#when I compliment someone they always assume it’s to weird them out. lull them into a false sense of security. or flirt/get in their pants

[harcourtholmesii]

An Officer’s Loyalty (Part 5)

Pairings: Medic X Reader

Words: 1824

Warnings:

- Swearing

- Drugging and Referenced Drugging

- Mentions of Gore

- Mentions and Implied Abuse

Enjoy!

‘You’re welcome to join us.’

 Your gaze remained on the eyes hidden behind welding goggles. The Engineer held a small smile as he offered you such a strange opportunity. He seemed smaller when he spoke, almost sheepish; it was strange to find that there was one man among RED team shorter than yourself.

 The man’s appearance, though still unnerving, was a welcome change from the poking and prodding of the base’s resident doctor, and one, scrawny Scout attempting to peer in on the new ‘recruit’. The Texan had been kind enough to fix your door, replacing it with something far sturdier; it granted you a little privacy despite the constant visits you received from Medic. In a way, the Engineer seemed the only one to be more welcoming and less… whatever Heavy, Medic and Scout were.

 Since you had been drugged, or rather tranquilised, time had flown by. You had been unable to keep up with the hours that passed you by, save for the occasional meal brought in. Simple foods with little taste, potentially avoiding the chance you might not be able to keep it all down.

 Heavy was always the one bringing in the meals for you to eat; he always did so alongside one of the doctor’s visits. He never spoke much, but he did talk with Medic, reminding him you needed food before he ‘sedated’ you again, and exchanging some short, but friendly conversations with the man. It was a strange appearance, looking up at the bear of a man, and not having him gun you down on the spot. He was always intimidating, but he never went out of his way to scare you.

 Scout was, by comparison, an annoyance. He hovered about the room, like a little kid, when Medic visited. He would peer in at whatever was occurring and stare. He seemed just as astounded as you, if not more so, that you were joining RED. Considering he hadn’t attacked you that evening after your surgery, you could only assume someone had told him beforehand. You seriously doubted that he would have worked it out for himself.

 Since that evening, your head had begun to clear, and the entirety of your situation had come back to you. Thanks, in no small part, to Medic’s rambling. Apart from Heavy’s almost indifference, and Scout’s curiosity, Medic was a strange case.

 On one hand, he was the ‘Medic’ for a reason. He came into your new room, tested your breathing and reapplied bandages, all the while reminding you of your agreement and what to expect at RED base. You were at least a little thankful that he reminded you of everything that had happened after your last fight on opposite sides. It helped to clear up the memories in your head and regain your senses when you awoke.

 On the other hand, the Medic caused you a great deal of discomfort. You were never quite sure what was going on in his head, and what he may have been keeping from you; intentionally or otherwise. He would turn serious, or start laughing wildly, or offering you a genuine smile or kinder words. Through it all, you felt confused.

 It wasn’t just his actions that confused you.

 You had started to notice that you appreciated his constant talking, not necessarily registering what he said, but just how he spoke. His excitement, which tended to cause him to slip into his mother tongue, and cause his voice to reach a higher pitch. And then when he spoke to you slower, less excitable but still kind, his voice seemed richer. He was tender with his words, and his voice was slightly deeper. It was unusual.

 You didn’t like how observant you were becoming of the German doctor.

 Certainly, having all the information you needed in case you were betrayed might have been in your best interest, but you knew your notice was not because you were gathering information in a self-preservation sense. Instead, you were lulled to almost relax in the man’s presence, unable to help but stare.

 You told yourself at first that the reason you stared was because of how weird it all was.

 You couldn’t lie to yourself for long, and you started recognising that your cheeks heated up when he complimented how your lungs sounded, or how your heart had looked when he had been holding it. It shouldn’t have been something flattering, in fact, you should have felt scared or sick by his strange comments. Though you felt a little uncomfortable and a bit disturbed, you still hung onto every word he said; a little more each time he spoke.

 Which led you to your current situation.

 You had been astounded, perhaps even a little disappointed, when it had been Engineer that had knocked on your door. You didn’t smile at him when Engineer first entered. You were rather frustrated that you had been forced to accommodate so many people in your private quarters the past two nights. So many visits, unwelcome or otherwise, had left you feeling ragged and worn out.

 ‘Sorry to disturb, but the doc’s gon’ and told us you should be right to move, and I thought you might like to get out of the room. Considerin’ what’s happened, I was wonderin’ if you’d like to come to dinner?’

 Your stomach gurgled painfully at the thought of eating something other than a light soup and some toast. You clutched at it; you could still feel the raw edges of the incision, healed slowly over time by the medigun. Not entirely fixed, but at least you didn’t feel like your chest was about to burst.

 ‘M-Maybe.’ He smiled. ‘Who will be there?’ You tried to shake away the thoughts that there was one mercenary you were looking forward to seeing.

 ‘Uh, well, everyone. I’ll be the one cookin’ though, so no need to worry. It’s gon’ be a traditional Texan barbecue. Some brisket, ribs and sausages. We need to get some meat on those bones.’ He said, gesturing to how your body, though sustained, had lost a little weight from the past couple of days.

 The thought of smoked meat was a delightful one, but the thought of everyone being present was another matter entirely. You were comfortable enough around the Texan, Heavy, Scout and even Medic, but the others were another matter. You didn’t want to seem afraid as you spoke, but even as you asked your question, you felt your voice quake.

 ‘A-And Spy?’

 Engineer removed his hard hat, revealing his scalp as he rubbed rather sheepishly at the back of his head. He seemed uncomfortable. It wasn’t a secret that you despised the man.

 ‘He’ll be there. It is a team dinner after all.’ You felt cold. The idea of having to interact with Spy scared you more than the idea of meeting the rest of the team for the first time. You had yet to see or speak to the Sniper, Soldier, Demo-Man and Pyro since you arrived, but none of them scared you as much as the Frenchman.

 ‘And you’re part o’ the team now.’ He reached out, resting a large hand against your shoulder. You tensed at the new sensation, expecting a bruising grip or something akin to pain to blossom under his hand. Instead, you felt nothing more than a warmth spread, and a comfort as he didn’t so much as squeeze.

 ‘I…’ You were still reeling from the turmoil your body felt. ‘I don’t know if I will be welcome.’

 His hand slipped from his shoulder, but Engineer just offered you another smile. Almost jokingly, he bowed, hard hat pressed to his chest, as if like a gentleman. He returned it to his head.

 ‘You’re welcome to join us.’ He stepped away from the door, offering you a wave of the hand as he moved away. ‘Whenever you like, there’ll be a place for you.’

 You watched him leave, shifting from foot to foot in agitation. You did not want to remain cooped up in your new room, but you were not sure you could stand to be in the same room as Spy. The last thing you wanted to do was embarrass yourself, or give the team a reason to believe you were a threat to them.

 You felt over where the Engineer had rested his hand, feeling for a bruise that he might have left, but felt nothing. It astounded you that any of these mercenaries could touch you and not cause pain. Unlike BLU team, who seemed unable to express themselves without violence off the battle field, RED had proven to you that it was possible.

 You had no idea how long you had stood there contemplating whether to head upstairs and to dinner or not, but it was long enough that the smell of grilled pork and sausages had all but leeched down the hall and to your person. Your stomach rumbled once more, and you felt yourself stepping forward, almost unaware that you were moving.

 You were thankful for the RED shirt you had been given, something large enough that you could wrap it tighter around your body for warmth. The material was thick enough to keep the cold of the basement at bay and, even better, it hid the white wrappings across your chest. Your ruined BLU uniform had been thrown out after the first night, sometime whilst you were drugged. You had felt exposed when you had realised it, highly aware that you were permanently a part of RED, and unable to collect your belongings from BLU base. Though, perhaps leaving it all behind was a good thing; nothing more to tie you down with those dickheads in BLU base.

 You approached the stairwell, the strong smell of a barbecue and the cacophony of voices alerting you to the presence of a crowded dinner table. You felt your body tremble, and for a moment, you thought about returning to your room, tail between your legs.

 You pressed on, mentally pushing yourself forward. Your legs felt weighed down and despite the fact you were ascending out of the basement and out of the cold, you felt colder still as you crossed the threshold of the final step. Just behind the wall to the kitchen, you could hear the scrape of cutlery and the sizzle of the barbecue; conversations ranging from gloating about RED’s last win and the new weapon catalogue Mann Co. had released helped to put you at some ease.

 You stood there for a time, unsure if you could, or even should, approach.

 ‘You gonna move?’

 Long after this dinner, you would deny that you had screamed. You would deny that you leapt nearly three feet in the air. You would deny that you hadn’t heard the Australian approach, and simply the exertion of climbing the stairs had put a strain on your injuries.

 You were lying, of course.

[pollenat]

NU’EST and 5 ways to say I love you

➛ Requested by a super sweet anon!

ARON

The night outside. You’re watching the dark sky through a window of his car. Aron’s hand rests next to your thigh, palm leaning against the knob of gear shift. He hums along with the radio, eyes gazing at you every now and then. You only act oblivious. There’s a wandering thought that perhaps he wants to say something and though you wait, he never does, just stares. As if enchanted, but by what exactly, you cannot figure out.

A bite on your cheek. It takes you by surprise, freezing in place, because who would even think to do so? Surely not Aaron? And yet, he’s the one visible in your peripheral vision. Absurd. He’s not the one to do things as drastic, even in the privacy of his own four walls. The pain doesn’t strike you, but the tickling in your throat, an effect of holding back laughter, does turn more unbearable with each passing second. Until you can’t keep it locked any longer, and the force pulls you out of Aaron’s already weak hold.

Running a few meters to catch up to him. Aaron didn’t stop along with you, but you quickly realize it wasn’t on purpose. As your hand grabs his elbow, he turns to watch you with innocent curiosity. He doesn’t mention the moment. And though you want to scold him - leaving your s/o behind is a no joking matter - the expression on his face makes you drop the topic. Aaron continues chattering about his day, so you listen, holding onto his arm just in case he doesn’t notice your departure next time.

Awkward glances. Aaron knows it’s not right, or at least how it should be, but he’s too confused to put thoughts into words. You, on the other hand, know he wants the best, which should be enough. The key word being should. When you’re brave enough, you return one of the stares. His first instinct is to retract, but just a look away has him thinking that perhaps it’s not the best course of action. Without a second glance, he reaches forward, to open the space by his side, just in case you decide you need it.

The lack of him in general. Neither your phone, nor your senses are graced by his presence. It’s as if he has never existed, and you’re close to believing that yes, indeed, he’s just a product of your vivid imagination. That he’s someone you’ve once dreamed about, or just a silhouette from family pictures, whose face is known, but ghostly. Days pass with you suffering from a heartache and that’s all he is - a ghost.

JR

Irritating pain in your eyes. The hour is late. The day’s effect is catching up to you. It’s too difficult to keep your eyes open. Jonghyun says something, but your clouded mind doesn’t catch a word. When you ask him to repeat, he just releases a good-natured laugh, as if your tragic state was a laughing matter. It’s his fault, after all. He’s the person responsible for keeping you awake past midnight. And even his adorable reaction to your sleepiness won’t correct his wrongdoings.

Holding his baseball cap, stunned that it’s the only thing of his you have that still smells of him. It’s weird to take comfort in something so... uncommon, but you’re too desperate at this point. The painful knowledge of him being away has you resorting to the strangest. Before the cap, you clung to his favorite yogurt. Before it, there was the shampoo he always uses. And though nothing has lasting effect, the moment of breathing in a familiar smell clears your head. Just a few seconds, but painless seconds.

