#vaguely stressful and yet never quite at nightmare level

[greenerteacups]

gt my heart, lionheart is insanely good and im now up to the triwizard tournament so i can't stalk your blog to read everything you've ever said about your work YET (but i will, i want to know every detail about your writing process and choices for characters and everything else; for now im enjoying author's notes) and well, i just wanted to say, thank you for the visuals, cause today i woke up from a lionheart dream - castle adventure with the lh-four, never wanted to be 15 again before lol

You're very welcome, and thank you for the kind words! (Or perhaps I should apologize — being 15 again sounds like quite the trial, even if you are in a magical castle, and perhaps especially so then. Certainly Draco's got mixed feelings about it.)

[maple-the-awesome]

We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 24

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 3,065

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

Series Masterlist 🤎 Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: LET'S JUST TALK

Compared to the decades you've both been apart before, it really hasn't been much longer than a blink of time since you've last seen Bucky, yet you're staring like a deer in headlights anyways, struggling to process all of these damned emotions that overtake you like a tidal wave. At least you're not alone in this reaction, though.

Despite having been the one to call you, Bucky doesn't say anything too quickly himself. He holds the camera at a slightly awkward angle, struggling to keep it level which you aren't sure he realizes. Thankfully, the image remains crystal clear no matter how much he shakes the screen, allowing you to still dwell on his handsome features as if he were standing right here in front of you: his hair and beard have gotten longer, the former tied back into a messy bun; it's a nice look.

"Merry Christmas!" You blurt at last, cursing how much your smile must make you look like a giddy teenager. Oh well, you're too surprised by this unexpected video call to stress over it.

"Merry Christmas," Bucky repeats accompanied by laughter, a smile adorning his own face. You notice it immediately, unable to skip how much happier he seems in the moment compared to months ago. He carries this sort of glow to himself now that you had only ever seen snippets of while on the run, not to mention there's no longer bags under his eyes nor a drag to his voice. He's relaxed, and that alone makes you feel far better than you have been.

Shortly after Siberia, Steve had sent a letter to give you a vague update on things, however that only gave you temporary peace of mind. You often paced around your room wondering just how safe this 'Wakanda' could be for the love of your life. Steve said it's a very secure country and you trust Steve, but cat-man also tried to kill Bucky every time their paths crossed. Will Wakanda really protect him now? Are they capable of protecting him? Is he happy there and not as depressed as your nightmares tell you he is? You could never be quite sure of any answers until finally allowed to confirm them with your own eyes.

"How, um...How have you been?" You ask to get the conversation rolling, struggling to find a comfortable seat leaned against your pillows in the meantime. Not once during your readjustments do you take your eyes away from the tablet.

"I've been good," Bucky answers quickly, although after thinking it over, he decides to add, "I, uh, don't know how much Steve told you, but I actually went under for a while until the Wakandans could find a cure for the Winter Soldier...so that's all better now..."

He tries to play it off as if it's not a big deal, but ends up smiling shyly once you gasp with a huge grin, "Wait, you're serious?! Does that mean there's no more Winter Soldier at all?!"

"W-Well, we tried the trigger words and they didn't work -"

"- Bucky, that's amazing! I'm so happy for you! I was just thinking something seemed different about you, too - that you look more at ease and all. Oh, I'm sure, though! No more worrying about the other guy coming out must really take a big weight off your shoulders, huh?"

He blushes at your kind words, "We shouldn't get our hopes up too high yet...but yeah, it's been pretty nice having one less thing to worry about."

"That's really good news, Bucky - wonderful news!" You can't stop smiling, "What else have you been up to? You'll have to tell me all about Wakanda. They're known for vibranium and I watched King T'Challa's speech, but that's about the extent of my knowledge. What's it like there? Are you enjoying yourself?"

'Are you happy?' Is the question you're trying to hint at, desperately wanting to hear him say the words which will rest your anxieties in regards to everything that happened the last time you saw each other.

Fortunately, Bucky's eager to nod, "It's nice here. They've set me up with this little hut where I'm able to take care of goats all day and the villagers are super nice even though I'm still struggling to learn their language - Oh, and it's all by this huge lake, too. Did you get to see it? I think I put a picture on your tablet. I did it without any help, though, but I think I got it?"

You chuckle, "I did. You set it as the background. I'm assuming you're my secret Santa who sent this then?"

He nods more bashfully this time, "...Do you like it?"

"If it lets me finally catch up with you, then I love it."

This seems to please him as he goes to explain, "Shuri suggested it as a good gift. 'said none of the calls can be tracked by the government, so it would be a safe way to talk to you without giving away either of our locations."

"Smart. Steve sent a burner phone with his letter, but yeah, I didn't want to use it if it would risk any of you seeing as the government's apparently been searching nonstop for your whereabouts."

For the first time, Bucky frowns, the screen shaking a bit as he must've sat down, "...Have they been giving you a lot of trouble because of me?"

His fears dim your own bright spirit, however you don't want to focus on that nor do you want him to. Waving your hand with a so-so sign, you respond truthfully, "Eh, it's been touch and go. I wasn't formally charged with anything at least. Thanks to Tony putting in a good word for me, I pretty much got a slap on the wrist and required monthly meetings with a probation officer, although I do think they've been watching me pretty closely from afar. You know, in case I get into contact with any of my 'fugitive' friends, but seeing as the FBI hasn't busted down my bedroom door yet, they must be slacking off for the holidays."

Bucky gives a dull hum.

"I can't complain, though. Overall, they've been extremely lenient with me all things considered and hey, I get to live in the new Avengers' compound which is a total win! Like, do you see this room? This is first class living right here!" You turn on the opposite camera, proudly showing off your room for Bucky to see, however to your disappointment, it still only brings a vague tug to his lips before they fall back into a frown, "...Okay, what's wrong? Out with it, Barnes."

He fidgets with his own device, not looking into his camera directly even after you turn yours back to your face. When you draw out his name and thus show your refusal to simply drop the topic, he finally caves in, "I don't understand how you aren't upset with me..."

"Why would I ever be upset with you? Bucky, you've done nothing wrong. You were my friend. Together, we were living a peaceful life in Romania which was honestly the happiest months of my life. It was Zemo who came and ruined it. You couldn't have done anything to prevent that. He caught us all by surprise, even the Avengers -"

"- I know...I know..." He whispers, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, "I know you care about me and I know you never hesitate to protect me...But I just keep repaying Siberia in my head. I can't help thinking about when we confronted Zemo and everything that happened afterwards -"

"- Are you mad at me?"

Bucky's head shoots up, looking at you with wide eyes and shock written over his face, "Why would I ever be mad at you?"

It's your turn to shy away from the camera, rubbing the fabric of your pajama sleeves between your fingers as a distraction, "...I don't know. We went all that way together, we almost escaped, then I chose Tony over you at the last minute...I could've gone with Steve and you - "

"- He's your friend -"

"- So are you," you sigh, dropping your head back against your pillows in defeat, "...I didn't even say goodbye to you - I didn't say anything to you! What kind of friend does that?! ...Be honest with me, Buck. Did that upset you?"

He hesitates, "...Yes..."

You inhale through your nose, the guilt pricking your heart the same way it did back then.

"But I wasn't upset with you - not by any means. I was just upset with myself. At first, it was because I saw what I had done. You can argue that I didn't do it physically and that I had no power to stop it, but at the end of the day, Zemo used me to get between the Avengers and it was because you tried protecting me that you almost got into trouble yourself -" When you open your mouth to object, Bucky shakes his head, not giving you the chance, "You can't deny that part, (Y/n). If I wasn't involved, you wouldn't have had a reason to fight your friends or go against the law...That's the other thing that upset me...

"You had given up so much for my sake already - I never wanted to see you sacrifice anything else, yet you were still willingly to. That's why I should've been happy to see you choose Stark's side in the end. I should've been relieved that you finally put me aside for once to make your own choice...but I wasn't happy and that made me angry with myself. Even in that moment, regardless of how much you had given me, I was still hoping you'd go with Steve and I. I felt...lost when you didn't, then guilty for feeling that way because like I said, I should've just been happy for you instead. What right did I have in being that selfish -?"

"- Bucky -"

"- I'm not upset anymore, though - you should know that. I've had a lot of time to think things over for myself here in Wakanda and I thought about, um...- I mean it when I say I'm happy that you've been, uh, happy this whole time, too..." He begins to stumble with his words, trailing off with an eventual curse, "The thing is -...I've realized -...Shit, how do I say this -?"

"- It doesn't feel right when we're apart," you suggest, earning his attention, although you merely shrug with a smile, "No matter what you do, no matter who you're around, you always feel like something or someone's missing. You can be in a room filled with people and still feel lonely without that one person you had gotten so accustomed to being around all the time."

"Y-Yeah..." He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, a faint blush covering his cheeks, "You feel that way, too, then?"

"All the time. It's gotten a little better, but as it turns out, it's surprisingly hard to reset your life after two years."

"Tell me about it," Bucky rolls his eyes and chuckles. He brings his other hand back to the tablet, his mouth moving, however you don't hear anything making you smirk as you realize the reason as to why.

"James, hun, I think you've muted yourself."

He frowns before looking around as he seems to be calling for someone while tapping several buttons in an attempt to fix the problem himself. A girl soon appears on screen temporarily, shouting at him (which you don't need volume to understand) then swatting him away in order to take the tablet and unmute the video herself.

"- I swear, you're worse than a toddler - or my brother for that sake! Always touching stuff and poking buttons! Keep your hands to yourself!" You hear her curse as she walks off, leaving Bucky to pout and look back at you with obvious embarrassment.

"...Is that better?"

"Much," you snuffle your laughter, "You were saying?"

He appears caught off guard by your question and it takes him a good minute or two to remember the exact train of thought he had been having before, yet thanks to you repeating what you had said last yourself, it manages to jog his memory.

"...I was gonna say that I miss you," he admits bashfully, "Don't get me wrong, I like Wakanda and I'm grateful for everything everyone's done for me here even though Shuri can be intimidating at times, but I, um, really miss how it felt living together. I miss how comfortable I automatically felt around you and the way I could just - I don't know, turn around to talk to you. I miss that simple life we had where things actually felt normal as if we weren't on the run or had any terrible secrets to hide...Thanks to you I felt like a normal person and I could never thank you enough for that..."

You feel your heart soar which no doubt shows on your beaming expression, "I meant it earlier when I said those years we spent together were the happiness of my life. I missed -...I've missed you since then. If I'm allowed to be dramatic, it's utter hell whenever I have to go long periods of time without hearing your voice let alone be able to see you with my own eyes. You're a critical part of my life, James. It doesn't matter how much time passes nor what crazy stuff life likes to throw at us, that fact will always remain the same."

Bucky's blush grows brighter and although he dips his head down a bit to hide it, the smile he bites back is enough to let you know your words haven't crossed any line, thus you refuse to take them back.

"Maybe after the smoke's officially cleared, it'll be safe to see each other in person again and, if we're real lucky, we might even be able to, I don't know, live together again - If you're interested in that, of course."

"I'd like that," he nods, his voice breathless despite not having done any kind of exercise, "...I'm just not sure how plausible it'll be. What if the government -"

"- James, it's the government. It took them two years to find us the first time and as much as I hate to admit fault, I think we were getting a bit sloppy towards the end anyways. Living in the city, going on walks and coffee dates - I bet if we used a more concrete strategy, we'd never be found again. As far as the government would be concerned, we dropped off the face of the earth, never to be seen or heard of."

"What's this 'concrete strategy' entail?" Bucky asks, finding himself mirroring the slight smirk you give in response. He knows you well enough to guess you already have a plan in mind and your hum as you pretend to think doesn't fool him into believing he's wrong.

"Hmm...Well, based on the movies I've watched, it seems the go-to spot for hiding is somewhere completely off the grid - preferably the country since I've seen people move to high up mountains and I am not dealing with anywhere colder than Romania."

He chuckles.

"Think about it, though? We'd live off the land, so we wouldn't have to risk going into town for anything and being seen."

"I think living off the land is a lot harder than the movies, dear."

"Oh, we'll figure it out. We're both pretty smart - I am at least," you dismiss while ignoring the nickname he used. You have to worry about one thing at a time and if you make a convincing enough plan for your imaginary futures, you might just get to hear Bucky call you other sweet names that sit directly in your heart, "Also, if we go to the country, you can bring your little goats, too. Good deal, right?"

"I'm not sure if the Wakandans will let me steal their goats."

"I meant we can get you your very own goats. Please don't start stealing goats from people, Bucky. It's frowned upon," you roll your eyes which seems to trigger a yawn you would've never commented on, however Bucky does:

"It's pretty late there, isn't it? I should probably let you sleep -"

"- It's fine. I'm a world champion for lack of sleep, second to only Tony. It's a Stark thing, I suppose."

"Hypocrite," is Bucky's teasing response as he interprets your words in another way than what you had actually meant; a good thing, too, seeing as you're beginning to lose your self control. Yes, you can force your body to stay up for as long as needed to keep talking to him, however is it worth the risk of blurring the lines further between past and present, friend and fiancée?

"Not a hypocrite. I can function just fine on little sleep. You turn into a big grump, though," you counter, muffling another yawn behind your hand. Unfortunately, the smarter side of you eventually forces out the words you've been desperately trying to deny, "...Maybe you're right. Maybe I should get some sleep. It's been a long day..."

Bucky smiles triumphantly, proud to have won an argument with you for once and without having to say much either, although he must secretly admit his own bitter feelings towards the thought of this conversation ending. He could talk to you all night if allowed...

"...Hey (Y/n)...I -'' He starts suddenly after what felt like forever of silent thought, however you cut him off by holding up a hand and giving a tired smile.

"- I think I know what you're going to say, but how about you wait to tell me in person, alright?"

The stress visually melts off his bones into a sigh as he happily accepts not having to worry about those terrifying words right now, after all he prefers your suggestion of waiting for an opportunity to tell you in person anyways, although he does frown slightly at the thought of how long that'll take. This call ending brings him back to reality, reminding him that he doesn't get to see you nearly as often as he would like...How long will he have to wait until you're within arms length again? How long until the right moment to utter those words?

"James?"

"Hmm?"

"You'll start calling regularly, yeah? Remember: it's utter hell for me not to hear from you. You'll take pity on me by calling sometimes, right?"

Bucky smiles gently and nods, "I'll call as often as I can."

NEXT CHAPTER ->

<;- PREVIOUS CHAPTER

[writefightandflightclub]

Disarming (Santi x fem!reader)

Summary: you and Santi - good friends- are Best Man and Maid of Honour at Frankie’s wedding, and guess what? There’s only one bed!

What is this? This is 5/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. The prompt is “We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend”, requested by @woakiees​. Another double trope extravaganza! Hadley, I’m so pleased you suggested Santi for this one, as he immediately came to mind when I was writing this prompt :D Thank you so much for requesting! <3

If you’d like to  read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Apparently I get carried away EVERY time I write Santi. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! :-/

Word count: 7.5k. I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

Rating: 18+ ONLY (minors out, please, do not read or interact)

Warnings: it gets angsty in the middle. Reader has nightmare- comfort offered. Mentions of reader being “hurt” in the past but vague and unspecified. They have a fight. One or two alcohol mentions- no actual consumption. Food mention. Swearing. Steam leading into smut but not explicit- mentions of masturbation, erections, making-out, one brief allusion to choking kink. Let me know if I missed anything.

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl​ @casifer-is-king​ (loads of the tags aren’t working :-/)

GIF: @nathan-bateman​

From the first moment you met Santi, you had simply fallen into step with him. It was effortless, and so, as soon as you found yourself by his side, you stayed there. What’s more, that’s exactly where he wanted you to be.

Despite the man’s hard, no-nonsense edge -which you also appreciated- he was warm and charming. It was easy to connect with him, in a way it hadn’t often been for you. For him too - or so the boys told you - the way you surpassed his defences was a rare thing. It shouldn’t have worked, perhaps. Usually, he was slow to trust and you were quick to love, but on this occasion none of that seemed to apply, the two of you tumbling squarely into a fast-friendship; one deeper and more intense, perhaps, than its duration might suggest. Still, despite the boys’ inferences that you would quickly become an item, and Santi’s continual attempts to blur the lines between this and… something more, “friends” is what you have remained.

You had felt it immediately with him. Something different. You simply... flowed. You fit. It was immediately evident, even on that first night, in the way you orbited around one another, setting up an impromptu beer pong of all things. You moved together with a fluidity and a precision that seems almost tactical- as though you too had run countless manoeuvres in the field with him. You could read him and understand him as though you had drilled his habits and patterns and idiosyncrasies over and over; learning him. However, he was never that much effort - the two of you came naturally to each other, little learning required. You knew each other with your gut.

At that fateful party, when you each escaped to the back porch steps for some air at a serendipitous moment, the conversation had immediately flowed, and not only as a result of his natural, disarming charm. The silence even came easily rightaway – a comfortable thing, the space between you stuffed with contentment, rather than the feeling of a gaping vacuum, needlessly filled. It turned out his best friend was dating yours (the pair to be wed this very weekend) but that almost seemed like the cherry on top, rather than the thing bringing you to each other.

Safe to say, what was true then is true now. You get on so well. You find him fun and easy and generous and you love the man dearly.

…Most of the time.

Those other times, though? Santiago “Pope” Garcia can be a pain in your ass. But that’s another reason you love him, you guess. Keeps things interesting.

“Please don’t kill me,” Santi says sheepishly, and it’s obvious to you he’s laying on the charm - actively trying to be as disarming as possible as he saunters over from the reception desk. For a moment, despite all his training, he looks as though he believes you could pull it off, too.

Your annoyance is already prepped; locked and loaded, as he pads squarely towards the banquette where you are sat - amidst a sea of luggage. You’ve been observing his attempts to charm the desk clerk with interest (his efforts, you surmise, at least partially effectual), and judging from the slight level of desperation in his efforts, you can already tell he fucked up somehow.

“What did you do?” you say impatiently, even as a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.

“I booked all the rooms we needed, for all of the wedding guests, right? 13 rooms here, and all 10 at the hotel across town. 4 more in guesthouses,” he recaps. “Got Frankie and Mila a great deal too, remember?”

You remember. And yet, you fold your arms across your chest, looking up at him incredulously. Okay then. Rolling with your attitude, the man takes a different tack. He sits next to you. Smiles. Leans in. Pats your thigh. He’s trying to disarm you too, you realise. It’s going to take more than that - you’re not some flimsy desk clerk who will form a puddle and bat your eyes at the first sign of his charm.

“Well, funny story. I may have forgotten to book our rooms,” he blurts.

Oh? Oh, great. Yeah. This is a grand fuck-up. The whole damn town is booked-out. It’s a small town. No longer amused, your nostrils flare in annoyance as you tug in a slow breath, schooling your tone just a little before you speak. “You what?” Okay, you didn’t manage to school it all that much.

“Look, I already sort of fixed it,” he smooths. That explains the flirting with the clerk. Although, you think, glancing back at her. She’s pretty. That partially explains the flirting with the clerk, then, you mentally correct. “There’s just one, teeny-tiny issue.”

You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes. Well?

“We’re gonna have to share a room.”

You blink at him a few times, in surprise. Well, it’s not ideal. For a number of reasons. But you can think of worse things, truth be told. And he’s not wrong. It is a solution. Still, on his reveal, a succession of emotions and micro-assessments are bounced back and forth between your eyes and his, until you land on resigned annoyance, exhaling a long sigh. That is, until Frankie appears in the lobby, swanning in like he’s walking on air. He probably is, given that he’s getting married this weekend. His face splits with a smile so wide you reckon it should be painful to maintain, and you stand to greet him as he heads over.

You’re glad he’s happy. It means that you and Santi, as Maid of Honour and Best man, respectively, are doing a fantastic job of deflecting all of the stress away from the happy couple. Indeed, that assessment certainly feels true – you do feel stressed. Still, the two of you immediately paint your faces with masking smiles; though, in fairness, it’s hard not to smile while looking at Frankie – his obvious joy is infectious.

Frankie wraps you both in a hug, then rubs his palms together like an excited kid. “I don’t have much time. Just gonna say a quick hello to my parents. Apparently, my mom’s already started crying? Can you two sort some extra tissues for the ceremony or something? Oh, and is everything okay with the rooms?”

“With this guy? Are you kidding?”, you say before you think, throwing your thumb towards Santi. Immediately, his eyes submit a powerful plea to you to keep schtum- it is written all over his face that he doesn’t want to let Frankie down. Not even in the smallest of ways.

Frankie would find his little error funny, probably. But he can find it funny after the ceremony. “Everything is A-OK! This guy? He has every single detail taken care of.”

Frankie grins, his eyes narrowing proudly at Santi as he slaps him on the back, laying profuse thanks on the two of you; then, he floats away again, as if on a cloud. Santi’s brown eyes are big with gratitude when you look at him again, and you can’t help but weaken. You’ll admit, it’s really not that bad of a fuck-up. Besides, you’re tired. Between the drive out here, the wedding rehearsal, and a never-ending list of errands, the day has been long. You just want to get to the room, and maybe even clock a snooze before the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Fine,” you agree, albeit through gritted teeth. “We can share a damn room.”

Santi looks visibly relieved, and squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You’d even been nice enough not to bite his head off. “Yeah. We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound quite as certain.

“Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” you smile nervously.  

He returns your smile and swivels, heading back towards the desk.

“Oh, wait!” you call after him. “Is it a double or a twin?” you ask in horror. Sharing a room is one thing, but sharing a bed?

He turns, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter!”, he winks. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna have to take it.”

Oh. Oh dear.

You’re inclined to agree -you don’t have many options- but when you catch yourself stealing a glance at the man’s shapely butt as he walks back to the desk, you begin to chew your bottom-lip nervously.

Right. Ha.

What could possibly go wrong?

**********************

It turns out, sharing a room with Santi is resoundingly not bad at all. In fact, at first, it’s as easy as everything else is with him - even between your hurried preparations for the evening, unpacking, shuttling items to the relevant members of the wedding party, and calling down to reception several times to check the logistics for the rehearsal dinner. Even getting dressed, you find an easy flow as you each flit in and out of the bathroom, dancing around each other with ease and only a hint of friendly bickering.

Santi’s respectful too- always knocking and announcing himself before entering a space, and averting his gaze when he needs to, given that you’re rushing around and undressing. You even manage to ignore the fact there’s only one bed for the longest time, parking that specific panic for later. Even then, he has already made reception send up extra pillows and blankets, forming a barricade in the middle of the bed so you two can comfortably separate.

Thankfully, you are so busy that the idea of sharing a bed with Santi doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re finally ready, dressed in your finery. When you step out of the bathroom, Santi -sat on the edge of said bed- stands up, thrusting his hands into his suit trousers as he takes the sight of you in, pulling the material taut -in a rather pleasing way- across his hips and thighs. He ends up slightly slack-jawed for a moment as his eyes trail over you, brewing with a gentle, self-conscious heat. “Fuck,” he says softly, his voice gruff. “You look…” a little gulp trails down his throat as you give him a little twirl. “…hot”, he says, his eyebrow ticking up on the last beat.

“Wait until you see my bridesmaid dress,” you smile, and he returns it easily, those gorgeous creases appearing around his eyes.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. You can’t help but wonder, vaguely, what it would be like to push him down on to the mattress. Maybe straddle him. Fuck, you should have known this would be a bad idea. A heat rising in your face at that thought of that, you distract yourself by lifting his suit jacket from the back of the chair, holding it out for him as he slips it on to his shoulders, and feeling the luxurious texture of it beneath your fingers.

It’s a grey suit, tailored, and it hugs him in all the right places. The cool colour is perfect against his warm-toned brown skin, and brings out the salt in his salt-and-pepper curls, and in the rough rasp of grey flecked through his stubble.

You try desperately not to notice how good he looks, but this may be your greatest challenge yet.

“Come on,” you encourage, nodding towards the door. “We better head down.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, half-heartedly. The way his eyes are subtly roving over you, though, he looks like he has something entirely different in mind for dinner.

“You’re probably going to spend all night being chased by the single bridesmaids,” you add casually as you collect your purse, and apply a final dab of lipstick in front of the mirror. You’ve already clocked a few members of the wedding party eyeing him up, and you don’t exactly blame them for being thirsty. Besides, Santi is a huge flirt; so perhaps he’ll be the one doing the chasing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night with his tongue thrust deep in someone’s throat, which -you assume- is typical Santi fashion.

“Isn’t it traditional, anyway,” he smirks cheekily, applying a splash of cologne, “for the Best Man to hook-up with one of the bridesmaids?”

Lord, does he have to smell so… edible.

“Got news for you, man. You fucked up. You can’t exactly bring a girl back to your room now, can you?!” you tease, nodding back towards your shared bed, a wall of pillows already arranged down the middle. You mean it to come out in good-humour, but you can’t scrub the hint of jealousy from your tone entirely.

You feel so silly for being jealous of whomever he may hook-up with. After all, Santi is always the one testing the boundaries of friendship with you. It’s not like he’s ever made a secret of the fact he’s attracted to you- and you are the one here will a firm line in the sand. A line you simply won’t cross with him. Can’t cross. You want to - of course you do, but after being hurt in the past, you have simply built-up far too many defences; or, more accurately, just the right amount of defences, you think, to protect you. So, no matter how disarming the man is, you simply have to keep your guard up; because if he breached your walls, you know everything else would come tumbling so easily down.

You had fallen so easily into friendship with him, and you are certain that you would fall just as recklessly in love with him.

You’re not ready for that.

You can’t take being hurt again. Besides; Santi? He’s an incredible friend. He’s tenaciously loyal and dedicated to his squad. But when it comes to love, and sex, you doubt whether serious is even his thing - and you’re too afraid to ask.

“You ready to do this?” he asks, with a wink.

“Yep,” you nod. “Let’s roll,” and with that, you turn, heading for the hallway.

“Princesa- that dress really highlights your ass,” he praises as he tags along behind you.

“Thank you, it’s true,” you smile devilishly, already beginning to let your guard down, just a little. He’s simply so disarming. “Speaking of, Garcia – did you get your trousers a size too small on purpose?”

“Oh, you noticed?” he retorts, smugly, guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back.

Okay. Sometimes you flirt back. After all – look at him.

Especially in that damn suit.

***********************************

The rehearsal dinner goes swell. Frankie and Mila are a picture-perfect, loved-up couple, and they grin their way through the evening as if they slept with coat hangers in their mouths. The speeches are well-received, including Will’s, thus setting a high bar for you and Santi tomorrow. (You may be biased, but Santi’s is ten times funnier, and it’s going to kill, in your opinion.) There are no dramas through the evening- logistical or familial, and thanks to you and Santi overseeing everything with a military precision, it looks as though -so far- it is shaping up to be the perfect wedding weekend.

