#from the cutting room floor while making another gifset

[onaperduamedee]

The Wheel doesn't want anything. It can't. Any more than a river or the rain can want something. It's people who want.

[star-labs-intern]

Okay but what about domestic / living together ! Harrisco & Cisco being excited to surprise Harry with his new haircut but Harry reacting like Alexis when mutt shaved his beard

Cisco: are you... Crying?

Harry *sniffling*: no

Fic under the cut / not my gifs gifset linked

Harry was lazing in bed and snoozing. They had to fight a meta in the middle of the night the evening prior, so they had been pulled out of bed, just after midnight. They had a fight where Cisco hadn’t needed to suit up, he just needed to be on coms, while Barry sorted out this new, nocturnal meta. 

They had gotten to sleep after that, but quite late. Earlier than Harry would have liked, Cisco had mumbled something in Harry’s ear about heading out to run some errands, and that Harry should keep sleeping. Sounded fine by him.

So when Harry felt the bed shift, he figured Cisco was crawling back into bed with him for some snuggles before they started their day. Cisco put a hand on Harry’s waist and spooned him from behind. He leaned up on his elbow, though, so he could sorta see Harry a little. 

“Morning, Sunshine,” Harry turned, eyes still shut, and reached a hand up to bury in Cisco’s curls, to pull him in for a kiss. Blinking his eyes open, his hand met short hair, cropped close to the neck and he clocked a very Different looking boyfriend than the one he took to bed with him. 

“Jeez Louise,” Harry was up and out of bed, tumbling awkwardly onto the floor first, then hopping up with impressive speed, grabbing the comforter around his waist. Harry was shirtless, in his boxers, so the comforter wrapped, toga-like across his midsection then flung over his shoulder, muscles peeking out from behind the blanket. “And what earth are YOU from?” Harry growled, eyeing the other side of the room, trying to gauge if he could make it to the pulse rifle that was propped up behind the bedroom door. 

“It’s me, Har, it’s Cisco,” Cisco’s mouth slanted down in a half sad smile, half frustrated frown. “Not a doppelganger, I just got a haircut,” Cisco slowly got up from the bed. 

Harry was looking on with soft, wide eyes. “Cisco? R-Ramon? Your… your hair,” Harry muttered, narrowing his eyes at Cisco. 

Cisco cocked his head to the side. “Aw, Harry, I thought you were gonna like it. I wanted a change.”

Harry was nodding up and down, quickly but without moving his head all that much. “It’s a change.” Harry repeated. 

“Babe, it’s still me. Promise.” Cisco reached a hand up to scratch at his ear. “You don’t.. You don’t like it?” he looked up with wide eyes of his own, and suddenly he looked much more like Cisco. 

“No, no, I’m sure, I’m sure it’ll grow,” Harry muttered and Cisco’s eyes popped open wider, “Grow ON ME, I’m sure it’ll grow ON ME. I’m sure I’ll love it before I know it, I just.” Harry was feeling choked up all of a sudden. It was silly. It was just hair. “You just look. Different.” 

“Harry, are you… are you crying?” Cisco had a sad smile that was making his dimples pop and Harry tried to take another hard look at Cisco. It was Cisco. It was his Cisco. He just had … less hair now. 

“No,” Harry croaked. “I’m sorry. It’s just hair. It’s still you,” 

Cisco cracked into a full smile then, “Harry Wells, be careful or I might start to think you care about me.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, then swiped at them with quick fingers. “Everyone knows I care about you, Cisco.” Harry grumbled then, the banter returning to normal, the more he looked at Cisco, the sillier he was feeling. This was a good look for him. It would just take a little getting used to. “You owe me for such a scare so early in the morning.” 

“It’s afternoon, silly goose,” Cisco rolled his eyes, 

“Still early if you factor in what time we went to bed!” Harry argued. He took his third hard look at Cisco’s hair and decided that he liked it. “C’mere, Handsome,” Harry held open arms and Cisco fell into a nice big bear hug. Harry would get used to the new style. The hair was different, but Cisco was still the same.

[heymacy]

@heymrspatel​‘s tags on my recent gifset had me all moon-eyed and inspired, so i wrote a little something featuring a grumpy Mickey, a spooky movie night, and floofy hair. i don’t know how it happened either, but it did, so please enjoy about 1.2k words of Soft Husbands 🥺🥰🖤🎃

“i love you, jerkface” - dani dennison, hocus pocus

Mickey had been in a bad mood all day.

Ian suggested ice cream and a movie, and Mickey agreed, albeit reluctantly, grumbling something about bribery under his breath as he walked out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

He flopped down on the couch and grabbed the remote where it lay beside him, turning on the TV. It opened to the Amazon account they shared with the rest of the Gallaghers, their yearly subscription a gift from Tami last Christmas.

Someone, probably Debbie and Franny, had recently watched “Hocus Pocus” and Mickey snorted softly, remembering how much Mandy loved that movie when they were kids. She watched it almost every day for the whole month of October every year, sometimes randomly in July or December, and Mickey had the whole thing memorized by proxy.

“What d’you wanna watch?” he shouted towards the kitchen where Ian stood, spooning out two bowls of mint chocolate chip. He felt a little bit guilty using the fancy metal ice cream scooper, considering Mickey had snagged it from Debbie’s place a month ago in yet another round of their spiteful kitchen-utensil-abductions. All over a fucking potato masher. They really were a couple of children.

Ian shoved two spoons into each bowl and stuck the ice cream back in the fridge.

“I dunno,” he said as he walked into the living room, shrugging as he passed his husband, whose eyes remained fixed on the TV. “What do you wanna watch?” he asked, and Mickey groaned.

“Don’t do that shit.”

Ian handed him one of the bowls of ice cream.

“What ‘shit?’”

“You know what shit,” Mickey said, distorting his voice a bit in mockery. “Oh I dunno, whatever you wanna watch, baby.” He made a face, scrunching up his nose in feigned disgust.

Ian snorted.

“S’bullshit,” Mickey grumbled, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth as he settled in, pouty as hell. Ian knew that in about 20 minutes, he’d be back to normal. He just needed to get it out of his system.

“Alright, alright,” Ian said, fighting a grin. “How about Hocus Pocus? It’s already up there.” He gestured to the screen with his spoon and Mickey sniffed, shrugging.

“Fine,” he said, knowing that Ian was at least half aware of his history with the film, and avoided eye contact as he slid onto the floor, sitting with his back against the couch.

“Really?” Ian said, smirking, and Mickey just shrugged, swallowing his ice cream.

Ian’s smirk widened.

He slid across the couch to where Mickey sat and threw one of his legs on either side of his husband, capturing his shoulders between his thighs.

“The fuck’re you doin’?” Mickey protested through another mouthful, and Ian just settled in, pressing play on the remote. He listened as his husband mumbled some semblance of a protest before giving up, knowing Mickey didn’t totally hate it when they sat like this.

About thirty minutes into the movie, ice cream long gone, Ian started feeling fidgety.

Mickey chuckled quietly as Sarah reached up into the ceiling, pulling out her “lucky rat’s tail,” and Ian found his hands absentmindedly carding themselves into Mickey’s hair. There was a distinct but soft crunching sound as his fingers ran through Mickey’s hair, breaking through the gel-like product Mickey had used to style it that morning.

“Ow,” he protested, giving his head a little shake. Ian dropped his hands onto his legs.

“Sorry,” he said, refocusing on the movie. He felt Mickey’s hand on his own, moving it back to his head.

“I didn’t say stop,” he mumbled, and Ian was helpless not to grin, thankful that Mickey was turned away from him facing the TV.

He leaned forward a bit, resting his elbows on his thighs, the strands breaking apart quickly as his husband’s hair returned to its usual soft, fluffy form.

“Your hair is getting kinda long,” Ian mused, only half-thinking as they remained focused on the movie, Dani leaping out from behind the counter with a scream.

Mickey turned his head back around and glared at his husband.

“You gonna get on my ass about my hair, too?” Mickey snapped, irritated, referencing one of the could-go-wrong, did-go-wrongs from earlier in the day. What was supposed to be their attempt at helping Lip and Tami out with the new baby had turned into an impromptu roast session at Mickey’s expense, Lip making some smart-ass remark about Mickey going for the “boyband look” as Debbie egged him on, asking him when he was “going on tour”.

Mickey had just about heard enough and stormed out, already pissed off after dealing with a rude, cheap-ass supplier earlier that morning. Ian had followed, shooting annoyed looks at his siblings before he left, both of them riding home in the ambulance in silence.

Ian realized immediately how his comment probably came off, and he rushed to correct himself.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he said. “I like your hair longer sometimes,” he mumbled, leaning forward and planting a kiss on the top of his husband’s head. Mickey huffed and rolled his eyes, all in show, realizing too late that Ian couldn’t actually see his face.

“Well I’m cutting it off tomorrow, so.” Mickey shrugged. “Won’t have to use that shit anymore,” he said, referring to what he had once called hair gunk.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do,” Ian said, and it was quiet for a minute while Max stole Winifred Sanderson’s spell book.

“Yeah, well,” Mickey said, shrugging, apparently choosing to remain vague and unelaborated.

Ian sighed and continued combing his fingers through Mickey’s hair, picking up the smaller pieces and lifting them, watching as they fell against the rest of the dark mess he’d created.

“You know I like your hair all the time,” Ian said, and Mickey was quiet. “Right?” he asked again, and Mickey just sat there, the very last bit of his resolve slipping away.

Ian slid his fingers into Mickey’s hair and grasped at the strands, yanking his head back so they were looking directly at each other.

“Right?” Ian said, and Mickey finally grinned, just a small curve of his lips that gave way to a lip-bite and a soft chuckle.

“Right, asshole,” he said, grinning, and Ian leaned down, Spiderman kissing his husband softly before leaning back up and pressing one more kiss to the tip of his nose, finally releasing his grip on his hair. Mickey giggled as he settled back in for the rest of the movie. 

When the firefighters left the Sanderson house, Mickey climbed up from where he sat on the floor, crawling into the spot beside Ian. His husband welcomed him in with his arms spread, both of them settling in comfortably to their regular position, Mickey leaning against Ian’s chest, head resting on his shoulder, fingers laced together where their hands rested on Ian’s thigh.

A few minutes later, Mickey turned his face up towards Ian, who looked down at him with happy, tired eyes.

“I love you,” he said, his face apologetic, regretting wasting thirty minutes on the floor instead of in his husband’s arms.

Ian smiled.

“I love you, too, you grumpy bitch,” he teased, and Mickey snorted, grinning, tilting his face up for another kiss that Ian met with a smile.

[chamomileteainabuttercup]

beboots

How about Jangobi, with 4, 16, 36, 37?

Thanks for playing!  This one is a little bit of a challenge because, as I noted before, this is a ship I don’t really think about unless a particular gifset reappears on my dash and then I think about it for like fifteen minutes.  Getting it to work requires changing the plot quite a lot, of course, and I prefer to get the changes going from the very start of their interaction. 

4.  First impression of each other? Was it love at first sight?

Temuera Morrison has noted that at the beginning of the scene, his “hospitable Māori” impulse was to offer Obi-Wan a cup of tea, but since he wasn’t sure they have cups of tea in space he decided to just stick to the script.  

So in my version, he does offer him a cup of tea and Obi-Wan accepts and so they sit down with their tea and it’s all rather disarming.  Obi-Wan is still highly suspicious of Jango (which is only sensible) and Jango is still playing everything very close to the chest, but the mood is slightly softened by the sharing of tea - and if they’re feeling lavish, biscuits too.  Obi-Wan’s head is full of questions, like “What sort of man is this?  Ruthless bastard, or perhaps not totally ruthless, given the little boy?  Was he involved in an assassination attempt on a rather good friend of mine?  What can I find out about all this cloning business from him without letting him know how little I knew in the first place?” while Jango has two main questions, “How much does he know?” and “Am I going to have to do something about him?”  And he’d rather not have to do something about him, because he likes the look of him and this kind of cagey verbal game-playing is his idea of a bit of light fun.  Then again, he is a Jedi and they generally spell trouble - but there’s no reason not to enjoy being around him while the opportunity lasts. 

Oh, and while this conversation is going on, Boba is sitting on the floor nearby playing with his space Lego and every time Obi-Wan glances that way he’s looking daggers of suspicion at him.  Obi-Wan actually finds it rather amusing to be glared at like that by a cute little kid (he’s like an angry kitten) so he just smiles back and twinkles his eyes at him (Boba looks disgusted), and asks Jango how old his son is, and they agree that eleven’s a very nice age, before all the teen angst begins. 

Jango says calmly, “I’m not expecting to have much trouble with Boba,” and Obi-Wan replies, “Ha!  I wasn’t expecting to have this much trouble with Anakin,” so that gets them onto the difficulties and rewards of bringing up a bright and adventurous boy, whether as his dad or as a sort of older brother figure, and sharing stories about things Boba and Anakin have said and done, and before Obi-Wan knows it they’ve been chatting for an hour and he’s got completely side-tracked from finding out about clone skulduggery and has slipped into flirting with Jango fairly shamelessly.  Which doesn’t necessarily mean anything, Obi-Wan will flirt with more or less anything that can talk back, but he’s realising that there’s an awful lot of charisma about Jango and he’s beginning to feel fascinated. 

So no love at first sight, but in later years (because they do have later years together, Jango doesn’t lose his head) Obi-Wan likes to say, “You had me at ‘cuppa tea?’”

(but he really sealed the deal when he offered him a Tim Tam)

16.  Do they keep secrets? Lie? Cheat?

To start out, Jango is keeping all sorts of secrets and lies freely whenever he considers it necessary, or just convenient.  It’s only gradually, as he grows to like Obi-Wan personally more and more, that he begins to want to be honest with him.  For a while they have one of those “frenemies who encounter one another occasionally and engage in flirtatious banter and/or homoerotic combat” type relationships, but over the course of the Clone Wars as they meet again and again they get into situations where they need to trust and help each other, and Jango has cut ties with the Separatists because he prefers to be a free agent, and Obi-Wan begins to hope that if he had a strong enough personal reason, Jango might want to lay off the shady business and... and there he runs up against the fact that he shouldn’t be thinking in these terms, he can’t have that sort of relationship with Jango any more than he could with Satine, he just really really wants to.  And at least Jango doesn’t have a philosophical or ethical problem with violence. 

Obi-Wan isn’t actually celibate, he squares it with himself that his flirtations and anonymous hook-ups aren’t deep attachments or possessive relationships and therefore they are within the letter if not entirely the spirit of the rules, and the first few times it happens with Jango that justification works, but it starts to wear thin when he realises how much he misses him after he leaves.  When Jango, thinking he’ll surprise Obi-Wan when he unexpectedly sees him in a bar, walks in on one such hook-up, he’s angry and upset and Obi-Wan is rather shocked and thrilled to realise Jango considers this cheating, that he cares  enough to have hurt feelings about it.  He’d been thinking of himself as emotionally compromised without quite realising Jango couldn’t just take or leave him.  That’s really the “Oh” moment for Obi-Wan. 

So after a while they’re not keeping secrets from each other, but Obi-Wan is working very hard to keep the relationship a secret from the other Jedi, including his closest friends, and telling a lot of lies in the process (there is at least one comedy episode wherein Obi-Wan is trying to sneak away to see Jango and Anakin is trying to sneak away to see Padmé and each keeps getting in the other’s way without ever realising there is sneakiness on the other side). 

Not to mention keeping it a secret from all the clones.  Boy, is that a weird situation. 

36.  What’s their greatest strength as a couple? Their weakness?

They have excellent chemistry and both love sparking off each other, verbally and/or more physically.  They always find each other exciting and interesting.  Not so much a weakness as an obstacle is the fact that Boba still really doesn’t like Obi-Wan and doesn’t need a stepdad and thinks he has stupid hair (that part really stings).  He’s always been the apple of his father’s eye and never had to share his attention with anyone else he really cared about, so his dad actually falling in love with someone makes him feel insecure and jealous and grumpy.  Obi-Wan’s attempts to win him over are complicated by the fact that he can’t actually explain to anyone else why he’s trying so hard to be nice to snotty teen bounty hunting prodigy Boba Fett.  Boba really enjoys holding this over his head - but will never actually drop the blade because, as little as he likes his dad’s boyfriend, he is just grown-up enough to realise it would really hurt his dad if he spoiled things for them, and he doesn’t want to go that far.

37.  How much would they be willing to sacrifice for the other? Any lines they refuse to cross?

That’s the big problem, isn’t it?  Crossing lines.  Obi-Wan has a very strong moral, religious and cultural code, and he can’t sacrifice that without undoing his whole sense of identity.  He can be dangerously complacent about the rightness of the Jedi Order and the Republic it defends and persists in believing that if Jango only understood more about the Jedi he would accept that rightness.  From his perspective it often appears as if Jango doesn’t have a moral code at all. 

From Jango’s point of view, yes he does, but it’s very pragmatic and based more on principles of loyalty and personal integrity than on adherence to any laws or rules.  If he’s true to himself and to the small circle of people he cares about, that’s all that matters.  He cannot and will not compromise on his duty to Boba as a father, and that comes before even all those complicated issues of Mandalorian politics - but those issues will inevitably cause problems for them too, particularly given that even if he’s been able to get over his romantic feelings for Satine as his feelings for Jango grew, she’s still one of Obi-Wan’s oldest and dearest friends and he doesn’t want her to be overthrown.  And of course Jango is far from the only person who might want to overthrow her. 

Somehow all this is going to eventually involve a lightsaber/Darksaber duel between Maul and Jango in the Mandalorian throne room.  Holy shit that would be cool.  Fuck yeah!

uhhhh I don’t know whether or how any of this gets resolved but there’ll be ANGST and STURM UND DRANG and other German words for heavy shit.

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

SAME OLD LOKI ; PART 6 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.3k (oops) SUMMARY: You find yourself venturing deeper into finding the Loki variant on the loose with the help of Mobius and Loki while maintaining your temper around the God of mischief and fighting with your own demons. A/N: Downtime apparently lasted for more than a week. I had absolutely no motivation to write but I eventually came around. There’s alot going on in this. Please tell me what you think, what you love, hate and look forward to. Thank you so much for showing so much love to d&m. gif from this gifset by @sersi WARNINGS: Swearing. Imagery relating to death (i think?). You and Loki’s relationship fluctuating like the goddamn economy. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

Blue. Your flight suit is blue.

Your eyes sting with worry, ticking to a pair of hands buckling the straps that lay across your chest. A man secures it tightly, forcing your back against the cockpit chair. Your gaze drifts to the concentric steel rings of yellow, red, and white that stretch overhead and around you—being suspended within a 3-axis gimbal sends another churning sensation within your abdomen.

You hear a voice. It courses through the room and vibrates within your ears like fluttering echoes in a tunnel. It’s a man. He calls out your name from below.

“You ready?”

In your periphery, you see him, tall with slicked-back hair, standing with other men that adorn similar flight suits of blue. You nod, inhaling deeply as your hands reach for the controls. Suddenly, a metallic clang echoes through the room and the machine whirrs to life. The rings begin spinning in tandem, tossing your body in all directions. Your grip tightens around the controls, clicking with every push and pull as you struggle to analyze the spin. But, the machine spins faster.

Faster and faster and faster.

The machine continues to whirr. Your hands are still shifting the controls.

Faster and faster and faster.

Your eyes begin to droop, nausea taking hold of your body.

Faster and faster and faster.

You only hear your breaths; every inhale and exhale—they're loud.

Faster and faster and faster.

Too fast.

Stop.

...

Click. Click. Click.

Footsteps. Not the clicks of the controls. You hear them clicking against tile floors from afar. From darkness, your eyes meet the color brown, shiny and polished—it’s wooden. The sound of the vast building’s acoustics hum in tune with the occasional chatter and echoing thump. You recognize the ambiance and it comforts your hasty thoughts as your brain tries to wreck itself in comprehending your current surroundings.

It’s one of those dreams again. The ones that kept you awake at night since the Sakaar incident, as if reliving the memories of another life. It isn’t yours but the realism to it makes it so complex that your brain cannot even comprehend the experiences during these dreams that occur.

To see, touch, hear, smell, and taste. Do dreams exceed the limit of disconnection and logic? Are dreams to be so immersive that it feels more like a memory, an echo of the past?

Through the turmoil of parsing between what’s real and what’s not, a tap on your shoulder hauls you back to reality. You turn to see Mobius, looking ridiculously exhilarated. Behind him lingers an amused Loki, hands tugging into the pockets of his jacket. The analyst says your name with a tone of equal exuberance to his manner.

“I thought I’d find you here. Do you always sleep at the archives?”

You snort, seizing yourself up as you wipe your face with your palm in hopes of feeling slightly more awake and alive than you were before. “No. Sometimes, I sleep at my desk too.”

Exhausted and sarcastic. Typical you.

Mobius rounds the table to sit beside you, gesturing Loki to his previous spot before he got up and ran away from you without any explanation. He shoots you a smile, lips pressed together, almost hesitant to sit across from you. You watch him through narrowed eyes as you address him with folded arms. “And here you are, back here again.”

Loki cannot fight the growing grin upon his lips, knowing all too well that you're referring to how he led you into an unnecessary chase down the corridors of the TVA for the sake of his entertainment. Well, it was not unnecessary. Things were turning out to be a bore and with the sudden thought of a proposition to help with his case, it doesn’t mean he has to drag out the fun of irritating the hell out of everyone else.

And you are not a bore.

-

“Loki! Where the hell do you think you're going?!"

You’re outright screaming at him but his long legs only stride faster than yours could handle, slumber still clinging to your face like a thick, waxen mask. He’s so quick, weaving through tangerine hallways, skidding across the tiled floors.

He saunters down the hall with quick feet but doesn’t sprint, clever enough not to draw any attention.

He ought to answer you. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he flashes you a cheeky smile. He swears he saw flames burning in your eyes for a moment.

As you wind another corner, you already see him making one last quick dart through the elevator doors that slide open as it dings unceremoniously. Through your wide-eyed gaze, you signal him with eyes that carry a warning.

“Don’t you dare close that fucking door.” you snarl, voice booming from down the hallway and so does the clicking of the heels of your Oxford shoes as you march towards him like you’re on the hunt for prey.

Loki jams his finger onto the button to close the doors, unable to wipe off his grin. “Don’t you trust me?” is all he says to you, sending you a wink through the closing gap of the elevator doors as he raises his palm to wave you farewell.

-

You decided Loki wasn’t worth the time he has already taken from your assigned paperwork. So, you returned to your desk with a trace of bitterness in your tongue while attempting to suppress the regret for actually feeling sorry for Loki. Only because you know how it is like to be alone.

That’s the thing about Loki. He gets inside your head, makes you think that for once, he may be worth not pruning. He makes you think he is capable of change, capable of compassion. He makes you think he cares from the way he looks at you with those eyes that flicker the spark of hope in you. This Loki is the same old Loki.

Well, maybe the one in Sakaar had a good chance of earning your trust. But that’s gone now.

You shift in your seat, elbows now leaning against the edge of the table. “And to answer your question, no. I do not trust you. And I never will.”

Famous last words of the variant turned analyst.

Nobody trusts you either.

Except for the grey-haired analyst with the obsession for jet skis and you never understood why. Maybe, it’s because you’re the only one who is willing to put up with his ramblings.

Mobius eyes you and Loki’s interaction as the two of you seem to fall into the rhythm of making things even more complex than it appears. It's all part of his grand plan. Mobius knows you well enough to know you are possibly enjoying Loki's company no matter how much he irritates you. And Loki, it's clear how he admires you and how you constantly surprise him every time he crosses paths with you.

“What would I ever do without your trust?” the God sneers, each articulation of every word wrapped in mockery paired with dramatically placing his hand to his heart. Your eye twitches, the spitfire of your personality ready to fire back with a probable nasty insult. Yet, Mobius places his hand on your shoulder, while the other outstretched towards Loki as if trying to keep the two of you apart.

“Okay, okay. No need to get all riled up now. We only just had a breakthrough in the case, and I’m not letting you kill each other just yet.”

Your anger seems to immediately wash away, replaced by curiosity. You blink at your colleague. “Breakthrough?”

“Yes, and it was surprisingly Loki’s theory. Now—”

“Why do I smell...sulfur?”

You cut his sentence short as a strong whiff of a reeked scent began to descend upon you, billowing in the air. You inhale deeply, brows furrowing in concentration and confusion. An overpowering scent of a decaying body, faint but strong enough to seem out of the ordinary. The archives never smell rotten, always floor polish. Mobius and Loki share a look. Mobius is the one to speak up, attempting to distract you from your sudden strong sense of smell. “Sulfur? What, like when there’s a demonic manifestation? I mean, we are in the presence of Loki—”

“You went to Pompeii, didn’t you?”

In all of the time he has spent with Mobius who had a constant laid-back and confident nature to him, he has never seen him so red in the face. As the situation unfolds, he wonders why Mobius has made it a point to hide that information with so much eagerness which now has proved to be useless. You’re not only intelligent but also quick—only in terms of the mind rather than your physical capabilities.

You can hardly run, but your brain outshines everyone else he has met in the TVA.

Mobius is now waiting for the imminent chaos and mayhem you’re about to bring. You’re going to call him insane like every other time he has suggested an out-of-the-ordinary idea. Causing a scene is one of your talents. He has his hand on your shoulder again.

