#it BETTER be replaced with an emerging sense of what's wrong with the world that it turned Aleksander into what he is now

[yandere-toons]

Matthew Patel

Romantic Headcanons – Yandere

WARNING: violence, death, implied stalking, mentions of religious concepts, toxic mindset.

From the moment you invite Matthew into your life, he will carry that memory to his deathbed. The bond you forged that day is unbreakable and immortal for him: he will go blind to all other reasons for living, consumed with rage at your absence, and ecstatic at any sign of your favour.

Talk of other suitors sends Matthew into a frenzy from which he will not emerge until this obstacle to his happiness is laid low. Dispute over the value of certain traits leaves Matthew resentful—of himself for not being better, of the other person for possessing what he lacks, and of the universe for cursing him with such horrid luck.

When such a person speaks your name, Matthew is driven by his own insecurities to loathe them. The sound of their voice becomes like a cheese grater to his ears, a reminder of how close he is to losing his world for the second time, and from thence into a sound he will fight to the death to silence.

The look of this person, particularly when they light up at the mere mention of you and receive such a look in kind, is a ghastly thing. Matthew's takeaway is one of doubt and bad memories, of all the similarities to Ramona's waning interest that he had been too immature and inattentive to rectify. He vows not to make the same mistake twice.

Seemingly overnight, Matthew transforms from a brooding presence lurking in your shadow to a wellspring of offers to solve even the smallest of issues. He makes a habit of dropping to one knee and delivering a Pagliacci-esque soliloquy about how deep his affection runs, professing that you've become his whole world and that to lose you would leave him with nothing.

Despite your promise not to "betray" him, as Matthew so graciously puts it, he fears it would be a mistake to let his guard down. He believes you were sincere at the time, but Ramona's flippant attitude has left him anxious that you may change your tune and turn your back on him for no apparent reason.

For years, Matthew sought answers as to why she hurt him: on bad days, he blames her for playing with his emotions; on worse days, he blames himself for not trying hard enough to become someone she wanted. Now that he has another shot at human connection, this earth will burn before it slips away from him.

Matthew's actions arise from a peculiar sense of justice: he views himself as retribution sent down upon all those who have wronged you. By daring to replace him, their way of looking after you is inherently and unforgivably flawed. Someone who could, in reality, be quite decent will devolve in his mind into a parasite who takes advantage of you.

Whether they are cruel or kind-hearted, what obsesses Matthew and keeps him stewing for potentially years is the notion that they've robbed him of his one chance at happiness. So long as they keep you company, he sees his future darkening.

What should be a private affair, Matthew turns into a spectacle: he takes to the stage in his most flamboyant attire and declares war, goading his enemy to meet their doom at his hand. Everything, from the venue to the battle itself, is a power play, a performance art in which he displays his prowess for all to admire and envy.

Once he has struck the first blow, there is no version of events where Matthew shows mercy or admits defeat. The harder they fight, the prouder he is to butcher them. Their death will be a triumph, a testament to the fact that he is strong enough to win this war. Anyone who rolls over in the face of his challenge must not be truly committed to you and therefore deserves to feel his wrath for stringing you along.

Coming to over the shiny remains of his enemy, Matthew forgets his rage and revells in the thought of having the sole being who brings him happiness. Ready to pick up where he left off and confident he's earned that right, Matthew throws himself at you and proclaims how thrilled he is to be together again.

Matthew struggles to move beyond the past and to envision a future where he is alone. Having spent much of his life pursuing others, Matthew has no concept of living for himself. He stakes his survival on the volume of applause at the end of every performance, and in the home environment, his tendency to cling to petty recognition has taken root in all interactions.

This emotional hunger reveals itself in the unnecessary extremes to which Matthew proves his devotion, convinced that the obsequious nature of his company and continual sacrifices gives them meaning. He jumps at every opportunity to be near you, no exceptions, afraid that missing even one will be termed neglect and spell the ruin of his life with you.

At his best, Matthew is an unrelenting thespian who serenades you with ballads and calligraphic poetry. But at his worst, he is an unstable and violent creature full of pent-up rage, who conspires with Daemonettes to bind your soul to his, making it virtually impossible to give him up for another.

[lilacura]

Drift | Miyawaki Sakura

pairing: kazuha x reader , sakura x reader

>wc: 1.8k

sypnosis: in a world consumed by fame and shattered dreams, you find yourself caught in the whirlwind of a relationship neglected for the allure of success. But when all hope seems lost, an unexpected source of solace emerges in Sakura, your girlfriends' bandmate.

Things used to be so good between you and Kazuha. You remembered first meeting her at one of her early band practices with the other LE SSERAFIM members. Her skills on the guitar and soothing vocals instantly drew you in. After building up the courage, you confessed your feelings and were overjoyed when she felt the same.

Kazuha was devoted in the beginning of your relationship, always making time for dates and staying up late chatting on the phone when busy schedules got in the way of seeing each other in person. She wrote the sweetest songs that were inspired by your love. You proudly supported her at every concert and event, feeling like the luckiest girl to have an up and coming star as your girlfriend.

But as LE SSERAFIM's popularity grew, Kazuha seemed to grow more distant. Practices and recordings stretched later and later into the night. Your anxious texts went unanswered for hours, then whole days. When you did manage to see her, she was distracted, constantly checking her phone for updates from her manager. More than once, plans you had made got cancelled last minute as she had to prioritize work.

You tried to be understanding of her hectic new lifestyle. After all, this was her dream and you didn't want to hold her back. But it was like you barely even factored into her life anymore. Simple affectionate gestures stopped, then meaningful conversations. Being in a long-distance relationship was taking its toll, yet Kazuha didn't seem to be trying very hard to overcome the challenges.

One particular free evening, she once again cancelled plans to meet up without much of an explanation or apology. Frustrated tears filled your eyes as you paced around, feeling lonelier than ever. That's when there was a knock at your door.

"Sakura? What are you doing here?" you asked in surprise when you opened it to find Kazuha's bandmate and friend. She must have sensed something was wrong, as sympathetic eyes looked back at you.

"I know things have been rough. I figured you could use some company," Sakura said gently, holding up the pizza and movie she brought. Her thoughtfulness caught you off guard in that moment. Before you knew it, you were pouring your heart out about everything with Kazuha while she listened supportively.

A weight felt lifted getting it all out in the open. Sakura understood better than most the toll the idol life could take and didn't make excuses for Kazuha's behavior. She simply comforted you with a hug. When had you last felt so at ease just being with Kazuha? It was in that embrace you realized how much you had really been missing human affection and care.

From then on, Sakura continued to be there for you in the ways Kazuha wasn't. Long talks over coffee, taking you out on fun dates, simple gestures like bringing your favorite snacks. Before long, your gratitude toward her grew into something more that made you question everything. Was what you had left with Kazuha even a meaningful relationship anymore if she couldn't be bothered to put you first?

As the distance grew and Kazuha's busy schedule continued to strain your relationship, the cracks became more apparent. Communication became sporadic, and when you did manage to talk, it felt forced and distant. The once sweet gestures and affectionate moments were replaced with a coldness that left you feeling isolated and unimportant.

One evening, overwhelmed by your emotions, you finally mustered the courage to confront Kazuha about the state of your relationship. With a heavy sigh, you looked into her eyes and said, "Kazuha, we need to talk. I can't keep going on like this. Our relationship feels so distant and one-sided. I feel neglected and unimportant to you."

Kazuha, sensing the seriousness in your voice, let out a deep breath and responded, "I've been working so hard to pursue my dreams, and I thought you would understand that. This is just a temporary bump in the road. I can't believe you'd just give up so easily. It feels like you don't love me as much as I do you."

Your frustration grew as you shook your head. "It's not about giving up, Kazuha. I've been trying to make it work, but it feels like you don't even see how much you've been hurting me. I need someone who will prioritize our relationship, not just brush it off as a minor inconvenience."

Kazuha's expression turned defensive, her voice tinged with anger. "This is unfair! I've been doing everything I can to juggle my career and our relationship. You're making it seem like I don't love you as much as you love me."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to convey the depth of your emotions. "It's not about measuring love, Kazuha. It's about feeling valued and cared for. I need more than just empty promises and excuses. I need actions that show me you're willing to put effort into us."

Kazuha's defiance remained, her voice growing more defiant. "I can't believe you're making it seem like I'm the one in the wrong here. Maybe you're just not as committed as you claim to be if you're so quick to leave over a rough patch."

Your heart ached as you wiped away tears, realizing the disconnect between your needs and Kazuha's understanding. "It's not about commitment, Kazuha. It's about respect and emotional support. I can't keep sacrificing my own happiness for the sake of a relationship that feels like it's crumbling."

“y/n right now is not the time to talk about this, maybe after i’m done with the new comeback.”  Leaving you in the room alone.

Dumbstruck, you sat there, the weight of Kazuha's words pressing heavily on your chest. Her dismissal and departure left you feeling abandoned and unheard. The room felt suffocating as the reality of the situation settled in.

A whirlwind of emotions swirled within you - hurt, confusion, and anger. How could Kazuha prioritize her career over the crumbling state of your relationship? It felt like a betrayal of the love and commitment you had shared.

As you sat alone, tears streaming down your face, you couldn't help but question everything. Was your love not enough? Were your needs too demanding? The self-doubt crept in, adding another layer of pain to the already wounded heart.

A part of you held on to hope things would change if you just gave it more time. But one night when you scrolled through Kazuha's Instagram live to find her completely engrossed in a flirty interaction with a famous actress instead of responding to your texts, that was the final straw. 

You knew then it was time to let go.

Though it hurt to end things after so long, an immense weight was lifted at the same time. You realized your self-worth shouldn't depend on anyone who didn't treat you right. And maybe, just maybe, you had found that in someone else all along without realizing.

At their next band practice, you worked up the courage to tell Sakura how you really felt.

Your heart was pounding as you approached Sakura at band practice that day. So much had led to this moment after the turmoil with Kazuha, but were your feelings for Sakura really more than just comfort in hard times? There was only one way to find out. 

The others had gone on their break, leaving you two alone in the studio. Sakura glanced up with her warm, gentle smile that always set you at ease. "What's up? You seem nervous about something." You took a steadying breath.

"There's something I need to tell you. These past few months with you have been really special," you began hesitantly. Sakura remained quiet, watching you intently with care and concern. Her attention gave you courage to continue. 

"When we're together, it feels... right, in a way nothing has for a long time. You're always there for me without judgment. And I've come to realize, what I feel for you is more than just friendship."

Sakura drew in a small gasp, eyes widening slightly as your confession sank in. Your heart sank too, fearing you had just ruined the best thing in your life right now. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Please forget it, I don't want things to be awkward between us—"

"No, don't apologize," she interrupted softly, reaching to take your fidgeting hands in hers. Her touch was soothing yet electrified your nerves all at once. "I feel the same way about you. I was just too afraid to admit it." 

A wave of relief and elation rushed through you at those words. Sakura returned your happy tears with her own, and you embraced tightly, all the tension and uncertainty melting away. All that remained was the joy of knowing your feelings were truly reciprocated, and a bright new future unfolding before you both at last.

A few months had passed since you and Sakura admitted your feelings for each other. Being with her felt like the missing piece you never knew you needed. She was attentive, caring, and made you feel truly seen in a way Kazuha had stopped doing. 

When the paparazzi caught wind of your new relationship, it caused a media stir as the first out couple in the K-pop world. LE SSERAFIM's fans had mixed reactions, but Kazuha's response cut the deepest. Instead of being supportive, she gave shady interviews implying you had betrayed her trust. 

It was an awkward time during band promotions when you would visit Sakura, having to face your ex frequently. Kazuha gave you the cold shoulder, while Sakura did her best to diffuse tensions for the group's sake. You knew you would run into Kazuha eventually when the members all gathered for practice.

Stepping into the studio, you braced yourself as glares met you from across the room. Before things could escalate, Sakura took your hand for reassurance. "Just focus on me, okay?" she said gently but firmly to the group. You nodded, trying to push aside old hurt feelings. 

Their practice went somewhat smoothly at first, until a break where Kazuha cornered you alone. "I can't believe after everything we had, you would throw it away for her," she spat bitterly. You took a breath to remain calm. "You threw us away first when you stopped caring. I found real love with Sakura."

Kazuha scoffed. "Real love? She'll just abandon you too when it's no longer convenient." Your patience wore thin at that cheap shot. Before you knew it, words spilled out about all the loneliness and neglect you had suffered in silence. How dare she question your relationship when she gave up on you first?

Sakura must have sensed the tension, appearing to diffuse the situation. "That's enough, we should get back to practice." Kazuha shot daggers but stormed off, leaving you in tearful silence. You felt Sakura's comforting arms around you. "You did nothing wrong. I'm here, always." Renewed by her love and support, you knew in time the wounds would heal.

a/n: y/n in her homie hopper era

[ilariyalavorowrites]

Good Enough (9-1-1) Part Nine

Imagine: Imagine leaving LA after feeling like an outsider in your relationship with Bobby and Athena as they seem to pull away and distance themselves from you. Only to find that it is almost impossible to actually walk away.

Warnings: Angst with happy ending, AU, Bisexual Athena, BDSM

Pairings: Bobby Nash x Reader x Athena Grant

Word count: 2,434 words

Universe: 9-1-1

Reader gender: Female

Tagged: @graniairish @madhatter-crazyasahatter-blog @4everflowercore @blueskyredrosegrey @agathaharknessfan96 @ljej95 @yoshinorecommends @horsedragonllama @forever2ne1 @clayzayden @multifandomlesbianic @thepotatoislost @purpl3-menac3

Previous/ Next

Part: 9/10

DENIAL

REGRET

ANGER

DEPRESSION

ACCEPTANCE

The five stages of grief could be seen as a series of rooms that all would pass through one day. Yet here the three of you were, stuck in different rooms with the doors thrown open. Staring through the passage, trying to make sense of this new world that emerged and encompassed you in a blink of an eye. 

You stood in acceptance, a warm and homely space with its eggshell white walls decorated to the nines like a log cabin from your youth. With a crackling log fire in the furthest corner from the entrance. It was as if this room was a perpetual state of your favourite memory of Christmas morning. One that brimmed with joy and childish delight, where anything was possible. A point to step off from into a new beginning.

Athena stood firmly a few rooms back, in the dark red shades of burgundy, scarlet and sangria with veins of oranges and purples dancing through. Sharp edges filled the space, reflecting the pain that lay at the heart of it. The walls pulsated like a heart skipping a beat before cracking creating a unique jigsaw. This room was Athena, her anguish and fury. This was every argument at 3 am, every screaming match over the small detail. That sudden rush of betrayal that came when discovering that you had been wronged, that desire to have the answers to the questions regardless of the pain that would inevitably follow. 

Bobby, he was starting on the outside looking inwards. Trying to make sense of what was playing out between his two lovers. He held none of the cards, and had no real answers to thousand or more whirling and desperate questions piling up. More appeared with every new facial expression or slight change in non verbal cues that were missed by most. He himself would readily admit that they would slip right past his gaze if he wasn’t completely laser focused but here was, gaze fixed flicking from one to the other. He noticed, he saw but at the same time, Bobby knew that he was missing vital information. There was more to the situation than a simple hit and run. He had been left out of the bigger picture and that Athena had discovered.

As the penny began to drop, he edged closer into Denial. That bland void of a room where the dusky grey walls gleaned. The furnished by a small moth eaten patchwork chair. The once thick foam had seen better days and the worn down barely brown carpet badly needing replacing. It felt foreign, disconcerting almost as if you had entered the wrong room but yet this was where you were meant to be? A room that easily generates follow on questions and what if statement at the drop of hat. That can of worms had been opened, stomped on to the point of obliteration. Nothing remained. For now there was no way for Pandora to now close that box and stuff back in all the horrors that had been unleashed.

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

This was a moment that he had never fully considered. Medical emergencies were given in his and Athena’s line of work but not hers. No, this had barely crossed his mind. He worried for sure, that was a daily occurrence. In those times when he was home alone, the darkness would encroach into his apartment. A heaviness would settle in like a fine mist blowing in from the sea and that inner doubtful voice would return.

Bobby could not deny that such abhorrent negative thoughts had passed through his mind at his lowest. Hitting rock bottom staring down at that bottle of liquor tempting him to drink away all his woes and simply forget. Forget that they were going to leave him, it was inevitable. Just over the horizon, there was someone better, someone young and not so broken as he. Yet here he was facing it down. His face paled, all whilst hiding by his mask but god was he scared for what came next.

Athena’s rage burnt hot, fast and was all-consuming. It was comparable to flash fire, that sudden chemical reaction that created an intense flame. It was there one moment then gone once it had rushed through the source of combustion. Right now, you were that primary source at the heart of the chemical mixture. 

The spark that had ignited her ire, whipping it until it had exploded. Once it  had drawn you in, like a moth to a flame but now you had to stand strong as you walked into the bowels of hell. The intense heat biting at your flesh, daring you to keep your distance. This was not the time to keep yourself at arms lengths, for that time had long since passed. This was a moment to remain as cool as ice, you were riddled with a multiple of negative emotions, each fighting to burst through. Guilt by far, was one of the strongest, second to acceptance which led the charge.

This was your internal struggle, one that could wait until you were by your lonesome self, grieving this loss in a darkened room miles away from this place. Full well knowing that you had haphazardly chosen the cowardly way, thinking it was the best option at the time. In the back of your mind you had never considered that all your running would lead you straight here directly into the heart of the furnace, into the very depths of your own personal hell. 

As you stood there, growing ever more anxious as each passing second ticked by. It echoed loudly in your ears, a constant reminder of the passage of time grinding to any of an almost standstill. Each second felt like an hour, an hour felt as if a lifetime had passed you by. Yet here you were standing still almost as if you were made of marble, frozen in time.

Even though this was the true heart of the storm, as the fast, razor sharp winds whirled around you cutting off any thoughts of escape. There was no way back, only forward. This would be far from an easy conversation. One that most feared as relationships formed, flourishing before obstacles presented themselves.

There were many moments that peppered each lifetime that were difficult to face. They had to be faced one way or another. You had chosen to take the easy path as you stood at the fork in the road but ultimately it had looped around, rejoining the harder path. A road unwalked, unpaved and full of tough choices. Ones that you wished and pleaded like a desperate coward stood in front of their executor crying out for mercy, but falling upon deaf ears.

Oh where to begin? As an impossible stream of starts to an inconceivable number of sentences and statements whizzed through your mind. It was a dizzying reality to beyond but this was yours and yours alone. Your anxiety creeps higher and higher with each silent moment. Soon one of you would have to break through, for it was palpable enough that it might be cut with a knife. 

“Ideally, this isn’t the best place for the three of us to talk but this can’t wait” Bobby steely and more serious than you had ever seen him before. The point of no return had truly been crossed. For now, you were standing face to face with Captain Nash and Sergeant Grant not your lovers. The mere experience was both terrifying but yet pleasing. As a redness began to blossom upon your cheeks, equal parts embarrassment to lust. God, you should not be turned on by but it was so damn difficult not to be.

With your lower lip rotating in your mouth, tentatively biting down each time that the soft flesh made contact with your teeth. You needed to remain calm, level and completely neutral if you were going to smoothly navigate through the murky waters that you were sinking deeper into.

You need to think before speaking, treat this like an interrogation. The world melted away as you imagined yourself seated on a cold steel chair, with arms resting upon the smooth metal top of a table bolted down to the floor. You were in her wheelhouse now. As the stern and unwavering eyes of Sergeant Grant met your own, nervously flitting from one spot to another. You catch sight of Fire Captain Nash just beyond, with his back firmly pressed against the wall silently observing the room. 

“You hold all the cards, it’s time to show your hand” The Sergeant firmly spoke, edging closer as she leant forward no more than an inch. It was hardly enough to be noticeable but yet your mind briefly wandered, removing you from your own perfectly constructed fantasy for a fraction of second longer than you desired. 

“Then ask your burning questions Sergeant Grant'' You shot back as you fell right back in, unpausing the overly dramatic scene as you leant back into the chair, feeling its sharp edges start to dig in. It was truly the most uncomfortable seat that you had the displeasure of being forced to use. Silence followed, with only the steady beat of your own heart to keep you company as you waited for the next question to arrive. 

“I’m waiting” You teased, prodded the quietly fuming Officer to see if she would take the bait and bite back. She remained silent, as the cogs within her mind churned, creating and then breaking now the questions that formed. As she worked through until she found the perfect opening line of enquiry. You would wait but he wouldn’t be the silent partner for a second more than necessary. It was hard to miss the rage circling within, fighting to break free and scorch the ground beneath his feet. 

In the way, he clenched his fists so tightly that the tips of his fingers blanched or how the facial muscles tightened as he barely held back his tongue lashing out with the strength of his conviction fought back, lashing out with the intensity of the tempest that lay within. God, he was ready to break. Captain Nash was dancing on the edge of a blade. One wrong move in either direction then all hell would break loose. 

The very thoughts of being on the receiving end of that explosion shook your world three inches to the left. It wasn’t something you had considered until this very moment. You were reaping what you had sown. With your focus fixed upon him, you had failed to notice her watching you watching him. 

It was only for a fraction of a second, the briefest of moments before you pulled your gaze away from his. Just add another string to your bow, staring at one of your interrogators. This was far more awkward that you would have considered it to be but then again, you never thought that a situation like this would occur. Yet here you were. 

“I didn’t wake up one particularly grim morning and say to myself let’s cut my losses and get out of this town as I lay there alone in my bed. You spoke with a waiving confidence that you feared would soon break but you needed this. To get what weighed heavily upon your heart off your chest. You continued on.

“Daring to hope that my phone would surge into life. For I knew what I was getting into when this all began but this went well beyond that” You paused to gather your thoughts before speaking once more. Athena however beat you to the punch, finding her voice. Her frustration is more prevalent than ever before. It was in the way she sat, back firmly pressed against the back of the chair. 

"Yet, there is no clear example of you reaching out, trying to raise the issue with either parties"  She said through gritted teeth, biting back. Her words awash with razor sharp accusations. For she had one firm goal in the forefront of her mind. That was to cut down to the core of it, get the accused to confess and admit the wrongdoings that lined with the story the evidence told. To see that bleeding heart and reach the truth that was desperately required for peace of mind, to move forward from here. Throughout, her face remained neutral, a blank slate that revealed nothing of storm brewing rapidly within.

The trap had been set, the bait firmly in place. All Sergeant Grant needed to do was to be patient and wait. The temptation to react, to bite back would be too much to completely resist. How long would it take? A few minutes or maybe as long as an hour? She simply could not say or predict when the cracks would start to form as your resolve chipped away. She was waiting with bated breath for your mask to finally drop then she would have what she was after but would it be truly worth it?

For that was the one question that she could not predict what. It twisted like a knife to the gut would as she lingered upon it longer than she necessarily needed to. She pushed aside but would not go away so easily, haunting her like a dark cloud on a sunny day. Ready to spoil the mood at a moment's notice. Was she really ready for the next words to fall from your lips? 

Athena held steadfast to the belief that she was but a sliver of doubt remained within, tainted this burst of certainty. Captain Nash noticed this momentary blip, this slight hesitation that fell over the surefast and confident Sergeant as her body language altered just enough to reveal her broken heart. It was only for a split second, there one moment but gone in the next but he noticed.

