#and as i got older i heard ‘you’ll change your mind eventually’ all the goddamn time

[gayvampyr]

yeah it might be annoying when people act like having children is a bad decision for everyone and anyone who chooses to have kids is ~insane~ but like. our society puts having a nuclear family on a pedestal and treats anyone who doesn’t conform like they’re freaks of nature (i.e. lonely adult virgin who just can’t get any, or “crazy cat ladies” or queers who are “destroying good traditional family values”) and ostracizes them and makes them feel broken so like. idk maybe a post online responding negatively to someone who acts like their life is perfect because they’ve achieved the One True Goal of a happy cishet family and looks down on anyone who hasn’t isn’t the biggest deal in the world?

[superhero--imagines]

Etsy Store Here l Ko-Fi l Commission Info

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here!/ Playlist Here!

* Alright so here are the facts as you know them

* Gojo’s a goddamn player and a homewrecker

* The boy probably has half of Tokyo after him

* Not that you can blame them, that pretty face had you fooled at first too

* The second fact, it that for whatever reason, Gojo Satoru has chosen to play house with a future hopeful sorcerer named Megumi Fushiguro

* Which, through forces outside your control, you have become involved with as well

* And the last fact, was that as soon as this no longer interested him or benefited him in any way, Gojo Satoru would abandon the situation entirely and act like it never happened

* So-

* “(Y/N/N), you look nice today, did you do something new with your hair?” Gojo sings

* - pray tell, why is the school prince is currently sitting on top of your desk, looking at you with those heart eyes

* “Oi what do you think you’re doing?” You ask, a vein threatening to pop on your forehead

* “I’m flirting with you~” he sings, only leaning closer with that all-too-pleased smile

* “I’m pretty sure this is bullying” you reply

* Ever since you’ve started pseudo-parenting Megumi and Tsumiki, Gojo’s been doing crap like this,

* Sometimes he tries to feed you at lunch,

* “Open wide (Y/N/N)~” He’ll sing as he holds out a piece of sushi towards you on some chopsticks

* Only for Megumi to eat it instead

* “Why do you look so sad papa, I thought you said I was your pride and joy”

* other times he’s holding doors open for you

* “Ah here let me-“

* You watch as he walks across from you and opens the door to a random void shrine

* You look at him before sighing and opening your own door to the library

* The other day you mentioned how you didn’t get to try the limited edition Sakura Pepsi and came back to your dorm with a bottle on your desk

* Which would be cute- if the bottle wasn’t half-empty with a note that he’d that said

* “Sorry, I got thirsty on the way back”

* Seriously he’s the worst- and yet,

* You turned away from Megumi and Gojo bickering, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered you were,

* you hid your laugh behind your hand as Gojo jogs to catch up with you, saying he was just trying to predict your needs-

* And you held the half-full bottle of Sakura Pepsi to your chest, keeping it on your window sill

* Because you love him-

* Even though you know he’s just doing all these things to entertain himself instead of out of genuine affection

* Even though these feeling will do nothing but hurt you

* You still love him

* He makes your life feel exciting and fun

* And more than that, underneath that moronic playboy exterior, is a gentle, lonely heart

* A heart that will run away as soon as it knows how you feel about it

* So you mask your budding feelings as best as you can

* Because the only thing you imagine is more painful than knowing your feelings won’t be returned-

* Is not having Gojo Satoru in your life at all

* So you do your best to pretend like nothing has changed

* You act just as indifferent as you always have-

* “Here-“ you push your dessert in Gojo’s direction. “You like sweets right?”

* His smile is so radiant you almost have to shield your eyes

* Well, mostly indifferent anyway

* Not that the self-absorbed moronic prince has seemed to notice anyway

* Too busy focusing on the scrumptious piece of cake in front of him

* Still Gojo isn’t one to be underestimated, he looks to you with a twinkle in his eyes

* “Let’s share it!”

* So far he’s tried twice to have an indirect kiss with you, and he’s missed twice

* He even threw away those chopsticks when Megumi ate that piece of sushi in frustration

* But you know what they say, third times the charm

* You look at Gojo with a raised eyebrow, gaze flicking between the cake and his face

* What, did he imbue some cursed energy so it would explode when you tried to take a bite

* “No thanks”

* Cue Gojo crying as he eats his cake

* He’s really been doing his best lately to earnestly pursue you

* But for some reason, you just don’t get it

* “I like you,” Gojo says as you’re walking side by side on your way back to the dorm after visiting Megumi

* You look back at him, and Gojo feels a blush start to fan across his face

* He finally did it! He finally confessed to you

* And his heart is drumming away in his chest

* You don’t seem to understand the monumental significance of what just occurred because what your mind heard was

* “I {really} like {teasing} you”

* You sigh, your heart skipped a beat, for a second you almost got your hopes up

* There’s no way lady killer Gojo Satoru would ever pick you to be one of his lovers, and if he did it would just be so you could be apart of his personal harem

* “Ok”

* And then you turn around and walk away

* Gojo can’t help but feel like this is retribution for all the times one of his romantic partners has said ‘I love you’

* And he responded with:

* “Why would you do that to yourself?”

* Or

* “Cool”

* At first he thinks it’s a straight-up rejection, but he figures out pretty fast that you just didn’t get it when you keep acting the same as you always have around him

* But don’t get it wrong babe, none of this deters Gojo in the slightest

* “Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask

* You’re both in the library, but only one of you is actually studying

* Gojo’s been staring at you with an oddly fixated gaze

* Honestly it’s got you feeling an uncomfortable heat spreading from your face to your neck

* “I’m not giving up you know”

* Giving up on what?!?

* What’s going on right now!!?

* But Gojo doesn’t offer any more insight choosing instead to finally bother reading the book in his hands

* What a weird guy

* You look down to your own book

* You feel the heat linger on your face and neck

* It’s because he’s always saying crap like that, that you’ve caught feelings for him

* Well whatever, everything fades right? Eventually, Gojo will probably lose interest in you-

* He’s part of a clan do you imagine they’ll find a nice girl from a respectable family for him to marry

* They’ll probably have a few kids who’ll be next in line to succeed him

* And by then he’ll be in such a prominent position that you’ll never see him again

* He’ll just be a memory

* Some boy you had a youthful unrequited love with

* The thought makes your heart clench but-

* “It’s for the best,” you tell yourself

* You’re going in completely opposite directions in life, you couldn’t possibly home for anything more than what you have

* After all your luck probably ran out the second you saw his face

* The most beautiful man you’ll ever see

* “I bet he would be one of those handsome grandpas when he gets older” you snort

* The kind that charms and flirts with young men and women just because he knows the effect he has on them.

* You still can’t believe you fell in love with someone like that

* “What a pain” you mumble to yourself, falling back on your bed

* You feel uncertain, afraid of the future even.

* Maybe a snack will help

* It’s the middle of the night, way past the time you were supposed to go to bed when you see him in the kitchen

* Great the last person you wanted to run into

* He’s just standing there in front of the fridge with the door open

* He hasn’t even turned around to say hi or anything

* “Oi Baka prince if you leave the door open like that every-“

* You stop mid-word, you only need one look at his face to know something is wrong

* It’s not all that uncommon for him to do something like this-

* See the thing is, Gojo knows he’s strong enough that he will get to choose when he dies- he’s not bound by the same pain the other sorcerers are, but-

* Well, he’s still going to die

* No matter how much he thinks he’s like god, no matter how powerful he is,

* He’s still going to die

* And growing up with the power he’s had and the mindset that he’s the strongest

* The realization can be pretty crippling

* He so afraid of the uncertainty that brings that most times he can’t move

* The worst part is it’s never when he’s actively thinking about death, or even when he’s on the job

* It’s always at times like this when he’s just woken up and is oddly hungry and he’ll remember

* “Oh, I’m going to die aren’t I?”

* And then it’s like he’s frozen solid

* What is it he usually tells the victims that enter his domain?

* “Funny how when you can do everything, you find you can’t do anything”

* Usually he manages to unfreeze after some unspecified amount of time, getting through it on his own

* But this time, when he finally escapes from the domain of his inner mind he’s covered in a layer of sweat just like always-

* But he’s not sure why he sprawled across the floor

* Not until his head shifts a little, only to see your face looming over him

* Omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomg

* He’s resting his head in your lap!!!

* Honestly this has been a fantasy of his for a while, to have his head in your lap while looking at the cherry blossoms, and you feed him chocolates and a gentle wind caresses your face

* BUT NOT LIKE THIS

* “Feeling better?” You ask

* Gojo thinks he might combust, he moves to sit up but winces

* He’s got the worst headache, these little episodes of his do typically end with a migraine

* Your hand feels nice and cold as it rests against his forehead

* “Rest a little longer, we’re not in any hurry”

* Aaaaand now he’s screaming on the inside again

* “Sorry about this” he mumbles, and you can’t help but smile

* It’s oddly endearing to see a shy Gojo Satoru

* “I bet your lovers would kill me if they saw knew you were showing me such a cute side” you’re half-joking when you say it, but you’re also half-serious

* It gives your Ego a little boost to know you’ve seen a side of him that most of his lovers probably haven’t

* You doubt the mighty Gojo Satoru ever allows himself to be this vulnerable, not even while he’s in the throes of passion

* So that same earnest look on his face startles you

* “I don’t have any other lovers”

* You snort

* “Sure, and I definitely didn’t steal Geto’s pudding that he was saving”

* “I’m being serious”

* Gojo sighs, here he is feeling awfully vulnerable and you still seem denser than a rock

* Do you think he would let anyone other than you see him like this

* “When are you going to realize that if it’s not you then it’s just no good?”

* Your heart is drumming in your ears, and you wonder if he can hear it

* Your mind is telling you to pull back, that this is way too good to be true, that this will only hurt you,

* You should get away while you still have a chance

* But instead something in you persists and you say:

* “Why do you think that is”

* Gojo’s hand reaches up, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, those clear blue eyes looking straight into yours

* Your breath stutters in your chest

* You always have been weak for those eyes

* His pink lips curl up into a smile

* “Because I love you”

* And before you know what you’re doing your bending down, pressing your lips against his

* “I love you too”

Bonus:

* “You can see through it right?” You ask

* Gojo fidgets with the blindfold, honestly he was hoping for a much kinkier reason than replacing his scuffed sunglasses when you gave him the blindfold

* “It’s a little darker, but that’s not a bad thing.”

* His hair is out of his face too which is nice

* But-

* “What’s with the sudden gift?”

* It’s not exactly out of character for you to get the people you care about something, but this seems a little outside of your usual MO

* “I just felt like it” You mumble

* Now that his eyes are covered up you think he might attract a little less attention, and all his former flings probably won’t be able to recognize him

* Your eyes drift to his uniform, even in the gross pantsuit you can still tell he’s got a pretty nice body,

* But you’ll have to adjust

* Gojo sees right through your nonchalant answer, smiling that wolfish grin

* “Aw was my sweetie scared I was going to leave them?” He coos, moving ever so close

* You only turn away your face

* Gojo only grins wider

* “Honey~ you should know by now if it’s not you then I’m not interested” he sings in your ear

[thatsamericano]

I Know My Love Should Be Celebrated, But You Tolerate It

Pairing: America/Romano, human AU

Ratings/Warnings: Teen, mild angst and some homophobia from human OCs.

Word Count: 2100

Summary: Alfred needs to tell his mother he’s engaged, but he knows she won’t be happy for him the way Matthew was when he got the news.

Alfred was sitting on the couch with his hand clasped in Savino’s, staring at the cell phone that was resting on the coffee table. Part of him didn’t want to pick it up to tell his mother that he was engaged now, because he knew she wouldn’t have the reaction he was hoping for.

Last night, he’d called Mattie only a few minutes after Savino had proposed. Matthew said congratulations, told Alfred he was happy for him, and most importantly, sounded completely sincere and not just like he was saying what he was supposed to. He listened while Alfred gushed about the proposal and possible wedding plans and chuckled quietly at some of Alfred’s more outlandish ideas. He was just as amused as he would’ve been if they’d been there in person and he’d been able to see Savino curled up into his side, blushing and with that fond, disbelieving grin only Alfred could put on his face. They talked for an hour and a half until Savino pointed out that it was past midnight, and Matthew might need to end the call so he could get enough sleep before he had to go into work the next day.

Alfred knew that his mother wouldn’t react like that. The first time he’d brought Vinny home to meet his family, his father shook his head and walked out of the room while muttering under his breath. Alfred had heard the car starting up outside as his mom gave them an extremely fake smile and asked them if they’d like something to drink. Later, she’d pulled Alfred aside to scold him for not “warning” his parents ahead of time that Savino was his boyfriend, not just his friend. She asked about his sexuality, and he hadn’t been able to answer to her satisfaction, because to him it wasn’t a question of men vs. women. It was a question of Savino vs. every other human being on the planet. If he couldn’t be with Vinny, he’d rather be with no one at all.

It had been two years since then, but Alfred could still vividly remember the look his mom gave him, which was identical to the look she’d give Baxter when he was a puppy and peed on the carpet. Like she loved him, because Alfred was her son and she had no other choice, but was deeply, deeply disappointed in him.

Alfred stared at the phone and jiggled his leg nervously. Savino squeezed his hand.

“You’ll have to pick up the phone eventually, tesoro.”

Alfred heaved out a sigh. “I know. It’s not like I don’t wanna tell her. I wanna tell everybody. Last night, when you asked me to marry you, was the happiest moment of my life. But I know if I tell her, she’s gonna try to make me change my mind.”

Savino smiled weakly. “But she’s not going to be able to, is she?”

Alfred shook his head and glanced back at his cell phone. “No. Nothing could ever make me change my mind.”

Vinny rubbed his hand over the back of Alfred’s hand. “I’ll be here when you call her. You won’t have to do this alone.”

He could do it. With Vinny holding his hand, he could swallow down his anxiety and tell his parents. Alfred picked up his cell phone, went to his contacts, and called his mom.

The phone rang twice before his mom answered. “Hello, Alfred.”

“Hey, Mom. I’ve got some big news to share with you.” He figured it was best to tell her right away. He glanced over at his fiancé, who was nodding in approval.

“Is it good news?”

“The best news. I’m engaged. Vinny asked me to marry him last night.” Alfred grinned, because it felt amazing to say that out loud. Some part of Alfred still couldn’t believe it was real. He was gonna marry Vinny, who was smirking because he knew it was taking every ounce of Alfred’s self-control to avoid squealing or screaming down the phone line like he had when he called Mattie the night before. Savino was adorable 24/7, but especially when he smirked like that, like he was the lucky one in this relationship. Alfred would’ve kissed him if he wasn’t waiting to hear his mom’s reaction.

He waited. And he waited. As he waited, the grin gradually fell away from his face. Alfred hadn’t been expecting anything different, but the way she couldn’t even feign a congratulations hurt.

“Oh,” she finally said. “I suppose you won’t be holding the, uh, ceremony, in a church, will you?”

“I don’t know. Vinny and I haven’t talked about that yet.” He knew they couldn’t get married in the church Alfred had been raised in, and that they couldn’t have a Catholic wedding either. Alfred noticed how she had avoided the word wedding but pretended everything was still fine.

“Will there be a gift registry?”

Alfred frowned. “Like I said, I don’t know. We just got engaged last night.”

“Then why did you call me?” His mom sounded irritated, like she had when he was five and wanted to show her a drawing he did in kindergarten and ran in while she was in the middle of doing work in her home office. That dismissal had hurt at the time, but not as much as telling his mom he was engaged and getting the same kind of reaction as a little kid clamoring for attention while their parent had something more important to focus on.

Alfred shrunk down mentally to that same age. “I just wanted to tell you because you’re my mom. I’m happy, so I thought maybe you’d be happy for me, even if you can’t be proud of me.” Tears were pricking at his eyes, and Alfred bit his lip so his mother couldn’t hear how upset he was. Savino scooted closer, so that he was pressed up against Alfred’s side. He couldn’t be closer without crawling onto Alfred’s lap.

His mother sighed, and she sounded so tired. Tired of him more than anything else. “Alfred, your father and I have been patient about this. We’ve been as tolerant as we can be.”

Alfred laughed miserably. “Sure. Dad won’t even acknowledge Vinny exists, and you tell all your snooty friends that Vinny is my roommate instead of my boyfriend. But you haven’t disowned me yet, so I’m supposed to be grateful, right?”

“There’s no need for you to get so hostile.”

Right. Because it wasn’t hostile for his parents to treat his fiancé like shit and to act like him being in love and happy was something horrible they had to tolerate and be patient about. Alfred bit his tongue to keep those nasty thoughts inside his head, and Savino nuzzled into his neck.

“I’m so sorry she’s doing this to you, caro,” Vinny murmured. Alfred silently kissed the top of his head and listened as his mother started lecturing him again.

“You’re so young. I remember being that age. You think you know everything, but you don’t.”

“I’m older than you were when you married Dad.”

His mother ignored what he said, just like he’d known she would. “I love you, Alfie. And it’s because I love you that I’m trying to help you avoid making a mistake you’ll end up regretting someday.”

Tears were leaking out of his eyes, but Alfred was so angry that his words came out as a growl rather than pathetic blubbering. Vinny deserved better than this bullshit. “Savino is the only person I’ve ever wanted to be with. I told you that two goddamn years ago. He’s been nothing but respectful to you and dad, but you guys never even gave him a chance. He isn’t a mistake, and I don’t regret anything about being with him. The only thing I regret is listening to you put him down for so fucking long.”

“Alfred, that’s—”

“I’m done. Call me when you can at least pretend to love me for who I am, instead of who you want me to be.” Alfred hung up the phone before his mother could say anything else, and Vinny immediately shifted onto his lap and started wiping away the tears from his cheeks.

Alfred sobbed harder at Savino’s kindness. “I hate her. I hate her so much for trying to talk me out of marrying you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and the only reason she can’t see it is because you’re a guy.”

Savino kissed his face and made soothing noises. “I love you so much. I wanted to rip her to shreds the second she made you cry.”

Alfred laughed wetly. “You sound so hot when you say stuff like that.”

Savino rolled his eyes and blushed at the compliment, like he blushed every single time Alfred tried to seduce him, no matter how cheesy his attempt was. “Idiota.”

Alfred surged up to kiss his fiancé, and Savino made a muffled sound of confusion but reciprocated a second later. Vinny was being too adorable and perfect for Alfred to not kiss him, but that wasn’t the only reason. He needed to feel something real, something lasting that wasn’t the rejection of the woman who brought him into this world. Savino’s hands planted on his shoulders, the warm weight of his body on top of him, and the soft pressure of their lips pressed together made Alfred feel safe and loved in a way nothing else could.

By the time they separated, Alfred was no longer crying. He felt significantly calmer as he petted Savino’s hair. “I don’t think I want my parents at the wedding.” It wasn’t a decision he would ever feel completely okay about. In an ideal world, his parents would be there in the front row, crying nostalgic tears as they watched him get married because they were so proud of him. But Alfred didn’t live in an ideal world, and he couldn’t keep pretending that he did.

Savino pressed a tiny kiss to his temple. “If you don’t want them there, then we won’t invite them. We should invite people who can celebrate with us. Unless your parents have a miraculous change of heart, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

Alfred scoffed. “If they decided to come, they’d probably act like they were going to my funeral instead of my wedding. Or they’d try to convince me I shouldn’t marry you, and I’d lose it on them a lot worse than I did today.” Alfred had been putting up with his mother’s bullshit for far too long, and he probably would’ve continued to put up with it if she had only been insulting him and not his fiancé. Alfred could take his parents’ disapproval, but he wouldn’t listen to anyone implying that Vinny wasn’t good enough for him.

Savino hummed in consideration. “We shouldn’t tell them until after the fact. Send them a postcard when we’re on our honeymoon and it’s too late for them to do anything about it.”

Alfred chuckled. “That sounds devious. I like it.” He grinned and rubbed his hands up and down Vinny’s thighs. “You should make evil plans more often. It’s sexy as hell.”

Savino snorted in disbelief, but he was grinning in the flattered, flustered way Alfred was so familiar with as he fiddled with the top button of Alfred’s shirt. “Amore, you’re hopeless. You think the way I breathe is sexy.”

“Anyone with working eyes or ears would. Which makes me a pretty lucky guy.” Alfred winked up at him, which he’d learned early on was a good way to flirt with Vinny. He wasn’t really good at this whole flirting thing, since Vinny was the only person he’d ever wanted to flirt with. All he’d ever been able to do was be a little too honest, recite lines from TV or movies, wink, and carry heavy stuff to show off his muscles. Miraculously, his clumsy attempts had actually worked.

They were working pretty well now, obviously, because Savino was leaning in less than an inch away from his mouth. “We’re both lucky, Fredo. Ti amo.”

Hearing that made Alfred weak-kneed even though he was sitting down. When Savino leaned in the rest of the way to kiss him, a shiver swept through him, even though he wasn’t cold. He grabbed at the back of Vinny’s neck and moaned when Vinny licked his way into his mouth. His mother’s reaction to his engagement, along with any other problems he had, ceased to exist as long as his fiancé was kissing him.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

Hello! If you don't mind me asking, are you planning on watching House of the Dragon? I'm personally unsure about it. I was cautiously optimistic about it since D&D are not involved, but the recent casting news have been ugh disappointing imo. What do you think?

Hey anon! Sorry to say I kind of mind you asking because my inbox is still closed (to everyone except my secret Santas, which is why the ask page is accessible at all), but then I realized it’s possible if you’re on the mobile app only, you haven’t seen said note in my askbox, or my FAQ, or anything of the sort. And with older metas of mine being reblogged recently, it’s possible you may be confused. (I hope you’re on mobile only and not just ignoring my requests.) So I wanted to inform you of that... but also, y’know, I kind of wanted to make a post about the HotD cast anyway? And this ask is as good a prompt as any... so, you’re lucky, but please don’t push your luck. ;)

So, straight up: I currently have no plans to watch House of the Dragon. HBO is not getting any of my goddamn money, I don’t trust like that. And hunting down illegal livestreaming sites is a pain in the ass and I regret ever doing it for GoT, as well as regretting getting drunk every weekend enough to dampen my senses to ever tolerate that show. Yeah it’s different showrunners and writers, I know. It’s still (mostly) the same executives at HBO and even if the pervert producer is gone (or is he?), you know they still just want to sell sex and violence and dragons to an audience that thinks fantasy is for geeks.

Also, considering that Fire & Blood’s story of Dance of the Dragons has very little actual narrative or dialogue, and the historical record is deliberately untrustworthy, that gives them pretty much full rein to do whatever they like with the story and characterization and words without even being slightly obliged to GRRM at all. Furthermore, since the story is wholly political with virtually none of the magical side of ASOIAF (excepting dragons), and honestly does not have much in the way of themes or depth that main ASOIAF or even D&E has, I think it will be very hard for an adaptation to show even those brief sparks of quality that used to make me wistful GoT couldn’t be that good all the time and eventually just made me frustrated and depressed. Note I do like the history and characters of the Dance despite myself, despite its many many many textual issues, but I don’t need to see an adaptation, I have a very visual imagination. I don’t watch a lot of television to begin with, I don’t see why I should start again with this.

However, I’m not going to avoid spoilers or discussion, and I’ll probably follow the show the tumblr way, through gifsets and video clips and people bitching on their blogs etc. If, somehow, by some miracle of good screenwriting and acting, the show manages to transcend its source material, I’m sure I will be informed. And then, if and only if then, I may try watching. (Without, of course, giving HBO any of my goddamn money.) We shall see.

(Though I certainly don’t know why anyone in Targ standom would ever watch a Dance adaptation considering almost every Targaryen and everyone else in the story is terrible except Helaena and the kids, and considering how the story ends, unless y’all are gluttons for punishment? (I do not comprehend hatewatching, sorry.) It’ll probably be fun at first to see the adventures of those “precious silver douchebags” (to borrow a friend’s tag), but eventually rocks fall, everyone dies, including the girlboss you know you’ll hope the story will be changed enough that she succeeds. Just letting you know now, she won’t.)

