#and everything gets so much worse its like a vicious circle of Fuck This Guy

[winderrific-moved]

if it wasnt obvious enough im having a night where i feel terrible and talk about it because i dont have the energy to regret it

#wind howls #trauma tornado #not even sure if this counts as trauma for anyone else because im the only one who knows what im talking about. #but i am talking about traumatic events i have lived. im the only one who gets to know them however. #maybe its because im in a depressive state where i feel especially disconnected/inhuman/lonely as hell but god #this sucks. everything sucks. i can only blame things on my aunts presence for so long. #sure her being here makes me uncomfortable but i dont know for sure if thats whats making me have a trauma night rn #i. feel like im failing at everything. lately it feels like im especially failing at any interaction i do. like #i feel like whenever i open my mouth everyone around me goes like [affection - -] like in the sims like everything i do just fucking sucks #so to prevent that i dont say anything. i follow along others ideas and only add what i need when im really truly needed. but am i ever ? #but sometimes i get a burst of bravery and i share my ideas and then get so scared and insecure that i never go into detail about them #and everything gets so much worse its like a vicious circle of Fuck This Guy #i dont. necessarily envy the way i was a couple of years ago. i was carefree and far more gullible and i guess that #in a way. im scared that ive hardened to a point where its difficult to approach me. the last thing i want is to be intimidating #but im so scared all the time that im afraid im pushing other away and god this really sucks #sorry im having a night i started thinking about so many things at once

[volleychumps]

Requesting cheating angst with Kuroo, Iwaizumi, Akaashi, and Atsumu? Rip my heart apart please😌😌♥️

oH SHIT let’s do a remix on the fluff for this one post, everybody- I’m in an angsty mood so uh, eskettit :( I couldn’t make it past Akaashi’s scenario and I had so many breaks, so proceed at your own risk, everyone! 

Turn and Keep Going. (Kuroo, Iwaizumi, and Akaashi) - angst -

TW: CHEATING, CURSING, ANGST- no fr I ugly cried and I wrote it

Kuroo

“Y/N. Where do you keep the extra towels again?”

You didn’t mean to see it. In fact, if you had the choice on whether or not you did- 

you would have chosen not to. 

The phone in your hand became tightened in an iron-clad grip as a chuckle with a nervous tinge to it slipped Kuroo’s mouth, and the world seemed to drown out for a moment. As if the world around you submerged into the water of the sea, where everything you could hear was jumbled as a strange heat flooded your vision, choking your lungs with the salt of the ocean. 

“Y/N?” The garbled voice was questioning now as your eyes stayed glued to the screen, of the naked set of breasts and invites, even worse- 

the accepting replies. 

That was all it took for you to flinch away from the hand that Kuroo had carefully set on your back hunched over the device, the towel he had been using to dry off his hair falling to the floor in a heap of material as the raven-haired boy finally entered your bedroom from his post-practice shower. 

Still, the phone remained tightened in your hand so tight to the point where your knuckles were turning white. 

“Why are you going through my phone?” The accusatory edge to Kuroo’s voice had risen, and so did you to your feet, the device hitting the floor next to the towel as you fight to keep your head afloat.

“How long?” Your voice cracked, no matter how hard you fought the breaking feeling spreading across your chest as Kuroo seemed to still completely, and you didn’t need to look at him fully in the face to know how utterly guilty he looked. 

“W-What do you-?” 

“Don’t.” Your voice was soft, refusing to meet the captain’s eyes now, not knowing just who was standing in your room. 

Not knowing just who was the man now holding your face in his hands, urging you to look at him with his own flood falling on his cheeks as his words remained garbled. Still, you let him. 

“Baby. Kitten-fuck. I don’t know what you think you saw, but I love you! I wasn’t completely there when I-” 

“Fucked her?” Your voice hadn’t risen, eyes glazed over in a haze as Kuroo’s voice hitched. 

“No. Nononono- Y/N, kitten-” 

“T-Tetsurou?” The name felt foreign on your tongue as your head finally rose to meet his, willing everything inside you to hold it back as Kuroo held you tighter, as if his arms would salvage what was falling apart. 

“Get out.” 

“Y/N. Please.” His voice fell to a whisper- 

and the dam broke. 

“I SAID GET THE HELL OUT.” You screamed, falling to your knees as your arms wrapped around yourself, knowing you were all you had in the world at the moment. You saw his legs approach you, before hesitating and turning the other way, clenched fists creating bloody marks in his hands from his fingernails as he complied. 

“And Tetsurou.” You spat just as his legs stall in the doorway, watching as Kuroo’s feral and playful eyes that once painted every edge of your universe seemed to be fighting to remain stable. The captain heard those words, and couldn’t fight the sobs beginning to wreck his body as the voice he loved echoed in his ears with parting words- 

Your voice didn’t crack this time. 

“Don’t come back.” 

Iwaizumi

“She’s a nobody.” 

You jump at the sound of the voice, humorless chuckle slipping your lips as Iwa steps to your side, dark eyes looking tired and void of any light that might had once lit up his dark irises. You look out at the landscape, still looking straight forward as the ace settles next to you, hanging his forearm across his bent knee. 

“How did you find me?” 

“It’s been two years. I know you, Y/N.” Iwaizumi’s eyes bore into your side profile, and more sarcastic giggles make their way past your lips as you hug your knees to your chest, jabbing him where it hurts. 

“Funny. I really thought I knew you, Hajime-” 

“Don’t you start with that shit.”

You lazily finally meet Iwa’s eyes, causing the ace to feel the lump growing in his throat at the amount of light drained from the look of them, mirroring his own. Iwa moistens his lips, trying to get his head back on track as the heat tinges at the sides of his eyes. 

“We love each other, don’t we?” 

“Yeah. We did.” 

Iwa flinches at the past-tense term, feeling his breathing hollow out at the sound of it. 

“We must’ve at some point, right?” All cried-out, you watch the sun seem to slowly sink into the horizon in a mix of color as your eyes soak in its’ prettiness, as if the light from the sun would somehow bring the gleam back to your eyes-

but every time you closed them, all you saw was Iwaizumi fiercely kissing another girl in the passenger seat of her car, fist clenched in her hair as he kissed her with anger from the fight he had with you-

“You do. You love me.” The denial sunk in as you laugh. And you laugh some more as if that were the most idiotic thing in the world. “And I love you, Y/N- princess, we can make this work and get through this-!” 

“I don’t want to, though.” You cut him off, drawing circles in the dirt as you remember the nights teasing Iwa for showing too little emotion- not knowing that the most you would get out of him would be after he stuck his tongue down another girl’s throat. 

“Don’t you get that?” You shake your head, smiling as if you can’t believe it, shoving Iwa’s attempt of holding you off of you as you raise to your feet, soaking in the colors as they fade to a more dark color palate. 

“I don’t give a fuck about some nobody, don’t you get that?!” Iwa’s on his feet now too, and you finally begin to crack as you look out to the horizon, a familiar heat flooding your vision as you smile. 

“Hey, Hajime.” You ignore his cry, prompting the dark-haired boy to look in the same direction you were. “This is where it all started, didn’t it? Where you kissed me, and promised that you would always protect me, right?” 

Iwa’s own eyes brim with frustration as the stinging heat from earlier takes over, feeling the mix of regret and heartbreak begin to settle in as you turn and give him a smile. No sarcastic intention behind it as you close your eyes, Iwa’s eyes widening at the sight of something he’d never get to see again. 

“I guess you really don’t know me, after all.” You smile to the point where its’ painful, spinning on your heel. “I came because I knew you’d find me, not to fix whatever this is, but-” 

You’re turned around now, the sun fading into night as you will your legs to keep walking. 

“To say goodbye to you, Hajime.” 

And so, the dark-haired ace watched as you walked off into the distance and out of his life for a problem he created, yells of frustration enclosed in his throat and the need to punch something ever-so prevalent- 

as the sky above now swirled with dark pigment. 

Akaashi

“Don’t. Don’t go, please.” 

“Keiji, let go.” You tug your arm in an attempt to make the messy-haired boy release you, trembling when he pulls you into his chest, burying his head in your neck as the hot tears hit your skin, prompting you to bite your lip and fight the urge to hold him back as your own eyes burn. If he wouldn’t let you go, then-

You can’t help the vicious words from slipping. “She’s waiting, you should go to her, shouldn’t you?” 

“Stop. D-Don’t say that-” 

“Am I wrong?” Your voice remains stable to your surprise, causing Akaashi to tighten his hold on you even more. “The girl who came out after you in your shower...who is she?” 

“No one! No one, Y/N, you were so far for so long, and-” 

“And what?” You question emotionlessly. “You have needs? You were lonely? Cut the bullshit.” 

“Do you know what it’s been like?” Akaashi’s voice is soft with an angry edge as he pulls back, still holding you in his arms as if to keep you there for an eternity, and for a minute, time does stop- 

and you soak in the reality. Life tore you two apart, distanced yet together, far away yet still part of the same relationship. The blue-eyed boy would never be able to rewind the clock and keep you as his no matter what life hurled- 

“Let go.” 

“Fuck if I do.” 

Your strong exterior begins to crumble as Akaashi watches with now widened eyes as the viciousness drains only to be replaced with sorrow, relief filling his heart when you hold him back just as tightly, your chin resting on his shoulder as your grateful he won’t be able to see what kind of expression crosses your features. 

“Keiji.” You whisper almost child-like, causing Akaashi’s heart to swell with hope until the next words make his heart stop. 

“Eat healthy, will you? I know Bokuto likes to drag you around to all these places, but too much ramen isn’t good for you-” 

“Y/N?” 

“And please, for god sakes, make sure you remember to pick up your suit from the laundromat on Thursdays, I know you’re presentations are usually on Fridays-” 

“Y/N.” 

“Oh, and don’t forget- you always make it a point to drop by Konoha’s for a guy night on the fourth of every month, so don’t drink too much because it gives you a massive migraine in the middle of the night-” 

“Y/N!” 

“And Keiji?” You pull back, corners of your mouth pulled back as you cup his face gently, leaning your forehead against his as Akaashi Keiji freezes in shock as the love of his life, his future, his world- 

Smiles a wordless goodbye, capturing his lips as Akaashi wonders how to turn the hands of time, forcing the laws of nature to bend for his selfish desires as his arms slacken- 

“Be happy.” You whisper, retracting your arms and hands before stepping out of his now weak grip, brushing past him with a finality in your steps as time refuses to stop, Akaashi fighting every instinct on forcing you to stay with him- 

letting you go as the hands of time continue to move along with your steps away from him, the setter lifting a hand to his mouth before he falls to his knees and looks up to the sky- 

wishing he had more hours, minutes, and seconds to see that smile for just a bit longer. 

“Yeah. You do the same, love.”

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

LMAO GO READ SOME OF MY FLUFF IF THIS MADE YOU SAD I’M SORRY 

General works: @takemetovalhalla @kasandrafaye @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu kuroo #Kuroo Tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu akaashi #haikyuu akaashi keiji #haikyuu iwaizumi #Iwaizumi Hajime #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu angst #tw: cheating

[justsomeoneunordinary]

Dark Fic Recs

@rhodee asked me for some dark fic recs and since this is one of my favorite tropes, I know quite some. I wanna make clear from the beginning that those are dark fics. Means stories with fucked up/morally dubious/voilent content. And not salty “Team Cap was mean to me, so I become evil now” kind of fics. If you’re interested in the latter, I am the wrong person to ask.

Some of them are much darker than the others, but you should read for each one carefully the tags and/or the Author’s Note, since some have special twists in the end that aren’t mentioned in the tags.

Basically: know your limits.

Dark!Tony fics (my personal preference)

Faster, Colder, Sharper by Penned (WinterIron)

Tony is kidnapped by Hydra. When the team gets him back, he has changed far more than they suspect. More than even the surface shows.

Bucky though, he notices it all.  

A de-aged Tony fic with Bucky as a caretaker... of sorts.

Radioactive by Valmasy (WinterIron, Series)

The pain is all-encompassing. It’s all he can think about. It’s all he feels. It’s all he breathes. It’s all he lives. Like a barbed net, its sharpness swallows him whole, over and over and over. Tony’s mind tries to hide, tries to save itself, but the pain finds him even then. It burns away at his resistance until all he is crumbles, until he’s nothing but ash and dust.

Attack dog by salytierra (Stony)

Steve doesn't swim in self-delusion. He knows that he is sick and that his owner is even worse. He is aware of it every time he rips some nameless guy’s throat out and feels the crunch of bones under his fingers. He is aware of it every time the rush of adrenaline at seeing life slip away from a stranger’s eyes hits him and gets him bothered and panting in ways that have nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

But it  feels so good…

His owner’s approach is less personal. His shots fall clean and take out several foes at a time, his figure elegant and so graceful he looks like a god among savages. He is power incarnated, cold and burning like a sun at the same time… and Steve tries not to focus on him when they are fighting together, least his knees go weak and his technique falters. It’s fine though. They will go home afterwards and his owner will fuck him on the hard floor, with most of their gear still on and a vicious grip in his hair.

Anatomy of a Moral Man by ShyOwl (Stony, WIP)

At a young age Tony understood he was not meant to be a hero and the world, he believes, is far better for it. With his rule now set in stone, his life is finally settling down. That is until something was found buried underneath the ice.

Tony may not be a hero but that did not stop him from falling in love with one.

In Restless Dreams by charocalwinter (WinterIron, WIP)

When he discovers what he believes to be the truth about his parents’ recent deaths, a powerful and morally ambiguous Tony Stark sets out to get his revenge on Steve Rogers. How does Bucky Barnes fit into this feud and why isn't anybody giving him a pair of socks?

“It isn’t often that Tony Stark finds himself unsure of anything, but this situation has him doubting his every thought, his every move … with Rogers comes James, and that boy is muddling Tony’s mind.” ~ interrupted excerpt from ch 4.

A Pound of Flesh by jellybeanforest (Stony)

To save Bucky, Steve volunteers to work off his debt to the Carbonell crime family. Unfortunately, he is unsuited for the role of enforcer, unable to beat and murder those in the same position as Bucky. He is brought before the mob boss, Tony Stark, who demands his pound of flesh in the wake of Steve’s failure. But upon seeing the attractive blond, Tony proposes alternative employment, one that won’t require him to harm others: Becoming his kept man.

“This isn’t an offer I make often, so you should be flattered – count yourself lucky, even – that I am extending you this rare opportunity.”

“To be raped repeatedly?”

“To have a second chance to work off your debts after you failed so spectacularly the first time. But I don’t have to. I could just use these knives I’ve brought along, carve up that pretty face of yours like a Thankgiving turkey, which would be a shame, really. Then I suppose I’d have to pay a visit to your little friend. This entire exercise has been a waste of my valuable time… perhaps I’ll take an arm for my trouble,” he muses. “So, tell me, Rogers, is Barnes right- or left-handed?”

It’s an offer Steve can’t refuse.

Take Away (everything I am) by salytierra (WinterIron)

“Everyone I kill deserves to die.”

“True. But try to explain that to Captain Justice and Faith.” He takes a gulp of the scotch right out of the bottle and flops down on Tony’s lap, straddling his hips. “He cares too much. You and I? – We do what needs to be done.”

Tony circles his waist with both arms and pulls him closer, opening his mouth when Barnes offers him the bottle and swallowing the bitter liquid dry.

“Nobody ever believed I was able to care. So why should I?”

“Coming from somebody who is expected and probably should care more but doesn’t really give a fuck? – I’ll drink to that.”

Operant Conditioning by dracusfyre (WinterIron, Series)

In which Tony is HYDRA and Bucky’s handler.

in another country (people die) by pprfaith (FrostIron)

“The world is not your playground, Stark!” Fury yells at him one time, after he maybe brings down a building or two and Tony just laughs because, seriously, yes it is. 

on the bleeding edge by esama (Pepperony, WIP, abandoned (still good tho))

Tony Stark goes back in time and becomes a super villain. 

Almost Perfect by One and Five Nines (Obani) (Stony, Comic)

A powerful enemy invades from an alternate reality, but the only thing he really seems interested in is Steve Rogers

Eventually by One and Five Nines (Obani) (Stony, Comic, WIP)

Tony is godking of the wasteland. Steve is not.

Victim!Tony fics

Deliver Us by romanoff (FrostIron)

Loki comes back for revenge. Tony Stark is his captive.

“Why,” he tries, voice failing “do you want me.” He coughs into the ash.

“A king needs an advisor. A king needs concubines. A conquering king must learn the ways of the natives or risk expulsion,” he wipes blood from the sceptre with the end of his coat “and I’m rather fond of you, I think. Even in the face of death you use your wit, you charm with your tongue. It reminds me of myself, maybe, one or two millennia ago.”

Terms & Conditions by Penned (WinterIron)

Tony Stark is desperate and trusts too easily. Bucky Barnes takes advantage of that.

A mob AU with no powers, featuring a very dark, very off-kilter Bucky.

(reverse) Kidnapping by AngeNoir (WinterIron)

Tony Stark is wallowing. He has a right to - he's just finished the funeral preparations for his parents in New York. He didn't expect them to live forever, but still...

And then he falls asleep from his bender.

And wakes up in a nightmare.

(Is it a nightmare?)

Anything (and Everything) - remix by Penned (WinterIron)

The Soldier will do anything to make Tony happy, with or without his explicit consent.

Heavily inspired by Shi_Toyu's  IronWinter Holiday Exchange fic "Anything." This is a much darker version of that story.

like flowers soaked in monochrome by deathsweetqueen (Stony)

Steve Rogers woke up to a world where everyone he loved and knew had forged on without him. But this world, it's nothing like he's used. It wants something brutal from him, something unforgiving. There are so many compromises to make. There are too many monsters behind kind smiles.

But if it means keeping Tony safe, if it means protecting him, he's willing to do whatever it takes.

He can't be soft.

After all, the weak are meat; the strong do eat.

Sins of Omission by Kiyaar (Stony, WIP (tbh I still haven’t started reading this story, but the tags and summary sound perfect!))

A Post-Civil War, Pre-Secret Invasion AU where Steve is dead, Tony's a mess, and everything sucks.

In which Tony deals poorly with Steve's death, falls off the wagon, sees ghosts, and misses a lot.

Oh, and the Skrulls are about to invade.

That’s it. Read all warnings carefully and enjoy!

#fic recs #winteriron #buckytony #stony #stevetony #frostiron #lokitony #pepperony #only one pepperony tho :( #dark fics

[lokidiabolus]

Last Resort - Chapter 2

Fandom: The Maze Runner

Pairing: Thomas x Newt

Warnings: ex boyfriends, AU

Summary: Three years after breaking up with Thomas, Newt finally thought the past of hating each other was behind them, until Thomas asked him for a favour - pretend they got back together for a week while staying at his parents’ home. Because it was an absolutely dumb idea, Newt was inclined to refuse, but then found himself in the house he used to visit when he was in love and happy and the bitter reality of only pretending for people he always liked made him miserable. But it was nothing against dealing with Thomas himself for a week straight and trying not to fall back in love that hurt them both.

Or: Prompt ch. 192 with added spice. Or something. I just needed to write for a while :’)

Can be found on Ao3.

Notes: I think I never did so much rewriting like I did with this chapter. I'm still not satisfied with it, but I swear my brain just can't come up with anything else. Scrapped like 6 pages asdfjslfjslfjsdl. Now it's short :c

Anyway, guess I just wanted a bit of Thomas' insight for it. He's complicated lol. Or maybe not really, just trying to keep up. Don't we all though lol.

Oh and @izzymultifan (actually remembered)

Unbetad!

EDIT: (17. 5. 2021) I edited the ending with a lil continuation of the scene I previously deleted, because I thought it was unnecessary, but then I returned to it after few days and thought it should stay. It's not very long but I guess it's kinda important.

***

Thomas woke up disoriented, thirsty and definitely not rested enough, like when his alarm goes off on a workday and he only slept for four hours. But here was no alarm, no work, just him waking up with a flinch and realizing he wasn’t in his flat, and he wasn’t alone either.

The blond hair right in his face immediately pushed him into realization he was holding onto Newt like he was his lifeline, one hand under the shirt on his belly, other on his chest clutching the fabric, and an unmistakable morning hello tenting his pants, digging right into Newt’s backside. In retrospect there wasn’t much worse Thomas could have done to him, except maybe having a hand down his pants (which admittedly he used to do sometimes when they were together, but then again, that situation definitely didn’t scream murder like it would now).

In a sleepy confusion that hazed his just-woken-up-brain he searched the foggy memory on how this situation came to be, no matter how familiar it felt to him. Newt made himself pretty clear about sleeping together, so the sudden closeness – well, more like an absolute merge, unless he’d slip in – no, no dirty thoughts, bad Thomas, bad – didn’t make much sense.

The night came back to him embarrassingly slow – he got drunk because for some reason his dad decided to decimate his super precious whiskey, even though normally he hoarded it like a dragon his gold. He could only think of Newt being the incentive, drinking the whiskey so fast in his dad’s eyes, while Thomas downed it all to save him from barfing (Newt’s alcohol tolerance never existed in the first place, he disliked about any kind of it, and as far as Thomas remembered he got drunk only once with vodka mixed with orange juice on Aris’ wedding, because he could barely taste the vodka in it until it was too late). Then the world started spinning, Newt dragged him to his room somehow… which sounded farfetched, so maybe dad helped, he drew blank around that area honestly, probably because he stood up and all the alcohol began circulating faster. Then they talked… probably, and then Thomas fell asleep, since that’s all he could recall.

And now his hard-on was trying to get some, and he held Newt against himself with sheer ferocity of an obsessive hugger off his meds and the realization dawned on him like tons of bricks. Was he going to wake him up if he let go? Newt always woke up at the slightest noise before, there was no way of going to pee at night without getting back to the blond blinking owlishly at him, asking what happened. Was this Newt he barely knew anymore still the same? Still twitchy and light sleeper and grumpy and slow to rise when getting up?

Thomas didn’t have much choice anyway, did he. He just had to let go either way, and preferably remove his hips from Newt’s back and act like it was no biggie to be hard when in bed with his ex. He slowly untangled his hand from the front of Newt’s shirt and retreated from under the shirt as well with the other hand and managed to roll onto his back without Newt visibly stirring, which was a success. Unless he pretended to be asleep to avoid talking to Thomas about pushing into him like a horny teenager, which also worked.

Not like he hadn’t been doing that in the last month of their relationship anyway, just... ignoring the problem until it went away (a problem named Thomas) and well, ultimately it succeeded. It would work now too, and Thomas refused to poke the wasp nest this early in the morning – judging from the clock at 8:04 – and just went with the flow.

Need coffee, he thought unhappily when the headache set in. And water. Maybe some alone time in a bathroom first.

Newt didn’t stir until Thomas slinked out of the bedroom, which was a complete lie.

***

“Dad, just drop it,” Thomas repeated for fourth time when his dad couldn’t stop haggling him about his childlike alcohol tolerance the moment he appeared in the kitchen, asking for black coffee. He couldn’t tell him he drank Newt’s portions and without that argument nothing would sound plausible anyway, so he just dodged it with an increasing headache. Newt got up about half an hour later and didn’t speak a word to him – Thomas would even say he avoided his eyes several times, which meant he was absolutely awake in the morning to witness all of Thomas’ struggle to even exist around him peacefully. Which he couldn’t for years, really, so this only proved it.

It was fine. Thomas learned how to deal with it, despite taking him two years to come in terms of being hated by a person he loved since he was 17. Well, everything around the breakup took a lot from him, but he dealt with all eventually, right? He could finally look Newt in the eye without having all the incoherent anger and frustration pile up and he could talk to him fine as well unless they breached one of the thousand forbidden topics. Like them. Like family. Like love. Like sleeping. Like breathing, existing and fucking just trying to live.

Anyway. All dealt with, of course. No hard feelings.

(Lots of them.)

“You dealt with the drunkard just fine, right Newt?” his dad chattered towards the blond, patting him on his back and Newt forced a smile and a nod. Thomas saw this particular expression too often to not recognize it and huffed while sitting down at the counter with his own coffee.

He was used to being a bad guy anyway, no matter how much of the blame he genuinely deserved. They both knew he didn’t get drunk because he wanted to get wasted enough to drop unconscious on a spot and Newt would be a hypocrite to badmouth him when he was pouring all his whiskey to Thomas’ glass with thankful expression yesterday. But then again, not even he could tell Thomas’ dad about it, so they just had to have this unspoken oh yes, Thomas is a real piece of work as always.

Which sort of sucked. But Thomas couldn’t care less what his dad thought about his alcohol tolerance, it wasn’t like he threw up everywhere or broke mum’s precious bowls set (again). Not that he expected Newt to defend him anyhow, but he could at least say nooo, he was fine, he just fell asleep or something. Not that it surprised him he didn’t, but…

“He used to drink majority of guys from my work under the table and now look at him,” his dad delivered his fifth Thomas can’t drink for shit jab. He sure loved to milk that. “At least he has you to look after him, huh.”

Thomas stared at Newt’s back with mild annoyance the more the blond refused to elaborate on anything, just smiling at his dad while making himself a cup of coffee, and then Thomas’s eyes suddenly fell on the nape of Newt’s neck with a vicious, red mark near the hairline, and his whole body seized up like he got paralyzed.

A hickey? Since when? From who? What? Wait, was Newt already dating somebody else?

Saying already like three years were short amount of time… Thomas mentally scolded himself and his body raised up on its own volition, like being pulled in by some invisible force towards the blond. He had no clue if it were a twisted need for revenge or vindication or just him being unable to come in terms of not being told or warned, or maybe all of it together, he just couldn’t stop and plastered himself all over Newt’s back, trapping him between his body and the counter, circling his thin waist like a vine (he got thinner for sure).

“Of course I have you, don’t I,” he purred into Newt’s ear, loud enough for his dad to hear perfectly, and felt how Newt’s whole body froze, his hand mid-stir of the coffee. Thomas could see how his Adam’s apple bobbed when he gulped. “Looking after me when I get hammered into unconsciousness.”

“Yeah.” Newt’s voice sounded small, and Thomas wanted to bite down at that red, angry place on his nape like an animal. His dad probably wouldn’t appreciate it, but his ego sure would. He let his hands slide lower, to Newt’s hips, grabbing a handful, and the habitual movement made him restless. He did it zillion times during the time they were together. He did less, he did more, naked, clothed, lying, standing up, in whatever situation, touching Newt was his privilege.

And some fucking horny prick just took it?

Just marked his boyfriend – ex-boyfriend, Thomas, ex-boyfriend for three years, pull yourself together, you’re not 17 anymore – like a property and he didn’t even fucking notice?

Newt’s breath hitched and the spoon he was holding dropped into the coffee, splashing the black liquid around it, dribbling down the drawers under, making the blond curse under his breath.

“Sorry,” he immediately said towards Thomas’ dad who was handing him a cloth to wipe it with, and started squirming. “Thomas, leggo. Can’t reach.”

“Don’t wanna,” Thomas refused, squeezing Newt even tighter. “I’m hangover and miserable and you’re supposed to take care of me.”

