#also i hope this isn’t annoying to anyone i am simply very enthusiastic about these books and enjoy celebrating them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

relaxxattack · 3 years

Note

hi im asking u this bc u seem to be bee duo enthusiast so

ive been calling c! beeduos relationship platonic because i thought that was what their cc’s said, and i thought they had said that they were uncomfortable with ppl shipping the characters. But ive seen a lot of posts that say their relationship is canonically romantic? and i absolutely do not want to come across as homophobic by watering down a mlm relationship to just friends because that happens so much in media so.

what is the canon state of their relationship / ur opinions on the platonic thibg

dont worry abt answering if u dont want to!! i see a lot of differing opinions and i trust yours :)

aw it’s totally fine, im flattered you asked me about this!

let me put it simply: it’s a whole mess, lol.

first im going to talk about what’s happened fandom-wide that caused differing opinions, and then i’ll explain my own opinion/interpretation. :]

(this got really fucking long im so sorry)

ranboo and tubbo initially proclaimed the relationship was romantic, specifically in argument with the wiki editors who had set it as platonic by default. (you can see this in the vod where they decide they’re canonically married— it’s very funny. chat tells them the marriage is already on the wiki, they check, tubbo is jokingly offended that it says platonic and asks if he needs to up the romance).

tubbo also makes jokes about adultry, which sort of implies the relationship is not necessarily a platonic one.

(theres definetly more in that stream alone but it’s been a long time since i watched it so i don’t remember a lot of it.)

the wiki, because of this, suffers from going back and forth on platonic and romantic, seemingly unsure where the joke ends and the canon begins, or if its canonically a joke! a mess, as you can already tell.

this gets more complicated as the marriage bit goes on: outsiders, such as phil and scott, both at one point say “platonic marriage”, which then ranboo and tubbo agree with. however, when chat asks them if they’re platonic, they say the opposite. so there is a lot of confusion there.

there’s also the difficulty of being able to tell streamers and characters apart. ranboo and tubbo both don’t like being shipped irl, and that’s their boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. (they’re also minors, but tbh when they’re 18 in a year i will still be following their boundaries regardless of their legal age).

due to people not wanting to be accused of minor shipping, they started adding the platonic tone indicator to most of their drawings— basically a way of saying “no homo”. meanwhile, tubbo frequently on stream flirts with ranboo and makes quite a bit of nsfw comments towards him that are frankly hilarious.

this goes on for a while with nobody really sure what’s canon, but a lot of people assuming it’s probably platonic, until: the drama of the mods night. a few mods dmed all the wiki editors telling them ranboo wanted his canon character relationship officially set to platonic.

unfortunately for those mods; the very same day, a few hours later, ranboo on stream makes fun of puffy delivering him and tubbo “friendship flowers”. because, and i quote, “bruh. we’re literally married. this must be how the ancient greeks felt.”

in case you don’t know, the internet often jokes about how historians will call ancient greeks ‘very good friends’ when they are quite obviously gay. so in this context, ranboo is joking that people will call him and c!tubbo, who are married, “close friends”, when he doesn’t think they are.

basically, ranboo canonized romantic bee duo, the very same day the mods told everyone he’d wanted a platonic one.

chaos and drama immediately erupted everywhere. on tumblr, we were talking about how weird it was of his mods to do something like that without asking him first. we ALSO talked about how weird it was of them to assume that ranboo can’t make his own decisions, or assume teenagers cannot be in relationships without it being sexual. twitter did the same thing but in the opposite direction: called ranboo mods homophobic, or said they were mad ranboo felt pressured into making a romantic relationship canon ‘just so people could have mlm rep.’

i dont want to go into detail about the drama that happened that night because apparently official people follow me and i dont want to stir it up or have them come “clarify” things. im just saying what we talked about.

ranboo in typical ranboo fashion apologized quickly and seriously. he was deeply sorry for possibly offending anyone with how he’d portrayed his rp relationship with tubbo, and he also assured everyone the mod thing was just a miscommunication.

he said he would talk to tubbo and they’d decide once and for all whether it was platonic or romantic, and then announce so everyone would know.

it’s now been a few months and we've had no word from them on that development. we still have no clue.

now, here’s my opinion:

i want to take ranboos word for it that it was a miscommunication with his mods, but... we had it on good authority from people on the wiki team and people in the discord with the mods that (while it was happening) they were really going after the wiki admins, and also made some weird comments about it. that combined with the way ranboo seemingly had no clue (considering he canonized their romance that very same day).... it’s very. sus of the mods.

then there’s the canon we’ve got since then. although occasionally adults in the room have called it a “platonic marriage” and tubbo once (back when it first started) called it a “plankton tectonic” marriage, in roleplay it’s been... kind of not that. tubbo and ranboo make nsfw jokes about each other in character, and their characters also share a master bedroom and bed in the mansion. there's also the way c!tommy really thinks it’s a romance between them as well, and they agree with and play off that— for instance confirming that they “fell in love” when he asked, or ranboo confirming that they “make out on occasion”.

people will still put platonic on their art and posts, imo, because they’re worried about breaking ranboo and tubbo’s irl boundaries by looking like they ship them. or even just being accused of shipping real life minors. and that’s a valid fear to have.

the thing is though: c!bee duo are not cc!bee duo. they’re roleplay characters. cc!bee duo are not okay with being shipped, but they made their characters get canonically married, and call each other “husbands”. so it’s okay to write the word “husband” in your comic without adding “platonic” to it, i promise.

telling the ccs that their characters have to be platonic is... weird. it comes off as not only babying them, but also as saying teens can’t date without it being gross. which isn’t true.

(this is why seeing people overuse “platonic husband” so much bothers me. like, they ARE husbands. you can just say it. what are you trying to hide...?)

do i think they’re canonically romantic? ehh, its likely. it’s still okay to interpret them as platonic, because again, it’s hard to tell where jokes end and roleplay begins. like, maybe it’s jokes in the rp too, and c!bee duo are just friends. friends can and should be allowed to make jokes like that with each other! aro & ace marriages exist!

or, maybe it’s actually part of the rp, and they’re very much romantic. we don’t know!

some people say they could be a qpr (queerplatonic romance), which i could see. (a qpr is a relationship that fluctuates between, or can’t quite be sorted into, “romantic” and “platonic”. people in a qpr can do romantic things while having platonic feelings for each other). in my opinion this is a very valid interpretation as well!

CONCLUSION (sorry this got so long omfg):

are c!bee duo romantic?

its likely, but you can still interpret them however you like!

should i put /p on bee duo content?

ehhh? i find it annoying when it’s overused (as do others), but if you’re worried you can. its up to preference. putting it too much is weird though

should i put /p on things cc! bee duo do?

no. you’re not the one saying it so you can’t decide the tone tags for that. imagine you said something to your friend and a random stranger came up and was like “haha but that was /p right...?”

can i ship c!bee duo?

mmm. i’m not sure on this one. they are canonically married and very flirtatious, but the ccs don’t like being shipped and they’re close enough to being the ccs that actively shipping might be against boundaries.

can i treat c!bee duo as romantic?

yes. literally just don’t be weird about it. it’s not that hard! you can understand that two characters are husbands without making it weird

here’s the most important thing: boundaries. cc bee duo still haven’t told us what their preferences and canon is about this whole thing.

right now, i am assuming based on what they already show us they’re comfortable with, but! the second they give us any more info! all these opinions will change!

i am only going off what they do. i would never want to cross boundaries at all. i just wish they would make theirs a little more clear.

..... i hope that helped anon, i went way off the rails... i need to go to sleep.

#it’s late im so sorry for how much i rambled and wrote #i hope this helps you #bee duo #og post #there’s probably so many spelling errors i need to go to bed #i tried to fix some spelling so reblog this one ig #and not the old one

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leviiattacks · 3 years

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hi hi hi i really really really loved your jealous headcanon of levi and your teacher levi!!! i was wondering if i could maybe request something where you kinda mix the two(?) so like theres this event going on in school and the reader is very occupied and busy because shes paying attention to her students and then maybe she talks to some teachers about the event and then levi is just there secretly sulking cause he wants her attention too?? or idk you do you because your works are always soooooooo good thank you<3333

author note :: i did not stick to the prompt which was honestly an accident?/£/):7 but there is jealous levi and reader so i hope it workssss, it’s not that great and isn’t edited...but i hope you enjoy it :-( also thank you for the request you were very kind <3

for this to make more sense you’ll probably have to read my first ever teacher levi post which you can find here !!!!!

requests are always open :-)

word count :: 4.3k ???? longer than i expected ????

levi groans at the mention of sports day before turning to look at you dead in the eyes

he knows this is your doing, you’ve always been big on getting the children into sport and other extracurriculars

now see, he has no actual issue with sports day?? he’s pretty fit if he says so himself!!!

it’s just that he frankly does not have the effort to participate.

another part of him also feels frustrated seeing mike flock around you like an annoying bee

he’s asking all sorts of questions

“are we doing the three legged race again this year?”

“how about javelin?”

“HAHA...mike...”

levi takes one look at you and knows you’re trying to let him down softly, it is his favourite event after all.

“since last year’s fiasco and the way you nearly hit one of the sixth graders i think not.” you awkwardly chuckle patting his shoulder as if it’s any consolation

mike loves sports day, he’s competitive in all of the teacher only events and last year he even tripped you and levi up ON PURPOSE might you add

either way he still lost the teacher’s three legged race last year and ever since he’s been out to gain his title back.

levi remembers, he’s unsure if you do but he remembers vividly having to carry you on his back because you had sprained your ankle pretty badly after your collision with mike.

back then you and levi were still in the middle of your little math vs english debate meaning the whole walk to the infirmary was filled with bickering.

and when levi had placed you onto one of the beds you insisted you could treat yourself when you really couldn’t

the way that scenario ended had been with levi forcing you to place your foot onto his knee as he iced and tended to it

this year levi is not having any repeats of that. yes, he quite liked having some alone time with you, in fact it was one of the first times he stopped to wonder if he liked you.

BUT!!!! having you limp around the corridors wasn’t the best either and you were highly irritable until you were fully healed

“why don’t you actually try this year?” hange stifles a laugh, they’re stood to levi’s left and upon hearing their voice his shoulders sag. he knows he’s in for one hell of an earful

“i do try–”

“yeah whatever. anyway, you want a cupcake?” hange’s gesturing to the haphazardly iced buns in the four plastic containers in their hands

“these are for the bake sale!!” they add in enthusiastically.

levi’s about to shake his head, he’s already donated to the bake sale’s charity fund without paying for any of the baked goods. yes it is purely because he doesn’t trust hange to feed him anything edible

“they’re y/n’s batch :-)” hange’s wickedly grinning knowing they’ve hit their colleagues weakness

without another thought levi’s right hand dives into one of his pockets, fishing his wallet out. he places a few spare coins into hange’s palm

“wOAH, you’re pretty eager aren’t ya??”

their remark flies over levi’s head as he tries to pick out two of the most presentable cupcakes

“you’re so fond of y/n, why not try a little harder like i said?” hange’s thrown the bait in the river and levi completely falls for it. he turns ninety degrees completely forgetting about the cupcakes.

“i’m talking about sport’s day if it isn’t obvious.”

he faces hange directly. he scowls twisted in fake disgust and confusion all at once

“and why would i care about that?” he shoots back

“after walking in on the both of you touching each other up in the janitor’s closet i’m really surprised you’re — mMMPH—” levi’s shoved one of the cupcakes into hange’s mouth

“you’re gonna have to pay for that–”

levi smacks some more money into their palm to appease the issue

“when did you see that and have you told anyone else?” he’s seething right now, there’s no way he or you were unable to notice someone as loud as hange prance into the storage cupboard accidentally

“i haven’t told anyone but it has only been three days since i saw so who knowsss...”

“i’ll do anything for you to keep your mouth shut.” levi’s practically begging at this point

“i think you should buy a whole box of cupcakes as compensation. my eyes will never be the same again.”

levi hands over more than enough money, he’s probably handed over enough for two boxes just for extra measure

it’s not that he’s embarrassed of you or anything no, no, not at all. he just, this sounds so stupid but he isn’t sure what the two of you are????

you’ve kissed, A LOT but the only problem is that there’s never actually been confirmation of... something more? than that?

he’s simply horrible at asking, and seeing the way you’re talking to mike it’s almost getting to the stage of borderline flirting

he’s currently flexing one of his muscles and levi’s unsure if you’re actually gawking at them or feigning interest so mike can get bored and leave sooner

his bets are on you pretending for the sake of mike leaving until you reach out to squeeze his arm appreciatively

...

what is this feeling??

insecurity?? a low self esteem??? levi isn’t entirely sure what the emotion that surges through him at that moment is

but hange sure does, grinning at the scene playing out they shove moblit with their elbow

well, well, well levi getting jealous is certainly something new.

when levi knocks on the door of your classroom you assume he’s come to bother you and ask for the spreadsheet with grade averages and all that technical stuff

english and math grades need to be compared side by side and even though it’s your job to help with the data analysis you’re pretty bad at it so levi’s the one who USUALLY picks up the pieces and does it for the two of you

occasionally mike steps in and helps when levi’s got other stuff in the way

“oh levi!! mike told me he’d be doing this month’s spreadsheet?” you’ve poked your head out of the door to talk to him

levi’s eyes narrow at that because he hasn’t asked mike for help at all.

“i didn’t come here for the spreadsheet but i haven’t even told mike to assist me this month... i wonder why he’s so passionate.” he mumbles the last part under his breath

opening the door up you wave for him to come inside “what you here for then?” you ask, oOoh maybe he’s finished reading an inspector calls?? finally you can talk to someone about the twist at the end

“i’m taking part in sports day properly.” the statement is unexpected and ?? levi ?? take anything other than math seriously ??

“woah... i’m proud of you?? i’m glad you’re seeing it’s important to show the children physical activity is fun.” your smile brightens up the entire room and he begins to feel a little more confident

peering up at him your curiosity doesn’t go unnoticed and he clears his throat, he knows you’re expecting him to say something else

ok, ok, ok. he thinks he’s built enough courage up to ask you

“i’ve never got the chance to ask but would you like to go on a date?” on reflex levi screws his eyes shut, suddenly he’s convinced you’ll say no and reject him. why would you accept??

“sure!”

his eyes flutter open and he feels you grip at the sleeve of his shirt.

well? that went better than he expected?

“where do you want to go?” you ask

“doesn’t matter, but let’s go somewhere after sports day finishes up.”

“are you barely going to try like last year?” you’re munching away at a granola bar - it’s rather bland and makes your throat feel kinda scratchy

you’re midway through drinking some water to deal with the dryness but you nearly spit it out when levi responds

“no. i plan on winning every single teacher event.”

HE WANTS TO??? beat???? everyone???

“you’re planning on beating mike too?” you tilt your head to the side incredulously

levi purses his lips at the mention of his name

“why does that sound so absurd to you?”

“he’s um, very good at sport that’s all.”

“i am too.” levi’s adamant to prove his point to you

“fine, here’s a deal. win at least one teacher event and i’ll try and solve one of your funny math problems or whatever.”

“what kind of deal is that??”

“you’ll be able to see me struggle with numbers, for free!!”

“no. i have something better in mind.” levi bites his smile back, he can’t let you know the idea makes him feel

“and that would be?”

he takes a step forward decreasing the space between the two of you.

“how about you kiss me in front of everyone?”

your mouth falls open because oh wow....? you have no actual problem with the task you’re simply surprised that levi is willing to put the both of you out there like that. the spectacle is bound to raise some eyebrows

“deal?” he holds his hand out for you to shake

you nod your head. “it’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

and so your deal is sealed with a firm handshake.

the big day has ARRIVED!!!

all of the students are flooding in through the gates. some carry footballs, other basketballs. you’ve been here for less than ten minutes and had to save a ball from crashing right into an expensive window.

everyone’s wearing active gear, udo walks in with a ski mask on?? which is peculiar but it’s humorous so you don’t tell him off for it

you’ve chosen a comfortable olive green tracksuit, you don’t think you’re in the mood for ski masks like udo is

coincidentally levi happens to show up in the EXACT same type of tracksuit?? everything’s the same to the colour. you both stare at each other for a moment trying to figure out how exactly you managed that but give up, you guess you have similar tastes

the accidental coordinated outfits have a few of your students pointing and chuckling together

gabi and falco are laughing heartily and whispering god knows what about the two of you

“three legged race partner?” levi asks as he fills up some water bottles for the water stand

“oh? mike asked me to be his partner.”

levi doesn’t make it obvious that he’s jealous about it because what adult would be jealous over a three legged race??

but even if you can’t tell levi is pissed mike sure can

he’s walking past the two of you, hands shoved into his pockets when he spots you a few meters away. his eyes sparkle when he sees you. it’s at that moment he senses the dark piercing glare coming from your right.

you’ve yet to notice mike but levi’s seen him approaching from a mile away and he isn’t particularly happy about it.

the good thing about mike is that he knows not to mess with levi.

the two have known each other for years and by now mike knows messing with levi is a death wish in itself.

so when the poor physical ed teacher notices the way levi glowers at him he calls out your name to get your attention - he’s much too afraid to get anywhere near you

“Y/N!!”

whipping your head around you wave at your race partner, why does it look like he’s seen a ghost?? you shove that thought to the back of your mind, he’s probably just tired

“petra doesn’t have a partner and uhh... i think levi’s free. could you work with him instead?”

levi turns away to smile to himself. ah how the tables have turned!!!

“but i want to work with you? it’s always y/n and levi do this. y/n and levi do that!! i wanna try with someone else.”

what you’ve said is a lie. honestly you’d just like to see levi get worked up again

but levi doesn’t get the memo at all. it flies over his head and he huffs thinking if that’s what you want he doesn’t mind. he’ll just show you how he feels.

“it’s okay. i’ll go with petra.” levi nonchalantly salutes at both you and mike as he walks backwards before turning around to locate the ginger in question

WHY DID HE GIVE IN SO EASILY???? YOU WERE JOKING?????

with your mouth open wide mike looks at you once and puts the pieces together

“guessing you wanted him to stick around?” you suddenly hear and god, you feel kinda bad

“oh no!!! i would love to be your partner.” looping your arm with his you smile up at him

whether or not mike believes you isn’t clear but he does return your smile.

there’s a few minutes till the three legged race starts, everyone’s running around. erwin’s knelt down to tie yours and mike’s legs together

as he’s doing so you can’t help but hear a high pitched windshieldy giggle leave petra and you visibly seem annoyed. that’s if your arms crossed over your chest and clenched jaw are anything to go by

levi hasn’t even said anything notably funny ???? what is she laughing at ????

he’s quite literally just standing there making awkward small talk with her

it goes something like this

“have you marked your exams yet?”

levi doesn’t realise she’s said anything till she taps his shoulder and he asks for her to repeat her question

“oh.” he thinks for a while. “no not yet. i’ve got better shit to do. i don’t see them till next week either way.”

and then she just starts laughing so hard that she has to hold her knees and when that isn’t enough she holds onto a nearby pole for support

you see where this is going

when her breathing gets even more uneven she reaches out to grab levi’s upper arm

YUP. you knew it. you can’t be mad at her really. no one knows you and levi are sort of a thing.

a thing? is that the term? well, whatever late night calls discussing books and a few heated kisses in private mean that’s what you are

levi stares at the hold she has on his arm and you expect him to shrug her off. instead he sees you look, smirks a little and waves all the while letting her hand stay there

and the icing on the cake is petra waving at you too and her eyes are much more expressive than she thinks they are

she’s internally laughing at you for sure.

ok, not a big deal, NOT a big deal!!!

this is just him getting back at you for before.

flipping your head back your sad expression probably catches mike’s attention because he seems to cave in

“want to make him jealous back?”

his suggestion is interesting but you catch yourself second guessing

“he’s doing that because he’s jealous.” you mumble shaking your leg to test the strength of erwin’s knot

“and? don’t let him win.” he glances at his shoulder gesturing for you to make the next move

nodding your head vigorously you throw your arm over mike’s shoulder but find he’s too tall to make that work so instead you settle on holding him by the side

it takes you a little to adjust to the close proximity but in the time it takes you to do that mike informs you of levi glaring at the two of you

“mind if i hold onto you here? we can coordinate our moves faster!!!” petra doesn’t even wait for levi to agree to what she says. she just flings one of her arms around his torso

again, he lets her just as last time.

this game of cat and mouse is getting tiring, maybe you should have kept your mouth shut when mike approached you.

“ON YOUR MARKS.”

your senses snap back to where you are. your grip on mike’s torso firms and he turns to nod at you.

you nod back.

you’ll win this.

“GET SET.”

“AND GO!”

okay, SO.

something in your game plan must have gone wrong but mike’s strength is something you’ve clearly underestimated. his first step is so powerful you don’t even have the time to start moving

you assume that’s how you collapse to the ground behind him and scrape your hands onto the cement of the track

so much for winning. all you’re doing is bleeding and hissing trying to cope with the stinging sensation

“mike?!?? not again??” hange groans and jogs over to the two of you untying the ropes at your legs.

“do we have to ban you from another event??? you’re too reckless sometimes.” hange smacks his chest and then hurriedly whispers “levi’s coming this way if you value your life you better bolt and use the first aid kit as an excuse.”

mike doesn’t even debate with himself, that’s his best bet at staying alive and so he dashes away as if he’s left the shower on at home for five hours unattended

some students are murmuring under their breaths and luckily for you the forever reliable gabi and falco have come to your rescue with bandages

“show me your hands.” levi’s hard voice interrupts all discussion. petra’s stood peering over his shoulder and you swear you catch her muffling a laugh

levi frowns. “you good?” he asks. you assume this answer will be the deciding factor regarding whether or not he makes this an issue with mike

“i’m great – trust me!! just a few scrapes.”

levi doesn’t look convinced but he let’s it go.

he helps you get up and takes the bandages from gabi thanking her.

“i’ll patch y/n up.” he tells hange pointedly and they agree. moblit at that moment happens to run over with a megaphone in hand.

“SHOWS OVER FOLKS!! WE’LL MOVE ON TO THE JUMP ROPE EVENT FOR NOW!!!”

“i’ll make him lose the one hundred meter sprint so badly he won’t know what hit him.” levi’s been grumbling the entire time he’s sat down to bandage your hands.

now that you’re both sat close to each other again murmurs of “matching tracksuits??” are back

“you don’t have to it was a mistake levi.”

levi shrugs eyes scanning his handiwork. “i want to. i’ve got to earn my kiss in front of a crowd anyway.”

gently letting go of your hand he looks out onto the track waiting to be called.

you’ve never seen levi give his full effort into sports day but even then you’re unsure if he’ll ever be able to beat mike.

honestly mike sure is fast and you recall one of the children referring to him with the nickname lightening bolt

and speak of the devil. a group of children walk past and are talking about the teacher’s race

“mr bolt’s gonna win for sure. you seen him run?? he could be an olympian!!!!” zofia’s gushing about him, she happens to be a big fan

the only nickname you’ve ever heard for levi is ursula – “ursula sure is evil for giving us that much work >:(” you had heard udo say once during class but after the earful he got from gabi he never used the name again, neither did anyone else

a few more minutes pass in a comfortable silence and levi’s called over to his lane. you’ve accepted the fact that there’s no changing his mind and he’s bound to compete now

“wait for me by the finish line.” he instructs and so you do. you go your separate paths. he to his lane (he’s in the lane two) and you to the finish line

petra’s already standing there waiting. her elbows are propped onto the railing peering out towards the contestants.

making your way to stand with her you see her sigh dreamily at levi in the distance

“hey, i know you don’t like levi a whole lot. you know your fued and all but do you think he’d say yes if i asked him out?”

well.

that sure is unexpected.

you fight the urge to scoff because you know you and levi are starting to drop more hints. is this her way of finding out the truth?

“me and levi don’t hate each other actually.”

“oh, well dislike.”

“we don’t dislike each other.”

“tolerate?” she takes her bottom lip in between her teeth trying to control her frustration

“petra. i like levi.” your confession knocks the wind out of her. you both silently exchange looks. she’s very clearly in disbelief.

the next time she speaks the previous playful lilt in her voice is long gone

“as soon as you noticed i liked him you just had to decide you liked him too. people like you make my skin crawl.”