That said. I’ve been following the casting news and I think the hate/fear/wild screaming is entirely overblown. Yeah, I know, but wait, just listen. On Friday I officially welcomed @naomimakesart to the “favorite character is now played by an actor who looks nothing like most fanart and is mostly known for wildly different roles” club. I still remember that day in September 2009 when my brother texted me “yarp”... and that right there is the thing. Yeah. Rory McCann looks very little like most pre-GoT Sandor fanart... but many fans grew to love him anyway. (There are some who never did, of course. And yeah the character went off the rails by the end, but truly, who didn’t. Having seen his audition, having spoken to him and heard him wistfully talk about book scenes he loved, I’m convinced if Rory had only been given Sandor’s actual scenes and such, he would’ve killed it. Sigh. Deep, deep sigh.)

And Rory isn’t the only one. Neither of the actors for Jaime and Cersei were considered “beautiful” enough at first. I recall very clearly people bitching about Nikolaj Coster-Waldau (about his nose particularly?) because they had wanted Tarzan-era Travis Fimmel to be Jaime. (Seeing people bitch because current-Fimmel isn’t playing Daemon made me laugh out loud for both BEYONCE?! meme -type “why would you ever cast him omg he doesn’t fit my headcanon Daemon at all”, and amazing amounts of fandom flashbacks.) Lena Headey was “too square-jawed”, “too mean-looking” (since at the beginning you should never be able to guess she’s evil), “too dark-complected”, “too mannish”, not at all attractive enough. (Tricia Helfer was the most common “but I wanted” for Cersei, btw.) And of course “they don’t remotely look like twins, ugh!” Note, there’s receipts for all of this, none of it is made up. (Unfortunately.) Those two actors are just the ones whose casting wank I recall most clearly, particularly because oh how the turn tables.

Also. You know, there’s a post with Matt Smith and Mark Simonetti’s TWOIAF Daemon going around with shrieks of horror... and I’m finding it maddening in a “am I crazy? am I  the crazy one???” way, because Matt looks like the painting. Their features are not that dissimilar.

Same deepset eyes. Same cheekbones of doom. Same thin lips. Same protruding chin. Same high forehead. Same invsible eyebrows ffs. Matt has a squarer jaw, and a longer more rectangular face, and a wider nose, but considering that Daemon’s features are not described in the text, and this is the only official ASOIAF artwork that shows Daemon’s face straight on, I can for sure see why he was probably shortlisted to begin with. And that’s not even getting into to his role in The Crown, which I’ve heard is very well played with politics and palace intrigue... and if you doubt Smith can play seductive/roguish and/or evil (depending on how you LARP as a Westeros historian), or look good with long hair... well. I do not want to watch the movie, but this trailer is disturbingly enlightening.

And as for Rhaenyra... y’all know this show is starting at the beginning of the story, right? When she’s a teenager? Not a voluptuous MILF? Yeah, Emma D’Arcy doesn’t look like a Magali Villeneueve painting (though who does, good lord), but you know who she does look remarkably like? Harry Lloyd.

Same jawline. Same nose. Same thin lips. Same sharp cheekbones. Notably, same kind of sharp cheekbones and deep-set eyes as Matt Smith. HBO evidently has a concept of a “Targaryen look” that’s a little bit quirkier than supermodel-Greek statue-gods on earth, yeah, fine. But it’s consistent, and they look like family, and that-- that is good casting.

And yeah, in a few months to a year or so, you’ll see them in costume and wigs and makeup, you’ll see them in motion and speaking lines, and go Oh. That’s different. Never mind. And while people will make fanart of the show depictions of the characters and those will probalby get popular, they’ll also keep doing fanart of their pre-show headcanons, and those too will be popular. (God knows when I draw or visualize book!Sandor, Rory does not come to mind, lol.) Either way, there’s no reason to panic. We’ll live.

(Though will we live well? Got to wait on the writing and showrunning for that, alas.)

[cloverhighfivewritestoo]

Quarantine Roomies

👉 Read it on Ao3

This is @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover​’s fault. She wrote Be Mine, this Quarantine (1.6k) and I continued it (hence the part 2). So if you want context, go read the other fic where Dean tries to sum up the courage to ask Cas to quarantine together. (also, I continued the fic, so there’s details from her fic that went into mine too)

But if you just want to start where Dean gets to Cas’ place, here we go.

college!AU, buddies to not-buddies, fluff, 2k

And so Dean had moved in with Cas for the quarantine. Cas had a second room with a futon, which he had made into a bed for Dean. “So here’s the room I have for you,” said Cas. “It’s not much, but…” Dean was just trying to breathe. He was here. In Cas’ apartment. He was going to sleep in the room right next to Cas’. “Do you think it’ll do?”, asked Cas. The bed could have been nailed to the wall vertically, Dean wouldn’t have cared. “It’s perfect, Cas. Thanks.” “OK then. Um, I cleared two drawers in the chest of drawers there – don’t try to open the other drawers, they’re gonna explode – and, um, the closet is pretty empty except some boxes.” “OK. Cool.” Dean and Cas looked at the room in silence. “Oh,” said Cas, “do you think you need a nightstand?” “What?” Cas didn’t wait for Dean to actually answer. He rummaged in the closet and produced a box that was high enough and big enough to serve as a nightstand. He turned to Dean and smiled. “All set!” Fuck. That smile. Dean was fucked. Cas shuffled on his feet, inching towards the door. “So, um, I’ll let you unpack your stuff.” “Oh, you can stay.” Cas sat on the futon with a smile. “Did you bring a lot?” Dean just wanted to sit next to Cas and hug him and kiss him, but he had to keep face. “Just what I need. You have a washing machine?” “In the basement.” “Alright.” Dean unpacked his bags and felt Cas’ eyes on him the whole time. Cas would even comment on the shirts Dean brought, pointing out that this or that shirt was a favourite of Dean’s or himself. For some reason, it made Dean happy. And Cas seemed happy too. It was a bit weird how he felt happy just unpacking and talking. Dean tried not to read too much into it.

After, they’d gone grocery shopping, because Cas said Dean was the better cook so he should be there to choose what to buy. Cas declared he had quite the sweet tooth, and Dean promptly added a few cake box mixes to the cart. “That’s gonna be a lot of cakes though, Dean.” Dean winked. “Did you know you can make cookies out of cake mixes?” Cas’ eyes widened. “Funfetti cookies?” Dean smirked. “Any mix.” Dean smiled fondly as he watched Cas carefully choose three more boxes, two of which were funfetti. Dean added some multicolor nonpareils to the cart. “More fun for the funfetti.” Cas smiled wide. Dean wondered if he was completely red now. Dinner was frozen pizza, since Dean declared that coming back from groceries nobody wants to cook. But he baked a batch of funfetti cookies nonetheless, which they ate on the couch, watching a Mission: Impossible movie. Actually, Dean had two cookies, and Cas just kept on eating them slowly. At one point, Dean had to tell Cas to slow down. “Come on, buddy. You’ll be sick.” Cas had looked sadly at the cookies plate. “They’re just so good.” He’d taken another cookie very slowly, his eyes on Dean, as if he was worried he’d stop him. Dean just shook his head. “Hey, don’t come crying to me when you get a tummy ache.” “OK,” Cas said, shoving the cookie in his mouth. Fuck. Dean was so fucked. How will he last a whole quarantine with this adorable fucker without completely losing his mind? Cas got up. “I’m getting milk. Want milk?” “Nah I’m good.” He watched Cas go to the kitchen – hgnnn that ass – and then heard him shout back “Hey I’m not sleepy at all.” Dean shouted, “No shit.” “We could watch another movie.” “Alright.” Cas came back, took a big gulp standing in front of the couch, licked his lips – yeah, Dean was soooo fucked – set his glass on the coffee table, and flopped down next to Dean. And, Dean noticed, he was… quite closer this time. But Cas looked like nothing special was going on. So Dean started another movie. When the movie was done, Dean looked at Cas. “You still seem wide awake. That was a lot of cookies.” “No, it’s just my weird sleeping schedule.” “If you say so. I think I’m gonna head to bed though.” “Yeah me too. I’m gonna read a bit.” Dean knew he couldn’t sleep though. He was thinking about the afternoon, unpacking his things with Cas sitting on the bed and chatting him up, and going grocery shopping, how fun it was – how can it be fun? But it was. And then talking about their teachers over dinner, and then Cas’ face lighting up when the cookies were done and how he almost burnt his mouth trying to eat one right away… His head was dizzy with Cas smiling, and all the faces he made, and how painfully adorable he always was, on top of being goddamn hot, on top of being so easy to be with. Dean had left his door slightly open, closed enough so it looks like he has his privacy, but open enough so he can see if Cas walks around in the night, hopefully in his underwear. OH GOD. Why had Dean have to think about that? And so Dean was fixating a bit too much on the soft light reflecting in the hallway from Cas’ room – who, it seems, had left his door slightly open too – and his ears were picking up the sound of ruffling sheets as Cas changed positions to read, the page sliding against the other page as he turned it, the occasional hm or sigh in reaction to what he was reading. Dean felt a bit of air blow on his nose. It took him a few moments to realize it was morning and that he had dozed off to sleep – at what hour he had no idea, but he hadn’t seen Cas’ light turned off.  He felt a bit of cool air again. He took a deep breath. He heard purr. Dean’s eyes shot open. The cat! He’d forgotten the cat! The cat was purring louder. “Hey buddy,” Dean whispered. The cat yawned and blinked. It purred some more. Dean realized his nose wasn’t itching. His eyes weren’t on fire. What? He was allergic to cats, he’d even brought medicine for an army – and forgotten to take any. “How come I’m not allergic to you?” Purr, purr. Dean took his time to wake up, even petted the cat on his head, which granted him more purring, which almost put Dean back to sleep. Eventually, he got up and just pulled on a pair of jeans, walking in the kitchen barefoot, no shirt on. He started to prepare some coffee. Dean heard Cas in his room make waking grunts as he stretched. He heard Cas say “Hey Jack, you sleep well?” Damn, Dean could hear the cat purr from the kitchen. He heard Cas again, “Come on, let’s see if Dean is up.” Suddenly, Dean regretted not putting on a shirt. He felt very self-conscious. He didn’t have time to dwell on that for long: there was a loud clang behind him and a “OUCH SHIT”. He turned to see Cas wincing, holding a foot. A chair was on the floor. “You alright?” Cas breathed in sharply. “Yeah, yeah. Just banged into the chair.” “How did you do that?”, Dean said, and he saw Cas’ eyes glance over his chest and look away. “I dunno, clumsy I guess,” Cas said, as he picked up the chair and sat on it, rubbing his shin and his foot, looking pointedly down. Dean was in shock. Did Cas just check him out? He suddenly felt very naked. But going to put a shirt on now would seem too weird. Better play it cool. “I got coffee going.” “Thanks.” Dean walked around the table to Cas. “You’ll be alright?” Cas showed his leg. “Yeah. My ego’s probably more bruised.” “Alright.” Dean sat on the chair on the side, turning it slightly to face Cas. They both looked at Cas’ leg, while Cas was moving his foot to check what hurt and what was OK. The coffee was dripping in the background. “Cas, by the way… and this is weird… I think I’m not allergic to your cat.” “Jack? He’s hypoallergenic.” “But he’s got hair. He’s even quite fluffy.” “Still hypoallergenic.” “Uh. Nice. I don’t have to take meds then. Cool. Talk about a coincidence, you having an allergy-free cat.” Cas seemed to think about something. “I knew you were allergic.” “What?” Cas looked down. “When I got Jack. I knew. That’s why I went for this type of cat.” “What? Wait. You already had a cat when I met you. You got a new cat?” “No, it's the same cat.” Cas bit on his lip. “Actually, I got him two weeks after I saw you.” Dean’s heart was racing, but mostly he was confused. What was Cas saying? “I don’t follow. This cat is clearly older than we’ve been friends.” Cas looked at his hands. “I saw you before you saw me.” “What? When?” “Last year. You were arguing with someone about their cat. And I’d just moved in, and I wanted a cat. I thought if one day I’m lucky, maybe this guy will come to my place, you know, be my friend, and I don’t want to kill him, so, I got a hypoallergenic cat.” “Last year.” “Yeah.” Dean thought he was dreaming or something. Did Cas just tell him he had a crush on him since last year? No. He said ‘friend’. He couldn’t help but repeat what Cas had said. “You got that cat because of me, last year.” “Yeah.” Dean was stunned. He didn’t know what to say. Could it be… ? No. But… ? Cas glanced at Dean, who wasn’t moving, or, seemingly, even breathing. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.” Cas got up and went to his room. He closed the door. Dean listened to the coffee as it finished dripping, his gaze focused on Cas’ bedroom door. He tried to wrap his head around… all of it. The cat. The easy friendship. Cas texting him good morning every day. Him sending Cas stupid pics of his breakfast like it’s important. The long nights chatting. Cas asking him to come spend quarantine with him. And Cas so happy every time he got to stick around with him. Oh. Dean got up. He knocked lightly on Cas’ door. “Cas.” Cas’ voice came muffled. “No Dean it’s fine. I’m sorry I brought it up.” Dean insisted. “Cas, can I come in? Come on.” It took a moment before he heard a feeble “OK”. Dean opened the door. Cas was sitting on his bed, his arms around his legs, his head between his knees. Dean sat by Cas on the side of the bed. “Hey. I’m glad you told me.” Cas didn’t move. “Why? It’s all gonna be awkward, now.” Dean sat closer. “Cas, look at me.” Cas lifted his head. There were tears on his cheeks. Dean felt his heart sink and his breath catch in his throat. “Cas, oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Cas’ big, blue eyes were perplex. “Why?” “Because I’m stupid.” And as he said that, Dean took Cas’ face gently in his hands, and kissed him softly. Cas said, “Are you sure?” “Yes,” Dean said, as he kissed him again. Cas let go of his legs and passed his arms around Dean. The feel of Cas’ hands on his bare skin sent electricity through Dean. He kissed Cas harder, who kissed him back with impatience. Moments later, they came for air. Dean started laughing, Cas started laughing too. Dean said, “I’m glad we cleared that up on the first day. This is gonna make the quarantine so much better.” Cas looked at Dean with the biggest smile and kissed him. “So much.” In Stanford, Sam almost walked into a pole when he got a pic from his brother: Dean was all smiles, an arm around Cas, who was laughing, nudged in Dean’s neck. Of course, there was no text.

     I’d love to hear from you!

     Back to the Masterlist

[ladyfogg]

Cold is the Night - 1/20

Cold is the Night - 1/20

Fic Summary: You and Pat have known each other for years but this summer, everything will change. As the two of you start to grow close, your matching tempers threaten the foundation of your rocky friendship and prevent both of you from realizing your true feelings. Cold is the Night Masterpost. 

A/N: I was going to wait to post this next week but ended up finishing it early. So, enjoy! Hope you guys like it!

Fic Song:  Cold is the Night by The Oh Hellos

Pairing: Pat Murray/Female Reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Language, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Multiple Chapters

Gif by @joe-mazzello

It was the hottest day of the summer and Pat Murray thought he might melt. Literally, melt.

The D-Backs weren’t even supposed to be on the field but Ty had insisted they needed the practice. No amount of whining or convincing could change his mind, not even from Maz.

Pat stood just outside the dugout in the bright sun, sweat dripping down his face, his uniform stuck to him unpleasantly. 

“Come on, Murray, hurry up and hit something so we can get out of here!”

“Shut the fuck up, Palacco!” Pat snapped. He was the last to practice and had been at the plate for far too many swings. The rage and anxiety had long since taken over, made ten times worse by the heat. He had stepped away for a moment, hoping that would help. But it hadn’t. 

He took a deep breath but the air was so thick it did nothing to help. He stepped back up to the plate, took a few practice swings, raised his bat…and missed again.

“That’s okay, that’s okay,” Ty assured him as Pat let out a string of swears. “Try again.”

“Ty, dude, why can’t the rest of us go?” Zapata asked. “We’ll die of heat if we have to wait for Murray.”

“Fuck you, Zapata!”

“Hey! No one’s going anywhere!” Ty snapped. “We start practice together and we end it together. Now shut it!” He gestured to Dells who looked just as exhausted as Pat felt. 

Dells sighed and wound up another pitch. Pat’s hands were so sweaty, the bat was sliding against his palms. He gripped it as tight as he could, readied his body for the throw…

“Vinnie, what the fuck? You said you’d be done an hour ago!”

At the sound of your voice, Pat swung wide, missing Dells pitch by a long shot. The bat flew out of his sweaty hands and soared through the air, hurtling straight toward you. “FUCK!”

You saw the bat just in time to jump out of the way. “Shit!”

“Ey, Murray, be careful! You almost hit my baby sister!” Vinnie exclaimed dramatically. He pulled you against his gross chest protectively. “You poor baby! Did the mean ginger hurt you?!”

“Vinnie, g'off!” You struggle against your older brother, punching him in the rib to get him to let go. “I’m not even that much younger than you!“ 

Pat was furious with himself and unloaded his rage into a colorful array of swears. “Fucking fuck shit balls, fuck! Fucking idiot!”

“Alright, we’re done,” Maz declared, getting off the bench and swinging his bag over his shoulder. 

“We’re not leaving yet!” Ty exclaimed.

Maz fixated him with a stern look. “Ty, we’re done,” he repeated. “It’s too hot, Murray is losing his shit, and we’re all going to get heatstroke if we don’t get inside soon.”

Ty could never argue with Maz. With a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he nodded. “Yeah alright. Garvey, Dells, bring it in. Everyone’s dismissed.”

An eruption of cheers interrupted Pat’s continued tirade. Still fuming, he headed for the shade of the dugout, throwing his helmet against the chain-link fence.

“Aww, don’t worry, little buddy! Someday you’ll hit the ball!” Vinnie cooed. 

Pat felt bad enough as it was but to hear Vinnie tease him in front of you made the whole situation unbearable for reasons he couldn’t quite understand.

You elbowed your brother. “Stop being an ass. Come on, let’s go. I’m tired of waiting for you.”

“Ooo, yeah, about that…” Vinnie gave you a sweet smile. “I forgot to text you. I’m going with Ty to meet up with Nellie. Sorrrryyy!”

Pat’s own rage settled as he watched yours build. You rounded on Vinnie, eyes flaring. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?! I waited for no goddamn reason?!”

“Aww, don’t be upset!” Vinnie reached out to squish your cheeks, something he knew you absolutely hated. “Now give your big bro a biiiig smile!”

Without warning, you pounced on him, knocking him into the dirt. Vinnie tried to fight you off as the two of you wrestled in the dirt, a common occurrence to everyone who knew you. 

Pat gathered his things while the other guys laughed He just wanted to go home and forget about his miserable performance. He slipped away before anyone could notice.

He loved baseball with every fiber of his being and yet he couldn’t hit the ball even if his fucking life depended on it. There was nothing else he’d rather do. He just wished he had half as much talent as some of the other guys.

He didn’t usually drive to the field since his house was so close. But he would have if he had bothered to check the weather before he left. A thought that had suddenly occurred to him as he reached the parking lot.

“Great. Just fucking great." 

He was beyond exhausted and now had to walk home. He didn’t want to text his dad to come and get him, seeing as he was a fucking adult. Which left the one option. In theory, he could ask one of the guys but he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone with them, knowing they’d tease him, or worse, try to give him advice. 

Pat was just contemplating if he could make it without passing out when a voice sounded behind him.

"Hey, Pat. Need a ride?”

He turned around to find you standing behind him. Your jean shorts and tank top were caked with dirt and sand, both of which were smeared across your face and in your hair. 

Pat swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the hammering of his heart. “Nah, I’m fine. I’ll walk.”

“The hell you will! It’s hot as balls!” you said, pushing past him. “Come on, my car is right over here.”

A million protests came to mind, only a few having to do with the heat. He could only imagine the comments from the guys if they saw him and you getting into a car together. Vinnie would definitely have a few words.

But with a cloudless sky and temperatures pushing mid-90s, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. “You sure?" 

"Yeah. Since my shitty brother made me come over here, I might as well give someone a lift." 

Pat looked up at the sun and then back to your retreating frame. "Thanks,” he muttered, falling into step with you.

Your car was already running and when Pat climbed in, he was met with a blast of cold air. “Shit that’s nice.”

You laughed as you climbed into the driver’s seat. “Right? Okay. Where to?”

Pat gave you his address and sat back as you pulled out of the parking space. He scanned the direction of the field, praying no one had seen the two of you together. The guys were just cresting the hill, Maz in the lead. They seemed too preoccupied talking to each other to notice him in your car.

As you drove in silence, Pat realized it was the first time the two of you had ever been alone. You had known of each other for a long time, had met on several occasions, but that was the extent of your relationship. He realized he knew very little about you. 

Stealing a glance, he studied your profile, eyes taking in the features he had admired from afar. Maybe not admired, but definitely noticed. You focused on the road, singing along with whatever song was on the radio. He didn’t recognize it.

“Tough practice?” you asked.

Pat scowled and remained silent, his anger at himself flaring back up and forcing him to look away. 

“That bad huh?” You drummed your hands on the steering wheel as you pulled up to a red light. “I forgive you then. You know, for almost killing me with a bat.”

“Oh shit! I’m sorry!” Pat exclaimed. He had completely forgotten about that and now he felt a thousand times worse. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot!”

“Relax, I was teasing,” you said, stepping on the gas. “It was my fault for standing outside the dugout. I’ve been around you assholes long enough to know shit goes flying.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose. It’s so goddamn hot, the bat slipped.”

“Isn’t that why you’re supposed to wear gloves?”

“I forgot them.”

“Probably don’t do that next time.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tension filled the tiny space between you two as Pat sat stewing in his own anger. Sometimes it felt like he couldn’t do anything right.

“You’re brooding.”

Pat glared at you. “I’m pissed off. I’m allowed to brood.”

“Well don’t, you’ll get wrinkles.”

“Don’t you start with me too. I’ve had a shitty day.”

“Well, let’s talk about it. You’ll feel better if you let it out.”

Pat looked at you in surprise. His angry outbursts were well known to anyone who had seen him play. Most of the time he was told to calm down, not keep going.

“Fucking fuck!” he exclaimed, yanking his hat off and throwing it against the dashboard. “I’m such a fucking loser! God, no matter what I do I can’t ever get a fucking hit! Most of the time I can’t even get close!”

“Hey you got close to hitting me, that’s something!”

Pat glared at you and you gave him the same shit-eating grin your brother was famous for. “It’s not the fucking same. If almost hitting people with bats counted I’d have been drafted years ago.”

You laughed. “In all honesty though, I know you can do it.”

“How? You barely know me.”

“I’ve been to plenty of games over the years, I’ve seen you play more times than I can count. You hit when you’re not psyching yourself up. You just have to stop overthinking it.”

There it was, exactly what he didn’t want to deal with. Unsolicited advice. “Thanks for telling me the same thing I’ve heard over a thousand times before. Really helps.”

“Fuck you, I was just trying to make you feel better.”

“Well, it didn’t work.”

The rest of the drive was done in silence. When you pulled into Pat’s driveway he sighed with relief. All he could do was think about taking a long shower and passing out for a few hours.

“Thanks for the ride,” he muttered, grabbing his bag.

“Yeah, sure.”

As he opened the car door and climbed out, the heat blasted him in the face, making him grimace. The stark change reminded him how lucky he was he didn’t have to walk home. 

She really didn’t have to drive me and then I go snapping at her. Well fucking done, Murray.

Pat paused on his way to the front door before he turned around to go apologize. But you had already driven away. Cursing under his breath, he headed into the house.