Fingertips on your closed eyelids. Pressure on the lashes. Breath on your cheek. Coldness by your legs. Skin skimming against skin, only to disappear in a second. The hour must be late. A little concerned, you finally open your eyes. Jonghyun sighs in surprise. Like a deer caught in headlights, he’s frozen in his spot. Guilt strikes his features. He’s sure his carelessness woke you up. But who would be mad at the sweetest guy alive? If he can’t sleep, then so can’t you. That’s the verdict.

Small words of appreciation, you didn’t realize you needed. They always take you by surprise. One would think them an ambush, meant to bring Jonghyun a gift in the form of your embarrassed smile. But just a mention of his possible hidden intentions makes his face harden. How can you assume such vile things about his motives? All the compliments are genuine! Your embarrassment is just a bonus!

Being avoided. Though you lean forward to embrace him, Jonghyun turns away. His face is unreadable, empty. Your hands manage to lock around his waist in time, but they’re obviously unwelcome there. As if you were a virus, you’re rejected. Jonghyun stands stiff in your weak hold, wordless and emotionless. It hurts. It really hurts. You’re left with no other option, but to let him go. What he wants at the moment is not you. The only right course of action is to accept it.

BAEKHO

The plush of his lips on the back of your neck. It’s in a way restless - Dongho shows no sign of wanting to stop. His legs are settled around your hips, locking you in the embrace. There are things you should be doing instead of letting him lull you into sweet comfort, but he’s never once backed from an ambush. You may be trying to work, yet you do want him to take your mind off of the stress as well.

His silence. Mouth occupied by pancakes, Dongho doesn’t speak. Every then and now he just graces you with small noises of content. Their appearance is a spark of electricity, opening your mouth in a smile. Though your work doesn’t end at making him comfort food, the progress in lifting his spirits is still a success that should be celebrated. And so, you gift yourself with the continuation of staring at Dongho’s passionate eating habits. He’s too taken by the pancakes to notice it.

Fingernails scratching stitches on your jeans. He’s nervous, this much is obvious. The empty look on his face tells you that the thoughts have taken Dongho miles away, and none of your words will be registered by his mind. The scratching turns weaker for a moment as he glances at the clock. Its ticking seems to irritate him only more. Finally, you cover his hand with your own and Dongho smiles a little. You presence alone won’t save him, but it does give him a little bit of warmth and assurance, that at the end of the day, he’s not alone.

A little yelp of excitement, so inaccurate for a man built like Dongho. Though he’s more of a big bad wolf appearance-wise, his smiling face reminds you of a baby. He dances around the room, eyes bright and happy. None of the questioning looks you shoot his way are enough to grant you an answer. Dongho ignores your stares, until he finally grabs your hands to pull you along. For a long time he doesn’t explain what the hell is going on, but when he’s acting like that, you cannot just stop him. The questions have to wait.

How his fists tighten when he’s mad. Dongho doesn’t think about hiding them, he’s too taken by the all-consuming anger. It’s a normal thing to get frustrated, but somehow, seeing him mad is... different? You’re not used to the paling insides of his fingers, an effect of limited blood flow. You know he won’t do anything, it’s just his way of offloading, and yet, somewhere deep in your mind, you’re scared. Terrified, but of the possibility it will stay this way between you and him.

MINHYUN

Reaching for his hand when the moment feels vile. Minhyun, though not a fan of publicly displayed affection, doesn’t take his fingers away. They interlock with yours, grip quick to tighten in a comforting manner. The world instantly seems a little bit more bearable. As soon as you turn to look at him, Minhyun’s gaze meets yours. There’s a question whether you’re fine. Not wanting to have him worried any longer, you nod yes. With him, you’ll be fine.

The coldness of an ice pack. Your momentary lack of focus costed you pain and tears. Now Minhyun, taking the role of a house nurse, stands behind you, holding a bundle of ice cubes and using the moment to scold you. Because how dare you hurt yourself when he’s just a few steps away? How dare you not give him a chance to save you from the dangers of living? How dare you roll your eyes when he’s teaching you an important lesson of self-preservation? And don’t even think about whining at the coldness, it’s meant to freeze!

A laptop you have completely forgotten. Though Minhyun’s attention is all on you and he’s reaching lower your back, the sound of crashing electronics forces you apart. You take a look at his swollen lips before turning to search for the source of all commotion. Minhyun’s hands fall on your thighs, still not ready to let go completely. He doesn’t seem concerned about the noise. If anything, it’s the growing distance between the two of you that he’s wary of. When you sheepishly tell him that it’s his laptop that fell, he just grunts and then pulls you back.

Washing your hands when he encircles you from behind. Minhyun’s head rests on your shoulder, meanwhile his fingers cover yours under the stream of running water. He doesn’t speak. There’s no need, you know he expects you to wash his hands as well. It’s a little thing you have a habit of spoiling him with. As you silently comply, Minhyun laughs, chest trembling against your back. Though you can’t see, you can feel his gaze on your profile.

A heavy gaze. One that pushes you down, until you’re flat against the ground, trembling in fear, because you’re its object. Minhyun won’t say a word, but he watches, as if he was feeding on your terror. But how can someone be vicious enough to put a boot on your lungs and remain silent, indifferent to the tortures they’re putting you through? Of course, he’s awaiting a grand apology, but even tired, breathless from the anger olympics, you don’t want to relent. Not when he’s not free of his own wrongdoings.

REN

The stark shape of his nose, digging itself into your cheek. Minki is trying to get a reaction out of you, but while doing so, he only causes you a meltdown inside. Instead of a grimace, he’s rewarded with a sweet smile. Minki wants to push your buttons more, the soul of a troublemaker is chewing his ear off, and yet he gives up. It doesn’t go past your attention - his defeated, but genuine smile is a sight to behold.

Delicate skin you are allowed to touch. Minki’s facing away from you, either moaning or whining, depending on what nerve you’re currently crunching. Few times he tries to swat your hands away, but you’re not that easily scared by his threats. They can’t be serious. When he makes a sarcastic comment about your great massage techniques, you act dumb and dig where it hurts him. Minki scowls, but gives up, promising he won’t open his mouth again. A few minutes is how long he can go without uttering a word.

The moment he forgets himself in the feeling of being close. Minki’s hot breath is blowing at your lips, and though you anticipate a kiss, it’s never placed. It’s as if some greater being has stopped the time for him, imprisoning Minki in the pose. Having him so close is heavenly, but just as happy as you are, the need to laugh overpowers. His eyes open at the sound, surprised. Once again, he returns to the body of a born teaser.

A pair of gloves, thrown at you seemingly out of annoyance. At least that’s what’s written on Minki’s face. Annoyance, because you’re forgetful enough to hurt yourself in the cold season. Stiff fingers have trouble putting the material on. You hesitate. Is it really okay for you take the gloves? Minki gave you them himself, but sometimes we hurt ourselves for others. It’s a reminder that he cares a lot, no matter how much of trouble he’s brought you. Or how deep is the frown on his features.

The face of disinterest. You hate it with burning passion. It’s his way of telling you that things aren’t alright between the two of you. That he feels distaste, as if he was staring at a plate of mold. Minki’s words are cold, pulled straight out of freezing temperatures. They make your back stiffen, eyes glaze over, hands tighten their grip. You want to disappear, melt away and seep through the ground to mix with the depths. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to suffer at the hands of his indifferent facial expression.

➛ pollenat’s list of headcanons

➛ pollenat’s list of shorts

➛ pollenat’s list of scenarios

[taylizmasterpost]

Liz After the Agency (September 2012 - September 2014)

So, Liz is spiraling. Her mental health isn’t doing great. And she was just asked to leave The Agency (presumably to take care of herself, although the public reason given was for her to start a solo career). Things are bad.

However, in the darkness, there’s always a light. And the light for Liz, in this case is her neighbor, Bryan Brown.

24 September 2012 - Liz and Bryan tweet at each other for the first time:

17  October 2012 - Taylor writes This Love:

Now, this COULD be about Liz, considering the back and forth. However, I’m more inclined to believe Taylor wrote this about Swiftgron’s first break up, right after they got back together, which you can read more about here. 

The same day, Liz makes a vague tweet about jealousy:

It’s crazy weird to me that the same day Taylor is celebrating getting back together with Dianna and writing This Love, Liz is pissed off and jealous about something. Coincidence? Maybe. But I don’t think so.

22 October 2012 - Red is released. According to a later interview with the photographer who did the Red booklet (who happens to be Liz’s current roommate), Taylor based the concept of the photoshoot on some headshots they’d taken for Liz: 

“Taylor is a mutual friend of ours. Stephen and his brother were friends with her years before, and I became friends with her separately. What ended up happening was one of her background singers needed headshots. When Taylor saw them a few months later, she came to me and was like, “Liz showed me the shots you took of her, and I need my album to look exactly like that.” Clearly, this was a no-brainer. I said, “OK!” Before then, I’d been kind of burned out on music photography. A lot of the shoots were super controlling. I needed a new perspective on the field itself and wanted future shoots to be very free-flowing — just the artist and a minimum crew. Luckily for Stephen and me, that’s exactly how Taylor presented the Red album shoot. So it was just the three of us shooting everything together. She wanted everybody else to remain off set, allowing for a more personal and intimate experience.”

So, I don’t know why Taylor did this. Maybe she wanted to look like a hipster for the Red album and Liz was the best she knew. Or, maybe, she wanted to scream to those who knew her well that this album was about LIZ HUETT. 

In this series of Liz headshots, there’s also one specific photo of Liz wearing the Stevie Nicks moon necklace that Taylor possibly gave to her:

Is this possibly one of the reasons why Taylor wanted to mimic them for the Red album? 

Later that day, Taylor goes on Good Morning America and says she wrote a new song “like two days ago” (probably talking about This Love?)

And after that, Taylor tells the LA Times that Begin Again and State of Grace are about the same person:

“There were a few track list choices I knew I was going to make way in advance,” she said. “I knew I wanted to bookend the album with ‘State of Grace’ and ‘Begin Again’ because they’re inspired by the same person who inspired a few songs on the record. I wanted to start and end the album with the first and last song I ever wrote about that relationship.”

“Then in between those songs, I wanted to paint a picture of the ups and downs I’ve experienced in life and love, not necessarily in the order it happened chronologically,” Swift continued. “I like to spread the emotions out in a way that never makes you feel like there’s a sad lull, then a burst of four songs in a row about joy. At the end of the day, I make a track list based on what my gut feeling tells me.” ‘Begin Again’ is my song version of a cliffhanger ending. Throughout the whole album, there have been songs about the trials and tribulations of love and loss, and there at the end of the record it starts all over. As soon as I wrote that song, I knew exactly where I wanted to put it.”

Now, I don’t think this means Begin Again is about Liz. I think it means that Liz is the past relationship in the song, and Dianna is the present. And Liz actually has a song called “Good About Her” that kind of mirrors Begin Again and I find that HILARIOUS and also kind of a smoking gun.

26 October 2012 -Taylor goes on Katie Couric. Katie asks if Taylor’s ex in WANEGBT got the message and Taylor says she “hasn’t heard from him since” and also mentions “some of my exes like to write really long emails.” Now, if the song is about Liz, this is a lie, because she definitely did get lunch with Liz after WANEGBT came out. However, I think it’s fair that what she’s hinting here is that things did not end well in that messy relationship.

25 October 2012 - Liz quote tweets Caitlin about crying on the treadmill to All Too Well :

8 November 2012 - Liz releases Never Know on YouTube:

The lyrics that make me think this is about Taylor are the “now and then I catch myself singing your old song.” ESPECIALLY in the context of that treadmill tweet and Liz probably having written this during her Nashville sessions over the summer. However, it could also be about Jason, who, as we know, was a struggling musician before he became a photographer.

18 November 2012 - Taylor shoots the MV for IKYWT, wears the same black and white shirt she wore around when Liz first joined the band. Liz calls the news of her leaving the Agency “bittersweet.”