Thomas’ dad snorted but took the hint and retreated while calling at his wife the boys are being rowdy again, Anna! And the kitchen fell back into silence, except of their breathing, with Thomas plastered against Newt’s back like he wanted to topple him over (he sort of did).

“Do you enjoy being a bloody prick?” Newt finally broke the spell, pawing at Thomas’ hands to get them off, his voice an angry whisper. “What’s your deal, for fuck’s sake!”

“Hangover,” Thomas huffed, not letting go and to be completely honest, Newt wasn’t really trying as much, just slapping his hands half-heartedly. “Could’ve at least said I didn’t give you any trouble, I covered for you the whole night.”

“You gave me loads of it!” Newt started wiggling, and Thomas had to fight the urge to just bite down, mark any piece of skin available, to make the restlessness go away. “You were heavy as fuck, I had to carry you all the way to your room!”

“Yeah, and?” Thomas grabbed him lower, and Newt pinched his hand in revenge, which finally made him let go with sharp breath.

“Fuck you,” the blond barked at him with fiery eyes. “I don’t know what you are trying to prove but groping me is not on the bloody table, get it?!”

“Mhm,” Thomas rubbed the place Newt pinched him at. “Sure. No fun allowed, got it.”

“Fuck off!”

Thomas hated how Newt turned away and the hickey was so visible it made his insides churn. He used to talk about his problems a lot these past few years, so he could finally let go of whatever was holding him in place, unable to forget, and he thought he reached that point, that he was free.

Looking at Newt marked by another man… no. He was not. Still stuck, still the same.

Still angry and miserable.

Still… there.

***

The fact Newt refused to talk to him completely was an understatement. Thomas blamed his unsteady approach on the alcohol, because what else he could blame it on – his own feelings? He sodealt with those already, there was nothing that would make him see red.

Except of a hickey on his ex-boyfriend’s neck, that would do it. Apparently.

But still – it was the hangover that made him stupid, right. If he’d be completely sober and not aching anywhere and his mind clear, he would just… shrug at it. It was Newt’s business who he slept with or not, or who he let bite his nape like a dog (some young fucking idiot who thought hickeys are still sexy? Stupid shit).

Not Thomas’. Not anymore.

The more he tried to push it away from his mind, the more his mind pushed back, just pointing it out loudly every time he glanced towards the blond sitting on the couch in the living room, bundled in a fluffy blanket, fiddling with his phone.

He was fiddling with his phone a lot actually. Texting somebody?

The guy who left the mark?

Thomas felt the irrational anger seep into his consciousness again and he forced it back down with a frown. He knew asking Newt to help him to get his parents off his back wasn’t exactly a great idea (asking ex to be your bf again for a show just screamed trouble), but at the same time asking anybody else just felt… wrong.

Thomas had to admit he’d be able to go along with this only with Minho, probably. Because Minho was a born actor, he’d be able to breeze though this with ease and Thomas’ parents would like him for sure, because, well, everybody liked Minho, honestly.

Asking Teresa or Brenda was just… desperate. Because other than them it would be Newt and getting back together with Newt… well. Thomas could tell from the moment he saw him getting into his car in front of Newt’s workplace it was going to be tough for both of them.

Not much of a surprise so far climbing Mt. Everest would be easier than keeping his chaotic feelings under control.

“You need some fresh air,” his vision of Newt got obstructed by his mum in a frilly apron she wore unironically and he looked up to her with half-lidded eyes.

“I think I need chicken soup, actually,” he offered in response, because dragging himself through the snow outside now sounded like a death penalty.

“Air first,” she insisted, adamant, and turned towards Newt like an executioner. “Right, Newt? A walk would do him good.”

Newt looked at Thomas and Thomas just knew. He was doomed. Newt was going to betray him like Scar did with Mufasa and he’d enjoy it, he could see the glint in his eyes, just shining there, spelling revenge in big, neon letters.

Please, he mouthed at the blond in desperation and Newt tilted his head to the side and then his mouth curled up.

“Sure, that’s a great idea, Anna,” he signed the death certificate without an ounce of shame and relished in it.

Fuck you, Thomas mouthed again, and Newt sent him a condescending smile. Fuck him especially.

***

“You’re unusually quiet,” his mum casually pointed out like she didn’t just drag him out to cold ass weather while holding a knife (butter one, but that’s what made it scarier), despite his very vocal (or vocal sort of, too loud and his brain wanted out of his skull) protests.

“Hungover,” he reminded her bitterly. The snow under their feet crunched sharply and the noise was tearing his brain to pieces, like walking on a broken glass and he had no idea how much longer he’d be able to act like it wasn’t killing him.

“Well, it was nice of you to cover for him,” Anna shrugged like she didn’t just blew their cover with a killer one liner and Thomas probably shouldn’t have been as surprised. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen him drink.”

“That’s cuz he can’t drink for shit,” he mumbled with a frown. “Did dad notice?”

“No,” she shook her head. “He was too busy boasting about the partnership. It’s been some time since I’ve seen him so happy, you know how he hoards the whiskey otherwise.”

“Yeah, cheapskate,” Thomas snorted, and the noise sliced his brain painfully, like an instant karma.

“Think he was happy about Newt being back too,” she hit the nail on the head a bit too close to home and Thomas hated how his stomach lurched at it. “Well, you know him.”

“Sure is happy for not getting any grandkids,” he just grumbled and Anna patted him on his back.

“We still have Hannah,” she reminded him sweetly. “Maybe one day she’ll feel like having kids and force you to babysit for her two times a week.”

“Me? You’re going to be the grandparents, it’s your obligation to babysit!” The idea of taking care of Hannah’s kids made him scared for life, and they didn’t even exist yet.

“Pretty sure Newt wouldn’t mind,” she chirped happily, and Thomas loathed how right she probably was. Newt never really showed any kind of real interest in having kids or anything, but he never minded babysit for his own sister, and generally all the kids liked him.

Not that thinking about that had any merit anyway, since they split up with a point of no return. Maybe Newt already planned kids with the new person who left the distasteful hickey on his nape, or the person who he kept texting, and the more Thomas thought about it, the more his chest burned.

“Cherish him a bit more, would you,” she poked his arm. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you have some beef between you. Had an argument before coming here?”

Why the fuck is she so perceptive?

“A bit,” he answered quietly. “No biggie.”

“Set things right,” she plainly ordered him like he was ten again and had do her bidding. “I don’t want another sad Christmas.”

There isn’t going to be any Christmas for us, he wanted to tell her, but kept his mouth shut. At this rate, there wasn’t going to be anything for them, at all.

I really need some sleep.

***

Not very often did the morning come so peacefully, like a gentle spring washing over tired soul, leaving it invigorated. Thomas basked in the pleasantness of it, a quiet, warm and relaxed moment where he slowly woke up from a dream into reality still welcoming and soft like he never left the fantasy realm.

He took a deep breath, stretching, slowly coming to realize of contours of another body pressed into him, and under his hands and around his legs and under his chin. The soft blond hair came to view when he opened his eyes, with Newt draped around him needily, and his heart melted.

The first night in their flat. Their home. A place that only belonged to them, these walls and floors, and small kitchen and big windows, for them together. It came true, finally, inevitably, for Thomas to have Newt all for himself, to share his mornings, his evenings, his life with him. Nothing else could make him happier.

“You already up?” came a sleepy rumble from Newt’s chest, the hands holding Thomas’ waist slowly moved up, to his back, pushing them even closer together.

“Just woke up,” Thomas kissed the top of the blond strands, his own hands traveling over Newt’s back, right onto his butt, kneading it.

“Mmmm.” Approving sound doubled his endeavour and then Newt was slowly grinding to him, lazily, his lips stretched in a smile, reaching to pamper Thomas’ neck with small kisses. “This sure is nice, huh.”

“Love it,” Thomas agreed with the sentiment while grabbing Newt’s thigh and hiking it up over his hip. The blond softly moaned at the contact and Thomas pushed more into it, completely awake and needy and allowed. There was nobody that could hear them, scold them or gasp in shock like a puritan at them making out – just them, two lovers in their home, free to make love any time they wanted.

And Thomas wanted too much.

***

He never stopped wanting.

He woke to his room bathing in shadows, with the blanket twisted between his legs, his headache still present, even though in weaker state than in the morning, and his body wasn’t any less sluggish. The walk with his mum didn’t help him much, just added to his misery with freezing cold and nagging reality he couldn’t play this game any longer, which made him feel empty and unhappy.

He didn’t feel this unhappy in a while, it usually only came back when he heard of Newt about a year after the breakup. Every time his ex came back to his life, even when somebody only mentioned him in a passing conversation, Thomas’ chest set off that painful pang in it, like a trigger just waiting to be pressed, and he fell back into hollow kind of depression.

He got rid of it, somehow. He built walls around himself, he locked all of his twisted personality traits and pushiness and hateful behaviour away, he spent years searching for more he could fix, for all that made Newt unhappy with him, what made him leave Thomas after seven years without really talking about it.

He thought he managed to become a better person. He believed he could change the way he acted. He hoped if he ever talked to Newt again, at any point of their lives, he would be at least able to show him he wasn’t that ungrateful, lousy boyfriend anymore, that they could at least be friends. Somehow. Just talk normally. Just… exist in the same room without… Newt making that anguished face, like it hurt him still.

Thomas tried. But failed. Maybe it was just recurring theme of his life – to touch something wonderful, to taste true happiness, just to fuck it all up and lose it.

Maybe he was just obsessive. Suffocating.

Maybe making mistakes were rooted too deep in him to get rid of.

Maybe… it was simply impossible.

***

Newt was playing games with Hannah in the living room when Thomas came back down. Hannah made fun of him for sleeping all day like an old guy and his mum said something about hoping he didn’t catch a cold and gave him a bowl of chicken soup.

The strange, unattached feeling stayed with him since he woke up, and only doubled when he saw Newt’s neck marked by some fucker on display. His stomach churned at the implication there was this unknown guy waiting for Newt to come back home, who kept impatiently sending him texts that made Newt frown and smile in turns, like he just slowly sunk back into the problem they never resolved. Thomas felt disgusted with himself, and angry, and, when it came to it, immensely tired.

“Oh, you have the whole week free?” his mum asked suddenly, breaking Thomas’ bubble of trying to eat the soup like a mental case of lobotomy, and he realized there had been a conversation going in meantime and he didn’t catch any of it. Newt wasn’t playing the game anymore, though Hannah still furiously pressed buttons on her controller, and instead of it sat on the couch, turned towards Thomas’ mum at the table.

“Yeah, thought getting out of the city might do me good,” he answered her with a soft smile and the idea of another week like this sent Thomas into desperate mode. Even though it was him who forced Newt to take whole week off, because… he only had bad ideas, obviously.

“But there’s bit of a rush now, right?” he entered the conversation impulsively and Newt glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “At work. Christmas and all that being close.”

“Yeah, it’s… a bit hectic,” the blond admitted, making Thomas’ mum go aww. “There’s lots of people taking vacations they didn’t spend yet, so we usually work crunch time.”

“Yeah, kind of same,” Thomas added. It wasn’t really a lie. But not the truth either. “And I know I said a week, but I’ve got some texts from work already, thought of going back tomorrow instead.”

Newt stared at him with an evident confusion, but Thomas knew at this rate they were going to crash and burn again if they stayed, and he didn’t want that. He couldn’t even trust himself to keep it civil when his blood boiled like in a bull taunted with red flag.

Except the red flag was an unknown nobody on the other side of the line of Newt’s phone.

And bed.

“Uh,” came from the blond. “No, wait. What? You…”

“We can visit again during Christmas,” Thomas offered a big fat lie, he almost bit his tongue at it. Christmas were a taboo, he knew mentioning it were already risky, but it gave him an out with his mum, so that worked at least. “When it’s calmer.”

“When is what calmer?” Newt still stared, Thomas said almost disbelieving, and he just prayed for him to play along and not act like he knew nothing about it.

“Work,” he answered stiffly. Too stiffly, he realized, since Newt’s eyes narrowed.

“Uh oh,” he heard Hannah interject, which meant he already failed in the mission to make this believable. Fuck.

“I need a smoke,” the blond announced instead of reacting and stood up sharply. Then shot Thomas a badly masked glare. “Keep me company?”

He wanted to say no but couldn’t when his whole family watched them like during tennis match. So he just nodded and followed Newt outside of the house while feeling like slapping himself.

***

“Care to explain or am I supposed to guess.”

The cigarette was lit, its fiery tip shone bright in the darkness of the porch once the automatic light shut itself because they weren’t moving like they rooted in the wooden floor. Newt was wearing his coat and Thomas only stood there in the long-sleeved shirt, which in retrospect was probably a mistake.

“I did explain,” Thomas said. “Just thought about work-,”

“No, you didn’t,” Newt stopped him immediately while crossing one of his arms on his chest while other held the cigarette like a weapon. “You said a week, so I took a week off. I’m not bloody leaving now. It’s my vacation.”

“I also said three days would probably be enough,” Thomas asserted. “And they are. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Why?” the blond demanded. “It’s not like I suffer here. I like this place. What’s your problem?”

That kind of question had no easy answer and Thomas held Newt’s eyes only for few seconds, before looking away.

“Am I the problem?” came another question, even sharper. “You just can’t stand me anymore, so you want to leave?”

“You know that’s bullshit,” Thomas scoffed. “Since when did I ever-,”

“No, I don’t know!” Newt interrupted him with raised voice and Thomas flinched. “I don’t bloody know anything about you anymore! You brought me here and expected what? War? Did you want us to fail?”

“Why would I want us to fail?” Thomas’ eyes widened in a shock. “What kind of fucked up logic would that be?!”

“I don’t know!” Newt barked. The cigarette he was holding was slowly fading away, the ash falling everywhere how he moved his hand. “But something’s up since this morning, so obviously you’re lying about work and I want to know why!”

Well, finding out his ex-boyfriend had a lover, or a sex friend or whatever the other person was definitely served as a wake-up call. Thomas couldn’t overlook it – he thought he’d be fine with anything, it had been years, but one fucking hickey and some fleeting texts and he just had the rising urge to tear the walls he built down and get angry and make Newt inevitably miserable, which he despised.

He fucking loathed it. And himself. And everything around him.

“Why did you even agree to come here?” he couldn’t help but demand. “Why did you even bother playing this stupid game when you have somebody home? You trying to make him jealous or it’s just your thing?”

Accusing – stupid Thomas, fucking idiot, just talk normally, what’s wrong with you – as always.

“What?” Newt’s eyes shot up, wide in honest surprise. His cheeks were red from the cold, or maybe embarrassment, Thomas didn’t know. “What are you talking about?”

“About that hickey on your neck?” Thomas pointed towards the incriminated spot and Newt’s whole body went rigid.

“A hickey…?” Newt’s free hand was touching the place now, his voice shocked. “You… ugh.”

“Look, it’s not my business, clearly,” Thomas rubbed his eyes tiredly, desperately trying to make an excuse for his own consciousness why he couldn’t look at Newt. “But obviously it’s causing you trouble with him, so. As I said. Three days are fine, we can leave now. Go back home. Forget about this.”

And forget about me trying to corner you, and me getting hard in the bed with you this morning, and me sounding jealous and lame, and me… just for being me.

“Are you fucking with me?” Newt’s voice sounded disbelieving. “Are you bloody serious right now? A hickey from some random guy appeared over night here? That’s what you’re saying?”

Overnight…?

“Overnight?” he asked a little dumbly, which forced him to look Newt in the eyes, where he saw hell unleashed. It made his throat squeeze almost hard enough to suffocate him.

“You think I just popped back home for a quickie, then back to your bed in the morning like a bloody Cinderella?” the blond seethed, the cigarette in his hand morphing into a protentional weapon of choice. “Where did that even came for, for fuck’s sake? You’d been seeing me for two days, never noticed anything, and then suddenly your Esmeralda syndrome got cured or what?”

“But-,”

“You bloody drunk fucker,” Newt took a step towards him and Thomas found himself hitting the entrance door with his back, when he automatically tried to back out. “Should have known your bird brain won’t remember anything.”

The realization hit Thomas like tons of bricks right in his face, able to cause heavy concussion if it were real.

“I did this?!”

“No, the bloody sucker behind you, who the fuck do you think?!” Newt’s voice was harsh, but Thomas could only hear the bare fact he made a hickey of size of Texas on his ex-boyfriend’s nape while spending the next day being jealous… of himself.

“What the fuck,” he breathed out with an ugly relief flooding his veins, which was all sorts of wrong. Being relieved over attacking his ex at night definitely did not count as a good point in anybody’s book. “What the fuck.”

“Calmer now?” Newt sighed in exasperation and Thomas couldn’t say he was. It just opened door to another set of bad he had to deal with.

“I attacked you when drunk?” he asked quietly, and Newt blinked in surprise.

“Attacked?” he repeated and then barked out a laugh. “No, you really didn’t. You were drunk out of your mind, for fuck’s sake.”

“I see.”

“Didn’t think it left anything,” the blond sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if in memory, which was kind of hot – no Thomas, it was not hot, but embarrassing, shut up -. “I mean you just munched on me a little, then fell back asleep. No harm done.”

“You made a fuss about us sleeping in one bed but it’s no biggie when I leave a hickey?” Thomas couldn’t help but laugh a little and Newt’s face showed signs of hesitation.

“Look…” he tried after a moment, the cigarette in his hand nearly gone. “I… don’t know, you were just sleeping while holding me, it doesn’t mean anything-,”

“And that’s fine with you?” It was Thomas’ turn to interrupt him, and Newt looked a little lost for a moment.

“I suppose that’s fine with me, yeah,” he admitted slowly.

Thomas looked at his shoes, taking in a deep breath. He couldn’t deny the knot forming in his belly over the day already started easing off, for purely selfish reasons he had, but at the same time his head became even a bigger mess than before.

“So what does it mean?” he asked after a while. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, I thought… you’d rather leave than stay with me longer, after today, but…”

“I want to stay,” Newt answered immediately. “Unless you really don’t want me here. Then no, of course. I had the same problem the first day, feeling all kinds of weird and jumpy. I guess I just sort of dealt with it. Stepped out of my comfort zone and all that.”

“Sorry you had to.”

It wasn’t like Thomas wanted Newt to change anyhow by doing this favour for him. But he’d also be a hypocrite if he didn’t admit he wished Newt to feel good here. With him. Selfishly, hopelessly. Like before, like they were okay. Like they still… liked each other. At least a little.

He knew that kind of hope was self-destructive and harmful, but he didn’t stop loving this man three years ago, after going through an immensely rough patch, so he wouldn’t stop loving him now for no reason either.

“No need to be sorry,” Newt interrupted his thoughts with much softer tone than Thomas expected. “I mean even despite it’s you, you didn’t really do anything bad yet.”

“Wow,” Thomas snorted. “Way to ruin the mood, boyfriend.”

“I try,” Newt grinned, and it seemed like the tense mood dissipated and they both relaxed enough to breathe easier. Thomas possibly wouldn’t even notice he had been so strung up until now, if the huge boulder of irrational fear of fucking up didn’t fall off his shoulders with a bang.

“And just for the record,” Newt added while finally inhaling the last puff from the already burned-out cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “I noticed you digging into me in the morning.”

“Of course you did…” Thomas banged the back of his head against door in utter shame. “Because universe hates me, and you had to fucking wake up.”

“Yeah, well,” Newt let out a small shrug. “I got hard at night, if it makes you feel any better. Let’s call it even.”

“What.”

“Had a real nice dream,” the blond casually announced like he was ordering pie with no filling and Thomas was a stupefied cashier at Costa Cafe. “Woke up with you being handsy with me. Tried to scramble away, cue for you to make the hickey and fall back asleep.”

“Uh.”

“1:1, right?” The sly smile Newt’s mouth produced did things to Thomas’ underbelly and before he even caught himself, he automatically reached out and grabbed Newt’s side.

Fuck.

“Pretty lousy score,” he just said – bad Thomas, stop making a pass at your ex -, “That’s no match whatsoever.”

Newt glanced at his hand resting on his waist and then back to Thomas with a thoughtful hum.

“I’m not that good at sports,” he just said, looking back into Thomas’ eyes. “But you might be onto something.”

Thomas took a deep breath and risked the second hand grabbing other side of Newt’s waist, pulling him closer. The layers of clothing made him dissatisfied, no matter how cold it was and how his skin already felt like ice, he just wanted to get under the coat and the sweater and the shirt and make Newt react somehow. The blond just silently watched him, let him do whatever he wanted, and somehow it felt like a test and Thomas was scared of failing it.

“That’s it?” Newt broke the tense silence around them when Thomas just stood there, holding him.

“Thinking,” the brunet mumbled with a frown.

“About?”

“How to touch you without it being classified as groping,” he moved his hands a little lower as an experiment, getting no reaction. “Since it’s off the table.”

“Pfff.”

He hesitated, then gingerly let go of one side and reached for the zipper lodged under Newt’s chin, keeping the coat closed like a fortress. His hand barely cooperated with how frozen it was, but Newt still didn’t stop him and that encouraged him unfairly.

“Newt.”

“Yeah?” the blond’s voice was quiet and close to his face.

“What’s with all the texting?” He kept holding the zippier between his fingers like he couldn’t decide, and Newt made a soft huh? noise in the back of his throat.

“You were on your phone the whole day,” Thomas lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Is there somebody…?”

A sigh. Thomas let go of the zipper.

“That’s Alby,” came a reply and if Thomas wasn’t already propped against the door, he’d take a step back. There was nowhere to run now, so he just let go of the blond completely, nodding.

“He’s my partner,” another string of words Thomas comprehended but wished he didn’t. “A bit demanding one.”

“Sounds like it,” he just commented, staring at his feet until Newt’s shoes came into view as well when he stepped closer.

Seriously testing me. That’s-

“A bit cruel,” he breathed out with a puff of white smoke and Newt pushed further and pressed his mouth against Thomas’. His cold lips lingered for a moment before parting, their breaths mingling, and Thomas’ heart fought really hard to get out of his chest and run away. The proximity was non-existent, Newt stood so close their chests were touching, and his eyes were so dark, and pupils blown wide Thomas got easily lost in them.

He always did. Nothing had changed.

“You look cold,” Newt whispered to his lips, hovering so close their mouths gently touched when they took a breath.

“Freezing,” Thomas answered in daze, holding back only by a miracle. He wanted to reach out and pull the blond man flush against him, to grind into him, to kiss him so deep his toes would curl, and he’d buck up, he just wanted so much it made him suffer.

“Alby’s my colleague,” Newt dropped quietly. “Funnily… you weren’t wrong about work being in a rush now. He’s struggling a little. Wanted to know my opinion.”

A colleague. And nothing else?

“Nothing else,” Newt answered like he could read his mind and then sagged against Thomas’ body like the energy just left him, resting his head on Thomas’ shoulder.

“I thought I can handle being this close to you,” he heard him mumbling into his shirt. “But the more I am, the less I can fight it.”

“I thought I can handle you dating somebody else,” Thomas added to it while letting his head fall back against the door with a dull thud. “But obviously not. It’s scary. I don’t want to fuck it up again.”

“Yeah,” Newt agreed with him. “Me neither.”

He wasn’t sure if this had been some sort of consensus they reached, or just a fling that happened because they were both lonely, but Thomas didn’t want to let go – even though he should have, logically, to protect them both. The pain they caused to each other three years ago was still there and festering under their skins, but the more Newt was pressed into him, breathing softly, the more Thomas noticed his reason slowly creeped away, like a thief in the night disappearing with loot.

But he wanted. For fuck’s sake how he wanted to just hold him close and promise him love and eternal happiness, and the scary part was he couldn’t promise shit. His love was real, but not unconditional, happiness was fleeting and simply relying on both of them and the rest of the world deciding whatever to fuck them up or not.

But…

“I give up,” he mumbled, weary to the bone. At Newt’s soft hm? he just sighed. “It’s fucking cold.”

The blond barked out a laugh, but nodded and let go of him, immediately taking all the warmth away.

“Then shall we assure them we’re not breaking up again?” he nodded towards the door and without waiting for Thomas’ reply he already reached for the handle. “Or not leaving tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” the brunet conceded. “Hannah’s going to be milking this for the rest of the week…”

“Serves you right,” Newt laughed quietly while opening the door and Thomas kept the answer to himself.

We’re not breaking up again rang in his head like a bell, deafening his reason even further. Newt didn’t protest when he reached for his hand on their way inside, and he wondered if his heart was ready for another trial.

He ignored the uncertainty and took a leap of faith.

#newtmas #tmr #the last resort series #the maze runner #izzymultifan #edit 17. 5. 2021

[statticscribbles]

Puppy Pt 2

Summary: Reggie/Reader Request: Puppy Pt. 2 Reggie gets upset with the football team cause they keep trying to keep ‘em away from the reader because he’s too much of a “puppy”/ keeps getting distracted by her and he gets into a fight like “so what if I am!”

“Listen Y/N. we’re glad you make Reggie happy, so so glad.” “Honestly you’re probably one of the best things to happen to him but-“ “Stay the fuck away from him when we have practice or on game days.” You stare evenly as the Bulldogs surround you. “Really guys? Threatening me? “If you do what we say then it’s not a threat.” “What are you even threatening me with?” “Oh not you, Reggie.” “What? That makes no sense.“ “The more you distract him from the game, the more time we make him practice, the longer he spends away from you; the more miserable he gets. It’s a vicious, vicious circle; but such is life.” You scowl as the Bulldogs nod moving away from you. “Hey babe what was that about?” Reggie scowls at the retreating Bulldogs. “They think we shouldn’t spend so much time together; that I’m distracting you from practice.”

“Oh; well if they think that with no reason; we should give them one.” “Reg; no they said they were gonna punish you for it. “First I’m team captain; second, they punish me I make them do it with me; so if we’re running five extra laps here and there, well it’s not really that bad is it.” He grins and you sigh shaking your head. Cheryl insists on practicing on the field while the Bulldogs are running laps, you know this is mostly Veronica’s doing; and excuse to watch Archie, as well as incentive from Toni; who’s photographing the practice’s for the Blue and Gold for the moment. You make a point when you go on break to hike your skirt slightly higher and stretch right as Reggie breaks to let everyone rest. “Hey Y/N; hows the vixen’s going?” He hums into your ear pulling you against him you try your best not to watch the Bulldogs glaring when he pulls you in for a kiss.

“I don’t even wanna thing about how many death glares I’m getting.” “Y/N. You’re distracting Reggie; he’s getting clingier by the day and it’s shameful seeing a Bulldog act like that.” You frown at Chuck who smirks Reggie glare shaking his head. “And what would you know about being in a relationship Chuck?” “Well it wouldn’t make me such a whiny pathetic shell of my former self.” Reggie looks unimpressed. “Well if all of you agree with Chuck; then we should do something about it right?” Besides Archie everyone agrees. Reggie smirks. “Just as I thought; alright then; ten more laps.” “What you can’t-“

“Only way to get back to how I was is to train more; Archie since you disagree go home; the rest of us are going to actually train.” You’re trying not to laugh when the rest of the team death glares Reggie or when Archie offers to buy you Pop’s while you wait for Reggie to finish training. “See you at Pop’s later.” You lean over to kiss him and catch a couple of the other Bulldogs moving towards where Archie stands.

