#almost a decade younger than me why is it my fucking job. I’m so tired of being called angry bc he’s slimy and doesn’t accept responsibilit

[bookishofalder]

Joke of a Batman

Spencer Reid x Male!Reader

Request: @meowiemari Okie dokie!!! So Spencer x male reader where the reader is the driver for the robbers. They arrested him after finding him in a gas station getting snacks. While driving in his car with Morgan, Reid, and Hotch, the reader is in the passenger seat telling them the location because he was just there for the money. Hotch and Morgan went while Spencer stays to keep an eye on him. Reader’s playlist in his car plays old Justin Bieber songs and it’s gonna be me by NSYNC. Spencer sees his embarrassment and  awkwardly sings a bit so he doesn’t feel shame. Later in absolute a few minuets the two started singing and as soon as Morgan comes back with Hotch, they both quickly turn off the playlist and exchange numbers. :)

Warnings: Swearing, implied SMUT (super brief)

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I loved writing this, and hope I you enjoy. This was my first time writing the reader as male-so please tell me if I can improve! Tried to keep reader description as vague as possible. Thank you to @mermaidxatxheart​ for encouraging me to get writing :) 

“That’ll be $11.75, please.” The bored gas station attendant droned, staring at you expectantly. You began to pull out a few bills from your wallet, ready to get home and eat your pint of ice cream in peace, but before you could count out what you needed, a voice behind you cut in.

“He’s no longer going to be making a purchase today, actually,” Spinning around in alarm, you find yourself face to face with two imposing men, one with a deep frown and overall authoritative air with his crisp suit, the other a handsome but tall and physically intimidating specimen.

With a gulp, you stuff the cash in your wallet. Who were these guys?

“Y/F/N?”

You nod as heat creeps up your neck, burning your face. Fucking Peter Robbins, you always knew, was going to be the death of you. And now it looked like your latest foray into his questionable life was going to land you in jail. These had to be cops.

You knew you should have ignored his call. You’d been telling yourself for years not to help him, he was just going to get himself in trouble again and call again, and you got nothing out of it. He used you because he knew you liked him. The two of you had been friends for years, and it didn’t take him long to realize the ways he could manipulate you because of how you felt.

It took you a lot longer to catch on to what he was doing.

But fuck, you still came running when he called, didn’t you? Like you were some joke of a Batman and he was shining his light into the sky calling for you. If only.

“That’s, yeah, that’s me.” You replied, slowly shoving your wallet into your front pocket before holding your hands in front of you in surrender. Whatever happened, you decide at this moment that you never want to see Peter again. Because giving that man a ride in hopes he’d one day say he was interested was not worth this.

“Mr. (Y/L/N), we’re placing you under arrest,” The frowning man held out his badge, showing you he was one Agent Hotchner from the fucking FBI. You tuned him out, your ears suddenly ringing, alarm shooting through you. Getting arrested was one thing, but the FBI? What in the living hell had Peter gotten into? Got you into?

He called you for a ride. It was just supposed to be a ride.

You were surprised when they didn’t cuff you, but you weren’t stupid enough to question them. They led you outside, where the gas station was quiet, only their large black SUV and your Honda Civic parked out front. You kept your eyes down, a sting threatening the corners but you were not going to cry. You needed to take this one step at a time, and not overreact. You surely didn’t fuck up that badly, did you? They’d said ‘suspicion of aiding a crime’, only suspicion.

“Listen, kid,” The bald Agent whose name you learned was Morgan turned and faced you, his expression serious. You bristled slightly at him calling you ‘kid’, but based on the crows' feet around his eyes, maybe he was older than he let on. “We know that you were just the driver today, and that you’d probably have no clue what’s going on right now.”

You raised your eyes to meet his, “Peter Robbins has ensured I fuck up my life at least once a year for nearly a decade. This is just...a new level for me.” You shrug, trying not to think of what your family was going to say when they found out. Would you lose your job?

“We’ve been watching Peter and his associates for a while now,” Agent Hotchner replied, and your brows raised in surprise. “Yes, he’s escalated from petty crimes that upset the local sheriff to armed robbery. Unfortunately, one of his partners happens to enjoy killing. Which is why we were called in.” He stops speaking abruptly when another Agent, you assume from the gun on his belt, steps around the SUV and up to your group.

For a moment, you’re caught off guard. This Agent is stunningly handsome, much younger than the other two. His eyes, which met yours for only a moment before flitting away, were a soft honey brown that sucked you right in. He had a bit of a shadow along his jaw, his wavy brown hair unkempt in the best kind of way, as though he’d just rolled out of bed looking that perfect. And you could tell he didn’t even realize the power he had. Standing next to two burly, thick muscled Agents, you could understand why. But in your brief assessment of this new man, you could see the lean strength of him, the muscles of his lower arms, veins in his hands. He was tall, too, taller than either of the other men, which was saying something.

“What’s up, Reid?” Morgan asked, and the new arrival-Reid-held up his phone.

“Garcia can’t pull anything from the Honda, it’s, her words, an ancient species.” He spoke quickly, almost as though the words couldn’t find their way off of his tongue quickly enough. You tried not to fixate on his mouth, because damn it, his lips were perfect.

Absentmindedly, you crossed your arms across your chest, feeling tense and tired. When Reid’s eyes followed the movement, you felt frozen under his gaze, watching with your breath held as it dragged slowly up to your face. His expression was unreadable, yet you still felt your cheeks grow warmer.

“Listen, (Y/N), we know you don’t have any real part in Peter’s crimes. We intercepted his calls and texts, we know he asked you to pick him up today, last minute.” Agent Hotchner said, his eyes burning into yours.

You looked away from the other men, shame flooding through you. “Peter always calls, and I always answer. But I really don’t know anything about what he does, I didn't know he was even with anyone else today. He asked me to pick him up right out front of the pharmacy, that’s all.” You couldn’t help the edge to your voice, the wordless plea that they understand you had no clue what was going on. And if innocent people were dying, you would do anything you could to help them put a stop to it.

Reid tilted his head slightly as he watched you, “We’ve seen the messages, (Y/N), we know how he treats you, giving you a little, yet taking a lot,” The tears almost threaten now, so you glance away, looking at the ground as you nod, “And he doesn’t even tell you what he’s taking, the danger he’s putting you in. He’s going to go away for a long time, but you don’t have to.”

At this, your head snaps up and you look between the three men, expecting them to laugh and finally cuff you. But they all wear the same neutral expression, all watching you.

“Like I said, I don’t know much abou-“

Reid shook his head, politely interjecting, “We understand. But you know where you took him today, right?” At your nod, Reid stepped a little closer, peering down at you, “We need you to take us to him. And tell us any other addresses you can remember picking him up from or taking him to in the last year. Can you help us? You won’t be under arrest if you can give us what we need to stop Peter and the men he’s working with.”

You almost wanted to laugh. Of course, you would help, regardless of whether you were still under arrest; you had no loyalty whatsoever to Peter. You only ever showed up for him because you hoped, each time, that it would be the time he would go beyond flirting. That the feelings were mutual. But if he was committing crimes-fuck, robbing people, working with a murderer, then you were done with him.

“I can tell you addresses, and I can show where he is now, I just,” You paused, closing your eyes briefly to pull in a breath, steadying yourself, “Please, don’t hurt him, if you don’t need to, I mean.”

Reid’s eyes, which you found the moment you opened yours, visibly softened at your words. He seemed a little surprised, you thought, though it was hard to tell. He was difficult to read, and you’d only just met him. He nodded reassuringly before looking to Agent Hotchner expectantly while you waited, your insides in knots.

“(Y/N), Spencer is going to go with you in your vehicle, and we’ll be following behind. Take us as close as you can without being obvious. Reid,” He turned to the handsome agent, “We’re going to check the car first, can you-“ He gestured wordlessly in your direction, which made you frown in confusion.

Reid nodded, and you watched as the two other agents moved to search your car, while he moved toward you. “I’m going to search you for weapons, okay?” He explained, holding his hands out as if waiting for your permission.

You stared, perhaps a beat too long, at his long-fingered hands. With a shy bob of your head, you looked to Reid, “Of course, I understand.” And the agent began to pat you down as you stood awkwardly.

It wasn’t as though the action was intimate or affectionate, but for whatever reason, you did feel his touch was hesitant. He was gentle, considerate...it surprised you. And then his hands slid up your back as he stood in front of you, and you became acutely aware of the thin cotton t-shirt your wore, instantly becoming self-conscious. You wondered what he thought of you, of your body.

Mind out of the gutter, you told yourself.

It was then, when Reid leaned back, his hands sliding from your back to your chest, that time seemed to stand still, just for a moment. They moved across your stomach briefly, and as they began to pull away, the search complete, you looked up. Reid was staring at you, his cheeks flushed, eyes heavy. You caught your breath, his gaze was so intense, but before you could even try to think of what to say, he was swiftly stepping back, breaking eye contact with a heavy swallow.

You were kind of relieved. That had been almost too intense, whatever that was. The relief lasted only moments until Agent Hotchner called out that your car was good to go, and you remembered you had a twenty-minute car ride alone with the Reid.

Fuck.

+

The first few minutes of the drive are bearable enough, Spencer takes the wheel as you give him directions to the subdivision where you had dropped Peter off. It’s when the silence starts to press in, and you don’t know what to say to fill it, that things swiftly change.

Sensing the tension, no doubt, Reid reaches out to the audio power button and hits your stereo on. With an internal groan, you suddenly wish you could just jump out of the moving vehicle when the song you’d been listening to picks back up.

'Cause I've had everything But no one's listening And that's just fucking lonely I'm so lonely Lonely

You had put on a playlist you considered your ‘sad songs’ compilation for whenever you were let down by Peter or any other man. You enjoyed wallowing in self-pity for just a little while after each encounter. But now, as Justin Bieber crooned sadly, you didn't feel sad, just humiliated. You were in your car with a fiercely hot FBI agent who had given you some kind of fucking bedroom eyes just minutes ago as he pats you down, and this song plays.

Your expression must have been obvious, as you saw Reid look at you a few times out of the corner of your eye, frowning somewhat. When the song ended, you didn’t get a chance to be relieved before ‘Somebody to Love” began playing. This time, you sighed aloud, sinking somewhat into your seat and wishing you could dissolve into a pile of goo like the Wicked Witch.

Until that is, you glanced up and saw Reid’s fingers tapping gently on the steering wheel to the beat. Surprised, you looked around to the agent and he was mouthing the words, singing along with the chorus. Stunned, you just watched him for a moment, quickly finding yourself enraptured by the way his plump lips moved around the words, how his tongue would wet them between lines, how his eyes-

Fuck, he was looking right at you. You smiled quickly but looked away, your hands fidgeting in your lap. You really had much bigger, more important shit to be concerned with right now, yet here you were wondering what the hell this perfect man, this FBI agent that was far too handsome for his own good, was doing singing along with the silly song, and why the look he gave you had butterflies erupting in your stomach.

Not to mention, the guilt that accompanied those thoughts, brief as they were, of what the lips would feel like on yours. What they would feel like on your body. Wrapped around your cock. Fuck.

He hadn’t said anything, but his fingers continued to tap along with the beat with ease. Eventually, when you directed him to the final turn, you chanced another glance at him. As if expecting your gaze, he turned his head and smiled at you, “I’m Spencer, by the way, Dr. Spencer Reid.” You blinked. Doctor?

“Oh, uh. Wow. Nice to meet you, Dr-“

“You can call me Spencer,” He cut in, his expression somewhat amused.

You nodded, “Nice to meet you, Spencer. Though I wish it were under different circumstances, perhaps where I wasn’t a criminal piece of shit.”

He pulled the car over, stopped at the community mailbox you had described as the perfect place to park. Once he’d turned the engine off, he turned to face you, those warm eyes giving you a gentle look. “You aren’t a criminal piece of shit, (Y/N),” Oh, you loved the way your name sounded coming from him. “I’d go as far as to say you’re a victim in all of this.”

You scoffed, waving a hand in protest, “No, I really should have known better than to help Peter.”

But Spencer shook his head, “As I said earlier, we saw the messages. He manipulates you, and he doesn’t ever tell you what he’s actually doing. He just gets you to give him rides, acts like it’s a way to hang out when really he’s using you as a cover because, in reality, you’re a law-abiding, hardworking, kind man. Men like him don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you, (Y/N).”

Letting out a breath, your mind went blank at Spencer’s words, failing you entirely. You believed every word he’d said, and you felt warm all over at the intense way he watched you, it was almost...protective.

Before your mind could reboot and you could trust yourself to open your mouth and not simply drool, a tap on the window drew your eyes beyond Spencer. Agent Hotchner stood there, waiting patiently with his arms crossed.

Spencer climbed out of your car, but you stayed put, glad for a moment to close your eyes and try to steady your beating heart. After this was over, you were climbing into your bathtub and staying there for the rest of the week. Maybe the rest of the month.

“Prentiss and JJ are parked at the North end, they’re going to come with us. Can you wait here, with (Y/N), and call Garcia and have him give her the other locations?”

You heard Spencer agree and bid his fellow agents goodbye before climbing back into your car. He smiled warmly at you, and you couldn’t help but return it, your own shy and uncertain. “You heard what our task is?” He asked you, his head tilted again, watching you curiously.

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. But first, can you give me your phone, please?” He held his hand out expectantly. You handed it over, first pointing it towards your face to unlock it. His fingers brushed yours when he took the phone from you, and if you hadn’t been looking at him already, you wouldn’t have believed it was intentional. But it was because at the slight contact, your eyes had widened and Spencer...Spencer had smirked.

He clicked around on your phone for a moment, hit one final button and then passed it back to you, looking satisfied. When you took it back, his phone chimed in his pocket. Confused, you peered down at your screen to see he’d added his name to your contacts and sent himself a text from your phone. Well fuck.

He was watching you with an amused expression, “Once this case is over, (Y/N), I’d love it if you would allow me to take you to dinner.”

“I, wow,” You stammered, nervously running your hair through your hair. His eyes followed your movement, and you saw a glint behind the warmth, of desire. Hunger. You didn’t think twice. “I’d love to, Spencer.” He grinned at you.

And surprising even yourself, you reached out and squeezed his hand. And when he returned the pressure and ran his thumb softly across the back of your hand, all thoughts of Peter left your mind as *NSYNC played in the background and you didn’t feel lonely anymore.

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

✨Taglist: @mermaidxatxheart @paintballkid711 @snitchthewitch

#reader insert #fanfic #fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #bau x reader #bau fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #fic request #reid x reader #feedback appreciated

[tuanhood]

hypnotic | part one

paring: vampire!im jaebeom x reader

genre: angst, eventual smut (part two), vampire au

warnings: language, cringey vampire cliches i’m sure

word count: 9,800+

summary: jaebeom has been waiting 200 years to find his mate - the one who can break his trance and isn’t affected by his hypnotic abilities. You don’t seem to be that person, but he just can’t seem to get you out of his mind… why? 

a/n: hello guys! so i originally had this planned to post tomorrow (the 30th) but it was so long i decided to split it up and post one part today and the other part on the 31st! This first part is mostly Jaebeom and not a lot of Y/N but SO BE IT. This is also my first time writing in the genre of vampire/fantasy loL so please forgive me because it’ll probably be cringe and not make sense. if that’s the case lol drop me a message!! also vampire jaebeom was requested FOREVER ago. so here it is practically 3 decades later. and i attempted to make a banner. if someone can make me a better one it’s v much WELCOME.

part two

Knock Knock Knock 

He wished he could just pretend like he was asleep. He wished he could use that as an excuse to not answer the door, but based on the very strong feeling he was getting from who was behind it – that wouldn’t work. 

“I know you’re in there! Just answer the damn door Jaebeom!”

Jaebeom rolled his eyes, leave it to Bambam to be at his front door before the day even had a chance to truly begin. Before letting him in, he went through all the possible things or excuses he could use to get out of whatever his younger friend had in mind.

“Is your vintage YSL here or is it still at the dry cleaners?” Bambam asked, pushing past Jaebeom as soon as he has the door partway open.

Gruffly, Jaebeom turned back into his apartment to Bambam already halfway to his bedroom – no doubt to look through his closet, “What are you doing here Bam?” 

“What does it look like? I’m here for the vintage YSL asshole!” 

He’s learned by now that it’s better to let him do his thing – whatever that may mean. So instead of following Bambam, he plopped down onto the same couch he’s had for nearly 15 years. “You know when I first bought that shirt it wasn’t considered vintage!”

Jaebeom waited for a response, but instead, he was met with silence. After a few moments – many of them thinking about how maybe it was time to replace the couch – he felt his “vintage” YSL button-down hit him in the face. 

He groaned; the impact was surely going to create wrinkles in the material he tried to keep in pristine condition. It was ironic since he was often heard making fun of how much Bambam cared about clothes, but Jaebeom liked to keep his things nice. “Bam I just got it back from getting cleaned a couple of days ago.”

“Put it on.” 

The tone of his friend’s voice seemed rather impatient. If he had closed his eyes, Jaebeom would have thought he was talking to Jinyoung or even himself. 

“Why do I need to put it on? It’s 8 in the morning; where are we going?”

“Um excuse me? Did you forget what day it was? Now come on, we’re meeting Jinyoung at that new café down the street in fifteen.”

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, trying to picture the café on the mental map he keeps in his mind, “the one that used to be a video store in the 90s?”

Bambam made his way into the living room, picking up a few glasses that rested on the coffee table Jaebeom’s feet were on top of, and marched over to the small kitchen. Jaebeom has lived in this apartment more years than he’d like to admit, especially because enough time had passed that the neighbors he had were clearly aging and he just stayed 26. The thought of moving somewhere new often enters his mind, but with this place, he just can’t bring it in himself to go quite yet. It’s almost as though something is tying him to this city, this place – like he’s waiting for something.

“Yes, and a speakeasy in the 20s both of which are not important right now because we live in the 21st century Jaebeom. Now come on, Jinyoung’s waiting – that asshole is always early.” 

He heard Bambam mumble something along the lines of known him 100 years, would it kill him to just be on time for once, as he furiously dropped the glasses on the kitchen counter.

“Do I have to go?” 

Bambam paused his motions of putting Jaebeom’s dirty dishes into the sink to stare the older vampire down, “Jaebeom you only turn 200 once.” 

He scoffed in response, “Jesus don’t remind me.”

“We have to make a whole day of it! So please just put the shirt on, because I want you looking presentable,” he stopped in the middle of his sentence, suddenly wiggling his eyebrows, “you never know what could happen.” The final word is drawn out, almost sing-song like and it drives Jaebeom up the wall because he knows exactly what Bambam is referencing.

For Jaebeom and those like Jaebeom, they didn’t consider the day they were born as their birthday, but instead as the day they turned. There was no point in celebrating their birth anymore as they were no longer alive. However, at this point after 200 birthdays, – alive and dead combined - Jaebeom was beginning to believe that there was no point to those either. He always knew being immortal was a curse but day by day that idea was only solidifying itself in his mind.  

Jaebeom let out a gruff breath which only made Bambam look up from the fork he was scrubbing, “Bam I don’t know what you think is going to happen today… but it certainly isn’t that.” 

The “that” he was referencing was one of the main factors that as of late had made him feel like living forever was indeed a waste. It was the thing that was supposed to make him feel “complete.” According to old texts and traditional vampire folklore, he was now walking around half full, but once he met his mate, he would become whole. At first, he didn’t believe the tale. He had gotten by so far without a mate that the idea of him not being complete made him laugh. But watching both Bambam and Jinyoung find their mates – Bambam 70 years ago and Jinyoung 16 years ago – made him finally acknowledge and reflect on the piece of himself he was missing. 

And fuck he was lonely. 

Bambam chuckled at him as if being in on his own personal joke. His friend was strange like that sometimes, “just put the shirt on Jaebeom.” 

By the time he’s had the shirt on and Bambam has somehow convinced him to let him wear his Rolex he got as a gift from his friend Jackson in 1920, Jaebeom feels mentally prepared to leave the house and embark on this dreadful day. The reminder that he has now been around for 200 years and still is not whole.

“Finally,” Jinyoung sighed when Jaebeom and Bambam finally reached the café down the street, “I’ve been waiting 20 minutes.” 

A disgruntled Bambam checks his watch, “well if you don’t want to wait every single time, don’t be so fucking early,” he promptly turned to Jaebeom to share his grief regarding their friend, “you think he would learn after all this time.” 

“Let’s just go order,” Jaebeom shrugged, not caring to be in another disagreement between his longer than life friends.

“Be honest you’re early on purpose just so it gives you something to complain about and a reason to make us feel bad!” 

Jinyoung ignored Bambam’s theory, replying to the oldest, “no need. I already ordered for the three of us. It’s a special day, the birthday boy doesn’t need to pay,” he glanced at Bambam, “you on the other hand…” 

The two new arrivals, flop down into the sofa chairs on either side of Jinyoung, along of them situated to make a half-circle in front of a low coffee table. The three of them had somehow stuck into this… pattern. Years of friendship that contained years of Bambam/Jinyoung squabbles that Jaebeom would often have to mediate. Patterns were nice, but sometimes they would get old – especially after so long. 

As the two of them argue over whether or not Bambam should pay Jinyoung back for a simple iced Americano because Bam swears he got the drinks the last two times, Jaebeom looks over to the counter where the baristas work on – no doubt – the plethora of orders they have. The factor of the café being new has certainly been the cause of the popularity and amount of people in the shop. He can’t help but feel bad for the individuals working on the drinks – three years ago he had been one of them for roughly 18 months and knew that it wasn’t as easy as it appeared to be. 

