#He can recognise some words like his and Blue's and Nightmare's names but otherwise not much

[somegrumpynerd]

Do you have any hcs for the twins?

Here's two I remember that I really like! (Also these are definitely not my ideas originally but I cannot for the life of me remember where I first saw them)

For Dream it's that he's just as strong as Nightmare. Like you see Nightmare lifting his henchmen with his tentacles all the time, Dream should also be able to lift like 3 people at a time. I wanna do something silly with it in my truce au but here's Blue finding out in the meantime (he lost his phone and Dream's helping him look for it)

For Nightmare it's that he can also do the starry-eyed thing that Dream and Blue and Cross can. Dream knows he could do it when they were kids but assumes the corruption changed that, but really it just doesn't happen very often so none of them have seen it. This is how it looks

[kuroopaisen]

takes one to know one || fushiguro megumi

➵ megumi just wants to buy some flowers from the nice stall attendant he definitely doesn’t have a crush on in peace. gojou has other plans.  

wc: 2.4k

warnings: gn!reader, incoherent chaos

a/n: gracie dearest this one’s for you :( you are so sweet and so lovely to me and i’m so, so glad we met in this hellscape (i would personally like to thank psycho-pass for existing) i hope i did your boy well! 

By the time he arrives at Jujutsu Tech, Megumi knows the flowers are a mistake.

“For me?” Gojou gasps, hands clasped and mouth agape in perhaps his most punchable smile. “Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

Megumi’s fist tightens around the handle of his bouquet. Today, it’s lilacs, irises and white lilies. It’s also much bigger than usual – too big to inconspicuously leave on someone’s fence or place in the school gardens.

“You can have them if you want,” he murmurs. What else is he supposed to do with them?

The delight on Gojou’s face collapses into a precarious mix of genuine confusion and insatiable curiosity. “Hah? They’re not for anyone?”

“No,” Megumi says. And if they were, I wouldn’t tell you. Although he doesn’t say that last part. Gojou would perceive it as a challenge, and the less he knew about Megumi’s private life, the better.

“So…” A grin splits Gojou’s face. “The person you bought them from must be special, then.” 

Megumi freezes for just a second. But he knows a second is enough for Gojou to glean all the information he needs.  

“Ah,” Gojou hums. “I see.”

“No, you don’t,” Megumi mumbles, well-aware of the heat rising in his cheeks.

“But why would you go out of your way to buy a bouquet of flowers, hm?” Gojou grins, shit-eating grin back on his face. “They don’t hand these out for free, you know.”

Megumi’s grip is so firm he’s scared he’ll crush the stems.

Although, he still doesn’t know what he’s going to do with them. It doesn’t feel right to throw them out – not when you’d spent time putting it together – but he wasn’t about to revamp his room with a distinctly floral accent.

Is it against social protocol to give the flowers back to you? Not now, of course, but maybe on his evening walk… or tomorrow morning…

He still doesn’t know why he didn’t just walk past you that first day.

But something about the way you were gazing out into the street, eyes wide and hopeful as you watched people ignore you on their daily commute… something about that drew him in.

And once he’d bought something from you once – just a small flower, one he didn’t know the name of, but seemed appropriate behind a cute girl’s ear – he couldn’t very well start ignoring you.

Not when your smile is so bright, your eyes sparkling with gratitude whenever he takes whatever floral arrangement you’ve lovingly bundled together out of your hands.

But now he’s paying the price – in more ways than one.

✧ ✧ ✧

Your flower stall is just a few feet away from one of the trendiest cafes in this area of Tokyo, and whoever oversees your little operation is obviously trying to capitalise on that. Setting up so early must be an attempt to catch the rush of bleary-eyed corporate workers craving their necessary morning coffee.

What use an office worker has for flowers, Megumi doesn’t know. But he has a feeling that you’d probably say something along the lines of “it’ll help brighten the place up.”

As usual, you’re waiting there patiently, eyes hopefully scanning the streets for any potential customers. Your face positively lights up when you finally catch sight of him – something that still makes Megumi nearly trip over his own feet.

“Good morning!” You call out, waving to him.

Megumi raises a hand in response, shuffling towards you with all the embarrassment of a high schooler on their way to their first date.

“Can I interest you in a floral arrangement on this fine Saturday morning?” You grin, eyes twinkling as you make your marketing pitch.

“Sure,” Megumi sighs, scanning the vast array of flowers currently on display. He’s getting better at picking them out, but he still can’t name any of them on sight.

You wait patiently, hands folded on the counter. If you think he’s an idiot, you keep it to yourself.

“Those ones,” he says, pointing at a group of blue heart-shaped flowers.

“The morning glories?” You ask reflexively, reaching over to pluck a bunch out of their display.

“Yeah,” Megumi shrugs. He has no idea what a morning glory is. The term sounds like something Gojou and Yuji would snicker at.

“They’re gorgeous,” you smile, taking a moment to admire them.

“Yeah,” Megumi says again.

Flowers aren’t really his thing; God help him if he was ever asked what his favourite kind was. But there’s no point in saying any of that – not when he’s already spent an embarrassing amount of money at this one stall.

“You’re keeping the business afloat, you know,” you giggle, as if reading his mind.

Megumi blinks at you. “Really?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “It wouldn’t be amiss to say you’re our most important patron.” You beam at him, same sparkle in your eyes as always.

He’d be furious, if you weren’t so nice.

How is he supposed to focus when you’re looking at him like that? How’s he supposed to ask who ‘we’ is? A business partner? A partner partner?

But you look so young. You can’t possibly be running a business. But you might have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or both. Or a partner of an otherwise non-binary gender.

Too many questions, no social capacity to ask them.

“So,” Megumi begins, his voice calm and composed as ever. His mind, however, is scrambling around like a fast-food joint at rush hour, trying to string together a sentence that’s not only coherent but also fascinating.

“How old are you?”

Whoops.

It’s the forbidden question. Or, at least, that’s what people always say. People, in this case, is Gojou. It usually is.

You seem unbothered. “I turn seventeen this year.”

Was it only a forbidden question for people who’re older? But in that case, surely knowing someone’s age was pertinent for the whole ‘respect’ thing. Maybe Gojou just didn’t think he should ever ask anyone’s age because then he’s not beholden to honorifics.

But Megumi can’t imagine him using them properly anyway.

That’s not the point. The point is that you’re the same age as him. You weren’t somehow twenty-seven with a baby face.

“Oh,” Megumi nods. “Me too.”

The smile you give him is almost unbearable. How is it even more of a smile than your usual smile? That doesn’t make any sense.

There’s a certain excitement bubbling in his gut that he doesn’t recognise or like.

Wait, if you’re his age, then…

“Do you not go to school on Saturdays?” He asks.

Is this conversation too dry? He’s not sure. He doesn’t usually make an effort at this sort of thing.

“My school doesn’t have classes on Saturday mornings,” you smile, meticulously wrapping brown paper around the stems of a set of particularly bright morning glories. You always do it so delicately; where on earth do you find the patience?

There’s something… graceful, about how you go about it. Sure, it’s your job, but Megumi still enjoys watching you work because—

“Hello there!”

Megumi knows that voice.

Oh no.

“Hello!” You fold your hands in front of you and give your new customer a bow. But your usual smile has been replaced with an expression of middling confusion as you look him up and down.

Megumi doesn’t need to turn around to know who’s standing behind him.

“Who’d’ve thought there’d be so many kinds of flowers in bloom, huh?” Gojou grins, slinging a lanky arm around Megumi’s shoulders.

Megumi glances to the side.

A pair of startingly blue eyes peek at him from behind black shades.

“What are you doing here?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I thought I’d just come out for a morning stroll,” Gojou sighs, gesturing to the sky. “Don’t you think it’s gorgeous?”

Megumi’s ready to commit a murder.

“And look at all these flowers!” Gojou exclaims, bending down to peer at some asters closely. “Did you grow them all yourself?”

“Of course not,” you laugh. “I just sell them.”

Jealous maybe isn’t the right word. But there is a twisting in Megumi’s gut upon the realisation that within minutes of meeting you, Gojou had made you laugh. Megumi, on the other hand, was yet to do that.

“Well, either way, my student is a big fan,” Gojou smirks, shaking Megumi’s shoulder. Megumi’s soul is currently leaving his body.

“I was just telling him that he’s our most valued customer,” you smile, tilting your head at the pair of them.

“Ah, is that so?” Gojou grins. It’s amazing, really, how he manages to capture all the terror of the apocalypse in one smile. “I never really took him as a flower guy.”

“Everyone’s a flower guy, sir,” you tsk, shaking your head. “Even you.”

Gojou places an affronted hand on his chest. “So quick to make assumptions!”

“Not at all,” you smile. “You’d be surprised by what our customer base looks like.”

“You don’t say,” Gojou grins, turning to Megumi.

Megumi considers the consequences of punching Gojou right in the nether regions. He doubts he’d be punished for it by the higher ups; if anything, he’ll probably be rewarded. Maybe even pushed up a grade for his invaluable service.

“Fushiguro!”

Oh no.

Megumi’s eyes widen ever so slightly. His head whips round to Gojou. His teacher is already looking straight at him.

“Ah,” Gojou grins. “I told Yuji to meet me here this morning.” The glint in his eyes strikes terror right through Megumi’s departing soul.

Sure enough, Itadori barrels his way towards them, damn near colliding against Megumi with a ‘thump’.

Megumi can do something but stare into the abyss, hoping, wishing, praying this is just a nightmare.

Unfortunately, it’s not.

You give the newest addition to this strange little posse a customary bow. “Good morning!”

Itadori beams at you, his entire face lighting up. “Good morning!”

A strange panic starts to rise from Megumi’s gut. If he thought about it, you and Itadori would get along well. Too well.

Thoughts of you and Itadori walking hand in hand down the street as you laugh, Itadori offering you his coat on a clod morning as you blush, Itadori walking you home, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully as you lean towards him and –

Megumi blinks the thoughts away. What is wrong with him today?

You and Itadori have just met. And what was it to Megumi anyway? It’s not like he—

“Megumi?” Itadori tilts his head at him.

Megumi stares back blankly. “Hm?”

“I wanted to know how you found this place,” Itadori asks, voice bright but with the uncertain quality inherent to repeating oneself.

“Oh,” Megumi murmurs. “Well, I…”

In truth, he doesn’t remember. He just saw you one morning and decided to approach. He still doesn’t know why. But he doesn’t regret it.

“I roped him in with my charm,” you piqued up, picking up the lull in conversation.

Try as he might, Megumi just can’t concentrate. Itadori’s pressed against him, Gojou’s still got his arm slung around his shoulder, and—

“Ah, Nobara’s here!” Gojou beams, waving a hand over his head.

“What are you doing here of all places?” Nobara frowns, raising an eyebrow at Megumi. “I wouldn’t have taken this as your sort of scene.”

If there’s a hell, Megumi’s sure it’s this.

Conversation is bubbling around him but none of it is registering in his mind, he can see Nobara’s dissatisfied look as she takes in the situation at hand but he doesn’t have the energy to retort, Gojou is playing with the petals of one of the display flowers but Megumi knows he’s not going to buy it and—

“Hey, Megumi?”

He snaps back to reality at the sound of your voice, gentle and concerned.

“Are you alright?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. It’s as if you’re completely ignoring the rabble, as if you see him and only him.

Next to him Gojou, Yuji and Nobara watch with rapt attention.

“Yeah,” he lies. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

You frown at you look at him. Something flashes in your eyes and you suddenly duck beneath your countertop.

Megumi and his gaggle of fools blink in surprise.

In a moment you hop back up, something purple bundled up in your hands. “Here,” you smile, handing it out to him, “this is supposed to help you sleep.”

One whiff and he knows it’s lavender.

“How much?” Megumi asks.

You shake your head. “Oh, no. It’s on me.”

Megumi’s heart flutters as you smile. Despite the chaos going on around him, despite the fact that he knows he’s going to be mocked for this for weeks to come, he’s grateful.

Somehow.

“Sorry about this…” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s fine,” you giggle, shaking your head.

Megumi feels Gojou chuckle quietly, his chest rattling. Itadori is unusually quiet and Nobara seems moments away from a laughing fit.

“I should go,” Megumi says quickly and suddenly. He doesn’t give you time to respond, zipping down the street as fast as his feet can carry him. He needs a shower and then a run and then he needs to beat a training dummy up and then—

“Wait, Megumi!”

He freezes in his tracks. That’s… your voice.

And around his wrist is… is…

He turns to look at you over his shoulder, eyes darting for where you hand wraps around his wrist. Why is his heart racing so absurdly fast? Why does it feel like his head’s about to explode? You’re just holding his wrist. You’re not even touching his skin. Not that it matters—

“Will I see you tomorrow?” You ask, not quite able to meet his gaze.

It brings him back to the moment.

“Of course,” Megumi answers reflexively.

You finally lift your eyes up. They seem to be sparkling. “I look forward to it.”

Before he even has time to process it you’ve let him go and trotted back to your stall, tending to your flowers as if nothing’d happened.

This has been too much embarrassment for one day. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on and he’s not sure he wants to know. But man, he needs at least several hours alone to process everything.

As Megumi shuffles away, Gojou bounds after him, still grinning like a fool.

“So, Megumi’s got himself a—”

Megumi elbows him in the stomach before Gojou even has a chance to finish his sentence.

[gwoongi]

wordless pt.1

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: hitman (john wick?) au, sugar daddy au, fluff, pining, angst rating: mature words: 4.1k warnings: mentions of blood and violence, unconventional relationship, angsty themes, smoking mention a/n: this is jeongguk as john wick because i’m trash and i cant finish one story at a time. these prompts r from here btw :) im gonna do all 50 but im too lazy rn so here’s the first 10 :D

Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Jeongguk over the edge if he hears them again.

Parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five

Now, it definitely was not a stretch to assume that everything in Jeongguk’s life was indeed unconventional. People didn’t need to understand that what Jeongguk did for work was something that, by the law, was considered unprofessional and inhumane, and so when asked, Jeongguk sufficed for “boss of a company”, and questions weren’t asked. If they were, Jeongguk came up with a slightly more conventional lie, to make up for the reality that was Jeongguk working on the clock, killing nobodies for a bit of cash.

Taehyung, his right-hand man, had expressed how unconventional Jeongguk seemed to be over a dinner in Venice, a little restaurant tucked away unconventionally in a street that did not belong to America. Jeongguk spoke four languages comfortably, and had parents retiring in the Canary Islands. Jeongguk donated money to women’s charities and mental health services, and helped bribe his cousins into Ivy Leagues when racism prevented them from entry. Jeongguk was a Joe-Exotic in the making and owned a rescue black panther named Elio, and had houses across the globe for use when working. And, Jeongguk was dipping his toes into playing house with a sugar baby who was only five years younger than him, of whom he had met in a stakeout which involved the hit being on your brother’s head. Unconventionally, you led him to his target, and afterwards, dined with him in a Thai restaurant.

Things in Jeongguk’s life were far from ordinary, but perhaps it was the denial of mundane comforts that kept Jeongguk going. If he went back to normality, to working a shitty customer service job like when he was seventeen, dumping trash into overflowing piles behind the off-license he worked at, things wouldn’t be the same. Jeongguk would feel alien, like he didn’t belong. At least here, amongst the pain and the bullets and the years worth of trauma packed in his wrinkles (which, yes, if he looks hard enough, he can see some cursing his twenty five year old skin), Jeongguk felt like he sort of belonged. In an unconventional way.

Having met Jeongguk during his line of work, there were difficulties in being Jeongguk’s sugar baby. For one, he always felt guilty for having murdered your brother, even though you heavily supported the hit. Your brother was a jerk, a bully with money, someone who had wronged your entire family, turned off your younger sister’s life support when there was a chance of her survival. Asshole, he deserved it. Secondly, Jeongguk was impractical and irrational and often acted selfishly, meaning he was often out of the country on work, only available in whispers for a few hours and then he was gone, compensating with a few sums of cash.

He tried his best. Jeongguk, despite technicalities including his work and his past and his occasional mean streak, genuinely cared about other people. When he could, he made the effort, otherwise not attempting to make promises to you that he could not keep. Jeongguk knows that he got really lucky when he found you. You didn’t ask questions. Nobody was better for him.

However, Jeongguk was selfish, and broken, and in refusal of fixing what was wrong with him. When it was of convenience, Jeongguk drew comparisons to the last girlfriend he tried to entertain. One who wronged him, and died when he tried to repair everything she had destroyed. Jeongguk carries that with him like the tattoos on his skin, a permanent memory, and something that often disturbs what could be and should be between the both of you.

Jeongguk is worthy of love, and capable of loving. On days where Jeongguk is free to lounge without the guilt of not working, you find it is so easy to love him. But, it can’t be that way. You couldn’t just tell him that. Telling him that you loved him would be inappropriately unconventional. Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Jeongguk over the edge if he hears it again.

(1) Holding their hands when they are shaking.

Jeongguk is in his living room, his right leg bouncing like a spring as he cradles an infant glass of whiskey. His eyes are glazed, yet wide, staring at the Seoul city draped in darkness and neon, and without even looking inside, you know that his brain is spinning, thoughts chaotic and loud.

“Hey,” you call out to him, and his eyes stutter to the left to catch you in the doorway, “I heard you get up. What’s wrong?”

Jeongguk shakes his head gently. “Nothing, baby, go back to bed. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Jeongguk often makes comments without expectancies. You stand in the doorway that connects the living room to the long hall that stems into bedrooms and bathrooms, and watch him for a moment. His whole body vibrates like a speaker, his hands trembling as the glass drains and he reaches for a second, or a third, or maybe a tenth. You want to sigh, without being patronising, but you know that any sign of sympathy is mistaken for that whenever Jeongguk is around to make the judgement.

He looks back to the skyline and frowns, his attention panning from the window to his phone that buzzes blue, but he ignores. Stepping across the cool wooden floorboards, you approach him sleepily and take a seat next to him on the sofa. Neither of you move, but he recognises you’ve moved. He bristles slightly, like it was unexpected.

“You can take your time,” you suggest to him, and his hands ache in his lap as he sets the glass down on the coffee table with a careless thud. He scoffs, devoid of emotion, and dips his head so his chin is near his collarbones. In his lap, those hands shake. “Maybe don’t drink so much tonight.”

“I’m clearing my head,” he insists weakly. Those hands still shake.

Brows creased with a pinch, you swallow the unease and reach for his hands. Jeongguk doesn’t say anything as you do so, enveloping his hands in yours, and so suddenly the shaking ceases. Like trying to block the shakes from reaching his wrists, your hands keep his safe.

“I know,” you understand honestly, because you do know what he’s going through. “How about tea, or something? To calm down, calm down the mess that’s up in there.”

Your chin is on his shoulder, and he smiles softly. “Are you calling me messy?”

“Nah, I’m calling your brain messy,” you reply. “It’s a cruel fucking brain.”

“Hate my brain.”

“Today, we hate it.”

Jeongguk’s head turns slightly so that he can see you, and in his lap, his thumbs brush across your skin.

“Thank you,” Jeongguk says quietly, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite convince. It doesn’t necessarily have to, not tonight anyway. His phone continues to flash like a light show, Taehyung’s name in bold. “Fuck. I’ll take the call, and then I’ll come back to bed, okay?”

You nod, “Mm, okay. Want me to make a drink?”

“I don’t need it,” Jeongguk concludes. “Not today.”

(2) Tucking the sheets around them when they stir during the night.

Sometimes Jeongguk wakes up in the night due to nightmares, but tonight, it’s different.

Beside him, you stir uncomfortably and kick his leg for the fourth time. He huffs and looks over, trying to figure out if you’re awake and indignant, or lost in the dream. He settles on the latter when you strain out the name of your brother and his heart swoops with a dull ache.

“You’re just dreaming, baby, come on,” Jeongguk mutters quietly into your ear, holding you in place to calm the thrashing. “He’s not here anymore, I’m here. Y/N.”

It subsides after a few minutes, making it the longest you’ve gone on record. He looks into your sleepy, upset eyes as you break awake and brushes the hair out of your face. He tries to smile for you, and maybe you can’t see in the dark.

“I’ll get you some water,” Jeongguk suggests gently. “Hm? Sweet thing. It’s just a dream.” He says this into your hair in a hug, leaving a kiss on your temple as he breaks. “You’re fine.”

“I’m fine,” you breathe uneasily, and he separates to get a glass of water and returns to find you sleeping again. What relief Jeongguk might have is exhaled as he sets the glass on the bedside table, stroking your hair until he moves away with the sudden realisation that this is not a normal exchange.

Before Jeongguk decides to leave again, he makes sure the bed is made and that you are safe; he tucks the duvet in tightly and presses a kiss to your forehead before grabbing his coat by the front door and leaving your apartment, one tucked in the city so far that Jeongguk finds it a hassle to visit.

(3) Travelling long distances just to see them.

For three days now, you have been in Colmar, and Jeongguk is beginning to feel lonely. It had been his idea to send you away, when the heat on his long, long fued with a rival colleague threatened your safety. In return, you got a new apartment that Taehyung had found closer to Jeongguk’s own when your address got leaked, and Colmar could be considered a vacation if you pretended for long enough.

With tensions cool and the coast somewhat clear, Jeongguk picks the skin around his fingernails as a distraction before deciding that enough was enough. He missed you, and missed how you were always around for him when he needed you most. This is what drives him to jumping on a plane in his company’s name, and flying to France.

A small boat passes underneath the bridge you are standing on, and your hands dig into the barrier as you arch to smile at the tourists beneath. One catches a glimpse of your denim skirt and cherry print blouse in the sunshine and extends his hat with a wave, and you wave back. France is nothing like Seoul, and is indeed warm and fruitful and unique. The sun is hot, the sky is clear, and the streets are filled with an atmospheric buzz of friendliness, the smell of coffee and some food you don’t know yet entrapping your senses.

“Madame, je peux vous prendre en photo?”

Hearing the voice, you turn your body left and prepare to face the tourist, but instead you are welcomed with the sight of Jeongguk dressed in black, sunglasses sliding down his nose with a smile. He does hold a camera in his hands, although teasingly.

“Oui,” you quip, posing cutely and Jeongguk takes a photograph anyway, to humour the moment, to print when he gets back to Seoul. You join his laughter as he peers at the photograph and he walks without looking up towards you.

“When did you get here?” you ask him, a round of laughter from the little boat making you turn to stare at them with a giggle.

“Bout an hour ago,” Jeongguk replies, and he shuts off the camera and puts it in his coat pocket. It’s only a small camera, probably cost him a crumb to buy from a vintage store. He meets your eyes with a comfortable smile and rounds in, pressing your lower back against the bridge barrier and circling your arms around you. Carefully, then, he kisses you, tasting the suncream on your skin as his lips wander from yours to the skin around your face.

“Miss me?”

“Terribly,” Jeongguk responds. “I am so bored when you’re not around. You always have something to do, always have something to say.”

You hum in response. “I’m glad I’m of some entertainment for you.”

“Oh, for sure,” agrees Jeongguk. “I don’t think I’ve used my brain so often when I’m away from work as much as I do when I’m with you. Did you know that you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met?”

“Wow,” you exclaim with a smile. “Hire me.”

“Ha!” he remarks, kissing you again and taking your hand in his. He moves, back in the way you came. “Over my dead body.”

(4) Making their favorite meal when they are having a hard day.

“You.”

“Not now, Y/N, I’m working,” Jeongguk replies non committedly. He fists his hair.

“Not up for discussion right now,” you huff, and he has the nerve to glare at you which only makes you uncomfortably angry. “You haven’t eaten in fourty eight hours, and I’m not about to be held responsible for your death when you die of hunger, so get your ass in the kitchen before I dump this food over your stupid head.”

He challenges you. “You’re brave talking to somebody who could destroy your life like that.”

“Do it, I literally have nothing to lose,” you answer. “Please eat something. I made it with love and care.”

Jeongguk relents, sighing at his paperwork but nonetheless moving away from his home office and following you like a child towards the direction of the kitchen. He feels bad, you know he feels bad, and he circles his arms around your body as you walk, stumbling into the space of the kitchen and smelling the familiar aroma of pork rice stew. Alas, he sees the bowl steaming in his spot at the table and his eyes follow you as you hum and set start to washing the dishes.

“Y/N-”

“No words, just eating,” you instruct. “Bone apple tit.”

He grins, then, and takes a seat. “You know that’s not the phrase, right?”

“Tell that to Twitter,” you sigh.

(5) Giving them a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed.

Jeongguk prefers to see you when he doesn’t have work the next day, because leaving when you’re asleep is an asshole move in any dictionary. So, when one of his men phones him at four in the morning and relays the horror that someone’s died on his property, Jeongguk has to fight the demons that almost convince him to hand the job over to somebody who gives a fuck about the intruder stuck on his barbed fence.

He gets up, anyway.

Next to him, in the bed that belongs to you because this is your new apartment, Jeongguk stares down at you and feels a tug in his stomach. Guilt, it follows him everywhere like a ghost.

Before he leaves, he likes to give you a little kiss for the morning, so the tingling sensation reminds you that despite being an asshole and leaving without properly saying goodbye, he still gives several shits about you, and will be back when he can be.

(6) Tucking your head into their neck during a hug.

Jeongguk wants to hang Taehyung for making him remember the reasons why you had to move across the city to a new apartment.

It had, of course, been Jeongguk’s fault, and when the notification came from an exhausted worker in his line of work that the alarm system in your apartment had been triggered for an intruder, Jeongguk remembers all he saw was red.

The front door was forced open, a body indent in the wood and the front porch ransacked and littered with shards of glass and bullets. Inside was no prettier, with mess scattered everywhere and photos smashed on the floors. The carpets were stained with red that Jeongguk prayed was just wine, the glass coffee table in two pieces and a knife covered in red on the floor. Jeongguk and his men, along with the few police officers Jeongguk could actually trust in this god-forsaken hellhole, noticed that the blood belonged to one of the intruders who lay dead on the stairs.

Nobody knows how Jeongguk got through the apartment so fast, and why, without any hesitation, he murdered the remaining intruders without suggesting questioning and torture. That was his go-to when it rarely concerned you. He wanted those stupid enough to even try and go after you to really fucking regret it as he picked off fingernails and made them suffer for hours or days. This time he just killed, and moved onwards, calling your name like a mantra.

Jeongguk could have cried when you emerged, petrified, from inside one of the closets. Upon seeing you, Jeongguk collapsed his gun on the floor and stepped towards you protectively, pulling you in tightly for a hug. Sobbing into his neck, you hugged him tighter, feeling finally safe when his hand held the back of your head, like you were a precious thing that was of value.

You were of the highest value to Jeongguk.

“Fuck you,” Jeongguk barks suddenly, and Taehyung shrugs and exits the office. All he had asked was if he loved you.

(7) Lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise.

There might be the assumption that Jeongguk comes home with more bruises than you do. Which is true, technically, and there’s no hesitation from your end in nursing them to a comfortable recovery.

On rare occasion, Jeongguk comes home and finds you exhibiting a new purple blob on your skin. Like today. 

Jeongguk hasn’t seen you in two days, and when he lets himself into your apartment with the key he has glued to him at all times, he follows the silence and light to the bathroom. You sit on the edge of your bathtub, gently rubbing cream on your knee in little circles.

“What happened here?” he asks quickly, and you continue rubbing with your tongue poking out between your lips.

“You’ll laugh, don’t ask,” you mutter.

“Hey, I won’t laugh,” Jeongguk says. He rests his weight against the doorframe, “You open the front door the wrong way again?”

Ha! You laugh humourlessly. “Worse!” You look up at him sadly, “I tripped in the parking lot carrying my groceries. It’s on camera and everything, I want to die.”

Jeongguk pokes the inside of his mouth to resist laughing. “Well, fuck. That’s your leg ruined.”

“I know,” you pout. “Good thing you’re my sugar daddy- wanna pay for cosmetic leg surgery?”

“I like your bruised up legs,” says Jeongguk.

“Me too, but not these ones.”

“Bruh, that’s enough cream on your skin,” Jeongguk exclaims, moving forward to snatch the cream from your hands. “More is not better. Come on, you’re okay.”

“It hurts.”

“Boohoo,” he sighs. You don’t move. “Ugh, whatever. Come’re.”

Jeongguk drops the cream tube onto the sink but it clatters into the bowl. He’ll move it later if he remembers to, and he pretends it’s hard to pick you up off the bathtub and carries you swiftly out of the bathroom and into the living room. Things have barely moved since he last came to visit; the swarms of paper still invade your coffee table and your laptop is on sleep mode by a half-empty coffee cup filled with hot chocolate, because he knows your standing on coffee. Everything is a lot messier now that you’ve decided you want to go back to school, but at least Jeongguk knows it keeps you busy when he’s away.

“Oh,” he says suddenly, as you’re sat down with one leg up around him still. He pokes at a spot on your leg and you squirm, “there’s another one.”

You peer to look, “Oh, yeah, that one’s you.”

“Oh.” He pauses, “Pretty, though.”

You huff like a little baby and he dares you with raised eyebrows. That keeps you silent and Jeongguk moves his body at an angle to the right, sweeping to kiss the bruise better, the bruise that he made a few nights ago with tender love and care.

“All better,” he assures.

“It feels better already.”

“Mm. Magic.”

(8) Buying them something unrequested because it made you think of them.

“So, I was at a school fayre today.”

“Really?” Jeongguk sits with his laptop on his legs, and your legs are tangled around his body like some sort of jungle maze. He rarely works on his bed, not unless the work is sudden and he can’t help it. You’ve just come in, dived on the bed and claimed his waist as something to squeeze your legs around.

“Yep. Like, one of those little craft things where students sell their shit and make money from it. You know, supporting local artists! It’s really cute, if I was good at something I’d have participated.”

Jeongguk thinks of things you’re good at, and there’s a lot. “Aw. There’s always next year.”

“Yeah,” you reason. “Anyway- point is, is that I got you something.”

Jeongguk stills for a second, glancing over his right shoulder to see you, “Me?”

“Yep. You.”

“What did you get?” he asks, and then he’s back to checking blueprints.

You untangle your legs and slide off the bed, retreating to your bag slung across the room by the bedroom door. From here, you take out a small little pin-badge and when you’re sat next to Jeongguk again, you fiddle with it until it catches his attention.

“What’s this?” asks Jeongguk.

“It’s a badge of honour,” you claim, and you slip it into his palms. He fingers the front when he examines it, reading the little words of “Number One Dad” and he stares up at you. “Like it?”

“It’s for me?” he asks again.

“Yeah. You can wear it and like, I don’t know, think of me,” you shrug.

Jeongguk thinks for a moment. Even though it’s stupid, and cliche and a little bit embarrassing, he still thinks it’s funny and thoughtful.

“Want me to wear it to work?” he asks you.

“Oh, absolutely,” you encourage. “I’ll get Taehyung an uncle badge if he gets pissy.”

“Hey, you’re mine and he’s not allowed a relationship to you, no matter what definition,” Jeongguk pouts. “He wants a sugar niece, well...he’ll have to look somewhere else.”

You gape. “Wow. Who thought you had it in you to be so possessive.”

“Please, with a pussy like that of course I’m possessive,” he teases. He’s joking.

“My power,” you sigh anyway, and jump off the bed claiming that you’re hungry. Jeongguk looks at the badge again and pops it in his breast pocket before he loses it and regrets it.

(9) Participating in their hobby even if it doesn’t personally interest you.

Jeongguk’s bored out of his brain.

He has no idea how you can be so fascinated by this stupid game where you’re essentially in debt, but he still sits and watches you tour him around this weird island that is inhabited by ducks and an ugly gorilla villager dressed in pink. And to think that he had a part to play in all of this, because his bank account definitely helped pay for this Nintendo Switch and game.

“Do you like my beach?” you ask him. It’s literally just sand and one coconut tree, and a few shells by the water. Oh, there’s a beach chair on there too, but it makes little difference. “I’m poor, I can’t afford furniture yet.”

“Can’t you just make it?”

“I can, but I’m sick of making axes to collect wood,” you explain with a grudge against the fact that tools now break in this Animal Crossing game. Jeongguk hums like he’s invested, and he tries to be, because he cares about you too much to unintentionally hurt your feelings by displaying his crippling disinterest.

“Oh. Makes sense.”

“Can I show you my hybrid flower garden?”