You look up from the shake you’ve gotten to see Reggie grinning as he walks in. “Oh my god what happened?” “Nothing? Oh come on I get one black eye from actually walking into a door and you’re convinced I like getting punched by the snakes.” “Reg, you okay?” You look up to him and he sighs nudging you back in the booth so he slides next to you leaning on your shoulder. “Chuck and the Bulldogs that agreed with him said I shouldn’t be with you at all. Said you were too much of a distraction.” “Oh my god they beat you up?” You cringe and Reggie shrugs. “Slammed me into the ground and the gym bleachers’ wasn’t too bad.” “Wasn’t too bad? You can’t even see out of your eye and half your face looks like you painted it purple! If you say you should see the other guy I swear…” You narrow your eyes and frown when a notification pops up from the group chat.

“Cheryl sent a video?” “Yeah she got it on camera apparently.” “And she didn’t do anything to help!?!” You snap and Reggie leans over pressing play. “Seriously Reggie you can’t think it’s not a problem.” Chuck glares crossing his arms and Reggie shakes his head. “I love Y/N I’m not going to stop spending time with her or caring about her just cause you’re not getting any or think my relationship is getting in the way of the team.” “If you think-“ Chuck starts but does’t finish as Reggie shoves him back so he ends up crashing onto the bleachers in the gym. You grimace as a couple of the other bulldogs grab Reggie and shove him into the bleachers; watching as he stills before the release him. “See Mantle; that girl isn’t good for you.” Reggie nods smirking before he grips Chuck by the back of the neck shoving him towards the bleachers again. ‘Shit.” Reggie cringes when Chuck hits the side catching his arm on the corner banister before tumbling in between the seats.

You look back to Reggie who grins. “Okay Chuck’s arm seems way worse but; stop smiling you just beat the shit outta someone. You’ll get in trouble.” “No I won’t thanks the Cheryl’s video; he threw the first hit; so everything I did was technically self defense. Besides you really think coach is going to throw the team captain off?” Reggie laughs pulling his shake over as its set down. “True, now what’s this about you being in love with me I heard?” “Yeah?” Reggie shrugs and you chuckle. “Not even going to deny it?” “Why would I? I love you Y/N. As we can see not even the football team can change that.”

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[sope-and-shine]

My Favorite Kitty

-> SFW // Shifter!AU // fluff, angst (if you squint) // Shifter!Taehyung -> Pairing: Yoongi x Taehyung -> Word Count:  3.6k -> Summary: What else is Yoongi supposed to do when his best friend gets him a cat but accept it and take care of the fluffy creature. But Jin may not have told him everything about his new pet.  -> Warning(s): mild language, nightmares, avoiding sleep, Kim Seokjin (cause I think he should always have his own warning) 

a/n: Sooo... I’ve been working on this for almost a year... cause I’m a dummy who can’t write consistently... BUT it’s finally done and just in time for @cest-la-tae​‘s birthday. Daija boop I know you been waiting for this since I hard you read is months ago, so I hope you like it!

*

Yoongi honestly doesn’t remember how he and Jin became friends. Sure he’d tell people Jin had annoyed and followed him so much that he didn’t have a choice. But neither boy could ever think of a time they didn’t know each other. Maybe they met in school before Yoongi’s parents had died in that freak accident. Yoongi remembers being so scared and alone, everything he knew was suddenly going away. And then he found himself living with his best friend and that’s how it’s been since. He’d never be able to forget how much he owed Jin’s family and the man himself.

Growing up with Jin had been an adventure. The two were polar opposites. Jin was a people person, beautiful, popular, the ideal student. Yoongi wanted nothing more than to be left alone, keep his head down and simply do what was needed to achieve his dreams.

But regardless of what he wanted, people knew him. They’d have to be living in the stone age not to know the illustrious Kim Seokjin’s broody best friend. They were nice to him because otherwise Jin would have their heads, and no one wanted to be on the King’s bad side.

Yoongi had never been a fan of two-faced bitches, so anyone who tried to make nice with him simply to get to Jin, well they were in for a rough time. Some could describe Yoongi as nasty and vicious. Once a girl even tried to tell Jin to cut Yoongi out of Jin’s life. That had not ended well.

Even now that the boys had long since become adults with their own lives, they constantly inserted themselves into each other's lives. Jin made no secret that he loves Yoongi like a brother. And, while Yoongi would never admit it outloud, he loves that brat to death. They graduated college together and Jin went off to make a name for himself as an up and coming actor. Yoongi got to live out his childhood dream, creating and producing music. He preferred staying behind the scenes, being a faceless artist but his music was out there now. They even ended up at the same entertainment company.

Jin flourished, making friends wherever he went, just like always. Yoongi kept to himself, just like always, only having two close friends besides Jin. He’d help them with their own music and they weren’t as loud and boisterous as Jin, so he didn’t mind when they stuck around. Well, actually Hoseok was quite loud but his cheerful personality and kind heart made it hard to turn him away. Yoongi’s world was small and quiet and he was perfectly fine.

Mr Kim Seokjin, however, thought that wasn’t enough. He thought his pretty Yoongi should be out there living it up. He made a decent amount of money and was more than smart enough to do great at work while cutting loose. But that wasn’t what Yoongi wanted, and Jin respected that.

He still thought the man should at least have a roommate or a pet or something! Or he should have at least accepted that date Jin had tried to set up for him and Hoseok. Well before Jin had realized he had a crush on Hoseok and went on the date himself. But still, Jin constantly pestered his small friend about expanding his circle just a little bit. He wanted to disrupt Yoongi’s peaceful little world and he wasn’t going to stop until he won.

Yoongi was perfectly fine living alone. He was happy with his handful of friends and his quiet empty apartment. He didn’t want to go out cause that meant dealing with people and people were annoying. He was fine just going to work and staying home. He was a grown ass man and what he did with his life was his own choice.

Besides, Yoongi would rather keep his problems to himself. He felt bad enough that his horrible sleeping schedule was messing with his work schedule and caused Jin to worry, even if he really didn’t need to. He’d feel worse disrupting any little animal inhabiting his small studio apartment, let alone another human. He got sleep, albeit at strange hours, and handled his workload perfectly fine. The man just had a little insomnia and some nightmares from time to time, but that didn’t make him someone who needed to be babied. Jin didn’t need to constantly worry and look after him, it was getting old.

What does it matter if his annoying friend thinks Yoongi needs a pet? He doesn’t. He is perfectly fine on his own. Who cares what Seokjin thinks? Yet he still decides to waltz into the apartment at the ass crack of dawn carrying a fucking cat.

Ok, so maybe the cat was really cute. He’s pretty blue eyes staring up at him made Yoongi’s resolve weaken. But he refused to let Jin be right. Even if this cat had the softest fluffiest cream colored fur in existence. Nope Yoongi wanted nothing to do with this adorable baby.

Jin dumps the poor cat onto Yoongi’s lap before moving about the apartment setting things up for the fluffy creature. “What’s his name?” 

“I’m not keeping him, Jin.” Yoongi grumbles, finding himself regretting giving Jin a key for the millionth time.

“Why not?” Jin doesn’t even falter in his mission, knowing this time he’ll win. “What’s the harm?”

Yoongi cautiously peers down at the cat before shooing him off the bed. Deciding that a large cup of black coffee was the only thing that could help him deal with his dearest friend at the moment, the dark haired man brushed past the tiny creature to trudge to his little kitchen. “I don’t know the first thing about caring for a cat, for starters. I don’t even have the things he would need. And I’m busy with work.”

“I bought you stuff. It’s in the living room. And I know your work schedule, you can’t pull that I’m too busy crap.” Yoongi grabbed a mug only to find Jin sliding him a large cup of coffee from his favorite cafe. He ignores Yoongi’s hard glare in favor of picking up the fluffy feline. “Just give him attention, feed him, and change the litter. Easy. He basically takes care of himself.”

It was a long, hard fought battle, but in the end he kept the cat. Actually, no it wasn’t. All it took was the little fluffy ball curling into Yoongi’s belly and his soft purrs for the small man to know Tata was never leaving his side. 

Even though he’d never tell Jin, maybe Yoongi really had needed Tata. He was the sweetest baby, alway staying nearby or tucked into his side. He was the perfect companion for his lazy ass. And a great cuddle buddy when he went to sleep at night.

Tata was such an amazing addition to his world. So Yoongi really hated it when he’d wake up, tears on his cheeks after a nightmare, only to find his little friend staring up from his place on the man’s chest. He’d say it was fine, more to himself than the cat, but the stubborn boy never listened. Yoongi found it odd. He’d alway heard cats were less caring and standoffish, he’d even been compared to a cat by several people for his blunt and, at times, harsh actions. But this little guy was anything but. He’d watch Yoongi closely until he slipped back into slumber, curled up on his chest the whole time.

Yoongi never remembered the nightmares but they kept coming, and they only got worse. He slowly slept less and less. It had been weeks and the most sleep he’d gotten was 45 minute naps here and there. 

By the time a month had passed, he knew something had to change. But the man couldn’t bring himself to do anything. So Yoongi continued on as if he’d die if he slept too long. And every time he stayed up through the night, the faithful kitten was right there with him. Always looking at his human with a sad glint in his eyes, like he wanted to help but didn’t know how.

By now his coworkers and few friends had noticed the change. Yoongi was a phenomenal producer and, even with his lack of sleep, still was, but his work wasn’t at its best. That and he had to fight to stay awake as time went on. Hoseok had accidentally woken him up after barging into the smaller’s studio to tell him about the progress he had made on his mixtape. Meanwhile, Namjoon had to continually keep him from dozing off while the two worked together on songs for their own releases. Needless to say they were concerned and if Namjoon and Hoseok knew, it was only a matter of time before Jin found out as well.

Which he had, and quickly hunted Yoongi down to yell at him. He made it very clear if the man came into work the next day, he’d get the CEO of the company to ban him for 2 weeks. And Yoongi knew Jin could pull that off, at this point his chaotic best friend owned the company in all but name. Plus Bang PD always wanted to take care of his people, so the CEO would probably ban him without Jin even asking.

So he stayed home. It was easier to stay awake doing chores around his apartment than sitting in his small studio anyway. And he could dote on his pretty kitty this way. 

Yoongi spent his new found free day organizing the kitchen. How on earth some of these things ended up where they did he had no idea. He must’ve thrown his favorite coffee mix on the top shelf while unpacking in a hurry, because otherwise he’d never put it there. Besides the fact he couldn’t reach up there without climbing on the counter, the mix always went right next to the coffee maker to fuel the man’s dependence of the dark bean juice. 

The day dragged on and still Yoongi refused to rest. At one point he thought the sleep deprivation was getting to him when he heard the toilet flush even though he was nowhere near the bathroom. When he walked in and found Tata sitting on the closed lid staring up at him, Yoongi decided it was the perfect time to make a big pot of coffee and move on to scrubbing the bathroom. Tata stayed for a moment before bolting off to the kitchen, probably on a quest for his food.

Before long Yoongi’s phone was constantly going off, vibrating harshly against the ceramic tub. Not wanting to add a headache to his ever growing list of problems, he quickly snatched the annoying contraption to see a multitude of texts from Jin, Hobi, and Namjoon, all with varying degrees of threats. Really it was only Jin making threats, Namjoon and Hobi were simply telling him to rest up and take care of himself. Yoongi rolled his eyes, looking at the time before locking his phone. 

10:33 PM, the perfect time for him to start drinking his fresh coffee and start a Marvel marathon. Grabbing his biggest mug, Yoongi fills it up to the brim, lazily running his hand through Tata’s fur. Setting up his laptop with his first movie of the night. As the intro plays, he takes a huge sip of his warm coffee and cuddles up with Tata.

As the night passed by, Yoongi found himself just getting more and more sleepy, no matter how much coffee he drank. He was tired but he wouldn’t- no, couldn’t sleep. So the small man curled up on his bed, at the point of exhaustion where he just wanted to cry. But crying meant sleep, and sleep meant dreams. So he only curled around his pillow tighter and watched the seconds slip away. 

He’s so tired that he doesn’t question the deep voice humming to him and the warm arms that wrap around his smaller frame. It soothes him in the worst way, making him lethargic instead of more aware. It feels as though a memory is seeping through in his haze and attempts to lull him. Yoongi tries to fight sleep but the second his back hits the warmth behind him he’s gone.

The next thing he knew, Yoongi was snuggling deeper into the bed trying to hide from the sun’s blinding rays. When he finally managed to force his eyes open all the exhaustion from the previous night was gone. 

He barely remembered falling asleep, just the comforting warmth. The man had felt so safe and, honestly, he’d never slept better. No dreams, just sweet beautiful darkness. He’d slept so well Yoongi didn’t even remember his alarm going off.

Maybe that’s because it hadn’t. As he fumbled for his phone and caught a glimpse of the time, the small man felt his stomach drop. 1:33 PM. The numbers glared back, mocking him. He’d already missed about half a day of work, and he wasn’t about to miss the rest.

As he started to rush around, trying to look at least somewhat alive, he failed to notice the confused looking man sitting on his kitchen counter. “What’s the fuss for, hyung? You should be resting.”

“I have to get to work. I’ve already missed enough.” The smaller threw back at the blonde.

His entrancing blue eyes light up as he proudly claims, “I already called off for you!”

Yoongi stopped in the middle of the room, “Called… off?”

“Yeah! So you can get some more rest.” The man’s boxy smile grew larger, despite the slight scowl slowly appearing on the other’s face.

“I’m not going back to sleep.” Yoongi walked past the cute but annoying man, grabbing one of his coffee cups.

“Do you need more sleeping pills?”

“I don’t…” Yoongi paused, shaking his head before continuing to pour himself a cup of coffee from the pot he made last night. He didn’t have time to start a fresh pot, he’d have to settle for warming this one up in the microwave. “I’ve never taken a sleeping pill.”

“Yes you have. Hyung said you had to ingest them but I figured you’d find them in your food. But they disappeared in the black stuff.”

Yoongi stopped and slowly turned to face the man, his happiness not at all affected by the pure stupidity that had just left his mouth. “You put sleeping pills… in my coffee.”

“Yeah in the pot.”

After a moment of dumbly staring at the man, Yoongi grabbed the coffee pot and promptly dumped it down the drain. 

The blonde cried out as he watched the dark liquid go down the drain.  “But I made that for you.” Yoongi knew the man probably had a little pout on his face just from the cute whiny voice.

“I appreciate the sentiment however if in the future you could try not to poison me that’d be great.” The shorter turned back to face the man perched on his counter, and sighed. “And can you stop sitting on the conter like a fucking cat.”

With a sheepish smile, the man slipped off the counter and walked towards Yoongi. He stopped barley an inch away and dropped his head onto the smaller man’s shoulder. He reached to hold Yoongi’s waist but paused, seemingly thinking better of it. “‘M sorry.” He whispered, his breath ghosting over Yoongi’s collarbone and sending shivers up the man’s spine. Yoongi sighed and wrapped an arm around his waist, slipping the other up to run through the soft blonde strands. The taller melted into Yoongi’s touch, bringing his hands to cling on Yoongi’s waist and nuzzle into his neck.

They simply stood there, the blonde practically trying to wrap himself around Yoongi as they cuddled. Yoongi thought they probably made quite the picture at the moment, the tall blonde man with enchanting blue eyes looked quite small now. Yoongi didn’t try to fight the small smile, knowing the only one who could see it was buried in his neck. This moment was so peaceful, Yoongi almost never wanted it to end.

Suddenly the smaller realized a very crucial detail. He had no idea who this man was and how he got into his apartment. So Yoongi decided to do what any logical person would do; shout, shove him off, and throw the rest of his cold coffee at the startled man.

“Why’d you throw that at me?! I made that for you with love!!” The blonde cried, trying to wipe the coffee off his face.

“Get the fuck out of my house weirdo!” Yoongi took his chance to run over and grab his frying pan. He may not be the best at self defense but he could wield a mean frying pan. 

However, Yoongi hadn’t been expecting the blonde to have such quick reflexes. The moment he turns to swing, he feels a large hand wrap around his wrist. Firm and strong, but gentle at the same time. Yoongi tried to use his only hand to get free, only to end up with both hands being held in the blonde’s while he gently took the frying pan and set it down on the counter. “Jin-hyung did say you were feisty but I wasn’t expecting this.”

Yoongi stopped struggling, zeroed in on one very important word. “What did that stupid asshole do now?!”

“Hyung is the reason I’m here, remember?”

Yoongi scoffed, once again regretting giving Jin a key. He really needed to get that back. “No, my loving best friend didn’t say anything about letting a stranger into my apartment.”

“But I’m not a stranger, I’m Tata.”

Yoongi paused to look at the man, finally noticing his hair and eyes match his precious cat’s exactly. That and the feline has been missing the entire time the man has been here. “I thought hyung told you.”

“No, that little shit didn’t tell me anything.” Yoongi grumbled, seemingly done with fighting. Tae hesitantly let him go, pleased when he wasn’t immediately attacked.

“I thought that’s why you called me Tata. Cause you knew.” After receiving a confused and annoyed look, he continued on. “You know, cause my name is Taehyung?”

Yoongi didn’t say a word as he grabbed his phone off the couch. Angrily jabbing at it, he made his way to the contact to call his favorite hyung. 

Jin answered after the first few rings, sounding as cheerful as ever. “Hey, Yoongi.”

“Yeah, hey. WHAT THE FUCK!” Yoongi knew starting a shouting match with Jin would break his ears, but at the moment he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Yah, you brat! Where’s the respect?!” came Jin’s indignant reply, so loud even Tae flinched from his spot on the couch.

“You don’t get any, you bitch. You gave me a fucking human?!” Yoongi growled out, wishing Jin were here so he could lovingly strangle him.

“Shifter.”

“You shut up.” Yoongi glared at Tae, causing the blonde to put up his hand in surrender. Pleased that one of the two idiots might behave for the moment, he went back to trying to figure out what the hell his dearest friend was thinking. “Jin I swear I’m-”

“Going to kill me? Yeah I know. But look, you like Tata and Tae is the same person.”

Yoongi flops down on the couch with a sigh, “He is a human. I had a cat yesterday and now I have a human.”

“No take backsies! Love you bye!”

“JIN!!” Yoongi shoots up again, ready to scream and curse Kim Seokjin to hell and back, but Jin had already ended the call. “I should’ve poured that coffee on his fucking head.”

Yoongi sighed, falling back onto the couch and holding his phone up “Hey Siri, add kill Kim Seokjin to my to-do list.”

There’s a moment of silence before Yoongi is reminded of Taehyung’s presence. The shifter softly placed his hand on Yoongi’s smaller one, his expression solom. “Do I have to leave now?”

“... No. I just don’t know what to do,” Yoongi sighed and opened his arms, an invitation Tae quickly accepted, curling into the elder’s side.

“Well you can throw out the cat food. It’s nasty.” Tae mumbled, his disgust causing a gummy smile to appear on Yoongi’s soft lips “And then we can get food and cuddle for the next week.”

Yoongi’s smile dims once he remembers food means money, and money means work. “I have to go back to work.” He made no effort to move from Taehyung’s comforting embrace no matter how many times he repeated that.

“Yeah after you get more rest. Please hyung?” Tae gently pulled Yoongi closer, trying to tempt him to stay, using his best puppy dog eyes and cutest pout for good measure.

“Ugh fine.” Tae’s boxy grin returned as he nuzzled into Yoongi’s side. The smaller tried to fight off the blush rising up and softly placed a kiss on Tae’s head. The shifter perked up at the action, blue eyes staring intently in dark brown ones, before tackling Yoongi and showering his face with kisses. He tried fighting back, but Yoongi has discovered when it comes to Tae, he can’t say no.

“I liked you better when you were smaller.” Yoongi whispered once Tae had stopped, his soft smile showing of his gums and making Tae’s heart melt. They affectionately stare at each other for a while longer, before uncertainty creeps into Taehyung’s gaze. 

“It’s really ok for me to stay?” His voice was so quiet, Yoongi almost missed it. But he didn’t and his face softens, his gaze warm and comforting. His hands move to gently cup Tae’s face, his thumbs running over his cheeks.

“Yes Tae. I’d be sad if my favorite kitty left.”

#belle writes #bts #bangtan #bangtan boy #kim taehyung #v #bts v #min yoongi #suga #bts suga #shifter au #taeg #fluff #fanfiction

[ramblinganthropologist]

Fictober 21 - 2 “You have no proof”

I’m not tagging this one. It’s heavy.

Fanfic

Fandom: Inquistion

Summary: Withdrawal is hard. Dealing with that and his feelings is even harder for Owain Trevelyan. He doesn’t feel ready for this kind of thing. But maybe he doesn’t have to be. Maybe he just has to start.

(Warnings: mentions of withdrawal, child abuse, and homophobia.)

---

Another day, another pile of horse shit. Yet, somehow, still better than being a Templar. Life was funny that way.

Owain sighed in relief as he left the stable behind, body sore and mind tired. It had been a long day of taking care of the horses, punctuated by the fact he was actually afraid of them. People tended to forget that. Or maybe they did remember, and this was their way of torturing them. The Inquisitor seemed like a nice guy, so it was more likely than not that nobody had told him. He was going to go with that, because the alternative wasn’t great.

“Right… better go clean off and get something to eat.”

His mind was swimming, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been in weeks prior. He still felt the need in the back of his mind, but today it was more of a whisper than an outright scream. Tomorrow, who knew, but he was going to take his victories where he got them. A day without lyrium was in his book as good as any.

He just wished getting through this didn’t hurt so damn much.

“Alright there, Trevelyan?”

A deep voice made his insides flutter. He felt his face heat as he turned towards the barn. In his griping over the body aches, Owain hadn’t noticed that he had company. Someone was standing in the entrance to the barn, a block of wood in hand.

“Oh… Warden Blackwell.”

The man shook his head as he kept carving. He stopped to watch him, curiosity getting the better of him. Woodwork was always something he had admired as a young man, but he’d never had time to learn. Now he was probably too old for it. Knowing his luck, he’d probably cut one of his fingers off, and there would he be?

Well… not like he needed all 10 to take care of horses, but he’d like to keep them all the same. He had enough problems.

“Just Blackwell is fine.” His knife rasped against the wood again and again. From the looks of things, maybe it was starting to become a bird? “Long day?”

Owain could barely hear him over the pounding of his heart. “Oh… yes. I suppose so. I should be fine after I eat something, though.”

The man’s eyes were on him, studying him. It was hard to breathe then as he wondered just what Blackwell was looking for. Did he suspect him of lapsing on his promise? Most people did… he couldn’t blame them for that.

He just wished this one hadn’t…

“Ask the healer for herbs for the pain.” He kept carving. “Overheard a few ex-recruits talking about it.”

There went his heart again, pounding like crazy. “I will… tomorrow. Right now, I just want food and my bed.”

There was Blackwell’s eyes on him again as he stopped carving. His stomach shifted, and for not the first time in his life he felt guilty for something he hadn’t done. Right then, he was nothing more than a schoolboy being scolded for a mess he hadn’t made.

It was kind of annoying.

He took a breath before he spoke. “I assure you… I have not lapsed.”

“I believe you.” Blackwell kept carving. “Be hard for a stable hand to get lyrium anyway, unless you’re friendly with the mages.”

His carving was turning less bird like by the second. It took Owain a second to realize it was becoming a griffin. Maybe he should’ve realized that one sooner – after all, the man was a Grey Warden. Griffins were kind of their thing.

But…

“That is quite true.” He frowned. “Forgive me if I was short…”

There he went again, apologizing. In those moments, he swore he could feel his father’s hand on him, and it was hard not to wince. Even years later, he found he couldn’t escape it. Maybe he never would be able to – talk about a legacy.

“You were defending yourself.” Blackwell finished carving. “Only natural, I suppose, given the hell you’re going through.”

He held his griffin up to the light. It was a fine thing, at least by Owain’s lack of knowledge, wings spread, and beak bared in what probably would have been a vicious scream if any lived to make a sound. It was a fierce little thing – he would’ve hated to see the full-size version. Or worse… shoveled its shit.

All things considered that probably would’ve been his job…

Much to his surprise, Blackwell left the barn and met him in the yard. Owain blinked back surprise as the griffin was placed into his dirty hands. That close, he could smell the other man – there was sweat there, but also wood and hay.

It… was a nice smell.

“Here. You looked like you could use it.”

And briefly, he smiled. It was a little hard to see with the beard, but he felt it nonetheless. His heart thudded to life once more as he watched the man walk back to the barn. In that moment, he forgot how to breathe as he looked down at his gift.

This was probably the point he should have said thank you, but he wasn’t sure how to work his tongue anymore.

At least he managed to nod his head as he sped off, clutching the carving close to his pounding chest. Owain didn’t slow down until he was all the way back in his room, away from prying eyes and clicking tongues. Then he slid to the floor, back against his door, staring at the little griffin he had placed on the floor.

Blackwell had made it for him.

“Oh, Maker.”

It took him a few moments to rise and make it to the wash basin, but his thoughts were of nothing of the Warden. Even the cold water left from that morning did nothing to dissuade him of images of Blackwell, his smile, his hands… everything.

He was acting like a bloody teenager…

“Get it together, Owain. You’re far too old for this.” He brushed back wet hair from his forehead, sighing as he studied his tired expression in the glass he had hung above it. Lyrium withdrawal had made him lose a bit more weight, and the dark circles under his eyes didn’t help matters. “Best to return to reality, my friend.”

The extra splash of water did nothing to help him other than to wash the stink off, but at least he was clean enough to go get some food without offending people. His griffin soon rested next to the basin, where it would no doubt guard his room while he was away. Then he shut the door behind him to head off.

Naturally, the Great Hall was a mad rush at mealtimes. He threaded among the crowd, keeping his eyes low as he made his plate. The lyrium withdrawal made it hard for him to eat, but he needed to if he wanted strength for tomorrow. At least the ale helped keep things down as he grabbed a mug and started to look for a place to sit. Much to his relief, he found a small spot off to the side. Away from others, he was content to sit.

And as soon as he did, his stomach began to turn.

“Fuck.”

The expletive slipped from between his lips, but thankfully no bile followed. Owain rode the sudden wave of nausea, shutting his eyes tightly. The light made things worse sometimes, he found. At least it would be over soon… and lucky for him, dinner wasn’t strong smelling. He definitely would’ve vomited if so.

Things were going his way for once.

As the nausea subsided, Owain allowed a shaky breath. When nothing came up, another followed. Soon, he could risk opening his eyes. The room was no longer spinning, which meant he definitely could risk trying to eat.

But… maybe a few minutes more, just to be safe.

“Now, now, it’s not polite to swear.”

A voice from off to the side drew his attention. He cocked an eyebrow at spotting a man dressed all in black, his face a grinning skull. Ian was doing better those days as well, though he still needed to put on a bit more weight. His robes were at least not hanging as loose as they had been.