Finally, once your duties are over for the night, you are able to let your hair down a little, so to speak, and enjoy the food and company on offer. Still, with a big day ahead tomorrow, things wind down relatively early, and -having lost track of Santi at some point- you find yourself back at the shared room a little while before him. You usually burn out more quickly than he does in social situations, but even taking that into consideration, you begin to fret about where he has gotten to. With the way he was flirting his way through the party, though, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what (or who) might be keeping him up.

You try to sleep but you can’t, your mind going to the worst places, so, by the time Santi does return -softly cracking the door, and padding in with his shoes in his hands so as not to wake you- you have stewed in your own thoughts long enough to have become a little cranky. A little… green-eyed.

“Hey,” he greets in surprise when he enters, immediately noticing the soft lamp glow, and seeing you still sitting up in the bed, mindlessly watching the flicker of the tv on mute.

“Hey,” you return, your voice noticeably strained. “Have a fun time?” You find yourself wishing you weren’t sharing a room, then you wouldn’t have to know what he got up to.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. “Did you? How come you’re still up? Thought for sure you’d be wiped out by now.”

So, he did think of you, then?

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply neutrally, fixing your eyes dead ahead as he begins to slip out of his trousers and shirt too, until he’s dressed in only his tight black boxers. Next, he takes off his watch and sets it at the bedside, and you notice that he smells of perfume. A cloying, floral scent that makes you feel a little sick.

“Just gonna have a quick shower and then I’ll slip in with you, okay?” he says, his voice slow and deep and muted, matching the soft light.

You still don’t look at him. You can’t.

“Do what you want. You usually do,” you bite, the words tasting bitter as soon as they have left your lips, and tears of regret pooling as your anger dissolves.

You don’t blame him if he was with someone – you really don’t. You’re simply angry at yourself; because you wish you could be that person, and you can’t for the life of you seem to find a way.

“Okay. What was that for?” he bristles, reacting defensively, turning towards you. And perhaps it’s because it’s late and he’s tired, or because certain demons feel safer coming out under the cover of darkness, but he doesn’t stop there. Especially when all he gets from you is a stony, pointed silence. “You know what? Actually, no. You don’t get to do this”, he hisses, and it is the first time you’ve ever heard him direct any genuine anger at you.

It doesn’t half sting.

“Do what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“You don’t get to be mad when I give my attention to someone who actually wants it,” his voice is hushed, but his words rattle through you as if he had yelled them. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Guess what, I’m not yours.”

“That’s not fair”, you snap back, and then things are quickly escalating.

“Isn’t it?” he asks, rasping a hand over his stubble in distress. “I mean, come on. Shit. You know that I want more but I…” he exhales a disgruntled laugh. “You shoot me down, which is your prerogative, honestly, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t knock me back all the time and then be pissed off when I look elsewhere.”

You meet his face, the planes of it shadowed and angled harshly with anger, suddenly so unfamiliar to you, and it causes your eyes to bloom with tears. You two look the opposite of Frankie and Mila; of a picture-perfect couple. But you’re not even a couple at all, are you?

You see him try. To blunt the emotion which is bubbling up. To soften. But he has uncorked something he now can’t put back in. “Fuck, I just wish that….” he pinches his lips together and shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor. “If you don’t want me, just put me out of my fucking misery. Just say it. Just fucking tell me.”

Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces at the thought you make him miserable. At the way his voice breaks. At the way he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe you were wrong, thinking that you could be friends at all. Thinking that could be enough for him.

Your lower lip trembles, and your fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. “I… I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Santi.”

You can’t because it isn’t true. It could not be further from the truth, in fact.

He puffs out air, an exasperated sound, his hand raising up to tangle in his grizzled curls. Raising his voice a little more. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me the other thing either?”

“I.. I..” You try, but no words will come. You simply shake your head, swallowing a sob, your eyes almost brimming over.

He nods. He nods, his mouth slanted down. “Great. Got it,” he huffs.

You hate this. You hate how much you’re hurting him.

“Santi,” you breathe weakly, but it is too weak to blunt the force of his emotion. To halt his trajectory, and so, resigned, he turns towards the bathroom, grabbing-up a fresh white towel from the counter. Before he closes the door, he turns to you once more, now speaking softly, his eyes as sad as yours. “You know,” he says, his index finger sawing back-and-forth over the stubble at his chin. “For the record, I wasn’t with anyone else. I can’t even fucking think about anyone else but you. I was late back to the room because I couldn’t face it.” His voice becomes small and pained. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just curl up next to you and act like I don’t care.” His eyebrow ticks up, and he adds, with a final flourish. “Guess I should have taken a lesson from you.”

Oh, how it stings, pain flowering in your chest like a bruise, but you hold yourself together until he’s out of sight. Then, when he’s gone, you immediately cave in on yourself, falling on to your side and screwing your eyes shut, clamping your hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear you crying as wet tears spill onto your pillow.

When he comes back into the room, after a long shower, you simply screw your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. You hear him sigh heavily, and mumble something to himself under his breath, before dragging a few pillows and a spare blanket down on to the floor.

A few more silent tears roll over the bridge of your nose.

You guess you wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him after all.

***********************

You wake panicked in the night, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A cold wash of sweat over your skin chills you, even though you feel like you’re burning-up.

Immediately, you reach for him, for Santi, calling his name even as your fear strangles the sound in your throat. Your heart is thudding, and your breaths are sawing in and out of you, but your grasping hands find nothing to your side but pillows and blanket.

Unfortunately, you are used to this occurrence, and you quickly realise it was “only” a nightmare. Still, the feelings and images it conjured linger in your body, and around you in the shifting, seemingly fluid shadows of the room.

With a release of tension, you whimper, leaning forward and cradling your head in your trembling hands, and you try to ground yourself. To steady your breath and your heartbeat, like you’ve practiced. As you do so, the shadows to your left shift and change, and, even in the pitch-black you can feel him, a safe and warm presence, instantly travelling to your side, his weight dipping the mattress. His soothing, sandy voice filtering through the shadows and cutting back the tendrils of your nightmare like a Disney prince hacking through cursed vines.

You vaguely remember that he’s mad at you - but you can’t help it. Can’t help asking. “Hold me?” you plead, desperately afraid that he won’t.

Still, without questions or hesitation, you feel the wall of remaining pillows coming down, the defences around you quite literally being dismantled – a figurative wall between you shifting away along with it. He shushes you, and you focus on his voice, until he is close enough that the scent of him wraps around you, before his arms follow closely after.

You reach for him in return. You reach for him in every way possible.

“It’s just a nightmare,” he soothes. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” and there is pain in his voice on your behalf, as if he tries to bear the burden of it for you.

“Closer,” you plead, and before you know it, he is shifting you on to your side, slotting his sturdy yet soft body around you, not caring that you feel clammy and hot against his bare skin. He simply loops his arms and draws your back, closer to his chest, becoming your big spoon.  

He calms you, hands enveloping yours and bundling them against your chest, his nose nuzzling into your hair, and his deep steady breaths slowing your breathing as you let his calm and his rhythms overcome you. He holds you, until the feelings pass, not caring how long it takes – and with any anger from before apparently forgotten.

This pain is all too familiar to him, you know. It something that Santi understands. It is your own and it is not the same as his, true, but you know it is familiar enough that he will feel the ache of it echoing in his own chest. You know that he is accustomed enough to bearing his own pain, that when yours is too heavy to carry, he will help you hold it for a while. And so, he holds you, while you are a tender thing, bruised and afraid, and he keeps you safe; with all your walls down, all of your defences collapsed, he becomes your fortress.

You never thought that letting yourself be so vulnerable could allow you to feel quite as safe as this.

As you lie together, Santi continues to usher soft reassurances into your ear, his words like charms and incantations to ward off the ghosts which haunt you. And, after a series of slow, stretched moments, you become more settled, and Santi feels you relax against him.

After a few moments more, he eventually whispers a small question into your hair. In the dark, the question feels safe to come out, perhaps.

“Do you always call for me when you…?” he trails off, thinking better of it. “I’m sorry- forget it, you don’t have to answer that.”

You don’t. You know you don’t. You don’t even truthfully know the answer. It’s likely that you do call for him, though how would you know, when you’re usually alone? But, there is something else you can tell him, while it is safe to come out in the dark. Something you want to tell him, before you build your walls all the way back up.

“Santi,” you begin, timidly, and his fingers skim softly up and down your arms, encouraging you to go on. “I-I’ve been hurt before. And, I want to be with you. I want to let you in but… I’m. I’m not ready. I’m trying so hard but I… I can’t.”

There is a long beat, and you realise he has held in a breath only when he releases it all at once, fanning hot across the back of your neck.

You are afraid. Afraid of what he might say, in response – what he might feel, but you think, maybe, it might be something like relief? And, Santi squeezes you, just a little tighter. A little closer. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” he soothes, his voice feather soft. “Just… know one thing, okay, Princesa? Whenever you are ready? I’m waiting.”

This time your heart fills with a different emotion, all the spaces in it flooded with contentment, Santi’s words followed by a perfect, happy silence.

A soft smile blooms on your face.

It was not a confession of waiting impatiently, you understand, but an invitation to take your time to arrive at him. He’s not trying to bring down your defences at all, is he? He’s waiting for you to open the door, and invite him in. He’s waiting until you are ready. He simply needed to know that you are on your way, even if your footsteps are getting you there slowly.

For now, though, the thought of it is too much. More than you’re ready for.

So, you simply let him hold you.

To disarm you further.

To walk yourself a little closer toward where you want to be. With him; by his side.

****************************************

In the morning, you wake up tangled around each other, Santi’s arm wrapped securely around your back and your head settled on his chest. He is still snoring lightly – cutely - when you awake, and so, as the night prior comes flooding back to you, you hastily try to extricate yourself from him; even if his bare skin feels so good against yours that you never want to move. You’re apparently not so subtle- or he’s a helluva light-sleeper – as, just when you pull away, Santi wakes up, quickly rushing to prove his innocence.

“You had a nightmare,” he croaks, still trying to peel his eyes open. “You asked me to- “.

“-I know. I remember,” you reassure, sitting up in bed, the blankets tugged to your chest. Santi shuffles, opting to assume the same position on his own side, mirroring you, rubbing his eyes.

You’re still not sure whether to apologise to him or thank him. Or maybe even to wait for an apology from him? Christ. Maybe all of those things or none of them, who even knows? You mentally spin a wheel and land on a casual “Uh. Thank you, for…. You know.”

“Anytime,” he says, turning his head to the side and looking at you earnestly. As if your bickering -your jealousy and his outburst- is all but forgotten. What’s more, you know that he means it.

Admiringly, your eyes wander over him, enjoying a side of him you’ve never quite seen before. Apparently, he’s even more handsome in the morning, with an even thicker, darkened brush of stubble, his grizzled curls dishevelled, and his swooping eyelids still heavy from sleep. Combined, it gives him a sultry, bedroom look. Feeling an involuntary rush of heat in the pit of you, your gaze drops to his corded neck, where, given the special occasion, he has substituted his dog tags for a silver chain, drawing your gaze down over his smooth, brown chest.

Your skin now cooling in the conditioned air of the room, you long for his body heat again, recalling how it felt to be held by him and wishing you had lingered a little longer while you could. Even with your interrupted sleep last night, you have somehow woken feeling refreshed, as though you had slept unreasonably deeply in his arms, reaching a whole new level of contentment - as though you just fit together, perhaps. As though it comes naturally for you to be held by him, and for him to hold you.

There is a silence and it isn’t awkward exactly; more… pregnant, with possibilities. Possibilities you see brewing with a gentle heat in his eyes. So, tearing yourself abruptly away from that line of thought, you lift your phone up from the nightstand, and note that there isn’t long before your alarms sound anyway.

Operation Wedding Day is go.

That should be enough of a distraction for you, shouldn’t it?

“You ready for this, Best Man?” you ask him, with a gentle quirk of your lips.

“Sure. Are you ready, Maid of Honour?”

Ready. Are you ready?

Thoughts of last night swirl in your head.

Well – as Santi flashes you a tentative, disarming smile, with hooded eyes, you certainly feel like you’re getting there. Like soon you could be ready.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Atta girl,” he encourages, folding his arms behind his head as you jump out of bed.

You suddenly don’t care that you’re in nothing but your underwear, as you stretch out your body and track towards the bathroom. “I’ll shower first?”

“We’re sharing a bed,” he teases. “Sure you don’t want to share a shower too?”

You scoff, flashing a mischievous smile right back at him. You’ve always had a soft spot for his flirting, but you feel like -after all that transpired last night- you truly see if for what it is now. You realise why it has never felt like he’s pressuring you - not once. He’s simply reminding you, that as soon as you call for him, he’ll be there. That he’s waiting, when you’re ready.

Reminding you, that as soon as your walls drop, he’ll be your fortress.

“I don’t think you’re gonna get quite that lucky this morning, Garcia.”

You do linger in the doorway, just a little longer than necessary though, so that he can get a better look at you. He’d never look without permission – he proved that yesterday, when you were in various states of disarray- but this time, sensing your invitation, his eyes graze over you slowly, keenly. So, when he strategically moves his hands from behind his head to hide the tenting covers, you don’t mind at all.

You smile devilishly as you slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’re not sure if he will… take care of himself out in the room – how could you know? But, feeling inspired, you certainly do so in the shower, and it’s a pretty great wake-up call before you face the wedding day.

Maybe sharing a room isn’t so bad. Maybe you could even get used to it.

*********************************************

Frankie and Mila get hitched without a hitch.

Santi goes to the ends of the earth to make sure that Frankie has the best day possible- and at some points, he goes even further than that. His speech was moving and flawless, and pretty fucking funny; even if you are a little (or a lot) biased. Not a dry eye in the house, just as you predicted.

The man adores Frankie with his whole heart, and you could barely hold back the glow of admiration as you listened to him, feeling like it might burst from your chest like a beam of gold sunlight. You felt it especially strongly every time his eyes met yours during the course of the speech, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself stupid each time he did so. And, of course, you were overjoyed to see your best friend have the day of her dreams, with the man of her dreams. If you do say so yourself, you think your speech was pretty killer too.

Suffice to say, you ate until your belly was full, loved until your heart hurt, laughed until your sides ached, and danced until your feet ached.

Tonight, unlike last night, you and Santi retire to your shared room at the same time, your arm linked into his, and your shoes carried in your hand to spare your sore feet – there’s a reason you never normally wear shoes like this. Without your heels though, you keep tripping over the hem of your dress almost every few paces, causing you to giggle and Santi to steady you with a warm, rich chuckle, sometimes throwing you an extra hand to assist you.  

You look over at him, furtively, as he recounts some of the more choice moments from the day, immensely enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him talk and smile and laugh. Seeing him happy. Of course, enjoying how he looks too, you have to admit - even more handsome than he did yesterday (somehow) in midnight blue dress pants, and a white, crisp shirt, now tieless. He’s only grown sexier as the evening drew on too, now with a wide open-collar and rolled up sleeves to accommodate all of the dancing; or, at least, as much dancing as his knees could handle, until he’d simply opted to sit to the side and watch you boogie, his eyes apparently transfixed on you and only you - the advances of the other bridesmaids be damned.

There is something that hits different about the way he looked at you today. His admiration shining deeper than usual. Less like a casual lust, and more like something… serious. You’re not sure why you doubted it before, exactly. Why you have been so inordinately afraid that he might hurt you. You broadly figured him for a smash and dash type of man, which is fine, but you have every reason to believe that he wants more with you.

After all, Santi can be deeply and tenaciously loyal. He has dedicated himself to things deeply and unwaveringly several times over in his life. To his country, to his missions, to his morals, to his squad. And there’s something about the way he looked at you today, you think, that suggests he might dedicate himself to you with the same tenacity. Something far deeper than appreciating how you look in this bridesmaid dress (and oh boy do you look hot). It’s more like the way he looks at Frankie. A little different to that, obviously. But you’re realising he looks at you like he’d never let you down. Not even in the smallest of ways. Like he’d rather go to the ends of the earth -or beyond- than do that.

At least… you think so.

You are sure about one thing though. The way he looks at you? It’s thoroughly disarming.

And so, you arrive at your shared room, utterly wiped out from the day (and night), yet still somehow buzzing with an energy. A gentle suffusing heat under your skin as you watch Santi walk inside and kick off his shoes at the end of the bed, before turning back towards you.

You have entered a few paces behind him, after nearly tripping on your gown all over again by the door, but now, you are quite steady on your feet - aside from that slight, nervous tremble in your quaking legs as he looks at you like that. As Santi looks you up and down, eyes skimming over the contours of your dress and hence everywhere it hugs your figure. Evidently, he likes what he sees.

“Wow,” he breathes, his brown eyes shining as if he’s looking at you for the first time that day, even if his gaze has barely left you all night. “I know it’s the bride’s day, but you look fuckin’ smokin’, sweetie.”

“You think so?” you ask humbly, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. Flustered even.

“Yeah. I think so,” he nods, positively certain. “Shit, you’re so beautiful.”

You look at him. You look at him in a way which suggests an answer in your eyes instead of a question. A clear intention in your body, instead of uncertainty. But he doesn’t push you. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t make a move. Instead, his mouth tugs up into a lopsided smile, offering you a lazy flash of teeth, and he shoves his thumbs into his belt loops.

“Well, we’re officially off the clock now, so I’m calling it. Well done, Maid of Honour. Think we nailed it? Made a pretty damn good team?”

A smile lights your face. You did. You flowed. You fit. It was easy.

Fuck. It feels so easy. Why had you ever thought this would be hard?

You nibble on your lip, eyeing him with intention, and a hard swallow trails down his throat in response.

“Off the clock, hmm?” you say breathily. “No more titles or duties? Huh. That’s a real shame.”

“How so?” he asks, his eyes devouring you alive, but his body fixed resolutely in place. Transfixed to the spot.

“Because it’s traditional for the Best Man to get with one of the bridesmaids, isn’t it?”

A slow, disbelieving smile inches over his face, and he looks at his feet, a little bashful. “Gross tradition. Kinda sexist,” he says, and your gaze fixates on his full, curving lips. On his hands, poised and broad at his belt.

“So, you don’t want to make out then?” you ask in your most sultry voice, mere breath.

The man huffs out a quick, broken exhale. “Fuck me. You know I do, sweetie. But only if you’re ready.”

Ready. Are you ready?

“Santiago,” you say, with conviction, your eyes dancing between his. “I’m ready.”

Santi searches your face one last time, just to be certain. He’s sure, of course – has been for a long time, but he needs to know that you truly want this. That you want this now. So, he looks at you, and he finds nothing but permission. Even so, after so long, he still can’t quite believe it. He would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe – or beyond – and, so dammit, he will ask you again.

“C-can I..” he begins, and his voice already sounds choked; hollowed out with need. “Fuck, Princesa, can I kiss you?”

Too long. Too long without moving. Without touching. Too long.

If you were suddenly ready, his kiss becomes even more suddenly overdue.

“You’d better,” you encourage, feeling like vapour. “Unless you want me to do it first.”

With permission granted, you expect him to be on you, with a surge. All at once. But Santi has been patiently waiting for you long enough. He can wait just a little longer, and, when he subtly tips his chin up, ever so slightly, and when he near growls “come here then, honey,” somehow, it is perfect. Somehow, it is a thousand times hotter that he makes you come to him.

You lift the hem of your dress, and you pad delicately towards him, feeling like you are wading through molten honey to get to him, the air thick and sweet.

“That’s it. Come here, baby,” he encourages, with a curl of his index finger beckoning you to him, his voice curling in the pit of you, making you feel weak in the best way possible. Making you feel spent before he’s even done so much as brush you with his hand or his lips.  

You close the remaining distance with your steps, the anticipation too much, and your legs feeling so weak from the reckless lust and the light, liquid softness in his eyes. By this point, you are begging for his arms to reach out and clasp you- to hold you up; make you secure and safe in him. You are begging for his lips to sink down on to yours. But he makes you wait, through a few more slow, stretched moments. Makes you inch your mouth closer and closer until your lips are almost skimming his. He makes you wait until you are moaning his name into the air before he has even touched you.

“Santi.”

And, if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that when you call for him, he is always there to take care of you.

You know he will take care of you.  

With that, his name a plea, he swoops his broad, large hand up until he is holding you, his fingers closing around your jaw and your throat, trailing down your neck. His touch is painfully gentle, but in a way that makes you want him to squeeze, a little harder. In a way that makes you push yourself ever so subtly into his hand. A way that draws a silken moan from deep in your chest, and Santi is moved to dip the pad of his thumb into your mouth, where it meets your wet and willing warmth. When your tongue skims him, humming as you taste his saltiness, that seems to be the final straw, a wrecked groan sounding from his throat, and finally he surges on to your lips, leading with his tongue, thrusting into your open mouth and drinking down every sound and moan he can draw from you, his stubble rough against you. You don’t care if he leaves you raw.

It’s tender, and it’s gentle, but Santi knows all about control, and you can tell he’s holding back. His hands are lethal, and he knows just how to kill you softly; but, you are certain, that if you want more of his power, he’ll give it to you. That he’ll take care of you however you like.

So, he kisses you more deeply, harder, and you go near limp against him until one of his arms wraps at the back of your head and one at the small of your back, making you feel a feeble thing, waning in his arms as his large hands support you. Except; you’re not feeble though. You’re not by a long shot, and you know exactly what you want.

“Santi,” you suspire, letting him walk you back against the wall, pressing his bulging arousal into you as more wrangled sounds and little grunts slip from his parted lips.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, already sounding wrecked for you.

“There’s only one shower. Wanna share?!”

Even as he releases an endlessly eager, disbelieving breath, his eyes keenly search your face, checking you are ready. He watches, enraptured, as your lips curl into a deliciously sinful smile.

“You know. We don’t have to rush this,” he insists, even as he shivers with need, closing his eyes and biting his lip when you angle your hips to brush the tenting bulge at his crotch, ever so fleetingly, his hips bucking into you immediately in pursuit of more pressure.

“I know,” you say coolly, your body an undercurrent of frenzy, but your mind calm and sure. You push him back, with your palms to his chest, making room for you to about-turn into the bathroom, shimmying off your dress as you go and letting it waft to the floor like a sigh. Looking at him over your shoulder, with lust-blown eyes, you leave Santi stood there, entirely dumbfounded, as you reveal all of yourself to him.

You retreat, but once the water is running you call out to him, wondering where he has got to. “Take a hint, Garcia. If you’re ready? I’m waiting.”

And, he doesn’t waste another second before joining you.

THE END

(BONUS: Outfit inspo, if you wanna imagine him in the suits a lil better 😉)

[logically-asexual]

Hold me like you mean it

summary:

Logan’s feelings for Virgil and the fact that now Virgil barely notices him are stopping him from getting any work done. Janus offers a way for Logan to cope, by disguising himself into Anxiety. but is this really what Logan needs? and what’s in it for Janus, anyway?

Alternatively, an angsty story about rejection, denial, and manipulation.

warnings: (for the whole fic) unrequited love, rejection, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, gaslighting, dependency, dubious consent and non consent for kissing, sad ending, depression (vaguely described), angst in general, nightmares, self harm. let me know what else i should add.

taglist: @gummibearbullet @chara-07 @the-sympathetic-villain

Read on AO3

Chapter 5

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words: 1147

When Logan arrived at his room a sense of relief washed over him. But there was another feeling, one he couldn’t quite name. The sort of sensation one feels after finishing a long movie and getting out of the cinema into the intense luminosity and fresh air of the street. It was nice, he felt revitalized and animated to continue with his activities. He would only work one more hour before beginning his routine to get ready for bed, but that hour turned out to be the most efficient one he had had in months. Not a single emotion got in the way of his concentration, feeling nothing but motivation continue. Later, he fell asleep peacefully as soon as his head was laid on the pillow.

The following morning, Logan spotted the notebook he had intended to take to Janus’ room on his bookshelf. He thought he recalled grabbing it, but apparently he hadn’t. Either way, he took it out and opened it to begin writing. He titled the page “Observations about Deceit’s room”. First, he wrote the physical aspects of it, including the dark lighting (which Janus appeared to have control over), the reflective floor, and the color palette of the furniture. However, once he moved on to the possible psychological effects, he found himself at a loss. He had noticed a number of behaviors that he wouldn’t normally exhibit, but he couldn’t tell apart which might have been caused by the room and which merely by the situation that occurred there. He settled on one sentence: “It was unexpectedly easy to get lost in the illusion, and to blur the boundaries between reality and fiction.”

Over the next weeks, Logan was able to continue his work with productivity. His projects weren’t hard, since Thomas didn’t require a lot from him lately, but they certainly had taken too long when he couldn’t focus on them. Now that he visited Janus, he was able to free his mind of unnecessary distractions for considerable periods. He began visiting him every few days, or whenever he felt too distracted to get work done.

He adapted his plan, no longer attempting to become friends with Virgil. Now the only purpose was to increase the effectiveness of his communication with the other three Sides through cordial behaviour. Eventually, he noticed that he reached a limit in the results of his plan. The curve of improvement had risen and then turned into an almost flat, horizontal line. This means he had already improved his relationship with the others as much as he could, and there wasn’t a need to continue seeking interaction. More effort wouldn’t bring better results, so he only needed to maintain the current level, which was just enough for the group to acknowledge his presence and listen to his input without dismissing it immediately.

He was grateful that he didn’t have to be as reserved with Janus as he was with the rest. Despite the ridiculousness of the secret that he had shared with him, Janus had been sympathetic, and was the only one Logan deemed as trustworthy, ironically. He had yet to find out if Janus had a motive behind his generosity, but it was rational that he didn’t, since this brought positive effects for Thomas, which is what they all wanted.

Another advantage he found was that he no longer felt troubled around the real Virgil. Janus’ characterization of him had gradually diverged from his current personality, adapting to what Logan prefered, in addition to some attributes Janus himself had chosen. This Virgil was more liberal with his sarcastic comments, happy to complain about the other Sides with Logan, and more assertive. He reminded Logan of when Anxiety had just made himself known, just having left the Dark Sides, and wasn’t so invested in adhering to Patton and Roman’s unrealistic ideals. It was refreshing.

Nonetheless, Logan still struggled occasionally when Virgil made a humorous comment or spoke with a soothingly low voice in their meetings with Thomas, it brought back to Logan’s attention the fact that he wouldn’t simply get over his feelings, and he would continue to depend on Janus until he found a better solution.

Not that Logan was looking for an alternative. This arrangement worked far better than anything he could have planned himself. The only possible concern was that the revitalizing sensation he got after leaving Deceit’s room seemed to decrease in intensity with every visit. He normally is relieved when getting out of another Side’s room. The emotions they make him feel are always overwhelming, and he will always choose reality over any alternative. And yet, he couldn’t shake away the slight disappointment of having to continue his responsibilities after an encounter with Virgil. He had noted this down as another probable effect of the room.

