garage in a rush.

You couldnt even remember turning on the car engine,speeding out of your driveway and leaving a trail of black marks,driving straight to the hospital.The car smelt like stale doritos for a reason that you couldnt understand.

The last time you had used this car or even drove was back when you were seventeen and nearly passed out while you were driving,too scared to try it again.It didnt matter now,your foot not leaving the gas pedal,hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that your fingers hurt,pulling into a random parking spot at the hospital,not even checking your parking job.

You held your phone and your keys in the same hand,sprinting and nearly getting hit by another car in the process,gasping for air when you reached the front desk. “I-I need to see Topper Thornton.”You spoke quickly,almost coughing.

The nurse’s eyes widened,realizing that you were the girl she had spoken to on the phone. “(Y/N)?”She asked,wanting to be sure before she told you what was important.You nodded,wanting this to be over so she’d tell you what room you needed to go to. 

“He said on the 911 call that he wanted you to know that he loved you and that he wanted Rafe to know thay he was sorry,I thought you should know.He’s up in room 234,2nd floor just two doors down.”She told you,a sympathetic look in her eyes.

You didnt think too much about it,running up the staircases because taking the elevator would waste time.You glanced at the rooms,trying to remember if she had said if the room was on the left or on the right.You found the room after a few seconds,preparing yourself before opening the door.

The lights were dim,the tv off.And then there was Topper,looking like he was dead.His left arm was put in a cast from his mid bicep to his hand,bent so the it was at a ninety degree angle and wresting on his stomach.

A few pieces of hair had fallen over the dark blue stitches that kept his skull from being visible,his eyes closed.An oxygen tube settled at his nose,multiple IV’s in his right arm,the heart monitor keeping a steady beat.

You were grateful for that,watching the lines move up and down,memorizing the sound of the beeping.You sent Rafe and Kelce text messages,telling them what had happened,deciding to keep the words that Topper had said to the dispatch to yourself for now.

After a long twenty minutes of sitting there a nurse came in,surprised to see you. “He should be waking up soon.Are you his spouse?”She asked,writing down something on a clipboard.You nodded,still keeping up with the lie figuring that it was the only way you’d be allowed to stay in the room with him.

 “Alright,he should wake up any moment,hun.”She smiled at you before leaving the room,closing the door quietly behind her.You rolled your eyes,figuring that she had spoken that sentence five other times today and that she didnt actually care about you or Topper.

You found yourself scooting your seat closer to the hospital bed,running your fingertips along the palm of his good arm.His eyes slowly opened,shutting again for a moment,slowly adjusting.

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[jonspurpleskirt]

Down the Spiral

Tim Stoker & Jonathan Sims, hurt/comfort

Summary: Michael loves playing with the Archivist and so after Not-Sasha is taken care of and Jon is back at the Institute murder charge free it reveals that he has Sasha stashed "savely" in its halls. All Jon has to do to get her out is go through the yellow door. ____

Everything just kept getting worse. That thought hadn't left his mind since the confrontation with Elias. It kept him from his work, making him stare at the statement he had wanted to record hours ago. Something impatient within him tugged to finally get on with it, but his eyes just didn't see the words in front of him and the insides of his head kept resembling a barren wasteland.

There was nothing good in his life anymore. There was nothing good in any of their lives anymore. He had ruined everything. Dragged everyone into the cage with him and locked the door because he hadn't known any better.

If he had just known...

But he hadn't and now they were all trapped here. Nothing waiting for them outside and nothing but hostility meeting them inside. At least that was the case for Jon. He didn't know if Tim and Martin still spoke, still sometimes joked with each other. If Melanie had made friends with Basira perhaps, or god forbid even Daisy. The two of them shared a frightening amount of bloodlust.

He doubted it, though. Whenever he dared to emerge from his office these days the atmosphere in the shared space of the Archives was tense. One or more of them were always gone, Basira more often than not sitting somewhere reading.

Neither of them did much work these days, Jon mused. It was funny that once upon a time that thought would have made him angry.

Jon sighed, glancing over the statement for the upteenth time, saying to himself that now he would finally start and do some work, when loud cursing and several crashes made him jump out of his chair and run towards the door.

He ripped it open with the wrong hand, the burn left by Jude Perry sending a stab of pain through his arm.

Basira, Tim and Melanie were for once all there, and had taken on various defensive poses. They didn't grace Jons dramatic entrance with even the slightest of glances, but the being that called itself Michael grinned and cooed as though it didn't have a knife, an axe and a gun pointed at it.

"Archivist! Just whom I wanted to see~ It is quite hard to get a grip on you, you know. I've been meaning to have a little chat with you for a while now."

Jon squeezed his eyes together to ward of the headache Michaels multiple voices and impossible features always gave him. He breathed through the pain, before looking at the Distortion again, squinting to be able to make out something that resembled a coherent form.

The image still swam in front of him, Michaels smile literally blinding, teeth flashing with too many deeply saturated colours.

"Hello Michael. What do you want?"

"Awww you don't sound excited to see me at all! I've got more of a reaction from your assistants."

The thing pouted, but the grin reappeared fast when it heard the click of the safety of Basiras gun coming off.

"Aha I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The voice it used screeched like nails on a chalkboard and a microphone with its volume set too high. Weapons clattered to the floor as everyone scrambled to shield their ears from the sound. Jon felt a trickle of blood running down the side of his neck and winced.

"There. Better. You people are so rude." The laughter that followed was worse than the voices before, high pitched and low, aggressively amused.

"Michael." Jon hissed and it stopped.

"Yes dear Archivist?"

"Why are you here?"

"Ah." A misplaced chuckle, alltogether fake and a hungry grin. "I've heard you've dealt with Not-Sasha! Congratulations! Do you want the real one back now?"

"What?"

Tim had recovered fast and somehow had already taken up the axe again. He looked more than prepared to chop Michaels head off with it.

"Oh hello! I forgot you were here, too. How did you like my hallways?"

"Fuck you! What are you talking about?!"

Michael shrugged, or what could be perceived as a shrug. It was hard to tell when there seemed to be three sets of shoulders all in various places they shouldn't be.

"It is as I said. I took Sasha into my hallways so she could flee from the thing in the table. And now that Not-Sasha is gone I'm willing to trade her."

"Trade her for what?"

Jon had a bad feeling about this, but he let Tim lead the conversation. Better he ask the questions. Jon didn't want to accidently use compulsion and make Michael angry.

"Why for the Archivist of course! I'm terribly bored at the moment. No good prey out there. And I'd love to see how my hallways work against someone from the Eyes ilk."

"So it would be a game to you." Jon was careful to not word it as a question.

Michaels blinding smirk hit him square in the chest and left him heaving. "Yes, you could see it that way."

"Jon." Basira warned, inching toward him.

Melanies lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes never strayed from the Distortion, even when tears started to run down her face from the strain. She kept quiet, but it was clear that she would attack if she felt it to be necessary.

"And that exchange."

"Yes." Michael dared him to ask.

"What would it look like."

"No static! My you are truly making an effort! It goes like this. You come here and step into my door and I let Sasha out."

"Jon we can't trust him." Basira hissed.

"I'm an it, actually." Michael purred.

"Whatever."

"I know. I want to see her. Melanie, you know what Sasha looks like. We'll both verify."

"Hmmm, sounds like a deal. Come here."

Jon scowled at the crooked finger beckoning him to come closer. Michaels horrible 8 bit laugh echoed through the Archive again.

"Don't be shy. I won't stab you this time, I promise!"

"What." Tim sounded about as done as Jon felt.

He'd rather not have to explain himself though. He was glad Tim wasn't directing his ire at him at the moment. So he quickly crossed the distance and came to stand stiffly beside Michael, tensing when the entity curled three of its impossible long fingers around his elbow.

"Marvelous!"

Another door that had appeared in on of the shelves banged open and out of it stumbled a woman with clammy tanned skin, big round trendy glasses and warm brown wavy hair, her grey eyes open wide.

Tim stumbled forward to catch her, trembling about as much as her. "Sasha?"

He looked to Jon for confirmation, who had to fight back his own tears. "Yes. Yes."

"That's her." Melanie whispered her own affirmation.

Before the smile on Jons lips had time to fully form he was yanked back, the yellow door slamming shut behind him. It felt like being dragged into a whirlpool while high on LSD and if Michaels realm would have permitted it Jon would have lost what little food he had eaten that day right then and there.

As it was he had to endure the minutes or hours he had to get used to the shift in reality, unsure if he was standing, laying down or sitting. When his head eventually stopped spinning and his eyes and other sensory input systems agreed to work again he found himself standing at a deadend. The door and Michael were gone, but the air was still filled with joyous laughter.

"Welcome to my humble abode little Archivist! I hope you like getting lost~"

Jon frowned at his surroundings that seemed to tilt and wobble under his every step. He was sure Michael was being extra distorting with the surroundings it had thrown Jon into. Jon didn't want to give it the satisfaction of knowing how much that bothered him. Although he doubted he could hide his terror from it.

Time didn't matter in the Distortions halls. It all melted together, turning and twisting into a bizarre fever dream. Jon relaxed as much as was possible with the horrible migraine that had formed behind his eyes. This actually wasn't so bad. He would probably just wander around aimlessly until he would either die from hunger or thirst, Michael would grow bored and kill him or he actually found the exit.

Jon very much doubted the latter. He had no real grasp of his supposed powers and the Beholding only opted to drop in a fact or two about the colours that normal humans shouldn't be able to see.

When he didn't grow tired nor hungry or thirsty in what he presumed was quite a while a new fear formed beside the pounding in his head. What if he was stuck in here forever?

But even that terror dulled over what didn't quite account for time. The hallways got tamer. They were still decorated with garish colours and wallpaper, bits of furniture strewn about here and there. But they had stopped being all wobbly and impossible.

Well they were less impossible. Jon thought as he walked through a wardrobe only to emerge from a mirror into a room with six walls, three doors, a window and a painting.

On and on it went until he felt deep in his bones a rhythm to it all. There was a spiral pattern to the twisting turns of the rooms and hallways. Inverted and containing a lot of deadends, but it was there and all Jon needed to do was follow it.

Down and down he went, even when the path lead him upward or turned him upside down. His head started to feel blissfully empty for once. No worry, no greater goal. He could just exist here in this weird home and wander. He might be as lost as he had been in the real world, but at least here he wasn't hurting anyone.

Electrical lights flickered on and off before turning to torches casting pink shadows across the chessboard walls. He startled out of his haze when he heard the clacking of heels somewhere to his right, a thought thundering into his mind, shattering all other not thoughts that hadn't resided in there.

"Helen!"

"Jon?"

"Helen! I'm here. Stay where you are!"

Jon skidded around the corner and there she was, still wearing her business dress and jacket, chin length brown hair curling around her ears. She was sobbing before he could even get to her and soon he had an armful of crying real estate agent in his arms.

They held each other tight and just weeped for what felt like an eternity, but was still too short.