?????????

why is she so bitter?.)/&£:

you can’t help liking levi and he likes you too,, so what now??

“he likes me back petra. can we be civil about this? i don’t like workplace drama. i had no idea you were into him.” you’re hoping that this will happen to shut her up but NO!!! it doesn’t she’s only more mouthy now

“prove it.” she points one of her manicured fingers into your chest and demands evidence she doesn’t even deserve to see

“what???”

“if he likes you back so much he should be able to show it.”

you know, if it were any day, any other time or any other person asking you this you would have out right refused, but given the circumstances and levi already waiting on you to kiss him in front of the entirety of the school you see no issue with having the last laugh in this argument

“fair enough.” you mutter and lean over to see hange announce the countdown

“ON YOUR MARKS.”

“GET SET.”

“AND GO!!!”

you swear you blink because GOD what on EARTH????? you don’t understand why previous to this levi balked at the thought of participating because he’s made it look so easy.

he’s not bolted he may as well have TELEPORTED to the finish line. mike is breaking out in a sweat far behind him and the boyish grin on levi’s face is enough to tell how he feels

gasps and applause can be heard from the children. zofia and udo are passionately arguing about some bet they’ve made - you make a mental note to tell them that making deals is fun as long as they don’t bet large amounts of money

levi’s jogging up to you completely ignoring petra’s presence

“told you i’d do it. i avenged you didn’t i?” you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so confidently in public

you acknowledge what he’s said with a cartoon like thumbs up and then you’re staring at him unable to locate your courage

oh fuck it

you lean in hurriedly and steal a peck from him. he blinks and then scowls much to petra’s amusement. she has to think he’s about to curse you out but unbeknownst to her she’s read the situation wrong

“is that your idea of a kiss??”

and then he takes matters into his own hands – no literally into his own hands. he cups your face in his palms and captures your lips with his own. as you reciprocate petra can be heard choking on her saliva.

“OH well who would’ve guessed the english and math department had an alliance????? not me???” next is hange, they’re feigning shock even though they’ve known what the two of you have been up to this entire time

the whispers have now become full on shouts

“i KNEW it they were dating?!?!”

“MAN??? I HAD A CRUSH ON MR ACKERMAN WHAT NOW???”

gabi and falco are audibly cheering, you’re quite sure they realised what was up long ago

“DON’T BE UPSET BUT I THINK THIS IS WAYYY BETTER THAN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE!!!!” falco’s comment makes your heart rise in your chest

and you know what? you think so too.

as levi’s hand travels to the back of your neck pressing you further into him you come to the conclusion that maybe just maybe this is far better than pride and prejudice ever will be :-)

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theshelbyclan · 4 years

Text

Not Alone

Summary: You’ve just gone through a very difficult breakup and feel lonelier than ever. But with the help of Ada’s wise words and some family traditions, you start feeling just a little better

A/N: A sweet anon requested: hi luv!! can you maybe do a bit of the brothers or maybe ada helping the shelby sis after a very hard breakup? i'd kinda appreciate the words right now 🥺🤍 Hope this helps you in any way and if it did happen to you, much love from me also! Also, I am in no way an psychologist or an expert on what to in break-ups, because they simply suck, but I tried to do the best I can. I hope you like it

Words: 2328 *** “What’s with Y/N?” John asked out of the blue over dinner. Arthur looked up, mouth filled with potatoes, “What? Why?” “She doesn’t eat,” commented the brother who never ate himself.

So Aunt Polly fixed him with a glare, “Must be a family thing…” “She never even touched her pie,” John continued, “She always eats pie.” “Finn?” Tommy asked, “Tell us what’s wrong with her, eh?” The youngest brother evaded his family’s looks and mumbled something along the lines of, “Why are you asking me?” “You know everything that goes on with Y/N,” Polly now shifted to the other brother and said in her characteristically low voice, “Spill.” “Remember that boy from down the road?” Finn started carefully. “There are lots of boys down the road…” “You mean the Irish kid, blonde, tall, went to school with Y/N?” Polly caught on quicker.

Finn hesitated, “Yeah… well, Y/N’s been kind of seeing him?” “Arthur, John, you kill the Irish kid,” Tommy was already standing up, “I’ll deal with Y/N.” “Sit down, Tommy,” Ada sighed, “Finn isn’t finished yet, is he?” “How the bloody hell would you know?” Arthur questioned. “Because seeing an Irish kid won’t make Y/N go off her food,” their sister explained, “But breaking upwith an Irish kid will, right, Finn?” “Right…” Tommy sank back down into his chair and sighed deeply. “Should we still kill the Irish kid, Tommy?” John asked innocently. “Hang on, John boy,” his eldest brother stopped him, “I’m the oldest. I should talk to Y/N first.” “You really shouldn’t…” Polly mumbled. And when Arthur got up, nervous but certain at the same time, Ada quickly pushed him back down in his chair again. With this, a certain sibling rivalry awoke in the Shelby household. With Ada up the stairs, the brothers quickly followed and even Finn was hot on their tails. All except Polly, who knew none of this would actually help. And while you’d locked yourself in your room, planning to spend the evening on your own and feeling particularly sorry for yourself, the bursting in of five siblings didn’t exactly help. “Fucking hell,” Arthur said, as soon as he saw your tear-streaked face, his nostrils flaring in sudden rage. John looked more helpless than ever, mumbling, “Why are you crying over that bastard…” Tommy stayed back and lit a cigarette in de doorway. But Finn looked from you to Tommy and his face was getting redder by the second, until he finally hissed, “Can I do it now, Tommy?” “Go,” his brother gave him permission, “but take Isiah.” Only Ada responded directly to you, as she sat down next to you on the bed and pulled you into a warm embrace, “What’s happened, sweetheart, you can tell us, eh?” “He left me…” you mumbled into her hair. “That’s it, I’m going to bloody shoot his balls off!” “Arthur, calm down, Finn is taking care of it,” Tommy soothed, but it didn’t comfort you at all. Ada looked at her unhelpful brothers full of scorn and almost shouted, “Well, is anyone going to add something that might actually help Y/N? Because if not, kindly get the fuck out!” “What can we do?” John asked gently. But you just shrugged, still locked into Ada’s arms.

“Well, you’re the fucking oldest, right? Go on!” John urged Arthur on.

So Arthur started, with all the best intentions in the world, which was the only thing that could calm him in this very moment, “The thing is, we human beings are made up of different things…”

You send a look of uncertainty across the room towards Tommy, who returned your gesture with one lifted eyebrow that said: yeah, I have no idea either.

“Like, when we lose someone, it’s like your head, it’s out of balance. So you need to balance it out again.”

“Arthur,” John asked bluntly, “What the fuck are you on about?”

“Like when John here lost Martha! He had to learn to live without her and it took him a lot of time, also because he has fifty kids, but mainly because he had to balance his head out again. And that takes time!” Arthur got more enthusiastic in his speech with each sentence, “It’s a chemical thing, like… like with cocaine!”

“Cocaine?” you repeated, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, cocaine,” he looked nervously around the room filled with incredulous faces, “Cocaine brings you up, while whiskey brings you down, right? You need both. You understand? You need to find the balance.”

“Are you suggesting our baby sister does cocaine?” a harsh voice suddenly asked.

“No!” Arthur called out, “Fucking hell… I’m just saying, accept that it takes time, because the chemicals in your body need time to adjust and that takes a while…”

Deep down, you knew Arthur meant well. Hell, he even had a point in a way, but he wasn’t great at getting his point across.

So John tried, “When Martha died, I did grieve. And I had to rethink life without her, you know? And especially with four, that’s four, kids. It was like I had lost a part of me.”

“So how did you do it, John?” you asked, looking up at your brother.

“Honestly, I was drunk all the time.”

Tommy rolled his eyes almost audibly and sucked on his cigarette in the doorway.

So you fixed him with a stare, “What about you, Tommy? Any brilliant advice from you?”

“Nope,” he simply said.

And a sudden anger flared up in you, “None at all. So, you don’t even care, do you?”

Tommy stared at you for a few moments and then he turned to John, “Go out to the fields near the Black Patch, where the vardo is. Get a fire going. I’ll be there in an hour. Go on, John!”

Being emotional in front of your brothers was one thing, but feeling like they were ignoring you made everything even worse. As you felt the tears welling up again, you got so annoyed and mad at yourself that you needed to take the anger out on someone. So you turned to Thomas again, but before you could open your mouth, he’d turned around already and was making his way out the room.

Completely defeated, you slumped on your bed and seriously considered throwing yourself out the window.

“How do you feel,” a softer female voice asked and you realised you weren’t actually on your own.

So you frowned and tried to explain, “You know that feeling when you drop a glass of water and within seconds it splashes and then just…disappears?”

“Yeah,” Ada said gently.

“That’s how I feel.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Tell them?” you scoffed, “Well, you just saw how well they handled it…”

Ada nodded for a second, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how to,” you shook your head, “I have no idea what to do with myself now.”

So Ada sighed, lit a cigarette and gave it to you, “You’re not going to do anything, except listen to me now, alright?”

And you nodded meekly as your sister spoke.

“Polly is going to tell you this: fuck men. And in a way she’s right, but in others she isn’t. Men are a common nuisance and we would have no need for them if we didn’t like them so much, did we? In fact, I’m guessing you might even love this one?” Full of sisterly concern she stared at you.

As your head fell down and you started crying again, a loud bang sounded and John barged into the room once again.

“Oh shit, sorry Ada… Uhm…” he stood there, cap in hand and having no idea how to hold himself, “I just wanted to quickly give… Y/N, thought you might need this?”

Ada took the bottle of whiskey John had brought from his hands and started opening it up at once. Then she looked at her brother and demanded, “Don’t you have a fire to get to?”

Clumsily, he left the room quickly.

“They try,” your sister waved a disinterested hand.

And finally you spoke words that had burned in your throat for the last couple of hours now, “I did love him.”

“And that’s okay!” Ada urged, while rubbing you back softly, “That’s what happens and it’s fine. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not allowed to love someone or that you should be strong and independent all the time. You’re allowed to love and you’re even allowed to need someone, just like you’re allowed to grieve right now,” she opened the bottle and traded it with you for the cigarette, “and if you ever tell him I said this I’ll deny every word of it, but Arthur was right: it is a little like grieving over the death of someone. It fucking hurts, but it has to be done.”

“Okay, so what the fuck do I do now?”

“Well… you cry, which you’ve already done, good for you,” your practical sister continued, “Then you plan his funeral, which should be easy because I’m guessing Tommy is arranging that as we speak.”

You had to laugh; you couldn’t help yourself, even through the tears.

And Ada called out, “That’s it! And then you laugh.”

“So that’s today covered,” your smile faded a little, “What about tomorrow and the day after that?”

She took a large swig from the bottle and spoke while choking on it slightly, “Sweetheart, if I had all the answers I wouldn’t be a single mother right now, but it’s about learning to live with yourself. It’s about being alone and suddenly realising you’re no longer lonely.”

“Why though?” you almost whined, “What if I don’t want to be lonely? Maybe I could still get him back? We weren’t that bad…”

“Yes, you were.”

“Yes, we were,” you admitted, taking the bottle from her.

“Listen,” Ada took your hands in hers and locked eyes with you, “You deserve better. This doesn’t help you at all right now, but maybe it will in a few weeks time. You deserve a man who loves you, adores you and worships the ground you walk on, and at the very least you fucking deserve a man who stays. Now, you may not understand now, but a few weeks from now, you will love yourself again. It will all make sense then. Right now you need to let go and you need some distraction.”

“What if I want to be on my own?”

“To do what? Cry?” Ada could be horribly blunt.

So you frowned full of irritation, “Well, maybe I do.”

“You already did that. You need to be with someone you love. Doesn’t have to be me, but don’t go wallowing on your own too much. It doesn’t help.”

“Right, okay…”

So the two of you sat in silence for a long, drinking the whiskey and smoking. And while you didn’t speak, it was good. You’d always been a child that was drawn more to her brothers than her only sister, but right now, the sister proved invaluable. For the first time, it was like you felt the ground beneath your feet again. That solid feeling of family always there kept you sane and it made you just a little bit less lonely.

And then, just like that, Tommy was back. With a painfully direct way, very similar to Ada’s, he announced, “It’s ready. Come on.”

“What is?”

“Just bring his stuff,” Tommy said quickly, “whatever he gave you, and come with me.” He was already out the door when he called from the hallway, “And bring Ada too!”

So after a lot of complaining and ranting about brothers, the two of you left the stuffy bedroom and followed Thomas out the door. He hoisted the both of you in his car and drove out into the fields, above which the sun had already started to set.

Finally, he brought you to the fire, and explained, “We gypsies are used to a lot of pain, but we’re no good with it. It’s a bit like the darkness; we live in it, but it’s where the trouble is too. So, we light fires.”

“How’s the fire going to help?” you asked sarcastically.

“It’s not,” he said, “But sitting here with us might. You used to sleep outside whenever you felt trapped, thought maybe we could do it again.”

You nodded slowly. This didn’t sound like a bad plan at all, actually.

“What about his stuff?” you questioned, “You told me to bring it.”

“If you want, burn it. If not, keep it. For now.”

So you sat down by the fire and it awoke something old inside of you: something you had missed intensely.

“So is this the gypsy cure?” you asked Tommy, a small smirk playing about your lips.

“You can ask John in a minute. It’s what he did, after Martha.”

And suddenly you remembered, “That’s why he left for five days.”

“Am I expected to sleep here as well, out on the grass, all wet and dirty?” Ada asked sharply.

Tommy pointed at his older sister playfully, “Yes. Y/N gets to choose. You however do not. You’ve forgotten where you’re from, Ada.”

“I fucking haven’t,” she protested, “I remember these fields. We used to come here with mum, after the fairs.”

Your other three brothers joined you one by one and like second nature, they huddled around the fire and you weren’t sure if it was the fire or them that kept you warm. Until well into the night, they brought up stories about traveling, family and horses. You hardly spoke, but it was good to listen.

At one point you did whisper, “Maybe you were right, Tommy. Maybe this is the gypsy cure…”

“There’s no cure sweetheart, just patience. But you won’t be alone.”

“No?’ you asked vaguely.

“We’re here,” Arthur said.

“We’re your family,” John added quickly.

And Ada pulled you close to her once again, saying, “And we’re never leaving you.”

***

Masterlist

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ifmywishescametrue · 3 years

Note

and bc i have no self control. #41 kisses to shut them up for rhodeytony

So this one spiraled so quickly, because I also have no self control! And now it’s a 3.4k words of 5+1 for Rhodey and Tony’s first kisses together. Hope you like it :)

The first time is something of a joke. Tony is doing that rambling thing like always, hands moving around rapidly and coming dangerously close to smacking passersby in the face. He gets more than a few dirty looks for it, but he doesn’t seem to be noticing. Rhodey isn’t even sure what he’s ranting about anymore. Maybe one of his professors, or that annoying guy in his physics class. All he does know is that he wants to get to the cafeteria before they run out of pizza and Tony walks slow when he’s talking. So Rhodey grabs him by the wrist when his hand flies in front of him again, spinning him around and planting his lips firmly against Tony’s for just a moment. It does the job of stunning him into silence, but it also makes him freeze completely on the sidewalk. Rhodey keeps walking, and Tony has to run to catch back up.

“What was that for?” Tony asks, eyes wide.

Rhodey shrugs, “Had to shut you up somehow.”

Tony makes an offended squawking sound, hitting Rhodey with the too long sleeve of his sweatshirt. Rhodey’s sweatshirt, technically.

“That’s rude,” Tony says. “You’re getting me ice cream to make it up to me.”

Rhodey laughs, slinging his arm over Tony’s shoulders to pull him along. “Whatever you want, Tones.”

______________

If the first was a joke, the second is just the repeat performance. Between Rhodey’s basic training and Tony’s recent and sudden rise to CEO, it’s been almost three months since the last time they’ve seen each other. Basic has him questioning everything and feeling like a bit of failure. He should have been able to handle it better. The homesickness, the pressure, the constant grind of work. It’s been the dream for so long that he doesn’t know what to do with the feeling he has now.

“Maybe I should quit.”

Tony snorts inelegantly, “Pretty sure that’s called deserting and it’s a crime.”

“So I’ll go on the run,” Rhodey argues, like it’s a perfectly reasonable response. “I’ll move to Tahiti or Fiji or one of those other islands. Wait, you have a private island, right? I could go there, and if anyone comes for me, I’ll just take a rowboat out to sea, and they won’t have any jurisdiction on the water to arrest me. I’m pretty sure that’s a thing. Right? It’s -”

Tony’s lips are a little sticky from the beer he’s been drinking, and his hands are warm where they cup Rhodey’s cheeks. He doesn’t understand what’s happening or why, and at first he can’t think enough to react. When he can think again he can’t decide whether to push him off or kiss him back, and he still hasn’t reached a conclusion when Tony pulls away. He doesn’t know if it lasted two seconds or two minutes, and it’s confusing to realize that he isn’t sure which he would prefer.

“Wow, that is effective,” Tony grins. “Thought maybe it was just me it works on, but I should try that on board members sometime if it’s that good.”

Rhodey gapes at him when he connects the pieces. “Seriously, Tony? That happened two years ago, and I’m in the middle of a crisis right now.”

"No, you were spiralling and now you’re not," Tony says simply. "Situation resolved by not talking about it."

"That's not how that works."

"Of course it is. How do you think most fires get put out? By putting a lid on them until they die."

"Alright, ignoring that that's not even true, what the hell does it even mean?"

"It's very true, and what it means is that I have put a lid on this irrational fire, so it doesn't have the chance to spread and ignite the rest of your life. Containment, honeybear. It's about containment."

"That's a terrible analogy," Rhodey says, and Tony tosses his hands in the air.

"What do you want from me on the spot?"

They spend most of the night trying to come up with something better, laughing and drinking the rest of the beer in Tony's fridge, until Rhodey forgets that he was ever stressed in the first place.

______________

Their third kiss is an accident. It happens somewhere in between Rhodey deciding that he hates Tony's new boyfriend and him realizing exactly why that is.

He comes back from six months overseas, and it's a few days ahead of what he was expecting. He told Tony Thursday, but his plane touches down in California on Tuesday morning, and he gives the taxi driver Tony's address without a second thought. Tony likes surprises, and he has no reason to think this might be a bad one.

He uses his key to let himself in, fully knowing that Tony won't be awake yet to answer the door. The first traces of sun are just starting to filter in through the windows, and Rhodey sets his duffle bag down near the door before moving into the kitchen. Tony's refrigerator is nearly barren, but there are a few eggs and a green pepper that would be rotten by tomorrow that he can make due with. He finds an onion, too, and falls into a rhythm while dicing vegetables.

It's this kind of thing that he misses when he's away. He misses having a kitchen and making what he wants in it, even if this isn't his kitchen or his first choice of food. But he misses the simplicity of it all. Life on the base seems alternate between too fast and too slow, but this is all his own pace.

He hears footsteps on the stairs a little after the eggs hit the pan, and he glances over his shoulder to watch Tony shuffle into the room while rubbing his tired eyes. If he had stayed turned around a little longer, their third kiss wouldn't have happened at all. By the time Tony opens his eyes, Rhodey's back is to him again.

Instead of instantly reacting, Tony slowly wanders over and puts his hand on Rhodey's shoulder. The words are mumbled when he says, "You're up way too early," and Rhodey doesn't have time to process how strange the sentence is, because he's being kissed the second his head turns. Not the shut up kind of kiss or even that sort of friendly peck he's seen people do sometimes. It's the kind where Tony's tongue is slipping between his lips, and his hand is wandering lower. The kind that friends don't share, but lovers definitely do.

Rhodey falls into it without question.

The spatula clatters to the floor from his hand, and Tony laughs into the kiss before pulling back. There's a grin and a joke on his lips that's quickly replaced by dawning horror.

"Rhodey?" Tony squeaks out. His hand flies up to cover his mouth, and through it Rhodey hears, "Oh, shit." He looks down at the complete lack of space between their bodies, dropping the hand to raise them both in front of himself like a defense as he backs away a couple of steps. "Fuck, I'm so fucking sorry. I thought - you weren't supposed to be here yet. Thursday. That's - you said Thursday. Didn't you?"

It's like ice water with how quickly the warmth of that kiss leaves his body.

Rhodey raises an eyebrow and plays at unaffected. "I did, yeah. Seems like you should attack an intruder instead of kissing them, though."

Tony's cheeks turn a vibrant shade of red, and he runs a still shaky hand through his hair.

"I thought you were someone else," he sheepishly admits. "It's just that from behind you, um, well you look a lot like Ryan, and he wasn't in bed still when I got up, so I came down here, and, uh, I guess you know the rest of that story."

Ryan, Rhodey's mind bitterly repeats. The guy Tony's spent the last three months talking about on the phone and in his letters. It's always about him in some way. He told me the funniest story yesterday, Rhodey or Isn't he so romantic, platypus? But Tony seems happy, so he fakes a laugh at a story that definitely isn't funny retold and agrees that string quartets are romantic instead of horribly cliché. He helps him plan dates when it's Tony's turn, because apparently that's yet another adorable thing they do together.

He just barely suppresses the sigh before saying, "Don't worry about it, Tones. It's all good."

Tony looks relieved, and after an awkward minute or two they fall back into their normal conversation like it never happened. They talk about the missions Rhodey has flown for and the designs Tony has been working on between bites of burned eggs and coffee.

Neither of them ever mention that Rhodey kissed him back.

______________

Tony and Rhodey are both drunk for the fourth. The music is loud at the club, and the air is a smoky haze. It's someone's birthday, he thinks, but he can't really remember anymore by the fifth shot of tequila.

He leans back against the bar on his elbows, watching in drunken amusement while Tony tries to put the moves on someone to hold up his end of the bet. The guy looks like he isn’t quite sure what’s happening, and Rhodey laughs into the rim of his glass. All he needs is one kiss, and Rhodey will be out the contents of his wallet. He isn't even sure what those contents are, and Tony wouldn't let him check before the handshake. It could be anywhere from a nickel to fifty bucks, he figures, which is worth it to watch this complete trainwreck.

It takes another ten minutes of flirting before Tony finally gives up and comes back over to the bar.

“Loser,” Rhodey teases. “What happened to having ‘game so good a straight man would fall to his knees?’”

Tony flips him off and steals the glass from his hand. “He has a girlfriend, which is the only reason it didn’t happen.”

“He didn’t even realize that you were flirting with him, did he?” Rhodey laughs, and Tony pouts pitifully.

“The no touching rule wasn’t fair.”

“A good bet doesn’t involve actual harassment,” Rhodey reasons, just like he did earlier in the night. “If you can’t get them to kiss you by flirting with just words, they wouldn’t want you touching them in the first place. It’s called consent.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “I do not need to be taught about consent. I am the king of consent. Enthusiastic, resounding consent, even.” He pauses, and there’s a dangerous look in his eyes when he narrows them at Rhodey. “Okay, I know that this about to go against everything I just said, but it’s you, and we don’t have rules, right?”

“What?”

“Just say yes.”

“Yes to what?”

Tony leans in with enough time that if Rhodey really wanted to, he could pull away. He could put his hand over Tony’s mouth or step to the side or simply tell him no and Tony wouldn’t do it.

But he doesn’t do any of those things.

He lets Tony cup the back of his neck to tilt his head to the right angle, and he threads his hand into Tony’s hair in return. His lips taste like the vodka and cranberry juice from the stolen glass, until Rhodey has kissed him so thoroughly that he can’t taste it anymore.

“There,” Tony says, grinning proudly like he’s just done something exceptionally smart. His breath is coming quickly, and Rhodey’s head is spinning with the thought that he’s the one that did that to him. “I got a straight man to kiss me. Pay up.”

Rhodey laughs, full-bodied with his head tilted back. “No, man. You definitely didn’t.”

Tony’s still a little too drunk to fully understand what he means by that, and he takes it as if Rhodey’s saying that he stole the kiss, rather than earned it. He spends most of the night after that trying to get him to kiss him again on his own accord, but Rhodey doesn’t want another one like that. He wants Tony’s soft-eyed gaze on him, and his body held tight in his arms. He wants to hear him say the same words he’s saying right now, but to have him actually mean it when he says the word please. Like he won’t be able to live for another second without Rhodey’s lips on his.

