#ruined a perfectly good lamp in the process

[hatchetmode]

Silly Hotel Pod oc time

[asingleietsist]

Low-key he was already perfect, I just went overboard a tad bit.

Ya boi is a bit of a rebel.

Iggy did get the most modifications, but Roy ended up with the biggest style change.

His egg was actually brought through a warp pipe and landed in the dark lands. Some Shy Guys were scouting the area and we're planning to eat the egg, but for some reason he hatched. (Ruined a perfectly good meal) So they took the hatchling to Bowser as a gift and Bowser accepted reluctantly.

Bowser had a bit of a bad feeling about him and his origins. Out of the seven, he was the second (aside from Junior) to stubbornly not listen to him and would get into fights with the brothers or others in Bowser's army. Which only made Luigi joining the family ten times worse.

He apologized, but Roy ignored it. If Morton got Bowser's excitement and admiration for his strength, Roy took on Bowser's aggression and rebelliousness.

The other Koopalings think he's cool, and he tries to live up to that reputation.

As for his design, the others think he's the party boy (but really he's dancing alone in his room at 2am while blasting heavy metal).

Bowser always scoffs at his lava lamp claws (the process to exchange them temporarily was gruesome). He sees Roy as a joke and teases him quite often only for Luigi to step in and stand up for how Roy expresses himself.

It was really only AFTER Roy got bigger that Bowser began to feel weirded out by his behavior and changes. (Hypocritical, but he won't admit it)

Mario has yet to apologize for the ice burns tho.

[qyllenhaal]

Muse

Pairing: Artist!Steve x Reader

Summary: Steve’s an artist, and you’re secretly his muse. 3rd POV. WC: 3.5k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, MDNI), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex. Fluff. Friends to lover.

Steve knew it was a risk to quit his job and focus full-time on being an artist. His boss laughed in his face when he turned in his letter of resignation and asked Steve how much he thought his "little paintings" were going to make him. Steve didn't just face this scrutiny from his boss, but his friends too albeit not as harsh. Many of the people in his life didn't understand his passion for something that might leave him struggling, but Y/n was always there encouraging him.

"You may struggle for a little bit, but I think it's great Steve! Only one day into your new life as an artist and you already seem happier!"

Steve has known Y/n for almost a decade. They met under odd circumstances that some would consider a meet cute. She's still so sweet and bubbly just like she was the day he met her. It wasn't hard for him to fall head-over-heels for her. She always has a kind word and an open ear even during times of distress.

Sometimes he blushes when she gives him a compliment. She claims to not know anything about art, but every time he shows her something new she always has something stark to say that sticks with him. Maybe it's because it's coming from her.

His time spent alone in his studio is sacred. He converted a room in his apartment into a makeshift studio and he finds so much solace in those four walls. He has wanted to dabble in painting live subjects, maybe even a nude model or too, but he found himself getting real shy about it. He'd love to have someone to pose and to capture the way the light perfectly hits their face. That someone he imagined was often Y/n.

He was shocked when she allowed him to make her his subject. It started with him asking to paint a few photos of her she had lying around for "practice." Y/n was more than happy to help her friend Steve, only under the condition that he show her the final product. Steve found no problem in showing off the pastoral setting paintings he created, but it was much more harder to show off paintings of the person he thinks is the most beautiful person in the world.

Just like he couldn't muster up the confidence to ask anyone else to be his model, Steve could never ask Y/n to model for him in person. He found himself becoming too shy whenever the question was on the tip of his tongue. It would be much better if he were here in person with him, but he opted for photos of her clipped to his easel for reference. He'd finish a painting in one day and send her a photo via text of the finished product.

“I really look like that? It's amazing Steve!”

But eventually he ran out of photos. He tried to reuse some old ways and paint in a different style, or play with the colors, but it was beginning to become stale. Steve needed something new, but he didn't want to let go of Y/n as his subject.

"So you need new pictures?"

"Yeah — it's fine if you don't have any more," he tries to play it off as if he doesn't have 10 canvases in his studio of paintings of her that he hasn't shown her.

"We could take some more. Do you still have that digital camera you got a few Christmas' ago?"

"No. I think it got lost when I moved."

"Oh. Well I think Sam has a camera we can borrow. It's one of those fancy ones, right?"

Steve agreed to ask Sam to borrow his camera, but he honestly wishes that he had just bought his own. The amount of teasing he had to endure when he explained to Sam exactly why he needed the camera made his skin heat up. He couldn't stop his cheeks from becoming rosy when Sam asked when is he finally going to tell Y/n how he feels about her. Steve doesn't want to ruin what they have just in case Y/n rejects him. He'd much rather wallow in his school boy crush than put a strain on their friendship.

"How do you want me to pose?"

Y/n sat on the lone couch in Steve's studio room. It wasn't the best quality but it was still useful.

The curtains were drawn to shield the sun that was nearly set. The lighting in the room was dim save for the soft light coming from a small lamp pointed at her. It casted a warm, yellowish light onto her skin. She wore a white dress and kicked her shoes off at the front door.

"Whatever comes natural to you," his voice is weak as he responds. The atmosphere of the room is slightly romantic and he can't shake his nerves. Everything feels extremely intimate.

Y/n is almost as nervous as Steve. She's never modeled for someone and it feels a little bit awkward. She's always comfortable around Steve, but she can't help but get a little nervous when she sees Steve with the camera in his hands.

"You look perfect like that," he compliments the half-asses pose she's doing before snapping the first photo. He looks at the preview before the camera's screen could go dark.

"Let me see." He shows her and she just nods her head, "let me adjust myself," she whispers.

Y/n unbuttons the first two buttons of her dress, exposing more of her chest that only gives a glimpse of her breast. Steve pretended to not notice it as he took another picture of her. Once again Y/n asked to see the photo and looked a little more satisfied with it this time.

"Do you think that I could — nevermind."

"What is it Y/n?" He asks with a soft laugh that makes her want to melt.

"Do you think I could unbutton my dress all the way?" Her voice faltered as she asked. She watched Steve's reaction intently. She hopes the question doesn't make him uncomfortable. "It's just that I was looking up some ideas online so I could prepare and I saw this really pretty picture of this model and she was semi-nude but it was really pretty so I wanted to ask if we could try it," she explained; or perhaps over-explained.

Steve was completely dumbfounded. If Y/n couldn't see it in his dropped jaw, then she can see it in the way he just freezes.

"It's okay if that's too much."

"No! No, it's okay."

Y/n gave him a half smile before she began to unbutton the front of her dress. Steve tried to look away, but how could he not? The more she revealed herself, the easier it was for him to see the swell of her breast. Her skin looks so soft and he feels compelled to reach out and caress her bare skin. But he keeps his hands to himself.

"Is this too much?" The puffy sleeves of her dress were off of her shoulder and her dress was all the way open until the middle of her stomach. It's a lot for him to handle, but he feels blessed to see such a sight.

"No. It's perfect. You're perfect."

Y/n's skin heats up despite the room being cold. She was starting to get a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't a bad one or an uncomfortable feeling, but it was something she wasn't used to.

Now she's half-naked and posing on his couch. The first few photos he took of her like this were awkward as they both had to adjust to Y/n being half-naked.

Steve couldn't ignore the way the cold air made her nipples hard and breast tender. Steve was supposed to be on his best behavior, but he is seconds away from making a stupid mistake with his best friend.

Y/n arches her back which makes her breast jut out at him. Steve pauses to pray that he doesn't get a hard on. He feels a bit like a scumbag for even having this dilemma. It's just his best friend's half-naked body — that looks so soft and tender.

He forced himself to steel his resolve and hurry up and finish the task at hand. He began to treat her more like a model instead of the best friend he has a crush on.

"Try this," he suggests to her to move her body in a different way, which she does, but it's not quite what he wants. He was hesitant to get his hands on her, but he went for it anyway, "a little more like this."

In the process of moving her body, his hand brushed against her nipple. Y/n involuntarily let out a moan which made both of them pause. They looked at each other before Y/n let out a nervous laugh to try to play it off.

"Sorry," Steve apologizes.

"It's okay."

He glosses over what just happened and goes back to moving her body to her liking. He can't get over how good she feels underneath him. The truth is that he was taking his time to be able to have this experience for much longer. He may never have this kind of closeness with her again and he just can't quite let go.

Y/n watches his face as his hands touch her body. He looks so handsome under this lighting and Y/n wonders if she's always felt this way about Steve. For some reason she feels lust swirling inside of her. She hopes she isn't making a mistake when she leans forward and kisses him. Steve freezes under her kiss, stunned by reality, but he lets it happen. Her lips feel so soft against his, just like he always imagined.

She pulls away and places her forehead against his. Steve still has his eyes closed, lost in the dream that is Y/n's closeness.

"You can open your eyes now," she teases him. He obeys her and laughs along with her.

"I've wanted this for so long," he admits.

The revelation is shocking to her. She had no idea he felt this way about her, but now she wonders how much she's been oblivious to.

"Do you want this, Y/n? The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable."

"No, no — I want this Steve. I wanna feel you touching me," her voice became somewhat whiny as desire fueled her.

With her blessing, Steve did not hold back. He kissed her hard, the way he imagined he would always kiss her. Imagine the way his heart nearly stopped when Y/n kissed him back with the same amount of fervor and want. Her hand came up and rested against the stubble on his cheek. They wish they could say their kiss was delicate, but it was not; it was sloppy and their tongues danced with each other.

When Steve pulls away, he's out of breath, but he's happy. The light touches he gave to her body earlier were not a bit rougher. He wants to explore every inch of her body in seconds, but he wants to be patient; he has all night to discover every inch of her.

"Touch me right here, Steve."

Y/n places his hands on her breast with his thumbs in reach of her nipples. Steve's thumb runs across her taut nipples which makes her sigh. "You like that?" He asks with a bit more confidence. She nods her head and her approval emboldens him. “Good.”

His lips ghost across the skin on her neck before he places a wet kiss against the skin on her throat. He can feel her breath hitch every time he places a tender kiss on her flesh. She smells like lavender and it makes him feel dizzy. He keeps playing with her nipples as he begins to suck on her neck. Y/n wants to just lay there and take in the feeling of him spoiling her, but she also wants to hear him moan. She strokes the bulge in his pants with her knee and she feels him groan against her skin. He lightly grinds himself against her knee to relieve all of the tension that built up inside of him. Neither of them are sure who wants who more, but it doesn’t matter to either of them. Knowing that this is an equal exchange of love and lust is enough for the two of them.

“Oh god Steve,” Y/n coos when he sucks on the most sensitive part of her neck. They’ve only just begun, but he makes her feel so good. A part of her is wishing that she had discovered Steve’s crush on her a long time ago, but she has him now and that’s all that matters.

“I wanna make you feel good,” he says against her skin, “I wanna make you cum.”

Y/n can’t help but moan at his confession. She can already imagine how it would feel to have him between her legs.

“Please Steve!”

Steve sits up just to push her dress up. The cotton panties she wears has a pink bow sewn onto it and he finds it adorable. He glances back up at her and he notices that she’s looking away from him. She’s now feeling bashful knowing that he’s going to see her completely naked even though she wants all of this and more. “It’s okay, pretty girl,” Steve pacifies her by slowly stroking her outer thigh. She finally looks at him, her pupils wide with lust. She almost sighs in content when he starts to slide her panties down. The cool air of the rooms only heats her up once it hits her hot sex.

“My god,” Steve whispers to himself. She looks so pretty, but she’s absolutely messy between her legs. She places her foot on the back of his couch to spread herself wider for him. “Good girl.”

Steve lowers himself between her legs and just stares at her for a moment. He wants to remember this for the rest of his life just in case this is the last time something like this happens between the two of them. He would be crushed if Y/n asked to just continue on as friend’s after this, but he would be eternally grateful that she granted him this opportunity. All he wants to do is make her feel good; his pleasure will follow suit, but it’s all about her.

One of his fingers runs along the edge of her folds. Y/n whimpers at the delicate way he treats her body. She feels so lucky to have someone so kind and sweet like Steve. He touches her with care, and love is in every stroke. “You’re so perfect,” he says before kissing her inner thigh. Every part of her body is sensitive but somehow she is able to withstand it all.

The first lick to her pussy overblows both of their senses. She’s sweet like honey and juicy like a peach. Steve’s first instinct is to groan against her pussy which sends vibration throughout her entire body. She feels like she’s on fire as all of the blood in her body goes straight to her sensitive nub. His tongue focuses on her clit and she’s in heaven. Steve’s tongue moves with so much skill and precision, but most importantly, passion. Steve treats her like he truly wants her, and Y/n can’t help but fall for him at this moment.

“You taste so good,” he coos against her slick.

The way he paws at her body while licking her pussy makes her feel like she’s being worshiped. Tears well in her eyes the harder he sucks at her clit. She hopes his neighbors’ aren’t home because they’d probably be annoyed at the loud sounds of her cries of pleasure. He has her on the edge and it just takes him rolling her nipples with his fingers that finally push her over.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop!”

Her cries are so angelic to him. And as much as he wants to keep licking her out, Steve needs to be inside of her so bad. He tames himself and pulls his mouth away from her to pull himself out of his pants. His incredibly hard, the head of his cock an angry red as it leaks pre-cum. “This is what you do to me,” his words are haunting. Y/n whines and wiggles her hips from being so impatient.

Steve lowers himself and presses the head of her cock at her opening. She’s so slippery that he pushes into her with ease. His cock is so big that she inhales sharply as she takes all of him inside of her. Her walls are like silk around him.

“So tight baby — oh god.”

Steve feels like he’s going to explode already. Her pussy is squeezing him and she looks up at him with wide eyes as she takes his cock like a good girl. It is the hardest task he’s ever faced in his life to not cum already. She just feels so good.

“Are you okay?” He asks sweetly before dipping his head to kiss her forehead.

She nods her head, “yes, Steve…feels so good,” she manages to speak coherently.

Her legs were thrown over his legs which allows him to fuck deeper into her. She looks so beautiful underneath him. Steve wants to feel her cum on his cock so bad. She flutters around him when he pulls out of her only to push back in seconds later.

Steve can only control himself for so long before he’s pounding into her. The cry of his name on her lips is so saccharine that it gives him a sweet tooth. He sucks on the skin of her neck to satisfy that need while Y/n places her hand on the back of his head as she moans for him.

“I’m gonna cum Steve! You’re going to make me cum!”

The ridges of his cock feels so good inside of her, but what really does it for her is how the head of his cock is kissing her cervix. The stretch of his cock is such a delicious burn that she wants him inside forever. With his face planted in her neck, lips kissing at her skin, Y/n is completely enamored with the way Steve consumes all of her. She is his just as much as he is her.

He feels her sex squeeze him one more time before she’s cumming all around him. She clings to him as her orgasm ravages through her. Steve fucks her through it before reluctantly pulling out of her. Her jerks himself off until he’s cumming all over her pretty tits, painting her body like she’s one of the world’s most precious masterpieces.

The two are completely spent as their limbs dangle off of his couch. Y/n’s heart is full feeling his cum cooling on her chest. She dips a finger in his spent and sucks it off, savoring his taste since she didn’t get a chance to go down on him. Steve almost passes out at the sight.

“You’re crushing my legs Steve,” she laughs warmly. He rolls off of her and off of the couch entirely.

Steve grabs a towel and starts t0 clean up her chest. He remembers what they were supposed to be accomplishing, but after what just happened between the two of them, Steve is certain he won’t be anxious about asking her to be his model again.

“So, where do we go from here?”

The question catches him off guard. He slowly wipes away his cum with the damp towel from her chest. As much as finding the answer to this question is hard, he is happy that she asked it because it means that she’s giving him a chance.

“I don’t want this to be the last time we do this,” Steve admits. He’s quickly become addicted to the way their foreheads pressed together; it just feels so intimate. “I love you too much for this to be the last time we ever spend like this together.”

As much as tonight has been shocking to her after the revelation of Steve proving to her that he loves her, she’s only overwhelmed with positive emotions.

“Then let’s not let this be the last time,” she whispers against his lips.

A wave of relief washes over Steve as he just lays there against, their bare bodies pressed against each other as if this is always how it should’ve been. His only hope is that they can stay like this forever.

[americasmarauders]

can I request a Jason todd x reader fic based on list 1, prompt #26 plsss🧸🦦

yo, this got done quickly cause I had a draft already started that fit ~perfectly~ with the prompt. was it sitting on my docs for like 8 months? yes it was. I tweaked it a bit and, seriously, it’s so fluffy I might die. 

words: 1,426 (it’s very short i’m sorry, but I swear it’s good)

warnings: blood, wounds, tooth-rotting fluff. 

prompt: when it’s a slow burn, and the characters just look at each other like “fuck it i’m done with this” and kiss

my masterlist

Jason considered himself lots of things. He was practical, well read, and he’d even admit he was a little violent sometimes. But he never considered himself a coward. 

He used to be smooth, charm the pants off any girl he wanted to talk to, easily and quickly. He would open doors and shoot a brilliant smile their way, and he would listen to their heart picking up a beat. There was a sense of pride in that, making a girl fall for him for a night, a twisted accomplishment that proved to himself he wasn’t a dead man walking, just a man. 

With her, well, he was just an idiot.

It was frustrating. In his brain, he was charming her ass off, sweeping her off her feet and dreaming of something more with her. His mouth didn’t comprehend what his brain wanted, the words would get stuck in the tip of his tongue. No matter how much he tried, the voice in his head would stop him. 

Even if he seemed a complete ass next to her, she never faltered next to him. She was always there, showering him with kindness and understanding. A smile never seemed to leave her face, even when she was sad, he could tell she gathered her energy to show him a little sign that she was okay. She was his constant. She was his gravity center. That terrified him. 

He had enemies. Too many enemies. Normally, he wouldn’t care about those seeing him underneath the sun. He would meet them with his guns and he would leave a trail of bodies behind him (all of them alive, unfortunately). But after her, his modus operandi changed. 

Everything he did was a secret, paranoid that if word got out of who he was under the hood, she would be targeted. The mere thought of her being at the end of the barrel of a gun sent him in a spiral. He couldn’t afford that risk, she couldn’t be killed, not because of him. It would kill him.

Why did he have to fall for her? He asked himself that constantly. It would have been simpler, easier, if he had nothing to lose, nothing to look forward to after a long night. It would be only his mission and himself. 

In other words, he would become Bruce. That thought made him angry, he had vowed to not become him. He would shake the thought and think about her. Her smile, her eyes and spirit. All the little things she despised about herself, but that made her just her. Jason loved her completely. Unlike Bruce, he couldn’t deprive himself of love. Even if it came with fears and a crushing sense of inadequacy. 

She made his life better, that much he was certain. Falling for her was a blessing dressed as a curse. He had received an angel in his life. He wasn’t about to ruin that. ‘Don’t sabotage yourself,’ Tim said once. ‘You have a shot, Jay. I know that. Don’t let your insecurities get in the way.’

Even with that constant reminder echoing in his head, he couldn’t get himself out of his way. He would think about all the things that could go wrong, all the ways they could get to her, and he would freeze. 

Jason Todd was a coward. Jason Todd was in love. 

#

#

He would always get into her apartment sneakily. It was charming that he would use the front door, unlike the first few times he had got in through the window. He would always ditch the tactical gear, getting in just in an undershirt and pants. 

She usually heard him getting in. It was a silent pact they made the first few times they started the arrangement. He would make some noise when he came in, that way she wouldn’t have a heart attack when she woke up and found him on her couch. Her sleep was light anyway, she would wake up with a quiet sound. 

The sound of him opening the front door woke her up. Instinctively, she got up and headed to the bathroom. She quickly grabbed the first aid kit - that seemed to grow everytime she went to the farmacy - and went in his direction.  

She rubbed her eyes sleepy, yawning when she saw him for the first time that night. He had helped himself to an ice pack, resting on his left eye. In the faint lighting of the lamp she could see the white streak of his hair glued to his forehead with sweat and blood. His feet hung lazily over the hand rest of the couch, his boots discarded next to her front door. There was a stain on his side, probably caused by a bloody wound.

“Rough night?” she asked quietly, kneeling beside him. He turned to see her, lifting slightly the ice pack to reveal a nasty black eye. It was getting swollen, his eye barely opened. 

“You could say that,” he chuckled, humourlessly, resting the ice pack once again on his eye. 

She smiled at him, her eyes trailed on the gauze package on her hand. Her fingers delicately brushed on his skin, lifting his shirt to reveal the cut. Jason had fast healing, something he never explained how he got it, no matter how much she asked. The cut wasn’t as deep as it had been how many hours it had been made, it was still nasty and bloodied. She rested the gauze on it, and he hissed in pain. “Sorry,” she mumbled quietly. Everytime she ever provoked any pain in him she apologized. He hadn’t told her much, and she hadn’t pressed him, knowing it hurt too much for him to talk, but she knew he hadn’t received kindness in abundance in his life. She swore to herself that would never happen again. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Nah,” he gripped the ice pack tightly, as she rubbed an antiseptic on his wound. She knew he thought she wouldn’t notice, but she did. “Just normal shit. Don’t worry.”

Her eyes flicked to his face, illuminated by the faint orange glow of her lamp. His face was angelic, even with the stubble and the cuts and the frown he would often sport. He was an angel, nothing could convince her otherwise. He was her angel, the motive she always had a pack of mint tea in her kitchen cabinet and a mallet full of gauze and antiseptic. She would do anything for him, he’d just have to ask her. 

“I can’t not worry,” the confession left her lips life a prayer. Her heart raced in her chest, her eyes focused on bandaging the almost gone cut on his side. It wouldn’t even leave a scar. “I’m afraid it’s quite impossible, Jay.”

He turned his head to her, abandoning the ice pack on his stomach. His eye wasn’t swollen anymore, and she could see his beautiful blue iris finally. His eyes were usually cold and stony towards any other person, but never towards her. Not once his eyes held anything other than  warmth and affection when he looked at her. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered to her. He looked at her soul when she said that, said like he meant it with all his heart. “I don’t.”

“Don’t say that,” she abandoned the gauze and cradled his face with her hands. She was careful not to graze his bruised cheekbone, looking firmly at him. “I decide whether or not you deserve me Jason, and you do.”

He opened a rare smile, shaking his head in disbelief. His eyes didn’t leave hers, she could almost see the thought process going on in his head. “Fuck it,” he mumbled, getting up. His hands found their way to her faces, grabbing it gently. He brought his lips close to hers, hovering over them for a split second before colliding them together. 

The kiss was gentle and slow, both testing the waters. It was a long time in the making, both used to guarding their feelings closely. He interrupted the kiss, resting his forehead on hers, His thumb gently grazed on her cheekbones, caressing her delicately and lovingly. “I’m sorry,” he confessed, “I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

She smiled at him, her eyes trailed oh his. “Shut up and kiss me again.”

And he did. And he would everytime she asked for the rest of her life. 

[dynyamight]

For the interaction + action ask: “ You have the most beautiful eyes, I’ve ever seen. “ + attempts to pickpocket, but gropes instead

send me an interaction ask bonus + action

“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen." + attempts to pickpocket, but gropes instead

From the moment he landed on the feeble looking man, making his way down the cobblestone pathway, Bakugou knew that was his next target.

Dressed in an oversized robe, with only his soft, round face showing, the merchant strolled the empty street with a satchel, visibly filled with who knows what. But, Bakugou had a gut feeling that it had to be valuables and riches.

The green haired fool had his hands protectively around its shoulder strap; of course there had to be something worth selling.