And “bittersweet” is the exact same phrasing that around a week later Taylor would say the ex who most of Red is about used to describe listening to the album:

19 November 2012 - Ali Puliti tweets about listening to two Liz demos -- Blessed Are the Brokenhearted and Dammit, meaning this song, which wouldn’t be released until 2018, was likely written during those summer 2012 songwriting sessions:

When the song was eventually released by Jana Kramer in 2018, Liz posted this on Facebook:

The song also notably contains the lyric “cause I could hear you in the kitchen, playing your guitar” which REALLY REALLY makes me think of Taylor. Although it could maybe be for Jason, who was also a musician.

Here’s the story Liz told about the song:

“‘Dammit’, actually, was a story that I lived out. Like, I was with somebody I was, you know, getting very serious. We were talking about starting a life together and we even had this house, like, picked out in the city where we lived and we would drive by it and be like ‘one day when we buy that house’. And, so, when we broke up, the pain of, like, saying goodbye was really, you know, really intense, but it was also mourning the loss of the hypothetical future. So, it was like saying goodbye to the past memories and stuff, sort of what we almost had and that’s where that song came from. So, honestly, I didn’t write it for anyone else, but myself, truly. But, um, it’s beautiful that music has such a way of resonating with someone who might not even know and they connect with it so much that another artist would want to sing it. It’s such a high compliment.”  

And here’s a quick clip of Liz singing it. So, seems like a Jason song, if not for the fact that she wrote it almost a year after they broke up and kept it hidden for years before eventually giving it to another artist.

13 December 2012 - Taylor’s birthday. Liz does not wish her happy birthday. This, to me, is the biggest evidence that there’s some amount of bad blood between them at this point.

14 December 2012 - The Music Video for IKYWT comes out. Taylor wears a shirt she wore a LOT when TayLiz was first a thing in 2009. She also wears a key necklace, which will be important later.

17 December 2012 - Liz posts a picture from Claire’s birthday party using a picture without Taylor in it (even though it seems fair to assume Taylor would’ve been invited).

20 December 2012 - Liz tells a fan her favorite song from Red is All Too Well:

21 December 2012 - Liz wishes Claire happy birthday. Further signaling bad blood with her and Taylor since she didn’t bother to do it for Taylor.

9 January 2013 - Liz releases Blessed Are the Brokenhearted:

Here she describes love as “burning up out of control” which is the same phrase Taylor used on Red -- “burning red” -- and Begin Again -- “I’ve been spending the last eight months thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end.” Also, the idea of love as an out of control flame really does describe their relationship.

20 January 2013 - Liz releases One Hand on the Wheel:

Here, much like in Red, Liz describes a relationship using the metaphor of a car. The relationship is messy, maybe even toxic. There’s even a lyric that sounds like it could be out of treacherous: “Being wrong shouldn’t feel so right like it does / But it does.”

22 January 2013 - Liz releases Wreck of Who I Am.

This is the song that is the strongest evidence for me that Liz WAS going through some mental health stuff over the summer when she was doing all this songwriting, and that that Reddit post about running into a drunk Liz who said she was fired for being “out of control” seems somewhat accurate. Here Liz sings about her battles, the way she’s losing them, and asks her younger self what she would think if she saw her now.

I’m not going to go into too much detail on Liz and Bryan (since unlike her and Jason there’s no need to use them to say much about TayLiz) but, despite his flaws, he was the person to pick Liz up off the ground when she was feeling this way, so he should get some credit for that.

Sometime around this - Liz releases Stones. Similar upbeat nature to Blessed Are the Brokenhearted with mentions to some of the struggles of Wreck of Who I Am.

Choice Lyrics:

When you’re knocked off your throne And lying on your back Things will never be so clear Cause when you see it all like that Sooner or later it comes around Yeah we all taste that bitter truth But all the stones you’re throwing now Will be the ones they throw at you

Also with these batch of songs, we get Sun Out of the Rain:

So baby, hold on, the storm will roll away It may be pouring down, but it’s only for today A million pieces might be falling into place And when there are no words to say We’ll make the sun out of the rain

29 January 2013 - Chantelle Paige posts a picture of Liz and Taylor and talks about a “sad night turned awesome.” Once again, I think this is a throwback from that night in 2012.

2 April 2013 - Liz goes to therapy. Her and Bryan are dating at this point.

2 September 2013 - Liz tells a fan on twitter that she hasn’t been to any of the Red shows, which to me definitely backs up that fan account of Liz being bitter about being fired.

23 December 2013 - Liz wishes Taylor Happy Birthday. This seems like a peace offering to me, considering they haven’t spoken in like a year and she refused to do this the earlier year. Also worth noting that Swiftgron is on its last legs at this point.

1 March 2014 - Sara Evans releases Put My Heart Down, which was co-written by Liz and is about walking away from a toxic relationship:

Now, from what I know of Liz and Jason, this doesn’t seem like their dynamic at all. It’s too soon for it to be about her and Bryan However, it does remind me a LOT of what Taylor was writing about on Red. Her are some choice lyrics:

I never pictured us fighting this much Thought we were figured out, but it’s so messy now Your words cut so deep and I think you should leave

Put my heart down and walk away This kind of love is dangerous So pack up all your things, just leave some air to breathe A million toxic tears fallin’ like rain over here This is the final hour The end of our story tonight And I don’t wanna fight

Now, please go listen to Treacherous, Battle/Let’s Go and Story of Us and tell me this is not the same relationship.

Bonus though, this song is copyrighted for 2014, making it make even LESS SENSE for it to be written about Bryan. 

17 July 2014 -  Timothy James Brown releases a song called Change My Mind that was co-written by Liz. I’m out of video links, so here are some choice lyrics:

All the horses became soldiers Dark as night to drag me away A complicated kind of heartbreak When you promise somebody you’ll stay

I know you’ve been hurting I know more than most I don’t have the courage Where you’re going, I can’t follow

To me, this reads as Liz making peace with leaving the Agency. She recognizes her demons, and how they ruined her relationship with Taylor, and says “where you’re going, I can’t follow” because she’s not in a good enough place to keep touring with Taylor.

So things are looking bleak in TayLiz land. However, Liz seems to be recovering! She’s writing songs acknowledging some problems in the relationship and her own battles, and she’s also in therapy and dating Bryan. It’s time for some reconciliation. But first, let’s see what’s up in Taylor-land:

Liz References on the Red Tour

[dgmagines]

Could I just get fluff for the main 3 with a huge amount of cuddles??

Thisis,, sorta related? But here’s a cuddle imagine Min wrote three years ago ft.Kanda!!  if you wanna read that owo 

Oh!! and gentle reminder that askbox is open for another 3 days so don’t forget to send your stuff, aight? Now on with the ask!! It got lowkey long so I’m gonna put it under read more, okay? q w q

Allen

Itwas no secret that Allen got cold rather easily. It also wasn’t a surprise toanyone when they saw him clinging to someone to leech off of their body warmth-especially in the colder months. What did surprise them, however, washow needy he got whenever he wanted some warmth – especially if itinvolved a certain (h/c) who, as of this moment, was trying really hard to focuson their paperwork.

Theycould hear Allen whining their name, half asleep as he pressed his body closerto theirs in what was probably a poorly executed attempt to get them to stopwriting– oh, and also to steal some of their body warmth as well. He’d alwayscommented about how they were basically a walking furnace – a comment whichthey took as a compliment, albeit a weird one – and would always cling to themin the winter months so this was to be expected.

_______ glanced towards the pouting boy,smiling softly when he grumbled out invitations to sleep and mumbled cursestowards their report for the nth time that day. He’d been at it for the pasthour now, clinging and pawing at their arm with his blanketed hands, determinedto detract their attention from the stacks of papers whose deadline was still aweek ahead.

“Youknow you could just go to sleep first, right?”

“Andfreeze myself to death?! ______, I didn’t know you could be so mean!” Allen’soutburst caused the young (h/c) to bust out laughing, prompting him to huffat their reaction. As if to prove his point, the teen shook his hands loosefrom the thick blanket, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around his partner’sabdomen. He snuck his hands under their shirt, grinning at the surprise yelpthey let out as his frigid fingers made contact with their skin.

“Allen!Get those zombie hands off of me or I swear to god-!” The white-haired maleshook his head ferociously, pushing himself closer to them until he could feelthem tethering to the edge of their seat. He grinned, a mischievous glint inhis eyes as he rested his chin on their shoulder.

“Noway! I told you I needed to cuddle for warmth!!” Any attempt they made to tryand push him away was met with him tightening his arms around them, pressinghis cold hands to as much skin as he could before his hands warmed up. _______groaned, leaning heavily against him so that they wouldn’t fall off their seat.

“Okayokay!! Fine, I’ll cuddle! Let go of me already!” ______ finally relented andthe smile on Allen’s face felt like they were staring right into the sun. Theyflicked his forehead, a pout of their own settling on their visage as Allenwhined. They turned towards the table, Allen groaning and whining when he sawthat they were clearing their things at a really slow pace.

_______laughed.

“You’relucky I love you,”

 Kanda

Warm.

Thatwas what Kanda thought as he burrowed his face in their chest, pulling themimpossibly close as he felt himself drifting in the realm between dream andreality. He heard a low chuckle of amusement coming from his partner, hiseyebrows furrowing as the sound pulled him out of his dream.

“Whatsfunny-?” he mumbled almost incoherently, parting from their warmth just a tinybit so that he could tilt his head upwards to glare at them. A mumbled ‘goodmorning’ and their lips pressed to his forehead made Kanda huff, his eyesnarrowing in slight dissatisfaction before he assumed his previous positiononce more.

He could feel his partner running their handthrough his hair, fingers massaging his scalp ever so often. That, paired withthe soft humming of a song he didn’t recognize, was almost enough to lull himback into slumber.

Almost.

“Yuu,aren’t you going to get up anytime soon?” ______ hummed, hands pausing theiraction in favour of gently patting his head, prompting him to lift his faceonce more. Even with how unfocused his gaze was due to being sleepy, hecouldn’t miss the soft smile that was etched on their lips, warm (e/c) eyesstaring back at him.

Heblinked.

Andhe almost let out a whine at the thought of leaving his bed.

“DoI have to?” if one squinted hard enough, they could see Kanda’s lips forminginto a slight pout and ______ had to hold back the ticklish laughter thatthreatened to bubble from their throat at the sight. How and when had thegrumpy swordsman they all knew and loved turned so soft?

“Hmmwell I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” they paused, pressingtheir lips to his forehead once more before grinning cheekily at him.

“Butyou promised to check on the plants before leaving for the mission, remember?”Kanda grumbled a few choice words under his breath, brows furrowing as heremembered the promise he had sleepily made before they collapse into eachother’s arms the night before. Curse his sleepy self!!

Theswordsman was silent for a few minutes – mainly because he was trying tocalculate how much time he could afford to procrastinate on the plant checkingand reporting for the mission – before he finally responded-

-bypulling the blankets higher and pulling them closer.

“’slater. I still have some more time,”

Lavi

Itwas quiet in the Order that day, which was rare considering the amount of,,,,unique,,, personalities that lived under the roof. Lavi could hear someoneshuffling about in his room, their murmurs not quite reaching his ears as herolled over and pressed a pillow to his face.

“Pleasebe quiet,” he groaned when he heard the clatter of something falling to theground, a frantic apology reaching his ears a few moments later. The shufflingnoises continued for ten more minutes or so, all while Lavi tried to drift offinto dreamland to no avail.

Hesighed, aggravated at his own brain for keeping him awake, and reached across thebed- only to find the other side empty.

