#king is so incredibly weak to being called dad. he knows he's going to regret this but he cant say no to purple

[i3utterflyeffect]

i talked about this last night and immediately was like 'no. i have to draw this scenario actually'

chosen also does not understand the power of family and using it to beg your parental figure for something

(reblogs > likes)

[quillquiver]

DeanCas Coda to 15x13: Destiny’s Child

It takes a good hour to calm the kid down.

He’s snotty and hiccupping by the end of it; exhausted in the way toddlers are after a tantrum. Breathing deep with Dean’s hand on his back, he’s hunched over with his face buried in his own hands. Cas, seated precariously on the corner of the table, runs fingers through his hair while Sam slides a glass of water in front of him.

When they finally make it out of the kitchen, it’s with Jack glued to Dean’s side and his hand fisting the edge of Cas’s coat. He only lets go when he absolutely has to, though he keeps up a steady stream of apologies for everything from leaving out the milk to killing Dean’s mother.

“I know,” Dean says, mouth moving in time with the ache in his chest.

Jack shakes his head viciously. “You don’t. Dean, I’m so sorry—”

By the time Dean is back in the kitchen, he’s fucking exhausted. He’s moved on from beer and broken into the Blue Label, pouring himself a generous two fingers while Sam gives him the concerned-puppy-dog look. That’s fine. Sam didn’t have to deal with an enthusiastic clone and a broken kid today.

When Cas waltzes into the kitchen a few minutes later, Sam, with all the subtlety of a fucking freight train, clears his throat and leaves the room. It takes everything for Dean not to roll his eyes. Instead, he attempts to drown himself in his drink.

“So, are we going to talk about it?” Cas asks.

Dean sighs. “Talk about what?”

“The fact that you left me behind again, and then called me an idiot when mine was the only plan that worked.”

“You are an idiot,” Dean mumbles to his glass.

“Dean—”

“What?”

The look Cas shoots him is so full of disbelief and hurt that Dean can’t fucking look at him anymore; this is one thing he will not apologize for. If Cas, the king of self-sacrifice, wants a gold medal for almost killing himself to get a knock-off golden snitch, he can find someone else.

“I thought we were passed this—”

“You thought we were passed me being cool with you asking the kid to almost murder you when you were supposed to be holding down the fort?”

“Jack is perfectly capable—”

“I don’t give a shit if he’s the most capable person on the entire goddamn planet, Cas! What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking that I would retrieve the location of the occultum!”

“You should’ve waited—”

“Waited? When I told you to wait you didn’t listen. You never listen. You always leave me behind—”

“BECAUSE YOU DO THIS. EVERY DAMN TIME.”

Cas steps back like he’s been stung, gearing up to yell him into next week as Dean slams down his glass, gets up, and stalks into his space. “No—no, shut up for a second. You… you’re goddamn menace. Half the time I’ve known you, all you’ve done is leave: for Heaven, for a mission, for what-the-fuck-ever. You go. You die. You fucking leave me—”

“And I haven’t been left? Don’t talk as if you’re blameless in all this. You’re the most stupidly reckless, foolhardy—”

“Oh trust me, Cas, I know you think I’m the world’s biggest asshole—”

“—As if I’m useless, as if I can’t protect you—”

“And who’s gonna protect you?”

They’re nose-to-nose, now; so close, Dean can smell the ozone and fresh-rain smell off Cas’s coat. Despite being celestial, he always smells lightening and earth.

“I don’t need protection,” Cas says. “I’m an angel. I’m your guardian—”

“My guardian—”

“Yes—”

“You moron.”

Dean’s imagined how this would go a thousand times; in the early hours of the morning, during a hunt, in the middle of an argument… every time, he kisses Cas rough and claiming and they just—they just devour each other. It’s violent and hot and after they fuck like bunnies everyone lives happily ever after.

It doesn’t happen like that.

Dean kisses Cas, and Cas is soft.

Cas bends like he’s been waiting for this his entire goddamn life, his hands firm and grounding and he’s not weak, never weak, but pliable and warm and it’s so… nice. He’s so nice. He’s just. He’s.

Nice.

“You’re a moron,” Dean says as he pulls away.

Cas is somewhere between ecstatic and stunned. “Don’t call me that,” he replies faintly.

“Fine,” Dean murmurs. “You’re—awesome.”

I found it.

What?

It.

“And you’re, y’know… great.”

You’re lucky.

“You’re my friggin’ family. You.”

Living here with your family. Your brother, your son, your lover.

Dean swallows thickly. “And I—”

My dad would have disowned me.

Cas kisses him quiet. His eyes are glassy in a way Dean wasn’t expecting when he pulls away, his brow furrowed and lower lip caught between his teeth. He looks happy and haunted all at once, and this right here, this is Dean’s worst nightmare: Cas not feeling the same, Cas feeling like he has to reciprocate. When Dean swears under his breath and turns around, Cas grabs his hand and laces their fingers. “Dean, I—”

“It’s cool, I don’t wanna force you.”

“You’re not forcing me. I—”

“Look, you don’t… love me back or whatever. It’s fine. This ain’t high school, Cas, I’ll get over it.”

“I don’t want you to,” he says urgently. “I just—I have something to tell you. But you’ve made so incredibly, wildly happy, Dean, you have. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, and it’s wonderful and I hate it—”

“Hate it?”

“I—”

The room suddenly feels… empty. Like all the warmth and light has been sucked from it leaving nothing at all. Dean whirls around, squeezing Cas’s hand as he steps protectively in front of him. Whatever creepy fuckface decided now was the time for a social call is gonna seriously regret it.

“Hiya, Clarence.”

[border-spam]

Leech Lord: Regret

Tyreen

Regardless of how much of herself The Leech has eaten away, how difficult it is for her to remember what empathy felt like or the way feeling sadness for another person burned the back of your eyes and throat in a way you could never really sooth, Tyreen will never forget how much she regretted lying to Troy about Pandora.

It's not the being here she regrets, I mean, things turned out incredibly. Look at them, Godhood is their destiny... it's remembering that first week planetside. Remembering the slash of that glass bottle across her face, or the scream that was either Troy's or the Bandit's she husked in defense for the first time as both twins stared on in horror, or sitting in that rancid filthy shack, watching her brother die.

Ty hadn't been sick in so long that she couldn't recall what it felt like anymore, and Troy? Well, he was sick all the time, but nothing like this. This was disease ripping through a body with no protection, no immune system grown over a lifetime to fight it back. Neither of them had considered what illnesses would be waiting on a planet they'd never visited after all, they'd no medical experience bar what the ancient E-Doc onboard droid on Dad's old ship had been able to share from databases so corrupt with age that it barely functioned anymore.

She'd sat with him for 2 days, completely helpless, terrified. Watching him vomit up blood streaked bile and gasp for air between painful retching spams, nothing left in his stomach bar the water she'd try and force into him every hour. Not even clean water just.. muddy filth, but it was all she could find in the barren wasteland of those flats. She'd scrabble out into the desert every couple of hours when he’d lose consciousness again, and find anything she could leech. Dry half dead plants, insects, mangled roadkill still dragging in twitchy breaths, anything she could pump back into him and hope he'd heal.

He didn't. 

Troy would wake and be incoherent, rapidly flip between spewing hate at her for MAKING HIM COME HERE when he'd told her so clearly it was a stupid fucking idea, when he'd said they would die... and begging her to forgive him. Apologising, reaching out to shakily grasp at his sister's hand as he stumbled over his words and tried to let her know how sorry he was that it hadn't worked, that the natives had rejected them. It was his fault. He hadn't researched, he hadn’t written her dialogue right... his script let them down.. he’d..

She never forgives herself for the betrayal of what she did to him, even years later. 

God Queen Tyreen still wakes up some nights remembering the stink of his blood and vomit and sweat in that shack, and those are the mornings he finds poorly prepared breakfast ready on his kitchen table, or a scrawled note that seems so out of character - thanking him. 

Genuine, heartfelt words reminding him how much she loves her twin... Even though she forgets so quickly after.

Seifa

She left friends to die once.

Well, not “friends” friends. Not like the friends she's grown over time since, but people still. Living people who'd expected her to protect their backs even though she'd been clear that wasn't going to happen, that if shit went south she was gone. It had, and she'd done exactly as she said, but their faces... man.

She's alive and they aren't. That's how it goes. That's the long game.

She can't remember their second names but she remembers what they looked like. Bavi and Cass, pair of small time smugglers she'd run trades with for a couple of years, played poker with, shared leads with... They'd convinced her this was a good call. She'd said it hadn't been. They'd argued there was nothing to worry about, she'd told them there was.

She'd gone along anyway. Stupid kid, barely 20. Idiot. She'd gone along because they told her they needed her skills, when what they actually needed was a gun behind them and someone a hell of a lot more competent than Seifa.

She'd told them it would go sour, she'd tried to catch their attention from the corner of their eyes as they buttered up the supplier they were keen to fleece, despite his companions subtly moving to palm their guns.

She'd tried, they hadn't listened, so she'd walked. Cut her losses there and then just before that powder keg ignited and she'd go down with them. They'd turned to pay attention far too late, shock and betrayal on their faces as the door closed behind her with one final glance.

She'd heard the gunshots before she made it to her ship.

But she's alive and they aren't. That's how it goes. That's the long game.

Troy

A million faceless, nameless people have suffered directly under God King Calypso in one way or another. He's done horrific things, and he's allowed even worse ones to take place.

In the back of his mind, there is usually a kind of excuse. They wanted it, or they themselves had done terrible things, or he truthfully wouldn't have been able to stop Tyreen anyway, or that's just how Pandora is, or...

The few things he cannot excuse are the ones that haunt him. The real failures, the real shame. Troy will never, for the entirety of his life, forgive himself for Jak-Knife, Ven, or Sei. It won't matter how much they reassure him. It won't matter if one day the tightness in their eyes when they reminisce about the original COV softens, he will take it to his grave.

Not just the slow trauma he knows he is responsible for regardless of how things had been, the abuse, the stress, the constant push for more and more from people who were already breaking themselves trying to give everything they could, but what happened after that. The visceral failures that are entirely his fault.

Jak-Knife's annointment... God. That had been meant to help. That had been meant to soothe burns and bolster a body into a fortress to match the soul inside, that had been meant to be a gift, and he'd done what instead? Tortured one of the most loyal beings he had ever known with a slow, agonising corruption.

Ven? He'd known. He'd seen the signs the Oracle couldn't, and still he'd not kept him underwing. Troy should have been a towering wall between Tyreen and Ven at all times, he knew he should have and yet he'd still travelled to Athenas without him. Had left him behind, unprotected and vulnerable in the Grand Cathedral. Ty had been a predator stalking the shadows of those halls, keen eyes watching for a weak link, an opportunity.. and Troy had practically dropped his friend into her waiting claws. One stupid, pointless, OBVIOUS mistake and it had been his Ven that had suffered for Troy's distraction.

Seifa? He catches her sometimes, out of the corner of his vision. The sadness as she stares at those scars on his neck. Her unspoken concern towards him. The whispered care to JK and Ven every time they meet, just before the smiles settle root and everything feels right. She's still carrying wounds for everyone, he can see it even if she can't, and Troy caused the injuries. 

She regrets for him.

He remembers Leda apologising on those nights where his ribs burned and the mangled tissue along his right ached from growth spurts it couldn't keep up with. He remembers her feeling at fault, like she'd made the cuts that disfigured him for the rest of his life.

He see's that in Seifa, and he regrets becoming his father after all.

Asks are Open!