The Fire Captain abided by his promise, keeping silent in the background as Sergeant Grant conducted the integration. However there would come a time when he would enter the fray and say his piece. This was not the right moment, not quite yet but soon. His frustration weighed heavily upon his chest, his confusion at what he had missed. Professional pulled at core pushing back the overwhelming emotional centre of his being that bleed through the seams of stitches that held him together. Would this be the moment when his broken heart shattered upon the cement floor beneath his feet? He hoped that it wasn’t. Once had been more than enough.

[arclundarchivist]

Have to say, even though it failed that was an amazing Orym moment. Need art of it stat. His conviction to make this work, the steel in his spine and hell Laudna’s too when listening to this woman who *knows* nothing of what they’ve gone through say that Ludinus has a point.

Then the plea filled with gravitas aided by a woman who lost everything twice due to cruel machinations of those devoted to thinking *they* could do better than the status quo and this simple man who has had destiny thrust upon him through no fault of his own.

The epithet manifestation of the Mad Mage of Wildemount.

And it fails. It’s unfortunate but he immediately pulls the trigger to get into this and still attempts to see this end without righteous, if misguided people on both sides dying needlessly as the world ends a continent away.

Captain Exandria indeed.

And I am terrified of what comes next. I don’t want them to become full enemies of Vasselheim, because yes while the institution is warped and many allow the faith to simply be a tool to better their own lots, they need all the help I can get.

I don’t trust this Uber-laced Paladin, but she’s needed.

I definitely don’t trust the Elder, she’s too engaged with Ludinus’s words.

On top of the reveal that the Eidolons are Elementals, with the knowledge of the Hishari’s dark dealings and the fact that just recently another warped elemental cultist attempted something to distract Keyleth prior to the fight.

The grudge between the Elements and the Gods goes back to the very beginning!

I just…I’m so worried about where this is going.

So many Dawnfather ties emerging and I have to wonder if I’m the end some of the Gods are gonna get are but not all allowing others to rise into their place after Predathos is (hopefully) inevitably defeated/sealed if they are released at all and that brings me around to Laudna’s point.

Okay, the Gods go, there is no freedom. There is no independence.

Are all the Gods noble, factually no.

But we *know* the types that will attempt to step in and take over.

Even if I’m wrong about my main fear that Predathos will sense the Luxon and just view Exandria as yet another meal to be had.

Without the Gods, who takes power? Why the beings who already have the lion’s share.

People like Ludinus, and yes of course some good individuals could rise to become replacements all their own, I mean Keyleth is practically already there.

But…the war that would follow to get to level would likely kill *so* many, and who is even to say that any good will triumph at all!

Think about all the beings that have ascended into Godhood or attempted to.

The Raven Queen is the *only* moralistic one out of the lot!

Vecna, would be God Emperor, Necromancer Supreme, Mind-Thief.

Lucian and the Somnovem, an arrogant jackass and an almighty all consuming idiot.

Ludinus combines all their terrible traits into one, a mad narcissistic mage who consumes Fey to lengthen his lifespan beyond the normal means. Powerful ones as well it seems.

Also, what the fuck would be the interaction between Tharizdun and Predathos? The former isn’t like the Prime or Betrayers, who would consume who, and without the Gods, and their powers what would stop it from consuming the Material regardless of Predathos’s actions?

It is utterly *inane* to me to believe that the loss of the Gods will “build Exandria back better.”

Not with all the dark powers eagerly waiting in the wings.

Regardless, nervous and excited for next week.

[neon-lights-stardust-nights]

I think I like how this idea of faers escape goes tbh

~.~.~

After Nygma received a panicked email from an account Crane had only ever used in short correspondences during tense alliances… Edward didn’t need to read the whole thing to know something was wrong. He’d recently gotten an actual chance to talk to Kronos again, and their conversation seemed to have the desired impact.

It’s Kronos. For the love of god, do not delete this email. I didn’t want to log into my own, I was afraid he’d notice somehow. Johnathan will likely still notice, but maybe he doesn’t read through his own sent emails very often? I’m stupid, who the fuck does that besides me.

It went on, I have decided. I want out. John’s not going to just let me go though, we both know that. I’m not asking you to send in the rescue brigade. You’ve been underground lately, laying low. I respect that. I just need help, somehow, someone. Doesn’t matter who at this point. Please, Ed.

And that’s all it said.

“Doesn’t matter who at this point,” that line stuck with him. For a moment, that felt like a subtle cry to send Batman in. Still, he wanted to review other options before jumping head first into the shitshow that might cause. Laid up in bed, legs bent to prop up his laptop while he typed away, Nygma spent a few days with headphones in on and off. Mostly doing research.

First order of business to him was if fae had any family worth scoffing at. Not really. He knew of faers Arkham stay, but next wanted details. He wouldn’t send Kronos to Arkham on purpose, but maybe emails and security footage could dig up anything. Any friends fae made during would be useful. A little part of him rooted for Two Face—Harvie was easy to negotiate with when you involved chaos, and Harvey’s malformed sense of justice could be manipulated. Getting into everything was easy (they really should up their cyber-security!) Nothing was worth looking at though. Everything mentioning faer never seemed to bring up anything worth scoffing at.

It was after that third day of combing through workers IMs emails and that Edward heard the phone ring. He wished the damn thing was less loud, heard well over the music he was playing. The volume button got a bit of abuse, him repeatedly pressing it to push the slider up until it hurt his ears a little. These things were cheap, but laying low meant not being able to replace his emergency over-ears for anything better.

Though Edward thought letting the phone ring out would be the end of it, he heard it over the roar of the bass drum regardless. Faint, covered by techno music, a sound from the outside world. His phone was ringing again. His eye twitched, focus on the transcripts of guards’ pointless banter wavering some as the annoying, shrill sound of his home phone played out.

The ringing ended. Edward held his breath, waiting. After a few moments, he let out the most contented sigh… Only to have such relaxation immediately shot dead by more ringing. The headphones came off, laptop pushed onto the mattresss.

“Alright, fine!” He stormed over, yanking the thing off the hook. It came up to his ear, and he decided to just let them have it: “whoever the hell you are, you must have too much free time! Can’t you get that I’m busy?”

“Hello, Edward.”

His blood ran cold. Hugo fucking Strange? He’d been incredibly careful! “How the hell did you get this number?”

“You aren’t the only one doing digging,” was the response he got. “You, however, have been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“And?”

“Why?”

Edward scoffed. “Rather domestic of you to just call me, isn’t it?”

“You’re dodging the question,” he pointed out.

“Because I’m not answering it,” Edward retorted.

“If what I’m being shown is correct, and I have every reason to believe it is… You’ve been snooping other places too.”

“Cut the crap, Strange. What’s stopping me from hanging up on you? Right here, right now?”

“Zacharie Ratkovic. Though, if I’m correct, fae prefers Kronos these days.” Edward’s silence was telling enough that he pressed further, “why?”

“What proof do you have that fae’s involved in this,” Edward bit back, a little too quickly.

“Practically everything I can trace back of your snooping is about faer. Legal information, medical documents, and the list goes on. I want to know why.”

“And I’m going to just tell you, because?”

Strange chuckled, “last I remember, Kronos escaped Arkham to reunite with a certain Johnathan Crane. Yet if your own emails are anything to go off of—“

“Jackass,” Edward groaned, grit teeth and exhaustion coming in clear through the phone.

Ignoring him, “—Kronos is looking to escape.”

“Whatever help you’re offering: no. I said I’d handle it, I’m gonna handle it!”

“I do not mean to trample your ego,” and the faux care put to his voice was nearly mocking to Edward. “But how exactly do you plan to wrench Crane’s prized possession from him without causing a ruckus?”

There was silence on both ends. Edward’s eyes narrowed as Strange broke it, smirk practically audible. “Don’t tell me you have no plan?”

“That’s what I was working on, you idiot! And I do have a worst-case-scenario sort of thing up my sleeve, but I’m obviously saving that for if nothing else looks promising!”

“And what is that exactly?”

“None of your fucking business, that’s what it is.”

Perhaps he was having a spot of fun, quoting the email at Nygma. “Doesn’t matter who at this point.”

“Oh my god, you’re looking right at it. You’re looking at the email right now, aren’t you? Rubbing it in my face. That’s exactly how you get a man to work with you, you insult him.”

“Quite frankly, I’ve put up with plenty of insults from you. I could always hangup, and pretend I never heard about this little escape plan.”

Edward sighed, rubbing at his forehead some with two fingers. He wouldn’t admit that the help would be nice, even if it weren’t Strange on the other end of the line. “What’s your grand plan, exactly?”

“Simple. I have the men and resources to storm his hiding place. They will either retrieve faer, or give faer the opening to escape on faers own.”

“Eloquent,” Edward mumbled with an eye roll, sarcasm dripping like honey from his words. “You just want faer to build you shit for yourself, don’t you? Bombs and bullets like what fae was supplying me, like what fae’s suck supplying Crane, and like fae could supply you.”

“It certainly sweetens the pot,” Strange mused, “but even if that is all I have to gain from this: do you have other options?”

“Sending a tip to Batman about a hostage sounds like an option.” Strange didn’t respond, which got a good chuckle from Nygma. “C’mon, didn’t you read it earlier? Doesn’t matter who it is I send to help, Kronos just wants out!”

“And send faer back to Arkham?” Strange tsk’d at him, “as though Kronos would forgive you from throwing faer from wolves to lions.”

“Shut up, alright?”

“You’re awfully intent on avoiding my offer.”

Edward threw an arm into the air, phone held to his ear by his other shoulder. “And you’re awfully intent to keep offering! Kronos is scared shitless of you, just as scared as fae is about a potential Arkham stay. How do we know he’s gonna do that, anyway? Maybe he’ll take pity on faer, drag faer back to wherever he lives. Poor thing’s probably gonna be six feet in fear toxin, and knowing him, he has a cure!”

“And there’s an equally likely chance that he will leave a hospital to sort out a very scared, drugged man. I simply would like to point out that either option will be uncomfortable, but pain often must be endured for the sake of progress.”

Edward paused. “Why am I arguing with you? You’re going to do this whether or not I let you.”

Something caught his eye. On his caller ID, another call that couldn’t come through because of Strange. With dawning horror, he realized that was Crane’s number. There’s only two reasons Crane could be calling right now…

“I may have already started the arrangements.”

“You got his IP address way before I ever started snooping through anything belonging to Arkham,” Edward whispered.

“Perhaps. Or I acquired it when I caught your wandering eye. You don’t really know, do you?”

“I don’t like the answer either way.”

“This has been fun,” and Edward was stuck staring back at his laptop. “Goodbye, Edward.”

He didn’t say anything. He just slammed the phone back into place, rushing to his living room. Anything that large scale would end up on television. Laptop with him, he closed out all those old transcripts. Now he was trying to hack into cameras, into anything that could at least let him make sure he didn’t doom faer.

[citadel-of-paper-birds]

𝑉𝐼 - 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐾𝑖𝑛𝑔

•─────⋅☾•☽⋅─────•

After the murder of the nameless star, the forest became ill with darkness. At its core, blackness choked at the life there, and the Black Wood emerged, bringing with it things from a place no human had been. Arawn had seen his chance to bring his own world to theirs, and began a plan to end humankind for their arrogance and stupidity. He blamed them for the old gods falling out of power in favor of the newer, softer gods.

When Arawn’s nightmarish creatures set loose on The Black Wood, they began to infect everything they touched. There were things unseen that seemed human, but weren’t, and it you stumbled upon one, it would lurk behind you, pursuing no matter where you went. There were chilling beasts that looked like animals, all white deer with three glowing eyes, and small, chittering mouths.

When The King of the Dead Leaves emerged from his rest, he was met with the realization that things had changed while he was gone, but not for the better. With his dear wife, Lady Glass, still asleep for one more cycle, it was up to him to find out what had happened while they had been sleeping.

He weeded his way through the Hush Wood, where his Cathedral now resided, aptly named for the absolute, shattering silence that remained after the catastrophe. His fingers brushed along the notes in the trees, and as they did, each one made a little melody, some like that of a fiddle, others a piano or a music box. Without opening them, he could sense them for what they were:

Confessions or regrets, of joys, or fears, or humanity. These were the emotions of the humans he loved so dearly, hung out on branches, torn from their souls.

He hedged his way through the wood until it began to change, growing darker. The trees began to twist themselves into looming shapes, roots gnarled and branches reaching so high that the sky was no longer visible through the black of their leaves. This was the beginning of The Black Wood, punctuated by the stillness of a solid white doe, nearly luminescent, with three glowing eyes. After only a moment, the deer turned and darted farther into the brush, out of sight.

He travelled through, farther, pressing deeper and deeper into the inky dark of the brush. Suddenly, everything had changed again. It was as though he’d blinked, and the forest was replaced with a petrified grove of large weeping willows, all entirely stone. As soon as he’d seen it, the King realized what had happened, but it was too late.

Arawn was there, and that twisted grin, the same as those gnarled tree roots from The Black Wood, was fixed across his lips, too thin, like paper.

“I’d say it’s a pleasure,” He said, face schooled into an expression of nonchalance, examining his nails, “But I think we both know otherwise. How do you like The Hollow?”

“What have you done?” The King asked, though he already knew, “This forest has done nothing to you.”

“The humans you love so fiercely did this, not me.” The old god insisted, “I was a means to an end. They asked for this.”

With a flick of his wrist, Arawn sent a pack of large, black dogs tearing into the Autumn god, ripping and mauling until there was nothing left but his wedding band.

When Lady Glass emerged from her own slumber, she set out on the same path her husband had, trying to find the source of what had gone wrong in their beloved forest. When she found the King’s band, all she could do was weep.

She let out a piercing shriek, letting forth a terrible blast of cold throughout the land, all through the kingdoms surrounding. She, too, realized what must have been done, and when the old god had told her of both the greedy human who had brought this fate to her woods, and the fate of her husband, she vowed that she would be an enemy to the greediness of mankind.

Lady Glass became withdrawn, reclusive, and more mean than her icy winds. She iced over roads and windows, froze into the houses of men and stole their lives with her harsh conditions. Every Winter upon waking, she screamed out her rage into the sky, letting it cover the land, letting all feel her anguish as their own.

To this day, the Winters are harsh and unforgiving, unyielding. The only place untouched is her husband’s Cathedral, which she couldn’t bare to destroy.

•─────⋅☾•☽⋅─────•

[crazyblondelife]

A Mixed Bag

Life is a never ending journey…I’ve written many times about my journey to where I am in my life today and I’m constantly trying to create the life that I desire to live in the future by staying in immersed in the present and feeling appreciation for what is while still desiring more!

I believe we were put on this earth to continue to learn and grow into the truth of who we are at our essence which is a unique expression of the source of all things! While that may sound daunting to some, I think it’s comforting because - it takes the pressure off, the pressure to finally and definitively arrive at a point in life. When we realize that we are constantly growing, difficult situations and feelings make more sense. Those situations are there to guide us along our way and teach us as we go and as we grow.

I would hate to think that I’d come all this way only to stay here for the rest of my life! I’m not saying that there is anything wrong with my life, but evolution is the reason we’re here.

That’s the thing with desire…it never goes away and you can’t squash it because we were meant to always want more. More living, more love, better relationships, unique experiences, and yes, more financial abundance. If the goal is to serve the highest good with our growth, it’s really not even possible to mess it up, although there may be days when it feels like we’ve messed it all up!

I would not be the woman I am today if I hadn’t gone through the things I’ve been through and for that I am so grateful.

Desire from a place of gratitude. It’s so it’s so important to consciously practice gratitude and stay in that FEELING of gratitude as much as possible because when we desire from a place of gratitude, the Universe and Law of Attraction only bring us more to be grateful for!

My question at this point in my life is…what am I trying to express about myself to the world? How can I be myself and let that expression work to serve others. What is emerging as I grow into more of who I was put here to be? How can I lead myself every day in my continual desire to become more?

Often, my self expression comes from my love of beauty…beautiful surroundings in nature, beautiful cities (Paris), a beautifully decorated home, clothes that make me feel beautiful, healthy, delicious and yes, beautiful food. As I become more confident in shining my individual light, it becomes easier to express myself through those things. Learning to love myself has given me permission to be who I am without apology and that feels so freeing.

Freedom, is the ultimate reason to be want to be self expressed. We all want the freedom to live our lives in a way that feels good and that is different for everyone. True freedom begins with understanding that we are always creating our lives and we can create anything. True freedom is not having to ask for permission to be exactly who we are. Let me explain…and this is the crux of why I sat down to write this!

I’m probably mostly addressing women here, so keep that in mind as you read…

As women, we all have a strength inside of us, an innate feminine wisdom that, if nurtured can guide us in the most beautiful way. Unfortunately, for reasons that I don’t have time to get into here, that innate wisdom, that voice of intuition, has often been silenced, or at least made to seem insignificant. When we can’t hear our intuition, we are not free, we are controlled by outside circumstances.

As I was growing up, I was taught that I wasn’t good enough, capable enough or smart enough by (for the most part), well meaning people. That led me to stop listening to my unique voice. My unique voice was replaced by the ringing in my head of all the things OTHER people had told me. I began to listen to those voices instead of my own and they got louder and louder.

It honestly took me until about two years ago to fully realize this and since then, I’ve grown so much. What is happening now is that the little girl inside that had no confidence and was so scared and insecure is being replaced by a woman who knows her worth and wants to share her wisdom with others.

So once again, I come back to the question, because I still desire so much more…what is trying to emerge in my life, not from a place of a scared little girl who is just learning that she doesn’t have to be that way, but from the knowledge that I am so powerful and the gift of my life lessons has shown me my power .

I started to understand the power within me as I began to be willing to surrender, to trust, to let go of the past and all of those voices inside my head. By listening to the stillness and know ing that I always have access to the Wisdom of the Universe, I was able to replace the voices of society, of my parents, of that teacher from the 4th grade…with my own voice. The voice that comes from the Source of all things, is the voice that also lives within me. We must reclaim our individual God given power and listen to our Wisdom if we want to see change in this world. This is why, learning to love ourselves is the greatest gift we can give. Learning to tune out the noise of the world and tune in to the broadcast of Source.

Self love comes from within. Self love doesn’t give us power, it shows us how to reclaim the power that was always there. I’m not talking about power from external things, I’m talking about the power of inner strength and confidence…confidence, simply because you are. This is the I AM. I am capable, I am loving, I am uniquely created, I am beauty, I am love, I am…me, and knowing that gives me authentic Power that no one can take away.

Learning this has been the greatest gift. I still have to nurture that insecure little girl at times and really spend time remembering who the hell I am, but now, at least I know to do it and now I know that I AM because I’m here!

. I have been willing to step out, even when it felt so frightening because I have been given a gift and I feel a responsibility to help other women rise!

I said it in my last post and it’s such a re-occurring theme in my mind right now, but beauty is important and when we feel beautiful on the inside and let it shine to the outside, we have no choice other than to create beauty in the world.

Once again, I’m combining big inspiration with a little bit of fashion. This is an outfit that makes me feel beautiful. It’s a masculine look with pearls to soften. It’s comfortable but polished, it’s soft and strong at the same time because of the leather and cashmere. The red is a sign of strength as well as a celebration of the holiday season. The shoes represent practicality and luxury! This outfit is a mixed bag, just like me.

More than anything, I wish for you, that as you grow and learn and evolve into more of your true self every day that you will feel the freedom to express yourself, unapologetically to the world!

[thewillowbends]

Halfway through S&S, and I'm here to tell you guys the reason Mal drives you guys insane isn't because he's that toxic, really. There's some bad writing around him, but I can see what Leigh was trying to do having him be the moral heart of the series, the person who keeps Alina steady when she's pushing the limits of her own ethics. (Which is, fundamentally, a mild gender reverse of what we typically see in most stories, right? I'm not joking when I say I think she was inspired by The Hunger Games because there's a lowkey Peeta/Gale vibe with the love interests here and how they reflect moral pathways Alina could have taken. The Darkling even has grey eyes, lmao.)

He annoys you because he keeps Alina from being the dark protagonist this story needed her to be. I mean, there are other ways he's annoying in that his feelings about her powers isn't mixed (wouldn't you feel disturbed that the very same power by which your friend saved your life now seems to be destroying her? wouldn't it make your feelings on the situation really complex?). Beyond the fact that the moral landscape of this series really needed an adult story to thoroughly explore its nuances, there's the fact that the ultimate fate of this character really needed Alina to go to the edge. Ideally, it should have happened in S&B, but it could have happened here....and it just doesn't happen. He's the voice pulling her back, which is fine, but a story about the corrosive influence of power really needs a protagonist who is violating our own ideas of what's acceptable and making us question whether this story has any real heroes, whether everybody is just kind of fucked because Morozova's legacy is one of greed, and everyone who gets involved gets swept up in that feverish rush of his ambition.

So what happens is that, instead of doing anything truly meaningfully, morally reprehensible on the scale a fantasy series requires, she's just kind of an asshole. And not even an asshole who's interesting. S&B Alina was prickly, anxious, fast to make judgements, desperate to feel important and wanted...and all of that was fine because she was seventeen and immature. Those qualities could have been matured into something interesting, like having her become increasingly aware of how dangerous her life was as a Grisha and the saint, something that would start her down a path similar to the Darkling (i.e. power is both a boon and target your back, so you have to protect yourself against everyone). There's even like...the implications of this in S&S with her being legitimately freaked out by how people are sanctifying her, selling chicken bones claiming they're hers. (How on Earth did Leigh miss the obvious parallel there between an amplifier and a saint? They're both more valuable dead than alive!) She already has that anger in her, the same anger that the Darkling has learned to bury and fashion into a weapon that drives him. It just needed to be allowed to foster into something meaningful.

And she just...doesn't grow. Her awareness never goes beyond how events are affecting her. She never starts to understand what drives the Darkling beyond just seeing the boy in him. Her sense of responsibility to all of these Grisha who chose their country over years of loyalty and admiration of the Darkling never develops past how they're useful to her mission. (Hmm, sounds familiar, right?) Worst of all, she simply....gets all the prickly, unlikable characteristics of a character who could tip over into some really shitty behaviors but none of the actually interesting actions that make the Darkling a terrible but deeply compelling villain.

S&S Alina shouldn't have been told to kill the sea whip out of mercy by Mal. She needed to do it without prompting, showing us a jump from S&B's moment with the stag where mercy is something she's slowly realizing she can't afford anymore - or maybe doesn't care to maintain. S&S Alina needed to fulfill the promise of that girl who crippled the skiff in a moment of panic and fear to save herself and the man she loves. She needed to be more of the girl who was infatuated by the power the collar the Darkling gave her, so he becomes a complex figure who empowered her to dark ends, while Mal is the good man with a good heart who ultimately held her back unknowingly. The story is too afraid to go there, too afraid to ask the reader to forgive their protagonist if she crosses too far of a line, mostly because it refuses to forgive it in its antagonist...which should be a warning to all of us about what happens when you create a zero sum game where redemption isn't an option. Because in the end, Alina winds up committing the worst character offense of all: she's annoying.

[prismartist]

cw for ren being very sick in the background

---

Scott stared at the huge box structure, feeling unsure. Not really about any particular thing, but just in general. Aside from the question whether he should disturb its inhabitants, as they hadn't emerged in hours, he also felt unsure about how to communicate with them at all. There were no doors, no windows, no visible way in, and no place to knock, unless Scott wanted to severely injure his knuckles.

After a moment of contemplation, Scott settled on hoping that his own voice carried beyond the thick cobblestone. "Ren? BigB?" he called out. "Are you there?"