He sighs. “Yeah, you wanted to show me all of your island, right?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Once you’ve had a tour, I can make you a profile and you can play too. You can live next door to me!”

“Why can’t we share a house?” Jeongguk presses.

“Because I don’t think it works like that, babe,” you confess. “Anyway. Here’s my garden.”

(10) Sitting in comfortable silence while eating a meal.

He’s tired. You’re tired.

The radio plays quietly updating Seoul on the fires that spread across the city today, and Jeongguk smells like smoke and salt. He keeps his head down as he eats his meal, something he brought home with him to make up for the fact that he’s been absent for almost a week now. You have so many things to say and he has so many things he needs to say to make up for everything, but nothing is said tonight.

You know he’s having a hard time, because Jeongguk’s been smoking again. He smoked on the balcony earlier, and once again in the bedroom. There are now ashtrays around your own apartment, and you don’t even smoke. Jeongguk takes a drink of bourbon and swallows it dry.

You look up at him from across the table, not wanting to press the issue when you know it’ll end in an argument, and then sex to make up for it. You’re both too tired to fuck today, too tired to speak. Just being in each other's company is enough for tonight. The only words he says are goodnight and something you don’t catch as you’re drifting off to sleep. Jeongguk’s awake all night, the fires burn until early hours, and the smoke smell is still there in the morning even when he isn’t.

[monchikyun]

28. in the light of day

It’s been snowing a great deal lately, the weather has prepared a very cruel gift in the form of endless northern winds and icy pavements that have the potential of ruining someone’s day. And the someone has to be none other than Gavin, because the universe recognises that he deserves it the most. The days in December are shorter than his attention span, and the darkness that surrounds him when he’s returning from work is subconsciously making him quicken his pace. There is plenty on his mind, things that he wishes he never did and the little miracles he wishes went of forever, and perhaps that’s why his feet don’t get the most attention and when he steps on a particularly slippy block of ice that once was a muddy puddle, nothing stops him from falling straight on his backside. It hurts like bitch, so much so his eyes water and he’s overwhelmed by dizziness. But it also might be that cold that he’s already waiting to shake by doing absolutely nothing in order for that to happen. He lugs his heavy body up and is immediately greeted by a coughing fit suggesting that he should really not be outside in this condition, especially so when the low temperature is unforgiving enough to freeze rivers.

“Phck.” He tries to curse his affliction away, but like every time he does so, it only manages to piss him off even more.

Gavin is already angry as is, even more so than he’s by default. It’s all his fault, he begrudgingly admits, because doing otherwise would imply that him shouting at Connor is someone else’s responsibility. He was doing okay for such a long time, tried his absolute best to make the android like him, and not only because he wanted to get rid of the guilt that has been gnawing on his mind since the end of the revolution, but because he let himself catch feelings for the ridiculously beautiful robot. It worked, at first, they were getting along pretty well, despite Gavin being his ever-so-charming self. It was probably thanks to his heartfelt apology, at which he still physically cringes each time its memory crosses his mind. But then something snapped inside of him - maybe it was the jealousy that acted up when he saw Connor becoming friends with other, more attractive people, or he just tried to self-sabotage himself, since he had been dangerously close to kissing that stupid android. Because he’s well aware that he has zero rights to go anywhere near there, even thinking about it triggers an alarm that signals his unworthiness.

But it’s oh so cold here and all he wants is a warm hug from the person he likes the most. His nose is leaking and his throat his being cut with a thousand knives, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to get home when his every move is soaked in pain. He should probably lie down right here and wait for the end to come. He’ll either get better or the blessed oblivion takes him, both options are equally desirable to him. But he has to do one important thing first.

He fumbles for his phone and forces his freezing hand to type in the security code so he can open the texting app. His fingers are numb and his vision blurry, but he succeeds in writing the three overused words that have been floating around his mind since this afternoon when he returned Connor’s worry with a harsh dismissal. If he could take it back, he’d never allow himself to yell at the only person who cares.

“I’m sorry.”

Like that will repair their relationship which he so selfishly damaged.

He’s pretty sure he sends it, but then again it’s hard to see anything when there are tears flooding his vision. He slides down against the wall of some empty building that stands half a mile from his apartment building, ready to accept his fate. His eyelids must be made out of lead for he can’t keep them up, and with every passing minute, his breathing gets slower, since his lungs are on fire and he’d be happier not having to inhale oxygen at all. This could be it, his final night. He’s thought that he wouldn’t struggle against his departure when it finally came, but as he’s now, dying alone in some abandoned back alley, he wishes nothing more than to see the light of day once more.

If only his car didn’t break down, if only Connor liked him enough to brush off his unfair behaviour. He thinks he hears his phone vibrate, but he’s too weak to even open his eyes. This is it then, his final stop.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because there is a familiar voice calling his name, and he can feel those soft hands on his face. It’s fitting that his last dream would be about Connor, his biggest regret would mock him till the bitter end after all.

“Gavin, please open your eyes.” He can sense the urgency in the android’s voice, the worry that has been there earlier today, and he automatically looks up at the sight he’s longed to see since leaving the office, still believing that it’s just an illusion.

“Con…” He wonders how he’s able to speak when he barely has the strength to focus his vision.

“You stupid motherfucker.”

Yeah, he deserves that.

When he gets lifted up, his head hanging down from the android’s shoulder, he contemplates on this being real and not his farewell fantasy. It gets confirmed through the sharp pain that assaults him when he gets thrown to a backseat of some car.

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” Connor mumbles as the car drives them god knows where. He’s sitting next to him, possibly his thighs being the cushion on which Gavin’s sore head rests. A soothing cold hand is threading through his damp hair and he’s sure they’re on their way to heaven because there is no way this moment belongs into his fucked up reality. The other hand lands on his forehead, acting as the ice-pack he craves so much since despite how cold his body is, he’s three seconds short of self-combustion.

“103.1 degrees. Maybe I should call an ambulance.”

“No!” Gavin manages to croak out because he really can’t afford a hospital stay with his lack of savings and shitty health-insurance.

“Okay.” Connor’s voice is the thing that keeps him from passing out. Because as long as hears it, his ache is limited to his physical body. And that’s much easier to bear.

“You have to stop pushing me away whenever I show a hint of worry, if you want to live that is.” He can discern the threat that comes with the demand, and he’s tempted to smirk in Connor’s face, though he doesn’t, and not only because he doesn’t have the strength to do it.

He wants to thank Connor, needs him to keep talking to him, but he has already depleted his words for the day, and so he’s left to the mercy of chance. If he’s lucky, his gratitude is being transmitted through the relief he’s drowning in, and with each second Connor speaks at him, he’s being more and more convinced that maybe the android likes him back.

“I’m taking you to my place, but we have to stop for some medical supplies first.” 

The silent hum of the car is lulling him to sleep, and Connor’s proximity is not helping much. He feels safe, cared for even. And he doesn’t want to wake up and find out that it was just a part of his wishful thinking, that he hallucinated this whole thing.

Fortunately, the car comes to a sudden stop and that enhances his alertness by a smidge.

“I’ll be right back.”

He’s about to beg him not to go when he’s reminded that he lost the gift of speech, and so he exhales sharply and lets Connor leave his space.

As soon as he’s alone again, he can’t fight his exhaustion anymore and lets the darkness envelop him whole. 

He feels himself tug at his lifeline, watching the world as it distorts before his eyes in the most painful way possible, never sure whether the waking world would be the lesser evil.

When he finally does open his eyes again, he finds himself tucked under a heavy comforter, head rested on an actual fluffy pillow this time.

But the only person he’d like to see right now is nowhere to be found, and as he realises that, his lungs decide to act out and he’s yet again nothing but a coughing machine. 

It must be the middle of the night since it’s still pitch black outside the window, and he doesn’t notice the approaching silhouette until it’s standing right beside him. 

“Drink this.” He notices the yellow light coming from Connor’s temple, which is almost the same colour as the liquid he’s being offered. It doesn’t look appetising whatsoever, not even if he could trust his stomach. But he obeys and does is best to swallow as much of it as his insides can handle.

When he’s done with it, he hands the half-full mug back to the android and panics when he sets to leave from his bed-side.

“Don’t go.”  The nap must have restored some of his energy, for he’s able to grip Connor’s arm. Gavin is burning on the inside while being trapped in a snowstorm, and he’s afraid to be swept away by the pain if there’s no one to around to save him.

“I won’t.”

He doesn’t know if Connor keeps his promise since he drifts off before he has a chance to struggle against the pull of sleep.

The next thing that brings him back from his slideshow of nightmares is fingers tickling one of his cheeks. The breath that he takes as he regains his consciousness already tells him that he’s on his way to recovery.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Gavin finds out that there is something more he wishes to see than the light of day, although it’s great to know that he successfully survived the night.

It’s the soft smile on Connor’s face, the two bottomless eyes, and the LED ring shining bright blue.

And maybe now, when it’s so bright and his demons are taking a break, Gavin can allow himself to be utterly, completely honest about his feelings.

Because when they managed to get through the unforgiving darkness of night, there’s no reason why the blissful daylight should break what they were able to build together.

@convinseptember I have only a vague idea of where I was going with this xD

[scribbles97]

Left Behind - Chapter 5

Some more world building in this chapter and a bit more background as to how different IR is here.

@gumnut-logic thank you for putting up with my wobbles and constant pleas for help <3 

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13

Read On Ao3

It was late by the time she had calmed herself enough to go and find the boys. Alan was already tucked up in bed, Gordon sat in his younger brother’s room reading some science book by the lamp light. 

Virgil was in the den, sat at his keyboard playing a tune she didn’t recognise. 

Going to stand behind him she touched his shoulder, watching as his fingers flowed over the keys. 

“Have you spoken to Scott?” He murmured, not looking up from the keys.

“Not yet,” She sighed, “He and John were my next stop.”

Virgil nodded, his hands slowing and coming to a stop on the keys. They rested still for a moment before he drew them back into his lap. 

“We’re all scared,” He admitted softly, not turning to look at her, “Please don’t be too mad at him?”

He had always been the one most sensitive to fights and arguments, attempting to diffuse them before they started even when he had been so much younger. She knew that Jeff being gone wouldn’t be easy on any of them, especially with how it had happened. Each of them grieved in their own ways though and she knew how Scott especially could get.

“Scott has a reckless streak, we all know it. And I can’t let anything happen to you boys, especially not now.”

Virgil nodded, his hand reaching up to squeeze hers on his shoulder, “We don’t want anything to happen to you either, Mom.”

Her heart clenched, knowing that the fear had to work both ways. Leaning down she kissed the top of his hair, her hand squeezing his shoulder.

“We’ll figure something out, kiddo.” She murmured, combing her fingers through the long ends of his hair, “You need a trim.”

He reached back to ruffle the ends, shrugging as he did, “I was thinking about going short with it anyway. I’m not letting it get as long as Gordon’s.”

Lucy couldn’t help a chuckle, “You leave your brothers fashion choices alone… or should I remind you of what you did at sixteen?”

He tensed and shuddered with a shake of his head, “I’d rather you didn’t. But come on, everyone knows that you can’t make a manbun work unless you grow a beard, and that scruff on the kids face hardly counts as bum fluff.”

A light tap on his shoulder was meant to be scolding, but she really didn’t have the heart. It would have to remain a secret that she agreed with the opinion. It was Gordon’s choice and who was she to argue with it?

“Can you manage another week away from college?” She asked as he turned to straddle the stool so he was facing her. 

“Sure, Alice is sending me extra notes and I can finish my papers from here using the TI program, if you’ll give me access?”

She hummed, it would be hypocritical to give him full access after the lashing she had given Scott earlier. 

“Why, anyway?” He frowned, no doubt knowing the answer wasn’t so straight forward. 

She swallowed and took a breath, “I was thinking of going to the farm for a bit, just the six of us for some proper family time.”

It was a relief that he smiled and nodded, even if the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“That sounds good, I’d like that Mom.”

He glanced past her, nodding to the balcony of the den, “Scott and John were down by the pool last I knew.”

Rolling her eyes she smiled, “Yeah alright I get the hint.”

He chuckled as she stepped back, “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, Kiddo.”

***

The moment Scott saw her, she saw him tense. His face fell into a glare and his back straightened. From the opposite lounger, John twisted to see what had caused such a reaction. It was hard not to smile at the blanket he was wrapped up in, constellations and their names etched on the fleece.

“Is this section restricted, or can anyone join the party?” She asked, hovering between the two loungers they were sat on. 

Neither answered, both avoiding looking at her. She had known it wouldn’t be straight forward, there would have to be some bridge building before things would truly be right again. But for both to simply ignore her, stung more than she had expected. 

“I’m sorry I made assumptions earlier,” She murmured, folding her arms, “Scott that wasn’t fair of me.”

The eldest huffed as he leant back on his arms to look up to her. Even in the low light she could still see the hurt in his eyes as he watched her for a moment before he spoke, 

“We just want to try and find Dad.”

“And you think I don’t?” She bit back. Catching herself, she closed her eyes and took a breath. 

“Look,” She started again, “I want to keep looking, but your father wouldn’t want the resources diverted away from other people in need.”

Scott looked down as his face contorted, probably trying to hide his emotion from her but failing terribly. John hunched forward, nodding in silent agreement. 

“The programme wouldn’t take up much of Thunderbird Five’s resources,” John murmured, looking up to her with pursed lips, “The processing power it would use would hardly be significant.”

She nodded, her decision having been made before she had come to speak to them, “I trust your capability, John. Otherwise I would be sending the program to Hiram before I let you plug it in to Thunderbird Five.”

The sudden spark of hope in both of their eyes was obvious as they looked up to her. Both sat straighter now, eager. 

“I can’t let you up to Thunderbird Five without clearance and having an actual space license,” She pointed out quickly, not wanting them to get too excited, “But your Uncle Lee and I will go up tomorrow, I’d suggest making sure you were up early enough to supervise from the office.”

A glance back to Scott before standing quickly with a nod, “Yes Ma’am.”

Rolling her eyes at him she glared gently, “Don’t call me that,” Catching his shoulder she shook her head, “I’m your mother first, nothing is going to change that.”

She nodded him away, back towards the warm lights of the house and out of the cool night air. There were still words to be had with the eldest, things that weren’t to be heard by younger siblings. 

Once John was out of range, she took the blanket that had been wrapped around him and sat down next to Scott, draping the material across both of their shoulders as she nudged him slightly. The sideways glance of blue eyes was uncertain, but he shuffled closer regardless, sighing as he leant into the warmth of the fleece. 

“At your age, your Dad would have done exactly the same thing,” She started, looking across to him, thinking just how like his father he looked. The reminder tugged at her chest.

“I’m not saying what you did was okay, and I’m not some Air Force commander that’s going to brush you off because you’re just a junior air man.” Reaching across she squeezed his knee, “I’m your mom. If you can’t come to me with these ridiculous, half thought through plans, who can you go to with them?’

The lights from the villa were reflecting in his eyes more than they had been earlier, and she could see the ripple of the tears as he sniffed and shook his head. 

“Dad always said how much you grounded him,” Scott whispered, his hand reaching out to take hers on his knee, “That if it weren’t for you, there’d be five people running International Rescue, him, you, Grandma, Uncle Lee, and Aunt Val.”

Lucy smiled. She remembered the day Jeff had come to her with his grand plan to help save those that needed the help nobody else could offer. The help that they had once themselves needed. It had been an argument that he had been crazy and five people couldn’t possibly save the entire world. 

“I mean in a good way,” Scott added softly, “Could you imagine five of us running this whole thing?”

“It would be hard going,” She agreed, “Probably dangerous even.”

Scott nodded and then sighed, “Dad always encouraged the stupid ideas. Made them more crazy.”

Didn’t Lucy know it. She couldn’t count how many times she’d caught the boys doing something ridiculous and decided it was simply best to leave them to their own devices. Any unfortunate outcome she had decided would be dealt with by the so-called responsible adult partaking in the activity. 

“I get you’re scared of what might happen to us out there Mom,” Scott continued, “I was scared that you’d ground us because of that. That if I came to you with the idea you’d be too scared to let us at least try.”

He paused with a heavy sniff as he shook his head, “I should have known better than that. Dad taught me that much.”

All of the boys had always found it calming when she played with their hair, she hoped that Scott still did as she reached up to run her fingers through the finer hairs at the nape of his neck. 

“How do you mean, son?”

Blue eyes shining he smiled softly at her, “He told me never to tell you, but I guess now he--” His voice caught before he could finish, clearly catching him off guard as he bent double with a sob.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Lucy cooed, dropping her arm around his shoulders and squeezing hard, “Scotty, it’s alright.”

Coughing to clear his throat, Scott took a deep breath. He didn’t sit straight but stayed hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees as he gazed up towards the house. Lucy kept her hand lightly on his back, rubbing gentle circles as she waited for him to speak again. 

“He always said, that without you he wouldn’t have done any of it. That he would have instead been this mess of a man, with blood on his hands, and no knowledge of how to love himself let alone anyone else.” 

Lucy had always assumed as much about Jeff. They had had conversations about it late at night, normally after nightmares had woken him. Over time though that kind of conversation had gotten less as sleep had become more valued and she had never seen a need to validate her assumptions.

Scott sniffed again, drawing her out of her thoughts as he sighed and shook his head, “And that you took everything he gave you and made it something more, something that he saw as perfect and wonderful. Not because you were his wife, he always made that very clear, but just because of who you are Mom.”

He twisted to look back at her, tears evident on his cheeks as his lip wobbled, “And I forgot that. He’s been gone eleven days and I forgot Mom.”

She pulled him in, wrapping him tight in her arms as she kissed the top of his head, “You’re grieving Scott. Emotions get all mixed up and your brain throws things off. You haven’t forgotten anything, you’re just prioritising different.”

“‘M sorry.” He whispered, sighing against her shoulder, “I’m really sorry, Mom.”

Rocking gently she kissed the top of his hair again, “It’s okay Scotty, we’re gonna get through this. I swear it. All of us, together.”

She just hoped it didn’t pull her apart trying to do so. 

[distinguishednachotale]

The DJ

Previous Chapter

Chapter Four

A farmhouse cottage stood swallowed beneath a field of lush green grass, a wooden fence surrounded the boundaries with beautifully tended to flowers weaving their way through the timber. A cobblestone pathway led to the front porch where a middle aged couple were enjoying a quiet Scotch to wind down the end of the day, a pipe hung loosely from his mouth while she had her feet up on the his lap enjoying a soft massage. The farm was running smoothly, enough profits coming in to put on another farmhand allowing the older man to spend a little less time in the fields and more time enjoying the company of his now retired wife.

 “Have you heard from Everly this week?” James wandered out loud, knowing the answer would still be a ‘no’ but hoping that even an e-mail had been exchanged, a photo or anything. With a sigh Leticia shook her head. “Did we do something, do you think?” The silence between themselves and their daughter as painful, they didn’t know her address to visit, their e-mails and text messages went unanswered. Occasionally she would send a two or three word response, but never any detail. Their older son, Angus, worked on the farm with them; his house across the road where he, his wife and four children lived. It was a rare day that the grandchildren didn’t wander across to their Grandparents house to spend time together. To have the polar opposite from their daughter was eating away at them.

 “Oh, speak of the devil.” Leticia smiled widely, her mobile phone lit up with a photo of her beautiful daughter and her name. “Oh Everly, my love we were just talking about ye.”

 “Mrs McCarthy, it’s Richard Madden. Uh, I’m not sure if you remember me,”[/I

Sitting forward and pulling her feet down from her husbands lap, a frown crossed her face, “Richard, has something happened to Everly?” It wasn’t like Everly to call, let alone having someone call from her mobile. “Please, lad, tell me.”

 “I’m sorry, Mrs McCarthy. I was trying to help her leave him, she was coming back to life and, god, she was her again…” Though a broken voice and breaks to compose himself Richard told the McCarthy’s all he knew. The phone placed on loud speaker so both parents could hear of the journey their daughter had been on over the years without them knowing. Angus had wandered into the yard with a cheerful ‘Hello’ only to stop when he saw the look on his parents face. Running to them he heard the tail end of the explanation, the attack.

 “He broke a lot of bones, her wrist, two fingers, jaw, cheek bones, eye socket, ribs.. Her rib punctured her lungs, there’s a tube in there at the minute to fix that. Uh,” His voice broke looking at the sleeping figure before him, your jaw wired shut to help it heal while an oxygen mask covered you face gently. “They fixed her liver, it was lacerated as well as her right kidney. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him.”

 “It’s not ye fault, laddy. Thank you for finding her. We’ll get a flight-”

 “I’ll have my assistant organize it, one less thing to take care of. Angus, can I get you a flight too?”

 “If ye could, Rich. I’ll bring Ma and Pa over.” Jotting down their details on his own phone Richard sent everything to his own assistant to have organised, flights and hotels to be close to their daughter at hospital. Bidding them farewell he promised not to leave her side again, to stay with her and keep her safe until they arrived. You hadn’t woken up since you were found, the Doctors assured Richard this was common when suffering trauma and a severe concussion; rest was the bodies natural defence.

 Police had been by to take statements after scouring the trailer for evidence to link Nate to the attack, evidence was taken from beneath your fingernails; his skin and DNA was trapped there from you clawing at him. He had been found, drunk and covered in dried blood in his hotel room. He was sure he had killed you, hoped he had killed you. Disappointment was evident when he found out you were alive, fighting for your life despite his attempt to end it.

 The following morning Richard had not yet moved, occasionally he was brought a coffee or a sandwich by the kind nurses; otherwise he sat there watching your every breath. You’d had a small turn overnight, your heart rate dropping dangerously low but it was stabilised quickly by the Doctor’s on hand. The swelling was increasing, as expected. The broken bones were being inspected by a orthopaedic surgeon, plastic surgeon and ear-nose-throat specialist to ensure a healthy recovery with minimal facial scarring.

 Two days passed before your family arrived, they had quickly taken their belongings to the hotel before coming straight to the hospital to be with you. Leticia had crumbled upon seeing her only daughter so broken, bruised and damaged. James was quiet, trying to stay strong for his wife while feeling his own heart shatter upon seeing his baby. Angus turned to rage, having to immediately step back outside to regain his composure. Richard followed him outside, wanting to make sure he was alright.

 “Its one thing to hear it, ye ken. But to actually see it…” Angus ran his hand through his shaggy hair, pushing it off his face. “I’ve never wanted to kill someone before, but now. Thank you for finding her.”

 “I’m expected back on set this evening, re-shooting some scenes with a stand in for Ev, I’m sorry I’ll have to leave soon. Are you going to be okay-”

 “She’s awake.” Richard and Angus both jumped hearing your Father speak, his voice shaking with both relief and sadness. Walking in they saw you laying very still, eyes open and breathing slowly with trepidation. The ache and pull in your side told you your lung was damaged, you were afraid to breathe too hard or deep.

 “Angus and Richard are here too, Evey.” Your mother quietly told you, running her hand over your hair gently. You flicked your eyes over to the figured standing near the doorway, hardly able to make much out with your limited vision. Any calm quickly faded when you attempted to move your mouth, the wires on your teeth bound together keeping your jaw closed and still, it caused an immediate panic inside you.

 “What’s going on?” Angus worried, looking a the heart rate machine escalate into fast rhythm as your body jolted. “Doctor!” He darted out the door searching for help. Richard recognised the look on your face, despite the swelling he could see your fear. Crouching beside you he softly placed his hand on your cheek and ran his thumb gently and slowly.

 “Shhhh… Ev, I know you’re scared.” You raised your hand to your jaw and mouth, he picked up your non verbal worry. “It’s wired, Love. It’s a little broken, it’s going to be a couple of weeks wired to heal. But I’m sure you’ll find a way to talk our ears off still.” He teased lovingly. “There’s a tube in your nose, I’m sure it’s uncomfortable. It’s your feeding tube, you can’t eat for a little while either. There’s another in your lung, just keeping it inflated for now…” James, Angus, Leticia and the Doctor’s watched as your heart rate lowered as Richard explained what was happening, neither of you breaking eye contact with each other.

 Three weeks passed, filming was rearranged so Richard could do his part quickly to be alongside you as you healed. Your jaw was released, you were unable to eat solid food still due to the pain but had enjoyed being able to slowly have spoonful’s of soup, and the occasional sneaky liquid treat brought into the hospital by your brother and Richard. The tube in your lung had long been removed, stitches still in place helping the skin recover from being open. The swelling around your face had gone down dramatically, your eyes were open fully but a dark shade of blue still. New’s had spread around the media, a news outlet had gotten photos of you being taken away from the trailer - you had unwillingly become the face of domestic violence, a pressure you were not ready for.

 You had been taken back to Scotland to finish healing at your parents farm, Richard had brought himself a little time before he had to go into intense filming of his upcoming program ‘Bodyguard’ to be with you. His role was going to leave him drained, he knew it. Between rest and physical therapy, you ran lines with him when and when he was doing his workouts you watched from the porch while admiring his physicality.

 “I forgot how fresh the air is here,” You breathe in deeply, leaning back as Richard ran a brush through your hair softly. Putting the brush down he ran his finger tips gently through the strands of your long hair, tying it into a loose bun at the nape of your neck for you. “You don’t have to do all this, you know?” Looking back behind you, Richard had his eyebrow raised at you.

 “Stop protesting, ye stubborn woman.”

 “I’ll miss you when you have to go.” Sadly the time was coming, you both knew it. “Although I won’t miss my Pa making me sleep with the door open.” James had allowed Richard to sleep in your bed with you under the condition the bedroom door remained open, a traditional man and not wanting anything to be happening under his roof. Although nothing had been said, the mutual feelings you had for one another had you spending your nights curled up safe by his side; nightmares and anxiety were common overnight, the security of having Richard there was soothing.

 “You know as soon as you’re ready, my house is ready for you.”

 “The movers are getting my things from my house this weekend, moving it to storage.”

 “Have them bring it to my apartment, no point moving it twice.” The warm sun shone down on you both, a picnic rug beneath you both as you sat in the front yard of the farm. Over the fence you could see your Pa, brother and farmhand moving the sheep into the next yard; the well trained dogs doing their part to herd the sheep over. It was peaceful hearing them call to the dog in Gaelic, you missed hearing the language you had grown being spoken to in.

 “I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost you again,” You told Richard, looking over at him

 A soft kiss was pressed against your lips, “You’ll never have to find out.”

[shewas-agaystripper]

The Clinic: Part Sixteen

The Clinic: Part Sixteen

Brian is sent off to Queen Mary's Psychiatric Hospital to cure his depression and borderline. His roommates, John in particular, help him push through this difficult time in his life

Hello dear people! It’s been a while since the last part part of The Clinic was uploaded, which has mainly to do with the fact that my original blog of six years was deteled by Tumblr without any sign or warning, and they would not react to any mails so I had to start all over; and two weeks into waiting for them to reply my laptop broke down and I had to take it back to the store. They said it would take 3-4 days to fix it but it took 18 so that was great! However, I now have my laptop back, and I have a new blog (with basically the same name but different dashes). Please feel free to talk to me and shoot me messages! I’m feeling kind of lonely on my new blog still :s

Anyway! The good news is that I finished Part 16 on an alternative laptop, and Part 17 will be finished before the end of the week also, and will follow suit! 

Have fun reading, and any sort of feedback or suggestions is appreciated!

P.s. Normally I’d link all the previous chapters here, but as SOMEONE @staff) deleted my whole entire blog, they’re now gone. If you haven’t read the previous chapters yet, or would like to reread them first, here is the whole thing on my AO3 account!

‘We’ll see you tomorrow, then, in doctor Imholz’ office. Try and fill in as much of this paperwork already, and make sure to be on time.’

With that, a stack of files, and a handshake from each of the individuals present in the dusty but surprisingly spacious staff meeting room, Brian was given permission to leave the room, and he all but stumbled outside. When he closed the door behind him, he could not help but lean against it with his back, close his eyes, and take a deep breath - something he felt like he had been unable to do for the past two hours. 

After having announced to Nolan and doctor Imholz the evening before that he intended to file for a reassessment to try and be dismissed from Queen Mary’s for the sake of being able to support John when he was released, his mentor had called together what they had called a crisis meeting in which staff discussed the viability of Brian’s wish to be released before. It had been a long and stressful meeting, one in which Brian had largely been left to sit back and let people he’d never been aware were responsible for his progress throw technical terms and mental jargon at each other. He had hardly been asked to explain his reasons for wanting to leave Queen Mary’s so soon, but the overall consensus in the end was that they would grant his wish for a reassessment. That was - he had been at Queen Mary’s for at least three months; had never perpetrated any acts of disobedience, vandalism, violence, and the like; had never skipped any meetings with his superiors; had always displayed what Nolan had called ‘proper and respectable behaviour towards staff and patients’, and, borderline or not, he was deemed capable enough to make his own decisions and understanding the consequences of them. 

Thank God. At least they still treated him as human despite the label they had stuck on him.

‘How’d it go?’

Brian recognised the voice of the speaker sooner than he saw him, even though he should have been able to see him from - as a matter of speaking - miles away. Being one of the few patients with long blond hair, Roger always stood out a bit; but now that he was the only one to be seen in the otherwise empty hallway, let alone that he was leaning against the wall right across from Brian, really made hi unmistakeable to Brian, even now that his mind was spinning like a whirlwind. 

‘Eh… I think it went alright?’ Brian said somewhat hesitantly. ‘They said I meet the, uh, qualifications to apply for a reassessment.’

‘And?’ Roger asked, eyes brightening with hope but still a bit cautious, as he, of course, had no idea what had been discussed in his absence. 

‘They said they’ll make a phone call to the board right this afternoon to formally open the process of reassessment.’

‘No way! That’s great news! You’ll get to leave!’ Roger all but shouted across the hallway, and before Brian could prepare for it, he was tackled in a hug so sudden and so tight that he almost dropped the stack of papers he had been clutching against his chest. To be fair, he was still clutching them against his chest; now that Roger had enveloped him in a nearly reckless embrace, there was no other place for him to put his arms other than squeezing them tight against his body. It was uncomfortable for a bit, mainly because Brian wasn’t so outgoing himself, and wasn’t used to Roger behaving this way either. However, as Roger continued to hold him tight and seemed to try and rock him encouragingly by skipping from one leg to the other, all while unintelligible but nonetheless encouraging sounds escaped him, Brian could not help but smile. It was good to see Roger, who he had seen so down and helpless during multiple relapses into whatever drugs he could find himself, be in such a positive mindset again. Of course, nothing was set in stone yet, and Brian realised all too well that chances were that incriminating information against him could be found during his trial, that the psychiatrist who would be called in to examine him could vote against him leaving, and that the jury might deem him unable of returning to society as of yet. But if the official start of his procedure to try and be acquitted from Queen Mary’s brought his friend so much hope and joy, then who was Brian to bring him down?

‘Oh my God, and you’ll be able to leave Queen Mary’s and live happily ever after with John far away from this clown academy!‘ Roger continued to mumble against Brian’s shoulder, and Brian snorted. 

‘That’s a name for Queen Mary’s I haven’t heard before.’

‘Am I wrong though?’ Roger asked, looking up at him in all seriousness. His blue eyes shone brighter than they had done in ages, and Brian couldn’t help but wish that Roger could always be like this, bright and bubbly and alert and happy. 

‘You’re not. But if you don’t stop crushing me now, this clown will have to be admitted into the infirmary with a pair of broken ribs.’

Roger let go of him with a sigh. ‘Don’t think I will leave clown academy alive if John finds out I broke your ribcage.’

Brian felt his heart skip a beat at the mentioning of the name of his partner. John, who had gone through a dreadful night filled with tearful wake-ups and nightmares, and who unfortunately had been least comforted by the idea that Brian was filing for a reassessment among the four of them. Brian had hoped that making that promise to John would alleviate his worries, but it hadn’t quite been the miracle cure he had hoped for. Looking back at it, he should have known better than to think that John’s grey skies would turn to blue at the mere mentioning of the option of reassessment. Despite the fact that John’s depression turned every good news bleak, it was also not at all guaranteed yet that he’d actually be allowed to leave. After this morning’s meeting they had clarity at least to the extent that Brian could be filed for a reassessment, but this of course did not mean his case would be approved of, or how long it would take for his psychiatrists to come to a conclusion. It might take months for all he knew - months of time he simply did not have. 

‘How is he?’ Brian asked carefully. 

‘Very quiet ever since you left for that meeting. We couldn’t persuade him to go out with us to play, so we stayed with him in our dorm.’