Though, it didn’t explain why he was there…

“Can I…” His eyes widened as he realized there was another standing next to him, a woman in a long dress with a cloth wrapped around his forehead. “Oh… Aeronwen.”

His sister nodded stiffly. “Owain.”

The shock ran through him as they both sat across from him, placing their plates down. He was numb in the moment as all thoughts shut down. If either noticed, they didn’t care. They were too focused on eating.

Why now? And with him?

Ian answered that for him as he sipped from his mug, beaming in a none-too-friendly way. “So… I saw you getting awfully chummy with the Warden in the yard. Didn’t think you were into the big and hairy type.”

Owain’s heart stopped, and his mind reeled. “I… no you don’t…”

Aeronwen shook her head as she put down her fork. “We know you prefer men, Owain. So does Ian.”

“And Aery’s a big ol’ lesbian, so we’re the death of the Trevelyan line!” Ian laughed cheerfully, practically throwing his head back. “Well, besides any older siblings that had children… I guess that’s a fly in the butter.”

His heart was still struggling to start back up as he took in the information. On the bright side, he definitely wasn’t nauseous anymore. Downside… everything else. This definitely wasn’t a conversation he had been planning… well, ever. But it was happening, and he couldn’t exactly escape.

Fuck his need to be polite…

Ian seized upon his stunned silence and leaned in, grinning. “So… you and the Warden…”

His face heated as he glanced to the side. “I have no idea what you speak of Ian. We work in similar spaces and have chance to speak.”

And… sometimes he got presents…

“Looking like more than just speaking to me.” Aeronwen took a sip of her ale, grimacing. “Ugh, who brewed this, it tastes like rotten dirt.”

Her cousin chuckled. “Good to see you’re still an ale snob, Aery. It does my dark little heart good to hear you complain.”

“The stuff I make is miles better.” Her eyes were back on him, however. “But we’re getting off the subject. About your crush on the Warden…”

Another pang of panic shot through Owain’s system. Them knowing his attractions was one thing… implying he had feelings for Blackwell was another matter entirely. Maybe that was why he quickly rose to his feet, almost knocking his mug over in the process.

“I don’t…” he took a shaky breath to steady himself and his shaking hands. After that, it was a sip of ale to help his dry mouth. How it tasted like dirt, h had no clue – it didn’t matter then as he put it down with a still trembling hand. “You have no proof.”

Ian and Aeronwen exchanged looks, neither saying anything. It was impossible to tell what either was thinking then. However, he sank back down in his seat regardless. Shame was squirming in his stomach for so many things right then, he just couldn’t pick one.

On the bright side… no nausea?

“It’s not a big deal, you know. He seems interested.” Ian took a hearty sip from his mug. “Might as well go for it. Once you come off the lyrium withdrawal you’re going to be horny as fuck anyway.”

“Gross.”

“What, I heard an ex-recruit talk about it.”

None of their conversation registered with Owain. He was too busy staring blankly down at his plate, unable to think. Too many thoughts were racing through his mind; he couldn’t even think to grab one and settle on it as he wordlessly ate, mostly on instinct. If the pair noticed, they didn’t say anything.

In the end, he finished long before they did. Wordlessly, he got up from the table. Before long, he was leaving the hall. Right then, all he wanted was to find his bed and stay there until things made sense again. He would even take the aches in his body over this.

Fuck…

Maybe due to his inability to focus, he missed the sudden weight on his shoulders. Then it left him. He blinked and realized that someone was standing in front of him. Paper crinkled as they unwrapped a chocolate and popped it into their mouth, eyes glowing in the torchlight.

Jackel Lavellan. Just who he didn’t need.

“You should probably work on that whole shame thing. It’s going to cost you a chance at a good relationship.” She swallowed. “That, and all the work I did. It wasn’t easy getting you from creepy templar to mostly normal.”

He winced at the memory. “I thank you for the help but…”

The words died in his throat. A thousand things he could’ve said, but he just couldn’t get them out. In the end, he settled on silence. It was an old strategy, one he had mastered as a child. Once again, it was helping him.

How were they all so… casual about it?

Jackel nudged him forward – he moved without thinking. “He likes you. It’s why he made the griffin for you.”

Maybe if this had been a month prior, Owain would have been surprised. However, time and experience had taught him the elf knew everything hidden in Skyhold. For all he knew, she had been watching from a tree. She did that a lot – made it easier to jump on people.

Again, he would know – she had knocked him down a few times.

“I…”

He frowned. “I do not think I know what to do about any of this.”

The elf gave him a nudge forward; maybe on someone else it would have been a shove. Lucky for him, she was tiny. “Stop thinking about it with the big head and go with the little one. See where that leads you.”

Humorless laughter bubbled from his lips as Owain shook his head. “I can only see it leading to disaster.”

Where else could it lead? Even if it wasn’t Blackwell, it wasn’t like he had… experience… in these matters. The other man would expect him to know things he had no idea about. Just thinking about it made his stomach squirm, and the nausea returned.

Just the time to feel sick.

“Well, I don’t. And I know more than you.” She elbowed him in the side. “So, trust me and get that Warden already. He’s practically pining. It’s rude to make him wait.”

It was also rude to presume things… but Owain’s mind traveled back to the smile and the griffin resting in his room. Just thinking about them made his heart feel warm in a way he didn’t often allow. As much as it scared him, he wanted more. Right then, he wanted it more than his next breath.

But… to actually ask…

Jackel shoved him forward again. “Just do it. You don’t have to jump his bones on day 1 even, just get it going. Mythal’s tits, you’re slow.”

Get it going.

“I… think I could do that.”

She nodded at him, clearly pleased. “Good. And don’t forget to take a bath before you fuck. You don’t want to smell like horse shit. I doubt even he’s into that.”

Her bluntness brought the color to his cheeks, but at least he managed a nod. While the dark feelings still swarmed in his stomach, there was still the warmth that refused to leave even as they swarmed.

Maybe… he would stop by the barn. Just to talk. Nothing too serious yet. Just… starting things. If there was anything to start.

That thought may have been quiet, but something about it echoed through Owain’s body. For the first time in what felt like ages, his step was lighter as he started to walk again. While a weight still weighed him down, it was easier – almost manageable. Maybe with time, he would be free of it.

But… at least he was starting. And that was something. One small step was all it took to start, after all. Where it would take him, Owain wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it was in a new direction, one completely off the path planned for him. A step he had decided all on his own, tiny as it was.

He could get used to this sort of freedom. Now… what the hell was he going to say? They hadn’t exactly covered flirting with another man in etiquette lessons…

#ramblinganthropologist's writing #Owain Trevelyan

[entriesfromangels]

Journal Entry (#17) ~

/// tw: mention of self-harm

Well i sorta have an update for you guys.

A few days ago i had a mental breakdown. Over what you may ask? Well just a lot of things...

1. two of my closest friends decided instead of working on our problems together, it was easier to just block me and avoid it all together. For my bpd and my past experiences, it has been hard to move on from it since they were such good friends. I know in my heart is was the right thing to let them go but i still struggle with it from time to time.

One of them moved with me from Texas to Washington state. Since day one she has caused drama with me, my bf and his friend. I have told her multiple times that we will try our best to include her in things but at the end of the day... she just couldn’t handle not being the center of attention and decided to leave. The reason for her even coming was to “protect” me from my bf who, for the 9 months we have been dating, has been amazing. But i understood that she was just being a good friend. it still doesn’t change the fact that she acted the way she did and isolated herself as soon as we arrived.

It sucks loosing people who were once close to you but if those people start to turn into someone completely different and someone toxic and unrecognizable... that's when the cord needs to be cut. I am glad i did, i’m a lot happier that i did but my heart still aches for the friendships that i had because at one point, they were important people in my life. Things change and people change and that's just how life is. i just have to understand that.

2. I was an americorps worker for a food bank and it was one of the reasons why i made the move to Washington. I thought it would be a wonderful opportunity for me and in the end i’m glad i took the position.

As the months went on, the more i saw how toxic the management was. The founder/CEO is the most manipulating person i have ever met. She would twist words, pressure you to say things you didn’t want to say and didn’t show any compassion for her employees. The work that is done there is awesome. They provide so many people with food and shelter. But this boss is something else. I didn’t expect the founder to be like this, so self-centered and egotistical. It was disturbing to be around. I wasn’t the only one feeling like this either. Other employees and the other americorps i worked with also felt the same and quit as did I. All the people i met while working there are all gone, except maybe for one person. It put such a strain on my mental health and really made me look at my values and integrity as a person. It was a hard decision to make but leaving was a good choice for me, despite not having income anymore.

3. That brings me to my next point.

Not having a job sucks. a lot. Especially during a pandemic and when i have a degree. Since i left, I have been doing instacart and that helps with rent and money for groceries. Of course its only temporary and can only help for a short amount of time. I am eagerly searching for jobs while doing instacart. I also decided to go into teaching so finding time to save money for grad school, having money for rent and paying other things i have to pay for is extremely difficult. Its just a lot of stress and pressure and the night i had my mental breakdown... it just all came down at once.

4. The final thing that is always constantly bothering me is my recent bpd diagnosis. I got the official diagnosis last year from my doctor. It has been really hard for me because i really don’t know much about it. Since then I have been researching and learning more things about it. I even bought some workbooks, books specifically about BPD and my bf also let borrow some of his self-help books. Its been hard because whenever something happens, it keeps going in circles, the same pattern. I start implementing these strategies, things go good for a while and then something triggers me and I start over from scratch. Its a vicious cycle and i’m FUCKING done with it. I’m done with giving up every time something doesn’t go my way or the way i want them to. Life isn’t perfect. Not everything is guaranteed. Its up to ME to make sure that i understand my journey and even though its hard, i can get through it. I’ve been at worse places in my life and this time isn’t any different.

I think the thing that drove me over the edge is that i was thinking of self-harming again. I went out of my way to get a rusty key and bring it with me into the bathroom. I had it on my wrist but something stopped me. Mostly it was the idea of what my parents would think, my boyfriend and where it would lead me if i started doing it again. The only people who know are my therapist and my bf. I know how i was when i was self-harming every time something bad happened. It wasn’t healthy for me then and it isn’t for me now.

The one thing i do have to remember however is i myself am in control of how i handle these situations. Not anyone else. Its really hard for me to accept that because i rely on so many people for my happiness when i’m missing the most important person: me

In my head it just seems selfish... to be putting myself first, you know? As i learn more and more about the disorder and how to overcome it, the more i’m realizing that it isn’t. Its not selfish to put yourself first or to take care of yourself. I’m starting to realize that... as hard as it is for me to accept.

                                                         ---

So after everything i’ve been dealing with, my bf suggested i take a break and go home to Texas for a while. So i’m doing just that. I know going home won’t solve all my problems but i am really serious about getting better. I am using this time to reevaluate everything, things that matter and putting into my head that as much as the people who love and care for me are important, that i also am too. Taking care of myself is so important, especially with bpd since this disorder can paint us in a negative light and we always think everyone is out to get us or tear us down. When in reality we are ruining our relationships and hurting ourself more in the process. We aren’t protecting ourselves... we are adding more damage than good. I’m excited to see my friends and family but more ready than ever to work on myself and continue the journey when i return home.

I got this 👍🏼

#journal entry #my thoughts #journal #staying strong #positivity #bpd #borderline personality disorder #borderline problems #borderline things

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary - Chapter 37

Warnings:  angry Tyler.  Is that a warning? lol

Tagging: @alievans007, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @thorsbathroomchicken, @innerpaperexpertcloud @valkyrie-of-the-light

It’s been two days since the incident at McMann’s house, and the worst of the physical aftereffects have begun to dissipate.  The pain that lingers in the shoulder has lessened; nothing more than a dull, throbbing ache that settles right in the joint and often travels straight down to his fingers. The black eye is at its peak, a vivid shade of purple and some blue that spreads to the top of the cheek and over to the side of his nose. The scalp is still tender to the touch, but the headache is gone, and he’s no longer plagued by periods of dizziness and nausea; the concussion…or at least the worst of it…now behind him.

They’ve been in hiding for forty eight hours.  No contact with the outside world aside from phone calls home and the video chats with Nik on the FBI’s secure satellite link. Even Yaz has stayed his distance; working closely with Mark on finding any information regarding Heather McMann’s -and the children’s- whereabouts. It’s been nothing but dead ends.  McMann hasn’t attempted any communication; there’s been radio silence from his end of things. Yet Tyler knows he’s out there. That either he…or someone he’s recruited or hired…is just lying in wait for the chance to get revenge. In McMann’s eyes he’s crossed a line; going to the house without permission, discovering the things he had, leaving four men dead in the backyard. He’s out for blood now.  The need for finding his children now outweighed by the need for vengeance.  He’s in on it. Working side by side with his wife; a sick and twisted game that only leads to more questions and dead in.  Tyler just can’t prove it. He knows there’s a connection, but he can’t seem to find what he needs to join all the loose ends. While Heather’s abduction was very much stage, the nightmare the kids are being put through is very real. What is the purpose? On faking one but following through with the others? With weaving a web so tight and so intricate? And what kind of sick person uses their children like that in the first place?

Proof. He needs proof.

And answers. So many answers.

He leaves Esme sleeping and journeys out onto the balcony; a cup of coffee from room service in one hand, SAT phone in the other, and he takes a seat on one of the plastic chairs and places his feet up on the metal railing.  He’s tired; mentally and physically. It’s six in the morning; eleven at night -previous day- in Colorado, and he briefly considers calling the house phone before dialing Ovi’s cell instead.  He doesn’t want to wake the kids, or startle his mother in law, or even let Nik know that he’s reaching out.  He’s tired of things being sugar coated; of being told that everything is fine when his instincts are telling him that they’re far from it.   Maybe the kids aren’t feeling it; they’re little and still so pure and innocent and the only thing that matters to them is that mommy and daddy call at least once a day.  And eventually come home. But he knows there is more going on than what Nik is telling him. Things have been so fucked up from the get go and there’s no way some of that hasn’t reached Colorado by now.

“Did I wake you up?” he asks, after Ovi’s given the standard ‘what’s up?’ and a loud yawn.  

“I was starting to doze.  The kids made me sleep in the backyard in the tent. Again. This is the fifth night in a row. My back hurts.”

“You guys aren’t out there by yourselves, are you? There’s guys keeping in eye on things, yeah?”

“There’s a few,” Ovi confirms. “They switch out every couple of hours.”

“Have the kids said anything? About why these guys are there?”

“They’ve asked a couple times. Why there’s people walking around and checking things out. I just told them that it makes you and Esme feel better that they’re here. That you guys hate being that far from home and you worry about them and having people here makes you worry less.  That makes them happy. They like that answer.”

“And they’re doing okay?”

 He misses them…misses his life…terribly. So much it’s physically painful at times.   And for a brief second he wishes he could back in time; to when they still been in that little apartment in Australia, before Ovi had started receiving all those threats and photos.  So he could make a different decision. Say no when it became apparent that his help was needed and there was no one else would could do the job. Things would be so different.  They never would have gotten caught up in that kind of bullshit; they’d never would have ended up in Mumbai and then back in Dhaka. Where the nightmare had started in the first place.

The other side of him holds onto the old adage that ‘things happen for a reason’.  If  he’d never gone to help Ovi the second time around, the chances were slim to none that he would have become part of their family. He’d never would have gone to see Mahajan Senior and pushed the issue of guardianship and Ovi would have been stuck in Mumbai and the vicious circle of him always needing Tyler’s help would have continued. Gaspar had been right about that; there was no way to keep him safe with his old man in jail. And the kid still would have never known what it was like to be loved. To have people that legitimately care about him and his well being.  They hadn’t just taken Ovi in to protect him, but to give him somewhat of a normal life. The chance to respected and seen as a person, not an object. To be loved.

“They get a little sad every now and then,” Ovi says. “They miss you guys.  TJ is taking it the worse. He gets really upset. Really angry.”

“Yeah, unfortunately he’s got a mix of his mother’s sensitive side and my temper. So he tends to go off from time to time. No more fights? No one has beaten the shit of anyone lately?”

“No lately. But Millie is a lot tougher than she looks. She totally kicked his ass.”

“She’s small, but she’s mighty. Like her mother.  She’s a force to be reckoned with that one.  But other than that, they’re okay? They haven’t driven anyone to drink excessively yet? Grandma hasn’t found a bridge to jump off of? That that would be a horrible thing, but…”

“No,” Ovi laughs.  “Everything is good. No one has gone crazy. Yet. Chloe is really good with them. She has a lot more patience than I do. And they really love her.  They like having her around.”

“Yeah?” Tyler grins. “I bet you like having her around too.”  

“Maybe,” Ovi sheepishly admits.  “Just a little.”

“That’s how it all starts. You get used to having them around, you realize how much you like it when they are, you don’t ever want them to leave, and the next thing you know, you’re married and you’ve got four kids and one on the way and…”

“Wait? What? I think there’s something wrong with the connection.  I thought I just heard you say one on the way? Is that what you said?”

“Yeah,” he grins. “We just found out. Two days ago.  You’re the only back home who knows. So if you’d just keep it on the down low for now…”

“This is amazing!” Ovi gushes. “Another baby! You guys make such cute babies.  You should have more. Like two or three more and…”

“This is the last one. We’re done. We’re closing up shop. Five will be more than enough. Besides, in a few years you’re probably going to be out on your own and you’re going to find someone to have your own babies with.  You won’t need to rely on us to get your baby fix.”

“I’m not going anywhere for a long time,” Ovi declares.

It’s the immaturity creeping in; the trauma that been inflicted on him making him seem so much younger than his years. As if he’s the old Ovi again; that terrified and scarred yet trusting teenager that got him to open up about his own life and the mistakes of his past. It seems like a lifetime ago; when he’d had nothing to lose and death seemed like a welcome escape. Now death is what terrifies him the most. Back then he would have welcomed it, now he’s desperately trying to escape it.  

“I just want to stay with you guys,” Ovi says.  “Forever.”

“Well, we don’t mind if you do. We kind of like having you around. But one day you are going to want to move on with your life. We’re not always going to be the most important people in your world.”

“Yes,” Ovi says. “You are. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay. With you and Esme. And the kids. I’d miss you all too much.  You guys are my family.  You’re not my real parents, but you’re still my parents. You’re still my mom and dad. Even if we don’t have the same blood and our skin isn’t the same.”

Emotion chokes at him; stunned by the teenager’s heartfelt honesty.  He’d never really considered himself to be the kid’s dad. A big brother, maybe. A father figure for sure. But he’d never used the ‘d word’ and Ovi had never dropped it until now.  But he knows he loves that kid; like one his own.  And he’d lay his life down on the line for him the same way he would for the kids he’d actually had a hand in making.  

“I’m happy for you guys,” Ovi says.  “That you’re having another baby. That I get another brother or sister.”

“Well if Esme has her way, it’ll be another girl,” Tyler smiles at the mere thought of it. Having another little girl. One that looks like her mother; dark hair and huge dark eyes and a smile that can bring even the strongest of men to their knees. “ I think she’s tired of there being so many guys in the house. And Millie definitely will not want another brother. She wanted to trade Declan in for a puppy when he was born.”

Ovi laughs at that.

“Look, mate,” Tyler begins, and take a swig of coffee. “I need you to be straight with me. When I ask you what I’m about to ask. Because I don’t think I’m getting the honest truth from Nik. And I need you to tell me the truth. Even if you think it’s going to piss me off. Can you do that?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t need you to think so. I need you to know so. Because this is fucking hard; being so far from my kids. And I don’t trust a lot of people and I’m over here trying to put all I have into guys I’ve never even met. I’m trusting complete strangers to take care of my kids and it’s fucking killing me. There isn’t a second of the day that goes by where I don’t want to say ‘fuck it’ and get on the next plane and come home.  So I need you to tell me the truth.”

“Okay,” the kid sounds nervous, but steadfast.  “I’ll tell you the truth.”

“How are things really? Because shit is hitting the fan over here and I’ve pissed some people off that won’t think twice about bringing trouble there.  They won’t hesitate getting revenge on me by going after my family. Because they know that’s what would hurt the most. What would destroy me. They won’t come after me because they know it would take a lot to kill me. So they’ll resort to doing anything they can to break me.”

It still haunts him. What he’d seen when he’d found Erin Ferguson in that room.  The things that had been done to her. The way her naked body had been mutilated and put on display. And he knows…with one hundred conviction…that if they’d been caught in McMann’s ‘bunker’, the things they would have done to Esme would have been even worse. And they would have done whatever it took to make sure he was fully conscious and able to watch what they were doing.

There mere thought makes him feel sick to his stomach. Tears burn his eyes. And he squeezes them shut as tight as he can in hopes of ridding himself of not only what he saw, but what he imagines he could have seen.

“How are things there?” he asks. “How are they really? Don’t bullshit me, mate. I need the truth.”

“The kids are doing really good. They’re behaving themselves and Chloe and I are making sure we keep them busy and happy.”

“I don’t mean that. I trust you. You’re one of the few people I do trust. I know the kids are in good hands. What I need to know is if there’s been anything weird going on. If there’s been any kind of trouble. Any suspicious shit going on.”

Ovi sighs.  “Nik told me not to talk to you about this…”

“Fuck Nik. I stopped listening to Nik a long time ago.  She thinks she knows what’s best for me and in reality she knows shit. What’s going, kid? Tell me what’s going on.”

“There’s been some things,” he reluctantly admits.  “Nothing too bad, but…”

“What kind of things?”

He knew it was coming. That it was bound to happen. As soon as he’d nearly crushed McMann’s throat and he became enemy number one, the clock was ticking. He went from being the only one who could save the McMann kids to being the first on the other man’s shit list.  For that alone he wanted to tell McMann to go fuck himself and just get on the next plane home. But he can’t. His conscience won’t let him.  Those kids are still out there. Still being tortured in some kind of sick and twisted game being conducted by their own mother. If he doesn’t get them out, no one will. And that guilt and blame will follow him forever.

“People calling the house and hanging up. There were some pictures. Someone put them in the mailbox.”

His stomach lurches. “What kind of pictures?”

“Pictures of the kids. Out on the street. Some of them at school. Pictures of Esme and Millie together downtown. Pictures of all of you together.”

In the grand scheme of things, pictures are relatively harmless. It’s the threat that usually accompanies them or follows them that’s the issue.

“What else? I can tell there’s something else, Ovi. What is it?”  He doesn’t use the kid’s name that often, as strange as it sounds. The last time he’d used in while addressing him personally was when the kid had still been in the midst of all his mental health issues and causing all kinds of shit at home and they’d had an epic blow out about it.

“They showed up at the house.”

His chest tightens. As do his hands. The left one immediately forming a fist so tight his knuckles crack and start to turn to white. The fingers of the right pressing into the sides of the phone with enough force to crack the plastic protective covering. There’s no anxiety. No fear. Just rage. Pure, unadulterated rage.

“They? Who is ‘they’?” he asks, and he can hear it in his own voice; his temper threatening to take hold. In the same way it had when he’d nearly broken McMann’s neck with his bare hands.

“I don’t know.  Three guys. They came here looking for you.”

“Did you see them? What did they look like?”

“I didn’t see them. I only heard them. As soon as Nik saw them pull into the driveway, she made me take the kids into the basement. Where you’ve always told me to take them in case there’s trouble. But I could hear them. Talking to her. They had accents. They weren’t American.”

“Were they Irish? Were they Irish accents?”

“No. I would have recognized that for sure.  They almost sounded just like you. But different. Words sound a certain way when you say them. You have slang words for different things. Their slang words weren’t the same. But their accents sounded a lot like yours does, but they were still different at the same time.”

“New Zealand? Were they from New Zealand?”

“I don’t know what New Zealand people sound like,” he admits.

“They sound like me. But a little different like you said.    Shit…fuck…” he drags a hand through his hair. His brain can’t quite possibly handle trying to put this all together on its own. The meds, the damage that had been when he’d lost so much blood and been oxygen deprived, the depression, the anxiety…all working together to completely fuck with him.

It doesn’t make any sense. He all but expected McMann to send someone. He’d been waiting for it, actually. But someone connected to the Buckman family? And why the fuck would they show up in Colorado in the first place? They have to know he is already Ireland, or else he wouldn’t have been made the second he got on the damn plane.

It’s a ploy. It has to be. Either a  scare tactic to get him off the trail in Ireland and have him running back home to protect his own family, or to actually make sure he isn’t in Colorado, meaning that his family is alone and vulnerable.

“Do me a favour,” he says to Ovi. “Go on the internet and look up New Zealand accent. Go and google it. Do it right now. Don’t hang up. Go and look it up and listen to it and then tell me if it’s the same.”

“Okay…”

He sits with an elbow on his knee and his palm pressed to his forehead; the adrenaline has started to stir. And he can’t stop himself from vigorously shaking his thigh from side to side or repeatedly tapping his toes against the concrete below; top teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“It’s the same,” Ovi confirms when he finally returns. “That’s the accent I heard.”

“You’re one hundred percent sure? I need you to be one hundred percent sure, mate.”

“I’m sure. No doubt about it. I know that’s the accent I heard.”

“Okay, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I want you to do everything I say, alright?”

“Okay.”

“Go into the garage. You know where the loft area is? Go up there. There’s a trunk with a lock on it. I’ll text message you the combination. There’s money in there. A lot of money. And there’s weapons. Lots of them.  I need you to take both, understand me?”

“I understand.”

“I want you to take the kids and Chloe and get them the fuck out of there. Even the dog. Take him too. He’s what will keep the kids from losing their shit. I want you to get away from the house. I don’t care if it’s just to Denver or if you have to go to an entirely different state. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going and do not call anyone except me when you get there. Tell Esme’s mom to go back home. Tell her I said not to talk to anyone. That if someone comes to her place looking for information, she doesn’t give them any. Are you getting all of this?”

“I am,” he confirms.

“I want you get a different cell phone. To call me from. Even get Chloe a new one. Use some of the money I told you about. You don’t use any phone but that one to get in contact with me, you hear me?”

“I do.”

“Do not go back to the house unless I tell you too. You find a place for all of you to stay and you keep your ass there. The only time I want you leaving is if you think people have found you.”

“What about Nik? What do I tell her?”

“I’ll worry about Nik. I’ll deal with her. She won’t want me to, but I will.  I’ve to go. I’ve got shit I need to piece together somehow. As soon as I hang up, you start getting everything going. Do not contact me until you’ve got a new phone. Get rid of the other one. Burn it, stomp on it, I don’t give a shit. Just get rid of it.”

“Okay…” he sounds nervous. Like that fourteen year old kid back in Dhaka. “Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“Things are going to be okay, right?”

“I hope so, mate,” he says.  “I really hope so.”

****

He leaves a hastily written note on her pillow; right next to her head, so she won’t miss it.  She’ll panic if she wakes up and not only finds his side of the bed empty, but him missing from the room entirely. So he let’s her know that he’s gone to see Yaz, and that if he’s not back in an hour after she discovers the note, THAT’s when she needs to start freaking out.  And he tells her not to open the door. To anyone. Not room service, not housekeeping , not even Mark if he shows up.