Ah..That would explain the noise then…

Thered head rubbed his eyes as he lifted himself from the confines of his bed,blanket falling from his chest to pool around his waist. A single emerald eyesquinted in the dim light of his room, the only source of light coming from alit candle a couple steps away from on the work table.

“________?”he called for his partner, wondering where the heck they were when theyshould’ve been in bed with him. Not a minute after he uttered their name, thelovable (h/c) poked their head into the room, smiling apologetically at him asthey stepped inside and closed the door behind them.

“DidI wake you?” they sat beside him on the bed, a hand coming up to pat his hairdown as if it’ll soothe his unruly bedhead. Nonetheless, Lavi leaned into thetouch, closing his eyes as their fingers ran through the strands of his hair.

“No.But I couldn’t sleep without you either,” they laughed at his barely concealedwhine, pressing their lips to his forehead before gently pushing him back inbed.

“Apologiesmy love,” even in the dim lighting, Lavi swore the small smile they wore ontheir lips was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “I was restless andcouldn’t sleep after a dream I had,”

“Whatkind of dream?” he asked, voice taking on an almost childish tone as his eyesbecame heavy once more. He could barely pick up the scent of the burning candlethey had used, the smell slowly lulling him back to sleep.

“It’snothing to concern yourself over, Lavi,” they smiled and before they had achance to move away from him, the boy grabbed hold of the sleeve of theirshirt. He looked up at them with a pout on his lips and a sleepy glare in hiseyes – which only made ______’s heart pick up pace because they thought he wassimply adorable.

“ButI wanna knoooooow,” he mumbled, whining even as he was slipping into sleep.______ smiled, gently prying his fingers off of their sleeve, blew out thecandle, and climbed into the bed next to him. He immediately turned and wrappedhis arms around them, burying his face in the crook of their neck as theylaughed from how ticklish his hair was.

“Buttell me while we’re like this… I wanna be warm,” _______ ran a hand through hishair, the redhead making himself comfortable in their embrace. With a smallsmile on their face, they parted their lips.

“Alrightthen,”

[supposed2bfunny]

2doc Week Day 7-First Kiss

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of sex, alcohol, drugs, the usual

Wow, we’re at the last day just like that. Big thanks to everyone who participated, and by all means, keep using the tag if you continue to work with any of the prompts. Hope everyone had fun and maybe met some new members of the community!! <3 <3 <3

For three days, Stuart had been losing sleep and fearing for his life, and it was starting to show.

He could blame his jittery behavior and near constant mouthful of pills on the jetlag at first. After all, he’d never been to Japan, and adjusting to such a different time zone was no easy feat. He could tell that the others were weary from it all too. But when they returned to Kong after wrapping up the first half of their tour, spent yet exhilarated from the experience, he didn’t feel any better.

It got worse.

Because back in Kong with the four of them recharging and relaxing under one roof, Stuart could not help but face Murdoc almost constantly, his head spinning with guilt at what he’d done, and at the bassist’s own cluelessness.

He was a creep, a sodding awful friend. A liar.

“This is just the beginning,” Murdoc had spoken around the lip of a bottle of cognac. He’d been saying that nonstop on the tour, though his voice was particularly querulous that night. The thrill of touring, of performing live (behind a curtain, granted, but live nonetheless) to venues full of screaming fans had electrified him, and he was living the rockstar life he’d been aspiring to for the past decade of his life like he was trying to make up for lost time.

Stuart had never seen a man drink so much, snort so much, and fuck so much, oftentimes all at the same time. Not that he minded. On this particular night, he realized that Murdoc was teetering at the edge of his limits, even for him. So, with Russel out with Noodle to try some of Tokyo’s top-quality sushi (“when in Rome, do as the Romans do,” the drummer had said, “when in Japan, eat the sea”), he found himself tasked with making sure Murdoc didn’t take himself out Bonzo style.

An especially tough task since the singer had already imbibed half his weight in Sapporos and a couple of naproxen for his migraine.

“Yeah,” he prodded the bassist along when Murdoc fell quiet, head lulling a bit with exhaustion, bottle of liquor threatening to fall from his hands onto the hotel floor. “Just the beginning, Muds? Tell me more.”

Keeping the older man talking until he sobered up was probably the best idea, he figured. He wasn’t sure how he would pull that off, but Murdoc seldom needed much prompting to talk up a storm.

“Mate, you’n’me. Gonna…gonna tour every country on the map. Then the moon.” Murdoc had a bit of a stammer, Stuart had learned. It came out when he was drinking and not as sharp-minded as usual. He stumbled over words, tended to start phrases and then change them halfway through his sentences. It was interesting to learn that even something as simple as talking seemed to take extra consideration for Murdoc. To simply hold a conversation meant clearing hurdles.

Stuart spent his time vacillating between finding these details of Murdoc’s life sad and endearing. Tonight, beer softened his sentiments, and he was leaning towards the latter.

“I’d like that. We’ll sound good on the moon,” he agreed. “Great acoustics, I hear. Right, Murdoc, the acoustics are good?” Stay awake, you stupid sod.

Murdoc’s unfocused eyes slid across the room and snagged on his, suddenly focusing so sharply that Stuart’s heart skipped and he felt himself start to sweat under his arms a little bit. How could Murdoc look at him so intensely when he was so altered?The mis-matched gaze did not let up. The bassist spent a lot of his time staring at the singer, but to hold eye contact with him like this was rare. Intimidating. Electric.

“You’ll sound fucking brilliant wherever you sing, mate,” he replied, and Stuart felt warm suddenly; he rose to open the window, stumbling over a few empty beer bottles on his way across the bedroom. “Your voice carrying across the stage. Satan, the stuff of wet dreams.”

“That’s a weird way to compliment someone.”

“I’m not complimenting…wasn’t trying to compliment you.”

Stuart took a few deep breaths of fresh air, then crossed back to resume sitting in the chair beside the bed where the older man was sprawled, but Murdoc reached out, caught his wrist, eyes defiant despite his intoxication.

“What, Muds?”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Okay, I heard you.” What was it then, a come-on? He jerked his hand out of the bassist’s grip, trying to shove that idea out of his head. “You’ve sounded good too, you know. You’re good live. The fans go crazy for you.”

“Of course they do. You see what I do with my hips. Between your looks and my…zest, we carry the band’s sex appeal. It’s a two-man job. We create, we establish that tension.”

“We sure do, mate. Can I get you some water?” Because he did not want to sit around talking about his sex appeal with Murdoc any more. Especially since his heart was beating faster, and the tips of his fingers felt pins and needles prickly. Must be a result of the drugs. Mixed with the damn beers. Mixed with the fact that he felt high every time he was alone with Murdoc.

“You ever shagged a bloke?” Murdoc asked arbitrarily, and Stuart could swear that the room tilted a bit in that moment.

“Excuse me?”

The older man’s eyes were still on him. On his mouth, his hands, always coming back to his eyes. He was glazed with liquor; he didn’t care how embarrassed the singer looked. His words simply had to come out.

“Have you?”

“No, Murdoc,” he replied, again crossing the room, this time to the mini fridge, and his relief to find mini bottles of water was overwhelming. It took a long time for him to manage to twist the small bottle open. He didn’t bother to ask if Murdoc had ever shagged a bloke. He didn’t want to know. “Gotta use the loo. I’ll be right back. Don’t choke on your own vomit, okay?”

“Hm,” Murdoc responded, eyes wandering up to consider the room’s molding as the singer legged it to the bathroom.

Stuart took his time, rinsing his face with cold water, downing the bottle from the fridge and tossing the container into the trashcan. Wasn’t Japan big on recycling? Fuck it. He was practically on vacation.

He smoothed his hair, tried not to think about what in Murdoc’s confused brain would bring him to ask such a question. By the time he made it back out, Murdoc had fallen asleep; his nose made a slight whistling noise as he breathed through it, and Stuart knew him well enough to know that it was only a matter of minutes before his mouth opened so he could breath that way instead. His nasal passages were so busted that he was doomed to sleep looking corpselike, mouth hung open and loud snores imminent.

In the meantime, he was still and he was quiet. And Stuart came to stand over him, looking at the open bottle of cognac somehow unspilled in his arms, at the gleam of his gold cross, at the faint stubble on his chin. Keeping him talking had been a bad idea, the singer decided. Better to let Murdoc sleep the alcohol off and keep an eye on him.

And while he had this moment to himself…

Alone in a foreign country with no one else around, Stuart leaned down and pressed his lips very softly against Murdoc’s.

He pulled back, heart hammering, entire face hot with shame. He flicked on the television, listening to the news in Japanese for a bit.

Five minutes later, Murdoc’s mouth hung open as he snored and Stuart was working through a few more Sapporos. Ten minutes later, Murdoc was flying awake to lean over the edge of the bed and vomit all over the carpet. The sight alone set off the singer’s gag reflex, and he joined in, prompting a late-night visit from an overly polite but clearly distressed staff member.

It didn’t matter that nobody knew what had happened. Because that didn’t’ change the fact that Stuart had taken advantage, kissed Murdoc when he was asleep and unable to turn down the gesture. His anonymity only increased his guilt.

So he was dismayed when Murdoc barged into his room without knocking on the third day back from their tour, looking grumpy and exhausted.

“This heart-felt moment has been brought to you by the Russel Hobbs Federation of Social Niceties,” he spat kicking at the coils of wires that Stu had arranged around the keyboard he was tinkering with, trying to be useful, trying to keep busy.

“What does that even mean?” he asked, confused, and not making efforts to get up off the floor.

“It means Russ has been giving me a hard time. Because apparently I did something to upset you.”

Stuart had gone out of his way to avoid Murdoc since The Incident, so he was surprised to hear that Russel thought the bassist had been getting into fights with him. “No, Muds. You haven’t done anything. Can you close the door on your way out? Also maybe try knocking next time—”

“Slow down there, Crawley, Stills, and Nash.”

“How long’ve you been waiting to use that nonsensical nickname?” he couldn’t help but smile at the bassist’s wit, matched only by his lack of logic, and Murdoc caught his smile and looked pleased.

“Think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since we left Tokyo.”

And just like that, his expression clouded.

“Faceache. Seriously. I haven’t the faintest idea what I’ve done to upset you, but I’ve noticed it, Russel noticed it, and if the way she points her spoon at me when she eats her cereal in the morning, even Noodle’s onto it. Everyone here assumes I’ve upset you, so go ahead and let me know what I’ve done so I can decide whether or not to bother saying I won’t do it again.”

Stuart looked down at the auxiliary cord in his hand and sighed. “I promise, you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re all right; I’ve been acting a little weird. But it really wasn’t your fault. I did something I shouldn’t have. Trying to sort out what to do about it now.”

Murdoc looked intrigued. “We going to have someone ringing the door in nine months time asking for child support?”

The singer pulled a face. “Of course not! Nothing like that!”

“Right,” Murdoc looked unconvinced, but now there was something else on his features. Mild alarm. Stuart realized with a rush that the bassist was getting concerned for him. “What was it then? Nobody hurt you, did they? Mate, I’m being honest when I tell you I remember about seven minutes total from Tokyo. I know you were drinking a lot too. If anyone hurt you—”

“No one hurt me!” he snapped, rising to his feet so he could loom over Murdoc, who instantly stepped back a bit so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck so much to meet the singer’s eyes. “Maybe you should go.”

“You join the Yakuza?” Murdoc asked, ignoring his suggestion, turning nasty to keep the singer from clamming up more.

Stuart took the bait at once. “No! Look I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Nothing illicit like that, got it? You haven’t done anything wrong, and since you didn’t want to be here in the first place, I don’t see why you won’t just leave me alone!”

“Well because now I’m intrigued by little Stu’s bad behavior,” he replied, smug.

“Piss off, Murdoc.”

