#i’d rather shrivel up and die than admit this to my friends i think

[vellichorsdesire]

jealous of another character my f/o has (had?) a complicated relationship with but we don’t talk about it…

[painless-innit-colourful]

‘Would You Cry If I Died, Would You Remember My Name?’ - a Ranbutler Fic

Remember how much you loved Ranbutler during the first half of the Masquerade stream? Me too! Everytime Billiam said something about punishing him I wrote it down. Here’s 1700 words of an unnamed character suffering :)

tw for starvation, Egg manipulation, implied beating.

“As a bonus,” Sir Billiam joked with a kind of triumphant smile. “If we die down here, they’ll never find our bodies!” He laughed voraciously, and Karl soon joined him.

---

The Butler didn’t think it was very funny.  There were crimson tendrils at the edge of his vision, like bloody hands trying to ensnare him. They were red, like anger and violence and pain. So much pain. Billiam had laughed at him earlier that day. Invited him to talk over an afternoon tea in the library. None of which he would be getting. The Butler swore he’d seen his employers eyes turn red, like the Devil himself was sitting across from him. It couldn’t be though, because the Devil seeks out the greedy. He just wanted something to eat.

He just wanted something to eat.

Another wave of dizziness swept over him, and it was a battle to stay on his feet. He was bent double, leaning hard against the rough wall of the secret passage, one hand gripping grooves in the wood with the tips of his fingers to hold him upright, while his other arm was wrapped tightly around his midsection, squeezing as if it could somehow counteract the pain. Despite his frigid surroundings, he didn’t shiver: he couldn’t feel it. He could’ve been submerged in the aquarium and drowned without realising. He was empty, stomach growling, demanding food, but there was nothing he could do. He felt his grip on the wall slipping, and he bit through his tongue with the effort to stay upright. If he sat down, he feared he’d never get up again.

Domed dinner plates, silver serving trays and deep-dish bowls piled high and poised precariously danced through his subconscious. Sweet and savoury pies, delicate canapes, a roasted round of venison, sautéed mushrooms. He’d made all those, some with assistance from Hubert, for a dinner party Billiam had thrown over a week and a half ago. He’d slaved away for hours prior to his master’s gathering of rich friends and richer acquaintances, preparing four courses, organising the alcohol, cleaning the dining room and ballroom, pressing tablecloths and watering the potted plants (some of a more reddish hue than normal). His intention was to make too much food: then he’d be scolded with no follow-through and get to retreat to the kitchen to finish the leftovers. It was a perfect plan.

But Fortune did not smile upon him; she glowered angrily as she often liked to do. From the moment he’d turned the corner from the dining room to the hall, time seemed to slow, and he watched with detached horror and a muted resignation as he collided with Lord James, and the wine he’d been carrying splashed all over the newly-divorced gentleman’s dinner jacket. The gent’s formerly suave cream blazer now bore a closer resemblance to the coat of a fallen soldier. The Butler wanted the ground to swallow him whole as his master came marching out of the ballroom to berate him, the guests exchanging smug looks and glances that filled him toe to top with shame.

“James I am so sorry, I’ll lend you a dinner jacket - there’s a rather fine one in the second guest bedroom’s wardrobe. Please, I invite you to clean yourself while I deal with him,” He shot the Butler a glare that sank his heart with dread, “And I’ll replace your jacket tomorrow. Hubert!” Billiam’s other butler immediately stepped out of the nearest extraneous doorway. “Show James to the second guest room and help him clean up.”

“And as for you,” The Butler shrunk back involuntarily as Billiam loomed over him, leaning closer to his ear. “Twenty lashes, no food for two weeks and the cost of his jacket comes out of your wages.” It felt like the air had been ripped out of his lungs, but the Butler held his tongue. Often Billiam would make empty threats he’d forget about hours later, so long as the Butler remained well-behaved and/or invisible. “Now get out of my sight.” He didn’t have to be told twice before he retreated upstairs, stuffing himself into a small cubbyhole where no guest would find him by accident. He would be left alone for the remainder of the party, when he’d leave and get something to eat without being seen or heard. He’d be fine. He’d be fine.

The kitchen doors were locked though when he tried to silently open them in the early hours of the morning, and when he turned away he was met with the sight of Hubert holding a candle in one hand and a cane in the other. A cold sweat formed on his brow like condensation on a chilly window pane.

“Hubert?” “Take off your shirt.” “But-” “Take off your shirt and step outside, please.” Hubert’s icy-grey eyes showed no sympathy as the two of them walked through a side door and stepped out onto the grounds of the estate. The Butler heard him set down the candle by the door as he shrugged off his waistcoat and undid the buttons of his shirt, trembling. Hubert took them out of his hands and cast them aside as he raised the cane, looking the Butler in the eyes as he tensed all the muscles in his body in anticipation. “No hard feelings.” “Right.” He murmured, shutting his eyes.

At least the agonising pains of starvation had distracted him from the raw ache of his back as it made contact with the wall behind him. He’d lost the fight to stay upright and was now huddled on the floor in the dank passage, tasting the blood in his mouth from where he’d bit through his tongue. It was better than nothing, he would only admit in this state. The tips of his fingers played with the canteen of water on the floor beside him: his only hope of surviving. This wasn’t the first time Billiam had withheld food from him, and he’d learnt that if he drank enough, he could about sustain himself through achingly empty days and endless torturous nights. Still, it did nothing to relieve his torment. It had been eleven days since the dinner party, and though the Butler knew he could survive this, the throbbing pain in his belly felt like Death consuming him from the inside out, withering him away in the secret passage. He was safe in there from his master at least, but what about his fellow servant? Did Hubert know about this hidey-hole?

If he died in here, would anyone find him? Would anyone care?

He titled his head back and let out a low moan as another wave of dizziness clouded his thoughts and senses. No one would care if he was gone. Not even his master, Billiam, would pay it any mind: Hubert was more than capable of running the show on his own. He never incurred Billiam’s wrath; he was never locked out of the kitchen or taken outside to be beaten or scolded for simply existing. Billiam and Hubert had conversations; the Butler was denied speech at all times. The Butler wasn’t even permitted his own name in Billiam’s establishment: he whispered it to himself while he was alone at night so he wouldn’t forget it. The memories of being called by his name grew dim in his mind, wasting away with no one else to value them. No one to value him.

The next time he was swept with a wave of nausea and weakness, the red tendrils returned to his vision, and this time they didn’t leave. “Oh Butler, or should I say, John...” “How… How do you know my name..?” He whispered back, without considering the source of the voice intruding into his mind. “You poor mortal soul, suffering alone with no one to care.” “How- How do you know that? Who are you?” The Butler’s voice was weak as he rasped questions to the darkness. “What is it that you want, hm? More than anything in the world, what is it that your heart desires?” “Are you Satan?” “No, child.” Somehow that pronouncement scared him more. “Please- I don’t want anything…” “Oh but you do!” The voice then fell silent, leaving the Butler alone with his thoughts for a long moment. The presence remained, but without the voice to distract him, the Butler once again whimpered aloud from the pain of his hunger pangs. “I- I guess- I guess I’d like something to eat.” He admitted, his voice a soft whisper as he basked in the shame he felt. “Yes, child, and that I can give to you, and so much more. I can grant you everything you’ve ever desired. Food, so much you’ll never go hungry again, rich and filling like what you serve to your master and his guests. You may have Billiam’s approval… He may even call you by your name.” The Butler’s vision was swimming. “H-How.” He mumbled, barely finding the will to whisper the words.

“Come. Come to me. In the library, behind the second painting. Then, lowly mortal, I will make sure you never starve again.” He tried, searching inside himself for the last of his resolve, tried to find the willpower to hold out against the pull of whatever demon was beckoning to him. His parents, were they alive, would never approve. Billiam would never approve.

But they didn’t matter. His parents were dead. And Billiam was the reason he was too weak to resist in the first place. His willpower shrivelled up and died as he dragged himself across the floor towards the rickety ladder upstairs. If just trying to survive made him a sinner, then he hoped at least that Hell would be warm.

---

“Karl,” He stared down the peculiarly-dressed stranger. “I’m going to have to ask you to go back inside.” He watched as the man hesitantly stepped under his arm where he held back the painting, his eyes darting between him and his master at the far end of the room, standing proud next to the Egg. He listened to him give Karl a small speech without hearing any of the words as he retrieved the scabbard from behind the other painting, then himself stepping through the hole in the wall.

As he reappeared, Billiam smiled and folded his hands before him. “Oh, the Egg is hungry.” The Butler unsheathed the wicked-sharp blade, stained with the blood of the Egg’s previous victims. As he looked at the last of the night’s targets in the eyes, he had only one thought.

‘So am I.’

[sunkissedpages]

We’re Only Kidding Ourselves- Part Ten || Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: we did it folks we made it to part ten!! ngl I’m lowkey emotional. thank you all so much for reading and inspiring me to write :)

Prompt: Enemies to lovers au (from @marvelellie‘s 1k writing challenge!!)

Summary: You work as a production assistant for the Spider-Man: Far From Home crew, or rather as Tom Holland’s handler. The two of you don’t get along very well to say the least, but you won’t quit and he can’t fire you so you’re stuck with each other.

Warnings: swearing, angst (okay but there’s minimal angst this time!! are you proud of me???), mentions of sex, vomit ((again) I’m SORRY)

What I listened to while writing: this very nice coffeehouse playlist and landmark by hippo campus suggested to me by @whimsicalmistakes a while back that’s one of my favorites now! 

Word Count: 3.5k for the anon who requested me to hook y’all up with a lengthy chapter, everyone say thank you anon

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine

“Why are you acting like you care about me?”

“Who said I didn’t?”

You blinked up at him in confusion. “You’re fucking with me right?”

“What?”

“You said you didn’t care about me, Tom! Multiple times!”

“I-“

You interrupted Tom by leaning over and spewing into the bushes one again, effectively stalling whatever bullshit was about to come out of his mouth. He looked on helplessly, fists balled like he still wanted to argue, but held back.

“Y/n? Are you alright?” Haz’s voice called out from around the corner, making you want to shrivel up and die. He was quite possibly the last person you wanted to see you like this, aside from Tom, but it was already too late for that.

“Does she look alright?” Tom answered for you.

“I wasn’t asking you, mate.”

“Yeah, well she’s a little preoccupied at the moment.”

You groaned and sat back on the ledge. “Can both of you do me a favor and shut the fuck up?” Their heads whipped towards you. “I’m fine. I should get back inside.”

“That’s not happening,” Tom sighed at the same time Haz said “absolutely not.”

“I can’t leave, it’s a mandatory event, guys.”

“We’ll cover for you.” Haz insisted. He held the cup of water in his hands out to you. You took it gratefully and rinsed your mouth out and spat into the bushes.

“Let me walk you back to your hotel room, y/n,” Haz offered. “That way Tom can go back to the party.”

You flashed Tom a look of panic, a look he reciprocated. Harrison would undoubtedly want to stay and take care of you like the good friend he was, but both you and Tom’s things were all over that room and he couldn’t know the two of you were staying together. No one could.

“You can’t!” you said a little too forcefully and you swore you saw Tom curse under his breath out of the corner of your eye. You took a deep breath and gathered yourself. “Tom’s already walking me back.”

“Are you kidding?” Harrison scoffed, looking between you and Tom in disbelief as Tom held out an arm helped you up. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, he already offered,”

“Is this about earlier?” Haz whispered. “Because I’m really sorry about that, it wasn’t any of my business and-“

“I can’t talk about this right now,” you hissed and pushed past him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Harrison watched dumbfounded as Tom slung your arm around his shoulders to steady you and began walking you back in the direction of the hotel. You felt guilty for being so harsh, but after everything you’d been through for this job you couldn’t risk losing it now.

You stumbled together underneath the watchful eye of the moon, carrying your heels in your free hand. It was a peaceful night. The paths were dark, barely lit by the streetlamps and starlight. Water in the canal lapped at the edges of the pavement lazily and chatter echoed from distant restaurants. The cobblestone sidewalk was cool to the touch, making you shiver.

“Are you cold?” Tom asked.

“A little,” you admitted, not entirely thinking it through.

Tom paused to unbutton his shirt and drape it over your shoulders. “There.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, but smiled at him thankfully, and buttoned it up around you before slinging your arm back around him.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he stated simply, staring straight ahead as you walked. “And if you’re sick I’d never get anywhere on time.”

“We can’t have that.”

“No we can’t,” he agreed. It fell silent between you for a moment before Tom spoke again. “So...DJ?”

“What about him?”

“You like him?”

“I barely know him.”

“He likes you.”

“He likes,” you hesitated, “aspects of me that’s for sure.”

Tom gave you a knowing glance. “You mean assets of you?”

“Yeah I guess he probably does like my ass,” you said thoughtfully and Tom burst out laughing.

“No, assets.”

“Ohhh. Well I’d say my ass is an asset of mine, wouldn’t you?”

“No comment.”

“No? Now you don’t have anything to say?”

Tom crinkled his eyebrows at you questioningly. “Hm?”

“I’m just saying, you never shut your mouth about anything ever.”

“You’re lucky I don’t let go of you and let you fall into the canal,” Tom snipped, dipping you towards the water playfully. You cried out and clung to him harder in fear of him following through.

“Okay, okay!” you relented and he pulled you back upright, pausing to let you catch your breath.

“Hey, um, what was Harrison talking about back there?” Tom asked. “What is he sorry for?”

“For being a fucking cockblock,” you sighed, blinking up at him. Tom gave you a hint of a smile. “It’s a long story-” you paused suddenly. By some amazing instinct Tom hauled you over to the shrubbery in front of an apartment building just in time for you to throw up again. He held your hair back and rubbed circles on your back, repeating the mantra of ‘shhh it’s okay’ just like he had before. “God, this is so embarrassing,” you moaned.

“Not the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done,” Tom pointed out. “Remember the day you fell into Harrison and knocked over the craft services table?”

“Is this you trying to make me feel better?”

Tom grinned. “Is it working?”

You rolled your eyes at him and straightened back up, grimacing. “The people who live here are going to be so mad.”

“Then we better get going.”

The trek back to the hotel was a long one. The staff were less than pleased when you both walked in looking like a wreck, you with no shoes, Tom with no shirt. You were obviously wasted and the people at the front desk narrowed their eyes at Tom as he dragged you gently over to the elevator. You gave them a little wave to assure them you were fine and they relaxed a little. You appreciated the fact that they had been concerned and made a mental note to thank them in the morning.

Once back in the room you immediately flopped on the bed like a starfish. Your head was throbbing and you were still nauseous.

Tom moved over to you, standing at the edge of the bed in between your legs. He leaned over you. “Can I?” he asked, reaching up to the the collar of his shirt that you were still wearing. You nodded and he began to unbutton it. His breath tickled your neck as he worked. “Did you drink on an empty stomach?”

You wracked your brain trying to remember if you’d had  anything besides alcohol all day. “Maybe?”

“Y/n,” he groaned.

“I know! I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t.”

He finished unbuttoning the shirt and pulled it from underneath your body. He tossed it into a corner, then made his way over to your suitcase. He threw a pair of pajama pants that had been resting on top of your stuff to you. You shimmied them on under your dress.