In retrospect, Jaebeom didn’t have to work. He had so much time to learn and understand what it meant to be financially responsible. Not only that, but he’s literally had hundreds of years to save. Plus, his early investments in companies ended up landing him some pretty substantial and valuable shares. Jaebeom was sitting on quite the pretty penny. 

“Wow your portfolio is remarkable… I’ve never seen one like it,” his latest financial advisor had said to him in complete awe, “I mean an early investor in Amazon? Apple? Mastercard?” 

Jaebeom had laughed nervously, “What can I say? My grandpa had good intuition, I guess.” 

Money aside, he had wanted something to do with his time – hence his barista job. It was fun, but like most things, Jaebeom just grew tired of it and as he watched the girl working the espresso machine let out an exhausted breath, he realized that he wasn’t missing it. 

Jaebeom has become good at studying people. It was something he still wasn’t sure of whether it was a vampire thing or just something he had picked up over time. Watching the girl at the machine, her hair is in a low bun, a few strands falling in front of her face. It’s clear with the way the hair tie is situated, that the hairstyle was once a bit neater, tighter, and sat at the middle or even top of her head. However, the now fallen placement and slight disarray signal how busy she’s been working and how fried she must be feeling. 

He looks to the string bracelet on her wrist, visible from far away enough for Jaebeom to conclude that she must have someone in her life deemed important to wear one of those “friendship” bracelets. He never saw the point, but humans were strange creatures, despite him once being one. 

Jaebeom’s breath hitches when he catches sight of the delicately drawn tattoo on her wrist near the bracelet. It’s of lavender and it immediately reminds him of his mother who had loved exploring the lavender field that had been near his home when he was a child. Despite all the time that has passed since he lost his mother, the pain that aches inside of Jaebeom when he thinks of her isn’t any less. 

His thoughts are interrupted by the call at the coffee bar, “Order for Jinyoung.” 

The call comes from the overworked girl he had been studying and Jaebeom wants more than anything to stand up and retrieve their orders. He finds a weird want to hear what her laugh sounds like. Maybe he could say something or strike up a conversation that would-

“What are you doing?” It takes Jaebeom a moment to notice that he has partially stood up from his chair as if he’s about to go somewhere. Cluelessly, he replied, “going to get the drinks.”

The youngest shook his head, “No way! Birthday boys don’t get their drinks, they don’t lift a finger.” 

He knew Bambam was one to take birthdays seriously, but this was beginning to feel like it was going the extra mile too many. 

“I’ll get it.” 

Jaebeom watched Bambam get up to retrieve the drinks. He expects him to just grab the drinks and return to the table, but instead, Bambam says something to the girl. Arching his neck to the side, he tries to make a clear path to eavesdrop on what’s being said, hearing being one of the benefits of turning. Unfortunately, the café is too loud for him to focus on the conversation and he’s defeated by the fact that he’ll have to stay in the dark.

The girl laughs loudly at something Bambam said and Jaebeom can’t help but feel mixed about it. On one hand, he got his wish – hearing her laugh – but on the other hand, he wasn’t the cause of it. For some reason it makes him bring his clench and unclench his fists which rest on the arms of the sofa chair. Jinyoung takes notice.

Jaebeom quickly looks down at his lap when he senses that Bambam is returning to where they’re sat, not wanting to give away that he had been staring. First, he places Jinyoung’s and his drink on the table, soon turning back around to go back and fetch the last drink – Jaebeom’s. 

When he comes back, Jaebeom looks up to see a large grin spread across the youngest’s face. He has that look again – the one as if he knows a joke Jaebeom doesn’t. 

The latter nodded his head in thanks for getting the drinks as he inspects his green tea on the table. Just as he’s about to pick up the mug, he’s stopped in his tracks by an announcement coming from the coffee bar. 

“Hello everyone! Sorry for the interruption, but I’ve been told that we have a birthday here today,” you said. Giving announcements wasn’t your strong suit, but you figured now that you were an actual owner of something, you were going to get over your shyness. But you didn’t think it was going to be that often that a tall, skinny and pale boy with a Rolex on his wrist would be asking you to get your coffee shop to sing happy birthday for his friend. Even when you were a barista working for someone else no one had made such a request. This was a café after all, not an Applebee’s.

Jaebeom wished more than anything that he could sink into his seat and just disappear. If only that cliché that vampires turned into bats were true, then he could just fly away at a moment’s notice. Leave it to Bambam to torture him like this. It wasn’t intentional of course, but it certainly felt like it to Jaebeom. 

It was especially tragic to him because the girl he had been studying was the one leading the entire café in singing “Happy Birthday.” He did his best to avoid looking at her, feeling like his entire body was heating up in embarrassment even though he couldn't heat up. 

You on the other hand felt a little insulted by the birthday boy’s lack of eye contact. You hadn’t even managed to get a good look at him before you started singing and now it was not possible with the way that he was looking down at the ground, his long hair falling in front of his face, concealing itself to you. It wasn’t difficult to conclude that he felt awkward about a bunch of strangers he had never met singing him happy birthday, you had felt the same whenever your friends tried to ambush you on your birthday… but you at least looked up and acknowledged the presence of the people singing. A tight smile from this guy would even be happily accepted. 

When the song is over and the claps that follow finally subside, he looks up to see the café back at its previous state of normalcy, not a single person looking at him anymore. Jaebeom lets out a sigh of relief. 

“You could at least act like you liked it,” Bambam huffed in annoyance. He wished Jaebeom could appreciate the idea of birthdays like he did. 

“I really didn’t need to be the center of attention today Bam.” 

“But it’s your bir-” Bambam begins to explain, but Jaebeom abruptly cuts him off, not wanting to hear his reasoning for today’s antics, yet again. The day hadn’t even started.

“My birthday, I know. Thanks for reminding me.” 

Jinyoung clears his throat and plays with the spoon that came with his Flat White. Just as Jaebeom is the mediator for Bambam and Jinyoung, sometimes Jinyoung has to be the mediator for Jaebeom and Bambam. Essentially the commonality in the disagreements of their trio friendship is Bambam and currently, Jinyoung feels as though he should route the conversation elsewhere.

“What else is in the cards for tonight then boys?” 

It’s then based on the look on Jaebeom’s face, that Jinyoung thinks that maybe talking about the plans for tonight – on Jaebeom’s birthday – isn’t re-routing the conversation. Especially since it’s Bambam’s whose eyes light up and is the one to reply to him.

“Obviously we’re going out tonight,” Bambam paused and turned to Jaebeom, wagging his finger in the latter’s face, “there’s no way you’re getting out of this. I’m not taking no for an answer this time.”

Jaebeom rolled his eyes and didn’t respond as he knew he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He had rejected Bambam’s invitations to go out consistently for the last 6 months and on his birthday of all days, Bam was going to force him out of the house just as he had done this morning to come to the café.

He looks back to the front counter, his eyes searching for the barista who has now suddenly disappeared. A frown begins to make itself known on his face, feeling a bit disappointed by the fact that she may have left already or gone elsewhere, but soon she’s popping up from behind the counter, no doubt getting something from the cabinets below. Jaebeom feels relief. 

“What did you say to her?” he asked suddenly looking back at Bambam.

He cocked his head to the side, confused, “What did I say to who?” 

“The barista behind the counter.” 

His friend nodded his head slowly, suddenly realizing what Jaebeom means. A smirk appears on his face, “nothing much… Just how it was your birthday and it would be really good if we could all embarrass you by singing about it. She’s not a barista, by the way, she owns the place. Kinda backward thinking there Jae. It’s the 21st century, women can own things now, they can vote.” 

“I know that,” Jaebeom hissed. 

Bambam puts up his hands in defeat, “I’m just making sure.” 

“Don’t you know her?” Jinyoung asked, “isn’t that why we came here?” 

Jaebeom’s interests are perked. It’s not often that the three of them meet new people. It’s not like there’s a huge point to it. The last new person the three of them met was Mark – also a vampire – a bartender at their favorite club in the city, but that was in 2007. 

He waits for Bambam’s explanation as to how he knows this girl and why they came here specifically beside it just being near Jaebeom’s apartment. 

Waving his hand nonchalantly, the Thai boy gives his answer, “I don’t really know her. Minji does. Met her in some kind of class, I think. SoulCycle? Pilates? Zumba? I don’t know. I can’t keep up with her and her activities these days.” 

Minji is Bambam’s mate. He had turned her only a month after they met. 

Jaebeom’s not sure what he would do if he met his mate. He doesn’t know if he would want to subject them to turning and living the same kind of life as him, but he also doesn’t know if he could continue life alone after meeting his mate. If he ever meets them.

“Why the curiosity?” Jinyoung asked, for once finding it hard to remain stone-faced. Even his usual chill, non-revealing demeanor seems to fade away when it appears that his older friend might be attracted to someone. 

Jaebeom simply shrugged, “it’s nothing…” 

“What do you think? Could she be the one?” Bambam asked teasingly, pointing to the girl behind the counter. 

Jinyoung rolled his eyes almost immediately at the younger boy, “if you’re going to keep bothering him about it, don’t make it so obvious idiot.” 

Jaebeom had been alive – or more like undead – for 200 years and more than half of that time he had to listen to this same conversation from his friends over and over again. His patience was wearing thin and 180 years later, he was tired of their pestering. 

He leaned forward slowly and grabbed his green tea off the table, making sure to visibly flinch at the heat of the drink, Bambam, and Jinyoung chuckling at his reaction. Out of the three of them, Jaebeom certainly had the most practice when it came to “putting on a show” for the humans and “acting” the most human. Taking a sip, he looked back at the girl behind the counter. 

The youngest vampire had spent many of their outings and conversations hypothesizing who Jaebeom’s mate could be. Despite being the oldest of the three, Jaebeom was the only one left who still hadn’t found his mate and he was beginning to feel hopeless. Typically, Bambam pointed out any human girl as a candidate – all of them of course ended up not being his mate. Therefore, Jaebeom didn’t pay attention to his picks anymore, but he had to admit… He did get a strange feeling from the girl behind the counter. 

Jaebeom looked to you, hoping to catch your gaze as you quickly made the coffee orders for the few people waiting to the side of the cash register. Just when he was about to give up and focus his attention back on his friends, you tore your concentration away from the drink in your hand and looked up at him from across the cafe. 

Jaebeom focused his gaze deep onto you with his eyes – testing, checking, and trialing your focus. You didn’t look away, instead, you trained your eyes deeply into his and stared at him until finally, it was Jaebeom who broke the contact. 

He shook his head at his friends, disappointed by your inability to break the trance and ultimately confused at the feeling he still got from you despite that. 

Jaebeom took another sip of the tea, “it’s not her.” 

“Did you have to debate that Uber driver on the Twilight franchise?” Jinyoung groaned at Bambam as soon as they’re out of the car. 

The entire twenty-minute ride, he had got into a heated discussion with their driver on how Twilight was not “true” or realistic to most actual vampire folklore. It had been an excruciating thing to listen to. 

“Got to stand up for our kind dude.” 

“Okay, but what happens when she starts asking how you know all these things or why you’re so interested in vampire stuff?” Jinyoung tended to always be right. This wasn’t an exception.

Brushing off his pants, Bambam gives him a nonchalant wave, “chill out man. Everyone loves vampire stuff.” 

“Maybe in 2008,” Jaebeom said just barely loud enough for his friends to hear them. The two of them laughed, Bambam shoving him playfully on the shoulder, “Birthday boy getting funny on us.” 

“I was always funny,” Jaebeom deadpanned. 

“Funny and looking good tonight. Let’s get you laid, shall we?” 

After a day that was jampacked full of various activities planned by his youngest friend, the last thing Jaebeom wanted to do was spend extra energy on trying to get some girl to come home with him tonight. Besides, he wasn’t that guy anymore. 

Jinyoung scoffed, “he doesn’t need to get laid tonight.”

“Yes, he does! Jaebeom how long has it been?” 

This time it’s Jinyoung that shoves Bambam’s shoulder – except it’s not all that playful. 

“Fine don’t answer that, but I’m just saying there will be quite a few girls here that you can have your pick of, despite your plain outfit.” 

Jaebeom looked at the clothes he had changed into when Bambam spared him a sliver of time to go back home to digress and feed his cats. The latter had wanted him to borrow clothes of his, but instead, Jaebeom decided on pulling pieces from his closet that felt more like him, less like Bambam. A plain pair of ripped jeans, an oversized black shirt that he had bought at a shop from his trip to London last year, and his mother’s necklace that often wasn’t missing from its spot around his neck.

Bambam’s earlier critique was that he was dressed too basic and that no girls would bat an eye at him. Girls don’t like plain guys, he had said. The comment makes Jaebeom wonder about you and whether you’d fall under the category of not liking “plain” guys. 

He bites the inside of his cheek. It was probably the eighth time he had made himself do it today. Jaebeom had found his mind often drifting to you throughout the day for some unexplainable reason. During their walk in the park, he wondered if you would take strolls during your breaks from the café or when Bambam forced him to go paint pottery for an hour and a half he thought about what you would paint. It frustrated him because he hadn’t even spoken to you – not a word and yet you were clearly on his mind for one reason or another. It wasn’t even like you were his mate. He had tried to see if you were unaffected by his trance, his hypnotic capabilities, but you had just stared at him completely fixated just as everyone else was. 

Jaebeom was not going to think about you any longer. He was already planning on avoiding your café. 

“We’re on the list,” Bambam tells the bouncer when they arrive at the entrance of the club. He scans the list and motions his head towards the direction of the door to signal to the three of them to go on ahead. There’s a bit of a whine coming from the people waiting in line which admittedly so makes Jaebeom feel a little guilty, but Bambam ensures him it’s fine, “why have a friend who works at a club if we can’t use him for the perks?” 

“Why does he keep bartending again?” As soon as the question is out of Jaebeom’s mouth he realizes it was a stupid thing to ask since the answer is apparent. 

Bambam laughed at him, giving his long – irreplaceable he’d like to remind everyone – leather coat to the person at the front of the club. Jaebeom swears he hears him tell the coat check guy the “proper” way to put it on a hanger. 

“Obviously for the girls Jaebeom.” 

Mark’s mate – Hana had passed on a long time ago. Jaebeom had never got the chance to meet her, only hears about her in passing from some stories that Mark has told the three of them. He hadn’t turned her. Jaebeom’s never asked why. 

“Girls… of course.” 

He can’t help but think about how Mark must feel inside. Although Jaebeom doesn’t know him as well as he knows Bambam and Jinyoung, whenever he’s with the older boy he’s always got a smile on his face. Often quiet, but he’s always got certain energy bouncing off of him that would indeed make him popular with women. However, if what they say about mates is true, would that mean that a piece of Mark was now missing? Did he feel like he was less of a person? Jaebeom felt like that sometimes and he hadn’t even met his mate yet. Mark had his, but now he didn’t. 

“Drinks?” Jinyoung asked the two of them and Jaebeom is partly surprised. Out of the three of them, Bambam was the one who was the most comfortable in a club or even bar setting. He figures that Jinyoung must be using his birthday as an excuse to cut loose and become someone else for the night.

Bambam instantly nodded his head at Jinyoung’s suggestion and Jaebeom finds himself trailing behind the two of them as they make their way over to Mark at the bar who is throwing his head back at something the girl across the bar is saying. Judging on Jaebeom’s intuition – it’s a bit fake and overplayed, but you got to do what you got to do.

“My man!” Bambam yelled over the music, leaning against the counter in a way to make sure he doesn’t get the elbows of his long sleeve turtleneck wet. Mark in response, turned to them and smiled, then routing his attention back to the girl, giving her an apologetic smile. Her half-smile says everything Jaebeom could need to know – this girl would not be going home with Mark after his shift tonight. 

“What can I get you guys tonight,” Mark turned to Jaebeom and the latter can barely make out his sharp canines in the dark club, “birthday boy you want anything special?” 

Before Jaebeom can reply that he wants to be at home, Bambam answers for him.

“Could we maybe get something that’s off the menu?” He wiggled his eyebrows at Mark who gave him a shit-eating grin, knowing immediately what he was talking about. 

“Off the menu” meant Mark’s secret stash of O negative underneath the counter. While alcohol had the same effect on them that it had on the average humans, adding a bit of blood just made a little bit better. Okay… it made it a lot better. 

“Three negronis coming right up,” Mark winked to give a little signal that these would most likely not be as well composed or put together as a negroni, but due to them being in public, he couldn’t necessarily announce a shit ton of alcohol mixed with human blood was going to be served up to them. 

“How has your birthday been Jae?” Mark asked as he was in the middle of placing three glasses onto the countertop in between them.

It was difficult to explain since to Jaebeom it had just been another day except for a little bit more excruciating. The celebration of another year “older” filled him with thoughts of how much time has passed, whether he’s done anything truly important and why he still hasn’t found the person who is meant to complete him… but like he said only a little more excruciating than any other day. 

Jaebeom shrugged in response, “Bam planned a lot and for the most part, it was…” he paused for a moment, wondering if he should say how he felt – numb, lost, and wishing the day would come to an end as if tomorrow won’t bring the same thoughts or problems. But as he looked at his friends who had tried so hard today to make him happy and celebrate, he decided to guard them against the ultimate truth, “for the most part it was fun – really good. I mean besides the singing at the café of course.” He throws in the last part to at least have some kind of believability to his story. 

He notices Mark’s eyebrows lift out of curiosity as his concentration focuses on measuring out each part of the drinks, “An entire café sang you happy birthday? Damn, I don’t think I could ever get through that, so I can only imagine how you feel.” 

“That was Bam’s idea,” Jinyoung muttered. 

Once again, Bambam does his nonchalant waving of the hand, “it wasn’t that bad. I mean okay, maybe it was… But Jaebeom was obsessed with the girl who led it.” 

Jaebeom suddenly feels like he wants to put duct tape over his friend’s mouth. 

“I was not obsessed with her! I don’t even know her!” Jaebeom for some reason felt the need to defend himself, which was probably the worst option. Him getting defensive was usually a tell-tale sign for his friends being right on whatever they were confronting him with. 

Bambam scoffed, bringing gliding his drink across the bar to be directly in front of him once Mark has poured it neatly into the short glass, “I noticed you staring at her before I went to get the drinks. That’s why I asked her to do it in the first place.” 

“So, she doesn’t know Minji?” Jinyoung questioned. 

The youngest takes his first sip and immediately lets out a hissing noise, signaling to Mark that it’s both strong and good. “No, she does, but Jaebeom’s weird staring only made it that much better.” 

Mark pushed the other two glasses towards Jinyoung and Jaebeom, “Was she your…” he drifted off, almost as though he was finding it physically difficult to get the word out. Jaebeom can’t help but feel the want to reach his hand out towards Mark and place it comfortingly on his shoulder, but his group of friends don’t do that. Instead, he saves him the trouble by answering back right away, not forcing him to say it.

“No, she wasn’t.” 

The bartender nodded slowly, suddenly avoiding his gaze from the three familiar boys across the bar from him, “That’s uh… too bad that she wasn’t able to break the trance. Sorry, Jaebeom.” 

He knows that Mark is just trying to be nice, especially when they’re on a subject that he clearly can’t and doesn’t want to talk about, but the attempt to be comforting makes Jaebeom nauseous. 

“Well maybe he’ll find her here tonight,” Jinyoung quipped, placing a hand on Jaebeom’s back. Sometimes the latter swore that his friends treated him he had just found out he had a terminal illness. 

“I sincerely doubt it,” Jaebeom commented gruffly. 

There’s a sound from the other side of the bar from a customer who seems fed up with the conversation being had between the four of them – distracting Mark from serving anyone else. He gives a signal to them to notify them that he’ll be there in a second. “Well… come to me if you guys need more drinks.  It’s on me tonight.” 

“Thanks, man,” Jaebeom tells him honestly because he might need a couple more drinks before he gets to the state of wanting to be in this room.

Mark said a final word of “see you guys later” and heads to the other end of the bar to help customers who have been waiting. Grabbing their drinks, Jaebeom, Jinyoung, and Bambam turn around to depart the bar, to find somewhere to sit for a bit before the drinks truly begin to hit them.  

With his drink in hand, Jaebeom took a sip and reveled in the perfect balance of alcohol to burn his throat and blood to soothe it. The drink was probably the most relaxing part of his day thus far and as he looked out at the crowd, he could already tell that maybe the mixture was going to his head due to his sudden thinking that this place wasn’t all that bad.

Despite not being a club guy, if he were to go out, Jaebeom would always choose this club that Mark works out. To put it simply – it was vampire friendly. With Mark behind the counter and his “secret” supply free-flowing, it became a notoriously known place for vampires in town. If he had to guess, the attendance on an average night was probably evenly split 50/50, humans and vampires.

The humans weren’t aware of the vampires of course – for the most part.

Jaebeom cleared his throat once they’ve found a booth to sit in, “so… Bam what do you know about that girl?” 

Both Jinyoung and Bambam exchange glances before looking back at the birthday boy. The latter tried his best to conceal the smile on his face, “not much… just that she owns the café, knows Minji, and is very single.” 

For some reason, Jaebeom’s stomach does a little flip, but he wishes it wouldn’t. “S-So?” Through his stutter, he tries to remain as confident as possible, but his friends see right through his façade.

Jinyoung leaned forward until his elbows rest on the top of his thighs, “Jaebeom you can be honest with us… Why the sudden fascination with this girl? Are you sure she didn’t break the trance? Just with the way that you’re acting…” Jinyoung drifted off, not bothering to finish his final sentence, but once again looking at Bambam. It makes Jaebeom lean forward in his seat as well. 

“With the way, I’m acting? I’m completely normal. I’m fine. She didn’t break the trance and now I’m just curious about her as curious as anyone would be about someone they meet.” 