He doesn’t want the joke anymore, but he knows he won’t ever get to have the real thing.

______________

Rhodey is half asleep for kiss number five, and he isn’t even quite sure that it actually happens. He’s lying in a hospital bed somewhere in Germany, he thinks, and machines are beeping all around him. He can’t really remember what brought him here as he drifts in and out. There was some kind of fight - that much is obvious. He sees flashes of bullets in the sky, flames, and a rapidly plummeting altitude reading. Was it a mission gone wrong? An attack they weren’t expecting? One of the machines ticks a little faster when he tries to clear his head enough to think about it, and then darkness takes over again.

When he partially wakes the next time, there’s something warm and solid in his hand. It shifts a little, brushing lightly in circles over his skin, and it takes him a longer amount of time than it should to realize that it’s another hand. But when he does, he knows without a doubt who it belongs to, and the thought sends him back into sleep with a warm feeling in his chest.

He finds out later that he was unconscious for three days, and Tony hardly leaves his side for a minute of it. Rhodey doesn’t want to say how that makes him feel, so he falls back on what he does know how to say.

“You should really at least go back to the hotel to take a shower. You’re starting to smell, man,” he says after the doctor leaves the room.

Tony gives him a weak laugh, running his hand through his hair and grimacing at the oily texture. "Maybe in a little bit. You just woke up."

Rhodey shifts against the pillows, tilting his head to get a good look at him. His clothes might be the same ones he showed up here in, all wrinkled with a coffee stain on one of his sleeves. The circles under his eyes are darker than he's ever quite seen them before, and he looks too pale.

Tony isn't supposed to look like that.

He's supposed to be sunlight embodied, all tanned skin and bright eyes and fluid motion. But this Tony is slumped over in his chair, small and fragile looking like the wrong word could destroy him completely. This Tony offers him a brave face and a delicate smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and Rhodey can't stand it. Can't stand that it's his own fault he looks like that.

Stretching his arm out, he turns over his hand to open his palm. The movement tugs at his injured shoulder, but he grits his teeth to hide the pain and it's worth it to have Tony's hand back in his where it belongs. He squeezes gently, and Tony squeezes back.

"You almost died," Tony whispers. "You're not allowed to die."

"I won't do it again," Rhodey says, even though they both know he can't make that promise.

Tony nods, and for now that can be enough. He switches the topic to something else so they don't have to talk about it anymore. So Tony doesn't have to say what the last three days felt like, and Rhodey doesn't have to admit that his last thought before the plane went down was regret that he'd never get to have this again.

Tony makes him laugh until his battered ribs are aching with it, until they've talked about everything and nothing and sleep is pulling at Rhodey again. It's hard to keep his eyes open, and he fights it until he can't any longer.

A hand runs over his hair, and down the side of his face to linger on his cheek. Rhodey leans into the touch with closed eyes as Tony murmurs, "I'll come back tomorrow. Don't you dare do anything stupid like dying while I'm gone."

He feels the warmth of Tony's breath on his skin the moment before Tony kisses him. It's a barely there, wisp of a thing, right on the corner of his mouth. There one instant, then gone the next. It's the last thing he feels before slipping into sleep again.

______________

“I’m so old,” Tony groans, flopping down on the beach chair next to Rhodey’s. “Ancient. Decrepit. On death’s door.”

“You’re thirty,” Rhodey says, and he laughs at the pout on Tony’s face. “I’m a year older than you. What does that make me then?”

“A senior citizen, just like me.”

Rhodey lifts his beer from where the bottle was balancing in the sand and clinks it with the bottle in Tony’s hand. “Welcome to the club then. We’re happy to have you.”

Tony kicks off his shoes and tucks his feet under his thighs as he settles back in the chair. It’s quiet out here on the beach, away from the crowds and noise from the party. The crashing of the waves and the distant thrum of music are the only sounds, and they watch the water in the still of the night for a while.

“Don’t you want to get back to the party?” Rhodey asks softly, unwilling to break their bubble of peace. “It’s for you.”

Tony shakes his head. “I like it better out here.”

“Want me to kick everyone out for you?”

Tony looks over his shoulder at the house, filled to the brim and lights flashing from every window. He leans over the inch between their chairs and rests his head on Rhodey’s shoulder. “No, they can have their fun in there, and I can have mine here.”

Rhodey cards his hand through Tony’s hair, feeling warm despite the cool breeze. “This is fun for you, huh? Sitting in silence?”

“It’s always good with you,” Tony murmurs, so quiet that Rhodey almost loses it to the ocean. He’ll always be thankful that he didn’t.

He lets his hand go lower, slipping from his hair to run his thumb along Tony’s jaw, and it would be so easy, he thinks, to kiss him right now. To tilt Tony’s chin up and turn his head to the side just a little. To brush their lips together, slowly at first, then steadily growing more desperate as he gives in to everything he’s wanted for so long. He thinks of the way Tony would sound, if he would sigh or moan or whimper under his mouth. Tony would be sticky sweet from the buttercream on the cupcakes from earlier, and Rhodey would taste sugar on his tongue.

“Rhodey,” Tony whispers, looking up at him. The moon is reflected in the deep brown of his eyes, and Rhodey wants to keep this image of him in him in his mind forever. “Can I tell you what I wished for?”

“Won’t come true if you do,” Rhodey whispers back.

“I think it’s the only way it might,” Tony answers, and he seems even closer than he was before.

“What did you wish for?”

Tony’s cheeks are flushed, and Rhodey thinks for a moment that he’s going to lose his nerve to say whatever it is. He’s ready for the joke instead, but it never comes.

“For you to kiss me,” Tony says with an unsteady breath. “For it to mean something when you do.”

Rhodey slides his hand a little higher, and he strokes across Tony’s cheekbone. He doesn’t miss the way that Tony’s eyes flicker down to his lips. “And what do you want it to mean?”

“Everything.”

“Everything,” Rhodey repeats, and Tony smiles, soft and unsure. “I think I can manage that.”

______________

Years later, Tony still likes to tease Rhodey about their first kiss, except now it's become their thing. The interrupted sentences sometimes get finished after and sometimes don't because kissing Tony is more important than whatever it was that he had to say in the first place.

He loses count of what number they’re on. One thousand or one million, it could never be enough. They have all kinds of kisses now. Early morning, sleep-hazed kisses, and quick, little pecks on the way out the door. Good night kisses that turn passionate and desperate as often as they stay innocent and sweet. Reluctant ones when Tony is mad at him for something silly, lingering ones in apology.

Each one still means everything.

#rhodeytony #ironhusbands #my writing #my fic #prompt fill #warmachinesocks

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wannaholdhandswithfictionalmen · 4 years

Note

Omg can you do aether or venti? Ik aether isn’t like the most popular character but I love him ;-; how about reader falling asleep on them?

A/n: First of all this is adorable and I did both for you lovely Anon. 💕💕 Hope I did okay with writing Aether. Putting it under read more because these basically turned into full drabbles.

Genre: Straight up fluff

Warning: None

Word count: 1,056

Aether was astoundingly resolute in every adventure you embarked on together, there was always more to do, quests, commissions from the adventurer guild, people who needed help. No matter who it was the small task to the toughest challenge -- oh, a chief needed help hunting, so you spent hours searching for boars and wildlife scared off by Hilichurls. Bringing back even more raw meat than asked for, just in case.

An old woman wanted apples from a tree too tall for her to reach. Aether would climb up and toss them down to you, for you catch them in the basket you held. A small village was getting harassed by Hilichurls, well it was time to wipe them out. A haywire ruin guard was wreaking havoc after treasure hoarders set it off. It would be handled.

Aether wanted to help so much, it was one of his endearing qualities to give, give, give every bit of aid to others. And there was no one you'd rather spend your days with giving him your own support while he offered his own to every passing stranger. However without a doubt it was exhausting all at the same time.

It made you worry because for aether there was always one more ingredient to gather, material to collect, creature to fight, dungeon to explore. His particular energy seems endless and always moving forward -- it squeezes your heart in a serpentine grip, tighter, tighter, would he push himself too hard? Would he just keep going and going one day and leave you behind? Too slow to keep his pace.

Today you and Aether have kept very busy, chasing the vague hints in all of Teyvat from some ancient myth said to lead to a grand treasure. You had fought through Hilichurls, treasure hoarders, Fatui agents all racing against each other to find the fabled treasure. It's midday, and your muscles ache fiercely, beyond sore. New bruises and cuts cover your body.

Aether turned to you, looking you over, brows furrowed with concern, his usual silent stoic determination softens as he gazed at you.

"Let's rest for a short while."

"But the treasure?"

"It can wait. Venturing into danger while tired will do us no good."

Aether sets up a small camp quickly, sitting down he beckons you to join him. It's a surprise when you seat yourself beside him. It doesn't take long for the depths of your fatigue to hit you full force like a fatal blow from a ruin hunter. Feeling how heavy your eyelids are you can't keep your eyes open and this close you know Aether hears your yawn as you lean against him, sleepily mumbling. "The- the treasure it's very- super important."

Aether simply smiles, listening to your breathing slow down, seeing your head resting against his shoulder. He brushes his fingers over your forehead, easing the remaining tension in the furrow of your brow with a gentle rub.

Treasures will come and go, but you? There is only one (Name). Aether wants to make sure you are taking care of yourself, he knows you work hard to keep up with him on a daily basis and you never complain. Always worrying over him, having his back, defending him. You mean so much, words almost feel inadequate to encompass how much he appreciates and adores you.

"You are far more important. Rest well."

Venti was spinning some tale of his past, he was open to sharing as you knew of his true nature as a god. It was always exciting to hear each one, Venti as a bard knew how to weave stories that had you in the moment as if you had been by his side even then, witnessing it all with him yet through him. Wonderful and fantastic glances back to centuries ago and sometimes Venti was very forthcoming and certainly proud with his own tales of giving freedom to others, the chance, the choice to change their lives for the better.

You enjoyed hearing every single one, perhaps his most earnest and enthusiastic listener.

Venti found one of his new favorite things was seeing your eyes full of glee and wonder at his tales, hearing you gasp in surprise or shock, giggle in amusement. Oh and seeing you smile, wide and bright. He liked that too.

You were always eager to listen to him, tell a story or sing a ballad new or old. Venti enjoyed the feeling of you watching him so intently.

Today however, you are too tired, fighting through several camps of Hilichurls, getting attacked three times by those annoying treasure hoarders, a elemental mishap when Venti accidentally pushed you into Cider Lake with a misdirected gust of wind and you spent an hour or so drying out your clothing with your own flames. It was a trying day, still fun though nothing was ever dull with Venti.

You couldn't stay wide awake not even for Venti, you felt your eyes drooping low, blinking rapidly as your head kept falling forward snapping awake just as soon as you fell asleep. Eventually sleep was the foe that bested you today and you leaned on Venti, your cheek pressed on top of his head, his soft hair serving as quite the pillow.

"And-" Venti paused in his retelling when he felt the weight of your body slumping over on him, confused at first, he shifted slightly, stilling once he heard how slow, soft your breathing has gotten.

Venti bites back his instinctively gasp of was my tale that boring? Realizing you had looked rather exhausted during the final trek back to Mondstadt. "You are very lucky that I am so fond of you," Venti mumbles with a playful roll of his eyes. "It is quite rude to fall asleep during a bard's tale, an insult to my skills really." The content grin on his lips really seals the deal, anyone else might have offended him but you never.

Venti thinks he should wake you up, get you somewhere far more comfortable to be resting but he also wants to stay like this for a bit longer, he thinks this is adorable.

"Just a few more minutes." Venti reaches for your hand, entwining your fingers with his. He hums a tune while watching the sparkling stars lit up the night sky.

#Genshin Impact #Genshin impact fics #genshin impact reader insert #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact aether #genshin impact venti

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unsteadyimagines · 4 years

Text

Deceitful (Spencer Reid x Reader) Part 1/2

SUMMARY: Spencer helps Amanda (a recovering victim of domestic violence rescued by the BAU) by spending time with her, which makes Y/N mad because he barely had time to spend with her originally because of his job. Now, argument after argument, Y/N has suspicions Spencer’s intentions may not be so pure after all.

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

WARNINGS: N/A

NOTE: This is my first time ever posting any of my writing so please bear with me!! I also have to thank @moonlit-martyr for giving me the motivation to start writing again!!

***Feedback is always welcome for future improvement!

-------

“Hey, Emily long time no see,” you smile, walking through the entry of the BAU, hands full with Spencer’s lunch which he had left at home early this morning.

“Hey, Y/N it’s been so long, what are you doing here?” she asks, grabbing stacks and stacks of what I assume are new case files, once again reminding me of their hectic and highly dangerous job.

“I just came to drop off Spencer’s lunch; he left it at home again this morning. Do you know where he is?” You ask curiously. Emily’s face drops slightly, but enough for me to notice her change in demeanour. She looks as if she’s struggling to come up with an answer. Being in the FBI, you’d think she would be a better liar, or at least look more convincing.

“Oh, uh – he’s, um – actually already gone out for lunch… with Amanda. They left about 25 minutes ago,” She says, looking down to the floor. My stomach twisted in nervous knots, feeling both disappointment and uneasiness.

“T-they?” You’re afraid to ask. This was the third time this week Spencer has gone out for lunch with Amanda, and while you usually wouldn’t be concerned about Spencer making new friends, in fact, you would encourage it, this time something felt… different. Amanda was a victim they rescued from a life-threatening domestic violence dispute four weeks ago. According to Spencer, she didn’t have any family or friends left due to her then abusive husband pushing her away from everyone she knew and loved. She has no one.

You let out a heavy sigh, placing Spencer’s lunch on his desk and looking back at Emily, who looks sympathetic. “I know what you’re thinking, Y/N, but this is Spencer we’re talking about. I don’t think you have anything to worry about - he adores you… you know that” She tells you reassuringly. You believe Emily’s words of comfort because deep down, you know she’s right. From the moment you and Spencer met at the college you attend when he was teaching a class, it was a match made in heaven. The two of you hit it off so quickly, getting to know each other and already planning a second meeting before even finishing your first one.

“I know I know, and I understand she doesn’t have anyone right now and I think it’s very considerate of Spencer to help her get back on her feet but… and I may sound horrible for saying this, but… I-I just hope she doesn’t try to take advantage of his kindness and mistake it for something else.”

“Remember he loves you and wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise that, Amanda just needs a little bit of guidance right now, I’m sure you can try to understand that. Being isolated from every person you love for so long by someone who is meant to be your husband, then all of a sudden have everything taken away from you. Not to mention all the physical and psychological pain she must have been feeling.” Emily explains. Maybe I sound paranoid.

You smile at Emily, grateful for her advice.

“Thanks, Emily. I’m just being paranoid. I’m sure everything is fine.” However, at this point, I don’t know who I am trying to convince more - myself or Emily.

“Do you want to come and see the others? I’m sure they would all love to see you again,” Emily encourages, trying to get my mind off of Spencer and Amanda.

Giving her an enthusiastic nod, she leads me to the group, who are smiling and laughing while awaiting another case. As Penelope’s sees me walking closer, she has a huge grin on her face and her arms already out on either side of her for a bone-crushing hug.

It’s been a considerable number of hours since I left the BAU, getting on with household chores before Spencer is due to arrive home. Putting the finishing touches on dinner, I hear the front door open and in walks Spencer in his black suit. He drops his briefcase and bag by the door, walking into the kitchen with a lazy smile written on his face. His long arms stretched out; he makes his way towards me.

“Hey babe, sorry I’m home so late. I got caught up with some last-minute case reports.” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around my waist, placing a delicate kiss on my cheek. At this point, it just feels wrong to accept his loving gestures. Did they still mean the same things from when we first met? Placing the two plates on the dining table, I sit opposite Spencer, not sure how to even talk to him. Do I bring up my concerns? He looks quite tired from work. Maybe I shouldn’t push it on him tonight? Or should I? Do I mention it at all?!

Dinner was awkward, tense and quiet all at once. Only the sounds of metal utensils and glass plates being heard in the room and soft mumbles of delight from Spencer for the food. Spencer sits back and lets out a deep sigh.

“Do you mind clearing up? I still have heaps of work to get done before I go in tomorrow.” He asks, however, I get the sense that it doesn’t matter whether I say yes or no, I will still end up doing it.

“Sure, you go do what you need to.” I get up, grabbing both plates and begin cleaning up for the night. A half-hour later I make my way upstairs to get ready for bed and as always, I pass Spencer’s office. Except this time, I stop in my tracks and take a look inside and once again my stomach is filled with nerves and butterflies, but not the good kind. It’s funny how Spencer has ‘heaps’ of work to get done, yet he’s finding time to message back and forth with whoever he was talking to, and of course, it only took me a second to realise who it most likely was. Smiling and chuckling at his screen was a clear indication it was most definitely not someone from the team, but Amanda.

I desperately want to ask him about her, but I’m not ready to hear the answer. Spencer is the only serious relationship I have ever had, the only person I’ve ever loved. But this isn’t what love is meant to feel like. Feeling constantly on edge, anxious and paranoid. At this point, I’m not certain its paranoia anymore, but my gut feeling. I don’t want to believe that Spencer may be cheating on me. I can’t. I can’t stand this anymore. I make my way over to our bathroom and get ready for bed, leaving room for Spencer when he eventually comes to bed.

I suddenly feel a nudge on my arm. Slowly opening my eyes, I see Spencer’s face hovering over mine in the darkness. 2:25 am.

“What are you doing up still? I thought you would’ve come to bed hours ago.” I groggily ask, trying to make out his features in the lack of light. But I don’t need any light to notice how unconvincing his next words are, and once again, it sends my heart beating profusely.

“I just got called into work, but I should only be gone a couple of hours this time, I promise.” Promise. The word promise is used a lot by him and yet lately, he never fails to disappoint me. I promise I’ll be home early. I promise we’ll get to spend more time together. I promise we can make this work - I promise, I promise, I promise.

Having nothing to say to him, I simply roll over and try to get back to sleep. I hear him let out a sigh.

“I love you” He whispers. That alone threatens tears to brim my eyes. As much as I am hurting right now, I couldn't not say it back.

“I love you too, be safe.” I barely whisper, loud enough for him to hear. In a way, him hearing me say those words makes me hope he feels somewhat guilty if he isn’t actually going to work, but another woman’s house. Her house. But no, of course not. Instead, I hear him pick up his bag, walk downstairs and lock the door.

Sitting up in bed, my thoughts are running a million miles an hour. Where did we go wrong? Did I do something? Does he not love me anymore despite him saying he does? It takes me hours before I am able to go back to sleep, considering waiting up for Spencer to return home but deciding against it.

Opening my heavy eyes, I check to see the time is now 8:30 am. I also notice Spencer’s side of the bed remains untouched. A couple of hours, huh? Around 45 minutes later, I’m sat on the couch engrossed in a book, when Spencer walks in the door - clothes dishevelled and tired eyes. “Hi babe” He yells, walking up the stairs to our bedroom before I am even able to reply.

When he comes downstairs, he sits next to me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, enveloping me in a warm hug and a kiss on the corner of my mouth. Fuck, I miss this. I hum in delight, taking whatever I can get, which sounds as pathetic as it actually is.

“You said you would only be a couple of hours, not over 6 hours.” You murmur in his chest.

“I know, I’m sorry I just got caught up with the others. Next time I’ll let you know if I run over time.” He assures me. Looking up at him, I can tell he is tired, small bags forming under his eyes. He gives me a lazy smile, pecking me on the forehead before heading upstairs.

“I thought we were going to hang out today? We’ve barely had any alone time together this week or last week,” I asked, turning around on the couch to look at him. He’s only made it halfway up the stairs as he looks at me, groans and looks up at the ceiling.

“Y/N, I’m tired. We can hang out tonight or tomorrow.” He huffs, continuing his way up the stairs.

“Will we though? Because that’s what you said a few days ago, and numerous times last week.” You blurt. It’s not my intention to start an argument today, but if it means I can finally get something out of him instead of endless false hope, then so be it.

Spencer’s face contorts in an annoyed expression, a slight glare in his eyes draining into mine.“Y/N, don’t argue with me. I’m tired and I want to sleep. We’ll hang out later.” He says more firmly. But to me, that isn’t good enough.

“It’s always ‘later’ with you isn’t it?” I push.

“For fuck sakes Y/N we can hang out later!” He yells, his arms flailing up in annoyance. I flinch slightly, taken aback by his sudden change in mood. For however long we’ve been together I don’t think he has ever really raised his voice at me before like he had just now. Sinking into the couch, I succumb to his angry and irritated mood.

“I- okay, sorry.” He didn’t look the least bit apologetic, trudging back up the stairs and into our bedroom. Hot tears slide down my cheeks, my throat tightens as I try to hold down my sobs. I don’t know whether I’m meant to stay here or leave. But where would I go? Deciding on staying on the couch for the time being, I curl up into a ball and shut my eyes, trying to sleep the day away and avoid any more drama.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #dr spencer reid fic #dr spencer reid fics #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fics #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid gif #spencer reid gifs #spencer reid fics #spencer reid fic

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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years

Text

Save Me From Myself - Leone Abbacchio

The best thing that could ever happen in my life is to become a part of the gang Passione - Or, to be more specific, a part of Buccellati’s team, filled with people with so many past issues that somehow manage to work together and support each other with everything they’ve got, despite their huge differences.

We have, from youngest to oldest, we have:

Giorno, a super cute and pure angel of a kid who is super smart and ambitious. Fugo, a super smart and caring yet hella violent kid who can’t control his temper. Narancia, ADD kiddo who behaves like a 10 year old, but is funny and has nice dance moves. Mista, hella funny guy and easy going, but can get distracted by weird things. Bruno, the mum of the group, everyone loves and looks up to him. And we have Abbacchio, who’s the oldest, acts somehow like the responsible dad of the group, yet he’s more of a very gloomy wine dad.

Of course, being a part of Bruno’s team, we already know each other’s backstories and we know how to support and protect each other when we need it, both morally and emotionally, since, after all, nobody is made of ice or stone.

But that is something that perhaps neither Abbacchio nor I chose to admit...Or maybe we already know that, but we don’t want to say it out loud, because if we do, it will make it real, and we don’t want the bad parts to be real.

When we have pair up missions, I’d usually be paired with Abbacchio, since apparently, we make quite a good team, and can’t say that I complain - He knows when to stay silent, when to make a witty or sarcastic comment, has very nice dark jokes and can be a great conversation partner, especially when it comes to music and bands.

What I realised, however, that I’m not sure everyone knows, is that Abbacchio has a dose of self-hatred so large that it would include the dose of everyone from the team...No, rather said, of all Italy.

Unfortunately, when you’re someone like me, you can easily realise when someone isn’t doing mentally and emotionally too well, and what’s worse, as an empath, you can feel it just like an arrow impaling your heart.

It’s already been about a year since Giorno joined our team and for some reason, things started taking a turn for the unexpected whenever we’d have our weekly restaurant gatherings.

It all started when Mista got himself a girlfriend, and honestly, everyone was shocked because so far, nobody actually had any kind of love life, but we were all super proud and happy for him. He has always been a fun and easy going guy, very adventurous and this charm of his unexpectedly drew interesting girls to him, and managed to get completely head over heels with one.

Three weeks later, Mista couldn’t come to the hang out because he was taking his girlfriend on a date out of the city, but we found out that Giorno, with his really cute tricks and natural innocent charm, found himself in a relationship with a flower girl, very kind and sweet. They met when she was walking her puppy and he pulled on the leash so hard that she fell, but Giorno caught her and helped her out with the puppy, and it was love at first sight.

Of course, we were all very happy for them, because obviously, Giorno deserves the best in life...

And yet, it was weird when we were so few at the table at weekend hang outs.

It didn’t take long for Bruno to fall for a beautiful singer at a jazz bar, who, he found out, always bought meals for children of the streets and bought them clothes and tried to take care of them the best she could.

And now that our Mum friend was busy with his beloved, we are told by Fugo that he also managed to find a girl who is extremely calm, patient and intelligent, just his type, and they are planning a few museum and bookshop dates, as well of some very chill hang outs in the park.

Not even a week later, it was only me, Abbacchio and Narancia at the table, but the little duck was overly enthusiastic today, and told us that he found a girl who doesn’t mind his energetic and airhead personality and wants to take HIM out on an arcade date, and he needs some dating advice so he wouldn’t screw up.