“Put this on too,” Tom said, trying to hand you an old  t-shirt of Harrison’s you’d stolen in the Czech Republic. You just moaned and swatted his hands away. You were so tired. All of your muscles felt like jello. “Here, sit up,” he instructed and pulled on your shoulders gently. You did as asked. “Arms up.” You raised your arms and he fingered the edges of the silver dress hesitantly. “This okay?”

“Mhm.”

He took a deep breath then started working your dress up over your head, his cold fingers brushing your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Once the dress was off and you were sitting in only a bra he managed to get your arms into the sleeves of the t-shirt and then your head before pulling it down over your torso. You expected to feel at least a little embarrassed or exposed at experiencing something so intimate with your boss, but you only felt exhausted and dizzy. Maybe the shame would come in the morning.

The morning did come, but the first thing you felt was nausea. Nausea and pain. Everything hurt. You opened your eyes slowly, realizing you were alone in bed. You were in your pajamas, but you didn’t remember changing out of your dress. You glanced over and saw that Tom was fast asleep in the armchair beside the bed, legs propped up on his suitcase. Your heart clenched with something at the sight.

He was shirtless as he had been when you last saw him, still in his slacks from last night. Socks on, shoes off. His hair was a mess. You vaguely remembered him running his hands through it with worry in the early hours of the morning when he had checked to make sure you were still breathing.

Your head throbbed. You rolled over to the other side of the bed where Tom had conveniently placed a trash can in case of emergency and began dry heaving into it. Your stomach was empty, but the nausea still crashed over you in waves.

Your choking sounds must have woke Tom up because he started shifting in the chair and opened his eyes.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to wake you,” you said with a raspy voice once the dry heaving had stopped.

“S’okay. How are you feeling?”

You threw yourself back on the bed with a groan and covered your face with your hands. “Like I was hit by a truck. I didn’t say anything too embarrassing last night did I?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember some things, like when you threatened to push me into the canal.”

Tom chuckled. “Of course you remember that. Well, you threw up into a lot of people’s bushes.”

You felt your cheeks get warm. “I can never come back to Italy.”

“I’d give it ten years at the least.”

You rolled over towards him to face him properly, noticing that the sun was up behind the curtains of the window. “What time is it?”

He checked his phone. “About sevenish. I actually have to run to a meeting with security and then I’ll be back. I’ll bring some gingerale and stuff back for you. Is there anything you want in particular?”

Tom was still being oddly nice to you and you weren’t entirely sure why. “No thanks, I’m good. Why do you have a meeting with security?”

“Something about ‘disappearing from a party without telling anyone’.” He grinned sheepishly.

“No!” you gasped and threw your arms over your face. “That’s my fault too! God, Tom, I’m so sorry!”

“I could have told someone if I wanted to, but I didn’t. That’s on me.” Tom stood to change and started unbuttoning his pants. You quickly averted your eyes to give him privacy, but he only chuckled. “You need to drink that water,” he said as he looped a belt around his waist. You looked over to the side table and realized Tom had left a bottle of water for you sometime this morning or last night.

“Thank you.”

He ran a hand through his hair haphazardly and looked in the mirror before turning back to you. “Okay, I’ll be back in half an hour. That bottle needs to be empty by the time I’m back. Don’t do anything stupid.”

You felt like you only blinked before Tom was back with everything. The loud crinkling of the plastic shopping bags made your head pound even more.

“Alright, we’ve got like an hour and a half to turn you into a functional human being,”

You groaned. “I don’t know, Tom, maybe I should call in sick.”

“No, they’d definitely know.” He set the bags down on the foot of the bed and began rifling through them. “You’ll be good as new in no time.” He glanced over to the side table and made a face. “Don’t tell me you didn’t drink the fucking water.”

“I drank some of it?” you offered weakly.

“Y/n!”

“Sorry! I fell asleep!”

“God, you have to make everything difficult. This is going to take more work than I thought. Okay, I got some extra strength ibuprofen, gingerale, bananas, crackers, and your favorite,” he held up a jar of pickles and shook them at you with a shit-eating grin on his face.

You narrowed your eyes. “Motherfucker. But thank you, really.”

Tom looked up from working on opening the bottle of pills to wink at you. “Don’t mention it. Least I could do after I was such a dick when I was hungover.”

Least your could do after you were such a dick every fucking day on this god forsaken job.

“Take these,” he instructed, pressing two white pills into your palm. You threw them back with a sip of water. You gagged instantly. “Shit, sorry, should’ve had you eat something first.” He tossed the box of wheat thins onto the bed near you. He watched you carefully as you nibbled on crackers, making sure you were actually swallowing. You kept your fingers crossed they’d stay down.

Once you’d finished enough crackers that Tom was satisfied he moved on to what you were dreading most. He popped the lid off the jar of pickles effortlessly and passed them over to you.

“Drink up,” he said cheekily, repeating the same words you’d said to him only a few days ago.

“This crueler than what I did to you,” you whined looking at the full jar in front of you.

“Payback’s a bitch.”

“So are you.”

“Drink.”

You brought the lid of the jar to your lips hesitantly. If you threw up again you were never going to forgive Tom. Pickle juice was supposed to be good for hangovers. You didn’t let yourself dwell any longer before taking a big sip. It wasn’t nearly as horrible as you thought it’d be and you started to force yourself to chug, trying not to think about how nauseous you already were.

“Good girl,” Tom praised as you drank making you choke and spit pickle juice onto the carpet.

“Fucking hell,” you sputtered with embarrassment and moved to clean it up.

“You stay, I’ve got this,” Tom assured you and disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing only seconds later with a handful of tissues to dab the carpet.

If marvel knew Tom Holland, their beloved Spider-man, was currently cleaning up something you’d spat on the ground they’d snipe you where you stood. You honestly couldn’t believe this was happening right now.

“I’m so, so sorry,” you apologized, cheeks burning.

“It’s not a big deal, y/n, I promise. I’ve seen way worse,” Tom pointed out. “Plus I can hold this over your head for the rest of your life.”

“Oh fuck you, and you mean the rest of your life. There’s no way you’re outliving me.”

“We’ll see,” he shrugged.

“Is that a threat?”

Tom gave you a sickly sweet smile. “Of course not.” He checked his phone for the time. “You should shower before you get ready, it’ll make you feel better.”

Tom was surprisingly good at this, and surprisingly caring. Not even your best friends cared this much when you were hungover. You kept waiting for the other shoe to drop because there was no way he was being this nice for no reason.

You took Tom’s advice and took a scalding shower, letting the water run over your temples and shoulders to try and get your muscles to relax. You scrubbed at your skin roughly in an effort to erase the night before. Your entire body was raw by the time you got out of the shower but Tom was right, you did feel a little better.

Two antacid tablets, a pair of sunglasses, and a yellow hoodie later you were downstairs and somewhat put together. The lobby was already bustling with familiar faces much to your quiet horror. Lucky for you, you weren’t the only one who’d apparently had a rough morning. Various cast and crew members were dressed similarly, looking pale and exhausted. It had been a long night for everyone. At least you wouldn’t stick out.

Tom left your side to make his rounds saying good morning to everyone. Usually it made you cranky because he always skipped you (you were convinced it was to spite you), but today you thought it was actually kind of nice. Everyone looked a little less miserable when he approached them.

Zendaya looked even more radiant than she had the day before. Of course, she didn’t drink, but even if she did she’d probably still look fantastic this morning. She came up to you and bumped your shoulder lightly with hers.

“Saw you left early last night, you okay?”

“Yeah, just went a little too hard a little too fast,” you joked lightheartedly. She didn’t know the half of it.

“Oh sorry to hear that, babe,” she said genuinely. “Honestly thought it might have had something to do with Haz, he was in a shitty mood after you left.”

“Really?”

“Yeah he kind of sulked at the bar the rest of the night, I wasn’t sure if the two of you had gotten into it, but maybe it was because he was missing his other half. Who knows.”

“Wait, Tom never came back?” you asked.

“To the party? No I don’t know where he went but that boy was M.I.A the rest of the night. Wouldn’t answer calls, texts, anything,” Z explained. “See, this is why he needs a  handler- I mean another assistant,” she corrected herself.

You nodded in agreement and gave her a dry laugh, but guilt was burning in your chest. Tom had said, or rather implied, that he’d go back to the event after he dropped you off at the hotel, but apparently he never had. You couldn't remember much after leaving the party, but the fact that Tom had stayed with you the whole night was news to you. You wondered how much trouble he was in because of you.

No one talked to you for the rest of the morning and you were relieved. You only needed to focus on getting Tom to set and to wardrobe and that was all you could handle as horrible as you felt. Tom didn’t talk to you, but would shoot you texts every twenty minutes or so of how are you feeling? and make eye contact with you from across the lot or the trailer or wherever you were. You’d subtly slide him a thumbs up or thumbs down in response and he’d nod in confirmation. It was the most pleasant interaction you’d ever had with him at work, and it was nice.

Haz had been avoiding you all day, but came up to you finally after lunch, when the ibuprofen was wearing off.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, taking a seat next to you on the pavement under the work tent.

“In a word: miserable. In several: exhausted, dehydrated, mortified about last night, I could go on.”

He smiled softly. “I’m sorry. Do you need anything?”

“I don’t suppose you could put me in a coma, could you?”

“Sorry, I should have specified: anything that won’t send me to jail?”

“Oh, then no. Thanks, though.”

He nodded absentmindedly. “Now probably isn’t the best time, but I just wanted to apologize for being an idiot last night. It wasn’t my place to say anything about you and, uh, DJ and I’m sorry for making assumptions.”

You turned to face him better. “Thanks, Haz.” You took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry too. You were probably right. I think I would’ve regretted going home with him if I’d stayed.”

“But it should have been your decision to make.”

“It was. You were just trying to help.”

He gave you a smile then took out his phone and started scrolling before seeming to remember something else he wanted to ask you. “Hey, did Tom happen to mention where he was going after he dropped you off last night?”

You cleared your throat. “No, why?”

“He never came back to the party. Everyone was kind of worried about him,” he leaned back on his elbows and sighed. “Bet he was probably with some girl, just used you as an excuse to slip away. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

You weren’t sure why that comment rubbed you the wrong way, but it did. You wanted to come to Tom’s defense, but knew you couldn’t. So you just shrugged. Tom had been with some girl- you, but no one could know that.

“Speak of the devil,” Haz said as Tom jogged over to the two of you and you couldn’t help the ‘literally’ that slipped out of your mouth automatically. Force of habit.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” he asked you, still breathing heavily from the scene they’d just been shooting.

“Like you give a shit,” Haz scoffed and Tom shot him a look.

“What’s your problem, mate?”

o shit. anyway, thank you guys again for reading! i appreciate you all more than you know! 10 parts of woko! here’s to 10 more! lmk what you guys think I always appreciate feedback :)

Forever Tags: @mischiefmanaged49 @bookingbee @cloverrover @captainbuckyy @perhaps-he-schnapped @awkwardfangirl2014 @the-queen-procrastinator @tastingthestarz @sleepybesson @everythingbooknerd @sunshine96love @bitchymathematician

WOKO Tags: @parkerstylesperalta @marvelellie @splashofbi @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @timelock97 @ohheyitsem @starsholland @honeymoonparker @zeenee @musicgirl234 @brozekey3215 @tryn25 @gracie4290 @lovinnholland @bluparis @summernykole @alt-ernativewonderland @hbmoore1986 @falling-stars-never-cry @in-the-corner-coffee-please @maxnayfield @lillypedalsxx @thedaydreamingwriter @being-deadly-sirius @sherizaraiyah @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell @tomsmelanin @dangerousluv1 @xitzbrookiex @illletitgrow @pleaseforthesakeofmysanity @fangirl-juchan @awkwardnesshabitat @hazspancakes @canadianjelly @gioandreolli

Send me an ask to be added/dropped from a taglist

[lodessa]

[Modern Au] But I wish you would write a fic where Daenerys is in one of those timed speed dating things. Jorah walks in not knowing what is going on because it's usually a pub. So he and Dany talks and hits it off and basically they never switched and everyone was angry at them. (Lol, I dont think Dany would need to speed date but it would be hilarious seeing it.)

“Do you mind if I sit here?” a low voice asks, a little rough but warm.

Daenerys twists her head back away from where she’s been tracking her friends’ across the room, wondering why on she let them drag her to this thing. The man in question is older than the general crowd to be sure, but she can see he’s rather fit from the way his t-shirt clings to him and his eyes are the most piercing blue.

“I suppose that’s the idea, isn’t it?” she smiles, holding her hand out across the table towards him. “I’m Daenerys… though most people just call me Dany.”

“Daenerys,” he says, like her name is a gift and not a burden, as he takes her hand in his own, neither squeezing too hard nor limp but firm and comfortable.  “I’m Jorah.  It’s a bit crowded here tonight, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she admits, “This isn’t my usual scene.”

That’s putting it lightly.  This whole speed dating thing really seemed like a ridiculous idea, but Jhiqui,  Irri, and Doreah had been rather insistent and she knew they were worried about her.  

“It’s not usually like this,” Jorah furrows his brow a bit with a raised eyebrow.  

“You do this a lot then?” she asks, suddenly suspicious.  Why would someone frequent this kind of thing unless they were some sort of pick up artist? Though she doesn’t get that vibe from him.  He seems friendly enough, but unassuming.  

“This place is right between work and home and they’ve got decent prices,” he shrugs and she starts to get the impression he’s not talking about this speed dating situation, possibly that he doesn’t even know it’s going on.  Which actually makes more sense somehow.

Giving him another once over, he’s definitely dressed more casually than most of the people here, though that fitted v-necked t-shirt and the way his belt is slung around his hips are altogether doing him more favors than all the sad sport coats she’s witnessing across the room.  This feels like a man who knows what he is and isn’t looking to apologize about it.

“Ah, my friends dragged me,” she points in the direction of Doreah, who responds with a wink. “They think I’m going to shrivel up and die if they don’t force me to go out and meet new people.”

“You don’t seem in any danger of shriveling, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”

“My husband died last year,” she tells him, not sure why she wants to do so with him. When the idea of this was broached telling strangers her business had seemed anything but appealing. “Motorcycle accident… So that’s why they are worried.”

“My condolences,” Jorah says, as if he means it but without being overly dramatic or showy about it, and then he adds, “It’s hard losing a spouse, but even harder when it happens suddenly and you don’t have any time to get used to the notion.”

The way he says it makes her feel as though he speaks from experience. There is a tension in his well defined jaw, in his broad shoulders.

“You too?”

“I am both a widower and a divorcee,” he owns. “I’d tell you it gets easier, but I know when people told me that it was anything but welcome.”

She can see other men approach their table, looking impatient and annoyed as Jorah fails to give ground.  She finds she’s glad though, that she wants to keep talking to Jorah more as much as she doesn’t want to engage in smalltalk with the rest.

“It’s already easier,” she admits.  “Drogo and I weren’t actually together all that long, and I knew his work was dangerous.  I do get lonely though.”

“Perhaps I ought to leave you to these fellows buzzing around this table like yellowjackets then,” he looks a little chagrined.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” she can tell him honestly.  “But I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to buy me a drink.”

“Me?” he asks, as though he really had just been friendly, and for a moment Daenerys feels a bit foolish.  

“I mean, not if you wouldn’t like to.  But I am rather enjoying talking to you.”

“I would very much like to,” Jorah presses his lips together and swallows.  “Though, I think if I get up to go to the bar I’m going to lose my spot.”

