#i had this ranking brewing in my brain for months

[pyxaperson]

I am procrastinating on my uni assignments so here’s the 2012!TMNT main cast ranked on who would be homophobic/transphobic

1 being the most and 6 being the least

this is my opinion and my interpretation. i will fight people for one of these rankings if they disagree with me

6 - April

You cannot convince me she isn’t a 2012 Tumblr girl like… look at her. She spent most of her teenage years debating with homophobes on the internet. She would 100% watch supernatural and 100% ship Castiel.

"Would she fetishise mlm relationships?" NO. She would also watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer and ship Fuffy. She reads yaoi AND yuri in her spare time.

If she swoons over a mutant and an alien getting together, she will 100% do the same for a gay couple.

Probably taught the others not to be homophobic (mostly the top 3).

If you believe she hates the LGBT+ community, I am sorry but you are objectively wrong I will be hunting you for sport right now. I am outside your house with the episode "Karai's Vendetta" playing loudly on my laptop.

5 - Donnie

“Erm actually, homosexual behaviour has been heavily documented in animals such as penguins, bats and hyenas. It’s very much natural.“

While I cannot imagine him ever being homophobic, I can imagine him being transphobic when he was younger.

BUT I only think that because the primary school biology textbook was his bible when he was five.

As soon as he had access to a more “advanced” biology book, he learnt his mistakes.

Had a deep understanding of gender before his brother understood the differences between them as a result of this.

4 - Mikey

Thinks LGBT+ people are awesome, however his only exposure to gay people is rupaul drag race so his views on them are stereotypical.

He would probably be taken aback if you introduced him to a gay man who isn’t flamboyant, but he would adjust after a bit.

He would definitely say “You don’t look gay” though.

Aside from April, he would be the most angry when hearing homophobic/transphobic comments.

3 - Leo

The middle point between homophobic and not homophobic for the group (even though she's seconds lmao, the group is just not really homophobic).

I headcanon her as a trans lesbian so any homophobic/transphobic thoughts she would have are a mixture of her sheltered life and internalised issues.

Nothing extreme though, but her mind would get hung up on two girls holding hands on the street for multiple days.

She would also go through the 5 stages of grief for every unprompted homophobic thought she gets.

Everyone helps her overcome this, especially after she discovers herself and comes out.

2 - Raph

I am sorry, but he would probably use homophobic language before meeting April.

However, that’s due to him not understanding what he was saying. He probably thought gay was a synonym for stupid.

Once he understands who LGBT+ people are and what they face (AKA being scolded by April), he would probably feel really bad about it.

He wouldn’t really apologise for it verbally, but he would 100% kill a homophobe after that so everyone understands he’s changed.

Mikey would then make fun of him for being homophobic which would get him really mad. It's revenge for Raph calling him gay to insult him and brushing his genuine anger off.

“At least I’m not-“ “I’M NOT HOMOPHOBIC MIKEY!”

1 - Casey

I am not sorry, this dude was definitely homophobic before meeting the Turtles + April. Like, actually homophobic.

His dad is homophobic so it comes from that.

He called Donnie the f-slur behind his back to the rest of the group. To put it lightly, they were not impressed.

The first moment where he questions his behaviour is when April rips him to shreds over it, but it’s not until Raph pulls him aside to express disappointment that he realises how bad his behaviour is.

Probably goes MIA for a couple of days undergoing serious reflection on his life and beliefs. He then comes back to apologise for his behaviour.

He takes some time to truly overcome his bigotry, but he gets there eventually. Like Raph, he'll kill a homophobe after the ordeal.

[dreamerdeity]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑-𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐀

*ೃ𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Megumi Fushiguro x Fem. Reader

*ೃ𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.8k

*ೃ𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: You're at constant odds with your long-time academic rival Megumi Fushiguro. You swear up and down you hate his guts, and a lost bet on your part only further adds salt to the wound when you find out he's outranked you yet again. But when he finds you at a barren classroom after school, he offers you a different way to pay off what you owe.

*ೃ𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Hair-pulling, oral sex (m. receiving), face-fucking, mean-ish Megumi, cursing, choking, slight degrading kink. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, others, please proceed at your own risk!

*ೃ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: Hi babes I'm finally back from the dead fr this time (i'm lying) and ready to finish up the kinktober series. I've been having a Megumi phase recently (i think a more accurate statement would be "jjk men phase") and just had to include him because the academic rival Megumi concept has been eating at my brain for months. Anywayssss, as always, please do not report my work! If you are uncomfortable, do not read.

