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khaotic-kitsunes · 4 years

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Liquor and Lace

This, this is one of my favourite Tamaki scenarios that I’ve written! Mostly for the title I put on it but fuck, it’s a good read even if I do say so myself!

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

“Wait, really?”

Your eyes practically bulged out of your head as you stopped what you were doing, head angled to the side and keeping the mobile pressed up against your ear so that you would be able to hear Tamaki’s quiet yet clear voice on the other end; safe to say, you had not been expecting him to say that of all things.

“Yeah” You squealed happily in excitement at his confirmation, probably a little more excited than you should be, not that you cared a great deal; Tamaki would be used to your antics by now surely.

“This is gonna be great Tamaki! I know the perfect place too, not too many people but we can still have some fun!” Your mind raced with thoughts accompanying the nights newly planned activities; you knew that Tamaki hated crowds and going out where people would recognise him, if it were anybody else, they would have a difficult time finding a place that would suit the anxiety-ridden pro-hero.

You, however, had been trying to get him to go out for ages now and already had the perfect place in mind.

“Right, well…I’ll see you tonight then I guess.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous, sliding yourself into the booth seat besides Tamaki, safely located in one of the darker corners of the bar; separated from the other people. It was a form of privacy you hadn’t exactly been expecting when you had first arrived with Tamaki.

Hell, it was still hard to believe, a good couple of hours later.

“Thanks”

You flashed Tamaki a small smile as you sat his refill in front of him, meekly sipping at your own, already feeling a light buzz that accompanied the sweet-tasting alcohol that you had ordered; liquid courage most would call it.

Personally, you found it wasn’t so helpful, it merely made you overthink more than you usually would.

“No worries, I’m just glad you actually decided to join me tonight…” You trailed off as his cheeks flushed a faint pink, the reaction of embarrassment stealing away anything else you might have had to say to him. Not a particularly uncommon occurrence.

“S-So were Mirio and Hadou busy today or something?” He questioned, looking away from you while he gulped down his drink, finishing it much faster than you had expected for the man that didn’t usually drink.

“Um, or something…” You chewed on your bottom lip firmly, avoiding answering his question directly; you weren’t entirely sure you could go through with your initial plans for the night but their absence had certainly been a part of those plans.

It wasn’t like you had hidden it from them, either. Both Mirio and Hadou had agreed that the best way for Tamaki to relax and let loose around you would be if they weren’t there, previous attempts at gaining his attention with the other two present lead you to the conclusion that he would avoid partaking in conversation with the two chatter-boxes around, why talk if they were already talking enough for him.

So, with a little hidden confidence, Hadou and Mirio had wished you good luck when Tamaki came to pick you up so that you could go to the bar together.

“Ah, actually, I thought it might be nice if it was just the two of us t-tonight” You stuttered slightly as you admitted the truth to him, not quite looking at Tamaki to see his reaction, instead only hearing the almost inaudible squeak that sounded remarkably like a balloon deflating.

“O-Oh…the two of us…” He repeated your words quietly to himself while you shuffled closer to him, pressing your body against his and mustering up every ounce of courage you had; now or never.

It was time to act on the feelings you had held for Tamaki over the past few years.

“Yeah, I though-”

You were cut off as you looked at him, his lips crashing against yours in a startlingly demanding kiss, one of his hands hesitantly moving to cradle the back of your head; keeping you from pulling away from him.

His kiss left your head spinning as his lips moved against your own, his tongue darting out to rub against your bottom lip, prompting you to open your mouth to him, already able to taste the bitter alcohol that he had been drinking just moments before; proving just how real the situation was to you.

“Tama…Tamaki…?” You were breathless when he finally pulled his head back, resting his forehead against your own while he waited for you to catch your breath, his gaze calm and for once, without uncertainty.

“Let’s go”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You mewled beneath Tamaki, laying on your back on the bed wearing nothing but the expensive lavender lace lingerie you had chosen for the night; Tamaki’s fingers teasingly rubbing you through the thin material of your panties, a look of absolute fascination decorating his pink tinted features.

“Tamaki…s-stop, stop it already” You whined out softly, back arching when he pressed his fingers against your clit firmly. The stimulation was almost too much for you and Tamaki still wasn’t undressed yet, instead seemingly having lost himself in his task of teasing you, unaware just how close you were to coming undone.

Your words appeared to snap him out of whatever thoughts had been running through his mind though, since his hand finally retreated from your sensitive body, allowing you a brief moment to regain your composure.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” He trailed off quietly, uncertainty beginning to build up in his eyes as he moved away from your vulnerable form, his lips quivering. You already knew what was going through his mind, you didn’t need to ask or think twice, in fact, thinking was probably the worst plan right now; you needed to get him to stop thinking for once.

“No, no. That isn’t what I meant” You crawled over the bed, grabbing his wrist before he could retreat any further, desire clouding your eyes as you stared up at him; your look making him gulp heavily.

“…You want me, right Tamaki?” You smiled as you tugged him closer to the bed, snaking your arms around his waist when you had the chance, pressing your cheek up against his stomach through the material of his shirt; enough to make him relax under your touch.

“I’m right here, just for you…”

“Just for me?”

You nodded at his question, moving slowly to undo his pants, never breaking eye-contact while you worked at stripping him; only averting your gaze when absolutely necessary.

“Uh huh, that’s right…I just needed you to stop teasing me, I didn’t want you to stop touching me” You pouted faintly as you spoke, closing your hand around his dick slowly, cheeks heating up at the way his groaned throatily from the contact.

You looked up at him heatedly, grinning before closing your mouth around his throbbing cock, running your hot tongue over it while you squeezed the base firmly, enjoying the way he fidgeted nervously from the contact.

“You taste pretty good there Tamaki” You paused as you lifted your head, dragging your tongue over the tip of his dick slowly, paying no mind to the quick intake of breath from the man above you, instead focusing on how far you needed to push him before he got the hint and took control.

“(Name)…” You looked up when he uttered your name, gasping out when he pinned you down to the bed, one hand manifested into octopus tentacles to restrain you while the other pressed against the mattress beside your head, allowing him to lean down and steal your lips in a kiss more demanding than the one in the bar, leaving you completely and utterly breathless within just a few short moments.

“(Name), I…I need you, that’s okay right? You said it, that you were just for me, right?” He rambled as he buried his face into your chest, kissing and nipping over your skin while you moaned softly beneath him; hoping he wouldn’t end up ruining the expensive lingerie you had picked out with him in mind.

“Y-Yes, Tamaki, it’s okay. It’s okay…” You trailed off into a yelp as the strong tentacle appendages tore away your remaining garments, leaving you completely exposed beneath him while his mouth explored your body.

“Sorry, sorry…I’ll get you a new pair”

His quiet apology made you giggle, typical of him to worry about that while he was busy with you like this, always worried about the smaller things; though that was one of the things you loved best about him.

Before you had a chance to reassure him that it was okay, he was burying himself inside of you, groaning as you stretched around his aching cock, taking him in ways he had only dreamed of.

You moaned out his name when his hips started moving, practically having a mind of their own while Tamaki remained with his head pressed against your chest. It was nothing like you had been expecting, you couldn’t actually recall what you had expected from him, but then again, it also didn’t matter anymore.

The only thing that mattered is that you finally got to feel his body against yours like this, after crushing on him for longer than you cared to admit.

His tentacles moved around your body slowly, shifting their focus from restraining you, to exploring you, the suction cups feeling strange yet not unwelcome over your skin, leaving behind a vaguely sticky substance that you couldn’t be bothered feeling upset about; even if it was going to be messy to clean up later.

“(Name), (Name) you’re squeezing down on me” Tamaki groaned out, trailing nips up along to your neck that soon developed into harsh yet craved bites while his hips moved harder, constantly filling you with every inch his dick had to offer; pulling moan after moan from your lips.

“It feels so good, you feel so good wrapped around me. I don’t want to stop” He pressed his forehead to your own, staring down into your eyes with a desperate lust clear in his eyes, matched easily by your own desire for him, your hands instinctively moving to cup his cheeks; a wide grin spreading across your face.

“You don’t have to, Tamaki…keep going, don’t stop” Your words seemed to make something inside of him snap with the noise that escaped him, his tentacles tightening their hold on you as they wrapped around your body, tugging your body down to meet his thrusts; letting him hit deeper inside of you and making you cry out his name loudly, eyes wide in shock.

There was no way you could have predicted this. No way in hell.

“Too good…you’re too good for me (Name), what’d I do to be this close to you?”

He began to ramble as his hips moved faster, his pace growing sloppier with each passing moment, making it easy for you to tell that he was close to finishing; maybe even closer than you were.

You cried out loudly, stuttering over your words until you eventually gave up answering him, instead relaxing into his hold and moving your hips with his tentacles, meeting his thrusts eagerly. Wanting nothing more than to feel him fill you to the brim with his cum, at this stage you needed it.

Your back arched as his hips began to buck uncontrollably into you, your name slipping from his lips while his release came, hot, sticky cum filling you until he was finished. Though his hips didn’t stop, nothing stopped even though you had expected it to; Tamaki was still moving his hips, he was still mumbling to himself and fucking you senseless.

He didn’t even stop his thrusts when your walls clamped down around him, accompanied by an intense orgasm that had his name the only thing in your mind and on your tongue.

“T-Tamaki, Tamaki! Ah, s-stop, if you keep going th-”

Your eyes widened when one of his tentacles filled your mouth, thrusting to match his hips while he lifted his head to stare up at you hungrily; his hands moving to roam your currently over-sensitive body.

“It’s not enough, (Name), you can still talk…and think…I’d like to keep going, I want to leave you a whimpering mess” He paused as he moved his head to kiss your cheek, groaning low at the way you continued to squeeze down on his still aching cock.

“I’ve wanted you for so long (Name), I have so many things I want to do to you…be patient for me, I’ll make you feel good. I promise.”

#tamaki amajiki #suneater #tamaki x reader #suneater x reader #bnha x reader #amajiki x reader #reader x tamaki #reader x suneater #reader x amajiki #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #scenario #smut #requests #cheeky kitsune

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kiarasukulele · 4 years

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Hate That I Love You (r.c.)

Summary: Where your drug, alcohol, and sex fuelled relationship has turned you into a cold and detached person. Both running from things in your lives, you and Rafe Cameron lose yourselves each night in each other and any substances you can get your hands on.

(not my gif, if it’s yours let me know so I can credit)

requested: no

warnings: drug use & dependency, sexual content, swearing, drunk driving, toxic/violent relationship, ANGST ANGST ANGST (I'm sorry if I missed anything)

word count: 3.4k (issa long one oops)

(A/N): omg hi, it’s finally done. This is the first piece of writing I'm posting on here so I’m extremely rusty so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. Also, I am in no way trying to romanticize toxic or abusive relationships!! If you are experiencing something like this or have in the past, it is not love and you all deserve the world♡. Also thank you to @adoreyoudrews for just being supportive since the beginning and throughout this whole process (ilysm). Enjoy!!

He could be crazy, but some would argue that you were crazier. You’ve always been an impulsive person — but you both brought out the worst in eachother. You used to spend your days with the pogues who you called your best friends, but as you grew closer to Rafe he slowly put the idea in your head that you were better off without them. You would do anything Rafe asked you to, which might scare you to death. But your drug and alcohol-fueled relationship didn’t leave room for you to feel scared.

You squeezed your way through the crowd of intoxicated teens that were currently surrounding a game of beer pong in the kitchen of Kelce’s house. As you brushed past some of the familiar faces you would whisper, “Rafe is in the pool house, come if you have cash.”

You and Rafe became a team over the course of your relationship. The king and queen of the kooks. It was summer, and you had been doing what you wanted, whenever you wanted with your boyfriend. Days usually consisted of hanging out at the country club, golfing, or boating but they always ended with you and Rafe getting high or drunk together. The only time you ever felt bad was when you stopped the cycle, so eventually you just decided you wouldn’t stop. You were constantly around him, which your old friends would call “unhealthy” — which is exactly why they’re now old friends. All you needed was Rafe.

Once you spread the word to enough people about Rafe’s new supply of the “finest coke in the obx”, you made your way back to the pool house excited to try it yourself. As you were exiting the house, you passed a few acquaintances who would greet you with a smile and offer you a shot, which you happily accepted. The day someone sees (Y/N) (Y/L/N) refuse a drink will be the same day hell freezes over.

Opening the French doors of the pool house, you see a small group surrounding your boyfriend. Laughter and twenty dollar bills were being exchanged. You stood there for a minute to admire him. Cracking jokes and telling stories with these people before they would take a bump or in between them. When he wanted to be, he could be the most charismatic and magnetic person in the room, but it often flipped like a switch. The way that he could captivate an entire room of people whenever he wanted with seemingly no effort always left you astonished.

Sure, you guys fought like you hated each other sometimes but when you loved each other... holy shit you loved each other. And there was no inbetween with you and Rafe — your relationship was either scalding hot or freezing cold, it was never lukewarm.

You strut towards Rafe with a devilish smirk. You eagerly pushed past every person standing between you and your boyfriend. He makes eye contact with you and his face lights up immediately. This is the atmosphere both of you have been happiest in lately. You were both running from things in your home lives that each of you knew better than to bring up to one another. As long as you and Rafe were running in the same direction, you didn’t care how tiring it would often feel.

He eyes you up and down as you approach him. You’ve discarded your shirt since the last time you saw him that night, your black bikini still damp from the pool.

“Get over here, baby” he mutters, firmly grabbing your wrist and pulling you onto his lap. The surrounding conversations continue as you make yourself comfortable on top of Rafe. He leans around you, gathering the white powdery substance into neat lines while you roll up a loose twenty dollar bill. When it comes to this, it’s like a ritual. The two of you move like it’s a dance you’ve rehearsed every night for the last few months — you leaning over, him holding your hair back, your nose brushing up against the cold surface of the table as the drugs enter your system. You lean back into your boyfriend as the euphoric sensation takes over. He eagerly begins to lean forward, to finish off the lines you left behind.

“No,” you mutter, grabbing a hold of his bicep to pull him back. He looks at you with furrowed brows, confusion written all over his face.

“What the fuck do you mean, no?” he spits. As mentioned, Rafe could flip like a switch at any moment. The bruises that would often litter your frail figure could attest to that, but you forgave him every time.

“I mean…” you trail off as you twist your body so your back lays flat on his lap. His demeanor calms immediately, as he catches on to what you’re asking him. He gathers the coke and lays it between your cleavage. As the drugs disappear from your chest, he kisses the surrounding area. If you were sober, you would maybe feel slightly embarrassed as the two of you had gathered somewhat of an audience. But sober you were far from. In this moment there wasn’t a trace of the guilt, anger, and sadness that would often plague your sober thoughts. You’ve convinced yourself it’s easier this way; and you really believed that you loved this boy.

❁❁❁❁❁❁

Rafe was recklessly driving back towards his house with you in the passenger seat, head out the window and giggling uncontrollably.

“Get back in here.” he slurred, pawing at your skirt to try and get you to sit still in your seat.

You began to laugh even harder at his attempt to reel you in. Your whole upper body was leaning into the cool summer breeze passing you by.

“I’m not fucking kidding.” Rafe said firmly, losing his patience. Your laughter softened as you sighed, “Fine.”

Sitting in your seat you began to get bored after only a minute. Over the past few months you have grown to need constant excitement in your life. Things always needed to be fast paced and you craved the adrenaline that accompanied your reckless behaviour while under the influence.

You stared at Rafe for a moment. His eyes were hazy; hand switching back and forth from your thigh to a bottle of beer he’d been drinking as he sloppily navigated the streets approaching tannyhill. Your own eyes widened with the idea that suddenly came over you. Lifting Rafe’s hand that was resting on your thigh, you raise it to your mouth.

He glances over to you, a smirk spreading across his face. His index finger finds its way into your mouth and you begin to gently suck. His eyes are hungry as they flash between you and the road in front of him.

“You’re so hot, (Y/N).” he practically moans, a bulge appearing in his shorts. Roughly, he grabs hold of the back of your neck and pushes you down towards his crotch. Leaning over the centre console, you take him into your mouth.

If the drugs weren’t fueling your relationship — it was the sex. Taking place anywhere and everywhere — his father's boat, the office, the beach, or simply in between his french-imported sheets. It was while he was inside you that he unleashed much of his aggression and rage, especially if you had just been fighting. It might bother you, if it didn’t feel so damn good. You didn’t mind that he could be rough, violent, or cold towards you. You were all of those things too.

Between the drug haze, intoxication, and the feeling of your mouth around him his driving was becoming more and more reckless as he pulled into the long and swerving driveway of his house. He closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the feeling of pure bliss. As his eyes were shut, the car began to swerve. You jolted forward as you came to an abrupt stop.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Rafe muttered in a panicked tone, zipping up his shorts and roughly shoving you off of him as he exited the car. He had collided with the marble statue that resided at the edge of the Cameron’s driveway. Wiping the edge of your mouth, you exit from the passenger door to assess the damage.

You couldn’t help the laughter from escaping your lips as you looked upon the statue that was broken into pieces before you. Rafe was anxiously pacing, shaky hands running through his hair.

“What the fuck is funny, (Y/N)? My dad is gonna lose his shit!” he spat at you, still not able to keep your laughter under control. You couldn’t help it, you always found that statue of a naked man hideous and borderline creepy. Through the laughter you uttered, “Holy shit, it’s dick broke off.”

Rafe was getting angrier with you by the second. You picked up the cracked and detached marble phallus and started making obscene gestures with it, which Rafe didn’t happen to find as entertaining as you did. “What? Are you jealous, baby? I’ll save some for you don’t wor—” before you could finish your sentence, Rafe’s hand swung to knock the piece of marble from your grasp as he grabbed a hold of your jaw to keep you from talking. “Shut the fuck up.” he angrily slurred.

You pushed him back with all of the force you could muster. “Don’t you fucking touch me.” you spat. He took a few steps back due to the abrupt force of your shove. As much as he could push you around, you rarely sat there and took his shit without fighting back although you were no match to his 6’2 frame.

“You know what…” he trailed off. Rafe was looking between you and the shattered pieces of the statue that Rose had treasured. “Go the fuck home.”

His statement, the way he was looking at you with utter disgust, and the throbbing pain from where his hand had been gripping your jaw was enough to cause tears to form in your eyes. “What do you mean, go home?” you asked softly. Rafe had strayed from the usual pattern of events that would take place. Usually, you would have it out and scream at each other like maniacs for a good amount of time, before you each would break down and lose the argument somewhere between the sheets. Home was the last place you wanted to be right now. The place that should be associated with warmth and love could not be said about your large blue house with the wrap-around porch. Your mother and father hated one another — their least favourite characteristics about each other were reflected in you, their daughter. Most of the time they couldn’t manage to look you in the eyes, much less hold a conversation.

“I mean, I don’t want you here,” he explained to you in a condescending tone, as if you were an unknowing child.

All of a sudden, the anger you had just felt towards him was replaced with absolute desperation. Desperate to stay, for him to forgive you, for him to hold you even if it hurt. You’re not even sure what you’d be asking for forgiveness for — but you’d do it without hesitation.

Your shaky hands find his chest and you snake your arms around his waist. He stands frigid and cold, unresponsive to your touch.

“Please, I’m sorry baby.” you mutter into his shirt. “Let’s just go inside…” you trail off as you use the tip of your finger to trace shapes on his back, a weakness of his. You begin to feel him slightly relax into your touch.

Trying to diffuse the situation you add, “We can make something up about the statue. I know how Ward can be sometimes...”

He tensed up again. You knew better than to bring up his dad, especially in the state he was in right now. You were already blaming yourself for whatever would come next, before it even happened.

Rafe ferociously pushed you off of him sending you into the ground, knees scraping against the pavement. “You think you know everything.” he spat, “You don’t know shit, (Y/N).”

Rafe walks away and you sit there for a moment. All that can be heard is the pounding of your heart and the crickets chirping. You begin to think from this angle, you and the shattered statue didn’t really look much different.

❁❁❁❁❁❁

Walking the streets of figure eight, you begin to feel the effects of the stimulants wearing off. The distractions you so desperately seek are beginning to crumble around you — leaving you completely and utterly alone with just your thoughts, bloody knees, and shaky hands.

These streets were painfully familiar. Under the amber glow of the street lamps, memories uncontrollably flooded your mind. You were seeing it like a movie scene — from the days that you spent with the pogues riding bikes together fading into more recent memories of Rafe carrying you on his back on your way home from a houseparty. Sometimes you think of that girl you used to be. Even if you wanted to be her again, you had no idea how. Riding on the back of JJ Maybank’s bike while the sun was setting and the rest of your friends trailing closely behind you. You remember the sound of your laughter while your arms and hair danced in the wind. The thought reminds you of earlier that night in Rafe’s car and the similar sensation you had felt while leaning out the window. You immediately felt guilty for thinking about the past — you loved Rafe… and they didn’t want you with him.

Attempting to keep your thoughts from slipping out of your control, you begin to start thinking of what painkillers you could steal from your parents medicine cabinet. Continuing to stumble home while considering whether or not there was enough oxycontin or vicodin that could be stolen without someone noticing. Nobody ever did.

Noticing headlights approaching, you stagger to the side of the road. The streets were usually vacant at this time. You look to your right to see the van you once spent much of your time in, with the paint still chipped and surfboards strapped to the roof. You immediately avert your eyes, desperate to disappear into thin air. The constant presence of Rafe basically ensured that whenever you crossed paths, all of you would just look the other way.