Swiftly, Bakugou hightailed, right behind the merchant, making sure to keep a relatively natural distance between them. Fortunately for him, the night sky allowed his presence to be hidden better, with only the dim street lamps barely making light.

When the merchant makes a turn, around the corner of the next street, Bakugou allows himself a few seconds to slow down. Give his target some time to look back, and notice nothing.

After his small breather, Bakugou then makes the turn.

“Hi!” The merchant greets in his face.

Taken aback, Bakugou’s left stumbling backwards, barely catching himself in the process. “What the- Holy shit.”

“I deeply apologize, I didn’t mean to scare you so suddenly.” The merchant smiles feebly, his expression painted with worry. “I just noticed we were headed the same way, and I was wondering if you too are wanting to meet with Wizard Yagi?”

Wizard who?

Now, usually, Bakugou would have dropped the mission, head over and found a different person. There’s no point in trying to steal from someone who already knows your face, and has caught you in the act. It ruins the fun in thievery, and Bakugou simply just doesn’t enjoy lying, due to having to talk to the other person.

He prefers to do the least amount of talking possible.

However, today was a complete bust. Bakugou hasn’t been as lucky as he usually is, stealing empty bags, and pickpocketing fool’s gold and counterfeit goods. It’s just been the fucking worst, to say the least.

So, yeah, he’s desperate as fuck. And, this guy looks like he could barely hurt an ant, without bursting into fat welts.

“Sure am.” Bakugou lies, offering an open hand. “You must be Wizard Yagi’s apprentice?”

Green eyes light up, and quickly their hands are met into a firm handshake. “Why yes! How did you know?”

Lucky guess. “The whole town’s been hearing about you. Someone who had extremely, wondrous potential. A fucking prodigy, genius even.”

There’s a slight blush that forms over the merchant’s face. “O-Oh, I wouldn’t say that. The rumors are always so exaggerated these days.”

“Pfft, c’mon. You’re fucking well known.” Bakugou states easily, “I bet you’re the best at magic.”

“Um, I don’t actually use magic.” The merchant weakly admits.

“You don’t?” Shit.

“D-Don’t worry!” He reassures quickly, hands waving dismissively in the air, “It’s a common mistake the folks say.”

“Oh, that’s a fucking relief.” Bakugou genuinely breathes out.

“All is forgiven.” The merchant chuckles, finally gesturing to his satchel at his side. “You see, I gather bunches of resources from the forest, as well as pick up spices and herbals from different shops, and create healing potions. If I could use magic, I think it would have been Light magic.”

“You can’t possibly collect so much, without a couple of coins in your bag.” Bakugou suggests.

“A-Ah, well,” The merchant scratches the side of his cheek, donned with freckles, “I do have riches, in order to trade and purchase.”

It has Bakugou smiling bright. “No kidding.”

“Um, anyways,” The merchant instantly shifts the conversation, “Why don’t we walk together over to my master’s lodging? It can get a little dangerous around here.”

“My, how kind of you. You’d do that for someone like me?” Bakugou teases outright.

The merchant nods confidently. “Yeah, I can protect you, of course.”

What a fucking liar. “Lead the way, then.”

With his huge robe in the way, Bakugou has come to the terrible conclusion that while they walk, he can’t seem to grab the satchel. Hidden by the long cloth, it will continuously appear and disappear, with each step the young man took. It irritated Bakugou, to no end.

“I never got your name.” The merchant chimes from in front.

“It’s Bakugou.” He huffs, still eying at his side.

“My name is Midoriya!” The merchant chuckles airly, shaking his head. “Sorry, you probably knew that already. It’s a force of habit.”

Thank god, he would have never guessed. “Don’t sweat it. I do that shit all the time.”

Immediately, Midoriya halts in his steps. And, before Bakugou could ask, he turns to face him, a wide, joyous smile printed on his face. “Really? You do that, too?”

The satchel has now flung behind Midoriya, no longer at his side. For fuck’s sake.

Nothing comes easy to Bakugou. Hard life comes with hard, strifling times.

“Y-Yeah,” He barely grits out through his teeth, pressing down on the urge to tackle Midoriya, right here and now. “Forgetful ass motherfucker. That’s me.”

“While your language is a bit crass, I completely understand how you feel!” Midoriya states, eyes shining in delight. “It’s like I’ll go to the theater, and the ticket master will say ‘Enjoy the show!’, and I say ‘Thank you, you too!’ It’s absolutely dreadful, right?”

Bakugou has never said that stupid shit, in his entire life. Who even does that?

Apparently, this idiot.

“Absolutely dreadful.” He forces himself to agree.

“My, we have so much in common!” Midoriya laughs, bringing his hands together in a fold. “Perhaps we were bound to meet; you and I. Out here, on this fateful night!”

Sounds terribly romantic. Which then, just like a lightbulb, perfectly brings a brilliant idea in Bakugou’s mind. A way to make Midoriya stand still, and reach around his back for that damn bag.

“Say,” Bakugou begins, taking a step closer, inching his face near, “Did anyone ever tell you are a lovely sight to witness?”

Midoriya’s eyes widened, lips agape in shock. “I-I am?” He weakly breathes out.

“The damn sunset would grow jealous of your rare beauty. Trust me.” Bakugou brings his right hand up Midoriya’s face, gently cupping his cheek. “Believe me.”

He can feel the warmth hit his palm, before he sees the red hue flush across Midoriya’s face. “U-Um, thank you, Bakugou. That’s rather kind of you to say.”

“You know, if we had met under different circumstances,” Bakugou whispers, making sure to add a hint of sultry and sweet into his rough voice, “I know exactly what I would have said, to grab your attention.”

With his lingering left hand, Bakugou reaches around Midoriya’s side. He hovers just slightly over his waist, towards his backside.

At this point, now he was waiting for the right moment.

Despite his calculated movements, Midoriya still had no idea. “Wh-What would you have said, if you don’t mind me asking?” He mumbles quietly.

“I’d say,” Bakugou smirks, ‘Excuse me, sir. You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.”

And, with those emerald, pretty eyes staring back at him in awe, Bakugou finally grabs at the satchel with a tight grip.

There was no buckle. No riches he felt. No crunch from herbs or spices. There was literally nothing he felt in his hand.

Except a piece of firm ass.

And the hard fist that slammed into Bakugou’s face left him unconscious, out on the street.

[sehunniepotwrites]

AS YOU WISH | J.JH | TWO

cover by @seostudios

SYNOPSIS. He was a boy, she was a girl— can I make it any more obvious?

But actually, she was a cursed genie of two thousand years who longed to be freed of her gilded cage and he was a modern but lonely boy who hoped to free her. He just didn’t expect to fall in love with her in the process.

GENRE. angst, slow burn, romance, genie!au, reincarnation!au, royal!au, thief!au PAIRING. jeong jaehyun x female genie!reader MINOR CHARACTERS. mark lee, moon taeil, jeong sungchan, lee taeyong, johnny suh WORD COUNT. 2k

WARNINGS. stealing, mentions of cuts and wounds, blood, physical beating, derogatory name calling, a lifetime of pain

ONE: PAST | TWO: INTERLUDE | THREE: PRESENT

You had all the magic in the world at the tips of your fingers but what was the point of it all? None of your spells or incantations as a genie would bring Yuno back to you. Even a genie had their limitations— there were rules and regulations to follow and Rowena made sure you understood them perfectly. 

As a genie, you were bound to your lamp unless your master called for you or wished for your freedom. The only other way for you to escape the curse was if Yuno was able to find you, become your last master, and set you free with a lover’s kiss. The situation itself sounded impossible but one could still hope in the good of people. You never wanted to lose hope in the hearts of humans but as time went on, your own heart hardened by witnessing the complete selfishness of others. 

The rules you had to relay to your masters were simple. They were given two choices: to have one wish granted with endless possibilities until the end of their lives or have three restrictive wishes granted. As much as you wanted someone to wish you free, they never did, too blinded by their own wants.

Every master who had found you throughout your years picked the option of having one wish granted. With each desire fulfilled, you lost faith in the human race and were completely disgusted at their actions. 

You were not able to kill, bring anyone back from the dead, or force anyone to fall in love with another person and yet, your masters found ways to come close to having these wishes granted. Those were the people you remembered most. 

One of those masters was named Taeyong. He was a young man, his lithe body filled with ambition. He strived for fame and fortune and refused any other light but the spotlight. He found you in his grandfather’s belongings after his kin passed and kept you to satisfy his selfish needs.

His one wish was to remain the richest bachelor in the world and to never run out of money. Taeyong spent frivolously with you by his side, your powers robbing those with higher numbers then him.

Taeyong remained on top of the world but at the cost of stealing what really belonged to others.

Another master you had met along the way was the handsome Youngho, a businessman who had no time for socializing. He was always nose deep into his work, calling you out at random times to keep him company. He never wished for anything; he just wanted to have someone with him.

Youngho said he liked having you around and he was glad he found you. He described you as a guiding light that kept him on the path and you almost fell for his charms. Your hardening heart softened and you found yourself falling for the lonely businessman with the sharp eyes and kind smile.

“Thank you,” Youngho said one day as you sat beside him, his head curled on your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“For what?” you asked.

“For being there for me when no one else was,” he replied and you felt the flutters in your stomach. It had been centuries since you had last seen your prince but the Yuno-sized hole in your heart was slowly being filled with Youngho.

But just as you let your guard down and your heart grew soft, something happened. Youngho fell in love with another— someone who wasn’t you. The pain you felt was excruciating and you had to grin and bear it as he asked you for an endless supply of the most powerful love potion in the universe.

You had no choice but to give it to Youngho and watch him as he poured the substance into another’s cup every time they started to slip from the man’s grasp. The potion itself did not mimic the feeling of love itself, it simply gave the consumer a case of strong infatuation aimed towards the giver. 

It was then you decided to hate humans and their extreme selfishness. The only people you refused to hate were Yuno and Minhyung— but they, much like the love in your heart, were long gone.

Reincarnations, you quickly discovered, were real. You could not count how many times one of your former masters found you in their new lifetime. Seeing Youngho reincarnated did not shock you one bit. He was named Johnny in this life and no matter how many smiles he flashed your way, you refused to reciprocate the action.

All humans are selfish, you repeated the mantra in your head. Do not trust anyone. 

You could not fall for his dazzling smile again. You refused to. The only person that belonged in your heart was Prince Yuno.

Similar to his last life, Johnny was a workaholic. He was a businessman with almost no time on his hands but the male still made time for his friends. You heard the voices of his closest colleagues often as Johnny brought you everywhere, your lamp tucked into his bag. He kept you hidden, a secret for only him to enjoy for the rest of his days.

Some of the voices were oddly similar to ones you had heard before and how you wanted to laugh. You heard Taeyong’s voice once; how funny was it that all your former masters met in this life? With a roll of your eyes, you remembered a saying Yuno would often iterate: “You attract what you are.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish. That’s what all humans were. 

There was a day Johnny had his other colleagues over for a late night drink. He hid your lamp in plain sight, the object acting as a paperweight on his coffee table as his friends gathered around the living room.

“If you could have one wish granted, what would it be?” Johnny posed the question, taking a sip of his drink. He reiterated the rules you gave him and you scoffed; the man couldn’t decide on what to wish for so he turned to his friends for ideas.

“Fame, naturally,” Taeyong’s reincarnation replied and you chuckled bitterly from inside your cage. He never changed. “I want people to remember my name.”

“Of course you would ask for that, you narcissist,” Johnny laughed, the others chiming in as well. They took turns around the room and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at each request.

Johnny posed the idea of forever staying on top, no matter the means. 

“So, let’s say someone takes the number one spot, would you do whatever it takes to snatch it away from them?” A new voice muttered. It sounded awfully familiar and it made your heart lurch forward. 

“Yeah,” you heard Johnny reply nonchalantly.

“Even if it led to hurting them?” the deep voice asked again. Tears welled up in your eyes and you couldn’t figure out why.

“Since killing them isn’t an option, hurting them until they’re on the brink of being ruined, why the hell not?” Johnny pushed. His other friends agreed with him but that one achingly familiar voice openly opposed his companion’s choice.

“Isn’t that a bit harsh? Some people spend years working their way up to the top and I think they deserve to stay up there,” he retaliated. 

“Jeffery, isn’t that a bit naive to say in the business world?” Johnny asked, a bit of edge in his voice. “It’s a dog eat dog world out there. You can’t rely on goodness and hard work to get you through everything.”

“But doing that, stepping on the underdog— it isn’t right,” the man named Jeffery said. “They’ll suffer. I don’t know, I just feel like it’s always been my duty to assist those below us and help them thrive.”

Why did Jeffery’s words sound like something you had heard before? 

As the men continued their discussion, a memory from long ago came to mind. Yuno’s face during your second meeting came to mind, his handsome features wrinkled as he expressed his disappointment in Rowena’s actions: “What she is doing to the people out here, it isn’t right. They are suffering and I feel as if it is my duty to stop her.” 

Bless the stars, you had found him. 

Yuno. Your Yuno

The tears began to fall as you sobbed. He was right there with you, in the same room. You closed your eyes and listened for his voice again and placed your hand on the wall of your lamp. You were facing the direction Yuno’s voice was coming from and a smile broke out on your lips. The action of smiling felt weird to experience, seeing as how long it had been since you last grinned this widely. 

After how many years of not having him by your side, your prince was finally there with you. If only you could let yourself out of your lamp.

“Hey, what is that?” Jeffery asked.

“What’s what?” Johnny replied, a bit confused.

The conversation shifted as your hand remained on the wall. They were no longer talking about wishes; instead, they were talking about you, or rather, your lamp.

“I’ve never seen that before, John; is it new?” Jeffery pushed. You felt a warmth radiating against the golden walls, a warmth similar to Yuno’s loving touch. This was it, you thought. The reunion you had been waiting for.

It grew hotter and hotter, your heart was about to burst. Electricity was flooding through your veins and a dizzying spell reached your head.

Just a little bit more, my prince. A little bit more, you said to yourself, your hand clasping against your lips as sobs of joy began to escape.

“No!” Johnny shouted. “Don’t touch that!” 

Just as quickly that warmth surrounded you, it was snatched away with the same amount of speed. It disappeared, the walls now cold as your lamp shook. The sudden action jolted you across your space, causing you to hit your head on a surface. 

“Sorry, John!” Jeffery said, “I was just curious.”

The mood in the room shifted and so did the mood inside your lamp. 

“I think you all should go.”

“Wait, just because I tried to touch your thing?” Jeffery fought back. “It can’t be that serious, can it?”

Not liking the sudden shift, the other colleagues obeyed Johnny’s request. 

“It is that serious and I think you should leave.”

“No!” you screamed from your cage, now banging on the walls. Johnny felt your actions, the lamp shaking as you continued to hit the surface. “No, no, no, no, no! Please!” 

Please, you begged miserably. Using a bit of your magic that would surely cost you a bit of your health, you willed yourself to peek through spout and there he was, still as beautiful as ever.

His name might have been Jeffery in that life but he was still your Yuno. He stood there, looking just as princely as he did in the past. His blazer was draped over his shoulder with a tie loosened around his neck and white sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyebrows were furrowed and a frown hid the dimples you loved so much. 

Oh, how much you wanted to escape and turn that frown upside down. To kiss the downward curl away like you had back in the days when you were together.

“Go, Jeff,” Johnny’s voice hardened, almost challenging the younger. Jeffery took one more glance at the lamp behind his hand and you caught his eye.

You watched as he did a double take with a look of confusion before a flash of pain took over his face. That expression of discomfort went away as the man shook his head. He dragged a hand over his immaculate face, stealing your one last glance at his beauty from you, as he unwillingly put on his shoes.

“Fuck, fine,” Jeffery said before taking his leave, his back turned from you. You bit on your lip as another sob escaped you. 

Don’t go.

Don’t leave me.

Don’t leave me alone again.

He promised to always find you. Why couldn’t he find you this time around? 

Yuno was so close yet so far. 

How much more of this pain could a genie like you take? 

Why was the universe set on keeping you apart?

Why couldn’t you finally have the only thing you wanted?

Why couldn’t your wish come true?

author’s note. hello, my genie lovers! this is the second part of three or four. i’m still working on the last part-- it’s a really slow process but i’m getting there! be patient with me, please! i would love to hear feedback from everyone! any thoughts on the rules she has to follow? her masters? her unwavering love for Yuno? uwu

taglist. @rindomo @yshbaewenjun @hannie-dul-set @itsapapisongo @babyyynatty @notnctu @w0nni3wrld @yuta1forme @lucyinthesunshinee @johtenrecs​

[one-more-fangirl]

Best kept secret - JJ Maybank

(not my gif! credits to owner)

JJ Maybank x kook!fem!reader

summary: reader and jj have an argument and she says she needs space, only for jj to show the world how much she means to him the next day. bonus: a hot tub moment and a little blurb of the rest of s1 because i couldn’t help myself.

warnings: there’s curse words, mention of child abuse, mention of a few illegal activities (this is obx we’re talking about)

masterlist

***

There were two things everyone knew about JJ Maybank: 1, he appeared to flirt with every girl that had a heartbeat; and 2, he hated Kooks. Now here’s one thing nobody knew: he was dating Y/n L/n, the only child of the L/ns, one of wealthiest families in the whole island that was Outer Banks. A Kook. So, as it seems, he didn’t actually flirt with every girl, everyone just thought he did. He’s loyal, he wouldn’t dare cheat on his girl.

It all started when they were around ten years old. He was on the beach, crying over how his dad had once again beat him up, when someone sat down next to him. At first, JJ had been ready to look up at that person and tell them to fuck off, but when he saw her, looking at him with that beautiful smile of hers, the only thing he could do was gawk. Y/n had been taking a walk along the beach, looking for seashells when he saw his figure shaking on the ground. She just wanted to help.

Long story short, Y/n took care of JJ’s bruises and cuts —which turned into a usual thing over the years—, and they became friends in the process. Ten year olds make friends faster than a spoiled kook spends their money.

JJ became Y/n’s best friend in a matter of days, and he couldn’t believe he had actually made friends with a Kook. But he also knew that her family wasn’t the stereotypical kook family. Nope, Y/n’s grandparents —from both her mother and her father— had worked their asses off so that her parents could have the life she has now. In other words, she came from a long line of Pogues, and her family didn’t mind at all that she hung out with the Maybank boy. They gave him a job and everything.

The L/ns were good people, and everyone loved them, which led to poor Y/n being idealized as this nice girl that was a goody two shoes. Which she wasn’t. She was nice, sure, and she liked to help; but she also liked adventure and partying and having fun —she was a teenager, after all.

JJ and N/n started dating the summer before their sophomore year, and for a whole year, nobody knew. In fact, it was still like that. Y/n was like JJ’s best kept secret. The Pogues knew he saw her, because he worked for her parents, but they’d never known he was even friends with the girl, let alone her boyfriend. He didn’t want anyone to know.

In his mind, that would ruin her reputation —Y/n rolled her eyes every time he used that excuse. But she loved JJ, so she’d wait until he was ready to tell anyone other than her parents.

 [...]

A knock on the window of her balcony made Y/n look up from her book. The outline of a person stood in the dark, and if she hadn’t memorized that figure a thousand times, she probably would’ve been scared. So she got up and opened the door, going back to her bed almost without looking back.

“I have two pages left of this chapter and I’ll be right with you, babe” she rushed, getting only the sound of the balcony closing as response.

Then, JJ fell on her bed, looking up at her ceiling. She only took one glance at him, but it was enough for her to forget her book. Her little lamp illuminated his face, and she wished she could say she had forgotten about the book because of how gorgeous he was. However, the bruises and dried blood that were on his face stood out more. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks wet and his nose red, twitching with every sniffle that came out of him. He looked up at his girlfriend slowly, and that was all she needed to hurriedly lay down next to him and pull his body into an embrace. He broke down again.

Y/n’s heart broke, and she tried not to cry, reminding herself she was supposed to be strong for him. So she just held him tighter, muttering sweet nothings to him and reminding him that he was okay, that she got him, passing her fingers through his hair.

They don’t know how long they stayed there, the boy shaking in the girl’s arms, but at some point, JJ‘s breath went back to normal, and Y/n looked down at him, pressing one more kiss to his hair. She felt him shuffle in her grip until his face laid next to her, and he kissed her.

“Thank you” he mumbled after the kiss.

“Hey, of course” she reassured him looking into his eyes “I love you”

JJ looked down, he couldn’t help but feel guilty every time she told him she loved him but he couldn’t say it back. She had told him millions of times that it didn’t matter, that she would wait until he was ready, but he could only wonder why it was so fucking difficult.

“Let’s clean you up a little, huh?” she pecked his lips one more time.

She stood up and entered her bathroom, to come out with the small box that was full of medical supplies she had bought for situations like this, that unfortunately happened more often than she liked. She sat behind him, lifting his head up and placing it on her lap.

“What happened this time?” she asked softly, brushing his hair out of his forehead and starting to clean the blood around the forming bruise.

JJ let out a huff and a hiss when the alcohol made contact with the cut.

“Please don’t be mad... I got arrested, again” he waited for her to make a comment, but nothing came, so he continued “Topper and Rafe jumped Pope when he was delivering some stuff, so he sunk Topper’s boat in return. I took the blame, ended up in jail, old man came to pick me up”

“You have to be more careful, J. I get that you were helping your friend, I am so proud of you for that, but at the rate you’re going, you’ll end up in jail or juvie for good” Y/n knew a thing or two about that, her dad was a lawyer, and her mother owned a company, so she needed to know about laws.

“But I’ll have you as my lawyer, and you’ll bail me out” he winked with a goofy smile.

“I’m serious, JJ. God, he got you good” she grimaced “You sure you don’t want to call child services?”

“N/n, I’ve told you a million times, I can handle it. You don’t have to worry” he leaned up and pecked her lips.

“You telling me not to worry isn’t gonna stop me from worrying, babe” she frowned, finishing his face “Do you have anything under that shirt?”

“A good eight pack of abs” he winked with a smirk, chuckling quietly when she rolled her eyes “Nah, he only got the face and arms this time. I’m fine, baby”

“How much is the fine? Don’t roll your eyes at me, JJ. I am gonna pay for that, no matter how much it is. If I don’t your dad will probably kick your ass again!”

“And I’ll be okay! I’m not gonna let you pay for my mistakes, Y/n”

“How much, JJ?” she greeted her teeth “C’mon, I just want to help you!”

“Why?”

“Are you seriously asking me why?” she incredulously asked back “Because I care about you, JJ! Fuck, I love you, you know that! I don’t want you going to jail or juvie or getting beaten up by your dad! So why won’t you let me help you?!”

By then, they were arguing, both standing up facing each other.

“I don’t want you paying for my mistakes” he repeated with a stern look “Plus, if you helped me, people would know about us”

“I still don’t know why that would be so bad. I don’t care of what people think of me. I never have, and I’m not gonna start now” Y/n stressed “You know, everyone in this goddamn island has secrets. And they all think they’re so well kept... Sarah Cameron’s dad is more dangerous than he appears, Sheriff Peterkins can be lured very easily, and there’s people out there that would kill to keep theirs. They all have secrets, but the only one that doesn’t make sense keeping is this one!” she motioned between the two of them “We’ve known each other since we were ten, and yet you’ve never even considered letting your friends know”

The blond didn’t answer, he just stood there staring at the floor. Y/n’s eyes were filled with tears. She just wanted to help him, was that so bad? He made it look like keeping the secret was a burden, when it was him that didn’t want it out.

