#And they feel so betrayed it sends them into an entire spiral of barely knowing who they are anymore

[skhardwarevers1]

anyways “just don’t leave me alone wondering where you are” Program and “I am stronger than you give me credit for” Vista

[drifloonz]

Hi! I'm usually not one to send asks all that often, but what the heck. I'm kinda curious about your thoughts on something too since I've seen a lot of differing opinions.

Steven. Obviously Miki's accident and Missingno annihilated his sanity, but I feel like Mike's ghost also haunts him. Not in a malicious way, but just by existing. He just really wants to understand why Steven had to do that to him but whenever he attempts to reach out Steven flips due to guilt. I've seen someone's headcanon where Steven is this cold-hearted bastard who never cared about Mike, even as kids, and idk. It just doesn't sit right with me. Nothing wrong with it I'm just wondering how many other people share that sentiment vs Steven feeling immense guilt at being so blinded by rage that he'd murder his own brother and basically sell his soul.

Sorry if this is too much, I tend to ramble 😅

HI!! you were my actual first ask but i didn't see this one at first until i was writing the other one and out of the corner of my eye saw this and went "wait a minute." funny how that happens.

ANYWAYS i can definitely do that for you and ALSO do not apologize i ramble so much as well its fine. this'll be so long i apologize so im putting most of it under a read more !

cw for Bad mental health, strangling/murder obviously, and also some suicidal ideation ( which is warned for in the paragraph its shown in ).

i think steven just sort of like... blocks it off and tries to forget everything about that ever happened, but obviously, you cant forget that stuff that easily. it haunts him but he tries to push it as far back to his head as he can and he tries to forget SOOO hard... he's in intense denial. i like the art of him immediately regretting it but i think he'd just stare at mikes corpse for a few minutes and then just be like. scarred by the imagery, and it'd make him breathe heavily and make his eyes widen in regret and he'd just keep staring for a few minutes. but he'd just run away afterward and it just burns into his mind sometimes, making him remember and regret it.

as someone with mental illness of Horribly Bad amounts, when someone you trust like that betrays you or you believe them to betray you ( which, its the ladder for steven and mike, mike obviously didn't intend to kill miki whether or not you believe he initiated the trade with slightly malicious/selfish intent or not ) it does bad damage to your psyche. especially when the murder of someone you care for is involved, which makes the thinking in steven's brain go "oh mike murdered miki. intentionally or not he's the reason she's dead." and then that makes him very upset towards mike mixed with someone he sorta looked up to betray him like that. he just regressed hard and went thru a depressive spiral for a whole year, having the thing he most loved taken away from him so suddenly almost entirely without his control, and then he got so tired of bottling it up he snapped ( lol ) and killed mike.

suicidal thoughts cw for this paragraph: and also during the 1 year without miki, steven obviously went through a major depressive episode and a sort of downwards spiral that just got worse and worse, and i don't think he wanted to get better. this is heavy but i sort of think he just hoped neglecting his self-care would eventually kill him and reunite him with his miki again, which is all he wanted. he didn't eat much if at all and he just sat in front of miki's grave, sometimes for days. he made a bed out of his misery, because it felt comfortable in a morbid way. if he died, he'd reunite with her, because at that point he didn't know anything could bring her back and all he wanted was her. it felt better than just... getting over it, or trying to. people convinced him to take better care of himself, but he still barely did anything past his necessities. this didn't help his mental state at all, as you can probably tell, which also fueled his hatred towards mike after the incident more and more. he made himself suffer this much due to an accident he caused, and he used that as further reasoning to dislike him, even though that was all self-inflicted.

i also like to think they didn't hate each other genuinely before this - mike never genuinely hated steven, but steven after the incident probably had Many complex feelings towards mike, mostly negative. but before the incident, they definitely had arguments and spats, and sometimes one would say something that would genuinely hurt the other ( usually steven did this to mike more than viceversa imo but both happened ) which both of them also probably bottled up and didnt talk about a lot ( although mike'd definitely apologize if he ever went too far - steven, i feel like would be too guilty and nervous to apologize ) which also sort of exploded in steven's face after miki died in front of him. those 3 things mixing together did not make a good combo for him.

the interp of missingno needing souls or steven at least thinking it does is fun but i like to think it never did and steven was just going through a horrendous downward spiral, and he went back home bc... where else would he go, he'd still have to pack the rest of his stuff to leave if he intended to, and seeing mike so vulnerable flipped a switch in steven's mind and made him just go [ steven voice ] "You know what would be funny?" ( worst way to describe that but u get it ). this can also arguably be missingnos influence or missingno possessing steven, which i feel is more plausible then it needing a sacrifice. but i think it just probably inserts or pushes forward steven's intrusive and aggressive thoughts, which i like to believe he always had especially after the incident, but never this bad. and then he just did it bc the thoughts wouldn't leave him alone and his mind convinced himself into it. even though he already had miki and didn't need to do that, it felt... fitting, to him. it was satisfying for a moment, especially because i like the interpretation that his mind warped mikes dying expression into him looking like he's laughing at steven ( explaining his hyplull sprites when hes being strangled being so weird ), until his mind realized the damage he just did, seeing mikes glazed over expression that was very much not smiling or laughing, and he went "oh. shit" in his head probably. his mind couldn't even comprehend what he just did. it'd take a lot of processing, and he didn't even want to process any of that, so after staring for a bit he just walked away from the scene and escaped to never be seen again.

i also like the interpretation that steven thought mike didn't actually care that much about miki dying or even did the trading thing on purpose - he clearly didn't kill her on purpose, but steven was so blinded by his own muddled emotions and rage and he needed an outlet, someone to blame, so he couldn't see it any other way and CONVINCED himself that mike did that on purpose. also because admittedly in canon mike saying that he needed a charizard implies he already had a charmeleon but thats muddy territory and probably just slightly a plot hole. but if that was the case i bet steven was like "... just evolve the charmeleon?" "but that'd take too looooong!" or something like that. mike is impatient as hell fr fr mans got adhd

if you want a good take on this and havent already, read faulty on ao3 . i hate ao3 for various reasons and only go there when im Parched for content. but goddamn that fic has the best characterization of the two imo, especially of this dynamic of them specifically along with their other relationships ( namely daisy and reds relationship to steven and mike too ) - steven even sometimes goes through like being slightly better around mike and then it all drops when he realizes she died for nothing, and mike didnt even finish the dex. fucking phenomenal fic tbh i love this characterization of them sm. a lot of this summarizes how i think they'd both act after the incident

____

as for the haunting... yeaaa. i think steven's just way too scarred and confused and scared to even allow mike to properly reach out, if steven even realizes it. i like to think he's paranoid and overthinks so he probably goes "oh god what if its mike" and then woopsy daisy! It is mike. and he just tries to pretend its nothing so bad and to ignore and avoid him because he's scared and confused and it makes him think far too long about his emotions on the situation that he was intentionally bottling up and pushing to the back of his head.

he also probably would think mike would try to revenge kill him because that's just how he thinks he himself would react if mike did that to him. Which makes him regret things further. he sleeps less due to this, usually on the defensive even though mike has no intent to harm him. i don't think mike ever had any room in his heart to ever hate steven. he's just confused or slightly upset at worst at anything steven's said or done to him... mike probably doesn't even really blame him, but he does just hope he's ok and prob lets out a sigh of relief when he finds steven, who is still a mess going through many things, and also murderous now, but he's still alive! which is a win in mikes book i guess!

he probably just tries to pretend mike isn't actually there or actively get rid of him, or he wouldn't even notice mike is haunting him in the first place, depending on how obvious the signs of the haunting are. his house is already sort of run down and haunted as fuck anyways, but in the back of his head he knows somethings off.

i also ... like the interp that steven took all of mikes team bc nobody was there to care for them anymore. so maybe when steven notices he sends out mikes blastoise or some of his other party members and hopes to god mike leaves him alone to go bother his own pokemon who he hasn't seen for years. after all, he basically never let mikes mons out of their ball, and even considered donating them all to professor oak or something ( probably just.. leaving the pokeballs out infront of the lab one day ) but that felt wrong, so he always kept them on hand. sometimes feeding them and not much else. mike probably had a ghost type ( gengar ) who can conveniently probably see him, and mike definitely would try to communicate to steven further through said ghost type. and he'd just be like. "gdi why did i send out the ghost type" in his mind.

miki can definitely see mikes ghost. mike is also like "OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU. WAIT YOUR ALIVE????" in his head, but he quickly gets used to it. he has no idea what the hell a missingno is or how/why she's alive but he just stops questioning it. they sometimes share a glance and nod. mike will sometimes avert his gaze from her due to guilt though. miki doesn't seem to care or hold resent, probably because imo 'M ( however you want to spell Missingno Miki ) isn't actually miki. it's missingno sort of possessing, haunting, or keeping miki's dead corpse alive, but her soul is no longer there anymore. at least most of it Isn't there. due to that she's a lot more emotionless. even if miki's soul was in there though, she would not hold genuine resent. if miki's soul was in there she'd probably be scared of steven ( specifically yk S!3V3N ) tbh

i definitely think steven has hallucinations sometimes, usually of miki or mikes corpses, usually much more horrifying looking than they actually were, so this doesn't help!

steven overall is just on the fence and regrets it all but doesn't even wanna think abt or interact w mike but if he somehow became more okay with it, he might start leaving mike notes or something. or talking to himself, assuming mike might overhear. small steps like that. and maybe if mike is able to sometimes steven just passes out on the couch or smth and mike covers him in a blanket while hes asleep and stevens just like. "That was not there when I fell asleep." in his head. stuff like that.

also mike might switch the tv channels or just Project an image onto it somehow. and steven just. squints at it. i think it'd be nice if they eventually got used to eachothers presence again and just silently hung around eachother. mike really wants to look after steven after seeing the state he's in and how much he didn't really help steven effectively when mike was alive. for an example probably, like, nudging the bathroom door open and turning on the bathwater and trying to make steven take a mfing bath and practice self care for once and steven just begrudgingly sighs and goes to do it since he might as well. and mike just walks away and is very smug about it. he Will make his little brother practice self care again and he's made that his personal goal. steven walking into the kitchen and seeing various pots and pans floating around along with a mess on the floor ( mikes getting used to his levitation powers still </3 ) and he just squints his eyes and leaves and comes back and theres a meal on the counter

steven making pancakes and he just holds out a plate for mike and he just takes it. and steven just sees the plate floating and goes "yea thats about what i expected" or smth. its cute, Although i cant see that happening very easily unfortunately </3 steven is very broken and very much Not wanting to think abt mike. so itd take very long for him to warm back up or even be ok with him possibly existing arnd him. but this'd prob happen eventually if mike is persistent, and by god, is mike persistent. its what got him into this mess in the first place.

i can write so much abt these depressed ex champions fr!!! anyways thank you for reading sorry for writing so much words. i hope this feeds you enough content for the next winter. i hope literally any of this made sense bc i just sorta typed my thought processes until it looked legible - wispy

[cdyssey]

Need

Summary: After Nick arrives at the beach house, Frankie escapes to her studio to process her emotions. Post 7x04.

A/N: I've had such Grace and Frankie brain rot these past few days that I figured I should put it to good use and write another fic. It was really fascinating to try Frankie's POV. Lily Tomlin imbues her with a lot of subtle pathos that I totally wish the show would explicitly explore more.

AO3 Link

—

Frankie excuses herself to the studio for dinner, so she can process her very big, astonishingly inappropriate, and entirely overwhelming emotions without resorting to calling Nick a “wavy-haired, Pierce Brosnan wannabe douche canoe.” 

As delightful (and totally true) of a turn a phrase that it is, even she knows that saying it aloud would be trespassing a boundary that she’s sworn herself never to cross: Grace is married.

Unhappily married, maybe. 

Complicatedly married at the very least.

But until the day that they mutually say “I do” to divorce papers, there isn’t enough room for three people in the Skolka marriage, however much that Grace—bless her increasingly unthawing heart—tries to ensure otherwise. 

So Frankie lets the newly reunited couple have their dinner alone under the guise of a generosity that she doesn’t exactly feel, and she takes leftover pasta into her studio to moodily pick around the bowl until her fettuccine looks less like fettuccine and more like unevenly perforated confetti.

(Woo fucking hoo.)

After a few minutes of this aggressively unconstructive practice, she places her nearly full bowl on a nearby work table and stretches out across her paint-stained couch, staring at the ceiling and resisting the reactionary urge to light a joint. Mary J might help her feel better for the present moment, but tomorrow morning, she’d still wake up and feel invaded in her own home.

Paradoxically, she’d also feel alone, goddammit.

She pulls her shawl more tightly around her shoulders against an invisible and piercing chill.

Frankie hates feeling lonely.

She spiraled when Grace lived in the penthouse. She nearly self-destructed to fill the gaping void that her roommate, her friend, her practical and beloved soulmate left behind. There was a period where she didn’t wash her clothes and ate a lot of admittedly non-vegan takeout. There were nights when she’d lay awake in her awfully huge bed, staring at the empty space where Sol used to sleep, and have the familiar waking nightmare of spending her final years in forced solitude. She was happy with Jack, and then Jacob—sweet Jacob—came around too, and she did something she still feels fucking ashamed about: she hurt both of them, and she lied when she said that she had just wanted to have some fun.

She knows herself.

Intimately.

She‘d been scared of being alone again, so she tried to hold on to two people who were helping her to stave the awful feeling away. Those men wanted her, and Frankie used them. They wanted her, and she pathologically loves to feel wanted because she sometimes and irrationally fears that she might not be needed.

To be fair to her irrational fears, all the people she’s ever needed and felt needed by have hurt her before.

Sol cheated on her for twenty years.

Her own sons stuck her in a nursing home.

Grace just fucking left her.

She eloped in Vegas like a blushing twenty-one year old bride and just disappeared.

She says it was a mistake; she sat across Frankie in a sunlit restaurant and candidly told her that she didn’t like the person she had become when she married Nick.

And to be completely fair to her, Grace has been adamant about not wanting to leave again—so perhaps she never will—but if her husband is here to stay, it's also a distinct possibility that she’ll never have to make the choice to physically leave to… well… leave.

She can perpetually honeymoon with Nick and still call Frankie home. 

It could be a happy ending for Grace… and a fresh new hell for Frankie, who'd just started to feel secure again.

God knows she wants her best friend to be happy, but the big man in the sky must also surely understand that she had hoped that she alone could be enough for Grace, that this unconventional life spent together in the beach house—so crazy, so weird, and so inextricably entangled—would be their shared happily ever after.

But even as she thinks it, the vestiges of her clearly misplaced optimism begin to evade her, dregs now at the bottom of an already drained cup.

She and Grace aren't married.

It’s always been an objective fact.

Tonight, it feels more like an unpleasant reality.

When the door leading into her studio suddenly flies open, Frankie barely has enough time to swipe the back of her hand across her eyes before she sits up to find none other than the lady of the hour.

Her collared shirt popped up stiffly around her neck, a martini glass surgically glued to her right hand, Grace looks quintessentially herself as she walks in, even down to the minutiae of her trademark I'm-angry-at-the-world-and-everyone-in-it expression—brow furrowed and eyes Medusa cold. After all but slamming the door, she stalks over within a few clicks of her practical but unmistakably high heels.

“Well, hello to you, too, Sunshine,” Frankie greets wryly, hoping to hell and back that her face isn’t as red as it feels. 

It’s a tall order, though.

Alas, she was gifted (or equally cursed) with an exceptionally expressive face.

“Frankie, this is nonsense,” Grace says bluntly, using her martini glass like a pointer and leveling it straight at her head. “Come back to the house—your house—and have dinner with us.”

It’s the authoritarian nature of the demand that rifles Frankie.

Frankly, it pisses her off.

She’s always been a rebel contrarian.

“And by us, you mean you and your house arrested husband, right?” She returns evenly. She betrays herself by raising a single and devastatingly skeptical brow. “The man with whom you should be having a very emotionally honest conversation with right now about the parameters of your jacked up relationship?”

Grace shifts her weight from heel to heel and glances away a little too quickly for the gesture to be entirely natural. Frankie had blatantly stricken a pulsing nerve, and the guilt of doing so immediately swallows her. 

She shouldn’t be so hard on her friend.

(She doesn’t know why it’s permissible to be equally hard on herself.)

“Well, I tried to have that conversation, thank you very much, but then I ended up wanting to claw Nick’s eyes out.” The obvious follow up question must shine in Frankie’s face because sighing infinitesimally through her nostrils, Grace adds, “His attorney argued that my advanced age and apparent capability to croak at any moment were reasons enough to grant Nick leniency. They let him out so he could take care of me—whatever the hell that means.”

Her no-nonsense voice never falters as she delivers the brutal words, but her eyes undermine her, seething with emotion, simply roiling. They tell a story of horror and disgust and searing, absolute betrayal; they’re heavy all over with sadness and the indelicate trappings of all her raw and mercilessly exposed fears. 

Frankie understands immediately.

Nick used one of Grace’s deepest insecurities as a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Being eighty-two years old.

But perhaps more accurately, feeling like it.

“Oh, honey,” Frankie melts. She can do nothing else but melt, to be suddenly overcome with fierce, protective, and terrifying love for the woman in front of her. “That fucking bastard.”

Grace immediately laughs, the sound hoarse and watery and a little unhinged all at the exact same time.

“Tell me about it,” she half-smiles and takes the swearing as a rightful invitation to join Frankie on the couch. With a gentle clink, she sets her half-emptied martini glass on the table next to Frankie’s completely full pasta bowl. “I said the exact same thing.”

When she chooses to sit close enough that their shoulders are brushing, Frankie intuitively knows that this is petty defiance against Nick for daring to intrude upon them and the world they've so carefully created together.

She temples Grace’s nearest hand with her own in an attempt to silently communicate that this right here—whatever this is between them—is love.

“So, please”—Grace squeezes her hand back—“please don’t be angry with me… I… I didn’t want this. You know I didn’t want this. I don’t want him to even be here.”

Frankie stares openly at her best friend.

Wide-eyed and hopeful against her self-loathing, self-centered will, she searches her broken face like it's revelatory.

It's stunningly rare that Grace Hanson ever articulates her wants so clearly. Forty years of an emotionally repressive marriage did their number and toll on her. She pedestalized rigid decorum over every conscious desire. 

She played by the rules even if they hurt her.

And drank herself to oblivion on many a night to forget the very fact that she was hurt.

To deny herself the honesty she’d somehow convinced herself that she didn’t deserve.

“… you know this is your husband we’re talking about here, right?” It’s a rhetorical question. Frankie's pretty sure that they both fucking know that it’s insane that this conversation—that this entire situation as a whole—is happening. 

“I know,” Grace replies firmly. “Believe me, I'm well aware. But you’re… you’re my partner, Frankie, and if I can’t be upfront with you, then I don’t know who else I can turn to.”

The very word partner sends shivers down her spine, and the shivers collect like butterflies in her already churning belly.

It’s just a word, she tells herself. 

She scolds.

Grace doesn’t mean anything by it.

It's a label, and Grace doesn't do labels anymore.

“I... I wasn’t mad at you, Grace,” she finally admits. It's easier to do than questioning the extent to which her roommate would give up the world for her, but all the same, her voice is frighteningly weak, a pale imitation of everything Frankie usually projects herself to be: confident, cheerful, unshakeable, unshaken. Suddenly, it hits her that it’s been a very long time since she’s been so openly vulnerable, too. “I'm not even really all that mad at your jailbird husband either. I was just scared, and when I get scared, I skitter like a nervous little bug."

She shuts down.

She spirals.

She tries to put a smile on her face for the people who love her all the same.

And then she lies awake at night, drowning in the sheets of an empty bed.

Thinking about how she should probably tell someone that everything hurts.

But she’s Frankie, and she doesn’t do that.

Grace perpetually convinces herself that she doesn’t deserve honesty; Frankie has come to fear that no one wants her own.

“Were you scared of me?” Grace asks quietly, her grip so tight now that it almost stings.

“Frankie…” She presses when a few heartbeats of silence stagger by, limping painfully on all fours, pronouncing so many unspoken and profound hurts. 

“Of losing you, Grace,” she confesses, the words defeated and scraped raw. She forcefully tugs her hand away from Grace's just to temple her own hands together on her lap, to lick her sundry and shining wounds in a private corner. “I was scared of losing you, of being alone again in this big, empty house… and I don’t like being alone.”

She can’t bear to look at Grace as she says it, staring at the paint-flecked floor without ever really seeing it, her eyes burning.

She wishes they’d stop burning but feels the precise moment when they begin to leak anyway.

It’s all so embarrassing.

And childish.

Frankie is an eighty-year old woman, and she shouldn’t be upset over her best friend having a goddamn life.

She should be happy for her, fucking ecstatic.

And yet, she's—

But before she can complete the miserable thought, her body becomes aware of another sensation entirely—warm arms enveloping her from the side and inexorably pulling her in, turning the space that once existed between two bodies—between them—intangible, negligible.

Grace.

Shock turns into realization, and realization transforms into aching, sweeping relief.

It can only be Grace.

Grace’s soft lips pressed to her cheek.

Grace’s fingertips curling into the fabric of her dress.

Grace’s nose against her neck as she slides her sharp chin across her shoulder.

“I’m not leaving you, Frances Bergstein,” she declares. “Whatever happens between me and Nick, in the end, it’s going to be just you and me in this house that is our damn home. I swear that to you. I’d tell you every day just to prove it to you.”

Oh, these words.

These beautiful, tender, and long-needed-to-hear words.

They’re just words, she could tell herself again.

She could lie.

She could convince herself if she had to.

She could conveniently forget that Grace Hanson uses language carefully, that she employs every sentence with scalpel-like precision.

Or... more complicatedly still... Frankie could believe her.

Frankie could blindly accept these words for what they are, as manifest confirmation that she is loved by another—prioritized and cared for and needed.

She could be Grace’s partner and let that incredible word be electrically charged with so many complex and ridiculous and extraordinary ideas, none of which are traditional, and all of which feel true.

She could believe in her even if belief is not simple, even if belief is a product, first and foremost, of trust.

And Grace has certainly lost her trust before, but goddammit, she's earned it so many times, too.

“Oh, God,” Frankie laughs in such a way that it’s stupidly clear that she’s crying as Grace rubs slow circles into her back with her thumb. “This is all messed up. You’re the one with a house arrested, tax evading husband. I should be the one comforting you.”

“The house arrested, tax evading husband doesn’t particularly faze me,” Grace chuckles, her voice low. “Seeing you hurting and upset does. My priorities are remarkably straight.”

“I’m not sure you know the meaning of that word,” she smiles weakly as they slowly and clumsily begin to extricate themselves from their tangled embrace. 

It’s hard to find themselves again.

To be apart.

“But I do,” Grace protests, emphatic and indignant and maybe even a few shades righteously pissed. “You’re the person I wanna share this crazy life with at the end of the day and every day. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because every day is an incredibly long time to be with me,” Frankie offers meekly, giving her one more perfect and easily acceptable copout, a neatly packaged excuse. 

She can be too much.

She knows this.

“It’s just the right amount of time to be with you,” Grace murmurs, reaching up to brush an errant tear away from Frankie’s cheek, her thumb lingering, her quivering palm. “You’re kind enough to love me, and I’m lucky enough to be loved by you... so let me return the favor, Frankie. Let me be here for you."

And to Grace’s credit in this fleeting moment, she continues to hold Frankie.

It's a promise to never let her go.

[voiceless-terror]

I have been seeing those posts about ep 40 jon being injured and sleep deprived in the archives interviewing the others. Jon probably hasn’t come down from that getting wormed fear/adrenaline.. maybe he’s about to have a breakdown.. but tims there. Or martin or both. Also thank you for all the good content this year :)

Thank you for the lovely message! Had fun with this one, though I think I made it a tad more angsty than I planned to. Hope you enjoy otherwise, and happy holidays!

“...It’s just pain.”

Pain. That’s all. He can work through that, he’s done it before. The pills are wearing off, his entire body throbbing and wrestling with the feeling of hundreds of frantic, wriggling worms burrowing in and feasting- no, best not to think about that. He’s got to stay in control.

Control. Control is standing in his own office, leaning against his file cabinet surrounded by the corpses of worms with his boss sitting in front of him. His boss who is currently giving him an unimpressed stare, demanding that he go home. But it’s alright, he can do this.

It’s just pain.

Elias recounts what happened when Sasha came up to his office, alerting him to Prentiss’s attack. His voice is measured and controlled, but his face betrays a level of disgust that they all feel, the living reminder of which sits in front of him, bleeding and fidgeting as he tries to stay upright, squirming not unlike the-no. Stop.

He wishes he had the tape, but Sasha lost it in the confusion. This second-hand retelling is stale and hard to swallow. Elias sounds perfectly reasonable, as always, apologizing to Jon for taking too long with the CO2 to which Jon only replies “It’s fine. We’re alive.”

Just barely.

But then he talks about the scream. And Jon hears it all over again, that impossible sound of agony and rage that sung out as his world faded to black. And then Elias talks about how he stumbled upon them, compared them to fucking swiss cheese and he’s got to stop him, raising a trembling, still-bleeding hand. He doesn’t need to be reminded of that. No, Prentiss is gone. What he needs to focus on now is Gertrude- how she died, who killed her. If the person who did it was sitting in this very room. If he’s going to be next.

He imagines his body, lying forgotten in the tunnels as Gertrude’s did all those months. No one looking for him, no one caring. He’ll never get his answers, he’ll just lie there and rot like all those worms-

Elias gives no more useful information, repeating the story as if Jon’s being irrational and urges him to go home. You can barely stand. It’s true. But if he sits, he’ll have to look Elias in the eye instead of standing over him, grasping what little high ground he can. 

“Martin finding her body in the tunnels is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”

Is it? 

He sighs, succumbing to exhaustion and sinking to his seat.

“Can you send in Tim?”

________

Tim’s voice is strange and detached. He sounds...traumatized, which is of course to be expected. 

He’s probably still high, too. 

It’s odd, how these things affect them. It’s sharpened all of Jon’s edges to an untenable degree, every movement a sharp agony of tangled nerves that sends his mind spiraling. But it dulled Tim, left him foggy and so unlike himself. He stares blankly somewhere to the left of Jon, as if meeting his eyes and seeing his own injuries laid out before him like a warped funhouse mirror would be too much, would undo this strange facsimile of a workday that Jon’s tried to conjure. Just the two of them in his office, discussing a case. Pay no mind to the dead worms or the blood coating the ground and the desk and his arm and his leg and-

“...I mean, I went full Gas-Rambo.” Tim. That sounds like Tim. His voice may be wrong but the words are there, teasing and familiar. He comes back, clears his throat and nods. But then Tim keeps going, slides back into his memories and makes them lucid for Jon.

“You know that worm smell? That earthy, rotten smell?”

Oh, yes. 

It’s still there, cloying and wretched reminder that it is. Elias told him to leave the basement, told him that he and Tim needed fresh air. But Jon wouldn’t listen, he never listens. And that’s why they’re in this mess.

But the why is bigger than that, too. He needs to know why Gertrude was in the tunnels, why she was killed, why these statements disturb him so and why the Archives feel wrong, like an intruder’s in their midst. He thinks he knows where he can find the answers. 

“Could you...describe the tunnels?” Tim sighs, but Jon presses on. Perhaps through someone else’s eyes he’ll find the one detail he missed, the one thing that explains it all and gives him peace of mind.

It’s quite the opposite. 

Because the worms down there, in that room Tim found, weren’t trying to attack anyone. They were crawling, wrapping around each other to form a ring- no, a doorway. Jon’s mind fixates on the word and Tim stares resolutely ahead, looking weary and drained. He has to hold it together, just two more interviews and he can go home and rest (and think and weep and scream). He clears his throat, lowers his voice to the register he finds most authoritative and tells Tim to go home and get some sleep. Tim rolls his eyes at the action, but gets to his feet, slow and pained.

“Yeah. Sure.”

He starts to shuffle towards the door but something twitches out of the corner of Jon’s eye, a tiny, jumping movement like...like a worm. He lets out a whimper as his mind shuts down, starts tearing at his arms, ripping at the bandages because something’s still there, burrowing deeper into his skin and soon it’s going to hit bone and where’s the corkscrew, where’s Martin’s steady hands and strong grip, he needs help-

“Whoa, there!” Tim’s coming back but he shouldn’t be, not when there’s worms all over his desk, crawling and jumping and devouring.

