#Of Inkstained Fingers Series

[palabraasinnecesarias]

more fanfic recommendations please!! :) ❤️❤️❤️

ok, lemme see, i hope this are also a fun read for ya! same warnings are as before ;u; ranma/akane and ff.net lol

Crimson by llett

It was time that had changed them from the boisterous and trouble-proud magnets of their youth. It was time and nothing else.

A Small Touch by Nez Sum this one is so funny to me lol

There was something about Akane’s fingers softly grazing his knuckles that interested Ranma more than it should have. It was just a small touch. Simple fluff, set early in the series.

Little Date by Tender Falling Rain

Pretty much everyone in Ranma's life has a habit of meddling. Really, it shouldn't even surprise him anymore! But when interference comes from a new source, it catches him a little off guard. And he can't help thinking, and hoping that maybe for once this person's assistance might be of use to him. Provided she can stop hopelessly humiliating him! Just a short piece. RR please!

Beating the Heat by Bobbwa it's sweet and a little sexy here and there

It's hot and there's nothing to do but clean the dojo. Well.. there's something else, too.. but are Ranma and Akane ready? Hell yah they are.

Placebo by Pata Hikari

So what does it mean when you take a pill yet it has no effect?

Inkstain by Miyopiyo

He was a skilled assassin trained to withstand any pain and deliver the most agonizing of deaths to his victims. But after meeting his new target, Akane Tendo, Ranma Saotome finds that he can carry out his mission in the most pleasurable way possible.

Tonight by pahlee *hands you a tissue* my heart ahhh

"I-I'm sorry I'm late," he let out a weak chuckle, "I promised you though, I wouldn't be, but …but I was. I-I'm sorry."

[kanawolf]

Day 4! I picked Tattoos for my prompt, and I had to go with my OG Fire Emblem OC and one of their ships for this one.

Bua/Tibarn, and their very weird courtship + Tibarns' love of Bua's tattoos = a very fun time for me

( @ferarepairweek )

[ofxwordsxandxletters]

In Regards

Series: Wynonna Earp

Disclaimer: Plot is mine and the characters are borrowed in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made.

Pairing: Hollirey

Rating: PG overall

The second in a series based on letters between Doc Holliday and Bobo Del Rey depicting a shift in their relationship and some demons to exorcise.

Author’s Note: It’s soft!Hollirey hours at this campfire so you get sweetness, friends. Mosey on along if that’s not your cup of tea or sit a spell if it is. We like friends ‘round here.

Direct Sequel to “Dear John”.

*~*~*~*

In Regards

He shouldn’t be surprised how hard it is to not only find the right medium to respond, but the right way to do it as well. Honestly, he rather envied the other the ease with which words seemed to come. Doc was better with the more physical approach but wasn’t quite sure how well that would translate on paper. He huffs slightly before laughing because as difficult as it was it wasn’t something he resented the other for.

Quite the opposite. It was a challenge and above all else, that man knew he liked a challenge.

So he finds himself sitting at the bar sans drink contemplating exactly what he might reply. Idly his fingers curl and uncurl next to him as he considers carefully.

As it turns out, too carefully because his train of thought is interrupted by Wynonna asking, “Are you trying to solve the world’s problems or figuring out the best way to kill someone? ‘Cause you are a little more focused than I’ve ever seen you get and you’re also not drinking.”

“Nothin’ that profound I’m afraid,” he answers immediately trying to sound almost bored, “Wool-gathering mostly.”

“Sounds painful, I wouldn’t suggest it too much.”

He snorts at her attempt at what was a joke. Thankfully, he had enough knowledge of the Earp line in general to know how to keep them off the scent of trouble. At least for a time. He was sure she’d get suspicious eventually.

Doc was more than happy for that to be way in the future.

He orders a drink just to placate her and maybe as a way to figure out what he was supposed to reply. Or how to. Words had never been his thing. That was Wyatt. He more preferred shooting to talking things out.

So of course he would prefer a man who seemed to delight in being a wordsmith. Of course.

Not to say that Bobo Del Rey couldn’t be concise because he could be. Sharp and cutting and blunt. So very blunt. But then again, he had a six-page bit of evidence that he could also take his time.

But Bobo liked to call him “insufferable”. The thought is amusing somewhat and he brings the cup to his lips deciding that he’d much rather drink than be asked why he was suddenly grinning like a fool. He really needed to get this under control but control is not something he’d had in a very, very long time. Sometimes, he thinks he prefers it that way.

Unknowingly, it takes him the same two days to get what he wanted written down with a lot of restarts and crossing out and cursing at the paper, himself, Bobo Del Rey, and everyone else he could think of for even considering this.

But it was finally done so he could go and give it to the damned man plaguing entirely too much of this thoughts and time (even though he doesn’t mind as much as he acts).

*~*~*~*

Bobo never should have done it. It was the thought that haunted him immediately after leaving the station and allowing that letter to actually go to it’s intended recipient. It was the worst idea and it would end no doubt with him being humiliated (again). And he was pretty sure he deserved it for naivety at this point. Running a hand over his face, Bobo shoves the feelings as hard away as he could. It was done, it was fine, and it wasn’t like he wanted this thing between him and Doc to actually be something.

He didn’t. Absolutely not.

A growl escapes him; deep and annoyed and he shoves a few things off the table in front of him but is, of course, careful not to go near the quill and ink pot. “Dammit it all,” he snarls as he drops his head onto the clear surface, “I should have killed him and been done with it!”

Stupid, he was so stupid still. Did he never learn? Why did he think…

Sharp rapping has his attention and his teeth grind together before he rises and stalks for the door intending on removing whatever body parts he could reach of the person stupid enough to intrude on him. Throwing open the door, however, has him having to rethink that.

Because the intruder is the goddamn man he’s been frustrated by for far longer than he’d like to think about. “Doc Holliday,” he says slowly, “To what do I owe your approach of my…humble abode?” The other merely steps in going so far as to push him into backing up. “Right, just let yourself right in then.”

“You are an absolute menace, you realize.”

Bobo gifts him wth a lazy smile. “Demon, remember? I sort of figured that came with the job. Now, did you come all this way to remind me that I’m a Revenant? Because honestly, John Henry, I already know that.”

“Do you? Because sometimes it seems like you don’t know anythin’ of the sort.”

Grandstanding. The man was grandstanding. The walls were thin and whatever this was could not be overheard. He knew the other well enough to know when he was putting on a show. So he steps closer, enough for them nearly to be touching. “Don’t like how I ‘demon’ then by all means do it better yourself,” he responds cooly, “As you’ll recall, there’s an agreement with the Earp Heir mostly because I’m tired of the idiocies. So if you have a complaint take it up with her.” It was easy, using this as a conversational piece and he feels the light shift of his hand along his coat in the vicinity of his pocket and knows exactly why the man was here.

“One can never be too careful ‘bout their allies such as they are. I wanted to be sure you understood the parameters.”

“Of course I do, Doc,” he says sarcastically, “I’m behaving. We’re behaving. She has no reason to come down here and shoot the place up.”

Doc leaves not long after that. Bobo is almost sorry for not getting a kiss but he was far more interested in his coat. The door is barely shut when he reaches and his fingers find an envelope in the pocket. Something hot fills him and he pulls it out. He’d actually written back.

He’d…

Moving, he makes sure to lock the door properly before moving back to the table and setting it down. He wants to make every denial he could but it was clear anticipation that roils hot through him. Of course there’s the nagging fear that what was written was bad but…

But Doc had written back. It was more than…well, it was more than he’d gotten in the past. It was best not to dredge that unpleasantness up so he decides and focuses on what was in front of him (his future). With that in mind, he carefully pulls out the paper hoping that whatever he would find would take what was left of him.

That he feared that said more about what he had with Doc than he’d like. And Doc called him a menace…

“Robert,

Ain’t the writin’ type, you know that. Ain’t my style or in my wheelhouse but..you do enjoy this so I’ll make a token attempt. For you. Funny how easy that seems but don’t suppose it matters how we got here. We’re here regardless…”

The words are coarse and abrupt somewhat like the man could be when he wanted but…it was John Henry so Bobo could forgive him. And let him use that name. He’d earned it. He gazes over the rest letting himself drink in the short two page reply the other had managed and finds that fear slowly inching back more and more. This was not the letter of a man who would show up one day with a cocked fist and a warning to never be that familiar in the future.

