#did not do johns tattoos because fuck me that would be far too difficult. maybe next time i aniamte them kjnhgvfc

[axemetaphor]

everyone knows that 3am is the witching hour for supernatural bullshit but theres a second, gayer witching hour that only happens at 4am during sleepovers where you ask your bro if he'd date you and for mysterious reasons get super mad when he doesnt immediately say yes. nevermind that he really wants to sleep but youre too busy playing on your own xbox (that you can play at any time) to let the poor man sleep.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 31

Read on AO3. Part 30 here. Part 32 here.

Summary: The time has come to do what you promised for the Resistance. If only it hadn't taken you so long to get here.

Words: 3700

Warnings: feelings kinda

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: I know it's not Friday, but I've been so full of anxiety about this chapter that I just had to get it out!! I'm sorry. I can promise you that next week will absolutely be up on Friday, because I have a feeling it's going to take me all week and maybe more.

I want to say--I really loved the debates/discussion in the comments? I feel so fucking flattered and excited people are having differing opinions on the characters? I love that there's so much conflict evident from the responses? That makes me feel so happy!

I am so truly lucky to have folks like you in my life, I can't say enough how grateful I am how I don't ever take any of it for granted, even if I can't respond to every comment. I love y'all so much, and thank you, please stay safe and healthy. <3

Across the hall, the Knight Templar stood at attention, blank visor of his mask trained on you, as it had been for the past forty-seven and a half minutes. The wooden walls to the Council Chambers loomed to the sky, oak canopies split with skylights, the morning sun cutting stark prisms into the hardwood floors. The only break in the dust-mote silence was the rumble of privileged discussion vibrating through your back.

Given the presence of Kylo Ren, you’d somehow expected to avoid the sting of exclusion. But even the influence of the Lead Commander was not enough to justify the attendance of a woman--and especially a Handmaid--during a Council meeting. Yet, you supposed you were thankful. The near two-week’s worth of blizzard-conditions between you and your Commander had frozen any willingness to play advisor to an arctic relic. Part of you felt confident that if you’d refused, he would’ve let you off the hook, but another part wasn’t willing to see how far you could push your absence of legal rights.

Shuffling, muffled voices rising--and the doors to the Chambers opened, a menagerie of black suits filtering into the hall. You studied your shoes, the arrival of so many power-wielding men binding your ribcage, curling your toes. Even with the Templar on guard, in the swarm of Commanders, your safety dangled by unraveling thread; you could feel their eyes wandering over you like steer wandered the plains--lazy and lingering and gluttonous.

Reluctant relief trickled through you when you caught Kylo’s boots in your periphery, his footsteps scattering their stares, scaring their own feet into the halls. Another person crossed around him.

“It was a little tense in there, wouldn’t you say?”

You recognized this man’s voice--he was the silver-haired one from the party.

“I anticipated discomfort.”

The man laughed. “Oh, well, of course you did, Ren! You’ve always been very ahead of the game, that way.” He stepped closer, inviting confidence--now his voice was a murmur. “Now, I’m not saying this, as you know. But I’ve heard others… express their concerns.”

“Concerns.”

“That Gilead’s roles were created for a reason.”

Kylo spoke flatly--he didn’t care if you heard him. “Roles exist to serve specific purposes, Enric. Should a purpose arise, then it follows that a role is created to serve it.”

“The only problem is…” Enric’s voice was mollifying, as if he were telling Kylo something he didn’t already know. “We don’t create roles. God creates them. He decided your purpose just as He decided hers.” There was a pause. You saw your Commander’s foot shift. “Other Council members--not me, of course--aren’t taking as kindly to your philosophy as I am.”

“My philosophy.”

“What you’ve done with your Handmaid. And continue to do, too. Some of them are… not very happy. They consider it…” He cleared his throat, a patronizing acknowledgement of your presence. “Inappropriate.”

Your face burned. Perhaps two weeks ago, you might have agreed. But since you’d kicked Kylo out of your room, he hadn’t so much as laid a finger on you or shared a word greater than a single syllable. His presence was now accompanied by a heavy vow of paralyzing silence--a recognition that the other existed, but only as living memory. This should have brought relief, should have forced your attachment to him to wilt like an unwatered fern, decaying in the graveyard of one thousand other hopes you’d tied to the space he occupied in your mind.

Instead, it had festered, a viney weed, writhing through your veins, its roots puncturing your heart when it dared to beat in his shadow. It was only in his deliberate absence that you could feel the pain of your reality, like he’d been opium, numbing you to the knowledge of anything but him. You ached for him more now than you ever had--you’d tried to sleep, chest cracked open, a torrent of loneliness emptying into the night--and knew that it was for this very reason that you needed to deny him.

After all, when you returned home, you’d be meeting with Rey on your walk. And you’d be handing over the switchblade to the Resistance.

“The Eyes are welcome to an investigation,” Kylo replied. “There are no reading materials or writing implements available. Her suggestions will be provided during a once-weekly meeting which my Wife will attend.”

You swallowed. You hoped you’d be free before that happened.

Enric sighed. “But the dress. Dragging her along with your soldiers.” He paused, humming in thought. “To be honest, even I think she gets special attention.”

Kylo’s tone betrayed an inch of irritation. “And even a dog is provided with a reward for its obedience,” he said. “She is in uniform today and before the Council now to provide proof of my intention.”

“Well, I’m sure the Council will begin to understand. You know how difficult it is for these types to tolerate change. The Cambridge Press decided to capitalize a single letter in First John earlier this year and they lost it.” Enric stepped away, and then doubled back with a pause. “As long as you’re not forgetting her true purpose.”

“No,” Kylo replied. “A Ceremony is scheduled for two days from now.”

Your breath shorted. If the Resistance was wrong about the value of your knife, in two nights you’d lie in Johana’s lap, and Kylo Ren would fuck you as if you didn’t exist. The thought made you dizzy, made your stomach churn.

“There you go,” he said. “As long as you’re doing everything you’re supposed to, you’ll be fine. The Eyes might be snooping around your house, but all you need to do is be prudent.” A laugh. “That shouldn’t be a problem for you, though.”

“No.” Kylo couldn’t have sounded more unimpressed if he had tried.

An expectant silence fell between the two men, and Enric coughed to clear the awkwardness. “In a couple weeks, then.”

“Yes.”

With that, he walked off, footsteps echoing from the wooden halls as he left you, your Commander, and the Knight as the only souls outside of the Council Chambers. A soft exhale escaped Kylo’s nose, and he stepped forward--the weight of his gaze was on you, but you refused to meet it.

“Go,” he said. You assumed he was speaking to the Knight, who moved without another word--what was it like being a warrior turned glorified babysitter? “Come.”

You stood, keeping your eyes to the ground while you followed his lead through the vacant, sunlit corridors of City Hall. This end of the building was decidedly older than the front--it creaked with exhaustion as you navigated its floors, as if it, too, had grown tired of the constant political discourse within its walls. Kylo Ren turned into a staircase, descending with the same pace as his stride--you struggled to keep up with him at this rate, unable to stop yourself from admiring when he reached the bottom and turned the corner into the basement hall.

Since the night at the hotel, he’d abandoned his previous attire of suits, ties and white shirts--he now wore black almost entirely, from his dress shirt to his trousers, which more often than not ended up stuffed into knee-high leather boots. He’d also taken to wearing the coat you’d seen during the Salvaging, its tapered cut somehow making his frame even larger, more imposing than it had been before. The coat in particular was a strange choice during the summer--but you knew why he wore it, keeping others uncertain about what it might or might not conceal.

In the basement, the air grew thin and cold, the halls illuminated now only by dim fluorescent lamps. Kylo stopped at a large wooden door, fishing a key from his pocket and popping the lock. He pushed inside, holding it open for you as you followed him in--he released it, and with a pneumatic whine, it slammed behind you. You squeaked, leaping back, swallowed now in darkness.

You heard the click of the lock--then Kylo’s footsteps on concrete as he crossed the room. A ceiling lamp flickered on, revealing what you could only describe as a records room. Shelves lined the walls, floor to ceiling, manila folder files stuffed into them like recycled news. Your lungs stilled looking at them--there were hundreds, thousands of these folders, all labeled with four-digit numbers. Swallowing, you thought of the tattoo at your ankle--1104--and heat rushed your skin.

These were files on Handmaids.

Dread dug into you, head on a swivel as you soaked in the enormity of the identities contained within these piles of paper. Uncountable bodies of women reduced to nothing but a combination of integers in a locked room in the basement of City Hall. Your heart thumped against your sternum. This was not something you were supposed to see.

Kylo meandered along the shelves, searching the tabs, his brow furrowed in focus. You crossed your arms, ignoring the quickening leap of your pulse, thoughts racing. Why had he brought you here? He was supposed to be proving to the Council that your relationship wasn’t inappropriate--and here you were, alone with your Commander in a room almost certainly forbidden to the large majority of Gilead.

“Five-seven-two-four.”

His long fingers plucked the folder from where it was wedged at the bottom shelf and he rose to his full height--the sight still stole your air. Stone-faced, Kylo flopped open the file, cradling it in the crook of his elbow as he flipped to the first page.

“Five-seven-two-four.” He stepped toward you--an involuntary shiver raced up your spine--and tilted it into your line of sight. “Tera Jackson.”

You blinked, looking between him and the text, inching closer to read. It was the facesheet of a dossier on Tera Jackson: birthdate, hometown, education level, allergies, Biblical violation (affair with a married man). You skimmed the document, confused as to why he’d risked both of your skins just to show you a piece of paper. Then you spotted the bottom of the page, three spaces designated to list Commander assignments. The first and only name: Armitage Hux.

“Ofarmitage,” you breathed, and gaped at Kylo. “Her name was Tera Jackson.”

He said nothing, but pushed the front page from its packet, holding it out to you. Hesitating to grab it, you gazed into his eyes. They were tired and sincere.

This was his way of apologizing. Your heart stuttered, skipped, a suffocated warmth welling in your belly. That he’d thought to do it at all was enough to fracture your resistance, but the fact that he’d done something so forbidden to demonstrate concrete proof of her identity, that he wasn’t fabricating a document to placate you, that it was his own admission that she had been a person, and she had been real--you choked on it, cheeks smothered in flames.

“Commander…” The urge to say his name lingered on your tongue; you reached for the paper--and paused. You couldn’t continue to detour down a pointless road. It would only make the inevitable more painful. You dropped your hand. “I can’t have something like this.”

“Then I’ll keep it.”

“Well.” You bit your lip, averting your gaze. “I… I don’t want it.”

“You do.” His voice was soft. “Her file will be cycled through at the end of the month. Take it.”

Frowning, you glanced between him and the paper. To deny it out of pride would be to deny Tera the chance to be remembered in tangibility--something every Handmaid, every person deserved, regardless of what they’d done to survive. You admitted that part of it was proving to yourself that you deserved it, too.

But you couldn’t take the whole page. Jaw tight, you took it from his hand, creased a line around the section with her name and birthdate and tore it free. You stuffed it into your sleeve, avoiding his eyes as you returned the rest.

Silence hung, cave crystals dripping remnants of stifled need onto your skin, small glittering droplets of iridescent understanding that stained you with shimmering agony. You ached to thank him, to tumble, broken, into his arms, to gaze intohis eyes and see yourself there, found and whole. But under Gilead, you could never have him in the ways he’d had you. And you could never be grateful to the devil for his grace.

Kylo Ren returned the folder to its shelf and stood, snuffing a sigh. “Store it in your room before your walk.”

All you did was nod.

The walk to the building and drive home was spent without words. Only twice did you sneak a glance at Kylo during the ride--the first was when he rolled the edge of the wheel against his large palm, face drawn in focus as he downshifted into a tight turn. The second was when he pulled into the driveway, the muscle under his eye fluttering and brow falling for split seconds, an acknowledgement that here was where you parted ways.

You swallowed, peeking at his hand still rested on the gearshift, then stared at your own, imagining the strength of his grip enveloping you, grounding you to something other than misery. The gentle grumble of the cooling engine died in the air.

Would a true devil place his own power at risk for the benefit of another? Perhaps it just seemed unfair that the only man who had ever made you feel sacred was the same man who’d desecrated you, too.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, and before he could think to respond, you opened the door and escaped into the house.

As you returned to your room, your hands trembled with the impending reality of your decision. A few days after Tera’s death, you’d received a message in the market from Rey and arranged for this meeting. There’d been no earlier time available--which was fine, you imagined that as one of the main women in the movement, her undercover operations were in high demand--and now that the day had arrived, you were floundering with anxiety. Certainly, some of it was the fear that you’d be implicated, too, though the Resistance seemed confident they could protect you from that.

Most of it was that despite your resolution, guilt sat like mercury in your belly, heavy and viscous. Kylo Ren deserved this--he deserved retribution, deserved whatever condemnation his future might hold.

But still you craved, as you might forever, a reality where the only condemnation he would receive was to your bed, where the rays of his future would merge with yours, coalesce in a brilliant spectrum of light, ultraviolet and perpetual. In true reality, those rays crashed ephemeral for jagged, resplendent moments--only to streak alone through the sky, parallel for eternity.

In your room, you stowed the slip of paper with Tera’s name and birthdate between the tiny crevice in your dresser where wood joined wood. In that same drawer under your spare undergarments was the switchblade, in the space you’d placed it over three weeks ago. Kylo had never come for it or sought its return. You supposed he considered it yours. Swallowing the wad of betrayal in your throat, you grabbed the knife and stuffed it up your sleeve.

After adjusting your boots and wings, you skipped down the steps and headed toward the kitchen to grab your shopping bag. When you crossed the threshold, you were met with Johana, tending to the little garden she kept above the sink. She spun at the sound of your feet, her blue eyes glowing against the stark cobalt of her dress, and she regarded you in silence, as she had for the past two weeks. You knew she was no idiot--she must have known you and the Commander were no longer speaking, but it had done nothing to thaw the frost between you this time.

“Just coming to get my bag, ” you muttered, stepping past her and toward the pantry.

“Did you--” She paused, lips tight over her teeth. “There’s an addition. To what we need today.”