[palmviolet]

Could you write a fanfic where Joyce gets hurt or is sick, and Hopper freaks out? You are an amazing writer!

thank you so much!! this is probably fluffier than you were intending but enjoy anyway :) 

continued under the cut / read on AO3

The door is unlocked when Hopper arrives, and he doesn’t bother to knock. He’s been around frequently enough in the past few months that his presence is expected, now. Hardly a surprise. He enters the house and immediately he’s struck by how goddamn hot it is inside, like the very walls are radiating heat. There’s a worn out fan spluttering in the corner of the room and Will is slumped on the sofa, fanning himself uselessly with a comic.

“Damn, it’s hot in here. You got the heating on or something?”

Will raises an eyebrow but doesn’t look up, like he’d be exerting too much energy in doing so. “Ha. Funny.” He’s clearly not in the mood so Hopper goes by him into the kitchen with a small grin, to find Jonathan filling up ice bags by the tap to be frozen.

“Hey,” he says as Hopper comes in. “Do you think you could have a look at our fridge? I swear it’s not as cold as it should be.”

“I think that’s just the weather,” he says, but goes over anyway. “Where’s your mom?”

“Oh, she’s- uh-”

He swings around and fixes the kid with a stern look. “Where is she?”

Jonathan, to his credit, holds out longer than most people do under his glare. But still he eventually caves, his shoulders dropping. “She’s throwing up in the bathroom. She- she told me not to tell you. She didn’t want to worry you. This ice is for her, actually.”

Hopper stops in his tracks. “What?” Joyce is sick? And she asked her son to lie to him about it?

Jonathan shrugs apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s always like this. She doesn’t like to make a fuss. She wouldn’t let me call the doctor even though she collapsed at Melvald’s yesterday-”

“She collapsed?!” Hopper doesn’t wait to hear anymore, turning immediately to go down the corridor to the bathroom.

“Wait-”

He looks around slowly, not even bothering to conceal his death glare. If Jonathan so much as dares to suggest he shouldn’t go in there-

“Take this.” The kid pours out a glass of water and hands it to him with a weak smile. “She’s not gonna want to see you, so at least pretend you’re only being helpful.”

Hopper huffs out a sigh but takes it, and after a reluctant moment he touches Jonathan on the shoulder. “Thanks, kid.” He’s a good kid, really. All Joyce, no Lonnie. Thank god.

When he reaches the bathroom he finds the door slightly ajar, but he knocks anyway.

Joyce’s voice from within is raspy and tired but somehow still fiery. “Jonathan- I told you, I’m fine-”

Hopper doesn’t let her finish. He pushes the door open and she falls silent, looking at him guiltily. She’s hunched next to the toilet with her cheek pressed against the pedestal of the sink, which is no doubt nice and cool in the summer heat. Hair tied back loosely, messy strands falling out around her face. Gray vest top, patterned with sweat stains, tucked into a pair of gym shorts he could swear he saw her wear in high school. But even like this - even with her face flushed, eyes bright with fever - she’s beautiful.

At least, until she turns back to the toilet and retches again. He lunges forward, leaving the water glass on the floor, and holds back a lock of hair that’s come loose. When she’s done she looks round at him, her smile faint and exhausted. “Hey,” she says softly, leaning back against the pedestal of the sink and closing her eyes. He sits down too, lowering himself to the floor with a pained grunt that tells him he’s getting older.

“Hey. What’s this about passing out in Melvald’s, huh?”

“I didn’t ‘pass out’. I was just- dizzy, for a bit, and then suddenly everyone was making a fuss and Donald- he sent me home.”

“That’s not what I heard,” he says, quirking an eyebrow as he leans over and passes her the glass of water. She accepts it gratefully, all but gulping it down. “And you wouldn’t let Jonathan call the doctor? Joyce, what if it’s something serious-”

“It’s not. It’s just- there’s no air conditioning in the store, not since it broke last year and Donald’s too cheap to fix it. It was hot, that’s all.”

“And that’s why you’re currently hugging the toilet?”

She glares at him, but the effect is rather ruined by her dishevelled appearance. “The least you could do if you’re gonna come in here is give me some sympathy. If not, just get out.”

He softens. “I’m just worried about you. When are you gonna start taking care of yourself, not just other people?”

“It’s just a bug. I’m not going to the doctor for that- it’s expensive-”

“And if it’s an emergency? Joyce- you look really sick.”

She scoffs. “Thanks.”

“No- Jesus, Joyce, won’t you listen to me?” He scrubs a hand over his face. He knew she was stubborn, but this is a whole new level. And this - sitting on the floor of the bathroom by the toilet, offering a water glass and gestures of support - is all too familiar. Sara didn’t have any hair to hold back by the end but she spent whole days hunched by the toilet, just as Joyce is now. Hopper feels a little nauseous himself at the thought.

She sighs, leaning her head back and closing her eyes again. “Okay,” she says finally, ever so quietly. “If I’m not feeling any better tomorrow - yes, tomorrow, “ she adds without opening her eyes, as if she knew he was about to protest, “- I’ll see the doctor. You happy now?”

He sighs. Not entirely, if he’s honest. Of course he’s not. He hates seeing her like this - feverish, and tired. She still has the energy to snipe at him - if ever she didn’t, he really would be worried - but it lacks its usual teasing bite. “Yeah, I guess,” he says finally. Then, to his eternal surprise, she reaches out and takes his hand.

“Thank you,” she says.

“For what?”

“For not letting Jonathan turn you away. I-” She sighs. “I didn’t want you to make a fuss, which is, well, exactly what you did, but I’m glad you’re here anyway.”

He smiles a little, squeezes her hand. He can feel her pulse fluttering away weakly under his thumb. “Do you wanna go lie down?”

She opens her eyes and looks at him. “If you say ‘because it looks like you need it’, I swear to god, James Hopper, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”

“I wasn’t going to say that. Scouts’ honor.” He helps her to her feet, trying to suppress the flutters of alarm at how heavily she leans on him. Guides her down the corridor to lie on her bed, the covers dumped in a heap on the floor. She doesn’t need any more heat - she’s burning up. “I’m gonna find you a fan that works, okay?”

On his way down the corridor he comes across Jonathan just hanging up the phone. The kid looks at him and for the first time Hopper notices the ever-present worry in his eyes. “How is she?”

“She’s gonna be okay. I got her to promise to let us take her to the doctor’s tomorrow, if she’s not any better.”

Jonathan breathes what is very obviously a sigh of relief. “Okay, good.” The us goes unquestioned. “That was Mr Melvald, on the phone. He wants to know when Mom’s coming back to work.”

“That asshole-” Hopper has to resist slamming a fist into the wall. That fucking asshole. He doesn’t fix his air conditioning and gets Joyce sick, and then has the audacity to demand her presence at the store again? He has half a mind to go down there and beat some sense into the guy, or arrest him. It’s a sue-able offence, at the very least. Maybe he could convince Joyce- with the right lawyer-

But all that’s beside the point.

“Have you got a fan that works anywhere?”

Jonathan shakes his head. “There’s the one in the front room but- well, you saw it. It doesn’t exactly ‘work’.”

He thinks for a moment, then pulls out his wallet. “Okay, here’s what you’re gonna do. Go to the store - not Melvald’s, though he probably doesn’t even sell them, the bastard - and buy a new fan with this.” He presses a few bills into Jonathan’s hand.

As predicted, the kid bristles. “I can pay myself-” he protests, trying to give the money back, but Hopper shakes his head.

“It’s on me, kid. Save your money in case you need to fix the fridge.”

Jonathan looks at him for a long, silent while. Then, warily, slowly, like he thinks Hopper might grab it back, he puts the bills in his pocket. “Thanks. I’ll- um, I’ll go now. Oh, and don’t-”

“-Tell your mom. I got it.” Hopper gives him a smile and the kid leaves, still looking a little bewildered. Hopper is determined to get them to accept his help, at least occasionally, at least a tiny bit. And if takes him asking for his change back to make Jonathan feel independent - well. It’s a small price to pay.

He finds an already frozen bag of ice in the freezer and brings it down the corridor along with a fresh glass of water, which he places quietly on Joyce’s bedside table. She’s dozing, but at his approach she shifts and looks at him in the gloom. Her curtains are drawn against the heat, but it’s still ridiculously warm.

“Got you some ice,” he says quietly. She takes it and presses it to her neck with a soft sigh of relief. It leaves her skin damp, trails of water trickling down into her top, and he has to very deliberately avoid looking down at her cleavage. “You should try and get some sleep. You’ll feel better.”

“Sit with me for a bit?” Her voice is tentative. He thinks, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Over the course of the next few hours she starts shivering, her skin clammy, and he has to rush her to the bathroom at least three times so she can bring up the meagre contents of her stomach, but Jonathan’s fan seems to help and that evening the fever passes. Hopper stays with her til long after then, when she’s fallen so deeply asleep it’s only the faint rise and fall of her chest that lets him know she’s still alive.

This wasn’t what he expected when he came here, he has to admit. He expected to sit her down and ask her - cautiously, just in case - to go to dinner with him. Someplace nice. Enzo’s, maybe. But obviously that didn’t work out.

He’ll ask her next time.

[exploradora-writes]

Birthday Girl: An Arthur Morgan x Reader Fic

Warnings: Light nsfw, but a whole lotta fluff

Summary: It’s your birthday and your back hurts (probably lumbago), so you ask Arthur to give you a massage, to which he reluctantly agrees.

Word Count: 1.6k

Notes: This is a modern AU and you have been dating Arthur for some time. Not my gif. Did I make a small reference to lumbago in this? Yes. Do I regret it? No. Last but not least, happy birthday @little-box-of-flower-pots

Another year older, another year wiser. Isn’t that what they all say? You certainly didn’t feel older, and the wiser part? That was subjective. But it didn’t matter. This year was different. This year you had Arthur Morgan by your side.

Arthur’s past intrigued you to say the least, a former criminal who’d turned himself around. Both of you had been through a lot, and together, you helped each other through life’s difficulties. The two of you made quite the power couple.

Arthur put together a small party that day for the two of you and a few of your friends. The fact that it was a small celebration didn’t prevent you from having a blast. Eventually, it was time for your friends to go home. You and Arthur thanked everyone for coming and closed the door behind them.

“Well, whaddya reckon we do now?” Arthur asked.

You shrugged. “Well, we might as well clean up everything so we don’t have to do it in the morning.”

“Sure but... you go on and head off to bed. I’ll get to work cleaning up all of...this.” He motioned behind him to the kitchen strewn with streamers and confetti.

You hugged him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Arthur.”

He smiled. “It’s the least I can do for ya, Birthday Girl.”

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, Cowboy.” You gave him a little nudge, to which he let out a small laugh under his breath

You went off to your room, changed into you pajamas, and climbed underneath your warm, fuzzy blankets.

Eventually, Arthur entered the room. You looked up and rubbed your eyes.

“I’m exhausted.” You groaned.

Arthur chuckled “You and me both, darlin’.” He changed into comfier pants and took off his shirt, exposing his broad figure and hairy chest.

Now you were fully awake.

He lay down next to you and leaned over to turn off the light. You smirked and scooted over next to him, linking your arm with his. He stopped and looked down to where you were clutching him, allowing you to gaze into his sky blue eyes.

“Arthur…?”

“Mmmhmm?”

“My back hurts..” You leaned on his shoulder.

“Your lumbago actin’ up or somethin’ sweetheart?” He teased.

“Ohhh I don’t know... All I know is that I could really use a good massage...” You let out a dramatic groan as you rubbed your back.

Arthur let out a little scoff. “Well what do you want ME to do about it?”

You lightly punched his arm and giggled “It’s my birthday! Plus...you know how I like it when you rub my back, Arthur.” You gave him a little wink.

He chuckled as his cheeks turned a rosy color. “I don’t see why. You know I ain’t the best at those.”

“Arthur...” you said. “You’re not bad, you just need a little practice. Plus, how are you gonna get better without actually doing it?”

He sighed. “Well, if you insist on getting a terrible back rub from some clumsy old bastard, be my guest.”

“Correction: ‘some clumsy old bastard’ that also happens to be the love of my life.”

He let out a chuckle and shook his head. “Enough sappiness outta you before I change my mind.”

The two of you sat up in the bed. Arthur positioned himself behind you, then clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Here goes nothin’”

You giggled, then relaxed as he began with your shoulders, his large, calloused hands pushing and pulling the sore muscles in your neck and shoulders.

Arthur shifted and began squeezing your shoulders firmly.

“Ow! Not so hard, Arthur!”

“Sorry, darlin’....”

He continued to squeeze and knead, but a little too roughly at times, even on spots that were particularly tender.

“Ow, Arthur..” you grunted.

“Ahh, I’m sorry, but...well....what do you want me to do exactly?”

“Be more gentle, baby.” You cooed.

He scoffed. “That’s like asking a cat to dance.”

You turned around to face him. “Arthur..”

“Don’t you ‘Arthur’ me, I didn’t want to do this in the first place.”

“It’s my birthday, Arthur! Come on,” you held his hand, “you were doing a fine job, you just.. squeezed me a little too hard, that’s all.”

He sighed. “I know...I’m real sorry. You just deserve to be treated by a real masseuse, not me.”

“Look at me, Arthur” you whispered, clutching his cheek. “I don’t want anybody else to do this.” You smiled. “I only want you.”

You planted a small kiss on his lips. “I know you can be gentle. I’ve seen you I’ve... felt you... before.”

His cheeks grew an even darker shade of crimson. “I suppose. Just wanna make you happy is all.”

You gave his hand a squeeze. “You will. Please do this...for me.” You gave him a peck on the cheek and smirked. “You’ve got this.”

He chuckled and resumed, this time paying careful attention to be more gentle on the stiffer areas in your neck and shoulders. He gave you a few kisses on your neck and near your ears every so often.

“That’s it, princess. Just...try to relax...”

You giggled. “I think YOU’RE the one that needs to relax, Arthur.”

He began to move down to the smalls of your back and started massaging in a circular motion

“Mmm... a little lower.” You moaned.

He continued circling your sore muscles with his hands, switching from rubbing firmly to softly until eventually he found a balance between the two. You let a deep sigh escape your lips.

“You like that, sweetheart?” He whispered in your ear.

“Mmm yeah...” you mumbled as Arthur kissed the area under your ear.

Arthur continued kissing and lightly suckling your neck as he moved his hands to your stomach and began rubbing it ever so softly. His hands slowly moved upwards to your breasts and he gently began to stroke them.

“Arthur...” you giggled. “I didn’t realize this was THAT kind of massage.”

“I know, it’s just... you’re just such a beautiful woman and well... you know how I like feelin’ em.” He muttered the last part under his breath.

“You’re fine, Arthur. I was just teasing you.”

Arthur moved from yours breasts to your hips. He lightly squeezed them and peppered kisses on your cheek as he did so. You were practically in a trance. That is, until he began tickling your sides.

“Arthur!!” Your trance broke immediately. “What are you doing?”

Arthur started wheezing from laughing so hard. “Are ya ticklish?” He teased.

“Yes!” You exclaimed.

He put his arm around your waist while you were both still giggling and dipped you down to plant a firm kiss on your lips, still chuckling to himself. You put your palm on his face, prickly with stubble. His cheeks were still rosy and his face felt damp from a few beads of sweat.

“Can you lie face down for me, sweetheart?” He murmured.

“Are you going to tickle me when I’m not paying attention again?” You jabbed.

“Well, I can’t promise nothin’ darlin’”

You lay face down on the bed, giggling to yourself.

“Good girl.” He whispered in your ear. “We got any massage oil?”

You smirked, liking this sudden confidence boost in Arthur. “Sure, check the bathroom.”

While he was gone, you took off your shirt and lay facedown, moving your hair aside.

When he entered the room again, you heard Arthur let out a deep exhale.

“What is it?” You asked, face muffled by your pillow.

“Nothin, just...” he chuckled nervously, “You’re just so goddamn beautiful.”

You smiled, looking up at him. “Arthur, you’re making me blush...”

“Ahh I know, sorry about that..”

You smirked. “You aren’t so bad yourself, Cowboy.”

He let out a small laugh under his breath. “You ready or what, Darlin’?”

“I’ve been ready for awhile. The real question is, are you ready?”

He laughed again. “I think so, just wish I weren’t so goddamn nervous.”

“You’ll be fine, Arthur, trust me. You’re already off to a great start.” You crossed your arms over your head, lay down, and closed your eyes.

You heard Arthur rubbing his hands together again. He then placed them on you, lightly at first. His once rough hands were now slick with oil and felt like feathers on your skin. You could hear him breathing heavily.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah, Y/N?”

“Thank you for doing this for me. You’re doing an amazing job.” You assured. “Not to mention you’ve got a knack for making me-“

You would have finished your sentence, but Arthur started massaging your mid back, which caused you to let out a sigh of contentment and go back into your state of tranquility. He sent shivers down your spine with each delicate brush of his fingers.

He leaned down and whispered “Does that feel good, girl?”

“Mmmhmm” you mumbled.

“That’s mah girl...”

His hands pressed down on your back, now covered in a mixture of sweat and oil. He kneaded all the way down until he reached your ass, which he playfully ran his hands over and squeezed.

You giggled and looked up. “Just what do you think you’re doing, Mr. Morgan?”

He chuckled. “Sorry, Pumpkin. I just couldn’t help myself. You’re just...” He let out a low growl. “You’ve got a shapely figure and... well I was just admirin’ it.” He grinned, squeezed one more time, then smacked your behind.

You gasped. “Arthur! You dirty man!”

At that point the both of you couldn’t stop laughing. You turned around and lay on your back. You smiled and stared at one another.

“Hey there, Arthur...”

“Hey there, Y/N.”

The two of you continued giggling and wheezing like maniacs as he leaned down and kissed you firmly on the lips. His hands began to caress your hips.

He stopped kissing to look down at you. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

All you could do was smile in pure bliss as he kissed your neck and slowly began to caress and kiss down the length of your body.

So it was THAT kind of massage after all...

[i-write-shakespeare-not-disney]

So Easy to Fall- Klance One Shot

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15653073

Listen to Taylor Swift’s Gorgeous if you haven’t hahaha

It was funny the way time made people realize things. Like who holds an important place in your mind, in your heart. Being so far from the paladins for so long made Keith realize just how important they all were to him. How much he had come to see them all as family.

Coming back, however, had another effect on him entirely. It had been a struggle to understand where he stood with them, especially with the urgency of having to come back and get things done.

Now, with a course set for Earth, he had time to mull it over.

How the hell had Lance become… that?

He wasn’t the same guy who had to be yelled at to know when to stop joking, the one ready to pick petty arguments at the most minimal slight. He was a lot more serious now. A lot quieter. He even looked older. Keith knew he himself had aged his two years, so his change was expected. But Lance’s…. He was a little less round, a little more muscular.

His eyes seemed impossibly bluer? His skin somehow darker, but Keith wasn’t sure how without the sun.

Lance was, to put it frankly, breathtakingly gorgeous. Although, it was in more than just his looks. Keith had seen the way Lance had worked to be supportive of everyone on the team. How he’d made sure everyone kept their spirits up, that everyone was okay. He had a beautiful soul, one that shone so bright it made Keith warm inside just being around him.

Keith could tell everyone was excited to go home. He knew everyone wanted to see their families before regrouping to properly defend their home. In the meantime, Keith wasn’t really sure what to do with all of his emotions.

It wasn’t so much the fact that Lance was a boy that made things confusing. Keith had long ago noted his attraction to guys over girls. What made him feel so panicked was the fact that Lance felt so completely out of his league. He was a total flirt, specifically with girls. Keith didn’t stand a chance.

Maybe it was pathetic, but it made him kind of… bitter. He knew that Lance saw him as a rival, or at least he did before. Now, at best, he saw him as a leader. But did he see him as a friend? Keith hated knowing he might never see him as more than that. To be completely honest, Keith didn’t really feel angry that Lance didn’t like him back. To each their own. If the guy was straight, Keith wasn’t going to try and change that or “fix” that or anything. That was just who Lance was, and that was fine.

What made him angry was that he felt this way about Lance. That Lance, without even trying, had managed to make Keith fall basically head over heels. Because Keith had no fucking clue what to do with those feelings, especially with how often he had to see and talk to Lance. He was going to fuck up eventually.

The rebels had helped the paladins and given them another ship to get to Earth once they’d lost the Castle of Lions. They would be reaching Earth soon. But Keith always found Lance staring out one of the large windows at the galaxy they were travelling through.

Despite his instincts telling him to keep walking, he wanted to hear his voice. Talk to him. Test himself and see if maybe he could manage being a normal person around Lance.

“Hey.”

Lance turned and his eyes widened when he saw Keith. “Oh. Hey, man.” He turned his body like a dancer might- shoulders, then hips, then feet. Until he was facing Keith completely, leaning against the window. “What’s up?”

Keith shook his head and shrugged. “Nothing. You just seem to come out here a lot. What are you… thinking?”

There was a beat of silence and Lance looked out at stars again. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I’m kind of… scared to see my family. I mean not scared, just… nervous. It’s been a long time, and I don’t know how to explain everything that’s happened. Going back to Earth feels… surreal, I guess.”

“They’ll be happy to see you, Lance. Because you’ll be home safe.” Lance nodded, but he didn’t answer.

It was quiet for a bit, and Keith debated leaving so Lance could think in peace. He felt like he was intruding, even though Lance didn’t seem to shut him out. He kept his body turned to Keith, his eyes were just on the stars. And his mind seemed somewhere farther away. Keith wished he knew how to talk to him, to comfort him.

“How are you feeling, by the way? About the Shiro thing?”

Keith felt something in him tighten. “Uh… I don’t really know. I still feel like I’m anxious around him.” Keith grit his teeth as he thought back to the fight. He never in a million years would’ve thought he’d fight against Shiro. Against his brother. The coldness in Shiro’s eyes as he tried to kill Keith still haunted his nightmares. Keith still woke up in a cold sweat because he was reliving it. Even knowing Shiro was okay now, that he was himself.

But for so long, he hadn’t been. It didn’t help that now Shiro always looked a little sad, especially when he looked at Keith. And of course, Keith had to have a permanent scar as a reminder of that day.

“It makes you look like your mom.”

“Huh?” Keith stared at Lance in confusion.

Blue eyes were on him again, soft and serious. Lance touched his own cheek. “Your scar. It makes you look like your mom.” Keith touched his cheek and found himself blushing. How the hell did Lance know he was thinking about it? “We have the real Shiro back. And he has you to thank for that, Keith. You figured it out. You reached him.”

“It’s not your fault, Lance,” he assured softly. “Don’t blame yourself for not figuring it out earlier.”

“But he tried, Keith, and I was too stupid to-”

“Hey!” Lance clamped his mouth shut, and even Keith had to take a moment to come back from snapping at him so loudly in the quiet. He took a frustrated breath through his nose and shook his head. “Don’t… don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re not stupid. What happened with Shiro was hard and confusing. But he reached out to you. Not the others. You still got farther than them. That says a lot.” Lance nodded and returned to staring at the stars. Keith felt like he’d royally fucked this up, so he just said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your alone time or anything…. So I’ll… go.”

He walked away and after a few more steps, he heard, “Thanks, Keith.”

And goddamn that soft tone of voice and that shy smile Lance gave him when Keith looked back because it made every emotion increase tenfold.

***

After a few days of travelling, the group decided they needed to stop on a nearby planet for resources. They needed food, they needed supplies. Once Pidge ran a data check on the nearest inhabitable planets, they reached the nearest one that was with the coalition and safe. There were safety measures of course, but at the sight of the lions, the blasters and canons deactivated and many of the planet’s inhabitants came out to greet the famous paladins of Voltron.

When Allura and Shiro stepped forward to explain their need for resources, the inhabitants, Keith would learn they were called Fenwurs, insisted on letting them rest for a while. Except rest must have had a different definition there because the next thing Keith knew, a banquet’s worth of food was being prepared and every Fenwur was congregating to the area around the lions.

Things that looked like paper lanterns were strung up and everyone was putting on celebration clothes. They were making a party out of the paladins’ visit.