“I don’t want it to be a secret anymore” she spoke after a moment.

“We’ve talked about this, N/n-”

“No. You didn’t understand what I was saying” she sniffled, packing up all the healing kit on her bed “I don’t want it to be a secret anymore. As in, you and I are not a secret anymore because there’s no more us” she told him, watching as his eyes widened in realization.

“Wha- No, c’mon baby don’t say that, you don’t mean it” he approached her, carefully taking her arm, tears welling up in his own eyes “I just- I can’t let you pay a 30K bill”

“You don’t want my help? Fine. I’m done helping you, for good” she tried to seem strong, but they could both see right through her mask “Please leave. Midsummers is tomorrow and my mother wanted me to get a good sleep”

“Don’t do this, N/n, don’t go to bed with us fighting” he pleaded. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Look, I don’t want to break up, we’re not doing that, I just need to relax. Give me a day, please.” she pleaded and got into bed, turning off the light.

Y/n closed her eyes tightly, whole body tensed to make sure she didn’t let out any sobs. She knew JJ was hesitating behind her, and she could perfectly picture him opening his mouth to try and say something, but then he just sighed and left how he had entered.

 [...]

Midsummers. A party that happened at the country club every year, exclusively for Kooks to enjoy how rich they were. Even if the L/ns were probably the chillest Kook family there was, they were also members of the club. In fact, F/n L/n was the best lawyer the place had had in a very long time.

Usually, Y/n was all up for pretending for a day that she was just as much of a rich kid as the Thornton son so that the other families could get their annual “resident good girl vitamin”, but this year, she didn’t even feel like getting out of her bed.

After JJ left, she had let all the tears and sobs out, and fallen sleep on a soaked pillow. It was safe to say she was not in the mood for anything but stay wrapped up in her covers and cry, and her mother actually considered letting her stay, but then her father came and told her she needed a distraction. Unfortunately, he was right.

So, with her mom’s help, Y/n put on her midnight blue dress and matching sandals, letting her mother put on some light make up and a small flower crown —because apparently, that was what everyone was going for that year, a flower crown.

[...]

And that’s how she ended up in the club’s terrace, a cup of some liquor in hand and staring at the waves that crashed at the shore. Y/n usually kept to herself in these kind of events, she had never really loved any of the rich kids. She couldn’t believe how they could give themselves so much importance, like they were part of the English royal family or something. They were kids, for fuck’s sake! Maybe that’s why she never had a problem when talking to JJ, and why she liked to hear about his friends so much.

N/n had envied him for having a friendship that strong with someone else. The closest she had gotten to that other than with him was the Kook princess herself, but it only lasted for a couple of weeks. That’s how long the project for French had lasted, and when it ended, neither of them had enough guts to ask if they were going to continue being friends, so their friendship was limited to being nice and saying hi each time they saw each other.

There were very few kids in that party she actually liked. 3, to be exact, and one of them was a Pogue and other identified as one. Kiara Carrera, Pope Heyward and Sarah Cameron. And while she tried to act all nice to the people she didn’t like, she didn’t realize how the two Pogues’ conversation had somehow turned into her.

“She’s probably the only one in this whole party that’s not self-absorbed or a bitch” Kiara said, looking at her and not bothering to hide it.

“First thing she did when she got here was get a burger” Pope told her “And she like, made it herself. She told me I was too busy with the orders, and asked if she could make it herself; and after she did, she paid me twenty bucks!” he still couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

“It’s a shame she keeps to herself. I mean, I’ve talked to her a couple of times, and she really is as nice and amazing as people say”

“Last year, I messed up an order and she literally took the blame. Said she’d been talking to me and distracting me, but she deadass just arrived”

The topic stayed on the L/n girl for a couple of more minutes, until Pope said some random fact and it changed completely. In the meantime, Y/n had realized she had forgotten to take out JJ’s ring from her middle finger, and was fiddling with it thinking about the night before. She bit her lip, choosing to down her drink and give it a rest, distract herself.

Night fell over Outer Banks, and Y/n was truly done with the party. Rafe Cameron had had the audacity to try and flirt with her, a couple of times, and because of that, now she was stuck to her mother’s side. She paid no mind to what M/n talked about with the other woman, looking around the people absentmindedly, a new glass of liquor in hand.

A mop of blond hair caught the girl’s eye. She’d recognize that head anywhere, but he had yet to realize he was being watched, too busy trying to act like he was supposed to be there. Y/n knew he wasn’t. Unfortunately for her, just as he passed by with a tray of drinks, the woman her mother was talking to stopped him.

“Bring me some more of this” she didn’t bother watching her tone or asking politely, and JJ’s jaw tensed for a second, nodding curtly.

He lifted his head to ask if the others in the small group wanted something too, and his eyes widened when they fell on her. “Goddess” was what came to mind when he saw her. He shook his head a little and gulped before asking. He’d been moping around since he left the L/n house, realizing he’d been an idiot.

“No, JJ, thank you” M/n smiled softly, letting him go.

He smiled gratefully back, eyeing Y/n once more before hurrying away. She knew that he was up to something, the poorly made flower patterned bow and the fact that he was definitely not supposed to be here, adding to the common knowledge that JJ Maybank was never up to any good, made her keep a close eye on him —and maybe she just wanted to watch him.

Thank God she kept an eye on him, because as soon as he was done giving Sarah some note, that she knew had something to do with her avoiding Topper all day long, Rafe and his goons came up to him. The Cameron boy held that stupid smile on his face, one that screamed “CAREFUL. This boy is dangerous”.

With an annoyed huff to herself, Y/n excused herself and walked to the nearest guard.

“Hey” she called, getting the man’s attention “See those boys right there? Yeah, the one dressed as a waiter is gonna run in a few seconds. I’ll give you a hundred bucks right now if you follow them and stop the pretty girls from doing something” she took the bill out of her wallet and offered it to him.

As soon as the guard took it, and after a nervous glance around with wavering smiles and shaky chuckles, JJ made a run for it. Y/n pointed at the boys running after him and ushered the guy to follow them.

Not even five minutes later, he came back with JJ in his hold, the teenager muttering all kinds of smartass comments. Y/n had to stifle a laugh, and although her mother reprimanded her softly, she could see a smile on her face too.

“What did he do this time?” the amused voice of her dad came from behind, making her let out an “eh...” accompanied by a shrug.

However, the L/n family seemed to be the only ones that found it amusing, because all around them gasps and muttering was all that could be heard.

“Whoo!” JJ suddenly exclaimed, and Y/n arched a brow in anticipation to whatever antics he was going to pull “It’s okay everybody! Do not panic, let’s leave it to the men and women in uniform, huh! Let’s hear it for them!” he continued, clapping, as the guard escorted him outside. Then he spotted Rose Cameron “Rose! You look like Lady Liberty, it’s good to see you again” the man turned him around, and he kept getting people’s food and drinks on the way.

“Let go of him!” Kiara came to the rescue, having all heads snap towards her as her parents tried to stop her, but she paid no mind “You can’t just boot him! I invited him here! I’m a member of this club!” she came up with all kinds of excuses, and Y/n couldn’t help but smile.

All of a sudden, JJ pushed the man that held him away, a rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

“Ey! Mandatory Power hour at Rixon’s, Kie! Pope, that goes for you too!” the blond turned around, walking backwards “Workers of the world unite! Throw off your chains!” and then Y/n couldn’t hold it anymore, she started laughing.

JJ stopped for a second, his eyes falling on the grinning girl, looking incredible and like she was actually having fun in that place for the first time. The adrenaline kicked again. He saluted John B before turning back around again, this time pointing straight at the girl he loved.

“Hey, N/n!” he called, smiling brightly at her and ignoring the stares people were giving at him, most of hatred because “how dare this nobody troublemaker even look at their precious girl?!”. “You look absolutely stunning, but then again, you always do” his confidence grew when she bit down her lower lip and looked down to hide her smile, like she always did when he flirted with her “You didn’t want it to be a secret, right?” he arched an amused brow, with what she knew as his “challenge accepted” smirk “Everyone, I want you to know that I am helplessly in love with that girl over there! That’s right, Y/n L/n! I love you, gorgeous!” he blew a kiss her way and winked, smirk permanently placed on his lips as he urged his friends to go.

All the Kooks stared at the four carefree teens as they left the place, astounded. Y/n on the other hand, held a huge smile over her lips, and she felt invincible. M/n and F/n took their daughter’s hands, squeezing them in a happy manner. She giggled to herself a couple more times and then jumped, throwing a loud laugh to the air without caring how the others looked at her.

[...]

Later that night, Y/n parked her car right behind the Tannyhill property, where she knew Sarah would sneak out. Sure enough, she didn’t even have to wait five minutes when the girl came out.

“Need a ride?” she offered, startling Sarah.

“Shit Y/n! You almost gave me a heart attack” she placed a hand on her chest.

“Hop in, Cameron” she chuckled “You’ve got a Prince Charming to meet”

“How do you know?” she inquired, but still opened the door of the Jeep and got inside.

“I know a lot of the stuff that happens in this island. On both sides” she waved off.

“Okay, so I have a Prince Charming to meet, wat about you?” she wiggled her brows “What was that with JJ before, huh?”

“What I have is a crackhead idiot to talk to” she huffed with a smile, once again biting her lip as she thought of the events from the party.

Sarah arched a brow at her, but didn’t say anything.

[...]

Y/n spent around ten minutes leaning back against her Jeep before the Pogue van appeared van John B came out of it.

“Princess is on top of the tower, Prince Charming” she told him, and he jumped in his spot, making her chuckle “She’s waiting, dude”

“Thank you” he smiled; she nodded and ushered him out.

She approached the van, where three heads poked from the back door and the passenger seat.

“Hi, Kiara. Hey Pope” she waved with a soft smile, and they returned the gesture a little confused “JJ”

“N/n” he greeted, the confidence from before had washed off and now he wasn’t sure about he was supposed to act “What are you doing here?”

“Gave Sarah a ride so she could meet her Prince Charming” she jerked her head back “Thought it was the perfect excuse to see my crackhead idiot” she swayed back and forth on her feet with an innocent smile, as the blond had formed a perfect “o” with his mouth and a faint blush had settle on his cheeks “Rafe didn’t get you too hard, right?” she furrowed her brows this time, taking a step forwards in worry.

“U-Uh, no, I’m- Wait how do you know about that?” he stuttered, and the other two Pogues couldn’t believe what they were seeing in front of them.

JJ had never stuttered in front of a girl, never even faltered in his flirty behavior. When he had declared his love for the L/n daughter, they had thought it was a joke, but apparently it wasn’t.

“How do you think the guard knew where to look?” she arched her perfect brow at him, smirking when he gaped at her.

“I thought you were done helping me. For good. Thought you said you needed space” he muttered, looking down at his arms that were against the window.

“I thought you didn’t want anyone to know” she shot back “I also didn’t know you loved me” she added after a few seconds of her biting the inside of her cheek.

“Love” he corrected “I love you, as in present, right now” he looked straight into her eyes for a second, and then hesitated “Do you- do you still love me?”

“Still?” Y/n heard Pope whisper, only to be shushed by Kiara.

She paid no mind to them, focusing on JJ in front of her, as she smiled at him and nodded bashfully.

“I told you I loved you not even 24 hours ago, feelings like that don’t just disappear, dummy. Besides, I told you we weren’t breaking up” he grinned, quickly opening the passenger door and basically launching at her.

“I love you” he muttered into her neck, placing a kiss there “I love you so fucking much”

“I love you too” she answered in pure glee “You know what else I love? How you shouted it to all those Kooks! Did you see their faces?! Oh, they were glorious!” she tilted her head backwards laughing.

“I know! You were right, we should’ve done this sooner” he told her, earning a punch.

“And you realize that now?! What the hell, dude? I’ve been telling you for ages! This is just another proof that you need to listen to me more” JJ shook his head with a smile, leaning down to capture her lips in his.

“Okay, whoa, hold on” Pope interrupted again “How long has this been going on?”

“Us knowing each other or us dating?”

“Both!” Kiara exclaimed this time, unable to contain her smile.

“We’ve been best friends since we were ten, and we started dating a little over a year ago”

“How did we not know?!”

“N/n’s been my best kept secret since I met her. Nobody knew until now, but she’s been bugging me forever”

“It’s just so stupid the way you were worried about what they’d think! Who effing cares?!” Y/n shook her head, then looked at the others with a nervous expression “Hey, so umm... This might be out of place, and you can all say no, but uh... could I join you guys in your little treasure hunt? I don’t want a part of it, I just want the adventure. I-I could give you stuff you need and don’t have, that way you won’t have to steal it, o-or give you access to places...”

The three seemed to share an unspoken conversation, like the ones she had with JJ when they spent nights in the living room with her parents. Then, all at the same time, they smiled and nodded. She jumped forward, wrapping the other two in a hug. They laughed and hugged back.

“Welcome to the Pogues” Kiara smiled “I guess the “No Pogue on Pogue macking” rule is out the window now” she chuckled, as JJ passed his arm around his girl’s waist.

“Oh, you’ve no idea” he said, pressing her against his body, laughing softly when she hit him in the chest.

“I have to warn you. We’re not the only ones after the gold”

“How do you know?”

“She just knows stuff about what happens in the Outer Banks, you learn not to question it. I don’t even know how she knows about us going after it, I didn’t tell her”

JJ was right. Y/n knew a lot of stuff about a lot of people, and you just had to learn not to question it. It was like she had eyes and ears all over the place, but at the same time, she worked alone. People in Outer Banks all had secrets, and so did Y/n L/n.

bonus: hot tub moment + end of s1

 The Pogues —plus Sarah and Y/n now— had found the gold!

They had to leave Kiara and Sarah on a boat together for a whole day so that they would make up, then sneak into the haunted house of an axe murderer, the girls almost had a chimney metal stick thingy speared through their heads, and then they got shot at —which apparently wasn’t the first time it happened, and Y/n almost killed JJ for not telling her— but they found it!

Unfortunately, everything seemed to go downhill from there. Their glory was short lived and when they went to sell the few gold gallons John had taken with him, they were set up. A shotgun pointed straight at the brunette at the wheel, and then they were all pressing themselves against the floor. JJ had not been happy with that. In fact, he’d been so furious, he’d driven them all to the guy’s house and stolen 25K from him.

“Here you go babe” he handed Y/n a stack of bills.

“J, you can’t do this” she carefully told him. She’d been with him inside the house and witnessed how he’d reacted to JB; she didn’t want to make it worse “I understand that you are mad, but stealing money from a drug dealer that pointed a gun at us is not a good idea”

The blond inhaled through his nose, his eyebrows meeting in the middle. He was sick and tired of being messed with, first by Kooks and now by the asshole that sold his dad coke. He wasn’t gonna put it back.

“We’re tired of your shit” John B told him, and from the corner of his eye he could see Y/n take a sharp breath.

“Oh, my shit?”

“Yeah, your shit”

“Your “pulling guns on people” shit” Kiara continued.

“You’re acting like a maniac!”

“Okay, hey! Let’s calm down a little, alright?” Y/n pushed herself to be in front of her boyfriend.

“I took the fall for you, Pope!” JJ ignored her “Know how much I owe because of you?”

“I was gonna pay you back!”

“I just did!” he hollered “Pay it back. Right here, right now, by myself. You know what? That’s exactly what I’m gonna do. Go off by myself” he took the bag with the money and left, ignoring his girlfriend’s calls.

Y/n tried to go after him, but John B and Kiara got a hold of her and shook their heads.

[...]

“Maybe he’ll go home?” Sarah proposed.

They were all sitting on The Wreck, trying to decide what to do with the whole situation. They didn’t know what to do of JJ’s outburst, and they still hadn’t talked about how or when to take out the gold. Everything was a whole mess.

“There’s a 0% chance that JJ goes home” Pope assured.

However, the more Y/n thought about it, the more she was convinced JJ would go to his own house. She frowned at her hands, that rested in her lap, and then two more hands were placed on top of hers. She looked up to see the other two girls smiling at her, and she nodded with a smile.

“I don’t know about that, Pope. He said he just paid for restitution, and who is the person that was angriest at him for owing 30K?” she arched a brow, biting her lip. She was worried for the boy “I think he may want to prove Luke he can solve this... I’m gonna go look for him” she got up, ready to go search for her boyfriend.

“Hey, N/n” John B called “Be careful, okay?” he smiled softly at the girl.

It was incredible how easily the Pogues had let her in their group, honestly. She would’ve guessed they’d be as reluctant to her as they had been to Sarah, but there was none of that, and she was truly grateful for her new friends.

“I will”

First place she went to was JJ’s house. She approached the porch carefully, ringing the bell. A beat up and drunk Luke opened the door harshly, and looked her up and down.

“What do you want?"

”I’m looking for JJ” she told the man, and those words seemed to make him angry.

“That son of a bitch left a while ago, after he gave me this” he pointed to his nose and mouth, where dried blood stuck to it.

Without another word, Y/n backed away, basically running out of the property and getting on her bike. If Maybank father looked like that, who knew how Maybank son had. Now she really was scared and worried.

“Mom! Dad!” she burst inside her house, shouting for her parents “Lauren, Lauren hey!” M/n’s business partner and best friend came in her view from the kitchen, sipping on a coffee “Has JJ been here? Have you seen him today?”

“No sweetie, I haven’t. Is everything okay? Are you alright?” the woman had seen the teenager grow up, she was part of the family.

“I just, I need to find him” tears had started falling down her cheeks, and her breathing was getting heavier.

“Wait, honey, you need to sit down” Lauren got a chair and made Y/n sit down “Breathe, Y/n. What happened?”

“JJ, he- he and his friends had a fight, and he stormed out. I-I went over to his house looking for him, and his father opened up. He was bleeding, said JJ did that to him. If he has a busted lip, JJ is probably worse, and I need to know he’s okay” Y/n completely broke down in her aunt’s arms.

Lauren hugged her tightly, rubbing her back and trying to soothe her. They stayed like that for a little, until the teenager girl relaxed and got her breathing back to normal. She sniffled a little, meeting her aunt’s soft gaze and she nodded to let her know she was okay. Then her phone rung.

“Hello?” she answered, voice still a little shaky.

“N/n! We found him” Kiara didn’t sound very happy “He’s drunk at John B’s, and he’s wasted all the money”

“Hey! Don’t put it like that! I invested it!” JJ’s words were slurred and sounded distant.

“I’ll be there in ten” Y/n told her friend, and hung up “That asshole was getting drunk while I was over here worried about him!” she stormed out of her house, getting her car’s keys on the way out.

[...]

When Y/n got to John B’s, she jumped out of her Jeep, slamming the door behind her and followed the fairy lights —that she was positive were her boyfriend’s doing— to the part of the Chateau where you could see the water.

“Stop being emotional!” she heard JJ exclaim.

“What’s going on?” she asked, seeing Kie and Pope’s distraught faces.

The blonde boy in the Jacuzzi let his head fall and muttered a “shit”. Even drunk he knew that he was about to hear it from his girlfriend. Kie and Pope had barely taken their eyes off of him to look at the newly arrived girl. Pope motioned for her to go over to them. So she did, and he heard her gasp when she saw his front.

“Don’t say anything, please” JJ tried to keep his voice steady, but it cracked “I know what you’re gonna say, and-”

Y/n shook her head and hurried over to him, getting in the water without caring about her shoes or clothes. She just needed to hold him, and when she put her arms around him, he hunched over, pulling her closer and finally reaching breaking point.

“I can’t handle him anymore... I was going to kill him” he cried into her shoulder “I just wanted to do the right thing”

“I know, baby” she assured him, feeling another two pairs of arms wrap around the two of them “It’s gonna be okay, I promise”

Like she had done with her aunt before, they all stayed there for a while. When JJ calmed down, and Y/n was sure she wouldn’t start crying again when seeing his front, they all pulled away, and she led him to the guest room. She made him lay down and wait for her as she took the med kit from the bathroom. It wasn’t the box she had in hers that was specifically made to treat him, but she’d make it work.

After that, she threw herself next to him, and pulled the covers over the both of them. JJ shifted until he was able to rest his head on the crook of her neck, passing his arms around her frame and pulling himself closer to her as she tangled their legs together and put her hand in his hair, massaging his head and tracing patterns on his arm with her other hand.

“I still don’t wanna call child services” he muttered after a few moments “I don’t want him going to jail”

“I know” Y/n said, her voice as low as his “But I’m not letting you go into that house alone ever again. From now on you either sleep at mine, or here”

“You’re giving me a free card to sleep with you every day?” a small smirk made its way into his features “What would your parents think?” Y/n scoffed.

“Okay, first of all, there’s plenty of guest rooms I can leave you in. But you already had that free card. You’ve had it since we were ten. And you know that my parents don’t actually care if you stay, they’re even more relaxed when you do. They care about you, J”

“I know... Your parents are the best” he nuzzled his face in her neck, leaving a kiss. Y/n sighed and smiled when she felt his nose nudging her “Hey babe?” she hummed “I love you. A lot. Thank you for not leaving me”

“I love you a lot too. Don’t you ever thank anyone for something you deserve. You deserve the world; you hear me?” she propped herself up a little, taking his face in her hands and looking straight into his blue eyes.

She kissed him softly to convince him that he in fact deserved so much more than what life had given him. After she pulled away, she pecked his lips again and looked into his eyes again. He smiled and nodded, and Y/n rested her back once again, feeling JJ go back to his previous position too, and they drifted to sleep.

[...]

Things only seemed to get worse and worse for the group of teenagers. Their biggest problem was Ward Cameron, Sarah’s dad. Y/n knew he was dangerous; she didn’t know it was this bad. The guy was a power hungry, manipulative psycho.

He had killed Big John, then tried to kill John B, taken all the gold and tried to kidnap his daughter and take her to the Bahamas, only to end up not leaving Kildare County because his son fucked up big time. Rafe Cameron had shot and killed Sheriff Peterkin, and the two had blamed it on John B.

So now the teenager had a bounty on his head and was running around the Outer Banks.

“You think they’ll get out in time?” Y/n chewed on her lip as she watched The Phantom get into the water.

JJ had had to go back into his house to get the keys, and as promised, Y/n hadn’t let him go in alone. She’d stood in the corner of the living room as a drunk Luke Maybank hugged his son and raved about school.

Y/n stood on the ground as Pope and JJ lowered the boat into the water. She had a scratch on her cheek from the fight with Rafe and Barry they just had, and her arm already had a bruise that looked like a hand, along with more scratches on her elbows. Next to her, Kiara also had a hand bruise, only hers was placed on her neck, from Rafe’s attempt on choking her before Pope had showed up and hit him with a metal pole.

“JJ says the boat runs like none other, so they should be good. They just have to get here” as if on cue, a car sounded from the road.

“Baby girl, Kie, get over here. That’s a police car, in the boat” instead of listening, the girls squinted their eyes at the driver’s seat “Girls! C’mon!”

“Is that...”

The car came to a stop, and surprisingly, John Booker Routledge came out of it.

“Nice ride, right?” he exclaimed with a teasing smile “Shoupe lend it to me” he laughed, going to hug Kiara.

“I’ll believe that for now” she answered.

“Where’s Sarah?” the boy of the day asked once he was on the boat “She said we’d meet here”

“She uh- we haven’t seen her, John B” Y/n softly laid the news to him “You have to leave without her. Quick, the police are gonna be here any minute”

“She’s right, JB” Pope told him, but he was no longer listening.