“C’mon, just tell me what went wrong!”

“No, get out of my room—”

“I won’t breathe it to another soul!”

“Murdoc get ou—”

“You’ll feel better if you just say it, mate—”

“I kissed a man,” Stuart seethed.

Murdoc froze so dramatically that the singer could practically hear the comedic record scratch. “Well. That’s certainly not like joining the Yakuza at all. Stepping out of the closet, are you?”

“No,” he said tersely, feeling a headache coming on anew. “Just wanted to try it. So I did. And uh, it’s been on my mind ever since. Happy now?”

The bassist certainly didn’t look happy. He stared at Stu with a look akin to betrayal on his face. The singer flinched when his mouth opened, awaiting the stream of homophobic slurs that would no doubt become his new nicknames.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

The singer was caught off guard. “He didn’t really kiss back,” he admitted. “So, it wasn’t really a good, satisfying kiss. I can’t say. You uh, you probably don’t remember. But you got really drunk one night and asked if I’d ever been with a man. I had never considered it, but you made me think about it. So, uh. That’s how it happened.”

“Glad to know I inspired you to get out of your comfort zone,” Murdoc said, a lackluster smile on his mouth.

“Too bad it wasn’t a real kiss though,” Stuart said, and why the hell did he say that? As though Murdoc cared one bit for how satisfying his half-true dalliances were.

“Would you…” Murdoc took a step forward, his neck bending back a bit to hold the singer’s gaze. “Would you want to see what it’s like? A proper kiss, that is.”

There were no liquor bottles this time. No pills so he could pretend this moment was a fabrication of his drug-addled brain. His chest felt tight and his fingertips were going a little numb with adrenaline again. And there was Murdoc, smelling of cigarettes, his eyes not narrowed like they usually were, expression unreadable. They both knew the answer to the question.

He had been asking it himself since he’d blurted out what he’d done in Tokyo.

“Y…yes.”

Murdoc didn’t wait for any further social cues. He closed the space between them, jutting his face up to meet the singer’s mouth, kissed him like they’d done it a million times before: no hesitation, no doubt, just the firm warmth of lips against his.

Stuart’s head spun with the sensation, and he reached out, wanting to touch the older man, deciding against it last-minute. His hands remained frozen between their chests and Murdoc tilted his head slightly, let their lips drag against each other a bit, and the singer had to fight off the urge to moan softly. It was more than acceptable. It was intoxicating.

Just like that, the bassist pulled back, searching Stuart’s eyes like there was text there he couldn’t quite figure out how to read.

“Alright, dents?”

“Yeah.”

“You look ready to keel over.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. No, wait. No!”

He smiled, but not even close to a sincere one. “Did I repel you, then?” he asked. “It was just a kiss, 2D. We never have to do it again, so don’t look so bloody stricken.”

“I’m not stricken. I mean, I was surprised, Muds,” he admitted, looking away, at the keyboard he had set out to fix and had only dismantled. “Like, surprised by how much I liked it.”

“Hm,” the bassist considered his answer, then his expression brightened a bit. “Well, if it wasn’t the worst thing you ever experienced, we could always try it again.”

“Oh!” he was blushing now, how utterly humiliating. Blushing and stumbling for words and taking a few steps back. “I mean, I hadn’t considered that. We just did a second ago, do you really think we should do it again so soon—”

Murdoc was following each step he took, and suddenly the singer’s back was against the wall and he knew that he was losing the chance to deescalate the situation. If he asked the bassist to back off, he knew Murdoc would.

Instead, he let his eye fall mostly closed, focusing on the bassist’s mouth.

“Yeah, alright.”

“Hm. That’s nice, pet, very nice,” he purred, voice so low that Stuart could feel more than hear it.

Then Murdoc’s mouth was on his again, and when his shoulders hit the wall seconds later and the bassist’s hands rose to pin them there, he let himself moan like he’d been wanting to.

By the time Murdoc pulled away from his wet lips, pressing a last peck to the corner of his mouth, looking at him through his fringe with his breath quickened and fluttery, Stuart knew he had to set the record straight about what had happened in Tokyo.

Not right away, of course. For the present, he could use that jealousy that he tasted on Murdoc’s tongue to his advantage. He had quite a few more kisses he wanted from the bassist.

[dreamsofmischiefandchocolateeyes]

Not like other people (Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter One: Bored

Chapter Two: Where am I?

Her head throbbing was the first thing (Y/N) felt, when she came to. She felt like someone was hammering red-hot nails into her head - or some small animal had its claws in her temples, stabbing and scratching at her brain. Opening her eyes felt even worse, to the point of tears welling up in her eyes and her being unable to blink them away. So she decided to keep her eyes closed, since everything was dark anyway.

As she tried to lift one of her hands to at least wipe her tears away, she realised she couldn’t move her arms. For a short moment (Y/N) panicked fearing the worst, already picturing herself paralysed after some kind of freak accident. But concentrating on her body she realised that she was sitting upright in a chair, her arms and legs bound. After a short ‘screening’ she was relieved to detect no significant injuries aside from her head injury, which explained her dizziness and nausea.

(Y/N) tried to remember what happened, but kept drawing a blank. And the more she tried the more she felt like puking. So she concentrated on her other senses. First she felt the cold humid air and water droplets on her skin. Smelling the air she grimaced since it smelled foul -like stagnant water- and hearing water dripping she came to the conclusion that she was somewhere underground. She remembered being in the canalisation once -though she couldn’t remember why- and the air smelling the same way.

Just then she realised she was thirsty. It must have been some time, since she drank last, more than 8 hours at least. Opening her mouth to moisten her dry lips, she could clearly feel them crack making her wince.

Taking a deep breath (Y/N) tried to collect her thoughts. She must have been abducted, and judging by her headache and the weird sticky feeling on her head, they got her pretty bad. Moving her shoulders and hands she felt herself wearing her lab coat, the cotton fabric gently rubbing over her wrists. So she must have been taken from her workplace. Come on, (Y/N). What else?

Carefully lifting her head she tried to open her eyes this time succeeding, though her vision was still blurred. Her surroundings were dark, just like she remembered the tunnels under the city. The little grey light coming from under some kind of door was enough to see the small room she was in. Though calling it room would probably ‘overdo’ it, since it wasn't even bigger than a broom closet - just enough room for two people standing side by side, the only object being the chair she was sitting on at the wall across the door. If her legs hadn't been tied, she could have even reached the door.

She remembered once seeing a map of the tunnels of the London Underground. The realisation of her low chances to get found in the vast tunnel network under London hit her like a brick wall. Suddenly the cold air felt thick, making her already dry throat tying up. Her heart started to race, setting her whole body on fire, but sending a cold shiver down her back. The darkness surrounding her was infiltrating and slowing down her thoughts, the overall feeling of helplessness spiralling out of control and threatening to drown her.

Through the constant pulsating pain in her head and her burning lungs (Y/N) gripped the chair she was sitting on, her knuckles turning ghostly white. Her whole system was closing down on her, her last thought of a familiar voice. 

“You are not like other people.”

Snapping her eyes open (Y/N) mentally grabbed that thought, willing herself to take deeper breaths. Wading through her foggy thoughts she tried to remember the face behind the voice.

“You are not like other people.” Sherlock’s voice echoed over to her.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and Sherlock invited (Y/N) over for some tea and biscuits. Ever since she befriended the consulting detective she spent her sunday afternoons with him, talking about old cases. Usually John was joining them entertaining her with anecdotes about his adventures with Sherlock, but this time he was spending the day with his current girlfriend. So the detective and the forensic doctor were alone.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment? ‘Cause I’m not sure how to take that.” 

(Y/N) was sitting in John’s armchair a teacup in her hands. She just finished her story about how her old assistant turned the morgue upside-down in search for his mobile, only to realise he left it in the body when the device started to ring. How he managed to do that was beyond her comprehension. And how she made him apologise to the dead for having to open them up a second time. He never lived it down once their colleagues found out - and was not allowed to take any personal belongings in the room.

“It is.” Stepping away from the window Sherlock took a seat opposite of her. “You know I’m bad at this whole-” He motioned with his fingers around. “...human interaction and communication- thing.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Without looking up (Y/N) rolled her eyes at the detective, his chuckling echoing through the room.  

Slowly her breathing evened out at the fond memory. The consulting detective was undoubtedly the most brilliant man she ever met, but his half-hearted attempts to act ‘normal’ were -for the lack of a better word- cringe-worthy. At least he always made her laugh - even if it was at his expense.

Trying to relax her aching muscles (Y/N) concentrated on the sound of the water droplets still dripping somewhere, uninterrupted from her previous panic attack, the soft and constant dripping nearly lulling her to sleep.

That was until she heard the faint scraping of shoes over the floor slowly getting closer, walking at a leisurely pace towards the door, the heavy footsteps echoing through the dark tunnels. (Y/N) anxiously snapped up her eyes staring at the door. For a brief moment she considered screaming for help, but remembering she had been abducted, she realised it must be her kidnapper returning. So she remained quiet staring straight at the gap under the door, listening to the ominous approaching steps.

Moments before the steps stopped in front of the door the room was covered in complete darkness. And then she heard someone fidgeting with -what she assumed were- keys, before the door was roughly ripped open, the light instantly blinding her. Blinking back the tears she looked up.

“I like that view.” The voice sent a shiver down her back - and not the good kind.

Squinting up at him all she saw were dark sunken eyes under a mop of dirty blond hair. He looked ill -like after a long sickness- his eyes eerily familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. And then it hit her like a second brick wall that day. He was familiar, because she’d been working with him for years.

“Trent.”, she gasped.

His evil grin told her she was right. “Hello, (Y/N).”

Chapter Three: A coincidence?

[a-bau-tiful-mind]

Insecurity (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Hello lovebugs! I really want to ride the wave of writing inspiration, so here’s another fill! Anon wanted “Reader and Reid do it for the first time but the reader has a small chest and it's her first time so she is really nervous” and I hope this delivers! Unbeta’d! JSYK It does deal with some self-image issues and mentions of bullying. Fluffy smut warning!

Spencer Reid: I’m finishing up the paperwork, I should be over within the hour and then we can get dinner. I can’t wait to see you.

You sighed at the sweet message, both in infatuation and worry. This was your six month anniversary and your relationship was in that weird limbo where you should have taken it to a more physical level already, but you would always claim you weren’t ready. Spencer knew you were a virgin and even though he wasn’t, he would never even fathom pressuring you, but you felt the pressure yourself. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to have sex with Spencer, if you were honest with yourself you thought about at least twelve times a day - but who’s counting?

You trusted Spencer with all your heart and you’ve never been in love like this before. You were just scared. Scared to bare your body to anyone besides yourself. Scared to make that big leap. Despite knowing better, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of your virginity and the power society puts on it.

You fixed your hair in the mirror and took off the bathrobe, you grabbed your best push-up bra and hooked it on. It was your go-to date night bra, your chest was the feature you were most insecure about. You never felt like a woman, in the mirror you saw your breasts as barely there at all. Back in high school, the locker room was a nightmare mean girls would tell you the boy’s locker room was on the other side of the gym and throw tissues at you so you could stuff. Back then you listened to your mom when she said some ladies are late bloomers, and at 26 you now knew this was the body you were dealt with. It didn’t mean you had to be 100% happy with it. You adjusted your breasts as best you could so they’d sit on top of the padding, creating the illusion that they were fuller.

The more you dwelled on it, the more you knew you wouldn’t want to go out and enjoy the night. You did your best to compartmentalize your self-deprecating thoughts and finish getting ready.

By the time you put your heels on, you head a light knock on your apartment door. Spencer was waiting on the other side with your favorite flowers, “Hey.” You grabbed the flowers from him and he gave you a once-over, “Wow. You look stunning.”