That was the third note in his page of observations, following one about a faulty memory. He found that both with Janus and outside he had become more forgetful, and seemed to confuse his thoughts with actual recollections. It started with leaving his notebook behind and forgetting about the alarm he had set on his watch the first day. Then, he forgot to set his alarm several times, and his stay extended more than it should have.

He also once thought he told Janus that he didn’t want to be kissed, but the other insisted that wasn’t true, and that he had explicitly asked Janus to maintain constant physical contact. He had been confused at first, but he was no longer opposed to that, since he now found the touch pleasant. Besides, Janus had been considerate and kept the kissing mild, allowing Logan to not open his mouth further than slightly parting his lips.

Currently, Logan breathed in the smell of the tea he held in front of him, and leaned back against Virgil’s chest. Today had been particularly stressful. Janus had had to quiet him a couple times during his interactions with the others, because otherwise he would have hurt Thomas’ pride and erased the progress they all had made with Roman’s insecurities. But as he did nearly every visit, Virgil reminded him of his worth, and his presence calmed Logan down.

“I love you, darling.” was whispered into his ear.

He felt a shiver run down his spine. He turned his head around to see Virgil, who answered with a serene half-smile. Logan mirrored his expression, and nervously glanced away.

“I love you, too.” He murmured, and turned back around, settling into the other’s arms and laying his head on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of the teacup in his hands and of Virgil’s embrace.

Everything was fine. Logan met Virgil daily now, for two and a half hours. Janus knew exactly how to help him, even better than Logan himself. He had never been more satisfied with his life.

It was all fine.

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notes:

♫♪ four tequilas down, who gives a shit if we’re messing around, they’ll never know. they’ll never know. ♫♪

reminder! this is Logan’s POV, so he isn’t always right about everything, we just know what he thinks c:

[novantinuum]

Tides of Renewal (SU one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (Mild TW for vague allusions to past suicidal thoughts.)

Words: 2500~

Summary: Now twenty years old and living on the other side of the country, Steven spends his morning relaxing on the beach, musing about his past, and having a chat with his dad.

Hi folks! This is actually my two-months-late “Happy Birthday, Steven” fic, ahah- amusingly, posted two months late to the day. I’m quite happy with how this short turned out.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Tides of Renewal

Steven rises alongside the sun, but not by choice.

As he abruptly stirs, jerking onto his side under his tangled blanket, he soon realizes that he has little lingering memory of the nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Nevertheless, his heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s hanging in his throat. There’s feelings, faint impressions— someone’s blood (his, or hers?), Connie’s screams, a bubble of terror boiling from within— but that’s all he’s left with. The young man clutches at his sheets, struggling to catch his breath as is the norm most mornings. Dim light sneaks in between the edges of the curtains, offering a rough estimate of the time.

Once it’s clear his chances of sleeping in have become null and void, he entices himself out of bed with the promise of buying himself a muffin at the local coffee shop later today, a birthday treat. His routine is sluggish, but precise. He uses the bathroom, throws on his swim trunks and a thin cotton shirt, downs the pills he forgot to take last night with a quick swig of water, carefully runs his fingers through his long curls to work out the tangles, and slips his feet into the flip flops he always leaves lying right at the foot of his bed.

The young adult only takes his guitar, phone, and keys with him as he walks the mile distance from his humble studio apartment to the public beach. Around him, the world is at peace. The only sound intermingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the Pacific at this hour of the morning is the chattering of puffins that nest on the large rock outcroppings in the tide pools nearby. The edge of his lip quirks up when he finally crosses that sacred boundary— the sidewalk meeting the shore— and removes his sandals, reveling in the satisfying, grainy texture of sand squishing between his toes. Hah... the beach. Funny, that. All his traveling these past years, from mountains, to prairies, to sprawling suburbs to wooded forest towns, and it only succeeded in deepening his childhood love for the familiarity of saltwater air and tourist-filled boardwalks. Still, the secluded, rustic charm of Haystack Cove is a far cry from the Beach City he grew up in. Different people, different sights, different types of seafood sold at the markets. This place feels like a home all his own, appropriately distant from the Gem influenced settlement he’d left behind.

He crosses the fine grained sands towards his favorite sitting spot, a hefty stone jutting out from the ground, its surface buffed to a glossy finish over the years by the high tides. The water’s still distant this early in the morning, glimmers of sunlight sparkling off of the foam and spray. Yawning, he plops himself down on the stone and lifts his guitar into his lap. He strums a few random chords as a warm-up before settling into an experimental melodic sequence.

As he plays, the early morning breeze teases at the ends of his shoulder-length hair, untied and let free in all its curly splendor. It’s still quite chilly, but with the sun peaking over the horizon behind him and not a cloud in sight, the air’s bound to heat up in no time. Steven inhales deeply, soaking in the salt and light and pushing away the shadows lurking at the periphery of his mind, that twitching, exhausting anxiety that never quite seems to leave him alone these days. Unfortunately, functional does not mean carefree. While far fewer in number then when he was a teen, he still runs into plenty of moments where he’s struck blind by particularly painful reminders of his past, his gem snapping into overdrive in an instant. He’s a bit better at coping in these moments now, and walking himself down from panic attacks, but deep-rooted traumas don’t simply melt away. With that in mind, at this point he suspects he’ll likely have to deal with a mixture of therapy and meds for the rest of his life. That’s fine, though. If that’s what it takes to be at peace. He’s thankfully reached a point in his recovery where he’s more than willing to work for it.

Startling him out of his roaming thoughts, his phone chimes to life, touting the same cheery ring tone he had as a kid. He gently sets his guitar down in the sand and fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, a silent bet as to who’s calling rising within his mind. Sure enough, his dad’s contact photo proudly greets him. Hah— he called it. Steven stifles a giggle as he hits accept and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, Schtu-ball!” his father chimes from the other side of the country, three hours ahead. He hears a faint shuffle over the line, and then the beginnings of guitar accompaniment as the man begins to sing:

“Happy birthday to you~!”

Dad ends the line with a resounding vibrato, and a few extra jazzy chords for good measure.

“Heh heh, thanks,” he says, bashfully blushing at the attention, and gazing across the loose sands as if ensuring the secret of his birth hasn’t swelled into a nauseatingly public affair like half of his birthdays had since the start of Era 3. “Gotta say, the impromptu guitar solo pushed that to a whole new level. You just get up?”

“Yep! Bright and early. Garnet said you’d probably be awake by now, so I figured I’d call and give ya’ a good greeting to start the day. Lemme guess, you’re down there at the beach already? I think I heard waves.”

Steven’s glance lifts to admire the slowly rising tides, and the promise of each tomorrow that lies beyond. “Hah, you know me,” he says softly, taking a deep lungful of that precious salt-touched air he’s always adored. “I live for the water. Might force myself to go for a swim later before all of you come. Not sure yet,” he says, shrugging as he turns and squints in the wake of the steadily rising sun. “But my therapist said I should probably keep as active as po—“

“It’s your birthday. You do whatever makes you happy, bud,” his dad promptly reminds him, slight concern sticking to his voice. And yes, it’s practically a father’s job to worry, but his chest tightens with lingering guilt for pressing that upon him anyways. Ugh, this is because he said ‘force myself,’ isn’t it?

“Doing my best to,” he lamely offers, hoping it’ll at least end that segment of conversation. He twirls a stray strand of hair around his finger as he scours his memory for something new to offer. Thankfully, his mind quickly lands on the exciting email he received last night. He grins, knowing for sure his dad’ll love this. “Oh, uh- topic change, but I got that last job I applied for, by the way.”

“Oh? The taffy shop one?”

“Yeah! I start on Tuesday.”

“Wow, that’s- that’s awesome! They responded fast, then.”

“Yup,” Steven nods, popping the ‘p.’ “Honestly, it’s nothing much, just stocking and working the register, but it’ll give me some cash to work with.”

Some cash to finally pay for his own food instead of continuously bumming money off his dad. There’s no way he can handle full month’s rent on his own with this minimum wage job, (who on Earth could in this economy), but it might be enough to cover the smaller things. Groceries, electricity, internet. That sorta stuff. Fidgeting on the edge of the stone outcropping, his bare toes dig narrow lines in the sand. He hasn’t really had this discussion with Dad yet, but the mere concept of being wholly reliant on other people steers his mind uncomfortably close to the I’m a Burden Zone. He’d far prefer to feel like he has a stake in the game.

“I know you said you don’t mind supporting me,” he continues in a hesitant tone, twirling his finger through one of his curls, “but I still feel kinda bad—“

“Don’t. I’d rather you not have to stress yourself to the bone about money like I did when I was your age.”

The line shakes for a second. He’s pretty sure he hears the faint clink of a bowl meeting the counter from his dad’s side.

“Dad...?”

“Sorry, bud. Just putting ya’ on speaker. Figured I’d make myself some instant oatmeal,” he says, his voice sounding a bit further away from the microphone. “Goodness, though. Twenty years. That still boggles the mind.”

He gives a soft laugh. “You’re telling me. Could’ve sworn I was twelve just yesterday. And to be honest, it’s... it’s kinda weird sometimes, you know?”

“What is?”

“Being another year older. ‘Cause... well, uh...”

Steven grits his teeth, searching for the most delicate manner in which he can discuss these emotions. The feelings of his past are a really hard topic to dwell on sometimes, even in therapy, and even though he and his dad have long since had scattered discussions about what a poor mental state he was in then, he doesn’t wanna upset him too much.

“There were definitely days I assumed I wouldn’t have a future, or didn’t want one to begin with,” he continues, throat thick. “Back during all the conflict, before Homeworld reformed. And even after that, when I was... you know. And things are better, now, they’re definitely a lot better. But the idea of a ‘future’... even if I’ve got a job, a home, a girlfriend... it’s still weird to think about, I guess.“

There’s a brief silence on the line as this vulnerable admission sinks in.

“Yeah,” Dad replies eventually, clear sorrow in his voice despite how careful he thought he was in phrasing these matters. “I hear ya’.”

With a quick nervous laugh, he scratches at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing against the thin, wispy strands of hair growing back there. “Geeze, sorry for bringing the mood down so quick. Didn’t even know I had all that on my mind until it spilled right out.”

“No, no! No need for apologies, I’m always here to listen. And in any case, I’m glad you’re in a better place now.”

Steven nods his head to himself in full agreement (momentarily forgetting that his dad isn’t actually here in the flesh to see this response). Sixteen and seventeen really, really weren’t good years for him. And even though he’s put lot of work into himself since then, he can’t help but constantly fear the possibility of relapse. His therapist told him a few sessions ago when he expressed this worry that... relapses into old thinking patterns can be common for people living with C-PSTD, and that it’s important for him to be cognizant of any unusual changes in his patterns and routines so he can quickly intervene with his box of healthy coping tactics, but... geeze. The dark, traumatic destinations his wandering thoughts end up stagnating in when the concept of relapse brushes his mind aren’t fun to acknowledge. It makes him yearn with deafening hunger for a simple switch he could flip, some magic cure-all for his brain that would stop him from having to deal with any of this awful shit in the first place— but of course, cruel universe this can be at times, those don’t exist.

“Speaking of that,” Dad speaks up again after clearing his throat, “how are those new meds treating you? You said last call your doctor was gonna change them, yes?”

“Nah, not change. There’s no need to change types,” he shrugs. “It’s just a dosage shift. And it’s fine, I think. I’ve been on ‘em for a few days, and there’s no problems so far. Brain's been treating me a little better.”

Nightmares aren’t quite as bad.

His energy isn’t totally zapped by noon.

The whirling, panicked trajectory of his thought patterns is a little easier to wrest control of.

All in all, nothing’s perfect, but he certainly feels a good deal more stable than before. Now, if only he can remember to consistently take his meds before he goes to bed like he’s supposed to instead of totally forgetting like he did last night and having to scarf it down when he sees that forsaken capsule in his pill box the next morning. Tsk, tsk.

“That’s real good to hear,” his dad responds to his news.

He flexes his knuckles against his lap, gaze reflexively drifting back towards the welcomed distraction of the tides. “Yeah.”

“Anyways, I, uh...”

“So, party logistics,” he cuts in with an overly cheery tone, changing the topic from his boring mental health crap entirely. “We should probably hash this out now. I know Connie’s planning on dropping around about noon. What’s your guys’ plan? She can probably send Lion to you after she gets here, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be best. Pearl said there weren’t any convenient warps nearby. Well, there’s one- but apparently it empties out into an active lava tube. And that’s not exactly Dad-friendly.”

“Aww, you mean you’re not filled with the intense desire to dip your hand into molten lava and shlorp it up like it’s soup?” Steven retorts, only barely holding back his laughter as he thinks of this absurd text thread he had going with Connie a few weeks back, wherein she sent him a video of some volcanic flows and told him, verbatim, that 'despite all logic and reason sometimes I can’t help but look at super viscous lava and think... forbidden s o u p, mmmm.’

“Not particularly, no,” his dad says, sounding thoroughly confused. “I’m- why are you laughing? Is this some sort of weird internet thing I’m not familiar with again?”

He wipes tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “You, ah- you kinda had to be there, sorry. Anyways, yeah. I’ll have Connie send Lion. I’ll text you right before, how’s that?”

“Sounds great! Can’t wait to see ya’, bud. I’m gonna let you go, now, okay? I can talk your ears off later. Go enjoy your morning. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” he says, grinning. “Bye.”

“Buh-bye.”

Once his dad hangs up he sets his phone beside him on the rock and takes a deep, steady breath, trying to capture the full nuance of each diverse scent in the air. He may just be imagining it, but he swears he’s able to pick out the faint scent of taffy intermingling with the ocean saltiness and the hint of cedar from the nearby state forest. In the end though, whether it’s real or not it’s a welcomed reminder of all the possibility the future holds for him.

He’s twenty now. It’s a brand new decade of life. He’s got a new job lined up, a stable and loving relationship, a supportive family, and plenty of courage in facing the shadows of his past. Sure, so maybe he’ll never know with certainty what will happen— maybe he’ll relapse a little, maybe he’ll still have some bad days sprinkled amongst the good ones— but as he watches the tides flow in to greet him, he smiles... and resolves to just take this year as a renewal of his vow to care for himself as best he can.

[mejomonster]

Well guys neurofeedback really works I really did store all the panic attacks in pre 12 year old trauma stress stored in the vagus nerve sisksdkdk

I've had like 10 neurofeedback sessions and now even when my mom yells at me I can 1 remain alert and not have a massive panic attack 2 not full on sob 3 actually stay level headed enough to stick to my own side and needs and get through a conversation. Like is it perfect? No I'm still getting overwhelmed and need to let out a shout. Is it better? Fuck yes because full on panic attacks before id lose verbalisation and start blaming myself and people pleasing and just full nightmare scenario.

Anyway just. Anyone thinking of trying neurofeedback, especially if you got hell level panic or anxiety attacks that CBT and DBT and Mindfulness techniques never fully helped, it definitely has been helping me. I imagine the prior practice with those other techniques is part of why it's working faster than expected. But yeah just like my panic attacks were so intense and unmanageable to such a huge degree before, that even though they rarely happened I was terrified of if they would. So it's nice to know now one of my biggest triggers I can get through so much more functionally than before.

Not everyone's lol stress is in the vagus nerve btw ahh when my neurofeedback practitoner did my brain map scan. She found that the area of the brain that affects the vagus nerve happened to be where I had the most stored past stress that was being held onto. And so she decided to try a vagus nerve reset protocol for me instead of the usual neurofeedback treatment for panic attacks/anxiety she does, since the vagus nerve also affects that stuff and I have mega stomach issues and pain and the vagus nerve affects that too.

Well it was a good call cause 1 treatment took my stomach pain from 10 to a 5 and since has kept it there, and I've noticed so far from these sessions the hugest difference in my anxiety and panic attacks - they went from 10 in severity when they happened to now a 2-4. When I'm anxious now I'm calm enough to know I'm scared and think logically like cbt or dbt strategies would say then get myself to do the anxious thing anyway. When I'm scared to upset someone which used to make me panic, I can now rationally think of my own needs and the necessity to be more firm and continue to bug people/contact people/ask MORE to help myself even if im afraid. Which before was just.. one of the hardest goddamn things for me to do, so for it to even be possible is a big improvement.

Neurofeedback may also be helpful for adhd etc, I mainly went for the application to treatment of complex ptsd and trauma cause I'd read up on ptsd treatments and results and it seemed like something i hadn't tried yet that helped with intense panic attacks and triggers get so severe that rational strategies like dbt just aren't helping or aren't helping enough. And while the person I see mentions quite a lot of benefits of it, I can't say for sure it can fix my gut functionality (which is the ultimate outcome for me now - treatments until I have improved motility and no base pain from nerves), but I can say it immediately noticeably lowered the pain level and my anxiety levels. That said, the typical treatment did not seem to do anything for me - I only got results once we focused on my vagus nerve and the general area in my brain that affects that and was holding all the stress. So if you do try out neurofeedback like if your brain map shows a particular area with more stuff going on it might be worth focusing on it.

[anika-ann]

WINSoD - Pt.4

What You Need (Is What I’m About)

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2, part 3)  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, one more ;)  Word count: 3400

Summary: In which fate has a strange sense of humour, the Maximoffs appear and... well. 

Warnings: brief violence, mention of death, messing around in one’s brain, language, cutesy and fluff (yep, it’s all there)

Part 3

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

You watched the kettle quiver as the temperature of the water climbed towards the boiling point. You’d like to say your blood was reaching it too, but despite the warm hoodie (Steve’s, naturally), you were feeling coldness seeping into your very core.

You hated waiting for him. You had never been a fan of it, sitting on your ass and stressing until he returned from a mission, bruised and usually bloody, but this time it was something else. This time, you had more than just a vague idea of what he was fighting; you had witnessed it first-hand. An army of fucking robots.

The team had left 43 hours ago, but who the hell was counting, right? Certainly not you. And you had certainly not been feeling the urge to ask Jarvis (R.I.P., my beloved A.I.) like every half an hour for any updates. You weren’t that desperate. You weren’t that scared-

Yeah, not even you were having your bullshit anymore.

You were shivering in cold from losing sleep, terrified and over all out of your mind. Nothing helped to ease your worries. Definitely not the fact they hadn’t made any contact ever since they had left.

They consisted of the usual Avengers team; Nat, Clint, Tony, Bruce and Thor, plus Bucky. All of them under Steve’s attentive command.

Surprisingly, Matt Murdock – also known as a freaking vigilante (a blind lawyer!!) – did not join the quest. He had said that robots were way outside his territory. You would beg to differ, because he punched the robot like a champ, yet you didn’t quite blame him for refusing. Bottomline, you still thought he was pretty swell (not to mention easy on the eyes, but that was beside the point). He had saved your life though, so you might be a bit biased. A lot biased.

Sam Wilson might have fought once too, but he would sit this one out as well. It was not helping your anxiety.

The soft click of the kettle brought you back to reality and you grabbed the handle to pour water into your mug, only to see you failed to actually put a teabag in it.

To be fair, you would have sworn you had done it, but that was just another prove of you losing your mind. At this rate you were about to burn the kitchen down – not that you felt like cooking… or eating for that matter. Steve was out there, in his own sci-fi movie that had somehow become reality and-

You sighed and set the kettle down, reaching for the box with chamomile tea. Taking one bag, you felt a strange gust of wind and curled into the hoodie as a shiver ran down your spine. Was the air-conditioning misbehaving…? Perhaps it was an aftermath of what they called the Ultron mess-

You shook your head, scolding yourself for getting paranoid and went to finally finish the simplest task of making yourself tea.

Only for your blood turning to ice when you noticed the teabag was missing. You had just put it there half a minute ago, you were sure of it. Your heart started hammering in your chest as you spun on your heels, your eyes scanning the room.

The cupboard behind your head clacked and your head swiftly snapped back to it. Feeling your own pulse pounding in your temples, you forced your brain to come up with a rational explanation.

You were losing your mind, you were imagining things, you hadn’t slept in almost two days, your mind was playing tricks on you-

Another gust of wind and the kettle disappeared from your hands, a shriek escaping your lips. On instinct, you opened the drawer and pulled out a knife. You were probably useless with it, basically offering it the potential attacker as a weapon, because they would be able to disarm you and use it to their advantage, but you didn’t give a shit. You felt better being armed.

What the fuck was happening?!

A man suddenly appeared by your left hip, like a hurricane inside of the room, and your body acted on its own, driving the knife in his side.

Or you attempted to; the knife met something solid that could not have been a body and the blond – he was a blond man, younger, hell, looking younger than you, dressed in a jumpsuit – stared at you with his mouth hanging open.

It was only then when you registered a strange red matter--- no, something unsubstantial, like an energy, swirling and changing, hovering around the blade that had stopped an inch from the man’s torso.

“Taka se ubivate, kolibri,” a female voice sounded from the other side of the room, nearly sending you into a cardiac arrest.

Yet, you couldn’t tear you gaze away from the strange man, whose face was now twisted in annoyed grimace as the woman seemed to be scolding him.

What kind of a language was that anyway?

Really not relevant.

There were two strangers in the Tower, in the very same room as you, they could be talking about how to kill you the most painful way and you wouldn’t even know, and for fuck’s sake, why couldn’t you catch a break-

“Ne ti e zabavno, foĭerverk,” he hummed back, his lips spreading in a smile, baffling you to no end. “Zdraveĭ, krasavitse.”

Your hand still on the handle of the knife that was no longer under your control, of which you refused to let go though because you were not a complete idiot, you had no idea what to do.

The man sounded almost friendly, but then again, villains often did. Sleazy. You would know.

A tremble ran through your body and out of nowhere, you made a lightning-fast decision of kicking the man in the crotch.

Your knee only brushed his manhood when your leg was no longer yours. With horror filling every cell in your body, you realized it was caught in the freaky red spiderweb of energy and you couldn’t move it no matter how much you tried.

Tears filled your eyes and suddenly you were free, the man several feet from you. A gorgeous young woman, dressed even more strangely than him – crimson leather jacket, black and half-torn leather leggings with high boots with way too many straps, her outfit completed by sleeves peeking from under her jacket –, stood next to him, cuffing him in the back of his head.

“Idiot!” she hissed and in the back of your mind, the one tiny corner that was not occupied with the fact you might die in the next second, you thanked god for some words being international.

Then, the girl with long wild red hair smiled at you apologetically, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“Hello. Sorry for startling you,” she spoke with thick accent which you identified as Eastern-European and shot her companion a murderous look. “My brother is an ass and doesn’t know the difference between being funny and scaring people.”

She didn’t sound menacing at all; in fact, you saw every responsible older sibling annoyed at their younger family member in her. You blinked away the sting in your eyes and attempted to focus despite the ringing in your ears.

“Huh?” slipped from your lips intelligently, utter confusion gradually replacing your despair.

The blond rolled his eyes, which only earned him another clip round his ear.

“See what you’ve done? This is all your fault!”

“I was just messing around!”

“Do you have any idea what she’s been through? You scared her to death!” the woman hissed, effectively sending you back to the spiral of dismay, your slowly calming heartbeat skyrocketing again.

What did she know about what you had been through?!

With your knees wobbly and not to be trusted to keep you upright on their own anymore, you gripped the counter behind you with such force your muscles cramped.

“Who- who are you?” you breathed out shakily, catching the attention of the supposed sibling duo once more.

The woman smiled warmly, patronizingly almost.

“My name is Wanda and this is my brother, Pietro. We are of Sokovia. Your Captain and the other Avengers found us, showing us that we were fighting on the wrong side of things. Would you like to see?”

Her words echoed in your suddenly dull skull, the meaning escaping you.

And because her last sentence was what made sense the most and yet the least, you nodded.

Later, you would realize just how stupid and trusting you had been when agreeing, mostly because Steve gave you his look of disappointment and horror, but at the moment, it seemed right.

Somehow, on a level you couldn’t quite comprehend, you already understood they weren’t a threat to you.

“See how?”

Wanda smiled.

*Like this,* a ghost of her voice sounded somewhere deep in your mind, making you dizzy. What the hell-? *Please, don’t judge me. I thought I was doing the right thing.*

Before you could question such statement or the fact her lips were not moving while you heard her voice crystal clear, you were thrown into a vortex.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Ultron had been sure they were coming; he left a bait for them, an easy track to follow. The track they could follow towards their end.

Wanda wasn’t one to enjoy killing or hurting people in general, no. She hadn’t even considered herself a strong person once, but that had all changed with their parent’s deaths. She had had to rely on herself – on herself and on her brother. Where an opportunity had risen, to step up their game and possibly to get revenge on the name still haunting them in their worst nightmares, they hadn’t even hesitated.

Wanda had once been a weakling. It had been the tempering in fire, in a burning pain of experimentation with the sceptre that had made her the woman who she was now.

And she had a mission; she and Pietro had a mission, their chance at revenge finally gaining a shape.

She had already played with Stark’s mind, with the scum only interested in money and destruction; now she could do the same to all of them.

Bursting in with a crash, they clearly hadn’t expected such livid counterattack. A response so… nightmare-like.

Just a flick of wrist and a little concentration on Wanda’s part and they were dropping like dead, trapped in their own minds.

Black Widow, locked in a scary base, ballet dancers, martial art training and merciless killing, her fresh fears creating a horror picture of aiming her gun at her current lover’s head, at her soulmate.

“I should have known you’d never change. You’re nothing but human reduced to a murder machine…”

Thor, oh so mighty God, travelling back to his home planet to a feast, legends messing with his headspace, confusion and helplessness, thunder and lightning all around and out of his control.

“You’ll kill us all! See, son of Odin, close your eyes and see!”

The righteous captain, trapped in his own mind, folded like a house of cards under his soulmate’s dead eyes, anger and accusation blossoming into hate and finally indifference.

“You cared about your 40’s sweetheart more, anyway, didn’t you? If it was her in my place, you would have chosen her before the thousands. You wouldn’t let her blow up… but if I’m nothing to you, then you are nothing to me…”

Satisfied with her work, with only a nudge to their consciousness and their own brains doing the work for her, Wanda smirked as she noticed the busy archer. Now what tricks his could mind come up with? What hardship would he get caught in?

As she slowly sneaked behind his back, a voice snarled behind her, causing her heart to stop from more than a simple fright.

“Kak mozhe neshto tolkova malko da prichini tolkova nepriyatnosti?”

Her first reaction to her blood crystallizing in her veins with horror and rage towards the whole fucking universe, was a snarky reply.