JJ explained to him what he had to do once he got out, but John B could only focus on the empty road, hoping his girlfriend would suddenly appear running from the corner. But she didn’t. Still, he had to go. He turned to look at his friends one last time.

“Hey, I-I-I’m sorry” he breathed “For, you know, dragging all of you down with the gold hunt and basically throwing us off a cliff”

“John B yo- we were bound to fall off a cliff at some point” JJ smiles, pulling the other three closer “I’m glad we did it our way. Pogue Style” the Pogues chuckled, and Pope nudged Y/n.

“You’re a Pogue too now, N/n”

“That’s right! For life” John B nodded “I love you guys”

“We love you too. Now leave!”

“We’ll see you in two months down in Mexico”

The Phantom left the docks, and the four friends watched it disappear. Y/n left for the car, wanting to call her parents with JJ on her tow. F/n and M/n had called her earlier, and she could only rush her words, telling them that she and JJ were okay and that they needed to help John B, because he was innocent, then hung up. Her boyfriend wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, propping his chin on her shoulder and placing a kiss on her cheek. He nudged her softly and gestured forward. Kiara and Pope were kissing. N/n smiled and bit her lip, happy for the two.

But, sirens were heard from the end of the driveway, and soon police cars were piled up in front of them. JJ’s grip on Y/n’s tightened, and he pushed her behind him, maintaining his hand on her. Shoupe climbed out of the front car, and sighed at the group, gun up.

“Where’s John B?” he interrogated, as if he genuinely believed they’d tell him. When he didn’t get the answer he wanted, he moved forward and told them to put their hands up “JJ Maybank, I see you’re living up to the name”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/n immediately snapped, narrowing her eyes at the officer.

“Y/N L/n? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m hanging out with my boyfriend and my friends” she told him without hesitating “Don’t look at me like I’ve gone to the dark side, Shoupe. You don’t know me; you just see what you want to. Like everyone else” she scoffed “You gonna cuff me too or what?”

“Careful with how you treat her, asshole” JJ growled at the guy that cuffed her.

They were taken to a carp near the bay, just as the storm broke into Outer Banks and told to wait. They were all a wreck of nerves, Y/n could hardly sit still, and was trying to stay calm so that her gradually angrier boyfriend next to her wouldn’t try anything or pull something stupidly reckless. Her leg bounced up and down on her spot, until a hand landed on her thigh. JJ squeezed her thigh, and gave her a try of a reassuring smile, but she knew that he too was scared for their friends.

At some point of the night, the lights started functioning again, and suddenly everyone outside the carp started shouting. The Pogues all tensed and jumped up from their seats, trying to look outside and get a glance at what was happening.

“They’ll get out in time” Pope affirmed curtly.

“Yeah, The Phantom is the best there is. She’ll get them out safe” JJ went along. Kiara and Y/n nodded nervously, hoping that if they all just agreed on that, Sarah and John B would really be safe.

But their prayers weren’t answered.

“What do you mean you lost them?!” Pope shouted, bringing Y/n back to the real world.

Next thing she noticed was JJ jumping away from her loose grip and lunging at Shoupe. She should’ve gone after him, tried to stop her, but she couldn’t register how to move. Sarah and John B were lost at sea... they had driven them into the storm. Around her, Y/n could hear Kiara’s sobs and JJ’s angry shouts, along with Pope’s also angry voice trying to get answers. Then, she felt the tears falling down her own cheeks, and she forced herself to move forwards.

“Let go of him” she muttered at the officers “Please, he won’t try anything”

“You heard her. Let me go” he yanked his arms away from them and wrapped them around her frame.

They didn’t last long, they immediately broke down, only letting go to join Pope and Kiara in a group hug.

“Kiara!”

“Pope!”

Their parents had arrived. Kiara and Pope broke away from the embrace, falling into their parents’ arms and sobbing harder. Still joined, JJ and Y/n hugged each other tighter. Y/n looked up at him, and placed her hands on his face, bringing him down to a salty, quivering kiss.

“Y/n, JJ!” the L/ns entered the carp, barreling into the two teenagers.

“Mom, they’re lost” the girl cried into her mother’s arms, shaking her head as M/n and F/n did their best to calm her and JJ down.

The night ended with those two falling asleep in her bed. Dried tears in both their faces and arms tightly holding each other, even in their sleep. They didn’t know what would happen next with their summer, they had no idea what happened with Sarah and John B, but they surely hoped for the best.

[whenisitenoughtrees]

still taking prompts? got rlly excited for a bit when u said u were bc i enjoy ur style a lot. anyway, lamp/calm for prompt #29? the prompt sounds like smth chaotic they would do lol

this is less chaotic and more tooth-rottingly fluffy, but uh here you go

for #29. Be quiet! You’ll get us caught!

Title: overthinking (darling we’re just fine)

Word Count: 1,963

Content Warnings: gratuitous discussion of breakfast foods

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

“Be quiet! You’ll get us caught!”

He hisses the words out entirely too loudly in the silence of the corridor, and Virgil winces as the sound dies down. In his defense, it is six in the morning, and he is hardly thinking straight. Or rather, coherently. And Roman knows it, too, is smirking at him with that stupid handsome smirk of his, and Virgil would seriously consider kissing him if it weren’t for the fact that he is running on roughly three hours of sleep, and his irritation is spiking.

“Now, storm cloud,” he says, voice just below a normal speaking volume, “we all know that Patton’s going to be dead to the world until at least seven thirty. You don’t need to worry so much.”

And, alright, maybe that’s true. But Virgil glares at him, too tired to deal with the slightly patronizing tone of voice. “Yeah?” he challenges. “I’m sorry, have you met me?”

Roman lifts an eyebrow. “Darling, I think I’ve done a bit more than meet you, at this point—”

“If you two are done making unnecessary noise?” It’s Logan, coming back around the corner, and he does not look impressed. Though, that may be because it’s six in the morning, and Logan never looks impressed about anything until his second cup of coffee. “By my estimates, we have one hour and seventeen minutes before we enter the window of time in which Patton is most likely to wake up. That should be enough time to complete all of our tasks, if we begin now and don’t commit any egregious errors.”

Virgil exchanges a look with Roman.

“Right, lead the way, Lo,” Roman says, and Virgil trails after the two of them, his brain fixing itself on the phrase egregious errors, because of course it does, because it’s him, because he can’t make it through one morning without his mind insisting that something is going to go terribly wrong and also that the world is ending.

He breathes in and out, slowly and deliberately. It’s just breakfast. They’re just making breakfast for Patton, because Patton has been sad and distant lately and nobody is quite sure how to help him, but doing something like this for him might cheer him up a bit.

So many things could go wrong, of course. They could burn the food. They could burn themselves. They could make such a mess that the prospect of cleaning it all up will put more stress on Patton than cooking the meal for him will alleviate, and then he’ll be even more sad and distant, and also, the world will end.

He’s trying not to think about any of that. Trying and failing. This sucks.

“Do you both remember your parts?” Logan asks. He’s tying an apron around his middle, black and utilitarian, but it suits him, somehow. Roman answers in the affirmative, already rattling around in the cupboards for the pans he needs, and Virgil gives a short nod.

Logan is making an omelet, one with all the fixings that Patton likes, ham and cheese and onion. Roman has insisted on making blueberry muffins from scratch, because he’s Roman and he has to be one hundred percent extra one hundred percent of the time. So, that’s left Virgil in charge of protein, and he’s chosen bacon. He knows how to make bacon. Theoretically, bacon is easy; you put it on the frying pan and flip it at the right time, and viola. Bacon.

So he stands there, watching it sizzle. Logan is next to him, keeping a close watch over his omelet on the stove top, and he serves as a steadying presence, reminding Virgil that he’s fine and that he can do this, and that bacon doesn’t take a very long time anyway, so even if he messes up, he can do it again. On Logan’s other side, Roman has commandeered the entire counter for his ingredients. He’s mixing them together and humming to himself, a jovial tune, and it’s still too loud but Virgil feels better about it than he did a few minutes ago.

He finishes the first batch, and frowns at the strips. They’re definitely cooked through all the way, but they’re a bit floppy, and a realization strikes him: he doesn’t know how Patton likes his bacon. Chewy or crispy? Or somewhere in between, with some crispy bits at the edges and the rest softer?

Oh god, the world is ending.

He must make a noise, or a noticeable motion, because Logan glances over at him.

“Is everything alright?” he asks.

“Chewy or crispy?” he manages to say, though his throat has clenched up like a vice. He is well aware that he’s making too big of a deal about this, that it’s just bacon, for crying out loud, but he’s running on so little sleep and it’s so important to him that he gets this right, that they succeed in making Patton feel a little better, and in the face of that, imperfect bacon might as well be the worst catastrophe he’s ever faced.

Logan’s brow furrows. “Are you talking about the bacon?” he asks. “You know, I’m not actually sure.”

He groans, staring at what he’s already made. It might be fine, but then again, it might not be, and if it’s not—

“Virgil,” Logan says, a bit of amusement creeping into his voice. “Please, breathe. Overly processed meat products are not worthy of your distress.”

“But—”

“No,” Logan says, “none of that. Even if we don’t know which he prefers, I find it unlikely that he will reject it out of hand if it’s crispier or chewier than he likes. And besides, if it would ease your mind, there is still plenty of time to make more, and that can be crispier than this first batch, so he can choose what he wants.”

He closes his eyes, nodding, turning over the words in his mind. As always, Logan knows exactly what to say to bring him out of a spiral.

“Right,” he says, and then again, because it’s reassuring to hear it out loud. “Right.”

Logan smiles at him, and then, almost too quickly to process, presses a soft kiss to the corner of Virgil’s mouth. He feels himself heating up, especially when he hears Roman laugh a bit.

“There we are,” Logan says fondly, and Virgil doesn’t see so much as sense Roman sneaking around to his other side. He anticipates the kiss, smacked against his cheek, wet and sloppy. He turns to glare, but Roman grins back at him unabashedly.

“I hear it’s loving Virgil hours?” he asks, and Virgil resists the urge to groan.

“It’s ten ‘til seven,” Logan says, but dashes Virgil’s hopes by following that up with, “though I’m not sure why the time matters. Every time is a good time to love Virgil.”

“Oh my god,” he says, and prays that his blush isn’t as obvious as he thinks it is. He may not have much dignity left to speak of, but he has a little bit, if he can hang on to it. “Isn’t it supposed to be loving Patton hours? Can we focus on that, please?”

“We can multitask,” Roman singsongs. “Muffins going in.”

Wordlessly, Virgil steps aside to allow him access to the oven.

“Actually,” Logan says, leaning against the counter with a self-satisfied expression, “the human brain is not designed for true multitasking. This is what makes speaking on the phone while driving so dangerous; if one attempts to accomplish multiple tasks at once, the ability to do all of them is severely compromised.” He pauses. “Though I believe Roman’s point does stand.”

“Of course it does,” Roman says airily. “We have so much love to go around.”

Logan concedes the point with a tilt of his head, but any attempt at stoicism is ruined by the grin twitching at the edges of his lips. Virgil rolls his eyes and dumps more bacon into his pan, but he has to admit, he does feel a lot more relaxed.

Which was probably their goal all along.

They finish up breakfast. Logan makes several omelets that are up to his standards, and Roman’s muffins come out of the oven perfectly baked, soft and crumbly on the top. And Virgil makes another batch of bacon, crispy this time, and then one more for good measure, just to make sure there’s enough of both kinds. Roman goes about setting the table for four, back to humming quietly to himself.

Virgil tunes into the sound on instinct, letting the ebb and flow of Roman’s voice ground him.

Logan surveys the spread of food with satisfaction. “Some fruit, perhaps?” he suggests, and Virgil veers over toward the fridge, digging through to find some strawberries. He’s washing them up when there is a sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and everyone else quiets.

Virgil turns to see Patton standing in the doorway to the kitchen, and his first thought is that he looks like crap. His hair is still mussed from sleep, and he has a thick blanket draped across his shoulders, but that’s not what catches Virgil’s attention; it’s the bloodshot look in his eyes and the bags underneath them, pointing to at least one restless night, if not more. It’s a look that Virgil is used to seeing in his own mirror; he doesn’t like seeing it on Patton.

“Good morning, Patton,” Logan says softly. “We made breakfast for you.”

Patton blinks owlishly, and for a moment, his face is completely blank, as if the words haven’t registered with him at all. Then, his eyes flicker to the table, and then to the mess in the kitchen, and go wide.

“You did all this for me?” he asks, his voice small.

Roman drapes his arms over him from behind, kissing his cheek just in front of his ear.

“Of course,” he says.

“We’ve noticed that you haven’t been feeling well lately,” Logan adds. “We hoped that this might help you feel better.”

A smile breaks out on Patton’s face, then, thin and watery and wavering but there all the same, and it is such a relief to see that Virgil feels as though a physical weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Patton gestures toward Logan, who steps forward obligingly into the hug, and then Patton looks to Virgil, who is still hovering awkwardly around the sink, hands full of strawberries, and, well. He can never deny Patton anything, and a group hug sounds nice, so he sets the strawberries down on the counter and moves to join them. It’s a big, warm embrace with Patton in the middle, and Virgil sighs as the last of his tension drips out of him, leaving him uncommonly relaxed.

“I love you guys so much,” Patton says. “Thank you.”

“Love you too, Pat,” Virgil murmurs, and though his voice gets a little bit lost in between the other two saying much the same thing, he knows that Patton hears him, because he turns to him for just a second and smiles, brighter and more genuine, and really, that makes all the stress of the morning completely worth it.

So, they have breakfast, and it’s good, and Virgil notices that Patton doesn’t seem to have much a preference between the two types of bacon, but that’s more than alright, because the point is to make Patton a bit happier, and the small smile on his face says that they’ve succeeded at that. So maybe the world isn’t ending at all.

Because Virgil would rather die than say something so cheesy out loud, but he’s got his entire world right here, sitting around the table in the early morning light, food and company and love to spare.

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii @severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease @elizabutgayer @dwbh888 @thatoneloudowl @sanderssides-angst @gayboopnoodle @wildfire5157 @ldavmp4 @a-ghostlight-for-roman @sammy-is-obsessed @imlovethomassanders @a-yeet-bop-bop-boom @halfordshysteria @random-fander @addykatb @i-cant-find-a-good-username @intruxiety @maybedefinitely404 @arya-skywalker @thefivecalls @nerdy-emo-royal-dad

[scullydubois]

memory-bound: a revival one-shot

Set between Rm9sbG93ZXJz & My Struggle IV, Scully moves back into the Unremarkable House after her smart home burns down and returns to an age-old ritual: coloring her hair.

T, 1.8k, fluff/domestic fluff, read on ao3 here.

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

Lamp light casts shadows on the wall as Scully unpacks in a place she never thought she’d find herself again: the master bedroom she and Mulder shared for almost a decade. She lays her remaining clothes on the tribal-patterned bedspread and smirks at how little the room has changed. She expected to be put up in the guest room and was perfectly fine with that. They had rarely gotten any use out of it--she figured an inhabitant would do it some good. Imagine her shock, then, when Mulder told her he hadn’t slept in “their” room since she left. That the room was all hers.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that after a decade of a bed, he returned to what he knew upon losing what he had known. He swapped the couch he slept on for seven years for a Barcalounger. An old man needs his amenities, he joked while showing her its heat and massage functions. And she felt a gnawing in the pit of her stomach, the mark of a fool.

She salvaged what she could from the fire, but most of her Bethesda things were ruined. That soulless smart house was never worth its automated thermostat system, let alone any of its other data mines disguised as gizmos. Mulder hated it--hated it, like, wouldn’t step foot in it, and if she’s being honest, that was the only selling point for her: the shelter it offered from his incessant search for truth & his unsatisfiable conscience. This was back when she felt like that was something she needed to get away from, of course. She had wanted to settle somewhere and mean it. Now, she realizes they were settled all along.

She rests a pile of folded clothes in the crook of her arm and pulls open her old dresser. She envisioned cobwebs--maybe even a whole family of spiders--in there, but instead, a ratty New York Knicks t-shirt greets her. And a Spaceship Earth one under that, and a Wile E. Coyote one under that. Her holy trinity of Mulder t-shirts. She refused to take them when she left, though he insisted. And in protest, he hadn’t worn them. She knows this instinctively, though the lack of laundry scent confirms it. They’ve been waiting in this drawer all along, captives to Mulder’s fantasy that one day she would open it again.

Scully squeezes her eyes shut, slips the pile in next to the shirts, slams the drawer, and grabs her toiletries bag off the bed, striding into the bathroom. She can’t dwell...she can’t. She’s learned by now that regret is a state of mind that freezes her up, and there’s no being frozen, not any more.

Unzipping the bag, she lines her various products along the counter. Age-defying this, anti-aging that...sunscreen is really the only thing that’s done her any good. That, and hair dye. She keeps the others around for show.

Speaking of...she pokes at her roots, scouring the mirror for signs that yes, she could theoretically be a grandma--and she can’t say for certain that she isn’t--but to her knowledge, she’s not, and as long as no one calls her Grandma, she won’t accept the title.

She won’t accept the gray hairs, either. One day, sure, but not yet. Mulder’s not even gone gray yet, and he has years on her. She’s told him that he would look great, and that the silver fox nickname would be nothing short of perfection, but he swears that he just hasn’t lost his “natural luster” yet, that he’ll embrace the gray when (if!) it comes.

Scully’s not been so lucky, though it doesn’t show. She’s been coloring her hair every three weeks since she was twenty-eight to keep the ravishing red. She’ll never forget when Mulder realized it wasn’t her natural color...the way his eyes widened as he moved between her legs…

It’s not as if he didn’t know; her mousy auburn had been on full display when they first met, and yet he’d gotten so used to seeing her as she is that it slipped his mind that she hadn’t always been that way. And once they moved in together--in this very bathroom, actually--he loved to help her with the coloring process, was as fascinated by it as the prospect of alien-human hybrids.

She chooses the tube of Rock it Like a Redhead dye from her product line-up, looks at her reflection. It’s been five--no, six--nearing seven--years since she performed this ritual in this room. She glances down, and sure enough, the tile still bears a rust-colored stain from one of her sessions gone wrong. It makes her smile...she has a history here. They have a history here.

She sighs. For old time’s sake, she might as well...she’s found herself thinking that a lot lately.

Her old robe--her usual attire for the occasion--fell victim to the fire, but she’s got a good substitute in mind. She pads back into the bedroom and plucks the Wile E. Coyote shirt from the drawer. It’s black, hopefully that will hide any stains. Her slacks are too damn expensive to risk an accident, so she briefly considers stripping to her panties before settling on a pair of gym shorts.

Her get-up in place, she grabs a few clips from her bag and pins her hair up in four sections. This is one of the reasons she got her chop; her long hair was sexy, but it was a bitch trying to cover all those layers. Plus, Mulder is fond of “the Scully shag” as he calls it, though she corrects him every time (it’s not a shag Mulder, it’s a bob!). It reminds him of their firsts, she imagines. It’s almost as if the longer her hair got, the further apart they drifted. And once they were okay again, it was imperative that she bear her neck to him...show him the place where his lips should land.

She decides to stand in the shower (water off, of course) so any mess can be rinsed away. She wonders, suddenly, if the square mirror they used to keep is still suctioned to the glass interior. It’ll be hard to do this alone if it’s not.

She peeks in, and it’s not there, and that must be the only thing in this house Mulder has moved. Figures. She slips off her shoes and grabs the applicator and dye tube. She’ll do the best she can, then use the bathroom mirror to make any touch-ups.

Scully steps into the shower. Its characteristic lemon scent is gone, and that makes her sad. It used to be a welcome change from the antiseptic hospital smell she dealt with all day. Wielding her tools, she starts at her roots, spreading the dye along her scalp with expert precision. Surely this counts as a workout--it takes a lot of energy to hold your arms over your head for this long. Will her Fitbit calculate how many calories she’s burning, she wonders?

She’s just started a new strand when a gentle rap echoes through the wall.

“Scully?” Mulder’s voice rings from outside the bedroom. She pulled the door slightly shut when she entered.

“Come in!” she calls. “In the bathroom.”

She hears footsteps in the adjacent room, then a hesitant breath as Mulder pauses at the doorway. “Are you decent?”

Scully looks down at herself. What a picture. “I’m in a Wile E. Coyote t-shirt and gym shorts. Does that answer your question?”

Mulder shuffles in, smirking at the sight of her through the open shower door. “What are you doing?”

She points to the crown of her head--which is already well within his field of vision--so she’s not sure why he needed to ask the question.

“Well, I see that,” Mulder concedes, “but I mean, why are you hunched over in here like you’re hoping to grow a third arm?”

Scully shrugs. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“That’s just as lame as ‘boys will be boys,’ and you know it,” he counters, remembering a spirited lecture she once gave him on the misogynist undertones of the phrase. Scully smirks. They had that conversation years ago...post-William, pre-Bahamas. She’s surprised that it stuck with him.

She tilts her chin in a way that makes Mulder certain she’d have her hands on her hips if they weren’t occupied. “What do you suggest?” she challenges.

“Let me help you,” he proposes before she can launch a protest. His sneaker’s rubber sole meets the shower tile as he slips in beside her. The wall is cold against her elbow as she scoots back to make room for him.

“I’m fine. I’ve been doing this on my own for years, and I was long before you.”

“But now you have me,” he professes. “Here. Right now,” he clarifies, not meaning to label their as-yet undefined relationship status.

Their eyes meet, and Scully’s hit with the last time the two of them were in here--her legs around his waist, his hands sliding through her hair, droplets that couldn’t be placed as shower water, sweat, or tears. Her spine straightens against the very wall where she was pinned. Times change, yet they don’t. History repeats itself in a slightly different key.

“When I was younger, I did this because I liked the color,” she tells him, finishing a section and lowering her hands. “Now, I do it out of necessity. It’s sad, Mulder.” She juts her lower lip out in a faux pout. “We’re getting old.”

He would hug her, but he’d mess up her hair and it would be a whole thing. “Hey, I’ll be pushing your wheelchair with my wheelchair, remember?” he says, taking her slip into sentimentality as permission.

Scully nods, the delicate memories of years past bringing a slight frown to her face.

“Can you do me a favor?” she asks, raising to her tiptoes, then lowering again. Her eyes twinkle.

“Of course.”

She offers him the tube of dye, looks up at him with a smile.

“Can you get right here?” She points to a spot right above her temple, one she could definitely reach herself if she wanted to.

Mulder admires her. His woman, back in his old t-shirt and all. He plants his lips on her temple, breathing her in. No matter what she says about aging or being old, he’ll never believe her. She is as she was back then: the only semblance of peace he’s ever known.

He pulls away to meet her gaze, his voice warm and smooth. “Is that about where you want it?”

Scully grins. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

[writerwrites]

Little Town Street

Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: A college fling with Andy Barber is rekindled when you move back to Boston and you’re both single. 

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Smut 18+, language, tinge of angst, Defending Jacob spoilers / all the warnings that would go along with the series, fleeting mentions of divorce and bad breakups

A/N: *THIS IS A ONE SHOT* This is the Week 3 prompt to the Optimistic Captain Donut Challenge created by @captainchrisbaby, @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho , and @donutloverxo​ || The Week 3 Prompt was based on  All Too Well by Taylor Swift || I’m only 3 months late, minimum || Fall dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Boston. Your heart raced just thinking about getting back to the place you went to college. The glide of the tassel across your cap and the memories of late night conversations over pizza and beer while elbow deep in a tort. You’d loved the smell of law books and the haze of the green lamps on the library’s oversized and ancient oak desks. The magic of that place was lost on you while you were there, as was the magic of the few relationships you managed to establish while getting your law degree. But here you were, the little suburban town just out of the city, boxes piling up in the empty living room as you settled into your newly single life at a small firm that liked your big New York City success. This was a needed change after a painful breakup. This was your clean break.