“You hate Pompeii, Mobius. Why the hell would bring him—Wait.” Your eyes are wide and blinking. “You went to Pompeii. Alone. I know that from the look on your faces. Which means no reset charge...No Nexus event.” You pause, pursing your lips. Then, you avert your gaze to Loki who watches you curiously. “Are you suggesting the variant is hiding in apocalypses?”

Mobius’ laugh comes off like a puff of air. He pats you on the back like a proud uncle. “Back on the game, Agent!”

Loki is slightly impressed. Only slightly.

“Okay, you two stay here. I’ll go get the files. Great work, you two.” Mobius gestures to the both of you with an outstretched index finger, grin so wide as he scurries off. Mobius loves a good case, especially when there’s a breakthrough. And with you finally familiarizing yourself with working together with Loki, everything is finally starting to look up.

The two of you end up finding each other’s gaze and for the first time, you smile at him. It’s small but genuine.

“You know you could have told me.”

“I would have, but you don’t trust me, remember?”

You hum, raising a brow. “And running away was supposed to gain my trust?”

Loki chuckles, eyes flicking to the table. “I never said anything about gaining your trust.”

Your smile grows wider, and Loki decides how he prefers you like this—relaxed and amused.

He oddly sees his mother in you. It’s the way you look at him. Like you know him.

Right, you have met him. Once.

“What was I like? The one you met at Sakaar.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his sudden question that hasn’t got to do with insinuating you.

“The same as you—barely tolerable,” you say tightly, heaving a sharp exhale. ”Just…a lot sadder.”

You hadn’t mentioned how he willingly helped escape your execution because a part of you still believes it all to be a lie. The TVA has your complete fidelity but ever since the Sakaar incident, your trust in the way the system works has been swayed. After years of being trapped in your mind, the question of whether your capabilities in logic have been damaged due to loneliness still begs. Judge Renslayer believes in your incompetence but you believe she hides a secret about the Time Keepers.

The three beings, creator of the TVA, personally convicted you as innocent, allowing you to maintain your job. Nothing of this makes sense.

Maybe Judge Renslayer lost all her faith in you, her second-best analyst because your Nexus event relates to Loki. The one variant that has been causing havoc to the Sacred Timeline. And this Loki, the one that seems to be very curious about your place in the TVA and the Time Keepers, is no different than the others.

You find yourself feeling an uncalled sense of sadness that dwells in your chest at the thought of leaving the only friendship you secretly wished to have maintained back at Sakaar. Before you let yourself fall into the abyss of melancholic wishful thinking, you swiftly direct the conversation elsewhere.

"I’m sorry Mobius referred to you as the devil,” you say coyly. “You really aren’t.”

Loki, who seems to catch on with the sarcastic tone of your voice, leans farther into his seat. “Really?”

A smirk returns to your face. “You're worse than the devil." He snorts, noticing the vague hint of crimson growing upon your cheeks and how your eyes seem to crinkle a little more than usual.

He finds himself swallowing under your stare, fiddling his fingers in an attempt to calm his sudden erratic heartbeat. A stutter under your now kind gaze—no one ever stares at him with a smile. "You are not the first to say that."

There’s another pause; Loki’s face is set with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You feel a pang of guilt in your chest in remembrance of how you’re not the first to have treated him the way you did. He’s dangerous but, there’s no reason for animosity. Yet, it all boils down to the lives he has willingly taken. It doesn’t differentiate him from the rest of the TVA.

Mysterious variant.

The devil is always in the details.

Strangely, the work of the devil may prove to be useful in times of cul-de-sacs as an idea comes to mind. “I think...I think I know where you’re at right now.” Your voice is light, distracted by your now running thoughts. You’re on your feet, chair squeaking as you push it back. Your pen is in your grasp and you wave it in the air, reflecting the gears that turn at high speed within your brain.

Frankly, you’re not making any sense. Loki furrows his brows, slowly standing. “What do you mean? I’m right here—"

“No. The other one. The variant. And it has to do with gum.”

You’re still not making sense and it’s clear that in your eyes, he is invisible. You’re the only one in that frenzied mind of yours.

“What?”

You don’t answer him, feet quickly bringing you down the passageway along the vast rows of shelves that stretch along with the floor’s pristine balcony of white and the two of you are back to playing chase and run. Only this time, the roles are reversed.

-

Mission Haven Hills: not successful.

Really not successful. Far from successful.

You witnessed the doom of bombing the Sacred Timeline, firsthand. Employees scramble at the controls as you watch the screen that looms over the control room. What was once a single line, running along with time has now grown like a tree with fruits of chaos, caused by Nexus events scattered across time and places.

You wished the dust would settle and this was all simply a dream but you realize this was his plan all along.

Bomb the timeline. Distract the TVA.

There is one thing you know about Loki. He is moved by revenge and resentment.

As if you possess some sort of telepsychic powers, a part of you feels that danger itself is within the vicinity of the TVA. The variant is here, you just know it.

You hope Mobius is okay.

Scurrying down the winding hallways, past the hurried time hunters, and past the time theaters, you find yourself heading towards the golden doors of the Time Keepers’ chambers. In a time of uncertainty, your gut is your only source of guidance.

At the end of the hallway, you see bodies on the ground, nearly lifeless—time hunters, either unarmed or batons missing. You plucked one of the sizzling batons from the ground as you cautiously stepped around the laying bodies. You clutch it tightly to calm the blood rushing to your head, pounding along with your heartbeat as you take on the venture into the foyer of the grand chambers with secrets not wanting to be unveiled.

You round the corner, following the wooden panels for walls laid along the entrance. The glowing end of the baton within your grasp reflects off the black porcelain tiles beneath your careful feet. You hear voices, grunts, and shouting as if in combat.

Then, you see them. Loki in his variant jacket and a woman with locks of blonde and streaks of black. She adorns a headpiece of golden horns—one broken off.

Isn't Loki supposed to be at Haven Hills?

Recognizing the presence of another, the two turn to you, daggers still held to each other's throats. Loki eyes you with wide eyes, a silent plea whether to help or stand down, you’re unsure. Your gaze shifts to the woman once more who watches you with an equal resemblance to the other.

Then, it hits you. You recognize the dark emerald cloak she wears. You know exactly who she is. You just never thought it would be a she.

“You!” Your exclamation is bitter, and it’s directed towards the woman who seems to be strangely expectant of your remark as if she already knows who you are. She is L1190, a Loki variant. The one who slashed you with the TVA’s baton, scaring your left cheek. The one who hauled you through the time door and left you stranded in Sakaar for thousands of years.

You know exactly what she has done. She knows what she has done.

“You did this to me!” you gesture to the scar on your left cheek, eyes fixated solely on her, nearing the two with caution. You’re angry. Very angry. All pent-up rage begging to be set free.

Before Loki could even perceive the current situation he landed in between two women who very much want him dead, you’re already swinging the baton to her face with full force but she blocks it with her sword but slightly staggers in her step. You glare at her. She seems a little surprised. In an instant, you take a step back and go for another strike to her rib, but she blocks you again, sliding away and dodging your hit by a mere second. You growl out of frustration, seething through your teeth, and without hesitation, you strike again. The fight goes on—strike, block, strike, dodge. And with every blow, your intensity escalates, each a little harder than the one before. Loki stands there, watching, speechless and frozen.

You strike again, the baton crackling less than an inch away from her face but she dodges just in time, swinging her sword across your face. It grazes your cheek, now a gash of crimson on top of your scar, and with the sudden blow of searing pain, you lose your balance.

The variant spins into a kick that sweeps your legs out from under, knocking you hard onto the ground. The baton rolls out from your grip. Your hand flies to the gash, trickling with blood.

“Hey!”

The brawl comes to a halt. You seize yourself up from the ground, back and head aching, turning to see Judge Renslayer accompanied by two hunters, batons held up in defense position. You were about to reach for your own that was a stretch away when suddenly, you felt a hand grip you by the collar, hauling you to your knees. Her sword held to your neck.

“Come any closer and I’ll kill her.”

“Go for it.”

Your eyes are wide in shock, all anger towards the variant now turning into this churning feeling of betrayal that resides within your abdomen. Judge Renslayer doesn’t look at you, focus fixated on the two variants—it’s like you’re not even there.

The three start to charge towards you and you involuntarily shut your eyes. Then, as quick as a rattlesnake, Loki grabs the tempad hung at her waist and sends the three of you falling through the ground.

That’s the thing about Loki. He gets inside your head, makes you think that for once, he may be worth not pruning. Now, with your back landing hard on top of him, all you could think about is wanting to strangle him to death.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

@kashasenpai

[absentcaryatid]

Mingi’s Escort Service

An ATEEZ fanfic by AbsentCaryatid

2.5K words, inspired by the GIFset of Mingi in this vest outfit.

Content note: gender neutral and asexual reader, reference to sex work, bar and strip club setting, food, surgery and dentist mention

~

The personal ad promised, “Discreet companionship for events and afterward.” You hesitated to call, unsure if this was right for you, but you had needs and a friend had only glowing things to say about their time with him. Gathering courage, you finally dialed the number and waited for a connection. Instead of leaving a message as you had hoped, the deep and very attractive voice that answered left you flustered.

“Tell me why you called. Make it short.”

“Uh, your escort ad. I saw it and need someone later this week.”

“We like to vet our clients in advance. Why don’t you come down to the club tonight?”

“This isn’t a typical job. I’m not like the others. I don't do this sort of thing....”

He cut you off brusquely, “Save it for in person, we’re short staff so I’m tending bar tonight. Come over and talk to me, no exceptions.”

Not a promising start but you had run out of options so you went to the address he blurted out before hanging up. “Docks end of Main Street, look for the neon sign of the pirate ship,” you repeated to yourself to memorize your destination. Arriving at the spot later that evening you spied the club’s name, the Jolly Roger. A little bit on the nose for the purpose of your visit you thought but you went in and discovered it was not just a bar or typical place for dancing but a strip club.

The man from the phone picked you out easily once you sat at the bar as someone that looked completely out of place. “My caller, I presume. Glad you showed up, welcome.”

“Of course, you asked it of me,” you said with surprise.

“Not everyone is able to do that simple step which really helps to weed out the wrong sort of people early on. If you don’t care for the comfort of our staff now you won’t under more energetic circumstances. Name is Mingi, by the way.” Holding up his hands before you could respond he added, as my client I won't ask to know yours but do tell me if there is a name you would like to be called on the date.” Giving you a once over from his side of the bar he took note of your conservative dress for this type of venue. “You look ready for church. You’ve got quite the innocent thing going on, I can work with that theme.”

At your blank look he decided to move conversation along by asking what you were drinking. With a smirk, he listened to your order for a Shirley Temple. “Of course, goes with the church mouse outfit.” While the taunting could have been cruel coming from another, in this man's hands it came across as friendly and you responded by relaxing in the unusual atmosphere. You enjoyed watching him at work expertly piercing cherries along the pirate cutlass toothpick to top the alcohol-free, lemon-lime soda and cherry syrup concoction.

Mingi had an easy smile and made patrons laugh as he prepared more drinks. You certainly would enjoy his company when the time came. Left to your thoughts, you looked over the room you were in and yes indeed this was a strip club, the only one you’d ever been to. On stage a person was wearing a beautiful sparkly and feathered costume in multiple pieces that were quickly becoming ornaments on the floor. “That's San, he's one of our best. Born to be naked you might say.” The now familiar low voice behind you then asked, “First time at a show?”

“Definitely,” you answered, turning away from the stage to the handsome bartender as you let your eyebrows come back down. Taking your drink from the bar, you sucked the sweetness of grenadine off the bottom through the swizzle stick without stirring the drink beforehand.

With a lull in orders due to the patrons' focus on stage events, Mingi was now able to talk again. “I see you don’t hesitate to take pleasure where you find it.”

Laughing, you looked to the glass and admitted, “It is new for me tonight. Spent too many years nursing it slowly leading to the ice melting and having a watered down experience. I’ve decided that’s not what I want in life anymore.”

“And so you called me.” Mingi looked at you with his chin in hand, elbow propped on the bar, and batting his eyelashes. Wearing only a buttoned patent leather vest and matching black pants, the man had a seductive aura by merely existing. If you were this affected, you could not imagine his impact on people who were more interested in sex than yourself. He truly had the skills of a professional companion and you could picture him fitting in anywhere.

Leaning in close to be heard over the insistent music, you found him intoxicating. Either that or the drink was not a virgin and it was hitting you already, but having watched him make it, you were pretty sure it was his looks doing you in. Hoping to break the spell you had a request, “A little less eye contact please, I find it too much.”

“Got it.” The immediate change in his gaze made you feel more comfortable, clearly he did care about boundaries and following directions without complaint. This was a good sign for what you needed him for. You had to trust he would not take advantage of your vulnerable position and this chance to get to know him a little in advance was a reassuring one. Looking down at the bar with hesitation, you wrung your hands and began, “This is so embarrassing. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Yes, you said so on the phone. That’s okay, I’m friendly and we can ease into this. It is new to everyone the first time. Let’s start with why you’re here.”

“Okay, yes, I need an escort.”

Mingi laughed, “Then you came to the right place.”

“No, please don’t get the wrong idea, I am asexual.”

Cocking his head, he remained unfazed. “So you want someone to experiment with. I have performed that service before, to rave reviews if I do say so myself, and we can go as slow as you wish.”

“No, no no. You do seem like a completely sweet person and probably are very good at gentle first times but that is not why I ask. I literally need an escort.”

“Just looking for arm candy then? What is the event you would like me for? Corporate party?” Giving your clothes a once over he reconsidered. “Dinner with your parents perhaps? If they are hounding you to date I can play the charming boyfriend dressed to match your demure look or wearing what I am now if you really want to get them off your back.”

“As fun as that last scenario would be, actually, it is not a date. The simple fact is my dentist requires me to have a companion for an upcoming procedure where I will be put to sleep. My family, friends, and neighbors are not available despite how much I do for them,” you ruefully added, “but then this did come up suddenly.”

“Getting the dental surgery over with is a priority for me so I accepted the spot as soon as the receptionist called with the news of a cancellation and offered fit me in this week. Only afterward I discovered every medical transport and aide service is booked on such short notice, especially for a new customer. ” Mingi looked at you sympathetically. “All I need is a pick up at my house and someone to stay in the waiting room then drive me home for a little more monitoring.”

He nodded as if he was considering your unusual request but warned, “The cost for my time is higher than you might be expecting.”

“It will be worth it, the dentist tells me if no one is there to take me home they call an ambulance so I can be watched at the hospital for a whacking sum. So you can see why I am happy to pay your rates. The cost is not that different from the companion aides I was looking into anyway.” Looking back to Mingi briefly you also admitted, “Seeing a pretty face will make the day something to look forward to as well. All I need is assurance that no matter what I request while out of it, that there is no sex. That is truly not something I am after despite where I am looking and your evident allure. The help I require this Friday morning is of a far different sort.”

Scratching the back of his head he reflected, “I thought I’d seen everything in this business but tonight you have asked for something new.” Mingi's grin gave you hope of a positive answer.

“Will you do it? I’m desperate,” you pleaded.

“Yeah, it will be a nice opportunity to get some studying done while I’m in the waiting room. Do you know I’m actually familiar with the work?” His laugh took you by surprise. “Tonight must be your lucky night. I used to be a medical aide for hire when I took night classes toward my degree but realized I was better at schoolwork in the daytime so I switched to this evening job. You are lucky your request falls on my day off classes.”

Pointing to the bar, Mingi called out to a colleague delivering drinks on the floor, “Yeosang, take over, will you?” Then his attention returned to you, “Send your address and the time block you need to my phone and I will confirm with you the day before.” Nodding to the stage, Mingi said he was going on next and was leaving the bar to prepare for his show. “Gotta put on a little more clothes to have enough to take off to make a real show of it,” he smirked. “You already paid the cover charge to get in here so might as well stay and watch.”

He could tell by your easy laugh and genuine smile that the teasing combined with a wolfish grin was fine with you. Mingi really seemed a good judge of personality which you thought must come in handy both as a bartender and an escort. “Thank you but it’s really not my thing,” you warmly admitted. “People interest me more with clothes on, but I am sure you dance well.”

Turning back to you for a moment Mingi commented, “Good time to ask if your event has a dress code. I am guessing that usual part of my booking negotiation is not needed for a trip to the dentist.”

Again you smiled, it came so easily in his presence. “Perhaps less skin than you’re currently showing, but then again the receptionist will probably love the view.” If you were this free with your words now you couldn't imagine what would spill out of you after oral surgery. “No matter what I say or request while loopy from anesthetic, please understand I do not wish to have sex,” you reiterated.

“Certainly. That’s the policy anyway, nobody under the influence, full consent is a prerequisite.” Mingi then ducked behind the curtained doorway alongside the stage and you watched his replacement take stock behind the counter, muscled arms on display in a t-shirt cut off at the shoulders.

The handsome blond man now reigning over the bar inquired cheerfully, “New client interview?” Trying not to stare, your heart raced. Was everybody in this business stunning? They’d have to be to be successful, you realized, since that’s what most people were paying for in an escort. With a hand on yours Yeosang made an offer, “You know, if Mingi is not the right fit for what you need, I would be happy to be at your service his place.”

Withdrawing your hand to cover your mouth in laughter, you managed to head off his offended look. “It is not you, I promise. You are as gorgeous as he is and I am sure just as capable.” You reassured Yeosang that while his suggestion was attractive, the planned escort was only to a dental appointment that required supervision.  

Seeing the humor in the novel situation, he relented. “Then you already have chosen the finest among us for this job. I could not match Mingi's skill as a caregiver. Should he need to bow out, Seonghwa or Jongho would be my next suggestions along with Yunho as the most attentive. Hongjoong and San work days, and Wooyoung is a bit flighty for what you are asking, but I would happily fill the role for you if it came down to it.”

Feeling far better about your upcoming procedure now that you had a trustworthy companion and backup options booked, you thanked Yeosang then headed for home to recuperate from the unusual excitement of the evening. Even after such a short time together, you really liked Mingi and now your only worry was that his vivacious personality might make you laugh too much when you were trying to heal after the dentist.

The day came for the surgery and it went off without a hitch. He was a joy to talk to and you learned his real escort services were supplementing his bar and club income while he was a nursing student. Yeosang was right, you really had discovered the perfect person for the day's work by accident.

Mingi put you at ease in the waiting room and made light conversation while in the recovery room. He drove you home then stayed another two hours to make sure the anesthetic wore off enough to leave you alone. Before going, Mingi warmed some broth and set out fresh gauze for your gums. Mumbling as the numbing wore off, you promised to leave him a stellar online review for this legitimate sideline if he wanted.

“I think I would like to go back to this work. I enjoyed my time with you today, truly.” Indeed, he was now planning to run his own attendant agency when he graduated and would take you up on the review offer once his business was up and running.

While signing for the credit card payment on his phone you thought to ask, “Can I call you again in three months for the second part of my procedure? I felt very safe and comfortable in your hands.”

“Of course,” Mingi said with a wink, “that’s why every one of my clients keep coming back to me.” He grimaced and apologized to see you try to smile leading to obvious pain showing in your face.

Waving off his concern, you let him know that despite the misstep of sparking mirth, he was very good at his job as medical attendant. Mingi had you looking forward to the next dentist visit and you were certain his more traditional escort clients felt the same about their time together.

~

Mingi Masterlist

General Masterlist

Masterlist of stories with No Reader/Idol Romance

[blush-and-books]

i’m sorry, but i fell in love tonight

short fic based off of this gifset by @juliesmolinas and the song is there somewhere by halsey. in fact it is mandatory that you listen to the song/read the lyrics/both before/during reading this. yes i said mandatory.

angst with a sappy ending, julie goes through a lifetime of emotions in less than 3k, was originally gonna write when i was in a more emotionally raw state but writing this made me emotionally raw so... enjoy <3

warnings: swearing

Julie made the promise at some point -- she just doesn’t know exactly when.

It may have been when he appeared at her school, all shy smiles and soft glances, professing that she made him a better writer. Or, more definitively, it could have been when she forlornly pulled him into her arms a moment before she was positive that she was to lose him forever. 

All that she knew was her time with Luke was fleeting. So she swore that her butterfly-wing crush was not allowed to fill her chest or dizzy her thoughts; that his lyrics would mean nothing more next to hers than words on a page and his touches would bring her little to no comfort.

Luke Patterson could not complete her. 

The universe wouldn’t allow it -- and neither would Julie Molina. 

But -- either Luke was blissfully unaware of their impending doom or he genuinely didn’t care -- he forced himself through every barrier she attempted to erect. And it was driving her nearly insane, because she made a promise to protect herself. 

Maybe she wasn’t strong enough to do it. Or maybe the universe, despite refusing to give Julie Luke in his entirety, did not want her to be protected. 

It was all in the little things-

When she stayed up with him in the garage, playing him all of the songs he’s missed in 25 years, and he danced around on the slippery floor in his socks and grinned at her with wide green eyes. The neon emerald in the dim light was reminiscent of driving on the highway and passing sign after sign leading to the exits she could have taken, but couldn’t bring herself to.

How New Years Eve arrived and the Molina family gathered in the driveway to light sparklers; Luke’s hand brushing hers as he passed off one of the two in his hands. 

In his head lulling onto her shoulder while she was trying to finish some homework with his help on the torn couch and his lips moving against her bare skin  as he mumbled that she needed to take a break before driving herself insane; followed by her braiding her hair to get it out of her face.

She already had driven herself insane -- but not over her homework. 

(His mouth on her shoulder was the answer to a prayer she never dared to murmur aloud.)

Luke never failed to be present when he was needed. If she was sick or stressed or depressed, he knew when to fuse to her side and when to offer some space. Through careful observation rather than conversation, he knew which of her many sweatshirts were reserved for illness or emotional support. 

In most of those situations, she needed him, too. Her fingernails would curl into his biceps through a cramp or wave of tears and he would wrap her in his embrace and swarm her with warm words that dried her eyes.

She hated it.

When they wrote music, it felt as though they were already reading each other's minds before either of them had spoken a word about their plans. Their journals contained inky black waterfalls spilled from an intimacy that Julie did not want to dissect. 

Again, she hated it. She loved it more than anything and hated that she loved it all -- because it could never be real. 

She would always play second fiddle to death. 

Julie made the promise to herself to not let Luke complete her because, while she had him for now, the night of the Orpheum was a reminder that the universe would not hesitate to snap it’s fingers and eliminate him from existence. 

The universe, being the confusing, stubborn bitch it is, just didn’t get the memo on that promise. 

Because Luke filled every crack and restored every gap in her being, and he shouldn’t.

The hopeless, pining romantic in her that constantly argued with her realist side said they were meant to meet. Even if it was brief and heartbreaking and had the power to hurt her in a way she didn’t understand, it had to happen. If it wasn’t supposed to happen, then how and why did he cross space and time only to fall at her feet?

(Soulmates, a taunting voice whispered. Soulmates.)

((The voice was locked in a closet as punishment.))

She didn’t want to entertain the word. It had too much of a forlorn, wistfully romantic sound to it that Julie didn’t need to associate with Luke when she spent most moments with him at this point convincing herself that she wasn’t in love.

Until tonight.

It is past midnight, which is when anyone’s mental state starts to alter. Things that would be labelled as bad ideas in the daylight could very possibly become fair game when shrouded in a darkness that made everything private. The two of them, Luke and Julie, Julie and Luke, are nestled together on the piano bench as her fingers tiredly press each cut of ivory in a working melody.

“I have an idea,” Luke says, gently shifting his left hand to cover hers on the keys. “Why don’t we press pause on this song for a minute?”

Then, she finally looks up at him. Her eyes probably have crescents like the dark side of the moon crossing her skin, and her hair is all over the place, but he’s staring at her in one of the rare ways that she hates.

She hates it because the look convinces her that she completes him.

This time, however, there’s a hope. A hope, and a hesitance, and she’s simultaneously extremely nervous and beyond curious as to what his plans are. 

“Did- Didn’t you want to finish this tonight?” 

Regret strikes across his face, but he recovers. The softness is back. “Yeah, I just think we need a change of pace.” Right hand on the back of his neck: A telltale sign of a confession of some kind. She’s seen it more times than is healthy. “There was another song I wanted to show you, actually.”

“Oh.” She blinks, he waits. “Yeah, uh, I mean, yeah. Show me. What do you have so far?” He clears his throat as he thrums through the pages to find his target. “The whole thing.”

Julie doesn’t have time to react -- although she’s already in a panic -- before the leather-bound book is being awkwardly shoved into her hands, and the first thing she sees at the top is Luke’s nearly illegible scribble of Dark Room (song for Julie).

“Luke-”

“Just read it.” His voice is significantly raspier than it was a minute ago. “Please.”

She can’t. If he feels the same way and the confession is undeniably in front of her, then what is she supposed to do? Would she rather break Luke’s heart now to save them both down the line, or delay the misery a little longer?

It’s not that she doesn’t want it -- she does. But she doesn’t know if she’s emotionally equipped for any of the options that are offered to her. The destination of any path she chooses leads to a world of heartache.

So, she does the only thing she can think in the moment: She reads the song.

