#and Two... potential sleeve space! i have a lot of tattoos planned! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justasparkwritings · 3 years

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Peace: Coming of Age

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader

Genre: Angst / Slice of Life

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Jungkook takes his first steps in creating a life for himself.

Listening: peace by Taylor Swift

Peace Master List

Jungkook paced the room, the grey walls agitating him as he searched for answers. He’d filmed the video five times. Three with a hoodie on, two without. He kept refilming to perfect his vocals, or at least that’s what he told himself. Perfectionism was easier to grapple with than baring his soul to millions. Was he ready to show the world what he’d done?

Jungkook had spent the last third of his life in the spotlight. The articles, photos, videos, all captured him growing up. He went from a fresh-faced tween barely through puberty to a full-fledged man. He had grown in front of their eyes, finished high school, and debuted with a band that had captured the world’s attention. He had been taken under the wings of Jin and his five other hyungs. They had watched him struggle, both academically and professionally. They had guided him through the drastic changes in his life, from leaving his family to relentless dance practices and endless vocal lessons. They guided him when he was falling apart, and through their love he had grown into the man he could happily say he is. He’d taken little parts of their personalities and combined them into his own. It was hard to tell when JK ended and the six hyungs began.

Jungkook hadn’t told the rest of BTS of his plans, of what he wanted to do in order to feel that he had completed his metamorphosis. He was cagey, dodging glances and prying questions. He was private, but there wasn’t anything he couldn’t tell them. Except this. It wasn’t until they had snuck up on him one day and caught him reading an article about the significance of tattoos in western culture that they grew concerned that he would taint his flawless skin.

Hoseok sat him down first, tone damning, asking him what he intended to do, and why would he choose to ruin his body? Through the years Jungkook had become accustomed to Ho-Seok’s aversion to anything that would harm or change his physical form. Dying his hair was the closest thing he would do, and even that felt like he was desecrating a sacred temple. He didn’t pierce his ears, he certainly would not get tattoos, and though he had an unusually sunny disposition, body modification of any kind made Ho-Seok’s skin crawl. He respected his members decisions to pierce their ears, two, three, five times, but him? No thank you. He had thought that tattoos were always going to be off limits, even when years prior Jungkook had expressed his desire, on camera, to stain his skin. No member had committed to something so permanent. Piercings close, hair can be dyed back, but this?

Hoseok couldn’t tell if he was mad at JK for recklessly ruining himself, or worried that his decision would endanger the rest of them.

So, he pled his case, and a day or so later, Namjoon tried to talk any sense into JK. He knew it was no use, but as leader he was mandated to speak to him.

“Why do you want to do this?” Namjoon asked. They were seated outside, beers in both their hands.

“Do you feel like yourself, 100% of the time?” Jungkook countered, glancing at the fading sun.

“90% of the time, yes, I do.” Namjoon responded.

“And you feel comfortable in who you are?”

“Why are you interrogating me?” Namjoon stared at his golden maknae. He had raised this boy, crafted and melded him into the man sitting in front of him. Had it been too much?

“You write most of our lyrics, you express your emotions.”

“Yes, and I understand how you’re feeling,”

“Do you? I am me trying to navigate this life that I somehow signed up for when I was a child. I have had to conform every day of my life. I have struggled to find my identity, to showcase who I am, without ever having the time to grow or discover myself. Now I’m a man, who doesn’t know any life outside of constant cameras and the six of you guarding me. What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours, but what if there’s nothing of me? What if they’ve taken it all?”

“You signed up for this Jungkook,” Namjoon felt defensive. His moves, silent and unseen, had pushed Jungkook to this position. His invisible strings had carved him from a child to an adult, his guidance had constructed the golden boy. Namjoon had nurtured Jungkook to be strong in his convictions and fierce at heart. He encouraged his hobbies, to obsession at times, and pared space for him to study and learn, encouraging him to speak English. Didn’t Jungkook know himself better than any members did?

“The devils in the details, Namjoon,” He countered.

“So, what, to feel like yourself you need to permanently decorate your skin?” Namjoon felt the anger rising. Big Hit would surely blame him for this.

“It’s a part of me, a part of me that I am trying to hold onto. I don’t want to hide part of myself because I’m being told I’m supposed to. I want to be me, I want to make choices for myself,” Jungkook’s passion was evident in the grip he had placed on his glass.

“And what if that part of you changes?” Namjoon wanted to know.

“Are you still the same person you were when we started?” Jungkook asked.

“No, I’ve grown, and I’ve learned a lot,” Namjoon sat back and thought about the challenges he’d overcome in the time BTS had been together.

“Then give me the space to do the same, hyung, please,” Jungkook pleaded.

Namjoon nodded, recognizing that molding Jungkook into the perfect band member had done more damage than he realized, the cracks were beginning to form. When Jungkook had joined, RM and Seokjin had been placed as his guardians. They were to protect him, keep him focused, help him grow. He was a child, a baby, compared to the older two. His insecurity and shyness had tried to swallow him, and would’ve if not for the doting care the members had given him. Namjoon had, in a word, overstepped. His grip on Jungkook’s life was impenetrable to the point that sometimes it was hard to know where Namjoon ended and Jungkook began. He wasn’t raising Jungkook, he was manipulating him. The devil had always been in the details, at the hands of Big Hit, that devil was Namjoon.

“Jin’s supposed to try and knock some sense into you…” Namjoon said, standing.

“What’s he going to say that you and Hosoek-hyung haven’t?” Jungkook asked.

“I don’t know, but listen to him,” Namjoon reminded the maknae to respect his elder, something he had thrown away when speaking with Joon.

Namjoon left, leaving JK to sit in his thoughts. He didn’t know when Jin was planning on showing up, and he wasn’t sure he could handle another confrontation and berating. Jungkook was lost in his thoughts, his glass slowly emptying when Jin strode in, keys in hand.

“Let’s go eat,” He said. Jungkook nodded, following him.

As they sat at their usual table, drinks on their way, Jin wasted no time diving in.

“They’ve all been hard on you?” Seokjin asked.

“Yes,” Jungkook responded.

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Jin questioned.

“That you support me,” Jungkook’s gaze never strayed from the empty spot in front of his glass.

“What does management say?” Jin asked, ignoring Jungkook’s suggestion.

“That they can’t technically stop me, but I’ll always be covered. No t-shirts on tour, music videos, anything. If everyone’s in a tank top, I have to be in a tank top with a jacket or long sleeves.”

“Even in summer?” Jin questioned.

“Even then,” Jungkook answered.

“And you’re okay with that?” Jin wondered.

“Yes,”

“Alright, have you thought about ARMY?”

“I can’t imagine they’d be mad at me,” Jungkook said, glancing at Jin. Jin was calm. Jin was always calm, particularly when it came to heady conversations about the direction Jungkook was taking.

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Jin left it at that. He quickly moved to ask Jungkook what he wanted to order, their usual banter resuming.

Jungkook sat in the tattoo artists main chair, arm exposed, hand at the ready. The artist asked if he was without a doubt positive he wanted ink decorating his dominate appendage, and he nodded, telling them that each item stood for something. As the artist began, he recounted why.

“The inverted V is for Taehyung, that’s his nickname. He’s funny, and charismatic. The most indecisive person. He is one of the best dancers, and just makes me laugh all the time. He comforts me when I’m upset and is always making sure that I’m okay. RM is for Namjoon, he’s the eternal leader. He’s wise and thinks before he acts. But he’s clumsy. He always pushes me to think deeper, to find the emotion that a song needs, or to remind me to slow down when I’m pushing myself too hard. RM’s our guiding light. M is also for Yoongi, who understands the parts of me that I sometimes think no one does, but he also doesn’t understand the fundamental parts of me… The Y completes ARMY, I am nothing without them.”

The phrase had become common place, BTS is nothing without ARMY. They eat, sleep and breathe ARMY. Who are they if ARMY doesn’t stand beside them, encouraging them on?

ARMY was the reason for his success, but they were also the thorn on his rose. Army watched every move he made, every note he hit, every smile cracked. They’d glommed onto him immediately. Isn’t Jungkook so cute? Did you see how Jungkook dances to Boy in Luv? Have you seen his smile? They cheered when he succeeded and picked him up when he fell. As much as the members had raised JK, he recognized that ARMY was the reason he had to be raised by his hyungs in the first place.

Being raised by people other than your parents is an odd experience. Leaving home and forging a new path without so much as a safety net below would be scary to anyone, but particularly for a child who hadn’t experienced much outside of his home. Jungkook had talent, anyone could see it. He had potential, because he had potential, Big Hit had taken a chance on him. They had molded him and groomed him into a superstar. So much so that by age 23, a song dedicated to him negotiating his stardom with quality of life would become a sexual anthem. Big Hit’s ownership of his existence had sent him into many a tailspin. He compensated the only way he could: working himself to extreme exhaustion and spending nights drunk in the dorms. The other members addressed it delicately, but when his back was turned, they spent countless hours discussing the “problem with Jungkook”.

Perfectionism is often a sign of OCD, a way to control what feels uncontrollable, a way to manage anxiety and stress through precise and repetitive habits. If practice was four hours, Jungkook danced eight. If it took Jimin ten takes to nail an eight count of vocals, Jungkook took twice that. He practiced diligently, sweating through layers and layers, never satisfied until his body gave out. He worked out seven days a week, often hours long sessions not including time with trainers. He was obsessed with his physic and how he could make it stronger. BTS often worried and tried delicately to address their concerns. Jungkook wouldn’t listen, until he blew his heel out an needed stitches. What was meant to be a wake up call ended up giving him more focus and increasing his desire to be perfect.

“Perfect for who?” Suga had asked during an intense discussion of Jungkook’s workaholic tendencies. Jungkook stared at him, Suga, who hates working out, hates other people, and would be content to sleep for days on end, was asking him a stupid question. He turned to Ho-Seok, who nodded.

“Perfect for ARMY, perfect for him,” Ho-Seok had responded.

Hoseok and Jimin both nodded. The three of them formed the dance line, the strongest dancers with Taehyung closing in at #4. Together they banked hundreds of practice hours, innumerable tapings and work ups by the medical team, and were responsible for BTS’ dance routines coming together. They bore the brunt of the work, and their bodies, though young, managed the wear and tear. Ho-Seok worked hard, but Jungkook worked harder.

Namjoon listened to every conversation about Jungkook with ears peeled, writing down any information he needed. If there was a problem with Jungkook, it would soon fall to Namjoon to correct, though his perfectionism had been a drug Namjoon had heavily pushed.

“What’s the J for?” The tattoo artist asked, pulling Jungkook out of his thoughts.

“That’s for Jin, Jimin and J-Hope,” He responded, looking down at the work being done on his body.

“They’re your elders?”

“Yes, Namjoon and Seokjin raised me. They’re all my brothers, but Namjoon and Jin helped me study, they encouraged me, bought me food and made sure I was spending enough time on studies and training. Jin drove me everywhere before I could drive myself, and he spent years teaching me how to be a good person, and a good man. Jimin’s a terror, and Ho-Seok is the only one who understands my drive.”

“The plus signs tie you together?”

“Yes,”

“The heart? And the symbol?”

“ARMY will know.”

Jungkook had waited a few days before displaying his ink to BTS. They were skeptical and unsure how they liked what he had done to his right arm. They were honored he had chosen his hand to honor them and concerned what it meant for him going forward.

Jungkook wasn’t ready for the world to see, and neither was management. He spent the first few months with band aids on his hand until his ink was healed, then layers and layers of make-up.

As he paced in the gray room, a cover of Never Not waiting to upload, he decided to honor himself, to honor his heart, and post the video where his tattoos were exposed. Management had said he could share them when he was ready, and it would be at that point that they stopped covering them in make-up, except in specific situations where his ink would be a detriment to the group. He took a deep breath, like his ink, this choice was permanent.

Once the dust of his ink settled, through a few poor choices and copious empty liquor bottles, he found himself out in Echo Park. A stranger had commented on his ink, and Jungkook’s mind wound back to the conversation he’d had with the tattoo artist about them. His tattoos meant something to him, and their meaning intensified every day.

This is why, on a chance encounter in a low-light restaurant in Echo Park, Jungkook had been so taken with yours. The delicate ink on the back of your arm, the art creeping up your calf sent a shock through him. Who were you, and what did these symbols mean? He cautiously went up to you at the bar, nodding at the bartender who asked for his ID immediately. He flushed. Should he abandon ship?

You turned and smiled. It was blinding.

“Hi, I noticed your tattoos,” He said, thankful he had spent the past few years working on his English.

“Oh,” You were unsure how to respond.

“They’re really beautiful,” He said, his cheeks flushing again. Having spent his youth in Big Hits control, flirting wasn’t a game he knew how to play.

“Thank you,” You responded, your cheeks turning rosy.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asked, right eyebrow raising. You smiled at the quirk.

“Yes, and you can tell me about yours,” You said, already making sense of the ink in front of you, and the man it belonged to.

“I’m Jungkook,” He said, extending the same hand you had been admiring.

“I’m Y/N,” You said, extending yours to shake.

Jungkook swore the earth began to quake at that very second, your skin meeting his for the first time, your smiles blinding the patrons of the restaurant. Everything melted away as the heat from your bodies glued you together. It was in the moment after, when you had unwillingly returned his hand to him that he realized his coming of age had come and gone, he had transitioned into a man, ink and all.

Next: Wasting Your Honor

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tobesobri · 4 years

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𝒜ll I have to say about this one is..... be prepared nvjknfv

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h for editing ❤️

CHAPTER SIX: DON’T WANT THIS NIGHT TO END (4K)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

🥥MASTERLIST 🌃INSPO TAG 🌻ASK TAG 💃PLAYLIST 🛌

She didn’t mean to stare at him all night. She had planned to keep herself as low-key as possible. But that was before the tequila and a highly intriguing game of Cards Against Humanity began.

He’d come home with Will after the studio where they continued to work out whatever song was being chipped away at until they couldn’t handle it anymore and called for a game night. Normally, Y/N didn’t get as into game night as everyone else. She didn’t even like saying half the things on the vulgar card game out loud. She would have signed herself out by now if it wasn’t for the alcohol and Harry. Okay… maybe it was mostly Harry. She didn’t want to bury herself in her room and spend all night wondering when he’d knock on her door.

Besides, hearing him read aloud cards that mentioned orgasms and furries was much more entertaining.

And maybe he just hadn’t paid much attention before, but listening to her read cards out loud whenever it was her turn to be the card czar, he became all too well aware of the fact that she skipped right over curse words like they weren’t even there. And come to think of it, he couldn’t ever recall her saying a single ass or fuck or shit ever. Y/N didn’t cuss and he had no clue why it took a stupid game for him to realize that.

But it made him love her even more to the point of spending most of his night wondering why she chose not to. Maybe it was a moral thing, but she didn’t really seem that way to him. Maybe back before he really knew her, he would have thought that. That she was a bit prudish. But knowing everything he did about her now, he hated himself for ever making that snap judgement. So maybe she just simply didn’t like to.

The rest of the night was also spent with stolen glances and a drinking game that consisted of taking a shot every time someone was forced to say the word penis. Which led to all of them getting sufficiently shit-faced faster than anyone had anticipated.

Still, Harry and Y/N’s tipsy eyes found one another quite often when no one else was looking. When everyone was distracted by the game or by something stupid James had said. They shared small smiles across the table from each other and it gave them both butterflies like they were a couple of horny teenagers.

Y/N was up next as Violet proclaimed it to be their last round, mostly because none of them could see straight anymore and the adrenaline from the alcohol had just about worn off by then, leading to them all crashing quickly into exhaustion and grumpiness.

“What’s that smell?” She read the black card out loud after drawing it from the diminishing deck and set it down on the table. It was definitely an interesting one to end on. It had the potential to be good or to go horribly wrong. She listened to the giggles as the others picked out their white response cards and placed them face down on the table in a not-so-neat stack.

Once all the cards were collected, she turned them upside down one by one and read them. The first brought a smile to her face, the second was something she didn’t say out loud but Will did instead and they all lost their shit over it. The next was moderately funny and slightly distasteful. No doubt that had been James’ card. Then there was the last one.

In bold black letters it read two simple words: Sexual Tension.

She immediately crowned that one as the winner, not because it was the funniest, but because it fit her current predicament quite well. No on else int he room knew it besides them, but she felt it every single fucking time Harry looked at her with those eyes and dimples of his. Maybe it wasn’t sexual tension, but it was some kind of tension.

And when Harry picked up the winning black card in victory, she gulped the pit in her throat. He was the one to pick that out. He thought it was funny. Did he also think it was relevant? Is that why he thought it was funny?

Either way, he looked at her like it was just the two of them in the room. It was a look similar to all the rest of them. His eyes were a fiery emerald green that complemented the cheeky smirk she would have otherwise wanted to smack off of his face in any other situation. He looked at her like he absolutely played that card on purpose even if he’d never admit to it.

From his eyes, she found herself tracing the outlines of his body like she’d never really done before. She watched his hands as he delicately picked up all the cards near him to begin cleaning off the table; hands that she was all too familiar with but had never really given much thought to, at least not as much as she was giving to them right now. She thought about his touch quite often, mostly when he wasn’t actually around. But seeing his hands now and knowing they’d been on her body at one point or another made her feel all prickly inside. Then there were his tattoos that traveled all the way from his wrist to up under the rolled sleeve of his blouse and to his chest where she knew other ones were scattered about. She only had her blurry memories of them, but she knew they were there. Her mind drifted into uncharted territory when she considered what other tattoos he had in other various locations on his body she had yet to discover.

She snapped out of it when Will nudged her to hand over the hoard of cards in front of her on the table to be placed back into the box. And she was grateful for it. Another second of daydreaming about Harry’s body parts and she wasn’t sure where her mind would have ended up.

Helping clean up was a lot harder than it seemed, especially when she stood from her chair and then fell right back down into it. They all, of course, proceeded to laugh at her. Harry was a little less amused than everyone else. Worry, more than anything, filled his pale features because he’d never seen her that drunk before. And instead of violently laughing at her, he was stopping himself from reaching across the table to help her.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed you fucking lightweight,” Will lifted Y/N from her seat with one hand firmly planted around her waist that left Harry in a pathetic pit of jealousy. He knew he had no reason, but he couldn’t help wishing he was in Will’s shoes.

But, to all of her roommates, her and Harry were barely even friends. They were supposed to only know very little about each other. They were supposed to not talk much at all.

He knew that situation was going to drive him crazy sooner or later.

Once Y/N was tucked away, everyone else finished cleaning up. James and Violet turned in shortly after polishing off the last of their drinks and once they were gone, Will began setting up Harry’s usual makeshift bed on the couch.

He felt terrible about it too, as Will spread a couple blankets down and got pillows in the right order for him, completely unaware of the fact that Harry would not be sleeping there. At least not the entire night.

Still, he gave Harry a lazy hug goodnight and disappeared into his own room just in time to pass out, head first, onto his bed. Harry was thankful for the alcohol that very clearly proved them all to be lightweights, since they were all out cold within minutes of each other.

Harry had his own spinning head too, but he wasn’t about to let a little whiskey and tequila stop him from knocking on her door. He did not, however, have the strength to let it stop him from leaning his entire body onto the frame so that when she opened the door, he practically fell into her room.

Steadying him with a giggle, they were then both a sloppy pair of bodies attempting to make it across her room to the bed with as few injuries as possible. And without even thinking, without a single second rational thought, they stood in the middle of her bedroom while she helped him out of his shirt. It was probably the immense amounts of drunk giggling that had them both in a cloud, but once her shaking hands had undone the first two buttons of his top, there was no turning back.

His smile faded while he watched her get the last few buttons undone, finally having some inkling as to what was going on. She was taking off his shirt and in her next careful, but confident movements, she was sliding it off his shoulders.

After a moment of staring almost mindlessly at his collarbones, they both laughed breathlessly at one another and it eased the tension. She ran her fingers through her hair, giving him some space while he undid his jeans and tugged them off next. He looked even better than he had after showering yesterday, but maybe that was because she was about to get into bed with him just like that. He wasn’t going to change into something else. This was it.

“We’re sleeping or what?” Harry teased when she still hadn’t moved or said anything herself.

She snapped out of it finally and led the way, crawling under the covers while he fit in beside her just like all the nights before the current one. In a matter of minutes, his hands were around her waist and her face was tucked into his neck, just the way they were used to. It was hotter than before though, literally, and he was thankful to be without his layers of clothes. And when she brushed against him, it was the first time he realized she was without some of her own too. Her typical flannel pants were definitely not what he felt under the blanket.

Mixing them with alcohol really wasn’t the brightest move.

But still, they both enjoyed the skin-to-skin contact… almost a little too much. It was better than anything they’d ever done before. She could actually feel every single one of his heart beats and the slightly raised skin of a birthmark under her fingertips. She felt his warmth more than anything else, felt his skin heating up underneath her until his goosebumps melted away. She felt the sometimes soft, sometimes prickly hair on his legs every time they accidentally brushed against each other to get comfortable. She felt the way his muscles flexed under her touch without the fabric of a tee shirt getting in the way.

Most importantly, she felt the way he still made her feel safe, even when she was intentionally more exposed than she ever had been in front of someone. She always thought it would make her way too anxious to follow through with. But here she was, without pants cuddled up in Harry’s arms and not having a single care in the entire world.

Until, well… until she woke up.