Covered in sweat with your hair in a messy top bun, tank top slithering up the steep curves of your soft sides while the sun kissed the back of your bronzed skin, you heard a honk at the intersection in front of your house. The unexpected sound jolted you and the heavy box of books slipped from your fingers and landed on your foot. Hopping to the steps of your new brick home, you looked over at the intersection. It was a near-accident that was the cause of the ruckus. Both cars now at a standstill at the center of the four-way intersection. It took a minute for you to process the shock as you rubbed at your aching foot, but there he was, thick brown hair and bright blue eyes looking at you through the windshield of a black Audi A6. Andy Barber.

With such a public court case and the subsequent car accident, every news-viewing American knew who he was and knew a little too much about him. The problem was that while you’d sat in your own office in the Big Apple, trying to put yourself in Andy’s shoes, you watched a person you once knew in a new light and while your now-ex kept bringing up the commentary of obvious guilt, you couldn't help but sympathize with the collapse of his life. It was too easy for you to slip into the heartache of a family stalked and ruined, a person left so completely exposed and judged by everyone that you’d trusted. It was, after all, why you’d left New York. It was a miracle you’d gotten your fresh start, the Barbers certainly didn’t. You could picture it, but you never speculated, never stayed on the channel when the case came on. Every fiber of your being couldn’t look at him, not because of what broadcasters said but because of the too real memories of a love lost.

You were the one that ended the stare-off, your foot aching more with every passing second. Jaw clenched and lips pressed into a line, you were just about to convince yourself that there was no way Andy Barber, your biggest competition in college and your first love, was outside your new home… and then you heard him say your name. God, it always sounded so good coming from his mouth. The last time you’d heard it he was asking you not to go, drunk outside the bar you’d had your first date telling you that what you two had was bigger than the careers ahead. He didn’t see the tears streaming down your face once you turned away to get in your cab. Maybe, after all this time, he thought you didn’t hear him scream your name.

When you opened your eyes Andy was there at the bottom of your driveway on that little town street, brows knit together with concern as he locked his car that was perfectly parked on the steep driveway like he’d done it a million times. “Don’t look so worried about me, Andrew. You’re the one who just nearly crashed a bajillion dollar car.”

He laughed, despite noticing how you’d used his full name like you two were standing on opposite ends of a courtroom- and maybe you were. But that laugh, the warmth of it wrapped you up and you were thrown back through the magic and memories of that romance once more. The plaid shirts you stole in the middle of the night to run to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Your skin was covered in goosebumps despite the heat as you remembered how Andy had peeled you out of his shirts to warm you back up with his skin on yours, the metal of the fridge pressed to your back. Every moment with him was crystal clear in your mind the smells of autumn and taste of cider and beer when your tongues met, the feeling of his beard scratching your thighs, and... It took his hands on your chin to pull you out of the pain and want of those happier days that you’d ignorantly run from scared of settling. “Are you sure the box didn’t land on your pretty little head?”

The sound that passed your lips was practically a damn purr, you mentally cursed him for pulling it out of you with familiar ease. Opening your eyes to look up at him, you wondered if the emotions of that tumultuous relationship sat at the forefront of his mind too and if it was written on your face. “Nope, definitely landed on my foot.” Swallowing at the sandpaper in your throat, you looked at the swollen discolored mess. “You didn’t have to see if I was okay.”

“First, yeah, I did. It’s been fifteen or sixteen years since I’ve seen you. Second, I saw you hop over here clutching your foot. I can’t leave a wounded deer on the side of the road, can I?” His hands were stubbornly placed on his hips and that’s when you noticed the pale indent of a missing wedding band on his left hand’s ring finger. His blue eyes followed your gaze and he rubbed at the spot like he’d not gotten used to the absence of the cool metal. A similar thin, faded line from a discarded engagement ring on your matching finger. “I guess we’ve both been through it.”

Offering him a small smile, he helped you up and as Andy’s strong hands clutched your waist you wondered if he’d remembered just how ticklish the space between your ribs and hip were when he was careful to not touch you there. When you grabbed at the perfectly tailored coat trying to hop around the man let out an amused grumble and scooped you up. “Aren’t we a little old for grand gestures?” Your head rolled back as you laughed and he turned to get you through the door without smacking your injured foot on the frame. “Jesus are you hitting the gym and benching thick girls, Barber?”

The laughter filling the house was only amplified by his unceremonious dropping of you onto the love seat. The crooked smile looking down at you made you melt. That look, it was a drug that you’d had you first taste of in a mock trial, when he knew he’d won his case and looked back at you in the seats behind him, taking notes. “Other than the box on the lawn, are there any more?”

“You don’t have to..”

“But I’m going to and I want to. Besides, you can’t.” Andy was already pulling off his coat, loosening his tie, and buttoning his shirt before you could protest... not that you were capable of it. He bit his lip when he caught sight of you drinking him in. The slacks and the undershirt that clung to him. “Like what you see?”

“It’s rude.” You stated matter of fact, gesturing to all of him. Andy raised his hands as if to apologize, heading to the door to get to work. Closing your eyes, you could perfectly picture that one picture of the two of you at your graduation. Inadvertently, you mumbled to yourself. “I miss looking that damn good.”

If your eyes hadn’t been closed maybe you would’ve seen the way he froze in the doorway, biting his tongue before stepping out. It wasn’t until you heard the hefty thunk of a box on the hardwood floor that you peaked your eyes open. A clear sheen of sweat glistened on his brow and you bit your lip, the heat running over your body was hardly from moving boxes or the summer heat pouring in the front door. “Please tell me the rest of it isn’t boxes of books, Legal Beagle.”

Scoffing at the old nickname you sighed, “Nope, it’s just bottles of wine and liquor and pictures. The remnants that I didn’t want to break or misplace in the moving truck that came a few days ago.”

“You’ve been here for days and you didn’t call.” His tone was surprisingly wounded.

“Well, Legal Eagle, you didn’t exactly shoot me an email either.” Andy’s eyes burned into you when you used his old nickname back, but you couldn’t decipher what that look really meant. Before you could ask or apologize he was turning back out the door, leaving you there to chew the inside of your cheek raw.

Andy made quick work of the boxes in your car while you nursed your bruised foot trying to unravel the feelings bubbling to the surface of your mind in memories and regrets. When the front door shut, you couldn’t even bring yourself to look up, eyes fixed on the bruise while you thought about the emotional bruising you’d caused each other. It wasn’t hard to really know why he hadn’t emailed, nothing funny in the broken pieces you bother were left to pack up and move on from. When had you started crying? Cheeks wet when his hands cupped your face, forcing you to look up at him, thumbs brushing the tears away. “Hey, if it hurts that bad maybe we should take you to get it looked at.”

Reaching up you grabbed Andy’s wrists, but you found yourself hanging there, incapable of pulling him off of you. Instead, your thumbs brushed across the inside of his wrists just applying a little bit of pressure before skimming your hands up the firm muscles of Andy’s forearms. Each of you tried to translate the signals the other was putting off. If it hadn’t been for the haze of being so close to him, maybe you would’ve had the sense to pull away. With a sniffle and apologetic smile you shook your head ‘no’- or at least to the best of your ability when he was still comforting you like no time or pain had passed between the two of you. How long had you been holding on to this first love?

This close you could see it, the little creases of age at the corners of his eyes and a little salt and pepper in his beard. Despite the way those lines seemed to crease his face like words of chapters you’d not been privy to, his blue gaze was unchanged and every welcoming detail of them looked at you like you hadn’t changed either. The moment his knee pressed between your thighs to your core you realized just how needy you were, whimpering and parting your legs as he lowered himself onto you. His hands moved down your neck to your breasts and a firm squeeze and the brush of his thumb over your nipples elicited another breathy moan from your lips. How long had it been since anyone had looked at you like that? How long since you’d gotten off?

“Andy,” The weight of his name on your tongue was dizzying, but the way he said your name back was just as heavy. You pulled his mouth to yours and he parted his lips to wrap around  your bottom lip. His beard scratched at your chin, sending shivers down your body.

Picking your hips up from the couch, you satisfied the ache between your legs on his thigh. Smirking against your lips Andy pressed harder into your core. “You missed me.”

“To the bone,” The confession passed your lips and all you wanted was for him to stay, the thought alone so wholly selfish. Your eyes fluttered open, scared that it had been poison on his own tongue, noticing how he’d pulled away ever so slightly. “That wasn’t fair.”

Though it seemed like a poor apology, Andy was already shaking his head to reassure you that it wasn’t. That quiet, it wasn’t a trait in him you recalled. His hands moved down your frame and he pulled you onto his lap, careful to let you move your legs to straddle him and not hit your foot along the way. “Did you think I wouldn’t care that you were coming back?”

Before you could answer, he stole your air again. Andy’s lips pressed to your neck and he hummed as he tasted the salt on your skin. Then he found the spot he used to always mark, that spot that always seemed to peak just a little out of your favorite courtroom blouse. Gasping, your nails scratched softly at his sides. He took it as a hint and pulled off his undershirt, throwing it at the boxes that had his tie, coat, and button up. “Andrew. I’m trying not to assume anything here but…”

He looked up at you so sweetly that it erased whatever logic you were trying to pull on him with that one dopey smile. “Tell me this isn’t home.”

“I..” Your mouth bobbed open and you looked at him with wide eyes. Did he mean Boston or this moment on his lap like pieces were falling into place since you’d left.

Squeezing your thighs in his palms he repeated the question. “Tell me this isn’t home. Tell me you don’t remember the promise you broke. Tell me those boxes with pictures don’t have the pictures of us all over this town.” Was this a call out? If he hadn’t been looking at you with such heartache you would have looked away. “Maybe I asked for too much and maybe I was just as scared as you were about the future I saw for us… but tell me we didn’t just find our time.”

The tips of your fingers moved up his chest and settled at the sides of his neck, innocently tugging at his beard. Leaning forward you pressed your lips to his forehead and slipped off of his lap though your whole body seemed almost unamused by the cruel neglect of his warmth, your legs staying draped over him and one arm still linked through his. Looking over the boxes you found the stack with the bright blue sharpie, ‘winter clothes’ sprawled across the top as it sat halfway between the bottom of the stairs and the closet by the front door. “Grab that one.”

Andy untangled himself from you with his fingers burning across your skin, reluctantly slipping off the couch to grab the box. When he came back with it you noticed a hesitant look on his face. His eyes moved to his discarded clothes and you sighed and pulled him back to the small couch. “Want to tell me why you’re avoiding my questions?” Ignoring him you peeled the box open and moved a few things out of the way while you pulled out exactly what you knew you needed. “I don’t break over honesty anymo-”

Words seemed to escape him the moment he saw his scarf from the first time he’d gone home with you to meet your family. He didn’t do the meet-the-parents charade and the relationship had been new, but yours had welcomed him in and made him want his own one day. Andy never thought he’d settle with someone else, but that’s exactly what he’d done when you didn’t call, write, visit, or move back… he’d settled. That little trip was a memory he’d revisited often in the torment of waiting for you to come back. The pair of you had spent most of the holiday either studying for exams on your twin sized bed or pouring over old photographs from your childhood. Now you could practically see the memories flooding back as he reached for the scarf and brushed his fingers over the soft fabric.

So, it was your turn for a confession, an apology even. “I remember it all. I miss it all. We may have been young, but we weren’t wrong. No one knew me like you did. No one ever has. We grew up, but you lingered here.” Your fingers combed through his hair and tapped his temple before moving down his body to his sternum, tapping at his pulse, “... and here.” Andy covered your hand in his, drawing your fingers lower to the buckle of his slacks. Your cheeks went red and you nodded a ‘there too’ without being able to form the words.

“Do I get a hundredth chance?” The hope in his eyes was mirrored in your own, your racing heart no longer felt like a warning sign.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” A shaky laugh passed your lips. Andy wrapped his arms around you, tender, before he laughed too, his body shaking against yours. “Oh, this is a prank? Well, damn. That’s embarrassing.”

Andy looked at you and lunging forward, mouths ricocheting in a deep kiss, tongues hungry for the lost time. Only when you came up for air, the pair of you now buried in the couch cushions, did he speak up, “You deserve all the hell I’m going to give you for waiting this long to let me love you.”

“Does that mean you’re going to stay and rub my skin raw with this beard?” Squirming under him, the pair of you frantically reached for every clasp and zipper until there was nothing left between you. His lips moved down your frame and you surprised yourself, pulling him back to your mouth. “You’re staying with me Andy Barber.” Your fingers wrapped around his length and pumped him, brushing the head of his cock against your slit, already dripping. “You’re staying so beard on thighs can wait.” Pressing your mouth back to his as you continued to tease him you whimpered, not even needing to say it but recalling how much he used to love hearing it. “I need you. Don’t make me wait anymore. I need to feel all of you. I miss-”

The begging and pawing, he couldn’t take you slowly, not yet at least. Andy rutted himself into you, growling when your tight wet heat wrapped around him. He buried his forehead into the curve of your neck as he thrust into you over and over, savoring the way you gasped at his every slight movement. Andy worshiped the new softness of your frame and none of this felt like strangers trying to figure out how to get each other off. His thumb brushed back and forth across your swollen clit and, unlike anyone else, you stuttered his name as you got closer, clamping around him, hips bucking off the couch to meet every deep thrust as he slowed his pace to draw this out for both of you.

You loved the look on his face, the way he bit his swollen lips between a million kisses left on your sweaty skin. The way he lost focus when you said his name and how he gently grabbed your chin as you stuttered his name again; so close, so wet for him, so ready to finally get off. Permission, your legs shook and you whined as he kept you right there at the tipping point, building himself up to his own orgasm while he edged you. “Come for me, lover.”

The words were so welcome, just enough to push you over the edge and quickly chased by you begging him, “Stay inside me.” Andy throbbed inside you as you pulsed around his cock, your fingers digging into the meat of his thighs as your orgasm didn’t seem to stop, the room seemingly silent as the echoing thrusts and calling out of names tapered out to the sticky collapse of you both tangled up on the love seat.

Your eyes closed, exhaustion settling in, and Andy watched you breathing. Softly, Andy nuzzled his nose against the top of your head. “If you fall asleep, I’ll fall asleep.”

With a hum you nodded, reaching up to his hand that had settled on your breast, patting it, “Would that be so bad?”

More to himself, voice so low you almost couldn’t hear him. “I can’t lose you again. Can’t lose anyone else.”

“There’s probably a lot we can’t talk about, but this isn’t a dream, Andy.” Pivoting just enough to look at him you held his hand and kissed his chin. “I can’t lose you again either. I already lost a foot.”

There it was, that cheeky little smile. You both sleepy laughed and you watched his body relax. “You almost cost me my car.”

“I couldn’t run away again, even if I wanted to.” Crinkling your nose you smiled, brushing your finger over the smooth part of his skin where the missing ring marked him. He did the same. The scarf hung over the back of the sofa and looked up at him. “I don’t want to, if that wasn’t obvious.”

His blue eyes closed, his smile went soft, and Andy Barber fell asleep in your arms. If someone would have told you that this would have happened when you left New York you would have run back to Boston and spared the pair of you a world of pain. Though you were scared of bridging the gaps caused by the many roads the pair of you had taken to get here, you shut your eyes and smile at the reality that all those roads led home- to him. Like kintsugi everything seemed hopeful, incapable of breaking like the last time, stronger and made beautiful through the healing time of quiet apologies, verbal and physical.

It had been him all along, no denying it. Neither of you would ever have to ask the other to stay again.

All Content Tags: @tom-hlover​

CEvans Content Tags: @void-hoechlin​

[popculturebuffet]

Ducktales Lena Retrospective: The Other Bin of Scrooge McDuck! or Why Does Lena’s Darkest Hour Have a WACKKKYY Bigfoot Subplot?

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to Shadow Into Light, my look back the LIfe and Times of Lena Sabrewing. And we’re almost at the end of season 1. Woo-Ooo!. While i’ll have more season 1 episodes to cover for it’s sister arc, this is the last episode in this arc before the finale.. and i’m happy to repeat that next week will be DUCK WEEK as a result, finsihing up this arc and the Della arcs, as well as dipping into season 2 a bit for Lena’s return to celebrate the finale of this wonderful show. Full disclosure: I didn’t PLAN for it this way, I assumed the show would be ending in April, but sometimes serendipity just works out for you. So pitter pat er, let’s get at er.

 When we last left off Webby went on a wild duck chase for her grandma in England and 87!Webby befriended that version of Magica’s niece and told off a grown woman masquerading as a child because her husband likes being called “Daddy”. When we last left the plot proper though, we learned Lena just wanted to be free, and was willing to do whatever it took, and Magica was getting more abusive and more impatient. And if you thought the end to Jaw$! was pretty sad and dark.... strap in and steel yourself as we take a look at one of the darkest episodes in the series.

The opening sets the stage perfectly as we’re in Scrooge’s Room in the middle of the night, when Lena comes in.. with a knife. 

Naturally she dosen’t have baked goods, but instead is trying to cut the knife from around his neck while Magica won’t shut up while she works and keeps distracting her and BLAMING her for getting distracted. As for the knife it’s glowing and mystic because naturally, Scrooge doesn’t trust just ANY string but a magically woven one to hold his dime. Unlucky for her her girlfriend walks in at the exact moment she’s standing over her idol holding a mystical knife. I don’t think hallmark makes a card for “Sorry I was lying to you for months for my abusive aunt to earn my freedom and then looked like I was about to slit your uncle’s throat. I love you though. “ Yet. 

Scrooge starts to stir so Webby pulls Lena out of there and back to her room... and flashes a lamp on her to interrogate her. Lena is able to bounce back, asking “what were you doing there”. Which NORMALLY wouldn’t last more than two minutes.. but since Webby was there to get Drool samples, maybe she wants to clone him I mean she does know a guy I think the why is something we’d rather not know about, Webby herself was a bit suspcious and Lena uses her starkerish ways to say she’d also gotten into being a Scrooge fangirl. This also allows her to ask about the dime.. but since Scrooge never takes it off, that means they have no access and both Lena and Magica are stuck watching Webby’s long presentation on Scrooge’s life story. I mean personally i’d love to see this in it’s full probably 8 hour glory but I’m not trying to earn my freedom or stuck as a shadow monster. 

It was then when watching the episode this morning.. I was reminded it had a subplot. And the instant I saw Dewey folding Louie’s shirts... I started to piece together it was the bigfoot one. 

As you can tell i’m not a fan of this subplot. It has a good core idea, riffing on “kid takes home sasquatch films” like Cry Wilderness, Big and Harry and of course the one that started it all, Harry and the Hendersons. 

It’s just bogged down by one really obnoxious trait that trips it up and is in the wrong episode entirely. We’ll get to that first scene and the plot as a whole in a moment we just need the setup in the a-story first: Scrooge privately conferring with Beakly, which Magica snoops on. While Lena didn’t get far at all in cutting the rope of his dime, she still left a knick and the fact someone got into his house, let alone his bedroom and got THAT far, means SOMETHING bad is afoot. So while he looks for it he’s putting the dime in the Other Bin for safekeeping. We’ll find out what that is in moment. For now 

Let’s Get This Stupid Sasquatch Plot Over With

We open with Louie having conned Dewey into folding his stuff for the “world laundry folding record”. I mean.. it’s greasy but I gotta respect game here. And it’s not actively harming anyone. Though we do find out from an irate Huey he’s done far worse, if in a hilarious way with Louie’s Kids, his obviously fake charity he uses to get money out of Donald. And so far into it, as Huey hid something he had in the closet and offered to Fix Louie’s stretched out hoodie, the reason he was mad at Dewey, I didn’t get why I hated it before. I wondered why I was so annoyed. Same when Huey while carrying Louie’s hoodies hears his uncle looking for something in the mansion. 

Turns out he’s got a bigfoot hiding in their closet, that he found injured int he woods and brought back and all that good kid finding a mythical creature stuff. Dewey of course loves him on first sight and both want to keep him. But unlike most of these sorts of things where the creature’s damage to the room and what not is played off or the sibling doesn’t know, Louie does see it and isn’t happy about it and only agrees to hide the furry bastard because his brothers blackmail him with his schemes, and refuse to feel sorry for him as the creatures antics continue, including drinking Louie’s special pep and eating his snacks. 

And this is where one of the plots two major issues crops up: The way Dewey and Huey act. Both just ignore any damage wooly foot does, any discomfort to Louie and any obvious downsides of this. Now Dewey being clinginly attached to a majestic creature he found and wanting to keep it? Fits perfectly, and him being mean to louie fits because louie tricked him. Huey however.. is horribly out of character, as while I could see him being charmed at first and not wanting his uncle to hunt his new friend.. he’s not an impractical boy. He’d of tried to get his new friend to the woods first thing because it’s where he’s safest from scrooge and his foot has healed. He’s also a Woodchuck and I can’t imagine the JWG says it’s okay to keep a wild animal person as a pet basically. None of it fits him and makes him into a moron for an episode solely for the plot to work. This still could’ve worked but just have Huey and Louie BOTH get suspicious, Huey later, and find out Tenderfoot is actually Gavin, whose sapient, has a phone and simply is taking advantage of them. it would’ve gone the same way: if they told Dewey , Gavin would kill them, as he threatened to do if louie told his brothers. The Gavin part though is brilliant and a really nice twist I didn’t see coming when I first saw this.  

And it would’ve made the already great climax more interesting as Huey would’ve been forced to use the methods of Louie’s he’d derided to beat a far worse scammer. Instead it’s just Louie but he doesn’t take Gavin’s threats lying down.. and comes up with a clever way to use his scam against him. He shaves Gavin, hides the razor then claims to his brother that not being in the woods means he’s dying or some such thing. So our two idiots and our hero drag them out and while they run into scrooge, Louie still saves the idiots life by manipulating him with a schmaltzy speech and they let him go despite his best attempts to stay, with Louie getting a nice “I win in there”. Overall a bit of a mess with some good ideas, but Huey suddenly taking dum dum juice really drags it down.

So in any other episode this would’ve been fine whatever just mildly obnoxious. What makes it really,  unintentionally obnoxious.. is it’s in the middle of a tense, dark, horror story that dives into the depths of Lena’s soul and ends on a really horrifying note. Case in point Louie shaves a bigfoot and gets his victory over his nemesis.. after an utterly spellbindingly horrific nightmare by Lena, easily the most terrifying moment in the entire show. Followed up with a shaved bigfoot. 

Now I could buy Disney simply forced them to do this to keep things light... except Frank’s been pretty upfront about the production process, how Disney has treated him, what they’ve said no on. So if it had been something they were forced to do, he would’ve said it. No this is just not reading the room and not thinking things through and an otherwise stellar episode suffers for it.They could’ve waited till season 2 for it, they didn’t, and this was the result. It dosen’t ruin the rest of the episode it’s too good for it, but damn if it dosen’t create mood whiplash so severe I need a neckbrace. 