“She’s- she’s still here, can’t you see?” Jon’s tripping over words, stumbling out of his seat as he tries to avoid the writhing mass he sees below him. “Get h-help, we need- Martin! Martin, are you there?” It’s hard to walk, hard to move but he does it anyway, grabbing at the wall for balance as Tim backs away- good, go, get out, get help-

 Rapid footsteps sound and Martin appears in the doorway, his eyebrows knit in concern. “What’s- oh Jon, you’ve ripped your bandages, let me-”

Jon doesn’t care about that right now. Not when he can hear their song, not when Gertrude was rotting in the walls for so long and he didn’t know, he didn’t know. She became a mystery and he will too, it’s just a matter of time. He grabs onto Martin’s arm, clawing at his jumper with desperate hands.

“She’s-she’s-”

“There’s no one here, Jon. She’s gone. The ECDC took care of it,” Martin’s just trying to placate him, he can see the pity in his eyes. Maybe he needs it. But if Prentiss is gone, that doesn’t mean the danger is. Even if he can tell himself there are no worms, it’s all in his mind, there’s still that nagging voice in the back of his head- you’re next. 

So he holds on tighter, dragging Martin down to his level with a movement that makes him flush. “You- you saw her, Martin. Gertrude. How did she die?”

“Jon, please, just sit down-”

He pulls harder, raises his voice. “How did she die?”

“Jon-”

“How?” 

“She was shot! Three times to the chest. Th-That’s what I saw.” Martin’s eyes widen, as if the words were torn from him involuntarily.

Shot. Shot. The words echo somehow in this small, cluttered room and Jon can’t wrap his mind around them. She wasn’t attacked by Prentiss, killed by some unknowable enemy. She was shot. With a gun. A gun wielded by someone who had a reason to take the Archivist out. Someone who might still have that reason. 

He staggers back, releasing Martin and collapsing with what might be a sigh or a wail- he can’t hear what’s coming out of his mouth. He dimly registers a hand on his shoulder, gentle and warm but it feels like a threat because something’s wrong here, something’s after him and maybe it’s Martin, who found the corpse. Maybe it’s Tim, collapsed silently in the chair. Maybe it’s Elias, telling him to go home where he’s alone and vulnerable and easy to get. So he scrambles back against his desk, breathing heavily with his arms thrown out in front of him.

Martin was right, there are no worms here. Prentiss is gone. And something worse, and perhaps much more human is waiting in the shadows.

“..just needs sleep and some painkillers. I can take him back, call us a cab-”

“-both full of holes, for Christ’s sake. Jon’s scratching at himself! I’m not going to leave you on your own.”

“This isn’t some fun archives sleepover, Martin, you aren’t missing out on anything, I promise-”

“Shut up!” Martin’s voice breaks through the fog, loud and commanding in a way it usually isn’t. Jon hazards a glance up to see him standing at full height and even Tim looks shocked, leaning back in his chair as much as it allows. Martin goes red, taking a deep breath and lowering his voice. “That’s not what this is about, just...just let me do this. Let me make sure you’re alright. Please.”

Tim pauses, but gives in with a sigh. “Fine. I drove in, bad day for it. You fine with driving us back, or should we take a cab? I need to sleep.”

Jon raises his voice, tired of being talked about as if he weren’t in the room and can’t make decisions for himself. “N-No. I’m not going back with either of you-”

“Quit it, Jon.” Tim gingerly rises to his feet, shooting a tired look at his hunched form. “Nobody’s out to get you, you just need to get some fucking sleep and you’ll feel better. Now get up, or we’re leaving without you.” He clearly doesn’t mean it, because he pauses and waits for them in the doorway, watching as Martin bends down to offer his hand.

Jon’s hand automatically reaches out to grab his, but he stops himself. Maybe it’s his best shot- if it’s one of them, they may not make a move if the other one’s present. If it’s someone outside of their group, their odds are better for fighting them off. But if it’s Tim and Martin, well.

Jon takes his hand. because what other choice does he have? Only bad ones, it would seem. Martin helps him to his feet. “Are you sure you can walk? I can-”

“I’m fine.” If he’s going to die, he’d rather do it on his two feet and spare himself the indignity of holding onto his killer. He lets Martin keep a hand on his back, though- he can’t walk without it.

Every slow step is agony; he ignores Sasha smirk on the way out and eventually finds himself bundled in the backseat of Tim’s beat up silver sedan. He considers asking for the passenger seat as his nausea might get the best of him back here, but thinks better of it. Better to be back here and alone.

But then he isn’t alone, because Tim hesitates and moves to the back, wincing as he sits beside him. Why would he do that? What does he want? Jon wraps his arms around himself and scoots as far as he can to the side, trying to focus on Martin fiddling with the car and not the presence beside him. The radio blasts as soon as the engine roars to life and Jon flinches back, fingers burrowing deeper into his arms.

Martin begins to drive, not saying a word as he pulls out into traffic; he knows where they’re going, but Jon doesn’t. Tim must see his confusion.

“Were you not listening? We’re going back to mine.”

Jon casts his eyes to the floor. “I-I don’t want to-”

“Do you have unexpired food at your flat, Jon?” His face heats up- he’d been living on leftovers in the Archives, so that’s a no. “Will you actually rest if you go back on your own? Will you-” There’s a hand on Jon’s own, gentle but firm as Tim pulls it away from his arm and forces it down to the seat. “-stop picking.”

“Sorry,” he whispers, but Tim doesn’t let go, just holds his hand in his and leans his head against the window, staring out at the road. Jon doesn’t pull back, no matter how much he wants to. He just looks down, staring at the larger hand on his own and wonders how easy it would be for Tim to break it. Just one good, hard squeeze and a crush of bone but no, Tim just absentmindedly runs his thumb over Jon’s knuckles and somehow this hurts more.

They must make an odd couple, he and Tim bandaged like mummies staggering up the steps with Martin at the helm. He’s been here a few times and he has to fight against the instinctive ease he feels upon walking through the threshold. Martin’s talking and Tim’s barking out short answers, dropping his belongings as he limps towards the bedroom and makes a dismissive gesture at Martin. Jon feels strangely outside of his body, looking in on a bastardized scene of domesticity through a foggy haze of pain and unreality. With a start he comes back to himself, and suddenly he’s on Tim’s couch; time must have passed for he’s wrapped in a blanket with a steaming cup of tea in his hands and a lump in his throat. And he’s talking, watching as Martin fixes his bandage with a careful hand. 

“...tapes are gone, Martin. Sasha said she lost them but I don’t understand-”

“Prentiss practically destroyed the Archives, Jon, I’m surprised more aren’t missing. Look, Tim’s already asleep, you should do the same-”

Sleep? How can I sleep when- “Someone killed Gertrude,” he whispers and his hands shake, tea dripping down the side of his mug and scalding his skin. “And they’re going to get me next. Can’t you see?”

Two hands wrap around his own- big, like Tim’s but softer and unscarred. Kind, but still capable. Of what, Jon doesn’t know. He lifts his eyes towards Martin and sees it- Martin’s scared too, doesn’t know what to do with Jon’s ramblings and doesn’t know how to comfort him or make it better.

“Drink your tea.” There’s an edge of hysteria in his voice, a naked plea that Jon finds unnerving. “And I’ll keep watch. You’ve- you’ve got us, Jon.” It’s so sincere. 

Jon wants to believe it. “I do?”

“Yes.”

He drinks his tea and feels the fogginess from painkillers he doesn’t remember taking slip over him, quieting the voice in his head to a barely audible whisper. The pain’s gone but the memory of it doesn’t fade; he stifles a manic giggle as a childish tune pops into his head. The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out!

His eyes drift shut as the cup is pried out of his grip, a gentle hand pushing him to lay down on the sofa. He hears the dull murmur of comforting words and a sniffle- he’s going to go to sleep soon, Martin will be the only one awake, and Jon doesn’t know what he’ll do or what he’s capable of. But he’s so, so tired. And he may not trust Martin, but he wants him to stay.

He wakes only once during the night to see the outline of Martin sitting in a chair, scribbling something in a notebook. It’s so innocuous he can’t help the tiny noise of relief that slips out of his mouth. 

Martin doesn’t even look over, just quietly tells him to go back to sleep as if he’s hushed him a few times already. Maybe he has. The normalcy of it is like a peek into some universe he’s not yet privy to; Jon knows he shouldn’t trust the comfort of it. And yet. 

He goes back to sleep.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28252950

[yan-purgatory]

Netflix and Kill

request: CHANGKYUN possessive yandere! Where he's your quite neighbor who slowly opens up to you but you have a house Netflix date with another member, he can't handle that, time skip you go to your kitchen to get some midnight snacks(same night after the date) and find kyun in the kitchen sitting in the dark etc etc👀

pairing: changkyun x reader

word count: 1.8k

admin: ღ

The first time (Y/N) had “met” their neighbour was the day after they moved in. There was a knock at the door, leading (Y/N) to abandon the assembly of their IKEA wardrobe and greet her visitor. By the time they were at the door however, there was no person but rather a box of fresh cookies, and there was a young man walking away. (Y/N) stepped out to try to talk to him and thank him, but he just walked straight back into his apartment and locked the door.

(Y/N) picked up the box with a smile on their face, the smell bringing a rush of happiness and peace to their exhausted body after days of heavy labour. Meanwhile, her neighbour was just watching through his peephole to see their reaction, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in in seeing the delighted smile of his new neighbour.

Changkyun collapsed on the sofa. He didn’t know why his heart was beating so fast when he hadn’t even interacted with them, when most of the people he saw on a day-to-day basis disgusted him and he had to put on the facade of kindness in order to advance in society. Yet, he was secretly yearning to speak to his new neighbour, a completely foreign feeling to his cold heart. Even if he’d put in the bare minimum effort by buying some simple cookies from the bakery, they seemed to treasure his gift and he liked that feeling.

Before he quite knew what he was doing, he was writing an email to his landlord to ask for the new resident’s name. There was a pit of worry when he hit send that his request would not be received and he would never be able to learn enough about the person who was occupying his brain.

Luckily, by that evening he had his reply, and his night was spent scouring the internet, fascinated by the enigma (L/N) (Y/N).

~ ღ ~

The next time that (Y/N) encountered their quiet neighbour face-to-face was a week later, when checking their mail in the morning. He was already there, a few envelopes in his hand and ready to leave only to stop in place when he saw (Y/N).

“Hi.” (Y/N) smiled awkwardly. “I don’t think I’ve had the chance to introduce myself.”

He nodded, not saying a word with his eyes trained on them.

“My name is (Y/N), and I’m the new chef at the Traveller.” They said, stretching out their hand for him.

Of course, Changkyun knew that but he didn’t dare tell them that. (Y/N) didn’t need to know how he’d spent long nights pouring over the social media of them, their friends, their family, just shooting any form of the drug that was (L/N) (Y/N). Nonetheless he took their hand in his own and gave it a firm shake, enjoying the soft feeling of their skin against his. It was better than anything he’d absorbed from the computer screen.

“Changkyun.” He replied shortly.

“Your cookies were delicious, by the way.” (Y/N) offered him a grin as they withdrew their hand from the slightly too long handshake.

“Thank you.” A ghost of a smile ran over his lips. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook otherwise.”

“Well maybe I can teach you. It is my job after all.” His neighbour said cheerily. He nodded and pushed past them to leave the mailroom, hoping they couldn’t hear his racing heart.

By God, Changkyun had never been so infatuated with anyone in his life. There was something about them, about the way that they smiled at him that made him feel alive.

~ ღ ~

In the passing months, (Y/N) found themselves establishing a closer bond with Changkyun. Teaching him how to cook their favorite dishes, helping him decorate his drab apartment for Christmas, listening to the playlist he made for them on spotify. All the while, his obsession with his neighbour was spiralling downwards - when (Y/N) stood a bit too close to him, the desire to bury his nose in his hair and breathe in their gorgeous scent was almost uncontrollable. When (Y/N) would stagger up the stairs drenched because they forgot an umbrella, his hands twitched to remove their wet clothes and run his hands down their naked body. (Y/N) had become his night and day, and they didn’t even know it.

He’d taken to walking around the block at 8PM on Thursdays, since usually (Y/N)’s shift was over and they would be walking back only to coincidentally run into Changkyun and have him accompany them home. However, when he engaged in his daily ritual on that night, he saw no sign of his neighbour. Clearly, their work was taking over their life - he was considering phoning their boss as their boyfriend to ask that she doesn’t work any more overtime, since it was depriving them of time together. A little white lie never hurt anybody, no?

However, just as he was arriving home and unlocking his door, he heard the familiar soothing sound of (Y/N)’s voice.

“No way! I swear, I’ll kill you one day.” Their laughter was medicine to his ears, but he froze in place when he heard another voice accompanying it.

“You’d never do that, you love me far too much.” The words sent shivers down Changkyun’s spine. Was there a secret boyfriend behind the scenes that he didn’t know about? Had he spent all this time chasing after someone who had already been taken?

(Y/N) didn’t even pay any attention to Changkyun, rooted to the spot in front of his door - as they dragged their partner over to their flat and continued to babble on.

He felt himself shaking with rage, at himself and at her. How could she seek out the company of someone else when he was always there for her?

All ideas of going to bed were now abandoned, as Changkyun abandoned his home to sit outside of (Y/N)’s door and listen in on the interaction.

He heard the ‘Ba-Boom’ of Netflix turning on, the sound of popping corn, and then relative silence whilst (Y/N) and their vermin watched some film together bar the occasional snarky comment.

It was practically torture, knowing that (Y/N) was with another man, possibly even cuddling with him. Changkyun wanted nothing more than to rip the bastard into shreds, but he had to be patient.

As the hours trickled by, he felt his eyelids starting to droop. Surely a coffee wouldn’t hurt, he posed to himself. If he had the caffeine, he could stay up and talk to (Y/N) long after that vermin had scampered. It was when he was on his way out of the apartment holding the steaming cup of joe that he ran into the man who had been plaguing (Y/N). And like that, an idea popped into Changkyun’s head.

“You’re (Y/N)’s newest victim then?” He spoke in a low voice, hoping that regardless of what state (Y/N) was in they wouldn’t hear him.

Kihyun gazed at him quizzically.

“What do you mean?”

“I see men like you in there most nights of the week. They’re practically the village bicycle.” Changkyun scoffed, taking a sip of coffee.

“We just watched a few movies, we didn’t fuck?” His rival retorted, but Changkyun just laughed coldly.

“They’re buttering you up. I wouldn’t expect them to be ‘friends’ with you for much longer.”

“Why are you- never mind.” The man sighed, turning on his heel to leave the building.

“Have a nice night!” Changkyun called after him, barely able to contain his shit-eating grin. Yes, it was satisfying to indulge in (Y/N), to admire them like anyone else. But it was way more fun to see the ones once enamoured with the ethereal being scamper away with their tail between their legs.

With the nuisance gone, Changkyun decided to enter (Y/N)’s apartment. The door was left slightly ajar, practically inviting him into the warm haven.

His angel was passed out of the sofa, having been tucked up nice and warm in a cozy blanket. He stopped to admire their perfect face, barely lit by the dim light of the television screen.

He found himself a seat in the kitchen to indulge in his lukewarm coffee as he waited for (Y/N) to awaken, so they could have a nice little chat.

~ ღ ~

When (Y/N) woke up, their apartment was dark and Kihyun was long gone. Brushing off the disappointment that came with no longer having his pleasant company, they sat up,

their stomach was screaming at them. The only food they’d eaten that night was the popcorn with Kihyun - they’d planned to cook a meal for the two of them, but exhaustion had won over them and they embarrassingly fell asleep in front of the movie before they even had the chance to offer.

Even if they regretted being an awful host to Kihyun, their hunger was a more pressing concern as they plodded into the kitchen to find something. Their mind was so occupied by their stomach in fact, they didn’t even notice Changkyun’s presence.

They found a packet of instant ramen shamefully hidden at the back of their cupboard, and were just about to heat up some water when a familiar chilling voice spoke up.

“Did you have a nice evening?”

They turned to finally notice Changkyun, leaning back in one of her chairs like he owned the place.

“Changkyun…? What are you doing in my kitchen?” (Y/N) rubbed at their eyes to make sure they weren’t dreaming.

“I thought it would be nice to pay you a little visit. It seems I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.”

He stood up and approached them, his aura more intimidating than they’d ever seen before.

“Who was he?” Changkyun snarled, his hand shooting out and gripping so tightly into (Y/N)’s neck that the nails were digging into their skin. “That son of a bitch you spent the entire evening with, leaving me out in the cold?”

“He’s just my colleague! Nothing more!” (Y/N) insisted, tears welling up in their eyes.

“Is that so?” (Y/N) was shoved onto a chair, with Changkyun standing over them. “Because I think some boundaries were overstepped. You don’t quite understand that you should belong to me, and me alone. You’ve severely betrayed my trust, and you should have to beg for my forgiveness.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“You’re going to phone them tomorrow and resign. Do you understand?” He breathed out, ignoring their scathing remark. “Your workplace doesn’t deserve a worker who will whore around with whoever pays them attention.”

He seated himself on their lap, his face getting dangerously close to them. It was then they felt cool steel pressing against their neck and realised he was brandishing one of their chef’s knives.

“You don’t need your job. You don’t need anyone else. You just need me.”

[cybernaght]

Guardian rewatch: episode 10

The tone of this recap is going to be the crackiest so far. The production quality plummets dramatically here, in a way which is as unintentionally hilarious as it is endearing. I have very little of import to say on events of this episode, and there is nothing much for me to hyper focus on, so a lot of this write-up are snark and bad jokes. Apologies in advance. I would not be getting annoyed at a show I did not care about. 

Day two of the Road Trip starts with Zhao Yunlan waking up with a splitting headache and his own jacket draped carefully over him. I choose to believe Shen Wei left it there. 

Zhao Yunlan wakes up - and discovers that Wang Zheng had slipped a sedative into the party’s water, effectively knocking them all out. He even discovers that she left her doll-body behind as a decoy; thankfully, it’s still Li Siqi and not the blow-up doll from the previous episode. 

With the daunting realisation that he’s been betrayed, Zhao Yunlan instantly spirals into hurt and anger, and this is the moment Shen Wei chooses to appear out to nowhere. He enters offering comfort, his entire focus on making Zhao Yunlan feel better by assuring the man that his subordinate is not one of the bad guys, but rather one of the self-sacrificing ones. How SID manages to function when it’s full of people with non-existent sense of self-preservation is beyond me. 

“Professor Shen, why are you okay?”

Zhu Hong narrows her eyes. Zhao Yunlan’s look is the one of vulnerability, not suspicion, almost as if he is silently asking to please not be betrayed by his newest partner.

“I didn’t drink the water she gave me.”

Another thing I would like to question here is the reasoning behind Shen Wei waiting until the morning with this. He knew that Wang Zheng was about to do something, since he refrained from drinking the water she offered. Everyone else being unconscious would be a perfect opportunity for him to go full Hei Pao Shi on her, or follow her quietly, or do literally anything but wait for the morning. 

“What is your purpose of coming here?” Shen Wei asks because he needs to know how much Zhao Yunlan knows. He does so with a perfect set of puppy eyes. 

We cut to Wang Zheng entering the chamber which houses the pillar/totem, and witness the absolute devastation of her hearing her love’s voice for the first time in a century, as he mistakes her for the enemy and calls her a rat.

I should say that while I’m not always on board with Li Siqi in this show, props to her for acting her heart out opposite a literal pillar. Her reunion with Sang Zan is incredibly touching; she really is wonderful here.

Flashback 1. The execution of Ge Lan. 

This method of execution seems so inefficient, I actually tried to find if it has any legs in history. As my research yielded exactly no results, I am guessing this is the producers showing hanging without actually showing hanging. They kind of accidentally made the whole affair infinitely worse. People are weaker than gravity, the angle offers no possibility of the neck being broken, so this would be a very slow, and very painful death. Yikes, is all I can say. 

Flashback 2. The montage. 

Sigh.

This imagery is so carelessly contemporary it’s killing me. I’m not saying it’s completely impossible for the heart shape to have been known to represent love in this fictional tribe on a fictional planet. I’m just saying it’s a boring shorthand for romance, made worse by the fact that so much of the show’s imagery is otherwise fairly intelligent. I am not angry, I’m just disappointed.

Wang Zheng and Sang Zan’s reunion triggers another earthquake, which is felt all the way back in the village, and shortly thereafter Zhu Jiu interrupts the couple, knocking Wang Zheng out. This - her being knocked unconscious - cuts to Zhao Yunlan wincing while clutching at his temples, which almost implies that he can feel it when his people are in danger. Which would be very cool if true. 

Shen Wei, in the meanwhile is remarkably good at keeping his Professor’s mask on the whole time, offering enough information without betraying his own knowledge or motives, but it is clear by now that Zhao Yunlan starts to see right through it. 

The chief sprints into action when Chu Shuzhi and Guo Changcheng arrive, instructing the two to join him in investigation. Shen Wei opens his mouth to volunteer to come with, but ends up hesitating before saying anything out loud. 

Zhu Hong, too, makes a move to go after the three men, but is firmly instructed to say behind and look after Shen Wei. She proceeds to loudly explain that this is the wrong time and place to be fussing over this guy. 

Shen Wei looks like he has no idea what to do with this display of emotion. 

Zhao Yunaln whispers to Zhu Hong to watch the professor for him: which could equally be him manipulating the Yashou into staying, or a sinking realisation that Shen Wei will actually try to join them either way, or genuine desire to find out what the professor will do next. Or, indeed, a combination of the above. Zhu Hong will attack her task with conviction. 

Sure enough, Shen Wei finally voices his desire to go with the group. Zhu Hong reminds him that he has his own people to look after and instructs him to return to the house with barely contained resentment. 

Shen Wei will predictably try to sneak out very shortly afterwards, and will be, equally predictably, caught by Zhu Hong. Why the man who can teleport would not just teleport out of the house before proceeding on foot is anyone’s guess. 

“He surprisingly views you as a good friend”, says Zhu Hong when she stops Shen Wei from leaving. “You surely noticed it, right?”

He certainly did, although he will always have trouble realising that he is actually cared about in a way which is anything but casual. 

Shen Wei obediently sits down and follows Zhu Hong’s instructions as she attempts to hypnotise him. Those instructions are anything but subtle. 

“Professor Shen, look at the flame closely”.

Meanwhile, the other party has successfully deduced the location of the Hanga tribe cave/shrine, and heads there, only to find no visible entrance. Thankfully, gaining access to the mountain is not particularly hard for the party. Mostly because this part of the mountain is made of foam.

This is where I want to metaphorically pat Guardian on its non-existent head, cooing, “Oh, Guardian. Baby. What have you done.”

On the bright side, this is also where Guo Changcheng accidentally shocks Zhao Yunlan with the Fear Stick, and Chu Shuzhi literally gives him a thumbs up. Those two are a duo for the ages. 

Youchu appear to fight our heroes, and after the first wave is eliminated, Zhao Yunlan decides to go inside, leaving the other two fend them off near the entrance. Considering that the beasts are all hiding inside the cave, rushing in without backup seems incredibly ill advised. Zhao Yunlan instructs Chu Shuzhi and Guo Changcheng to run away if the danger becomes too great. Which he must know surely that they would never do: his department does not leave people behind, and his subordinates will never abandon him. 

To no one’s surprise, the cave is crawling with Youchu. Zhao Yunlan goes on the offensive, kicking the feet out of the monster, but failing to incapacitate it. I am going to do my best to ignore how the scale of the beast fluctuates as it falls down, and focus on Bai Yu’s excellent reaction when his character realises that he is about to very much die.

Luckily for our protagonist, Hei Pao Shi sends a ward his way with a note, warning him of the danger ahead and ordering him to return. Zhao Yunlan makes no move to do as instructed and uses the upper hand he’s gained on the Youchu to get out his gun. Before he can fire however, he once more experiences the painful flashback of the devastation this gun carries, and freezes.

This is when Shen Wei shows up in person, jumping in front of the gun and gutting the beast.

The jumping in front of the gun part of the action is sweet, because it indicates, albeit indirectly, the absolute trust Shen Wei must have in Zhao Yunlan’s instincts, knowing that the man will not accidentally shoot him in the back. 

The gutting itself happens in reverse grip, with Shen Wei being easily within reach of the beast’s long stabby claws, and as such really questionable to me in terms of logic. I would have not minded it if he had been moving through the space in front of the beast, slicing it while passing through. That would be at least an indicator of both speed and dexterity enough to make me believe Shen Wei made a clever avoidance of the claws. But he doesn’t: he just materialises dead-on in front of the monster and the later just.. lets itself be killed. 

Let’s just say that maybe the beast is supposed to be deliberately slow here, and park the long essay in regards to the bladework until the next episode. 

“Chief Zhao, are you alright?”

Everything about Hei Pao Shi in this moment screams of Shen Wei-ness. Well, maybe not the sword. But the obvious concern, the tone of voice, the general air: it’s all Shen Wei. It’s remarkable that Zhao Yunlan does not see it. Or maybe, I suppose, he does, without even realising it. His cheeky grin suddenly appears; the corners of his eyes crinkle, as he goes into a very long-winded, almost flirtatious away about thanking Hei Pao Shi, teasing him for not always arriving on time. 

Unperturbed, Shen Wei chides Zhao Yunlan for not listening to his warning, and Zhao Yunlan defends himself in a very playful kind of manner, adding that he’s not leaving his people behind. To Shen Wei, this is to be expected, so instead of arguing he goes into a lot of detail on how the road ahead is dangerous, as if he is not really expecting Zhao Yunlan to accept help. 

He is wrong of course: proud though he may be, Chief Zhao knows when he is outgunned and outnumbered, and only grins, happy for the Envoy to join him on his mission. 

Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan exploring the cave is interspersed with pretty damn harrowing scenes of Zhu Jiu torturing Wang Zheng as her trapped lover screams for mercy. It’s a lot; in fact it’s so much even the cave ghosts attempt to intervene, because while they may be very much pro-murder, they are evidently anti-torture. 

As the two keep exploring, they bump into another three of the beasts, which Shen Wei slays in three slick moves. It’s actually pretty cool, despite slightly sketchy teleportation effects.

“Wow!”

(Apparently, this “wow” made Zhu Yilong corpse so much he nearly laughed his mask off. Which sounds adorable)

Shen Wei proceeds to inquire Zhao Yunlan about the gun, party to confirm that it is indeed the dark energy weapon he knows, and partly having noticed that the other man failed to fire it. I wonder how many times Zhao Yunlan froze in the past, considering how easily he once again slips into his mask of playful deflection, claiming that he never planned to fire the gun at all. It’s almost tragic how this person keeps feeling like he needs to prove his own capabilities over and over again. 

Interestingly enough, in this particular case Hei Pao Shi actually does own up to a weakness. It’s calculated: he knows this is something Zhao Yunlan must already be aware of, but still, “full disclosure” is not something Shen Wei usually does when it comes to his own capacities. 

What he admits to, on the other hand, does not seem very consistent with the rest of the show. He says that he can only use half of his power above ground, which - okay. But he also states that he can’t spend a lot of time here, and I am a little bit… confused? He lives above ground. He spends absolute majority of his time here. I really don’t want to think of this as a writing inconsistency, so please let me know what I have missed; I’ll appreciate it. 

Hearing the admission, Zhao Yunlan grows serious for once, asking which they they should be going next. Shen Wei barely smothers a smug smirk seconds before he scries the surroundings with unbelievable panache.

Show off

Unfortunately, his search does not yield any result, as whatever readings he is getting are muddled by the Hallow. Luckily for them, and to Shen Wei’s great dismay, Zhao Yunlan has the Dial on him which he is uses as a compass. 

Shen Wei’s wordless reaction conveys a million questions from “what the hell?” to “are you completely stupid?”

Instead of asking any of those things, he settles for a more neutral “I’ve told you not to use the Hallows.”

“You are very much like a friend of mine”, remarks Zhao Yunlan. 

Which is, incidentally, also the title of this episode. 

Even behind the mask it’s clear to see Shen Wei’s blind panic as he realises he may have just blown his cover sky high. Fortunately, Zhao Yunlan reads the reaction as bashfulness rather than existential despair, and laughs it off. 