You cleared your throat, forcing a smile in an attempt to be congenial. “Oh. Um. Well… I sure hope it’s not butter.”

She raised a brow. “Butter?”

“Yeah...” Your cheeks blazed with embarrassment. Why had you expected her to remember that? “I just. Forgot it. One time…”

“Ah.” Johana scanned you, releasing a sigh through her nose. “I’m sure whatever I said at that time was only half-warranted.” Her cheeks went pink, and she glanced at the wall. “Not that it matters.”

Her awkwardness was making your heart race. “Um. Yeah.” You chewed your lip. “So… the addition…”

She blinked. “Oh. Right.” Shaking her head, she stood on the tips of her toes, opening the cabinet above the stove. “I noticed we’re out of vegetable oil. Emma forgot to dictate it. So. Vegetable oil.”

“Right.” You nodded. “I’ll get it.”

“Good.” Johana considered you again, gaze traveling from your feet to your eyes, then breaking away. “Anyway.” She shifted, returning to the sink. “I suppose I’ll see you for the Ceremony in a couple nights.”

Another wave of nausea washed over you. You hoped she wouldn’t. “Yep. I… I guess so.”

“I know you might not...” She paused, and shrugged a shoulder, pruning a leaf from one of her herbs. “It’s what God wants. It’s nothing personal.”

You swallowed. “I know, Ms. Johana.”

If you remained on this subject any longer, you absolutely would throw up. Johana glanced over her shoulder, meeting your eyes--almost pitying. You bowed your head, ears hot, striding toward the front door.

“Wait--”

Johana grabbed your arm--her eyes widened, and she froze, face screwed in confusion as she squeezed you. Terror crashed through your spine. You both stood there, paralyzed, each now keenly aware of her accidental discovery of the blade inside of your sleeve. Throat closing, you didn’t dare to breathe, instead forcing your gaze from where her hand clutched you to meet her eyes.

“What is that.” Her nails pinched your forearm as she jerked you forward, surprising strength in her little body. “What is that--”

You wrenched back as she tried to dig into your dress, flailing as you tossed her off. Exhaling, you stepped away, holding your hands up in submission as she gazed at you in horror.

“Hold on!” you said. “Hold on. I’ll…” You had no other option. “I’ll show you.”

With two fingers, you slipped into your sleeve and revealed the knife, rotating it like a showpiece in a museum. Her jaw tightened, brow drawn low.

“Why do you have a switchblade?”

Your chin trembled. “For protection.”

“Protection. Sure.” She snorted, holding out her palm. “You’re not killing anyone in this house. Hand it over.”

Shaking your head, you took a step back. “No.”

Her face scrunched in anger, and she swatted for it. “Give it--”

“No!” You shielded it with your palms, raising it above your head. “I--I can’t!”

She huffed in dismissal, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean you can’t?”

Your fingers quaked, the weapon wobbling in your grip. “It’s…” You weren’t sure of what you were about to say. But you couldn’t think of a single lie that she would believe. “We staged the coup. The Commander and I. This is the one of the only things that… that proves it.”

Johana blinked, drew her hand back as she gazed at you, thoughts loud behind her eyes. Her lips parted in disbelief. “You’re working with the Resistance.”

“Yes.” You swallowed your fear. “I am.”

Breath rattled in her chest, and she stared. “You’re turning him in.”

“I am.”

Her face fell into a scowl. “Well. How--how could you?” She fumbled for the words, like they stung her tongue. “He’s… He isn’t... the most kind man, perhaps, or the most Godly--”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not Godly at all.”

“But he still deserves respect.”

“Respect? For what?”

“For being your Commander.”

You threw your hands into the air, exasperated. “Why are you defending him?” you exclaimed, stepping closer. “You deserve more than this! More than how he treats you!” As you spoke, you weren’t sure who in the room those words were actually meant for. “Help me bring him down. Work with me. We don’t have to live like this.” A pause, voice falling to a murmur, and your hand fell to your side. “We can be free.”

Johana paused, as if she had never considered the possibility, and stepped back, gaze falling. For long, motionless moments, she stared at the blade gripped in your loose fist, the fire in her pupils guttering to cold, empty desperation. A slow breath escaped her nose, her throat knocking as she swallowed. Another breath, and tears glossed her eyes--she blinked them away, pinning her lips together.

“I…”

She shivered, looking at you. For a flicker, you saw her--the woman who existed, wholived before you, before Kylo Ren, before Gilead--treading deadly water, gasping for respite. Johana’s focus drifted over your dress, then wandered to hers. Like a match, fury flashed her face, and in a swift snake movement, she snatched the blade from your hand.

“--will never betray Gilead.”

You squealed, grabbing for it, but she darted underneath you, skittering toward the hall, popping the blade free and thrusting it toward you. Her face was tight with bitter rage.

“I don’t care what happened with him. You’ve only known him for a few months,” she hissed. “I’ve been married to him for three years.” Her hand was shaking, her voice cracking like plaster. “You have no idea what I’ve endured. And I’ll be damned if you screw it up for me.”

“Johana,” you pleaded, “wait--”

“Don’t force my hand,” she said, jabbing the air. “If you even breathe another word about some Resistance nonsense, I’ll have you taken by the Eyes. I don’t care what the Commander says.” She glanced over you one final time and pushed the blade back, shoving it in her pocket before turning to leave. “And remember the vegetable oil.”

You stood, empty-handed, listening to her footsteps disappear down the hall, mind a miasma. There’d be no escape from this, now, not from this house, not from that man, not from the hovering humiliation of the Ceremony in two nights. She’d taken your only lifeline to freedom. And you somehow doubted that another one might appear.

[hopecountysfavhoe]

‘Cold’ Chapter Four

Word Count: 2,577

TW: Arguing, light whump, blood, course language, 

    They hiked in silence, neither one of them wanting to argue. The Deputy didn't say anything but she could lay on the floor in the middle of the cabin (or really just anywhere) and sleep for the next 12 hours. Her legs were shaking from the exertion and her hands were basically only being held up by her fingers being hooked in her pack's straps. Jacob could tell she was tired but he was expecting that. He would slow down for her as they walked, pretending that he was listening for something in the wind.

    The Deputy never caught onto what he was doing but she was glad that he wasn't going at full speed. She figured it was because his shoulder was hurting him. He'd covered it up with his torn winter jacket, shoving the outside flap of material inside the hole to try and seal some heat in.

    When they got to the steep hill the Deputy remembered why she'd tried to take the river. It really was a steep hill. Her breath was ragged but she pressed on, using her hands and arms as supports in the snow to pull herself up. Jacob helped by grabbing a fistful of her jacket and pulling her along with him until they reached the top.

    The Deputy accepted his help, not gladly but she was relieved that he was there. The sky was darkening and the fast wind turned into thick, slow falling snow. Massive snowflakes dotted the Deputy's vision obscuring her view of the glowing cabin lights. It was getting dark, which meant that the trail leading to the cabin was getting even harder to see. Jacob walked closer to the Deputy, looking over his shoulder to make sure she was right behind him and not going the wrong way.

    The cold was seeping through their gloves, prickling the tips of their fingers as they tried to keep their hands warm. "Look Deputy, the cabin is just right there." Jacob said and the Deputy didn't respond. She only nodded her head and kept walking.

    The last little hill before they snuck down into the small dip the house was built in seemed like the hardest one yet. The fresh snow was stacking up on top of the old snow, meaning that it was getting deeper, and when fresh snow stacks on top of old snow it gets heavier and harder to walk through. Jacob plowed ahead, his trail proved a lot easier for the Deputy to walk through seeing as most of the snow was knocked down, but she tried to make her own trail up the hill to get more traction in the snow.

    The hill couldn't have been more that 15 feet but it felt like Everest. Every time the deputy broke through the snow she got a little closer, but it took so much effort it zapped the small reserve tank of energy she'd been dipping into all day. At the peak of the hill, Jacob grabbed her under her arm, pulling her over the top of the hill. She mumbled a thank you but couldn't say much else. Jacob didn't let go of her arm until they reached the door of the cabin.

    Jacob opening the door and stepping through into the warmth of the tiny cabin was the most amazing thing the Deputy had ever felt. She stumbled over her clunky boots and peeled off her hat. Taking off her pack, jacket, and boots was like dropping a 50 pound weight off the Deputy's shoulders, it was a glorious feeling. They both got undressed down to their base layers and hung their guns on the wall, dragging their snow clothes over to the fire. The Deputy sat on the couch, her body knew that it wasn't going to be moving again soon and it was pleased. Jacob added a couple pieces of wood on to the fire and sunk into his chair.

    Jacob grabbed the medikit off the coffee table and took out some of the sterilizer he used on the Deputy's wound. He poured some onto a towel and cleaned his torn shoulder, wincing at the sharp pain.

    "Thanks for finding me. If you hadn't been there then..." The Deputy trailed off and looked over at Jacob as he dabbed the towel across his shoulder, it quickly turned red with blood. "Let me help." She said and leaned forward.

    "You can't even stand." He reminded her and the Deputy made a face.

    "Then come over here, it's the least I can do, I mean you did take on a pack of wolves for me." The Deputy motioned for Jacob to sit next to her on the couch. Jacob pondered it for a moment before deciding he had nothing to lose. He lifted himself out of the chair and picked up the medikit. He sat down on the couch, turning his back to her.

    "You're going to have to take off the shirt." The Deputy said.

    "No."

    "Then be prepared for me to accidentally stitch the fabric into your skin." The Deputy said and Jacob let out a sigh.

    "Fine." He grumbled, peeling the shirt off and raising it over his head. He held the shirt in his hands, the Deputy could feel how uncomfortable he was. The amount of scars he had shocked her. His entire back was littered with burns and healed bullet wounds. It looked like a battlefield. The Deputy realized she was staring and got a fresh towel with sterilizer.

    "You have a lot of scars." She blurted out while pressing the towel into Jacob's shoulder. There was no way to avoid touching his bare skin, not if she wanted to fix him.

    "Yeah." Jacob grumbled.

    "But you don't have any sin tattoos."

    "I don't let John anywhere near me with that fucking thing." He said, not really enjoying making this conversation. He'd already seen her tattoo, the large 'Wrath' stamped right on her chest.

    "So...he didn't force you to atone?" The Deputy asked in almost a meek voice.

    Jacob paused, glancing at his shoulder. "John may have some pull with Joseph, but I'm stronger than he is in a fight." He put simply, trying to avoid looking at the Deputy.

    "Can I have the needle and thread?" She asked, holding her hand over his shoulder. Jacob handed her the spool of thread and the needle, closing the medikit. "This is going to hurt." The Deputy warned and Jacob just breathed.

    "It's fine, don't try to be gentle." He grit his teeth and waited. The Deputy poked the thread through the needle and pushed the torn skin together with her hand. Carefully she began stitching, trying to make it look neat. It was difficult to push into Jacob's muscular shoulder but the Deputy managed.

    As she stitched, they both became silent. But Jacob broke the silence. "Why did you try to leave?" He asked her, firmly holding onto the medikit.

    "I told you, I thought I could make it."

    "You were exhausted, you could barely stand up to put wood on the fire, why would you think you could make it?" Jacob asked, the irritation in his voice becoming more prevalent as he spoke.

    The Deputy paused before continuing to stitch. "I don't know."

    "Yes you do."

    "I guess, I was scared." She said, finishing the last sitch. She cut the thread and handed him back the needle and thread. "Ointment and bandages." She asked and Jacob handed them to her.

    "What were you scared of?" He asked her. She didn't say anything because she didn't know how to respond. Cold and distant and just lie? Could she tell him the truth? She wasn't sure, and while she was busy not being sure Jacob came to the answer himself. "Were you scared of me?" He used a gentler tone, turning his head so that he could see the Deputy.

    "Maybe, I'm not really sure." The Deputy tiptoed around the real answer. Which is that she was a little scared of him. Every time she or somebody else has made him angry they usually wind up dead. So far she's been able to escape him and his anger but now she was stuck with him, alone. The Deputy didn't say anything, she only rubbed the ointment on his stitches and placed a bandage over it.

    "Do you have any Ace bandages? I don't think this bandage will be enough." The Deputy asked, studying his shoulder. Jacob stood up, walking around the couch and over to the cabinets. He pulled out a thick round of long bandages and brought them back to the couch.

    Jacob was wary of sitting down but the Deputy gave him a look that forced him too. The Deputy took the Ace bandage and wrapped his arm, being careful not to make it too tight. "There you go." She said and cut the end of the bandage with scissors.

    Jacob got off the couch, grabbing the used towels and bandage roll to bring to the cabinet. The Deputy put the supplies back in the medikit and closed it on the coffee table. She looked back out at the window, wondering if her friends would be worried about her. She was sure they were at least concerned, but part of her hoped that they wouldn't come looking for her. She had no idea how to explain this situation to them.

    Jacob appeared again, now wearing a different shirt and pants. The Deputy was already dozing off, her arms folded over her chest with her head leaning back into the couch.

    "Deputy." Jacob said her name and the Deputy jolted awake.

    "I'm up." She said, clearly not 'up'.

    "You need to eat, it'll help you get your energy back." He said and fetched another two cans of soup.

    He handed her an open can and a spoon. "I've got to ask, is this all you eat?" The Deputy asked, poking the soup with the spoon.

    "This is my emergency food. And yes, I do eat it a lot."

    "But do you enjoy it?"

    "Food is food, this can will give me the same protein anything else will." Jacob shrugged and looked back to his own can.

    The Deputy was quiet. She knew that if she pushed too hard then Jacob would most likely get upset again. But she was dying with curiosity. "Do you ever heat it up?" Jacob let out a huff and got up, taking the can from her hands. The Deputy protested until she saw what he was doing. He set the can on the rock of the fireplace, almost all the way in the fire.

    "It'll be warm in a few minutes." He stated and sat back down in his chair.

    "Oh uh, thanks." The Deputy was a little taken aback, and she didn't know how to respond. They sat in silence, Jacob eating while the Deputy watched the fire, waiting for some nice warm soup.

    "So...do you come up here often?" The Deputy asked, uncomfortable with the prolonged silence.