"I was so scared." Helen sobbed as she drew back just enough to fix her gaze on Jon. "I thought I walked out of the Institute, but instead I found myself back in these horrible hallways and I couldn't find a way out this time, but I just couldn't stop walking, you know? I needed to find some way out. And Jon, Jon! There's an end here. It's close I just know it! You believe me right? That's why you're here? You're also looking for the end?"

Jon rubbed up and down her arms to calm her. "Yes. Yes Helen. I'm so sorry. Had I known-"

"It's alright." She gave him a watery impression of a smile. "It'll be all alright soon. I hear it whispering. Come."

"Now that was quite the show." Michael suddenly stood between them and they sprung apart. It had its arms crossed and a deep frown carved into what could have been its face.

Jon couldn't exactly make out its eyes. And yet he was sure there was a spark of fear there.

"It was nice to play with you." Michael adressed Helen. "But I feel you overstayed your welcome."

A door appeared behind her, standing in the middle of the hallway, no walls around it.

"There is the exit. Shoo."

She looked at Michael with wide, glassy eyes. "No. No I can't. I need-"

And with a sudden, horrible clarity Jon knew what would happen if she didn't leave now. A door locked from the outside. The body of Michael Shelley destroyed. Helen lost.

"Helen. Please believe me when I say that this is better. Don't heed the call. It will only cost you."

Her flitted between Jon and Michael, hesitating. "Why?"

"Michael was human once, too." Jon whispered and understanding bloomed behind her eyes.

"Oh. But can I be sure?"

"I can." Jon assured her. "You can open that door. It's save."

She swallowed. "Okay. Okay. Are you coming with?"

She reached for him, but Jon shook his head. "No. I don't believe my game is quite finished yet."

He looked over to Michael to make sure. The Distortion looked back at him, frown lightened by a pensive look. It didn't feel the need to correct him.

"Okay." Helen said again, sounding like it was everything but. "You'll be fine, though?"

Jon gave her the best smile he could manage at the moment, which wasn't much. "I think so, yes."

"Good then. I'll... see you around. Just. Not here, I guess."

"Yes. Take care Helen."

"You too."

The door clicked softly shut behind her, taking with it the swift breeze of fresh air and gentle midday sunlight.

Jon sighed. "That was... something. Thank you for letting her go."

"Hmmm."

Jon felt a deep satisfaction at how uncomfortable Michael seemed to be at the moment.

"I guess I shouldn't continue to walk down, then?"

"You were walking straight."

"It's all the same here, though, isn't it?"

"Stop that." Michael frowned harder, drawing itself up, terror apparent in the way it shook, after images pulsing off it in waves.

"What?"

"Knowing me."

"Sorry."

"You could just walk back up again, you know." Michael muttered, friendly facade all but forgotten. A near death experience would do that to you. Jon could sympathize.

He nodded, indulgent. "I guess I could."

Michael heaved a sigh that sounded more like the blare of an airhorn. "I'll show you out."

Jon didn't deem it necessary to tell it that it could just manifest a door like it had done with Helen. He got that Michael probably needed a hot minute to digest what had just happened. And for once Jon was more than content with providing some company.

It was Michael who talked first, essentially giving Jon its statement. Jon saw the fierce anger burn behind those multicoloured eyes and was reminded of Tim and his fury at Jons betrayal.

"How much of Michael is there in you, then?" Jon carefully asked, voice so soft it was barely there in order to keep any sort of compulsion out of it.

"That's not the right question to ask Archivist. Because there is no answer to that, that would stay definite. How much of you is in those tapes you record? It's your voice in there. How much of you is actually you? There's no meaningful distinction."

"That doesn't sound right."

"That's because you're too deep inside your head." Michael laughed. It wasn't as grating as usual.

"Thank you for keeping Sasha safe, by the way." Jon whispered into the screaming silence that had enveloped the two as they meandered through the endless expanse of hallway stretching out in front of them.

"You are no fun."

"Pardon?"

Slim fingers crawled like worms across his shoulder. His head spun with a sudden dizzying motion, feeling oddly light. His skin tingled with confused nerves at the points of contact. Unconsciously he leaned into the touch loosing himself in the sensations. The Distortion was less scary now that he knew it. It was actually kind of sad and he might have formed a small grudge against Gertrude for it.

Michael huffed beside him, caught between grinning and frowning. Jon wondered which emotion the Spiral wanted to portray and which one actually belonged to what was left of Michael Shelley.

"That's what I mean. You're not afraid at all! You're enjoying yourself. That just won't do."

It nudged him forward and oh, there was a yellow door there. Jon stepped up to hit and hesitated, hand hovering over the handle.

"What is it now?" Michael grumbled behind him, pout evident in its voice.

"I... I'm not sure if... I'm not sure if it's alright for me to get out."

Michael blinked at him in surprise. Jon shouldn't have been able to see it, but the motion was reflected in front of him.

"I just don't know if it's a good thing that I'm out there. Something is going on with me and at least in here I'm not hurting anyone."

"You... don't want to get out? You like it here?" Shrill, disbelieving laughter filled every nook and cranny of their space, drilling into Jons head and hollowing out his skull. Michael was bent over in a spine breaking way, arms wrapped twice around it and shaking with manic chuckles when Jon turned to frown at it.

"Two people in a row wanting to stay." It giggled, rightning itself. "I really need to redecorate this place." It shook its head, smile sharp yet soft. "No Archivist I will not drag you around as deadweight. Not when you aren't even making an effort of being afraid."

Jon squeaked as he was lifted, knife hands nicking the skin on his cheek and temple. With a heavy thump Michael kicked the door to the Archives open, startling Tim awake, who had been slumped over the desk, facing the door.

"We're baaack!" Michael crooned. "I'll leave you to decide if the Archivist should stay." He dumped Jon into Tims lap, who was barely awake enough to grab at Jon before he slid off.

"But Jon, when you next step into my door I will not let you back out again. See you around~"

Jon tried to identify the exact moment Michael had left the room. It was a futile attempt and not at all enough to distract from the fact that he was currently still inhabiting Tims lap.

"I'm sorry I'll-" Jon tried to stand up, but the arms around him tightened and he was squashed unceremonously against Tims body.

"Jon"

Oh no. What had he done now? He just got here why was Tim already so mad? Was he mad? Oh good lord he was crying. Jon awkwardly turned so he could sling unsteady arms around Tims neck, letting the man bury his head into his shoulder.

"Uhm hi?" He'd really rather go back to Michaels hallways now, please. This was already starting out to be a situation much more terrifying than wandering forever in a fever dream.

"You absolute bastard!"

"Sorry?"

Tim laughed and it was a strange sound. Too normal after who knew how long in Michaels domain.

"No you don't get to apologize. Not when you don't even know what you've done." Tim stood, Jon scrambling to get his feet under him so he wouldn't crash.

Standing on even, unmoving ground was like coming back on land after a year at sea. Tim shaking him did not help his coordination.

"You've been gone for over three months. Over three months, Jon! We had to blow up the circus without you. Elias was pissed! But Sasha managed to McGyver together a remote control for the C4 and it was amazing! Pressing that button was probably the best thing to happen in my life!"

"Wait slow down." Jon mumbled, trying to keep up with Tims flood of exposition while simultanously trying to get Tim to stop shaking him. He was going to be sick at this rate.

Tim didn't seem to hear him. "And then everything was over and Sasha was there, but you still weren't. And that bloody door stayed here all the while, mocking us. It wouldn't open. We tried everything minus blowing it up, figured you wouldn't have liked that. Tried to hunt down other Spiral locations, but no odd door would open to us."

Tim took a huge breath and stopped shaking Jon, his grip tightening when Jon tried to put some space between them.

"We didn't know what to do. And then about a week ago Helen came in to tell us about what happened in the hallways. She's fine by the way. Apologized for waiting so long before coming by. She was sad to see you still missing, left her contact details and wants you to call her when your feeling like the world makes sense again, whatever that means."

Jon knew exactly what it meant. He was sure it would take him a while to make sense of anything that wasn't strobe light effects, after images and nausea. He would have liked to elaborate on that and point out that he really should sit down oh my god everything was spinning.

"We figured if she was out you'd come back, too. And we didn't want you to stumble into an empty Archive so we took turns watching the door. Do you know how hard it was to keep Martin from hogging all the night shifts? The man hasn't slept more than a wink in months I tell you. He looks about as bad as you so if you don't let him hug you and fuss I will play the most embarrassing prank I can think of on you next April Fools day, you hear me?"

Tim shook him once and Jon had to cough and force the bile back down his throat before he could answer.

"Quite."

"Good."

There was another shaky exhale and a much more tentative hug. "You look like shit, come on you can crash at my place."

"I too have a flat, Tim." Jon felt the need to remind him, but let himself be led to the front doors and to Tims car, grateful to finally be allowed to sit again.

"You just came back. No way am I letting you out my sight and give you the opportunity to vanish again. Sasha and Martin would have my head."

Jon frowned down at his hands, flinching when the car sprung to life and grabbing for an empty take out bag, just in case. Tims behavior deeply confused him. The last time he had mother henned him like this was back in Research. Did Michael accidently drop him in a different dimension?

"We're there."

How did Tim get to the side of his door? When had they started to move? When had they gotten to Tims flat? Good lord time didn't make sense anymore.

Jon half stumbled out of the car and followed Tim into his apartment.

"Make yourself comfortable boss. I'll get you some tea, yeah? And food. Try not to fall asleep on me yet. And don't wander off."

Where would he even wander off to? Jon wanted to ask. He forgot about that as soon as his body hit the hard surface of the couch. At least the pillow was nice enough to cushion his fall. Letting out a pitiful groan he levelled himself up again to take his glasses off, rubbing at the spots where the plastic had dug into his skin.

He was glad that Tim seemed to have calmed down during the ride. Maybe doing something had helped. Tim had always been an action guy, needing an outlet for all the pent up energy.

It all felt so surreal. Here he was, out of the hallways, in Tims flat, with Tim being nice to him and the apocalypse over and done with. He would probably get an earful for missing out on that one later. Probably from Melanie. Maybe from Basira and Daisy.

Gods they were alright. He was gone for so long and they were all fine. Maybe a bit more traumatized, if Tims behavior was anything to go by, but alive. And in this economy that was probably the best outcome they could get.

"Sasha, how is she?" Jon asked as soon as Tim came back into the room.

A rainbow coloured mug and a bowl of instant noodle soup was placed on the coffee table in front of him before Tim answered.

"She's amazing. I mean she's doing well. She was in way better shape than you coming out of there. But I guess you didn't exactly go in at the heighth of your power. She said she was afraid for awhile, that Michael would keep her forever. But she was also curious how the hallways worked and she kinda got lost trying to figure them out? She chatted with Michael whenever it popped up to gloat. It kept her updated pretty well actually, which is kind of creepy. I think out of all of us she had it the easiest."

"That's... that's so good to hear." Jon breathed.

Tim chuckled. It sounded suspiciously wet. "Yeah. Come on sit up and eat your shitty soup."

Before Jon could move on his own an arm curled around his waist and hoisted him into a sitting position.