[sprnklersplashes]

not beyond repair (20/20)

AO3. Also shout out to @vnirhaus who has been this story’s biggest cheerleader from the beginning. Thank you so much, bub.

August twentieth, 1990. Her last day at home.

All of her stuff is packed into a suitcase and cardboard box and stuffed into the back of her mom’s car, ready for to be loaded into the bus for an eight hour journey. Her closet is empty and her dressing table almost bare, only her nightstand and shelves still holding evidence that someone lived in this room. Not everything can fit in the back of her mom’s car after all. Her books are still on display and on her nightstand the framed photos and lamp sit as though she’s not going anywhere. If it wasn’t for those, you’d be forgiven for thinking no-one owned this room. The process was pretty tiring and took a lot longer than they thought it would, to the point where Veronica was just stuffing things in with no real rhyme or reason, shrugging off her mom’s warning that she’ll regret it when she has to unpack.

Her parents have been disasters this whole week. Her mom’s the worst offender by far. She hasn’t been able to enter Veronica’s room without waterworks being set off, or a long speech about how her baby girl is “all grown up” and how she doesn’t know where the time’s gone and what’s she even going to do when she’s gone. Veronica had rolled her eyes, swinging an arm around her shoulders and reminding her that there’s still that full-time job of hers to keep her busy and now that she’s gone there’ll be plenty of time for them to do everything they were too busy for. She just laughed at that. Her mom’s also been incredibly focussed on details, unsure if she has enough of this or that or if they need to make another trip to the store even though there’s not even enough room for an extra spoon in her box. Her dad’s been better, but that’s not saying much, given how he hugs her every chance he can get and lingers in her bedroom for longer than necessary, his eyes misting over before he turns and bolts.

Her parents are ridiculous. And she loves them for it.

Martha comes over for one last movie night. Well, that’s what she called it. Veronica’s not one for dramatics like that. It’s not their last, not by a long shot, even if the room is half-empty and she finds herself holding Martha’s hand tightly and pushing away all thoughts of tomorrow. It’s at least the last for a long while, and since Martha can’t sleep over thanks to her early morning start, they’re making the most of it. Across their laps is a feast bought straight from the 7-Eleven; plump and soft marshmallows, king-sized candy bars and jewel coloured candies, and next to Veronica is as many videos as they can play in the few hours they have together. It was no contest for what they’d watch first. 

“Wonder what movies they’ll be showing at Duke,” Veronica wonders out loud, squeezing a marshmallow between her fingers. “Probably some old French movie from the 1940s making some point about society.”

“What makes you think that?” Martha asks. “You’re going to college Ronnie. They have fun at college. My sister says so.” Veronica hums in acknowledgement, rubbing her cheek against Martha’s hand and popping the marshmallow in her mouth. “You’ll probably be watching all those new movies that the video store won’t get until next year.”

“Yeah but they probably don’t have Princess Bride there,” she reminds her. “And this movie is a damn masterpiece.” She squeezes her shoulder warmly, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I won’t even have anyone to cuddle with.”

“You better not,” she replies with faux sternness. When she looks up at Veronica, her eyes may be heavy and sad, but the lightness of her smile balances it. “I’ll share a lot of you. But not cuddling. That’s my thing.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she says, pressing her cheek to her shoulder as if to prove it. Outside her window, the sun sinks further down, bringing the day to its inevitable close. “You won’t miss me too much, will you?”

“Of course I will,” she replies firmly, turning her head to look at her, all wide eyes and soft cheeks and smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. That’s when the reality hits her, and oh boy does it hit hard “How could I not miss you? This is going to be my first first day since preschool without you.”

“You had to put it like that, didn’t you?” she asks. Her shoulders shake, her eyes prickling even as she laughs. “Oh my God.”

“I thought I would be the first one to cry,” Martha jokes, her voice cracking. Veronica leans over and wipes at her cheeks, her fingers coming away stained with black mascara. Martha looks over at the clock, chuckling at the time. “9:30. We made it a whole 90 minutes before losing it.”

“I’m proud of that,” she says weakly, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Come on. We’re not spending all of tonight crying.” Martha laughs and lifts over a bottle of nail varnish, insistent on doing her nails one last time before she goes. There’s a glow in Veronica’s heart as she expertly paints little daisies on her nails, her formerly insecure hands steady and careful. She tilts her head as she watches her, the years of friendship passing through her mind. She’s always said there’s nothing she’d ever change about her and she stands by that. But the way she is now compared to the start of this year, her chin up, her eyes sparkling and a smile having taken up a near-permanent residence on her face… it’s beautiful.

“I’m so glad I met you. Way back when,” she tells her, giggling a little as Martha’s cheeks go pink, despite being used to those words by now. She’ll never stop meaning them. If she didn’t have Martha, God knows who or where she’d be.

“I love you too,” she replies, squeezing her fingers gently. “Now sit still.”

There’s no doubt that she’ll meet a million and one interesting people at Duke. People from different states and even countries, people who will agree with her and talk with her and odds are she’ll get along with quite a few. She’ll have friends out there, out in the big wide world, and she’s sure she’ll like them, maybe love some. None of them will compare to Martha. None of them are going to be able to know her like she does or make her feel better with a touch of her hand. She won’t be sitting next to them in their backyard and wonder how she got so lucky to be with them. Nor will she be half asleep on their couch and wonder how she’ll survive without them.  She’ll make any number of friends at college, only time will tell. But Martha’s a Martha, and those are much harder to come by.

                                                                                                *****

August twenty-first, 1990. Dear diary…

And it’s then that Veronica suddenly realises, she’s nearly at the end of this diary. Sitting on the hood of her mom’s car, she flips through and finds only three blank pages left. When the hell did that happen? Just three pages for her to write on, the rest covered in her handwriting (and others, she had to keep up the forging practice somehow) and the occasional doodle. With nostalgia blossoming in her chest, and a little hint of heartache, she looks back over the past year and a half of her life. The life and times of Veronica Sawyer, Volume 17. A little more exciting than other volumes, she hopes setting the tone for the next one. She finds moments she could never forget-her first day of senior year, the day she betrayed Martha, her first night with JD, prom night-and then moments she’s surprised slipped her mind-her buying JD’s birthday present, the day she found out she got into Duke, buying prom dresses. All leading up to her last night in Sherwood, Ohio. She doesn’t read over that one.

Something in the back of her mind tells her to look up and when she does, there’s a figure at the end of her street, hurrying down towards her with the weak rising sun behind him, and she closes her diary. She can’t see his face, but she doesn’t have to. She knows there’s a scattering of freckles along the skin, dimples in his cheeks when he smiles, dark curls falling over his forehead, a crooked smile and strong cheekbones. And those eyes, those big dark eyes that make her heart melt even now. Sometimes sad, sometimes scared. And sometimes, a lot of the time, they’re happy, open and sparkling when he looks at her. And they’re always, always beautiful.

She pushes herself off the car and runs towards him, launching herself into his arms. She stifles a sob and presses her face into his neck, winding her arms tighter around his shoulders. He picks her up and she wraps her legs around his waist, wanting her press as much of her body as she can against him. To make a mark on every inch of his skin. He rocks her slightly as he holds her, his breath rushing through her hair and his arms tightening around her. He doesn’t chase her sadness away, nothing could do that, but he makes it feel okay. Like when she leaves, she’s not going to fall apart. He’s good like that.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” she teases. As if she’d ever doubt it. She finds his neck and presses a soft kiss to it, breathing him in. The smell of coffee and old books and fresh air. Before him, she hadn’t realised how a smell could feel like home.

“How could I deny the lady anything?” he asks her in a low voice, like he doesn’t want to disturb the quiet of her street. If people look out their windows, she thinks, what will they think when they see them, intertwined with each other, tangled together. His hands trace patterns on her back, chasing such thoughts away. The only person she wants to think about is him and the way their bodies fit together and how their hearts beat in unison against each other. She won’t think about anything other than the way he feels against her and how it makes everything feel right.

She once worried about losing him. Back then, she knew this was too good to lose and now she knows it is. Even if she knows she’s not losing him forever, part of it still feels like it is. No matter what happens in college, she’s still going to be counting down the days until she’s back with him.

God it’s going to hurt to leave this.

Eventually, he does put her down and she untangles herself from him, her arms achingly empty even though he’s right in front of her. She takes his hand, sliding her fingers between his and squeezing tightly, his hand warm, save for the coolness of his ring and made to hold hers.

“Come on,” she says, tugging him down the street, back to her mom’s car. She cranes her neck to see inside, no sign of her parents yet. He sits up on the car next to her, pulling her against him and kissing the top of her head. As he does so, she hears him sighing against her, tinged with just a little poorly-hidden sadness. She leans into his chest, pulling her legs against her chest and picking at her socks. There’s a pit forming in her stomach, one that grows bigger and deeper until she can’t ignore it, not matter how much he kisses her.

“Is it wrong that I kind of wish I wasn’t going?” she asks after a while.

“Yes,” he replies. “Absolutely. If you even think about turning this offer down I will never speak to you again.”

“Tough love approach,” she says. “I know.” She turns her head just enough to look out at the street, watching the black road slowly but steadily turning yellow with the rising sun.

“Have I told you how proud I am of you?” he asks gently, running his fingers up and down her arms.

“Only about fifty times,” she replies, a chuckle escaping her lips.

“Well here’s to making it fifty-one,” he whispers, his breath tickling her cheek. She reaches up and takes his hand, her fingers around his before pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist and pulling his arm over her body.  While reason tells her it’s impossible, she wishes there could be a world where they’re always this close, hip to hip, hands together.

She closes her eyes, the silence between them pleasant and somehow worth as much as all the words he’s said to her before. There’s so much in here, secrets they’ve shared and jokes only the two of them could get. It all settles around them like falling snow and it’s comfortable. She hadn’t realised that being silent with someone could mean so much, not until him.

“I got you something,” he says eventually, his own voice thick and shaking. “A little going away present.”

“J,” she sighs as he slides off the car. He holds up a little paper bag, something she hadn’t noticed before now. “You don’t need to get me presents.”

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t have, if it was me?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. She rolls her eyes, putting on a show of being annoyed, but she runs her fingers through his hair with a resigned sigh. She could never be annoyed with him. Even if he is right. “Knew it.”

“Jerk.”

He reaches into the bag and pulls out the present, biting his lip, nervous even now. That might change one day, but if it doesn’t, she’ll still find it endearing.

He presses a diary into her hands, bound in deep blue fabric with a white wolf carefully sewn onto the front, blue eyes looking out at her, secured with a silver buckle and blue strap. Along the spine is delicate silver thread, woven through the dark fabric and reminding her of a starry night sky. A thin silver bookmark hangs from pristine, carefully pressed white pages, all ready to hold her life story.

Just what she needed; she thinks with a shake of her head.

“JD… it’s beautiful,” she tells him, her bright eyes meeting his. She strokes the side of his face, her fingers curling against his cheek and his features glowing. Just a book, some people would tell her. A very generous gift, but it’s just a notebook. Nothing huge. And yet here she is, fresh tears in her eyes and her breath catching in her chest. “Thank you.”

“Here,” he whispers. With a gentle hand, he guides her hand to the buckle and undoes it, opening the book to the front. There on the inside cover, is his looped handwriting along with a drawing of a star, little lines of light shooting out from it.

“Property of Miss Veronica Sawyer,” she reads aloud, her shoulders shaking either from laughter or crying.

“Just in case you lose it,” he says. He takes in a deep breath. “And… so is this.” He takes her hand and carefully lifts it to his chest, placing it over his heart. His eyes never leave hers, even if they begin welling up as well. She can just feel his heart beating beneath her hand, confident and steady and hers. The idea excites her more than anything, him being hers. Forever, if she wants it. Her and JD for as long as she wants.