The silence from the base proceeded for a while, before a block broke, and BigB tentatively poked his head through. He had a look of lingering exhaustion, and his smile wavered. "Oh hi Scott!"

"BigB?" The two flinches as Ren's croaky, more-pathetic-than-usual voice called from inside. "Who's there?"

"It's just Scott!" BigB replied.

"Agh, that hobbit. Make sure he does not invade our walls!"

"Yes, Ren, I'll make sure he doesn't invade our walls." BigB turned back, apologetic. "Sorry, he's a bit loopy."

"I don't... mind?"

"So what's up?"

"Well, just wanted to check on you guys. You've been in there for a while, and as good neighbors, me and Cleo thought it would be a good idea to bring some food." Scott produced a leather bag and held it up with an inquiring smile. "Care for some bread and baked potatoes?"

"Oh my god, thank you," gasped BigB, reaching and taking the goods. "This will definitely help, once Ren's, uh... settled."

It was at this point that Scott became acutely aware of some terrible groans coming from inside the base, as well as the smell of what he could only describe as something gone wrong.

"Oh my god, what is happening in there?!" Scott clapped a hand over his nose and mouth, and BigB winced.

"Uhmmmm... well, Ren and I had a little... experiment, you could say, earlier." BigB scratched the back of his neck sheepishly (or goat-ishly, what with his new ears and horns). "It was nice honestly, we both learned a lot, but I think one of us hasn't adapted to the goat lifestyle well."

Scott could almost feel the loading screen pop into his head. "Goat lifestyle?"

"Oh you know, just... goat. Things."

Scott lowered his hand. "BigB. Did you and Ren eat grass."

"Uhm."

"Don't lie to me, BigB."

"Okay yes we did," BigB quickly admitted, cringing. "But we were craving!"

"How much did you have??"

"A lot, dude. A lot. I'm not proud either. But in our defense––" BigB raised both his hands, "––it tasted good."

Scott moved his hand back onto his face in a full facepalm. "I hate adaption," he muttered. "Whatever god thought it would be a good idea for people to mutate in new worlds, I'm going to kill them."

"Yeah, and I don't know why Ren reacted so badly, we've both gained goat features and stuff but he's not taking the grass well."

"Might just be a him thing, to be fair."

"Like the dog thing?"

"Not necessarily, most dogs don't get sick from grass, but some do. That might be overpowering the goat parts."

BigB's eyes widened. "Ohhh, is that it? That makes sense, you're smart."

"Thank you, I am."

"BigB, my tummy's rumbling again, man," Ren once again piped up.

Scott took a step back, to maybe ease some space between him and the aura emanating from the Box of Regret. "Anyways, I think I better go before it gets too dark. And besides, I do not want anything to do with that, no offense."

"Oh of course, I get that, I get that."

"Well––" Scott gave a wave, "––best of luck, I feel like you'll need it. Tell Ren I hope he gets better."

"Yeah, I will." BigB gave another strained smile and waved back. "See you dude, thanks for stopping by."

"See you, BigB."

And BigB hurriedly replaced the block.

---

(sequel to this fun lil snippet because a lotta people were talking about dogs eating grass in the notes... so i made an epilogue based on that lmao)

[nothoughtsonlynat]

Resurrect Me (N.R.)

Warnings: swearing; death; Hell/the Underworld; cliff jumping lol

Word Count≈ 3.1k (yikes lol my bad)

Hecate一 the goddess of magic, witchcraft, the night, the moon, ghosts, and necromancy. Known to be an intricate mosaic of good and evil, destruction and beauty. Capable of granting wishes, summoning the dead, resurrections, teleportation, warping realities on unfathomable scales, mind control, energy manipulation, and any sorcery or magic known to the Gods. Second only to Zeus himself.

I am the human embodiment of Hecate. I am not Hecate; she merely resides in the depths of my soul and provides me guidance. We do not communicate through words; she speaks through dreams and gut feelings, and sometimes even through signs in the outside world. I have not mastered the powers she’s granted me, nor have I reached my full potential. In addition to the Goddess’ powers, I hold the basic Olympian powers, such as superhuman speed and stamina. I have no recollection of how I merged with Hecate or the life I lived before this point, and she has provided me with no answers, but I do not question her motives. 

Agent Phil Coulson came across me in my temple in Turkey. Apparently, he had discovered strange energy readings coming from the temple. When he arrived, I used the power of energy manipulation to blow the concrete off of me, and that is the first thing I remember一 emerging from underneath Hecate’s temple.

I joined the Avengers during the Battle of New York. Agent Coulson had recommended me to Fury when he was piecing together the Avengers Initiative. In the three years between my awakening and the invasion, I practiced my sorcery mercilessly and studied Hecate deep in the Greek countryside. I’ve stuck with the Avengers throughout the years, fighting every battle alongside them. Through the ups and downs, I’ve fallen head over heels for Natasha Romanoff. One would assume that with so much power, I’d be confident and have any mortal begging at my feet. That couldn’t be any more inaccurate, however. As I’ve said, I am not Hecate; I am simply the human embodiment of the goddess. And as a human, I turn into a blushing, stuttering mess whenever the levelheaded assassin is near. Consequently, there have been many years of pining, but I’ve yet to muster up the courage to ask the woman on a date.

In our most recent war, we’ve gone up against a mad titan一 Thanos. We lost terribly. Half of all living things inhabiting the universe were snapped away. I can’t help but ponder whether things would’ve gone differently if I had better mastered my powers. I potentially hold all the capabilities of the goddess of magic; aside from Zeus, I hold more power than any being to ever exist. I’ve practiced my sorcery every day for the past five years on the off chance that we ever get a rematch一 a chance to bring everyone back. I’ve improved significantly, but Hecate has been oddly quiet for the past few years. It’s driving me crazy. I know she’s still there, but she hardly provides an ounce of guidance.

And so, that is where I find myself now一 practicing sorcery in the room specifically designed to isolate me when I use dark magic. Everyone who has access to the training section of the compound knows that they should never enter this room. It is far too dangerous for regular mortals. As I warp the room’s reality, a dark mist envelops me. When it clears, the room has changed into a 50s ballroom. I look down to see an elegant maroon ball gown covering my body, and I scan the empty area. I hear a pair of heels clicking toward me, and I spin around, already panicking. In order for someone to be here with me, they would have to be an inhabitant of the location’s true reality. My eyes land upon the woman I’ve grown to love, dressed up for the event. She is wearing an extravagant light blue ball gown, and her hair is carefully done up. 

“Natasha? What are you doing here?”

“Why I came to dance with you, of course.” She steps closer and drapes her arms around my neck, swaying to the nonexistent music. Stay calm. Don’t panic. There’s no way I’m making her do this. I’m not even doing anything! Of course I’m the one making her do this, who else would it be?! Breathe in. Breathe out. My powers don’t control me. I control them. Just breathe. I can do this. I know how to do this.

As I focus on the magic coursing through my veins, a black mist envelops us, and the room returns to its original form一 a basic training room with black padded walls. I immediately take a large step back from Natasha.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Natasha?! You know you can’t come in here! I could’ve seriously hurt you!”

“I...I’m sorry. I thought you’d just be moving shit with your mind. I didn’t realize you could do...that, whatever that was.”

“That was reality manipulation. I didn’t know you were here and I don’t have full control of it, so you got caught up in it. Are you okay? Do you remember it?”

“Yeah, I remember it clear as day. I was still me and I was still in control, it was just...different, I guess.”

“Well, I literally warped your reality, so even if you felt in control, you might not have been.”

“You stopped it, though. I remember when that seemed impossible. You’re getting better.”

“Thanks, I guess.” I awkwardly scratch the back of my neck. “What did you come in here for in the first place?”

“This is gonna sound crazy, but Scott Lang is here. We might have a way to bring everybody back.”

“Wait, what? Holy shit. It’s happening. Okay, come on then!” I eagerly walk past her, grabbing her hand as I pass her, and we leave my training room. I realize that I’m still holding her hand as we make it to the meeting room, and I immediately drop it, clearing my throat. If I wasn’t so familiar with the sensation, then I would swear that my ears and cheeks are on fire.

<//>

We all step onto the platform in matching white and red time-travel suits. “We’re really doing this?”

“Hell yeah, we’re doing this,” Clint answers.

“Alright, then. We bring everybody back,” I say with determination. “Whatever it takes,” Steve adds.

“See you in a minute,” Natasha adds with a smirk. Before I can appreciate how beautiful she looks with the glimmer of hope in her eyes, we’re flying through a flurry of colors. Nebula, Natasha, Rhodey, Clint, and I land on Morag. We all say our respective goodbyes before Nat, Clint, and I get on a jet to head to Vormir.

<//>

“A soul for a soul.”

“What? That’s insane. Look, no offense, Mr. Bloody Tampon, but why should we just trust what you’re saying? Because you know their fathers’ names?”

“I didn’t.” I looked into Natasha’s eyes as she spoke and I instantly wish that I could replace the dull sadness with the bright hope that had filled them before.

“He doesn’t know my father’s name. If he’s some mystical being, then why can’t he tell me that?” I turned to face him as I asked the question.

“I’m afraid you are a mystery. I am meant to know everything about any being who seeks the stone, but I know nothing of your identity.”

“Hm. Seems like a load of bullshit to me,” I deadpanned.

“We need to do this. We need to bring everyone back. I’ve spent the past five years trying to reverse the snap, and now I finally know how to fix it. Let me do it.” As Natasha spoke, she grabbed both of my hands in hers.

“And I’ve spent every day for the past five years training to do this. I wasn’t just practicing sorcery and talking to dead people for fun, Nat. All I wanted was to do better一 to fix this. If anyone is jumping off that cliff, it’s gonna be me.”

“No. Absolutely not. Neither of you is dying for that stone. I’ve done horrible things these past few years. I’ve killed...so many people. It should be me,” Clint says, and Natasha and I turn to face him, but one of her hands remains in mine.

“No way in hell, Clint. And not you either, Nat. Both of you guys have families. You’re not sacrificing yourselves. I won’t let you. And you can’t stop me even if you try.” Nat gives me a questioning look as I mention her family and I speak in her head ‘I know about them, Nat. And they need you. She needs her big sister.’

“What are you saying?” I can hear the anxiety lacing Nat’s words, and it causes a pit to form in my stomach.

“I think you know what I’m saying, Natty.” 

“Then you don’t leave me much of a choice.” She shoots a Widow’s Bite toward me, but I stop it using energy manipulation without even having to lift a finger.

“You can’t beat me, Nat. Please, don’t fight me on this.”

“I call bullshit.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Clint running toward the edge while we’re distracted, and I teleport in front of him, throwing him backward. I use mind control to force him to stay down. I sense Natasha running toward the edge behind me, and I teleport in front of her. I use energy manipulation to keep her in place, and I grab onto her biceps.

“I’m really sorry, Nat. I hate that I’m doing this to you, but I can’t let you throw yourself off a cliff for some stupid stone. Your life is worth so much more than that. You’re an amazing person, and your ledger was cleared of its red so long ago. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.”

“This is sounding an awful lot like a goodbye.”

“You can be sarcastic all you want, but I’m not walking out of this one, Natty.”

“Don’t do this. The team needs you.”

“No, they don’t, Nat, and we both know it. They need you.”

“And what if I need you?!”

“Well if that’s the case, you’ll figure it out, just like you always do. Don’t let something like this hold you back. Goodbye, Natasha Romanoff.” I kiss her cheek before turning around. I start walking towards the edge, but it quickly turns into a sprinting pace as I hear Nat screaming for me to stop. Just before I reach the edge, I lift the mind control from Clint and I release Nat, just in case it doesn’t automatically lift when I die. I push myself off the cliff, turning mid-jump so I’m not facing the ground. As I’m falling through the air, I see Clint holding Nat in his arms as her screams fill my ears. I hit the ground and everything goes black.

<//>

“Hello, y/n. It’s good to see you again.” I sat up and一 what the hell is that smell? “Ah, yes. That would be burning flesh. Welcome to Hell, darling.”

“Uh...what? Who are you?”

“Yes, I suppose I should explain, hm? I am Hecate, Goddess of一”

“Yeah, I know what you’re the goddess of. How did I get here?”

“I thought you were smarter than this. You died, obviously.”

“And went to Hell? Damn.”

“Oh, relax. Hell isn’t what the mortals think it is. This is the Underworld. All of the dead reside here. The bad people get punished, the good people don’t. Simple as that. We don’t have a lot of time, so I need to explain. I am cursed; I cannot leave the Underworld. However, my human embodiment can, and that is where you come into play. You hold all my power, and I can see you’ve been practicing, but you’ve never lived up to your full potential.”

“Hey! Rude!”

“Don’t interrupt. I didn’t allow you to live up to your full potential, not until we met, anyway.”

“And I had to die in order for that to happen?”

“Yes. I’m giving you all of my power, but I can still stop you if I ever need to. I know you don’t want to risk hurting the people you love, especially the redhead, but you need to trust yourself. Trust your powers. Have a little faith. You are a goddess, remember. Don’t let people forget it. That purple thumb is nothing compared to you, even with his colorful rocks. Your family needs you now. You must help them.”

“That’s it? Why do they need help? How will I know what to do?”

“I will always be there to help you, Y/N. You can handle this. This is nothing. You are part of me, just as I am part of you. You are my daughter, after all. I should know your capabilities better than anyone.”

“Wait, daughter?!”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that part? Oh well, it doesn’t matter right now, anyway. You need to go.”

“Go where?”

“Home, darling.” 

The earth above us cracks open and I can hear faint sounds of fighting on the surface. I look at Hecate as she nods. Before I even realize I’m doing it, black mist surrounds my body and lifts me through the crack. I step out of the mist onto the ground and a staff appears in my right hand. I tap it once on the ground and my white suit is replaced by an all-black leather outfit that’s definitely made for a goddess. I smirk and make eye contact with the titan across the battlefield. His sickly creatures race toward me as they notice the new threat on the field. I summon an army of ghouls from the cracks in the earth. As the aliens and the undead clash, I teleport in front of Thanos.

“And who might you be, dear?” He acts confident, but I can sense his fear.

“I am Y/N, daughter of Hecate.” He tilts his head in a questioning manner. “Oh, did someone not study mythology? Hm, then let’s be blunt, shall we? I’m a goddess, ass-chin.” I throw my staff at his throat, but he catches it. He moves to swing his large sword at me, but I capture his arm in black mist. When he tries to move the other arm, I restrain that one, as well. “Well, that surely can’t be all you’ve got, hm? Pity, I thought it’d be more exciting than that.” If I were to look in a mirror at that moment, I would’ve noticed my ghostly pale skin, black eyes, and the raw power spreading through my veins like a black road-map.

“It’s not over yet, my dear child.” Before I can question the meaning of his words, an alien tosses him the gauntlet. It slides on his exposed hand, but I hold it open with dark magic. I look around and notice that the army of the undead is nowhere to be seen. My teammates are pinned down, even with the help of those who were snapped. There is a feeling in my gut and a voice in my head that tells me what I must do. I pull the gauntlet off his hand with black mist and slide my hand inside. I feel the power surging into my body. “What are you doing? That power will kill you!” Thanos sounds truly desperate.

“That’s cute. Truly, it is, but you can’t kill someone who’s already dead.” I close my hand and snap my fingers. His army fades to dust and he slumps to the ground before floating away with them. I drop the gauntlet to the ground and look around. Natasha runs toward me and throws her arms around my neck in a firm hug.

“Wha一what happened to you? How are you here? I thought you died!”

I wrap my arms around her waist and rest my chin on her shoulder before saying, “I did die. I am dead.”

She pulls away and looks at me from head to toe. “Well that explains why you’re so damn pale, but now I have so many more questions.”

“I am Hecate’s daughter, so I am technically a goddess, like her. I’m not sure if I was technically resurrected or not, but I can probably一”

She cut me off with a gentle yet passionate kiss. She pulls away and searches my eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” she admits.

“Me too,” I breathe out.

“Yeah, I picked up on that. You’re not very discrete.” I laughed and a smirk spread across her face. “As sexy as this whole ‘powerful goddess’ thing is, am I going to get the old you back? You know, the one who blushes whenever I look at her? The one who’s, like, alive?”

I smile at her and glance down at her lips as a thick black mist appears behind me. I step backward into it as her face morphs into a look of confusion. She disappears from sight as a wall of black fills my vision, and a surge of power spreads throughout my body. I fall to my knees and the black cloud disappears. Natasha rushes over and kneels in front of me. “Are you okay? What the hell was that?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but I think I’m alive again.” I lift my head and meet her eyes.

“Your skin isn’t crazy pale anymore, and your eyes are their normal color again.”

“Sweet.”

“Cool.”

We both crack up and I lean my forehead against hers as our laughter fades.

Tony interrupts our moment of peace. “This is all good and dandy, but does someone wanna explain what the hell just happened?”

I raise my head and look at my teammates一 my family. “I kicked the purple thumb’s ass. That’s what happened.” I can feel a warm presence in my heart, and I know that my mother is with me.

“Yes, yes, I noticed. I also noticed a bunch of demons. Care to explain that one?”

“They weren’t demons...they were just...the souls...of dead people. I can summon the dead. You knew that.”

“Uh, I definitely didn’t know that.” I laugh and shake my head at the eccentric man. 

I stand up, pulling Natasha with me, and bring her into another embrace. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Natty,” I whisper in her ear before pressing a delicate kiss to her temple.

A/N: I literally had this completely finished and edited over a month ago and I hadn’t posted it yet soooooo... idk here it is

[jbreenr]

⚠ ETERNALS SPOILERS ⚠

Though there's no need anymore but…

Alright…

So, the first thing we see in the movie is their powers, which I find awesome.

And the way they put on their suits? Yea!

Also, i love that Shang-Chi was in the M of MARVEL in the opening. Did you see him?

We also have a Dr. Strange mention when Dane asks Sersi if she's a wizard. I do wanna see him as a giraffe.

Dane, he's a baby and Sprite, she's so badass. Her powers, dude, how she multiplied herself AND Sersi? Woooow.

I mean, you can't tell Gemma was already in a MCU movie. Like, her characters are so freaking different and I live that.

And, imma tell you, my brother would yell “The King In The Noth!” every time Richard Madden was onscreen.

And i can't blame him, sorry.

I mean, Richard and Kit. Together. Again. We love them. We were both fangirling.

A mention of Thanos and the blip, people believing that the earthquake had something to do with that. Yeah, weird shit happens there wouldn't be surprised.

Well, Ikaris is, indeed, the most beautiful. And I don't accept other opinions.

Now, I don't know why everyone was so upset about that sex scene. There was nOTHING ONE COULD SEE! It wasn't explicit, it wasn't forced, and it wasn't even long!!!

Ajak choosing Sersi to replace her was something I should have seen coming. Why didn't I is a mystery.

Also, i already know she died. Except I did not think it would happen so early in the story.

Lemme just… MI ✨ TENOCHTITLAN ✨ HERMOSA, TE AMO. Though they didn't show you in your best of moments.

Sorry, I got distracted for a second.

For a sec I was like wtf is happening to Thena? But then we got the explanation of the Mahd' Wy'ry and it kind of made sense.

Knowing that somehow Druig was right but also knowing he couldn't interfere is like uuuuugh!!

But he did it anyway so… yeah.

Now, the DCEU is canon in the MCU. Batman and Alfred and freaking Clark Kent are more canon than Mephisto and Evan Peters' Quicksilver. I don't know how to feel about it.

Did anyone else feel bad about Gilgamesh's pie?):

Also, his friendship with Thena is beautiful. His way of bringing her back was, in my opinion, way better than Nat's lullaby to Hulk. Don't mind me, I don't like that pairing.

Wait, wait, wait. Gil fought with/alongside with Odin? Against Laufey? WTF? I need to know more.

So, there is no Olimpia, The World Forge is where the Eternals are MADE. *insert Scott Lang's voice* Their whole existence is a bunch of… bullshit?

Also, i was not expecting that deviant thing. Like, Arishem created them as well for the intelligent kind to appear. What - -?!

Sorry but Druig os asdfghjklñ, Kingo. He doesn't suck. 🤷🏻‍♀️

And Ikaris left Sersi because he died in the Red Wedding. Xd

No time for jokes? K, got it.

I love Karum, he's iconic.

And Thena is a baby. We must protect her at all cost.

Gil.): I can't believe he died too. Gotta admit that I sobbed. I didn't know you well but you'll always be remembered, my friend.

Abruptly changing the topic; I cAN'T BELIEVE PEOPLE GOT MAD ABOUT A GAY COUPLE IN THE MOVIE!

Like, hello!!! It wasn't forced, it was casual, natural and just fucking normal. And I love how it wasn't a big deal that had to be explained in the film because it is NORMAL.

Ikaris mentions the vibranium, and we saw this in the trailers but I just love how Wakanda and its open doors to the world are relevant.

I'm living for that reference of King Arthur being in love with Thena. Man, we all are and if you're not, you're lying yo yourself.

Okay, we know why Ikaris left Sersi now.

And the fact that thanks to Thanos the emergence was delayed? Was he a good guy?

Not a serious question but it makes you think though.

Now I understand why Ikaris was described as “loyal”.

Because, as I said, I knew Ajak died and I knew it was Ikaris who killed her, but I did not expect it that way!

Now, and I'll be as calmed as possible, WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU, SPRITE?!?! I, TOO, WOULD LEAVE EVERYTHING BEHIND FOR RICHARD MADDEN BUT HOW COULD YOU BETRAY YOUR FAMILY?

Thena, sweetheart, you're a goddess and I love you, I'm so proud of you for getting rid of that deviant.

I don't know how to feel about Ikaris not being able to kill Sersi. Like, it's not actually a redemption arc, but the fact that he loved her so much he couldn't do it makes me like him.

Yeah, I said that. I understand why all of you hate him but I can't bring myself to do it. And I'm ready to physically fight whoever dares to say anything about him.

Now, Spite got everything she wanted, she's a human ajd I'm happy she got her happy ending.

Or the happiest she can be without Ikaris around.

And, WHY, ARISHEM, DID YOU HAVE TO INTERRUPR DANE WHEN HE WAS ABOUT TO TELL SERSI ABOUT THE BLACK KNIGHT??!?

We all knew he'd be there, but I got excited when Eros made his entrance. My inner fangirl screamed.

DUUUUDE, I saw the leaks but I STILL GOT EXCITED WHEN DANE IS ABOUT TO TAKE THE EBONY BLADE AND HE HEARS, WELL, BLADES' VOICE! AKSÑDLSKÑS. can't wait for that movie.

[mxvladdy]

Forgotten Affections: Mammon

Here is Part Two of @marymaryroo 's request!

This one used more of my True forms ideas so if you want some more contexts here is Mammon's Link

Hope you like!

Magic is a beautiful and powerful thing. It permeates the Devildom like an eternal fog. For the residents, it is as common as breathing. From the strongest of their kind down to the lowest inhabitants, it is integral to their culture and daily life. Mistakes and accidents happen daily with young and old alike learning or experimenting. Magical rebounds and mishaps mean very little to them, especially the brothers. From the Celestial Realms down, they have seen it all.

Sometimes they forget that to you, magic can be a volatile and dangerous.