It’s the lines before the closing though that banishes that fear: “I may not match your eloquence or length but you are always welcome and encouraged to correspond if the feeling takes you. I will never refuse such a gift from you.”

He folds the letter and places it in the envelope before tucking it safely away out of sight of prying eyes,lips curved into a smile. “If you insist, John Henry,” he murmurs softly, almost tenderly, “Then I very much look forward to it.”

[pensiveday]

Subject: Diggory Graves Art: Ocean @oceanfangirl Writing: Jay @insta_void (IG)

[ID: An inkstained paper with a page of illustrations of Diggory Graves from Hello from the Hallowoods on it.  A full-body illustration shows Diggory Graves as a tall humanlike creature with patchwork skin and long, knifelike fingers.  They have a solemn expression and blank white eyes, with black hair in an undercut longer on the right side.  They wear a spiked leather jacket, dark pants, and black combat boots with spiked treads.  Next to this is a close-up illustration of Diggory’s face.  A note “Diggory’s tattoos - previously belonged to Evelyn Fry” is above a series of drawings including a beetle, a skull, an anatomical heart, and a drawing of an angel with spread wings over the words ‘Stone Maiden.’”

The second page is written in blocky, all-caps letters, with notes added in different handwriting.  It reads:

Name: Diggory Graves

Dangerous?  Uncertain (a note adds: “Only if you are against them + their friends!”)

Sentient?  Fully Sentient

Encounter Location:  The Scoutpost

Description:  Diggory Graves is a very tall, ~7 foot revenant with stitched-together skin, many tattoos: (The Stonemaiden symbol, an anatomically correct heart, a beetle, a skull, among others)  (A note adds: “Rock on!!!”) (A second note adds, “We later realized that at least one of the people Diggory is ‘made up’ of was a good friend & bandmate of my mom’s... Evelyn (Evie) Fry.  Diggory often wears a sick spiked leather jacket.  Love the punk rock vibes~!)

Abilities:  Diggory has flashbacks to times during the lives of those whom they are stitched together from.  Diggory has the ability to move very quickly, and is strong compared to a human.  (A note adds: “Weird ability to know what direction they’re going, sweet talons!”)

Connections:  Irene Mend, Percy Reed, the Scoutpost, Riot Maidstone, Olivier Song (a note adds: Mx. Morell).

Diggory is a part of a group of revenants colloquially known as “Mendies,” put together by Irene Mend.  While some of the revenants have clearly defined purposes, often belied by their almost pun-like names, Diggory’s complete purpose is not fully known.  However it can be assumed from their name that it had something to do with, well, digging graves.

(The remainder of the page is all written in the new handwriting.)  The Mendies are all stuffed with cotton.  Diggory was restitched after Olivier tore them up in pursuit of ~yours truly~ for the Instrumentalist.  So now they have some extra stitches.  Diggory notably freed Percy from being trapped inside a piano post-mortem.  Sometimes a famly is a stitched-together bunch of corpses and their dead boyfriend.  (heart emoji)  (Aaaaand also their friend whose mom was kidnapped by an evil corporation, a weather-attuned witch, and a cat!) /end ID]

[aliferous-ly]

Twilight

ye ask and ye shall receive 

continuation of The Setting Sun and the second chapter of many many more . i’m calling this new story, overall, the Daylight series

Summary: He doesn’t want to die, Virgil told himself, and he believed it. Logan didn’t want to die, he just wanted to help the others in the best way possible. Jokes on you, Virgil thought, blinking rapidly. You just hurt us more than you thought you could. 

Words: 2803

Warnings: deceit/sympathetic deceit, sharp edges, mentions of physical harm (not self harm), as always self depricationnnn anything else please let me know!

Gen tags: @sassy-in-glasses​, @rose-gold-roman​, @justanotherpurplebutterfly​, @echomist13​ (let me know if you’d like to be removed for this series!)

Daylight tag list (i just added the people who asked for continuation/to be tagged, lmk to be removed): @falseh0od​, @roxywolfgirl​, @eternally-exhausted-7​, @randomfanderfriend​, @yeet-ceit​, @cosmic-melodies​, @luckymasie​, @donalev​, @starsister365​ 

Virgil sat in the bathroom, scrubbing at inkstained hands with too-hot water, staring at nothing.

When Roman told them what happened, Virgil cried. He cried in thick globs of liquid, streaks of black ink staining his fingers and face and dripping onto his clothes. Patton had frozen but the stark white glow of sorrow pulsed from his chest, mixing with a dark black of anger and fury.

Roman had said, “I’m going after him,” and Virgil sank out to his room to think.

Because it wasn’t like Virgil wanted to leave Logan in the mindscape. He just... didn’t have a lot of positive memories with going into the mindscape. 

“He gave us new roles,” Roman said. “He gave himself to us.”

Virgil stopped scrubbing for a moment. Before Roman had said anything he couldn’t put a name to the new swirling fear in his stomach, but Virgil knew it was Logan’s doing.

He prodded the feeling, wondering what Logan – no, what Logic had given him (because Logan couldn’t give roles – only Logic could).

When greeted with hundreds of facts about the unknown, about the void of space or the depths of the sea and how nobody knows what’s down there, not really, and here’s what could be might be he shoved the new role back down, shaking. Fear, raw and callous, gripped his frame.

“No,” he rasped out, eyes wide, clutching at the edges of the sink. This isn’t right.

Logan had given them an out. And out of... their friendship? Of knowing Logan as Logan, and being able to move on with the new Logic, emotional roles taken care of?

Then a thought struck him, piercing and cold like a dagger to the skull. Virgil scrambled to his senses and jerked to his room, limbs shaking like an earthquake. He opened his closet, shoving through stray cobwebs and old, moth-eaten clothes. The chest sat at the very base, and he ripped the cover open, heedless of the keyhole (he wouldn’t be able to use the chest after this, it’s purpose had been ruined by Virgil’s own hands, the key now useless–).

The shard of glass, edges jagged and gleaming, taunted him.

Virgil swallowed and picked it up carefully, don’t cut your finger on it, and peered into the flawless surface.

Logan, he thought, and a glittering streak of gold jumped across the surface for a split second. Virgil’s gaze darted around the edges, air pushing past his lips in a relieved woosh. His hands dropped and he breathed, heart beating quick, quicker than it had in a long time.

If Logan’s being was moving around, he hadn’t disappeared into forgotten memories.

Stepping into forgotten memories would, without a doubt, kill him. Completely and without fail.

He doesn’t want to die, Virgil told himself, and he believed it. Logan didn’t want to die, he just wanted to help the others in the best way possible.

Jokes on you, Virgil thought, blinking rapidly. You just hurt us more than you thought you could.

But beneath Virgil’s shaky relief, beneath his overwhelming fear and anxiety, Virgil was... Virgil was furious. Furious at Logan, for believing the little lies his mind told him, furious at Deceit for not catching Logan before too late, furious at Roman and Patton for being self-centered or unaware...

But mostly, Virgil was furious at himself. Did Logan not feel anxiety at his actions? He mustn’t have, or Virgil would have felt him as he slipped away. Logan was confident in his actions, or in the very least, at ease with them. Virgil had missed his warning signs, he’d missed the little daggers he’d shot into Logan, he’d missed Logan’s special love language and his body language.

He missed Logan so completely and utterly that he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Virgil pressed the mirror to his chest and took a deep breath.

It’s decided, then?

Virgil blinked back tears, fingers growing lax against the edges of glass.

It was decided.

He was going to save Logan.

—

“He didn’t go to forgotten memories, did he?” Patton asked, the first words out of his mouth when Virgil sank out.

Roman stilled for one, two, three beats, and Patton couldn’t breathe. “No. The mirrors don’t show forgotten memories.”

A thorn pierced Patton’s heart. “Mine can,” he murmured. Which was why he needed to ask. Why he couldn’t find out himself. He alone among the sides could see the forgotten memories, a curse he wasn’t quick to forget.