    "As often as I can. I haven't in a while though with you bombing all my wolf calls." He got in a dig but the Deputy let it roll off.

    "I was just wondering why you don't have a bed, I mean most old cabins have a bed." She said, getting nosy.

    Jacob motioned to the couch. "That's a bed."

    "What do you mean?"

    "It's a fold out couch, which means that it turns into a bed."

    "Then why did you sleep on that chair all of last night?" The Deputy asked, Jacob gave her an expression that said she was clearly stupid.

    "You're on the couch, I'm fine in the chair." He went back to his soup and the Deputy shook her head.

    "Tonight we're turning it into a bed." She stated and Jacob let out a stressed noise.

    "Not happening."

    "Jacob, you shouldn't have to sleep on a chair in your own cabin. We don't have to face each other, we can face the wall." The Deputy wore him down, although she really didn't know why. After all of those nights rotting in his cages maybe a couple nights on a stiff chair was what he needed.

    "You're really not going to let this go are you?" He asked, making eye contact with her as she nodded. He got out of his chair and walked back over to the fire, grabbing her soup out of the ashes. With a quick brush of his fingers the ash clinging to the can fell back into the fire. He brought the can over to the Deputy, holding it out for her to take.

    "I'll fold it out after you finish eating." He finally agreed and the Deputy accepted the soup gladly.

     "Thank you." She said and adjusted her fingers on the hot can. The metal was hot on her fingers, causing a slight burning sensation every time she squeezed it too hard. The soup was much better warm. So much better.

    When they both finished the soup, Jacob got the wobbly Deputy to stand up while he folded the couch out. Resting was dangerous as the Deputy was quick to discover, because it made her feel stronger than she actually was. But even standing for the quick five minutes it took for Jacob to move the coffee table out of the way and slide the couch back was a harsh reminder that she wasn't very recovered yet.

    Jacob moved the couch cushions and folded the couch outward. The sheets and thin cover were still on the bed, almost perfectly made. He walked over to the cabinet by the dresser and pulled out two floppy pillows. He motioned to the bed with a nod, telling the Deputy she could sit down.

    "It's a little dusty but it should get the job done." He said and set the blankets at the end of the bed.

    "Well I've slept on worse." The Deputy said, it's possible there was a small dig in their somewhere.

    When she sat on the bed it creaked loudly and dipped under her weight. She got in on the right side of the bed, prying up the tightly made sheets with her slightly jittery hands. She laid her blanket over top of her, now she'd be plenty warm all night long. Jacob got in on the left side of the bed, slipping off his boots before pulling the covers over him. He gave the sheets a quick kick upwards, freeing them from the folded corner so that they didn't press against his feet.

    "Let's go to bed now," Jacob said, "and actually go to sleep. This ain't a sleepover so no talking." He looked over at the Deputy who nodded and rolled away from him. He laid his arms on his stomach and closed his eyes. He wasn't quick to fall asleep though, he waited until the Deputy's breathing evened out and fell asleep.

    He rubbed a hand over his face, pressing his fingers into the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. That Deputy was infuriating, with the soup and with the bed, but he guessed she was right. The soup is better warmed and the bed was much more comfortable than the chair but still the suggestions came from her, so it was infuriating. Eventually Jacob fell asleep, still in the same position as when he laid down.

[feelin-woozy]

ALL OF THE FLOWERS! 🌸

Alisons: Sexuality?

Queer

Amaranth: Pronouns/Gender?

He/They, nb

Baby’s Breath: Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

Eeeh, no but I probably still will lmao

Balsam Fir: Have you ever been in love?

Yes

Baneberries: Favorite song?

uhh, lately Berkshire Cunt

Basket of Gold: Describe your family.

Typical nuclear family

Beebalm: Do you have a best friend? Who is it?

@majuulian and my boy Alex but Im nut gunna link his tumblr bc idk if he wants that lmao

Begonia: Favorite color?

Azure and reds

Bellflower: Favorite animal?

Cats

Bergenia: Are you a morning or night person?

Night person

Black-Eyed Susan: If you could be any animal for a day, what would it be?

Cat

Bloodroots: When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?

I don’t really remember

Bluemink: What are your thoughts on children?

They’re cute but probably not for me

Blazing Stars: What are you afraid of? Is there a reason why?

Disappointing my parents

Borage: Give a random fact about your childhood.

I used to hide under tables a lot as a kid

Bugleherb: How would you spend your last day on Earth?  

Getting drunk and listening to good music, hopefully surrounded by good company

Buttercup: Relationship Status?

Single

Camelia: If you could visit anywhere, where would you want to go?

Germany

Candytufts: When do you feel most loved?

Have you ever had someone watch you absently with a small smile as you do something?

Canna: Do you have any tattoos?  

Three

Canterbury Bells: Do you have any piercings?  

Eight

California Poppy: Height?  

5′8

Cardinal Flower: Do you believe in ghosts?

I don’t not believe in them

Carnation: What are you currently wearing?  

Shorts

Catnip: Have you ever slept with a nightlight?

Yes

Chives: Who was the last person you hugged?  

I think Alayna??

Chrysanthemum: Who’s the last person you kissed?

My ex

Cock’s Comb: Favorite font?

Anything cursive

Columbine: Are you tired?

Very

Common Boneset: What are you looking forward to?

Uhh,,, I get to see Pup soon and I’m pretty stoked for that

Coneflower: Dream job?

Psychnurse

Crane’s-Bill: Introvert or extrovert?

Introvert

Crocus: Have you ever been in love?

Yes

Crown Imperial: What’s the farthest you would go for someone you care about?

As long as I’m not doing something that hurts myself physically and or mentally then pretty far

Cyclamen: Did you have a favorite stuffed animal as a child? What was it?

Big doggo

Daffodil: What’s your zodiac sign?

Virgo

Dahlia: Have you done anything worth remembering?

Absolutely, but I don’t really want to talk abt my shenanigans online for the masses

Daisy: What do you feel is your greatest accomplishment?

My vests lmao

Daylily: What would you do if your parents didn’t like your partner(s)?  

They haven’t liked a few of them but hey, hasn’t stopped me lmao. It also depends on WHY they don’t like them though

Dendrobium: Who is the last person that you said “I love you” to?

Josh i think??

Gardenia: Are you happy with where you’re at in your life?

Not particularly

Gladiolus: What is something you hope to do in the next year or two?

Have my shit together

Glory-of-the-Snow: What are ten things that make you happy/you’re grateful to have in your life?

My friends, family, music, cats, 

Heliotropium: What helps you calm down when you feel stressed?  

Weed

Hellebore: How do you show affection?

Light bullying

Hoary Stock: What are you proudest of?

My vests

Hollyhock: Describe your ideal day.

Uhh, just chilling with friends maybe having a few drinks and laughing till your sides hurt

Hyacinth: What do you like to do in your free time?  

I play video games and listen to podcasts

Hydrangea: How long have you known your best friend? How did you meet them?

I’ve known my buddy Erika for like a decade and a half, we met in school.

Irises: Who can you talk to about (almost) everything?

Josh

Laceleaf: How many friends do you have?

Like 10 maybe

Lantanas: What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?

You remind me of David Bowie

Larkspur: What do you think of yourself?

I’m kinda a piece of shit lmao

Lavender: What’s your favorite thing about yourself?

My aesthetic

Leather Flower: What’s your least favorite thing about yourself?  

I’m lazy

Lilac: What’s something you liked to do as a child?

Watch my mum play world of warcraft

Lily: Who was your best friend when you were a kid?

Erika

Lily of the Incas: What is something you still feel guilty for?

Nothing I care 2 share

Lily of the Nile: What is something you feel guilty for that you shouldn’t feel guilty about?  

A lot of things lmfao

Lupine: What does your name mean? Why is that your name?

Victory of the people, because that’s what my mum picked out

Marigold: Where did you grow up? Tell us about it.

I grew up in Vancouver, I had a really typical childhood and I’m not sure what else to say of it. Just very basic.

Morning Glory: What was your bedroom like growing up?

Wall to wall in posters

Mugworts: What was it like for you as a teenager? Did you enjoy your teenage years?  

I don’t remember much of it lmao. I was a very very angry teenager and I was sad all the time. I was just a very volatile person and not really the kinda person you want in your life lmao.

Norwegian Angelica: Tell us about your mom.

She’s my bestfriend!!! I love her so much and would literally kill someone for her

Onions: Tell about your dad.  

He’s kinda an asshole but I really love him and value his opinions on things lmao.

Orchid: Tell about your grandparents.

My grandparents are,, complicated lmao. They’re fine all things considered though. My maternal grandma is the bomb.

Pansy: What was your most memorable birthday? What made it be so memorable?

I saw Brand New one year on my birthday, that was really great.

Peony: What was your first job?

Kentucky fried shithole

Petunia: If you’re in a relationship, how did you meet your partner(s)? If you’re not in a relationship, how did you meet your crush/how do you hope to meet your future partner(s), if you want any?

Ill probably meet my next partner on a dating app lmao.

Pincushion: How do you deal with pain?

Couple tynelols and move on

Pink: Where is home?

With people who make you laugh till your sides hurt and have your back through thick and thin

Plantain Lilies: If you could go back in time, what is one thing you would stop/change?

Uhh, I’d probably try and get my shit together sooner in life.

Prairie Gentian: Who is someone you look up to? Describe them.

Takes no shit 

Primrose: Describe your ideal life.

I’d like to live in the forest away from people with some animals and a partner

Rhodendron: What is something you used to believe in as a child?

Santa, tooth fairy etc.

Ricinus: Who’s the most important in your life?

My parents

Rose: What’s your favorite sound?

I love the sound of rain also the kill bill siren

Rosemallows: What’s your favorite memory?

Currently, Punk in drublic

Sage: What’s your least favorite memory?

Idk I’ve done a lot of shitty things lmao

Snapdragon: At this moment, what do you want?  

Some chocolate milk would be rad

St. John’s Wort: Is it easy or difficult for you to express how you feel about things?

Very easy, I’ve done like 6 years of therapy. I’m a fucking pro at this lmfao

Sunflower: What is something you don’t want to imagine life without?

Music

Sweet Pea: How much sleep did you get last night?

Like 7 hours?

Tickseed: What’s your main reason to get up every morning?

Life doesn’t stop for no one. Don’t wanna get steamrolled by it.

Touch-Me-Not: How do you feel about your current job?

I fucking hate it

Transvaal Daisy: What’s your favorite item of clothing?

My vests

Tropical White Morning Glory: Describe your aesthetic.  

Goth/punk slut

Tulip: What would be the best present to get you?

Idk I like weird things, one of my ex boyfriends bought me a bunch of taxidermy for my birthday and that’s been the best gift I’ve gotten to date

Vervain: What’s stressing you out most right now?

Life in general

Wisteria: How many books have you read in the past few months? What were they called?

I don’t read too much but I have read The Last Wish by Andrzej Sapkowski

Wolf’s Bane: Where do you want to be in life this time next year?

Uhh hopefully less stressed out 

Zinnia: Give a random fact about yourself.

I’m double jointed and it really freaks people out

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 1

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: There’s also Y/N’s best friend, who is a love interest for Roger Taylor; if there’s interest, I could write sections from her POV This will be an on-going fic. I’ll try to update weekly, if not more frequently. Message me with anything. Always willing to chat.

Warnings: swearing, drinking, self-esteem issues(?) fluff for days! Later, it will get steamy AF.

Abstract: Your best friend meets Roger Taylor at a club, and he invites her (and you) to a Queen party.

“You’ll never guess who I met!” Your best friend, Lydia, screeched. Running into your bedroom.

You sat at your piano. You had been under pressure to learn a rather difficult Liszt piece for your senior showcase. Your showcase, you knew, would be one of the most important days of your life; agents and scouts from symphonies, touring companies, theaters, clubs from all around Europe would be there seeking the next big star, the next virtuoso to join their ranks. You were humble, but very gifted in music. And you always had been. Music came as easily to you as dreaming did to others. Music was your life, and Lydia knew it was only a matter of time before you hit it big and became somebody.

You had been practicing like an obsessed shut-in for weeks. Lydia kept trying to pull you away from your “hermit cave,” as she had taken to calling it. She’d rush in and interrupt your work. You loved her and had been friends for years, but your lives were taking you in different directions and you hoped you’d both find a way to maintain your closeness even if you were separated by great distances. She’d erupt into your room, and you’d be absorbed in your music, the rhythms, the sounds; playing scores, you’d teleport to places you’d never been, times you’d never seen, you’d feel everything the musician had put into his or her works. You came alive, you became irresistible, incandescent. However, since you were so caught up in the moment when you played, this was never anything you knew, or experienced or saw for yourself. Your piano your solace away from the world.

“Hello!? Y/N, can you hear me?” Lydia waved a hand in front of your face.

“Sorry, yes. What did you say?” You sounded far away even to yourself. You saw a crease appear in Lydia's forehead, half-concern, half-irritation. You took a breath and painted a smile on your understatedly beautiful face. Taking your glasses off, you said, “I’m sorry I’ve been so preoccupied lately. I want to make it up to you.” You reached out and touched Lydia's shoulder to hammer the point home. The flowery, flowy shirt under your hands slipped out of your grasp as she took your hand in hers.

“I met someone tonight.” Lydia squeezed your hand to make sure you were really all there.

“Oh?” You had never seen Lydia like this before. Upon closer inspection, you noticed she was flushed, jittery, and unequivocally giddy. “What’s going on?”

“He’s a certain blond rock-god.”

“Get out of here!” You took your hand out of Lydia’s with a laugh, and turned back to your piano. Your friend had pulled this prank many times before. She was into Roger Taylor like most people were into skydiving; everything for her was an extreme sport, she never half-assed anything. It was one of the things you liked most about her; she was all passion and she had the confidence to be loud about it. You wished you had her effortless peacock-esque flare, her showy charm, and, god, she had the best hair of anyone you had ever met: wheat-colored, falling to her waist in easy beach waves. Your own hair was coarse, stubborn, thick and black like the music notes you scanned continuously.