Each paladin was given a shawl and a wreath to wear on their heads. Countless foods were offered, countless gifts of gratitude, and countless supplies were being left for them. It reminded Keith of an eerie sacrifice he’d read about in history books.

The paladins stayed together, uncertain about all the things being provided.

A Fenwur with a large tray of drinks went up to them and bowed. “Tekiscky,” he said, insisting they take the multicolored drink in thin, stained-glass goblets. “Our finest drink.”

They all took a glass and thanked him for the offer. Coran seemed to have no trouble drinking it, so the rest of them figured they were safe.

Pidge made a face as she drank it then gasped for air. “What is this?” she whispered. “It’s like… I don’t even know!”

“The taste it leaves on my tongue reminds me of alcohol,” Lance said, smacking his lips and cringing.

“Do I want to know how you know that, Lance?” Shiro asked. Lance shrugged.

Hunk promptly spit his back into his goblet, and Allura seemed to settle for taking small sips. She could never refuse a gift, always feeling guilty if she tried ever since the near sacrifice with the Arusians.

Keith admitted, it wasn’t a great taste. A mix of sweet and sour and bitter. Like it wanted to taste like candy, but the aftertaste it left made Keith want to cough it away. He found that if he just drank it continuously it wasn’t so bad and it didn’t give him time to note the aftertaste.

It was not long before Keith realized exactly what kind of drink Tekiscky was. Lance had gotten it pretty close when he said it felt similar to alcohol.

Keith, who thought he’d figured out a way around the gross aftertaste, had already drunk three goblets since they were provided, and they were quickly catching up with him. But this tipsiness, or maybe drunkenness, was different from what Earth’s alcohol caused.

This one didn’t make him forget things. He didn’t feel dizzy or nauseous or an urgent need to piss every ten minutes. He just felt light. Everything around him looked light. The colors were soft and the sounds were gentle but strong and Keith was pretty sure he was babbling nonstop, but he didn’t mind that so much.

He didn’t mind because it was making Lance smile.

The only other paladin who had gotten to his point was Pidge, who was quickly cut off once Shiro realized what the drink did. Meanwhile, Keith was getting a fourth goblet, still talking, but not really sure about what.

Then a few Fenwurs came and began taking the paladins aside, begging for stories and introductions. Lance was taken away first along with Allura who drifted off to another group. Then Coran went off to dance a funny little thing that looked like a robot chicken. Then Pidge went off, asking about their technology, and fascinating those around her with her incomprehensible tech speak. Hunk had gone after her, to keep an eye on her because the two goblets of Tekiscky she had drunk had affected her faster and stronger than they had Keith.

“You okay?” Keith looked around to figure out where the voice was coming from before he realized it was Shiro who was right next to him. “I think you should lay off the goblets, Keith.”

“I’m fine,” Keith said with a clear voice. “They make everything soft and light and it’s cool. I’m fine. Look I know exactly what I’m doing.” He turned in a circle and walked in a straight line, then stood in front of Shiro and pressed a finger to his own nose. “I feel great!”

“Right. Well, listen-”

Only Keith wasn’t listening. He was distracted by the Fenwur who was batting her eyes at Lance, giggling at whatever stupid joke he was saying and leaning against him with her own goblet in hand. And what was even worse was how ridiculously bright Lance looked to Keith at that moment. His white armor seemed to glow, and he smile was somehow softer, and Keith swore he could count the freckles from this distance.

“-just stay near-”

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he said, not having a single clue what Shiro had been saying as he walked away briskly and toward Lance. “Hey, what’s up over here?” he asked, pointedly walking between Lance and the alien to stand on the other side of Lance.

“Oh,” the Fenwur giggled. “Lance was just telling me about all the adventures-”

“Did he tell you the time he got tied to a tree?” Keith blurted. Lance grimaced and nudged him, but Keith wasn’t stopping.

That fourth goblet was catching up, making him dizzy for sure now, and mixing up his feelings. He was angry with Fenwur, but he was acting angry with Lance, and maybe it was because he was angry with Lance. He flitted place to place, flirting with everyone in front of his eyes and it was so simple for him.

“What do you care?” Lance’s voice snapped. Keith grumbled and realized he’d said aloud.

“I mean, he’s not even good at it,” Keith continued. He leaned forward onto the Fenwur. “Oh, you’ve activated my particle barrier,” he mimicked, making his voice comically lower. A few more Fenwur came closer, listening to Keith with the same glazed look in his eyes, and Keith kept reciting the pick up lines he’d heard from Lance. “And then- and then this one, listen.” He cleared his throat and assumed Lance’s relaxed, nonchalant pose. “I mean I’m like the cool, ninja, sharpshooter.”

The Fenwurs laughed, but not in a way that was malicious. It was like they were simply hearing fun stories of their favorite hero, and they kept clasping Lance on the shoulder, smiling at him like he was the sun, and he sure was shining like one.

It hurt to look at him. Whether that was because Keith could see him glowing, or because of the crestfallen look he was giving Keith, or because looking at him reminded Keith of everything he felt and wished he didn’t, he wasn’t sure.

Lance plastered on a smile and excused himself, leaving Keith to watch as he left and joined up with another group.

God, if Keith just hadn’t had these feelings for him, he wouldn’t have felt this weird, competitive urge to show he wasn’t completely fawning over him every hour of the day. He wouldn’t have even spoken if not for that stupid anger he felt because he liked Lance. Like, really, really liked him. In this state, Keith wasn’t afraid to admit he’d daydreamed about dates and first kisses and cliché gifts and confessions. With a straight boy.

A fucking straight boy.

Keith hated himself for it. But it was easier to say he hated Lance.

He wasn’t really aware of when the fifth- probably fifth, Keith had lost count- goblet got into his hands, but he was still chasing down that aftertaste. The next thing he knew, he was trailing behind Lance, wanting to listen to the stories he told the Fenwurs, wanting to hear how Lance remembered things, even if he couldn’t really remember names that well. He liked watching him talk.

Without really realizing it, Keith had been getting closer and closer until their shoulders brushed, and Lance pulled away, giving him an angry look.

“Why the hell do you keep following me? Wanna embarrass me again?”

“It’s calming to be around you,” Keith blurted before he could really think it in the first place. Lance furrowed his eyebrows and stared at Keith. If he stared much longer, Keith might break. He wished Lance could like him back. He wished Lance would’ve never seen him as a rival and had just been his friend and then maybe Keith could’ve told him by now. It would be easier than fighting his entire being to not fuck up what little relationship he had with Lance. “I don’t get how you just talk to people. It’s annoying.”

“Excuse me?” Lance exclaimed. “What the hell, Keith?” Keith shrugged.

It was annoying. Why was Lance so at ease with talking to absolute strangers, and Keith couldn’t do it without being fueled by a mood altering substance and something he couldn’t figure out if it was passion or fury? Why couldn’t Keith be more like him, just comfortable with talking? Then maybe he would’ve been able to talk to him about how he felt or at least he’d have been better at hiding it.

“You’re being such an asshole,” Lance muttered. “Leave me alone.”

As he walked away, Keith wanted to scream. Why couldn’t he do this right? He was torn between a childish mindset of why doesn’t he like me, it’s not fair! and a more logical, anxious mindset of, I can’t even talk to him without fumbling, just leave it alone!

It was aggravating and a futile loop to be thinking in.

But if Lance wanted to be left alone, then fine. Keith would do exactly that.

That was his last thought before his body decided to fall asleep.

***

The next time Keith opened his eyes, he was on a cot in a familiar room from the ship the rebels had given them.

“And he rises,” Pidge said. She was sitting on a cot across from him, sitting up but also apparently in no mood to do more than that. “How much did you drink?”

“I can’t remember,” Keith mumbled. “Ew, wh-why is my tongue fuzzy?”

“It’s not fuzzy, it just feels fuzzy. It goes away after about an hour. The ringing in the ears too. But the burping-” Pidge burped under her breath and grimaced. “The burping hasn’t stopped and it tastes horrible.”

Keith sat up and groaned, feeling unlike himself. He wasn’t in pain, he just felt like his body wasn’t his. And that was uncomfortable. Sure enough, he started burping like Pidge, and it was in fact a disgusting experience.

Shortly after the fuzziness went away and the ringing in his ears subsided, Shiro came into the room with trays of food. “How are you guys feeling?”

“Fine,” Keith said through a burp.

“Food,” Pidge said.

Shiro set one tray down for her and she started eating quickly. “The Fenwurs said the components of their drink might have some leftover effects on you because you’re humans.”

“Wish they’d said that when they gave us the drink,” Keith muttered.

Shiro didn’t smile at that, and Keith wondered if he was really about to get lectured on drinking. He and Shiro both knew it wasn’t the first time Keith drank, and frankly this time it wasn’t even his fault. Still, the look Shiro was giving him made Keith want to hide. He hated when Shiro looked disappointed.

“What do you remember from last night?” he asked Keith. Keith shrugged. “I need you to think, Keith.” His voice was low, so Pidge wouldn’t hear, but she was quite enraptured by her food.

Keith frowned and sighed. “I don’t remember. I remember getting dizzy and… talking to some of the Fenwurs. I… think Lance yelled at me.” Keith felt his stomach twist. That’s right. “He told me to leave him alone.”

“Do you remember why?”

Keith groaned and ran his hand through his hair. “What does it matter? He’s never been particularly fond of me, so big deal.”

It wasn’t the answer Shiro wanted. He pursed his lips and shook his head. He stood up and started to leave, turning back when he reached the door. “When you guys feel better, feel free to come out to the common area.” Then he left.

Pidge finished eating and promptly fell back asleep. Keith on the other hand didn’t like how he felt and didn’t feel comfortable enough to fall asleep, so he figured he may as well go train. Maybe then he’d feel like his body was his again.

And it sort of worked. He had something else to focus on, but his movements were a little slower, mostly because of the fact that his limbs were still shaking off the residual results of the drink. His hands started shaking after a while of exerting himself, so he stopped the routine and decided to see if maybe now he was tired enough to go to bed.

He was tired, but he wasn’t sleepy. So he ended up walking around as usual, and kept walking until it was dinnertime. When he got there, he realized it was the first time he’d see Lance since his drunk moments, and he didn’t like the guilt that he felt. It was possibly more that guilt than his pride that kept Keith from talking to him at all. He answered Shiro and Allura, he commented on Hunk and Pidge’s stories, conversed with Coran. But he kept quiet when Lance spoke. Refused to answer the indirects Lance made at him even when the silence stretched into awkwardness.

It was what Lance wanted wasn’t it? To be left alone. For Keith to leave him alone.

The thing that sucked more was that not talking to Lance was actually proving easier in the sense of Keith’s feelings. It was easier to ignore what he felt for Lance if he wasn’t talking to him, or even looking at him. The fact he had to do that at all sucked, but…. At least until they got to Earth, what was the harm?

That night, Keith felt restless, so he started walking around the ship again, hoping to not think too much about what exactly he’d done the night before or how shitty it felt that he wasn’t talking to Lance, and how shitty it felt that it was easy not to talk to him. He tried to think instead of how long it would take to get to Earth and wondering how to set up defenses for the entire Earth if Pidge’s dad hadn’t taken care of that yet.

And of course, eventually, his mind drifted to Shiro and how one arm was gone. Because of Keith. And even though they all knew Shiro didn’t have an arm, it hurt Keith to him actually without it. Without a prosthetic. Without being able to move it, especially when he saw the confused agitation in Shiro’s eyes when he tried to move his stub only to remember there was nothing there anymore.

Keith felt guilty, and he was feeling guilty about a lot of things now. It was swallowing him up, it was suffocating.

“Keith.” The voice made him panic. He wanted to run, to ignore it. He wanted to get away from Lance. Instead, he froze. He froze and stood there with his eyes wide on the floor, his heart beating so fast it made him dizzy.

Lance put a hand on his shoulder to turn him around which made Keith gasp a little too loudly. “What the hell is going on with you?” Lance demanded. Keith stared up at him, figuring that if he couldn’t get away from him, he could at least stand his ground and refuse to talk. “What, you go from trying to make me feel better one night to making fun of me the next?”

Keith furrowed his eyebrows, stepping back as the memories fought their way to the forefront of his mind. Fenwurs giggling around him as Keith blathered on and on about the way Lance flirted, or the way he talked about Allura, or the way he talked himself up. Lance stepped forward with each step Keith took back; he wasn’t going to let Keith go until he had his answers. But Keith didn’t have them.

“Then I figure, okay he was drunk, maybe he’ll apologize!” Lance snapped, his face full of disbelief and frustration. “But no, you wake up and you pretend I don’t exist! Like I was the one making fun of you in front of an entire planet!”

“You do make fun of me!” Keith blurted, latching on to the first thing that would maybe excuse him.

But Lance scowled and crossed his arms, getting impossibly nearer, and it was making Keith nervous. “Yeah. And I direct it to you. Around friends. Not in front of strangers, and not to hurt your feelings.”

Keith scoffed. “Hurt your feelings?”

“Yes, Keith!” Keith’s eyes widened and he held his breath as he stared at Lance. “Yes, it hurt my feelings. Because I thought we were getting closer, I thought…. I thought things were different now. But you made me a joke. I just-” Lance shut his eyes, and when they opened, they were angry, narrowed. Keith hated how cold those beautiful eyes had become. “Tell me why. Why did you do that to me? Why am I such a joke to you?”

Keith gulped and looked between his eyes and tried to make absolute sure he didn’t even glance at his lips. He was so, so close.

Keith didn’t like talking. It would be easier to just lean down and kiss him and let that speak for him. But it would hurt too much when he was pushed away. He didn’t want to kiss Lance against his will.

“Keith?” Lance’s eyebrows were furrowed in uncertain confusion, and Keith realized that the entire time he was thinking about the pros and cons of what kissing him or not kissing him would entail, he had been staring very obviously down at his lips.

Keith clenched his jaw and looked away, shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“You-you can’t?” Lance repeated incredulously. “What the hell does that mean?”

Keith looked at him, straight in the eyes. “I can’t tell you. I don’t know how, and I don’t want to. Just take it all as a compliment and get over it.” Keith shoved past him and made a beeline for his room.

***

Lance hadn’t tried to corner him after that night. In fact, he stayed out of his way. He was quieter and when he was at lunch or dinner, he always looked lost in thought. His eyes would meet Keith’s and they’d both look away immediately like the meeting of their eyes had physically hurt them.

The others talked to Lance to see if he was okay. Keith saw them interact with Lance, and they did just fine. They seemed to have no trouble getting him to smile, to talk. Especially Allura. Lance was nothing but smiles with her.

Keith had no idea how Allura didn’t feel like the luckiest person alive with the way Lance smiled at her. He couldn’t understand how she had fallen for Lotor, the perfect storybook bad guy, but had never even given Lance a chance. Lance who did everything to make her smile, who worked hard every day to get better, who looked at her like she was everything he could ever want. And Keith supposed she was exactly that.

It made him ridiculously jealous and that much more bitter, even if it wasn’t his place. He could handle Allura on her own, and Lance wasn’t talking to him anyway, but seeing them both together always made Keith have to leave the room and be on his own.

It was juvenile, especially in the midst of the war, but… it hurt too much. Somehow it hurt more that they weren’t even together. She was just what Lance wanted, and a reminder that what Lance wanted wasn’t Keith.

One night, after the others had taken to playing games to pass the time and they were all laughing to the point where even Keith had to laugh as an onlooker only to feel a twist in his gut because the guilt insisted he didn’t deserve to laugh with them, he decided to look out at the stars where Lance had been about a week or two before. He sat there and thought of the paladins’ laughter as they played rounds of freeze tag and never have I ever and rock paper scissors. He thought of how wonderful it looked for Lance to be happy. It made Keith happy.

And it made him sad too. Because Keith knew he had no idea how to be someone to make Lance happy. He just knew how to horribly misconstrue his feelings until they came off as hate rather than… whatever it was Keith felt.

He sat there, staring at the stars, wondering how he could possibly fix things, when he heard the light footsteps of someone passing by. Except instead of leaving, the footsteps, the presence, got closer and the person sat down beside him. Lance.

He didn’t talk. Neither of them did. They sat there staring at the stars for a long time before Lance even moved. He only moved to look over at Keith. It terrified him, but Keith eventually mirrored him. Again, they didn’t talk. Just sat there, staring at each other.

After a while, once Keith had taken to simply admiring his features in the starlight instead of panicking and waiting for a fight, Lance spoke.

“I think I figured some stuff out. I don’t know if it’s all right, but… I’m gonna need you to talk to me too so I know if I’m right.” Keith furrowed his eyebrows and shifted his legs to keep them from falling asleep. “Can we do that? Just talk?”

Keith shrugged. “Sure.”

“You have to be honest. Like totally honest. This is just sleepover 101.” Keith frowned and looked at Lance. He was joking with Keith? “I’ll be completely, totally honest if you are.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Keith whispered.

Lance turned his body toward him. “See, you’re already doing it!” He said it so proudly, Keith couldn’t help but smile. Then he erased the smile because he didn’t want Lance to be able to make him smile. Lance waited a moment before his voice got soft again and it made Keith melt a little. “Why don’t you think it’s a good idea to be honest?”

“Because… that’s putting a lot on the line,” he said.

“Our friendship is already on the line.”

Keith didn’t say anything to that. Lance was right. Whether Keith told him the truth or just let it die a secret, their friendship was now very much on the line thanks to Tekiscky. Besides, he didn’t think Lance would be so horrible as to hold his feelings against him. Maybe they could still figure out how to be friends in spite of them.

Keith didn’t have much to lose anymore.

He kept his body facing the stars because it was easier than facing Lance. “I actually think your one-liners are cute.” He gulped and kept his eyes steady on a series of stars twinkling in multiple colors. “And how you’re so confident about who you want to be. When I was making fun of you… it was supposed to be more of a compliment. But I was mad and I was all messy in my head because of the drink and I… just spoke.”

“Why were you mad…?”

Keith clenched his jaw and curled his fingers. “That Fenwur was all giggly with you and… it just bugged me.” Keith took a deep breath and gulped. “Guess I got jealous.”

Lance didn’t say anything, and Keith was too scared to look at him. Here he was confessing his sexuality and his feelings to the person they pertained to. It was horrifying.

“D-do you… like me?” Lance asked softly. Keith felt his breaths stop, he couldn’t even swallow. His entire body was hot and he was… he was scared. “Keith.” Lance touched his hand and Keith gasped, flinching away from the touch. “Keith, you don’t have to be scared of me,” Lance said, reaching out, but not touching him. “Talk to me.”

Keith’s breaths were short and shallow. He slowly turned to look at Lance who was looking at him with pretty blue eyes that sparkled with the reflection of stars. He was so beautiful it wasn’t fair.

“I kind of hate you,” Keith croaked. Lance flinched and pulled his hand back. “Because it’s so easy for you to talk. Because you… you made it so easy to fall for you. But I know you don’t like me, and that’s okay! That’s fine. It just… also sucks.” He scowled and put his chin on his knees. “I really wish Allura liked you as much as you like her because you deserve that. And even though it’d hurt, you’d be happy. I’m so sorry I made fun of you and stopped talking to you and… I’m sorry. I just didn’t know how to keep myself from telling you everything. I didn’t want to tell you, I didn’t want you to feel weird. I didn’t want us to be weird.”

“How old were you?” Keith frowned and looked over at Lance. He’d laid himself bare, had let all this truth spill, and Lance… asked a random question? “When you knew you liked guys?”

“Uh. I don’t know. Twelve, I think? Wh-why?”

Lance stared at Keith and took a deep breath that made his shoulders rise and let it out on a trill. “Was it scary? Figuring it out?”

“Um. Not really. I just… it was just something I noticed. I wasn’t really one for friends, and I didn’t have family until Shiro took me in, so…. There wasn’t anyone to tell. When I was with Shiro, he would ask if anyone caught my eyes, but I wasn’t looking for anyone. I just figured it was also fine because Shiro was with his partner, so….”

“Hm. Adam, right?” Keith nodded. “I don’t think I ever really saw it as… an option. The concept… it was cool, and I was happy for people. I thought Shiro was really brave, being the best of the best and happy with Adam. But it wasn’t….” Lance shrugged. “It’s different from liking girls. People can say it’s not, but it is. You gotta fight through all that surface crap that makes you pass it off as envy or admiration or annoyance before you realize… hey, I might… like him.” Keith furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m just saying… it’s easy to know when I like a girl, it’s not scary to notice or admit or act on. With a guy… I’ve always tried to play it off. Claiming I wanted to be the guy not be with him. Claiming I just wished I looked like him. Or saying I just thought the guy was an asshole. Or… saying he’s my number one rival.”

Keith’s head jerked up in shock and he stared at Lance in utter shock. “What?”

Lance took another deep breath. “I was angry with you when you left. I was kind of angry when you came back. God, you just pranced back in like nothing mattered! Like it wasn’t a big difference to be with you, then without you, and now with you again. And I…. I missed you. A lot. I figured it was because we’re friends, or we were starting to be. But then… you came to talk to me, and you were so nice and… I got butterflies. And yeah, I get that with Allura, but there was no dancing around it this time. No way to pass it off as hunger or exhaustion or nervousness for a battle. Just you looking at me and me… wanting you to look at me like that all the time.”

“You’re… you’re saying…. You’re saying you like me?” Keith stammered incredulously.

Lance laughed and groaned, putting his face in his hands for a moment before he looked up at Keith again. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. And it just took a while to know for sure because I kept trying to think it was something else. Then you went and made fun of me and it hurt way more than I wanted it to. And then you stopped talking to me and I would see you, and… it hurt so much.”

Keith looked away ashamedly and wished he had never taken that stupid drink. “Then why are you talking to me now?”

Lance smiled and reached for his hand again. This time, Keith let him. It made a million bolts of electricity course through his body, and he wished he could lace their fingers together instead of just having Lance’s rest on his. “Your reaction the other day. When I tried talking to you. It kind of clued me in. So I thought about it, and then I came to terms with myself. And I figured we should talk about it.”

Keith stared at Lance and looked down at their hands. “But you like Allura.”

“Yeah. I did. I think… I clung onto that a little longer than I should’ve because that made sense. But I’ve been thinking these last few days and….” He shrugged. “I think I accepted my place as Allura’s friend a long time ago. I’m not… I’m not saying you and me should date right now or anything. I just… want you to know that I like you too. And I don’t like how much you’ve been staying away.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t- It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with you, I just… these feelings are so much, and they’re so confusing, that I- it was easier to just stay away, and…. Fuck. I’m so sorry for the things I said on that planet, Lance. I… I promise you, you’re not a joke to me. Not at all. I don’t know how to even start apologizing for all of-”

Lance laughed and cut him off by threading his fingers with Keith’s. “How about I just take it as a compliment now that I know why you were acting so weird? Can’t resist the McClain charm.” Keith snorted and rolled his eyes, but he smiled at Lance. “And we can start over…. Yeah?”

“That would be nice,” Keith whispered. “So… to be clear- I like you and… you like me… romantically?”

Lance nodded, smiling playfully with eyes that made Keith feel like he was swimming in the stars. His eyes were so… so gorgeously blue. Keith couldn’t remember the last time he saw an ocean, but he thought Lance’s eyes were pretty close.

“So what now?” he whispered.

Lance shrugged. “I don’t really know.”

Keith bit his lip and shifted to face Lance. “Can I… try something?” He let go of his lip and let his eyes flicker down to Lance’s, leaving no room for confusion.

Lance chuckled nervously. “Um…. Yeah. But… I’ve never… kissed a guy before.”

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” Keith admitted. “So I might be bad at it.”

Lance smiled and shook his head almost imperceptibly. Keith shifted forward, hesitant. Lance’s ocean blue eyes skimmed his face, and he slowly tilted his chin forward. Keith could feel Lance’s breaths on his lips, shaky and hot. Keith licked his lips, then felt Lance’s nose bump with his own gently.