Instantly, the lyrics are blurred from the tears in her eyes because she sees the words “love” and “together” and her greatest fears and grandest wishes are coming true. The sonnet proclaims that she’s his light that illuminated his once-dark forever, and that he was hers when they didn’t even know each other, and that he will be hers wherever he ends up next.

He just wanted her to know that he would have waited another lifetime in the blank, limitless limbo he was in for 25 years if he knew she would be there when he was set free.

And, in the moment, Julie allows herself to acknowledge that her promise is broken.

She’s fallen in love. 

And, apparently, he has too.

(Maybe they can claim just one night. The universe owes them that much, doesn’t it?)

“Julie?” God, he sounds so worried. A shaking finger trails up her jaw to catch falling tears, and his contact makes her gasp. He pulls away and shoves his hands together to fidget in his lap. “Julie, are you- Fuck, I’m sorry, I just fucked this up, didn’t I? I fucked it all up. Fuck, I-”

When she chances a look up at him for the first time in the couple of minutes that she’s been staring, hopelessly, at the song in her lap -- he’s got his face covered by his hands pressing roughly into his eyes, and he’s turned to face the piano instead of her.

He takes a deep breath, and it sounds… 

Stuffy. 

Three more tears leak from Julie’s eyes. More build up every minute as her right hand runs along his shoulder, “Luke…”

“No, Julie, please just drop it.”

“Luke.”

“I clearly misread a lot of stuff, and I’m tired, so maybe you can just go to bed and forget-”

Her hand wraps tightly around his upper arm like it’s done so many times when she has been in distress. “Luke.”

There’s a crack in her voice from sheer desperation. She needs him to look at her, so that she can wipe his tears and smile through the sobs and tell him he didn’t misread a single thing. She would wait a lifetime for him to come out of the dark room, she loves him too, and she’s going to forget all about it. 

And ask him to do the same.

At least the scratch of his name catches his attention long enough, because he angles back towards her, and swallows thickly before meeting her eyes. Salty teardrops linger against his eyelids and eyelashes; the red rimming illuminating the oceanic green to look like a gemstone. Her grip relaxes.

“Yeah, Julie?”

She attempts a smile. “The song is beautiful, Luke. I love it.”

I love you.

“That’s it? It’s beautiful, and you love it, but you don’t… I’m not in your dreambox, huh?”

He clearly hasn’t dug through it in awhile. He’s everywhere. Discarded guitar picks and notes he’s left in her school journals and plenty, plenty of songs.

It’s funny, because she told him her dreambox was for things that didn’t make her sad. Luke was a double-edged sword -- making her happy every day in a new way, and making her cry into her pillow at night.

How does she explain this? There’s a whirlwind of responses running through her brain and she can barely coherently comprehend any of them. 

“No,” she finds herself sighing as she raises her hand to his cheek, followed by her other hand so that he can’t try and turn away. “No, Luke, no… You’re wrong.”

“What do you mean ‘I’m wrong?’”

Her bottom lip starts to shake. “You think I don’t love you back.”  Both of them feel their breath catch at her use of the word out loud. It feels like a secret that shouldn’t be repeated. “And you’re wrong.”

“... I’m wrong.”

“Of course you’re wrong! You really think I don’t love you back?”

“Why are you crying if you love me?”

“Because we can’t do this!”

He scoffs, and Julie’s heart is racing in her chest as he pushes himself off of the piano bench and her hands fall from his face. What has she done?

“That’s bull, Julie.” His fingertips tug at his hair. “You don’t need to make a big dramatic show to convince me it’s wrong just to let me down easy. You aren’t going to talk me out of this.” Dead-on, he stops pacing back and forth, and looks her in the eye. “I love you.”

Listening to him say it, the way his mouth moves and his voice ticks with conviction at each syllable, is what makes her break. 

“And I love you too.” 

He reels back. He probably wasn’t expecting her voice to raise from their odd, in-between whisper and normal volume.

“But don’t you get it? Luke, we aren't in some magical place where we can meet each other in the middle. A place like that doesn’t exist. You’re dead, and I’m alive, and any future here ends with both of us losing each other.” 

“Julie-”

“You said you would wait another lifetime, right?” Using his own lyrics against him. She watches his hands twitch before nodding; the movements of his head barely visible. “Then wait. Another lifetime, another two -- the fucking universe clearly didn’t want us to have this one, so we’re stuck waiting for the next one.”

Even through his clear and fighting need to argue, to talk with her about this, he stiffly nods his head. It’s obvious that she has thought way too much about this from the way she’s barely choking out each word before crumbling into tears before his eyes -- but then again, he’s thought about it too. 

Callused hands are running along her neck to tilt her face up out of the blue. She was too busy crying to notice that he had crossed the distance between them to stand right in front of her and assure that she was meeting his eyes.

“Luke-”

“No, Julie, it’s my turn. Please.”

She won’t argue with him. So, with a tender swipe of his thumbs under her eyes, he proceeds.

“Look, I get it. You think I don’t get it? I fucking hate being dead, for so many reasons, Julie. But if I never died, I never would have met you.” Her lips part, and maybe he thinks she’s going to protest because he smoothly lifts a finger in front of her lips that barely makes contact. 

(Julie almost presses her lips into it.)

“And you’re right. I wish there was somewhere that we could meet in the middle, but we don’t have that. I wish so many things, Julie. But none of them involve a life where I don’t have you.”

She whimpers, because listening to the man that normally chains his emotions in a cage bare his soul to her at nearly one in the morning is a seriously more out-of-body experience than she expected. She knew, deep down, that she loved him. But she never allowed herself to feel the all-encompassing warmth that she feels now.

“But hey, Julie, look at me,” he coaxes her with a tone that drips with affection. The pads of his fingers are nearly kneading into the back of her neck. “Like you said: The universe didn’t want to give us this lifetime. They couldn’t let us have all the fun, right?” Both of them let out a watery chuckle. “But they still brought me to you, didn’t they? They let me know you in this lifetime, even if we couldn’t have forever. I said I would be yours wherever I am. So even if this,” he gestures to his ghostly form, “isn’t forever, even if we don’t have this lifetime… You know I’ll love you forever, right?”

It was a monologue straight from one of her dreams that left her waking up with a manic smile and tears running down her face. 

Unable to form any other response besides an unaware nod, Julie waits for him to continue.

“And maybe, the universe will give us the next lifetime, or a whole new universe, or… Just somewhere where we can get forever.” 

Abruptly, his hands slide from her neck and grasp her hands like he needs to hold on firmly enough to believe that she’s still real in front of him. Julie is still speechless and teary, and in the most sentimental gesture, Luke kisses the back of both of her hands. 

“We’ll get forever, Julie.” His warm breath puffs against her skin. “I promise you.”

And, well, if he promises forever in the next life -- then why can’t she take what she can get in this one?

--

tags: @bluefirewrites @willexx @unsaid-emily @lydias--stiles @moreflowersthanweeds @pink-flame 

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 15

(Masterpost)(Other Canary Content)

Warning: Spoilers for all 50 episodes!

This rewatch is going to fit into a single post, because a third of the episode is just crying and yelling on a very slow boat. If you want to learn the Chinese words for “Mother” and “Father” this is your episode. 

Captain Blowhard

Clan Leader Yao shows up, having barely survived the massacre of his clan, along with two disciples who aren't too excited about their unwilling promotion to top targets. Jiang Cheng tells his dad that the Wens are systematically exterminating the smaller clans, and have said anyone who helps the survivors is going to be punished. 

Jiang Fengmian tells Yao that the Jiang Clan will protect him. Which is why Wei Wuxian is responsible for the massacre of the Jiang Clan. 

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian both think that taking Yao to the Jin clan is the best way to keep him safe. Wei Wuxian was wrong to help the heirs of the powerfullest richest clans, but sure, let's save this asshole.

Road Tripping

The boys go down to the dock to send Jiang Yanli and Jiang Fengmian off, saying a formal goodbye with a bunch of disciples and showing off how extremely good they look in these close-fitted, simply cut robes with cool belts.

Yu Ziyuan comes down to say goodbye to Yanli and give her some medicine, covering by saying it's for Jiang Fengmian, because being sick is bad for marriage prospects, probably. 

Later the boys will mention their hope that YZY will be mollified by the time JFM returns, which means this possibly isn't the usual state of their relationship. The dislike and jealousy seem to be constant, but perhaps being openly at war with each other is not.

(more after the cut!)

Club Ruohan

At Club Ruohan, Wen Ruohan is tired of sitting on his big uncomfortable throne so he's sitting on the floor next to it, instead. He's suffering the embarrassing problem of black smoke leakage, and needs Wen Qing to give him acupuncture to fix it, but she's not around. Wen Ruohan has an awful lot of trouble containing resentful energy, possibly because he is controlling a bunch of zombies 24x7 instead of letting them take a break. Wei Wuxian is mostly able to control it--except when he, you know, totally isn't--without ever needing an attractive acupuncturist to give him a poke.

WRH learns from Wen Chao that Wei Wuxian 1. killed a boss-level monster on nightmare level difficulty without his sword 2. took whatever thing had been suppressing the nightmare monster for the previous really long time.  WRH wants whatever it is.

Boys in Charge

When the boys get back to Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng doesn't understand why they couldn't all go to the Lins together, and Wei Wuxian explains it to him. Wei Wuxian is the one seeing the big picture, and he wants to plan how to handle the Wen forces when they, inevitably, arrive. 

Jiang Cheng would rather talk big than actually plan, showing how--at this age--his anger management problem is an issue on a strategic level, not just a personal one.  As a clan leader he will eventually master this aspect, for the most part, and learn to keep a cool head in regard to martial matters, while continuing to feed his interpersonal rage problem.

The brothers supervise the archery practice of the Jiang disciples, having their last nice time together, and still without a plan. Wei Wuxian is bored and calls practice early so he can go be bored on the porch or in his room, since he isn't allowed out. In fact he's so bored by lockdown that he starts an irreverent niche blog.  

(he’s kidding! keep your mask on, don’t go to wine houses)

Knowing that the Wen Clan is gunning for enemy cultivators, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng send the whole group of disciples, including children, outside the compound walls to retrieve their kites. This is what happens when you don't have a plan.

Wen the Levee Breaks

Wen Chao’s girlfriend Wang Lingjiao finds a kite with a hole in it and uses it as a pretext to snatch up the youngest disciple. 

The other disciples come running back and tell WWX and JC what happened. Wei Wuxian calmly gets all of the information from them and starts figuring out what to do, while Jiang Cheng freaks out. 

Jiang Cheng is a good fighter, and matures into an excellent one after a core upgrade and war experience. But Wei Wuxian is a born battle leader, developing strategies on the fly and staying cool under pressure.

Madame Yu is as brave as a barrel full of bears and Yinzhu and Jinzhu chase lions down the stairs

Yu Ziyuan and the murder twins show up and all of the disciples line up behind them, relieved to have someone scary in charge.. Yu Ziyuan is also a natural leader and an awesome fighter, but her judgement is terrible, as we're about to discover. 

Bitchfest

Wang Lingjiao strolls in to the main hall and has the nerve to comment on the interior decorating, because it doesn't have enough rough-hewn black rock and lava pits, apparently.

She shows them all the kite and says that because it looks (kind of) like the sun, using it for target practice is an attack on the Wen Clan. Bitch, everything your clan wears and uses has fire on it and is red. The sun is not your emblem, no matter what the text says. This kite situation is presumably where the anti-Wen campaign gets its name of "Sunshot," however, which sounds pretty cool.

Wang Lingjiao moves along to her main point, which is that Wei Wuxian needs his ass kicked, and she'd like Yu Ziyuan to do the kicking. To goad her, she starts talking about the rumors about Wei Wuxian's parentage.

Let it Whip

So let it whip (let's whip it, baby) Get a grip (let's whip it baby) Well, what's your trip? (Oh no)

Yu Ziyuan takes the bait, and proceeds to whip the shit out of her strongest battle asset, in a sequence that's either horrifying or completely fucking awesome, depending on how you feel about whump.

There are a lot of bad effects in this show and a lot of questionable fighting, but any time Zidian flies, I am HERE for it. I gave this beatdown its own gifset over here.

Jiang Cheng is devastated and tries again and again to protect Wei Wuxian, but his mother and her lieutenants keep moving him out of the way so the beating can continue.

Yu Ziyuan hits Wei Wuxian at least 5 times, until he is totally unable to get up off the floor. Wang Lingjiao has succeeded in eliminating him as a threat for the moment.

Gotta Hand It To You

Wang Lingjiao isn't satisfied with the brutal whipping, however; she wants his right hand as a trophy, and for him to be unable to recover.  Yu Ziyuan tells Jinzhu and Yinzhu to close the doors because some blood is going to fly. 

I'd like to think this is when Yu Ziyuan decides to kill the Wens, rather than maiming WWX, but I'm not certain. Because she doesn't start attacking until after Wang Lingjiao says the Wens are taking Lotus Pier, and tells her to discipline Jiang Cheng. So maybe she is okay with taking WWX’s hand, but draws the line at giving up her house.

Through all of this, Wei Wuxian doesn't once protest, even when he thinks they're getting ready to take his hand off. He'll do whatever it takes to make peace. THIS is the core of his heroism; he will sacrifice anything to do what he thinks is right. He's not "playing the hero;" not doing this for fame or kudos, but for a clear conscience.

It’s a Murder Party

Wang Lingjiao explains the new Wen World order, and Yu Ziyuan smacks her to the floor and then takes out all 8 of the Wen soldiers in one elegant move. 

Can we talk about how incredibly effective a fighter Yu Ziyuan is, without a sword? With her first-class spiritual tool as her only weapon? Nobody is telling her she needs to carry a sword. She shows she can use one, after she gives Zidian to Jiang Cheng, but she's absolutely devastating without one.

Having defied Wang Lingjiao, Yu Ziyuan...doesn't kill her. She chokes her, slaps her and yells at her. Then she insults her clan and sticks her FOOT on her FACE.

She sics the murder twins on the guards in the room, and they shank all of them at super speed while the boys watch with alarm. 

Then she has them sloooowly advance on Wang Lingjiao, giving her plenty of time to holler for Wen Zhuliu before they can kill her.

Het Heat

Wen Zhuliu comes flying in, literally, kicking both murder twins across the room at the same time. This is followed by Core-Melting Hand x Violet Spider suddenly becoming the most shippable M/F couple in this thing, because wow, they have some serious chemistry.

I never saw a pretty girl look so tough

Actor Feng Mingjing continues to do an awful lot with almost no lines, in his portrayal of Wen Zhuliu. WZL politely apologizes to Yu Ziyuan. Is he offering to withdraw, or is he just being polite before getting down to the killy bit? Either way, Yu Ziyuan is ready to rumble, and doesn't even consider de-escalating.

You know who was able to rein in his temper, after fighting with this same extremely dangerous dude, and therefore lived to fight another day? Fucking Nie Mingjue, that's who, who has a generational CURSE making him angry. While Yu Ziyuan, is like, "fuck the safety of my clan, this is Wei Wuxian's fault anyway" and throws down.

Wen Zhuliu and Yu Ziyuan proceed to have an epic, sexy fight, where he catches her whip and she dodges his attempt to feel up her core.

He's a magic man, mama, he's got the magic hands.

Wei Wuxian, still incapacitated, tells Jiang Cheng to stop Wang Lingjiao from calling for help, but JC gets distracted by the threat to his mom, and goes to engage with Wen Zhuliu.

Jiang Cheng takes a horrifying smack in the chest, which injures him and takes him out, while Wang Lingjiao sends the signal that seals the fate of Lotus Pier.

It’s All Over Except for the Crying

Yu Ziyuan immediately sees that she's lost the battle, and has the murder twins divert Wen Zhuliu while she brings the two boys to the pier. 

She verifies that Jiang Cheng's core is still intact, showing the viewers, for future reference, that it's possible to tell by touch if someone's core is missing, although a casual touch won't do it.  

Then she re-codes the Zidian so that it recognizes Jiang Cheng and puts it on his wrist. She follows this with a display of maternal affection for Jiang Cheng unlike anything we've seen so far, which super fails to reassure him.  

She follows this up with screaming at Wei Wuxian and telling him how much she hates him, and blaming him for the multiple shitty choices she just made..  

With a heart full of rage, she reminds him that his worth lies in what he can do for more important people.

She binds the boys with Zidian and then sends the boat on its way....

...with a frickin' TALISMAN, holeee shit. As toxic as she is for Wei Wuxian, there is a direct line from her cultivation skills to his.  

Dad To The  Rescue...sort of

The last third of the episode is basically yelling and crying punctuated by a couple of interactions out on the water. The extreme emotions go on for long enough that I eventually stop feeling bad for the characters and start feeling bad for the actors, who had to maintain this level of feeling for probably days of shooting.

The boys eventually meet up with Jiang Fengmian and Jiang Yanli. JFM discovers that Zidian responds to his control, which tells him something is very, very wrong, since it probably knows how his wife feels about him.

This thing isn’t biting me; your mom is in serious trouble. 

Here Jiang Fengmian decides to do the heroic, totally futile thing, which is exactly his style. He tosses Jiang Yanli in with the boys and takes his leave so he can go die with his wife while the children survive.  

He has to know that Yu Ziyuan is the stronger fighter of the two of them, and that he's not going back to rescue her. He's just going to stand with her and die together, which is the most romantic thing you can do in a C-drama, after all.  

How Much Do You Owe the Jiang Clan?

Jiang Fengmian tells his two children not to cry, making them and the viewer cry extra hard. (specially ouchy gifset here).

Then he turns to Wei Wuxian and, with a heart full of tenderness, reminds him that his worth lies in what he can do for more important people.

Next episode: Is going to be even more horrible! 

Soundtrack: 1. When The Levee Breaks, Led Zeppelin 2. The Tale of Custard the Dragon (poem) by Ogden Nash 3. Let it Whip by the Dazz Band 4. U Got the Look by Prince & Sheena Easton 5. Magic Man by Heart

[ipaintmylipsred]

she’s more of an artemis in muddy laces. than a venus in furs.

day 4. jonrya week 2020. teacher/student au. rating: M title from boys by henry jamison link to gifset by @youcancalllmequeenjane :)

“Stop staring at me,” Arya grumbles in the dark room. She’s on her back, eyes glued to the overhead light that’s off, trying to focus on something, anything other than the man to her left, and the look of pity he’s directing her way.

“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression” Jon responds, his attempt at simultaneously feigning sleep while secretly gawking at Arya for the last half hour, finally forgotten. Of all the things he could have said, this has got to be the worst.

“Please, just stop,” Arya snaps, turning her neck to face him. She had meant to give him a glare, the kind her mother uses to shut her up. She must fail at it miserably, there’s nothing stern in the way her bottom lip quivers or how tears have crept in the corners of her eyes. Jon doesn’t look subdued but sympathetic, and the hopeful chance he might keep quiet dissolves when he opens his mouth.

“Arya,” it’s slightly louder than a whisper, letting in more emotion than he’d ever normally allow. The soft way he says her name warms her like the heat of a summer sun, it’s a familiar feeling and a dangerous game when she’s already been burned. She chooses to ignore both it and him.

“Arya,” he repeats louder. There it is, the authoritative tone she’s used to. The sharp edges of his voice pulling her out of this air-conditioned hotel room and into the stuffy, off-white walls of his classroom.  

“Mr. Snow” Arya barks back, making Jon’s face fall. She doesn’t know if it’s from the cold formality or the fact he’s always hated his surname, or rather, the lack of one. His ability to remain unaffected being called by it daily, after years of despising it, still surprises her.  

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, raking a hand through his hair. Arya wants to reach across the inches that separate them and do it herself. Over the last decade, Jon made a habit of mussing her hair, it’s an affection she’s always on the brink of trying to return. Instinctively, her fingers twitch, but she busies them with the white sheet tucked around her waist instead. She’s embarrassed herself enough for one night.

“Let’s just pretend it never happened,” she adds, her attempt of sounding calm and composed thwarted by the lump in her throat.

“Arya, listen, I care about you, but-”

“If you cared about me, at all, Jon, you would stop right there, because I’m willing to bet my left tit, that I’m going to hate whatever else comes out of that stupid mouth of yours,” Arya retorts, relieved for how quickly that shuts him up.

“I’m just going to get some sleep then,” Jon states resolved. The only remnants of their disagreement are displayed by the soft fabric that remains tightly held in Jon’s fisted hands and the steady pull of the comforter toward his side of the bed.

“Thank God,” Arya bites back, petulant, jerking the blanket back to cover herself, and turning her backside to him.  

“I knew this was going to be a bad idea,” Jon mumbles, turning to face the wall.

“How prophetic of you”.

“Can you stop being such a smart-ass?”

“I could” Arya quips back. A satisfied smirk spreading on her lips when she hears Jon groan in response.

“Let’s just get through tonight please”.

“Yeah alright, because after tonight we will only have to see each other for the plane ride tomorrow, where we’re sitting side by side, the next three months where we’re sitting in the same room, and the rest of our lives, where we will be sitting many places, I hope for my sake, that John Krasinki’s face will be one of them,” She can feel the bed shake from the vibration of Jon’s laughter, it’s rhythm unsteady and unwilling to be contained. A smile creeps onto her own face, always pleased with herself at getting Jon Snow to smile, but then she remembers what he said, what she did, and what he didn’t, and the smile is gone.

“So, yeah, let’s just get through tonight then, yeah?” Arya says, reiterating Jon’s earlier proposal.

“That’s not what I meant,” Jon counters, flipping onto his back.

“I’m sorry,” Arya begins, craning her neck to look behind, Jon’s right hand is crossed awkwardly on his chest, hovering above his left arm like he jerked it back quickly only seconds before. “Understanding what you meant hasn’t exactly been my strong suit tonight”.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” he doesn’t sound cruel, not that he ever would, it’s never been Jon’s way. She can feel his eyes on her, soft and lonely, like they always seem to be. It’s how he had been looking at her earlier, when he’d said those damned words, convincing Arya to act on the affection she hides and play the fool by kissing him.

“I don’t,” Arya huffs out in frustration.

“Alright then, goodnight Arya”.

After ten unsuccessful minutes and the inability to think of anything other than Jon’s words, rejection, and eyes, Arya gives up on trying to sleep. She reaches out, flicks the bedside lamp on, and sits up in the bed, arms crossed at her chest.

“Why did you say that?” Arya asks, giving in to her own selfish need of knowing. Curiosity has always left her with far more wounds than anything physical and she knows tonight it will add another cut.

“Say what?” Jon asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and turning to look at her.

“Don’t make me say it,” Arya whispers, biting her lip. Jon sits up in the bed, the closeness of their bodies heightened in the shared space. He raises his hand, scratching lightly at his beard, deciding. Deciding on the best way to take them back, most likely.

“Because it’s the truth,” he resolves. Arya can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes her throat when he says it, because of all the reasons, she had not expected to hear that.  

“Then, why-?”

“Because it’s a truth that doesn’t exist.” Jon says, tearing his eyes away from Arya to focus on his hands.

“That’s weird, I was here talking to you and then I blinked myself into a calculus lesson,” Arya says scooting closer to him.

“I shouldn’t have said it,” Jon says, finally meeting her eyes. Arya drops her gaze downward, a disappointed oh slipping from her lips. “Not because it’s not the truth,” Jon says, reaching for her left hand. Holding her breath, Arya watches him stroke his thumb against her own, and it feels, right. She knows that this is right. Everything about her and Jon always has been. When she looks to Jon’s face, his eyes are concentrated on where their hands are joined, the barest of smiles on his lips, and she knows he must feel the same, even as he pulls his hand away and leaves the bed. “You’re my student, you’re seventeen years old, and you’re my best friend’s little sister” Jon finishes, pacing the floor like a trapped animal.

“So,” Arya responds, crawling to the edge of the bed, knees folded beneath her. Her one word response ceases Jon’s pacing, and he’s standing in front of her, a look of shock straining his features.

“So?” he says, sounding almost offended. Arya wants to laugh, but she doubts Jon finds anything about their situation funny. She reaches out and grabs his hands instead, pulling him closer to the bed, and finds herself surprised he’s allowing it.  

“Yeah, so? I’ll graduate in three months and turn eighteen in even less”.

“You’re still Robb’s little sister” Jon says, his voice holds guilt, but his hands still hold her.  

“Is that the only reason?” Arya asks, understanding while simultaneously trying to understand. She pulls him down to sit beside her, and is relieved at how easily he allows this too.

“Reason?” Jon mumbles in confusion. If Arya weren’t so on edge about his response, she’d call him daft, but he looks almost ready to flee so Arya falls back onto something she has a limited use for, patience.

“Is that the only reason you didn’t kiss me back?” Arya asks, watching Jon for a reaction, she’s still holding onto him with one hand, her knee nearly touching his thigh, but his eyes are fixated somewhere on the floor.

“I don’t- I don’t know,” he sounds lost, and Arya thinks that if he allows it, allows this, allows her, he might be found.

“Look at me Jon,” she commands, the uncertainty of her nerves hiding within the confidence of her voice. He complies, lifting his gaze, hovering on the bareness of her thighs before meeting hers. Arya has never been good with boys, she’s never been conventionally pretty or anything close to delicate. She’s competitive and her skills with sports natural, but the game-playing mentality of dating has always seemed boring and her ability to read signals impossible. She’s inept at knowing if and what a boy wants from her or what she wants from them. Or maybe none of that’s true. Maybe it’s that she’s never wanted anything from any of them to begin with. Maybe she’s only ever wanted what’s right in front of her. Because when his eyes do reach hers, there’s a warm, hungry feeling in her stomach and a sensation of novelty as it travels, stills and burns between her thighs. She knows with absolution what it is that Jon Snow wants, by looking at him. He wants nothing less than to touch, taste, and devour her. And all she wants, is to let him.