Now that they know which way to go, they finally make it to the chamber which houses the pillar/totem, which now has Wang Zheng tied to it. 

This show sure does like tying their characters to totems containing souls of people significant to them, huh?

In all seriousness though, as parallels go, this one is… uh… unparalleled. 

(I am so very sorry.)

Zhao Yunlan makes a move towards his trapped subordinate, but Hei Pao Shi, again in a way which is extremely Shen Wei-like, grabs at his arm, stopping him in his tracks. 

Zhao Yunlan obediently halts, and calls Zhu Jiu out, correctly guessing that the Undergrounder lured them here deliberately. Shen Wei, on the other hand, relays in a hushed tone information what he had observed so far: namely, that the Hallow stored here is the Dire Awl, and that something is incredibly fishy about Wang Zheng.

As he does so, he is staring at Zhao Yunlan’s lips. It is neither the time, nor the place, but hey, I’m not complaining.

They have a brief discussion about the next moves, in which Shen Wei just says he would like to try something, and Zhao Yunlan nods, letting him do it without asking for any details. 

Flashback 3: the Backstory. 

We hear the full tragic tale of Ge Lan and Sang Zan: how they met, representatives of the warring sides of the conflict, two people from two different worlds; how their love did not stop the awful bloodshed; how it could not be enough to overpower the politics; how it lead to Ge Lan’s death, and, finally, how Sang Zan could not bring her back to him. They hear how the man changed once he lost the only person he cared about. 

Zhao Yunlan is visibly moved by this story, recognising echoes of it in himself. 

“The most basic dignity of a man is to ensure that the person in his heart stays safe. If the person I love gets destroyed in my own hands ruined under the system I established myself, it’s very likely I’ll hate these people more than I hated the former tribe leader.”

How much did he harden after his mother was taken away from him? How much of his initial hatred of all those from the Underground stems from that day? And, of course, how much will it break him when he will not be gifted this dignity in his own future? 

Shen Wei is near vibrating with how much his very soul resonates with the tale he has just heard. He, who has met someone from the other world, who was lost that person, is visibly weighed down by his own memories.

“That’s right. Even if they’re cut into a myriad of pieces, the hatred would be hard to dissolve.”

Zhao Yunlan stares at the other man, astounded, wondering what hardships and losses the Envoy endured in his long and eventful life, as the episode draws to a close.

And I am left here trying to soothe my aching heart, bruised once more by this show’s relentless fatalism. 

Next up, episode 11: Oh Boy Do I Have Sword Opinions 

---

Notes. 

Look. It’s been a long week okay. Besides, I am basically marathoning my way through Zhu Yilong’s entire filmography. 

The normal service in terms of analysis will hopefully resume next week. 

[the-last-kenobi]

back again with the unasked for fic

I’ll add line cuts and links to the other parts when I get my hands on my laptop again. Sorry.

Unwoven -

Qui-Gon discovers Obi-Wan in the middle of contacting the Jedi Council. Things spiral drastically from there.

Obi-Wan centric

AU (canon divergence from middle of Master & Apprentice by Claudia Gray), Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Suspense

Spoilers! for Master & Apprentice

Part Two

Fanry tutted as she saw Obi-Wan approaching.

“Didn’t I just get rid of you? You don’t need to stick so close to me,” she reminded him. “I have guards.”

“It’s my job,” the young Jedi said immediately, coming to stand a few feet away from her where she stood before several large swaths of fine cloth, trying to decide on a new wardrobe for the following season. “And I know your Regent would prefer it.”

A tight smile pulled at her lips. “Rael is a worrier.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head. “You’re not wrong about that. But he has reason to worry over you right now.”

“I suppose.”

Fanry ran a hand over a bolt of forest green, her expression pinched. She seemed to be chewing on something that she wasn’t sure how to say, so Obi-Wan waited patiently.

Finally - “I do appreciate all your help,” Fanry said in a stilted and surprisingly unfriendly tone, “but I would also appreciate some privacy.”

“I could stand outside the door,” Obi-Wan offered. “But with the negotiations ceased and my Master busy, I can’t leave you entirely.”

She turned to face him, arms crossed. “I told you, I’m perfectly well guarded. Just take the evening off.” The princess was agitated; she motioned towards the door with a firm glare.

Obi-Wan felt his forehead crease slightly as he frowned at her. “I can’t leave you completely. The Jedi Council - and the Senate - have given me the task of ensuring you are crowned and the treaty signed.”

Fanry’s jaw clenched. She turned to Cady, who looked between the Jedi and the princess helplessly for a few moments before finally saying, “I think it would be best if you left; I think she’d appreciate even just an hour to her own devices.”

Obi-Wan felt a prickle of unease. They were trying too hard.

What did Fanry not want him to see? Was she looking for the chance to slip out and enjoy the evening free of supervision?

He clenched his jaw. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

Fanry eyed him.

Then quite suddenly she relaxed, chuckling. “Oh all right, I suppose I should have known.”

They fell into a polite silence as the princess continued making decisions and the Jedi continued his watchful wait.

Obi-Wan was struggling to remain still.

Normally that was not such an issue for him, but ever since the moment Qui-Gon had caught him speaking to the Council, the uncomfortable prickling in the back of his mind had only grown, making him feel constantly chilled.

Does Qui-Gon feel like this, too? he wondered glumly. Or is shutting down our training bond a matter of no consequence to him?

That seemed likely.

A Master who constantly disagreed with his student but never engaged in conversation with him, a Master who had prepared to abandon his pupil to seek out another teacher without so much as a warning - well, what would a Master like that care for a silly thing like a bond?

Then again.

The failings in this whole mess could be traced back to the apprentice, not the Master.

Perhaps this cold feeling was a sign of Obi-Wan’s weakness and inability to deal with change.

Yes... yes, that was it.

Obi-Wan was so caught up in his pondering that he nearly missed it when there was a soft, stilted series of knocks - not on the door, but on one of the windows.

He spun around, hand moving to his saber hilt.

Fanry darted to the window at top speed, hair flying - a looming figure leaned forward against the glass, motioning for entry -

Obi-Wan sprang forward with a cry of warning, but was completely caught off guard when Cady tackled him from the side, sending them both crashing to the floor. The younger girl rolled so that she was on top of him, her hands desperately clinging to his wrists, trying to keep them pinned to the floor.

“Cady!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

“Hurry!” Fanry hissed as she opened the window. Captain Deren leapt through, his eyebrows rising at the scene before him. Obi-Wan tried to throw Cady off gently without hurting her - and this was his mistake.

Deren strode over, glaring down at the Jedi with contempt.

A second later his boot connected with Obi-Wan’s skull.

Pain and flashing lights consumed him. He gasped, twisting violently, but felt another kick catch him at the base of his spine. Cady must have gotten off of him because he went sprawling, colliding with the bed.

Instinctively, Obi-Wan reached for two things - for his saber, and for the training bond.

Neither came to him.

His weapon was taken from him by prying hands, and the bond remained distant and cold as it had been.

His head spun.

Obi-Wan rolled away from the next strike, rising unsteadily to his feet and pulling on the Force, trying to fall into that strange battle mediation that Qui-Gon had tried again and again to teach him.

He failed yet again.

Out of options, he lunged forward barehanded and swung at Deren, who barely ducked in time, clearly not expecting the battered Jedi to put up a fight.

His first hit caught Deren in the chin, sending him reeling. The next feinted past the Captain’s head as Obi-Wan swung low and elbowed him forcefully in the abdomen. Deren lashed out wildly and barely missed punching the Padawan in the face; his hand grazed the short coppery hair.

Then that hand tangled forcefully in Obi-Wan’s nerftail, yanking his head backwards sharply.

Obi-Wan’s last kick went awry as he cried out in pain, his already injured head throbbing, his vision swimming dangerously now.

“Down,” the man hissed at him, hurling the apprentice to the floor.

Obi-Wan’s lips drew back in a snarl, but with Deren standing over him and Cady and Fanry flanking him, he knew his chances of escape were slim at best. Better to wait, gather his strength, try and figure out just what in the galaxy was going on here.

Assuming they didn’t intend to kill him.

Again he reached for his Master, and again he was rebuffed.

He supposed he had gotten what he had asked for. He had undermined Qui-Gon and driven him away; there was no reason the man would answer him now.

“—couldn’t get rid of him!” he heard Fanry complaining. “Now what are we going to do?”

“We can’t kill him,” Cady said, sounding a little nauseous at the idea. She had knelt down beside him, her fingers searching his scalp as she assessed his injury.

“No,” agreed Deren. “No we can’t. Not until after the ceremony. Which means we need him to cooperate.”

Obi-Wan looked up at the man, ignoring the spike of pain that lanced through his skull. “Jedi do not cooperate with terrorists or tyrants.”

Fanry laughed.

It was a cruel, self-satisfied sound he had never anticipated hearing from her. “Oh I think you will,” she said. “Don’t forget that it is you and Rael who have both betrayed me by trying to see this treaty passed. Your Master tried to stop it, and I would spare him - if you cooperate. I can take this system by force if I need to, but I don’t want to. If you force my hand, the bloodshed will be your fault.”

“I won’t cooperate,” Obi-Wan said, stubbornly clinging to his ideals and to consciousness.

“We’ll see.”

Something stabbed into his neck, and, beaten, Obi-Wan slumped into unconsciousness.

tbc

Part Three

[homebody-nobody]

you wanna play with fire (stick and poke tattoo)

Jax did you actually write a whole nother fic?? Why yes, dear reader, I did. This is porn, blame @hvitstark​ and @aarchiess​ and the rest of the jiara gc for filling up the Sin Bin with inspiration every day. PLEASE interact with this post I work really hard on these fics and seeing them get like ~30 notes and then dying drains my soul.  ------------------------ ao3 -------------------------

‘Come home on time or don’t bother coming home at all!’

Her mother’s words echo in her ears as Kiara stomps away from the house in the late-summer heat. Tears well and sting in her eyes and she wipes them away, refusing to let them fall. She doesn’t understand why her parents don’t get it. Her dad grew up in the Cut. Her mom fell in love there, had Kie there, got married there. She belongs there, so much more than on Figure Eight or anywhere else in kooklandia. There’s an honesty to the Cut that evaporates the closer you get to the country clubs and McMansions on the other side of the island. Her heart feels open there, loved and loving. What happened, to make her parents forget all that? Is money really that important, that corrupting and all-consuming, that they would forget what loyalty feels like? What family is? 

JJ’s sitting on the porch when she gets to the Chateau, a paperback folded in half in his left hand and a soda dangling from his right. He stands up when he sees her. “Hey,” he says. He’s wearing one of his absurd cutoffs, cargo shorts slung low and no shoes. There’s a cigarette tucked behind his ear and his hair is a ruffled mess, like he’s had his hands in it, thinking too hard. He looks like some ridiculous parody of a vagabond, every bad boy the after-school specials always warned her about. 

Taking a deep breath, she nods to the book in his hand. “I didn’t know you could read,” she says. It’s easier to make fun then show the way her heart opens and bleeds at the sight of him. 

He smiles, lopsided and quiet. “Good to see you, too.” 

She mounts the stairs to the porch without asking, even though with every step she takes closer to him, she’s less sure of how to act. They haven’t talked since the night John B died, since the last time she was here. They had sex, the night the Phantom went down. It was fast and messy and a little awkward, because she was still Kie and he was still JJ, and fucking your best friend for the first time is never easy, now matter how long you’ve been waiting to do it. 

It’s barely been a week, but it feels like longer, and since she got home that next morning, her parents have been tiptoeing around her, waiting for something to break. It was the simplest thing, really, Kie wondering aloud about JJ, about how he was doing and how she might help him pay off his restitution. (Now that Plan A has spiraled down to Plan L and that failed, besides.) It was her mother and her thinly-veiled scoff, the way it tugged at Kie like calloused skin on fresh sheets. It was Kie mentioning dipping into her college fund to help him, and her parents promptly flying off the handle. 

And then, the threat of boarding school, of taking her away from everything she knows and everything she loves, shutting her up in the mountains like some hysterical family member in a victorian asylum, sending her to some institution claiming to be a high school but is basically a finishing school prepping spoiled debutantes for husband-hunting at the ivies. She won’t be one of those girls. 

JJ greets her with the usual handshake, and when he goes to sit back down, she grabs at his fingers before she loses the courage, because she doesn’t want to think about any of it anymore, not John B or Sarah, not boarding school, not the tenuous future her parents are planning for her and how little she wants it. He stops, frozen, and every one of her senses is trained on the minimal brush of skin, the tension in his back. She wants her hands on him, her nails dragging down his arms, the taste of his sweat and the burn of his gaze. She wants to be lost in him, because touching JJ switches everything else off. He’s like a magnet for her attention, everything blurring until it’s just his mouth and his hands and his -- 

“Kie,” he says, a warning in his usually jovial voice. His gaze is locked on her hand, her slender fingers tangled in his, gentle things, held between strength and violence. “You said --” 

“I know --” she says, pausing for half a second, surprised by her tone and the immediacy of her response. How quickly she wants to forget the lies she told herself about being able to stay away from him, after knowing what his tongue feels like on her clit and the way he fits perfectly inside her, like they were meant to come together. “What I said.” She’s looking at their linked hands as well, but she’s imagining his between her legs, wants to pull him forward and put it there, just to stop feeling so fucking human, because he makes her feel celestial, instead. 

“So?” he asks, licking his lips, his breath picking up like he can read her mind, see her the way she wants to be, naked and underneath him. 

“So maybe,” she says, her heartbeat rising in her own throat, taking half a step toward him, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. His eyes betray him, flicking up to her face and following the motion. She looks up at him, and the second her brown eyes land on his, he’s done resisting, done even considering it. He melts, when she looks at him like that, so grateful for it, after waiting so many years convinced it wouldn’t ever happen. “I changed my mind.” 

The air hangs heavy and charged as JJ’s rational side, weak to begin with and driven deep with years of half-thought-out decisions and anticipated-yet-ignored consequences, scrambles to pull him out of her orbit, to get him to let go and stop her from burning up in the periphery of his constant firestorm. But her eyes are on his, and she’s touching him, and she’s asking, and the moon could fall without him noticing, right now. 

She pulls, and he follows, and they’re crashing into each other, a kiss that starves before it is even born. Paint flakes and dust fill the air when she slams back against the side of the house, her arms looped around JJ’s neck, one of his tight around her waist, the other braced on the siding, fist clenched, forearm taught. The second he touches her, the world stops spinning, or maybe just they do, because she’s dizzy and soaring under his mouth, chest to chest and sharing breath between teeth and lips and tongues. Victory rises in her chest, pride and anticipation simmering just below the beautiful, vacant hunger that comes from JJ kissing her like this, and it’s that pride that bruises, just a little, when he pulls away. 

“You can’t just jump me when you’re upset,” he says, but it’s into her neck, practically a growl as his hand flexes against the small of her back, gathering up her shirt, his fingernails just grazing her skin. 

“Can’t I?” she answers, canting her hips up a fraction, pushing against him, demanding his return to ravishing her indecently. 

“Fuck, Kie --” he says, and he’s nipping at her neck in bursts, like he knows they should be talking about this, but he can’t help but touch her, overwhelmed with the need to taste her skin and leave her wanting. 

“Fine,” she says, sliding her forearm against his shoulder until her hand buries itself in his hair, pulling him back up and kissing him fiercely. “We’ll talk about it,” she sighs, before diving back in for another hard, demanding kiss. And then, “After.” 

“Yeah, okay,” JJ relents, pushing off the side of the house and dragging her toward the front door. It’s not a choice but a capitulation, a giving in to the unstoppable force that is Kiara tugging at his soul. Because he’d do anything for her, anything to her that she asks, no matter what he tells himself. He slides his teeth over her bottom lip and pulls away, panting. “After.” They slam through the screen door, stumbling over a broken ankle tether and the trash JJ had been meaning to take out, not even bothering with the farce of trying to make it to the bedroom. Her calves slam into the pullout and she topples backwards, taking her with him. 

Kissing JJ is a little like waiting out a hurricane and finally hitting the eye. Thrilling and terrifying, surrounded by power and strength, destruction and damage, but finding peace and respite, and a promise, a hint of the sun. Once he has her underneath him, he slows down, settling his weight between her legs, keeping himself propped on his elbows while he kisses her, solid and hard in his intent. It’s torture, him dancing above her, licking into her mouth only to back off and press kisses across her face, her jaw, and down her neck, sucking damning, claiming marks before scraping his teeth over her ear with the slightest pressure, teasing her, pulling obscene noises from her throat and driving her insane. She pushes her hips up again, and he responds with a deep, heavy roll of his, and she can feel his cock, hot and already half-hard, through the layers of fabric between them. 

She wants to feel it, in her hand, her mouth, pressing torturously, deliciously inside her, and he’s still fully clothed and taking way too much damn time. Surging up against him, she flips the two of them over, dangerously close to the edge, and straddles his hips, dragging her hands down his chest. Tossing her hair out of her face and pulling it all to one side, she risks glancing down at him, afraid of the vulnerable drop of her stomach every time she meets his eyes. JJ’s an eclipse in totality, pupils blown wide, shining underneath her, beaming in her shadow. His lips are slightly parted, red and wet, hair disheveled, hands coming down to slide up her thighs, and the image is so hot, so perfect, her chest aches as her cunt throbs for him, a dangerous, terrifying combination. She takes off her shirt. 

The sigh he lets out is entirely involuntary, reveling in the warmth and the weight of her, in awe of the smooth plains of exposed skin and the soft curves of her body. She leans down to kiss it out of his mouth, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head, the other sliding around the back of her arm as she holds face. It’s too gentle, too kind and slow, so she sinks her teeth into his lower lip until he groans and tightens her fist in his hair, pulling her with him as she straightens. His hands frame her hips as she grinds down on him, and he ducks his head to lay kisses across her collarbones, his hands sliding up her sides, electric on her bare skin. Letting her head fall back, she takes in the feeling of his lips on her chest, his thumbs tucking under the band of her bra. One stays to brush back and forth over the side of her breast while the other  reaches around and pinches apart the clasp in an expert move. Her stomach drops at the thought of JJ doing this with other girls. 

Taking her hands from his hair to cup his jaw, she redirects his attention back to her lips as her bra slides down her arms and her nipples pebble in the cool air. She holds on just a little too long, presses into him closed-mouth and soft, and he melts under her touch, his hands framing her ribs, her hair falling around them in a peach-scented curtain. When he initiates moments like this, she runs from them, too scared of what she might feel if she falls in like she’s falling now, heart pounding, her thumbs skating over his cheekbones. He leans up into her touch, one of his arms dropping to her waist and pulling her in closer to him, holding her tight. She pulls away from the kiss, keeping her forehead pressed to his. 

“Kie,” he sighs. Her breath hitches at the sound of her name from his mouth, like it almost always does, except he’s never close enough to notice. The silence that follows holds too much for the small space it occupies, and while she has no idea what he’s scared of saying, it almost falls from his lips anyway. Before he can make too much of an idiot out of himself, she pulls her arms back out of the straps of her bra, reaching between them to toss it to the side. As she does, she keeps his eyes on his, the smallest pockets of relief opening as his gaze drops to her tits, and then the heat in her stomach picking up again as he licks his lips. He ducks his head again, taking one of her nipples into his mouth like a sacrament, like she’s holy, closing his eyes and moaning, deep and satisfied at the taste of her skin. It goes straight to her cunt, and she feels wetness gathering there, even more than before. 

This, they’ve already done. There’s still fading bruises across her chest from the first night they spent together, when he ate her out til she screamed and then fucked her senseless, and while that seems to be the course of action he’s aiming for here, she has other ideas. She slides her hands back into JJ’s hair -- God, she could spend hours playing with JJ’s hair -- and tightens her grip, her blunt nails scraping gently over his scalp. In return, he teases his teeth over her nipple, and when she arches and gasps at the motion, tries to flip himself back on top. 

But Kiara has a goal, and she tightens her thighs around his hips, flattening her hands on his chest and pushing back, shaking her head playfully. He raises his eyebrows and flashes her half a smile, as if to say ‘oh, really?’, but settles his hands on her hips and lets her take charge. Her first order of business is getting him just as naked as she is; he holds up his arms obediently as she tugs his shirt off of him, and this is different now, than when it started. They’re taking their time with each other, grateful to drop the guise of desperation and explore every secret spot and inch of forbidden skin. It should scare the shit out of her, and it sort of does, but it’s also…  kinda fun. JJ makes this shy vulnerability so easy to sink into, knowing that any teasing has no real heat behind it, that he’ll be gentle and kind and listen to what she wants and what she likes. Yes, the bar is on the floor, but this boy is her best friend for a reason, this loving, crazy dumbass, that would set himself on fire to keep her warm. And that trust, those years of rapport and familiarity, make moments like these so much more comfortable, easier with a net underneath the thrill of flying high, trading touch for pleasure and knowing that he’ll be there to catch her on the comedown. 

She leans down and kisses him, soft at first and then deeper, licking into his mouth and rolling her hips down onto him, stretching her arms above his head and dragging her tits up his bare torso, smiling against his lips at the sound he makes. Ducking her head against his neck, she leaves her own trail of marks and then shifts her weight off of him to the side so she can reach down and pop the fly of his shorts open with one hand. He hisses in a sharp inhale when she reaches her hand between the layers of clothing and palms him over his underwear, giving him a second of satisfying contact before backing off, teasing him with her fingertips. He rolls onto his side, angling himself over her, kissing her hungrily. 

“Fucking hell, Kie,” he says, tucking his face into the side of her neck. “You got no fucking right to feel that good.” He’s warm and solid against her chest, hot and hard under her fingers, and something opens in her chest as he kisses her again, slow and sensual but not rushing, not pushing for things to go further or asking for anything she’s not willing to give. She pushes his underwear down as best she can, and he shudders as bare skin meets. The feeling of his cock in her hand sets her skin alight as he muffles moans in her neck, and she twists her hand over the head of it, spreading the wetness she finds there over the shaft. 

JJ surrenders to her, relaxing against her side as she works her hand over him, leaning into her, muttering half-formed praise into her skin like a prayer. She bites down a smile at the words, trying to hide how much she enjoys having him so vulnerable under her touch, how hot she gets listening to him react, feeling the soft skin over hard muscle. Kissing him firmly, she pushes him onto his back, leaning over him as she strokes his cock, one of his arms coming up to hold her, the other hand pushing into her hair. She hadn’t had time to do this the first night they were together, too focused on her own desperate need to get lost in him, so she takes her time working her way down his bare torso, sinking her teeth into his chest, leaving red and purple marks in her wake. 

He stutters on an inhale when he realizes what she’s doing, and when she curls her hands in the waistband of both shorts and boxers, concern fills his dear, blue eyes. “You don’t have to --” he breathes, caught between concern for her and the deep, furious want pulsing in his blood. “Just because I --” 

Kiara licks her lips, and JJ watches the movement, powerless not to. “I want to,” she says, realizing the truth of it as she says it, and the resulting look on JJ’s face puts butterflies in her stomach. (Which, like, she really doesn’t have time to think about right now.) So, in answer, she pulls his pants and underwear down and off, tossing them to the side and settling herself between his legs. It’s a little intimidating, JJ spread out naked before her, his cock eagerly awaiting her attention. She knew it was big, of course. After last time, the rumors had been confirmed true; JJ Maybank was excellently skilled with both hands and mouth, in addition to being ridiculously well-hung. It isn’t fair, really. But it’s one thing when he’s fucking her, and another when she’s face to face with it. 

He senses her hesitation and reaches down, brushing his fingers over her face in gentle reverence, and the touch shocks something inside her she’s not ready to confront. Instinctively, she pulls away, and, when concern colors his storm-sky eyes, she smiles, and ties up her hair. JJ’s breath catches in his chest as the sight, and it bolsters her confidence. She leans forward to kiss him one more time, twisting her hand over the head of his cock, solid and determined, and before he can recover, she ducks her head and takes him into her mouth. 

He grasps at the sheets as she swirls her tongue curiously around the tip, letting spit and precum drip down the shaft, spreading it towards the base with her hand. “Fuck, yes,” he sighs,  his eyes falling closed, his head dropping to the pillow. It’s satisfying, and triumphant, and hot, to see him so at her mercy, helpless and prone in the oldest kind of worship. After a while of torturous teasing, she takes as much of him as she can into her mouth, pressing her thumb into her palm to push down her gag reflex -- a trick Sarah told her about that she’s never needed til him. He keens, and the noise has her pushing her hips against the mattress, rocking into the seam of her shorts. Bobbing her head, experimenting with pace and angle, she flicks her tongue smartly against the underside of the tip of his cock, and the moan that follows that move is very interesting indeed. She tries it a few more times until he’s gasping out a warning, and she draws back until her lips just wrap around the head, swallowing neatly as he chokes out her name. 

She comes up smiling, and he half sits up, reaching for her, sated and grasping. He kisses her soundly, pulling her back down next to him, one hand in her hair, one arm around her waist, his favorite way to hold her, it seems. Settling her on her back, his tongue meets hers and he groans at the taste of himself. “You,” he says, pulling back to press kisses down her neck. She can’t keep in the happy, smug giggle that works its way out of her chest. “Are so fucking hot.” 

“Not too bad yourself,” she laughs as he tucks his face between her tits, the last word followed by a sharp gasp as he wraps his lips around a nipple, like he can’t help but have his mouth on her, can’t help but taste her skin and send her heart racing. 

“I knew you were looking,” he says, propping his chin on her sternum and looking up at her with a shit-eating grin, mischief and post-orgasm glow sparkling in his stupid, stupid blue eyes. He’s been paying attention to her, thinking about this. The thought flips something over in her chest, and she shoves his head playfully. 

“Shut up,” she says, trying to keep her voice light. She picks her hips up, trying to keep him focused on the event at hand. Yeah, JJ’s easily distracted, but she’s half-naked in front of him, She kinda hoped that would avoid unnecessary conversation. “And get back to work.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he says, half-kidding -- but his eyes darken just a shade too far to be all tease. (Which, she thinks to herself, is certainly something to be investigated.) He devotes his full attention back to her chest, licking and sucking and biting at her nipples, loving the soft, small noises she makes under his touch. Her tits aren’t usually so sensitive, but JJ knows what the fuck he’s doing, and it’s unfair how much he’s able to work her up with her pants still on. Blowing him was already incredibly hot, and, when his hand finally slides into her underwear, he curses at the wetness he finds between her legs. “Holy hell, Kie,” he sighs. 

“Maybe a little more hell,” she says, gripping his arm as his finger drags slowly up her slit, “and a little less holy?” She bites her lip as he teases her, dipping in and out of her folds, tracing his fingers over the lips of her cunt, because he wants her to keep making those godforsaken sounds. Because he can. 

“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a smart mouth?” he asks, raising his head to suck a mark directly under her ear, smiling against her skin at the resulting gasp. 

“Maybe, ah --” she cries, when his careful fingers find her clit and his calloused fingertips explore the sensitive area, “once or twice.” 

This is… way more talking than last time. Last time was desperate and grief-stricken and needy, a request for heedless escape in the wake of the unthinkable. Now -- it’s still a distraction, but there were other courses of action available when she showed up at the Chateau as the sun started to sit low in the afternoon sky. She didn’t have to jump him. He didn’t have to let her. JJ kisses her, deep and filthy, putting himself back in charge, angling his body over hers as she presses back into the thin mattress, arcing into his touch, one hand braced on his (very nice) bicep, the other tangled in his messy, golden hair. 

He focuses on her clit, spreading the wetness up from her entrance and toying with different pressure and motions, paying attention to what she likes, and she directs him with the sounds she makes, every small moan a ‘yes, please, more of that.’ He’s the most responsive partner she’s ever had, focused on her and her only, his main purpose to make her feel good, not work her up just to fuck or speed past foreplay to move to something more. It makes it better, and when he finally slides a finger into her, he gasps, too, because it’s a privilege for him to feel her, hot and wet and waiting. 

“Oh, god,” she whines, as he pumps his finger slowly in and out of her, his thumb on her clit. 

“God’s a little formal,” he says, lifting his head to look at her, his expression teasing even as kindness and something else big and unwanted settles in his eyes. “You can stick with JJ.” She tries to smack his arm for that, but ends up sinking her nails into his skin as he slides another finger inside of her a little too easily. He goes slowly, curling his fingers up into her g-spot with every stroke, kissing her lazily and alternating to her neck when she can’t help but gasp at his touch. 