Because at some point during the night, she’d managed to go and wrap her leg around one of his so that when she woke up in a puddle of sweat, there was an even more embarrassing puddle between her legs.

The dream she’d been having came flashing back in pieces like an old movie she hadn’t seen in a long time. It definitely involved Harry, that much she knew. She could see his eyes, narrowed, taunting her before they disappeared…

Holy shit.

If she was one for vulgarity, she would have quite a few curse words on her tongue in regards to her current situation. A wet dream about Harry while she was currently all wrapped up in him. There was no way he could know about any of it either. It would be hard enough moving on from it herself, but him knowing about it too? Impossible.

The relationship they’d been building would be ruined. She could never look him in the eye again. She didn’t even know how she would when he eventually woke up.

So slowly as not to bother him, she untangled her leg from him. But even if she was doing so cautiously, it didn’t stop him from flipping positions onto his back and pulling her along with him. She cringed while he did so, up until he settled and she found his face in the darkness to realize he was still asleep. With a breath of relief, she succumbed to her new position curled up into his side with his arm firmly around her shoulders. The second she closed her eyes to forget about everything, however, she saw Harry again. The way he’d looked at her in her dreams, settled between her legs, about to do unholy things she never knew she wanted so badly.

Her eyes shot open again.

She couldn’t deny she liked Harry, maybe even a little too much for her own good. But wanting him like that? She couldn’t even remember a time she’d ever wanted someone the way she clearly wanted him. She barely remembered the last person she had a crush on, which had been years ago in college. And even then, she never got to the point of being sexually attracted to them. All this time she thought she was broken. Everyone else could go around sleeping with whomever they wanted and she never even had the urge to do so in the first place.

But here Harry was, breaking down everything she thought she knew about herself. She thought she’d never let anyone close to her again. That she would never trust anyone enough to experience that intimacy. And most importantly, she never thought she’d let herself get fucking aroused by someone who wasn’t a safe distance away from her.

Every time she even let herself think that way about someone for even a second, it sent her right back to that trauma. Because daydreaming about her Italian Literature TA always led back to things she didn’t want to think about. She couldn’t think about people touching her without also thinking of that night. So, she eventually just stopped thinking about it altogether.

Then there was Harry. And for some reason he was different, but she had no idea why. Why she found herself indulging in the dream about him, letting her eyes shut and letting Dream Harry do as he pleased. Why none of it was interrupted by her disruptive memories. Why she got lost in the idea of having a real relationship with him and not feeling repulsed by it one bit.

Why she didn’t find herself repulsive. Like he’d somehow screwed her head back onto her body again and she didn’t completely hate every inch of it. She thought about when he’d told her she wasn’t ugly and the way she had brushed him off back then because right now, she believed him. His words had been one thing, but the way he made her feel about herself was another.

It was comfortable and she’d never really felt that way before when it came to her and relationships and sex (or the idea of it, rather). So when she finally managed to doze off to sleep again, she didn’t feel as bad about the dream or of facing him in just a few hours.

Even so, Sunday morning sharing the close-knit spaces of their kitchen and dining area with Harry and her roommates, hungover, wasn’t the least awkward situation she’d ever been in. Not only did she have to pretend like Harry didn’t spend the night in her bed (and several nights prior), she also had to pretend like she didn’t have a personal epiphany last night brought upon by dreaming of Harry going down on her.

So there was definitely plenty of awkward to go around.

Especially when Harry was the first to join her at the table with a mug of freshly brewed coffee and a borrowed bowl of cereal. He’d been out of her room at his usual time, not that it had mattered because he still woke up on the couch before anyone else retreated from their bedrooms. He was slightly salty about the fact that he could have stayed curled up in her warm bed longer, but he knew it was best not to risk it.

They were way too far deep into their secret little situation that telling any one of their mutual friends at this point would just be a bit too weird.

When he was right in front of her, offering up a quick smile before digging into his Lucky Charms, she stared at him for a while longer. Particularly at his shirt. And the fact that it had been off of him last night. That she’d had him in all his mostly naked glory in her bed and she still had no idea the specifics about any one of his tattoos he had hidden under his black cotton t-shirt. She knew there was a butterfly and some birds but that was about it. And looking for answers on Google about them just didn’t feel right.

But now with his shirt on again, she wondered how long it had taken him to find his clothes scattered about her bedroom floor in the dark after his alarm went off. She wondered if, once the alcohol had sufficiently worn off, he thought that it had been weird the way she undressed him.

She cleared her throat and focused her attention on her own breakfast of champions when she saw Violet approaching in her peripheral. From then on the most she allowed herself to see of Harry was a quick glance, which she was fine with. Even if she wasn’t stealing all the glances she wanted to, he was close enough so that whenever he moved just the right way she got a whiff of his all-too-familiar cologne. It reminded her, again, of last night and when she'd gone snooping through his bathroom, stealing a whiff of his Tom Ford cologne for her own selfish reasons. She remembered thinking how much better it smelled on him, however.

But it smelled best on her shirt and in her sheets.

“So, Harry, how’s the album going?” Violet asked as she set her plate of eggs and chorizo down, making Y/N’s stomach grumble even though she was on her own second bowl of Lucky Charms.

Will and James joined shortly after at the table just as Harry gave a bit more of an answer besides his usual shrug. “It’s uh… going.”

“He has half a song written, that’s how it’s going.” Will answered bluntly instead, knowing Harry would never admit to his recent struggles with writing.

Violet still looked impressed though, “Is it at least a good half of a song?”

“Honestly, it’s strong enough to be a single if Harry can get his shit together and finish it.” Will teased while Harry rolled his eyes. Despite Will’s picking at him, however, Harry felt a little better seeing Violet's eyes go round out of excitement.

“That’s good! You need to stop pressuring him, Will.” Violet pointed an accusatory fork at her roommate. “It’ll come when it comes.”

“As long as it comes before the deadline.” Will mumbled under his breath which caused Violet to chuck a balled up napkin at his face.

Laughs sounded from all around the table, offending Will even further. “I hate y’all, I hope you know that.”

“Anyways,” Violet started, changing the subject, “Y/N I feel like last night was the first time I saw you in weeks. I don’t think it’s healthy staying at your coworker’s place all the time and not coming home, you’re going to turn into a workaholic and then we really will never see you.”

There was another braved glance at Harry, who was already looking at her with those stupid green eyes of his as if he had no idea why she hadn’t been coming home lately.

“I, uh… it’s just easier. It’s been really busy since we got this new client.” She saw him in her peripheral vision, his dimples reappearing as he tried to hide the little smirk on his face because of course he knew she was lying. And of course he enjoyed it. He oddly enjoyed being her little secret, even if just last night he was wishing he wasn’t.

“That or she’s been seeing someone and lying to us.” James spoke up for the first time all morning and everyone’s eyes darted straight to him.

She couldn’t help her cheeks from heating up, even though she knew what James had offered wasn’t true. Well, at least not in the way he meant. She was seeing someone, but not like that.

Violet gasped dramatically, “I hadn’t thought of that!” And then pointed her accustory, big brown eyes at Y/N again, “You have a fucking boyfriend, don’t you?”

She tried not to look at Harry, she tried really fucking hard, but to her defense, he was looking first. And when she glanced at him, he didn’t even try to hide the smirk on his face while he chewed on his Lucky Charms. He was just as amused by all this as her roommates were.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Y/N mumbled, not really feeling up for defending herself at the moment.

“Yes you fucking do, you’re blushing!” Violet exclaimed, pushing every single one of Y/N’s buttons the only way Violet knew how to.

It wasn’t even that Y/N felt embarrassed, that she wouldn’t just tell them if she was seeing someone, but it made her uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t even explain.

“I don’t have a fucking boyfriend.”

All four of them immediately stopped laughing. They didn’t even make a single noise. Harry’s smile dropped from his face faster than any of the others. Not only had he never heard her utter a single cuss word before, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her voice get that loud.

And she left all of them in shock too, taking her bowl of leftover milk to the sink before disappearing into her bedroom.

“Guess she doesn’t have a boyfriend.” Violet muttered under her breath as if Y/N might still hear her.

“Why do you always do that? You know she hates it when you talk about that kind of stuff.” Will defended, angry eyes mostly pointed toward Violet, but James got a little bit of his vengeance as well for being the one who started it in the first place. And suddenly Harry began to understand Y/N’s sudden outburst a little more clearly.

“Maybe if she wasn’t so uptight all the time, she would actually get a boyfriend and stop being so damn sensitive about it.”

Will shook his head in disbelief, glancing at Harry quickly, like whatever he wanted to say, he knew he couldn’t. Not in front of Harry. So instead, Will sighed and shook his head, returning his attention to his breakfast, “You really need to just shut up sometimes, Vi. Especially when it comes to things you know nothing about.”

Harry sat close-lipped and lost in thought. He wondered if whatever Will wouldn’t say in front of him was something he already knew about Y/N. That maybe the mere mention of relationships made her uncomfortable because of what happened to her.

And then Harry ventured further into overthinking it when he considered the fact that Will might know more about Y/N’s past than he did, that maybe there was more to her story. He hated feeling like he needed to know everything, because the fact was that he only needed to know what she chose to share with him.

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#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #onlyhuman

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blucmoon · 3 years

Photo

━ ☾ ⊹ ( im jaebum, cis male , he/him ) say hello to AE YONGGUK, the TWENTY SIX YEAR OLD that seems to have a lot in his hands with HIS job as a STALL OWNER, DRUMMER AND OCCASIONAL BARTENDER! beyond that, they seemed RESPONSIBLE AND TRUSTWORTHY upon first glance. i heard someone say they’re sort of EVASIVE AND INSECURE though. HE seems to live in a 4 BEDROOM HOUSE in YUNHWA, SOUTH KOREA. anything else to add? oh, yeah! he also RUNS A STALL CALLED “KODACHROME” WHERE HE TAKES PHOTOS FOR IDS, SELLS PRINTS AS WELL AS BOOKS SESSIONS FOR PHOTOSHOOTS.

basic information

full name: ae yongguk

nickname(s): guk, yonggu (hasn’t figured out why)

age: 25

date of birth: january 6th, 1995

birthplace: seoul, south korea.

hometown: yunhwa, south korea.

current location: yunhwa, south korea.

ethnicity: asian.

nationality: korean

gender: cismale

pronouns: he / him

orientation: demiromantic, bisexual.

occupation: stall owner and drummer of a band called “crux”. sometimes he helps at his aunt’s bar in busan for some extra money.

living arrangements: house #4012, hwesakgu.

language(s) spoken: korean, english (conversational)

physical appearance

faceclaim: got7’s im jaebum “jb”

hair color: like almost everyone, he has naturally brown hair but throughout the years he’s dyed it blonde or black a couple of times. right now, it’s black and he has managed to grow it to a length he really likes below his chin. yongguk can be usually seen with his hair down and every so often he puts it up in a half updo. whenever the band has a gig, he exerts a little more effort (even if most of the time it doesn’t pay off).

eye color: brown. (likes colored contacts every now and then)

height: 179 cm

weight: 66 kg

build: lean person, with a good muscular frame.

distinguishing characteristics: two beauty marks right next to each other on his left eyelid.

tattoos: has a full sleeve on his left arm from shoulder down to a little above his wrist and another one his right forearm.

piercings: lobe and upper lobe in both ears, anti-tragus on the left one, double helix on the right, anti-eyebrow and nose on the right side of the face (won’t ever use jewelry during the day though).

clothing style: while he’s working at the stall he has a more casual style consisting of jeans, cargos, pants, button downs, sweaters. likes layering with denim shirts, flannels, jackets, windbreakers over t-shirts, etc. mostly in earthy colors, dark reds and blues, white, gray and black. no matter what though, he will always wear long sleeves, even in the hottest summer days and never roll them up, going to these lengths just to not draw any unnecessary attention. (he’s even gotten a fair amount of rash guards for those occasions when he feels like going for a swim.)

at the bar or at gigs, he’s usually clad in all black or dark tones. sleeveless shirts or those with short sleeves are his go-to, not nearly as concerned to conceal the ink over his arms from the public eye at night. he likes to choose style and comfort when performing, thus splurging a little more on his nightly outfits rather than those he uses on the daily. leather and denim jackets, bombers, sometimes harnesses, jeans in either black or leather, boots, sneakers, muscle shirts, graphic t-shirts, shirts with the first buttons undone and rolled up sleeves in dark, rich colors. style varies from street fashion to grunge to rocker depending on how he feels.

health

sleeping habits: goes to sleep really late but has no trouble waking up early to go to to work, though for the first couple of hours he’s awake and if he has gotten 4-5 hours only, he’d be kind of silent and unresponsive until getting that first cup of coffee. will likely nap before his shift at the bar only for an hour and a half tops.

eating habits: eats 3 - 4 times a day and gets easily hungry between meals. often seen snacking whatever he can.

exercise habits: doesn’t really exercise much constantly, but on the weekends he likes hiking or running around town.

emotional stability: 6/10

body temperature: average

addictions: none

drug use: experimentally a couple of times, hasn’t done it in a while.

alcohol use: socially, medium-high tolerance.

personality

label: the opaque (unable to be figured out; hiding behind a façade; not transparent.)

positive traits: reliable, responsible, hard-working, trustworthy, loyal, thoughtful, generous, creative, passionate, artistic, caring, considerate, devoted.

negative traits: defensive, evasive, cautious, indecisive, defiant, self-doubt, fluctuating self-esteem, conflict-averse, private, self-conscious, sensitive, unpredictable.

hobbies: starting songs he never finishes, watching the same show every year (avatar the last airbender) as well as his comfort movies, cloud/star gazing, jigsaw puzzles, origami, video games, playing guitar sometimes.

habits: knuckle cracking, muttering under his breath, snacking between meals, rubbing hands together, jaw clenching, gesturing while talking, rubbing the back of his neck, running hands through hair, drumming fingers, sings along to songs and sings gibberish for the parts he doesn’t know, doodles on any paper at reach, dozes off when bored/daydreams, bobs his leg while sitting.

zodiac sign: sun capricorn, moon pisces, rising scorpio (read as: impending disaster)

mbti: infp

enneagram: 6w5

temperament: melancholic

hogwarts house: ravenclaw

moral alignment: chaotic good

primary vice: wrath

primary virtue: diligence

element: water

expanded personality

yongguk has a strong tendency to appear quiet and reserved and it might come off as standoffish or easily confused with snoberish, which makes it worse when he doesn’t go out of his way to change this preconception about him. he needs a great deal of personal space, both physically and mentally, and any attempt to control him or forcibly schedule his activities will only strengthen his need for time alone.

he’s responsible, trustworthy and hardworking. relies heavily on his intuition to guide him and knows how to patiently wait as well as how to adapt to any circumstances. in yunhwa, he’s been forced to learn how to interact with the townsfolk and through the years he’s mastered the front he puts on in order to remain below the radar and not get any unnecessary attention; polite, helpful, sometimes even considered as a sweet guy, yongguk has no problem lending a hand to anyone that needs it.

however, in busan, his adaptability is also handy when it comes to dealing with customers. at the same time, it’s in these moments when he feels a little less restrained and allows himself to be less calculative: flirty, playful, sometimes misleading… he’s gotten in several problems because of this and yet he has no plans to stop it anytime soon.

yongguk is a little insecure and with a fluctuating self-esteem: sometimes he’s very well aware and confident on his skills and assets, but other times he will second-guess everything about himself. this combined with an strong fear of failure that stems from poor past decisions, makes him hesitate when it comes to making important calls that could potentially affect his future, but he knows how to play it off… most of the times.

despite appearing simple at a glance, yongguk is more than what meets the eye. friendly but private, polite but passionate about his beliefs, calm and sometimes expressionless. it’s not that he doesn’t have feelings - he actually runs quite deep and strong - it’s just that he conceals them under a mask of politeness because he’s unsure how to deal with them; he’s restrained when it comes to conveying emotion, but has a very deep care for his peers. might be awkward and uncomfortable with expressing himself verbally, but has a wonderful ability to define and reveal what he’s feeling on paper.

yongguk is genuinely interested in understanding others, a good listener, but will exclusively share his sorrows and woes only with the friends he trusts the most, unafraid to display his best and worst with them. his natural intuition allows him to sense the mood without the need of words. however, he can be quite impressionable and be easily influenced by the moods of others, which may often lead him to feel overwhelmed because of this.

incredibly curious, yongguk loves to explore with his hands and his eyes, touching and examining the world around him with cool rationalism and spirited curiosity. he explores ideas through creating, troubleshooting, trial and error and first-hand experience. yongguk can be a challenge to predict, even by the closest people to him. can seem very loyal and steady for a while, but he has a tendency to build up a store of impulsive energy that explodes without warning, taking his interests in bold, new directions.

with a good memory, he can recall experiences from the past down to smallest details. this is both good and bad: remembering the good memories is a way to ease himself when in stressful or sad situations, but he’s also prone to dwell on previous mistakes and regret them for a long time.

he’s not consistently angry. will either let the anger build up and release it all at once in an outburst or let it out slowly through small, critical remarks throughout the day. sometimes, both. he’s very difficult when annoyed, but it usually doesn’t last that long. a perfectionistic through and through, his main source of anger usually comes from things not being up to their standards. not good at sparing others’ feelings when he does become irritable. doesn’t like conflict and will go to great lengths to avoid it. in those occasions where he does have to face it, he will approach it from his feelings and mistakenly place little importance on who is right and who is wrong. yongguk will react to the emotions he’s going through and won’t care whether or not he’s right, which makes him appear irrational and illogic.

background (tldr)

his parents work in the field with doctors without borders.

yongguk was born in seoul and lived there for six years before his parents sent him to yunhwa to stay with his grandparents while they went abroad.

seven years passed, his parents would rarely contact them, much less visit them.

in the meantime, his grandma taught him how to play many instruments, being a musician herself and he was enrolled in kwangsook academy.

at thirteen they returned and guk moved with them back to seoul. around this time he became more reserved and quiet, the conversation always focused on his parents achievements and interests.

he made it his goal to become a doctor in hopes of having something in common with them. it was a way to seek their attention and approval.

a year later, a new plan was announced and yongguk was back in yunhwa with his grandparents. he was actually pretty happy about this.

started taking his studies seriously in his junior year of high school, going to the extent of dropping music and every other altogether.

he successfully managed to get into pusan national university, school medicine.

however, the whole experience was something he wasn’t ready for at all. for a year and half he struggled to keep up with his classmates and was utterly ashamed to compare his simple goal of wanting to get closer to his parents to the drive of everyone else.

he drops out after talking with his grandfather, a successful doctor himself.

initially excited to get the chance of truly discovering what he wanted to do, a single call from his father deterred his enthusiasm. he was supposed to return to yunhwa, instead he decided to move in with a friend and stay in busan… where everything goes downhill.

at only twenty and under the fake pretense that he’d get his act together, he allows himself to make mistakes and act recklessly, secretly wishing that’d be enough to get his parents attention.

he found temporary jobs all around busan and never lasted too long, but he still made money and that’s the only thing he really cared about at the moment. things aren’t great, but they aren’t that bad, or so he tells himself.

at twenty one, he gets a full sleeve on his left arm as well as many piercings. a couple of weeks after this, his grandparents decided to pay him a surprise visit and the state of his apartment as well as life… is not optimal.

coincidence or not, his parents video called them at that moment. it was the first time he heard from them in a year, and it was the last time as well.

seems like only his appearance was enough to finally trigger some sort of emotion from his father, but it wasn’t really the kind he was looking for. it was anger and he could clearly see the disappointment in his eyes. a heated argument ensues, one that ends with “you’re not our son anymore.”

perhaps it came a little too late, but it was the much needed wake up call to get his act together. not in order to mend the relationship with his parents, he knew that’d be impossible. but more so, for himself.

he perks up at a suggestion from his grandmother, one that was about a long forgotten hobby of his: photography. he remembers an old shoe box filled with polaroids and undeveloped films under his bed.

thus, he stays in busan after enrolling in a community college for a year-long photography class. around this time, one of his aunts offered him a job as a bartender in her bar and since then he’s been helping her every now and then. he says it’s for extra money, but in reality is a way to repay her from hiring him when no one else would.

after he was done with his course and had saved enough money to get a decent camera, he decided it was time to go back to yunhwa.

he returned three years ago. luckily, his reputation there remained intact and he wanted it to stay that way thus hiding the ink on his skin with long sleeves and removing the jewelry whenever he was outside.

yongguk moved back with his grandparents, this time to help them out and take care of his grandmother who started to get a little ill. he picked up playing and making music after finding his long abandoned drum set in the garage.

with the help of his grandfather, he opened his very own stall called “kodachrome” where he takes photos for ids, sells prints of his own work (mostly of yunhwa’s scenery) as well as books sessions for photoshoots.

a year and half ago, however, he had to find a new place. his grandparents decided to retire and move to jeju. thankfully, he managed to get a deal to rent a house from one of his grandma’s friends. the house was a little too big thus he decided to post an ad online looking for roommates to share the space and ease the expenses.

in the present, yongguk is still running his stall and getting contacted every blue moon by small influencers and event planners looking for his services. three nights a week, he goes back to busan to work for his aunt at the bar and every other night he has gigs with a band, which was randomly created after having far too many drinks with his roommates.

background (full)

tw: mentions of needles, tattoos, substances but nothing too graphic.