How dared he to call her small? Implying she was weak? Underestimating her and saying that she couldn’t cause any real trouble? Oh, she would show him… that arrogant bastard! She would show him trouble-

“Laĭna…ti mi narichash nepriyatnosti?” she hissed back, carelessly losing the sight of the archer, not interested in him in the slightest all of sudden. “Vie ste strana s greshni khora!”

This stranger, this—this man-machine radiating pain as her powers barely brushed the surface of his mind on instinct… he was the real trouble as she didn’t hesitate to tell him. He was on the wrong side of things! Fraternizing with a mass murderer, with her parent’s killer-

“Pone te sa kho—” he wanted to argue, but they his mind stopped before it started screaming, punching her telepathic powers she seemed suddenly unable to turn off.

Memories, a dozen of his own memories, the way he looked at his soulmark in a mirror, the pain, the sorrow, the torture… his encounter with the Avengers, living with them; with the band of heroes she just put down, one by one, teasing and laughter, compassion and acceptance, even from the man who was supposed to be nothing but a cocky heartless bastard-

“What the hell did you just say?” Bucky rasped, astonished and horrified.

He realized it too then. Everyone always did, didn’t they? Because every person with a soulmark awaited a moment like this; the moment someone would finally say the words matching the ones on their skin, met their expectations or not…

But Bucky Burnes was the farthest from Wanda’s dream when it came to a life-long partner.

Strength is tempered in fire, she remembered reading once. She had once found a special irony in the fact that the treatment by the sceptre felt exactly like that. Wanda’s soul turned to steel with the games the fate had played with her.

So why did her hands fell from their defensive position to her side, limp and drained of all strength and determination they had known, tears stinging her eyes.

Her life was shit and she thought she had made her peace with that. But judging by the deep ache in her chest, she had been holding out for her soulmate more than she had thought. Because why else would it hurt so bad when she found out he was an enemy?

“And I thought Romeo and Juliet was just a lot of crap,” she chuckled bitterly, switching to English when he did.

His thoughts scream at her, disbelief, caution, pain, confusion, regret and hope— ambivalence. He had no idea what to do and he hated her for what she had done to his friends, but the knowledge of her being his, supposedly, it torn him in half, reaching out with willingness to forgive her if she fixed it, because if anyone understood fighting at the wrong side it was him--

Unable to resist, she dug deeper into his mind, baring his very soul, fascinated.

Pietro was still fighting with the archer and Stark, dodging the lame attempts at attack of the Avengers lost in their minds, but for two people, the time stopped.

They stood against each other, staring and motionless, and Wanda was confident she saw more than him. His mind was a tangled mess of emotions and desperate desire to get a hold of them and think rationally, bundle of memories and hopes colliding with reality and rock-solid facts and Wanda felt a pang at her heart, a crushing sensation in her chest when she finally embraced everything his headspace had to offer, getting lost in it.

Lost in him.

James Buchannan Barnes had a beautiful soul. Torn and glued together with little kind gestures from his friends, sweet memories of his sister and everlasting friendship with Steve, his no-longer-little-but-equally-stubborn Steve, Steve’s soulmate, his teammates that accepted Bucky with surprising ease and less judgement anyone would deserve… and the careful way he was giving away the pieces of the very same heart that was barely together, in gentle smiles and good-natured teasing, silent self-declaration of giving his whole life for every single one member of his new-found family.

And Wanda understood. In a fraction of second she looked under the illusions she had helped to build in the Avengers’ minds and saw the truth.

*Pietro, spri!* she cried out straight into his mind, begging him to stop fighting. With another flick of her wrist, her enemies were free of her handiwork, shell-shocked from the experience, too lost to find their footing. “Brat, spri! Pietro… greshim. They are right.”

The battle froze as if the time did and for a second, Wanda felt like she was in her brother’s skin, moving so fast that the world around her stopped turning. The stunned silence was only broken by a soft gush of wind when Pietro appeared by her side.

The Avengers seemed so baffled at her admission they didn’t try to attack them.

She exchanged a look with her twin, hoping her face spoke volumes as tears gathered in her eyes. She was far from convinced that Anthony Stark was a good man; but she knew he was better than the creature they had sworn to assist. And her mother always used to say that a man should be judged by the company he kept. From what she had seen in Bucky Barnes’ head, Stark had one bunch of fine people around; and their imperfections seemed to be balanced by the good they all wished to do.

Pietro understood. Of course he would. More than he could read her expression, he must have felt the change in Wanda’s aura, the transformation touching their bond as well.

He graced her with a reluctant nod of agreement. Via their mental connection, he whispered he trusted her. Her lips curled up in a tender smile.

“Are we just gonna stand here? Are we fighting together or against each other or what?!”

No, Tony Stark was by no means a man she would call good. In fact, she already found out he was an ass. But now, he had become her ally.

From all the eyes on their duo, she chose to meet her soulmate’s.

“Together, Anthony. Because there’s bigger malice in this world than you are.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Wanda nearly cut you off right then. The rest of what she showed was a blur of images, fear, pain and determination, destruction and cooperation, all of that leading to this very moment. It all resembled waking up from a very intense confusing dream, being pulled away into consciousness by the first sunrays of the dawn.

You blinked heavily as the world swayed off its place, the counter seemingly in a peculiar angle from your point of view.

Why was the lamp not up, but on the side? Why was it spinning?

“Oops. Sorry. Never made the connection for such a long period of time-“ a voice reached you, breaking through the hush of blood and your own heartbeat in your ears.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to get a fucking grip on both your body and thoughts.

Bucky had a soulmate?

No, not relevant, the images were too unclear for you to be sure everyone made it out alright, you needed to see Steve first, you had to-

By the time Steve’s figure appeared in your field of vision, you were certain you were steady on your feet and finally managed to control your mouth.

“Steve!” you cried out excitedly as you sprang his direction, relief mixing with delight, because he was alive, he was not bleeding visibly, he-

-was suddenly graced with an identical twin, two loving tired smiles blending into one and splitting into two the next moment, swimming in your vision and you felt something solid grabbing your body and positioning it right into his strong arms.

You gazed at him in haze, melting into his warm and firm embrace, spotting a swirl of red energy flow around you.

Oh. Wanda’s work, no doubt. Sweet.

“Are you okay, doll? Are you sick? What happened?”

Wanda’s guilt was nearly solid in your reach, but you only let your head lull onto Steve’s shoulder, plunging into the fluff of love that his presence provided.

“Nah. I’m fine… just drunk on you…” you mumbled.

The girl’s bubbly relieved laughter rang in the room, bringing a satisfied smile on your face.

Steve’s kiss landed on your forehead, corners of his own lips upright despite the concern in his voice.

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s just get you to bed…”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 5

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Thank you for reading!

I chose Bulgarian, just to avoid traditional Russian this once. Bucky is a Winter Soldier after all and he should know how to speak 30 languages or so :D just thought this would work. Google translator used; apologize for any mistakes.

I hope you had an okay start to 2021 :-*

[amphtaminedreams]

The Women of Euphoria and Personal Style: Lookbook no.8

Hi to anyone reading,

I hope you’re well considering everything going on! It feels weird to want to talk about fashion or TV shows or red carpets or whatever when 90% of my Google searches are COVID-19 related but there you go. It’s all about trying to power through as normal (minus the social interaction) and pretend the world isn’t ending, right? Queue nervous laughter.

And as if things aren't shitty enough, production of season 2 of Euphoria has been postponed until further notice. 

Okay, in the grand scheme of things, having to wait a bit longer for a TV show isn’t catastrophic but it does just about sum up the transition from 2019 to 2020 thus far that after HBO redeemed itself by broadcasting Euphoria in the summer following an ending to Game of Thrones that has made the whole series unrewatchable, the glimmer of hope in me reignited by the prospect of series 2 this year has been quickly dashed. 2021, I’m rooting for you, because it doesn’t seem like things are getting better any time soon, and in all seriousness, I think everyone needs a break from the collective suffering of the last few months.

For me (and undoubtedly for many others if the hundreds of makeup looks and styling videos are anything to go by), Euphoria’s effect on the world of fashion and beauty is unprecedented. I really can’t recall a TV show in living memory that has had as much of an impact on the way young people dress. I mean, this might partially be because the style of the characters already kind of caters to and draws from the target audience but also, aside from Blair Waldorf did anybody really give THAT much of a fuck about what anybody in Gossip Girl wore?

The draw of the styling on Euphoria is that it has something for everyone. The style of each of the main girls, Rue, Kat, Maddy, Jules and Cassie, all of whom I’ve attempted (emphasis on attempted!) to base (emphasis on base!) outfits around, is varied and distinctive but still so current and realistic at the same time. It’s also consistent; even if you don’t own the specific pieces worn by any of them, similar shapes and details reoccur enough in different looks throughout the series that it’s not hard to create an outfit which matches your favourite character’s overall vibe without buying anything new. That’s kinda what I have attempted to do here and without further ado, I’m gonna get on with it! First up:

Jules (Played by Hunter Schafer)

When it comes to whose style is the most experimental, Jules is the obvious answer. A lot of her outfits are what I imagine a cartoonist in the near-distant future will envision their cool girl protagonist wearing. Whilst her ensembles are generally whimsical and girly for the most part, there’s usually a few slightly punk-ish finishing touches thrown in there too be it through chunky shoes or bold makeup or that incredible mesh trench coat she wears in the series finale with the trans symbol on the back which, honestly, deserves a moment of silence. 

There are definitely nods to current fashion trends sprinkled throughout her wardrobe too. I'm not going to lie, despite someone at work seemingly thinking it was an insult to tell me I look like someone who does (I still don’t know but this person has a Rick and Morty keyring so I don’t give it too much weight), I’ve never watched any anime. BUT, that being said, given the abundance of anime screenshots posted by all these aesthetic oriented Instagram and Tumblr moodboard accounts, I have a vague idea of what some of the more iconic characters look like and a lot of Jules’ looks seem to be very much modelled after or at least inspired by them. In a way, I see a lot of her looks as a blend between modern “e-girl”, Y2K skater chick (yes, I’m thinking early Avril Lavigne), and 2013 Tumblr “hipster” a la 2014 Joanna Kutcha and Charlie Barker, and though on paper that sounds like a nightmare combination, it works. I know-if that sentence were a Depop description I would’ve just gained 30 followers.

When it comes to my own interpretation of Jules’ style, it’s definitely something I like to channel when I’m putting together a proper OUTFIT outfit. Meaning an outfit I actually put effort into and thus will most likely want to get a good photo in, lol. The way her character dresses is almost quite Christopher Kane in that it’s fresh and unusual but still understated enough that I wouldn’t walk into a room wearing any of these feeling like I’m doing a Rick Owens runway.

I’m not TOO far out of my comfort zone but still at the same time, I’d be trying something new and maybe a little bit more zany than I'm used to. As for noting where any of these pieces are from, only a few have been bought in the last 6 months, but from left to right clockwise I have marked out those that have in case they’re still available (though be wary of the fact that it seems a lot of online clothes stores are still forcing warehouse employees to work in close confines at the moment and so perhaps aren’t operating the most ethically):

LOOK 1

Corset-Jaded London

Shoes-TK Maxx

LOOK 2

Dress-Motel Rocks

Boots-Koi Vegan Footwear

LOOK 3

Dress-Jaded London

LOOK 4

Dress-Jaded London

Beret-Ebay

LOOK 5

Beret-Ebay

LOOK 6

Mesh Top-Depop

Hair Clips-Urban Outfitters

Kat (Played by Barbie Ferreira) 

Eurgh, Kat. 

I LOVE THIS BITCH.

If I had to choose my favourite character in the show, it would be a very close toss-up between her and Rue, and though I think Rue might just about nab the top spot for her relatability factor, Kat is the girl I want to be or wish that I had been when I was at school. I mean, there’s definitely an argument to be made in that a lot of what she’s doing with her cam work could be seen as a means of validation (Sam Levinson has basically said everyone on the show has some kind of an unhealthy coping mechanism and I would guess due to the circumstances in which her cam girl career was borne and the fact she’s underage, this would be hers) but I do think in other ways we really see Kat reclaim her power and recognise herself for the smart, capable, gorgeous woman that she is. Honestly, the definition of divine feminine energy, and I would completely let Barbie Ferreira/basically Kat if she was also actually 23 dominate me.

Plus! Her! Style! Is! The! Bomb! Definitely the easiest character to base looks around because if I’m totally honest Kat’s energy is pretty much just what I want to emulate in every day life. 

It’s either pieces that are typically feminine, cutesy, and even slightly preppy at times drenched in everything grunge OR vice versa where you have something semi-gothic and then add a colourful, more playful touch in there that harks back to the beginning of the series before Kat had began to explore her identity and sexuality and dressed slightly more Forever 21.

I’d say, not yet with my whole chest, that on a good day the outfits I put together when making an effort aren’t too far off something Kat would wear, minus the more overtly BDSM touches; if wearing a ring choker in London is enough to get me a creepy comment from a gross middle aged shopkeeper (because I apparently forfeited my right not to be perved on when I decided to buy a bottle of Oasis summer fruits), then you can only imagine the kind of looks wearing a full-on harness would get in my conservative OAP dominated hometown. Not the most doable right now, especially considering the only time I get out is to work and to go for a run. The chafing I could deal with but the horrified glares of pensioners whose M&S prawn mayo sandwiches I’ve ruined by simply being in their eyesight not so much.

LOOK 1-

Corset-Urban Outfitters

LOOK 2-

Bodysuit-Depop

Skirt-Zara

Harness-Ebay

LOOK 3-

Co-ord-Depop

Lace-up Corset-Missguided

LOOK 4-

Dress-Vintage

LOOK 5-

Belt-Ebay

LOOK 6-

Coat-Topshop

Dress-Jaded London

LOOK 7-

Fishnet Top-Ebay

Skirt-Urban Outfitters

Maddy (Played by Alexa Demie)

Not gonna lie, I was kind of scared to do Maddy. I’m scared to be posting this, lol! Alexa Demie has played this character for a single season and she’s already one of the most iconic women to grace our screens in years. This is a huge undertaking and I don’t have the bank balance or the body confidence (lmao) to raid IAmGia. 

And this is where I want to stress: THESE ARE NOT OUTFIT RECREATIONS. THESE ARE INSPIRED BY. I HAVE ADDED ELEMENTS OF MY OWN STYLE INTO THEM. PLEASE DON’T DRAG ME. I KNOW, I’M NOT ALEXA DEMIE. I WOULD NEVER ASSUME TO BE ALEXA DEMIE. I’M NOT ABOUT TO TAKE THE LORD’S NAME IN VAIN LIKE THAT. So now we’ve got that out the way (wipes bead of sweat off forehead), let’s continue. 

Everything about Maddy Perez is extra. She has very much been established as a centre of attention character, and her outfits are a key part of that. They’re daring, they’re hyper-feminine, and they are always glamorous. We’re told that she competed in beauty pageants when she was younger and it’s clear that level of excess and coordination and glitz and all-round-boujeeness wormed its way into her DNA during that time. Even the “depression” outfit she wears to school following Nate becoming violent at the fair is costume-like, a 2019 Bratz doll Off-White street style collaboration.

Do you know how HARD I had to try to be HOT!? For these photos. Alexa Demie is one of those blessed women who doesn’t have to try at all, and that translates into the character completely. At any given moment, Maddy could add or remove one item or clothing and be let straight into the VIP section of a club, and that, honestly, is inspiring to us all in these dark times. 

One thing I tried to keep in mind is that she always looks polished and coordinated, I.E the kind of look I would prepare for a night out is something Maddy would wear on an average day. Co-ords and delicate prints seem to be more subtle wardrobe staples along with mesh and PVC and glitter and feathers and fur and basically anything that toes the line between expensive looking and tacky. Yes, I am aware we may toe different sides of that line but please let me stay delusional and believe that’s not the case for 5 minutes. Much appreciated xoxo

LOOK 1-

Bodysuit-Jaded London

LOOK 2-

Bralette-Depop

LOOK 3-

Co-ord Suit-Boohoo

Bodysuit-Boohoo

LOOK 4-

Dress-Motel Rocks

Shoes-Schuh

LOOK 5-

Bodysuit-Zaful

Trousers-Depop

Coat-Topshop

LOOK 6-

Dress-Zaful

Belt-Zaful

LOOK 7-

Top-Jaded London

Hair Clips-H&M

Rue (Played by Zendaya Coleman)

I have a complicated relationship with Rue as a character. When I started season 1 of Euphoria, I was like “Oh my god, this girl is the worst. Jesus, she’s so negative and draining and willingly self-destructive and-”

Then, oh my god is this what it’s like to live with me!?

I will say, to my own credit, that I don’t think I've ever been quite as hard to deal with as Rue (a lot less smashing stuff up and a lot more moping), and to HER credit, by the end of the season we come to realise she’s been through a fucking lot and so it makes sense, but wow. I don’t think I have ever seen a teen show handle drug abuse and mental illness in such a brutal way. It’s quite a talent to be able to show a character cause so much pain to those closest to them and yet do so through a sympathetic lens. And issues aside, whether it’s her occasional social awkwardness or her relationship with her family or watching bloody Love Island (still quite surreal to see Zendaya Coleman witnessing the Amy/Curtis drama unfold), Rue is just my favourite character to follow. 

Her style, though. AH. The thing is, I can hardly drag it, because it’s pretty much what I wear when I’m moping about the house-or just any time I can get away with it to be honest-to a T. I want to stay true to character, but that being said, creating a “Seth Rogen”-esque outfit that’s worth posting on here is difficult. So, with the same kind of artistic license that had me wearing berets whilst cosplaying Maddy Perez, here is the best I could do:

I know, I know, it’s probably too much colour and jewellery for Rue but this is as toned down as I could do and I tried to stick with the key silhouettes we see from her throughout the season; I mean, I can’t see her wearing leopard print but the structure of the coat in outfit 1 is very similar to the one seen in Shook Ones pt.II. I think the bottom line when it comes to her character is keeping things effortless and not overly-feminine; you want to mix street style, athleisure and your dad’s wardrobe favourites like your life depends on it. Plus messy hair and smudged makeup, both of which I’ve already got down according to the completely inappropriate number of customers who’ve asked if I'm tired at work so thanks for that guys, and glitter tears. Lots and lots of glitter tears.

OUTFIT 1-

Dungarees-Vintage

OUTFIT 2-

Trousers-Depop

Cardigan-Urban Outfitters

OUTFIT 5-

Beanie-Depop

OUTFIT 6-

Shirt-Boohoo Man

Sports Bra-TK Maxx

Trousers-Urban Outfitters

OUTFIT 7-

Shirt-Jaded London

Cassie (Played by Sydney Sweeney)

Style-wise, Cassie is a hard one. When putting outfits for her character together, I found myself gravitating towards a direction that’s probably a bit too bohemian for her character, under the guidance of loose terms like “girl-next-door”, “floaty”, “delicate”, you get the idea. She definitely feels the least fully-realised in terms of all the main girls and I think it’s fair to say she’s probably got a bit of self-discovery to do. Most of her storylines in the season are dictated by her relationships to other people: McKay, Maddy, Lexie, her parents and so on. 

Nevertheless, I tried to stick to the airier, more traditionally “pretty” pieces whilst still channelling the confidence and ease with which Cassie pulls them off. Sydney Sweeney has the most incredible figure and I feel like whilst the clothes the on-set stylists put her in flatter that and don’t hide anything, they’re still the focus. It doesn’t feel like there’s anything more inherently sexual about her character than any of the other main female characters despite the way the men within the narrative view her, and I think it’s a testament to the the wardrobe department that to me she still gives off big modern Disney princess energy and a certain innocence even whilst we hear her being continuously sexualised by her male peers. 

If anything, Cassie probably dresses the most like an actual teenage girl, and her style, whilst less distinctive than the other girls, still does a good job of capturing the youth and romanticism of her character. 

The colour palette of her wardrobe tends to be quite neutral, with a couple of pastels thrown in there, and if there are any details, they’re usually quite dainty. Similarly, Cassie is probably the least experimental when it comes to her makeup; we don’t really see her wearing the bold eyeshadows or liners or gems like the other girls at any point.

OUTFIT 1-

Bodysuit-Motel Rocks

Hair Clips-Bershka

OUTFIT 2-

Dress-Jaded London

OUTFIT 3-

Trousers-Urban Outfitters

OUTFIT 4-

Top-Urban Outfitters

Hairband-H&M

`OUTFIT 5-

Top-Urban Outfitters

Jeans-Zaful

Headband-Primark

OUTFIT 6-

Top-Urban Outfitters

OUTFIT 7-

Dress-Urban Outfitters

Hair Clips-Boohoo

SO, I guess that’s it for my Euphoria lookbook! As always, let me know what you think (nicely pls, my ego is fragile lol) and I’d love to hear your opinions on the show too! I really haven’t got this excited over a new TV show in ages and I just think that it does everything so excellently-from the writing to the cinematography to the soundtrack, you can tell each element is so carefully and purposefully constructed. It immerses you into the dramatic highs and lows of being a teenager in a way I haven’t seen since UK Skins and I never thought I’d watch a show which held a candle to that. 

In terms of what I’m doing next, I’ve got a very delayed fashion week masterpost in the works as well as something to fill the Met Gala shaped hole in our lives, which I hope to get up over the next couple of weeks. In the meantime, if you read to the end, THANK YOU! And I hope you’re staying safe and AT HOME where possible. I know this self-isolation feels never-ending and if I’m honest, it is having a hugely negative effect on my mental health, but NHS staff are doing their very best with the shitty recourses they have and whilst it seems that our government have thrown workers under the bus once again, we can all do our bit to combat that by slowing the spread of the virus. Also thank you to anybody who’s out working now in such a scary and uncertain time! I work at a grocery store and can say from experience that the best way to show this thanks is just through kindness and following employee’s instructions without giving them grief for it. Everyone’s scared right now and the best we can do is pull together and look out for each other, as difficult as that might seem at times.

Anyway, sorry for the ramble, and like I said, stay safe! Thanks once again if you read til the end or even if you’re just here for the photos. Appreciate it more than you know either way!

Lauren x

[secret-engima]

...If it makes Cor feel better, he absolutely could NOT do worse than the people who had Cloud/Prompto before. That probably won't make him feel better, but it is the truth. And now i have a Mighty Need for Cor and bby Prompto shenanigans. How did the first diaper change go? the first time someone told Cor his "son" was cute/such a good kid? The scenes that make Cor see Prompto as /his/ kid rather than just the lab baby. I will totally understand if those are under spoilers and wait impatiently.

No, no it doesn't. Because “better that that” is still solidly in the zone of “might kill the baby by accident” and Cor is hyper aware of this but has no idea what to do to FIX that. He’ll figure it out.

Uhhhh some of those I haven’t written yet and the very first diaper change is extremely kept short for both Cor’s sanity and bby Prompto’s, BUT I can let you see a snip since it’s relatively short (also there’s gonna be a scene soon where some cranky rural Nif housewife finds Cor the Hopeless with his bby and bossily teaches him the basics of childcare and THAT SCENE is gonna be fun. The scenes where Cor comes to see Prompto as “his” kid are also unwritten and in the planning stages so mostly spoilers BUUUUT *whispers* Prompto takes his first steps in a dingy hotel room, making a beeline right for Cor and Cor is an Emotion when he realizes he’s watching Prompto’s FIRST STEPS. Have this instead:

...

     He pulled out a granola bar and managed to open it one handed. He took three big bites out of it before he registered the tiny bundle in his jacket squirming again. He looked down and saw one very pale hand had worked free of the bundle and was reaching for the bar. The moment the baby saw his attention, the hand jerked back in what could only be a flinch, blue eyes watching him for a reaction as the hand shyly slid back into the jacket. Cor felt an intense flash of hate for the scientists that had taught a baby to flinch from being looked at, then realized-.

     The granola bar. Food. Baby.

     What was he going to feed the baby?

     Babies didn’t eat military rations they needed ... he didn’t even know what babies needed. How long did babies need milk? Was this one past that age? Not yet? He was so small it was hard to even tell how old he was. Even if he was off milk then he needed soft goods or- or pureed things or literally anything but military rations and Cor had stolen a baby and now that baby was going to starve to death in his arms-.

     Some minutes and many, many wheezing breathing exercises later, Cor came back to earth from a panic attack the likes of which he hadn’t had while in the field since he was fifteen and realizing that he’d almost died because of his own hubris. He tipped his head back and counted. Five things he could see. Four things he could hear. Three things he could touch. Two things he could smell. One thing he could taste.

     The baby was very, very quiet.

     Cor looked down sharply, panic rising in his throat again because what if he’d hurt it in his panic attack or worse-.

     Blue eyes blinked up at him, calm and somehow sympathetic looking despite being an infant that couldn’t understand the concept of panic attacks. Cor exhaled slowly, gingerly reached out a shaky finger to touch the pale cheek. The baby stiffened in his grip, something he could feel even through the jackets and Cor slowly pulled his finger away, “You’re alright,” he whispered hoarsely, “you’re safe. I’m … I’m going to protect you. I’m going to take care of you, somehow, and get you to Insomnia. No one will ever hurt you again. Not while I can help it.”

     A sluggish squint, not quite a blink but close to it, and Cor indulged in one more breathing exercise before he squared his shoulders like he was about to face down Gilgamesh again and turned toward the supplies, “There has to be something in here you can eat,” Cor muttered half to himself and half to the baby, “There has to. At least until I can … get something better.” Like rob a general store of its milk or something. He’d figure it out after he got himself and the kid through the night.

     He ended up feeding the kid soup broth. Just the broth, because while the chickatrice pieces and noodles in it were soft, they were bigger than the kid’s entire mouth and just thinking about it made Cor have nightmarish flashes to a tiny baby choking on food. So he carefully picked out the bits of things that might possibly potentially kill the baby he’d just stolen and carefully dripped broth into the baby’s mouth using a plastic spoon. The baby hardly seemed to eat anything at all before yawning and dozing off, but Cor consoled himself with the thought that, as such a small —tiny, frail, delicate, easily breakable— human being, his stomach was much smaller than Cor’s and couldn’t hold much soup. Cor poured the rest into a thermos he found in the supplies to save for later and carefully propped himself up against the crate the supplies had come in and dozed off. He’d figure everything out in the morning.

     Except several hours later, Cor got woken up by a smell and a baby that was awake and whimpering very, very faintly with discomfort —not crying, and that was worrying, Gladiolus had cried all the time as a baby and Noctis still cried a lot as a tiny child himself— and Cor realized that … oh. Oh yeah. The diaper thing.

     Cor held a staring contest with the unhappy infant before muttering a prayer for mercy and rolling up his sleeves.