It’s torture, the way he takes his time, and after a while she’s begging. “Fuck me, JJ,” she pleads. “God, fuck me, please,” and his spent cock twitches against her leg because fuck if that isn’t something he’s been waiting to hear. His hand speeds up as he decides his next move. When he takes his hands out of her pants she lets out a sound she’d rather he didn’t remember, but based on the way that he smiles against her skin, he won’t be doing that any time soon. He doesn’t even have time to pause at her waistband as he kisses down her body, because she’s very enthusiastically supporting what’s about to happen next, shoving both shorts and underwear down. 

He chuckles and tugs them off, tossing them somewhere that’s future Kie’s problem, and heat rises in him again as she spreads her legs for him. Settling on his stomach, he hooks his arms under her thighs, miles of bare skin pressing together with a quiet whisper of faith. She runs her fingers through his hair as he kisses up her legs, taking his time, reveling in the sight and the smell of her. Foolish smiles meet in shy glances and chuckles that are half breath and half disbelief. JJ radiates warmth from his bare skin, broad and powerful below her, and she hooks a leg over his shoulder, sliding her foot up his back and biting her lip as he raises his eyebrows in response, drawing closer to her hot, aching center. 

He starts lightly, dragging the tip of his tongue up her slit, just to taste the wetness there, to make her squirm and curse and ask for more. It’s hard to resist the way she begs for him, and he sets in with a purpose, flicking his tongue over her clit and fitting two fingers inside of her, mouth and hands working with a skilled harmony. She clutches at his hair, not afraid to drag her fingernails over his scalp, vocal and unapologetic in how much she’s enjoying this, how much she wants him. When he finds a combination of hooking his fingers against her g-spot and brushing the tip of his tongue over her clit, her legs clamp around his head as she begins to climb, a deep pull starting low in her stomach. 

“Don’t stop,” she pleads, “fucking hell, JJ -- God, just like that, don’t fucking stop. Please don’t fucking stop.” He doesn’t, and the sound that comes out of her as she crashes over the edge is loud and guttural and possibly the hottest thing that’s ever fucking happened to him. She cums against his mouth furiously, her stomach flexing and her legs shaking, and he’s a little proud of himself, honestly, as he brings her down gently, sliding his fingers out of her, soothing her with long strokes of his tongue. When her breathing finally slows, he presses kisses over her thighs and then her stomach as he rises back up to meet her. 

She kisses him, awestruck and grateful, not minding her own taste as she pulls him down against her, wanting as much bare skin to be touching as possible. She tucks his hair behind his ears and strokes her thumb over his jaw before he falls on his side next to her, staring, tracing his hand up her side in veneration and wonder. It’s hard, the weight of his gaze, so she closes her eyes, drops her forehead against his. “Literally how,” she sighs, and laughs, one arm tucked under his neck and hooked around his shoulders, the other draped over his trim waist. 

“It’s not hard,” he promises (falsely), cheshire grin in full force. “Just paying attention.” He kisses her before she has a chance to respond, mostly gentle but with a sense he’s holding back a little, inviting her to take the next step forward. She deliberates for a moment as she sucks on his lower lip, scraping her teeth gently, cataloguing every noise he makes and what move precedes it, learning him. She could go home, now. She’s been sufficiently distracted. She feels a little better, like maybe she can talk to her parents without screaming her head off or bursting into tears. But the pull of the boy next to her is strong and tempting, miles of tan skin with rippling muscle shifting underneath. 

The secret is, she always wants to touch JJ. Something about him is magnetic, like a gravitational field she can’t resist. Whenever they’re in the van or on the Pogue or even just chilling on the couch, she finds herself shifting closer. She’s always stepping just behind his shoulder, would prop her chin there -- if she didn’t know that he would freeze up and question the physical contact. Sometimes, she feels jealousy ache in her stomach at his casual physicality with Pope and John B, always slinging his arm around their shoulders or play-fighting or latching onto them, just to be annoying. He’s still physical with her -- she doesn’t think he knows how not to be -- but it’s different, restrained, and sometimes she sees him half-move, reaching out instinctually, only to second guess himself and let his hands fall. 

She shifts into him, pressing herself as close as she can, appreciating the gasp he lets out at the press of her bare chest against his, her leg sliding against his dick, already half-hard again. They kiss for a while, and it would be lazy and slow, if they could let themselves relax; but JJ’s still biting something down, and Kie starts to get frustrated trying to draw it out. Finally, tired of waiting, she licks into his mouth with a sudden push, and he’s not surprised, but annoyingly expectant, glad his baiting has finally worked. There’s a moment of tension and pushing as they silently argue who’s going to be on top, and Kie wins when she reaches down and wraps her hand around his cock. 

He falls back, and she climbs on top of him, biting down a wide grin of her own. She sits back on her heels, sticking out her chest a little, stroking him slowly, reveling in the way he fights to control his expression. He starts at her tits, palming them with work-roughened hands, before sliding his palms down her body, lingering on the curve of her waist, brushing over her ass, running down her thighs and back up. She lets her head fall back, drinking in his touch, closing her eyes so she doesn’t have to meet his. She can feel him staring, though, unrelenting and hungry, merciless in the way he worships her. She can’t look at him, can’t take the kind of want and lust seething in his eyes, so settles herself over his cock, sliding her cunt up and down his shaft, her hands braced on his chest, his hands gripping her hips, fingertips sinking into her skin. 

Part of her wants him to leave bruises, even though she knows he’s not holding her roughly enough for that. He’s being so kind, so soft and respectful, everything she never thought he would be in a situation like this. She loves the tease, the slow build, but she wants him now, viscerally so, rocking her hips over him, hearing him shudder and moan, feeling him clutch at her. She wants him to beg for her, keen her name like she did his. Leaning down to kiss him, she pushes herself all the way up his cock, the tip just brushing her entrance, and he moans, long and filthy. “God,” he gasps, barely coherent. “Fuck, Kiara, please.” 

She smiles at that, sitting up, standing on her knees and taking him in her hand. They’d talked about being clean, about her IUD, the first night, and while she’s grateful she doesn’t have to have the same conversation again, it sets an unnerving precedent. The first time was supposed to be the last time. And now there’s today, and she’s not certain she wants to give him up, yet. She doesn’t know what that means, doesn’t know what he’s feeling or what anything between them would look like in a world so tempest-tossed and half-destroyed. But this -- this part will always be easy.

Taking him inside her feels like a prayer. She goes slowly, sinking down, giving herself time to adjust to his size, his hands flexing on her hips. He fills her perfectly, and she’s never believed the bullshit about soulmates or needing someone else to be complete, but with JJ’s cock inside her, his hips, narrow and strong between her legs, she feels a hell of a lot closer to whole. She starts to move, slow and deep, squeezing him on the way up, bottoming out on the way down. He curses and clenches his teeth, wound so tight she can see it, and she wants him to snap, to flip them in a single move and fuck her into the mattress. 

He watches her, lets her set the rhythm, thrusting up as she pushes down, but the movement is still tight and controlled. She knows this boy inside and out, knows that he’s holding back for her, afraid of hurting her, of losing her trust or making her feel objectified or powerless. She knows he wants to be careful, to not fuck this up -- because this is a this, now, neither of them have any say in that anymore -- but she also wants his raw power, his strength and abandon, and maybe that’s what drives the next words to fall from her mouth. “Come on, JJ,” she groans impatiently, raking her fingernails down his chest. “Aren’t you gonna take what’s yours?” He’s confused for exactly half a second before she shifts her weight pointedly to the empty space to their left, and before she even registers that he’s moving, she’s on her back, her hands pinned above her head, JJ’s hips slamming obscenely into her own. It’s intense and desperate and fast, and she tugs one of her hands free, bringing it down to her clit to rub hard circles there in pace with his wild hips, knowing he won’t last long like this and chasing that cherished high, just behind him. 

He comes before she does on a sharp, animalistic cry, tensing above her and filling her with warmth. She doesn’t have time to be disappointed, because he swears, pulls out, and replaces his cock immediately with his fingers. His cum makes it easy to fit three fingers inside her at once, dextrous and skilled, focused on making her orgasm just as good as his. It doesn’t take long until she’s grabbing at his shoulder, panting and moaning and almost crying, he feels so good, and when he bats aside the hand on her clit in favor of ducking between her legs and replacing it with his mouth, she screams, riding his face and his hand as wave upon wave crashes over her, feet pushing her hips off the pullout, legs quivering and stomach tense. He stays with her, merciless, flicking his tongue across her clit over and over again, until she has to shove his head away with trembling hands, collapsing into the bed in holy, sated exhaustion. 

It takes her a second to open her eyes, and when she does, he’s back up next to her, pushing the three fingers into his mouth to suck them clean. “You’re disgusting,” she says, but she’s still panting, out of breath while her chest heaves, and it carries little heat. 

He brushes gentle fingers over her temple, tucking away a stray curl. “But we taste so good together,” he teases, his breath fanning across her face as he leans down to kiss her. Their mouths move in lazy harmony, finally at ease, and, of course, he’s right. “C’mon,” he says, tucking his face against her neck, his floppy blond hair falling into her eyes. “Shower?” 

“Mmmm,” she hums, thinking she might be anchored to the bed at the base of her spine. “Maybe in a sec.” Honestly, she doesn’t think she’ll be able to stand, but she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing that. He chuckles, knowing exactly what he’s done, and shoves himself up as she curses his never-ending, boundless energy. He brings her water and some paper towels to clean herself up, and, when he sees her sitting up, searching for her underwear, digs in the duffel on the armchair and tosses her a pair of boxers. 

She raises an eyebrow at him. “What?” he protests, tugging underwear and a pair of basketball shorts up over his ass. (Which she’s a little disappointed to see disappear beneath layers of fabric once more). “They’re clean.” She puts them on without standing up before rolling over to her stomach and stretching her arms out, tucking them underneath her head. Sweat cools on heated skin as golden hour stretches across the Chateau’s living room, and she wants to live in this moment forever. 

JJ lowers himself onto her back, scattering kisses across her shoulders, and she giggles and turns underneath him until they’re pressed chest-to-chest, his weight braced on his elbows on either side of her head. She looks at him, now, her hair a mess and eyes shining, skin still heated from his touch. He leans down to kiss her, and she lets him, even though this is dangerous territory, blurring hazy lines between friends and friends-with-benefits and lovers and ‘together’ and all the other things they could call themselves. The kiss is slow and sweet, and when he pulls back it’s to kiss her cheeks, her closed eyes, her nose. It’s silly and soft and so incorrect to the image of JJ she’s always had in her mind, that she laughs under his attention. 

“What?” he asks, laughing with her, dive-bombing her with kisses to her face and neck, her arms coming up around his neck, her fingers in his hair. 

“You’re so dumb,” she says, still laughing as she shoves him off. He doesn’t go far, just crashes down next to her, their legs still tangled, one arm tucked back under his head, the other resting on the curve of her waist. Her hands trace his arms, shoulders, chest, mapping them like territory she intends to settle. 

“Yeah, but --” he says, and then stops, because the rest of that sentence carries a different weight now. The ‘you still love me’ hangs in the air anyway, and it means something else than it did the last time he tossed it out -- after leaving her stranded on the marsh with Sarah Cameron, a day that feels like years ago. 

She curls her hands into fists on his chest before spreading them out again, breaking eye contact and biting her bottom lip. “Yeah,” she sighs. Because she does, even if she can’t define how anymore. 

“So you gonna tell me why you came here?” he asks, when the moment stretches on into too many seconds and the weight of it threatens to crush them both. 

Kie sighs, heavy and tired, as the memory of earlier that day comes crashing back down, chasing out the golden afternoon and pulling her back to all of the guilt and anger and frustration she’d asked JJ to distract her from. “Do I have to?” she asks, still avoiding his eyes, too tired to dodge it any more carefully than that. 

“C’mon, Kie,” he urges, “you said you’d talk about it.” She hates him for a second, because isn’t this JJ’s whole thing? ‘Dank nugs and the stickiest of ickies,’ right? ‘Deny, deny, deny’? There are a million things he’s said, just over this summer, that she could pull out on him right now. But also, she’s not him, and she likes to talk things out, has to, or else whatever it is that’s bothering her consumes every waking thought. Maybe he knows that. Maybe he’s just being a really good friend at a really bad time.

So she tells him, because she’s avoiding Pope and John B’s fucking dead or lost at sea or whatever the fuck he is, and so is Sarah. And even though Kiara would never have considered going to her before -- everything -- maybe she would now, if she had the chance. “My parents want to send me to boarding school,” she says, dropping it whole on his chest and hoping he can breathe under it. 

“Oh,” he sighs, like this admission has shoved the word out of him. “Holy shit.” 

“Yeah.” He doesn’t say anything else, so she keeps going. “So I freaked out, and I left.” She keeps flexing her hands on his chest, keeping her eyes there even as they threaten to fill with tears. “And my mom --” she chokes, and he pulls her close, putting his lips on her forehead. “My mom said that if I didn’t --” she swallows, trying to keep it together, “that if I didn’t come home on time, not to --” she takes a controlled breath, willing the tears away. “Not to bother coming home at all.” It sounds silly, saying it to him, when she knows, now, what he’s been through. What his dad does to him and why he’s here, instead of his own house. It sounds petty and inconsequential and she’s never felt more like an ignorant kook in her life, so she sniffs, and takes her hands off him. 

JJ chews on the information she’s given him, tracing his fingers down her arm, over the curve of her elbow and back up to her shoulder. “You’re still gonna go home, right?” He asks, uncertainty and maybe longing in his voice. She realizes, then, that of course she is. Her parents love her, even if they don’t know how to show it, don't understand what the Cut and its inhabitants (and one in particular) mean to her. Of course, she’s going to go home. Because JJ doesn’t get to. Because she still can. 

If she’d had this conversation with anyone else, there would be stomping and cursing and yelling, indignant demands as to why her parents can’t understand her, why they can’t see how they suffocate her, and hold her down. But this is JJ, who doesn’t get to have problems like this, who doesn’t get to have parents that love him or watch him too closely. At least if Luke Maybank threatened to send JJ to boarding school, it would mean that he cared about JJ’s future. It would mean that he’d looked at his son, spoken to him, seen the anger and hurt and desperation to be seen. It would mean, at least, that he was paying attention. 

“Yeah,” she says. She’s still scared, of being powerless to control what they want her to do with her life, of being seventeen and helpless. But she’s not going to say that out loud, not when JJ knows what that feels like on a level she can’t even comprehend. He feels like he should say more, and part of her wants him to, but JJ’s always been shit at comforting. This, his presence, is enough. His light touches, his lips pressed to her hairline -- it’s all he has to do. When she starts to nod off, she asks him to hand her her phone, and stumbles out to the porch to dig in her bag for it. She curls on her side, sends a text to her mom about being sorry and that she’ll be home in a few hours, and then sets an alarm for thirty minutes before curfew. 

She’ll go home, but she’s going to spend as much time with him as she can. She still doesn’t think he should be alone, and she doesn’t want to be either. He fits himself in behind her, his chest pressed to her back, one arm under her neck, the other tight around her waist. They don’t talk. She doesn’t want to and he doesn’t know what he’d say. She’s exhausted and warm and JJ’s arms around her feel a little bit like armor, like when he’s holding her, the rest of the world can’t get in. Just before she falls asleep, he squeezes her tight, tucking his face into her neck. 

“You aren’t going to boarding school,” he whispers. “I promise.” She feels his lips press against her skin. She wants to turn in his arms, kiss him slow and sweet and kind, the way he deserves to be loved. But sleep tugs at her, unrelenting. Just before she slips under the waves, she hears him whisper one more thing.

“I won’t let them take you away from me.” 

[twstdreams]

hello i loved the sabotaged flying and catching s/o post you did! if you don’t mind could you do a part 2? same situation except with characters ruggie, leech twins, jack, and a character of your choice plz? you don’t have to do it! but if you do it’ll be much appreciated:) have a nice day!

Previous request: (for context) During flying class someone jinxes their crush’s broom and sends them free-falling but just before they hit the ground the boys rescue them. To show their gratitude, their crush gives them an innocent peck on the cheek afterwards (oblivious to their feelings) before leaving

Heroes, Villains, and the soft spot in between pt. 2

Floyd Leech

At first, Floyd is envious. Your flying looks like so much fun with all of the spontaneous ups and downs and spirals, maybe he’ll do the same when it’s his turn

Yeah, you’re screaming but maybe it’s from exhilaration? Like when you’re on a rollercoaster and filled with excitement

He realizes your screams are due to terror when you start free falling at a speed that can’t be safe while you wildly thrash in the air

Floyd scrambles to catch you in his arms, magic softens the blow, but the two of you are sent tumbling from the impact. You end up as a pile of entangled limbs with him below you to absorb most of the fall.

Floyd is a maelstrom of emotions. He’s upset that you lost control, he’s mad that he almost let you fall, and he’s certain, given the state of your broom, that something was amiss with it. Before he can act on his whirlwind of emotions, they’re all quelled by a soft stroke on his cheek.

“Are you alright?” you asked, eyes roaming his figure for injuries and tone filled with worry. Aside from the dirt on your uniform, you appear otherwise unharmed and that calms him more than Floyd will ever admit.

“No-oh!~ It hurts! Maybe if you give me a k-i-ss it’ll feel better?” he teases. Uncertainty and hints of disbelief swirl in your eyes as you bite your lip lightly. Before he can assure he’s just kidding, a heart-wrenchingly gentle kiss lands on his cheek.

“Feel better now?” you ask tentatively, “Did you cast some spell that needs kisses as a catalyst to heal wounds?” Floyd smirks at your naivety.

Jade Leech

Jade is reassuring you while you wait for your brooms. It’s your first time flying and you have jitters but it’s a compulsory component and Ashton Vargas is hardly the empathetic mushy type

Jade sees your broom is rather stiff and offers to switch with you, but you’re scampering to the start line before he can closely inspect your broom

You have an uneasy start, unsteady and quivering, but soon you’re high up in the skies with your classmates 

Then your broom sputters and in the blink of an eye, you’re plunging towards the hard ground

Jade acts quickly, casting a spell with an enchanted item, which slows your descent and has you landing on a magic bubble rather than solid rock. The bubble pops as you descend on it and you land on your feet and into Jade’s arms. Your fingers dig into his jacket in an attempt to stop yourself from crumbling on the spot.   

“Why don’t we head back to the café?” Jade suggests, his voice smooth and steady as it lulls you back to reality. If you looked a little closer, you’d notice how Jade grit his teeth, but at the moment you simply clung onto him for strength. You don’t trust your voice yet so you nod in response. In the distance, you hear chatter and screams, apparently, you weren’t the only one to fall prey to this horrid scheme. But with each step away from the chaos, a little bit of normality returns to your life.

“Take a seat here, I’ll get you something warm to drink,” Jade insists while pulling out a chair for you. You fiddle with the utensils as you try to distract yourself from that horrid first attempt at flying. The thought of ever going into the skies again is enough for your stomach to start performing acrobatics. 

“Enjoy.” Before your thoughts can spiral, your favourite warm beverage is in your hands. Jade sits beside you with a cup of his own, but he waits for your reaction.

“Thanks,” you murmur and bring the steaming drink to your lips. As the hot liquid runs down your throat and fills your body, you finally feel at peace. The corners of your lips turn upwards slightly. The warmth in your hands spreads to your heart. Impulsively, you turn towards Jade and share this precious warmth with a kiss to his cheek. An unexpected blush blooms on his face, but it only serves to make your smile bigger.

Jack Howl

He doesn’t really like you, okay? He’s not paying extra attention in class to you. You don’t catch his eyes or grab his attention.

He won’t unnecessarily associate with people, no matter how often his gaze wanders to you.

Then he hears your shriek and he acts on adrenaline. 

You’re falling and he couldn’t care less what anyone said about him. He could hardly be worried about looking vulnerable with your impending death

He breaks your fall, and both of you roll on the ground from the sheer force of the fall

His muscular arms wrap around your body as he takes most of the blow from the fall. Your head is spinning and you’re too unsteady and bruised to do much else but remain in his hold. He starts yelling but the ringing in your ears makes it hard to identify what he’s saying. 

“… so weak! … so stupid! What were you doing?” His mouth unleashes something in between a barrage of insults and a lecture but his trembling arms and contorted expression tell an entirely different story. He’s worried about you, maybe even scared for your safety.  Eventually, silence fills the space between the two of you but his arms still cage your body.

“Sorry for worrying you,” you said softly. You stare up into eyes with trepidation, and before your brain can overthink it, you clumsily kiss his cheek. The shock loosens his hold on you but his surprised visage is enough to send a deep blush to your cheeks. You quickly blurt out some sort of thanks and then run off before Jack has a chance to properly comprehend the situation.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie notices some classmates snickering a bit too much, and he recognizes the malicious glint in their eyes even if they do try to conceal it

He’s not too concerned until he sees one of them point specifically at you

He’s a little surprised, Savanaclaw kids certainly have their flaws but at least most had the guts to openly confront each other. They couldn’t be bothered with subterfuge and sabotage, they just fought each other 

Ruggie wastes no time confronting the group, intimidation and confrontation a familiar tactic for him. He didn’t become the vice dorm leader of Savanaclaw Snaps through gentleness, and he extracts the information he wants

Unfortunately, the idiots don’t even have an inkling about how to undo the jinx. He snaps their wands in half from rage alone

Before he can teach them a lesson, your screech pierces Ruggie’s ears. Worry instantly fills his mind, Ruggie is used to breaking up fights, not saving people

Ruggie doesn’t have the same inherent fountain of magic Leona does, but it’s enough to cast a shaky spell that prevents you from splattering. It doesn’t stop the tree branches from smacking your body or the rocks from cutting your flesh during the fall though. Ruggie is by your side in an instant, cradling you carefully.

While all your limbs are intact, scratches and bruises litter your skin. White-hot fury flows through his blood. He engraves the faces of the perpetrators into his mind, planning to teach them a permanent lesson. Your groan brought his attention back to the situation at hand, and he barely suppresses his anger in favour of carrying you to the infirmary. 

With a gentleness that surprises even him, he holds your body like a precious doll or perhaps like a knight saving his liege. He anxiously paces outside your infirmary bed as your wounds are being cleaned and dressed.  Eventually, the two of you are left alone after being advised that you’d need rest and were excused from physical classes for a while.

“Ruggie?” you croak. His swinging tail stills at your voice.

“Yeah?” He trudges towards you. You beckon him with his hand, and he can’t help but follow, sitting beside your bed. Bandaged and weak, he has trouble finding the willpower to deny you.

“Come closer,” you murmur. He bites his lip but obeys anyway. Slowly, as to not agitate your injuries, you lift yourself up with a tired grin. Your lips graze Ruggie’s cheek, it’s hard to muster up enough strength for much more, but it’s enough to perk up his ears and his tail lets you know he definitely felt it.

“Thanks for saving me,” you whisper before closing your eyes and finally resting, feeling safe with Ruggie beside you.

Cater Diamond

Cater heard rumours of some students planning on hexing some brooms, but he didn’t think it’d happen, least of all to you. There were plenty of vengeful and colourful characters at the school but many were all bark and no bite

“HELP!” Hearing your plea for aid was all it took for Cater to kick it into high gear

Cater immediately grabs a broom and starts flying to catch you. 

The broom wavers a bit from the impact of you falling into his arms, but aside from messy hair, the physical damage is minimal

Cater teases you, saying how you’re lucky to have a friend like him to save you with a grin. He holds you a bit too tight which betrays his cheerful facade

“Safe to say that class is over today, yeah?” His voice is light but there’s a tightness in his throat that Cater struggles to bury. His arms haven’t left your waist, even as the two of you descend on solid ground.

“Thanks for saving me.” Your words are sincere but your voice can’t help but waver after the traumatic experience.

“I’d say we deserve a treat,” Cater declares. Your eyes widen, but since he just saved your life, you decide to trust whatever plan he’s come up with. A small fragile smile forms on your face as you nod. Cater keeps a hand on your shoulder as he guides you.

Each step is easier than the last and eventually, your legs have enough strength to support you. Even then, Cater keeps a hand on your body and its presence is reassuring, so neither of you comment on it. 

“Here we are!” Cater announces before opening the door to the cutest patisserie you’ve ever seen. Pastel pink and green are accented by white giving the shop both a spring vibe and elegant theme. Shelves are lined with macarons, cookies, petit fours, cakes, and sweets to tempt just about anyone.

One glazed cake catches your eyes with bright colours and a flavour combination that sounds too good to pass up. Cater catches your gaze and orders it before you even need to ask. The dessert tastes even better than it looks. The contrasting textures and complementary flavours make for a great bite of food.

You finally feel happy after that disaster and the person responsible for that is right beside you with an easy smile. An idea sparks in your mind and it must show in your expression because Cater lifts an eyebrow up in a silent question.  You press a firm kiss on his cheek on top of his Diamond.

“Not as sweet as these desserts, but I hope you accept it as thanks for today,” you explain. Cater feels his heart swell, grateful for the affection. He’s now determined to show the culprits behind your life-threatening fall how heartless he can be. 

[florenceandthemachine]

broken Tumblr asks part ??: in which I think I figured out that adding a read more into the asks are what breaks them.

anonymous asked:

the team makes Buck cry. send tweet.

hi anon I really am sorry if you were hoping for some hurt / comfort bc uh. this is just the hurt. xoxox

also my love, thanks, and eternal devotion to @buckleydiazs for giving it a quick beta 💖

Buck was on cloud fucking nine.

For a year—an entire year—he had been stuck in the doctors office, twice a month, while they ran test after test after his… multiple accidents. Blood tests, lung tests, flexibility tests, he had been poked like a pincushion and stretched like a rubber band, he had been through physical therapy, occupational therapy, and just regular therapy (hell, he was still in regular therapy), and now finally, finally, he was finished. 

“So, you don’t show any signs of abnormal clotting and your risk for a second pulmonary embolism is low. As far as your ankle goes, but you’ve regained full mobility, and as much as I wish I could take all the credit for that, I know you’ve been working your ass off in therapy. Congratulations, Mr. Buckley.”

He was cleared. Fully out of the woods. Clean bill of health. 

Finally, finally, after a year of hell, he could put everything—his crushed leg, his bleeding lungs, his stupid lawsuit—behind him. Finally, he could breathe easy, easier than he had in a year, and the only thing he wanted to do in the entire world was share the news with his family. 

Normally, Maddie would have been first, but he always felt bad about tying up a dispatcher when he called her at work. Her shift ended in an hour or so, though—like his normally would have, if he didn’t have his schedule switched during doctor days.

Well, if he can’t tell his sister, he can still tell his family. 

“Hey, Chim!”

Buck is all smiles as locks his Jeep, his medical release in hand, jogging easily to catch up to Chim’s retreating backside. Buck grinned as Chim turned around, raising his brow. “Hey, do you and Hen have a second? I wanted to show you both my—“

“Oooh, sorry, no can do Buckeroo. Hen’s taking her MCAT’s in two days, I have every second of her free time booked solid with studying.”

Buck faltered a little bit as they walked, raising his brow. While he really was proud of Chim for doing a full 180 so quickly—going from feeling betrayed to supporting a friend was no easy feat, and Buck knew that as well as anyone, but he also knew that a full day of studying wouldn’t do any good. 

“Come on, Chim, I’m sure she can take a break to—“

“Noooo, Buck.”

“Chim.”

“Buck, seriously. She’s been working too hard for this, and I’m not having you break up her flow. This is important to her, you get that right?”

Of course Buck got it, but…

“I’m not going to let anyone ruin this for her.”

….ruin it? He just wanted to share some good news.

He understood that Hen had to study, and that her upcoming MCATS were really important to her, but this was important to Buck; and for Chim to jump straight to that degree made his heart sink a little bit with each beat, his head traitorously whispering to him ‘what if Chim is right?’. Hen had been one of his biggest supporters as he got off of blood thinners, as he started back into his various therapies, and he had thought he returned the favor, helping her study in his free time whenever he could, and helping her take her mind off of things when she needed to as well—maybe his distractions were more harm than good, but he knew Hen well enough to know that if no one pulled her away from her work, she just wouldn’t eat, sleep, go home, any of it. Was it really that bad that Buck wanted a minute?