ae yongguk was the name given to you and and your endearing smiles as well as adorable dimples seemed to be more than enough to have everyone coddling and cosseting you from the get-go. nonetheless, permanency was never on your parents’ agenda. by the time you turned six, they moved away and you were shoved into your grandparents’ household in yunhwa.

it’s difficult to comprehend the sudden change, being told that you’d be living with them for some time. how much? they don’t specify, but the next thing you know is that you’re wordlessly bidding goodbye to your parents, who promised to write and come back for you soon. they didn’t. being part of doctors without borders and making it their goal to offer medical aid where it’s needed most, they put their humanitarian labor before parenthood.

the first letter you got arrived eight months after they left. there’s disappointment and there’s also heartbreak, but they don’t last long. you don’t allow them to regardless of your young age. instead, you focus on how your grandfather, despite having severe and strict ways, squeezed your shoulder and offered the small smile that you know all too well now. or how your grandmother, a renowned musician, didn’t hesitate to shower you in unconditional love. your education didn’t cease and your grandfather immediately enrolled you at kwangsook academy.

one of your most prominent traits is how transparent you are with your emotions and your grandmother easily learnt to read this. it was no surprise that the first time you saw her playing a beautiful song on her baby grand and your irises sparkled with curiosity, she immediately beckoned you closer. “hi, my love.” the elderly woman greeted while shifting a little so you could take a seat beside her. you meet her eyes and you wonder if she’s looking for anything by the time an easy smile appears on her face. “do you like music?” you’re unable to respond, but she must’ve seen something because, after that, she started teaching you the basics of piano. a couple of days later, she asked again and this time around, the answer naturally slipped out of your mouth: i love it.

for your regular classes, you were constant and responsible. sure, you enjoyed learning, but your interest wasn’t inherently there. it was just something you had to do. however, when it came to that newfound love for music of yours, you were the one with the initiative to ask for more lessons and practice whenever you had free time; first the piano, later the guitar and a couple of years later you made the stubborn decision to learn the drums.

it was nice staying in yunhwa, it brought you a comforting sense of belonging. it was the beginning of finding your own voice; discovering your likes and dislikes, some of your talents and even the chance of making friends. however, there was always a lingering question in the back of your mind and a deep sadness you rarely showed: when are my parents coming back?

they do, but only for a short period of time.

you had only turned thirteen, but the moment you saw them you were but an excited kid, joyously yelling and running to hug them, but they greeted you rather… frivolously. you try to ignore the breach between you and them, which you felt the most when you were holding your mother’s hand; her skin a couple of degrees colder than your grandma’s. they ask how you were doing and, in your frenzy, you start talking about everything that’s happened all this time only to be interrupted; the voice you were starting to grow inevitably drowned in the sea of their own achievements and stories.

it’s then that they tell you they’d move to seoul and you’re to go with them. apparently, with the intention to settle down and give it a go to having a normal family. you say goodbye to your grandparents, and unlike your mom and dad, the promises of staying in touch with them are real.

you were silent and reserved around your parents. you had to after learning that no matter what you tried to tell them, the conversation always ended being about what interested them. for a while you pretended to be okay with it, but soon you started wishing they paid as much attention to you as they did to their cause. it made you think that, by immersing yourself in that world, you might be able to keep them interested long enough or make them proud, and your very own obsession to become a doctor started right there. simple questions that had your parents perk up are what made you believe that your plan isn’t too far fetched.

luckily, you were able to retreat to your music whenever everything became too overwhelming, but even this wasn’t enough to stop an ever growing beast called dissatisfaction from making your chest its home. it increases in size and sometimes it’s so big that you’re unable to keep it in your ribcage, coming to light with rebellious little acts such as not doing your homework or bluntly strumming your guitar late at night. eventually, unspoken words and jumbled thoughts find their way into old notebooks full of an amateur’s unfinished songs.

it’s exactly a year later that they announced their new plans of moving to the other side of the world, plans that didn’t take you into consideration at all. it was disappointing, but not really surprising. still, you were able to comprehend the nature of their jobs, after all they were brilliant doctors and only a handful were willing to offer the assistance your parents did. you stop expecting things to change after the farewells you exchanged with them. you wished them the best and truly meant it.

going back to yunhwa at fourteen is something you anticipate; your grandmother welcomed you with your favorite food and your grandfather with a blank notebook. “for your songs, son” he said with that smile of his, learning about this new hobby of yours from one of the many mails you sent them. both were happy about your return and helped you pick up your studies where you last left them.

it’s in your junior year at high school when you truly get serious about your studies, medical school was your single goal. even though you’ve come to terms with the relationship you had with your parents, a hopeful part of you genuinely believed that becoming a doctor would help breach the distance.

and so you do, dropping music altogether and every other hobby that “needlessly” consumed your time and energy. it was admittedly exhausting and you were obviously miserable without playing any instrument. the sleepless nights and the isolation you brought upon yourself paid off the moment you received the news of your acceptance at pusan national university. that very night, you got a call from your parents congratulating you.

for the next year and a half, however, things prove to be extremely challenging when you find yourself amongst thousands of students whose drive and ambition is stronger than simply wanting to get close to their parents. it’s shameful, you admit and the constant pressure as well as the competitive environment soon takes a toll on you, but it was much needed for you to start questioning everything; yourself, your goals and if it was really what you wanted.

the person who helps you to fully come to this realisation is none other than your grandfather, another renowned doctor in your family. it’s shocking to hear him encouraging you to drop out and follow your dreams. truth is you were far too concerned chasing after a hopeless goal than to craft ambitions and dreams for yourself. still, you follow his advice even when you are completely at loss about what the next step would be.

if news of your acceptance travelled fast, so did the news of your departure. you got a call shortly after and all you heard was “we’re very disappointed” followed by radio silence before your father hung up. you were nineteen, about to turn twenty, when they last talked to you.

their silence becomes one of your many excuses to make mistakes and act recklessly; if your good behaviour and your previous little act didn’t catch their attention, this surely will. it’s your shield against the disapproval in your grandfather’s eyes, and that very shield is what stops him from stopping you. even when you told him you wouldn’t return to yunhwa, instead moving to one of your friend’s apartment in the heart of busan.

it’s amusing how easily your grandfather believes your fake promises of trying to get your life together and you feel awful for being such a good liar. you find decent jobs, but never stay too long. unnecessary fights with customers or blatant irresponsibility are the main reasons that force you to find a new one every couple of weeks. you’ve been many things: a busser, a server, even a mascot. you didn’t mind much as long as you were paid.

you willingly dive into a void filled with indulgence and bad decisions. all in order to not think, to not dwell on the future. you used every situation you could possibly get yourself into as a distractor from the painful reality. you were lost, so utterly lost.

twenty one comes around and you decide that, for the first time ever, you’re going to gift yourself something. a permanent work of art, its canvas your skin.

three monthly salaries were spent on black and red ink which reminded you of your favorite place. the needle pierces your skin once, twice, hundred times until your arm is almost fully covered… maybe it was a metaphor, a feeble attempt to display something bright and wonderful on someone who otherwise had long lost every trace of that. it was not enough and a couple of piercings follow in trying to beautify the sheer mess you’ve made of yourself.

some nights you question your own strength and sanity. you used to be pristine, someone to be proud of and an exemplary resident of the town you fondly call home. you were constant, had talent and a midas touch that turned meaningless words into beautiful songs, scribbles onto paper into melodies that had every listener humming along.

what happened to you, boy? says a voice in your head… or is it from your chest? is it the dissatisfaction you’ve tried to keep locked for years? all it took was to be called a disappointment once for you to willingly become one?

it consumes you and every passing day it becomes louder, but you’re stubborn and simply take it as a challenge to find new ways to drown it. headachingly loud music, poisonous substances, liquid trust or the ecstasy under someone’s fingertips… the city swallows you whole and provides you with momentary sweet oblivion but… is the aftermath of impeding remorse worth it? it is, you convince yourself while running back into it’s arms night after night.

one day, without warning, three knocks come onto your door and when you’re about to curse whoever disrupted your game, you’re met with your grandparents. your appearance is deplorable; bloodshot eyes, greasy hair and alarming signs of lack of proper sleep. it hurt to see your grandmother, as crystal clear as you wear, worried and at loss of words. a thing the city taught you was to be a pretender and so you ignore every sign of concern in their faces while smiling at them. “long time no see!” you say cheerfully.

it’s a quiet visit. they don’t know what to tell you or where to start, and neither do you feel a need to fill the awkward silence when your grandfather’s phone went off. he answers without thinking to a videocall and the voice that greets him has you freezing on your spot. father. your face falls and your eyes widen in obvious panic when he asks about you. the older man in the room seems to be equally as frantic as you when he glances at you, taking in how you look before your father speaks again.

“oh, is yongguk there? let me talk to him.” his authoritative tone was enough to have your grandfather turning the phone towards you. it’s late, far too late to fix yourself or even try to hide the glaringly bright red ink on your arm. so, in your frenzy, you decide to play cynical. what else could you lose, right? “hey, dad.” you greet with a shameless smile upon your lips. “your timing is as impeccable as ever.”

the argument that ensues forces you to retreat to your room and you thank whatever universal force that your roommate decided to have a weekend-long trip. it’s a heated fight, and you realize midway through that this is the longest conversation you’ve ever had with your father. why is it that the most display of emotion you get from him is when you don’t follow his ridiculous standards? he gets louder, so do you and it escalates to irreversible words. the last thing he says is “you’re not our son anymore” followed by silence.

then you laugh.

you laugh over the irony of an absent father saying such a thing. you laugh because you don’t want to allow him see you hurting. you laugh at how fucked up the whole situation is. “doesn’t make a difference, does it?” you say between unabashed chuckles. “not like you ever acted like a father, anyway.” and you hang up, your legs giving in and only then did you notice that your whole body had been shaking this whole time.

you muffle a scream on a pillow while feeling so alone and like the butt of the cruelest joke. you want to hate your father and your mother. you want to despise them for their horrible behavior. instead, you find yourself crying like an abandoned kid wanting, yearning for the love that wasn’t given to him. you want to run, to disappear, to hide where no one can find you.

then, two arms wraps around you and even though your grandmother is a little smaller than you, you find yourself feeling protected under her embrace. shortly after comes a pat on your head from your grandfather. you look up at those brown eyes full of wisdom and, when he tells you “everything will be okay, son.” you wholeheartedly believe him

because, a year later, things started looking up.

#INFO.TXT #YONGGUK.EXE #LOC.YUNHWA

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wildroseofarran · 3 years

Text

When it Finally Hits || Captain Issott || January, 2021

Leslie: {Text from Leslie} Do you need me today on the ship?

Tristan: {Text from Tristan} For working, no

{Text from Tristan} For kissing? Always

Leslie: {Text} That's all I am to you. Lips.

Tristan: {Text} You're the whole world, sweetheart

{Text} That being said, it's not a pressing need but I do need to make a couple new nets if you wanna help

Leslie: {Text} Making me swoon.

{Text} I'll be right there baby

Tristan: {Text} Bring your most heavy-duty gloves

{Text} And wear something long sleeved

Leslie: {Text} Heard

And he would be on his way after finding his most worn flannel. A yellow and brown piece with a hole in its sleeve.

Tristan: When Leslie arrived, he'd find Tristan sitting on top of the ship's cabin surrounded by a massive unfinished net. He wore a plain blue work shirt and his hair was piled messily on top of his head to keep it out of his face as he worked, kept in place by what appeared to be a pencil and some fishing line.

Leslie: Of course it was. The man looked the part. He wished for a better memory, to bring his camera more often to capture moments like this.

"Where's Oliver?" he greeted, climbing aboard.

Tristan: Tristan looked up with a grin. "Hey, you! He's off selling our catch for today and hopefully gouging Bonnie for it. Watch your step, there's twine and rope everywhere."

Leslie: "Been years since I did this. You're gonna have to show me, or lemme watch for a little." He didn't mind either. He settled by his side and stretched.

"Much as I love Myrtle, I'm ready for this new chapter in my life."

Tristan: "We can do both," he said, clearing the heap of finished net off his lap so Leslie could see better. "Did you tell her all our plans? She upset?"

Leslie: "Kinda sorta. I couldn't tell. She wants her niece to take over but she doesn't see a restaurant. She sees work she doesn't want. So hearing I'll be gone by next year doesn't sit well."

Tristan: "Is there someone else who she'd trust to take it over?"

Leslie: "She'll try other family. When that doesn't work, I dunno."

Tristan: Tristan thought for a moment. "Do you think she'd trust someone who wasn't family?"

Leslie: "Me, and as much as I love her, I don't want it."

Tristan: "Can't imagine this place without the Pearl Pond. Makes me wanna find a worthy candidate for her."

Leslie: "We can do that. Net first, then the Pearl," he smiled.

Tristan: Tristan grinned and nodded. "Hell fuckin' yeah. I'll ask around, see if anyone's particularly good at cooking seafood."

Leslie: "Could steal Peter's chef," he chuckled. "I know a baker. That's all I've got. Chefs are gobbled up in Edenton."

Tristan: "If I know one thing for certain, it's that Pete would fight us both to the death before he let us take Bobby." An exaggeration, but only slightly.

"We should teach Logan how to cook seafood. She'd be great."

Leslie: "She burns pots on a regular basis. How she makes jams for cakes or fillings for pastries I have no idea."

Tristan: "She understands how to control the heat in those scenarios. There's always a thermometer in the jam and stuff telling her what to do. That's what we need."

Leslie: "You two have gotten close."

Tristan: "She makes damn good cake."

Leslie: "She needs many friends."

Tristan: "I think she's got a good few with all the jobs she has. Or if not friends then potential friends."

Leslie: "She has you now. I know what that means."

Tristan: Tristan smiled. "I'm nothing special. I just do what I can." He held up the net and examined his work. "Like make nets that won't devastate what puts food on my table."

Leslie: "You can never say that you're nothing special. Not ever. You're magic."

He pulled at the net, held out with both hands to check progress.

Tristan: He chuckled. "There is that. A magic prodigy even."

The net still had a ways to go but what had been completed was holding well and strongly. The twine it was composed of was made entirely of organic materials; no synthetics to be found anywhere.

"How's it looking?"

Leslie: "Looks like I'm not nearly as good at this as I thought I was." Which was an exaggeration; he'd always known he was shit.

"Is this all for today?"

Tristan: "It's like anything in life, just takes practice. And yeah, this is it apart from cleanup."

Leslie: "That's what I've been telling you and Charles. My words have been turned against me."

Tristan: Tristan laughed. "Yep! They sure have. They're good words though, and true. You'll be a master net maker before you know it."

Leslie: "The scars on my fingers are not the same kinda scars, baby."

Tristan: "They show you've been through some shit, as have we all. Some people just go through different kinds."

Leslie: "Majority of these are kitchen related, I promise." Though a few were from spells.

Tristan: "Comes with the territory. It's like making a mess when you cook. If you don't have at least a few scars, have you really cooked?"

Leslie: "They fade, eventually. Always do." He smiled softly. "Is it terrible of me to say I'm glad yours don't?"

Tristan: Tristan smiled and shook his head. "Nah, it's not terrible. Do you like that they add to my swarthy sailor vibe?"

Leslie: "I do, actually. My kind, we don't keep our history on our skin. I value each one you have."

Tristan: "There aren't any magical folk with scars? Is there such thing as a magic scar?"

Leslie: "There are. Just not Verbena. And yeah. They exist. Seen some absolutely... unforgivable ones."

Tristan: "So it's not anything good that leaves magical scars, huh?"

Tristan looked down at his hands. They were covered in gloves but underneath were thick callouses and puncture scars from many a crab and hook. Scattered among the tattoos and sun-given freckles on his body was more of the same. Old cuts, old burns, thin scars, raised scars.

He barely noticed them after living with them for so many years, but seeing them through Leslie's eyes, he could find an appreciation for them.

"You know I used to worry my hands were too rough for you?" he mused, smiling softly.

Leslie: "I think there are, but they'd have to be very rare." Permanent disturbance to the body, the opposite of healing. It had to be truly horrifying or truly beautiful.

Leslie looked up from the net. Noticed Tristan's gaze.

"We did a lot of assuming."

Tristan: "We did, didn't we? Glad all that's over and that you don't mind my caveman hands and that they make me have to carry around a tin of Nivea like Mrs. Pennyapple."

Leslie: "What happened to that woman," he laughed. But! that wasn't what was on his mind now. "I love feeling those sandpaper hands all over me. Those hands right there? I want them on me when this net's finished."

Tristan: "She grew up on a farm! And I'm pretty sure she still helped her family work it up until she married Mr. Pennyapple. Maybe even after that, who knows."

Tristan laughed softly and leaned over to kiss his witch. "Just you wait, babydoll, they're gonna be alllll over you."

Leslie: "Keep that up and the net'll have to wait," he laughed through his nose.

Tristan: "You say that like it's a bad thing. We've got all the time in the world for net making."

Leslie: Leslie arched a brow. "Keep that up," he said again.

Tristan: A wicked grin and another kiss.

Leslie: And just like that, Tristan had a man straddling his lap. Arms resting on his shoulders.

Tristan: He laughed and wrapped his arms around Leslie, pulling him in for more kisses. Yes, perfect. He'd had honest intentions of making the net together but feeling Leslie up was better.

Leslie: True to his word, he wanted to feel those rough hands against bare skin. Going so far as to tug at his sweater in silent plea. He did not account for current weather, and what the cold had done to Tristan's hands, hissing and writhing at his touch.

"Ah, fuck!" he laughed.

Tristan: "Sorrysorrysorry!" Tristan said around another laugh. Leave it to them to get carried away and forget they were outside in January.

He moved his hands away and tried rubbing them together for a bit to warm them. "The one time I'm not a space heater."

Leslie: "Bring em back. Warm up on me." He didn't mind a bit of discomfort.

Tristan: "They're freezing, gimme a second." Friction could only do so much but it did help a little.

He still winced when he touched Leslie's warm skin though, kissing him in apology.

Leslie: "Tight." And he in turn would hug Tristan's head, fingers disappearing into his hair, messing up what had been neatly tied.

Tristan: If Leslie wanted tight, then he would be hugged tight, both for closeness and for warmth.

"Careful, don't poke yourself with the pencil I shoved in the rat's nest."

Leslie: "You have hair supermodels envy. 'Rat's nest'. Pfft."

Tristan: "It's all tangled," he chuckled. "My hair tie broke so I made the pencil bun but it kept coming loose so I threw some fishing line in there."

Leslie: "Oh, Luna, look what you did," he laughed, looking over Tristan's shoulder to examine the crime scene of tangled hair. Already set to work on detangling.

Tristan: “Never gonna get it back to supermodel levels without a comb. I think I’ve got one in my office somewhere.”

Leslie: "I'll get it in a minute." He would much rather use his fingers for as long as he was able. Addictive, is what it was. As was much of Tristan's company. "You'll just have to have me in your lap a little longer."

Tristan: “Nah, that’s all right. I’ll go get it when you need it.”

Tristan grinned and nuzzled Leslie’s cheek. “Well, shoot. I guess I’ll just have to put on a brave face. Whatever will I do with such a beautiful witch in my lap?”

Leslie: "You'll be still," he laughed. "Or I'll...accidentally...tug...when I don't mean to."

Tristan: "We definitely don't want that," Tristan said with another chuckle. "Does feeling you up count as being still? I think it does."

Leslie: "Rub those rough hands all over me."

Tristan: "Don't mind if I do."

Tristan slipped his hands beneath Leslie's shirt, running them up and down his back, massaging gently.

Then, with a particularly self-satisfied grin, those hands dipped into the waistband of Leslie's pants.

Leslie: "Now, merman, those hands are gonna distract me something fierce." And had already, accidentally pulling just a little too hard on the next tangle.

Tristan: "Ah, that's okay. Work is more fun when there's a distraction." He'd never been tender-headed anyway; a couple of tugs on his hair wouldn't hurt him.

Leslie: "I prefer music over hair pulling, but that's just me." One more knot to go, and all would be well. "How do you let it get this bad?"

Tristan: "It was an act of desperation after the hair tie broke. It was tangle-free when I left the house, honest."

Leslie: He loved that hair more than his own. Probably why he was so determined to detangle. All was well with a final finger comb. Back to a loving assault of kisses and neck nibbles.

Tristan: He hummed, nuzzling Leslie any time he was in perfect reach. "All's right with the world again. Thanks, doll. Still want the comb?"

Leslie: "I'm your comb." He offered his lips. Arms returning around his neck. "Should get back to the net, though."

Tristan: "You're the most beautiful damn comb I've ever seen." He took those lips and kissed them until his lungs screamed for air. The net could wait.

Leslie: Such demand and urgency from Tristan's lips caused a firming ache between his legs. An inadvertent roll of his hips. How did they even get to this point? Did he care? He was too busy trying not to smile into their kiss.

Tristan: If they weren't so out in the open with the potential of Oliver or someone else coming along at any moment, Tristan would've undone Leslie's pants and given him some relief.

"Just you wait until I get you home," he murmured, kissing his way across Leslie's jaw.

Leslie: "Keep that up," he grinned, ready to threaten this as well. "We gotta - the damn net," he laughed.

Tristan: "Oh, I will. I'm gonna eat you right up." Just a few more kisses to that beautiful neck.

"We'll get there eventually." Kiss. "Gotta get you a netting needle." Kiss.

Leslie: Another roll of his hips. One intentional and lingering. A soft noise in Tristan's mouth.