“JD… Jason,” she says in a low voice, her free hand on the back of his neck. She rubs her nose against his, their lips barely a breath apart. Her words desert her except for the most basic ones and she pulls him against her, her fingers tangling in his hair. She closes her eyes and takes his hand, their fingers intertwined. Neither one of them can guess what’s in store for them, but she’s certain that as long as she can come back to him, and him to her, then she can be okay with anything.

She could tell him all that. She could tell him that she loves him over and over again until they stop sounding like words and she could thank him and tell him that he’s made a mark on her that she couldn’t take away even if she wanted to.

Or she could show him.

Her lips are shy and gentle against his at first, bringing up memories of their first morning together, her in her underwear running to Heather and him coming with her. His hand rests on her back and the other on her waist, his grip gentle. She runs her fingers through his hair and down his cheek, her thumb stroking along his chin, her own touch feather-light.

She tilts her head, opening her mouth and deepening it, her hand curling into his jacket. He reaches up her back and toys with the ends of her hair, his hand slipping beneath and his fingers tangling in it. He gasps a little against her, his chest fluttering, and she giggles despite herself. She kisses him harder and harder again, all the while revelling in the way he tastes. Beneath everything else, beneath the passion and the love and the melancholy, there’s something that’s uniquely him, something she can’t quite explain, but she knows kissing someone else wouldn’t be the same. He’s the only one who can leave her wanting more each time he pulls away and leaves trails of goosebumps on her skin. He’s the only one who can makes her feel like there’s no ground beneath her.

“Veronica,” he whispers against her lips. He rests his forehead against hers, bumping their noses together. When she opens her eyes she sees the tear running down his cheek, and it takes him wiping at her cheeks for her to realise that she’s been crying too. There’s so much unsaid in his eyes and she hears it all.

“I know,” she says in a low voice, her hand finding its way to his heart. He touches his finger to the butterfly around her neck, the corner of his mouth turning up. She pokes the corner of his smile, hoping this moment is captured in her mind forever. When he kisses her again, there’s a lot more desperation in there and it’s feels more bitter than sweet. She leans back a little and his hand lingers on the band of her skirt, trying not to go beneath it.

“Imagine if we did it on your parent’s car,” he jokes breathlessly.

“We’ve done it in worse places,” she replies, chuckling. “Although I’m fairly certain that would get us arrested.”

“Worth it?” he asks, and she slaps his cheek playfully.

“Down boy,” she says.

“Veronica?”

“Shit.” Her mom’s voice carries over the garden fence and she jumps off the car, taking a step away from JD and hastily pulling at her clothes. Some things her mom definitely doesn’t need to know.

She catches him laughing and all she has time for is a dig in the ribs before her mom comes round sees them, her car keys dangling from her hand and her sunglasses on her head.

“Oh, Jason,” she remarks, beaming at him. “Nice to see you.”

“I just came to say goodbye to her, Mrs Sawyer,” he says, taking Veronica’s hand. Her mom’s face softens instantly, apparently forgetting their schedule.

“Well we should really get going… but you two take a few minutes. I have to check stuff in the car anyway.”

“The car is fine,” Veronica sighs, turning to JD. The pit in her stomach opens again, wider and deeper this time, threatening to suck down everything inside her. Still, she smiles up at him and it only grows bigger when he cups her face.

“Go show Duke how we do it in Ohio,” he tells her warmly, squeezing her cheeks gently. She grasps his shoulders, blinking away more tears.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” she replies.

“Oh you’ll be too busy having fun,” he scoffs. “You won’t even think about me.”

“Is that a bet?” she teases, making him chuckle. She lets out an unsteady breath, her hands tightening on him. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?”

“Trust me, you’ll get every detail of my boring life,” he promises, tapping her nose. Insecurity flashes in his eyes, a question he won’t ask on his lips.

“You will too,” she says anyway. “Emails. Letters. Phone calls. Everything. Starting tonight.” She looks over at her mom, seeing her glance at her watch and look at them with worry. She knows it’s time. Her head does anyway. Her heart is digging its heels in stubbornly. His gaze follows hers and, seeming to read her mind, he presses a strong kiss to her forehead.

“I love you,” she tells him, her eyes looking into his. “Jason Dean.”

“I love you too, Veronica Sawyer.” He runs his finger along the back of her hand, his touch tickling. “Ronnie.”

Somewhere in Westerberg Middle School, there’s a table in a geography classroom with their initials carved onto it. That’s where a little boy and a little girl fell in love, even if they didn’t know it yet.

She steps away from him, squeezing his hand one last time before getting into the car, still not taking her eyes off him. She waves at him through the window, her mom climbing into the driver’s seat beside her. He waves back, not stopping even after the car starts up and her mom pulls out of their street. She cranes her neck to keep looking at him, watching him get smaller until they turn a corner and he’s gone. Out of sight, never out of mind.

“Did he get you that?” her mom asks, gesturing to the book in her lap.

“Yeah,” she replies, stroking the wolf on the cover. “Going away present.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” she sighs. A tissue is pressed into her hand and she meets her mom’s eyes, sweet and sympathetic. “Bet you wish you could just put them in your pocket and take them with you, huh?”

Wouldn’t that be nice?

She turns her head and looks out the window. The sun filters through bushes and trees, creating patches of light on her legs and her face. Her mom turns on the radio, playing a song from before her time, one with a pleasant melody and sweet words. They pass the streets she knows like the back of her hand, the video store where she’s on a first name basis with the owner.

Dear diary, she writes on that first page, opposite JD’s message. There’s a huge irony in my life now. It’s not that I don’t want to leave, I do. That much hasn’t changed. I just didn’t count on how hard it was going to be to say good bye. Or how scared I’d be now. But that’s okay. If you don’t have a little sad or scared mixed in with the happy, you’re not human. And I have both, so good for me I guess.

“Be careful you don’t get carsick, hon,” her mom tells her absentmindedly. She nods, closing her diary and tapping her pen against the cover, but her thoughts don’t stop, the dust settling and buzz calming and slowing to a pace she can keep up with. She looks out at the road before her and the world in the distance, finding herself braver and calmer than she had felt this morning. And despite the pain in her chest and dried tears on her face would suggest, she’s happier too.

It’s not bad, this life she has. Sure it’s messy and unpredictable and doesn’t always work out the way she wants. Because if people love her the way they do and she can love them back, then that's more than enough for her.

[glittermork]

Modern Royalty AU pt. 3

part 1 part 2

Summary: Jaemin’s mom is suing the king.

(Alternatively: Renjun and Jeno finally have that talk they’ve been meaning to get to for the last three months, and Jaemin is alive.)

Jaemin hasn’t woken up in a hospital since he was seven and his father bashed an empty soju bottle over his skull. Back then, the scar had been cool and the schoolwork he’d missed was easily made up. His mother had been by his side crying when he’d woken up. His father had given him ten bucks and the new Spider-Man comic for lying to the nurse about how he’d gotten hurt.

Roughly sixteen years later, he wakes up to the sound of someone sobbing.

“Hnnngnhghn,” he says, and the sobbing stops with a choked gasp.

Jaemin peels one eye open and regrets it immediately. Sitting on Jaehyun’s lap on the left side of his bed is Taeyong. (Fuck. Jaemin doesn’t know how to deal with people when they cry! This isn’t part of his job!)

“Oh shit, he’s awake,” he hears Jaehyun mumble, and he just barely resists the urge to roll his eyes, (mostly because he suspects that it would really fucking hurt), as he struggles to sit up. Unfortunately, this is also the exact moment his body decides to let him know that there is a bullet hole in his fucking torso, and maybe he should take that into consideration when he tries to make any sudden movements.

Collapsing on the bed in an uncoordinated flop, Jaehyun smirks at him and Taeyong frowns. “Lay back down, you dummy,” Taeyong sniffles, collecting himself from his boyfriend’s lap. Jaemin would spare a thought to wonder why he’s not worried about being caught, if it didn’t feel like his entire body was on fire. He should probably stop jumping in front of bullets.

“Na Jaemin,” Taeyong begins his lecture, and Jaemin groans. “Do you have ANY IDEA how fucking worried we were about you? You almost died on the operating table! TWICE! I thought we were really going to lose you the second time! What the fuck!”

“I almost died again? Jesus,” Jaemin mutters.

Taeyong splutters. “The fuck do you mean—AGAIN?!”

“You know I had a job before this, right?”

“Well, yeah, of course, but—you know what? No. Shut up. I was worried! And I thought your mom was going to actually strangle my dad and—“

“Hold up, my mother is here?”

Taeyong stares back at him blankly. “You got shot, Jaemin. Of course she came.”

“Your mom is, like, really fucking mad at you, by the way,” Jaehyun says. Jaemin assumes he’s just here for Taeyong’s emotional support.

“Shut up, Jae,” Taeyong groans, drying his tears on his boyfriend’s sweater. “I’m gonna go get a nurse. Play nice or I’m not putting out for a month.”

“Damn,” Jaehyun mutters under his breath, and sits back down in his chair next to Jaemin’s bed. “Seriously, though, kid, the doctor handed your mom your nipple piercings in a plastic bag ‘cuz I guess they had to take them out for surgery or some shit and she fucking, lost her mind.”

“Great! Thanks, Jaehyun! That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, two minutes after waking up from a coma!”

“I didn’t know you had nipple piercings,” he continues, and Jaemin thinks this is maybe the last conversation he’d like to be having right now. He’s tired. and he misses Jeno and Renjun. “Aren’t you, like, five? I didn’t know they let toddlers get nipple piercings?”

“First of all, I’m twenty-three,” Jaemin grumbles, glaring at him. “And I’ve had them since I was eighteen, so fuck you.”

Jaehyun holds his hands up defensively. “Hey, you do you, man, all I’m saying is—“

Jeno and Renjun, of course, decide that it’s the appropriate moment to make an appearance. Seriously, fuck his fucking life. The door flies open, and standing there, in all their slightly-haggard, stayed-at-the-hospital-for-over-24-hours-glory, are the two (2) loves of his life. Jaemin kind of wants to go back to sleep.

“Fucking hell, Nana,” Renjun mumbles, and promptly bursts into tears. Jeno looks mildly alarmed but he’s also holding up his boyfriend with one arm and staring at his other boyfriend (they really need to have that talk) in a hospital bed, so, whatever. Together they sort of half-limp-drag-walk to the unoccupied side of Jaemin’s bed, and now Jaemin has to fight the urge to cry as well. So maybe getting shot is god-awful, but as long as these two are safe, he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“Please never do that again,” Jeno breathes, and buries his face in Jaemin’s neck. Jaemin wonders if maybe this is some sort of punishment from god or whoever the fuck is up there, for falling in love with the prince and the prince’s boyfriend. There’s no other explanation for why they’re both climbing into his bed, and crying on his shoulders and holding his fucking hands.

“Um. What is happening here?” Jaemin asks Jaehyun, who is currently taking pictures of them for his blackmail folder.

Jaehyun gives Jaemin the most deadpan look, and sighs. “There’s no hope for you.”

He’s about to make a weak retort, when Taeyong, followed by a line of medical professionals, the king, and his mother, burst into the room.

Jaemin sighs. It’s going to be a long morning.

—

“What I don’t understand,” his mother is saying, but Jaemin hasn’t been listening since she started ranting about the Pride photos again. “Is why you didn’t think to tell me that boys you were in love with were the prince that you’re supposed to be guarding and his boyfriend?”