⇄ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Stupid. Utterly stupid and almost comical is what this is, and a terrible way to end your last year of school at that. Especially after all the relentless hard work and sleepless nights you've put in, but you're thinking maybe, just maybe if you hadn't overplayed your hand so rashly, you wouldn't be stuck in this infuriating predicament right now, staring up at the big blue letters on the wall in silent mortification as throngs of students stride purposefully away from you, knowing not to agitate a ticking bomb during tragic times like these.

He beat you by a whisker, that damned Megumi Fushiguro, that's what you tell yourself. No, actually scratch that. He was bound to beat you and now you're reaping what you sowed, because just what were you thinking last week? Strutting over to the conceited dickhead and betting on the so called "guaranteed prospect" (your own words) of outranking him once finals season closed at last. Not so guaranteed now, it seems, as this stupid list hangs haphazardly taped onto the wall, glaring back at you like it had eyes of its own, almost like it's taunting you.

Number 4.

Your eyes dart indignantly over the chart, hoping your name would magically climb up to first and free you of an inevitable and very awkward (more likely than not, also heated) encounter with Megumi later. Megumi, who so conveniently happened to place not one, not two, but a whopping three places above you, and now it was only a matter of time before he joined the huddle of students by the wall with a chin so high and a face so smug it would make for the perfect punching bag. He'll probably clear his throat, side eye you with a stupid smirk, then proceed to finish what the list started, taunting and jibing at you some more.

Frankly, you don't even have the money you promised in the event that you lost the bet to him, because you were so certain you'd make it. I mean, you've done it before—countless times before—so why was this happening? Why did he have to—

Speak of the devil.

Much to your dismay, a familiar scent of orchid and freshly-brewed coffee faintly weaves its way into the air and saturates your surroundings out of the blue, one that preceded Megumi wherever he went, and at this point it has become almost distressing to catch a whiff of it. A scent that immediately ignited your fight-or-flight-response. You're not so sure how long you've been disassociating here, but Megumi has taken stand beside you, humming thoughtfully, not a word leaving his mouth as his eyes leisurely scan over the senior class ranking list, too leisurely almost, like he was fully expecting this. Talk about conceited.

You know he wants to break you, to silently chip at your confidence until you can't bear but say something unprovoked, because he loves, loves antagonizing you, seeing you get all worked up with a pout and a grip to his collar, though you've become progressively harder to irritate lately and he hasn't really been able to come to terms with it for some reason. Either because your ignoring him bruises his pride, or because—Actually no, that's the only reason, he thinks.

The oppressive silence on his part is almost suffocating, and you make a point of letting out a loud exasperated sigh, arms crossed, your eyes focused ahead and foot tapping against the rubber flooring, intent on standing your ground and not yielding to his patronizing stare. Megumi looks down at you from the corner of his eye, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek in an attempt to suppress the growing smirk that tugs at his lips, which fails terrifically and only further agitates you. There's a mutual and silent understanding between the two of you that the rankings on the wall spoke for themselves—as much as you hate to admit it.

"Would you fucking stop that?"

"Oh so you can see me." Asshole. He bites back as his lips finally break into the grin he's been holding in this whole time, full attention on you now that you've given him something to work with. "I didn't say anything though."

"You were eventually going to."

"I wasn't."

"Move."

This is the last thing you need at a time like this. Fuck grades, Fuck this. Fuck him. You're turning on your heel and brushing past him harshly, and had you been looking at Megumi, you'd have noticed that haughty exterior of his breaking ever so slightly, face falling, but he expertly regains his bearings in a beat, as the teasing nudges of his friends and his snickering fade behind your retreating figure. You maneuver through the crowded hallway and pray he'd have enough sense in him to leave you alone right now. Just this once. Just long enough for you to digest the bitter disappointment bubbling within you. Star student. You hated that term, and yet here you were sulking over someone else snatching the childish title away. Constantly holding yourself to such high standards that bordered on unrealistic rendered you academically insatiable, and there was only one other person who matched your fervor. Him, and fuck was it annoying, unsettling even.

"Hey, I still haven't had my fun yet. Where're you going?" Megumi trots through the students, the slight curl of his lips not faltering as he catches up to you with a little skip to his step. Of course he'd be giddy. Who wouldn't be after placing first out of the entire senior class—Placing above you?

"Fuck you, Megumi." You really, really don't need this right now, and you're spitting the words out venomously, picking up your pace and hoping to somehow out-speed him before he gets to speak his stupid mind.

He ignores your petulant front and carries on regardless, of course he does. When has he ever heeded your warnings, really? A sardonic grin is plastered across his face as he cocks his head to the side, snorting childishly at your sullen face. "Quit moping. I was gonna outrank you whether you liked it or not." The sing-songy lilt to his voice has you reaching for his collar, but he roughly swats your hand away, pretend-dusting off his shoulder as he continues in mock sympathy with slow, solemn nods to himself. "But man, I saw that calc grade of yours. A 75, was it? Must be tough."