"I can move myself, Tim." Jon grumbled, leaning heavily into Tims side either way. Just for the contact, he told himself. He could totally sit upright if he wanted to.

"Of course boss."

Tim turned on the TV as Jon ate, the soothing chatter of news reporter talking about the weather filling the air. Jon was half dozing, unsure if he had eaten much at all when Tim moved him again.

"You want to clean up before going to bed?"

Jon took stock of his body, weighting his options. It was as if his muscles only now began to realize the amount of miles they had walked. His scars itched and pulled and the cut on his throat as well as the burn on his hand pounded against the confines of his mangled skin. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, a bit of vertigo still throbbing in the back of his skull, while his ears still echoed faintly with piercing, inhuman laughter.

"No?"

"Okay. Sit tight boss I'm gonna get you a blanket."

Sit tight... Where did Tim think he would go, if he wasn't even up for taking a shower?

"You got better, too." Jon said in lieu of a thank you when a heavy blanket got draped over him.

"Hm. Blowing up a building helped."

"Ah yes, arson. The best therapy of all."

Tim laughed at that. "You'd be surprised. But actually I did get a therapist at Sashas request. I blew up at her a few times in between and she didn't take it well. I wanted to be better for her."

"Good." Jon mumbled, half asleep. "That's good."

"Yeah. Sleep well."

"Hmhm."

He woke up in the middle of the night. Or was it day? It was dark, but the curtains were drawn so he couldn't be sure. It wasn't to a full body flinch like he was used to waking up with. Just a slow, disorientated blinking into wakefulness.

The flinching came later, followed by a yell when he made out a blurry shape sitting in the arm chair mere inches away from him.

"Good Lord, Tim! What are you doing?!"

"Making sure you're not getting kidnapped." Was the brightly given answer.

"That's creepy." Jon grumbled, rubbing his eyes and settling his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

"Well you're not the only one allowed to be spooky."

"M not spooky."

"Suuure. So Martin and Sasha will be by in a bit. Wanna tell me what all that about going back through Michaels door was about?"

Jon sighed. "He- it just threatened me."

"Really? Cause it kind of looked to me like it was kicking you out."

"I have it on good authority that I can be rather annoying, yes."

Tim crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at him. "Does that mean I and the others need to make sure you take the right doors from now on?"

"No?"

"That's not very reassuring, Jon."

"Why do you care all of a sudden?" It was said out of exhaustion and Jon immediately regretted it, seeing Tims face fall. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that."

"No." Tim took a shuddering breath, mussing up his hair with the hand that wasn't clutching at his own shirt. "No, that's fair. I've been an ass to you before... Fuck before you literally fed yourself to the Spiral in order to get Sasha back."

"You don't have to feel guilty about that."

"I do! But that's not just it. You've missed a lot. And I got better, but I'm still so angry most of the time. But when you were gone I was also fucking terrified. For Christs sake Jon we were friends once. And I just let you barter your life away like it was nothing. I was happy. When Sasha came back and you were gone I was even happy for a while."

Oh no he was crying again. They both were. He knew because Tim had gotten up to draw back the curtains before dropping onto the couch at Jons feet.

"I... it didn't last long. Call me selfish, but after a while all I wanted was for us to be complete again. You know the original four. It took me a bit to realize that I was mourning."

Tim barked out a broken laugh. "I've probably not slept about as much as Martin."

"You should then. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere at the moment."

"I can't. Every time I try I panic that you will be gone when I wake up."

Jon mulled that thought over in his head, an odd tingle flooding his body. "Lay down with me then?"

Tim stared at him for a moment, biting at his lip and barely stopping before drawing blood. "That... that sounds like an idea. Yeah. Let me draw the couch out first."

They could have just gone to bed, but Jon just about managed to drag himself to the armchair. And Tim hadn't offered so Jon wouldn't pry.

Tim collapsed on the couch and immediately reached out an arm and made grabby hands. Jon huffed out a small chuckle and obliged, trying not to seem too eager.

"We'll have to get up again when Sasha and Martin visit." Jon noted, snuggling into Tims chest with a sigh, whole body thrumming at the none violent contact.

"Sasha has a key." Tim muttered into his hair, spitting out some of the loose strands right after.

Jon shook his head. There seemed to be quite a lot he needed to be caught up on. And as they tangled their legs together Jon found that for once the future didn't look as threatening as it usually did.

[violetleaves]

filming: season one, episode six | day four time: 12:07pm location: on set! for: @lovekilling​

       wes knows that he’s not the only person on set right now grinding their teeth in annoyance as they watch jordan stumble through yet another scene like he just started acting yesterday. everyone is watching right now ( and maybe that’s what’s throwing him off ), because at first, the scene was going incredibly; emilia’s the star at the moment, and she’s been patiently waiting for jordan to get up to her speed so the director can call cut and everyone can finally go to lunch. they’re already seven minutes late for it, and it doesn’t seem like jordan will be landing the one line he keeps flubbing anytime soon -- wes is pretty sure he’s heard someone call that lunch has been pushed until twelve-thirty, so he decides he’ll take advantage of the extra time whilst everyone is preoccupied. he’s lingering towards the back of the crowd, as he usually is if he bothers to stick around to watch a scene, and lucky for him, exactly who he wants to be is on the outskirts just like him. 

miraculously, jordan has produced his line properly, and everyone in the crowd is watching with their breath held as emilia pours her heart out into her next delivery. wes is not watching however, he’s stealthily working his way around everybody, stepping up behind charlotte and waiting to see if jordan’s actually about to finish his scene and ruin the moment that’s just come to wes’ mind. nope, his next line is a disaster and the director is shaking his head and shouting corrections at jordan -- not you emilia, you’re doing great, he says without any regard for jordan. the scene starts again, from the fucking beginning, and wes doesn’t understand why they can’t just cut around all of jordan’s fat and complete the scene in post. it’s annoying, but also lucky, because as emilia’s opening line leaves her lips for the upteenth time, wes puts his hands on charlotte’s hips from behind and begins walking backwards to slowly draw her away from the crowd who are somehow all still fixated on watching jordan crash and burn. maybe they’re just waiting to see if emilia goes berserk from having to put up with him, wes wonders.

        “i can’t sit through that anymore.” he whispers into her ear, still behind her, once they’re a safe distance away. eventually when he’s certain no one is around, he flips her around and pulls her close to him as he leans in a doorframe. “you wanna go back to your trailer for a little bit?” he’d rather go to his own, but wes cant risk the possibility of his mother walking in unprompted, or danny smashing his fist on the door and summoning him in the middle of whatever he and charltote have in store. the risks of going to charlotte’s seem lower, in that he thinks the only people that could possibly interrupt them would be jack or emilia, who already know about their secret casual thing and likely would only make some kind of dirty joke about them if they were to be caught. wes makes certain that there’s no one around before he presses a quick kiss to charlotte’s lips, and then takes her hand and rushes her out towards their trailers. 

there’s not a soul outside -- it appears everyone wants to see when jordan and emilia will finish up their scene, and wes is thankful for their opportunity to sneak around set together. when they’re outside of her trailer, wes feels his heart rate pick up a little bit. he’s never been in here before, and while he’s been inside a more private sanctum of hers, her bedroom, this still feels like a big step in their relationship, as casual as it may be. “did you dec’ out this place like you did your bedroom?” wes asks, hands placed on each railing of the small staircase that leads into her trailer. he’s rocking back and forth, waiting for her to unlock it and invite him inside. “i’m picturing sunflower central in here too, am i right?”

[enkelimagnus]

A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 10, 2918 words,

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for.

In this chapter, we move a little away from Vex again, to look at the others...

Read on AO3

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

Claws sink into his mind again, tearing at him. Orthax is angry, angrier than he’s been in a long time. He’d finally accepted that Keyleth wasn’t prey, and that Percy wouldn’t let him hunt and devour her.

Seeing that Wade person, with their dark hair and their dark eyes, Orthax had thought they’d be perfect. And once again. Percy had taken prey from him. He’d kept the demon from feeding, for the upteenth time in the last couple of years. So Orthax turns to the one prey he has at his disposal, the one he always gets to play with. The one he’s played with so much that there are only ruins of it left.

Percy feels like a chew toy for a sadistic dog. But he lets Orthax claw and scream at him. Better him than them. They’re innocent. If they shone a UV light on Percy’s hand, flesh wouldn’t be seen.

Blood tastes like copper on his tongue. He can’t tell if he bit himself, or if Orthax made him taste the half-elf’s blood. There are drops of it over the ground in the tunnel that leads to the outside. They can’t cross a certain point in it, Percy doesn’t really know why exactly.

Orthax shot his prey, right before they were about to cross, so maybe he’d be able to stop them. He failed. They were in so much pain, but they made it out. Percy doesn’t know which deity to thank for that.

The taste is strange and overwhelming and Percy wishes Orthax would take complete control. He wouldn’t have to feel any of this. But no. The demon knows exactly the sliver of control to give Percy so he will have to feel all of it, but won’t be able to take over again. Fuck. He’s so tired.

They stumble back up towards the rest of the castle. His feet hit the ground but Percy has no control. He’s stopped getting mad at Orthax or at the universe a long time ago. He used to rage and struggle for control over the smallest thing. A step, a motion, where his eyes looked. Now he just… waits.

He sees where Orthax looks, hears what Orthax listens, feels what Orthax wants him to feel. The pain or the pleasure or anything. Satiety. Despair. He’s in a cage in his own mind and the only thing he can do is bide his time, and rattle his cage in rare moments.

In those moments, for a second, he can distract Orthax long enough to let someone escape. And then he goes back to quietness and immobility, and lets the consequences roll in. The punches and claws of the demon he made a deal with.

It’s his own fault. The cage is of his own making. He’s done this to himself. He’s caged himself in revenge and hatred and pain and now he’s dealing with it. The pain is the direct consequence of his choices. He doesn’t get to complain about wanting his body back. About wanting to see his sister again, if she’s even alive, or in Whitestone, if she ever wants to see him again after what he did.

He doesn’t get to want anything. He gets to suffer. That’s all. It’s been two years. It feels like a hundred.

At least he saved someone today. He saved that half-elf with the dark hair and the dark eyes, they were so wide with fear and horror. That’s all the reaction he’ll ever get from now on. They were so beautiful. He’s so glad they made it out. He just hopes they got medical help.

He’ll have to ask Keyleth more about them next time she comes. Maybe she knows them. Maybe she’ll be able to tell him who they are, and what he’s managed to preserve. He’ll have to find something to do with Keyleth there next time… There’s no way Orthax is going to give him enough control to work on his machines for a very long time.

That is a reward for good behavior, and Percy’s been very very bad.

Orthax moves him through the corridors of the place he’s always called home. He still has the vague memories of his siblings running between these very walls, slipping on the carpet on the floor, when it was still this gorgeous dark blue. It is dusty and falling apart now.

The castle resounds with silence and loneliness. It’s just him now. It’s been only him since Cassandra ran from him, two years ago. Hopefully, she’s alive and okay. He’s told Keyleth not to tell him where she is or what happened to her. If the barrier that keeps him inside ever fails, he can’t know where she is. Her name is still on the barrel of his gun. He’ll go after her.