Your cheeks heated at the compliment, “Thanks, babe. You remembered my favorite flowers. Thank you so much.” “I remember everything you say.” He smiled.

“Eidetic memory. Right.” You chuckled, shrugging on your coat and hanging the strap of your purse on your shoulder.

“Even if I didn’t have the brain I do, I’d try especially hard to remember everything I could about you. I love you.”

A rush of genuine emotion fell over you, you were grateful to have Spencer be your first, real love. Sure, you dated in the past, but you never let anyone in like you did with Spencer.

He snapped you out of your mini-trance, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” You smiled as he took your hand in his light grip. When you first started dating, you mistook the way he held your hand or hugged you as hesitance. Your anxieties told you it was because he didn’t want to really touch you. In actuality, when you brought it up to him, he told you he held you so gently because you were the most important thing he could call his, he didn’t want to mess it up by being careless. He handled you like you were a precious artifact at a museum he knew the ins and outs of.

Dinner went on without a hitch, luckily he only had paperwork for the day so he didn’t have any heavy horror stories of the FBI to share. You guys wined, dined, and reminisced about the last six months. It felt both like the six month mark came so quick and that you’ve been together for much longer than just half a year.

There was a comfortable lull in conversation during dessert and you just allowed yourself to fixate on him. His beautiful face, his soft mess of curls, everything about him was amazing to you. You couldn’t believe he settled for you. You just allowed yourself to let, “I love you,” slip from your lips.

“I love you, too,” He said, taken aback slightly from your outburst. But you waited a beat and that smile broke out on his face. Just like clockwork. You’d do anything to see that smile everyday. He signed the check, “Are you ready to get out of here?” There it was, the first loaded question you weren’t sure you were ready for, still you smiled, “Yeah, let’s go.”

You got into his vintage Volvo and buckled your seatbelt. You turned your body and rested the side of your head on the back of the seat, fondly staring at your boyfriend’s profile. You could almost see the words on the tip of his tongue, “Did you, maybe, want to go back to my place?”

There was question two. You told yourself. Now or never, Y/N. “Sure, Spence. That sounds good.”

“We can watch a movie or something.” You almost snorted out loud. Even the genius FBI wonder uses the Netflix and Chill excuse.

“Let’s do it,” You said, smugly, knowing the words had a double meaning.

You two pulled into his apartment and made your way up the stairs. Your heart was racing with each step, but you had a plan. You’d make sure the lights were off before your clothes were and you’d redirect his hands if he got too close to your chest. You took of your coat, purse, and heels at the door and followed Spencer onto the leather couch.

He put on a movie you barely payed attention to and relaxed as his fingers absentmindedly ran through your hair. Spencer was too much of a gentleman to initiate things, and you wouldn’t blame him if he were stalling because he didn’t want to get shot down again, so you leaned up from his shoulder and kissed him. He wasn’t going any farther than making out so you broke away from him and asked, “Can we go to your room?”

“Are you sure?” He asked, you knew it wouldn’t be the first time tonight.

You gave yourself a second to process. Yes. You were sure. You gave him a confident nod and said, “Yes, I’m sure.”

You trailed behind him into his neat room and he turned on the side table lamp, giving the room a warm, orange glow. It was far too bright for your plan, but you allowed it for now. You laid down on the bed, and watched Spencer who was standing at the foot unbuttoning his purple dress shirt. When his shirt was off he paused to grab a box of condoms from his dresser, still in the Target bag.

You couldn’t help but tease him a little in fake shock, “Spencer Reid, did you plan on me throwing myself at you?”

He smiled as he opened the box and grabbed a foil wrapped contraceptive and placed it by the lamp, “Hoped, not planned. Been hoping, actually.”

“And here I thought you loved me for my mind,” You pressed, dramatically looking away in feigned hurt.

“I absolutely do,” he assured, “But when your mind is such a turn on for me, it makes it rather difficult to remain gentlemanly.”

You felt your thighs clench slightly at his change in demeanor. It felt out of the ordinary to have Spencer in this setting, but you’d be damned if you say you regret being there you thought to yourself as you saw him pull his leather belt from the loops of his now tented slacks.

“Spencer,” You couldn’t stop the whine in your voice, “come here.”

He walked towards you, unbuttoning his jeans and separating the zipper. He let his black pants fall at his ankles before he stepped out of them and propped himself over you on the bed. He leaned down to kiss you, deeply. His tongue swiping at your lip for entrance. You let your hands wander, spreading out across his back and gripping his neck. He sat back on his knees and lifted your dress slowly, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you sat up, leaned over to turn off the light, and took your dress off before you could see Spencer’s reaction. The room was close to pitch black. You unhooked your padded bra and dropped it on the floor so it’d be ready for you to grab when Spencer fell asleep.

Spencer caressed your sides softly, making you shiver. His hands skirted over your ribcage which set off an alarm in your head, you grabbed his wrists and moved them down to your panties, hoping he’d just assume you were eager.

He dragged your damp panties down your soft thighs and long legs, you were surprised at how secure you felt when his digits made their way to your untouched center. You gasped as one hand circled your clit slowly, deriving pleasures you had yet to experience before. His other hand ghosted up your side again, going for your breast. You caught his hand in yours before he could grab you and intertwined your fingers moaning, “Fuck, Spencer. . . “

He continued with his foreplay, mapping out the sweet spots throughout your body. He payed particular attention to your neck. You panicked as he dipped his head down and kissed at your collar bones. You didn’t account for this. How would you redirect him smoothly. You grabbed his face and brought him back up for another kiss. Unfortunately, he was stiff and broke away. You brought up the sheet to cover you as he turned on the light.

“Y/N,” he began with concern in his voice, “Do you not want to do this? It’s totally fine if you don’t, believe me. I’m sorry if I pushed you.”

You couldn’t help but feel like crying, “Spencer, it’s not that. It’s just. . .” “What’s wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable? Let me know what I can do to help you.”

“Go be with someone with a better body,” You murmured, a single tear falling from your lashes.

“What?” Spencer’s voice sounded broken, “Y/N, that’s the last thing I want to do. You’re beautiful. Every part of you.”

“Stop, Spencer,” you said, letting your emotions flow full force. You pulled the sheet tighter to your body and stared down at your flat chest, “You’re a man, you should be with someone who looks like a woman and not someone puberty skipped.”

“Y/N, look at me,” he said and you stared into his sad eyes with guilt, “You are the most amazing, sexiest, smartest woman I know. I don’t want some lingerie model.”

“But you could have that, you could have anything you want. You’re Spencer Reid. I just don’t get why you want me.” While you were being honest, you guess. You wiped the tears from your eyes.

“I don’t want any of that,” he said grabbing your hand as tenderly as he did when he took you to dinner, “I want you, Y/N. I wish you’d believe me. One of the sexiest things about you is your confidence, and it hurts me to see it broken. I want you to love yourself as much as I love you, and if you’d let me, I’d like to show you just how much.” He broke the heavy emotions with a cheesy wink.

You couldn’t help but giggle at him attempt to make you smile, “I think I’d like that.”

“Good. May I leave the light on?” He asked, when you nodded he grabbed the sheet you let go from your grip, “Now, where were we?” He laid you down and pulled the sheet away, getting a look at your naked form in the light, “That’s right, I was just about right here,” He kissed down your collar bone, leaving a kiss on the small swell of your breast, finally capturing your hardened nipple between his teeth causing you to gasp.

“Spencer, oh my God.” You whispered, allowing yourself to get lost in the pleasure of his actions. His hand was make quick work of your opening, his long fingers felt so good inside you.

“You’re absolutely stunning,” He said, removing his fingers from your sex, causing you to whine at the loss of stimulation.

All of that went out of the window when he stared in your eyes and tasted your wetness from his hand, his eyes closing for a second to savor your taste. It was by far one of the hottest things you’ve seen. You grabbed at his neck and kissed him deeply, allowing your hands to wander towards his boxer briefs which were slightly damp at the tip of his erection. “Can I?” You asked, timidly, wanting to give him the same respect he’s been giving you.

“Please,” he said his voice gruff and strained. His voice normally was enough to send you into a pit of never ending sexual frustration. This? This made you feel like you were about to combust.

You slid his boxer briefs down his legs and freed his long, aching erection. You instinctually grabbed him, causing him to groan into your ear. You moved your hand up and down his shaft, slowly, getting familiar with him.

You tightened your grip slightly and kept your movements, he groaned a little sharper and grabbed your wrist you froze, “Did I hurt you? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, baby,” He explained, his voice still doing a number of things to your insides, “You’re too much for me, I need to be inside you. Now.”

The urgency in his voice sent another wave of heat through you, settling in the already present knot in your stomach. You grabbed the condom off the table and opened it. You slid it down Spencer’s shaft as his breath hitched.

He kissed you again, pulling away to ask, “Are you ready?”

You nodded and kissed him back, you leaned into his ear and whispered, “Take me, Spencer.”

He aligned himself with your dripping center, slowly entering you. The stretch burned as your body adjusted to his. You gasped at the sharp pain but after a while, it subsided. Spencer kept whispering in your ear, “You’re so beautiful, you feel so good around me. . .”

Once the initial pain subsided, all you felt was the delicious friction of Spencer’s movements. You moved your hips in time with his, causing him to reach deeper into you, hitting your G-spot causing the knot in your stomach to tighten with every thrust. Your cheeks felt flushed and your mind was racing as you felt yourself near the edge, “Oh, God, Spencer. I’m close.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, thrusting even faster than before, “I’m almost there, baby.”

He kept thrusting as deep as he could, bring you to orgasm with a shout of his name. He followed shortly after, releasing into the condom and riding out his high. Spencer rested his sweaty forehead against your, his chest meet rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath. He let himself fall to your side on the pillow next to you, removing the condom and discarding it in the bin next to the bed.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you turned to lay on your side, brushing his damp hair away from his forehead.

“I think I should be thanking you,” he started, “Because. Wow.”

You laughed and pushed him playfully, “Thank you for loving me, and teaching me how to love you better.”

“Thanks for loving me back with all your beauty, Y/N.” He smiled sweetly as his eyes drooped and his blinks lasted longer and longer.

You kissed his forehead and settled into the bed, falling asleep against Spencer’s chest, his heart lulling you.

[digressfromreality]

Sometimes, We Survive By Forgetting

Synopsis: "You can erase someone from your mind. Getting them out of your heart is another story," Deidra whispered to her newest friend. A stray black dog she found, that had hurt himself outside of her home. What Deidra didn't know that the stray dog, was her brother-in-law, Sirius Black, who was very surprised to find his brother's wife very much alive after all these years.

Warning: SMUT, abuse/torture                        Part 1 of ....

(Current timeline: January 1996)

"Pity, pity. I thought you would have weathered better after all this time Lady Black." The Dark Lord, tutted, as he kicked her crumpled body over onto her back again. She moaned, trying to open both eyes. Her right eye must have swelled shut, making it difficult for her to make out the dark lord's menacing form. "You thought you could hide from me, from my Deatheaters?"

"No," she croaked. "I've never wanted to hide from you." She wheezed as the Dark Lord stomped on her wand holding hand.

"I didn't catch all that Janelle. What didn't you do?"

"I was forced. I, uh," she wheezed again, was her lung collapsing, "Regulus did this to me. Please believe me."

"Regulus Black, betray me? Unlikely." Voldemort swooped down, scaring Janelle with the sudden closeness. His face was more snakelike that she had remembered all those years ago. "But you," he jabbed with his wand, "you, the impressible Janelle Fawley, you on the other hand, were always the wildcard in the deck."

"But sir-" He grabbed her jaw with a sudden fierceness, forcing her silent.