‘Thanks,’ Brian said. ‘That you didn’t- didn’t go off without him.’

‘Of course not. We know he’s not very stable at the moment, and he might do things that he’d…’ Roger’s voice trailed off as he searched for the right words to express what they both knew was possible but which neither of them was particularly eager to speak out loud. ‘Either way, he’ll be glad to hear you’ve been approved for reassessment.’

‘Yes, we should go tell him,’ Brian said, trying to oppress the hint of excitement he felt; after all, he had no idea how or even if John was going to react to this spark of good news. ‘Where is he?’

‘In the canteen with Freddie. Can you imagine how confused I was to see Freddie having to drag John to the canteen instead of the other way around?’ Brian, who could not picture the scene at all, shook his head. ‘Come on, I’ll take you there. Lunch started about ten minutes ago but I’m sure they saved us a plate. I’m bloody starving.’

Brian again nodded in agreement - that was, to the part where Roger said they would head back to the canteen. He was not exactly hungry, and would not mind at all if John, in his current state of depression, and Freddie, with his current solitary task of keeping an eye on John, hadn’t thrown some mediocre sandwiches and milk cartons together for their missing friends. Roger might mind a little more, though; he had gone without heroin for quite some days now, and as a result of this was starting to get food cravings. The evening before he had eaten more than all of his roommates together, and breakfast this morning had followed the same pattern. Freddie had looked at him with a glance of horror and Brian could swear he could see Freddie counting up the number of calories and the grams of fat in his head as Roger was making his way through his third serving of milk and honey loops. Personally Brian didn’t think of it as a problem at all. Roger was skin and bone after years of heroin dependency, so if this sudden food /sprawl/ would result in a few extra pounds, it would probably be for the better.

Brian followed Roger through the hallway, half-heartedly listening to his talk of the constant headaches and cold shivers that he experienced now that it had been numerous days without heroin or any other addictive. He nodded and said ‘yes’ and ‘amen’ when appropriate, but it wasn’t until Roger shouted at him to watch his step that he was taken out of the depth of his own mind.

‘Is it Tuesday today? I hope it’s Tuesday, it’s when they sometimes have croissants at lunch. If so, I hope Freddie saved me some, because I’m seriously craving some croissants with jam right now- watch your step!’

A strong hand around his wrist tugged him to the side, and Brian almost lost his balance. His first instinct was to scold Roger for catching him off guard all of a sudden, but when he looked down at the floor below him, his flurry of anger disappeared at once. Half leaning against the wall, half sprawled across the floor was a young man, whose closed eyes and pale face at once struck Brian as a corpse. 

‘Oh my God, Oh my God, Roger-’ Brian clamped a hand over his mouth and staggered a few steps back, staring in pure disbelief at his friend, who somehow remained completely calm and unbothered as he crouched down next to the body.

‘It’s okay. It’s nothing,’ Roger told him. ‘Or well, nothing- just some drugs. He’s still breathing and I can feel a pulse,’ Roger said, his hand around the man’s wrist. ‘Alexej, can you hear me?’  

‘You know this guy?’ Brian asked, still keeping at least a six feet distance between him and the guy who seemed more dead than alive.  

‘Of course. We’re in counseling together every morning. Group therapy or whatever it’s called,’ Roger said nonchalantly. ‘Alexej, can you hear me?’ he repeated - and then, when the guy again did not reply, a sharp slap to his left cheek made Brian shriek and Alexej groan and open one tired eye.

‘Roger!’ Brian whimpered.

‘Don’t worry. I’m in this scene, I know what I’m doing,’ Roger replied without looking up, and Brian was unsure if this answer should console him or stress him out even more. ‘Alex, say something.’

‘Hnn… I feel fuckin’… awful, man,’ the guy said under his breath, but Brian was still able to hear, besides the Slavic accent, the slur in his voice. He had no idea how Roger stayed calm in the midst of this, but then again - Freddie had also always remained calm and collected whenever Roger messed up his clean streak again and was found lying on the dorm room floor with a syringe lodging in his elbow. It was something some people could apparently get used to, but Brian had known right from the start that he was not among these ‘happy few’, or whatever one wanted to call them. 

‘Bet you do. Now, listen. Did you do this yourself?’ Roger asked him. Alexej nodded slowly, and Roger did so too. ‘How much?’

‘Wha?’ Alexej opened one eye again.

‘How many grams?’

His eye fell shut again. ‘Don’t… recall.’

‘Right. Well, sit still, I’m taking this syringe out of you.’ With trained expertise, Roger pulled the needle out of the man’s elbow. It was only when the object had been removed that Brian could see how bruised the skin in and around the addict’s elbow was. The image of it made him queasy, even though he had beheld similar sights on Roger’s arms time and time again. 

Alexej grunted when the tip of the needle was removed from his skin, and a drop of blood trickled down from the small puncture. Roger wiped it away and held the syringe up in the air to inspect the item at close quarters. Brian could not have determined anything from the injection, but Roger, an expert of the field, shook his head condemningly.

‘The filler area is still half full, and there are particles in it. Where’d you get this trash?’

‘Geoff sold it to me.’

‘Of course he did,’ Roger rolled his eyes. ‘Listen, don’t buy his shit again. If this is baking soda or whatever it can cause serious problems,’ he lectured, as if doing heroin wasn’t dangerous enough on its own. Brian would have snorted if the entire situation wouldn’t have been so pathetic. ‘It can clog your blood vessels or even arteries, and you can die from that. I know life in here is shit but it’s not worth dying for. You’re with me?’

‘Got it,’ Alexej grumbled.

Roger nodded, then held the injection up in the air again. ‘This syringe must be rather new. The needle is still very sharp - you don’t see that often in here,’ he said, lightly jabbing the tip of it against his forefinger, which made Brian more than a little nervous. ‘You don’t mind if I keep this as a reward for helping you, Alex, do you?’ he asked, and brought the injection up to the back pocket of his jeans.

‘Roger!’ Brian hissed, and his friend looked up with an innocent expression that definitely was completely unfit for the current situation.

‘What?’ Roger asked.

‘Put that back!’ Brian told him, and Roger, bringing up the syringe again, stared at the object, then at the source of it, and then back at Brian.

‘You mean like this?’ he asked, and Brian couldn’t prevent a gasp of horror when he saw the tip of the needle disappear into the bruised inner area of Alexej’s elbow - quite literally the place it came from indeed.

‘Roger! Stop that!’ he whimpered.

‘Just joking,’ grinned Roger, who then showed that he’d slid the needle right past Alexej’s arm, but which from Brian’s viewing angle made it look as if he’d jammed the injection right back into his arm.

‘Not funny,’ Brian all but pouted, unsure if his heart rate would recover from this stunt of Roger’s anywhere soon. 

‘It was hilarious and you know it,’ Roger said before turning to the person still on the floor. ‘Now, let’s get you on your legs and to the infirmary,’ Roger concluded and placed his hands under Alexej’s armpits, but his patient moved away from him with the little strength he could still muster.

‘No,’ he protested. ‘No infirmary. Been there. Isolation…’ From these half-sentences Roger and Brian were able to conclude that Alexej didn’t want to be sent to the infirmary out of fear that they’d put him in isolation to sober him up, but Roger clearly thought this objection was irrelevant.

‘I’m not gonna have you die on me, Alex,’ he said, gesturing for Brian to come over and help him haul the man off the floor. Brian cautiously stepped closer and positioned himself at the other side of his body, and hesitantly followed Roger’s example of placing his arm under Alexej’s armpit.

‘Won’t… just… no nurses,’ their companion said, struggling to try and keep himself on the floor when Brian’s and Roger’s joint power tried putting him back on his feet. Roger and Alexej argued back and forth, until Roger eventually told his groupmate that he could go if he’d be able to climb the stairs up to the dorm rooms himself. Having made this deal, Alexej allowed Brian and Roger to pick him up beneath the armpits and escort him through the hallway and towards the stairs, on the way of which they fortunately did not come across any staff members who might notice that something was off.

It took some time, persistence, and Roger’s threat of calling in the nurse after all to get Alexej upstairs and in bed. Brian judged that he looked somewhat better than he had done before, and after having gotten him a glass of water and Roger promising him he’d drop by later that afternoon to check up on him, the two men left the room behind to finally go to lunch and meet their friends. Roger was a little disgruntled at having missed the largest share of lunchtime, as he was still ‘hungry enough to eat an entire horse,’ and Brian was anxious to see John and bring him the news. They skipped downstairs, paced towards the canteen, and Brian had Roger somewhat begrudgingly throw the syringe he’d gotten from the encounter with Alexej in the bin before they entered the canteen. They found their friends at the usual spot at the back of the canteen, and Brian all but ran towards them. Somehow Roger was still faster than he was - presumably because he saw a plate loaded with croissants in the middle of the table, the promise of which seemed to make him forget about the syringe he’d just had to throw away on Brian’s watch. 

Once they reached the table, Roger was the first to slump down on the chair next to Freddie, and Brian sat down across from him on the vacant chair next to John. John did not look up at either of them, which made Brian’s heart sink a bit - but the smallest of a smile appeared on his partner’s face when he put his hand over those John had placed in his lap.

Roger was the one to do the talking once he’d settled down and grabbed a croissant from the plate. ‘Sorry we’re late. Had to patch up someone of my drugs group again.’

‘Henry again?’ Freddie asked.

‘No, Alexej. The Latvian guy,’ Roger mumbled between two bites of croissant.

‘Don’t think I know a Latvian guy around here,’ Freddie frowned. ‘But what do I care! How did the meeting go, Brian? Please tell me you’ve got some good news.’

Brian smiled at him, which was really all he had to do; the mere curling of his lips made Freddie squeal in delight.

‘You were approved for reassessment! Oh my God!’ Freddie flashed the biggest smile he’d ever seen him do, and even John looked up with a sparkle of hope in his eyes. ‘You’ll get to leave with Deaky!’

‘I’ve merely been approved, Freddie,’ said Brian, who - despite loving Freddie’s enthusiasm - knew he had to remain realistic. However, now that he had seen John smile at the good news, he allowed himself to share some positivity between the four of them. ‘But they’ve gone to my records and found nothing against me. No drugs smuggling or violence or being disrespectful towards the staff or anything, so the process can go ahead.’

‘Darling, that’s amazing news,’ Freddie said. ‘So what happens now? When will you have meetings with your psychiatrist and such?’

‘I’ll be assigned a new psychiatrist to evaluate me. Someone neutral, they said. I’ll get to meet him tomorrow morning,’ Brian said.

‘What’s his name?’ Freddie asked.

‘You probably don’t know him - he’s coming from an external mental hospital. They have to make sure he doesn’t know a thing about me yet and can’t be prejudiced in any way. Even Sarah and Jasper and doctor Imholz don’t know him,’ Brian said. ‘But his name is Fisher. I hope he’s alright.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be alright. And even if he’s dumb, all you’ll have to do is keep up with him for what, two sessions or so?’ Roger said, grasping the second croissant of the plate.

‘Five sessions,’ Brian corrected him. ‘I’ll see him once every day starting tomorrow until the end of the week. Then he’ll make a judgement about whether I’m ready to leave or not, and if he approves, he’ll vouch in favour of my request at the final hearing.’

‘Final hearing?’

‘Yes, in like three, three and a half weeks my case will go to a kind of court that will decide what to do. You know, two people from the board that rule this and other mental hospitals across the country will hear my case, and make a final decision. Those and - and my former psychiatrist.’ Brian could hear his own voice fall when he mentioned this past member of the jury. He had repressed every memory of professor Sumner for the past few days, even though he knew that once he’d go for a reassessment he would be standing eye to eye with him sooner or later. The thought of it was enough to make him shiver, which John seemed to realise, too. Somewhere along the line of the conversation, Brian had retreated the hand he’d placed on top of John’s hand to be able to awkwardly pluck at his own nails, but now he felt John putting his hand on his upper leg and gently stroking him as a form of wordless comfort. They shared a sideways glance with each other and smiled, which was enough to make Brian realise that his partner’s happiness was worth having to deal with Sumner again a thousand times over. 

Roger, still, was unimpressed with the entire procedure. ‘I think just skipping over the barbed wire would be easier than going through all of this crap. But I’ve gotta admit that I’m pleasantly surprised. I never would have thought Queen Mary’s would be able to pull off an actual protocol like this.’

‘Well, we don’t know that yet,’ Brian said. ‘They called someone in to evaluate me, is all they’ve done so far. And handing me two threes worth of paperwork to fill out.’ He nodded at the pile of papers he had dragged along from the meeting, and Freddie was the first one to pick up the documents lying on top to have a look.

‘Code of conduct. Mental health statement. Mental health history. Family background. Plan for return to society,’ Freddie read out loud. ‘It’s as if you’re to become the British ambassador to Saudi Arabia or something.’

‘I’ve definitely got my work cut out for me,’ Brian said, massaging his temples with his fingertips. Nolan had quickly gone over many of the papers he’d have to fill out in the following weeks, but the amount of them had been so staggering that Brian had felt himself drift off after half a minute. He knew he’d have to bring himself around to fill everything out as well as possible, but the idea of it seemed so daunting. It was so weird, so final, to know that this could be his way out of Queen Mary’s. That within a month he could be free again, free to go and do as he pleased, instead of being locked behind the barred windows and the barbed fences of a mental health institution. It was as if he had been at Queen Mary’s for years, yet at the same time he felt like it had been just yesterday when he had handed over his suitcase and said goodbye to his parents. He wanted nothing more than to leave, especially for the sake of John, but he was nervous. What if he wasn’t ready for it yet? His depression was nowhere near cured, and since no one so far really seemed to know what caused and what could alleviate borderline, he doubted he was very much cured in that area. What if he was to leave Queen Mary’s only to have a breakdown, and be shipped right back in? What would become of John if Brian proved to be unable to deal with the mental mess he still found himself dealing with?

‘When is all of this due?’ asked Freddie as he piled up the lot of papers again.

‘The first papers for tomorrow. Not all of it, but… quite some, I think,’ Brian said. A mere look at the stack of paper was enough to make him feel nervous. 

Roger whistled shortly. ‘I was gonna invite you to go outside and play some music, but I’m afraid you won’t have time for that then?’ 

‘I’m afraid not, no,’ Brian answered. ‘This is, eh, kind of more important at the moment. I need to get this done as much as I can.’

‘I’ll come with you. I’ll help you fill them out,’ John said resolutely, and Brian felt his heart swell.

‘Thank you. I’d love that,’ he whispered at his partner, who smiled at him a little shyly. 

‘Marvellous. Do you want us to help you, too, or should we make way for you to get down to paperwork?’ Freddie asked. Normally Brian would have been too nervous to tell them off, but now that so much was at stake and four people working on the same task would probably just distract him, Brian politely told them John and he would manage on their own - something that, much to his relief, went down well with Freddie.

‘Great. But first the two of you got to eat. Both of you haven’t had any lunch yet, and the canteen is closing in like five minutes. Can you believe that I’ve actually gone through an entire croissant while you weren’t here?’

‘An entire croissant?’ asked an obviously surprised Roger, who never would have expected his boyfriend to eat something like that if not directly faced with the threat of being dragged into the infirmary if he would not budge and eat the calorie bomb.

‘Don’t get too excited, dear. I was merely trying to persuade John to eat,’ Freddie said, which, Brian decided, sounded a lot more like something he would do.

‘You haven’t had anything yet, then?’ Brian asked John, who shrugged.

‘No. Not really hungry.’

‘Even not now that Brian’s come back with such good news?’ Roger asked, but the answer remained no. ‘Come on, Deaks, you have to eat something. Or do you need me to use my techniques for Freddie on you for a change?’ 

John now grimaced, and picked up a croissant from the plate, from which he slowly started plucking strips of bread. Roger, Freddie, and Brian enthusiastically spoke of the progress Brian’s case might be making and what to say to doctor Fisher when he would be standing eye in eye with him - whether to be all upbeat or to be sincere about his emotional condition. Brian, in the meantime, could not really get a hold on what John was feeling. On the one hand he did nod and smile every now and then, and answered without a problem when he was asked a question by one of his friends. Still, his heart did not seem in it, and when the lunch lady came over to tell them lunchtime was over, he had only munched down about half of the croissant, and seemed relieved he was now able to toss the remains of it back on the plate. It was Brian who tried to see if there would be some leeway that would allow them to take some food up to their room.

‘Could we maybe just finish these last croissants upstairs?’ he asked the middle-aged woman, who scanned him and his friends over for a few seconds. ‘It’s just that we had a special meeting with our psychiatrist and only got here five minutes ago,’ Brian tried, which seemed to make the lady think.

‘You know that officially I can’t allow that. It’s against policy,’ she said.

‘Please? John here has barely had anything yet,’ Brian added.

‘It’s okay,’ John said. ‘I’m not hungry. I’ll just have a cup of tea and we’ll go back to our room,’ he said, giving a nod into the direction of the vendor at the other side of the canteen.

‘I’m afraid that won’t do,’ the woman said. 

‘Are you in that much of a hurry to close off the canteen?’ Brian asked. He knew staff had been given orders from above to close off the canteen right after mealtimes, but did that really leave no room for someone to grab a drink before leaving? 

‘Darlings, have you been living underneath a stone?’ Freddie asked. ‘The coffee and tea vendor has been dismantled.’

‘The coffee vendor- why?’ Brian asked with genuine surprise.

‘Because last week Drew threw a cup of burning coffee in Clyde’s face, and he had to be taken to the local hospital for who knows what sort of degree facial burns,’ Roger said with an equal amount of amusement as irritation in his voice. 

‘I don’t even know why this sort of thing surprises me any longer,’ said Brian, lowering his face into his hands. If anything, it should surprise him that none of the masterminds they were surrounded by had come up with the idea of pulling off this prank earlier.

‘This is why we can’t have nice things, I suppose,’ John sighed, the legs of his chair scratching over the floor as he stood up.

‘You know, just take your croissant. You don’t strike me as the trouble-making kind,’ the woman said, which made Freddie grin mischievously, telling Brian that something undoubtedly inappropriate was about to leave his lips.

‘Obviously you haven’t met cold turkey Roger before his seven o’clock shower blowjob yet,’ Freddie said with one arm sneaking around Roger’s waist, but it was quickly batted away by his less than amused boyfriend. 

‘Thank you. We’ll be on our way,’ Brian said to the woman who now looked at them as if she saw water burning. He caught Roger’s lower arm to drag him along and make sure he would not stay behind to say anything in reply to Freddie’s comment that could make the situation even worse than it was already. John understood the hint and followed right behind with the stack of papers Brian had left on the table, and Freddie, probably out of fear of being left to explain himself to a now traumatised lunch lady, wasted no time in following suit. 

Brian all but ushered the couple out of the canteen, and only let go of Roger when his friend was done threatening Freddie that he would take revenge on him one way or another. By the time this happened, they had reached their bedroom already; John opened the door and practically burst into their safe haven. Putting the paperwork on Brian’s nightstand, he flopped down on his own bed, covering his face in his hands. 

Brian was not too sure what to make of this behaviour. John had always seemed relieved to be back in their room after a long morning of group therapy and two shared mealtimes, but his relief to be able to crawl back into seclusion again for the upcoming hours seemed to consist of something more this time. John was still stressed out and feeling down regarding the judgement which had been made concerning his more or less forced removal from Queen Mary’s in a month, and the steps Brian had undertaken to try and be admitted in time with him had so far done little to ease his nerves. He wished he could do something for John to help him ease out of the whirlwind of worries and depressive thoughts, but for the time being, there was little he could do. Promising John he would be right there with him on the day he would be acquitted would be too risky; after all, even though things looked good for him so far, he could not guarantee that his case would be approved of by the jury of mental health experts he would have to appeal to at the end of this trial. Even if it was, he did not know when he would be set free from Queen Mary’s. The judgement date had been set at approximately three and a half weeks from now, meaning that he’d get to hear the decision a few days before John’s expulsion date. He doubted however if Queen Mary’s would let go of him right away, or if - just like in the case of John - they’d allow another month between the judgement and the date of dismission, to allow for a month of transition time. John was currently in the dismission period, which meant he had sessions with social workers who tried to help him establish a routine for when he’s got to leave and return to his old life.

Not that there was much left of his old life, in all honesty. Both his mother and the aunt and uncle he had lived with had thrown him out, and he had no other addresses to return to. The address Brian and he had discussed was that they’d go and live with Brian’s parents for the first few months, before finding an apartment on their own somewhere in the city - which was a plan Brian’s parents had approved of once they had overcome the shock of hearing that Brian was going for a reassessment to leave Queen Mary’s less than six months after he had been sent to it. The counsellors John had spoken too, however, were less convinced of this plan - mainly because it was of yet unsure if Brian would be released at all, or when exactly this would be. They were busy trying to set John up with guided community housing for people just released from hospital, prison, or mental institutions like the one he came from, taking no note of the fact that it would make John miserable to live in a community setting with around the clock guidance and interference. Brian knew that these social workers meant well, but he thought it really rather objectionable that they refused to listen to John’s opinion on being sent to a housing group, and kept pushing forward their vision regardless of the wishes of the one they worked for. The inability of the counsellors and John to see eye to eye on the question of where he was to go after Queen Mary’s would deliver him back into society made John cooperative to the counselling sessions, and brought stress and tension to his days and nights. Brian wished he could drag the counsellors over the desk by their ties and tell them what he thought of their method of ‘helping’ his partner, but since the sessions were closed to John and his mentor only, there was little he could do. All that was within his power was trying to convince his partner that they’d work their way around it, that his parents were willing to let him in even if Brian would not have been set free yet, and pray that his case would be approved of as soon as possible.

‘I’ll just grab my lyrics book and then Roger and I will be on our way,’ Freddie said as he dug through the stack of notebooks in the drawer of his nightstand. ‘Is there anything we can do for you before you leave?’

Apart from a handful of witty comments in the style of ‘burn down Queen Mary’s’ and ‘bribing the judges to make sure they approve of Brian’s case’ John and Brian had little serious matters to ask for, so Freddie and Roger left them with the promise that they’d be gone for a few hours so that the other couple could have lots of time to get down to the paperwork. They left with a handful of pens and a few notebooks, and before they knew it, Brian and John had the entire room to themselves.

‘Well then,’ said John, who by now had removed his hands from his face and reached out for the bunch of papers. ‘Shall we get going, then?’

Brian, in all honesty, was a tad disappointed by John’s offer to get right down to business. He would have preferred to first take a moment to talk about how John was doing today, with the eye on his partner’s reassessment case and the idea of having to leave sooner or later, but he could tell that John had brought up the idea of doing straight to the paperwork that needed to be tackled just so they would not have to talk about how he felt. Brian was not entirely sure if this was the right way to deal with one’s emotions, but after recent events, he knew better than to push John into talking when his boyfriend clearly did not want to. 

‘Alright,’ Brian said, taking a seat on his own bed. ‘What’ve you got there?’

John skimmed through the papers. ‘Family background and Code of Conduct. What do you wanna start with?’

‘I’ll have Code of Conduct. If I’m not mistaken that’s just the way I’m supposed to behave after I leave Queen Mary’s,’ Brian said, holding out his hand for John to give him the papers. Their beds had moved close enough to be at an arm’s length from each other, and Brian suspected it would not take long before they’d permanently shove their beds together just like Freddie and Roger did. 

‘I’ll have a look at the family background. See if there’s anything weird in there,’ John said, to which Brian nodded. For a moment or so they both quietly read through their assigned papers, the only sound being that of flicking papers and that of John’s humming. Though it distracted Brian from reading a little, he had never heard his partner hum before, and decided to let it be - it was cute, after all, and a sign that John felt comfortable. 

‘It says here I’m not supposed to spread overly negative opinions about Queen Mary’s,’ Brian eventually said. ‘And that I’m not allowed to reach out to the press to share negative experiences anonymously.’

‘So does that mean you can share negative experiences un-anonymously?’ John asked.

‘I guess so. Maybe because they can trace me down and beat me up then,’ Brian said.

‘They would if they’d have staff they could miss,’ John grinned.

Brian flicked the page, and read in comfortable silence until a question popped up in his mind. ‘Have you had similar papers to sign? You know, since you’ll be leaving soon?’

‘Yeah, these things sound kind of familiar,’ John said. ‘I just never paid much attention to them.’

‘You didn’t?’

‘Not after I asked if they would keep me if I refused to sign, and they said I’d be let go of regardless,’ John said, and Brian felt a pang of hurt when he was reminded once again that John did not really want to leave this place that was the only home he’d known for these past two years. ‘These papers are just a formality.’

‘Oh. Should I just sign then regardless?’

‘I don’t think you’ll be approved of if you refuse to sign their dumb codes of conduct, I’m afraid,’ John judged. ‘Besides, spilling the beans on Queen Mary’s doesn’t seem like something you’d do anyway.’

‘Probably not, no. Let me just get a pen,’ Brian said, leaning over to open the drawer of his nightstand, then his pencil case, and fish out one of the only two pens he possessed at the moment. Given that Queen Mary’s had a strict no-sharp-objects-policy, getting to keep two pens was a luxury that Brian had come to cherish and a right he wished to protect. With the ballpoint pen in his hand he skimmed through the last paragraphs - something about keeping confidential information confidential and not slandering the names of any of the staff or his fellow patients - he went to put a somewhat shaky signature on the dotted line at the end of the handout. Just as he was halfway through adding the date and location of signing to the document, John caught him by surprise with a business-like question.

‘What is the gross yearly income of your father?’

Brian blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Not for my interest. It’s one of the questions they ask you to answer in this family background. Along with your parents’ work experiences since the age of eighteen, and their involvement with law enforcement for the past twenty-five years, including petty crimes like parking fines and speeding tickets and such.’

Brian took a few seconds to reflect before replying. ‘It really is as if I’m becoming the ambassador of Saudi Arabia,’ he eventually mumbled. ‘Seriously though, how am I supposed to know whether my father was ever fined for driving through a red light before I was even born?’

‘Guess we’ll have to cross-examine him when we see him this weekend,’ John shrugged, straightening out the paper. ‘Both of your parents are coming, right?’

‘Yeah, they should be,’ Brian said. ‘At least that’s what mum said on the phone.’ He could sense John looking at him, but he did not have the courage to look him in the eyes at the moment, so he focussed his attention on the pen he now rolled between his thumb and forefinger. 

‘Are you nervous about seeing them again? Now that- well, since you broke the news to them yesterday?’

Brian hadn’t expected John to ask this question. He wasn’t usually the one to talk about emotions, let alone to bring up the topic if he was not coaxed into doing so. However, even though Brian wasn’t sure if he was quite in the mood to talk about it, he supposed he owed John something of an explanation at this point. He had told John that he had broken the news of trying to leave to his parents, and that they agreed to his request of letting them move in until they’d get an apartment for themselves, but other than that, he had been rather quiet about the whole matter. Part of it was because John hadn’t been very talkative about his reassessment either, but his parents’ emotional reaction had also been weighing in. This was something he had not told John, but he had a feeling that his boyfriend had been able to sense it - and now that he directly addressed the matter, it seemed best to Brian to break it to him.

‘A bit, I guess. My dad wasn’t happy, and my mom - well, eh, she cried. Said I was wasting my chance of healing by getting away from Queen Mary’s before they could complete their job,’ Brian mumbled, and he could feel John’s empathetic eyes on him. ‘But she said that if it was really what I wanted, then she would support me,’ he shrugged it off, even though he still had not completely overcome his mother’s reaction. It was weird in a way, because he had heard her cry a lot over the past six months - the days prior of his admission, the day of his admission, upon saying goodbye, the first few times they had telephoned, the first visit his parents had paid to him at Queen Mary’s - but this seemed different for some reason. Different, perhaps because now she cried not because she missed him, but because she felt so powerless now that he was leaving Queen Mary’s before his treatment was over - she might even be afraid of what was to become of him now that he might soon be out and about in society again. Because she was disappointed in him, or at least with his decision - which was incredibly hard to stomach for Brian. 

‘I’m sure she will support you,’ said John, who reached out a hand to put on Brian’s shoulder. ‘And your father will also come around sooner or later. He always does, you told me once, right? This will be no different.’

‘Probably, yeah,’ Brian said somewhat vaguely. ‘I mean, he’s got little choice - my mum already said yes to our plans, and regardless of what my dad might think, it’s my mum who wears the pants around the house,’ Brian chuckled, but his amusement faded when something else came to mind. ‘She was also the one to send me here, now that I think about it.’

‘She did that because she cares about you, sweetie,’ John said in the softest, most tender voice - one Brian would only get to hear when John tried to comfort him. ‘She couldn’t know it would be such a shitshow in here. She did what she thought would be best for you.’

‘It was, in a way,’ Brian sighed. ‘I never would have met you and those other clowns if I hadn’t been sent here.’

John pulled a face. ‘Out of all possible nicknames you could have called me, clown would be the one I personally never would have used. I’ve never said anything funny in my life.’

Brian begged to differ. ‘You called this place a shitshow like three seconds ago. And Roger called Queen Mary’s a clown academy just this morning.’

‘Sounds like him,’ John snorted before he pulled his hand away from Brian’s shoulder and tucked it under his head, taking in the sight of the ceiling for a moment before he said: ‘I’ll miss him when I’ll have to leave. You know, despite all the drama with his addiction and his vulgar comments and his annoying- annoying everything, I’ll still miss him. And Freddie, of course. I’ll miss him and his stupid enthusiasm about everything.’

Brian smiled at John’s way of appreciating their roommates, who overtime had become so much more than that. ‘I know. I’ll miss them too if I do get to leave. We’ve become such a team overtime.’

‘I never would have thought so before you got here,’ John admitted. ‘When I’d been assigned to a room with Freddie and Roger about a year ago, I thought I’d lose my mind. They were so… loud and intense and dramatic. I didn’t talk to my psychiatrist for a week when he refused to have me switch to another room. But I got used to them, and then you came around… And it just fit. You brought balance between all of us. You’re like… I don’t know. Some kind of glue that stuck us together.’

‘You’re so sweet,’ Brian smiled. ‘I’m sure Freddie and Roger will miss you just as much. I already overheard their plans of jumping on you for the longest hug you’ve ever had in your life on the day you leave here.’

John, contrary to what Brian had expected, did not pull a face but smiled back at him. ‘And you’re just letting them have that record?’

‘You know you can tell me if you need a cuddle,’ said Brian as he dragged himself up from his own bed in order to join John on his.

‘I can’t. Too antisocial to ask for physical intimacy,’ John said, although he did stretch out his arms to invite Brian into his bed and, more importantly, into his embrace. 

‘Physical intimacy, you say?’ Brian wiggled his eyebrows at John.  

‘This sort of thing is the reason why I’m antisocial in the first place,’ John sighed, but he leaned into the touch of his boyfriend anyway.

‘But you’ve made great progress,’ Brian remarked, tucking a loose strand of John’s hair behind his ear. ‘You talk during group therapy sessions, you go out and have fun with us and even with other people sometimes, like that time in the gym. You’re even allowed to leave because you’re doing so much better socially.’

‘Forced to, more like,’ John muttered. ‘I don’t want to leave.’

Brian, who felt like this might be a gateway to talking about John’s emotions concerning leaving Queen Mary’s in more depth, asked: ‘Even not if I go with you?’ 

‘That’s better, of course, a lot better. But I’m still - afraid. You know, what if I’m just a burden to your parents? What if they send me away just like… like everyone else?’

This was something Brian heard for the first time, and something that caught him by surprise, even though perhaps it shouldn’t have. John had seemed relieved when Brian had told him that they could live with his parents when they would first be dismissed from Queen Mary’s, but every place he’d ever lived had eventually kicked him out - his family home, his aunt and uncle’s place, and now Queen Mary’s. His fear of being expulsed again was reasonable, but Brian wished to tackle it. ‘What? They’d never send you away, honey. Trust me, they’re not that kind of people.’

‘But what if they don’t like me?’ John asked.

‘Why would they dislike you? You’re sweet and quiet and respectful. My parents will adore-’

‘Because I’m the reason you’re leaving prematurely,’ John burst in. ‘I’m the one who- you know, took away your chance at healing if all of this goes through.’