Tristan: Tristan hummed and pulled Leslie's hips closer, encouraging him. He was having a hell of a time prioritizing the net over this precious witch in his arms.

Leslie: "Uhn, baby... we gotta..." Something. Another. And another roll. If Tristan weren't careful, they would have a mess between them. In broad daylight.

Tristan: "Hmm?" He didn't have it in his mind to be careful. His thoughts and his senses were all centered around Leslie, but what little brainpower wasn't devoted to him figured that as long as they were both clothed, everything was fine.

Leslie: Leslie had just enough sense not to dry hump his boyfriend to oblivion, but friction relief was a constant burden to his senses. He offered his tongue to their kiss, forgetting what it was he was going to say.

Tristan: Tristan wouldn't have minded one bit if Leslie had dry humped him to oblivion; in fact, he was actively encouraging it with his roaming hands.

But he was perfectly happy to have his brain turned to mush by Leslie's intoxicating kisses in lieu of that. Hell, he wasn't even feeling the cold anymore, much less thinking about the task at hand.

Leslie: All Leslie wanted was to feel Tristan firm against him. To offer the same sanity reducing friction and enjoy the little noises which would follow. The feeling of those leathery hands as he'd felt the night before.

But the sky grumbled, and the wind whistled through the ships and the deck and between them, waking him from his daydream.

Tristan: Of course the moment Tristan stopped feeling the cold it decided to assert itself again, along with the ominous looking clouds slowly growing darker overhead.

He heaved a great sigh and pressed one more kiss to Leslie's lips. "I think that's Mother Nature throwing a bucket of cold water on us, sweetheart."

Leslie: "I think so, too." Or a druid in a sour mood. He didn't know of any mages with an agenda here. Not that he knew everyone.

"Back to the net, then?"

Tristan: "Guess we better," he chuckled, indulging them both with just one more tiny kiss. "All right, lemme go get you a netting needle. Got some below deck."

Leslie: "Aye aye, captain." First, climbing out of his lap without tripping.

Tristan: Tristan sighed mournfully as Leslie left his arms. If he didn't need a new net as badly as he did, he'd be putting the whole thing off and taking his witch home.

"All right, back in two shakes. Don't have too much fun without me."

Just as he got to his feet, the wake of a motorboat tearing out of the docks caused the Adriana to rock suddenly. Unable to catch his balance in time, Tristan stumbled over the net that, without him realizing, had tangled itself around his feet, and was pitched headlong into the freezing water below.

Leslie: Leslie had turned towards the cabin when he heard the unexpected splash. Looking back over his shoulder to a man no longer there. His heart leapt to his throat for only a second. Not the first time someone had gone overboard on this ship.

"Not about to beat Oliver's title," he called, walking towards the railing. "You're supposed to have the best sea legs!"

Tristan: Any other day, Tristan would've emerged from the water roaring with laughter at his own clumsiness. It had happened before.

But it wasn't happening now. The swarthy, tattooed captain of the Adriana wasn't coming up for air. He was still below the surface long past the admittedly impressive capacity of his lungs.

The shock of the cold water had made his body tense and freeze up. He tried to swim toward the surface but his arms and legs refused to cooperate, as if something were paralyzing him.

Leslie: Leslie hadn't bothered to count the time; he knew the capacity of those lungs. Tristan's nickname wasn't at random. But something was wrong. He should have resurfaced by now. Calling to a man underwater was useless. If Tristan was going to emerge he would have.

Leather boots were argued with a grunt, tossed carelessly before throwing himself overboard.

Tristan: Had he hit something on the way down? He hadn't felt anything. But then what was this horrible pain in his limbs and his neck that felt like he'd been tossed around in a washing machine?

Tristan made one more effort, one more push to get himself to the surface. His lungs couldn't hold out much longer. They were screaming in their desperation for oxygen, still shocked by the cold.

It felt like an age passed while he struggled in the water. His skin burned with something that was probably cold. He was so tired....so tired...

Leslie: Leslie could hardly see a foot in front of him. Not for lack of trying. The water stung at his eyes. This was approximately where Tristan should be. His lungs weren't nearly as strong like this. Had he meditated before he could have held his breath for an hour, but in his panic...

He felt at the water, swam deeper. There, near the underside.

Tristan: The freezing temperature of the water and Tristan's own weariness had gotten the best of him.

He was struggling still, but only slightly. The pain and the burning and the desire to breathe were too much to fight all at once, he had to give in to one of them.

In the end, he'd given in to his lungs. He gasped breath back into them which had brought relief so intense he hadn't questioned being able to do so.

Was this what drowning was? Pain and relief. More pain than relief. So much more. Something was moving toward him; he could see a shape through his blurred vision. Keeping his eyes open was too hard.

He just breathed.

Leslie: Tristan was grabbed by his arm, looped to his right as he headed for the surface. Calm. Just keep calm. Too focused on his own burning lungs and the additional weight he hauled to notice what had happened. He would assess when they could both take a breath.

Tristan: Something was grabbing him. Someone? Someone.

Tristan couldn't tell who; he could only tell that he was moving and imagined that whoever or whatever had him, they were dragging him into the murky depths to meet his maker.

His exhausted brain didn't register the approaching light as anything but the comforting hallucination before death until his head was breached the surface.

The pain, cold, and oxygen-deprived desperation slammed into him all at once with brutal force, leaving him gasping and flailing and trying to call out.

Leslie: He couldn't think of words as he resurfaced. Only to breathe as he hoped Tristan would. He needed to get him to shore first. They were almost there. When his voice finally returned, all he could say was, "Calm, baby! It's okay!" He had to breathe to yell, so that was a good sign at least.

The first sensation of shore on his fingertips, every muscle in his body relaxed.

"What happened, baby?"

Tristan: Reaching dry land should've eased some of Tristan's distress, but he continued to struggle and gasp and the reason why was blatantly obvious.

Tristan hadn't been wearing a jacket when he went into the water, only his work shirt. At some point it had come partially unbuttoned and askew, leaving part of his chest exposed to reveal what appeared be slits on either side of his throat and patches of iridescent scales on his skin.

Even as Leslie watched, those slits would slowly start to close, improving Tristan's breathing and causing him to cough up a good bit of sea water.

Leslie: Tristan was placed flat on the shore. One hand holding his weight by Tristan's head, the other pressed underneath Tristan's shirt, just shy of his scales. Finally able to assess, his eyes were wide in awe and confusion. This man he had called merman for years was in fact...

Things he had been unable to feel, a wealth of new information. He had to steady his adrenaline filled body, calm his mind to better analyze.

"It's okay," he whispered. "It - It's okay. Slowly, baby."

Tristan: Tristan didn't hear Leslie, not fully aware of his surroundings yet. He was shivering hard, breathing still erratic despite his now clear lungs. All he could register was biting cold wind lashing into his skin and the ominous rumble of thunder signaling an oncoming storm.

Leslie: "Tristie, can y - you say something?" The wind was finally getting to him. Adrenaline could only carry him so far. Now his body was shaking. He could only imagine what Tristan was experiencing.

Tristan: He heard Leslie that time. Tristan turned toward the sound of his voice, able to make out the shape of his boyfriend despite his blurry vision and eyes still stinging from the salty water.

He managed a head shake. Speaking was a no go, his teeth were chattering like there was no tomorrow. They needed to get dry and get warm.

Leslie: Leslie was afraid to move him. With his scales, his gills... He searched for more. Felt at his hands and - his feet. He needed to see them.

"Okay," he breathed. "Okay..." Carefully, he pulled Tristan to his chest. Squeezed him close and struggled to his feet. He had to get them back on the boat at the very least.

Tristan: Although at first glance it appeared like the patches of scales were scattered at random, there was a pattern to them. They didn't cover the whole of Tristan's skin, however, and now that they were out of the water they seemed to be disappearing.

But his arms and his legs--sore though they might be--were still very much there.

Tristan had recovered just enough strength to cling to Leslie for all he was worth and had just enough will to try and force himself to stop shivering. Reality was, slowly but surely, coming back into focus.

He pointed. Ship was that way.

Leslie: "I know," he managed, voice as gentle as it was strained. Tristan wasn't normally heavy, but circumstance had knocked the wind from his chest and the strength from his arms for an effortless journey. Another tired scan of their surroundings. There were people, but occupied by their to-do lists, deep in conversations, music, left to their own devices on their own boats. Two arguing in a car too far away to detail their expressions. Little beyond the way of flailing hands and sharp head movement.

They could make it without being seen. So long as he kept his pace.

To the warmest room. They were in desperate need of towels. Tristan was placed on the nearest sturdy surface.

"Be right back, baby."

Tristan: The captain's cabin was the warmest place on the ship only because Tristan had put a space heater in there to make it comfortable in the winter months. And hell if it wasn't going to come in handy right now.

The sturdiest surface that was free of clutter inside the cabin was his chair; not ideal, but he was more than glad to huddle into it. He nodded at Leslie and closed his eyes.

Towels would be found in one of the storage compartments on the deck, along with an extra set of clothes that Tristan kept just in case.

Leslie: He couldn't feel his fingertips. He realized in his grab for towels that he couldn't feel his toes, either. Both clothes and towels were placed on the desk.

"Let's get you outta these clothes."

Tristan: Tristan opened his eyes as he heard Leslie's returning footsteps and made to stand. He needed to get the heat going before anything else.

Leslie: "What are you doing?"

Tristan: His throat felt too raw to speak so he pointed at the heater instead. Luckily it was only a couple of steps away from his chair because his legs felt like Jello.

Leslie: "Sit down and work on your shirt." He would deal with the heater, and anything else that might bring Tristan to his feet.

Tristan: He sank back into the chair. He wanted so badly to protest but he was too tired.

The buttons were a safer bet.

Of course, that meant looking down at his chest and the moment he did, seeing the fading but still very distinct scales covering his skin.

WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?

Tristan practically tore his shirt off in his panic to get a better look at himself, nearly falling off the chair in the process.

Leslie: The heater had just been switched on when Leslie heard the clumsiness of panic.

"Baby! Baby, it's okay. It's okay. I promise." But only he knew. What little he knew was still a mouthful. A towel was draped over Tristan's head. Face firmly held in both hands.

"Tristie, look at me. I un-understand your panic, but you're not dying. There's nothing wrong with you."

Tristan: Nothing wrong?! Tristan may not have been able to move with Leslie holding his face but he could still raise an arm and point to it and say, "Scales!" in a voice that sounded like he was recovering from a sore throat.

"Why scales!?"

Leslie: How to even begin. Hazel knew more about them. Kelly probably knew even more than she did.

A frozen hand covered Tristan's heart.

"You're very late to the party, or someone put a very powerful spell on you when you were little. Maybe before you were born. I can't tell you that. What I can tell you is that... your nickname... was a little too on the nose."

Tristan: Nickname? But...

Tristan looked at Leslie in desperate confusion before it clicked that Leslie hadn't meant 'Tristie' or 'Captain'.

"Wha--....no. No no." He shook his head. Leslie couldn't be serious. He couldn't possibly be serious, that was impossible.

Leslie: "I wouldn't lie to you." Drying Tristan's hair helped serve to warm his skin. On his knees, he began to pinch and kick off his socks.

"What do you know about your father?"

Tristan: Leslie wouldn't lie to him, and he liked to think his own eyeballs wouldn't lie to him, but the thought that he could be--no, it was impossible.

"Barely anything." He uselessly cleared his throat. "It's not--he can't--no. No."

Leslie: Now that his own feet were bare, he began with Tristan's shoes and socks, using the second towel for gently drying and warming his skin. He needed to see what else was happening, but more than that, they needed to get warm.

"Your pants, babe."

Tristan: Trembling hands clumsy from the cold undid his jeans and eased them off. Tristan tried not to look at his skin. The sight of those scales was more than he could handle right now.

Hell, for all he knew he had drowned and all this was a hallucination he was having in the back of an ambulance. That made more sense than suddenly being a merman.

Leslie: Leslie forced himself back to his feet for more towels and any extra clothes left for himself. The door was shut behind him upon return. The wind having stripped any warmth he had managed to accumulate.

"No matter what happens, I'm with you, Tristie."

Tristan: The storage bench only had one set of clothes, but there was another set in the galley that Tristan had left at some point when he'd stayed on the ship overnight. The frayed jeans and work shirt weren't the warmest, but they were clean and dry.

Leslie would return to a completely nude Tristan hunched over with his head in his hands.

He sighed. "I don't even know what's happening now, Les. I don't..." Another sigh.

Leslie: Finally, Leslie began to work on his own clothes, still clinging to his goosefleshed body.

"The only explanation I can think of I've said. You're not in any danger. What this is, is... it's what you are."

Tristan: "Is it even possible to do that? To--I don't--suppress what someone is? Is that even the right--ugh..." He rubbed his face.

Leslie: "Can be. Every species has magic. What you are is no exception."

The last of his clothes, his underwear, was pulled from his shivering body. The nearest towel used to warm his legs and between them.

Tristan: Tristan looked up with another sigh, staring at nothing for a few long moments until Leslie's shivering brought him to his senses.

Silently, he reached for his boyfriend and pulled him into his lap. Here he was stuck in his head when there were more important things to focus on.

He bundled Leslie into a towel and wrapped his arms around him, just...holding on for dear life.

Leslie: They could keep each other warm far better than the ragged clothes on the desk. He buried his cheek against Tristan's neck and simply existed. No matter his optimism, this was Tristan's journey, and it was only just beginning. All he could do is support him. But right now, right now they just needed to get warm.

Tristan: He had no idea how long they sat there, only that it had been long enough for his body temperature to return to normal and for the...stuff on his skin to go away completely. He had to deal with it eventually but for now seeing his skin look the way it was supposed to just brought relief.

Tristan pressed his lips to Leslie's hair. "How do you feel?" he asked. The long stretch of silence had brought the healing sore throat quality back to his voice.

Leslie: Dry, but still feeling almost every ounce of winter. The heater did little to shake the events from his skin.

"Like I'm still cold, and I wanna take you home. Just wanna be buried in bed with you, naked." His eyes had yet to open. "How are you feeling?"

Tristan: Tristan kissed Leslie's head again. He couldn't begin to vocalize how he felt because he had no idea. "Jury's still out."

Another kiss. "We need to go home. Eat. Do nothing for a good long while."

Leslie: For the witch, keeping busy was healthy. Movement was constant. Things to do, people to help, progress in his own life and that of others. Right now, he wanted none of that. He craved silence and Tristan's skin-to-skin contact. He wanted nothing more than to be where Tristan needed him. Right now, that meant forcing himself from his lap to dress.

"I'm driving."

Tristan: “You’re still cold. I’ll drive.” Tristan followed suit and got up to dress. “You can bundle up and keep getting warm.”

Leslie: "No. No way. You just went through so much. We'll crank the heater all the way."

Tristan: “You went through it too.” But he wouldn’t argue. He probably should’ve but he felt deflated and defeated in a dozen different ways. He just wanted to be home.

Leslie: "When you didn't come up..." No, not here. They weren't finished getting dressed. He could pour his emotions when they were in a better place physically and mentally. That in mind, now dressed, he excused himself to find his boots, still where he had yanked them off in desperation.

Tristan: Remembering how he had struggled in the water, how he'd seen and heard stories of it happening to other people, Tristan could imagine the fear Leslie had felt. He'd give anything to be able to take the memory of that away.

He finished getting dressed and gathered his things, meeting Leslie back on the deck once he made sure everything was locked up.

The keys were offered. "Let's go home."

Leslie: Leslie was staring down at the offensive water, leaned over the port beam railing. Shoulders hunched and head down. His left boot barely tied. It seemed for a moment he hadn't heard. Finally looking up when he was able to shake his thoughts.

"Away we go."

Tristan: They both seemed to be stuck in their heads today; Tristan didn't blame either of them.

This fuckin' day had been as changeable as the sea.

As Leslie had suggested, once they were in the truck Tristan cranked up the heat. He'd spend the ride back to the house leaning against Leslie.

Leslie: If only he could manage resting his head against Tristan's and having a proper eye on the road. He wanted his arm around him. He wanted him close. They would have to wait until home, which wasn't far. His body was still uncomfortably cold.

Once home, there was nothing but his single objective. Their soggy clothes forgotten in the back of the truck. Tristan was all but pulled through the driver's side and towards the house.

Tristan: A fresh wave of relief washed over him the moment they walked through the door. They were home, they were safe, there was nothing to bother them here.

He made sure the heat was on as he led them upstairs, shedding his clothes along the way in a practiced manner.

Leslie: Leslie nearly stumbled in his attempt to remove Tristan's jeans. Just a hair too small for his hips, anyway. He was grateful for their nudity, and the inviting blankets he began to crawl under as soon as within reach.

Tristan: Tristan crawled in after him and immediately pulled Leslie into his arms and wrapped himself around him. He needed to get his love warm, he needed him close.

Leslie: Easy to ignore the cold when there was nothing to compare it to. Tristan's nearness revealed just how frozen he still felt. It was as though nothing could shake it. It seemed deeper than physical. It had been fear and adrenaline.

"I think... it's safe to say... your ship needs a few more upgrades."

Tristan: Tristan squeezed him tighter. "I'm sorry for scaring you. I'll put in more railing this week. I promise." He kissed Leslie's head. "I'm so sorry, baby."

Leslie: "What? Don't apologize to me. You're the one with a whole new life."

Tristan: "I scared the hell out of you. Damn near gave you hypothermia."

Leslie: "I'd do it again. You would for me."

Tristan: "In a heartbeat." They couldn't get much closer than they already were but Tristan was damn well going to try.

"I love you."

Leslie: "I love you." They were safe. Tristan was safe and spooning. "Do you wanna talk about it? What happened underwater?"

Tristan: "I know I need to, and I will, but I don't want to. Not yet." He burrowed his face against Leslie's neck. "Just wanna be here with you."

Leslie: "I'm not going anywhere." He hugged Tristan's arms to his abdomen and shut his eyes.

Tristan: At some point cuddled up under the covers with Leslie, Tristan had fallen asleep.

He had no idea how much time had passed but by the time his stomach had woken him, the sun was almost completely set and it was dark outside. It had been early afternoon when they'd gotten home.

"Les?" he said groggily.

Leslie: It hadn't been long before Leslie had joined him in sleep. No nightmares, although they had been expected. What he had was dreams of Tristan's ship, and of iridescent scales beneath the surface. Something he could feel with his fingertips, leaning over Tristan's dock. Impossibly smooth in one direction. He knew opposing would cut his finger.

It was Tristan. Gorgeous, but, where was his face?

The witch buried his face against the pillow. Teeth began to grind.

Tristan: "Les..." Tristan hugged his witch closer and started kissing along his neck and shoulder. Although to be fair, they couldn't get much closer without melding together.

"Wakey wakey. We've gotta eat, baby."

Leslie: "You're wet," he murmured.

Tristan: "M'all dry now. We're home in bed." More kisses, everywhere he could reach. "Gotta feed ourselves and the noodle."

Leslie: Something about his statement struck Leslie with a jolt. "Fuck. My - My blood sugar." So wrapped up in what had happened, and the cold, the emotions, he forgot something so basic. He was exhausted and he knew now why. Yet still he sank into the sheets again, eyes falling closed, hand against his forehead.

Tristan: Fuck.

"Fuckin' fickle fuckin' day," he groaned, untangling himself with great reluctance and getting to his feet. "Be right back."

There was a meter in the bedside drawer but food required going downstairs, so that's what Tristan would do.

They'd have to cook or order in here in a bit but for now, some fruit and baby carrots and tea would do.

He returned a few minutes later with the food and Opal dangling from his arm.

Leslie: Leslie had nodded off again. The day's ordeal was only partially to blame why he couldn't keep his eyes open. He told himself to sleep it off, but he'd negotiated the same as a child. The reason he had been so adamant to master meditation to suppress the need for insulin. All flown from the window in the moment.

Tristan: Tristan would kiss him awake again, and for good measure, would set Opal down on the bed to scamper around.

"Gotta eat, baby. I've got tea and carrots and a banana and some blueberries. We'll get some proper food here in a sec. Want takeout?"

Leslie: Kisses reawakened his witch, blinking as though stirred for the first time.

"Banana," he managed before yawning. Opal demanded his attention. She would have to wait. Stacking pillows against themselves to lean against. "I'll eat wherever you pick. How'd you sleep?"

Tristan: He waited until Leslie was upright and comfortable before handing him the banana, placing everything on the bedside table in the meantime.

"I don't even remember falling asleep. Guess that's a good sign. You?"

Leslie: He began arguing with the skin of the banana, taking a bite before answering. "I think I dreamed of you. Feels like I had that dream before."

Tristan: Tristan crawled back under the covers and leaned against Leslie. “Was it a good dream?”

Leslie: "I think so. I saw... scales. Your scales. Just under the water. My hand barely submerged touching - your tail. I think it was your tail."

Tristan: What little magical knowledge Tristan now possessed knew better than to discount a dream like that.

"You dreamt that I turned into a merman?"

Leslie: "I think... Maybe it was just today." He hardly ever remembered things said in the twilight of unconsciousness.

Tristan: "Yeah, maybe." Tristan nuzzled Leslie's shoulder, pressed a kiss to it. "Or maybe it was a premonition of things to come. Can't help but wonder why it happened now."

Leslie: "I've only ever had them when awake. Just like - like when something on the tip of your tongue is remembered." Speaking of. "I need my insulin."