They smiled nervously, and then finally, they closed the space. It was electrifying to feel Lance’s lips on his own. They were soft, warm, and gentle. Keith pulled back slightly and smiled when he saw Lance smiling. He smiled wider when Lance’s hand went up to his cheek, the one with a scar, and he leaned in again, their lips brushing teasingly before coming together again. Lance’s lips parted only slightly, enough to capture Keith’s bottom lip between his own and press a little harder against him.

Keith burst into laughter and nudged his nose against Lance, reminded himself he could run his hand through his hair now, so he did. “This is strange, isn’t it?” Keith said against his lips. “Kissing you. You kissing me.”

“A little. Can I try something else?” Lance asked. Keith nodded, and Lance’s tongue darted out to swipe along Keith’s lip, taking Keith by surprise. “It’s been a while, but… trust me, yeah?”

Keith gulped and leaned into him. Lance kissed him as he had before but this time, Keith felt when Lance parted his lips and his tongue tried to get between Keith’s own. Taking the cue, Keith parted his lip and took a sharp breath when he felt Lance’s tongue slip into his mouth. His heartbeat was pounding like crazy in his ears.

“You okay?” Lance asked nervously, pulling back at the gasp Keith made. Keith nodded and leaned back in, trying to mirror Lance in his kiss. Lance chuckled and tilted Keith’s face with his hand. “Relax. Don’t be so stiff. We can take it easy.” Keith nodded and shut his eyes, feeling Lance’s teeth bit his lip, followed by a swipe of his tongue, and then the tug of Lance sucking gently before letting go and dipping back into Keith’s mouth.

Keith moaned and let his own tongue roam, tasting Lance’s mouth, and trying the same thing with his lip. He bit and tugged lightly, and Lance hummed against him. Keith buried his hands in his hair and tilted his head the other way to kiss him more, to kiss him better.

He wasn’t sure if he was any good at this. But he liked how Lance felt, how Lance tasted. And Lance seemed to be enjoying it just as much, his fingers digging into the nape of his neck to bring him in.

When they finally broke apart, Keith looked at Lance, pleased to see how cloudy his eyes were. “You’re a fast learner, Samurai.” Keith chuckled and bit his lip, looking at the stars. “Hey. Do you think… when all of this war is over, and everything’s calm on Earth… do you want to go on a date with me?”

Keith’s eyes widened. “A date?” Lance nodded. “Y-yeah. Yeah, that’d be nice….” His smile fell a bit. “What do we do until then?” He didn’t want to just kiss Lance for fun at night, but remain friends that had a date in the future. But he didn’t think he could manage not being able to kiss Lance after having finally done it.

Lance kissed his cheek, which took Keith by surprise. He turned his head to look at him and felt his heart melt at the little smile on his face. “I… Well… do you… want to…?”

Keith raised his eyebrows and waited, filled with endearment as Lance turned redder by the second. “Be your boyfriend?”

Lance gulped and smiled sheepishly. “I might be bad at it. But yeah.”

Keith smiled and wondered if this was real. This gorgeous, wonderful, incredible guy… liked him back! And he wanted to take him on dates and be his boyfriend and… hold his hand and kiss him. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. “I would. Very much. I’m assuming you’d want to be mine?” Lance nodded, smiling dorkily. “Could you kiss me again?”

Lance’s smiled that gorgeous smile and leaned into Keith again, making every worry and fear melt away between petal-soft lips and gentle hands.  

[head-full-of-words]

Teach Me: 6/1/18

I should be sleeping and I am slightly tired, but this blog post is something I’ve been thinking about for a few days now. In my last post, I warned you all that this one would be coming. It’s basically where the hurt in my life comes from that brought me here.

When most kids are growing up, they learn some pretty basic life lessons. They learn to always eat all of their broccoli, never eat dessert before dinner, be nice to your little brother(s) and/or sister(s), treat others the way you want to be treated, share your toys, always brush your teeth before bed, and that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. 

My life lessons were very different. Don’t tell anyone about this at school, don’t let your father find out what’s been going on, sometimes it’s better to hide things than to tell the truth, don’t play too rough outside because we don’t have insurance, and sometimes when you’re ten, your mother will need to take a break from being a parent, so you and your older brother are forced to make dinner for yourself for about two weeks. 

I am by no means saying I have the hardest life. I have met a lot of people that have been through some really fucked up shit, but I really don’t have any memory of innocence in me. A lot of people had it so much better than I did. 

I can’t sit here and justify hurting people, but I can sit here and explain that sometimes people need to realize what you’ve been through in order to fully understand you or love you.

 At a young age, I was taught that my body belonged to a man, no matter his age, and that your mother may claim she loves you and would do anything for you, but when her relationship is going well, you’ll be the first one she turns her back on. When I told her and she didn’t believe me, oh my God did it hurt so bad. Your mother is supposed to be the one to protect you. She harbored you inside of her for 9-10 months. She fed you, changed you, kept you warm, took care of you on those days you were sick. And yes, my mother did those things, but she also chose a man over her children for more than 10 years. I was told how dumb I was, how stupid I was pretty much every day of my life. Do you know how much it sucks when your “bedroom” is bookshelves and shower curtains in your dining room? And then, you have to change behind those very same curtains in your “bedroom” when the man who tried to molest you is just a few feet away? It’s pretty scary. 

But, I didn’t tell my father either, because I didn’t even trust him to protect me. I told him eventually and the look on his face showed how unphased he was by all of it. Who was I supposed to go to when I didn’t have a mother or a father to run to? I never saw beautiful, true love. Not until my mom met her newest boyfriend, but I was already 17. I had already experienced so much fucked up shit and so many toxic relationships by then. My parents fought constantly even after they broke up. I watched my mom jump to my ex-stepfather and leave me behind. She used to make him lunch in the mornings and I would cry and beg her not to leave, but there she was, running out the door to meet the “love of her life”. I became irrelevant. And then I saw her with my ex-stepfather. He wouldn’t even hold her hand or hug her, but he would talk about other girls he thought were hot or wanted to fuck right there in front of her. She only told him to stop when I was in the room.

She let him walk all over her, all over me, all over our family. And my dad and stepmother are their own versions of fucked up, too. Their appearances matter more than the reality of their lives. They put on masks and lie to everyone around them to make themselves seem normal. But I’ve heard her slap him and I’ve watched her push him away when he tells her she’s beautiful and tries to kiss her. And I also watched him pick her over me and I watched him compare other girls to me. They were smarter, prettier, took more time on their hair, put on more makeup, wore better clothes. I wasn’t enough. 

It’s fucked up and I’ve gone to therapy on two different occasions, and the thing is, my heart is so scarred and torn up by past loves and past relationships that this whole year I’ve been going to counseling, I’ve unraveled approximately one scar ((and that’s my father)) and the rest is to be untouched. The rest of those scars still haunt me. N, J, P, etc etc. 

For once, I want someone to think about my life, about the psychotic episodes I watched my mother have, about the sexual harassment in my household, about my older brother leaving and never looking back, and I want them to think “wow she deserved someone that loved her and wanted her and made her feel special and wanted”. No, I’m not perfect, but I’m trying to do my goddamn best from what life has thrown at me. 

Most kids don’t experience parties at 12 and have to watch all of the children because their parents were getting fucked up in the basement. I was exposed to drug deals, molestation, fear, poverty, nudity, alcoholism all at such a young fucking age. And I had no one there to save me. I had to drown before I even started to learn to tread. 

So, yeah, maybe I am kind of fucked up and self-destructive. Maybe I just see the good in people and that’s why I can’t leave, but how come no one ever sees the good in me? I’m not the best, most pure person in the world, but goddamn, I had $32 in my bank account the other day and sent $15 of it to my friend for food because she had less than me. I sit here and I try my best to be a good person, to do the right thing, to make the best decisions, to forgive. So is it so bad that I expect someone to sit here and say “Hey, I’ve got it from here. Let me take care of you for once. I know what you went through and maybe I don’t understand it, but I understand your scars and bruises. Let me heal you”?

No, maybe someone else can’t fix me or save me, but throw me a life vest, throw me a safety net, throw me SOMETHING. Understand that I didn’t have a normal life, that I’ve been hurt by pretty much every single person I’ve loved and/or confided in, and I’m working on myself to be even better than who I am now. Yeah, I’ve hurt people. We’ve all hurt people. But I don’t do it because I’m a sociopath. I never even realize I’m doing it... I hurt people because I get scared, because I get overwhelmed. I’ve gotten close to so many people that have let me down. They have learned me, I have shared my mind, my soul, my deepest darkest secrets, and they’ve all left. Yeah, I’ve got baggage. A lot more baggage than a lot of other people, but for once, please carry half the load for me. For once, realize I didn’t do this to hurt you, I didn’t do that to get even, I just don’t know how to be healthy with someone when I don’t even understand what that means.

Someone teach me. Teach me what it means to be loved unconditionally. Teach me what it means to have a partner and an equal; not someone who gives up when things are too heavy. Teach me what it’s like to be healthy, to be happy, to stay, to not worry about someone leaving because of things I could have never controlled. 

[icecubelotr44]

Surrender (Whumptober/Inktober Day 27)

As always, for the inktober whump prompts HERE.  Thanks @whumpreads! @killian-whump, @ladyciaramiggles, @cocohook38, @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable, @xhookswenchx, @gusenitsaa, @pirate-owl All prompts: HERE Previous Days: Knees | Bag | Cell | Noose | Explosion | Bone | Guilt | Scar | Self-inflicted | Gunpoint | Sacrifice | Starvation | Sleep-deprivation | Brainwashing | Drugged | Sensory | Withdrawal | Flashback | Panic | Threats | Thrown | Fever | Grief | Drowning | Gagged | Outnumbered

Direct continuation of: Outnumbered

same universe as: Bag Over Head, Guilt, Held at Gunpoint, Drugged, Grief, Panic Attack, and The Darling Affair

Three days.

Killian Jones had holed up in a cave in the hills with little more than the supplies he’d stolen from a nomadic group of travelers and the water he’d painstakingly measured out and boiled for three days.

To be fair, he’d slept for most of the second, trying to regain some of the strength he’d need to craft an exfil plan with no resources.

But three days in a cave in the hills in a desert climate with nothing more than tattered clothes and bandages to protect him from the changing temperatures had left him miserable and feverish.

He only had one thing on his mind when he finally emerged.

Get home to Liam.

It was likely going to take a wing and a prayer.

And a new set of clothes, some money, and an identity that wouldn’t garner too many questions.

Thankfully, Killian Jones was nothing if not resourceful and could put the Boy Scouts to shame with his own level of preparedness for any situation.  

The scratch of fabric over badly-healed wounds assaulted Killian’s senses as he pulled on a clean shirt and he fought the urge to tear it off.  He was stronger than this, he had survived far worse.

Just because he couldn’t think of a time when that was true didn’t make it any less so.

Jeans next, and he nearly whimpered at the pull of the marks on his back, at the crunch of his ribs as the broken ends rubbed together while he pulled them up.

He slept an entire afternoon away in a cheap motel room after getting dressed, needing the escape as much as, if not more than, he needed to keep moving towards Liam.  Towards home.

Killian couldn’t make it home if he collapsed from exhaustion or depleted defenses first.

It was surprising what a shower with questionable water pressure and some carefully rolled down sleeves could do to make a person look trustworthy, he’d realized some time long ago.  With his ballcap pulled low to mask the score above his temple from the bullet wound that Liam still thought had claimed his life, Killian had managed to weasel his way into a local poker game and walk out with just enough to keep him afloat and not enough to convince any of the men he’d fleeced to come after him.

His ribs really didn’t need another workover any time soon.

He wasn’t healing as quickly as he should, it was in the back of his mind at all times.  He needed to get back to the States where he could safely stand down.

God, he just wanted to rest.

One last step in his plan - an identity.

Killian Jones had plenty of false identities.  Aliases that had been carefully crafted and backstopped by the analysts at JR Solutions.  He had access to any number of passports that he’d stashed before starting this godforsaken mission.

He couldn’t risk using a single one of them.

If he did, an alert would pop up back home and signal to whoever was looking - Liam, for sure, but also whomever had betrayed them to the terrorists - that he was coming.

Killian really couldn’t chance the wrong person seeing that alert.

William Smee, on the other hand, had no ties to Liam’s company and no reason to betray him.

Not with all the favors he owed Jones for not outing him, killing him, or otherwise abandoning him to the less than savory men Smee associated with on a daily basis.

An identity that would get him on a flight to the States didn’t even begin to pay Killian back for everything he’d done for the man, but he’d cash in whatever chits Smee required to get home.

To get to Liam.

James Hook.

Really?

Killian shook his head, regretting it as the world spun around him again.  His head was pounding now, the multiple concussions and the lack of nutrition over the past… how long had it been? were all starting to catch up with him.

“I can get you on a flight,” Smee cajoled as Killian opened the door.  “But you’ll owe me a favor for it.”

He thought he might regret it, but it sounded so good to just let someone else figure out the next step that he nodded before he could think too hard about it.

Smee grinned.  “Give me a couple hours to make sure she’s set and we’ll get you home, Cap.”

Killian agreed, sinking down onto a ratty old couch that had seen better days.

It smelled like cheese.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, sunk into a half-stupor that allowed him to rest while still keeping watch, hyperaware of his surroundings at all times.  But it was still light out when Smee returned, a wide grin on his face and a piece of paper clutched in his grimy paws.

“Go to this hangar and ask for Jack.  He’ll get you to New York.  I assume that will get you close enough?”

New York.  He could get to Boston from there with the money he’d won in the game.  Boston meant the T, the T got him to JR Solutions.  JR Solutions meant Liam.

Liam meant home.

“Aye, mate.  I owe you one.”

The portly little man smirked.  “Happy to help, sir,” he snarked before shooing Killian out the door.

There was no one in the goddamned hangar.

Killian was going to go back to that ratty little room and tear Smee apart piece by-

“Can I help you?” a mousey little woman peeked out from the fuselage of a half-finished plane.

Killian started.  He’d had no idea anyone was there.  He was slipping.

“I was… I was told to find Jack,” he stuttered, still trying to understand how far his senses had started to slip.

The woman beamed.  “Monterey?  Oh he’s out with the boys at the Festival.  I can help you out with whatever you need.”

What?

His vision was starting to swim, his ribs starting to scream.  He just wanted a bed.  Or a chair.  Or even just a corner where no one was going to find him and hurt him.

“Smee sent me?” he tried instead.

“Gee willikers!  You’re Mr. Hook!  Of course.  Dale said you were coming.  We’re almost fueled up over there”---she pointed to a rickety looking plane that Killian would swear had never logged a single air mile---“and I’ll get you to New York lickety split.”

Oh God.

He was going to kill Smee slowly.

If he survived the flight home.

Home.  Liam.  Home.

Could he trust her?

Killian Jones counted on two fingers the number of people in this world he counted on to watch his back.  His brother and himself.  Could he let this woman take his safety into her hands and trust her to get him home?

Killian climbed aboard the plane and collapsed into the seat afforded to him.  A spring stuck into his back and the cushions chafed against where his shirt had ridden up, aggravating the burns on his lower back.

The blackness claimed him within minutes of them getting in the air.

>>> 

“Mr. Hook?  Mr. Hook, we’re here.  Do you need an ambulance or something?”

Killian startled awake, shocked to see the young woman’s face so close to his own without him noticing.

“No, lass, I’m fine.  Are we… did we crash?”

She laughed, a light little giggle that made it seem as if what he’d asked wasn’t alarming at all.

“Gee willikers, no!  We’re here.”

Killian looked out the window of the plane, surprised to see a large airport outside instead of trees or the ocean.

“Oh,” he remarked stupidly.

She giggled again.  “I know Mr. Smee said that you needed to get to Boston, so I brought you here instead.  Seems like you needed to be here more than I needed to get to New York.”

Boston.

Liam.

Liam!

“Thank you,” he breathed out, relieved to be so close to aid.  He was chagrined to feel the sting of tears in his eyes, but blinked them back quickly.  “I never even asked you your name, lass.”

“Oh, that’s all right.  I told you when we got in the air, but you were already sleeping.  It’s Gadget.”

Right.

“Thank you,” he breathed again, disembarking and nearly collapsing on the tarmac.

Boston.

Killian eventually stumbled down into the subway, curled up in a corner of the train, and tried to breathe away the stars in his vision.

He was going home.

>>> 

Liam Jones had been many things in his lifetime.  He was an orphan.  He had been an older brother.  He had been a Captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.  He was the commanding officer at JR Solutions.

He was completely, and utterly, alone in this world.

The men and women under his command now walked around eggshells around him, had done so ever since that goddamned video had come into Ops, obliterating his world around him and hardening him into the shell of a man he’d once been.

Some days he didn’t know why he even bothered coming into work anymore.

Alone in his office, the day’s itinerary was posted on his blotter as if he truly cared about the requisitions meeting or the budget committee that would keep his firm in the black for the next quarter.  He heard the bustle of the bullpen, the comings and goings of everyone under his command, and he felt completely removed from it.

He didn’t care.

He had a job to do, Killian would have torn a strip off him if he thought for a second that Liam was neglecting the other missions so that he could perfect the details of his funeral.  But it didn’t matter.  Details were all Liam could focus on without falling apart, so this last way to honor Killian would have to serve.

Liam kept a tight rein of control on the emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface again, images dancing in his memories of Killian at his first day of primary school, Killian on the rugby pitch, Killian sitting on the side of their bathtub with a black eye and a fierce glare as Liam reminded him - again - that fighting wouldn’t solve anything.

Killian as a gangly teenager, balancing on the balls of his feet and learning to box under Liam’s careful tutelage.  Killian in his Navy uniform, bright faced and proud to be following older brother’s lead.

Killian after Somalia.

Killian as he healed in Boston.

Killian on his knees in that hellhole in God-knew-where, bloody and-

No!

Liam clamped down on the memories, unwilling to fall back into the last moments of Killian’s life here at work.  He didn’t need the video to relive his little brother’s last moments, but he’d go home tonight and play it again, anyw-

The office outside his door was silent save for hushed whispers.  What was going on?  He had just stood up to go and see, thankful for the distraction, when his door creaked open painstakingly slowly.

Who the bloody hell dared to enter his office without knoc-

Liam’s breath caught in his chest.  He was hallucinating.  It was the only explanation.  He’d been daydreaming about the past, allowed his memories to wander down that path, and had snapped.

There was no way that his lit-

“Liam?”  Killian asked in a hesitant whisper, as if he, too, weren’t sure how real this was.

Killian.

Killian.  There.  Just there.  Alive and standing in his doorway.  Alive.

Alive!

Liam couldn’t move.  Rooted to the spot at the side of his desk, one hand clenching against the wooden top - to keep him from flying off the handle or grounded in reality, he wasn’t sure - Liam couldn’t move.

His little brother was standing in - leaning against, rather - the doorway and he was, quite literally, a bloody mess.  Liam’s eyes tracked immediately up to the badly healed gash at his hairline, the sound of the gunshot that had caused it echoing in his ears.  There were bags and dark bruises under Killian’s eyes, a hitch in his stance that Liam was well accustomed to equating with his brother hiding injuries.  His clothes were ill-fitting and rumpled, days of wear out of them.  One arm wrapped tightly around his ribs, the other still holding onto the door handle as if it were a lifeline.

None of it mattered one bloody bit, not when Killian was standing mere feet away from him.

“Liam?” his brother asked again, biting back a grunt when he finally, finally, took a few steps forward, hand outstretched as if he could summon his older brother to his side.

Liam Jones had been many things in his life, but he’d never been able to ignore his baby brother’s pleas.  He stepped forward, begging silently for this to be real, for this to be true, not some cruel trick or dream - nightmare - where his brother was going to be ripped from him as soon as he tried to touch-

Killian sank to his knees, a little cry of pain the only warning.

No.

No!

Liam raced the last few steps around the desk, skidding to his knees and catching his little brother in his arms before he could fall prostrate to the floor.

No!

But it was real.  Liam didn’t wake up, he didn’t startle himself out of the hallucination, he didn’t lose his brother to the mists of daydreams.  Killian was real and solid in his arms, his head lolling to Liam’s shoulder with a cheeky little grin of relief before his eyes rolled back into his head and he surrendered his strength.

God, Liam had never been so afraid in his- yes, he had.  All those weeks ago when he’d seen the video and realized what was going to happen as soon as Killian had over the airwaves.  But this was a damn close second.

His little brother had always been small, lanky and nearly scrawny, but he felt tiny in Liam’s arms.  Most of his muscle tone was gone, weeks of starvation and torture tearing it away from him.  He was radiating heat, every inch of skin that Liam could reach was burning with fever.

He was terrifyingly and startlingly limp, passed out in Liam’s embrace.

“Help!” he screamed, uncaring if his subordinates heard the emotion in his voice, needing them to hear the emotion in his voice.  “HELP!”

He pulled Killian further into his arms, backing them both up until he leaned back against his desk and sat there, helpless.  He had Killian.  He could fix this, now.

“Killian,” he nearly wailed when his brother didn’t respond.

Will Scarlet stuck his head around the door.  “We already called a medic when we saw him, boss.  Should be here any minute.”

Liam barely managed a nod, cuddling his little brother closer to keep him off the cold floor.

And then hands were tearing his from his brother, pulling him away from Killian, trying to get him to stand and leave Killian’s side.

He couldn’t.  Goddamn it, didn’t they see that?  He was Killian’s older brother and he needed to…

No.  He wasn’t what his brother needed right now.  That was for later, when Whale put Killian back together and sent him home for Liam to heal him.

But, right now, Liam didn’t have antibiotics and pain meds.  He didn’t have warm blankets and antiseptic.  He didn’t have the keys to the bloody ambulance so he could drive Killian to the hospital himself.

He had to leave his brother to the capable hands of the medics trying to save his life.

God, I’m bloody well going to kill him this time, he thought in exasperation, moving his brother to the floor and kneeling as far out of the way as he could while still holding Killian’s hand.

His brother would be all right now.

And then Liam was going to shackle him to the goddamned bed and then a goddamned desk until they were both old enough to retire.

(Well, maybe not.  But still.)

[btspremiumtrash]

ʝυѕт уσυ ➵ ϼ.ϳɱ (03)

(credit to original gif creator)

⇓ Ship: Jimin x Reader

⇓ Genre: Assassins! AU, College! AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst-y

⇓ Summary: What began as you trying to top Park Jimin in becoming the number one assassin in your guild spiraled into an all-out war. All for your hand.

⇓ Word ct.: 8.3k

⇓ Warnings: Rape, mentions of blood

Previous Chapter⇔Next chapter

Masterlist

“It honestly infuriates me with the number of god-awful papers I had to sit and grade.” Kim Seokjin was in a fit. For one, he had to come to work today. Second, there’s a teacher’s assembly after school meaning not only does he have to spend more time here, but he also has to see Min Yoongi. But the final nail in the coffin was not being able to have his morning coffee. And now he has to deal with incompetent children who can’t seem to write a good paper.

He looked to the class as he took out the stack of papers from his bag. Sighing, he started his lecture once more. “I mean for Christ’s sake, I gave you possibly the easiest assignment in your goddamn lives and you all completely fucked it all up. How the hell did you all manage to do that, I’ll never know. But do know that we will be doing an equally heavily graded assignment today. And since I’m so nice, you all are going to be working in groups of three. So, while I’m handing back your papers, partner. Oh, and: if you don’t receive your paper, I threw it away for you. You’re welcome.”

You felt your feet get cold when he mentioned he threw some out. Were they really that bad? You could only imagine what grade yours got with how bad he made those papers sound. You’d be lucky to get it back. Granted, you did spend a decent amount of time working on it. The assignment was as simple as Seokjin claims in your mind: find out what satirical strategies are used when advertising a product and make an essay discussing them. Unless people had better things to do like go party or get down and dirty, you saw no difficulty with the assignment. So, all you could do was pray that you got a good grade.