There’s the silence between the three of them until Bambam speaks up, “You didn’t meet her though.” 

It dawns on Jaebeom that he didn’t even speak to you and he wonders why does it feel like he did. Why did it feel like he knew you but didn’t at the same time? Why haven’t his mind and body been cooperating with him since this morning at the café? 

Just with the way that you’re acting…

The way he was acting? What did that mean? Was the way he was acting mean something specific? 

He feels like he blinks and thirty minutes go by. And in that past thirty minutes, Jaebeom had somehow managed to drink 6 of Mark’s “negronis.” He felt like his head was beginning to get dizzy. It wasn’t often that Jaebeom found himself drunk on the verge of drunkenness due to alcohol not affecting him as much as humans. To even remotely get to that state, he had to drink a lot and it had to be strong. 

“You feeling it Jaebeom?” Through the darkness and the haze of the alcohol, Jaebeom could barely make out the hint of the smile playing on Jinyoung’s face. He had switched to a glass of wine at some point while Jaebeom was binge drinking which had to be the most Jinyoung thing ever. Who drinks a glass of wine in a dark, sweaty club? 

He’s afraid to answer him verbally which would give his friend an obvious sign of how he was feeling. So instead he just shrugged – as usual. 

“Dude let’s get out there!” The youngest shouted, motioning his hands to the middle of the club, “dance… maybe find you a girl?” 

Jaebeom watched the people pressing up against each other on the dancefloor, moving their bodies, and drinking like their lives depended on it. He wondered if he wanted to be a part of that. Everyone out there was so full of life and vigor… he just wasn’t. He also didn’t know if he was that drunk, but bless Bambam because he didn’t need alcohol to be out there. 

For what feels like the millionth time, his mind drifted to you. Was this your kind of place? Would you come here? If you did would you come alone? With friends? Someone else? You didn’t seem like the type of person who would like this place. You seemed more like him – the observant, calm, inquisitive type who would much rather be at home with a book than at a party. 

Then for a moment, he can picture it. It’s almost like he’s in a trance – an image of you curled up on a couch – his couch – under a large white cable knit blanket fills his mind. Rather than reading, your painting with watercolors – the kind that seems to be in every elementary school classroom – and he hears a voice out of view. His voice.

“Painting really?”  

Jaebeom sees you glance up from your painting to look at him, smiling.

“Looks like I’m gonna have a lot of time on my hands so… might as well get good at something.” 

Jaebeom hears himself laugh, “Okay but watercolors?” 

He feels like he’s going to pass out when he finally hears it – your laugh. 

“Let the artist work Im Jaebeom! She needs to get good enough to live off auction house money once her paintings get sold! Shh!” Despite your words, you smiled and suddenly moved the tools away from you onto the coffee table. You lifted half the blanket off of you and patted the space of the couch beside you, “you know I can’t say no when you give me that face. Come here.”

And just like that, the vision is gone. Jaebeom feels confused because it didn’t feel like a dream or fantasy, but it felt real… it felt like a memory. 

“Hello, Earth to Jaebeom?” 

Right… dancing. Maybe dancing would help him forget whatever game his mind was playing on him.

“Yeah let’s fucking go.” 

Another instance occurs where Jaebeom blinks and everything moves so fast. Suddenly he’s no longer sat at the table with Bambam and Jinyoung, but instead in the middle of that mess on the dancefloor with everyone else. He almost feels like one of them. He almost feels human again. But as soon as that feeling washes over him, it quickly dissipates. 

He knows it must be the drinks doing all the work, because otherwise, he would have never found himself in the middle of all these people, thinking that dancing is a good idea. Dancing had never done anything remotely good for him before, so why now? To help forget? Was it going to help him do that? 

“I swear it’s like he’s not even here.” 

Jaebeom tuned back into the moment, and it’s when he realizes that Jinyoung and Bambam have been trying to get his attention this entire time.

“Sorry I was just- the alcohol you know…” He says it so quietly that he knows his friends won’t be able to hear him over the music and the millions of conversations happening around them. But he thinks that maybe it’s better that way and that it truly doesn’t matter what he says.

Jinyoung comes closer to Jaebeom, until his mouth is right next to his ear, “we were just asking if there’s anyone that you’re interested in.” 

They’re still on this idea? Jaebeom asked himself. 

Even in his drunken state, he didn’t think that finding some random girl to fuck was going to help with the emptiness he’s been feeling lately, but for the first time since getting up and onto the dance floor he takes in the people around him. As depressing as it was to observe, most people were here with someone else. 

It’s then his gaze falls onto a couple that stands far on the left side of the floor, behind where Jinyoung is standing. The two of them have their fronts pressed up against each other, dancing so closely with arms exploring one another’s bodies. The female has her head resting on the male’s shoulder as if she’s too exhausted to keep going, but can’t dare to part with him. It’s like they’re part of each other and any distance would cause them to lose all sense of themselves.

The girl lifts her head off the male’s shoulder and gives him this look that makes Jaebeom’s heart – if it was still beating – ache. She says something to him and he nodded happily in response. Even through the dim lights and large crowd, Jaebeom could see the sharp teeth inside her mouth.

She placed her head back against his shoulder, this time, however, the male had his head angled back, stretching out his neck. The girl moves in closer until her mouth just ghosts over the skin, breathing on it until the boy shuts his eyes awaiting the sting and pleasure that will come next.

Biting down against his flesh, breaking skin, the girl drinks from her partner. Even though he’s at a distance from them, Jaebeom can tell by the look on the man’s face that he’s enjoying being fed on and that it certainly isn’t his first time. 

He feels like his eyes are frozen on the couple. It’s been so long since he fed off someone instead of the stuff that he gets from his connection at the hospital. Jaebeom tries not to think about the way his fingertips tingle and his throat dries up at the thought of drinking from a warm body. The alcohol has only dehydrated him and made him feel even more thirsty – he’s afraid that going back to the bar and asking Mark for a glass of O negative exclusively isn’t going to make that go away. 

After a moment or two, the girl removes her mouth from the boy’s neck and drags her tongue over the spot where she had drawn blood from, ultimately covering the wound and signaling that she was done drinking. 

He thinks of how risky it is to do that at a place like this. Although half of the people around them also take part in the activity of drinking blooding and granted most of them aren’t paying attention to those around them – there are still unsuspecting humans everywhere. If one wrong person were to see then that could be it for this club being a haven for the vampire community in the city and that would probably be… it for vampires in this city in general. 

But who was he kidding? He was being a hypocrite because he’s for sure done the same thing. 

You’ve once again entered his mind. However, this time it isn’t an image, picture, or vision that occupies his thoughts, but instead just the idea of how you would react to who he is, what he really is. Throughout his time that he’s been undead he’s only done the “reveal” to a handful of people and even then, it took him a long time to get there. Well except for one person who ultimately was a mistake and his friends hadn’t hesitated to let him know.

With you, Jaebeom felt that you wouldn’t be the kind of person to judge him instantly based on what he was. You would be shocked of course, maybe even scared, but you wouldn’t let that cloud your judgment. You wouldn’t let yourself reject something just because it was unfamiliar. 

What the fuck was he on about? 

It must be the alcohol doing this to him. He would have to thank Mark for making them strong this time around, but also make a mental note to never let this happen again. Jaebeom was already a deeper thinker, but this was getting out of hand.

There’s a sudden grasp of Jaebeom’s elbow and he feels himself jump at the sudden touch. His eyebrows furrowed when he realized it wasn’t one of his friends considering Bambam and Jinyoung were both dancing over to his right side. 

When he turned around to greet the person who had grabbed him, he was disappointed, surprised, and annoyed all in one. It was the last person he had expected to see her, except not really because it made perfect sense. 

“Jaebeom… hi.” Ara smiled shyly at him, tucking a string of hair behind her ear and slightly looking down at the ground. He wants to groan because he knows she’s doing this because he had once mentioned that he thought it was hot when she looked innocent. He shouldn’t have ever said that.

He’s not sure what to say, because what are you supposed to say to someone you’ve been trying to avoid for the past year and a half? Jaebeom had said everything he had wanted to say to her. 

At one point in his life, he had been stupid. He had been stupid and he had abused the power that had been bestowed upon him since the day he had been turned. Perhaps one would assume that he’d been foolish with his ability just at the start – 100, maybe even 150 years ago. Instead, Jaebeom had gone through a rough patch about a year or two ago. 

The overwhelming pressure of finding his mate had started to get to him again. All he needed was someone, anyone to break the hypnotic trance and that was it. A task that seemed so simple, yet never came. So, Jaebeom had used hypnotism to his advantage, getting as many girls as he could in his bed in the shortest amount of time possible. He wasn’t proud of it and it was something he would constantly regret as long as he was ali- around. 

One of those girls… had been Ara. 

Jaebeom felt relieved when she didn’t wait for him to answer back at her greeting, “How are you? I-It’s your birthday, right? How old are you turning again? 27?” She winked immediately after her question and he wants to roll his eyes.

She was the mistake by the way. The mistake that knew about who he was. 

He doesn’t even remember how it happened, how his secret slipped, or what the circumstances of her finding out was. Part of him thinks he was just horny, thirsty, and weak, but she found out and she… loved it. 

Weirdly enough, Ara loved the idea of him being a vampire and his “lifestyle” which at first Jaebeom didn’t think too much about. He thought okay she’s taking this extremely well… better than anyone else I’ve ever told, but whatever, but then it became strange. 

She was what those in the vampire community call a “vampire fetishizer.”

He coughed awkwardly, his gaze wandering over to Jinyoung and Bambam, hoping they would catch sight of him stuck with Ara and come rescue him. Jaebeom wasn’t that lucky though, not even on his birthday, “Yeah… 27.” 

Jaebeom can’t help but look at her neck. It’s fully on display and it was clear that Ara had come here to find someone to feed on her. He had been the one to show Ara this place before he had been clued into her little… vampire obsession. 

“Well did the birthday boy get everything he wants today?” She smiled and gave Jaebeom those eyes. He feels his cock twitch in his pants and he realizes he has to keep himself in check because he’s not that weak tonight… right? 

His eyes flash to her neck again and Jaebeom feels his throat get even drier. He was so thirsty and he knows Ara would be so willing. 

No Jaebeom… No. 

“I-I uh yeah… you know got- yeah today’s been good,” he stuttered awkwardly, bringing his tongue out to wet his dry lips. Judging on the look on Ara’s face, she’s taken the action the wrong way. 

“You look thirsty Jaebeom… do you want a drink?” 

He knows what she means and Jaebeom swallows hard in an attempt to distract himself, to remind himself that he’s not that thirsty. He doesn’t need it that bad.

“I-I think I am.” 

The words come out faster than his brain can process to stop them and the part of Jaebeom that’s coherent, sharp, and aware wants to punch the weak and drunk Jaebeom in the face. 

Without a word, Ara turned from Jaebeom and began walking to one of the exits at the side of the club. He feels like he’s the one in a trance, mindlessly following her through the people, not even hearing Jinyoung and Bambam calling out to him. The only thing that Jaebeom makes note of as he follows her is Mark’s face behind the bar, giving him a tight smile. It almost stops Jaebeom. Almost. 

When they finally get outside through the exit door, they find themselves in a small alley between the club and a dry cleaner. 

Jaebeom doesn’t even get a moment to think before Ara is pushing him against the wall of the dry cleaner, her hands roaming up and down his body, her lips going to his own. They’re pressed up against each other so closely that he recalls the couple he had watched earlier. He feels sick comparing this moment now to the two of them. 

“Fuck I missed you so much,” Ara sighed seductively into this ear, making Jaebeom’s stomach churn further at her clear longing for him. Well not him, but the vampire part of him.

“Please, I need it,” she mewled. At her words, he almost puts a stop to this whole thing and has to question whether this is the right thing to do. Jaebeom wonders if this is old Jaebeom behavior – the one that just used women and threw them away later like toys, but then he remembers that this is Ara. She’s using him as well. 

It’s almost as though that old, cocky, snide Jaebeom appears out of nowhere as he says his next words and brings himself closer to her neck, “do you really need it?” 

“Yes, Jaebeom I do, please.” Ara already sounds so desperate and he’s barely done anything. He can’t help but smirk at her reaction.

“Then I guess I better give it to you then.” 

He’s about to do it. He’s about to bite down and finally relieve his thirst, his craving, but then he looks to the side of the alley – towards the street. He feels like he’s seeing things again like he’s in the middle of a hallucination or mirage. That thought is pushed away when he locks eyes with you. 

“Don’t mind me,” you placed your hands up in front of yourself, to show him you’re not eavesdropping. Your action frustrated you because it would have been much better to say nothing, but you felt yourself panic. The prolonged eye contact with him while he’s just seconds away from pressing down – bitting down? – on the girl’s next for some reason pushed you into defensive mode. Not to mention his eyes… his eyes were – red? 

The girl hadn’t noticed you; you aren’t even sure if she heard you, but she certainly noticed Jaebeom’s stare fixated on you. When she faces you, she wears an unpleasant sneer, clearly annoyed by your interruption of whatever this was. 

“Can you go?” She said, the agitation in her voice more than apparent. 

Rather than immediately leave the scene, you continued to stare at Jaebeom. It’s difficult to say why you decided to walk this specific way home despite it being so late and dark out, but for some reason, you couldn’t help but be pulled in this direction. You weren’t someone who believed in signs or fate, but it felt so wrong to go any other way tonight. That was another thing, you felt this kink in your neck that practically forced you or taunted you into looking down the alley between this dry cleaners and club. It was yet another thing about today that felt unexplainable to you as you certainly weren’t expecting the birthday boy from the café today to be in a compromising position with some girl. 

After a moment of more uncomfortable staring – something else that had happened at the café today with him – Jaebeom breaks your gaze and looks down at his feet. The eye roll and acrid look on the girl’s face don’t go unnoticed by you. 

You shouldn’t be here. 

“S-Sorry. I’ll just get going then,” you concluded, unsure why you felt an uncomfortable sickness spread throughout the entirety of your body. 

You barely knew this guy – all you really knew was that today was his birthday and that he was friends with Minji’s boyfriend. Basically nothing. Yet now and even earlier back at the café you had felt this weird sensation within yourself. Not even when you looked at him, but just being in the same presence. It had been so hard to focus on making coffee today when he was seated across the room. Every part of your body just wanted to get closer, gravitate towards him. It was fucking weird… and scary. 

The girl nodded as if to signal “yeah about time,” at the announcement of your departure. Jaebeom on the other hand, still had his eyes glued to the ground as if looking at you once again will cause him some kind of pain.

Just as you’re about to continue your trip back home, you stop yourself and look back at the couple in the alley. 

“Happy birthday by the way…” you paused wondering if it would be weird to say his name considering he doesn’t even know yours, but you shove the thought out of your mind, “Jaebeom…”    

Hearing you say his name causes that tingling feeling in his fingertips to come back and his entire mind is sent into a frenzy. He feels too awkward, too shy to look at you again, but a sudden thought washed over him. What if earlier was a mistake? What if you are his mate? With the way he was currently feeling just at you saying his name, the visions he had in the club and the nonstop place you know had in his mind, it was difficult to believe that you weren’t his mate. 

Bambam and Jinyoung had found it difficult to explain to him what it felt like to find your mate, but surely what he felt right now wasn’t normal behavior or feelings. Unless he was a psychopath. 

Tightly shutting his eyes and drawing together all his strength, Jaebeom aims to try once again to see if you can break the hypnotic trance, unaffected by his abilities. However, as soon as he’s finally ready, head turned up to face you – you’re gone. You didn’t wait for him to respond to the happy birthday message. Instead, you simply left not wanting to be a burden or troublesome to whatever it was those two were doing in that alley. 

“Thank fucking god, let’s get back to it,” Ara concluded with a final roll of her eyes, gripping Jaebeom’s shoulders to get him close to her once again. He stares at her neck, but this time he doesn’t feel anything. He no longer feels thirsty and his appetite is gone. 

Jaebeom shrugs her off slightly. The encounter with you has caused him to wake up and realize what a bad idea it would be to do this right now. He hopes that Ara won’t put up a fight – he doesn’t want to have to hypnotize her if he doesn’t need to. 

At his actions, Ara takes a step away in disbelief, as if she actually can’t believe that Jaebeom is changing his mind and no longer wants her, “are you serious?” 

He doesn’t say anything but instead avoids eye contact with her just as he had done for you. 

Snorting, she glared at him, “Fine. Whatever. I don’t fucking care. I can find someone else to feed off of me. Yours never felt that good anyway. Asshole.”

Just like that, she’s out of his life once again and Jaebeom can’t help but feel thankful. He should have never been weak enough to be dragged out by here anyway. He had just been consumed by thoughts of you, alcohol, and the couple on the dancefloor. Then again, not coming out here would have robbed him of the opportunity of seeing you again and finding out that you actually knew his name. 

That’s when it dawned on him. 

Fuck… how much had you seen? What did you see? 

Jaebeom realized that he might have some explaining to do

#got7 fanfic #got7 smut #im jaebeom fanfic #jaebeom fanfic #jaebeom smut

[windstormwielding]

Slipstream

「 ...Hatchling. 」

“...haven’t heard your gruff old voice in some time.” Kōtarō’s posture straightened when he heard his blade address him. For an instant, it felt like the old shack that made for his childhood home and present surroundings blinked out, and he found himself pulled back into the sea of clouds that made for his inner world.

It was only for an instant, but the sight stuck with the Lieutenant all the same: the sky above him there wasn’t a clear, sunny blue. Clouds, ones at his feet and ones on high, were a charged black, threatening to burst with lightning and roar thunder at any given moment, and moving overhead and below with speed.

「 11 years will have passed soon. 」

“...yeah.” Now that was a comment from his projected instinct Kōta felt he could have done without, leaning back against the old wall and letting out a huff that came out more tired than he intended. It was one thing that he already trained himself ragged, with newer, deeper scars torn into the earth and cliffside alike outside proving as such, but while he would’ve appreciated hearing the often silent Hai’iro Ranmaru speak, it was another to be casually reminded of the looming anniversary of the Great Soul King Protection War.

Reiō, he always hated that name for it. They were more fighting for their own lives, their survival as a collective, than that of a faceless, nameless lynchpin. While Kōtarō found it easier to process those events in the decade-plus since, remembrance still stung. Fear and helplessness unlike anything he felt. Losing too many relationships in one fell swoop than can ever be counted. The death of the one man he respected and looked up to most, whom he only wanted to make proud one more time before his untimely demise. Oh how distraught he had been, in repressing the resulting despair as much as he could and sinking himself into his work, into bettering himself in case-

「 Why? 」

“W-why what?”

「 Why do you remain grounded? 」

“Ranmaru, we’ve been at it here since morning,” the windstorm wielder pointed out, even going so far as to jab a thumb toward the sunset-hued sky outside for his mentally aboding partner. It was rare that he had an entire day to himself, and of course he spent it dedicating in refining his skills and abilities with nigh bullheaded obsession, but he intended on returning to the Seireitei once he recovered enough of his strength. “We can get back into it later in the week, can’t we?”

「 That is not what I meant. 」

Oh here we go with the cryptic gotchas. Returning his thumb so that he may drag his hand, palm and digits, down his face, Kōta paused before he opted to take the bait: “So if it’s not me taking a break, then what?”

「 Why are you not honest? 」

“Wh- Excuse me?!” Maybe it was the exhaustion talking when his own voice rose, but those words still touched on a nerve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

「 You first chose to carry this burden in the name of a man who has not walked among you, not for the last 11 years. 」

“Okay, don’t you dare bring Captain Ukitake into this.” His tone turned as sharp as steel at the comment, and his reiatsu threatened to flare in turn. It was not long after Aizen’s arrest that Kōta made such a pledge to his late commander, to be of better use to him and the 13th in the future, but it was the absolute last thing he wished to recall.

Still, as bitter as he felt, he knew Hai’iro Ranmaru was correct.

“Shit.” How cruelly that memory aged, from an ignorant and hopeful 4th Seat who saw not the storm on the horizon. Hell, none of them saw it coming. The shinigami in question felt his back ease against the wall he sat against, all while mulling over bygone times.

「 So what reason do you have to still seek such power now? 」

The answer to that is obvious, no?

“Rukia... She’s going to need me to back her up. I have a whole Division to look after now as Captain Kuchiki’s right hand. The newest Captain and Lieutenant pair. All eyes of the Gotei 13 will be on us. I can’t afford to slack off just yet.

“...I’ll need to be at my best.”

And for his answer, all he received was a dismissive scoff from the elder voice in his mind.

「 You lie to yourself. 」

“Lying to myself?” Here Kōtarō thought he was being forthright, yet his blade’s accusation came with a gale creaking the wood of the hut from the outside, as though wind itself was objecting to his questioning.

「 You pursue power because you are afraid. 」 

The claim spurned the Lieutenant into trying to deny it, but however he tried to raise his voice, any attempt at a sentence died almost as soon as it left his throat. What could he say to convince his own id otherwise? Not five minutes ago, his thoughts still lingered on a conflict over a decade past; Hai’iro Ranmaru naturally would have thought it too.

“Well don’t you have me all figured out, jī-chan,” he finally answered, letting a defeated smile sit on his countenance.

「 There is no shame in such an act. 」

“In what, pursuing power out of fear?”

「 In figuring you out. 」

A snort broke from the swordsman at the bluntly delivered remark, and with it, so did the tension between himself and the spirit of his weapon.

“Pfeh. That too, then.” 

With that, the pair allowed silence to reign between themselves. The clouds hanging high over Kusajishi seemed to rumble, ready to dispense with rainwater it had built up for several days of aridity with the coming summer season.