Asshole, part two.

If passive-aggressive were a living, walking person, you're sure it would be him, lock, stock, and barrel. He's so unbothered about the whole situation too, and it's that toxic indifference that makes you feel as though you owe him some kind of response, that makes you grit your teeth in irritation, fist so ready to meet his jaw if it wasn't for your honorable reputation. You find yourself trying to come up with some bogus justification as to why you failed so miserably (in your eyes, that is), anything to save whatever face you've got left, because god knew he wasn't the only one with a massive ego around here.

"Have you got nothing better to do, huh? Always attached to my hip like you're obsessed with me or something. Get a fucking life." No justification leaves your mouth, just...whatever the hell that was, and you watch him narrowly as you lean against the doorframe of your next class, and his eye twitches. Right, he loves antagonizing you, but he just remembered how much he hates the part where you do it back.

"That's rich coming from you." Megumi gives you his signature customer service smile, the one you've come to see on him when you know he's practically seething underneath the surface. Fun.

"Ahh spike hair is mad."

"Mad about what? You're the one with a B in calc. A terrible rank too."

"You're justifying. You're mad."

"I'm not?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Does it hurt your fragile ego when I point out a truth you can't deny?"

Man, he could really use a coffee right now; Caffeine-induced palpitations seem much more pleasant than these ones your big mouth with its noxious words are giving him, but he just stares down at you, silent, expression unreadable, features etched into something you can't quite understand, and you almost begin to feel small under his scrutiny, how he venomously chews you up and spits you out with his eyes alone.

A few long beats of unwavering eye contact and, "You're annoying as hell." He grunts out finally and slumps his shoulders a little, features falling back into their usual neutrality as he turns to walk away. A hypocrite, you think. I mean, he's been psychologically terrorizing you for the past four years—well, maybe that's a little too dramatic of a way to put it—but every time you bit right back at him, he'd get all sulky like some melodramatic kid who was denied ice cream. Well surprise, two can fucking play his game.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

You think the day couldn't have gone any slower as you pack your belongings. You want to head back home immediately and have the longest nap of the year, but there's a distant voice in the back of your head that nags at you to do some calculus practice somewhere until the horde of departing students charging through the hallway dissipates. The crowded premises are not really why you find yourself hunching over the desk solving math problems at some empty classroom you've never been inside before though, and you know that.

Much to your chagrin, you let Megumi's passing comments get to you—for the hundredth time probably, but who's counting? There's not much you can do to fix that abomination of a grade on your calc final, but what you can do is put in work to make sure it never happens again, to make sure you beat him next time, and so you labor away. Unrelenting focus blocks out the noise of thudding backpacks and empty chatter for what doesn't feel like long at all. It takes one raise of your head toward the window for you to see that you've royally lost track of time, the amalgam of pinks and oranges swirling above the clouds and painting the classroom in soft, warm sheens of amber.

You lean your arms over the desk, burying your face in between them with a satisfied exhale, you've made progress. You can tell. Great, that's great—

Never mind, this isn't great; A muffled racket somewhere in the hallway seeps lightly through the cracked door and scatters your train of thought. Megumi and his clique have probably just left debate club, you think. The clacking of boots against rubber draws closer, and you recognize the footsteps. Is it weird that you can recognize the rhythm of his footsteps.

Definitely weird, yeah. Or maybe it's survival instincts.

"Look who it is." Megumi lightly kicks the door open, very unceremoniously, hands stuffed in his pockets as he saunters inside, absently rolling a taffy around his mouth.

Here we go again."What?"

He shrugs, "Last time I checked this was public property. Do I need permission to be within your vicinity or somethin'?" He slowly strides toward the back of the class where you're seated, eyes narrowing a little in amusement as he halts in front of your desk and leans down to your eye-level. "Besides, don't you owe me a couple hundred?"

Right, the bet...

"So you're here for the money."

"Mhm."

"Well I don't have it. I'll get it tomorrow, so you're free to leave. Also, it's kind of embarrassing of you coming in here to beg for a couple hundred yen."

"Huh..." He exhales softly, still chewing on that taffy that seems to never melt away and standing back upright. He's watching you from head to toe, silently—again. He fucking does that a lot. And you're pretty vexed at his lack of reaction toward your jab, scoffing in annoyance and rising from your seat, mirroring his eyes with a scrutinizing glare of your own.

"Yeah, you're right." He finally says, and it takes you a moment to process the impossible declaration. Did he just agree with you? Where's the silver lining? There's got to be one somewhere, right?

"What do you mean?"