Oh, Lord. That was an aspect Brian hadn’t considered yet, but when John mentioned it, it hit him like a brick. Of course John worried about the effect he’d have on Brian now that his partner was trying to leave Queen Mary’s for his sake, and of course he worried about what Brian’s parents would think of him if this was to be one of his first impression on them. It explained John’s recent quietness and reticence, and Brian could hit himself in the face for not having seen it earlier.

‘Oh darling, is that why you’ve been so quiet about my reassessment?’

‘Maybe,’ John shrugged. ‘I just feel guilty.’

Brian, cuddling closer up to John said: ‘Never feel guilty. I never could have healed at this place of - of what exactly? Of staff members getting bitten in their arms when they try to break up a fight? Of dismantled coffee machines because the risk of people throwing hot coffee in each other’s faces is too high? Of secret isolation cells in the basement for if staff can’t handle the patients anymore and is not allowed to call the police out of management’s fear for inspection?’ Brian summed up. ‘I never could have healed here, John, and neither can you. This place is in the best interest of neither of us.’

‘I know,’ John gritted. ‘But that’s the thing - I want what’s best for you. And I’m not always sure that that’s me. Especially now that you’re about to be set free from Queen Mary’s, I’ve been wondering if I- if I should also set you free,’ John said with a sniff that Brian had a feeling preluded tears. It broke his heart seeing his partner like this, hearing how he felt about the influence he had on Brian, and his brain was working overtime trying to figure out something to say to show him that he had it all wrong - that being with him had made Brian feel infinitely better, and that he was the best thing that had ever happened to him, especially while here at Queen Mary’s. 

‘John- John, listen, honey. You are what’s best for me. I could never have imagined having come this far again, to the extent where I’m able to see that life is out there, and that I want to go back to it again. That’s all thanks to you,’ Brian said, cupping John’s face in his hands when his partner tried to shy away from his eyes. ‘Not because of Sarah’s endless chatter or Jasper’s enthusiastic but bloody annoying ‘thought schemes’ or whatever he calls them, but because of you. If it wasn’t for you, I would have stayed here, biding my time, waiting until they would either admit me back to my parent’s place again, or would ship me off to a long stay clinic. It’s thanks to you that I want to leave this place, go back to school, be back in touch with my friends and family, make a life again, together with you. Because you’re the one who showed me love again,’ Brian whispered, and he could swear he could see the tears in John’s eyes by now - and if those had just been an illusion, they were definitely there when he added: ‘I never thought I’d experience love again until I found you.’

‘Fuck, Brian,’ John choked out, using the back of his sleeve to wipe away his tears. ‘You can’t just… make speeches like that on a regular afternoon and expect me to be okay.’

‘It’s okay to cry. It shows that you care.’

‘I know. I just still have to get used to like… emotions and stuff,’ John said. ‘Fuck, this is unbelievable. They really think they can put me back and have me be a functional member of society? This place honestly doesn’t know what they’re doing,’ he said, desperately trying to wipe out another line of tears, but the smile that shone through underneath told Brian that he was happy despite it all. 

‘Maybe they don’t, but we do,’ Brian said. ‘We’ll go out there, sort ourselves out, get a nice studio apartment, buy some cheap pots and pans and floral furniture you wouldn’t want to be found dead on at a second-hand store, go back to school or work or whatever we want to do. We’ll visit Freddie and Roger until they’ll be let go of. We’ll play music until the neighbours knock on the walls, and drink lukewarm tea from a dysfunctional hand-me-down kettle that already seemed too good to be true.’ John’s smile grew a little wider, and Brian added: ‘And we’ll have one of those weird spider plants that grow all over the place if you don’t watch it. We’ll adopt a scrawny old cat that sleeps in our bed and hangs in the curtains at least twice a week. Your turn.’ 

John blinked for a bit. ‘Oh, eh… Well, I’ll ruin at least three shirts because I can’t iron for the life of me. We’ll have instruments and strings and guitar picks all over the place.’

‘We’ll have to accept ugly knitted pillow cases and crocheted tablecloths from our mums, which we’ll only bring out when they come around to visit,’ Brian followed up.

‘We’ll have an old radio or TV which keeps buzzing regardless of how well you tune it, and we’ll hit the screen with a rolled-up newspaper if we’re frustrated, as if that will make things better.’

‘We’ll have joined showers because there’ll be too little hot water for the both of us to shower separately. And I only want biscuit tins that actually contain biscuits in the house. No needlework or lightbulbs or clothing pins or the like.’

John, who by now seemed to get the hang of the game, said: ‘We’ll spend all of our excess money on records, and hang sleeves up on the wall as decoration.’

‘We’ll dump out that dumb kettle and buy a decent one, and we’ll try out weird tea flavours all day. Pineapple tea, cotton candy, or tomato-broccoli flavour or so.’

John pulled a face. ‘And I’d dump it right into the plant pots when you’re not looking. That might make those weird spider plants stop growing.’

Brian snorted. ‘And then I’d buy a cactus, and we’ll be known as the first couple ever to manage to kill a cactus. I also want a bed with at least twenty pillows and five different sorts of blankets and duvets on it so we can roll around all night. All as mismatched as possible - really kitschy.’

‘We’ll play guitar in bed until late, until I fall asleep with my bass pics still in hand. And when we wake up in the morning you’ll make your nasty tea and I’ll put on a record on the record player next to the bed so we can stay in late and listen to the Beatles, and we’ll be happy.’

Those last words were the most meaningful Brian had heard John say concerning their upcoming freedom - whether Brian would be released at the end of this reassessment trial or whether he would have to sit out his time at Queen Mary’s until the end, they would stay together, and they would be happy. They’d overcome the turbulence of their youth, the problems of the past, the battles with themselves - they’d be together, united, and they’d be happy together. They’d have each other even if the world around them would crumble, and catch each other if they would fall.

Brian tightened his arms around John’s torso, and pulled him in for a chaste but meaningful kiss on the lips.

‘And we’ll be happy.’

# # # 

Unfortunately for the pair of them, John’s new-found positive outlook on Brian’s reassessment and leaving Queen Mary’s behind did not last long. A mere few hours after Brian and he had signed paperwork and reunited with Freddie and Roger for a game of mensch-ärgere-dich-nicht, a bomb threat from an anonymous culprit - most likely to be an ex-patient or relative to a patient of Queen Mary’s - destroyed whatever had been left of the atmosphere as the entire populace was escorted into the basement while police flocked around the building. Nothing was found, but the threat and the stress of hours spent in suspense waiting for the police report had put a permanent strain on all four of the members of Room 41, and none of them slept well during the night that followed. The usual drill of incident-filled mealtimes and hostility in the hallways and activity rooms took their toll on John, who was further discouraged from the forced acquittal process through another string of meetings with counsellors who tried arranging help he didn’t want and resources he didn’t need. 

Brian tried to keep John somewhat upbeat by reminding him of the upcoming visit of his parents, which he hoped John would see as a safe haven to stay after Queen Mary’s, but it seemed to have the polar opposite effect on John. Instead of taking comfort in the fact that there would be a family waiting to take him in when he would be released, the mere idea of moving in with people he did not know and living at their expense seemed to freak John out, and no amount of reassurance from Brian that his parents would not mind and would love to take him in could convince him otherwise - to the point where on the day of the scheduled meeting, John hardly dared to come out of his bed.

‘Come on, lovie,’ said Brian, who had seated himself on the bed next to John. His partner, currently lying on his stomach with his face buried in a pillow, tried hard to ignore him. ‘Nolan will be here in a few minutes. You have to get up.’

‘Don’t wanna,’ John murmured into his pillow. 

‘I know, but you’re going to do great.’ When John ignored this comment, Brian sighed, running a hand over John’s back. ‘What are you most afraid of?’

John huffed. ‘Everything.’

Well, that was not exactly a conclusive answer, but Brian knew what he meant. John feared meeting his parents, their reaction to him, the paperwork they’d have to sign, and most of all, the finality of his time at Queen Mary’s the meeting would signify. They would talk of plans for the future and questions would be asked regarding his background, his mental situation, his ideas for the upcoming years - the mere idea of which Brian knew freaked John out. Still, he remained hopeful that he could convince his boyfriend to get up, brave his fears, and go out there; it was important that John would get to see his parents at least once before permanently moving in with them, regardless of whether Brian would be joining him right away or not. Especially if Brian’s request of reassessment would be denied it would be important that John at least knew who his parents were, given that he’d then go to live with them without having Brian there to be his rock in an otherwise unknown environment. 

‘You shouldn’t be. My parents won’t think anything negative about you, believe me.’

‘I’m sure they’re thrilled to find that their only son came home with a suicidal college dropout who was disowned by his own family,’ John said, and Brian felt his heart sink in. He hated having to hear his partner talk about himself in this manner, and was determined to make him feel more secure about himself - especially in the light of the upcoming visit.

‘Everyone in here is a dropout of some sort. Does that mean we’re all failures? Does that mean Roger, Freddie, and I are failures?’ Brian knew it was a bit cruel to put John on the spot like this, but his words seemed to have some effect on his partner.

‘Of course you’re not. You have plans to go back to school and make something of your life.’

‘And you don’t?’ Brian asked him. ‘You don’t want to go back to college at some point in time?’

John shrugged. ‘I guess.’

Knowing that this was likely to be the most he was going to get out of John at this point in time, Brian said: ‘You will. We’re going to get out of here, take some time to readjust, go back to school, find ourselves an apartment. I’ll finish my degree and you’ll finish yours, or find a job you enjoy, or- or whatever makes you happy. I’ll support you regardless of what you choose to do.’

John now turned around to lie on his back and looked at him, and it looked like he wanted to say something - a word of thanks, or an affirmation that he’d do the same for Brian - but he ended up just looking at Brian until his gaze was eventually pulled away from his boyfriend when a knock on the door distracted his attention.

‘I’ll go get it, dears,’ said Freddie as he bounced off the bed with a bit too much enthusiasm for his emaciated body, but he nevertheless made it to the door without too much visible trouble. The door was opened and Freddie enthusiastically exclaimed that Nolan had arrived (a useless statement really, given that no one else but their mentor would ever approach their ‘stink cave,’ as Roger had taken to calling their room as of late) but neither of his friends reacted to the announcement. They just sat there, each on their own side of the bed, looking at each other; Brian with a glimpse of hope and John with a look of desolation on his face. Brian knew John would have given it all he owned to be able to skip this meeting, which gave Brian all the more reason to try his best and pick his boyfriend up from the depth of the mental rabbit hole he had dug himself into.

‘Come, let’s get up. Nolan is waiting for us,’ Brian said. He deliberately let out the fact that his parents must be waiting on them, too - the mere mentioning of the presence of his mum and dad was enough to make John slide back into desolation. Brian had never seen anyone as anxious about a meeting as John was at that given moment, and he was running out of things to say to comfort him.

‘Baby, you know you won’t be alone there. I’ll be with you the entire time, and so is Nolan,’ Brian said. John didn’t react. ‘Do you need anyone else there? Maybe Freddie or Roger…?’ he said with a hesitant look towards the other side of the room, but he was luckily met with smiles and nods.

‘Of course!’ Roger said, the overly enthusiastic tone of his reply quickly explained when he added: ‘I’ll have to miss my counselling for once, but I don’t think that will matter too much.’

‘No, I’m fine. Just Brian and Nolan will do,’ John said, much to the relief of everyone apart from the proposer himself.

‘Well, Nolan and I are ready whenever you are,’ Brian told him, then corrected himself when he realised the vast liberty this statement would grant his partner to stay in their room for the remainder of the day. ‘Nolan and I are ready, and we’d like to go. There’s a lot to discuss and they’ve planned an hour for this meeting,’ he said, careful to address the discussion of future plans with his parents as neutral as possible.

‘Hm-hmm,’ John hummed as a form of answer, but his eyes were empty, and he made no movements that indicated he was planning on getting up from the bed anywhere soon. Brian thus took matters into his own hands and stood up from the bed, taking a few steps to the left so he could stand in front of John.

‘Come on, honey. Time to go. We have to take care of this sooner or later.’ Brian reached out a hand towards his partner to help him get up from the bed, but John merely stared at it. Brian heard the soft murmur of Freddie’s and Nolan’s voices behind him, and he sighed deeply before crouching down to John’s level.

‘Listen, darling. I know you’re not very comfortable about meeting my parents and talking about what to do when you have to leave Queen Mary’s, but you’re only making it harder on yourself by not cooperating. You’ll have to leave in about three weeks, and we can’t change that. The best thing we can do is arrange something so we can stay together and support each other.’

John blinked, then finally spoke. ‘But what if you won’t be allowed to leave?’ 

‘Then I want to make sure you’ll be in the best place possible until I’ll be dismissed. And that place is going to be at my parents’ house. Please, John, give this a chance. I know you’re nervous, and you don’t want things to change, but things will change, and we’re gonna have to deal with that in the best way possible.’ Brian’s voice was a bit more insistent than he would have liked for it to be, but it at last seemed to have an effect on John.

‘Promise me you won’t leave me alone in there,’ John whispered - pleaded, nearly.

‘I promise. You just have to say the word to let me know you’re no comfortable. And you don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to answer, in case anyone might ask them,’ Brian vowed. ‘Come with me?’ he asked. He stretched his hand towards John again, and this time John took it.

John was still visibly nervous - the smile he gave Nolan when they came face to face with him in the hallway looked tensed rather than sincere, and he kept his head down as they walked through the hallways, past the canteen and the staff rooms and into the corridor leading to the visiting area. Brian had only been to the place a few times before, but he remained uneasy each time a guard opened the multiple barred doors they crossed on their way. 

‘Your parents have already arrived, I’ve been told,’ Nolan said to Brian. ‘They’ve also signed the paperwork in which they vow to take in John and you, or just John in case of- well, in that case,’ Nolan cut himself off when Brian shot him a look. Brian was glad that his mentor understood the hint - right as John was heading for the meeting he’d been dreading since the very moment it had been planned was not exactly the right moment to bring up all that could still go wrong in Brian’s process. The string of meetings with Professor Fisher, the independent psychiatrists who had been assigned to supervise the case and oversee Brian’s ability to return to society, had gone well, and the professor had given his blessing to Brian’s appeal. It had been a victory for Brian and all those around him - apart from John. Every time an obstacle was removed from Brian’s path towards accelerated freedom, all John seemed to be able to see were the new mountains showing up on the way. 

To some extent, John had a point. Even though he had managed to push his appeal for freedom past the internal staff of Queen Mary’s and an outsider in the form of a psychiatrist, Brian had no guarantees that the eventual jury he’d have to beat up to would grant him leave. Especially the presence of his former psychiatrist Doctor Sumner did not sit comfortably with him, but he refused to let this prospect weigh him down; he had a task in front of him, and he was going to give it all he could. Nothing, not John’s negativity nor his own nerves, and most of all not Doctor Sumner’s preening eyes and tight-lipped smile were going to hold him back.

Nolan babbled on about the contact he’d had with Brian’s parents over the phone - something Brian had been unaware of, and something he did not know whether to appreciate or to be wary of - but it was only when they reached the last door that separated the three of them from his parents that Brian really felt his attention resurfacing to the presence. The guard who had walked them all the way over searched their pockets for forbidden items and had a small fit over the shaving cream bottle cap Brian had forgotten he’d put in his back pocket that morning for no particular reason other than not knowing where to leave it as he was shaving. Nolan managed to convince the guy that it was nothing, so the item was confiscated and they were given leave to enter the heavy iron door.

‘Alright, folks. Are you ready?’ Nolan asked with his usual upbeat expression on his face as he stepped over the threshold of the door. Brian was ready to do the same, but one look at John was all he needed to know that John needed a few more words of encouragement.

‘One second, Nole,’ Brian said, not realising he just called his mentor by the nickname Freddie sometimes used to refer to him in private. He stepped into the direction of John, who was still standing next to the guard - and who slipped back a few steps when Brian approached him.

‘John…’ Brian said quietly.

‘I- I can’t do this,’ John told him. ‘I need more time. I can’t do this now.’

‘But there isn’t more time,’ Brian said. Then, stepping close quickly enough to make it impossible for John to back away from him any further, he placed his hands on either of his boyfriend’s shoulders and said: ‘Listen, John. I wish I could give you all the time in the world, but we don’t have that luxury. We have to step up now to make the best out of the situation; we’ll regret it if we let Queen Mary’s rehabilitation services figure out our future for us,’ Brian said. ‘And I know you think you’re expected to go out there and put on your brightest smile and act like the perfect foster child or whatever for my parents to take you into their house, but you don’t. You don’t have to live up to any expectations. You don’t have to be perfectly sociable and nice - it’s not a competition where the winner takes it all and the loser is left behind. There is no losing here, you see?’ Brian took a second to take a break from his monologue, but picked it up again before John could disagree with him. ‘You’re going to get out of his Godawful place and move into a home where people will care for you, regardless of whether I’ll be released right away or a few months later. My parents already signed the papers and they promised to take you in and take care of you for as long as needed. And you don’t have to worry about them liking you or not, because they will.’

John had remained perfectly blank throughout the soliloquy, but he snorted at those last words. ‘They won’t. I’m a disappointment.’

‘You’re perfect and they’re gonna love you. You’re smart and funny and polite - if you choose to be so - and perfect company. My parents have always wanted to have a second child, and getting one at the age of twenty doesn’t mean they’ll be any less enthusiastic,’ Brian said with a little smile, and he could see that John’s face copied his despite his lover trying to look away from him. ‘And as for you… You could do with a family after all these years. A real family.’

At the mentioning of these words, John turned his face away from him even further, but this did not prevent Brian from seeing that tears were brimming his eyes. The idea of having a family, a house to come home to every night, a space where he did not have to feel like an outsider, a burden, an unwanted alien - Brian could tell that it touched John, and he knew that this was the right moment to usher him through the door before either of them could think better of it.

‘Come on. Let’s go in,’ Brian whispered with a soft yet steady hand on the small of John’s back. He heard John smother a sob and saw him wipe the back of his hand across his eyes, but once this had been taken care of, he allowed Brian to gently usher him towards the door through which Nolan had just disappeared. John halted for a second when they neared the threshold - his hand seemed to be seeking Brian’s, and the guitarist placed his hand on John’s and squeezed it shortly. 

‘I’m right here with you.’

‘I know,’ John whispered. With that, he stepped over the threshold; Brian followed him, and then the guard closed the iron door behind them, leaving no way back until the end of the meeting. It was a thought that Brian knew should freak John out, but personally he was rather relieved to know that there was no other way for John than to follow him to his parents.

The meeting room seemed a lot larger than the last time to Brian - which was probably at least partially to blame to the fact that it had been filled with patients and their family members and at least a handful of guards and other supervisors the few times he’d visited so far. This time, however, his eyes darted around the room without seeing more than a single guard flicking through a leaflet in the corner of the room. There was one single occupied table at the other end of the room, towards which Nolan was currently making his way. He could make out the figures of his parents, who were standing up from their chairs as the stranger approached them. He could see his mum shove her handbag into her husband’s hands as the mentor reached a hand towards her.

‘Good morning, folks!’ Brian could hear Nolan say with a perfect mixture of politeness and informality. ‘I’m Nolan Ferrier - we’ve spoken on the phone.’ Brian watched as first his mother’s and then his father’s hand was pulled into a strong handshake from Nolan’s side. They seemed to share a few more quiet words, and Brian suddenly realised that Jon and he had not moved on any further than perhaps three feet away from the door. 

‘Come, let’s go over there. I’ll go first.’ Without awaiting John’s reply as to avoid giving him the opportunity to protest, Brian walked past the first row of empty tables. He heard the sound of John’s shoes clicking on the floor behind him confirming that his partner was following him. He then changed his walking pace to a more rapid one - he did not want to waste any time that could be used for coming to agreements for when either John came to live with them, either on his own or with him straight away.

The second his parents caught sight of him, the polite discussion of some sort they had been following with Nolan was wrapped up; hands were detached and excuses were made, and they turned to walk into his direction. He could hear his mother call his name - first softly, then louder - and his smile brightened. He hadn’t seen his parents since the last family visit, which had been at least three weeks ago at least. Their enthusiasm for seeing him, however, never seemed to subside; they were as happy and emotional as they came to him now as they had been the very first time they’d been granted entrance into the visiting room of Queen Mary’s to come see their son. Brian could already hear his mother’s first sobs before they had even gotten towards each other, although it was only a second or so later that they met in the middle. Brian was caught in the surprisingly strong grip of his mother’s arms, followed by those of his father. Being embraced by his parents always felt so secure, so safe - it was like coming home regardless of how far away he was from his paternal house.

‘Oh, Brian, my love! How are you?’ The voice of his mother was high and shrill so close to his ear, but it did not seem to Brian that this was an appropriate moment to say something about it.

‘I’m fine, mum. You know you don’t have to worry about me,’ he mumbled against the shoulder of his father. This time there were no guards telling them to break up and sit down - just the three of them getting a moment to express their love for each other through touch rather than through words. Not that that stopped Brian’s mother from blabbering on, though…

‘But you know I do,’ his mother sighed. ‘A reassessment! I didn’t even know what it was! Or that it was possible! And that you were already working on it-‘

‘Don’t wind yourself up too much, dear,’ Harold interrupted the stream of words flowing from his wife’s mouth. ‘Mister Ferrier will tell us all about it in a moment, I’m sure.’

Brian opened his eyes at the mentioning of his mentor, whom he had completely ignored since the moment he had met eyes with his parents. Much to his relief he saw Nolan smiling at him lazily, but the same, he assumed, could not be said about John. His boyfriend, who remained standing a few feet behind him, could hardly be comfortable around the family scene he was currently witnessing. Brian thus pulled himself away from the arms of his parents, and took a step back to line up next to the person he’d momentarily neglected.

‘Mum, Dad, this is John, my friend and roommate.’ Brian felt himself beam with pride as he introduced the boy around whom he’d centred his life for the past few months, and his parents seemed equally eager to meet him and exchange some words with the person their son had been unable to shut up about lately.

‘Oh, John! How good to finally meet you!’ his mother all but cooed, extending a hand towards him. ‘I’m Ruth May - Brian’s mother.’ John followed her example and shook hands with her and introduced himself somewhat awkwardly.

‘Er, it’s great to see you too. I’m John Deacon.’ He forced a small smile and withdrew his hand as quickly as possible; Brian hoped his mum would take no offence. He had told them during their last phone call that John was incredibly nervous - and that his antisocial personality disorder meant that he was not one to enjoy himself in social situations - so that they should be a bit lenient on him. Knowing his parents, they would behave just so; but Brian did feel that a lot of questions concerning John would be coming up as soon as his boyfriend would be out of their sight, especially when his father took his turn to introduce himself.

‘John, I’m Harold May,’ Brian’s father told him as he took John’s hand in his own. ‘We’ve heard a lot about you.’

Brian saw the smile wash off John’s face. ‘Is that an, uh, good or a bad sign?’ he asked with a renewed fake smile and a hint of humour, but Brian knew that it was really the joke which John tried to play it off yet. His mother laughed her typical, high-pitched laugh, and said she loved his humour, and his father was chuckling still when he disclaimed it had been a pretty good picture that had been painted of him by their son. Neither of this worked, though - and it was only when Brian put an arm around him that his tensed body relaxed a little.

‘A good sign, Deaky. Do you think I’d tell them bad stories about you? Do you think I even have bad stories to tell about you?’

John looked at him thoroughly at first, as if he was deciding whether Brian was playing with him or not, but eventually the slightest of a smile broke through. The somewhat awkward silence, however, by then had already prompted Nolan to speak up.

‘Shall we sit down and go over the arrangements? We’ve got quite a bit to discuss.’

John seemed to be most enthusiastic about following Nolan’s proposal. He agreed whole-heartedly and paced towards the table on which Brian’s parents had been sitting before. Nolan, who - as usual - seemed to sense exactly what he was feeling, made sure to sit next to him on the one side, and made Brian sit down on the other. Harold and Ruth sat across from them and waited for Nolan to bring out the papers he’d brought with him in a dark red folder with Brian’s name and patient number printed on the front. Brian saw John getting fidgety with the hem of his shirt while Nolan looked for the right papers, and placed a hand on John’s leg underneath the table.

‘Alright,’ Nolan eventually declared when he’d found the papers he had been looking for, and closed the folder to put it aside. ‘What we’re here for today is to go over the agreements which have been made for John’s rehabilitation into society, and that of Brian in case that his reassessment will be approved. I’m first just going to go through some formalities,’ Nolan announced. ‘Is it correct that you are Harold and Ruth May, parents of Brian May?’

‘Correct,’ Harold said.

‘So far so good,’ Nolan smiled. ‘And you were the ones who applied for your son to be admitted into Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital, together with his psychiatrist Doctor L. J. Sumner?’ Brian felt his stomach turn at the mere mention of the name of his previous psychiatrist, but he buckled up for the sake of everyone around him. His father once again confirmed, together with the date on which they had filled out the application and the date of approval.

‘Then, according to this file right here…’ Nolan’s voice trailed down near the end of the sentence as he searched for the right paper. ‘Ah, here. According to this, you handed Brian over to the care of Queen Mary’s on March fifteen, nineteen seventy-one, by bringing him over and seeing to it that he was taken in.’

‘Yes. Wasn’t it you that took him in?’ Ruth asked. Nolan nodded with a small smile.

‘It was. It’s just that the protocol tells me to have you confirm all these details - because, as the next point tells me, you volunteered and were approved to take Brian back under your roof and carry parental responsibility for his well-being and further recovery when he would be released from Queen Mary’s?’

‘We are. And we still stand by that,’ said Harold, which preceded the next question Nolan was to read out loud. They were reminded of what it meant to be the guardians of Brian in a mental health context, and of which people to inform and turn to in case things went downhill again. That, if Brian had a fallback, he could be reported and taken back into Queen Mary’s, but that this would first need investigation, and could not happen overnight. This point seemed to make his mother more than just a little nervous - but, upon Brian ensuring her that chances of this happening were small, and Nolan telling her that help would always be available in case of acute danger, she eventually agreed. A few more such questions were answered and considered before Nolan placed down the papers and started looking for another set.

‘Now, as we all know, these arrangements will be critical in case Brian gets released after his reassessment trial. We cannot guarantee when or if that will happen, but what we do know is that John will be released in three weeks,’ Nolan said, and Brian saw John’s jaw clenching. The soothing hand stroking John’s leg seemed to be able to do little to soothe him when Nolan spoke on. ‘John Richard Deacon, taken in on September three, nineteen sixty-nine at age eighteen, after his foster guardians Alec Baldwin and Molly Baldwin-Forester signed him up to be taken into Queen Mary’s when they could no longer deal with his mental problems.’

‘Foster guardians?’ Ruth sounded surprised, if not a little afraid. Nolan looked at John as to find out whether he was allowed to tell them what happened, or if he should tell them that John would tell them later. Brian remembered having told his parents at one point during this past week’s phone calls and conversations that John could not return to the aunt and uncle with whom he had lived before being taken into Queen Mary’s, but he was afraid that his mother at the moment failed to see that the foster guardians which Nolan referred to were nothing more than John’s aunt and uncle. He knew the official documents referred to them as his foster guardians, but he understood how different, how dramatic this sounded - as if John had been a problematic child who had gone through multiple sets of foster parents over the years, the last pair of which had sent him away to a mental institution. It was far from the truth, but Brian could hardly blame his parents for getting an idea like this in their head.

To his utter surprise, John hardly blinked when he offered an explanation to Brian’s parents. ‘I was taken in by my aunt and uncle after my mum could no longer combine the care of my disabled sister with taking care of me,’ he said, which Brian had to admit was not a lie - just a very polished version of what he had actually gone through with his entire family locking him out. Brian could not blame him, though, for John only telling part of the truth to his parents. He doubted he would have been able to disclose more about his terrific past to a pair of strangers upon first meeting them - especially in John’s current state of being.

‘Disabled sister-’ Brian heard his father mumble, but he effectively managed to shut him up by giving the man, who was sitting across from him at the table, a light kick against the shin. His father’s face retorted, but he did not protest; he seemed to understand that this was not the right time or place to discuss the ins and outs of John’s life. Besides, Brian had clearly instructed them not to pry into John’s personal business; he would tell them what he wanted them to know as soon as he felt comfortable around them.

Nolan, like the hero he was, continued his story. ‘Alec and Molly Baldwin thus handed John over to the care of Queen Mary’s, but while our staff has reached out to them to tell them their nephew will soon be released and to ask them if they are willing to take him in again, they have declined their responsibility, and do not wish to be involved in backing John up in his rehabilitation process whatsoever, as they stated in a formal letter we received the other day.’ A light brown envelope was brought up and put in the middle of the table. Four pairs of eyes stared at it, but no one seemed to dare make a move or say a word. ‘John’s mother has also been informed, but she- she declared herself to be unfit of taking care of John again, referring to- her daily task of taking care of-’

‘Of my sister, yes. I expected so,’ John finished the sentence of Nolan, of whom both Brian and he was currently making up a more socially acceptable answer to refuse to take in a son again than what she really had told the staff upon being contacted. Brian wondered if she had yelled, if she had cursed her son, if she had laughed viciously and asked if they were out of their mind to ask her to take back the person who she deemed the one to have ruined her life. Brian guessed he would never know, and perhaps it was better like that - especially if John would also be spared from the probably /scalding/ reply his mother had made to the request.

‘Your sister, yes. Your mother sees herself currently unfit to combine, eh, her care with that of you,’ Nolan said. ‘Other family members we unfortunately could not reach. So that…’ he stressed while looking at the couple sitting across from him, ‘is where the pair of you come in’. 

Silence for a moment while Ruth and Harold looked at each other. Brian could see the doubt and uncertainty in their eyes. He realised he had sort of convinced them overnight to have both him and his secret boyfriend come back to live under the same roof as them over the past few days; after all, there had not been more than about a week between the first moment he had rung them to tell them about his plans of getting a reassessment, and this meeting which had been scheduled last-minute as his psychiatrist had approved him for the first round of his trial. He knew his parents were hesitant people in general, and the fact that they both did not know John and that they realised he suffered from mental problems wasn’t making it easy on them. Learning now that he came from a troubled family background also wasn’t making matters any less complicated for his parents, but Brian refused to let their fear of the unknown ruin his opportunity to escape Queen Mary’s with John - and, much more importantly, John’s chances of a stable future to make up for all the pain he had gone through in the past decade. 

‘Yes. Mum and Dad are willing to take in both John and me when we are released,’ Brian said in what he liked to consider a helping hand, but which his parents obviously had a different opinion about. 

‘We- yes. We are certainly willing,’ his father said, straightening his tie. ‘But, er, there are certain… uncertainties that will need to be clarified first.’

‘Of course,’ Nolan said in the most understanding of tones. ‘Of course. We have come to understand that, as far as we have been informed, you have no experience with caring for foster children - foster patients, in this case,’ Nolan said. Brian hated the word foster patient already. 

‘Exactly.’ Ruth shook her head vehemently, glad that Nolan understood they had reservations about the case now that everything was starting to get so real so quickly. ‘We have no prior experience with taking people in, and especially not young people.’

‘You’ve dealt with me for twenty-four years,’ Brian reminded them, but this unfortunately was not what they meant.

‘Of course it feels strange to let someone into your house at first - especially when it is someone you are not related to,’ Nolan admitted. ‘But experience leans that guardians and subjects, as they are commonly referred to, usually get into a good flow quickly, and can grow tight bonds.’

‘I see,’ Ruth said, obviously still doubting. Brian chewed on the inside of his cheek. 

‘You do not have to worry about finances either - as John is under twenty-one, one can appeal to the state for subvention. After he turns twenty-one, you can still get subvention for taking care of someone with mental health issues. We can help you fill out the application,’ Nolan said in what seemed like another attempt to convince Harold and Ruth not to come back on their promise to take John in. Brian appreciated it, but unfortunately his parents did not take the bait. 

‘Oh, the finances I’m not too worried about. But is there any sort of - aftercare after Queen Mary’s?’ Ruth asked. ‘To make sure John won’t… slip back into old habits?’ Brian was not entirely pleased about his mother using the word habits when referring to John’s depression and anti-social spells, but he was given no time to protest.

‘Naturally,’ Nolan assured her. ‘Queen Mary’s has an extensive programme, which consists of weekly meetups with either a patient’s psychiatrist before coming here, during their stay, or one that specifically works in our aftercare programme. Furthermore every ex-patient will also enroll in a programme to help them either find a job or go back to school, and help them build up their future.’