"No matter, the truth has a way of coming out, one way or another."

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

(Past: Summer 1995)

Again she dabbled between the vials on the hidden shelf. Her only companions over the last decade, were the memories of a life she had forgotten. Deidra pushed back the vials, looking for the memory labelled For When you're Lonely.

"Regulus I know it will hurt for a while," the blonde pulled the raven haired, lanky boy flush against her, "remember I'm always here for you." He nuzzled further into her embrace, he needed the comfort, he needed the guidance. He wanted to be strong, but for once he could not do it. She played with his hair which usually slicked back had become unruly from the tussle with... Sirius. He tried to steady his haggard breathing with her lulling humming. 

Finally, his anger subsided and a new emotion risen, gratitude and a sense of intimacy? She had quietly and without question, had tended to him in his darkest hour. Without her familiar quips or haughty laughter, she refreshed him with a kind embrace during his moment of weakness. He took in a long breath, smelling vanilla verbena. 

Yes, yes this was comforting, this was right. He could feel her stroking halt as his stormy eyes met hers. Her eyes smiled, and as genuine as her flashy grin. "As long as you ever need." He offered a small grin in return. Surprisingly, swiping a stray lock from her eyesight. He wanted to look at her entire, welcoming face.

"Your appreciation will never be forgotten." He whispered, flicking his wand at the door.

"Regulus!" She squealed as her hauled her into air with his grip around her derriere. He sat her onto a desktop, her legs spread apart with him strategically situated between them. "What, what are you..." She paused, listening to the plop of her cloak as he shoved it off her shoulders. "Ah.." She screeched as her fingers dug into his shoulders. The creeping of his fingers under her blouse tickled.

"Just relax Janelle, let me return the favor." She shivered, of all the teenage fantasies a girl could have, this was the hottest to come true. She licked her lips in anticipation, feeling his fingers ghost over her breasts. Regulus took her flushed appearance, and lack of disapproval was encouragement to continue his advancements. He brought his eager mouth to hers, it was sweet and warm. His heart began to shudder as she reciprocated his intensity.

Maybe she wanted this as well? No time for trivial thoughts, she was allowing it for now. 

She moaned as he rolled her nipple back and forth between his digits. Perky and eager as he had hoped. In the few minutes of passionate snogging, a fury of hands had relieve her of her constricting jumper and lined undershirt, leaving the top half of her bare. Her chest was full and heaving as he had always imagined. While Regulus had his tie unfastened and his button up shirt wide open. 

She couldn't help but admire his lean physique, Quidditch kept him in jealousy inducing greatness. He couldn't take it any longer, his hand finally wandered up her skirt, brushing against the laced line entrance, he smirked feeling the wetness beneath had surpassed the thin fabric. "You want this to happen don't you?" He smacked his lips, as he applied some needed pressure. Her body quivered beneath his.

"Yes, Reg..ah, Regulus. Please." She wheezed out in breathy moans. "Please, please." His fingers pushed the fabric over, slowly sliding his fingers down her slit. She shivered, her body literally lurched forward in desire. He wrapped his free hand around her while pulling her lust filled face close to his. He pressed a finger into her while the pad of his thumb rubbed rigid circles. Oh, did he relish her reaction, a bit too much. He was a bit selfish, and pressed another digit in while his thumb spread her lips farther open, teasing her clit as he slammed and curled his fingers inside her.

"Please, I..." She really moaned, loud and proud this time. He was delighted to see how wet she was after she came. They were both panting as he pulled away from her. He licked his moistened fingers as she looked away embarrassed.

"Just as sweet as the rest of you."

"Oh shut up." She muttered, as she slid her undershirt back over her head. She quickly squealed, and pushed his chest. "Ew don't kiss me now. That's disgusting." He laughed.

"It wouldn't be any different if you kissed me after pleasing me." She pulled her jumper over now, it was a sad sight for him.

"Still gross." She fastened her cloak on looking expectantly at him.

"What?" He asked as he fixed his tie. She pointed between the two of them.

"What would you call this, Black?" He smirked approaching her until she backed in a desk again.

"Well Fawley, since we're defining terms." He pulled her close again, he could feel her heart hammering against her chest. "This is my claim on you. Just as it should have been in the beginning. It's time to tell my cousin to bugger off."

And every night, she relived these forgotten memories. A life she lived prior to her accident, which from what was left in this house, wasn't as accidentally as it seemed. She longed for a chance to meet this boy she dreamt of, this Regulus.

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

His senses were keen, he knew that in this animagus form they were almost as strong as a wolf, but he had to be imagining this? He could see her long brunette hair tumbling down her shoulders, bouncing back and forth as she walked with her arms full. She reminded him of her, when he was in his youth. 

Before she colored her hair like the sun, where her hazel eyes were complimented with the chestnut waves. Even her scent was familiar, a calming smell, like the vanilla verbena soaps she used daily. She religiously wore the same scent over and over again, like she never could bare the thought of smelling different. But he had to be wrong, him, with the entire wizarding world thought her and him to be dead. And here she was gardening like a muggle, with no cares in the world. 

He had been watching her for a while now, trying to make sense of his observations and his reoccurring thoughts. First and foremost, she was a witch. She had been putting on a good show, maybe so the surrounding muggles never caught on, but she would cast spells all the time. To make things bloom bright, or make her basket loads lighter. She always had her wand in the sleeves of her clothing, which made him very wary. 

When she was gardening she would converse and lament to herself, if anyone else would have hear her, they would think she had gone mad. But Sirius understood, even sympathize with her. Twelve years in Azkaban had left him with little communication with others, talking to one's self was a way he spent many days trying to occupy himself. To hold onto some form of normalcy as the others around him went mad from torture. She looked up in his direction, Sirius panicked, had he been panting? He slowly tried to back away from line of sight, only to get his leg caught. He howled in pain, why had he done that?

She saw the creature, her direct stare must have startled it. She was going to continue her gardening until she heard a cry. She approached the beast, slowly, the black dog was growling, showing his teeth at her. She assessed the situation. The poor thing had gotten its leg caught, it was bent at a weird angle.

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

"Albus you have to believe me. It was her!" Sirius was pacing around the room, while Dumbledore stayed transfixed near the fire place.

"Hasn't Alastor warned you about daily excursions?" Sirius rubbed his temple, trying to ignore the subject change. "Yes, Albus but this was her. This was Janelle Fawley." He paused, "I couldn't be surer in my life."

"Ms. Fawley disappeared right before your brother Regulus. It was assumed that they disappeared together. Even her father, Hector, never heard from his daughter again. If this truly was Janelle, I would believe she would have made some attempt to see her father when his health began to decline."

"That's it though, isn't it?" Ranting his inner thoughts out loud. He began his maddening pace around the room again.

"I don't follow you." Albus admitted.

"She would have, if she had remembered to do so." Albus smiled at the idea.

"You believe someone erased her memory."

"Not someone, my brother did."

"How could you be sure? I was under the impression that they were happily married." Sirius stopped, then quickly turned and kicked a chair.

"I don't know. Maybe they were, maybe they weren't. All I know is my brother's wife is alive with no seeming recollection of who she was. Or where he is. She's been living alone all these years."

"And did you come by this information?" Sirius cursed, he hadn't meant to let that slip.

"Well she has a soft spot for strays. I've been there plenty of times this last couple weeks. I've needed to know everything about her."

"Why is this?" Albus asked humbly, not trying to provoke him any further.

"To know if she was real, or if she was all in my head. Sometimes in Azkaban, I would dream of my family, and, and," Sirius choked up, "I just wanted to believe that this time it wasn't a hallucination."

"What is it that you would like me to do?"

"Excuse me?" Sirius was slightly taken back by Dumbledore's brash comment. He offered him a smile in return.

"You wouldn't be relaying all your suspicions to me without wanting me to pursue it. Am I wrong to assume?" Sirius shook his head, he still sometimes forgot how his old professor was always so perceptive.

"Is there any way you could pay her a visit. See if I missed something. I want to know why no one has found her before."

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

"How may I help you?" The brunette stood behind the door, gazing at the strange man. His blue eyes twinkling, and his long white beard slightly raising as he smiled at her. She seemed to calm at his demeanor, no matter how strange his dressing robes were.

"Good morning, Miss. My name is Albus Dumbledore, I was wondering if you had a moment to talk?" He saw the brief recognition pass her hazel eyes.

"I'm, um, sure. Come on in. Would you like some tea, sir?"

"Ah yes if you don't mind." She gestured for the man to take a seat at the table, while she busied herself preparing the water. She sat out the china, while he sat. She pulled another chair to the table as the water boiled.

"So, um, Mr. Dumbledore how may I help you sir?"

"Well first I would like to know if you remember me?" Her brow furrowed in confusion, he hadn't tripped anything in her recollection. After about a minute she gave up. Maybe he had confused her pleasant stare for a knowing one.

"I'm sorry sir. I was in an accident a decade or so back. I'm not so good with names or memories."

"Not even your own?" He asked quietly. She shook her head.

"No. The identification I had on me at the hospital said my name was Deidra Noir. But it's never felt truly right. It sounds more like something I would name a daughter than myself." She coughed, she hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"If I understand correctly, Noir means Black?" Again Albus could swear he could see the clogs turning her head. She blushed, embarrassed.

"I thought it sounded more like a perfume more than anything. I guess I never thought to look it up."

"If you don't mind me asking Deidra, how did you sustain your trauma?"

"They said a car accident, but they said they found me lying outside a hospital. No car in sight. Probable hit and run. But I sustain head injuries and nearly had the skin and muscle tore off my arm. They almost had to use skin grafts." The kettle began to whistle she quickly stood up, trying anything to hide her flushed skin again. Albus had waved for her to sit.

"Let me get it."

"No, no you are my guest."

"No, no trouble at all." He waved his wand, bringing the drink-ware, and boiling kettle over to the table through the air. She sat there with her mouth agape. He offered to pour hers as well, but she shook her head.

"You're a wizard as well." So she knew about magic, despite the 'memory' loss. Albus had expected as much.

"So you know that you're a witch Deidra?"

"Yes." She shyly admitted. She was baffled by meeting another wizard. All these years she had been surrounded by non-magical folks.

"Do you remember going to Hogwarts?" Her eyes widened, she had studied at the best wizarding school in area.

"I went there?" She happily exclaimed. "What house was I in?"

"Slytherin." He said less enthused. She was put off by his dejected tone.

"Oh. Was I a bad student?"

"No, no. You were an exemplary student while attending there." She smiled. "You had an aptitude for charms and transfiguration."

"I had a feeling." Trying to hide a wry smile, she had more than just a feeling about that subject.

"But the crowd you fell in, well that's a different story altogether."

"Am I wanted? Did I break the law?" She began to panic. He could see her worries surface.

"That answer is a little more complex. Are you wanted by the Ministry, short answer no. Are you wanted by others? That is a more likely possibility." She took a long sip of her tea, not sure of how to react.

"Am I in danger?"

"At the present moment, no. But..."

"But what?"

"If we were able to find you, the others might be able to find you."

"Who is we?"

"The Order."

"Of the Phoenix?" He smiled.

"And you came by this information, how?"

"I have my sources."

"Very well." They discussed a few disjointed items that she had wondered about the wizarding world. Finally she asked the question that had been vexing her since he first began to explain himself.

"Sir?"

"What was my name?"

"Formerly Janelle Fawley." Albus saw that this name was not foreign to her. But he wasn't able to tell how or why that was. She gave a sigh of relief before quickly thinking, "Formerly?"

"You had recently gotten married before you disappeared."

"And...And my husband?"