“(Y/N)?” you hear the familiar voice as the van slows down beside you. You hesitate before looking up, meeting the gaze of John Booker Routledge. You’re grateful it is only him in the van, seeing all the faces that represented your old life would be too overwhelming while you were in this state. You don’t slow down your pace, but he drives slowly alongside you awaiting a response. All that you do is quickly glance up with a forced smile, panic rushing over you as you think of what Rafe would say if he knew who you were talking to.

“(Y/N)… are you okay?” he asks, noticing the blood running down your shins and unsteady steps. “I’m great.” you reply, eyes glued to the road ahead of you. Your voice comes out sounding harsh. You feel a pang of guilt, but you’re not the same girl that John B remembers. You’ve become detached and full of anger — ready to unleash it on anyone in an instant.

“I can’t let you walk home like this.” he states with a sigh, looking between you and the road as he drives alongside you.

“You’re not letting me do anything,” you retort. “Besides, Rafe would beat the shit out of you if he found out.”

John B scoffs, “I’m not scared of your boyfriend.” You should be, you think to yourself. “And besides, I don’t see him anywhere.”

That comment caused you to stop in your tracks and stiffen up. John B hits the brakes. You constantly craved Rafe’s presence and standing on the side of the road bloody and bruised and practically sober, you never felt more alone.

“Shut up, Booker.” you almost whisper. His eyes softened at the use of his middle name that he only ever let you call him by, “Listen, I’m sorry. Just let me take you home.”

You think the faster you get home, the faster you make it to the medicine cabinet. So you get in.

What would’ve been a 30 minute walk was just a short 6 minute drive. Silence had filled the space between you and the boy who you once called your best friend. After what seemed like forever, your large blue house finally came into view. You were prepared to make a quick exit with just a simple ‘thank you’ but John B sighed as he put the car in park, obviously wanting to say something.

“(Y/N), I know it’s been almost two years but—” you cut him off, “We’re not doing this. Thank you for the ride but, we are not doing this.”

You manage to open the passenger door slightly so you can make a swift escape from the last conversation you want to have but John B reaches over you, slamming it shut and making you flinch which doesn’t go unnoticed. “Please let me say this.” he pleads. You sit there staring at your hands as he continues, “We never stopped caring about you. I don’t care where you are, or who you are with. Pogues for life… I don’t care how much of a kook you or everybody else thinks you are.”

You shake your head, “You think you know everything.” you recycle the words you had just heard from your boyfriend, “You don’t know shit.”

“You’re wrong.” he replies, “I know you, (Y/N).”

You break your gaze from your hands, looking at him in the eye for the first time. The words come out soft and sort of sad, “Not anymore.”

You exit the car and begin to walk towards the door of your cold and harsh home.

“(Y/N)!” John B shouts. You spin on your heels, with a sigh. What more can be said, you think. “You know where to find us… if you ever need anything.” With that, he drives away.

❁❁❁❁❁❁

You collected the pills that you hoped would make you forget the events that took place and snuck into your bedroom. Leaning against the counter of your ensuite bathroom, you stare at yourself in the mirror. Someone with messy hair, smudged makeup, and bloodshot eyes stares back at you. But what caught your attention was the hand shaped bruise that was beginning to form on your jaw. Your fingertips graze over the area as tears form in your eyes. You suddenly felt sick to your stomach. It wasn’t Rafe’s violent nature that scared you. It was realizing that no matter what he did, you would still love him. You pop the pills and head to bed.

❁❁❁❁❁❁

The sunlight peeking through your blinds wakes you up. With your head pounding, you reach for the aspirin that you kept on standby as this is how you were left feeling most mornings. Reaching for your phone, you hoped to god that you had messages from Rafe.

No new notifications, just your lockscreen with a picture of you and him kissing from last year's Midsummers staring back at you. Unlocking your phone, you open your contacts. Scrolling to the letter ‘B’ you find the contact information that has laid idle for nearly two years. ‘Booker.’

You stare at the name for what seemed like hours, something inside you willing you to be brave and reach out.

Before that voice got too loud, it was interrupted by your ringtone. ‘RAFE♥’ spread across the screen and your heart rate picked up. You eagerly answered, “Hello?”

“Hi baby girl. Can you be ready in 15 minutes?” he asks, “I just picked up from Barry’s and we’re going to spend the day on the boat I think.”

You hesitate, remembering what it was you almost did mere seconds before you received Rafe’s call. “(Y/N)?”

You snap back into reality, “Yeah, I’ll be waiting on my dock.” you confirm.

“That’s my girl.” you smile at his words, “And hey, sorry about what went down last night. We were both really fucked up.” he chuckles.

You had forgiven Rafe before he even said the words, “Don’t worry about it.”

“I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too, Rafe.”

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whetstonefires · 5 years

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whetstone/kieron fic hype post

joining the throng of people incited by @jerseydevious to talk ourselves up against our natural inclinations, here i go. 😅

Gonna stick with DC because that’s jersey’s bailiwick and I have 100 exactly of these on AO3 presently, though over half of them are in my Earth-3 series, and thus pretty niche. Popular multi-chap fics include:

The Till-Then From the Ever-Since, a Batman-and-all-Robins fic with lots of fluff and family drama and people being judged by their 13-year-old selves.

Pretty long and still, slowly, updating. Started as a challenge to myself but got a gratifying response and is just a lot of fun.

All The Roofs Of Uncertainty, a completed Jason Todd longfic drawing heavily on as much pre-Flashpoint continuity as I could pack in there. Starts with Jason getting a heavily injured Dick medical care and spirals into intense character development and hashing-out of issues, but not with Dick because he’s unconscious the whole time.

Wrote this one to channel all my Jason Todd feelings, and satisfy my need for a reconciliation fic where nothing gets swept under the rug to fester.

we’ll burn like fireflies, ongoing fic for which the working title was ‘the one where bruce and jason are the same age,’ though actually Jason is several months older, and launches into a career as protective brother figure by stabbing Joe Chill.

shorter fics include:

count the beats of leather wings, a fic starring Jim Gordon that plays with placing more modern characterization back in the original WWII era, after Bruce Wayne’s draft number comes up.

their faces turned to sunset, first in a series set in an alt future timeline where Carrie Kelley is Robin and the Oracle is an AI that insists it isn’t Barbara Gordon.

the tune without the words, in which Jim Gordon goes out for a drink and runs into a young man who’s clearly dealing with some trauma.

Things Fall Apart, a Dick Grayson angst followed by fluff piece with Bruce and Tim written for fuyu.

The Center Cannot Hold its spiritual companion, featuring Tim hitting a breaking point and Bruce trying to backtrack and be supportive.

Flash and Substance, one of my first DC fics, a humor fic set very roughly in the DCAU wherein the premise is technically that Flash has been turned into a girl, but the joke is that Bruce Wayne is Batman.

And Other Hazards of Heroism, in which Superman is a good and also pushy friend, Batman is a grouch, and I borrow a joke from Holy Musical Batman.

Talon Tomorrow, a character-exploration fic set in the technically canon timeline wherein Tim Drake is Batman and a different Tim Drake is dating the Joker.

(nothing new) under the earth or sky, in which the fact that Alfred technically did the basic plot of Under the Hood like 40 years earlier is treated as still canon, and he and Jason talk.

Wheel and Blade, a little relationship study of Damian and Dick set as Dick was leaving Batman, a period canon just sort of skated over.

grasp of ice, a fic originally on tumblr in response to kuppatan’s prompt for Tim & Damian unironic hand-holding. Damian pov of trying to stop Tim freezing to death under complicated supervillain-related circumstances and also the lake is full of bombs.

#my fic #self-promotion #lkfafd where put face #hey jersey!#you said to do the thing #aaaaa #hoc est meum #i like recognition but asking for it is death

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storytaeme · 7 years

Text

dear santa – taegi

Yoongi knew it was a bad idea to come to this X-Rated Christmas party, especially when he finally encountered Taehyung, your local sexy Santa.

(or the one in which Yoongi has a hard time telling Santa what he wants)

taegi week 2017 – taehyung x yoongi

❅ Prompt: (Spiked) Eggnog

❅ Elements: Fluff, Humor, Smut | College AU, Christmas Frat Party AU ↪ smut includes blowjob scene

❅ Word Count: 8,785 words

❅ A/N: This may be my favorite thing that I’ve written like e v e r. I love taegi, I love Christmas, and I love sexy santa!!!! I hope you enjoy :’>

Honestly, Yoongi should’ve known better than to listen to Namjoon when he invited him out, should’ve known better than to trust his best friend when he said “you’re going to have a great time, I promise” because we all knew how that always ended. It was a Christmas party, he said. It’s going to be fun, he said. No harm, no foul, he fucking said.

Yoongi really should’ve known better than to trust a liar.

“Namjoon,” the elder froze at the door, bundled up in his thick coat, face buried up to his frozen nose in an even thicker scarf. His eyes scanned the building—a frat house, no surprise there. He expected Namjoon, an active in his Beta Tau, to invite him to their Christmas party which was supposed to raise funds for charity. It was a requirement for frats on campus to give back during this festive season, but they never really specified how. So Beta Tau loved testing waters on how far they could go in their activities to get the dough, even if most of them bordered on illegal. This time—Yoongi wasn’t so sure the frat would escape unscathed.

The bass from inside the house pulsed and carried to the chilly air outside. There were a few drunken partygoers already stumbling out on the lawn, one of them pissing, the other doing circles and poking the air. Typical party behavior. Beta Tau was lucky enough to get a house on the outskirts of campus, far away from neighbors who would surely file a noise complaint and have the cops on their asses about the mass substance abuse.

But that wasn’t what Yoongi was concerned about, drugs and alcohol were common, the huge, neon x sign glowing and hanging from the roof was not. “What’s this supposed to be again?” Yoongi turned his gaze to his best friend.

“Uh, a party,” Namjoon said sheepishly.

“What’s the cross doing up there? Doing a human sacrifice later?” Yoongi muttered, “thought that was Easter.”

“Blasphemy,” the taller man laughed, ruffling Yoongi’s hair. See, if Yoongi wasn’t so frozen and decked out in ten layers of warmth, he would’ve smacked his best friend. “But it’s an X-rated Christmas party slash festival. There’s an entry fee and price to all the drinks and activities inside.”

Yeah, Yoongi definitely wasn’t sure anymore if this was legal. Time to bolt.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon whined, hand reaching out to catch his arm.

“Joon,” he snapped right back, “I am not going to your pornhub-themed party. I’ll stick to staying clean without STD’s thanks.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes, “It’s not a sex party, hyung. Though—”

“Don’t,” Yoongi interrupted, “I don’t wanna know.”

The younger flashed a dazzling, proud grin, the dimpled one that always had people weak in the knees. However, in that moment, Yoongi could only feel irritation clouding his judgment. “It’ll be fun, I promise. Have a few drinks, first round’s on me. But they’ve got a lot of things going on and it’ll be fun.”

Again, it’ll be fun, he said.

“I don’t think so,” Yoongi muttered, eyeing the door suspiciously. It was closed and he could not even catch a glimpse of what was transpiring inside. Who knew what drunk college kids could be doing? Yoongi was a grad student already, he shouldn’t even be here getting lit with a bunch of undergrads who were still fresh-faced, bright-eyed. Really, he should be at home working on his miserable thesis actually.

“One night, just one night,” Namjoon pleaded, clasping Yoongi’s hands in his. The elder could feel the tremble of his fingers from the bite of the cold and he felt guilty for keeping Namjoon out here for this long when he could be inside downing shots and getting inebriated with the rest of his brothers and friends.

For his sake. Do it for his sake. Yoongi took a deep breath then sighed, “Fine. One night.”

“Yes!” he pumped a victorious fist into the air, “Okay, let’s get fucking hyped.”

The two strolled over to the door and Namjoon opened it up. Almost instantly, Yoongi was drowning in the thick sound of music and chatters that filled his eardrums. He squeezed his eyes shut, wondering how in the world a door opening could change the environment completely. Namjoon was still tugging him down to the man in the hallway who was apparently in charge of selling tickets.

“Friend discount,” Namjoon grinned, eyes twinkling.

“No such thing, hyung,” the kid, puffy cheeks and all, pouted, “I’m already stuck on ticket duty until nine. You know Seokjin-hyung is going to kill me if I give out discounted tickets.”

“Come on, Jimin-ah, for me, for your big,” Namjoon begged again. Yoongi thought the act was disgusting, that Namjoon could never pull off the puppy dog look and make the kid who had a strong resolve in his eyes and even stronger eyebrows cave.

However, Yoongi was once again proven wrong. “F-fine,” Jimin huffed, bottom lip sticking out as he held out an open palm to Yoongi. “Cheaper for you, I guess.” Kid must’ve had a massive crush on Namjoon if he was giving away cheaper tickets even with Seokjin’s threat (Seokjin was terrifying and Yoongi’s learned that the hard way).

Yoongi’s glance bounced over to his friend, “You really going to make me pay for a party that you’re forcing me to come to?”

“For charity,” Namjoon beamed again.

And what heartless soul wouldn’t donate to charity this Christmas month? Yoongi grunted, pulling out a few crumpled bills from his pocket and stuffing them into Jimin’s palm. The boy smiled brilliantly, clasping some sort of paper band (wow, fancy) around his wrist. Beta Tau’s Get Lit for Kids, said the printed words. He could hardly begin to imagine what the children they were donating to would think of their money-making methods. “First shot is free if you flash them that bracelet. Have fun!”

Namjoon tossed a “see you later” over his shoulder before dragging Yoongi into the kitchen area. The frat had been lucky enough to receive one of the biggest houses on campus, allowing them a crazy capacity. They were a pretty popular one, the dean biased them enough, so it shouldn’t be surprising how packed the place was. Yoongi had to squeeze his small body through to get to the makeshift bar they had set up in the cooking area.

“Hoseok!” Namjoon grinned, doing some strange bro-hug thing with a familiar face. Yoongi’s met the guy a few times, liked him enough to tolerate his presence whenever he popped by his and Namjoon’s shared apartment.

“Joon! Yoongi!” the guy laughed, always so jolly. He had put on a santa hat and was decked out in red from head to toe. Very festive. “What’s your guys’ poison for tonight? I’m playing bartender for now, so I can sneak you guys some of the good shit.”

The three of them ended up hanging by the bar a little longer, Hoseok sneaking them extra drinks until Seokjin came around to halt the unspeakable activity. “I can’t believe you both,” the eldest amongst them yanked on Namjoon’s and Hoseok’s ears, “think of the children!”

It wasn’t until Jeongguk stumbled over, tripping over his feet and words, that the night truly began. Yoongi was already a little buzzed, body warm and tingling with the alcohol flowing through his system, eating away at his liver. He could feel himself laughing more, smiling more, and even talking more. He was slowly opening himself up to these people and letting go of all thoughts of his pending assignments. Jeongguk landed on his side, arms wrapping around his waist as he snuggled into his shoulder. Sober Yoongi would’ve shoved the boy off, sort of tipsy Yoongi only laughed and tousled up his hair.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk whined, “you’re so nice and warm.”

“Okay, Jeongguk-ah, you’ve had too much to drink,” Yoongi chuckled. He was somewhat of a mentor to the younger with the kid always chasing him around and asking him questions about composing and producing.

“I just want to fuuuuuck,” Jeongguk moaned, slumping against Namjoon this time, the back of his head hitting hard against the elder’s arm.

Namjoon crinkled his nose, “Life’s not all about fucking, Jeon Jeongguk.”

“That’s what you say because you stick your dick in something every week,” Jeongguk let out another pitiful sound, flailing around. “Think of the poor freshmen who had to go through dry week and miss out on all the parties they could’ve gotten laid in.”

“Okay, well, you’re off dry week. Go and get some,” Namjoon grunted, pushing a glass of water into the boy’s hands. The frat may be reckless, but the brothers looked out for each other. It was something Yoongi always appreciated especially when they were all out of their minds.

Jeongguk held up a finger, swaying as he did so, “One guy. Only one guy I want tonight and he’s not available.”

“Who?” Namjoon asked then paused, “Oh no, don’t tell me.”

“Yes,” Jeongguk cried out in agony, draping himself all over Namjoon, “yes, I’ve finally gotten bitten by the Taehyung bug.”

There was suddenly a blanket of quietness, a collective disappearance of words, over the air as all of them bowed their heads. “A moment of silence for our fallen comrade,” Namjoon whispered, hand over his chest. What the ever loving fuck? Yoongi’s gaze darted between all of them to find them all doing the same thing.

“Uh, is this some cult ritual thing?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk gasped, offended, “you don’t understand. The Taehyung bug is deadly.”

Yoongi nodded slowly as if he understood a thing he was saying. “Who—or what is this Taehyung?”

“Kim Taehyung, junior, nursing major, the cutest piece of ass around here, but also major respect for the guy who still has a 4.0 GPA. He’s fucking fantastic, hyung, like just imagine your dream man but ten times better.”

The elder had never given much thought to a dream man but this Taehyung already seemed impressive judging by how everyone seemed to nodding in agreement.

“And everyone, I mean everyone, gets the Taehyung bug at some point after joining the frat or meeting him. You just have to get it. It’s impossible not to,” Jeongguk explained again, dead seriousness in his voice, “and I thought I could resist, thought that a freshman like me who’s gotten enough dick wouldn’t get it. Immunity and all.”

“Immunity,” Hoseok snorted, “that’s what all you freshies think would work.”

Jeongguk huffed, “I know that now. But anyway, once you cross his path, there’s no going back. Everyone has had a crush on him. You just can’t not.” When Yoongi turned to confirm this statement with the rest of them, everyone—and he did mean everyone—nodded with a deflated sigh.

“So he’s a great guy and he’s cute, but what’s so special?” Yoongi asked, curiosity dripping all too obviously in his voice. So sue him. They were all talking so highly of this one individual that Yoongi wondered how he could have such a widespread effect. Maybe it really was a bug. “Why are you like this now? Thought you could resist his charms.”

“He's—” Jeongguk choked in pain “—he’s Santa.”

Namjoon sprayed out his drink all over the counter, the alcohol burning his throat and causing his eyes to water. “F-fuck, he’s Santa? Are you fucking kidding me?” he gasped, breathing heavily as if he had just ran a marathon, “what idiot—what demon—got possessed to do that?”

“Who else but Seokjin-hyung?” Jeongguk narrowed his eyes at the eldest who smiled proudly, that smugness oozing from his expression.

“Hyung!” Namjoon chided.

Seokjin quirked an eyebrow, “As treasurer, I seek only to bring the biggest amount of profit tonight. With my expectation that you all will be drinking for free and your fulfilling them, I figured the next best thing would be to take advantage of the weakest position. The Santa Seat.”

“Well,” Hoseok cursed, taking a sip of his drink, “I guess I know where I’m spending all my money tonight.”

“You got it right,” Namjoon nodded, pressing his lips together and instantly reaching for his jacket pockets, “I think I have enough for like three rounds on the seat.”

Yoongi, still as perplexed as ever, whipped his hands around to stop all of them from talking too fast, too loud. “Hold up,” he held one palm up in their directions, Jeongguk gave him a high five, he scowled. “Why? What’s this Santa Seat?”

“Thing we have every year but never sells,” Hoseok explained, “it’s really just like a college version of sitting on Santa’s lap.” Before Yoongi could ask what a college version of meeting Santa entailed, he continued, “A very underdressed Santa who will listen to all your drunken and dirty wishes.”

“Why would anyone pay for that?”

“Exactly!” Namjoon smacked his hand on the table, wiggling his index finger in Yoongi’s face. “Nobody, it never sells. We were thinking of getting rid of the segment this year because the booth is always empty, but Seokjin insisted that we could make it work. And now we know why. You demon,” Namjoon growled in the elder’s direction.

The man only smirked, proud. “Told you I would. You should see the line.”

“Still, why would anyone pay for that?” Yoongi pressed again.

“Because it’s Taehyung,” Jeongguk said sternly this time as if that explained everything. “Come see for yourself, I already spent too much there.” He faked a sob before taking Yoongi’s hand. Hoseok waved them away as Seokjin disappeared back into the crowd to manage money flow or so he claimed. Namjoon followed close behind as they disappeared into the living room where there was, as Seokjin had said, a line.

At the very front, there was a single person seated on a velvety red chair. The kid was handsome, sure, wow—in fact, he was beautiful. His face was like a doll’s, skin sun-kissed and smile blinding. His lashes were so long that Yoongi could even see them from this distance. A Santa hat was pulled over his head, leaving a tuft of hair from his bangs in view. However, what was notable was probably the fact that he was wearing nothing more than suspenders and what looked like a pair of red boxers. Yoongi’s eyes traveled further down to find a pair of boots—heeled boots that looked like they would hurt if he ever stepped on Yoongi (not that Yoongi was thinking about that god-like man stepping on him, definitely not).

Jeongguk let out a small sigh, “Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Santa’s taking a five-minute break, everyone!” A guy yelled from up front and there was a combined groan of protest from the audience. Obviously, they’ve all been waiting for a while. The guy—Taehyung—slumped against his seat as his eyes scanned the crowd. He looked tired, but the smile on his face never left. When his gaze finally landed on the trio far off, he perked up, quickly waving at him in excitement.

Namjoon nudged Yoongi forward with his shoulder, “Let’s go. We can talk to him real quick, just no service involved.” Yoongi wasn’t sure he wanted to know what service Namjoon was talking about. They slipped past the people who tossed envious glares in their direction for knowing Taehyung so personally. There were girls and guys and a few costumed creatures Yoongi couldn’t tell. The guy really did have some reputation.