Tristan: "Yes, you do. And I need to make us something to eat." Tristan got up again. "Come on, doll."

Leslie: "Right." He'd finish the banana, first, or he was never getting out of this bed.

Tristan: "How about I bust out the grill pan and make us some salmon and spinach salad?"

Leslie: "That sounds like the best meal of my life."

Tristan: Tristan smiled and kissed Leslie's cheek. "And you'll get it. Want me to carry you down?"

Leslie: "I can - You're the one that went through trauma, baby!"

Tristan: "You're the one who needs insulin!"

Leslie: "I'll be fine, I promise!"

Tristan: Tristan squinted. "I'll feel better once we're eating. Kinda want potatoes too. Potatoes comfort me."

Leslie: "I'll make some roasted. It'll take a while."

Tristan: "You're gonna sit your butt down, is what you're gonna do. I'm cooking tonight."

Leslie: "Do you remember a few hours ago?"

Tristan: "Diabetes trumps merman....ness." Fuck it, he was going with it.

"It's insulin time. Come on, fuzz noodle," he added, scooping Opal up and draping her over Leslie's shoulder.

Leslie: Opal's tiny cheek was given a kiss, carefully making his way downstairs to the kitchen. Insulin was non-negotiable, but so too was cooking, if he was going to have any say - which he would fight for.

Tristan: Leslie would get a say, but Tristan wasn't about to let him do any of the heavy lifting, so to speak.

"You can chop potatoes but I'm taking care of the rest. Salmon and salad are quick."

Leslie: "We can let the salmon marinate while the potatoes cook." With the injection out of the way... he would concede to his role as sous chef.

Tristan: "Okay, deal. What do you want on this salmon? I was thinking some lemon and dill, maybe some spice?"

Leslie: "What kinda spice?" His mouth was practically watering at the thought. "We still have carrots? Thinking some carrots with this, coriander, honey, lemon, mint, parsley, and pomegranate."

Tristan: "We have...." Tristan poked his head into the fridge. "A single carrot and about half a bag of baby carrots. Also, I was thinking chili powder. Just a little, nothing crazy. Also also, please no honey. Only sweet potatoes have any business being sweet."

Leslie: "So no pomegranate, either?"

Tristan: “Pomegranate is okay. Carrot, too, if you end up wanting to use them.”

Leslie: "Hmm." He looked at the potatoes again. Constructing the dish in his head like a painter with a canvas. "Scratch it all. Black pepper, the compound butter with rosemary, sea salt. Keep it simple so the salmon shines."

Tristan: "Okay," Tristan chuckled. "How about this, we'll put the pomegranate and carrots into the salad. Hell, even the honey, we'll make a vinaigrette."

Leslie: "Boy, I sure do love you," Leslie smiled.

Tristan: He kissed Leslie's cheek. "I love you, too, doll. Gonna make a bitchin' salad for you."

Leslie: "Your heart is too big for your chest."

Tristan: "If anyone's heart is too big for their chest, it's yours. Oh, was that a yes on some spice for the salmon?"

Leslie: Tristan was given a smile. "Sure! Could use a tingle on my tongue that isn't ice cold."

Tristan: Speaking of, "You still feeling chilled at all? I can turn the heat up some more."

Leslie: "Maybe a sweater. Ooooone of yours?" he grinned.

Tristan: "Your wish is my command." Another kiss. "How about the light gray one?"

Leslie: "Oh, hell yeah." He watched Tristan a moment. "You alright?"

Tristan: Tristan nodded. "I think so yeah. Mind feels...tangled, but I guess there's no helping that. Well, dinner will help a little."

Leslie: "Is your mother going to faint?"

Tristan: "Nah, she's not a fainter. If I know her as well as I think I do, she's gonna be fuckin' pissed. Not at me, at him."

Leslie: "Sounds too good to be true, and that's coming from the witch in this house."

Tristan: "Maybe that's wishful thinking. The fainting thing. I know for damn sure she'll be pissed because I'm fuckin' pissed."

Leslie: "I don't want to place you in the same category as were-creatures, but this feels... I don't have anything more to relate to. Fae doesn't sound as similar."

Tristan: "Don't were-creatures need the full moon to transform?" His brow furrowed. "Is there a full moon tonight? Does pre-emptive transformation happen ever?"

Leslie: "To my knowledge, but there are always exceptions to everything."

Leslie looked around and back, counting days in his head. "Not yet. Soon, though."

Tristan: "Guess that's something to think about," he sighed. "Lemme go grab you that sweater."

Leslie: "Kay, babe." He'd finish prep in the meantime. Put the kettle on for some tea as well.

Tristan: Tristan returned a few moments later with the sweater. He'd briefly considered putting underwear on, deciding against it. He wasn't going to be frying anything so there was no danger of hot oil getting on any sensitive areas.

"All right, doll. Let's get you bundled."

Leslie: "This feels one-sided," he pointed out, slipping into the sweater arms first. "Gonna make some tea. Earl gray, herbal...?"

Tristan: He chuckled. "Didn't feel like putting anything on. Thought about it though."

Tristan began gathering things for vinaigrette. "I want earl gray but it's too late for caffeine. Let's go with herbal."

Leslie: "Is it really that late?" Perhaps another reason why he was tired. It didn't feel as though they had slept long, and yet the stove clock didn't lie.

Tristan: "Doesn't feel like it should be but yeah. It's dark out. We slept for a good long while."

Leslie: "You needed it."

Tristan: "So did you. We both got uncomfortably close to hypothermia today."

Leslie: "I didn't suddenly become something pent up for an entire lifetime in minutes."

Tristan: "But you did jump in to save me. We're on this journey together, baby."

Leslie: "Of course we are, but this isn't the same as the craft. I can only walk so far on your path."

Tristan: That made Tristan feel more than a little uneasy and...lonely almost. None of this was sitting well with him. If he dwelled on it too long it would make him sick to his stomach.

"So, what do we want in this vinaigrette besides the honey?"

Leslie: Leslie had stopped what he was doing. Both hands on the counter, watching his boyfriend intently.

"Um, some white balsamic, salt, pepper, oil - talk to me. What are you thinking?"

Tristan: He got a bowl and a whisk. "I don't know. Nothing. Everything. I just..." He sighed. "I don't know, Les."

Leslie: "I don't expect you to know what those thoughts mean. I just want you to spill them on me."

Tristan: "I don't know what I'm thinking. I'm just fuckin' pissed and wishing I'd stayed in bed this morning."

Leslie: "You have a right to your anger. Your father, whoever he is, he should have had the decency to stick around."

Tristan: "He should've had the decency to do a lot of things, like fucking wrap it if he knew he already had one foot out the door."

Leslie: But I don't think you should regret what you are, he wanted to say, but that was asking too much of Tristan tonight. He was jarred and overwhelmed and while optimism was Leslie's middle name, there was a time and place for even that.

"I'll whisk. Can you put the potatoes in the pan?"

Tristan: Tristan nodded. “Yeah, I got ‘em.”

This was good. Methodical tasks were always good when someone felt like they’d been tossed around in a blender mentally. You got to pretend everything was normal for a second.

Or at least until you went to wash your hands, and more scales appeared on your skin.

Leslie: Tristan was lingering over the sink. Had Leslie looking from his shoulder, waiting to see what was going on.

Tristan: He was staring at his hands, where a smattering of scales had appeared the moment his skin had become wet. They didn't cover the whole of his skin; they seemed to taper off in some sort of pattern extending to each fingertip, leaving his palms bare.

Leslie: That was a few seconds too long.

"Babe?"

Tristan: "I'm fucked," he whispered.

Leslie: "What?" He walked over, hand placed on the small of his back.

"Oh." His lips felt as tight as his stomach. He took some nearby paper towels and wadded them, took his hand and began to dab.

Tristan: "I'm fucked," he said with a humorless chuckle. The scales faded as his hands were dried but his problem only grew. "I'm completely and utterly fucked. He fucked over my mother and now he's fucking me over too."

Leslie: Leslie tightened his arms around Tristan's waist, chin resting on his shoulder.

"It's a horrible day, baby, but you're not fucked. We'll figure this out. I promise we'll figure this out."

Tristan: "Aren't I? How am I supposed to do my job, Les? How am I supposed to exist in public if every time I get wet this--bullshit happens to my skin? Am I supposed to wear gloves and pants and long sleeves for the rest of my life?"

He sighed and scrubbed at his face with his hands. "I'm gonna kill him."

Leslie: "I'll ask around, see what we can do." We, he would continue to say, because the last thing he felt Tristan needed was to feel alone. "I'll do everything I can. Just one step at a time."

Tristan: "I'm still gonna kill him. He knew. He knew what was going to happen the second he got her pregnant and he ran off instead of bothering to tell her. What kind of sick son of a bitch does that?"

Leslie: "It's not right," he agreed, swaying once, twice, squeezed his middle again.

"But we can't do anything about the past, baby. But we can help the now."

Tristan: Tristan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself lean back against Leslie. Felt like he was doing that in more ways than one.

“I’m sorry. This is misdirected anger, you don’t deserve it.”

Leslie: "Yell if you want. I'll let you punch me for a buck," he grinned, trying his best for some levity in this heavy atmosphere. "I'm doing my best to understand."

Tristan: Tristan turned in Leslie's hold and wrapped his arms around him.

"Can't ask you to understand when I don't understand either. We're both in the dark."

Leslie: Both hands buried in Tristan's hair and squeezed. Fuck. What more could he do to help him, he wondered.

"One step at a time. Food right now."

Tristan: He took a deep breath. "Yeah, food. Gotta get you fed before you get sick."

Leslie: "Stop that. I'll be fine."

Tristan: "You will be after this salmon and these potatoes."

Leslie: "Well, let's get back to it."

Tristan: "Right. What's going in this salad?"

Leslie: "I... forgot," he laughed quietly, with effort.

Tristan: "I know we said the carrots and pomegranate."

He gave Leslie a final squeeze and walked over to the fridge. "We've goooot....baby spinach, romaine, cucumber, blueberries, a questionable looking onion, tomato, broccoli, artichoke hearts..."

Leslie: He just wasn't hungry. He knew he had to eat, but his appetite had diminished some time before he jumped into the sound.

"Um... okay. I'll - Potatoes first! Then the salad."

Tristan: "Potatoes, yes." Rosemary compound butter, salt, and pepper went onto the potatoes while the salmon sat in its marinade. Mugs were grabbed for tea, water put on to boil.

And sprinkled in there was affection for Leslie and for Tristan's own sanity.

Leslie: Potatoes, salad, salmon. Some semblance of normality for Tristan, and that's all that mattered. The food didn't matter, and what an odd feeling coming from a chef.

He pulled his chair closer, sitting thigh-to-thigh and sitting a bottle of wine center of the table.

Tristan: Tristan smiled and wrapped an arm around Leslie, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He fully intended to stay that way for the whole meal; he needed that closeness.

"Wine, tea, and salmon. We're having a very fancy dinner."

Leslie: "That we are." He caught himself eating in silence. Well aware that he wasn't being himself. He just had a lot on his mind, and he could only guess what Tristan was thinking.

Tristan: For his part, he was doing his level best to think as little as possible, choosing instead to focus on the meal they'd made and Leslie's nearness. Tomorrow he'd think about his situation and his deadbeat sperm donor and make plans to do something about it.

Right now he just wanted to exist in the right now.

Leslie: Leslie could certainly exist. That's all he wanted as well, until it was Tristan needed him. This was not the first time 'we' came before 'I' in a relationship. His family, his coven, Myrtle, Tristan. But Tristan had been different for some time now. This 'we' was not the same. A deeper responsibility than he thought himself prepared for, and only to grow with the potential of Ruby and Ester. Was he ready for this? To be without the independence he'd come to rely upon in order to give whenever and wherever.

What was he even thinking? He looked up from the dishes and forgotten how he'd even gotten to this point.

Took Tristan falling into the water to see how much their relationship had grown. How much he had changed. Moving into his home, preparing for the possibility of children. No more Peter Pan.

How long had he held his breath?

"Tristie?"

Tristan: Not wanting to confront his issue any more tonight, Tristan donned gloves so he could help Leslie with the dishes. It was just as well. He was probably going to have to wear them until he went toes up.

Did that count as resignation? Maybe a little. But there wasn’t much he could do about it just now.

He looked over at Leslie. “Yeah? You okay?”

Leslie: "Yeah. I uh... I dunno what I was gonna say." He wasn't sure why Tristan was next to him, or when that happened, either. A one person job, unless he wanted nearness. In that case, Leslie bumped hips and offered a smile.

Tristan: Tristan smiled back. “I love you, you know. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there today. What I would’ve done. Thank you.”

Leslie: "I don't like the thought of you going through it alone, but I think... I think you would have been alright."

Tristan: “Maybe, maybe not. Just makes me that much more grateful that you were there, and that you’re here putting up with my...freak out.”

Leslie: "I'm not 'putting up with' anything, baby."

Tristan: He kissed Leslie’s shoulder. “I’ll never have enough life to deserve you.”

Leslie: "Maybe start a new life as a poet," he smiled.

Tristan: Tristan chuckled. “Maybe. Mama would like that.”

Leslie: "So we're telling her I'm a witch and you’re a merman all in one sitting?"

Tristan: "Do you think it's a good idea? Would it be too much?"

Leslie: "I don't know her as well as you do."

Tristan: "It's a lot to process," he sighed. "....Should we get her drunk first?"

Leslie: "Ha! No, baby, I don't think that's a good idea. Maybe start light. The world is magical... and then her son is magical."

Tristan: "And then we pour the bourbon, got it." There, a faint glimmer of his usual sense of humor.

Leslie: And his smile was given in kind. "Wanna go for a walk?"

Tristan: "I do. Guess I better go get some pants and shoes on."

Leslie: "Same..." And it just dawned on him, wondering how it was going to look and feel the next time Tristan took a shower.

"You still... have sea water on you."

Tristan: Tristan nodded. "Yep. Salt in my hair, too. Showering is now a source of bullshit instead of relaxation," he sighed. "If I'd known this morning's shower was gonna be the last one I would ever enjoy, I'd've stayed in there for an hour."

Leslie: "We don't know that, baby. We'll take one together after the walk. Deal?"

Tristan: Another nod. There was no avoiding the shower situation; might as well bite the bullet.

"Deal. Let's get some clothes on. Would it be weird to walk with a blanket wrapped around us?"

Leslie: "I won't complain. I don't think anyone will see us. It's pretty late." But this town was bigger than it seemed. Maybe. Not that it mattered to him, but perhaps to Tristan.

Tristan: His concern was more about the mechanics of walking while bundled as opposed to someone seeing them. People in this town saw far weirder things than them every day.

"Good. I don't have it in me to be cold any more today. We'll just walk carefully."

Leslie: "I have a king size quilt we could walk in? Pretty roomy, but a little heavy. How's that?"

Tristan: "Perfect. I'll take a heavy blanket if it keeps us warm."

Leslie: "I'll get my shoes on." After a quick kiss.

Tristan: "I'll get everything on."

Which meant shoes, a sweater, and pants. Underwear? He didn't much feel like it. Besides, they'd have a quilt to shield them from the cold.

Leslie: For Leslie, the largest sweater he owned, loose and faded in color. Whatever shoes were nearby - the man didn't match.

"Ready?"

Tristan: If Tristan's mother had taught him anything, it was that matching was vastly overrated.

"Yep. Got the keys. You got the quilt?"

Leslie: "That I do, sailor." He held his arms out, holding the quilt like heavy wings.

Tristan: Tristan walked into them and immediately sighed in relief. Perfect.

Annoyed as he was at his current situation, he couldn't not take them down to walk by the water. It was his whole life, his safety blanket.

Fuck if he was going to let some deadbeat take it away from him.

Leslie: The blanket was shared almost equally, giving a little more than half to Tristan without thinking. He wasn't going to say anything. Sometimes, silence was the best medicine. And nearness, he thought, wrapping an arm around Tristan's waist.

Tristan: Silence and nearness were exactly what Tristan wanted and needed. Apart from some answers, maybe. He couldn't get any tonight, and maybe not tomorrow, but he was determined to get them. He and Meg damn well deserved them.

"When should we go see her?" he asked once they were making their way back.

Leslie: "That's what's been on your mind?" His pace slowed to a near crawl. "Depends on what you want. If you want her to learn with you, or show her when you're in better understanding."

Tristan: He didn't much know what he wanted. Only that his mother deserved to know exactly what that bastard had done to her. "One of the things on my mind, yeah. Also wanna talk to Luke Graham. Maybe it's best to do that first."

Leslie: Leslie's brow knotted. "Peter's brother? What for?"

Tristan: "Because he works with a private investigator and I want his number."

Leslie: Not even twenty-four hours. He wasn't sure whether or not to admire or worry. Both felt right.

"Okay."

Tristan: "I'm gonna find him and fucking kill him. But first I'm gonna get some answers."

Leslie: "First, I just want you to breathe."

Tristan: "Literally or?"

Leslie: "Both. Both would be good for you."

Tristan: Tristan took a deep breath. Hell, he'd take two.

"I'll call Luke tomorrow."

Leslie: "Alright." He wasn't going to stop him, but he was going to follow every step, should Tristan need a place to lean.

Tristan: "Or we could go to the pub for lunch. Bobby's making shrimp and grits."

Leslie: "Lunch and then Luke?"

Tristan: "Chances are we'll be able to kill two birds with one stone. I think tomorrow he works at the pub."

Leslie: "Years, and I still dunno the schedule there."

Tristan: "Don't blame you. It's loose at best. Not even the menu is set, I only know what Bobby's making when he orders fish from me."

Leslie: A small smile. "The epitome of casual. Didn't like all the fighting there used to be. Seemed to chill after that one guy died."

Tristan: "Guess the deputy and sheriff reading Pete the riot act over and over finally worked. He only punched the assholes, though."

Leslie: "Surprised he wasn't sued."

Tristan: "One made a lot of noise about it until Pete pressed charges. Dude had broken a table and some chairs and felt up Mira Harley."

Leslie: "So he's been lucky," he laughed. "Mira... blonde?"

Tristan: Tristan nodded. "Yeah. Charmaine's baby sister. You know her, she plays the piano down at the St. James. Dude had Mira all the way in his lap with his hands up her shirt when Pete knocked him out."

Leslie: "Oh! Right. What a fucking tosser." There were a few exceptions to his opinion of a firm right hook.

Tristan: "If anyone's lucky it's that asshole. Never seen Pete so close to killing a man."

Leslie: Leslie swallowed hard and nodded, eyes to the ground. "When you think you're just, you're the most dangerous."

Tristan: "You ain't wrong. Charmaine was even closer to killing someone than Pete was. Like those poor girls haven't had enough to deal with already."

Leslie: "I don't know their story."

Tristan: "Daddy was in the Navy, died overseas before Mira was born. They moved back here, mama remarried then ran off with a biker. Left Mira and Char with their stepdad. He was a decent man before Brenda left and he set up camp at O'Charlie's. Stepped in front of a train and left them all alone."

Leslie: "Sounds like you just described a very heavily written novel by some... alcoholic sorting their demons."

Tristan: "He was. Personally, I don't think Brenda was worth throwing away his entire life. God only knows what ol' Eddie saw in her to begin with."

Leslie: "Why remarry if you're just going to leave? For the children? That's so..." His connection to family was too tight not to be riled. Blush warming his cheeks with emotion. The blanket was tightened to his chest.

Tristan: "I've always wondered that. They were married for like...four years before she ran off. Don't know what changed but my mama says they seemed happy before the biker."

Leslie: "I'm not about to blame a biker for her choices."

Tristan: "Takes two to tango, doll, but you're right. You can leave a spouse but you don't leave your kids. Saddest thing is, Eddie couldn't have loved those girls more if they were his own flesh and blood. Brenda just..." He sighed. "She had too strong a hold on him."

Leslie: "How do you know so much about them?"

Tristan: "Partly from mama, partly from Mrs. Pennyapple, and partly from Mira herself. Found her crying down by the docks one night, lent her an ear and a shoulder."

Leslie: Leslie sighed. "You're a good man."

Tristan: "I just do what I can. I know how she feels," he added with another sigh. "My old man didn't leave against his will like hers did, but even so. I was raised by a single parent."

Leslie: "We don't know why he left. I'm not sure what you're going to find in the next few weeks..."

Tristan: "I know why he left. He was no hero like Jack Harley or a depressed drunk like Ed. He's a goddamn reckless deadbeat."

Leslie: "I understand why you feel that way right now."

Tristan: "I've felt that way my whole life, this just confirms it."

Leslie: "He could have gone off for unfinished business and that business killed him."

Tristan: "He better hope it did."

Leslie: "Baby..."

Tristan: Tristan took a deep breath. "I know."

Leslie: "I know what anger can do, and I understand it feels good to ride that emotion, and you deserve catharsis but, don't let it be all you have."

Tristan: "Right now it is. I don't even know his name, Les."

Leslie: "She won't tell you?"

Tristan: "The name he told her was fake."

Leslie: "Now that's... curious."

Tristan: "Couple weeks after mama told him she was pregnant she went to see him, found his apartment cleaned out. Asked the manager where he went, manager had no idea who she was talking about. She figured he'd told him a fake name, too."

Leslie: "Typical of... not human...beings." Another sigh. "Ready to go home?"

Tristan: He nodded and leaned against Leslie for a moment. "Yeah, I'm ready to go back to bed."