He takes the stairs as opposed to the elevator. Less chance of running into someone; the confined space of the elevator only putting him at a serious disadvantage if someone did climb aboard with the sole intent of causing trouble. He takes the stairs two at a time; the rage has fully taken over, making him numb to any physical pain that he knows he should be feeling. He’s pissed off; at McMann for holding back information, at Heather McMann for using her kids and allowing people to abuse and torture them, at Nik for keeping the truth from him, at whoever has the goddamn nerve to show up at his house. At himself for even getting mixed up in such a godawful shitty mess.

He reaches Yaz’ room and pounds his fist against the door. To hell with your average, normal knocking.  He is way beyond being being polite; all decorum and niceties completely out the window. And when he gets no answers, he uses the toe of one of his boots to get the job done; repeatedly slamming it against the wood until it violently shakes and makes an audible crack.

“What the fuck, man?” Yaz speaks from a slit in the door; not opening it farther than the chain will allow.

“Open the door.”

“No. This isn’t a good time. Can’t you read? The sign says ‘do not disturb’.”

“Open the fucking door, now!” Tyler bellows, and Yaz gives a started blink and then hurriedly tends to the chain.

“What the hell is wrong? What…?”

He pushes his way into the room. “Did you know? About the people that came to my house? Did you know about that?”  And it’s then that he sees the half naked woman in Yaz’ bed, frazzled and embarrassed, trying her best to throw on some clothes.  The waitress from the coffee shop they’d visited their second day in town.

“Do you mind?” she shrieks.  

“Yeah, I fucking do! Get your shit…” Tyler snags the remaining apparel off the floor and tosses it at her. “…and get the fuck out!”

“Don’t argue,” Yaz address her.  “Not when he’s like this. Not when he’s capable of tearing us both to pieces.”

He paces the room as Yaz helps his guest get herself sorted and out the door; raking his hands through his hair, wincing when his fingers come in too close of contact with the stitches in his scalp.  The rage is intense; almost unbearable. Sweat beading on his brow, forming at his temples, his breathing irregular.  He knows he needs to get it together; Yaz isn’t the enemy. And at this point he’s liable to beat the ever loving shit out of him if he even glances at him the wrong way.

“What the fuck man?” Yaz snarls. “Do you see me interrupting you when you’re about get laid?”

“I don’t give a shit where you were about to stick your dick, mate.  I don’t give a fuck if it was the waitress from the coffee shop or you hired a hooker. Did you know? About what’s been going on at my house? About the pictures? About the phone calls? About people showing up there?”

“Tyler…just calm down, man…just…”

“Did you fucking know?!” he snarls, and Yaz holds his hands up in a plea for mercy when he takes a step towards him.

“Okay…okay…you need to just take a breath and calm down…”

“That’s my family! That’s my fucking kids! There’s people sending shit to my house! They’re showing up there. Where my fucking kids live! Don’t you tell me to take a breath and calm down.  Did you know about it? Did your sister tell you?”

“Yes…” he reluctantly admits. “…she did. But…”

“But? How can there be a but?! You knew that people were threatening my family and you didn’t tell me?!”

“Nik asked me not to. She knows what you get like. We both know what you get like.  I mean, you’re here, flipping your shit on me.  I’m not the enemy here, Tyler. I’m not the one that is threatening your family. But you’re acting like I’m personally involved in it somehow.”

“You knew and you didn’t tell me. That makes you just as bad. So don’t give me that shit. Don’t play the victim.”

“I knew if I told you, this would happen. That you’d completely lose it.”

“Do you blame me? Do you really fucking blame me? Those are my kids, Yaz. My family. The only reason I’m still alive and I didn’t put a bullet in my head years ago. They’re the only reason I keep doing this shit; trying to solve everyone else’s goddamn problems while my own life feels like it’s falling apart! It never should have come to this. I should never have gotten mixed back up in this shit. When your sister asked four years ago, I should have told her to go fuck herself and to find someone else.”

“But you didn’t. And you know why?”

“I’m fucking brain damaged, that’s why. Maybe the doctors shouldn’t have worked so hard when I coded in the OR. Maybe it would have been better if they’d just let me die. Because I wouldn’t be here right now putting up with all this bullshit! I wouldn’t be thousands of miles away from kids while some asshole is sending people to prey on them.”

“If you’d died, those kids wouldn’t even exist,” Yaz reminds him. “Your life, the one you know, wouldn’t exist.”

“Yeah, and maybe that’s the way it should have been. None of this existing. Because my kids shouldn’t have to put up with this. My wife shouldn’t have to put up with this; me taking off to fight other peoples fucking battles and not even taking the time to fix ours.”

“I thought things were good. I thought…”

“I’m not talking about now. I’m talking about when she kicked my ass out because she was tired of me breaking her goddamn heart all the time. And yet she still took me back.  Even though I didn’t deserve another chance. I promised her it would be different. That I’d be different. And now look. Now look at the fucking mess I’m in. That I’ve brought her into. She deserves better than this, Yaz. She’s always deserved better than this. Better than me.”

“You’re each other’s ride or die,” he says. “Always have been. Since the beginning.”

“Well I’d rather my wife not die, if it’s all the same to you.  Why didn’t you tell me? Why’d you keep this from me?”

“Nik asked me to.”

“Excuse me for saying this, but fuck Nik.  You should have told me. We’re friends. We’re friends and this is my family we’re talking about.”

“She knew if you found out that you’d leave. That you could back home.”

“Do you really blame me? I should go home. I should get on the next plane out of here and go home to my kids. Because they need me. Now more than ever.”

“The McMann kids need you too.”

“I’m sorry if this sounds harsh or makes me look like an asshole, but my kids are more important to me than those two.”

“And they should be.  But you need to do this. And you know you need to do this. That you need to stay and find them. Would you be able to live with yourself, Tyler? Knowing you left them hear to die.”

He shakes his head, giving a derisive snort.  “Don’t do that. Don’t put that on me. Don’t ask me to choose between my family and complete strangers. Because my family will come first. Every time.”

“Tyler, your family is safe.  There’s people that can protect them. But the McMann kids? They have no one. There’s no one else looking for them. There’s just you.  No one else cares. Not even their own parents. If you leave, they die. It’s as simple as that. They only have you. Whether they realize that or not.  And I know you, man. I know how your brain works. You’d go home and you’d try and go on with your life but you wouldn’t stop thinking about them. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself knowing that you just up and abandoned them and sealed their fate.”

He heaves a heavy sigh, then sinks into one of the chairs at the table near the patio window.  Elbows on his knees,  rocking slightly back and forth; eyes riveted on the floor, the fingers of his right hand absentmindedly fidgeting with his wedding band. Attempting to calm himself; to rid himself of the intense anger that has every nerve ending on fire and his chest feeling impossibly tight.

“Look…” Yaz approached cautiously, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.  “…I didn’t keep it from you to hurt you, okay? I kept in front you because I needed you to keep your head in the game.  I knew once you found out, everything would just go to shit. That you’d be hell bent on getting home.  Your kids are safe, Tyler. They’re in good hands. But the McMann kids? They have no one. Just you.”

“I can’t solve the world’s problems, Yaz. I’m sick of this fucking life. I’m sick of putting my wife through this.  I’m sick of putting her and my kids in danger. They deserve better than that. You know they do.”

“I do. But I also know the McMann kids deserve better than what’s happening to them. Tyler, you’re all they have.”

“I don’t even know where they are. I’m no closer to finding them now than I was a week ago.”

“We’re getting closer. We know Heather McMann is involved. If we can find people who know her…if we can break her husband…”

“He’s out to kill me, Yaz. Or kill my family.  He doesn’t want my help. All he cares about now is revenge.”

“You can break him, Tyler. You know you can. If you set something up…arrange to meet him…let him know everything you know…you can break him. You will break him.”

“What if he kills me first? Then I’m no good to his kids or mine.”

“Mark and I will keep an eye on things. And he has people. Here in Ireland. They’ve been watching you for the past week. Keeping an eye on you and Esme. Marines.”

“A lot of fucking good they did two days ago when I was getting my ass handed to me by four guys and a fucking shovel.”

“That was…unfortunate…”

Tyler snorts. “You think?”

“But we get them involved. We put eyes on you. And a wire. You go and you meet with McMann and you do whatever you have to get information out of him. And if you have to kill him after you get it out of him, I heard nothing and  I saw nothing. You read me?”

He nods. “Loud and clear.”

“And we have Esme going tonight to talk that IRA guy. The bartender, so…”

“No. She’s not going.  She changed her mind.”

“What? She can’t change her mind. This was her idea! It was her idea to do this in the first place and now she’s bailing? What the fuck?”

“She has her reasons. I’m not letting her go, Yaz. No way.”

“Just because you’ve got some jealous hang out about her being around other dudes…”

“That is not it. Trust me. That is not it.”

“…we need her to do this. This was all her idea. This was her baby. And because she doesn’t want to upset your fragile ego…”

“Yaz…drop it. She’s not going. I told her she wasn’t and she agreed with me. I’m not taking the chance that something could happen to her.”

“Nothing will happen to her. She’ll be wearing a wire. We won’t be far away. We will get there before anything could happen. What the fuck man? I get you two have your issues but…”

“This isn’t about our issues. This is about me wanting to keep her safe. I can’t have anything happen to her. Especially not now.”

“Especially not now? What the hell is that supposed to mean? What…?”

“She’s having a baby,” Tyler confesses, and he watches as the other man’s eyes widen in surprise.

“She’s pregnant? Esme’s pregnant?

“We just found out. Yesterday. We don’t even know how far along she is. She took a test…two tests…and they were both positive.”

“Are you sure?”

“Did you not just hear me? I said she took two tests. Both positive.”

“Was this intentional? Like were you guys planning on having another one or…”

“We’ve been trying,” Tyler confirms. “Actively.”

“Jesus…” Yaz sighs, and runs a palm over his mouth.  “…I take back what I said.  I’m not pissed now that she changed her mind.”

“I can’t take the chance, mate. I just can’t.  Not just with her. But with the baby.  And believe me, I’d send her home right now if I knew she’d be safe there. But she’s not. It’s better for her…and the baby…if she stays here with me. Where I can protect her. Protect them.”

Yaz nods in agreement.  “I get it, man. I do. This is big.  This is huge.  Congrats…” he offers a hand, and Tyler shakes it. “…another Rake, huh? May God have mercy on us all.”

Tyler smirks.

“There’s a still a way you know. To get information out of this Billy guy.”

“How? I’m not sending her in there Yaz. There’s no way. So…”

“What if you both go in there. Just surprise him.”

“He’ll know who I am. I’ve been made. So have  you. That’s why we had Esme come here to begin with.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. Whether this guy knows you or not. He’s not involved. This isn’t the IRA that has these kids. The IRA is pissed right? At McMann? At the Buckmans? They’re pissed and they’re out for blood. So what if you help them. What if you offer your help to get McMann and the Buckmans? What if  you worked with them?”

“Yaz, you’re asking me to team up with a terrorist organization.”

“You’re not teaming up with them to do terrorist shit though. You’re teaming up with them to get back at McMann. To get the Buckmans. To find those kids. If you go in there and just lay all your cards out on the table, tell this Billy what you’re there for and what you want from them, he’s going to go along with it.  The IRA is after McMann and if they even have the slightest inkling about where Heather McMann is…”

“It could lead me to the kids,” Tyler finishes for him.

“Exactly! What do you think? Is it worth a shot?”

Tyler nods.  “I think it could work.”

It has to work.

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[stattic-writes]

Puppy Pt 2

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[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 9/? Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe Additional Tags: Established Relationship Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one who was shackled next to you? What do you have in common, save for the chains that bound you both?

“Things sure have changed.”

At first Yvanne wasn’t even sure if Anders had meant that comment for her or for the birds. They’d been standing on the same parapet, not talking to each other, for an uncomfortably long time.

There were rather a lot of things she wanted to say to him. “Yeah,” she said instead.

By now the Keep was well on its way to being rebuilt, although there would be months to go before it was anything like its former glory. Still, it felt bigger now than before. The new recruits had swelled the Order’s ranks, and while before Yvanne had known everyone’s name and where they’d come from, these days she could barely keep track of who was who.

Anders was staring off into the cold afternoon sky. He looked wistful, with the faintest hints of fury buried deep beneath. Mostly he looked a bit tired.

She made an attempt: “Bit of a far toss from back when it was just a couple of childhood friends charging around the countryside, fresh out of the Tower."

He acquired a ghost of smile. “And Oghren.”

She snorted. “Yeah. And Oghren.”

“And the Seneschal.”

Unbidden tears came to her eyes. She hadn’t expected to miss the old man this much. “And the Seneschal,” she agreed, throat tight..

He nudged her. “Getting sentimental on me, are you?”

Startled out of her rising grief, she laughed. “Oh, shut up.” She shoved him on the upper arm, and he made a big show of pretending to almost fall off the parapet, pinwheeling his arms.

Suddenly the tension between them that had persisted in the past weeks evaporated, and it was almost like old times. They reminisced, joking and trading barbs. For a blessed portion of an hour, the fact that things were different now didn’t seem so tragic.

But all things ended.

He chuckled. “I remember when there were so few of us we had to do everything ourselves.”

Yvanne smiled, watery. “And having Nate join up was this big thing, let alone Sigrun and Velanna. Maker, it felt like such a risk. I mean, what if we didn’t get along?”

They both laughed, but not very hard this time, and not for long.

“Do you even know all the recruits names anymore?” he said.

“I used to,” she said wistfully. After the incident with Rolan, she had removed herself as head of recruitment. She didn’t trust herself with that job anymore. “I still know most of them, I think.”

He paused, then, “Do you know those three fellows who have been hanging around Rolan lately?”

“Oh, hm.” She stiffened a bit. Rolan had kept his distance from her and she had been too ashamed of herself to mind what he did. But it was still her job to know. “One of them’s named Conner, I think. He’s local. Used to be a farrier. The ginger’s an ex-mercenary from Starkhaven, William or something like that.”

“The big guy. Yeah. And the wiry fellow with the accent?”

“I think he’s originally from Nevarra. I can’t remember his name. Starts with an A.”

“You don’t think there’s anything funny about them?”

“No. Why would I?”

He paused. “They’ve been talking a lot, the four of them.”

“So they’re friends. Good for them,” she said, annoyed. “So what?”

“They’ve been talking privately.”

“If they’ve been talking privately, how would you know about it?”

“Never mind,” he muttered. “I’m just saying it’s suspicious, is all.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “It’s suspicious that four men are friends?”

“It’s not just that they’re friends, alright?” he snapped. “I think they’ve been keeping an eye on me. Lately no matter where I go, it seems like one of them’s there, too.”

“So you think they’re what, spying on you?”

“Not just me!” He leaned in closer, looking around as though someone might be listening in. “I think they know about Justice. I heard them talking once, and ever since then they’ve been more careful.”

“That’s troubling,” Yvanne agreed. “If true. But we’re working on it."

"Working on it? They're still here, though."

"What am I supposed to do? Throw them out of the Wardens on the vague suspicion that they might know about the possessed corpse we keep on staff?” Even if she’d wanted to, and a large part of her did, Loriel wouldn’t have agreed.

“Look, can you at least rotate me off patrol with those guys? I don’t know who Rolan’s bribing to keep getting assigned to my squads, but I’m sick of it.”

She shrugged. “Sure, fine. If it’ll make you feel better, I guess.”

“Thanks.” There was an awkward silence. “But you don’t believe me.”

The tension was back in full force.

“I don’t know,” she said eventually.

“I knew it. You think I’m crazy.”

“I never said that.”

“But you were thinking it."

She threw her hands up. “Look, I’m sick of being paranoid. I’m tired of it, alright, Anders? I’m tired! I don’t want to be watching my back all the time, afraid that someone is finally going to get me if I let my hackles down for even a second. I mean—Andraste, we’re not Circle mages anymore, we’re Wardens! Shouldn’t we act like it? Shouldn’t we stop being afraid?

“Sounds peachy,” he said acidly. “I’ll just get right on that, shall I?”

She set her jaw and looked away.

“Can't you talk to Loriel about this?”

“Talk to her yourself," Yvanne said stiffly. "You know where her office is.”

“She’s hardly ever in there anymore," Anders protested. "You don’t get it. She doesn’t listen to us. It’s like talking to an extremely polite brick wall. She smiles and agrees to everything and then it’s like she doesn’t even remember the conversation.”

“She’s got a lot on her mind."

“Yeah, well, we all have a lot on our minds. But she listens to you.”

“What exactly do you want me to tell her? That four men are friends? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You know that’s not what—”

“No,” she said, turning around. “I’m done talking about this. I don’t always understand Loriel’s decisions, but I support her, always and completely. So you can go ahead and quit using me to try and get to her. Talk to her yourself. Or don’t. But leave me out of it.”

“Fine,” Anders said. He could have frozen Kinloch Lake with the ice in that fine. “Things really have changed, huh? I remember when you gave a damn about something besides yourself and your own comfort.”

Yvanne snorted. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I remember when you actually bothered to stick your neck out for other people," he went on, yanking her by the shoulder so that she was obliged to face him. The damn beanpole had several inches on her. They glared at each other.

"The Yvanne I used to know would never have put up with this. She would have shouted. She would have been swinging. She would have made damn sure that the whole world knew that she wasn’t content."

“Yeah, well,” she said, drawing in on herself. “The Yvanne you used to know got the shit beaten out of her every other week. And what did she ever accomplish?”

“Fine, whatever." He gave a bitter snort, crossed his arms and went back to staring out at the grey landscape. “Didn’t realize you were giving up on all your principles.”

“Principles!” she said, scornful. “Principles! Since when have I ever claimed to have principles? I used to be an angry, miserable, vicious child, and now that I’m not that child anymore, you want to get mad at me? Real fine of you to get on your high horse about principles at me when you’ve spent your whole life being the exact same selfish, careless asshole that I used to be.”

“Maybe I’ve also changed. Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” he said. “I wonder what Justice would think about that. You remember Justice? Our good friend, the literal embodiment of justice, who you seem perfectly willing to throw under the wagon?”

“Is that what this is about?” A new flare of anger rose up in the pit of her gut. She cared about the spirit. “I've been meaning to talk to you about him. You really need to stop feeding his... complex. He’s not an embodiment of justice, he’s a person. A person uniquely bad at existing in this world, and you’re not making it any easier for him. Neither of you are good for each other.”

He gave her a brief, close-lipped smile. “You know, given the company you chose to keep, I would think that you would be the last person to lecture anybody about who’s good for who.”

It took her a moment to figure out what he was talking about. And suddenly her hot, unhappy anger purified and crystallized into a clear, cold, unbothered pit of pure ice.

“You don’t know a fucking thing you’re talking about,” she said smoothly. “And if you’re going to say things like that, you may as well not speak to me at all."

As she stalked away, she regretted it, a little. Anders was an old friend, and you couldn’t exactly replace those, even if he did say phenomenally stupid, ignorant, wrong things some times.

But their friendship had weathered worse. It would probably weather this.

—

The door to the Commander’s office slammed open.

“I have some concerns.”

Loriel slowly closed her book with a sigh. She was getting rather tired of having her office barged into. Maybe she ought to spend more time in her lab, which nobody knew about except Yvanne. “Hello, Anders.”

“Don’t you ‘Hello, Anders’ me, this is serious!”

“Yes, I can see that,” she said.

“I don’t know,” he said acidly. “ Can you?”

“I’m listening very carefully to you, Anders.” She folded her hands on the desk. “What’s this about?”

“I’m talking about how this Keep is clearly infested with Chantry spies and you’re not doing a damn thing about it.”

“Ah. You’re referring to Rolan.”

He huffed. “ Yes, I’m referring to Rolan. I swear he’s been watching me, him and his little gang.”

“I see." She nodded. "While I can’t prevent him from doing what he wishes during his off-duty hours, I can ensure that you are not placed on concurrent duty.”

“But it’s not just me!” he said. “They’re trying to get at Justice, too, and probably Velanna. They were sent here to watch us, because we’re free mages!”

Loriel pursed her lips. “Do you have any evidence of that?”

“Evidence?! What evidence could you possibly need? Use your eyes! I mean, Andraste’s knickerweasels, it’s hardly a bold leap of conjecture, is it?”

She took and released a steady breath. “While I am happy to take steps to ensure you are not forced to work together if you are uncomfortable with his presence, I hardly see how this is evidence that the Keep is ‘infested’ with Chantry spies.”

His jaw dropped. “You can’t possibly be skeptical of conspiracies after the last one! You’d have to be out of your damn mind to deny you have enemies!”

“I am fully in possession of my faculties, thank you,” Loriel said in a clipped tone. “I’ll note that I’m not the one shouting my head off in my immediate superior’s office.”

“Forget it,” he said bitterly. “I can see it’s just going to be a waste of time with you.”

That stung, unexpectedly. She’d known she’d lost Anders’ good opinion even before she decided to spare the Architect, but they’d still been friendly. Maybe even friends, for a bit. She remembered the surprise wedding reception, how she’d danced. He hadn’t done it for her, but...

She let some of the hurt show on her face. Just enough to maybe make him regret saying it. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He huffed and looked away. “And what about Justice?” he said instead of apologizing. “They’re after him, too, you know! You said you were going to do something about him, and he’s getting corpesier by the day.”

“Yes, I’ve spoken with him,” she said, although she barely had. She’d been keeping the spirit at arm’s length ever since Drake’s Fall, but then, she’d been keeping everyone at arm’s length for the past couple months, besides Yvanne.

It wasn’t that the spirit had been noticeably any colder to her since Drake’s Fall, the way Sigrun had. But she hadn’t been able to forget how close it had come to violence between them. She simply couldn’t trust him anymore. There were times when Loriel thought that she understood Justice better than she understood any mortal. He had a duty as innate to him as  breathing—not that he breathed. It wasn’t that Justice wanted to bring justice. It was simply what he was. Nobody else in the Wardens understood that the way Loriel did.

“And?”

She cleared her throat. “We agreed that it would be prudent that he take more assignments away from the Keep for now.”

“That’s it? That’s your solution?”

“It’s the best I can do in the current circumstances. So for now, yes.”

“And for later? When Kristoff’s body really starts falling apart?”

“We discussed other possibilities." She sighed. "Justice does not wish to go back to the Fade. I hope to respect this choice.”

“What do you mean, hope?” Anders sounded on the edge of panic.

“I mean, finding an alternate host may prove problematic,” Loriel said. “Justice is, well... just. After his experiences with Aura, he doesn’t want to possess another corpse. And even if he did, that would simply be delaying the problem.”

“So he needs a willing host.”

She shook her head. “Even with a willing host, possessions are always unpredictable. I’ve known possessed mages who apparently experienced no adverse effects, but most possessed people are—” she considered, “—unstable, at best.”

“Because they’re possessed by demons,” Anders protested. “Justice is a spirit!”

“Yvanne seems to think that difference is not as important as commonly assumed. It isn’t clear to us yet what exactly makes for a successful possession. It would be irresponsible to ask anyone, even a willing host, to take such a risk when we know so little about the consequences. Returning to the Fade may be his best option. Yvanne has been looking into ways to banish him safely.”

“How can you say that?” Anders burst out. “Justice is our friend, and you’re going to banish him?”

She gave him a piercing look. “Hm. You are good friends,” she noted.

“Yeah, we’ve been talking, so what?” he muttered. “Don’t change the subject. You know Justice doesn’t belong in the Fade anymore. He’s changed.”

Maybe nobody belongs anywhere, Loriel thought absently. “We all change. It’s for the best.”

“Oh, the best,” he said scornfully, a cruel curl to his lip that she had seen before, on a few select occasions. She’d never thought to be on the receiving end of it. “Is that what you think you’re doing? Watching out for everyone’s best interests?”

She stared back, unfazed. “Yes, Anders. That is what I think I’m doing.”

“Well, you have a unique way of going about it, I’ll say.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“I mean you’re bloody scary!” he snapped. “Do you even realize, how scary you are? I get that you don’t listen to anyone anymore, not even your own damn wife, but really, do you have any idea? Draining the life out of people, paralyzing their lungs, and then inviting a bunch of Templars for high tea, as though they aren’t going to notice that?”

“Contrary to your apparent belief, Anders, I actually am aware that magic tends to be viewed with fear and suspicion, yes. Or do you forget that we were imprisoned in the same tower?” She fought the urge to stand up, assert her powers, escalate the conflict. It wouldn’t have helped. He was a solid foot taller than her.

No, better to stay seated, in control. Let him get emotional. “But I don’t suffer from the illusion that some types of magic are somehow subject to a lesser degree of bigotry.”

“So you really don’t see any difference between healing the sick and stopping the hearts of a dozen people at once?” he said sardonically.

“Oh, please,” she said, irritated despite herself. “That’s what you’re going to fling at me? Those people had every intention of killing me. My men were going to try their best to kill them no matter what happened. I simply expedited the conflict, to spare my men pain and injury and possibly even death, because what is the point of magic if you cannot use it to help people? Just because it didn’t feel very fair doesn’t mean it was wrong.”

“That isn’t the—”

“I am simply finished being ashamed of myself,” she said primly. Then, the finishing blow: “I would have thought a fellow mage would understand as much.”

That shut him up. He glared down at the rug. Suddenly a memory struck her—the three of them in this very room, huddled on the floor, a mahogany box between them containing their phylacteries. How they’d all held hands and smashed them together, Kinloch alumni turned Wardens freeing themselves together. Yvanne had brought in the rug to cover the stain that was probably still there. Anders had loudly said it was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen, and Yvanne had punched him on the arm.

She sighed. “Anders, wait. I’m—”

“Save it,” he bit out, turning on his heel. “I’ve heard enough.”

The door slammed. The vibrations from it nearly rattled the inkwell off Loriel’s desk. After that she tried to go back to her book, but it was no good concentrating up here. She would retire to her private laboratory space, she decided, and hang anybody else that wanted to talk to her til nightfall.

—

When she finally emerged she had gotten precious little done. Her mind still ran with echoes of what had been said in her office, unsettling her just enough to wreck her concentration. The longer she forced herself to try and focus, the worse it got, so after a time she was obliged to simply give up and go upstairs.

Yvanne sat cross-legged on the bed wearing a formless shift, a volume open on her lap. “Productive day?” she said.

“Approximately.” The shift, far too big for her, was slipping off her shoulder. Almost mindlessly, Loriel kissed the shoulder and pulled the shift up before shedding some outer layers herself. “Any luck with that spirit lore?”

“Some. The problem is that most of what I’ve got is Chantry sources.” Her nose wrinkled. “And it’s increasingly obvious that a lot is being left out. There’s all sorts of spirit traditions being talked around here. Avvar, Chasind, Rivaini...it’s hopeless figuring this stuff out without doing some legwork.”

“I’m sure you will, though,” Loriel said distractedly. “You’re very capable.”

Yvanne’s eyes flicked up to her. “I heard you had it out with Anders today.”

Loriel stiffened. “Oh, please, we did not have it out. He simply had some concerns, which I addressed.”

“Really. And here’s me remembering distinctly how a door slammed so hard this afternoon that the hinge was damaged and will need replacing.”