Jaemin shrugs half-heartedly, and licks another spoonful of pudding. They’ve gone over this four times already. He wants to take a nap. He misses his. . . .charges. (Are Jeno and renjun considered his charges? Is that the right word for it? Does he need to maybe cool it with the pain meds? Yeah, probably.)

“Could you keep your voice down?” He winces, and glances out the door. It would honestly be the cherry-on-top of the bullshit-sundae, if he got fired for being in love with Jeno and Renjun after he quite literally just took a bullet for them. Maybe it’s what he deserves.

“Oh, shut up,” his mom rolls her eyes, brushing a lock of Jaemin’s hair out of his eyes, and kissing his forehead. “You know they love you back, right, baby?”

“Mom, I—“

“No, you listen to me, Na Jaemin.“ Shit, she full-named him. “Those two boys have been here since the moment you were admitted. They’ve been crying over you all night and all morning and if you think that doesn’t mean they love you too, you’ve got another thing coming, honey.”

“Mom,” he sighs, and closes his eyes. The Academy didn’t train him for this. “They love each other. I’m sure they were just worried about me because we’re friends. Or they felt guilty that I took a bullet for them. Which they shouldn’t, it’s my fucking job. I’m probably just—reading too far into things. They’ve been in love since they were, like, infants, you know? I can’t mess that up. And I don’t want to.”

His mom gives him an unreadable look, and huffs, shaking her head. “you always were too stubborn for your own good, baby,” she says, and pats his thigh.

“Mom,” he sighs, and hides his face in the sweatshirt Jeno had given him because ‘I know you get cold easily’, (Jaemin had practically swooned right on the spot). He’d looked nervously to Renjun after that comment, but the older boy was just smiling affectionately at both of them, hand easily continuing to stroke the hair at the nape of Jaemin’s neck, his other resting clasped with Jeno’s over Jaemin’s lap. The entire morning had felt unreal.

“Jaemin,” his mom sighs back in the same tone of voice, and gives his sweatshirt a pointed look.

So maybe they do have some things to work out. But he just can’t get his hopes up. He’s doesn’t know what he’ll do if they get crushed.

“Don’t give me that look,” he blushes, tugging the hood over his greasy hair, and grimacing. “When’s the soonest I can take a shower?”

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck replies, poking his head into the room to announce his arrival. “You should’ve thought of that before you jumped in front of a bullet, idiot.”

“Hyuck!” Jaemin grins, making grabby hands at the giant plushie Hyuck is balancing with a bouquet of sunflowers and what looks like the entire boxed set of Buffy DVDs Jaemin keeps in the back of his closet.

“What’s up, Nana,” he grins, handing his mother the flowers and setting the DVDs on his bedside table. “How’s my favorite little bodyguard doing?”

“Shut up, Hyuck,” Jaemin rolls his eyes, hugging the soft bumblebee plushie to his chest. “I'm guessing the flowers are from your other thirds?”

“Yeah, Mark said sorry he couldn’t be here, poor baby’s been arguing with the charity ball security team all morning. The plushie is from Jisung, though.”

“Yikes,” Jaemin winces, “tell him I’m sorry I can’t be there to help him. And I know it’s from Jisung, I got his for him for his birthday last year.”

Hyuck shrugs. “I forgot about your weird symbiotic relationship. Anyway, clean up is Mark’s best skill, Nana. Besides, you should tell him yourself—he hasn’t stopped anxiety-ing over you all morning.”

“Tell him the flowers are lovely, too!” His mother interjects, gathering her purse and jacket and kissing him on the forehead. “I’m gonna go get lunch and find that dumbass king of yours—“ “Mom! Promise me you won’t—“ “I’m not promising anything!” She finishes, calling over her shoulder as she swings out the door. Jaemin would be assed to stop her if he didn’t already know what a losing fight looked like.

Hyuck rolls his eyes, and peels open Jaemin’s other pudding. Jaemin just barely suppresses the urge to pout.

“What kind of shit are they feeding you in here, anyway?” He asks, licking the lid, and Jaemin slumps back onto his pillows.

“Mush.”

“Gross. Okay! I’m done with small talk, time for the real reason why I’m here: you took a fucking bullet for them.”

“Hyuuuuck,” he whines, smashing his face back into the bumblebee plushie to avoid Hyuck’s knowing gaze. “Can’t you just be a normal visiting friend and tell me I was brave or some shit?”

“Fine. You were brave! And incredibly fucking stupid! Now, please tell me how you call that ‘a little crush that I’ll get over eventually’?”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Jaemin mumbles into the pillow, “it’s kind of my fucking job.”

Hyuck sighs dramatically, and plops down on the newly-vacated chair. “Hopeless,” he mutters, and shoves another spoonful of low-fat pudding in his mouth.

—

The nurses had cut him off after two seasons of Buffy, so Jaemin and Hyuck had elected to play quiet music and talk about food. A subject neither of them could ever grow tired of.

Hyuck’s not really sure how that turned into this.

There are tears streaming down Jaemin’s face. It’s only two in the afternoon. The Weekend by SZA is playing for the sixth time in a row. Hyuck is five seconds away from murdering him in cold blood. His bullet wound kind of throbs but maybe it’s just his heart breaking into a million pieces.

“You’re not a side hoe,” Hyuck groans, snatching Jaemin’s phone and turning it off.

“Fuck you,” he sniffles, leaning back on the crinkly hospital pillows, “I’m a home wrecker. And I’m ugly.”

“You’re so incorrect about both of those things that I’m not gonna even respond to that! Okay, I think that’s enough phone-time. How about we just talk, okay? Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Jaemin sniffs. “Maybe,” he admits, sinking slowly into his pillow pile until the only visible part of him is his hair sticking out like an unruly tree branch.

Hyuck snorts. “Do you want to go to take a nap, baby?”

“Shut up.” Jaemin replies, and promptly passes out.

“Absolutely fucked,” Hyuck sighs to himself as he tucks the younger boy in.

—

Renjun has never been certain of anything as much as he and Jeno.

JenoJenoJeno. He could talk about him for days on end. He could wax-poetic about his eyesmile and his teeth and his hands for the rest of his life. Really, he plans to. Jeno, Jeno, Jeno. The boy he’s loved for as long as he can remember.  

And while Jeno is lovely and beautiful and Renjun’s very best friend in the entire world, he has a tendency to hang off Renjun’s every word. And while that’s, admittedly, fantastic, it’s not always what Renjun needs. Sometimes he needs someone to push back. Someone who can meet him blow for blow. Someone who’s not afraid to talk back.

In other words, Renjun needs Jaemin.

JaeminJaeminJaemin. His ears, his nose, his cheeks. Renjun could think about him for hours—days—weeks, on end. He feels like the wind is knocked out of him every time the bodyguard makes eye contact with him with that gorgeous smile. That smile. Renjun has dreams about it.

And, if his suspicions are correct, (fucking hell, please let them be) Jeno needs him too.

“So,” says Jeno after fifteen minutes of him and Renjun staring at each other across the unforgiving plastic benches of the hospital cafeteria.

“I think I’m in love with your bodyguard,” Renjun blurts out, and then immediately freezes.

“Oh, good,” Jeno sighs in relief. “Me too.”

—

“You can’t sue him,” Taeyong sighs for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Of course I can’t sue him,” Jaemin’s mom rolls her eyes. “He’s the fucking king. I’d lose in a heartbeat.”

“Then what, exactly,” Taeyong pinches the bridge of his nose, “was the point of you wasting my entire day?”

She shrugs, and takes a neat sip of the Diet Coke the prince had bought her after the first twenty or so minutes of arguing. “Just buying my idiot son some time to figure his shit out.”

—

Jaemin wakes up to the two people he’s most recently almost died for. It’s a pleasant surprise, considering he thought he’d be fired by now. Shit. Maybe they wanna do it in person?

“—min? You’re not listening to us at all are you?” Renjun chuckles, and Jaemin feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. So much for not being obvious. These meds are seriously fucking him up, huh?

“Jaem,” Jeno continues for Renjun, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand. Despite his better reasoning, Jaemin let’s his gaze rest painfully, just a second too long, on their clasped hands, and sits back against his pillows with a wince. Apparently, it’s time to be friend-zoned by the first people he’s been interested in since he was 20. What a sad end to a short career as a professional Kevlar vest.

“Jun, and I have finally had a talk, and—“We love you!” Renjun blurts out, and then promptly buries his head in Jeno’s shoulder as the prince chokes out a laugh in surprise. “Yeah,” he nods hopefully, staring expectantly at Jaemin as he scratches the back of his neck. “We love you. And we want you to be ours. That about covers it.”

Jaemin is absolutely floored. There are very few people in the world who Jaemin considers worthy of his complete love and protection, and two of them are standing here in his room looking at him like he’s the last piece to their 2000 set jigsaw puzzle, and this cannot be real.

He’s distracted from his own frantic, rambling thoughts by Renjun’s delicate, light fingertips brushing away a tear. That’s an interesting development, he hadn’t realized he’d been crying.

Through a few disgusting, choked out sobs, he manages to warble in his stupid, watery voice, “I love you too.” And then lips—he doesn’t know, and, frankly, doesn’t care who’s—are on his like a lifeline, and there’s nothing he feels like thinking about more right now, than how good it feels to finally, finally be complete.

In Renjun and Jeno’s strong, warm, arms, it feels like home.

—

There’s something to be said about the persistence of the paparazzi. Somehow, someway, they always know where to be to make the most absolute inconvenience of themselves and to make their subjects’ lives just that much less private. Truly, a marvel of a job.

There is also, however, something to be said about the sheer terror of going head to head with Jaemin’s mom.

“LISTEN UP, YOU FUCKING CREEPS,” she yells, and Jaemin doesn’t bother listening to the rest. “That was a pretty good start, I think,” Renjun comments, happily playing with the strings of Jaemin’s hoodie. He’s sitting on Jaemin’s lap and they’re both snuggled under the hideous blanket some nurse had draped over them when they’d gotten situated on the wheelchair. It still feels unreal to Jaemin, just as unreal as the sweet kiss Jeno drops on both of their foreheads as he skirts around them to deal with even more paperwork. Who knew even the prince’s bodyguard had to sign release forms?

“I can’t wait to get home,” Jaemin murmurs shyly into the base of Renjun’s neck, receiving a mouthful of soft, baby-pink turtleneck for his efforts.

“Me too, baby,” Renjun sighs, leaning further into his boyfriend’s embrace.

*click*

Their moment is interrupted by the snap of Jeno’s phone camera, as the prince shrugs at them sheepishly. “What?” He laughs, turning back to his paperwork. “It was perfect lock screen material, don’t judge me!”

Jaemin blushes, thinking back to his own lock screen, a picture of Jeno and Renjun he’d taken on one of their many forbidden, late-night, this-never-happened adventures. Renjun is on Jeno’s back, kissing Jeno’s cheek and holding up a peace sign, and Jeno is practically beaming at the camera, eye smile in full power. It’s Jaemin’s favorite picture of them ever, and he’s certainly spent an embarrassing number of nights staring at it desperately. Oh, if only he knew what was coming for him.

When he shows Renjun, the older boy gasps, immediately shoving it in Jeno’s face. “Oh, baby, this is one of my favorite pictures of us too! But, if I’m being honest, it’s missing something.”

“Hey!” Jaemin pouts playfully, trying not to grin. “It was the best I could do with my shitty old phone! I promise I’ll take many, many more.

“He didn’t mean the photo, Jaem,” Jeno laughs, leaning over to wrap Jaemin’s slightly-shaking hand in his warm, steady one. “He meant you.”