With Namjoon immediately partnering up with you and a shy tap on your shoulder from Jeongguk asking to join, you had made your group of three. Seokjin handed each of you your papers back and oh my goodness you could not believe your eyes. 85%. The highest in the class as Seokjin wrote it. Your eyes practically lit up with how happy you were. Namjoon got 76% and Jeongguk got 73%.

“He does still have a soft spot for me,” Jeongguk mumbled to himself. He spoke a little louder to grab both yours and Namjoon’s attention. “I swear to God I bullshitted this entire paper and I still got a decent grade. Maybe English isn’t that bad after all.”

You chuckled while Namjoon rolled his eyes. “Or it could be because you blew up my phone asking me ‘Hyung, what does this mean?’ literally every five seconds the night it was due.”

Jeongguk pouted. “Whatever. I still passed.”

Namjoon didn’t wish to push the boy further so he stopped responding. As much as he wanted to add “because of me”, he knew he was going to get into an argument that he didn’t want to get into. Besides, Jeongguk looked cute when he pouted.

After Seokjin finished passing out the papers, he began explaining what the rest of the class will be doing for the remainder of the period. “Now, you all are in groups because of the assignment I’m about to give you. I want you and your partners to make one paper combining one method of advertisement from everyone. If you don’t have your paper, feel free to use your phone to look up one. You better not slack off on this assignment or else you’ll be sent to the principal’s office. Or better yet, you’ll be staying here after school with me and grading your own papers. How does that sound?”

When no one responded, Seokjin smirked. “That’s what I thought. Get to work. This is due at the end of class.”

And with that, you and the boys went to work. They both decided that since your handwriting was better than theirs that you would be the main writer. Namjoon was in charge of telling you what to write while Jeongguk looked for information on both the Internet as well as the papers.

You three finish the paper with time to spare. And so, your mind dawned on the shocking news you were told last night by Hoseok and Jeongguk.

Hoseok’s voice echoed throughout your head. “I’m guessing you never really knew this but Jimin, along with many others such as me and Ggukie including that fella on your lap, all liked you.”

The scene replays itself.

“You said seven of you. Who were the other three?”

Jeongguk looked in his rearview mirror to see your reaction as he answered “Namjoon, Yoongi, and Seokjin.”

“Namjoon.” You prompted for Namjoon along with Jeongguk to turn their attention to you. “Did you use to like me?”

Namjoon’s eyes shifted to Jeongguk who immediately looked away from his elder’s gaze. Exhaling, he nodded. “I got over it for Jimin’s sake. We all did. If you saw how much he wanted you then I bet, you’d do the same. He was willing to fight literally anyone who got in the way of him and you hitting it off. Unfortunately, he was experiencing some trauma from a terrible accident with his family. He pushed everyone, especially me, away from him.”

That would explain why Jimin never brought up the fact that he was friends with Namjoon. But what about this event with his family? Did they leave him? The picture from the room you accidentally walked in on in Jimin’s mansion left a different generalization in your mind. You inferred that they were happy to have him as a son. They were all happy to be a family.

“So, what happened to his family?”

Namjoon hesitated to tell you at first but eventually gave in. “They died. When he was only sixteen years old, Jimin lost his entire family to an assassination clan that is now extinct called the Purple Lilies.”

The Purple Lilies. That name rung a bell in your head as that was the same guild that Namjoon’s sister was in. Maybe that was why Jimin never brought up the fact that he and Namjoon were once close friends. His sister probably was involved in the death of Jimin’s family, making Jimin hate only Namjoon to this day. Even though he isolated himself from the boys at first, once he finally got over it he tried to reconnect with everyone else. Except for Namjoon. Never Namjoon.

Namjoon didn’t seem to mind. On the outside that is. On the inside, the guilt of knowing his sister was responsible for killing Jimin’s family still haunts him even now. If only he knew why his sister came late sometimes when dinner already started. Why she would try and change the subject whenever he or his parents asked where she was all that time of being out. He was so blind, and it cost him.

He thought that one day Jimin would ask to be friends again. But that day never came. Yet he never lost hope. He knows Jimin. He knows he’ll come to his senses. Maybe you were the key to that door being unlocked. Just maybe.

“So, who’s funeral are we going to? Why did you guys look all somber?” A familiar voice greeted you all as Hoseok took his seat at the table the three of you were sitting around.

It was silent for a little bit until Jeongguk began explaining the situation. “(Y/n) here just got the gritty details about Jimin’s family. I’m honestly surprised she never knew until just now with the amount of time hyung and her hang around.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes. “It never came to mind. Besides, how am I supposed to slip ‘Oh yeah, the love of your life’s family kinda died and it’s my sister’s fault. You know the one that I told you also died’ into a casual conversation?”

“Joonie, you’ve slipped worse things into conversations,” you snickered. “You told me about your first time with a girl when the conversation originally started off with ‘Is water wet?’.”

“I—"

But before Namjoon had a chance to explain himself, the two boys were laughing like crazy. Jeongguk throwing his head back in a fit of laughter and Hoseok practically threw himself at you. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the flushed expression Namjoon had when you told Jeongguk and Hoseok about the odd talks you two have. Eventually, you whispered into Namjoon’s ear while the two were still cackling that you were sorry. But of course, not without giggling a bit to yourself.

Once they were done busting their lungs, they calmed down. Hoseok, still out of breath but not enough to speak, said, “That. Has got to be the funniest shit I’ve heard all day and the day hasn’t even started yet. Nothing could top that.”

Jeongguk didn’t speak until he was fully calm, but even then, he still let out some chuckles here and there. He looked directly at Namjoon who looked defeated and tired. “And you said I talk about weird things. What’s weird is that you never told us about your first time and we’ve known you longer.”

As much as Namjoon wanted to say anything, he just couldn’t. And so you said something instead. “Oh come on now guys. Go easy on him.”

Hoseok tsked at your attempt to cover for your best friend. “Tch. For all you know, he may still have feelings for you. Maybe that’s why—”

“That’s enough out of you today,” Namjoon spoke with daggers for eyes as he shot Hoseok a look that meant if he disobeyed then he would be met with dire consequences. Hoseok may be older than him, but it nevertheless shut Hoseok up. He just told you that none of them possess the same feelings that each of them once had for you. So, having Hoseok attempting to say otherwise was Namjoon’s last straw.

Just then, Seokjin called out to the class to turn in their papers since the bell was set to ring in about two minutes. Namjoon and you both decided to have the little one do the task. Your phone buzzed with a notification from Taehyung to meet him and the rest of the group in Yoongi’s classroom to discuss the plan of action for tonight. Yoongi wanted to supervise the plan just in case of any errors.

Namjoon also got a text. But from Rosé.

[12:44 pm] Thorn: You need to report to Lust Gardens

He held his groan of annoyance to himself as he typed back to her.

[12:44 pm] Isn’t that where you were assigned to? Why do I have to report there now?

Rosé read it and responded immediately.

[12:45 pm] Thorn: Boss’ orders. He’s suspicious of Yoongi’s guild making a move on a secret hideout that maybe Jeongyeon told him about before she was executed and he wanted me and a couple of other Tops to guard it

Did Seokjin really want Rosé to handle the situation or was she playing with his emotions? Did he not trust Namjoon enough to kill (Y/n) if she was there? He didn’t want to believe Rosé. But he might just have to.

And so as the bell rang for dismissal, Namjoon opted to leave Roseanne on read, not wanting to further anger himself. He wanted an explanation for this sudden decision. Straight from the boss. While everyone else left, he stayed afterward to talk to Seokjin.

“Something you want, Namjoon?” Seokjin asked without looking up from the papers he’s forced to grade yet again.

“Did you seriously assign me to do Rosé job tonight?”

Seokjin nodded slowly. “Problem?”

Namjoon scoffed at his superior. “Uh, hell yeah there’s a problem. Why did I, your top assassin, not get that mission instead of your third-ranked one?”

The boss chuckled and finally looked up to face Namjoon. “Because unlike my wonderful top assassin, my third-ranked assassin doesn’t know who (Y/n) is. Meaning, emotions won’t cloud her judgment if she were to be at the hideout later tonight. Rank has nothing to do with it, sweetheart.”

Namjoon was taken aback. His ears must be playing tricks with him. But why go through such lengths? No, Roseanne’s lies were true after all. Seokjin’s words were final. Namjoon would have to deal with it and report to the strip club this evening instead of guarding the secret hideout. With a heavy sigh and a “Yes sir” of compliance from Namjoon, he left to continue the rest of the day. He only hoped that (Y/n) didn’t show up. He doesn’t know what he’d do without her.

⭆

The day went on as normal. You and Jimin sat next to each other, listening to Mr. Min lecture the class about all the different phobias that exist. Jimin was surprisingly tamed today than he was two days ago. While his hand was still placed on your thigh, he never once made a move to do anything other than that. How cute. You could most definitely get used to this.

After class, Yoongi held the two of you over to wait for Taehyung and Lisa to arrive. Sure enough, they came. Taehyung set his Gucci shoulder bag beside Yoongi’s desk to take out a drawing and spread it out on the table.

While you and the boys were used to Taehyung using his artistic side to draw maps for missions, Lisa was stunned. “You drew this Taehyung?”

“I draw all the maps we use for missions sweetheart.” He gave a playful wink to Lisa and you could’ve sworn you heard her gasp. You rolled your eyes as Taehyung continued to talk. “Anyways, although this is based on what Jeongyeon said, I added a few more things that I thought she was missing like patrols and such. With that being said, I came up with a lot of different scenarios for tonight’s event.”

Yoongi raised an eye at that statement. “Oh? Mind sharing one?”

Taehyung grinned. “Not at all. This one is my personal favorite. It’s called: Let’s Get Everyone Killed. Got a nice ring to it doesn’t it boss? Basically, we walk up to the front of the gate, unarmed of course, and they just take us out. Boom.”

Jimin purposely bumped his elbow into Taehyung’s. “Come on, Tae. Be serious.”

“Oh wait. You were being serious?”

You took it upon yourself to pluck Taehyung’s forehead and he retracted while whining. You knew he hated that but you only did it when he was being a little too sarcastic. This was one of those times. “I don’t know about you Taehyung, but I actually wanna live through this. So unless you want me to do way worse than pluck you, get serious and give us an actual plan.”

Taehyung huffed. “Ugh, fine. The “Safest Way Possible” strategy is as follows: Two teams of two will come from each side, take out any guards posted in these areas. Don’t set off any alarms so watch your step for tripwires. If there is an entrance in the back, we take that one. Otherwise, we rendezvous at the back and take out any remaining assassins left at the front. I can make a lock pick if needed. If any of the assassins we kill have a key of any sort, take it. Once we’re inside, remain stealthy. We don’t know much about the inside. If there is anything of value such as weaponry, take that as well. We aren’t taking any hostages so kill without hesitation. There. Was that better?”

“Way better.” Yoongi clapped his hand on Taehyung’s shoulder in content with his new plan. He then turned his attention to the rest of you. “Well then. You all have your orders. I expect them to be carried out as discussed.”

You all nodded. You spoke for your team as you said, “We won’t let you down, sir.”

“Wasn’t counting on it.”

The team left the classroom, leaving Min Yoongi to his thoughts. He had to attend this stupid teacher’s meeting today and he wasn’t too particularly thrilled to have to see Seokjin’s face. What he would do just to not see that disgusted look on his face. He hated that Seokjin hated him. He wanted things to go back to how they were before. Before Yoongi killed Seokjin’s mother.

Yoongi was an orphan. Abandoned by his parents at the tender age of six. Alone, on the unforgiving streets of Seoul. That was until Kim Seokjin stumbled across him. Seokjin was walking down and noticed the little boy. He ran up to him and immediately the boy was startled. No one ever noticed him. Unless they accidentally stepped on him in which case they would blame it on the kid instead of themselves. Seokjin reached out his hand to the young boy and smiled. “You wanna come home with us?”

Wait. Was he being nice? To me? Yoongi didn’t respond at first nor did he take Seokjin’s hand. That was until Seokjin’s parents caught up to their son to see what he found. They looked at Yoongi, then at each other, then to their son. His father gave a half-smile as he said jokingly, “You want another brother huh?”

Seokjin inclined his head. He put his two small hands together in a prayer-like manner as he pleaded. “Please please please.”

The father bent down and offered his hand to Yoongi who was still in shock at the fact that strangers are giving him a chance to come home with them. He smiled at him. “Don’t worry. We promise that we’ll take care of you. Come home with us. We’ll be your new family.”

If only that promise were true.

From then on, Yoongi became part of the Kim name. However, he never changed his surname because both he and the Kim family agreed that “Kim Yoongi” just didn’t fit. But still, Yoongi was Seokjin’s little brother and best friend. And he loved every second of it. They would play video games together. He introduced Yoongi to the rest of the boys and they quickly became good friends. Then he found (Y/n). He kept his distance but loved her from afar. But as soon as he heard that Jimin had a larger-than-life crush on her, he ceased his own crush on (Y/n) to not compete. Nowadays, he treats her more like a little sister.

At least it started out that way. While Seokjin, his older brother, and his father might’ve seen Yoongi as family, Seokjin’s mother had other ideas. She thought of Yoongi as nothing but a play toy. Not once did she ever call Yoongi her son. Yoongi wasn’t her flesh and blood. Therefore he was hers for the taking. And take she did. She was Yoongi’s first time.

After six years of living with them, Seokjin’s mother once called Yoongi to her room. Seokjin’s father was working late that night and wasn’t coming home until three in the morning. Perfect.

Yoongi asked Seokjin’s mother, “You called me?”

“Yes dear. I most certainly did. You’ve been a bad boy you know.”

He cocked his head to the side in confusion, not knowing why he was in trouble. “Did I do something wrong?”

Seokjin’s mother beckoned him to come closer to her, which he did with no hesitation, not wanting to anger her further than she appeared. Once he was close enough, she slipped her hand into Yoongi’s basketball shorts that he wore to bed, teasing his member to life. “You act like you’re really part of this family. You should know your place little one. I’ll be happy to teach you.”

Yoongi bit his lip to suppress his moan. Why was his mother treating him like this? He didn’t know what was going on or why his member was getting harder and harder from her touching it. He wanted to tell her to stop, but his body didn’t allow him to. Nor did his conscious deem it a good idea. So he let her continue.

She tugged on his dick, pulling it out of his shorts. Only then did she halt her movements. “I didn’t hear you say ‘Yes ma’am’.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Smack!

A slap landed on Yoongi’s face which caused the sound to be heard outside the room. Thankfully, Seokjin and his brother were sleeping soundly on the other side of the mansion they lived in. They were known to be heavy sleepers.

“You’re my toy. Nothing more. You’re not my son. You’ll never be my son. Understand?”

Yoongi held his tears in as he nodded. But that only landed him another smack across the other side of his cheek. That was sure to leave a bruise in the morning. A sly smirk appeared on her face. Did she think this was funny? What kind of sick amusement is this? Was torture some kind of enjoyment to her? “I need to hear you say it.”

Once again, Yoongi replied, choking on his own tears with his head held down in shame. “Yes, ma’am.”

He could hear her chuckle as she gestured for Yoongi to join her on the same bed that she and her husband share. She told him to lay down and she rose to straddle him. Her weight was almost too much to handle, but he knew that if he complained that he would probably be met with a smack.

She teased herself on him. Yoongi’s eyes welled up with unshed tears as she finally sunk down onto his length, letting out a pleased sigh as she did so. He thought that he would be happier here. That they were his family. They promised him.

But all people do is lie.

Moving up and down his cock ever so slowly, he couldn’t bring himself to look at Seokjin’s mother. Not like this. She was actually enjoying this. Way more than she thought she would. While this was something that she could get used to every day, Yoongi wasn’t having it. No way. He would tell his father about—

“Don’t you dare tell my husband about this, Yoongi. Or so help me I’ll punish you even worse than this.”

Worse than this? Nothing could possibly top getting raped by who he once thought was his mother. That image was soon replaced with what he opened his eyes to. A woman who was fucking herself using her toy to get off.

She quickened her movements of bouncing on Yoongi, signaling that she was close. “O-oh my God Yoongi! I’m gonna c-cum! Fuck!”

He didn’t realize it himself but he too was on the verge of coming undone. But once he felt her lose herself, he followed suit. It was pure bliss. For Seokjin’s mother. It was pure hell for Yoongi.

She collapsed onto Yoongi, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Good toy. Very good toy.” Yoongi laid there and fell asleep, too worn out to even move. Seokjin’s mother cleaned herself up and allowed for Yoongi to stay with her.

The next morning, when Yoongi left the bedroom, Seokjin caught him in the hallway. He chuckled at his younger brother. “Bad dream?”

Yoongi didn’t want to tell him why he was really there, so he went along with Seokjin’s conclusion. “Yeah…”

It was then that he noticed the bruises on Yoongi’s face. He touched them and Yoongi hissed slightly. “Where did these come from?”

“Umm…” Yoongi struggled to find an excuse believable for Seokjin to take. Thankfully, Seokjin came up with one.

“Were the boys and I playing a little too rough with you yesterday?”

Yoongi smiled slightly. “Yeah. Jimin just doesn’t know when to quit.”

Seokjin playfully rolled his eyes. “Next time just ask him. He meant no harm, trust me.”

“I know. I know…”

“Good.” Seokjin noticed that Yoongi was a little more quiet than usual. So he gave a warm-hearted smile. “Hey, is something up?”

Yoongi stuttered over his words. “W-what? No… Of course not. W-why would there be something wrong.”

The smile that was on Seokjin’s face went away and was replaced with a stern one. “You know Yoongi, you can tell me anything. I’m your brother. We’re family. All of us. Remember?”

Oh, he remembers. He also remembers Seokjin’s mother saying the exact opposite only a few hours ago. So it pained him to lie, but in his mind, he was doing Seokjin a favor in not ruining the image that he had on his own mother. “I do remember, hyung. I do. Believe me, there’s nothing wrong. I’d tell you otherwise.”

He pulled Yoongi into a tight hug. Yoongi rested his head on Seokjin’s shoulder. Yoongi never knew he needed this but he never wanted to let go. Unfortunately, Seokjin did and that meant Yoongi did as well. “Now let’s get ready for school. And this time we won’t play so rough today. Sound good?”

“That’s fine by me.”

Months passed since Yoongi’s virginity was forcefully taken away. But now Seokjin’s mother wanted more. When she called Yoongi to her room, he dreaded every step he took. He never wanted a repeat of what happened on that day. But luck was never kind to him in his early days.

This time, instead of riding herself on him, she opted to give him a blowjob. “For being a good toy and not telling my family what we did,” is what she told him.

If Yoongi didn’t have to speak, then that’s exactly what he did. He didn’t dare let a single sound leave his lips. No matter how tempting her mouth on his throbbing member felt. Because if he did, she would think he liked it. Meaning she would want to please him more and that was not on Yoongi’s agenda.

But he should’ve known Seokjin’s mother wouldn’t have let that slide. She wanted to know how good she was doing from her toy. She urged him to speak up. “Am I doing well for you my precious toy?”

He threw his head back, a moan threatening to leave his throat but he suppressed it and answered her. “Y-Yes ma’am.”

The woman licked a long stride on his underside and that tipped him over the edge. He groaned loudly and she was pleased with this. She smirked. “You liked that very much didn’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” There was no point in hiding it. If she wanted to make Yoongi speak then she was going to get him to speak.

Thanks to that little stunt she pulled, Yoongi couldn’t contain himself any longer. He mistakenly grabbed her hair to urge her further, to which she smacked painfully away and left another bruise on Yoongi’s fair skin. “I know you’re close but hands to yourself, toy.”

Once Yoongi did finish inside her mouth, she didn’t let a single drop go to waste. Yoongi, visibly disgusted by this wretched woman’s acts, got his basketball shorts on and ran back to his room. He bumped into Seokjin’s father on the way there.

Seokjin’s father grinned at his son but noticed how scared he looked and knelt down to face him eye-to-eye. “What’s wrong son?”

Sadly, Seokjin’s father was nothing like Seokjin. He doesn’t make his own conclusion for Yoongi to agree with. Yoongi was backed into a corner. His father scanned him up and down. Although he didn’t speak, he noticed Yoongi’s face had small bruises. Seokjin told him when he asked that he and the boys were playing too harsh. But then he looked at Yoongi’s hand. The one that Seokjin’s mother slapped not too long ago. It was red.

“Who did this to you?”

Still, Yoongi was left speechless. He couldn’t think of anything. It was one thing to lie to Seokjin. But to his father too? That was too much for Yoongi to handle.

Looking back in the direction of the mansion, the only noted room that he could’ve come out of was he bedroom. But why would he be in there? Yoongi usually never left his room. Too busy working on beats and writing lyrics to come out of there only when it’s time to eat. His room had a bathroom in it already so he didn’t come out for that reason.

“Did Mom do this to you?”

Yoongi nodded slowly, too afraid to lift his head up. He knew he would be punished for telling his father about what Yoongi and she did together. But he just couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe he could be saved from this hell. How he hoped so.

Seokjin father brought him in for a hug. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. You go to your room and get your rest alright?”

Yoongi walked down to his room while Seokjin’s father was riled up beyond limits. He opened the door to see his wife reading a book, awaiting his return. She didn’t look up as she said, “Good evening my love. How was—.”

“You think that it’s okay to put your hands on our child like that?”

She put her book down, looking startled at her husband. “Whatever do you mean?”

He squinted his eyes at her. He hated when she acted like she did nothing wrong. Usually, he would dismiss the situation. But this was going too far. “You smacked Yoongi’s hand. I saw the handprint. Why did you do it?”

She couldn’t dare tell him the real reason why so she opted for another decent reason instead. “He didn’t clean the dishes as I asked him to.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” He raised his voice at her, which caused her to visibly shrink into herself. “We have maids to do that shit. Not our own son.”

“I don’t like how they do it so.”

“So complain to them. But don’t take it out on Yoongi.”

She knew she wasn’t getting out of this one. She would have to punish Yoongi later down the line for the amount of shit she got herself into. She got up from her position on their shared bed and raised her hands up in defeat. “You know what? I’m not going to argue with you. Not this late at night when the kids are trying to sleep. I’m going to sleep in one of the guest rooms tonight. Good night.”

And with that, she left the room. But not to go sleep in the guest room down the hall. Oh no. She needed to punish Yoongi for what she made her do. She was going to leave more bruises. But this time, on places not visible to the naked eyes. On his stomach. His back. His upper thighs. She was going to make sure she was never humiliated like that to her husband again.

She opened Yoongi’s door to find him still up. Closing the door, she made her way over to the boy. She whispered to him, “You just got me kicked out of my own room. So you know what I’m going to do. I’m going to punish you, toy. However long. However painful. Until you learn your lesson. And you are not to say a word to any soul. Have I made myself clear?”

Yoongi winced at the pain that was soon to come as he whispered back those two words of understanding. “Yes, ma’am.”

For months, Yoongi was abused like this. For months, Yoongi felt sore. Yet every time Seokjin asked about it, he would blame it on the sports or other activities they did the day before. But when his dad caught him, he would argue further with his wife, only getting angrier and harsher with her wounds.

Six years. For six years of his life, he was beaten and bruised and raped. It wasn’t until he moved out in which he finally got the relief he so desperately needed. Seokjin and Yoongi both got accepted to the same college they now teach at. They both decided to get their own place near the campus and visit their parents during the holidays. At least Seokjin’s mother couldn’t hurt him anymore for days on end.

But while the two brothers were getting along, Seokjin’s parents weren’t. When the pair were sophomores in college, Seokjin’s father found someone else. Someone better. Someone prettier. Someone wealthier than his current wife. And he intended to marry her and take his three children with him. Unfortunately, Seokjin’s mother was having none of that. While she allowed for Seokjin’s older brother to be sent away, she refused to give up Seokjin or Yoongi. So on that same day that Jimin lost his parents when Seokjin and Yoongi went back home to their shared mansion afterward to get a text message from their mother, they were devastated as they too lost their parents. Seokjin felt it the most. Whenever he went to class there was this looming cloud of sadness. Yoongi never saw him like that before. Usually, Seokjin was the life of the party. Now it looked like he wasn’t even alive.