He walks past a room that used to be a salon for his mother and sisters. He wishes he could see them from the corner of his eye, his mother Johanna, his sisters Vesper, Whitney, and when she could be wrangled, Cassandra, learning needlework and politics in the same breath. He was pretty sure his three sisters had all known more about ruling than he ever did. But the room is covered in dust, the stools are broken. Precious memories have been scattered by one of his demons a long time ago.

Every room is another hole where his mind can get lost in the ruins of happier, sunnier days. Every room is empty.

I will kill your precious Keyleth, Percival. Don’t you think otherwise. I will feast on her soul…

Percy doesn’t doubt the genuine nature of the threat. He’s seen enough of Orthax’s violence to know he means every word, always. He’s tired of them though. Keyleth is gone on her Aramenté, and she won’t be back soon. Hopefully, by then, Orthax will have calmed down enough for Percy to have enough control to keep him from hurting her…

He’s selfish. He needs her. She’s the only person who looks at him like he’s a person. Keyleth’s kindness is like a copper thread keeping him tethered to his own sense of self. It’s horrible and dependent but he can’t help it. She’s all he has.

Wherever she is on the road, he hopes she’s safe.

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

Wind whips at Keyleth and her hair. It’s the icy wind of winter and she wishes she was in the cabin of the pick-up truck she found to hitchhike on, but this is not the worst. She could be walking.

The wind’s loud bellowing is almost overwhelming. Keyleth wants to shout at it, roar and scream and cry and have her voice carried away with it, far away. She wants to shout until she becomes wind herself. She can do it, probably.

She’s not powerful enough yet, but if she succeeds in her task in Terrah, she might be able to turn into an Air Elemental and literally become wind. She can’t wait for that. She can’t wait to have one more notch in the belt of her Aramenté, so she can deal with Percy without feeling as guilty as she does right now.

The driver of the truck is listening to music and some of its sounds whip past her ears with the wind. She has no idea what the words are, if there are any.

She’s sitting in the back of the truck with her bag at her feet. She’ll get to Westruun today, if the driver’s nice. The snow and the winter has made hitchhiking between Whitestone and Westruun difficult at best.

She should already be halfway to Kymal, but here she is. But at least she knows she can sleep at Pike’s tonight. The gnome is in Whitestone still, but she’s let her grandpa know Keyleth was on her way.

She’s looking forward to warm beds and blankets and probably some homemade alcohol. If Pike is anything similar to her grandpa on that front, Keyleth can definitely hope for a well-watered evening. Or not at all watered for that matter.

She lets her head fall back for a second, looking at the cloudless blue sky. It’s not the blue of summer, it’s the blue of winter, and she wants to feel this breathless and ethereal all the time. She wants to float or drive fast and be breathless. She wants the blue around her. Her red hair lashes in her face like fiery whips. Her eyes are watering from speed and wind and she’s almost happy.

All the physical feelings are enough right now to make her forget the rest of herself.

She doesn’t know what’s waiting for her in Terrah. It’s the first stop on a path that she doesn’t really know she wants to go on. She should want to. She should want to be the Headmaster of Zephrah but… Is this really for her?

She’s so small and young and unprepared for this. But Vilya is gone. Keyleth’s mom is gone and she has to take her place, because this is how things go. She has no siblings. This is her burden to wear. Her mantle to take on.

She closes her eyes when the tears in them threaten to overflow. Whatever’s out there, she’s going to conquer it. She doesn’t really have the option to fail. She wants to be the leader her people need, even if it means she won’t get anything else out of life. They need her. And she loves them.

She exhales.

The truck starts slowing down a little and she moves from her position to look forward. The city of Westruun lays over the ground in the distance. They’re coming down a hill and it sprawls out in front of her, surrounded by woods and the looming shape of Gatshadow Mountain.

She’s never been there. There’s a lot of the continent that she hasn’t seen really. The road between Whitestone and Zephrah is her only travelled one. But Westruun looks beautiful and glittering in the afternoon light, and she’s looking forward to meeting Wilhand Trickfoot.

The truck driver drops her off at the gates of the city and she starts walking in. She heads directly for the Market Ward, the area where Pike’s family home is supposed to be. She doesn’t have anything to look for anywhere else. She’s guessing rations and things for the road will be more easy to find around a market than around the temples.

Westruun is unlike anything Keyleth has ever seen. She doesn’t have a lot of reference, but it’s different, for sure.

Keyleth remembers very clearly the first time she left Zephrah and walked through Drynna. It was the biggest settlement she’d ever seen, and it was so little compared to Whitestone. Even smaller, compared to Westruun.

Zephrah was small and rough and on the top of a high mountain, away from the rest of civilization, and very much its own. Drynna was a fishing town with a couple of thousands inhabitants, sleepy and relatively quiet. Whitestone was a much bigger city but it was quiet too, kept docile by years of less than pleasant leadership, to the point where it had smothered trade and commerce within the settlement, with the soul of its inhabitants. Westruun…

As she walks through the streets towards the Market Ward, she’s surprised by the constant motion, the constant noise, the wave of a crowd and the music of conversation and feet.

It’s joyful. It’s the heartbeat of a city that hasn’t been tamed. With this as a comparison point, Keyleth can see what Father Reynal means when he talks about Whitestone as a zombie-like city. Undead, going through the motions but with eyes glazed over with death.

When she sees Westruun, she understands the metaphor. She hasn’t seen this many people in one place in her life. She wishes she could bottle this energy up and bring it back to Whitestone and give them some of that sunshine.

It’s the end of the afternoon now. It seems some people have stopped working for the day and are going home or running the last of their errands.

Keyleth decides she is going to soak in this energy as much as she can.

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

A few months ago, they stopped meeting at the Zenith, and started meeting in the sanctum of the Lady’s Chamber. It’s not that their faith in Pelor has diminished, no. Cassandra doesn’t think any of them had faith in Pelor in the first place, except maybe her.

The Zenith is crumbling apart. Father Reynal seems to be the only person in town that cares what the temple becomes and he’s not enough to keep it from crumbling. The weather and the elements are too strong. He’s not powerful enough to fight against that.

So they’ve relocated. The Lady’s Chamber is less red and gold than the Zenith. The furniture is well-crafted but less ornate. It’s simpler, in a way. More straight to the point. Cassandra likes the atmosphere of it. It reminds her less of the castle she grew up in.

It’s easier for her to forget like this. Most days, she prefers it like this.

Father Reynal, Keeper Yennen, Pike and Grog are sitting around the table in the sanctum when Cassandra comes in. They are not as tense as the last time she saw them. It had been right after the ranger had sensed a fiendish presence in the woods.

They’d managed to steer her away from the castle and Percy, however. That was probably why they are so relaxed.

They should have been more careful with Regae. They should have made sure he was okay, safe. Now that he’s dead, they have to deal with Vex’ahlia. And now, her brother, Vax’ildan.

There’s a heavy-looking file on the wooden table, without anything written on it. But Cassandra knows what it contains. When Vex’ahlia arrived in Whitestone, Father Reynal called in some favors here and there, and got a thorough background check on her.

Vex’ahlia Vessar, illegitimate daughter of Syldor Vessar, ranger with the TWC for the past five years. Formerly attached to the Shademurk Bog outpost, a tricky area going in and out of the Feywild. They’d seemingly given her the post because of her elven blood. Seemingly involved with Lord Saundor the Forsaken, Lord of the Shademurk Bog and the Gilded Run. Left the Shademurk in a hurry after a large fire erupted, earlier this year. Twin sister to Vax’ildan Vessar, definitely less of a noble figure. Criminal activities all over Syngorn and even Emon. And now he’s in town as well.

For all intents and purposes, the Vessar twins are nosy. Vex’ahlia didn’t lose any time in asking questions to anyone she could find, before sending her brother to interrogate Cassandra.

The debate about Vex’ahlia’s role in this has been going on for days now. Cassandra is so tired of it. She just wants to forget, again. She wants to forget about Orthax for another moment but no one will let her. They have to take a decision, and because this is about Percy and Whitestone, they all look to her. The last of the unpossessed De Rolos.

They have few options ahead of them. Driving them out of Whitestone, having something happen to them or recruiting them to the cause.

Cassandra doesn’t know how to feel about these. From what Pike and Grog have reported, Vex’ahlia is a fierce fighter and a fiercer soul. She will not be driven out easily. She could prove a good ally too. Keeper Yennen and Father Reynal are not in the state to manage the more physical outbursts of Orthax’s influence. They’ve managed to keep all of this contained for now, but if the barrier fails and Keyleth is not around, they will fall to Orthax’s power.

They can’t have that.

But Cassandra doesn’t want to trust someone else with this. It’s already too much. There’s six of them now, and Simon Whisk is getting closer and closer to asking for answers. Adding Vex’ahlia and possibly her brother into the mix is dangerous. The more people know, the harder it becomes to keep Percy safe.

She doesn’t want to know what it would be like if authorities in Westruun or Emon realized what was happening in Whitestone.

According to Father Reynal’s research, however, the Vessar twins aren’t likely to go and tell on them. They don’t have much when it comes to people to tell. It makes it easier to imagine bringing them in.

Cassandra doesn’t want to have them killed. She doesn’t need more blood on her hands, not after everything she’s done when under the Briarwoods’ thumb. She’s so tired of the pain and the deaths and looking at the Castle and knowing Percy is in there, in pain, and she can’t go and see him.

If Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan Vessar can help… Maybe it’s what needs to happen.

The door of the temple opens with an impressive bang suddenly. Everyone turns towards it, Grog’s axe already in his hands before they realize who is standing there.

Vex’ahlia Vessar is glaring at them with daggers in her dark eyes, looking more furious than ever before. She’s panting slightly, as if she’s just ran up to the temple in her anger. Cassandra swallows. This is bad.

“What the fuck is up with the thing in the castle and why did none of you bother telling me about it?” She roars and Cassandra freezes.

Oh no. She knows.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Secrets & Fury || Morgan & Blanche Feat. Agnes Bachman

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Bachman House Ruins

PARTIES: @harlowhaunted & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Blanche make contact with the past. The truth is not meant to soothe.

CONTENT: brief mentions of suicide

The only thing left of what had once been the Bachman House was a few outer support beams and a wall, sticking out of the ground in a way that wouldn’t have been possible unless the ground swallowed the house whole. Which, in fairness, it did. Blanche remembered Morgan, Cassie, and herself throwing themselves out of the home and into the adjacent garden as the ground trembled and swallowed the cursed house… Blanche had never asked Morgan where the house went. Was the house still lingering below the soil or had it disappeared somewhere else entirely? Blanche stared at the dirt, grimacing at the patches of weeds that had feebly tried to break through to no avail, and decided that she would ask ahat at different time. There were no spirits here, not this time. The cool chill that ran up Blanche’s spine from time to time was the cold December air… And the dark, leafless trees that loomed around the area as if they were watching her. As Blanche painstakingly drew the circle in the dirt, she couldn’t help but feel as if she was doing this in front of an audience. Like this was a final test to see if it was worth it -- if she was worth it.