“Oh.” Jaemin, gasps, tears welling up in his eyes. How did he possibly get so lucky?

“Awwww, baby,” Renjun grins brightly at him. “We’re just gonna have to take a million more,” he shrugs.

Jeno nods solemnly in agreement, as he takes the safety brakes off of the wheelchair. Renjun slides off his lap reluctantly, taking Jaemin’s hand and tucking his blanket tighter around his shoulders.

“Ready?” Jeno grins, flicking his favorite pair of baby blue heart-shaped sunglasses down from their perch on the top of his head. Jaemin makes a mental note to buy him more colors when Renjun playfully whines that he wants to borrow them.

“Let’s go, you fucking dorks,” Jaemin laughs, tugging on Renjun’s hand and leaning his head back gently against one of Jeno’s arms. Renjun squeezes back and Jeno grins down at him, leaning down to peck Jaemin’s nose, and they’re out the door in mere seconds, to the flashes and screams of paparazzi and reporters alike.

Jaemin instinctively stiffens in his wheelchair, but relaxes immediately as both Jeno and Renjun squeeze his respective hands tightly in comfort.

It’s going to be fine. He has everything he needs, right beside him.

[ofbandits-archive]

⋆ ◦ ° ☾ robert downey jr + cis male + he / him — have you seen stanley 'stan' butler? they sure have been hanging out at king's steakhouse and restaurant a lot recently. they are a fifty three year old known as the perspicacious, and they currently work for the savages as a pimp, which they’ve been doing for twenty five years. a pansexual capricorn, they are patient + resourceful, as well as distrusting + demanding. a locked cabinet filled with spirits, a plethora of neat ties, a lingering scent of sauvage, dior. × 

okay, so it’s me again, hi... -- i was in need of an older man...tbh & rdj is always a necessary addition, so it just makes sense. time i show my marvel stan(hehe)-ness with more than just mr holland. so without further ado, meet my new old man who’s been in the business for a very, very long time and is too old for this shit. if you want to plot with him ( ’cause i need everything; angsty, sweet and otherwise ) give this a like & i’ll come at you...there should be some wanted connections at the end of this, so...if any of them peak your interest, let me know !

born to a struggling couple in dallas, texas, it was instilled in stanley from a very young age that money does not grow on trees and that you have to work hard for what you want. his family harboured quite an infamous reputation, which he wouldn’t shake until he left the neighbourhood he was raised within. stan always felt somewhat ashamed of his family, but he also felt a guilt due to that, too. his mother tried her best in his eyes and he loved her with every beat of his heart. that’s not to say he understood a multitude of her actions, though. he often wished he could somehow shake sense into her, but he remained silent. 

the oldest of five, stan has always done his best to keep a roof over his family’s heads, and food in their bellies. whilst his parents were often busy ( he never knew why, but continued on despite that fact ), he felt a responsibility to look after those that came after him. he worked out neat little tricks early on to get them to eat the vegetables, and to get them to go to school. always a head over heart, but whilst he’ll never admit to it -- would rather die -- a lot of his logical actions are strictly based around his need to keep everyone around him safe and merry.

since he could be fairly materialistic; always craving possessions his parents would never be able to afford for him, he quickly found his first job. he was only ten years old; both delivering newspapers, and making homemade lemonade. he was quite an enterprising lad, and surprised most, if not all of the people who came to know him. he was persuasive too, and that always worked in his favour. from then onward, he hasn’t stopped working. some might refer to him as a bit of a workaholic, and it’s affected his life in discreet and not-so discreet ways over the years. 

at school, it was discovered that the young butler extremely intelligent and he achieved high results despite everything obstacle being in his way. all of his clothes and equipment were second hand ( and often stolen ), sometimes by him, and sometimes by his parents. he became a master pick pocketer from an early age. so whilst he was earning a moral wage, he was also pocketing money immorally too. 

his father, an alcoholic was rarely at home and when he was, he was making the small, cramped house an absolute misery. this fact also made it impossible for him to hold down a job, and he often acted out as a result. whilst stanley never vocalised it, he believed his father to be a deadbeat, a waste of space. this was further proven when he came home at tender age of fourteen years old to find him cheating with another woman in town. he told his mother, but instead of kicking him out -- she buried it under the carpet. 

it wasn’t until he was much older than he learnt the truth about his mother’s occupation. why she was never there to tell him bedtime stories, and why she covered her face in make up as though it would disguise the bruises forming against her skin, why their family had the reputation that it did. his mother worked as an escort. during the day, she was a bank clerk, at night ?  she was escorting to make more money. he didn’t know what to make of it at first. he wasn’t mad at her, but mad at the way men would treat her; including his father. 

this all came to a head late one evening, when he came home to him berating and beating her. he saw red and lost complete control, beating his father to a pulp. he barely escaped with his life, but didn’t press charges. it surprised stan, but he didn’t complain. he was eighteen years old and more than ready to move out; his father’s only condition. it gave him the necessary drive to apply for university, to become something of himself. he got into the first university of his choice ( name pending ) and the first moment he was able to, he left home. his biggest, and longest lasting regret is leaving his brothers and sisters behind, along with his mother. he wishes he found a way for them to come with him, sure they were capable of more too. 

whilst at university, he met a tonne of individuals who were a lot more like him. he never felt more -- connected in his life, more carefree and calm; without having to concern himself about what time his brother was going to come home, or what his sister was doing with that boy below her league. after a while, he caught a few friends whispering about a place called valdez and a fairly new gang in need of members. intrigued by the prospect, once graduated, he moved himself there a long with a few others...and hasn’t looked back since.

if you’d asked him before he became a savage whether or not he was capable of killing someone, he’d have brushed off the question with a laugh and a ‘of course not’, despite how gravely he injured his dad...he was sure that he’d never actually be able to carry through such a macabre task. but after initiating into the savages, he found out that he was capable of far more than he ever have predicted before.

after a few years, he worked his way into becoming a pimp. it’s a job he takes pride in and he takes it incredibly seriously too. truth be told, and though nobody is probably aware of this, it’s a necessary duty which lies very close to his heart. his main aim is to keep those who worked as escorts as safe as possible, as well as making more than enough money so they’re all comfortable. he uses his business prowess to this day, and does his best to teach it to the escorts too -- and anyone willing to listen. all in all, he’s ruthless when necessary, though usually only when you’ve hurt someone who matters. albeit personally, or in a business sense, too. 

he’s naturally protective; would have been before what happened to balthazar, even more so now. he’s a dad without a child ( that he knows of, oo ) and will do all in his power to look after those he works with / for. the escorts safety in particular is paramount to him, and he always wants them to be able to tell him if anything happens that makes them feel uncomfortable. ( anyone who’s named for doing this should probably start reciting their prayers. )

wanted connections.

a best friend / a ‘bromance’ though he’d hate that word ; they’re one of the only individuals in the world that have seen his vulnerability, his weaknesses, though he’d always say tell anyone and i’ll kill you, he never means it. they’re someone he’d do legitimately anything for, without question. bury this body ? sure !  burn this building ? why not !  jump off the cliff ?  whatever you want ! it goes without saying. also possibly quite playful ?  they tease each other, but it’s all playful  &  there’s no second guessing about where their loyalties lie. ( 0 / 1 )

ex-fiancee/ex-wife ; quite an angst-ridden connection, but necessary just the same. this person too knows quite a lot about stan, and probably didn’t like everything that they saw. his workaholic-ness drove a wedge between them, his infidelity ? completely cut any lingering thread away. they’re in bad terms, but stan wants what’s best for them. deep, deep down he always presumed that wasn’t him, so might have acted out accordingly.  ( 0 / 1 )

a former sinful fling ;  the person he cheated with ?  maybe they too were taken, it was a crime of passion. both getting something out of the situation, despite how bad it was for it to carry on. every time was the last time, even if it never was. it eventually came to an end  &  there’s awkwardness and unanswered questions. they could even be in the opposing gang, whatever works really.  ( 0 / 1 )

sibling-type relationships ;  he misses his siblings with the entirety of his being, often regrets leaving the way that he did. these individuals ?  well they receive the love that his siblings usually would’ve / used to. he’s more protective over them than his normal protectiveness, and he also lets them get away with far more than anyone else too. he’ll tease them, but if anyone else does it ?  meet stan’s wrath, that’s all there it to say.  ( 0 / ? )

those he ‘babies’ ; he doesn’t have children ( that he knows of, as already mentioned )  but these individuals might as well be his children. they didn’t ask for it, and they probably don’t always like it but regardless, he’ll yell at them when they act recklessly, he’ll protect them when necessary. he’s always wanted kids, secretly and he’s basically adopted these characters, even if they never asked for it...but, especially if they did.   ( 0 / ? )

an arch-rival ; he’s too old for real hatred, but this person really does grind his gears...for whatever reason. it could be jealousy, or it could be something else. that can be discussed; either way, they do not get on and will take time out of each other’s day to make that obvious and to wreck a part of their day too.  ( 0 / 1 )

unexpected friends ;  it’s surprising. maybe they’re a sweetheart, or a cobra, younger, reckless. it shouldn’t work, but regardless of that notion, it just does. he cares about them, he likes having them around and actively seeks them out on occasion. they remind him that the world isn’t so black and white...which is definitely necessary for him. i see good influences and bad influences falling under this umbrella term too, actually. ( 0 / ? )

neighbours ; he’s a good neighbour. looks out for you without you realising it; unless necessary. like if your car’s broken into, or you need packages delivered to his house because you’re out. that’s not to say everyone else around him is the same. a neighbour from hell would be wonderful, just saying. ( 0 / ? )

housemates / ‘guests’ ; he does not like to be alone in his big ass abode, so would definitely allow those in need of a place to stay, stay with him. it could be a temporary deal, or it could’ve become a permanent fixture. either way, he loves a lively house...after all, he’s had one since he was very little.  ( 0 / 2 )

a will they, won’t they ; he likes to think he has platonic and familial love in the bag, but when it comes to romantic love ?  he hardly has the greatest of track records. he likes this person an awful lot, and...maybe they like him too. whenever anything might happen though, something always gets in the way. ( lets say a possible gas leak, or a shoot-out at sharp’s for example )  which always leads them into thinking...maybe this is a sign. either way, he’s most gentle with this person; quieter than usual. he wears his heart on his sleeve more than he’s willing to admit, they bring that out of him...even if they don’t see it -- there’s a chance anyone in a mile radius around them will.  ( 0 / 1 )

current fling(s) ;  ( 0 / 3 )  so, love scares him but he’s a big fan of intimacy without expectations. they both know the score and it’s better that way, easier. he likes fun as much as the next guy, and these people bring him that. regardless of whether or not it’s right, or wrong. he doesn’t care, at least not when drowning in blankets. 

[vincent-frankenstein]

Bloodbond - Chapter Two

Part two of my entry for @ts-storytime!!

Chapter Summary: With no one else to turn to, Roman goes to the Royal Librarian's son, Logan, for answers. But he — and the demon he dragged along — might not like the answer he gives.

Warnings: blood/injuries, self-deprecating thoughts

pairings: pre-established logicality, eventual prinxiety

Read on A03

{ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 }

art by @pattykrabbies {here} and @vdkstar {here}!!!

(cover by @vdkstar <3)

“I warned you Roman, time and time again, and yet you refused to hear me through that vexatious veil of stupid self-confidence of yours. Casting a spell that you’ve only half translated is dangerous. And now look at the mess you’ve caused!” Logan shook his head angrily as he lectured Logan, his eyes flashing with anger behind his glasses. “And now I suppose you’re going to ask me to clean this up?”