     One ordeal, a sacrificed spare shirt, much angry kicking by the baby, a diaper change treated more like the field dressing of a wound, and the baby was clean, the scratchy lab diaper had been replaced by a makeshift one made out of much softer Lucian cotton, and Cor now knew that the infant he had rescued was a boy. Cor bundled the baby back in the coat --ignoring the vague sense of humiliation that he could kill Behemoths with three precise hits but had barely survived changing a diaper-- and tried to doze off again, already dreading the nightmare levels of stress he was sure were going to come for the rest of this exfiltration.

     At least the baby wasn’t whimpering in discomfort anymore, so at least he done something right.

     Unless the silence meant he’d done something wrong and now there was something wrong with the baby and there weren’t any safe doctors —or any doctors at all— for miles around and-.

     Cor opened his eyes and stared miserably at the ceiling. He wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight was he? This was why Regis and Clarus complained of being exhausted after the babies were born. This slow descent into insanity. The baby wasn’t even his.

     He was never teasing at Clarus for falling asleep in council meetings right after Gladiolus was brought home from the hospital ever again.

[gamerwoo]

Kino: Partly Cloudy

Characters: Kino x female reader (featuring Pentagon ot10 and Guanlin)

Genre/warnings: roommate au, demon au, friends to lovers, slowburn kinda, fluff, angst, some crack, lil bit of everything ig lmao

Word count: 8,043

Summary: As a demon that’s able to control the weather, Kino can’t exactly control it since he’s only half a demon. It only happens when his emotions are so strong and intense, and nobody makes him feel as strongly as you.

a/n: in the words of @neverknewgrey2016 “there isn’t enough kino content”. she also gave me this idea and i wanted to do it for her so here you go!!!!! it skips around a lot and it’s like kinda vague at the beginning because i wanted to just get to the main part where things start getting good, so it kinda starts fast (also I know I would’ve normally made Hongseok a demon and would never make Yuto a demon but Star got to me lmao)

Kino came across normal enough. Sure, he had his quirks, but everybody did. After becoming his roommate, you quickly learned that he didn’t like using the white mugs because he was afraid of getting them “too dirty”, he absolutely cared too much about sorting the laundry by color, he rarely brought anything into or out of his room, and his room was his space and nobody was allowed in it. He came off as friendly, but reclusive. Kind, yet deceptive. Sweet, but there was definitely something a little...off about him.

It didn’t take a lot to warm up to Kino, and you thought he was warming up to you, too. With your growing trust, your suspicions of him faded. The weird sense you got around him was hardly even in the farthest corners of your mind, which you still to this day don’t know if that was your own doing or some weird power he had over you. 

Kino, on the other hand, pretended to just be close with you. At least, that’s how it started out. He tried to keep some sort of distance just because he was who he was, and you were who you were, and it was dangerous for somebody like him to be around somebody like you. Not only that, but his ‘mentor’ kept telling him that this was wrong and he shouldn’t go befriending any humans. But with how kind and silly you were, and how he could tell you were letting your guard down around him, he eventually found that he couldn’t tell if he was pretending or just being himself.

Either way, the bond you’d formed with Kino over the course of a year helped cushion the shock when you realized your roommate and now best friend was actually a demon. Well, half-demon, which he stressed very much.

But hey, you renewed your lease together, didn’t you?

Kino never once hurt you, anyway. He never put your life in danger, and you weren’t quite sure why that was. He said he just wanted to live normally as to hide among the humans and help with the work he had to do that involved actual bad people and not just nosy roommates that like to leave their jackets and sweatshirts laying over the back of the couch. Whether that was really the case or not was something you’d never know, but you also didn’t press him on that. You preferred to nag him about what the difference was if you sorted the laundry or not, but that would also send him on a whole other tangent. 

There was one interesting thing about Kino that you never quite could get over, though. You didn’t realize it for a while. In fact, it wasn’t even until after you realized he was a demon that you noticed that the weather was sometimes controlled by him -- but without him meaning to.

He was especially annoyed that day. He was being nagged by Jinho way too much, and the smallest thing was going to send him over the edge.

All day, it had looked like there was going to be a tornado or a massive hole would form in the ground and suck everything down. The sky was the darkest grey it could be without being nighttime, and everything just looked scary. You could hear a faint rumble of thunder almost the whole day, and when you had returned to your apartment, you thought Kino’s face as he sat on the couch matched the mood outside.

But what set him off -- what made you realize his emotions could effect the weather whether he liked it or not -- was a tiny joke you made to try to make him feel better. It wasn’t even much of a joke as it was an observation. You considered it a compliment, but Kino went off.

Something to note was that you definitely had feelings for Kino at this point. You knew it was probably dangerous and stupid -- no, it was dangerous and stupid -- to fall for a demon, but you couldn’t help yourself. Even though you were just a mere mortal while Kino was some immortal being, you always felt like the two of you were just a couple of normal friends when you hung around him. He still liked to get giggly drunk with you on Saturday nights, he liked laying his head in your lap and making you run your fingers through his hair, and he never minded when he found you sleeping on the couch because of a nightmare only for him to carry you into his bedroom and sleep on the side of his bed closest to the wall to keep you safe. It was so hard to see him as something that could kill you because he came across as the exact opposite.

That was exactly what Kino was being hounded about, though. He was too nice with you. It was obvious he felt something toward you, and none of the other demons liked that. It wasn’t that demons weren’t allowed to mess around with humans, and falling in love with them technically wasn’t a rule, but demons weren’t necessarily supposed to fall in love at all. He was a demon! He was supposed to terrorize humans and come across as tough and cold. He definitely tried when you first met him, but as he started to get used to you like you did with him, he found himself unable to resist leaning into this fantasy that maybe somebody could love him. And he started to feel the same toward you. Besides, he was still half human. Some instincts and feelings just couldn’t be controlled no matter how hard he tried.

“I know you had a bad day,” you began as you sat beside Kino on the couch, reaching over to poke one of his cheeks, “but you’re really cute when you’re pouty.”

That was the comment that set him off. He was off the couch in an instant, turning to face you with completely black eyes that were his normal brown a second ago. Your eyes widened as your back pressed into the back cushions of the couch, trying to distance yourself from your roommate as he got in your face. It wasn’t that you were afraid he would do something to you, it was that you’d never seen him get this close to you with his eyes black like that before.

The crack of lightening startled you before Kino could even speak. It flashed as thunder sounded a second later, shaking the room from its volume. The wind blowing against the windows made them creak, and it sounded like ghostly groans outside. You curled in on yourself as you gasped, your eyes flickering to the window before they were brought back to Kino.

“I’m a fucking demon, _____!” he growled. “Do not patronize me, got it? You’re just some fucking human, and you don’t get to talk to me like that.”

You wanted to reply to him or at the very least nod your head, but you were frozen in place. You’d never seen Kino like this. Yes, you’d seen his eyes before when he couldn’t convince you for like, a week that he was actually a demon, but he’d never yelled at you like this. You’d never heard his voice get so deep and loud, and you’d never seen him get mad at you like this. Truthfully, it frightened you. It was the first time you saw him as a true demon.

Alternatively, Kino had never seen you afraid of him. He’d never seen your eyes go wide or your face start to pale because of him. He’d never seen you cower away, frozen in fear from something he’d done. But seeing all of it now had him blinking his eyes, the black disappearing and being replaced with the comforting brown you were used to. His clenched jaw relaxed, his lips parting as his lare melted into remorse.

The dark sky lightened to a light grey, and the terrifying lightening was suddenly gone. All that was left behind was a light spitting of rain outside.

“Oh my god, _____...” his voice was soft as he got down on his knees in front of you, cautiously reaching a hand out to you. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-- Please don’t be afraid of me...”

Your eyes were no longer on him. Instead, you were focused on the weather outside. It was twice now that it had changed so quickly, and it was just as quick as Kino’s changes of mood.

“D-did... Did you do that?” you wondered quietly.

Seeing your eyes were still on the windows, he knew what you were asking. He nodded just enough for you to notice, but he didn’t say anything about it.

Kino had frightened you a little -- more like taken aback -- but it was more the sudden crack of lightning and thunder that scared you. But still, even with your heart racing as it was -- but it was starting to slowly calm down now that Kino was back to normal -- you were still a little fascinated by what he managed to do.

However, that day was kind of a wake up call for you. You didn’t have a chance with Kino. He wouldn’t want to be stuck with some human. You were weaker than him; you weren’t on the same level as him. Kino was way out of your league, and even though it hurt, you had to move on. 

That was what you had gathered after a week of thinking everything over. You went from recalling that your half-demon roommate could change the weather if he felt an emotion strongly enough, to mulling over the words he had shouted.

‘You’re just some fucking human.’

So you spent the weekend after in your room eating ice cream and crying -- which Kino was keenly aware of even though it seemed to come out of nowhere so he was pretty confused as to why you were crying -- and decided to pick yourself up and try to move on.

“You wanna finally talk about that?” Kino wondered as you emerged from your bedroom.

You jumped, not expecting him to be right there. He was standing on the opposite side of the hallway, back leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. But his eyes showed worry and concern since you wouldn’t let him in your room no matter what he said during your two-day pity party.

“About what?” you asked, deciding to just act like nothing happened.

Kino just rolled his eyes, “You know about what. What had you locking yourself in your room all weekend?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged.

“Don’t just tell me ‘nothing’,” he whined, dropping his arms as he stepped closer to you. “Wait, was it because of me?”

“No, Kino,” you quickly reassured him. “It’s really nothing. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

You reached up to ruffle his dark hair, making him frown as he swatted your hand away. He let out a sigh as he tried to fix his hair, looking up toward his forehead like he could see what he was doing.

“Don’t do that. I have to see Jinho and company.”

“Oh, so you have to look all big and bad or whatever?”

Kino only smiled sarcastically, raising his eyebrows. 

You knew the other demons were the reason Kino snapped at you. You knew they stressed him out to no end because they -- especially Jinho -- kept telling him how he was getting too soft. They teased him for acting how he did with you, and Jinho kept insisting he move out of the apartment and live alone so he could toughen up again. Kino promised you he wasn’t going anywhere, but he really just wanted his friends to shut up.

“I’d say to tell them hi but we already know how they feel about me,” you snorted.

“Don’t worry,” he smirked, “I’ll send your regards.”

-

“Wait, what? Why?”

You were slightly offended by Guanlin’s surprised face. Was it really so hard for him to imagine that you wanted to date? Sure, you hadn’t tried dating anybody for over a year, but still. You weren’t going to just sit around forever.

“What do you mean why?” you asked with a pout.

“No, I meant--” he broke off in a laugh seeing you so offended. “I mean like, aren’t you and your roommate a thing?”

You’d told Guanlin all about Kino and how you felt about him. He didn’t know he was a demon obviously, but he knew that you were hopelessly head over heels for him. You used to never let anybody use your really nice strawberry shampoo and conditioner set, but you would sit on the couch with Kino’s head on your shoulder and smile when you smelled it on him. You were never even one for cuddling, but you loved the night when Kino made you watch scary movies with him and would have to hold you in his side and promise no monsters would get you while he was around. In the span of the year and however many months that you’d been living with Kino, you’d changed a lot more than even your best friend thought you could.

“No,” you sighed, your face falling as you looked down at the table you were sitting at with him, “we’re too...different. I don’t think he wants to be with me because of those differences.”

“Differences like what?”

‘First of all, he’s a demon.’

“It’s too complicated.”

Guanlin decided to just drop that topic for a slightly different one, wondering what your plan was now. How were you going to get yourself out there? He’d never really seen you intentionally go out of your way to find a boyfriend, so he was pretty curious as to what you planned to do next.

“Actually,” you sweet smile had a hint of mischief to it as you looked at your friend, “I was hoping you could be my wingman.”

All Guanlin did was snort in response before he started laughing. You sighed, rolling your eyes as he doubled over in laughter. When he finally composed himself enough to talk, he sat back up and wiped a tear from his eye.

“You must be really desperate if you think I could be your wingman,” he sighed, still trying to stop smiling. “I don’t even have a girlfriend, and you think I could get you a date?”

“You have guy friends,” you shrugged. “I’m open to anybody.”

“My friends are not your type,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “I mean...if you’re actually serious about this, one of my coworkers is kinda cool.”

“When can I meet him?”

-

Whenever the other demons came around, Kino was irritable. Not so much that the weather would change, but he was still irritated. Especially because Hyojong and Wooseok made a mess of the apartment, so he hated when they decided that was the place they would drop by. Kino insisted on anywhere but there, but nooooo, they didn’t want to be seen anywhere else.

“Do you shoo her out of her own apartment when we come by, or is just a bunch of coincidences?” Wooseok wondered as he stared at a framed picture of you and Kino together.

He just shrugged, glaring at Wooseok’s back as he made sure he wasn’t going to break anything, “Little bit of both.”

Yuto only shrugged, sitting in the same spot on the couch that he always did, “I don’t really blame you.”

The last thing Kino wanted was you being surrounded by demons -- even if they were mostly harmless unless provoked. Jinho took his demon status the most seriously, with Wooseok and Hyojong mostly just messing around and causing dumb chaos for fun, and Yuto doing not much of anything ever. Honestly, Kino wasn’t really sure how or why Yuto was a demon anyway, but he wasn’t one to open up about his past. But he could understand why the terrible duo were demons, and he definitely understood why Jinho was one. The older boy was nothing if not an absolute pain in the ass.

“It would be easier if you just didn’t live with a human,” Jinho grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Kino sighed, turning around to face the shorter boy who was picking up your jacket that you’d left thrown over the back of the couch. “Can you stop touching her stuff? Ugh, why do you guys always have to come here?”

“Because you’re only half a demon and can’t go to The Underworld,” Hyojong spoke up with a giggle. He always loved to rub that fact in Kino’s face.

“Exactly,” Jinho agreed with a smirk, “Kang Hyunggu.”

“Don’t call me that,” he frowned.

“Changing your name won’t make you seem any more like a demon,” Jinho teased.

“Do you have daddy issues?” Hyojong asked, making Wooseok burst out in laughter.

Kino sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his eyes, “Dude, I think you don’t understand what daddy issues are. My dad literally raised me; I love him.”

“If only your mom would actually take care of you,” Jinho said, rolling his eyes. “Then we wouldn’t be responsible for you.”

That was the only reason Kino had constant visits and hounding from Jinho. He was half a demon from his mom, but she obviously wasn’t around. He didn’t know what happened to her, and he didn’t necessarily care since he heard she disappeared without a trace only a day or two after he was born. But being a half-demon, the rulers of The Underworld wanted to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble -- especially since his mother had passed down a power to him that he couldn’t control. Since she wasn’t around, Jinho was assigned to essentially mentor Kino. He had recruited his friends to help just because Kino didn’t really tend to listen to any of Jinho’s advice.

Jinho was a whole other story. He was a fallen angel that eventually got turned into a demon because he was spiteful and caused trouble to get back at those who kicked him out of Heaven. Kino didn’t actually hate him because he understood Jinho had his own issues, but he did wish he got a mentor who was less grumpy. On the bright side, though, Jinho did have his good moments -- especially when he got to see his angel friends when he visited the mortal world to check up on Kino.

Wooseok and Hyojong were clearly meant to be where they were. Hyojong was born to demons, where Wooseok became one when he died and immediately gravitated to Hyojong. Nobody understood how or why Jinho became friends with them, but they did seem to come in handy when Jinho got into one of his moods.

Yuto was an enigma to just about everybody. Those who didn’t know him well questioned if the higher ups made a mistake when placing him -- unless he was born to demon parents, in which case, he couldn’t control that. Others who had known him well didn’t talk about anything demon-like that he’d done. If anybody asked, they’d just say nothing before changing the subject. For all Kino know, Yuto could’ve murdered hundreds of people, so he tried not to be too comfortable around him.

“Did you just come here to complain some more?” Kino asked, walking over to Wooseok to rip the picture of you and him out of the taller boy’s hands before he could accidentally break it.

“We came here because of your little human friend,” Jinho clarified with a slight sharpness to his tone.

“She has a name,” Kino hissed, “and I would prefer if you’d leave her alone and out of all this.”

Whenever anybody brought you up, Kino hated it. He let them know he hated it, and they still did it. He didn’t want you dragged into any of this. He just wanted to be able to hang out with you without anybody telling him he couldn’t or reminding him it was dangerous. He obviously knew it was dangerous, but he knew he wouldn’t ever hurt you. It was only dangerous if these demons kept coming around.

“When she effects you so much that you cause a thunderstorm so loud it shakes buildings, we kind of have to drag her into it,” Jinho shot back.

“And judging from what she’s up to currently,” Hyojong spoke up with a grin and a giggle, “thing are going to get worse.”

“I don’t think telling him that will help,” Yuto spoke in his typical too-soft-to-belong-to-a-demon tone.

But Kino ignored the quiet boy’s words, eyes locked on the short, mischievous demon, “What’s that supposed to mean? Where is she? How do you know where she is?”

“Hyojong, don’t you have somewhere else to be a pain in the ass?” Jinho asked, annoyance dripping in his tone.

Hyojong only shrugged, “Not for another hour.”

“Is somebody going to answer me?!” Kino demanded. He didn’t fuck around when it came to you, so he was genuinely concerned.

To his surprise, it was Yuto who stood and walked over to him, “You know I think you should do whatever you want, but...Jinho was right. Getting so involved with a human is dangerous, and you should’ve gotten out of all of this when you had the chance. Things will be really hard for you now because you didn’t listen to Jinho.”

Kino groaned, running his hands through his hair, “But I don’t know what that means! Where’s _____?!”

Wooseok’s head snapped to look at the door, “Almost home.”

“Time to go, kids!” Hyojong called before he disappeared in a quick swirl of thick, black fog.

Yuto gave Kino a small, thin-lipped smile before following Hyojong’s lead. Wooseok wished him luck before doing the same, leaving just Jinho in the apartment. He walked over to Kino, standing directly in front of him and looking at him seriously. This time, the older demon’s expression wasn’t angry or annoyed, but rather concerned.

“We’ll be watching,” was all he said before he was gone, too.

-

Last week, Kino hounded you when you got home about where you’d been and who you were talking to -- when you admitted it was just meeting up with Guanlin, he looked very confused but dropped it. This week, he was hounding you before you left the apartment about where you were going and who you were meeting.

“His name’s Sehun.”

Kino raised his eyebrows, “Sehun?”

He didn’t like that he’d never heard you say that name before. If it was somebody you didn’t know, then...

“He works with Guanlin,” you explained as you did your best to fix your mascara that was clumping in a way that wasn’t cute at all.

Kino’s heart dropped, “So...i-is this like...a date?”

You shrugged before nodding, “Yeah, basically.”

A date? You’d never gone out to date anybody! Why now? What about him?

What about him? You weren’t his, and you weren’t supposed to be his. He could already hear Jinho scolding him for even getting jealous right now.

Then he realized this must’ve been what they were talking about last week. They knew you were off with Guanlin trying to get him to set you up on a date. They knew he was going to be jealous, which was why they were there. You really were the reason they were there.

You could hear soft rumbles of thunder from far away, but you assumed it was just the weather on its own since Kino seemed fine on the outside. Besides, why would he suddenly feel emotion that strongly? There wasn’t anything that could possibly bother him, right? He had said before himself that he was a demon and you were just some human. There was no way he could’ve ever felt anything for you.

“Hopefully he planned something indoors in case it rains,” you thought out loud, but that somehow only made Kino feel worse.

Unfortunately for him, things would only get worse after that. You’d come home that night to declare you were going to see him again, and another time after that. And after the third date, you’d come home with the most beautiful, dreamy smile on your face that would make Kino’s heart flutter and the drizzle outside that was all his fault momentarily lighten up. 

But then you’d announce he asked you to be his.

Kino would ask nervously what you said.

You’d tell him you said yes, obviously.

That night, the thunder would be roaring as lightening flashed outside your window. You’d be under the covers, wanting nothing more than to go straight to Kino’s room to feel a little safer, but you’d instead go to the couch like you did after a nightmare. You couldn’t go sleep in Kino’s bed now that you had a boyfriend, but you craved the safety Kino gave you more than anything. You still loved Kino, but you had to get over him. Sehun would help you get over Kino.

And Sehun was exactly the reason you woke up in the same spot you’d fallen asleep instead of in Kino’s bed like you usually did when you fell asleep on the couch.

That night, as you and Kino slept, both the demons and the angels stood outside your apartment building in their jackets and some under umbrellas. Their eyes were on the windows that belonged to you.

“You should’ve kept them apart,” Hui advised, glancing over at Jinho.

Jinho frowned, whining, “I tried to! He doesn’t listen.”

“We can’t break them up now, can we?” Changgu asked worriedly, gripping his umbrella handle a little tighter.

Yuto shrugged, “It might happen on its own now. Clearly, Kino’s upset.”

“Which is bad because this could go on for weeks,” Hongseok said, holding his hand out under the radius of his umbrella, letting the water fall onto his palm, studying the droplets. “We need to do something about it. We can’t let it rain like this for that long.”

“It’ll be over in a week,” Hyojong stated.

The small group turned to look at the demon who was looking between the demons and the angels. They were clearly waiting for him to elaborate. He could see the fate of others, so he obviously had more information.

“Kino’s going to scare the poor guy away,” he scoffed, finding the vision he saw of Kino going to meet Sehun to ‘check him out’ and intimidating the absolute shit out of the six-foot-whatever guy very amusing. “Did you guys seriously expect him to stay out of it?”

“He is a half-demon,” Yuto shrugged. “Guess that makes sense.”

“Can you see anything else, Hyojong?” Hui asked.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” he replied coolly, making Wooseok giggle.

“Do you see what I have to deal with?” Jinho mumbled to his old friends.

Hongseok sighed before turning to walk away from the building, “We’ll have to drop by and speak with Kino after Sehun’s...gone.”

“Why after?” Yanan wondered quietly as the group went to follow behind.

“We’re not allowed to alter fate,” Hui explained to the newest angel. “What’s supposed to happen will happen, and that’s that.”

-

The only person that could change their fate was that person, and Kino had changed his mind after that night. Instead of scaring your boyfriend away like Hyojong had seen, he decided to tell him to treat you right. He told him you weren’t like any other person, and you had to be kept safe and happy. He didn’t flash his demon eyes, he didn’t intimidate him, and he didn’t act like you belonged to him. 

However, that didn’t seem to change much for the fate of your relationship with Sehun. He still broke it off that evening after spending the day out together. 

“I don’t know,” was what he replied with when you asked what went wrong, “I guess I’m just not ready for all that commitment.”

Not knowing his words would make things worse, Kino had pushed Sehun into breaking up with you because he realized he’d have to put in more effort than he wanted to currently. So you went home sad and mopey, but not too mopey because it had only been a week that you’d been dating. But Kino still sat beside you on the couch that night and listened to everything you wanted to get off your chest before bringing you to his room when you inevitably fell asleep on the couch while watching The Office.

But you weren’t giving up. You didn’t want the warm, fuzzy feeling you got waking up in Kino’s bed because you knew it was nothing but a friendly gesture. You wanted to get rid of the feelings you had for him, so you kept trying.

Chani was somebody you’d met through a long line of friends. Guanlin had explained the connection -- something about a friend of a friend of a friend, or however many ‘friends’ were involved -- but all that mattered was that it wasn’t one of Guanlin’s weird friends, and it was somebody who might help you get over Kino.

But when you told Kino about this date, he had the same expectations he had with Sehun. So the weather was fine that day, and you went on your date with Chani. And you came home and said it was “okay” and Kino didn’t worry. But then you texted Chani more often until one day you just dropped the term “my boyfriend” on Kino in reference to the boy he still knew nothing about, and the sky was grey and it drizzled for the next three days.

-

“How long this time?” Hongseok sighed as he looked up at the sky.

Jinho shrugged, “Hyojong said he can’t see that far.”

-

It took a month for Chani to decide it wouldn’t work.

“We’re too alike,” he decided.

You would’ve thought having a lot in common would be good, but because neither of you liked cuddling or hugging too much, and you were both more introverted than anything, things started getting awkward before the spark could really grow into much.

But this breakup hurt more than Sehun. You had time to make at least a few memories with Chani, and you started to wonder if your dislike of physical closeness was a problem. And, because Kino was your best friend and you trusted him, you asked him that.

Kino’s eyes went wide when the words left your lips, looking at you like he wanted to yell. But his voice was soft when he said, “Why would you ever think that’s a bad thing? _____, nothing about you is bad.”

“But Chani said--”

“Chani told you it’s a problem?” he growled, his jaw clenching.

In the distance, you heard rumbles of thunder. You chalked it up to him just being a friend and caring about you and wanting to protect you. Kino saw it as somebody making the person he loved more than anybody feel bad about themselves, and he really didn’t like that.

“Not technically...” you shrugged. “Just that he’s the same so we kind of clashed.”

Kino only grumbled to himself.

You slept beside him again that night because even though you didn’t like cuddling anybody else, you loved cuddling Kino, and you wanted the comfort. And yet, he somehow still couldn’t catch on, thinking that you only liked cuddling with him because you’ve known him for a while and trusted him.

-

You met the next boy on a dating app, figuring you had nothing to lose. Kino had seen you on said app and asked in disgust why you were on there in the first place. Why did you need to find somebody? Only dirtbags and assholes used dating app, he insisted.

You just shrugged and said you couldn’t be single forever as Kino grumbled to himself and left the apartment.

His name was Soonyoung, and he seemed nice enough. When you met up with him, he was funny and bright and had that same warm energy you got from Kino. Actually, he reminded you a lot of Kino.

Like the others, Kino didn’t expect this to last. He didn’t worry too much about it, but he also didn’t ask about your relationship that much, either. He put it at the back of his mind, and the two of you acted pretty normal. You were out of the apartment a lot more often, and you were on your phone more frequently, but you still made time for Kino so he hardly even remembered you were dating anybody.

“Hey, where’re you out to?” he asked as he saw you walking for the door looking a little more dolled up than normal. “It’s passed nine.”

“It’s my six month anniversary with Soonyoung,” you replied, looking at him over your shoulder with a wide smile.

Kino’s stomach dropped. It had already been six months? How did he not realize? How could that much time had gone by? Wait, that meant you loved him by now, right? Oh god, he fucked up. He really fucked up.

“O-oh...” was all he managed to get out.

“Don’t bother waiting up for me,” you continued as you opened the door. “I’ll be staying over at his place.”

You giggled as your cheeks turned pink, confirming his suspicions of just why you were staying at Soonyoung’s before you said goodnight and closed the door.

It absolutely down poured that night. And the next day. And the next day. And the next day. And the rest of the week.

-

“Well,” Hui sighed as he let his head drop back where he sat on the couch, “I can see why you get so frustrated.”

“But you really can’t control a half-demon?” Yanan questioned under his breath.