“These kids are so pure and adorable, don’t you think, Leone?” I let out an amused breath, realising that, by now, it was only I and him at the table. “Yeah...They are. they deserve it.” he nodded simply, yet he seemed to not be over with his thoughts. “You seem like you want to say something else. Do you have anything on your mind that you’d like to share?...Hold up, is that lipstick on your neck?” I ask in a gentle voice, that turned into a gasp, which made him hum as he closed his eyes and think over, trying to wipe away the lipstick from his skin. “Well, I suppose I should say it after all. I asked a girl out and we’re going on a date next weekend, so I won’t be present for our weekly hang out...Not that it would make much of a difference, considering we’re the only ones left.” hearing him say that so nonchalantly, broke my heart in very little pieces, but at the same time, I was happy for him. “Woaw, that’s great, I’m so happy for you, Abba! I hope she’s everything you wish for and that you’ll both be happy together!” I congratulated him, but he only let out an amused breath, looking away slightly. “Yeah...Thanks, I guess.” he spoke in a low voice, seemingly absent minded. “You still have something on your mind -... No, rather said, on your heart. Is it something you’d rather keep to yourself?” I ask in a softer voice, leaning a bit on the table. “I’m not sure...” he trailed on, before glancing at him, blinking but not saying anything for a while. “Well, doesn’t matter, I’m not really a talker anyway. I have to go. See you around, Kat.” he nodded at me before leaving the restaurant, leaving me alone. “Bye...” I mutter to myself, staring at the empty seat in front of me.

It was then that I was reminded just how alone I really was, even when surrounded by people that I hold dear, and in turn, hold me dear... Well, not that it really mattered now anyway, since I was truly alone now, both spiritually and physically.

I got up from my seat and started walking around the city aimlessly, not really knowing what to do. When everyone else wasn’t so busy, I’d cling on one of them, depending on the mood I had at the moment...But now? Now I feel like nothing more than a wingless bird, or a paper plane in the wind, just trying to stay in the air.

Everywhere I looked, everyone was happy, everyone had someone that made them happy, and in turn, would make said person happy... And then I’d think at myself, and I’d find nothing more than an endless void of nothingness.

It’s true, I used to date someone too, before Giorno joined us, but...I never, even once, missed one of our hang outs. I suppose the team, my family, for me, was always more important than a relationship that may or may not be fleeting. And...I suppose that’s why my ex kept speaking like that to me, and seeing me in such a bad light. A difference in ideals and mind views that is so radical is never going to work out.

I already miss my Family, despite of how dysfunctional we all are.

How odd.

The next weekend, I went to the restaurant at the regular time, hoping that I would see at least one of the guys... But I was merely lying to myself, or my heart, that is. My brain already knew I was going to be alone.

One week, two weeks, three weeks...

The only time I’d meet them is when we’d have to go on missions or stuff like that.

I can’t believe how fast happiness can disappear...It’s almost like it never existed in the first place. How is that fair?

Why am I the only one left alone? Am I really that much of a bad person? Am I really that bad? Or ugly? Or annoying? Or what the hell is wrong with me? And more, what the hell is wrong with my heart? Why does it hurt so much? Why do I keep feeling the need to break down and cry every night with no exception? But I’m not sure what’s worse, the fact that I feel the need to cry my emotions out and scream my frustrations out at the sky... Or the fact that I can’t?

For the love of God, I can’t express my emotions, I can’t feel them, or maybe I feel too many at once and they threaten to explode, hell, I don’t even understand anything anymore.

This...Is really not fair at all...

About two months into this whole mess, I found myself going out by the sea every night, drinking some red wine that Abbacchio always drank and surprisingly, wasn’t too bad for my tastes, and I would just stare at the sky and let my emotions pour out, but not without cursing myself for looking like an alcoholic.

What was different that night, however, was a very familiar voice that seemed rather irked, continued by a very pitched and nagging female voice.

It sounded like Abbacchio...But I could always be mistaken. After all, drinking a whole bottle of red wine by myself wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

They seemed to be arguing...I don’t know...I wouldn’t want to intervene in their couple affairs. Or at least, that’s what I said, until I heard a loud slapping sound, followed by a deathly silence, which is when I realised that the woman he was with slapped him.

I may not be his girlfriend, but godamn it, nobody treats my family like that...

I marched to where the sound of the woman yelling at him came from, and despite possibly being a bit wobbly, I wasn’t even sure, I glared at her, catching her wrist before she could slap him once again.

“Who the hell are you?! Who do you think you are, getting between me and my boyfriend like that?! You look like some drunk slut from the highway, we have no money for your cheap ass!” she shrieked in my face, trashing violently, but I made no hostile move, except for glaring blankly at her. “He’s my family...And I’ll be dead before I allow anyone to treat my family with such disrespect.” I spoke in a low and threatening voice, gripping her wrist tighter. “It’s fine, Katrina, I deserved it.” Abbacchio tried to defend his girlfriend, but I was having none of it. “No, it’s not fine. And you didn’t deserve it. Nobody deserves to be treated like that by the person they love.” I reply simply, but that seemed to make hell break loose. “Oh my GOD! Leone, this is all your fault! Who the hell made you know such a fucking annoying chick like her who doesn’t mind her own damn business?! Screw it, I’m going home! You owe me a nice fucking date next time!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, before pushing me away and stomping in the opposite direction. “God damn it...” Abbacchio’s low voice was barely audible. “Are you okay, Abba...? Does it hurt where she slapped you? Can I heal it with my Stand?” I tried to reach out instinctively with my hands, but he slapped them away harshly, glaring at me, which made me widen my eyes in shock. “Abba...?” I was barely able to speak out. “What the fuck is your problem?! Why do you have to put your nose everywhere that doesn’t concern you? That was MY girlfriend! My date, my problem, my responsibility! ALL mine! You never stop trying to pry into others’ business, under the pretext that we’re family and you want the best for us, but have you ever thought that maybe we DON’T need OR want that?!” it was the first time he spoke so harshly and aggressive toward me, that I had to take a few steps back, away from him, then turn around to hide the tears streaming down my face. “Okay. I won’t bother you ever again. I’m sorry I’m such a bother for everyone around me. Goodbye.” I manage to speak in a shaky voice, as I started walking back towards the place where I stood previously, but I was stopped by a hand on my shoulder. “W-Wait...Are you crying...?” Leone spoke in an unsure voice, as if he was somehow taken back to reality. “That shouldn’t concern you, should it? It’s none of your business and you shouldn’t pry so much into it. That IS what you said, right, Abbacchio? Who cares about poor little, annoying Katrina, after all? Nobody. Let it remain that way. Who knows, maybe you’ll have the look to completely get rid of me very soon.” I slapped his hand away, before disappearing into the night, not even bothering to hear him out anymore.

From then on, I wasn’t even able to fake my happiness, my face remaining blank and emotionless for most of the time, and I’d only stay around the team for as long the mission needed me, and then I’d just leave back home, to my little safe heaven where I could be myself... But honestly, I couldn’t even be myself there, for I wouldn’t even be able to cry out my feelings or anything of the sort, and for the most time, I’d just watch a movie or listen to music, without feeling anything at all, just wasting my time blankly.

The other guys would voice their concerns quite often and loud, since I wasn’t my usual calming, gentle and happy go lucky self anymore, and it was clear that something was wrong...Especially when I refused to stay anywhere near the silver haired man.

It wasn’t until Bruno paired me up with said man that hell broke loose in a way, and the whole drive to the assigned place was filled with awkward silence, with Abbacchio trying to make conversation by asking if I like the song that’s on or I want to change it, but I didn’t bother giving him any answer, merely looking in front of me as I drove.

By the time we got to the docks to investigate the place, I walked away from him to do my job, but he just stood there, staring into the horizon, trying to say something, but something was keeping him - Most likely his own walls he created.

“We should talk.” he finally spoke up after excruciating minutes. “Really?” I asked sarcastically, now even bothering to look at him. “What were you doing at the beach that night?” he asked after a long pause. “Strictly confidential.” I replied blankly, looking at the little dock house. “What...?!” my response seemed to shock him since I was never so harsh and direct with him, always preferring to speak with a gentler and softer way. “It’s none of your business, is it? Your words, not mine.” I explained as I got inside and looked around the place. “I didn’t mean that. Not a word I said.” he tried to say, but I cut him off fast. “Activate your Stand already, stop wasting time.” I got out, looking at him with a bored expression. “Besides, words spoken always have a meaning and consequences. Action-Reaction, like in Physics, y’know?” I pointed out, as I took a seat on one of the logs around. “Look, I know I fucked up. I lashed out at you for no reason, and I’m sorry about that. I want to make it up to you. You were right to worry about me. Anyone from the team would have done the same. I was an asshole with you, I know that. I let my feelings go out of control... I'm just that kinda guy... a worthless guy who can't see anything through to the end. I always screw it up halfway through.” he spoke now more than I’ve ever heard him before, but the way he described himself made me cringe. “Don’t...Speak like that about yourself...” I muttered, shifting my gaze from him to Moody Blues. “Huh? Even now, after I was such an asshole with you, you try to protect me? Aren’t you an angel?” he chuckled lightly, which only made me sneer. “Shut up. I’m sorry for caring about you and for not wanting you to go through what I’ve been through. But I should’ve known better. You’re 21, you already have enough experience to know what you get yourself into. I won’t say a word next time, don’t worry. I promised not to bother anyone again.” I rolled my eyes, crossing my legs to get more comfortable in my seat. “That guy really was a bastard, wasn’t he...?” he muttered with a somehow softened expression. “Don’t try to turn this around. This conversation isn’t about me and nor should you be concerned about me or my feelings in any way.” I reminded him once again, but he was always a stubborn guy. “Lately, I’ve been feeling worse and worse...I guess I just needed a distraction. I never held any feelings for that woman, nor did she for me.” he tried to justify himself, but I merely shrugged. “I don’t see how that concerns me in any way.” I scoffed in annoyance. “You’re the only one I’d trust with my feelings.” he spoke after a brief silence, but I could only laugh sardonically. “Oh, really? Really, now? Are you sure you want to say that after that night? Because, as far as I’m concerned, you want me out of your life! Why would you even bother trying to justify your actions to someone like me anyway?!” I got up, glaring at him dead on. “Look, I give you every right to be mad at me! You can go ahead and punch me or kick me or slap me or whatever, it doesn’t matter, I won’t feel anything so if it will make you feel better, lash out your anger on me, I’d deserve it anyway.” he spoke a bit louder, yet he wore his raw feelings on his sleeve. “Why...Would I do that? You, of all people, should know that I would never, in a million years, do something like that, no matter how angry I am. Are you trying to mock me...?” I narrowed my eyes at him, but he merely shook his head. “I’m trying to get you to forgive me. I’m just very bad at this whole feel-thing...Or people-thing. You already know my past and I’m pretty sure you figured by now why I act the way I act. It’s not rocket science. So just...Tell me what to do to get you to forgive me and be the way we were before. I can’t stand the idea of you hating me.” his voice became much softer and more emotional by the end of it, something uncharacteristic of him. “I don’t hate you.” I looked down, crossing my arms. “You don’t...?” he stepped forward, his face shocked. “I can’t. No matter how much I want to hate you for what you did...I can’t.” I mutter, biting my lip, averting my eyes away from him, until...”Hey...Doesn’t that look oddly enough like your girlfriend...?” I ask breathlessly as Moody Blues took the shape of the girl at the beach. “Oh, great...My hookup is a villain Stand user. Great news.” he facepalmed in anger, before he ran full speed towards me, pushing me away. “Look out!” “Wh-What...?! Leone...?!” I gasped in shock, seeing him on the ground, a really ugly wound on his torso. “Guess we have to kill her.” he chuckled weakly, as I could feel a drop of sweat run down my back. “Damn it, you idiot! You shouldn’t have done that! Why the hell would you do something like that?!” I freaked out, looking at his bleeding wound. “I’ll tell you if I make it through this.” he wore the ghost of a smile that almost challenged me. “...You always know how to irk me the wrong way, don’t you?” I grit my teeth, before I got up, activating my Stand. “I’m not a violent person, chickadee, but now you’ve done it. You really got me mad.” I growled, creating blasting shots of water and throwing them at the woman in front of me. “Awww, what is it? Were you jealous, after all? Were you after my man all this time~?” she giggled, throwing her own blasts of whatever kind of energy that was. “I have no reason to be jealous. Especially not on someone like you.” I smirk as I made molecules of water depart from the actual blast, that would glue themselves on her skin and would get absorbed into her organism. “Oh, really? Can you really afford to say that, even now, knowing that he fucked me?” she laughed condescendingly, but she had no idea what a gruesome demise she’d have. “I almost pity you, you know? You seem like the kind of person who never knew what love is...Not that I’m sympathetic to you in any way. But sure, use that as an excuse to pretend you’re not just an empty shell of yourself.” I chuckled, before snapping my fingers together, which made her explode. “Au revoir.” I flipped my hair, looking at the place she was at just a few seconds ago, before rushing to the fallen ally. “That was pretty cool.” Abbacchio smirked breathlessly. “Guess my plan worked. I tried to look cool in front of you.” I let out an amused breath, before I took off his top, focusing the water to regenerate the cells on his wound so he would heal. “It worked damn well.” he said in a lower voice, watching me heal his wound. “Next time, don’t do that. I almost had a heart attack.” I bit my lip, not daring to meet his gaze. “It’s fine...I don’t feel anything. I haven’t in a long while.” he tried to make light of the situation, but I knew. I knew the truth, but I couldn’t say anything.

I didn’t even realise that I stopped healing him until tears started falling down my cheeks without any means to stop.

“H-Hey, why are you crying? I was joking, don’t take me so seriously-” he tried to take that back, but I knew better. “Don’t do that...Don’t. Just don’t. I already know...I know that so much that it hurts...” I manage to speak, hiding my face with my hands, not wanting him to see me crying. “Hey, come on...No need to cry over someone like me. Your pretty face should shine with a smile all the time, not cry.” he put his arms around me, pulling me to his chest. “Don’t act so brave in front of me, it’s annoying. Not when I already know how much you’re hurting...I understand you so well...I’m just too scared to say it out loud...But lately, I couldn’t even pretend that it’s not true. That’s why...I wanted to protect you from everything bad that would make you feel even worse...” I tried to explain myself, until I felt a kiss on the top of my head. “Look, I’ll be frank. I love you. I’m done hiding. I didn’t want to say anything ‘cause you deserve better, not a depressed guy who’s stuck in the past. You deserve someone bright and caring like Buccellati who’d treat you like a princess and all that. I’m not worthy of your feelings.” he stroked my hair gently, pouring all his feelings out. “Don’t...Say that...Ever again. Look at me...You think I’m any better? Do you have any idea how lonely I’ve felt all this time since you all got too busy for your family? Do you have any idea how bad I felt without you guys around? As if before that wasn’t bad enough...Now I’ve become an even greater mess. I either cry randomly, or feel nothing at all. I don’t even know what I am or what I feel anymore...And you say you’re no good for me? Did you hit your head too or what?” I spoke out everything I had to say, not even feeling embarrassed or scared anymore. “Don’t say that...You will regret it later on. I can’t even help myself, how could I possibly support you emotionally in any way?” he asks in a self-deprecating tone. “You’re impossible...” I sigh dramatically, as I raise my head and cupping his face, I capture his purple-painted lips in a tender kiss, with enough passion to show him that I mean it, but gentle enough, almost as if afraid that either of us would break from the pent up emotions that kept overwhelming us. “Are you sure...?” he mutters, his eyes wide in surprise. “If you want another one, you can just say so.” I smirk softly, before he put one arm around me, while his other hand was on the back of my head, and he pulled me into another kiss, just as full of love. “Do I really have to ask?” he let out an amused breath. “No. I’ll just let you steal them.” I could feel the ghost of a side-smile creeping on my face as I helped him get up from the ground. “Well, mission complete. Let’s go back home now. We gotta report to our dear Capo, after all.” I intertwined my fingers with his. “There’s gonna be a lot of explaining to do. How bothersome.” he said, yes the chuckle betrayed his words. “Hey, I’ll just look at the bright side. I won’t have to sit at the restaurant table by myself anymore.” I shrugged with an innocent smile on my face. “Low blow, tesoro. Low blow.” he shook his head, yet he was smiling, just as much.

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thedormdietitian · 4 years

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Why I’m Leaving the Field

Hi everyone!

It’s been quiiiiiiite a while since I’ve posted on here, and I’m really sorry about that! One perk of quarantine is that I’ve had a whole lot of extra free time, so here we are.

In my last post (done almost 2 years ago....how?!), I shared my thoughts on the lack of jobs for dietitians. Well, shortly after posting that, I was fortunate to land a job in the world of inpatient dietetics. It was in my dream area and I was thrilled to a) have a full time job and b) have it be in the area I have my degrees in. In today’s rather pathetic millennial society, I recognize how lucky I am to have a job that fits both of those categories. But anyways, as you can tell by the title of this post, I will (hopefully) be leaving this job, and this field, soon.

I’ll try to keep this post short and sweet, but I have to admit that I never thought I would actually be writing this. I was a young, spry 18 year old when I decided on this career. I was slightly obnoxious over how proud I was for never changing my major and I always knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. Maybe this is payback? I truly thought this was the career for me and I didn’t let anything get in the way of that. There were many times during both undergrad and grad school that I wanted to quit, but I did not let anything get in my way. I was so beyond determined to hurry up and graduate and start my dream career, and I was ecstatic to land the job that I did.

Now that I’m looking back, I realized this career wasn’t for me during my internship. On my second day of my clinical rotations, I cried on my whole drive home. After a whole two days at my rotation site, I knew didn’t chose the right career. I’ve never told ANYONE this because I was so embarrassed that it took me years of schooling to realize that; and here I am, in a coveted and competitive internship, realizing that this wasn’t what I wanted. So, I sucked it up and just told myself I was overreacting, and that there was no way in hell I would quit the internship because I was lucky to be there. It took me quite a while to grapple that idea.

Now, to get to the why am I leaving the field? I’ve been at my job for a while now. Again, I realize, especially now, how fortunate I am to even have a job, let alone contemplate a career change. But, if this helps anyone thinking of becoming a dietitian, then I’m glad I put this out here. Here are the reasons why I am leaving the field:

-We have to get permission for EVERYTHING. This is possibly what bothers me the most. Everyone I work with has advanced degrees, tons of experience, and credentials, yet we have to ask permission to do the very things that we’ve been trained to do. Want to order a vitamin level? Call the doctor. Want to change tube feeds because the patient is off the ventilator? Call the doctor. Want to correct your patient’s diet order? Call the doctor. At my hospital, we are the only group of providers that has to get permission to do anything. I see MDs order speech evals, or PT/OT evals, and they just say “evaluate and treat”. No physical therapist is calling the doctor to see if it’s ok to do this certain exercise on a patient. Even if we get an order for tube feeds, we have to call the doctor (who ordered the consult) to see if, yes, they truly want tube feeds. Doctors don’t have a clue what exercises should be done, just like they don’t know what tube feeds a patient should be on. I’m not slamming doctors at all; that’s why different specialties and careers exist. But why can’t dietitians be treated like other professions? It’s ridiculous to call to get permission to DO OUR JOBS.

-The pay. I knew I wouldn’t be a millionaire as a dietitian, but I didn’t think the pay would be that dismal. Sitting in the office everyday, at least one person complains about not having enough money. Our raises are very small and are automatic; we get them each year whether we are good at our job or not. There are no incentives to perform better. I’m a strong believer in working hard because that’s what you should do, but it gets pretty dang annoying to see people in other careers who get lucrative bonuses for simply doing things required for their jobs. At my workplace, you don’t get extra pay if you get your CNSC/CDE/etc, see extra patients, come in early, or anything else. Your pay doesn’t change except for your yearly raise. Hearing my coworkers complain about money on the daily really starts to get to me, especially after working so hard to get here. A few of my coworkers have worked at my workplace for 30+ years and don’t even come close to making $70k. Hearing that they can’t afford to do needed house repairs, or fix their cars, or even go on vacation with their kids gets really depressing. I even have a coworker who has to give up her shift if her mom can’t watch her kids because she can’t afford to pay for childcare. You wouldn’t think any of those things would be a concern working in healthcare! Dietitians work insanely hard to even become a dietitian, and our jobs are demanding. Our pay needs to reflect that. See my previous post for salary comparisons in healthcare careers. I had a professor in undergrad who said dietitians will only be successful financially if their spouses are the breadwinners. I brushed her comment off at first, but after working in the field, SHE WAS RIGHT. I have a lot of coworkers, and the ones who are truly happy in this field are the ones that have spouses who are breadwinners. Because money DOES matter. I want to be able to take care of myself, buy things I need, fix things that break, and yes, go on vacation. I don’t even have kids yet, but the number of times I’ve already thought about not being able to afford things for them freaks me out. I’ve known dietitians who work for WIC who are on WIC themselves.That is not even slightly ok. I am not shaming those who use WIC; but to be a dietitian and meet the salary requirements for WIC is mind-boggling. Your education is an investment; you want a solid return on that investment. If you’ve ever paid for a dietetic internship, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

-Lack of leadership. Sorry, but I can’t stand the Academy. Using my example of physical therapists again, their “academy” fought for them to raise their pay and to improve the field, and they did. The only advancement in our field is the new “RDN” credential, which, frankly, just brings more confusion on who we are and tacks on the word “nutritionist”, something that 99.9% of dietitians hate being called. The Academy is also requiring all RD’s to have Masters degrees by 2024. I interviewed for quite a few jobs, and having a Masters does nothing for your duties/responsibilities, and results in a very minimal salary adjustment. We can do better. Making it even harder to enter into this field or slightly changing our name won’t help anyone.

-Lack of support for the field. Excluding FNCE, have you ever been to a dietitian conference? They’re usually in a random hall at hospital. Have you ever seen a conference for other health professions? They’re usually at a gorgeous resort on an island. Because of our poor pay, very few dietitians are actually able to support their profession financially. This results in lackadaisical events that are frankly depressing to be at. It’s not about the glitz and glamour; its about supporting the profession and being enthusiastic about it. These events that are held should make people want to join our profession, not run the other way.

-Job outlook. As a clinical inpatient dietitian, I don’t see my exact position being around for much longer. Especially with losses in revenue amongst hospitals due to COVID, I truly (and unfortunately) think this position will eventually be phased out. In my city, a lot of hospitals have already started cutting their clinical inpatient diet techs, and I think dietitians are next. And it kills me to say that, because our job is needed. But since nurses can (and have) been doing our educations, pharmacy can order TPNs, and residents can stumble through ordering tube feeds, I think our job has shifted into the “not really necessary but nice to have” category. Which really, really sucks. But even in the few years I’ve been a dietitian, I’ve seen the shift. I think outpatient and community RD jobs will always be there, but I think inpatient dietitians are going to be a thing of the past very soon. Starting your own business has become more popular. If you can make it work, go for it. There is a dietitian “business coach” who started her own Instagram business after realizing clinical just isn’t where it’s at, and that new clinical jobs are becoming few and far between. And honestly, she’s right. Post-pandemic, look at the number of job opportunities in your area. It’s a shrinking number.