It only took moments for the first droplets to fall, pelting the roof little by little until a full shower began in earnest. A satisfied sigh left the soul reaper as he closed his eyes and focused on his other senses, taking in the soothing sound of rainfall and the building smell of petrichor from the outdoors.

Ranmaru’s presence, meanwhile, still lingered in his mindscape, seeming to enjoy the outside weather along with his wielder.

“...it’s been fun, though.”

「 Fun? 」

“Hm.” Kōta nodded to themselves as he sought to piece his thoughts together, while reflecting on more recent history for a change. “Over the last several years. All those techniques and manoeuvres? I wasn’t capable of half of that before we started training so seriously.”

「 Getting stronger... brings you pleasure? 」

“If you want to put it so starkly, then sure, I guess.” A low chuckle broke from Ryōhei younger before he continued. “It also means I understand you—and us—better in the long run, doesn’t it? I’d call it fun.”

「 Hm... I suppose it does, hatchling. 」

“I don’t know, I just... I want to keep flying. Higher, and higher still, until I can’t see the earth at my feet anymore.” He didn’t realize he started waxing poetic, but he remembered that wish well from when he was a little young soul: a great yearning to stand above any and every trouble on the earth, and equally untethered to the forces of gravity – freedom unlike anything he’s ever known. “That’s... just how it always felt like to me, I guess.”

「 Yet you ground yourself. Fear has locked you within a gilded cage, all while the clouds above call for you to ascend to their heights. 」

“Is that right?”

「 Of course. I am the wind at your back, the air in your lungs, and the sword by your side. I know when fear takes hold of you, even should you attempt to deny it. 」

“...it’s not like I’m afraid of death or anything. Kinda grown numb to that sort of thing after this many years on the job and all,” Kōtarō opined, feeling that a shinigami in his position would not last long in their duties if they weren’t used to putting their life on the line. Ranmaru hummed in affirmation in turn, wishing to hear his wielder speak his mind more. Anxiously, the man rested his hand on the back of his weary neck as he went on. “It’s just... back then, with the Quincy...?”

For a moment, he fell quiet.

“...they fucking steamrolled us. Slain us by the thousands. Hardly took them any effort, at that.”

As for the words he did not say aloud, though his zanpakutō understood as though they were spoken? None of us should have survived the war, least of all me. We got off lucky.

However, it was more than just fear. More than just helplessness. Hopelessness. Despair. Desperation.

「 ...so what do you intend to do, the next time your world threatens to fall around you? 」

There was one more feeling that took root in his soul, though buried within the chaos of the last day.

Memories of his own last stand proved... hazy, given he would only remember waking up in the 4th Division barracks after the dust settled at last. But, Kōta did remember the Seireitei, though ruined, returning in front of his eyes after days spent skulking, fleeing, hiding, and fighting within the city of shadows.

Then lights fell from the heavens, by the dozens, and from their descent rose those... things.

「 The next time providence itself chooses to become your enemy? 」

Squawking, shrieking, swearing vengeance in the name of their perfect, almighty god-king. Threatening to raze the one relief he found in his home materializing before him to ashes, after he thought it truly lost forever. After he finally had a moment to breathe—let alone recollect himself—when he reunited with those who still remained from the 13th. After they already took Captain Ukitake from them.

It was coming back to him, albeit in pieces, that those bird-beasts were so. Fucking. LOUD. Like a sickening cacophony of dissonant trumpets gleefully tearing into whatever peace of mind he still held on to, blaring into his ears lest he turned deaf.

The spark of hope he felt that that some of the normalcy he loved could return at all, only for someone to dare rip it away from him again, ignited something else.

「 The next time someone dares to stand in the way of your peace? 」

WRATH.

He stopped caring about power gaps.

He stopped compromising on what best approach there was to take.

He stopped worrying about whether he and his own would live to see tomorrow.

All he wanted was to see those Quincy bird things dead. Rally whoever among his men could still fight, and order the remaining ones to safety.

So, he brandished Hai’iro Ranmaru.

He saw Kira Izuru, a man who inexplicably stood while half his own torso was missing, going in as the vanguard against those lording, sanctimonious monstrosities.

Thus, Kōta summoned his cavalry.

Charged like a roaring typhoon, with a great fury he had not shown again since.

Fought until he could stand no longer, having slain one beast after the next with only red in his eyes.

The wrath he felt in those memories of the past simmered under his own skin in the present.

「 The Ryōhei Kōtarō I saw that last day, who did not let such fears hold him down... 」

Kōtarō was not alone in the cabin anymore. Not there one moment, there the next he blinked. It was enough to jolt life back into the shinigami, but he showed no fear before the intruder, for there stood the one same hermit he saw countless times within his inner world, now far and away—or a mere five steps away?—from the cloud sea it inhabited.

The same priestly kimono, with the same yuigesa. The same hauchiwa fan at his hip, with black feathers from the same black wings folded at its back.

Although, it was not the familiar face of a wise old bird Kōtarō would see. No, that mask fell away when Hai’iro Ranmaru made himself corporeal.

“...would break free from his cage, by tempering that same rage worthy of my power.”

Even his voice had changed with his younger, more human-like appearance, sounding smoother than Kōtarō had ever recalled hearing, almost melodious in his chiding. Next to one another, one could swear they looked like twins. The swordsman himself would have realized it as well, had he not sat there on the floor of his childhood home, looking shellshocked.

It did not immediately sink in that, at long last, his zanpakutō spirit materialized before him.

“If you can confirm to me you are worthy?”

It did not yet click that, indeed, he proved to possess the aptitude for Bankai after all.

“If you can show me you can rise above that fear?”

It did not come to mind that his years of training have finally, against all the odds, paid off.

“If you can prove that by besting the hells of yesteryear once again?”

No, above all else...

“Then I will gladly bend the knee to you...”

...what really stood out to the soul reaper was...

“...so that, as my master, you may soar to-”

“What the fu—YOU WERE YOUNG THIS WHOLE TIME?!”

“THAT IS WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO FOCUS ON?!”

#{ a badge of honour ☁ verse ☁ } #{ cut for length } #{ listen to the rhythm of the falling rain ☁ playlist ☁ } #{ ooc: I think after a year+ back on here it's okay to start moving one of his own personal plot points along- } #{ and after three days on this that's... 2250 words lmfao- } #{ the back and forth dialog was fun to write though-! } #{ honestly I felt super inspired by Ducky's drabbles so I couldn't help myself- =u=;a }

[echo-bleu]

down to breathing (3)

Part 3 of this 4+1 Manes Brother series. Four times their father's shadow was too large for them, and one time it isn't. Alex, Greg and Flint over the years.

I meant to post this a lot sooner but I took a much needed break from writing and fandom. I’m back. A little bit, at least.

[edited to add CWs because I was somehow too tired to remember, sorry: mentions of abuse, Jesse Manes being a shit father, post-injury including loss of limb, mentions of ableism and homophobia, mentions of hospitals]

3.

Greg crosses the physical therapy gym in search of Alex and finds him by the changing rooms, being helped into his jacket by an attendant.

“Everything okay today?” he asks his brother.

Alex doesn't meet his eyes. “Can we just go home?” he asks, struggling to move his wheelchair with his one good arm.

Greg nods at the attendant, who is still hovering, and steps behind Alex to take the handles of the chair. “Sure,” he says. He's starting to recognize Alex's moods, and to get better at letting him handle them on his own. This is his tired, defeated 'rough day' stance, not his 'bad news' attitude. There's nothing for Greg to do but watch out for him.

He's showered and wearing fresh sweats, at least, so they won't have to endure that process at home. The loss of independence is the hardest thing for Alex to accept, and he sees having his brother help him bathe as humiliating. Greg has tried to make it as painless as possible, but it's never easy.

He lets Alex sulk until they're both in his car. “How's the pain?” he asks casually.

“Same,” Alex mutters. “Doesn't let up.”

Greg reaches out to squeeze his thigh, avoiding his injured shoulder. If nothing else, they've grown more tactile in the last few weeks than they've been since they were kids. “It will,” he says.

“It might not. I looked it up, for some people phantom pain never goes away.”

“And for the large majority of people, it goes away or reduces significantly over the first couple of months,” Greg says. “I tried to read about it too. The odds are good.”

Alex sighs. “I'm just tired. Nothing helps.”

“I know.” Alex has been out of the hospital for three weeks, and while the heavy-duty painkillers he's on help with his broken neck and his torn shoulder, nothing even makes a dent in the nerve pain coming from his amputated foot. It's been truly rough, and Greg keeps wondering if he's really equipped to give Alex the help he needs. He didn't hesitate to offer his place and his time to his brother−deep inside, it's an opportunity to atone in a small way for letting their father abuse Alex so badly−but he feels so helpless to alleviate Alex's pain and grief.

Greg parks into the one handicapped spot in his street, which is unfortunately half a block away from his entrance. He helps Alex back into his wheelchair and starts them on their way, but he freezes when he looks up.

“What is he doing here?” he mutters under his breath.

“Flint?” Alex frowns.

Their brother is standing awkwardly on the steps in front of Greg's building, wearing fatigues, a backpack slung over his shoulders. He startles when he spots them and scrambles down the steps.

Greg can see the way his face falls when he takes in Alex's wheelchair, the sling and the brace around his neck, and finally the empty, rolled up pant leg. He closes his eyes briefly and takes a shaky breath before attempting a smile. “Greg,” he says, nodding. “Alex.”

“What are you doing here?” Greg asks, sensing Alex's discomfort mounting quickly.

“I finally got leave, and I−I wanted to see Alex,” Flint hesitates.

“About time,” Greg spits out. They all know Flint could have asked for a few days to come see Alex in the hospital, but he didn't try. “Even Clay came before you.”

Flint glares at him. He opens his mouth, but before he can come up with an answer, Alex shifts in his wheelchair. “Can we not do this in the middle of the street, please?” he asks, his voice low and pained.

“Of course,” Greg murmurs, for his benefit only. “Move over,” he adds coldly for Flint.

Flint frowns until he realizes that he's standing between them and the ramp, and steps aside. Greg pushes Alex up to the door and punches in his code, purposefully using his body to hide it from Flint. None of them say a word as they cross the small lobby and ride up the elevator to the third floor.

Greg's apartment is badly lit and still full of boxes−he found it in a hurry and moved here while Alex was in the hospital, to be able to welcome him in an accessible place. He set up all the essentials−living room furniture, kitchen, and Alex's room−but he still sleeps on a mattress, since he only owned one bed in his old place. Flint raises an eyebrow at the lack of decorations and the boxes in the corner, and Greg dares him to comment with a glare.

He brings Alex up to the couch and lets him transfer on his own, then work on removing his coat and his shoe. Alex needs every bit of independence he can manage, right now. Greg takes the coat from him. “Need anything?”

“Water and meds,” Alex mutters. “Please.”

Greg ignores Flint, who is hovering by the door, in favor of grabbing a glass and Alex's pill bottles from the kitchen. “There you go,” he sets them down on the coffee table.

“Come sit down,” Alex ushers Flint closer. His tone is kinder than Flint deserves, in Greg's opinion.

Flint shrugs off his backpack and obeys hesitantly. “How are you doing?” he asks, his face growing softer as he really takes in Alex's state.

Alex shrugs with his good shoulder. “I've been better.” He offers a small smile, before bending with a wince to grab the glass of water.

Greg considers leaving them alone, but he decides he's not done giving Flint a hard time. Besides, Alex might still need him as a buffer, especially if the subject of Dad comes up. He plops down beside Alex on the couch, careful not to jostle him. Alex flashes him a quick smile.

Flint is staring. Alex meets his gaze steadily, with a courage that Greg can only admire. “Everything will heal, except for the...leg,” he says. “That's gonna take a little adjusting. But I'll be okay.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Flint breathes, stilted and awkward but with real concern in his eyes. “I'm sorry I didn't come sooner,” he adds, glancing at Greg briefly.

“I understand why you didn't,” Alex says softly. Greg almost intervenes, because Flint really doesn't deserve this forgiveness, but Alex goes on. “To be honest, I'm not a fan of hospital visits. I was pretty out of it anyway.”

“Dad was there several times,” Greg explains. “Clay, too. Well, once.”

Flint hears the “you should have been there” loud and clear in his tone, and he glares. “I couldn't, okay? I was on a assignment.”

“Bullshit. You just didn't want to see Alex like that.”

Flint has the good grace to look ashamed. “I would have come if I could,” he still insists.

“Dad started blaming Alex for getting injured,” Greg spits out. “I could have used some back up to make him stop.”

“He wouldn't have helped,” Alex whispers. Greg turns his head to look at him, and immediately feels guilty at the sadness on his face.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, don't you know? Dad and Flint are good friends now.”

“Alex−” Flint starts to protest.

“Tell me it's not true,” Alex stares him down. It's impressive in itself that he can do that even in his current state.

Flint looks away.

“What happened?” Greg asks.

“I don't know, they were all buddy-buddy at my last promotion,” Alex rolls his eyes.

“I'm not his buddy,” Flint says through gritted teeth. “We just worked on something together.”

“You watched him go at me in the fucking bathroom for bringing a date and you just smirked.”

“You did what?” Greg stammers in shock. “He did what?”

There is little more important to Dad than decorum, and his sons certainly aren't. For him to go at Alex in public, he must have been truly enraged.

“I didn't let him come close,” Alex shrugs his good shoulder. “Found out just how satisfying it is to outrank him.”

“Good for you,” Greg smirks. He rounds in on Flint again. “What the fuck?”

“Alex had it handled,” Flint shrugs, but he's still averting his eyes.

“Fuck you,” Greg mutters.

“It doesn't matter,” Alex says. “I don't need either of you to protect me.”

Greg forbids himself from looking at him doubtfully. Alex is right, objectively. He's the best ranked of them all, in their three different military branches. He made something of himself, despite their father, despite everything he's endured. Even now, weeks away from a major injury and facing a life change Greg can't even imagine for himself, he's more emotionally rational than either of them. And that's three days after being officially diagnosed with PTSD.

“Do you know what you're going to do now?” Flint asks Alex quietly. “You're gonna take the discharge?”

“I don't know yet if they'll give me a choice,” Alex says. He looks at the same time younger and much older than he really is, the vulnerability striking on his face. His eyes are full of shadows, now, full of grief. Greg took him to the Purple Heart ceremony last week, where Alex received his own, but also had to hand two medals out to the families of his fallen comrades, Dawson and Karl. His best friend, and his lover, Greg knows.

How are they still here, a decade later? Greg thought he'd be out of the Navy as soon as his enlistment was up, and yet he signed up twice more. Alex was never supposed to enlist at all. Clay is the only one of them who had any wish to follow in their father's footsteps, but somehow Alex is the one who's paid the high price for it.

“Will you stay, if they allow it?” Flint asks.

“Maybe,” Alex admits. “I only have nine more months, they can probably let me ride a desk.”

Greg nods. It would be easier than him having to find another job right away, if nothing else. Alex has the kind of skills the Air Force won't throw away just because he was injured.

“You'll, um, you'll get a prosthetic or something, right?” Flint asks uncomfortably, looking at anything but Alex's leg.

Alex stares back at him, with a sort of defiance in his eyes. He looks more lively than he has in weeks, in some ways. “Yeah, we'll start the fittings in a month or so. Don't worry, in a year or so I won't even look disabled.”

Greg shudders at the echo of their father's words, the constant admonition to never appear weak. What's important is that it won't be visible, he said in the hospital, when Alex could barely look at his stump without throwing up.

Flint closes his eyes. “That's not what I meant,” he murmurs.

“Isn't it?” Alex challenges. Flint just shakes his head mutely, looking honestly apologetic, and he deflates. “Sorry.”

“I'm not Dad,” Flint says.

“No, you're not,” Alex admits. Greg nods along, because it's a fact. Even Clay has yet to reach Dad's levels of cruelty. He wonders where the line is. Which one of them will take a wrong turn, in these murky waters, and lose himself. They all know that their grandfather was probably even worse than Dad, and his father before him. It's the Manes way.

They'll never be free of that.

They'll never be the kind of brothers who hug and chill together, so they sit rigidly and a frozen pizza, their backs straight, never touching and never relaxing, until Alex's painkillers start to make him woozy. Greg helps him through his evening routine while Flint lays a comforter and a pillow on the bumpy couch for himself.

“Is he really gonna be okay?” Flint asks very quietly when Greg comes back out of Alex's bedroom.

Greg sighs. “I don't know. But he'd tough. Tougher than any of us.”

Flint nods. “I really am sorry,” he whispers. “Dad got in my head again.”

So that's the real reason for his absence.

“He does that,” Greg murmurs, like forgiveness.

#roswell new mexico #alex manes #gregory manes #flint manes #roswell nm #manes brothers #echo's fanfiction #mine #down to breathing

[imagines-oneshots-blog]

Hello my Lovely Readers, it’s time for Work in Progress Wednesday!! This round is for my fic, Blood and Gold and Bedroom Eyes featuring John Wick x Reader!! As many of you have probably seen (and quite possibly be annoyed by), I’ve fallen into a major dumpster for John Wick/Keanu Reeves as of late, and the inspiration has kicked in to pick up this fic again!! So for today’s WIP Wednesday I’ll be sharing a clip from Chapter 4 of BGBE with you all! I have to be honest friends, I got a little carried away with this one…I have 5,000 words and I’m not even through HALF of the plots points I wanted to fit into this chapter! 😲 So needless to say this next update will be a honkin’ one lol. It’s still very much in the editing stage and therefore is subject to change, but please do enjoy, I can’t wait for you all to read this one!! ❤️❤️❤️ Tags: @raspberrymama - I know you’ll love this one, girl!  Anyone else that wants to be tagged in future updates, just shoot me a message and let me know!

Chapter 4: Death and the Maiden

I. Of Monsters, Men, and Torrid Truths

 The hum of the Mustang’s engine rumbled beneath John’s seat like the grumble of a disgruntled beast, one with skin made of metal and a bleeding molten heart hewn of iron and pistons and gasoline. Well, that makes two bleeding hearts in this car, John mused wryly. But at least his was forged from flesh and blood and costly promises. If someone had him cornered, a gun held to his head and his hands tied behind his back, demanding to know what in all of heaven and earth had spurred him to offer his home to you as a temporary hideout from that sleazy gangster Ritchie and his hitmen, John would have had to send a prayer to whatever god of death would listen to the devil and prepare to meet them soon, because he had no good answer to that particular question. It wasn’t that John couldn’t be honest with himself, in fact he made it a nearly infallible habit to embrace the truth, no matter how damning, but the simple fact was that he just didn’t know. He didn’t have a name for the molten sensations that bloomed in his chest each time he stole a glance at you curled up in the passenger’s seat, your bare dainty feet tucked beneath you, your head resting on the pillow of your entwined arms propped up against the door, a stray curl kissing the silken curve of your cheek as you dozed. He couldn’t identify the source of the fierce protective need he felt twitching the tendons of his trigger finger, tensing the wearied line of his shoulders, every time he remembered the crude comments of that lumbering, tattooed thug he’d dispatched in the hallways of the club. He had no classification for the tenderness that ached in his chest at the trust lilting in your touch as you’d slipped your hand in his, your fingers steady despite the damning crimson spilled across his palm, no justification for why the innocence banked in your glinting gaze when you smiled up at him could briefly stop his heart. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t want to admit it to himself quite yet. Besides, John reasoned as an igneous slip of heat settled with wicked intent between his hip bones, though you were many things, you weren’t really all that innocent, were you? Before each one of your pre-scheduled back room meetings John would sit in that velvet lined chair and wage a brutal, silent war with himself, stalwartly battling the impulse to imagine what lace hewn, daydream inducing creation would grace your gorgeous body today. He wasn’t too proud to admit that he’d lost every time. He’d particularly enjoyed the strappy red gossamer and brocade number you had worn to your penultimate encounter; blooming thickets of embroidered crimson flowers and sheer mesh hiding the more tantalizing bits of your billowing body from him even as it had bared everything else for his greedy gaze. John found it shockingly enticing to see that deadly color splashed against exposed flesh in a markedly more alluring form, a stark juxtaposition to the typical rending of flesh and the slashing of throats that he was accustomed to. John would be lying if he said that in those charged midnight hours spent tossing in his lonely bed, his battered mind left to wander freely, he hadn’t imagined stripping one or two of those wicked outfits off of you with both seeking fingers and nipping teeth, unwrapping your lithe, stunning body like a present. Hungry for thoughts that weren’t tinged with sorrow or bloodshed, he’d close his eyes and wonder how your soft, luminous skin would heat beneath his calloused palms, if you’d part your legs eagerly for him, grant him access to the hallowed cradle of your thighs. Would you lick those tempting ruby lips and sigh against his mouth, desire coiling thickly in that lilting sirens voice of yours as you beg him to touch the billowing wealth of curves waiting beneath his fallow fingers?

And then he’d rail at himself, chastising his baser impulses with stark reminders that you were so young; a decade younger than him at least, maybe more. And then a fresh round of castigations would begin because that fact really shouldn’t send a searing frisson of heat skittering down his spine, curling devilishly low in his belly, but Jesus fucking Christ, did it ever. No matter how much John tried to evade it, the simple fact was that even with smudged eyeliner, a tired smile, and dark circles splayed above your cheekbones, you were still the most stunning thing within miles of this shitty metropolis. Huffing in a slow, deep breath, John forced his mind to fixate on safer things than the tempting curve of your cupid’s bow, on the plan. Now that the hard part of extracting you from danger was done you would hide out at his house for a while, laying low long enough for Winston to dig up the locations of Ritchie’s safe houses, and then for John to hunt down each and every member of Ritchie’s entourage before he finally took care of the gun-toting mobster himself. John had known many gangsters in his life, thugs whose malice ranged from relatively harmless to utterly savage, had done each one of their bidding for the price of a glinting, garish, golden coin, but something about Ritchie made John’s stomach turn. A quiet voice in the back of his head supplied that it was probably because Ritchie had known you, had touched you and tasted you and still ordered your death, and that lack of loyalty colored his resentment with a particular bitterness that was tinged with what could almost be perceived as jealousy, but John stalwartly reasoned that mostly it was the company Ritchie kept, or perhaps even the man himself. Regardless, John was glad to finally have someone truly deserving in his sightlines.