He felt his smile start to slip so he hitched it back up, nodding his head. “Yeah, sure, I… okay, just hit me up when you’re all done, I guess?” He said, hoping his voice sounded more confident than he felt. It must have worked, because Chim clapped both of his arms and turned away, leaving Buck standing there for a moment before he shook himself out of it.

It was fine. Hen wanted to study, that was important. Buck tried to pump himself back up as he took the stairs to the loft two at a time, reveling in the simple act of fully rolling his ankle. He tilted his head as he heard Bobby’s voice spill out of his office, turning on his heel to his next target. Besides, Bobby sounded frustrated—some good news would do him good, or so Buck thought. 

“…no, I don’t—no, we can’t just take—wait, what? No, I will not hold!”

Buck almost laughed as he knocked on the Cap’s open door, smiling when Bobby waved him inside.

“Look, forgive me if I’m not entirely sympathetic, but when we’re down an engine, and you can’t tell us when repairs will be done—well then you’d better transfer me to someone who can!”

“Everything alright, Cap?” Buck couldn’t help but smile as Bobby strangled his phone, sighing in defeat when the plastic wouldn’t yield. 

“You know, Marty was a crook in the end, but damn, he was a good mechanic. What’s up, Buck?”

Buck winced at the reminder of the nearly would-be heist, humming thoughtfully as he waved his full release forms. “Well, this shouldn’t take long. I got back from the doctors today, and—“

Bobby’s groan cut him off, hanging his head in his free hand. “No, Buck, no. I can’t have you sick right now, and nothing good ever follows ‘doctor’.”

Buck laughed, but Bobby kept going, the stress of the day and being down an engine clearly getting to him as he continued on. “And the last time I heard “doctor” from you, it was followed by lawsuit, which—yes, I’m still holding, hello?”

Lawsuit?

What the fuck? 

Buck reeled back like he had been slapped, the smile frozen on his face even with Bobby’s clear dismissal. He was glad that he didn’t have to say anything else, at the very least, because his throat felt hot and tight and it was all he could do to stay steady as he pivoted on his heel, walking out of the office. 

He hated the fact that that was the first thing Bobby brought up, but he hated even more how much that dark cloud was still lingering over his head. If Bobby would be so candid when Buck was barely two words in to saying something, who’s to say what choice words he had about Buck when he was gone? 

The lawsuit was the worst part of his life, the biggest mistake he had made, and he couldn’t wrap his head around it being thrown in his face when he was ready to walk in and share what was the best news he had ever received. Is that… all he would have here, all he would have been able to look forward to?

He started back down the stairs, his legs acting independently of the rest of his body, a dull tingling spreading through his chest as he finally sat down. He didn’t know if there was a happy medium between cold and numb (‘shock’, his mind provided, ‘you’re in shock’), but whatever it was, he was deep into it.

God, he had honestly thought that was all behind him. How fucking stupid was he to think that he was going to be able to come back from a mistake that huge, even a year later?

“Buck?”

He could feel himself starting to panic—loathe as he was to admit it—but as per usual, Eddie was a step ahead of the game without even knowing it. Even now, just hearing Eddie take a few steps closer to him started to ease his heartbeat, and he swallowed a few times as he nodded, fighting off the headrush as he was able to breathe again.

“Hey, Buck, you good?”

“Hey, Eddie, uh…hey!” Buck stood up and wiped his hands on his pants, paperwork forgotten next to him as he tried to smile. If anything, he knew—he knew to his very core, he knew, he… he prayed Eddie would be able to share this little victory with him. “Eds, you have a second to talk?“

Buck almost swallowed his tongue as the alarm sounded through the station, his jaw clicking shut as footsteps started to come down the stairs. 

“Hey, we’ll talk later, yeah?” Eddie called, already heading to his locker. It was all Buck could do to hold it together, nodding his head as he waved them off, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when the ladder pulled out of the station.

--

Eddie may have had a good start on his day, but Buck did not. 

He had woken up, kissed Christopher goodbye as Carla brought him to school, and less than ten minutes later, he had a brown envelope in hand, with a curt “You’ve been served”.

Shannon’s will was being contested. The will that Eddie didn’t even know she had. By her father, who Eddie had only seen twice in several years of marriage. 

The will was simple enough—a few grand left to Christopher’s college fund, a small pair of earrings to her sister, and that was it. There was nothing to contest, in Eddie’s mind, but contested it was.

He looked over the paperwork twice, and it made less sense the second time around—as much as he hated to admit it, the worst part of it all was knowing that Eddie was going to be alone at work again, because Buck had another day off scheduled in the books. 

So yeah, he may have been a little grumpy as he threw a few weights around in the work room for the start of his shift.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Eddie was spiraling; he couldn’t understand how someone could be so bitter, so selfish, to try and stop a few thousand dollars from going into a college fund for their grandchild. His mood only soured as his shift went on, there were no distractions, no calls, nothing to help him pull his head out of his ass, and no one he could talk to. Chim had almost bitten his head off when he said hello to Hen that morning, Bobby was dealing with yet another broken down, tax funded nightmare, and Buck—

And Buck was here. 

“Buck?”

Eddie did an honest to god double take as he saw Buck sitting on the bench, like he had been summoned from the depths of Eddie’s mind, even though he looked like he was in a state of shock.

“Hey, Buck, you good?”

He couldn’t lie, it made his heart skip a beat when Buck smiled at him—even if he could tell that Buck’s heart wasn’t in it. 

Before he could say anything more, the alarm sounded through the house, and Eddie was about a step away from fully losing his mind. “Hey, we’ll talk later, yeah?” He said, trying to give a small smile as he started to double back to his locker.

The call, to put it mildly, had not gone well—any fire call where the main focus wasn’t the fire was bound to be troublesome. A ten year old had started a fire in a laundry room, which should have been simple enough, except it was the same laundry room that he and his brother had apparently been locked up on for months. 

Suddenly what started out as a fire call turned into fire, medics, and police, and Eddie felt his hands start to shake as he worked with Hen to revive a ten year old boy. Barely older than Christopher. It wasn’t the first time he had seen abuse face to face, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last, but something about it was working him up more than usual. He was glad his shift was almost over—the only thing he wanted to do was go home, hug his kid, and sleep.

“—ooh, Mads, they’re back, gotta go. Hey, Eddie!”

He knew he was in deep when not even hearing Buck’s voice could brighten his mood—it was all he could do to hitch a half-hearted smile onto his face as he stepped off of the spare rig.

“Good call, right? Maddie said it sounded like everyone should pull through.”

Eddie just felt himself wind up tighter as he shook his head, rolling his jaw to force himself to keep it loose. “No, Buck. It was not a good call. It was a very bad call.” Bad didn’t even begin to cover it. Eddie could still feel his heart in his throat, feel a tiny body in his arms as Hen started compressions.

He was too wrapped in his own world to notice Buck falter, clearly thrown in the conversation. “Well, hey, if you’ve got a second—“

“Come on Buck, give it a break. I just want to get the fuck out of here as soon as I can.”

Pulling his boots off, he tossed them with perhaps a bit more force than needed into his locker, missing the way that Buck’s face shuttered. “You too, huh?”

“‘You too’? The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Eddie, I just wanted to share some good news, and—“

“Well things aren’t just good or bad, Buck! Just because no one died does not make a good call, and just because things are bad right now doesn’t mean I have to be cheered up. I’m allowed to be pissed off. I’m allowed to have one fucking minute!” Eddie snapped, chucking his jacket against the hamper in the corner, jaw clenched so hard he would have been afraid of cracking a tooth if he was in his right state of mind.

“So please, tell me what is so god damned important that I can’t see my kid until you tell me.”

The moment the words left his lips, he knew it was a mistake. The only person that loved Chris as much as Eddie was Buck, and he knew that, saw that more clearly than ever as his white hot anger dulled into something more manageable. He swallowed as he turned around, and… fuck, Buck wasn’t even looking at him.

“…Buck, I—“

--

“Clean bill of health.”

Buck couldn’t bring himself to look up up as he tossed the stack of papers onto the bench, doing his absolute best to keep himself composed as he spoke, his jaw tight and brow furled. 

He had been so proud of himself for avoiding a panic attack while they were on the call. He had never gotten them before this past year, but between the earthquake, tsunami, Maddie’s kidnapping, and bomb, he had become fast friends with the crushing weight. But he had done well—he kept himself above water, so to speak, and when he called Maddie he was proud to say that his voice was almost steady, and prouder still when she congratulated him for his job well done in therapy, demanding he come over and celebrate tonight. 

Well, even if he couldn’t count on his family friends team, he could always count on Maddie. It was a small joy in the world, but right now, it felt like it was all he had.

“Officially back to 100% mobility in my crushed ankle, officially out of the woods for another clot. Did you know it would take me a year to be clear of another embolism, because I refused blood thinners? Well, I figured you might, since you’re been running calls without me, every other week for a year, while I sit in a hospital room.”

Buck finally brought himself up to meet his teammates eye as Eddie’s frustration started to give way to confusion, and that, that hurt more than anything else today. Had anyone even realized why his schedule changed every other week? Did anyone care? “And alright, like you said, it might not be that important to you all but—“

“Buck, you—“

“But it’s really fucking important to me! All I wanted to do was share the good news with the people who are supposed to be family, my team, and instead all I got was blown off, snapped at—Eddie, I mentioned the word doctor in front of Bobby and his first concern was if he had another lawsuit on his hands.”

Buck was mildly aware that he was shaking—he had never really handled stress like this well—but the bigger concern was the tightening in his throat, that sinking pressure he felt right beneath his lungs. He could handle a lot of things, but that didn’t mean he could handle crying in front of Eddie quite yet.

“It’s been a year, Eddie, and I thought things were getting better, so what gives? What did I do, what have I done to deserve being treated like this? I’m serious, please, tell me, so I can fix it!”

Buck’s voice was reaching a fevered pitch as he gestured around the locker room, feeling himself splinter as he begged, literally begged, to know what he had done—why his work had meant nothing. Would he be mortified later? Probably, but everyone had a breaking point, and Buck was realizing (belatedly) that he was past his.

“All I wanted to do today was share a victory with my team, at least share it with you, you’re supposed to be my best friend, and I—I don’t get why—“

If Buck could clearly see Eddie’s face, he might have laughed at the pale, slack jawed, panicked expression before him. As it was, though, his eyes were starting to burn, and even as he reached to rub them, his body finally gave up, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Why is everyone being so fucking mean?” 

Buck didn’t bother with another platitude as he pushed past Eddie, rubbing tear tracks off of his cheeks. He felt his face heat up as he stormed out of the firehouse, fumbling for his keys, and heaven help any member of the 118 who stood in his way. 

--

Buck was crying.

The team had made Buck cry.

Fuck, Eddie had made Buck cry. 

He just stood in the locker room as the sound of Buck’s Jeep faded into the distance, feeling his heartbeat throughout his entire body. All Buck wanted to do was share some positivity with the team, and Eddie had… eviscerated him. He bent down to pick up some of the papers Buck had left behind, his heart falling even further (as if that was possible) as he read over the paperwork.

Fuck.

“Hey, Eddie, is Buck in here? Chim said he wanted to talk to—woah, what’s wrong?”

The sweat on Eddie’s skin had cooled (hell, how long had he been standing there?) and guilt sunk heavier into his stomach as Hen walked into the locker room, with Chim trailing behind her. Eddie’s eyes were still glued to the release in his hand, barely noticing as Chim spoke, staring down at his phone. 

“Uhhh… why is Maddie telling me to camp out with one of you tonight?” he asked the room as a whole, sharing a confused glance with Hen before they both locked eyes on Eddie, who… well, who probably looked as bad as he felt.

Which, considering Eddie felt like he was about to cry himself, was saying a lot.

“We fucked up. I fucked up. I think—I think we broke Buck.”

And he had no idea how to fix it. 

[goindownshipping]

‘ focus on my voice. ’ - will you please do Stucky where Steve and Bucky don't go to Wakanda after Civil War?

And time's forever frozen still

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes (Stucky)

Rating: Teen (T)

Notes: Yet again, thanks for your patience with this one, @ohwereusingourmadeupnames​! This canon divergence was tough, but I so loved writing it!

Warnings: Stucky fluff and rediscovering their love post Civil War. Let’s just pretend Bucky didn’t lose his metal arm in the fight in Siberia and neither of them are too injured :)

Word count: 6.5k

Summary:

Bucky goes home with Steve after the fight in Siberia. Even though Bucky doesn't quite trust himself, something tells him to trust Steve. They learn a lot together and Bucky discovers parts of his past he never knew existed.

Leaving Tony on the cold, hard ground in Siberia was one of the most difficult things Steve Rogers had faced in recent years, but it was certainly not the worst he’d faced. The worst was when he thought Bucky had been killed in Azzano; then it was watching Bucky fall from the train and not being able to save him; then it was coming face to face with Bucky decades later only to find out he had no idea who Steve Rogers was. So yes, fighting Tony and leaving him in Siberia wasn’t his finest moment, but he was sure as hell not about to let Bucky slip through his fingers again.

 Both men had been quiet upon boarding the quinjet, still shaken from the fight at the airport and then in Siberia. Bucky sat still, trying to differentiate among a plethora of memories and images flashing behind his eyes. Being back in that facility sent him deep within his own mind, flashes of atrocities reminding him of who he was. What he was. 

 “Where are you taking me?” Bucky asked quietly. His head was vibrating, he needed something to focus on besides the scene they left behind.

 Steve hesitated. “Fury helped me set up a safe house a few years back. I haven’t needed it until now, but it’ll be a good place for us to settle down for a bit.”

 “Steve,” Bucky started.

 “No, don’t,” Steve said firmly.

 Bucky stopped, knowing how stubborn Steve could be. That realization surprised Bucky a bit. Over the past couple of years, he’d come to trust himself little by little, but his memories were still foreign. Most of them felt like dreams that he could just barely remember the premise of. At that moment, he knew not to argue with Steve. He didn’t know exactly why, but somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he knew the argument wouldn’t be worth it.

 The realization was somewhat comforting, but he knew how easily his mind could betray him, how quickly the switch could flip on him. He let out a long sigh, knowing nothing productive would come from a fight on the jet. Bucky settled back, closing his eyes and wishing for sleep for the long flight to wherever Steve’s safe house was. 

 With the autopilot engaged, Steve looked over his shoulder to where Bucky was dozing behind him. He covered his mouth when a sob threatened to escape from his chest, wracking his entire body where he sat. Just seeing Bucky safe in front of him was enough to send him into a full spiral, thinking back to the number of times Bucky had protected him when they were kids. Bucky may not remember everything, hell he might not remember anything, but Steve did. Steve couldn’t, wouldn’t, forget anything.

 He wouldn’t let Bucky down this time. He couldn’t fail him again. Steve finally had a chance to take care of the person that meant more to him than anyone in the world and he wouldn’t squander it. He tried not to think about all the memories that had surely been burned out of Bucky’s brain by this point. He knew his resolve would crumble the second he let himself relive those moments.

 He shook his head, hoping to physically dislodge the images swirling in his head, and instead focused on how to stay under the radar when the whole world was supposedly on the lookout for Captain America and his no-longer-dead best friend. He thought about Tony and the look in his eye when Steve dropped his shield. He knew he had to fix it, he had to fix everything. 

 But right now, right now he had to take care of Bucky. That was it. That was his mission, and come hell or high water, he would do right by him.

 Bucky managed to sleep for most of the long flight, only waking when the quinjet hit a couple unexpected bumps.

 “We almost there, Stevie?” he asked sleepily.

 Steve’s breath caught in his throat at the nickname and softness in Bucky’s tone.

 “We still have a long way to go. You can go back to sleep Buck,” Steve managed to choke out.

 When Steve glanced back, Bucky was already fast asleep again, a small smile on his face. Steve hadn’t heard that nickname in decades, and he certainly didn’t expect to hear it from Bucky ever again. Ignoring the inkling of hope in his gut, Steve refocused on their flight path, noting the several hours until their final approach. At that, he decided to get some sleep himself before landing at the house. 

 A while later, Steve awoke to a soft beeping from the controls, alerting him that they were approaching their landing. Quickly wiping the sleep from his eyes, Steve switched off autopilot to guide the jet down toward the massive field adjacent to the house. By the time the jet came to rest, and the engines had come to a stop, Bucky was awake and trying to get a glimpse of their surroundings.

 “Where are we?”

 “Home, for the time being. But specifically, we’re somewhere in Kansas. Come on, let’s get inside.”

Steve and Bucky exited the jet and made their way to a modest looking farmhouse. Steve entered a lengthy pin on the keypad at the front door before gesturing for Bucky to step inside. Bucky made his way inside, glancing around as he made his way down the front hall. For a house that had supposedly never been used, it was awfully homey. Steve seemed to notice the appraisal.

 “I wanted it to feel like home if I ever came here. Besides, where else was I going to keep my things?” Steve shrugged.

 Most of Steve’s personal belongings were long gone after he put the Valkyrie in the ice, but the few boxes that SHIELD managed to hang on to now lived here. He had a few family photos hanging, several of which contained Bucky. Neither man acknowledged it, but Steve noticed Bucky’s gaze lingering on a few select photos.

 “Ma always wanted you in the family photos,” Steve admitted.

 Bucky smiled but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

 “Steve, are you sure this is a good idea? I’m putting you in more danger just being here.”

 “Bucky,” Steve said slowly, stepping toward him. “Where else are you gonna go?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admitted. “The Wakandan prince said something about his sister knowing what to do, maybe it would be best if I went out there. They can get my mind back.”

 Steve shook his head violently. “No, I can’t let you do that Bucky.”

 “Steve this is a terrible idea, I’m just gonna hurt you if we stay here.”

 “Bucky, you’re not going to hurt me. I’m not letting you go out in the world and try to deal with this on your own again, I can’t do that.”

 “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 Steve took one final step toward Bucky, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t spook him. “I know you don’t believe me yet, but we’re gonna be okay. Alright? You always took care of me when we were kids and now it’s my turn. You hear me?”

 “But Steve, I don’t, I could-”

 “No Buck, don’t go there. I’m not letting you go through this on your own,” Steve said firmly.

 Bucky paused, looking up at Steve’s face directly in front of him. Steve’s face was hard, determined. But his eyes were wide with fear and the slightest bit of hurt. Taking in Steve’s expression, Bucky took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

 “Listening to you helps. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not like I just remember things all of a sudden, but hearing you talk is safe, it blocks out the bad stuff. It was what gave me a hint that I knew you on the bridge, and then again on the helicarrier. I don’t know how, but I just knew. Even when I can’t trust my own mind, something tells me to trust you.”

 “We can handle that. You just tell me when it’s getting bad and focus on my voice. Think you can do that?”

 “I can try.”

 “Good. Then we’re good.”

 Steve gave Bucky’s shoulder one final squeeze before taking a step back.

 “It’s late Buck, let me show you where the guest room is and get you settled.”

 Bucky nodded and trailed after Steve like a puppy. Once again, Bucky was surprised by the sheer amount of belongings Steve had in the house. Steve got him situated with some clothes, toiletries, and towels and showed him his room with an attached bathroom. Once Steve had shown Bucky to his room, he paused in the doorway.

 “My room is just down the hall,” Steve gestured to a doorway to his left. “You can always come get me if you need anything, Buck,” Steve said softly.

 Steve looked conflicted, as if he was considering saying something else. His eyes flitted around, settling anywhere but Bucky’s face.

 “Thank you, Steve.”

 Steve’s eyes snapped up to Bucky’s. “You don’t have to thank me. This is what you do for someone you-”

 Steve and Bucky just blinked at each other. 

 “This is what you do for someone important to you,” Steve finished quietly.

 Bucky just nodded, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “Goodnight, Steve.”

 “Goodnight Bucky.”

 If Bucky didn’t close the door until after he saw Steve disappear into his own room, no one had to know. When Steve pulled his own door shut, he smiled softly at the click he heard from down the hall.

 What could have been minutes or hours later, Bucky awoke with a start, his throat raw, and his entire body tremoring. It took him a moment to register the hands on his shoulders, shaking him awake. Instinctively he shoved the attacker in chest, his metal arm causing enough force to create plenty of distance between them.

 “Buck, Bucky it’s me, it’s Steve,” he heard through the darkness.

 He took a shuddering breath, quickly remembering his surroundings and current circumstances. Steve. Steve is good, Steve helps.

 “Steve,” he wheezed.

 He sat up in bed, his back pressed against the headboard as he watched Steve carefully approach from the other side of the room, where his shove had thrown him.

 “Can I sit next to you?” Steve asked carefully.

 With his eyes now pressed shut, Bucky just nodded, trying to focus on Steve’s voice and the memories he knew were real. He thought about Steve taking him to Siberia, their trip here in the quinjet, Steve getting him settled. It was all real. He held on to those little bits of certainty with everything he had.

 He felt the bed dip and assumed Steve had sat down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t dare open his eyes yet.

 “I’m sorry I scared you Buck, I heard you yelling from down the hall and it scared the shit outta me,” Steve said soothingly. “I just wanted to come and make sure you’re alright, I’m sorry I scared you,” he repeated. 

 “It’s okay,” Bucky said tightly. “Just keep talking, please. Anything.”

 “Alright, Buck, it’s alright.” Steve placed a tentative hand on Bucky’s knee through the blankets and squeezed, hoping the minimal physical contact wouldn’t be too much for Bucky.

 “When we were kids, I stayed the night at your house a lot, especially if my Ma was working the night shift. Sometimes, your Ma would let us pull all the couch cushions down onto the floor and we’d make our own little fort with blankets and chairs and stuff.” Steve smiled at the memory, remembering their muffled laughter and whispered conversations into the wee hours of the morning.

 “This one time in high school though, it’d been years since we’d done that, and in the middle of the night, we decided to set up camp on the floor. I guess we didn’t realize how uncomfortable couch cushions were when they were on the floor when we were in grade school, because, God, I don’t think either of us got a wink of sleep that night. At some point, we just gave up and put the cushions back on the couch and just fell straight to sleep. Your Ma came out in the morning and found us knocked out on the sofa, blankets and chairs all over the room.”

 Steve looked up to find Bucky watching him with a familiar smile. 

 “I think I remember that,” Bucky said slowly.

 “It’s okay if you don’t, Buck” Steve reminded.

 Bucky shook his head and furrowed his brow, clearly focusing on something in the recesses of his mind.

 “I remember that night. After we went to sleep on the couch, you shoved me on the floor at some point. I remember waking up and you were sprawled across the whole damn sofa. I must have shoved you right back so I could lay back down.”

 The faraway look in Bucky’s eyes had lifted, leaving him with clear, bright, blue eyes and a determined look on his face. His lips twitched a bit, fighting a smile at the memory.

 “I told you your voice helps.”

 Steve smiled, grateful that he’d been able to help Bucky through whatever nightmare he faced. He thought back to that night, his face breaking into a grin. He’d never forget Mrs. Barnes’ face when she emerged that morning to find Steve and Bucky wrapped around each other on the couch. Her smile said everything when Steve and Bucky eventually roused from their slumber. They didn’t know it yet, but she did.

 “I’m glad I can help, Buck. You wanna try to get some more sleep?”

 Bucky nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

 “Okay,” Steve hesitated.

 “You alright Steve?”

 “Is it okay that I came in here when I heard you?” Steve whispered.

 Bucky paused. Instinctively, he wanted to say no, to hide his pain from Steve, the one person who actually believed there was still good in him. But he also knew that he couldn’t do this by himself. If Steve was insisting on helping him through this, he had to let him.

 “Yeah, Steve, it’s just fine. Just maybe don’t shake me next time? I don’t want to put you through a wall,” Bucky chuckled.

 “Alright, good,” Steve sighed. “I don’t think I could’ve left you in here when I woke up.”

 There was an awkward pause then, neither man quite knowing what to say. Steve wanted to say so much, reveal the cracked remnants of his heart and memories of him and Bucky. But he couldn’t do that, it wasn’t fair to Bucky to lay everything out there. So he sat and took a few deep breaths before slowly rising to his feet.

 “I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

 “Thank you, Steve. I’ll see you in the morning,” Bucky said gratefully.

 Steve nodded and shut the door softly before he padded down the hallway, willing the tears not to fall yet. He shut his bedroom door behind him and immediately sank to the floor, his back against the door. With his head in his hands, he let the tears fall silently, hoping his shuddering breath couldn’t be heard down the hall. The fear he’d heard in Bucky’s cries and seen in his eyes was burned into his eyes. He couldn’t bear the thought of how bad Bucky’s episodes must have been just a few years prior. 

 When he finally looked toward his nightstand, the alarm clock alerted him that it was still the middle of the night, no time to be awake. Dragging himself back to his bed, Steve eventually fell asleep to images of the past flashing in his mind. 

 Bucky woke up with a jump the next morning, startled by the unfamiliar surroundings and the softness of the bed. He took in the room and memories flooded back to him. He was at Steve’s safehouse, where Steve insisted they go after escaping Siberia. He glanced at the bedroom door, surprised to see it cracked instead of firmly shut, which he distinctly remembered doing the night before.

 Suddenly, he remembered the nightmare, which must have had him screaming if Steve’s reaction was anything to go by. He took stock of everything, pleased to feel like his head wasn’t splitting down the middle, like he didn’t have another consciousness fighting to come to the surface. He sat in bed for a moment, expecting to hear Steve moving about the house somewhere, but all was quiet. Bucky wasn’t sure whether it was comforting or disheartening to think that Steve had left him home alone on the first morning.

 Shaking those thoughts away, Bucky slid out of bed, the need for coffee overtaking his concern for the moment. Following the hallway to the open living room and kitchen, Bucky was again confronted with all things Steve. Photos, candles, pillows, it all screamed Steve Rogers. Bucky wasn’t sure how exactly he knew that, but he did. He could feel it.

 He meandered into the kitchen, his nose leading him toward the strong coffee he could smell from his room. On the counter next to the coffee pot he found a large mug and a note from Steve.

 Went into town for some groceries, I should be back in the early afternoon. There’s some food in the freezer, but not much. If you need any clothes or anything, there’s extras in my closet. Home phone is on the side table next to the couch, my cell is on speed dial if you need me.

-Steve

 With a large cup of coffee in hand, Bucky headed back to the living room where a large plush sofa was calling his name. He was surprised to find that it was already almost noon, so Steve would likely be back soon. Once settled, he looked around. The cozy room was comforting, nothing like the holding facilities he was used to or the crappy apartments he’d been crashing in for the last few years. This was different. His instincts had him checking for sightlines and mapping out exit strategies, but he tried to push those away and focus on the photos surrounding him. 

 He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised to see himself in so many of the photos given how close he and Steve had been before the fall. Even so, he’d never come face to face with so many reminders of a life he couldn’t remember living. He wondered how many of his own photos and memories would have Steve in them if he ever got his hands on them. 

 Wrapping a blanket around himself, he reached for the television remote, hoping something could distract him from the sudden sadness washing over him. After scrolling through the entire guide several times, Bucky gave up, settling on drinking his coffee in silence. Once he reached the bottom of his mug, he figured it was time for a shower. He quickly realized just how much grime had settled into his skin since Siberia and he was itching for water just hot enough to burn a bit.

 Upon entering his room, he realized Steve had given him towels and toiletries, but only one set of clothes. He hesitated, nervous to snoop through Steve’s space even though his note made it clear he could look for anything he needed. Glancing down at his now dirt and sweat covered clothes, he knew he didn’t have much of a choice.

 Reluctantly, Bucky made his way toward Steve’s room. Upon entering, he was overcome with a sense of comfort. The whole room smelled like coming home after a long day. Bucky always knew that smells could trigger memories that he didn’t know he had, but this was different. This wasn’t a specific memory; it was this innate gut feeling that this was home. That Steve was home.

 Bucky took a deep breath, soaking in the comfort, feeling the safety wrap around him. Call him crazy, but he finally found something that felt right, that felt like it belonged to the version of himself that he was still clawing his way back toward. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t connect all the dots or recall all the specific memories. All that mattered was that he finally had something to latch on to. All that mattered was that Steve trusted him enough to bring him here. All that mattered was Steve.

 He shook that last thought out of his head, unsure of where exactly it came from and headed for the closet on the far side of the bedroom. Sliding the door open, he was faced with what seemed to be Steve’s entire civilian wardrobe. The shelves and hangers were full of everything from soft sweaters and henleys to fitted button-downs and khakis. The very top shelf was what caught Bucky’s attention though.