“We have to go get him,” Patton said. “We must.”

Because without him Thomas might be safe, he might be fine, but they wouldn’t have Logan, with his snarky side-comments, with the passion blazing in his eyes when he ranted about who knew what, with his intelligence and desire to be heard. The parts of Logan that made him Logan, more than Logic, more than a side.

They were all more than, in their own way.

“It won’t be easy,” Roman said, and something shattered in Patton’s soul.

“No,” Patton said, words falling brittle from his lips. “I’m aware, Roman.”

Roman flinched back from the luminescence in his eyes, a rainbow of colors hiding the depth of Thomas’s emotions. Patton wondered at how easy it was to forget that Patton had been within Thomas’s core more often than any of the others; he was born there. While Roman had come to be as the rest of the mindscape did (he created where they stood) and Virgil hailed from the tangles of distortion, Patton knew the vast expanse waiting for them, the quirks and edges nobody else knew.

Or at least – he did.

He hadn’t gone there for years and years.

“We can’t go there alone,” Roman said.

“I don’t know if I would last in there alone, either,” Patton said. “We’d need all the help we can get.”

“Meaning, Virgil has to come around,” Roman said, wringing his hands together.

Patton’s mind flashed to the other sides. “What about Deceit?”

“Deceit?” Roman startled. “Would he help?”

“I don’t know,” Patton said honestly, which really wasn’t the way to summon Deceit. “But you should try.”

Roman made an unsavory face. He had the ability to summon any side he wanted, regardless if they accepted it or not, though he used the ability sparingly. If he forced someone to appear against their will it could splinter his skin, depending on how passionate the other side was.

He’d tried with Virgil, once, and with Patton twice. Patton had been relatively willing the first time, but the second...

“I... okay,” Roman said, inhaling slowly. “Alright. Here goes nothing.”

He angled his arm at the ground and rose it swiftly.

Deceit appeared. He was disgruntled, but Roman’s arms remained smooth.

“How lovely of you to call me,” he said, and sounded genuinely miffed that they hadn’t simply yelled his name. “I adore when Roman pulls me from the abyss.”

Anger flashed through Patton, swift and hot. “Sorry, Deceit!” he said, forcing cheer into his voice. By the look Deceit shot him, he knew exactly how much bullshit he was spewing, but the flash of anger in Patton’s eyes deterred him from commenting. “We’ll just call you next time, but this is urgent.”

“Wonderful,” Deceit said, smoothing out his coat.

“Logan created a new Logic and placed his own essence into Thomas’s core,” Roman said flatly. “We’re going in after him.”

Deceit glanced at Patton, who nodded in confirmation.

“Why?” Deceit said, sounding truly baffled.

“Because he’s important to us,” Patton said.

Deceit’s expression twisted. “And?”

“Will you help us?”

Patton watched his gaze shutter, emotions trapped behind yellow gloves and scales. “No.”

“No?” Roman repeated, disbelief coloring his tone. “We’re trying–”

“Wait,” Patton said, because he knew Deceit better than anyone (except maybe, another side yet to be discovered). Patton peered at him. “There’s a reason.”

“Of course I don’t have a reason,” Deceit said. “I just dislike Logan. Maybe this new Logic will do a better job than he ever did.”

“How dare you,” Roman said, eyes narrowing to slits. A red aura surrounded his fist, the singular tell that a sword was about to settle in his palms.

“Wait,” Patton insisted, placing his hand against Roman’s. A sword appeared regardless, and Patton winced at Roman’s lack of trust. “Deceit. Why not?”

“Thomas should definitely be left with this new Logic in case something happens to you,” Deceit said. He sneered. “I’m fascinated to see how this new one fails.”

“Nothing he says is sounding better, Pat,” Roman said, warning in his tone.

“No, he has a point,” Patton said.

Roman’s head jerked towards Patton, betrayal in his gaze. “What?”

“We need a contingency plan,” Patton said. “Deceit’s going to take care of Thomas.”

“How dare you imply you know what I mean,” Deceit said, but his voice was languid, movements lazy.

“We can’t trust the new Logic to look after him properly,” Patton said. “Part of every side having emotions and a personality is because humans are incredibly protective of those they care about. Logic doesn’t have that same care. It would be fine, when the rest of us are there to balance them out, but if we’re in the mindscape...”

“...nobody would remain to watch after Thomas,” Roman finished. The sword vanished as Roman sighed, anger dissipating. “I suppose.”

“I’m so very glad you concede,” Deceit said without a care in the world. Roman made a face at him and Deceit answered in kind.

“Thank you, Deceit,” Patton said.

Deceit was silent for a few seconds, expression frozen, before he rolled his shoulders. “Whatever,” he said. Then, of course, he sank out.

“I don’t trust that man,” Roman said, fingers twitching.

“I do,” Patton said. “He does what’s best for Thomas. Like all of us.”

“Not all of us,” Roman said. “Excess can harm him.”

“We won’t be gone for that long,” Patton said. He avoided Roman’s gaze, though.

“You can’t believe that,” Roman said. “We can’t know.”

“There’s a difference between lying and hope,” Patton said. He pressed his fingers into his bicep. “We need hope to succeed.”

“Pillars of Hope,” Roman said. He stared at the wall. “Hopefully we don’t need to make a pitstop there.”

Patton shot him a sharp glance. “You’ve been to the Pillars?”

“Patton,” Roman said, expression flat as he glanced his way. “I created the Pillars.”

Everything sortof slotted into place, after that.

Patton wrung his hands together, frowning. “And the green–?”

“Not my doing,” Roman said. “I didn’t call the pixies at all. They came after I created the Pillars, and just... like pests, they overtook the whole area. Not my doing.” Not my fault, Patton heard, between the lines. Not my thoughts. Because the pixies overtaking the Pillars were good, pure, or horrifically evil.

“We’re going to need Virgil’s help,” Patton said instead of responding to Roman. “For the Distortions, they can hit out of nowhere.”

Roman took the out gratefully. “I need to prepare, as well.”

“I could grab some things from my room,” Patton agreed. “Meet back here in an hour? Re-discuss if Virgil’s not ready yet?”

Roman nodded in consent, fingers rubbing together, expression far off. Patton sighed as Roman sank out, dropping to his knees and pressing his palms against his temples.

I’m so tired. I’m so, so tired, Patton thought. Logan. Logan, why did you leave? Where did I fail you? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please come back.

Patton inhaled, pulled himself together, stood up. He rubbed the liquid off his cheeks. He pushed back his shoulders.

He sank out, preparing to enter Thomas’s core – where none of the sides had been since their creation.

—

Roman didn’t want to go to Thomas’s core. In fact, it was the very last place he wanted to be. Not just because they housed the Pillars of Hope (a failure, he thought, being turned and twisted into something good-evil-happy-devastating) but because they housed the –

“Roman.”

Roman jumped, a glass bauble slipping through his fingers. Virgil snatched it out of the air just before it hit the ground. He raised his eyebrows at the spiraling copper wire. “What’s this?”

“It’s a bang,” Roman said, snatching it back from Virgil and shoving it into his pocket.

“A bang?” Virgil said. He shoved his hands into his pockets, the picture of nonchalance.

“Yes,” Roman said shortly. “Why are you in my room?”

“I was wondering when we’re leaving,” Virgil said, shrugging. The big sweatshirt shifted around his shoulders.

“You bringing anything?” Roman asked, gathering one, two, three wooden pens.

“Yeah, some stuff,” Virgil said. “Won’t do much good. You want me for the Distortions, right?”

“We want you because you’re as much a part of this as the rest of us,” Roman said. “And because you’d go anyway, because you care too much about Logan.”

“I care the exact right amount about Logan, actually,” Virgil said. He grabbed a red feather off one of Roman’s shelves. “What’s this?”

“It fell in the crowd during Thomas’s first time seeing Chicago,” Roman said absentmindedly. He ran a hand through his hair. How much could he bring, how much would be logical to bring? “Thomas lost it a month after getting it, we think the vacuum got it, but...”