“You want me,” Arya voices, sounding breathy and foreign even to herself. It’s not a question, but Jon nods all the same. It’s almost trance-like, the way his jaw tilts up to fall down, it’s the slightest transfer of movement, and when the AC starts up like an uncomfortable bystander in the room witnessing lines on the cusp of being crossed, it’s broken.    

“We should get some sleep,” Jon’s deep voice sounds especially hoarse and Arya refuses for tonight to end this way. The space has grown cooler, the tension has been cut,  but the goosebumps on her arms, sharing skin with freckles and scars, come from the heat of her want and not the chill of  the room. Tonight can end in a dozen different ways, some she would prefer more than others, but she refuses for it end like so much of life is and will always be, unfinished.

“No,” Arya says easily, it’s a familiar word from childhood, perhaps the first one she’d ever spoken. It’s voiced when people ask less of what she is and more of what she is not. Jon blinks at her, unmoved, just watching her, pupils blown wide. She reaches out a hesitant hand, offsetting the harshness of her defiant mantra with the softness of her palm against his jawline. He shudders from the contact, and Arya knows she would give Jon anything, if his breathing continues to remain contingent on her touch. Jon has been in her life for over a decade, filling her years with sarcasm, affection, and unwavering acceptance. Jon knows her, and right now, being here with Jon, and choosing to be soft, doesn’t feel like much a choice, it doesn’t feel like coming home, it’s like remembering you were always there.

“You want me,” Arya begins, letting her hand slip from his face, a smile tugging at her lips from the frown that forms on his when she does so. “Even though I’m your student,” Arya continues,  placing her hands on his shoulders, “and seventeen,” she throws a leg across his body, sitting down on his lap. “and Robb’s little sister,” His hands grip her hips roughly and she moans from the surprise and satisfaction. “you want me” she can feel his hardness, hardly contained in his sleeping pants and rocks against him, seeking friction for the wetness that’s formed in the fabric of her cotton underwear.

“We can’t,” Jon’s forehead falls against her neck and he places a chaste kiss against her heaving chest. He still holds her hips in his hands, his finger curling into the flesh of her ass. He’d been using them to guide her movements, now he was using them to keep her still.

“Tell me,”Arya says, fingering his curls and pulling him backwards forcefully. “Do you?”

“Arya,” Jon whispers, lifting one hand to wrap around her slender waist.

“I want you to say it,” Arya pleads, letting her hand fall, growing tired of being the only one wanting and fighting for it.

“This is a bad idea,” Jon counters, his grip remaining tight.

“No, not that, you’ve already said that,” Arya replies sardonically, squirming above him, wondering how someone can grow both sullen and harder at the same time.

“It is,” Jon says, defeat prevailing in both tone and the way his hands drop back to his side.

“I do,” Arya says resolute. More for herself at this point. He can dress it up, assuage his honor code, and call himself a hero, but beneath her sits a coward. “For years, I’ve wanted you” Jon watches her mouth, transfixed, as if just now realizing the source of Arya’s actions. Had he thought it sudden, her want of him? Did he think it was a few kind words and not the overwhelming attraction she’s been hiding for years that catalyzed this between them. “You were my first crush, Jon,” Jon releases a deep exhale, and Arya’s fascinated by her words, and  the affect they are having on him.

“The first time I touched myself I thought of you,” Arya can hardly believe the what she’s saying at this point. Too caught up in the feel of Jon’s body between her legs and the incredulous look on his face.

“I thought it would be the tall guy from that show you’re always watching,” Jon says, finally finding the ability to speak.

“So you’ve thought about it, have you?” Arya asks coyly, making Jon’s pale face redden. It’s an unfamiliar and pretty thing, to watch him blush and not brood.

“Obviously, Jim Halpert has made a few appearances over the years, but now, the only way I can get off, is when I think of you, just last night, I pictured us in your classroom, I was sitting at that black, leather chair behind your desk, with your face between my thighs, you whispering that I’m your good girl,” The irises of Jon’s eyes have gone entirely black, and at some point his hands have wandered back along the contours of her body, one slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, the other playing with drawstring of her sleep shorts. “and then there’s no more whispering, just me, screaming your name”.

“Arya,” he breathes out,pulling her against him, and crashing his mouth hard against her own. A smile forms on her lips and Jon uses this to his advantage, slipping his tongue between them. The sensation is heady, and raw, and right, and Arya wants more. She wants everything.

“Touch me,” Arya whimpers, she will worry over how weak willed she sounds tomorrow. Tonight the moon could crash into the ocean, and while the waves consumed them, she would still be begging for him to touch her.

“I am touching you,” Jon whispers playfully, between kisses, twining his finger into her messy, brown hair.

“I’m glad you find this all humorous,” Arya groans out, pulling back to pout. “But if your fingers do not find their way into my inside of me in the next five-,” Arya keens, feeling Jon’s thumb at her clit, his index finger probing at her wet entrance, before she can even finish speaking.  

[spacegaywritings]

The Wonders of Sleep - You are a Nightmare (4/5)

Summary: Remus is in another chaotic frenzy and refuses to calm down, so Virgil has to step in and convince the Dark Creativity that sleep can be fun too. At least Thomas well get to rest with this.

Tags: Remus things! Talks about murder, death, violence, inflicting pain etc on others/self (your basic favourites in intrusive thoughts), weapons, brutality, Remus, virgil, dukexiety, the duke of nonsense and bullshit, caps, angery remus, moth man/ rat man mentions, sexual innuendo, food, (eating) worms, plants, weird living conditions, disgusting room description, absolute chaos, caring about thomas, mutual care, fluff, domestic fluff, swearwords, lotsa cursing, dismissive nicknames, self harm (mention)

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Story under the cut: (<2k)

A gargantuan mace hit the ground, sending splitting stones and other pieces of damaged ground flying through the heart of the imagination.

 “KILL HIM, I SAY!”

 Dark Creativity screeched into the air. He ripped the mace out of the ground with great effort and immediately struck the ground with a loud war scream.

His deafening screams and yells filled the vast emptiness of the mindscape. Other than that, the slightly more silent noise of Remus consistently breaking and devastating the rocks and mountains of the desert he was in.

 “Thomas just needs to get a simple baseball bat and SMASH HIS SKULL IN!”

 Remus repeated his motion of shattering the bleeding ground as he hurled his mace out and behind his back for the maximum amount of swinging power science would give him.

 “No more PAY! No more BILLS!”

 He worked the mace down into the ground, his whole body following the movement. His upper body went down with the large weapon and stopped just shy of the unsteady ground, splitting it.

A growl could be heard. It erupted from the depths of the ground could as the dark floor slowly drove itself away from one another in two halves.

 The Duke’s rage had halved the currently imagined world.

He freed his mace and brought it back to his chest. One of his hands brushed over the end of it, the one without stabby spikes! Still a pretty side, to Remus.

A little light bubble, dark pink, grew at said end with a bit of distance to the stick-part itself.

 Remus shook the mace, letting the spikes give way to nothing but a long, black stick. Once the hurty spikes were gone, he YEETED the consistently expanding bubble in front of him and repeated.

 “KILL HIM!”

 The bubble manifested itself in the air, sticking to the invisible laws of the Duke’s whimsy. Slowly, a picture started to fade onto the dark background. Thomas could be seen, holding a bat. It was just as Remus had predicted.

The scene became crystal clear and with a simple snip of his fingers, Thomas moved as if trapped in the gifset of a violent mind. He bashed into his head, again, again, again and again as Remus chanted in moral support.

 “GO! YES! GO! AGAIN! MORE MORE MORE MORE MORE-”

 “Remus.”

 The Imagination shifted at once, the bubbling magma morphing into a small river while the dark ground, the stones and rocks and destruction turned into a field of grass.

While the air remained heavy, the bubble popped and Remus’ stick became nothing but an elegant twig.

 “Why are you up so late?”

 Creativity growled in response and shook his body like a wet dog. His flouncy outfit floated as if in timelapse.

 “Why are you up so late? Stop asking me silly questions. I am creating.”

 Virgil hopped over the small river and turned to look directly at the raging side.

 “You look as if you are pouting”, he stated calmly, much like Logan would, “what got ya stinki mood up, poopy boy?”

 Remus glared back at the smaller side and cleared his throat. He bowed to pick up his twig.

 “My mace.”

 That was definitely a pout. Remus’ lips were pursed into a pout, even his words seemed to pout despite his sentence being so short of them.

The mustache seemed to stretch his face into a long, sad face. Maybe he was actually manipulating his appearance, maybe the facial hair really put an extra emphasis after all.

 “You are the Duke of Creativity. If you want it back, you do that. Now, how about we give this financial discussion a break and fucking chill for a minute.”

 Remus threw the twig away and shook his head, arms crossed in front of his chest.

 “Yeah, you would like that. How about Thomathy here gets it on with a hot dude and I will shut up?”

 Virgil rolled his eyes.

 “We could eat that cockroach Thomathy squished this morning! I will get it from the trash!”

 The Duke started running for time before the other could even react. Anxiety kicked in, shifting the imagination in a way, they found themselves in Remus’ messy bedroom.

A huge vine came out of the closet and ended mid-room before the bed.. or whatever one wanted to call the mess of clothing. There was a glowing blue trail of splatter on the floor. Weapons and.. hair??? were cluttered all over the floor.

Virgil could hear a distant slapping of meat.

The floorboards seemed rather loose and rattled.

 “My room! ROOM ROOM ROOM!”

 Remus drew Virgil close.

 “Emo! Look at my plant! It is really cute! It will love you!”

 Virgil clung to the ever-changing mess of ideas and shook his head.

 “I want to sleep, Remus. Shut up and go to sleep with me. You can wreck havoc and reek tomorrow but Thomas needs to sleep or else he will be shit in the morning.”

 The man in question bounced.

 “If I make Thomathy beat up himself, he will look like shit for sure!!!”

 The emo rolled his eyes and nudged Remus towards the bed. He had not even expected the room to look as bad. Maybe he should have taken this to the living-room or literally any space that had a comfortable ground to lay on. He was a metaphysical being who could not really perceive pain after all - the choice to sleep was really just allowing Thomas to deal with things more calmly, at least in the case of Anxiety. Also, only given that Virgil did not deliberately clock out in order to spare Thomas any effect from his side.

 “Nah, that is work. Work sucks. We wanna sleep forever and eat weird shit, right?”

 Remus grumbled.

At heart, he sort of agreed. Right now, he was driven to do things, to be active and creative or destroy and simply do as much as he could because he had that energy.

 “Nap time, Dukey.”

 Virgil tugged him towards the bed.

 “Oh, Virgil ~ I did not know you were into this kind of thing ~”

 The addressed side blushed but shook his head.

 “In your dreams, fucker.”

 He stepped closer to the unmoving wall of Creativity. Confidently, he let their chests collide, sending Remus backwards.

The wavering Duke gasped in surprise and squeaked insolently.

 “EmO!”, he screeches with a voice that got scratchier and scratchier by the minute. His arms flailed into any direction until he drew them in front of his chest to cross them.

“How can you be cunning and cunt-y?”

 Virgil could hear his brain yell a conditioned “language!” response at him. He literally heard Patton scold Remus in his brain. Judging from the sour look on the other’s face, the anxious trait assumed he could hear it too.

 “Now you know how tiring it can be to hear something in you, that you can’t stop? Pretty fucking shitty, huh? Move, babysitting you is tiring.”

 The reveal of a long, pink tongue was the response but Remus kicked off his boots and patted his clothings until they dissolved into some sort of magical glitter dust. It silently trickled down onto the floor and was blown into all directions of the room.

This place really had a mind of its own. Not that Virgil really minded this.

 “Good Remus”, Virgil praised softly as he joined the other on the bed. They laid down together and Virgil kicked a bundle of weapons and books off the bed, “oops. My bad. I thought it was your pet raccoon.”

 Remus giggled.

 “No! That is you!”

 Virgil shook his head, grinning into his oversized mess of a self-ruined jacket. The Duke looked at him in his own naked glory and patted the space next to him. To join him on the fun, he eyed the stack of his dirty single socks collection and gave it a strong kick.

 “PARTY!”

 “Nooo, nap time. We wanted to be nice to Thomas and fuck shit up tomorrow.”

 Creativity blinked at Virgil. A rare occasion. The blinking and directly looking at someone. He usually just stared into something nobody but him could see. It was chilling and so deeply terrifying, Thomas would feel it in his bones when anyone but Logan or the (former) Others interacted with him.

 “You will join me?”

 Virgil threw his head back as he slowly snuggled up to Remus, filling the spot he had previously patted. A groan escaped his lips and he let his head roll against Remus’ shoulder.

 Instead of answering, he clapped his hands together, summoning a little bowl he thrusted into Remus’ hands.

The bowl was full of little gummy worms which looked surprisingly disgusting with how slimy and wet they appeared to be. They had a certain shine to them and the colour was so unnaturally neon orange, they were glowing in the dim lighting of the Duke’s room.

 “Have a cursed snack and get your creative energy into a fucked up sex dream instead of making Thomas uncomfortable. He’s got some shit to do tomorrow.”

 Silence took over the room.

Virgil caused some rustling sounds as he curled up next to Remus. The room was surprisingly un-stinky compared to what he had expected.

Loud chewing sounds interrupted the momentary silence.

 It was good while it lasted but Virgil was willing to trade his own discomfort for the sake of Thomas’ well-being. He needed his sleep with another tough schedule coming up.

 “Virgil?”

 He hummed in response.

 “Are you anxious because of the new projects they planned?”

 The former dark side curled further into himself, shaking his head stubbornly.

Chewing sounds continued for a bit until Remus took a small break and suddenly snapped his head back and emptied the whole bowl into his mouth. Without even moving his jaw to chew, he swallowed his big ball of cursed sweets and made a lewd lip-smacking sound.

 Virgil opened his mouth to comment on how disgusting the other was but he interrupted him.

 “Come cuddle. It is okay to be scared. I will eat your mean anxiety.”

 He shook his head. The Duke turned to pull Virgil into a hug. The anxious side chuckled.

 “This is not how I work.”

 “Yeah, but it is how I work.”

 “Whatever, Remus. Shut up if you wanna cuddle, you rat man.”

 It was Remus’ turn to chuckle.

 “You just wish I was moth man!”

 Virgil shook his head, smirking into Remus’ neck. He finally allowed himself to close his eyes and hold onto the other.

 It was silent.

For real.

Within minutes, Remus was asleep and Virgil was ever so silently snoring, nobody could hear it.

[ravenbrenna09]

Unattainable - Chapter One - A Robbe/Sander Fic

LET’S TRY THIS AGAIN (thanks for deleting it Tumblr).

Summary: Sander is Instagram Famous and Robbe is his biggest fan. Someone like Sander would never notice someone like him… right?

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135918/chapters/52836538

...

I would like to thank @milanhendrickx because this AU has completely taken over my life from the moment that I first saw her gifset. Originally, this wasn't supposed to be as long it was. It was only intended to be a one-shot, but there was just too much that I wanted to include. So, as of right now, there are only two chapters that deal with the events shown in milanhendrickx's original gifset, but I could easily expand to include more.

Like, this was soooooooo much fun to write. I enjoyed it. 

There are some texts in this chapter. The formatting might be a little easier on AO3, but I’m going to make the texts Robbe sends to be bold and the messages that he receives to be italicized. I hope this makes it a little bit easier with the texting sections. 

...

The party drummed around him, music floating through the speakers that were on either side of the television.

It was a small gathering, a get-together of sorts to celebrate Senne and Zoë’s engagement in their brand-new apartment. The bride-to-be was on the other side of the room, the bright shiny ring on her finger as she let Amber take a look at it. Senne was talking with Milan and some of his friends from school, leaning against the wall with a beer in his grasp.

The girls teased Zoë endlessly, probably because of Zoë’s retelling of the proposal where she had asked Senne to marry her a week before he had meticulously planned to propose (Robbe and Milan had spent so much time trying to help him plan it perfectly that they had gaped, having all been out together; Robbe managed to get his phone out to record the actual proposal when Senne surprised her by getting down on one knee in the middle of the market), and the blonde’s cheeks were dusted pink in response to her friends’ teasing. 

Robbe glanced the room for his friends, who were over on the edge of the room, trying to fish out the details of Jens’ new boyfriend, who had been sneaking in and out of their four-bedroom apartment for weeks. Robbe wasn’t a part of it because he had run into Lucas in the kitchen with Noor as they made breakfast. The boy hadn’t said anything, simply grabbing a bottle of water and returning to Jens’ room (which was then followed by a yelp from Jens and much laughing). Later that evening, the black-haired man had sworn Robbe and Noor to secrecy. 

(Noor was the one who had slipped up on Jens having a boyfriend and Jens had mock-scolded her at three in the morning one night.)

Robbe glanced at his phone, upset that he hadn’t heard from his mom quite yet. He ran a hand through his hair, reminding himself that it was normal for the first couple of days in the institution as doctors did evaluations and checked things over. His mother had been going down again, not taking her medications daily and her meds weren’t working like they were supposed to. When Robbe was in high school, she had checked herself into an institution, being there for months before she had been able to come home. Now, she had checked herself back in.

His phone buzzed and he barely registered the fact that it had been an Instagram notification before someone wrapped their arms around his shoulders. 

“Hey,” it was Zoë, pressing a kiss against his cheek. She pulled back to stare at him, reaching up to wipe away the deep red lip imprint that she left in her wake. Robbe glanced at her, spotting the concerned look on her face. Ever since Robbe had gone to live with her and Milan, the three of them had remained close. Zoë and Milan had been there for him when he needed it the most and they hadn’t let him go. “Why are you looking so glum for?” she questioned, a smile growing on her lips. “It’s a celebration, Robbe.” 

“I’m sorry,” Robbe replied, straightening up on the arm of the couch. “I’m just worried about my mom.” 

Zoë gave him a comforting smile, squeezing his shoulders as she pulled back. “I know, but I promise that she’s in the best place in the world. Now, come on,” she spoke, extending her hands. 

“Come on what?” Robbe questioned, taking them. 

The blonde grinned, pulling him off the couch and towards the middle of the room. The furniture had been pushed aside to have a makeshift dance floor which is where his friends were all gathered. Robbe rolled his eyes as he realized Zoë’s intentions, wrapping his arms around the woman that he had always considered to be the closest thing that he would ever have to a sister and dancing with her. Once Robbe spun her, Zoë let out a laugh and landed against his chest. 

“Can I ask you something?” she questioned, stepping back to glance up at him, still swaying. 

Robbe nodded his head, furrowing his eyebrows. “Of course you can. I’ve learned my lesson. Never say no to the bride.” 

Zoë laughed, a nervous look crossing her face as she bit down on her bottom lip. Watching her getting so nervous instantly made Robbe nervous as well. Then, after a bit, Zoë gripped onto his shoulder as she let out a laugh, lighter and showing her nerves before she managed to form the words together. 

“Would it be okay if you walked me down the aisle?” Zoë questioned, her voice rushed and breathless. Robbe’s eyes widened as she continued, “With Milan, of course, I think he would be quite offended if I asked you and not him, but both of you are like family and since my dad is out of the picture and you’re practically like my little brother-”

“Zoë,” Robbe cut her off. She blinked up at him, the nervous look crossed back over her face. “Of course, I would love to walk you down the aisle.” 

Zoë grinned, throwing her arms around him and pressing another kiss to his cheek. She shrieked out a sorry and tried to wipe away the red lipstick once again before she moved back towards the girls that were demanding the bride-to-be’s attention. Robbe laughed, moving back to the couch now that the only reason he was off the couch had been dragged away. As he flopped down on the couch, pulling his phone from pocket and glancing down at the Instagram notification.

earthlingoddity has started a live broadcast

Glancing around the room, Robbe slid open the notification and kicking his volume down to mute. Within minutes, the broadcast was up, showing ‘earthlingoddity’ in a store, lightly banging his head as he sang a song or mumbled a song. Judging from the angle, someone else was holding the camera and possibly talking to the chat. Robbe couldn’t tell, but he could tell that a fond smile had already begun to form on his face as he watched the man move through the store, grabbing things and dumping them in the shopping cart as he talked, and sung, to the camera and whoever was behind it. 

The brunet wasn’t for sure how it had started, this intense fascination for a person that he had ever seen in person before. While scrolling through Instagram one day, Robbe had come across one of the numerous drawings that he had posted on his profile and had liked it. Then, upon seeing three or four more, he ended up on his profile and following him before proceeding to scroll through every single picture that he had ever posted. He didn’t leave a like on all of his posts (though, Robbe knew that he wanted to).

But, if Robbe hadn’t been aware that he liked guys and only guys, he was certain that earthlingoddity, or Sander, would’ve been the final nail in the metaphorical coffin. 

The man was beautiful, almost angelic, like the type of person that you wouldn’t have suspected could’ve ever possibly existed on Earth. His hair had been bleached to a bright white and bright green eyes. Somehow, in (almost) every photo that featured himself, he was wearing the same black leather jacket and his live video now was no exception. He smiled brightly at the camera as he talked and Robbe had been certain that his stomach was performing somersaults. 

Yeah, he definitely had a problem, Robbe decided as he typed “you’re amazing”. His response was quickly followed by the fast-moving chat and Robbe locked his phone as he heard heels approaching him. 

“Robbe,” someone spoke, a light begging tone in her voice. 

He glanced up to find Noor walking towards him. His roommate’s girlfriend was dressed in a black long sleeve shirt with a plunging neckline coupled with a dark red skirt. She had her black hair pushed behind her ears, exposing her black stud earrings, and her bangs were slightly pushed to the side. Robbe noticed that she wasn’t wearing a septum ring tonight which could only mean one thing. 

“Noor,” he spoke, already sitting up and already suspecting that she was going to ask. “Again?” 

On their first ‘date’ following a mad dash from a party all those years ago, Noor had taken Robbe to a secret spray-painting club that operated out of a warehouse that someone owned. Some of the members were from her school and a handful were other spray-painters around Antwerp. Robbe and Noor had been a fresh couple back then, having literally met in a bathroom hours before. It had been before Nick and the harsh words that Robbe had thrown in Nick’s face in fear of what it all meant. After Robbe was out and had apologized to her, the two of them became friends. Once Moyo and Noor started officially dating, it became apparent that she wouldn’t be leaving Robbe’s life anytime soon. 

As a result, she tended to bring Robbe with her to the underground painting ring when Moyo couldn’t go with her. 

“Please,” Noor spoke, folding her hands in front of him. She glanced at Moyo, who was still trying to get Jens’ to fess up with Aaron and now Amber had joined in the conversation. “Our anniversary is tomorrow and we’re going out with his parents after I get out of work. I won’t be able to go for a week so I have to make sure it’s all done tonight. I’m almost done, I promise that it won’t take that long. Plus, Moyo is meeting with his mom and his mom’s doctor in the morning and it’s supposed to be a surprise.” 

Robbe looked at her. “Why me?”

“Because they know you,” Noor supplied, putting her hands on her hips. “And, besides, if I don’t show up with either one of you, I have to fight off some newbie with spray-paint who wants to hit on me.” She folded her hands in front of her again. “Please?”

Robbe let out a sigh and Noor grinned because she knew that she already won. 

… 

Upon arriving outside the old garage, Noor had practically forced the mask over his face before he even had the chance to ask for one. Once she had made sure that her own was secure, she stepped over to him, making sure the straps were tucked behind his ears and locked in place. The knock was simple and deliberate. After so many trips coming with her over the years, he had the knock memorized but he never came here of his own accord. 

Just like any other night, the garage was full of people. Robbe recognized the blue eyes of the man that had let them into the building. The man had made a joke about Noor ditching her boyfriend to which she rolled her eyes and pretended to not be offended before grabbing Robbe by the wrist and dragging him further into the large warehouse. There were a handful of vehicles along with the vast empty space, a handful of people here and there, and there was at least one person that had a camera, taking pictures of everything around them. 

Noor shifted the bag that she had been carrying up further on her shoulder. 

One artist that they passed had chosen the canvas to be one of the poles that held up the building. The person was switching from a can of spray paint to a paintbrush and palette that was balancing dangerously on his knee. Another had started an abstract painting on the floor, his space coordinated off by a bunch of backpacks that had to have been from the other painters. The entire life and feel of the warehouse had always made him smile, the support and the secrets brimming in the building. 

“Come,” Noor spoke, grabbing his arm and directing him further into the building, all the way to the back wall. There was a section of the wall that had already been spray-painted over. The section was a majority of a dark blue with a beautiful blend of blues and purples. There was only a section of the wall that had small white bursts against the blend. As he stared, Robbe could make out a handful of constellations that he couldn’t remember the name of. 

“Wow,” he mumbled.

“Do you like it?” she questioned, sounding insecure. 

“Of course I like it, it’s beautiful,” Robbe informed her. Even with the mask obscuring half of Noor’s face, he could tell that his friend was grinning from ear-to-ear. But, he couldn’t help but feel like there was more to the story. “Why are you so eager to finish this tonight?” he asked, curious. 