 The top shelf had several stacks of thick, cable knit sweaters that looked cozy enough for Bucky to bundle up in for the next several weeks. They looked homey and warm - perfect. He reached up, his heart set on a deep blue piece, and his fingers scrabbled to secure the fabric. When he finally grabbed it and yanked it down, the angle brought down several sweaters along with the blue one he was aiming for.

 Bucky shook his head at his clumsiness, knowing that was something that would never leave him. He quickly grabbed the sweaters to refold them and hoist them back up on the shelf. He was on the second to last one, a light sky-blue colored sweater when he felt something stiff inside the fabric. He reached into the sleeve to move whatever had gotten stuck when it fell and came out with a small stack of old photos, clearly printed before Steve went into the ice.

 Bucky looked down and felt all the air rush out of him. He immediately fell to his knees, his entire being knocked off balance by what he saw in the photos. His eyes filled with tears against his will, but through the blur, he could still clearly make out the images.

 The first one in the stack was a photo of him and Steve, clearly taken without them knowing. A young Steve, probably just a matter of months before the serum, was perched on Bucky’s knee with one of Bucky’s arms firmly around his waist. Steve’s head was resting against Bucky’s shoulder, love drunk smiles pasted across both of their faces. Steve was looking up at Bucky, Bucky glancing down at Steve and it was impossible to miss the love evident in their eyes. 

 Bucky collapsed down from his knees, hitting the floor with a thud, but paid no mind to the discomfort as he pulled up the next picture in the stack. The next photo was in a similar vein as the first one but must have been taken during their time as part of the Howling Commandos. How that was possible, Bucky didn’t know. All he knew was that this photo showed Steve in his Captain American uniform, covered in dirt, with his arms wrapped tightly around Bucky in what must have been a bone crushing hug. Bucky’s face was tucked into the crook of Steve’s neck while Steve pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

 Bucky spread out the dozen or so photos on the floor in front of him, each of them indicating just how in love he and Steve must have been back then. In every single photo, they were touching in some way; an arm around the other person, hands held between them, a kiss on the cheek. Even in photos that included their friends or family, it was evident that Steve and Bucky were drawn to each other like magnets, always revolving around each other and finding their way into contact. It appeared that was still true to this day, given that the universe had somehow kept them both alive despite believing the other must be long dead or simply not knowing the other existed, in Bucky’s case.

 He sat on the floor of Steve’s closet just staring at the photos, willing himself to remember just one of these instances. Hating himself for forgetting something so vastly important in his life and for ripping this way from Steve. God, Steve. How could Bucky ever forgive himself for depriving Steve of the love he so clearly deserved. Deserves.

 Sitting there on the floor, for god knows how long, Bucky came to a startling realization. He may not be able to play back these memories like movies in his head, but he damn well knew that he could trust Steve, that he knew him when everything else was foreign and terrifying. That had to mean something right? His mind and heart hadn’t completely betrayed him if he knew that Steve felt like home, that he smelled familiar, that something within him just knew.

 As Bucky crouched there, lost in thought and emotion, his well-trained instincts didn’t alert him to Steve’s arrival. He missed the loud thud of the car door, the minor tremor of the house when Steve shut the front door, and even the loud shuffling as Steve entered the kitchen.

 “Buck?” Steve called loudly.

 Bucky couldn’t bring himself to answer and he certainly couldn't bring himself to move from his place on the floor. He didn’t even have a moment to panic before Steve came through the door and was suddenly standing across the room, eyes fixed on the photos on the floor. 

 “Shit, Buck,” Steve breathed out. He quickly crossed the room, dropping to his knees next to Bucky.

 “I’m so sorry, Steve,” Bucky sobbed.

 “What? Bucky, no, this isn’t your fault at all. Dammit I-,” Steve took a shuddering breath in, his emotions coming to boil seeing those photos and knowing what Bucky had figured out.

 “These past few years, I didn’t know, Steve.”

 “I know you didn’t, and I never wanted you to find out like this.”

 Bucky was still staring at the photos, unable to look up at the man next to him. He didn’t know what he’d do if he saw that same love in the photos directed at him now.

 “Bucky, please, can we talk about this?”

 “What is there to talk about? I ruined everything for you, I took it all away,” Bucky sobbed.

 “No! God, Buck, please just come here.”

 Bucky looked over to Steve, surprised to see the sheer vulnerability reflected in his grey-blue eyes. There wasn’t a hint of anger or resentment there, but maybe just a touch of fear.

 Without thinking, Bucky scooted over just enough to collapse into Steve’s arms, his entire body breaking down into shuddering sobs.

 “Why can’t I just remember?” he cried, desperate for relief from the constant reminders that his mind wasn’t his own.

 Steve wrapped him up in a tight hug and pulled him closer, rearranging their limbs until they were in a more comfortable position on the floor.

 “Shh, it’s okay Buck, it’s gonna be okay, I promise. That’s why we’re here, right? To do this together,” Steve murmured into his ear.

 Bucky just continued to cry, years (decades) of emotion boiling over at that moment. Steve just held him close and continued whispering in his ear, reassuring him, letting him know it would all be okay.

 “I’m not letting you do this alone, Buck, I promise,” Steve said firmly.

 When Bucky finally felt like he had himself under control, he pulled back from Steve’s grip but didn’t dare move any further away. No matter what had been burned out of his head by HYDRA, his heart needed to be close to Steve. Everything from the last few years started to make more sense when he realized that.

 “Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky asked quietly.

 “And when exactly was I supposed to do that?” Steve asked with a chuckle.

 “Fair enough,” Bucky sighed.

 “Let’s go into the kitchen. We should eat before we do this.”

 Bucky hesitated but nodded when he felt his stomach knotting in on itself. When Steve stood and reached a hand out for Bucky, he didn’t hesitate to take it. He didn’t think twice when neither of them let go until they were in the kitchen plating up the takeout Steve had brought back.

 They ate their sandwiches and chips in silence, mostly due to how hungry they quickly realized they were. Bucky was grateful that Steve also had the appetite of a super soldier and brought close to a dozen sandwiches back for them. By the time they finished stuffing their faces and Steve had cleared away the scattered wrappers, Bucky knew they were faced with a difficult conversation.

 “Want to get comfy in the living room for this?” Steve asked.

 Bucky nodded, “Sure.”

 Steve let Bucky lead the way to the living room and waited for him to pick a spot first, not wanting to crowd his space too much. Bucky’s face pulled into a confused frown when Steve settled in the chair across from him, rather than on the couch cushion at his side. Bucky glanced at the empty seat next to him and Steve took the hint, quickly moving close enough that their thighs pressed together.

 Steve’s gaze was fixed on the carpet. He could feel Bucky’s eyes boring into the side of his head, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze. The guilt was already eating away at him, making his lunch sit uneasily in his stomach. After too much silence, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation at hand.

 “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Bucky. It was so wrong for me to-”

 “Steve, don’t. This isn’t your fault, there’s no reason for you to apologize,” Bucky interrupted.

 Steve shook his head, still staring down at his feet.

 “But Buck, I-”

 “Dammit Steve, will you look at me please?”

 Steve lifted his head and turned slightly to face Bucky. He was met with open, curious eyes with just a hint of anger.

 “You have every right to be angry,” Steve whispered.

 “Yeah,” Bucky nodded. “But not at you. This isn’t your fault,” he repeated. His face softened a bit, the hard edge disappearing as he watched for Steve’s reaction.

 “I just don’t know what to say.”

 “Let’s start from the beginning. Can I ask a question?”

 “Of course.”

 “How long?” Bucky asked simply.

 “What do you-”

 “How long, Steve?” he repeated.

 Steve sighed, his gaze quickly drifting to the several photos littering the living room walls. “Since I was sixteen, you were seventeen. That’s when things changed.”

 “What do you mean, changed?”

 “That’s when we finally realized that best friends don’t normally cuddle on the couch and sleep in the same bed during sleepovers,” Steve laughed.

 Bucky smiled at the distant, hazy memories of tangled limbs and sleep warm touches. It wasn’t in focus, but the memory was there. Somewhere deep in his heart and mind, he knew what Steve was saying; it almost felt like his own memories.

 “So, all that time? When I left for the war, when you came and found me? All of that?”

 “Yeah, Buck, the whole time.” Steve had a small smile on his face, the happy memories overtaking their current situation for just a split second. “I’m sorry,” Steve continued. “It’s not fair for me to dump this on you and I really didn’t mean for you to find out. At least not like this.”

 “And what do you want?” Bucky questioned.

 “What do you mean?” Steve was surprised by the question, his gaze immediately snapped back to Bucky’s inquisitive face.

 “Exactly what I said, Steve. What do you want to happen now?”

 “I want you to be okay. I was us to be okay,” Steve murmured so quietly, Bucky nearly missed it. “I know I can’t ask you to pretend to remember it all, I know that. But selfishly, god Buck, I would give anything, everything to have it all back.”

 Steve’s eyes were fixed so intently on Bucky’s, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Hesitantly, Bucky reached for Steve’s thigh and squeezed tightly as he smiled up at him. 

 “You’re right. I can’t pretend to remember everything. But I do know that these distant, fuzzy memories are mine. They all involve you. All of them Steve. I know I loved you. Love you, really. I can feel it. I might not have the same memories and things certainly aren’t normal, but I can feel it Stevie, I really can. I don’t want to lose that again,” Bucky admitted.

 Steve stayed silent, partially to let Bucky continue but mostly in disbelief.

 “Like I said, I can feel it. The pictures, the memories, those times in high school. It’s all still there. If you want to give this a shot, give me a shot, I think that’s really all I want.”

 “If I want- Buck,” Steve trailed off. He carefully placed his hand over Bucky’s on his own thigh, barely squeezing for fear of startling him. He held Bucky’s gaze, unable to look away from those eyes that held so much and yet revealed nothing. When Bucky didn’t interject, Steve continued on.

 “Bucky, not a single day has gone by that I haven’t wanted you. Not once, I swear,” Steve resounded. “If this is what you want, I’m right here.”

 “You’re the only thing that feels familiar, Steve.”

 “I don’t want you to want this just because you think it’s what I want, Buck. I’ll be here no matter what, I promise you that.”

 Bucky shook his head vehemently, immediately cutting Steve off. “No,” Bucky said firmly. “It’s not that and it’s not just because you’re safe. I just- I know we were each other’s everything and we can’t just jump back into that, but I’d really like to take it one day at a time. With you,” Bucky finished softly.

 Steve raised a gentle hand to Bucky’s cheek, unable to keep himself from touching at this point. He couldn’t help the way his chin trembled or the tears that welled up in his eyes as he looked at the man he’d loved and lost so many times. Steve needed the reassurance that Bucky was actually there, that he could reach out and touch him, feel his warmth and security while keeping him safe.

 “You want this?” Steve confirmed.

 “Steve, I swear, if you ask me that one more time, I might change my mind,” Bucky sassed.

 “Alright alright, there you are,” Steve laughed.

 They sat in silence for a moment longer. Bucky’s hand still squeezing Steve’s thigh with Steve’s hand pressed over his own. Steve’s opposite hand held Bucky’s cheek as he let his eyes wander over Bucky’s face. It was the same face that Steve came home to in high school, the same one he found staring up at him in Azanno, and the same one that haunted his dreams for the years after the war. He never imagined he’d see it again; not as the Winter Solider and not as the love of his life.

 Eventually, Steve let go of Bucky and slumped back against the couch, spreading his arms for Bucky to settle into. Bucky quirked an eyebrow for a split-second before folding himself into Steve’s grip, his back pressed to Steve’s front. The strong arms that wrapped around him felt like coming home. Bucky never thought he could feel like that again, he didn’t know he had a home to come back to. But this, this was it.

 “When did you know?” Steve whispered against his neck.

 Bucky paused for a minute, trying to comb through the jagged memories and mismatched pictures in his head. At this point, he had enough of his own mind back that he could see so many of his own experiences but didn’t quite know where they fit into his life. It was hard to differentiate among all the years that swirled in his head.

 “When was the bridge?” Bucky asked.

 “You knew on the bridge?”

 “Yeah. Well, no, not really. But after. I started getting these flashes of what I now realize are memories. The moment I fell was just on replay in my head, I just kept hearing you yell for me.”

 Steve squeezed him tightly and buried his nose in Bucky’s long hair, willing himself to stay strong for Bucky.

 “I told them I knew you, but, you know,” Bucky trailed off.

 “I know, Buck. I’m so sorry.”

 Bucky shifted in Steve’s arms, rolling over to face him. They were nose to nose, their breath immediately mingling between them.

 “Not your fault, Stevie. We’re here now, yeah?”

 “Yeah, we are. But we can always talk about that stuff, whenever you need to. That’s why we’re here, remember?”

 “As long as you’re here with me to figure it all out, Steve. I know I can’t do it without you.”

 As Steve nodded in agreement, his nose bumped against Bucky’s causing them both to gasp at how close they hadn’t realized they were. Steve’s gaze dropped to Bucky’s lips out of habit and Bucky’s tongue swiped over his plump bottom lip on impulse.

 “Buck,” Steve breathed, unable to stop himself.

 Bucky stared back at Steve for what should have been an awkward length of time, but neither man noticed. After a few long breaths, Bucky nodded, signaling for Steve to go ahead. One of Steve’s hands crept up from his waist to cradle his face, his thumb dragging along his cheekbone as Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut.

 Steve barely had to move with how close they already were. He merely angled his face to the right and immediately felt Bucky’s warm breath directly against his lips. Before he could do anything, Bucky closed the final hint of space between them and captured Steve’s lips in a feather-light kiss. Steve couldn’t help the rush of emotion that filled his heart the moment he felt those all-too-familiar lips against his again. 

 He let his lips lead him in rediscovering Bucky, pleased that the same flick of his tongue and caress of his neck brought out the softest whimpers, just like when they were in another life. When he felt tears fall from his eyes, he pulled back ever so slightly. 

 “Wow,” Bucky murmured.

 Steve sniffled quietly but knew he couldn’t hide his emotion from the man in his arms.

 “Yeah, wow is right.”

 “So, we’ll figure this out?”

 “Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Just like we always have, baby.” 

 Bucky couldn’t help the way he burrowed into Steve’s chest, and Steve couldn’t stop the smile on his face as he felt Bucky press a kiss to his chest. 

 “Did you know you always used to do that before you fell asleep?” Steve whispered.

 When he looked down, Bucky’s eyes were closed and his breathing was even, his face squished against Steve’s shirt. Steve shook his head fondly, and pulled Bucky even closer, silently vowing to never let him go again.

[im-the-king-of-the-ocean]

So this started as another Carulia quarantine fic, but then it sat in my drafts for a while and I sort of lost that train of thought completely and it became a character study into Carmen (more or less).

Anyways, enjoy!

.

Learning Vulnerability

“Sunk your battleship.”

Player splutters his protest over their comms.  Carmen smiles.  This is the third game they’ve played.  They each won one of the previous ones and this is the tie-breaker.  So far, Carmen’s winning.

Carmen hears footsteps in the hallway outside the apartment.  She focuses on the sound, the rhythm of the steps.  She exhales when she recognizes Julia’s stride and Julia’s stride only.  Not that she doesn’t trust Jules after their weeks spent together.  It’s just, staying in one location this long makes Carmen feel twitchy.  Sure, she’s been keeping as low a profile as possible, but she’s still vulnerable.  If either A.C.M.E. or V.I.L.E. comes for her here, where she has little backup and resources?  Carmen would very much prefer that not to happen.

“Something up?”  Player picks up on her distraction.

“Nothing.”  Carmen reassures him.  She knows he’s one keystroke away from sending a private jet for her, and the only reason he hasn’t yet is respect for her request not to.  Carmen doesn’t want Zack, Ivy, or Shadowsan traveling and putting themselves at risk of infection unnecessarily.  She can handle herself just fine.  No one but Jules and her team knows she’s here.  Everything is fine, will be fine.

“It sounds like Julia’s back,” Carmen continues.  “I should go.”

They haven’t told Julia about Player yet.  He’s the one relatively unknown person on Carmen’s team.  They’ve been extremely careful about who they share information about him with.  So far, that’s not Julia.  Not yet.

“Alright.”  On Carmen’s laptop screen, Player sits back in his seat.  “Finish the game later?”

“Later.”  Carmen closes her laptop.

She stands and tiptoes to the door.  Carefully, she places her hands on it, and then presses her ear to the wood.  Carmen can hear Julia speaking Mandarin to the old woman who lives across the hall.  It takes Carmen a moment to adjust to listening to a different language, but then she recognizes that the conversation is just small talk while Jules passes over the groceries she bought for her neighbor.

This isn’t the bell tower, Carmen reminds herself.  She’s been able to trust Julia for weeks.  If Julia has been trying to get Carmen to lower her guard, she would have probably made her move by now.  It wasn’t Julia’s plan to ambush Carmen in Stockholm either.  Chief was the one who made that call.  Julia had only wanted to talk.

Carmen steps away.  She hesitates, and then returns to the couch.  She sits, places her hands in her lap, inhales with her whole frame, and then exhales.  Everything is fine.  She’s fine.

Trust isn’t something that comes easily to Carmen.  Not anymore, at least.  She wants it to be.  She wants to have a family, people she’s comfortable around no matter what, and she does.  It’s just…

The V.I.L.E. faculty were her family too, once upon a time.  Carmen had never thought of Coach Brunt quite as a mother, but the woman was affectionate, loving, and arguably spent the most time out of any of them with Carmen while she grew up.

But, Coach Brunt’s affection, Carmen is realizing in hindsight, came with a dash of possessiveness.  Coach Brunt had loved her conditionally.  When Carmen stopped meeting the requisite conditions, when she turned against V.I.L.E., that was the bitter end of it.  Carmen hasn’t admitted it to anyone, but it still hurts.  The Faculty had been her family growing up.  Carmen knows, technically speaking, she turned against them first, but the fact that they hadn’t really tried to see things from her point of view, that they’d forcibly tried to bring her back into the fold, and then declared her their enemy when they couldn’t, did sting.

She had worth to them as a thief, but not as herself, as Carmen.  They’d never been a family, just an evil organization and the daughter of one of their former colleagues who they considered a traitor.  Carmen knows she shouldn’t ache this much over it (she’s technically even gotten Shadowsan back, so there’s that), but she still wants a family.

One that won’t betray her.

Carmen wants to believe Zack and Ivy won’t (although they almost left her already once, and she can’t really blame them for that.  If returning to racing is what they want, she won’t keep them from it).  Neither will Player or Shadowsan (although Player has an entire outside life that she barely knows about and Shadowsan is…well Shadowsan).  Carmen hopes Jules won’t, but that already came into question once.

The thing is, Carmen once believed the Faculty would never intentionally try to hurt her too.  She despises thinking about it, but a tiny part of her does wonder if the next betrayal is already on its way.  If the friends she now considers her family will…

Carmen sighs.  She doesn’t want to be like this.  She really, really doesn’t want to be like this.

But she’s scared too.

Julia enters the apartment, arms full of groceries, before Carmen’s thoughts can go on any more of a downward spiral.  Seeing Julia struggle with juggling to maintain her hold on the grocery bags while closing the door, Carmen gets up to help.

“Thanks.”  Julia smiles at Carmen, while handing over one bag with a couple baguettes sticking out.  “How was your day?”  She leads the way into the kitchen.  “For dinner, I was thinking dumplings?”

“Sounds good.” Carmen nods noncommittally.  She remains quiet as Julia begins unpacking foods and putting them away in either the fridge or the cupboard.

“You know, if you’d like, you can make them with me?”  Julia’s soft smile, and her body language, indicate the offer is a genuine one.

Carmen wants this.  She wants the comfortable, safe way it makes her feel.

But, what if this feeling won’t last?

Knowing Jules expects an answer, Carmen doesn’t make eye contact.  A part of her wants to run, but a stronger part of her wants to stay, to see what’ll happen.  Eventually, Carmen looks up.

“That would be wonderful.”

It’s possible she’ll just be hurt again, but she wants to at least try regardless.

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

Hi congrats on the 750! First time I request anything, a little scared. I wanna request one where Loki is living in stark tower as punishment for New York. Reader is living there too working as an assistant or something and gets really nervous/flustered around Loki. He finds out about her crush but shes to nervous to even touch him, somewhere along he uses the phrase You can hold my hand it’s ok when he catches her looking at his hand/retreating after trying to reach for it. FLUFF! Maybe a kiss?

Oh, I hope you never feel scared to ask for another request! I promise pretty much everyone on here is super nice! And you are always welcome to reach out and just chat with me if you want. :) I hope that this is close to what you had envisioned!

Selecting a Spot

Most of your time spent in Stark Tower was bustling around after Tony Stark himself. Your nose to your phone as you took notes, made appointments, and generally took care of the mundane aspects of his life that the genius of a man was too distracted or busy to do for himself.

But, occasionally, you were given a chance to take a breath, gather your thoughts as you tried to unscramble the distracted flurry of Mr. Stark’s. Your favorite place to do so was in the vast library on the recreation floor. It was almost guaranteed to be empty, and the plush furniture, warm wallpaper, and comforting scent of old books soothed your frazzled thoughts.

You dumped your belongings, comprising a stylish messenger bag loaded down with snacks, reusable water bottles, pens, notepads, a tablet, and various jagged corners of paper onto the overstuffed couch beside you. A fatigued sigh passed through your lips, and you kicked off your shoes to tuck your feet beneath you, swiping the tablet onto your lap and grabbing a few of the scribbled notes from the bag at random. When Mr. Stark couldn’t remember to tell FRIDAY to send you a message, he would just jot it down on whatever he could find, accounting for the edges of receipts, napkins, and even the corner of a calendar littering your lap.

You captured your bottom lip between your teeth, making a pile of deciphered notes next to you as you either plugged them into his schedule or sent off an email with the information contained on them. It was tedious work, but you were exhausted, so you didn’t mind it.

“That is my chosen seat.”

You stilled at the low, rich voice, slowly drawing your eyes open from the bright screen. Loki stood in the doorway, eyeing you with the barest hint of disdain with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

You knew that he was living in the tower. You sent off communications to SHIELD informing them of the updates on Loki’s ‘rehabilitation’, usually just reports that he hadn’t threatened anyone or destroyed anything. Everyone knew by now that a being stronger than himself had forced his hand during the Chitauri invasion, so his restriction to living amongst the Avengers was considered a ‘lighter’ sentencing for his crimes. Rumor had it that he had already spent time in some form of prison on Asgard, but you hadn’t dug your nose into the gossip mill deep enough to figure out if that was true or not.

But knowing that he was skulking around and facing the towering, striking god were two entirely different things. You couldn’t brush away the instant desire that clenched in your stomach at the piercing green eyes that latched onto yours and held them. All moisture dried from your mouth, and you suddenly forgot what you normally did with your hands when you were sitting on the couch.

“Um… I’m sorry?” you managed, wincing slightly at the crack in your voice. You began gathering your belongings, shoving them hastily in your bag with no rhyme or reason.

“No, stay,” he commanded you, striding passed you to sprawl onto a tall-backed leather armchair, summoning a book into his waiting hand. “Your perfume has already pervaded the space and will only distract me.”

So, not knowing what else to do, you resumed your work, only glance at him after every other email, sitting straight-backed and scarcely breathing the entire time.

The next time you were given a chance to yourself - Tony was spiraling into a project and wouldn’t come out for days - you hesitantly retreated to the library, sitting in the corner at a table instead. You didn’t want to upset Loki, to garner the attention of his fiery gaze, but you didn’t know where else to go, either.

He sauntered in only a few minutes after you, catching your attention when he came up to your table.

“You are not sitting on the couch.” It wasn’t a question, but the furrow of his brow told of his confusion.

You pulled your pen from between your lips, wetting them with your tongue. His eyes darted to the thoughtless gesture, and you could have sworn you saw his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare in response. Clearing your throat, you shrugged as nonchalantly as you could manage. “You said it was your favorite spot.”

He nodded once, turning on his heel and walking away. You barely caught his quiet response of, “That does not mean that you are required to move.”

And thus began the odd relationship between you and the God of Mischief. Anytime were given a break, you went down to the library, kicking off your shoes and settling into ‘Loki’s’ spot. He would come in not long after, pulling a book from thin air or summoning one to him, and sit on the other side of the couch. An entire cushion separated you, but it still felt so close. You’d cast glances at the elegant slope of his nose, the tick of his temple as he thought or the chiseled edge of his jaw as he tilted his head to the side.

You knew he was watching you, too. The weight of his gaze was almost a physical sensation, traveling over your skin and setting fire in its wake. It was a challenge to pretend that you didn’t notice. Surely he noticed the jump of your pulse in your throat or the way your hands shook as you sorted through scraps of paper and sticky notes. He said nothing, though, thank goodness.

But, after one evening, instead of taking up his mantle on the other end of the couch, he sat down right beside you after moving all of your various bits and bobs to the coffee table in front of you. The length of his thigh pressed into yours, warm and firm. You froze, shoulders tense, hand hovering over your tablet as your brain tried and failed to compute the sudden change in your routine.

“You come back to this room time after time, knowing that I will come.” He shifted his torso to face you, his arm coming up behind you on the back of the couch.

You gripped the tablet tightly, needing it to ground you and give your hands something to do. Somehow, you found enough courage within yourself to look up at him, offering no reply but a small nod.

He didn’t say anything, searching your face with narrowed, calculating eyes that seemed to see right through the terrible attempt at a calm facade you put on. He sighed lightly, pulling his arm back into his lap, a book winking into existence in one of his hands.

You tried to work, you really did. But it was so hard to focus on anything when his free hand curled on his leg, so close to yours, and the enticing aroma of his cologne slowly washed over you. It was masculine, spicy and clean and earthy, drawing you in just as much as his beauty did. Would he be a man that would take being called beautiful as an insult? Risking a glance at the thoughtful purse of his lips, you thought not.

He closed his book with an air of finality, shoving it onto the couch behind him before taking your tablet and giving it the same treatment.

“Look at me,” he commanded, not unkindly.

You instantly did so, eyes wide.

“Your heart beats faster when I am near you, and I am not mistaken in having heard your breath just catch in your throat. Your hands flex and shake in turn. I know you do not fear me, or you would not have returned.” He drew a long finger down your arm, making goosebumps raise over your skin.

“No,” you whispered, afraid your voice would betray you if you spoke any louder, “I don’t.”

“Then you desire me,” he concluded, mischief settling in the twinkle of his eyes and the grin tugging on his lips.

You couldn’t answer that. Couldn’t admit that you, just a regular woman interning in Stark Tower, had a crush on the handsome god gazing at you. He was intimidating, cunning, graceful, each movement filled with carefully restrained power.

“You do not deny it.”

You dropped your eyes to where his finger stopped at your knuckles, tracing over the ridges in slow circles that would quickly drive you mad. Your stomach tightened in a knot, either of desire or anxiety, you weren’t sure. Honestly, probably both. All of your senses kicked into overdrive at his rapt attention of your every movement and facial expression.

His long raven hair tickled over your face, and you closed your eyes just in time for his lips to caress yours. He was sweet, both in taste and touch, softer than you expected for such a fierce, domineering man. But there was nothing ferocious about the almost chaste kiss, or the warmth that flooded through you and loosened each muscle in your body.

“You desire me,” he repeated in a whisper, the words brushed across your lips, his forehead resting against yours.

“I do.” You couldn’t deny it. You stared down at his mouth, breathing him in as your hands itched to hold his, wrap in the soft fabric of the sweatshirt he wore, tangle in his hair, anything. He was right there, well within reach, but some tiny part of you was still too timid to take that step, to touch him of your own accord.

“You may hold my hand, if you would like.” His hand skated over yours, fingers lacing together in a comfortable fit, palm calloused and warm against yours. “We have already kissed, after all.”

The light teasing in the rich timbre of his voice broke the tension of the moment, and you tilted your head back, laughter tinged with relief spilling from you. He chuckled along with you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling your head into the crook of his neck.

You felt comfortable, content and safe, in this new spot, encased in his strong embrace, his mouth anchored to the top of your head and your hands splayed across his back. This was much, much better.

