#bornfae

       ❛ Is that what they’re calling it these days ? ❜ Jay’s got his arms crossed against his chest and he’s leaning with all casualness against the frame of the door. But there’s a curiosity in the arching of his eyebrow and he’s got a deceptively large amount of his attention focused on Mal at the moment. Which makes enough sense, given that he’s walked into -- something? That looks caught halfway between productive and absolutely chaotic? Or whatever you’d call rearranging literally all the furniture in the room. 

       In lieu of commenting on how little he’d guess Evie would be coming back and seeing almost everything that can be sat or laid on not where it once was, Jay saunters over to one lonely, marooned desk chair and drops down to sit on it. 

       ❛ Because it looks kind of like a tornado or something. But I don’t really get interior design so go right ahead. Don’t mind me. ❜ Honestly, he’s not actually worried about it -- beyond the whole. Seems like something’s up, thing. But there are far more destructive outlets than doing something weird with how the desks are placed so -- if he’s needed, he’s there. And if not, there’s still something warmly entertaining about watching this kind of contained chaos unfold. 

       ❛ Always. I gotta keep my skills sharp, y’know ? ❜ 

       Jay leans back against the heels of his palms, the insouciant grin at his lips closer to genuine than most of his more wicked grins have been in a long time. The voice in the back of his mind hasn’t silenced itself -- it persists, the quiet but almost desperate need to keep the line in sight at all times. To know what crosses it and what doesn’t and keep himself and all of that roiling, restless energy dutifully behind it. After all, it’s a practical thing, to understand the rules of the game you’re playing. Particularly when surviving means abiding by them. 

       But he sees Mal from his periphery and that small voice grows smaller, retreats for a moment to open up a world of possibility in front of him that never seems closer or more feasible than when they are together. As if it’s this moment, just this one, where they’re untouchable. Enough to indulge in something that skirts the line of proper and good. 

       Like a little gossip at others’ expense. 

       His laugh is sharp, too, buoyed by the fact that he totally recognizes the tone of Mal’s voice -- that, too, more familiar and more genuine than he’s heard in so long. The difference is striking, and these newly soft parts of himself that he doesn’t quite know what to do with stir with something like -- empathy or care or something like that. But for now, all he does is let himself fall into her sharp edges and dry wit. 

       ❛ Hang onto your horses, because there’s a sequel -- ❜ 

if he had wanted a Daddy he would have asked for that he just wants a Dad a Father a Paternal Figure to love and mentor him

cries for years over this

bornfae replied to your post:spoken. thinks real hard about how good being more...

but of course if this had happened julian wouldn’t be half as depressed as he is

bornfae replied to your post :spoken. thinks real hard about how good being more...

and god forbid the male lead not be full of man pain and brooding

   “ Mark. Mark! “ Julian was attempting to wake his brother up before everyone else rushed in to check on him. He stood beside his brother’s bed, and began to shake his shoulder gently. “ Mark, you’re okay. You’re okay. “ Shaking became harsher until the fair haired Blackthorn boy woke up.