“Oh,” Noor spoke, her cheeks flushing. “Well, for our first date, Moyo and I had spent the night looking up at the stars. His mother used to always show him the constellations. We sat there forever just looking up at the stars and he was telling me the stories of them. I’m going to show him, but I know it’s not going to stay here on this wall forever so I was going to have a friend take a picture and print it out so we could keep it.”

Robbe smiled. 

“Too cheesy?” she questioned. 

“No,” Robbe replied, shaking his head. “I think it would be a perfect gift for Moyo.” 

Noor smiled.

The artist had a reference picture on her phone which she was meticulously following. In his initial visit to the warehouse, the two of them had sprayed a garage truck together. But, Robbe knew that he was here as moral support. As such, he sat on the floor, not far from her with his legs crossed beneath him and her bag of spray paint in front of him. Whenever her can of white paint ran out, he fetched her another from her bag. She must’ve known that she would need to use a lot because there were at least ten cans of white spray paint. 

Noor was meticulous, going a little at a time. Robbe knew that she was focused on the task at hand so while she was spray painting, Robbe was playing on his phone. There was a text from Moyo asking about any information about Jens’ boyfriend which Robbe ignored and informed him that they had made it to the warehouse safely. Jens sent him to let him know that he (and Moyo) had all arrived back at the apartment and that they were headed to bed. Once he had finished the text, his thumb instantly opened Instagram with the hopes that the live broadcast was still going on. 

To his disappointment, it wasn’t.  

So, he ended up playing a game. 

“Robbe,” Noor whined, tearing his attention away from his game. Robbe glanced up to his friend, who was standing on the top of the ladder that she had pulled over some time ago. She had reached the top of the mural now, the stars covered the entire mural except for one section in the upper hand corner. The ladder couldn’t go any further over, stuck by a pole. “How does it look?” 

Robbe gave her a look. “It looks beautiful, just like it did when you started nearly three hours ago.” 

“Three hours?!” she questioned, glancing at her phone. There’s a surprised look on her face as she filtered through what she presumed to be messages. “I didn’t realize it would take this long.”

“Noor,” Robbe spoke. “It’s fine. You just might have to deal with an angry boyfriend when you climb into bed in the middle of the night.” Noor chuckled, starting to climb off the ladder to move it. Robbe’s phone buzzed in his hand and he glanced down. It was an Instagram notification, but his tired brain doesn’t register it at first let alone read it. “How much do you have left to do?” he questioned, curious. 

“Just one more thing, I promise,” Noor admitted, locking the ladder in place. “And, this one won’t take three hours.” 

Robbe let out a laugh, shaking his head, as his phone vibrated against his palm. However, this time, it’s a text message from Jens, which he quickly opened, wondering why Jens was awake now. 

I just checked your room and you’re still not home.

Why are you still not home?

Noor has been pretty focused.

She’s finishing up now.

Why are you still awake?

Robbe, I know that I don’t need to tell you how sex works.

Oh, Lucas is there?

Tell him hi!

He says hello and that he’ll see you in the morning. 

When are you going to be home?

Thirty minutes to an hour?

Why?

So I don’t think someone’s breaking in?

Why would a burglar have a key?

We’re going to bed. 

Goodnight. 

Be quiet when you two come in.

We’ll be quiet.

I hope you didn’t wake up Moyo.

We didn’t. 

Unlike someone (*cough* Moyo *cough*), we can be quiet. 

Robbe let out a chuckle, glancing up when Noor’s boot tapped against his foot. She had pushed the ladder off to the side, exposing the entirety of the work. Her final touch had been a shooting star which was placed in the dead-center of the mural. He grinned at it. 

“Who’s still awake this late?” she questioned, placing the white cap back on the can. Robbe handed her the phone to show her the texts which she read through with a grin on her face. Robbe took the spray paint and placed it back in her bag with the other cans. Most of them were empty but Noor recycled them. Noor let out a laugh, her eyes scanning over the texts. 

“Noor?” 

The deep voice stirred both of their attention. Robbe glanced up, spotting the man standing behind him with a black hood over his head, obscuring his face in shadows. The man even had a black mask that covered his mouth, almost draping him completely in darkness and shadows. The only thing that stood out was his eyes but even those were partially obscured in the shadows. 

But, Noor seemed to recognize him, stepping forward and wrapping him in a hug. “Hey, how are you?” The man moved to respond, but Robbe’s phone vibrated in Noor’s hand, managed to get the attention of both of them. She glanced down, reading the screen, before handing the phone out to him.

Robbe’s breath knocked out of his throat at the sight of Mama on the screen. “I’ll be right back,” Robbe promised Noor, taking the phone and stepping away. He vaguely registered that he paused to take his mask off as he moved to a section of the warehouse that hadn’t been touched tonight. “Hi Mama,” he spoke, right before a yawn escaped his mouth. 

“I’m sorry, Robbe,” his mother spoke. “I just realized what time it was. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“You didn’t wake me up,” Robbe spoke quickly. He glanced around, unsure what to tell his mother about what he had actually been doing. Noor was talking to her friend that had walked up to them, but she glanced at him, worried. His friends, including Noor, had been waiting as anxiously as he was for news about his mother. “I was just studying for a test that I have on Monday. Time got away from me.”

His mother let out a breath of relief. “That’s good. I meant to call you earlier, but I guess I must’ve fallen asleep without realizing it. How has the apartment been? Are the boys taking care of you?”

Robbe smiled. “Yeah, they are. How are you feeling?”

“I’m good. The doctors think that I’ll only be in a couple of weeks this time. They were talking about how they’ll have to change my meds again,” his mother spoke. “Will you visit me while I’m in here?” 

“Of course,” Robbe promised. “I will.” His mother let out a yawn. As much as Robbe didn’t want to get off the phone with his mother, he knew that she needed to get some sleep. “Mama, I’ve got to get to bed. I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay?”

“Make it in the afternoon. I have a session with the doctor in the morning. I’ll ask when you can start visiting,” his mother spoke, sounding sleepy. Even though she couldn’t see, Robbe found himself nodding his head anyways. “Have a good night’s sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Robbe replied before hearing the dial tone. He let out a breath that he didn’t realize that he was even holding. His mom was okay and safe. 

“Is everything okay with your mom? Why was she calling so late?” It was Noor, appearing at his side with a concerned plastered on her face. Her bag was thrown over her shoulder and his brown jacket was bundled up in her arms. He took it from her, slipping it over his shoulders, as he nodded his head. 

“Yeah, she’s okay,” Robbe informed her. Noor let out a breath of relief, running her hand through her hair as she turned back around. Robbe glanced where she was looking, only to find the boy wrapped up in the black hoodie, leather jacket, and a mask to be taking a picture of Noor’s mural. “She meant to call me earlier and had fallen asleep. She didn’t realize what time it was until after I picked up.” 

“That’s good,” Noor replied. She reached out to take his arm. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

“What about your mural?” he questioned. 

Noor pointed a finger to the guy taking photos. “He’s going to print it out for me. He’s got a studio for everything that he’s into. I’ll get it sometime in the week.”

“Alright, let’s go home.” Robbe laughed, letting her pull him from the warehouse. As the two of them left arm-in-arm, the two talked about Robbe’s mom had talked to him about, unaware of the green eyes that staring at their backs.

It’s only later in the morning after Robbe is woken up to the sounds of Jens talking with Moyo in the kitchen, talking about making another vlog, after Robbe had groggily walked in on the two conversing over the coffee pot with a sleepy Noor at the table, that he realized that he had never checked the Instagram notification. As his roommates bickered and Noor sipped on her coffee, Robbe checked his phone. 

earthlingoddity has added to his story

It was a simple black picture, not showing anything other than a faint outline of where the platinum-haired man was vaguely standing. There was white text across the screen, diagonal and slanted: Do you ever see someone and just know they’re the one? 

…

When Moyo and Noor were finally able to have their anniversary celebration that weekend, the rest of the boys had vacated the apartment, leaving it to the happy couple of four years. Jens had hopped on the train to visit Lucas at his flat. Aaron had an exclusive party to go to Amber’s house. Robbe had wandered a bit where he could end up going, but he decided on texting Milan and ask if he could stay in the spare bedroom (which had been empty since Zoë had moved out). With Lisa out of the house with party plans and no third roommate, the two of them had the living room for the night and a bottle of alcohol passed between them. 

“How’s school?” Milan questioned. 

“Almost done,” Robbe admitted, letting out a sigh. His eyes flickered around the room, catching all the empty places where Zoë’s things once were.

“And?” Milan pressed. 

“And what?”

“Are there any cute boys?” Robbe chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t give me that look. As your gay-guru, I have the right to make sure that you are properly satisfied.” 

Robbe barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “There’s no one. I’m afraid that Jens is getting more action than I am right now. I think I’ve actually seen his boyfriend more than I’ve been seeing someone,” Robbe replied. 

“So no one? Not even one night flings?”

Robbe shrugged. There were a couple of one-night flings that he had over the years, but it had been a while since he had one himself. “Not for a bit.” 

“Well, you’re boring,” Milan deadpanned. 

Robbe scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “But, what about you, Milan? Have you finally decided to ask out that guy from the coffee shop or are beating you around the bush because you don’t want to get hurt?” 

Milan looked offended, holding his hand over his chest. “Excuse you, baby Robbe? As your gay-guru, you have no right to speak to me like that,” he started before the older man descended into laughter, almost falling off of the couch. He straightened up, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I’m just waiting to make my move.”

“At a snail’s pace,” Robbe teased. Milan let out a gasp, getting up to go into the kitchen and fetch another bottle of vodka or wine. Whatever Milan decided. His phone buzzed in his lap and he glanced at it with a curious gaze. There was an Instagram notification from Noor (noor.bauwens has tagged you in a post) and Robbe was smiling before he had even opened the post. 

The post was simply a photo of Noor with Moyo in their apartment kitchen. Moyo was sitting in a chair, pressing a kiss to Noor’s cheek as she sat perched on his lap, her arms curled around his neck and one hand on his cheek. The framed photo of her spray painting masterpiece was being held up on both of them, partially cut off by the Instagram photo restrictions. The frame itself had been larger than Robbe had been expecting, but it could’ve easily been hung above their bed. Robbe was certain that he would be able to see it in person once he was able to go back into his apartment tomorrow morning (or afternoon, depending on how long his tequila/wine-induced hangover lasted). 

noor.bauwens: happy anniversary, my love. here’s to many more years and moments together. special thanks to @sterkerdanijzer for keeping me company while I stayed up too late to finish and to @earthlingoddity for taking the photo of my gift and framing it (and the photo credit) love you both <3

Wait… Robbe thought, his eyes staring at the second username tagged. Since when did Noor know him? Had she known him the entire time?

“Aww,” Milan had returned, leaning over Robbe’s shoulder and placing the bottle of wine on the table. The smaller boy jumped with a start and his friend gave him an apologetic grin. “That’s adorable. And, that’s a beautiful picture. Is that the mural that she dragged you to the warehouse to do?” 

“Yeah, it’s pretty amazing in person too,” Robbe replied, shaking his head. He posted a comment beneath the photo. 

sterkerdanijzer: glad to help; love you two <3 @noor.bauwens

“Oh? Maybe she’ll show me one day,” Milan spoke. “Want some wine?” Robbe gladly extended his glass to be filled before announcing that he had to go to the bathroom before they started the next episode. Milan had laughed, pouring his glass and Robbe had run off, sliding down the hall and forgetting his phone in the living room. As Robbe headed back into the living room, Milan shouted, “Hey, who’s earthlingoddity?”

“Huh?” Robbe questioned, stepping into the living room. The older man was sitting on the couch, his glass of wine in one hand and Robbe’s phone in the other with his legs curled beneath him. Robbe felt his eyes roll in his head. That’s what he gets for leaving his phone unattended with Milan in the room. As Robbe passed him, he snatched his phone from Milan’s grasp. “Milan, when we were roommates, you promised that you would stop looking through my phone.” 

Milan rolled his eyes, pulling up his phone and typing into the search bar. “Jokes on you, I can still find out who he is,” Milan teased. Robbe rolled his eyes, moving to start the next episode as he tucked his phone between his thigh and the couch. “Oh, he’s cute,” Milan spoke up, scrolling through his Instagram. “And, it looks like he’s quite popular. Wait, is this that Instagram guy you have a crush on?”

Robbe rolled his eyes. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I don’t have a crush on him. He’s an influential Instagram profile that just so happens to have a lot of interesting art.”

(It’s a lie, of course, because Robbe definitely has a crush on him, in the completely unattainable celebrity-crush kind of way.)

“Well,” Milan spoke, locking his phone and putting it down on the couch between them. “Well, either way, he followed you on Instagram.” 

“Huh?” Robbe blinked, his brain short-circuiting. There was no way in any universe that Sander, earthlingoddity, whichever you wanted to call him by, would follow Robbe of all people. Robbe wasn’t anything interesting, mostly being tagged in posts by his friends and random stuff with the boys. “What are you talking about?” 

Milan didn’t even glance away from the television as he took a sip of wine. “Robbe, did you even look at the notification?” 

Robbe pulled his phone out from between his thigh and the couch, pressing the lock button. There were a number of Instagram notifications now. There were a handful of comments and likes from their friends and family members. There was even a comment from Moyo’s mom, who had spent the better part of the past four years mumbling to Robbe that Noor was going to be her daughter-in-law someday. Robbe scrolled through the notifications until he found the one that Milan had mentioned. 

earthlingoddity started following you

As Robbe settled back into the couch, he felt a smile grow on his face. 

“Was I wrong?” Milan questioned, leaning towards him. 

Robbe scoffed, pink growing on his cheeks as he ducked his head. “Shut up.” 

Milan grinned, bright and toothy. “You do have a crush on him!” 

“Shut up, Milan!” 

… 

earthlingoddity sent you a message

Robbe didn’t know why he was so nervous, his thumb hovering over the notification. He knew that he was acting like a kid with an intense crush on a boy, his first real crush, and the very thought was ridiculous because Robbe had crushes before. Robbe had boyfriends before. Hell, Robbe had one-night stands that ended with him leaving in the dead of night, nervously trying to leave quietly so he wouldn’t be caught. He had experience with guys. So, why was he so nervous about a simple Instagram message?

Robbe didn’t know but it was beyond frustrating that this man, someone who Robbe had never even met before and had spent far too much time staring at his photos and his live-streams, had managed to have such a profound impact on him in such a short span of time. 

Pushing up from his bed, the topic of his essay forgotten and his mathematical proof half-finished, Robbe crossed his legs beneath him and nervously fiddled with his hair. He realized how ridiculous he was being. It wasn’t like Sander could see him through the camera of his phone. It was just a simple Instagram message. In fact, it probably had to do with Noor’s photo. 

Yeah, that’s all it was, Robbe decided, finally opening the message. 

That wasn’t what it was. 

You’re so beautiful.

I’m such a fan.

Robbe’s cheeks flushed as he stared down at the message, trying to figure out what to say in response. The first response that pops into Robbe’s mind is have you seen yourself? But, even though it was wholeheartedly true, Robbe decided quickly that he did not want to send that message. He did not want to have to admit how much time he’s looked at the selfies that Sander had posted a little too long since Robbe had started following him.

So, instead, he decided to answer the second half of his text.

You’re a fan? I literally check your Instagram every day. 

Shit.

I mean… like I see you on my feed every day. 

Please don’t take that a weird way.

Robbe spent the next couple of minutes, nervously tapping at his phone and refreshing the conversation. He could see that Sander was still online and there were nerves vibrating throughout every fiber of his being. His phone buzzed, bringing him back to the conversation. 

God, you’re so adorable :)

Robbe exhaled a breath of relief, his cheeks growing hotter by the second, and ran a hand through his hair as another message popped up. 

So, you’re a fan of mine?

Yeah.

Do you listen to David Bowie?

Yes, I listen to your Bowie playlist all the time.

God, Robbe thought, running his hand across his face and letting out a groan. The man must think that Robbe was a stalker or something, listening to his playlist and following his Spotify as well as basically stalking him on Instagram. His chat had flickered offline after he had sent his last message so Robbe knew that he hadn’t seen the message quite yet. Once his eyes had caught sight of the green bubble beside his profile picture, indicating that he had returned online, Robbe quickly added:

It’s a good playlist.

Oh really? I’m glad you like it.

It’s only the beginner playlist.

The beginner playlist?

When do I get permission to listen to the advanced set?

When you pass your first exam.

Oh? Is it difficult?

Extremely.

That’s going to be a lot of studying.

There’s a shout from Noor down the hall before the door to his bedroom was opening. Glancing at him, she blinked in surprise and Robbe glanced around. He was in the midst of all his books and notebooks from class, spread out around him like a disorganized tornado of papers and notes. She leaned against the door frame to his room and tilted her head, “How’s studying for your tests going?” 

“Non-existant,” Robbe admitted, locking his screen as she stepped into his room. He made space on his bed for her to sit down and she flopped down on his bed, crossing her feet beneath her. “What’s up?”

“What are you doing tonight?” she questioned. 

“Lucas and I talked about trying to figure out what to do for Jens’ birthday in a couple of months,” Robbe admitted, quietly despite the fact that he knew that Jens hadn’t been home yet. “Jens is going to his weekly dinner with his dad so it’s the only time that we’ll get the time to have an idea. Why?” 

“Britt’s been bugging me about going to dinner,” Noor admitted. 

“Britt?” Robbe questioned. “I thought you guys stopped talking years ago?” 

“Yeah, we did,” Noor replied, shrugging her shoulders as she looked over a sketch he made in the margins of his notes. “But, she messaged me the other day. I wanted to make amends or something. So, Moyo and I are going to meet her and her friend to hang out and catch up.”  

“And you’re asking me? Even with our history, Britt and I never really got along. I am Jens’ best friend so when the two of them broke up, I basically became scum of the Earth,” Robbe replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Then, it was only amplified when the two of us broke up.”  

Noor shrugged her shoulders. “While all completely true, I was thinking that you might come by and pick up Moyo and make some excuse for him to leave,” Noor admitted, turning towards him. “Britt never really cared for Moyo either and I don’t want him to have to be at a dinner where someone doesn’t want him there.”

“I want to be there,” Moyo spoke up, entering Robbe’s bedroom. The man was carrying a large plastic bag filled with cereal and was eating out of it. He stepped closer to Noor, who turned to him. “She’s your friend.”

“I know,” Noor admitted, reaching up to touch his hand. “But, I also know how she can get. Plus, she’s never been too keen on my boyfriends anyways. When I mentioned to her that we had gone a date the first time, I thought she was going to faint. The last thing I want is for you to be caught in the crossfire.” 

“I could show up and make an excuse to get you both out of there,” Robbe supplied. 

“That might work if the date ends up going badly that is. We’ll see,” Noor admitted, glancing at Robbe. “Britt and I were never really good at double dates.”

The front door slammed, followed by hasty movements. The shuffling continued down the hallway, towards them, until Jens appeared in the doorframe with Lucas’s lips pressed against his neck and his hand under his boyfriend’s shirt. After Robbe’s best friend spotted them, he stopped outside the door as Robbe was already reaching for his headphones on his nightstand. 

Jens glanced at them, a threatening look on his face as his eyes flickered between all of them, “Consider this a ten-minute warning to vacate the apartment or your complaints are invalid.” Lucas laughed before Jens is backing them into the latter’s bedroom across the hall, slamming the door behind him. 

Noor was already moving to get up, grabbing Moyo’s hand and leaving. “I’ll text you the restaurant,” Noor spoke. “I’m sure one of us will let you know when we’re ready for you to make an excuse. If it decides to happen at all.” Robbe nodded his head, giving her a thumbs-up as she closed the door to his bedroom. He turned his attention to connecting his headphones to his phone, starting up the music as soon as it was connected. Once the music had started wafting through the speakers, effectively blocking out any noise around him, Robbe turned back to his notes. 

His phone vibrated, remind him with a start and pulling him back fully to his phone, his homework abandoned once again. 

Sander. 

Who knows? Maybe you might be able to bribe the teacher.

Robbe smiled, his stomach churning in knots. It might’ve been a while since Robbe had been interested in a guy, and it might’ve been through text message, but this entire exchange felt like flirting. He almost wished that they were face-to-face so that way Robbe would know for sure. 

Should I dare to take that risk?

I’ll give you some advice later tonight.

If you want.

Robbe’s heart thumped in his chest, wishing that he didn’t have plans with Lucas (and possibly Aaron) for Jens’ party or possible plans with Noor and Moyo. But, he knew that they needed to work on the party, or at least have an idea, since they would have a limited amount of time to put it all together. So, he typed out his response.

I’d love to, but I have plans tonight. 

Ah, okay. 

Tomorrow?

Robbe couldn’t keep the grin off his face, biting down on his bottom lip in an attempt to smother it.

...

Concept: The Broooers are a famous YouTube vlog channel located in Antwerp that updates weekly and Sander has a crush on the brunet boy that has a wide range of facial expressions and an affinity for making a fool of himself (and looking beautiful while doing it).

[softjeon]

Love Bite | Pt. 1

• Pairing: Vampire!Namjoon x Jimin • Genre: Angst / Smut | Vampire!AU ( → Gifset Trailer) • Words: 8,8k | Co-Writer: Cat @cassiavioletblue • Disclaimer: blood, abuse, (sexual) violence, mindcontrol, mentioning of death

↳   “You’re right. I was lying. I didn’t want to scare you. But I guess there’s not much to do now, right? I’ll tell you the truth,” Namjoon spoke softly, the grip around Jimin’s wrists loosened a little but not enough to free himself, “…because you deserve it, because I pull you into a lot of shit right now just by being here. I am a vampire, Jimin.”

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Jimin had thought that moving back into the city would be turning out a little different. A little quieter maybe. Not this turbulent or chaotic. Transferring from one office to another wasn’t the hard part and he had made a new friend here easily. Even finding a little apartment didn’t turn out to be too much of a hassle. His new colleagues were nice to him and had accepted him quite fast. All in all, Jimin could say he had settled in pretty fast, only one thing bothered him right now and the reason was his boss. The one, who was staring right back at him in this very moment - completely naked. Jimin shivered, shaking himself out of his stupor, as he saw the curtains moving in the cold breeze that crept through the open window. Hadn’t he closed it before? His eyes flickered back to his boss once more, his mouth agape and Jimin slowly raised a hand as he was trying to think of the right words to say. 

There was no way this was possible. This was his boss. The head of his department. And still, he was standing right in front of him. Naked. Absolutely no clothes. Nothing. Jimin cocked his head to the side, his eyes wandering down to a certain area for a second, before he quickly looked up again. He gulped heavily. Jimin was living on the fifth floor and his main door was definitely locked. Jimin could see the little chain hanging from here, that would make sure the door would only open a peak if there was someone in front of it. But there had been no ringing. No knocks. This made absolutely no sense at all and the younger was hoping that his boss would have a great excuse for trespassing this late at night...with absolutely no clothes on. Shaking his head once more, Jimin finally spoke up, “How... did you get into my living room….and why, excuse my language Mr. Kim, the fuck are you naked?” “Uhm...,” Namjoon blinked at him owlishly. This didn’t go as planned. And his time was running out. There was no way he could let Jimin throw him out or else he was very certainly very dead. Deader than dead. Non-existently dead. So he said the first thing that came to his mind, to give Jimin something to work with and maybe buy himself some time to figure out what the hell he should do right now. 

“I’m sleepwalking. Often. Naked.” 

He made a step forward and Jimin moved backwards, hands raised up in defense and eyes wide, face somewhere in between annoyance, amusement and fear. They both knew that he was the stronger one and that if he was some kind of crazy serial killer then Jimin wouldn’t stand a chance. Jimin had seen him with the shelves, he knew that he was either bench pressing weight like crazy or did something else to make him strong as a bull. If only he knew… “Sleepwalking….all the way over from your high class apartment to shitty downtown and all the way up to the fifth floor without opening the door?” Jimin said warily, his eyes flickering over to his phone which was lying a bit too far away right now, and back to his boss. “Mr. Kim, I really appreciate your concern to make sure I come home safely from time to time, but this…is a little bit too much,” Jimin pointed up and down Namjoon’s naked body, not really sure what he was trying to refer to. Either way he would need an answer. Preferably now and one that wouldn’t end up with him being killed by his boss who would turn out to be a killer or something alike. Jimin sighed inwardly. How could his perception of a person have been so wrong?

He slowly moved over, trying not to make it too obvious but of course Namjoon noticed. He noticed everything. So, Namjoon quickly came up with a new excuse, stammering something about how he had opened the door and unlocked it again then and when Jimin looked at him even more confused and scared now, Namjoon wasn’t even sure anymore if anything he said made sense anymore. 

He didn’t have time for this right now. 

Jimin was staring at Namjoon, his hands shaking when he slowly reached for his phone. His heart was beating wildly against his chest, as he gulped heavily against the lump in his throat. With one quick movement, Jimin took his phone - but he didn’t even make it far when suddenly something strong wrapped around his arms and Namjoon was standing right in front of him. Naked. Both of his hands holding his wrists tight. “What...the hell,” Jimin stared at his boss with big, disbelieving eyes. There was no way he could have been so fast. Jimin had made sure to keep as far as possible so he could be faster than the other. 