The Good Part

So back at the plot anyone actually cares about, we found out what the “other bin” is when Lena asks Webby: While the Money bin is for well, money and precious keepsakes, the other bin is the stuff too dangerous to keep out in the world. And this is the guy who kept a mystical gold eating dragon, a pirate ghost, and a medusa gauntlet in his garage, and we’ll learn after this ep also keeps a giant golden aztec golem in there. NONE of that was deemed dangerous enough to put in the other bin. So Webby is understandably hesitant.. and it gets a bit unsettling when Lena manipulates her into it. While she has in the past.. she usually just nudged Webby into something she’d do anyway at worst, or showed her an r-rated movie or something harmless. While she did use her as an in she clearly cares.. so it shows how horrifically desperate she’s got she’s willing to pressure her into going into Scrooge’s most dangerous and secure location, pointing out this may be her only chance to see the Dime. 

So she reluctantly agrees, and the two head into the garage. Turns out Scrooge keeps all his junk here for more reason than just shoving it wherever it’d go, as the entrance to the other bin is hidden here. The statue that gave Manny his head is actually a clue towards the painting hiding the second bin, which itself requires one of those things used to hold up ropes and such like you’d see at a movie theater... god I miss movie theaters.. I mean watching stuff in the comfort of home is very nice, but it was nice getting out, making a day of it. I mean their around, but I really don’t want to go till one till more vaccinations have happened and it’s a lot safer to go. Wait what were we talking about? Oh right gay ducks going into a horrifying nightmare vault. But yeah the theater thingy is the key, it unlocks the entrance and our heroines head inside. 

In contrast to the modern, buisnessy welcoming bin, the other bin is basically one giant vault/prison, with everything in it securely locked inside identical doored rooms. It’s genius as it is simple: Only 6 people have likely ever had access to this place: Scrooge, Beakly, Gyro, Duckworth and MAYBE the twins. Even Della and Donald being allowed down here is an unknown. The non-scrooge people are only because someone besides him needs to maintain it, keep any creatures fed, that sort of thing and he’d only trust his butler and his housekeeper, who are also both extraordinarily badass, to do so. Gyro is because someone needed to design the cells. I also wouldn’t be surprised if Quackfaster was a 7th since season 3 casts her as Scrooge’s magic expert and he’d likely need specific runes for specific cells. He’d want as few people down here as possible, and even fewer knowing. I’m sure Bradford knew, and i’m also certain it’s the one thing he never quibbled about the expense as while he hates what Scrooge stands for and tried to curb his “chaos” as much as possible.. this is doing exactly what Bradford likes: locking it away where it can’t hurt anybody. Plus quibbling about it might make Scrooge want to show it off to him and that’s.. that's’ a whole lotta nope in a 2 pound bag. 

So for once Webby is very hesitant and very cautious, though naturally Magica points out a door.. and Lena stupidly follows her advice as she knows her “aunt” is impulsive and has no regards for her safety. What did she think was going to happen? They instead find a unicorn.. or rather it’s angry murderous cousin the Sword Horse, which naturally tries goring them. I’d go with Spear Horse, but semantics. Point is Webby is soon tackled by the thing and Magica just wants to let her die. As seen before the tension between Magica and Lena has hit a breaking point: Magica is fed up with Lena’s clear feelings for webby and caring more about her than the mission.. while Lena is fed up with Magica not listening to her, respecting her as sentient being and dismissing her out of hand instead of listening to her often very valid criticism. So Lena naturally ignores her and throws her the knife, which Webby uses to get the Sword Horse back in it’s pen. And then wonders why her girlfriend has  glowing painstakingly crafted magic knife. Whoops. Webby also wants to leave but Lena convinces her to keep going. but it’s also very clear that Webby’s getting more and more reluctant and i’ts very hard to watch. You can’t blame Lena for wanting to be free of Magica: she dosen’t see her as a person, and dosen’t value her life. But it’s still hard to watc her have to manipulate the only person that loves her and do so so.. effectively. It’s easy to imagine Lena’s done this dozens of times to other people.. but not to someone she actually CARES about. 

Webby DOES figure out how the rooms work though: each one is labeled by the year Scrooge caught it. So she assumes one room she fine is the dime.. and Lena of course runs in and slams the door shut... they’ve found it. So we then get to the most terrifying moment of the series. With victory in her grasp magica roars for Lena to claim the dime, filling the room and Lena with shadow with Lena seemingly disolving.. until Magica is restored or at least partially, still a shadow. Magica has just one thing for her.. and Lena’s reactoin is terrified.. and says oh so much in just one expression it’s VERY clear Lena fears she’s about to die... if she’s lucky. Magica’s been so verbally abusive, tearing her down constantly, manipulating her constantly.. why WOULD Lena expect anything good? Why would she expect anything other than pain or death? So a hug is a surprise.. as is Webby who assumes she’s being attacked... and is clearly heartbroken that’s not the case and runs for Scrooge when Magica admits the truth... only for Magica to seemingly kill her, turning her into a doll resembling the original Webby

Yeah at this point it’s obvious something’s up.. but before we can get to the natural reveal at the end of this horror show, Lena demands Magica change her back... only for a fight to naturally ensue with Magica rubbing the way Lena’s treated Webby in her face: How she manipualted her, lied to her and used her. Even if it was for more noble reasons.. she never told her any of this or tried to and is now directly responsible for her death. She’s a monster.. and then Lena’s amulet activates.. and seemingly finishes the job. 

Then Lena wakes up. This was simply one of SCrooge’s artifact, one Webby mentioned earlier off hand and Webby rescues her. It was all a nightmare.. easy to see given Webby was seemingly killed or turned into a doll at points.. but besides making Lena realize how while not as bad as her aunt, she ahsn’t been great.. it also gives us a painful look into her head and how she sees both Magica and Webby. With Magica.. it’s again VERY clear Magica verbally abuses her, depersons her and is in general a horrifiingly relastic depection of a domestic abuser. But it’s also telling Magica hugs her... while Lena didn’t expect it, this is all her subconcious mixed with a magical cursed artifact, it’s clear that deep down one of the things she wants most.. is for Magica to LOVE HER. 

That is just... it hurts so much.  She just wants a Mom.. and even then her subconcious can’t give her THAT because it knows the truth. Granted the nightmare thing might of had something to do with it, but still, the fact is deep down she knows Magica dosen’t care about her but she WANTS her to. As with Webby, she fears Magica is right, that all her gaslighting has had an effect and Webby would run away the second she found out. When as we’ll learn.. that’s not true at all. She’s deeply hurt... but she still belivies in her. But Lena can’t even see that. She’s been beaten down so much by someone constnatly telling her no one will ever love her she belivies it herself and all her mind and the dreamcatcher can do is pummel her over and over again with what she feels about herself, what she’s KNOWN about how she treats webby even if she had no way out otherwise, how wrong it’s felt. Just holy shit it’s a lot to take in. 

But all this trauma has made Lena realize she truly does love Webby and this isn’t worth it.. she’ll find some other way out or figure out something, for now their leaving. She’s not dying for this.. not for her. They happen to run into Scrooge who, due to the WACKY BIGFOOT SUBPLOT THAT HAPPENED RIGHT AFTER THE ABOVE SCENE, no I will not let that go even going back to Frank’s twitter asks he outright said it was their darkest plot paired with one of their most insane, he knew what he was doing. Turns out cleverly he kept the Dime in vault one. As he puts it “They never think to check the first one”. Smart. He also keeps his worry room down here. Just a note I wanted to mention. 

He does chide them, and Lena takes the full fall.. but suprisingly he dosen’t ban her from his home or anything, he just asks they be honest and would’ve gladly showed the dime off to them both if they’d just asked. Once Scrooge and Webby walk off far enough Magica berates her again..but Lena is done. She’s realized from her own horrifying nightmares that NO amount of freedom is worth what Magica will get out of this, that her own soul isn’t worth the death of the one person she cares about: Webby will fight her and she might not make it. She loves her more than she fears Magica. And even if it means loosing Webby.. she knows who can stop him. Unfortunately.. this is not a happy ending as Magica simply takes full control. And now has Scrooge’s full trust. 

Final Thoughts: This episode is one half a masterpiece. The parts with Lena are to this day, as we approach the very last episode, some of the show’s finest writing and Lena’s nightmare is easily the darkest scene in the series, and only not the most gutwrenching.. because we’re getting to that next week. It finishes the first leg of her character arc, with her selfishness all gone, and the only thing she wants is Webby’s hapiness. Granted that leads to a whole nother character arc over her season 2 episodes, but we’ll get there. Point is she’s realized her manipulations are wrong and not worth the cost, and that she’ll never get anything good out of Magica. Freedom.. will take just a bit longer. It’s eerie to watch, uncomfortable as Lena sinks to her lowest point before climbing out of it, and with a very tense atmosphere the whole time, the bin having a smothering uncomfortableness as we know there’s tons of horrible things here.. but we don’t know what. 

So on it’s own it’d be one of the series best episodes, and the plot itself is still one fo the series best.. but it’s weighed down by one of the series worst plots. Still tame compared to a lto of other series worst moments but being paired with something so dark and excellent really shows how fucking stupid this plot was and made it that much more grating. It just clashes badly. Thankfully the crew did learn from this fiasco to the point we got one of the series best episodes “Escape from the Impossibin!”. That one seemingly has two light enough plots, Scrooge, Louie and Della escaping from the bin and Webby stalking the boys, but in a comedic ic still messed up fashion.. but both take a sharp left at just the right time as to not clash: the full implications of what Webby’s doing and her physical fight with Bentina happen around the same time Scrooge breaks down and confesses he’s scared he can’t win this time. The episode gets really dark in the second half but it eases into it and slowly makes it’s way to it, building to it with some laughts to disarm it. But stuff like robo scrooge or the timeloop room, or the timeloop room, or the timeloop room, or the oh thank god i’ts broken. That stuff isn’t SO wacky or out of place that it detracts from the other plot. They compliment each other. Here it’s just two plots that don’t work together at all joined together for some reason.  So yeah overall a very mixed bag of an episode and if you do want to watch or rewatch it.. just skip the bigfoot subplot> it’s not worth it. 

Next Time on Shadow Into Light: It’s all come down to this. Magica finally ges what she wants. The Shadow War is Night.. but before I can tell you that story we have a bit of ground to cover so..

Next on this Blog: The family minus Beakly ends up in Greece. Dewey is forced to deal with his fears about his mom, Scrooge is forced to deal with his old rival Zeus, and Donald is forced to deal with an unwanted admirerer. Spanikopita!

If you liked this review, follow for more, feel free to contribute to my patreon, and feel free to commission a review of your own. Until the next rainbow, it’s been a pleasure. 

[andotherbiases]

“into the fall” deleted scene, vers. 2

writing that thread yesterday reminded me that I had so many versions of the scene where MY goes to KT’s place. They all ended up being too angsty to make it into the final version of the story, but now that I used the snuggles & storytime version in “journal of a teenage year” I feel like I can share these other deleted scenes.

In this version, MY goes to KT’s place not because she’s realized her feelings for him, but because she’s upset. I’ll lead into the scene with text from the published version in italics, so you can see where it would have been situated in the original story. This particular version has parts from the other deleted scene (let’s call that one version 1), but with a different ending dialogue. I was sad to loose the intimacy of this scene, because it shows just how much deeper their connection is, but alas, I just wanted to write a light-hearted story so... 

Anyway, I’ll post another version in the coming days. I hope you enjoy!

Version 2: Angst city

Sometimes he stays the night. Sometimes not.

Sometimes they meet and don’t have sex. Sometimes an office visit really is just an office visit.

Moon-young doesn’t really know what the rules are here. She doesn’t understand what they’re doing. Kang-tae doesn’t mention it, never brings it up, and seems perfectly happy with whatever their arrangement is. But she’s confused and unsettled, unsure of what to do or say. Mostly because, surprisingly enough, a re-introduction to their physical intimacy has not produced the hell-mouth she thought it would.

There hasn’t been a single fight. She can’t remember the last time one of them snapped at the other. When it was that one of them stormed out of a room in anger.

When they’re together, in between all the hooking up, they snuggle and laugh and share thoughts and opinions and secrets. And it is nice. Nice that they could be like this again. Nice to lower walls. Nice to share in the intimacy that had always been present between them.

It feels so natural.

But it also feels so fragile, like a spring morning, and Moon-young doesn’t want to ruin it, doesn’t want to destroy this good and beautiful thing by bringing up questions and whatever harsh reality exists for them.

If it can’t be forever, she’ll take it for right now.

And she’ll worry about the fall later.

It happens unexpectedly.

Moon-young is having a terrible day. Any contact with her estranged mother sours her mood completely, ruins any plans that she might have had. A single phone call and a shadow will loom over her for the rest of the day, dark and storming and brewing. It makes her want to lash out at the world, makes her want to be reckless, makes her want to do something big and dangerous -- something that she can throw all her energy, all her feelings, all her thoughts towards. Something to distract her. 

Something to ease her weary heart.  

She doesn’t know how she ended up at Kang-tae’s door, but he takes one look at her face and lets her in without a word. 

They’re sitting at the kitchen counter, cups of lukewarm tea before them. They’re just sitting, sometimes exchanging words but mostly just sitting in the moment, sharing the space together. Silence stretches on between them, but it isn’t empty nor is it burdensome. It occurs to Moon-young that he is the only person that she feels comfortable enough with to not have to say anything at all.  

Kang-tae is sitting by her side, nursing his mug and waiting to listen to anything that she might say. His usual suits and coiffed hair are replaced with casual t-shirts and a pair of thick glasses. On the table next to them are notes from some manuscript, the red scrawls from his pen bleed across the page.  

“I’m sorry for interrupting. You were working,” she says, only just piecing together that he might have been busy when she arrived at his door. 

He waves her off. “It’s not important.”

They lapse into silence once more. 

“Is this about your mom?” he asks, breaking into her thoughts. If the question had come from anyone but Kang-tae, she would have denied it. Would have stormed out of the room, having no desire to air out her family’s dirty laundry. But he wasn’t just anyone. He knew her whole history. This wasn’t the first time he’s seen her angry and upset and despondent. Moon-young meets his eyes and finds only sympathy, not pity. 

She nods. 

Kang-tae purses his lips, clearly displeased. “What did she say this time?”

“The usual,” she shrugs. “How I’m an ungrateful daughter. How I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for her. It’s always the same. Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“I wish she would just leave you alone.”

“She had no problem doing it before,” Moon-young says bitterly. “Funny how becoming a best-selling author changes things.” 

Her mother had abandoned her just after her tenth birthday, leaving her under the care of her mostly absent father. Moon-young was raised by a series of live-in babysitters and tutors. She hadn’t heard a single word from her mother in over fifteen years. It wasn’t until her first book was published and her name was in the news that Moon-young first got a phone call from an unknown number. 

Moon-young’s long lost mother was suddenly interested in reconciling. Had seen the error of her ways. Had seen a photo of Moon-young in the local paper and wanted to get to know the woman she had become. 

But Moon-young wasn’t interested. Her success was hers alone. And if her mother didn’t care enough to go through the tough times with her, all the times when Moon-young had struggled to live as a writer and received rejection letter after rejection letter, then her mother certainly didn’t have a right to enjoy Moon-young’s success. 

Her mother, naturally, did not appreciate being so cut out, and ever so often Moon-young received a letter or call that full of vitriol from her own mother. 

In a way, she felt haunted.

Suddenly, Moon-young pushes away her tea. “I need something stronger,” she declares, already moving to stand and make good use of Kang-tae’s well-stocked dry bar.

Instead, he reaches over and takes her hand in his. His hold is so stable, so steadfast and sure. His thumbs rub circles on the back of her hand, and Moon-young finds herself sitting back down. 

“Let’s leave the alcohol for another time,” he suggests, his words calm and gentle. “How about we get you into bed, and I’ll read you a story.”

Somewhere in the middle of his tale, Moon-young starts to cry.  

Tears leak from her eyes, pouring out her sadness, and she can’t help it. Can’t stop the shaking of her chin or the sobs that crawl out of her mouth. 

And she hates it all, because her mother doesn’t deserve her sadness, her tears.

But Kang-tae is right there. 

He pulls her in tighter, brushes away her tears before they have a chance to fall. He whispers comforting words in her ear, reminds her of how brilliant she is, and how strong, and that she didn’t owe her mother anything, that Moon-young belonged to herself.

And he kisses her. 

Soft, lingering kisses on her cheeks, her eyelids. When Kang-tae kisses her lips, she can taste the saltiness of her tears. 

But also, a sweetness. A kindness.

She wants, so desperately, to capture that. To taste it on her tongue and devour it so that it becomes a part of her. To be so full of sweetness and kindness that there is no room for sadness. So that nothing bad can ever get in.

Moon-young wraps her arms around Kang-tae’s neck, bringing him in closer until the weight of his body presses down on her, and she slides her tongue past his lips. 

“Hey, hey,” he says, breaking off the kiss. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

He didn’t understand. She needed this. She shakes her head. “No, please,” Moon-young insists, arching up into him.

Kang-tae hisses at the contact. “I think,” he starts, his voice now shaky, “that we should just try and sleep. You’re upset and I--”

“Please, Kang-tae,” she reaches up to try and kiss him again. She needs this. Needs this oblivion. “Please, I--”

He tries to avoid her lips. “Moon-young…”

“Please just make love to me,” she blurts in desperation.

He freezes. Seconds roll by before he pulls back, hovering over her. “What?” 

And for some reason she’s crying again. “Please, please. Kang-tae. Please can you just--” and she doesn’t care that she’s begging. 

Kang-tae’s gaze is probing as he locks eyes with her. He’s hesitating, warring with himself, but slowly his eyes drop from hers to settle on her lips. He gives a small nod before he kisses her.

Afterwards she’s almost asleep when the fall happens. It is so quiet she nearly misses it. 

“I love you.”

Her eyes open, she’s fully awake now, but forces her body to remain still. She stays that way, until she recognizes Kang-tae’s deep breath of sleep.

Moon-young is fumbling around in the dark trying to gather her things. It is early still, dawn is just on the horizon, giving just enough light for her to slide out of Kang-tae’s bed and make a hasty exit. 

“Don’t forget your purse is in the kitchen,” comes a voice.

Surprised at being caught, Moon-young spins on her heel, and even in the darkness she can see Kang-tae’s eyes staring at her. He sits up and reaches for his pants, but seeing his bare chest for some reason seems too intimate and she avoids her gaze. 

He turns on a lamp, and the sudden brightness burns. 

“Leaving already?” he asks as he approaches her. There is almost something predatory in his gait, the firm set of his mouth. 

Moon-young only just resists the impulse to take a step back. “I didn’t want to wake you,” she tries to explain.

“Hm,” he considers her answer. “And this doesn’t have anything to do with last night?”

Her heart is slamming against her ribcage. Did he know? Something like panic races through her veins. 

Kang-tae continues. “The part where you heard me say that I love you.” He takes a breath. “I love you, Moon-young.” 

Moon-young has to step away then. It is too much. She feels like she can’t take in enough air, not enough to breath, not enough to process what is happening. Tears begin to prickat her eyes, and she doesn’t understand why. 

She pushes him away. “I have to go.”

He grabs her hand.

“Don’t go. Don’t run away. We’re good together, Moon-young. These last few weeks, we’ve been so good together.”

She snatches her hand back. 

“Don’t do this,” he tells her, trying to hold onto her. “Moon-young!”

“This was just supposed to be sex,” she cries. “You weren’t supposed to fall in love with me!”

“I’ve always been in love with you!” he responds.

“What?”

“I can’t help it,” he holds her by the shoulders, hoping against hope that she’ll stay. “I’ve always loved you.”

She feels the world tilt on its axis and it steals her breath. “I have to go.” 

And she runs, right out of his room, right out of his apartment, and down the block until he’s no longer calling her name, no longer trying to follow her.

[silverlightqueen]

don’t wanna fall in love

friends with benefits jimin x reader - smut, angst

word count - 1.5k+

warnings - dirty talk, degradation, dom!jimin, sub!reader themes, jimin loves the word angel, unprotected sex, creampie (I hate that word lmao), bad language, mention of multiple orgasms, I think that’s it

based on Don’t Wanna Fall In Love - Kyle

a/n: I had the idea for this drabble while I was listening to this song on repeat and just wrote it in like 30 minutes so here ya go! unedited as usual, but I hope y’all like it

silverlightqueen masterlist

‘God, you feel so- fuck! You feel so good, baby girl, oh, my God,’ Jimin groans as he slides into me, the feeling of him filling me up so familiar, so normal.

‘You fill me up so good, baby. Move, please,’ I whine, and he grunts at my words before he pulls out almost completely, just his head nestled between my folds.

‘You want it?’ he asks, and I nearly scream, tired of his hours of teasing.

‘Yes, fuck, Jimin, I want it,’ I whimper, eyes locked with his hooded ones, a smirk on his handsome face.

‘How much? Tell me how much,’ he prompts, and I know that this is his praise kink coming through.

‘So much, baby, so fucking much. I need you, I fucking need you. No one fucks me like you, no one has dick like yours, baby. Just fuck me, please,’ I beg, discarding my pride.

Grinning, practically preening from my words, he doesn’t give me a moment’s notice before slamming all the way back in, my mouth falling open in a silent moan.

Ruthlessly, relentlessly, he pounds into me, grunting and groaning in my ear as my ankles dig into his back and my nails rake down his back.

‘Fuck, you’re so tight, angel, so tight around me, and so wet. You’re gushing for me. Only for me, right? No one else gets you like this, huh?’ he breathes out, his pace relentless, his head dragging against the soft spot inside me, the spot that has tears running down my face from pleasure.

‘Only you, Jimin, only you. God, fuck, harder, Jimin,’ I moan, and he chuckles, sounding abnormally calm when he laughs.

‘Harder? You can barely handle what I’m giving you. Just so desperate for my cock, aren’t you, angel?’ he says, and I nod, the pleasure numbing my mind so much I can’t get any words out.

‘Don’t worry, baby, it’s not one-sided. I love this pussy, love the way it clenches around me, the way it gushes just for me, love the way it fits just perfectly around my cock,’ he whispers into my ear before his mouth moves to under my jaw, sucking on the skin there.

He loves to mark me up.

‘You’re all mine, aren’t you, baby? A good little slut for me. My whore knows just what I want, don’t you?’ he breathes out between hard thrusts, and when his hand snakes down between our bodies, I know he’s close.

‘Yes, Jimin, love being yours, love being your slut. Just want your cock all the time, baby, feels so fucking good,’ I moan, the words falling from between my lips without any thought.

‘You gonna cum for me, angel? Wanna feel you cum around me. Wanna feel you soak my cock like a good little slut. Come on, dirty girl, cum for me,’ he prompts, his softly spoken dirty words going straight from his lips and to my core.

His thumb starts to rub at my clit then, just as he hits my soft spot head on, and I cry out his name, tumbling over the edge without warning.

‘Ah, baby, you’re so good for me, so tight around me,’ he groans as I clench around him, my orgasm washing over me in waves, my head pushed back into the pillow and my back arched up from the bed.

‘Fuck, I’m so close. God, this pussy is so fucking good, angel, you’re so fucking good, just for me,’ he moans out, thrusts becoming more and more erratic, my body falling limp beneath him.

‘Can I cum in you, angel? Tell me quick, I can’t hold on for much longer,’ he groans, hands around my waist in a bruising grip, hips hitting mine every time he thrusts.

Too tired to speak, I dig my ankles into his back, holding him in place, and clench around him, before reaching down to cup his balls, knowing it pushes him over the edge every time.

‘Fuck, angel, I’m gonna cum, fuck!’ he shouts, buried deep inside me, his head falling to rest on my chest, and I feel his hot thick cum hit my walls, filling me up.