“Hyung! Jeonggukie!” Taehyung brightened, making his way down the carpeted stairs. They had set up a mini stage for the occasion and the guy looked like a fucking model walking down those steps. “And who might this lovely person be?” Taehyung winked at him. Yoongi’s heart skipped a beat.

“Taehyung, I didn’t know you were working the seat,” Namjoon cleared his throat.

The boy hummed happily and playfully punched Namjoon’s chest, “You would if you paid attention during meetings.” Namjoon looked like he had been struck by Cupid.

Taehyung already looked tall from afar, but seeing him up close, standing in those blasted boots, he was even taller. He towered over Yoongi by a good few inches that had him looking up slightly to meet his eyes.

“Anyway,” Namjoon coughed, patting Yoongi on the shoulder, “this is my flatmate, Yoongi, the one I tell you guys all about.”

“You talk about me?” Yoongi sounded baffled.

“It makes for some funny stories,” he chuckled.

Taehyung’s eyes lit up in recognition, “Oh! That Yoongi. I’ve always wanted to meet you. It’s such a pleasure.” Without any warning, the man pulled Yoongi in for a hug. His bare chest felt warm against Yoongi and his bare arms circled his neck. He returned the embrace, albeit stiffly, and gave the guy pats on the back. When Taehyung pulled away, his eyes glimmering, Yoongi wanted to catapult out a window. He was fucking gorgeous. “Namjoon always talks about you, I’m surprised I haven’t seen you around.”

“Uh, grad life and all. I don’t usually go to frat events,” Yoongi said, licking his lips as he suddenly felt his mouth dry up.

“Oh, look at you, all productive. Namjoon said you work at a studio, that’s so cool. You should show me around sometime, I love seeing people at work. It’s so sexy to see someone so professional,” Taehyung wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. Heat crept up Yoongi’s cheeks at his words and he wasn’t even sure why.

“Right, yeah,” he nodded slowly.

Then Taehyung looked sheepish, almost guilty, and it made him feel guilty. “Sorry, I talk too much. People say that a lot, sorry.”

Oh God. Yoongi wasn’t sure what to say, could only open his mouth and close it nervously. He felt awkward enough as it was, but making Taehyung—this seemingly angelic, sweet human being—feel the same way was the last of his intentions. “N-no, sorry, I’m just… bad with strangers at first. I don’t talk that much usually either, you can ask the rest of them. I, uh, think you’re cool, cute too.”

Did he just say Taehyung was cute? Was he already trying to hit on him on the first meeting? Lord take him now. But Taehyung only looked relieved, sighing as the tension left his shoulders. “Thank God, just let me know if I’m rambling, I tend to talk too much when I get nervous,” he laughed lightly, “especially with someone Namjoon-hyung talks so highly of.” Taehyung gave a little giggle that had Yoongi’s heart flipping.

“Are you guys going to join?” Taehyung looked animated then, eyes lighting up, “I’m sure Seokjinnie-hyung wouldn’t mind my giving you a discount if you want to take a seat on my lap.”

“You’re an angel,” Jeongguk said, flinging himself against Taehyung, arms wrapping around the taller boy, “I love you, Taehyungie.”

Taehyung seemed completely unfazed as if this was a regular occurrence, “I love you too, Jeongguk. Now, off you go. I have to get back on duty. I’m so glad that Jiminie is trading with me later—” then his eyes widened “—don’t tell him that yet, he might be pissed when he finds out.”

“Oh, Jimin is doing it too?” Namjoon said with piqued interest. Yoongi noted the surprise and the strange tinge of something else in his voice. Maybe there was something else going on there.

The younger flashed him a smirk, “Mhmm, you should save your money for him instead, hyung.”

Seemed like Yoongi wasn’t the only one who noticed. Namjoon pinked a little and muttered something about “fucking Seokjin” before Taehyung turned to Yoongi. “So, up for a seat in my lap?”

Maybe on your dick too, Yoongi wanted to blurt out but kicked himself mentally for it.

“I-I’ll get in line then,” Yoongi cleared his throat. Taehyung nodded, giving a little wave from his fingers before bounding back on stage. Yoongi caught a glimpse of that ass Jeongguk was talking about and gulped the lump in his throat.

Jeongguk sighed, shaking his head, “Like I said. Taehyung bug.”

The Taehyung bug. It was real.

Yoongi must be going insane. The line was ridiculous and, at this rate, it wouldn’t be a surprise if Taehyung switched shifts when he was lining up, rendering his queueing thus far pointless. He mentally chided himself for falling for this, for falling for the so-called disease that went around the frat and anyone remotely within five feet of Taehyung.

Up ahead, people were getting antsy waiting for their turn. Girls were squealing and gushing about how cute he was, how he could make all their dreams come true. After seeing what he had, Yoongi didn’t doubt it. Even guys who Yoongi never would’ve pegged to be at a frat party had fallen into the line. It seemed as if this Taehyung was friends with anybody and everybody, a good character to have.

“You look like you’re about to piss yourself,” Namjoon noted in amusement.

“Shut up,” Yoongi muttered, “it’s just weird. It doesn’t feel right being here. Isn’t this like prostitution or something?”

The younger rolled his eyes, punching his arm, “We’re not selling his body, maybe—just his services. And Tae doesn’t mind, he likes talking to people.”

“Kid looks exhausted,” Yoongi said, jerking his chin to where Taehyung sat on his throne, eyes seemingly weary.

Namjoon murmured his agreement, “Well, thankfully, Jimin can take his place soon.” He didn’t sound too thankful about it.

“So what’s going on between you and Jimin?”

The young sputtered, his cheeks turning a deep shade of pink that seemed prominent even in the dim lighting of the room. “N-nothing, he’s my little in the frat, picked him up when he rushed with Tae.”

“Mhmm, bet you love making him feel little,” Yoongi said, a lilt in his voice that indicated the suggestiveness of his words.

Namjoon’s fist dug into his arm again, earning a scowl from the elder. “Stop it, there’s really nothing going on.” Yet. Yoongi could hear him add mentally. He left it at that for now, choosing to let the two progress on their own. “How about you then?” he quickly redirected, “Taehyung bug bite you already?”

It was Yoongi’s turn to get flustered. “What the fuck? No, I just met the guy.”

“Trust me, I’ve seen people fall head over heels before even meeting him. You’re good,” he smirked knowingly.

“He seems cool,” Yoongi coughed, hoping it would put him on safe, neutral ground.

Namjoon nodded, “He’s a great guy, hard to not like him.”

“Uh, so, what’s this seat thing about again? What’re you supposed to say to him?” Yoongi questioned, fingers fidgeting nervously as they moved further forward down the line.

The smile Namjoon gave him left a bitter taste on his tongue. He didn’t like the looks of it. “Whatever you want, but if you do want to get your money’s worth—” he paused, Yoongi’s heart stopped “—you can get Santa to dirty talk you.”

“D-dirty?” the elder choked, eyes blown wide because what in the world? “What kind of—holy shit, is that what everyone is here for?”

“Taehyung’s got a very skilled tongue, just keep him away from your kids because this Santa doesn’t tell cute bedtime stories.”

He didn’t doubt that. Yoongi just wasn’t sure how to feel about a bunch of college kids paying to listen to a guy sexing them up in public. Now that Namjoon has told him what it meant to sit on Taehyung’s lap, he couldn’t miss how every person that picked themselves up afterwards was shaking by the legs and face red to the tips of their ears. Oh lord, he was fucked.

There were two more people ahead of him. He wondered if it was too late to escape—

Namjoon’s hands clamped down on his shoulders, shocking him as all thoughts of a retreat flew out of his mind. “Don’t even think about it, I came all this way for you.”

“You came all this way for yourself, you pervert,” Yoongi scoffed, “if I had known—”

“What? You wouldn’t have gone? You’d miss out on your chance to get to know him more? Aren’t you curious?” Namjoon smirked, knowing full well that his questions did the trick. Meeting Taehyung was already a hook, line, and sinker all in one, and all Yoongi wanted to do was to fall to the bottom of the ocean with him.

A smack to his side brought Yoongi out of his daze, jerking when he looked at the smart ass kid who thought that was a good idea. “You’re up next, buddy, pay up,” the kid, who really had a death wish, stuck his hand out.

“How much?” The number that slipped past the boy’s lips had Yoongi freezing, doing a double take. “That much? What the fuck? How much time do I get?”

“Same as everyone else, now pay up or go,” the guy said way too aggressively.

“Whoa, calm down, Bambam, give the guy some breathing room,” Namjoon frowned, holding a hand up in defense.

“Hyuuuung,” the kid—Bambam—whined, “it’s not fair. I’ve been collecting Taehyung’s money all night. He’s been getting all the girls!”

Namjoon bit back his laughter, mirth still swirling in his eyes, “Alright, I’ll cover for you next.”

“Are you sure? Jimin’s up next.”

At that, the elder’s brows knitted again, “Uh, so?”

Bambam’s eyes darted over to Yoongi for a quick second before returning to Namjoon nervously. “I mean, I don’t want you getting into a fight.”

“I’m not going to—what, why would I even—”

“Guys, who’s up next? I’m getting a bit lonely up here,” Taehyung called out, sticking out his bottom lip. Oh lord. Yoongi reached for more crumpled bills in his pocket and pushed it Bambam’s way before making his way up the steps. Taehyung brightened, his lips curling seductively, “Well, hello, gorgeous. Why don’t you come sit on my lap?”

Yoongi was going to nut.

The elder awkwardly made his way over, gently lowering his butt down and stopping himself from putting all of his weight on Taehyung. However, the other boy had other plans in mind and tugged him down completely so his legs draped over Taehyung’s, dangling on the other side. Yoongi, in that split second of panic, had clutched Taehyung’s—note: exposed—shoulders.

His skin was soft, so soft. Smooth like a baby’s bottom. Yoongi unconsciously rubbed it as if he was attempting to find any signs of a blemish, some sort of imperfection to indicate that Taehyung was real—human.

“Like my shoulder that much?”

Taehyung’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts and the realization of his actions finally dawned on him. Before he could jerk his hand off the boy’s shoulder, Taehyung giggled and pressed his hand down, keeping it in place. “S-sorry,” he cleared his throat.

Min Yoongi didn’t stutter. Min Yoongi was smooth and suave, calm and collected. But why did all the words and letters jumble up in his head when he was around this man?

“Don’t worry,” he grinned, that loud smile on his face again, “I don’t mind. So, tell me, what do you want today? Tell Santa what you want, pretty.”

All these nicknames were going to be the death of him. Yoongi was already expecting a shorter lifespan with the amount of stress he consumed, but Taehyung might just be speeding up the process.

“I, uh, don’t really w-want anything specific,” he said, statement coming out more like a question. Taehyung blinked at him in surprise, lips flattening into a confused pucker. “I mean, you know, I didn’t know what I was signing up for, I was just—was here to support Namjoon, yeah.” That was a good excuse, right?

For a little while, Taehyung only stared at him, bemused. After a few more blinks, he choked on a snort before breaking into a full-blown laugh. That sweet, sweet sound drifted in the air and reached everyone’s ears, prompting all of them to shut up and turn to where Yoongi was settled on his lap. Taehyung rubbed his back thoughtfully, still with tears of joy in his eyes. Yoongi wanted to crawl into a hole.

“Oh my God, you’re so cute,” Taehyung grinned, “didn’t think anyone could be this cute, but I was wrong. Wow, look at you. You’re a real angel, aren’t you?”

“Uh, I hope not.”

Taehyung chuckled again, wiping a stray drop from his eyes. “Wow, so okay, we can just talk, yeah. Tell me about yourself, Yoongi.” He wanted to yelp, surprised that Taehyung remembered his name from a brief encounter—and he had had many encounters today. He wondered if Taehyung remembered everyone’s name like his.

Yoongi needed to pull his head out of his ass.

“Well, I’m a music production major, grad student,” he searched his brain for any other things that would sound cool to say, “I’m—yeah, that’s about it. Uh, I d-don’t really know what else to say.”

Taehyung was still smiling at him, eyes crinkling cutely. “And do you always stutter this much, Min Yoongi?”

Any other person, Yoongi would snap at them and tell them to call him with honorifics. But this was Taehyung so he let it slide. “N-no, not really, I’m usually more eloquent,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

The younger didn’t seem to mind, huffing a laugh as he placed his palm on Yoongi’s thigh. The presence of his hand was a weight, both literally and figuratively, a reminder that Taehyung was real. And also that his hand was really, really close to Yoongi’s growing boner. Fuck.

Taehyung was all smooth skin and gentle smiles. He didn’t notice it before but Taehyung wasn’t even ripped with chocolate abs, he had a soft tummy that protruded ever so slightly. Yoongi liked his men soft. Taehyung was the softest. If you looked up soft and squishy and cute in the dictionary, his picture would be plastered next to each of them.

“So,” Taehyung whispered, voice a little husky, Yoongi’s heart lodged in his throat, “just me then?” He was pretty sure he let out a small squeak. “I make you nervous, Yoongi?” Taehyung’s hand inched higher up his thigh towards more dangerous waters. His free hand cupped the back of Yoongi’s neck to pull him closer.

His heart was thundering in his chest, beating its fists against his ribs like a caveman wanting to break free. “Y-yeah, sort of.”

“Why?” he asked, tilting his head adorably.

“Not sure,” Yoongi admitted, “you’re very pretty, very nice.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Taehyung beamed, knowing that all along but seemed nonetheless pleased. The elder nodded in confirmation. “Mm, that’s so sweet of you. I think you’re pretty too.”

This time, Yoongi was a hundred percent sure he made some sort of incoherent, gargling noise. “Me?”

“Yes, you, baby,” Taehyung said softly, thumb stroking his denim-clad thigh. “And can I tell you a little secret?” He paused for added effect and Yoongi held in his breath. “Out of everyone here tonight, you’re the first to make me nervous.”

He couldn’t even imagine Taehyung ever being anxious over anything. The kid was confident and sweet, generally friendly and easygoing.

“Yo, time’s up, lover boy!” Bambam called then proceeded to get a reprimanding from Namjoon.

Then nervous Taehyung was gone, replaced by the sexy Santa once again. “Well, that’s all for now.”

Yoongi ignored the growing pit of disappointment in his gut. It was stupid. Taehyung was paid to make people feel special—make him feel special. That was what Santa did. With a heavy heart, he nodded and slowly slid himself off Taehyung. His legs felt as if they were going to give out any second. Maybe this was a sign for him to get back on the dating game, his resolve was pretty damn weak if he was this affected by a guy whom he just met. Yoongi bowed his thanks then walked towards the other end of the platform.

But when he was yanked lightly back, he looked back and down at his hand where Taehyung had caught it. He blinked in confusion at the younger who bit on his bottom lip almost shyly. “Don’t leave, yeah? As in, I’m going to be on break soon, I want to talk to you more. I’ll come find you.”

Fuck. Oh no. There went his heart soaring up into a world unknown, hoping for something even more out of his league. “You want to come find me?” Yoongi swallowed thickly.

Taehyung’s lips tipped on the corners. “Yeah, I’ll see you later?” His voice was stained with hope, a little hint of desperation.

Yoongi only managed a nod before he made his way down and the next person took his place. Taehyung was kidding right? This was just him playing the part? There was no way he wanted to talk to Yoongi again. All he did throughout that entire session was stammer and stutter, far from the articulate man that he was. Yoongi could spit fire tracks and drop curses on his rap like there was no tomorrow, but all that bravado disappeared when he faced Taehyung.

“Namjoon,” Yoongi choked when his best friend returned to his side, “I think—I think I’m in love.”

Namjoon laughed, passing over a drink to Yoongi who looked as if he was about to effloresce on the spot from how much he was sweating and shaking. “Taehyung, dude, I told you.”

“He’s getting paid to do this, I shouldn’t—” Yoongi wanted to cry. He tipped back the drink Namjoon had given him, gulping it down to quench the thirst (not the other one, unfortunately). The sweet drink slid down his throat easily, relieving him of some of the tension in his shoulders. He had drank up every last drop.

“Whoa, slow down there, hyung,” Namjoon said, catching Yoongi before he could hit the back of his head to the wall. The two of them were standing in a corner somewhere in the Santa’s Seat room. Taehyung had told Yoongi to stay, he wasn’t sure if the younger had been teasing him, but he did anyway. Shame be damned.

It was then Yoongi realized the sudden burn in his stomach. “Shit, what the fuck did you give me, Joon?”

“Uh, eggnog.” There was a single pause. “Spiked. Hoseok doused it with like tequila.”

“Fuck, Joon,” Yoongi groaned, glaring at the plastic cup, “you know I don’t handle tequila well.”

“Think of it as liquid courage!” Namjoon chirped as if that solved all his problems.

Yoongi directed his scathing look to the other instead, “More like liquid vomit when I toss all of this back up—”

“Hey, guys.” Another voice interjected, that familiar voice, and Yoongi instantly clamped his mouth shut. His back was turned to Taehyung and panic flared in his eyes as he looked at Namjoon for help. His best friend, being the bestest friend, instead grinned with full out dimples and turned Yoongi to face him. Fuck. Taehyung was too close. “Hey,” Taehyung smiled, eyes softening.

Soft, everything was soft. Yoongi really liked soft.

“You waited,” Taehyung said, seeming in a daze.

Yoongi stiffened, “I thought you told me to.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “thanks.” Was that a blush? Taehyung ducked his head a little but then smiled brightly again at the elder, “Do you want to go somewhere quieter? It’s kind of crowded.” Behind him, Yoongi heard complained groans from the people in the line who had been waiting to see Taehyung. Something akin to pride bloomed in his chest because now he had Taehyung all to himself. And he had a little bit (a lot) of spiked eggnog too, which as Namjoon had said given him a pinch of valor.

The elder licked his lips and nodded, “Yeah, sounds great.”

“My room’s just upstairs,” Taehyung suggested then paused, eyes blown wide, “n-not that we have to go there! My room’s just quieter so I thought—”

“Good,” Yoongi stopped him, “your room’s good.”

“Aw,” Namjoon cooed, “look at you—”

Yoongi feigned shock as he turned to the stage, “Joon, is that Jimin stripping for Santa Seat right now?”

“Bitch, what,” the guy was too easily maneuvered and Yoongi took that chance to catch Taehyung’s hand and pull him out of there.

Taehyung stepped ahead when Yoongi gestured for him to lead the way. With a huge grin, the younger pulled him up the stairs and down a hallway past pairs making out and to one of the doors labeled with Taehyung and Jimin’s names. He clicked the door shut behind him then watched as Yoongi looked around the room, observing every inch of the boy’s tidy space.

“You can, um, sit on my bed,” Taehyung said, patting the spot next to him where he had settled. Yoongi wanted to knock his head against a wall, but chose to accept the boy’s offer instead. They sat in the deafening silence for a few moments, Yoongi internally screaming at himself to say something and ease the awkwardness. “So, how’s school?”

He choked a little, surprised by how general the question was.

“Sorry,” Taehyung bit his bottom lip again, “I’m really bad at small talk. I don’t—I’m not very good with strangers.”

Yoongi let out a small scoff, “You’re very good. I don’t even know how you manage to talk to everyone so easily like that. On the seat or meeting me earlier, I’m just—I’m impressed. That’s really good.”

“Let me correct that,” Taehyung cleared his throat, “I’m usually okay with strangers but you make me really nervous.”

“Me?”

This felt like déjà vu. “Yeah,” the younger affirmed softly, blushing a little, “you just seem really cool and nice. I don’t want to scare you off. I tend to be a little overwhelming at first glance.”

His nervous chuckle had Yoongi’s heart pinching. How in the world anyone could tell Taehyung that was beyond him. Yes, the boy was surely enthusiastic, but it was something Yoongi admired.

“No, God, no, I’m not cool at all,” Yoongi stumbled, “I’m pretty lame actually.” Cue his nervous laugh.

“Can I kiss you?” Taehyung suddenly asked quietly. That question came out of the blue, pulling all the words out of his head and into a scrambled mess. Yoongi was silent, unsure of what to say because this was so surprising and he never expected Taehyung to even consider kissing him. “Sorry,” Taehyung said, breathing out, “sorry, that was weird. We just met. S—”

Yoongi clamped a hand over his mouth, “Stop apologizing. It’s fine. It’s kind of weird but I don’t mind. I—I kind of want to kiss you too.”

Even with half his face covered by Yoongi’s palm, Taehyung’s expressive eyes glowed hopefully. Slowly, he pulled his hand away and placed it over Taehyung’s on the bed. The younger looked mildly taken aback by the gesture, but offered a small smile in return. He leaned forward and Yoongi followed his lead, shifting closer until their shoulders bumped and arms touched. The younger felt warm against him, radiating the heat of a comfortable summer day.

When their lips touched, Yoongi sucked in a breath. They were so soft, just like Taehyung himself. Their lips molded together, moving and shifting in sync. The elder could hear his heart thrumming in his veins, a rhythmic thumping that dulled the sound of the party outside, dulled the rustling of sheets underneath them as Taehyung pressed himself closer. They turned their bodies, Taehyung shifting to crawl atop the elder and straddle his lap.

He breathed heavily, searching Yoongi’s eyes, “I-is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi ignored the racing of his heart of Taehyung looking so soft and pliant in his hands. The younger, despite being inches taller, shrunk into himself as he leaned forward again to join their lips. It was as if they were attached at the seams, Taehyung’s hands running over Yoongi’s broad shoulders, Yoongi’s sliding up and down his back before moving to cup the boy’s ass. Taehyung tensed a little at the touch and he immediately reacted to pull his hand away.