“You have the copy,” Virgil said, rubbing the stem between his fingers.

Roman hummed, gaze trailing the wall of his room. Where would he be able to summon objects, where would his Creative touch fail? He hated the core, much too unpredictable.

“Princey,” Virgil said. When Roman glanced at him he was frowning, eyes pinched together. “You’re worrying.”

Roman bit back a retort and settled for “of course I am, Virgil. We can’t screw up.”

“This is also Thomas’s core we’re talking about,” Virgil said, sounding, for all intents and purposes, far too gentle. “Not a war zone.”

“It’s not like I have good memories from there.”

“Neither do I,” Virgil said sharply. “Neither does Patton.”

Roman sighed, shoulders sagging. “I know. I know, I’m being...” a coward, he thought. Selfish, heartless. “... a pain in the ass.”

“You’re not a coward,” Virgil said. “Hell, I’m scared shitless. You think I want to go back where the Distortions are? I know you don’t want to go back to... wherever you were born, the clown-zone it’s gotta be,” he said, grinning, the rest of his face lax and soft.

Roman’s lips quirked at the attempt. “Of all your digs, that’s pretty weak.”

“What can I say, I work badly under pressure,” Virgil said, mouth turned up. “Nothing in there’s gonna kill us. The least it’ll do is kick us back here. They probably don’t want us there any more than we wanna be there.”

“Yeah,” Roman said. He took a breath. Four point three seconds. Seven point nine three. “God, Logan knows, like, the exact time. Subconsciously. Or something. I don’t know.”

“Um,” Virgil said. “No he doesn’t.”

Roman frowned, a small vial pinched between his fingers. He looked at Virgil. “Well, I didn’t know the exact time of everything before Logan decided to re-delegate his role.”

“But...” Virgil played with the edges of his hoodie. “He’s never said the exact time before. He always rounds it.”

“Maybe he just wanted to fit in better,” Roman said. He turned back to a long cord of yellow rope, touching the frayed ends. “Maybe he didn’t want to sound like a computer.”

Virgil was silent for a few moments. Six point six seven seconds, Roman’s brain told him. He grabbed the yellow rope and shoved it into his pack angrily.

“Maybe,” Virgil said. “We should have been a little more astute when it comes to our Logic.”

“We should have,” Roman said. He sighed, then, and turned around. “Does Patton have a plan?”

“I hope so,” Virgil said. He was worrying his lip. “Since he’s, you know, the only one who’s been outside their birthplace.”

“Yeah,” Roman said, tactfully ignoring his creation of the Pillars. He also despised his birthplace, but from what the others said, they didn’t like theirs much, either. “Okay. I’m good. I’m ready.”

Virgil made a confirming noise, then stood a little taller, straightening his spine. “Hey, Roman,” he said. He held his hand out in the air between them, just below their chins.

Roman grabbed his offered hand and their gazes locked together.

Virgil cracked a grin. “We’re gonna save our Logic, aren’t we?”

“No,” Roman said, his own smile spreading. “We’re gonna save Logan.”

“Damn straight,” Virgil said. And with the two of them standing, staring at one another, it felt like a promise. A prophesy.

Their hands dropped and everything seemed to return to normal, but with a new buzz between the two of them. A knowledge, almost.

Roman smiled just thinking about it, and they sank out to meet Patton.

[godlyground]

01101001 00100000 01101011 01100101 01100101 01110000 00100000 01110011 01100101 01100101 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01100100 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101101 01110011 00100000 01101001 00100000 01101110 01101111 00100000 01101100 01101111 01101110 01100111 01100101 01110010 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110110 01100101 00101110

@hdtvtits    sent in a numerical nightmare    /   claire how could you i’m hurt ! 

           SPECIFICITY OF LANGUAGE      /   there is no margin for error  .  no space for the nature of inexact thought  ,  definitive and deliberate.  somewhere there are papers printed in triplicate  ,  blue ink for authenticity  ,  still wet.   black ink for the notary.   they are by nature ever shifting  ,  an unrelenting inconstancy that belies their stable foundations.   RECESS  !  CLEAR THE FLOOR:    no reporters allowed this is not for prying eyes.    off air !   this was not meant for live tv  ,  or live anything.  THE FOLLOWING CONTENT HAS NOT BEEN APPROVED FOR ANY AUDIENCE.  

 a series of numerical input  ,  binary flashing in LED eyes and the way a mouth always red  ,  red  ,  red  ,  no matter the glamour  ,  no matter the look.   dearest  ,  do you remember the way inkstained fingers had twined round rope  ?   rough-hewn  ,  biting  ,  twisting  ,  turn over turn  ,  a noose stained   ink black.   THEM:   gauzy  ,  breezy glow under stage lights.  screen test of the new age  ,  a lush sigh over a radio with   barely any static.   THEM:   the soft swell of orchestra  ,  every move choreographed  ,  ever moment rehearsed.   HIM:   biting realism to cut through the show  ,  a kernel of truth impressed into the line of    soap opera reunion  !   HIM:    lingering  ,  him hard-edged and solid  ,  a  gravitas   to the   unaired revolution.    THERE IS SOMETHING TO BE SAID FOR THE LONG MEMORY OF THE LAW  !   pressed together  ,  close  ,  somewhere in america:    the march of boots  ,  somewhere:  a politician accepts a bribe  ,  somewhere:   deals are struck and broken  ,  somewhere:   a car wreck  ,  the screaming  ,  wailing of sirens.  boys in blue swarm like ants across pavement. 

easy as the fall of a dynasty  ,  easy as the hush and quiet in a stadium before the   PLEDGE.  DON’T YOU KNOW THERE’S A WAR ON   ?     me and my baby    (  love saturday nights  )   time over and again  ,  centuries spanning into dust  ,  the thing built between them  ,  a monument to times past  ,  an illusory warmth  ,  a history littered with    EVOLUTION  !  the upgrade of the gods  ,  flesh and bone gave way to synthetics  ,  LED  and steel.   unfaulted for nature.   they are a vibrant god and their    hunger   is  cavernous.    EMOTIONS LIKE ART:    taken  ,  reforged  ,  appearing identical to the real thing.    

NO PLACE FOR LAW IN A LAWLESS WAR !   no space for him behind arbitrary lines drawn over man. children squabbling over who mommy and daddy love best.   NOT MY CAUSE !   still he’d chosen a side and not because the  WORLD  had asked it of him.    (  somewhere the court stenographer skips a beat  )     EYES  shine bright with the glare of the   SUNDANCE CINEMA   a sight for sore eyes  , everything  ,  molded  ,  sculpted  ,   DESIGNED  for the masses.  and law the maddening crowd  ,  the chanting aisles  ,  the screaming coliseum seats.   the screen flickers  ,  his smile has   TEETH. 

        “      dearest    ,     did you think i needed a reminder  ?    you’ve saturated the world  ,  everywhere i look i see you.   everywhere i go.  “

somewhere in america:    surveillance cameras swivel  ,  redirect   ,   COLD HARD HITS ON THE CUTTING ROOM FLOOR.   media management in the new world.  somewhere:   a confession comes tumbling out of   red mouth   ,  cameras catch every moment  ,  sweating shaking  ,  truth spit like ill-aimed bullets  ,  SEARCH AND SEIZURE !   eyes trace a face lovingly rendered in HD  ,  colors smooth  ,  not a hair out of place.  he compromised  ,   FAVORITISM IN THE COURTS.  we call for a mistrial !   the law biased.   (   the teleprompter goes dark.  the stenographer cuts to a halt.   )

[ofxwordsxandxletters]

In Conclusion

Series: Wynonna Earp

Disclaimer: The plot and pairing are mine and the rest is mine in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made. 

Pairing: Hollirey

Pairing: PG overall

Sixth and final in  a series based on letters between Doc Holliday and Bobo Del Rey depicting a shift in their relationship and some demons to exorcise.

Author’s Note: And you get what you asked for here, hopefully when Doc has his answer to his letter in “Yours, Always”. In true fashion both sides are just wanting their particular members happy.

But in the end, don’t we all?