We stay still for a little while, my hands in Jimin’s hair, his body on top of mine, but the weight of him gets too much after a few minutes.

When I start to fidget, he gets the message, holding himself up on one hand and pulling out of me with a whispered, ‘fuck.’

The oversensitivity makes me whine, and I feel his cum slowly dribbling out between my folds, his eager eyes watching as it happens, having always had a thing for filling me up only to watch it drip back out.

He gets up off the bed, heading into the bathroom and coming back a moment later with a towel, smiling at me as he holds it up.

He cleans me up, removing the saliva around my mouth (from when I sucked him off), the fluid from around my chest (from when he fucked my tits) and the several lots of cum from my thighs (from the multiple orgasms he’s given me over the past couple hours).

He discards the towel with our clothes on the floor and then hands me a bottle of water, watching carefully as I take a few sips, before he has some of the water too.

‘You okay?’ he asks, lying down beside me, and I nod with a smile.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, I just starting to drop off, and then I hear him sigh before he turns onto his side to look at me.

‘I know I’ve said some things, but I don’t want you to be misled,’ he begins, and I look at him confusedly, our eyes locking in the dim lamp light.

‘I… I’m not interested in any kind of relationship. I know I claim you all the time, but that’s just… in the moment, you know? I just don’t think either of us should even entertain the idea of a relationship,’ he says, and I raise an eyebrow, trying not to let my feelings show.

‘Where is this coming from?’ I ask, and he sighs again, rolling onto his back and looking up at the ceiling.

‘I just… I feel like I’m leading you on, but it was never my intention. I just… forgot where I was going. I’m getting too attached to you, but that was never my plan. And I don’t want to ruin things like you, like how things happened with the last girl. She was like you, and we ending up hating each other, because neither of us could let it end. I don’t want that to happen again,’ he says, and I take a moment to process his words.

‘So what are you saying, Jimin? What do you want?’ I ask, and he hesitates for a moment before turning to look at me again.

‘I think… I’m better as your boy, you know? I’d be shitty as your man. Let’s just go back to being friends, yeah?’ he asks, sounding hopeful, and I’m silent for a moment.

‘I’m sorry, angel, but I hope you understand,’ he says, almost pleadingly, and I let out a little laugh.

‘Jimin. I… I hate to say this, but I… I don’t wanna fall in love. I’m happy with just sex. I’m happy with us being exactly how we are now,’ I say, and he nods, looking relieved.

‘I’m glad to hear that, angel. I was just worried, that’s all. I’m just too scared to lose, and I know you are too, so I thought you would feel the same. I’m glad you don’t. But, if you’re okay with it, I… I’m gonna distance myself, because I need to get over you,’ he says, and I raise an eyebrow.

‘Distance yourself? How exactly can you distance yourself when we’re doing the most intimate thing people can do?’ I ask sceptically, and he runs a ring-adorned hand through his jet black hair, thinking.

‘No more sleeping over, no more mornings after. No more aftercare,’ he says, and my mouth falls open.

‘Okay, maybe a little bit of aftercare,’ he says with a grin, and I laugh. 

‘But do you get where I’m coming from?’ he asks, and I nod.

‘Completely.’

‘Good. God, I was so worried about this conversation. Thank God we’re on the same page,’ he says with a smile, looking visibly more relaxed, and I smile at him.

After a few moments silence, he sits up.

‘I should, um, head back home then. But, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you soon, yeah?’ he says, and I nod, forcing a smile.

I watch as he redresses himself, eyes entrances with the contours, the curves, the configurations of his beautiful body, the body I’ve become so used to over the past few months.

‘See you later, angel,’ he says once he’s dressed, smiling at me from the door, and I smile back.

‘See you, Jimin,’ I say, stopping myself from telling him to text me when he gets home so that I know that he’s safe.

He wants distance.

I can do that for him.

He leaves without looking at me again, my ears tuned to the sound of his light footsteps heading out towards the front door.

I manage to hold back the tears until I hear the sound of the front door shut behind him.

[kayabred]

𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 • Park Seonghwa + Reader (they/them) *best friends au ! Angst !

Warnings : I tried my best , I don’t really know if I touched on the ‘best friend’ part enough or not . 🥺 or the angst part . please tell me how I did 🥺🥺

Seonghwa grinned , biting his inner cheek to suppress a smile as he sighed into his phone , heeled boots clicking behind him as he headed towards the florist’s .

“Hong , I’m way too nervous and way too excited for my own good.” A jolt of excitement shot through him as he told Hongjoong and he resisted the urge to start bouncing up and down , chattering teeth clenched in an effort to control himself .

But Seonghwa didn’t want to look crazy . Not today.

Hongjoong laughed a little on the other end of the call .

Seonghwa took in a deep breath—though it did nothing to calm his heart—as his eyes scanned the signs hanging above shops , reading them to find the flower shop .

“It’s just that we haven’t seen each other since ...quarantine ! And you know how busy we’ve been-”

“Oh , I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m not that close to them but it sure seems like...well , they like you too , Hwa.” Hongjoong chuckled , voice cracking over the line . Seonghwa giggled before hanging up . Nothing was going wrong . Nothing was going to go wrong .

It was a perfectly sunny day , with Seonghwa smiling just as bright . He was dressed in a white dress shirt—red and black overlapping the collar of it—and a presentable set of black jeans . Nothing was going wrong . Nothing .

He found the shop , hearing the ethereal chimes announcing his presence as he opened the door and met eyes with the tall young man who owned it .

“Hey there-” Seonghwa fished in his back pocket for his wallet , producing it and opening it without looking-“could I get a bouquet of roses ?”

The man smiled , nodding and went around the counter , gesturing for Seonghwa to follow behind him .

“What colours , dude ?” He hummed , pushing gold rimmed glasses up his nose . Seonghwa smiled ,“Red...That’s what you normally give people , right ?”

His smile looked almost painful as he rethought the colour he had chosen . Was red too basic ? Maybe roses were too basic . Do you even like flowers ? Of course they do , I got them roses once and they were elated-

“Well I’m guessing it’s for your lover ? Cause , yes. It’s pretty standard .” The man chuckled , picking fresh flowers . Seonghwa , reassured , nodded with bright eyes . His cheeks tinted nearly the same colour as the roses .

Lover ? His heart swelled at the idea . You...and him...lovers . Had he been in his own company , he would have squealed at the thought . But no . Nothing would go wrong . He wasn’t going to risk embarrassing himself . Nope , nothing .

The florist wrapped the roses well and waited , wordlessly , for the payment . Seonghwa blinked for a second before audibly reaslising what was to come next . Paying and carefully taking the bouquet , Seonghwa glanced at his watch and then headed for the door .

“Thank you , Mister...Mingi.” He smiled , squinting to read the man’s name tag just before he stepped out . Mingi blinked , slightly bewildered before calling out . Seonghwa paused , turning back .

“It looks like it’s gonna rain soon , take care .” He wished , smiling . Seonghwa looked out at the clouds to find them grey . He smiled at Mingi , waving with his free hand before turning to leave .

It’s okay . A little rain won’t ruin the day . Might even make it more romantic-nope , let’s not go there yet . He tried to shake off some blush as he headed towards the bus stop where you both would usually meet .

He inhaled and exhaled as thunder rumbled overhead , almost signifying something .

“Hey , I like you,” he practiced he thought over it for a moment ,“No , no , no . Too forward .”

He paced , holding the flowers behind his back as he racked his brain .

Then he stopped abruptly , facing the lamp post and focusing on it .

“Hey , we’ve been best friends for a really long time-” the words fell out as his eyes widened and his jaw lowered .

Seonghwa’s heart stopped for a moment . Its every beat echoed in his ear almost mockingly , to tell him he was alive and what he was seeing was real . The grip he had on the bouquet loosened and it nearly fell to the ground .

He slumped against the lamp post , watching . Watching you kiss someone else goodbye . Watching how their hands hung around your waist and how you pulled them in. Watching as he heard his own heart breaking .

His eyes watered and, shakily , a crooked , broken kind of smile fit onto his face .

“Oh.” He croaked , voice breaking . He gulped back something that clawed at his throat , ignoring hot tears and looked away as he processed it all .

Processed how all his efforts had been thrown away . How he was not the one .

How everything had went wrong .

He chuckled darkly and stumbled backwards .

Breathy excuses for laughter left his lips as he looked around at the blurry world . Rain started pattering against the streets , finally dropping .

It went wrong . Something went wrong . What had he done wrong ? His lower lip trembled as he bit on it , watching you say your last goodbyes and smile at your lover for lending you their jacket so you could meet him .

Something soaked his shirt , he didn’t quite know if it was his tears or the rain . Quickly wiping his face , Seonghwa’s eyes refocused on you who was about to turn and head for him . He turned his back against you , praying that you wouldn’t come . Praying you would go home .

Home with them. He closed his eyes , struggling to contain his emotions . Thunder clapped but he didn’t flinch . His grip on the flowers was loose but , he was too afraid of letting go . He couldn’t . Not...not yet-

“Seonghwa ?” His grip tightened as the voice pierced his ears . He barely turned back to see you . Your smile a little curious , your aura a little too happy . A kind of giddy he guessed they had caused .

“What are you doing in the rain?” You tutted , clicking your tongue in annoyance and pulled him under the shelter of the bus stop .

He thought you’d be warm . That he’d be warm in your presence .You’d always been warm , radiated this light that made everyone feel nice .

But that day , under the bus stop , in your presence , Seonghwa shivered . Maybe because he was cold . Maybe because he was soaking wet . Or maybe he just mistook the shaking of his hunched shoulders that only ever happened when he was sobbing for shivering.

“What’s with the roses ?” You hummed , taking your warm fingers and wrapping them around his wrist . Seonghwa shut his eyes as you examined the bouquet , gulping down grief and anxiousness. His heart ached and he hoped you wouldn’t make any links .

“Seonghwa ?” You whispered , concerned eyes catching his pained expression . He hummed , smiling convincingly after years of practice . You cocked an eyebrow , gaze firing the bullet that wounded him.

“Nothing’s wrong , if that’s what you’re wondering.” He cleared his throat , gripping the roses tighter .

Your eyes showed hurt , the kind that was so shallow it could barely be seen . His one was buried , deep deep down . Too deep for normal people to find . For you to find .

“Sounds like something you would say when something’s wrong,” you peered into his eyes as you muttered , searching for any signs . He looked away shakily , pushing the bouquet of roses behind his back .

“No-” he repeated , murmuring so softly he should have been drowned out by the rain-“No , I’m absolutely fine.”

[luminess-brightcoil]

No Matter What You Do

All instruments recording the ongoing spread of the scourge pandemic indicated a rapid increase in risk of safety, up to and including the roaming dead in the very streets of Stormwind. What was once recommended to simply be a matter of staying off the streets and increasing security measures has changed with similar rapidity, up to and including the recommendation of immediate evacuation for all citizens of Stormwind, leaving only the Stormwind Patrol, the Argent Crusade, the Ebon Blade, and any of Azeroth’s Champions that were so moved to contribute to containing the absolute carnage at hand.

As the topic was broached for what this means for the great underground metropolis of Mechagon, Luminess Brightcoil balked at the data, though she Observed it in totality and took it upon her processing parameters to integrate this new data into her daily routine. To say the outlook was grim would be an understatement. To say that she was growing exhausted of grim outlooks would be even more of one.

Even a Beacon is prone to bouts of personal dismay. It was quickly becoming one Titans-damned thing after another for her. Starting and ending a revolution. Joining and ending the Fourth of Four Wars. Defeating the encroachment of the Old Gods. The Return of the San’layn. And now, this: Death itself, and whatever forces direct it upon Azeroth. And all of this within a single year. 

On days like these, a Beacon would wonder why she ever left the island in the first place... 

Luminess sat amongst her peers in the Think Tank that was assembled for the purpose of analyzing and developing an expedient solution to the matter of the scourge invasion with the Gnomish population at its focus. The scent of recirculated air through coppered ducts intertwined with the effervescent presence of warm, freshly applied toner as gnome and mechagnome alike scanned through document after document. Every finer point addressed, every corollary counter-examined, every contingency remodeled and re-assessed… And yet it was the general consensus of those present that not much headway was made just yet. 

Except for Walton Cogfrenzy, Chief Architect of Mechagon, who maintained that he had a very simple and direct plan of response, that in any other context would have been seen as antithetical to their current societal trajectory, and now perhaps its only chance for survival: 

Complete Lockdown.

“We will establish a temporary teleportation network between here and Tinker Town,” Walton explained. “Citizens of Gnomeregan can be funneled into our now half-vacant halls along with all our Gnomadic kin. Following that, remaining available space and resource accommodation can be afforded to our Dwarven cousins, though it is projected very few would be willing to retreat from their own beloved city. Still, we must press them to do so, and once we have evacuated all that we may hold and accommodate safely, access to the network will be severed from all entry points.”

The King shifted his weight from one side of his seat to the other. By far, the once High Tinker but now King Gelbin Mekkatorque would be the least Kingly King you could meet. He was conscientious to others. He yielded space and listened more than spoke. He sought counsel for all decisions, tall or small. Betraying the good will of his people was unthinkable, just as he would strive against working against their humbler wishes. And more often than not, you had to remind him of his now-regal station. A station, it is said, he has been working to reform away from the obsolete protocol known as the 'Divine Right of Kings.' Perhaps such topics could be addressed more directly when things were Quieter. But in either regard… Luminess, for one, was grateful to have someone so unlike the Mad Tyrant that, for now, she was willing to give the whole Monarchy thing one more chance.

“It will be difficult to convince the Gnomereganians to take refuge,” sighed King Mekkatorque wearily. “Many believe they’re perfectly safe within the walls of Ironforge, despite the surrounding snowy climate being far more tactically advantageous for the Scourge than even the tranquil forests of Elwynn or the unimpeding flats of Durotar. And even so, their pride is at stake to some extent. They won’t take easily to being confined to another underground kingdom, even if it is ostensibly theirs. Over time, we of Gnomeregan have become more and more like our Gnomadic cousins than not as the impossibly high toll taken by Thermaplugg continues to plague our once-hallowed halls, figuratively AND literally.”

“And so I would hope they would be difficult to convince, your highness.” Intamin Diveroll, renowned prosthetist and out-speaker, swiveled his chair towards Mekkatorque just slightly as he respectfully interjected, but kept his gaze upon the Chief Architect. “Your plan puts our now-combined kingdom at risk of recreating the exact same scenarios for destruction that had befallen either of them. Suppose we are all holed up here and one of our vaunted city’s life preservation systems should fail, or worse: sabotaged by ne’er-do-wells known or unknown. Suppose the invasion never ends, and to quell a dissatisfied populace, a new Mad Tyrant emerges to place them back into order under the guise of Public Safety. And should neither fate befall us, and we merely survive through the ordeal to a ruined Azeroth or… continued indefinite life underground, even in prosperity… that would make cowards of us all.”

“It is not… Cowardice to prioritize survival! It is the only acceptable option,” pressed Cogfrenzy with just as much proud conviction on display as he hid his secret guilts. His servos whined under his weight as he leaned forward against the conference table with the coiled-bulb lamps glowing above his exhausted, perspiring brow. “And the only safe one. Our Kingdom is the most secure against external threats of any on Azeroth. Our doors open and close only to us, and our walls are impenetrable against all alien threats. Anyone who enters without the aid of our own kind is instantaneously vaporized by our unparalleled city defenses. For five hundred years, a full-length default gnomish lifetime... our security was so assured that the rest of the planet knew not even of our existence. We were effectively anonymous. Fel, we even have the capability of sealing off all access to the Azeroth’s vast network of Arcane Leylines, guaranteeing that not a single soul enters or leaves through the mightiest of mage portals!”

As the King ran his fingers through his whiskers, Luminess’s face belied only a hint of bemusement as her gaze slide sideways to one of her closest companions to examine his face for a reaction to that last sentence. Indy would offer none. But she knew. They both knew.

“My King,” Indy gently prodded, turning his trademark winning smile towards his liege. “The Rustbolt Revolution demonstrated to us that the answer to our prosperity lies not here exclusively in Mechagon. It lies in Greater Azeroth. And to that end it is not only such that we should not run away, but we should fight to defend it alongside everyone else.”

King Mekkatorque smiled at Indy gently, reassuringly. “On that, we are in total agreement, Good Doctor. We are no longer two kingdoms of Gnomes. We are one, and beyond that, we belong to the mighty Alliance as well. And defending our world from imminent threats within and without is the Alliance’s primary function, after all.”

The Beacon stirred in her seat, squeaking it at the hinge as she leaned forward onto her elbows, fingers tented before her face. She refused to comment on the political trajectory of the Gnomish populace, for now. Instead, she turned to another of her companions that she insisted be included on this Think Tank for the sake of the wealth of information he contains as a single entity. “Cornelius,” she addressed him from across the table.

“Hello, User!” came the chipper response from Mister Tribulatus, self-aware as ever, and the Beacon remained quite proud of him for achieving that.

“Known methods of Scourge Incursion, please, listed."

“Query accepted! Running diagnostics…”

The room fell silent, save the soft stirring of seats in anticipation, and the soft ting-ting of a spoon inside a cup of coffee, one of a great many that were filled and spilled on this auspicious day. 

“Results compiled. Scourge are known to make entry into populated areas through the following means, alphabetically: Aerial Delivery. Burrowing. Contagion. Localized Necromancy.”

All eyes in the room, save Cornelius’, slowly drifted over to a mechagnome seated at the end of the table, brow bedecked with ostentatious horn modifications. His focus was trained on an asymmetrical paper football formed out of one of the documents on the table, and his attempts to ‘kick’ it through a ‘goal post’ made from used coffee creamer cups and stirring rods. His clamps fail to provide the manual dexterity needed to perform the maneuver, but after eighty-seven attempts so far, the man was not about to back down now. However, he felt the familiar sensation of an entire room of his alleged peers judging him all at once, and so he looked up.

“... What?! Titans Testes, I’m not a Necromancer, I resurrect myself with CLONES,” protested one Doctor Theodorp Wimblewomble the Sixth. Or was it Seventh, now? The people of Mechagon had only his word for the answer. 

“The Fel practices are adjacent to Necromancy are they not?” the Beacon inquired, with earnest sincerity. “Perhaps in this way you can offer us insight?” 

“You’re asking an electrician to fix your toilet,” chided Theodorp as he unceremoniously failed his eighty-eighth attempt to score a field goal. “Fortunately for you I am learned of a multitude of means of delivering Doom.” 

The King rubbed his eyes with a gloved hand before flipping open the box of donuts on the table, deciding which of the remaining flavors might quell the madness he felt in this moment for including a pseudo war criminal on this Think Tank. Take him away, Blueberry Glazed.

“For certain, this Kingdom is advantageously impervious to outside threats, as the Chief Architect asserts. Titans know I’ve tried and nearly succeeded countless times to perviate it myself. Yes, that is a real word.”

All of the eyes that were cast upon Theodorp quickly volleyed to Cornelius. Instinctively, he clicked and whirred in place before speaking: “Perviate. Transitive Verb. To enter, bore into, or run through. Would you like me to search for more information regarding Perviation?"

Professor Theodorp Wimblewomble the Sixth silently threw his clamps into the air, victorious over all who dared to doubt him, once again. As the gnomes around him (save Cornelius) collectively stifled their groans, he permitted them immediate reprieve of a well-deserved gloating, and continued...

“As my criminal record shows, I’ve only had so much luck attempting to bring various forms of Fel into our kingdom. The Titan-Energy Interference from the Engine that we’ve made our home into is a natural repellent to both the Fel and Necromantic efforts from exterior sources. Our Previous King spared no effort or expense at seeing such impure practices all but eradicated or imprisoned.”

He takes a moment to feel very smug about being the only practitioner of either who isn’t currently technically imprisoned before continuing: “Ultimately, our greatest concern, second only to simply allowing the plague to enter our halls through contamination of persons or produce… would be someone like me infiltrating Mechagon and finding a way to succeed. For the Fel, we have no particular need of concern as ever. But in the case of Necromancy, they would not need to open a portal, they would simply need to locally source some corpses right here. Which could be remarkably easy, considering the whole proposition to keep the walls closed and sealed that no one could possibly enter or leave.”

The Think Tank of gnomes, already silent, somehow fell even more deathly quiet. No one liked that.

“Then it would not be enough to simply close the doors and shutter our windows,” the Beacon spoke wielding a voice laden equally with certainty as hesitance. “It would require a near-constant monitor of every individual’s vital signs, and restricted movement for all throughout the densely populated areas. We would effectively not be merely bunkering in for our physical safety, but we would need to place the population under a functional quarantine for the first few weeks simply to ensure there is no undetected viral agent is able to spread. We would require anyone taking refuge here to comply with these regulations, or…”

She gulped as she choked on her words in this moment. Indy peered at her searchingly. Cornelius smiled at the wall. Theodorp was on the edge of his seat, waiting for her to finish her thought. King Gelbin Mekkatorque simply listened, chin upon thumb, cheek against finger, elbow against armrest. 

“... Or be placed under secure, supervised quarantine. Just for the duration. And ethically, of course. This is for… public safety.”

Theodorp clinked his clamps excitedly under the table with a wide, toothy grin while Luminess attempted to meet Intamin’s gaze. But when her optics searched for his, he had already turned away. She sank in her seat just slightly as her lips tightened and her face drooped just a bit. 

The King nodded slowly as his own eyes searched in the far distance, into the invisible thinkspace we all have for flaw in this reasoning. And whether he found zero flaws to be had, or he simply accepted the known flaws as they were, it was not made clear in his exhausted sigh that set his moustache billowing in the wind blown forth from his lips.

“You speak the Truth as ever, Beacon,” decreed the King. “If we are going to do this then it would be folly to employ any half-measures. BUT... we will make sure that all who are so quarantined for the duration will have the inconvenience of their sacrificed time compensated, their needs of survival and personal comfort fully provided for. They are our people, our family and friends, and we will make their stay at home a veritable paradise until the situation is under control. To do any less would call into question the foundations and integrity of our very society’s principles in a manner we simply do not have time for right now, or possibly ever. Have we reached consensus?”

The assembled members of the Think Tank all offered their agreement in unison in low grunts of affirmation and/or raised hands. Even Intamin, after a moment. Luminess quietly sighed in relief, allowing her jaw to finally un-clench itself.

“Then the matter is settled upon. Beacon Brightcoil, I am counting on you to ensure that the quarantine efforts are carried out in a safe and ethical manner the people will find agreeable. Spare no expense. The rest of us will reconvene after a one hour biological break to discuss our efforts abroad aiding the campaign in Icecrown and the Eastern Kingdoms. Titans Observe that it will be Gnomish Ingenuity and Determination that brings a swift resolution to this crisis!”

The King’s counsel and subjects before him all responded with an assured nod and an equally assured utterance of “Titans Observe,” even Doctor Theodorp Wimblewomble the Sixth or Seventh.

With that, King Gelbin Mekkatorque bowed his head with a soft chuckle and made haste towards the door, eager to get out of being in a meeting for however long he can manage it today. Luminess, making similar speed, exited behind him as the others shuffled their belongings in order. 

Intamin gave chase.

“Beacon? Oh, Beacon?” cried the man playfully behind his companion, who laughed as she slowed her pace to allow them to walk on parallel paths. “I was simply wondering which personal liberties I would still be afforded while imprisoned in my own private paradise prison.”