So that’s that. I’m sure this came off as negative, but someone needs to be telling others this. As much as I love nutrition and am passionate about helping those improve their health with nutrition, this career just isn’t worth it. I hope to always use my RD roots in my next career and I don’t regret the years of schooling I’ve done. But if you’re considering this route, I want you to recognize that this career isn’t even close to what your professors have chalked it up to be. If anything, if you are in college right now, GO SHADOW. Shadow inpatient, shadow outpatient, go see what the job is like. See how happy they are in their jobs, learn their salaries, learn what they love, what they don’t love, and truly see if you can see yourself in this job. That’s what I would tell my 18 year old self, and it’s what I’m telling you as well.

xoxo,

The Dorm Dietitian

#dietitian #registered dietitian #rd #rdn #nutrition #dietetics #college

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unproduciblesmackdown · 3 years

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A Prompt

April 14th: What do you like about being autistic?

can be Hard To Say only because it's like, literally everything about me being an autistic person's Characteristics lol, and that like, that initial sense of Difference between myself and other people was like, noticing some sort of mismatch / misalignment, but also that i was the one feeling shut out / out of place about it, so it's defined in that negative way like, well i guess i'm doing things wrong somehow, and it all keeps being framed like, whenever it seems to stand out that there's something Different about myself, it's about trying to figure out what's wrong here, why some interaction isn't working or whatever, and when actually getting positive responses or whatever, it's doesn't quite feel so individual, like, oh i guess i'm just seeming normal to people here, right lol. but that, also, of course, things you Could consider positive / like about yourself sure might not be received / responded to in that way by other people, can't always even just feel neutral about anything / not notice it, even if it can't possibly actually Matter / isn't causing any kind of problem for anyone else it's like well why are you doing this unnecessarily & Weirdly.....and you know, pathological model vs social model, naturally, where i don't think "hey if this part of being autistic led to Negative Experiences, it's b/c being autistic is worse than being allistic and i wish i was allistic, b/c that's the only way to Not be, for example, objectively and rightfully excluded and punished by people around me" lmao

but for a start i saw some quote from an autistic person the other day mentioning just this sort of like, what they love about themself re: being autistic, and i remember one of them being You Mean What You Say lol, with the example "if i ask 'how are you' it's because i want to know how you are" lmao like yeah a really exhausting Greeting Ritual in particular when it's like, literally every time you hear that you have that awareness like "okay remember this person doesn't Actually want to hear about how you are," tbt to times like "when it's was really discouraging being texted regularly like 'what're you up to / how long will you be away' because for a sec i'd interpret it as 'this person is actually just asking what's up or wondering when you'll be around to hang out with, might be asking with the intention of making plans With you,' but then i have to remember it's about hoping i'm Away so my presence isn't interfering with what they want to do and of course it's not about genuine interest in my life/day otherwise or wanting to hang out" like, this shit is exhausting lmao. and you know, of course i know Different Communication Styles and how people will read different implications and intentions into the same kinds of interactions or behaviors or whatever, it's just Funny(tm) when like. some nt ppl think their social/communication styles are what's Objective, Universal, Correct, Intuitive, Effective, etc. like they'll be like "it's Great to say what you mean instead of Playing Games" and think autistic people are blunt / rude & it's b/c they're communicating Wrong, like actually you guys are saying you love ppl who are Real & Honest while being that post like "i love drama i love games if you fuck with my friends i will help you do it" lmaooo

also yknow to an Extent i think that like. sometimes just being very independently Enthusiastic about something can seem fun to nt people lol like, yes i can monologue about something aloud for 5 or 10 or 80 minutes maybe, or just you know, talk about it to myself via Posting lmfao, and sometimes that appeals to people or they at least regard it Neutrally because it's like. supposing that sometimes even when it's not something someone else is also interested in, idk, people are down for a like, individual experiences of unfettered expression of that passion lmao, but like, ftr i would hate instances of this as like a "because being enthusiastic like that is," deep inhale, "cute" or whatever, like, if i'm gonna talk about something it's a Lecture okay lmao. and plus i do plenty of it via Text lmfao, so, not many times i get to in person talk about whatever, or it'll be like, look at this video of a cool bird. i do not need someone's like, Personal Affection to find it Cute or Wholesome that i'm passionate about birds, or, god knows, fine anything else Cute, an assessment i never need or want, engage w/the information being shared please lmao. and then also, you know, i Draw Things based on it being v Of Interest lol so that's like, thank you to myself for having these Thoughts i want to express about Things Of Interest, i get to have fun like, just focusing in on what Creative Project i wanna do about it lol even if it's also like, boy, what if i could just have the idea and it'd Manifest, and you know, drawing is a way i am Talking About Something, certainly also if i'm dropping a tags essay about it lmao.........love to just delve tf into things and have all these thoughts & things to say about it, and really like, Exceptional when anyone wants to engage with this like, repeatedly / regularly lol. shoutout, Thanks, Epic

and well you know. i don't have any incredible specifics coming to mind here but in whatever ways i might think of things Differently it's like, hell yeah then, epic of me, i will be out here Figuring Shit Out even if i have to marinate on things, i'm sure motivated to engage with stuff that's Of Interest to me, when i have these solid ways to communicate with other people it's fun and flexible lmao, and i think there's that fun of being like, Performative in a way, theatricality, which i think like, maybe a source of that can be when you Have to be aware of the "rules" of interactions / social performance, but also how yknow, you can Act any way, there's nothing universal, there's maybe plenty of bullshit involved, hence how you can Have to be at least somewhat aware of things because you have to try to figure out the Secret rules and patterns and you know, simply Being Yourself and Behaving Naturally at all times isn't an option.....def have the Theatre type Theatrical thing lmao, the "theatre gay ft religious parents, enjoying harmonizing in the church choir lol i'm a Tenor babey" experience lmao, being in 4th grade auditioning for this set of play scenes like oh i get to be the main Antagonist guy? also i'm playing a guy? also i'm in this play and have lines and stuff? Hell yes lmao. and the Stage Performance via eventual roles via dance classes, i remembered the other week the studio i used to be at Used to have this like, idk, thing where the older dancers in a certain group maybe used to have a trip to nyc, think that fell away not long before i was one of those more Skilled Dancers like damnit, never really went to nyc except driving in and out to pick people up from the airport, like hey that distant smudge out the car window is probably the statue of liberty or something.....but the rehearsing and playing a Part and being in shows was. a ton of fun. i Said No to Stage Fright lmfao and really enjoyed being backstage and rehearsals and etc. but also i think i just Can be theatrical you know, in my own social approach lmfao, i'm big on talking with my hands lmao and i can get like, some Social Momentum going that way, i can have some confidence and can sort of hit that groove and it's like, not exactly masking trying to act """"normal"""" but i'm still Being Myself in this more "acceptable" way that nt people might better Understand or whatever. i also just like, personally, i love to be kind of theatrically Funny for sure lmfao and like, if people are just like overwhelmed by the least amount of goofiness / can't or won't play along at all i'm like, Please, work with me here lol, also like damn you live like this??? cmon lol

and well, nonconclusion, but it's pretty difficult to think of things like, what do i Dislike about being autistic which isn't about the way allistic ppl treat you sucks, like, e.g., it'll be like damn augh oof Misophonia, aural texture hell, hardly fun but that's not always a disaster, and as long as i can like, do something to block it out, and if i have to be like "hm this is distressing me b/c this noise is really really pissing me off lmao" as long as you know, i'm not amongst people who are just going to be annoyed at me for making up some problem and/or daring to speak about this experience inconveniently. be normal maybe. idk i'm just like right on, Myself

#30daysofautismacceptance #2021

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ghostyprince · 4 years

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your pantherverse au is beautiful and now im obsessed with ryan sneaking round trying to surprise and prod “mrrrps” outta shane. fic would be adorable if your still open to pantherverse requests 💖

i hope you like this, thank you for the prompt, it’s so hecking cute❤ also it’s mostly my friend’s @josemorningstar‘s au tbh, i just help in with it. (he’s happy to answer asks about it too!)

read on AO3

Ryan puts a finger to his lips, twisted into a grin, in a shushing motion, and then he taps the flip camera icon on his phone. Shane’s frame from behind pops up on the screen, sitting on his office chair, legs crossed. He’s editing a photo, probably for a thumbnail, and it’s one of those rare occasions when he’s so focused he doesn’t even hear Ryan walk up behind him.

Ryan is moving slowly, putting one foot after the other with the ease of a predator, skilled in sneaking up on his prey. That is Shane and he does not suspect a thing. Perfect.

The footage shows Ryan reaching out, just as carefully, before going in quick, making contact with Shane’s back, splaying out over the thin fabric of his shirt.

Ryan holds his breath as he does so and a heartbeat later—

Yeah, there it is. Shane jumps, a little sound escaping his lips, a sound that makes Ryan’s grin grow impossibly big. It’s one of his favorites, he’d die happily hearing it.

It’s a mrrp, a sound plenty of cats make when touched unexpectedly, but Ryan’s favorite is the one Shane does. So, of course, he tries to scare or surprise him as often as he possibly can.

He only puts it on Instagram because the whole experience of Shane making that noise is a blessing upon this world that needs to be shared. Well, not too often, Ryan would still like to keep most of the occasions he actually managed to surprise Shane into a mrrp to himself.

He stops recording after he zooms in on Shane’s very much unamused expression, accompanied by Ryan’s belly laugh. He barely had time to pull his phone down and duck out of the way of one of the smaller Paddington plushes flying towards him. Another set of giggles bubble up from his chest before he realizes what Shane actually threw at him.

“Hey, I got that from a fan, asshole!” He scoffs, going to pick poor little Paddington up and set him back on his desk carefully.

“That’s what you get for being a dick,” Shane says, chin propped up in his palm, focusing on his laptop again. There is a flush high on his cheeks and Ryan, once again, can’t contain his satisfied grin. Shane is blushing! He’s blushing and he’s fucking sulking, at that!

Easily the best thing he’s seen all day and it’s only 10 AM.

“But it’s so cute, Shane. Gotta share it with the fans!”

“It’s not fucking cute.” Shane murmurs. He sounds like he’s mad but Ryan catches a glimpse at the hint of a smile behind his fingers.

He knew he won immediately.

“I won’t post it if you don’t want me to.” Ryan offers because he’s a good friend. And he also knows how sensitive Shane is about the sounds he makes, due to having broken meows in his cat form. Ryan personally thinks it’s the sweetest thing ever, but Shane is stubborn as hell.

“Go ahead,” Shane says, letting out an exasperated sigh as if he’d be doing a huge sacrifice. What a drama queen. “I suppose at the very least people will see just how gone you are over me.”

He adds, with a smug drawl to his voice, and it had the desired effect because Ryan’s stomach does a little flip. The one specific flip it got used to doing ever since they’ve started playfully flirting with each other, just tethering on the edge of too much or too dangerous. On the edge of their friendship, before it evolves into something more. More serious, romantic, sexual, just more.

Ryan is still trying to catch his breath after that whole interaction as he settles back in his chair, to edit and post the video on Instagram.

He wonders when they will finally say fuck it, and jump over that line between friendship and something more together.

Or, because it’s them, the Ghoulboys, when will one of them finally drag the other over that line?

The next time Ryan gets the urge to make Shane do that wonderful little noise is when they’re filming the newest season of True Crime.

They’re about thirty minutes in and Ryan is reading his script, then coming to a pause to look at Shane and give him an opportunity to react. But Shane isn’t really looking at him. In fact, he’s just staring right in front of him, so deep in thought, Ryan isn’t sure he’s even in his body anymore.

Normally, Ryan would be concerned, and he is, to a degree, but he knows how hard Watcher has them working at the moment, the anxiety, that their whole company might be a flop. It had a toll on both theirs and Steven’s mental health. Not to mention their sleep schedules.

So it’s not unusual Shane is zoning out, especially while Ryan is trying to talk about some pretty heavy murder case. Ryan does see an opportunity, however, to have a little fun with Shane not paying attention to him.

Everyone kind of just stopped, including TJ, but before he could say anything, ask Shane if he’s okay, Ryan is reaching out, pointer finger extended. He holds his breath, the corner of his lips already lifting into a huge grin and then his finger makes contact with the side of Shane’s face.

And Shane jumps. He flinches more than Ryan had ever seen him, and he’d feel a little bad if it weren’t for that ‘mrrp’. It’s so loud, is the thing and it makes Ryan’s heart sing in happiness.

He bursts out laughing, head thrown back and his whole body bowing into it. There is some laughter from the crew too, but Ryan is too busy looking at Shane, all bright smile and shining eyes, despite Shane’s expression being pissed.

Ryan knows it’s not too serious, he has gotten used to that expression, with how much he’s been a brat lately, at every opportunity he gets, to get a reaction, anything out of Shane.

“Very funny, can we go back to the murked guy now?” Shane asks, trying and failing at covering up his embarrassment.

And well, Ryan could point out how he’s been the one zoning out, but it has no use, Shane is annoyed already, and Ryan does know not to go too far sometimes. He’ll make it up to him later by buying him lunch or something.

“Sure thing, big guy.” He says instead, shooting him one last smile, full of warmth and fondness and it might improve Shane’s mood just a little.

It’s going to be another story for Instagram, and then it will remain a video on Ryan’s phone, sitting there for ages, for him to hit up sometimes and smile about, ear to ear. Show Shane, maybe, as they’re chilling together at Ryan’s, or Shane’s, maybe their own apartment together at that point.

Fuck, they’ve only been officially a Thing for a few days and Ryan is already daydreaming about their future, years down the line. Well, can anyone put the blame on him, really? When Shane is sleeping next to him like that, so unbothered, beautiful in the setting sun that filters through the plane’s tiny window.

His face is smooth, and Ryan has the weirdest urge to kiss his nose, or the small cluster of freckles right above his right eyelashes, or Shane’s slightly parted lips, huffing little breaths of air. He thinks it may be the honeymoon phase of their relationship, all of it being so new. Ryan is simply overwhelmed with the fact that he could do all of that now, and more if he so pleases. On the other hand, he doesn’t think he will ever stop being giddy about that. Or how soft Shane looks when he’s sleeping.

Ryan took a picture of him before he started recording too, it’s easily one of his favorite photos of Shane. And then, because Ryan Bergara is an insufferable little shit who has to entertain himself on the boring plane ride, he figured he might as well try to make Shane do that sound again.

The very first time he shared it with the internet in the form of that office video everyone loved it. So, Shane’s little cat noise had been high demand, people kept tweeting and commenting and yelling at him absolutely everywhere to upload another one of those videos.

And well, who is Ryan Bergara to deny them?

He raises the phone higher, to frame Shane perfectly, and carefully removes his hand from where it was resting, on top of Shane’s. Luckily, he didn’t react to that.

Ryan takes a few minutes, to think about how he’d like to approach it. Simply touching Shane has been done, he should do something more original.

He could poke his nose. Or tickle his neck. Ryan hums and his gaze happens to drift over to Shane’s hair. He could just bury his hand in his hair like he would with a cat’s fur.

He starts recording again, and the mic picks up his amused little chuckle.

“Part two for you folks, here we go.” He announces in a hushed tone before carefully reaching out to bury his fingers into Shane’s oh so soft locks, carding through it, maybe way too lovingly for it to be taken as a friendly gesture.

And then, there it is.

Shane lets out Ryan’s favorite noise and Ryan is fucking overjoyed. Up until Shane full-on tilts his head into Ryan’s hand as he lets out an enthusiastic purr, and Ryan forgets to breathe.

“Ohmygod.”

The words are punched out of his lung, in one breath, smushed together, and when Ryan would listen back to his voice later he would realize how in awe and disgustingly in love he sounded just then.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He ends the video, almost abruptly. His other is still brushing through Shane’s hair, subconsciously, scratching at his scalp with gentle fingers. He feels Shane shudder and then brown, sleepy eyes are blinking back at him. Shane’s purrs go quiet but it reverberates through his chest ever so slightly. Ryan can feel it when his hand drops onto Shane’s nape, tangling into the long strands of hair there too, pulling just a bit, just to feel Shane shudder again, hear the soft growl coming from the back of his throat.

“Stop it, you’re gonna make me horny.” He murmurs and Ryan wheezes, but complies. Reluctantly.

“Did you just take a video of me, by the way?” Shane asks, rubbing a hand down his face, tired. Ryan feels it too, the exhaustion as he looks at his friend, business partner, boyfriend. They’ve really been through an awful lot these months, with Watcher, currently shooting the new season of Supernatural.

But they could always take a nap together.

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. We’ll talk about it later. Go back to sleep, big guy.” Ryan tells him quietly, pocketing his phone and well, who is Shane to say no to that?

So he does, slipping as far down his seat as his Sasquatch legs would allow him, so he can rest his cheek against Ryan’s shoulder, using him as an impromptu pillow. Ryan does not complain at all.

They would talk about the video, later, when they would be in their hotel room.

Well, it isn’t much of a talk at all, it’s more of Shane watching the video while Ryan worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He shouldn’t even be nervous. He’d understand if the video would end up in his drafts for a few months still, years even.

Then Shane looked up at him, with that incredibly annoying, unreadable expression on his face, before leaning in to press a kiss to Ryan’s cheek. “It’s cute, you should post it.”

That’s all he says, in the most nonchalant way possible and Ryan would like to hit him a little bit for that.

Regardless, the video ends up uploaded onto his feed instead, because it deserves to be there, not just for a day, but for a good while, to mark the beginning of a new chapter of sorts.

It deserves a caption just as monumental, so there are no misunderstandings or a flood of questions later on.

ryanbergara: Part 2 of annoying the boyfriend 💖

Ryan wakes to the sunshine burning his eyes, still feeling as sleepy when he and Shane went to bed last night as he checks his phone. It’s way too early in the morning for either of them to be awake.

And yet, here they are. Here is Shane, turned in a way that Ryan can see the expanse of his back Ryan loves to admire. He sweeps his gaze over his favorite freckles on Shane’s back and the dip of his waist disappearing under the covers. The sunlight drapes over Shane’s back invitingly, making it seem warm, soft and kissable.

He kissed all those freckles many times, and he still can’t get enough of the sight of them, not even so many years later.

He still can’t get enough of waking up next to Shane, seeing him first thing in the morning. Ryan’s heart flutters every time, he simply cannot help it.

There is a faint light coming from the other side of Shane, bouncing off of his hair, suggesting he’s on his phone.

And that won’t do, Ryan is awake and he needs attention.

He moves, swiftly fitting himself behind Shane, with one strong arm wrapping around his waist under the covers securely.

“Mrrp!”

The sound lets something loose in Ryan and he melts behind Shane, his hold tightening around him has Shane complaining in the form of a groan.

Ryan doesn’t care one bit though, he’s purring loudly now, much deeper and powerful than Shane’s purrs normally are, considering he’s a panther. It must reverberate through Shane’s whole body because he relaxes, pressed into Ryan’s chest and head falling back on Ryan’s shoulder.

His hand finds Ryan’s, long fingers curling around his, lacing together and knocking their matching silver rings together in the process.

“You’re crushing me, dumbass.” Shane laughs, quietly, fondly, in contrast to his words.

“Mhm, don��t care.” Ryan hums, pressing a chaste kiss on Shane’s shoulder and hugging him even closer, to prove a point.

“Sure you don’t. Go on, suffocate your poor husband if that’s what I deserve! For being your faithful lover for years and—” Shane cuts himself off with another groan of complaint, attempting to turn out of Ryan’s arms when he has the audacity to wheeze into Shane’s neck.

Yeah, Ryan wouldn’t have it any other way.

#shyan #shyan fic #shyan fanfiction #skeptic believer #pantherverse #prompt fill #fanfiction #fanfictions #answered #asks #anon #anonymus #thank you so much for the prompt

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trippydooda · 4 years

Text

here’s a second part of the Woosan fic i started. it’s basically a rough draft and i plan on changing some minor things in the one i post to AO3, but alas have some stuff.

Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung/Choi San

Rating: idk, T? it’s safe for minors lol

Word Count: 3,261

A blanket is handed to him, but he refuses it. It’s not as if he’s shivering from the cold anyway. No, Wooyoung is sitting back on the wretched bed he woke up on, feeling the smallest and weakest he has in his entire life.

The shivers wrack through him in waves, and he ends up choking a handful of times, though he really can’t pinpoint the cause of those either. The two beautiful strangers who somehow have to do with him being here sit on either side of him, the first with something akin to a sad expression, the other unreadable.

Wooyoung is tired of the silence. “Where am I?” He asks, but it comes out as a pathetic whisper rather than a strong demand.

The second man speaks up, “A mansion far away from where you call home.” He lifts a finger in front of him that’s still somehow directed at Wooyoung to not speak, and continues: “You were found by San dying in a slum alleyway somewhere, and for some reason instead of finishing the job he decided to save you.”

Slowly turning his head to who he assumes is San (the still silent one), Wooyoung mutters, “Oh.” Only a few silent moments have to pass before the rest of the declaration weighs heavy on him. He whips his head back around. “Finished what job, exactly?”

“You were dying, dear,” the second man flashes a smile and a flutter of eyelids. Wooyoung doesn’t miss the sarcastic undertone. “And our friend here should have just killed you.”

Wooyoung knits his eyebrows. He elects to ignore the obvious insult to instead ask, “And how exactly was I saved? This certainly doesn’t look like a hospital.”

“Ah, there. That’s the right question.” The second man settles himself back onto the bed so he’s no longer looking at Wooyoung. He’s not sure he could have stood those red eyes any longer anyway. “It’s more fun to have you guess, though.”

Wooyoung huffs indignantly. He’s tired, annoyed, and still so fucking confused. He doesn’t want to guess, he wants to be told. And right now he feels like telling this other stranger to sod off, because at least this “San” was nicer. So far, anyway. Still, he wants confirmation enough to calm the boiling in his veins enough to spit out, “Well you all seem like a bunch of stereotypical fantasy book type vampires.”

A laugh erupts out of the second man, one that seems fairly devoid of any true humour, and Wooyoung scoots closer to “San”. The latter man flinches slightly and tenses, but it doesn’t feel like one of cautious anticipation. More like the clench of muscles of someone ready to fight. Wooyoung sure hopes he’s not the one to be fought. “Ah, I wonder what sort of things that sharp tongue of yours would say if my teeth were sunk into your pretty little ne—”

“Enough.”

Both Wooyoung and the man flinch at “San”s sudden forceful voice. Having been now hovering over Wooyoung, the second man scoffs under his breath and removes himself from the continuing quivering Wooyoung. His eyes, Wooyoung notices, have also morphed into that deep black and Wooyoung is idly wondering how close he was to death (again?) when the man rolls his eyes. “You’re always so protective of your playthings, San.”

“I said enough, Mingi.” “San” (Wooyoung should probably drop the quotation marks) practically growls.

Mingi glares down at Wooyoung, his lip upturned. He wordlessly exists, all swift movements and even a somewhat graceful slam of the door behind him. Wooyoung is thankful he’s gone, he really is don’t get him wrong, but now he’s alone with San. And he doesn’t know how to feel about San. It was easy with everyone else—they clearly wanted to kill him. But Wooyoung doesn’t know how to process the information that San precisely thought the opposite, that Mingi said he “saved” him. He’s never been good with compliments or praise, and he somehow thinks that saving his life—however it actually happened—it’s just completely out of his realm of contemplating.

“Sorry about him,” San smiles, and it’s genuinely sweet. His eyes remain brown, and so now Wooyoung is wondering if this colour madness is just that—a product of his own madness.

“Where am I,” Wooyoung asks again, because Mingi wasn’t very helpful. Plus, he figures San will be more forthcoming, less of a sarcastic ass.

Turns out he’s right. San heavily sighs, cards his fingers through his hair, and… Pouts. Wooyoung blinks dumbly at it. “This is sort of a… Safe haven”—Wooyoung scoffs, San ignores him—“for people like me. Like… You. It’s hidden behind a sort of seal if you want to call it that, kind of like a spell.”

“A spell,” Wooyoung echos.

San nods enthusiastically, snapping his fingers because he seems to think Wooyoung is following along (he’s absolutely not). His smile falters slightly, though. “Mingi is slightly right, on one count. I had saved you, yes, but that was under the pretense you would become like me.”

“A vampire,” Wooyoung mutters, voice completely monotone.

San nods again, albeit more slowly. Wooyoung is afraid of what sort of circumstance warrants such a change in demeanor. “I know it’s… A lot, but I did it with the best intentions.” He lopsidedly smiles at Wooyoung and the latter’s heart positively melts. He supposes if some freak was going to “save” him in such a way, at least this one was pretty. “I truly thought you’d just be like me, like Mingi.” Wooyoung hates the unsaid “but”.

The roundabout is only slightly irking Wooyoung, but he’s able to at least be patient with San. Now that he knows the sort of other heathens that run rampant in this little tree shop of horrors house, anyway. “So I’m not a vampire then.”

A shake of the head this time. “No, no you’re not.”

Wooyoung thinks. He thinks because San looks just as tired and confused as he is. Thinks because he really hasn’t clearly yet since waking up dead, and so he thoughtfully raps his index finger against his chin. He tries to remember the times he was a kid and poured through all sorts of fantasy novels and shows, and tries to recall what he knows about vampires. He remembers, though, what the one vampire had said about him: halfling.

He’s unaware he’s muttered it aloud when San perks up next to him. “That fits, actually. That’s the best way to describe it at this point.”