However, the other boy quickly stopped him, putting his hands back where they belonged. “Keep them there, I like it.”

Yoongi opened his mouth to respond but before he could, Taehyung kissed him again, harder this time as a moan slipped past his lips and into Yoongi’s. His breath hitched in his throat at the action and his fingers tightened around Taehyung’s pert behind. “You’ve got such a nice ass,” he grunted against his lips.

Taehyung giggled cutely, noses brushing against each other. “Why, thank you, glad you appreciate it.”

“Wanna appreciate it up close,” Yoongi muttered absentmindedly and Taehyung let out an audible choke. “That was supposed to go in my head, not out loud.”

“I’d love it if you appreciate it up close,” he grinned again, a devilish gleam in his eyes this time, “but—” he licked his lips “—how do you feel about my sucking you off?”

Yoongi stiffened, pulling away to quirk an eyebrow at him. “What? Like right now?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “I’m guessing you’re clean.”

“Yeah but—”

“Great!” Taehyung chirped, clapping his hands together and bounding off the elder’s lap. “So, yes?”

Yes, yes, a million times yes? A blowjob from the cutest guy on campus who everyone fell in love with? Sign him the fuck up. “Yeah, yeah, that would be nice.”

Taehyung chortled, sinking down to his knees and rubbing his hands up along Yoongi’s skinny thighs, fingers deftly unbuttoning his jeans. He popped it open and pulled his zipper down, exposing the tiny sliver of his boxers where his bulge was poking out. Fuck, he was already hard. How?

“Wait, Taehyung, are you sure? I don’t want to like pressure you,” Yoongi coughed, feeling his cheeks flame.

The boy on the floor gave him a look, “Dude, I legit asked you if I could suck you off. I’m definitely sure.”

“O-okay,” Yoongi stuttered. He wanted to say more, but all of his neurons fizzled out the second Taehyung pressed his hot tongue against the fabric-covered swelling between his legs. A curse escaped his lips as he twisted his fingers in the blanket.

Taehyung started mouthing at it as he pulled Yoongi’s jeans down with the elder instinctively assisting him by lifting his hips up. The younger’s hands were warm on his thighs, the tanned skin a beautiful contrast against Yoongi’s pale one. His lips closed in around the thickness, tongue pushing down wet and heavy. He was so sensitive already, whining at how good the heat of Taehyung’s mouth felt around him.

Then, as if Taehyung was on a mission to surprise him further, with his teeth catching the hem of his boxers, pulled the fabric down until his cock sprung free. God, he was embarrassingly hard. So damn hard. Taehyung hadn’t even properly put his mouth on him yet—oh fuck.

He did. Taehyung’s fingers wrapped around the length, fitting it snugly in his palm, as he dragged his tongue up from the base to the tip before taking the pulsating head into his mouth. The heat and moisture that enclosed around his stimulated cock was more than enough to catapult Yoongi further into the blinding pleasure. Fire streaked through his body at the sensation, like a burning heat that licked up his skin.

Taehyung took him in deep quickly, pushing the entire length past his tight lips. He bobbed his head up and down on the shaft, fingers twisting around the remaining skin that he couldn’t fit down his throat. Then he popped it free, shifting somewhat downwards to nibble his way up Yoongi’s inner thighs. His teeth grazed on the pale skin, blooming prints of purples and blues that would surely last a while to mark his presence. Taehyung seemed to be having the time of his life, taking his time to nose his way back up to Yoongi’s cock.

Then he paused, staring for a second and making the elder fidget a little. Taehyung’s eyes flicked up to meet Yoongi’s before he dived back down, tongue darting out to swirl right around his balls. Yoongi jerked his hips up, surprised, and let an unattractive gasp escape his throat. Taehyung chuckled in amusement, but the rumble of his chest only worsened what already had Yoongi holding onto the edge of his pleasure.

“So sensitive, hyung,” Taehyung giggled, stroking his cock as he sucked one of his balls into his mouth. His lips closed in tight and tongue pushed up against the skin. All Yoongi could feel was heat, heat, heat. There were flames before his eyes kissing his skin with every one of Taehyung’s touch searing, imprinting, onto him.

Taehyung’s name left his lips in a breathless pant. “Fuck, just like that, that feels so—hng, so good, baby.” The pet name had Taehyung whimpering, mouth full of Yoongi. He swept his tongue in long, wet strokes around his balls, then—fucking shit— “holy fuck, r-right there. Oh fuck, that feels so damn good.” Taehyung flicked his tongue fast and hard down that one line of his balls that had him squeezing his eyes shut, mouth parted and lips quivering.

He was quickly pulling Yoongi to the edge, luring him in with that serpent-like tongue of his. It was as if Taehyung had filled him with this addicting drug that had his body’s temperature rising, sweat beading his face, as he tried to hold himself back. It’s been a while since he’s gotten a good blow, yeah, but this was too fast. Too embarrassing to show Taehyung.

But it felt too damn good.

His breaths came out in short puffs as his fingers made their way to Taehyung’s hair and the strands were as silky as he imagined them to be. Taehyung was still fervently working on his balls, which in turn had his cock hardening even more with the stimulation. He had the enthusiasm, that’s for sure.

However, Yoongi couldn’t have been more relieved when he finally brought his mouth back onto his dick. His pretty, pink lips stretched around the bulbous head and sucked it in. He hollowed out his cheeks and dipped his head over and over to take him in. Every time he pushed Yoongi’s cock down his throat, he went deeper and deeper. Yoongi wasn’t even sure if the kid had a gag reflex when he was sucking cock like a champ. Then he swallowed—he fucking swallowed—around his dick and the sudden pulsation had Yoongi groaning in sheer satisfaction.

“Holy shit, holy shit,” Yoongi choked, tightening his hold on Taehyung’s hair. The boy loved that so he did it again, and Yoongi tugged harder on his locks, which prompted a whimper bubbling up from the younger’s throat that Yoongi absolutely loved.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” Taehyung moaned and stroked the length again, darting out his tongue collect the drop of precome that had leaked.

“Such a good boy, Taehyung,” the elder murmured as he tilted his head back again, relishing in the pure, unadulterated lust that coursed through his system. The feeling was addicting, electrifying, had his entire body buzzing with thrill. “You take cock so well, baby.”

Taehyung whined quietly, “Y-you should see my ass take cock next time.”

Fuck, fuck yes. “God, yeah, I want that. Next time, baby.”

“For now,” Taehyung grinned, winking up at him, “you’ll have to settle for my mouth.” Then Taehyung suckled on the tip, slurping on it as if it were his last meal. He sucked on the slit to savor the stray drops that oozed out.

Yoongi could feel himself getting closer and closer, his breath catching in his throat every time he did so. However, he was sent tipping over the edge when he opened his eyes and looked down to find Taehyung staring right back up at him. His pupils were dilated, watching Yoongi’s reaction and flushed face carefully, and his gaze clouded over with devious contentment. But the prettiest sight was his lips surrounding his cock, mouth so full of Yoongi’s dick he looked as if he was about to combust.

“Shit, Tae, I-I’m gonna come,” Yoongi stammered, pulling Taehyung off of him. The younger nodded obediently and instead circled his fingers around the shaft again, stroking it hard and fast. He tugged on it just enough to have Yoongi bowing in the absolute force of his pleasure bending him to its will. It wasn’t long before he was spilling all over the boy’s hands, thick white spurts covering his thighs and Taehyung’s digits. Yoongi was practically heaving, he wanted to cry from how good that release was even when Taehyung was still milking him dry, the younger boy’s eyes staring in mesmerization at the head still pouring out his come.

When Yoongi was finally (took him long enough, holy fuck he came a lot) finished, he quickly let the humiliation settle in his gut as he reached for a tissue to wipe himself up. “Sorry,” Taehyung said with no remorse whatsoever in his voice and instead eyes glimmering with delight, “I don’t swallow on the first date.”

“Y-you’re good,” Yoongi choked, pulling his boxers up again. Then his gaze darted over to Taehyung and the prominent bump in his own boxers. “Uh, do you want me to help? I can.”

“Not tonight,” Taehyung grinned, “come cuddle with me.”

“Cuddle?”

Yoongi regretted his words almost immediately when the light in the boy’s irises dimmed. It was as if the elder could see the disappointment bearing down on his shoulders like a visible burden. “O-oh, I mean—”

“Cuddling is good,” Yoongi blurted out, licking his lips anxiously, “I’d like to cuddle.”

“Yeah?” Holy shit. If Yoongi could do one thing for the rest of his life and only one thing, it would be to keep Taehyung’s eyes illuminating that way.

The two of them huddled up together on the single bed, Taehyung’s arm draped over Yoongi’s waist and Yoongi’s arm awkwardly placed under Taehyung’s head with the younger’s insistence. Despite the stiff positioning and the certainty of his waking up with a dead arm, Yoongi didn’t find himself minding it all that much.

Taehyung whispered as if he was telling a secret, “What’re you thinking about? You’re awfully quiet.”

“I’m usually this quiet,” Yoongi muttered, slightly flustered by how intensely the other was staring at him.

“You seem like you have a lot of thoughts you keep to yourself.”

Yoongi looked visibly startled by Taehyung’s statement, by how daring and how true it was. He pressed his lips together, unsure of what to say. “I mean—I don’t really like to spill it out. It’s just… thoughts after all.”

“Is it selfish that I kind of want you to share those thoughts with me?”

Gulp. “Uh, no offense, but we literally just met.”

Taehyung giggled, scooting closer, “I know. But I just have this feeling, you know. That like gut instinct that’s telling me that I’m going to like you a lot, Yoongi. And I think, maybe, you’re going to like me a lot too.”

In that moment, Yoongi thought that Taehyung was a little bit strange, a little bit sweet, and a little bit too bold. But he hadn’t known then that Taehyung would be 100% right.

BONUS:

“You know,” Taehyung started, muffling his voice in Yoongi’s thick sweater. His boyfriend was warm and cuddly in the woolen piece Taehyung had gifted him for Christmas. “When I met you a year ago, I already knew about you—already knew I wanted to meet you.”

Yoongi cocked an eyebrow, arm still snug around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Really? How so?”

“Namjoon kept talking about you,” Taehyung let out a small giggle, “I thought you were really cool but he didn’t want to introduce me to you, thought I’d scare you off. I kept begging him to let us meet, but he didn’t agree until I bribed him with Jimin.”

Whipped fucker. That guy was head over heels then for someone who was basically Taehyung’s twin. Yoongi couldn’t judge though, not when he was so far up Taehyung’s ass, both figuratively and sexually, he couldn’t see straight most of the time. “Can’t believe him,” he muttered under his breath.

“So, Santa Seat was perfect for us, don’t you think?”

“Cute,” Yoongi chuckled, “glad I met you, Santa.”

“Me too, baby, me too.”

#bts #taehyung #yoongi #taegi #taegi17 #taegi scenarios #bts scenarios #taegi fanfic #taegi fluff #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #taegi smut #heheheh this was fun to write!!

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ollyarchive · 7 years

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Olly Alexander on harnessing the power of sexual fantasy in pop

The Years & Years frontman talks about owning his queer sexuality in the mainstream and writing a twisted disco album about ‘holy wood’

Owen Myers

9 March 2018

“It’s like my Rihanna Loud era,” declares Olly Alexander, before breaking into a laugh. The Years & Yearsfrontman is referring to his cropped curly hair, which is freshly coloured to the hue of a nice Merlot. It’s a cold February evening, and he’s puffing on a roll-up while huddled in the fire exit doorway of a Camden venue. His new dye job has to be kept under wraps, he explains, until its official unveiling in the band’s new video. “It’s so stupid,” Olly says with an eye roll. He then flashes me a grin, suggesting that this moment of starry subterfuge is not entirely unwelcome.

Olly Alexander really likes being a pop star. He says that it’s full of “fairytale” moments, like when his Years & Years earnings enabled him to buy his mum a house, or when he and his ex-boyfriend, Neil Milan (formerly of Clean Bandit), became embraced as British pop’s new golden couple. After winning the BBC Sound poll in 2015, Years & Years’ earworm synth pop was everywhere. They had an inescapable number one single, “King”, and their album Communion was the fastest selling debut that year from a signed British band. Olly says that there are downsides to the tabloid headlines and Twitter trolls that come along with being “a public gay man” – a phrase that he puts in self-deprecating air quotes. But right now, those pressures feel far away, as he prepares to change into a bright pink boiler suit and play to a boozed-up Saturday night crowd, at an Annie Mac-curated showcase. Or, as he put it on Twitter earlier today: bring his “gay agenda” to The Roundhouse.

Years & Years’ great new single, “Sanctify”, contrasts lurking vocals with an ecstatic synth-fuelled chorus, and is as unapologetic as any of Olly’s pithy social media posts. He was newly single when he wrote the song, and reading Andrew Holleran’s 1978 chronologue of gay desire, Dancer From the Dance, had got him thinking about a couple of hookups he’d had with straight-identifying men. “It would always be under darkness,” he says. “It had this added layer of eroticism because it was somewhat forbidden. But (being with me) was a window where they could be themselves, and I felt responsible not to fuck them up.” Those conflicting feelings come through in evocative lyrics about obscuring masks and sinful confessions, with a climax that’s about as on-the-nose as chart pop gets. “I sanctify my sins when I pray,” says Olly, quoting the chorus’s payoff. “What do you do what you pray? You get on your knees. So is it a sexual baptism?” He laughs. “I was just like, ‘There’s a lot to work with here.’”

Years & Years are a three-piece, but the other two members, Mikey Goldsworthy and Emre Türkmen, tend to hunker down behind synths and let Olly take centre stage. His soul-searching lyrics give the band’s maximalist pop its heart, with a singing voice that pierces through a constellation of synths. Their videos bring acts which are often shrouded in darkness into the light, showing the singer cruising in a dank car park, or at a pansexual orgy. The new “Sanctify” visual riffs on dom/sub culture, with an elaborate sci-fi plot that is a device for Olly to perform “Slave 4 U”-inspired dance moves to an audience of androids. When he was commissioned to write a song for the Bridget Jones franchise, he made it about bottoming. “I have sex, I enjoy sex,” he says flatly. He’s sitting in his cosy dressing room the Roundhouse, which rumbles with bass as Disclosure and Mabel soundcheck next door. “In the past, I think gay men (in pop) have often shied away from being overtly sexual, or being commanding of their sexuality. But I believe that our sexual fantasies are a big drive for us all. Exploring that side of yourself is super empowering.”

In the past year or so, many well-known LGBTQ artists have begun to bring queerness into their music in sex-positive ways. Pop’s boy-next-door Troye Sivan strapped on Tom Of Finland leathers for a back alley moment with well-fluffed trade, Janelle Monáe caressed women’s bare thighs, Fever Ray returned with a concept album about queer kink. For better or worse, Sam Smith is now calling himself a “dick monster”on primetime telly. “Sometimes seeing a man express themselves in an overtly sexual way, especially a gay man, makes certain conservative people feel a bit uncomfortable,” Olly says. “I always wanna keep people a little uncomfortable.”

“I believe that our sexual fantasies are a big drive for us all. Exploring that side of yourself is super empowering” – Olly Alexander

Years & Years are far from the first mainstream British pop act to proudly put gay sexuality at the centre of their music – that’s a lineage that runs from Will Young to George Michael, Pet Shop Boys to Bronski Beat, and beyond. But Olly’s performances are a reminder that mainstream pop can be open to explicit queerness (at least, when it’s embodied in a handsome white cis man). Olly has faith that you don’t have to be “generic to be palatable,” and that “straight guys can hear a song that I’ve written about being fucked by another guy, but still relate.” LGBTQ+ people like me grew up seeing straight culture pretty much everywhere; seeing more of our community thrive is crucial.

Growing up in the Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire, Olly was a flamboyant kid. That got him bullied at school, called a “batty boy” before he was even aware that he was gay, and meant that he retreated into drama lessons. While acting, he felt it was okay – a good thing, even – to be expressive. He always nurtured a passion for music, too; he taught himself how to play Joni Mitchell songs on piano, and obsessed over “Dirrty”-era Christina Aguilera. An early performance at a year six assembly blended intimate songwriting and outré entertainment: Olly played piano and sang lyrics about lost love, while two of his friends did a dance routine.

In his late teens and early 20s, Olly cropped up in whimsical micro-budget indie films like 2011’s The Dish And The Spoon, alongside Greta Gerwig, as well as Gaspar Noé’s Enter The Void, and Skins. But his early experiences at school stayed with him. “Your first encounter with your sexuality is often from people bullying you and calling you the thing that you just pray to god that you won’t be – but deep down suspect you might be,” Olly says. “Well, no wonder we have an incredibly conflicting relationship with our bodies and our sexualities, because we’ve had to experience all of that.”

Reflecting on these difficult early years in his dressing room, Olly speaks openly about his own decade-long experience with depression, and the inadequate NHS provisions for those who are struggling with mental health. LGBTQ+ folks disproportionately struggle with depression and substance abuse, he recognises, and there’s only one UK organisation, London Friend, that caters directly to the specific needs of the queer community. “I’ve been there,” says Olly. “They’re amazing, but they are over-subscribed, with a tiny office, old chairs, and not a lot of money. When you’re seeing that people aren’t getting the help they should be, there’s an issue there.” That’s something he knows from first-hand experience. Last year, Olly fronted a BBC documentary, Growing Up Gay, about young LGBTQ+ people struggling with their mental health. His openness around the subject made him a kind of ambassador for those struggles, and he’s trying to work out how to deal with the “almost daily” DMs he gets from people at their lowest moments. “I feel very privileged that someone is wanting to share that with me, but it’s frightening,” he says. “We’re all in fucking pain, and I don’t know if we’re communicating with each other that well.”

“What do we expect a male pop star to do? As a society, how do we want them to behave or present themselves?” – Olly Alexander

Years & Years’ second album, out later this year, mixes gliding pop melodies with churning bass and twisted disco. The new songs feel more varied and exploratory than Communion, thanks in part to new collaborators like current pop’s minimalist masterminds Julia Michaels and Justin Tranter, as well as Greg Kurstin, who co-wrote “Shine”, Years & Years’ best song to date. The album’s centred around a motif of Palo Santo, a healing incense-like wood that you burn and waft around a room. (Olly dramatises this with hand motions as if he’s conducting an invisible orchestra.) Perhaps Palo Santo, with its power to expel evil spirits, could be a metaphor for the songwriting process? Maybe, Olly says. “But (when writing the album) I was angry about loads of things, particularly men. Palo Santo literally means ‘holy wood’ and I was like, ‘This is fucking perfect.’ Like, thinking that your dick is holy? I’ve known guys like that.”

Years & Years’ renewed vision also extends to creating a futuristic universe for their new music to exist in. That’s an idea that Olly’s idols – “Bowie, Prince, and Gaga” – have embraced, and “Sanctify” is the first part of an interconnected series of “weird, wonderful” videos. It marks the next step for a band aiming to join British pop’s pantheon, at a time when Olly, too, has been reflecting on his place in music. “What do we expect a male pop star to do?” he questions. “As a society, how do we want them to behave or present themselves? If I was asking myself, it would be like, ‘Well actually, I’ve always loved this kind of popstar. Maybe I should just be the pop star I want to see in the world.”

#olly alexander #years & years #yearsandyears #articles #interviews #dazed

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violetbeachpod · 7 years

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TRANSCRIPT: 1x03 - Moments of Mystery

it’s me again. here’s a third transcript. i love writing benji the very most. thank you.

BENJI:

Hey, everyone, it’s Benji here to guide you through another moment of mystery. That’s catchy, I think. Teresa shut it down when I put it in the group chat, but. I like it. And Elaine liked it. Nobody else did, but only Teresa shut it down. But I like it! It’s alliterative, and it’s catchy. See, you gotta sell shit with a title, like--a title is a mini-thesis, right? Your mission statement in, uh, I’d argue seven words or less, cuz after that, you’re getting too niche.

Like you’re some kinda whiny sellout pop-punk band, or a tortured academic who can’t come up with any substance for their dissertation so instead they’re writing their entire life story on the title page after a colon, or somewhere on the spectrum between the two. And there is a spectrum, I think, and it does not include every single type of person. I think, in the middle, we have white PTA moms and also maybe me back in high school.

So. Moments of mystery. Now, listeners, I’m a self-proclaimed expert on weird shit. And I (maybe legally?) have to say self-proclaimed, cuz I have had some people email into my podcast that are pissed off about my lack of certification in the field. Because apparently, these days, we don’t trust non-degree-granted expertise. Hmph. Trust me, I’m working on it, though. I’m super working on it. Not sure if the university offers a cryptozoology/paranormal investigations program, but, hey, if they need a guy to start one? They know my name. And my number. And my email. And my address. Cuz I’m an alum. And also because I’ve emailed, called, and mailed them about this. Many times. I think the dean blocked my number? Which I might put on my resume, frankly, cuz the dean’s a dick and if he blocked me, I think I should consider that an honor.

So, anyway, as a self-proclaimed expert, I got this whole thing down. I can and I will. Weird mists? Absolutely. Moon-related prophecies? I got you. Specters and apparitions and what have you? Hell yeah. If there’s something strange--you get the gist. Call me. I got you. Moments of goddamn mystery. It’s a good title!

Now, though, let’s get to the point. What you’ve all been waiting for. That’s right, everybody, it’s time for updates on the weird stuff. We’ll get to theories, later, I just wanna get all the facts out there first.