The silver, jeweled barrette kept her blonde hair out of her face, and every once in a while, she would reach up to run her fingers along the smooth, teal gemstones encrusted on the trinket. It made her feel better. Blanche remembered what Jasmine said about Focal Points, and even if it was false, at least it gave her peace of mind. At least it brought her closer to the one she missed most of all. Even that made her feel more powerful than before.

This was what she was doing when Morgan arrived. Blanche glanced at her, her hand falling back to her side as she gave her a strained smile. “Hey,” she said softly, and she grabbed her pink lighter from her pocket. Time to light the candles. “You can put it in the middle of the circle. What you brought of Agnes’, I mean.”

Morgan had tried to come early. She hadn’t been to the old Bachman house for even a drive-by hello since it had tried to collapse with her, Blanche, and Cassie in it. She couldn’t see the place as a benign victim of circumstance after having to face off against Hannah Bachman, hearing the ways she mimicked her own mother in her brand of cruelty. Pulling alongside the street now made her feel as though the wood and nails had been as complicit as Constance in the horrible things that had happened here. What she had expected to find, to get used to, she wasn’t sure. All she knew now was that Blanche had beaten her to the punch and settled into a circle inside the ruins. That’s what happened when you got too anxiously punctual people together, she guessed. “Fancy seeing you here,” she said wryly. “Our appointment isn’t for another ten minutes, Blanche.” She reached into her bag and took out the arm bone she had stolen from Agnes’ grave, wrapped in fabric. Deirdre had been able to identify her with just a touch: thick dark hair like Morgan’s, large eyes that were brown instead of blue, and an anguished look as she laid down in a rickety bed and worked a pillow around half her face, a pistol in her hand. She had been crying, Deirdre said. Morgan couldn’t think of any other way she might have gone, not with what she’d been made to live with. “Genuine, banshee-identified great great grandma Agnes,” she said softly. Agnes’ family title sounded strange, knowing that she had died only a few years older than Morgan. They felt more like equals now, women who had been ground up and bent into the wrong shape, who were tired, who just needed to catch a break for once. Morgan sat down just outside the circle, careful not to disrupt any of the markings. “You um...when you bring them here, you don’t have to see how they died, right Blanche? I mean, she’ll look…” Like there’s a massive exit wound on the side of her skull. “How she did when it happened. But that’s not something you have to carry, is it?” Morgan asked.

“I’m nothing if not efficient,” Blanche replied. The grin on her face didn’t quite reach her eyes, though she was pleased to see that Morgan looked alright. Blanche had been here for forty-five minutes already, but she wasn't’ about to tell Morgan that - she sought out the flattest part of the ruins and spent an absurdly long time drawing the circle. She looked sharply at Morgan, the question burning in her throat. How did great, great Grandma Agnes die? Not that it mattered, because she would do the seance no matter what, but she couldn’t help but think of the bullet wound inside Sammy’s skull and Winn’s chest, and how Bea’s head never sat quite right on her shoulders… But Blanche shook her head. “I’ve seen some pretty gruesome deaths,” she said. Blanche didn’t know Agnes, so she hoped her appearance wouldn’t stay burned into her memory like her friends. There was some part of her that knew this wasn’t true, she remembered spirits maimed in all sorts of ways… But as Blanche finished lighting her candles, she stood, brushing the dirt off her jeans. “She’ll look how she chooses too,” Blanche said, “If she’s been around since she died… Then she’ll probably have learned to change her appearance by now. But if she hasn’t or she doesn’t want too…” Blanche reached to fiddle with the hair clip in her hair again, chewing on her lip in thought. “That’s her choice. It won’t prevent us from doing what we’re here to do.” She examined her circle for the upteenth time, looking for imperfections. She could find none. With a small breath, she looked back to Morgan. “Are you ready, Morgan?” She waited for Morgan to nod, before going to settle into the dirt.

Blanche took a few deep breaths, glancing over at Morgan to really make sure she was ready, before she began reciting the sanskrit. The power Blanche felt flowing through her and the circle was almost on par with the deep seeded resentment in her soul. It was strange and exciting and somehow different than when they had been in her apartment. It was a mistake, Blanche decided, to not have come here the first time. Wind howled around them, the flickering of the candles erratic but never going out as it circled them. She was clear headed, drawing her energy from the back of her mind - rather, the back of her head, she supposed, where her great grandmother’s clip lay. She focused on that as she opened the portal of communication, the chilling wind whining in protest as she pushed forward. It was tiring, but slowly, a woman flickered into sight. Slowly, her transparent form grew stronger, and Blanche could make out her features and the frumpy old clothes she wore. With a push forward, Blanche ended the opening of the ritual.

“Are you Agnes Bachman?” Blanche asked, glanced at Morgan for confirmation before anything else.

Morgan kept her eyes trained on the center of the circle, like letting her hair blow the wrong way might turn everything around for the worse. She heard the wind in her ears, saw the small candle flames surge on their wicks. Doubt gnawed in her stomach, she’s not coming, she’s not here and she’s not coming and I’m never gonna know what really happened. Shit, was she awful for trying to reach out with her will and pull her toward them? For wanting her to be stuck here all this time, just to have someone she could talk to? Morgan didn’t have time to find an answer inside herself. A silhouette formed in a circle, then a face.

“Oh, shit…”

Agnes Bachman didn’t have a hole in her head. Her wavy hair hung just below her jaw, styled in waves Morgan had seen in fashion panels from the 1910’s. She had loose housecoat, or maybe it was just a regular day coat that had been retired after getting too big and patchy, hung heavy on her frame. (Morgan couldn’t figure out how that worked, the woman before her didn’t have a body, so how could anything be loose or tight or anything in between? And yet just from looking at her, Morgan could imagine the pointy ends of her joints and the ridges on her stomach from going hungry on and off for years.) She had a bemused half smile, one that was way past surprise, and a face that looked hauntingly like the one Cece had pulled out of the magic trunk. “It’s you,” Morgan whispered. “This whole time, I’ve been looking at… Agnes.”

“Is there someone else I would be?” Agnes asked. She had a high, tired kind of voice, not unlike the wind that had swelled around them only a minute ago. It was a reedy voice, torn up from too many cigarettes. Smoking was unladylike in Agnes’ time, but maybe she’d stolen her husband’s cigarettes, or bummed some off people with more money. Maybe after a certain point she had decided not to care. She looked around, taking in what was left of the house, the hole in its core, the stars above and the jagged, splintered ruins reaching through it like so many broken fingers. “I remember this place.” She scoffed, smirking. “It feels a shame I’m not more surprised to see it in pieces. You’re supposed to bond with the place you grow up. It’s how you maintain your ties with the earth.” She turned back to them, gesturing self consciously around her temples. “Is anyone gonna tell me what this party’s about...?” The smile she gave each of them was thin, like she was afraid something bad was going to happen. How often had she been blamed or yelled at for Constance’s mess? “One of you has to know something, if you’re pulling me cross-country to my old house.”

“Y-yes. I mean...we...uh…” Morgan fumbled for words and gaped at Blanche, silently asking for help.

Awestruck by her success, Blanche stared at Agnes in a sort of wonder. The wind grew calm around them, still lightly tugging at loose hairs and flame to let them know it was still there. She had done it. She pulled Agnes Bachman back here. Blanche gaped right back at Morgan, suddenly speechless herself. All coherent thoughts flew out of her head and suddenly she forgot how to speak any language whatsoever.

“Wha-” Blanche stuttered, and then realized she was the one supposed to be running this ‘party’. She almost leapt to her feet, but stayed rooted to the spot so she wouldn’t jostle the circle. “Agnes,” Blanche tried again. “My name is Blanche Harlow. I’m a local medium in White Crest. This is Morgan Beck, she’s your great, great Granddaughter. I’ve… We, rather… We’ve contacted you because we want to ask you about the past, specifically relating to Constance Cunningham.” Her words were formal, but they were at least confident.

“Is it alright if we ask you a few questions?”

Agnes hadn’t stopped looking at Morgan since she’d appeared. Morgan straightened her shoulders under her gaze and angled her head this way and that, trying to find the angle that would give her the most ‘respectable impressive descendant’ look, not that she knew what that was. Agnes smirked at Blanche’s fumbling and Morgan noticed an array of little smile wrinkles that gave her some comfort. She must have been happy, or something like it, for a little while.

“I should tell you,” Agnes said, leaning in with a conspiratorial look, “I told my kids not to settle down, so they maybe wouldn’t have any of their own. But I’m not surprised they didn’t listen to me. Kids never do, so don’t get any ideas.” She squinted taking in more of Morgan. “But that’s not going to be a problem for you, is it, sweetie?”

“No,” Morgan whispered. “I mean, I have a...I haven’t really discussed it with my girlfriend, we’re gonna wait fifty, maybe a hundred years first. That’s the kind of family planning you get with a zombie and a banshee!” She laughed, shrill and pained. Was this how you were supposed to talk to your grandmother? Did it matter when she only looked five years older than you? “I died. Because of the family curse. Seven months and change, so I’m still adjusting. But it’s fine! I mean, it’s not, but it will be.” She gripped her wool skirt, fighting the urge to crawl closer to Agnes.

“Girlfriend, you say? I’ve seen things get better for some girls like that in the last hundred years. I should’ve figured it ran in the family. Mama was right about something after all.” The smirk she gave was bitter, scratching an old scab on her heart, and if Morgan hadn’t already heard about Hannah Bachman’s dismay from Leah, she would’ve seen the cut her response had left in Agnes’ face. “Your death, sweetie, does that mean the magic doesn’t touch you anymore? Whatever you and your girl do, are you safe from it?”

Morgan nodded, eyes beginning to well. “Yeah, we are. The curse didn’t follow me after. We’re good. It’s just uh…” She looked sidelong at Blanche. “It’s Constance? She’s here and she is…” Evil. Cruel. A walking nightmare. “Really, really determined to make up for what her curse can’t do anymore. And I...we were wondering...if you could tell us what really happened. I read Lucrecia’s diary, but I want the truth from you. And before you say anything, I don’t blame you. I don’t know where it started in the family, but I know you didn’t deserve to carry this like it was all your fault, and I don’t blame you for what she did.”

Agnes straightened up. “I can’t talk about Constance,” she said flatly. “And the person who started that story was me, because it was true.” She turned to Blanche. “Can you put me back somewhere? It doesn’t have to be home, I don’t much like my new grave. But somewhere else, please.”

Blanche thanked every God that may or may not have existed that she had excellent memory recall. She backed off of Agnes, ready to do what she, as a private investigator trainee, did best: listened. The true extent of the Bachman curse had been made apparent to her when Morgan died violently in the middle of town and became a zombie, but Constance never put into thought that there could be life after death… Funnily enough, Blanche hadn’t put that much thought into it either, before she met Remmy. Blanche rested her hands in her lap, leaning forward on her knees as she concentrated on keeping the line of connection open.