As he adds that last bit he glances in the direction of one of the guys who is sort of hovering in wait.  

“I thought, maybe you knew someplace a bit quieter around here,” she suggests, realizing that he’s right.

“Following a strange man to a second location, you really are fearless aren’t you?”  Jorah chuckles, and there’s something about his smile that makes her feel warm and at ease.

“Not usually,” she has to say, “But I don’t know… I just have a good feeling about you, Jorah.”

She ignores the looks as Jorah offers her a callused hand on her way up.  She can feel her phone buzzing inside her purse, but she ignores that too.

“There’s a place around the corner that has a pretty good selection,” he tells her, appraising her clutch, shoes, and jacket.  “You strike me as someone who enjoys the finer things in life, Daenerys.”

“I suppose that depends on the way you define fine,” she tells him.   She doesn’t want him to think she’s the kind of woman who is looking for her next benefactor.  

“And how would you define it?” he asks, as they weave their way out of the crowded pub and outside where the sun is still up.

In the sunlight, his eyes are even more penetrating, though his body language is still non demanding.  

“I think something that is fine is something that brings enduring enjoyment, not just the cheap entertainment of a moment, but the kind of satisfaction that only increases with further acquaintance.”

“Like your eyes,” he suggests, “Those really aren’t contacts are they?”

“It’s a genetic quirk of my family,” she tells him.  His reaction seems genuine, not cheesy or hollow like so many who wax poetical about it. She wonders if he noticed her reaction to his eyes and that’s why he brought up hers.

“You know, you should probably respond to your friends’ before they send out a search party,” he tells her with a glance in the direction or where she realizes her phone is once again vibrating.

Realizing that they are not going to stop until she responds, Daenerys pulls her phone out to see over a dozen messages in her group text with the girls.  The shamelessness of Doreah’s make her blush, as she scrolls past them as quickly as possible.  

I’m fine, she types.  

That was fast 😉🍆👅… is the immediate response, making her regret saying anything at all.

She turns vibrate off on her phone and stashes it back in her purse, hoping Jorah didn’t see her friends’ comments about him or beliefs about where she was headed.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me…” she feels the need to say, after seeing her friends’ teasing assumptions.

“Daenerys,” Jorah says her name and there’s something about it that makes her feel like he sees her, like really truly sees her in a way that’s more than just her measurements or whatever.  “No hard feelings if you are suddenly realizing you want to go back.”

“No,” she tells him, “I just don’t want you to think that I’m…”

What is it she is worried he’ll think.  That’s she’s easy?  That she’s the type of girl who goes off with strange men… that a drink meant something quite different?  

“There’s a coffeeshop a block over,” Jorah seems to understand somehow, even though she hasn’t said anything really.  “Perhaps, that would be a better place to start… whatever it is you’d like to start.”

What does she want to start? Daenerys doesn’t know, only that if she’d left that bar without exchanging contact information with him she knows she would have wondered, would have felt a sense of regret.

“Coffee,” she agrees.  “And maybe you can tell me about that book you’ve had in your back pocket this whole while, and why you brought one to a pub.”

“I could do that,” he nods, “And perhaps you’ll tell me about the dragons you were doodling on a napkin when I walked up.”

[riversnthedesert-blog]

Some Real Talk on Hollywood and the Deep Things in Life

Well, I was originally going to slide this in as a Facebook post, but I had this sudden idea to just make it a blog post. The first of many, let’s hope! There have been so many times where I have started to comment/make a post, etc., and then I began writing a novel. But, it’s called Face “book,” so you think it’d be ok, right? Listen, I have thoughts. Don’t you? One thought here, another there, and then my mind be like, “OH! Forgot about that...and YEAH! That, too!”…and a lot of the time it’s easier to just write and get my thoughts out that way rather than speaking it. It’s a relief, man! Write ya mind. It would suffice to say there’s a lot that goes on up there. Better log it quick because as soon as I have something important...here cometh something else. Ah, feelings, the mind, expressions, inner things, brain files....

So, now that you, reader, have become acquainted with my thought processes, because you desperately needed to know...let’s get to the content.

You guys pray for Hollywood. There are some really creepy things going on behind the scenes….and creepy is an understatement, as I’d do well to keep it kosher in my description. Many things would shock you. But if one isn’t awake so to speak…or one isn’t open to hear in full, there’s confusion. If I could compare it to a puzzle: it’s like there’s all these pieces to a big puzzle. And until someone is ready to sit down and actually put it together, it’s just all these random pieces everywhere...and it’s messy and annoying. You must be willing to sit, observe the pieces, and study them because by themselves they don’t fit anywhere. And since you don’t know what to do with it, it just sits there, and never gets connected; the bigger picture never gets seen. This all might seem confusing, because you haven’t yet sat down to solve the puzzle. Let’s me just say...I don’t have 100% of the puzzle solved, but there are certain things that have been brought to light. But if we go back to the puzzle analogy, if you put together enough pieces of a particular part of the puzzle,you may not see all the details, but you see enough to maybe see, “Oh this is puzzle has a cat in it.” In the case for Hollywood, you might get to a place where you’ll say, “Oh, this puzzle has a rat.” It may seem like I am just finding something to poke at or what have you, but listen: 

The Bible says, “be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. (1 Peter 5:8)”  and in Ephesians 5:8-13, it says, “For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness, and truth) and find out what pleases the Lord. Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them. It is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret. But everything exposed by the light becomes visible--and everything that is illuminated becomes a light.”

The Bible in different places talk about knowing wisdom (of God), being discerning, and having knowledge. Jesus said in Matthew 10:16, “Behold, I send you out as sheep among wolves, therefore be wise as serpents and gentle as doves.”

With that in mind, it’s important to note that we shouldn’t be unaware of the devil’s schemes. We should know our enemy’s tactics in order to guard against it. So when we see the deception, the lies, the fake news, the idolatry, the game of distraction, and materialism and fame, the plan of the enemy to sway hearts deceitfully and subtly for his kingdom, we are prepared and not caught off guard.

[Later, hopefully, I will try to discuss this more in depth at as it relates to the Antichrist agenda that is at work in the world by globalist leaders.]

Getting to the point here:

 Pray for your favorite celebrities. God has an army, but so does the devil. God wants to recruit, but so does the the devil. One is Light, one masquerades as light, but is actually darkness. One is good, one appears good. One is true, one is the counterfeit.

Please hear me. The world’s biggest influencers are definitely a target of Satan because they have the platform to be able to change an entire culture. How does this happen? MUSIC, ART…things that grip the HEART. Things that speak to the deepest places in people, the places of pain, emptiness, woes of many kinds. Why is this such a soft spot for the human race? Why are most songs about love and pain? I mean, why is music the language that everyone understands? We’re about to get into that.

[Disclaimer: I don’t know everything, and I don’t claim to. But with evidence from the Bible (God’s word), and when hings that were once just an idea or only talked about begin blatantly flaunting themselves in plain sight, you tend to not just tuck it away hoping that what you saw wasn’t real. With that being said, here we go.]

It’s not hard to find the answer if you really wanna know (read Matthew 7:7). Our inmost being cries out for LOVE. But, hey man, why does love in this world seem to suck a lot of the time? Could it be that we’re going about it all wrong? Could it be that we’re hitting something, but haven’t quite dug it all up to actually see what it is? Love is real, ok. Love is DEEP and beautiful and poetic and all those things, but love is meant to be JOYFUL, though. Does this world see much real, raw, joyful love? Romanticism? Yes. Infatuation? You bet. Any idea how to sustain a marriage? Look at the divorce rate. What is that all about, my friends? Does anyone know what love is anymore? There are SONGS about this. People want to know, though. Their souls try out to know...WHAT THE HECK IS THIS LOVE THING THAT TAKES ME OVER AND THEN LEAVES ME BROKEN AND WASHED UP ON THE SHORE TO SHRIVEL UP AND DIE?Okay, we’re getting somewhere, but in order to go any further, we must admit: Something is wrong, perverted, amiss, broken, disturbed, frustrated...yet, we gotta have it in order to LIVE. This is crazy revelation, right? Fasten your seat belts, people, and as Samuel L. Jackson said in Jurassic Park, “Hold on to your butts!”

So we have just come to the point of realization that someone is doing something wrong. Right? *heh*

First step. Admitting something is wrong.

But chin up fam, there’s no shame. Because the world’s just trying to do the best they can with what they’ve got. It’s like survival mode. And you know animals when they try to find their food to survive...they kill, they go crazy to get their essentials. Dog eat dog world, am I right? The CARNAL mind. Did you know humans have carnal minds, too? Yeah, it’s a thing. The carnal mind deals with the flesh (aka: how we compensate without God. Doing life without Him...either on purpose or ignorantly. Survival mode, because if I don’t fend for myself, I’m at risk of dying. Fear mode. The twisted mentality that my desire (the heart) has to be met before I am fully satisfied.

And the Bible says, “Those who are in [operating out of] the flesh cannot please God. (Romans 8:8) 

K. Well, wait a minute, that sounds rather harsh. 

Hold on, though because I’m going to explain and bring more clarity.

What is the opposite of the flesh?  You might argue, “So if the flesh is all we know...what the heck, man! Like, I have desires, don’t you? I gotta give up my happiness and all that brings me joy?”

No bruh, not exactly. See, if someone is living in the flesh, they are living in an illusion. The illusion that if they “meet their desires themselves [based on their limited power and understanding as a human being of what it is they want/need]. Living based on the flesh will keep someone in a hopeless cycle of temporary fulfillment which will lead, eventually, to a state of deprivation, disappointment, and (un)fulfillment because they are depriving themselves of the SOURCE of their life.

What’s the source, you ask? Who made you and knows what you truly desire and need; what’s at core of your heart. Who knows how it operates? Who saw your unformed body? (Please friends, I’m begging you to read Psalm 139)

Does God just want take away our desires to rob us of delight and a fun, abundant life, just because? Does He want to see us thrive? 

Men, women, young and old, children of all ages. I’d like to introduce you to my Father in Heaven who is a God of GOODNESS. He is Spirit. And the nature of his Spirit are aaalll of these

Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control.

God is good. Anything not good is contrary to His nature. 

Sin = not good. What is sin? Woah! Another post, for another time.

I have suffieciently dove into the deep end. There are rabbits hopping everywhere because my mind has gone down so many trails to explain this all to you. There’s more. 

*Self notes: post to be made on flesh desires and God desires.

 [Or read Romans 8]

Wrapping up our discussion with some further thoughts:

If the world doesn’t know the power and love of Jesus, they’re just trying to figure it out and compensate. We did something important earlier. We recognized we have been going about love all wrong. God wants to show us how to do it right, but He won’t force us. Instead, He lovingly leads, allows His children to live out the love they have received through Him. “We love because He first loved us (1 John 4:19-21)” HA! Let me say it again. Love is not to be forced. Not saying that there isn’t sacrifice involved in love because there is, but when it’s properly received and you do it the right way, it looks like Jesus on the Cross. 

Gotta go to the Book with this. 1 Corinthians 13. Love.

*All kinds of things are stirring up in me because I know some are going to say to themselves, “well dats the Bible, that ain’t no solid truth. How can you say that’s truth, made made it!” I will explain to all my atheists friends out there one day, but not now because I literally will start writing a novel right here and now. Help, me, Lord. And like a faithful friend, He will.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. (That’s 1 Corinthians 13:4-8)

So if that’s all the characteristics of love, we can say that those are the characteristics of God, too, because 1 John 4:8 says, “God is love.”

If we are imperfect people, we love imperfectly. But wait just a second here because in 1 John 4, if we read the whole thing, it says

“Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God.Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him.In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins.Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us.”

So if one isn’t a believer in Jesus, like hasn’t received Him as Lord and Savior, then it would be true also to say that they don’t know Love if they don’t know God.

When someone doesn’t know God, because we were made in His image and His likeness (Genesis 1:27, Gen. 9:6), we still have attributes and qualities of God. The Bible also says, “eternity was placed in the human heart, (Ecclesiastes 3:11), people can be without God but still be operating out of the qualities and attributes they were made with. I’m sure God did that intentionally to help us find our way back to “truth north” in the event that we should become lost. What I am saying friends is that people who reject Jesus at this point, choose Atheism, paganism, Gnosticism, and other forms of religion, they still have that eternity void that needs to be filled. And some further discussion on the void of eternity:

Think of eternity as an umbrella…and under the umbrella, there’s

LOVE

MEANING

PURPOSE

TRUTH

If all of these are within the concept of eternity, then all of us have the bent within us to go after them. It’s in us to find these things…because we are trying to get back to our “true north.”

But wait! Because if “true north” is God. How do we know which avenue to God is the right one?

“Oh, boy. You’ve done it now, Lex.”

[to be continued...]

[thewiseworm]

Not Hair, but a Heart of Gold

Chapter 1: Love at First Steal

Summary: Roman lives a life freedom. He cares about no one other than himself, with an exception of one, sort of. He dances his way across the rooftops of the nearby cities and paints himself into the history books by stealing anything and everything he wants.

Roman’s content with that.

At least until he meets Patton. Patton with his bright blue eyes. Patton with his innocence and adorable giggle.

Patton who’s never left his father’s tower.

Word count: 5561

Pairings: Royality, Analogical, Platonic Logince, Platonic Moxiety

Tags: Language, Emotional Abuse (brief)

Notes:  Project number 2!! Of who knows how many! Chapter one of this glorious adventure and gaaaaah I am e x c i t e for this one gays!! I’ve wanted to do this one for a while and now we’re finally starting it aaaaaaaa -Soc

Yeesssss!! I'm super excited and hype!! It's been one of our favorite ideas and I'm so happy we get to explore it and share it with y'all! -Puma 

Read on AO3

Next

Roman gripped the windowsill with both hands. The foothold he used took his weight easily, worn down by his repeated use of it. Perhaps it was time to switch up which rooftop they met on, but really Roman had grown attached to this one. It had pizzazz. The whole city was visible, from the towering mansion at one end, to the capitol building and the mayor’s house at the other.

Roman let go with one hand, swinging out to look down at the glittering lights below him. He trusted his harness to catch him if anything went wrong. The view was to die for anyways. He tilted his head back. The evening wind ruffled his bangs.

Each building was a star all on its own. One that Roman was free to plunder as he chose. A grin stretched across his face. Suspended above the world always left him feeling like a king, a prince, a god. Endless freedom stretched out below him, and adventure was a simple kick of his leg away. If it weren’t for his… “standing appointment,” for the night Roman would be flying.

He rolled his eyes at the reminder of the detective probably already waiting for him above.

He reached up once more, hauling himself up even further. Roman pressed a button on his rope harness and with a click, he rushed past the last ten floors to the rooftop. Logan’s glasses glinted like sapphires and he would know! He stole more than enough of them in his line of work. Roman hauled himself over the edge and back onto solid ground.

Roman didn’t click himself out of the harness just yet. He preferred to take the quick exit down if he needed to. Logan leaned over the railing, his dark trench coat fluttering in the cold wind as he appreciated the view. Roman leaned back against the railing next to Logan.

“Hey there, old friend,” Roman drawled as his archenemy adjusted his glasses, “Come on, don’t sulk. I won fair and square.”

“You won nothing,” Logan replied. Roman smirked, careful to not let his eyes drop to the gun surely hanging at Logan’s waist. “You stole plenty.”