‘I would love to go back to college,’ John broke in shyly but confidently. ‘I want to finish my studies. I used to do electrical engineering at Chelsea College in London. It’s a- uh, College of Advanced Technology. Known as one of the best around the country,’ John said in what sounded to Brian like a helpless plead to make himself desirable to his parents. Brian felt a knot form in his stomach by merely listening to it - it was disheartening that his parents were being so distant and doubtful all of a sudden, especially right in John’s face. John, the person he loved with all his heart; the person who deserved the world and more, especially after continuously having been held down from it. The person for whom Brian hoped for a good ending to this entire mental health drama more than he did for himself or anyone else in the world. Seeing him being denied by his parents was one of the most painful things he had ever witnessed, and he had gone through quite some disheartening situations at Queen Mary’s.

Harold, either not seeing or ignoring his son’s deadly glares, nodded slowly. ‘Electrical engineering. A fine subject. You’ll never be out of work with a solid degree like that.’

‘Absolutely,’ Nolan agreed. ‘It will give him something to focus on - make sure he keeps himself busy. Studies show that people recovering from mental illness are three times more successful when they have a job or studies to focus on.’

‘I can also find a weekend job on top of that,’ John offered. ‘So you won’t have me hanging around the house, you know.’

‘Oh, that is not- not at all what we’re worried about, John,’ Harold said. Then, clearing his throat, he finally said the thing Brian had been fearing for the entire meeting. Putting his hand on that of his wife’s, he brought up to Nolan: ‘An issue I feel that my wife and I are currently facing, is that we are not… we are not mental health experts. We were not trained to deal with depression, and borderline, and-‘ he paused for a second as he looked at John, and eventually concluded his sentence with the words: -‘similar issues.’

‘Dad!’ Brian hissed at him, but this only made matters worse.

‘Your father is right, dear,’ his mother intervened. ‘We do not know how to deal with mental health issues. We don’t know John and his… his mental situation, or how to deal with it. You know what happened when you were at your worst…’

‘But he’s not at his worst anymore, and neither am I. John is being released because he’s doing so well,’ Brian said - which was not entirely the truth, but which he decided his parents did not need to know that it was either being let go of or getting locked up into long-stay facilities - ‘and I am the first person to qualify for a reassessment in years. Right, Nolan?’ Brian said, turning to his mentor sharply. ‘Right?’

‘Er, yes,’ Nolan said, clearly taken aback somewhat by Brian’s sudden fierceness. ‘You are the first in years to qualify, and John is doing well enough to leave Queen Mary’s.’ Again, this was only technically the truth, but Brian was grateful to his mentor for helping both John and Him. Nolan probably realised just as well as he did that this was the best chance John had to make a head start and not to end up in some shabby rehabilitation home and programme focussed on substance abusers and victims of domestic violence rather than on his antisocial personality disorder, and have his life spiral down even further than it had before. 

‘See? There will be no problem, Dad. I promise,’ Brian said with as much confidence he could muster. 

‘I am sure that John will behave well, and that chances of problems arising will be slim,’ his father tried to hush him. ‘But his - what was it, asocial personality?’

‘Antisocial personality disorder,’ Brian grumbled.

‘His antisocial personality - I fear it works just like your depression and borderline. Things can go well for a while, but when you had fallbacks, we could do absolutely nothing to help you. You were either unattainable, or overly emotional, or unreasonably angry and depressed - and that was just borderline, as to say so. What if John ends up in one of his antisocial spells? What are we supposed to do with that?’

‘You will be given guidance prior to taking John in, mister May,’ Nolan tried, but Brian was not as calm as his mentor was.

‘Then you leave him be! He’ll manage, and he’ll come back to himself in due time! Being antisocial in essence just means having moments of not wanting to interact with anyone and wanting to be left alone - a whole lot easier than dealing with my troubles, let me tell you.’

‘Brian…’ John called his name carefully. 

‘We understand, dear,’ Ruth said. ‘But we know you - we know what to expect of you.’

‘Yes, you knew what to expect,’ Brian said dryly. ‘That’s why you sent me away to Queen Mary’s, right? Because you knew exactly how to handle me.’

‘Brian.’ His name was called again, but this time in a more threatening fashion, coming from his father. ‘You’re our child - we’ve known you all your life. We do not know John, do not know his illness, his family, his background, his life story…’ 

‘So that’s a reason not to take him in and help him? Because you can’t verify that his parents are a decent middle-class couple with a husband working nine-to-five-hours at a company of national importance, and a happy housewife who has dinner ready at precisely six o’clock each day?’

‘Of course not,’ Harold objected. ‘You’re being ridiculous now.’

‘No, you’re being ridiculous!’ Brian said. He could hear Nolan telling him not to talk to his parents like that, but could not move himself to care about what anyone thought of him telling his parents some home truths. ‘You promised to help John, to take him in and give him a chance! And if you care to know his background so much - John came from a perfectly fine family, including nine-to-five job holder and happy housewife, until his parents lost a son, his sister was left severely disabled after an accident, and within the same year, his father died. Are you happy now?’

Brian could hear John take in a sharp breath of air beside him, and somewhere deep inside, he felt bad for having told half of history so casually to his parents for the sake of making a case against their hesitation to take someone they didn’t know under their wing. However, his frustration and determination to fulfil John’s promise of letting him move in with his family and building a stable background where he would be loved, accepted, part of a larger community, left him unable o do much more than put his hand on John’s shoulder and staring at his parents with cold eyes.

Harold was the first to break the silence when he coughed and shifted in his chair. Turning to Nolan, he said: ‘Gentlemen, could you give us a moment? A word between my wife and me and our son?’

‘Most certainly,’ said Nolan, who seemed almost eager to remove himself and John from the battlefield the discussion had turned into. ‘John and I will be just around the door. Call us when you need us again - because, and I don’t want to put pressure on anyone, but the papers will have to be signed today. Both to strengthen Brian’s case for his reassessment, and for John - because if he cannot stay with your family, our staff will have to arrange a place for him in a communal home.’

Brian could feel John’s eyes turning to him, wild and panicky, and he had to count to three before allowing himself to look at John out of fear that he might either start crying or start yelling if he did so right away. He was hurt, frustrated, angry, humiliated, betrayed - all of those both on his own account but mostly on that of John, who he had promised that he’d be allowed to live with his family upon being released from Queen Mary’s. His parents had promised him so, after all. They had been inviting and understanding and tolerant when speaking of the matter mere days ago, but now that things were starting to get real, they seemed to be getting cold feet. It made Brian feel sick and disgusted - it made him feel ashamed of being their son. 

‘It’s okay,’ he gritted when he eventually gathered the self-control to calmly look John in the eyes. ‘I’ll fix this, I promise.’

The legs of Nolan’s chair scraped along the floor when he stood up. ‘You coming, John? I think the May family needs some time to discuss.’

John looked at Brian with a sense of desperation, but nodded stiffly and stood up also. Brian put his hand on John’s briefly in passing, but John did not look up; he simply followed Nolan towards the exit of the room, leaving Brian with a taste of bitterness in his mouth and the feeling of his cold, thin fingers on his own. 

Brian found himself curling the fingers of his right hand into a fist, and tensed them until the knuckles grew white and the back of his hand pale and veiny. He stared at it in a determined mission to avoid any sort of contact with his parents until the heavy iron door of the visiting hall fell shut behind John and Nolan. 

His father was the first to talk between the three of them. ‘Look, Brian, we understand that you’re angry, but we need some time to process everything we’ve been told today,’ Harold said. ‘It’s not nothing to take in someone new, and to be responsible for them and live with them under the same roof for the upcoming God knows how long.’ Brian knew his father was looking straight at him as he spoke, but he refused to look back or acknowledge his presence in any other way.

‘Besides, what do we know about his condition? What if his anti… antisocial behaviour comes up again when he lives with us? Or worse, perhaps, if his trauma comes up?’ Despite himself, Brian looked up to face his mother as she mentioned the word trauma. He immediately regretted it as it seemed to give her the idea that she had made a point she ought to elaborate. ‘Everything we heard today about his father’s death, his sister’s disability, living with his aunt and uncle until they sent him away… It’s a lot to carry. Both for him and for us.’

Brian leaned back in his chair when his mother had finished her part of the monologue. So that’s what they were afraid of - that John would bring his trauma, his troubles, his history, into their lives. That having to live with someone who’d gone through a rough childhood would be hard on them, and not on the person who actually had to pick up his life again after having taken such a terrible start to it. It hardly surprised Brian to hear that his parents, two painfully average lower-middle-class citizens leading a painfully average life in their painfully average semi-detached suburban three bedroom-house, were opposed to take someone in from a less fortunate background out of fear that it would inconvenience their perfectly shallow little lives. It was shallow and embarrassing, and Brian did not have the words to properly tell his parents what he thought about their attitude. 

‘So that’s what you want, then?’ he eventually ended up saying after having chewed the inside of his cheek raw. ‘To break your promise and have John be sent off to a bloody communal home? My best friend, with whom I’ve spent the past half a year here? An anxious twenty-year-old with a traumatic family background and the remains of a depression, living with a bunch of crackheads in a filthy communal home in East End London?’

‘We never promised-’ his father calmly intervened, but he was interrupted just as quickly as he had taken the floor. 

‘But you did!’ Brian said, voice louder now. ‘You said you’d take both of us in, or him first and then me if I wouldn’t be released after this fucking trial, and allow us to build up a life again until we could stand on our own two feet! You promised!’ He was close to tears now - tears of anger and frustration and sheer humiliation that these liars called themselves his parents. The two people across the table shared a look that Brian couldn’t quite make out with his blurry tearstained view, but he knew they realised he was not going to take this breach of trust sitting down. 

‘I know, Brian,’ his father eventually said. ‘I know we did that. But that was before we knew the circumstances.’

Brian huffed out a laugh despite himself. ‘Circumstances? I told you about John, and his antisocial personality disorder, and that his sister was disabled, his father was dead, and that he used to live with his aunt and uncle before being sent here! You knew that all along, half of this even before there was even talk of either him or me being released. And now you’re changing your mind because of it? I’m calling bullshit.’

‘Brian!’

The person addressed ignored his mother’s admonitory calling of his name. ‘It’s bullshit. You’re just using it against John because you’re too lame to help him. To help us! I thought you cared about me!’ Brian realised that especially this last sentence was a petty low shot, but he was willing to steep down to whatever level it took to either convince, threaten, or sabotage his parents into letting John come home with him as they had promised him. 

‘It’s not that easy, Brian. It’s just- it’s very hard to take someone you’ve only known from stories, with a troubled background, into your house and just see what happens,’ Harold said. ‘Your mother and I have had a very rough time while you were away. We don’t know if we could handle having someone else in our house right now. Besides you, of course,’ was added quickly - something Brian didn’t know made matters better or worse. 

‘Oh, yes. I’m sure it’s been very hard on you,’ Brian said cynically, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘It must have been very hard, sitting around at home living your normal life while we tried to survive at Queen Mary’s. Saw people drugging themselves down at the daily. Fights in the canteen and people ending up at the infirmary with broken bones. Someone knocked John to the floor and tried to stab my eye out. Someone was murdered while we were in there, Goddamnit, and you talk about having had a hard time because you didn’t have someone to share boring stories about your nine to five job or the coffee visit to the neighbours with during dinnertime!’ Brian realised he was shouting now, and saw the guard stepping a few steps closer to their table from the corner of his eyes. He wondered if Nolan and John could hear him from the other side, but eventually decided that the iron walls and doors probably had been designed so as to not let through any noise. He did not particularly care so much about Nolan or the guards outside the visiting hall overhearing him, but he’d rather not upset John by having him hear his lack of emotional control in the given situation.

‘They tried- your eye? Someone was murdered?’

Brian should have known that breaking the news of the recent gang wars, the almost daily injuries, and Jimmy’s death-bordering-on-murder to his parents would not be something they’d take lightly. They of course expected their son to be safe at Queen Mary’s; this had been the entire reason they had sent him there rather than keeping him at home to see where his mental problems would take him. However, as he was in the mood to shock and make a statement rather than to comfort his parents about his safety at Queen Mary’s, he raised his voice again.

‘Yes, that’s the place you sent me off to! That’s the place I’ll have to stay in for even longer if they won’t let me go. That’s where’s John’s been in for two years, and the place you’ll send him off to again if you let him be taken into a fucking council house full of drug addicts and criminals and other people he shouldn’t have to deal with! Because unlike me,’ Brian breathed with an index finger prodding into his own chest, ‘unlike me, he doesn’t have a backup plan, or family to take him in! He’ll be left to the government, or a resocialisation programme for criminals and other freaks he doesn’t belong to, or simply to- to the streets!’ Brian could hear his own voice faltering and eventually breaking, so he cut himself off before real cracks would appear in either his voice or his iron facial expression. He knew that Nolan had spoken of a rehabilitation plan hosted by Queen Mary’s, but what this really meant was that people who did not have any family, were disowned by them, or did not want to return to them, were sent to join resocialisation programmes that hardly ever tailored to people recovering from mental illness. They often ended up addicted to drugs, in prison for dealing or robbery, or worse than that. It made his heart ache to even think of the possibility that John might be exposed to scenes like those if he would not be given a proper foundation upon leaving Queen Mary’s - a foundation it seemed that, for the lack of connections and resources of his own, only Brian’s family could provide at the moment. 

‘Oh, darling…’ 

A tissue, produced from his mother’s handbag, was pushed over to his side of the table. Brian hadn’t previously noticed that he had been crying, but moving the back of his hand over his right cheek once proved that he indeed had been doing to. He grabbed the tissue and pressed it against his eyes in an attempt to smother his tears - without much luck, that was. They kept coming and coming and wouldn’t stop, and Brian had no other choice than to give in to them,

‘Brian, my darling...’ The familiar voice of his mother was soft and soothing, but it did not give him any comfort - and neither did the words she spoke, even though Brian knew they were meant to bring him peace of mind. ‘We’ll find a way, okay? I promise we’ll find a way.’

‘What if I was in his place?’ Brian then asked, crumpling the soaked tissue into a ball in his hand. ‘If you- you couldn’t take care of me because you w-were occupied or dead, wouldn’t you want someone else to take me in to recover?’ he asked, now looking directly at his parents with eyes blurred with tears. ‘Or would you rather have me discarded to the streets and venture for- for myself? Would you?’ 

‘We wouldn’t,’ his father said. ‘Of course we wouldn’t. We’ll work this out, Brian,’ he said, but the words didn’t quite land on Brian, who was so far gone into the image of John being expulsed from any sort of society and having to roam the streets at night to find a place to sleep, that the words of his parents didn’t reach him any longer.

‘John is so sweet and good-natured and… and he deserves better than this. So much better than this. Please, you have- you have to help him!’ Sobs now properly overtook Brian’s body, and he rested his face on his hands on the table top. Sounds of chairs scratching the floor and heels clicking on the tiles approached, and then there was an arm around his shoulders and a hand stroking his hair and indistinguishable voices soothing him. It was as if he was five years old again and had screamed for his parents with all of his might after waking up from a dreadful nightmare. He was unsure whether it was a comfort or plain sadness that his parents still came running towards him to soothe him, but it at least felt good to have them at his side again instead of just having them look at him from a distance and staring at him with that weird, empty glance, trying to figure out what on earth was going on in his mind. 

‘It’s okay; everything will be okay.’ His mother stroked his cheek, and Brian thought he felt her press a kiss against his unruly hair. ‘We’re gonna help John. He’s- we’re going to take him in.’

We’re going to take him in. Brian looked up at his mother through teary eyes when these words, the ones that had once been promised and then denied him again, were spoken. Like a magic spell, he was drawn to them, and through a choked sob he whispered: ‘Really?’

His mother exchanged glanced with his dad first, but then pulled away her glance from that of her husband and nodded. ‘Really. We made a promise, after all.’

Brian felt a wave of relief flooding through his veins; one that allowed the muscles throughout his entire body to unclench and his mind to untangle. ‘Thank- thank you,’ he managed to squeak out. His mother smiled a sad smile - one not so much of happiness but one of acceptance - and stepped away from Brian. His father followed her example.

‘Come, dry your tears and come down to yourself,’ she said while handing him another tissue. Surprisingly enough, it was actually feasible for Brian to carry out these instructions now that he had been comforted about the fate of his partner. He wiped his face clean of tears, and by the time he was able to stifle most of the last remaining sobs, he could look his parents in the eyes again.

‘So you promise you’ll let John in? And you… won’t come back on it again?’ Brian asked, just to be sure. After all, he had been let down once before, and he did not know if he could take it to have all of his hopes shatter just like that again.

‘We promise for real this time,’ his father answered without skipping a beat, which Brian took as a good sign. ‘Your mother and I are just overwhelmed, is all. Within a week we got to hear that you would be going for a reassessment, that you wanted to have your new best friend move in with us because he can’t go home, then all these people called us and we received forms to fill out through the mail concerning our responsibilities when you’d be released and all the people and institutes we’d have to be in touch with still… So we just…. Went with it all hoping to be able to talk things over today, but we arrive in a storm of more papers and receptionists and mentors telling us to sign more documents, and then there’s John with this- excuse my languages but… problematic background, and I think we just- didn’t know how to handle it anymore.’

‘But then you should have said so. You should have told Nolan and us you needed more explanation or more time or more guidance, instead of taking ten steps back and breaking your promise to John and me. I haven’t seen him so- so hurt in a long time,’ Brian said. His saliva felt heavy and tough when he swallowed. ‘I told you how nervous John was to meet you over the phone just the other day. I spent a week to convince him to even come along to this meeting; he was too afraid to say or do something that would make you reject him. And then you go and… attack him and push him away for the reasons he can help least? His trauma following the death of his father, and the accident of his sister? His having to live with family because his mum couldn’t take care of him anymore in the depth of his depression? That was- that was plain low, dad. And you too, mum. Really, really low.’

It was only when Brian had uttered this entire soliloquy that he realised when he had said - and he immediately regretted it, despite having meant every single word of it. He knew his parents were not going to take kindly to being lectured by him about what they should and what they shouldn’t do. However, just as he expected to be told off for reprimanding his parents for behaving the way they did, the glance of his father’s face softened.

‘You are right. We were wrong to treat John like that,’ Harold said. Not seeming to know what he was to say afterward, he turned to his wife for support.

‘We will say sorry to John in a minute. I hope we can make him feel welcome still,’ Ruth told Brian, who nodded slowly, thankfully, at his parents.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘That means a lot to the both of us.’

‘It’s just… I know it’s no excuse, and I know that Queen Mary’s must have been a lot harder for you than it was for us,’ his father acknowledged. ‘But I think I speak for both your mum and myself when I say that I’ve been lying awake during the last few nights, wondering if this is really what you want.’

Brian frowned. ‘Whether what is what I want?’

‘This… all of this. To leave Queen Mary’s before your time’s due,’ his dad said.

‘My time is due,’ Brian said with some insistence. ‘I go where John goes, and he goes where I go.’

‘I know,’ his father said. ‘I know- and that’s what I’ve been worried about. That you’re not thinking about your own sanity and well-being, but about John’s only. You understand me?’

‘I do, but-’

‘Doctor Sumner worked hard to give you a spot here at Queen Mary’s, and despite the… circumstances we’ve heard about, we know that trained people do all they can,’ his mother interrupted. ‘Are you sure you want to put all of that aside?’

‘Absolutely positive,’ Brian answered. ‘I’d put everything aside for John - and not just because I… care about him so much, but because I know John is the best help I could possibly have.’

‘But what about your therapy, then?’ his mum asked.

‘He is a better help to me than any of the therapists I’ve spoken to so far, and any therapist I will ever meet in my life,’ Brian said. His father opened his mouth as to say something, but Brian held up his hand to summon him to be quiet. To his own surprise, it seemed to work. ‘John supports me through everything in a way not a single medical professional could ever do. He is always there for me, always tries to cheer me up and cheer me on with everything I do. He’s my rock in a way that no one else could ever be. He’s been my real help at Queen Mary’s, and the real reason why I’m in a much better place now.’ 

By the time Brian had finished this monologue, he noticed his parents really had fallen quiet, and simply blinked at him as to take in all they had just been told. It was at this point also that he realised he was a little out of breath, and, upon placing his hand on his cheek, he found that it was warm and glowing. My God, I must look like an idiot right now, Brian thought to himself. Fortunately for him, though, this was not the message his parents had taken away from the scene he had put himself in.

‘You really care about him, don’t you?’ There was a small smile on his mother’s face as she asked this.

‘Yes,’ Brian sighed. ‘More than about anything or anyone in the world.’

‘Well… It really seems like the only way to help you right now is to help John,’ his father remarked, which Brian realised summarised the current state of affairs pretty well. ‘So that’s what we’re going to do, then.’

Even though this decision had already been secured beforehand, it still made a wave of relief flow through Brian’s veins now that it was reinstigated. They were going to allow John to come live with them; John would have a place to go to; and, sooner or later, depending on the outcome of the reassessment, Brian would be there to live with John and his family again. They’d be together, just the two of them, without any of the disorder and the violence and the overall chaos of Queen Mary’s that currently formed the framework of all they did and said, and they would be happy.

‘We will do that exactly,’ Ruth confirmed, then, turning to her husband, she said: ‘Why don’t you go and fetch John and Nolan, dear, and let me have a second to talk to my boy alone.’ Despite the innocent smile on her face, Brian knew that his mother had something on her mind. His father must have realised this too, for his glance lingered between his wife and his son for a little too long to be just casual, but he then nodded and took his leave either way. 

Ruth waited until her husband was out of earshot, and then turned around to face her son again. 

‘Brian?’ She leant in a bit closer to him, as she would do when she had something serious or confidential to share with him.

‘Yes, mum?’ Brian said, hoping she would not notice how tight his voice sounded already.

‘About John… He’s not just your roommate, or your friend, now is he? He’s more than that.’

Oh, Lord. That was a lot quicker and a lot more to the point than Brian had expected it to be. Of course, he had foreseen the likeliness of his parents expecting something sooner or later once they’d live under the same roof with his parents. He’d thought of the possibility of his mum wondering out loud why they insisted on sleeping in the same room, or his dad remarking that they never left each other’s side. The way they would look at each other, smile at each other, sit a bit too close whenever they got the chance - he had thought of what to say when such matters would be raised. He had not, however, prepared himself for something as straightforward as this question, and in the heat of the moment, he did not trust himself to lie and tell a more socially acceptable answer. Besides, his mother looked at him with such a kind and comforting expression on her face that Brian was positive he could have discarded of a body on her behalf if she would have asked him.

Therefore, he nodded nearly invisibly in response. ‘He is. He’s… We are… everything to each other,’ Brian whispered. ‘I just… need him like I’ve never needed anyone before.’ A smile broke through on his face, but no matter how badly he would have liked for it to have been one of happiness or pride, it would be incorrect to say so. It was a long-hidden feeling of insecurity towards the future, of what people would think of them - of embarrassment and a feeling of failure. Not for loving John, but for breaking the illusion his parents had had of him for so long. An illusion he had had of himself for so long - one that never might have come to the surface if it hadn’t been for John and him crossing paths. Meeting John had changed the entire road of life he had always had in sight for himself, and the realisation that moulding his life around John and what they were together was going to be a reality, in all of its good and bad points, suddenly struck him. Tears filled his eyes, and when his mother did not respond to any he had said and simply looked at him, he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’ she asked gently.

‘For- not being what you thought I was,’ he managed. ‘For not coming home with a girl.’

‘Darling…’ Brian knew that voice, and he could feel his mother’s hand reaching out to place itself on top of his own hand before she even completed the action, as a matter of speaking. ‘I don’t care who or what you come home with - whether they’re male or female, or Catholic or Anglican, or black or white or purple with yellow dots. What I care for is that you come home as you, alive and well, unlike - unlike some of the stories you hear sometimes,’ she said, leaving Brian unsure if she meant stories from mental health clinics in general, or the ones he had witnessed and shared with her. ‘I want you to come home happy again, and I can tell that he makes you happy.’

‘He does,’ Brian smiled despite himself. ‘He makes me happier than I’ve ever been.’

‘I know, and that’s what matters to us,’ his mum said. ‘Listen, Brian. Your dad and I wanted for you to come home happy again - that’s what we sent you to Queen Mary’s for. The first few nights after we’d taken you here I could do nothing but crying and praying that sending you here would make you feel better, happier, regardless of how this happiness came about. And God must have heard my prayers.’

‘John is a gift from above,’ Brian smiled. ‘He makes me happier than I’ve ever been, or ever could have imagined being.’

‘That’s settled then.’

‘Really?’ Brian asked, not having thought his mother would be so quick to deal with the fact that her only son came home with a guy. ‘But what about- you, or dad, or grandma, or the rest of the family? Especially dad. He’s- he’s always talked about how he can’t wait till my wedding day, and to see his grandchildren…’

‘I know. He’ll have to readjust his expectations, then,’ his mother shrugged. ‘This isn’t about him or me or anyone else apart from John and you.’

‘Thank you,’ Brian smiled broadly at the recognition he had not ever even hoped to get from his family so soon. Then, a less pleasant thought dawned upon him. ‘Mum, will you tell him?’

His mother did not need any context to know what and who he meant. ‘Do you want me to tell him?’

Brian thought for a second. On the one hand it felt liberating to tell the truth, to tell his parents where he and John really stood – but on the other hand, after already having told them more than he had already planned to do and without John’s permission, he decided against the plan in the end. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to discuss it with John. It’s not something that concerns me only, you know.’

‘Of course. It’s not just you on your own anymore from now off,’ his mother said with a small smile. ‘It’s going to be you and your better half.’ Brian felt himself glow at the mentioning of these words. John really was his better half – and his mother was accepting of the position John played in his life. Maybe things were finally looking up for him. 

Things definitely seemed like they were heading in the right direction when the iron door burst open to reveal John, who skipped his way through the visiting room on his mission to find Brian. Brian heard and saw him coming from what seemed to him like miles away – he pushed his chair backward with more force than necessary, almost tripped over his mother’s bag, but did not let this stop himself from dashing towards John and catching his boyfriend into his embrace hallway down the room. When he squeezed John into a hug – and was similarly squeezed into one by John from the other side of things – his partner’s body felt warm and vibrant and alive; so much more alive than Brian had seen him in ages, or perhaps ever before. The grip of John’s fingers on the back of his grey uniform shirt was tight, like he wanted to avoid ever being separated from him in his life; as if Brian was going to allow anyone to come between the pair of them when John looked at him with the most appreciative and loving eyes he had ever been looked at with.

‘They’ll let me in,’ John squeaked in a voice squeezed with happiness and relief. ‘I’ll be allowed to stay and- and live with your family and- and with you.’ The arms around his back moved on to be placed above his shoulders, and Brian could not oppress the urge to put his own hands below John’s armpits and lift him off the floor for a spin. John squealed at first and then laughed, and when his feet were safely planted back on the floor, he threw his body against Brian’s so tightly that it took all of Brian’s strength to not lift up his chin and kiss him right there and then in the middle of the visiting room. He contained himself, though, and made a mental note to shower John in a thousand kisses once they’d get back to their room; a room which they might, with a bit of luck, exchange for Brian’s real bedroom, inside his real house before too long. 

‘Of course they will. I told you they were going to love you,’ Brian replied with the biggest smile. A side glance towards his smiling mother revealed that she really did approve of this statement of his.

Harold and Nolan caught up with them, and Nolan, obviously content and relieved with the turn-out of the meeting, was quick to produce the required paperwork that needed to be signed. Brian held his breath until the moment his father had put his signature on both the file ruling that he’d take his own son back in and on the file ensuring John would be placed under their care also. It was then that he knew there was going to be no return, a thought that made mellow happiness spread through his body as he rested his hand on John’s shoulder when his boyfriend signed the paperwork with a shaky but determined hand.

The formalities then having been taken care of and the time planned for the meeting being almost up, Nolan started shaking hands and speaking of next steps to be taken – financial compensation and guidance for family of what was clumsily referred to as ‘the mentally afflicted’ and other matters Brian could not find himself caring for at the time being. All he cared about was that they were one step closer to completing their plan of escaping Queen Mary’s before the place would turn either one or the both of them out of their minds, or possibly worse. 

Brian stepped forward to hug his dad and kiss his mum as a form of goodbye, and received some more words of comfort – that they would be there for his trial in a few weeks, and that John really would be welcome in their house regardless of how matters turned out for Brian. If Brian remained somewhat skeptical to that point, the last traces of doubt left his mind when he saw John willingly letting himself be captured in an embrace by both of his parents and receiving words of welcome, comfort, and encouragement. John managed little more than a series of ‘thank yous’ and ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am’,  but Brian could tell by the radiant look in his eyes when he broke away from his family-to-be that he was finally, after all this time, gathering some hope for the future – for their future.

‘We’ll see you soon, Brian. And you too, John. We’re looking forward to it,’ Brian’s mother said when Nolan turned to lead his patients out of the same door they had come from an hour ago. John turned around once more to flash them a smile, and give them a wave; Brian followed his example, then placed his hand on John’s back and guided him through the door.

‘Phew. That was a wild ride,’ said Nolan, who pretended to wipe the sweat off his forehead. The iron door fell shut behind him, and he started moving towards the exit at the other side of the hall. Brian and John followed close behind. ‘For a moment I was afraid that – you know…’ They all knew what it was that Nolan was referring to, but no one was particularly keep on speaking the words out loud. ‘But I’m glad they turned around, Brian. That whatever you said worked, and that John won’t have to worry anymore.’ John smiled for a bit, but Brian could tell it wasn’t genuine. 

‘What’s wrong? Aren’t you relieved?’

‘I am,’ John confirmed. ‘But I still worry. What if you don’t get out, or if your parents change their minds on me…’

‘They won’t,’ Brian said before the thought could properly settle in John’s mind. ‘They’re not going to change their minds. And as for me – I’m gonna give it all I’ve got during the final hearing or whatever they call that. And if that’s not enough, I’ll… I’ll find a way to be out of here as soon as possible, honey. I’ll show the best of behaviour and cooperation they’ve ever seen in the history of this place, or try another reassessment. I’ll find a way to leave, I promise.’ John looked skeptical still, but luckily Nolan came to Brian’s rescue. 

‘You won’t have to open a second reassessment. Jasper and Sarah and others are all on your side of the case – and with such strong support and all the effort and dedication you’ve shown in filling out the paperwork, attending sessions with the new psych, keeping up your mental diary your diary, and your exemplary behaviour at Queen Mary’s, there’s not a single objection I think they can make against your case. I can see no grounded reason for them to turn your appeal down.’

‘See?’ Brian said to John, pretending to be not in the least surprised by this claim of Nolan’s that his admission was almost a fact already. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

‘But Doctor Sumner will be there,’ John muttered. ‘He’ll find a way to let you stay.’

Having arrived at the other side of the hallway, Nolan held open the door for them; but Brian halted his step the second John brought up the name of Doctor Sumner.

‘Sorry, who are we speaking of?’ Nolan asked innocently. Brian was sure he must have read the name of his former psychiatrist in one of the papers concerning the trial, but how could Nolan know the evil intentions of the man behind the name?

‘Thank you, Nolan. We’ll see you in a bit,’ Brian said with what he knew for a fact was the fakest smile he’d ever produced. He could tell his mentor was confused by their sudden secretiveness, but – God bless him – he nodded politely and disappeared through the door. Brian waited until the door fell shut again before he looked John in the face.

‘You know Doctor Sumner is going to be there,’ John stated, more firmly this time.

‘I know,’ Brian gritted. ‘I just hoped you had forgotten about him.’

John snorted. ‘As if.’ 

‘Fair enough,’ Brian sighed. The truth of the matter was that Doctor Sumner had also crossed his mind more than just incidentally lately. Ever since Nolan had informed him of the fact that one was to be judged by a panel of three psychiatrists, one of which would be one’s former psychiatrist or another mental health expert who could testify to one’s character and mental illness, he had feared the possibility of Doctor Sumner disapproving of his being released out of fear he would speak up about the injustice his former psych had pulled him through. He had repressed these fears as much as he could, however, and had hoped that John would have forgotten about Doctor Sumner completely. It seemed like there was no such luck for him though; the handful of times he had brought up the nightmare of a psych during trips to Queen Mary’s garden had obviously stuck in John’s mind, and he himself remained unsure of his destiny with Doctor Sumner playing a role in it.