What Seokjin’s mother said to Seokjin and Yoongi was not was Seokjin’s father said to her. He tried to keep in contact with his sons. Time and time again he would attempt to call them, but Seokjin’s mother blocked his number on both of their phones, writing it off as a spam number. Seokjin felt betrayed. Why wouldn’t his own father try and keep in touch with him? He hated his father. The exact emotion that Seokjin’s mother wanted him to feel. But Yoongi was different. He knew better that there was an ulterior motif in Seokjin’s mother’s lies. And he intended to get to the bottom of it.

It was Winter Break for students. The brothers decided to pay their mother a visit. Yoongi and Seokjin were supposed to drive to their old mansion together, but Seokjin had a few errands to run, so he was going to be running a little later and suggested for Yoongi to go there without him. Yoongi didn’t want to be with his mother alone. Even after all these, he knew that she could hold a grudge. But he didn’t argue with Seokjin. He hopped in his red LaFerrari Spider and drove his way down that road he was always anxious about returning to. Once he got there, he made his entrance known and Seokjin’s mother greeted him at the door.

“Hello, Yoongi. Where’s my son?”

He wanted to push her buttons and say he’s standing right in front of her. But he bit his tongue on that one. Instead, going for the more civil response. “He’ll be here in a few. He’s finishing up a project or something for school.”

“Hmm…” Her eyes trailed down to his crotch, then back up to meet his. “So we could have some fun while he’s gone.”

“I’d rather not.”

Seokjin’s mother wasn’t used to getting rejected by her toy. He must’ve grown some huge balls to deny himself to her. Regardless, she respected his decision. For now. “Fine. Go take a seat in the living room. Dinner is almost ready.” That left a smirk on Yoongi’s face. His confidence levels were through the roof. And it’s all thanks to the Black Carnations.

While in college, Yoongi found a way to relieve his anger for his mother for doing such unspeakable acts to him as a child. The Black Carnations. He told Seokjin this and he was all for it, asking to even join their ranks. Yoongi didn’t think that Seokjin could hold his own and so Seokjin agreed with him that he shouldn’t join. Being part of the Black Carnations back then wasn’t a big deal as it was nowadays. The White Muscari, a guild he only knew because he remembered Jeongguk and Hoseok being dragged into their mess at such an early age, was the number one guild. But rank didn’t mean much to him. He was a cold and ruthless assassin. He didn’t discriminate when it came to kills. That shaped him to be the youngest leader of a guild in the history of assassination clans. But that wasn’t enough for him. Try though he might, they weren’t the real thing. He wanted her dead.

She finally gave Yoongi some breathing room, strutting her way back to the kitchen to finish the meal. But Yoongi didn’t listen to her. He followed her into the large kitchen to ask her some questions that Seokjin wouldn’t dare ask because he’s too gullible. Leaning on the island counter, he asked her, “So what really happened between Dad and you? Was it my fault you two broke up? Did he finally realize what a cunt you were?”

He had no remorse on the words that left his mouth. She never treated him like a human so why should he? Because he’s a better person? They were way past that line to turn back now.

The woman did not answer his questions, but Yoongi could tell that he was getting under her skin and so he prompted further. “You know damn well he’s been making an effort every day since he left your worthless ass to call me and my brother. But you can’t handle the fact that if Seokjin knew what kind of sick monster you were and how you treated me. Like I wasn’t even worth the dirt you walked on. Like I was your play toy. He’d leave your ass in a heartbeat. Just. Like. Dad.”

Each sentence felt like knives were being etched into her back. She couldn’t take it anymore and threw a knife at Yoongi out of rage, grazing his shoulder as a result. That was all he needed to make this look like it was self-defense if things got hairy. Grabbing another knife and pointing it at Yoongi she exclaimed. “Since when do you talk to me like that you wretched child?! I gave you a home to stay in! I gave you food on your plate and I gave my son away to you!”

“Wrong.” He moved the knife from his face using his index finger to give his mother a deadly glance. “My father took me in. Your husband gave me food and two brothers that love me and mean the world to give. What you gave me were hatred and pain. And I’m thankful for that. So very thankful. Because it makes this next part so very worth it.”

In one swift motion, he grabbed the woman’s forearm and slit her throat using her own weapon of choice. Her blood spewed onto Yoongi’s clothing. He cursed himself for not realizing that he would get bloody from that type of execution. No matter. He had some spare clothes here. Granted, they were outdated and probably just a bit too small for him, he hasn’t grown tremendously so he could make it work. But how was going to explain the body?

Well, there was no need for that. Seokjin had seen it all. Before Yoongi could think of a plan, Seokjin walked into the house, announcing his presence ever so loudly, thinking that his brother and mother would greet him welcomingly. When he heard nothing, Seokjin continued from the living room to the kitchen. Where he found Yoongi and his beloved mother with a knife lodged in her trachea.

Seokjin saw red. “You—.”

Yoongi quickly let go of the mother’s hand, which caused her to fall to the floor lifelessly. He put his hands up in surrender. “Seokjin this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh really?” Seokjin walked further and further towards Yoongi, to which Yoongi kept backing up only to be stuck on the island counter. Seokjin grabbed Yoongi’s bloodied up shirt. “Because it looks like you killed my fucking mother.”

“Hyung, please. Hear me out—.”

Seokjin tightened his grip, making Yoongi keep whatever breath he had left to speak to himself. “You’re lucky I don’t turn you into fucking police for this shit. But I’m a good guy. And I’m feeling pretty generous for the holiday season.”

He let go of his grip, but Yoongi was too shook to move anywhere. Seokjin glanced to meet his mother’s eyes, then looked back at Yoongi with a cold expression. His voice was dark. “Get out of here, Yoongi. Get the hell out of here and don’t dare even think about coming back. I don’t ever wanna see you again.”

Yoongi stood there for a moment, looking into his brother’s eyes to see if the real Seokjin was in there, but he couldn’t, and so he did what he said, too afraid to explain the meaning of the situation. This Seokjin was nothing like the one that helped him on the street that day. But this Seokjin became the new Kim Seokjin. The one who went to the Red Roses the next day because Yoongi told him that they were one of their biggest rivals. And all Seokjin wanted was to run Min Yoongi to the fucking ground. That same Kim Seokjin became the new leader in record time, being the second youngest leader in all assassination clan history.

That same Kim Seokjin was sitting on the opposite side of the meeting table during the teacher’s assembly who didn’t dare pass a glance to his side. But he knew he wasn’t listening to Principal Hwasa talk either. While he may look attentive, he knew Seokjin. He knew that he was thinking about other things.

Despite not ever seeing each other again, Seokjin didn’t mind that when he found a job as a teacher at the exact same college he and Yoongi went to. Seokjin could care less about how he’s getting his money. Although he knew the other alternative of where he got his pay. The Nightcrawlers. It was owned by the former leader of the Black Carnations and Yoongi invited Seokjin there all the time for drinks and parties. When the leader gave Yoongi his title, he also gave him ownership of the business. Then Seokjin and he could get drinks on the house. Those were the good times.

But the excuse of caring less was getting old to Seokjin. The real Seokjin knew why he didn’t mind Yoongi getting a job here. In fact, he was pretty glad to have a familiar face around. Nevertheless, the new Seokjin wasn’t letting the real one take charge anytime soon. The old one was weak and too caring. This one he favored because he could be cold and demeaning and nobody would bat an eye. Besides, this one actually had power. Kim Seokjin was never one to walk away from power.

The meeting finished as quickly as it started with no teacher having any issues to report. Or it could’ve been that if they did, the meeting would’ve been stretched out even further and everyone just wanted to go home. Yoongi wanted some coffee from the break room before he left. Seokjin had the same idea in mind.

When Seokjin saw Yoongi drinking his coffee, he scoffed. “You’re the last person I wanted to see. Especially after that damn meeting.”

“Pretty sure you don’t look at me. Especially during that ‘damn meeting’.”

Seokjin poured himself some tea and waited by the counter next to Yoongi for it to finish brewing. “How would you know?”

Yoongi gulped down his coffee, unmoved by Seokjin’s questioning. “Because ever since that day, you’ve changed. Enough to not even pass a glance in my general direction.”

“Well killing someone you loved can do that to a person.”

“Right.” Yoongi now looked at Seokjin with a deadpanned expression. “I thought you loved me, Jin. Didn’t I matter to you at all?”

“You did, Yoongi,” The real Seokjin was taking over. The new one couldn’t get ahold of answering him this time. “You really did—.”

Yoongi cut him off before he even had the chance to finish, his blood boiling. “Obviously not enough for me to even explain myself. You casted me out. I thought you were different. But you’re just like everyone else in this damn world. All you do is lie. We’re family. Remember? Family doesn’t leave one another.”

But before the real Seokjin could response, the new one took control once again. “Oh yeah? That’s really rich coming from you. I thought family doesn’t kill each other either. Yet here. We fucking. Are.”

“If you would just hear me out—.”

“No, I’ve heard all the bullshit I needed to today. From our boss. From my own damn assistant. So I am most certainly not hearing yours as well today. Not today. Not any fucking day.”

Just then Seokjin’s tea was finished brewing. He added some honey to it and was on his way to finishing his tea in his car, leaving Yoongi to himself. Yoongi then realized that his Seokjin was still in there. He still had hope. Because only the real Kim Seokjin would admit that he did care for his younger brother. If only Yoongi didn’t let his emotions get the better of him.

⭆

The night air was cold. You wished you would have brought a jacket. But Jimin warms you up by back hugging you as Taehyung went over the plan once more for clarification.

“On our way here I saw about four guards on each side,” Taehyung whispered. “I think we could either all take out one guard or we stick with the original two teams of two plan.”

“Whichever one is safer, Taehyung.” You whispered back. You hated when he changed the plan. He always wanted to take unnecessary risks even when there was a safer option.

He sighed quietly. “Fine. Two teams of two and we meet back here. Lisa, you’re with me love. Try not to get blood on that beautiful body of yours.”

Lisa blushed and followed Taehyung to the other side of the building. Jimin kept his laughter in. “He’s such a flirt.”

Rolling your eyes, you answered back quietly, “Tell me about it. You ready babe?”

He nodded and you both went to work. Emerging from your hiding spots, you made quick work of the guards, executing them before they even knew what hit them. The two of you really did make an excellent team. Jimin and you searched the assassins for any type of key but to no avail.

“Hopefully Taehyung and Lisa will have more luck doing this than we did,” Jimin said.

Getting up from searching the dead bodies you sighed. “Hopefully.”

You two met up with Lisa and Taehyung at the back of the building. Lisa found some type of key fortunately and so now you all had to move to the front. You all moved in a straight line to the front with Jimin in the front and you in the rear in case someone snuck up behind you. Jimin halted everyone from advancing further. He mouthed that there was only one person guarding it and he would take them out. You all agreed with that and allowed for Jimin to kill the assassin. Once the coast was clear, he whistled for you all to join him at the front.

Lisa pulled out the key from her pocket while Taehyung found another key in the guard Jimin killed and kept it to himself. Thankfully, the one Lisa had worked and she opened the door and walked inside carelessly without checking the floor to see if there were any traps like Taehyung warned.

As soon as she walked inside, she set off a pressure plate that caused a series of loud alarms to sound off. Angry, you grabbed Lisa from out of the place and yelled, “What the hell were you thinking! Did you not hear Taehyung when he said to be careful or were you too busy thinking about his dick?”

But before Lisa could answer her question, she was dragged back inside by two assassins in the blink of an eye and closed the door before you even had a chance to get her back while another appeared right behind the three of you with another two in view. You turned around slowly, fearing for your life.

“Well well well,” Roseanne started, crossing her arms and a devious smirk on her face. “What do we have here?”

Jimin secretly went for his knife behind him, but Taehyung saw him from the corner of his eye and shook his head. Taehyung wanted to use his words first before blood needed to be shed.

Clearing his throat and bowing his head, he started. “Well, you see—.”

“Save it,” Rosé cut him off. “You’re lucky I have orders not to kill any of you. But that doesn’t mean I can’t hold you hostage.” She looked to the other assassins who came with her and addressed them. “Yeri. Seulgi. Blindfold the boys and take them inside. If they try anything funny then you can injure them. Don’t kill them. Leave the girl. I’ll deal with her.”

You were confused. Why would she leave you alone? You killed about the same about of Red Roses assassins as Jimin has and certainly more than Taehyung yet they were the ones that were being taken. You wanted to fight back for them but your gut told you not to. Even Jimin knew not to put up a fight as he retracted his hand from his backside and held both hands up in surrender as he and Taehyung were taken inside.

Now you and Roseanne were all alone.

Rosé walked closer to you but you stood your ground. “So you were Namjoon’s high school crush. What low standards.”

You raised an eyebrow at her. “And what do his low standards have to do with me being spared?”

“Because God only knows what he would do if he knew anything bad happened to the lovely (Y/n).” Uncrossing her arms, she finally stopped walking towards you, only inches away from you. “And frankly, I can’t wait to see what he’s capable of.”

Before you could ask what she meant by that, you were knocked out cold.

[elliyoyo]

Home (Teen!George Washington/Trans!Reader)

Day 4 of @hamwriters writeathon (Worldwide Day)! This has no real location to it, but I’m growing up in a rather tight-knit area that is generally filled with religious people or extremely judgmental people, so I haven’t come out to many people, but most of my peers have been rather accepting. This is what I wish would happen when my family makes fun of me for who I am or talks shit about the LGBT+ community. Also ;) @boss-headcanons I know you were kinda excited for this and I just adore my platonic soulmate twin babe @gunsandfics so you get tagged, too.

This is based on a female-to-male transgender teenager, but you can change the pronouns and easily make it male-to-female.

Warnings: Extremely homophobic and transphobic language/word usage, swearing, mentions of the whole transgender bathroom thing, and me not knowing how to characterize Teen!GWash or his parents.

(Y/B/N) is your birth name and (Y/N) is your name that you prefer that people should respect and call you by or they will have to face my wrath :))))))))

Words: 2212 (I got carried away but this is really personal for me and I was almost scared to post this)

Coming home was always something you looked forward to. Not home, not where your biological family was, but home to George. You had known each other for most of your lives and even though you weren’t fond of each other as children, you grew closer as you grew older. Your house was just down the street from his, which turned out to be a blessing once you realized you were transgender. Whenever your parents would make remarks or make fun of you for how you dressed, you would tell them you were going out for a bit and just go to his house so you could cheer up and tell him what happened.

Today was an especially bad day. Your parents had been especially into the recent news today and saw that there was recently a case about transgender people using the bathroom of the gender they identify that had gone to the Supreme Court. You sat on the couch, taking small bites of your dinner, knowing exactly how your parents were going to act once the news had gone on to another subject.

“Tch, fucking perverted trannies need to just shut up and be thankful for what they’re given. They ask for more and more everyday, but what do they do? Bitch and moan that it isn’t enough. The fuck is up with those fags?” Your dad laughs and takes a sip of his drink, sitting down next to you, placing an arm around you. “Right, (Y/B/N)?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, dad,” you say, frowning into another bite, holding back your sigh. He knows how upset this shit make you and he knows that bringing it up will make it worse.

“You don’t seem too enthusiastic about shit talking those faggots. You wanna say that again?”

“Not really, no…” You give him a side glance and set down your fork, putting your hands in your lap.

“What, you one of them? Huh, (Y/B/N)? You a tranny, too?” He pushes you and laughs, looking over at your mom who is laughing as well.

“Maybe I am.”

There is a long silence before your dad starts to stand up.

“You’re fucking with me. You’re fuckin’ fucking with me. No way I raised a goddamn pussy like a tranny,” he snarls, looking at you with a fierce expression that makes you want to bolt out the front door. You start standing up as well, dashing off to your room instead of the front door, so you could grab a few small things, knowing full well you weren’t staying the night here to deal with their shit.

You grab a small bag and stuff in your phone charger, a lighter, a toothbrush, a few bobby pins, and a twenty dollar bill just in case, then run back downstairs. Your father catches your eye and opens his mouth, continuing his hateful rant from before, but you just go towards the door, trying to push away what he’s saying.

“You fuckin’ get back here! We gotta have a conversation about you thinking you’re some piece of shit fa-”

“Dad, seriously, shut up! You don’t know anything about what you’re talking about! You’re in absolutely no place to be shit talking my peers, my friends, my people, so just shut up!” With that, you slam the door behind you and walk towards the only place you really could go at this point- George’s house.

Ever since your parents had started getting really bad, like your dad was then, you started going over to his house, simply telling him and his parents that you would explain it all later when it was over with. His parents didn’t like the idea of you staying the night with their son, but they soon came to realize that you quite literally only had the energy to go to their house, plus George calmed you down well, so they weren’t complaining. Since about the third time you stayed over at random, they’d basically been like a second set (or rather, a better set) of parents to you. You’d eat meals with them and they’d congratulate you on your grades and they’d make sure to pick up snacks you like at the store so George can give them to you in school as a little pick-me-up. You practically never stop thanking them, even though you know they’ll probably act like your parents did once they eventually find out that you’re transgender.

You’re knocking on their door, mid-thought and glassy eyed, before you even know it, so used to the routine. The door opens mere moment later and George is looking back at you, wearing his usual outfit of a worn out t-shirt with some fuzzy pajama pants.

“(Y/N)! Come in, it’s gotta be cold outside! We were just cleaning up dinner, would you like anything?”

You can only bring yourself to respond with a shake of the head. He immediately sees that something is wrong. You’ve had this look in your eyes for far too long and he doesn’t like it. He likes his (Y/N). His (Y/N) with the dorky but captivating smile and eyes that shine brighter than all the stars combined when they talk about things they admire, like music or him.

“...My room?” You nod. “Mom! Pop!—sorry (Y/N),” he whispers to you before continuing, “—(Y/B/N) is over! We’re gonna go up to my room!”

“Alright Georgie, but no funny business okay?” His mom always joked about that, but knew nothing would happen. You could hear it clear as day in her voice. George laughs at her and convinces you to let him carry your bag even though it’s small. You walk up the stairs to his room and upon entering, you collapse onto the carpet, a blubbering mess. He sets your bag down and sits down next to you, wrapping an arm around you.

“Hey hey hey, what happened? Your parents again?” He rubs your shoulder supportively, pulling you to his chest.

“I came out,” you barely manage to say before you knot a hand in his shirt, letting out a sob.

“Wh- oh, (Y/N)... they didn’t touch you, did they? I swear to god, if they did I—” You quickly shake your head and start pulling at his shirt, telling him to stop. “Okay, good…” He goes silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry that they’re like that… You’re always welcome here, whenever they pull anything like that again.”

“Thank you s-so much, George… You have no idea how much it means to me.” You wrap your arms around him and begin crying on his shoulder. He doesn’t mind, he simply rubs your back and lets you cry it out, whispering to you that it’s okay. “We should tell my parents about this, though. They’re really confused about why you’ve been coming over so much lately.” He looks down at you, searching for approval in any form, but only finds more tears and what he can only guess is a held back scream of no.

“Please, no. No, they’ll never let me over here again because I’m… I… I’m me…” You look down at the ground, wiping your eyes with your sleeves.

“(Y/N), you know they’ll accept you. My parents aren’t like yours, they’ll still love you and support you just the same. They might have a few questions, but other than that, it’ll be like nothing changed.” You still shake your head, fearing that they would never let you near the house, or let you see George, again. You were more worried about not seeing George because he was your rock and whenever something happened, he was there and you couldn’t lose that.

“...Can I just stand there and you tell them? ‘Cause I don’t think I’ll really be able to talk. You know how I-”

“Lock up when you get nervous? Of course I do. Look, if I can order your lunches at school for you, I can come out to my parents for you, okay?” He presses a kiss to your temple and helps you stand, beginning to lead you downstairs.

“If I lose my only safe haven because of you, I will never forgive you.”

“You won’t, now stop it.” He walks downstairs, smiling at his parents, who are there waiting.

“We heard crying… Do you mind if we ask what’s wrong, (Y/B/N)?” At his mom’s use of your birth name, you cringe and look down, then at George.

“...No, um… Mom, Dad, he doesn’t like being called (Y/B/N)... his name is (Y/N) and he’s transgender and can confirm that he’s deathly afraid you’ll hate him for it.” George forces all of that out in one breath. His parents are silent for a good fifteen seconds before you can’t control your quivering lip or tears any longer. You put your hand over your mouth to muffle the sobs and catch the tears falling over the previously dried ones. You couldn’t believe it, but you had practically trained yourself to accept that even the ones that say they love you and care about you can be changed by the tiniest of things.

“...(Y/N)? It’s kind of a weird name, but I like it. It’ll take some getting used to, but hey, we’ll try our best.” Mrs. Washington says, smiling at you, pulling you into a soft hug with teary eyes as well. “Right honey?”

“Of course. You’re welcome to come over anytime you need it. There’s always leftovers in the fridge and you know where we keep the soda, so you and Georgie can study and, well… I don’t know, what do teens do these days?” His dad laughs and clears his throat before continuing. “Anyway, we’re not going to push you away or bully you or be pricks because you’re different than us or we don’t quite understand all of this yet.”

“I have an idea,” George says, smiling over at you while you’re still being smothered by his mom. “How about we go to the diner down the street in a bit after (Y/N) gets cleaned up and cheered up, and we get some dessert with him?”

“I think that’s a great idea, son. Now, Mary, stop suffocating the boy, we have to get the dishes done and give them some time.” Mr. Washington puts his arm out, practically pulling his wife off of you.

“Oh, ha, yeah, right. Georgie, please bring him upstairs and just hang out until we’re ready to go.” She smiles at her son who slides his hand into yours, nodding. He leads you back up the stairs and notices that you’re grinning from ear to ear, tears still falling, but the tone of the tears has changed.

“...They… accepted me… George, your parents accepted me! Automatically! Straight up! Oh my god!” You pull him down into a tight hug, pushing your head into his neck.

“Well, of course they did. My parents aren’t as bad as their shitty puns suggest, (Y/N),” he jokes, rolling his eyes. You snicker and look up into his eyes, the joy of the situation reflecting back at you. You two get closer and closer without realizing it, but before you have the chance to meet in the middle, George’s mom calls for him from the kitchen. You flush red and pull back, sparing him one last glance before going into his room to change into some more comfortable, not tear-soaked clothing. You smile in his mirror, feeling much more refreshed, looking at yourself from pretty much all angles before he returns.

“C’mon, time to… You look incredible, (Y/N).” He smiles at you and walks over to you, standing next to you, checking himself out in the mirror as well. “I gotta say, you look about five times as good as me.”

“Ah yes, the pure neighbor-magnets that are my old sweatpants and t-shirt. Real sexy, huh?” You laugh and tug at your worn t-shirt that you’d had for a good few years now.

“Extremely. Alright, not sexy, per se, but rather cute.” He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him until you two were pressed together. Now he’s either just really teasing or he’s actually genuinely ignorant for not realizing what he was doing. You roll your eyes, figuring it was the first, and lean up to plant a small kiss to his lips. He looks down at you after with wide eyes filled with adoration, wonder, and the literal embodiment of fucking finally.

“We have dessert to eat. We can do this later.” You take his hand and pull him down the stairs, smiling at his parents.

“Let’s go, kids,” Mrs. Washington declared with a smile.

“To the diner!”

You, from that moment on, ended up going there as soon as you got off the bus, only grabbing a drink from your house, then going over to your home. Where you belonged and where you were loved and where you were kissed while homework was supposed to be being done and where the dinners were always home cooked with love and most of the spice cabinet (not that you minded much).

It was nice to have a place to call home for once. Even better to call it home with those who made that house a home.