For the first time the whole night (as Wooyoung assumes it is, don’t vampires like, hibernate in the day?), Wooyoung really looks at San. He appears perhaps even the same exact age as Wooyoung, but if he’s going off fantasy vampire lore, the guy is probably in his hundreds. And looking fantastic at that. His skin looks impossibly smooth, eyes deep with emotion and lips curled into a sincere smile, even if it seems to be one of pity rather than joy. There’s a hint of a cherry red underneath San’s hair, and it sort of hits Wooyoung rather belatedly that San is just his type. Way better than any Tinder fuck he’s gotten recently, anyway.

And here he is, practically snuggled in bed with the guy.

But dammit Wooyoung, this is not the time to be horny, you need answers. And Wooyoung has plenty of questions to last (another) lifetime. So he picks one if not to just ignore the strange static that’s building between them. “Someone called me an omega,” he blurts, and it makes San softly laugh.

“Gunna talk my head off with questions, eh?”

“Absolutely,” Wooyoung blurts once more.

San lightly shrugs. “That’s fair.” Wooyoung swears his skin flushes when he stammers out, “B-But, the omega thing. There are some things that probably aren’t talked about in vampire school.”

“That absolutely doesn’t exist,” Wooyoung breathes, and shares his first pure laugh with San. He still doesn’t know if he should be hating the guy, honestly. It’s becoming increasingly harder to even entertain the thought.

“Well whatever,” San bats the air. “I just don’t think they really—er, anyone really—talks about how society for us really works.”

Wooyoung scoots closer, knees brushing against San’s. “Enlighten me.”

A breath escapes San’s nose that could definitely be a laugh, one so impossibly soft Wooyoung doesn’t want to think about it right now. “The person was right when they called you an omega. Before you blather about that whole thing, it’s not the sort of ‘omega’ you’re probably used to. You can’t get pregnant, go into heat, none of that. It’s simply a rank.”

“The lowest of them, then,” Wooyoung softly laments, turning his gaze to the bed.

It shoots up instantly the moment San replies with: “The opposite, actually.” Apparently Wooyoung’s awestruck expression is enough for him to continue without delay. “Omegas are thought to be the highest for us. They’re pure, untainted, and elegant. They think clearer than ravenous alpha or power seeking beta. They possess a certain poise and aptitude for the political, but even with all this they get treated like dirt.”

Wooyoung expressively frowns. “But you said—”

“I know,” San snaps. It makes Wooyoung shrink. “Hundreds, thousands, of years of alphas trying to overcome what they think their weakness is has led omegas to be somewhat of an anomaly. We changed so they’re rarer, less omegas lived to procreate, and as a result there are practically none left. It also just so happens omegas… Taste good.” San looks off anywhere that definitely isn’t Wooyoung.

Right, the whole blood drinking thing. Right.

Wait, no, not right, what the shit?

“So what the hell do I do?” Wooyoung asks, swallowing down his shivering panics. He figures it’s the most practical question he could possibly ask.

San looks back at him, eyes soft and pleading when he says, “Trust me.”

¥¥¥¥

Even though San assures him it’s safe now, that he’s “taken care” of things, Wooyoung still refuses to leave his room. At least, he assumes it’s his. In any case, no one has come to see him besides San, and certainly not that Mingi fellow. Wooyoung shivers at the memory, but also wonders why he was so willing to obey San as well. If he was going to admit it (which he isn’t presently), the sort of powerful aura San carries is… Well, unbelievably attractive.

Yet he’s still confused about this whole omega business, not to mention he doesn’t really think he’s come full to terms with his… Predicament. Is he dead? He doesn’t think the afterlife would be especially honest about where he was, but then again he has no frame of reference either. Just blind faith—just his trust in San, as feeble as it is. So he spends most hours (he’s lost track of them) curled into himself, fumbling to locate his heartbeat every few hours when he can’t feel it anymore. It’s his only way of holding on.

He thinks of his friends, how they must be worried about him. He’s not realised he’s shaking quite violently until San enters the room, and Wooyoung can finally breathe. It doesn’t even take him rising his head to know it’s San—his San, as his brain sometimes flutters to—he can just feel his presence like a blanket wrapping securely around him. The thought makes Wooyoung shiver again, though this time he’s not really sure what for. He’ll figure it out later.

A clatter of a plate being set down makes Wooyoung finally peek out from his blanket cocoon. Very recently being wrapped as tightly in linen as possible has brought him extreme relief. He blinks at the plate though, silver gilded and a rather hot looking cup of soup sitting innocently in the middle. “You must be hungry,” San says, though it’s more of an exasperated breath.

Wooyoung blinks dumbly when he says, “I’m not hungry.”

San sighs. “You’ve been here nearly a week”—Wooyoung whimpers—“and you’ve not eaten a thing. It’ll make me look bad if you starve to death.”

Wooyoung thinks on this. If it’s been nearly a week, how is that he’s not ravenous? Because he isn’t lying to San, he’s honestly not hungry. He hasn’t been, even though the soup looks tantalisingly good the longer he stares at it. “I thought vampires didn’t eat people food,” he mumbles, not even really realising he’s said it out loud. He yelps at his own bold proclamation, slinks back into his covers. San just laughs, and it’s too light and airy for Wooyoung to think about right now.

“We don’t, but you’re not fully like us.” The last bit sounds sad almost, and the confusion that has plagued Wooyoung since being here is crawling rather speedily up his conscience again.

And he really shouldn’t care, to be honest. Not when he’s not even sure if he should be thanking San yet, because he’s not even sure he was saved. Does saving someone entail trapping them in a room like some sort of failed Disney princess? Wooyoung doesn’t know, and he also doesn’t know why he reaches out an apprehensive hand to curl around the bit of San’s arms he can see from under his blankets. San tenses ever so slightly, but the overwhelming relief, like this is what Wooyoung has been starving over, when he can feel San go pliant under his touch—it’s maddening. It’s maddening because Wooyoung doesn’t understand.

As if San is reading his thoughts (he really could be, Wooyoung never really paid attention to the little snippets of vampire lore), he says quietly, “You should be careful.”

Wooyoung knits his eyebrows together and pouts even though San can see neither. “Maybe I would be if you told me why.”

Just from the way San’s arm wiggles uselessly in the air, Wooyoung can tell he’s rolled his eyes. “You’re an omega,” he explains like Wooyoung should already have this whole thing down.

“So?” He asks, withdrawing his hand to sit up fully, and sees San is staring holes into his soup. Wooyoung would gladly offer it up but… Vampires, and all that.

Without looking away San replies, “I’m an alpha.”

“And? You said none of that weird stuff existed.” With the way San tightens his fists Wooyoung is fully aware he’s treading on stormy waters. It’s a little exciting while also being downright terrifying, and it’s really no wonder he’s gotten himself caught up in something like this. The only difference is Wooyoung had imagined a lot more drugs and guns. “Besides,” Wooyoung continues, because San has stayed silent, “You were the one that didn’t kill me. You said omegas tasted good, right? So I’m thinking I’m in the clear with you.” He’s come to sit with his legs crossed, hands neatly folded on his lap, utterly satisfied in what he thinks is a perfectly sound argument.

It is, apparently, not.

San finally looks over at him, the brown eyes he had been using for Wooyoung (he’ll have to ask about that later, assuming he survives this) having turned to a deep red. Wooyoung doesn’t know what that could possibly mean, but for someone who is not really a vampire and therefore more like somewhat spoilt live stock, it can’t be good. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?” He finally asks, and Wooyoung would definitely have replied with something snarky if it weren’t for the fact that a slender finger runs down his cheek.

So Wooyoung’s brain sort of short circuits, “panicked gay style”, as one of his friends once put it. “Wh-What?” He stammers out, having lost every ounce of cocky confidence he had going super well before.

His precious soup lays forgotten as San fully turns his body, a hand now caressing his cheek instead of just a finger. San looks at him through a thoughtful pout, eyes dashing all over before they rest neatly right in Wooyoung’s gaze. The red is still there, still bright and confusing, but there’s something soft as well. Or maybe that’s just Wooyoung’s wishful thinking. Yet the way San is holding his chin now is nothing but dripping with affection, and the way he walks closer to the bedside so he can breathe Wooyoung in is anything besides the feeling of a murderous monster. Perhaps murderous in a different way, Wooyoung belatedly thinks when their foreheads press together.

When he smiles, Wooyoung can see sharp fangs. It’s right then he thinks he has, in fact, probably gone too far, but the heat that coils inside of him just at the sight is betraying him rather efficiently. San says nothing as he leans his face into the dip of Wooyoung’s neck, hovering right over the place where he was first bitten by that freak of a date. Wooyoung swallows thickly when he feels soft lips press just as softly over the wound, and he should probably stop this but something like his attraction to the vampire and blunt curiosity stops him. San says nothing as he drags his upper lip over it, resting teasing fangs as if to make a bite of his own. A tongue flattens down next, and Wooyoung can’t help the whimper that leaves him, nor the way he holds onto San’s hips as if he’ll crumble if he doesn’t.

The door swings open right as Wooyoung feels San’s bottom lip skidding up to meet his top in what would have been a downright awful-but-wonderful kiss, and Wooyoung’s eyes flash open to see a rather incredulous Mingi staring at them both with some measure of disgust (it’s mostly directed at Wooyoung, though, he thinks). “The council is waiting for you, San,” he spits, and gives Wooyoung one more definitely I’m-going-to-end-your-life glare before he leaves, stomping down the hallway and certainly not closing the door.

A growl comes from the spot in Wooyoung’s neck where San is still nuzzled, but when he pulls back there is no anger in his expression. It’s turned to unreadable, which is new. Wooyoung doesn’t really like it. “He has an uncanny habit of entering at the worst of times,” San says, a laugh ghosting on Wooyoung’s face. His expression is still unreadable, but it’s at least somewhat softer now.

They stay silent for a solid five incredibly awkward seconds before San clears his throat rather audibly, removes Wooyoung’s hands from where they were still clutching San’s sides, and sets them in Wooyoung’s lap. He just as awkwardly pats down the sleeves of Wooyoung’s sweater before clearing his throat once again. “I have to go,” he says, “I’ll come back as soon as I can, omega.”

Wooyoung blinks, can only muster the strength to do that, as San turns to leave, but is able to blurt out, “Wooyoung.” It’s right before San has fully exited the room, one foot having frozen inside when he peers his head back in. “My name,” Wooyoung explains. “So you… Don’t have to call me omega.”

“Wooyoung,” San echoes with some thoughtfulness. It’s all he says before he leaves as well, albeit silently down the hall.

Two—no, three—things enter Wooyoung’s mind in rapid succession. One is that he’s certainly in too deep with this San, and they’ve barely held a conversation that lasted more than fifteen minutes and didn’t involve Wooyoung’s confusion. The second one is that he’ll have to stand to close the door and he’s not sure if his legs will even work after all that, and third…

His soup is probably cold.

#i’ve had really bad writer’s block #i still need to finish my Jinkook fic #rip in pesto #anyway #Woosan #Woosanfic #Jung Wooyoung #Choi San #ATEEZ #ATEEZ fic #Woosan has ruined my life btw

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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2ofswords · 4 years

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daniil learning more about town-on-gorkhon and how to live in it? trying to find a sense of home...

I got a bit carried away, so it is under a cut! Also I sure hope the story still fits the prompt... Thank you for it either way, I had a fun time writing this! ^^

The bartering in the town had always struck Dankovsky as a bare necessity. Sure, there seemed to be a tradition woven around it, but those were usually created to elevate a purpose. In a town torn from the rest of the country and dependant on regular trains, one had to rely on community in times of delay and the method of trading established such a network for basic needs quite smoothly. The days of plague showed as much albeit with a morbid connotation. One simply couldn't call children trading you morphine for needles the height of community values. Still he always imagined the tradition not to disappear but to… subdue. Yet, as always, his hypothesis was proven wrong and people cheerily bartered their sugar for meat the moment the trains continued their delivery. At first, continuing was more of a habit than anything else. There were still some raisins left in his pockets and Dankovsky himself never really had that much love for the small treats. The children were less enthusiastic about them as well, but he didn’t really need the soap they gave him, anyway. Then he remembered the beetles he had kept in his cabinet at Stillwater. An emergency stash he told himself, yet many such emergencies appeared and not a single insect left the house, unless as small tokens he uselessly carried around. A small sentimentality, reminding him that something beside the plague-ridden hell scape exists. Not that it actually mattered in the long run and now… Now he needed to move and the beetles… they would be hard to explain. So they had to go.

Finding a kid that would take them wasn’t very difficult. One of the small children wondered in awe at the collection, starstruck eyes staring at the delicate creatures while her fingers carefully danced over them and Daniil couldn’t help but notice the pull in his gut guiding his memory to times that had died long before his arrival in town. A happy and childish pounding, that broke his concentration long enough to not notice the kid question at first. “I asked, what you want for it.” “Oh… Um…” Maybe he should have thought about that. “You can just keep them. If you like them, they might be in good hands after all. Maybe add some to the collection. Or categorize them, that should probably be done…” The frown that graced her face signalled that his answer wasn’t quite adequate. Yes. This was still about tradition where trust in an equal trade was valued. One cannot disturb the children’s beetle and nut economy without repercussions, after all. “I have to give something back. I have to give you a part of my endurance after all. People say I have so much of it and I can hold my breath longest. Shall I show you?” “I believe you, it is fine. You do not need to… you are competing about holding your breath?” “U-huh. And I still have plenty of it until I reach second place. You seem like you could need some of it.” “… getting out of breath less often sound’s tempting.” He is getting too old for this and he still has a meeting with Burakh and Rubin in the afternoon. Now that the worst is over, he had proposed to take stock of the more harmless illnesses in town to order medicine, that hadn’t expired decades ago. “So you still have to say what you want. Aren’t you too young to always forget what I’m saying? Did the plague get to you?” “Watch your tongue, or you might really need that breath of yours.” “No need to get so defensive, old man. Geez. Don’t they teach you any manners?” Do they teach anyone manners? If someone ever bothered it didn’t have anything to do with the children in town. “So what do you have to give, little brat.” “Hm…” The child crossed her legs while contemplating the business deal. “I have a loaf of bread, I guess. These are a lot of beetles after all…”

A loaf of bread is acceptable. Or so it seemed, until he opens his mouth and noticed, how small exactly the arm was, that held the box of beetles protectively in her lap. How loosely the little dress hung from her body. A loaf of bread would sound fantastic, while he was starving or when there wasn't enough time to reach any of the stores. But this isn’t the case and he isn’t exactly in need of bread. “So do we have a deal or not?” He should close his mouth. Or better yet answer the question. “How about… you give me something else.” He couldn’t possibly take anything from a starving child. Shouldn’t. Ever, yet he had done so too many times. This has to stop, he shouldn’t be even considering it. He is a scientist and as far as he is concerned exploiting children wasn’t in the job description. “How about… a story.” Children like stories, right? They must be valuable in some way. “I mean”, he adds quickly, “the needs of our mind are as important as the basic needs of our body. So I demand you to accommodate my craving for… more intellectual affairs.” “I mean… sure. If you want to… grandpa.” At this point this kid was just testing his endurance. Motivating breathing exercises might also be a way to increase its capacity. “I do.” Her eyes wandered to the box and then back to Dankovsky. “I mean. Sure. Then let me tell you a story…”

He thought nothing of the trade at first. His beetles did after long last find their rightful heir. One objective cleared. Time to indulge in more important affairs. That belief lasted until evening, when he found one of the kids lurking at his doorstep. “Are you the doctor that trades in stories?” “I am the doctor. Are you hurt, is everything alright?” “Look, my friend has gotten himself a splinter in the foot! Walked on some wood, when we were trying to… ah never mind. Anyway, we –“ “Lead the way.” “- we only need some tweezers, but our shop didn’t have any to sell!” “I can remove the splinter. It’s a simple enough procedure and even a small wound needs to be properly disinfected.” “I don’t have anything on me. Maybe one of the buttons, but I only have three of them left. So I thought…” “It’s fine.” But it probably isn’t because everyone seems hell-bent on losing every small trinket in their possession. Does anyone even wear the charms that are made, they seem to change hands on a daily basis. “You can tell me the story while we are on our way. If it is a good one, I might not even tell your parents about it.” The child’s face lit up. “Then buckle up, because I do have a good one.”

The next day turned out to be a complete and utter mess. A mess made of excited whispers whirling hands frantically signing what words cannot convey and a lot of sugar filled food leaving his hands. “So. There once was this boy, who had a small wolf cub as his half …” “And then I saw this monster in the steppe! Not the Shabnak but an even bigger one!” “The bull talked! I swear it did!” “My granddad used to sew, you know, so I had a few needles at hand. And the guy really deserved it, so we –“ “Then a giant wave pulled us out of the facet and we all sat at the stairs, we were so surprised!” At some point in the afternoon he had to stock up on cookies and apples just to gain something to trade away. Utter nonsense. He should’ve demanded this madness to stop. The children were barely giving him enough space to move from place to place and their constant chatter did become… grating. Yet there he was, more sweets in hand, while his next unusual costumers were already waiting right before the shop. Do these brats even know, that he isn’t a walking garbage dispenser? Still. The thought about turning them away seemed just as wrong at this point. He was knee deep in this mess already. Might as well swim. And some of these stories were charming really. Somehow everyone seemed to have swallowed a poet whole and considering the local medicine that might not be that much off from the truth… Still. The constant talking was annoying. Distracting, really, a major inconvenience at best. Yet it was oddly charming to observe their desperate tries to up one another as if they expected Dankovsky to pull a secret cake out of his coat that only the best storyteller could get. They were trying. Inspiring one another, forming a chain of developing fantasies that were quite unreal – and quite frankly useless – but cheerful and… lively.

“There you are. I was looking for you.” “Aren’t you all?”, he answered before turning and noticing Clara leaning against a nearby building. Her smile was as knowing as ever. She couldn’t possibly look into other peoples minds, right? Of course not, utter rubbish. These story’s must have gotten to him after all. “What do you want?” “They say, you are giving out free candy.” “It’s not free. And if that is all, you might want to be on your way.” Of course she is following when he turns on his heels and tries to be on his way. “So, I have a story for you.” “I guessed as much.” He doesn’t even have to look at her to know she is pouting. When he finally does, she seems as happy as ever though. “There once was a prince who was locked outside of his house. When he wandered through the garden, he spotted a flower more gorgeous and beautiful then all of the rest. But the flower grew too large and everything that fell under his shadow withered and died away.” “That must have been quite the flower.” “Shh. I’m talking. So they send for a gardener, even if the prince had loved his flower very dearly. So he gave the flower his heart in order to protect it, when the time had come.” Ah. So that is where this was going. Charming. “And did he manage to save it?” “Of course not! What could a prince have done against the gardener’s shears? So the flower was destroyed and when it shattered the princes heart broke with it.” “… that isn’t a nice story. It doesn’t even have a satisfying conclusion.” “That is because the story isn’t over and you keep interrupting! Anyway, when the prince was left alone in the garden, he tore out the pieces of his heart and buried them into the ground for no one to see. He thought he had hidden it for good, but then it started raining and the pieces of his heart grew tine little stems and, slowly but surely, began to grow out of the ground.” By now they arrived at his doorstep. For a minute Dankovsky contemplated to invite the girl in. But that seemed a bit too forward. So he grabbed a small bag of sweets and some of the dried meat he had bought for himself. Who even knew how long Clara had lurked around town and when she really ate the last time. “So…”, this was getting uncomfortable. And quite frankly, ridiculous. “What did sprout out of the ground after all.” Her grin widened. “How about you tell me? I would trade to hear the end of that story.” “Hm… very well.” When he opened the door and looked back, Clara was already gone. Sighing he entered his own house and close the noise behind him. The town was still recovering, yet at this very day at least around the Bachelor it seemed to be filled with laughter, dreams and a future, where anything could be overcome with the right anecdote in mind. A piece of meat for a smile wasn’t such a bad trade after all. Still not a bare necessity… but something different. There was not really anything new to be heard. Not a real discussion no real bond to every single child who tried to steal his precious time. Still, there was meaning in a word spoken at the right space and time. There was meaning in the act of building sky castles together. Maybe he had once again underestimated the local custom.

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my-honourable-barbarian · 5 years

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I doubt nicknames will be necessary - Part 16

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15

AO3 Link

One week and two days ago, Nikandros had received an interesting call. It had consisted of thumping and shrieking and a grunted laugh Nikandros very much never wanted to hear again.

As it had clearly been an accident, he had tactfully hung up the phone and then sent Damen a series of very annoyed texts telling him to keep his butt away from anything that could be dialled while having surprisingly enthusiastic sex with who Nikandros assumed to be the acidic slash deceptive neighbour.

He had received an image in return, and as he had been tapped into the work WIFI at the time, it had downloaded without his say-so. It had shown a kitchen – not Damen’s, but with a similar outlay – utterly wrecked with explosions of what appeared to be flour, splatters of dripping red Nikandros very much hoped was not blood, and balls of dough(?) stuck to the cabinets.

Before he had been able to translate this perplexing image into anything that made sense, Damen had sent a second one, of what looked to be a flawless pie with a couple of pieces missing. It had been followed by many exclamation marks.

Nikandros had… not asked. It stood to reason it meant Damen’s neighbour, fiend that he was, was becoming a permanent fixture and Nikandros would just have to get used to it.

But now Damen was sitting in his office pouting.

“You know,” Nikandros said, after knocking and hearing a muffled, ‘Come in,’ and pointedly pulling the door shut behind him again, “I remember the days when you proclaimed your door would never be closed to anyone.”

As expected, Damen was frowning and still giving his best impression of impeccable professionalism. “It’s not locked,” he pointed out, very likely only to piss Nikandros off.

“You know what I mean.”

Damen himself had implemented a literal open-door policy for his office, and had kept it in place all the years the company had existed. It had even survived the move to a bigger building. Before this week, the only time he had ever closed his door had been when someone had asked for a word in private.

Damen remained silent, and – as it often happened whenever he jutted his chin just so – Nikandros was the one to cave. Taking a fortifying breath, he pulled one of the extra chairs to the front of Damen’s desk and settled in for a longer conversation.

“I realize I have not been very enthusiastic about your new relationship, but if something’s bothering you enough to affect your work ethic-…” Nikandros trailed off, unsure if he was supposed to approach this as Damen’s friend or his right-hand man at work. He settled on, “You can talk to me. I don’t have to like everything you say.”

Damen sank back in his chair and let out a long, frustrated groan.

While at the beginning of last week, he had shown up with a smile on his face that proclaimed he had definitely gotten laid after that food fight, his mood had gotten progressively worse the longer he had spent at work. Nikandros braced himself for the most logical explanation, which was a tale of unsatisfied libido.

Instead, Damen said, “I can’t look at Kastor right now without doing something I have been assured by at least two people and a snake I would come to regret.”

Perplexed, Nikandros took a piece of the pie on Damen’s desk and chewed on it while thinking things over.

Nikandros had, in fact, caught him glaring at Kastor on at least four different occasions. While the mutual avoidance was subtle enough to pass as coincidence, it was true that neither seemed particularly keen on talking to the other.

“Kastor, huh?” tried Nikandros between bites of (admittedly delicious if stress-baked) pie.

At least Kastor’s preference for submissive people (a role even Jokaste had often assumed in his presence, presumably to bait him) and Laurent’s supremely overwhelming personality (not to mention overall appearance of frigidity if not with Damen – yes, he had done a background check) did not add up to Damen once more getting cuckolded by his own brother.

“What did he do now?” Chewing.

“He’s plotting to ruin the company and then swoop in to save it from my incompetence.”

The last of the pie missed Nikandros’ mouth by a bit and smooshed against his cheek. Damen handed him a paper towel.

“And I’m not allowed to do anything. They won’t even tell me what they are planning because apparently I can’t be trusted to keep my cool.”

A fairly reasonable assessment if ever Nikandros had heard one. He asked, “And ‘they’ are?”

And Damen – as though unaware he was the sole reason Nikandros kept finding grey hairs in the mirror at the tender age of thirty – explained, “Laurent and Jokaste. And Berta, Jokaste’s snake.”

“Her what?” said Nikandros and massaged pie into his temples. Damen handed him another paper towel.