Part Two of Three: Mammon

TW: Gore and slight body horror

His plans are not stupid. No matter what his brothers thought or said. He was always calculating, always thinking and scheming. Sometimes his plans were fast and spontaneous, some do get the better of him. But risks were always a part of the games he plays. The hazards are just as an addictive high as the rewards he strove for. Mammon knew his plans could go sideways, but he never cared. When he failed he just would try again. Variables changed on a dime and he knew how to handle that. Life moves fast but he always moves faster. Until he couldn’t.

The plan this time was foolproof. Everything had been in place, or so he thought. He ran a tight ship with his informants and an even tighter ship with his court. He anticipated everything. He just can never predict you.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Why were you here! You should have been at school!

Of course, the witches saw you as a threat. They thought he was trying to underhand them once again. They weren’t wrong obviously. But he would never put you in harm's way to get what he wanted. Seeing you here startles him, startles all of them. While the shock of your face showing up where it didn’t belong slows his reaction time, it increases the witches. Their spells move with blinding speed, out-pacing him by mere seconds as he tries to get to you. The spells hit you with a wet crunch, flinging you across the room. He watches in horror as your body flops like a marionette cut from it’s strings. He catches you scooping you up to his chest before hitting the concert hard. He skids along the cold warehouse floor hiss when his heat cracks hard on the metal of a stack of crates.

It hurt, but he couldn’t give less of a damn. He didn’t give a shit about the black blood trickling from his brow or the crack in his beloved glasses. He had one thing on his mind, you. You were still and loose in his arms. He saw no blood, but something wasn’t right. His pact is alight with pain, flaring and itching as he panics something wasn’t right with his master and his pact couldn’t locate it.

The next few moments in time freeze around him as he moves faster than he ever has in his life. The city and realm are brief flashes in his mind's eyes as he blinks, he just had to keep you safe. He takes you to the only place he knows you will be safe. It was the safest place in the kingdom for him, and it would be for you too.

The cave is cold. An eternal shadow coats every part of the large cavern, it had been a while since he had visited his hoard. His greatest treasure now sleeps in his bedroom and shines more brightly than even his most precious stones. Yet, now you were as cold as the jewels he once coveted. He doesn’t remember shedding his human skin but he doesn’t care using his many mismatched and uneven wigs to move you to his nest.

He tucks you into the silks and wool sheets lining his bed. Bending closer he nuzzles your arm. His many broken and scarred beaks picked up on the fetid odor of tainted magic seeping from your pores. He can’t place all the damage done to you but it is more than he knew what to do with. He was no practiced healer like Asmodeus or learned in medicine like Satan. No, he didn’t have that, but he was yours, and you were his to protect. So he does what he can through his pact, leeching some of the poison from your body into his. Getting comfortable beside you he shuffles you closer into the remaining soft down feathers on his belly. This close he can feel your frail heartbeat.

The hours move on and you still do not stir. He hates himself for this. How could he be so useless? You trust him, he was your first man he was supposed to be better than this. In this moment Mammon regrets every class he ever ditched and the class he slept through in the Celestial realms. He was never good with magic but perhaps if he had just paid attention he might have been able to help you better right now. Whatever toxins the combination of spells had embedded you rolled in his stomachs mixing with his guilt. He takes it all powering through so you could rest.

You stir sometime in the wee hours of the morning, of what day he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. His many eyes never leave you as you wake. “Mammon?” You slur, mind still groggy with sleep and the residual effects of whatever it was that hit you. He clicks his many beaks asynchronously in delight, the chatter of bone on bone is raucous.

Beside himself, he turns back to his human form in a dizzying blur of feathers and gold light. “Babe!” He snatches you up kissing every bit of your skin he can find. “I am so sorry. I fucked up-you weren’t supposed to be there. How in the hells did you find me?” He pulls back to make eye contact with you. Your eyes are wide with shock. “What’s the matter? Why are ya lookin’ at me like that?”

You looked confused, eyes darting around you as you clutch the furs and blankets closer to your bare chest. “Mammon. What...what’s going on? Where am I?” You glance down at yourself seeing how battered and bruised you were. You look at him, the confusion now replaced with unadulterated terror. “Mammon...what did you do?”

“Ti?” He shakes his head momentarily, losing his grip on your shared tongue. “Babe-I don’t understand.” He tries to touch you. You push away, scrambling back and tumbling from his nest. Mammon hears your heart rate pick up, hammering like a helpless beast when it knows it's cornered. But where was the threat? You were safe here, tucked away with him. He feels numb, disbelief locking his jaw and tightening his shoulders.

You couldn’t think he was the threat...right?

“C-come on,” He blinks back tears. “This ain’t funny. Don’t you remember me?” He reaches out for you beckoning for you to come back to his nest. There is an odd and sharp twinge in his pact and he hisses. You mark weights him down, locking him in place from coming any closer to your trembling form. You were stopping him from comforting you. You were scared of him.

“Mammon.” You shudder holding the blankets close and back away till your back hit the rough stone wall. “You’re scaring me.”

“An’ your scaring me! You promised not to play cruel jokes on me.” His head bobbles inhumanely, sapphire and gold eyes glowing in the low moon light.

He smells the sour tang of sweat blooming on your skin, his sense locking on the bob of your throat. He mimics the dry clicking of it as you try to swallow enough spit to speak. “When did I do that?” You croak. He rears his head back. The words strike him hard. You curl away from his screeching arms raised for a blow that he would never do.

“Date? You, us!” He barks, voice coming sharper and shriller in desperation. “Our late night drives? Us...movie nights alone at the theater. Just last night?” He implores searching your gaze for something. Anything!

You shake your head clutching your brow. “I’m sorry, I don’t...” His caw of rage rattles his chest. His many heads emerge again to echo his cries. He shakes them in disbelief. “Mammon! Listen to me, please! Just-just take us home-”

“No!” You flinch back, spit coating your upraised arms. “You are my human!” Mammon’s eyes flash in warning. If you didn’t remember him then the others could try to take you away from him. He would never let you go. Your scream of terror is swept up in a flurry of wings and plumage as he disappears back into the night.

He doesn’t return home to the House. He takes flight and heads east, the winds and forest coming alive with the sounds of his legion taking to the sky with him. Search. Find. He orders images of the coven and what they did to you flashes in his mind to his murder. Those mages did this, and they would fix this. He travels on the wind ignoring the searing pain of your mark. You are calling him to return, ordering him to. The pain only fuels his desire to hunt.

He will have to be fast, for your sake. While his cave had plenty of fresh water and food for you he knew you. You were that spark in the night, that shock to the system that kept him going. You help him keep his head up high. You would try to get down from his nest, or try the other brothers before long.

His council found the witches one by one, picking off the weaker members while leaving the elder witches to him. He barrels through the punishment of breaking a pacts to extract whatever he could from them before his talons find their throats. The kills got more and more savage as each hunt turns up nothing.

On the fifth day of his hunting, Lucifer finds him. His world turns into a blur of black mist and boney fingers as his brother throws him violently from the gurgling body of his last victim. Empty eye sockets bore into Mammon's dazed faces. “Where…” Lucifer opens his broken maw, jaw creaking as his voice gurgles out. Mammon ignores him screeching and clawing at the hand pinning him to the floor. The fingers begin to close slowly, choking off his air until he is forced to revert to his other form, dark chest gasping for air. “Wheerrree…” Black smoke fills his lungs, the cold radiating off of Lucifer’s exposed bone burns his skin.

Mammon hisses back, throwing caution to the wind and landing a quick kick to his brother’s deteriorating nasal bone. “Mine!” He groans, head filling with static. “They are mine...even if they don’t remember me.” The fingers around his throat loosen before pulling back. Mammon coughs holding his throat as he struggles to his knees. “You can’t have them.” He wipes his face, cleaning off blood and tears. Devil’s when did he start crying?

“Mammon.” Lucifer tries again, flowing closer. “No one wants to take them away. I want to make sure they are safe.” Safe? Of course they were safe! The Great Mammon was watching over them, there was nowhere safer. Right? But there was safety in numbers too, what was a murder of crows or a flock of night creatures if they did not stick together. Mammon pushes his palms hard into his eyes till light spots of color irrupted behind his eyelids.

Clarity and exhaustion caught up to him all at once. “I messed up. I messed up so bad, μέντορας.” He looks at the corpse of the last witch. They were the final witness to what had happened the night he got you hurt. His last chance to help you is gone, splattered across the pavement. “Λυπάμαι. Λυπάμαι, αδελφός.” The dam breaks, all the suffering, and confusion of the past week overwhelms him in that moment, robbing him of coherent thought.

Warm human hands grip his shoulders squeezing him tight to center him. “Calm yourself. Remember how I taught you?” he nods, grimy head bobbing through a hiccup. “Good-good. In through your nose and out your mouth. Yes, just like that. Again.” Once punishing hands now wrap around him surrounding him in a sea of black silk and soft hair. It is of little comfort to him now, but Mammon feels the invisible hands clutching his hearts loosen. Lucifer does too and brings his brother out of the crook of his neck to look him over. “I want to help both of you. But, I need to know what is going on.”

To say Lucifer was displeased was an understatement. He couldn’t fault Mammon for his outburst, while he could not say he would do the same he understood what fragile hearts his sibling has. Mammon would never intentionally harm you, but as he pleads his case Lucifer began to worry more and more for your well-being. Mammon wasn’t going back to check on you, that was very clear by the pattern of violence he had marked around the eastern prefecture. Mammon’s recklessness had the potential to get you hurt, and he could not have that.

“Take me to them.” Lucifer raises, helping Mammon up from his knees.

“Can’t.”

“Mammon.” His patience grows thin.

“I can’t,” Mammon repeats himself, firmer this time. The magic he placed on his nest was the last that he had. Having a demon as strong as his brother coming in would break the barrier beyond his repair. “I swear to you I will bring them back, now, back to the house. Just please...I can’t take you.”

Lucifer sighs but relents. Mammon doesn’t swear often if not at all. With care Lucifer takes the back of Mammon’s head and brings his forehead to touch his. “Promise?” Mammon coos softly showing his neck in submission. “Thank you, now go retrieve them. I will clean up this mess.”

Mammon returns to his nest to find you sleeping again. You were clothed and freshly bathed, bits of food nearby and used cutlery at your side. He doesn’t approach fearful of how you would react after last time. He kicks a pile of gold by the side of you instead. You react immediately, lurching up in bed. Something shiny glints in your hand and he laughs. The silver dagger gleams in his direction. “Mammon?” You blink in the low light squinting hard to make out his form. “Is that you?”

“Of course,” He steps closer, arms relaxed at his side. “No one else can come up here, you know. Or, I guess you did at one point.” You lower the knife but keep your eyes trained on him still hesitant.

“Are you ok?” Getting a better look at him you frown. He was a mess, disheveled and grungy. Dark viscous matter cling to his once vibrant white hair clumping it and sticking to the hard edges of his face. You didn’t want to know what it was, but you had your suspicions.

“Yes.” He said, tone clipped and stressed. “Come on, let’s get you back.” He holds out a grimy hand to you.

You look at it. “Are we really?” With how he left you you weren’t sure if this was a trap or not. For all his boisterous claims and vibrato you never thought he would actually go through with anything. Now you weren’t sure.

Mammon nods, waiting for you to make up your mind. You take his hand after a few minutes of contemplation. Your touch was so familiar yet foreign all at once. It was as warm and soft as he remembered it to be, but that was it. You were hesitant with your touch, fingers barely resting in his scabbed and scarred over palm. “What happened?” You turn his hand over seeing how the cuts and bruises continued.

“Nothing.” Nothing of worth any way. “Come, Lucifer is waiting for us.” That makes you pick up your pace and it chafes him.

When you both land in the outside garden of the house Mammon let’s you go. Rushing over to Lucifer’s side, you almost use him as a shield between the two of you. You grab at his brother’s pressed suit jacket asking a rapid fire slew of questions. Mammon relaxes only a fraction noting how Lucifer has yet to touch you out of respect for him.

Lucifer let’s you run out of steam before speaking. “I believe I know what has happened but let’s get you checked out first, and Mammon.” He looks over to his hunched brother. “Go wash up. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” Dismissed, Mammon slinks off to his room without a fight and empty handed.

With a clean bill of health, minus the apparent memory loss you sit in Diavolo’s office nursing a cup of tea. You look at your companions on either side of you. You, Solomon, and Lucifer sit on Dia’s large couch while the prince paces in front of you. The latter shaking with rage.

“I’m not mad.” You say again looking at the men around you. Mad wasn’t the right word for the feelings you have right now. You were angry at the situation and how Mammon handled it, yeah. But now you were more confused and fearful for his sake. Even if you didn’t recall the particulars of your relationship, what you did remember was a warm and friendly mix of emotions and companionship. He had always been a good friend and steadfast ally after the initial rocky start. Could you have been more? Something blooms in your chest.

“Irregardless,” Dia turns to you, face grim. “He put you in immediate danger and then abducted you. If Lucifer hadn’t tracked him down you still would be missing.” You nod your mouth closing on a rebuttal. He wasn’t wrong. “And,” He continues. “This matter now has more repercussions then just you and your lost memories I’m afraid.”

“That’s right.” Solomon butts in. “The covens are in an uproar. Seats have been usurped and the power imbalance now is reaching dangerous degrees. They want blood.”

Diavolo scoffs, cursing low in infernal. “Mammon needs to be reprimanded, Lucifer.”

Lucifer stiffens next to you. You hear the soft creaking of his leather gloves as he clenches his fists tight. “Is this not enough?” He leans forward imploringly. “Let me handle his punishment. You know I am fair with it.”

“He wiped out the entire East coven. This will take years for me to handle diplomatically. The council of Magi wants justice, and I cannot blame them. Mammon broke contracts and peace agreements.”

His words go over your head but the implications were very clear. “I’m so sorry.” You bow low in your seat. This was your fault. You should have taken a brother with you to retrieve Mammon that night. While trapped in Mammon’s treasure trove you had plenty of time to go over that night’s events and try to figure out why Mammon had said those things to you.

You remember that day clearly. Going to classes, turning in homework and rounding up the brother’s before they got into mischief. You run down that night the best you can too. You remember texting the group that you would bring Mammon home in time for the last meeting of the day, then the burning sensation of spells hitting you and bright flashes of light before waking up next to him in his nest. You remember him, but those nights he told you about and his feelings he shared with you were gone. Nothing there but black space.

Solomon’s hand on your shoulder breaks your musing. “This isn’t your fault. I’m sure we can settle this out over time.” The two demons in the room nod, faces unreadable. With that Solomon nods, getting to his feet. “I believe the time for humans in the room is over, shall I escort you home, or would you like to stay at Purgatory?”

“Home please.” The week's events land heavy on your shoulders. You wanted to sleep in your bed surrounded by familiar comforts. “I’m over this demon shit.” Solomon doesn’t even try to hide his snort.

“There is never a dull moment with you around, huh?” He chuckles, combing a hand through his hair once he gets to the front door. You shoot him an exasperated look. “Relax. I promise we will get this all set to rights...if that is what you wish.”

“I have a choice?”

Solomon raises a pale brow. “Yes. I do believe I can fix this with enough time and preparation. While Mammon had the right idea going to find the root of the problem and there for the spell, he did it all ass backwards. Once I get in contact with the spirits of those he murdered I believe I can get you back together again. You do want that don’t you?”

Did you?

The question perplexes you while you crawl into bed. Did you want something that you didn’t even know you had? The Mammon that had greeted you when you woke up was like nothing you could remember and had planted a seed of doubt within you. What about him had you fall for him in the first place? Would you remember all of this if Solomon was able to fix it? Could this break in your memory change how you felt for him? Ugh-why was magic always so difficult…

You are left to your own devices for a while allowed to stay in from work and school while you recover. The brothers dote over you in their own ways, all expertly navigating around any question you had about Mammon’s whereabouts. Only Beel gave you any useful information.

“He’s...working off his debt.” Cryptic, but at least you knew he was alive. With the brother’s all being tight lipped you took matters into your own hands. Your phone was gone, no doubt shattered on the floor of the warehouse when you fell. You should have had a new one by now, but Lucifer seemed to be hiding it from you like Mammon.

The door to Mammon’s room is sealed tight, no handle or seam to be found. The loud hum of magic radiates from the door making it impossible for you to open. Even his seat at the council was empty. So much secrecy, you were beginning to believe you were being punished as well.

Good thing you were too pig headed to care.

Cornering Lucifer wasn’t as hard as you expected it to be. He very well could have been waiting for you to jump him by this point. He looked tired and drained, his mark, like Mammon’s, was dark and silent on your skin. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Yes. Though, as you can see, I’ve grown tired of it.” He waves at himself leaning on the wall just outside of the kitchens. “What do you want?”

“Why can’t I find anything?”

“Any what?”

“If I was dating Mammon wouldn’t there be, I don’t know evidence of it?” There was nothing in your room, and you couldn’t get into Mammon’s. The other’s had been of no help. It was gone, as if by magic. “Is this your doing?”

Lucifer pinches his brow with a grimace. “Yes, and no. Mammon asked me to.”

“What! Why?”

“He heard what Solomon said to you. That you are unsure if you want those memories back. This is your out.” A gift as Mammon likes to think of it, the last one Mammon can give you. Even if it kills him, his brother still thinks of your comforts.

“Don’t I get a choice?” Lucifer snorts eyeing you.

“It is one of the very few strategic advantages of being human. Have you made one?”

Yes? No? “Well, I would like to make an educated one! I can’t do that if I can’t even see Mammon now can I? I’m clear headed now.”

Lucifer chortles rummaging in his pocket. “Please, the fact that you picked Mammon as the object of your affection clearly shows me you have never thought clearly a day in your life.” He drops something in your hand before turning. “The magic of the door is gone. Just-please be gentle with him. The council has not been kind.” He gives you a final small smile. “You two were happy together, you know.” He leaves you with your new phone in an empty hallway.

You clutch the small device close to your chest, eyes riveted to the screen. Lucifer had backed everything up. Your contacts, calendar dates, assignments, and pictures. You click on your photo gallery. Oh, there were so many pictures of the two of you together. For a moment you hate the you grinning up through the screen. Mammon’s arms wrap around you, his face nestle in your hair as you glow under his attention. He looked serene, eyes closed with a blissful smile peeking out through your locks. The next few photos were very much the same, little dates and windows into a life you wanted to remember. The next few you took were candid photos. Him asleep on his couch stretched out and snoring or in the kitchen trying to do something, and failing.

It was so different from the Mammon you remember and the one you saw so briefly in the cave. Deep down your heart hurts for him, out of sympathy or the echoes of your lost love you weren’t sure, but you wanted that life from the pictures again. You reach his door with a new reinvigorated fire in your belly. You could do this. Mammon would never fall for someone indecisive.

The door opens as quiet as a whisper into a dark room. Stepping in you hold your breath, ears hyper aware of just how dark this place was. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this place without lights on. Mammon didn’t like the dark all that much. The room was quiet too, except for an eerie wet gurgle. “Mammon?”

“Leave.” Deeper into the room a massive black shape moves. “Shouldn’t be here.” You turn to the shape, arms outstretched to guide you through the pitch. “Don’t-” Several large luminous gold eyes lock with you. They are weary and apprehensive. You push forward till your hands touch some feathers and…

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s fine.” Like hell it was. Ignoring his protest and the slick feel of his blood on your hands you grab for your phone.

“Oh Mammon.” Your stomach twists. In the bright little of your little flashlight you can see only a small bit of his side, but it was shiny with fresh blood, feathers broken and limp from where hands had yanked at them. “Who?”

“The Rite of Equivalency.” A head turns to follow your fingers. He hisses, the feel of your fingers stroking along a raw gash under his upper set of wings burns. “Pound for pound of flesh for that which I took.” His beaks click, sore and irritated, they had not been gentle with their gathering today. His body was worth a lot to witches. His feathers and beak shavings were valuable in potions and on the market. It was the most lenient punishment Lucifer could broker, even if it did literally cost him a limb or two. Your hand goes still on his side, he can feel your small fingers trembling on his hind leg.

“Mammon-this is monstrous.”

The crow chortles swiveling his heads to look at you. “Are we not monsters?” He tries to joke, uncomfortable with your gentle touch now. “Hey- no...please don’t cry.” He sees tears clinging to your eyelashes, your lower lip quivering. He opens a wing to try to wrap it around you but stops gasping in pain. His side was like a live wire, healing bones burning under his thin skin while they mended. He is so tired.

You pick up on his discomfort and move away wiping at your tears. This wasn’t about you right now. “I came to talk about...us and what you overheard between Solomon and I,” His heart rate picks up.

“Lucifer put you up to this.” It wasn’t a question but a simple statement of fact. He had hoped-

You shook your head, brushing his side. “He gave me the option by opening the door, but I wanted to do this. To see you again and talk.” Talk, and get his side of the story, to fill in the pieces of the puzzle until you could get them back yourself. You pull up a few pictures and turn the screen to him. “I want to go back to this. I think I liked being yours.”

[novelconcepts]

fic: unexpected

a fill for @karatam’s prompt : “Five things Dani realizes she likes in bed (and one thing Jamie realizes she likes about being with Dani).”

It comes as little surprise to Dani Clayton, who has spent most of her life trying not to pay attention to the things her body craves, that time with Jamie has been unlocking some unexpected doors. It’s embarrassing, sometimes, but not in a way that feels too heavy to bear; the more time she spends with Jamie, the more time she spends feeling progressively better in her own skin, the more she’s bound to understand about what makes her tick. It’s kind of nice, actually. Kind of refreshing, finding situations where she doesn’t feel inclined to hold herself rigid, where she can let her guard down and just exhale. 

Still, there are some experiences which--until they sneak up on her--she absolutely does not see coming.

1

There is a rule in their house about cleanliness. Not because Jamie is a terrible mess, by any stretch of the imagination, but because a small space gets out of control fast. Especially given how much time Jamie spends with both hands buried in potting soil, Dani feels it’s important to set some ground rules. Things like “shoes stay on the plastic tray if you’ve been out gardening.” Things like “clothes caked in dirt go straight into the special hamper to get washed first.”

Things like “if you’re going to initiate anything requiring hands on bare skin, you scrub up first.”

Jamie takes it in stride, agrees wholeheartedly that this is the only safe and hygienic approach to life. She kicks off her boots, drops any mud-encrusted flannel in the proper receptacle, and works the grime out from under short nails without pressure. 

“I’d do this without the rule,” she tells Dani the first time after this conversation, eyebrows arched. “How filthy d’you think I am, anyway?”

Dani chooses not to dignify this with a response. It’s still early-days, all things considered, and Jamie poking her tongue through her teeth on a word like filthy sends her brain places that aren’t conducive to getting anything done.

Still, there are things that test her carefully-imposed boundaries. Not so much the gardening; gardening and Jamie are a singular entity, a packaged deal Dani was wholly aware of long before falling into the woman’s bed. She sees flowers and root webs and clods of dirt packed into pots and thinks, Yes. That’s Jamie. 

It’s the fixing she wasn’t prepared for.

There are things she is better at than Jamie around the house: remembering to pick up groceries, basic human chores like laundry and vacuuming and taking out the trash. And there are the things Jamie has an edge on: hot drinks, building furniture, and repairing just about anything that slips sideways. 

“Grew up without a lot to lean on,” she explains while Dani, feeling a little light-headed in a way she can’t fully explain, watches her replace a questionable light fixture. Her hands are nimble and steady, her eyes on the job at hand, but she’s smiling. “You pick up a lot of convenient tricks along the way, life like that.”