***

Little Bit o’ Loki Taglist: @myownviperroom @grahoundart @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet

Whole Shebang Taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @blah666 @brokenthelovely @myworddump @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13 @arch-venus25 @xxloki81xx @jessiejunebug @tinchentitri @sllooney @devilbat @vikkleinpaul @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian @toozmanykids @claritastantrum @silverswordthekilljoy

[loftyexecutor]

aftermath

Pairing; Fresh/Gold Rating; MA/E/not safe WC; 2591  Notes; emotional hurt/comfort. includes multiple orgasms, inside view, overstimulation

fresh belongs to CQ/loverofpiggies and gold is from @heart-of-gold-au

Sunlight filtered inside, broken by the stained glass and throwing lines of colors across the tiled floor. The hall stretched far, almost endlessly so, though he knew it wasn’t so.

The pillars lining the walls seemed taller, somehow, and the windows bigger. It was just a feeling. Fresh knew this was no different from any other Judgement hall, and the feeling of being dwarfed by it was only a byproduct of its Judge.

Its Judge, who was currently close to slumping against one of the pillars, head hung and fingers digging into the marble. He looked small, and it was almost impossible to see how hard he was shaking, until Fresh got closer.

“Gold,” he said in place of a usual nickname.

Though it took a couple moments, Gold raised his head eventually, just a bit. His face was stained by the dried remains of what must’ve been rivulets of tears, and his eyelights were hazy and unfocused.

“Fresh,” he said back, echoing between the walls more than Fresh’s voice had. His features betrayed no emotion as he read over his status, a simple HEYA, but Fresh wasn’t deterred.

“Yep, that’s me.”

Gold stared at him, blinking slow and too regular for him not to be doing it consciously. He pushed himself off the pillar — or tried to, at least — and tried to stand up straight, but really just ended up leaning back against the marble, sans the whole digging-his-fingers-into-it thing this time.

“Why are you here?”

“I dunno, why are you here?”

Finally Gold’s impassive look broke, and his browbones scrunched together, just a bit. “This is… our domain. We are supposed to be here.”

Fresh exhaled through his nasal aperture in lieu of a scoff, and pushed his sleeves up above his elbows. “Actually, broski, it's not good for you. Not flyin’ at all. Now, I'm gonna touch you,” he said, raising both hands in front of himself to show they were empty.

Gold eyed him warily, eyelights fluttering from his face to his hands. Fresh let him have his moment of panicked memories, more than willing to wiggle his fingers a bit to drive his point home.

Gold didn’t say no.

So Fresh crossed the last three steps of space between them and wrapped him in his arms. Aside from a harsh jerk, Gold didn’t move, not closer, but not away, either.

“Tell me, Gold, how're you hangin'?”

“We…” Gold frowned further. “No one is hanging.”

Fresh rolled his eyelight behind his glasses and proceeded to lower them both onto the floor. “How’re y’feelin’, Gold,” he amended. For Gold, he’d give up a little bit of his lingo. 

“We are fine,” was the answer, a little too quick, a little too loud, a little too echo-y.

“No lyin’ now.”

Fresh broke off the hug, sat between Gold’s spread, curled legs. He stared into Gold’s sockets, watching his eternal heart-eyes flicker from dim to too-dim and right back.

He was stuck back in the past, back in another loop, and he was not looking forward to the next one

Fresh took a hold of his (shaking) hand, held it with both of his, and Gold blinked the memories away, gradually; the darkness of them bleeding away in favor of the sunshine casting soft shadows on Fresh’s clothes..

“Fresh?” he asked, looking at his brofriend, this time properly. “Heh, what’s up? Came to get judged? ‘Cause I don’t think I got the guts for it right now.”

Fresh’s glasses decided it was the perfect time for some sarcasm, and they swapped the status for an LMAO. “Yeah, sure. Dude, you realize you've been gone for days now, right? I got hella worried.”

“Days? Shoot, I didn’t realize…” Gold lowered his head again, hands fisting his hoodie. He looked just about ready to go into another spiral. Too bad that wasn't something Fresh was about to let happen.

“Oh, bro, it’s chill, you know it’s chill, right? It's aiite now. Everything’s chill.”

He coaxed Gold’s hands to uncurl, but they just latched onto him instead, Gold all but throwing himself onto his chest. Fresh held him as he shook, muttering reassurances all the while. Maybe he should’ve come to check the hall sooner, when Gold wasn’t opening his texts, much less replying to them.

His stupid, stupid lover, thinking he had to deal with everything on his own. They were brofriends for a reason, and Fresh would remind him. As many times as it took.

Despite the previous implication of being wiped, magic roiled and coiled around Gold’s form, flaring in his joints and through the holes of his jacket with nowhere else to go. If Gold needed an outlet, well, Fresh was as willing as ever.

His hand was steady on its way down his front, practiced motions of drumming against his ribs through the thin layer of his shirt. Gold, in his endless wisdom, pulled away from the crushing embrace to lean backwards, though he was still sprawled all over Fresh’s lap. His head rested against the pillar, and Fresh didn’t move him only because his hood was providing a buffer.

“That's it, just chill,” he crooned, dipping his phalanges under the hem of Gold’s shorts. Magic gathered there, sparking with intensity, but unformed. 

Gold’s hand wrapped around Fresh’s wrist and stopped it from trailing across the surface of it. “I’m fine,” he insisted. Fresh opted to ignore it, or at least appear to ignore it. His glasses, as betraying as ever, gave him away with a SRSLY? 

“So ya don't want it, then?”

He knew just as well as Gold himself did that he never passed up an offer like this. The hand on Fresh’s wrist fell away, only to grip onto the edge of his shorts when he traced the shapeless mass of magic, barely even touching it.

Gold made a soft sound, his head lolling back. Fresh knew his tells, and he most definitely knew this one, so he pulled his hand away, just in time for the magic to solidify, take the shape of Gold’s ecto-body. In line with his namesake, it looked like molten gold, almost yellow in the light, and shining with the barest movement.

Fresh’s grin widened, hand back to run across the malleable surface of his stomach, pushing down just enough to have Gold’s breath stuttering. “That's what I thought.”

The tension was slowly leaving Gold’s form, bit by bit, and his shifting legs around Fresh’s hips were a testament to what he thought of Fresh’s attempt at teasing. “See something you like?”

Gold’s smug look faltered just a bit when Fresh’s softened, and he said, “Yep, I do.”

It took so little to get Gold going; the fact that Fresh had pulled his shorts down earlier was a blessing now. Gold’s cock stood against his stomach, equally as dripping as his entrance. He glanced up at Fresh’s face and almost groaned, hand pushing against his cheek as if to push him away, though with no force.

“Stop taunting me,” he said, referring to the NICE proudly displayed across his brofriend’s glasses.

“I ain’t.”

Before Gold could come up another of his witty remarks, Fresh wrapped one hand around his shaft, and plunged two of his fingers into his entrance. The ecto spread for him, pliant and slick, and so, so warm.

That seemed to shut Gold up — word-wise, anyways. The moan he let out was almost melodic, especially echoing between the pillars. Fresh knew what Gold liked, but he wanted to make him wait for it. Just a little. Not like he had much patience himself, not when presented with such a delicious sight.

His hands moved in slow strokes and shallow thrusts, just enough to rile Gold up and not much else. He wondered how long Gold would be able to hold out, or if he would be the impatient one this time.

Gold bucked into his touches, writhing between the two sensations as he tried to get more. “Oh c’mon, you know I can take you.”

It would seem the answer had been about four whole seconds. Works for him.

“I dunno, can ya?” He crooked his fingers, causing Gold to outright jerk. If his legs weren’t wrapped around his waist, he probably would’ve gotten kicked.

“Funk!”

Grinning, Fresh deemed it enough, and pulled it fingers out and away, wiping the residue on his shirt. “That ain’t very fresh of ya.”

“The only fresh thing about me is gonna be your cock as it rams in me, now c’mon,” Gold demanded, fumbling with the zipper of Fresh’s shorts, only shoving them open enough to wrap his hand around Fresh’s stringing length. Fresh’s breath left him in a gasp, and Gold was looking at him with half-lidded sockets, only making it worse. “Please.”

“How can I say no to that?” Fresh laughed. He batted Gold’s hand away, taking the opportunity to thread their fingers together. He pushed them against the pillar, folding Gold almost in half, and took hold of himself with the other hand.

The tip of his length probed at the entrance, smearing Gold’s slick around more than anything. Gold wiggled, as much as he could in his current position, which wasn’t much. Fresh let him, for a moment, if only to watch the desperate look cross his face, flush high on his cheekbones.

“Please, c’mon, stop teasin’ me, c’mon c’mon, ple—ah!”

Fresh pushed in, Gold’s ecto spreading for him like it was made for it, wrapping around him just tight enough to make his spine tingle. “There ya go.”

Gold’s eyesockets had fallen shut, browbones scrunched up so cutely, and teeth parted just enough for Fresh to take the invitation, lean over, and press his own teeth against them. Fresh’s tongues slipped past Gold’s lips, meeting his own tongue to coax it into play. Gold squeezed his fingers, holding on tight as their hips slotted together. He felt so deliciously full, and Fresh was pressing down against him, trapping his cock between them.

“Yesss,” he drawled, muffled against the other’s tongues. His magic felt strung up already, and Fresh wasn’t even moving yet. Fresh pulled away from the kiss and moved down to his neck, licking along two vertebrae at a time, and every single touch against the exposed joint magic was sending shivers through Gold’s entire body.

Fresh’s free hand, the one not holding Gold’s in its vice, moved from Gold’s iliac crest to his shirt to push it up, above where the ecto stopped and ribs started, and he ran one of his tongues across his teeth.

“Gold,” he said, snapping his hips back and in again, to get Gold’s attention. Not that he didn’t have it already, but he needed his brofriend’s sight for this. “Look down here.”

Gold’s flickering eyelights followed his directions, down to his exposed stomach and… the purple length inside him, looking almost magenta through the sheen of his yellow. Gold’s own cock twitched as Fresh pulled out again, setting a slow pace. Every time he pulled out, an almost unnoticeable trail of purple pre was left inside him, dispersed every time Fresh pushed back in, distending the ecto with its size.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, stars!” Gold moaned, unable to look away. His toes curled, feet pulling Fresh as close as monsterly possible, and he came just like that, stripes of golden residue painting their shirts and drenching Fresh’s lap.

“Well, that was quick,” Fresh chuckled, tone much too soft for the intended teasing jab. He was soaking in every second of Gold’s blissed out expression, the way his half-open eyesockets lacked lights, the way his flush spilled down to his neck, the way he was shaking, all of it. “Y’still up for more?”

Gold, in lieu of an answer, pushed against Fresh’s next thrust.

“A’ight, lemme know when you’ve had enough,” Fresh said, back to holding onto Gold’s hip, the ecto squishing between his fingers.

He sped up, muffling his own little noises into Gold’s neck. His teeth teased the vertebrae, much to Gold’s very vocal delight. Gold met each of his thrusts, with varying degrees of accuracy, but a lot of them seemed to hit exactly where he wanted. His moans and gasps were a testament to that.

“Lookit you… so pretty all worked up,” Fresh whispered, breath still close enough to make Gold shiver.

“Shut up,” Gold slurred back, “Don’t stop, don’t— stars, more, please, please, please!”

His begging, his willingness, was absolutely breathtaking. He was like putty in Fresh’s hold, all his greatness and strength gone for the moment. Fresh could do anything he wanted.

And what he wanted right now was get a hand around Gold’s cock, which meant dragging both their hands down between them and, without unlinking them, wrapping them around the weeping, already-soiled length. Their thumbs circled the other side; he didn’t move them any further, just let Gold fuck himelf through their grip with each and every thrust.

Fresh’s pace stuttered because Gold kept tensing around him, but he kept it up; he was getting close himself, but he wanted to see Gold lose himself once more before he finished. He bit down on the side of Gold’s neck, leaving behind marks that would stay there for days if Gold wished them to.

“Shit, Fresh! Yes!”

That seemed to be Gold’s tipping point, and he spilled between them again, adding to the mess. Fresh bit back another remark about his stamina, but only because Gold’s walls fluttering around him were bringing him ever closer.

He slammed into Gold, their hips clacking together so loud he was surprised it didn’t echo. Once, twice, thrice, was all he managed. He came buried inside Gold as deep as he could, spilling himself into the ever-accomodating ecto-flesh.

He moaned his pleasure into Gold’s neck, and Gold echoed with his own moan. It took more than he was willing to admit to stay upright and not collapse on top of his brofriend.

“There, are you vibin’?”

“I’m vibin’ so hard, Fresh,” Gold muttered, still out of it. That was fine, though, because Gold’s grin was soft and satisfied, and he was looking down at himself. Through his ecto-stomach, they could both see Fresh’s cum, lighter than the purple that dripped out of his entrance. He untangled their hands and reached up to cup Fresh’s skull and pull him into another kiss, a small clink of teeth that was much too tender for what they’d just done.

“Well, how about vibin’ harder back at the crib, huh?”

“Stars, that’d be great.” 

Fresh pulled away, righted his shorts and then pulled Gold’s back up and his shirt back down. There were splatters of yellow all over it, but nothing that wouldn’t dissipate within an hour. Gold tried to stand up, but Fresh had to catch him by the arms when he wobbled.

“You uh, straight?” Gold sent him a deadpan look, and it would’ve been effective, were his eyelights not flickering in and out of focus. “Right. Want me to carry you?”

“Hmm…” Gold drawled, pretending to think, but only so he could lean in and surprise Fresh with another small peck. His glasses betrayed his surprise, proudly showcasing ?!?!, but so did the flush re-appearing on his cheekbones. “Go ahead, bro.”

Fresh grinned and scooped his brofriend up in his arms with surprising lack of effort. See, that had been Gold’s fatal mistake. He was now forced to stay in kissing range, all the way home. 

And Fresh decided they’d take the scenic route.

[lynelovespopculture]

The Chilling Adventures of Zelda Chapter 5-ROAD TO RECOVERY PLEASE REMEMBER TO COMMENT!

CHAPTER 5-THE ROAD TO RECOVERY

WARNING: Talk of suicide

 Zelda couldn’t sleep. She sighed as she turned to look at the clock, 2:45 AM. Zelda looked upper still to Hilda 3 feet away, lightly snoring. Zelda removed her blankets and put her feet into her slippers. She exited the bedroom before conjuring a little ball of light to accompany her down the dark hallway. It had been 2 and a half weeks since Zelda’s husband had been separated from his insanity curse and things were not going all that well. The plan had been to free Faustus and then kill the curse and they had tried their best. Zelda had been literally in hell as Prudence tried to stab it and Hilda came from behind with a heavy rock. However, the stab wound made no difference and the rock that broke in 2. It fell to Zelda to tell her family that the curse bore the mark of Cain, which made it immortal. Somehow, the curse got away. So, Blackwood, (to help avoid confusion, the family decided to call the curse Blackwood and the real man Faustus,) was on the run again but not for long. A week later, when all the coven was in the church to hear mass, a bloody Dorcas stormed in to tearfully inform the others that Blackwood stormed the nearly empty academy. Dorcas tried hard but Blackwood did manage to reclaim the twins before disappearing again. Poor Dorcas blamed herself, but Zelda tried her best to comfort the distraught girl. Secretly, Zelda herself wanted to cry. How could they lose the twins yet again, after a mere 8 days! Late at night on all 7 nights, Zelda would take care not to be caught as she sneaked into where the twins slept. She would tuck them in if needed, kiss them and just stay with them for a while. Wondering how Judas and Letitia, she knew the girl twin was calling herself Judith, but she would always be Letitia to Zelda, could possibly be teenagers, when their 1st birthday was still weeks away.  Agatha, who was already pretty hostile, grew even more violent and wild when she learned that Blackwood came to get the twins but not her. Knowing that Agatha was a danger not only to herself but to the other students and teachers, Zelda made the decision to put Agatha in the dungeon, for now.

“I’m really sorry girls,” Zelda told the other weird sisters about her decision. “I wish there was another way, but I need to put the safety of the coven first, plus if Blackwood comes back for her, it won’t be so easy.”

“We  understand, Sister Zelda.”  Prudence soothed.

Dorcas nodded. “Agatha’s in good hands. We trust you, Mistress  Spellman.”

Zelda smiled, she needed to hear that right now.

Zelda briefly considered getting in touch with their mysterious new ally, Gloria Rose but the idea was quickly dismissed for 2 reasons. First, Zelda had no idea where Gloria lived or how to get in touch with her and had a funny feeling that Gloria wouldn’t pop up again it was time for Lilith’s next appointment. Also, was the fact that Gloria had betrayed Blackwood by giving him to the Spellmans so it was unlikely Blackwood would go back to her.

 The cold hallway gave Zelda a chill, sending her back to the present. Zelda went to the end of the hall and opened the linen closet, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around herself.  In addition to worrying about Blackwood, the twins, and Agatha, Zelda was extremely concerned about Faustus, only in a completely different way. Agatha’s behavior was violent and dangerous. Faustus was a danger to no one but himself. Zelda was with her husband when he asked the dark lord to put him under house arrest and stripped him of all his magical powers. Boy, Faustus was not kidding. He asked for house arrest but it was more like room arrest. Shortly after returning from hell, Faustus went down to the morgue and stayed there for 2 and a half weeks. The morgue was the lowest, coldest room in the Spellman house. Zelda suspected if Faustus could go lower, he would. He also absolutely wouldn’t hear of going near the church or school.

“I am no longer a high priest,” he said when Sabrina addressed as Father  Blackwood, “nor should I be. I betrayed a sacred trust when I poisoned the entire coven.” His head turned as his eyes grew misty.

 Faustus also insisted on being punished.  He even asked Ambrose to chain him up. Zelda quickly overruled that request. There was no self-torture Faustus wouldn’t inflict on himself. One day, he found a rope that he used as a  whip. By the time someone found him, his back was red, bruised and bleeding. He wouldn’t allow anyone to heal him but a sneaky Zelda did it while he was asleep. Zelda feared she wouldn’t be attracted to a powerless Faustus but she was wrong. I love him, she thought. I truly love him, more and more each day. People made sure that trays of Hilda’s famous cooking was brought down to him at least 3 times a day,  but Faustus barely touched any of it. Zelda spent hours and hours with him, begging him to eat, if only for her. It kind of reminded Zelda when she and  Hilda would do a good cop/bad cop routine when a 4-year-old Sabrina refused to eat her peas. On the days that were really bad, Zelda would take her own dinner to the morgue and refused to eat until Faustus did. Of course, her pregnancy and the fact that the baby needed to be fed, was her ace in the hole and soon found Faustus cleaning his plate.

 Zelda dismissed the ball of light as she went down the spiral steps to the morgue. There was a  full moon tonight and its light filled the room. Zelda sighed as she saw Faustus was, yet again, not sleeping in the cot that had been prepared for him but instead, sitting against the wall, wearing only his pants, trying to keep himself from nodding off. Why? Because sleep deprivation was a form of torture too.

“It’s like he’s broken, Aunt Hilda.” Zelda overheard Ambrose said one morning. Zelda said nothing as she entered the room but she knew whatever was ‘broken’ in Faustus, could be fixed.

“What are you doing here?” Faustus asked when he finally noticed Zelda standing on the last stair. “It’s late. You should be asleep.”

“So should you.” She returned firmly.

He shook his head. “I don’t matter, you do.”

“Yes, you do.” You matter to me. Zelda thought silently to herself. Zelda wanted to tell Faustus she loved him a thousand times since he been back but it never seemed to be the right moment. Sighing, she went over to him. “Oh, Faustus! Your hands are like ice! Here.” Zelda took off the blanket that was wrapped around her and gave it to him before going to the cot to pick up the rest of the blankets.

“No, I  don’t want it. I deserve to be cold!” Faustus whined like a child while pushing away the blankets. However, the blankets were tucked tightly around him once Zelda spelled it.

Then she sat down and snuggled next to him. “You know, Faustus,” Zelda said  before they both fell asleep, “you can’t go on like this much longer.”

  Zelda was right, of course, and Faustus knew it. It was Wednesday morning when it was when Faustus sneaked into the kitchen before anyone had come down. It was a lot harder to switch 2 bottles without powers.

“Well, Father Blackwood! It’s good  to  see you above ground level.” Faustus turned sharply around, keeping the bottle behind his back as he saw Hilda smiling at him. “Are you feeling better this morning?”

“A little.” He lied. “And call me Faustus.”

“Well, good! Fancy a bit of breakfast? The others should be right down.”

“No, thank you, Hilda. I’m not hungry.” That was true. It took a few more lines of small talk before Faustus was able to leave the kitchen without letting Hilda see the bottle he switched.  Out in the hallway, Faustus recognized a book on a bench that as headmistress,  Zelda would use. He picked it up and tucked it under his arm. Turning, Faustus almost ran into Sabrina.

“Oh, Miss Spellman, um, Sabrina, I’m glad I bumped into you. I just wanted to say that I am very ashamed of my behavior towards you when we first meet. I know now that I was just taking my anger toward your father out  on you and  that’s not fair to you.”

Sabrina was stunned. “T-Thank you, Fath, Mr. Blackwood. Perhaps we can start fresh going forward.”

Faustus smiled at the girl. He was back downstairs when he heard footsteps on the steps and Ambrose then came into view with a cardboard box.

 “I got you what you asked for from the academy.”

“Thank you, Ambrose. You’re a fine young man. My daughter could do a lot worse.”

Ambrose turned bright red.  “We aren’t back together or anything, not yet, I mean, not officially.”

“Nevertheless, I approve. Whatever you and Prudence decide to do.”

“Someone say my name? My ears are burning.” Prudence smiled as she entered.

“Hey, Prudence! What are you doing here?” Asked a friendly Ambrose.

“I just thought I would come round,  check on things here. Good morning, Father.”

Faustus returned his daughter’s smile. “Good morning, Prudence.”

“Do you want some company back to school?” Prudence asked Ambrose.

“Sure.”

They both turned to go until Faustus called his daughter back. Prudence turned and Faustus went up to his daughter, caressed her cheek before kissing her and giving her a big hug.

Prudence smiled. “What was that for?”

Faustus smiled back. “I just wanted to kiss and hug you just for no special reason, just once.”

Prudence’s smile grew bigger and she hugged him back. “Thank you,  Father.” She whispered in his ear.

She and Ambrose left then, passing Zelda on the stairs.

“Hello, Sister Zelda.”

“Morning, Aunt Z.”

Zelda came downstairs in a rush. “I can’t believe I’m going to be late again.” Zelda seemed to be  searching for something.”

“Lost something?” Faustus asked.

“Yes,” Zelda answered. “I   need a certain book for my 1st  class and I can’t  find it anywhere.”

Faustus held up the book he took from the hall. “Is it this one?”

Zelda looked up and immediately lit up. “Yes!” She took it from him and turned to leave.

My beautiful Zelda, Faustus thought. But I need 1 more look, just  1 more.

“Zelda?”

“Yes?”   She turned to him again and he drunk her in before he shrugged. “I forgot my thought.”

  It was half an hour before Faustus knew he was alone in the house.  It was only then that Faustus opened the cardboard box that Ambrose brought him to check if it had all the contents in it. Yep, it was all there. Every stomach-churning item. With 1 look, Faustus could tell that the old-fashioned potbelly stove was not going to be big enough to burn all this stuff. So, Faustus went upstairs to find something bigger. The fireplace in the living room seemed big enough but Faustus simply couldn’t do it.  It was on this exact spot, almost a year ago, that he kissed Zelda. It was by far, the very best kiss of his entire existence and that was the night that Faustus and Zelda started the affair that led to their marriage, 6 months later. Faustus continued his search combing all the upstairs but didn’t find anything that he needed.  Faustus was on the stairs when a stranger came through the door.

“Zelda?”  The stranger called.  “Prudence?”

“There’s no one here but me,”  Faustus said. “I think they’re at the academy.”

The strange woman looked up at him. “Who are you?”

I could ask the same thing of you. Faustus thought but he actually said “I’m an old friend of the Spellmans. I’m staying here for a few  days.”

“Oh, okay, nice to meet you. I’m Mambo Marie and I was just looking for Zelda. She’s been late a lot lately. I think she’s been avoiding me since we broke up.”

Faustus couldn’t stop himself. “Broke up?! You mean, the 2 of you used to be together?” You have no right to feel jealous. Faustus silently scolded himself. You have no right to feel anything but guilt and shame.

“Yes, we went out for a couple of months last spring,” Marie answered and sighed. “I still miss her sometimes. Zelda Spellman is proving a hard woman to get over.”

Try impossible, Faustus thought. Outloud, he said, “Would you like to get back together with  Zelda?”

Marie half-smiled and shook her head. “Not going to happen, even if I wanted it to. Our last conversation made that perfectly clear.”

“Oh, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Oh no?”  Marie challenged. “The last time Zelda and I were alone together, I tried to get her to take…an abortion potion.” She looked down at her feet.

“You tried to get Zelda to kill ou, her baby?”

“I do regret it,” Marie said quickly. “I got hurt that Zelda didn’t tell me herself and I got mad when she told me that the father was that bastard who wants to kill the whole coven.”

Faustus closed his eyes at the word ‘bastard’ but he forced himself to go on. “Have you told Zelda that you’re sorry?”

Marie shrugged. “No, I mean, what would be the point? Zelda would never forgive me.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Zelda can be very forgiving, perhaps too forgiving.”

“What?” asked Marie.

“Nothing,” Faustus dismissed. “You know if you act now you  could surprise Zelda with a romantic lunch.”

“You think that will work?”

“Can’t hurt.”

“Well, okay. I’ll try.” Marie smiled.

“Try giving her purple Primroses. They’s are Zelda’s favorites.”

“Thank you.”

“Bye,” Faustus waved until Marie closed the door. “Please take good care of all I love.”

 Half an hour later, Zelda walked into her office, studying some papers and looked up to see a set table and Mambo Marie was smiling and holding flowers. “Hello, ma Cherie.”

“Hi, what are you doing?”

“I know it’s been a while,” Marie started. “But I thought we could have lunch together so I could apologize for my behavior from last time.”

Zelda smiled. “I appreciate that.” Zelda closed the folder, tossed it on her desk and sat down on the chair Marie had pulled out for her. Then Marie sat down herself.

“I am sorry Zelda.” Said Marie. “I had no right to tell  you what to do with your  baby, it is your  body, after all.”

“Yes, Marie, it is,” Zelda said firmly.

“But that’s  not all.”  Marie put her hand on top of Zelda’s and smiled. “Ma Cherie, I think we should give us  another chance.” When Zelda said nothing, Marie said jokingly. “What? There’s not somebody else, is there?” Zelda looked at her guiltily.

“Unbelieve!” Marie snapped.

Before a fight could break out, Hilda ran into the office. “Zelda! Zelda!”

Zelda stood up. “Hilda, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I was just in my herbalism class, showing how nightshade is poison in liquid form but when I opened the bottle, it was only dirt. Then I remember that I saw Father Blackwood in  the kitchen, near my purse and since this is the 1st  day he’s alone in  the house-“

“Faustus is going to kill himself.” Zelda finished for her sister.

Marie was utterly confused. “Wait, isn’t a good thing if Blackwood dies?”

“Blackwood and Faustus are not the same people anymore.”

“What?!”

“Hilda, you explain it to her. I got to go save Faustus.”

But Marie wouldn’t be put off. “Damn it, Zelda Spellman, if you walk out on me now, we are over! I mean it. I’m going back to New Orleans and I won’t be coming back!”

Zelda wasn’t one easily threaten but more than that, Marie didn’t seem to care about a potential suicide. “Have a safe trip,” Zelda said before teleporting home.

  Meanwhile, back in the morgue of the Spellman house, Faustus sat in a corner on the floor.  He held a picture of Zelda that he swiped from the mantle. “Goodbye, my love.” Faustus lifted the bottle to his lips but before he could drink anything, the bottle flew out of his palm and smashed against the opposite wall.

“What the heaven are you doing, Faustus?!” Zelda demanded, coming more into the room and gently shoved him. “You cannot leave me! You cannot leave me! You cannot leave me!” Zelda turned, covering her eyes to catch the fresh tears.  “What are you thinking of?”

“I was thinking of how you and everyone else would be better off without me.”

Zelda shook her head and crossed her arms. “That is so not true! You are needed, Faustus.”

“By  who?”

“By your children, by me!” Zelda returned. Faustus shook his head so Zelda went forward and held Faustus’s head so he had no choice but to look at her. “You are loved,” Faustus shook his head. “Yes, you are!” Zelda insisted. “Prudence love you, the twins love you, our new baby will love you and I love you.”