“Her snake. Laurent assured me she very much agrees.”

Nikandros rubbed the paper towel over his face and wondered if it could be justified for him to go on his honeymoon early.

“Uh huh. How exactly did your new boyfriend get involved in our company business?”

During the next paragraph, Damen seemed determined to cover a vast array of human emotion, beginning with fond pride, going on with genuine homicidal tendencies, and ending with determined contemplation.

“He discovered it, of course. And his uncle deserves to rot in jail for all eternity and then some. Possibly some dismemberment. We’re adopting a teenager, you know.”

Nikandros was not even going to poke at that with a ten-foot stick.

“What,” he said, “are Laurent,” he said, “and Jokaste,” he said and realized this was the most unholy of combinations he had ever allowed to share a sentence out of his own mouth, “doing right now?”

Damen had the belated, appropriate and not at all sufficient grace to look sheepish.

“Well, currently they are planning your wedding.”

Nikandros let out a very long and very complicated curse in Greek.

* * *

“They’ve assured me it’s not actually going to disrupt anything,” Damen said, meaning for it to come out a bit more convinced than it did.

Nikandros continued to look as though Damen had grown three heads, two of them belonging to people he really, really did not like, and the last quickly advancing to the same category.

“Whatever is supposed to go down to expose my brother’s intentions is meant to do so once you and Lykaios have already retreated.” As was their right. No newlyweds could be expected to entertain their families until even the last of them had passed out drunk. It was a two-day affair in a nice hotel for a reason.

“So all I will have to suffer is the fallout the next day?”

Most of what Laurent and Jokaste were discussing actually was about keeping the guests in good spirits, but that would probably not cheer Nikandros up. Understandable, really. While Jokaste might be trusted to at the very least display taste in her choices, Laurent’s mere presence would inevitably add an element of mischievous chaos that Damen knew for a fact no one in his family was prepared for.

“Nik,” he said, “you know our families. There hasn’t been a single gathering that didn’t end with at least one fistfight.” It was true. As dignified as they pretended to be while sober, between the inevitable havoc wreaked by a veritable mass of drunk Grecians and the usual sudden and intense feuds arising when spirits were elated, no one ever actually expected to get their security deposit back. “At least if we know which scandal is going to be exposed beforehand, we might be able to prevent anyone coming to blows.”

“I told you he was up to no good,” Nikandros said, with a deep sigh.

“Laurent?”

A scoff. “Him, too.”

Kastor, then. Damen had always assumed they simply did not like each other, but it would seem everyone around him had the decided advantage at not having been taught how to ride a bicycle by their very patient older brother.

“I know you did. You were right, my friend.” Come to think of it, Kastor could have held the lessons at another place than a steep hill which had thoroughly skinned Damen’s knees. “Though I wish you weren’t.”

At long last, the air seemed to go out of Nikandros.

“He isn’t even invited,” he muttered with the deep resignation Damen with no small measure of guilt recognized from other such conversations. It wasn’t right. Nikandros was his oldest and most faithful friend.

But, “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that since before I found out,” Damen said. “I am aware it’s your wedding, but it does not look very good to invite absolutely everyone working for us except for Kastor.”

“Jokaste isn’t invited either.”

Damen shut his mouth and tried not to look as though he was frowning. But he could feel his forehead creasing nonetheless. His hands wrapped around the stack of papers before him.

“I do know our families,” Nikandros said, “and I also know you.”

“You can have Ios,” said Damen and held out the manuscript.

Nikandros looked up sharply.

Delpha Ios was an author they had been courting for the last month or so. She had spent a long time deliberating offers from several publishers, which in their industry unfortunately not always meant someone was actually good. In her case, it was a well-deserved wooing. Damen had received the confirmation she was signing on with them the day before.

It had been Laurent’s idea to bribe Nikandros with something he really wanted. Damen had hoped he would not have to resort to it, but he was starting to feel bad enough about the job he was doing as both a best man and best friend to be more than willing to give Nik this, at least. Besides, he would do a phenomenal job with Delpha. It wasn’t simply good connections that had elevated Nikandros to the status of Damen’s right hand.

“Fine,” Nik said now, and Damen could tell Laurent had been absolutely right. He was clearly already itching to get into the manuscript. “Play it out at my wedding. But be advised I will be on my honeymoon for the duration of the fall-out.”

He stood up, and took the loose pages out of Damen’s hand.

“I also uploaded the file for you,” Damen said, because he sometimes liked to work on things digitally. Nikandros merely grunted.

On his way out of the office, Damen held him back for a moment.

“I know you’ve never liked Jokaste, but she’s on our side. This is not the first attempt at overthrowing me my brother has made.”

“A curse on both their houses,” Nikandros said, with feeling.

Without Damen bidding him to do so, he closed the door on his way out.

* * *

Damen, meanwhile, sank back down onto his desk and into what even he had to admit was more brooding than he was used to. He did not like the inertia of waiting, and he liked it even less now that he had been made thoroughly aware of all that was amiss not only in his company, but also in the life of the person he most wished to know happy and safe.

Having passed on the Ios manuscript, he was fresh out of work he actually enjoyed. There was ‘A Rose and Nothing But(t)’, but(t) he really, really did not feel like justifying why everything about it was unsuitable for publishing. And this tremendous pile of idiocy deserved more than a standard letter of rejection. It would have been the perfect work for Jokaste, if it didn’t mean she would also have to suffer through even one paragraph of it.

He eyed what was left of the pie, but he always enjoyed the baking more than the intake of sugar.

According to his clock, he couldn’t even make his rounds yet, since it would take another hour for the chances he might run into his brother to be diminished by Kastor’s rigid lunch schedule. And he didn’t much feel like putting on a fake smile and pretending everything was going well when truly, the brother he had loved and looked up his entire life did not even remotely feel the same for him.

But he never had been very good at sitting still for a longer period of time for no reason. What he needed was something to do. What he needed was-…

The phone rang.

“Akielos Publishing, Damianos speaking,” he answered, perking up.

“I have been thinking,” said Laurent in French, “that there is something I might enjoy doing to you. If you’re amenable.”

Perking up a bit more.

“I’m pretty sure I’m amenable,” Damen said, leaning forward onto his desk. “You are aware you’re calling me at work?”

“Don’t make promises,” chided Laurent mildly. “You might not like the idea. And I’m perfectly aware where you are, thank you. You’re sitting in your office pouting because you’re left out of our planning and aren’t allowed to confront your brother with all the crude honesty you have in you.”

Trying not to smile too audibly, Damen asked, “Why are we speaking French?”

Not that he particularly minded. Both the exercise of little-practiced skills and the even more pronounced lilt of Laurent’s voice were a most welcome addition to his day.

“Because, Damen. I’m standing in front of Erasmus pretending to have very important business with the CEO of Akielos Publishing.”

A grin tugged at the left corner of Damen’s mouth as he said, “Come up.”

“Not yet,” said Laurent, “I am here for a reason.” And Damen grinned a little harder, resting his chin on his hand and feeling at least as wooed as the heroine in the latest instalment of their best-selling historical romance series. If this neither pertained to things he was not supposed to know about nor about an actual visit, Laurent was calling simply to cheer him up. Which was… sweet. He had been oh so sweet in the last few days. Unguarded and – if Damen could dare make the assumption – a little less burdened as well. And Damen loved him so very much.

Laurent continued, with an enormous amount of non-chalance, “I wonder what you would be like spreading your legs for me.”

Damen’s elbow slipped off the desk.

* * *

It would have been quite simple to revive his role as Charls Merchant in the same outfit as before. It was fairly believable for a literature hipster to wear the same utterly pretentious combination of oversized sweater and tight blue jeans as a repeat offense.

However, there was more to get out of this role than one bad fashion statement. In fact, it was a shame he had not been continuing the ruse all along. The opportunity for casual mayhem, spying, and driving Damen mad with exasperation and lust was simply too good.

So he had acquired a sheer white shirt with the incredibly bold rhinestone print saying ‘Bedazzled’ and a plain jean jacket – again oversized.

Jokaste had braided his hair. A strange experience for both of them, as Laurent was not used to being touched (by anyone other than Damen) and Jokaste clearly wasn’t one for casual affection and playfulness. Nevertheless, she had offered and he had agreed her hairdo prowess likely surpassed his own and they had gotten through a rather stilted eight minutes of elaborate braiding and pretending the situation was not awkward at all.

In truth, he was having fun with her. In the way anyone could have with someone whose only reason for not carrying a switchblade was that her words were more cutting anyways. He liked the constant battle of wits and the combination of their cunning and the mere fact that no matter how brilliant she was, Damen had chosen him over her.

Point in fact…

“I would like to take you, I think. I’ve never done it that way with anyone,” he was telling Damen over the company phone, while innocently blinking at Erasmus.

Damen’s voice was gratifyingly hoarse. It was fairly easy to picture him. He would be sitting in his office, in that giant chair of his that was probably just normal-sized for him, and his eyes would have gone ever so slightly glassy by now. “I haven’t either,” he said.

“Interesting,” said Laurent. “Is the thought off-putting for you?”

“I’ve never seriously considered it,” said Damen. “I am now.”

Laurent casually put one hand onto the counter, then settled his weight onto it.

“Hm, good,” he said. “Tell me what position you’d like to be in.”

“I-…,” a rather charming sputter, “Laurent-… I can’t just-…”

Smiling his best innocent smile at a passing employee (an accountant, potentially interesting to follow later), Laurent decided to have mercy on Damen.

“Let us start with something easier then. I could describe to you, perhaps, what it would feel like for you. Have you ever used your fingers on yourself?”

The lobby emptied again. Erasmus was unnecessarily straightening the stack of business cards. Interestingly enough, his ears were rather red for someone who claimed not to understand French.

“Not that way,” Damen said, with a heavy breath Laurent was rather sorry not to be able to enjoy fully at the moment.

“Your fingers are rather large for it. Do you enjoy opening me to you?”

“I do. I do. Gods, you know I do.”

Kastor was late in his usual rounds. Laurent had only meant to tease Damen for a little bit before hanging up on him, but with the delay, he would have to improvise. Not that he minded.

“What moment do you like best? Never mind, I shall tell you what I like. It is difficult to choose.” He deliberated, glancing around the lobby at the same time. A group of chatting people had entered. One of them – blonde, female, relatively new to the company – had a milkshake. Laurent briefly wondered if this was due to having been on a date with Damen, then waved the thought of as both uncharitable and irrational.

“The beginning, perhaps, when I feel the impossibility of compatibility and yet know you will fit. When I am closed and panting with anticipation, and you don’t even begin to push in a single fingertip until you feel me wanting to open to you.”

On the other end of the line, there was a very gratifying choking sound. Laurent wondered if Damen’s open-door policy would proof to fuel the fun of the game or if his ridiculous inhibition about sex in public would be a hindrance.

“Or when I do open for you and the crook of your hand makes me feel the first two joints of your finger on my rim until you are knuckle-deep. It feels like a lot, when you are inside me like that. I always wonder how I can take more until I do. I like it when you stimulate me, but sometimes I prefer not to be distracted by it. Incidentally, have you closed your door yet?”

A beat.

“Huh?”

“The door to your office. Is it still open?” He added, belatedly and with a smile, “This is not a metaphor.”

“It’s closed. I haven’t wanted to see anyone all day. I want to see you. I very much want to see you, Laurent.”

Laurent, meanwhile, was rather tempted to temporarily abandon his mission and gently ride Damen until words and deeds combined drove both of them over the edge. But his current situation had its own charm.

“Hmm, yes, thank you for reminding me. I also quite like the way you look at me. You can never seem to decide what part of me you want to look at most. But this is beside the point.”

The words came almost without effort; the thoughts behind them as familiar as they felt natural; his current removal from their content nothing more than circumstantial. Damen was sitting in his office, in that absolute beautiful state where confusion enhanced arousal, and Laurent was the cause of it.

And while Laurent did not wish to make a habit out of playing power games in their sex life, whatever advantage he was gaining by being the one to remain unaffected while driving Damen out of his mind was nicely negated by the very personal information he had already offered. It felt like a fair exchange, particularly with the blush spreading from Erasmus’ ears to the back of his neck.

“I believe you would be different. I believe you would enjoy being overwhelmed by the pleasure. Perhaps that is how I would make you come, the first time. Two fingers inside you until it overtakes you entirely. You would be on your side, and I would be kneeling in front of you. I would reach between your legs. You would not even have to spread them much, merely lay one knee down next to my hip. I would see you. See if it was good for you. I could have my other hand in your hair. Fingertips trailing over your open mouth in the imitation of kisses to follow. You would require more care than I do, I think. It goes against your instinct. It feels strange. When the pleasure comes, you might reject it. No, I believe I would not fuck you, that first time, even if I found myself wanting you. I want you to have the time to understand whether you actually liked it.”

And perhaps Laurent had been thinking about it for a while now, between planning and studying and fucking and trusting. Perhaps he had been thinking about it a lot.

“Gods, Laurent,” Damen was groaning, “this is insanity. I’m at work.”

“Hm, yes I know. Erasmus is staring at me with an open mouth. I may have underestimated his dirty vocabulary in French.”

Erasmus actually twitched at that, looking up with the most wonderfully apologetic look that made Laurent feel almost sorry for him, but more importantly, Kastor was finally returning from his cigarette break.

“Laurent, I-…”

“Later, Damianos. I need to go now.”

* * *

Laurent did not introduce himself (or rather Charls) to Kastor so much as simply wander around after him wondering how long it would take for Kastor to notice a bedazzled hipster with fake glasses was trailing him. So far, he was astoundingly self-absorbed.

Who did notice him was Nikandros, who shot him a rather unamused look. Laurent wondered if Damen had spoken to him yet. Then Laurent wondered if perhaps he should try to make good with Damen’s best friend rather than gleefully antagonize him. Even if it was fun.

At the wedding, he decided. He would behave at the wedding. And Jokaste and he truly had come up with some good, wholesome elements to entertain Nikandros’ guests.

For now, Laurent would take full advantage of being unknown and unnoticed to one, and well known and unwelcome to the other.

Nikandros’ look actually turned even more done with everything as he turned away from Laurent lurking in the background and focused on Damen’s brother. Yes, Laurent decided, Damen had spoken to him.

“Ah, Kastor,” said Nikandros and Laurent observed with some fascination and no small amount of amusement how stilted he sounded, “You are coming to the wedding, are you not? I noticed we haven’t gotten an RSVP from you yet.”

“What wedding,” said Kastor.

“Uhm mine,” said Nikandros.

“Who are you marrying?” said Kastor, clearly bemused by this.

“My fiancé. Lykaios. You’ve met four times,” said Nikandros, clearly bemused by this.

“Ah,” said Kastor, and the awkward pause that followed was one Laurent would cherish for a very long time. That vein on Nikandros’ forehead was particularly active once again.

“I don’t think I’ve received an invitation,” Kastor finally said, and, “It must have gotten lost in the mail,” Nikandros replied, far too quickly.

It was incredible, truly, that even Damen was turning out to be a better liar.

After another very long and uncomfortable silence, Nikandros managed a, “I’ll send you another copy.”

“Please do,” said Kastor. Nikandros nodded and Kastor nodded and then they both very gladly and disgruntledly parted ways. Truly, if Laurent could paint, he would dedicate an entire series of canvases to capturing this.

After a moment, Laurent melted out of the shadows of the oversized office ficus. Without so much as a comment he changed direction to keep up with Nikandros, who with a curse had turned on his heels the second he saw Laurent emerge.

After a moment of steaming silence, Nikandros hissed what Laurent could only barely understand to mean, “I hope you’re happy now,” in very bad French.

Who had taught him this? It couldn’t have been Damen. Damen’s French was near flawless. An online translator maybe? Had this been what he had spent the last fifteen minutes looking up on his phone?

“Overflowingly so,” said Laurent, with a beatific smile.

To his further gratification Nikandros’ new vocabulary still did not seem to allow him any more understanding of what Laurent was saying.

* * *

Jokaste, it turned out, was not to escape her own cunning even for a day. Even having agreed to helping them both devise a plan to trap Kastor into falling on his own sword, she had underestimated just how much of her time would be taken up by Laurent’s sheer tenacity.

She had figured preparing Laurent for his day of oh-so-sneakily gathering information about Damen’s company at Damen’s company would relieve her of his presence for the rest of it.

He had, after all, never even met Kastor, and would hardly rely on information given to him by Jokaste (whom he rightfully so did not deem fully trustworthy) and Damen (whom he rightfully did not deem fully capable of understanding who his brother truly was).

But this, she should have considered as well.

Apparently having decided against spending his time in the presence of his over-eager and rather offensively in love boyfriend, taking a break from innocently stalking Kastor and having exhausted the last of Nikandros’ impatience, he had now chosen to spend his time following Jokaste around, chatting amicably in French about croutons and occasionally dropping laser sharp insight into the inner workings of the various employees in the exact same tone.

Jokaste was quite aware he was observing her as much as anyone, of course. He would have been stupid to dismiss her, no matter how effective their combined minds were proving or how many napkin swans (and snakes) they had folded together.

Well, there was nothing to do about it now except to sufficiently distract him.

The business that led her to Damen’s interestingly closed door was not a pretence, at least, though did raise his unfortunately perfect eyebrows at her.

Damen sprang up from behind his desk, hit his elbow on a shelf in the process, absolutely did not seem to notice that he had hit his elbow on a shelf, and exclaimed, “Laurent!” as though Jokaste were entirely invisible.

“Why Damen,” said Laurent as Jokaste discretely rolled her eyes and put the USB drive onto the desk which also housed half-eaten pie, all crammed conveniently onto the same side as the closed laptop “a closed door?”

Damen… blushed.

Good gods.

“As I am sure your pet snake cannot wait to tell you, Kastor has officially been invited to the wedding,” she said, mostly to hurry this particular interaction along as much as possible. “I have in the last few days established enough social pressure on him that he will not be able to decline.”

“Good,” said Damen, still looking rather exclusively at Laurent, whose eyes were… sparkling.

“Which brings me to a concern I have,” she went on, barely keeping from rolling her eyes. If she wished to observe a mating ritual, she’d introduce Berta to a nice snake of whatever gender she preferred.

“While there are enough contingency plans in place that it is not a necessity for him to take me as his date, we have established that we are all in agreement it leads to the most easily controlled outcome. I believe he might not even ask me.”

This, at last, seemed to sufficiently catch their attention.

“Why not?” asked Damen, frowning slightly, while Laurent’s eyes were already narrowing as though to precede Jokaste’s answer. She did not give him the chance.

“I doubt there is much incentive now. Our liaison was hardly about me; its sole purpose was to keep you distracted while his coup was to take place.”

With the kind of innocent deadliness that Jokaste had seen rather too much of in the last few days of scheming, Laurent insisted, “Oh, don’t undersell yourself. I’m sure taking you from Damen and being able to rub his nose in it also played its part.”

“Quite,” said Jokaste, who had opted for the more tactfully phrased version.

“I don’t see how this might not still apply,” Laurent went on. “Would he not proceed in the exact same vein if encouraged sufficiently? Stage a scene where it becomes clear Damen asked you to accompany him and you did not accept his invitation and Kastor should be all over trying to one-up Damen once again.”

In other circumstances – and ones that would rely entirely on Jokaste’s acting skills, while Damen would resume pouting in his office as he had been doing for days now – this would be a solid approach. But clearly, as clever as Laurent was, he was astoundingly oblivious to the effect he had on Damen.

Predictably, Damen merely frowned and shook his head. “No, provoking him like that won’t work. I told him to not hold back on dating Jokaste for my sake weeks ago. On account of my very happy relationship with you.”

Laurent… blinked rather fast.

“That does,” Laurent said and paused only slightly too long. Jokaste wondered if Damen noticed it as well. From the way his smile broadened, he did. “…put a damper on things,” Laurent finally finished. “I was rather counting on continued pettiness.”

Perhaps Jokaste should be insulted Damen had at no point insisted her womanly wiles would be enough to win over any man, otherwise motivated or not.

“Sorry,” said Damen and did not look it.

“No,” said Laurent, quite quickly, “we can use this. It’s better, actually.” He turned to Jokaste, flustered expression turning shrewd again quickly. “Let him take you to the wedding to prove that he is, in fact, not petty and never was. His affair with you has hardly endeared him to the people of this company, let alone to your family, I would assume. By bringing you after having received your blessing he will show that he was not motivated by being jealous of his younger brother’s shiny toy, but rather establish him as a man who simply and tragically fell in love with his brother’s girl. It will help him recover some much-needed ground.”

Jokaste also did not take offense to being called a shiny toy, nor the reminder that apparently neither brother had ever given much of a damn about her.

With an internal sigh, she conceded, “I’ll make it work,” which she would, and left them to their heart-eyes.

Perhaps, it turned out, she was rather uninterested in ever actually falling in love. How could she ever be taken seriously again?

* * *

As the door rather pointedly fell closed behind Jokaste, Laurent was already turning to Damen again. His eyes were exactly as dark as Laurent had pictured them, his look as intent, his physique as proud as he unceremoniously crowded Laurent against his own desk.

In a rather giddy way, Laurent realized he must have spent at least some time clearing it. The space empty on it was rather conspicuously large enough to make out on.

Unable to resist gaining the upper hand again, he smirked and very gently said against his own finger which he’d laid over Damen’s lips, “Sometimes when you fall asleep, I reach back into the gentle ache you have left behind, and I enjoy knowing you have had me. I wonder if you would be the same.”

This time, he allowed the sound Damen made at that to affect him.

#lamen #captive prince #YES I ACTUALLY MANAGED TO UPDATE #IN YOUR FACE WRITER'S BLOCK #no warnings for this one #it's angst-free #phone sex operator au

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owlways-and-forever · 5 years

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Summary: The Marauders are getting older, and that means so many things. Mischief, heartbreak, and trying to figure out who they really are. They’ll face problems within their group, prove their loyalty to each other, and discover the ugliness that is brewing in the wizarding world at large. Welcome to Years 2-4 of the Marauders time at Hogwarts. **This piece is a sequel to Behind the Mango Tree, however, you do not have to have read the first installment to pick this up. It does stand alone, but there is some carry over from the last book, especially with inter-character relationships. Basically, you don’t have to have read BtMT, but it certainly helps. Word Count: (3,045) 17,423 Links: FFnet | ao3 | tumblr: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4

A/N: Well, would you look at that, I've actually managed to finish this chapter on time! Cheers to sticking to the posting schedule, hopefully I can keep it going next week too...Also big shout out to @mischiefpuff for betaing this and to @indiebluecrown for enthusiastically volunteering to read over it, you are both wonderful.

This chapter is... well, all the angst. Lots of feels, lots of bonding between the boys. The title is a pretty big giveaway for what happens in this chapter. It also marks the last chapter of their 2nd year at Hogwarts, so when we return (hopefully on time) we'll have some excited third years on our hands!

Anyway, that's really all my notes for this chapter. A friendly reminder that feedback is ALWAYS appreciated, and if you really like story, feel free to recommend it to a friend. (And if you really really like the story, hit me up on Ko-Fi). So that's all and enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 5: Furry Little Problem

“I’m worried about Remus,” James said in a hushed tone as the Gryffindor boys all got ready for bed.

All except Remus, who had been ushered away by Professor McGonagall in the middle of dinner, muttering something about a family emergency. He was careful to keep his voice low, so that Lance and Firmin, who had the farthest beds from them, wouldn’t hear. At least, he hoped they would hear, and if they did hear, they would know enough to butt out.

“It seems like every month he’s sick,” James continued, “or there’s an emergency, or something that calls him away, and he always comes back looking deathly.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing to be worried about,” Peter said dismissively, but he stopped folding his sheets down and caught his own reflection in the glass of the window.

“How can you say that?” James hissed, staring at Peter with wide eyes. “He looks dreadful for days on end, what if there’s something seriously wrong with him?”

“Then it’s his decision whether or not to tell us,” Peter argued, turning to face James.

“I think James is right,” Sirius said thoughtfully, looking between his two friends. “Something seems off, and I think we should... check in. It’ll show that we care about him, that we noticed and are concerned.”

“Or it’ll show that you have no respect for his privacy,” Peter said, looking thoroughly disappointed. “What if it has something to do with Zeva? What if, I don’t know, what if he’s going to visit her grave with his parents or something? Don’t you think he has the right to try to process the fact that his little sister died however he needs without you two butting in and telling him how dreadful he looks every time.”