"Y'know... I was thinking," Megumi trails off under his breath as he rounds the table slowly, hands still stuffed in the warmth of his tailored pockets. His gaze is searing, predatory almost, like he could pounce on you at any given moment and do to you whatever he pleased—whatever that may be—with no witnesses to lend their testament, no saviors and no teachers to reprimand him for his tactics. He doesn't elaborate on what he said yet, stepping forward once, twice, thrice, as you step back in response. Until you're practically cornered against the wall. "We could forget about the money. I've got a different prize for me in mind."

Ah, there it is. The silver lining.

His ambiguous words stir something hot within you. Dread, yes, but also something else you'd rather not think about, because this is fucking weird. It's weird how your thoughts immediately drifted there. It's weird how whatever snide remark you wished to spew at him was swallowed back in apprehension. And it's weird how your heart stuttered so bad against your chest at his proximity.

"Cat got your tongue?" Megumi tilts his head to the side. He's so close, so close you can smell the caramel on his breath, see the lone freckle dusting the bridge of his nose.

You're shaking yourself out of the momentary stupor and raising your chin in defiance. "That still doesn't explain what you mean."

"I mean..." His voice dips lower, as if afraid of breaking the tension that's weaved itself around the two of you. He doesn't finish, only plucking his hands out of his pockets and bringing one to languidly trace along your jaw, slowly, softly, out of character. You're frozen in your spot, looking up at him with quizzical features and an unbearable heat where his fingers brush against your skin.

Megumi wasn't so sure when the distant but awfully persistent voice in his head took over his reason, but what he was very sure about was what he's about to do next. His hands come to cup your cheeks, tilting his head to the side and leaning dangerously close. His breath is fanning over your jaw, and he nudges it with his nose, then trailing back up until his lips are hovering over yours again, and he waits. Unmoving, lingering, and well, fuck it. Fuck this. You don't resist, you don't push him away, you let him, pressing your lips to his as roughly as he does his to yours, briefly savoring the sweet taste of taffy that seeps against your mouth.

"Mmph..." Megumi groans all muffled and almost desperate if it wasn't for the rough grip he had to the nape of your neck, forcibly slipping his tongue into your mouth with no warning, no care as to whether you want him to or not, because you were his prize after all. Not the other way around. His hands fall to roam over your body, toying with your clothed breasts and squeezing harder over them when he hears your initial yelp of surprise dissipate down to a whimper.

How perfect your lips felt against his, how pretty you looked all flushed and disoriented. Right, pretty. Why had he never taken the time to absorb your features before? Carve them into his mind like a sculptor enamored by the dents and ridges of his stone? He was stuck in a loop of competitive attitude and haughty remarks, ego so high up it clouded all else that swirled in his mind. He doesn’t voice any of these thoughts, or more so refuses to do so. He was extremely reticent about this sort of thing. About everything, really, because admitting to them out loud will make you the winner in this situation. He doesn’t want that. He never does. He’s got to stay on top, in more ways than one, come to think of it right now, so he pulls away, panting lightly, lips still hovering over yours as he hisses against them. "Get down."

...?

The brazen request hangs in the air for a moment, nothing but the faded buzzing of the air conditioner reverberating throughout the classroom.

"W-what?" You stare at him blankly, registering, an oppressive silence engulfing the two of you. You don't think you heard that right, or, put a little more accurately, you didn't want to think you heard that right. You know exactly just what he means, yet you can't help the way your eyes widen and your brow furrows at the implication of his very straightforward order, because frankly you thought he just wanted to make out, but damn it he wants more.

"'Said get down." He repeats. Simply. Like his request was the most obvious thing in the world with the way he shrugs at you so nonchalantly, eyeing you down like you were stupid to think he wasn't going to push further. So entitled, and it almost offends you. Almost.

You scoff bitterly, shaking your head at him incredulously as your eyes bore into his, neither of you faltering in the slightest as you engage in some sort of staring contest, some wordless battle of attrition to make the other yield compliantly. You stare up at him. He stares down at you for what feels like hours, quirks an eyebrow when you don't budge, and just as he's about to open his mouth and say something that'll irritate you even more, you plop down to your knees with a disgruntled sigh. 

To say Megumi was surprised would be an understatement. I mean, he tried, like really tried to act unbothered by your pliant gesture, to compose himself a little better, but fuck did the sight of you on your knees for him make him hard. He can't help the pink that creeps up his cheeks when you look up at him, sniggering at the disoriented look on his face. So fucking embarrassing, he thinks, and turns away with a click of his tongue, the back of his hand lathered over the lower half of his face.

" 'Fuck are you looking at?" He snaps at you a little too defensively, hoping the faux irritation laced into his voice was convincing enough.

"Isn't this what you wanted? What else am I supposed to look at?" You cock your head with an innocent grin (malicious would be a better term, he knew you better than anybody around here after all), only adding salt to the wound.

"You're annoying as hell."