“He’s not a full demon so it’s not like I can force him into doing anything,” Jinho snapped. “He’s not really under my control.”

“Either way, maybe we should step in,” Yuto spoke up. “It’s dangerous for her if this continues. His jealousy will grow, and who knows what he could do to her?”

“Why are you so morbid?” Shinwon asked, eyeing the quiet demon.

“Realistic,” Yuto corrected.

“What if...” Changgu suddenly spoke up, studying the floor before his eyes glanced up to meet the small group that sat around the room, “it’s better for them to be together?”

“That sounds like an idea Yanan would come up with because he doesn’t know better,” Hui stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

“But it would stop Kino from changing the weather like this, and she already knows he’s a demon.”

“But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t end badly for both of them -- especially the human,” Hongseok replied easily, running a hand through his hair. “Hyojong, do you see anything?”

Lazily, the demon let his head roll to the side to look at the angel, “Nothing dangerous.”

All heads turned to look at the demon in question.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jinho questioned.

“It means who cares?” he sighed. “You can’t force Kino out of love with her, so what’s the point? You think he’d hurt her anyway? He hasn’t yet, and it’s been like, two years since they’ve met. What will happen is going to happen no matter what, and that means if they end up together or if he does end up killing her. We can’t change the path the universe sets.”

“But we’re supposed to guide it on that path,” Hui spoke up. “That’s what we’re created for.”

“And can’t you see the universe keeps bringing them back together?” Hyojong asked, raising an eyebrow. “We’re supposed to guide them to each other, not apart.”

The room was thoughtfully silent for a few beats before Jinho broke it with a mumbled, “That’s the deepest thing you’ve ever said.”

-

It took a lot to get the rain to stop. The city was flooding, but Kino couldn’t control his emotions. How was he supposed to stop feeling heartbreak? So The Heavens and The Underworld had to work together to somehow overpower the demon’s emotions enough to keep the weather under control. Both the small group of demons and the small group of angels visited Kino often, trying to get his emotions to calm down, but nothing seemed to work. He kept himself locked up in his room for days, not responding to you no matter what you said to him. 

This last time you knocked on his door, he almost growled for you to go away.  The people in his room looked at him in surprise, not thinking Kino would snap at you like that.

“You know what? I don’t know what your problem is, but don’t take it out on me!” you shouted through the door. “If you wanna rot away in there, then whatever! I don’t care!”

You turned on your heel and left the apartment, making sure to slam the door because you were upset. You were already feeling all messed up because you still hadn’t fully gotten over Kino, and then you and Soonyoung were bickering a lot lately which was getting really stressful. But now Kino was ignoring you and you didn’t even understand why. 

Kino definitely wasn’t himself lately. The last month, he’d been a little off, but only recently did he start ignoring you. You didn’t notice if he had been acting weird toward you since you had been spending more time with Soonyoung, but you definitely noticed the weekend while you were home. You and Soonyoung had argued about something stupid, and you wanted to just spend the weekend with Kino and talk about everything that was bothering you -- well, mostly everything. You knew he’d know how to comfort you and make you feel better. But instead, he made everything worse, and you left the apartment with a mix of angry and sad tears in your eyes.

“Seemed a bit harsh,” Hongseok noted, turning back to Kino once he’d heard the door slam.

“Yeah, well...” Kino mumbled, not moving from where he laid curled up on his side above his covers, “I deserve it.”

“Then why don’t you talk to her?” Yuto wondered.

“Because it’s better this way,” he grumbled, still refusing to move or look at either of them. “She never liked me back and she has her stupid perfect boyfriend anyway. They’re probably super in love and she’s probably not going to renew the lease because she’s always at his place and she’s going to leave me and--”

“Isn’t Yuto supposed to be the morbid one?” Hongseok interrupted.

“Why are you guys even around so much lately?” Kino wondered, finally glancing up at the angel beside his bed. 

“Because you’re a mess,” he chuckled. “Takes both sides to keep up with you, apparently.”

“And because I figured sympathy would work rather than Jinho getting mad,” Yuto added.

Well, at least Yuto somewhat seemed to care.

“You know,” Hongseok sat down at the edge of Kino’s bed, “you could’ve just told her how you feel.”

Kino shot up in bed, giving the angel a look like he was insane, “I’m a demon. I’m not supposed to love a human. Jinho warned me, and I already knew it was bad. I wanted to protect her.”

“Is this any better? Causing flash floods, and fighting with her?”

“Well I can’t do anything to fix it now!”

“Tell her,” Yuto suggested in his usual soft tone.

“She has a boyfriend!”

“Yeah, so you have nothing to lose.”

Hongseok nodded slowly, “He has a point...”

Kino groaned loudly, flopping back down onto his pillow. He covered his face with his arms, letting out something that was a mix between a soft yell and a loud groan.

“No,” he decided, letting his arms drop away from his face.

“No?” Yuto repeated.

“It’s probably better like this, right?” he asked to nobody in particular. “It’s better for her that she doesn’t know.”

Hongseok sighed, “We’re going to be regulating the weather here for months.”

Yuto got up from Kino’s desk chair, his neutral expression looking almost uncaring as he glanced down at Kino, “Then you better get yourself together quickly, because we can’t all follow after you to clean up your mess.”

While Kino had never heard Yuto say anything like that or seen him act anything other than neutral, he knew he was right. He had to pick up the pieces of his broken heart and carry on with his life. It wasn’t like you would care if he was heartbroken anyway.

-

Honestly, Kino didn’t expect to hear the front door open. Even more so, he didn’t expect to hear the sniffles and quiet sobs in the hallway. Had he not heard the crying, he wouldn’t have gotten himself out of his bed and opened the door enough to see you kicking off your shoes by the door and wiping your eyes with the sleeves of your sweatshirt.

“_____?” his voice was soft as he stepped further into the hallway. “Are you okay? What happened, why are you crying?”

“He dumped me!” you sobbed, refusing to lift your head to face Kino. Even though he’d seen you cry before, it didn’t mean the other times after wouldn’t be awkward.

“What, why?” he rushed out of his room and went over to you, placing his hands on your arms as he tried to look at your face. You just stared at your feet and let your hair form a barrier that he couldn’t see through. “Talk to me, _____.”

You sniffled, wiping your nose with your sleeve before letting out a pathetically sad laugh and shaking your head, “Because I’m destined to be alone and unwanted.”

Kino frowned, and the quiet afternoon slowly started to turn grey, “What are you talking about?”

You stepped away from Kino, turning to pace into the living room while you spoke, “Because it’s always something with me, right? Sehun, Chani, Soonyoung -- literally every guy I’ve ever dated had a reason or multiple reasons they didn’t want to stay with me. I’m too short, I don’t like to cuddle all the time and I don’t like hugs, and I’ll drop everything just for a puppy I saw across the street.”

The rain outside started to pick up a little more.

“_____--”

“And don’t even get me started on the earful Soonyoung gave me before I left!” you groaned, dropping your head back before you turned to Kino.

“_____, none of that is even--”

“I don’t clean the shower walls after I’ve had a shower, I leave my socks on the floor instead of putting them in the hamper, he didn’t like that I have a specific way of getting toothpaste out of the tube and that I kept fixing the tube when he’d squeeze it, I left my lipstick and mascara on his counter instead of putting it in ‘my drawer’ when I’d stay over, I--”

“_____!” Kino cut in loudly. When you’d gone silent, he took a step toward you, trying to read you and see if you even wanted him close to you. “None of that means you’re meant to be alone.”

The look on your face broke him, the rain outside hitting the windows in loud patters. Thunder rung out softly, his heart breaking for you and causing his emotions to even overpower those trying to control his power.

“How could somebody love somebody as flawed as that?” you whimpered.

“Easily,” he replied as soon as you got the last syllable out of your mouth. He looked at you intensely, still a couple feet away from you. “I love that you don’t clean the shower wall because I have a certain way I like it done to get all the hair dye off of it. I love that you don’t put your socks away because then I can sort them by color for you, and you get all happy when you see you have matching socks. I love that you get the toothpaste out from the bottom instead of squeezing the tube because it’s way more efficient that way. I love that you leave your makeup in the bathroom because I like that I get to watch you put it on while you softly sing to music on your phone.”

You thought he would stop, but he kept going, making your heart flutter. He walked toward you slowly until he was right in front of you, taking both of your hands in his.

“I love that you’re so tiny because it makes me feel like I can protect you,” he listed off. “I love that you don’t like hugs or cuddles because you always like my hugs and cuddles, and it makes me feel special. I love that you get excited seeing animals when we’re out because the smile on your face is the cutest smile I’ve ever seen and I always want to see that smile on your face.”

“Kino--”

“I’m not done,” he hushed you quietly, the rain still background noise to what was happening in the apartment. “I love how you leave the last bit of milk for me even if you wanted to have cereal. I love that you always offer me the last pack of fruit snacks even though I know they’re your favorite. I love that you never do anything on time because then when I remind you, you look at me with this big grin and tell me I’m the best, and god, the things it does to my heart.”

He moved his fingers to weave between yours, holding your hands to his chest as he looked deeply into your eyes. His gaze was so intense that you wanted to look away, but so hypnotizing that you couldn’t. The only things you were aware of were him, the heat in your face, and the thunder that had gotten louder outside.

“Don’t you get it, _____?” he asked, looking just as upset as you probably did. “I love you. I love every little thing about you. Every single thing you’ve seen as a problem or somebody has told you was a problem, I love it. I have for over a year, _____.”

“B-but,” you stammered out, your brain running at a million miles a minute as you tried to make sense of everything, “y-you’re a demon, and I’m just...some human. I-I thought--”

He shook his head, “I don’t care what I am or what you are. I love you with everything I have, and I should’ve told you sooner. I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same because of what I am, but I can’t let you see yourself so poorly. And even though you don’t feel the same, I’ll still remind you how amazing you are beca--”

His sentence was cut short when something pressed against his lips. Something warm and soft. His eyes slid shut as one of his hands released one of yours to cup your cheek, kissing you back. It was a sweet kiss that lasted as long as it took for the rain to stop and the clouds to disperse in the sky.

When you pulled away, Kino looked confused but in a daze, looking at you curiously with his lips still half-puckered.

“Who said I didn’t love you back?” you asked with a small smile. “I thought you didn’t love me because I’m just a human. That’s why I was trying to date...”

His eyes closed as he let out a deep sigh that made you laugh, “I’m never going to live this down.”

“Sorry,” you giggled, giving his hand that still held yours a squeeze.

“Don’t apologize,” he smiled a dazzling smile as he opened his eyes to look at you. His thumb softly stroked your cheek as his head slightly tilted to one side. “Just tell me that you love me too.”

“I love you,” you told him.

And you swore, the sun had never shone brighter than it did that afternoon.

[yikes-strikes-again]