“Well why keep it secret, and why go on weeknights?” Sirius rebutted, trying to think it all through.

“I don’t know why, maybe she really liked the full moon or something,” Peter said, but he instantly knew he had given too much up. It would be the hint that gave it all away. He quickly tried to cover it up and steamrolled on. “But it doesn’t matter, he ought to be allowed to grieve privately if he wants to. It’s none of our business.”

“He is always gone at the full moon,” James whispered, looking at Peter as if he were bathed in light.

“I – I don’t know, I never noticed,” Peter denied hastily. “It was just a suggestion that maybe his sister –“

“No, Peter, you’re right, I’m sure of it,” James said, shaking his head. He got up and walked to the window, just to be certain, and sure enough, hanging in the sky was a great big full moon.

“You don’t think...?” Sirius gasped, turning toward his friend.

“The school would never allow it,” James answered, trying to make sense of it all. “We can’t just ask him if he is, can you imagine how it would look if he isn’t?”

“But we have to talk to him though,” Sirius asserted.

Remus thought his friends were acting very strangely the next day. He was tired and sore from his transformation, and even though Madam Pomfrey had mended all his cuts and lacerations, he still felt like his body had been put through a shredder. Sirius, James and Peter hardly spoke during the whole day, their usual antics set aside for reasons unbeknownst to him. He thought that perhaps something had happened while he was gone, a fight or some late night that had deprived them of sleep, so he wasn’t terribly concerned. Until dinner, when his gut began to fill with dread at the furtive glances James and Sirius were giving each other, and him. Peter seemed removed from whatever was happening, looking pointedly at his plate of food, and resolutely ignoring James and Sirius.

They all trudged along in silence back toward Gryffindor Tower, and Remus didn’t want to be the one to break it, so he just followed their lead, smiling lightly at Peter, who seemed extraordinarily sullen. They were only a few floors away when James and Sirius ducked into an empty classroom with no warning. Remus gave Peter a curious look, but his friend just sighed heavily and followed the others into the room. Remus gulped, trying to tell himself that they couldn’t possibly know, that he was safe, that these were his friends, and they were probably just pulling some prank on him. Merlin, please let it just be a prank. He took a deep breath and followed the others into the room, the door swinging shut behind him with a heavy thunk.

James and Sirius stood together by the professor’s desk, arms crossed and stern expressions on their face, while Peter leaned against the chalkboard behind them, determinedly looking at his shoes.

“Don’t do this,” Peter hissed quietly, and Remus’ heart dropped into his stomach.

“Remus, we know something’s going on,” James announced, looking defiant and completely utterly sure of himself. So very much the opposite of how Remus felt.

“We think we know what it is,” Sirius continued, his body language mimicking James’. “But we’d rather you told us yourself.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Remus denied quickly, trying very hard not to let the panic show on his face.

“Yes you do,” James insisted. “Come on, Remus, all the nights away, saying that you’re sick or you have to see family. And it’s always on a full moon. You don’t think we’d eventually catch on that our best friend disappears once a month? Didn’t think we’d see the pattern?”

“I’d hoped...” Remus said quietly, not daring to look at them. “How long have you known?”

“It’s true then, you’re a werewolf,” Sirius gasped, his voice low in surprise, and Remus nodded in shame.

“We just figured it out last night,” James answered, elbowing Sirius sharply.

Peter shifted a little behind them, catching Remus’ attention and Remus narrowed his eyes, focusing lasering in on him.

“Peter?” he asked sharply.

“I figured it out around Christmas,” Peter admitted, pushing away from the wall. “Things didn’t seem to add up and then you were gone all night and...something just clicked for me I guess. I didn’t say anything though, I promise.”

James and Sirius both gaped at Peter, and from their expressions, Remus knew that what Peter had said was true. He hadn’t told them anything about his suspicions, they had all figured it out on their own.

“So now what?” Remus asked, scuffing his shoe along the ground.

“What do you mean?” Sirius replied, cocking his head, and James and Peter both looked equally confused beside him.

“Well, what are you going to do?” Remus said. “The staff all know about me, but I can’t ask you to keep my secret. You could tell the whole school and have me thrown out.”

“Of course we’re not going to have you kicked out!” Sirius exclaimed. “Why would we do that? It’d only spoil our fun. Or have you already forgotten our late night mattress escapades?”

“Because... I’m a monster,” Remus replied simply, his shoulders sagging in defeat. He was despicable, nothing could convince him otherwise.

“Remus, you’re not a monster,” Peter said, reaching out to touch his friend’s arm, but Remus shied away.

“I’m not a stuffed animal!” Remus snapped, annoyed that the other boys didn’t seem to understand how abhorrent he was. “I could kill people and I would have no control over it! I could bite someone, make them like me...”

“You’re being dramatic,” James scoffed. “You fold your socks, Remus. Forgive me if I’m not trembling at the sight of you.”

James shook his hands, pretending to quake with fear, over the top and obviously fake. Sirius laughed heartily and Peter grinned, but Remus felt stunned.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” Remus asked, stammering through the words. “You don’t...and...I mean...I could be really dangerous! I am really dangerous!”

“Really, Remus,” Sirius teased, “what part of ‘you fold your socks’ isn’t getting through? Besides, its not like you transform spontaneously. We’ve got a pretty good idea of when it’ll happen, which makes it right easy to avoid you.”

“Then surely you must despise me,” Remus added, shaking his head. “Werewolves aren’t exactly popular.”

“We don’t hate you,” Peter said kindly, looking at Remus with wide and sincere eyes. “We could never hate you for this. You’re still the same Remus you’ve always been –“

“Except when you’re not,” James joked, and Peter shot him a nasty look that said this-is-not-the-time-for-jokes.

“It doesn’t change anything,” Peter insisted, and James and Sirius nodded in agreement. “And you never have to worry about us telling anyone, we wouldn’t do that to you.”

“But... but...” Remus stammered, unable to accept their words as truth.

“Remus, mate, we’re your best friends,” James said, putting his hands on Remus’ shoulders and looking him dead in the eye. “You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that to get rid of us, yeah?”

Remus cracked a small smile then, feeling like crying at the generosity and acceptance of his friends. He had a feeling it wasn’t the end of the discussion – they would be curious about things, inevitably, and he would always have some doubts – but for now, it was enough that they said they wanted him to stick around anyway.

James looked remarkably pleased with himself, as if this conversation resolved everything, and perhaps for him it did. He was often like that – everything was black and white, and he was quick to bounce back. At least on the outside, things never seemed to bother James for long.

Neither Peter or Sirius seemed to share James’ levity. The former looked guilt-ridden, worried that Remus might blame him. If he hadn’t made that blasted comment about the moon, James might never have put it all together. Well, maybe not never, but certainly not that night. He really should have kept his mouth shut, should have done a better job protecting Remus, protecting his friend.

“It’s alright, Peter,” Remus said to the other boy, drawing closer. “Thank you for not telling them.”

“But –“ Peter began to protest, but Remus just shook his head.

“You’re a good friend,” he continued, his eyes tearing up a little bit, “and I don’t think you’ll ever know how much it means to me that you just didn’t say anything – not to me, not to them – without even asking any questions. Not many people would have done that.”

Peter only nodded, seeming about as choked up as Remus felt, and the significance of the moment passed between them. Then it had drifted away into the air, Peter grabbed his bag from the desk and left the room, James hurrying to follow, sensing the awkwardness building between Remus and Sirius.

Darkness had descended on Sirius’ features, surrounding him like a black veil. His grey eyes had hardened to steel and his eyebrows had begun to twitch inward, like they were fighting the anger brewing in his belly.

"I know you're mad at me," Remus said, once Peter and James were gone. He seemed to realize that he had grabbed Sirius' sleeve and let go quickly. "You think I'm a monster, I get it. I am a monster."

"Remus, I'm not mad at you. I meant what I said earlier - you're not a monster and I don't hate you," Sirius answered, but he couldn't seem to meet his friend's eye.

"You've been silent and sulky all night,” Remus countered, pulling his own sleeves down over his hands and balling them in his fists. "You can't even look at me!"

"I'm not mad," Sirius repeated unconvincingly.

"I know you are!" Remus said, his voice rising dangerously. "Just tell me that you hate me! Be honest! Tell me that you think what I am is disgusting. I can handle it."

"Remus, I don't give a rat's bollocks about your - your furry little problem!" Sirius shouted back, stepping closer to Remus. "Okay? So just drop it."

"Then... why are you mad?" Remus asked, trying not to hope too much that his words were true.

"I just... I care that you didn't think you could trust me enough to tell me," Sirius shrugged, looking out the window.

"Sirius, I -"

"No, I get it, you don't tell anyone, I just..." Sirius shook his head, trying to keep his eyes from tearing up, "I thought we were more than that. I thought we didn't have secrets."

"Sirius," Remus said quietly, taking a step closer to his friend and reaching out for his sleeve, "there are some things we just don't tell anyone. We all have our secrets, don't we?"

"There's nothing -"

"You have secrets too," Remus insisted, "And that’s okay, I won’t press you, but I promise that when you're ready, you can tell me anything. But I didn't want this to get out, I didn't know how you guys would react. The wizarding world isn't very accepting of... of people with my condition."

Sirius spun away from Remus, grinding his teeth together and running his fingers through his curls.

"You should have trusted us," Sirius argued.

"I didn't know if I could," Remus answered, trying to make Sirius understand.

"How could you not know?" Sirius snapped, pulling his arm out of Remus' grip, and turning to pace the classroom as his agitation grew.

"You and James are pureblood," Remus sighed, "I know what your families taught you. Think about what you said last year, about halfbreeds."

"I've changed since last year," Sirius snarled.

"This is a hard thing to just unlearn," Remus countered. "Prejudice against my kind runs deep, Sirius."

"You should have known it would be different for you though," Sirius said, changing tactics. "You're our best mate, we would never hate you for something like this."

"Oh, so if it was someone else, you would think they were a monster?" Remus questioned, his usually mild temper rising. "If it were Lance? You're not all that fond of him, so you'd probably hate him, right?"

"No, I wouldn't," Sirius insisted, clenching his jaw, his pride getting the better of him.

"Fine," Remus huffed, crossing his arms.

"Don't be like that," Sirius said, irritation mounting.

"Like what?" Remus snapped.

"All mad at me and stuff," Sirius answered.

"Well you're making me mad!" Remus said.

"Why?"

"Because you're impossible!" he replied, plopping down at somebody’s desk. "You shouldn't think that werew - that people like me aren't monsters just because you like me. You should... you should think that because they aren't. Because its this horrible thing that they're forced into and they get no choice and if we could cure it we would, but..."

"Remus, I swear I don't think werewolves are monsters," Sirius insisted.

They stared each other down for a few seconds, trying to read each other’s minds. Eventually Remus sighed, sinking into a chair, his annoyance dissipating.

"Okay," Remus conceded. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"I'm sorry you didn't feel like you could trust us," Sirius answered, sitting down next to Remus and nudging him with his shoulder.

"We should go study with the others," Remus said after a few moments of quiet. "They'll wonder where we are."

"Or we can sneak down to the kitchens and get some more crumble," Sirius suggested, raising his eyebrows excitedly.

"No, we need to write this essay for Binns," Remus replied.

"Why? It's not like he's going to notice," Sirius joked.

"Come on, let's just go get it done."

The two boys stood and walked out of the classroom, making their way to Gryffindor Tower and ducking into the common room. James and Peter had already pulled out their books and were working diligently, although James kept looking around the room distractedly. Sirius found it hard to focus on the impossibly dull essay Binns had set them, despite Remus' admonishments every time he got distracted. Who cared about the stupid witch trials anyway? It was like nine hundred years ago. Sirius wished they could learn about something more relevant. Things felt more intense lately, like all the professors in the school were worried about something big happening. He had no idea what it might be, but it had to be significant for the whole teaching staff to be concerned. The older students seemed stressed as well, more than just worrying about the NEWTs. Whatever was going on, it was affecting everyone, and Sirius didn’t want to be left out.

#gen writes #hp #marauders #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #james potter #sirius black #QiMH #Better Together

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sunflowerstrays · 6 years

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your success is mine // mark tuan // part 3

mark tuan x oc

words: 2.8k.

genre: fluff.

(part 1 / part 2 / part 3)

---

I’ve never been so terrified in my life. Being an idol means I have faced some pretty terrifying situations - I’ve met crazy fans, angry producers, scary bodyguards, performed in front of the country a hundred times. But nothing compares to this terror - nothing comes close.

Tried have just finished performing their first song, an American song that I’ve never heard before, but I know they did amazing. Team A opened the show with their performance of Mic Drop by BTS, a performance so incredible I don’t think there is much point in us performing. Now we wait patiently by the stage, preparing to go from a showstopping opening to an American rap filled with Korean heart throbs to a calm, harmonising song. I’m mentally kicking myself for not picking two powerful songs like both the other teams did.

We all wear the same pastel blue trousers, with different colourful tie-dye t-shirts and then pastel pink or yellow bomber jackets. Mina and Jessi also wear white baseball caps, and everyone’s hair is either straight or curled, other than mine which is in tight plaits ready for the next performance. They tug at my scalp so much that I’m on the edge of tears. The lights go dark, and we are called on stage, the crowd clapping loudly and cheering for us. I notice that the voices aren’t as loud or that the clap doesn’t last as long - this could be my paranoia speaking though.

“Good luck girls,” I say as we stand in position; my heart beats so fast I think the whole audience can hear it through my microphone.

This is it. Make it or break it. It’s my choice.

The soft music starts, and Jessi begins perfectly on time with Jinyoung’s vocals, leaving a chill on my spine with her hauntingly beautiful voice. Mina carries on with Yugyeom’s lines, and I can’t help but admit that whilst this song isn’t as wow as the other teams were, we sound damn beautiful. After Ji-soo has softly rapped through Jackson’s lines, the chorus begins, and I break out into a sweat immediately.

Mina begins the line, and I harmonise with her, and it sounds better than it ever has before. The audience erupts into claps and cheers when they hear our vocals mixing together. The sound of their cheers is music to my ears alone. This dance is fairly easy to replicate, and all of the girls keep up perfectly, their smiles bright as we spin on the spot and throw our arms open to the whole of Korea.

Straight after the chorus is Mark’s part, which is where I jump in and begin singing. The girls all dance around me as I search for Mark in the crowd, not settling until I see my favourite now blond haired boy in the audience. He gives me the biggest thumbs up from the first few rows, and blows me a kiss, only making me break into more of a smile.

The song passes too fast, and after Jessi and I hit the final high note together with the crowd exploding in front of us, we don’t wait for the judges to send us off stage; we turn to each other and hug before anyone can stop us.

I think Mina might have burst into tears, but I’ve never had so much love for these girls. It was definitely our best performance of that song; and of any stage performance we’ve had so far, in fact.

The judges aren’t allowed to give any comments after the first performance, so we all walk off of the stage holding hands and grinning from ear to ear. None of us want to think about what the future holds for us girls; we just want to enjoy the moment.

There is a short ten minute break where the audience are played a recap of all our journeys whilst we sit in the changing rooms, being stripped of our pastel makeup and swapping it for dark purple and blue hues. My hair is taken out of its tight plaits, and then crimped even further, the hair absolutely mental at this point. Mina’s curls are back combed until they literally explode, and I’ve never seen the younger girl with so much eye makeup on. Jisoo, Jessi and Somin have their arms and cheeks splashed with black face paint as well, just to fit the aesthetic of the look even more.

I’m sent to go get into my outfit first, and the girls are all shocked when I walk back in. On my torso I wear a fishnet shirt that completely covers my arms and stomach, as well as a white crop top that covers my chest. On my legs are baggy combat-style trousers, as well as a bucket hat and thick combat boots. I feel very powerful, the outfit making me feel like a winner. Ji-Eun is next to disappear, and when she arrives in fishnet tights, shorts, a cropped shirt and leather jacket, I know this look is going to be our best visual look yet.

Tried are finally called on to the stage for their second performance whilst the finishing touches are added to our makeup. In my head I am running through all the lyrics for the rap and testing the boots out for the dance. If this stage doesn’t go perfectly, we have no chance of ever winning - and therefore never debuting. Subsequently, my career will be over. The thought makes me shake with nerves.

We get to watch their performance through our screens, and we know that it is a killing performance - they have performed Bang Bang Bang by Bigbang, and shocked the whole audience with such a song. Team A’s second performance had been equally as powerful and mind blowing as their first - they are a whole group of talented individuals, and it’s going to be impossible to finish the show on such a note.

Somin finishes getting into her outfit thirty seconds before we are called on to the stage. I lead my team on the stage with the lights dark - this whole performance is a complete secret to the world, and not even Mark knows what song we are performing. I refused to tell him.

As we stand in our formation, a single light shines from behind us. The audience is silent, not knowing what to expect from our group. Whilst the other two groups had always been consistent in powerful performances, our little group has been a little all over the place - and this is our final time to show them who we really are.

The music starts, and we begin the broken dance, the lights behind us slowly turning on as the singing starts. The eruption from the crowd is insane as Ji-Eun begins to sing, and the lights are properly on us now. One of Korea’s favourite songs by one of their favourite boy bands is being performed by us, six small girls who no one ever thought we’d get so far.

I can’t hide the grin on my face as we get to the chorus. Everyone surprises me by dancing with as much stamina as when they begun with. We are fast, on time, and powerful. I have never really felt so proud of myself.

The second verse and chorus seems to fly by, the crowd keeping up their constant cheers for us. I see all the judges frantically writing things down whilst not being able to stop watching us, and all the representatives from the different entertainment companies already making phone calls. My heart fills with joy, lifting me off of the stage and into cloud nine. Ji-Soo and I share a look, knowing that our moment is coming up too soon, and she looks both terrified and excited.

As Mina sings us into the rap part, I fall back behind Ji-Soo, Jessi and Ji-Eun, preparing to leap for my life. The three girls duck down, and I run at them, springing off of the floor and landing with an explosion of rap, rapping faster than I ever have done in my life to keep up with the music. Ji-Soo and I fist bump mid rap when she begins singing Sehun’s lines, and we bounce off of each other with so much enthusiasm and energy that I’m personally shocked.

As the final part of the dance comes up and Somin carries on with her lines, the girls seem to have another surge - like someone has plugged them in to an electricity outlet - as they burst through the final part of the song with as much energy from before. Mina and I finish back to back, both breathing heavily and grinning until we are glowing brighter than the lights behind us. The whole audience is on their feet, cheering for us, and the GOT7 boys in the front of the audience are going crazy in their seats for us.

Again we have no comments after this performance, but another break in which agents contact their entertainment companies and come to the conclusion of who they want to take on if they do, and the judges decide who the winners are.

We walk off of the stage and burst into screams in the corridor, cheering for each other louder than the audience was before. Mina bursts into tears again, congratulating everyone and I hope we win just to see her perform again live. As we are directed into a small room with the two other teams, who watch us with jealousy and annoyance, we chat enthusiastically about the performance.

“And you didn’t crush me!” Ji-Soo says with a chuckle, and I know that she was terrified that I would land on her mid performance and crush her with my heavy boots. The girls begin laughing again, much to the other boys’ annoyance.

“Well done, Reina,” the leader of Tried, Changsun, says with a forced smile, “You chose very well. After You Are, we was not expecting that.”

“Thank you,” I say simply, annoyed at his rudeness to our first performance. Whilst they’d done a huge feat in singing an American song for their first performance, after all it is a Korean idol show and we showcased more of our abilities other than rap.

We are all still struggling to catch our breath when the three groups are called back to the stage. Team A and Tried are both positioned either side of us girls, and I’ve got a sense of anxiety in my stomach that makes me feel sick. Ji-Soo grabs my hand suddenly, and soon all six of us are stood in a line, holding each other’s hand. When the audience realise this, they cheer loudly. Apparently a supportive group is preferred so much more than a group who stands slightly disjointed, like Tried next to us.

The judges begin their comments about Team A, and I don’t think they say one negative thing about either performance. The boys had done incredibly well after all, and it would really shock me if they didn’t win. The lights jump over to Tried, making Mina beside me squeeze my hand in nervousness.

These guys are fed more critically, the comments not nearly as friendly as they were for Team A. This makes me feel even sicker when the lights flash on to us, because if they were harsh to Tried, they are going to roast us alive in front of the whole of the country.

“LUNA; possibly my favourite girl group, and I used to belong to one,” one of the older judges muses, tapping her pen against the table as she studies all of us. Most of our dramatic makeup has been taken off and we just chill in our outfits, crazy hair and sweaty bodies. “Girls, you have really stolen the show.”

Every comment from there on is nothing but praise for my friends. They all judge each girl based on both performances, and say everything that was truly wonderful about them. Mina is shaking with pride when they finish with her comments.

“Reina, our bitter-sweet leader,” the head judge grins at me, facing me. It feels like we are the only two people in the room when he says what he says. “All throughut the show, I knew you would do well. Yet you’ve exceeded my expectations I had of you. Coming from a hard-core, dark concept girl group like you did to swap for pretty pink concepts for half the show, I was convinced you’d never pull off the act. But after week 5 when you had your solo performance of Block B’s Shall We Dance, you came out of your shell and acted the leader that you was destined to be. You’ve never been one to sing, I know, but in the soft concept of You Are, Reina you shone. You harmonised in a way that could rival Ailee or another power queen of kpop. And then back to your favourite in Monster, where you shook the whole room as you bounced into that rap? I’ve got nothing more to say to you Reina, other than well done.”

I thank him repeatedly, feeling tears in my eyes at the praise from him. There is nothing more I can say than thank you, because that’s how you truly feel.

But there’s a short break whilst the rest of the old groups file into the studio, all of them cheering loudly for their previous competitors. You see some of your old friends from the early stages of the show when you had barely gotten on with your teammates, all who cheer you on brightly. They sit in the few rows behind the judges, some of them signed with a stable career and some of them not.

All of the judges’ comments from earlier go out of the window though as you face the judges now. They have said all they can, and now they must list the winners of the show.

“For third place, but who have secured a contract with YG Entertainment, is Tried,” the judges all announce, and whilst the boys look crushed that they didn’t win, they cheer so brightly that they have a contract to go back to. It will only be temporary until YG decides if he wishes to keep them or not, but it is a contract nonetheless.

“For second place, who have secured a contract under Pledis Entertainment and Cube Official, is...” the tension makes time drag out, leaving me feeling numb and terrified. Any contract made unless you are the winner is only temporary, but the winner’s contract has a choice of entertainment company and a permanent contact with whomever.

“Team A.”

The crowd bursts into eruptions as the boys look around, completely shocked. None of us girls move, unable to comprehend what has just happened. As Tried and Team A leave the stage and we are left to stand alone, the reality of what happened sinks in to me, and I fall to my knees on the floor.

“Reina! We did it!” Mina screams, falling beside me and hugging me so tightly. I am smothered by all my girls, just a mess on the floor as they all slowly realise who won: us.

Eventually we get to our feet and begin going through the formal process of thanking everyone, having what happens from here read out to us, before being walked off stage to begin our new journey.

This all happens numbly around me; we won. I can’t believe those words, no matter how much I repeat them and tell myself that. It isn’t until all the girls wander into the changing room to get changed from our Monster outfits to something fancy to greet the world as Korea’s next girl group, and I take a moment to stand outside, that it hits me.

There’s a squeak of shoes up the corridor, and suddenly I’m being engulfed in the tightest hug ever. A flash of short blond hair and the smiliest grin, and I know it’s Mark, hugging me tightly and kissing my forehead. He doesn’t say anything, just crushing me in a bone snapping hug that I fall into. I won.

“I knew you would do it baby,” Mark sighs, finally, holding me at arm’s length and grinning. “My girlfriend, the leader of South Korea’s new most famous girl group. Oh my, I couldn’t be prouder.”

“Mark, I love you,” I finally say, kissing him and feeling tears in my eyes. “Thank you for everything, I love you so much.”

“Don’t thank me, Reina. Your success is mine, and I couldn’t be happier for you. I love you.”

---

eek i finished my first mini-series that’s cute. I’m so proud of Reina and she isn’t even a real person. I wish I was as cool as her tho. also, Mark, im too soft.

requests are still open <3

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