"Yeah, you've said that only like a million times but you're fucking worse." You bite back as you always do, but this time you earn a hard tug to the back of your hair from Megumi. Grip unfaltering, he yanks it upward and leans down toward your face. It startles you, the sudden change in dynamic. "Fuckin' hate when you talk back to me. Gonna shut you up."

You know better than to argue with that, folding your hands in your lap, watching him hook his thumb under the hem of his pants and glide it left to right and back again, other hand still interlaced in your hair. It's uncharacteristic of you, to let him order you around like this, you never let him order you around like this. You've always been the one to abuse your power and tug him by his collar every time he annoyed you, because despite his horrible personality, you knew he'd never raise a hand to a woman. But this? Fuck, you're almost scared to say or do the wrong thing with the way he's glaring freshly sharpened daggers at you, and he notices, he basks in the power trip, he smiles so mean, takes his sweet time unbuckling his belt above you with clanks that echo through the deafening silence of a barren school after sunset.

His belt comes undone, revealing the bulge that strains against his boxers, and at the realization of what you're inevitably about to do, your eyes flit nervously toward the door. A passing thought really, but a thought nonetheless; What if somebody were to walk in right now, to see the ever so cordial, diligent you on her knees for a man she swore up and down she hated? What if—

"You scared?" A taunting lilt to his voice, it's as though he read your mind. Megumi peeks down at you and loosens his grip on the back of your head, pushing it toward him and bringing your face closer to where he wants you most, completely relaxed with not a hint of anxiety in his demeanor.

"Like hell I am." Fuck does he think he is? No, you're not scared, not when he sucks in a breath as your hand comes up to palm at his clothed erection. You're watching him intently, unrelenting gaze scorching through him and scanning his face for even the slightest change in expression. He maintains the eye contact and waits, looks down at where your hand toys with his cock over his boxers, waits for a few long beats to see what you'll do next. You know what he wants, and yet you're not giving it to him. He's not a patient man, shouldn't you know that already? Because just as you're about to say something about making him work for it, he's scoffing loudly, swatting your hand away and retaking the reins.

"This is why I can't let you have shit your way." Megumi pulls his cock out in one swift motion, giving it a few experimental pumps right against your face, barely an inch away and so close you can feel his leaking tip haphazardly poke against your cheek a few times.

"When do you ever?" You mumble bitterly as you meet his eyes. He doesn't return your gaze, not sure if he even heard you, all hazy, pretty eyelashes fluttering down and breath going uneven already as he thumbs his tip and lathers it in precum.

"Okay, open up." He demands a little too breathlessly, and the shake of his voice betrays him as he taps the head of his cock against your lips in coaxing. You're inclined to play stubborn for at least a little while, only for him to shoot you a warning glare that has you reeling back a little, accepting your fate and opening up for him, sticking your tongue out. He pushes past your lips in one smooth motion, giving you no time to adjust to his length, to the tip that hits the back of your throat immediately, and your throat instinctively tightens around him, a muffled gasp escaping you as you claw at his thighs, choking so fucking prettily around his cock already. The sight has Megumi's heart stuttering, and he feels himself twitch in your mouth from the sound you just made alone.

"Haven't even started moving and you're already going stupid. Stay still, will you?" He reaches down to grab either side of your head and pulls out just enough for you to breathe momentarily, before slamming back into your mouth.

"F-fuck..." He grunts softly at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth engulfing him in full, and he begins to move. In and out, nice and steady. His pace starts out languid almost, and you're not sure if it was out of sensibility toward you or out of his own desire to prolong this as much as possible, too afraid to cum already.

"Gonna go faster—" At least he's considerate enough to tell you, the barer minimum really, but you're too dazed to be offended, nodding your head in encouragement as your hand slides under his shirt, brushing against his stomach and feeling it faintly tense at your touch. You keep your throat relaxed, loose and ready to take him in deeper. The grip on your hair tightens and he picks up his pace to the hilt, thrusting rough and hard into your mouth, desperate, almost pistoning into you, so aggressive with it that tears begin to coat your lash line, drool and precum dribbling down your chin in strings every time he pulls out just to slam right back in.

"Not so—fuck—Not so chatty now, are you?" He grunts out through labored pants, almost sneering down at you with a twitch of his lips, emphasizing his question with a particularly forceful thrust that almost has your head hitting the wall behind you, because if he didn't do that, he knows you'll try to run your mouth all over again, so he shuts you up before you even could, braces himself with a hand on the wall to quell the stutter of his hips and glances down at your teary eyes, your tousled hair, your flushed up cheeks. You're all fucked up. All fucked up just for him, and all docile just for him. When was the last time he's seen you this compliant? Never, honestly—Not toward him, at least. Letting him use you like this to his heart's content? Well boy is he going to exploit the hell out of this newfound power he holds over you.