It was way too easy for Namjoon to pluck the phone right of Jimin's hand. With a targeted throw it smashed right on Jimin’s wall into a million pieces and the younger one whined, being scared that Namjoon would kill him now or do worse. Jimin closed his eyes, trying to get away, but his grip was strong and keeping him close to his body. His naked body. Jimin could feel...everything. He took in a sharp breath. And only Namjoon’s voice, which stood in contrast to the whole scenario, made the younger open his eyes again. 

“You’re right. I was lying. I didn’t want to scare you. But I guess there’s not much to do now right? I’ll tell you the truth,” Namjoon spoke softly, the grip around his wrists loosened a little but not enough to free himself, “...because you deserve it, because I pull you into a lot of shit right now just by being here. I am a vampire, Jimin.”

….

“Mr. Kim will be there to greet you in a second,” The secretary said, flashing him a bright smile and Jimin nodded, thanking her kindly. Jimin had gotten transferred into a new department. He always liked working for the Jung Company. They paid him well and he had great chances for promotion. Just like he had gotten one now. It was a good way to finally leave the past behind and move back into the city. Jimin wanted to start over. And this right here was the perfect beginning of his perfect story...or so he thought. 

He had heard good and bad things about his new boss. Some said he was a bit on the aggressive side, but most praised his kind and generous side, who made sure that his workers felt welcomed and appreciated at all times. Jimin turned a little on his seat, as he let his gaze wander over the minimalistic interior of the office. It almost felt a little cold. Jimin couldn’t spot one personal picture. No family. No kids. He was wondering what life his boss must be living. A lonely wolf? A player? Heartbreaker? Or was he happy with someone and just didn’t like to show it off? Jimin bit his lip, leaning back against the chair. Wasn’t he a bit too nosy already? His heart was beating a little faster, as he tried to keep himself from looking too suspicious, his eyes focused on the bag in his hands. Namjoon opened the door in a rush and saw the boy who was sitting already inside of his office flinching hard. Right, he needed to tone down his speed a little. He tended to forget that when he was deep in thoughts. But honestly, he had other things on his mind right now than office work. Things that involved a lot more blood and danger than decided where his newest employee should be seated. However, business was business and he needed all of his employees to be well integrated into the company structure or else it could mean trouble. Happy people who were working in an environment they enjoyed got better results and were better for the company than those who just came here for the payment. 

He sat down, flipping through the folder once more. Ah, right, this one wasn’t even new per se, he just had been sent from the countryside to the city. Good records, flawless reputation. Namjoon ditched the papers and gave the boy a once over. He was cute, he had to give him that. Though lots of humans were. Cute looks didn’t mean anything. Though in the case of Park Jimin there was a lot more beauty hiding under the superficial. He had a soft expression and kind eyes. A little sad maybe but Namjoon had heard that his parents had recently died - which was probably why he had asked for a transfer - and so the sadness was understandable. After all even for him who had lost countless souls in his long life it still hurt whenever he lost someone he cared for. One would think you’d get used to it after a while. But you didn’t. 

Anyway, he was pretty good at weighing up people and Mr. Park seemed like he would be great addition to his team of employees. He wouldn’t make any problems. “So, as you already know all the company’s rules and guidelines including the corporate identity I guess we can cut this short. Welcome in our team, Mr. Park. Let’s always do our best and keep our goals in mind. From what I saw in your record I’m sure you won’t disappoint me and if you continue to be as good as you were before you will be a valuable addition to our team. I’ll send for Mr. Kim Taehyung to show you around and explain everything that might be different from your former working place. If there are any questions that Mr. Kim can’t answer or that apply to me directly you can always make an appointment with my secretary in the front room.” He looked at Jimin again who had kept his back straight and his lips sealed while he had been talking. “If there isn’t anything else you’d like to know you can wait outside for Mr. Kim to pick you up.” Jimin just wanted to open his mouth to ask something, when he already got pushed ahead lightly, so that he stumbled outside the office. Right in front of him was a young man, with the biggest smile on his face and a name tag that read ‘Kim Taehyung - Intern’ on it. His boss had already closed the door behind him, leaving Jimin a little confused. 

“Is he always….I don’t know...this fast?” Jimin asked a little shy, earning himself a chuckle from the guy in front of him. He quickly straightened his shoulders and put on his professional demeanor, “I’m Jimin by the way. I guess, you’re supposed to show me around.” Taehyung gave him a pat on the shoulder as if they were old friends and hadn’t just met for the very first time and then started walking without any further introductions, certain that Jimin would follow him - which he did in loss of another option. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to him. All in all he’s a nice guy and he’s never gonna be mean to your face. Distracted maybe and a little accident prone. And before you hear the rumors from someone else, yeah, he is kinda violent. But only towards furniture. No one knows why he does it but there are crashes in his office from time to time and then the next day he has a new desk or lamp so - apparently he likes to destroy stuff. He’s not screaming or anything but you must be kinda angry to break a desk. Multiple times. But he never hurt one of his employees so you don’t really have to worry about your safety. It could be worse right? And the people around here are nice. Also the coffee’s not that bad and if you like smoking there’s a nice corner with a great view on top of the roof! I’m not a smoker but even I like to come up there when I’m really early cause from up there you can actually see a magnificent sunrise! And that’s something isn’t it?” Taehyung kept lightheartedly chatting him up, feeding him with so much information while they were walking down the corridors that Jimin was busy trying to keep up. During his monologue the younger motioned a hand towards the offices or signs on the wall or made sure that they briefly passed the toilet. 

Jimin tried to remember all the important places but in between listening to Taehyung and filing away all the new information he got, he was starting to get a little bit overwhelmed. When they stopped in front of the cafeteria Jimin’s head was spinning. Taehyung didn’t seem to notice any of this he smiled at him again with that blindingly bright smile that looked a bit odd because of its rectangular shape before asking, “Any questions left?” 

Jimin shook his head because he didn’t know what else to do. So apparently he was working in a great office now with way more space (and way more possibilities to get lost until he really knew where everything was) and he also better tried to not be the first employee Kim Namjoon would break instead of his furniture. He definitely didn’t plan on walking in on his boss when he had another temper tantrum but if there was no screaming involved then how should one know when it would be dangerous to go in and when it was safe?

... Eyes closed, Jimin stirred the sugar in his coffee, then took a sip. It was good. He was slowly getting used to the new coffee machine in the new office. He had forgotten to bring lunch, so he used full cream milk. Screw the calories, Jimin thought, the improvement in taste would vast and it was better than nothing. He took another sip and felt his brain awaken again, as he stood there, leaning against the kitchenette, sipping and thinking. He had gotten used to his new office pretty quickly, his work wasn’t much different from what he did before. The only difference being that he had more responsibilities - and therefore more work, and a team under him that he had to lead and make sure that everyone was doing their job right so Mr. Kim would be satisfied with his work. And so far, he had only gotten lost once or twice in the building. His colleagues were nice and everyone took a liking in Jimin. He was smart, kind and courteous and people respected him for his work ethics. Right now, Jimin was preparing meetings for the next day, files and schedules and though it seemed like he was working non-stop the amount wasn’t getting any less. Jimin had stumbled into one of the busiest times in the company. “Why are you still here? I thought you would clock out at six,” Taehyung asked, making Jimin jump in his seat, as he sat himself on the edge of his table.

Everyone else had already left. 

“I did clock out at six, but I decided to stay late to finish up the work and we have a group meeting in a few days and I’m still not really sure about it all,” Jimin sighed looking at the files that piled up in front of him, “I don’t like for work to pile up. I want to make sure I know what happened before I came and how we can increase our joint-stock.” Tae only nodded, patting Jimin’s head in a reassuring manner. 

“I think you’re doing good in your job, don’t overwork yourself already,” He said and got up, “Make sure not to stay for too long.” A wave of his hand and Taehyung was out of the door, leaving Jimin behind.

It seemed only a short time later, while he was working through file after file, his head deep in the documents, when he noticed that he was missing an important document. Leaning back, Jimin groaned, wiping his hands over his face to keep himself awake. He looked around at all the empty desks suddenly realizing that he was completely alone. As he turned his head back to the paper in front of him, Jimin found himself thinking of his family for the first time in a while. The stillness in the office suddenly seemed to accentuate the emptiness he felt inside. With a sigh, he got up and got the key for the archive to find the missing file.

Namjoon stretched his neck and sighed miserably. He always tried to make his office as dark as possible when no one was around because direct sunlight just gave him a headache. However with being the boss there were so many people that knocked on his door that he felt like a wind-up toy: jumping up to open the blinds then get back into his seat to let them in, waiting till the little ‘audience’ was over, then shutting the blinds again - and then sitting still for approximately one minute before it all started again. Not now though. Everyone was long gone, he had checked the system and everyone had clocked out. Only then did he dare to pull out a carton of tomato juice - which wasn’t juice at all but it was the best camouflage Namjoon could think of. He always kept the carton in one of his drawers so no one would see it anyway but Namjoon was rather safe than sorry so he never took anything suspicious with him that could have given away that he was different.

He briefly considered heating up the blood a little so that it at least felt as if it came from a warm body but then he enjoyed it too much to just sit without having to get up at all. Besides, the taste gave it away anyways. Namjoon sipped a little, trying not to frown at the taste. Male, somewhere in his thirties, should cut a little back on his cholesterol. At least all the blood bags he got were high quality stuff. Hoseok made sure of that. During all those years there had been only one single incident where one of the hospitals that Hoseok had made deals with had sent them faulty blood. And it had been an accident. It wasn’t like back in the old times where they had to go into hiding because vampire hunters where after them 24/7. Starvation was nothing a decent vampire needed to be afraid of any longer. Namjoon finished his glass and then cleaned it with water right away to get rid of any traces. He never left traces. Just when he turned off the faucet he heard something that wasn’t supposed to be there. He froze, listening more closely, focusing in on it. 

There! It actually sounded like footsteps. Inside the office! Or rather.. inside the archives! A quiet growl came from his chest while the anger welled up inside of him. He never had to face industrial spying before and it made him impossibly angry - especially because it must be someone from his own people because he would have definitely heard it if someone had broken in which meant whoever was walking around here must have used a key to get in. As quietly as he could Namjoon put the glass down on the sink and opened the door, sneaking up on whoever was searching through the archives without making the smallest sound.

In the archive Jimin’s eyes scanned file after file, his finger brushing over a few dates, before he put it aside again with a sigh. Onto the next one. Jimin couldn’t find the light switch, so instead he was using the flashlight of the phone to read what was in front of him. It took him way too long to find the right file and he wondered, when the archive was last to be organized. If Taehyung wasn’t such a kind person, Jimin would have told an intern to sort it all the next day – but he wouldn’t have wanted Tae to have this much work. He already did way too much as an intern. Within a second Namjoon was at the door of the archives. It had been left open but whoever was inside hadn’t switched on the lights. Namjoon smirked. Light or no light he would be able to see just fine. Quietly he got closer and then stopped suddenly dead in his tracks when he saw that it was Jimin. His eyebrows went up in surprise. Normally he was pretty good at seeing through people but he would have never suspected Jimin to spy on his own company. Now curious he waited and watched, trying to find out what exactly Jimin was looking for. Apparently it was a particular file because he started rummaging in the box without any care. For a spy he was pretty reckless. Biting his lip, Jimin mumbled a few words written on the file’s cover. A smile lit up his face. “Yes,” He whispered and opened it to read through the first passages. Being so immersed in the stocks of the last few years, Jimin didn’t notice when someone stood in front of him. Only when the sudden smell of cologne hit him, he looked up, staring right back into the eyes of Kim Namjoon. Namjoon could see the exact moment when realization hit Jimin that he wasn’t alone because his heart rate picked up and soon enough the younger turned. His eyes turned wide, mouth opening in shock but there was no sound coming out of him. Namjoon had to try his hardest not to smile at how cute he looked. 

This would be interesting. 

“Care to explain to me what exactly you are doing at the archives at night - without any lights on and past working time? Maybe I can help you finding whatever it is you are looking for.” His voice sounded as cold and intimidating as he intended to sound. It was almost like everything went in slow-motion, at least for Jimin. His reaction to his boss sneaking up on him came way too late, as he flinched violently, file flying right out of his hand. The cold voice of Namjoon startling him so much, that Jimin had jumped a little. Jimin flinched violently and stumbled against the shelf, pushing his shoulder against it so hard that it tilted backwards. Out of reflex Namjoon grabbed the shelf to pull it back but with concentrating so hard on Jimin he didn’t quite concentrate on his strength, tipping the whole shelf way too much in the other’s direction. His heart skipped a beat when the boxes and books started sliding towards Jimin and he had to use his whole weight to hold the shelf back. The younger squealed helplessly, books falling onto him, as he tried to get away, but he was locked in-between the shelves. Closing his eyes, Jimin tried to get his hands over his head as soon as possible to protect himself from the impact – but nothing happened Namjoon stood there awkwardly, holding the shelf up with one hand so that he could shield Jimin’s head with the other. Internally he was yelling at himself for being so clumsy to tip the shelf back too far and making such a mess. Not mentioning the fact that people normally didn’t held up shelves like this. Hopefully the more pressing matter of ‘what the hell are you doing here?’ would have Jimin more occupied than the question why his boss was moving heavy stuff around like it was nothing. And if he really got questioned he could say that he worked out a lot. He was lucky that it was still dark or else Jimin would have seen him blushing. 

Jimin blinked his eyes open slowly, when the impact didn’t happen. His eyes immediately locked with Namjoon’s again and he gawked at the way his boss was holding the shelf back and protecting him at the same time. His eyes wandered over Namjoon’s arms for a second and the younger wondered how strong he really was – because he didn’t look like a person that was going in and out of gyms a lot. But maybe Jimin’s perception was wrong.

Namjoon carefully put the shelf back into balance and then coughed a little to clear his throat and get Jimin’s attention back on him. “Why don’t we continue this in my office.” His boss’ voice got him out of his stupor though and Jimin shivered involuntarily. He quickly gathered the file that had fallen onto the floor, as well as everything else and shoved it into the shelf, hurrying after Namjoon. As soon as they stood inside the dark office, Jimin blurted the words out quickly in fear that he would get fired now. He had never gotten fired from a job. Especially not for doing over-hours. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kim. I wanted to finish my work and I know I already clocked out, but I hate it when something isn’t finished. And then there’s this meeting in a few days and I want to make sure…. that I do my absolute best job...” Namjoon blinked in surprise. Before he had even managed to tell Jimin to take a seat and then stare at him disapprovingly as he had planned to make him nervous and eventually get him to talk the younger was talking already, so quickly that he was almost stumbling over his own words. “Hmm...,” He folded his hands in front of him and placed his chin onto them, looking directly into Jimin’s eyes. The younger seemed properly scared - but not in a way Namjoon would have expected of someone who was playing a foul game. Jimin seemed too open, too obviously nervous and on the verge of a breakdown that Namjoon would think him capable of playing games with him. He shook his head disapprovingly. 

“Jimin I am very disappointed in you.” Jimin instantly averted his gaze, bowing slightly to show his own disappointment in himself. He should have stuck to the rules. Do his work just like everyone else. But he so desperately wanted this job, wanted to show that the choice of giving him this new position in this company was the right one. He couldn’t go back. He needed this job. “I am sorry, Mr. Kim,” Jimin bit his lip, his heart beating fast, “It won’t happen again.” Of course he sensed how close to tears the younger was so he let his voice grow a little softer as he continued. “Do you know why I am disappointed?” He wasn’t sure if Jimin had gotten the point of what he was saying so he was trying to make it more clear. “It is because you need to rest. You are are valuable employee and part of this company. And you are responsible to take care of everything that is important to this company. Which means you are also supposed to take care of yourself.” He waited until it had sunk in before adding, “Also if you feel like you have to work over hours then I want to know about this. And I want to pay for those hours. If you act as if those hours aren’t worth paying then I have to think that you aren’t doing work there. And if you don’t work then you shouldn’t be in the office after work time at all. Do you understand this?” Jimin looked at Namjoon in disbelief, nodding hastily to everything he said. “Of course, Mr. Kim,” He said, sounding a little bit out of breath – but he was just relieved. Who would have thought that his boss would turn out so kind? “Thank you, Mr. Kim,” Jimin said with a smile and bowed again to show his gratitude. The younger one wasn’t sure if he was supposed to go now or should keep working or if Namjoon had still something to say. “I’ll won’t disappoint you,” Jimin smiled at him, before he quickly explained that he would only get the file he had needed from the archive again and would head home right away to rest. Turning on his heel, Jimin raked his hands through his hair and finally let out the breath that he was holding. When he opened the door of the office again, he was looking down at his watch. Jimin sighed when he saw how late it already was. There definitely would be no bus driving at this hour, so he would have to walk all the way. Shrugging his shoulders, Jimin walked ahead. 

He had it worse before Namjoon got out of his chair, grabbing his jacket and got ready to leave the office. Jimin kept his promise and quickly got the file, placing it onto top of the pile of papers on his office. When the younger turned Namjoon could see him hesitate when he noticed Namjoon standing in front of the elevator that would bring them down towards the mail exit.

“Come on, it’s late. Let’s get you home them.” He waved a hand at Jimin who was still a little confused and definitely not moving. “Don’t even start to argue. I’m sure you have heard about the attacks that are happening at night in the city? I’m not letting you put yourself into any more risk. Now get going before we will have to spend the night here. Believe me you don’t want that. The chairs are awful to sleep in,” He joked dryly, holding the door open for Jimin. Once more Jimin stared at his boss in disbelief. Was he joking? Jimin turned to look over his shoulders to see if Namjoon really meant him and pointed one finger at himself.Of course, Jimin had heard about the attacks around town, but if you believed what the media said it was only a wild animal on the loose. Unfortunately, some people got hurt, especially drunk one’s that were wandering off the darker streets at night. But Jimin hadn’t planned on doing so, but rather walking straight back home, somewhere illuminated by the street lights around. “You…you want to bring me home?” Jimin asked a little hesitant, before he quickly added, “It’s really not necessary, Mr. Kim. I am capable of going home alone. I appreciate your concern but it’s fine. I can walk.” “I am very much aware of that,” Namjoon answered amusedly and just as polite, “You have excuse me though because as long as you are not taking care of yourself regarding secretly working overtime without payment I’d rather like to make sure that you actually get home safe. Don’t worry, it’s going to be a one time thing.” Although he smiled sweetly at Jimin it was pretty clear that he wasn’t going to give in here. Jimin gulped heavily. Was this really just happening? This was awfully cliché. He and his boss alone in a dark office, where he offered him a ride home. Jimin laughed inwardly, thinking that if this was a movie, he would be the main character that would fall in love with his handsome boss and the other way around. A cough coming from Namjoon made him quickly regain his posture. He should definitely stop daydreaming. 

“No, really Mr. Kim!” Jimin spoke up again and came closer, pushing the button of the elevator, “I really appreciate it, but I rather just walk.” Gazing up at him, Jimin could feel his own heart skipping a beat with the way Namjoon was looking right back at him. His warm but intense stare made Jimin shiver but at the same time, he couldn’t tear his eyes off of him. Namjoon wasn’t having it but Jimin was surprisingly stubborn for someone so soft looking and gentle. He knew for a fact that he wasn’t someone to put up a fight and that he backed down if he felt like it was better for the group (he always paid close attention to new employees) but apparently when it wasn’t work related Jimin would stand his ground no matter what. Namjoon sighed but tried not to show his uneasiness. There was no way he would let Jimin go alone when outside in the night there was way more waiting to attack than just some ‘random rogue animal’ that the police and press had created in lack of a better explanation. But if Jimin wouldn’t let him walk him home and Namjoon didn’t want to secretly stalk him - then he had to persuade him. Or rather... hypnotize him. Although he really really didn’t like it. So he took a deep breath and then faced Jimin fully, making sure the other was looking right into his eyes. 

“Jimin, listen to me.” He could feel his power flow through his veins like pure warmth, filling his eyes and lingering on the tip of his tongue. “It is dangerous out there. You know that. And you don’t really want to face that alone, do you? So you want me to come with you, and you will feel more comfortable with me around. So you’ll let me accompany you to your place. Isn’t that right, Jimin?” Jimin blinked once, his mouth stood slightly open, while his whole body felt blissfully numb. He nodded slowly and as soon as the little sound of the elevator announced its arrival he turned around, walking ahead, waiting for Namjoon to stand right beside him. The doors closed, and the elevator started moving, while Jimin was just simply staring ahead. Feeling absolutely nothing Namjoon sighed with relief when Jimin went with it. He actually hated to use this kind of power because it felt like a violation of that person’s will and the thought alone made Namjoon immensely uncomfortable. But explaining why he couldn’t let Jimin go on his own wasn’t an option so this was the lesser evil. And it wouldn’t hurt Jimin or leave any kind of damage. He would just let him go with him and that was it. Mission clear. As soon as they arrived at the car park of the office, Jimin got out of the elevator and kept walking towards Namjoon’s car. Wait…how did he know what Namjoon’s car look like? Jimin stopped abruptly, shaking his head as he turned around facing his boss. Rubbing his temples, he looked at Namjoon a little confused. He could feel a bad headache settling in, making him feel a little dizzy. Or...maybe Namjoon had crowed too soon. Of course Jimin had to snap out of it now before he even went in the car. He wasn’t even sure if he had been particularly bad at it today or if Jimin was just one of those strong willed people who couldn’t easily be hypnotized. Either way he should probably act fast before Jimin would change his mind. So he quickly, but gently took Jimin by the arm and dragged him along, talking to him all the way so Jimin didn’t have time to think. 

“So, there it is. It’s not the first car I had but I like the color a lot. It’s called midnight blue doesn’t that sound beautiful? And the seats are very comfortable. there’s even some built in heating. Not that I regularly use it but it’s handy for cold nights and you can try it if you want. There you see, almost there...” He opened the door and got Jimin in, using the child safety lock to make sure he wouldn’t get out right away. Then he allowed himself to take a deep breath before getting into the driver's seat. Humans were such a hassle!

Jimin gulped heavily when Namjoon sat down right beside him. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that he must have been so sleep deprived that he simply forgotten that he had agreed and followed his boss down to the garage. Either way, Namjoon was already pulling up to the exit – so Jimin would better get used to it now. “It’s really kind of you to drive me home, Sir,” Jimin said after a while and looked at Namjoon. Of course, Jimin had noticed before how good-looking his boss was, but now being so close to him, Namjoon looked even more handsome in a white button down shirt that highlighted his tan. He let his eyes wander over Namjoon’s chest, down his arms and hands that wrapped around the steering wheel tightly. Involuntarily, Jimin licked his lips slowly, before he quickly snapped his head back around, focusing on the road ahead. Namjoon had to hold back a laugh at Jimin calling him ‘Sir’. The funny thing was he couldn’t even tell Jimin that they weren’t that much apart age wise because it would have been a blatant lie. But still, being called ‘Sir’ felt like it belonged to another life in another century, so he softly answered, “There’s no need to call me ‘Sir’, Jimin. And it’s not a problem. I just want you to get home safe.” He didn’t need Jimin to tell him in which direction to drive as he knew all of his employees addresses from their files so the drive was mostly silent. Still Jimin seemed nervous, at least his heart rate was a bit up and tend to quicken whenever Jimin was looking at him for a bit longer. He wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was, even without hearing his heartbeat Namjoon would have noticed, but he didn’t know what to make of it. Hopefully Jimin wasn’t scared of him. When they had pulled up at Jimin’s apartment complex, the younger bit his lip, feeling a blush settling hot on his cheeks. This wasn’t the nice part of town and it all looked a little run-down. But as shady as it looked from the outside, the more beautiful it did from the inside. At least in Jimin’s apartment - who had poured his soul into decorating it and making it as comfortable as possible. Nonetheless he was a little embarrassed in front of his boss, that he was living here and not somewhere more…nice. Namjoon couldn’t care less where exactly the people who worked for him chose to live - unless it got them in danger of attacks. Which it did. But so far they had only happened at night so as long as Jimin stuck to regular working hours he would be fine. The Vampire disabled the child safety lock and let Jimin out, wishing him a good night. “Thank you,” Jimin mumbled and opened the car door, “For not firing me… and stuff.” He flashed Namjoon a sweet smile, before turning on his heel. His expression changed immediately, and he hit himself on the forehead. “And stuff?” He mumbled to himself, turning his key in the lock, “Really, Jimin?” Namjoon could hear Jimin talking to himself and now that the younger was gone he could chuckle to himself without having to hold back. He was pretty cute actually. Incredibly young for Namjoon’s way of living but also incredibly cute. Maybe he should try to get to know Jimin better. Not with any intentions, just for fun to see what kind of person he was.

... During the night, Namjoon could drive the streets for as long as he pleased and as fast as he wanted. Sometimes he went out and drove for hours without a destination or map. He just went where the road took him. The nighttime was the only time Namjoon had fully to himself. During the day he was covered by work, not just office related ones. Sometimes he even dropped by the old vampire bar, a little outside of town. The only one left around here. Others were scattered around the world. For the most part, he liked being a vampire. The extra sensitive receptors - sight, hearing, touch, taste, hypnotizing, speed of movement. Yeah, those were cool but of course it all had its downsides as well. Turning the steering wheel, Namjoon drove onto a driveway, his eyes focused. 