Despite the fact that bloodshed was still a part of his dossier, at least the right people were in his crosshairs now. In fact, it felt good, cleansing almost, to have a new purpose, a hard-won sense of freedom, the power to act on his own will instead of the corrupted appetites of gang bosses and greedy assassins.

John’s mind remained occupied with the finer details of his mission as he drove into the night, his thoughts turning to the tracking of mob members and the infiltration of safehouses as the bright neon lights of the city faded steadily into industrial parks and highways and manicured green lawns. He had just settled on the order in which he’d dispatch the various branches of Ritchie’s crime syndicate when the Mustang’s tires crunched onto the familiar gravel of his driveway.

You were still asleep when John put the car in park, letting the engine idle as he cast an appraising eye over your slumbering form. He hesitated for a moment, his fingers frozen on the steering wheel. It was strange, bringing another woman into the sanctum of his house - into he and Helen’s house - as heavily laden with memories as it was. For the length of a heartbeat John wondered if this was a mistake, if his desire for redemption, for justice, had led him straight into a severe lapse of judgement, but then you sighed in sleep and shifted towards him a measure, the palm you had resting in your lap tilting upwards as if begging him to slip his fingers into the spaces between your own, and John finally had to remind himself of his wife’s last request and admit to himself that much of the former magic of his home had faded. Too many ghosts lived there now.

And besides, there was nowhere else safer for you than right here by his side, with him to protect you, to safeguard you.

In the devil’s own domain, John thought with a humorless chuckle.

Though he’d never say it out loud and risk losing the hard-won status he’d painstakingly built over his long bloody life, John looked upon his monstrous reputation with a healthy measure of disdain so fierce, it could resemble hatred in the right light. Even though he was The Boogeyman, the assassin that every killer feared, a murderer with more red in his ledger than could ever be wiped clean, John desperately wanted to be someone who was thought of with more than terror-tinged reverence, careful apprehension, and forced civility. He wanted to be regarded the way Helen used to look at him; with soft smiles and smooth brows and glinting, gentle eyes that held nothing but a simmering measure of fondness so sincere, it made his throat suddenly tight and his heart a size too large for his battered chest.

The way you had looked at him tonight.

And with this one last job, one final flurry of guns and carnage and glinting golden coins, he just might be able to secure a measure of that once more, redeem the sliver of his soul that wasn’t damned to writhe in the fiery pits of hell for all the death he had dealt.

So, after a steeling breath and a silent plea sent desperately to whatever blood-soaked deity would still heed him, John reached out a steady hand and gently shook you awake.

#WIP Wednesday #Work in Progress Wednesday #Fanfiction #John Wick #Keanu Reeves

[coffeefairy]

Writer’s Month August 2020 - Day 2

Second day running of the challenge, go me!

Day 2, Quarantine

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender

Ship: Sheith

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Keith is stuck in the infirmary with the flu. Shiro visits to hear why Keith landed himself in detention - again - especially since he knows it somehow involved his name...

Excerpt: Keith had never liked Adam. He was too by-the-book, too boring, too uptight, but right now he’d pay to have him back in Shiro’s life. He made Shiro happy and that was all Keith had ever really wanted. And, he provided a buffer, a “no trespassing” sign on Shiro that helped with tempering his wish to reach out, to confess to everything that boiled under his breastbone. Now that buffer was gone and he’d have to watch Shiro, kindly, obliviously, reject him just for who he was, not for who he already had

Tags: Hurt/comfort, one-sided pre-Sheith from Keith’s side. Note Keith is underage but that Nothing Happens - because he’s underage.

Quarantine

Keith was entering his third day of having the flu and he was ready for death to take him. Not because of the flu, but because of the boredom. Confined to the Infirmary at the Garrison to not “spread those germs around, Mr Kogane”, he was utterly bored. There was a TV but it had two channels and they both showed re-runs. He couldn’t read because he kept distracting himself sniffling and his foggy brain wouldn’t let him study. The only thing that broke the tedium was mealtimes and the food was so bad he might starve before the boredom killed him. At least his quarantine counted towards his detention time.

The door at the end of the room swung open and Keith spotted Shiro. Or, Captain Shirogane as he was whenever other teachers or students were around. Shiro had been the one who got Keith to apply to the Garrison, who encouraged him to try out for the pilot program. The one who’d helped him fill in the scholarship applications and who had to date been the only person in Keith’s life who had never once let him down.

He was older than Keith by five years and at twenty-two he was the poster boy for what the Garrison wanted to showcase. Ace pilot, squeaky clean record, top grades. In addition he had the looks, the personality and the charisma for a stellar career in the Garrison Forces. If Keith hadn’t loved Shiro from the bottom of his heart, he probably would have hated him. But he knew Shiro cared for nothing but the flying, not really. It was the love of his life and Keith could wholeheartedly understand. Flying, to both of them, was freedom. 

Glad that he for once had a good excuse for the rosy cheeks he developed whenever Shiro was around, he allowed himself to soak in the picture he made. He’d finished for the day but his uniform was as pristine as it always was. He filled it out like he’d been made to wear it, all wide shoulders and narrow hips. It was a chest to waist ratio that sometimes made Keith’s stomach drop and leave a dark, echoing, slippery hollowness of need inside him. Just like his height, the sight of his hands and the soft hair at the nape of his neck did. 

“Hey, Keith.”

Not to mention his voice. 

Keith, who had had enough spare time - and then some - to prepare in case anyone (he’d only hoped Shiro would) visited, held up the legal pad he’d been doodling on. On the page he’d written in capitals:

Lost voice, can’t speak.

“Oh, so the conversation will be just as normal then,” Shiro joked. 

Keith sent him a rude gesture and the older man laughed. It made something soft and squidgy move in his chest to hear it. 

With a sigh, he sat down on the uncomfortable chair next to Keith’s bed, peered at him.

“You look good.” 

Keith knew what that meant but he bent his head over the pad anyway to let his hair shield his warm face. 

“You looked a lot paler last time I saw you.”

Keith frowned in askance. 

“I was here two days ago. You were asleep.”

Oh great. He’d probably slept with his mouth open, drooling on the pillow.

“You look younger when you’re asleep. Less angry.”

I’m not angry, Keith scribbled. 

Obediently, Shiro read it. 

“No?” He raised an eyebrow. “Then why did I hear about you getting into a fight with McClaine in Flight Sims?”

Keith had hoped talk of that particular scene would not make it to Shiro’s ears. 

McClaine’s an idiot, he wrote. Shiro leaned forward to read it and though he didn’t have his sense of smell, Keith could swear he sensed the scent of laundry powder, after shave and the hint of motor oil and gasoline that came from riding his hoverbike. A smell so familiar to him it haunted his dreams. Including the waking ones.

He could swear he saw a twitch to Shiro’s (unfairly attractive) lips before he leaned back.

“Keith, he’s on your team. You need to find a way to get along. Teamwork is the cornerstone of the Garrison philosophy.”

The Garrison philosphy could fuck itself for all Keith cared, but he didn’t like when Shiro’s voice took on that tone. Not like he was disappointed, or tired of his behaviour but...softly chiding. All Keith wanted was to hear Shiro say good things about him, praise him. Not that he’d ever let the older man know that. 

“Fine,” Shiro sighed lightly when Keith didn’t reply. “What did McClaine do?”

Keith stiffened. There was no way he was telling Shiro. Crossing his arms, he rested back against the pillows.

“I spoke to Captain Parilla about it. He says he heard my name.”

Oh, shit. 

Keith had no issue telling Shiro that McClaine was a bumbling moron who should learn to keep his tongue behind his teeth if he wanted to keep them in that dumb face of his. But he didn’t want to tell him why he’d had to punch him for it this time.

It was common knowledge at the school that Captain Shirogane and his boyfriend were breaking up. In such a small place, gossip was rife and unfortunately this week the hot topic had been the end of the match of two of the teachers. 

Keith had overheard some girl talking about it in the cafeteria, asking her friend excitedly “if she’d heard” and an almost breathless “heard what” had followed. 

“I heard from Maggie whose sister has the late watch that Captain Tremaine and Shiro had a shouting match that ended with them breaking up and Captain Tremaine driving away at like one in the morning. He hasn’t come back yet.”

Keith had stilled but hearing it, he put his tray down and spun on his heel. Unseeingly he turned right and headed down the hallway towards the officers’ quarters. Captain Tremaine, or Adam as Shiro called him, had left Shiro? He knew from Shiro, despite him glossing over the details, that they had been fighting but breaking up? Knowing how seriously his friend took commitment he could only guess how he was feeling now.

He’d gotten as far as Shiro’s door, lifted his hand to knock. Imagined what he might find inside. He hesitated. Why would Shiro want to see him now? What comfort could Keith offer? He was prickly, contrary, awkward. He had to be the last person who could be of any help right now. 

Comfort Shiro? Don’t kid yourself, Kogane, you’re his charity project. 

With this thought ringing in his head he had walked away. He got to his room and crawled into bed, flinging an arm over his eyes. Shiro was the one going through a breakup, why the hell did he himself have tears in his eyes? Despite the question he knew. He knew that everything inside him for Shiro was a tangled mess.

He might have had dark dreams about Shiro leaving Adam but it had never made him sad. He had just realized he could have Keith and he and the other instructor had parted, amicably. 

He was such a child. 

Shiro would always take a breakup seriously, would think he was the one to fail. The kind of person who would try and keep trying to make the other happy. He would always try his best and when it wasn’t enough it would break his heart. 

Keith rolled over on his side, drawing his knees to his chest. It was aching with what he knew would be killing Shiro. 

It was weaved in with the misery that to Shiro, Keith would never be anything more than a kid. They were friends, but with the years between them it would be a long time before they could even be friends on equal footing. Shiro was his teacher, even if they waited a decade, he would still have been Keith’s teacher. And even if they did, if they waited, if Shiro would eventually see him as an adult or an equal, why would he ever want Keith? He was a skinny, awkward reject with a bad haircut and a worse attitude and Shiro deserved… everything. Better than Keith Kogane could ever be. 

And still his traitorous heart wouldn’t just take the defeat and leave him in peace. It had to light up in hope every time Shiro smiled at him in the way that made the corners of his eyes crease, or when he put a hand on Keith’s shoulder, or when he told him he’d done a good job in that deep voice. It sang, lifted, soared and hoped. 

Keith had never liked Adam. He was too by-the-book, too boring, too uptight, but right now he’d pay to have him back in Shiro’s life. He made Shiro happy and that was all Keith had ever really wanted. And, he provided a buffer, a “no trespassing” sign on Shiro that helped with tempering his wish to reach out, to confess to everything that boiled under his breastbone. Now that buffer was gone and he’d have to watch Shiro, kindly, obliviously, reject him just for who he was, not for who he already had.

Still struggling with the decision if he should go see Shiro or not the day after, he’d been flying in Flight Sims on autopilot when McClaine had to open his big mouth.

“You hear Shiro’s boyfriend broke up with him? And no one’s seen Shiro for days.”

“That’s Captain Shirogane to you,” Keith said quietly.

“Whatever, Kogane. I wonder if Shirogane’s out for the count? He looks all badass but he must be a giant softie if he can’t leave his room for three days after some guy leaves.”

“Lance…” Hunk, the large engineer on their team said, clearly trying to defuse the situation. 

“What Hunk? I’m just saying he might talk tough but really, he’s just a big p-”

Keith flew up, the screen in front of him showing the stars spiralling and an explosion “MISSION FAILURE” flashing in red letters. But he didn’t care. In one move he was up, grabbing McClaine by the collar, hauling him to his feet and pinning him to the wall. 

“Shut the fuck up, McClaine! Just because you blame Captain Shirogane for not making you pilot when your scores are way too low doesn’t mean you can talk shit about him behind his back!”

“Get off me, Kogane, I can say whatever I like!”

“Guys…” Hunk tried to pull them apart but Keith just shook it off. 

“What, you gonna comfort him, Kogane? Hold his hand, dry his tears, tell him everything will get better?”

Keith growled.

Lance’s eyes widened and something gleeful slipped into his gaze.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You wanna bang Shirogane?”

His fist connected with the boy’s goading smile and in a flurry of limbs they fell to the floor, Keith kicking, punching, tearing at the other boy. 

Shiro spoke again, returning him to the present. 

“Why were you fighting, Keith?”

Keith scribbled.

McClaine was being a dick.

Shiro’s eyes gentled in a way that made Keith feel small. 

“Cadet McClaine insulted me, is that it?”

Apparently Keith’s refusal to answer spoke volumes. 

“Keith, I…” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate you would stand up for me, whatever McClaine said, but you need to find a way of controlling your temper. Punching someone you don’t agree with is going to cost you something more than detention one day. And I would hate to see that. You have too much talent, Keith, too much going for you.”

Keith hadn’t had a lot of people praising him in his life. He had no idea how to deal with it and he twisted the covers in his hands.

With a sigh, he then reached for the pen.

I’ll stop fighting him...if he stops being a dick.

Shiro chuckled, tenderness creasing the corners of his eyes. 

Damn. Keith couldn’t deal with that look, it made him want to both curl up and bask, and hide under the covers like a child. It made his heart race and his throat slam shut.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Shiro tilted his head. “Lance goads you because he’s jealous.”

It was clear he didn’t need a pad to convey his disbelief in the notion.

“Keith, Lance has wanted to come to the Garrison since he was five. He’s dreamed of being an ace pilot, of being at the top of his class. He’s worked really hard for it. Then he meets you and...you know all these things instinctively that he has had to learn. You fly like you were born to do it, you’re crushing every flying record we have and you do it without looking like you’re even trying.”

For you, Keith wanted to tell Shiro and was glad his voice wouldn’t let the incriminating words slip out. He only ever cared about impressing Shiro, about making him proud, of...proving himself. Proving Shiro hadn’t been wrong to put his trust in him. 

“You just have everything that Lance wants.”

Keith crossed his arms over his chest, stared hard at the floor on the other side of the bed, away from Shiro and his gentle voice.

“So just think about that before you punch him the next time.”

At this, Keith couldn’t help the twitch of a smile. Shiro did know him really well. He didn’t decree, or order, or use the authority he clearly had over Keith. He just explained, and asked that Keith thought about it. 

To distract himself from the growing tenderness in his throat, Keith lifted his pen. Hesitated. Glanced at Shiro.

“Go on, ask what you want to ask.”

Keith wondered how to phrase it. Then he decided and wrote,

How’s Adam?

Shiro read, a flash of something broken in his eyes.

“You heard, huh?”

Keith nodded. Then waited. He knew Shiro understood what he was really asking. If he’d asked “how are you?” Shiro would have responded “fine” because that’s what he demanded of himself to always be for others. Asking about Adam made it more roundabout, gave Shiro an out if he didn’t want to talk about it but also let him know Keith knew about the breakup. 

A sigh escaped the older man. He rubbed his hands over his face and let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling. Keith kicked himself for getting distracted by how the column of his throat looked, bared and inviting. 

“I...I don’t think he’s doing so well.”

Keith nodded, kept fiddling with the covers. 

“It’s hard,” Shiro continued and Keith couldn’t believe he was trusted to hear this. He swore to himself whatever Shiro told him, he’d take to his grave. “He’s not...wrong, or not completely wrong but I…”

Searching his memory he tried to make sense of this as an argument he could have heard about. He couldn’t think of anything. Apparently Shiro realized too, and backtracked.

“There’s a new mission. I can’t talk about it, really, but it’s deep space, Keith. Real flying, for months.”

Fear for missing Shiro like he would miss a limb twisted the joy he felt for him. Decisively he strangled the sensation. It was Shiro’s dream. 

“And it’s...it’s my last chance. With my health, this will be the last opportunity for me to ever go into space.”

He knew that too. Knew the unfairness of Shiro’s life, the one part of his physical form that wasn’t perfect. The disease that lay dormant under his skin, that would one day rob him of all the things that made him a legendary pilot. 

“Adam...Adam thinks I’m foolish. That I should stay back, not take any chances. Settle for a shorter mission, something easier.”

Every line of Shiro’s face and shoulders screamed out his pain. Keith reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder. The older man’s head dropped. His shoulder shook under his fingers and he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Shiro, hold him, tell him he deserved better, deserved everything. 

One handed, he managed to write.

Shiro, hearing the pen against the paper, looked up. He hadn’t been crying but his eyes were glassy.

You need to go

It’s your dream

A shudder travelled through him. Gratitude seeped into his eyes and Keith’s throat started squeezing shut.

“Thanks, Keith.”

He took his hand and squeezed.

#writersmonth2020 #sheith #voltron #keith kogane #takashi shirogane

[purplesurveys]

987

survey by shamegmeg

Have you ever cut your own hair? I’ve trimmed my own bangs but that’s it. I feel like doing anything to my hair altogether on my own is too big a move and would have bigger consequences if I fuck it up (which I definitely will end up doing).

What do you eat most frequently? Meat - chicken, beef, and pork. It’s in nearly every dish we eat, if not all of them.

Are you a fan of video games? I will always find the topic interesting and I played a fair share of video games growing up, but I’m not an ultra fan of any of the most popular games right now. I do like staying updated with my favorite series like Grand Theft Auto, The Sims, Mario Kart, etc. but it’s rare that I get my hands on the console itself to play. 

What's your favorite color combination? I don’t really think of any specific two colors, but I’m generally a fan of combinations of muted or pastel colors. Anything that doesn’t hurt my eyes too much.

Did you share a locker at school? We didn’t do that; we each had our own.

What's one sport you could never play? Basketball. Never understood the rules and I just never had the stamina for it. I’m also pretty competitive so I feel like I’d be pissed off and take it personally whenever somebody blocks me hahaha.

Blue or black ink? Black. I have nothing against blue though - I just like keeping pens with black ink around more.

Have you ever sang karaoke? Just once or twice. I’m not extroverted enough for it, not even when drunk. I just really hate the sound of my own singing voice, so it doesn’t help if I’m suddenly singing into a microphone.

What was the last concert you attended? Answer’s gonna be unchanged for the meantime, man...Paramore. No complaints naming them every time I’m asked this, though. Let’s hope they’ll also be the next concert I attend, as they like coming back to Manila anyway :))

Have you held anyone's hand in the past week? No.

What's your favorite perfume/body spray/cologne? I’ve used Beyoncé’s Heat Rush since high school. I’ve never gotten tired of the scent and pretty much everyone knows me by that perfume now.

How long does it take you to get ready in the morning? Before Covid, it depended on how late I’d get out of bed. If I had the energy to get up earlier, I’d devote 20-30 minutes to getting ready; but if it was a harder morning to face, I’d just take a quick 3-minute shower and wear the first things I see in my closet. These days since I just work from home, all I need to do is shower which takes no more than a few minutes.

What is the oldest age you think should wear makeup? I think anyone of any gender of any age (except babies and younger kids) of any background from any walk of life should be allowed to wear makeup...

How old were you when you went on your first date? I was 16.

What's your nationality(ies)? Filipino.

Are you an open book? I can be for the most part since there’s no harm in sharing, but there are a few things that I’m extremely protective and secretive about.

Do you think you're a good secret keeper? Yeah. I used to share secrets with Gab but that’s because she tends to forget easily, but otherwise I have no problem taking secrets with me to my grave.

Name one fashion trend you could never follow. I have never been into wedges. Too chunky-looking.

Do you prefer long hair or short hair? On me? Short. It’s easier to maintain and take care of.

When do you plan to go to sleep tonight? Depends on how tired I am by the end of the day. I did make a cup of coffee today though so the caffeine might also choose to hang out into the evening.

Has anyone besides your family seen you naked? Yes.

If so, who? Gabie.

What exotic animal would you love to have as a pet? That’s a pass for me. I don’t know their temperament and what they need on a normal day, so I’m really not well-equipped to keep an exotic animal as a pet and I don’t want to end up accidentally killing them or something.

Do you want kids when you're older? At this point in my life I can go with or without them.

Did your parents sign you up for anything you hated as a child? I’m definitely grateful for it now, but when I was going through ballet classes as a five year old I absolutely hated it and had no idea what I was doing there. I wish I could tell my five year old self to appreciate it more because now I think it’s pretty cute that my parents wanted me to take up ballet and enrolled me in classes.

Where's your cell phone? It’s just right beside me. It’s always right beside me, haha.

Which came first, the chicken or the egg? I’ve always been a firm supporter of the egg lol because it had to be an earlier version of the chicken that laid the egg that would ultimately hatch the chicken as we know them today. Idk though, I hate questions like this hahahaha

What are your feelings about Octomom? I don’t know anything more than the fact that she had octuplets, which is awesome and badass in itself.

Do you know of Smosh? I used to LOVE Smosh, like holy shit. I probably talked about them in my earliest surveys a decade ago; simply put I was hooked. Watched every new episode and every new Lunchtime with Smosh/Ian Is Bored video from around maybe 2010-2013 until they started adding more crew members and until their videos started to stray from the content that made them blow up in the first place. I still remember when it was Smosh and Pewdiepie vying for the highest subscriber count on YouTube, haha. Was also sad when Anthony left. Suffice it to say I’ll always hold a fondness for Smosh - Anthony and Ian were my first favorite YouTubers along with Pewdiepie.