“Y/N! I’m serious! I met Roger Taylor at a club tonight! Queen is back and he invited me to a party tomorrow night! You have to come with me! Please?”

You searched your friend’s face for a sign of duplicity, and to your surprise and delight, found none. “Okay...you’re telling me you ran into Roger Taylor at a club and he invited you to a party tomorrow night?”

“Yes!”

You knew you should stay home and practice this etude, but the allure of a celebrity party called you, and you knew you weren’t powerful enough to ignore the siren call of the most talented musicians rock ‘n roll had to offer.

“Roger. Taylor.” You smirked.

“Roger fucking Taylor.” Lydia grinned at you. You stared at each other, both starting to giggle at the absurdity of it all.

“I’ll go with you,” you smiled up at your friend, “though I have no idea how we are going to pick what to wear with only a day’s notice!”

“I know, right?!”

“What was he like? Roger?” You asked, making your way to the closet.

“Shameless flirt. Great style, though. He had this hat on, ugh I swear! the hat alone made me pregnant.” Lydia’s laugh gonged around the room.

“Was he alone?” You tried to sound as innocently nonchalant as possible, but Lydia knew you well enough to know what you were getting at; she never let you get away with anything. You saw the steely glint in her eyes and knew what was coming.

“Don’t you mean, ‘was a certain bassist there?’”

You instantly blushed a deep crimson, the same color as the t-shirt you were wearing. You hid your head in your hands and groaned loudly. Your head crashed onto the keys of the piano, and a clanging chord rang out sympathetically, as if your piano knew your embarrassment, too. You had a certain weak spot for John Deacon; Lydia always said the best friends had different tastes in potential partners. If you had different tastes, you’d never fight over who got someone, who saw whom first, who had a claim. In this respect, your friendship was sheer perfection.

“He wasn’t there, but Roger did say something like ‘If you come to this party, I’ll be able to show you off to the band--beauty like yours should be shared’ or something like that anyway.” She tried to sound casual.

“Roger Taylor said that to you?” You looked at Lydia, in a blouse and jeans, she was glistening. Not even a stitch of makeup on her face, and the most famous drummer in the world was smitten with her. What hope did you have of being noticed, you wondered? You frowned, looking down at the familiar keys.

Lydia read some of this in your face and sat next to you. “Y/N, you know you’re gorgeous. I know--before you start--I know you think I’m supposed to say that because I’m your friend. But you know I don’t just say things to please anyone. I’m just not made that way, I’m too honest. You’re beautiful. I know you don’t always believe it. I hope you do someday. Or at the very least, that you’d trust your best friend wouldn’t lie to you. We’ve known each other forever. You’re the most talented person I know; you never had to work hard at school, you’ve always been able to do whatever you put your mind to, you can play any instrument you pick up. You are so worth knowing and loving. That, and you’re the sneakiest person I know, with the most uncanny wit.”

“So, I have a great personality? I’m the great personality girl?” You asked, with a sarcastic smile.

“You know what I mean! I’m just a pretty face,” Lydia said, “and that’s all I’ll ever be; you have a pretty face and a brain; you’re lucky.”

This is why you kept Lydia around; she was selflessly loyal, and always knew what to say to trick you out of an emotional black hole. She didn’t think much of her mind, but only someone truly keen could weave together words into self-confidence. “Come on, let’s pick out options for tomorrow night.” You hugged her tight, and you knew she was satisfied.

***

You settled, with help, on an olive-green dress, the same color as your eyes. It wrapped around your body, highlighting your waist, and your hourglass curves. You didn’t yet understand the kind of power your body had over people; you felt out of proportion constantly, too short to have your sweet ass and flashy chest. You’d have to buy shirts that were too large, pants that were too baggy, too long because they just didn’t make close for shorter people that weren’t shaped like teenage boys. And a teenage boy, you weren’t! You had the body to prove it. You always looked a little under-tailored because of it, a little accidentally shabby. This dress, however, was a rare exception in your closet. It created a great V-neck to expose just a pleasant hint of your breasts, and did little to obscure the geography of your round ass. Your arms, you were secure with more than any other part of your body; from hours at the piano, holding your arms up, they were toned and tattooed. The sleeves of the wrap-dress covered the colorful art and words you had painstakingly chosen for yourself. You felt incognito when you hid the tattoos, like you always had a secret up your sleeve, an extra card to play, a slight mystique to add to the atmosphere most people never expected to come from a self-confessed nerd like you. You adjusted your large glasses, and reapplied your lip-gloss. Looking in the mirror you adjusted your bangs, squeezing clumps of your hair to make the natural ringlets sing. You had added to the outfit, at your instance, black spangled tights, and black heeled oxfords. Maybe a little dated, but they made you feel good, and that’s what mattered most. You checked your light makeup, glitter-blush and thin foundation was all you felt inclined to do. Lydia said she’d help you do more, but you refused; if you had to change who you were to impress someone, they weren’t worth it.

Lydia came around the corner and poked her head in the doorway, “You ready?” She was wearing a dark red dress that kissed her body to the floor. She was fully clothed but looked naked at the same time; she was a true diva and you had no idea how she did it. All silk and lush hues, she was ready to stop anyone and everyone dead in their tracks. Her hair was half up on her head in a way that looked planed and like a happy accident simultaneously. Her lips, full of daring, were lacquered cherry-red. She had a gold chain around her neck, dropping to her navel; she could have been a movie star.

You looked at yourself in the mirror again, your dress seemed demure by comparison now, and you were second-guessing everything. Was a high-low wrap dress the way to go to a Queen party? Was the color terrible? Was going at all a mistake? You twisted the large statement ring on your finger.

“Y/N?! You look stunning! Perfectly engineered to destroy any room you step into.”

You sighed, “Okay, you’re right; Let’s do this, or I never will.”

Lydia waved down a taxi. She told the driver the address Roger had given her, and off you went. The taxi sped along the night, and you wished the anticipation of arriving could last forever. The going to a party was almost as exciting as the arriving at the party itself. The feeling of possibility, of not knowing what was to come, and yet knowing anything could happen was intoxicating. You felt a shiver run up your spine. You were happy to be here with your best friend on the edge of limitless opportunities. Eventually, the taxi stopped and you paid the fee.

You and Lydia left the taxi and approached the door, and a man stood outside; he had the unmistakable air of security. He scrutinized you and Lydia. “Names?” He asked, lazily. You noticed he had list with him, and suddenly worried if you’d be allowed in or not.

“Lydia Taylor,” your friend said, not missing a beat.

The guard laughed to himself.

“Hey, wishful thinking pays off, mister.” Lydia flipped her hair, and you knew the guard was under her spell, too. “Lydia Wesmor, and I brought my friend with me. Y/N L/N,” she hooked elbows with you.

“Well, Lydia Taylor and Y/N, enjoy yourselves.” He gave you a slight smile and stepped aside.

As you and Lydia entered the vast townhouse, you saw glimpses of room after room decorated in splendor and--well, if classy ostentation exists, it somehow does in this space. High ceilings, rich window hangings, art adorned the walls, and sculptures, too many to count, and probably priceless in worth, decorated the rooms in view. Balloons and streamers cascaded floor to ceiling over a large, full bar, manned by a pleasant-looking man with a safe-looking disposition and mustache. One wall had a largest in-home aquarium you’d ever seen. One room, had large bookshelves with black and white photos on the walls. Every room you peaked snippets of had healthy plants, clearly lovingly cared for by the owner. And those were only the rooms you could see from the main one you entered into. More rooms were blocked by people, costumed and coiffed to perfection. You felt like you had stepped into a dream, and you never wanted it to end. For a brief moment you had to remind yourself this was real, and happening to you.

One room had a fantastic grand piano, and you felt your heart being pulled towards it, but you didn’t want to lose sight of Lydia, who was heading for the bar. So, you turned, and followed her, pushing past people lightly to keep pace.

“Lydia, have you ever seen a place like this? It’s like Valhalla!”

The man at the bar smiled.

“Can you speak English please, Y/N?” Lydia laughed with you; she wasn’t as well-read as you, but there was just no other way to describe this wonderful party unfolding before your eyes.

“It’s magical. Truly majestic.”

“Now, that I’ll agree to.” Lydia smiled at the man at the bar. “Could we have two appletinis and one Roger Taylor?” She added a wink.

“If I were straight, I wouldn’t even let him near you; I’d whisk you away myself.” The man said matter-of-factly.

“Ooh, you’re definitely a catch! I’m Lydia--the soon-to-be wife of Roger Taylor.”

“Does he know yet?” the man asked, mixing your drinks.

“No, but he will.”

“I’m Jim,” he grinned at Lydia, laughing at her tenacity, and then he looked at you. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Jim.”

“You’re right about the house.” He said, “We will have to give you the full tour later, as host--well, one of the hosts--it’s my duty to make sure someone as appreciative and scrumptious as you gets the full experience.” He passed you your drinks. Normally, this kind of attention made you nervous, but from Jim, it was so well-meaning, so genuine, you found yourself thinking whoever had partnered with him could only be the luckiest man on earth.

“That’d be great!” You liked Jim instantly; he was easy to talk to, kind-eyed, and, after a sip of your drink, knew he could make a killer cocktail.

“So, divide and conquer?” Lydia asked.

You felt comfortable with Jim, and knew if you wanted to pass the entire party here, chatting with him, you’d have an enjoyable time; you nodded at Lydia, “Yeah, you go on; I’ll be fine here, and I’m sure I’ll get braver with this,” you waved your cocktail in your hand like a conductor, “I’ll get brave enough to explore and mingle.”

“Okay; be safe.” Lydia pressed her hand to yours briefly, and slinked away, a woman on a mission.

You watched her go, and before you could turn back to Jim, across the room, you saw him. John Deacon.

You locked eyes with him, and just like that, you forgot how to breathe.

What you didn’t know, was that he forgot how to breathe, too.

[hereticpriest]

Lost Stars Part 1

Post John Wick 3: Parabellum. 

SPOILERS

@lvngdvns

“We can’t do this by ourselves.”

“I don’t intend on it.” The Bowery King stands tall despite his injuries, looking down on John Wick, the boogeyman, somehow still alive. Maybe it’s skill, or dumb luck, or perhaps he’s just too damn stubborn to die. Either way, he’s alive, and the Bowery King intends on making use of him in this fight for revenge. Him, and his connections.

“Aurelio gave this to me. She gave it to him at her father’s funeral. He gave it to me just before you went excommunicado. She designs weapons now. She left the business ages ago, but she stays in through a third party to keep selling her designs.”

The envelope he holds is old school, wax sealed, with words written on the front in bold, red script.

When John does something stupid, open me

John tenses, taking the envelope from him and carefully opening it. Inside is a piece of cardstock with an address written on it, a key with a number on it, and a pass to enter a storage facility. There is no personalized letter, no signature. To anyone else, it might even appear emotionless. However, John knows the truth. John could see that the action itself was the emotion. This was a woman with whom he had had a toxic relationship, and since he had left her, he had killed her brother and her father. After Viggo’s funeral, he received a letter stating her intention to avoid any sort of feud. Giving him condolences, expressing she's glad he got to experience Helen's love and hopes he appreciates how much of a gift that was, and saying she hopes he finds peace after this. The letter was without return address, or any evidence of where it came from.

There had always been a space in his heart that she had lived in, and that she would never leave. She was the first woman he ever felt for, though he hadn’t realized it was love until it was far too late. He hadn’t had a chance to go looking for her since he received the letter, and he wasn’t sure how welcome he would be if he did. But now? Her reaching out with this olive branch was a good sign at very least.

With her, this might even be possible.

Mischa Tarasov, the eldest of the Tarasov children, had always been everything her father wished. She was brilliant, with a keen mind for business, strategy and tactical defense. She was charming, a brilliant liar, and able to think on her feet. She spoke multiple languages, had been tutored in tactics since she was a child, and had been taught varying forms of self-defence since she was a toddler. Ballet, gymnastics and acrobatics had rounded out her training, giving her versatility and instilling an almost unhealthy work ethic in her. She was everything her brother wasn’t; driven, focused, able to lead or follow in any given situation. Mischa could take a punch, could endure torture, and could inflict it effectively. She was everything that Viggo wanted, and she had loved her brother with all of her heart despite his rampant stupidity and short-sightedness.

When she left the Russian mob, it was not because she didn’t love her family. She left the life because she wanted to be Mischa instead of Mischa Tarasov. That began with continuing her ballet training, leading her to find an apartment of her own. She got a roommate to help keep herself afloat, despite the money she had. She wanted to save it, in case of emergency. Which is how she met Mallory, and by extension, Duncan. Mallory was everything Mischa could have wanted from a roommate, and her boyfriend Duncan was just as amazing. Of course, that was after Mischa had a serious conversation with Duncan about knowing he was the Black Kaiser and how she knew how to kill him if he hurt Mallory. Mischa struggled with relationships, primarily because she didn’t want attachments, and because she didn’t trust easily.

Mallory frequently found herself concerned with Mischa’s stress level, and that led to her badgering her constantly. Which led to Duncan intervening on Mischa’s behalf. That led to Mallory and Duncan catching each other admiring Mischa’s ass as she bent to pick up some clothes from the floor in her room while wearing a sundress that barely covered her. After a frank conversation, Mal and Duncan agreed to approach Mischa separately before going together.

One night while Duncan was out of town, Mallory approached Mischa while she was bathing after ballet practice. She started easy, rubbing Mischa’s ankles and calves, then moving up to rub her shoulders. Mischa questioned it soon enough, and Mal assured her that Duncan was okay with this. Mischa leaned into her touch after that, dragging Mal into the bath with her without much more thought to it. Mal ended up taking the lead, and after fingering Mischa in the bath for a bit, the girls ended up in Mallory’s bed. Mal tugged Mischa into a top-and-tail position, giving her little chance to breathe before she began to work her open with her fingers.

It took a couple of days before Mallory was off overnight for work, and before she left, she stole a couple of kisses from Duncan and told him to have fun. Mischa overheard that from the kitchen and furrowed her brows, cracking open a beer. Just over an hour later, Duncan had Mischa lazily slumped against him while they watched a film, playing with her hair. He was hard from anticipation, and he didn’t see much point in dancing around the point, so he gently tilted her head back so she was looking at him.