‘Look. I know the situation is hardly ideal, but Nolan is probably right. Sumner has no valid grounds to restrain me to Queen Mary’s without revealing his fear that he used me for his experiments to get his breakthrough in the medical world or whatever. And if he doesn’t remember so, I might just have to remind him of it.’

John’s ears seemed to prick up at the hint of such a bold thing to do. ‘You’re thinking of doing that?’

Brian, not wanting to admit that he devised this plan literally a split second ago, turned to open the door and let his lover pass through it. ‘Perhaps. If he leaves me no choice – if he’s the one to make me stay I guess I might have to bring it up. It’s not like I’ll have anything to lose in that case anyway,’ Brian grinned. ‘But I’m sure it won’t come to that point – as Nolan said, the judges have no valid grounds to keep me here for, so they’ll probably let me go. And if Sumner is the only one who disagrees… Well, I’ll just say it’s suspicious and ask him if there’s anything from our shared past that might hold him back, and leave the ball in his goal from that point.’

‘Stone cold but clever,’ John snickered. ‘You know, when you first got here, I never thought you’d have it in you to be like that.’

‘Your talents must have rubbed off on me,’ Brian shrugged.

‘My talents were not the only things that rubbed off on you.’

‘John!’ Brian called out in surprise, turning to the side to see his grinning lover catch up with him. ‘Cheeky! You did not get that from me!’

‘No, that must have been Freddie’s doing,’ John contemplated. ‘Having lived with him for a year or so has taken its toll on me.’

Brian stopped for a second. ‘Has it really been that long for Freddie?’

John nodded. ‘Same for Roger - he arrived only a month or so later, if not less. It’s kind of surreal when you think about it.’

‘It’s so weird - day to day life here passes so slowly, and yet in the grand scheme of things-’

‘May.’

Brian halted his sentence when he heard his last name being called out quite loudly in the otherwise empty seeming main hallway. It was early in the afternoon, and with no mealtimes, therapy groups, or other activities running - and a ban on residing in the canteen outside of meal hours out of a fear for fights and confrontation - there was little more than the occasional lone patient passing by.

‘Did you also hear…’ he turned to John, but was not given the time to await an answer.

‘Yes, you there. Brian.’

Brian could now no longer deny the presence of someone calling out for him, but it came as quite a shock to find that the source of the sound was no one other than Drew. Drew, the bully and murderer of Jimmy; the one who had threatened to cut his eye out, who had belittled and teased and pushed Freddie and Roger on multiple accounts, who had knocked John over and given him the biggest black eye Brian had ever witnessed - that Drew was now leaning against the matte glass wall of the canteen, with his arms crossed over his chest, a - strictly forbidden - toothpick between his lips, and for some reason a ground for calling Brian to him.

Brian could see John take a step back behind him, but then step forward again in what seemed like an attempt to show Drew that he was not going to back away. It made little impression on either one of them, for they all knew that despite the tough attitude John tried to keep up, and despite having stood up to Drew and having embarrassed him in front of all of his followers and enemies not too long ago, John did not feel comfortable around him. Hell, no one at Queen Mary’s felt comfortable around the brute of a guy; he was violent, unthinking, remorseless, and had shown on multiple occasions that he was capable of releasing the entire institution into chaos by planting his fists into the face of someone from the other side of things. Luckily he was on his own right now, but Brian nevertheless felt awkward and unsafe around him. Moreover, he could tell that John was feeling unsafe - and whatever Drew wanted from him, was not something he was going to burden John with. 

‘I’ll deal with this,’ he mumbled to the man standing beside him. ‘You can go to our room if you want to - I’ll catch up.’

‘No,’ John answered softly yet resolutely. ‘I’m not leaving you here.’ 

Brian was unsure whether he should be grateful for Jon’s determination to stay at his side or worried that whatever Drew wanted to get back at him for would now be shared with John also. But, like always seemed to be the case when anything happened for which he would like to be given time to think about and ponder the consequences, he was given absolutely no more than a split second before he had to act and speak up.

‘Brian May,’ Drew repeated his name. The look on his face was intense, as if he was trying to figure out Brian’s blood type with the help of nothing with his eyes. He remained exactly where he was and made no attempts at moving closer, as he was usually prone to do when trying to intimidate someone, but Brian still was not comfortable.

‘Drew Myers.’ Brian hoped the shiver in his voice wasn’t too audible - and that the last name he had picked up in the canteen a while back actually belonged to Drew. Drew at any rate did not comment on it being incorrect - in fact, he made no derogatory comments or showed otherwise unpleasant behaviour at all. 

‘Heard you’re going for a reassessment in a week,’ he said coolly. The little wooden toothpick between his lips switched to the other side of his mouth.

For a second Brian wanted to ask him how he got to possess this piece of information, but he realised soon enough that the news of the only successful attempt at leaving Queen Mary’s early must have spread like wildfire among its patients and staff. ‘You heard right,’ he therefore said just as coolly. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he crossed them in front of him in the same fashion as Drew did - which, he realised, must not have looked as cool on him and his 6’3, 130 pound body as it did on Drew’s be it somewhat shorter but a lot broader and more muscular one. Fortunately for him, Drew did not seem intended on calling him out today.

‘I’ll cross my thumbs for you. Hope you’ll get through.’

Brian was caught by surprise by this unexpectedly kind comment. He could feel John turning to look at him, but in his moment of surprise he could not unlock his eyes from Drew’s face. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ Drew said without a hint of doubt. ‘You deserve better than this.’

‘Er, thanks,’ Brian uttered after having shared a short glance with John despite it all. ‘We’re, eh, hoping to leave and pick up our lives again.’ He did not know why he said this, why he tried to make conversation with someone who had basically threatened to take their lives on multiple accounts, and who had done worse besides that. But Drew didn’t show a sign of violence or malice now; he seemed calm and reasonable and perhaps even civil, and Brian found himself unable to treat Drew the exact same way in his place. 

‘As you should,’ Drew nodded. ‘You never did seem to belong here, you know. Neither did you, John.’ His hands unfolded to give a quick little point at John, who swallowed a little painfully but remained constant otherwise as Drew’s attention turned to him. ‘Way too good for a place like this. You two are better than the whole bunch of us together.’

Brian had never expected Drew to say something so kind to them.

He had also never expected that Drew saying something kind to them would simultaneously be the last thing they’d ever hear him say. A mere three days after their unexpected meetup, Drew was stabbed between the ribs with a kitchen knife one of his newly admitted rivals had acquired during a secret trip to the staff kitchen and dining room. Nolan and Derek had given CPR, an ambulance had been called, but Drew had, as the story went, been pronounced dead upon his arrival at the hospital.  

Another life wasted. 

All Brian could do was hope his case would indeed be approved, or else he feared that the name of the person he loved most in the entire world might soon also have to be added to the list of victims Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution had produced. 

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed - feel free to send me PMs or messages or anons about your opinions and suggestions for The Clinic, or just to come talk for a bit. I love and appreciate you all! <3

[winterironholidayexchange]

2018 WI Holiday Exchange: Gift List

A giant THANK YOU to everyone who was a part of the @winterironholidayexchange this year. No matter if you created something, shared our posts to get the word out, or are now leaving comments and kudos on all the wonderful stories and art, this exchange wouldn’t have been possible without each and every one of you.

You rock, you are the best, and we love you.

And now, the thing we know you’ve all been waiting for: the complete gift list.

Enjoy! ⛄

“Welcome! Everything is fine.” by burbear for sara_wolfe

The afterlife was a lot weirder than Tony thought it should be. For one, it’s called the Good Place, and the points system that decides whether a person goes to the Good Place or not definitely had a flaw in it somewhere because, hello, why would he, Tony Stark of all people, be in the Good Place? Also, there’s a ridiculous number of frozen yogurt shops.

Just what the fork is going on here?

❄

Nightmare Dressed Like a Daydream by DreamcatchersDaughter for glyphsbowtie

Bucky accidentally crashes a blind date and hes not all that sorry about it.

❄

Mini-Stark by TheMaroonRedWolf for Tahlruil

De-aged Tony fic. My fill for the 2018 WinterIron Holiday Exchange.

❄

Wicked Game by StarSpangledBucky for OneSmartChicken

Leading a double life was troubling enough for Bucky, one as the superhero ‘The Winter Soldier’, the other as a florist. Now that his newfound friend, Tony Stark (who only knows him as Winter) has met the other side of him, things get complicated. Bucky isn’t prepared for the consequences he might face, as love between himself and Tony starts blossoming…quicker than he ever intended.

❄

Up, Up, Down, Down… by burbear for monobuu

Tony has just about had it with Loki and magic, seriously. Being transported into a kid’s movie? How is this even a kid’s movie? And no offense, Thor, magic hammers are not that great. Oh, and to top it all off, he’s dressed in ridiculous blue outfit like some kind of retro handyman while his crush gets a badass cyber-suit.

God, he hates magic.

❄

barren winter with his wrathful nipping cold by sevedra for StarSpangledBucky

Tony had expected to spend this Christmas alone. But he has James now. All is looking up for them until secrets try to tear them apart.

❄

Undercover by glyphsbowtie for marsmaywander

“It’s absolutely an option.” Bucky unfolds himself from the doorframe, rising to his full, impressive height languidly, like a deadly cat uncurling from a nap. “You’re all too recognisable, right? Nobody is going to recognise me. Stick some nerd glasses on me and I’ll blend right into a tech conference.” The idea of Bucky in glasses does things to Tony, but he clears his throat and looks back down at the laptop, trying to avoid making eye contact with Bucky. “Yeah, except for one obvious problem, old man. You’re a million years old and know absolutely nothing about tech.” - Bucky and Tony work together on a mission, and Bucky reveals he knows about Tony’s secret crush on him.

❄

The Tsum of Our Parts by Shi_Toyu for Briz

Tony couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t had his soul Tsum. The little thing had appeared as soon as Tony was born, which wasn’t completely unheard of. It just meant that his soulmate was older than him, old enough to have already developed their own Tsum characteristics, so maybe early teenage years. That happened all the time. It wasn’t even particularly scandalous. They’d probably meet later in life, when the age gap didn’t mean quite so much.

What was unusual was how cold his Tsum was.

❄

Howl At The Night by Eirlyssa for beir

Having escaped from their kidnappers, Bucky and Tony have to find a way to get home. Unfortunately, Tony isn’t doing very well.

❄

Plums by Morethancupcake for Feelingsinwinter

“Everything hurts for a second, and the Asset fights the nausea, tries to figure out where he is, what he’s supposed to do, and most of all, who decided to taunt him with his words.”

The Asset isn’t supposed to dream, but he does, and soon his world revolves around a smart little boy with brown eyes.

❄

Journeys End in Lovers Meeting by TheSopherfly for Arboreal

Bucky writes letters to his sweetheart back home during the war. Nobody knows his sweetheart is Anthony Stark, Howard’s younger brother.

~

In which Tony and Bucky meet, part, and meet again.

❄

Get Your Flirt On (Or: How to Stare Your Way into a Date) by InsaneJuliann for Nantai

Bucky’s come to Hogwarts for his seventh year, and joins the Quidditch team at the persistence of his friends Clint and Steve. Through a Quidditch game he meets Tony - competitive and constantly sending Bucky challenging looks. Bucky has no idea what his deal is - or why everyone he knows thinks Tony’s not as much of a jerk as their little stare-offs would make him seem.

❄

Tattoos and Tulips by MassiveSpaceWren for Morethancupcake

Silver fox tattoo artist Tony goes on a date with florist Bucky.

❄

Prank Wars gone wrong by IronEyes for dendrite_blues

Bucky and Tony are roommates and hate each other from the start. It starts to delevop in a prank war that hurts nobody, until Tony takes it too far. Or does he?

❄

Swipe Right by dendrite_blues for tonystans

hey we hooked up last night and it turns out you are my kid’s teacher.

❄

You’ve become quite familiar by MassiveSpaceWren for Morethancupcake

Tony recently gained a slighly scruffy crow as a roommate.

❄

Of instagramers and their followers by eriot for TheVagabondBoy

prompt:  Bucky the Instagram Thot, Tony the thirsty hoe.

❄

Resilient by nativemossy for gryvon

Anthony “Tony” Carbonell, disinherited son of a billionaire, proud graduate of a community college in nowhere New Jersey, and out-and-proud bisexual is the proprietor of a small coffee shop by the name of Resilient. Now that his life has settled down he’s beginning to suspect that he might have a few problems that are making work much harder than it needs to be.

James “Bucky” Barnes, disabled veteran, hermit, and long-suffering best friend has returned from Afghanistan to a world that he doesn’t quite know how to live in. He wants to contribute more to the world than sitting on his couch and collecting his check every month, but is having a hard time gathering the energy to do much more than tie his shoes.

A coffee shop full of meddling friends might be just the place where both men can find a place to heal and move on, hopefully together.

❄

Anima by Arboreal for burbear

Bucky had always been able to hear the voices of the things around him.

❄

Focus by Nantai for eriot

Bucky Barnes, veteran and ex-assassin, is just trying to make some legal money for once. He is reformed after all! Tony Stark, billionaire and mob boss, really needs an escort who can double as security because Steve is a worrywart.

Neither planned for secrets to come out and apologies to be made. And yet, here we are…

❄

Resting Murder Face by camichats for lordofsoup

Everyone knows that Bucky and Tony love each other.

…Except for Tony and Bucky. After watching them pine uselessly, the Avengers and Company do their best to get them together, even if the oblivious idiots make it more difficult than it needs to be.

❄

I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight by Sullen for TheMaroonRedWolf

Okay, look, it’s not James’ fault, no matter what the rumors say. The guy was so scrawny he could be blown over by the wind. This is a crowded hallway! If you don’t want to get knocked over, you should keep some meat on your bones, your stance wide, and not run around corners and into him.

❄

I Will Always Be by blue_pointer for celtic7irish

In a world where people see through the eyes of their soulmates when they sleep, Tony Stark’s dreams send him off the edge.

❄

You Bring Me Peace by Towaneko for IronEyes

Time has been reversed for Tony Stark and this is when he first meets Bucky Barnes.

❄

Not Exactly What I Wanted by Tahlruil for phlintandsteel

Tony has always been happy to piss off Alphas who try to control him - especially Howard Stark. Unfortunately he managed to push his father just a little too far… and the man arranged to have him auctioned off to the highest bidder. Now he’s married to a guy he hardly knows, one that is too damn patient and too damn nice. There’s no way that isn’t an act, and Tony is resolved to be a little shit until he finds out the limits of his husband’s fake personality.

Though he’s been back from the war for a while, Bucky has been left scarred by the experience. The most prominent one is the personality that came into being because of Hydra’s torture and brainwashing attempts when he was captured. They were rescued before they became the Winter Soldier, but Winter is still very much sharing space in his head. Winter has never responded to anyone positively… until they met Tony at an auction Bucky had been dragged to by a former commanding officer. They are both captivated by the Omega and buy him despite their better judgement.

❄

The Warlord’s Tribute by TheSopherfly for MassiveSpaceWren

Warlord Bucky, rumored to be ruthless, ends up in the possession of Tony, who slowly learns that Bucky isn’t so bad.

❄

Safe (Only In Your Loving Arms) by tonystans for Eirlyssa

“No eating in the lab, that’s poor etiquette.”

“And you’re all about etiquette and rules since when?”

Tony playfully rolled his shoulder and turned his head away from Bucky, acting the part of scandalized. “Since Steve gave me one lecture too many.”

❄

One More Day (Five Hundred Left To Go) by Rospergs for Estelle

Tony and Bucky go to the same gym. Bucky looks very rough and intimidating. Tony is a single parent and looks small and frail. Then Tony finds out Bucky is the new preschool teacher at his child’s school, and is super kind, and amazing with the kids. Lots of mutual pining happens.

❄

Love Planted a Rose by Gavilan for iCheat

Bucky wants to show Tony how much he likes him … but how?

❄

We need to talk about babies by GenericUserHere for sevedra

The classic ‘I’m pregnant but we haven’t discussed having tiny humans yet’ fic Otherwise known as Tony is pregnant and Bucky is accidentally a dick but luckily these idiots have friends who help them work out their shit

❄

Dust to Dust by lordofsoup for Shi_Toyu

One moment Tony is fighting TaskMaster. The next moment he’s back on Titan.

❄

ready to comply. by rightsidethru for james

It wasn’t often that Tony himself went to the weapons conventions that those in the business knew about: he’d always been of the opinion that that was what his minions in R&D were for—scoping out the competition, making notes on key elements that they liked, seeing how Stark weapons were assessed by those in attendance. Tony already knew that his designs were top-of-the-line, that the companies who could stand up against the leviathan of his reputation were few and far between—but there were still contenders. Sometimes.

❄

Don’t Overthink It by Potrix for Gavilan

Now, Jim is about as straight as a person can be—tested a couple of times by drunkenly making out with his best friend, which Tony loves to bring up whenever it’s really inappropriate to do so—but he has no problem admitting that, objectively speaking, Barnes is an attractive guy. He’s got that whole gruff, frowny, bad boy thing a lot of people are into going on, but whenever he actually does smile, it’s devastating.

One time, Jim had seen a girl on the street do a double-take and nearly walk into a magazine stand after Barnes had smiled at one of Tony’s dumb jokes.

Or, alternatively; Rhodey means well, meddles, and actually sort-of-kind-of ends up helping in the end.

❄

over or under me? by Larissaloki for Sullen

hunger over bucky made a phone call the night before and forgot.

❄

Under Your Skin by Niki for endof_theline

It’s not often an alpha gets quite as deep under an omega’s skin…

❄

mythos by beir for Towaneko

The lights flickered back on. There, standing behind Barnes, was the Merchant of Death.

❄

Project Relationship by iCheat for blue_pointer

Peter and Harley are best friends and they have a project to do. After some debate they decide to get their Dads together. Scientifically. It does not go as they planned.

❄

Love Tap by Feelingsinwinter for DreamcatchersDaughter

When Bucky started dating Tony, a kindergarten teacher, he was expecting the usual trouble. Some issues with Bucky’s life as a mob boss to begin with, a bit of screaming, a bit of swearing maybe. Some fight, possibly, after all Tony looked ready to fuck shit up if need be. He wasn’t expecting Tony to accept it with open arms and start to gift him with bags of rifles but Bucky could roll with it.

Probably could’ve done without the troubles that came with that, however.

❄

Stay in my arms if you dare (or must I imagine you there) by Estelle for Chef_Geekier

Bucky doesn’t exactly think that being a bodyguard is his dream job, but after leaving the military, it was a good way to make money without having to go through a lot of education and training. When he gets hired by Howard Stark to protect his son, he thinks that that will be easy enough. Turns out that it isn’t, especially not once feelings are involved.

❄

Happy Together by TheVagabondBoy for Potrix

The tattoos might have been one of the first things of Bucky’s that Tony had fallen in love with.

❄

The Long Con (Don’t Kid Yourself) by phlintandsteel for camichats

When Tony finds out that Howard is thinking about changing the terms of Tony’s trust fund, he embarks on a not-so-elaborate scheme to prove that he’s totally settling down and not in continued need of Howard’s “guidance” until 25 instead of 21. Step 1: Get a fiance Step 2: ??? Step 3: Profit (Finally be free of Howard)

Unfortunately, Tony Stark is the worst con-artist ever, and may only be kidding himself…

❄

In Your Hands by james for its_inherited

Sometimes Bucky needs help to relax.  Tony loves to provide.

❄

The Price of Forgiveness by celtic7irish for Cheerydandan

Tony fell in love once.  And then his lover left without so much as a good-bye, and Tony moved on with his life.  Now, Bucky Barnes is back, hired to be Tony’s personal assistant and hoping to pick up where they left off.  Can Tony learn to forgive him?  Will he risk opening his heart once more?

❄

While You’re Busy Making Other Plans by marsmaywander for TheSopherfly

Bucky was cold, tired, and his bum shoulder was killing him. Being stuck in the middle of Nowhere, North Carolina with a busted bike was not how he envisioned spending the last few weeks of his leave. Thankfully, there’s a sleep-deprived, big-hearted mechanic there to help Bucky out.

❄

Forward-Facing by Eirlyssa for Larissaloki

Bucky is doing fine, he really is. But Steve wants him to be more than just fine, which is why he asks his friend to join a yoga class in the park.

Which is where he first sees Tony.

❄

answering a salty siren call by OneSmartChicken for GenericUserHere

Yeah only an idiot wouldn’t have at least a little crush on Bucky, and Tony really wasn’t an idiot.

❄

Three times Tony brought Bucky out of a zone by Briz for InsaneJuliann

And one time he didn’t.

❄

Nothing Changes (Except You) by ezazahaz for badgerling

Between teammates bickering over breakfast cereal, a boring Stark Industries meeting Pepper wants him to attend, and rampaging trees in Central Park, Tony isn’t having the best day.

The fact that it keeps repeating only makes it worse.

But then it turns out he isn’t alone–Bucky Barnes remembers the repeating day as well. They’ll need to work together to find a way to escape the mysterious loop… and maybe become a little closer in the process.

❄

Ready to Comply by monobuu for Rospergs

For the prompt: “What if Tony had been captured by Hydra.”

❄

Let This Be Called a Word Unpronounceable by badgerling for rightsidethru

Tony was fine serving the detention he had earned. He was not okay with serving detention with Bucky Barnes. And he definitely not okay with running for his life from a manticore. An apparent manticore. Because there shouldn’t be manticores in the Forbidden Forest.

❄

The lesser of two evils by Briz for ezazahaz

Bucky has trouble sleeping when Tony ends up hurt by his hand during a mission

❄

Grown With Love by endof_theline for nativemossy

Tony Stark, college student, single father, and wingless? Tony meets a stranger at the gym that helps him in a way that he had deemed impossible, it’s just a bonus that the single father status might change to father along the way.

❄

Better For You by gryvon for malome78

Tony stares at the extensive array of baked goods. There are shelves full of different flavors of cupcakes, trays of cookies, a variety of scones and muffins and things that look good but he has no idea what they are. There are almost too many options. He’s getting diabetes just from looking at all of it.  

“What’s the occasion?” Hot barista asks.

“Business meeting. What says ‘Sorry for showing up an hour late?’”

Hot barista comes to a stop across the counter from Tony, arches an eyebrow, and says, deadpan, “Being on time.” 

[cheion-writes]

A Valentine’s Special!

Sidestep and Steel really do care for each other. They just need some help recognising that. 

Thanks @auroriane for being an awesome beta as always! Any remaining mistakes you see are my own. The complete list to all my fics can be found on my Tumblr :)

1. Sick Days

With Sidestep: 

Your cough harshly as you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself, feeling utterly and completely miserable. You shouldn’t be sick; you aren’t supposed to get sick. But yet, here you are, nose stuffed, head pounding, and throat as scratchy as sandpaper. Of course, it wasn’t as bad this morning – not until you got caught in the rain on your way to the Rangers base. 

You had arrived drenched, sneezing and coughing, and Steel had taken one look at you before hustling you into one of the private rooms to rest. You blame your fever-addled mind for agreeing to his offer. For letting you actually fall asleep. For imagining that look of concern on his face when he came in to check on you. 

Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you swing your legs off the bed with a sigh, sending out a prayer that you can sneak out without alerting any of the others. 

You freeze as your eyes land on the doors. There’s a blue flask on the table next to it; it wasn’t there before. Where did it come from? Who put it there? The only one that came in was Steel a couple of minutes ago, and… 

...

Oh. 

Cheeks reddening, you slide off the bed and patter to the door to pick up the flask. Your eyes immediately find a handwritten note by its side: 

‘Here’s some apple and pear pork rib soup. It’s good for your throat.’ 

You don’t notice the smile on your face as you pop open the cap and enjoy the steam that curls comfortingly around your face. As you slowly sip the admittedly good broth. 

As you tell yourself that increasing warmth you feel in your belly is simply because of the soup.

---

With Steel: 

“So, Soup, huh?” Ortega’s face sparkles with amused delight as he stares at you. 

“It’s. Just. Soup.” you growl, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“Right…” he drawls. “Let’s ignore how you drove all the way to that expensive Chinese restaurant to get it, shall we? How worried you looked when they first came in... how you oh so gently covered them with that blanket when it had fallen off the bed…” 

“I would’ve done the same for any of you.” 

“Right…keep telling yourself that Chen.”

2. Mods 

With Steel: 

You grimace as you step into the base, your arm joint aching and throbbing dully. You’re trying to hide it as well as you can but obviously it isn’t enough, for their lips instantly pull down into a worried frown when they notice you. 

“Are you alright?” You shake your head, your candid honesty somewhat surprising you. “Bad joint,” you mutter. 

Their concerned eyes scan you for a moment before they rise to their feet and gesture to their chair. “Sit,” they say. “I think I can help.” 

You’re surprised when you acquiesce without a single protest. As their gentle touch brushes against where mod meets skin, you hope they can’t feel the shudder that ripples through you. Throughout it all, they pointedly ignoring your gaze, and you can’t help but notice their pulse fluttering tremulously as they tinker around with the mod.

 “There,” they say after a long while. “Is it better?” Slowly, you try moving your arm, heaving a sigh of relief when you realize the bone-deep ache has vanished.

“Yes, much better,” you reply, a fond smile of gratitude spreading across your face. They beam in turn, and it’s a long while before you both turn away.  

---

With Sidestep: 

“You two looked comfortable,” Herald’s voice is the epitome of glee as he corners you in the hall. 

You roll your eyes. “I just don’t like to see any of you hurt.” 

“Really?” he grins. “I mean…you were looking at each other for such a long time. And I haven’t seen you smile like that before…” 

“I’m just relieved he’s fine.” 

“Right…” 

“There’s nothing more to it, Herald. Nothing at all.”

-

3. Nightmares 

With Steel: 

 It’s the whimpers that first alert you something is wrong. They’re lying curled up and vulnerable on the couch, tears streaming down their cheeks as they whisper a plea for help. You hear Ortega’s name upon their lips, and once or twice, you think you hear yours as well. 

“Please… Ortega… Chen… please, please don’t let them take me,” they sob. “I can’t go back, I can’t…” 

You swallow hard as their sobs intensify. Silently, you reach out and gently slide a hand under their shoulders, lifting them slightly off the couch. Their head falls into the nook of your chest, but caught in the throes of the nightmare, they do not wake. A wave of fierce protectiveness overwhelms you as you feel the shudders and sobs wracking their fragile form. “Be calm,” you hear yourself saying. “I’m here. And I promise you: nothing – no one – will harm you, not as long as I’m here.” 

Slowly, impossibly, you feel them relax in your embrace, their breathing slowly evening out. You don’t let go; not until the choked words stop, not until their whimpers finally quieten. “Sleep well,” you whisper as you lower them back down and drape the blanket over them once more. I’ll be here when you wake. 

---

“So… Care to tell us why you spent such a long time with Sidestep last night?” 

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, Angie.” 

“Of course not. We all know what’s going on.” 

“For the last time, nothing is happening between us.” 

 - 

4. Even Heroes Need Saving

With Sidestep: 

 It's a particularly nasty part of town and as luck would have it, you had all bumped into an anti-Ranger group as soon as you arrived. Apparently, their dislike of the Rangers was particularly intense for a certain Marshal. 

As you trail worriedly behind the stoic man, you note the clenched fists and locked jaw, the supremely-concealed pain in his eyes as the crowd continues to jeer. 

"He should retire." 

“Even the others are all better.” 

“Just an old soldier pretending to be a hero.”

You find your rage rising at their poison-barbed words, until you can take it no more. 

“Shut the hell up!” you yell as you whirl around, eyes dark and terrifying and blazing with fury. They immediately fall silent and take a step back at your outburst, but you are far from done. 

“Marshal Steel saved my life and the lives of hundreds of others in his time as a Ranger! He saved hundreds more in his time as a soldier! He probably saved your sorry asses countless of times, not like any of you deserve it! He cares more for others than for himself, he always strives to do his best, and he will always be there for anyone no matter the cost to himself!" 

You take a deep breath, your voice rising as you bellow out the final words. “He is the most courageous, compassionate, and self-sacrificial man I've ever known, and he's a better hero than any of you will ever hope to be! So don’t you dare speak otherwise!" 

At the end of it all, the thoroughly chastised and intimidated group is tripping over themselves to escape your wrath. 

Satisfied, you nod, dust your fingers and turn to face Steel… only to see him staring open-mouthed at you. “I never knew you felt that way about me,” he says quietly as a blush creeps up his neck.

“Yeah, yeah," you reply, turning away so he won't see the heat upon your face. "You better remember it because I’m not saying it again." 

You don't need to look up to feel the shy smile that spreads across his face as he hurries after you. 

---

“You do know there are videos of you defending the Marshal going viral online, do you?” 

“It’s just because those people got on my nerves.” 

“Sure…. if you say so…” 

“Why doesn’t it sound like you believe me?” 

- 

[Interlude] 

 i. 

“You got me… a cactus plushie?” 

“It’s for Spoon. You did say he always ruins those.” 

“Oh… thank you, then. I’m sure he’ll love this.” 

---

“Hey Sidestep? I heard you got something for Steel-” 

“It’s just a plushie! For Spoon!” 

 ii. “I’m fine, Chen. You don’t have to stay.” 

“It’s alright. You look like you could use some company.”

 --- 

 “So... I saw you sitting so close to them in the park today.” 

“They looked like they needed a friend… why are you looking at me like that?”

- 

5. The Rangers Act

With Sidestep: 

“You’d best come at once.” 

Ortega’s terse voice rings in your ears as you tear down the sidewalk towards the Rangers base, as does a single thought that echoes on repeat  in your mind: 

"Please, please let him be safe.”

Ortega had sent you that call an hour ago, informing you that the Marshal was hurt and that it was of paramount importance that you turn up at the Rangers base as soon as you could. Subsequent attempts to contact them had failed, and you found your anxiety growing as time ticked by. 

Please don’t let him be hurt. I can’t bear it if he is. 

It’s a startling revelation, but it doesn’t make it any less true. 

As you screech to a halt in the hall, a sigh of relief escapes you as you spot a rattled but otherwise uninjured Steel. 

"Chen, you're alright!" you sigh as you dash to him, wrapping your arms around his broad chest. He hugs you back just as tightly, and you miss the moment his fear melts into relief, and then into confusion. 

“Wait… I thought you were the one injured?” 

“Me?” you repeat. “Ortega told me that you were hurt so I had to come here at once!” " 

His eyes widen in confusion. "But Herald called me…. He told me you were hurt and that I should prepare the ops room for surgery..." 

"What?!” 

The word escapes you in an undignified, high-pitched yelp. Just what are they playing at? What's with telling you and Steel such crazy lies, getting you both here alone and- 

Oh. OH. Oh no they didn't.

You see the moment Steel comes to the same realization as you do. 

“They set us up, didn't they?” you moan as you bury your face into his chest. 

“It would seem so,” he chuckles in fond exasperation. You notice he makes no move to push you away. 

You groan even louder. "I'm going to kick their ass for this.”

Steel laughs. "That’s something we can agree on." His eyes soften. "But for what it's worth… it’s made me realize what I should have long ago: that I can’t bear losing you." 

You heart skips a beat at his words. Exhaling lightly, you pull him in close, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat as you finally allow yourself to admit the truth you’ve been denying for so long. “I can’t bear losing you too.” 

He smiles softly at that. His fingers cup your cheek in a gentle touch, and his voice drops into a tender whisper you’d never once heard him use before. “You know… I think I like you very much.” 

You huff out a breathless laugh, your cheeks heating up as you gaze into his earnest eyes. “I think I like you very much too.” 

He chuckles and leans in close until your foreheads meet; you’re closer than you’ve ever been before. There you remain for a long while, simply drinking in the presence of each other. Then, his fingers grasp your chin, and you find yourself gazing deep into his eyes once more. Slowly, you feel your eyes drift shut as you lean in even closer, as does he. 

 When you finally press your lips upon his own, the touch is gentle yet deep, hesitant yet intimate. 

And when the kiss finally breaks off, you realize that his cheeks are just as flushed as yours.  “So…does this mean you’ll go out with me?” he asks with a small smile. 