"Regulus Black." She let out a breath of surprise. The young man preserved in the vials near her bed. The man who in memories had kept her company, kept her safe from the unknown threats all these years. "Presumed missing or dead along with you, but I have the suspicion of the latter." She looked crestfallen, he patted her hand. "I'm sorry my dear."

"Do, do I have any other family?"

"Your father died not too long after you had gone missing. Dragon pox is harder on older wizards."

"Oh, um, what was his name?"

"Hector Fawley."

"An ex Minister of Magic. He, he resigned after Gridenwald was defeated." She stared at him in disbelief. "After, after you defeated Gridenwald. Mr. Fawley, my father, hadn't taken the threat seriously, or at least that is was the history books say."

"Yes. He did resigned after that. He also was busy finding a suitable wife. He end up marrying a few different times then having children, you and your brother later in life."

"Brother?"

"Yes, yes older brother Sean."

"Sean Fawley." His name made her lips tingle. She wasn't alone. "How much older?"

"About 5 years. He had a child, Sullivan, he is enrolled at Hogwarts currently."

"What house?"

"Hufflepuff."

"Pureblood or half-blood?" His eyes darken and she covered her mouth. It was almost like a reflex that she couldn't help. "That was rude, never mind."

"I'm really not sure. Blood purity is not Hogwarts agenda or criteria for new students." He scolded her, she didn't really know why that question had come out. She couldn't really remember meeting another magical being before this point. She was basically as capable as a muggleborn. God, why did that thought churn her stomach? "It may be wise to have you return to the wizarding world."

"To see my brother?" He patted her hand.

"All in due time."

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

Later while reviewing her letters, she found the names that perpetually running through her mind the last few hours. She had knew that she had seen some of these names before, and suddenly these entries in elegant script held much more meaning than previously.

1980:

Albus Dumbledore –

Titles: Headmaster at Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot

Allegiance: Hogwarts, International Confederation of Wizards, Ministry of Magic and Order of the Phoenix

Opinion: Trustworthy

The Fawley Family –

Titles: Purebloods, ex affiliation of Ministry of Magic due to resignation of Hector Fawley

Allegiance: Mixed. Haughty purebloods, but stood indifferent to the rise of The Dark lord, except for Janelle Fawley.

Opinion: Questionable

The Black Family-

Titles: Purebloods, Noble House of Black, Dark wizards

Allegiance: Mixed. A majority are Deatheaters and pureblood extremists, except Sirius Black. The only one not afraid to stand up for what was right.

Opinion: Hopefully redeemable

No question that, she gulped, Regulus had composed these various lists. But now, this one really did make an impact. The wrong crowd, the very one her and her apparent husband had fell in: Deatheaters.

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

(Current timeline: January 1996)

She shivered as the Dark Lord released her from her mind. He stood up and smiled down at her beaten body.

"You might be of some value yet." He gestured for Narcissa and Bellatrix to come closer. "Feed her and make sure she stays breathing. We will continue this get together at another time." He disappeared with a crack and Bellatrix let out of eerie laugh. Janelle twitched slightly hearing the familiar laugh. Her laughter had always led to something horrible.

"Cissy, let's get cleaned up and eat something. I'm absolutely ravished after today's events." Bellatrix cackled again before trouncing up the stone steps. Narcissa waited for her sister's silhouette to disappear before she waved her wand.

"Episkey." Narcissa whispered. Janelle moaned as her bones cracked, resetting themselves. What Janelle would kill for a glass of water, her lips were beyond chapped. But she was wheezed again, trying to chuckle. Who was she kidding? She was bound to die here. Narcissa kneed down next to Janelle's still bruised body, her brow furrowed. The poor girl was going to be tortured again and again until the Dark Lord was satisfied. A fate worse than death. If Narcissa had the courage she would put her cousin's poor wife out of her misery, but she did not. She had a family to think of, while Janelle did not. "I hadn't meant for our reunion to end with your demise. I am sorry Janelle."

"Cissy, leave the traitor be. We can feed her later." Bellatrix called from the floor above.

"Coming Bella." And like that Narcissa Malfoy was gone. Janelle was alone once again.

[it-refused]

tabascosugar replied to your post “marypsue: New writer ask meme: based on my body of work, what’s...”

More Grillby POV.

ok, SO, I wasn’t planning on responding to these with fics, but here’s something for this one.

Pairing: Sans/Grillby

Rating: G

Summary: Jealousy, Grillby POV

Grillby was surprised whenever he saw another fire monster in the bar.  It was more common now that there wasn't so much water separating him from the rest of the fire monsters, but it was still a distance from New Hotland and the other places elementals like him had settled en masse.  

It was especially surprising when he recognized them.  

They had only gone on a few dates.  Grillby's old friend had a flame that was a deep, cool red, and he hadn't lost any of his looks.  Not that Grillby noticed, of course.  He was a married monster.  

"Hey!  How many years has it been, Grillbz?"  He settled in right up at the bar. "Still remember my order?"

Grillby poured him his drink.  "It's been enough years I don't want to try and remember how many.  How have you been?"

Grillby’s translator shrugged and let them be.  

It wasn't a slow night, but there were brief lulls where Grillby would lean up against the bar and ask about the people he had lost touch with.  He missed some of them.  

He didn't much miss the monster he had been, back then.  Impatient, work obsessed, and interested in progressing without actually understanding what he was progressing towards.  He was just young.  Well.  He did wish he had kept a little of that drive, and he missed how much fun he could have doing things that just sounded exhausting, now.  It hadn't all been bad, had it?  

Sans showed up around ten.  At midnight, Grillby's old flame glanced at his watch and headed out.  It was strange, watching him leave.  He snapped back into the moment and shook his head.  He'd been so caught up in saying goodbye he'd let orders stack up.  

"either you knew that guy, or you just made a new best friend in a coupla hours," Sans said, when Grillby was caught up and things were slowing down enough to talk.

"...we went on a few dates.  A million years ago," he said.  He couldn't completely shake the lingering nostalgia.  "But we ran in the same circles."

"i gotta say. most of your old boyfriends are way hotter than me."  He snickered.  

Grillby glanced up at the ceiling.  "...yes, he was very handsome." Papyrus had once bafflingly described the gesture as him "rolling his eyes."  

"heh.  so where'd your old friends settle?  new hotland?"

"Mostly."

Grillby concentrated on getting the last few people out.  He let someone else clean and lock up, and Sans took him on a shortcut home.  

"you're in a good mood," Sans said.

Grillby shrugged.

"the way you were flirting with that guy, i thought maybe i should give you some privacy."  

Was Sans...jealous? Grillby stared at him.  He was looking up at Grillby, wide-eye socketed and innocent.  If it was anyone else saying it, Grillby would have assumed he was jealous.  Sans could just be making a joke.

"I wasn't flirting."  

"ok."  

Sans was a little annoyed, Grillby decided.  "Well.  Not seriously."  He had basically ignored Sans while his old friend was there, so he shouldn't be so surprised by his reaction.  He just wasn't used to Sans being jealous, ever.  "...sorry?"

"eh, no big." He relaxed.  Grillby recognized that the tension had been there, between them, now that it was gone.  

Grillby went over to their fridge and started taking out things for his dinner.  "You're better looking, anyway."

Sans snorted.  

"I'm not flattering you."  Sans was better looking to him, anyway. He had a personal attachment to every little part of Sans, from the bright lights in his eye sockets to the tiny pinky toes on his feet. Sans was his.  

"well, i'm flattered anyway," Sans said.  "so there."  

"How dare you," Grillby said, amused.

He made them both pancakes for dinner.  He used to always make pancakes in the morning when friends spent the night over.  

Grillby set Sans' plate in front of him.  "I hope you weren't too jealous." He wanted to hear Sans deny he had been jealous.

"who was what? i don't have a jealous bone in my body," Sans said.  "ok, no.  my fourth rib gets really heated up when someone has a snack i want, but the rest of me is free and clear of any of that."

Maybe it wasn't entirely healthy, but Grillby liked it when his boyfriends expressed some jealousy.  Not when they got aggressive or angry about it, but just expressing it made him feel like they valued his attention.  

Sans never seemed to care when Grillby flirted with other men.  He had gone right from "I don't really care if Grillby breaks up with me because relationships are work" to "I know Grillby isn't going to screw around behind my back."  Grillby preferred this reaction intellectually, but he had to admit to himself that he was feeling a little bit smug about Sans' discomfort.  

"what're you so happy about?"  Sans asked.

"I enjoyed that joke."

"ok i know you're lying, but, heh, i'm gonna take that anyway."  

Grillby put the exact correct amount of syrup on his pancakes and then watched as Sans emptied out the rest of his container on his.  "...you know, Sans."  He leaned forward, just a little.  "It's a good thing you aren't jealous.  If you were, I'd have to spend the rest of the night complimenting you to make you feel better."  

"well, i am jealous of how many pancakes you got.  what's up with that?"

"I made them."

"ok.  fair enough."  He looked up, eyes glittering.  "you're just looking pretty stacked."  

"...I can't compliment that joke, no matter how jealous you are."

"i respect that.  we've all gotta have standards."

"I do, yes."

Sans snickered.  He stirred his pancake soup and spooned some of it up to his mouth. "ok, maybe it was a little weird, you and that guy.  not really like you're thinking, though." He tested it, and then used his magic to open the fridge and float over a spray can of whipped cream. He covered his plate with it and then stirred it in.

"That has to be cold now," Grillby said.  He warmed his plate up a little, for him.

"thanks.   anyway, i didn't think you were running off with some random dude in a cardigan.  you were just kind of talking with him like you don't talk to me."  He shrugged.

"We're talking right now."  He was confused.

"we've been hanging around for a few years," Sans said.  "you don't have to keep talking at me like i'll forget how to understand you."  

"...I don't do that."  

"you just did.   right there."  

Grillby was quiet, not sure how to react.  ".............I..."

"nah, look, it's okay.  you don't even do it on purpose."  Sans shrugged and lifted his plate up to sip some warm pancake.  

"...I'm not..." This was completely different than he expected.  He was suddenly incredibly self conscious about how he spoke.  

"i guess i get jealous when you talk to other fire monsters.  sorry."  He shrugged.  He wiped syrup off his face onto his sleeve.

"...it's habit."  

"yeah.  i get that."

".........sorry?"

"nope.  it's my thing.  i just didn't want you getting the wrong idea.  ok?"

He nodded.  

Sans eyed him. "man.  should've just lied about what i was jealous about, huh."

Grillby nodded again.

"i bet i missed out on some compliments."  

He reached across the table and took Sans' plate away from him before he put more whipped cream on it, even though it was empty.  

"hey."

Grillby sighed. "...thank you for...being honest."

"even though i just walked right flat into a hornet's nest, apparently."  

"I'll live." He didn't even think about how he spoke with Sans, anymore.  

"i bet running off with cardigan sounds pretty good now, though.  heh."

He shook his head, amused again.  Sans was a little bit uncomfortable in the way Grillby had first assumed, too.  Grillby gestured for Sans to come over and sit with him.  Sans shrugged and was there.  He hadn't even bothered to get out of his chair.  

Grillby realized his mistake as soon as Sans picked up Grillby's fork and started in on his pancakes.  Grillby had to grab the plate out of the way and eat them all at once before Sans stole them.  

"man.  that guy missed out.  not everyone can eat ten pancakes in one bite.  you're really cool."

"...thank you," Grillby said.  That gave him the chance to say what he'd planned on saying when he waved Sans over.  "He did miss out."

Sans leaned back against him.  "what a loser."  

"Yes.  He and everyone else will keep missing out.  Because..."  He kissed Sans on the cheek.  "I'm all yours."  

Sans was quiet for a minute.  "god, what a cheap line."  He was blushing.  

"You fell for it."

"yeah.  you sure got me with that one."

Grillby was in a good mood, again.