“But you got another commendation for catching that drug ring,” Roman all but purred. He was the cat that got the cream after all. Or more accurately the cat that got several thousands worth in illegal jewelry and smuggled art, but who was counting? “I told you that shop had been a front.”

“You also used the raid as cover in order to steal everything!”

“I left you the drugs! And the evidence! Plus you have no proof it was me!” Roman protested. He perched on the railing as Logan glared at him. A reminder that all Roman had to do was lean back to disappear back into the night. That, and because the precarious feeling of almost falling left a pleasant swoop in Roman’s stomach.

Logan sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. Roman grinned. Maybe he’d pick a better target next time. Someone more visible.

“Admit it, Sherlock,” Roman teased, “You’d be bored without me.”

“I’d have an easier job without you,” Logan shot back dryly. “You raise the crime statistic in every city that you go to, impossibly, more than a few points. It’s almost like chaos and crime follow you, Moriarty.”

Roman preened.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Roman laughed. He threw his head back, the sound echoing across the rooftops. “Not that it matters, any crime that I might or might not bring along gets squashed by you. Just a bunch of little bugs that go squish. Around and around we go, when we’ll stop nobody knows!”

He threw his hands in the air. He tilted back for a precarious moment, dangling between falling back and stay where he was. His grin grew as he watched Logan’s hands twitch towards him before Logan shoved them in his pockets. And Logan claimed he didn’t care.

“We’ll stop once you’re behind bars,” Logan said simply. A confidence in his ability that sent shivers down Roman’s spine. “You can’t keep this up, and when you slip up I’ll be there. No one can run from justice forever. Not someone who can’t help but hurt others like you.”

“Bah!” Roman stuck his tongue out at Logan, “The people you claim I steal from aren’t in need of the reportedly stolen items. I mean, who needs that many jewels just sitting in a bank? No one that’s who.”

“And the people who work at the banks?” Logan raised an eyebrow, and Roman waved him off.

“Anyone working at a bank must be evil. I mean it’s a bank Dear Stalker, a bank! No one except the most shriveled of souls would work for a bank!”

“Now that’s a generalization,” Logan said. His eyes drifted down towards one of the buildings below them, and not for the first time Roman considered asking Logan to join him. To have someone else join him on the roofs and alleyways. Logan’s bright eyes looking over blueprints and a voice other than the music he put on filling the room.

“I’d hate to know what you think about the police,” Logan remarked, reaching up to adjust his glasses. Roman nudged him with his foot, ignoring the nasty look Logan sent to him in return.

“What I think,” Roman said grandly, “is that somewhere in the world there has to be an exception for everything, and if anyone had to be a good man and a good detective then you pull the look off rather well.”

Logan shifted uncomfortably, eyes cutting away from him. Roman frowned. He nudged Logan with his foot again. Logan shoved gently at it.

Roman turned around to face the city skyline. He knew the twinkle of the lights far below was the closest Logan would ever get to stargazing out here. Light pollution, bleh. The wind whistled in the silence between them. Roman glanced at Logan, his soft frown lit up by the golden lights below.

That little crease of worry between his eyebrows made Roman’s skin itchy. He needed to take Logan’s mind off whatever he was thinking. It was a travesty if Logan wasn’t worried about Roman for even a second!

Roman looked over the city again and smirked as his eyes drew to the mansion on the west side. Well, well, nothing screams like “steal me!” like a good ol’ fashioned mansion. Art, jewelry, and most likely some blood money involved.

And a new case for Logan to chase him on. Perfect! Roman shoved Logan’s shoulder for attention until the detective turned to glare at him. Whatever! He could brood on his own time, not Roman’s.

“So, what’s that lovely mansion over there?” Roman said as he thumbed over to it, “I don’t know this city as well you do, Mr. Wikipedia.”

Logan rolled his eyes, “Learning about a city’s history and political atmosphere is exactly why I’m the best detective in the tri-state area. And you need to crack open a book or two instead of stealing them.”

“Tri-state area? Who even says that?” Roman ribbed, smirking at Logan’s red blush of embarrassment, “Plus, you haven’t answered my question. Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“That.” Logan pointed with a growl, “is Mr. Janius’ mansion. And you can see the infamous tower right next to it.”

“Tower of what?”

“It mainly holds art, artifacts, and it’s also a tourist location because it operates as a museum during the week.” Logan tapped his chin as his look became distant, “I would like to visit it myself but the ticket prices are abysmal. I get paid well but not that well.”

Roman hummed, “Art, you say?”

Logan froze, “No. You cannot be considering to steal from Mr. Janius of all people. The man isn’t like your usual drug dealer, I’m afraid.”

“He’s a man like you said yourself!” Roman leaned in, his breaths puffing in the biting air, “A few smokescreens and some good music, then bam! Moriarty strikes again.” Then quieter as Roman looked away, “And here I thought I’m just as talented as you are, dare I say, best in the tri-state area?’

Logan didn’t laugh or even do that little smirk, instead, the crease between his eyebrows folded deeper, “Don’t do it, you fool. I prefer to be the one to put you behind bars instead of six feet of dirt.”

“Ha!” Roman barked, his amusement trailing off as Logan stared steadily at him. He ignored the unease that skittered down his spine. “Oh come on, Nick Cause-Me-Fury, this is just another tactic to scare me off. You of all people should know by now that something as simple as fear won’t hold me back.”

“Roman!” Logan shouted. Roman startled, and then sucked in a breath as he overbalanced. Damn, he hadn’t wanted end tonight’s conversation quite yet. He reached for his harness, bracing for the drop when a hand clamped around his arm. Roman squawked as he toppled backward instead of forwards.

He threw his hands back, twisting out of Logan’s hold. His palms hit the pavement and he flipped backward. His feet landed with a jarring thump, lacking his usual grace as his heart pounded. He crouched, eyes locked onto Logan.

Logan took a step forward. Roman took a step back.

“You imbecile,” Logan hissed.

“Well that’s just rude,” Roman shot back, “You know that I am perfectly capable of handling a fall like that-”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it!” Logan took another step forward, and this time Roman stayed where he was. Logan gripped his arm and shook it, something wild in his eyes, “Roman you have to promise me. Whatever you do, whoever you decide from steal from. It cannot be Mr. Janius.”

Roman reached out. He wrapped his fingers around Logan’s trembling ones and pulled the other man close. Roman stood on his toes so he could hook his chin over Logan’s shoulder as Logan buried his face in his neck. He dug his fingers into Logan’s back, entertaining the thought of climbing up Logan’s body to try and wring a smile out of the other man.

Logan’s breath hitched, and Roman changed his mind. Logan held him tighter than the harness around his body could ever do. Roman’s smirk disappeared and instead buried his face into Logan’s shoulder.

“I promise I’ll be careful,” Roman said softly. He didn’t promise not to, something he was sure Logan would pick up on once he had calmed down. For now, this had to be enough. Logan was a friend, but he wasn’t the one that Roman would settle down for. Roman didn’t know if he’d ever meet someone who would make him want to stop.

Roman pecked a kiss on Logan’s cheek as he pulled away. Logan groaned and wiped it away with as much drama as possible. Roman smirked as he sauntered back to the railing and clicked himself back onto the rope.

“See you next time, Detective Crofters,” Roman winked as he stood on the other side of the railing, “Don’t worry about little ol’ me.”

“Roman--”

He fell before he could hear the rest of Logan’s lecture. Down, down, the wind howled as he dived past floors and offices. His laughter swept up in the wind as he freefell from the skyscraper. The building had nearly a hundred floors and yet it wasn’t the tallest one around. Then an audible click broke his peace.

Roman slowed to a stop as the ground approached to meet him. He dangled in his harness next to an innocuous window left open. Some office of a pencil pusher on the tenth floor. Roman swung towards the opening and landed inside. He clicked himself out of the harness and then tugged firmly down on the rope.

A few moments later, the rope went lax and fell with a graceful thump against the building. Roman didn’t worry about anyone witnessing his little escapade since no one was awake at three in the morning. He needed to be out and gone in under five minutes. The exact time it would take Logan to walk to the elevator and get back to the lobby. And his hunt would begin again.

Roman wouldn’t let himself be caught so easily! He made quick work of shoving the rope into his bag. He threw on a giant green coat to cover his clothes and harness and shoved on a hat. He walked out of the office, the security cameras set to be wiped in two minutes, and opened the stairwell instead of the elevators next to it.

He ran down the stairs until he arrived at the lobby. The elevators here were marbled and shone despite the dreariness of the first ten floors reserved for the plebians. Roman went through the security with a stolen pass card and a wave at ‘Steve’. Oh, how easily everyone trusted strangers the minute they said their name.

Roman smirked as he heard the elevator ding far behind him just as he walked through the large double doors. Logan, Logan, always too late. He heard a shout and then bolted.  He bit back cackles as he dove around the corner, leaving Logan behind.

Always, always leaving everything behind.

Roman grinned to himself and he ducked towards where the crowds would be at this time of night and hummed to himself. A fun, successful meeting with Logan and a moment where he felt like he could fly. His grin widened.

And a whole new heist to plan.

Ok, so Logan wasn’t entirely wrong, Roman would admit as he stared down at the mansion below him. The security measures were absolutely insane. Roman took out his phone to glance at the blueprints one last time. Lasers, fingerprints, pressure plates, the works. Roman ran a hand through his hair as he ran through his heist plan again.

“It’ll work,” Roman muttered to himself, “Six weeks of planning can’t go down the drain so quickly. You’re the best thief ever, so act like it!”

Roman put the phone back in his supply bag. Even the minute radioactivity from his phone would set off an alarm. Whoever Mr. Janius was, he was one paranoid cockroach of a man. Roman adjusted his black beanie and pulled on his leather gloves. Sometimes he wished he wore more colorful heist clothing but then he wouldn’t be the best thief out there.

The thing was- despite the fact that Mr. Janius had security that looked almost like he was trying to keep someone in as much as others out- there was one hole in the whole mess. According to the blueprints that Roman had managed to acquire, the room at the very top of the tower was kept empty.

Strange, for someone so prepared, but if he was going to give Roman a way to waltz right in, Roman wasn’t going to complain.

Roman adjusted his beanie one last time and narrowed his eyes at the mansion. The roof of the building he stood on lined up with the tower even if it only reached a fraction of the height. Which meant that he could reach into his bag and use the grappling hook that he had brought and line it up at the tower.

The moonlight shone overhead, giving off just enough light that Roman could eyeball where he needed to aim for. The pressure plates and motion detectors only ran up so far Roman had found. At least that’s what he suspected, from his weeks of casing the joint.

Logan had also been right about how ridiculous those ticket prices were.

If he aimed high enough he could set up a zip line between his current position and the tower.

The power behind the shot and the length of the rope were longer than normal, but considering that Mr. Janius was apparently paranoid enough to have a certain distance between his mansion and the rest of the city, it was needed. The light of the mansion shadowed the side of the tower that he stared at. The wind blew through his hair and Roman corrected his aim to account for it.

The crossbow in his hand clicked as he fired. The hook whistled, and Roman took a moment to appreciate the time and money he had spent to find a rope that would blend into the night sky. He stayed as still as possible so that he wouldn’t throw off the flight of the grappling hook.

The hook and his grin clicked into place. He tugged on the rope, checking to make sure that it was truly secure. His heart raced as he planted his feet. His gloves slide across the rope, and Roman couldn’t help the wildness that slipped into his expression.

He lived for moments like these.

The adrenaline raced through his veins. The high of breaking the law; the absolute freedom in doing whatever the hell he wanted. The ability to overcome any challenge that stood in his way. There wasn’t anything Roman would choose over it. Not even the friendship Logan offered would stop him. There was just no way it could stand up to the feeling of flight and adventure of Roman’s lifestyle.

He let his crossbow drop and anchored his end of the rope to the rooftop. His hands were steady as he reached for the pulleys he needed to attach. Roman clicked them on and pulled on them. He’d rather not fall from a measly eighteen-floor height when he’d scaled far higher skyscrapers than that. Roman smirked as he craned to look upwards.

Getting the blueprints? A few dates with one of Mr. Janius’ employees (wonderful guy in bed!), some death threats, and some delicious photographs to keep as souvenirs. Or to release to the press, he didn’t mind either way, although it would be a shame that people wouldn’t see his face. The camera loved him!

Roman clicked himself to the rope attached to the pulley and held the handlebars until his gloves creaked with the strain. Now, the building he stood on top of? Nigh impossible! Employees around the clock and security cameras off the top of the line. He had to call in a few favors to break into it. Fortunately, this building had art pieces of its own and his good friends (read: hackers) believed it was the very thing he chased after. Even if he wasn’t entirely happy about forking over a significant amount of his money for it.

At least Logan didn’t charge him anything! A better friend than they could ever be. Roman took in a breath as his finger hovered on the button to take him up. Nerves twisted and flopped in his stomach. Oh, Logan would kill him if he knew about this.

Roman didn’t realize how hard it was to plan a second heist to throw Logan off his trail. Some building downtown with enough jewelry to choke a dragon. A few ‘forgotten’ blueprints were more than enough to send the detective on the case. One thing Logan had gotten right, the heist was tonight, but he didn’t know where.

Once Logan got his fair share of breaking a sex trafficking ring in the building’s basement, and with no stolen jewelry. The jig would be up. Roman swallowed, he could just say he was sick? And skipped out on his own heist? Roman shook his head, he couldn’t worry about Logan now, not when he could taste victory so close.

Roman muttered a brief prayer and turned the pulley on. The pulley whirled, a quiet hum in the dead of night, and the wind whistled through Roman’s hair. He slid smoothly up the line, flying over the well-kept grounds. Roman dangled from his harness as it came to a stop inches from the tower. Only a few floors from the balcony above. The only flaw in the tower’s grand design.

Roman grinned, “If you could only see me now, brainiac.”

He reached out, planting his hands on the brick walls. Light from a window shone from his left. He couldn’t quite make out the best places for handholds on his climb but he wasn’t known as the best for nothing. His feet scrambled against the wall before he managed to wedge them into a hole.

He let out a careful breath and reached for his harness. He wouldn’t unclip himself all the way, not when there was a slim chance he could fall, but he would let out the slack on the line. He froze at the high whine that pierced the silence.

The golden glow of the window flashed into a harsh red. Roman flinched, his heart jumping to his throat. An alarm? Which one had he set off?! He shook himself. That didn’t matter now. He needed to get out of there.

He leaned back to kick off the wall but paused as he caught sight of the balcony above him.

It would be smartest to cut his losses now. Security was a bitch and Logan would tear him apart to shreds for this attempt. He wouldn’t get another one. His hand hovered over the pulley, and in a swift decisive move, he unclipped his harness. He clawed at his chest to take it off and tried not to think about the way his body swung over the drop. The fingers of his hand still clinging to the wall ached from the pull of his weight.

Roman sucked in a deep breath and threw his whole back into the force of his swing. The alarm echoed through his ears as glass shattered and his harness went flying through the window. He cursed the loss of his gear, but he was so close. His gloves would keep from fingerprints being found on them, and it wasn’t like anyone other than Logan would identify it as his on sight.

Homemade gear made him so much harder to track after all.

He used the momentum of his swing to reach for the next weak point in the wall. He breathed heavily as he climbed, moving as fast as he dared. His feet scraped against the wall as he struggled to find places to put them, simply pressing them against the brick to propel himself up higher half the time.