“You can’t talk about Constance? Or you won’t talk about Constance?” Perhaps Blanche’s voice was a little sharper than it needed to be, but she wasn’t here to pull punches. She was here for the truth. After the truth was known… Well, then she could deal with Agnes. Agnes, from what she felt, would need to move on. But one ghost problem at a time. This seance wasn’t for Agnes, it was for Morgan. And, to an extent, though Morgan could never find this out, it was for Constance too. Constance deserved closure and peace - the last thing Blanche wanted for her was to Cordelia or Lauren Langley.

Blanche leaned back, her head tilting to the side slightly as she examined the ghost. “Don’t you want to make sure the right one is known?” Maybe she didn’t, though. Blanche pressed her lips together for a moment. “I won’t be sending you anywhere,” she said, “Until we get some answers. And I’ll have you know… I’m very persistent.”

“Is there much of a difference as far as you’re concerned?” Agnes asked. Her squinting gaze turned on Blanche, running up and down to appraise her. Morgan’s mother had a similar look when she was trying to worm out of a conversation she didn’t want to have, but Morgan didn’t get the sense that Agnes was looking for points of weakness or ways to hurt Blanche. It looked more like she was working a puzzle. “If people think badly of me, it’s because I got the ball rolling. I don’t have any right to be sore about any tall tales that have gotten rolled into the truth.” She looked at Morgan again, smiling in a sad way that made the zombie’s heart lurch. “You should blame me. And I am sorry, I will always be sorry, for my part in your death. Even if it means you get to wait a hundred years to have a family with a woman you love--” she paused, staring off somewhere Morgan couldn’t follow. “It shouldn’t cost you what it has. Death is too high a price, especially after what you must have suffered. It’s not much of a life to begin with.”

“Don’t say that,” Morgan whispered. “I know you’re...yes, I was miserable and I didn’t get to do anything I set out to, but you didn’t cast the spell. You didn’t take one falling out and turn it into a hundred plus years of--”

“No.” Agnes’ voice turned to rock while somehow never rising above her quiet. “No, Morgan. I’m not going to discuss it in those terms. Or at all.” Agnes looked over at Blanche, checking to see if her point had been effectively made, but Agnes had never gone up against Blanche ‘I do what I want’ Harlow. She withered under the young woman’s look and pursed her lips as her position sank in.

“Listen,” Morgan said gently. “I’m going to get her back for what she did to you, to all of us. However hurtful, however awful or complicated, it didn’t merrit what she did for retribution. I’m going to make sure she…” Morgan winced, not wanting to throw her position in Blanche’s face. Of all her friends, she had been the most honest, and the most kind, about her position. “I’m going to make us even.”

Agnes’ face dropped with horror. “You what? You can’t. Sweetie, whatever you’re up to, you can’t do that to her. You have no idea what she--It was my idea to run away! I made her take all the risks. Crafting the glamours that would make us look older, hiding the money I’d stolen in her tree, hiding travel clothes, securing our transport. My mother watched me at all times, I was afraid we wouldn’t stand a chance if I slipped away somewhere I couldn’t explain. I was selfish and I was scared and I made her do everything for me, and then I--” She looked helplessly at Blanche again, her wish transparent in her eyes: please, please. “I let her fall for me too,” she said. “We were caught, the morning we were set to leave. Constance told the truth and I--I didn’t. She had given a story and I knew we were sunk and I wouldn’t see the light of day for weeks unless I did something different. I--”

Agnes’ reedy voice seemed to snap. Her silent appeals to Blanche were going nowhere; the medium only stared her down harder than before. And every, “hey,” and “you don’t have to be afraid,” that Morgan gave only seemed to make her more desperate.

“I said she was kidnapping me. That she’d hurt me.” Agnes said at last. “We had stolen pistols from the Logan’s house to protect ourselves. I told my mother to check her reticule, where I’d told her to put them and she thought it was proof. I didn’t know they were going to tell everyone or turn her into a pariah. I thought she would be run out of town, dropped on the nearest cart, never to return. I had no illusion of being forgiven, but gods help me, I did not know my mother would leave her with nothing and make her live like some poor animal. When I realized, it was too late.” Agnes clenched her airy fists, fighting the impulse to cry. “I would like to go back now. Send me back now and have done with it.”

Morgan tried to reach for her, forgetting everything except how badly she wanted to know the woman in front of her. “No, you can stay, Agnes. It doesn’t matter what happened before—”

“Now. I want to be gone now. Please. I will not answer anything else. I won’t.”

Anger was an emotion Blanche was used to, and the more Agnes said, the more angry she got. Fury and disgust twisted into her stone faced expression as she sat there, her arms crossed as Morgan and Agnes conversed. Finally, with a wail, Agnes turned to her, begging to be set free. “Coward,” Blanche said unkindly. “You’re a coward.” Blanche pushed herself up to her knees, as if she was going to move to stand. She didn’t, however, because her energy was being spent in keeping the connection open. Still, Blanche’s eyes flashed angrily.

“I’m not naive enough to say Constance is blameless. Constance is to blame for a lot of things -- Morgan’s death and the subsequent death of others in her path for revenge - but you…” Blanche shook her head, “You chose wrong and you lied. You lied to save yourself and threw the one you loved under the bus.” Blanche scoffed in disgust. Never before had she felt such anger towards another ghost. The closest that came was Lauren Langley, but even that held a different sort of anger than the rage that bubbled in the pit of her stomach now. If she could, she’d throw a fist in Agnes’ face.

“You are not to blame for Constance’s actions,” Blanche said, folding her arms over her chest. “She is able to make her own decisions and do what she will but… You are to blame for hurting her. You are to blame for lying. You are to blame for the misery that was thrust upon her as punishment for a crime she did not commit. You lied because you were a coward. And that -” Blanche jabbed a finger at Agnes. “- Is what you should feel remorse for. That is what you need to reflect on. And then you’ll be able to move on.” While Constance was on a warpath for vengeance that would end up destroying her. It was hard not to blame Agnes for everything.

With a sweep of her hand, the wind howled around them, growing louder as Blanche recited the end of the ritual that would close the communication with Agnes. She didn’t want to hear what Agnes had to say, even as her pain stricken face was seared into Blanche’s mind even as she disappeared from the circle. The wind quieted and the candles surrounding them extinguished. The ritual was over. Blanche slumped back into the dirt, exhausted, but too angry to give in to sleep.

“All of this…” Blanche said, sneering at the place Agnes once stood. “Because of a cruel lie…”

Morgan flinched at Blanche’s words as if they had cracked against her skin. She called out her name, trying to interrupt, “That can’t be the whole story, there has to be something else…” But Blanche’s fury had found its target, and though Morgan couldn’t fathom why, she understood that it would not let go. “Don’t be cruel. Blanche, please!” But please only got Blanche to say the words that would send Agnes back to wherever she had been before. Morgan grasped at the air as Agnes vanished, her face shut and clenched with shame. Something in the air lifted, like heat diffusing a cold room. Morgan continued to stare into the circle. There had to be something else. Maybe Hannah Bachman was the real culprit, for making her daughter so afraid that she wanted to run away in the first place. Maybe Agnes had sensed something unstable, even dangerous in Constance and took her change to back out rather than run away with someone who was willing to sign off on the misery of generations of people. There had to be something, because if Morgan’s family had been right about Agnes, then how was she supposed to split her vengeance between them? Who was she destroying Constance for besides herself if Agnes had tried so hard to beg her not to? Morgan’s gaze dropped from the air where Agnes had just sat and down to her own hands: discolored around the nails because she was between meals, protected by gold cuff bracelets on her wrist, so no one would see the bite that made her what she was. Ruth Beck hadn’t cared a wit that she was going to be avenged, Morgan wasn’t even sure if she believed it. Morgan’s father had lost his last tie to the earth when he saw her happy with Deirdre. Deirdre herself insisted the choice was hers to determine. And now the memory of Agnes’ horrified face stood frozen in Morgan’s memory. Was it still fair, and still enough, if this was for her satisfaction and hers alone?

“She was just…” Young? Stars above, could Morgan really say that without it getting thrown back in her face two seconds later? “She was scared. She didn’t know what was going to happen and we don’t know why she really…” Threw someone she supposedly loved under the bus. If Hannah was so dangerous, enough to run away from, why wouldn’t Anges have figured out that Constance was going to suffer without her protection? Wouldn’t that have been obvious? Was her ignorance to the consequences just another lie too? Morgan shivered, frowning into the ground. She was long used to disappointment, but she hadn’t thought that meeting Agnes would leave her more confused than when she’d started. “I don’t know,” Morgan sighed. Nothing she put together in her mind fit the way she wanted it to. “Whatever, why-ever she really did anything, she paid for it with her life and a hundred years of being hated.” Slowly, she lifted her gaze to Blanche, scrutinizing her expression. She had seemed more invested in Morgan’s family drama than she had before. Morgan had taken great care to keep her out of it as much as possible. “What was that all about, just a minute ago?” She asked gently. “I’ve never seen you like that with a ghost before. Is everything okay…?”

She was just - Blanche almost snarled the word ‘young’ right back at Morgan. Constance was just as young. She was nineteen. Blanche could remember, back in high school, where her only long term boyfriend broke up with her and how devastated she had been. If that situation had been anything like Agnes’, which it hadn’t, and Logan had wronged her in some type of way, Blanche would have wanted to curse him and his entire family too. The thought was snide, and filled with anger. She realized, with a start, that she was two seconds away from defending Constance’s honor, and that wasn’t right either. Constance had done wrong, Blanche reminded herself, her palms suddenly sweaty. She hadn’t meant to, mostly, of course. Maxine had been an unfortunate accident, and the incident with Nell… Blanche wanted to believe that she really didn’t know that Nell had been in the car until it was too late. And Morgan had said intentions matter. Blanche wanted to believe that, and she wanted Constance to give up this calling of vengeance on Morgan’s family because at the end of the day, Morgan hadn’t done anything wrong. Morgan hadn’t done this to Constance. Agnes, she thought the name with disgust, started this.

But that didn’t make Morgan’s target goal right either. She had the cold reminder that Morgan’s end goal was to torture and erase Constance from existence. The thought of her being in pain made Blanche… Well, it made her sick to her stomach. Constance didn’t deserve that. She needed to be at peace while she was still able. At least, then, she would be happy. She would be able to move past what Agnes had done, and it wouldn’t have to lock her into a toxic storm of resentment and fury.  At Morgan’s question, though, Blanche’s palms frew more sweaty, and she wiped them on her jeans. “I wasn’t wrong,” Blanche mumbled to her shoes, shaking her head. She refused to look at Morgan, instead turning to start gathering her things in her back. Her face had flushed, but it had been a little pink already from the anger she burst out with during the seance and from the exhaustion the clung to her. “In order to move on, Agnes needs to come to term with her choices she made while she was living. She can’t do anything to change them, not now,” Blanche’s lip curled in disgust as she carefully stuck the candles in her bag, straightening to sling it over her shoulder. She went to the magic circle she had so carefully carved into the dirt with a sharp stick and some chalk and destroyed it. While Blanche hadn’t listened to Granny’s teachings, she did remember that Granny said to never leave a circle unattended, just in case. Finally, she reached up and pulled the jeweled, silver hairpin from her hair, letting her blonde hair tumble down. Carefully, she put that in a separate pocket of her backpack. Her shoulders slumped tiredly and looked at Morgan, “I’ll talk to her again soon,” Blanche said, decidingly. “I’ll call upon her again and speak her more closely, once… this is all over.”