Leslie: Leslie paused to rub up and down Tristan's arms. "Bath first, then bed. Maybe some more tea."

Tristan: "Gonna need a shot of whiskey in that tea."

Leslie: "You got it, baby."

Tristan: He nodded. "All right. Let's head back." He couldn't remember dreading a bath since he was a kid and taking one meant he had to come in from playing in the yard.

Now here he was, a grown ass man afraid to walk into his own bathroom.

Leslie: They needed the cleanse, and more importantly, they needed to assess the extent of this change. Perhaps it was unlike his endearing pet name, and something else. Something manageable. They wouldn't know until submerging, literally and figuratively.

The walk back, Leslie offered his hand.

Tristan: Tristan took it and gave it a grateful squeeze. One thing was for damn sure, he wasn't ready for a bath. Not after the day they'd had. A shower would have to do until he worked up the nerve to fill the tub and get in.

Would he sprout a tail? Would he be able to breathe? What if drying him off didn't return him to normal, what then? Would he just have to live in the tub?

He heaved a long sigh, remaining silent the whole walk back.

Leslie: Leslie slowly raised their hands to his mouth, kissing at Tristan's knuckles as he filed each what if and maybe of doom, thoughts the witch had already considered, which was why he would rather a bath, should anything dangerous happen without concern of a nasty fall on top of sprouting fins and gills. He could only encourage so much.

"What's a spell you wanna see?"

Tristan: Tristan offered Leslie a small smile. He wished he could absorb some of that Leslie hope and optimism. "Got any to make me waterproof?"

Leslie: Leslie would continue in such manner until some level of absorption took place. Just another layer of strategy.

"I know something kind of?"

Tristan: "I'll take anything, honestly. It'd be nice to have an alternative to covering myself up entirely when I work." If he could work with some sense of normalcy then he had it made, and he had to be able to work. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life in gloves but by god he would do it if he had no other choice.

Finally back at the house, Tristan swallowed his dread and went upstairs for some clean clothes.

Leslie: "It would cover all of you, the spell, so you'd still need your iron lungs. You'd still need to keep to yourself. If I'm remembering correctly, it leaves a sheen-like film over your entire body."

Leslie followed behind, slowly stripping along the way until naked.

"No matter what we see, you know I love you?"

Tristan: "I would settle for it covering my hands and my arms." In other words, the parts of him Oliver and Murphy could see when they were working and that had the highest chance of getting wet on any given day.

Tristan waited until they were upstairs to strip, tossing his clothes into the hamper.

"Yeah, I know," he said, smiling softly. "And I love you."

Leslie: "I can't change the spell, baby, but it's something to consider. If you want to learn, you'll have to work on meditation."

Naked and vulnerable, one considerably more than the other. Leslie mirrored Tristan's smile, albeit briefly. "I'll get the water started."

Tristan: "It'll probably be a while before I can do that worth a damn," he sighed. "But I'll try."

He grabbed some underwear and a t-shirt from his dresser.

"Water started? I thought we were just showering."

Leslie: "Didn't I say bath?"

Tristan: "I thought I said shower. Did I not say that out loud?"

Leslie: "What do you want, baby? I'm saying bath to take it slow. Literally dipping your toes in."

Tristan: He considered for a moment. "I don't think I'm ready to sit in a bath just yet. Showers are quicker."

Leslie: "We don't know what's going to happen," Leslie said gently.

Tristan: "I won't be wet long enough for another disaster. Navy shower."

Leslie: "Then I'll stand by."

Tristan: "Okay."

Tristan took a deep breath, both to calm himself and to stall. He didn't want to shower but he knew he had to, and the sooner he did, the sooner he could get used to it and learn how to deal with it.

He took Leslie's hand and led them back downstairs to the bathroom. Maybe he had to do this, but he was glad he didn't have to do it alone.

Leslie: Leslie followed behind, silent for the time being. Debated on jokes, but otherwise, felt conversation would only make things worse. Had circumstances been reversed, he knew he'd be rather deep in concentration, consideration all of the possibilities. He wished he would take a bath. Sit on the edge of the tub and allow his feet to soak. So concerned that Tristan was about to hurt himself, but, that's what he was for, to catch him.

Tristan: He would only let go when they reached the bathroom. His clothes would be put aside, the bracelet he always wore taken off and placed on top of them.

"All right. Time to face the music."

Tristan started the shower and used the moments it took the water to warm up to make one last effort to steel his resolve. He'd stalled long enough. He just had to do this and let the chips fall where they may.

Closing his eyes, Tristan stepped into the shower. Within moments the pattern of iridescent scales appeared on his skin, running up his arms, across his shoulders, down his back. They littered his sides in an artfully random sprinkle, fading at his groin before covering his legs almost completely.

Leslie: "You'll be alright." But, with that concern in mind, he made for the linen closet for a few extra towels. Just in case, he told himself. One for optimism, but circumstances such as this outweighed and overruled.

The witch couldn't help but near as the iridescent scales returned. They were... like his dream. He could kick himself. He understood visions and omens. Lived them. Why he ignored this as a mere fleshing of his beloved's pet name...

"Lean back, just a little?"

Tristan: Tristan had yet to open his eyes. He was trying to figure out if he could feel anything weird happening to his body without the visual of what was happening on his skin.

“How bad is it?” he asked, doing as he was told.

Leslie: "You're fine, baby," said softly. "Just wait a moment." Waiting to see if there would be any other changes, particularly around the groin. He looked up, also watching for gills, and the possibility of Tristan choking.

Tristan: So far so good. There was no indication of Tristan’s gills emerging on his throat and his breathing remained easy and steady.

His scales seemed to become more prominent the wetter he got but otherwise, everything was normal.

Leslie: He understood this was what Tristan needed to feel safe, but not knowing was only itching Leslie from the inside out. He could fall just as he had today, caught in the rain, a simple spill; they needed answers. Tristan needed to understand his body.

"It's not the same. I mean," he looked back up, "your throat, it's not - not the same."

Tristan: "It's n--what?!" Feeling a sudden rush of panic, Tristan felt at his neck. He probably should've opened his eyes to get a look at himself but he just squeezed them tighter.

"I don't..." He felt at his neck again. "It feels fine. What's wrong with it?" Aside from the definite feeling of scales.

Leslie: "You had something on your neck when I pulled you out. It's not there now. Maybe fresh water is different. Maybe not being underwater means something. I don't know. We're learning, baby."

Tristan: "Yeah, I guess we are." So far they'd learned he'd be able to shower semi-normally for the rest of his life. That was one hurdle out of the way.

Tristan felt around some more until he hit scale. He ran his fingers over them in one direction, then another. "These don't feel like fish scales. They're smooth both ways."

Leslie: "What kinda... fish is like that?" He couldn't think of any, despite his profession. His focus too narrow at the moment, too absorbed in Tristan's well-being rather than his culinary knowledge, which compared to the fisherman was all he had.

Tristan: "No fish I've ever pulled out of the water. Feel more like...reptile scales." He felt for more scales on his arm and lightly pinched a bit of skin between his thumb and middle finger, using his index to feel at the scales. "Yeah, these aren't your typical fish scales. Do they look the same as before?"

Leslie: "Pretty much the same. Didn't get a good feel before. Wasn't a forefront thought at the time." Leslie sat up then, taking Tristan's face in both hands to kiss. "It's okay to look," he whispered.

Tristan: "Right. The whole almost drowning and then teetering on the brink of hypothermia thing." He wouldn't be forgetting that any time soon, that was for damn sure.

His only warning of the incoming kiss was Leslie's touch, and Tristan leaned into it immediately. "Not just yet," he whispered back.

Leslie: "Okay." He wouldn't argue. Only gently encourage. "I'll wash you down. How 'bout that?"

Tristan: "Best offer I've heard all day. Scales won't hurt you, promise." Which had been a definite fear. "Smooth both ways."

Leslie: "Didn't feel anything when I carried you." But again, he hadn't looked for it. Probably wouldn't have felt anything after that dive.

Finally, Leslie climbed in front, gently guiding Tristan back a foot. "Hold your arm out. Test spot for soap."

Tristan: Tristan did as he was told. With two hurdles over with, they still had this one to go. He could still get in the shower and get wet in the shower but could he actually shower?

The test spot would indicate that yes, he could.

Leslie: A bar of soap passed the test. Now for shampoo and conditioner. Anything Tristan used was going to be tested, even excusing himself from the tub for shaving cream.

Tristan: After each product Leslie tested, Tristan felt at the patch of scaly skin. He wanted to know more about it but still wasn't brave enough to see it. And in any case, it didn't feel like there was anything new to learn; scales felt the same each time.

"It's like they were designed for this," he muttered to himself.

Leslie: "Immunity to cleaning products?" His smile reflected in his tone. "Maybe so. Gonna wash your hair now." Now that it seemed safe.

Tristan: Tristan tilted his head back. "More like adapted to them. Makes sense, natural selection is a very real thing. If you've gotta blend in with normal people to stay hidden, you need to be as similar to normal people as possible."

Leslie: "Mm," was all he could manage. He lathered and massaged at Tristan's scalp, breathed in deeply, and contemplated the situation. "Humans adapted to forget... pretty much everything. Push it aside. Not believe in it. Probably why - " he paused, staring at nothing in particular. "No, that doesn't make sense."

Tristan: He felt some of the tension ease out of his body as Leslie washed his hair and massaged his head with those magical healing hands. This situation was untenable but his witch was keeping him from losing his mind.

"Probably why what?"

Leslie: "Probably why you feel the way you do, I wanted to say, but - well, you're part human, no matter what this is."

Tristan: "Maybe I'd feel differently if it was like magic, you know? That didn't get thrust upon me against my will, without me knowing. You've been there to guide me and teach me. With this? I literally got tossed into the deep end of the pool and it damn near killed me. Then there's the whole separate issue of it being my sperm donor's fault."

Leslie: "I get it." To the degree he could manage. "Had my parents kept everything from me, I wouldn't... I'd feel distrusting. We still don't know the whole story. Only half. I reserve... 10% judgement."

Tristan: Tristan heaved a long sigh. "Distrusting is right. I feel that and a hundred other things. Can't tell you how much I would rather have been bitten by a radioactive fish or something. Then at least it would be my own damn fault."

Leslie: "Fish version of Spider-man? Piranha-man." His smile was tired and somewhat forced. Not that Tristan could see it. "Not really up-to-date on comic heroes."

Tristan: "I could live with being thrust into being Piranha-man." Living with this, that remained to be seen.

"It's your turn."

Leslie: "What about me?"

Tristan: “To get your hair washed.”

Leslie: "Oh! Gotta open your eyes."

Tristan: “I will in just one sec.” First he had to rinse all the shampoo out of his hair and slather some conditioner in there.

Only then would he open his eyes, keeping his gaze resolutely on Leslie.

Leslie: He could tell Tristan he was alright until his throat was raw. It would make no difference. So, for now, he simply smiled, patient.

"Okay?"

Tristan: Tristan smiled and nodded. “I’m okay, baby.” And even if he wasn’t, he’d fake it until he made it. “Duck your head.”

Leslie: Leslie was obedient, making no fuss in any measure as his scalp was pampered.

"I have no idea what we're doing after this."

Tristan: “Right after this? We’re gonna finish showering and dry off. I’m gonna comb my hair, or let you do it if you want to. Then we’re gonna head upstairs and get into bed. I’m gonna hold you as tight as I can, kiss you, and we’re going to sleep. And in the morning, things will be better.”

Leslie: "Yorkshire pudding for breakfast? Some... poached eggs and tomato from the backyard. Maybe... something with plantains for lunch."

Leslie, now blind, leaned forward to kiss whatever part of Tristan he could.

Tristan: Leslie’s lips landed on Tristan’s nose. “All that sounds great,” he said, smile evident in his voice. “I love your plantains. And you. So goddamn much.”

Leslie: "I feel it." His own smile evident in his tone, though less evident on his face, scrunched to prevent the shampoo on his eyelid from penetrating.

Tristan: "Good." Tristan guided Leslie under the spray to rinse the shampoo out. "Keep those eyes closed."

Leslie: "Heard," said through a yawn. "So when I open my eyes again, are you closing yours?"

Tristan: "I'll keep 'em open for you."

Leslie: "You mean on me?"

Tristan: Tristan chuckled. "You're the best thing they could possibly look at."

Leslie: "I appreciate it, but I know what you're doing, baby."

Tristan: "Taking baby steps, sweetheart. Been looking at my hands in your hair this whole time and I haven't freaked out."

Leslie: "They're still beautiful hands." He paused. "I know that's not what you wanna hear, but my optimism is relentless."

Tristan: "One of us has to be. Maybe one day I'll see them the same way you do."

Leslie: "It's been less than twenty-four hours."

Tristan: "In other words, every reason for optimism, right? Gotta have hope."

Leslie: "Absolutely. What you are isn't wrong. How you learned is."

Tristan: “Ain’t that the truth,” he sighed. “I really could’ve done without the shitty afternoon we both had.”

Leslie: "I'm always ready and willing to jump into a frozen ocean for you."

Tristan: Leslie was pulled back in kissing range. “Right back at you. Here’s hoping neither of us ever has to again.”

Leslie: "Well, I know you'll be alright, now." A soft kiss later, he felt at his hair for any remaining soap.

Tristan: Tristan did an inspection of his own hair, making sure all the conditioner had rinsed out. "I wash your back, you wash mine?"

Leslie: "Mhm." Washing Tristan's back would be more inspection than actual washing, but it too couldn't be avoided.

Tristan: He may not have been fine with what was happening to him or be comfortable in his own skin or even want to look at himself, but Tristan felt comfortable with Leslie touching him. Inspecting him. Washing him.

It made everything seem more normal somehow. And safer.

“Feels kinda different. Not weird, just different.”

Leslie: "Like a fever, kind of different, or something else?"

Tristan: “A different sensation, when you touch patches with scales.”

Leslie: "Is it numb? I mean, less feeling than normal?"

Tristan: “Not quite. It feels kinda like when you touch your elbow. The skin is a little thicker but you can still feel it.”

Leslie: Sort of what he'd been imagining. Tristan was better with description. "Sounds... protective."

Tristan: “Guess it must be. Might feel different if I’m fully wet like I was when I fell.”

Tristan crouched down. “Gimme a leg.”

Leslie: "What - What?" Leslie laughed from confusion.

Tristan: “Them legs need washing too. Gimme one.” Of course, washing was just an excuse for touching as much of Leslie as he could.

Leslie: "I can honestly say, no one has ever washed my legs before." So he held one up, pressed his foot to the tile for balance and let Tristan be his first.

Tristan: “Then I can honestly say, no one has shown your body the proper appreciation.” Or the proper reverence. Anyone who didn’t have to physically restrain themselves from touching Leslie at all times was stupid or blind or both.

Tristan kissed just above his witch’s knee carefully lathered the length of the first leg before giving the same treatment to the other.

Leslie: Leslie could feel that this was more than a washing. Had his suspicions for some time, the way Tristan stared at him. It was the same stare for years that he had somehow ignored. No longer, he thought, watching his boyfriend admire freckled skin.

"I love you."

Tristan: Tristan gave Leslie an adoring smile and kissed his thigh. "I love you too, baby. Turn around for me."

Leslie: He would obey. Hands loose at his sides, forehead to the cool tile. This was how Tristan coped, he realized. He tried to think of another instance with a similar reaction. Probably his mother, or Oliver. He wondered why, then didn't want to think about it.

Tristan: The gentle ministrations would continue as Tristan washed the back of Leslie. A kiss placed on the underside of each cheek, on each shoulder blade, and directly in the center of Leslie’s back.

“All clean.”

Leslie: Leslie hadn't expected to hear and then feel Tristan lowering to kiss there. It made him smile for sheer surprise.

"You're very thorough."

Tristan: “I pride myself on it,” he said with a grin that Leslie would be able to hear in his voice. “All of you deserves to be kissed.”

Leslie: "I can turn around now, or want more of my back?"

Tristan: He chuckled and pressed one more kiss to Leslie's back. "You can turn around. Ready to dry off and get snuggled into bed?"

Leslie: "Ready to turn." He wondered how much of himself Tristan had observed, or had he been so determined not to look at all, ignoring the glisten in his peripheral.

"I'll get the towels."

Tristan: Tristan hadn't gotten a good look, but he wasn't putting all his effort into looking away either. He was trying to...accept the bits of himself he could see and not try to move so he wouldn't see any of himself because that was weird and impossible to maintain.

He straightened and shut off the water. "'Kay. I'll be here squeezing out my hair."

Leslie: His towel was draped over his head and shoulders. Like a babushka, his mother used to say when he was a child. Tristan was given similar treatment, gently pulled by the fluffy towel into another kiss.

Tristan: He hummed happily, grinning at Leslie when he pulled away. "I feel...a hell of a lot better than I did before we showered."

Leslie: "Then it's been a success."

His own towel was used to aid in drying Tristan's skin. Scales? It seemed a delicate business.

Tristan: Like he had before, Tristan took a moment to take stock of new sensations. The scales didn’t feel fragile but it was probably best to err on the side of caution. Just in case.

“Still so weird.”

Leslie: "Mhm." Lastly, his legs. Less than a rub-down and more of a careful pat. He would wait, on a single knee, watching the transformation as though for the first time.

Tristan: He closed his eyes again. This time instead of doing it to avoid seeing himself, he did it to see if he could actually feel his skin change.

No such luck. Just like when he’d gotten in the shower; one moment scales, next moment gone.

Leslie: Leslie traced a patch of scales with that very thought in mind. Curious if that rough-sensation Tristan had mentioned would change instantly to usual sensitivity.

Tristan: The sensation itself was more gradual. As the scales faded, normal sensation came back. "Definitely weird," he said mostly to himself, rubbing at his arm. "The little kid in me wants to ask where they go when I'm not wet, but I'm guessing it's just magic?"

Leslie: "What I turn into is magic. You'd have to ask a were-creature. Someone born to it like...you."

Tristan: "You wouldn't happen to know any, would you?"

Leslie: Leslie bit his lip, looked at himself in the mirror.

"Mhm."

Tristan: "Am allowed to ask who or did you promise to keep it under wraps?"

Leslie: "I'll ask what he wants. To play messenger or maybe talk to you. I'll keep you anonymous, too."

Tristan: "Thanks, doll. Appreciate this and everything else you've done for me today."

Leslie: "Don't need to thank me, baby."

Tristan: Leslie was pulled in for another kiss. “I know. But I’m doing it anyway.”

Leslie: He nuzzled, inspected for any lingering patches. Satisfied, he said, "Let's get you warm."

Tristan: “Let’s both get warm and get in bed. Ready to cuddle you until morning.”

#When it Finally Hits chapter #leslieeissott #tristanseger

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wordsbynathan · 4 years

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WTW TAROT EVENT—0. THE FOOL

{beginnings, innocence, new energy, potential, idealism, risk-taking}

peel: character introductions

fletcher;

I’m dreaming about Mom again.

It starts like this: I’m flying. Dad is on my left, his hand clamped around my wrist. We smile at each other, the same dazzling, crooked smile that’s gotten us both into our fair share of mischief. Most people say I look more like him than Mom. The same warm, brown skin, delicate features, striking black hair. But I have Mom’s nose. I look at pictures and I swear, you could Photoshop her nose onto my face and there wouldn’t be a difference.

She’s on my right. In the dream, I mean. Her fingers are intertwined with mine, delicate, nails painted emerald green. She’s smiling but she’s crying, and all three of us are horizontal, dazzling comets above pink sherbet clouds. Seems like a cliche, right? Just wait. I’m not finished.

After this, the scene melts into another, you know, the way dreams just shift and slide without warning. We’re still flying, but the sky is dark, all anxious grays and furious dark blues. Lightning branches between clouds and sends enormous cracks through the air.

Mom disappears on my right.

Something opens. It’s like clouds are parting, but no clouds actually move. There’s a rip in the sky, like somebody’s grabbed two hasty handfuls and wrenched the space apart. Warped light refracts at the edges of the tear, the lightning around it bending and curving.

ellison;

Heavy footsteps descend the stairs and Ellison pokes his head over the banister. He locks eyes with me and grins. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I say as I remove my shoes. “Why do you look nice?”

He’s wearing a very typical Ellison outfit: a white polo shirt with red details around the collar and the ends of the sleeves, tucked into a pair of maroon chinos, cuffed at the ankle. He has something in his mouth—a pen cap, I think—because he’s always chewing on something. His short, obsidian hair is still messy and there’s something about this image, this moment, that renders itself as perfect in my mind. Important.

“I thought maybe we could go on an adventure today.”

I look down at my own clothes: gray sweatpants and a comfy sweatshirt. “It would’ve been nice to know that you had a plan,” I say. “Sonny,” I add.

“Don’t think I won’t destroy you,” he says jovially as I start to climb the stairs with him.

corinne;

Her name is Corinne Stetson. She’s a senior like Ellison and me, and most people at Wisteria High grant her a wide berth. That’s by her own design, I think; her hair is a blazing copper red, littered with streaks of bleached blonde locks, and she always has dagger-like acrylic nails on her fingers. Currently, they’re a deep red. Her taste in clothes is a bit eclectic, lots of pastel colors mixed with punk black garments, always ripped to all hell. Corinne is also intelligent beyond how any seventeen year old human should be. Perfect score on her PSATs, all AP classes, number one in our grade, already has multiple college credits under her belt. She might approach demigod status if she were also popular, but she tends to keep to herself and focus more on the future than the present, from what I’ve seen. She’s definitely a bit odd, but relatively harmless.