*~*~*~*

In Conclusion

The trailer is a mess; anything metal or metal based is strewn haphazardly. It’s not his concern. It’s not. Nor is the fact that he’s sure anyone within hearing distance is fearful for their lives after his very vocal, very long screaming session.

Thankfully no one had dared knock on the door.

So he’d spent a night sleeping in the midst of the chaos when he could no longer make sounds without his throat feeling raw like sandpaper had been rubbed down it curled tightly tucked up into as small a figure as he could get. Never let it be said he did emotions well at this point.

Sluggishly he comes to on the floor and it takes a bit before he can pull himself together. A low huff escapes him at the sight of the mess and the feel of dried tears on his skin. He’d definitely gotten way over-emotional hadn’t he? Pulling himself to his feet, he shuffles to the bathroom and throws himself into a shower trying to ignore the clear indications of everything. It’s not easy.

So he’s quicker to get done and dressed and out of the trailer. Pushing the door shut, he’s met with loitering Revenants keeping quite a bit of distance just watching. He gives a harsh snarl low in his throat. “Th’ fuck are you all lookin’ at?”

“Everything...better?” Howard’s tentative question has him snapping his teeth and making the male step back further from him.

“Look,” he says trying for something that was less thunder than he felt, “I’m trying here. So don’t push your luck and go do something constructive that is not bothering anyone we’ve promised to play nicely with. Understand? The compound hasn’t been torn apart. Everything is fucking perfect at that point.”

Howard opens his mouth, closes it, opens it. Seems to reconsider and then merely nods. The man was learning. And then comes, “If you are all done giving our boss a hard time there are things to be done.” At this point, Levi deserved a raise for putting himself through this though right then Bobo just wants a smoke and to try and stop feeling entirely too fucking much at this point.

Of course the menace re-approaches once the others are shooed off and he takes a long drag of the cigarette staring at him, almost daring him to be stupid. “If you would like my advice…”

“I don’t,” he interrupts after exhaling the smoke, “I really just don’t.”

“If you did,” Levi continues as if he hadn’t just been not-so subtly threatened, “I would suggest going and talking to him. Bring him to you. But talk. You two have been apart for a bit because of things you both need to do but at this juncture, I really think communication or at the very least something physical would help this.”

“You don’t even know when to quit do you?”

Levi looks at him and Bobo hates how amazing patronizing the man had gotten since his last stint in hell. He’d been keeping his partner closer to him this time around and was far less willing to be bullied. “Boss, I know a man in love when I see them. And you love him. The opposite is true but you’ve not let yourself see that either. So go. Talk to him. Let him know how far in you are for him. Because you don’t hide it well.”

He was going to need several cigarettes it seemed and a drink if he was going to get through anything resembling this sort of conversation with Levi. And honestly, he could shut him up pretty quickly but as prickly as he’d been...sometimes, you just had to let them chastise you to make them feel better.

He’d learned a long time ago how to keep Revenants in line. And giving them the chance to do this was okay so long as it was certain individuals. Were it a few others and they would have been tied and over the line. He was being decidedly merciful at this point.

*~*~*~*~*

Doc drags his thumbs around the rim of the cup but makes no move to pick it up. He wondered if it was a record at this point; having a full cup of a drink and not tasting it in a pretty lengthy bit of time. “So, I’m going to guess things are not exactly great with you and our resident Revenant King?” Wynonna’s voice is soft, cautious even.

“Whatever would make you think that?”

“Because he’s the only one who can make you both drink more and less and it’s a weird combination. Wanna talk about it?”

“I am afraid that it has to reach it’s conclusion before I can do that with much assurance,” he answers.

“In other words, you’re waiting for him to figure out how he’s going to respond?”

“Yes.”

Wynonna winces. “Well, depending on how personal this whole thing is and I’m going to guess it’s a lot of personal, it may take him a while before he figures out what he’s feeling most and work from there.”

“Considering the state of things...that’s what worries me.”

“That bad?”

He sighs softly. “Without saying too much that isn’t mine to say, I will merely admit that I did not handle him well in the past.”

“So you knew him?”

“That I did. I just don’t remember because I was a drunken prick to him. Suppose that’s the only mercy anyone is allotting me in this.”

“Well, at least you’re trying here. You’ve done nothing but try since you got out of that well.”

“Will it be enough though?”

“Will it...Wow, you...This is really personal isn’t it?”

“Wynonna,” he says quietly, “I love him so yeah, it’s really personal. And I cannot bear the thought that he might not be willin’ to give me a chance to prove that on account of a certain goddamn Earp and his way of bein’ wholly selfish and a dick.”

“Good ol’ Wyatt Earp was a mess wasn’t he?”

“Oh, you have no idea. Not to say he didn’t have some decent qualities but...he wasn’t how any historian is ever going to paint him.”

“Most aren’t,” she murmurs, “But I think in this; you’ve done what you can, you’ve said your piece. You’re just...going to have to let him decide now what his next move is.”

“I know that,” he says quietly, “I’ve never been a patient man before. And this...This is not something I could recover from.”

“Hey, none of that. You’ve never lost when it was important and I doubt you’ll start with Bobo Del Rey. Just give him some time to be all overly emotional demon and let him figure it out. He’ll come to you when he’s ready. And Doc? No matter how this ends, you still have family and we will support you in any way we can.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly, thickly, “I appreciate it.”

She squeezes his shoulder. “Buck up, cowboy, and drink that before someone wonders if the product here is bad or poisoned.”

Despite the situation, Doc finds himself snorting. “Don’t scare off the patrons, got it.”

He’s still sitting contemplatively when he’s approached. Shifting his attention, he finds himself gazing at Levi. And if he’s not mistaken, the male looks just a shade too amused for words. “Levi,” he greets.

“Doc,” he answers, extending his hand with an envelope.

Carefully, he takes it; the lightness slightly worrisome and a fear begins in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, he pulls it out before realizing it was a single folded page and wonders if he really wants to do this here before choosing that he might as well. He unfolds it expecting a great many things, all of them pretty awful, and his eye catches the simple two-word message: Come outside.

He pauses only as long as it takes to set the message and his hat by the cup before rising trusting enough that both would be looked after and heads for the door heart in throat. He steps outside wondering exactly what he was walking into and finds the other waiting by a wall, hands in his pockets trying to seem comfortable. Doc is sure at any other time he’d pull it of but there were too many tells with the other that made any posturing a lie. “I’m here,” he says softly as he steps closer, “As bade.”

He expects a lot of things; anger, snarky commentary, accusations and at the worst him laughing and throwing everything back in his face. And part of him is sure he’d deserve all of it. What he gets is the feel of a belt loop being gripped as he’s jerked forward before another hand tugs his face up and lips are pressed against his. Soft, this kiss is soft and meltingly sweet. A soft, pleased sigh escapes him against Bobo’s mouth before he tugs him closer to deepen it.

Of course it’s broken before he’d like, the other lightly pressing his forehead against his, breathing unsteady. “One chance,” comes the words that have his emotions rising, “You have one chance in this, Henry.”

“All I need is one,” he murmurs fingers tracing along the other’s jaw as he meets his gaze, “I love you, Robert Svane. That much I know to be true.”

“John Henry Holliday…”

He chuckles softly. “I’m a man of my word these days, Robert Svane, so when I say something you can take it as the truth.”

He watches the other close his eyes before there would come, “We’ll see, I suppose, won’t we?”

“Yes,” he agrees, leaning to place a soft kiss at the corner of his lips, “Together.” He feels the upwards curve of the other’s lips into a smile and takes the opportunity to kiss him again and it’s returned eagerly as he’s pulled flushed against the other’s body.

They might still have a lot to work out but in that moment, Doc is quite sure that they will. And in the end, all he needs to know.

[ofxwordsxandxletters]

“Dear John”

Series: Wynonna Earp

Disclaimer: The plot and pairing are mine and the characters are borrowed in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made. 

Pairing: Hollirey

Rating: PG overall

First in a series based on letters between Doc Holliday and Bobo Del Rey depicting a shift in their relationship and some demons to exorcise.