Silence froze and bristled around them; Morgan held her tongue. Blanche’s ire was hot and sharp as a needle fresh out of the fire. She didn’t have to say a word for Morgan to know she was angry at her too. For Constance. For being “unfair.” Maybe if she wasn’t the one crushed over her whole life and promptly murdered, Morgan could understand these good for nothing principles, or whatever strange projection was going on from Blanche’s angle. She’d confounded people on moral questions before. Only the stars above knew how many passes she gave Deirdre, and that was just for starters.

“No,” Morgan admitted quietly. “But I never said you were. That wasn’t my point.” The point was that Agnes’ mistake should have only destroyed two people, at most. Tragic, but contained. Constance had driven Agnes to the kind of misery that made her want to end her life. And then proceeded to do the same to every other Bachman descendant, those who weren’t horribly killed by her meddling out right. It was unbalanced to the point of grotesque. What pity, what understanding was there left when Constance’s last stand was with someone she’d never met, except to try and destroy? At least Morgan was taking a stand for her own family.

“If there’s another way to get Agnes to White Crest, some way she can be around without a circle, I’ll look after her so you don’t have to keep your hotel for ghosts open longer than you already have to. She’s my family, I should at least try to help her. I want to.” And she wanted to understand why Agnes was so opposed to her finishing this ugly game Constance had turned their lives into. Seeing Ruth’s total apathy at the news had been one thing, but Agnes’ horrified face sat heavy and sick in Morgan’s stomach. She shouldered her bag and dusted herself off, looking down at Blanche with guarded concern. “I still don’t know why you’re so determined to help me, but thank you, Blanche.” She reached out a hand to pull her up. “You need anything right now?” She asked quietly. The differences between them felt as strong as the similarities in this moment, certainly nothing that could be solved with a trip to a diner or a few twenties stuffed into Blanche’s bag. But Morgan was tired of losing people, and she had a sick, prickly feeling in her stomach, almost like guilt, and she was desperate to be rid of it.

It was a strange fury that had settled in Blanche’s stomach, and she didn’t understand it. Blanche knew Morgan held different opinions on the whole subject and that their end goals were different, so she wasn’t understanding why she was so upset at Morgan’s insistence that Constance was the only one in the wrong here. It wasn’t fair - none of this was fair. Perhaps Constance had been right in that the Bachmans - that Agnes Bachman and whatever that thing Cassie, Morgan, and Blanche had confronted in the house so many months ago - were the evil ones. Whatever that meant made Blanche’s head spin because she also knew that no matter what, killing Morgan was inexcusable. How was it possible to care so much for a ghost that did something so horrible to a friend? And was she so determined to help Morgan, or was she determined to help Constance? Couldn’t there be a way for her to help both? Why was the answer one or the other? Blanche was sick of having to choose and she was sick of having to ask herself hard questions and she was sick of having to think.

Not for the first time, Blanche felt that fuzzy, static feeling in her head.

“You could summon her, or she could travel herself,” Blanche finally said, her tone devoid of any true emotion. “What I just did isn’t anything other than opening a line of communication. If I don’t close the line, she could get stuck in the circle. That’s why, even after you dissipated wrong Agnes, I had to close the ritual. But it’s not a permanent means of keeping them here.” She swallowed, wrapping her arms around herself as she shook her head. Blanche was quiet a moment as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder, and looked at Morgan. There were words on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t quite find them. Confusion and anger melded together, and Blanche realized that it might be better to not say anything at all. “I don’t need anything, no.” Blanche said. “I’m going to go home though, I’m… I’m tired.” It wasn’t a lie, she realized. She was exhausted, and Blanche wondered if she hadn’t overdone it. There was supposed to be a balance so she didn’t feel like complete shit afterwards. But as she turned on her heel, giving a quiet goodbye to Morgan as she trudged back to her jeep, she started to think that maybe the energy she spent on the seance wasn’t the only reason why she didn’t feel well.

[sneezyminniejo]

Hiiii! May I ask for allergic Jungkook where he's allergic to pollen in a photoshoot? Thank u

Here it Is, Hope you enjoy

Disastrous Photoshoot

The weather had transitioned close enough to Winter that Jungkook didn’t need to take his allergy meds anymore. He was ecstatic. However he was slightly concerned about an upcoming photoshoot where they were going to be in a room full of flowers. He had repeatedly asked the manager to confirm whether or not the flowers were going real. Every time the manager responded that the flowers were going to be one hundred percent fake.

The morning of the photoshoot, Jungkook asked the manager one final time if the flowers were going to fake. The manager, who was getting frustrated by the same question being asked, told him for the final time, the flowers were going to be fake. Jungkook sighed in relief before getting into the car. He had decided to forego his allergy meds, since he had been reassured he wouldn’t need them.

When they got to the studio, the seven boys were immediately whisked over to hair and makeup, which was fairly close to the room in which the photo shoot would be happening. About ten minutes into getting his hair and makeup done, Jungkook began to feel the all too familiar tickle in his sinuses. He did his best to ignore it, but as with all involuntary body mechanisms, he could only ignore it for so long.

“Hih-icshh. Excuse me, sorry.”  The stylists just shrugged it off and continued getting Jungkook ready. It was another couple minutes before Jungkook pitched forward again. This time, however, it snuck up on him so he didn’t have enough time to give fair warning to the stylists. Jungkook wound up doubling over in a double rapid-fire sneeze. “Heh-itschh, tschiew.” When he recovered, Jungkook noticed the annoyed expressions of the stylists, and looked at himself in the mirror. He had managed to ruin both his hair and eye makeup. “Sorry noonas.” Jungkook said as he sheepishly accepted a tissue from Yoongi, who had appeared out of nowhere.

“You okay there Kookie? It’s not normal for you to sneeze so much in such a short amount of time.” Yoongi asked this as he placed his hand on Jungkook’s forehead. “Hmm, You don’t feel the slightest bit warm. Maybe you’re developing a cold.” Jungkook blew his nose in the tissue before responding. “In all honesty, hyung, I feel fine. I felt fine this morning, but since entering the studio, my nose has been really itchy I- heh, hih-tchshhiew” Jungkook was abruptly cut off with another sneeze, that he was thankfully able to direct into his tissue. “I really hope I’m not getting sick.” Right after Jungkook said that, Hosoek  came into the room with his nose also buried in a tissue.

“Bad news guys, Manager-nim was given inaccurate information. All the flowers are real. Even though I have a very mild pollen allergy, by the end of my shoot I couldn’t breathe, and I had to take like ten breaks to blow my nose.” Jungkook groaned at that and fell back into his chair. “Well crap, the pollen is already affecting me a-and hih-tschhoo, I’m the last one to shoot.” Yoongi gave Jungkook a tissue and a sympathetic look. 

“Kook-ah, I’m supposed to be next. How about we switch places and then you and hobi can return to the dorms once you’re done?” Jungkook happily accepted the offer before blowing his nose for the upteenth time. He then let the stylist fix his hair and makeup one final time before going in to do his shoot.

The shoot went as well as Jungkook expected. He was sneezing every few minutes and was needing to blow his nose just as often. Thankfully the photographer was feeling generous and told him that he would go through what they had, and if they needed more shots, Jungkook would get called back in. The photographer prefaced that he would make sure the flowers would be fake if they needed to do retakes. At that point Jungkook didn’t care if he would potentially need to do retakes, he was just glad to get away from his wretched allergen.

Jungkook was feeling significantly better once he and Hoseok got back to the dorms. Hoseok made Jungkook take a shower immediately after arriving and made him some tea. After tea the duo sat on the couch to watch some movies, and they eventually fell asleep. The other five members returned home to find Jungkook and Hoseok cuddled up next to each other fast asleep.

[inventedbymelvin]

Ch.4: Advanced Learning

   ( Disclaimer: Sorry if this chapter is lacking or isn’t right in some places. I had a trouble figuing out how to end it properly but I hope you enjoy it anyways. Shout out to @kittykat-creations​ for the help when it came to accuracy about adhd )

 Once he got home, Melvin quickly went to the drawing board to draft his revenge. He surprisingly worked fast to draw and build his new invention in the garage, showing up for dinner and going to bed at a reasonable hour. His mother was more than glad to see he was in a much better mood.  At dinner he explained he had recived some good news and mentioned the field trip, handing her the slip to sign. Once everything was prepared, Melvin finally had a peaceful night's sleep. He wanted to be ready to surprise them and prove he's better than third place.     The morning of the field trip, all four stood in the morning fog as the monthly cut grass collected dew on it's leaves. Krupp stood with them, as he was chaperoning the trip. All of them had been given special jackets to go along with the trip and they could keep them as souveneirs. They also helped with the morning coolness and were fashionable.     Thirty minutes later, the bus arrived at a futuristic looking campus complete with everything the aspiring genius needed. The inside was sleek and clean as everyone's footsteps echoed through the shiny hallways. In the main office, they chatted while waiting for their tour guide. Krupp immediately took a seat and looked around at the much better kept school. Melvin seemed particularly better than the day before.