And yet, the way she’s glowering at me from across the empty ice cream parlor has my heart rate up.

astrid;

I try to tune in as Ellison further explains the tension in the Moon household; Astrid wants to get a tattoo on her wrist and Ellison’s parents are adamantly opposed. He shows me a picture of her design that she drew herself: a smashed hourglass, sand pouring from the top and out a hole in the bottom chamber. It’s somehow both detailed and minimal, and also badass.

“What does it mean?”

Ellison laughs to himself. “Astrid’s always talking about how ‘time isn’t real,’ and this is supposed to be a metaphor of that or something.”

Joy bubbles out of me when I realize the connection. “Oh, trust me, I’ve heard her say that many times. It makes sense.”

Taglist (this is general for now but if you want to be on a taglist for Peel just let me know!!): @my-liminal-spaces @ahowlinwolf @sugarcoatedglass @chloeswords @rainbowcoloreddays @alicewestwater @ryns-ramblings

#wtwevent #wtwcommunity #wtw tarot event #wip: peel #NEW TAG BABY #oc: fletcher kaplan #oc: ellison moon #oc: corinne stetson #oc: astrid moon #also all of these excerpts are kinda old and subject to change so hehe

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chrsticns-blog · 5 years

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uh ... alright ( claps ). ya’ll already know, it’s ya boi seo and i’m introducing another chara bc i clearly don’t have self control, and drunk!seo got the upper hand in this situation. ian’s my little broken baby, but tries his hardest to look put together on the outside, and i’m pretty excited to introduce you guys ! most of ya’ll already know me as being highkey Stressed all the time, so we’ll see how long i hold on to this chara before i end up in a downward spiral. buckle on your seat belts, ghouls, cause this is long as hell !

oh seo-yeun was a twenty year old drama actress when she encountered the charming and wealthy bae joon-young, the son and sole heir to seoul-based bae enterprises. they met at a club in seoul by chance, when she accidentally spilled her drink on him while they were standing side-by-side at the bar. it was pretty much love at first sight for the pair, and when they were spotted out on their first date, their relationship was soon the talk of the town.

seo-yeun was sadly seen as some kind of gold-digger by the media and insane people surrounding joon-young, but he knew that she wasn’t with him for his fortune. seo-yeun found success with her career when she landed the role as the female lead in an insanely popular drama ( of course, people said this only happened because of joon-young, but in reality sis could act her ass off ).

bae enterprises, joon-young’s family’s company, is a conglomerate of businesses that primarily work in the business of communications and ecological manufacturing ( don’t ask what that means because i have no idea ).

seo-yeun and joon-young married just three months following seo-yeun’s twenty-fourth birthday, and unbeknownst to the newly married couple, she was three weeks pregnant with their only baby boy they would later named christian.

christian was the light of his parents’ lives. seo-yeun had always dreamed of becoming a mom, and even with the scrutiny surrounding the couple ( still, because adults are actual Children ) it was clear that their relationship wasn’t going to end any time soon.

joon-young noticed how unhappy his wife was whenever she saw her face plastered on some magazine with a negative headline, so when christian was two, joon-young decided to move the family to new york. the family moved into an expansive apartment that has beautiful central park views. despite his rigorous work load, joon-young always had time for his son, and preferred to work from home, which often meant christian crashing a lot of meetings.

christian was an excellent student while growing up, and ( since the cello is one of my favorite instruments ), he was also classically trained on the instrument since the age of four. he participated in various competitions and talent shows throughout his adolescence, and he had aspirations of someday playing with the new york philharmonic. granted, joon-young’s parents would have preferred that their grandson take over he family business, but joon-young and seo-yeun wanted christian to carve his own path.

when it came to attending college, christian ended up attending juilliard after he performed dvorak’s cello concerto in b minor. while attending juilliard, christian was, of course, amongst other incredible instrumentalists, but he always had a way of standing out thanks to his flamboyance and his ability to memorize pieces shortly after hearing a piece. christian is one of the few musicians to possess perfect pitch.

christian, who prefers to be called ian, eventually graduated from juilliard when he was twenty-two and soon found himself auditioning for the new york philharmonic. he performed camille saint-saens’ the swan; there were only two spaces open and about fifty people auditioning, and after a few weeks of the audition process -- christian became a member.

of course, his parents had been ridiculously proud of their son as he was only twenty-two and had accomplished his lifelong goal, so christian gave himself a well deserved break and went out with a couple of friends for a night of celebrations. the night of celebrations ultimately tarnished christian’s plans in the matter of a few hours.

ASSAULT TW while joon-young and seo-yeun moved to new york in order to get away from scrutiny in korea, that didn’t mean that it was left entirely. as christian grew older, he soon found himself constantly being harassed by paparazzi and often the subject of unwanted attention - he knew that his family had immense wealth, but he also tried to be as normal as possible. christian has never been the type of brag about the money that his family had, and while he was able to have some of the best music teachers growing up, he didn’t expect for anything regarding his career to be handed to him on a silver platter.

unbeknownst to christian, fate caught up with him at the club almost similarly to the way that his parents met. a man named mark palmer ( how basic is this name ) was also someone who auditioned for the ny philharmonic. mark didn’t advance to the final live auditions, and for whatever reason, he blamed it on chrisian ( and not the fact that he fucked up like five times ), so be that as it may, the two ended up crossing paths again on this very night.

mark became very intoxicated while he was out with his own friends, and he spent the night badmouthing christian, so of course he and his friends were looking for a fight. christian was unaware that when he stepped out of the club to make a quick phone call that his career would be cut before it could truly begin.

mark and his friends followed ian out of the club and ended up getting corned -- when mark asked christian if he remembered who he was and christian didn’t know him, that only infuriated him more and the group took it upon themselves to assault ian. it was then that mark found an old piece of wood and ended up breaking christian’s hand.

christian’s hand had been completely shattered, and even after eight weeks following surgery to heal it, his hand never returned to normal. he went through physical therapy, but he couldn’t play his cello the way that he previously had, so he unfortunately had to let his position with the philharmonic go thus ending his career as a cellist. ian fell into a depression as it could take months or even years for him to be able to play the cello to the fullest again, so he gave up on his dreams.

he became something of a recluse, and since he was still living with his parents at the time, ian rarely went out unless he absolutely needed to. even now, three years following the events of what happened, ian is still the kind of guy who prefers to stay to himself and his hand still has yet to heal back to its full potential. he still goes to physical therapy, and instead of just sitting at home, he does spend most of his time teaching children how to play the cello at a nearby rec center ( idek if those are a thing in manhattan, but he does it ).

ian’s overall appearance can be compared to THIS and THIS; he’s not flashy by any means when it comes to his wardrobe. the most expensive thing he owns as far as his wardrobe goes is the vintage rolex his dad gave him for his eighteenth birthday and he only wears it on very rare occasions. ian gets a perm so his hair is curly, and he recently dyed it back to black. he has some tattoos, and the most significant one that he has is the little tattoo of the bow on his right outer ankle, but his most noticeable tattoo is the sleeve tattoo on left arm that he’s been working on for the last two years.

as far as his personality goes, ian’s the kind of guy who’ll take but so much before he bursts. he’s easy to get along with and he likes to have casual conversation with people. the only thing he hates is whenever he’s asked about his hand, as he still has some scarring on it. if someone does ask about it, he usually gives a pretty vague explanation but he doesn’t like it when people continue push about it. that’s a sure fire way to get on his bad side.

alright, so ( claps ). i told ya’ll this was gonna be long -- i had a lot say about my son and ya’ll better appreciate it ! i’m still working on his connections page, but i do have some ready for you guys if you’re interested in them ! as always, i’m perfectly fine with brainstorming or going based purely on chemistry, whichever you’re most comfortable with !

#wealthyhq:intro #i ... i told ya'll this was long fkjsdaf

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kalliejupiter · 6 years

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Some LEWKS from fashion illustration, or rather a fall capsule collection that I would wear myself if I were an intergalactic space provocateur (thus the inclusion of pants and a sensible heel). My partner and I debated the practicality of a drop-crotch pant I. The cockpit of a spacecraft—I and my instructor agree that the drop-crotch is totally fine, and fabulous. Besides, I’m not taking design advice from a guy who still dresses like he’s in junior high (JK, I ❤️ my partner). I tend to write long posts, and I like talking about and documenting ideation. So, I headlined each segment for easier navigation. Just some details on concepts, design process, and such. I will post more sketches, line drawings, fabric swatches, and maybe color comps later. The Assignment: Create a ten piece collection. Decide the season, demographic, include at least five different types of garments (trousers, dresses, at least one coat, etc. I also had to draw out the flats and include swatches and stuff. In the end I had to edit down from at least 20 initial sketches. Designing wearable sci-fi LEWKS comes easy to me, but self-editing does not. Take note toxic masculinity in geek culture, a girl can still be sexy in pants and a sensible heel and drawing something from the female gaze doesn’t mean a dude can’t appreciate it... I used my sensibilities as a starting point—although, in the end the collection skews a little younger than my demographic (I can get away with it as a woman of color because a WOC could be anywhere between the ages of 25 and 45 without a stranger being able to tell the difference. I’m still a little punk rock at my age, but if I had more time, I would create a companion collection that’s a little more stately and tailored for a more professional lady in my demographic (while maintaining the visual cohesion with the collection I eventually made). The instructor initially thought I was joking, because I actually submitted a market plan that said my target demographic was an intergalactic space nomad, political double-agent, listed the median income in space credits, and made several references to lasers and cyborgs. Spoiler alert, I got an ‘A’ on the final. I prefer fall to any other season, so too is my collection for fall. Fall, as a whole, has a wide range of potential garments, mostly because fall weather is so drastically varied (in spite of this, it is usually the BEST weather of any given place, IMHO). I also like fall color palettes best (as a suburban teen I spent my adolescence wearing all black, listening to Morresey, and writing really terrible poetry, like every other suburbanite teenager). Dark colors are slimming and hide a myriad of sins, accidents, and the bloodstains of your slain enemies. I wanted to include both a short and long coat/jacket, day wear, one formal piece, a jumpsuit of some kind, a mini and maxi silhouette, a work outfit, something to work as loungewear, something to work as activewear, and something that would look cool on a robot. I also wanted to strike a balance between bodycon silhouettes and easy to wear volume—which is probably why the collection ballooned into something as large as this one did—there were so many variations of single pieces that it was hard to choose which of them to include. The piece variations themselves were compelling on their own and also in comparison to its counterpart that it became more interesting to present looks as side-by-side options. Each look was multilayered, highly detailed, and designed to be physically adaptable/changeable anyway, so assigning a single croquis to a look seemed like a wasted opportunity. References and Ideation: I got the ideas for the collection from real life. One of the weird things I picked up from the military was from Basic, and it’s the idea that you are issued all of these pieces with utilitarian properties at first that encapsulates everything you’d ever need, apparel-wise (from underwear to formal wear, and for all weather and situations) and all of it can fit in a single seabag. It was fun trying to imagine what shenanigans one could experience as an intergalactic scene-girl, and what kind of clothes she might want. The concept of a sea bag (or “space bag,” in this case) jives with the idea of a capsule collection (stylish staple pieces that can be worn over many seasons with smaller, less expensive pieces that can be altered or replaced by trendier items as the seasons progress). All the pieces can be mix-and-matched and are adaptable in many ways—there is something gender neutral about a lot of it (I wish I designed the bodysuits with more variation in the briefs: make some with compression shorts, leggings, and such—I didn’t really consider these separate LEWKS, per se, but layering pieces, because some part of my underpants are always showing under my garments, and if you are going to have exposed bra straps, make it look like you did it on purpose). Also, the tailored structure and details of military clothing are really are really cool design elements to explore. I also used Middle Eastern references to balance out the designs—mostly because I thought it would be thematically appropriate/ironic to combine the two style sensibilities (non-Western cultures have so many more interesting silhouettes in any case—it might be appropriation, but in the neutral sense of the term). The concept of armor and utility informs every piece. Those concepts also the reason I referenced (or resurrected) less common clothing items and styles. For example, the quilted leather snood, a pleated leather bolero, spats over the boots, and a molded, hooded, cuirass (leather is a good material, it adapts to the wearer like a second skin and because of that, the material plays into the theme of personalizing a basic uniform to make it one’s own—90% of the swatches for the collection are organic or natural fibers because I would think the artificial environments and materials of space might make one long for something more “natural,” especially with something as intimate as the clothing that separates a persons skin from everything else. It’s also luxe and sometime more durable). Aesthetically, details like cording, high waisted pants, draped tops, high necklines, and asymmetrical hemlines reoccur as a design through line in the collection. Utilitarian features, like zippers and velcro closures, do double duty as both functional and aesthetic elements. A practical zipper on a detachable long sleeve becomes the decorative beam on the short sleeved version. Velcro tans on an exaggerated drop-crotch pant transform the garment from a maxi silhouette into short and leggings combo. I admit, this comes from my unironic love of those weird convertible bridesmaids dresses that people always end up lazily tying around their neck. Look Details (the Coverall): That’s why there is a “fashion coverall” in this collection—I know from experience that those are the comfiest work pajamas, ever, and even though this collection is supposed to exist a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I did want to reference some contemporary trends and needed a non-catsuit jumpsuit, and tailored coveralls seem very classic in a way that could be stylish beyond the current moment. I wanted to use design to solve actual practical problems. For example, instead of the traditional buttoned cuffs and collar, I chose to use a ribbed knit on both the neck and 3/4 sleeves. It is more comfortable and easy to wear, works just as well in a hot engineering space or in the colder climate controlled server spaces and Officer decks of a ship, and prevents the clothing from getting caught on equipment and becoming a liability on trouble calls or planet-side laser melee. The knees have built-in padding, and Velcro patch details, so our girl can switch allegiances fairly easily. The only thing is the lack of pockets. A cargo short is an amazing idea. In the abstract. I have never seen one in public that did not look like an Eldrich Abomination. If someone needs to Cary so much stuff in their pockets that their pants look like they are hiding the legs of Yogsheggoth, perhaps it’s time to consider carrying a bag. I’m looking at you, Dudes. Also, the belts and harnesses of the collection were designed with detachable pockets and specialized equipment in mind. I kind of wish I designed the piece with a jodhpur or cigarette leg silhouette instead of a boot cut. Both the jodhpurs and cigarette leg would have been more interesting, especially if I had also designed a short, romper version of the piece. Final Thoughts (for now...): I don’t expect anyone to have read all the way through this, and if you have, thanks! Feel free to contact me with any questions, requests, random musings, like, share and follow. I’ll try to be less wordy in the future. A Word of Thanks to the Fashion Illustration Class: I really enjoyed that class. Everyone of my classmates had different skills, experience, and came from a lot of different disciplines (for example, I make comics and work in advertising, some were animators, some fashion students, and one was an editorial photographer who didn’t draw well in the conventional sense of it, but drew croquis that had the character of a Mondiglioni and could convey not only the sense of the garments, but the personality of the girl who wore them). We talked about everything, asked a lot of good questions, and hyped each other up for fashion in general. I will say that out of the many years of studying various art disciplines in various classrooms and open critiques, this was the first time I experienced colleagues as open and giving as these classmates were. I’m used to a lot of pushback and blank stares during critiques (especially when I give them—I obviously talk a lot, and connect ideas to a lot of obscure references—“consider the jodhpurs,” “you seem really into minimal geometric patterning—write down ‘Ainu’ and look up their textiles and mouth tattoos,” “there is something very vaporwave about this non-binary collection, I see a lot of pastels and navy,” “I know exactly who the girl is that wears this collection—she converted an Arizona ranch into a minimal art gallery in the middle of nowhere, collects antiques from the late 1950’s and Kieth Harring prints, and makes excellent margheritas...”—and then they would use my suggestions by the next critique! WHAT!!?!), but people really listened and we all tried to understand each others point of view and encourage one another. I loved that class.

#character design #scifi #comicart #concept art #fashion design

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jesterlady · 5 years

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Avengers Endgame Review

So it's finally time, I am about to give the world my review and feelings of Endgame. I've had this swirling around in my head for weeks but am finally ready to give it voice. I've seen the movie twice and there are obviously massive spoilers ahead so read at your own risk.

First off, I like this movie. It's a good movie despite the sadness and the stupid time travel, so when I criticize it, know I still enjoyed it. I think it's a beautiful crowning achievement, the end of an era of the MCU. In many ways I wish it was the end of the MCU, it would be fitting and sometimes things should end. I laughed and cried and cheered with everyone and seeing it opening weekend was absolutely an amazing experience. For a full time fan it had some amazing fanservice and callbacks.

I also want to point out that I am usually incredibly good at liking a movie on its own terms. Even if something doesn't make sense or doesn't make sense in our world, so long as that universe has claimed it as its own, I'll put on my suspension of disbelief and shrug my shoulders and say, 'whatever you say, squire.' So really I'm the type of person who should be okay with the way they handled time travel in this movie. Spoiler, I'm not. I'll go into all of that.

Let's get the generals out of the way. Visually it's fantastic, acting its ass off, I'm okay with the writing, I laughed at all the funny bits, it's heartwarming and gives all the feels. Love the music, love the cinematography, all that jazz.

Character looks changes since, wow, there were a lot:

Steve: Thank you, Cap, for shaving the beard. Chrevans is a fine looking man with a beard but it does not scream clean linen and fresh apple pie and I need my Cap that way.

Natasha: I'm actually a fan of the red ombre look, Katniss braid and all. It's pretty and I need her red because the blonde was not good, not good at all. I know people complain about hair not growing out that slow, but I think it's a good symbol, Natasha caught between two worlds, the old and the new, becoming more herself, but unable to let go of the past. And it's red and it's pretty.

Clint: Yeah, the mohawk grew on me. I actually think when you see it moving and in action, it works, it's only in the pictures and promos that it just looks weird. I feel like the tattoo sleeve was a bit much. (That can't come off so easy post-snap, Clint!) His Ronin suit was cool; I would have liked to have seen more of it.

Carol: I don't like the haircut. That's it; I just don't like the look. But whatever. I think it's kind of pointless other than to emphasize again time has passed, but they were hammering that point in hard enough without that reminder. But honestly, I don't care.

Bruce: So, this is more about my feelings on Bruce in the movie than his look, but it's all tied up in his look so I'll put it here. I am leery of Professor Hulk. I'm gonna go with Valkyrie, better either of the other ways. The CGI was really cool, but I think it says something alarming about how Bruce is handling his situation and his solution…is not good. We'll skip over how he magically invented a Gammatron thing to accomplish this and go into how it directly goes against what had been happening in the MCU so far and how Bruce/Hulk is handled in the comics. The best way is when Bruce and Hulk both develop as individuals and come to a symbiotic understanding, two beings sharing a body. Eddie and Venom style. Hulk had been given his own story in Ragnarok and had his own path as evidenced by him hiding in IW. Now, there is no Hulk. It's Bruce wearing a Hulk suit, just like him wearing Tony's armor. That almost feels like murder to me. My mom said she thought Bruce had more Hulkish characteristics now, okay, maybe, but I think it's more like him acting a part now that he's Professor Hulk and feels like he beat the beast. My theory is supported by the fact that when the Ancient One astral planes him, it's only Bruce that comes out of the body. Now, I'm happy he's happy, but I think they went the wrong way on this one.

Thor: Loving the long hair again, though I wish he'd brush it a bit, hate the beard. The lightning makeover made it very cool with the Viking look, but otherwise, please shave immediately! You know, it was funny for him to be so out of shape, it was also sad because it showed how depressed he really was. I am okay with the jokes and don't think it was wrong for us to think it funny because we're conditioned to think that Chris Hemsworth with his shirt off is supposed to be the latest in hunk. Did they have to joke about it as much as they did? Probably not, but I don't think it was horrendous and body shaming and he clearly does need to get more healthy in body and mind. I fully expect and will be fine with, if we see him again, him being unmelted ice cream.

Superficial out of the way, let's walk through the movie and then dive into the time travel issues.

Okay, Tony and Nebula dynamic is the best and I would have wanted so much more of that. Tony leaving the message for Pepper is all the feels.

Did Carol go looking for them or just find them? It doesn't really matter, but I'd still like to know. With Pepper being at the compound I'm thinking yes.

Poor Steve and Tony, that was not a good reunion, and I don't like Tony yelling at Steve, but I can understand it in his frame of mind.

Going off to kill Thanos, yay! Okay, so all along I've been pulling for Nebula to kill Thanos and honestly, she deserves it. Second in line, Thor. So I was glad Thor did that, but poor Nebula. She's such a beautiful character and so tragic and I just wish there had been a bit more catharsis for her other than the potential of acceptance and pride she didn't need and blood splattering her face. I mean, ouch! My ultimate version of a Thanos death in this movie would have been both Nebulas and past Gamora killing him with help from Thor.

And Five Years Later. Lol, the audience was all what! I'm all, duh!

So yeah, a rat really did save the world, you guys. I mean, come on! Poor Scott. Though I am thinking, okay, the world is clearly a trashpile now and yet we had the resources to create giant monument graveyards presumably all over the world? Also, his reunion with Cassie was sweet, but I'm sorry, I can't help but mourn the loss of the munchkin. That actress was super adorbz and now we'll never see her again and I am not okay with that. Also, I really feel like that new Cassie was way too old looking. (Guys, I'm not good with ages, but little Cassie was like 6, 5 years makes her 11, that girl was clearly 15 or 16. Though again...seeing as how Harley looks way too old to me as well and that's the actual actor, what do I know?)