Dani, who grew up in a household marked by her mother having “a guy”--usually neighborhood men with bad facial hair who scrubbed her around the head and called her “little lady”--for just about every little hiccup, can only watch with fascination. Jamie, it seems, has a sixth sense for problems. By the end of their first year together, she’s fixed the bathroom sink, the AC unit, innumerable lightbulbs, and the vacuum cleaner. Never once batting an eye. Just a simple smile and a “give it here, then.”

Dani, for her part, tells herself she’s watching closely to learn. To pick up these convenient tricks Jamie mentions like they’re nothing. To be able to one day make similar repairs while Jamie is busy or out of the house.

She tells herself this, even as her skin grows warm and her mouth goes dry, because there is just something about watching Jamie work. Something she can’t put her finger on about the way Jamie tips her head musingly, inspecting every inch of the problem area like her attention belongs nowhere else. She moves methodically, deliberately, never frustrated, never slamming or swearing. Her hands squeeze and slide, her brow furrowed, and Dani...

Likes this. 

She keeps it to herself, careful not to distract Jamie from the task at hand, even as her own face flushes at the sight of Jamie working a screwdriver or sifting through a set of drill bits. It’s stupid, she thinks with a hot thread of embarrassment, that her legs are weakening at the mere image of Jamie on her back on the bathroom tile, knees bent, arms working to seal some hidden leak in the piping. 

“You want to try?” Jamie asks, head and shoulders in the cabinet below the sink. Dani clears her throat. 

“No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Jamie says absently, the muscles of her stomach flexing as she arches for that little extra strength to finish up. Dani leans her forehead against the wall, struggling to find some measure of calm before Jamie can extricate herself and catch sight of the look on her face. 

She manages to keep it quiet for months, this strange heat that springs up whenever Jamie’s hands are greasy and her face has that serious cast of inspecting a complicated problem. She might have kept it quiet for months longer--indefinitely, perhaps--if not for Colorado. 

Colorado is, like so many of their trips, a spur-of-the-moment decision. They rent a battered Jeep from a questionable agency, intent on seeing the Rockies as man was always intended: hopped up on a decent amount of bad gas station coffee, a pack of cigarettes, and each other. It’s a good day, cheery sun beaming down from a sky scattered with soft clouds. Dani has been having more and more of these kinds of days, and is starting to think maybe this is the new normal. Less fear. Less tension. Just her hand in Jamie’s as they bump over an endless road in the middle of--

“No,” Jamie says in a low, frustrated tone. Dani, who has been gazing distantly out the passenger window, snaps back to reality. 

“What’s going on?”

The Jeep is slowing. Jamie steers it toward the side of the road, which is to Dani’s eyes the most abandoned place on earth. 

“Something’s off,” Jamie groans. “Engine light came on.”

Engine light came on is one of those phrases Dani intellectually understands is in English, but it might as well not be. She’s grateful for how much Jamie enjoys driving; cars are something of a mystery to her, loud, rattling machines she’d prefer not to ever deal with on her own. 

She steps out onto the road now, arms hugged tight around her body, and watches Jamie pop the hood. The day is as warm as it is beautiful, and it isn’t long before sweat is trickling down the back of her neck. Jamie, in jeans and a flannel shirt, rolls the sleeves up past her elbows and grimaces. 

“Gonna be a minute, I think. But maybe...”

She’s muttering words Dani wouldn’t understand even if she thought Jamie was speaking to her and not a busted set of gears and pistons. Jamie, thankfully, seems to know what she’s talking about as she pushes the hair out of her eyes, ties a bandana around her head, and sets to work. 

She’ll fix it, Dani assures herself, rocking back and forth on her heels in the sunshine. Jamie fixes everything. 

And, in the meantime, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with the view. The horizon is endless, the land green and gorgeous and sprawling out as far as she can process. Dani could stand here for hours, head tilted back to take it all in, letting the clean air bathe her face. 

She could also, she notes, eyes sliding back to Jamie, watch this for hours. Jamie, up on her toes, an emergency set of tools open on the ground. Jamie, sweat beading on her upper lip and trickling down her temples. Jamie, pink-cheeked, the muscles of her forearms from years of groundswork standing out in sharp relief as she jams a wrench beneath the hood and twists.

It is...very hot out here, Dani thinks dazedly. She snaps her eyes away, searching the sky for birds, searching the world for anything that could be more interesting than the sight of Jamie with grease halfway up to her elbows, a dip of skin tantalizing between her shirt riding up and the waistband of her jeans. 

Dani swallows hard. Tries to remember that they are, in fact, currently stranded on the side of a road in Colorado. Tries to remember that they are, in fact, not in a situation that should be excruciatingly appealing. 

Jamie makes a low noise in her chest, pulling hard on the wrench. Something in Dani, already strung tight enough to make her pulse race, seems to snap. 

“Hey,” Jamie protests as the tool drops from her hand and clatters against the pavement. Dani has her around the wrist, dragging her with firm intent away from the open hood. “Hey, Poppins, I don’t think--”

Dani, unable to stop herself, catches her around the back of the neck and kisses her hard. Jamie’s protests go slack against her lips, her hands windmilling uselessly as she tries and fails to locate somewhere safe to place them. 

“I--Dani, what--”

“Can’t explain,” Dani says, muffled, mouth a bit occupied with trying to kiss Jamie stupid. “Just. Need this.”

“Right now?” Jamie asks, plainly bewildered--though, Dani notes, not exactly arguing. Her hands rest gently on Dani’s hips, as though the desire to hang on and the desire not to ruin Dani’s skirt are locked in fervent battle. 

“Right,” Dani groans, licking at the sweat running down the side of Jamie’s neck, “now.”

She fumbles them toward the backseat, pausing every couple of steps to push Jamie hard against the car. There’s something about it--something about the sun beating down, and her hand caught between the hard shell of the Jeep and the soft skin at Jamie’s back, and the way Jamie is making surprised breathy sounds against her ear. Something, most of all, about Jamie trying so hard not to get her dirty while being utterly unable to keep her hands to herself. 

“There’s a rule,” Jamie says, like she’s reciting a play she couldn’t possibly care less about. “Your rule.”

Dani, pulling the back door open and sliding along the gray leather, shakes her head. “House rule. Don't care.”

Jamie’s laughing, but there's something nervous about it, something like she sort of expects to get into trouble for this. “Poppins, you are...something else today.”

Dani pauses, leaning back on her elbows, watching with dark desire as Jamie climbs in after her. The door latches with a soft click, Jamie hovering on her knees over her in the small space. 

“Something okay?” Dani asks, her voice smaller than intended. Jamie grins. 

“I’m okay if you’re okay.”

Dani grabs for her again, unable to pin down the roaring pleasure in her chest as Jamie’s smile lands against her skin. Her hands are wild, roaming creatures with their own agenda, sliding under Jamie’s collar, fisting around Jamie’s shirt. When Jamie kisses the hollow of her throat, she sighs, arches, liking the weight of Jamie between her bent knees. 

There is a rule about dirty hands, it’s true, and they both know it’s for a reason--which is why, eyes on Dani’s face the whole time, Jamie grasps her by the hips and lifts, shifts, eases Dani until her back is pressed against the window. Jamie hooks her fingers into the waistband of underwear already too ruined to be of use, sliding them down Dani’s thighs, shoving them restlessly into the back pocket of her own jeans. 

“Jesus,” she breathes against Dani’s skin, already soaked through with sweat and want. “This much from--”

“Watching,” Dani groans confirmation. One hand is gripping the back of the seat, her knuckles stark against the dark leather. Jamie makes a noise she thinks might be amusement, or utter helpless desire--maybe some mad combination of the two. 

“Didn’t know you had a thing for--”

“Jamie,” Dani interrupts, a sharp plea that snaps Jamie’s attention back where it belongs. They can talk about this later, Jamie teasing her for an unexpected mechanic kink, Dani hiding her face and laughing. Right now, she can focus on nothing but Jamie’s hands, creased with engine oil, gripping her thighs. Sliding smooth down to bracket her kneecaps, up to hold her hips steady. Jamie, mouthing at her slowly, trying to make it last, teasing her with soft flicks of her tongue and warm, soft kisses. 

“Jamie,” Dani repeats, her voice cracking, her free hand winding in Jamie’s hair and pulling. Jamie concedes, head bobbing gently between her legs, body coiled in a position that will probably feel fantastic tomorrow--but, if she cares, she certainly doesn’t show it. Her fingers dig into Dani’s skin, leaving dark stains behind, her mouth drawing Dani tighter by the second. 

Sex with Jamie has never been what Dani would call boring, but something about the sight of her here--eyes closed, breathing hard, fingers pushing Dani’s skirt up as she strains to keep from putting those hands directly between Dani’s legs--has an effect they’ve never quite managed before. Dani, biting hard into the back of her own hand as her hips jerk out of control. Jamie, making the most of the moment, kissing her clean with long, sweet strokes. 

“Jesus,” Jamie says again, sitting up and staring at her. “If I’d known--”

“You’d never have finished a repair around the house,” Dani points out, breathing hard, head lolling back against the glass with a light thump. 

“You’ve been feeling this at the house?” Jamie looks stunned. “Poppins, you’ve been wanting this for months, and you’ve just been letting me fix things instead of taking you to bed? Where the hell are your priorities?”

“Didn’t want to distract you,” Dani mumbles, the drowsy delight of a good orgasm wrapping comforting hands around her good sense. Jamie’s jaw hangs open.

“Poppins.”

“Mm?”

“Distract me. For the love of god. Distract me.”

2

Dani doesn’t go back to teaching. It’s not that she doesn’t love it, not that she doesn’t know she’d still be good at it; it’s more that the world is too unpredictable now. That she is too unpredictable now, unable to tell what tomorrow will look like inside her own head. She’s been feeling better, admittedly--Jamie has a way of making the ground stand still under their feet, of leading her by the hand into warmly-lit places where she feels less like there’s something following at her heels--but it’s not the same. Even before the Lady, before Bly, before fleeing to Europe in the first place, teaching had been heavier than school had prepared her for. So many kids, with so many expectations, so many needs one person couldn’t possibly fulfill. 

So, no--she doesn’t go back to teaching. Teaching feels like the old Dani in some terribly sad way she can’t define. The new Dani turns her attention toward a different kind of cultivation, toward learning how to make people happy with the art of living things. It’s a creative outlet she hadn’t realized she needs. It brings her closer to Jamie, gives her a better understanding of Jamie’s way of seeing the world. It’s different, but she does love it. 

It does not, for all of that, erase old habits. 

She doesn’t really realize she’s doing it, at first. Some things are just so naturally ingrained, so much a part of her daily experience, that she doesn’t think about what she’s saying. 

Until Jamie just stops and...looks at her. 

“What?” Self-consciousness, not a particularly new song, hums under the word. Jamie is gazing at her with head slightly cocked, lip between her teeth. 

“Nothing. Nothing, just...”

Dani reels back the last five minutes, searching for whatever might have put this truly unfamiliar look on Jamie’s face. It’s not teasing, exactly; not bothered, either. It’s...pleased?

Jamie had just passed her with a basket under her arm, laundry rescued from the dryer and folded before Dani had even realized they were ready. She had turned, watched Jamie amble by with a spring in her step that said I have done the thing, and the thing is good, and she had said...

“Oh.” She can actually feel the color draining from her face. “I just, uh. I mean. Habit.”

Jamie grins, still looking a little surprised, but not exactly upset. “No, no, it’s fine, Poppins. Got no argument with being a good girl now and then.”

She winks, throwing an exaggerated little swing into her walk as she makes off toward the bedroom, and Dani sags against the couch. Has she done this before? Has she been absently calling Jamie a good girl upon the completion of  little tasks this whole time, and only just realized?

It is a very particular kind of embarrassing, and Dani does not have the first idea what to do with it. 

“Have I been doing that?” she asks over dinner, picking awkwardly at her pasta and studiously not looking Jamie in the eye. Jamie, midway through pouring a glass of wine, pauses. 

“Doing what?”

“Calling--uh--I mean--”

“Praising me for my efforts about the house?” Jamie is too pleased about this, Dani has decided. Entirely too pleased for her own good. 

“Hey, I can take it back,” she mutters. Jamie snorts, setting a full glass beside Dani’s place and kissing the top of her head. 

“Uh uh. I’ve earned my gold stars, Poppins. Pry ‘em from my cold dead hands.”

Dani downs half the glass in a single swallow, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. Jamie is really laughing now, the full-body laugh she reserves for poking fun at Dani with absolute affection. 

“Oh, don't be like that. It’s sweet. Can’t say anyone’s had nice words of the like for me much before you.”

Dani looks up to find Jamie leaning across the table, her expression heartbreakingly earnest. The tension melts slowly out of her body; she realizes she’s made a fist under the table, her thumb tucked into her fingers. Old habits, indeed. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about things like that,” Jamie says, her voice softening. Her hand slides under the table to close over Dani’s flexing fingers, like she knows what Dani was just doing, that Dani was just sliding back to anxieties she’s long tried to bury. “I take no offense at being called good at anything where you’re concerned, Dani. Trust me.”

She does, very much, but even so, she tries to keep a handle on it. Isn’t it condescending, she wonders, speaking to Jamie that way? Why on earth would Jamie appreciate a pat on the head, a gentle assertion of good work?

She gets it under control. Reminds herself she is not a teacher anymore, and Jamie is very appropriately an adult who doesn’t need to be confirmed in her choices at every turn. 

She gets it under control--until one night. One night, spent celebrating an exceptional year at the shop, with too much wine in her system and too many hours spent in a too-public setting to be allowed to touch Jamie properly. They’d sat at a table with a few well-meaning shopkeepers from down the street, and they’d laughed, and drank to hard work and good fortune, and all the while, she’d been watching Jamie out of the corner of her eye. Jamie, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair mussed from hands Dani understood as wanting to be on her body, sifting through her hair. Jamie, chain-smoking cigarettes Dani ached to take from her and place between her own lips, if only to taste Jamie. 

By the time they make it home, her hands are tingling, her body desperate. Jamie, watching her with the smug smile of a woman who knows Dani’s hand has been flexing between her own knees for two hours, makes a show of stretching. Her shirt pulls up from her belt, flashing a glimpse of stomach. 

“Bit tired,” she says. “What do you think, time for bed?”

Dani makes a powerfully undignified noise, and Jamie’s laughter rings bright in the otherwise-silent apartment. She catches Dani by the hand, eyes shining. 

“Honestly, Poppins, you are too damn easy.”

They fall into bed--into couch, really, the bed being far too many steps away--and the world shrinks to the polished buttons of Jamie’s shirt popping open under her tripping fingers, the material of Jamie’s slacks shoved awkwardly down her legs, the trace of Jamie’s tongue around her earlobe as she tries desperately to focus on intricate details like zippers. Jamie, bless and damn her, never seems this clumsy, even with all the wine in the world in her blood. 

“I like it,” Jamie breathes, grinning. “You only get clumsy when you’re desperate.”

She climbs over Dani, curling behind her to better get at the zip on her dress. Dani leans back, dizzy with the rush of Jamie pressed against her back, grinding her hips slowly as if to intentionally drive Dani up the wall. The dress peels away, and Dani hears herself swear. 

“Could you go any slower.”

“Could if I tried,” Jamie murmurs, nipping at her neck. “Why? Don’t like it?”

She splays a hand beneath Dani’s breasts, pressing in tight against her back, rocking against her with little sign of picking up the pace and putting those hands where they’re most wanted. Dani groans, lets her head fall back against Jamie’s shoulder. 

“You,” she says without thinking, “are being a bad girl tonight.”

Jamie freezes. Dani, head buzzing with the aggravation of Jamie playing her little game, Jamie’s fingers toying across her belly, doesn’t hear herself. Not at first. Not until Jamie says in a voice almost like a growl, “That so?”

Oh, Dani thinks. Oh no. I did it again. 

“Tell me, please,” Jamie goes on, hand slinking lower, “how I can get back into your good graces.”

It should be weird. It should be so uncomfortable, slamming the brakes on this whole evening--but Jamie’s hand is on a mission, Jamie’s hips rocking against her faster, and Dani finds she doesn’t care nearly as much as she should. 

“You--know--”

“Tell me anyway.” Jamie’s hand is circling, refusing to continue its descent, and Dani almost wants to laugh. This is insane. This is insane, and stupid, and if she doesn’t get Jamie to keep going, she might just kill her. 

She turns her head, finds Jamie looking at her with pupils blown and lips parted. She reaches back, grabs Jamie by the jaw. 

“Touch me,” she says, her voice firmer than it’s been in a long time. “Now.”

Jamie’s eyes roll back in her head, her fingers dipping between Dani’s legs with obedient speed. Dani sighs, moving to meet her strokes. 

“More,” she hears herself say in that same commanding voice, and Jamie shudders. “Harder.”

She’s never done this before; it’s never crossed her mind to tell Jamie what to do, how to touch her, what she needs. Jamie is intuitive, naturally taking the lead on nights like these, and she’s damn good at it--but this feels incredible in an entirely new way. Her hand slides down to join Jamie’s, curling around Jamie’s fingers as they slide in and out in a series of increasingly rough thrusts. She finds herself arching back, Jamie’s hips bucking as she strains for friction of her own, and when Jamie curls her fingers deep, she curls with her. 

“Fuck,” Jamie groans, shifting her hand out from between Dani’s legs and replacing it instantly between her own. Dani rolls, pushing her flat against the cushions, grabbing hold of Jamie’s wrist and stilling her fingers. 

“That,” she breathes, lips brushing Jamie’s softly enough to burn, “was very good work. Gold star.”

Jamie whimpers, letting her hand drop away so Dani can return the favor. It doesn’t take long at all; Jamie’s pretty far gone even before Dani brushes against her with a hand that no longer feels clumsy. 

“That,” Jamie says when they’ve collapsed in a sweat-slick mess of limbs, “was new. Teacher voice always just sort of on tap, huh?”

Dani resists the suddenly-overwhelming urge to hide her face. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“Don’t much care,” Jamie says, rather happily. “It works for me, as it turns out. I am gonna line these gold stars up on the fridge.”

3

There is something engrossing about being wanted, something Dani never really understood before Jamie. Being wanted before wasn’t exactly a positive sensation; men looking her up and down in malls and bars, eyes like brands on her skin, made her feel like crawling under a table. Women, on the rare occasion she crossed one who met her eyes, were somehow even worse--their smiles were thin, brittle reminders that Dani wasn’t Normal. That, if she ever were to jump from that ledge, these women wouldn’t be there to catch her. Their want was an ice bath, a horrible reminder that there was something wrong with her ability to be wanted. 

And, with Edmund, it was worst of all, because she wanted to want it. Wanted to want the way his eyes started following her out of rooms before they were even in their teens. Wanted to want the way his hands would reach for her as they grew older, as his body began sending signals that she was right, and hers developed an alarm bell that only ever screamed stop, please, go away. 

She should have listened to that alarm bell sooner, probably, but Edmund--for all the horrible suffocating sense of him draped over her life--was also a shield against the rest. With Edmund’s arm around her, she felt caged, but strange men let their eyes slide off her like rain. With Edmund kissing her cheek, she felt wrong, but strange men stopped trying to brush up against her skin. 

The line, however, she had to draw somewhere, and she drew it at marks. Eddie accepted her unwillingness to climb into his bed as classic “good girl” behavior; Danielle, he thought with ease of understanding, wanted to wait until they were married. Sure, fine, good. His mother would approve, and hers would leave them both un-defenestrated by their wedding day. Perfect for everyone.

Still, he wanted to touch her. Wanted to press his lips to her skin. Wanted to make sure she--and anyone else who chanced a look--knew he was always there, etched into her. 

She hated it. Hated the way he’d lean back after leaving a hickey hot on her neck, looking faux-apologetic and more than a little smug. Hated the way, no matter how many times she told him it wasn’t professional for an elementary school teacher to stroll in with love bites, he always seemed to “forget.”

She hated being marked. 

With Edmund.

With Jamie, it’s an entirely different story. 

“Shit,” Jamie sighs. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Dani, shirt slung over the back of a kitchen chair, shifts in Jamie’s lap. There’s something about being able to do this at their own leisure, about Sunday brunch fading into charred bacon and lost-chance waffles as she and Jamie sink into long slow kisses on the other side of the kitchen, that she thinks she’ll never be over. 

Jamie, looking more than a little irritated with herself, is now brushing soft fingertips across Dani’s collarbone. Even that much sends sharp little thrills up her spine. She tips her chin down, tries to see the spot Jamie is pressing against. 

“Left a mark?”

“Yeah.” Jamie sighs again. “Sorry, Poppins, I don’t know my own goddamn--”

Dani laughs. She really doesn’t, is the thing. Jamie, who couldn’t be more unlike Eddie if she tried, genuinely doesn’t ever mean to mark her skin. And it’s not like it happens often. She’s normally pretty good about self-control in ways Dani suspects have to do with a history of punishment and consequence following every action. 

Jamie is grounded. Jamie is restrained. 

Except when Jamie isn’t. And, lately, Jamie has been restrained with her less and less. 

It started the day she told Dani she was in love with her. A thing Jamie had been saying without words for a long time, Dani knew, but it was so good to hear the phrase fall from her lips anyway. So reassuring, to see the nerves in Jamie’s face, the way Jamie’s eyes shone with a desperate need to make Dani understand. 

That day, in the back room of the shop, Jamie had marked her for the first time. Heat still pools in her belly when she thinks of it, even now: how Jamie had shoved her up against the door, hands fevered, mouth a hot wet slide against her throat. Jamie’s touch had felt good; Jamie’s devotion, even better. And something about the sum of it--of being in the shop, where precautions had been taken, but they were still rather public, of Jamie’s nerves still holding the reins, of Jamie’s words still fluttering between them: pretty in love with you, it turns out--had both of them nearly high. By the time they broke apart, giggling and heaving for air, the deed was done. A single red mark, low on Dani’s neck, burning bright for anyone to see.

Jamie had touched it lightly, kissed it gently, face flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean--”

And, somehow, that had been the thing to do it. The thing that sent Dani’s arousal over the edge. Not just Jamie leaving the mark on her skin, but the apology in Jamie’s eyes as she realized. Jamie, never intending to force ownership. Jamie, never striving to show the world she owned Dani’s body. 

Every time since, she’s tried to explain it to Jamie, tried to bring clarity of word to the hot pulse of pleasure she feels. How there’s a wild delight to watching Jamie want her. How Jamie is, as the time passes, getting worse at pretending to be cool about it. 

It isn’t kind, exactly. Isn’t the nice, sweet, orderly thing to do about it. But all the same, Dani finds she’s having trouble not coaxing Jamie along when it’s clear she’s starting to lose control.

She’s taken to loitering in the bathroom while Jamie showers, for example. Most days, it’s innocent; Dani will post up on the counter with a book, or a cup of tea, and they’ll just make small talk through the thin curtain. Jamie will wash quickly, with no sign of needing assistance, and Dani will hand her a towel when the water shuts off. Perfectly fine. Perfectly civil. 

But there are days--usually when the shop has been particularly stressful, when customers have been needy and shipments have been delayed--when Jamie will gesture for her to follow under the spray. Days where Jamie’s nerves are so frazzled, her control over all the tiny little details of owning a business so slim, that she’ll invite Dani to join her. These days, with Jamie loving her under hot water, with Jamie whispering her name into the steam, Dani thinks it is good to be wanted. So good, to be the small bright spot of control in the world for Jamie, who likes understanding how things work, who likes being able to set things right. With her back against the shower wall, Jamie’s mouth sucking sharp hot bites into her shoulder as her fingers stroke and rub between her legs, Dani thinks there’s nothing better than giving Jamie that measure of control. 