Tonight he had a destination. Hoseok’s mansion was up on a little hill, surrounded by a huge garden and far enough from the human’s. Not as if they would care. Hoseok wasn’t just any vampire. He was their leader. The oldest one and therefore most powerful one. 

The king, as he liked to call himself. Namjoon parked the car and made extra sure that he had applied the parking brake (last time, he had been distracted, so he hadn’t done it properly resulting in the car rolling downhill. Luckily some of the others had seen it and helped him stop the car before it could crash. He was still embarrassed about it.). Then he walked in, a collapsible box in hand. He needed to refresh his stock and Hoseok trusted him enough to give him always some ahead. He had earned this privilege. Even though he and Hoseok knew each other now for a long long time he was still reminded every now and then that their status was entirely different. Like right now for example. As soon as he went into the foyer there were two other vampires on him, baring their fangs. Typically, the young ones were so hot headed. Namjoon stayed calm. He knew they wouldn’t do anything without command and soon enough he could hear Hoseok’s voice from the upper rooms. 

“Calm down, boys. It’s just Namjoon. Let him through - he wouldn’t harm a fly let alone one of his kind.” Namjoon smirked as the others stepped back. One of them actually had the audacity to scent him openly, something that was considered pretty rude, but Namjoon let it slide. They were children. And despite Hoseok’s words he knew that he was way more dangerous to them, then they were to him. Hoseok actually liked leading new vampires on, testing their character, giving them opportunities to attack someone apparently weaker than them. Hoseok was always one for games. He courtly nodded towards them and then went up the wooden stairs. They were flawless despite their age, the dark wood shiny from being regularly polished. No vampire would dare to pick up a fight in Hoseok’s mansion so there were no marks or signs on the furniture; no one could have guessed that the inhabitants were anything but human. “I see you came to get something tasty?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow at him as he welcomed his ‘old’ friend, leading him back into his main room. It wasn’t really considered an office, but more like an open living-room space with an office desk at one side of the room, while the other side was wildly decorated in things from all spans of time. Patting Namjoon’s shoulder, Hoseok pushed the younger vampire down onto the couch, raking his bejeweled hand through his hair, before he licked his tongue over his fangs, watching Namjoon closely. 

“Why don’t you finally get yourself a human, Namjoon?” He said with a low, dark voice and sat down in front of the other, “Fresh blood is so much better for you! My offer still stands. Live here and I’ll get you a fresh, willing human each night. Maybe you’ll even find a lovely companion.” Hoseok’s eyes flickered over to the other side of the room, where his own human sat, patiently waiting. His eyes fixated only on Hoseok. The collar around his neck showing that he had an owner. Hoseok’s personal blood donor. His lover. “Hoseok!” Namjoon tried to not let his frustration show too strongly. Hoseok was his superior after all. But they’ve discussed this over and over again. Of course Hoseok was right, fresh blood tasted so much better. But he just couldn’t take it from someone who wasn’t willingly giving it. And most of the humans inside these four walls were hypnotized, offering themselves up for any vampire without even knowing what they were doing. He hated it! “Seokjin, come here!” The king ordered and the human followed immediately, sitting himself on Hoseok’s lap. Hoseok trailed his fingers along Seokjin’s neck, making him show off the bite marks there, before he ripped open the shirt a little more to reveal his marked up chest to Namjoon. Hoseok licked his lips, his gaze back on Namjoon’s. He knew the other was desperate. There hadn’t been a companion in his life for too long. 

“I can’t promise to find you someone as good as this one,” The vampire leader murmured, “But I’ll make sure it’s good. You like them petite, right? With soft, delicate features?” Hoseok hummed in delight, before he let Jin off his lap (but not before giving his bottom a little slap) and returned his attention to Namjoon. The other swallowed harshly, licking his dry lips. Unfortunately his hunger didn’t give a damn about his morals and so he was practically salivating with the way Seokjin bared his neck. It was such a pity that he was wearing a collar as it hid part of his throat. Seokjin was beautiful on his own but together with the bite marks and the thin white shirt that accentuated his slim figure… Namjoon could almost see his chest in every detail through the fabric...spillt crimson would be such an amazing look on him.. he smelled so sweetly.. his blood must taste so good….

The vampire flinched a little at the slapping sound when Hoseok’s hand met Seokjin’s firm bottom, hurriedly making room for the human. Although Seokjin didn’t seem to mind that he was here. And it wasn’t because he was hypnotized. Strangely Hoseok hadn’t hypnotized him, never had too because Seokjin was here because he wanted to be. It wasn’t that uncommon that people enjoyed the thrill of being bitten because it induced some kind of highly euphoric rush that let their victim forget the pain and loose their minds in hazy bliss. Normally after a while the fear kept them from coming back, maybe it was the natural human survival instinct that kicked in, maybe when the novelty had worn off the thrill to them wasn’t worth it any longer. So relationships like Hoseok and Seokjin were pretty rare. 

But it was everything that Namjoon ever wanted. And Hoseok knew that and loved playing with it. Having Namjoon at his mercy, was the most fun, because the other was hard to get. Namjoon was one of the older vampires, with abilities that only a few vampire were blessed…or cursed with. “So, then tell me Namjoon,” Hoseok leaned back, sitting with his legs spread wide and a knowing-smirk on his face, “What are you here for then? Just blood, or what gives me the honor to see you so early at night?” Namjoon bit his lip, hesitating a little. Vampires weren’t exactly the most social creatures and there were always rogue ones, outsiders or little groups that followed their own plans and directions. Normally as long as they didn’t get themselves outed or got the vampire community as a whole at risk no one gave a damn. And until now there wasn’t really a risk. Newspaper articles about a wild animal had happened before and would certainly happen again. As long as they didn’t leave more proof or started hunting a specific type no one would realize that there was no animal. Still it bothered him a lot. But he knew coming Hoseok with morals and responsibility for the weaker would only make the older laugh. therefore he tried a different approach. He owed his head a little to show his respect before starting to speak up. 

“Actually there’s something else I’d like to ask of you. I know it’s not my place to do so but I beg you to show your greatness of heart and listen to me nonetheless. I am sure the attacks have come to your attention as well. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t mind them-,” He lied easily, trying to subtly watch Hoseok’s reactions, “-but they get closer and closer to the company. I have many ambitious employees who stay past their time and offer up their evenings for the sake of the company. I can’t bear the thought of them being at risk because of their selflessness. I wouldn’t want my office to lose its most valuable members. So it would calm my heart to know that you, the most powerful of all of us, would keep an eye on those rogue ones so that they won’t get closer to the building.” He held his breath for a second and then added as humble as he could. “Maybe - for the sake of our community - it would even best to stop their attacks in general. Don’t you agree?” Hoseok sighed, as he leaned a little further into Namjoon. His voice sudden low and quiet. “Hiding is the number one priority, Namjoon and I see what’s happening,” Hoseok almost hissed the words, “I see it all! Don’t you think I’m already doing whatever I can? Hypnotizing shitty, stinky old politicians and infiltrating the police with my men? But these aren’t the usual rouge ones.” Hoseok raked his hands through his hair, before he regained his posture, “They are different. Very much so.” Getting up, Hoseok looked down at Namjoon before he ordered, “It’s probably better if they come closer, that you let your people go home before the sun goes down.” That wasn’t the answer he had hoped for but pushing Hoseok when he was irritated was dangerous. And right now the older was very obviously infuriated. At that a shiver ran down Namjoon’s spine because it meant that there was way more to those attacks than he had thought and it meant he needed to be very, very careful. Of course he could tell his employees to not work over hours - but he couldn’t tell them to not go out in their free time or the weekends which meant that they were still in danger. So he just couldn’t let it go that easily. “Do you maybe.. want me to investigate a bit? I could keep my eyes open in those areas, look around a bit, maybe ask some questions, you know, the usual...” “NO!” Hoseok growled, showing off his fangs to Namjoon. A clear warning sign for him to not get involved. His expression turned emotionless quickly again before he added, “Do your job. Keep the people and yourself out of danger! I can’t risk them knowing about too much and if they know your position, your abilities…keep your head low and yourself safe! Namjoon immediately lowered his head as a sign that he accepted the order. Of course he would, even though he didn't like it. Going against Hoseok’s order would be pretty much like walking around with a death wish tattooed on his forehead. It should probably flatter him that Hoseok deemed him too valuable to risk his cover as a human but still he disliked the thought of being damned to just watch it happen. Hoseok smiled faintly, when he felt Jin’s arms caressing over his shoulders as he leaned his head on them. He always brought him comfort and calmed him down. “Just do as I say, Namjoon!” Hoseok repeated, before he gripped Jin’s chin and pushed his lips onto the other, showing once more what Namjoon was missing and aching for. For a second Namjoon watched the heated kiss, listening to Jin’s heartbeat quickening when Hoseok pushed his tongue between the humans soft lips, his fangs gracing the plush bottom lip. Namjoon would have loved to switch places with Hoseok and kiss Seokjin in his place, hold him close and feel the warmth of his living, breathing body before pushing his head aside to bare all of the beauty that was his carotid artery, so delicious, so full of life, pulsing with the blood that run through his system and whispered to Namjoon, luring him in and drawing him closer to… Namjoon drew in a shaky breath and shook his head to clear it, then he gave them a court nod and turned on his heel. He really needed to get a full meal inside of him or else he would jump the very next person who didn’t wear a turtleneck.

A/N: NEW YEAR - NEW STORY! Get ready for...a lot! Cat and I can’t wait to share this new story for you. We worked hard on it! So...what do you think so far? You got to know the first characters of our story a bit ;) Do you like Hoseok...oh, pardon, the king? And how did Namjoon get naked into Jimin’s apartment? Well...we will find out in the next chapter! I am not sure, yet if I should post this twice a week, or if you rather want us to post the other story we have planned simultaneously. So each, once a week. Hm. What do you think? Update twice a week?

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Sleepytime, Aurora ~One Shot

A Marvel Spoof Fic

Written in response to this gifset!

Words: 2k  | Masterlist

Premise: Our magical Marvel beings (Loki, Wanda and Strange) as versions of the fairy godparents to Aurora as they protect her from Maleficent (in this case Hela!)

OC: Aurora

Thank you @electroma89 for suggesting I write something for it! I had tonnes of fun, and even though the story isn’t fairy-tale-eque, I hope you enjoy it!

APPALACHIANS, 00:32 am

Energy crackled against the dark night setting of the Appalachians as an interdimensional rift tore through the fabric of the universe. Bright light poured through the rift, scaring the wild animals that slept under the cover of night. A body materialised out of this light and softly fell onto the thick snow -this less than graceful gazelle was named Aurora.

"Get back here!" Hela’s voice boomed across the rift, her long nails stretching out to peek through the dimensional curtain.

"Make me!" Aurora stuck out her tongue before she clasped her hands together to seal the rift.

Energy pulsed around her as she lay unconscious in the snow.

SANCTUM SENCTORUM, NEW YORK, 00:32 am

Strange had his nose firmly stuck in a thousand-year-old book; its words written in Aramaic -a translation spell causing the words to move and shift until legible with each page turn.

Wong was polishing the brass Centurion of Dismemberment downstairs, leaving the Cloak of Levitation to wonder about the room aimlessly.

Shimmering out through half-closed curtains, a crystal ball became agitated, displaying images of a mountain peak, a woman falling through a rift and darkly painted nails being severed once it was closed.

Curiously, the Cloak hovered close to the heavy drapes but was unable to move them apart.

The crystal ball began to whisper in a thousand angry voices too low for any of the mortals within the Sanctum to hear. In a panic of human-esque movements, the Cloak hovered in front of Wong's peripheral trying to get his attention.

"Not right now, I'm busy." Wong swatted the Cloaks coattails away carefully. "This is a very delicate procedure. One wrong move and I risk awakening the Centurion of Dismemberment. Even the slightest gust of wind could risk awake--"

The Cloak wouldn't take no for an answer and wrapped itself around Wong's midriff, pulling him backwards.

"The hell's gotten into you?" Wong frowned before using his sling-ring to singe the ends of the Cloak, causing it to let go abruptly.

"Oh, shi--" Off-balance, Wong's head hurled directly into the Centurion's folded brass exoskeleton.

GONG!

The noise travelled through-out the Sanctum.

Strange rolled his eyes when the loud noise disrupted the flow of his spell.

"Wong, can you keep it down?" Strange shouted before he mused quietly to himself in annoyance: "Is it really too much to ask for a day of quiet?"

In a hurry, completely ignoring the magical animatronic machine coming to life in great puffs of steam and groaning metal, the Cloak flew up to the sound of Strange's voice.

It tapped on Strange's shoulder several times only for him to subsequently brush him off. Then the sound of something large stomping around and crashing into things finally caught his attention.

"What in the--?" Strange turned to head down the stairs, the Clock tugging him in another direction.

The top floor of the rotunda was filled with several frightened apprentices using sling-ring whips to try and keep the Centurion in one place as his sword crashed into every glass casing.

Wong, having just been woken up off the floor, shook his head and used his magic skills to move each magical artefact away from the Centurion's path destruction.

"Strange, get down here! We need you!" Wong said with great effort as his magical abilities were being stretched thin.

Just when Strange took a step down the stairs, the Cloak had managed to pull his attention towards the shimmering light behind the thick red drapes.

"Hmmm," Strange said as he walked towards the strange lights.

The Cloak finally bringing itself to rest easily upon the Sorcerer Supreme's shoulders.

"Str- Strange? Where the hell are you going?" Wong demanded as he watched his friend walk away with disinterest in his eyes at the fact a live Centurion was slashing and knocking and stomping about.

"You've got it under control," Strange said nonchalantly without looking away from the light. When he pulled back the drapes, he read the inscription plaque fixed upon the crystal ball's stand out loud: "Upon this cutting of the Great Oak of Knowledge sits the Orb of Impending Doom. Beware the day its eyes are opened, for when the screams of guardians past gain their voice again shall be the final lament that foretells of the end of days..."

Strange rose his eyebrow in though, his arms folded around his midriff, one anchored up to rest his chin upon, "That doesn't sound very comforting."

"Wong! Hold down the fort!" Strange shouted from the other room as he opened a portal.

Between deep pants, Wong nodded his head, "Hold… the… fort! Right, no problem… it's not like that wasn't exactly what I've been trying to do!"

 APPALACHIANS, 00:40 am

Strange stepped through the portal, his cloak dethatching itself to hover to a humanoid looking figure a few feet away.

"This better not be aliens," Strange hoped.

The Cloak wrapped itself around a sleeping woman’s frame and lifted her off the ground like a hammock.

The portal, still open, let out orange shimmers, making the snow appear like it was set aflame. On the other side of it, the loud shouts and shattering noises coming from the Sanctum permeated through the cold air.

"So… this is the bringer of the end of days," Strange pursed his lips in thought. "Huh, I pictured something a little more… Well, more. Let's bring her with." He told the Cloak.

"Strange!" Wong's shout trickled out.

"First things first. Let's go deal with that Centurion."

 SANCTUM SENCTORUM, 06:30 am

Wong used magic to make the clean-up efforts go faster while the rest of the sorcerer's carefully levitated the now deactivated Centurion towards the vault in the basement.

When he was done, Wong made his way to the communal resting area where their newfound guest slept on a couch while Strange -floating cross-legged- looked through several hovering books open on different pages simultaneously.

"Anything?" Wong asked.

Strange just furrowed his brows.

"Maybe we should just ask her?"

"What if her waking up creates more problems than it solves?"

"Then, just like earlier, we'll deal with it." Wong was a bit bitter from earlier.

Strange set down from his sitting position and placed the palm of his hand on the sleeping woman’s face, "Wake."

Despite his awakening spell, the woman stayed asleep.

"That's unusual..." Strange uttered.

Then he felt the cloak tap on his shoulder and point at something at the end of the room.

Wong and Strange were surprised to see a copy of the exact same woman, partially translucent and standing with the edge of a coffee table passing right through her knees. She was incorporeal.

"Det er et bord som stikker ut av meg!" The projection shouted frantically.

"This is new," Strange stood from the girl’s unconscious body and walked closer to the semi-transparent version.

Wong cast a translation spell as the projection kept shouting and pacing about, "I think she's astral projecting."

"Who are you?" Strange asked after she passed through him. The feeling was odd.

"Polarlys, Goddess of Limbo and soothsayer to the restless dead. But my Uncle's call me Aurora," she said matter-of-factly.

"I'm Stephen Strange and this is Wong."

The Cloak swatted Strange's hand.

"And this is the Cloak of Levitation," He added.

The Cloak made a waving gesture.

"Greetings," Aurora said with a pleasant sing-song voice that made Strange and Wong stifle sudden yawns.

"Would you mind telling us why the Orb of Impending Doom thought you'd somehow be responsible for the end of days?" Strange asked when the outside world was overcome by an ethereal green hue, blocking out the sun and turning the sky a bluish-green colour.

"What is happening?" Wong said as he peered out the Sanctum's circular windows.

"That would be the impending doom you speak of," Aurora said with bulging eyes.

Out of the corner of the room, rainbow streams of light beamed down like a flashlight as Loki stepped out of the bi-frosts portal perimeter.

"Aurora, would you mind explaining to me why Helheim's gates are opening? And while you're at it, would you also explain why you're on Midgard?" Loki questioned with his finger waggling about, staring at her with disappointed brows.

Aurora shrugged like a teenager, face pulled into a long pout making her doe eyes seem even more pronounced. Immediately, Loki's expression changed into one less scary.

"Ah, Loki," Strange greeted.

"Imposter," Loki replied in greeting.

"You know her?" Wong asked.

"She's my concern, and the reason all mortals on your realm have fallen into an endless slumber.

"What?" Both Wong and Strange said completely unaware of that last sentiment.

"You're probably conscious because you possess magical attributes, or at least what humans pass for magic anyway," Loki said with his nose pointed high.

Wong conjured several birds-eye-view portals around him to confirm Loki's words, and sure as day, through each portal he could see countless humans slowly beginning to fall into a slumber causing chaos to erupt around them.

"I'll gather the apprentice's and other sorcerer's and try and contain the situation," Wong assured Strange before he made for the other room.

"Come on Aurora, get back in your body so I can take you back," Loki ordered.

"No!" Aurora pouted again, arms folding around herself. "You can't make me?"

"Yes, I can and I will," Loki inched further to her. "Now get back in your body or so help me I will--"

Having grown impatient with Loki's interaction, Strange had opened a portal to Timbuktu and swept Loki through it, forcing him out of the room.

"Now that we have some peace and quiet, mind telling why you're causing everyone to fall unconscious?"

Aurora sighed, "It's a protection spell..."

"Why do you need a protection spell?"

"It wasn't my idea. My mother is a little overprotective."

"Your mother?"

Before Aurora could elaborate, Wanda and Vision flew into the Sanctum through the open observatory window.

"Hello, Doctor Strange? Monk wizards? Anybody home?" Wanda asked the seemingly empty space. "Viz, you sure you detected an anomaly here?"

"I'm positive Wanda," Vison replied.

"We're in the back!" Strange shouted.

Suddenly, Loki rematerialized angrier than before, "Do that to me one more time, mortal and I'll have your--"

Strange accepted the challenge and swept Loki away into another portal.

Loki rematerialized just as quickly as he had disappeared, "That's it!"

Loki was about to charge at Strange when Wanda used her abilities to separate them to either side of the room when a subtle rumbling caused the walls and floor to trail cracks.

Several skyscrapers were threatening to topple into one another when Wanda shouted, "Viz take care of that, I've got things handled here!"

With a crack and a thunderous streak, a tear was sliced through the sky as a woman dressed in black and green with a helmet affixed with several sharp prongs sticking out of it descended from the sky -hundreds of swords materialising to form a circular perimeter around the Sanctum.

Wanda let go of Strange and Loki before she jumped out of the Sanctum and landed by an empty park in full view of the ethereal looking woman.

Loki and Strange followed suit.

"Wait for me!" Aurora groaned as she shimmered to their location.

"Who is that?" Wanda asked.

"I believe, that's Hela, Goddess of the Dead," Strange said knowingly.

"That's my adoptive older sister," Loki corrected.

"That's my mother," Aurora said with a deep exasperated sigh.

Everyone but Loki turned to her.

"What? Nobody's family is perfect!" She protested.

Loki chuckled as he summoned his sceptre, "Oh, she doesn't look happy."

"Aurora! I warned you about travelling to Midgard without my permission! You're in big trouble young lady."

Aurora's projection gulped, "Uh-oh..."

"Can't we just reason with her?" Wanda asked.

"Not when she's lost her temper," Aurora warned.

"So what's the plan?" Strange asked.

"We tire her out until her ears aren't blocked by all the blood rushing to her brain!" Loki said sarcastically.

Red, green and orange. Uniformly, Strange, Wanda and Loki took defensive stances as their signature magic colours wisped to life.

“Why couldn’t it just be aliens?” Strange whined as several magical swords embedded themselves into the tarmac and soft grass.

***

Permatags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees  @500daysofbecky

[drivingsideways]

for the fandom meme questions, if you're still taking them: F, G, W, and Y. (you don't have to do all of them, just whichever ones you wanna answer)

I answered most of those here, so gonna do the remaining one

W - 5 favorite ships and 5 kinks you like best for said ships

OH NO WHERE TO START HOW TO PICK THIS IS TERRIBLE 

I am such a multi-shipper at heart, i ship everyone/everything so picking a few is AGONIZING. 

under the cut ‘cause uh, i got carried away. No particular order of fave, and mostly restricted to ships from the last few years

Miranda Barlow/James Flint/Thomas Hamilton (Black Sails) - OT3 of PAIN omg, the fact that they barely had a chance to be together, and so much of their story  as a trio is basically one or the other NOT BEING THERE AND THE REMAINING TWO BEING DEVASTATED AND WANDERING AROUND THE WORLD LOST WITHOUT THEIR MISSING THIRD. UGHHHH. I yell a lot about James/Miranda here but internally I yell a lot about Thomas/Miranda pre and post James and James/Thomas without Miranda and basically every time I see their faces I’m *crying *, and honestly, my only kink for them is to literally be in the same room and the same time, like, my needs here are very basic. 

Dean/Castiel (SPN): I know, I know. Everybody and their grandmom ships these two, AS THEY SHOULD. I gave up on the show a long time ago, but every now and then a gifset crosses my dash and I’M UNDONE BY THEIR FACES WHEN THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER WHEN THE OTHER IS NOT WATCHING (THERE’S A REASON SEASON 6 IS WHEN I REALLY STARTED SHIPPING THEM) AND I’M LIKE IT’S BEEN 15 YEARS AND SEVERAL RESURRECTIONS PLEASE KISS NOW. Hmm, kinks for this ship- lbr, fandom has written Every Possible Kink for this ship, and I’m happy to roll with most of it, but anything with true-form/eldritch horror Cas and a very human, very mortal Dean is probably THE BEST. Well, that and OMG ARE THEY HOLDING HANDS OMG OMG OMG (I can’t help it, I’m a marshmallow)

Superbat (DCEU) : I’ll be honest, I didn’t give a fuck about Batman until Ben Affleck ran onto the screen with with his fucking three piece suits and Emotional Trauma and Weird Psychosexual Dreams and I couldn’t believe the pit of shame I’d let myself fall into, but BvS was Something (yes, amidst a whole lot of Objectively Bad Somethings, yes I’m looking at you Jesse Eisenberg) anyways, i closed the tab where the movie had been playing, opened another tab for AO3 and fell straight into one of @susiecarter‘s fics, specifically THIS AMAZING FAKE DATING POST BvS ONE and it was basically over for me. This subset of Superbat fandom has some amazing writers and artists so honestly it wasn’t really even my fault, i just wallowed in all the hard work being done by someone else. PINING! CONTROL ISSUES! Emotionally Traumatized Man with a Death Wish meets literal Ray of Sunshine who can ALSO actually kill him with his little finger and has FEELINGS HE CAN”T IDENTIFY MUCH LESS TALK ABOUT. I love pining (is that a kink?) and like this is the otp where one half is/was literally dead while the other is dead inside AND IT WAS ALL TOO MUCH FOR ME. I REGRET NOTHING. Seriously, this version of an older, weary Batman meeting a young(ish) Superman who’s still trying to figure out how to be Superman, with both of them having control issues while being absolute rubbish at communication is perfect for a lot of d/s stuff but like my bulletproof kink in this ship is probably them...talking about their feelings? YEAH.