Faustus’s eyes widened. “In all our years, the centuries  we’ve known each other, that’s the 1 thing you’re never said to me, never.”

 “Well, I do, truly I do. I’m only sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

“What  about your girlfriend, Mambo Marie?”

“How do you  know about her?” Zelda asked. “Was she here? What am I even talking about? Of course, she was! She would never know to bring me purple primroses all by herself.  I won’t lie to you, Faustus. I did have a crush on Marie when we first met but crushes fade and in reality, we don’t know each other and lately, all we do is fight. Even now, when Hilda told me what you had  planned, she wanted me to stay and finish lunch with her but all I could think of was you and how I couldn’t bear to lose you, again.” Faustus stayed silent and Zelda got an awful,  horrible idea. “Have I gotten this all wrong? I know it’s only been a few months for us but it’s been 15 years for you. Do you no longer love me, Faustus?”

Faustus put an arm around her waist and for a second it looked like he was going to kiss her but forced himself to stop. “I love you so much, Zelda. Other than my children, I’ve never loved anyone else,  not for a second. Yet the fact remains that I don’t deserve you.”

“Deserve me or not, you have me!” Zelda said before she kissed him. Faustus tried to resist   but Zelda held him close and soon their bodies melted into each other. It wasn’t long before Faustus’s fingers found the zipper on the side of Zelda’s skirt. She stepped out of it and rolled her hosiery and panties down as far as they would go without breaking the kiss. Faustus, meanwhile, unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall off him before he scooped her up and gently laid her on the exam table. Carefully, he lowered himself over her. He began to kiss her, slowly. Beginning with the very top of her head and worked his way down to her forehead,  one cheek then the other and on to those sweet, sweet lips. As Faustus moved to kiss her neck, his fingers went to work, unbuttoning her blouse. Zelda’s view was blurry as he caressed her neck but when he skillfully took off her bra and embraced her breasts, Zelda saw nothing at all. Her sight returned when she realized that his kisses had stopped completely. Zelda looked up to see Faustus staring down at her swollen belly. Oh no, Zelda thought, the insecurity creeping in. Faustus wasn’t attracted to a heavyset woman. It was just a fact Zelda knew. Personally, Zelda never had to worry about it, until now. Does he find me disgusting, is that why he stopped.

Yet Faustus’s eyes were filled with wonder as he touched the mount of flesh that housed their child. “That’s our baby in there.” He kissed all around her stomach. “How far along are you?”

“I’m currently 9 and a half months pregnant.”

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Faustus asked while he continued kissing. “It’s been 15 years for me but only a  few months for you, dearest. Hey! What is this?!”

“Oh, that’s just the wound from the gunshot.”

“What?! Who shot you?” Faustus demanded, instantly protective of his wife.

“It doesn’t matter.”  When  Zelda finally reached for his belt, Faustus grew nervous again.

“Zelda? Maybe we shouldn’t do  this.”

“Shh,” Zelda hushed. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me, I promise.”

“Yes, but are you safe with me?” Faustus questioned.

Zelda only responded by kissing him and gently got on top of him. Now, it was Zelda’s turn to seduce. She kissed his chest, his hips and once she finally removed his pants, she went even lower. Faustus shivered with pleasure. When he couldn’t take it anymore so he rolled himself on top again and entered  Zelda. The couple was used to rough sex, but this wasn’t that. This was lovemaking, comforting and soothing lovemaking. The kind outlawed by the dark lord, but they didn’t follow him anymore. Zelda fell asleep in Faustus’s arms.

 When Zelda awoke, someone had covered her with a blanket, so she felt warm and safe. Without opening her eyes, Zelda reached out for Faustus but her hand couldn’t find him. Opening her eyes, Zelda discovered that he wasn’t beside her at all. With growing worry, Zelda prompted herself up on her elbow and scanned the room for her husband and found nothing.

“Faustus? Faustus!” Zelda cried out. Why did I fall asleep? She thought, panicking. Why did I leave him alone?

“I’m right here.” Came the calm reply. Zelda looked around and finally found him sitting on the floor, his back resting against the exam table. With a sigh of relief, Zelda wrapped the blanket around herself so she was at least semi-decent should anyone decide to come in before she climbed down to him.

“It seems that I’m always finding you on the floor.  We do have chairs, you know.” Zelda snuggled beside him but he made no move to embrace her nor did he push her away.

Finally, Faustus spoke. “We shouldn’t have done that.”        

“It’s okay,” Zelda soothed. “We don’t follow the dark lord anymore. Lovemaking should be fine.”

“I don’t give a flying fig about the dark lord!” Faustus cried, getting to his feet. “We shouldn’t have sex at all. Why can I never resist you, Zelda? Now it’s going to be next to impossible to go back.”

Zelda was confused. “I don’t understand, Faustus. Go back wh- OH!” Zelda instantly forgot what she was saying as her hand flew to her mid-section.

Faustus, too, briefly forgot whatever was troubling him as he went to his knees back to his wife. “Zelda? Zelda, what’s wrong?”

However, when  Zelda looked up,  she was smiling. “The baby,” she explained. “It just kicked.”

An odd expression came across Faustus’s face, one that was half horror, half awe. “Really?”

“Yes!” Zelda took Faustus’s hand and placed it on her stomach. “There,” she said after a moment. “Did you feel that?”

Faustus nodded. “Yes.” A tear fell from his eye as he stood, his head in his hands as he walked away. “This can’t be happening! Not now!” Faustus turned back to Zelda. “We’re finally married. You’re pregnant with my child. It’s all I ever wanted and I have to go back to him!”

Zelda was still completely lost. “Him? Him who?”

“My other half, of course,” Faustus answered. “I can’t thank you enough for…my little break, dearest but we both know that it could affect space and time if I’m not made whole soon. I just, I just can’t believe Edward was right. I’m, I’m just like my father.”

The mention of her brother made Zelda angry. “You are nothing like your father!”

“Oh no?”  Faustus challenged. “’ You forget yourself, my dear. A wife walks behind  her husband.’ I said that to you not even an hour after we were married. I cannot tell you how many times my father said exactly those words to my mother and my stepmother. I cringed every single time I heard it. I cringed twice as hard when those very words came out my own mouth. That moment I wanted to kick my own ass!”

“But Faustus, that was the curse  talking,  not you.” Zelda reminded him. 

“Curse? What curse?!”

Zelda’s eyes widened and put her hand over her mouth as the realization dawned on her.  “You don’t know, do you? Faustus do you what an insaniam maledictum spell is?”

Faustus didn’t need to think about it. “An insanity curse?  What’s that got to do with me?”

Everything! Zelda wanted to yell but instead, she said, “It’s getting cold. Let’s get dressed, there’s much to talk about.”

So the couple got dressed and sat side by side on Faustus’s cot.  That’s when Zelda told him everything. How Lucifer asked her to be Lilith’s midwife, how her payment was learning how Edward’s cursed their marriage, how she found his journals, the memory spell, how she confronted Edward and finally how she divided him from the curse.

Faustus, understandingly, was shocked for several moments before he spoke. “Do you mean even 16 years after his death, Edward was still trying to keep us apart?”

Zelda frowned but nodded.

“Why that little control freak! How dare he-“ Faustus stopped himself as he hung his head and his shoulders began to shake with heavy sobs. “For 15 long years, I  heard my voice use words I didn’t want to say and saw my body do things I didn’t want to do! I thought it  was my dark side was taking over completely but I never heard of such a thing!”

A  shiver ran down Zelda’s spine.  “You knew?” She whispered. “You knew but you couldn’t stop it.”

“Mostly. I  was only able to overpower his will when he tried to hit the twins and when he tried to murder you.”

“Faustus, from what I’m hearing,  you  were trapped in a curse that works like a cargarli spell.”

Faustus froze before he stood up and walked a few feet to distance himself from his wife.  “Oh heaven, the cargarli spell! How could I do that to you? I’m so, so sorry Zelda!”

She went to him. “It’s alright, Faustus. You were not responsible for anything you did under the curse. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too.”

“What? Zelda, what on earth do you have to be sorry for?”

“I remember thinking  after our wedding that it couldn’t be you but I let my anger and hurt cloud  my judgment.” She put her arms around his neck. “Plus, I’m sorry it took  me so long to realize that I love you.”

Faustus looked pained. “Zelda, I love you so much but we both know you don’t love me.”

Zelda felt like she had been punched in the gut. “But I do love you, Faustus, truly I do.”

He sighed. “Zelda, you yourself told me that you realized your feeling after reading my journals and performed the memory spell, I think those feelings are just pity.”

“No, Faustus, you’re wrong. Yes, I felt bad for the boy you were but I also realized how much I missed you. I lost count of how many times I want to inferred during the memory spell. I’m in love with you, Faustus and if takes me another 300 years to convince you of that, so  be it!”  She could see that he wasn’t convinced so she tried again. “You were right all along, Faustus, we do belong together. Think of all we’ve through already. Edward denies us permission to marry so you vow never take a wife. Edward tricks you into marriage with Constance,  but it doesn’t kill our feelings for each other or even slow them down. We finally marry and we defeat this insanity curse.  I’ve only forgotten my berries once in my life, barely a month after our marriage and that’s the very night I conceive our child. It all means something Faustus.”

He bit his lip. “Are you sure the curse is gone? I mean, just  because it’s not  in my body anymore doesn’t  mean it didn’t creep into other things.”

“Like what?”

Faustus sighed. “Like the baby. You just said you conceived 1 month after our marriage.  When the curse was on me. So did you even think the baby was fathered by the curse, not by me?”

“I did think of that, actually,” Zelda said. “Then I thought about how before every time we made love as husband and wife, your eyes would grow soft or you would get a nosebleed. I  didn’t know it then but it was you breaking through. Even if you knew it or not, you never let the curse touch me that way and when I realized that, I loved you even more. Secondly, it’s a curse.  We have to stop thinking of it as a real person. It may be wearing your skin and speak with your  voice but it’s only a spell, a parasite we will be well rid of.”

Faustus lowered his eyes. “How can you be so sure that I’m not the curse? You told me yourself that the light was too bright to see when we separated. What if you brought home  the  wrong Blackwood?”

Zelda shook her head. “You’re the real Faustus. I know it  and I can prove it!” Zelda poked around in some drawers and took out something, held it in her hand and went back to Faustus. “One of the things the curse wanted most is to end the Spellman bloodline. We both know I have Spellman blood. So if you are the curse,” Zelda pressed the knife into his hand and even guided his hand up to her throat. “Kill me.”

They silently eyed each other as Zelda let go of the knife and Faustus did nothing either way. Unafraid, Zelda leaned slightly, just enough so the knife bit into her skin and produced a single drop of blood. Faustus’s lip quivered before he threw down the knife and hugged Zelda to him with all his might.

Zelda kissed his cheek before whispering,  “See, darling? You’re not the curse or your father or Edward. You’re you. Faustus. My husband, the father of my unborn baby and the man I love.” Her comments only made him squeezed her tighter.

  Zelda was still holding Faustus when she looked up and saw a cardboard box. It felt oddly out of place because Zelda knew they didn’t keep deliveries down here. She was right; for this was the box Ambrose brought Faustus this morning.

“What  is that?” Zelda asked. Faustus turned, saw it  and moaned.

Faustus, you idiot! He thought. He saw Zelda go over to it but he held her back before she could open it. “No, no, no! I’m sorry Zelda, I meant to burn the contents of that  box before..” Faustus’s voice died out.

“Well, what’s in it?”

Faustus sighed and hung his head. “All your things from when you were Lady  Blackwood. As I said, I meant to burn everything before you got home but then Mambo Marie showed up and I got sidetracked and forgot. You were never supposed to see them again.”

Zelda was touched. Faustus felt so much shame and guilt that he refused to leave the lowest point of the house for weeks and would have killed himself if Zelda hadn’t stopped him. Yet,  somehow, he still had the presence of mind to want to destroy what he knew had been harmful to her. “Well, I’m here now so how about we burn these things together?” She suggested.

Faustus shook his head sadly. “Can’t. I looked all around the house but the only fireplace large  to do this in the living room.”

“So? Let’s go.”

“No!” He objected. “I don’t want to ruin the memory of where we had the most perfect kiss of my life.”

Zelda flashed him a smile. “Faustus, my darling, we have a million kisses ahead of us, possibly in every room in this house.” To prove her point, Zelda kissed him right there.

So, with Faustus carrying the box, they made their way to the living room. The box mainly contained those big, bright, colorful  50’s style dresses Zelda wore as Lady Blackwood. Faustus would just roll them up and toss them into the fire but he couldn’t help but notice that Zelda liked to rip up the dresses before feeding them to the fire. Then, at the very bottom of the box, they found it. The music box.

“I’ll take care of it,” Faustus offered.

“No, I’m okay.” Zelda reached into the box and put the music box on the coffee table and checked the drawers for a picture of herself, just in case. Then Zelda looked up at her husband. “Play it.”

Faustus’s eyes bugged out. “What?! No! I don’t want to!”

“Darling, it’s alright. I asked you to. Play the music.”

Unsure and with a deep sigh,  Faustus winded up the music box. The tune started to play and then Zelda smashed it all to bits with a poker iron. Faustus smiled and joined it with another poker. Then he helped pick up the wooden pieces and threw them into the fire before gathering his wife into his arms. “I don’t know what I was thinking. You look so much better in black anyway.”

“You weren’t  thinking anything, the  curse was.” Zelda reminded him.

  Despite now knowing about the curse, Faustus still had massive feelings of guilt and shame. He still refused to live anywhere but the morgue, but something had changed. For the next 11 nights, Zelda, without fail, would slip into the cot next to Faustus and stay with him all night. On  9 of those 11 nights, they made love.  Faustus had almost forgotten how Zelda’s sexual drive matched so perfectly with his own. On 7 of the nights, Faustus would awaken in a cold swear frightened by harsh nightmares and cruel memories. Sometimes, it took all of Zelda’s soft words and her soft hands to soothed and lull him back to sleep. Despite his promise to her never to try to commit suicide again, Zelda made sure there was at least 1 other person in the house with Faustus at all times since Zelda’s duties during the day were many and growing as this season would be her 1st feast of feast as high priestess. To curb his depression, the other Spellmans tried to interact with him more. Ambrose bought down piles and piles of books and remembered how much he liked to talk about magic and life with the older, more experienced warlock. Sabrina and Faustus struck a deal, to forget their ugly past and try to start anew.  Hilda often went to Faustus for help with schoolwork corrections and advice for the 1st time teacher from the man who had done it for centuries.

 On the 12th night, Zelda came downstairs with a piece of pumpkin pie. “Faustus, I  bought you something.”

Her husband looked up from the book he was reading. “It’s nearly 10,  you’re almost never this late.”

“Oh, Faustus. You see what happens when you live in a morgue. The days’ blends into each other. Today  was Feast of Feast.”

“Yes, and as if it wasn’t chaotic enough with  this being my 1st as high priestess, Hilda was chosen  as queen during the lottery.”

“Zelda, I’m so  sorry.” Faustus frowned.

However, Zelda smiled. “Don’t be, Hilda’s fine.”

“But you just said your sister was the queen of the  feast.”

Zelda nodded.   “I did, but as high priestess you know, it’s my right to change the rules which I did. Now the queen and the handmaiden prepares the meal rather than be the meal.  Then the coven sups together before hearing mass in Freyda’s name. I remember when the elders of the coven  would become enraged when Edward would outlaw things and replace it  with nothing.”

“So do I.  That’s why I put most of them back.”

“But with  my slight  changes, I made most of the coven happy plus we get to enjoy  the queen’s famous pie.” She handed him the pie and sat down next to him. “Blessed feast.”

Faustus kissed her. “Blessed feast, dearest.”

 “Father Blackwood,  I need a favor.”

“Hilda, if I have told you once if I have told you a 100  times, I’m no longer a high priest, it’s okay for you to call me Faustus.”

It was the following afternoon and Hilda rushed into the morgue.

“Okay, well, Fath-um, Faustus, I find myself in a bit of a jam. Zelda just called and with Mambo Marie leaving us in the lurch, there’s nobody to teach the next class but me. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem but today is Black Friday, the busiest shopping day of the year for mortals and I already promised Dr. C that I  would help at the bookshop.”

Faustus frowned. “Normally, I would love to help you out but Zelda knows I just can’t look at those students after what  I’ve done. Zelda talks about telling them the truth about  me being here at one point and then try to slowly ease me  back into the coven but I  just don’t see it happening.”

Hilda bit her lip. “I know you don’t want to be seen at the academy and totally understand why. So, um, I was actually asking you if you might go lend Dr. C a hand.”

Faustus’s jaw hit the floor. “Go work at a mortal bookstore, me?  Certainly not! I wouldn’t know what to do. Besides, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m under house arrest.”

“Are you?” Questioned Hilda. “Zelda had told me about you trying your powers to make sure they’re gone but you’ve been here nearly a month now  and you’ve rarely left this room, let alone this house. Plus you made that deal with the dark lord that no one serves anymore. It may not be valid. Please, just try, I’m desperate!”

“How?”

Hilda thought for a moment. “Well, when Ambrose was housebound, he couldn’t go past the driveway. We could try that.”

So, they did and  Faustus crossed the Spellman driveway and into the public street with ease.

“I don’t get it,” Faustus said, puzzled. “Why would the dark lord take my power but let me roam free?”

“Maybe he forgot,” Hilda offered. “Anyway, I’ll go call Dr. C and tell him you’re on your way!” She was gone before Faustus could remind her that he hadn’t officially agreed to do anything.

 The walk into town took 20 minutes. Despite everything, even Faustus had to admit that the fresh air and the change of scenery did him a  world of good. What did Hilda say? That it was the biggest shopping day of the year for mortals? Boy, she wasn’t kidding! From the moment he arrived, the place was packed! Apparently, it was a teenage hangout as well as a bookstore. Somehow, Faustus made his way to the check-out counter where Dr. C, who was expecting him, greeted him and gave him a vampire cape to wear. Despite the cape, despite the mortals,  Faustus actually had a pleasant afternoon. It was a very nice afternoon.  It was nice to be busy and have something to do other than just dwell on his own guilt and sadness. Secondly,  Faustus learned the ropes of working retail fairly quickly. Thirdly and perhaps most surprisingly of all, despite the fact that they only met that day, Dr. C and Faustus had an almost instant connection. They say that opposites attract in love but maybe it’s true in friendship as well. The shop was so busy that it was 6:30 that evening before the men could stop to eat.

“Thank you,” Faustus said as he reached for the mug of coffee.

Dr. C smiled. “I’m delighted to meet you,  Faustus. I have heard a lot about you.”

“Not all good, I bet,” Faustus muttered.

Dr. C ignored that comment. “I have a question for you, actually. When Hilda’s brother married a mortal, they got major hassle but it wasn’t a big deal when  Hilda and I got engaged. I’m not complaining or anything just wondering why.”

Faustus raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you an incubus? That’s what Zelda told me.”

“Yeah. I mean, I am now but I  was born mortal. The demon stuff didn’t happen until college.”

“Doesn’t matter. The demon is a part of you and abled you to marry a full-blooded witch, like Hilda. Consider it a marriage loophole.”

Both men heard the chime of the bell above the door which meant more customers.

Dr. C  stood up. “I’ll go. Can you clean up?”

Faustus nodded and  cleaned up until he heard “Come on, old man, give us the money!” Faustus sneaked up to the storefront to see that Dr. C was being robbed at gunpoint.

Damn! Faustus didn’t know what to do. He no longer had magic to save him so  Faustus looked around and smiled.

Meanwhile, Dr. C was in trouble. “Let’s go, old man!” Ordered Punk #1. “This money  better be more real than your attempt to look like a vampire.”

Punks #2 & 3 laughed. “Good one, man,” Punk #2 said. “A fake vampire.”

“You’re right, he is a fake vampire,” Faustus came from the backroom, his hands behind his back. “Unluckily for  you 3, I am a real warlock.”

Punk #3 was in awe. “Cool! So you conquer lands and stuff?”

Faustus sighed.  “No, you idiots, not a warlord. A warlock, a male witch.”

“Right,” sneered Punk #1. “He’s a vampire and now you’re a witch. So,  what are you going to do? Hocus pocus us to death?”

“No. That term is utterly useless. Besides, everyone knows that the really strong spells are in Latin. Like”  Faustus shrugged and spoke some Latin words.

The punks sloppily repeated the words  back then asked, “What does that mean?”

“A  big, honking baseball bat!” Then, and only then did Faustus produce the Louisville slugger from behind his back. He chased the punks around the shop and finally,  out the door. He was so pumped up that he barely heard the gunshot. A moment later, Faustus came back in, the bat resting on his shoulder and he was laughing. “Well, we showed them didn’t we?” Silence. “Dr. C?”

 Zelda and Hilda ran into the ER entrance of the hospital.

“My fiancée has been shot! Where is he?” Hilda demanded of the woman at the nurse’s station. They got the room number and rushed to where Dr. C was with a doctor.

Hilda rushed to him with a hug and kiss. “Oh, love, are you okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” the doctor answered, “It’s just a flesh wound.”

“So, what happened?” Zelda asked, in a tone calmer than her sister.

“I was robbed,” Dr. C explained, “ladies, Faustus was amazing. He distracted the robbers long enough to activate the silent alarm, he chased them off with a bat. One must have gotten scared for the gun went off and glazed my shoulder. When I came back around, I was in the ambulance and Faustus was right there with me. The paramedic told me that Faustus applied pressure to the bleeding and saved my life.”

Hilda closed her eyes and sighed. “Thank Hecate, he was there.”

“Where’s my husband now?” asked Zelda.

“I don’t know.  He was here a second ago.”

In the next room, Faustus looked up at the silvery half-moon. “Hecate, mother, let him be alright. For  he feels one-tenth for Hilda what I feel for Zelda, they’ll be very happy together.”

“You’re praying to Hecate.” Faustus barely saw Zelda in the doorway before his wife was in his arms and kissing him deeply. “What was that for?”

“Are  you kidding?” She replied. “You saved Dr. Cereberus.”

“Saved him? I got him  shot.”

“Don’t be daft,” Zelda dismissed. “You saved him and without having magic, you were in just as much in danger as he was but you didn’t even think of that, did you? That’s what made you a hero tonight.”

“I don’t want to be a hero! I want to be perfect! For only a perfect man could ever be worthy of you.”

She kissed him again. “I love you so much, Faustus even if you are talking nonsense.”

 Hilda stayed overnight at the hospital so Zelda and Faustus took a cab home. Faustus immediately headed for the morgue but Zelda stopped him.

“No, I have a surprise for you and it’s upstairs.” 

So they went upstairs with Zelda explaining she had already planned to give him the surprise tonight but now he truly earned it. Zelda opened a door that led to a cozy bedroom with a double bed and an attached bathroom suite.

Zelda smiled. “Welcome home.”

“This is a whole new room. When did you do this?”

“I started the night after we first made love.”

His eyes bugged out. “You made a whole new bedroom and bathroom in just 11 days?!”

“Darling, some of us still have our magic.”

“Dearest, this is superb.  But I can’t stay here. I don’t deserve  such comfort.”

“Then, do it for me,” Zelda suggested. “I refuse to sleep apart from my husband but my back is crying out in protest at the thought of another night on that cot. Speaking of my increasingly pregnant body, I need to get off my feet. Care to help  me christen our new bed?”  It was only then that Faustus returned her smile.

Hours later, after they had made love and fallen asleep in each other’s arms, Faustus awoke in a cold sweat and a sharp intake of breath. “Damn these nightmares! Will they ever go away.”

“It’s alright, my love. There is no quick fix spell for trauma and you’ve been living with that  curse for some time now.”  Zelda snuggled closer and laced her fingers with his. “The good news is that we have all the time in the world.”

[cowtale-utau]

Took me a bit to get to this, but in a comment I was asked about breaking Doc's trust. So here's that.

There are several factors to consider, and several outcomes. Relationship type and level, and the variety of betrayal.

An acquaintance or distant associate is unlikely to have Doc's “real” trust to begin with. Perhaps a mild sort of “work” trust, the trust that you'll do your job and uphold your word, but even that trust is weak at best. People are unreliable, and his expectations are always pretty low. But fail to meet his already low expectations, and you'll be met with a distant sort of disdain. He has written you off entirely at this point, and is no longer interested in anything you say or do.

If you've gotten a little closer, are perhaps even a friend, things are little different. Smaller betrayals, like not keeping to something you said, can be allowed to slide, if it only happens once or twice. Make a pattern of it and you'll find yourself “demoted”. If he's stuck with you, for the sake of a job or the gang, you'll be met with a frosty professionalism. He does his part, flawlessly, but he is extremely cold to deal with. Inhospitable would be a good word for it.

Betrayal from a lover is a whole other game. Infidelity and anything that could hurt his family, are the two biggest unforgivable things. Doc's rage isn't the sort that is firey. He's cold, calculated, and cruel. Betray only him, and you'll find your self swiftly dismissed. He'll verbally cut you down calmly and effectively, your ego will never recover. And then you'll find yourself and any of your things dumped in the nearest town. You won't be left in the wilderness (unless Flint gets to you first) but you also won't get any say in where you end up. If you wish to go somewhere specific you'll have to figure it out for yourself.

Any betrayal that does, could, or could have harmed his family is another thing entirely. For the most part, Doc is, at his core, a good man. He's not some violent terror hell bent on killing everything. But he isn't a paragon of virtue, and is more than capable of doing terrible things when he feels they are justified. The thing about healers, is they also make excellent torturers. He'll get answers from you, and drag your suffering out until he feels satisfied. Any one else might get the mercy of a swift death once he has his answers, but a former lover is afforded no such kindness. He will make your body feel every bit of pain you caused his soul. For the most part this is carried without any expression or reaction. As though he feels nothing at all. But every now and then he'll slip, and you'll catch a glimpse of white hot pain. Sharp and deep, and you can see in his eyelights the damage that has been done.

So basically, acquaintances garner little to no emotional response. He expected it, so why should he care. Friends sting, and once they're sent on their way, he's a bit touchy for a few days. Withdrawn and pushing himself further into his work. He can't decide if he misread, or if something changed. It weighs on him for a time, but he picks up within a couple of weeks. He's a little frostier with new comers, and slower to trust, but he still tries. Lovers however, despite how unaffected he presents, hit him very hard. It isn't until it's all over and dealt with that he'll let it out. It's the only time he really drinks heavily, and the only time he seriously leans on Flint. He loves his brother immensely, but feels he must always be the pillar of support in the relationship. This is one of the only times he allows that to “crumble”. He cries, he rages, and he burns himself out. And in the end he's left all the more bitter, all the more jaded, and even more unwilling to trust. Letting himself love again would be exceedingly difficult, and though most won't see it, he's deeply hurt by the whole scenario.

Mind you, all of these hinge on Doc being the first to discover and deal with the betrayal. Should Flint be the one to uncover things, it ends arguably worse. Flint doesn't have Doc's patience, or quite the same sense of honor. Despite their issues, he's highly defensive of his brother, and has no issue destroying anything that may harm him.

In the extreme, Doc is someone with low expectations of most people. But he thrives on stability, security, and loyalty. He needs people who will be there, consistently. Shaking these things for him, can cause serious damage to his soul and psyche. All the Fell verse monsters arrived with some level of soul corruption, and while most have healed most if not all of it, it is easier for them to slip. Doc is no exception. The right person, doing the wrong thing, can send him back into a spiral. He falls into a tragic blend of being unwilling to trust, but desperately needing someone he can rely on. He becomes defensive, guarded, and controlling. You can't be betrayed by someone who isn't permitted to make their own choices, after all.

So Doc is someone who while hurt, is unsurprised by betrayal most of the time. It's more surprising that the person in question managed to fool so many perceptive people at once. But true betrayal, by someone he actually trusted, hits hard, and leaves scars. His confidence isn't really shaken, if he knows anyone it's himself. It's not his mistake, but theirs. His standards become more stringent. He's harsher, more demanding, and gaining his trust takes time, patience, and dedication.

(There was also a comment on his confidence included, and yes I agree 100%. Doc's confidence is honestly amazing and I love him for it. I'm working off/on on his character playlist and it's a theme that's pretty strong.)

This feels barely coherent, haha. Hope I answered some of what you were wondering. Hit me up with any further questions or thoughts.