Shouts drifted from the window he had broken, and Roman couldn’t help the grin that crossed his face. Let them try and catch him now! They’d think he was on that floor and Roman would be free to reach his blind spot.

His hand clamped around the balcony railing, and he swung himself upwards. He flipped over the edge and took a moment to simply breathe. The solid ground against his feet was a relief he’d never voice aloud. His eyes scanned the area for dangers, a crease growing between them as he caught sight of a set of paints simply laying out.

Roman suck in a sharp breath at the curtains on the glass covered door and cursed.

Had he gotten the room wrong? Impossible, the blueprints he had stolen were dated for only a few months ago. There was no way they had time to renovate to this extent.

Roman inched forward, stepping over the half-finished canvas on the ground. A studio of some sort then. A guest room? Roman slid the glass door open. He pulled back the curtains. His breath caught as his eyes met the deepest shade of blue he had ever seen.

Roman fell in love instantly.

Oh, such gorgeous freckles! Soft brown curls framing his rapidly paling face. Roman took another step inside. It appeared to be the man’s bedroom with the bed in one corner and a closet on the other. He looked around and whistled. He’s never seen a bedroom look straight out of a fancy magazine before. Damn.

Roman winced as he heard the distant alarms from far below. Well, enough of that! He turned around to click the glass doors shut. The sound cut off. Thank god, he hated that shrill pitch that made him want to claw his own ears off. Roman took a breath and put his best charming and dazzling smile. Time to impress the love of his life!

Roman turned around and yelped at the man standing right next to him.

“Well hello there, gorgeous,” Roman smirked as the man reddened, “I came in through the window, dreadful etiquette I know!”

The man blinked.

“You know, like from Heathers?” Roman said, then sighed at the blank expression, “Never mind that! I simply have to know your name! Please?” The man fidgeted but didn’t stop his wide-eyed stare at Roman, “Oh, how rude of me, my name is Roman! There, now you know.”

“...Patton,” Patton whispered.

Roman’s eyes sparkled at Patton’s adorably low voice, “My god, Patton, you’re the most handsome man I ever met! Although I wished we met in better circumstances.”

“You came in through my window,” Patton said, his voice wobbled with fear, “Ho-how did you get here?”

Roman winced, “Yeah about that. I admit it’s not the most romantic of meetings, or maybe it is? No, wait it’s romantic later on in a relationship. My apologies.”

He swept into a dramatic bow, trying to resist the urge to pull his beanie off for effect. He glanced up at Patton and blinked. The surprise on Patton’s face felt off, and Roman racked his brain for what could have caused it now. He straightened from the bow and shifted awkwardly.

He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck.

“Perhaps I should come back later? What time works best for you? Please don’t say neve-”

Roman’s mouth slammed shut at the sound of footsteps approaching the room.

“Fuck,” he cursed, spinning on his heel back towards the balcony. If he hurried, he could still make it in time to climb somewhere he wouldn’t be caught. If he got caught he couldn’t be able to visit Patton again! His heart stopped as a hand clamped around his wrist and dragged him in a different direction.

“What the hell?” he yelped as Patton shoved him towards the closet.

Roman blinked as found himself surrounded by some of the nicest clothes he had ever seen. Silk brushed against his arms as Patton’s lips pursed. Patton lifted a hand to his lips, and Roman bit back a squeal at how adorable the sight was.

“Stay quiet!” Patton whispered forcefully. “Stay here and-”

He cut off and slammed the door shut, leaving Roman to flinch back from the sudden darkness. He held his breath as Patton’s footsteps retreated, mixing with the creak of the door opening. His heart pounded in his ears. He shifted forward, wincing as two of the hangers around him clinked together.

“Father!” Patton cried out, and Roman’s eyes widened.

“My dear Patton,” an oily voice replied, wait that couldn’t be-- “Someone tried to get into my tower. Have you seen anyone?’

Roman researched Mr. Janius, as par the course when planning heists, and he had listened to the many interviews of the man. Knew his voice, his face, it had to be him! Oh fuck, if Patton gave him up, he was so dead. Logan wouldn’t even be able to identify his remains. Something rustled as Mr. Janius stalked around the room.

“No, Father.” Patton said.

Roman didn’t dare to breathe. He froze as a shadow darkened the thin line of light between the closet doors. The handle rattled as Roman wrote up his own eulogy. One of his few regrets would have to be that he didn’t take Patton out on a date. Even if his father had more cruelty in a pinky than the whole of the top ten in the FBI’s most wanted list.

“Will you be staying even if you don’t find them?” Patton blurted out, and the rattling of the handle paused. Silence hung for a heartbeat. Roman couldn’t breathe. “You haven’t visited in so long and I-”

“Patton,” Mr. Janius cut him off. “Do I look like I have time for that? You may not be smart but I would have hoped that you know now of all times is not for silly questions. This thief could be after you, or our artworks.”

Roman inched closer to the closet doors, wanting to be ready to run if Mr. Janius did throw them open. He’d only have one shot. He peered through the crack in the door. He caught a quick glimpse of Patton fiddling with the cardigan around his shoulders before Mr. Janius’ back blocked his view.

“...you’re right of course Father,” Patton murmured, “I’m sorry. I just-”

Patton fell silent once more. Janius took a step forward and Roman breathed as the man left the closet behind. He had a chance now. Logan wouldn’t have to be mailed his will. Yes!

“You just thought you knew better than me,” Mr. Janius said softly. He sighed. “You know better than that Patton. All I want is to keep you safe.” Roman peeked through the crack again to see Mr. Janius rub Patton’s cheek tenderly with a thumb, “Is that so awful?”

Patton’s eyes flickered away, “No, Father. I’ll see you on Friday, then?”

Mr. Janius ruffled Patton’s hair, “Of course, love.”

Mr. Janius left with nothing more than a loud click. He locked the door behind him. Roman shuddered out a breath as he sat in the closet. He didn’t want to know what sort of wrath he’d evoke from a papa bear like Mr. Janius if he knew what sort of thoughts he had about Patton already. The closet doors swung open and his breath died, such beauty stupefied him. Roman couldn’t help it!

“Wow…” Roman breathed, “You’re positively sublime, do you have me bewitched or something? Cause I’m under your spell. Or I could be under you?”

“What?” Patton said, tilting his head, then shook away his confusion, “Father left, but I don’t know when he’ll be back. You have to leave as soon as you can.”

Roman’s heart shattered to the floor as he realized Patton was simply too innocent to catch his insinuations, “Thank you, no really, I do appreciate it.”

Roman stepped out of the closet and stretched until his bones popped. Patton’s eyes flickered between the door and him. Roman felt like a teenager again, sneaking into some strange boy’s room, and avoiding the parents’ in the process. He bent down and picked up Patton’s hand and kissed his knuckles.

“If there’s anything I can show my gratitude..” Roman whispered as he looked up at Patton’s solid red blush, “I’d be more than welcome to do it.”

“A-ah, well, I guess,” Patton stuttered as Roman winked, “I do get pretty lonely. Maybe you can come visit me?”

Roman stood up with a smirk, “Of course, it would be my greatest pleasure. When may I expect to see you again?”

Patton twined his fingers through Roman’s as he looked up with a shy smile, “How about same time next week?”

“I’d be honored.” Roman agreed with a giddy grin. He hadn’t stolen any art, but perhaps, he had been given the chance to steal something worth even more than that. He squeezed Patton’s hand gently before disentangling himself. He let his fingers drag across Patton’s palm. “Next week then, dearest Patton.”

He paused at the door. Wait. Roman felt his face flush in embarrassment. He had no idea of how he was going to get down. He hesitated, not wanting to ruin his perfect exit. He wanted to win Patton over after all! Roman opened the glass doors with a flourish and gently stepped across the balcony to lean over the edge. He couldn’t jump down.

Not unless he wanted to die.

And he rather had taken Patton on a date before dying. Then he lived his life to the fullest. Other heists be damned. Roman calculated the distance down, if he only got closer, then he would have lesser chances of dying.

He could climb down but he didn’t know if he could do it again. His fingers still stung from the strain on the way up. And he rather not overstay his welcome like some uncivilized guest.

“Do...do you need help?” Patton asked as Roman whirled around, “I don’t know how you got here, but I can try?”

Roman’s chest warmed with fuzzy feelings, “I hate to ask anything of you, but I may need your bedsheets. Unfortunately not to sleep on them.”

Patton scrunched his cute high brow nose from the doorway, “Then what for?”

Roman held his breath as he swung from the end of the bedsheets. He didn’t know how long they would hold but they brought him close enough that he could jump for the remains of his zip-line. He closed his eyes and pictured Patton’s bright eyes, his adorable cheeks, the softness of his palms.

It would only be a week until Roman was him again, but what a painful week it would be.

Love felt just like holding a stolen jewel in his hands.

Roman opened his eyes again. He needed to get ready. Patton deserved only the best and Roman would need all the time he could get to prepare for that. He took a deep breath-

and jumped.

[bastionkeeper]

yo if you’re bored I’m always a slut for “I thought you were about to die but you’re okay now and I’m completely overwhelmed by this circumstance” for taakitz

I’ve been wanting to write this idea and I figured this prompt worked with it. I might also write a sequel if you guys think it would benefit from that. Story under the cut!

  “Hey Magnus!” Taako grinned as the warrior just barelydodged a fireball. “Looking hot m’man!”

Magnus smiled for a second, but then he saw the flameslicking up the side of his shirt and screamed before stop, drop, and rollingwith laughter.

“Don’t tell me I’m on fire with shitty puns, Taako!” heyelled once he was back on his feet. “I’d like to not die, thanks!”

The adventuring trio was back together again, running amission for the newly reformed Bureau. Scouting groups had been going missingin the area, and it hadn’t taken long for tres horny boys to find out why: afull salamander nest covered in scorched bones.

Merle said a quick prayer and a tree grew up to block theswipe of salamander claws, but the tree quickly caught fire and became more ofa liability than a shield.

“Guys?” Merle said nervously. “My magic isn’t gonna be muchuse here…”

“Save your prayers for these lizard boys,” Taako smirked,aiming the krebstar at the snarling beasts. “They’re the ones that are gonnaneed.”

Taako fired off a high level ice spell, and the salamanderswailed in pain as they shriveled and died. Taako tapped the bottom of hisglaive against the ground and leaned against it cockily. He was so caught up inhis triumph he didn’t notice the last remaining salamander running up behindhim.

“Look out!” Magnus yelled, but it was too late by the timethe words left his lips.  The creaturehad already tackled Taako, and dug sharp claws into his ribs.

Blood came flying from Taako’s mouth, and his eyes went wideas his body was rent by the salamanders teeth. The flesh seared in some places,but in others blood gushed freely.

Magnus ran up with railsplitter and killed the salamanderwith a blow to the neck. The warrior hefted the corpse off his friend andgasped at the sight of him.

Taako was soaked in blood, and there was a horrible burnrunning from his collarbone to his side. He was gasping and gurgling, as iftrying to talk around the blood he kept coughing up. His eyes were panicked andflicking back and forth looking at nothing really but through things in ashocked daze.

“Taako, hold on!” Magnus held the elf down, keeping him frommoving and worsening his injuries. “Merle!”

The dwarf was already on it, but he only had so many spellslots left and his healing words only did so much.

“Call a glass!” Merle said, and Magnus pressed the button onhis new removable bracer.  His thoughtswere spinning as he carried Taako out of the cave, he had to call Lup andKravitz, they were working reaping souls somewhere.

The entire time they were transporting Taako: in the glassorb, up on the moonbase, to the medical wing, he tried getting in contact withTaako’s sister and boyfriend, but no one was picking up.

“Damn it!” Magnus almost threw his stone of farspeech at thewall, but he knew he had to keep trying and he couldn’t do that if his stonewas in splinters.

The clerics and doctors were there with a stretcher, tellingMagnus to lay Taako down on it. Once he did they started taking him away, andtwo nurses blocked Magnus’s path when he tried to follow.

“What? No, I have to go with him!” Magnus said. “He’s myfriend! I have to make sure he’ll be okay when his sister and his boyfriend gethere! I have to keep him safe!”

“Sir, medical staff only past this point. There’s nothingmore you can do for him,” one of the nurses said. Magnus frowned. At leastMerle was able to go with him, now if only he could find Kravitz and Lup.

  The reaper trio finished work early that day, and were quitehappy about it. They had been planning to do dinner at Taako and Kravitz’shouse that night, and all three were eager to see what Taako had beenpreparing.

“Cooler twin in the house!” Lup called as she kicked openthe door. “Where you at ‘Ko?”

“Funny, I figured he’d be home by now,” Kravitz said,turning on the lights. “Maybe he’s running late?”

“Classic Taako,” Barry said. “Late as always.”

“Well maybe I better get in the kitchen then, huh?” Lupsaid, getting up from where she had flopped onto the couch and clapping herhands together. She was just about to go and start dinner when Kravitz’s stoneof farspeech crackled to life.

Kravitz moved to the table where he had left it that morningand picked it up. “Yes?”

“Oh thank god Kravitz I’ve been trying to reach you forhours!” Magnus said, he sounded tired and scared. Lup felt her stomach twist inanxiety, already knowing it was bad news. Did this have something to do withTaako not being there? She knew he’d gone off on some mission with Magnus andMerle, and now Magnus was calling them?

“What’s wrong?” Kravitz asked, looking as worried as Lupfelt.

“You better get up to the moon…fast,” Magnus said, and thereaper trio exchanged one worried look.

 They’d had to send an orb down for the three of them, asthey were still in the process of finding a way to make exceptions to theanti-teleportation magic spell around the base. The whole time they waited Luppaced anxiously. Magnus had refused to go into detail, but she knew Taako wasin the ER. Barry eventually stopped her from pacing and held her close whileshe shook her head, frowning deeply.

Kravitz had no one there to hold him and stop him fromclenching his hands so tight that his fingernails cut into his palms.

When they finally made it, they were told they had to stayin the waiting room a few minutes more. Magnus was still there, still coveredin salamander and elf blood, his hair disheveled and his face tired. He huggedLup once she arrived, while Barry convinced Kravitz to sit down.

About half an hour passed before Merle came out into thewaiting room, looking absolutely drained.

“Well it took about all the magic and science we’ve got, buthe’s stable,” he said, wiping at his brow.

Kravitz breathed a sigh of relief, and Lup hugged Merletight whispering thank yous.

“Can we see him?” Magnus asked, and Merle nodded. He leadthem to the room where he promptly collapsed into a chair, leaning back andshutting his eyes. Barry and Magnus were anxious to see how Taako was doing,but they knew to make room for Lup and Kravitz by the bed.

Taako looked drained of color. Were it not for the bandagescovering his torso and arms, the red burns would appear especially strikingagainst the pale skin. He was sleeping, his hair was a tangled mess and hiseyes barely flickered under their lids.

“Oh, Taako…” Lup said, the words escaping her in a breathrather than being spoken. She held Taako’s hand in one of hers, the other wentto her mouth as if to prevent her from gasping further. Kravitz just stoodthere and looked at his boyfriend in horror. He could see it, not by any reapermagic or gift of the Raven Queen but just through mortal vision he could seehow close Taako came to not making it.