Author’s note: So go with me here that as a man of clear intellect, I honestly think that Robert would have been the type to write letters and not just letters but intimate letters to those he loved. It’s something that he keeps as Bobo Del Rey but no one knows because that got him insulted plenty before and it was his and…

So he only does it if there is implicit trust between him and the person or if the feelings run that deep.

So you get this. Because in these trying times I need fluff with Bobo and Doc.

Enjoy. Also, yes I couldn’t resist the name of this one. I promise it has nothing to do with the movie.

*~*~*~*~*

“Dear John”

The walls might have been paper thin but thankfully, they seemed to keep the constant scratching from being heard outside. While he wasn’t sure anyone would figure it for what it actually was, Bobo was in no mood to try and come up with an explanation that was anywhere near the truth.

Which meant he’d have to deal with the trash can filled with balled up pieces of paper himself but that was a worry for another time.

Blue eyes narrow at the paper before him and he contemplates the words; written and re-written more times than he’d cared to think about and huffs.

He was getting soft and sentimental here. Clearly. But that doesn’t stop him from going on pressing the quill to the paper and resuming. And it was a quill because as nice as pens were these days there was something nostalgic about an ink quill.

He taps the fingers of his other hand, almost idly, as he writes, blue eyes going distant almost soft. Damn this man for how he made him feel or for the fact that he was doing this! And if he didn’t appreciate it they were going to find him in a well again with the letter stuffed in his mouth.

But like the trash can needing to be emptied discreetly, that was a problem for future!Bobo to clean up. He is struggling to ignore the parts of him hoping he wouldn’t have to.

Hope wasn’t something for demons was it?

Two days is how long it takes before he folds the paper carefully and slips it into the envelope. He considers a lot of ways to address it and decides to hell with it and flourishes “John Henry Holliday” across it.

Now the problem lay in how exactly he planned on it getting to the man without raising suspicion. The thought of anyone but Doc reading it was enough to twist something in him that he ignores wholeheartedly. Writing was a private, personal thing and this, this he only wanted for John Henry’s eyes. The bar was too open and he refuses to have another Earp find his hobbies something to be amused by. He almost hadn’t lived down Wyatt interrupting him in the midst of writing poetry.

It wasn’t happening again.

So he makes a trip to the station. If nothing else, a certain officer would probably be far less likely to either comment or give it to anyone other than Holliday himself. Of course he’s sure he makes a sight strutting in and isn’t surprised when Officer Haught nearly falls out of her chair at the sight of him clearly going wary. “Can...Can I help you?” she says in what he’s sure she’s hoping is a commanding voice.

He decides to cut her a break and not make the snarky comment that comes to mind (see he could show mercy) and instead says, “Need this to get to your layabout gunslinger. You know, the one who should be dead but ain’t.”

“You mean Doc.”

“Exactly,” he says holding out the thick envelope, “Make sure he’s the only one who gets this if you don’t mind.”

To her credit, she only hesitates slightly before taking it. “Okay, sure. Anything else?”

“Nope,” he says, “Good day, Officer Haught. Take care of Purgatory’s good folks.” And he’d turn and walk out leaving her probably with more questions than answers. And that was pretty much how Bobo liked it.

*~*~*~*

He’s contemplating between whiskey and gin when there’s a soft tap at his shoulder that has him straightening to gaze at Nicole. She looks a little tense and he cocks his head slowly. “Everything alright, Officer Haught?”

“Can we talk privately?”

There was something she needed to say to him is the instant realization and it wasn’t for others to overhear. So dismissing the morning (or was it afternoon) drinking, he rises. “Okay, let’s go and talk then.”

She follows still tense but not in a matter that said it was an emergency. Doc had gotten very good at reading the moods of the people he called friends (family). Closing the door to his bedroom, he gives her some space as he watches her try and decide how she wants to handle whatever this was. Finally, she reaches and pulls a thick envelope out and slowly holds it to him. “This was to come to you. Just for you.”

He gazes at the item and notes the flourished print of his name. “From…” he prompts.

“Our resident Revenant King; Bobo Del Rey.”

It’s all his years of poker that has him schooling his features before she sees anything he is actually feeling on the matter. “Suppose then I should see what Bobo Del Rey is up to. Can’t imagine it’s dangerous. ‘S only paper.”

“Just...you know, be careful okay?”

“Will do. I don’t think you need to worry overly much. Were he to be sending things to Wynonna now...that would be a different story.” Not that he thought he would if this was what he was suspecting it was. And that has something hot starting to coil.

“You’re probably right. It was just...strange, I guess. But I’ll leave you to your business.”

“Much obliged.” He attempts not to but he’s sure Nicole can tell he’s no longer focused on her but the item in his hands. She quickly lets herself out and closes the door. Once alone, he walks the few steps left and sinks onto the bed with a huffed, “Bobo Del Rey, whatever are you up to now?” His tone is soft, fond when he’s sure it should be annoyed and exasperated.

But then what was going on was something he had trouble explaining to anyone including himself and just finally stopped trying.

He opens the envelope and tugs out the folded papers. A letter. Bobo Del Rey had actually penned a honest to god letter. He gently brushes his fingers along the parchment the other no doubt ordered; a remnant of a past neither of them felt like letting go of even now. But there was something else, something more to this that he knew under it all.

Bobo Del Rey didn’t write letters. No, that was someone else. Someone…

Carefully, he unfolds the paper eyes drawn to the top ghosting and not quite reading but admiring the splay of words, the way the other wrote with flourishes. No, this was definitely not Bobo Del Rey, Revenant King.

This was Robert Svane.

He settles himself back so that he’s comfortable, something like this he was sure should be enjoyed and hunched at the edge of his bed was probably not the most comfortable position for anything. And he finds it was a good idea as he lets himself read, as he lets himself be given this piece of the other.

It’s six pages that Doc could not put a price on. Six pages of pieces of a man he never thought he’d get let alone be worthy of. And he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it cost that man more than he’d admit to have this given to him.

Tenderly, he refolds the pieces placing a soft kiss against the bundle. “Foolish, adorable man,” he murmurs softly, “I’m gonna have to answer this aren’t I? Dammit, Robert.”

He’d keep these words to himself, hide them so that no one would find them. And he’d pen a reply, of course, because that’s what a gentleman did. It would be no where near the eloquence he’d been sent but he’s sure what the other is looking for is more him giving back what he’d been given.

But if he was to reveal only a bit of what was granted, his favorite would be “...and I cannot tell you how much I hate that I’m sitting here in this godforsaken trailer with a quill and ink pot spilling way too much to a drunkard who makes me crazy.

But here we are and here I am. In a trailer. With this paper and quill and too much going on because of you. Always you. Insufferable prick.”

He could imagine how annoyed the other had been writing at that point; enough to chuckle to himself. So he could handle trying to write him back because after all it might get him to write again like this.

And Doc would be lying if he wasn’t already addicted to this form of intimacy.

[ofxwordsxandxletters]

Inkstained Fingers Moodboard/Masterpost

One of my favorite series I’ve finished; this is a short series centering on letters between Doc and Bobo. This is also a Master post so you can read the series in order.

“Dear John”

In Regards

Declaration of Intent

With Deepest Regret...

Yours, Always

In Conclusion

[ofxwordsxandxletters]

Yours, Always

Series: Wynonna Earp

Disclaimer: The plot and pairing are mine and the characters are borrowed in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made. 

Pairing: Hollirey

Rating: PG overall. 

The fifth in a series based on letters between Doc Holliday and Bobo Del Rey depicting a shift in their relationship and some demons to exorcise.

Author’s note: Doc has to deal with the fallout of Robert’s letter in “With Deepest Regret…” and it’s not an easy place for him. But then nothing worth having seemed to come easy and for him; Robert was more than worth having

To be honest, I think that the next one will be the last in this particular series…We’ll see.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Yours, Always

His aim was never better was the remark after the second day he spent shooting things. He needed the focus, needed something to do with his hands that wasn’t wrapping them around a certain demon’s throat and shaking him until his brain rattled. He just isn’t sure it’s from anger at the past or the fact that the demon actually believed that he was just going to be a repeat of said past.