You find yourself smiling back. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

[novamortem]

[ future-self event thread with mods of @arcanacouncilrp  - tw: death ]

At first glance, the room is the same as it looked when he left. Clean lines, no surface too cluttered, neatly made bed. For someone as observant as Aeron, though, that isn’t enough to put him at ease. There’s a presence in the room with him when he enters. If he tries, he can catch the faintest scent of ozone lingering in the air. Perched on a curtain rod half obscured in shadow is a crow with haunted eyes. It watches Aeron carefully, distrustfully, like it knows him but does not anticipate what he will do. After several heartbeats, it opens its beak and speaks in a perfect recreation of Aeron’s voice:

“I’m here to warn you.”

he’s never been great at birds. the crow though, is the easiest.  perhaps it’s something to do with being an omen of ‘death’ or… some other mystic type shit.  this one though, is not a random bird.  it’s ‘his’ bird.  ‘his’ form.  something he recognises quite intimately.  but this version seems… polluted.  the sleek blue black of those wings looks - greasy - dirty oil slick staining a puddle on a filthy street.  like it… he… has spent his time pecking eyeballs out of corpses.

assessment: 1)  it’s him.  or an apparition of him.  or something like that… impostor ( irony coming from someone who’s entire basis of magic was changing his appearance ). 2)  there’s a flicker of doubt.  he’s pretty sure this is reality.  there’s no gunfire echoing in his ears, no blood that he can see.  he’s not relapsing or having a flashback. 3)  he doesn’t trust it.  he doesn’t like it.  he’s pretty close to throwing the lamp from his nightstand at it.

❝ uhuh. ❞

shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the bed, as though the - other him - is nothing more than a blip.  curbing the instinct to act, to react… for now ( though the lamp is still a viable option ).

❝ very ominous. ❞

there’s a hike of brow, tongue pulling over his teeth with a click.  if it is – him – then he would know that he’s not a fan of pissing about.  less about pulling punches, more about getting straight to the damn point.

❝ so…? ❞

The crow watches with one beady eye as Aeron absorbs the information. The warning, as it were. If a crow can look indecisive, this one does, but eventually he spreads his wings and descends from the window, dropping neatly to the floor on human legs. It’s a quick transformation, one that speaks of mastery over his talent, though he hasn’t used that apparent skill to hide time’s ravages to his appearance. His eyes are sunken, his face gaunt. Under his ragged black great coat he wears only dark colors, though none of them are dark enough to fully conceal telltale stains splashed across them. He might as well be wearing his old uniform. His hands shake every so slightly. If not for the haunted expression in his eyes, he would be a perfect mirror reflection of Aeron. Time had clearly not been kind to this version. 

“War is coming,” he says, holding Aeron’s eyes with a look that says your suspicions are true. 

“Like none you’ve seen before. I’m here to warn you, because…” 

He clenches his teeth, a muscle in his jaw jumping. 

“I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t. I only made things worse. You deserve to know what’s coming.”

oh. so that’s why he was the one to get the death card. he might not be the traditional apparition of a reaper, but what aeron gazes upon now couldn’t be anything but… d e a t h.  when the ‘other’ aeron retakes his human form, it’s a cracked reflection through that oil slick shimmer.  distorted and fractured.  stained and broken.  he imagines that if he looks closer, he might even see hairline cracks in his counterparts skin, a porcelain vase filled with nothing more than a haunted, bloody void.

but he got what he wanted.  – straight and to the point. even if it’s not what he actually ‘wanted’.  the soldier who sought nothing but peace.  who had seen enough bloodshed to last him more lifetimes than he’s had reincarnations.  the spectre of himself delivers the one message he doesn’t want to hear – one that sends a chill down his spine, cutting at each and every nerve along the way.

❝ war is always coming. ❞

but the words sound weak, even to him.   he lacks the one thing he so often relies upon in front of the others – conviction.  but if this is truly him ( and his doubt in that fades with the haunt in the others eyes ), then there’s no need for the soldiers charade.  it’s one thing to think of a happenstance.  it’s another entirely to look upon the aftermath of something that hasn’t yet come to be.

❝ i don’t deserve anything.  i think we both know that. ❞

but he’s not about to deny what’s in front of his eyes right now.  while he might not deserve it, he goddamn wants to know.  even if the tremor in the others hand isn’t in his right now - he can’t help but feel that… fear… a knot deep down.  a lifetime of trauma unravelling.  

…keep it together.

❝ okay.  if you made it worse, then tell me how i can make it better.  if you came to warn me… us… then there has to be the possibility to – change something.  otherwise… why would you… i… we…? ❞

The reflection, if that’s what he really is, averts his eyes when Aeron speaks, instead looking off into some memory of his that renders him visibly nauseous. As if Aeron’s as-yet-untarnished situation pains him. Perhaps the pain comes from remnants of hope, or perhaps there are none at all. 

“You’ve already seen lines being drawn,” he says, surety in his voice like he remembers being there in Aeron’s place. 

“Salma, Daniel, Kian - you know the tension in the air. So much more waits in the wings.” 

He clenches and unfurls his fists. 

“Plenty of other Councilors have more fight in them than they let on… And that’s before the rest comes.” 

He looks to Aeron again, his eyes half wild. 

“There’s so much to magic you don’t know. We didn’t, either. It tore us apart by picking at our desires and fears. Everyone wanted more. More magic, more power. I tried… to reason with them.” 

He shakes his head at his own misguided decisions. 

“Interfering only made it worse. You can’t fight this war, Aeron. It’s coming no matter what you do, and it’s safer for you - for everyone you care about, and so many others besides - if you just… Don’t.”

he’d thought, at times.  that he was truly ruined.  by the things in his nightmares.  the flickers of flashbacks in his waking moments.  but he isn’t.  not compared to the spectre of himself that stands before him now.

–You can’t fight this war, Aeron

it’s all he’s ever done.  fight.  so what does he mean… they can’t fight?  or they can’t win?

❝ when were we ever – safe? ❞

there’s no turning this off.  no ‘not being’ what he is.  

❝ and when did we ever just – not? ❞

moments.  plenty of them.  when he could have walked away.  turned his back on people, places, promises.  could have shimmered into a crowd and never returned.  be somewhere else.  become someone else.   but there’s nowhere you can go.   and no one you can be.   to escape yourself.

one hand swipes over his face.  almost surprised that he can’t feel the sharpness of his own bones beneath his skin.

❝ and if we don’t fight.  what then?  it happens anyway?  people don’t stop just because there’s no one standing in their way.  you know this.  i know this.  you’ve seen something - you’ve done things.  you made choices.  and you know that i can’t choose that… i can’t just… walk away.  i won’t. ❞

❝ so either - help me - make better choices.  help me - understand what’s coming… or… i guess i’ll be here at some point, looking at myself.  through your eyes. ❞

“I’m trying to help you.” 

He sighs, all the fight in him long gone. He looks the part of a soldier but the set of his shoulders, the trembling in his fingers, all point to a man made captive. 

“There is no stopping this. Everything is outside your control. The Council aren’t the only ones fighting, and when the others come… They will make you choose.” 

He shudders. His voice drips with guilt. 

“Join the war, even only to stop it, and you will be forced to pick a side. Some of the Councilors are still barely more than kids. Standing opposite kids in war? The only thing that makes me feel less damned is the hope that they suffered less by my hand than they would have otherwise. All in the name of power and magic beyond their wildest dreams, or some shit.” 

He looks at Aeron, broken, beaten, ghostly. 

“There’s nothing you can do, Aeron. Just leave while you can. Your only other option is to submit.”

there… in that moment… he truly doesn’t recognise the man in front of him

❝ it’s never been about ‘control’.  it’s always been about doing the right thing. ❞

a bristle - an anger - something bubbling up inside as the spectre brings up kids at war…

…how old were they when they first were sent into battle?  sixteen.  younger still by almost a decade than most people in the lair.  how old were the fighters they came face to face with then?  the footsoldiers.  the cannon fodder.  no older than him.  maybe younger.  with as much fear and fight in them.  and he had killed them.  lives cut short with the bloody roar of war in his ears, the screams of the wounded and dying.  the subtle silence in the aftermath.  only then realising that you were still breathing - hardly believing it… the guilt, the terror, the eternal stain on a soul - no matter how old… of taking anothers life.

it’s a strike - a hand shoved into his gut, grabbing his insides and twisting cruelly to think that he’s the one who brings – d e a t h.  to them.  the people he might call friend.  somehow, he isn’t surprised.  

❝ you seem to have gotten real good at talking about what i can’t do.  not what i can.  so if you want to avoid this - if you want to change my future, your past.  then tell me what’s coming. don’t tell me to run.  don’t tell me to surrender.  tell me what the fuck it is and – S T O P – ❞

❝ – with the fucking pity party.  because while you might have given up on yourself - no matter what, what we have to do, what it does to us - we have never - EVER - given up on them.  ❞

“What if the only right thing there is to do is go?” he asked, a sharper edge to his voice. 

“I’m not saying it’s admirable, or good. I’m not saying anything I’ve done is good. But when your options are that limited? Doing nothing is better than bowing under pressure.” 

He clenches his fists at his sides. 

“Things not of this world are coming. I can’t tell you much more than that.” 

He looks almost apologetic, like he wants to tell. Like he knows it would make all the difference, but the words won’t come. 

“They know of magic you cannot fathom, and they shared that knowledge with the others - and some took the bait. Fell prey to mistakes our originals made. I didn’t want to give up on them, and truly, I never did. Maybe… Well. I have no proof things would go better for you if you did, so I won’t tell you that.” 

He shakes his head again, his eyes darkening under the shadows of his memories. 

“Run. Surrender. I don’t know what else there is for you to try. Seize the magic before anyone else, I suppose. Try to fight the fight all on your own. But I don’t see that as anything other than suicide.”

❝ – what if?  uhuh, and ‘what if’ it’s not. ❞

he’s irritated.  he’s fed up of people not pulling their goddamn weight and right now, the main culprit seems to be himself.

❝ – then what’s the point?  really?  why are you here?  who exactly do you think you’re helping?  what do you think you’re changing?  because so far you’ve given me a grand total of jack-shit to go on.  other than ‘run away’.  which, if you are me, you know won’t happen anyway so… what.  is.  the.  point.  of.  this?  ❞

his tongue clicks across his teeth, he can’t even feel sorry for this supposed other version of himself.  because he never has before and he doesn’t understand when the hell that might have started.

❝ – timing is impeccable by the way.  you couldn’t have made it a few weeks ago?  because if there are things coming.  as you say.  then now might be just about the perfect opportunity to sow a few seeds.  plant a little doubt.  start a wheel spinning in a certain direction. ❞

less convinced.  if this is really a future version of himself then he doesn’t understand the aversion.  even with the guilt of death on his hands ( something neither of them are unfamiliar with by this point ), then he would know the only way to plan a counterstrike is with some kind of viable intelligence and so far, there’s nothing… concrete.  just vague references to horror and war… again… not unfamiliar.

❝ – if you really want things to be different.  then give me – something. ❞

…or take your own advice.  and run.

He's silent for several beats, the quiet stretching between them, separating them. They are not the same, that is apparent. This version of Aeron couldn't look any lonelier if he tried, though, and that's probably for the best. Wallowing is not helpful for either of them. 

"There's more to magic than just our powers," he says at last. 

"Magic is part of this world. Everyone should be able to access it with the right tools. But... The Council can't handle that kind of free power. Justice, Nadine, Marcella, they need to be checked with it. If you see them dabbling in old ways or dealing with creatures that promise them more, you've come upon a choice." 

He shrugs one shoulder. 

"Stop them. Learn the new magic for yourself. Leave. Whatever you think is best. I couldn't help myself, so... maybe you have a point. I may not be of any use to you." 

With that he heads toward the door, his eyes downcast. He's broken, caved to the monster he thinks he is, or to those who attack from the outside - who's the say which is worse? At the door he stops, his voice low. 

"I never tried to take charge. Never thought myself worthy of leading or organizing them or, whatever it is they wanted. I doubt you want that. I guess the only other option I see is to try to intervene in the magic yourself, before it can worm its way into their minds and poison them... But it's a tough thing, to work alone."

[plaguedparadox]

Whispers in the Dark - Chapter One

Friends and Nightmares

There was once a time where I was safe. With friends that were always happy to see me and who would always protect me, or at least that’s what I thought. The nightmares that have plagued me for almost a year now hint at otherwise. They warn of betrayal and manipulation - of death. They scared me at first, made me wary of all those I hold close to me. Then I realised I didn’t recognise those ‘friends’ in the nightmares, so I grew to ignore them. However, the nagging of paranoia still crept up on me every now and again.

Especially now.

The sound of blistering winds and cawing crows filled the air around me, something that I quickly grew used to as I walked through the fog-filled woods that my friends dragged me to for a simple camping trip. Despite mine and some other complaints about the weather turning, the ‘leader’ of our friendship persisted and eventually lead us to the campsite. And now here we were, or rather here I was, looking for firewood as the skies threatened to pour down on me. A sigh left my lips as I bent down to grab another dry branch that would prove useful for the fire for only a few moments, the small bundle in my arm was growing but I knew that our lovely ‘leader’ would complain that I collected so little even if I had been out here alone for only around ten minutes now.

The snapping of small twigs sounded out, alerting me to look into the direction it came from. The sound was too delicate to have been made by a human’s weight, and I was proven right when a fox scurried along. A small smile made its way to my lips as I watched the creature run without a care in the world. I wish I could be like that. Another sound made me alert once again, this time it was someone’s voice calling my name but it was more like a whisper on the wind, like a memory echoing and trying to reach out to me. I could barely identify the voice that called out, whoever’s voice it was, it was male and baritone in nature. The hushed sound, being drowned out by distance and the strong winds, was surprisingly comforting as if it was an old friend greeting me.

I think that’s what disturbed me the most. The odd comfort of a voice I didn’t recognise but somehow my body knew as if I had at least heard the voice before. And I would say that the voice brought a familiar face to it, though I doubted that he’d be in these woods and doubted even more that he’d so much as know my name. I was a nobody, even on the internet where anyone could be anyone. I had a very small presence even on a platform that I’d been using for years now since I was a very young teen if I recalled correctly.

My feet slowly made their way back as the voice drew closer as if the owner was searching for me. My name was more defined with each call. It was terrifying. My breath caught in the back of my throat as I hid behind a tree, my gaze never leaving the direction of the voice’s calls. I didn’t dare turn around and run in fear that I’d end up hopelessly lost and too far away from the trail I had been following and too far away from the camp for my friends to hear my cries of help.

Footsteps drew closer and closer, the sound of the wind that proceeded to pick up made it hard to pinpoint where they came from but they were far too close for me to be comfortable. A presence loomed behind me, beckoning for me to look.

A beckoning I listened to, swinging my head around and gandering at the person who tried to scare me. My quick actions caused them to jump and yelp in response, their clumsiness made them quickly ending up on the floor glaring playfully up at me. I should’ve known it was Klaus.

Klaus Schmidt, my friend and coworker for around three years now. He was a fairly attractive man, slightly muscular and lucky, with him being a doctor, he had the brains to match. His blonde hair and blue eyes were something most girls were attracted to, his perverse personality, however, was not. He always tried to use his Germanic charm on me but because I knew him - and his squeamish tendencies around silly little things like worms - it never worked.

“Really Klaus? Really? Trying to scare me in the woods? Talk about cliche, dude.” My voice sounded out as I held my own false glare down at the Austrian man who dared try to scare me in such an obvious horror cliche scenario. “I was hoping for so much better, especially after all those movie marathons!” I laugh out and hold my hand out for him, pushing the bundle of sticks into one arm to make things easier for me.

“Ah… sorry, Fräulein. I was just hoping for a small scream. It would have certainly freaked out the others, nein?” He chuckled out, his accent still very prominent even after his many years living in an English city.  “I have to try harder next time!” The man grinned as he took my hand and used it to pull himself up from the dirt. For a doctor of medicine he was a huge fan of scaring people, thankfully his patients were not on the list of people for him to scare. Me as a nurse, however? It gave him ample opportunity to try and give me a small fright, it did slow down from daily to monthly after I suggested the movie marathons, whilst preferring detective movies and old noirs, there was always something about horror films that always seemed to drag me back to them.

Perhaps that’s why I was so quick to become used to my current surroundings.

“What are you doing out here, Schmidt? I thought you were being forced to put the tents up.” My question fell on deaf ears as the calls of my name sounded out once again. “Who the hell…?” My thoughts slipped out of my mouth as I began to turn back towards the direction of the caller. All I heard was Klaus gulp nervously before I was yanked all the way back to camp by the sprinting man, dropping the bundle along the way.

A shocked yelp sounded out from another voice as the Austrian crashed into another member of our small party. Groans quickly sounded out from the small pile consisting of two blonde men, one frantically trying to shove the other off, a swear or two slipping out with each new shove. We just had to crash into Arthur… I groaned in my head as I looked at the Englishman swearing his head off, it wasn’t long before the noise caught our ‘leader’s’ attention.

Our ‘leader’ was a short plump woman, who often had her hair cut into a bob. Her forest green eyes typically shown out from behind her fringe. She was called Gracie, and she was my best friend. We met each other through college, she was determined to become a police officer while I longed to be in a medical career. Well, medical or something to do with the law. I had always wanted to be a layer as a kid, helping right wrongs and put criminals away for a long time but I wanted to save people so much more. And little Gracie Dune was there all the way. The brunette was a woman of few words, especially compared to her cousin, Arthur Watson - a man that looks a lot like his cousin apart from his skinny frame and blonde hair. He was someone I typically considered to be the typical Englishman with all his cynicism and tea drinking. I actually met Gracie through him. Arthur was a writer while Gracie was currently working with the government to keep the police force was good as it could be.

A small tired chuckle left my lips as I walked over to my tent, sitting less than gracefully down in the doorway as I gazed out at the bickering adults. Well, they claimed they were adults. My attention soon fell onto the clearing skies above me, the clouds being wonderful and parting ways to show the thousands of stars that filled the night sky. My favourite sight.

Things quieted down once Gracie brought out the food. Good Ol’ Gracie. The trio was huddled around the weakening fire while I stayed sat down in the comfort of my tent’s doorway, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. It had been a Christmas present from my penpal, Sean, someone who I wished I could meet. He was an awesome guy and his stories from his trips around the world and of his crazy friends never failed to make me laugh. I adored the friendship I had with him and I was proud to hear of how much he was accomplishing, even if he kept the details extremely vague.

After zipping up my tent for the night I laid down and sneakily brought out my phone, keeping the brightness on low so it wasn’t easily noticed by Gracie and her harsh rule of ‘No technology while camping unless it’s an emergency.’ I would say missing out on my favourite YouTubers could be considered an emergency. I thought to myself as I placed my earbuds into place and plugged them into my phone. It wasn’t long before my subscription feed showed the plethora of new videos for me to watch from my favourite content creators but my eyes landed straight on to a certain channel. He had been back from his break for a small while at that point in time but I hadn’t watched his videos in a while.

I clicked on his channel and scrolled back slightly, pausing when I saw videos that seemed to be based on a murder mystery. With the YouTuber playing different roles. A four-part skit? Good on ya, dude. I thought as I tapped the first video.

By the end of watching all four videos and four more comedy value videos that linked to them, I was in tears. Both because of sadness and laughter. That man certainly knew how to grip and pull at my heartstrings. I quickly found out there was a Tumblr tag for the videos, each person expressing interest in their own way, many theories, jokes and of course ‘protection squads’ had been made for various characters. The community was as active as ever and I felt a bit bad jumping into the chaos so late, but with a busy life, you can only watch so much youtube.

Upon deciding that sleep could wait for a few more hours, I decided to bring up my favourite Irishman’s youtube channel. Jack was one hell of a character and really did remind me of Sean, perhaps that’s why I liked his videos so much. Also didn’t help they had the same name.

Soon sleep wasn’t just knocking on my doorstep, it was full on trying to ram the door down with how exhausted I had made myself. A yawn slipped past my lips as I turned my phone off and laid on my side trying to get comfortable, hoping my exhaustion had not reached the point where it would just needlessly keep me awake. I didn’t care if nightmares showed up once again, I just wanted to sleep.

And with that, I slept.

Groans sounded from my throat as I pulled myself off the extremely comfy bed. A normal start to these recurring nightmares. I made sure I was decent before making my way out to the landing, the landing always seemed to hold an angel at the end of it. An angel that gazed off to the side looking innocent as always. If he was real, I would have had a crush on him. He was familiar but I couldn’t pinpoint how or why. I couldn’t really make out details apart from his dark hair and eyes that seemed to reflect the light oh so wonderfully while his golden skin fell against his dark suit. Oh, how I wished I could see details but every time I tried the blur that was already there seemed to get worse as if I was looking through murky water and somehow me trying to focus on the details was somehow stirring the muck up.

My path was interrupted by someone else who was also dressed in black and white. I couldn’t hear his voice but I’m sure he was trying to be helpful so I thank him for the glass that was placed in my hand and continue towards the angel. If only things lasted like this but they never do.

After a small moment with him, the area around me warped in such harsh and unnatural ways, an almost desaturated and ‘3D’ effect coated the environment, as well as an annoying static sound filled the air, as I was forced to look out at the various scenes unfold. A friend dying, a woman I never wanted to see again, a deal to be regretted. And him. I couldn’t seem him as well as I could the angel but I knew the angel was a part of him. His cold stare was harsh and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, every part of me screaming to run away as he brought nothing but danger. But, much like with horror movies, something drew me to him.

I didn’t dare draw closer to him, I wasn’t that stupid. My body considered this man dangerous for a reason and I was going to keep my distance. It got to the point where if he stepped closer, then I’d step back, again and again until it was like some sort of twisted dance and despite his enraged and frustration filled face - a seemingly natural look for him - an odd calmness emitted from him. A sensation that brought back how I felt about the voice in the woods. It was the same odd calmness.

Neither of us dared to speak, even as we danced. It was almost as if he knew I couldn’t hear him. Or was it because he tried to speak before? There was a vague recollection of him moving his lips in a previous nightmare but that was long ago and he had almost given up trying.

And it actually made me glad.

It’s not like I didn’t want to hear him speak. I did. I wanted to know what he had to say but there was always a good amount of me that admitted that it probably would be something that I wouldn’t want to hear. Plus, if it was really important, he wouldn’t waste his time with this dance. He doesn’t seem like the type to have much patience.

It didn’t take too long for me to wake up after the dance slowed to the stop. My eyes stung as familiar tears stained my cheeks. Those people weren’t real, so why did I care for them? Well, most of them.

Minutes and then hours went by, time slowly draining and dulling the memories of the nightmare just as it had done countless times before. An agitated groan left my lips as the morning sun began to light up the side of my dull blue tent, making it impossible for me to ignore the fact my friends would soon be active once again. Slowly, I rolled onto my back and pulled myself up and out of the dark sleeping bag that would be my bed for the next few nights, or for however long Gracie determined was long enough.

I grab my phone and check YouTube once again, yet more videos from my favourite creators. As I was about to turn my phone off a notification came through, alerting me to a new email which could only be from one person, Sean. He always seemed to email me in the mornings, it’s almost routine now so it didn’t take much guesswork. I was quick to open it as always.

From: jackabeans@gmail.com

To: awonderfuldayawaits@gmail.com

Subject: RE: Heya!

GOOD MORNING LASS!!!

Sorry, had a bit too much coffee! Is there such a thing as too much coffee? That must be the question of life itself! Ha!

Anyway, yeah, things have been great as of late, thanks for asking. My mates have actually been asking about you, well one of them has… I think he likes your stories a bit too much. He’s always so fooking entranced by them. Then again, you both adore helping people so I guess it’s only natural to be absorbed into stories like that.

I’m ramblin again!

So, how are you? Personal question as always but y’know how much I worry… Those nightmares haven’t been helping…

Ah crap, I need to get goin, got a plane to catch!

As always, yer best bud,

Sean :P

A laugh slipped its way through my lips as I read through his energy filled email. Sean, always full of energy and always worrying about me. Then again we have been talking for a year and a half, he’s known me since before the nightmares and he ‘saw’ how much I changed because of them so he has every right to worry. I thought for a small moment about what to say before replying.

From: awonderfuldayawaits@gmail.com

To: jackabeans@gmail.com

Subject: RE: RE: Heya!

Heya Sean!

Glad to see you’re so full of energy, I’m certainly not. How about you pass some of it my way?

Glad things have been good for you. I’m guessing that the mate of yours is the one you’ve labelled ‘M’? I think that’s what you called him. Anyway, I’ll keep that in mind and I’ll let you know if anything interesting happens while at work. I’m camping for a small while, Gracie’s orders.

I’m… fine, I guess. Had yet another nightmare but apart from making me cry they don’t seem to do much to me.

A plane to catch? Another trip to America I’m guessing? Have fun ya doof!

Keep being awesome,

A very grumpy me. XP

Sounds of rustling cloth and a zipper moving let me know that someone else was awake so after making sure the email sent I threw my phone into my backpack just in time before my tent zipper began to shift. Before I knew it, a sleepy Gracie was poking her head in with a silly grin on her face.

“‘Sup Butthead!” She shouted in an exhausted tone. It was obvious that she and Arthur had spent the night arguing yet again. It was just like Sean’s morning emails, routine. The short woman quickly made her way to my side and plopped herself down, holding me close as she did.

“‘Sup Banana Bread. Arthur being an arse again?” I asked, only receiving a small nod and yawn in response. With very little difficulty I placed Gracie down onto my sleeping bag and exited the tent, the chill to the air made me very grateful to the fact I decided to sleep fully dressed, jeans and all.

The fog was still there, clinging to the nearby lake and trees like a child to their beloved parent. The campsite was almost always deserted for the time of year, typically teens and young families flocked to this place during the summer to enjoy the cool water of the lake but as it was early spring people tended to avoid the area. I always thought it was rather stupid to ignore such a beautiful place simply because it was a bit cold out but to each their own.

Camping has always been a big thing for Gracie and me, it was the first thing we did after leaving college after I told her that I had never gone camping before. And now, we made sure to go at least once a year, this was the first year other people were invited, so that was something.

A small relaxed sigh left me as I sat down on an old fallen tree near the edge of the water. The calm and gentle ripples and the light breeze helped the beautiful scene become something that many would only see in a picture but there was always something slightly sinister to these woods as if I was being watched. Perhaps my paranoia and the occurrence with the voice yesterday were getting to me but I couldn’t bring myself to look at the treeline around me or stand up from the tree.

Not until Arthur woke up a few hours later.

[hexusproductions]

What You Can’t Escape (Part 3)

Summary: When Crow is kidnapped by the musical duo Morendo and Piper, it captures the attention of the green-skinned villainess Pleonexia. Subjected to the malicious whims of the partners-in-crime, Crow may face a fate worse than death. Author’s Note: Another chapter, finally. There may be long intervals more often than I would like due to rewrites and my criticism towards my own work, but rest assured they will get here eventually!

Piper sighed. Loudly. She lay upside down on the sofa, legs up in the air, looking up at her feet and the various cracks in the ceiling.

“Moreeey, I’m bored.” She groaned, sitting up. Morendo shushed her, eyes closed with a look of concentration on his face. His hands held either side of Crow’s head, the two of them kneeling in front of each other on the floor. Crow’s eyes were closed as well, and occasionally he twitched or winced.

“Come on, it’s been hours.” Piper continued as she propped herself up on the back of the sofa, “Just make him see spiders or something like we did with that security guard awhile back.”

“I already did.” Morendo grumbled, “He’s not afraid of spiders.” Piper frowned, confused.

“Who the hell isn’t afraid of spiders?”

“Him, apparently.” Morendo irritably pulled his hands away and stood up, scowling in a sulky matter similar to Piper’s. He walked back to the sofa as Crow collapsed in a heap behind him, like a puppet with no-one manning the controls.

“Aw, it’s okay.” Piper climbed off the sofa, walked around, and patted his cheek as Morendo crossed his arms, “You’ve shown him every scary thing you can think of. It’s not like you can just access his personal nightmares.” She started walking away, towards the kitchen, and opened the fridge. She looked back and stopped. Morendo was still standing there, and he had a look on his face that made Piper turn back around.

“Can you?” She questioned. Morendo turned around to lean against the back of the sofa, still mulling it over.

“I mean…” Piper walked back over, abandoning whatever she had been doing as Morendo thought out loud, “I probably could. If I can make scary stuff appear in his head then surely I could access the right parts of his brain to create whatever he actually finds frightening.” He was starting to get excited now, standing up and whirling around to face Piper.

“And if I can do that, maybe I could trap him in it, his own personal nightmare hellscape!”  Morendo went over to Crow, standing over him, “Just imagine it, bringing Pleonexia’s right hand to his knees…”

“I think you did that already.” Piper joked, and Morendo looked back at her.

“You absolute buzzkill.”

“And you’re starting to sound like a nutjob.” Piper retorted, putting her hands on her hips, “Calm down.”

“I’m the nutjob? Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“Unfair!” Piper whined.

“Piper you threw a man into a shelf.”

“Unintentionally.”

Morendo didn’t reply, turning back around to look at Crow again. Piper strode forwards to stand next to him.

“Can you really do it?” She asked. Morendo didn’t look at her but he could hear the smile in her voice. A smirk spread across his features.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Piper’s smile widened to a grin. The two of them immediately launched into their usual buzz of activity, Morendo giving instructions to his partner in crime. They lay Crow down on the floor, the man almost looking like a corpse if it weren’t for the slow rise and fall of his chest. Piper got an idea and quickly rifled through his pockets, pulling out a plain leather wallet, a phone, and a set of keys.

“That’s disappointing.” Piper remarked, and then hummed a tune from a romantic movie as Morendo sat behind Crow and pulled the man’s head into his lap.

“Shut up.” Morendo responded. He returned his hands to their usual spots on the sides of Crow’s head, shutting his eyes once more. The next hour or so was spent in complete silence as Morendo worked, attempting to warp Crow’s trance into something even more twisted. As per usual it was difficult on Piper’s part, but she managed to keep herself from being a distraction. Mostly by staying out of the room.

There were times where Morendo’s brow furrowed, times where he seemed to struggle as well, but finally his eyes fluttered open and a short laugh escaped his throat.

“I did it.” He beamed, stood up, and turned around, unaware that Piper had even left the room at any point.

“Finally!” Piper said dramatically, sitting up from where she had previously been slouching. As Morendo put his hands on his hips, looking proudly over his handiwork, Piper came over and peered around him.

“He looks…exactly the same.” She sounded disappointed, again, and Morendo looked at her.

“He’s not, trust me.”

Crow did indeed look the same as before, except for the deep frown ruining his otherwise calm expression. Piper stared at him blankly for a minute, then grunted vaguely before turning her attention to where his belongings lay in a pile. Morendo saw what she intended to do and grimaced.

“Come on, don’t go through his stuff.” He stepped forward, making a gesture similar to swatting her hands away.

“Why not?” Piper asked petulantly.

“I don’t know it kind of feels like blasphemy.”

“Good point.” Piper replied, but picked up the phone regardless. The case was blue with a division symbol on it, and Piper tapped the screen a few times before her eyebrows shot up.

“No password?” Piper scoffed, surprised, “He’s an idiot.” Morendo threw his hands up in the air, spinning around and walking away. He wasn’t taking part in this. It was juvenile and…what was the word? Sacrilege. Villain sacrilege.

Piper pawed through the phone, largely unimpressed with the lack of any real apps or games. This couldn’t have been his work phone but there was no personality in the thing. Even the wallpaper was just some greyscale picture with dark smoke rolling in from the left side.

Unwilling to admit defeat, Piper went into his contacts and started to scroll through it. Even she could vaguely recognise she was being immature, but sending a message to a random person was the only thing close to fun she was going to get. Piper stopped, frowning a little.

“Who the heck is ‘Cleopatra’?” Piper questioned, screwing her nose up at the screen.

“Famous queen of Egypt, bitten by a snake, lots of people dress as her for Halloween.”

“On the screen.” Piper snapped, pulling a face at him. Morendo turned around, thought it over, and then slowly walked over to join her. She was telling the truth, the name ‘Cleopatra’ was the only name listed in C.

“It’s a nickname.”

“Duh.” Piper replied, typing out a message. Morendo frowned, but didn’t say anything, and the message was sent. ‘Sup queen, how about u and me this Friday. I’m buying’.

“Mature.”

“Well what would you write then if you’re so smart?” Piper exclaimed, and Morendo shrugged.

“I’m actually a villain working for Pleonexia, if you don’t believe me look at a photo of me compared to recent news reports.” He deadpanned, and Piper stared at him.