Love the team effort spread out over the globe and universe. It's also a good way to handle Carol. Over-powered characters are so difficult to handle because then there is no conflict, so it was good to show her off saving the whole universe (honestly just like she's apparently been doing this whole time).

Oh Nat. Her and her sandwich. Her and Clint! Finally this movie gives me the Clint/Natasha content I deserve and then rips my heart from me. She's handling this burden but her partner is lost and that's what's breaking her and I can't handle it!

Her and Steve's friendship has always been aces and I loved that scene.

Scott there to save the world and he's so refreshing and then on to Tony and it's so precious he has little Morgan and they did a good job showcasing that he is handling this the best of anyone and honestly deserves to.

Nat is wearing the arrow necklace again!!!!

I'm glad Tony said no, but honestly, it's so like him to have a problem and need to fix it. And Pepper is such a queen, such an amazing giver, and the world doesn't deserve her.

We've gone over my feelings on Bruce (the joke with him and Scott went on way too long and was not funny. Also, thank you for only doing the barest of alluding to a Bruce/Nat romance.)

Tony and Steve scenes are the best and I love them rebuilding something and Steve getting the shield back.

Tokyo in the rain kills me. Okay, so let's talk a bit about Clint here. I am not a fan of the farm, I wish the farm had never happened and I like to live in a world where it didn't. In fact that gifset where Clint introduces Laura as his sister is my preferred canon and I think would have done the trick in his grief spiral. Personally, I don't have any issues with a Ronin lifestyle and my only worry is what it's doing to his psyche. Oh, but them in the rain, my feels, my feels, my feels. Honestly, the world is chaotic now and needs a bit of vigilante justice.

Thor and New Asgard. My first thought is that while obviously the most decimated people in the universe, the Asgardians really lucked out coming to earth when they did, because at what other time would we have accepted an alien race landing on earth to come and live with us without freaking out? I don't even know how there are any left anyway because clearly so many died in Ragnarok and then half of them were wiped out by Thanos (pre-snap, remember, so did they come back?! Not likely unless Bruce (who was there) included them, but still unlikely.) Then the half that were left...were on a ship that got completely destroyed and left Thor floating in space. So all I'm saying is they did not take care of continuity for this people and they were the real victims of the MCU.

But clearly some escaped and I find it hilarious Thor is a depressed bum playing video games and it's so so sad at the same time and I just want to wrap him up and let him rest. Honestly, Thor has lost everything and it's no wonder he's a giant mess and he deserves to be. I'm also glad he didn't magically buck up, because honestly no one would.

The PLAN:

Them all planning together is so cute and a bit smart and good times apart from their ridiculous time travel premise we'll get into later. I do want to be very clear here, Nebula did not know about the price for the soul stone or she would have told them. There's no way she could have known.

Let's go over each era individually.

2012

You remember 2012 right? It was glorious. I don't care what you think about Joss Whedon or the rest of the MCU, 2012 was magic. In fact right after watching Endgame, I went home and read all my fave gen domestic team tower fic and I needed it. So the fanservice was lovely and seeing behind the scenes almost of what we loved was the best. Everyone was perfect. Hulk and the stairs, Thor and his hammer, Tony giving himself a heart attack, Cap in the elevator, America's ass, Loki and the tesseract, even being reminded that Hydra was in SHIELD at the time. Apart from the time travel issues, it was all wonderful.

I’ve seen a lot of people point out how they didn’t like Steve in 2012 and how Endgame Steve was annoyed at himself, but I don’t see it. 2012 Steve is perfection, fight me.

I liked seeing the Ancient One as well, knowing they would have been there. Seeing how much she knew about Strange ahead of time is good and her knowing what he meant by giving it up. I'll go into the Stones and their conversation later as well.

2014 Asgard.

Poor Thor, but having him talk to his mom, that was beautiful and just what he needed. I know some people were mad he didn't spend more time being sad about Loki but honestly, Frigga was what he needed right then. And not to have to be reminded of Jane and how annoyingly that ended up for no reason whatsoever other than Natalie Portman deciding not to come back. What if Gwyneth Paltrow had felt that way! I shudder to think. But that’s part of my ongoing saga of how horribly the Thor saga in particular, yes, even Ragnarok, especially Ragnarok, treats its characters and continuity.

2014 Morag

Seeing the opening of Guardians was so funny and I loved it. But I got super annoyed at Rhodey saying Quill was an idiot for it. Rude! Do you know how often I dance around my house lip syncing to music only I can hear? We adore it when people do that in the movies. There was nothing idiotic about it and I resented the way people looked down on Quill in the movie. For instance, I’m super mad about how his reunion with Gamora went. He reacted beautifully and I also understand her reacting the way she did if she didn’t know him, but Nebula had told her about him and that was just mean and condescending. In fact, I also get annoyed about the whole rivalry between him and Thor. I mean, just let Quill alone. Having his own team, his own family, be so cavalier is annoying, especially when they’ve all lost Gamora and Peter has lost a lot of people very important to him in a very short period of time. Yes, he is insecure, but he’s also lost a lot and I’m a fan of loyalty.

There not being traps is so funny and then 2014 Thanos happens. Ugh. It was the way to bring Gamora into the film and Thanos honestly. But ugh. I do think the network with the Nebulas was clever, though very convenient, memories just project themselves out and happen to be the ones that would clue Thanos in to what happened! I hate for Nebula to be subject to that again after being free for 5 years. More really. Poor 2014 Nebula as well.

Switching the Nebulas was clever as well (though why on earth wouldn’t anyone wonder why Nebula wasn’t with them when they tried the snap?)

Also, let’s not get into it too deeply yet but they are very clear, so clear, that Pym Particles are the only way you get through the quantum realm and they ONLY had enough for ONE round trip per person. It’s why we had to go to the 70s in the first place, remember? When 2014 Nebula presents herself to Thanos, she hands him the vial of particles, we never see him hand it back. Now, either she was just showing it to him and he gave it back and that’s how she came to the future, (which is most likely), or she gave it to him so he could come to the future with their evil plan (but then how did she get back with the others?) But either way, someone shouldn’t have been able to get to the future. No matter what Nebula did to the Quantum tunnel, (so convenient she just plugged in and did all these science/mechanic/time travel things) there were no Pym particles that could have brought Thanos, our Nebula, 2014 Gamora, and all of his vast armies and armada to the present. IT LITERALLY COMPLETELY FALLS APART AND MAKES NO SENSE AND GOES AGAINST THEIR OWN RULES!

2014 Vormir

Oh my heart. I’m actually ashamed, I didn’t see it coming until they were headed to Vormir and then I knew, I knew one would die and I was so unhappy the whole scene. I didn’t go into this movie fearing for either one of them so it was a big shock. I’d been expecting Steve and/or Tony to die.

So like I said, I’ve been a Clint/Natasha shipper since day one. Honestly, I didn’t even care if they were together so long as they were always the most important people to each other and were together. The MCU tore that from me with Ultron, but also with their cavalier treatment of Clint in general. Say what you will about Natasha’s arc, it’s hella better than Clint’s. So don’t give me that. Clint is my favorite character so naturally I’m biased in his favor, I accept that. But I love him and Natasha and so it was going to devastate me either way. (I also love Natasha). Remember the early version of Winter Soldier when Clint and Nat were in it and he stayed with Hydra to fool everyone while she went off with Steve and Sam and they were secret partners just like I’m convinced they were in Civil War? Jeremy Renner wasn’t available as I recall, oh sadness.

Anyway, so this scene just slayed me. They were so pure together, each trying to die for the other. Oh, it was awful and visually stunning and I am so annoyed at how it ended. How deep a contrast between the parallel scene with Thanos and Gamora, each just as sad though. But no matter what the end result was, it brought Clint and Natasha back to each other, back to their rightful spots at each other’s sides and uppermost in each other’s hearts. It was always them and if they’d killed one or the other without letting the other one be there, I would have been so furious.

And I’ve seen a lot of hate about letting Natasha die this way. For a man, no funeral, but I don’t agree. I don’t want her to have died and I’m so sad, but I think it was a glorious death and I think it did close out her arc beautifully. Clint tried his darndest but she was better than him and she chose it and she saved everyone. You want the credit in this film, it goes…rat, Scott, Natasha, Tony. As for her not being mourned, heck yeah she was. Clint clearly is mourning and that funeral was absolutely for her just as much as Tony. It’s a movie structure thing, and I have no issues with that. There’s no way she wasn’t heralded just as much as he was to the people who matter if not to the world.

I did read that the writers/directors didn’t know there was a Black Widow movie in the works and if that’s true, it both proves and illustrates my two points that Marvel really is the deciding force in everything if the individual movies are so sure that they’ll get stopped if they’re wrong they don’t even bother to check on things, and that the MCU has gotten too big for its britches and doesn’t bother to take care of the characters they have in their insane rush to bring in new stories and characters.

1970s

Goodbye Stan Lee cameo, we miss you already. And look at Community sneaking into the MCU one bit at a time. And Jarvis! You know, that’s the first character from one of the shows who’s been allowed to be in a movie rather than the other way around. Way to validate, Marvel. It’s scary how the technology works to make younger versions of people these days (provided the actors are still alive to play underneath the CGI). And Peggy, glorious Peggy, that was an important moment for Steve and I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m not overly fond of old Howard Stark but if Tony got to see him, I’m glad. I’m so glad for his sake. He deserves validation he was loved.

Back to our present. A mourning scene for Natasha is appropriate and, boy, would I hate to be Clint.

The second snap. Appropriate in many ways for it to be Bruce and the snap worked! Everyone came back. Question: did everyone come back in the same place they left just 5 years forward in time? It seems that way from what Peter said. So…what about the people who came back in planes that were no longer in the same space in the sky or in space or underwater or in buildings long gone? For that matter, did Thanos consider all those things when he wiped out half the universe? Did the accidents resulting from people being gone get considered in his numbers? I know these are more IW questions, but they’re valid. And like I said, Asgardians? The people who died as a result of people being snapped, did Bruce bring them back as well? And we can also talk about how a sudden influx of people like that will likely cause quite a lot of chaos and issues.

But then explosions and Thanos attacks even though it makes no sense for him to be there and people are drowning and the compound is destroyed!

Battle commences and the three of them pounding on Thanos like that is pretty cool. Unfortunately, guys, remember how unbeatable Thanos was with the Stones in IW, and how it almost seemed like Thor by himself would get him? Here, he doesn’t have the Stones and our three main guys are not able to beat him. That’s a little contrived, just saying.

Okay, but Steve with the hammer, how cool is that? And how cool is it for Thor not to be jealous? We all cheered so loud and it was awesome. Love it, love it, love it. Don’t break the shield though!!! (Never mind, pop back to the PAST store and pick up a replacement.) Good fighting, good visuals, yay.

And the image of Steve standing by himself, ready to take on a whole army…it’s so him. He is willing to fight to his last breath always (so stop hating on him finally getting to rest himself, guys). It was glorious.

And then…on your left. Oh my heart, oh we all cheered for every portal opening. That music, it was the best. Such awesome moments, everyone was there. And extra sorcerers and Wakandans and Asgardians because like it or not our superheroes are not an army. Epic battle!

Okay, and remember how people complain about Natasha not being there in the all woman power move (which I am totally fine with and it was a cool throwback and tribute), that’s sad and all, but you know who deserves to be there who wasn’t? Maria frikking Hill! No reason her and Fury couldn’t have been there and if you’re going to bring Hope, you might as well bring Hank and Janet. And frankly, I wish Sif had shown up and the SHIELD folks and all the other people who weren’t there, Nakia anyone? Strange clearly gathered more people than he knew about with his knowledge of the future. Heck, let’s remember Betty Ross exists since her dad clearly does.

So anyway, fabulous battle. I just want to point out that Wanda could have beaten Thanos on her own (poor Wanda) and so could have Carol.

Peter and Tony reunion brought my cold dead heart back to life. He’s learned a little bit about being a Dad and he did this mainly for Peter.

Nebula has to shoot herself, like how messed up is that. Also, makes no sense, but it’s very sad. Thought maybe that’s her catharsis, she puts the past literally behind her and moves on with her new family. She was so tragic in this movie and I love her.

T’Challa knows Clint’s name.

Peter and the Gauntlet clutching.

It’s nice to know why Strange saved Tony’s life by giving up the Gauntlet and that was a horrible one finger to have to lift up and condemn a man’s life.

Tony and Pepper fighting together

AvengersAssemble one more time

For heaven’s sake, where did the flying horse come from?

And then the culmination of eleven years of our lives and full circle I am Iron Man. Oh brave Tony, I love you, sir, you are aces and I respect the heck out of you and I’m so thankful for you and it was very fitting.

Oh and having Rhodey and Peter and Pepper say goodbye. Oh Pepper, you brave soul, you queen of the MCU, you absolute giver. Ugh, being the one left behind sucks.

And then everyone is fine and together and better and Tony gives us a voice over and there’s a funeral and we see everyone there, Tony Stark has a heart, and when Happy starts talking about cheeseburgers, I lost it.

I didn’t recognize Harley, but I love he was there. Ross doesn’t deserve to be there.

Clint and Wanda’s moment gives me life and is the only remembrance for poor Vision. Let’s remember folks, that I called it. Everyone who was snapped came back. Those that died apart from that, didn’t. Heimdell, Loki, Gamora, and Vision are still dead.

No one saw what happened to 2014 Gamora, did they? A mystery likely to be unanswered until Guardians 3. But Peter searching for her made me sad. And it made me sad for everyone to gang up on him though I do like the idea of Thor joining the Guardians.

Scott, Hope, and Cassie together is so sweet.

And Steve…

I am a fan, I don’t think it’s OOC, I don’t think it’s lazy writing, I think Captain Frikking America deserves to dance and love his lady and not have to fight a battle anymore. It’s a fitting end to Chris Evans and it was beautiful. I would have been happy with either Bucky or Sam getting the shield and so that’s lovely. As for people being upset about Steve just leaving and then Bucky not talking to Old Cap along with Sam. Come on, guys. Watch that scene. Bucky knew what Steve was going to do and they had their goodbye there. Also, Old Cap didn’t drop dead the second the camera left, guys. There was plenty of time for him to talk to Bucky. It was just was more important for Sam to get his proper goodbye and to pass the baton.

Them ending it all on a happy Steve and Peggy, well, one of the couples deserves a happy ending, geesh. Nobody else got one! (I don’t count Clint and Laura!) Granted, the next phase of lovers, T’Challa and Nakia, Strange and Christine, Scott and Hope, I guess, they could make it. But Steve and Peggy living a life together, Steve learned how to let it go, and Tony learned how to give it up, and both are valid paths for their characters. Sad either way, but ultimately right in my opinion.

The credits were so cool and I was so happy they did the OG6 at the end like that. They are the reason we love this and they deserve all the glory for the first few phases of the MCU. They’re now passing the baton and that’s always why it was good and final for there not to be an end credit scene.

So time travel…I don’t pretend to know anything about quantum physics, but I know a lot about science fiction time travel. The quantum tunnel being how they did it, that was the part that I could accept as being their rules of how they want to play it. Doesn’t matter if it isn’t science, it’s their science. Pym particles necessary to nagivate? Okay, if that’s what you want to do. Everyone always back at the exact same time with no time having passed no matter when you push your button to come back? Okay, whatever.

There’s a lot of ways to do time travel. Closed loops, paradoxes, alternate timelines, whatever happened happened. LOST does the latter and it makes logical sense. The past happened the way it did because you always had gone back to the past and affected it, you just didn’t know it at the time.

But there’s always a certain amount of hand waving in time travel, okay? It’s not easy to make it make sense. Back to the Future is very solid, but there’s a certain amount you just have to accept. Doctor Who does it really well, because it uses practically every type of time travel in its timey wimey way and manages for it to mostly make sense. (River Song’s creator and his glorious power mad timeline aside. Had to write two different fics to fix that!) So like I said, you can go with a different version and have it make sci fi sense, but there are two incredibly important things to remember about time travel. 1. Ethics. 2. Stick to your own rules.

The Russos have confirmed alternate timelines were created with every change our peeps made in the past. According to their version of time travel, it didn’t change their own pasts and can’t affect their future, but it does create alternate timelines.

Just to be clear, alternate realities and alternate timelines are different. The multi-verse theory allows for completely different realities to be stacked alongside each other where every possibility is played out. You can cross between them, sometimes the rules are that you can’t function in that dimension or sometimes you can take the place of that version of you and live there, either way. It’s a whole separate place apart from your reality. Generally, it’s not good form to interfere too much, but if you do, best to get back to your reality quickly. You being there and making changes doesn’t change that world though any more than you switching jobs or meeting someone does in your own timeline. Too much crossing could destroy all realities though!

Alternate timelines are different though. They are deliberate changes stemming from a cause and affect everything from that point on. Most of the time if you jump back to the future from a past where you changed something, then you’re jumping back to the future that change created. Endgame doesn’t do that. Which is very convenient and again, they can make their own rules even if they’re not logical and I’ll believe them, so long as they follow the two main things I said up above.

However, they don’t.

1. Ethically, do they have the right to create other timelines and affect those people’s lives without knowledge of the consequences? There’s now a timeline where a 2012 Loki is loose with the Tesseract. Folks, that’s not a good thing considering his mindset at the time. There’s a 2014 Asgard Thor that doesn’t have his hammer (although when Steve took it back with him in time, I’m unsure whether he returned that as well as the Stones) and whatever Hank was going to use those Pym particles for, he now can’t. 2012 Steve knows about Bucky being alive. 2012 Hydra thinks Steve is on their side. 2014 Thanos and Gamora and Nebula and all his children are gone from that year and now the Guardians will never form in that timeline.

Sure, maybe Frigga doesn’t die now, but the point is there are now numerous different timelines where billions of people’s lives will be different for better or for worse simply because our heroes decided to change their own timeline. How selfish is that? Generally, it’s even a huge question when you’re trying to fix something that’s already been changed, ala SG1 Continuum. Beau Bridges calls Cam, Daniel, and Sam arrogant for assuming that he’ll change billions of people’s lives because they insist the world was supposed to be different. All any of us know is the reality we’re presented with. Anya asks in Buffy how Giles knows the other world (the timeline Buffy came to Sunnydale) is any better. He didn’t. We did, but that’s another story. We should consider how our actions changing time affects things other than the one thing we’re trying to fix.

2. We’ve already been over how they gloss over the need for Pym Particles when it’s convenient for them so I won’t rehash that, but let’s talk about the Stones. Why the heck is it all right to take any person or object you want from the past so long as it’s not the Stones? Just because they make up the fabric of time? Well, if that’s the case, when Thanos destroyed them, all time should have stopped or the universe exploded or something. Honestly, I could have handled their way of doing time travel a lot more if they hadn’t made such a big deal about needing to restore the Stones to the exact moment in time they were left in order to avoid these dark branches. The Ancient One is just arguing for the logic of all the sci fi time travel that Endgame is saying is so wrong. They should have just cut that part out. Of course, that gave Steve an excuse to go back in time…so maybe it was all in the name of his ending, but that’s the poor writing part of that.

How do they get from one timeline to the other? When they jump to the past, they always conveniently end up back in their own present but Old Cap had to jump from his alternate timeline to this one (specified by the Russos, mind you) to give Sam the shield. How did he do that? If he had just used his wrist device at the time he wanted to use it basically as long as it takes for him to accomplish his goal as Bruce says (according to their logic of time travel), he would have appeared on the platform when they expected him to, just old. Of course, that’s not as nice of an aesthetic as Old Cap sitting on a bench, so I’ll give them artistic license on that.

It’s awfully convenient that Steve jumping back to the past and replacing all the Stones is so easy to do. He never runs into any problems jumping into an alternate timeline, but they’ve created so many different ones, I feel like it should be easy to. For instance because they changed things in 2012 and the 1970s, if he jumps into the 2012 one first, couldn’t he possibly jump back to the wrong one? Tony sure made time travel infallible when he fixed it on the fly in his house with his only a genius on earth brain…

But one of my biggest issues is that the past has now become a get out of jail free card. Provided they have enough Pym Particles (which he’s alive now to make), they can fix anything they want in their own timeline (screwing all others) whenever they want. Guys, no one ever has to die again! Because here’s the thing, you can grab anyone from the past seconds before their death and it’s fine.

All of the pathos and feels from Endgame have become meaningless. Let’s go back and get Yinsen from Iron Man, we’re definitely saving Pietro. What about Stanley Tucci? I’m definitely saving Yondu. T’Chaka? Odin, Frigga, Loki, Heimdell, the Warriors Three, and most definitely Vision, Gamora, Natasha, and Tony. See, you can’t bring them back in the snap, but if you grab them before they die, then their timeline suffers, but yours doesn’t and as we’ve already established, apparently that doesn’t matter.

So, guys, we never have to cry again. Everybody lives, Rose, everybody lives! That’s what’s so dangerous and illogical about Endgame and time travel in my opinion.

Yeah, I know that was a novel, but there’s probably actually more I’ve forgotten which is ridiculous. Kudos if you actually read that.

#avengers #marvel #spoilers #text post

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