The next week and a half, Lup and Kravitz took turns sittingby Taako’s bedside while the other went to work in the astral plane. Magnusswung by when he could, and Merle checked in with calls but he was too busywith his kids to come by in person. There was always someone in Taako’s roomwith him, which is why it was an extremely rare thing that Taako woke up duringthe rare time when no one was with him.

Kravitz and Lup had both been needed for a mission andMagnus had stepped out to get lunch. So Taako awoke by himself in a strangeroom, and immediately his brain struggled to piece together his memory.

“…where the fu…” Taako croaked out, stopping once he heardhow dry his words sounded. He tried to stand, and his legs collapsed underneathhim. He had to pull himself back up with the edge of the bed, and leaned therefor support. His whole body felt like it was on fire, and judging by the heavysmell of aloe coming from his bandages it recently had been.

Kravitz came through the door then, finished with work andready to resume his shift. When he saw Taako out of bed he almost gasped andstood in shock, but a protective instinct of some sort urged him to just run upand get the elf back into bed.

“Oh, hey lover-boy,” Taako flirted as Kravitz lifted himback into the bed and covered his bruised and beaten body with the blanket. “Youcome here often? Get it? Cause…it’s a hospital? And that’s where people die?”

Kravitz looked so pained by the joke that Taako immediately feltlike an ass for it.

“Taako…” he whispered, his voice full of sadness.

“Oh, I’m sorry Krav, I didn’t me-“ Taako was cut off asKravitz collided with him, hugging him so close that it might have agitated hisburns if it weren’t for the fact that his boyfriend was basically a walkingice-pack.

“I thought you would never wake up,” Kravitz admitted, tearsstreaming from his eyes.

“I just needed a little more beauty sleep, you know how hardit’s been to maintain the Taako look after Wonderland,” Taako joked, pattingKravitz’s back. The patting became an up and down stroking once he realizedthat this hug was going to continue for awhile, that it had to continue forawhile because Kravitz was sobbing on his shoulder.

“Hey, hey come here, guy.” Taako helped Kravitz into the bedand held him close against his chest. “Hear that? That’s my ticker going strong,I’m not leaving you.”

“No, you’re not,” Kravitz promised, tightening his grip onTaako.

[if-weshadows-haveoffended]

Sleep No More- Charles X Reader- Prompt Fill

Title: Sleep No More (source) Prompt fill: Helpless, Longing Prompt List: Here Masterpost Ask: here Words: approx 1,800 A/N: Feel free to send in anymore requests :)

There had been a short while when you'd thought that perhaps things may turn out for the best. Somewhere in 1964 or so. There had been students for a while. Small things, hardly older than five or six, running about Charles' wheels like he was their new father. Older kids, boys mainly, trailed behind, doing their best to listen to Charles' advice. But of course, a fucking Proxy War had to get in the way. Vietnam now, was it? As if the failure of Korea wasn't enough. You knew too many boys from university classes who had died or worse yet, been left off worse than dead.

The Cold War was simmering once again, though with levels nowhere near as dangerous as Cuba had been. For a while mutants dropped off the undesirable radar as they were replaced with red targets. You watched the students vanish one by one. First it was little pig-tailed Cecile, sucking her thumb and with a tremulous lower lip, wailing for the inhabitants of the mansion to hear and for the house itself to bear scars of cracked wood and shattered glass. Cecile's mother thought it was for the best to have her daughter home now that all three of her sons and her husband had been drafted. Their little inner-city apartment seemed too empty she said, besides it seemed cruel to deprive the girl of what may be the only memories she'd have of her family. The older boys who populated your history class began to vanish too, being drafted and deciding to volunteer once all their friends had been surrendered to the need ending war machine. It seemed prudent to die together rather than separated in a drawn-out fashion. And as always Charles sat in his wheelchair at the Mansion's grand mahogany doorway, waving goodbye and holding back tears in his blood-shot eyes, drooping from equal amounts of tired and misery. You supposed what made it worse was the brave faces those boys gave as they waved back, promising they were alright. Charles knew different. He knew the truth. The girls followed not soon after, deciding they wanted none of their family's sympathies. They went off, nurses and studying to become doctors. Reporting back of loss after loss after loss. Then radio silence, their units hit and they too became casualties. They were children. Charles would sob at night, throwing crystal tumblers against dusty carpets soaking with half-finished scotch. They were his children above all else. Eventually Hank informed you of your inevitable redundancy. After all there were no more students and with slight bitterness; no more professor. It was years before you returned, deciding to hid behind a facade of normalcy once again. Something about being a librarian, useful for a mutant who could remember everything. Maybe that’s why you drank, so you could forget and feel human for once. There were too many books to keep you intrigued from dwelling on every painful jolt of emotion sent through you as you remembered hazy remarks and hushed laughter of the past. Your boss had once found you clutching a textbook in your arms, slumped to the floor as water trickled past your eyes- the last you'd taught your seniors. Their jokes and groans and essays imprinted in your mind. Of your class of twenty, twelve had gone; and of those,  five remained. Of that five, three were severely injured, one was irreparably traumatised and another declared MIA; perhaps taken prisoner by the Viet Cong. You weren't sure. The rest objected and protested and fought on home soil for those who remained to come home safe. It wasn't as if you could ask Charles. No, you doubted he'd use Cerebro let alone pull a favour for you. It was worth a shot, perhaps. Just to ease your mind. Just to help you sleep at night. A smaller, more traitorous part of your mind whispered that you were longing to see Charles's kind face again. At close quarters, face-to-face rather than through a rear-view mirror. You could almost trace the familiar crevices of wrinkles and smile-lines in the eye of your mind. That image was what pulled at your heart, what forced your hands to the steering wheel and your feet to the pedals, driving down a road you thought you'd never return to. The destination was known yet somehow unfamiliar. The tangled vines around the wrought-iron gates should have been the first indicator that something was wrong. Not even bothering to drive past the gates, you pulled the clutch, turned off the engine and exited in a hurry.

The dirtied sign of the school broke your heart in a wrenching, tearing fashion.

Still you continued, pebbles entering your shoes as you now sprinted down the lane, arms pumping and breaths increasing.

By the time you’d pushed the heavy mahogany doors open, your head was spinning. Your feet felt as if they weren’t making contact with the crisp black-and-white tiles, or even able to remember the pathway to any of your favourite haunts. The old panelled classroom, Charles’ favourite spot by the patio, or even your old dormitory. In fact, it was quite by chance that you heard muffled steps from the flight above- the direction of Charles’ old study.

"For fuck's sake, Hank; I thought I told you not to bother me with any more questions about what groceries I want!" You heard him through the panels of his mahogany study and he in turn must have heard your footsteps. Your heart leapt a little before shrivelling in it’s place, unsure about going further and knowing more "No, seriously Hank, fuck off." That simply wasn't right. He'd have known who it was, he'd have been able to read you mind and tell- You quickened your footsteps, not even bothering to knock on his door and simply barging in. "Oh god, what have you done to yourself?" You stopped in your tracks to see Charles in his study. Or what could barely be described as his study. It seemed far too littered with built-up pieces of junk and things that were never returned to their rightful places, the overwhelming scent of dust and sharp alcohol assaulted your nostrils and you struggled a little to breathe. However the most shocking of changes was the fact that Charles Xavier now stood again, stopped in his tracks and brushing away over-grown hair away from dulled eyes. "I thought I'd told you that your redundancy was permanent," Charles stated slowly, moving towards you in shuffling steps, putting down his half-finished scotch. You noticed with unease the dirtied stains on his shirt. "And I thought you promised me to smile," You countered back, wanting to stand your ground but too worried over what was happening. "What did you do to yourself?" "Everything." He answered, now facing you head-on. The past few years seemed to have aged him immensely. His usually cheerful lines seemed far too creased and far too sad. "How have you been? Are you married yet?" "We both know the answer to that question," you bit down an angrier retort and decided upon crossing your arms. "If you'd read my mind, you'd know for certain." "I-I don't do that anymore." He interrupted suddenly, his gaze piercing and hot as you felt yourself shrink a little at the sudden flash of scalding anger. But he relaxed a little, shoulders slumping and picking up his scotch- he drained it. You moved away, continuing with your purveyance of the room. "It's more that I can't," he admitted, wanting meeting your eyes with his own before darting away again, unable to face the truth. "How has life treated you?" "The same as always. It always hurts, but at least I know I'm alive." "Unlike our students," he spat bitterly, "I-no, never mind." "Did you ever think of us Chuck?" The smile Charles received must have been weak as you felt it watery as it pulled against your cheeks and lips. "Yes, but I tried not to."

“Why not?”

“It hurt too much.”

“But, Professor-“ You couldn’t believe it at all, “You can’t just hurt yourself like that, it’s not healthy. I don’t understand-“

"I did it so I could sleep! So I could forget all of their young faces. So I could stop this pathetic longing for you-for all of them." He was frantic, arms akimbo and his tone unnaturally harsh. "For me?" Charles barely heard the shocked exhale that escaped your lips.

“Yes you, always you,” he spat out, you took a step back in terror, angry at what could have taken over him. "The first time we met, you kissed me and the last time we saw each other, you couldn't meet my eye. Tell me what on earth I was meant to think?" Your mind was blank, unable to remember the fuzzy circumstances of your first meeting. But you assumed that Charles wouldn't lie, not with something like that. "I was helpless sitting there, unable to stop them from going. Now I can walk." Charles laughed bitterly, pushing hair away from his face. "I could run after them if they were still alive-" "They went, Charles, because it was you who taught them to care. To love. To give a shit. Half of them were running off because their brothers were and the other half followed because they refused to be divided. Who the fuck taught them that? It wasn't me, it wasn't Hank and it certainly wasn't President Johnson in this political environment." You stopped your spitefulness for a moment, letting the hot tears break their bursting banks. "It was you, Charles. They went out there to make you proud, to be everything you taught them." "I taught them to die," "You taught them to live. And if they must die, it was in protection of those they loved-"  "Say it again," Charles cut you off bluntly, his voice almost distant. "Say what?" "My name. You never call me by my name." He looked at you directly now, for what felt like the first time in centuries, tired blue eyes meeting yours. "It's always been Charlie and Carlos and-" "Chuck," You finished quietly with a smile. "Say my name again, please," Charles' worn hands now held desperately onto your upper-arms. Pure instinct overtook as you pulled him close by his hips, Charles' head dropping down to rest upon your forehead. You wouldn't dare believe that such happenings were real. "Charles, you weren't helpless. You aren't, rather." You continued on quietly, the warm breath of your words practically against his lips. "You equipped your children with everything they needed. They were X-men more than you or me or Hank or Raven. They were everything we should have been." "Do you promise me that?" "Always," Your hand moved to cradle Charles' jaw. "My darling Charles, I promise."

[feekins]

A Little Lace Never Hurt

A Nygmobblepot Fanfiction

SUMMARY: A non-smutty yet very self-indulgent fic about pre-election Oswald, Ed, and pretty lacy underthings. Also a smattering of asexuality. That’s really all there is to say on the matter. I fully blame @blackratchet for this because they really should not encourage my weirdo soopar-seekrit let’s-put-all-my-faves-in-lingerie aesthetic. Please enjoy, and have a happy Valentine’s Day, my fellow Nygmobblepotheads! :3c

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

“...did you forget to throw out your stepmother’s clothes?”

“Whatever are you talking ab-?”

Upon turning around, Oswald immediately wished he hadn’t. His face blanched, eyes boggled, posture stiffened, like a boy whose parents had just discovered something particularly lewd tucked away under his mattress.

It wasn’t too far from the truth about his present predicament.

He knew it was a mistake to let his friend help him finish dressing for the day. Of course it wasn’t necessary, but Ed had insisted, and who was he to deny him? At the very least, they hadn’t started from scratch. As it was, Oswald stood there in naught but trousers and a dress shirt, though he felt so embarrassed he might as well have been naked. Before him, Ed cut a fine figure in his handsomely deep green suit. Any other time, he might have appreciated such perfect tailoring and pleasing form - but not now.

Not when Ed was peering into an open dresser drawer full of lacy, delicate, decidedly non-masculine underpants.

“I’d say stepsister, but this is the master bedroom,” the taller man continued, pulling the drawer open a little further. It would have been humiliating enough had Ed not then hesitantly reached in to prod through all the different pairs. “Though I will say, for her age, she was quite a small woman, wasn’t she?”

“N-Not really,” Oswald squeaked out.

Damn Ed for being so inquisitive. Damn him for his persistence. And damn himself for being too horrified to do anything to stop him!

A pause. Ed’s hand stilled. Then he extended his fingers again, brushing aside prettier panties to reveal several rather unremarkable pairs of boxer briefs underneath. Oswald’s stomach flipped horribly at the comprehending, bemused look Ed shot him, nearly flinched at how his too-bright teeth flashed in a grin.

“I see. Trophies?”

The fact that he didn’t faint from the sudden rush of blood to his face was both a surprise and a terrible disappointment.

“No! It’s not like-!”

“It’s alright! I completely understand!”

No, Mister Edward Nygma, you most certainly do not, Oswald’s mind screamed back.

“It’s not an uncommon behavior among murderers! It’s sentimental, something to remember the victim, the crime, the thrill of the hunt, if you will-”

“Ed, that’s not-!”

“I kept Miss Kringle’s glasses, remember? This is no different - though I admit, I never pegged you for this type of, um...” The taller man chuckled, gesturing to the thin lace, the soft colors, the occasional simple but elegant print. And Oswald, poor Oswald, he wanted nothing more than to shrivel up right there and die. If ever there was a time for someone to attempt to assassinate Gotham’s soon-to-be mayor, oh, how he wished it was now!

Still oblivious to his friend’s embarrassment, Ed prattled on, speaking much too enthusiastically and fast, “What I mean is, I don’t recall you ever expressing much interest in women - or anyone, for that matter, but that’s neither here nor there. People look sometimes. It’s only natural-”

Oswald bristled because Ed, there is NOTHING natural let alone DECENT about ogling people like that, why on EARTH does everyone think it is and why do YOU of all people buy into that garbage, too?!

“-but you don’t! I noticed that about you! You also never talk about your sex life, so it’s either nonexistent or you’re very private about it.”

“Edward, please.”

Leaning a little heavier on his cane, Oswald brought a hand to his face. Sure enough, his skin burned against his palm and fingers. This conversation was not happening.

“Either way...wow, why women’s underwear, Oswald? If you don’t mind me saying, it doesn’t exactly fit in with the whole.....you. The Penguin persona. There’s also the fact that she was your stepmother, which makes this a little questionable, but I assure you I’m not passing any judgment-”

“Oh my God.”

“So - it’s fine! Again, trophies! I understand!” Ed chuckled again. Judging by the way he withdrew his hand from the drawer and by the faint pink starting to dust his cheeks, it seemed the subject of the conversation was finally catching up to him. Still, he pressed on unflinchingly, “Incredible, though. I learn something new about you ev-”

“NO, THEY’RE MINE, ED!”

Silence settled over the bedroom. Face falling in an instant, Ed stared down at him, baffled by the sudden outburst. It took all of Oswald’s willpower not to shrink away. In that moment, the awkwardness, the self-abasement gripping him was so strong he could throw up. But he couldn’t escape from this, couldn’t even look away. Best to deal with it now, and head-on. After all, his dearest, closest friend was bound to find out about this thing sooner or later.

At long last, Ed broke the silence, breathing, “...beg pardon?”