She notices it other times, too--usually when the world is bigger than the two of them can stand. When a snowstorm blocks off the whole street, stranding them inside, and the power goes, and it’s just the two of them moving together under a stack of blankets to make their own warmth. When it’s Jamie, fearful of how long it will take to dig them out again, leaving sharp, nervous marks on her breasts only to be dragged back up by the hair to kiss her as her fingers work Dani to orgasm. 

Or when they make the mistake of turning on the news, signs of war and violence and politicians making unacceptable calls about the bodies of their constituents, and the only way to bring Jamie back from the brink of hopelessness is to coax her into shutting it all out. Pinned against the counter with her hands braced, with Jamie biting hard and kissing soft, Dani forgets for a long stretch of matching heartbeats that anyone else exists outside their walls. 

Sometimes, the mark is gone by morning. Sometimes, Jamie ruefully kisses the spot on her throat, the underside of her jaw, her breast, and says, “You really should yank on my hair or something to stop me.” 

Dani can't quite find the words to tell her how much she likes it. How the brief flare of delicious pain, soothed so soon after by Jamie’s tongue, the pad of Jamie’s thumb, Jamie’s soft embarrassment, grounds her in the strangest way. Not because it shows the world anything--she’s good at wearing sweaters that hide the spots nicely, to keep anyone from questioning her “roommate” in the aftermath--but because it shows that Jamie doesn’t need to keep her head when Dani’s around. That, sometimes, the act of giving Jamie full control over their bed and the way their bodies come together, feels as good as the first nervous time Jamie had said she loved her. 

Jamie shows her with every act, every day, that this is love. Jamie in these moments of unrestrained passion is showing her something else. That she’s safe with Dani. That she doesn’t need to hold anything apart from Dani anymore. 

And there is something else to it, as well. Something entirely different. Something about the rare occasion she rolls Jamie onto her back, holds her wrists to the mattress, gazes into Jamie’s eyes in search of permission. Jamie likes to give, in all ways that matter, but sometimes, Dani likes this, too: to give back more than she takes. To grant Jamie not just control, but release. 

On this kind of night, left hand pinning Jamie in place, right hand setting a brisk, rough pace between damp thighs, Dani lowers her mouth to Jamie’s throat. She kisses slow, tasting sweat and that undefined thing that is Jamie alone, and waits for Jamie to chase her hand. Waits for Jamie to writhe beneath her. Waits for the moment where the right twist, the right pressure, sends Jamie over the edge. Then, only then, does she bite down. 

Because Jamie is embarrassed by marking her, but she’s seen the way Jamie looks at the rare mark she receives in the mirror. The way the collar of her t-shirt will slip, revealing a maroon blemish on pale skin. The way Jamie’s eyes grow dark, her body leaning against the counter like she’s suddenly lost all the strength in her knees. 

She really does prefer giving Jamie control, giving Jamie the gift of building a safe space for them both to land. But every so often, it is beyond worth it, to see the look of surprised delight in Jamie’s face when she flips the script. 

4

There are things, though. Things she didn’t know, before Jamie. Things she’d never thought to glance at, before Jamie. 

“I don’t know about this,” she says. Jamie doesn’t look the least bit perturbed. 

“It’s only an idea, Poppins. Can absolutely veto it at any time.”

Dani frowns. “I don’t--I mean, what made you think--”

She’s going about this all wrong. Jamie shakes her head, some of that old shuttered guard dropping into her expression in a way Dani decidedly does not like. 

“I’ve embarrassed you,” Jamie says. “I’m sorry, Dani, I wasn’t trying to--”

“No, It’s just...won’t somebody notice?”

Two women walking into a shop like that. Two women looking around a shop like that, having conversations about what they’d like or like nothing to do with. Somebody is bound to overhear, Dani thinks. Bound to report it down the line, and what then?

They’re in San Francisco, and Dani knows that’s the main reason Jamie’s even talking about this. They’re in San Francisco, have just bought a brownie that, yes, makes her feel more inclined than usual to drop her guard. She’d thought maybe they’d partake of that brownie in the comfort of their hotel room, that she’d follow the buzzing of her body right into the bed with Jamie, and that would be their afternoon spoken for. It had seemed a good idea at the time. 

Jamie, evidently, has other ideas. 

Which is how Dani, with a bit of a body high and the grip of anxiety tight around her throat, finds herself gazing at a Californian sex shop. 

“We do not,” Jamie says, watching her carefully, “and I cannot stress this enough, Poppins, we do not have to go in.”

“There’s...stuff in there.” The brownie is certainly doing its work. Dani swallows hard, searching for words more befitting of the situation. “Toys and things.”

Jamie looks as though she's suddenly trying very hard not to laugh. She seems considerably less high thus far, less inclined to disappear into this sidewalk if only someone were to let go of her arm and allow her to lie down. 

“It’s the brave new frontier,” Jamie says, managing to keep her amusement tamped down in the face of Dani’s wide eyes. “We’re in the 90s now, Dani Clayton. The world is changing.”

“It is,” Dani repeats in a stage whisper that sounds very loud to her own ears, “a sex shop. In California.”

“Bit better stocked than one in England, I’d wager,” Jamie says through a smile that might yet dissolve into giggles. Dani squints at her, trying to stop the street from performing a gentle rotation around her. 

“Whose idea was this again?”

“The brownie,” Jamie says, “was yours, actually. Haven’t tried this, Jamie, that’s what you said. We’re on an adventure, Jamie. I thought a nice spot of grass would do the trick fine enough, but...”

Dani slaps at her shoulder, misses somehow, almost tips over. Jamie catches her around the middle, and there’s a flash--the briefest, there-and-gone flash--of that night. Of Jamie holding her up. Of watching the world spin for a very different reason. 

Life, she thinks with a stab of unease, is very short. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Jamie repeats, a bit bewildered. She adjusts her grip, helping Dani find her feet again so she can let go. California is better than most anywhere else--at least this part of California--but it still isn’t good to give the universe an open shot. 

“We can...” She can’t say it. Isn’t quite that high. “We can--”

“Explore,” Jamie supplies. “See the sights. It’s an adventure, after all.”

And it does feel adventurous. There is a bravery in Dani Clayton she never seems able to predict--the things she’s capable of, the things she even finds she enjoys, tend to come out of left field and catch her unawares. Some of these things have a tendency to work out better than others. 

(Example: kissing Jamie. Truly the best snap decision she’s ever made. Inviting a ghost into her body? Maybe not so high on the list.)

But the sun is bright, and the buzz beneath her skin feels good, and there is no sign of ghosts in California. Just a surprisingly well-lit shop with a clerk who gives them a bored nod and a tiny hand gesture that says, Go on, couldn’t care less what you do, long as you’ve got cash. Dani smiles at him, too wide, and wonders if he’s like them. If he, too, has spent a lifetime unable to show off in the world. 

There isn’t much time to think about it, not with Jamie taking her by the sleeve and guiding her through neatly arranged aisles. There are costumes here that make Dani’s skin go white-hot to imagine trying to be serious wearing. There are items designed to vibrate, items designed to bind wrists, items designed for things she really feels better off not thinking about at all. 

“What d’you think?” Jamie asks at one shelf, eyebrows raised, and Dani thinks she’s joking. Probably joking. Must be joking. 

“Have you--I mean, I’d have no idea how to--”

“You could,” Jamie says in a low voice that sends a shiver down her spine. How Jamie can do this to her without even trying, even after years together, she can’t explain. Jamie isn’t even working at it now; her hands are tucked into her pockets, her head tilted pensively as she considers the array of options laid out before them. She’s barely even looking at Dani. 

“I could,” Dani repeats weakly, “what?”

“Try it out,” Jamie explains. “If you wanted. If you were interested. But that’s not really what I’m suggesting. See...I know how they work. I’ve, uh...I mean, if you’re interested in...that.”

Her voice trails off, her eyes darting to steal a brief glance at Dani’s face, and Dani’s not entirely sure what her face is even doing. Judging by the way Jamie licks her lips, she suspects it isn’t subtle. 

“Interested,” she says in a very small voice, gripping Jamie’s hand with convulsive force. “Yeah. Little bit.”

They don’t try it out in the hotel room; that is, Dani says once the brownie has worn off some, entirely too bold, even for an adventure. They make absolutely certain the package is tucked away in the bottom of the suitcase, as far as possible from prying eyes that never come to call. They don’t even talk about it again until they’re safely home. 

Dani’s suddenly so nervous, it’s like the first time. Like stumbling up to her room with Jamie pressed close behind, every touch the kind of electric she’d thought might take her out before she had a chance to get Jamie’s clothes off. She walks into their apartment, this place they’ve called home for almost four years, and she thinks, I have never been terrified here before. 

Jamie, seeming to sense her mood, sets the bag by the door and pulls her into an embrace. She kisses the side of her head. “Hey. We don’t have to. Can just put it in the closet for a rainy day.”

Dani senses the truth of this statement, that Jamie is perfectly fine pretending they never bought the thing at all. That Jamie would be perfectly fine sliding into bed with her like always, relying on skilled hands and searching tongue, loving Dani with everything she’s got as she has for years. Jamie would be okay with this. Jamie would never push. 

But life is short, and sometimes, a person can surprise herself. 

Jamie switches the lights off. Jamie almost never switches the lights off, not since the first time she ever told Dani she was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen. Still, Dani is relieved. There is something reassuring about Jamie’s willingness to take her hands in the dark, about Jamie’s eagerness to please her binding tight to Jamie’s devotion to keeping her safe. 

“Slow,” she promises Dani, sliding into bed and cradling her face. She is still just Jamie, Dani recognizes, though anxiety is playing tricks on her heart rate. Just Jamie’s hands, soft on her cheeks, brushing her hair back. Just Jamie’s mouth, raining small, light kisses across her face. Waiting for her to decide how far this goes. 

And Dani would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous--if she said the brush of cloth harness around Jamie’s hips and the silicon between her legs wasn’t a surprise, even knowing what to expect. She would be lying, too, if she said it wasn’t a thrill. That Jamie is just laying alongside her in familiar sheets, thumb drawing soft arcs across her cheekbone, down the line of her jaw, tipping her head back so Jamie can kiss her neck. That Jamie is touching her like always, not pushing, not rushing, fingers playing along her skin like she’s the world’s most well-loved instrument. 

Jamie, breathing soft words into every kiss. Jamie, exhaling, “Lead the way, okay? Tell me. Anything you want.”

Dani finds her own hand sliding down, exploring the familiar curve of Jamie’s neck, fingering the chain that rests against her collarbones, drawing down, down, until she’s taking a handful of something not Jamie in the least. Testing its weight against her palm. Curling her fingers loosely. Jamie, though this object is not possessed of skin or nerve endings, sucks a breath in through her teeth anyway. Like Dani taking the time to explore is doing something maybe Jamie herself can’t even explain.

“Okay?” she says, breath warm on Dani’s skin, and Dani nods. She finds her body is searching Jamie’s out, pressing in close, and Jamie’s hand is covering hers. Even as she moves Dani gently to her back, even as her hips are coming to rest against Dani’s, her hand is there. A grounding force, as ever. Guiding in. 

Dani draws a hot breath, knees bent, and Jamie pauses. Moves only when Dani’s eyes open and she nods, one arm around Jamie’s neck, pulling her down to kiss her parted lips. 

“Slow,” she agrees, and Jamie makes a noise she likes more than anything else in the world as she shifts her hips, slides all the way in. The world is dark around them, made up of little more than the careful rock of Jamie’s body against hers, the instinctive way her own legs come up to pull Jamie deeper, the wonderfully small, uncontrolled noise she can hear herself making against Jamie’s shoulder. The method is foreign, but it’s still Jamie’s body behind each thrust, still Jamie’s rhythm making her whimper and clutch at Jamie’s neck. 

They move together, and it’s been four years, four years of learning every inch of how Jamie is capable of moving with her, but Dani finds this is something other. Something perfectly matched. Not better, not a completion she’s never found before--Jamie has never been lacking--but new, anyway. 

She hears her own hitching breaths, hears the fevered, reverent way Jamie says her name over and over, the bed knocking against the wall again and again. Jamie, true to her word, goes slow the whole way, until Dani is biting her own lip against a cry, until Dani is clenching and shuddering under her. 

“Good kind of adventure?” Jamie asks, having carefully extricated herself, stripped off the addition, curled up against Dani’s chest. Dani hums. 

“Thank you.”

Jamie raises her head. “For what?”

Dani mulls it over, her body spent, her mind already on its way to sleep. 

“For,” she says at last, nuzzling closer, “not getting sick of me. Not getting sick of walking with me through the parts I’m not...prepared for.”

She doesn’t say what she means--that, someday, the parts she isn’t prepared for won’t be trying a new toy in bed--and knows she doesn’t have to. Jamie signed on for the whole adventure the day she took Dani’s hand, kissed her knuckles, promised her company for good or for ill. 

There’s a promise like that, Dani thinks blearily as she sinks into sleep. For better or worse. People say that to the person they’re going to...

5

Living in America when you can’t share the love of your life with the world is, sometimes, a lot more frustrating than Dani would have given it credit for before finding Jamie. Back in her old life, walking around with Edmund’s hand possessively wrapped around her waist, she’d felt like no one should want to lean into PDA. It was embarrassing, she felt. Horribly awkward, having someone else’s arm around your shoulders as you tried to fall into step with their much longer legs, or trying to find the right produce at the grocery store with someone insisting you hold their hand. She’d thought it would be a relief, in its own horrible way, not to have that opportunity. 

And then Eddie was gone, and Jamie’s was the hand in the grocery store, the arm hesitating before reaching her shoulders. Now? Dani gets it. Dani gets it, and can’t have it, and it makes her crazy.

She thinks Jamie knows this. Knows Jamie, too, longs for a world where no one would look twice if they curled close together in a movie theater, or lay with Dani’s head pillowed in Jamie’s lap at the park. Jamie wants the constant contact at least as much as Dani does, because tactile environments are where Jamie shines. 

It is, before Jamie ever said the words aloud, how Dani knew for a fact Jamie loves her. 

It is, before Jamie ever admitted as much, how she knew for a fact Jamie has chosen this for good and for all. 

And it is, as time marches on and strangers remain staunchly bigoted, making her crazy not to be able to embrace. 

Jamie feels it, too, she knows, but Jamie has a very particular way of coping with her inability to just behave normally with Dani in social situations. A way that is, in its own way, also driving Dani crazy.

She just keeps getting more and more handsy. 

The thing is, she’s doing it in the most absent-minded way possible, like Dani has watched girls--straight girls, girls who are allowed to cuddle close to other women and touch their hair and play with their jewelry without anyone caring to judge--do her whole life. In ways Dani herself can’t imagine. Jamie will just sidle up behind her, hand brushing her shoulder and falling away again before anyone can question it. She’ll touch two fingers lightly to the soft inner stretch of Dani’s wrist to get her attention at dinner, and by the time Dani’s fully registered it, her hand is gone, flagging down a waiter.

At first, Dani thought she was doing it on purpose. A kind of game to keep them entertained in boring public situations. She’d thought it was another brand of adventure, of Jamie being comfortable in her skin so long, she feels capable of sneaking past strangers. 

Now, after weeks of increasing torment, she thinks Jamie is just doing this. Somehow toeing the line between what is dangerous and what is fraying at Dani’s sanity. 

“How are you doing that?” she asks when Jamie brushes the tips of her fingers just under Dani’s blouse, catching the strip of skin before her jeans begin, though they’ve got seven customers milling around the shop. Jamie looks confused.

“How am I doing what?”

“You’re--” Dani bites down on the words as old Mrs. Morgan, who comes in twice a month for arrangements to present to her daughter-in-law, shuffles up to the counter. Jamie smiles her best customer-service smile, as polished and somehow genuine as anything, and sets to work ringing her up. Dani, free for the moment, leans back with thumbs folded tight into her fists.  

“Sorry,” Jamie says a few minutes later, once more wearing that lightly-perplexed look she gets when Dani points out something of which she has not been conscious. “What’ve I been doing, now?”

“You’ve been...” Dani makes a concerted effort to lower her voice, which seems like a wise idea right until Jamie takes another step and bends her head to hear the next words. She’s right there, barely three inches away, and Dani’s never clenched her fists so hard to keep from grabbing at thin black suspenders. “Touching me. In public.”

“Have I?” Jamie looks genuinely startled. “More than is normal, you mean?”

Dani shakes her head, unable to stomach the difference between what is normal for them and what is normal for women who are not sleeping together. Not in love. Not sharing every inch of a life that deserves to have songs written about it. 

“I’m sorry,” Jamie says. “Honestly, Dani, I didn’t mean--am I making you uncomfortable?”

You’re making me want you, Dani thinks helplessly, in places I absolutely cannot have you. Which is, in its own way, worse. 

“I’ll be more careful,” Jamie assures her, completely missing the point. She reaches as if to touch Dani’s elbow, catches herself, smiles wryly. “A lot more careful.”

Dani wants to tell her that isn't what she wants, isn’t what she’s ever wanted, that there’s only so much time in the world for careful--but that’s the fire talking, the one running through her blood each time Jamie looks up from repotting flowers and gives her a little once-over, a wink. The real world requires careful. The real world requires walking lightly, hands swinging a little apart. 

The real world requires, when Jamie leans over her to recover paper towel from a higher shelf, breasts pressing into Dani’s back, her to keep her goddamned head. 

It requires, when Jamie reaches around her for a drinking fountain in the park, bare skin of her arm pressed flush to Dani’s, her to keep her goddamned self-control in check. 

It requires, when Jamie laughs and bumps close in line at the airport, her fingers brushing the hair behind Dani’s ear to keep it out of her eyes, for Dani to keep her goddamned pulse from skittering into adrenaline overdrive. 

It’s been years, she reminds herself furiously as they settle in on the plane. They’re off to see Owen for the first time in ages, and it’ll be good to get away--there have been feelings she can’t collate inside her head, dreams in black and white she wakes from gasping. A little time away should help bring her back down. 

Back down from worrying over ghosts, anyway. 

Jamie’s wandering hands, on the other hand...

“Jamie,” she hisses, because airplane seats are really not spacious, and though they don’t have a seatmate on the aisle, there’s an elderly couple across the way with a perfect view of Jamie’s hand resting on her knee. Jamie looks down, jumps a little, tucks the offending hand under her own leg. 

“Shit. Don’t know what’s wrong with me...”

Nothing, Dani wants to say, is wrong with you. It’s them. They’re wrong for asking us to hide. They’re wrong for asking me to ever pretend, even for a second, that you’re not the most important person in my life. 

“It’s all right,” she whispers instead, like the pressure of Jamie’s palm sliding off her kneecap hasn’t left scorch marks. She closes her eyes, leans her head back. There’s a long flight ahead for someone already on fire. A long flight, and she thinks with truly feral madness, There’s a bathroom. Small. Cramped. But we could fit, maybe. I could get her in there, maybe. 

She lets the image unspool for a moment: Jamie propped against a tiny airplane sink, muffling filthy sounds against her arm, Dani on her knees before her. No. No, best put that away for now. Even if they weren’t caught, by some insane miracle, they’d just have a bigger problem afterward. A problem labeled we’ve proven we’re willing to test this. 

Dani isn’t, not really. Not if there’s a chance of blowing up their whole life. 

Still, it’s hard to scrub the idea away. Jamie is looking at her with some concern, and it’s fair: Dani’s aware her cheeks are pink, her breath coming in sharp hitches. She forces a smile.

“You all right?” Jamie asks quietly. “Don’t feel sick, do you?”

“Not sick,” Dani says. She presses her lips into a thin line, gaze flicking unintentionally from Jamie’s eyes to her mouth, and understanding breaks slowly across Jamie’s face. 

“Ah.” She looks so smug. Dani wishes that made her want Jamie any less. 

“Don’t tease,” she mutters. “Can’t help it.” She really can’t, either. Jamie’s been there, right there, touching her everywhere for such short bursts, but the shop has been crazy. They’ve been tired. There hasn’t been any real time together in far too long. 

Jamie looks at her, a long look that Dani thinks for a heart-stopping second will end in her simply saying, “Fuck it” and leaning in to kiss Dani on this plane. Can’t, she warns her silently. Can’t do that, Jamie, because if you start, I won’t be able to stop--

“Bit chilly,” Jamie says conversationally to someone over Dani’s head. She turns, catching sight of an airline stewardess just as Jamie adds, “Wouldn’t say no to a blanket, if there’s one handy.”

Oh, she’s made a joke, Dani thinks, staring fixedly at the ceiling. Heaven help me, she’s made a goddamn Owen pun, and they don’t even know. 

The blanket, when it arrives, is thick, made of a somewhat scratchy dark gray material. Jamie spreads it laboriously across her own lap first, then makes a show of looking at Dani. 

“You cold? Only, this is huge, and I’d feel terribly selfish hogging it the whole trip.”

Across the aisle, one of their elderly neighbors nods as though Jamie is the wisest, kindest person she’s ever seen in the wild. Jamie gives a returning nod, says blithely, “Ask for a blanket, flight’s always frigid once we get going.”

She’s pulling the blanket across Dani’s lap now, somehow making it look as though her hands are not sliding up Dani’s thigh in the process. Dani nearly bites her tongue trying not to respond. 

She does believe, with her whole heart, that Jamie did not mean to start this. That Jamie’s wandering hands in public are entirely a thing of habit built at home. Jamie is always touching her at the apartment, always squeezing her arm or stroking her cheek or kissing whatever part of her is within reach. It’s the most natural thing in the world. She certainly hasn’t been putting them at risk on purpose. 

But right now? Right now, on this plane, tucking the blanket carefully around Dani so there’s no way prying eyes can catch a glimpse of what’s going on beneath it?

Jamie is absolutely doing this on purpose. 

“Are you crazy?” she hisses, trying to look as though she isn’t seconds from flying out of her own skin. Jamie is smiling so calmly, so rationally, tucking her hands under the blanket.

“Nope. Just chilly, as I said. Aren't you?”

Dani thinks she’s never been warmer in her entire life, not with Jamie’s rebellious left hand dragging the skirt up over her knees. From an outside perspective, it’s impossible to see; Jamie looks perfectly calm. Even friendly, should anyone catch her eye. She smiles like she doesn’t have Dani’s skirt rucked nearly to her waist.

She smiles like her hand isn’t sliding down the curve of Dani’s thigh now, cresting against the front of cotton underwear. 

“Jamie,” Dani breathes. Jamie leans over on the pretense of trying to glance into the aisle for persons unknown. Her lips graze Dani’s ear. 

“Keep quiet. Just pretend you’re looking out the window.”

Looking out the window, Dani thinks wildly, right. Like nothing’s going on under the noses of their fellow passengers. Like nothing whatsoever is happening under this blessedly-thick blanket, Jamie’s left hand tracing shapes into the apex of her groin. Jamie, with the calmest goddamn smile she’s ever seen, saying, “This is going to be good for us, y’know. Haven’t been out to see the sights in ages. America’s really gotten under my skin...”

How, thinks Dani, fists clenched against her own thighs under the blanket, is she talking? How can she possibly be holding a perfectly sane, perfectly serene conversation with her fingers sliding up, pulling aside the elastic of Dani’s underwear, moving the material aside just enough to press against slick skin. Dani swallows hard enough to hurt. Her own fingers are leaving impressions against her legs, bruises she’d rather be digging into Jamie’s skin. 