“No!” Roman protested, jumping to his feet. The sudden movement activated the invisible “rope” between them, and the demon was yanked forward, stumbling away from the wall with a muttered swear. Roman sucked in a deep, annoyed breath. “...yes,” he admitted, after a moment of silence.

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, setting his cup down on the table. “Why am I even friends with you?” he asked as he turned and walked back up the stairs, presumably to grab one of his many books.

“... because you love me?” Roman offered, and was met with charged, angry silence. He sighed dramatically, falling back down into his chair and running a hand through his hair. Patton smiled sympathetically, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Don’t worry, kiddo, I’m sure Lo will think of something! You’ll both be back home in no time.” With that, he turned to the demon lingering in the corner of the sitting room. The demon’s face was dark as he worried the hem of his tattered cloak, glancing between Patton and Roman as though afraid either might attack.

But Patton wasn’t one for attacking. “Hello! I’m Patton, but you can call me Pat. What’s your name?”

There was a moment of awkward silence, thick enough that Roman wouldn’t have been able to cut it with the sharpest of swords. The demon glanced around himself, as though wondering if Patton was even talking to him.

“It’s… I…” He floundered uncertainly, his face scrunched up like he was unused to being treated with kindness. Roman watched the scene play out with one eyebrow raised, glancing between Patton and the demon, the corner of his mouth quirking up into an amused smile.

“Pat, it’s a demon. You don’t have to be nice to it,” Roman pointed out flippantly. Patton gasped, offended, and fixed Roman with his patented Dad Glare.

“Roman! I’m surprised at you! Everyone deserves kindness.” He held his glare for a moment longer before turning to smile warmly at the demon in the corner, who was looking very conflicted, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in a little ‘o’ of surprise. He fidgeted with his hands, lowering his gaze.

“You… uh… you can call me Anxiety,” the demon — Anxiety — said, his tone quiet. Roman scoffed at the unusual name and Anxiety glared, his wings shifting beneath his cloak.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Anxiety. And I’m sure —” Patton shot another look at Roman. “— that Roman feels the same. Right, kiddo?”

“Uh. Yes, it’s absolutely grand to meet you.” He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

“It’s… ni — uh, okay meeting you too.” Anxiety paused, regarding Roman with narrowed eyes. “Well, most of you.”

Roman gasped, offended, as Logan walked back into the room, struggling under the weight of a heavy, dusty tome bound in ancient-looking dragon skin. He dropped it on the table with a dramatic flourish that Roman would have been proud of, had he not feared the answer he knew he was about to get.

“This particular kind of magic is incredibly rare,” he began, adjusting his glasses as he sat and flipped open the book. A cloud of dust puffed up as he turned the pages, and Roman rubbed at his nose absentmindedly as he leaned closer. “You’re lucky I was even able to find something on it. It’s especially dangerous as well, lucky for you.”

He landed on a worn page scribbled with runes and met Roman’s eyes. “From what you described, I believe that what you have enacted is… a Bloodbond.”

“A Bloodbond?” Roman wracked his brain, trying to remember if that was the name of the spell in the story he’d heard so long ago. Meanwhile, the demon paled, his eyes going wide.

“It’s… we’re…” He seemed to know what was going on, and judging by the look on his face, Roman had been right all along. His stomach dropped. “Our souls are linked.”

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” Logan said, regarding the demon with interest. “I assume you were both injured when the spell went out of your control?”

“How do you know it went out of my control?” Roman asked, offended. “You can’t just… assume…” Logan shot him an annoyed look and he caved, rolling his eyes with a dramatic huff. “Ugh, fine. Yes, I was injured, but I healed myself!”

His arm twinged in pain, and he could practically feel Logan eyeing the obvious wound on his leg. He winced, averting his gaze. “...mostly.”

“What about you?” Logan returned his gaze to the demon. “Were you injured enough to bleed?”

Anxiety said nothing, merely shifting his cloak aside to reveal a long cut spanning the length of his forearm, stark red against the pale white of his skin. Roman’s blood ran cold; the demon’s injury was identical to the wound on his own arm. And he had been limping earlier, too, which meant…

“That confirms it.” Logan nodded to himself as red-hot regret seeped, unbidden, into the pit of Roman’s stomach. He opened his mouth to speak, but Patton stood before he could, ignoring Logan’s inquisitive look and approaching the demon. His eyebrows were drawn together in worry, his mouth turned down in a concerned frown.

Anxiety’s eyes widened and he took quick steps backward, yanking his injured arm back beneath his cloak and baring his teeth in a cornered snarl.

“Show me your arm, kiddo,” Patton said softly. “I won’t hurt you, I promise! Obviously Roman —” He paused to shoot another Dad Look at Roman, who was feeling quite attacked on all fronts. “— wasn’t planning on healing you, and I might not be a mage, but I know a thing or two about healing!”

“But —” Anxiety, for his part, seemed just as shocked as the rest of them at Patton’s kind boldness. There was a moment of charged silence — an argument between eyes; soft and gentle browns chipping away at the guarded uncertainty hidden in the deep purples — and then slowly, stiffly, the demon held out his bleeding arm.

Roman felt the pain in his own arm disappear as Patton quickly finished the healing charm, plopping back down on the couch with a satisfied sigh. “That better, kiddo?” he asked, and the demon nodded stiffly, his face carefully blank. “Good! Okay, honey-bee, you can continue,” he said to Logan.

“Ah. Right. Um…” Logan blinked, glancing at Patton and then at Anxiety as he composed himself. “The explosion of magic brought on by your inability to complete such a half-assed spell —”

“Hey!”

“ — must have injured you both. Thus, your blood was mixed within the spell. Upon summoning… Anxiety… your souls were linked because of this. That is why you cannot walk away from each other without being tugged back together, and why Anxiety cannot return to his home realm. As of now, you are soulmates.”

“How the hell do we fix it?” Anxiety asked, his eyes narrowed as he shot Roman a scathing look that the prince was only too happy to return. “I don’t want to spend any more time around this idiot.”

“Well good, because I would rather die than have to spend any more time around you!”

“That can be arranged.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Logan slammed the book shut with a deafening bang, sending dust flying and stopping the argument in its tracks. “We cannot fix anything,” he said, glaring at both of them in turn, like an angry mother would glare at bickering children. “This kind of magic is nearly impossible to reverse without the correct resources. And, of course, the correct abilities, which I believe you’ve already proved you possess none of.”

“How dare you?” Roman gasped, clutching a hand to his chest as Anxiety snickered. Logan readjusted his glasses and continued, ignoring Roman’s Offended Prince Noises.

“In fact, the only person that I know of who might be able to undo this calamity is the Royal Mage, and, if I’m being honest, I’m not entirely sure he’d even know how. This magic is incredibly ancient.”

“But you know about it!” Roman said, his stomach churning with regret, his hands clenching into fists. “Couldn’t you undo it?”

“Roman, I am not a mage. I am simply a bookworm.” He got to his feet and hefted the heavy book back into his arms with a grunt. “Oh, and when you get to the capital city, would you mind collecting my notebooks from my old room?”

And that was when it hit Roman like a ton of bricks. He had to go to the capital. He swallowed, hard, trying to hide how his hands began to shake. If his mistakes were kept confined to this small village, known only to those he trusted, then it would have been fine — but to travel to the capital city would be to reveal his stupidity to his kingdom.

It would be to reveal his stupidity to his father.

“I… yes, I suppose I can do that.” He took a breath; he would not show this weakness in front of the demon. But the demon seemed to be in the same boat; his breathing was quick, his hands shaking beneath his cloak, his wings shifting nervously. It was then that Roman realized: they were fearing the same thing.

King Odin, his father.

King Odin, the demon-slayer.

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes. No. It wasn’t the same. They weren’t the same. “Who knows?” he began, pushing his uncertainty down and shooting a glare at the demon. “Maybe he’ll die on the way there and I just won’t have to deal with it anymore!”

Anxiety snarled, his face darkening. “Trust me, your highness, if anyone dies on this little trip, it won’t be me.”

“Actually, you’re both wrong,” Logan said, pausing on his way up the stairs. “There is… one more aspect to a Bloodbond, a particularly dangerous trait. If one of you dies… so does the other. Your souls are linked, after all. So if anyone dies on your ‘little trip,’ you’ll both end up dead. You need to be careful.”

Patton gasped and the demon growled and Roman breathed deeply, trying to ignore the horrible feeling in his heart. Princes don’t get scared, he told himself silently. Princes don’t get scared.

“Great. Wonderful. Aren’t you glad you’re such a screw-up, princey?” Anxiety said angrily, nose twitching in rage and worry. Roman glared back, a thousand angry retorts dying on his tongue.

The demon was right.

“Now, now, c’mon. No fighting.” Patton got to his feet and Agatha jumped to attention, barking once happily as she curled around his legs. Roman and Anxiety glared but stayed silent, and Patton smiled, nodding. “Now, you’re both staying here tonight, okay? And I don’t want any arguments from either of you. I… I don’t trust you enough to leave you alone together.”

“That hurts, Pat,” Roman said, only half-joking. Anxiety remained silent, glaring at the ground. Patton shrugged, absentmindedly running his hand along Agatha’s soft fur.

“I hope you both like stew!” he said by way of farewell, offering them both one last smile before retreating to the inn’s kitchen, Agatha on his heels. Logan nodded sharply to each of them in turn before retreating up the stairs, heavy book in hand.

Roman regarded the demon, his heart pounding an angry mantra of unbidden regret.

Your fault your fault your fault —

“I… suppose…” He stopped, took a breath, and the words got stuck in his throat and refused to budge. He cleared his throat, glaring at the floor. “I suppose I… should… ugh! Alright, it was not very… prince-like… of me to get you caught up in all of this. So, I… I apologize for any inconvenience I may have brought.”

There! He’d said it. At least now he could rest easy, his conscience appeased. Patton would be proud of him.

Anxiety raised an eyebrow, looking him up-and-down. “Save it, princey. Don’t like just to appease your stupid human ‘conscience’ or whatever.” He turned towards the window and ignored Roman’s half-hearted attempts at denial. Roman let out a long, angry sigh, glaring at the demon’s turned back.

This was going to be a very long trip.

[spookadoop]

On My Own (Harry Hook) Part Two

“You swore you’d never hurt me”

“You swore you’d never leave me On My Own”

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

“Tell me this is some kind of sick joke,” You remarked, staring at the two boys in front of you. Jay and Carlos exchanged an uneasy look.

“You’re telling me you took Ben, King Ben of Auradon, to the Isle where most people want nothing more than to see him strung up by his thumbs!?” You exclaimed, suddenly ashamed to be an acquaintance of the two boys. “And you thought that he wouldn’t be kidnapped!?”

“I never said we thought it was a good idea,” Carlos mumbled, looking down at the sharp look given by you.

“And now you want me to come with you on some sort of rescue mission to get him back from Uma of all people?” You quizzed, hoping it all was just some sick joke.

“On the bright side, you can go see your dad!” Jay tried to throw in before making a grimace. “Never mind, that’s not a good thing…”

Carlos worried his lip before his face lit up. “You could rub in their faces how good you’re doing.”

“I’m in.”

Your hands were shaking by the time you reached Pirate’s Bay and laid your eyes on Uma’s ship. The crew still looked as raggedy as you remembered in their war paint. They looked like a kindergartener’s finger-painting project gone wrong.

“Hey guys! They’re here!” A pirate you could easily place as being Gil, the loveable son of Gaston, called out to the crew below him.