what if i wrote tma fic 😳

ao3 link title: late nights and gay rights rating: gen word count: 1855 summary:  Jon just can't seem to stay awake. Martin's always there to help out.

~~~

Jon was working late again.

It was far from the first time - in fact, in recent weeks he’d been spending more evenings in the Archive than ever before. Knowing that Prentiss was out there, roaming the streets of London, made the Institute feel like a place of relative safety. Whether Jon admitted to it or not, gathering the strength to leave work each day was becoming… difficult.

The downside of this, of course, was that he was sacrificing much-needed rest by staying after-hours so frequently. The lack of sleep was beginning to weigh on him even more than the stress, which, all things considered, was saying something.

Jon glanced up from the sea of papers on his desk to a clock on the opposite wall. It appeared to be stopped, as it displayed the same time since he’d last checked it that afternoon. He scoffed. His phone had long died, so he couldn’t use it for the time, and there were no windows down here, either. Although, Jon did remember that when he’d been on the ground level hours ago, the sky through the blinds had been black.

He sighed, and his posture sagged in the uncomfortable wooden chair. Jon was exhausted, to put it lightly. But, since that was nothing new, he returned to his work.

He stared uncomprehendingly at the mass of documents piled around him, having momentarily forgotten what he was in the middle of doing. His eye caught the page lying on top of the closest stack. It was statement number… #0130111. Ah, of course - one of the statements that he had failed to record to his laptop. The tape recorder sat expectantly.

This should be a simple task, thought Jon. He straightened and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. All he had to do was put in a new tape, turn on the recorder, and lose himself in the grisly ramblings of some lunatic with a pen.

Jon took the statement in one hand, and pressed the ‘eject’ button on the tape recorder with the other. But as he removed the previous tape, he noticed something odd about its label - namely, that there was none. He paused. Had he forgotten to label it before he last began? Or had he put in a fresh tape just after completing the last recording? Jon quite honestly could not remember.

He set it down gingerly, perplexed, and rummaged around for another blank tape. He’d figure it out later, he decided. Jon was eager to get started. He knew that if he didn’t soon, he’d lose his momentum entirely and be claimed by fatigue.

His eyes tried to refocus on the paper in his hand, but the words blurred together. He blinked, removed his glasses, and wiped the lenses with the corner of his shirt. To his dismay, the action did nothing to make the handwriting any clearer. Jon leaned forward, straining his eyes, knowing he had to make an effort anyway.

He absently pressed a button on the recorder and began to read. “Statement-” He cleared his throat. “Statement of… David Laylow, regarding…” He flipped through several pages, and skimmed over his own notes. “...his time working at an… industrial abattoir near Dalston. Original statement given September the first, 2016 - thirteen,” he corrected himself. “Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the… of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins.”

Jon took a deep breath, hoping that the extra oxygen would rejuvenate him somehow. He felt a yawn in the back of his jaw, but refused to give in to it.

As he read the statement aloud, lips forming the shapes of words, he became distantly aware that he was not losing himself in its contents as he usually did. His voice took on not the color of the story unfolding, but rather, the tone of his own exhaustion. Jon read each word as mechanically as the last, forgetting them as soon as they passed under his gaze, rendering their order meaningless.

He was holding the statement directly under the light, but the glare of the lightbulb on the white paper made his eyes water. He had to squint. Leaning over cast a blessed shadow over half of the page, but darkness presented its own difficulties. Still, Jon found a more comfortable position in having both elbows propped up on the desk, unaware of how he appeared to be almost lying on it.

He held his head valiantly upward, even as his left forearm formed an appealing cushion to rest it on. Jon ignored his own stumbling errors, grasping the current page with a hand that stretched away until the right arm lay flat on the desk.

After repeating the same sentence a third time over, Jon considered that he may have reached his limit. Unfortunately, even he was not immune to the borders of human physical capacity. There was, however, a simple solution that floated to the top of his consciousness - he would take a power nap. It was scientifically proven that short naps could boost alertness in subjects suffering from sleep deprivation, a group to which he no doubt belonged. Feeling proud of his ever-impeccable judgement, Jon let himself wilt where he sat, burying his nose into the crook of his arm and shielding his eyes with the paper he still clutched.

Twenty minutes, maximum, he thought, drifting. Just long enough to rest his eyes. Barely a wink. But when ten, twenty, thirty minutes passed without his heavy lids reopening, it became evident that his foolproof plan was doomed. This would have resulted in a tremendous waste of tape were it not for the fact that Jon had never pressed the record button in the first place.

At some point, the sound of a door opening called to him in the depths of sleep. Not loud enough to wake him, mind you, but loud enough to make him subconsciously aware of what was going on.

There were footsteps, and a fond sigh. If hearing this, through however many levels of lethargy, motivated Jon to take any action, it didn’t matter because his body was far too heavy to move.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, as naturally as if he’d been expecting it, one arm slipped under the crook of his knees, and another pressed against the small of his back. Jon felt the stress of gravity grow and then ebb away as he was lifted, slowly, carefully, and all the world save for this other body fell away. His weight shifted into the middle of him as he was made to lie back, arms curled into himself. A wavelike motion began, accompanied by more footsteps.

Jon felt the warmth and pressure of human touch encircle him. The left half of his body received the brunt of it, an unbroken line of contact snaking from his thigh up to his shoulder. Beyond it, the arm supporting his back enveloped his shoulders, pressing him deeper into a wall of warmth and softness. There was a smell like shampoo, old books, and something distinct yet unnamed. It calmed him almost as much as the feeling of touch.

Lights of varying source and intensity passed behind his eyelids as they walked. Under a particularly bright one, Jon hid from it by burying his face into the shoulder of this person, inert mind unconcerned with shame or boundaries. Slowly, a mysterious tension drained from his body as blood from a wound. At its release, he relaxed more entirely than he had in years.

Jon came into a room dimmer than all the others. That distinct smell was strong in here, impressing upon him even without his knowledge. Here, the person slowed their footsteps, and then, with great care and deliberateness, deposited Jon on a very soft, flat surface. The strongest emotion he could feel in this senseless state surged when, to his alarm, their contact receded, his limbs too feeble to protest it, and his left half was rendered cold and prickling.

This feeling was diminished, though, when a warm and heavy something was drawn over him at once. It was not a suitable replacement for the touch, but, he supposed, falling from a doze into sleep, it would have to do. Jon slept dreamlessly in Martin’s bed, utterly dead to the world.

He woke with a start from a nightmare involving thousands of silver, squirming things. Jon’s heart thundered, but the panic was quickly replaced with a different kind of fear. He realized, staring at the white ceiling, that he couldn’t remember how he came to be where he was.

He jolted into a sitting position and scanned the room for anything familiar. To his utter relief, he recognized everything. The bed he found himself in was one he had slept in before, the bare shelf with nothing save a few articles of clutter, and in the chair on the other side of the room - Martin.

He was asleep, contorted into a position that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. Jon realized with a start that he must have carried him in here. The thought made his face feel warm, most likely with irritation, and he cursed Martin’s inability to leave well enough alone. Sleeping in here had cost him hours of time he could have used to work.

He kicked the blanket away and pulled himself to his feet, hands grasping at the back of his head to readjust his hair tie. Jon needed to get back to work, and… He paused, his hand reaching for the doorknob. Martin should probably get up, too. It might be morning, but if it wasn’t, he should at least take the bed.

Jon stepped over to the chair, minding the fire extinguisher guarding its front legs. He placed a firm hand on Martin’s shoulder and prepared to shake him awake. But before he could do so, the electrifying feeling under his hand brought back a memory he didn’t know he had.

A hard plane cutting into his abdomen. Cramped and stiff. The door. Touch, a light head. Warmth, breathing, electricity, a sharp scent. Soft lights and rocking motion. Cold, a weight, and then nothing.

It was all quite vague. Still, the tingling in his hand reminded him of the same sensation that had, then, been all over. It came back, a flash of feeling, for only a second.

His body remembered how it felt to be held. Jon wished it would forget.

He looked at Martin through a film of grogginess, through the vestiges of memory. He looked at the arms which had, apparently, been strong enough to carry him all the way here from his office. He looked at his sleeping face, as vulnerable as his had probably been when Martin found him. His skin began to prickle with sweat.

Jon realized that he had been very still for the past few seconds. He blinked, gave Martin’s arm a quick shake, and pulled his hand away, struck by a shyness that kept him from touching him any more. The feeling remained.

When Martin’s eyes fluttered open, Jon was already halfway out the door.

the end

[mageicalwishes]

Crying In My Dress - Chapter 7

Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter (on Tumblr): here 

Summary: The Leaver’s Ball marks the end of the school year. The end of their time at Watford. Baz has a confession to make before it’s too late. But, will he ever pluck up the courage to tell Simon how he feels?

Inspired by the song “Prom Dress” by Mxmtoon.

Chapter: 7/7

Words: 4,524

Simon

I break our lips apart, leaning back on my knees. I glance down, revelling in the sight of him sprawled out under me. He looks wrecked - His long hair fanned out over the pillow, gazing up at me hazily. His usually colourless lips have a faint, rosy tinge to them, flushed with the force of our kissing (I suspect mine are in a similar state). It’s like, somehow, I’ve kissed life into him -  My lips waking his body up. It’s exhilarating. Looking at him like this, it’s like I’m really seeing him for the first time. No more impenetrable walls stand between us, blocking my view - I can finally just see him. And, I can see all of him - Not just the carefully constructed version of himself he usually lets me see. I love it. I love him like this. He's exactly where I want him. He looks … Smaller, somehow. Vulnerable. Open. Not a monster. Not a villain. Just … A boy. Oh shit - A boy. Well, I guess this means I’m Gay, then? Or? Well, I thought I liked Agatha. But that never felt like this - Although, it did feel like something. I mean, I asked her out. I wouldn’t do that if I was Gay … Would I? Fuck, maybe I’m Bi then. I don’t know. I mean, I guess I’m at least something not Straight. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I mean, I definitely like this. And, I guess that's all I really need to know right now. I’ll figure the rest out later.

“You okay there, Snow? You look like you're thinking. I don’t want you to strain yourself,” Baz teases, smirking up at me. 

"Hilarious," I deadpan, leaning my head down, and crashing my lips against his once more - Drawing a delightful, surprised hum from Baz.

Reluctantly, I pull away from him again. As if entranced- Baz pushes himself upwards, trailing after my lips with his, in a desperate attempt to recapture them. It’s adorable, and I’m powerless to stop the small giggle that escapes me. He steels himself self-consciously, flashing me an unimpressed scowl, as his cheeks flush a ferocious shade of red. I grin, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck.

“Come on, Baz,” I mumble, moving to look at him once again. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I just thought it was cute.”

“Gross, Snow,” he says, his tone teasing. “If I knew you were such a sap, I never would have let you kiss me.”

“Yeah, right. You so would’ve ... And, if anyone is a sap, it’s definitely you,” I challenge, poking a finger to the centre of his chest.

He raises an eyebrow at me, a warning look spread across his face.

“Alright, alright," I relent. "No more teasing. I was just going to say that, as much as I’m enjoying this, we really should get a move on. The party started nearly an hour ago.”

“Oh right. Of course. I’d sort of … Forgotten about that. Sorry,” he murmurs. 

“It’s okay. It wasn’t exactly my main focus, either. It’s just … You know. It’s probably our last chance to see everyone. And, I wanna give Watford a proper goodbye - This place was pretty much all I had for the longest time. I always hated Summer, because it meant I couldn’t be here. It - It means a lot to me, you know? This is the first, and only, place I could ever really call home - This stuffy old room, with my insufferable roommate,” I say, scrunching a hand into his hair and tugging on it lightly. “I don’t want to miss out on anything I have left. I know that Watford isn’t exactly ... the same for you - So, if you don’t feel up to it, you can stay. No worries. But, I think I’d still like to go.”

He huffs out a laugh, then. ���Missing out on a chance to see the Chosen One drunk - I don't think so," he says, shuffling out of bed, and reaching a hand down to me in offering. "Come on, Snow. Let's go and give you the proper send-off you deserve."

————————————————————————————

Baz

Snow has gone unusually quiet, walking in silence besides me. He's clasping my hand tightly, swinging our arms together between us. He's trying to hide it, but I can tell something is wrong. He's scuffing his shoes along the pavement with every step he takes, as if he’s trying to delay our arrival as much as possible, without stopping outright. 

“What’s wrong, Snow?" I ask. "You’re acting even more peculiar than usual. I thought that you wanted to go to the party?” 

"I do want to," he whines, pouting slightly. "It's nothing. Don't worry."

“No. It’s something. Spill,” I insist.

“I just - I’m just not sure.”

“About what?” I ask. 

“Us.” 

My heart skips a beat and my stomach lurches uncomfortably - His confession knocking the wind right out of me. 

I stop dead in my tracks. Of course. I should’ve known that all of this was too good to be true. “Oh," I mumble, dejected. "Well, I can just go back to Mummers, then.”

“What? Why?" He asks, furrowing his brow, and turning to face me. I don't answer, a thick knot blocking my throat. His eyes widen then, realisation clearly hitting him. "Oh god! No. No. No. Baz. You’ve got the wrong idea. I didn’t mean that,” he says, grabbing hold of my arms, his eyes wild with panic. “I didn’t mean that. I - I just meant that at the party, I’m not sure - Well, I’m not sure I want to like kiss and stuff. Because, you know, lots of people kiss at parties, but … I’m not sure I want to. Well, no. I mean, I want to kiss you. I just maybe don’t want to do it in front of everybody. I’m not sure I’m ready for that … Not yet, anyway. I- I mean, Is that okay?” 

I find myself smiling, all of my stress melting away in an instant. That stupid, charming, bumbling moron. “Snow. I’ve managed to restrain myself perfectly well for the last eight years. I’m certain I can handle a few hours more,” I deadpan. “I understand. So, don’t worry about it. We won’t do anything you don’t want. So, you've got it - No kissing. Sounds easy enough to me,” I say, softening my voice slightly. That’s a definite lie - Refraining from kissing Snow is no easy feat. It was challenging enough as it was, but now that I’m allowed to ... Now that I know he wants me to - Trying to control that impulse has taken on a whole new level of difficulty. But I'm sure I'll manage - I've always prided myself on my level of self control. I understand, of course. I imagine all of this has been a bit of a shock to the system for him. I mean, he didn’t even realise how he felt himself until a couple of hours ago, and we certainly haven’t held ourselves back. It took me years to come out after I had realised I was Gay - So, I was hardly expecting Snow to out himself to the entire year within hours of realising he was ... Well, whatever he is. 

“Okay,” he breathes, clearly relieved. “Thanks, Baz.”

"You don't need to thank me, Snow. It's no trouble,” I explain. 

He smiles up at me then, dropping his arms back down and taking hold of my hands again. Rolling forwards onto his tip-toes, he pushes himself upwards, placing a chaste peck to my lips. "Softy," he teases, turning and darting off down the street. The cheeky bastard.

I chase after him, catching up with him easily (Vampirism does have a few perks, after all). I push him up against the nearest lamppost, holding him by the collar of his T-shirt. “Take it back,” I threaten. 

“Or what?” he teases, a devilish grin spread across his face. I raise an eyebrow, unsure of where he intends for this to go. “Okay. Okay,” he concedes. “Fine. I take it back.”

I smirk, pleased with myself. “Come along then, Snow,” I say, grabbing his hand and pulling him forwards. “That’s quite enough messing about, you absolute nightmare. I thought you said you didn’t want to be late.” 

————————————————————————————

Everything about this is incredibly overwhelming. The room is dark, lit only by a set of gaudy lights, that are flashing in my eyes aggressively. Droves of people surround me, dancing and singing loudly. And, obnoxiously loud music is booming out of the speakers- The bassline hammering within my chest like a second heartbeat. And then, there’s Simon. We’d spent the majority of the night moving person to person, chatting and joking around with them all (apparently Snow is friends with everyone). He’d even gone so far as to drag me into playing a game of 'Truth or Dare' with him, Trixie, Keris, and some guy I vaguely recognised from Elocution. But now, he’s spinning around me, dancing like a mad man, his curls wild, and beaming with joy. He’s definitely a little tipsy - Having insisted that we both down three Double Rum and Cokes (Which tasted absolutely appalling). He’s moving his hands all over me, seemingly incapable of letting me go for even a second. Charmingly, he can’t quite seem to decide where he wants to place them - Pulling me close by my waist one moment, and twirling me around the room, his hands clinging onto my shoulders, the next. It’s chaotic, but so exhilarating. He’s so alive, he’s overfilling with it - Energy pouring out of him in waves. And, it’s as though it’s seeping into me, lighting me up from within, so that I can feel it too. Alive. So, so alive. Finally. 

I will admit, I’m a bit out of the depth. I’ve been to parties before, of course, but never one like this. There is no Champagne or calming piano here, just cheap beer and toneless house music. Although mercifully, Snow (who appears to be in his element), is leading me through it. He’s laced our hands together now (so that we move as one), and is throwing us around the dance-floor in wild, uncoordinated circles.

“Baz,” he shouts, his voice barely audible over all the racket.

“Yeah”

“Come with me, yeah?” he says, tugging on my hand and turning away from me. 

Slightly dazed, I follow behind him, letting him drag me out of the room and up the stairs. “Snow, where on earth are you taking me?”

“Shhh. Wanna take you somewhere,” he mumbles, distracted, opening a random door and peering in. Apparently unsatisfied, he turns us away, leading me further down the corridor. He pulls another door open, whispering out a quiet “Perfect”, as he drags us inside. 

 He’s taken us into small, dimly lit storage cupboard - And, to be perfectly frank, I’m struggling to understand exactly what about it is 'Perfect'. But, before I have the opportunity to ask, he's shoving me back against the wall roughly. For a brief moment, I think he’s going to try to fight me, but then his hands are knotting themselves into my hair, and his lips are smashing against mine. He’s kissing me hungrily, putting all his force behind it. It’s all teeth and tongue, but I find it alarmingly hot (Because I’m disturbed, ask anyone). It may be more than a little clumsy, his chin constantly bumping against mine, but I don’t care. Because, Simon Snow is kissing me like his life depends on it - Relentless and desperate. And, it’s intoxicating. He pulls back slightly, gasping in a breath, and dropping his hands down to my waist. I chuckle quietly at the absurdity of it all - I never would've guessed that this is how my day would turn out when I woke up this morning (Not that I'm complaining, obviously. This is far better than anything I had envisioned). 

“Snogging in a cupboard, Snow. Really?” I taunt. “And they say romance is dead.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes at me. “God. Just shut it, you insufferable prat. You didn’t seem to care about that a minute ago - You seemed enthusiastic enough, to me.”

“Hmmm,” I hum, rubbing a thumb against his bottom lip absentmindedly. “I thought you said there would be no kissing”

He flushes an adorable shade of pink. “Oh yeah. Sorry,” he mumbles, shifting his body awkwardly.

“Don’t apologise," I protest. "As you said - I was enthusiastic enough. I was just wondering.”

“Well, nobody can see us here … So, it’s different," he murmurs. "We can kiss when nobody can see. I just … Couldn’t wait any longer.”

My heart floods with warmth, an in-suppressible grin spreading across my face. “Christ, Snow,” I laugh. “You really are impossible. I managed to restrain myself for years, and you couldn’t even manage a few hours.”

“It’s not my fault,” he whines.

I shake my head, helplessly charmed. "You ... Are a complete dolt," I mumble, leaning forwards so that are lips are barely millimetres apart. He smiles against me, the corners of his eyes crinkling up sweetly. And, I close the gap between us - Pressing our lips together once more. We move languidly - Our action unhurried. The kiss is softer than before, but no less impactful - My mind still fogging over helplessly, his lips entirely consuming my thoughts, as my body responds to his touch eagerly. I lift my hands up, caressing his cheekbones slowly - Entirely enraptured by him.   

We stay in the privacy of the cupboard, completely lost in one another, for at least another fifteen minutes - Before Snow pulls himself away from me again (Much to my dissatisfaction). 

“Did you maybe want to get out of here?" He asks, running a hand through my hair. "We’ve been here for like three hours now, I think it’s time to go home, yeah?"

“Sure, Snow. I'm happy to go whenever. Are you sure you're ready to leave, though? Everyone else will probably be hanging around for at least another half-hour.”

“Yep … I’m bored of sharing you with everybody else,” he says, nonchalantly - As if he hasn’t just set my heart off pounding again. 

“Okay,” I whisper, pressing the palms of our interlocked hands together. “Let’s go home.”

————————————————————————————

Simon

I’m no longer tipsy (the light buzz off alcohol having worn off about an hour ago), but somehow, I still feel slightly drunk. Well, not drunk, exactly (I mean I don’t feel dizzy, or out of control, or anything like that) - I guess I just feel a bit … High. Not on drugs, obviously. Just, high on … Well, life. High on the perfect night. High on the party atmosphere. High on Baz. I feel like I’m floating - My mind buzzing with elation. Everything just feels so ... Surreal. We’re walking down the high street, hand-in-hand. I’m belting out the lyrics to some random Taylor Swift song, and Baz is laughing at me (really, properly laughing) - The sound filling my ears, and flooding my body with Serotonin. It's all so new - It's no wonder I can hardly believe that it's real. But it is - I know that it is (There is no way my mind could ever come up with something so wonderful).  

I turn to face him. He’s grinning over at me, soft creases visible besides his mouth where his smile has pushed his cheeks upwards. The street lights are shining down on him perfectly, illuminating all the high-points of his face. He looks perfect like this - All happy and carefree. His smile has always been prettier than his scowl (Although, I hardly ever got to see it before today). Suddenly overcome, I stop - My heart urging me to get closer to him, somehow. Without thinking, I grab ahold of his shoulders, hoisting myself up onto his back in a quick, clumsy motion. Caught off guard, he stumbles slightly, his hands gripping onto my thighs tightly in an attempt to support me. 

“Crowley, Snow! He yelps. “You could’ve given me some warning before just launching yourself onto me." 

I can tell he’s not really mad - The slight, upwards curl of his lips betraying his stern tone. “Oh hush, you,” I tease. “You have your vampire super-strength thingy. Don’t try and pretend like you can’t carry me easily.”

He goes quiet then, shifting his grip on my leg slightly. Shit - I didn’t mean to bring that up.

“Hey, Baz, " I coo, trying to comfort him. "I know you're - You know, what you are. You don’t have to lie about it anymore. I know ... And, I don’t care. Okay?” . 

“You should care,” he says, his voice small.

I shrug, resting my chin against his shoulder. “Maybe. But I don’t. So don’t … Freak out. It’s fine. Honest. I like you just as you are.”

He huffs out a shaky breath. “I’d never … Never a person,” he mumbles. He doesn't elaborate any further, but I know what he means. I press a gentle kiss to the column of his throat, hoping to reassure him. 

“I know. I know you’d never do that ... You’re good, Baz. I know it,” I say earnestly. "I know you wouldn't - I've never thought that you would."

————————————————————————————

We walked in silence after that. I was beginning to panic, actually - Convinced that I'd managed to ruin everything, accidentally pushing Baz into retreating behind his walls once again. But, just as the sun began to rise, I felt it - His fingers slowly running along my thigh, smoothing along the fabric of my jeans soothingly. It was hesitant, his touch barely-there, but it meant everything to me - Because, I knew what it meant. He was still there with me - Standing open, his walls little more than rubble at his feet. We were still alright. And, he was still mine.  

————————————————————————————

Baz

Snow walks out of the bathroom, his hands balled into fists at his sides as if he was preparing for a fight. I drop my book onto my beside cabinet, flashing him a nervous smile. He paces across the room, stopping besides my bed, and standing over me awkwardly. 

“Can I?" He asks, hovering his hand above the corner of my duvet. "I don’t have to sleep in it with you ... Not if you don’t want me to. I just want to - You know, for a bit,” 

I nod my head, granting him permission. “You can. If you want. I mean - You can sleep here too, if you want,” I explain, my voice barely a whisper.

He grins, clambering into my bed - Swinging a leg over my body, and accidentally kneeing the side of my stomach painfully. “Snow, you absolute clutz,” I complain. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to lay on the right side,” he huffs.

I chuckle lightly, leaning over to pick up my wand, as he settles besides me in the bed. Shoving the bedside cabinet over slightly, I cast a quick “Room for Two” spell. A moment later, the bed shakes, before doubling in size with a sudden jolt. I’ve lived with Snow long enough to know that he prefers sleeping in a ridiculous, outstretched starfish position - So, if he intends to stay here all night, the spell is definitely necessary. I refuse to be woken up by getting shoved out of my own bed. 

“Wicked,” he breathes. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Hmmm. We’ll add that to the long, long list of things you don’t know then, Snow,” I tease, stretching over to lay my wand back down. 

He punches my arm jokingly in retaliation - Grumbling out a quiet "You’re such a prick."

“I know,” I say, flashing him a wicked grin, as I settle back down into bed. We’re facing each other now, barely six inches apart. Our eyes meet, and I’m suddenly nervous, my face filling with heat. Smiling softly, he reaches out, wrapping an arm around my waist. 

“You okay?” He whispers. 

I nod, not trusting my voice. 

“Good,” he says, shifting closer to me - Bumping our foreheads together lightly. “Me too.”

 We lay in silence for a while. And as always, I find myself focusing on him. His breathing is slow and steady, air softly puffing against my face with his every exhalation. But, his pulse is rapid, his heart hammering erratically within his chest.

“Did you get the send-off you wanted then, Snow?” I ask, keeping my voice hushed, careful not to startle him.

“Hmmm,” he hums, his eyes fluttering open. “It was perfect”

“Good” I say, sweeping my fingers along his side gently.

He shifts himself then, swinging a leg over mine, and pulling our bodies closer together - Enveloping me in his heat. He snuggles his face against my neck, his bronze curls tickling my chin slightly. 

“Baz?’ He mumbles. “Are we … I mean are we like together now? 

My body tenses, suddenly apprehensive. “Well, it depends. Is that something that you would want?” I ask, hesitantly. He shrugs, squeezing his eyes closed. Unsure, I continue. “If it helps … That’s definitely something that I would want. I’ve wanted that for a long time, actually. So, it’s really up to you, Snow. I know my answer.” I pause, taking in a deep breath, and gazing down at him. “There’s no pressure, though. I mean … You don’t have to decide what you want right away. If you need more time, I’d understand.”

He opens his eyes then, a shy smile flickering across his face. Leaning forwards slightly, he pulls me into a deep kiss, his free hand smoothing across my chest as our lips move together. After a moment, we break apart - My lips still flooded with warmth from the contact. “I think I want that too,” he breathes, squeezing my waist gently. “I mean ... This is definitely better than fighting.” 

My heart swells, an all too unfamiliar wave of joy washing over me. Simon really wants this. He really wants me. Alesteir Crowley, I can hardly believe that this is real life. The way we were - There wasn’t a day where I believed that we’d both live through it. And yet, here we are - Talking about a future. Talking about a future together, no less. Unbelievable. 

“But … What about tomorrow?”

“What about it?” I ask, confused. 

‘Well, we’re leaving. I mean … Will we still see each other?”

“Well I should bloody well hope so, Snow,” I scoff. “It was my understanding, that being together usually involves at least some level of physical interaction."

“Oh right, yeah. Obviously. But - I mean … Aren’t you going to London?”

“Well, yeah. But, I’m not leaving until September - We have the whole Summer before then." I explain. "Do you know where you’ll be this Summer? I know they ... Move you around quite a lot.”

He scrunches his face up awkwardly, clearly embarrassed. “No," he mumbles. "But, The Mage wants me to stay with him. So ... I may just be here. It was nice of him to offer - I mean, he even said that I could have a room in his private apartments. But … I’m not really sure I want to." 

I brush a rogue curl off of his face, smoothing a hand through his hair. “So, what is it that you do want, Snow?”

“Well ... Penny said that I could spend Summer at her house. I think - I think that I’d like that.”

“Then go for it. The Mage isn’t in control of your life, Simon. You are. Go and stay with Bunce, I’m sure she’d be overjoyed to have you,” I reassure. He flashes me a soft smile, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. “And, about us,” I continue. “You could always just catch a train down to Hampshire - Or, I could come to you, obviously. I could pay for all your tickets and everything, if need be - It’s really no hassle. I'd love for you to visit. And ... Thinking beyond Summer, there are always trains going into London. So, if you wanted us to be together, I see no real reason why it should matter that we’d no longer be living here. We could still make it work." I cringe slightly - Aware of how desperate I must sound. But, in my defence, I've pined after Simon Snow for eight years now - I couldn't bear losing him to something as surmountable as physical distance now. Not after tonight. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Then … Yes”

“Yes, what?” I ask, hope bubbling up within my chest.

“Yes to being together, you numpty,” he says, beaming up at me brightly. I mirror him, a wide grin cracking across my face. I chuckle, bumping our noses together, before pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“So that’s it then? We’re like proper boyfriends now,” he says, disbelieving. 

“Boyfriends,” I echo, the reverence clear in my voice. I like the sound of that - Simon Snow …  My boyfriend. Christ - How outstanding. 

He giggles, his nose scrunching up adorably. “You’re such a  sap,” he goads, his voice light with laughter. I quirk my brow, unimpressed. “I actually can’t believe you. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, who would’ve thought?” He continues, lacing his hands together behind my neck. Mesmerised, I reach up, gripping his forearms. "I love it. I love it so, so much” he mumbles, before crashing our lips together into another bruising kiss. 

Simon

I flip us over suddenly, gripping his wrists and pressing him down into the mattress beneath me. 

"What on earth are you doing, you absolute barbarian?" He giggles, shaking his head. 

I lean down, peppering light kisses across his face and neck, punctuating every press of my lips to his skin with a mumbled "Mine." The word feels good in my mouth. Mine. Baz is all mine, and I've got him exactly where I want him. Brilliant. 

He starts fidgeting beneath me, trying to shake my grip from his wrists. "Stop it, you moron. It tickles,” he laughs. 

I lean back, basking in the sight of him. His usually pale grey cheeks have flushed a delightful shade of pink, and he's beaming up at me, his eyes alive and sparkling. My heart squeezes within my chest - A happy warmth flooding my chest and spreading throughout my body. 

"Possessive much, Snow?" He teases, an amused smirk adorning his face. 

I raise my eyebrows, trying to copy his usual expression - Although I can’t seem to lift only one of them, so it doesn’t really work. “Don’t try and pretend like you don’t like it. You’re blushing,” I taunt, running a thumb across his right cheek. 

He squints up at me, casting me a murderous glare. But, he smiles then, the soft quirk of his lips betraying the ferocity of his look. It’s painfully endearing - Seeing him trying to maintain his hard exterior so desperately, even when I already know that, deep down, he’s just as soft as anybody in love. 

“Just shut up and kiss me, you disaster,” he sighs, lifting himself up and claiming my lips once more. 

[arianakristine]

@skagengiirl Another piece of your multi-prompt :)

Send me character(s) and a letter and I’ll write you a minific!

K-  On the edge of consciousness.

Title: 4am Summary: Emma uses the second of quiet to think about the changes and consequences. Note: RH verse. Post Relatives. Quite frankly, this involves an idea that I’ve had from the beginning, and walked back and forth on a few times. I’ve finally committed to it, and now I think the plot can move forward again :D This also vaguely addresses @farmgirlusa‘s prompt about Maggie (why she doesn’t know quite yet). 

               Emma woke to steady kicks against her bladder, a groan torn from her throat as she blinked awake.

               Graham was snoring softly beside her, dark curls messy against his forehead and sleep tugging the stress from his face nicely. Despite the urgency, she moved her hand across the stubble of his jaw slowly, lips curving as she took in his peaceful expression. He stirred gently, but didn’t wake.

               With everything that was crashing down on them in Storybrooke, it was nice to find him so unguarded and content. He tended to always have an edge to him, the protectiveness bleeding over into body language through tension. She leaned up and placed a soft kiss against the faint freckles on his cheek before their daughter demanded her attention again with another hit to her internal organs.

               She turned to catch the green glow-in-the-dark light of the old clock on the nightstand. The large hand only just crept past the 12, little stuck on 4. She huffed in displeasure, and glared down at her middle. “You will not make me a morning person,” she mumbled at the bump and then rocked to get to sitting.

               She got up with some difficulty, frowning at the idea of getting bigger and nearing another week of pregnancy in this place. She missed home, missed the advice from her group of friends, even missed the blunt Dr. Swanson. She really only had Mary Margaret to talk to here, at least until Maggie showed, and the only medical person available was Whale. Not ideal.

               She used the bathroom quickly, then stepped out toward the pull-out bed by the window. Her son was breathing heavily, arm stretched above his head and lips parted, shadows obscuring his features just enough. She placed a hand over her stomach and sighed softly. She forgot sometimes how much he could look like Neal, her heart aching at the thought.

               As conflicted as her feelings were, she had loved Neal at one point. It wasn’t like how she loved now, but it was something so … consuming for her sixteen year old self, the one that had never had anyone. It was the reason she’d lived two years in Tallahassee in that first life, the reason Maggie had had to help her so much in this one. She had cared, and she still remembered that feeling. She even cared now, in a different way. Of course she did; he had helped give her her son.

               And now he was dead.

               And she had been the one to deal the final blow.

               “Help me, Emma. Use your magic.”

               Her stomach churned, and she placed a hand on the wood frame of the window to let a few sparks fly across the fading wallpaper. Her heart wrenched, and the baby twisted inside her, affected by her distress.

               She didn’t know how to deal with this. If it had been like she told Maggie, an accident she’d only witnessed … maybe then it would be easier. Instead, she had to live knowing that she had helped to kill her son’s father. Neal had made sure that she would never be able to move from that.

               It ripped through her with anger as much as pain. She had had that premonition, that gut feeling, when he had left the hospital. She knew that she would never see him the same again. The reality had been far worse than she had anticipated.

               She swallowed thickly and rested her head on the paneling, looking down solemnly at Henry. Henry was hurting so much, too. In a different way, but also in an angry way. And like her, he wasn’t going to have the time to grieve this properly, at least not yet. Not with Zelena still out there.

               Was Neal only the first loss in this battle? Even once Zelena was gone, they still had to contend with Regina. She also had no doubts that there were others lurking about this fairytale, more who would want to seize power or whatever they thought they were owed.

               Who was to say what could be lost before they reached Manhattan again?

               She felt his presence before he slipped an arm around her, face burying into her neck. “This is early for you,” he murmured sleepily into her skin.