Loriel winced. “That bad, was it?”

Yvanne smiled slightly. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. He’ll get over it soon enough, and things will go back to normal.”

“You really think so?” Loriel fiddled with a piece of her hair. It had grown long again of late. “I don’t know. I think he hasn’t seen me the same way since he first saw me use blood magic. He thinks I’m—”

“Well, he’s wrong, then, isn’t he? Oh, come here.” Yvanne tossed aside the Chantry-approved book of spirit lore and carded her fingers through Loriel’s hair, getting the tangles out. “You don’t really think he’s right about any of it, do you?”

“No. I think I’m doing the right thing.”

Yvanne put her hair into a loose braid, destined to come loose in the night. “Then trust in that. I do.”

“Thank you, Yvanne.”

“Wish you’d stop thanking me for stuff like this,” Yvanne sniffed. Dissatisfied with the braid she’d made, she undid it and started another, more complex one, fated to unravel even faster.

“I think I should go visit Avernus,” Loriel said, all in one breath. Then, before Yvanne could reply, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I have my reservations, but I don’t think the letters are doing it. There’s some elements to his research that I think I need to see in person if I want to make any progress on the calling within the decade.”

“Oh,” Yvanne said. “You’ve been exchanging letters with Avernus?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes. I have.” Loriel blinked. “You didn’t know? It wasn’t a secret, I wasn’t hiding it, or anything.”

“No, I know you weren’t,” Yvanne said distractedly. “It must have just slipped one or both of our minds.”

“Right. So will you come with me? It isn’t far to Soldier’s Peak, we’d be back within a few days.”

“I don’t know,” she fretted. “The Keep is a little—socially fragile right now. Is it really wise for both of us to go?”

“Oh. Yes.”  Loriel glanced down. “No, you’re right, of course. You mind the Keep, I’ll go alone.”

Yvanne’s fingers tightened in Loriel’s hair. “Alone?” Loriel could tell they were thinking of the same thing. The assault on Amaranthine. The siege of Vigil’s Keep. Drake’s Fall. “No, no, no, that’s even less wise. Please... please don’t do that.”

“If you ask it of me,” Loriel said mildly. “But...it would really help the work along. And I’m sure you could find something in his collection on spirit lore, besides these useless Chantry-approved books. We could help Justice.”

Yvanne started another braid. This one, sloppier. “I suppose you’re right,” she said eventually. “Yes, alright, I’ll come with you. I’m sure Garahel can keep things running for a few days without the Vigil burning down.”

—

Yvanne and Anders still weren’t on speaking terms when she left with Loriel for Soldier’s Peak. It made her a bit sad—she was already regretting being so harsh, but remained too proud to apologize—but she doubted it would last forever. Give it a few weeks, she figured.

Besides, a little trip could be like a vacation. Even if it was to visit the mountainous frozen wasteland of a demented old blood mage with only the loosest understanding of regular human morals.

She quipped as much to Loriel, who gave her a reproachful look. “He’s not demented. He’s doing really very remarkable things.”

“You going to start sacrificing the least capable recruits to your dreadful experiments, too?” Yvanne joked.

Loriel didn’t find it particularly funny. “He doesn’t do that anymore,” she said. “He keeps complaining in his letters about how slowly everything’s going without human subjects.”

“Yes, well, I suppose we’ll find out if he’s telling the truth about that.”

“That’s the other reason I wanted to visit,” Loriel said darkly.

They took a coach, because the roads were peaceful and well-maintained these days, and why not go in some degree of comfort? Maker knew that they’d had enough walking across the whole breadth of Ferelden.

When they arrived, two days unhurried travel later, Levi Dryden and his brother Mikhael had the run of the place. As far as either of them knew—or would admit, anyway—the mage Avernus, who had quarters in the upper levels of the castle, was a perfectly ordinary Warden mage, experimenting chiefly on himself with the approval of the Warden-Commander. Who was, essentially, the only authority that mattered.

That was Grey Wardens for you. Bloody secretive lot. Apt to keep a secret blood mage in a castle and not ask too many questions.

Loriel seemed to only vaguely remember who Levi was, let alone his brother, but that was why Yvanne habitually said the names of their contacts aloud when she greeted them. It was funny to remember, sometimes, back in the Tower when Loriel was the socially adept one between the two of them. Yvanne got the report of how Soldier’s Peak was coming along, how trade and lines of communications were running, whether there were any problems that needed seeing to by the Warden-Commander—or realistically, the Warden-Lieutenant. Yvanne was vaguely hoping that there would be, but for once everything was running smoothly, and there didn't seem to be anything for her to do.

The lower levels of the fortress were certainly looking better than the last time they were there, when it had been overrun with demons and walking corpses. People were living there now, not themselves Wardens but Warden-adjacent, curious to get a glance at the legendary Warden-Commander.

Avernus still lived where he’d lived for the past two hundred years, in his tower. If he was aware of the living fortress below him, he didn’t let on about it. Did he even need to eat, Yvanne wondered? Probably not. Probably just sustained his body with blood magic, somehow. She briefly imagined what that would be like, and shuddered.

“Hello, Avernus,” she said. “Good to see you’re still alive, or whatever passes for alive. Still being a creepy old blood mage, I see. Good for you. I trust you’re well? Sacrificed anybody recently?”

Loriel nudged her disapprovingly, but Avernus didn’t seem to have registered anything she’d said.

“About time you came to visit me, Commander,” he said instead. “I knew you would, sooner or later.”

As far as either of them could tell, the Warden mage had been telling the truth when he promised to keep his experiments 'ethical'. At least Levi hadn’t reported any mysterious disappearances or anything else particularly irregular, and Loriel had intentionally not announced her visit ahead of time, just in case. Everything seemed to be above board.

On the subject of being a creepy old blood mage shut up in a tower doing dreadful experiments that would make a Chantry Mother faint dead away, Yvanne was nominally ‘pro.’ There had been a time when all her dearest fantasies involved gleeful slaughter of Templars, apostasy, illegal magic—the whole bit. If she’d met Avernus as a seventeen-year-old, she probably would have thought he was a hero just for existing.

And technically, she still felt that way. Nothing wrong with a bit of bone-chilling illegal magic. Some light demon summoning, that was fine, too. Even Uldred’s rebellion and its consequences hadn’t changed her mind. Admitting that the Chantry was right about the danger magic could pose meant admitting it could be right about other things. About mages. About what was to be done to them. Yvanne would sooner set herself on fire than come within spitting distance of admitting that. She figured, in principle, if the Chantry proscribed it, it was somebody’s moral duty to do it as hard as possible.

But she was realizing that she didn’t particularly want that somebody to be Loriel.

So Anders was right about her. So she didn’t have any principles. So what? Was that so bad? Her principles had only ever made her miserable. Why was she obliged to hold on to something that only ever hurt?

Yvanne tried following Loriel and Avernus’s discussion about blight and blood and poisoned lyrium, but she quickly lost track of it. It had gotten highly technical very quickly, reaching into concepts that Yvanne was only vaguely aware existed. No wonder Avernus wasn’t interested in talking to her. She was completely out of her depth.

Instead she perused the extensive library, looking for anything on spirit lore. It was no easy task. Many of the books were so moldy that they were little more than damp bricks of wood pulp. Others were so badly charred that their titles couldn’t be made out. Some were mostly intact, but written in such old, obscure dialects that even Yvanne’s classical education in ancient languages couldn’t help her. Some were written in scripts that she couldn’t even recognize.

One tome was written in a mostly-understandable form of ancient Tevene, and seemed promising—but was nearly as high as a man, and bolted to the table besides. Yvanne sighed and went hunting for a dictionary to cross-reference it with and take some notes.

When she couldn’t stand to stare at the unnecessarily elaborate script anymore, she spent time amongst the lower levels of the fortress, making sure that there really wasn’t anything urgent or difficult that somebody needed done. Something. Anything.

So passed the days. Yvanne found out some interesting things about spirit lore. Two times a day she pried Loriel away for meals and sunlight, which usually succeeded on the second or third try. All the while a vague anxiety grew in her, like she had abandoned her Keep, and every hour that she remained away from it was dangerous.

It was frustrating. When had she become such a homebody? Didn’t she used to crave freedom, adventure, and the wonders of the whole world?

She started gently suggesting to Loriel that perhaps they ought to think about heading home. They nearly done, Loriel assured her. Tomorrow they’d go home. Or the day after, certainly.

And so a visit of a few days stretched out into nearly a fortnight.

On the thirteenth day since their departure, Yvanne climbed to the highest tower of Soldier’s Peak, determined to lay down the law--but needn’t have bothered. When she arrived Loriel was in the process of loading her collection of reagents back into her travel box.

“There you are,” Loriel said, brushing some greyish residue off the sleeves of her rope. “I think we’re about done.”

“Oh,” Yvanne said. “Well, good. Figured lots of things out, then?”

“Ah—yes,” Loriel said distractedly, peering at a label of an opaque bottle of brown glass. “Yes, I’ve a lot to test out, when we get home. Much to do.”

“Yes, yes, I look forward to hearing of your results,” the old blood mage said, scribbling something in the margins of a leather-bound tome.

“Great. Yeah,” said Yvanne, feeling her mood lift at once as Loriel snapped the locks shot on her trunk of vials. “Here, let me get that. You haven’t eaten yet today, have you? You probably should, I’ll get things ready for departure.”

Loriel smiled. “How foolish of me to even contemplate the notion that I could get by without you.”

“Too right,” Yvanne said. “Come on, then.”

The scratching of Avernus’s quill paused. “Ah—I nearly forgot. What did you end up using my little concoction for? I can tell that you didn’t bother to drink it.”

Yvanne stared in blank incomprehension. But understanding was dawning in Loriel’s eyes.

“Nothing in particular,” she answered.

“Threw it away, did you?” the old blood mage snorted. “Thought as much.”

“No...no, I still have it.”

“Hm,” sniffed the blood mage. “Perhaps not quite so foolish, then. I was quite proud of that recipe.”

Loriel blinked, sowly. “Oh...interesting. I’ll take a look, perhaps.”

“But we’d really better be going,” Yvanne said loudly, although she needn’t have bothered. Avernus was no longer paying attention to either of them.

It was too late to depart that day, so they instead left first thing in the morning. All that night and following morning, Loriel’s mind was somewhere else.

“Productive fortnight, then?” Yvanne said, breaking the growing silence.

Loriel started, lifting her cheek from her fist. “Hm? Oh. Yes. Yes, it was.” She sounded like she was about to elaborate, but trailed off. “I do wish I’d had the wherewithal to ask about what that concoction in the vial was actually supposed to do. It just caught me so off-guard, I’d completely forgotten about it. In a future letter, I suppose…”

Yvanne blanched. “You’re not actually thinking of drinking it, are you?”

Her eyes glinted with amusement.  “As I recall, you were the one that dared me to drink it in the first place.”

“I was bloody well joking! Maker, Loriel—”

“Oh, calm down,” she laughed. “It isn’t that serious.”

“You’re cruel and wretched,” Yvanne complained. “I don’t know why I ever married you.”

The rest of the coach ride passed uneventfully. They were making better time on the way back, for which Yvanne was glad. A few hours in, she dozed off against Loriel’s shoulder, then in her lap, falling into a sticky state of half-dream and half-waking.

Only when the coach suddenly stopped did Yvanne realize that she’d fallen entirely asleep, and that it was hours later. “What’s going on?” she mumbled, drowsy.

“I don’t know,” said Loriel.

The coach door opened. It was Garahel, pale-faced. So they were back.

And something was wrong.

“Commander,” he said, bowing his head. “It’s good to see you back. We’ve been watching the roads for your arrival. We thought…something’s happened.”

“What’s going on, Garahel?” Yvanne demanded.

“You had better come see.”

—

In the growing dark,  it was hard to see the blood. It appeared not red but black, though not all of it had dried yet; much of it had mixed with the mud and the dew. It was more readily smelled than seen, the distinct reek of iron tingeing the far stronger scents of human waste and rot. The bodies themselves were easier, though not a one of them remained in tact. A limb here, part of a torso there, something still recognizable as a head there.

They’d seen worse. The darkspawn did worse, in greater numbers. This was only four men, four Grey Wardens. They’d seen battlefields strewn with hundreds, witnessed horrors beyond mortal ken.

Nothing had ever sickened Yvanne so much in her life.

“Anders did this?” she said numbly.

“We believe so,” Garahel said. “He was on patrol with them.”

“I thought I ordered them not to be put on patrol together,” Loriel said sharply. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, Commander. But we have multiple witnesses attesting that he was last seen with them. I have men looking for him. No success yet.”

“Is there anything else I should know about?”

Loriel had meant it sardonically, but it seemed Garahel wasn't done delivering bad news.

“Kristoff’s body was found in the courtyard a few days ago.” Yvanne took her eyes off the carnage to look up at him. “It was already in an advanced state of decay. His ashes have been returned to his widow.”

“I see,” Loriel said coolly. “We’ll investigate this, Garahel. Please leave us for now.”

If he found the order strange, he didn’t show it. He bowed, and departed.

Yvanne was still staring at the carnage. Loriel touched her gently on the arm. “Yvanne, I am... so sorry. This is entirely my fault. If I hadn’t held us up, if I’d agreed to leave Soldier’s Peak when you wanted to, this would never have happened. I don’t know what to say. If you’re furious with me, I understand.”

Yvanne produced a dry, ugly bark of a laugh. “You know, love, one of these days you’re going to have to realize that you aren’t responsible for every horrible thing that happens in this world.”

“Maybe I am,” Loriel said. She’d meant it as a joke, but it had some out a little manic and unsteady. Yvanne didn’t respond. She tightened her grip on her arm. She needed to fix this, somehow. “I haven’t been studying necromancy recently, but I know a few rare spells. It might not work, but I think I can raise one of these corpses, ask it what really happened—”

“Stop it,” Yvanne said, shaking her off. “Just stop it! No necromancy, no corpse interviews, none of that! This is already awful enough as it is. What’s the point of dragging some poor sod out from whatever rest he’s made it to just so he can confirm what’s obvious enough?”

“ Is it obvious?” Loriel said softly.

“I should damn well fucking say so,” Yvanne said. “Seems pretty clear to me. Our Anders got himself possessed, dragged poor Justice into it, lost his damn mind, and tore apart a handful of innocent boys because his paranoid fucking ass couldn’t handle life on the outside of the tower walls.”

Loriel winced. “You really think he’d do something like this?”

There was a moment, and both of them were aware of it, even if later they both pretended not to be. In that moment they both thought, no. That Yvanne’s explanation was plausible, tempting, and wrong. After all, it didn’t take much inventiveness to generate an alternative version of events, one where Anders’ paranoia was entirely correct, where he had no choice, where he acted in self-defense.

But if it were true, that thing that they both were thinking—if it were true—then it meant that this really was Loriel’s fault. That she had known about everything, about Anders’ fears and Rolan and Justice, and had let it happen anyway. Had simply gone off to Soldier’s Peak on her own business and ignored it. And it meant that Yvanne had known, too, and closed her eyes and trailed after Loriel like she always did. Because that way she could take the path of least resistance, and still call herself virtuous. Devoted. Reliable.

If it were true, it would tear them apart. Maybe not right away, but someday visible on the horizon. After all, who could live with that self knowledge?

If it were true.

“Maybe not the Anders I knew,” Yvanne said eventually. “But we’ve both changed. Maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”

“Oh, Yvanne…” Loriel sighed.

Yvanne inhaled, closing her eyes. “Can we please just burn these corpses and go home? Maker, I’m going to have to write their families, aren’t I?”

“I’ll do that,” Loriel told her, rubbing small circles into her shoulders. “I’m the Commander. It’s my job.”

“Doing that now, are you?” Yvanne muttered.  Loriel ignored that, because she was hurting, and didn’t mean it, and anyway, she was right.

Maybe, she thought desperately, maybe Yvanne was right. Maybe they really were just innocent boys. Anders really did have a tendency for paranoia. Who was she to say?

The most difficult part was gathering up the limbs. Some had been flown well out of the clearing. There was probably no danger of anything possessing a body so dismembered, but corpses were to be burned. It was proper.

They could have had their men do this for them, but magical fire burned hotter and brighter, and this way it was over quicker. A few weeks from now, this clearing would heal. It would be green and peaceful again.

Yvanne remembered the time she had shown Justice the sparrow’s nest. Was that spot around here, somewhere? She felt like retching all over again.

When the pyre had reduced the remains to nothing but ash and memory, they doused the embers.

At some point, Loriel took Yvanne’s hand, and she didn’t shake her off.

“What are we going to do about this?” Yvanne said hollowly.

“I don’t know.”

“Should we look for him? Send men to bring him in?”

“We could do that.”

“And what would we do even if we found him? Execute him?”

“Is that what you want?” Loriel asked.

Yvanne sniffed. “No. Of course I don’t.” She rubbed at her eyes. “But he could hurt someone. We’d be responsible.” She was aware of who she sounded like, and was already busily hating herself for it.

“You saw what he did to those men,” Loriel said quietly. “If we send more after him, they’ll likely never come back.”

The thought of sending actual Templars after a boy they’d both grown up with was so vile that it didn’t even brook mentioning.

“So we cover it up.”

“We’ll make up a story. Something about secret Warden business.”

“What about Garahel?”

“Do you trust him?”

“I want to say yes, but…”

“Then I have a spell for that.”

“Alright. I suppose...alright.”

Loriel hugged her, squeezing tight. “I’m sorry this happened.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Then, very quietly: “He was my friend. They were both my friends.”

What could she possibly do but hold on tighter? “It’ll be alright, love. I don’t know how, but it will.”

And it was. For a time.

#dragon age #femslash #dragon age: awakening #amell #surana #please read my wizard lesbian fanfiction

[moodswingsabz]

Missing Pieces: MHAW 2020

Like almost everything else this year, Mental Health Awareness week has rolled around again, unexpectedly quick and seemingly coming out of nowhere. As someone who thinks and talks about mental health on a day to day basis, not only in my personal life but also through this platform, I try to use this week to look back on my mental health in a larger way. By looking at things that may have changed, improved or worsened in the recent, or not so recent, past. The rest of this article is me reflecting on that and also trying to make up for not having a new podcast for you on the most apt of weeks. It’ll come as a surprise to absolutely no one reading this, that over the years, I have tried many different things to improve my mental health. What took me too long to learn is that your mental health isn’t something that can simply be fixed, or miraculously improved (or not for me anyway) but is instead something you have to learn to understand and somewhat control to allow you to improve it. It takes work. Annoying as, right? Well prepare to be more annoyed as we delve into the more recent things I have used to try and find balance in my life, the successes and the shortcomings (of both the methods but much more frequently - my own). We’ll mention straight away that yes, I have used medication and yes it was helpful. It was an incredible tool for me to raise my mood and get to a place where I could function day to day and was hugely beneficial for me - until it wasn’t anymore. I made the mistake that I think so many do, when riding on this wave, living the sertraline dream. Instead of using this new found serenity and balance to look at the issues that may have led to me being on the medication in the first place, I instead just pretended that very little was wrong or that I was cured. I have a distinct memory of this period, a day where I felt incredibly high, my mood and energy was soaring and I can still feel the crush in my chest that came when I realised this wasn’t me. This wasn’t natural. It was the medicine pushing me exactly where it was supposed to and sadly, that was the beginning of the end for me and medication (at least on this occasion). I stuck with it for a few months after but as issues began to creep back in, I ditched the medication to see if I could now face them on my own. Spoiler alert: I couldn’t. Last year was the first time that I tried talk therapy in my adult life. I was incredibly lucky to have 10 sessions on a donation basis through a wonderful charity and I can say with complete honesty that this experience was mostly a positive one. I did come  out with a new understanding of myself; things I had done in the past to hurt both myself and others that I couldn’t explain now made some sort of sense. I began to see patterns in my behaviour, my mood and events in my life. And I even started to source why I felt and did these things. My biggest frustration with therapy was one with myself, it would take me half the hour to find my flow and get into the issues that I left every session with my mind racing, still making connections and feeling I had left so much unsaid. Sadly, after finishing my course of therapy, this is how I feel about the whole process. I gained so much from it and learned invaluable lessons about myself, that equipped me incredibly to try and work at being better but I felt like I left it unfinished. I hear you screaming ‘why not just go back to therapy?’ and I hear you, I do, but as much as looking inward to find answers is incredibly beneficial, it is also painful in its own right and that is my answer to your question. I haven’t felt ready again, quite yet. Muay Thai, combat sports and exercise to help with mental health is a whole other topic that I need to cover on its own, but briefly let me just say that this has been monumental for me. From the endorphin rushes of the physical exercise, to throwing myself into situations I never thought I was capable of handling and launching me to the other side of the world and completely out my comfort zone. Muay Thai has been monumental in improving my life and the way I think and feel. However, one of the earliest indicators I have that my mental health may not be at its strongest is when I feel the things I love fade in the way that they make me feel and Thai boxing sadly is not exempt from that. One of the hardest days I can recall in recent times is having multiple panic attacks in the gym, a place that is one of incredible importance and value to me and I hold a deep connection with. The ugliest face of the mental health monster is when the things you love are turned and twisted against you, your tools against it stolen and used against you to fuel the fire of dissatisfaction and bitterness that is beginning to burn. More recently, and potentially most surprisingly to myself I have started looking inward in a different way to try and find a bit more inner peace. Yes, I have become ‘that guy’ and have started using meditation and yoga to try and centre myself and this may be the only section that is a complete positive. I completely understand the scepticism (and was a purveyor of it myself) when it comes to these things but there is a reason so many people bang on about them - they work (or at least they can work for some people). The only downside I find in these practices is that initially they can feel more like a chore. We are programmed to constantly be busy and not to take time for ourselves. When we do it has to be something active - the consumption of food, TV, alcohol, social media, exercise or writing a 5 year fucking plan. Yoga/meditation/‘I believe the word is zen’ is the antithesis of this - it promotes well being by just being and that takes some adjustment. I am thankful that I feel I am finally getting there in that regard. The thing I am most grateful for (and this has probably been of the biggest aid to me) is the people I have come into contact with. Throughout all the practices I have mentioned above (except maybe the medication because I don’t have my doctor on Facebook) and through conducting interviews for MOOD SWINGS itself, I have been incredibly lucky to meet so many incredible people who have had similar experiences, who can offer support and guidance and who I so often find myself contacting for help when I need it. Even crazier is when they get in touch with me, citing that they knew something was wrong. This all feeds into my increasing suspicion that there may be something behind this whole spiritualism thing, that maybe we are all connected. But I’ll stop there before I get too kooky.   After all of this, how do I feel? Well I am glad to say that I am starting to make more sense to myself and this in turn, helps me to be kinder and better to those around me, which makes me feel better about myself. It’s like a vicious circle except not really that vicious but quite nice actually. The only downside is that like anything, as you get better, it just gets so much harder when you fail or falter. If you are absolutely brilliant at making curry (which I am to be fair) it hurts so much worse when you cook up a bad batch (thankfully I never do) and it’s the same for mental health. As my mental health improves and I find it easier to control my mood, to gravitate towards the things that help me and to look deeply at myself to understand the why’s of my emotions and act on them before they act on me - it becomes even more frustrating when I can’t. When I am reckless, or distraught beyond being rational or I’ve let myself slip deeply into the greys, it hurts that bit more. When reflecting on these times I still find it confusing  and the only conclusion I can draw is that whilst I am starting to piece together the things that make me, me, there are still some missing pieces to this picture or puzzle. Things continue to get clearer and the picture is coming more into focus but it will stay jagged and unclear in places until it is complete. Maybe it never will be. But I won’t stop trying to find the next piece.

#mental health awareness #mentalhealthawareness #mentalhealthawarenessweek #depression #anxiety #moodswings #mhaw #itsoktonotbeok #itsoknottobeok #aberdeen #scotland

[waypathfinder]

Crimson Lane - Chapter 13 - The Long Dark Night (Part 2)

Moodboard by @ashtyntaytertot 

Beta’d by @kathknight and @ashtyntaytertot

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Chapter Text 

Rain trickled down the tinted windows of the black Mercedes Vito. Within, Kylo rested his head against the back seat, listening to the gentle roar of rubber tyres on wet bitumen. Gloved fingers threaded and eyes closed. Head bobbing as though he were sleeping.

The van sped from the red-light district of Mustafar. Streetlights beamed onto Kylo’s face, the shadow of rain dancing across his features. The van weaved through the darkness until the lights became sparser and the road rough. Telltale signs they were coming into the rundown region of Jakku. 

They came to a stop and Kylo opened his eyes. The door of the van slid open and the smell of musty rain pitted against dry streets flooded the interior.

“Ren,” Dom said, voice quiet. “We’re here. The guys are waiting for you inside.”

Kylo nodded. Dom wasn’t like the others. At five foot seven, he was the smallest of the knights, contracted by Snoke for tech work and driving. He was a gentle soul with a crooked smile and a love of small wonders, bugs mainly. Snoke had busted him hacking into his archives four years ago. Then, he’d been given the same sentence as Kylo: Freedom, at a cost. Now Dom had a string of offences that were far worse: fraud, embezzlement, hacking and sabotage. He couldn’t walk away now, even if he wanted to.

Kylo stepped out into the gutterless street, pulling the collar of his jacket up around his neck as he dashed across the pavement. The road was unnaturally dark and eerily quiet, with wisps of steam rising from the surface.

That familiar blue door was as dark as the ocean floor now, the edges of it cracked and splintered, where Hux and the knights had kicked through the lock.

Kylo reached out, ready to push it open.

“Wait!” Dom held the barrel of the gun, handle outward for Kylo to grasp. “You’ll need this.”

Kylo furrowed his brow, taking it slowly. “Don’t ever hold a gun like that.”

“I trust you, Kylo.”

“You shouldn’t trust anyone here, least of all me.” He took the gun carefully, checking the safety was in place, and slipping it beneath the waistband of his trousers.

He pushed the door again and this time the hinges creaked loudly and with a strained breath, he stepped inside.

Blood.  

It was everywhere.

On the floor, on the walls, the stench of it acrid and sweet in the air.

“Holy shit,” Dom whispered behind him.

“You don’t need to come in.”

Dom nodded, backing away, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll wait outside.”

Kylo kept his head straight, staring ahead with half-closed lids.

Drip, drip, drip . The rain was leaking through the hallway light, creating a pool of water on the hall rug. Kylo stepped over it. A gust of wind pushed the door open from behind him, as a draft crept down his back in an icy chill. He turned around.

He was alone. But still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling something or someone was walking with him.

Ahead, there was a light in the living room, with the shapes of Hux, Kane and Seth, hovering around a central figure.

He froze in place at the sound of Lor’s weary words spilling out.

“I already told you, I’m not working with anyone. It's only ever been me. I used old access codes and--”

“That’s not really true though, is it?” Hux’s weaselling words followed. He turned to his knights. “Gentleman, help him remember.”