"Sh-shit...Look at you. What would Gojo-Sensei think if he saw you getting your mouth fucked like a slut? Huh? By me outta everyone." You want to argue, spit some venom in his direction and tell him to drop it. He's rubbing it in your face, this whole thing, and you're fucking mad, helpless. You're digging your nails into his thigh in silent retaliation, and he groans at the burning crescents you etch into his flesh, shakily cursing under his breath. The sounds spilling past his lips are strained and obscene, mingling with the squelch of his wet cock and slapping of his balls against your chin.

The blend of pain and pleasure has Megumi's mind blanking in an instant, all kinds of sensations melding into one and rushing over him like a storm. He's teetering on the edge of release, you can feel it by the way his hips begin to buck erratically into your mouth, thrusts getting sloppier, frenzied, grip on your hair taut and burning. "F-fuck—want it so bad... gonna c-cum. You're gonna take it all—"

You watch his face scrunch up in pleasure as he babbles on, cheeks a pretty, deep pink, raven bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead and grip so tense in your hair that veins bulge along his forearms in spots you've never seen them do before. To think you're the one reducing him into this shaky mess of a man.

"C-cumming—hahh" He warns in passing, and before you know it, you're coughing around him, gagging on his cock as his lashes flutter down to meet your eyes, lips parted, a string of broken whines and choked up groans escaping him, thighs trembling as his knees threaten to buckle above you. "Yes—fuckfuck...f-fuck." He's depleting all that is left of his self-control to stay upright, thrusting rough and shooting a thick, hot rope of cum down your throat, but it's so fucking much that despite doing your best to take it all, some spills past the corners of your lips.

He slows down, pulling his cock out of your mouth, eyes fixated on the string of fluids that connects your lips to his tip like a thin bridge, and you take the deepest breath of your life yet.

"Not too shabby." He quips after catching his breath for a moment.

Now he was just asking for it. "Seriously? That's what you're gonna say after busting up a torrent in like 15 minutes?"

He shakes his head and motions toward the corner of your mouth with a languid smirk, ignoring your loaded comment to save himself the embarrassment. "You got something on your mouth over there. Why don't you lick it away?"

"Don't push it."

"Please."

"No."

"Idiot." Megumi pouts a little, sighing as he turns to tuck himself back into his pants and look presentable, gesturing for you to do the same. You're kind of dazed still, but you take heed and clean yourself up before grabbing your things and making for the door, halting just short of it when you feel Megumi grab your wrist.

"It's getting a little dark. I'll walk you home?" There's a finality in the way he looks at you, your wrist still snug in his grasp.

"I thought I was an idiot."

"Don't worry. You're the smartest idiot I know."

@venusinx

[colossal-fallout]

Ad Victoriam

Finally got off my ass and started the fic I've been wanting to do for weeks. Maybe months? I'll be doing it chapter by chapter and eventually putting it up on Ao3.

I've made it GN as I want sole to be as relatable to you or your OC as possible.

Chapter I - warnings: None.

Chapter I

Arrival of the mechanical birds

The tangerine sunset always looked gorgeous from the Castle; the sparkling glimmers skipping over the restless sea, making it appear crisp and clean – disguising the usual sickly green hue of the salted waves. But the Minutemen weren’t able to take a moment to take in the beautiful daily view they were blessed with. The usual peaceful bliss they felt in their fortress this time of day was today filled with unease, anxiety and even a little fear among the less informed.

“General. Here they come.” Preston’s familiar voice muttered from close behind his leader.

The familiar tone that seemed a lot more welcome than usual. Preston had always been a great guide to Y/N, and more-so a great friend. And as their heart fluttered at the sight of the vertibirds in the distance, heading towards the ancient garrison, his voice helped hold the glue of their stoic expression as their men and women gathered outside of the main gate to greet the guests for the evening. Preston Garvey was their pillar of strength. Always there when they needed an extra pair of shoulders to unload some weight upon. And of course, the favour was always returned.

A chilled breeze whipped around the small gathering, all eyes up towards the old Boston airport across the shimmering sea – the giant, metal, killing machines looking a lot smaller than they were in reality as they made their journey.

Five. They think to themselves, arms behind their back. They would never allow themselves to show fear in front of their soldiers. Five of them. Why would he need five?

Their trust in Elder Maxson had recently begun to dwindle, due to a few reasons. Reasons they'd went over in the confines of their room over and over again. Planning every move for as many scenarios they could possibly think of. If this were a trap – they would be ready.

A whiff of cigarette smoke filled their nostrils, the disgust of the scent still not faltering their spine of steel stance as the ebony sheen of the metal birds grew bigger by the second.