Oswald swallowed hard, not sure if the lump in his throat was from fear, humiliation, nausea, or a vile cocktail of all three. He averted his eyes, forced himself to draw in a deep breath before opening his mouth again. When he spoke, his voice was so small, so indignantly strained.

“That...underwear. It’s mine. All of it.”

The bafflement lingered, all too evident in Ed’s tone.

“That’s. What. I’m saying, Oswald, they’re-”

“They’re not trophies.”

With that, Oswald turned, moving unsteadily toward the large walk-in closet. He wasn’t running away. He wasn’t. Not really. Behind him came a roll and tap of wood on wood - the closing of the underwear drawer - and Ed was following after him, still undeterred.

“If they’re not trophies, then why would you have them?”

“For the love of-! Why else, Ed?!”

He didn’t know what possessed him to do it - frustration, his damnedable predisposition to melodramatics, to shut Ed up, whatever. All Oswald knew was that one moment, he was rounding on the other man. The next, he’d undone his trousers and yanked his waistband down - just enough to reveal an edge of black lace riding low on his hips.

Finally, everything clicked - or seemed to, anyway.

Palpable realization hit Ed full in the face....which, incidentally, Oswald had never seen turn quite that red before. Another moment or so, and the smaller man all but ripped his eyes from the other, mumbling as he zipped and buttoned himself back up, “Like I said. They’re mine. For me - just me. To wear.”

The seconds ticked on, dragging indefinitely, it seemed. Ed’s silence only made Oswald more painfully self-conscious, more distantly ashamed. His secret was out, and for all the world, he wished it wasn’t. He pushed past Ed, desperately willing the moment to pass and time to resume.

“Now can we please get back to getting dressed?”

“....Right. I’m sorry.”

An outfit was picked out. Colors and accessories were coordinated. The tension was impossibly thick in the air as they stood before the mirror, eyes averted, cheeks still burning bright. Oswald followed his silent chief of staff’s reflection as he retrieved today’s vest. After knowing him for so long, Ed had to be shocked, incredulous, revolted. Men like Oswald didn’t just-!

“Is that your kink?”

Well. That was one way of getting the embarrassed Penguin’s attention.

“...what?”

Ed opened his mouth, closed it, licked his lips, then haltingly spoke up again. He still wouldn’t look at Oswald - not that Oswald could blame him.

“Do you...have...a cross-dressing kink?”

“No!”

“Sorry. I thought...better to ask then assume, right?”

“Oh. Yes. I suppose...”

That scandalized look faded from Oswald’s face, and silence settled back upon them. After helping him into the vest, Ed retreated to fetch their next garment. For a moment, Oswald fidgeted with his cuffs, still quite unsettled.

“.........I’m not-!”

Now it was Ed’s turn to glance over in surprise. Oswald fidgeted a little more, pulled at his sleeves, then began again.

“Ed, you should...um. Truth be told, I don’t...do...those sort of things.”

“...what sort of things?

“Oh, you know,” he replied with a vague wave of his hand, trying and failing to act casual about the whole thing, even while his face and ears were still burning. “That. Kinks. Any, ah....carnal activities, really. That is to say, I don’t-”

“-engage in...?”

“No.”

“Ah. You’re non-sexual?”

Their eyes met, and.....somehow, Oswald felt a little less vulnerable, a little less threatened. He even managed a small smile as he nodded, “Yes. Precisely.”

Ed gave a thoughtful nod. Up came his coat, and Oswald slipped into it easily. His earlier embarrassing reveal aside, it felt as if they’d come to a bit of an understanding. Maybe...Ed had moved on?

“I...apologize for making you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s...okay.”

“...I’m still curious, though. Why do you wear...?”

Like that, the fear and shame flared right back up again. Oswald stiffened, swallowed hard. It was still weird. It was still not right. He shouldn’t have let Ed help him. He didn’t understand. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. Even so, Oswald racked his brain, planned his words carefully as he folded his arms tightly across his chest. After all, Ed had already seen all...or, close enough. How much further could Oswald possibly fall?

It took a moment for him to realize Ed had stopped moving to help. He stood beside him empty-handed, watching him expectantly. This did nothing to calm Oswald’s nerves.

At long last, he shrugged, explaining softly, “I just.....I like how I look and feel in them, that’s all.”

He glanced back over to Ed, and....that smile he found waiting for him was pleasantly unexpected, red though his friend’s cheeks still shone.

“Those are some good reasons. Now...!”

Like that, the moment had passed. Ed looked him up and down, assessing their work so far.....brown eyes lingering a little too long on the other’s hips.

Shoving down the urge to smirk, Oswald pretended not to notice.

“I know we were originally going to go with something simpler for the cuff links,” Ed continued distractedly, “but now I’m thinking...the silver ones with black inlay?”

Relief washed over him. Ed didn’t mind. He wasn’t mad, he wasn’t disgusted. Finally, Oswald was able to relax. With a shrug and a grateful look, he replied, “Well...I think I’ll just trust your judgment on this one, friend.”

After all, Ed did have quite good taste.

Oswald just didn’t expect for further proof of this to show up a few days later, when he’d all but forgotten about the...incident.

It was set carefully on his pillow, all wrapped nicely in tissue paper and ribbon, with a telltale green question mark scrawled in one corner. Oswald opened the gift without suspicion. The moment he set eyes on what was inside, though, he gasped and dropped it on the floor, blushing wildly.

A pair of deep aubergine pinstriped boxer briefs, its trim and paneling on the sides an intricate lace, stared innocently up at him.

And Oswald didn’t know which he wanted to do more: to scream at Ed or to kiss him.

[thanksillpass]

Holehearted [OtaYuri]

read on ao3 here

commission info here 

Otabek Altin woke up with a hole in his chest one morning. It just appeared suddenly, slightly to the left, where it definitely hadn’t been before. Just a hole the size of a fist, or maybe a large apple. Its unobtrusive presence didn’t hurt or bother him in the slightest, not physically anyway. It wasn’t ripped out of his chest; shaped like a perfect circle and smooth around the edges, it looked and felt quite cartoonish, really, almost too abstract to believe it was actually there, if Otabek weren’t able to put a fist and an apple through it.

He got used to it rather quickly, and he carried on with his otherwise unremarkable life as always. He woke up every morning and fed his boring cat, went to his average university, then to his dull part-time job in a coffee shop, fed his cat again, put ordinary effort into his homework, and went to sleep in his bed that was too standard to be properly uncomfortable and give him any reason to be unsatisfied with it. Everything in Otabek’s life was plain, and an inexplicable hole in his chest wasn’t any different.

There wasn’t anyone he could talk to about it anyway, even if talking was something he enjoyed doing.

His boss had to have a soft spot for him, because Otabek’s customer service left a lot to be desired, but he still had a job to go to every afternoon, and he was grateful for it. There weren’t many things in life that Otabek actively enjoyed, but riding a motorcycle was one of them, and a bike wasn’t a cheap thing to maintain. He didn’t begrudge it - the irreplaceable feeling of sweet freedom and almost overwhelming limitlessness riding gave him was compensation enough. During winter, when the bike was safely stowed away in the shed, Otabek skated. It was the closest thing to flying a person could experience, in his opinion, with nothing but planes of cold, unforgiving ice surrounding him, sliding through air that filled his lungs with invigorating ice shards, similar to the chilly breeze against his face when he balanced on the edge of the speed limit on the highway at night.

“You look more moody than usual,” chirped Chris, pulling Otabek away from his thoughts. “Something wrong?”

“There is a hole in my chest,” replied Otabek truthfully, not expecting to be believed.

Chris frowned. “Did you not sleep again, Otabek? I don’t want you to be embarrassed later for actually talking about your feelings to me.”

Otabek let out a soft sigh and turned away from his coworker without another word. He regretted saying anything already, remembering that Chris was the kind of person who would go around the coffee shop and tell everyone who cared to listen (or didn’t) that Otabek had feelings that needed to be addressed immediately because he had just admitted there was something missing in his life. Otabek didn’t come up with this “theory” on his own - he literally heard Chris say that to Phichit just then - but it gave him a pause. Was there something missing in his life? Was there a hole in his chest because there was an empty, shrivelled shell barely pumping blood to his brain where his heart was supposed to be? If so, what was he supposed to fill it with, if skating and riding a bike hadn’t already?

“I’m sure Chris is exaggerating a bit, as usual, but if you need a friend to talk to, I’m here.”

Otabek lifted his eyes to stare at Phichit, who looked undeterred by Otabek’s impassive expression, smiling gently like he always did. Phichit was a warm, kind guy, and Otabek didn’t like him very much. He didn’t really like anyone, to be honest, and it never affected him in any way - he enjoyed being alone, didn’t feel the need for company other than an unresponsive cat who didn’t require anything from Otabek except for food and a lap to sit on, very occasionally. People puzzled him, mostly, and seemed to be too much effort than they were worth in general. Still, that did seem to be only thing that was missing in Otabek’s life, even if he wasn’t aware it was a bad thing that warranted the universe to carve a hole in his chest to make him realise it.

“Maybe I do need a friend,” he admitted blandly, and promptly turned away from Phichit, just in time to see his bright happy smile slip when he realised Otabek didn’t mean him in particular.

Like with many things, Otabek didn’t bother following through with actually finding a friend. Testing a flaky theory was not incentive enough to turn his life upside down and let a random person in, and for what? To fix an issue that didn’t even cause him any discomfort? Otabek always believed that friendship was something that should happen naturally, so he decided to wait his current situation out - if someone came along to fill the literal hole in his chest, great, but Otabek wasn’t going to go out of his way to make it happen.

“You do need to create an opportunity, though.”

Otabek admittedly wondered how a customer was aware of his predicament and his thought process, but didn’t question it out loud, wanting to limit their interaction as much as possible. Yuuri Katsuki reminded Otabek of a shaking leaf hanging on the branch by sheer power of determination and fear of falling. He was an odd and complicated person, perhaps not much more than any other, but still too much for Otabek’s taste. He seemed shy and insecure in one moment, and resolved and larger-than-life in the next. He was five years older than Otabek, but seemed like a fragile child in comparison, naive and easily excitable, prone to sudden mood changes; Otabek sometimes had to wonder which one of them was the weird one. He was willing to entertain the thought that he was the oddball, considering Yuuri was a highly functioning member of society, with a husband and a dog, and a house he wasn’t renting from shifty Russians.

“Like, I was crushing on Victor for forever, but I was always too afraid to do anything about it, and if he hadn’t approached me, I’d die alone pining after him instead of getting married to him.”

Otabek quickly decided against that idea. “Please stop talking to me.”

“My point is—”

“I get your point. Here’s your order. Good day.”

Dejected, Yuuri moved away from the counter and sat at one of the tables, presumably to wait for Victor to come pick him up. It wasn’t that Otabek paid attention to the daily routine of the married couple, it was just that Yuuri seemed like someone who’d be afraid to go anywhere alone, lest a natural disaster or, say, a squirrel happened to end his life, ridding him of a chance to spend his last moments with the person he loved. Otabek felt a little bit sick, and he was glad his facial expression wasn’t reflecting that when the man in question finally entered the cafe. Surprisingly, there was a sample sized blond kid with peculiar fashion sense in his tow that instantly made Otabek think of his grumpy cat. The kid was visibly unwilling to hang around the couple any longer than necessary, and he was eyeing Otabek with petulant suspicion. Otabek could definitely sympathise - if there was anything more difficult than being around people, it was being around people in love.

“What can I get you, kid?” he droned when the boy approached the counter.

The kid tensed, his expression momentarily vulnerable before clouding again. “Strong black coffee, no sugar.”

Otabek shrugged, pleased with the simplicity of the order. “And what name should I put on the cup?”

“I’m the only customer here,” replied the boy as he looked around the place with a bored expression. “I think we will manage without me disclosing my personal information to a complete stranger, thanks.”

Otabek couldn’t help but smile to himself at the kid’s quite obviously forced nonchalance, but he was at least able to hold back until he turned away to prepare the coffee. They didn’t speak to each other again, and Victor soon called his young friend over (Yurio, so Yuri, like his husband, and why was Otabek even paying attention?). They stayed a bit longer, enough for Otabek to notice Yurio grimace in disgust as he sipped his black coffee a few times before leaving a basically full cup on the table and trailing behind Victor and Yuuri. Otabek would have been offended if he cared about the quality of his coffee-making skills. Or doubted it.

Yurio quickly became a regular customer, sometimes coming by with Victor, sometimes alone, and always ordered the same thing, always making the same disgusted face as he tasted the coffee, and always leaving without finishing his drink. Otabek had to admit it was rather amusing, almost as much as his blatant dislike for Yuuri. He always shouted at him, getting all up in his face, leaving him a shaking and teary-eyed mess, naturally gravitating towards Victor’s comforting open arms, which only seemed to enrage Yurio more. The kid couldn’t have been older than eighteen, and Otabek had to be in awe of his potential for emotional destruction at such a young age. He occasionally wondered where all that pent-up rage was coming from, but never for long - he was always good at accepting reality as it was and leaving it be.

Still, he felt himself drawn to that new and unexpected addition to his daily life, a little stormy cloud in a flashy t-shirt coming and going before Otabek could decide if he minded that it rained on him. People-watching wasn’t something he’s ever tried before, so he wasn’t sure if Yurio was a particularly entertaining subject or if it was always this engaging. Otabek was almost positive it was the former, so he kept watching, and he never got bored, learning something new every day and greedily storing all the information. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but Yurio had hard eyes of a soldier, which contrasted with his almost angelic look and the natural grace of his movements. If he had to guess, Otabek would say he was a dancer, and he found himself wishing there was a way to confirm his suspicions without seeming like he cared.

But he did care, and it was unsettling.

“You should just talk to him,” offered Phichit, as usual unprompted, just so Otabek remembered that he cared. Otabek seriously disliked him. “I think you’d make good friends. You’ve got so much in common!”

Phichit was clearly getting excited, so Otabek decided to humour him, and raised his eyebrows in silent question, almost curious as to how Phichit was planning to talk his way out of that particular overstatement. He patiently watched Phichit close and open his mouth, raising his finger when he thought he did come up with something sensible to say, and flagging when he finally realised how absurd that would sound. Just before Otabek decided the conversation was pointless, Phichit tried again.

“You both… dislike… other people?”

Otabek let out a genuine chuckle. “Great foundation for friendship.”

“It’s a start! Friends who slay together, stay together! Or… something… You haven’t even had a proper conversation with him! Who knows what you will find out about him if you just talk to him. Come on, Otabek!”

“Why is it so important to you?”

Phichit looked embarrassed, and it was suddenly clear to Otabek that Yuuri must have put him up to this so that Yurio would get off his back, distracted by a new relationship that would hopefully consume a large portion of his free time - Otabek had never liked Phichit more. Of course, there were probably more reasons for Phichit to push, cheesy and nauseating reasons like wanting Otabek to be happy, but no one was perfect. Feeling generous and in a rather good mood, he ruffled Phichit’s hair before proceeding to ignore him for the rest of his shift. There was no avoiding noticing Phichit and Chris basically crying in each other’s arms, but Otabek refused to let that ruin his day. When Yurio came in, alone this time, there was a moment when Otabek felt confident he would talk to him and offer something more than an impassive expression and a cup of coffee Yurio obviously hated, until he realised he had no idea what to say.