You could practically feel your blood pressure rising when Harry’s voice filled your head.

“Welcome!” He called, pushing a terrified Ben to the Plank. Oh how you wanted to knock that grin off his pretty little face. Without thinking your hand came to grasp at the handle of the sword tucked into your belt. Jay gave you a concerned look, as if asking if you were gonna be alright fighting against the pirate if worse came to worse.

You just gave a nod before turning to train your eyes on the blue-haired sea witch, tensing slightly from your spot beside Carlos when she mentioned the killer sharks. Dumb witch, you thought to yourself. Sharks only attacked when provoked or threatened. Auradon taught you that.

Carlos nudged you slightly, motioning with his eyes to the hook-wielding pirate that was slowly but surely making his ways towards Uma and Mal. You may not particularly like the daughter of Maleficent, but you knew how unpredictable Harry could be, so you hopped onto the wooden railing of the docks, crouching down beside Mal with a hand on your sword.

You could tell he was pretending to not notice you, anyone could see that. But you could also see that your presence was unnerving the young brunet from the way he quickly started to fly off the handle. You could only grit your teeth at Uma as she gripped his hook and pulled him away from the two of you. Though, of course the flirt couldn’t without winking and blowing a mocking kiss in your direction.

It seems time didn’t change him at all.

As he made his way back to Ben, you followed his moves, not stopping until you were directly across from the pirate. You didn’t trust him to not shove Ben off the plank for no reason. Frankly, you didn’t trust him to not hook the poor King. The thought alone put you on edge. And from the devilish grin worn by the pirate as he caught your eye, you knew that he knew exactly what was going through your mind.

You could see the grin drop when Mal moved to give Uma the wand, before being stopped by the king. You could practically smell the smoke coming from the use his rarely-operated brain. Either he was dumbfounded that his captain’s plan actually worked… or he knew something was off, he knew there was no way Mal would give up the wand that easily.

You really hoped it was the first option.

You were relieved when he dropped the look, replaced by a grin at Ben trying to bargain with Uma. Maybe he was dumber than he looked. You knew it was a lie, but the thought made you feel better about your breakup all those months ago. Because, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you’re a petty ex.

Panic began to set in once Uma demanded Mal prove the wand worked. You guys were screwed. But, like usual, Mal prevailed, using Dude-the-now-talking-dog to fake a spell.

“Give me the wand!” Uma demanded seconds later, holding her hand out. Was she always this demanding?

“Give me Ben!” Mal shot back. Uma gave her a grin before calling Harry over. Once again, you followed his movements to be by Mal’s side. You may not have been the strongest, but you knew Harry’s weak spots if Uma were to try and trick you.

You gave a slight laugh as you heard Gil inform Ben about how Gaston wishes he had finished off Ben’s dad when he had a chance. You knew it was true as it was the only thing Gaston ever spoke about. Well, that and Belle. And how incredibly thick his neck is…..You made sure to not come across him often.

Harry pushed Ben to the ground in front of Mal before drawing his sword, you made sure to do the same. You raised your gaze to meet his when he spoke.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Don’t ya trust me, lass?” He asked softly, a mocking pout forming on his face. But, it didn’t match the wickedness in his eyes.

“Cut him loose, Harry,” Uma instructed, eyes trained on Mal and the wand. Harry gave a huff, “I never get to have any fun.”

“Yeah, Harry, listen to your Master,” You remarked, smirking at the evil glare you received in return. Like you said before, you’re a petty ex.

Mal pulled Ben away from the two pirates as Uma rushed to the deck of her ship. Harry lingered, eyes not leaving yours before slowly following his Captain. You had to help Mal pull Ben away from the ship. He wasn’t the brightest King if he didn’t see through the plan. You suddenly worried if your life was in the right hands if he couldn’t tell it was a fake wand.

Uma quickly snapped the plastic wand in two upon realizing it was a fake. And then all hell broke loose. Smoke bombs and pirates alike were flying through the air as you suddenly regretted not practicing sword fighting since you left the Isle.

“Please don’t let me get my hand cut off. I don’t wanna look like Harry’s dad,” you whined before joining in on the fight.

Your eyes widened as you spotted Harry jumping into the water after his father’s hook. Though, you didn’t miss the opportunity to snatch his hat up from the dock. You placed it on your head with a smirk, “Mine now!”

Turning around and quickly ducking, you narrowly avoided getting your head cut off by an overly salty pirate. Pausing to giggle quickly at your own joke, you swiped the sword out of his hand, followed by a swift kick to the crotch that knocked him onto his knees. “Honestly, does she not train you guys at all? It’s almost sad,” You tsked, pushing him off the dock and into the water.

You cussed under your breath when you noticed Ben going against Harry, but then paused. Harry Hook, the son of a pirate, whom would try to behead anyone that dared look at his sisters wrong, was undoubtedly… getting his ass handed to him by a King that had never been in an actual sword fight in his life, literally with one hand behind his back. And it. Was. Hilarious.

“Y/N, come on!” Carlos called out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you to the tunnel after Evie threw a smoke bomb right in front of the pirates.

Pausing by the disoriented son of Hook, you placed his hat on top of his head before running to join the others. You spared the drenched pirate one last glance before disappearing into the tunnel.

Leaving him alone. Again.

“I know he’s on your mind, Y/N,” the voice of the daughter of Mulan filled your ears as you stared over the side of the boat to the Isle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lonnie,” You replied quietly, even though you both knew it was a lie. You knew exactly who she was talking about.

“I’m sure Harry did miss you. He just couldn’t show it with that Uma girl there,” She soothed, rubbing your back gently. You shook your head, turning to lean your back against the rails. she had just been informed on the situation on the ride from Auradon to the Isle, when you had to explain it was the Captain of your ex boyfriend that had taken the king hostage.

“That’s the problem. Even when we were together he was always Uma this, Uma that, Uma- Uma!?”

You failed to hide your surprise (and rage) at seeing the sea witch as she made her way down the stairs to where King Ben stood. You and Lonnie shared a look before rushing over to Mal’s side. You were no expert on relationships- but even you knew that you definitely did not bring your girlfriend’s worst enemy on a date to a dance you’re supposed to be with your girlfriend at.

And the worst thing was, as she stood before you, dressed in a beautiful gown that matched the blue of her hair you could see exactly why Harry would want her instead of you.

“Harry, the cotillion’s on!” The blonde boy yelled to his friend, whom was busy brooding by the window of Ursula’s fish and Chips. Gil sighed, walking over to the brunet. “Staring at Auradon won’t make you any closer to her, you know. But you can see her on TV.”

The pirate stared at him silently before walking to the table in front of the television. He could feel tears well up in his eyes at the sight of you. He missed you a lot, and it took all of his willpower to not show it when you came to the ship. But, he was scared you would try to stay if you knew how pitiful he was without you. He loved you, and there was no doubt about that. But he couldn’t give you everything you deserved if you came back to the Isle. He wanted you to be happy, even if it meant being away from him.

He took a shaky breath, wiping his eyes.

“You look beautiful, lass.”

A few days after the Cotillion Disaster, you were called into the King’s office. From what the letter you received said (though you didn’t see why he just didn’t tell you in one of your many classes together) it was urgent business, not to be discussed with anyone else. You never thought a two minute conversation could have such an impact on your way of breathing.

“After seeing how harsh the conditions are on the Isle, I have decided to bring a few more kids to Auradon,” Ben stated, standing up from his seat behind his desk.

You raised an eyebrow, watching him carefully, “And what does that have to do with me?” You asked.

Ben cleared his throat, awkwardly coming to stand in front of you. This can’t be good.

“Y/N, there’s no easy way to say this after you risked your life to rescue me from the Isle so I’m just going to say it,” He began, arm sliding around your shoulders to give you a friendly, and suspicious, squeeze.

“Harry Hook is coming to Auradon.”

A/N: So, what do you guys think? Is it good enough to have a part three?

[agentdagonet]

Echoes, Ch. 10

Find it here on AO3

Find it here on tumblr:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Fic Summary: Feet dangling off the edge of the bed, hands still resting on the earpieces of his glasses, Eggsy opened his eyes.

      And promptly shut them again, screwing them shut like a child who had the distinct misfortune of biting into a raw lemon. Breathing harshly in his nose and out his mouth, trying to stave off whatever delusional panic had befallen him, Eggsy reopened his eyes.

‘Harry?’

Or: The Hologram Story Nobody Asked For

          Eggsy stopped wearing the specs for a bit, after that. The cast came off and PT started for his arm; it was a bitch and a half but it meant he was getting better. That he'd be getting back into the field. But he kept coming back to Harry.           Now that it was shoved into his face, albeit accidentally by what was basically a high-tech ghost, Eggsy couldn't help but marvel that he'd upheld Kingsman tradition entirely by accident. He'd upheld a Galahad tradition in a fit of loss and self loathing. Which in itself seemed to be a Galahad tradition.           He hid the decanter in a cabinet, but it didn't really do much beside leave a hole to remind him of the realisation. A spot where shit's cleaner or something when you move what was there before.

          Eggsy went through the motions of his days much as he had before, but he couldn't really pretend that nothing had changed. On some level (everything I've done has been trying to repay him) Eggsy had always known that Harry still blamed himself for his father's death. No stranger would have reacted to his record so vehemently otherwise- well meaning or not, there'd been honest anger hiding behind his pointed words. The way Harry had always mentioned his dad in passing (your father had the same look on his face) with that melancholy look...           In a strange way, Eggsy was grateful that Harry'd been in a coma for such a large portion of his training. Fuck knew what other unnecessary comparisons he would have made between Eggsy and his dad. Where else Eggsy would have ended up barely more than an echo of his father in Harry's eyes.           Those thoughts were driven from his head as violently and often as he could manage, often with a round or two at the firing range and a stiff drink. With the notable exception of Roxy once betting he couldn't not shoot himself if he was plastered, the two didn't mix- though he couldn't deny that watching Roxy waddle about awkwardly in a set of twenty-five centimetre platforms was totally worth it.

It took a while, but eventually Eggsy put on his big boy pants and sat himself down in front of Harry in the drawing room on a Thursday afternoon.

          'What, no drink, Haz?' Holo-Harry was wearing a cardigan, some dark colour, and holding a book that he'd probably been pretending to read while waiting for Eggsy to step the fuck up and sit the fuck down with him. Not that Eggsy'd been paying attention, or anything.

          'With little exception, Eggsy, relaxation does not require alcohol. Perhaps every once in a while, but if one's immediate association with relaxing is to drink... well, I'm certain we both know where that leads.' The book was closed and placed upon his lap, spine obscured by Harry's forearms resting atop it. 'No, Eggsy, this conversation requires no vice strong as that.           'My name is Harry Hart- my mother named me for her grandfather, Hawkins; luckily without actively providing me with a built in "kick me" sign. My father was not the most pleasant of men, my mother was as well-meaning as she was exasperated with the hand she believed life had dealt her, but betwixt them they had far more connections than any average family ought. Mostly due to the fact that my father's first cousin is a man by the name of Chester King.'

          Eggsy gasped quietly, never having thought he'd one day vaguely regret killing the man. Very vaguely. Like a memory you're not quite sure truly happened or was just a really realistic dream. Or a blurry picture you can just barely make out.