“Ya hotela tebya ves’ den’.” Duncan murmured, watching Mischa’s pupils dilate and her lips part. (Translation: I’ve wanted you all day)

“Duncan… Mallory-“

“She knows. She wants it. Just like I wanted her to play with you.” Duncan promised, skimming his hands over her hips. When Mischa nodded, he lifted her easily, setting her on the kitchen table. Once her jeans were off, he pulled her underwear to the side and slipped on a condom, then began to slowly press into her. By the time Mallory returned the following morning, Mischa was blissed out in bed with bruises covering her hips and thighs while Duncan sleepily made breakfast. It became a thing after that. Odd as it may sound, Mischa became a part of their relationship. If Mallory or Duncan were gone, the other would usually turn to Mischa for affection. When they were together, Mischa was a bit of an outlet for both of them. All the while Mischa was able to get the affection and sex that she needed while never feeling trapped by the relationship.

Duncan told Mallory about his background, so Mischa came clean as well. Duncan helped Mischa get some contact with the underground again and assisted her with transporting her designs and retrieving payment. When Mallory decided to move in with Duncan, Mischa was sad to lose her roommate, but the pair invited her to live with them not long after. Their triad was comfortable, and there wasn’t much point in separating if they didn’t have a reason.

It continued like this for some time. Mallory and Duncan comforted her when John got married, though she absolutely refused to admit she cared. Mallory insisted she had stunted emotional growth, but Duncan would just remind her how Mischa grew up and it would once again become clear why. The day after the wedding, Mischa admitted she was happy for John, as he finally would get to experience a life on the outside. To love, and be loved, as he deserved. It hurt, but Mischa was used to pain and had enough distance from John to adjust quickly.

Learning of his wife’s death was difficult, and the events that followed regarding her brother and father made her want to lash out, but she wasn’t sure if she was more upset with John or her own family. In the end, she stayed out of it and simply waited until she got the call from Uncle Abram through Duncan to assist with the funerals. She was paid out her entire inheritance, as well as Iosef’s, and she put them in the bank, then gave Aurelio a letter at the funeral and went home. She didn’t leave her room for a week after the funerals, and once she came out, it was to go to an appointment for tattoos.

She had a collection of mob related tattoos, including 8-point stars just below her collarbones and an intricate cross on her ribs. Tarasov was tattooed on her shoulder blades in big letters, and she had a lioness rampant on her lower back on the left side. After her latest appointment, she returned with a tattoo of Iosef’s birthday on her wrist, Viggo’s name on the inside of her upper right arm, and two Xs behind her right ear. MS and DV had been tattooed behind her left ear for years, one of her only non-mob related tattoos. She also carried John’s initials carved into her inner thigh from when she had been his.

After getting her tattoos, Mischa readjusted to normal life in the healthiest way she could – by getting Duncan and Mallory to hurt her. Duncan taught Mallory how to use Mischa’s stiletto knife to cut lines into her hips that would heal with minimal to no scarring. He helped Mallory tie Mischa into intricate poses that strained her muscles even with her ballet training, and left her in them until she tapped out or he decided that any more would do serious damage. Usually the latter, considering the stubborn set of Mischa’s chin. Duncan fucked her hard enough to make every movement ache, and Mal helped force her to cum over and over again until she begged them to stop. Mallory practiced asphyxiation under Duncan’s watchful eye, and the two spent a day edging Mischa until she sobbed, broken and defeated. After five days of this with only the most basic aftercare allowed by the stubborn Russian woman, Mischa clutched the two of them to her and allowed them in. They showered her in love, each in their own unique ways, and things finally went back to normal.

They stayed good for a while, until Mischa’s phone dinged one day with an alert telling her that someone had just entered her emergency storage shed. 

She lays behind Mallory, curled around her while she laid half on Duncan, watching the security cameras to catch a glimpse of John. The pang she felt when she saw him again showed on her face, clearly, because Mallory steals her phone to take a look. She sighs.

“You weren’t kidding, Misch. He’s handsome.”

Duncan chuckles, leaning over to look despite knowing full well what John Wick looks like. They watch as he searches through the storage shed, finding each hidden shelf and drawer like they were labelled for him. She supposed in a way they were, since he had shown her a lot of the techniques she had used. After finding the address she had left for him for their new home, he uses one of the bags she’d left to load up on weapons, ammo, body armour and gold coins, then grabs the bag of essentials she’d left under her desk and heads out.

“He won’t take long to get here.” Mischa informs them quietly, looking unsure of whether she was happy or sad about that, “I won’t drag you guys into this, I promise. I don’t know if I’ll see you again, but my will is under the floorboards in my room. It’s valid, but someone might try to change the contents, so I’ll leave you guys with the original copy.”

“Mischa, stop it.” Mallory insists, snuggling closer to her.

“No, Mal, I’m serious. There’s every chance I won’t come back. I’m going to try not to die, but I can’t promise I won’t.” Mischa looks up at Duncan, and he sighs softly, leaning over to kiss her passionately. It is a goodbye kiss, and Mischa loves him for giving that to her. Just in case.

Mallory notices the energy in the room, and after a moment of observing Duncan, she pins Mischa to the bed and kisses her hard. It is its own kind of goodbye kiss – the kind of kiss you give someone instead of saying ‘damn you for leaving’. Mischa presses her forehead against Mal’s once they part, just breathing her in and enjoying her last hours with them.

“Look after her, Duncan. If you guys have kids, you better name it after me.” Mischa teases, smiling at Duncan’s snort. She snuggles in between them, relishing in their affection while she still has it. Soaking it in like warmth on a cold night.

Neither of them ask if she really has to go. They know the answer.

[fantasticworldoffanfics]

PETER/STILES

                                              ——— (part 1) ——–​

Fandom: TeenWolf

Just an extended must read list of awesome fanfics that is in no particular order :) …

top favourites, more top favourites

Call My Name

Author: KouriArashi

Summary: After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Sympathy For The Devil

Author: KouriArashi

Summary: Stiles gets a job as a hospital orderly and finds himself becoming strangely attached to the catatonic man on the long-term care ward, and finds out that there's a lot more to Peter Hale than there seems...

Best of Breed

Author: SomeoneUseStiles (orphan_account)

Summary: Peter invites a few others over to play with his puppy.

Sometimes Breaking and Entering Isn’t Always A Bad Thing

Author: synfulshark

Summary: "I really want an 'I accidentally broke into your house/apartment because my friend lives next door to you and I was in the area, drunk and I thought I was climbing into the right window and feel asleep on the couch [and I did wonder where my friend got two cats but didn't question it] so now I'm hung over and shirtless in your living room so hi howya doin?" au." off a picture I saw on facebook.

Yours

Author: mamasita13

Summary: Peter Hale's claiming bite triggers Stile's memory of his bound Spark.

Irresistible Series

Author: ladypigswagon

Part 1: Too Many War Wounds, But Not Enough Wars

Summaru: The Nematon is dying. The once bountiful tree is withering, a husk of it’s former glory. It’s skeletal, shrunken and wilted and no one knows how to fix it. It’s supposed to be the height of summer but you wouldn’t know it. The Nematon isn’t the only tree that’s falling apart. Peter folds his arms. His eyes narrow as Jennifer, the emissary from Kali’s pack, tries to communicate with the sentient tree. She’s waving her arms around and chanting but so far all she’s managed to do is look like a complete imbecile. She’s the sixth emissary in as many months and still the tree decays.

Part 2: Too Few Rounds In the Rings And Not Enough Settles

Summary: It’s dark in the void. Sometimes he feels like a shadow suspended on dust. Sometimes he feels like he’s floating through space, detached and weightless. Sometimes it feels as if he’s lying on the surface of a lake, being slowly spun around by gentle waves.Always, he feels cold.It’s the kind of chill that seeps through the skin, permeating the bones. It hollows him out, leaving him empty.The void is dark and cold and he floats through it. If he’s lucky, he’ll become so numb that he won’t feel it when the blood starts dripping. It starts with a few drops, usually on his forehead.Series

Surprising, Unplanned, and Wonderful

Author: RebaK1tten

Summary: Stiles is an omega happy with his gender and looking to court the right alpha and be courted back. Three guesses who the right alpha is.

Five Times Stiles Pulled One from the Oven

Author: Guede

Summary: Five times Stiles’ baking changed the course of history in Beacon Hills (and one time somebody stepped up for him). Or, Stiles Stilinski: Baking is Magic!

Ink and Incense

Author: TriscuitsandSoup

Summary: Peters neighbor is afraid of needles, and Peter thinks he's just cute enough to terrorize. It sounds darker than it is.“What is that boy doing?” Peter looked up from his art and glanced at the window. His pretty, pale, neighbor was attempting to cross the street. He wasn't having much luck with his hands covering his eyes. He'd gotten himself stuck in the middle of the road, with cars passing by on either side. Still, he refused to drop his hands.

Cats and Dogs Series

Author: Guede

Part 1: The Truth About Cats and Dogs

Summary: Scott’s a werewolf, Stiles is a werecat, and they’ve always gotten along perfectly fine.Derek doesn’t get this at all. (Peter does, but he’s dealing with Stiles, which is different from dealing with a werecat, and Chris just wishes he didn’t have to deal, period.)

Part 2: The Secret Lives of Cats and Dogs

Summary: Peter and Stiles want to buy a condo, but they’re facing three other bidders. Peter refuses to accept this. (What does this have to do with cats and dogs? Well, if Peter has a pack of werewolves and a pride of werecats at his disposal, do you really think he won’t go there?)

Peter and the Wolf

Author: Guede

Summary: Peter Hale, thirty-four, shady but successful human lawyer, knocks on his nephew Derek’s door one night because he’s just been bitten by a werewolf. Somehow, this ends up being a lot more awkward than one would expect.

Everything’s Not Lost

Author: jumpinmattflash

Summary: Peter tries to rebuild his life to what it was before the fire. A life that includes his nephew, a pack and one, Stiles Stilinski.

You’re Mine

Author: lannisnow

Summary: Stiles is werewolf catnip. Season 1 AU where Peter is still the Alpha and he is sure that Stiles is his, and where Stiles wants nothing more than to prove him wrong.

These Hands That Shape and Hold The World

Author: Elpie (Horribibble)

Summary: Before he inked his first tattoo, Stiles Stilinski had filled a dozen sketchbooks. Before he knew what he wanted to do with his life, Stiles Stilinski had a kid to take care of. Before he threw in the towel completely, Stiles Stilinski met Peter Hale.

Sugar Town

Author: septima_sum

Summary: Stiles might have accidentally acquired a sugar daddy.

I Could…

Author: Julibean19

Summary: Stiles froze. He knew that voice. The way it said his name. He was immediately brought back to a dark parking garage, sharp claws biting into his neck, red eyes flashing, and a jaw practically unhinging to swallow him whole. A shiver ran down his spine as he finally placed it.The man in the shower was Peter Hale.What business did Peter Hale have with Stiles? Why was he laying out Stiles’ clothes and making him healthy lunches? Why did Stiles wake up wrapped in his 20,000 thread count sheets with a wedding ring on his finger? What was happening?

Full Advantage

Author: RisingQueen2 (FallenQueen2)

Summary: When Stiles was hit with a wayward spell during a battle with a witch, he seems fine until he falls unconscious when getting into his jeep. Peter decides to take him home with him, the effects of the spell kick in when Stiles wakes up and they take full advantage

Absolution

Author: kiranightshade

Summary: Absolution: the act of forgiving someone for having done something wrong or sinful.

He Killed Me with His Touch

Author: Sterekloverforever (Noelleluvsya)

Summary: Ever since Peter became an Alpha again, he hasn't cared about anything except getting more power. That's until lovely, sweet, innocent Stiles comes along with his enticing scent and changes everything he thought he wanted

Aftermath

Author: cywscross

Summary: They don’t ask for Peter’s opinion. To be fair, they don’t ask for Stiles’ either. That’s just fine; neither of them have any problems making it known anyway.

Sing Into My Mouth

Author: GiggleSnortBangDead

Summary: Peter wakes up after years in a coma. Apparently, werewolves are a thing now, and he's got one sleeping on his lap.

Endless Summer

Author: Diablerie

Summary: John and Claudia Stilinski make a difficult choice for Stiles.Somehow, the best possible solution involves calling Peter Hale to the hospital, so he can fuck their teenaged son.

How to Tame a Monster

Author: AmyArachne

Summary: Peter's in Eichen House and Stiles goes to rub Peter's nose in his failure. Things don't go as planned.

Or How To Tame a Monster - A Guide by Stiles Stilinski. A step by step method to reduce murder sprees, allow for communication and coaxing back sanity in just a few easy steps.

Spinning Gold

Author: Elpie (Horribibble)

Summary: Stiles finds himself locked in the highest room of the tallest tower, and he knows that when they come for him at dawn, it will still just be a room filled with straw.Until Peter messes everything up.-“Your doubt, while charming, is unwarranted. It can be done, and it will be done, but first we should come to an agreement, don’t you think?”

The Only Living Boy

Author: Julibean19

Summary: Peter was kind of surprised that Stiles was awake, considering how tired he had been earlier, but maybe Peter's confession had kept him up. It had exhausted him, bringing all that up again. At least he thought that was everything, which was a small comfort. Stiles knew all his secrets now. It was equal parts liberating and terrifying. Peter had shown his hand and now Stiles had all the power. Thankfully, he felt that he could trust Stiles with it.

Quiescent

Author: AsexualDerek (Cammerel)

Summary: Stiles gets turned into a vampire and him and Peter are forced to deal with the changes together. The pack questions the unusual development of their relationship as Peter finds the best possible way to feed Stiles, as unpopular as it is with Derek and others.

Nestled Series

Author: TriscuitsandSoup

Part 1: Safe and Warmth

Summary: As a squirrel Stiles was always on the lookout for the safest, warmest place in a room; and right now what looked to be the safest, warmest place was a long, black, coat, belonging to Peter Hale.

Part 2: Her Tree

Summary: After Claudia’s death Sheriff Stilinski can't find his son.