First off: Benji Life Update, which is to say, uh, Danny and I are over, now. Unfortunately. It was mutual. So, I guess, no tape-clearance for Danny anymore. Sorry for those who made their tapes before me, who may have made their statements with Danny’s clearance in mind. It’s done. That part of my life is behind me. It was fun while it lasted, but, hey. All good things come to an end, right?

Second off: Time loop update. I refuse to call it Groundhog Daying like the others keep using in the group chat because fuck Bill Murray, but. Regardless. Time loop update. No new time loops! But yes new explanation as to what happened in the original timeline versus the real timeline. I’m not gonna get into semantics, here, but we are gonna call the day that got redone Timeline Prime. Like--the first time we did that day. Is Timeline Prime. The Primeline? Who knows. And the second one is Our Unfortunate Reality. So, anyway, in the Primeline, I opened the shop, and in Our Unfortunate Reality, Teresa did. Which made her miss her classes, and made me sleep through my alarm to drive out to Ainsley and pick up the merch deliveries. And, in the--

[Static]

DISTORTED VOICE:

Circle. Circle. Circle. Circle. Circle. Circle. Circle.

[BENJI]

BENJI:

So, anyway, uh. Basically, I should maybe fire myself? But considering that it’s my store, and I like to use the label ‘local business owner’ to introduce myself to people, I won’t. Ah, shit looks like my audio--my audio got rough, there. I’ll. I’ll check it back later. Sorry, listeners.

Speaking of the store, though, we have a new customer! Which, that’s not rare, necessarily, but we’re pretty reliant on our regulars. New people are always college students, right? But this person, he’s, like, fifty. Completely unremarkable. He keeps coming in, staring at the wall, and then leaving. One time, he took one of the complimentary temp tattoos that we give kids, so I guess he has kids? But he never says hi, never engages--he just. He stares. And I’m not here to judge, but, time-loop shit aside, I run a pretty tight ship, and, uh. I like to think of myself as somebody who knows everybody. Because, for the most part, I do.

So, like, it’s weird, right? Like--he doesn’t do anything, and, again, like. I don’t wanna judge, but--the thing is, I can’t remember a thing about this dude’s face. Just--he’s so, so boring. White dude, uh, average--pretty average height. No discernable features. And he--he spoke to me, once, and his voice sounded like it was through a dozen filters.

He said--uh. Shit. What did he say?

He said, uh.

Well. That’s noteworthy.

Anyway, his weird voice, and his, uh, his blandness, is a good segue into my personal favorite of the segments I’ve outlined. Which is to say, it’s Alien Time. Needs a catchier name, but. Oh well. That’s for later. It’ll come to me. Extraterrestrial Corner? Spaceman Zone?

So, here’s what we got, re colon the alien theory, and, look, I know some of you are sick of it. I know. But listen, Teresa keeps getting messages from her shadow-self or whatever about the moon, which is in space, and, hey, where are aliens from? That’s right. It’s space.

I sound batshit, which, fine, whatever, cool, great, but. Still.

And then, there are these creepy-ass people with entirely unremarkable faces. Which, again, not judging. I promise. But that I can’t remember anything that my guy said, even though I can remember his, like, cadence, or--that’s creepy. That’s paranormal. And that his voice was layered? That’s mega creepy.

See You Invader? As a title for this segment? It has some level of cleverness to it, I think.

Maybe? Vote now on your phones. Please. I’m--y’know, I’m sticking with it, I like it.

And then the school board that threw Char out of her speech thing. Those were--those were also kindq weird. And they seem similar to my experience.

But that she’s seen them before, that’s where it gets me, cuz you’d think, what with the, uh, what with the purple flashing sky and all, that, uh. That said aliens would have only shown up on New Years. But, see, that takes me to the idea that it’s been more of a slowburn, and that the Corielli board is, like, scouts, or something. That the big guys--which is to say, Teresa’s weird apparition lady, my new customer, those are the Big Bads. So, what does that mean about structure? Well, I’m glad you asked. See--

[STATIC]

DISTORTED VOICE:

Coincidence. Coincidence. Coincidence. Coincidence. Coincidence. Coincidence. Coincidence.

[STATIC]

BENJI:

So, in conclusion? Second moon maybe, aliens definitely, and ghosts very much so. Thank you.

So, next point, which is a question, rather than a point. Why us? Why the seven of us? Look, I get it, seven is a very literary number. If I were ghost aliens, which I am not, I would definitely go with three or seven people to fuck with. But are they fucking with us, or is there meaning behind it all?

So, uh. We all kind of knew each other? I guess? I was Facebook friends with Elaine, just cuz, as Robin’s honorary Alive Dad, I will be walking her down the aisle at their wedding, meaning there were only two connections to Elaine total, but everybody else at least sort of knew everybody else. And maybe it was the fireworks? Because Simon sold them to me out of his truck near the barber shop and told me to stay quiet about them. Though, also? They were probably illegal, so--

You get it. I know there are easier ways to get fireworks, but his are always so fucking cool and I wanted to feel proud in my pyrotechnic skills. But, hey, win some lose some, right? Right?

Or. No. I guess.

But. It can’t just be--in a situation this weird, it can’t be completely random that it was the seven of us, y’know? There’s gotta be the Big Prophecy, or the--the secret powers, or one of those things. The force that drew us all to that party at three AM, after everybody was already gone, the force that’s drawing us together. There’s gotta be something that brings this all together, that adds some kinda coherency, like--

I know that I shouldn’t expect storylines from life. That I’m--I’m not the main character in some story, that there aren’t cliffhangers or plot twists in this reality, but this reality feels like a comic book right now. So, yeah, I am waiting for Galactus to show up, or something. For some goddamned continuity, for something to click into place.

And that’s shitty of me, because nothing else has ever worked like that, so, uh, why should real-life-aliens work out like that? That’s pretty presumptuous of me. But, look. Listen.

When I was a kid, I always wanted to be a Mulder or a Dale Cooper or a Ripley or any given Rick Moranis character, and now--now I’m none of those. But this sorta thing, it gives me a chance, y’know? It--these are my monsters of the week, this is my search for the sister, this is me living out what was never written for me, y’know? It’s--I’m in this goddamn narrative, and even if this isn’t a narrative, I’m gonna make it one. Because why not! I--I’m working on self-love everyday, like Doc Claremont said. She’s my therapist. You know. Gotta get those life skills in place. Constantly improving. Letting myself be myself. Hell yeah.

So here’s the plot, so far, then. Seven outcasts--we’re all pretty outcast, I’d argue--stand alone on a beach, and, bam, flash of light, and bam, the world is dying, and then, darkness. Lost-style eye-zoom in, right, Michael Bay spin, and then we’re back on the beach. And then we get a coherent plot about time loops, and nothing else, because it is two-thousand-and-eighteen. And there are interwoven character webs, and interesting enough flashbacks, and--

And it makes sense. And it’s well-written, and it’s well drawn, and it has a really good cult fanbase that--you know. You get the gist.

Look, all I’m saying is that this doesn’t feel like it’s real, so why don’t we have fun with it? We’re seeing things that, as far as we know, no one else has seen before. We’re on the verge of something big, and. I don’t just feel it, I know it. In every corner of my mind, I’m sure of it. This is so important, this is--this is the most important thing I’ve done. And I’ve done a lot of important things, I think. At least a few of ‘em. I’m fairly accomplished. I can, uh, in the truly classic Sorkin-style, list my credentials, like--Graduated top of my class from Core--

[STATIC]

DISTORTED VOICE:

The Moon. The Moon. The Moon. The Moon. The Moon. The Moon. The Moon.

[STATIC]

BENJI:

--ran a five k without ever walking, and also without that much training, which is an accomplishment from a me perspective. And I got my scuba license last week based on a gut decision! I’m accomplished as hell.

Seriously, though, what’s going on with my audio? It’s like--it’s not even, like, weird feedback shit, it’s just, like. A weird test screen where there should be a solid two minutes of audio. Weird. Is--maybe I should get better software? I heard that this cheapass one wasn’t reliable, but I didn’t see this in any reviews or FAQs or whatever; I--

Hm.

[beat, typing]

Okay, a quick troubleshooting search, that’s not a thing! That’s--that’s genuinely not a thing that anyone’s reported before. I screenshotted, but, uh, the screenshot won’t load? So. Uh. I’m gonna check this out. So. Signing off. Need a sign off.

I hope to share another moment with you soon?

Yeah, it’s a shitty title.

Okay, until next time.

#transcripts #season 1 #benji #violet beach #violet beach podcast

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kierantc-blog · 7 years

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DC Rebirth In Review - The Young And The Violent

Here is the 4th part of my DC Rebirth In Review series, where i take a look back at the good and the bad of DC’s Rebirth initiative in the wake of the news that they are dropping the Rebirth banners in December. To read my previous posts just click these links:

Part 1 - The Superman Family

Part 2 - The Batman Family

Part 3 - The Justice League

In this part, i will be talking about The Young And The Violent. Basically a snappy way of categorising series such as Teen Titans and Suicide Squad. So let’s get to it!

Titans - Coming off of the back of Titans Hunt and DC Universe Rebirth #1, Wally West the original Kid Flash and The Flash in his own right returns to the fold and finds his old friends Dick Grayson (Nightwing), Donna Troy (Wonder Girl), Garth (Tempest), Roy Harper (Arsenal) and Lilith Clay (Omen) to find out the mystery of Rebirth, who stole the missing time from the universe and who was responsible for Wally’s disappearance? Written by Aquaman’s Dan Abnett and art by former Flash penciller Brett Booth, Titans is one of the stronger titles in DC that honestly makes you wonder why they didn’t make it a bi-monthly title. Readers that love Wally West will be thrilled as much as the fans of the original Teen Titans as it feels like the group have been together much longer than we know they have been currently. While Booth offers consistent artwork, his frantic and detailed style of pencils might be a headache for some people but it doesn’t distract from a well made series. - 9/10

Teen Titans - Just like Supergirl, the Teen Titans comic book takes some lessons in synergy from the popular Justice League vs. Teen Titans animated movie that came out last year and sees Damian Wayne’s Robin team up with Starfire, Beast Boy and Raven, as well as adding new recruits in Wally West II AKA the new Kid Flash and later on Jackson Hyde, who will later become Aqualad. The comic is written by Green Arrow’s Ben Percy but unlike the fan-service laden G.A Rebirth he chooses to make his own way with the new Teen Titans by exploiting Damian’s inability to do things like a normal person. It works well too, he forces the recruits together and they end up bonding under the idea that while he can make them better heroes, he’s also a bit of a dweeb and is the target of their ire. The artwork by Jonboy Meyers and later Khoi Pham is well detailed and looks like something straight out of an animation feature. Whether you were a fan of the animated movie or love a more classic Titans comic, this will be the book you want to check out. The only thing that holds it back is the annoyance of crossovers, with 2 so far and another to come in December, and considering the series only has 13 issues to date, it stunts the story telling opportunities for the writer. - 7.5/10

Blue Beetle - On the surface the premise of this book is solid, Ted Kord and Jaime Reyes, both Blue Beetle in their own right, working together for the first time. It doesn’t really work that well though as it feels like Giffen and Kolins want to tell stories about Justice League 3001 and Doctor Fate instead, which is fine but that’s not what i’m paying for. I would personally avoid buying this book, it has very little promise but might interest you if you like Ted. - 2/10

Deathstroke - If you aren’t reading this book already, you really should be. Christopher Priest is a comic book veteran and after 10 years away from the big 2 he came back to work on Deathstroke because the character wasn’t black and as an African-American he didn’t want to be pigeon-holed as a “black writer”. The narrative of Deathstroke is complex but full of intrigue and substance too, Priest clearly understands the nuances of such a complicated man and uses them well but the plot itself is devious and cunning, almost like you are reading a cross between a George RR Martin book and a great spy novel. The quality of Priest’s work on this series has earned him a promotion of sorts to being the new regular writer on Justice League, and if that isn’t an indicator of his talent then i don’t know what is. - 10/10

Harley Quinn - With Rebirth being a tale of bringing back what people love about their favourite characters, it was difficult for DC to really do anything to Harley Quinn because the series is one of their best sellers and Amanda Conner and Jimmy Palmiotti have worked on it since the beginning, so changing the status quo didn’t seem necessary. The only problem with that in my opinion is that the series has stagnated and become rather stale. The supporting cast of Harley’s world is brought in closer than ever in order to battle the Mayor of New York City but it feels rather predictable as a story. A new creative team is taking over soon, with Frank Tieri (formerly of Invincible Iron Man and Wolverine) writing and Inaki Miranda (recently of Batgirl) doing art duties, so maybe a change will come sooner rather than later. The series needs it. - 5/10

Suicide Squad - Since the movie last Summer, this book has sold rather well for DC but it’s not exactly a deserving one. The problem isn’t Rob Williams the writer but the way DC has managed the series. When the creative team was first announced it was with the big news that DC co-publisher and legendary artist Jim Lee doing the artwork, but with his other duties at the company and with the twice monthly schedule he was unable to commit to the series fully. Instead of the average 20 pages per issue, Suicide Squad was left with only 12 from Jim Lee and the other 8 being from backup artists doing a backup story from Rob Williams. With this and the average crossover with the Justice League in January, this series has spluttered out of the gate. The more recent issues post Jim Lee have been better but with more crossovers to come it feels like Rob Williams can’t catch a break and tell the stories he wants. Publisher politics aside, the series takes notes from the movie by copying the Squad roster and returning Amanda Waller into the thicc woman she was before, and while the book is certainly more light and funny than the movie, the synergy for the best part works quite well. - 4/10

The Hellblazer - After the excellent Constantine DC You series by Doyle, Tynion and Rossmo, The Hellblazer fails to keep the magic going with extremely flat story telling and questionable artwork. The book has so far taken 12 issues to tell the story about ancient magical beings called Djinn returning but not once do you feel that there is any relative danger to Constantine or that anything serious could happen. Also the story itself feels detached from what is going on in DC right now, others have mysteries and larger picture things going on and others have guest stars and cameos galore, but apart from one appearance by Shazam and another couple by Swamp Thing, you would be hard pressed to believe this takes place in the same universe as the other on-goings. Tim Seeley has stepped in for a guest arc on the series and has improved the quality, but the issues by Simon Oliver and Moritat should be avoided at all costs. - 2/10

Conclusions

A few missteps aside, the remainder of Rebirth’s catalogue has been good for DC and even those missteps are getting course corrections in new creative teams. I do believe that more work needs doing however, a Young Justice series with Tim Drake, Conner Kent and Cassie Sandsmark needs to happen and more magical based books such as Zatanna or Shazam need to happen too.

With the return of the Young Justice animated series as well as the upcoming Teen Titans TV series, we might get more of a focus on the teenage heroes of DC soon, and with the new Shazam movie going into production we shouldn’t be too surprised if the original Captain Marvel returns to the fold.

Thanks for reading!

Next Up: Crossovers, Events and Mini-Series.

#Titans #Teen Titans #Harley Quinn #Suicide Squad #Blue Beetle #Deathstroke #The Hellblazer #John Constantine #Young Justice #DC Comics #DC Rebirth #Comic Books #Comic Book Review

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ridleymocki · 7 years

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Just Take a Hold of the Hand That Breaks the Fall

Written for Pynch Week 17 Day 2, prompt: Musicals AU // Pirates AU // Superhero AU.

Summary: They weren't even supposed to be at the damn factory. An unsanctioned mission goes awry and Ronan wakes up to realise that Adam's consciousness is somehow in his head. In his dream place, to be precise. But how he got there and what those freaky demon wizards were aiming for is all unclear. As the group struggles to deal with Adam being in a magic coma, and Ronan struggles to deal with the guy he secretly wants being in his most private space, something dark is waiting for its opportunity, and it's coming for them. The Institute never prepared them for this.

Notes: Originally I really wasn't vibing with the AU prompts, couldn't see what to do with it, but I started writing and got SUPER INTO THIS ONE and now it's gotten SO out of hand. This is unfortunately a WIP, but it will absolutely be updated as soon as I have time to work on it. Title is from 'Superman' by Lazlo Bane, because it's literally the most perfect song for this (it's has a superhero theme and mentions tarot cards, for god's sake).I hope you enjoy it and stay tuned for the next instalment! <3

also on ao3

It was an accident. They weren’t even supposed to be in the damn factory but as always Gansey had got it in his head that they could help. So they went, the six of them, following their fearless leader into another fucked up situation. Ronan hadn’t liked it at the time and he was furious afterwards.

Gansey was full of moral principles and platitudes and even though Ronan would follow him to the ends of the earth, he was always going to begrudge reaching the end of the earth just because Gansey made stupid decisions.

It happened too fast. They were scoping out the factory floor, irked by the archaic symbols painted on the walls, the lines of salt, the broiling pot of luminescent goo in the middle of the room and the next moment, they were under fire. Literal fire. As in balls of fire were being thrown at them as four cloaked figures materialised around them.

Gansey told Blue to try and turn into one of them, use their power against them, and they were all shocked when she said she couldn’t. Something was stopping her.

“This is wrong,” Noah said into Ronan’s ear as they ducked for cover.

“No shit.”

“No,” he said. “There’s something we’re missing.” Ronan frowned at him, but Noah just grew more translucent in his uncertainty until Ronan couldn’t see him at all.

Something small was flung onto the floor opposite them and in the blink of an eye the tiny bee had transformed back into Henry. “Okay,” he groaned and crawled over to them, “that’s literally never happened.”

Across the room Ronan could see Adam crouched behind a machine, palms pressed flat to the ground and eyes closed in concentration. He was obviously trying to reach into the earth, to draw out some power so he could retaliate. Of all of them he was the one best suited to deal with these guys, magic versus magic. But his brow was furrowed and Ronan wondered if he was encountering the wrongness Noah felt.

“Stop this! Stop what you’re doing!” Gansey shouted at the figures, coming out from behind the palette of boxes he’d been hiding behind and forcing as much command into his voice as possible. The force of his power seemed to shake the room, filling it with his will. But the figures didn’t respond to his will the way anyone else would have. That could only mean one thing. Despite the evidence of his eyes and ears Ronan peeked around the corner of the workbench to look at the figures and realised with startling clarity that they were dead. They had to be dead.

But Gansey wasn’t growing wise to this, flummoxed that they ignored him. The figures had stopped reigning fire down upon them and began to form a circle around the pot. Or the cauldron, Ronan supposed. Voices like wind began to howl in the large room and it sent shivers down his spine. It took a moment for him to realise that they were, in fact, chanting.

“It’s all wrong,” Noah said, voice small beside him though he couldn’t be seen.

Ronan watched, vaguely horrified, as Gansey started walking closer to them, opening his mouth. Before he could do something reckless like piss them off, Ronan sprinted from his spot, around the edge of the room and half-tugged, half-tackled Gansey until they were both behind the palette of boxes again. They peered around the edge.

At the centre of the circle the figures formed, the viscous liquid in the cauldron began to rise up, rolling and writhing in a short spout. Luminescent and bright bloody red. Parts around the edge that were in the air too long began to char and blacken before being sucked back into the melee. It looked powerful, grim, and unnatural. It was something you weren’t supposed to see, like when you shine a torch into your palm and you can see your veins lit up bright red from the other side. Ronan felt sick.

“What the fuck is that thing,” he said.

Gansey looked at him, eyes wide, and Ronan gave him a flat look because that was Gansey’s maybe we’re in over our heads after all look. Ronan could slap him.

Before he got the chance, though, a scraping sound emanated in the room and Ronan saw Adam moving towards the cauldron and the figures around it, as though pulled from a string around his chest. His back was arched and his toes barely touched the ground, yet still he slid forward at the behest of some invisible force. His gritted teeth and straining arms told Ronan that this was none of his doing and instantly, with a sinking feeling, Ronan ran towards him, shouting. “No!”

He collided with a warm body, frustrated that they stayed upright, and wound his arms around Adam’s waist, digging his heels into the factory floor, willing the movement to stop. “A little help!” He saw flashes of white light a little to the side and realised it was Noah, who was trying to get at the hooded figure before him but couldn’t pass the salt circle in which they stood, his fists pounding against the barrier in bright sparks of energy. He saw Henry virtually disappear and knew he’d be buzzing around somewhere, though god knows to what end. Gansey was studying the symbols that encircled the figures, listening to their strange language as they chanted over and over, eyes ablaze as he tried to work it out, to find a solution.

Blue came out of the shadows and hit one figure over the head with a pair of bolt cutters. The figure did nothing. Did not sway or startle. It merely extended a hand and with a flick of the wrist Blue went flying into the opposite wall as though the figure had swatted a fly.

“Blue!” Gansey began to move toward her.

“Dick! Figure out how to stop them!” Ronan couldn’t stop he and Adam from moving, he struggled and scraped against the floor, but inch by inch they trailed forward. He saw tears run down Adam’s cheek and feared this might be killing him.

Gansey refocused on his task.

Up close, as they crossed the salt line, Ronan realised these bastards were huge, broad and easily seven foot tall. They were not people. Not even dead people, not really. Their robes were made of shadow as much as anything and when Ronan, dragged behind Adam, was brought into the circle, the temperature dropped so much he gasped.

“I can’t read it!” Gansey shouted. “There are too many languages!”

The red, glowing substance bubbled higher into a column, and no doubt it was commanded by whatever magic these figures were spinning. It rose like a cobra. Ronan struggled and felt his heart lurch into his throat. Gansey looked at them in horror.

It was rising to meet Adam.

Two things happened at once.

First, Noah, such as he was, squeezed himself through the gap in the salt line left behind by Ronan’s feet and attacked the nearest figure. Noah wasn’t corporeal on his best day, but he managed to grab at the figure’s hood and drag it down. Underneath was a mass of black; millions of tiny, shiny black dots writhed and slip-slided over each other. Beetles. They scuttled away and regrouped to mimic the opening of a mouth but it was all of them talking. The four figures were a monstrous hive.