John Henry Holliday was beyond livid and all he wants is to drag back a dead man to scream at him a little bit before shooting him probably in the groin for good measure and then killing him again no matter what their previous partnership was like.

There was no goddamn reason for any of it.

So he vents in the familiar way he knows how, gunpowder and alcohol, until he can get control of himself again. Until he feels like he can focus on the issues with less anger and more neutrality. Until he stops wanting to curse a dead man more than he had been because he deserved it. And then have some words with himself about the absolute wrong way to handle situations because he was definitely culpable as well.

He had something more important to take care of, to protect. And that something was no doubt the wrong word or action away from pulling away for good. Of putting up walls too high and thick for anyone to scale.

How the hell did he manage to fix this when he was sure that the wrong move was going to get him banished to a hell he didn’t want to envision? He drags his hat off the temptation to throw it a strange novelty and brings a hand through his hair. He’d told Levi he’d handle it but damn had he not prepared himself for this.

How did anyone do that anyway?

All he knows is that he has to salvage it because he was finding out that to him, Robert was worth everything to him. Which meant that he was going to have to make him understand that fact above all else. He could forgive the well. That was not something he put on that man’s doorstep. Constance had been the one to push him in and she no doubt had gotten under Robert’s skin if he’d known he was there. She had to have. But he pushes that out of his mind because she wasn’t important enough to even think about at this point. Robert was. Robert who had been wronged so damn much and who lost so much more than he’d ever begin to imagine.

Robert who figured that at the end of it would lose Doc, too. Or never had him from the beginning.

He takes a slow, deep breath before slowly pulling his hat on. One more day. Then he was going to find the words to keep the most insufferable demon he’d ever met where he belonged; beside him.

*~*~*~*

Levi, to his credit, isn’t the least bit skittish when he approaches with an envelope. Bobo wants to say something spiteful but honestly, he was pretty sure he was one more show of temperament away from undoing years of having them respect him and instead see him as a bitter, malicious prick.

And for some reason, he doesn’t want that.

“Boss,” the male murmurs, extending his hand towards him.

Ringed fingers reach and take it and he hates that he waits until he’s gotten a hold of it to say, “I may be out of line but I honestly do not think you have much to fear from Doc Holliday.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” comes the sharp rebuke, “I fear absolutely no-fucking-one.”

“Right, of course not.” Amiable, he was being too amiable. Everyone else was avoiding him like they knew he was going to implode at some point and then there was this idiot…Bobo has no idea what he’d done to have to deal with him like this but it was frustrating. “I’ll leave you to it then, boss.”

“How magnanimous of you,” he retorts though the words lack their usual bite and warning as he turns for his trailer. Honestly, he figured that the other man would have taken the hint and not sent a correspondence. Hadn’t he given him enough reasons to not come back?

He studiously ignores the parts of him that were hopeful that maybe, just maybe…

But hope was for those not damned to a constant circle of hell and suffering wasn’t it? Or better men than Robert Svane could have ever hoped to be.

When he steps into his space, part of him wants to just toss the letter onto the writing desk and ignore it. Let it lay unread, the man’s response ignored. It’s what would be best, safest, the most intelligent way to handle this.

Pity that Robert Svane had never been any of those things in the correct amount and he clearly wasn’t starting now which is why he sinks onto the chair before opening the envelope wondering exactly what the male thought of his latest display. He’d asked for honesty and he’d gotten it. Too much honesty in one letter, Bobo is sure. Slowly, he unfolds the paper telling himself that he could get through this. He was fine losing Doc Holliday. Nothing to it because he was a demon.

It still takes him a few minutes to even look at the words, regardless.

My Robert,

I won’t lie and say that letter wasn’t painful because that would be an insult to us both. And clearly there is enough ill-will betwixt us to sully it further.

But I did ask for it, and I’m grateful that you answered. I’m grateful because now I have the knowledge of those before me who were unworthy to ever consider you a friend let alone anything close to a partner.

Even I wasn’t worthy then.

But I am now.

I want, desperately, to apologize for the less than appropriate actions of a drunkard too much of a fool to remember to be a gentleman, but I fear it rings hollow when I do not remember such an altercation. And somehow that is worse.

But that particular individual is not who climbed out of that well and I will do everything in my power to prove that to you if you will let me.

A chance, a second chance is what I’m askin’ of you; to prove my heart and how I feel. I’m not the kind of man who only calls upon another when there is something I can gain from it. Not in this.

You are a worthy partner, confidant, lover, and even friend. You’re insufferably bossy and have the worst taste imaginable in fur coats but all of that is the best parts of the man I want to see myself with at the end of all things. The man who can throw an entire trailer no doubt but writes with a quill with all the tenderness that takes. The same man who walks into a room like he belongs and yet seems to think he never will.

I want the sarcastic, sharp-tongued man who can also be soft and compassionate when the mood takes him. The man with the eyes that can go cloudy like a storm, icy like the snow, and molten on a whim as well. I want everything you are or ever will be. I want to be the one person who gets to see the good, the bad, and the ugly and at the end of the day is able to say, “He’s mine and I could not be more blessed”.

I have told you over and over, Robert Svane, that you are mine, that I am all in, and that there isn’t something that changes that. And I mean it.

So, I guess what I’m askin’ is…will you still have me?

                                                                                                                                                                Yours, Always and Absolutely,

                                                                                John Henry Holliday

Fingers dig into the wooden desktop as he puts the letter facedown on the table; something bubbling just below the surface hot and uncomfortable like the burn at the corners of his eyes. “J-John Henry,” comes the choked words, “Dammit all, Henry, why are you like this?!”

[ofxwordsxandxletters]

With Deepest Regret...

Series: Wynonna Earp

Disclaimer: The plot is mine and the characters are borrowed in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made. 

Pairing: Hollirey

Rating: PG overall

The Fourth  a series based on letters between Doc Holliday and Bobo Del Rey depicting a shift in their relationship and some demons to exorcise.

Author’s Note: The next in the series after “Declaration of Intent” grants a response and a look into Robert’s past. I play with canon and history for my own needs (you’ll see when you read it).

This is all hurt so don’t expect much but Robert!Whump.

*~*~*~*

With Deepest Regret…

He was sure he’d been up entirely too long trying to write this but honestly, it was more than time wasn’t it? It was more than time he let go or at the very least was honest with the man who was clearly trying. The problem was that he was too scared to think about what he was trying to do because when it came to intent; Robert had never had much in the way of luck in it being good for him in the end. He presses his palm against his hand to stifle the snarl or scream or, god forbid, sob trying to work itself out of his throat as he drags the pen across the parchment. Everything about this hurt and he wasn’t sure it was going to be worth it in the end.

But he does it before telling himself that this was the last time anyone made him feel like this. Ever. It was too dangerous and he lost too much of himself. Robert Svane had clearly never learned from the past had he?

A few more lines, a few more open, gaping wounds and he signs before sealing it. He shoves it across the desk before pressing his face into the crook of his arm wondering if he was crying for the past or the future he didn’t think he was ever going to have the way he wanted.

*~*~*~*

He knew something was up when it’s Levi who comes to the bar. Doc had been sure this was going to be difficult but there is something about the wary, cautious way the Revenant approaches him that has his heart sinking. “Boss wanted me to give this to you,” comes his quiet remark, “And to ask that if you would kindly make whatever it is you have to say quick because he does not, and I quote, want to be dicked around any longer for your sadistic pleasure, end quote.”

Doc’s eyes close a moment before he takes the envelope with a quiet, “I will handle this, Levi, thank you.”

“Please do. He’s been in a pretty awful mood this past week.”

Doc is pretty sure he knows why that is, too. “Will do. Just…be patient with him, okay?”

“Never anything but,” comes the murmur, “We do like him after all.”

He knew that, too.

Holding the letter, he crosses the bar deciding that it was going to be best to just go and get this over with. He needed to know exactly what the other had chosen as a reply to his inquiry. There was nothing he was going to deal with that was more important than this. He slips into his room and shuts the door before locking it and crosses to his bed before pulling the envelope open and removing the folded paper before straightening it.