“So, what’s the deal with this guy?” Hancock asks as he inhales his hit of nicotine, gold plated flip-lighter being tucked back into his crimson pocket with an equally coral colored hand. “How much time have you spent with him? What’s his vibe?”

“I’ve spent a decent amount with him.” They reply, eyes blinking but not moving from the airport. “I’ve worked under him for a while now. He trusts me.”

“But, do you trust him?” He gestures with his hand, pointing the smouldering end of his white stick towards the incoming cavalry. “Because I don’t think many here do.” His voice was lowered so only they and Preston could hear him. Hancock is smart. He read the situation pretty well.

“We’ll see.” Their tone is soft, quiet. Their mind ticking.

Preston glances between his General and the Ghoul. “Whatever the case, it’s too late to be speculating that now. I’m sure the General has thought of every possible outcome. After all, they didn’t bring us this far by throwing caution to the wind.”

Their perfect lips part slightly in a small laugh. “That’s exactly how I got us here.”

“Okay... bad example.” He shrugs, head dipping to the right as if shaking off unwanted information. “But... whatever you did, it’s working. So, I trust your judgment.”

“I don’t.” A third voice chimes in quietly, a lilt of light-heartedness in the tone. “They once dragged me to a museum saying it would be fun. ...Tha---t place had a Deathclaw nesting inside.”

MacCready held out his hand to Hancock without even setting eyes upon him. “But, they did get us out alive, I'll give them that.”

Hancock’s beady black eyes roll as he sinks his hand into the inside of his coat, pulling out his box of cigarettes'. “You know, a ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ one of these days would be appreciated.”

“Well, I didn’t ask to be dragged to some old witchcraft creep-fest. So why would I say please and thanks?”

Hancock let’s out a gruff sigh of exasperation as he tucks his cardboard back inside. “Know what? No. No cigarette for you.”

MacCready’s broken nose crinkles. “What? Aw, c’mon! Was it something I said?”

The vertibirds were audible now; the droning hums that once filled the General with pride as they fought alongside their brothers and sisters, now transmuting into a strange dread.

“What the hell does he want?” Mac isn’t as good at hiding his unease as the rest of them, getting visibly agitated. “You know, I could take him out from the wall.”

“And have twelve to fifteen angry men in power Armour charge at us? Use your damn brain.” Preston scolds.

“I’m still a Paladin.” Y/N reminds them. “He’s still my Elder.”

“But, you’re a minuteman first, right?” Preston asks, large brown eyes pouring with his usual adorable innocence.

He’s answered with a single nod as the ground begins to vibrate; the five choppers now close enough to push Hancock to slap his hand over his hat to prevent it flying away; the strong gust of wind blowing the end of his cig off from the rest of the stick.

The landing gear deploys, a mechanical groan emitting from the machines as the engines switch off, all five of them landing in a small semi-circle around the group of gawping minutemen and their leaders.

The ground shakes as large and loud booms emit from the BoS soldiers leaping onto the soil in their robot-like suits; their faceless helmets instantly snapping to look at the group they’ve been ordered to greet.

“Paladin.” One nods to Y/N through his speaker.

They weren't sure who it was but it didn’t matter. From his armour, they knew his rank.

“Knight.” Was their reply with a curt nod as the Elder himself dismounts his personal ride; all eyes instantly gluing themselves to his stiff and proud form.

A Paladin followed – unknown identity thanks to his power armour.

“Ah Paladin.” Maxson’s authoritive voice greets as he makes his way up to the awestruck group – his eyes not once leaving Y/N's form. “I’m glad you agreed to this meeting. From what I hear, you’ve been making positive waves across the Commonwealth. I wanted to see what my underling was doing for myself. And even offer our assistance at ridding the filth that infests us.”

Underling. A power move already? They think as they remain stone-faced, falling into the salute of the Brotherhood.  “Elder. It’s an honour to have you at the Castle.”

Preston frowns at their words – gloved hands gripping his laser rifle a little tighter than intended.

“Like wise.” He returns the salute, his eyes looking... well, they couldn’t quite place their finger on it. It was a look they'd never seen from him before, yet still seemed like a familiar expression. At least from his tone, he seemed pleased. “My men here will remain outside. Only Paladin Danse will be accompanying me. I don’t want to... impose.”

“Danse?” Y/N blinks at the Paladin behind Maxson.

“L/N.” He replies with a nod.

“Ah yes. I thought it would be fitting to bring your sponsor along with us. You seem to work great together on the field.” Maxson smirks – y/n knew that was his usual smile. You’d never catch the Elder in a full-blown beam of happiness.

Y/N felt a lot better for a moment that Danse was with them. Then it came crashing down when they realised that man would run into hell for his Elder. Support from him if things went wrong probably wasn't on the cards.