Luck Penny (Taste like Copper)

Author: pibroch (littleblackdog)

Summary: When Peter woke up, he spent a good fifteen or twenty seconds earnestly wishing that whatever had hit him had the courtesy to kill him outright. Because this? This was bullshit.AKA the time I decided to give Peter all the nice things, but made him get hit by a car first. Like you do.

Corrupted

Author: tricksterity

Summary: Scott knows better than anyone how well Stiles can take care of himself, but that doesn't stop him from worrying when his best friend is hit by a spell that's supposed to regress him back to a childlike state. What only he knows, though, is that Stiles was never exactly the most normal child, and that the witch is going to regret ever fucking with him.

You Get What You Need

Author: RebaK1tten

Summary: Stiles and Peter are accidentally mated and eventually learn to make it work.

more fics: part 2

[seven-oomen]

So I hope you’re feeling better, and have managed to cool down finally.  A year or two ago, the A/C in my apartment kept going out, to the point where finally they had to just replace the whole unit, and there were days when the temp inside would hit nearly 33 degrees (according to Google’s conversion chart.)  As someone also very much built for colder climes, I was about ready to murder someone, but that would have required too much movement and energy expenditure.  So I know just how indescribably miserable that feeling is.  (Frankly if I ended up in Eur at any point, I would probably also cave and buy some sort of A/C, too.  Give me cold over hot any day.  I can always add more layers, I can only take off so many.)  Also, I hope you’re feeling better in general after therapy, and that it was at least helpful and cathartic, if super difficult and heavy.

I’m sorry your game turned out disappointing.  I’d seen a few memes pop up on Facebook with no real context that now make a lot more sense.  I think sometimes a sequel that just doesn’t quite live up to expectations can be worse than if it’s just a trainwreck from the start, because you can visualize how it might have been if only…

I did have one more thought on the HP front (oh god, why?  how?  I was never really even in that fandom…)  I can’t remember enough details right now to be certain if Durmstrang was more generically Eastern European coded or if it was more specific to certain countries, but I thought it wouldn’t necessarily be entirely out of the question that Noah could be a student there.  Chris in Beauxbatons is a no- brainer.  And Hale is already a British last name.  Basically, what I’m saying is Tri-Wizard Tournament, except they’re fucking.  (Which given what little I know about the HP fandom, that is probably not the first time someone’s said that…)

And I see we’re just going right for the feels with that flashback, huh? XD  Why do I have the feeling that there’s going to be a corresponding scene in the current timeline as a callback that will just make it hurt even more?  (My heart says Stiles or Malia singing it to Ben, my head says anything is good, really)  And now I can look forward to imagining John’s ghost lovingly Gibbs-smacking the three of them upside the head any time they start getting angsty about how the other two feel.  Do you have any FCs for (young) Claudia or her father (I think there were already at least a couple different actresses, so I consider her fair game)?  Or Julio?  And having a visual for him now makes me think of the flashback in Ch.6 where he was treating their injuries, wondering if he and Mieczyslaw ever did go to have a “chat” with Elias, if there was a specific event that lead to that particular incident between Chris, Noah, and Elias, and where Peter was during all that (and who kept him from “helping” his father with his visit)?

Oh, one more for the sibling prank pile: when I was in high school/college, a lot of times when I’d be over at this one friend’s house, we’d be downstairs playing video games with her little sister and/or brother (by which I mean, they would be playing GoldenEye or Perfect Dark, and I would just be dying a lot because I’m beyond terrible at FPS), if we were playing music “too loud” (usually No Doubt or Garbage, or later on, AFI), her older brother would go upstairs to his room and start blasting Queen or Pink Floyd at top volume to try and drown us out, like some kind of Stereo Cold War (instead of using headphones, or asking us to turn it down, or something else logical.)  It definitely made for some interesting mash-ups, and I always had to fight down the urge to ask him “…you know we like those bands, too, right?  Like, if you’re trying to dissuade us or irritate us, you’re doing it wrong…"  Long story short, I could totally see Stiles and Jackson doing something like this, until one of their dads gets so frustrated they start blasting some of the most teenager repelling music they can think of to make them stop.  Peter: “You think this Spice Girls mix is painful?  Keep it up and you’ll learn that I know where Chris keeps the Nickleback CDs he doesn’t think we know about.”

This was originally gonna be part of my review, but I wasn’t sure how long it might get, so I saved it for one of these.  So I know in a previous chat you mentioned Peter’s wedding day was one of the happiest of his life, and I know Chris calls them his husbands, while Noah said Peter’d been “practically proposing”, so I was wondering would they be considered engaged at this point, or actually married (like, werewolf married or something)?  Because I am entirely here for some kind of ceremony once shit calms down a bit.  I can’t see Peter resisting the chance to get both his boys into fancy suits to show off just how lucky he is.  And they could work all the kids into the ceremony in different roles, all of them dressed up, too, but allowed to style it based on their personality and preferences.  Think about all the photoshoot opportunities.  Not sure who would be the best choice for officiant, because I’m not sure who may or may not have popped up by that point in the story.  I feel like the most appropriate setting (based on present knowledge) would be the Nemeton.  Second option would be the back yard of the house once it’s been rebuilt, depending how far in the future that is and how long they want to wait to make it official (Or other locations, what ever feels the most right.)  Imagine Melissa (lovingly) roasting the everloving shit out of them in a speech.  T H E  D A N C I N G…  Just, like, a huge celebration of the fact that they made it through.  And don’t forget the honeymoon…  Them at very least getting a room in some super luxe hotel, even if they don’t want to go too terribly far away because of the kids.  Champagne, huge shower stall and Jacuzzi tub, giant bed with 1000ct sheets, balcony with a hot tub, just, like, all the nicest, fanciest luxuries.   (And because I apparently can’t get enough of them teasing Peter to distraction)  At the end of the night they all stumble into the bedroom, and get Peter sitting down on a chair or bench facing the bed.  They loosely tie his wrists behind him with the tie he’d been wearing, and slowly unbutton his shirt and slide it down to wrap around them as well (they all know it hasn’t a chance of holding him, that’s not the point) before backing away out of reach and going to work on each other’s suits.  Eventually they’re down to just their necklaces, dress shirts, and an extra surprise they had made for their husband; matching Chantilly lace panties specially handwoven with a triskelion pattern (I was thinking maybe out of lilies-of-the-valley, because for some reason I felt like Peter was a May baby, and that’s the birth flower for that month, and also I feel that would curve into the Hale spirals fairly easily and nicely.  And while I like the idea that it’s traditionally black, this one has a lovely blue shift threaded through it that would look AMAZING on them), and featuring thin triple side ties made from silk in shades of blue to match their eyes (‘cause maybe he won’t rip it if he can just untie it?).  Peter’s brain would just keep blue screening and rebooting as he tried to process everything, while they turn and crawl up the bed (giving a hell of a view as they go), turning back to him as they lean up against each other, trying to mock pout through their smirks like “Won’t you join us, husband?  It’s lonely up here without you."  His shirt just ends up confetti sized shreds of white cotton (or silk?) floating gently down to the floor as he surges up the bed at literal supernatural speed so fast he almost bounces off the headboard, trying to figure out a way to tackle both of them at once.  (…Holy shit, I cannot believe I just actually wrote all that out.  Apologies if it went a little far, as per usual, I may have gotten carried away.  In my defense, speculating about it kept me from murdering the guy who decided to open and start "testing” our dog whistles because he insisted the last one he got didn’t work, so.)  Actually, that also reminds me, we know that Derek has a triskelion tattoo, do you think Peter does as well?  Or gets one at some point?  Do you think Noah or Chris would ever get one, as a sign of pack loyalty, since the Hales are the ones that took them in when their own families cast them out?  (And also, that’s definitely a mark that’s not going to fade away, but also does not carry the risk of accidental turning.)  Where would any of them have/get them?

And re: review responses, etc.  Don’t worry if you don’t want to reveal too much ahead of time.  I generally figure a lot of what I mention is stuff that has a good chance of just coming up later in the story.  I’m equally happy with the previews we do get and with waiting patiently (I swear I can) for things to be revealed in future chapters.

Oh, and the cosplay!  (Sorry, meant to mention that earlier but I got…distracted…)  If you do ever get the chance to do that one that would be amazing!  By the time I got into TW I wasn’t getting to cons very much any more, so I’ve never really seen anyone cosplaying any TW characters, at least obviously.  And we so rarely got to see any of Peter’s beta shift as it was.  I will say that the Hale boys are some of my faves for fandom inspired fashion (basically where it’s not specifically a costume and most regular people wouldn’t get it but I know.  I’ve done it with a number of characters over the years.)  I have several henleys in colors that feel appropriate to the show’s wardrobe, that if I’m in the mood I’ll pair with some dark jeans and boots or black chucks.  It lets me express my fannish inclinations with less risk of anyone getting all judge-y about it.  I, however, can’t get away with wearing them with quite as few buttons done up as they do, there tend to be laws about that sort of thing.  I also have a cute floral dress that works really well for a Lydia inspired look, and plans for similar, slightly more obvious, versions for Raven (Teen Titans) and Black Canary, should I ever manage to get to a convention again (I’m much more prone to costumes that are adaptations over exact accuracy.  Nobody wants to see me in a spandex suit, not even me.)  But yes, full support and encouragement on the cosplay!  That look is definitely one that would catch attention.

Final unexpected segue: Many, MANY years ago we carried a product at work that was an anti-mating spray (yes, that’s spelled correctly).  It was intended for unspayed females that went into heat to help keep interested males away.  Many were the customers that bought it without paying attention who thought it would help with grooming.  I just thought it was one of the funniest things I’d ever heard of, and that was long before I knew anything about omegaverse fic.  Can you imagine something like that in a traditional a/b/o story? XD  I still think about that product every so often (no idea if they even still make anything like that), and wanted to share the hilarity.

Wow, just realized that it’s like 3am.  Jesus, I’ve been rambling a while.  But I think that was everything?  Anyway I’m going to attempt to go to bed, and pretend I didn’t just write more almost porn.  (There’s a quote from the movie Noises Off! [another fave, highly recommend if you’ve not seen it], where a character is referring to her ability to remember lines, and says “Well, it’s like a slot machine up here.” *gestures vaguely at her head* “I, I open my mouth, and I never know what’s going to come out; three oranges, or two lemons and a banana."  And I feel like that’s an accurate description of my posting style.)

For the FC I do, for teenage Claudia: Davina Claire (but imagine the brown eyes)

For Adult Claudia the actress Joey Honsa: 

And for Claudia’s dad (I’m not awake enough to copy Miech’s name fully): Gary Oldman

And Julio Delgado: Santiago Calbrera

Fucking tumblr... I had entire sections typed out during work but my phone freaked out and now it’s gone and I can retype it all over a again... am angry >:( 

Anyway, yeah I’m doing a lot better, ac’s on, I got drinks and shit. And I’m trying to rock my Reese’s pieces tank with Harry Potter booty shorts.

I’m gonna try and answer the most important things I wrote down and work from there. 

And now I can look forward to imagining John’s ghost lovingly Gibbs-smacking the three of them upside the head any time they start getting angsty about how the other two feel.  

There was a lot of Gibbs-smacking back when John was watching over them. Although he made sure to never freak out Chris and instead go for the ‘abby kisses’ on the temple and forehead whenever Chris did the right thing or was particularly vulnerable.

I also have this headcanon that John took care of Allison and Jackson for the first week or two because Chris just couldn’t. He felt alone at almost 18, just went through pure hell to deliver two babies he doesn’t really know. He loves them, he does, he’s just-, he doesn’t know how to feel. So John steps in and teaches him how to be a parent. It takes a bit of time but by the time Jackson and Allison are a week old, Chris is fully on board and would die for them in a heartbeat. And John just looks at him with this pride in his eyes and kisses his forehead. “I’m proud of you.” It’s the first time Chris hears that from a father figure.

And having a visual for him now makes me think of the flashback in Ch.6 where he was treating their injuries, wondering if he and Mieczyslaw ever did go to have a “chat” with Elias, if there was a specific event that lead to that particular incident between Chris, Noah, and Elias, and where Peter was during all that (and who kept him from “helping” his father with his visit)?

This I will address in the prequel, and maybe a very short teaser flashback.

And I was going to close this story with a wedding, a honeymoon, and a pack run at the end. ^^ And holy shit the panties idea is fucking golden.

I could not focus on my work today XD. What an image please do give me more if you think of them ^^. It’s a lovely idea to have Chris and Noah dressed in lacy triskelion panties while having Peter ‘bound’ in a chair. They’re making out, they’re all having fun. And Peter’s hard, like he’s trying so hard to be a good boy for them but holy shit if they keep making out like that, all bets are off. What a fantastic image. Although probably not the best when trying to work XD. (I don’t mind.)

Actually, that also reminds me, we know that Derek has a triskelion tattoo, do you think Peter does as well?  Or gets one at some point?  Do you think Noah or Chris would ever get one, as a sign of pack loyalty, since the Hales are the ones that took them in when their own families cast them out?  (And also, that’s definitely a mark that’s not going to fade away, but also does not carry the risk of accidental turning.)  Where would any of them have/get them?

He do! All the Hales do, it’s a coming off age thing for the wolves and some humans get them as well to show solidarity with their wolf siblings.

John had a tattoo on his left pectoral. His wife Kathryn had hers on her right shoulder. Nathaniel had one between his shoulder blades out of solidarity to his wolf brethren. (He was born human). Talia had hers on the right side of her abdomen just above her hip bone. Merlia had a tramp stamp triskelion. Peter has his over his heart. (The top of the spiral can be seen peeking through some of his deeper v-necks.)

 Laura had hers on her left shoulder. Derek has his between the shoulder blades in honor of his oldest uncle. Chris gets his on his left pectoral after he’s had his youngest child. (In honor of John) Noah gets his on his right pectoral as a mirror image after he’s had his youngest twins. (They talked about it before hand where they’d get them.)

Malia gets hers on her left wrist. Stiles on his right wrist in solidarity. Both of them on the inside. Jackson gets his just below his right collarbone. Allison gets hers just below her left collarbone. Ben gets his on his left arm when he’s old enough.