Do you drink enough water daily? Some days I do, some days I don’t.

Is your diet healthy? When I do eat my dishes are always a good balance of meat and veggies, but I feel like me skipping most of my meals overshadows that fact and makes my overall diet not-so-healthy.

What's your favorite fruit? The only one I’ve had and not feel like gagging whenever I consume it is avocado. To an extent, tomato too.

What was your favorite Halloween costume? Going as my former best friend, Sofie.

Have you purchased any cool objects from a foreign country? I bought a few trinkets from Japan when I was there, but they were all for my loved ones and I don’t exactly remember what I bought anymore.

Are you on a laptop or a desktop computer right now? Laptop. 

Where do you plan to post this survey? Tumblr, as I’ve always done in the last near-decade or so.

Do you remember anyone's number by heart? My mom’s, sister’s, and Gabie’s.

Are you a morning person or a late night owl? I’m more of a morning person lately because of work and because of the need to be chirpy by 9 AM. Being awake these days makes me sad now, so I avoid staying up late as much as I can; which means my days of being a night owl are over.

Name something you will never try in your lifetime. Coprophagia.

What do you think is your biggest flaw? I’m super competitive, which makes me the suckiest person to have friendly games with. I avoid them altogether so that I don’t end up killing the vibe of whatever crowd I’m with. I’ll own this lol.

First physical trait you notice in the sex you're attracted to? Wouldn’t say I’m automatically attracted to any sex. With everyone though, I tend to notice body language first which kiiinda counts as a physical trait.

How about personality wise? Whether they look approachable/easy to talk to or not.

Are you sick often? Almost never.

Would you rather have strep throat or an ear infection? Uh I’d rather not be sick at all hahaha.

When did you last shower? This morning, before work. We have online meetings every Monday morning, and I wanted to look fresh and clean for it.

Do you have neat handwriting? I’d say so. I get a lot of compliments about my penmanship and my friends usually call on me when they need someone with consistent and clean handwriting, so I guess must be holding my pens right.

Are you a messy or organized person? I’d say my workspaces are always organized but my personal space (car, backpack, etc) is messy.

At what age do you hope to get married? By the end of my 20s or early 30s.

Is being thin really all that great? Idk, I feel like the experience differs per person. I don’t have complaints about it for the most part, but it can get annoying when there are certain tops I’d like to wear but will never be able to pull off and thus have to leave on the rack just because my chest is flat or my overall figure is rather tiny.

Which of the seven deadly sins do you think you're most guilty of? Pride.

How much time have you spent on the computer today? 9 hours and counting. WFH is basically being on the computer all day, so that’s a big reason why I’ve racked up so many hours.

What size shoe are you? 6–7.5.

How was the weather today? The sun was out but fortunately it wasn’t all that hot for me to feel uncomfortable. I hate that it was bright all day, though. My disposition is more likely to improve if it’s cloudy and a little gloomy, haha.

Do you live above, below, or on the Equator? Above.

Do you know how to use Photoshop? I tried to play and experiment with it as a teen, but it just never made sense to me. I hate touching any kind of Adobe program.

Admit it, you're thinking about someone right now. Eh, false. I’m thinking of how much longer this survey will still be.

Where is he/she?

Where was your first job? My first internship was also at a PR agency, if that counts.

Favorite year in high school? Junior year.

East or West? As in parts of the world? East all the way, of course.

Where did your first kiss take place? On my bed.

What color do you wear most often? Probably maroon because of how many UP shirts I have.

Who was the last person you talked on the phone to? That would be my dad.

Have you ever done your own laundry? Kinda. I’ve had to wash my blanket a few times because Cooper peed on them.

Have you ever been to a night club? Yes.

Are you allergic to anything? Nope.

What's the best place you have ever eaten? Mendokoro Ramenba by a freaking mile.

Do you own a hair straightener? No. My mom does; if I ever need a straightener I just borrow hers.

Are you barefoot right now? Yep, always am when I’m at home except for the rare times I put socks on.

Are you subscribed to any magazine? No. Even when magazine subscriptions were popular I was never subscribed to any; I didn’t see the point when I could just get the new issue every month at the mall myself lol.

Puppies or kittens? Puppies.

If you had a billion dollars, where would your first investment be made? First I would probably read up on investment so that I don’t end up making decisions I’ll regret. My first agenda is to help my parents settle whatever payments they’re making at the moment, so that they don’t have to worry about any of that crap anymore.

Who is the best artist you've seen live? PARAMORE. I mean they’re artists, as in plural, but still.

Any major plans coming up this week? Keep myself alive.

Did you know they never told you Arnold's last name in Hey, Arnold? Never realized that but I don’t really care too much, considering I was never into the show.

Would you rather watch a romantic comedy or watch a thrilling horror movie? Romantic comedy, as long as it’s one I’ve already seen and enjoyed, like Love Actually or The Proposal. Most other romcoms are too cheesy and suck.

How is your hair styled right now? It’s in a ponytail that’s been unchanged all day, so it’s a bit messy at this point.

Favorite person that you've talked to today? Angela.

Do you need AC right now? I’m good. It’s a little chilly tonight, so yay.

Do more people call you by a nickname or your first name? My first name is already my nickname - most people just call me Robyn. At home, though, I’m usually called a shortened version of my name.

Name something you're proud of. I confided in Angela today that I’m finally starting to think of seeing a therapist. Which I think is such a big realization to have and a big choice to have made. So yay me. Let’s hope I actually push through with it, and let’s hope I’m able to land a job soon so I can finally fucking afford to see one.

Are you a hopeless romantic? I never knew what this meant and I don’t feel like learning tonight.

How do you feel about couples who say 'I love you' too soon? No judgment. I don’t comment on how other couples navigate their relationship; it’s their thing.

What's the most recent favor you've done for somebody? Can’t remember.

Are you at home right now? Yep.

What did you last spend money on? Gas.

Does any accent annoy you? Stereotypical ones, like how Filipino-American stand-up comedians always try to cash in on Filipino quirks and make fun of thick Filipino accents, which makes all Filipinos look like we can’t speak English ‘properly,’ whatever properly means. Full-blooded Filipinos are so sick of that shit. We get it, the cellpown is ober der -___-

How about turn you on? None actively turn me on.

Are you wearing any jewelry? No.

Do you get along better with your mom or your dad? Dad. Easier to talk to and we share more interests.

Are you craving anything right now? Sushi.

What's worse: Crocs or Uggs? I’d go with Uggs, because Crocs actually look cute on kids so at least it suits one market lol

Do you knock before you open doors? Yep, always. I learned the habit because my mom never knocks and I quickly realized I don’t want to be that kind of person.

Do you know what a sock on the doorknob means? I think so.

Chocolate or vanilla? Chocolate.

What's your zodiac sign? Taurus.

Does Fred from Youtube annoy you? I don’t think he ever did.

#survey #surveys

[arrogvnces]

     snow falls, as the calendar says goodbye to november and hello to december. sinclair tries to keep his life together, balancing schoolwork, friends and family. they all pretend he’s okay, taking his smiles as the truth, knowing better than to prode for what’s really underneath the surface. he’s thankful for it, for the space they give him, for the late nights where it’s just him and his car driving down an empty road. it allows him to breathe, to take in how much his life has changed those past two years, to grieve all that’s been taken from him. sometimes, when breathing isn’t enough, he’ll send henri a text, certain it’ll be answered promptly. no one really knows they still talk. if he happens to pass her by on campus, they’ll both look away and their friends will get extra loud to distract them. there’s nothing shameful about texting, but he knows simon will chastise him for holding on if he finds out. he doesn’t want to have to explain that he’s resigned himself to never getting over her, or that he prefers the rush of a notification at two in the morning than nothing at all. so he doesn’t. and the days pass, following his schedule perfectly until his phone beeps with an invitation he all but wishes he could reject. 

     friday night, instead of stepping into yet another of simon’s hot new clubs, he finds himself uncomfortably sitted at a luxurious table between his father and mother, both on opposite ends. facing him on the other side, ren and tristan are uncharacteristically quiet, as their parents eat their food with all the poise and serenity in the world. he wonders quietly what would happen if he stabbed his hand with the fork he uses to play with his meal. when his father clears his throat, he knows what words will come out of his mouth before he even opens it. 

     “your mother and i have decided it is time we go our separate ways,” he announces, eyes flitting between his three children. the two youngest stare at him in confusion, while sinclair discreetly scoffs. you didn’t decide shit. “i know it might be hard for you to adjust, but that’s the way life goes. my own folks divorced when i---”

     “hold on, is that why you dragged us out of the overwatch tournament?” tristan asks, increduously. their father frowns, an expression sinclair used to fear as a child, but that instills almost nothing in his little brother. leonard was never around long enough to discipline them the way he had with his oldest. “to tell us you and mom are over? fuck, i thought everyone knew that. are you kidding me?” 

     “watch your language,” leonard says, quietly but severely enough that tristan hesitates. but not for long. 

     “you can pretend to be a dad when you and your new trophy wife have kids, but until then,” he scoffs, crossing his arms in blatant rebellion. “you don’t fucking tell me what to do.” 

     a silence settles over the table as he fumes in his corner, leonard quietly stunned in his seat, taking the very first look at the man his second-born is becoming. he switches his gaze over to emily, who continues eating without a care in the world, then finally to sinclair. 

     “is that how you’re raising your siblings? to show me no respect?” he questions, fingers clenching, the tan mark of a missing wedding ring on his finger. 

     “it’s not sinclair’s job to raise them,” his mother answers in his stead, dabbing her napkin at the corners of her lips. “it was yours. don’t fault him for being more of a man than you’ll ever be.” 

     “right, this again,” leonard sighs, snapping his fingers at a waiter passing to ask for more wine. “neither of you have to worry. i’ll right my mistakes. if you need me to be more involved, i’ll be involved. and then maybe we can teach you some manners.” he looks pointedly at tristan, who all but raises his arm to give him the finger, before receiving a kick under the table from sinclair. the two brothers exchange a heated glance, before the youngest cowers in defeat. 

     “is there anything else you wanted to tell us, or can we go home and move on with our lives?” sinclair says, addressing leonard for the first time tonight. the two stare at each other, a silent battle that’s been going on for as long as he can remember. he no longer sees his father when he stares at that man. instead, he sees a stranger dedicated to pissing on his life again and again. but no more. when the papers are signed, they’ll be done for good. 

     leonard looks over the table, a mixture of hatred and defiance in each of their faces. only ren looks appropriately sad, eyes gleaming with the lost hope that her parents might’ve been able to work it out. he nods sharply, once. “if you have nothing left to say, then you can go.” 

     chairs scrape at the speed of lightning, as sinclair watches his siblings rush to the front of the restaurant. his mother and him take their time, emily eyeing her soon-to-be ex-husband with an emotion her son can’t quite place. his parents don’t say anything, as they gaze at one another, decades of a life together likely replaying in their minds. even if love was never there, it must do something to them. the moment is over in a flash, however, as his mother turns on her heels without another word and follows her children out. sinclair attempts to follow her, but he’s stopped mid-step.

     “not you,” his father stands up, one hand in his pocket even as his shoulders slump a little. “come on, i’ll take you home.” 

     “i’m good, thank you,” sinclair tries to walk away again, but leonard is faster, grabbing him by the shoulder and steering him towards his car. 

     “i insist,” he says, which really means it’s an order. sinclair closes his eyes for a second, tired and wanting nothing more than to call henri to tell her all about this nonsense. but he steels himself in his father’s arm, following him out without saying a word. soon. 

     outside, his mother throws him a confused look as the valet opens the car door for his family. he waves reassuringly, watching as they leave first, wishing he went with them. both park men stand in silence waiting for his limousine, snow falling quietly on their heads, one blond and one brunette. when the car arrives, sinclair steps in front of his father, finding refuge inside first. they take off into the night, new york passing by outside the tinted windows. 

     “i’m not going to beat around the bush,” leonard starts, running a hand through his head full of hair. “i want you to come work to park corp again. a real job, this time.” sinclair stares at him for one, two, three seconds before bursting into laughter. he can’t help it, even as leonard scowls at him. “i don’t see what’s so funny about anything i said.” 

     “are you kidding me?” he asks, the smile taking its time to disappear from his face. “why in the world would i come work for you again? so you and theodore can humiliate me some more? are you sick?”

     “i didn’t humiliate you, i taught you how to survive,” his father argues, the wrinkles in his face suddenly too visible for his son. “and you did. you even went as far as to expose a mole i had no idea about. imagine what you could do with more training.” 

     “and who’s going to train me? your perfect little cfo?” 

     “me. i’ll train you. with my experience and your brain, we could do the unimaginable.” 

     the words sink into his brain, taking root and expanding into a vision he used to harbor as a younger man. him and his father, working side by side. sinclair, making leonard proud. his dream could become reality. except --- except it’s not his dream, anymore. he grew up from that, found other things that he wanted. things leonard park took from him. first medicine, then henrietta. 

     “you know, if you had asked me a year ago,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “if you hadn’t stripped me of my pride, i might’ve said yes. even if it wasn’t what i wanted, i would’ve still said yes. that’s how much i wanted you to like me. respect me. be proud of me. but now?” he looks at him right in the eye, a mirror reflecting his appearance twenty years from now. “now all i want is for you to rot somewhere, far away from me.” 

     a heavy silence sinks into the limousine, only the quiet sound of the motor resonating across the empty space. he fools himself into thinking the rest of the ride home will be peacefully quiet, until a boisterous laugh rings in his ears. he turns a frustrated expression towards leonard, who’s thrown his head back in apparent delight. when he stops, however, sinclair gulps at the darkness in his gaze. 

     “did you know your mother said the exact same thing to me?” he reveals, smirking. “i spent so long trying to raise a son like me, but you ended up being exactly like her. and tristan--- god, he’s going to cause me so much trouble. i know you think you’re free from me, sinclair, but things won’t happen the way you want them to.” 

     “what do you mean?”

     “i mean, if you think i’ve been cruel this far, then you have no idea what i’m really capable of---”

     he opens his mouth to reply, but a bright light coming from out his father’s window blinds him. he moves to grab leonard’s arm, but it’s too late. the crash punches all air out of him. his world goes spinning, his feet now above his head then back as the car keeps rolling and rolling. he teeters in and out of conciousness, a ringing in his ears that deafens all other noises. when they finally stop, it takes him a few minutes --- or maybe it’s seconds --- to realize he’s been flipped over, held to his seat by the seat belt. warm liquid runs over his forehead and down his eyes, and he realizes belatedly that it’s blood. he tries to move his arm to wipe it away, but the pain nearly has him fainting again. he tries to call out for leonard, but his voice doesn’t come out the first three tries. 

     “da--d?” he asks, weakly, into the silence of the car. there’s no answer. “dad.” still nothing. he closes his eyes, the pain taking over his entire body, blood now coating his lips. it’s harder to stay awake, with each passing second. he keeps waiting for his father to speak up, but there’s only him. 

     he’s never been religious, though he’s always believed in god. it was hard for him to devote himself to a higher power, when he’s always had exactly what he wanted. but now, as death knocks on his door a little while after his twenty-first birthday, he thinks it’s the perfect time for his very first prayer. but the words are jumbled in his head, and he’s falling asleep faster than he’d like to. before he goes, he manages to send up a single thought.

     please, don’t let henri suffer too much. 

[tisfan]

Ad-vengers in Babysitting

for @ifdragonscouldtalk ‘s challenge, Avenging comes in Small Packages.

“Hey, platypus,” Tony said, mock cheerfully. “You busy? I could use some backup here.”

Rhodey could always tell when Tony was fronting. It was a skill that Rhodey had developed out of sheer self-defense. “I’m not currently on duty,” he said, carefully. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong, sour patch? Why would anything be wrong?”

“Aside from the use of the word backup, and also, the alarmingly there’s-nothing-wrong-here voice you’re using. Don’t bullshit me, Tones, just tell me what it is.”

“I… might need you to track down a bad guy for me and smack him around a little until he gives you his magic hourglass.”

“Uh… you might want to start at the beginning? And like, should I be taking notes, and where the hell is the rest of your actual team?”

“Right here, sugarlump,” Tony said. “They’re… uh… All about four to seven years old.”

“Okay, on my way,” Rhodey said. He shook his head and twisted the grey chased black bracelet that he wore all the time, even though it was against a dozen uniform violations. His suit was not -- and would never be -- as cool and responsive as the Iron Man armor, but that was because he couldn’t afford to be down on Tony’s lab every single day and letting Tony fuck with it. (Also, Rhodey had no intentions of going through the nanobot injections, he’d seen the scars Tony had from that, and no thank you.)

But the bracelet would notify his armor that he was on the way -- even with the prosthetics that Tony had rigged up for him, Rhodey just wasn’t as fast as he used to be -- and get everything ready.

“Stay in the suit,” Tony cautioned him. “This de-aging dust is pernicious.”

“Yeah? So how old are you right now?”

“‘Bout thirty, ish. Hard to tell, really,” Tony said. “I’m in the suit, which doesn’t exactly come with a rear-view mirror for me to admire my makeup in.”

“You put the suit on and it kept this from happening?”

“Well, I popped the faceplate and he got me with a little bit of the dust, so I think the sealed environment keeps it out.” Tony said. “I’m leaving the suit on because Bruce has temper tantrums and a five year old Hulk is destructive as shit. Just sayin’, kid’s got some anger management issues. And let me tell you, I need serious therapy for smacking a five year old around, even if he was a Hulk. Well, mostly I just sat on him, but still. This is not enhancing my calm at all.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what they mean by babysitting, Tony,” Rhodey said. He stripped out of his jacket, tie, and regulation shoes before letting War Machine close up around him. Ah, he loved being in the armor. Even after the fall, he still felt safe inside… like, if he died in the armor, it would be the best possible death.

“Boot me up, baby,” he told the suit as he stepped in.

“Good morning, Colonel Rhodes,” ROXY said, her voice fond. She was still a little stiff, not quite as expressive as Friday, or as JARVIS had been, but Rhodey loved her, too.

(more below the cut)

“Okay,” he said as soon as he kicked off from the ground. “Give me the sitrep.” He got a brief look at Tony in the HUD, face at least a decade younger, the lines eased around his eyes. Then someone -- probably FRIDAY, because Tony’s girl just had that sort of sense of humor -- gave Rhodey a pulled back shot from a security camera.

Iron Man was sitting awkwardly, metal legs in a criss-cross pattern, holding a tiny little tea cup in one enormous metal gauntlet. A princess tiara was perched precariously on top of the helmet and a fluttery, purple glitter cloak was thrown around his neck.

“Aren’t you precious?” Rhodey chirped, delighted. “Oh my god, I totally want like full-color photos of this. I might even get one of those life-sized cardboard cutouts, Mrs. Nesbit.”

“God, you’re an asshole,” Tony said.

“You need me,” Rhodey sing-songed. “So, tell me about this villain.”

“Um, totally cliche bullshit type of guy,” Tony said, and the HUD threw up several pictures of a skinny dude in a yellow spandex suit that looked homemade, along with a blue, shimmery cloak. He was carrying an hourglass that was almost two feet tall and probably weighed at least fifty pounds, based on the way Mr. Skinny was bowed over. “Calls himself Chronos.”

“Like the greek god of Time?”

“Linear time, at least,” Tony said. “Could be. He looked more like he was going for the Piers Anthony novel character. Anyway, he threw a handful of this dust out of that hourglass at Cap. We didn’t even realize anything was wrong for a while. Cap delivered the beat down on the guy’s minions--”

“He has minions?”

“Well, he did,” Tony said. “Cap busted ‘em up pretty good.”

“And you guys are all safe?”

“Relatively,” Tony said. “As long as I keep drinking tea, Nat’s happy, and if she’s happy, then Bruce is staying mostly not-green. I haven’t seen Clint in a while, and that’s worrisome even when he’s a grown up. Steve’s drawing pictures on the walls, that’s probably permanent marker -- oh, no, Cap, come on, can we keep the sketches to the walls and not on Thor?”

“Thor’s a baby, too?”

“Yeah, it’s both adorable and weirdly concerning,” Tony reported, “because he can still lift that stupid hammer of his. I swear, it’s a fingerprint, or DNA coded or something, because there is no way in the world that some three year old with a questionable vocabulary and the drinking habits of Howard Stark is worthy.”

“Baby Thor is swearing?”

“No, he’s threatening to wreak havoc,” Tony said. “Blood-thirsty little tyrant. I’ve got him snipe-hunting, at the moment, to prove his prowess.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, you bet your shiny metal ass I did,” Tony said. “Also, Wanda and Viz are missing, also worrisome, so, reinforcements on the babysitting end would be good, too.”

“Yeah, gonna give the baby avenger nanny job a miss. So, uh, what do you want me to do about the villain?” Rhodey asked. He checked his surroundings; damn he loved being able to just leave the driving to his AI, that was so handy. He knew Tony had sometimes used travel time to actually sleep, which was a little more than Rhodey wanted to do, but it was convenient to not have to worry about deployment.

“Find him, take the hourglass away from him, and go badger Strange into doing the bibbity bobbity boo schtick,” Tony said. “Wait, Nat, honey, can you get down from there, sweetie? Come on, just… yeah, there we go. What did I say about climbing on the furniture?”

“You think this is magic?”

“It sure as fuck isn’t science,” Tony said.

“Mis’er Tony,” a piping voice said, and the kids were all so young that Rhodey had no chance of identifying which one it was, “waz fuck mean?”

“Better wash your mouth out, Mr. Tony,” Rhodey said, in all seriousness. “You’ve got impressionable children around you.”

“Bite me, sugarbear,” Tony said. “Fuck is a bad word, and you shouldn’t say it where your Uncle Rhodey can hear you.”