“You’ll like it,” Jamie says in a placid, low voice, like her fingers aren’t currently tracing a spot particularly wet and warm. Like Dani’s hips aren’t twitching as she fights the urge to press into Jamie’s hand. Like she doesn’t know Dani’s nails are biting into her own thighs, dragging grooves that will burn later. 

“Jamie.”

“Mm?” Like she doesn’t know. She’s grinning a crooked, cheerful little grin that makes Dani want to kiss her blind. If only they weren’t on a plane, if only there weren’t so many damn people around, she’d be out of this seat and riding Jamie’s lap, paying her back for this, making her squirm--

“You,” Dani says through clenched teeth as Jamie teases with one finger, slowly sliding in and easing right back out again. “You are in so much trouble when we land.”

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees, eyes shining. If anyone bothered to look at her properly, they’d see the hunger etched all over her face, even under the easy smile. “Yeah, reckon I am. But that’s hours off, yet, Poppins. Might as well enjoy the ride.”

Dani moves a hand to grip Jamie’s knee as hard as she can, exhaling through her nose to keep from whimpering as Jamie sets a slow, dangerous pace. 

This, she decides, will certainly be the thing to drive her insane. 

6

She's learned a lot about Dani over the years. A lot of wonderful, invigorating, sexy things about Dani--and a lot of simple ones, too. How much garlic Dani prefers in just about any dish. How good she is at decorating a house so it looks safer than anywhere in the world. How bad she is at pretending not to stare when Jamie walks out of the bathroom in nothing but a mis-buttoned flannel shirt. 

A good relationship, Jamie has determined--all too aware that this is the first and last truly good relationship of her life--is constant education. Learning what your person likes, and doesn’t like, and didn’t think they could ever tell you they liked until the moment arrived. Learning when to keep the lights on, when to hold them in the dark. Learning what moods beg a kiss, which ones require hands wiping away tears, and which ask only for silence. 

She’s been with Dani a long time. Hopes to be with her a lot longer. Decades, if she can trick the universe into granting them that long a reprieve. Years, if she can only steal that much. Any time with Dani is cherished. Any time with Dani is more than either of them expected. 

She’s been with Dani a long time, and there’s a lot she knows now. Where Dani’s ticklish in ways that will derail sex entirely by way of hysterical laughter; where she’s ticklish in less aggressive ways that will, in fact, enhance the experience when Jamie kisses those spots. She knows that Dani likes to relinquish control, because it makes her feel safe in Jamie’s hands, and that she sometimes likes to sneak control back when Jamie isn’t looking, because she likes the way Jamie forgets how to speak when she’s surprised. She knows the way Dani likes her neck kissed, the way Dani likes to be held through a particularly intense orgasm, the way Dani gets the right kind of embarrassed when something unexpectedly obscene comes out of her mouth at just the right moment. 

She knows a lot about Dani, every last detail precious, but she doesn’t know everything. Sometimes, Dani still surprises her.

Like the day she comes home with a sad little plant. 

She doesn’t recognize the look on Dani’s face, and a part of her--the part that’s been waking more and more as Dani jerks restlessly in her sleep, as she carefully averts her eyes from the bathroom mirror, as she gives that old tired not-quite-present smile Jamie remembers so well from their last week at Bly--worries. Dani is still full of surprises, but some of those surprises have teeth. Some, Jamie fears she’s not strong enough to lift from Dani’s shoulders. 

This time, though, the look is less hunted and more...quietly nervous. Jamie is distracted, failing miserably to secure dinner for what feels like the thousandth time in this kitchen, but something about the way Dani is hefting this plant cuts through her focus. 

Dani, rescuing plants off the side of the road. Be still her heart. 

Something about the way Dani glances at her as she takes over at the stove, something about the way Dani brushes past like she’s running on something electric, nearly ruins the surprise. Nearly. Except Jamie is distracted, and there's something green and not entirely lifeless to repair, and Jamie has always been up for getting to the heart of a problem. The roots, she sees without really needing to dig. The roots are...

“Dani,” she hears herself say. “Why’s there a...”

And then Dani is using words like best friend, love of my life, words so big and so wonderful Jamie wonders if she’s really awake right now. And there are other words, scary ones--don’t know how much time we have left--but Dani chases them quickly with the best words Jamie’s ever heard. Words like spend them with you. Words like we’ll know. Words like it’s enough for me, if it’s enough for you. 

Jamie can’t imagine this not being enough. 

She’s half-crying, kissing Dani, half-laughing, wholly effervescent. Dani’s hair is soft under hands that suddenly feel too small, too clumsy, holding on to something so fragile. Dani’s whispering I love you against her lips, and Jamie recognizes some fear in the way she’s pulling Jamie closer. Some fear, and a huge amount of relief, too. 

“Did you think I’d say no?” she teases when the tears dry up enough to let her speak again. Dani, forehead pressed against hers, shakes her head minutely. 

“I don’t think anyone knows what the answer will be. But...no. No, I didn’t.”

“Good,” Jamie says, trying to look like she’s not sniffling. “Think you know me better than that.”

“I know you better than anyone,” Dani says, so honestly, Jamie feels something crack from deep inside. She slides the ring onto her finger to distract from this feeling of being dunked under by some enormous wave, by feelings she truly once thought she’d never have the space for in her body. 

Dinner is decidedly not salvageable by this point, and Jamie finds she isn’t hungry, anyway. She leads Dani to the the couch, curls up close to her, eyes straying back to that sad little potted plant. 

“Tried to grow it, didn’t you?”

“No,” Dani says, with exactly the same inflection she once used at six in the morning in a greenhouse. Jamie laughs. 

There’s an energy between them tonight unlike anything Jamie’s ever felt before. It’s been hinted at over the years--in a bedroom at Bly, in a diner in the Midwest, in the middle of their shop--but never quite so clearly as in this moment. Dani, who has seemed less and less content lately, has an arm around her shoulders, her breath coming easier than it has in weeks. Jamie doesn’t like thinking about that, doesn’t like looking too closely at what might be pulling Dani back down that particular road.

This, she decides. Just this. Just today. The rest can wait. 

Dani has her hand in her lap, is fiddling with the ring like she can't quite believe she had the guts to actually give it to Jamie. Dani is always so much more surprised by her own courage than Jamie has ever been. It was always, she thinks, watching Dani idly twist the gold band back and forth, going to be Dani doing the proposing. Dani, whose relationship with marriage is so complicated. Dani, whose relationship with time is so complicated. 

There’s a lot in the relationship Dani leaves in Jamie’s hands. Repairs around the house, ideas of how the shop could run more smoothly, most nights in the bedroom. There’s a lot Dani doesn’t feel like she needs to grip in tense fists, a lot Dani has never felt the need to control. Jamie’s not sure control is the word she’d choose for herself, either, but there’s a certain natural leadership to her posture in the world. Maybe because, for a time, there was no one but Jamie herself calling the shots. Maybe because she’s used to making hard choices, unable to drop them on anyone else’s shoulders. 

It makes her feel an unexpected kind of strong, that Dani trusts her with so much. 

But this always felt important to leave to Dani. Jamie would have been all right if they never had this conversation; the way she sees it, not much would have changed. Dani is still her most important person, ring or no. She’ll be here as long as Dani will have her, even without vows or witnesses.

But for Dani to have done this--for Dani to have planned it out, kept it a secret when she is absolutely terrible at keeping secrets from Jamie (”I never know,” she says, making a horror into the sweetest thing in the world by virtue of pout alone, “how much time we have, why would I keep anything from you?”), dropped it smoothly on a sunny evening like this--is perfect. It’s small, and it’s private, and it’s the bravest thing in the world. 

“I love you,” Jamie says, because there is no amount of saying it that would feel like enough. Dani smiles until the corners of her eyes crinkle. 

There are things that have surprised her about Dani over the years, and things that may have surprised Dani even more--but the thing Jamie finds most surprising of all comes from this. From the way her whole body relaxes in Dani’s hands. From the way her eyes close and her breath shallows out when Dani’s nearby. She’s never been good at vulnerability, not with anyone, but the minute Dani entered her life, it’s like vulnerability became her life’s mission.

Never consciously. Never with intent. Just...organically, the way cells know to age, the way plants know to seek sunlight. Dani walked into her life with shoulders tight and more love in her heart than she seemed to know what to do with, and suddenly, Jamie wanted only to give. Her time, her affection, anything Dani needed. Anything Dani could ever want. 

It should be exhausting. It should take everything out of her. It should wring her out and leave nothing in its wake. 

Instead, it seems to make her stronger every day. It seems to make her more with everything she gives to Dani: her love, her hope, her reassurances. She gives, and Dani, who could so easily take, gives back, and Jamie thinks, It’s this. It’s the exchange. Not just the caring, but the being taken care of. 

“What’re you thinking?” Dani asks. Jamie winds their fingers together, brings their joined hands to her lips. 

“That I’m lucky. Incredibly, illogically lucky.”

“Should I have--” Dani hesitates. “I don’t know, done it sooner?”

Sand in an hourglass, Jamie thinks. In the end, it’s all sand in an hourglass, and no amount of rushing can change it. 

“It was perfect,” she says, leaning across Dani to kiss her lips. “Truly. Couldn’t ask for better.”

Dani looks like she may be considering pressing--there’s a particular crease she gets between the eyes when self-consciousness is at the wheel, and it breaks Jamie’s heart every time she sees it. Jamie pushes her back against the arm of the couch, dropping with her until they’re laying flush, cupping one hand under Dani’s jaw to kiss her properly. 

“Perfect,” she repeats, brushing her nose against Dani’s, sighing when Dani’s hands move reflexively to slide the strap of her overalls off her shoulder. 

There’s less verbal reassurance from there, considerably more work done via hands and sighs and lips. They’re laughing even as Jamie shifts too far to the left and rolls them both onto the very-solid floor in a half-dressed heap. Dani’s still laughing--half-wild with what Jamie reads as untempered relief--even as Jamie helps her wrestle out of her jacket, even as Jamie is sliding down her body, kissing her way back up again through the impossibly-deep slit in her dress. 

There are times with Dani that feel like the pair of them will burst into flame if they aren’t touching, if they aren’t setting a rhythm together in that very moment. There are times where it’s all hunger, all heat, where Jamie thinks the very act of loving Dani might set her ablaze. And then there are times like this: times where Dani watches her with half-lidded eyes, smiling even as Jamie is undressing her, even as Jamie is coaxing cloth aside and pulling Dani to her mouth. Smiling, sighing, shifting under Jamie like there’s nowhere else in the world she’d rather be. 

Times like this, tasting Dani, grasping blindly for her hand with eyes closed, are secretly Jamie’s favorite. Times like this, feeling Dani move beneath her, tracing Dani’s knuckles with the pad of her thumb, Dani’s voice the only song in the room, are the absolute ideal. It’s only here, in their home, knowing Dani would give anything to keep this safe, that Jamie thinks she’s her absolute best self. 

It’s here--curled on the floor with her back against Dani’s chest, Dani’s hand tossed lightly over her hip, both of them covered with a very badly crocheted blanket Dani picked out at a flea market--that she feels most real. 

“I want this,” Dani says sleepily, words muffled with her mouth pressed against Jamie’s shoulder. “For as long as possible.”

“Sleeping naked on a hardwood floor?” Jamie shifts her face against her bent elbow, grinning. Dani’s arm slides tighter around her middle.

“Holding you. Anywhere.”

“Think that can be arranged,” Jamie says, voice unexpectedly thick with emotion. Dani nuzzles against her shoulder again.

“Promise?”

Something releases in her chest, the duality of Dani now--a Dani who is starting to get scared again, but still brave enough to ask Jamie to marry her--and Dani then--a Dani terrified already, but so brave in asking Jamie to stay--coalescing into one. She inhales, shuddering, pressing back into Dani’s arms as hard as she can. Dani squeezes like she understands, like she knows Jamie needs nothing like she needs to know Dani is the most solid thing in the room. 

This is the thing, Jamie thinks, that surprises her most. Not just being taken care of, but needing it from Dani. Needing to be held, needing to feel the weight of Dani’s body against her own. Needing to be reminded that for all her good humor, all her confidence, all the times Jamie can’t help putting Dani first--Dani’s doing the exact same thing. 

“I’m gonna marry you,” she hears herself say, turning in Dani’s grasp and pressing her face against Dani’s neck. “Someday. Minute it’s even remotely legal.”

Dani makes the most content noise she’s ever heard in her life. “One day at a time,” she says. To Jamie’s ears, it's the purest kind of vow. 

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hello! I don’t know if you’re still doing this prompt but how about the Oxygen Loss but with either Rung or Ratchet? I’m not sure how you would do Ratchet, maybe he’s away from the Med Bay at the time the LL is being attacked?

I've got some of my favorite bot Rung for you, and Ratchet is in part five listed below! Let's have some angst with the good phsychiatrist!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: You're Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Rung

·Perhaps being human just made one think differently from Cybertronians in the most unusual of ways, but you truly never understood how anyone could forget the lovable phsychiatrist, though you have quite a few unique reasons to remember him. While he's actually rather sociable and energetic, the two of you most often enjoy relaxing together in his office. Today you're doing just that by chatting away about the various pieces of earth media you think he'll enjoy. Whether or not he actually ends up having interest in any of them, he takes great pleasure in discussing your suggestions. Not only does it give him a better glimpse into earth and the culture of its inhabitants, but it also allows him to hear about your own tastes in entertainment, and that alone could keep his interest for days. Just hearing you talk about yourself so happily is a delight.

·Unfortunately the fun times are interrupted by an emergency broadcast, one the two of you are equally baffled to find is little more than a garble of indecipherable warnings and instructions. Before any kind of explanation can be requested, the line goes off completely, fading out to silence that doesn't even register static. Having served on many ships in the past, Rung has theories straight away as to what could be going on, and they vary from trivial to concerning. For this though, he wants to err on the side of caution. That means getting somewhere safe. If something is indeed wrong, he explains, help can always be found in a number of key locations. Considering where his room is, he knows the closest safe place is the medical bay.

·Wanting to be wary but not panicked, Rung admittedly struggles over whether or not to get moving. Though he doesn't say why, you know one of his biggest fears is being unable to protect you, something he worries he can't do being adverse to combat. A small smile of encouragement naturally lights up your features as you lay a hand on his. You promise him you trust his judgement no matter what. A look of gratitude is knocked off his face when his whole office trembles, and it's replaced entirely with a look of terror as the ship gives a mighty buck, sending your tiny body flying. An athletic dive saves you from crashing into anything, and instead you find yourself held in a pair of trembling hands when the world levels out. On his knees and quite frazzled from the jolt, the first thing Rung does is ask if you're okay, and he lets out a sigh of relief when you confirm you are.

·The incident gives him the impetus to make up his mind; the two of you are going to head for more secure territory. In agreement despite being so frazzled, you let him take the lead and try to convey just how grateful you are to have him at your side for all of this, holding onto his digits as he prepares to get moving. There's so much obvious planning in the processor behind his furrowed brows you can practically hear the metaphorical wheels turning. He wants to be ready for any possibility, so much so that he grabs his rarely used combat staff from the corner. Despite the circumstances, your heart actually flutters a little; to you he's always looked quite dashing wielding the weapon.

·There's silence when he enters the hallway at last, and it drives him to hug you to his chest in a move that comforts himself just as much as he hopes it comforts you. It certainly helps you feel secure, as the move puts you right beside his spark, one that leaves no doubt as to its status as brightest on the ship. A soft and melodic humming seems to pass straight through his chestplate at all times. Pressing against him, you let the sound soothe the tension from your much smaller body. Even if you can hardly protect him from much of anything, you hope he feels a bit safer in your company, though he's hardly struggling to move boldly through the ship. From a distance one might have even missed the light tremble in his frame.

·Scared as he might be, he's faced situations similar to this before, and came out with the knowledge that it's best to move as he is now; quickly, but quietly, so as to avoid being taken by surprise. However, he had the aid of his natural resilience to get him through past situations alive. Incredible healing abilities have always been a literal life saver, but now, the fact that only he would be saved... The thought of recovery is just as agonizing as any wound when he thinks of you not being there when the physical pain faded. Fear of such an outcome makes him freeze when the first sound of movement meets his audials; there's something rather large nearby, and it isn't an Autobot. Nor is it a Decepticon, further inspection tells him when he listens intently, as he can hear how unnaturally it moves even from his makeshift hiding spot. It has to be one of the attacking forces.

·Rung looks down as you hold your breath, having heard the same sound and doing your best to make sure the alien doesn't find either of you. For an instant you're both left frozen and the air is tense enough to feel as if it's smothering you. Scouting the situation as best he can, the small mech takes note of the fact he only has one usable path to the medical bay from this position, as any other course would require a great deal of backtracking there simply isn't time for. The only viable way forward is this one, and as there's only a single enemy... Looking down at you one final time let's him make a decision. This has to be done, for your sake, and he quickly sets you down in an open yet depowered electrical hatch, one likely left this way by a bot abandoning it in the midst of some maintenance. Hopefully it will keep you safe...

·You know what he's doing when Rung whispers for you to stay down and make a run for it should things "end poorly", but you don't even get a chance to try and stop him, the fear in his optics all but breaking your heart as he disappears from view. Alone in the hatch, a million thoughts storm in an attempt to form a plan. Being so tiny leaves you very few options... Yet a forgotten tool, some kind of Cybertronian screwdriver, opens up a slew of dangerous possibilities. What you assume to be adrenaline fills you so fast you get dizzy, but you don't let that stop you as the makeshift weapon is clenched between your shaking hands. Unbeknownst to you, Rung executes his first attack at the same instant, finishing off an impressive ambush with a ferocious stab intended to end a fight before it can begin.

·Rung isn't surprised when his attack merely staggers his opponent; just dissapointed as the brute turns to retaliate. Bloodied weapon in hand, he simply doesn't have the reflexes to avoid the hit that comes next, though he does manage to land a small puncture wound as a powerful blow slams him against a wall. As he is pinned by the overwhelming weight of a much larger being, he can only think about you... The weapon is immobile in his hand, as useless as he knows he is, and he prays this commotion will at least enable you to escape. Pressure hard enough to crack his armor suspends any thoughts beyond pain as the alien goes in for the kill. Only, it's interrupted by a very unexpected attack at the base of one of its legs, one that staggers it as something tiny and very sharp is stabbed as deep as it can go... by you.

·There's no time to celebrate before a reflexive kick sends you sprawling, your tiny body rolling across the ground from a mere glancing blow. Between the window of opportunity and the glaring rage on your behalf, it's all Rung needs to turn the tide of battle. Though he's sloppy from anger and pain, his staff finds a weak point and the bladed end sinks deep, sending the gargantuan being toppling like a gigantic tree. Before the thud has finished echoing Rung is by your side, kneeling on a visibly damaged leg to look you over. Despite the strength of what hit you, there's something off in how bleary you are as his face spins above you, as if the world is slipping away. Your injured partner can see it too. In fact, anyone could see you're struggling just to breathe, and that sends a chill through his spark. Whether or not this level of incoherencey makes any sense for your manner of injury, he doesn't have time to ask questions, needing to get you somewhere safe instead. All he takes the time for is to plead that you remain awake.

·Before he can damage his leg further by attempting to struggle into a standing position, luck arrives in the form of a squadron of armed bots, who heard the sound of combat and came to investigate. The sight of the ship's tiny phsychiatrist and the hulking alien he obviously killed makes most of their jaws drop. In a rare loss of composure, Rung begs them to take you to the medical bay as fast as possible, tears hidden only by his lenses. Slipping out of consciousness while you're lifted by dexterous hands, you can only be glad he'll be okay, and that despite your tiny size you made a difference... A quick thinking bot heeds the instructions and carts you off for treatment. Rung can only pray help will be given in time, and as he's helped along after you the bitter sense of failure hurts worse than any injury; how could he be so worthless as to let you down in this of all moments?

·The feeling is not at all relieved when he arrives for care of his own and is told that you'll live, only because the true cause of your sudden deterioration strikes him hard. You were suffocating, tiny organic body failing from a lack of critical resources, and yet you'd been forced to save him. Did this mean he had hurt you more than anything else today, because he'd been unable to handle himself, making you waste precious oxygen and energy? As soon as he's patched up he requests to stay alone by your side, which is rather difficult due to how many bots want to praise his efforts in taking down an enemy. Their intentions are at least appreciated. Yet he's left to agonize as he waits for you to stir, removing his glasses so he can hold his head in his hands while the emotions overwhelm him.

·Upon waking, it's hard to ignore the fact that most of your body hurts in one way or another, particularly in a few stretches of your arms and legs where bruises will no doubt be blossoming soon. Yet the mask on your face is what really gives you pause, especially as you open your eyes to see the interior of a medical bay suite. A familiar dash of copper catches your attention before you can think too hard. Rung is just beside you, yet you can't tell if he's awake or powered down by the way his helm is leaning so heavily against his palm. The question is answered as soon as you stir, and his usually bright optics snap open to reveal an exhausted grey. Despite the visible anguish, he smiles as soon as he sees you, reaching forward to brush your cheek as he softly says your name. Static blurs his voice into an uncharacteristic croak.

·A tad bit accustomed to worried minds in confusing situations, he gently relays what led to you being here, trying to remain neutral but slipping in a bit of self admonishment as he gets to his failed defensive effort. The memories flood back despite the injuries you suffered and the lack of oxygen in the moment. A far different scene comes back in your mind's eye, one of a mech valiantly charging into a fight just to give you a chance at escape, and you take hold of his digit despite the pain of moving your arm. When he tries to stop the action you cut him off gently, saying that he's not just the reason you're alive, he was the source of your own burst of courage that resulted in you saving his life. Your love for each other is why you're both here to live another day.

·The devotion in your words takes him by total surprise. For all the adoration he has for you, he's not even accustomed to being remembered by anyone, let alone treasured. Honest as can be, he can only silently wipe away a few happy tears as he requests you forgive him for the self imposed criticism. Smiling back, you promise to do so, and to always help him remember that he's worth all the love you have for him. With tenderness only he could possess, Rung leans down to leave a soft kiss on the side of your head in silent thanks. There simply aren't words for the happiness you give him even in the hardest times...

[growup-thatbeautiful]

drive is out now!! It’s a Post Season Harringrove Hurt/Comfort and I’m pretty proud of it. Read it on ao3 here or below the cut. Likes and comments are very very much appreciated :))

Billy doesn’t drive after starcourt. Something about being behind the wheel makes him sick with memories that he can’t understand. They’re abstract and totally unreliable.

But it’s kind of always been like that for him. He's used to having gaps in his memories, except most of the time it’s because of trauma. Or that’s what Joyce tells him and the rest of them whenever they have nightmares about things they don’t remember happening.

He's been living with the Byers and El. He tries to be useful around the house, doing whatever he can because he really doesn’t have anywhere else to go. It’s hard, though. It seems like everything he does, he does wrong. He never had to learn how to fold sheets or clean dishes. Not only was neil hargrove terribly homophobic, but also misogynistic, which is a word joyce taught him because she teaches all her kids that stuff. And he’s one of her kids now. So, yeah. Neil never had Billy do the chores because “he’s not a true man, but he sure as shit isn’t a woman.”