LIke a cackle of hyenas, Hux and two of the knights circled around Lor, who was tied up in his dining chair. Kylo set his jaw in place, resolving to show no emotion at the sight of his Godfather bruised and bloodied, the hair of his beard burnt and the skin beneath it raw and glistening. Kylo looked through him, to the wall behind, forcing out the sight of the broken man.

“Well, well, well. So good of you to join us, Ren.” Hux marched to him. The son-of-a-bitch didn’t have a single hair out of place. Meanwhile, the rest of the knights were puffing, knuckles red and splattered with dried blood.

There was an emptiness in the air and inside him. From some far-off place in his consciousness, Kylo could hear the stoic guard of the grandfather clock, bearing witness. Each tick, counting down the seconds San Tekka had to live.

It was too much, and the old man’s head dropped to the side, staring at the floor, pink saliva dripping from his cracked lip.

“Did you get anything?” Kylo asked, trying not to flinch at the sight of Lor's pathetic form.

“Actually, yes.” Hux walked over to the dining table. The one Kylo had sat at mere hours ago. His glass of water, still there, untouched.

“Here.” Hux handed him a small cylinder-shaped USB drive.

Kylo stared at it for far too long. There was no mistaking it. He had hidden and protected that piece of hardware for the last four months, using every moment Snoke had left his laptop unlocked to carefully steal information from it and on to the drive. It had everything he needed to bring Snoke and the First Order to justice once and for all. It was the only way he could make Snoke pay and release everyone else he had trapped in his vicious cycle of crime.

And there Hux held it in the palm of his hand like it was nothing. Without the drive there was no escape, Snoke would always find him and hunt him down. Kylo had tried to run away once, as a teenager… it had not ended well. He still had the scars to prove it. There was no choice but to stay now and continue playing the game, waiting to be caught or killed.

Kylo’s world was crumbling around him; everything he had hoped to put into place was now crashing down like a landslide. He cleared his throat, blinking back the hint of tears.

“What’s on it then?”

“Everything. You, me, Snoke. Every underhanded job the First Order has ever done.”

Kylo nodded, slowly, eyes transfixed on the drive. “It’s a good thing we found it then.” He pocketed the drive but Hux reached out.

“It’s a good thing I found it.” Hux reached out with an open palm, waiting.

“Come now, Kylo. Finders keepers.”

“I’ll take it back to Snoke myself. He’s expecting it”

“You’re right, he is expecting it, which is why he asked me to deliver it personally .”

Kylo pursed his lips, reluctantly placing the drive back in Hux’s waiting palm.

Hux’s fingers closed around it quickly, sliding it into his own trouser pocket.

“You know, there was an awful lot of dirt on you. You should be thankful it didn’t find its way to the press.”

“We all are, I imagine.”

Hux chortled. “Yes, I suppose so.” And then he looked around the room, pulling Kylo aside. “There’s no way San Tekka would have had access to this kind of information. You know what this means?”

“There’s someone else on the inside.”

“One of the girls, perhaps?”

“It’s possible.”

“I’ve been working on him for hours, but the son-of-bitch won’t talk. Maybe you can be more convincing.”

Kylo looked over at Lor thoughtfully. His godfather. The man who had cleaned him up after his first school fight so his mother wouldn’t scold him, the man who was there for them when his father couldn’t be, the man protecting him, even now.

“He’s weak. If he knew anything he would have talked. Anyway, Snoke wants him dead.”

“Hmm,” Hux mused to himself. “It seems like a waste.”

There was a flicker of movement from the dining chair, as Lor coughed himself awake. Kylo nodded his head towards him, indicating that they should be quiet.

“What do I care if he listens to any of it? He’s a dead man anyway.” He turned to Lor, pointing his finger in the shape of a gun. “You hear that, old man? We’re going to blow your fucking brains out. That’s what happens when you cross the First Order.”

“But first--” Hux squatted in front of the man – “you’re going to tell us who you're working for?”

Lor’s mouth opened and closed.

“No one,” he answered hoarsely.

Hux stood, wringing his hands with impatience. “I’m growing tired of your lies!” He nodded to the right and from out of the shadows, one of the knights stepped forward and punched him on the side of the skull.

Lor’s head dropped forward, as a cry of pain escaped lips. Seemingly grasping onto the last threads of strength, Lor turned to Kylo and peered at him with those old blue eyes, with understanding and resolve.

“Tell us!” Hux screeched.

Another blow to the head, this time from Seth Ren. He was a newer member of the fold, one of the few whose lusts for violence and money had lead him to seek a job from Snoke directly. Once the sound of knuckles cracking against bone had subsided, Seth readjusted a bloody ring on his finger and stepped back into the darkness.

Kylo gnawed at the thumb of his glove. A habit he hadn’t done since he was a kid. The

other hand, reached behind his back, feeling the cool, matte handle of the pistol.

“We can do this all night, old man.” Hux gestured for another one of his men to step forward.

“No one.” Lor’s lips mouthed the words. And then he shook his head, raising tear-stained eyes to Kylo.

He had nothing left.

And he would never break.

”Please.” The words came out empty, a breath of air, gasping. But Kylo heard it, deep in his heart, in the dark places of his mind where his nightmares lived and breathed. He would hear that word for the rest of his life.

Kylo shook his head, the motion was barely there, a silent message. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t—

“ Please! ” This time Lor found his voice, desperate and broken.

Kylo squeezed his eyes shut for a pause and when he opened them, Lor’s gaze was reaching out to him. Begging.

Kylo pulled the gun from behind him, levelling the barrel so it was aimed between Lor’s eyes. “Time’s up, traitor.”

“Wait!” Hux jumped out in front of him, gleefully pulling out his phone and setting it to record. “Smile at the camera, maggot.”

“Stop it,” Kylo said between gritted teeth.

“Come on, San Tekka. I want to see a big smile while we put a bullet in your head.”

Kylo’s hands shook; he was so close to grabbing Hux and slamming his face into the window. He breathed again. Centre. Control . He needed to stay in control.

Lor whimpered, forcing a weak smile onto his lips.

“There now,” Hux beamed at him, holding the camera steady.

Kylo pulled the trigger, slowly, inwards…

I’m sorry.  

The grandfather clock counted down: Three, two, one.

“No, wait!” Hux shouted, reaching out, but Kylo fired the shot.

And it was over.

Kylo would come to remember two things from that moment. One was the way the bullet drilled so neatly into the front of Lor’s head, ripping through skin, skull and tissue until the back of his head exploded on the floral and lace curtains behind. And second, was the way Lor welcomed death. Not in fear or regret, but like an old friend. His eyes genuinely smiled and there was light in them.

In the end, it wasn’t Kylo he was looking at, but behind him, to something that gave him a purpose to die. And for a long time after it happened, Kylo wondered whether he saw the woman he loved. Whether the prospect of an eternity with her made his death feel like a homecoming.

The gun released a shallow breath of smoke and the room fell silent, filled with the acrid tang of gunpowder. Kylo pocketed the weapon behind him once more, struggling to push it beneath his belt with quaking fingers. The moments, after all, played out like the blur of a nightmare. Hux and the knights spoke enthusiastically, raiding the fridge, emptying Lor’s liquor cabinet and sharing the contents.

“Well done, Ren. I didn’t think you had it in you,” Hux said, an edge of a surprise to his voice. “Snoke will be pleased.”

Kylo nodded, like a puppet on a string.

“Here.” Another knight, he didn’t even see who it was, slapped a bottle of vodka in his hand. “Drink up.”

The next few minutes played out at mixed speed. In some ways the entire world had slowed, the sounds around him pushed into the background, his own thoughts loud and demanding, and the next minute his mind was empty and then there were other people talking, their voices rising and falling, their drinks filling and emptying, laughing as they cleared out any valuables and smashed photos and threw teacups against the brown wallpaper. They were drunk.

Drunk . Kylo opened the bottle, pouring the contents into his mouth, enough that his cheeks were filled and the sharp alcohol dribbled down his chin.

Hux slapped him on the back. Snoke wanted to speak to him, congratulate him on the job. Kylo nodded, answering in monosyllables.

Hux sidled up to him, lips curled in a devious smile. “You know the rules, the one who spills the most blood, cleans it up.”

Kylo swayed, he hadn’t drunk enough to sway, but something in his body was struggling to stay upright. “Fuck off. Do that yourself.”

“No can do.” Hux tapped on his pocket. “I need to get this back to Snoke.”

“This is not your victory,” he hissed a Hux, gripping his fingers into the man’s forearm, aiming to bruise. Hux’s phone beeped with a message and he pulled the phone out, holding it in front of him like some peace offering.

“That’s him now.” Hux checked the message, smiling coyly before turning the screen to show Kylo.

Kylo can clear the evidence. I expect you back here in 20.  

“Tough break, Kylo.” Hux beamed at him. “I’ll see you back at the whore house.”

One by one they left, even Dom, who had come sometime after the gun went off, decided to wait outside, saying he was going to hurt if he had to look at the splatter of brains on the window any longer.

Once they were gone, Kylo sunk down on his knees. Head raised, eyes lowered, forcing himself to see the body, to memorise the way the blood flooded out of his head. He tried to breathe, but his chest caved in on itself and his eyes stung with tears.

There it was. He was a murderer. Whatever the reason, whatever excuses he would tell himself in the dark of night, that much was true and nothing he could do would ever take that away.

He was about to let it all go, to stop fighting the bleeding tears that wanted to stream from his eyes, to roar, and beat his chest, and rip this place apart. He was at the gates, about to let it all spill out when the phone in his pocket began to vibrate on silent.

He pulled it out. Unknown number.  

He pressed answer, and waited.

Rey leaned against the window of her room, watching the rain fall softly against the street lights. Had it really only been four days since she’d waited in this very spot for her first client? The mysterious Kylo Ren, who didn’t want her to look, touch or ask questions.

Four days and everything she’d felt about him had changed. Into what, she wasn’t sure. Her world had been shaken and broken, everything falling back into different places, feelings shifted, beliefs challenged. Her own personal earthquake.

She closed her eyes, squeezing them until they blanched with dissipating colours. The creeping fingers of dread taking hold the longer she waited...

Where are you, Kylo?  

She shook her head, staring out into the black expanse, studying every shape and movement in the street below. Mindlessly reaching into her pockets and twisting the lining of them until her fingers brushed against the small folded note Kylo had given her.

She pulled it out, unfolding it. There was no name, or note, just a number.

Should she?  

She didn’t have much battery left, but there was enough, at least, for this.

She dialled the keypad quickly, in case she changed her mind.

It rang. Twice.

The phone on the other end of the line answered. Silence.

“Kylo?” she asked, cringing at the way her own voice was so weak and uncertain.

There was a beat, and then a rushed, “Rey, are you safe?”

“I’m fine, but I—” She rolled her eyes at her own words. But what, Rey? What exactly is the reason you’re calling?  

“Look, It’s not a good time.”

“Kylo,” she whispered into the phone, holding it close. “Please tell me what Snoke is making you do tonight.”

“Rey…” he began cautiously.

“Or just come back. Please, come back.”

“Rey…”

“We can do whatever you want. Anything. Hey, I’ll let you beat me at Risk if you want.”

A laugh, muffled, strained and not altogether genuine, filled with emotion that shouldn’t be there and then silence, again.

Pained, heavy silence.

“Don’t do it,” she pleaded.

Her phone beeped, warning her that she was about to run out of battery. It wasn’t enough time.

“I don’t understand what this thing is between us, Kylo, but it’s more—”

It’s more than professional, than friends, unfettered raw attraction underlying something deep and rich. A connection and longing that was slowly filling the empty places in her heart. She didn’t know how to say it. It was too soon. She didn’t know enough about him, and what she didn’t know certainly shouldn’t make her feel like this.

“It’s more than—” her words failed her.

“I know,” he almost whispered.

Rey closed her eyes and smiled, eyes filling with tears.

“Come back,” she said through a muffled sob. “Please come back to me.”

The sound on the other end dimmed into quiet, in the background she could hear the light tapping of a clock, it’s regular rhythm contrasting against the random pitter-patter of the rain.

“I have to go.” That voice, stronger now, resolved.

“Oh, okay.”

“Bye, Rey.”

“By—” The phone went dead, even as her answer hung in the air.

She stared at the blank screen and saved the contact, “B”.

And then she waited.

On the woolskin rug by the fire, leaning against the window, in the shower, lying in bed, body naked beneath the smooth silk sheets.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

And then she finally heard a knock at the door.

She leapt out of bed, the sheet draped around her body, bare feet sliding across the cool

wooden slats.

The knock sounded again and she walked faster, heart pounding, hand outstretched to the door handle.

She reached forward, curling her fingers around the cold metal handle and then—

She stopped dead.

Kylo had the keys.

Shit. Shit. Shit.  

The silence was louder than ever, only broken by the sound of rain, lashing against the window on whips of wind.

A knock, again. Harder. It made the door rattle, and Rey took a step back, eyes wide.

Again, and then a voice, low and guttural.

“Open the door, Rey.”

She froze. How could she be so stupid? Had he heard her coming to the door?

“Rey,” the voice sterner now, but still laced with the overtone of deceptive kindness. “Open the door now, it’s your boss, Alistair.”

She took another step back. Eyes darting from the window to the door, to the bathroom. Searching for an escape...

“I know you’re in there, little minx,” he crooned. “Open the door, and we can have a chat. Just a talk, nothing else.”

The door handle rattled again, but this time she could hear the sound of keys scratching against the lock.

She stepped backwards, fist to her mouth, heart racing. The door handle shook, being tugged this way and that. Pushed, pulled, and then more keys, scratching against the handle, and low, hissing curses.

She held her breath, eyes closed, listening to the sound. Waiting for the familiar click...

“Open the door your little bitch,” he growled. And this time he kicked at it, the base of the door giving in slightly with every blow.

Rey backed against the far wall, chest heaving with every breath, eyes darting around the room for anything she might use as a weapon.

“Rey,” Snoke sang to her.

“Rey.” His fingers, pawing at the door.

“Do you think you can turn him, pathetic child?”

She closed her eyes, not daring to move.

“I cannot be betrayed.” His voice coiled around her. “I cannot be beaten. I know his mind. I know the darkness in his soul.”

Those words, like poison, how long had he been destroying him, ripping away his humanity, turning him into a weapon for Snoke’s own causes?

She hated him. Hated Snoke more than she had ever hated any man.

And she was not scared of him.

She came closer to the door, head raised, shoulders back.

“You underestimate Ben Solo,” she said firmly. “And me.”

He chuckled, cruel and callous. Rey fought the urge to open it, to face him herself. Skywalker had taught her well. She knew her own strength and Snoke was alone.

“The sad thing is Rey, you don’t even know the half of it. What he’s already done to you.” Lies. He was lying to her. He had to be. “What he’s doing tonight.”

She covered her ears, not wanting to hear.

“He’s a murderer, Rey.”

“You’re a liar.”

“You will see, when he comes home dripping in blood, wanting to fuck you like the whore you are,” he laughed. “You will see.”

Once he was alone, Kylo vomited into the kitchen sink, the sting of vodka burning his throat. Hands shaking, he looked back at Lor, laying on the floor, body relaxed, jaw open, staring at him.

He wanted this.  

Murderer, his mind whispered, and an unsettling cold seeped through him.

He begged you to do it.  

Kylo took another drink of vodka, heat rising in his lungs as it went down.

He was so sorry. So fucking sorry for all of it. He dropped to his knees, breath heaving, ignoring the way the blood pooled around his legs, the way Lor just stared at him with an empty expression.

There was only one thing left to do now.

He pulled out his phone number and dialled.

After a moment’s pause, a muffled vibration began to sound from within the clock. He trudged over to it, rivulets of blood clinging to his boots, the reek of it clinging to his clothes. Opening the case cabinet, he reached inside and pulled Lor’s phone out.

At least he had time to hide this.

He hung up the call and searched through the message threads until he found one from Poe. They were supposed to meet later tonight, in twenty minutes to be exact.

He had to leave. But first—

He typed a message.

The First Order has taken the USB drive. It had everything on it. Kylo Ren’s here. Not much time. He knows about Rey, he’s going after her. Tell her to run for her own good, she needs to get away from him.  

His thumb hovered over the send button. He had to make her run. His plan had failed and she wasn’t safe there, not without him. Not even with him.

She deserved better.

He hit send and almost instantly three little dots started dancing at the bottom of the screen, indicating that a message was being written in response.

Poe    : What’s happening? Are you okay?

He didn’t reply, dropping the phone to the side and walking away.

“Hey, Kylo.” Dom was standing in the hall.

Had he seen what he’d just done?

Their eyes met, analytical and silent.

“We should go.”

Kylo nodded, directing one last look back at Lor.

“Stop at the bar on the way home. I need a drink.”

“You and me both,” Dom said, but there was something unsettled behind his smile and Kylo wondered if, despite everything he had done, this final act had blown his entire cover.

Rey waited with her feet planted on the floor as Snoke’s laughter had followed him down the hall. Once she was sure he was truly gone she ran into the bathroom, splashing water on her neck and head, staring back at the colourless face in front of her. The face that was tired of hiding, of being scared. The face of someone who was ready to fight.

She retrieved her phone from beside the bed and dialled Poe’s number.

The phone rang once.

“Poe Dameron.”

“Poe, it’s Rey.”

“Oh my God, Rey, are you—”

“I don’t have any time, my battery is down to 1 percent and I can’t charge it here.”

“Wait, Rey, this is important you need to listen to me—”

“No,” she snapped. “ You listen to me! They’ve gone after San Tekka.”

“I know, I’m going there right away, but Rey—”

“I’ll do it, Poe. I’ll help you bring down Snoke,” she said in a rush.

The phone went dead and she smiled, satisfied that if nothing else, she had gotten this message out safely.

The rain was falling in lashing sheets by the time Kylo returned to number 12. He collapsed out of the van, and would almost have fallen flat on his face, had Dom not steadied him at the last minute. The red lamp above splashed his face with red shadows as he pounded on the door.

“Kylo Ren.” Phasma opened the door with a surly stare. “What’s the emergency?”

He pushed past her and through to the booking diary, scanning the evening’s vacancies.

“Do you mind?”

He grunted in response and she snapped the diary closed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Are any of the girls available now?”

Phasma looked disdainfully at the blood now smeared on her desk. She pulled a cloth from under the desk and cleaned it up, glaring at him as she did so. “Don’t get fucking blood on the desk. It’s bad for business.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

Phasma raised a solitary eyebrow at him. “You’re pissed.”

“No shit, Sherlock. A girl. Tessa. I don’t care. Any one of them. Someone who knows the rules.”

“Sure,” she said slowly, as if the concept was too difficult for him to understand. “Are you looking to double up?”

Kylo’s entire face furrowed. “No, I just need one.”

“Well, go and fuck Rey, then. That’s what you’re paying her for.”

“Rey?” he asked. She shouldn’t be here. Poe would have warned her by now . “Rey’s gone.”

“What on earth have you taken, Kylo? She’s upstairs, waiting for you.”

Why was she still here? The question carried him up the stairs. Had she not gotten the message? He was going faster now, leaping up the steps in twos, using the railing to propel his body faster. And if she had, and she was still here, then what did that mean?  

He pulled out the keys, dropping them on the floor until he found the right one and shakily put it in the lock. With his heart hammering in his chest, he sneaked in and closed it quietly, careful to lock it again.

The room was dark, apart from the soft glow of street lights shining in through the wide windows. She had left the curtains open, and as the light reflected through the glass he could make out her handprint smeared on the window.

A small puff of air leapt from his lungs, something between a laugh and a cry. He followed the path from the window to the bed, where there was a trail of clothes on the floor.

Kylo tilted his head to the side as he stared at Rey’s dark hair flowing freely over the pillow, the white sheets framing the outlines of her body, curving over her waist and hips, stretching out over her left leg, the other peeking out from beneath the sheet, silken smooth. Bare.

There was a sensation of light in his chest, weightless and warm. He stepped forward and her right arm curled over the pillow, hugging it close to her, at the same time the sheet dropped exposing the side of her breast.

Naked.  

She was naked.  

Blood throbbed at his core and he came closer. This time, the floorboard creaked and she sat upright, clutching the sheet around her body and darting her eyes through the darkness.

“Kylo!” she hissed. “You scared the shit out of—”

He was standing in the streetlight, austere lines of it mixing veins of light and darkness across his body and she bent her knees up to her chest, shuffling back. The whites of her eyes wide and unnerving.

“You’re--you’re covered in blood.”

He looked down at the burgundy stains on his clothes, damply sticking to the hard lines of his body.

“Why are you here?” he sneered, reaching behind his back and pulling out the gun. Without a care, he threw it to the ground and Rey jumped as it slid across the floorboards.

She gasped as it hit the wall. “What are you thinking?” She turned the bed lamp on and glared at him. Her face told him everything he needed to know, that and the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.

“Why do you have a gun?”

He walked away, ripping the clothes off his body like they were on fire. In the bathroom, he let the water wash over him, watching the way it was stained with bright pools of red. Crimson droplets ran down his body, catching on the hairs of his leg. His breaths became heavy, shaking and constrained, as his hands scratched violently through his hair. He couldn’t stop shaking, even though the water was so hot that it scolded him, even though his chest was flaming with red lashes from the heat.  All he could see was the rivers of blood, flooding around his feet, running eddies of swirling pink spirals.

Tears streamed down his face, silently, and he gasped for air. His mind was exploding, eruptions of pain and regret and hate, the emotions overcame everything else. He needed to explode, to pound it all away. To force the reality back into the locked vault, where he kept all the hateful and cruel things he had inflicted on others. But the door was opening and the demons were escaping. And there was only one way he knew to lock them away again.

He turned the shower off, grabbing a towel that hung on the wall and wiped his face and hair with it. All the while, he advanced on her. She must have seen it in his eyes, in the manner in which he stalked, quiet and purposeful, more like a hunter than a lover.

She edged back, shaking her head.

“You spoke to Poe tonight.”

She refused to meet his eye, looking to the left and onto the door.

“And you’re still here?”

“You practically locked me in here, remember?” she snapped.

“You were always a fighter,” Kylo gave her a half-smile, but it was cold and empty. He reached the edge of the bed and kneeled up on it. “That’s what I love most about you. You never take anything lying down.”

The bed creaked with the weight of his body and his towel dropped. Rey’s lips parted, and her eyes fleetingly dropped below his navel. Her face flushed at the sight, realising how much he must have wanted her.

The weight of her gaze made him jolt and grow, but when she met his gaze again, there was fear there.

She feared the monster, and well she should, for he was a murderer, a violent, black-hearted ghost.

He remembered the sound of his old name on her lips, how his heart flipped and jumped at the way it came so natural and right.

But it was all a lie.  

“Turn the light off,” he said quietly.

He had merely forgotten who he was.

“Do it,” Kylo pressed her

She didn’t move.

But tonight had made it all rush back to him.

Ben Solo was dead.  

He reached his hand toward the light. The room plunged into darkness.

And Kylo Ren was the villain.

#crimson lane #reylo #reylo au #reylo fan fic #reylo fan fiction #reylo fan fic rec

[ventylatte]

15/06/19 - 3:08am

i wanna try replicate my mind yesterday when i was doing the dishes at 10pm because it was really racing lmao

as mentioned prior, dan’s video on his sexuality really made thoughts that already swarm my mind way louder than usual, paired with the empty shelf that’s been left empty in my mindscape that had once been FILLED with a-level knowledge and stress. it’s now home to a bunch of loud questions about my identity, ranging from my nationality, religion, where i belong (maybe i’ll rant about that some other day, but i’ve made it vocal to people before) to my sexuality. i’m not sure if this was a ‘realisation’ of sorts but a couple months ago on a walk home from school, i remember declaring ‘if i was white, i would have probably come out as bisexual a long time ago’

and yeah i still believe that, 100%!

because despite my coconut-exterior that i seem to project (i hate it, i hate it, i hate it, i feel devalued), i am brown: i do still have asian-indian parents that wouldn’t be thrilled about their son or daughter claiming they’re gay (i say ‘claiming’ because that’s what it would be to them. i know it. ‘such a typical claim in this weird society. bound to happen, it’s a trend these days’, etc.)

i remember asking my mum what she thought about the lgbt, and if i remember correctly, she didn’t mind it, but didn’t want it in her family or ‘circle’.

now i ain’t criticising my parents. many would, but i really can’t. because they were born in a different generation, in a different time where the lgbt community wasn’t exactly as prominent as it is today.

but good god. one day an advert for that reality tv show, ‘the bi life’ i think its called, popped onto the tv, and my dad was all ‘what the hell is this? … freakshow’ (he muttered)

AND I FELT? HURT? no, ‘hurt’ is a strong word. just a bit… prodded at?

and i still can’t decide the reason. was it because i was wondering where i should draw the line with my dad’s remarks towards the lgbt community? i’ve always had this internal debate with myself about whether i’m sort of ‘silencing’ my dad by taking a stand in issues he doesn’t really believe in (primarily the lgbt community, he’s cool with feminism… to an extent lol). he always has a shout about how people can only say what they’re really thinking behind closed doors. would i be taking this away from him? where can i really draw the line in this whole counter-argument of my parents simply being born in another generation? i mean, sure, they aren’t hurting anyone outside (i really hope), but his comments do affect me.

that’s reason 1 i felt a bit disorientated. society’s a bit mad with labels, and i couldn’t find it in me to label my parents a pair of homophobes. BUT AT THE SAME TIME THERE ARE ADULTS THEIR AGE THAT ARE WAY MORE ACCEPTI- i need to stop before i get trapped in this circular argument that i’ve had 19218839 times with myself before - this is already so much longer than i thought it’d be lmfao.

reason 2? and here’s where i feel fake and dumb. something in me resonates with bisexuality.