“Why do you always order that? You always make weird faces as you sip it, and you never finish your drink. Are you trying to look mature because you’re so small?”

For the first time in his life, Otabek learned what mortification felt like. It took him that entire time to come up with possibly the most insulting thing he could have come up with, and he was afraid to meet Yurio’s eye. All he could see was Yurio’s hand shaking violently as it reached for the coffee, and worried it would end up splashed on his face, disfiguring him for the rest of his life, Otabek finally lifted his eyes, his breath catching in his throat. Yurio’s mouth was twisted in a furious snarl, his blue eyes aflame, an angry blush covering his cheeks, and underneath all of that was something like betrayal and embarrassment. The hole in Otabek’s chest throbbed. He nearly had forgotten it was there, and now it throbbed almost painfully, making Otabek dizzy. Before Yurio could react in any way to the affront, Otabek blurted out the first thing that came to his mind:

“Do you want to be my friend?”

Yurio visibly started, his features gradually smoothing into mild confusion, only slightly coloured with distrust. “Why?”

Otabek thought for a while about his answer. He considered telling him about a hole in his chest, but that would only make it sound like an experiment. He could tell the truth and admit he’d never really had any friends, but that would make him sound pathetic and unappealing as a future friend prospect. He could say he has been watching Yurio and took interest in him, that he was curious and wanted to get to know more about him, but even Otabek realised how creepy that was. He took a deep breath to keep panic and anxiety at bay, and finally shrugged.

“Why not?”

It had been a bit awkward at first. Well, it was very awkward at first, but it got considerably less awkward with time. They weren’t that compatible - where Otabek barely let anything affect him, Yurio probably had the shortest fuse of everyone Otabek had every come across. Where Otabek scared people away just by looking at them, Yurio had to beat them off with a stick, sometimes literally. It was weird to talk about themselves only to find out that the other was a complete opposite. They didn’t share any interest beyond skating, but to Otabek it was mostly a replacement for the bike, and for Yurio it was a part of his training regime for the ballet, so they quickly stopped talking about it too.The only thing they seemed to have in common was, actually, the general dislike for other people.

But they made it work. They’ve put effort into it. They had the kind of friendship that just didn’t make any sense, and you stayed friends just to spite other people. Unfortunately for both of them, the people in their lives were cartoon characters made of rainbows and sunshine, and they were beyond themselves with happiness for them. Otabek and Yurio tried their best not to let that taint their relationship. Instead, they focused on the benefits of finally having someone to complain about those people to, and simply standing by each other, on principle, occasionally rescuing a certain someone from fans in a dramatic fashion involving motorbikes, or verbally abusing a horrible customer when a different someone couldn’t be bothered to defend himself.

It took a lot of effort, but they made it work.

Otabek had to admit that he was pretty… content. Considering that neither of them had anything to compare it to, and that both of their expectations were somewhat different to most people, Otabek would say they’ve became pretty great friends. There was only one thing that slightly bothered him about Yurio. He wasn’t a jealous or a possessive person - for example, he didn’t mind that when Yurio visited his entire world was instantly shrunk down to Otabek’s cat and Otabek himself might as well not exist - but he definitely thought that Yurio was whining about Victor’s relationship with Yuuri too much.

“Are you in love with Victor?” he asked one day, and was relieved when Yurio looked mortally offended, but only for a brief moment. “Do you have a crush on Yuuri then?”

“What the hell?!” snarled Yurio, his face instantly going red. “It’s one thing to accuse me of having feelings for my cousin, really, honest mistake, but for you to even think I would want anything to do with that little piggy-”

“I think you have a crush on Yuuri,” interrupted Otabek, unable to hold back a smirk. “I think you like him, that’s why you’re so mean to him.”

Yurio spluttered. “You’re mean to him too! Does that mean you want to bone him too?!”

Otabek grinned, reminding Yurio that no one said anything about sex, and Yurio pointed out that it was what everybody thought, and that was the end of it. Otabek didn’t learn the answer to his question, but if Yurio wasn’t comfortable with sharing anything on that particular subject, Otabek was going to wait patiently until he was. It wasn’t as if it had any real effect on their relationship, or on Otabek himself. As much as he enjoyed being friends with Yurio, it didn’t change that much in his life - it didn’t even get rid of the gaping hole in his chest. His existence was still remarkably unremarkable, filled with basically the same ordinary routines, and still missing something that could only be his very heart. If Otabek was willing to ignore something of that magnitude, what did he care that his best (and only) friend was involved in a hopeless love triangle?

Only he did care, a little bit.

Ever since Otabek mentioned it, Yurio would grow distant, sometimes, watching Otabek warily, or snapping at him with seemingly no reason. Even if he was in a good mood, smiling and excitable, he would suddenly dim in the least expected moment, putting up his walls back again. Otabek suspected Yurio wanted to maybe talk about it, but neither of them was any good at discussing feelings, or even expressing them properly. As for Otabek, he wasn’t very good at even having them - he wasn’t sure he could relate to Yukio’s heart troubles. He’s never been in love, never really thought he could love. He’s barely made one friend at twenty-two, who was going through something Otabek had no control over, and he wasn’t sure what he could do to keep him.

“Am I a good friend?”

Yurio looked up at him, his hand freezing still in the cat’s fur, a scowl forming on his lips. Otabek regretted asking, but he couldn’t back out again. He wanted Yurio to know he cared, because he did, he valued him more than anyone else in his life, even if he didn’t fill the hole in him, he was still more important than all other people Otabek has ever known put together. He wished he could say it out loud. He wished he was enough for Yurio, just like Yurio was enough for him. He wished there was something, anything, he could do to make Yurio say yes.

“Yes,” said Yurio, simply and honestly, surprised it was even questioned. “Why do you ask? You need references? Are you suddenly planing to become a social butterfly or something? Come on, I want to go shopping for cat collars.”

Otabek exhaled, and smiled.

All things considered, their relationship progressed normally after that. They started talking more honestly, perhaps, learned to communicate with each other better. Put even more effort. They didn’t see each other every day, as the novelty of the friendship and anxiety to maintain it wore off. Some days were better and some worse. Sometimes Yurio shut him out and locked himself in the dancing studio, and sometimes Otabek chose the bike over Yurio. Sometimes they went skating together. Sometimes, they spent a whole day in bed - a lazy, tangled mess of boys and cat. It was normal, for them at least, and Otabek liked it. He continued to live his ordinary life with his cat, his friend, coworkers, and a hole in his chest.

People teased them sometimes, and he wasn’t exactly sure why. Maybe they seemed too co-dependent, or too cold towards each other; Otabek didn’t care to know what others chose to focus on when it came to judging them. It didn’t matter anyway. How could it, when he had Yurio’s head in his lap, scrolling through one social media app or the other, scoffing and pushing the phone in Otabek’s face ever so often, half-heartedly swatting his hand away when Otabek tried playing with his hair. The cat came and went, the only indication of the time passing by. Otabek would be content staying like that forever.

“I don’t have a crush on Yuuri, you know,” said Yurio suddenly. “I was jealous. Victor has always been kind of my hero, and then the pig showed up and took him away. I was just acting like a child. I was jealous and lonely. I’m not anymore.”

He didn’t push Otabek’s hand away this time when it started gently stroking the soft blond strands of hair. Otabek didn’t think he needed to say anything, so they stayed like that until Yurio had to go back home. Otabek saw him to the door, and somehow sensed it wasn’t going to be the usual good-bye they shared. It was in the tense line of Yurio’s shoulders, in his skittish glances, as he hesitated between avoiding and meeting Otabek’s confused gaze. They stood in the doorstep, each on the other side, waiting. Finally, Yurio seemed to resolve himself, and took a step closer, stood on his toes, and kissed Otabek on the mouth. Blushing furiously, he turned away to flee, leaving Otabek with a cat rubbing itself on his calves, and a tingle on his lips.

Was he expecting that, even subconsciously? He wasn’t sure, but he felt calm, normal. He went back into the apartment, then back to bed, and tried asking himself countless questions, tried forcing himself to analyse the development and examine his feelings. But all he could feel was calm, and that peculiar brand of satisfaction you experienced when something long overdue finally happened even though you weren’t really waiting for it. He smiled to himself when he felt his phone vibrate, and his grin only widened as he read the text from Yurio, “Hope that wasn’t weird.” It was. It was the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to Otabek Altin, hands down, and he’s never felt happier. “It wasn’t,” he replied.

When he woke up the next morning, the hole in his chest was gone.

[casperxwrites]

146: (least) favorite

V.B. She has honey colored hair that she normally has down but trust that the moments when she’s got it up in one of those messy buns on the days when her busy schedule has caught up to her and she can’t bear the thought of putting on her face - she’s just as gorgeous. To call her eyes oceanic would be an insult. They’re way more, and I lack to vocabulary to accurately explain the way they pull you in. All I can say is there are other worlds inside them. You’ll want to go there. You’d buy a first class ticket just to be able to. Despite how bright her smile might trick you, there’s a sadness in them though. Like you can tell she’s been hurt before. When you finally realize this, that someone would dare to break a heart like hers, you’d probably get angry. Until you realize that perhaps the person who hurts her is sometimes herself. The only thing that seems to ease that sadness is when she talks of her son. Every bit of pain she’s endured seems to dissipate and it’s easy to tell she’s a woman trying very hard to be the person her son thinks she is. Not out of wanting to keep up appearances but because he motivates her to better. Often she will describe herself as being simple, however I beg to differ. Magic isn’t simple and believe me, she is. 

Hiding behind her softness is a tongue full of sass but in the sweetest delivery possible. As soon as you think you’re able to navigate her, you learn she’s a mystery and you’re left guessing where she’s headed. I find this to be her most endearing trait probably. Believe me, you can’t figure her out. What’s more astonishing though, you won’t want to. You’ll want to keep trying for the rest of time just for the fact that it means you get to be close to her.  She clicks her tongue when she’s deep in thought and you wait for her to pull her thoughts together. She doesn’t talk just to talk; you have to know if she’s telling you something, it’s important. She says things so casually sometimes, she probably doesn’t even realize the way it causes a butterfly riot to start in your stomach. There’s no need for filling the empty spaces when she’s around. Silence feels comfortable. Natural. Her energy is enough for you. Most of the time, I feel exhausted sharing my own with other people but not her. God, no, not her. 

Every cheesy romance song is suddenly about her. All the poems I used to roll my eyes at were written with her in mind. She does have one flaw though, even though I swore to forget it: she doesn’t like coffee! I know, I know. She’s truly awful. But despite her hating my favorite beverage, she isn’t like anything I’ve known before. I’m hopelessly tethered to her and she doesn’t know it.

A.M. I’d never had anyone I considered my best friend. Not really. At least, not like I do Rory. I don’t even know when it happened exactly. I had sworn off friendship like it were some sort of disease. But she just wouldn’t take no for an answer. Instead, she was patient and would just leave me these little texts when she hadn’t heard from me in awhile making sure I knew she was thinking of me. There’s no one else who makes me ugly laugh as hard as she does. Literally, she makes me snort and I hate it. I never have to worry about embarrassing myself around her because even though she might tease you, you know she means it with the best intentions. The amount of synchronicities between us at this point is almost annoying. Like she’s super glued herself to my brain. How does she do this you might ask? She pays the utmost attention to the people she loves. The smallest shift in tone, the tiniest inclining you’ve had a bad day, and she notices. She’ll be right there to take care of you. But you need to know, she needs to be cared for too. It’s almost irritating she’s always geared up, ready to make excuses for the people who’ve hurt her. It sometimes makes me wanna hit her and there have been times I’ve debated it. Despite that though, you keep in mind it’s only because she’s the most loyal person you’ve ever met and you forgive her anyway. No one will ever love you like her. There’s absolutely no one in this world that I trust more than her. 

S.W. First of all, she’s the toughest bitch I’ve ever known. Seriously - there’s nothing she can’t handle. It’s insane the amount of shit she’s gone through. Just a few months ago, she easily would’ve been somewhere on my hate list. I detested her for speaking ill of my father. But they were things I needed to know. Part of me thinks if she hadn’t clued me in on them, I’d still be stuck in that hole. You’d never know it if you didn’t know her well but she’s the most generous person in all of Sloane possibly. The one and only thing I would change about her is the way she sees herself. You just have to keep trying though. Feed her positive affirmations and one day, hopefully, she’ll see it. Out of everyone in Sloane, she’s the one I’d fear pissing off the most. That saying ‘hell has no fury like a woman scorned’ is the best way I’d describe her. She’s one bad fucking mama jama, I’ll tell you that much. You can see this easy enough by her face. Secretly, I think she does her hair up in those funky colors and wears her scowling mask as a way to protect herself from people. If people are afraid of her, she doesn’t have to keep her heart safe as much because it weeds out the weak. 

J.S. There is a sense of innocence that Juniper’s presence brings me. When I see her, I think back to being a little boy without a care in the world. We were just two kids who didn’t have a single friend in the world. Reconnecting with Juniper had given me back a sense of self. Like I’ve rediscovered pieces of my life that I’d erased. She’s the biggest goofball to be around, but it’s not just to entertain. It’s to keep people from seeing her own pain. When you’re constantly making people laugh, they seem to forget to ask if you’re okay. She doesn’t want you to but she needs you to. There’s a lot of pain there. And secretly, I’m slightly afraid of what would happen if that door finally opened all the way. 

E.H. She can easily fit as a least favorite but secretly, I admire her. She’s lost everything and she still puts on a brave face every day for her kids. There’s a level of respect I have for her because of that, that can’t be ignored. Behind her icy exterior, Elsie cares. I think she’d rather shrivel up and die before she admitted that. Personally, I find it annoying. Partially because I wish she’d stop holding onto this bitch she’s created for the world to see. I wanna scream at her to grow up and show a shred of tenderness to those she cares for. She gave me a place to stay when I didn’t have a pot to piss in and I have to be thankful for that.   

J.R. My father taught me to honor hard work. No time for rest. Of everyone in Sloane, Julian is the person I respect the most. Hands down, there’s no contest. Hustler rose as one of the most successful businesses within the blink of an eye and you have to kind of wonder how he’s managed to do that. But my workaholic aside, Julian is someone you just can’t help wanting to unravel. There are things he keeps to himself, little secrets he keeps for only himself to know. You can see this in his physical body. His baby face doesn’t fool me though. There’s a stoneness lying underneath and I’ll never stop wanting to know what’s happened to him to put it there. 

A.H. She, quite literally, saved my life. There are times, when my mind drifts off to the place I try to hide from everyone else, I hate her for it. But then there she is to remind me that softness is a virtue. When I’m with Aisha, I find myself wishing I could be a better person. She’s got one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever known. There’s no doubting that she cares about you, even when I can’t find time in my busy life to see or talk to her. Always she’s waiting in the background to be your biggest cheerleader.  

H.H. No one likes a guy who goes after a grieving wife. Though, this isn’t exactly the reason for my dislike of him. It goes further. Xander was my best friend and Hudson destroyed my belief that maybe Xander had finally found the one. Even after Els and Xan were married, I had my doubts about them. It’s not secret I disliked Elsie for a long time, and in some ways, definitely still do. But there was something about them that made you believe maybe true love did exist. Maybe I was just living vicariously through them. Who knows. Whatever the reason though, Hudson’s oh so public relationship with Elsie makes my stomach turn when I think about it too much.