               She leaned back into him, and covered his arms with a shiver. Despite her feelings, she relaxed into his embrace. “Don’t get used to it.”

               She felt his smile, and he dropped a kiss to her shoulder. “I know you better than that. What’s got you up, then?”

               She felt the depth in his words through their careful placement. She shook her head. “It’s your kid’s fault. Had to pee.”

               “So why aren’t you back in bed?” he pressed.

               She sighed heavily. She was silent a moment, and he let her be. She breathed him in deeply, trying to comfort herself before replying. “I don’t know. I think it’s just all … settling.”

               He hummed a response and took her hand in his. He brushed a thumb over her ring and held her closer. “No shame in that.”

               She felt a lump in her throat and nodded with a jerk. A single tear fell down her face, and she blew out a sharp breath. “I don’t know that I’ll ever come to terms with it. He made me separate them, and because of that he died. I took away Henry’s chance to know him and—I could have found another way.”

               “Emma,” he said sharply. She looked away but could feel the heat of his gaze. “You did not kill him. You did what was needed. If anyone’s to blame—“

               “I know,” she barked out, then leveled her tone when she saw Henry shift. “But it doesn’t help knowing.”

               Graham slumped into her, letting her realize how much tension he’d been in. Shadows swept across his face, and a sharp realization hit her. He knew. He absolutely knew what she was feeling. Years of being forced to do horrible things against your will – he knew.

               She brought her hands up to his face, softly tracing across his skin in a way she hoped was soothing. She grit her teeth and swallowed back another sob. How much more did this feeling permeate in him? She shuddered and pressed her forehead into his shoulder. “How do I get past it?” she asked hoarsely.

               Gentler, he brushed back her hair. She looked up at him. His face was grim, but his eyes were soft. “By keeping Henry safe. And the twins.”

               She studied the grey tracks in the blue of his eyes, carefully piecing through them. She recognized the rest of his answer: he wasn’t past it. It wouldn’t disappear. She knew already that he had his days, his nightmares, and now wondered how often she’d have hers.

               She hoped she could make peace with that.

               She leaned on tiptoes to rest her forehead on his, and then pressed. “Zelena … I don’t even know that she scares me. She’s just another in a long line of threats that I’ve—we’ve faced. As much as we’ve fought, they keep coming.”

               He pulled her closer, low breath expelled over her skin. “It seems to always be that way, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “A never-ending line of villains. But at the end of the day, it always come back to two people.”

               She shut her eyes and nodded. “Regina. And Gold.”

               ‘Yes,” he said wearily.

               She was quiet a moment. She placed her hands on either side of her belly, cradling their baby between her palms. “We need an escape plan,” she murmured. She raised her eyes to his, and then grabbed his hand to rest over her stomach. Their daughter shifted, rolling between their shared touch. “I don’t want to involve her in all this. Hell, I don’t want Henry involved, but that’s moot at this point.”

               He slowly rubbed her arm up and down. “Maybe Maggie’s the rabbit hole,” he considered.

               She let out a low breath. “Our way out?”

               “Our way out quickly,” Graham clarified. “We can use her as an excuse to get home. No one here is comfortable with her hanging around, anyway.”

               She didn’t like the idea of using Maggie like that, but she had to admit … it was clean. Even those extra villains lurking … surely they’d want to see the outsider leave? “It’s a good plan,” she admitted. “Unless she gets too interested in what’s going on here. You know her. You know she’s too good at reading people, too good with unraveling secrets.”

               “But she’s also rational. She’s not going to jump to ‘magic and fairytales must be real,’” he said, a smile tweaking his lips.

               “What if we just told her?”

               Emma and Graham snapped to face the bed, finding Henry squinting blearily up at them. Emma bit her lip. “Kid … we can’t.”

               “Why not?” he said stubbornly, wiping his face of sleep as he sat up. “She’s family.”

               “Oh, kid,” she sighed, and dropped to sit on the bed. She brushed back his hair and touched his forehead with hers briefly before pulling back. “I know. I want her to know, too. Sometimes really badly. But it’s safer if she doesn’t know.”

               “Is it?” he asked.

               She and Graham shared a look, and she hesitated a moment. “For now, yes.”

               Henry rolled back to his pillow, expression dark and thoughtful.

               Graham reached out and grabbed his shoulder to get his attention, and Henry looked up with glassy eyes. “If it’s ever a problem for her not knowing, we’ll tell her, Henry. But for now, Zelena and … and Regina. They are being subtle because she doesn’t know.”

               He had a stubborn set to his jaw, but nodded anyway. “But if that changes?”

               “If we can keep her safe by telling her, Henry, we will,” Emma agreed firmly.

               He sighed, looking pale in the dark of pre-dawn. The shadows had shifted, and she no longer saw Neal in him: she just saw her kid. He rubbed his eyes again, and turned to face the clock. “It’s early,” he commented.

               Graham chuckled and picked his weight off the window frame. “We can let you get back to sleep.”

               He peered curiously at her. “Why are you awake?” he asked.

               She shrugged and placed a hand on her stomach. “Guess your sister wanted me up for this talk,” she said.

               Three knocks sounded in quick succession on the door, firm and loud. Graham frowned and was the first to react, stepping towards the entrance in long strides. Emma turned to face the door, and swung an arm around Henry protectively.

               “Oh, hey,” Graham said once the door swung open. He relaxed visibly, and so did she. “Morning,”

               Maggie strode in and gave her a quick nod. She was in the same clothes from yesterday evening, though they didn’t have that rumpled look of being slept in. Her eyes were dark, lashes swept with a quick stroke of mascara to make her look more awake. Her dark hair was pulled back into a usual bun, but loose curls fell from the typical tight knot.

               “Jesus, Mags, did you even sleep?” Emma remarked, the look of her making her even more tired.

               She raised a brow and didn’t respond. “Good, you’re awake. You need to come downstairs.”

               Emma frowned and rose. “What, Maggie, it’s barely 4:30 in the—“

               “Just come,” Maggie said, and reached to the chair to toss her a coat. She looked at Henry, and finally slowed. “Or at least choose who’s coming with me and who’s staying with the kid.”

               Graham was already pulling on his own coat. “Please, I’m the only morning person in this family,” he quipped, and then silently checked with her. She dropped her head in a nod and she leaned against Henry again. He turned to Maggie. “What’s wrong?”

               “I found the midwife.”

               Her blood ran cold. She was off searching on her own all night? Maybe it was better if Maggie knew about the situation, if she was going off on her own against all these damn magical beings. “Were you seriously—“

               “She’s dead,” she said without preamble, and then her shoulders slumped when she caught Henry’s stare. She shook her head. “Just come downstairs. I found her outside, in the woods just a few yards from the B&B. I found her … encased in a block of ice,” Maggie said, disbelief still touching her tone.

               When she swung her eyes up to Graham, he was already looking at her. “Ice?” she asked.

               Maggie nodded. “Which means we either had the strangest cold snap in history, in a tiny isolated spot the size of one human being, or we have a really creative killer on our hands.”

               Or a magical one.

               Emma shivered. Just when she thought that finding Zelena would be the catalyst to go home, something new comes before she can even think about using her friend as an escape.

               Someone was willing to kill Zelena in a destructively magical way, one that would garner questions from the outsider. Which meant that someone didn’t care.

               Which also meant that Maggie was in more danger than they all first suspected.

[tinysidestrashcaptain]

It’s Quiet Uptown

A/N: Another Hamilton AU semi-songfic? Yes. Please don’t ask me why. It’s going to hurt at first, but I promise it will get better by the end.

Pairings: Prinxiety

TW: Mentions of past infidelity, grief, death of a child, and swearing

Roman stood in the doorway of their new house, watching his husband. He’d been relegated to silently watching from the shadows since his affair had come to light, and he’d thought that was awful but this? This was so much worse. He’d never felt grief on this scale before, never known pain like this in his life, and knowing that Virgil was feeling it too, on top of the pain of his infidelity, was salt in the wound. For as long as he lived, he’d never forget the sound Virgil had made as their oldest son, Phillip, had breathed his final breath. That wail of despair, something soul deep, would haunt his nightmares for years to come.

Virgil didn’t move from his spot on the bench in their garden, his brown eyes staring blankly ahead. Phillip’s baby blanket was clutched in his hands, and the only indication he’d noticed Roman’s approach at all was the slight tensing of his shoulders and the way his body flinched away. Roman kept his distance, knowing he wasn’t welcome right now, but he stood at his husband’s side. “I know I don’t deserve you, Virgil. I never have...but hear me out, please?”

Virgil didn’t answer, just sat there, eyes closed as tears streamed down his face. He gave the smallest nod, and Roman felt a wave of relief so acute he almost drowned in it. “Thank you...god, thank you, Virgil. If I could spare his life, if I could have traded his life for mine, Phillip would be standing here right now. You know I’d have given anything, done anything, to save him. There aren’t words for this, and I know that there is still so much you are rightfully angry at me for...but please don’t shut me out. Not in this.”

Virgil’s head was bowed over the blanket, tears glistening on the soft yarn. He gave another nod, and Roman fell to his knees next to the bench. Tears clouded his own vision as he looked up at his husband. “I don’t pretend to know the challenges we’re facing, trying to get through this. And I know there’s no replacing what we’ve lost...but I’m not afraid. I know who I married. Just let me stay by your side, Virgil. You don’t have to speak to me, you don’t have to acknowledge me, just promise me we can spend a little time each day in each other’s company? Please!”

“....Alright.” Virgil’s voice was quiet, hoarse with tears, but Roman thought he’d never heard a sweeter sound in his life. It was the first his husband had spoken to him since that awful day. He couldn’t suppress the small sob of relief that escaped him, bowing his head quickly so he wouldn’t have to look Virgil in the eye.

“Thank you.” Roman said softly as he rose to his feet. He spent the next hour standing quietly next to the bench, occasionally uttering soft remembrances of Phillip. Sometimes Virgil responded, sometimes he was silent, but just having him there was enough. When his husband had reached his limit, he stood and walked into the house, and Roman let him go. It was a lot to ask, and he knew it was, but this was a grief that neither of them could bear alone.

Over the next few weeks, they developed a routine. Roman would go to the store alone to pick up what supplies his family would need for the week. When he returned, he and Virgil would go for a walk together, taking in the sights of the city. Virgil refused to take his arm, to touch him, but he would allow Roman to walk by his side and listen to him chatter about whatever they were seeing that day.

In the past, it was always Virgil who took the children for an outing on Sunday. In his grief, he withdrew into himself, so the duty fell to Roman. He gladly did whatever he could to ease any burden for his husband, devoting more time to Virgil and their children than he ever had before. It was cruel that it had taken the death of his oldest son after the near dissolution of his marriage to understand what was really important, but Roman had always been stubborn. Maybe this was the only way he could truly learn.

In the months that followed, they all mourned for Phillip, but life had to go on. The new routine worked for them, and slowly Virgil began to smile again. Small, quiet things, but Roman noticed some life returning to those brown eyes. The children began to play again, giggles filling their once somber house. Roman began to appreciate the quiet, something he’d always detested in the past, but there was something to be said for moments of peace.

His favorite part of the day was the hour he spent in the garden, just standing by Virgil’s side. He would talk about everything and nothing, keeping no secrets from his husband. He told him everything, things he’d never told anyone, not even Logan. Perhaps he knew on a subconscious level that Virgil had seen the very best and very worst of him, so there was no sense in hiding anymore. Some days, Virgil would listen quietly. Some days, like the day he’d spilled everything that led to his affair, Virgil would stand and leave without a word. The best days were when he could get his husband to smile a little, or snort in amusement, or speak to him at all.

Roman was standing in his usual spot today, just looking out over the garden. Virgil was seated on the bench, like always. There was a gentle breeze today, ruffling his husband’s hair, making him look even more beautiful. Roman knew he himself didn’t look nearly as good, the stress of everything having added gray to his hair and lines to his face where none had existed before, but Virgil? He looked just as beautiful as he had the day they’d married. “I am a fool, Virgil.”

“If you are expecting an argument from me, you are in for a very long wait.” Virgil quipped, one of his small smiles curving his lips.

“No, darling. You know better,” Roman said with a chuckle.

“True. What prompted this thought, praytell? Have you done something even more foolish that I should be aware of?” Virgil asked, his brown eyes dancing with hidden amusement.

“Well, I did fall into that pond the other day, but you already laughed at me for it. No, darling, I was just looking at you and thinking that I am the biggest fool alive because I had you and thought there could ever be anything better. I was graced with the best of husbands, the very best of men, and yet I sought others. I was a fool to ever have tried.” Roman answered honestly, looking off in the direction of the pond with a grin. It was nothing he hadn’t said before, really. He’d apologized countless times for what he’d put Virgil through, had made countless vows to never do such a thing again, but his husband had never acknowledged any of it. He expected Virgil to ignore this statement just the same, so he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a soft, delicate hand touch his own.

“You certainly are a fool. But I suppose that you are my fool, so I shall have to endure.” Virgil said softly, lacing their fingers together. “It’s quiet uptown. I think I’ve grown to like it better.”

Roman didn’t move, hardly dared breathe, as he looked down at his husband, at their joined hands. He felt tears stinging his eyes, a weight on his chest as he struggled to breathe. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve this quiet forgiveness. “I quite agree,” he managed to say, squeezing Virgil’s hand gently.

“You must be tired. Come, sit beside me.” Virgil offered, moving to the side, and Roman wasn’t sure if he blindly obeyed or if his legs simply collapsed underneath him as he sat heavily in the spot provided. Virgil looked up at him, a warmth in his eyes that he hadn’t seen in a very long time lingering in them, and he was vaguely aware that his tears were spilling over, streaking down his face.

“I love you, Virgil. I don’t deserve this, don’t deserve you, but god help me, I will greedily take any morsel of affection you give me and beg on my hands and knees for more!” Roman said shakily, his thumb brushing over Virgil’s hand. His husband reached up with his free hand and wiped those tears away, cupping his face.

“I thought I would hate you forever, I truly did. I wanted to. But my heart has always been yours, and I cannot seem to take it back, no matter how hard I try. If you will swear to me, here and now, that you will never hide from me again, that you will continue to share all...then I could perhaps see a way to call you mine again.” Virgil’s voice was quiet, but Roman felt each syllable in his soul.

“I would swear anything you asked of me, if only to be yours again for even a moment! Everything I am, flawed and worthless though it may be, is yours. Will always be yours, just as you have always been mine.” Roman nuzzled into his husband’s hand, basking in his affection, in the warmth of the love he’d carelessly tossed aside once before. Never again, never!

Virgil leaned closer, and Roman felt the gentle press of soft lips against his own for the first time in years. He melted into the kiss, tasting the salt from his tears mixed into it, and he eagerly responded with fervor. When they broke apart, Virgil leaned his forehead against Roman’s, huffing out a quiet laugh. “Then I will call you mine, and keep you as such. I love you, Roman.”

“Words and a sentiment I will cherish and prize until my dying days.” Roman replied softly, pulling his husband into his arms, relishing the way they fit together. “I cannot promise I will never be foolish enough to fall into a pond, or lose something of value, but I can promise I will never be foolish enough to falter in my dedication to you and our family ever again. You are my legacy, and the only one worth having.”

He looked out over their garden, with Virgil tucked in his arms, and closed his eyes in contentment. This peace, this affection, may not last forever, but it was enough. More than enough. He sighed happily as Virgil nuzzled into his chest and pressed a kiss to his hair. Yes, he really was learning to love the quiet.

[gumnut-logic]

Stowaway

Title: Stowaway

Author: Gumnut

2 Jun 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: How could he possibly screw up even more than he already had?

Word count: 2921

Spoilers & warnings: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 EPISODE 12

Timeline: Episode Tag

Author’s note: I really enjoyed the episode, so I just had to write something. This is mostly brothers being brothers. I hope you enjoy it :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

“Gordon did what?!”

“Borrowed Thunderbird One to look for Sherbet.”

“The dog?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

Virgil stared at the hologram of his orbiting brother. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, scout’s honour.”

“Does Scott know?”

“Yes.”

“Will I have a Tracy Island to land on?”

John shrugged. “Maybe. Scott is still on his way in on Thunderbird Three. Gordon is on approach.” John’s eyes shifted to the left, obviously scanning readouts. “Assuming he manages to dock TB1 without landing her in the comms room, the Island should be safe.” A smirk. “I tend to think Gordon himself is likely a right-off.” John’s eyes shifted to something closer to serious. “You may be needed, big bro.”

Virgil sighed. “FAB.” Great. Just what he needed after spending all night on the other side of the planet disassembling a terrorist attempt. The GDF had called both him and Kayo in on this one. Kayo for her subtlety and Virgil for the opposite. Turned out that he had been less needed for his heavy lifting and more for his engineering skills. He had ended up butt up in the components of an automated harvester that had been reprogrammed to harvest more sapient crops than wheat. Yet again, he was left stunned that there were actually people on this planet who would do something like that.

Kayo had assisted the GDF in rounding up the culprits, Virgil had killed the harvester, and he’d spent the rest of the time hauling the massive chunk of machinery back out of the city to the nearest GDF base where it could be examined.

In short, he was tired, annoyed and disappointed in people.

A Scott vs. Gordon showdown was more of a headache than he needed.

Another sigh. Whatever.

Tracy Island was a welcome sight in any case and as he kicked in VTOL on approach to land, he felt some of the stress fall off his shoulders. Kayo had already beaten him home. Thunderbird Two was the slowest of all their craft, something his brothers never let him forget, but he loved her with his very soul and would take those extra few minutes over the fastest of their ships any day.

After all, who did half of them have to wait for anyway?

The solid, but soft thump as her wheels hit the tarmac and she trundled through her palm tree guard of honour, the cliff face bowing to her entry. A spin on her axis, he killed her engines and let her whine down to silence.

His shoulders dropped, he closed his eyes and took the moment to just relax.

A breath.

Another.

Pause.

Eyes open, he shoved his chair back.

Okay, next.

-o-o-o-

“You did what?!”

“C’mon, Virg, help me out here.” Gordon had the biggest puppy dog pleading look on his face Virgil had ever seen, and he’d seen doozies.

“Tell me why?”

“Because you are my brother and you love me?” Okay, was that doubt in that eye crinkle?

“I’m considering disowning you.” Virgil glared at Gordon. “You are trying to tell me that you boarded TB1 smelling like that?! And now you expect me to help you clean out her cockpit?”

“Yeeeah.”

“Before Scott gets back which is likely within the next half hour?”

“You got it in one.”

Virgil grit his teeth, but rolled his eyes. “And you wonder why I rarely let you fly my ‘bird.”

“Hey, it was an accident.”

“It always is. You said the same thing about the pink paint.”

“That was not my fault.”

“You were dating the girl, Gordon.”

“Yeeah...uh, can we get on with this? Clock’s ticking.” Gordon knew how to screw up his face to plead.

“You’ll owe me big time.”

“Anything you need, big bro.”

“Anything?”

“Just help me fix this, please.”

Another sigh. Well, it was better than a Scottonuclear detonation when the man found out. “Give me the damn cleaner.”

-o-o-o-

Gordon was right. Thunderbird One’s cockpit reeked.

Oh, he was using this for blackmail material until the end of time.

Virgil had thrown on another uniform. Working with the rocket plane always required a harness or two considering her height and there was no way Virgil was going to rely on that stupid personnel bridge Scott used. The thing was an occupational health and safety nightmare and Virgil valued his life. One of these days he’d drum that far enough into Scott’s brain to get the thing a railing.

So, it was grapple packs and harnesses and a little sonic disruption cleaning at a ninety-degree angle to the horizon.

Another thing to love about his ‘bird. She made sense. TB1 was all speed and no comfort.

Um.

Okay, so his ‘bird was all grunt and no comfort, but at least she rested parallel to the ground. None of this defying gravity crap.

“You okay up there, Virg.”

“Just fine and dandy, Gordon. You are welcome to join me.”

“Uh.”

“That’s what I thought. In debt forever, bro, forever.”

Was that a whimper he heard? Serve him damn right.

Securing himself, Virgil clambered up to Scott’s pilot seat and perched himself there. Grabbing the pack, he’d dragged up there with him, he pulled out the sonic cleaner and clamped it to the cockpit ‘ceiling’. A flick of a switch, and the subharmonics started yanking molecules from the air.

Virgil was not a fan of the gadget. It was efficient and cleaned far better than any rag with any chemical could, but it set him on edge. Something about those unheard harmonics got into his bones and grated them together. He shuddered.

Of course, nothing ensured clean more than a good wipe over, so next came the cleaner and that cleaning rag.

Another whimper.

“Gordon?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Apart from owing you my soul, yeah. Why?”

A frown. He could have sworn...

Another whimper.

Followed by a whine.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

Swinging around and out of the pilot’s chair, Virgil lowered himself to the cargo bay access and clambered in. The lights came on automatically and he peered around.

This time the whimper was a pathetic bark and Virgil was able to narrow in on Sherbet at the very bottom of the bay, snagged in the harness recess.

“Uh, Gordon?”

“Yeah?”

“You know that trouble you’re in?”

“Yeah, way to rub it in, bro.”

“Well, it just doubled.” A pendulum push, Virgil snagged the internal ladder, and hurriedly climbed down to the bottom. “You have a stowaway.”

“I’ve got what?!”

“Sherbet is in TB1’s cargo hold.”

“Shit!”

“My thoughts exactly.”

He reached the bottom and carefully made his way over to the distressed dog. “Hey, Bertie, whatcha doing down here?” More whimpering and a distraught bark. “Did Gordon kidnap you?”

“I did no such thing!”

Sherbet jumped at Gordon’s voice and snarled.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Virgil softened his tone. “Let’s get you out of there, hey?” He crouched down and offered the pug his hand. Sherbet sniffed it. “Remember me?”

Apparently, he did as Virgil’s glove was suddenly slobbered on.

Taking that as permission, the engineer began untangling the little dog. How he had managed to climb into Thunderbird One, Virgil had no idea. No doubt Gordon would be the one to answer that. If he survived Lady Penelope.

And Scott.

There may be bloodshed.

Sherbet came loose and Virgil quickly examined him for injury. There was none apparent, other than the terror in the little dog’s shaking body. A scan in the infirmary would be a good idea. Considering he had been unsecured during flight; he was lucky to be alive.

“Gordon, get your ass up here and finish the cleaning. I have a patient to attend to.”

“Is he alright?”

“You better hope so.”

-o-o-o-

Sherbet was alright. A collective sigh of relief settled across the island. A few bruises was all the scan showed. Lucky dog.

Virgil gently lifted him off the bed and held him close. He was still shaking. “It’s okay, Bertie, I promise. Now let’s get your mom on the line.”

He had expected Lady Penelope to contact them as soon as possible, but he hadn’t wanted to contact her until he had ascertained Sherbet’s condition. Now was the time to face up to the inevitable.

“Virgil?”

And there was the bell, no saving included.

“Yes, John?”

“Gordon tells me you found Sherbet.”

“Yes, and he is fine.” As if to emphasise the point, Sherbet barked at John’s hologram.

“I see.” A flicker of expression. “Lady Penelope is quite distressed. Would you like to speak to her? I think it would be better if you take this one rather than Gordon.”

“Sure.”

John smiled just a little, a vague reassurance, before the hologram flickered to, yes, a distressed Lady Penelope. “Virgil! You found him!”

“Yes, he’s right here.” He held the little dog up to make sure the holoprojector would catch him.

“Oh, thank goodness!” And to his horror, Penny wavered where she was standing. A hand shot out and steadied her, Parker appearing beside her with a stormy expression.

“He’s okay, Penny. I promise. A bit of a fright and a couple of bruises, is all. He’s perfectly fine.”

“Bruises!”

Shit.

Sherbet barked at her hologram.

Penelope’s posture straightened and a more familiar fire lit in her eyes. “Please look after him, Virgil. We will be there shortly. Parker, bring the car around.”

The hologram cut off.

Oh, hell.

-o-o-o-

“He did what?!”

Scott had had a stressful day. Space rescues were a thing, but not his favourite thing. He much preferred his ‘bird and a wide, blue sky. The silence in space was just...well, silent.

Thunderbird Three was on approach, Alan levelling her off and bringing her around for landing. All three of them were tired at least emotionally after the day’s events, and Scott, physically. Too many near misses for his comfort.

“Now, Scott. You know he is rated to fly Thunderbird One and this was an opportunity to increase his flight time in your ‘bird.” John’s expression was firm.

“I’ll increase his flight time...”

“There was no harm done. Well, very little.”

Alan glanced at him before reversing Three’s engines and starting their descent into her silo.

“Little? What little?”

“Well...”

“John!”

“Yes?”

Scott drew in a breath and his lips thinned. “Do you remember what happened last time you tried to cover for Gordon?”

“I remember perfectly and I have acted accordingly. You no longer have access to my rooms, Scott, so don’t bother trying to threaten me. I’m only the messenger, after all.”

“John.”

“Yes, Scott?”

“Oh, ho, ho, you’re playing with fire, bro.” Alan’s grin was infuriating. “Big bro looks to go all explodey.”

Scott glared at him. “Alan, mind your own.” But his little brother just grinned, immune to his glare.

“Everything has been resolved, Scott. Your cockpit is clean and Lady Penelope is on her way to the island to collect Sherbet.”

Words could stop time. “What? What do you mean my cockpit is clean? What the hell happened?”

John’s hologram smirked. “A polecat. But I’ll let Gordon explain that little incident.”

“A polecat!”

But anything more John had to say was dulled out by the roar of rocket engines killing speed as Alan lowered his bird into her silo. And John cut off the signal, the red-headed chicken.

-o-o-o-

It was a good twenty minutes of post-flight checks, a shower and clothing later before Scott made it to the comms room. Striding from the elevator he found Virgil on the lounge, an arm full of Sherbet. His brother was speaking in that familiar ‘rescuee’ tone of his, a soft rumbling, gentle reassurance. Sherbet was gazing up at him with decisive worship.

No doubt the pieces of bacon in Virgil’s other hand were also helping the situation.

“Virg? How was the harvester-?”

Both his brother and Sherbet jumped. The pug turned to glare and growl at Scott.

Virgil frowned at his brother, but looked back down, offering Sherbet a tidbit and the pug settled once again. “It’s resolved. Report later.”

“Uh, sorry.”

“He’s had quite a fright. Couldn’t have been good to be stuck in One’s cargo hold unsecured.”

Scott lowered his voice as he approached and sat opposite his brother. “Any idea how he got there?”

“Gordon must have lowered One’s stairs. It’s the only way I can think he could have possibly boarded.”

“Gordon hasn’t told you?”

“Gordon is...upset.”

“So he should be.”

“Take a breath on this one, Scott. He is well aware he has screwed up.” Brown eyes grabbed his. “Code Penny.”

“Good point.”

“She’s not happy and Gordon is beside himself.”

“So where is he?”

“I told him to go get cleaned up. Penelope will be here any minute.” Sherbet wriggled, yipped and licked Virgil’s fingers. More bacon was provided.

“Sherbet is okay?”

“A few bruises. Very lucky dog.” A pause. “Not so lucky aquanaut.”

As if to emphasise the point FAB One appeared out of the blue and with hiss of VTOL landed beside the pool.

“Well, that’s a new one.” Scott stood up and eyed the pink Rolls Royce.

Virgil rose to his feet beside him, Sherbet licking his chin. “As I said, not happy.”

“Time to face the music.” Scott let out a breath.

-o-o-o-

The music wasn’t as loud as expected. Virgil carried Sherbet downstairs to the pool, Scott beside him. To say Penelope hurried over would be an understatement, her heels clicking madly on the concrete. But he had to admit to himself that handing over ‘Bertie’ to his mom was pretty damn equal to any good rescue result.

“Oh, Bertie, Bertie, Bertie. I am so happy you are safe.” The little pug was plastering Penny with kisses. “Did you ride on the big Thunderbird? Did you?” Bertie barked and wriggled in her arms. “Well, we won’t let that happen again, will we? No.” More hugs and snuggles.

Virgil arched an eyebrow.

“Where is Mr Gordon?” Parker approached, cracking his knuckles.

“Ah...” Virgil wasn’t sure he was willing to answer that one with that look in Parker’s eyes. “Let’s just say he’s safe, Parker, and leave it at that.”

“Mr Virgil, sir, he caused the Lady such distress. I would like to make sure he understands h’exactly how much.” Okay, protective Parker was fully engaged.

Virgil didn’t like that much at all. Which meant Scott likely liked it a whole heap less.

The engineer took a single step forward, conveniently between the chauffeur and his eldest brother. “Now, Parker, it was an accident. Gordon is very sorry.”

“‘E better be.”

“I am.” And Gordon was standing on the edge of the patio, his whole posture defeated and morose. “I am so sorry, Lady Penelope. Can you ever forgive me?”

Penelope looked up, her lips thin and an eyebrow arched. She didn’t say a thing.

Gordon took that as a negative and somehow, his posture slouched even more. “I understand.” He turned to walk back inside.

“Gordon?” Virgil suddenly found his arms once again full of wriggling pug as Penelope handed the dog back to him and walked towards his little brother. Parker glared.

The aquanaut stopped in his tracks, turning as Penelope approached. She reached out and gently caught his arm. “I wanted to thank you for what you did today.”

“Huh?”

His brother, ever the orator.

Penelope smiled just a little. “Well, you did fly halfway around the world to help Parker rescue Bertie. I know Bertie wasn’t really in trouble, but I do appreciate the thought and the effort, not to mention the unpleasantness with the polecat.”

Gordon grabbed the back of his neck in obvious embarrassment and stared at his feet, but he was standing straighter.

Penelope reached over and touching his chin, raised his head a little to look at her. “Thank you, Gordon.”

Virgil swallowed a grin as his brother flushed scarlet and smiled just a little. “Uh, you’re welcome.”

“Good.” Penelope was smiling at him.

A moment...and the moment passed. “Very well, must go, things to do.” And Penelope was returning to Virgil, lifting Sherbet into her arms and heading to FAB One.

Blink.

“Come, Parker, appointments to attend.”

The chauffeur eyed Virgil a moment making it clear this incident was far from forgotten in his book, shot a caustic look at Gordon and turned back to the car. “Yes, m’Lady.”

Open and shut a couple of car doors, a blast of hot air as she launched, and they were gone.

All three brothers stood there a little stunned.

“Well, that went easier than expected.” Scott, the ever not-fazed.

“Oh, thank god.” Gordon wilted where he was standing. “I thought Parker was going to kill me.”

Virgil smirked. “He still might. I’d keep away from him for a while if I were you.”

“You might be right.” Gordon sighed again. “Oh, I am so glad that is over.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it was over, little brother.” And Scott was stalking towards the aquanaut. “I believe you and I have some things to discuss.”

“Oh, we do?” Gordon squirmed.

Virgil could almost count it down in his head.

Five.

“Yes, we do.”

Four.

“Uh, are you sure, ‘cause I honestly thought this was all resolved.” Gordon took a step back.

Three.

Scott was definitely taking pleasure out of this. “Oh, no, Gordon. Definitely not resolved.”

Two.

Another step back, ready for launch. “Uh, Scott. You love me, don’t you?”

One.

“Polecat, Gordon. In my cockpit.”

“Ah, yeah?” Gordon ran.

Thunderbird Four was gone.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[benes-diction]

March Writing Challenge: Day 1

Prompt: War

Based upon this post here.

(( I didn’t know what to write. I didn’t want to write from Caius or the Dread Aunt’s perspectives because I knew with this prompt it would just get dreary and all I’ve written recently is dreary, mopey stuff, so... I just kinda... bumbled through this as best I could, threw it at Arduro’s OOC person to get his opinion, and since he gave it the ‘okay,’ here it be. ))

Her first taste of war was a bitter pill to swallow.

She never expected it to be glamorous—war never is, after all—but she hadn’t expected it to be… quite so much.

The late shifts in the infirmary were the most difficult, especially when dawn started to creep over the horizon and patients began to rouse as pain remedies wore off. Celia did her duties the best she could. Her easier nights were making rounds through the wing, checking the still-sleeping patients, checking the vitals and pain levels of those who had woken, making notes for her replacements, all the while finishing reports between completing her other tasks. On the more difficult nights, it was all she could do not to run. The smell of blood and antiseptic and too many bodies hung in the air, and the weeping… Oh, the weeping. From pain, from loneliness, from fear, from stress—there were too many tears shed, and far too many that never saw the light of day. But worst was when they would wake from a nightmare, when for a moment they were still trapped in a dream, convinced they were back on the battlefield. And after they realized where they were and what had happened, they often succumbed to the shivering and sobbing, the pleading and begging to go home, and worse yet, the firm denial that anything was wrong despite the haunted look in their eyes. Celia’s heart ached for them. But what was she to do?

“Just offer a kind word,” one of her superiors had advised her. “That’s often all they need.”

She could only blink in disbelief as they walked away from her.

Yes. A kind word.

From a girl who couldn’t speak.

What a positively novel idea.

One night, she heard the weeping before anything else. For a moment, the dread settled into her stomach and she was sorely tempted to pretend that she didn’t hear and bury herself in the mountain of paperwork she’d been left with. It had already been a long shift. She didn’t want to deal with it. But that was what she’d signed up for, and she was a Benes. A Benes did not falter. And so she took a breath and steeled her nerves as best as she could and crept past the beds in search of the sound.

When she found the source, her heart twisted. A young woman, perhaps about her sister’s age. Celia vaguely recalled her condition when two of her comrades had carried her in. Hit by a thaumaturge’s fireball. She hadn’t been able to completely get out of the way. Celia’s eyes went to the expanse of flat sheet where her left leg would have been. She wondered if it had truly been necessary, or if lux Praetor had decided it would be easier on everyone if…

She dispelled the thought with a shake of her head. Now was not the time.

Celia spared a glance at the girl’s chart as she made her way to her side. Her name was Sibylla. A pretty name, Celia mused. She wouldn’t get new painkillers for some time, and though Celia longed to ease her pain, she was wary of possibly overdosing the poor thing. Meeting the woman’s eyes—such a pretty hazel color—she shook her head and lightly tapped at her wrist chronometer. It wasn’t time for her medication yet.

“You’re that new medicus… the one who doesn’t talk,” the woman gulped.

Can’t talk, Celia corrected to herself, but she nodded regardless. Her eyes were wide, wild, and a light blanket of sweat gleamed on her face. Celia wondered if she’d woken from one of those nightmares. Still. She gently rested the back of her hand against Sibylla’s forehead, testing its heat. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to have a fever.

“I’m not—not in any pain,” she continued. “Just… you know.”

Celia nodded once more. She didn’t know from experience, but she had seen enough of it to have a general idea. She didn’t envy her one bit.

“Will you stay? Please? Just for a little while.”

She glanced back at her desk—all that paperwork she needed to finish—but resigned herself to staying up longer to ensure it was completed and sat upon the edge of Sibylla’s bed. She was there to help.

A Benes did not waver, after all.