     "I'm glad you're feeling better." Harold patted his shoulder. "It's nice to see you back to normal." George smiled. Erica felt something was a bit off. The four had filled their backpacks with neccessary items like lunch, notebooks, pencils and paper but Melvin's seemed to have something more. She wanted to believe it was just a lunch box but she'd never seen the nerd carry one. He insisted it would ruin the value of collectable Advancimals merchandise.      Erica decided to pull the boys aside for a moment. "I think he's hiding something. It doesn't make sense he'd turn around this fast, usually it takes him a week to get over an A minus."      "He seems fine to me, much better than screaming at us all the time." Harold nodded his head in agreement with George's statement. "You're just being paranoid, he's fine. We'll all have a great time and he'll learn-" George was cut off as the guide entered the office and greeted them.      "You must be our winners! Erica I loved your idea to clean up our waters! Boys, it truly is important to laugh! And Melvin, you have a budding career in robotics! Of course, Mr. Krupp, hes clearly doing his job well to have amazing students." The tour guide woman said cheerily as she shook their hands. She was in uniform with a pencil skirt and blazer outfit matching the colors of the school logo.       After introductions she lead them to the first part of their tour, a lecture experience to feel like they're part of the school. Today happened to be a talk on Einstein's thought experiments taught by a young red headed girl named Max. Her record showed you could mix both imagination and smarts, having a positive reputation all around the world at the age of twelve!      Surprisingly George and Harold paid attention. They had expected a boring mumbling professor that only Melvin would understand but Max seemed to encourage thinking and daydreaming. During the hour while the two were highly interested in hearing Max speak, Erica took a chance to observe the other boy in their group. Meanwhile, Krupp took a seat in the far back and immediately took a nap. He didn't quite understand why Melvin wanted to be here so badly, but sleeping was easier than figuring that out.      Melvin simply took notes and was just as interested in the lecture. She was starting to think maybe she was expecting something too big. This changed when Melvin took a moment to check something inside his backpack, pressing a few buttons that seemed to be a code or as if he were setting something. Immediately she went to investigate, taking a seat next to him.      "Whatcha doin?" Erica casually greeted.       "Just checking something, it's not important." Her sudden interest seemed to annoy him, but it wasn't new that asking about any of his inventions or tech bothered him. "Do you think I'm going to do something?" He asked in return with some pain to his tone.       "Look Melvin, I'm not trying to hurt you. There just seems to be a record of you...overreacting alot."       "We already have a lecture in progress, I would respect you save yours for later." Despite his mask of cheerfully enjoying the trip, he was still getting over things. "I was answering a text from my mother." he took his phone out of his bag, showing the conversation. She felt a bit bad for her suspicions and returned to focusing on the lecture.        At the end of the day after an extensive and winded walk through the whole school complete with a science experiment demonstration, provided lunch break and complimentary themed stationary, the tour guide asked if there were any leftover questions about it all.      "Yeah! Why is this place so big! It took us all day to get around, and you don't even have those little golf carts!" Krupp complained for the upteenth time that day that his legs felt like jelly from walking so much. All the guide could do was offer him a bench to sit on and apologize for the strain.      "Remember! You all three hold potential for attending this school with your wonderful thoughts and inventions." She smiled.      "What makes certain potential less worth than other's then?" A familar voice asked.      "Oh! None of you are less than each other! It's just there's typically a rigourous evaluation process with many factors that include--" Her sentence was cut off as a mech was heard putting itself together and Melvin was being seated where it's controls were. It was typically smaller than his usual but big enough to still cause property damage. He had to make it portable after all. "--include's emotional stability...."     "I won't hurt anyone, I just want talk to the two who decided I got THIRD PLACE!" He grinned with a tone that sounds like he absolutely would hurt someone.       Melvin kept his focus on the tour guide. "Where are they?! I just want to talk!" "I don't think theyre around today..." She tried to keep her best smile, trembling as she spoke.      "Then GO GET THEM!"  his voice was magnified by the speaker in the controls.      "I'm afraid meeting them isnt part of--" She was cut off by Melvin walking down the hall with no choice but to look for them himself. She followed behind, stating that this was against the rules and asking for any form of help. Multiple students and teachers turned their attention to the commotion, as a small mech searched for two specific people. Max jumped a bit, associating sudden commotion with her run-ins with the corp even though they were no longer a threat.      Melvin however, kept wanting answers from staff until he either found them personally or got their names. After yelling at a few teachers, he finally got some names and stomped off looking for their office. Anything thrown his way was met with being destroyed or pushed out of the way. Doors were broken, walls were smashed in, and offices were invaded as he searched. Drones, other bots and the occasional attempt to power down his own invention slowed his mission but he refused to quit in his blind rampage. George and Harold immediately summoned Captain Underpants much to Erica's disbelief.      "Do you really think he's going to help us?" she sighed. "What other option do we have?" both boys shrugged. "He's fought Melvin before so it's easy to do again." Harold hypothesized based on very repetive data.      "I'm here too! Plungerina!" Erica held her arms out dramatically. "Don't you think calling me would work too?"     "If they need their toilets unclogged, we'll call you." George cheekily grinned, running off with Harold and CU to follow the sounds of hydrolics coming from the west wing.      Plungerina followed after them with an exasperated sigh, doubtful of their abilities.     Down the hallway, CU and the boys could hear Melvin unleasing his breifly contained anger at the judge's he now held in the mech's right hand. He sounded like he wanted to cry, being reminded of the shame. It seems the boys were a bit late but tried to talk some sense into him before any punches were thrown. The boys were dropped onto the robot's shoulders.     "We really hoped you wouldn't try this. Erica thought you would but--" George couldn't finish in time.      A metal fist slammed in the ground out of frustration. "I KNEW IT! YOU'RE JUST WAITING TO POINT AND MAKE FUN THAT I DIDN'T WIN!" He pushed them off his shoulders, both being before hitting the ground.     "Someone didn't wake up on the right side of the bed." Captain remarked as he held the boys by their collars.     "Well if he wont listen to us, maybe you can do something. Go try to stall him, we'll be right back." CU put the two down and flew in front of the robot waving his hand enthusastically. "You know, you don't seem happy right now, maybe a hug would--" The free metal hand slapped CU away like a bug as attention was turned back to his original targets. "Hey! That isn't how you treat a friend! I'll forgive you, but you have to stop--" He was swatted away again, only to return each time. This left Melvin with no choice but to drop the judges in a small cage as the nerd focused on trying to get rid of the soft boiled egg.     "I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIENDS! IT WAS ALL A CRUEL JOKE!" came from the speakers as Melvin failed again and again to catch the caped hero. "I TOLD THEM TO LEAVE ME ALONE! I KNOW THEYRE JUST GOING TO PROVE THEIR STUPID COMICS AND CAPED BABIES AND FRANKENSTEIN DOGS ARE BETTER THAN MY ADVANCED ROBOTS!" "Well actually--" Captain attempted to respond which gave Melvin time to grab him by his cape and toss him in the prison with the others. A screen showed up in the small space, the feed coming from the control.      "Now tell me WHY I won third place and not first, not even second!" He gave them a second to respond as he breathed in his inhaler. Angrily yelling took the wind out of him.      The two stammered in their response, baffled why a science fair winner had inprisoned them in part of his impressively built mech with a man that needed to put on pants. "W-well, it didn't prove anything...." The male mumbled.     "WHAT?!"     "It didnt.....prove anything...." The lady repeated her collegue's words. "Melvin, your robots are impressive but you can't win by impressing people. We chose the others as better because they studied something. We see robots every day, if you had put your robot to beneficial use...." She tried to be gentle as possible but no words could soothe the fiery child at this point.     "CHANGE IT!"     "We can't...our requirements said  the best would be judged by how it would provide insight or benefit--"     "IT DOES BENEFIT! TEACHERS CAN GRADE MUCH FASTER!"     "That's not..."      "THAT'S IT!" The robot's foot stamped the ground in response to the controller's actions before taking off to simply destroy things. In blinded rage, more walls were smashed on the way to a garden greenhouse. Other staff, students and teachers tried to help but were no use unless they wanted to risk being thrown in a growing prison now consisting of two students who attempted to use a drone, a body guard, Captain Underpants and the judges. He hopped out of the mech and ran in, sitting among the greenery. It was calming and alot better than the darkness of his room. The other three eventually caught up via a golf cart that was allowed on school property for security purposes, winded by running to find one. Krupp might've had a point about needing a little bit of transportation help.     "Where is he?" they asked in unison, as all pointed to the greenhouse.     "Wait, why didn't you get out, you can bend bars!" Harold asked.     "I couldn't leave my new friends! Jeremy was just telling me about his new favorite show!" The man mentioned as Jeremy(which was not his actual name) was shaking his head, clearly uncomfortable. The three ignored this and ran off.       They kept calling Melvin's name only to hear footsteps far off trying to get away from them. Even mentioning that he was safe with them only made all four run in circles. Eventually with no more unwalked paths, they met in the middle. With no other form of defense, he held out his inhaler as if it would do anything damaging. "THIS IS BATTERY ACID YOU TRAITORS!" Unfortunately for him, this only worked on evil clowns and not three school children.        "Please tell us what's wrong. Remember older you doing really dangerous things? We don't want you to do the same." She tried to be gentle but the mention of Melvinborg seemed to cause him pain.        "You DONT understand! Leave me alone!" He tried to back up but George and Harold wouldn't let him leave.        "Don't understand what?"      "Losing...losing is bad. Shame." For someone who used big words, he was at a loss for them now.       "Hold on Erica, he's....he's having a hard time with words." Harold backed away. "I was like this one time after school. A teacher couldn't help me with math and I couldn't find the words to explain myself." George backed away too, leaving Melvin free. Melvin looked at both of them nervously knowing Harold was correct. He had helped explain the homework better after Harold came home distraught from a teacher poorly understanding how to tutor him after school. He even made a better fidget cube when George complained he couldn't stim, resulting in a detention for going into a meltdown. Despite this, he still didn't entirely trust them right now.       After a moment of silence, they handed him a pencil and paper. "If you can't say it, draw it." George offered. This surprisingly interested their frenemy and he quickly went to work doodling a small comic of his recent nightmares and feelings. It felt kind of nice and he wondered if this is how they were able to handle emotions better.       Once he was finished, it was shoved into Harold's hands. When he was done he passed it off to George and after he was done, it was passed to Erica. She chuckled a bit, trying to hide it. The irony was very clear to her. "I think you're between two people who understand completely."       "Who told you we'd laugh at you?" George asked. His answer came in the form of the comic author grabbing it back and flipping to a page, pointing at a very square drawing of Melvinborg.        "He's gone, he can't hurt you." Melvin shook his head in response, pointing to his head.         "So.....you spent the whole weekened and Monday thinking you were a target?" Erica looked towards him. He nodded in response.      "What about our comic? Why'd you hate that?" On his phone, Melvin scrolled through pictures of various comic issues mocking him in one way or another, looking indignant at Harold. "Oh...right."      "We wouldn't do that to you now. You're...not always aware of social cues but it's not cool to make fun of someone's insecurity. We made you this to show you we cared." George handed him the comic to read. When he finally got to the end, Melvin hugged his friends, still a bit wary of Erica. Suddenly the two judges came in with CU following behind them. "How did you guys get out?" George asked in confusion.      "That bald man worried after a while about the small space and smashed through the bars allowing us to be free." He pointed to the visible broken jail just by the door.      "I forgot I was claustraphobic until someone mentioned it was cramped." CU grinned, going over to the boys and Erica.      "Let's forget all this happened, sometimes geniuses need a way to express themselves." They really didn't want to have to explain all this, since robot attacks were a frequent occurance in Piqua anyways. All of them nodded in agreement and headed to the bus.  Just as they left the greenhouse, water misters started spraying the plants and hit Captain on the way out, turning him back to Krupp. When getting back on the bus, he quickly said "DONT ASK" to the bus driver, Mr. Meaner who had spent the day napping. Melvin salvaged what he could of the mech with it's prison broken, noting to fix it later.        On the way home, he started to get his voice back too. "Th-thank you."  It felt weird to be nice.         "No problem, we just wish you told us earlier. You don't have to win everything to be good enough for us." Harold yawned.        "You're already good enough making cool stuff for us to 'borrow'...and--" The rest of George's sentence got cut off as he dozed on the way back. Melvin smiled. It felt kind of dumb to worry about nothing but at least they understood. He still wanted to win and be better than the others, but maybe losing won't hurt so much if it happens again.