Joan/Sherlock (Elementary) : OH NO MY SUPER HAPPY CANON PLATONIC SOULMATES THEY ARE EVERYTHING I’VE EVER WANTED AND NEVER IMAGINED I’D GET TO SEE ON AN ACTUAL SHOW AND THEY’RE SUPER GREAT AND I LOVE HOW THEY ARE LIKE RIDE OR DIE FOR EACH OTHER AND THE WAY SHERLOCK ADORES HER AND THE WAY SHE’LL LOOK OUT FOR HIM AND TELL HIM COLD HARD TRUTHS BUT ALWAYS WITH KINDNESS WHY ARE THEY SO PERFECT WHY IS THIS SHOW ENDING AND HOLY HELL UNDYING KINK IS SHERLOCK SAYING ‘I’D MAKE ADJUSTMENTS FOR YOU’ AND JOAN’S FACE WHEN HE SAYS THAT THIS SHOW HAD BETTER END WITH JOAN ADOPTING A BABY AND LIVING IN THEIR BROWNSTONE WITH CLYDE AND THEIR BEES AND DOING DETECTIVE THINGS

*deep breath *

and current fave

Ning Yi/ Xin Zi Yan (The Rise of Phoenixes) : Ok, look, I basically ship Ning Yi/everyone and mostly Ning Yi/ happiness, homicidal woobie that he is, BUT the show just like WENT THERE with these two. Xin Zi Yan is Ning Yi’s mentor/friend/ally in the fight for his life within his batshit insane royal family and he is a cold, ruthless fuck who can hold grudges FOREVER and they flirt with each other (the show is particularly unsubtle about the flirting) and lie to each other and protect each other and STICK THE KNIFE INTO EACH OTHER AT THE SOFTEST POINTS BECAUSE THEY KNOW HOW TO. Like their fights are EPIC, blood on the floor everywhere and I’m like YES YES but also NOW FUCK. Like, canon just gave me this intense, competitive, kinda unhealthy dynamic and I’m like they’d be so bad for each other, BECAUSE LOL WHAT ARE BOUNDARIES XIN ZI YAN YOU CONTROL FREAK AND  NING YI YOU ARE ONE ABYSS OF NEED THAT YOU TRY TO HIDE BEHIND YOUR NONCHALANCE AND MURDER BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE FOREVER OMG I LOVE THEM A LOT LET ME WRITE 100K ABOUT THEM BEING THE ABSOLUTE WORST FOR EACH OTHER AND THE WORLD, SO I DID. Did someone say rarepair hell? I’m literally writing the only fic there is for them that’s how much i love them (its such a rarepair that the tag isn’t even searchable on AO3 yet). Uh, as for kinks for these two I CAN’T BECAUSE I’M NOT READY FOR THE MORTIFICATION OF BEING KNOWN. 

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

THE A-TEAM ; PART 7 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.3k SUMMARY: Now stranded on Lamentis with two of the worst variants, you find it difficult to decide whether Loki is potentially empathetic to others around him. A/N: I’m so sorry I haven’t updated in awhile and for posting this slow-moving and kinda uneventful chapter but I promise you, it’s vital for the next chapter as it explains a few things. Please tell me what you think so far and maybe theories? (idk if yall have any lol) gif from this gifset by @kamalaskhans WARNINGS: Swearing. Loki being a jerk. Loki and Sylvie support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

Vertigo strikes you more often than you enjoy. The sensation of everything that encompasses, spinning in tandem with your mind. It’s the work you deal with that constantly sends your brain reeling because the complexity of time travel and time itself sometimes becomes too much to handle. Yet, this isn’t vertigo caused by an existential crisis. It’s nausea from the throbbing gash on your cheek and the numbness of your entire face from the fall through the time door.

For a split second, as your body surges through the door in mid-air, you have a vision, a series of flashing images—crimson eyes blinking before you, the sea, the Sun and fire.

Then, it’s gone and you land with a loud thump.

Your head hurts. Your face hurts. Everything hurts.

A groan escapes your lips, muffled with your face to the ground. You attempt to seize yourself up but immediately halt as your hand seems to come into contact with a shirt-like material. Too soft for it to be the ground unless you are on a mattress. Nothing seems to make sense anyway because a second ago, you had a knife to your throat and another, you are falling.

Deciding that maneuvering in the darkness of your shut eyes isn’t going to give you answers, they flutter open, adjusting to the lightness and hues of your surroundings. Then, every muscle of yours freezes with the realization that it is not the ground you had landed on as you meet another’s eyes with the same stricken gaze, staring back at you. Loki, in a rather unfortunate position, lays beneath you.

Momentarily, time passes like a goddamn laggard.

You can hear and feel every ragged breath he takes. Suddenly, you find yourself swallowing.

What a great time to stab him in the chest if you had a knife right now.

Yet, the moment passes as the tension severely thickens and your anxiety starts to creep onto you with the sudden awareness of your unknown surroundings. Purplish hues can never be good. You continue to seize yourself up in the effort to get back on your feet albeit legs feeling weak when you unceremoniously jab his rib with your elbow and you hear Loki wince from below you.

“Woman! Why are your elbows so sharp?!” Loki shrieks through a series of grunts. In a swift movement, his hands are on either side of your shoulders, shoving you off him. You land hard on your back, head slamming onto something metallic as it clangs with the impact. You groan, hand flying to your head as you eye the God with sharp eyes. “Ow!” you yell but then hear the same exclamation echo from another’s lips—the fugitive variant. You seemed to have kicked her in the knee.

In your peripheral vision, there’s a certain glint that catches your eyes. It’s the tempad, sitting idly amongst the dark gravel. Before you could even begin to pull yourself up from the ground, you are being hauled once more as the blonde climbs over you to reach for the device. But, Loki is quick to grab her by the foot, yanking her away with force.

“Get off my foot!” she growls as Loki attempts to make an expeditious crawl towards the device. He manages to snag it but, the Goddess hoists his head onto a nearby desk with a loud clang.

She already has it within her grasp as you’re struggling to lift yourself.

“Goodbye, variants.” she spits, voice course. If it weren’t for your throbbing migraine and the sting from the open wound along your cheek, you would have properly realized she referred to you as a variant. Well, she’s not wrong to a certain extent.

Yet, she’s still here and no timedoor appears.

“You’re outta juice!” Miss Minutes’ American Southern accent mechanically echoes from the tempad in an almost eerily way followed by repetitive low beeps. You watch her repeatedly stab the screen with slightly wide panicked eyes. “It’s not working,” she says, expression growing anxious with every passing minute.

Loki manages to gracefully stand on his own two feet, even after a brutal hit to his skull, and unexpectedly bends over to you and offers an outstretched hand. You don't say anything, taking it as he hauls you up with a hand to your back as leverage. In an attempt to steady yourself, you instinctively grab his shoulder

Then, you find yourself being yanked by the sleeve and a knife to your throat once again.

She has a scowl imprinted on her face, eyes blazing with frustration and rage.

“Give me your tempad,” she snarls, face close to yours. You can feel the edge of the knife grazing your neck with every inhale. A nervous laugh escapes your lips, eyeing the shine of the blade. “Do you really want to do that?”

For a moment, her face falls, yet it’s gone the next second. She pushes the blade closer. If you breathe, there’s going to be blood. “Give me your tempad or I’ll slice your throat,” she threatens and with your erratic heart pounding in your chest, you manage to cry out.

“I don’t have a tempad!”

“She doesn’t have a tempad!”

You and Loki exclaimed synchronically and shared a look. As far as you were concerned, only Renslayer and Mobius knew about the confiscation of your tempad because it was embarrassing enough to be the only analyst to be called to court. You have so many questions but right now, you should be thinking about how your one slash away from being decapitated.

You feel his grip on your back tighten and within a split second, everything changes around you.

Your surroundings have changed, her knife is no longer on your neck. Magically, you have been transported across the room, facing her back. Loki releases his hold on you and shoves the blonde to the side as she tumbles into a storage shelf.

Your stomach churns unannounced, feeling like the floors are spinning below you as you try to wrap around the fact that you were on the other end of the room a while ago and now you’re here. Transportation or whatever the hell it was, made your insides feel like it's about to spew out of your mouth.

“Never do that again,” you groan, holding your abdomen. Meanwhile, Loki has plucked the tempad from the ground and the other doesn’t seem to want to take the hint that fighting isn’t going to do any good to the situation.

“Just give it back to me. You don’t even know how to recharge it.”

“Well, I do.” you chirp and she eyes you with a scowl. “And so does he. You’re not the only tech-savvy Loki.”

“Don’t call me that!”

You and Loki shoot a bewildered look her way.

“Tech-savvy?”

You swing your head to look at the God who shares an expression equivalent to your own, silently raising the only reasonable question at the moment: What the fuck?

Once again, both of your minds seem to be working in tandem as the two of you echo the same question at the same time like two peas in a fucking pod.

“No. A Loki.” Her gaze shifts between the two of you as she shifts in her stance ready to pounce. Yet, as she does, you see that flicker of green magic appear. In a blink of an eye, the tempad disappears. You suddenly grow worried.

“Loki, where’s tempad?—”

“So, you’re just fully a magician then?” The blonde cuts you off with a mocking tone, snarl directed towards Loki. You watch how his shoulders stiffen at her words.

“Fine. For my next trick,” from his grasp emerges a pair of daggers. “I’ll make you disappear.”

“Woah, Woah. Okay. Now, hang on—” as you were forcing yourself between the two, a shot of flame whizzes just about an inch away from your face, from above. You yelp at the sudden streak of fire right before your eyes as you watch it extinguish to nothing once it hit the ground. The three of you stagger back at the surprise of it.

“Is that one of your powers?”

“Where did you send us?”

Curiosity gets the better of you as you crouch down to inspect the hole in the ground. There are chunks of rock with pieces of dull metallic material amongst the debris. You recognize it in the way it shines under the light that beams through from above—it’s Iridium.

You know exactly where you are.

“You have got to be fucking me.”

Abruptly standing, your hands fly up to hold the sides of your head, face morphing to sheer horror, eyes are wide and breaths deepened. The two Lokis stare at you with slightly anxious looks. You attempt to pull back the wisps of your hair that caress your bloody and bruised cheeks to try and diffuse the growing panic and anger sizzling in your chest.

You feel compressed, stuffy. It doesn’t help when you have two pairs of eyes staring you down while you have a meltdown. So, with the turn of your heel, you trudge out of what you finally figured to be one of the fleets of tents as part of a relief camp. The two variants trail behind you.

A sky filled with light bursts and streaks of asteroids and planetoids. In the foreground, the planet Lamentis grows immensely, its structure severely fractured. The collapse of Lamentis is the ultimate apocalypse and the three of you might as well be dead by now. The ground beneath you rumbles as asteroids shoot towards you from above like flaming arrows. Your head begins to throb all over again at the apocalyptic sight.

“You idiot! This is Lamentis-1!” You hear the woman scream as Loki bickers back. “I don’t know what that means!”

You whip your head to the two of you, teeth-gritting and nose flared—you’re practically seething. “We’re on a moon and that planet is about to crash into and destroy all of us! No one makes it out of here and it’s your fault we’re stranded here!” Your anger is directed towards the two but Loki very well knows it’s specifically him. He swallows, attempting to hide his sudden guilt. “So, fuck you. Fuck both of you—”

“Oh, isn’t that just fantastic—”

“Watch out!”

The woman hollers and suddenly, you are being pushed aside as a meteorite darts, punctuated by a screech that makes your ears ring. Then, you find yourself being guided by firm grips to your arms, dragging you as the three of you sprint across the area. You seek temporary shelter under a tanker, crouching behind its tire. The two variants continue to bicker but to you, their voices are muffled as all you hear is intense ringing.

The fugitive variant abruptly stands, extending her finger to a rundown mining shack. “There!” and once again, much to your feet’s dismay, you’re sprinting through a goddamn warzone. From experience, you know you’re not a fast runner—the whole physicality to it just doesn’t match up to your capabilities. So, you trail behind them, struggling to catch up yet, despite your efforts, the universe tends to play your enemy once again as a meteorite strikes you in the arm.

You collapse to the ground and your right ear starts to ring again, louder than before. You don’t hear your shrill scream, cutting through the noise of the eruptions—it’s just a high-pitched tone drumming in your ears and the excruciating pain burning in your arm.

Loki appears before you, barking words you can’t hear. All you do is grip your arm, pressing into the wound. There’s definitely blood, you feel it surging within your fingers. Indefinitely, you feel his hand sharply tug at the crook of your unhurt arm, hauling you up to stand. His other arm curls around your back, pulling you with him in an attempt to make a run for it towards the shack. Overhead, you see her running, whipping her head around to glance at you. She looks afraid.

The ringing finally halts and through all the wailing like war cries ricocheting across the crater, you hear his voice, ragged and low. It's only for your ears. “Come on, just a little more—”

You’re close to shelter with the blonde a few steps ahead of you. You unconsciously knot your hand against the fabric of his jacket, as if it will conjure any lasting energy left in you push yourself forward, and prevent you from thinking about your bleeding arm.

Eventually, the three of you make it to the shack, slamming the door shut once you’re stepping into the place with the sound of muted metallic thunks. You free yourself from his hold, sliding down the door and to your feet, feeling weak as ever. Your eyes flicker to the wound and it's unexpectedly huge and crimson. You groan, ignoring how the constant arguing of the two variants has become white noise to you but right now, all you need is some goddamn silence.

“Would you two just shut up?” Their pathetic squabble comes to an abrupt stop at your words. You then fish out a handkerchief, from your back pocket, weakly waving it towards your bleeding arm. “—And help me out here?”

The blonde’s snarl returns, “And why would we even help you?”

Loki turns to her with a surprised look. “We? So, we are a team—”

“Shut up—”

“Because let’s face it. The two of you are pathetic liars and you don’t actually know how to charge the tempad. So, help me out here before I start losing more blood than I should and you’ll have no way off this moon.” There’s silence and all you do is concentrate on your breathing as the two of them just stand there, staring, thinking. They share a look. The quiet passes in a moment, Loki surprisingly steps towards you and goes to crouch down to your level. He plucks the handkerchief from your grasp and ties a firm knot.

“Does this mean you’re not planning on killing us?”

You snort, gaze shifting between the two. “Not for now.”

You don't notice the flicker of green emerging from his fingertips as he holds his palm against your wound. You don't notice how the pain nearly subsides at his touch.

—

The golden cocktail glass mocks you with the lack of alcoholic liquid. It shines under the pretty and obscure chandelier above the circular bar where a bartender shuffles her way around. It also manages to reflect the daze of your expression and the flying wisps of your hair that drifts with every passing elite Lamentian adorned with some fancy hat and shiny heels. They seem to move at an obnoxious prissy speed. Though the thought of every being on this moon is about to die and you too might join them in the apocalypse, it somehow comforts you to think that these rich and elite groups, prioritized to enter the evacuation ark, will be joining the others as well.

The trek from the crater to the train had been nothing but eventful. You kept your mouth shut for most of the time, not wanting to lose your energy over two varaints who can’t seem to get along for once. From the woman who blasted the two for harassing her and Loki’s disguise to enter the train, heading for Shuroo, you wonder if this was all worth it.

You also learn that the woman goes by Sylvie. Not Loki.

Strange.

Right now, you aren’t too worried about the major possibility of dying. As much as you hate the two Loki variants that forcefully brought to the current situation you’re in, you know, from working with several variants of the Asgardian prince, Lokis do not die. But, will you? It’s a question better left unanswered.

Loki appears beside you, elbow propped up on the bar, leaning towards it as he faces you with an oddly sickly grin. It’s nearly amusing when you notice how Sylvie and Loki are entirely different from each other, one being much more aloof than the other, yet hold equivalence as well. At the moment, the difference between the two is obvious because you are very sure Loki is as intoxicated as you are while Sylvie has gone off to dream world by the corner of the lounge.

At least you only have to deal with one for the moment.

“You should really stop drinking,” you say, taking a swig from the martini glass. Loki snorts, curiously watching you in a slight daze. “Then, I must call you a hypocrite.” You scoff, not merely paying any mind to his usual antics and clever counters. You spare him a glance before lifting the cocktail glass to rest upon your lips, “Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself.”

Amid his drunken stupor, he nearly hears his mother with every articulation of those words. He is yet to admit of his amazement for your unmatching traits to your personality—so wise yet so outrageously reckless. Your mind is powerful but you don’t tend to use it very well. Loki merely hums, deciding to disregard his surprise, and takes a seat beside you on the barstool. You don’t shift or flinch away when his shoulder brushes against yours.

“Untrue. I know nothing about you,” he says, glancing your way in his periphery, “And that is because you never let me.” Your laugh comes off more like a puff of air, hinted with amusement. “It’s not that. There is nothing to know about me. I’m not very interesting, unlike you and your variants.”

Loki turns to you, lips pursed into a smile that’s knowing and somehow charming. “Don’t be so modest. You are a part of the most powerful bureaucratic organization in the universe. You must have been to many places, seen many things...” he trails off, watching the deepening furrow of your brows. You turn in your seat to properly face him this time, “And why does it matter?” You eye him suspiciously as he briefly raises his palms in defense. “It doesn’t. I was just...curious.”

You shift in your seat, arm now propped up on the bar. “Well, curiosity did kill the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back.”

Silvertongue. You narrow your eyes.

“I’m surprised you know that.”

Loki shrugs, gesturing to the bartender for another cup while you carelessly decide he isn’t worth babysitting for now. The alcoholic drink arrives and he takes an unceremonious shot.

“I think you should really go easy—”

He scoffs, “You sound a lot like Thor.”

You’re frowning again.“You’re drunk.”

“And you’re a mewling quim.”

You’re surprisingly calm at his words. He immediately regrets it, thoroughly blaming the alcohol on his once sharp mind. Though your stare is outright intimidating.

“You know, there’s this ancient poem—Hávamál. You might be familiar with it. Hávamál is said to present advice and wisdom from Odin’s very lips. With your current behavior, a particular stanza comes to mind,” you say, voice hinted with cynicism. He knows of Hávamál but with the current scatter of his mind, it’s a lot harder to remember the words of the specific lines of the poem.

“Humour me.” are the words that leave his lips. They are challenging.

You don’t take your eyes off him as you speak lowly, “Er-a svo gott sem gott kveða öl alda sonum, því að færra veit er fleira drekkur síns til geðs gumi”

Less good than they say for the sons of men is the drinking oft of ale: for the more they drink, the less can they think and keep a watch o'er their wits.

You just called him a drunkard idiot in fluent old Norse and it strikes him like a blade to his cheek. Not as bad of an insult than his, but certainly less childish.

His mouth goes dry.

Abruptly standing to your feet, you take a final swig of your drink, slamming it rather vigorously on the bar. “Maybe, you should have listened to your father more often.” With a spin of your heel, you’re walking away from him. Loki swallows, calling after you. “Where are you going?”

You halt in your step, turning to him momentarily with an unknown expression and a lingering gaze. “Away from you.”

TAGLIST:

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[elizabethrobertajones]

Dean & Cas Are In Love

A hopefully one day conclusive study of these assholes, hopefully told as briefly as I can.

Written for the people in the fandom who care but sometimes need a pick me up on this, and not written to prove a point to anyone who doesn't already care. <3

Dean needs Cas to get Dick

... They boned him together. 

Slightly less visually erotic and more punnery innuendo-y parallel of Sam and Dean killing Ruby together in 4x22 >.> 

Anyways. 

Season 7 ends, and this episode is dependant on the journey Dean and Cas go through to make amends. There is no formal goodbye or even good luck between Sam and Dean - their last conversation is about Bobby, and the funeral scene is their last real shared scene; after that it’s Dean n Cas paired together until the end.

But let’s start at the top :D

While Carver era isn’t utterly devoid of barbs like this, I’m honestly struggling to think of one that is so overt aside from the deleted 10x14 scene than Meg’s “he was your boyfriend first” line. I feel like this is the end of the really on the nose teasing and jabbing at them as if being in love is an insult, and the beginning of a more nuanced handling - and don’t worry, deleted scenes are on my to-do list as we get deeper into Wonderland >.> 

Through Cas’s return, Meg has acted as a block and a romantic rival, in both overt and not so overt ways. She shows up to get between Dean n Cas having more private reconciliation and then seems to “win” who gets Cas, while admitting freely it’s a power grab and for her own protection against Crowley. By 7x23 she shows up fed up with Cas and unable to deal with him, handing him off to Dean to talk to and try and reason with him. Considering the ownership battle she conjured on her end, it has the feeling of conceding ground, and in this case she frames it in the romantic terms of Cas having been Dean’s boyfriend first. She treats it as if it were a fling and she is resigning from the competition to bag Cas as a boyfriend, and returning him to Dean. While she hangs around and helps some more, for the rest of the episode, she no longer hits on Cas or does more than look at him a few times, while Dean is left to deal with him.

The moment where Dean goes to talk to Cas in the car, I like that moment where Dean takes a breath... Those top two gifs have been thrown around fandom a lot out of context or for fun, but there’s serious stuff going on in them - as often with this show and/or fandom, the funny things have a real story to them. I like that Dean is still struggling to face Cas, but he will make the effort in a way that Meg clearly won’t, and talks him to come inside with gentle, friendly persuasion. But like with 7x21 before he goes to talk to him in the day room, he needs a moment to face Cas in this state, as he finds it saddening and troublesome to talk to him, though, unlike Meg, he makes an effort. 

Then, we have their ongoing argument which builds up over the course of the episode, but by this point bubbles over about WHY they need Cas to get Dick. And why Cas has been resisting the entire time. His self-worth from the whole betrayal and Godstiel thing is obviously his most prominent, painful trauma. He has to spell out for Dean why he won't help, but this is the most clarity he shows in a while, and in this episode Gamble writes his non-sequiturs as very clearly labelled avoidance of questions or thinking about his problems. In 8x08 we'll get another look into his head when he talks about avoiding going back to Heaven with Dean, and I suspect that's based on the intention with how he was feeling during this time as well.

Dean responds by bubbling over with his own shit; this is for both sides of the argument, their stuff in 7x21 finally reaching its conclusion, and of course both are mis-handling it in some ways, through avoidance or anger, and are not at their optimal harmony... To be delicate about it >.> It's harsh to watch, but Dean's anger about Cas is not (just) selfish or motivated to save them - we see multiple times his own pain at seeing Cas in this state, and lines which betray how much it hurts and how he wants Cas back to how he was because, you know, Cas is his friend and he cares a lot about him. Translated into anger, he lashes out with his pain in the situation, the unfairness that Cas can avoid and refuse to help when he caused all that harm, and even to this day is something where Cas still feels bound to make amends for things that he broke - season 13 finally returning to the theme of how much damage he did to Heaven. Dean telling Cas this so harshly is the painful shock that pokes at Cas's guilt, but also betrays Dean's own pain and investment in Cas's situation.

As with moments when they physically attack each other, obviously emotional lashing out betrays care but shouldn't be like... romanticised and stuff. Just, taking this in a fictional story setting etc.

Anyways, after this, Cas goes into a defensive full denial mode for a bit, and they turn to doing Bobby's passing on; at the end of this scene, the camera dramatically pans to Cas with rising dramatic music, and it turns out he watched the whole scene. Of course though he was not a part of his, his presence is necessary and important, because he cared for Bobby too, and Bobby died fighting the leviathans, which Cas unleashed. This is part of his "mess" as Dean put it, and something he confronts, silently, on his terms. There's no camera work to suggest Dean sees Cas watching but I like to think that he does, as he was facing the right way, and between Dean yelling at Cas, and him going to him in peace, this is the only thing that happens. I think Cas's remorse is very important even though it may be silent, as is bridges these moments, giving Cas honest reflection which he can't divert from - seeing Bobby, someone he cared about a great deal, as a ghost that they're forcing to move on. And Dean knowing that Cas came and watched this and was a part of the family scene despite his current withdrawal from helping them.

Dean approaching Cas is wonderful because finally he doesn't demand Cas help them, but finds a peaceful middle ground of something Cas can do to help but that doesn't involve violence, meaning that despite all of Dean's anger, he wants to help Cas find a way to help them, to clean up his mess, but to do it on terms which Cas can handle. This peace also allows Cas to think about it in non-confrontational terms, and to face up to what sending Dean in to fight Dick alone will mean if he doesn't help.

The "I'd rather have you, cursed or not" line has been picked over a lot, both positively on gifsets and general squeeing, and negatively about its connotations that it can still carry a suggestion that Dean only wants Cas to help them because he's the only one who WILL help them, at this stage, and they know that they need him. I like the line after it better, as it's the much more personal appeal, the sense of them being in it together, and that it's not just anything - this is something that Dean feels as a connection between them. The less emotional pep talk and more personal nonsense the line, the more it really means, as he's not saying this in the same tone of voice as rallying Cas, just pointing out that they're all in shit creek together.

Cas understands what Dean's getting :D

I should have giffed as well, but no room and I have to make cuts somewhere, Cas asking about what the plan was - because the plan involves Cas being brought along PEACEFULLY, only for Dick identification, while Dean was supposed to be the one to fight Dick alone, Cas at his side, but the expectation was that Cas had one role and Dean had the other.

In the end, they tag-team him. :')

Also: Dean's absolute trust that Cas knows Dick when he sees him, and Cas defending Dean from Dick advancing on him, after all that stuff about not fighting, once again as with deflecting Hester away from Dean, he steps in to protect Dean, and even grabs Dick from behind so Dean gets his clean second shot at him that does the job.

Of all season finales, 7x23 really floors me for how embedded the Destiel narrative is in it, when this isn't even a majorly Destiel season for obvious reasons, and I never felt like Gamble wanted much to do with them in that sense. Whether it's just because of leading into Carver era or what, or the need to make amends both in the writing for Cas and in the meta level for the writers, once Cas was back this story was oh so very much about and for him, as he was the one responsible, and he had both emotional damage with Sam and Dean, and plot damage to handle. If he was to return as a main character next season and have even halfway a reboot back to a regular Cas, he needed a full redemption in the narrative, and to be brought back into play alongside Dean and back in his rightful place at his side. And this is the set up to get them there, from the awful mess left at the beginning of the season. :D