Luminess rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow, shaking her head as she chuckled softly. “Really, Indy, the situation is dire enough without you nagging at my personal principles over my duties as a Beacon.”

The prosthetist cackled quietly beside her, grinning all too wide as he satisfied himself with her acknowledgement of such a Truth. “I am teasing, of course, my dear… Nothing about this is easy, and though it burns at my very soul to admit it… this is a necessary action to take. So long as it remains a stopgap, and not a solution. And Titans Observe that I may rest easy knowing you are at the lead of such a project.” 

“Titans may Observe it so… but they shan’t,” Luminess responded softly.

Intamin jogged in front of her to impede her movement, narrowing his ocular sensors to thin lines as he looked over her features for any sign that she might be joking. She was not.

“... You will not be staying? But you said--”

“I know that I spoke in favor of quarantine and I stand by that. It is what is right for our people, both of them, all of them… But it is not my place. For certain, This Unit could perform the task and do it well, but I am by no means the only one capable of doing so."

Intamin looked her over curiously. "Did not the King ask you to do it yourself?"

Luminess allowed a sly smirk. "He merely asked me to ensure it will be done. I will reach out Wenzli Cogsalvage to manage this in my stead. She is the finest community organizer I have seen since the end of the Revolution. And though I am beloved by many, as a Beacon I am still mistrusted by the same amount or more for our ties to the Mad Tyrant’s Orthodoxy and the work that remains in our reform thereof… By contrast, she is of the people in a way I can never truly be ever again, and will therefore be more efficient in inspiring trust in this time. In addition, since it is Wenzli... I will have the added bonus of most people simply mistaking her for being me anyway, as normal."

The prosthetist clicked his teeth. She certainly had a point, if not several, but he was not letting her off the hook so easily. "And so if your place is not here, Miss Brightcoil… Then where is it?" 

A brief question inspires an eternity in a split second of consideration. Where, indeed? Was her place in Stormwind, with the Embassy as an Ambassador? Was her place with Prince Erazmin and the Rustbolt Resistance, now expanding their field of operation to fight back against the emergent Scourge threat? Was it with the other medical professionals of the Azeroth Medical Association, searching for a long term solution against the contagion and the short term efforts of caring for those currently afflicted? Was it with her mercenary allies in the Dragon Corps or the Fence Macabre, beating back the hordes with them and other Champions? Was it by the side of those she held dear, one small clutch of beloved friends or another? 

Luminess smirked just for a moment before lifting her gaze to Intamin. Her eyes flickered Gold with the Light before she answered him with a warm tone.

“Uncertain. But what you said earlier rings true again: Wherever my place might be… it is quite clear that the answer is not here, in Mechagon. It is out there… in Azeroth.”

Intamin couldn’t help but allow a smugly satisfied grin plaster his face, flashing that perfect one-millimeter gap in his front teeth as they bit lightly upon his tongue to stifle a boisterous guffaw that would otherwise spoil what could be looked back upon as a tender moment.

“Titans Observe,” he said simply, and embraced his friend tightly with both arms, squeezing as hard as he can, as he always did, knowing that once again, this could be the final opportunity to do so. “But I shall not allow you to continue your adventures abroad unaided. Your previously requested modifications are complete and awaiting installation back at my workshop over a splendid Torcolato I’ve been saving for just such an occasion.” 

“Mister Diveroll, there is absolutely nothing that I would enjoy more at this precise moment,” said Luminess, as she sniffled once and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the collar of her ceremonial garb after returning the embrace of a beloved friend and confidant. She then grabbed hold of his arm for escort down the winding path from the High Tinkertory, down to into the city which she held so dear, the city which until only still so recently was all she had known.

And as she walked, audibly promising the matter was settled to her companion, she continued to silently deliberate within herself over it all... whether she was making the right or wrong choice, whether there was an optimization to their plans she failed to find, whether or not it was hopeless to even try, endlessly as she would, as she does, and as she has, every single day of her life.

And as such... she prayed to the Titans, as she did, every single day of her life, that they may Observe her following the ideal path.

Tell me what your spirit says Show me what you pray Teach me every single part I'll be your guide You are a prisoner Looking for to be You can change your face But can't change your mind No matter what do you do No matter what do you do No matter what do you do No matter what do you do

[sparxwrites]

(first tma fic, kids, let’s go!! set at some ambiguous point in s3 or something, idfk. massive thank you to @capitola, @hoodienanami, and @ladyofrosefire for beta’ing / looking this over and reassuring me it wasn’t terrible. massive thank you also to mr sims for my life lmao.)

cw for minor body horror, and eyes in places they shouldn’t be

[ao3]

There’s a light on in Jon’s office.

It’s not a bright light, just the soft glow of a desk lamp spilling out from under the door, but still. It’s well past midnight. No one should be working – hell, Martin’s only in the Archives because he’d forgotten his phone when he went out with the others for drinks. And sure, Jon’s known for his late nights and early starts, but verging on one in the morning seems ridiculous even for him.

Martin hesitates outside the door for a full minute before knocking, once.

There’s no response, but Jon’s definitely in. Or someone is, at least. There’s a voice – muffled, but still audible, speaking continuously – from inside the room. Statements, then, probably. Though why Jon would be reading statements at this time of the night is beyond Martin, especially when he’s been at it all day, too.

He hovers for another minute, another two, but the voice doesn’t quiet. The light doesn’t go off. He’s half tempted to leave his weird boss to his weird work hours and just not interfere in what could be some weird Beholding ritual for all he knows. That would be the sensible thing to do, really.

After a cumulative three minutes of worrying, Martin resolves to open the door. Just a little. Just to check if Jon’s okay.

It’s not locked, which – given the hour, and the Archives’ track record with murder attempts and/or supernatural infiltration – seems like a safety hazard. Martin pushes it open, gingerly, nudging his way into the doorway and peering inside, fully prepared to get snapped at for intruding.

Jon’s sat at his desk, which is normal, and has a half-drunk glass of whiskey by one elbow, which is not. His hands are laid flat on his desk, either side of a sheet of paper, and his face lit in strange, sharp angles by the desk lamp’s single point of light. The ever-present tape recorder whirs away in front of him, hungry for his soft words.

It’s a fairly typical scene, other than the lateness. And the whiskey. And the strange energy in the air, prickling, not the usual light touch of being watched, but the heavy weight of something present. He’s trying not to think about that one, though.

Martin watches, silently, unwilling to interrupt. Jon doesn’t appreciate being interrupted mid-statement, he’s found. Besides, it sounds like the statement’s ending anyway – something about an improbable underwater fire at an oil rig, as far as Martin can piece together from the closing remarks.

Politely reminding Jon of the twin values of sleep and of locking his office door can wait until he’s finished.

“…Statement ends,” concludes Jon, voice soft and flat in that way it only ever gets when he’s recording statements. The real statements, that is, the ones that will only go on tape. His eyes are unfocused, distant. He doesn’t even seem to be looking at the paper in front of him, which… unusually, for a statement, seems to be mostly blank. Instead, he’s staring unseeingly at the wall opposite his desk, perfectly silent and perfectly still.

It’s not like Jon’s never worked late before, and it’s not like Martin’s never found him reading statements at some god-awful, unsociable hour of the night or morning, but this… Something feels different about this. Something feels weird, and Martin’s gotten pretty confident in trusting his gut about weird feelings.

“Jon?” he says, softly, nervously. He’s still hovering in the doorway, uncertain, unwilling to cross into the room proper on sheer animal instinct.

He gets no response. Instead, Jon flinches, like he’s been stuck with a needle.

It’s an oddly restrained motion, given he doesn’t seem to be entirely present, a sort of full-body twitch accompanied by a quiet hiccup of sound. Like he’s swallowed down a sob. His breath stutters in his chest, hitches. A high-pitched, drawn-out noise of pain strangles itself in his throat, escapes through his nose instead in a long whine.

His eyes don’t refocus. His hands never move from their place settled flat against the desk. His expression doesn’t change.

“…Statement of Mrs. Anisha Singh,” he says, eventually, his voice still level and calm. It would be almost soothing, if not for that fixed stare, the line of tension in his shoulders, the whiskey on the desk. If not for that strange, heart-stopping moment of quiet agony. “Regarding the disappearance and return of a beloved family pet. Statement begins.”

Now Martin’s looking for it, he can hear the note of strain that colours the edge of each word, pain or exhaustion or some other ragged, aching thing entirely that even… whatever it is that’s keeping him blank and still can’t quite exorcise entirely.

“Jon,” says Martin, a little more firmly, because this is– weird. Even by Jon’s standards, even by the Archives’ standards, this is really, really weird.

“We’d had him for years, you see. Mr. Kibbles, I mean.” Jon’s voice softens as he slips into the statement, pitches up a little into something more female than his usual tone. There’s the slightest edge of an accent to it, though Martin isn’t sure what accent. “Years and years, and he was always so sweet. He was a rescue cat, so of course there were some issues at first, but–”

Martin hesitates and then, swallowing hard, crosses the room and scoots around the desk, until he’s standing at Jon’s elbow. “Jon?” he says again, without much hope. When he gets no response, he sets a hand on Jon’s shoulder, and shakes him, ever so gently.

“–why we thought it was strange, when he went missing,” says Jon, still staring straight ahead, hands still flat on the desk. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t respond, doesn’t so much as blink.

Martin shakes him, again, a little harder. Then his nerves run out, so he switches to sort of awkwardly rubbing Jon’s shoulder, his back, as insistently as possible. Even through Jon’s customary jumper and shirt, he can feel– bumps, almost, strange raised nodules that he thinks must be scar tissue. Must be from the worms. He shudders at the thought, and distracts himself by calling Jon’s name again, louder than before.

Nothing. It’s like Martin’s not even there.

“Okay,” says Martin, as easily as he can manage when everything in his nerves sings wrong, when there’s a prickle on the back of his neck like Jon’s staring at him. It’s ridiculous, Jon's eyes aren’t even focused, but… “Okay, right.” He unwinds his scarf from round his neck, and shrugs his jacket off, his motions jerky with unease. “I’m– I’m going to go make us some tea, then.”

It seems a bit pathetic, when he says it out loud. But it’s not like there’s any employee manual segment on what to do if your boss gets possessed by his god in the early hours of the morning, and he figures making tea can’t hurt the situation. Perhaps the warmth and steam of a cup on his desk might help… bring Jon back to himself, or something.

At the very least, doing something with his hands might stop them from shaking.

He makes the tea on autopilot, mostly, drifting from sink to kettle to cupboard, retrieving mugs and teabags and milk. His brain is too busy whirring, turning the image of Jon over and over in his head, to concentrate on the process all that much. He’s desperately trying to work out if this is okay, if this is normal capital-A Archivist business, or if this is something new, or something dangerous, or something…

The tea’s oversteeped, by the time he remembers to take the teabags out. Not that it matters, really. Only one of the cups is getting drunk, after all, and Martin’s too strung-out on nerves for overly bitter tea to be anything other than a laughable distraction.

By the time he gets back, Jon’s nearly done with the statement. He hasn’t moved an inch, hands still on the damn desk, eyes still fixed unseeing on the far wall. Martin sighs, and sets the tea on the desk a few inches from the whiskey nonetheless. “There you go,” he says, and immediately feels guilty – because Jon’s doing a statement, the tape recorder’s still running, because he’s ruining the recording.

He figures, as he retreats to a chair tucked against the wall, next to one of the bookshelves, that his priorities probably say something about how badly this job has messed him up. Boss might be possessed? It’s probably fine. Ruining a statement, though? Unforgivable.

“–know what I’m going to tell the kids,” says Jon. “They loved the cat. They were so happy when he came back. But they didn’t see it. Not like I did. They didn’t see what those fleas had done to him. They wouldn’t understand, if I told them what I had to do.”

Martin winces, and takes a sip of tea to try and stop from thinking about that too hard. It scalds his tongue a little. He’s missed the bulk of the statement, but he’s got a pretty good idea of what bugs can do to a person – or a cat, as the case may be. And he’s got a pretty good idea of what Mrs. Singh might have had to do to get rid of them.

“I’d suggest we go to the local rescue this weekend, get another cat to replace Mr. Kibbles, but… I don’t know if I’m ready to have another pet right now, after all this. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to have another pet again.” Jon pauses, unblinking, unmoving – and when he speaks again, his voice is back to his own, albeit still coloured by that awful, artificial flatness. “Statement ends.”

And again he flinches, like he’s been stuck unexpectedly with something sharp, hunching in on himself. He hiccups out another sob, another aborted hitch of sound, and then keens. It’s an awful noise, a long, drawn-out whimper so full of pain that Martin’s on his feet before he can even think about it.

He’s not sure what he can possibly do to help with this, especially when he doesn’t even know what’s going on. But it seems wrong to just sit there, to just watch, with Jon hurting in front of his eyes.

Before he can take another step, though, the skin of Jon’s neck starts to– shift. It’s not a warping or a melting, exactly, nothing like the things the Desolation does to human flesh. It’s more of an unfurling, skin parting and opening as though that was what it was always meant to do. Except it’s that’s not right, because that’s a neck, because skin doesn’t move like that, because necks don’t open–

Jon’s whine finally, finally cuts off, with a frantic gasp.

“Oh, god,” says Martin, faintly, frozen in place with his hands white-knuckled around his mug – because there, on the side of Jon’s neck, is a wide, brown eye.

It blinks, slowly, its thick black eyelashes brushing across Jon’s skin. Then it spins in its– socket? God, in whatever’s anchoring it into Jon’s skin, and Martin really doesn’t want to think about that– and settles its wide and fixed gaze on Martin.

When Martin takes a tentative step to the side, it tracks his movement, smooth and unblinking. He thinks about the bumps under Jon’s jumper, oddly soft beneath his hand, and is abruptly overcome with nausea.

How long has this been going on? How long has Jon sat here, unnaturally still, giving statement after statement with no paper to read from and no pause between? …How many of these eyes are there, under Jon’s collared shirt and long-sleeved jumpers and carefully pressed trousers, scattered across his ribs and stomach and thighs?

From the presence of the whiskey, Martin has an awful feeling that this isn’t even the first night this has happened. That this is something Jon had braced for, from prior experience.

The idea of Jon sat alone in his office, blank paper and a waiting tape recorder in front of him, grimly downing spirits in anticipation of the pain to follow, sets Martin’s chest in an abrupt and unrelenting vise.

“A-aah. Statement–” starts Jon, and there’s a definite waver to his voice now, an unsteadiness apparently even the Beholding can’t eradicate. There are fine tremors starting up across his shoulders, and wetness around the rims of his human eyes. “–o-of Mr. Gregory Freeman, regarding th-the circumstances of his daughter’s death on a family hiking trip. Statement– begins.”

Four statements later – a young woman ravenously hungry for her own flesh, a house that seemed to shrink with every passing day, an elderly man with a sudden and violent phobia of cameras, a woman who had started leaving cobwebs on everything she touched – and Jon is still going. Martin’s made another two cups of tea for them both, out of sheer anxious energy, replacing the undrunk and cooling mug on Jon’s desk each time.

Four more statements. Four more eyes emerging somewhere on Jon’s body. Four more points of pain, sending him flinching and sobbing between each statement.

Martin watches them all and clutches his empty mug, white-knuckled, helpless. He watches Jon finish each statement, watches him weather the pain, watches him start up once again– and he goes to get more tea. There’s nothing else he can do, but be witness to this, whatever this is. Be a witness to Jon’s suffering.

Jon finishes a fifth statement, and is halfway into a sixth, before he starts crying. Thin trails of tears start to drip down his nose and cheeks, over his constantly moving lips. They’re barely visible in the half-darkness, just a faint gleam as they catch the raking light from his desk lamp. His expression doesn’t change, nor his tone, but he cries silently nonetheless. The eye on his neck is not so much as damp.

Martin cries with him, softly, for a while.

No other eyes show up on his face or neck, despite the endless statements, the endless gaps between. One does form on his wrist, though, right over the bone of it, pale blue and half-hidden by the cuff of his shirt. It blinks once, indolently, at Martin, before rolling to stare fixedly at the doorway to the room. Quietly watching.

The one on Jon’s neck still stares at Martin, unblinking, single-minded. He gets used to it, after a horribly short space of time.

The time passes strangely, elastic. Martin drinks his tea, makes another cup, and drinks that too. He replaces Jon’s whenever it gets cold, out of some weird sense of duty that Jon will have at least warm tea when he snaps out of whatever’s going on. He dozes, at some points, lulled into an uneasy sleep by the soothing sound of Jon’s words. He’s inevitably reawakened when the statement ends, though, by Jon’s noises of pain, louder and less restrained each time. By the end of, he’s crying out openly with each new eye, voice hoarse and raw in a way that never carries over to his statements.

It’s six in the morning, by the count of the clock on the wall, before Jon finally stops. “Statement ends,” he says, and Martin waits, patient and exhausted, for him to start again with statement of – but it never comes.

Instead, Jon– collapses. Crumples over his desk with an unsteady exhale, like a puppet with its strings cut. Out of the grip of the eye, the shaking is worse – violent, shocky, like he’s about to fall apart.

Maybe he is.

For a second, Martin’s worried he’s having a seizure, or some more eldritch equivalent. Then he realises Jon isn’t just breathing, jerky and unsteady and on the edge of sobbing. He’s speaking, still, muttering soft and frantic to himself.

“No more. No more. No more. Please. No–”

“Jon?” says Martin, as gently as he can manage, because he can’t bear it a second longer. “Are you–”

Jon goes silent in a heartbeat, and as still as he can with the tremors still running through him. “Martin.” His voice is wrecked, but he still cuts Martin off with such authority. “What– what are you doing here? God, what– time is it?”

He’s slurring a little, under the hoarse rasp, but Martin’s not sure it’s anything to do with the whiskey. There’s a giddy edge to it that rubs up against the exhaustion, like he’s overstimulated and wrung out all at once. Perhaps he is, after a night of being force-fed statements directly into his brain.

Jon drags himself upright again, slowly, painfully, until he’s at least slumped in his seat rather than collapsed over his desk. There are dark bags under his human eyes, and his hair’s a mess, and that wide, brown eye in the side of his neck is still staring. Martin really wishes it wouldn’t. Wishes that it would at least stare at something other than him.

The eye, as though reading his thoughts – and god, for all Martin knows, it is – blinks. Just once.

“I, um. It’s about six, I think. In the morning. I, I came in last night, and you were– aha, well, um, I don’t really know what you were! But it seemed kind of weird, so I thought… I’d better keep you company. In case it got weirder, you know?”

It feels stupid, when he says it like that. What did he do, other than sitting there, watching, making tea? It was ridiculous of him to have thought he could help in the first place.

Jon opens his mouth as if to reply – but his eyes catch on the lukewarm cup of tea by one elbow, and he stops. Swallows. Closes his mouth. “…That was– thoughtful of you, Martin,” he says, in the end, which isn’t quite a thank you but is remarkably close. He grabs the mug of tea, and downs half of it in one long swallow, before reaching up to scrub a hand over his face, his neck. “I suppose it goes without saying that this–”

The moment his fingers touch the eye, he freezes. Then he slaps a hand over it, almost guiltily, and stares at Martin with wide, wild eyes.

“…It’s been watching me all night,” says Martin, and winces as he watches Jon’s expression crumple. “Look, don’t– here.” He grabs his scarf off the back of his chair and stumbles over to the desk, shoves it towards Jon in a bundle. “You can cover it up or something, if you want. And… please don’t freak out, but– there’s one on your wrist, too.”

Jon stares at the scarf for a long, long moment, before laughing hollowly. When he reaches across the desk to take it, he uses the hand that was covering his neck, and that wide brown eye stares accusatorily back at Martin. He doesn’t put the scarf on – just sits there, holding it, fingers white-knuckled against the soft wool.

“I was doing so well,” he says, and he sounds exhausted. When he reaches for a drink again, it’s from the half-full glass of whiskey. “I was doing so well, keeping them covered…”

There’s a comment to be made about drinking on the job, and also about the ill-advisedness of whiskey at six in the morning, but Martin bites his tongue. “Maybe they want to be uncovered…?” he offers, and winces immediately. “Just. You know. Eyes, and all that. Maybe they want to be able to see.”

“They can see whether they’re covered or not,” mutters Jon, sourly. “They’re not– this,” he gestures to his neck, “is just another, another test, or some kind of sick game, I know it. It’s just–”

“How many are there?” blurts Martin, because Jon’s starting to spiral, and it’s the first thing that springs to mind. “–Oh, god, you. You don’t have to answer that, just forget I asked, really. Really.”

Jon hesitates, before standing up abruptly enough that his chair screeches against the floor. “Oh, damn it,” he mutters, setting the scarf down on the desk and knocking back the rest of the whiskey. He pulls a face at the burn of it, but his hands are already fumbling with the hem of his jumper, tugging it off over his head and immediately going for the buttons on his shirt. “Damn it all–”

His hands are shaking badly enough Martin almost wants to help, but the situation is weird enough already without offering to help his boss strip, so he… doesn’t. Instead, he just stands there, awkwardly, as Jon fights to get the buttons on his shirt open.

When he finally manages it, Martin can’t quite hold back a sharp, panicked intake of breath.

“There’s more lower down,” says Jon, quiet misery in his wrecked voice. “And on my back. And my arms, and– I don’t know how many. I… I haven’t counted. Maybe– a hundred? More?”

The dozens of eyes across his torso don’t blink, but they do shift, pupils contracting in the sudden light and darting around for something to focus on. They’re different sizes, shapes, colours, peppered across his skin and overlapping with his many scars as though competing for space.

Jon prods at a red-rimmed, newish-looking one on his stomach, scowling, and hisses out a breath of pain at the unpleasant, yielding contact between eyeball and finger. It blinks in retaliation, and somehow manages to look annoyed.

For a strange, nauseating second, Martin isn’t sure whether he wants to run, or to step closer, to fit his hands against the curve of Jon’s too-prominent ribs and feel the soft brush of eyelashes against his palms. In the end, thankfully, he does neither – just stands there, dumb, staring, as Jon reaches for his shirt buttons and starts to dress himself once more.

“You– you should sleep,” he offers, unsteadily, as Jon tugs his jumper back over his head. “I can go set up the bed, if you like. You know, where I slept, when…”

Jon finishes wrestling the jumper into submission, and collapses back into his chair, sighing. “I… yes. I suppose I should,” he says, and the slur is stronger now, without the anger and panic to camouflage it. The trembling, never quite banished from the line of his shoulders, is coming back stronger again. “Sleep would be– nice.”

There’s something bitter in the way he says it, almost sarcastic, but Martin’s too tired to call him up on it. “Okay,” he says, instead. “Okay, I’ll go, um, I’ll go set up the bed then. You just wait here, and, and maybe… drink some of the tea? Might help your throat. Definitely no more whiskey, though, please.”

Jon huffs out something that might almost be a laugh, though it sounds raw and rasping. “No more whiskey tonight– this morning,” he agrees, groping across the desk for the by now rather cold mug tea. “The pain’s fading now, anyway, I’ll be fine.” The words seem to slip out of him, an admission of vulnerability he’s too hurting and exhausted to hold them back. “…Thank you, Martin.”

The hand not currently curled around the mug of tea has found the wool of Martin’s scarf again, fingers curled absently into the softness of it. Martin’s not sure if he’s getting that back. He’s not sure he minds, either.

“It’s no problem. Really!” he says, with a small smile – and, despite the night full of confusion, and worry, and far too much oversteeped tea, he means it. He means it with all his heart. “You’re– you’re welcome.”