It's alarming how quickly this odd family replaces his old one. Neil seems miles away. Neil doesn’t try to look for Billy, and that’s fine as far as Billy's concerned. He's got scars to cover up the ones Neil made. no need to dwell on that when he has so much other trauma to process., right? Kind of.

He does check up on max. Asks her if neils pulling any of the shit he used to get from his dad. double checks for bruises hidden under makeup or long sleeves, and never finds any. Good.

Joyce is good. great, even. She doesn’t blame him when he breaks a dish because he heard a noise. She listens when he says he needs some alone time, and she knows when he’s just saying that. She gives good hugs and has no problem giving him Jonathan's old room to stay in while he’s off at college. leaving Hawkins behind him, calling every night anxiously awaiting the return of It. Nothing happens, and eventually they relax. Or they try to. That part of billy’s been broken for a long time, though.

So Joyce starts fading into memories of his mom, and he tries not to blame her.

Again. He's never had a great memory anyway. He does remember his mom telling him that boys don’t marry other boys when he was five and told her he wanted to marry his best friend. Then she told him never to tell his dad. It's strange, because he can’t remember her saying that she loved him, even though he’s sure she did. Did she? Huh.

At least the painful memories he gets to keep. Neil beating’s. Beating up on Harrington that night he didn’t know what was going on. The car crash before his mind was taken from him. Max’s terrible scream of “Billy” mixed in with the ear-ringing pain. Waking up in a hospital with starburst scars across his body. Skin that isn’t his. They remind him not to get to comfortable, remind him that the kindness he’s being shown isn’t well earned.

Because Billy knows he wasn’t worth those hospital bills and sleepless nights. All he’s done to the people here is hurt and scar and he’s seen them with the deepest kind of fear in their eyes. Fear because of him.

Everytime he goes down a path like this, he tries to stay clear of everyone. Because. They all tried to hide how much hurt he’s caused. They don’t blame him like they should.

He didn’t know any of them well before. But he knows El didn’t always carry around that police badge or look up at every siren, praying for a familiar face only to be disappointed and try not to show it. Because if Billy survived, couldn’t the more-deserving Hopper? Apparently not.

He knows Joyce didn’t always search for Will in every setting and have those folded up pictures of the two men that died because of all the shitty things that happened. Because she can’t stand to forget their faces or not carry that burden for just a second.

Will didn’t always get quiet every time a draft went through the room or refuse to go out that front door first. Because so many things have been ruined for him.

The rest of the kids didn’t always jump at every noise or bunch together for every corner, carrying lucky momentous and items. Because God forbid they have a break.

He doesn’t see them a lot, but Nancy and Jonathan definitely didn’t carry around an emergency kit everywhere they went, packed with medical supplies and Nancy’s choice gun. Because they’re going to be there to help if anything tries to take another person they loves away.

Some part of Billy reasons that it’s not all his fault. He wasn’t one of those scientists or government agents that started the whole thing.

But he did enough. Enough to warrant all the shit that he’s going through. It’s not the healthiest way of thinking, he’s aware of that, but it helps him get by.

No matter how hard he tries, though, there’s always someone at the house that finds him. Curled up into a ball, dry hitching sobs and no tears because “Hargrove men don’t cry.” Billy gets damn close sometimes, but the fear that Neil’s going to come out from the cracks in the wall and kick him where he lays is too real.

There are usually soft words.

“We don’t blame your here, honey. That wasn’t you, that did all that stuff. And I’m not going to let anything else bad happen to the people under this roof.” Joyce’s strong and sure voice, only breaking at the edges.

“I know what it’s like to have him control you like that. I know better than anyone else, and I know how scary it is. Mom says it’s over now, though, and I can’t feel It anymore. I would tell you first if It came back.” Will never says anything more than that, which is comforting in itself. It’s nice to have someone else.

“They lost. You’re here. I’m here. Will’s here. It is safe.” El’s statement is simple, but she makes it easy to believe.

He believes them until he gets another new memory of what he did. The Mayors blood on the floor. Heather’s petrified screams. Standing before that thing and feeling nothing but a perverse sense of but awe and, buried beneath that, a screaming sense of horror and the constant feeling of slipping in the sand.

There are times, like right now, when he doesn’t want someone to make him feel better. He wants someone who can drive him away from here and sit in an empty parking lot and smoke away the thoughts. Someone like Steve.

He would do it himself. He would. But he can’t. Can’t get over that fucking gas pedal. So he calls Steve.

They’ve done this enough times for it to make sense for Billy to have Steve’s number memorized. And his work schedule. And to know when he with Dustin or Robin or any of the others on one of those group outings Billy can’t bring himself to go to. There are too many sad faces, too many broken homes.

It doesn’t matter what he wears. It’s just Steve, and they’ve gotten past the point of caring about things like that.

Which. Is obvious to anyone who looks at Billy, not that he sees anyone. He’s lost a lot of weight. Muscles that used to be defined are gone, replaced by scars. He can’t get them back yet, because he’s not strong enough to lift any of them. And because muscles like that can hurt and hit. His eyes are surrounded by heavy bags, bloodshot and tired. The new callouses on his hands are mostly scars from anxiety ridden breakages, and the pained nails are because El wanted to try the new dark blue out. His hair is greasy and flat, nowhere near what it used to be. It hangs around his shoulders in curled waves, so far from where he used to be.

He doesn’t even try to smile to the sad reflection in the mirror.

Steve doesn’t honk when he arrives. The first time he did that and the noise sent Billy spiraling, and Steve had felt terrible, cussing up a storm that actually helped Billy out of it. Luckily, it was just Billy home and no one else was there to witness they’re collective train wreck.

Before he leaves, Billy grabs something from the bathroom and stuffs it in with the rest of the random shit he brings.

Billy slides into the passenger seat, leans his head back against the headrest, and says, “So, Harrington, how you been?”

Steve, mercifully, looks the same as always. He looks good, the asshole. It’s a relief that he’s still able to feel that fire Steve lights up. Different than all the other King’s from California. A few more scars, but they all have that. His shades are pushed through his hair, brown strands flopping over lazily.

“Same as usual, so fairly shitty and on the brink of breakdown. You?” It would be a normal conversation if Steve wasn’t completely serious, corners of his mouth only ticking up when Billy reaches over and bats at the band-aid charm hanging from the mirror. A joke from Billy to say sorry for, you know, almost beating him to death for no real reason.

“Oh, you know.” He doesn’t need to say more for Steve to get the idea. It’s the same way they’ve been feeling for months now.

“Yeah.” The car ride over isn’t far from the Byers’ house, and they spend it in almost silence. Some pop station is playing low on the radio.

“This the shit you listen to, pretty boy? I expected more than this.” It’s an attempt at normalcy, something that they’ve slowly been working up to.

“At least I don’t blast out my eardrums every time I want to listen to music,” replies Steve quickly, smile evident in his tone.

And it’s normal. It’s them. The way they were before it all got so messy. For that brief moment, there’s no winter night or july 4th. For a brief moment Billy can entertain a reality where he went to the find Steve instead of a fight. A world where Steve, with those pretty eyes and snap remarks, could hold his hand and stop him from doing all the bad things in the future.

But the moment passes. Steve clears his throat and looks forward at the road.

They arrive to the quarry, water at the bottom glinting, tossing, teasing. The car doors slam shut, and they slide up on to the front of the car. Billy pulls his last minute grab out of the bag and hands it to Steve.

“I want you to cut my hair.” Steve takes the scissors and towel in his hand, looking at Billy.

He doesn’t ask if Billy’s sure. Billy figures that Steve knows at this point he wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t real. If Billy wasn’t sure. Steve cards a hand through Billy’s hair. It feels. Good. Real good.

Steve starts cutting, and Billy winces at the sound of the scissors closing around his hair. His past.

“I like to think it isn’t just part of me.” The comment comes out of nowhere, surprising Billy more than it surprises Steve.

“What?” Steve’s voice is calm, the sniping of the scissors is methodical.

“The anger. The aggression. The tendency to hurt. I like to think it’s not in my nature, but my nurture.”

“I don’t think you’re violent.” It’s a laughable statement.

“You’re joking. Did you forget most of last year? I’m the one with the bad memory here, Harrington.” Billy can practically hear Steve’s disapproving mother’s frown behind him.

“That wasn’t you.”

“Right, sure, whatever, bullshit. But what about…you know. Last winter.”

“What happened before that?” asks Steve patiently.

“Jesus, you’re worse than Joyce. My dad sent me after Max. Found her at Byers’ place with you. Hurt you a whole fucking lot.”

“Is that all he did? He just told you to go after her?” Billy ignores the way his stomach does flips when Steve runs a hand through Billy’s hair, straightening it out.

“So you’re my fuckin’ therapist now? What do you want me to say? He kissed my head and sent my on my merry way? That’s now how he works. I’ll admit, I was saved by his new wifey. He can’t use me as a punching bag when she’s standing right there, not like he did with mom. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Nothing worse than what you’ve done to me. And the insults weren’t too bad either. He forgot to call me a fag.”

“Oh. Shit, Billy, I-“

“It’s fine,” cuts in Billy, hating the pity in Steve’s voice. He’s not the one who should have it.

“You didn’t deserve that.” This time it does make Billy laugh. It’s a hollow and haunting sound, an echo of his charming boyish laugh.

“Sure I did, dipshit. You’re probably one of the people who knows best why I did, in fact, deserve it.”

“So then I’m the best person. to tell you that you aren’t that person. You haven’t been that person since you left him and all of that shit. Let me ask you something. Do you want to hurt people now?”

“No!” Billy startles himself with his sudden enthusiasm, and Steve jumps a little behind him. Steve is quicker to recover, though, and he runs a hand through the hair he hasn’t cut yet. It’s soothing. Billy barely resists the urge to lean into it. Ask for more.

“Did you ever want to hurt people? Like really, truly want to see them hurt?” Billy has to think about the question. Steve deserves an real answer.

Flashes fly through his mind, bringing on too familiar emotions. Anger, a need to make someone, anyone, feel the way that he’s feeling. Fear that not having this power over people would make him weak. Horror at what he’s about to do. Detachment, painful as he grinned and laughed.

“I just wanted to have control. Take some of the hurt I was feeling and give it to other people. It was a rush that I was addicted to. The thrill of the fight, the feel of flesh against my fist, the look of blood on my knuckles. I liked fighting, still do. I didn’t like hurting people.” Steve puts the scissors down on the car hood, fluffing Billy’s hair and sliding down next to him.

“I’ve been on the wrong side of the fists of two people I’m now okay with,” admits Steve. “Believe me, I know now to take a beating. I’ve been heartbroken by two other people I’m close friends with. I forgive too easily.”

“So you’re a compulsive truster and I’m a compulsive fighter. What a pair we make, huh Harrington?”

“Yeah.” agrees Steve, bumping his shoulder against Billy. “What a pair.”

Maybe it’s the haircut. Maybe it’s the sunlight confessions. Maybe it’s how carefree and happy Steve looks. But Billy feels lighter. Like there was this unspoken weight he had been carrying around that no one knew about. Or everyone knew about, but couldn’t help.

The thing is, Steve didn’t even say anything. He didn’t promise a better future, he didn’t say that he was safe. He shared some of the personal pain they all carry around.

“I don’t think I ever said sorry. I am sorry, you know. I. I didn’t-“

<i>Mean to hurt you. Want to hurt you. Mean to let you see how much I hurt. Want to need you.</i>

“I know. I’m sorry too. Someone should’ve known. About you.” Steve leans closer, and Billy chalks it up to the night chill as the sun settles below the glistening rocks.

“I was good at hiding things I didn’t want people to see.”

“Yeah, well you’re not alone there either.”

“You good at hiding, pretty boy?” Billy’s eyes flick down to Steve’s lips, and, is Billy imagining it or is Steve looking at him the same way?

“Apparently not good enough,” jokes Steve. His smile falls off of his lips, and he leans minutely closer. If Billy wasn’t paying attention to all of Steve…

The way his hair glows white and gold in the sunset. That wrinkle between his brows. The way one of his eyes is a little darker than the other. How he smells like cigarette smoke and that fancy hairspray, even when his hair is blown from the wind.

The way he looked that night. Cool and collected, then terrified and fighting for his life. So beautiful in the harsh starlight and then so abstract in the broken kitchen light.

Before he knows what’s happening, Steve is filling that gap. Kissing Billy like he’s trying to sooth the pain from their past. Maybe he is. Billy wouldn’t put it past him.

His hand finds a way to Steve’s hair, the same way Steve’s been running his through Billy’s now shorter hair. He curls it into the strands, holding on tightly. Soft.

The way Steve sighs his name takes Billy away from it all. The pain. The memories. The lack of memories.

They lay out under the stars for a few minutes, but Billy knows Joyce will freak out if she can’t find him. Not because she doesn’t trust him, he has to remind himself, but because she doesn’t trust others.

On the drive home Steve plays that pop stuff again, and Billy gives him the appropriate shit for it, a smile on his face the whole time. His fingers laced through Steve’s.

They arrive at the house, and Steve declines to come in. Gives the excuse that his parents will be waiting up when they both know it’s not true. Billy can’t blame him. Billy understands needing to be alone, needing to get away.

Billy leans through Steve’s window and wished that he could kiss him goodbye. Well. The teasing will have to do.

“Night, King Steve.”

“Goodnight, Asshole.”

If Joyce gives him a knowing smile at the door, Billy doesn’t smile back. Probably.

He definitely does. Maybe he deserves the smile. If Steve thinks he does.

[maplecornia]

chapter 28

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 2.13K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: Jin looks kind of like a vampire in my banner ngl

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags:@kookaine |@fangirl125reader |@kookiebbyxx |@taradevonne |@rae-bear |@mangminnie |@pixiekooo

What does he know?

You find yourself spacing out as you stand at the printer, waiting for Namjoon's schedule.

Just when you thought you had found some normalcy to your already chaotic life, you find yourself here. Biting your bottom lip, you groan, falling on top of the printer, the warmth as it sparks to life easing you even if it's for a little while.

"Why me?" you murmur, your brow furrowed and eyes glistening with helpless emotion. "Why now?"

What happened to the auditions you had sent before? In a time where you believed that you could achieve your dream without anything or anyone else holding you back. Were you not good enough then?

What makes you good enough now?

Groaning, you slide off the printer and run your hands through your hair. Your neat look has been thoroughly rumpled, just like your day, and you wonder if there will ever be a time where you're allowed to breathe.

Where you're welcome to let go.

With the small slip of paper sliding out of the printer, you grab it and turn swiftly around, ready to take it to Namjoon.

If only life were easier.

With a sharp cry, you bump into a couple of people walking by, and scalding hot liquid splatters between the two of you. A bitter, almost pitch black liquid soils your shirt and destroys the schedule you hold in your hands.

Coffee? Again?

Sighing, You wipe some of the drops off your face before glancing up to see if the pair is all right.

It's two girls and from the looks of it, they seem to be staff themselves, perhaps working on the publications team. You try to catch a glimpse of their badges, but they're moving too much and you can't get a good enough look.

However, you're able to catch a glimpse of their features perfectly fine. One of them is tall, with a soft tan to her smooth skin, and darker features. She has obsidian eyes that glitter when the light catches them and a square jawline that matches her demanding aura. Her hair is long and straight but looks soft to the touch. She doesn't wear many expressions on her face, however, and looks to be a bit standoffish. She would be hard to get close to.

The second one is the one who was carrying the coffee and though her face is pulled into one of disgust, you can tell that she's gorgeous. She has soft honeydew skin and almond butter eyes. Her face is perfectly symmetrical, and her lips full and glossy. Her eyes are large and wide, a deep brown color, with long dark eyelashes brushing against her cheek each time she blinks. They would otherwise be beautiful if they didn't sparkle with hatred and malice.

After a moment, you recognize what you've done; panic rising in your throat, you scramble to do something. You quickly reach for your emergency towels, but you've left your satchel in your small office. Cursing silently underneath your breath, you reach down to pick up the discarded cup and help her as best as you can.

"I'm sorry I--"

"Watch out will you?!"

Stunned, you step back, not sure what to do. It's been a while since you've been yelled at like that. A while since you've felt that shock. Swallowing hard, you shake it off and proceed to pick up the cup, keeping your distance.

Maybe it's better to just leave her alone.

"Wait..." at the sound of her voice, you look up, rather disinterested. "Who are you?"

Rolling your eyes, you turn to the trash can. You can't believe you expected an apology. Her friend, the one who was helping her clean up, peers at you before nudging her.

"She's who we were talking about, remember? Jaejin's replacement."

At the mention of your friend's name, your ears perk, and you drop the coffee cup in the trash can. Just what have they been saying about you two? Biting the inside of your cheek in annoyance, you turn around, facing them head-on.

"Oh!" The coffee girl's eyes widen. She looks you up and down as though inspecting a piece of meat. Her lip curls as she turns to her friends, eyes darkening with disgust. "Why didn't they ask one of us? She's hardly experienced."

You raise an eyebrow. Do they think you can't hear them? The dark beauty shrugs, her black eyes dull with disinterest.

"I heard she knows Jaejin. He gave her the post."

You try to be angry, you try to deny the accusations...but they aren't wrong.

Somehow, that makes it worse.

"Who is she, a colonizer?!" Ms. Coffee scoffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. You try not to flinch, but you can't control it. You swallow hard, curling your hands into fists at your sides.

"Besides, isn't Jaejin dating Mijeong?"

Your breath stops as you hear the words, the same words Sunoh said when you met him. The same words which remind you of everything you have lost.

If they continue to speak, you don't listen, you can't hear them. The roar starts in your ears as your blood rushes to your head, and spots cloud your vision. You can't see, you can't think, you can't function.

Why is it still so hard?

Why can't you let go?

You feel yourself begin to sway as the room swirls into fragments of time and space, and you lose sight of where and who you are.

The only thing left is pain.

Always pain.

"Who says he isn't?" The hand wrapping itself securely around your shoulder, the soft calming voice at your ear, brings you back to reality and you're able to breathe again.

"Jojo?" The tall dark beauty's eyes widen and she steps back a bit. It seems as though she's started a fight she won't be able to finish. Jojo narrows her eyes, her hand tightening around your shoulder as she pulls you behind her in a protective gesture.

"What's going on here?"

"Nothing." Miss Coffee quickly intervenes, sending a wide smile your way. One that somehow comes across as menacing, matching the anger in her eyes. "Just a careless newbie is all."

Her voice is dripping with sarcasm and her friend beside her pinches her in her side, whispering something incomprehensible in her ear. The Coffee Girl shakes her off, growing furious by the second. You narrow your eyes her way. This has to be more than a stupid coffee spill, but what could she possibly have against you?

"Come on, Jojo. She's the one in the wrong. If it were any one of us, you wouldn't give a second look." She snarls before turning to you and reaching around Jojo to push you backward.

"Ya!" Jojo cries out in surprise, stepping in front of you, but not before the damage is done. Caught off guard, you stumble back into the printer. Her friend gasps, and steps back. You wonder if she's considering removing herself from the equation. Pulling yourself up, you glare at her before stepping forward.

"What's your problem?" you hiss, your hands clenching at your side to try and contain your anger. Jojo steps in front of you once more, just in case you decide to start swinging some punches. Frustrated, you push her aside. It's not like you're going to do anything. Jojo sends you a sideways glance, but you ignore her, focusing on the target in front of you. “What are you, a child?”

"Did you hear something?" The girl smirks, nudging her friend beside her who swallows nervously. You don't know why, but that only makes you angrier, and you consider stepping across Jojo to smack some sense into her. Instead, you deepen your glare and roll your eyes.

"Pathetic..."

Are you wrong? She's acting like a child. So naturally, your snide comment doesn't sit well with her. Eyes widening in anger, she raises her hand to slap you across the cheek, and you flinch.

But the strike never comes.

Opening your eyes slowly, you turn to find someone has come in between the two of you, hand wrapped tightly around the girls. You look to Jojo, half expecting the source to be her...but it's not. Her eyes are wide and she seems to have frozen.

So then who?

"Now now." Your eyes widen at the voice and your heart starts pounding hard in your ears as he steps in front of you, shielding you. The girl stares up at him with shameful fear, as though her entire world has just been shattered. "You should really watch your temper."

He drops her hand and she steps back, her friend catching her from behind.

"You never know who might be watching."

He gestures to the room, at the groups of people watching, whispering to each other. They don't hide their interest, nor their disgust as they send looks towards the girl.

Satisfied, he turns to you, a reassuring smile breaking out on his face. The same face known and cherished worldwide. Up close, it's even more unreal.

Kim Seokjin.

"As you said, Yen is new, and when you were first starting out, you made way more mistakes believe me." Jojo snaps, her eyes glittering with anger as she turns to Coffee. She steps forward, leaning beside her ear.

"I would be careful who you make an enemy, sweetheart." She whispers harshly, loud enough for anyone close to the two of them to hear. "Namjoon quite likes his assistant, wonder what he'd do if something happened to her."

Though the threat wasn't directly said, it's clear what Jojo meant and as she pulls back, smiling sweetly; the girl's pale face tells you that she clearly understood.

"Is that all then?" Jin says from beside you, causing you to jump. When did he get so close? The girl glances at the two of you and seems to grow furious at the sight. Her pale face quickly flushes with anger and she scowls before storming away, ramming her shoulder violently into yours before she goes; her friend scuttling after her.

"Ya!" Jojo calls, but the girl is already gone, and you don't mind. Scoffing, she shakes her head before turning to you. "So immature...what are we kids?"

You don't respond, instead, you turn away from the pair of them, finding your printed schedule discarded and drenched on the ground. Sighing, you pick it up, holding it gingerly in your hands.

Everything soiled.

"Now I have to start all over."

Behind you, Jojo and Jin give each other a look before Jojo kneels beside you and places her hand on your shoulder. When you don't look at her right away, she peers into your face and you turn to her, your face blank.

"Yen, are you alright?" you nod before pulling away, throwing the schedule in the trash can.

"I'm fine."

Jojo sighs before standing as well.

"Why didn't you stop them?" you pause at the question.

Why didn't you stop them? You're not sure you know yourself. You wanted to, you wanted to fight back...

But you have no fight left.

Sighing, you shake off the feeling of despondency before turning to her and smiling weakly.

"Were they wrong?" Jin furrows his brow in concern at the phrase. He tries to read your expression, understand what's wrong but it's near impossible. You've closed yourself off to everyone around you, and while you try to act tough, you're afraid. Sighing you turn away from them, unable to handle the pitying looks. "Besides, I don't have to answer to them."

I don't have to answer to anybody.

After a moment, Jin walks to your side and places his hand gently on your shoulder. Surprised, you flinch away from his grasp, but it doesn't phase him. He looks down at you with a somber expression before noticing your drenched shirt. You follow his gaze and the heat of embarrassment floods your cheeks. You quickly fold your arms across the stain, acting as though it doesn't exist. He smirks a little at the attempt.

Now she...she's interesting.

"Jojo?" He calls, still staring at you, and you narrow your eyes.

What is he expecting, a cookie?

"Would you mind printing out the schedule for Ms..." His eyes search for your badge before he locates it and takes it, reading your name. "...Lin today?"

Jojo nods but looks towards him a bit perplexed.

"Sure...but what are you planning to do?"

Smiling he twirls your ID in his hand before you snatch it away from him which only makes his smile grow wider. Taking your hand, he turns and pulls you behind him, Jojo staring at the two of you in shock.

"I'm going to help her change."

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: another BTS member encounter! and yes, it's the cliche stop of the slap, shut up 🙄

chapter 29 here

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