That is to say, not very much at all, but the fact that they'd been related was an unpleasant surprise.           'We never interacted much- our differences in age and politics were a harsh divide- but the connection was there. Many a night I would come home from university to find my father in the sitting room entertaining him, a fair bit of scotch split between two glasses.' Harry sighed, one hand raising to rub at the bridge of his nose, and Eggsy suddenly noticed just how tired Harry looked. 'Contrary to what you might believe based upon this, Chester was not my sponsor into Kingsman. I'm sure you've noticed by now how uncompromising he can be when he has an opinion. And he has many.           'The day Lancelot died, Eggsy, Arthur attempted to make me see how foolish my previous choice of candidate had been. Made a disparaging comment about choosing a "more suitable candidate" and I will happily admit to wanting him to take a long walk off a short pier.' Eggsy snorted a laugh, relaxing despite himself.           'Didn't know you had it in you, Haz.' The nickname was becoming a bad habit, but it wasn't as if Harry were here to correct him.           'I resisted stating as much, but when he tried to make light of your father's sacrifice... I called him a snob, and told him that there was a reason aristocrats developed weak chins. With respect, of course.' Holo-Harry smiled, eyes glazed over as if caught in a pleasant memory, as Eggsy chuckled from behind his hand. Imagining Harry being a shit to his boss was one thing, but having evidence (or whatever the words of a technological ghost were considered) that he actually had been... Eggsy couldn't help but smile fondly at the Harry-That-Was sitting before him. 'I'd have paid to see that.'           'Merlin can likely obtain a copy of that footage- it happened in the Dining Room, certainly not exempt from surveillance. Alternatively, it's also in my personal terminal somewhere, which you have access to as we're obviously interacting at this moment.' 'You was a shit, weren't you, Haz?'

          'I was not always entirely gentlemanly, no- but I knew when to push and when to leave things be. At least, that's what I tell myself when I find I'm in circumstances that could have been avoided by keeping my mouth shut. If I've put myself there, there is a reason and it is worth it. I seldom say much without meaning it.'

          Eggsy was simultaneously elated and despondent, the words having brought two distinct moments to mind, unsurprisingly. I see a young man with potential. (Can't you see that everything I've done has been about trying to repay him?) And which one was the truth, then? Did he go by what Harry had said most recently? Had Harry seen potential in him at first, only for Eggsy to fuck it up by not noticing the blank? Would Harry have ever acknowledged Eggsy's accomplishments as his own, instead of some warped echo of his father's potential?           'But that's getting a bit far from the topic. Which, yes, there is in fact a purpose here, Eggsy. I came to the realisation a few days ago that, for all that I know about you, you don't know that much about me. It's something that would have been rectified with time, had I not ended up in a coma and had actually spent your candidacy conscious and present. Or after you had become Lancelot as I was rightfully sure you would.' There was a now-familiar pang in Eggsy's chest.           'Unfortunately, as we sit here having this admittedly one-sided conversation, it's plain to see that we did not get that time. So, I have decided to impart to you what I felt was worth mentioning here. Certainly an unconventional use of Merlin's technology, but not an immoral one. 'I digress, today I've sat here to tell you about my life before Kingsman- the man behind the mask, as it were.'           'I know enough, Haz- I know you from Merlin's drunken ramblin' and your fucking stuffed dog and the old footage I've been going through on your laptop. Yeah, maybe I added some shit here an' there in my head but I knew you- maybe not as much as I wanted to, or as well, but enough.'           'I met the previous Bedivere by happenstance at one of the incredibly boring functions my father expected me to attend. In retrospect he likely expected me to eventually set aside my differences with Arthur and conform to the conventions of that life- which both happened and didn't.' The hologram continued, luckily not talking through Eggsy but not acknowledging that he had spoken beyond the pause.

          'I went to university to study Entomology, I've always found the process of pinning insects fascinating, and intended to look into museum work. Curating seemed to be as far from the posh life my father wished for me to enjoy, which pleased my rebellious side. It happened that my obsessive knowledge of insects saved Bedivere from something or other- I don't recall the details, it was a number of years ago- and when the Galahad position became available he named me as his candidate.' A slow smirk curled itself at the edge of Harry's mouth, and Eggsy could easily visualise him steepling his hands as he leant forward onto the table. 'You can only imagine the look on poor Arthur's- Lamorak, at the time- face when I won. Unfortunately there is no footage- as ahead of the times as Kingsman always is, there are limits.'

          'I got the feeling it's the opposite of the face he made when I fucked up the last test. Like, he drank half a glass of sour milk and can't bring himself to sick it up, or something.'           'Needless to say it was the highlight of my life until that point. I could probably form a fully corporeal patronus with that alone.' 'You read the Potter books? Thought you was too old for that.'           'Eggsy, you'd be hard pressed to find something I would refuse to read. They were only a global phenomena, and there was a limit to how many "you're a wizard, Harry!" jokes I could take from James before picking the damn things up. Don't let Percival's stoic demeanour fool you- he's just as awful as his husband was. You just don't think he could be the culprit.'           'You sound like a conspiracy theorist- you gonna tell me the moon doesn't exist or something?'           'Fine. Don't believe me. I certainly won't be there to help you undo whatever he decides upon for you. And Roxy's friendship will not grant you mercy. You'll see.'

'Sure, Haz. If you say so.' Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[thefleetsfinest-a]

Headcanon: The McCoys

Leonard had been a Jr. in highschool when he started dating Jocelyn Darnell. The lived in one of those small towns where everyone knew everyone, but he had been the shy nerd in school and she had been a popular cheerleader. It was by the average clique standards that the two of them never really crossed paths, that was until Jocelyn had decided to make her ex-boyfriend jealous. It was this desire that had a young Jocelyn picking a shy Leonard out at a high school party (the kind the whole school practically went to.) and dragged him into a dance.

Of course her ex boyfriend Clay Treadway didn’t like that Leonard was ‘trying to steal his girl’ and the next day at school tried to start a fight. Much to everyone’s surprise it had been a fight that Leonard managed to win, and from that moment on Leonard and Jocelyn were considered to be going steady. All that summer, and through their senior year of high school the two were inseparable much to the dismay of Leonard's mother, who did not care for the girl in the slightest.

The two of them started out great, they had enough in common and matching tempers that they seemed like a well enough mix. Enough so that they were even named their school’s prom king and queen their senior year. Most of their graduating class was convinced that despite what seemed like an odd mix at first, that the two were meant to be. Leonard of course had fallen hard, and would do anything to make Jocelyn smile, he was happy and relatively carefree. Any free time he could manage was spent following her around.

When it came time for them to choose a college, the both of them had agreed to go to the university of Mississippi together. Even despite the new surroundings and experiences that came with being undergrads, the two managed to still go strong. It honestly did seem like they were going to stand the tests of time, and Leonard truly believed that he found his soulmate, despite claiming to not have much belief in those sorts of things. Of course the couple wasn’t perfect and they would occasionally get into fights, and it could occasionally get verbally nasty. The two both had a way with words, and knew how to cut the other deep. However they always reconciled within a few days, and to this day Leonard claims that makeup sex is the best thing ever invented.

The two had still been going strong as Leonard eventually started medical school, enough so that Leonard had been seriously considering a marriage proposal, but he had told himself that he wanted to wait until after they were both out of school. The only hitch that the two ever really seemed to fight about was the idea of starting a family. Leonard desperately wanted to have kids once he was out of school and on his feet as a doctor, where Jocelyn didn’t want kids at all.

However the decision was made for them when the month before Leonard graduated from Med School, Jocelyn found out that she was pregnant. It came as a relative surprise since the two of them had always been so careful about birth control, but there had been one night where they had been particularly drunk and one thing led to another.

Once Leonard graduated from medical school, the two moved back to Georgia, moving into a relatively nice home in the suburbs of Atlanta. The two got married in a relatively small ceremony after Leonard finally proposed. Everything seemed like it was going to be okay, despite the stress that came with Leonard’s long hours of working at a hospital. There were unfortunately no shortcuts in the medical field, and he was more than willing to work hard for what he wanted. It didn’t help that he had his father’s reputation as a damn good doctor to live up to.

When his baby girl was born, she became Leonard’s world, from the moment she was born he was wrapped around her little finger. Joanna became a complete daddy’s girl, most of the time preferring the attention and affections of her father over that of her mother’s. All of his very little spare time ended up going to his daughter, which unintentionally  started the strain on his marriage, since by default he didn’t give his wife nearly as much attention as she deserved.

However things were still okay, things were going well enough. Things didn’t take a hard downward spiral until Leonard’s father got terminally ill. Leonard who had always been very close with his dad, became obsessed with finding a cure. All he could think about was trying to keep his father alive long enough for him to find some cure for him, determined not to loose him. However no matter how much time he threw into research, and how close he managed to get.. He just couldn’t find that last missing piece he needed to save his father.

Two years into Leonard’s marriage his father was suffering and with no cure in sight begged his song to just put him out of his misery. Leonard of course had outright refused at first, not only not wanting to let go of his father, but he had taken an oath to do no harm. However his father had finally broken down Leonard, and on October 10th, 2252 David McCoy passes away. Though on the death certificate it clearly states that he succumbed to his illness, Leonard is the only one who knows the truth.. That he had been overdosed on pain medication.

Having killed his father took it’s toll on Leonard, he took up going to the bar after work a bit more and became incredibly distant from Jocelyn, and anyone other than Jojo. He was filled with so much guilt over what he had done, that he couldn’t seem to cope, and it did not help that he couldn’t tell a single soul about what he had done, not only because it would put his medical license at risk, but.. Because he couldn’t take the thought of anyone else knowing about the horrible thing he had done.

Leonard becoming distant from Jocelyn seemed to be the breaking point for their marriage. She felt extremely neglected that her husband wouldn’t even so much as give her the time of day, or let her in on what has been troubling him. She could tell that it was more than just his father passing away, she knew he was hiding something but she could never get Leonard to talk about it, no matter how hard she tried. This led to fight after fight, and though they always did the best to wait until after Joanna went to bed, never liking to fight in front of her.

Eventually it all became much, and Leonard had pushed her so far away, that he ended up pushing her right back into the arms of Clay Treadway. A year after his father died, Jocelyn finally had enough and filed for divorce, which came as a slap in the face to Leonard, who despite having been distant still had the hopes that they could make it work because he did love her very much. With the filing for divorce came the long drawn out custody battles over Joanna. Leonard wanted to have the right to see his daughter as much as he wanted, because that little girl still was his world and refused to let her go, especially to the woman who had never wanted kids in the first place. The whole thing was drawn out over a span of about a year, the two only ever seeing each other at meetings with their lawyers.. Except for once instance, that being May 9th, their anniversary and though despite everything that was happening Leonard had gotten himself relatively drunk and found himself calling her up.

The two spent one last drunken night together, reliving what use to be, just one more one last time. Though it had felt so right in the moment, the two had been together for thirteen years and in a moment of weakness shared one last night together. However when the morning came, so came the feeling of regret over what they had done. Especially since Jocelyn was technically in a relationship with Clay.

Finally in Febuary of 2255 the divorce was finalized, with primary custody of Joanna being awarded to Jocelyn. However Leonard was still given full visitation rights to his daughter, which he had every intention of utilizing refusing to be fully gone from his daughter’s life. Leonard was incredibly bitter and hurt over the divorce, still unable to fully able to let Jocelyn go, and had decided being forced to watch Jocelyn start her new life was too much and the rash decision to join Starfleet happened.

It had been his need to get as far as he could from having to see Jocelyn be happy, his guilt over his father’s death ( A guilt that tripled when a cure was found for the illness was discovered), and the death of a young girl, a patient of his who had the dream of one day becoming a Starfleet Captain had been the final push for him to say ‘Fuck it’ and sign up for Starfleet. That was how one Leonard Horatio McCoy ended up on that shuttle in Riverside, Iowa.