“All right, Tones,” Rhodey reported. “I’m eleven minutes out. Don’t let the Spy Kids get you down.”

“Just hurry up,” Tony pleaded. “My rates for babysitting go up if I have to feed them.”

“Look at it this way,” Rhodey said, “at least none of them are in diapers, still.”

“Remind me when all this is over and I’ll tell you about Captain America and the Winter Soldier flooding the bathroom by trying to rescue one of the toys they ‘accidentally’ flushed down the toilet,” Tony grumbled.

Rhodey laughed. “You can’t say you don’t deserve this,” he said.

“I absolutely do not deserve-- stop laughing at me, honeybear,” Tony complained. “Ack, gotta run, Clint’s climbing up shit again.”

Rhodey grinned. “Record all this for me, Friday, you sweet thing, you,” he said.

“Already on it,” Friday reported.

“Good girl.”

“It’s not very often that the B-listers get to save the day,” Sam said. He’d been doing his thing down at the VA when the assemble call came in and decided that the team could handle it. Sometimes, comforting vets who were suffering from PTSD was way more important than busting up some third-rate knock off villain.

Apparently this had not been that time.

“I hardly consider myself a B-lister,” Dr. Strange said. He was doing that annoying, floating thing again, the damn showoff.

“It’s okay, man,” Sam told him, nudging Strange with his shoulder. “You’ll get your time to shine. I mean, you’re not quite as handsome as me, but you’ll make a really cute doll.”

The cloak that Strange always wore shoved Sam away. Sam had never been able to figure out if that cloak responded to Strange’s thoughts or if it had some sort of agenda of its own, but it hovered around the man like a velvet attack dog, and Sam had seen it do some pretty nifty tricks that a fancy bit of flannel should not manage.

“Your thinly disguised jealousy is an ugly thing, Mr. Wilson,” Strange said.

“What are we doing again, here, banter?” War Machine thudded across the street and dropped another one of the time-lord’s minions into the pile. “Also, they’re called action figures, Wilson,” Rhodes commented, turning his War Machine mask in Sam’s direction, which always made Sam a little nervous. It wasn’t Sam’s fault, exactly, that War Machine had taken a bad hit in the airport battle, but it kinda was, and guilt was a slippery subject.

 “Just thought you needed a new story for the parties, Colonel,” Sam said. “The one with the tank is getting old.”

“This one begins to show some signs of regaining consciousness,” Strange said, and he did that weird… thing with his hands; glowing golden runes in moving, twisting circles appeared. The minion was wrenched to his feet by invisible hands. “Will it help if I threaten you first, or would you just like to tell us where we might find your boss?”

“Oh, just turn him inside out as an example for the rest of these assholes,” Rhodes suggested. “I’m tired, I’m bored, and I didn’t get coffee this morning, before Tony rousted me to come deal with his cleanup issues.”

Sam was pretty sure that War Machine without coffee was more terrifying than Strange, but each to their own.

The minion, on the other hand, just looked stubborn.

“They’re all a bunch of stupids,” a tiny little voice said.

Sam whirled around so fast he almost got whiplash. “Oh, hell no, what… no, no, this is not… Vision, what the-- how are you even a kid?”

Vision, a tiny purple toddler, was floating nearby. He was holding hands with an equally tiny Wanda Maximoff. “A question that concerns me as well. But it has, it seems, happened, and we must deal with it. Wanda and I have located Chronos, if we might be of some assistance.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know y’all ain’t supposed to be out running around when you’re toddlers, right?”

“Hey, Tones,” War Machine was already on the communicator with Stark, which was just as well, because Sam didn’t want to deal with telling an already stressed out Iron Man that they’d found two runaway mini-vengers. “We found your runaways. Flying preschoolers are hard to keep a hold of, I get it, man, I do, but…”

“Chronos left behind a unique radiation and trans dimensional signature. Between Wanda and I, we were able to follow it.”

Strange flicked his fingers in one of those convoluted patterns; he always looked more stiff and formal than Wanda, whose magic danced from knuckle to knuckle like she was listening to her own personal rave. Sam couldn’t always tell if that was a result of Strange’s injuries, or differences in their training, or something else entirely.

Lines of shimmering blue symbols extended from Strange’s hands and circled the two children, coiling around until--

“Leashes?” Sam blurted. “You made magical mommy leashes?”

“It seemed, somehow, appropriate, given the circumstances,” Strange said. “After all, toddlers are trouble on the best of days, and magical, flying toddlers likely to be more taxing than most.” He looped the glowing runes around his wrist. “This way, we should be able to keep track of them, at least.”

The two flying kids looked like surreal helium balloons more than anything else, but working together, Wanda and Vision managed a spell that drew a brilliant yellow, crackling line between the mind stone in the middle of Vision’s forehead all the way to wherever Chronos was.

“I gotta say, that’s a neat trick,” Sam commented. He kicked off from the ground to scout ahead. “Even if if looks like something out of a damn video game.”

“It is the traces of his effects on us that Wanda’s spell is able to detect, pointing in the direction of the source,” Vision said. He was always a bit pompous, sounding like Tony’s old AI, which in turn supposedly sounded like the Stark’s old butler, but hearing that voice and those tones from a tiny little purple gummy bear of a kid was super disconcerting.

The line was as the crow -- or, in this case, the Falcon -- flies, so Sam zipped along the line, hoping the guy hadn’t done something like gotten on an airplane in the meanwhile. “I don’t suppose you can tie them up outside on the corner lamppost or something, while we bash some baddies?”

“Mr. Wilson, that would be very irresponsible,” Strange said. “Maybe we should leave them in your tender care while the colonel and I deal with the situation.”

“No, I ain’t drawing straws to see who stays the kids,” Sam said. “I got nieces and nephews and I have done just as much uncle-duty babysitting as is mandated by the state of New York--”

“Perfectly qualified, great, thank you for volunteering,” Strange said.

“Man, shut the hell up.”

But, of course, he got stuck with watching after Viz and Wanda while Strange and War Machine went inside to kick ass. Taking names was optional; he’d heard a rumor that Strange had taken one man’s name permanently -- like the dude never remembered his name again. Even nicknames. It was weird and scary and petty as hell, but it did make one a little leary about going up against the Sorcerer Supreme.

Chronos didn’t seem to have gotten that memo, so Sam was stuck outside, entertaining two highly dangerous, low on patience, kidlets. The usual things that Sam did to keep his sister’s kids out of trouble did not go over well with Viz -- being a synthoid apparently kept playing video games on Sam’s smartphone from being quality entertainment.

“A’ight now, Wanda, is that a real tiger there, or are you puttin’ a whammy on me, because I don’t appreciate no whammies,” Sam said. He was pretty sure it wasn’t an actual tiger, like escaped from the zoo sort of critter, but it was entirely possible that Wanda had gotten bored and decided to import a tiger. Or grow one from an alley cat.

“Put that thing back where it came from, or so help me--” Viz started, and then they were both singing that stupid song from Monsters, Inc.

“It’s a work in progress,” Sam muttered as the tiger disappeared in a puff of scarlet mist. “Why is it that you even know Sully and Mike, Viz? I didn’t think you were big into cartoons.” He pressed one hand over his chest, willing himself to calm. Down. No tigers. There were no tigers here, damn it.

“I do have access to my… former self’s memory stores,” Viz explained. “And Mr. Stark was particularly fond of showing a wide variety cinema to Captain Rogers.”

Movie nights. Sam sighed. It’d been a while since the Avengers had had movie night. “Huh. Do you like that sort of thing? Like, when you’re a full sized synthoid and not a pint sized technological terror?”

“I am fond of popcorn,” Viz said, thoughtfully. “And hearing the thoughts of my companions about the movies, although I find most cinema to be… less than engaging.”

“Popcorn, popcorn, popcorn!” Wanda bellowed. She jumped up onto Viz’s back, wrapping her arms around his throat. “Gimme a biggy pack ride!”

“I’m quite certain what you meant was a piggy back ride,” Viz corrected her, gently, which was probably just a bad move, because no one appreciated that shit. And yeah, there went Wanda sticking her tongue in his ear and blowing a loud, wet raspberry.

“I know what I said!”

“That was truly unnecessary,” Viz complained, but nonetheless, he hooked his hands under Wanda’s knees and trotted her around in a circle. Which worked great as a distraction right up until Strange’s magical leashes got all tangled up around Sam, and the three of them ended up stuck together like the world’s most awkward slinky.

On the plus side, War Machine came out a few minutes later, carrying a huge hourglass. He turned it over, opened the -- Sam assumed, bottom -- and sprinkled a little bit of dust on each of the kids, like some sort of metal Tinkerbelle.

“Hey, watch it with that stuff,” Sam protested. “Don’t need to be any older than I already am.”

“With age comes wisdom,” Rhodey said.

“Yeah, I’m good man. Wise enough, thanks.”

There was no possible way that the War Machine’s faceplate could indicate sarcasm.

It did anyway.

Tony was sleeping.

Steve, probably the oldest of the de-aged Avengers, was playing an entirely age-inappropriate video game on the playstation while the Winter Soldier was poking someone’s smart phone, looking up cheat codes and walkthroughs. Apparently kid-savvy with tech outweighed both of their “I was an adult in the 30s, don’t expect me to care about your smartphone” stubbornness. Or, as Rhodey had often thought, privately, they were both perfectly fine with tech, the two of them just liked yanking Tony’s chain. A hobby that, most of the time, Rhodey could get behind.

On one side of Tony was curled a just-barely toddler Thor, Mjolnir in his arms like a teddy bear.  

Peter Parker was the only infant, but still apparently sticky as velcro; he was clinging to the front of the Iron Man’s suit, napping, thumb shoved firmly in his mouth. There was drool dripping down his chin and onto the suit.

Black Widow was still having a tea party and had managed to talk Clint into wearing a purple princess dress and glitter flats and drink pretend tea out of little plastic cups while discussing the neighbor’s begonias. Hulk was a great, green toddler, nearly as tall as Tony was as an adult, but he was sitting, criss-cross, on the floor at Tony’s feet, petting a cat.

Where the hell had they gotten a cat from? Rhodey didn’t know if he wanted to know.

“KITTY,” Hulk bellowed, softly, as Rhodey tiptoed around the sleeping and resting avengerlettes.

“Yeah, I see that,” Rhodey said. “Hope Bruce likes cats.”

“PUNY BANNER LIKE KITTY!”

“Yeah, okay, so we have a Compound pet,” Sam said. “I’ll have Friday put in an order for litter and food. Or something.”

“Hey, Tones,” Rhodey said, shaking his shoulder gently. “Come on, wakey wakey, old man, time to give your kids back.”

Iron Man very gently wrapped one armor-clad arm around the sleeping Parker. “Shut up, sour patch. I just got them napping. ‘S everything okay?”

“Well, aside from the World War Twosome traumatizing themselves by playing Outlast 2,” Rhodey said, “we have a cure. And the baddie’s on his way to prison. And Strange is trying to figure out how to get the hourglass back to the person it belongs to, more power to him.”

“A cure,” Tony said. The facemask peeled back and a somewhat less aged Tony looked up at him. “Almost sorry to hear that. These kids are a lot of work, but--” he stared down at Peter, then smiled, a little dopey and sad. “I kinda like it.” Tony shifted a little until Thor was sleeping on the floor, still curled around his hammer.

“Yeah, thought you might,” Rhodey said. “You’ve always been Team Dad.”

Wanda was sprinkling the re-aging dust on various Avengers. Steve and Bucky suddenly growing back into their adult selves did not seem to keep them from fighting over the PS4 controller like rowdy teenagers.

“It was just… you know… nice,” Tony said.

Rhodey glanced around. “Kinda thought you might think that.” He handed Tony a pair of little ziplock baggies. “Save it for a special occasion.”

Tony’s eyebrows went way up.

“Just sayin’, Tones,” Rhodey said, “that it might be nice to spend an afternoon as kids again, don’t you think?”

Tony’s eyes softened. “Oh, yeah. Absolutely!”

#fic #tony stark #deaging avengers #tony is a good babysitter #sort of #bad ass Rhodey #War Machine #war machine rox

[nomorelonelydays]

A Consort to a King - Snippet - fic submission

Here is a snippet of my SidGeno Game of Thrones AU :) Hopefully I will have the rest of it up by next weekend after my finals are done!

———-

Winterfell should not be this cold in the summer, Evgeni mentally laments to himself as he and his camp are finally allowed past the gates hiding the capitol of the North away from wandering eyes. The guards are much more stoic than his own, but he does not mind so. Sasha informs the guards to the residence of House Crosby of who they are, and the guards are quick to comply to Sasha’s demands to retrieve Lord Crosby and his family.

The family is already waiting for Evgeni and his men when they are led to a clearing just a little further down a cleared path. Evgeni halts his horse and dismounts him gracefully, despite his gangly stature. He straightens his robes and his massive bear fur across his shoulders as he waits for Sasha and Gonchar to dismount and follow his lead.

Lord Troy Crosby is about as stiff and expressionless as Evgeni had expected, but at least he is polite. Lady Trina Crosby, the Lord’s wife, is very polite and charming in her most humble way. Their daughter, Taylor Crosby is young—too young for a marriage of any kind, Evgeni thinks—and a true warrior, if her stance and the strength in her grip as Evgeni shakes hands with her is anything to go by. The boy of the family, Sidney Crosby, is—

“Damn him for running off again,” Lord Troy grumbles. Evgeni can see the faint hints of fondness in Lady Trina’s glare. She looks apologetically at Evgeni.

“I am terribly sorry for my son’s rudeness, Your Grace,” she says to him kindly. “I will make sure he is dealt with appropriately.” Evgeni waves his hand dismissively.

“It is not a bother to me. I can meet him some other time.” Trina’s tight-lipped smile eases into an easier, more genuine one.

“Why don’t I make you gentlemen some tea while we have our men send your bags to your chambers? I’m sure you are all exhausted from the trip.”

The home of House Crosby is beautiful and very well lived-in, Evgeni notices. The dark stone walls and fur rugs over rugged wooden floors. His chambers include a fireplace, a large, comfortable bed with the finest sheets and pillows, and a stunning view of the mountains to the West. The sun is starting to lower, but Evgeni is not too weary from his travels just yet.

Before Evgeni goes to have tea, he, Gonchar, and Sasha decide to visit the military camp just a short distance away, several of Sasha’s commanders in tow. The General had said something about wanting to meet with the Commander of the Northern Army to discuss strategies in case either nation is faced with an unexpected war once again. Evgeni can see the tension in Sasha’s shoulder, the same one that he had a blade lodged in only months ago, as they walk towards the camp.

“I take it you will not be sparring with any young cadets of any kind, correct?” Evgeni teases. Sasha grimaces as he slowly rotates his shoulder beneath his lighter armor.

“Not today, Zhenya,” Sasha sighs bemusedly. “Maybe later during our stay. I am not in the best shape to fight. The Royal Physician tells me to rest my shoulder for the time being.” Evgeni nods in understanding before turning back to the road in front of them. Sasha has never taken kindly to other people telling him what he should and should not do with his health and his body, but the new young Physician, Sir Nicklas Backstrom of Dorne, is the only one so far to put Sasha in his place and to tell him to, Evgeni recalls, “stop being so fucking pigheaded for once. You will die young and crippled if you keep damaging your body so.” Sasha was quick to listen to the Physician. Evgeni wonders if it truly has to do with Backstrom’s medical advice or because the fiery blond is the only one who can manage to speak to the General of Evgeni’s army like he is an old friend or a spouse.

When the group reaches the military grounds, sparring matches are taking place. Evgeni recognizes Commander Mario Lemieux standing on a platform, risen above his soldiers so he can watch his men more closely. When Mario looks to his left, he grins at the sight of Sasha, Gonchar, and Evgeni. Mario steps down from his platform and immediately gathers Sasha in a hug like they are old friends.

“How is your shoulder, General?” Mario asks with a sly smile. Sasha beams, missing tooth on display for the whole world to see.

“Much better than the last time I saw you, Commander,” Sasha replies. “Still not ready to see hand to hand combat, but hopefully it will heal nicely.” Mario nods, obviously pleased with Sasha’s answer. Mario hugs Gonchar as well and asks about the Royal Hand’s wife and two daughters. Evgeni casually looks around at the soldiers training. Most of them are young, scrappy, and even a little scrawny. Evgeni reminisces being a young, brash soldier, trying to rise up the ranks. Even though he is not much younger than these men, his soul feels many decades older than he actually is. Seeing them revives the itch he has been suppressing to go back into battle and kill, kill, kill. Ever since his coronation, King Evgeni has not driven a blade into an enemy’s skin. It is driving him mad with dissatisfaction and longing. His thirst to fight needs to be quenched.

Evgeni continues to distractedly watch the warriors spar amongst each other until his dark eyes stop on a pair of soldiers, a little older than the others but still young and very fit, swinging fists and legs like they were born for combat. Evgeni tilts his head in interest as he watches the men fight intently. The one with longer hair and a pretty face is only slightly slimmer than his opponent, but it is enough to have him overpowered. He tackles his adversary to the muddy ground until the other man uses his powerful legs to throw him off. The bulkier man jumps to his feet, light as a feather, and the men spar some more. Evgeni is entranced, just like the other soldiers now surrounding the other two men. They continue to punch, kick, jump, and fight with such tenacity and fluidity, Evgeni almost believes it looks more like a dance than two men sparring in a muddy courtyard.

“Incredible, aren’t they, Your Grace?” Evgeni turns to look at Mario, who is smiling proudly at the pair of soldiers still fighting. “My two finest soldiers. They’ve grown up together their whole lives and fight better than almost any man I have ever seen. They blow me away with their grace. I will be proud to see either of them become the next Commander of this army.”

“You are retiring?” Evgeni asks in surprise. Mario grunts in confirmation and nods. “I have a wife four young children waiting for me at home. I have taken many risks with not only my health but my family and my men. I am far past my prime and it’s my time to pass down the torch. Few of these men are capable of taking my place, but I know who are the most worthy of consideration. Two of them are currently fighting each other like mad men.” Evgeni ponders over Mario’s words as he turns back to the fight. The men have their fists up, laughing and smiling at each other like they’re playing like boys in the schoolyard.

“You tired yet, mon ami?” the taller, slimmer one taunts. His opponent laughs loudly—a strange sound for a laugh, but it sounds just as lovely as his fighting looks. Evgeni still cannot see his face.

“You’ll have to fight harder than that to wear me down,” the shorter man retorts in a smooth, velvety voice. His friend shrugs and runs to him at full speed. They spar again, more intensely than before, and Evgeni watches on like he is at a sporting event. The fight doesn’t last much longer, though, when the shorter man finally takes a roundhouse kick to his opponent’s neck, flattening him to the ground within seconds.

“I call mercy! I’m done!” The winner kneels over his groaning adversary and holds out a hand. His companion laughs and takes his hand. Both men are quickly up to their feet, laughing and breathing heavily as they listen to their fellow soldiers congratulate them on a job well done. Mario lets them all talk for a few more moments until he whistles at them to capture their attention. The courtyard falls silent almost immediately.

“Lieutenants. May I have you two come up front, please?” the Commander asks, looking directly at the two soldiers who have just finished their sparring match. They nod once at their Commander and step forward. “The rest of you: continue with your training. No bullshitting with the sparring.” Mario turns to look at Sasha and Evgeni. “Come and meet my two finest men.”

The group lower themselves from the platform and are on even ground with everyone else. The two muddy soldiers are given towels to wipe away the grime from their faces as King Evgeni, Commander Lemieux, Royal Hand Gonchar, and General Ovechkin approach. They immediately straighten when they see King Evgeni and bow their heads respectfully.

“Your Grace,” the taller one with nice hair says somberly, eyes cast down. Evgeni bows his head back in thanks. The man grins at Evgeni and holds his hand out to shake. “Kristopher Letang. Second Lieutenant Commander of the Northern Army.” Evgeni takes the handsome soldier’s hand and shakes it.

“Pleased to meet you,” the King says. “You fight very well. I was impressed.” Letang’s grin spreads. “Thank you, Your Grace. Trained with some of the best.” Evgeni hums in agreement before turning to Letang’s companion. “And what is your name, winner?” The shorter man wipes his face properly with the towel and—and—

Fuck, Evgeni thinks, what beautiful creature is this?

“Sidney Crosby,” the soldier introduces himself with a curt bow of his head—much more curtly and informal than his friend, Evgeni notices—his dark curls bouncing with the movements of his head. No smile graces his uncharacteristically dark pink lips, but Evgeni cannot bring himself to care. “First Lieutenant Commander of the Northern Army.” There is a tense pause before Letang harshly elbows Sidney in his ribs. Sidney flares at his friend before reluctantly holding his hand out to shake. “Welcome to my home, Your Grace.” Evgeni tenderly takes Sidney’s calloused but very soft, muddy hand and raises the knuckles to his lips. His eyes never leave Sidney’s deep brown ones.

“A pleasure it is to meet a beautiful man such as yourself,” the King says sincerely before bowing his head to kiss Sidney’s knuckles, as if Sidney is royalty himself. “I have not seen someone who can fight as well as you. One of the best soldiers I have ever seen.” Evgeni does not miss the small blush dusting Sidney’s cheeks. Evgeni just thought Sidney was beautiful before. Sidney clears his throat and quickly pulls his hand from Evgeni’s grip.

“Thank you, Your Grace. Your words are very flattering.” His voice sounds stiff, like he isn’t used to hearing such compliments. Evgeni wishes to say something else, but he chooses to keep his words to himself.