But the reveal of their nature seemed to stun them and the millions of voices grew a little quieter as those from the figure Noah had revealed stopped their chanting. The column of red slime swayed and listed.

Second, the cauldron that held said slime had no fire beneath it, apparently just meant to contain. So there was no danger to a tiny bee inspecting the three feet that held the ancient looking thing upright. At the exact moment the column of liquid felt the loss of some of its chanted support, and the exact moment Adam and Ronan were but a foot away from the edge of the pot, Henry finally managed to remove the screw from one foot of the cauldron, throwing it on the floor beside its two brothers.

Magic was maintaining the glowing liquid but it was not doing so for the cauldron, and the weight of it instantly made the detached foot slide away. The cauldron tipped, tipped, and fell.

The humming chants of the figures – the beetles – rose to a shrill cry, utter outrage in every note as the red liquid lost its form, sloshing back into its well, and tipped along with the cauldron. Adam still couldn’t move away. Ronan could, but he wasn’t going to. They all watched it fall as if in slow motion, anticipating burns, or curses, or worse.

Instead, the instant the red, writhing liquid touched the ground, heat surrounded them, Ronan’s vision exploded into whiteness, and he was gone.

……………………………………..

When Ronan woke up, he knew he was in the mansion. The walls were white and indistinguishable from a hospital, but the ceiling was too high, the room too large, and through the windows at the far end he could see the heavy grey stone that made up the building’s façade. So they’d made it back. He knew that he was alive, the itch of the cannula in his hand and the throb of his heart assured him. He must have slept for a long time; his body felt disused and shaky.

Oh, and he could feel Adam inside his head.

……………………………………..

Apparently the entire factory had exploded, and when emergency teams got to the site, they could only stand, shocked, at seeing six unscathed teenagers lying unconscious in the middle of the ash and the rubble. Before they could do anything, sleek black vans showed up and took the group away. A medic had to rip Adam’s shirt because he couldn’t pry Ronan’s fingers from it.

……………………………………..

Calla chewed them all out something chronic once they realised Ronan was awake. “This is why we have this program,” she said, icy cold and terrifying. “So that idiot teenagers don’t get themselves killed. What in fiery hell were you thinking?!”

“To be fair, we didn’t die,” Blue tried, but shut up at Calla’s venomous look.

“No, you just put your friend in a coma!” The group of them visibly flinched back at that, sending guilty looks over at where Adam lay, still and vacant, across the ward. Ronan stayed lying down, nursing the headache that had been buzzing since he woke.

Maura pushed a frustrated breath out her nose, mouth pinched, and Ronan watched with some regret as Blue shrunk further into herself. “It may not even be a coma,” Maura said, “we’re not entirely sure what’s happened to Mr Parrish, but as you can imagine, it’s likely not good.”

“There are worse things to be than dead,” Persephone chimed in quietly. She had been sitting on the far windowsill since they’d arrived, the sun making her hair into a halo in a way that contrasted sharply with her words. From the corner of his eye, Ronan saw Noah nod.

“He’s in my head,” he said abruptly. Seven pairs of eyes were suddenly trained on him. “Adam,” Ronan said, “I don’t know how, but he’s in my head, I can feel him there.”

“You mean you’ve got a psychic bond with him?” Gansey asked, perking up from where he’d been sitting small and guiltily to the side.

“No,” Ronan snarled. “I mean he’s literally in my head. His mind, his consciousness, or whatever.” Maura and Calla edged a little closer to him, Persephone stayed where she was but studied him. “I can’t talk to him. I think he’ll be in my dream place.”

The witches shared some alarmed but private looks among them, but Blue, the younger and less cautious version of the three of them, was outright shocked. “How?”

“Fucked if I know,” he said quietly.

They were silent a moment, the news weighing heavy and confusedly on everyone.

“Worse things,” Persephone repeated, half to herself.

“We need to discuss this with the board, maybe call in help,” Maura said suddenly, and Calla and Persephone nodded at her. To the rest of them she said, “Under no circumstances are you to try and fix this by yourselves, understood? But Mr Lynch, if you notice any change in the presence in your mind, you are to notify us immediately.”

“Mum–“ Blue started, but Maura threw her a discouraging look.

“You and I will be having a separate conversation about this, Blue.” She sighed. “For now, just be with your friends.”

And with that the three of them moved to exit the room. The Deans of the Institute, their wardens and guardians – They’re not witches, Ronan, shut up – usually left their wards feeling reassured or encouraged. But the mood was too sombre, the absence of one among them too obvious. All they felt was unsure.

Persephone ducked quickly over to Adam’s bed and deposited something on his bedside table before joining her partners. When she moved away, Ronan saw that it was a flower from the garden, a length of morning glory ivy still winding around its stem. Ronan felt sick.

“So a nature boy gets entangled with a snake,” Calla muttered as they left the room, annoyed, “how very biblical.”

The words were still rattling in Ronan’s head when he growled at the others to leave him alone. Without a word, they did.

……………………………………..

“I’m so sorry,” Henry said to him later, horrified and young, once Ronan was out of bed and they’d deemed it necessary to discuss this, “I’m so, so sorry, I thought it would stop them.”

“You did what you could,” Gansey said.

“Well it wasn’t enough,” Ronan turned to Gansey. “If it wasn’t for your fucking inferiority complex dragging us everywhere, this wouldn’t have happened!” The hurt look on Gansey’s face was gratifying. Ronan felt mean today.

“Hey! You agreed to go into the factory, no one made you.” Blue got into his space, the bruise across her cheek swelled, and angry like herself.

“It was a terrible idea,” Noah said, his skin milky white and his face sad. “They wanted us to go. It was a trap and we should have known.” Blue glared daggers at him, but couldn’t argue.

“Look, I think we need to focus on helping Adam,” Gansey continued, diplomatic, “arguing isn’t going to do any good.”

“Really?” Ronan sneered. “Because I already feel much better. And why the fuck should I believe you know what’s best for him?”

“Because regardless of what you think I’m still the team leader! And our efforts are better spent constructively than mouthing off.”

“He’s inside my head!” Ronan shouted. His rage coursed through his veins like fire, and he couldn’t stop it, wasn’t sure he wanted to. “You think your history books or your money are going to help? They fucking dropped him inside my forest and you think you can help?” Ronan grabbed Gansey by the collar and hauled him against the wall. “You think they didn’t get exactly what they wanted?!”

From behind him, he heard a voice. It was Gansey’s, but not. As he looked at the Gansey in front of him the voice behind yelled, “Calm down!”

Ronan felt the command and the will behind it shudder through his body as he dropped Gansey to the floor, all his limbs relaxing as the anger settled lower in him, subdued.

When he turned, he saw Blue morph back from Gansey’s form to her own, and she looked at him apologetically. “I know you’re angry. But you’ll regret that later,” she said quietly.

“Don’t ever pull that shit with me again, Sargent,” Ronan growled, and glanced at where Adam still slept. Or his body slept. They weren’t sure. Adam lay still on one of the beds, in this room made to mimic an actual hospital ward, pale and thin and awful.

But the spark Ronan could feel in the back of his mind wasn’t as fragile as the boy looked. It was bright and alive, full of the will and power that made Adam the magician. But that spark should be in his body and not in Ronan’s fucked up mind.

“He’s in there,” Noah said suddenly, looking at Ronan, and cocked his head to where Adam lay. “He’s in his body, but he’s also in you. In your dreams, at least. Point is, he’s not fading.” Noah had a thing about death. It came from being a dead thing. He could sense it on others, could sometimes even sense what was causing it. The EMTs that moonlighted at the Institute and weren’t irked by Noah’s presence sometimes let him tag along in their work. Staying invisible, he’d go to emergencies and whisper in their ear who was close to death or what was threatening them. Sometimes the height of Noah’s ability to reassure was to tell someone ‘life is still here’. Ronan was comforted by it, that Adam wasn’t totally separate from his body.

“I tried commanding him back but it didn’t work,” Gansey said quietly, “I don’t think he can hear me.”

“Doesn’t that break your word to him?” Ronan said. Gansey had promised Adam when they met that he’d never control him, never give him an order he couldn’t refuse. It was a point of tension in their friendship that Adam knew Gansey was always capable of it, anyway.

“I hope that given the circumstances, he’d forgive me.”

“I’d be hedging your bets on that one,” Blue said ruefully, and Gansey winced at her. For a guy who only wanted people to be themselves around him, to have the power to make them want whatever he wanted was a heavy burden.

Ronan nodded slowly. “I guess I should go take a nap then.” He shook his head, so tired all of a sudden, and walked past them all, the anger beginning to bubble again. He didn’t glance back at them or Adam as he left the room.

……………………………………..

The thing was, they were told not to pull shit like this. They’re teenagers, all of them. Some were eighteen already but it hardly mattered when they followed each other around like they did. “Under no circumstances are you to go on unapproved or unassigned missions,” Calla had said over and over in the years they’d been here. Everyone that came to the Institute wanted to play the big leagues, wanted to prove themselves. But the superheroes you see on TV have been at it for years, are in complete control of their abilities. It’s the reason you came here, so they’d teach you how to be ready for that. If you still had to abide by curfew and hand in homework on Monday, you just shouldn’t be fighting psychopaths and megalomaniacs and creatures of the night.

It wasn’t entirely Gansey’s fault. It wasn’t Henry’s. They’d all gone along. But somewhere down the line they’d failed each other or the Institute had failed them, because no matter what the freaky bug people were doing in a warehouse at night, the six of them shouldn’t have been there.

By the time Ronan finally fell asleep, staring at the white ceiling of his room and garish music blasting through his headphones, his rage had reached boiling point again. To slip into a dream was like slipping into a cooling bath. But it was one he usually enjoyed alone.

……………………………………..

“You didn’t punch Gansey did you?” Adam said to him as soon as Ronan came to. It was night time in the forest and the first thing he saw was the brilliant galaxies above him between the latticed tree branches. When he hauled himself up and turned to face Adam – relief already washing through him – it took a moment to believe the figure before him wasn’t an imposter.

Intellectually Ronan understood that Adam had magic, so in the way that all magic draws on a similar source, it made sense that Adam was somehow connected to the magical dream forest that Ronan had in his head. But the way the forest suited Adam was startling, like he belonged here. He wore only a ratty pair of jeans, toes digging into the grass. His skin, the expanse of his chest and arms, looked pearly white in the dream moonlight, and his eyes shone. If this was what Adam looked like without the constraints of his body – the Magician in his true form – then no one at the Institute understood him, at all.

“You have leaves in your hair,” Ronan said, dumbly. Adam looked like something born in this forest. Lacking solidity or maybe just reality.

“This place keeps putting them there,” he said with a grimace, and ran his fingers through his hair to dislodge them. He smiled. “I think it likes me.”

Ronan heard a whisper rustle through the trees. Yes. Yours. Ours. He swallowed, hard.

“That’s one way to put it.”

They regarded each other for a moment, before Adam said, “So? Did you punch him?”

Ronan snorted. “Nah, his guard dog stopped me. Got close, though.”

“You know, anyone who wasn’t used to you and Blue’s relationship would think you hated her.”

“She’s more fun when she’s mean, is all.”

“You think that about everybody,” Adam laughed, and walked past Ronan to break through the trees. Ronan followed, and they came to the bank of a wide pool. The still water reflected the stars overhead almost perfectly, making it look as though if they only took a step, they’d fall right into the universe.

They sat down, watching the water. Adam’s arm brushed against his and the warmth of it was reassuring; the life apparent before Ronan’s eyes wasn’t just him dreaming it. Adam was really here.

“How are you being so calm about this?” He said quietly.

Adam rolled his bottom lip between his teeth and thought. “The things I would worry about when I’m awake. They’re not here. Nothing’s hurting me here. I’m not hungry or cold. My magic doesn’t feel like it’s going to burst out of my chest and blow something up. The only thing is that I’d just started to feel lonely – then you showed up.” He knocked his shoulder against Ronan’s.

“Your magic is easier here?” It was well known at the Institute that Adam didn’t have perfect control. His will was powerful but his magic was a force that sometimes acted without his permission, where it perceived a threat, or when he was overwhelmed. Ronan remembered the times the skin on Adam’s hands had cracked from trying to keep his magic inside his body, a body that did its best to contain it but was ill-suited to the job. That night, Ronan had dreamt up a cream that would heal the skin, and had given it to Adam the next day. They never spoke of it, but the wear on his body always went away sooner these days.

“When I’m awake,” Adam said carefully, “my focus is always on keeping it inside. I’m always aware of the inside, outside difference. Where my body ends, where the world starts. Here, though?” Adam turned and smiled at him wondrously. “Magic is everywhere here. And I don’t exactly have my body, so… Where is my body, by the way?”

“Lying in the medical wing, going to waste.”

Adam grinned. “And you have better ideas for what it could be doing, Lynch?”

“Shut up.” Shit. This Adam was still Adam, still capable of being a total dick. “It could be housing you, is what it could be doing,” Ronan growled.

Adam frowned suddenly, looking at him, and straightened to face him. “Ronan. Are you uncomfortable with me being here?” He asked seriously.

Ronan thought about it, had been thinking about it since he woke up that morning; thought about the one person from whom he had the most to hide, being inside his head. He lifted his gaze to Adam’s and held it, steady and sure. “No.”

Adam looked surprised. “No?”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re an ass sometimes but…I trust you. I’d rather it was you.” And, he had a sneaking suspicion that whatever Adam discovered in this place, he probably already knew.

It was clear from his face that Adam questioned that decision, but he didn’t protest. He was getting better at believing he deserved the good things people gave to him. “Good,” he said. They lapsed into silence and watched the water.

“That’s the other reason I didn’t freak out, you know?” Adam said after several minutes, and Ronan raised an eyebrow at him. “I knew the second I opened my eyes I wasn’t just in some forest; I was in yours. Probably stupid but, I knew I was safe here, because of that.”

Ronan didn’t dare reply, because it was true. He could feel the way this place loved Adam. Loved him because Ronan loved him. And he was reeling from the idea that in any capacity he could make someone like Adam Parrish feel safe.

Instead, he turned away and lay back on the grass, eyes on the stars. After a moment, Adam joined him.

They talked a little more, about their friends, about the fallout at the Institute because of what they’d done. They didn’t talk about how to fix this and get Adam back in his body. For now it was enough that he was okay. They were going over Latin verb conjugations for their next class, the forest rippling with pleasure at hearing its language, when Ronan began to doze off.

“Good luck,” he heard Adam whisper.

When he woke up again to his white walls – the transition to wakefulness easier than it had been for months – his head hurt, but he could swear he still felt a hand on his shoulder.

……………………………………..

“Adam is in my dream forest. Cabeswater. I just slept and he was there, we had entire conversations and he appears as though he has his body, even if he doesn’t, like he’s physically in the forest.” After waking, Ronan had fed Chainsaw, listened to the worst music he owned, changed his clothes, and strode right into the Deans’ office. As much as he didn’t want to, he had to tell the witches about his dream.

“Cabeswater is keeping him safe?” Persephone asked lightly, but Ronan caught the relief that was badly hidden on all their faces. The three women moved away from the large table that took up the centre of the room – cards strewn across it, bowls of water and handheld mirrors, an array of encouraging herbs – and came to stand before him. Even though the entirety of the inside of the building had been renovated to be modern, state of the art facilities, somehow the Deans had managed to make their large office space seem antiquated, with books lining the wall and assorted clashing textiles. Wards of the Institute that came to talk to the women wouldn’t be blamed for thinking they’d walked into an especially bohemian library.

Ronan nodded.

“Which is to say,” Calla said with a raised brow, “that you’re keeping him safe.”

“You got a problem with me, miss?” Ronan snarled at her.

“Calla,” Maura reprimanded, just as Calla opened her mouth to reply. She turned to Ronan “I suppose it makes a sort of sense. Magic seeks magic, after all.”

“Magic can also screw with other things that are magic,” Calla said.

“That seems to be the way this started, but I don’t think there’s much danger of that now. Is there something you need from us right now, Mr Lynch? A way we can help? Other than us figuring out how to fix this.”

Ronan shook his head. “It’s fine. I think Adam’s treating it like a vacation.” He thought back to the easy smiles Adam had worn when they talked. He hadn’t looked pinched like he usually did, and Ronan couldn’t begrudge him enjoying his reprieve from the real world.

“But you’re alright?” Calla asked. Ronan looked at her and she held his gaze, her dark eyes sincere. Of everyone at the Institute he and Calla were probably at each other’s throats the most. Blue had joked one day that it was because they were in a competition to see who could be more of an asshole, and in a way she was right. People that were similar in personality were always going to clash. But that they were similar in their sharp edges also meant that they were similar elsewhere. They cared. They cared a hell of a lot. On that they could agree, and there was no point lying to someone that understood you well because they were like you.

There was also no point in lying because the three women in front of him were fucking psychic. Such was his luck.

“I’m not entirely okay with the idea, no, but at least I know what’s going on,” he said truthfully. “And there’s not much you can do out here to help me in my dreams.”

“And your nightmares?” Maura pressed.

“They won’t hurt him,” he said with certainty. It was common knowledge around the Institute that Ronan had things in his head that no one wanted to see the light of day. But they had seen it all the same, more than once, before he got better at not accidentally pulling things into reality. He hadn’t seen any of the creatures for a while now, but they’d only ever wanted to hurt him, discriminately, a testament to his relationship with himself at the time. By contrast, Adam was untouchable. Inviolable. “He’s safe, there.”

The three of them nodded in that eerie way they had, that came from souls being arranged very close together. “If you should need anything – if Adam needs anything – let us know,” Maura said. “But I must stress, again, do not go looking for the answer to this. You’re more in control of the situation than the others because it’s your own mind, but Ronan, don’t mess with this arrangement until we know how to do so safely. This is… extremely delicate.”

“I take it none of you are sure how this is going to work out, then?” he said, raising an unimpressed brow. The Deans of the Institute were such because they were powerfully good at knowing what was needed, and what couldn’t be changed. Their combined talents in clairvoyance usually gave them the upper hand, and they were rarely surprised. The fact that none of them seemed to know what to do now was unnerving, and Ronan felt worry creep up his spine and into his throat.

“Our scrying is coming out blank,” Persephone said, looking at him apologetically. “We believe that whatever force did this to the two of you is also blocking our sight.”

“I’m afraid that this isn’t just the aftermath of something,” Maura said, “it’s more like a beginning.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Ronan sighed, scraping a hand over his brow. The warm hum of Adam’s consciousness was still there at the back of his mind, but now it just made it harder to forget what they’d done to him. For once, no one said anything about his language. “I want to be kept in the loop. I want to be able to tell him what’s going on.”

“When we know, you’ll know,” Calla said easily, the others nodding in agreement.

He looked over Maura’s shoulder out the wide window, savouring the feeling of handing a problem onto someone else. Most of the time he wanted control over things, but this, this made him need to give it away. The bright spark in his mind weighed heavier and heavier on him. With a nod and a grimace, he left the room.

In the hallway a minute later, a small hand grasped his arm, and he turned. Persephone had followed him out.

“Don’t forget to say hello to him,” she said, the whimsical upturn to her mouth never failing.

“From you? When I dream?” It seemed a bizarrely obvious thing to be reminded of.

“No,” she said, and moved her hand down to grip his, kindly. “Don’t forget to visit him in the ward. His body. Don’t forget that he’s usually whole.”

Ronan’s body relaxed under her grip, feeling the comfort of a private understanding form between them. “That’s why you left the flower,” he said quietly.

She nodded, the movement rippling down her white hair. “He’s not just in your head. He’s in two places at once. When he remembers that, I’m sure he’d like to know you never forgot.”

Before he could respond, Persephone turned and moved down the hall to return to the office, her gait floaty and unreal as always. Ronan stood there longer, deep in thought.

……………………………………..

Adam was one of the ones at the Institute whose power toed the delicate line between gift and curse. His powers manifested out of anger and self-preservation, out of surviving a home life that he rarely spoke about. They were ancient, too. Some powers were modern, only possible because of how industry or technology had developed. Some were regular, comic book material. Some, though, reminded people that humanity was a temporary arrangement. Adam, particularly, was connected to the earth and the constant feedback loop of time itself, could manipulate reality by asking the universe to do things for him, by building a relationship with something incomprehensibly large and primal. In short, it was magic, the kind that people were burned for, once.

A lot of powers were like party tricks, people smiled and were entertained. Adam’s magic made the room fall silent.

His power scared people because it was a great rumbling thing under their feet, or the electric smell in the air before rain. It was the suggestion of something enormous and all-consuming. But Adam himself was a wonder all his own. He wanted people to like him and revere him as often as he wanted to not be seen at all. He was brilliant, dedicated, and carried himself like he’d stuck his chin out at the world on the day he was born and he was still waiting for the punch.

Most of the students at the Institute had noticed him during the lunch time that Clary accidentally blew a corner of the roof out from the building. The rubble of brick and tile had fallen directly over where Adam was standing in the yard, but instead of crushing him, it had arced over him and sailed down like rain off the edge of an umbrella, to land in a perfect circle all around his feet. It hadn’t stirred a single hair, but it was the casual look Adam cast to the rubble and the way he calmly walked back inside that had people parting for him in the hallways for days after.