Not sure about the others but it’ll come to me.

Can you imagine something like that in a traditional a/b/o story? XD  I still think about that product every so often (no idea if they even still make anything like that), and wanted to share the hilarity.

I am wheezing. That’d be so fucking funny XD Anti-Alpha! Alpha be gone! Spray the horny away! (Okay I’ll stop.)

But now I am imagining Stiles making a prank like that where he just gives his pops (Noah) a spray bottle for christmas that says: Spray the horny away! And has a photoshopped picture of Peter on it with a red cross through it.

They have a good laugh about it.

[delightful-mystery]

Grief in Gold and Grey

In times like these, I always turn to music. I am incredibly lucky that my favourite band, Baroness, released an album so exquisite, so meaningful – that I am able to use it to guide me through these months following the death of my father. There will obviously be triggering passages in this blog post so I won’t hold it against you if you don’t want to read it. There will also be lots of nerd-ing out about Baroness in a way that only a fan can do, so if you aren’t familiar with their music a lot of this might go over your head (I do recommend listening to them though, even if metal isn’t your thing). Quotes and facts are taken from Kerrang!’s track-by-track guide to the album, which featured lead singer John Dyer Baizley talking us through the album. I’m not going to apologise for being a massive music nerd, but I will warn you that it’s coming.

The album I am talking about is Gold & Grey, the last in Baroness’ line of colour-wheel-themed albums. These colours immediately to me seem to conjure up the season of Autumn and the changing of leaves, misty mornings and cups of coffee. I put on this album, beginning to end, one morning when I was set on some productive self-care. I had just changed my bedsheets, was wearing a cosy jumper and drinking coffee. I also had new pants on, which isn’t essential but damn does it feel good.

These are some of the musings I had whilst listening to this album. At the time of writing, I’m not one hundred percent sure I even want to publish this, but if I’m going to write about my dad dying, then using music as a way to break down conscious barriers and inspire creativity seems like a good way to go about it. So here follows a track-by-track breakdown of my favourite Baroness album, mixed in with some thoughts about grief, and how this album helped me to make sense of (at least some of) it.

It’s a cosy album, as far as sludge metal can be described as “cosy”. It is, I would argue very strongly, the best Baroness album to date. I felt slightly underwhelmed on the first listen, but honestly, with Baroness, you always have to give each record at least three listens to even begin to unpack everything. I think the proper turning point was when I put it on whilst going on a run, and ended up listening to ‘I’d Do Anything’ at the top of the hill outside Alexandra Palace, having just run 10k, sobbing my eyes out as I looked over London. I would also definitely recommend listening to this album whilst running, or maybe meditating.

The album opens with ‘Front Towards Enemy’, which I actually think is probably the weakest song on the album (that being said, it’s still pretty great). It’s classic sludgy Baroness, with tuned down guitar strings “as low as it would go” but also contains notes of r ‘n’ b, soul and has quite a pop-y chorus. It signalled to me that this album was going to be the start of a very different sound for Baroness, and bring in lots of different elements. Which the rest of the album definitely did. What I have noticed on subsequent listens is that the harmonies of the ‘Anchor’ duo – ‘Anchor’s Lament’ and ‘Throw me an Anchor’ – are repeated and reflected all over the album, and do a really good job of knitting the album together in a way I don’t think Purple ever properly achieved, or at least not to the extent I would expect from a band such as Baroness. It’s these harmonies which first begin the record, and they are beautiful.

‘I’m Already Gone’ is a more simplified song, but still so beautiful. There was a lot of improvisation done on this album. So much so that Baizley has said he’s not sure if he will ever be able to fully recreate the guitar part properly. There are so many colours mentioned in this album; this song makes use of black and green as well as “golden at the seams”. I’m not going to try to understand what John actually meant but for me it kind of sounds like inevitability. It’s a very dark song lyrically, so I don’t feel like I’m stretching by projecting my own experiences of looking death in the fucking face over the last four years of my dad’s illness onto this track. 

When ‘Seasons’ was released as the second single, prior to the album, but after ‘Borderlines’, I did a double-take looking at my speaker. I literally stopped whatever it was I was doing just to stare, open-mouthed at the noise coming from the video I had just put on to play. I was so confused. Baroness are doing blast beats now? And is that…? I mean, that drum groove sounds an awful lot like drum ‘n’ bass to me. I mean, I loved it straight away but it was so different. This is the track which made me so damn excited for this album to come out. Also, “we bend, we break /  we burn, but we survive” is but one lyric in a song all about seasons coming and going, and the constant flow of emotions and states of being. This too shall pass.

The first of the instrumental/interlude tracks on the album, ‘Sevens’ is an ethereal melding of different piano parts written and performed by bassist Nick Jost. It’s a perfect moment of calm in an album of chaos and it sounds to me like an understanding, a recognition of pain and a comforting answer to it. It also sounds like Steve Reich.

‘Tourniquet’ is such a stand out track. The bassline is the sweetest thing I’ve heard in a long time and I think Nick Jost did such a great job on this album as a whole, but this song is fully his. The end of the song reflects ‘Assault on East Falls’ as well – like these themes were all established in our collective subconscious in the first half of the album before being fully expanded on in the second half. It’s an album of chaos which is straightened out more and more on subsequent listens, if you only have the patience and concentration to allow the band to take you on this journey with them. Anyway, this song was such a solid choice for a single. It’s the epitome of the “cosy metal” I was talking about earlier. In the interviews with the band for their YouTube channel, Jost is sitting on a rocking chair on his porch, all bundled up in jumpers and drinking a cup of coffee, which is how this song should be listened to, in my opinion. Fun fact; to create the final chord of the song, Baizley set up a circle of amplifiers, the band stood in the middle wearing different animal masks and then played the chord for about ten minutes. They used some of it on the record, overlaid with the minimal effects found later on ‘Assault on East Falls’.

The Anchor… duo? Suite? I don’t know what to call it but there are two songs that go together next – ‘Anchor’s Lament’ and ‘Throw me an Anchor’. These are two songs I get completely lost in when I listen to them. I feel like the screams of ‘Throw me an Anchor’ are expelling my own rage and confusion, and it’s a perfect example of a time that I feel like the songs on this record are there to catch me. ‘Throw me an Anchor’ was another moment that I did a double-take (but like… with my ears?) when I first heard it. The intro is just so heavy. It’s the start of Side B. The chorus is pretty anthemic, but towards the end of the song, it just descends into this really primal screaming, which is something I really appreciate.

I find ‘I’d Do Anything’ quite a difficult song to listen to, since it’s just so vulnerable and heartfelt. The vocals are very exposed with just an echoey piano bassline and some strings to accompany them. It’s the first time we can properly hear John and newcomer Gina singing together in such an intimate way. I can’t get over how perfect this pairing is. They play guitar together as if they’ve spent a whole lifetime dueting. In one interview, they spoke about playing their parts simultaneously and recording live, so that if one of them messed up they’d have to start again. They also recorded whilst standing back to back, meaning that they had to put the maximum amount of trust in the other person in order to play the song. ‘I’d Do Anything’ has more dark lyrics and it’s a good one to put on if you fancy a bit of a cry.

‘Blankets of Ash’ is just a weird soundscape really. It’s a guitar part, a spoken word passage mixed so it’s completely incoherent, the noise of a thunderstorm and a massive bass drop with some haunting wordless vocals over the top. It’s bizarre and experimental and it totally works and I love it.

Gold & Grey album cover, designed by John Dyer Baizley. Seriously, cover me in tattoos of this man’s artwork, please.

This next song is an understated favourite. ‘Emmett – Radiating Light’ is just so gorgeously weird. Recorded in part in a cabin in the middle of the woods with crickets chirping in the early hours of the morning, Baizley has said that this is one of a number of songs on the record that he can’t actually play the guitar part for. This is a song which speaks to me as it discusses feeling displaced. “Where I’m supposed to be / Is no longer the place for me,” is a good lyric, but it’s the truly nihilistic “This blood upon my hands / Bruises on my knees / Don’t belong to me” which really resonates with me. A lot of the time right now, things don’t feel real. I have been on and off of autopilot for weeks. It’s really weird. But the song does offer some hope, as the narrator is still “… in a shower / Of radiating light / But not where I belong.” To me, it kind of sounds like there is beauty to be found in this sense of displacement, in this bizarre in-between state. And that I can let my emotions wash over me, because I am held by their beauty. It’s a really great song. 

‘Cold-Blooded Angels’ is arguably the best song on the album. It travels through so many different emotions on its way to a classic Baroness trope of totally upturning all expectations of where the song was going and changing completely for the last minute or so (see also: ‘Chlorine and Wine’, ‘Psalms Alive’, etc.) It marks the end of Side B and really sees it off in style. I think about death a lot these days, and it terrifies me. Not the fact that I could die, but that, a few weeks ago, my dad just… stopped Being. I think it’s a pretty normal thing to fixate on, given the circumstances. This song also kind of puts that into words for me – the fact that I have been so scared of so many things in my life (growing up with crippling anxiety/depression/dodgy health from a very young age) and just wasted so much time being wary of everything when what is really scary is right here and now, just around the corner. 

‘Crooked Mile’ and ‘Broken Halo’ also kind of go together. The first song bleeds into the next with this weird, jazzy and somewhat atonal mood. ‘Broken Halo�� introduces lyrics and is the most obvious mention of the album’s name, with Baizley bellowing “GOLD AND GREY”. It’s quite a straightforward song compared to most of the other ones on the album. With “I would do anything to feel like I’m on fire again,” it also mirrors a lot of the other lyrical content of the album. It also says “I will hold your broken halo” which to me just sounds really reassuring. I think Gina’s harmonies are also really great on this track.

The chaotic acid freak out of ‘Can Oscura’ is a good way of describing how I feel in the middle of this mess – like someone has pulled several carpets out from under my feet. I feel very small and lost in the middle of this massive event, and confused. 

He’s so good

‘Borderlines’ is the song that won me back over after the disappointment of Purple. Not that Purple was bad at all – it gave us ‘Chlorine and Wine’, one of Baroness’ best songs to date. It just felt like it was more a collection of tracks than a coherent album to me. I guess that makes sense for their first album following the devastating bus crash; that it would be the auditory version of an open wound, but as soon as I heard ‘Borderlines’ I was immediately much more on board. This is the first time we hear Gina feature on a Baroness record as well, and I was so excited to hear her additions to this song. It signalled the beginning of a new chapter, a more cohesive album than Purple, and one which sounds to me like beginning to heal.

The minimalist ‘Assault on East Falls’ is a piece which has been hinted at throughout the album. Here, we get the whole piece in all its glory. It’s an interesting place to put the final interlude song but it’s a really nice set up for the final song, which is another of my album favourites.

‘Pale Sun’ is the last song on the album. It might also be my favourite. It’s bizarre and ghostly and mixes up rhythms in a really unsettling way. Gina comes into her own here too, with ethereal vocals as well as her usual outstanding guitar playing. I’m so glad she’s in this band. It’s an interesting choice to end the album on, but to me it sounds defiant above all else – yes there is darkness and yes it is close and terrifying and everywhere but I will continue on, despite it all, damn it. Even when the sun sinks.

Thanks guys <3

from Grief in Gold and Grey

[sdhs-enjolras]