“I hate to be the one to interrupt this little introduction,” Gonchar’s voice cuts in, “but I do believe that someone was supposed to meet with Lady Trina for tea this afternoon.” Just like that, Sidney rolls his broad shoulders back and regains his military composure. Evgeni has never wished to stab his own Royal Hand, but he is very tempted.

“Then I should not be the one to keep you all waiting,” Sidney says formally. He locks eyes with Evgeni again, the beautiful brown hidden away by the quick flash of gold. It’s gone as quickly as it comes. Evgeni is sure he would have missed it if he was not paying close enough attention. “Enjoy your stay in Winterfell, Your Grace. Hopefully, we will see each other again.” Evgeni can hear the hint of hope in those words, and he grins.

“We most certainly will meet again, Lieutenant Commander.” The discrete blush returns just as Sidney is being whisked away by Mario and Letang, the three men walking back to the soldiers still standing in the courtyard. Evgeni groans at Sasha’s smirk.

“Only known him for all of two minutes, and you’re already gone for him,” Sasha teases. “Not that I can blame you. He is very handsome.”

Beautiful, Evgeni wants to say. Sidney Crosby is not handsome. He is beautiful.

#fic submission #HOLY SHIT!!!! #HOLY HOLY SHIT!!!!! #THIS IS SO LOVELY AND WONDERFUL #i cant wait for more!!! #your writing is so beautiful!!! #will we get to see them kiss???? #aaaaaa i want to see soldier sid becoming consort sid in your writing #this is so so so so so lovely #like when consort sidney returns home to winterfell with his children and husband #and everyone who knew him as lieutenant commander gets to see this #SOFT and BEAUTIFUL creature being loved by his husband #and cuddling babies #that is what i dream of #and also GOOD LUCK ON YOUR FINALS!!!! #youre gonna kill it! #submission

[silverynight]

Of traditions and duels

There’s an old tradition that concerns the Scamanders in which the head of every family must decide who the younger members should marry. The suitors must present themselves to the head of the family and accept any kind of challenge they decide to put them through.

In Theseus’ family things are a little bit different.

Since his parents died, he became the head of the Scamander family and so far he has done a very good job of taking care of his little brother Newt. Well… he’s not so young anymore and certainly he can make his own decisions but the tradition doesn’t consider age in its statement so technically speaking Theseus is still the one who has to decide for his brother in that matter.

And that’s how the problem starts. Because, to be honest, he knows he should ignore that stupid tradition and make the arrangements for Newt to be legally capable of deciding for himself… but the war happened and a few things here and there that just have been keeping him so busy. He doesn’t have time to do it. Well… he has it now, but Newt doesn’t seem to want to get married anytime soon so…

Okay, the thing is, he doesn’t have any excuses, but since he returned from the war and his name started to be recognized not only in England but also on the other side of the globe everyone seems to be scared of him. Yes, enjoys that a little bit and also likes being respected BUT he also enjoys dueling. And now nobody wants to duel him because they’re so afraid of him.

And so one day a man arrives at his door and the utter piece of trash ask for his baby brother’s hand in marriage and of course Theseus is not pleased, not at all, so decides to use that fear on his favor and challenges him to a duel (hopping the man would just go away) but the thing is… he doesn’t and accepts in spite of being terrified.

The poor man just lasts like two seconds, but makes Theseus happy anyway and gives him a very good idea (according to him at least) and decides to establish dueling as a legal form of competition over Newt’s hand.

It works. They’re still afraid of him, but they’re willing to try it just for the chance of marrying his little brother. It’s just insane. Well he knows his brother is adorable and that he’s also appealing to the eye but he hadn’t expected something like that. Not that he’s complaining though.

But of course news travel fast and even from Merlin knows where Newt finds out and is pissed. Because his brother -bless his kind little heart- doesn’t like people getting hurt (physically or emotionally) and even less when is because of him. And ‘you know I’d have to accept the courtship and marriage if you lose Theseus and my creatures need ME’

“I won’t. Nobody can defeat me,” he says during holidays. “And you know I wouldn’t let them marry you. They don’t deserve you.”

But Newt just rolls his eyes and leaves. It takes months for him to receive a letter from his brother again.

A year after that his friend Percival, who’s working at MACUSA, comes from America to visit him. So he can help but to tell him the whole story and of course perfect and noble auror Graves goes and takes Newt’s side even though he hasn’t met his brother yet.

“You absolute idiot, what’s wrong with you?” He almost growls. “A person should have the right to choose who he wants to marry.”

“I’m not deciding for him!” Theseus rises from his chair then suddenly feeling irritated. “They don’t stand a chance against me. It’s not like I’d let any of them near my brother!”

“And what if someone defeats you? What then? What about your brother? What if he ends up with an asshole, what if he ends up with someone like Grindelwald?”

At that Theseus tries to calm himself because he knows what his friend’s been through and know understands better his reaction. He also remember that without his brother’s help Percival wouldn’t be standing in front of him. And Graves must know that too.

“I wouldn’t let it happen,” he assures, trying not to be offended at the suggestion. “Newt means so much to me.”

“But you can’t be sure,” Percival insists. “Not until you make the arrangements.”

“It won’t happen. Nobody can defeat me.”

It comes out almost as a joke and Theseus smiles, but Graves doesn’t return that smile.

“Are you sure of that?”

“C'mon, you’ve seen me fight,” he says. “Who could beat me?”

“Very well then,” Percival takes a few steps back; his expression changes suddenly, his eyes are filled with determination. He takes his wand out of his coat and puts his left hand on his back.

Theseus looks at him almost in shock when he realises what his (traitor) friend is trying to do.

“Don’t you dare!” He warns but is ignored.

“I, Percival Graves, Director of the Department of Magical Security, challenge you, Theseus Scamander, to a duel for Newt Scamander’s hand in marriage.”

And the traitor knows exactly the fucking protocol to follow. He knows he can’t refuse.

“I’m gonna kill you after we finish,” he promises.

Graves grins at him, the bastard.

“The words, you have to say the words,” he reminds him.

“I-I accept the challenge.” He blurts out and as soon as he says it he fires a spell in Percival’s director.

A spell that his friend blocks almost too easily. That’s when he realises he might have fucked up.

It’s the frist time in decades that he has to put all of his energy into it. And it would’ve been fun if it not was for the fact that he was risking Newt.

He fights with everything he has, but after a few minutes realises that maybe his friend has more experience than him.

When he watches his wand flying right into Percival’s hand he feels petrified.

“Now you understand,” Percival says and something changes in his face. “Look, I’m not going to marry your brother. He isn’t even here for Merlin’s sake, I just wanted for you to understand. You have to make the arrangements.”

A wave of relief passes through his body. Theseus nods “I’ve learned my lesson.”

Percival must have seen that in his eyes because he gives him his wand back and sits on the couch.

After a few minutes, when they’re both more calmed, Theseus decides to talk again.

“You see, since you… defeated me, you have the right to start the courtship and marry my brother.”

“I told you that I-”

“I know,” Theseus interrupts him. “And for that I’m glad, believe me. But for me to give Newt legal freedom you must reject that right first. By defeating me, a magical bond was formed and my brother and I are obligated to follow the tradition.”

“What should we do then?”

“It’s a simple spell,” he assures. “And you have to say loud and clear you won’t marry my brother.”

At that, Graves mouth presses into a fine line. His eyes look around him.

“How come I have never met your brother?” He ask, curious. “I would like to thank him for what he did in New York.”

“He travels a lot. Maybe some day I’ll introduce you two,” Theseus offers, but honestly doesn’t plan to do it.

“Why don’t you have pictures of him?”

“I have them, I just don’t like to put them for everyone to see,” he breathes, now irritated.

Percival arches his eyebrows at him.

“Can I see one?”

“When we finish here then maybe I’ll show you.” Theseus frowns when he sees Percival’s amused grin. “WHAT?”

“I won’t change my mind over a picture! Honestly Theseus!” He laughs. “Do you think I won’t renounce to the courtship if I see a picture of Newt?”

Theseus just glares at him.

“Oh for Merlin’s beard! You really do think so. Well now I’m curious, how does your brother look like? Because auror Goldstein is very fond of him you know, now I wonder…”

“Just shut your mouth Percival, just shut it,” he growls, but his friend keeps laughing.

“Right. I’m sorry. So, what about the picture?”

“I’ll show you one, after we cast the spell and you say the words,” Theseus says and it doesn’t look like he’s going to change his mind.

Percival just rolls his eyes, but agrees.

And just when they’re ready to do so, they hear a 'crack’ outside Theseus’ house and the sound the door makes when somebody opens it.

They both rise from their sits out of instinct and Theseus watches as Percival’s shoulders relax when a messy reddish hair appears in front of them.

Theseus curses under his breath because Newt is there with his green big eyes and pure smile and many freckles like stars in the night sky and he wants to cover Newt’s face, hide him because suddenly Percival is looking at him with a stupid look on his face.

And Merlin why Newt’s smile is just so bright and he doesn’t even notice Graves and approaches his brother with a book in his hand.

“They decided to publish it!” He almost sings in excitement. “This is the final version!”

“Congratulations. I’m sure your brother is so proud of you, Mr Scamander.”

Stupid Percival, nobody asked him.

And the bastard approaches Newt like Theseus is not there at all.

“Mr Graves!” Newt blushes. “Tina told me you… She said you were better.”

“I am,” he takes another step closer. “And please, just call me Percival.”

He offers his hand and Newt looks at it before shaking it. “I’m Newt Scamander but only Newt will do. It’s how everyone calls me.”

“It is really a pleasure to meet you, Newt,” Percival says and takes his hand and presses a soft kiss on his knuckles.

Newt flushes even more and Theseus is sure that he’s gonna kill his friend. He takes Newt by the shoulders and basically yanks him away from Graves.

“You’re gonna stay a few days, aren’t you little brother?” He asks, forcing a smile. “Great because you need to rest now, you look tired so why don’t you go to your room and feed your creatures?”

At the mention of them Newt reacts, nods and gets up the stairs.

Theseus turns around to look at Percival, but notices that his eyes are still fixed on the stairs.

He clears his throat. The other auror looks at him and somehow seems flustered.

“I changed my mind,” he blurts out.

Theseus shakes his head. No, definitely not.

“I want to court Newt,” he continues as if his friend isn’t looking at him like he wants to tear him apart. “I’ll take care of him, I promise.”

“You utter cock! You said-”

“I know what I said,” he frowns. “I just… I’m human, you know? And he’s… Merlin help me he’s so bright and warm… I’m sorry but I’m not gonna let an opportunity like this slip through my fingers.”

“What happened to 'let him make his own decisions’?”

“I’m gonna court him and if at the end of it he doesn’t want me, I’ll let him go,” Percival promises, looking like someone just punched him.

Good, because Theseus wants to do much at the moment.

“I don’t like it.”

“But you have to let me, right?”

“Right.” Theseus admits but clenches his fists.

And then, his not-so-best-friend-after-all starts to court his baby brother.

Fucking stupid marriage traditions. He always hated them.

#gramander #newt scamander #percival graves #theseus scamander #of traditions and duels

[serenavonromvesen]

September 21st, 2019.

I really don’t know where else to vent but on tumblr. I have always used tumblr as an outlet for venting and I’m reaching a point where I really just need to write out how I’m feeling, without cramping my hand writing with pen and paper.

I feel really lonely as far as friends go. I have an AMAZING group of friends, but so many of them live far away. I have my tribe and I feel I will always have that, but its never the same as having lady friends, I literally have like three or four ladyfriends that I can actually hang out with in person, and only one of them is someone I didnt meet through my boyfriend first. its not that I have anything I want to share behind him, its that I always feel like on some level they’re always more his friend than mine- and at that, I didn’t choose most of them to be in my life, they were given to me. don’t get me wrong, I’m SO grateful for anyone I do have currently in my life. I just don’t have any friends who truly understand me, and especially not that are into the things that I am. I would love so much to be able to be friends with another tattoo model in my area, and ACTUALLY genuinely have a real friendship. I emphasize ‘genuinely’ because this industry is FULL of backstabbing bitches that would throw you in front of a bus to get one more step ahead of you. I just want a girl I can hang out with all the time SO bad. and the one person here who is awesome, works like ALLLLL the time. it sucks pretty bad when you only have one true friend and they end up getting way too busy for you. she’s supposed to move away anyways she said, so I guess I better get used to it now anyways. I’m just so sad of having no girls to actually hang out with. Skyping with my best friend is great, but it just isnt the same- and a lot of time I do get put aside compared to actually going to hang out with people anyways. which i dont have here.

now, I’m SUPER introverted, nervous, shy, socially awkward AND anxious, and sometimes I have a hard time making normal conversation. in fact, I am always secretly bothered by the fact that I’m PRETTY SURE i have some form of Autism, but I would never actually say that I am being diagnosed, but I am terrified to find out. I once emailed a place to ask some questions and set an appointment, but I never heard back.. that was i think last year. Anyways, I don’t want a ton of friends or anything. I dont want to hang out every day- it’s exhausting. but I still want the option to be able to call someone up in those rare days where I do feel like going outside or seeing people, to actually have fun. I used to have that in New Jersey, my group of girls that I hang with an we all really support each other. I miss them so bad. I am SO homesick for like, the last two years now. I try not to think about it if I can help it, but I miss my friends, I miss my mom.. I hate that I’m missing my baby cousins grow up, I hate that I’ve FINALLY made a connection with some of my cousins and now I’ll rarely ever see them, I hate that I can’t do body suspensions more often, I hate that I don’t get to see my brother Sean when he visits... but most of all I do HATE New Jersey and could never live there. I just wish so bad it hadn’t been like 4-5 years since I’ve seen my friends and family. it hurts. I’m so homesick for just the strong friendships I have.

I just...know its possible. I know its possible to have the small group of friends I want. I just wish girls weren’t so...mean and competitive. I just feel so lonely. I feel like I don’t have anyone to hang out with thats a female. why is everyone so far away? I’m home alone all day every day. you’d think a puppy wouldve made me feel less alone, but really I’m a thousand times more stressed than ever. I wanted to move for a fresh start, to breathe, so enjoy peace...and as soon as I got here everyones over all the time and it just reminds me how I dont have friends of my own, and how my friends dont come to visit me, and how I never get a second to myself. I finally got the chance and heres this puppy. i love him with my life but I AM SO STRESSED!!! I’m with him 10-14 hours a day by myself and then half of the time I’m still the one dealing with him at the crack of dawn, too. I never get time alone unless he sleeps and then I have to walk on eggshells to not wake him up- AND I DIDN’T EVEN FUCKING WANT THIS!!! when I was forced to give up my other pupper, Hades, I said I never wanted a puppy again because IT IS TOO MUCH FOR ME. it puts me on edge and greatly disrupts my bipolar. i literally CANT handle it. I said I would get a dog no younger than 2 years old. I wanted a border coli so bad, maybe even a doberman because I still miss my old dog Max SO MUCH! I like bigger dogs and never really was a big fan of little dogs. I like a dog I can give a whole ass hug to, and feel protected by when I walk alone down a street with him. but no, Michael had to choose, he wanted a puppy, he wanted a small-type pure bred dog which means it’ll be twice as expensive twice as often with vet visits. but he wanted it. he insisted. and now, here we are, just like scooping the litter boxes for all 4 cats, its pretty much almost entirely left on me to do. for so so long I told myself “well he works and I dont really work, I’m home all day and hes not here much to have the time for it.” but you know what I realized? That when I worked full time at Starbucks, or when I worked two jobs at both the Smoke Shoppe AND Spencers, that I still put in the same amount of work as all of this- I was still expected to do all of this. at that, I am SO SICK AND TIRED of him asking me EVERY FUCKING DAY “will you mop today? will you do the laundry? will you do that dogs medicine? will you change the cat boxes?” periodically throughout every morning. like oh, I didn’t realize that I was a fucking 4 year old that needs direction on needing to do basic fucking cleaning tasks!!!!! the only reason I dont get to half that stuff most of the time is that I’m annoyed as fuck at being told what to do / treated that way, and that by the time he leaves for work theres been a whole fucking list of shit lined up that I now feel EXPECTED to do before hes home from work. it literally aggravates me SO MUCH just typing about it because im so fucking pissed off that he does this EVERYMOTHERFUCKINGDAY. it makes me feel angry and completely overwhelmed and then I just spend my entire day dreading it then rushing to do it right before he gets home from work. I just fucking hate it. like I’m fucking 25 years old, I know what the fuck to do to keep the fucking house clean, thanks.

at that, between the no friends, the fucking belittlement of being given a verbal list of chores every day, and the stress from puppy I absolutely did NOT ask for, I am feeling so depressed. I wanted a new house so I could ENJOY it, but instead any moment in my backyard is spent trying to get the puppy to stop eating random crap the people before us left- like glass, I cant enjoy how the inside looks because theres puppy training pads all over the floor which the floor is always dirty because of being in and out of the house with the puppy, or just even a moment of peace at all. like literally this defeated the whole entire purpose of wanting to move. its still a gazillion times better than the trailer, I still totally love this house, but because of my stress and loneliness level, I feel nearly just as depressed as before.

what doesnt help is lately Michael has been SO negative abut things. it’s like when I finally am enjoying myself, he comes through like a wrecking ball being negative, depressing, unsupportive, argumentative, and just plain giving off vibes that make me feel so down. He still makes me feel super happy like 98% of the time, but it is such a downer when hes being super negative about EVERYTHING. or when he gets my hopes up about things and then goes back on his word. he LOVES to tell me yes to shut me up then saying no when it becomes real, a mega part of why I haven’t gotten to visit my family in 4 years. and then he makes me feel SO bad about it. he has no problem bragging to everyone about a vacation, but when its just us suddenly its “I have to do this on my own” and “it’s expensive” like really? thanks for bragging about it for two months, waiting until we have it a month away to tell me its 100% on me to plan it, then complain about everything I tried to plan, WHILE making me feel like a complete and utter loser that I’m a failure at everything I try to do so now I don’t make any money. I literally fucking hate myself again. that’s where I’m at. I’m starting to find my body, my hair, my face- all of it repulsive. I hate how I look. I hate my hair and how my dreads are all lose, but I have to ask him for money to be able to fix my hair. he always tells me just ask and it isnt a problem but then when I do want to do things he makes me wait ages and puts it off or flat out complains- or if it all goes smoothly he throws it in my face the first fight we have. I just feel like such a fucking loser, that’s getting uglier by the day. and when I finally worked up the courage to go to the gym, its like pulling teeth to get him to go- I’ve been asking for a year and we STILL haven’t gone. I want to be a breakdancer SO BAD and I’ll never get to do that if I can’t go to the gym to work out. he tells me to just go but he doesnt understand that being a woman alone in public these days you’re at extreme risk of being raped and 10/10 multiple dudes will trying saying gross things and hitting on you/catcalling. I wish so so so so so bad I could go out for a day and have not a soul talk to me or look at me. what a dream that would be. I just cant go alone. its literally dangerous. scary.

I just feel so STUCK. I want to make money so I can contribute to the house and pay for what I need MYSELF. I never ever liked being someone who fully depends on someone like that. hell, a decade ago I refused to let anyone even get me a simple drink from a convenience store. it still feels uncomfortable to have to be like this. I want to be able to take care of myself. to know that if it was just me that I wouldnt just...be out on the streets. now I’m getting married and its a great relief that thats a less legitimate fear, but I still want to be able to take care of myself so that I could help my babe. he works SO hard for us and spends SO much money taking care of us, I just want to be able to pay my part of that and make HIS life easier, so that we BOTH can do more things that we like instead of just paying bills till the next check. I feel so useless and worthless. but everything I try to do I just fail at, or I’m too depressed and just lose the passion for it. or the will to do nearly anything. I really thought moving was going to change everything for me but... I feel nearly just as depressed. the environment change has definitely helped but, it didn’t suddenly cure my depression like I hoped for..

I just feel so alone, in like, literally everything I try to do. I feel like I don’t fit in anywhere. when I do think I fit in, it just turns out to be a delayed rejection. I swear I get screwed over and stabbed in the back more often than anyone I’ve ever met in my life. I’m easily forgotten and definitely easy to fuck over. I just wish people werent so hateful and selfish... all I want is to have female friends I can actually hang out with, have some help with my puppy, to talk to my fiance without him thinking I’m having an argument, to workout so I can dance, and to do something I love that makes me happy that I can make money with. I feel like I failed as a model too. I make all these plans and then.. I can never accomplish them. I often think, is it worth it really? to compete with all these girls when I dont care about competition? to be screwed over because I’m an opponent to everyone I wish I was friends with? to try and build working-relationships with photographers who seem to forget about me before I even get my pictures back? to not be paid for modeling when I spent tons of money on clothes for shoots? to not have my name out there after a year and a half? to not even be able to find a photographer that wants to shoot for publication? or be told I’m not inked enough to shoot again (the day after I got tattooed?)? I just feel like a failure. I spent over a thousand dollars on clothes for shoots, plus all traveling expenses, to have only ever profited $50 one time and then never get my edited photos back. I just feel like I’m not worth anything, that I can’t contribute or make money without making myself excessively unhappy working jobs I hate- only to be belittled there too.

I don’t even care about social media anymore. I don’t care to check instagram or post on it. why? so I can spend two hours doing makeup so I could post a selfie to write another caption telling everyone that “one day” I’ll do more? what’s the point? If only I had someone I could invite over to talk to about it :( I just feel so...unexcited by everything. like Stan in the episode about shit. I’m bored, I feel gross, I feel lonely, I’m overwhelmingly stressed, I’m growing to hate myself again, and I feel like I don’t have the positive influence I need to get better. I WANT to get better, I just need help and I don’t have anyone I feel I could reach out to that could actually help me. I just really need a friend...

#lonely #need friends #personal #feeling small #journal entry