Ronan had noticed him weeks before in their first class together. A blonde boy who didn’t meet anyone’s eyes had laid out his math textbook at the top of his table, and when he realised that he couldn’t lay it flat without creasing the spine, propped one side up with other books. But it meant he had to hold the pages against the raised side, or they’d slip and fall, and Ronan spent the majority of that class watching Adam’s index finger tap against the edge of the pages, watching his thumb glance back and forth over the page as he held the book open for the duration of the class. Noticing that action had made Ronan feel like he’d stumbled upon one of Adam’s secrets, and he couldn’t look away. The next day, Gansey showed up to their lunch spot with Adam sheepishly in tow, and Ronan had been done in.

Adam fit in naturally with their group; they were all outsiders, even among the weird and unusual cohort at the Institute. When it got to their final year and one of their classes became the ‘group missions’ the Institute organised to help get potential heroes ready for future team work, it made sense that the faculty staff put the six of them together, Gansey at the helm. Gansey was rather like their leader, anyway, their love for him akin to a knight’s loyalty, and they worked well together on the small reconnaissance jobs and clean-up missions the Institute assigned them. But their group had haphazardly fallen together out of mutual exasperation, humour, and the feeling that there was something deeply suspicious about following the rules. A night like the one at the factory, the one that had started this mess, was inevitable.

Ronan wondered how long it would take him to miss seeing Adam in the real world. Not long, he thought.

……………………………………..

Ronan sat on one of the stone benches in the gardens, letting the chill of the breeze ground him as it whistled through his t-shirt and raised the hairs on his arms. The Institute had adopted all kinds of new age and pop psychology methods of helping its students find control. The gardens were a place of reflection, the pebble labyrinth in the middle was used as a mindfulness exercise, though whenever anyone walked it they just looked to Ronan like zombies. The lawns that stretched between the rows of flowers were used for Yoga and Tai Chi. Anything to help keep the hormone-fuelled and emotion-high pupils from accidentally blowing something up.

Ronan rarely used the gardens. A lot of his training happened in the gym in the west wing, a string of helpless punching bags serving to work out his aggression and leave his mind clear. The exercise made him feel strong and secure and helped with the insomnia. Turns out that when your dreams could kill you, your subconscious is wary about sleeping at all.

But he didn’t have much anger to work out, right now. Adam had been in his head for two days and Ronan had only slept once in that time. He was tired. He was feeling something close to grief for their situation. He wanted to sleep, but he didn’t know what to tell Adam when he got there.

“Hey,” Blue said from behind him, and he didn’t turn as she came to sit beside him on the bench. Ronan eyed the jacket she was wearing, the body of it a regular denim, but one arm was the red knitted sleeve of an old jumper while the other was a kind of fancy metallic tapestry. Blue’s creations were weird but so was she and they oddly worked for her, though Ronan would never say it. She looked out over the flowers and pulled away a bit of hair that the breeze dislodged from the bright pink clip holding it back. “Mum says you spoke to him,” she said.

Ronan nodded. “I guess I should’ve told you lot about that.”

Blue shrugged, unaffected, but she kept her gaze carefully away from him. “Maybe. It’s your head. You can do what you want about it.”

“Very diplomatic of you, Sargent.”

“Not really,” she finally turned her head, meeting his eyes. “It’s not just Adam that’s caught up in this. You are, too. I know that, and you don’t have to tell us shit if you don’t want to.”

Ronan almost smiled at her. Every now and again he was reminded why they were friends. “How’re the others?”

“Well,” she said, sucking in a breath, “Noah made Adam a get well card and then got upset when the nurses cleaned a truly disgusting amount of glitter off of the table by his bed–“ Ronan huffed a laugh at that “–Henry feels guilty as hell and keeps saying he’s going to move to Reykjavik where he intends to live his life as a bee forever. Gansey’s been trying to map out the writing that was all over the factory so he can translate it and figure out what happened. He’s not talking to me.” This last part was said with a note of hurt that Blue tried to hide, but Ronan caught it anyway.

“Don’t take it too hard. You’re just distracting.” Blue looked at him with a raised brow and Ronan scoffed. “You ‘make him quiet’, or whatever. He needs his mind to be going a hundred miles an hour for him to work and you don’t help.”

She nodded, but grumbled, “Still, he could throw me a damn bone so I know he’s okay.”

“If he’s busy, he’s fine,” Ronan said with certainty. They lapsed into silence, watching the shadows of the clouds pass over the lawns. Ronan felt his eyes grow heavy and jolted back to wakefulness with Blue looking at him askance.

“Why won’t you sleep? Won’t you see him if you do?” She wrapped her arms tighter around herself and pinned him with a frown.

“That’s the damn problem. What the fuck do I say to him? We’re just supposed to hang out like normal and pretend like none of this is happening?”

“If that’s what he wants. What you want.”

Ronan grimaced. “All I can do in there is keep him company. You know that’s not exactly my specialty.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Blue said with a small laugh, “Adam always seems pretty pleased with your company. You two are weird but it’s a good weird, when you’re together… Worse comes to worse you can always just make out with him.”

Ronan spun his head to look at her, eyes wide, shocked. He couldn’t decide between fear and anger. “What the fuck, Sargent.” Blue was looking at him with a private, teasing smile, a spark in her eyes that hadn’t been there when she’d sat down.

“I’m just saying, maybe there’s something in the fact that it’s you and him, going through this.” She nudged him with her elbow and laughed when he lightly punched her arm. Why were they friends, again? Ronan was struggling to remember.

“You’re a shithead sometimes, you know that?” he groused.

Her grin only widened.

“Go talk to your boy,” Blue said after a moment, giving him a soft but imploring look. “I promise you, even if you don’t say a damn thing, he’ll be glad to see you.” She bumped their shoulders together and then stood, walking back to the mansion and leaving Ronan with his thoughts.

The need to not disappoint was strong and unkind to him. It sat wrong in his chest, Ronan being the one who so consistently didn’t give a damn what people thought. But he felt the weight of the time he’d already wasted lie heavily on his shoulders, causing them to droop along with his eyelids. If he kept Adam waiting any longer that would be more disappointing than him showing up.

He rose and started back towards the house.

He needed to dream.

……………………………………..

#pynchweek #pynchweek17 #the raven cycle #pynch #fic #my fic

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lexiseigneur · 5 years

Text

Chapter twenty-eight: Blind justice

Quinlan was reinvigorated when the familiar smells of the Greystone grounds reached them. The ratios of the different tree species, the individual animals and their unique scents, all together their perfume reminded him of Lexi’s smiles and of tender moments.

“I’m glad to be back,” she said when he drove off the asphalt road to join the cover of the trees.

It did not take long for the media to explode with educated guesses and speculations regarding the two Dhampir. Lexi would watch the evening news, standing by the couch and scowling anxiously the entire time. Questions were asked and people discussed their possible answers endlessly. What were their true intentions? Why had they not stopped the Master centuries ago? Those who knew the couple personally were sought out feverishly and harassed for interviews. Ambushed outside the Sun Hunter headquarters, Gus tried to avoid a journalist throwing questions haphazardly his way. The journalist, a young man in a frayed suit, trotted behind Gus and the image bobbed up and down from the steps of the cameraman.

“How did you come to trust non-human creatures like this?” asked the journalist while speaking in a microphone which he then thrust toward Gus.

“’Cause they didn’t ask no stupid questions like you, puto.”

“How did you turn your back on them without fearing a stinger bite?”

The wings of Gus’ nose flared.

“Bitch, they saved my life so many times I only have a good night sleep when they’re around.”

Gus strutted away because his exasperation was turning into rage.

“Do you believe they should be allowed to live around humans?”

Gus flipped around, his expression murderous. He got so close the journalist tucked his head between his shoulders to avoid their brows touching.

“They saved your life too, shitstain. When people talk about my family like this I feel like going medieval on their asses. Now fuck off.”

Quinlan stared at the screen even after Lexi turned it off. He was not shocked by Gus’ uncouth behavior; he was rather used to it. Family. Of all words, this was the one that struck him.

“I wonder when that happened. This really, really sucks,” said Lexi with a sigh.

Quinlan was already picking up the phone and Gus answered after a few rings.

“Sup?”

“We were watching the news and…”

Gus whispered a string of swear words.

“You saw it, huh?”

“I’m afraid we did.”

“Well, fuck.”

Quinlan hesitated before saying the very thing he had called to tell him.

“Thank you, Gus.”

“Don’t get all lovey dovey, it creeps me out,” replied Gus with his usual joviality.

“I assure you that I won’t.”

“Good! And don’t watch the news too much. They’re a bunch of dicks.”

Lexi stretched a hand to claim the phone. Her worry was gone and she stood very close to Quinlan as she spoke to Gus.

“We just wanted to see just how screwed we are.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries and jokes then she hung up.

“I love you so much right now,” she said and hugged him so tightly it knocked the wind out of his lungs.

“Why is that?”

Quinlan hugged her back, playing with the wild hairs tickling his throat. The swell of her affection ran warm throughout his body. Suddenly, they both purred.

“It just is.”

***

One evening as Quinlan picked up the blood rations and the newspaper, he noticed a written note across an article. It was Nigel’s messy handwriting. “What an arsepiece.”

The article was titled: “Dhampir, friend or foe?”

“An evolutionary link between Strigoi and Humans lies in a species only recently uncovered, the Dhampir. However the main commonality they share with their cousins is also the most important one: they are predators. Specifically, they prey on us…”

Quinlan skimmed the rest as he walked back to the house. It was the usual mix of prejudice and the pretense of objectivity. It made him snarl in revulsion. The last sentence caught his eye.

“Why should the lamb he happy that the lion chased away the wolf?”

Should they expect pitchforks and torches during their next visit to New York? Quinlan was tempted to tear away the article and spare Lexi that grief. But she would not like it. She wanted to see and hear everything and Quinlan could not help but think that this desire was not motivated solely by pragmatism. It felt like self-flagellation.

The air was frigid and the sounds of the forest were quieter than when they had first arrived. Through the large window doors, he spotted Lexi busying herself at the stove.

“What are you making?” he asked after entering the house and putting the cooler on the countertop.

He tossed the newspaper on the dining table, retaining no hope that she would remain ignorant of the hatred within its pages.

“I missed making pancakes. At least this time no one will complain that they supposedly taste weird.”

Her phone buzzed softly. She took a quick look at the screen, made a surprised “huh” sound then put it back.

“Laura says we should check out Costello speaking to the press. It will start in forty minutes. Let’s have breakfast before then.”

Quinlan took two large glasses from the pantry and filled them with blood. He slid the newspaper to the side of the table and sat down. When she joined him with a plate full of food, he was about to speak. Quinlan wanted to tell her about his travels to Asia…or perhaps those in Northern Africa. Something exotic and strange which would take her mind off of the present. But she was quicker.

“Quinlan…I had an idea,” she said and her smile was facetious.

“When you smile like this, mayhem usually follows.”

Several pieces of furniture had needed replacement the previous time. He did not mind. There were oak planks in the attic which he thought about using to reacquaint himself with carpentry.

“Not that…not now…maybe later.” – her smile widened – “have you ever wished you could enjoy human food?”

“No. I think the equivalent for you would be imagining drinking blood when you were human. Not particularly appetizing. Though, I can appreciate certain smells. The scent of your meal is not disagreeable for example.”

“Would you like to try?”

“It would make me sick, I believe.”

The thought of swallowing solid foods was revolting.

“Not my food…like this.”

She tapped her temple and he leaned back in his chair to consider it. What a strange proposal. But she seemed too enthusiastic for him to refuse.

“Show me.”

He almost startled when she did. The smell was strong, rich and sweet. Though he expected her to share the memories of the meal she had been consuming at this very moment, he had been mistaken. The little cube melted as soon as it touched her tongue and coated it in an oily and smooth substance. He recognized the perfume and closed his eyes to fully appreciate the brand new sensations of the savors that accompanied it.

“Chocolate?” he asked.

“Ha! I knew I could not surprise you!”

Quinlan reached across the table to kiss her brow and nuzzle her temple.

“If anything, your surprising me is what doesn’t surprise me.”

“Really?”

“Your very first action came so unexpected I thought I was delirious from starvation. I was sitting in the sun waiting for an army to rush me, and without warning Strigoi exploded left and right.”

She burst out laughing and they kissed, but with difficulty because their lips were stretched by amusement. Lexi pulled away from him and peered into his eyes with curiosity.

“Did you like it? The chocolate?”

“I did.”

An entire world of sensations that had just came to light. It was a wonderful present and he was thankful.

“We can finish our meal later,” he said and at the same time rattled lowly.

Quinlan walked around the table and pulled her to her feet.

“Not now? Why?”

He hugged her and bit gently into her neck.

“Mayhem.”

***

Costello’s press conference sent a very clear message. Though she understood the apprehension and fear, she insisted on two points. Firstly, the Dhampir were under control and not a threat. Secondly, the harassment by the press would cease. They could ask for interviews in written form and if the answer was no then it would be the end of it.

“Everyone and by that I mean everyone, has a right to privacy. Those who refuse to understand that fact can continue their stalking and other paparazzi-like behaviors outside of New York.”

She gathered her notes and ignored the shouts of furious journalists. Under flashes and accompanied by police, she left.

Quinlan was relieved that their Sun Hunters would not have to suffer the unpalatable strategies of the press any longer. Lexi agreed that this part was certainly good news but was bothered by one thing.

“Only dangerous things need to be kept under control.”

“We are dangerous, beloved. That’s undeniable.”

“Not to them. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

But that was usually the case until humans stood in his way in some fashion. And particularly when they pointed weapons at him. Or if they hurt Lexi, just like Hinata had done and to a lower extent, Arturo.

He switched off the television and enticed her to a walk in the forest. Their breaths condensed into clouds ahead of them and the air smelled a little metallic. Quinlan had decided against telling her about East Asia because it might remind her of Hinata.

“Have you ever been to the Dead Sea?”

“Haha! No! I think it might be simpler if I tell you where I have been. It would make a much shorter list.”

“Please do so. I’d like to hear it.”

Her fingers twined into his and they walked on.

***

Two days before the next hearing, Lexi and Quinlan were in New York for yet another training session. The extermination of the Strigoi plague could not bear a delay, even with the current events. Both Dhampir exited the unmarked police car and regarded the brand new coat of the paint on the Sun Hunter Headquarters with suspicion. Massive, industrial and a little shabby, the building had never required any change apart for purely practical considerations. Why should the Sun Hunters suddenly care about its outward appearance?

Quinlan approached the wall and touched it. It was still tacky. Lexi lifted her nose and sniffed the air.

“Some parts are more recent than others, they smell wet,” she said.

Once they were buzzed inside, Gus and Raul greeted them as usual.

“Hey, why did you paint the building? It’s weird,” asked Lexi.

Raul scratched his nose and looked away. Gus made the same face he used when telling trainees to pack their stuff and go home. He would not react that way unless it concerned the Dhampir directly.

“Some little assholes started writing stuff on the walls, it ain’t important.”

“It was important enough that you felt the need to hide them,” she said.

“From us,” she added for Quinlan’s benefit only.

“Please, do not feel obliged to spare us grief. We much rather be informed of such incidents as they come,” said Quinlan.

“Alright guys. Well, it was mostly random words like bloodsuckers, or collaborators. Once it was Quisling and I had to google that one. None of it made any sense,” said Gus.

“And some animal blood at some point. Splashed all over the sidewalk too. Nasty,” said Raul with a grimace of disgust.

The cousins avoided their gaze for a while.

“We should tell them,” said Raul.

“The other day we got a letter and it was for you guys but it gave me the hibbie jibbies so we checked it. There was powdered silver hidden inside. Just some people being assholes.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Lexi.

“Huh, you got it backward Lex,” said Gus and he laughed.

“Lexi, they are ashamed. I suspect this might be the main reason they chose not to disclose those incidents.”

Lexi appeared even more dejected. It distressed Quinlan that she should make herself responsible for every evil remotely connected to her. He did not consider it healthy.

“Ha! I hate it when you make that face! Come here,” said Gus and he grabbed Lexi by the shoulders pulled her along as they advanced toward the back of the room. A group of trainees waited for the next lesson. She slid an arm around Gus’ waist and inquired about Aanya and Angela. Quinlan and Raul followed them.

“I ain’t hugging you so don’t get your hopes up,” said Raul.

“I am overwhelmed by disappointment,” said Quinlan with a deadpan delivery.

***

The defense had a new strategy and it was quite simple. Two facts contradicted their strategy, that the Master was locked in a coffin when Zach pushed the trigger and that he had shot Quinlan when the Master was without shell. The veracity of those points relied on the Dhampir’s testimonies alone. And if their word could not be trusted for one reason or another, then it remained plausible that the Master had indeed controlled the accused.

“Is your stinger identical to a Strigoi’s?” asked Finnigan, a defense lawyer.

Quinlan was not surprised she would ask him this. For humans, this was by far the most displeasing part of his anatomy.

“It is somewhat shorter,” said Quinlan.

“Can you show it to the court?”

His lips remained firmly sealed and he looked at the lawyer, imagining what her reaction would be if he were stupid enough to carry out her request.

“Your Honor! Their stingers were clearly visible in video evidence and this is a blatant attempt at feeding the prejudice against our witness,” said Uru as she sprung from her chair.

“I agree. Counsel Finnigan, this is not a circus. We do not demand of anyone that they expose themselves without a very good reason,” said Judge Smith.

“I retract my question. Have you ever killed human beings?”

“I have.”

“Have you ever killed human beings with your stinger?”

“I have.”

The judge peered around the room, waiting for an upheaval which did not come. The media had discussed that point so often that no one was surprised to hear it confirmed.

“Did you use that stinger against Zach Goodweather?”

“I did, before he could shoot me once more.”

“Where did you supposedly get shot?”

“In this shoulder.”

“Your shoulder looks fine to me,” said the lawyer dismissively.

“So does your client. One could say we are even.”

“I meant that only two people witnessed my client supposedly shooting you. You and your companion. Do you have a scar?”

“I do not scar from normal bullets.”

“But I can see clearly from here that you can have scars. It is awfully convenient that you should have no mark at all from what my client supposedly did to you while we can clearly see traces of other injuries from that very same day.”

“There is nothing convenient about it. We do not scar from normal weaponry or injuries, only from silver and for a reason unknown to me, from the Master’s direct attacks.”

“Is there any person who can corroborate this, beside your companion?”

“As a matter of fact, there is. Mister Elizalde has witnessed Lexi healing from a deep wound in her forearm. The knife which caused it was steel and by now, there is no trace of it. Perhaps he should take my place at the stand.”

Gus very briefly confirmed that he saw Lexi cutting her arm open and soon after she was also asked to speak.

“If the judge will allow it, could the witness uncover her arms?” asked the defense lawyer.

“I’ll allow it.”

Lexi unbuttoned her cuffs and folder her sleeves up. Her alabaster skin was smooth on both her arms.

“Can you scar at all? Contrary to Mister Quinlan, you bear no apparent sequels from that day or at all.”

“Are you proposing that only Quinlan is unlucky enough to get marks but not me? That’s far-fetched, even for you.”

Quinlan repressed a growl and the growing animosity he felt toward that lawyer. Alvi gestured discretely in his direction, made big eyes at him and shook his head. The prosecutor had been quite clear that Quinlan should strive not to stare at people when he felt irritated. So he detached his gaze from the Esquire Finnigan and focused on Lexi alone.

“Well, you are not identical and we know little of your species. You can eat solid foods, he cannot and you have hair and he doesn’t…this could extend further than what you have disclosed so far.”

Judge Smith cleared his throat and with more hesitation than he had never shown before he said,

“Madam Lexi, please do answer the inquiry.”

“I can scar and I have scars.”

“Could you show us?” asked Finnigan.

Quinlan could tell Lexi did not want to. Her jaw had tightened and he could hear her small heart accelerating. A gentle rattle escaped him and Alvi turned in his direction and gave him a reproachful glance.

“Your Honor, we’ve been through this. We ask that our learned friend cease such demands,” said Uru once more.

“Overruled. I tend to agree with the defense on this one. We only know of the Dhampir what they chose to tell us so far.”

Now her heart was aflutter, impossibly loud to his ears. She looked at Quinlan, worried. It was so very petty and easily disprovable. Quinlan suspected that if Lexi had not reacted so defensively, the lawyer would not have pushed the question further. Finnigan seemed to smell discomfort like a shark sensed blood.

“Don’t. To Hell with them,” said Quinlan.

“It’s stupid, really…I hate it when you see them. It’s a reminder of everything I did wrong that day. And they are also hideous.”

It had been so long and she still dressed quickly or turned away from him so that he would not have a clear look of her scars. It pained him more as time passed. Sometimes, during brief moments he instantly regretted, he also resented her for it. How could she think him so shallow?

“Those are the medals of your victory over the Master. They are not beautiful but since they are yours, I love them all the same.”

She shook her head and smiled but it did not reach her eyes.

“You say the darnest things sometimes.”

She stood, pulled her shirt out of her pants and raised its hem just enough to reveal the five scars marring her midsection. They were larger than the size of the fingers which had inflicted them because Quinlan had burned the skin over and around the original wounds. They looked a little sunken, as though her flesh had melted shut over empty holes.

Most Sun Hunters averted their gazes, either in surprise or because they knew Lexi enough to recognize her uneasiness. The defense lawyer did not appear particularly disappointed and as soon as Lexi sat back down, she switched her line of questioning.

“Could the Master see through the eyes of all Strigoi?”

“Yes, he could and he did,” said Lexi, her cheeks still whiter than usual but her voice steady.

“What would that look like to a person facing one such Strigoi?”

“They would see the Strigoi’s eyes turn red, like a glow from inside.”