My Dearest John Henry,

You know most men just put a gun to another man’s temple and pull the trigger don’t you? That would be cleaner than this. You say that you want to know but I do not believe that you quite understand the whole can of worms you will find here.

But you asked and since I simply have little by way of refusing you, here we are. With me in my trailer feeling way too much and none of it good. So I will tell you a story and you can infer from it what you would like. Maybe it’ll make things easier in the end for you to know this, maybe it won’t. Either way, have what you asked for.

Robert Svane was a quiet, timid mouse of a man who preferred numbers and words to people. People were violent and oft times just plain cruel for no reason. And forget being reasonable. Just forget that completely. So he made a life out of staying out of sight for the most part, keeping to his own business. It wasn’t safe to do anything else. Men like him tended to not…fair very well in that time as you probably know. Especially when they were a walking anxiety disorder like he was.

And then there was a robbery. And a freshly made Marshal. And all of the stupid that comes from ever being charmed by a handsome face. Robert Svane had the “pleasure” of meeting Wyatt Earp. And it went about as well as you imagine.

Of course Wyatt was nothing but a gentleman; doting, friendly, affectionate but only when it suited him and only in the manner that suited him. And we both know that he was a fickle-ever changing man with moods that were apt to go from warm to blustery in only a manner of seconds.

I won’t scandalize you with the sordid details but I know you can guess that we were intimate when it suited him to have a warm body. Robert never learned or accepted the truth at this point; that he was a person of convenience. He was only as good as the use Wyatt could get out of him and everything else was ignored at the best and insulted at the worst; his hobbies, dreams, wants for the future. Of course, Wyatt wasn’t the first to do this, mind you, but he was by far the only one who pretended that it was anything other than convenience.

He learned that hard truth in Purgatory after he had a hole through him and the coward fled without finishing the job with the goddamn demon. And even to the end, that stupid fool had actually thought that maybe, just maybe…But no, he needed to find you. Needed to set things right with you. And so Robert died alone in a goddamn church knowing he was destined for hell.

So maybe in the end, I deserved it for leaving you in that well, and make no mistake, that was me but you didn’t recognize my voice or probably remember our first meeting. I had a choice and I chose to be angry and petty. This is the kind of man you say you’re all in for.

Do remember that you asked for this.

I was still petty leaving you in that well when I came topside the first time. I remembered shortly that you were there. But I had no intention of dredging up a past I wished had died with me. So I intentionally kept from the well and let you stay there alone in the dark. I had a dark bit of satisfaction in the fact that you were stuck not knowing that Wyatt looked for you, that his final days were spent in desperation trying to make amends with the man he dearly loved.

Robert would have been appalled at this. Robert had the grace to be ashamed when he died of leaving you there but several days bleeding from a bull-wound puts things into perspective in a pretty awful way. I just can’t recall who I was most mad at in the end; myself, Wyatt, or the man who couldn’t even bother coming to help too into his cups.

You were a cruel drunk, John Henry. I found that out first hand when we met. You called me Spectacles the second time. Got belligerent and cruel. You were everything I hated about that time; overly masculine and easily riled. You thought so much of yourself or maybe so little with the amount you were drinking those days.

But I digress, I suppose. You wanted my scars and my wounds? You have them. I hope it was worth it. You should never have chosen someone like me. Ever. And in the end, I’m pretty sure you didn’t actually choose me.

No one ever chooses Robert Svane. Not really. Not without strings and too many hoops and not enough true emotion or desire. So do us both a favor and just stop. Whatever this is. Whatever game you are playing. I don’t deserve it again. I don’t want it again. Please, Henry. You owe me this much.

                                                                               With Nothing but Past Regrets,

                                                                               Robert Svane

[ofxwordsxandxletters]

Declaration of Intent

Series: Wynonna Earp

Disclaimer: The plot is mine and the characters are borrowed in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made. 

Pairing: Hollirey

Rating: PG over-all. 

The third  a series based on letters between Doc Holliday and Bobo Del Rey depicting a shift in their relationship and some demons to exorcise.

Author’s Note This is set sometime after “In Regards.” Knowing that there is something he needs to get to the bottom of, Doc finally pens a letter he fears will undermine everything he’s tried to do to date. He just has to get Robert to open up to him. No matter what it costs them both.

*~*~*~*

Declaration of Intent

He isn’t sure exactly what possesses him to do this only that he knows he needs to. That they both need this. It’s in the way they’ve been dancing around specific topics and he knows that it can’t go on. It’s a few days of trying to put his words down on a page and trying to phrase all he needs to in order to get things out, in order for them both to get things out. He doesn’t like how many cigarillos he’s gone through or the bottles of whiskey it takes to actually finish this. His heart feels heavy no matter how much he needs this to be said to the other.

Slipping it under the trailer door, he can only hope that whatever happens next will be better than the fear coiling in his gut churning darkly. He presses his forehead lightly against the door though he knows the owner is out; it was why he’d chosen to do it this way. “Whatever you decide,” he says quietly, “Whatever you choose, Robert, I do love you dearly. Please, please don’t shut me out now.” Doc just isn’t sure how well he holds up against the ghosts of Robert’s past.

Heading back for Shorty’s, he can’t help shake the feeling that he might just be leaving the best parts of him there. But he’d said his piece, all his piece and it was up to whoever was watching over the two of them to help them both at this point.

*~*~*~*

Days like this, Bobo could do without and it had nothing to do with Revenants. Those issues were easy compared to the people he had to work with. Humans could be so stupid still. Rubbing his face, he heads for his trailer needing to just rest a bit and unwind. Of course the sight of a letter when he opens the door has him going still a moment before he’d crouch and pick it up. The heavy weight has him tensing a moment before sighing. “Of course,” he says to the empty trailer, “Of course I get this in addition to everything else. John Henry…” Something tightens in him because he has a feeling he knows what this is mostly because the man gave it to him without actually giving it to him. He sets it on his desk before forcing himself to go shower and unwind. It wasn’t like it was going to go anywhere.

Parts of him wishes it would actually do that so he doesn’t have to deal with what was going to happen when he got to it.

So he dawdles as long as his curiosity will be held back doing mundane things around the trailer before finally dropping into the chair by the small desk. He stares at the envelope a moment before sighing. “I suppose I should have known you were coming, right?” he asks before reaching and opening it, “Let’s get this over with then.”

My Robert,

It’s come to my attention that both of us are tiptoeing around things. And it’s not doing either of us any good. So I’m going to do this because honestly we both deserve some peace of mind. You know I would go to bat for you against a great many things, all the things were it in my power. So I’m asking you to help me out here and let me know what ghosts I need to help you exorcise.

Don’t roll your eyes at me because we both know there are some pretty awful skeletons haunting you. Me as well. We need them dealt with. We’re no good to each other while we don’t.

So stop running from me. Stop hiding from me. I’m not going to hurt you intentionally. I’m not going to pull away. And I am most assuredly not going to mock or belittle you for what your interests are.

And I know someone did all of the above because you get so standoffish whenever anything close to an interest is shown by you. It’s like you’re always waiting for disapproval. But I will never disapprove of you. Ever.

The fact that you will freely talk about your time in hell and what that was like but not your mortal life tells me that there is pain there the likes of which you do not want to recall and I am going to ask you to do so.

I want to know, I feel I need to know what it is you are holding back. What past indiscretions you faced no matter who from. I think by now I have the right to this. I have the right to be able to see the broken pieces that you think make you so unworthy, so unloveable so I can help you heal.

And I want that just like I want to love you, that won’t change, I promise. I’m not folding, I’m not surrendering. You just have to play your hand, darlin’. Let me see it. I don’t care how bad it ends up being. You and I can weather this storm, I know we can. Trust in me. That’s all I’m asking. Trust me to be able to carry the weight when you can’t.

Let me in, Robert. Let me see. Please.

                                                                                               Yours Affectionately,

                                                                                                John Henry Holliday

There is a quiet after he folds up the letter; the kind of quiet that warns of a coming storm. Blue eyes, more tumultuous gray close, a moment of tension falling hard, before reopening filled with an icy sort of chill as he reaches for his parchment and then his quill. “So be it, John Henry Holliday. So fucking be it.”