JESUS, my hands TINGLED and my FACE tingled and it’s starting to heat up right now because i never, ever, ever got that in words, let alone WRITING. because that would make it a real, concrete argument. and maybe no i dont think so elina, stop right theeree duedddeee

i dont know.

i dont know.

sigh.

i dont.

know.

referring back to ‘if i was white, i would have probably come out as bisexual a long time ago’, i know that i would have come out as bisexual if i was white because i feel they have way less to consider when doing so. that’s not to assume that all white people have caring, understanding and liberal parents (but let’s face it dude, white parents are more likely to come around to the idea and other ideas in today’s society that rigid, asian parents would not. might just research into that, lol). a white girl can and will marry a girl if they feel like it, and that’s amazing, that’s so good, that’s so cool that they don’t have maybe other questions that halt this process like: - okay but HOW willing am i to marry a woman? - how plausible is a relationship with a girl? cause, ladies and gents and everything in between, these questions are always pinned under ‘what percentage of me would be with a man rather than a woman’ because fucking damn it, weddings are MAN an d WOMAN AND BITCH IF I AM WHAT IM SCARED TO BE WHAT IF MY HEART LEADS ME TO A WOMAN AND NOT A MAN. think of all the disappointment. white families aren’t as extended as asian families - the news would spread like a vicious wildfire. the prospect of bisexuality for an asian person or a person of colour generally is always pinned with this disgusting, self-denying statement that they really don’t want to think:

‘even if i am, there’s like a bigger chance i’ll marry a man so it doesn’t really matter, right?’

that bigger chance will forever stem from these expectations set by their families, i think.

and it’s always that question that makes them think ‘WELL shit i guess i aint then considering i practically negotiated my sexuality: u cant do that rookie, sexuality is SET IN STONE, so there’s no way you’re that sexuality. you’re only saying it because it’s a thing in society to be.’

it’s just why i dont believe in labels in general, and i love dan’s video so much for dedicated a section towards the matter. sexuality to me is fluid. the only thing that kind of makes it concrete are those labels. labels are great for some people: it gives them a name, a sense of normality in such a heteronormative society. but there’s a negative in that no one can simply just. be.

i wanna.

i dont wanna really.

sigh, am i just trying to align myself with society today? this label-filled society where your worth comes from how many labels you have slapped onto your blazer? it’s like those little patches those sporty, intelligent girls got in assemblies for being leader of the netball team or for excelling in ‘resilience’ or whatever that heck that means. those patches, except they have ones for ‘brown’ +1 point! ‘female’ +1 point! ‘sexually-confused’ +1 point! unless u think ur str***ht, in which case -2 points! where was i going with this AGH my brain isn’t being cohesive it’s just spitting shit everywhere.

another thing that makes me deny it all is my friend. let’s call her peach: she’s brown, muslim, pakistani, has very strict parents, but is still happy to identify as ‘gay’ to the world, and that’s amazing. but it sort of makes me wonder why i haven’t done that yet = thus suggesting ‘yeah im not REALLY, i would’ve felt it like she did in year 8, felt more passion for it - and i dont even have parents as strict as hers, so i can’t be!’ but her sexuality has also been generally fluid: she’s dating a guy at the moment, and has practically abandoned labels for the time being. goals lol.

what the fuk am i saying oh my goddddddd i can’t even make sense of it because i feel like im being super insensitive towards white people sigh forget it im going to bed, maybe i’ll string together something that makes bloody SENSE. its 3am egghj.

EDIT: I POSTED THIS ON RREI-CHAN AFHIAFAHIFA it wasn’t up for long, could’ve been so much worse, could’ve been on ryuga-zuki

#15/06/19

[crowspy]

// verse: fallout (cliffnotes)

(shit is still long, check under the cut)

history

overview - born in 2254 at raven rock as shouta yamamoto - if asked, he’ll insist he doesn’t have parents and instead spontaneously burst into existence one day as a fully grown adult - in truth, both of his parents died when he was still a baby, and he doesn’t have any memory of them, as he was primarily raised by the enclave’s nursery and education system - the enclave put a heavy emphasis on Patriotism and Loyalty and Group Think, but those who were more prone to independent and quick-thinking were encouraged to pursue careers in the secret service over the department of the army and scientific fields - so, to the secret service he went. aside from the duty of protecting the president, the enclave’s secret service also served as their intelligence agency (canon) - shouta proved to thrive in training for surface missions, particularly those requiring long-term undercover assignments - he wasn’t prone to forming close bonds even among those who raised him and he was raised alongside; he exhibited high amounts of independent thinking and persistence in the face of obstacles (which also meant he was prone to making trouble around the base); he proved to be “irritatingly patient” when it came to achieving his goals, and even when bored and restless, he didn’t lose sight of those goals; he showed an aptitude for stealth-oriented combat ... - yeah, all in all, he perfectly qualified as “get him the fuck out of here so he can make himself useful to us out there getting information”

personal life growing up - his difficulty forming close bonds started when he was very young, as a matter of course from the lack of solid parental figures, let alone remotely caring ones - sprinkle in a dose of lingering pre-war anti-asian racism (which survived thanks to the enclave’s nationalistic attitude) [headcanon], and he wasn’t exactly encouraged or motivated to grow close to anyone - this in particular met badly with his stubborn streak and small stature, which all combined into him learning to be an underhanded little shit who liked to stir up trouble just to annoy everyone around him - he also learned to keep his true opinions to himself, because the enclave is heavy-handed in its punishments (especially those considered potentially traitorous) [headcanon], and while he liked being difficult in nature, he also liked having basic privileges and being alive - all of those qualities that made him useful to the secret service were born more or less out of a survival instinct - he had a reputation — among both his peers and the adults in charge of him — of being a nosy, noisy, restless, easily bored, passive aggressive smartass, thanks to the above traits coupling with his high need for mental stimulation - he didn’t so much have friends among his peers as he had people he found entertaining and who thought he was funny ... but none of them were willing to back him up if (when) he ever got in trouble (which contributed to that whole “not forming close bonds” thing) - the enclave believed in using harsh punishments on those who stepped out of line, to make them an example of improper behavior [headcanon]. with shouta, though, all that did was drive him farther away from their core beliefs - it was kind of a vicious circle, oroborous-style. the enclave’s treatment of shouta caused him to question them, and the more he questioned them, the worse things got for him - but he was always careful to toe that line so he wouldn’t get exiled or executed, and he worked hard at his training to prove himself useful so they’d be even more reluctant to permanently get rid of him - overall, though, the general populace was glad to see him sent out into the wasteland and shouta was equally glad to get the fuck out, if not more so

secret agent man - he was deployed as a secret service undercover operative at the age of eighteen - it was around this time he first started using the name “bellamy” as his code name - his ability to learn fast and think quick on his feet helped to get him established. he ended up so successful at his job that he ended up staying out of the bunker for months at a time, and never had to break his cover - while it was tempting to use his cover to disappear into the wasteland and cut ties with the enclave, there were a couple of things keeping him from doing that - reason number one being that he wasn’t immune to the way the enclave conditioned its members. he still ended up with a longing to be connected to a group, to a greater cause, and even if he didn’t really fall in step with the enclave’s party line, the enclave was part of his identity - reason number two being the simple fact that he didn’t want to have to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life, waiting for his former family to come hunt him down and kill him for turning traitor

the fall of the enclave - he was twenty-three when the lone wanderer left vault 101, and he had no knowledge of the truth behind president eden’s plan - he was also fortunate enough to not be at raven rock when the lone wanderer led the brotherhood of steel and liberty prime to the enclave’s doorstep - his partner at the time had a wife who was a first lieutenant in the military, and when she managed to escape with a band of others, she refused to leave without louis — so when they stopped to collect him, they got +1 bellamy, too - louis and bellamy used their undercover skills to help the others stand out less in order to increase their chances of surviving as they fled the capitol wasteland - once they reached the commonwealth, the survivors scattered, only keeping bare minimum coded radio contact throughout the next ten years

the commonwealth - by the time of 2287, bellamy is aged thirty-three and has staked a range of jobs to make a living, including: - scavving (in general and also for hire, since his stealth skills made it possible for him to slip in and out of locations to retrieve items for pay) - acting as an informant (for just about anyone, unwittingly even giving information to institute agents) - farming (for a very brief period of time, for the sake of having the new experience) - a caravan guard (he didn’t enjoy this too much) - mercenary (not as a heavy, though; he took on the quieter jobs, the kind that his employers didn’t want to draw attention to) - starting in 2285, he started operating out of diamond city, first running general errands and running specific scavving requests for shopkeepers and citizens - about a year or so later, he also signed on with the railroad as a tourist, feeding them information about goings-on within diamond city (codename? corby) - as he gradually earned trust, he worked his way up into a cushy job for an upper stands citizen as a personal assistant — still running errands they don’t want to deal with themselves, but also delivering messages and handing sticky social, then political situations, earning him even more reputation points

personality

positive traits: adaptable, communicative, independent neutral traits: curious, cautious, extroverted negative traits: nosy, obnoxious, trust issues wants: constant stimulation, information, a group to belong to doesn’t want: physical contact, boredom, to fall back in with enclave-like groups

- high energy, leading to near constant restlessness - too smart for his own damn good - high need for mental stimulation - which means boredom is a major problem - and yet has been known to be frustratingly patient when pursuing end goals - hoards information — knowing as much as possible is a safety net for him - interested in literally everything; prone to self-educating - this includes other people, and this interest is genuine; doesn’t believe there’s such a thing as “boring people” - curious, nosy - but cautious; doesn’t like to make a move unless he knows as much as he can, whenever feasible, and doesn’t like to make enemies whenever possible - adaptable and opportunistic - communicative, talkative (notorious for Never Shutting Up) - independent — works well on his own, isn’t prone to emotionally relying on anyone - externally-oriented (and not introspective, like... at all) - social, likes being around people and is energized by it - in addition, he likes being a member of A Group™, and likes having a group identity, both for emotional reasons and resource reasons (having access to people who know things he doesn’t and can do things he can’t) - but at the same time, emotionally distant — for all his energy, he isn’t actually much of a warm person (and he’s really bad at emotional support) - demonstrates affection by presenting gifts and experiences, and by performing acts of espionage on their behalf without their knowledge or consent - generally forms loose bonds; he might like someone just fine, but if it comes down to it, he has no issue dropping most everything and leaving it all behind - secretly a soft touch, though, especially for kids and underdogs in general - for all that he doesn’t think twice about morality, he still manages to have a conscience, which is something he rues - honestly not a terrible guy, when it comes down to it - hands-on boundary learning... meaning he’ll do everything he can to try to “accidentally” hit people’s buttons at least once so he knows where the limits are - pragmatic, practical, not prone to idealism, but not exactly a cynic, either - not ambitious — he’ll take what he can get and make what he can’t, but doesn’t have any desire to climb social ladders for the sake of power or control - somehow manages to do poorly and very well with authority at the same time, born out of a youth of pushing the line almost to the point of breaking, but being very careful not to break it - another way his lack of ambition (and ego) is exhibited is in the fact that he has no desire to show off or prove that he’s the smartest in the room (he’d actually rather be overlooked than get in a pissing contest, and honestly he wants to be underestimated. it’s a safety thing) - in addition, he doesn’t like responsibility, so there’s that aspect of it, too — if he isn’t in charge, someone has to be - unfortunately, his soft spot and conscience can combine to him taking on responsibility, because he doesn’t feel he could live with himself if he walked away...

bonus (non-personality) - Does Not Like Physical Contact - doesn’t even like being reminded he has skin, so he covers up as much as possible - overall doesn’t like being reminded of his physical existence - if he slowed down to self-inspect and/or had the resources, he’d figure out that he’d be happiest identifying as non-binary. he wouldn’t change his pronouns, but it’d help him be more comfortable in his body - he’s also likely aroace

personality typings mbti: ESTP enneagram: type 6 wing 5, self-preserving/social sun sign: gemini temperament: sanguine-choleric dæmon: american crow hogwarts house: ravenclaw

stats

birth name: shouta yamamoto code/chosen name: bellamy rook age: 33 height: 5′2″ hair color: black hair style: mid-length, bangs covering his forehead, does he have ears? nobody knows eye color: dark brown ethnicity: japanese descent face claim: fujiki naohito

(the below is written as an amalgamation of the systems in fallout 3, new vegas, and 4)

Strength: 5 Perception: 9 Endurance: 4 Charisma: 8 Intelligence: 12 Agility: 7 Luck: 7

tagged skills: speech, sneak, lockpick

most used skills: tagged skills, small guns, melee weapons, barter

traits: small frame, wild wasteland

perks: big leagues 4, armorer 3, blacksmith 2, pickpocket 4, rifleman 3, awareness 2, locksmith 3, lead belly 1, cap collector 2, lone wanderer 1, inspirational 1, medic 1, gun nut 2, hacker 3, scrapper 2, science! 1, nerd rage! 1, gunslinger 4, sneak 5, mister sandman 3, action boy 1, moving target 1, ninja 3, better criticals 2, critical banker 1

general equipment: non-unique version of deliverer, hunting rifle, combat knives (too many), grenades, any variation of gas mask (very common to see him with one on when not undercover). doesn’t have a typical outfit because he dresses to blend in, but when he’s being himself instead of a cover, he dresses in layers on layers on layers

factions: enclave, railroad (tourist), diamond city, caravans

loves: peaceful resolutions to violent scenarios, asking for more information, running cases for nick valentine, speaking as silver shroud, being supportive of travis during confidence man

likes: sarcasm, nice response, lockpicking, armor modding

dislikes: mean response, genetic purity sentiment or anything resembling it (like human elitism), supporting the brotherhood party line

hates: mean sarcasm, violent response, nudity, murder, brotherhood ending

companion perk: a light touch — when using light melee weapons, your damage and effectiveness is based on either your agility or your strength, whichever is higher. (standard: all melee damage and effectiveness is based on strength)

affinity quest: TBD

#verse : fallout ;; a crow among ravens #temp info tag

[not-close-to-straight]

Smitten Kitten (Chapter Nine)

ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS HERE *********************

It was going on three weeks now of Tony being stuck in a partial shift and he was tired of it.

The longer he was in a half-cat state the more he struggled to talk normally, to have regular sleep cycles, and even to control his emotions. He had Steve and Bucky at the ready at all times to drop what they were doing and hold him, but it was really starting to wear on him.

Conversations were getting harder, Tony was spending more and more time asleep and then waking up in tears because he needed to work, and even though he never called it their fault again--

--it was very much their fault, and they felt terrible.

Bucky wasn't expecting to find Rhodes in the lab when he went looking for Tony to see if they could spend some naked time together, but there the colonel was, passed out on the couch with Tony dead asleep next to him, their arms wrapped right around each other, Tony's head buried in Rhodey's chest.

“Hey did you find-- oh .” Steve pulled up short next to him. “Those two are just friends, right?”

“Right.” Bucky nodded slowly, and motioned Steve back several feet so they wouldn't disturb the nap. “Pretty sure. I mean, I'm pretty sure that they-- yeah. They're just friends. I think.”

“And they sleep together?” Steve raised his eyebrows. “Like that?”

“You know Tony needs the extra sleep right now.” Bucky countered. “Besides, Rhodes says they used to share a bed in MIT all the time. Felines need extra cuddles, you know?”

“But… platonic, right?”

“I guess so.” Bucky cleared his throat a little uncomfortably. “I understand wanting someone in your bed for physical comfort. Like we used to, right? Whether its...platonic? Or-- or not.”

“Yeah.” Steve looked down at the floor, then out the window- anywhere to avoid Bucky's eyes. Then, “I miss you, Bucky.” he blurted. “I miss… you . You moved out of our room, and now we can hardly be around each other without Tony there, and I hate that. It's like we're barely even friends anymore and I hate it.”

“I miss you too.” Bucky admitted. “You're my best friend, Steve. As great as things are with Tony, this isn't easy on me to not have you all the time too.”

“You're my best friend too.” Steve said quietly. “But weren't we… weren't we trying for more than that?”

Silence, for long enough that Steve started thinking that he had said something terribly wrong.

“Yeah. Yeah we were.” Bucky wasn't looking at him when he finally spoke again. “Ain't easy, not being able to be around my best friend cause our animals are too territorial. We’ve got to figure out a way to deal with that so we don't lose Tony.”

“I don't want lose us either, Buck. Of course Tony is everything to me but… so are you. Don't want to lose that because our shifts can't deal.” Bucky grunted in agreement. “So can we try it all again?” Steve pressed. “Sharing a bed? Sleeping in the same room at least? These last few times with Tony have been… good, and I know we've been trying to get closer but--”

“Yeah.” Bucky interrupted. “I mean, having Tony between us is--”

“Right. But you and I--”

“We should try--”

They each took a deep breath, then laughed at each other's sheepish expression.

“Will you come back to our room tonight?” Steve finally asked. “We don't have to try the bed thing, but maybe just sleeping in the same space.”

“Will your Lion let me? You're awfully quick to shift anytime we get close.” Bucky said uneasily. “The last thing anyone needs is us destroying a room because we can't handle being around each other.”

“I will try to let you.” Steve nodded. “I want this, I want… whatever this is. Whatever it will be with Tony, and you might have to help corral my Lion a little bit, but---”

Bucky was smiling then, reaching out to place his left hand on the back of Steve's neck, pulling him forward until their foreheads touched, and Steve shivered at the cool metal on his skin. “This alright?” Bucky asked cautiously. “Let me know if your Lion can't handle it.”

“More.” Steve said softly, even as his eyes shaded to gold and his voice deepened.

“Yeah?” Bucky flexed his fingers, the gears in his arm re-calibrating his hold to pull Steve closer, and then closer again until their chests were nearly touching. “Alright?”

Steve made a noise that was almost a purr, his hands coming up to grip Bucky's waist. “I've missed you.” He mumbled. “I know we've never really done anything, but I missed you.”

Bucky wrapped his right arm around Steve's shoulders, pressing tighter against his forehead, their noses brushing each other. “We can do this.” Bucky breathed. “Just like this, huh?” Steve nodded and Bucky closed his eyes. “Can I have more?” Another quick nod, and Bucky started nosing over Steve's face gently until the blonde tilted his head up and their lips almost met.

“Can't go back from this.” Steve said slowly, his fingers tracing circles into Bucky's side. “This will change us and our bond with Tony.”

“It'll be alright.” Bucky murmured. “I want this too. Not gonna let you get away from me.”

“Not gonna let you get away from me.” Steve retorted, and Bucky's fangs dropped in response to the growl from the Lion.

“Not a dominance contest.” He warned. “Not between us. Not over Tony. Chill out.”

“I know.” Steve's eyes were melting gold, hot and eager. “I still kinda want to fight you. Pin you to the bed.”

Bucky growled a little louder when Steve pushed into him, forcing him back a step into a desk. “Easy, easy, we can't do this in the lab.” But his eyes lit as his Wolf stirred, glowing electric blue. “Want to pin you too, on the floor, make you submit .”

“You'll have to fight me for that.” Steve whispered. “Not gonna let you take me without a fight.”

“Alpha.” Bucky whispered the word and Steve's whole body reacted instantly, a jolt of arousal nearly pushing him into a partial shift right there.

“Alpha.” Steve returned, and the word came as a snarl as he closed the bit of distance between their lips to kiss him, to bite at his lips, to thrust his tongue greedily into Bucky's mouth, fingers sharpening to claws and digging into Bucky's waist.

The Wolf shifter rocked into him, grinding their hips together, and Steve muffled a curse with a hard kiss, a whine building in his throat because fuck he’d never even thought about how big Bucky was but now they were shoved together and he could feel Bucky thick against his thigh and... and...damn .

“Easy…” Bucky murmured and loosened his hold on Steve's neck. “Come out of your shift, we still need to focus on Tony. Come on. Don't want to stop this, but we can't do it right now. Focus on Tony.”

“Tony.” Steve agreed and closed his eyes, visibly making an attempt at pulling his Lion back. “Thank you.” he said.

Bucky just bumped their foreheads together comfortingly.“I got you.” They stayed close for another moment, letting their animals get used to the shared space, letting themselves soak up the comfort that always came with each other, and now the new that was sparking between them.

“You two done over there? Or do I have to keep pretending to be asleep?” Rhodey asked from the couch without opening his eyes, and Tony started laughing, his tail twitching in merriment.

“Thought you punks were out.” Bucky growled and Tony just laughed harder.

“Dammit .” Steve muttered self consciously. “Course they were awake for that.”

Bucky brushed a short kiss over his lips.“Stevie. We alright?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded and Bucky smiled at him, before linking their hands and pulling him towards the couch.

“Looks like your boys more than made up.” Rhodes teased and Tony buried his face further to hide his grin.

“Like it. My boys playing well together.” Tony mumbled into Rhodey's shoulder. “Bout damn time.”

The Colonel laughed up at the soldiers.“Yeah, I hear you two are pretty whipped. I definitely got a picture from Barton that involved you guys feeding Tony his breakfast. Big scary Alpha shifters, aren't you?”

Steve started to protest but Bucky silenced him with a quick look, and they both just shrugged.“Call it whatever you want.” Steve amended. “As long as Tony's happy.”

“Oh my god, I can hear the whip being cracked.” Rhodey shouted with laughter and Tony dug his claws into his chest in annoyance.

“Don't tease.” Tony whined. “I need lots...today and I want them, um, good mood.” he cursed in frustration over the halting speech, and Rhodey petted his hair soothingly.

Bucky and Steve exchanged guilty glances as they heard Tony struggling to put sentences together. The longer he was partial shifted, the worse his speech got, the more frustrated he became. It was getting hard to understand him, and they each murmured soft, comforting things towards him.

“Well, I'm going to leave for the part where you three play together. After that little scene in the corner, I feel like this can only get worse from here.” Rhodes started untangling himself from Tony, who whined dramatically.

“But honeybear!!”

“He's a whole ball of needy today.” Rhodes clapped them on their shoulders as he passed. “Have fun with that.”

Tony sat up grumpily, scratching behind one of his black ears. “ So sick of being partial. Somebody better get over here and hold me.”

“Such high maintenance.” Bucky teased and Tony flattened his ears to hiss at him. “Scary kitty. Vicious.”

“Don't be mad, sweetheart.” Steve lifted Tony into his arms like he didn't weigh anything. “Let's get upstairs and lay down and get you feeling better, huh? Nice long nap?”

“Wanna take the elevator?” Bucky asked with a wicked smile, trying to make up for his earlier comment. “On the way up to the nap?”

Tony wiggled happily in Steve's arms. “Yes.”

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

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

It had been Clint's idea for Steve and Bucky to shift fully into their animals and spend some down time with Tony.

He had explained that when Natasha had a hard time shifting down from her dragon, if he let his Hawk free, then shifted slowly back into partial and back into human it could ease the way for her to complete the steps as well.

No one really understood the science behind shifting, or why it was easier for some and harder for others, but it sounded like a valid idea, and both the Alpha shifters were ready to try anything at this point.

So right now Tony was curled up on his floor, one hand buried in the thick hair of the Lion's mane, the other running absentmindedly through the Wolfs silver fur, and both the big shifters were growling and rumbling comfortingly.

“I like this.” Tony announced, speaking slowly so he could think about and enunciate every word. “Like having giant pets. Giant breathing pillows. Huge bed that will...take…me wherever I want to go.”

Too content just being touched by their almost-mate, neither the Lion or the Wolf even twitched, just sighed a little and closed their eyes. They felt awful every time Tony couldn't find the word he needed, and were willing to do anything to bring him out of his partial, even if it meant shifting to and from their animals over and over for days.

“Can we talk, like this?” Tony said then, and tightened his hold on them. “Because I--I want both of you. And now I know you both want me… I want to bond with each of you. Both of you.” The words were coming slowly, with difficulty, and Tony closed his eyes in frustration. “You guys…get it?”

Bucky's head lifted and he whined a little, glancing at the Lion, who made a huffing noise, pressing his big nose into Tony's leg.

“I don't know exactly how that would... work, but I want to try.” Tony continued. “I just can't...while partial… no good. Need to be Tony, not cat. Get everything working again.” He sighed. “Need to be human again. Yeah?”

Steve grumbled and flopped his big head back down and Tony laughed, scratching behind his ears and kissing his head. Bucky barked softly and Tony gave him the same treatment, landing a soft kiss on his muzzle.

“Sleep now, huh? Maybe a miracle…wake up human again.”

He stretched out in the middle of them on a big pile of pillows and blankets, and both the shifters scooted as close as they could without crushing him, nosing over his neck and chest with soft breaths until he pushed them away with a laugh.

Tony flopped over onto his stomach, tucking his tail close to his legs, sharp claws against pillows so he wouldn't accidentally scratch himself, and closed his eyes.

After he was asleep, Bucky lifted his head and stared at Steve.

Our mate.

It was less of a thought Bucky sent into the air and more of a feeling and the Lions gold eyes shimmered as he felt it in his mind.

Tony. Ours.

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

The furious screaming of an animal in pain had Natasha and Clint both racing for Tony's room, Vision taking off and simply phasing through the floors in between the common area and the penthouse.

“Tony! Tony!!” Clint broke the door down, and he and Tasha ran in as Vision came through the floor, Natasha bursting into a partial shift, ready to tear someone apart for trying to hurt Tony.

But--but--nothing was wrong.

Unless you counted the two Alpha shifters still in animal form, curled protectively around a tiny black cat, who was screeching at the top of his lungs as the Lion licked all the way up it's back, leaving every piece of fur sticking up the wrong way.

The Wolf was snuffling and huffing over the messed up hair then, licking it down the other way.

“They're… they're grooming him.” Natasha actually had to cover her mouth so she wouldn't scream with laughter at the ridiculous picture the three shifters made.

“We should just be glad Tony is able to move between his shifted forms once again. He will be pleased to be human again.” Vision allowed himself a small smile before disappearing back downstairs.

It took Clint a full three minutes to get himself off the floor and back under control so he could pull his phone out and snap a picture.

For blackmail science.

Grooming habits of Alpha shifters and their house cats.

Definitely science.

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

That night, Bucky and Steve lay in separate beds in their room, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about Tony, trying to keep their minds from straying to what had happened between them earlier.

“I'm so glad Tony was able to shift again.” Steve finally said, feeling like Tony was a safe topic, a good segue into what they really wanted to talk about. “A real relief, you know?”

Bucky nodded. “I was starting to get worried about him. So stupid of us, setting him off like that. Getting out of control like that.”

“I'm sorry.” Steve muttered. “I'm sorry about what happened with Tony and me, Buck. I swear. I swear I didn't mean for it to go that far, and once it did I couldn't stop myself. Didn't want to stop myself. I didn't think until later how you would feel about--”

“Don't.” Bucky shook his head. “It's fine, it's over, we're fine.”

“Are we?” Steve asked, clearing his throat before plunging right over the edge into The Talk. “Because you are lying awfully far away from me.”

Bucky made a soft, hopeful noise and when he sat up to look over at him, Steve nodded quickly, just once, moving over in the bed to make room.

Bucky came over slowly, giving Steve's Lion plenty of time to adjust to his proximity as he slid between the sheets, and up against Steve's body.

“Alright?” he kept asking. “You alright, Stevie? We good?”

“I'm fine.” Steve assured him, but he was stiff as a board, trying to keep his instincts at bay. He had such a hard time with being close to the canine shifter, and he hated it. But biology was too hard to ignore, and a growl started working through his throat, his nails lengthening to claws that dug into Bucky's side.

“What can I do to make this easier?” Bucky asked cautiously. “Tell me how I can help.”

“Just… slow.” Steve grit out. “Give me a minute.”

“As much time as you need.” Bucky assured him, and settled down to wait.

“Come here.” Steve reached for him after a moment. “Can you just…I need--” Bucky ducked his head in a submission pose and Steve's eyes started turning gold. “No, no, no don't submit , I need you to make me-- take the choice out of my hands.”

Oh.

Bucky shifted, sniffed at Steve's neck lightly, then snapped his teeth shut over the crook of Steve's neck, growling low and tugging lightly on the muscle until Steve went limp, curling into Bucky's chest and rumbling in relief.

“Better?” Bucky ran his hand through Steve's hair, smoothed down his back. “Alright?”

“Thanks.” Steve forced a breath out. “Got to force the Lion back sometimes. Too quick to shift.”

“I got you.” Bucky comforted. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Steve signed and relaxed every further his arms looping around Bucky's waist and drawing him closer. “Missed this.”

Bucky placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “Me too.”

#stuckony #shifter!fic #kitty!tony #wolf!bucky #lion!steve #stucky