“I actually like yours better.” Piper admitted, and Morendo nodded and started to get up.

The phone beeped, and they both stopped. Piper turned her head first, and Morendo slowly followed suit. They both stared at the screen, at the new notification at the top. Piper pressed it even as Morendo blinked vaguely.

[Who is this?]

Morendo knew exactly what Piper was going to do even before she was doing it.

‘You know who this is, it’s me.’

Piper gave a small smile as she huddled over the screen, Morendo leaning just a degree towards her with a minimal interest he didn’t want to show. They waited, Piper almost holding her breath in case the fun ended as soon as it started. Although, this didn’t really count as fun.

[No, I mean who is this really. Who are you and why do you have this phone.]

“Proper grammar and everything.” Morendo remarked. Piper elbowed him to get her personal space back.

“Must be an old windbag.” She replied.

‘The owner is not available at the moment, not sure if he’ll ever be able to get back to you’

A quick glance in Crow’s direction confirmed that he was still comatose, and Piper’s smile started to grow. Morendo raised an eyebrow, watching over her shoulder.

[What have you done to him]

The message was straight to the point, but the tone could have been concerned, nonchalant, or even eager to hear what had happened. It wouldn’t be surprising in a city like this. Morendo grinned and snatched the phone away before Piper could reply, quickly tapping away as he once again looked proud of what he’d done.

‘Something spectacular. If he ever wakes up I’m sure he’d agree with me’

“What do you mean ‘if’?” Piper exclaimed, hovering over his shoulder, and Morendo lightly pushed her away.

“I’ve never done this before. For all I know his brain might overload and kill him.” He gestured in Crow’s direction and Piper let out a short bark of a laugh as she took the phone back.

“So within a few hours of meeting the right hand of one of the most feared villains in the city, you manage to kill him.”

“Because that’s a bad thing.” Morendo scoffed. Piper opened her mouth to reply but the phone beeped again, interrupting their bickering.

[Release him. Now]

Piper scoffed.

‘And what r u going 2 do if we don’t? Nothing’

[I am giving you a chance. I will not offer again.]

‘We took him fair and square. BUZZ OFF’

“Um…” Morendo said, almost warningly. Piper shushed him.

[You have no idea who you’re talking to.]

‘Neither do you’

Even as Piper was typing out the second part of her message she grabbed Morendo’s arm and yanked him up with her, pulling him over towards Crow’s body.

“What are you doing.”

“Celebrating the moment. I thought you were proud.” Piper replied, determined with her eyes forward as she typed, “This proves you’re super powerful, doesn’t it?” Morendo was quiet for a second, but then he smiled widely. Piper sent the message and pulled Morendo down, the two of them sitting either side of Crow’s head.

‘Crow’s perfectly happy having a little nap. When we’re done u can have whatever’s left of him, prick’

“Say cheese, Mory.” Piper told him.

Pleonexia stared at the screen. She stared at the picture, of the two grinning at her with Crow lying behind them like a novelty tourist attraction. She breathed in and out, slowly, deliberately. As she lowered the phone and stood up, she trembled as she physically stopped herself from growing, and then she walked across her office stiffly.

“Bond!” She opened the door and almost shouted the name. Her grip on the door was tight in the short amount of time before a magpie fluttered up to the balcony and landed. With a sharp wave of her hand the bird was changed back into Bond, who stood with his arms behind his back.

“Yes, Pleonexia.”

Without a word she turned and walked back into her office, Bond following behind just out of arm’s length. Pleonexia didn’t even sit down as she grabbed the phone.

“Do you know who these two are?” Her voice was firm, controlled, and Bond took a half-step forward to get a better look but at no point did he reach for the phone.

“Newer villains, I think. Music-based. I think their names are Morendo and Pied Piper.”

“I don’t need you to think I need you to know.” Pleonexia growled. For the first time in his criminal career, Bond faltered.

“It might just be Piper. Morendo and Piper.”

Pleonexia put the phone down back on the desk, a little more forcibly than she would have liked. She was silent as she looked away, to a random spot on the wall.

“Do you know where I can find them?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

Pleonexia closed her eyes, exhaled through her nose, and then opened them again.

“Leave. Now.”

Bond nodded and quickly left her office. Pleonexia looked in the direction of her phone, and she exhaled again as the faintest blue faded into the edges of her eyes.

[saibh29]

Soldat (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky / Reader

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse and pain, swearing, angsty drama.. 

AN: I have literally been travelling since 7am this morning and its know nearly 10pm, I’m super tired and exhausted but I promised to upload this part today, so... here it is, i’m sorry if the editing isn’t perfect :(  Find Part one of Soldat here.... PART ONE 

Please feel free to add yourself to my Taglist here.... TAGLIST 

@just4muggles @morganlb23

Sedation it seemed was very similar to Cryo sleep. You could hear screaming ringing in your ears and the panicked faces of hordes of people as they ran past you, fleeing from the explosion in the main square.

Something was wrong though, you’d never managed to hold onto a memory this long before or seen it in this amount of detail. Previously all you had gotten were the whispering threads of screams and the ghostly features of numerous faces all blending together.

This place was whole though, a small village in a forest encased valley. You could taste smoke on your tongue and could smell sulphur in the air. The fire currently burning wasn’t an accident, the sulphur smell a sign of the bomb used to blow up the main town hall building.

You stood still paralysed as from the smoke the form of man appeared. Broad and tall he walked slowly from the debris completely at odds with the pandemonium around him. Stopping in front of you he stared down from a face covered over the lower part with a black mask. Even with the mask though you knew him. The winter soldier.

“Target destroyed?”

“Eliminated” he agreed in that heavily accented Russian. It sounded familiar like it was a voice you heard often. “Your targets?”

“Eliminated” The word slipping from your mouth and as it did the faces of a man and woman appeared, terrified looking up at you as you put a bullet squarely in each of their foreheads. Dead.

The memory started to fade as the image of the Winter soldier blurred and no matter how desperately you tried to hold onto it you couldn’t make it stay.

The nightmares were coming back to take his place, the screams echoing in your ears. They were your screams though, you jerked awake as they wracked through your body.

Trying to move proved useless, you were securely manacled to an upright slab of metal. The room wasn’t familiar, it definitely wasn’t the compound in Siberia that you’d become accustomed to waking in.

In front of you stood the Winter Soldiers friend Steve. He was staring at you, emotionless as he waited. Arms crossed over his chest and legs spread shoulder width apart just watching. More pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle were fitting into place in a memory that didn’t feel like yours anymore. Steve, a friend of Bucky’s, it must be Steve Rogers otherwise known as Captain America.

What that didn’t explain though was where you were now and why he was stood in front of you.

“Do you know who you are?” Steve asked “Do you know your name?”

“Soldat 327651” the words scraped from your throat, a trained response.

Steve sighed plainly disappointed with your answer. “Your name? Do you remember anything?”

You were in fact struggling to even keep your eyes open under the sudden onslaught of fragmented and disjointed images pouring into your brain. “Soldat 3276…”

Steve finally uncrossed his arms shaking his head. “It’s no good Bucky…”

“Bucky?” You jerked, body straining against the metal chains as your brain suddenly cleared to a sharp focus “I know him, Bucky Barnes”

Steve paused for a moment clearly not sure and you realised you’d been speaking in Russian still. So programmed to the language that you hadn’t thought not to use it.

“Bucky, I know him. I know that name” your English was rough and unused but the accent on your words made you think that maybe once upon time you had spoken it as fluently as Steve.

“How do you know him?”

“I….I…” shaking your head you clenched your fists digging your nails into your palms hard enough to leave marks. “I just do”

“Don’t push too hard Steve” His voice was gruff and came from the side of the room where the door had just opened. He must have been listening in on the conversation.

You released your fists watching carefully as he came and stood in front of you. The way he was stood your mind flashed, overlaying memories of a Winter Soldier in leather amour and a mask, smoke rising from around him. It only lasted a second before the image vanished back to the man in front of you, no less dangerous but wearing only a Henley and a glove over what you knew was his metal arm.

“I know you” He nodded once. “How? How do I know you?”

“We came from the same place”

Your head was starting to hurt, you couldn’t keep up with the flashing memories in your brain. “I don’t know what’s happening. Who am I? What am I? I don’t remember”

“It’s ok. You don’t have to remember right now” His voice even though brusque was comforting. You knew it, had grown used to it somehow. “I need to know about your last mission”

“Mission?” you didn’t understand what he was asking you. “I have missions?”

Steve laid a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Buck, she doesn’t remember like this. You have to…”

“I’m not putting her back under Steve” he growled. “We’re not Hydra. We don’t control people’s minds”

“I know that Buck, and you know I don’t like it. But we have no choice, we have to know”

“Hydra” you repeated the word that had stood out to you making both men’s eyes turn back to you.

“You know Hydra?” Steve asked curiously. “Do you recognise that name?”

You did know that name. Hydra. A face swam in front of your eyes along with a name. “Colonel Vasily Karpov. I know that name”

Bucky flinched, it was very slight but you picked up on the movement. He knew that name as well. You wondered if you knew if for the same reason.

“What do you know about Karpov?”

It was Steve who was asking the question but you couldn’t take your eyes off of Bucky. As you stared the Winter Soldier kept flickering over him. Dark war paint covering his face as he stared back at you.

You were back at the village. There was no smoke though and no one was screaming. Instead you were stood at the outskirts of the square leaning against the shop front of a small baker. People were milling around the few market stalls still open. Your eyes were glued onto the couple currently sat outside the pub with a pint of beer each. They were whispering urgently to each other across the table.

“How long have you been watching them?”

You didn’t react to his voice behind you. You hadn’t heard him approach but then if you had he would be getting sloppy.

“5 hours”

“And they haven’t seen you?”

That offended you, him thinking that you were incapable of doing your job. You were half way turned to face him when he grabbed your shoulders holding you still.

“Don’t”

“I know who you are Soldat. I remember you” the word remember loosened his grip enough for you to turn fully around and face him. Transfixing blue eyes stared down at you from above a lower face mask. “Why are you here Soldat?”

“For the same reason as you 327651. To eliminate the target” his eyes flicked over your shoulder then quickly back to your own. “Your targets are moving”

You didn’t question his statement nor did you give him any sort of goodbye, simply melted into the shadows of the buildings following your now on the move targets.

“We were in Romania together” you said to the reappeared Bucky rather than the Winter Soldier. “Karpov sent me there to kill. You were there as well” Bucky didn’t look happy as you spilled memories out about the Winter Soldier but you didn’t seem to care.

“I’m a weapon” you knew that without question. Had known it from the beginning. “Is that why I’m chained up?”

“Yes” Steve answered coming closer to you. “You can be let go from the chains but can’t leave these rooms”

“Alright”

Steve removed himself once more behind you and with some clicks and whirls the chains opened and you slipped finally to the floor on your own two feet again.

You rubbed at your wrists where they’d been chained. Staring at your hands, they had apparently done a lot of damage. They had hurt a lot of people and what was worse was the fact that even though you could see each and every one of their faces in your mind you couldn’t remember their names.

[fester-ing-blog]

unearthly thing (3/?)

a jane eyre inspired AU / read on ao3

By the time the sun rose, Will was already dressed and nervously pacing his room. In the daylight he noticed things he could not see in the dark last night – the delicately carved flowers on his bedposts, the golden thread woven through the thick curtains. He stood out more than ever, plain sparrow that he was. Acquiring a wardrobe of a higher standard would have to be his first priority. He only hoped there was a tailor nearby that was within his price range.

A knock on the door made him jump.

“Will? Would you like to join us for breakfast?” Alana called.

He strode to the door, unlocking and opening it with fumbling hands. “Not today. I mean, no thank you. I have no appetite.” He confessed.

“I understand your nerves, but there is no need for them. Abigail is a wonderful girl and your qualifications speak for themselves,” she reassured him. “Won’t you join us?”

“I thank you, but no. I fear my stomach will turn if I eat.”

“Take some tea with us, at least.” She beckoned him forward, and, reluctantly, he went.

They walked to the dining room in silence. Alana seemed to understand that he was not quite up to conversation this morning, and Will was grateful for it. In the place of words, he studied the hallways around him. Paintings adorned almost every inch of each wall they walked past, great golden frames towering several feet, bright and brilliant depictions of angels and saints and all manner of beauty. A few he recognised, and he wandered yet again at the great wealth of the man he now worked for.

Beverly greeted them both as they sat, passing one of the steaming teacups on the table to Will.

“Thank you,” he said, curling his unsteady fingers around the delicate porcelain.

For a moment the room was quiet, the silence only broken by the occasional clink of silverware against china as Alana and Beverly ate.

Well, there was no use in sitting in silent fear all morning

“At what time shall I begin teaching Miss Abigail?” Will asked Alana between sips.

“8 o’clock, I should hope. The girl is forever rising late. But Count Lecter was very specific in his instructions for her education.” Alana answered.

“Oh?”

Alana looked apologetic for a moment. “I know it’s not exactly... Usual, but he’s compiled a rather comprehensive schedule. He would be teaching her himself, see, if he were not so often away.”

Knowing what was to be expected of him brought Will a great deal of relief. At least he would not have to worry about compiling an adequate curriculum for the child. “Well, I only hope I can live up to Count Lecter’s expectations.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will.” With that Alana rose, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a handkerchief. “Shall we go and see if your student has risen yet?”

“I saw her wandering through the library in the east wing not ten minutes ago. She’s excited to meet you.” Beverly told him encouragingly.

Will swallowed. “Well, then. The library.”

In fact, Miss Abigail Hobbs was not in the east wing library, though it would have taken at least twenty minutes to thoroughly search the place, for it was truly enormous, with more books than Will had ever seen. Neither was she in the dining room, nor the sitting room which, according to Alana, she most frequented.

Alana was about to send a search party into the gardens when they heard a small voice behind them.

“Miss Bloom!”

Will turned to see a young girl run towards them, before seemingly remembering herself as Alana made a tutting sound and walking the rest of the way.

She was dark-haired and pale, and so small and slight that Will feared she might topple over at any second. Her eyes were a delicate pale blue, yet they had a hardness buried deep within them that made him certain they had seen much beyond what any young girl should have to see.

Looking at her, he could not help but think how similar this girl looked to him at her age.

“What have I told you about wandering off without Miriam?” Alana asked with fond exasperation.

Abigail looked down and bit her lip. “Not to do it, Miss Bloom. But I was so excited I couldn’t sit still, you see, and-”

“Yes, Abigail, I see. Would you like to say hello to Mr Graham?”

She looked up at him shyly and curtsied ever so slightly. “How do you do, Mr Graham?”

“Very well,” he smiled down at her, giving a small bow in return. “And how do you do, Miss Abigail?”

“Very well, too.” Abigail answered, nervously rocking from foot to foot.

“Abigail, why don’t you show Mr Graham to your classroom?” Alana suggested. “Count Lecter has granted you full use of the study, and I’ve taken the liberty of acquiring basic school things for you both.”

The young girl’s eyes lit up, suddenly losing some of her shy demeanour. She offered her hand to Will, and he took it gently, feeling an overwhelming wave of fondness for this delicate child he had just met.

“I’ll show you,” Abigail told him. “Will you teach me about all the faraway countries Count Lecter travels to? He promised he’d take me with him when I grow older, but I want to know as much as I can now, so I am ready when he decides I have grown older.”

Will remembered spending afternoons hidden in the library of his childhood home, reading books about the great sprawling deserts of Africa, and the twisting jungles of the Amazon. He remembered the dull, tugging ache in his chest, the yearning to see each corner of the world for himself, to leave his dismal reality behind. “I am to teach you whatever Count Lecter desires. But,” he ducked as if to whisper in her ear conspiratorially, and she leaned in closer with a look of delight – “I’m sure we can learn all about these far off countries together.”

“I’ll leave you two be. Come and find me in the parlour if you need anything, Mr Graham.” Alana departed with a smile and a small wave in their direction.

Hand still held tight in hers, Will turned back to face Abigail. “Shall we go and discover this classroom?”

She nodded, still smiling shyly up at him, and pulled him forward with a gentle tug of his hand.

They walked through the winding hallways together, Abigail slightly in front of him. Every so often his pace would slow as he turned to look at one of the many paintings surrounding them on both sides, and she would tug his hand again impatiently until he laughed quietly and tore his gaze away.

Will was beginning to expect the overwhelming vastness and elegance of each new room he entered, and so was not, perhaps, as taken back by the sight of what was to be their classroom as he might have been otherwise. It was lavishly furnished, of course, two large carved desks with a design that reminded him of the flowers that adorned his bedposts, and several chairs to match. A chalkboard stood at the front of the room, and lining the shelves were hundreds of books, books of all manner – books on geography, historical books, books in languages he did not recognise. A gilt globe occupied half of one shelf, and he noticed several writing and drawing materials tucked away neatly nearby.

Lying on the top of one of the desks was a letter, folded and sealed, bearing his name. He let go of Abigail’s hand, smiling reassuringly at her as he picked up the letter and opened it.

Dear Mr Graham, it read,

I send my most sincere apologies for being unable to greet you upon your arrival. As you hold this letter in your hand, I am away across the Channel, attending to business in Europe. No doubt I am bored out of my mind whilst you, Mr Graham, are blessed enough to be guiding the future of our sovereign nation.

I have compiled a curriculum of sorts of the precise subjects I wish dear Abigail’s education to consist of, and I do hope you’ll forgive me for the rather presumptive rudeness of doing so. Please know that it is not out of any doubts I harbour regarding your talents that I write to you now, but rather out of the fierce desire I have, as Abigail’s guardian, to see her excel in all things, as I know she can.

Everything you require should be in this room. If there is anything more you need, or if you have any concerns, simply ask Miss Bloom and she will happily accommodate you.

Regards

H. Lecter

It was rather an odd letter, all things considered. Count Lecter wrote to him as if they were old friends, rather than a tutor and his employer who had yet to meet.

The curriculum detailed exactly what Will was to teach Abigail over the next six months, the topics ranging from Shakespeare to sciences to languages. The count certainly was a thorough man. It was quite an unusual education for a young girl, but Will hardly disapproved – he had long thought that both the sexes deserved equally proper schooling. It was true that Abigail would have less practical use for this knowledge than a young man might, her gender restricting her greatly in terms of any future profession. Yet he could sense that the girl was intelligent, even after just knowing her for mere moments, and he had no doubts that she would be up to the task.

“What does it say? Can I learn about the continents now?” Abigail asked eagerly. She had already sat at one of the desks, and was swinging her legs back and forth as she perched upon a wooden chair.

He folds the letter carefully before walking over to the chalkboard and picking up a piece of chalk. “We’re to start with languages,” he told her, writing the date on the chalkboard in French and sending a silent prayer of gratitude that he was more or less fluent. “Perhaps Count Lecter would like you to know the language of France before he takes you there.”

Abigail grinned, her face practically beaming with delight. Will couldn’t help but smile in return.

“So, firstly, we have numbers...”

*

The first month of Will’s time at the Lecter Estate passed uneventfully. Each day he woke long before the sun had risen, dressed quickly, and joined Alana and Beverly for breakfast. The nightmares that had plagued him his entire life had followed him to his new home, but he was rather used to functioning on only a few hours of sleep.

After breakfast he moved to the study and spent the morning in lessons with Abigail. They usually took lunch together, occasionally eating outside in the gardens if the weather was pleasant. As the days passed, his fondness for the girl grew. He still did not know what exactly had transpired that left her with such a world-weary look for a young girl, not to mention living in the care of a count she seemingly bore no relation to. With his ‘gift’, though, he could discern enough. Someone she once trusted deeply had betrayed her, a parent, perhaps. They had done something truly terrible in the name of love – or at least a twisted, malevolent form of love – and seeing their actions had stripped Abigail of much of her innocence. He could easily see more, if he looked deep enough, but he would not do the child such a disservice.

In the afternoons, Will would often walk into town. The walk was a relatively long one, an hour there and an hour back, but he enjoyed it. The days were starting to grow warmer and warmer as summer crept towards them, and the long days of sun made for perfect evening strolls through the sprawling countryside.

He had been fortunate enough to find a tailor he could afford with his new wages, and had made the journey there to improve his wardrobe within a week of his arrival. His new clothes were still understated, simple shirts and breeches, but at least they were free of holes and ranged in more colours than shades of brown and white.

It was on such a stroll back from the town that he found a dog on the road.

Will approached the animal hesitantly, not wanting to send it running. The poor beast was covered in mud; its fur matted and stuck up in various angles. It remained reluctant to go anywhere near him, despite his gentle coaxing.

Deciding to take a different approach, he sat on the grass beside the cobblestones, stretched his legs out, and waited.

After a few minutes the dog came to him, sniffing at his hand and jerking back at first before allowing itself to be touched.

“Good dog,” Will murmured softly, lightly petting its head. His hands would be black with filth but that hardly mattered. He lifted the dog gently. “Good boy. What are you doing out here all alone, boy?”

The dog continued to nuzzle his hand.

It was undoubtedly a stray, judging by how his ribs stuck out through his coat, even as it was thick with dirt. “Winston,” Will said decisively. “You look like a Winston.”

Winston licked his hand and Will was struck by an irrational longing to bring the dog home with him. He couldn’t, of course he couldn’t. He was merely a tutor. The master of the estate wasn’t even home, and would no doubt take great offence upon returning to find his newest employee had brought a dog into his pristine palace. Yet still he kept wishing for it. Dogs had been a source of comfort and stability to him from an early age, and he had so missed the presence of them in the last month.

Perhaps the dog could stay in the porter’s house with Jimmy. That way no one would even notice it, he’d be so out of the way. Will could feed it scraps of his own dinner, goodness knows he could never finish his own –

He was so caught up in these musings that he did not notice the horse galloping at a steady rate down the road until it was almost on top of him.

The rider pulled tightly at the reins, the horse bucking as it came to a sudden halt and unseating the man sat upon it.

Will was holding Winston firmly, concerned that he’d bolt, but the dog seemed calm enough. He jumped up to help the fallen man. “I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t see you. Can I help you, are you hurt?”

The man glanced up with maroon eyes blazing, and said nothing.

“Can I help you, sir?” Will asked again, apprehension clear in his voice.

The fire in the man’s eyes dimmed as he attempted to lift himself from the ground. “It appears I have injured my leg.” He said shortly, voice thick with an accent Will did not recognise. “Could you lead my horse back to me?”

Will did so immediately, pulling lightly at the creature’s reins until it reluctantly trotted over to his master.

“Thank you.”

Will offered him a hand, and the man took it, gripping tightly as he pulled himself upright.

“I really do apologise, sir. I was on my way home and I found a dog and I must have been so distracted I did not hear your horse approach.” Will attempted to glance into the man’s eyes briefly, just enough to get some idea of what exactly he was thinking, if he was angry, but there was nothing there.

Nothing at all.

“And where is home? Should you be walking alone this late?”

“The Lecter Estate, sir. And I’m quite safe, I – I know the way well.” Will answered, glancing back down at Winston, who was currently sitting at his feet.

The man smiled in amusement. Amusement at what, Will could only imagine. “Well, that dog looks rather in need of a bath, wouldn’t you agree? Perhaps you had both better run along home.”

“I – yes. Of course. Thank you, sir.”

He climbed back onto the horse gracefully, despite his injured leg, and tipped his hat towards Will. “Safe travels, Mr Graham. One dreads to think what lurks in the empty fields at nightfall.”

The words sent a tremor down Will’s spine. He watched the man ride away, frozen in place until a whine from Winston brought him out of his reverie.

“Well, boy,” he said with a sigh, delicately stroking the tangled fur on Winston’s head, “It appears you’re coming home with me after all.”

It wasn’t until he was halfway back to the estate that he realised he had never told the stranger his name.

[littlepuffrosebud]

Love, and Simon Snow

Me: Write more of your other fic. Me to me: Start a totally new one So this is a best friends au that I intended to be cute and sweet but instead turned angsty as fuck. I hope you enjoy it?? Idk how I feel about it, but here you go!

It was midnight, and Baz had never been so frustrated. The house shifted quietly around him, creaking and groaning in a way that usually lulled him to sleep. But not tonight. Tonight, there was a distraction in the form of a very golden, very shirtless Simon Snow. 

Even though he knew it would do him no good, Baz couldn’t help but stare. Who could ever resist Simon? He was curled into Baz’s sheets, curls a tangled mass on the pillowcase. His arms were thrown up around his head, as if to ward off nightmares, face twisted into a slight frown. The sheets were twisted around his waist; from Baz’s angle, it looked as though Simon wasn’t wearing anything - a thought that sent unwanted thrums of pleasure pooling into his stomach. He shouldn’t be thinking like this, not when he knew the feelings were unwanted, and especially not when it was his best friend. His completely straight best friend. But it was so hard to pretend otherwise, not when his friend’s tawny skin glowed so temptingly in the moonlight. Not when even a simple touch made his skin crawl with need, with love. It was just so hard to resist.

***

“Hey Simon! You free tonight?” Baz glared at his books as the voice shattered the peace of the library. It was one thing to disturb his study, but another thing to be one of Simon’s ridiculous swim club friends. The girls were clingy and far too knowledgeable for his liking, whilst the boys were the pathetic macho-macho type. It was all ‘bro’ and ‘No Homo’, accompanied by copious amounts of energy drinks and branded sweatshirts. God forbid they ever actually use their brains. Simon slid into a seat across from him, grinning. “Hey,” he whispered. Baz raised an eyebrow coolly. “So now you finally decide to whisper?” Simon rolled his eyes mightily. “Don’t start again Baz. They’re nothing like you think they are. Besides, you’ll have to get used to them tonight-” “Tonight?” Simon smirked. “We’re going to Gavin’s. He’s celebrating our latest swimming victory.” Baz groaned and turned his attention back to his essay on the power of symbolism in literature. “I’m not going, Si.” Simon sniggered. “Yes you are. We need to celebrate!” “Celebrate what, exactly? I don’t remember winning anything.” Even without looking, Baz could hear the pout in Simon’s voice. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember, Baz?” He gasped dramatically. “It’s our friendaversary today!” “You just made that up.” Simon sighed. “I did not. Haven’t you been counting, Bazzy?” “Don’t call me that.” “You’re being impossible again. Today is officially twelve years since we became friends.” Baz looked up sharply. “Today?” Simon’s eyes were overly bright, his smile stretched thin. As Baz stared at him, he was struck by how tired his friend really seemed. “I don’t think partying is a good idea, Si,” he began. “No, Baz. Please. I need this.” Simon grabbed at his hand desperately. “It’s not all bad is it? I mean look at us. Some good came out of it, don’t you think?” Baz withdrew his hand uncomfortably. He hated it when Simon talked about it so carelessly. But then again, he was no better. He knew how much it hurt. “Fine,” he sighed. Simon gasped excitedly. “But I am not carrying your alcohol-sodden butt back to my house again.” Simon grinned wickedly. “I can give you no such promises Baz.”

***

The house was swirling with teenage hormones when Baz arrived, the house pulsing to the beat of trashy music. As he walked up the garden path to the front door, Baz resisted the urge to curl his lips back in disgust. People were spilling out of the house onto the front lawn, stumbling over one another and groaning incoherently. It was a poster image of the very reason why his father looked down so strongly on those of ‘unfortunate circumstances’.

Baz fought his way through the press of bodies inside. The rooms were dim, lit only by technicolour lights that spun from the ceiling. In the hallway, Baz collided sharply with Gareth. “Baz my man! How are you my brooding vampire bro?” Baz sneered. “I’m no one’s ‘bro’, Gareth.” Gareth laughed loudly, and slapped Baz on the back. “Of course you’re not. Booze is in the kitchen.” He disappeared before Baz could ask him where Simon might be. Resigned, he fought his way into the kitchen. If he had to battle his way through this hell hole for several more hours, then he may as well do it with alcohol.

Baz stumbled to a halt. Simon was there, propped up against the sink. Only, he wasn’t alone. A boy was with him, hands wrapped around Simon’s waist, sucking bruises into his collarbone. Baz’s stomach turned to ice. Simon had his legs wrapped around the boy’s waist, and he was smirking down at him.  Baz couldn’t seem to move; his legs seemed to be bolted into the ground. He felt as though he might be sick. Dimly, he recognised that he had to get out of here, fast, before he did something stupid. But it was as if the world were mocking him. He couldn’t seem to move, and the boy kissed on, fingers sliding underneath Simon’s shirt. Baz must have made a sound, because suddenly Simon was staring at him. “Baz?” 

The voice echoed in his ears strangely, as though they were full of water. The boy turned to stare at Baz, and Baz felt his heart seize pathetically. He had dark hair that grazed his chin; his eyes were glittering as though he knew something Baz didn’t. Simon began to move towards him, and suddenly the spell was broken. Baz spun around and fought his way to the front door; this time, he slipped through the people like water. He stumbled out into the cool night air, gasping for breath. Behind him, the party raged on. “Baz! Baz!” Simon’s voice fought its way through the crush of people, and Baz leaped over the low garden wall, into the street. But he was too slow. A hand grabbed onto his arm, and he stumbled forward. Baz knew by the hand alone who it was. No one else was that warm. As he whirled to face Simon, Baz attempted to school his features into a mask of indifference. Simon could never know how he truly felt. “I’m so sorry, Baz, it wasn’t-” Baz sneered. “What in god’s name are you apologising for?” Simon stared at him. “I-I-” “It’s quite obvious you’re enjoying yourself without me. I’m going home.” Baz snapped. He needed to get away from here before he couldn’t hold it in any longer. He needed to go home and bury himself in several layers of self-hatred and pity. “No, Baz. Just wait a minute. It wasn’t what it looked like, I promise!” “I’ve already told you, Snow. I don’t care.” Simon’s eyes turned round with shock. “You-you called me Snow.” Baz laughed, and the sound was cold and empty. “Five points to Snow for deduction.” Simon stumbled sideways and fell onto the street. Baz raised an eyebrow. “And you’re drunk. I am surprised.” Simon groaned from his position on the ground. “Please, Bazzy. Be nice.” The name lit a match to the sludge of unrequited love swirling in Baz’s heart. “Please, Snow. You did this to yourself.” Simon’s face twisted into a mask of hurt and anger. “Take that back, you-you-” Baz smirked. “Or what? You’re in no state to argue, Snow.” Simon lurched forward, at the same time as a shrill ringing split the air. He collapsed backwards and dug out his phone, hands shaking. “Dad?” He asked. Baz watched him warily, watched as Simon slowly deflated, his eyes flat lining. “Okay,” was all he said, before ending the call and sliding his phone back into his pocket. Simon looked back up at him. “Take me home,” he said. It wasn’t a question. There was something in his voice that made Baz silently reach for his hand, and tug him to his feet. “Care to explain?” He asked. Simon smiled, but it didn’t fit his face. “Father requires my presence, Basilton.” Baz wrapped an arm around Simon’s shoulders to steady him as they began to walk down the street. His stomach was burning with guilt; how had he fucked up so magnificently? “Simon,” he began. “I-I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t true.” Simon grunted. “If you say so.” Baz felt awful. “No, Si. I was angry, okay? And I know that doesn’t excuse what I said, but it was wrong. Anyone would feel like you do on a day like today. God knows I do.” Simon shifted underneath his arm, and twisted his head to look at Baz. His blue eyes were sad. “It’s okay, Baz. I know you didn’t mean it. Besides, if it makes you feel any better, I won’t remember any of this by morning.” Baz twisted his mouth into a thin line. He wouldn’t forget, and that made it all the more painful. They were quiet for a while, stumbling steadily through the quiet town that had imprisoned them for so long. Simon spoke up suddenly, as they were turning onto his street. “Go on. Ask me. I know you want to.”

“Are you gay?” The words hung heavy in the night air, weighed down with so many hopes and implications Baz could barely breathe. Simon laughed drily. “We live in a town where you must be one or the other. I am neither. But I can’t be nothing, can I? I am what I am instructed to be.” Baz frowned down at him. “That was utterly incomprehensible.” Simon sighed, and slid out from underneath Baz’s arm. “If only it could be otherwise, Baz.” They’d reached Simon’s house, standing grand and imposing across from Baz’s slightly larger home. A single light was on; Baz knew it to be Simon’s kitchen. Simon turned and smiled at him, “Goodnight, Baz. I’m sorry for ruining your night.”  He was gone before Baz could reply. The front door opened for him of its own accord, and as it clicked shut, Baz felt a shiver of fear. He didn’t know why.