[technicolorheart9801]

All It Does Is Take: Chapter 5

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3  |  Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Ritsu had been oddly subdued thus far, gazing at the complicated transmutation circle with a furrowed brow.

“Do you see something wrong with it?” Mob asked. “I’ve triple checked all of my calculations, but I could have missed something.”

Ritsu stayed silent for a moment, seeming to hesitate, before saying, “N-no. I was… just wondering about her soul. What do we have to offer that could possibly be equivalent?”

To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. And on that day, they lost more than their fair share. Now the Kageyama Brothers are on a mission. A mission that might cost them everything they have left.

Reigen had been in constant contact with the Kageyama brothers since the day he had given them his proposition. Well, maybe he shouldn’t call it constant. Shigeo had called him once after his automail surgery to tell him that he was determined to finish rehabilitation in one year, which was crazy, so Reigen told himself that he would be ready to welcome the kid in three. Reigen got a call the next year telling him that Shigeo was ready to try for the state alchemist exam. He should really stop trying to predict what that kid could do, he was going to end up embarrassing himself.

So Reigen got them two tickets on a train leaving for central the day before the exam and scheduled a car to pick them up when they got to Central and bring them to his office. Neither of the brothers had been particularly well during their last encounter, and Reigen wanted to see who they really were without the pesky side effects of recent trauma hindering their personalities and/or actions.

And when he finally saw them again after a year of waiting it was certainly… unexpected. Not Ritsu, he hadn’t changed at all, obviously. Still a suit of armor, but hopefully that little issue would be resolved, you know. Eventually. It was Shigeo that was the surprise. The most prominent change being the fact that he was walking towards him on two legs, and lifting up his right hand, which was covered with a white glove, up in a sort of clumsy, self-conscious wave.

“Um, hello. It is good to see you again, Lieutenant Colonel,” Huh. He had never heard the kid’s voice before. It was soft and kind of flat, but it held a genuine sort of happiness at seeing Reigen again, and the Lieutenant Colonel felt his heart melt a little.

“Yes, I am happy to see you as well,” Reigen stood from the desk that he had been sitting behind and walked up to shake Shigeo’s hand. “It is an honor to have you taking the State Alchemist exam under my recommendation.” The kid just sort of stared at his right hand for a moment before slowly shaking it with his left hand, making it a sort of awkward backwards handshake. Reigen smacked himself mentally for forgetting that greeting an amputee with a handshake was a bad idea, then quickly pretended that said handshake had never happened.

He gave a dramatic 180° twirl away from the boys and sauntered back to lean on his desk. “I will have a car pick you up tomorrow to bring you to where the examination will be taking place. For now I’ve booked you an inn to stay at for the night,” Ritsu had been a silent shadow to his older brother, which was quite the feat considering he was twice his height, but now stepped forward so Shigeo was behind him.

“You know, you’ve been awfully nice so far, lieutenant. What’s the catch?” Even though the voice in the armor was tinny and child-like, it still had a sharp edge to it, and Ritsu had a good foot on Reigen heightwise, so he considered his next words carefully.

“I’m a lieutenant colonel, kid. And I know that alchemists are obsessed with equivalent exchange and all that, but there’s no catch here,” He looked Ritsu firmly in the eyeholes. “You need help finding a way to get your bodies back and I can give it to you. Be a bit grateful.” Okay, maybe not carefully enough, damn, how do you talk to kids this age again? Ritsu seemed ready to slam Reigen’s face into the wall, and Reigen knew he had probably gone a bit far, but something about Ritsu in particular grated on his nerves. The feeling was obviously mutual.

But before Ritsu could make any move to assault a relatively high-ranking military officer, his older brother spoke up from behind him. “Please, Ritsu. The lieutenant colonel has only helped us this far. We talked about this,” The last sentence spoken didn’t specifically mean anything to Reigen, but Ritsu seemed to slump a bit, and Shigeo came to face Reigen. “Thank you very much for this opportunity, sir. I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

Reigen rubbed a hand through his hair and chuckled a bit. “It’s just Reigen, kid. And I have a feeling you’ll do just fine.”

Reigen looked down proudly at the little black-haired kid currently lined up in between two men at least twice his size and looking bored as can be. Reigen wasn’t worried, the kid had already passed the written test with flying colors and proved himself very not crazy in the psychological evaluation. The only thing left to do was the practical examination to prove that Shigeo’s skills could be used in real world situations. Okay, Reigen might be a little worried about this particular test, given that he had never actually seen Shigeo do any alchemy. Maybe he could have thought this through a little better. Then the goddamn Fuhrer walks into the room and addresses Shigeo specifically and Reigen let himself panic just a little.

“Ah, is that a steel prosthetic?” While Reigen thought that Shigeo would probably disappear into any crowd, when he was lined up with grown men with his automail showing, it was kind of hard not to notice him.

“Oh, yes. It happened during the Eastern Conflict,” It was a good cover story, Reigen couldn’t be prouder.

“I see. So you had a rough time with it in Ishval, huh?”

“Um… who are you?” Reigen choked on air and tried to stifle his laughter, because it was really not the time, but then the Fuhrer was laughing, so he figured it was okay to let out a little chuckle.

“You’re bold,” Reigen was pretty sure the Fuhrer had mixed up boldness with having no social skills whatsoever. “You may proceed with the examination.”

“Do you need something to draw transmutation circles with?” That was one of the soldiers next to the kid, but Shigeo simply shook his head. He was crazy. How could he do a practical examination on his alchemy if he didn’t even have a transmutation circle?

But then, two hands came together in a clap that started producing blue alchemic lightning, much to the surprise of literally everyone in the room, including Reigen himself. The kid slammed both hands onto the ground in a decidedly flashy move that had his not-quite-as-ridiculous-anymore red coat fanning out at his legs and had alchemy sparking in his not-quite-as-dull-anymore eyes.

From the floor started raising a wooden pole with intricate golden designs on both ends. As the transmutation finished, the kid grabbed the staff and gave it a few very professional looking twirls that could probably knock a man three times the kid’s size flat on his ass before planting one end of it firmly into the ground with an automail hand. His face had gone hard and his eyes looked determined. Like a completely different person. Someone who had been told that his life was over and said no. Someone that would do anything to achieve his goal. But then the moment ended and Shigeo was right back to the boring looking kid with a soft voice. “Was… that good?”

“He didn’t even use a transmutation circle…” Reigen hadn’t realized that he had spoken out loud.

The Fuhrer didn’t even look all that surprised. “My, that is quite something, isn’t it?” He started walking away, waving a hand in goodbye. “I wish you the best of luck in the future, young man.”

After Reigen got the results back from the State Alchemist Exam he was completely unsurprised to see that Shigeo had passed, and called the Kageyamas into his office to give them the news. “The silver pocket watch will serve as proof of your State certification. This envelope contains your certificate of appointment.”

Shigeo took the certificate and started reading, "By order of King Bradley, this document certifies that Shigeo Kageyama has been appointed to the post of State Alchemist, and that he is hereby granted the title of ‘Fullmetal’.” The kid cocked his head to the side looking confused. “Fullmetal?”

“Yup. Along with their commission, State Alchemists also receive a code name. Officially, Shigeo, you’ll now be known as: The Fullmetal Alchemist.”

“Oh, that’s neat.” The kid seemed to remember something. “And if you don’t mind… Shigeo is what my family calls me. You can call me Mob."

“Well, since you’re now officially my subordinate, I should be calling you Fullmetal.”

Mob seemed disappointed for some reason. “Oh… that’s fine.”

… That is not even fair. Shigeo didn’t have an expression, really, because he still wore that eternal deadpan, but he did give off this aura of dejectedness, and how could Reigen possibly say anything except, “But, if you want I can make an exception… Mob.”

The kid’s eyes sparkled for a moment before he determinedly said, “I made something for you,” And holding up an alchemically made cat figurine, putting it into Reigen’s hand. “As thanks. If… if you want it.”

Reigen didn’t say anything in response, just turning back to his desk and pointedly set the little model right where anyone could see it. He had a feeling actions spoke louder than words with this kid.

“You go on ahead, Nii-san. I need to speak with the lieutenant for a minute.” Shig - no - Mob seemed reluctant to leave his brother alone with Reigen, though for whose sake exactly Reigen wasn’t sure. But he left with a quiet, “Okay,” and Reigen was left alone with a homicidal suit of armor that seemed to have it out for him specifically, and Reigen started looking for possible exits.

“You might have my brother buying your little “good samaritan” act, but I think we both know you're lying to him,” Ritsu’s voice was hard and Reigen knew he couldn’t con his way out of this one without making things worse. “And let me tell you, if you do anything to hurt him-”

“Okay, kid, you got me, I haven’t been telling the whole truth. I’m not only doing this out of the goodness of my heart.” Ritsu tensed up and crossed his metal arms, looming a bit more, and Reigen hurried to continue. “Having an alchemical prodigy like your brother under my wing… an opportunity for a promotion won’t be far behind.” This next part pained him to say, but Reigen’s voice was as smooth as ever as he stated, “And I can’t promise that your brother won’t get hurt.”

“So that’s all he is to you? Just another stepping stone towards your own selfish goal?” Ritsu’s voice and armor were both shaking with anger and Reigen knew he had to calm him down before the kid did something he would regret. Reigen knew what it was like to lose yourself in your anger. The outcome was never pretty.

“Look, I can’t tell you that military life is all sunshine and happiness, but I can promise that I will do anything in my power to help you get your bodies back.” Reigen wasn’t lying. He would never lie about something as important as he knew the Kageyama’s goal was. Even he had lines he didn’t cross, though they were admittedly a bit further into a territory that others usually wouldn’t cross. “You get to fix your mistakes, and I get a promotion. It’s all equivalent exchange, right?”

Ritsu stood stock still for a moment, and his eye lights went out as he seemed to weigh Reigen’s words on a mental scale. His gauntleted fists clenched from where his arms were still crossed before Ritsu said, in his little kid voice that sounded way too old, “Nii-san looks up to you… so I won’t tell him if you won’t.”

Reigen smirked a bit, then nodded, holding out a hand, “It’s a deal, then.”

He jumped when Ritsu stepped forward with a clang, stabbing a finger at Reigen’s chest. “No. I’m not done yet.” Reigen was frozen where he stood, hand still held out, with only one thought going through his head.

‘I miscalculated.’

Because Ritsu was here for more than just pretty words for his big brother. “I know that being a State Alchemist won’t be easy for him. I know that he might not get out of it unscathed. I know he will most likely get hurt.” How could Reigen have been so stupid? Ritsu wasn’t only here for Mob. “And whenever it does inevitably happen, I know I will blame you. So I’m planning ahead right now in telling you that it’s your fault. And I will never forgive you for this.”

At the end of the day, Ritsu needed some retribution for himself, too. And no matter how much Mob loved his brother, he would never be capable of doing something like this, confronting someone and threatening them and hurting them, for Ritsu’s sake. And Ritsu knew that, so he did it himself; took it upon himself to do what Mob couldn’t live with if he did it himself. And Reigen couldn’t help but respect that.

Ritsu glared down at Reigen for a moment more before grabbing the man’s hand in one hard, unyielding fist, giving it a firm and vaguely painful shake. But the thing that hurt even more was that everything Ritsu said was the truth. And Reigen would never again kid himself into thinking that he could get anything past this pinnacle of brotherly protectiveness and bitterness.

Ritsu took a step back, and that was when Reigen also realized just how much the kid had been looming over him. He certainly wasn’t afraid to use his height to his advantage, was he? Ritsu didn’t seem afraid to do much of anything if it meant protecting what little he had left. Reigen found that he could respect that, too.

When Reigen didn’t speak back, or even move all that much, because he was still a bit frozen, Ritsu made a snorting sound and turned his broad, steel back to the man, stomping back to the office door.

At the cusp of the doorway, Ritsu stopped, tilted his head back towards Reigen, and whispered out a scathing, “Bastard,” before continuing on his way out to join his brother, who was loitering in the outside office watching a spider weave its web in the corner.

Reigen’s joints finally unlocked themselves and he gives a massive and maybe slightly relieved sigh.

And then he grabs his hair in panic and horror because what the hell was he doing?! Had he even been thinking? After all that talk of being a good person, this is what he does? Bring two kids into the life that had made Reigen into the mess he was now? The thought of Mob being called on to do his duty as a military officer, of having to assign him missions in the middle of a war-zone, of having to send a letter back to his next-of-kin---to Ritsu---

Nuh-uh. No way. Not going to happen, ever. Reigen thought everyone could agree that this entire thing had been a terrible idea and it was time for it to come to an end. Retract his recommendation, retract literally everything...

But even those thoughts screeched to a halt when Reigen’s gaze locked onto the new addition to his desk. A little cat figurine. Reigen clenched his jaw, picking up the trinket and holding it in the palm of his hand. He started chuckling, raising the same hand to cover his eyes and leaned against the corner of his desk. Now that the hysteria seemed to have passed, Reigen couldn’t believe that he had almost let himself be swayed. He knew that there was risk in this, risk that he might not have the right to even offer to children, much less allow them to go through with. But they couldn’t live the way they were now, Mob weighed down by automail and guilt and Ritsu hollow and yet so over-full at the same time. They needed this. And that was final.

Reigen gave one last look to the symbol in his palm before setting it back on the surface of his workspace, suddenly and randomly remembering that Ritsu had a figurine just like it hanging around a chain on the neck of his armor. Why did he feel like he had just joined a new club?

[desolatedchronos-blog]

You Should Know

Words: 2,238 !!! (IT WAS MEANT TO BE SHORTER WELP) Summary: Hurt/comfort/v short fluff. Time says words he regrets. Made: 12AM around to 4:42AM goddamn. Dedicated to: @nagiiisasan Happy birthday! And here’s a swearing Time!

He gagged, heaved, coughed, vomited, threw up and retched onto the floor. Another failure had sent papers sprawling across the room and his condition had up and decided to worsen dramatically. A black pool of blood cascaded on the ground, splattering and becoming revolting to look at. The sounds of vomiting putrid blood flung themselves at the walls like wet rags, resounding back as echoes. Laughter flickered through the room, travelling through the mess of a room it was. He was laughing again. What a mess this certainly was today. All he wanted to do was to go back in time, to travel back in time. When everything was alright.

“Fuck, I’ll have to clean this up quick,” he swore, fetching a mop nearby. Time filled the bucket with water and started mopping the whole mess. There was a certain rhythm to his movements, meaning that he was used to cleaning up his mess. Used to failure, used to all this sickening sickness he self-inflicted. What was keeping him from perfecting his equations? He probably had to go a little further where no one dared to go. The moonstone on his necklace shined in the dull light, reflecting back his eyes--eye. He was still wearing the black patch around his left eye. 

Time made for the cabinet in his bathroom and opened it with shaky fingers. God knows how he cleaned up the mess without creating yet a bigger one. An orange container went and dropped off into the sink, but he didn’t give a damn. He pulled down a glass flask Echo gave to him, filled with a purple substance. Swishing around the liquid contents, he popped open the lid and took a swig from the bitter medicine. It hadn’t been working lately, he observed. He would have to tell Echo about this sooner or later when he could be bothered to.

Oblivio--Subtract had his face covered once more. None of his brothers had paid attention since he so affably avoided their questions. It was still somewhat of a miracle how he did that--but then again, you had to chalk it off to their “cynical” nature. They were pretty sarcastic back in the day, but now that they lived together, that melted off as an unnecessary characteristic.

He was the carer in the house. Cleaning up the mess, making food and checking up on everyone. That was more or less, his job. After all, he was the ‘childhood’ friend his brothers knew. It was confusing, but sad nonetheless. Back then, his bastard of a father hid everything from his brothers. It was just because Subtract was born with black hair instead of white, and a cursed aura instead of being just a normal baby, was he considered illegitimate to the Grenore family. Treated as a servant’s child, he cleaned up the study and usually forbidden rooms. Asker had trusted him that much--or not at all. To Asker, Subtract was the black sheep.

The three brothers, side by side, were all considered legitimate by him. Not that he minded because his brothers would usually suffer a daily bout of abuse. Mostly, loud yelling and smacking. Whenever they had failed, whenever they had done something wrong, or whenever they forgot a part. He only found out about this later on and the things he had done for them--the things he sacrificed just to protect those older than him.

Subtract shook his head and resumed his daily activities. The scent of coffee wafted throughout the room, a nice aroma that danced around ever so robustly. It sounded like music. The whistling of the kettle, the pouring of coffee, the clink of china and stirring of a silver spoon. That’s right, said a voice in the back of his head, stir away your nasty memories. But that voice didn’t belong to him. He ignored it outright like he usually does, knowing that the accumulated amount of times he had done this would earn a punishment. He was making coffee for the three tracers working hard in their own rooms. Not that he himself wasn’t working hard as well, he just had extra time to do things around the house.

He served them to both Arc and Psych and was making his way to Time’s room when he heard laughter. Paused. The laughter didn’t last long as it ricocheted off into coughs and wheezes. He waited. Subtract knew something had been going on with Time for a long period, but the two others probably knew about this more. He himself was...just hesitant. Hesitant on entering the room filled with sickening sounds of vomit and silence. Eventually, he knocked the door when it was silent and waited for a response.

“Coming,” came a voice.

It was probably Subtract coming around to offer coffee. He sure could do with a coffee when the disgusting taste of medicine still lingered on his tongue. Time opened the door.

“Hey, got you coffee,” said Subtract. Most of his face was covered save for his right eye. “And I heard some things in there. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything is under control,” he said, cringing at his awkward wording. “Thanks for the coffee.”

There was a feeling of incompetence.

Time took the cup of coffee and re-entered his room with Subtract in pursuit. “Want me to clean up your room? I’ve got, well, time.”

“Sure.” Came his short reply. Subtract nodded and placed down the tray on a desk nearby. There were several sheets of papers thrown across the room, which he started to clean first. A pang of incompetence passed on by. Arc and Psych were probably closer to Time in terms of knowing his condition. He didn’t dare invade Time’s zone of comfort. To Time and the others, Subtract was just the ultimate carer. Sometimes, he had been mistaken as a mother, which was always a sad experience. Considering that their mother was killed long ago. The woman who brightened up their lives with her beautiful smile, Grace.

Grace, their mother who didn’t deserve to die. That’s right, thought Time. When I’m able to travel back in time, I will save her and bring her back… Such a dangerous goal put his body in jeopardy. Even his left eye was showing the appearance of his sickness. Their mother was the only solace--but Time forgot one other person. The same person who tried to protect them from Asker, the same person who offered his help to Grace’s research, the same person who played with them in times of loneliness, the same person who was their ‘precious friend’, the same person who was standing in front of Time. No, he didn’t know, how could he? Only one thing mattered to him. The sickness was just a side effect that came from travelling through time and space.

“Mhmm!” Subtract finished piling the papers. “I apologise if the coffee’s a bit cold.”

Time watched Subtract neatly arrange the papers and placed them on the tables.

“Do you really have the time to neatly arrange them all like that?” he questioned.

“It’s alright, I don’t mi--” he started, but he didn’t get to finish. The cup shattered onto the ground with brown liquid splashing out, crawling over the white space. Loud coughing overcame Time and black blood started to ooze from his mouth. Subtract immediately made his way over to Time who shook his head, not wanting his friend to see him like this. Time rushed into the bathroom and closed shut the door, locking the bolts as he threw up onto the ground again. The tar-like vomit began squelching when he accidently stepped on it and he slipped.

A turquoise field appeared behind Time as Subtract created a portal, catching the skinny boy.

“It’s okay,” said Subtract. “You’ll be alright.”

What. Sickening. Words. He immediately turned around and smacked Subtract hard.

“Like you, out of all people, would know anything!” he spat bitterly. He was tired of this, tired of being looked at with pity. Even when Arc and Psych found out, he couldn’t handle more pity. Not from Subtract who easily travelled with portals. Not the perfect friend.

Subtract just stood there, making the portal disappear behind him. Time was angry, he could tell, and releasing all his bitterness on someone who didn’t need it.

“You don’t even work hard like us! Why the fuck are you here to begin with?!” he yelled. No, he didn’t mean to say this. “You can travel through space and time like it’s something easy without suffering anything! If I do it, I get this fucking shit done to me! Fuck off, I don’t need you to pity me!”

“Pity…?” he repeated. Subtract only held sadness within his right eye. “You’ve got it wrong, then.” There was no hint of anger in his voice like Time expected from his outburst.

“Wrong?”

“Time,” he said, patiently. “You do know where my powers come from, right?”

“Henir…” He was starting to realise his mistake. Without suffering anything? No.

“Henir, the God of Darkness, and the one who created Space and Time. Yes, them.” Subtract pulled down his hood and unravelled the scarf covering his face.

“What the…” Time felt like vomiting again at the sight. “You…”

Three small cubes were poking out of the empty socket of his left eye with dried blood surrounding it. They pulsated, causing pain every so often. Five more cubes were cutting into the corner of his lips, stretching it out into a half-Cheshire grin.

“Oh my El...this is what...being associated with Henir does?!” The shock was running through like a flooding torrent. He felt heavy regret. Subtract covered up his face again.

“Don’t think,” he said firmly. “You’re not the only one who suffers from time travelling. So...you should know how painful it is. Don’t suffer it alone, for El’s sake.”

“But I...said all those awful things to you--”

“It was my fault for not showing you this earlier.” His tone was gentle as always, which Time wondered how Subtract could remain so calm despite all of this. “I’m sorry if you think I was pitying you. I didn’t mean it to be like that.”

“Do Arc and Psych know about this…?” “No.”

“...is it painful?”

“It is. My left eye is gone because of this and several parts of my body have changed due to this effect.”

“There’s no medicine for this?”

“None of that either. This is something that can’t be held back by potions and medicine. It’s not of this world. I’ll tell you more about this later if you wish, but let’s clean this mess up first.” The pool of black vomit remained there until Subtract mopped it up. He noticed the previous mess in the bucket but made no comment. After all, this wasn’t what he had in mind when he entered Time’s room. “Time, can I show you something?”

“You’re finally going to show me what you’ve been hiding in your room?” he asked.

He jolted, “Uh, yes.” Time sometimes tried to visit--keyword “visit” Subtract’s room to ask him for help on his equations. Subtract often kept the door near closed and portaled out to meet Time in his room. Despite having good talking skills, Subtract rarely excelled at lying.  He was hiding something in his room long before Time’s birthday a week ago. So it had become a normal routine for his brothers to meet him outside his room. Time thought about invading Subtract’s room, but he didn’t have the time for such things. Eventually, Subtract would come out with it. He always would. Other than the members of the Elgang, Subtract ‘made’ gifts for his brothers. And by made, he went out to buy the necessary parts and assembled them skilfully in his own spare time. Last time was a series of music boxes. They were comforting to listen to when they all were working.

Time followed Subtract out of his room in silence, still thinking over what he had said and seen. He knew, deep down, there wasn’t something right with his friend. Of course, what could be right about covering almost all inches of one’s face? There was no questioning--because none of them had the time to do so. Psych was working on his body training, Arc was inventing his machinery and Time was busy creating methods for efficient time travel. Subtract’s work remained unknown to them all.

He opened the door to his own room and Time peeked in to see...bits of wood everywhere. Tools were strewn across the room, messily accompanied by blueprints. In the middle of the spacious room was...a piano. A brown piano made out of hard maple polished to perfection. It shone in the natural light coming from the skylight window installed in the ceiling.

“You...made this piano all by yourself?!” said Time in a near-shout.

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “Do you want to try it? I’ve already tuned the keys and this took ages to make.”

“I bet…” he said, walking slowly to the piano. Everything had been prepared. Even the piano seat was cushioned with dark brown. Underneath the seat itself was a long compartment containing piano books, mostly preliminary books stacked next to each other in perfect order. “You...prepared all of this for us?”

“I did. I would’ve added more things, but I sorta...ran out of money.” He chuckled warmly. “Well, go on. Press a few keys?”