“Why did your pupils glow in much the same way just before you killed the Master?”

“Ha. People won’t like this at all,” she told Quinlan.

“Yes, that is the point. It changes nothing.”

“Because Quinlan and I can see through each other’s eyes as well.”

“Can you control humans?”

Lexi laughed and shook her head.

“Of course not! And we cannot control Strigoi and certainly not each other. Look at this mess of a world. If we possessed such incredible abilities, why would we let it devolve into chaos which only makes our lives more difficult?”

“Could the Master control you?”

“If he could, he would not be dead.”

She made a show of switching on the screen and fast forwarding through the video depicting their fight against the Master.

“Why did you hesitate here? You could probably have ended it and avoided a painful injury.”

“He showed me images of someone I loved that he had turned. It took me by surprise.”

“Interesting. Did you not know he could do that before that very moment?”

“No,” said Lexi between clenched teeth.

“So he had abilities you knew nothing about?”

“It appears so.”

“How could he do that if he could not control Strigoi at that moment? Because of the jamming devices.”

“We do not operate at the same…frequency…as them.”

“That’s also convenient. Is it possible that the Master had other such powers you did not know about?”

“Possibly, yes.”

“Could it be that just like the jamming devices did not affect his ability to reach you, that other hindrances to his ability to control his Strigoi did not apply to all his powers?”

“Objection! Leading question!” said Takaha.

“Overruled. Please, answer the question,” said Judge Smith.

“It could be, yes.”

“Very well. No more questions your Honor.”

Takaha took over and Quinlan was thankful for it. When he stood and spoke, Lexi’s quick heartbeat slowed.

“I would like to question Lexi here as an expert witness since she took over Dutch Velder and Dr. Goodweathers’ work in building those jamming devices.”

The judges agreed.

“How does a jamming device function, in laymen’s terms please?”

“It floods a specific frequency which the Strigoi used to communicate. It would be like a dog whistle, so loud, dogs cannot hear themselves bark anymore.”

“And you function on a different frequency level?”

“Yes.”

“If the ability to control humans truly existed, it would function on another frequency yet?”

“Possibly.”

“Much like a radio?”

“Much like it, yes.”

“What happens if you put a radio in a thick lead lined container?”

“It goes silent,” said Lexi with a grin.

“Would it block all such signals?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Could the Master have forced Zach Goodweather to trigger the nuclear bomb from inside the coffin?”

“No.”

“Could the Master communicate with you in any way while formless?”

“We could feel his pain but he made no attempt at stopping us with images as he had before.”

“In your expert opinion, why?”

“Because without a brain he could not control anything. He was crippled. The worm was like a seed and it needed a body to reach its full potential.”

“Thank you. I do not have more questions.”

Lexi returned to sit next to Quinlan and took his hand. The prosecution announced that they were done and the defense also confirmed that they had finished with their line of questioning. The judges put an end to the hearing.

***

The news had been taken over by the expectancy of the verdict. A date was set and on numerous television channels, a countdown showed the time to that last hearing to the minute. This time, when they talked about the Dhampir, it was mostly in the context of reiterating the evidence and testimonies again. There were still occasional debates regarding their trustworthiness. The Dhampir had killed the Master and had founded the Sun Hunters but they were not humans. So far the division had been clear. Though humans could be corrupted to work for the Strigoi, the opposite had never been true. What was Strigoi was the enemy and since the Fall it had been a truth for all. A division, neat and reassuring. But now that the existence of Dhampir belied that clarity, the dissonance was too much for many. Troubled minds did not deal well with blurry lines.

There were still protests in front of the courthouse as the countdown progressed. It was impossible to appreciate the architecture of the large-face granite building because of the large crowds. They were noisy and chanting vulgar slogans while brandishing cardboard cards on which they had written their anger.

“They are more bloodthirsty than we will ever be…” said Quinlan as they watched the news reports.

“It’s not directed at us this time but...Let’s just say I really hope they’ll be found guilty.”

Quinlan had little doubt on the outcome. So when the time came he was calm and shared that state of mind with Lexi as much as he could. The courthouse filled and Laura arrived last, though Lexi had kept her a spot. She had been running. Quinlan greeted her then listened to their conversation.

“Since school is out I could not find a babysitter,” Laura whispered then took long breaths to calm herself.

“Everything is ok though?” asked Lexi.

“Yeah, Maria stayed outside with her. She said she can’t be bothered to listen to more of this shit.”

“Maria, huh? You guys have been hanging out quite a lot lately.”

Lexi had a crooked smile and Laura blushed but did not seem too bothered.

“We could extend the invitation to include Dr. Miller, if you wish. Greystone is large enough to accommodate everyone for any length of time,” said Quinlan.

“Well…if instead of driving directly out of the city we could do a little detour then she could pick up her things. That is if she even wants to, of course,” said Laura.

Both Laura and Emma would leave the city with the Dhampir and spend a few days in Greystone. The weather had lost some of its cold bite and their grounds had been free of any Strigoi activity for months. Quinlan had crafted a new chess board himself and planned on surprising the little girl with it. Lexi leaned toward Laura and whispered as if conspiring,

“Of course.”

They all fell silent when the judges entered the room. It was followed by closing statements by Alvi then by Finnigan. When Judge Smith stood to announce his verdict, Lexi was incredibly tense next to him. But he knew it would be short lived suspense.

One by one, he named the accused and their crimes and the corresponding verdict. Thirty-four were found guilty of committing crimes against humanity. Judge Smith finished his statement on a dark note,

“Even if you were indeed controlled by the Master, you had at least one occasion lasting almost an entire day during which you could have made others aware of that fact. We have to conclude that your defense was purposefully misleading and untrue. Your actions which led so many to atrocious deaths were voluntary and will be punished accordingly.

“But we are not Strigoi. You will not die kicking and screaming. You will be put to sleep humanely by medical doctors and when completely unconscious, you will be bled until death. Your bodies and blood will be cremated and your ashes scattered into the ocean. If you have a god, may they have mercy on your souls.”

Quinlan looked a last time upon the face of Zach Goodweather who stared at his own feet. His rage was gone, replaced by the fear of a young boy. It was a sad spectacle.

The courtroom remained quiet for the most part. Some were grave, a few still staring angrily at the accused and many cried. The room quickly emptied into the hall and toward the front exit.

There were no sounds of protests outside. New Yorkers had been ordered to stay confined inside their homes for the last installment of the trial. Costello wanted to avoid riots in case the masses disliked the verdict. In one hour, the curfew would be lifted but that left plenty of time for the Dhampir and their friends to leave the city safely.

They walked out of the room amongst the last, giving time to the crowd to clear out first. The great hall was not yet empty. Teams of journalists recorded the people exiting while commenting on the events. Cameras and their crews stood neatly behind a corded area which Quinlan considered with satisfaction. In a corridor leading away from the wide doors of the courtroom, Maria waited with Emma. As soon as the little girl spotted Lexi and Quinlan, she called on them. Quinlan’s traits softened when Emma escaped Maria’s grasp and ran in their direction.

Someone shouted in the vast and majestic lobby of the courthouse.

“Bloodsuckers!”

All eyes were on the man. He was dressed like a bailiff and wore a hat which did not fit with the rest of his clothes. Quinlan did not recognize him. The man took an object out of his pocket and threw it at the feet of the Dhampir.

The grenade rolled noisily on the stone floor. It looked handmade.

Gus was already pulling Aanya and Laura back in the courtroom. Time slowed for the Dhampir and all the humans surrounding them stood almost still. They could run away before the thing had a chance to explode. But it struck Quinlan that this was not even an option. Emma was still running at him. He jumped toward the little girl who could die if shrapnel hit her at this distance. He crouched over her little body and glanced above his shoulder. Lexi grabbed the explosive device with both hands and pulled it apart.

There was no explosion. The fuse burned in her right hand without touching the explosive material enclosed in Lexi’s other fist. Quinlan’s relief was so short as to be almost non-existent

The sparks from the fuse highlighted a scintillating metal cloud from within. The silver sand contained in the device formed a fine mist which spread between Lexi’s arms, as though she was embracing it. She closed her eyes and turned away.

But it was too late. Her pain shot through the Bond. Lexi screeched and her unfettered agony tore roars from his chest. Emma cried and trembled against him. He let go of the girl and flew to Lexi because his mind was on fire. He had felt it when Hinata had driven a silver knife into her. It had been nothing compared to this.

And as he rushed, tripping over his own feet from the blinding loudness of her screams, he wished he could shut it all down. He wished he could will himself unconscious and not feel like this anymore. Then he saw her, almost convulsing on the stone tiles as she attempted to claw the silver off. And he disgusted himself for forgetting that this was her pain. She needed him.

Quinlan yanked a large water bottle from a nearby fountain and shoved it in Gus’ arms. With violence he wished he could avoid, Quinlan forced Lexi’s arms down and kneeled on them. The he pinched her nose close and forced her mouth shut. Gus poured the water over her face. But the pain was not going down.

“Make her open her eyes!” screamed Maria at Quinlan as she took a water bottle out of her purse.

He did, he held her drenched head down and forced her to open her eyelids. Her eyes bled and her feet smacked the marble, as if attempting to run away from this torture. Maria poured water over the burning sclera, irises and third eyelids.

Lexi’s body contracted and she lost consciousness. Quinlan felt guilty at how much relief this brought him. The water ran down her cheeks and temples, milky and shimmering with silver particles. The more water Maria poured, the clearer the liquid became.

Outside the room people screamed and ran but a line of Sun Hunters prevented the chaos from approaching them. In the distance, sirens.

When the ambulance came and they drove to the nearest emergency room at neck-breaking speed, Maria barked orders at the EMTs who were too scared of the two Dhampir to be of any use. Exasperated, she pushed them out of the way and injected Lexi with an anesthetic. Her gestures were blurry. Everything was blurry. He removed his gloves and wiped his face. When had he started tearing up? He had not noticed until now.

Lexi regained consciousness when they reached the hospital. Her thoughts were sluggish and dulled by the anesthetics but still she whimpered. Quinlan pulled her up against him, enclosing her small frame in his coat. Her words tasted like grief when she shared them.

“I can’t see you.”

Through the Bond he was a shapeless grey form. He wished he could reply that all would be well. That she would be fine. But through the Bond, he could not lie. So instead he stroked her damp hair and rocked softly until the double doors of the ambulance opened.

#mr.quinlan #mister quinlan #quinlan #quintus sertorius #the strain fx #the strain fanfiction #the strain fanfic #the strain

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orderofthefanfic · 7 years

Text

Because I Love You

A lovely request from @milleniumxhan “ I legit can’t remember my request I’m sorryyy! But here’s another one? Lololol sorrryyyy! Ummm so a Han Solo x reader where you get hurt and he’s hella protective over you and you’re like “I can take care of myself” and yeah but then he like confesses his love for you and you’re astonished cause he actually is worried about loosing you when you didn’t think he cared about u. And then you kiss and chewie walks in and it’s rlly fluffy and yah! Sorry again! ” I hope you like it!! I haven’t really written in a while so i hope it isn’t bad. Feedback and respective criticism would be greatly appreciated and helps me grow as a writer! And it makes me happy :) Enjoy!

The brunette standing in front of you irritated you to no end. He was always on your nerves, making sly comments, stupid jokes, and worst of all, underestimating you. You wondered why he stuck around you. Always talking you back into rejoining him, flying around in that piece of junk ship he refused to get rid of. He was a complete and utter jerk, and you couldn’t stand it. So when the sirens went off in the base and pilots began to rush to their respective fighters, you made it quickly through the crowd, doing your best to avoid the oaf. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him, no. But exactly the opposite. You harbored a small crush for the scoundrel, and it made you livid. He was an idiot. An immature, selfish, over-confident dick. You didn’t know why you liked him. Until he looked at you, that is. The minute his face was in view, that tiny little flame for him inside of you licked to life. He was adorable. Shame such a pretty face was wasted on such a ginormous blockhead. You huffed aloud, finally reaching your ship. You lowered the boarding ramp, walking up it and striding into the cockpit, flipping switches and pressing buttons, firing up the engines, and preparing to take off. You turned on the communicators, the speaker crackling to life with the panicked chatter of pilots talking back and forth as the Alliance geared up to fight. You were in the air before you could think about what you were doing, guns blazing as you took down Imperial ships left and right. ”(Y/n)? (Y/n), come in.” Hearing the voice of the man that could raise your blood pressure by the mere mention of his name calling out to you, startled you slightly, catching you off guard and causing you to nearly crash directly into a tie fighter, narrowly avoiding it with a swift jerk to the left. “What, Han?!” You snapped at him, frustrated that he would bother you in the middle of a battle. He was quick to reply, disbelief and anger evident in his voice, “What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?” “What do you mean what am I doing? I’m fighting the Empire, what do you think?” You were already done with the man. He must think you were just some helpless little girl. You’d fought before and you were damn good at. You weren’t just going to sit by while the base was under attack. Swerving to miss another fighter, blasting them to bits just milliseconds afterwards with precise aim, you waited for Solo to respond. “You’re gonna get yourself killed, you can’t fight off all these ships!” You whipped your head towards the communicator, a disbelieving look on your face. Are you kidding me? He really thinks I’m that incapable? The very thought made you beyond apoplectic. This asshole had no right to tell you what you could and could not do. You opened your mouth to respond but before you could get a sound out, you were violently shaken out of your chair, the lights in the cockpit flashing red as sparks flew from the wires. While you were distracted by the conversation, a pilot had managed to hit you, taking out one of your engines. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” You cursed rapidly, climbing back into your seat as you gripped the joystick, trying desperately to steady the craft as it began to descend. “(Y/n)? What happened? What’s going on?” His voice sounded genuinely concerned as he questioned you. You tried to respond but your mind was in a jumble, “I…My…shit. I’m hit. Someone got the drop on me, I’m hit. My right engine is out and I’m going down fast.” The cockpit was quaking madly and you weren’t sure how you were going to land with the damage. “Alright just..hold on. I’m swinging the Falcon around and I’ll be right there.” Han frantically spoke, the whir of his engines breaking through the speakers. “Han, there’s nothing you can do. I’m gonna have to put her down as best I can…If i can.” You mumbled the last part, both hands tightly grasping the joystick as you pulled back, hoping to slow your fall. You groaned as you fought the ship, attempting to lessen the rocking as you plummeted to the hard ground. “(Y/n) pull up! Pull u-” It hurt for a brief second before darkness engulfed your vision.

It was hot. Smoke was filling your lungs, everything hurt, your ears were ringing, and your forehead felt wet with a sticky substance. You could only let out a breathy moan. Tears pricked your eyes as pain shot all over your body. Your sight was fuzzy, covered with a haze of smoke and lined with a black abyss that tried to creep into the rest of your perception and take over your eyesight. Your breathing was coming in quick, shallow breaths that hurt your chest with every inhale. A speck of movement caught your eye, fighting your drooping lids to see what was there. The hazy form began to take shape and looked like an arm, reaching in to grab debris and push it out of the way. “Ouch!” A muffled voice hissed, as the hand pulled back quickly, the heat of the metal burning it. You couldn’t fight your eyelids anymore as they closed, your mind beginning to shut down. You were pulled out of your decline by a warm, calloused hand gently resting upon your cheek, tilting your head carefully. You could hear talking but you could not make out any words. it sounded almost as if your were underwater, your ears clogged with the clear liquid. You used everything you had to lift your heavy lids to see the figure in front of you. The voice began to get more clear as you focused, “(Y/n)? Come on (Y/n) stay with me. C’mon. Look at me.” You could barely make out the features but you knew the voice. Han. You’d never been happier to see him in your life. He looked you over, hand feathering over your body as he assessed your injuries. “Shit…(Y/n)…I’m gonna get you out. You’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna get you out.” He reassured you repeatedly, his hands tenderly scooping under your back and knees, lifting you from the ground. A pained groan went past your lips and tears fell from your eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry but I’ve gotta get you out of here. I know it hurts I’m sorry.” His voice held complete guilt at causing you pain, sadness and worry taking over his normally smug tone. He held you close to his chest, tucking your head gently against his shoulder securely. You no longer had any energy to fight the dark, Han’s pleas for you to stay awake falling deaf on your eyes as your eyes rolled back in your skull and you succumbed to the void.

You could feel something on the back of your hand. It was rough, but the pressure was soft, moving around in a light circular motion as something brushed your hair line away from your bandaged forehead. A soft breath escaped your lips, your head slouched over as you twisted your sore neck to the side. You couldn’t yet bring your eyes to open themselves, the lack of energy making even staying conscious a chore.The rubbing on your hand stopped, a light shuffling and the creaking of a chair beside you reached your ears as well as the dry and tired voice of Han, “(Y/n)?” It was soft, careful to make sure that if you weren’t awake it wouldn’t rouse you from your sleep. You cracked your eyes open, blinking fiercely at the blinding white lights hanging over the bed you were lying in. Han was quick to act, his hand coming up to shade you from the harsh glare and turning around to direct the bot behind him to dim the bulbs. His arm lowered slowly, allowing you to adjust. Your vision was still very hazy but it sharpened enough for you to see his face. “Han?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, cracking as it pushed past your sore throat. He quickly bent over, grabbing a glass of water as he offered it to you. You accepted it graciously, he held it softly to your lips, assisting you with drinking it as he spoke, “Yeah, yeah, its me.” You took a few deep breaths, the soreness of your whole body making everything difficult. “How long was I out?” You moaned out the question, attempting to sit up with a hiss. He leaned forward, looking hesitant in letting you sit up, but deciding to help you anyways. “About a week,” he replied softly, looking down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers,”They had you in the bacta tank for a few days. Almost everything is healed, but you’ll be stuck in this bed for a bit.” You sighed, closing your eyes, dreading being forced in to bed rest. He looked up at you briefly, sighing, before he cleared his throat, “(Y/n)…what the hell were you doing out there?” You darted your eyes toward him, an angered look instantly taking over your features as you shot back, “Excuse me?” He sat back in his chair, his expression becoming agitated, “What the hell were you doing? You could have gotten yourself killed. You almost did. You should have waited for me” You arched your brow at him, scoffing as you crossed your arms, painfully, over your chest, eyeing him down, “I can take care of myself, Han. I had it.” He scoffed as well, leaning back, looking over you with an annoyed expression as he shot back, “Yeah it sure looks like it. You almost got killed out there!” “I’m fine.” “You might not have been.” You rolled your eyes at him, getting angrier by the second, “Well I am. So get off my back.” “I thought you were dead!” He shouted back, hands flying in the air as he sat up in his chair. “Oh please, like you care!” You matched his volume, leaning towards him in anger, “Why would you?” “Because I love you?!” He yelled the confession at you before his mind caught up to what he was saying. His eyes widened in terror, hand slapping on his mouth. You were about to scream back until the words finally processed in your head. Your mouth gaped open and closed like a fish out of water. “You…you what?” You stammered, your hands started to shake and your heart began to beat out of your chest. He had paled slightly, not knowing how to respond, “I..look i…” he sighed, giving up on trying to pull back from what had just escaped his mouth, “I love you, okay? I love you. And i thought I lost you and it scared the shit out of me.” Your breathing picked up, looking him in the eye, darting back and forth from each one, searching for any sign of a fallacy in his hazel orbs. He stared right back, an emotion glowing in his eyes that you had never seen before, love. He looked like he was about to speak, but he huffed before disregarding whatever thought he had before catching you off guard. He leaned forward quickly, a hand resting on the mattress as the other held your cheek gently as he swiftly placed his lips onto yours in an impatient kiss. You didn’t have time to get past the shock, close your eyes, and enjoy the kiss before it was over. He pulled back quickly, looking apologetic as he backed away from you, “I’m sorry, I…shouldn’t have done that.” He was about to stand up before you stopped him, your hand coming up to your face, your fingers feathering over your lips, feeling the leftover tingle of the lingering kiss, “I never knew I was waiting for that to happen. But it couldn’t have come soon enough.” Heat rose to your cheeks as you looked at him shyly, hoping he wouldn’t run. He looked at you for a second, debating, before a grin spread across his face. He turned to face you directly, leaning back down towards you. You gripped his collar, pulling him the rest of the way to you, crashing his lips onto yours again. It was passionate, loving, and oh how you loved it. The kiss was deepening as he leaned further into you, trying to get closer to you before you both jumped at the chuckle of Chewbacca behind you. Han whipped around, giving his friend an annoyed look. Chewie bantered at Han, waving his hand at him. Han rolled his eyes, as you let out quiet and bashful laugh, “You did not know, you big carpet. It was not that obvious.” Han defended himself as waved the giant off. The wookie rolled his eyes, nodding his head towards you as he left. Han rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, looking at you with a nervous chuckle. You lifted your eyes to his, your hair falling slightly in front of your face, dropping your gaze as you shyly tucked it back behind your ear. Giving him a quick glance, you began to giggle lightly. He chuckled in response, stepping back over to you. “Sit with me?” You quietly asked, peeking up at him nervously with your head still lowered. He smiled, walking over and climbing in carefully next to you. He wrapped his arm behind your back gently, cautious of your injuries. You scooted closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for moment before you spoke up quietly, “I love you too.” He arched his eyebrows, looking down at you, “Huh?” You looked up at him, meeting his gaze as you smiled, “I said, I love you too.” The grin that instantly lifted his perfect lips spread wide across his face. He bent his head down and lightly pecked you on the lips, pulling you closer to him as he tightened his grip on your waist slightly. You rested your head back down with a contented sigh. You didn’t recall when you fell asleep, but you were sure it had been the best sleep of your life.

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