About Me

The last 1. drink: Coffee 2. phone call: Jehan. They’re one of the only people I know who still prefers calling over texting. Not that I’m complaining, of course. 3. text message: I can’t keep track of who sent the last text, because my group chat with Courfeyrac and Combeferre is currently blowing up. Every time I type an answer, another responds, so I guess both of them?? 4. song you listened to: “C’est La Mort” by The Civil Wars 5. time you cried: It definitely wasn’t the other day, when I decided to rewatch Up. Definitely not then. Okay, I lied; yes, it was. 6. dated someone twice: I haven’t dated anyone once, so… 7. kissed someone and regretted it: Haven’t actually done that, either. 8. been cheated on: Not in a romantic way, but I don’t want to give three “no”s in a row, so here’s a story: my dog, who I’d had since I was little, met Combeferre when I was in 7th grade and immediately decided that she liked him better than me. Never have I felt so betrayed. 9. lost someone special: The aforementioned dog, but luckily, that is the only real loss I’ve had to deal with so far. 10. been depressed: Nope! Yes 11. gotten drunk and thrown up: Not technically… When I was six or seven, I went to a family Christmas party and took a sip of what I thought was apple juice. If you think alcohol tastes bad when you’re planning on it, imagine how revolting it is when you’re a kid who is expecting apple juice. It was so bad that it set off my gag reflex, and ruined the party for anyone who happened to be in the room. Not a pleasant memory. 3 favourite colours 12. Red 13. Crimson 14. Scarlet in the last year have you 15. made new friends: I like to think I have. 16. fallen out of love: Nope. 17. laughed until you cried: Plenty of times. 18. found out someone was talking about you: Yeah, a couple of people. You know how high schoolers are. 19. met someone who changed you: To an extent, I think everyone I meet has an impact on me in some way. 20. found out who your friends are: I don’t think I ever didn’t know. There’s only one person who I’m unsure about. 21. kissed someone on your Facebook list: Nope. general 22. how many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: All of them??? Do people do that? Do they have Facebook friends who they haven’t met? Of course, I try to reach out to people on other forms of social media, but nobody even uses Facebook these days. 23. do you have any pets: Not anymore, unfortunately. I would love to get one, but nobody in my family is home often enough to justify a dog. Maybe a cat, someday. 24. do you want to change your name: I was about to say no, but that was because for a second, I literally forgot that Enjolras is...not technically my name. It’s my last name. But, it’s the only one I’ve ever really used, so, in a way, I kind of already did change it. I mean, seriously, when’s the last time anyone has ever called me Alex? 25. what did you do for your last birthday: there was a Bernie Sanders rally just a half hour from my house, so a few of my friends and I made a day out of it. We went out to eat at this amazing local diner and then went to the rally, and it was awesome! 26. what time did you wake up: 5:30. 27. what were you doing at midnight last night: Planning the protest at the barber shop. You would not believe how difficult it is to get a big group of people to the same place at the same time.   28. name something you can’t wait for: Okay, if we’re being real and stepping away from the obvious, political stuff? I’m already really pumped for the next Avengers movie. What can I say? I’m a fan. 29. when was the last time you saw your mom: Just now, actually. 31. what are you listening to right now: My dad is watching the news down in the living room, and my mom is baking cookies. Dad usually does most of the baking, but her cookies are legendary. 32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: I’m sure I have, at some point 33. something that is getting on your nerves: Grantaire 34. most visited website: Tumblr 35. hair colour: Blonde 36. long or short hair: Medium, I guess? If I ever straightened it, it would probably be pretty long. 37. do you have a crush on someone: No. Grantaire 38. what do you like about yourself: My determination. I think that being driven and focused is incredibly important, and while I encounter many a few instances where I want to give up, I always feel good about myself when I push through and get it done 39. piercings: None 40. blood type: O- 41. nickname: Well, my last name, I guess. Oh, and some people call me Enj. R calls me Apollo, but he’s the only one. 42. relationship status: Single 43. zodiac: Leo, but I don’t believe in all that stuff 44. pronouns: He/him 45. favourite tv show: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver 46. tattoos: None yet. Maybe someday. 47. right or left handed: Right. 48. surgery: Not yet, unless we’re counting stitches. 50. sport: Yeah, not my thing 51. vacation: France would be incredible, but I’d need to get better at the language, first. I only know the absolute basics. 52. pair of trainers: Depends on the time of year, and what I’m wearing GENERAL 53. eating: My dad made burgers tonight, and they were so unbelievably good. Sometimes, you just need a little junk food. 54. drinking: Coffee. I’m drinking it right now. Yes, it’s almost nighttime, and no, it’s not decaf. 55. I’m about to: sneak and eat some of Mom’s cookie dough while she’s not looking 56. waiting for: Mom to walk away from the bowl of cookie dough 57. want: to eat cookie dough. But, all half-joking aside, I want to make real, positive change in the world. After eating this cookie dough. 58. get married: Maybe someday, yeah, I guess. 59. career: If I live that long Politician or teacher. I’m kind of undecided WHICH IS BETTER 60. hugs or kisses: Hugs 61. lips or eyes: Eyes 62. shorter or taller: Shorter would be nice, because then I would get to be the tall one, for once. That never happens. Ever. 63. older or younger: I just realized this is in regards to dating and whatnot. I was sitting here stumped by what this question could mean for almost an entire minute before noticing the context. To answer, age doesn't matter as much as maturity. 64. nice arms or nice stomach: I don’t really notice either way. 65. hookup or relationship: Relationship, hands down. I’m way too ace for a hookup to be even slightly desirable. 66. troublemaker or hesitant: Depends on the type of trouble we’re talking about. HAVE YOU EVER: 67. kissed a stranger: Nope. 68. drank hard liquor: Outside of that Christmas party, no. 69. lost glasses/contact lenses: All. The. Time. 70. turned someone down: Maybe? Unintentionally? There have been points where the guys insist that someone was flirting/asking me out, but I never noticed. 71. sex on the first date: See my answer to #65. 73. had your heart broken: No. Yes 74. been arrested: Several times. 75. cried when someone died: Absolutely. My dog, tons of celebrities, Ellie in Up the other day... 76. fallen for a friend: Absolutely not. Grantaire DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 77. yourself: Most of the time. 78. miracles: Not really. 79. love at first sight: No. Not at all. And people who think otherwise are kidding themselves and can quickly become a troublesome distraction (fucking Marius…) 80. santa claus: Not literally, of course, but as corny as it is, I think that the joy the mere idea of him brings to kids makes him real, in a way. There’s a magic surrounding Christmas that even I can’t resist. If something so rooted in Christianity and capitalism can still somehow be my favorite day of the year, that’s something pretty special. 81. kiss on the first date: I am not experienced enough in that regard to really know how I’d feel about it. 82. angels: Nope. OTHER: 84. eye colour: Some say they’re blue, others say they’re gray. I think it depends on the light. 85. favourite movie: Oh, man, movies are such a guilty pleasure for me and I like so many that are so different from each other that I don’t think I could pick. To Kill a Mockingbird is a classic, but my dorkier side loves Captain America: the First Avenger, but on the other hand, I really enjoy Disney movies, and I don’t want to leave those out, but then there are the Harry Potter movies, and that doesn’t even cover Christmas movies, and do you see my dilemma here?

[old-long-john]

Davy Jones AU: Part One

There was an unseasonable chill creeping into the air as Hamish Reid set about lighting the lanterns aboard the deck of the schooner named Casco. The weather had been fine for weeks, the sun beating down hard upon their backs during the day and the stars cascading across the sky like a shimmering sea of shattered glass at night. Hamish had found himself praying for clouds, of the familiar sort that tucked in damp and close around the shores of the Firth of Clyde. He hadn’t known you could miss such things until he found himself in this place, desperate for a moment’s reprieve from this wide, hot, and foreign sky. In the failing light he could see the clouds that were finally looming on the horizon, but they were tall and deep purple, not the muted greys of home, and the air already felt sharp and pregnant with the weight of an angry storm brewing. Perhaps he’d sent up one prayer too many. He hadn’t considered that he might be tempting fate. Or perhaps his prayers had simply been heard by the wrong god. There were stories about these waters, and the false heathen deities that still clung to their depths.

“Boo!”

Hamish leapt back from the rail, the still-smoking taper in his hand falling over the side as he spun. “Jesus Christ!” he hissed. “Fuck’s sake, Philip, don’t do that! I nearly shat myself.”

Philip sniggered, leaning against the rail at Hamish’s side, while William, the Carpenter’s Mate, stood laughing behind him.  

“You were miles away. Couldn’t resist,” Philip said, looking out towards the horizon. “That storm looks nasty. Should pass east of us, but the Captain’s changing course just in case.”

As though it could hear them, a long, low rumble of thunder rolled across them, and Hamish felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Don’t get too close to the edge,” William said. “Long John Silver’ll get you. He sails these waters, prowling along the edges of the storms just waiting for men to go overboard. Your soul won’t even make it as far as purgatory.”

“You’re talking shite,” Hamish said, but he took a step back from the rail, just in case.

“You think so, do you? Calypso conjures the storms, he collects the souls,” William went on. “Everyone knows it. She cursed him. Bound him to his ship in servitude forever. He can’t make port; can’t eat or drink; can’t feel the touch of any woman. Ever. An eternity of solitude with nothing on the horizon but empty seas and violent storms. And all because she heard him telling stories about her, doubting her power. The offence had to be answered, see, so she proved her power to him once and for all.”

“That’s not how I heard it,” Philip interjected. “Who’ve you been talking to? They were in love. Or at least, he loved her. Don’t know that a god could ever truly love a man. She took a fancy to him at any rate. Then one day he went overboard. New sail was being hauled aloft, or something of the like, and the lashing snapped. He went clean over the edge, knocked out cold. He should’ve drowned, but she saved him. His whole crew saw it: a mermaid with hair as red as flame, hauling him back above the waves, blowing air into his nostrils to keep the water out. That was when they knew for sure just how far he had her favour.”

William looked sceptical. “Yeah right. If they loved each other then why would she curse him, eh?” He raised his eyebrows to emphasise just how clearly infallible he considered his logic to be.

Philip snorted. “She cursed him because he broke her heart. He betrayed her. Ancient gods might not be able to love, but no-one else is capable of such fathomless hate.”

“That’s not what Mr Calvin said,” Hamish blurted out, and he cleared his throat as two sets of eyes focused on him. “He said she betrayed him, and then he tried to cut his own heart out rather than live with the pain of it. That’s why he became so corrupted. She ruined him. He was barely even human after that. He was supposed to ferry souls to the afterlife in safety, not keep them from it.”

William shrugged, and said, “Yeah, well, whatever the truth of it, the stories are all the same in the end. He’s a man made monstrous. There’s no end to his appetite for cruelty. Any goodness in him turned to hate. Any kindness into rage. He shows no quarter, and the only mercy he ever offers is a quick death.”

“Unless you’ve got red hair,” Philip said, scrubbing a hand over Hamish’s head and earning a punch in the arm for it. “He has a soft spot for redheads. They remind him of her.”

“You’ve got it backwards,” said William, shaking his head. “That’s exactly why they’re always the first to go. Hard luck, Hamish lad. It was nice knowing you.”

“Fuck off,” muttered Hamish, smoothing his hair down. “Maybe we should talk about something else.” The air was feeling colder by the minute, and the goosebumps spreading up his arms were only making him feel more tense.

“Afraid he’s going to hear us?” William teased. “Don’t be such a milksop. They’re just stories.”

“I know that,” Hamish said quickly. “They don’t even make sense anyway. If he was a man of flesh and blood once then there’d still be some way to reason with him, to gain his mercy. Even if it was by a trick. There’s always a way, even in stories. No-one has a heart of stone.”

“I don’t have a heart at all.”

At the sound of the voice, all three of them leapt back against the rail, and Hamish thought his heart might hammer its way right through his ribcage. His pulse was roaring in his ears, though it was difficult to distinguish it from the thunder rolling overhead.

From out of the lantern-lit gloom a figure appeared. His gait was odd and lilting, and his every other step thudded hollowly against the decking. He wasn’t all that tall, but he seemed to fill the dark and loom over them nonetheless.

“Who’s that?” William called, the first to find his voice again. “Tom? You’re not fucking funny, mate.”

“Mm, no, not so funny these days, you’re right,” the man said, finally illuminated by the nearest lantern. “I was though. Once upon a time.”

Hamish felt his knuckles crack as his grip on the rail tightened. The thrum of blood in his ears had turned to ringing and he wondered whether he was going to pass out and hit the deck. Maybe he was ill. Maybe this was all just some strange fever dream.

The man seemed to be waiting for them to speak again, his eyes unnaturally blue in the low light.

“Long John Silver?” Hamish breathed, suddenly too certain of the truth of it to feel foolish in saying it out loud.

“The very same,” Silver replied, with a smile. It was wide and easy, but there was no kindness behind it. It looked like an old habit warped into something cruel.

Up close now Hamish could see him clearly. His hair was long and dark and wild, fighting free of its loose binding; crisp curls casting a halo around him in the lamp light, like the pale foam upon a storm-tossed sea. Here and there among it were trinkets braided in: cowry and auger shells; sleek blue-black feathers; and even what looked like the bones from a human toe, fixed in place with silver beads and neat threads. There was an air of the carefully kept about them, at odds with the chaos of the rest. His ears too glinted with silver rings that were tarnished with age, but looked to be maintained out of some sense of sentiment.

He didn’t look so monstrous, Hamish thought. Not in the ways his own imagination had constructed, at least. Indeed, he might even have been considered handsome by some, in his way, with his round, boyish face and those bright eyes and white teeth. But as Hamish looked closer he saw the wet patches of mottled grey-green on his skin, that looked like the rot of flesh submerged for days, and the odd barnacle that clung on along the edge of his rough beard. There were scars in places, like wide pockmarks, where other such unwelcome stowaways had been dug out with the point of a blade, or with impatient gouging fingernails. He looked half a dead thing; the other half simply hadn’t realised it yet.

“What do you want with us?” William said, and Hamish jumped a little as he remembered that he wasn’t alone with this apparition.

“Want? Who said I want anything?” Silver said, thumping another pace forward.

Hamish’s gaze dropped to his feet, and he saw that in place of a left leg stood a splintered and sea-worn wooden peg. Perhaps it had once been the handle of an oar - it was of that size and shape - but it looked to be a part of him now, fused to his flesh in lieu of bone and gristle, and bleached by the sun and the salt.

“Did your mothers never warn you?” Silver continued. “Talk of the Devil, and he shall appear.”

“Sir, please!” Philip said, his voice desperate and high. “We meant no harm. They were just ghost stories. That’s all. Please. If you leave us be then we’ll never speak of you again. We swear it. We can tell anyone who’ll listen never to tell stories about you. Not ever.”

Silver laughed, the sound of it almost drowned out by the rumble of the storm now roiling directly overhead. “And why would I want you to do that? I always loved stories. You were right. That is how he found me.”

“How who found you?” Philip whispered.

“Calypso,” Silver said. “Half the truth between the three of you, and yet the little details always end up lost, don’t they?”

They pressed their backs harder against the rail as Silver took another step closer, barely four feet away. His shirt was ragged, hanging open down the full length of his sternum, and Hamish saw that there was a tattoo on the left side of his chest: a mermaid with red hair. No, not a mermaid, a merman. Its flowing hair fanned out around it, its tail coiled over his heart, but a jagged and vicious looking scar ran through it, slicing it in two.

Silver’s eyes followed Hamish’s gaze, and he reached up and pulled his shirt open wider. “He betrayed me,” Silver said. “He broke my heart. Beyond repair. So I did what you do with all things that are broken irreparably: I cast it aside.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Hamish breathed, cold dread trickling down his spine. His knees felt loose and weak. He didn’t think he could stay standing for much longer.

“I so rarely have a captive audience these days. Seems a shame to waste the opportunity,” Silver replied, stepping closer still. “And besides, it adds a much needed flair of the dramatic to the whole proceedings.”

Some days later, when the crew of a fishing boat came across the schooner Casco drifting with the current, their first thought was that the crew must have abandoned ship in the storm. Strange though that there was no damage above the waterline that they could clearly see. The masts remained, the sails were neatly furled, and the hull looked to be intact. Perhaps then she had simply broken free of her mooring, drawn out into the open sea by the gusting winds. When they boarded her, however, and found her crew drowned, to a man, in even the most watertight bowels of the hold, their clothes sodden and their skin greying and slick, they began to understand. As they fled the ship, feet skidding across the deck in their scramble to escape, desperate prayers flooded out of them as they turned on the spot and spat on the deck to ward off the evil spirit responsible. But it was as they sailed away and caught sight of the figurehead, thick ropes of kelp binding her to a corpse with red hair and a cavernous wound in place of a heart, that the name Long John Silver came whispering past their lips. The stories told themselves after that.