“Okay, well then... shall we?” Y/N gestures towards the Castle that was now quickly falling into the shadow of twilight.

Maxon nods before turning to his small army. “Remember, we are guests here. On your best behaviour soldiers.”

A unison, robotic chant of “Yes sir!” chimed through the air before Maxson turned back to follow the General.

“It seems we have a lot to talk about.” He comments as they begin their stride.

Something in the way he said that fuelled the sense of dread that brewed deep within Y/N's stomach. Their instincts were usually right – and they were screaming that something wasn’t entirely how it seemed to be.

[clnriswood]

DRACO MALFOY X CEDRIC DIGGORY X READER

Something Different | Part Four

a/n: so glad to be back! things start getting a bit more, uh, intense -- but stay tuned for p5 bc it’s about to get vv steamy hehe.

tag list: @call-me-banana-bandit @pillowjj @truly-insatiable @natsiboo @justmesadgirl @boredoffmebox @jjjmaybank @jejegu @ superpowereddonut @irritantive @salemlilly @marshmelloyellow02 @puffymints @is-it-really-a-secret  @i-mmunity @sebastiansass @hisoldlover @kyobien @averagefangirl21 @inurealiyah @fuzzzwald @lesfleursmonet @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive

X

If matters had been bad between Draco and the girl before, it was safe to say that the strength of their bond now was at an all time low, underground, even. On his end, she was a thieving traitor who was joined in Potter’s ranks against him, and in hers, he was a treacherous snake who was incapable of trust and had been solidified into his cruel habits. Their last encounter, at quidditch tryouts, had been the worst yet. It went something like this: Draco, as he left the field of Slytherin’s recently finished tryouts, jeered some nonsense about “any old fool who can swing a bat (Y/N played the role of beater) being allowed onto the team,” which was met by a swift reply from Y/N, who suggested cooly that Draco’s groin should be her bat's next target. This had led to quite the eruption of bickering between both of the teams, one which Madam Hooch, who was entirely fed up with both houses, abruptly put an end to. After that, the girl simply rode the wave of Draco Malfoy induced rage, and during the tryouts, envisioned the barrelling quaffles to be differing versions of his arrogant head. Shockingly, by an act of God, it had worked. Or, not really. Really it was months of training with Cedric over the summer that won her a place on the team, but, well, the rage certainly helped. And yet, despite it all, a nagging truth scratched relentlessly at the back of her brain. And this truth was that somehow, despite it all, Draco Malfoy was the thing of which she was apparently most attracted to.

“Whaddya reckon?” the voice of Ronald Weasley interrupted the girl’s drifting thoughts.

She and her three Gryffindor comrades had just escaped to the side of the Great Lake following the end of their first week of classes. Desperate to get the last of the sun before the soon to come autumn leaves and grey skies, the quartet had stripped free their thick robes and laid out a crimson picnic blanket upon which they sat surrounded by goods. Around them, other Hogwarts students of every year had done the same. With bellies now full, they’d thrown themselves happily back, their chins all turned towards the bright blue sky. As it was, Ron sat beside Hermione, who sat beside Harry, who sat beside Y/N. As they watched the ginger, he jovially made a stream of rainbow colored bubbles fly forth from the tip of his weathered wand.

“What’re you going to kill Voldemort with multi-colored bubbles?” Harry choked on the last pumpkin pastie with a snort.

“Harry!” Hermione scolded, poorly attempting to conceal her own giggles.

“Laugh all you want,” Ron said, “some girl is going to fancy this, I’m telling you.”

Suddenly Hermione wasn’t laughing at all, and she’d gone quite pink, the girl noticed. Next to her, Harry turned into his elbow to cough, which was really just an attempt to cover the big stupid grin he was wearing. The girl chuckled and batted him away with the back of her hand. He winked in reply.

“I want to go for a stroll,” Harry beamed suddenly, sitting upright in a flash.

“Lovely, shall we come?” Hermione began to stand.

“No!” he protested quite loudly. Then, “sorry, just want a quick chat alone with Y/N, if you don’t mind.”

The girl arched a brow at the jet black haired boy beside her, reluctantly standing and throwing Hermione a confused stare as she padded slowly alongside Harry and away from her other friends. The boy drifted farther from the patch of red blanket and closer to the water’s edge, where the grass was long, green, and swampy around their shoes. For a moment, the girl caught sight of one of the Giant Squid’s long tentacles, and she watched as it went sweeping against the surface of the black water and sending ripples across its inky surface.

“What is it then?” she said when they had gotten far enough away.

“What is what?” Harry said stupidly.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she replied gruffly.

“Ah,” Harry scoffed and shook his head, “just said that so we could give Ron n’ Hermione some time alone together.”

“Oh?” the girl answered quizzically.

“Totally fancies him,” he continued excitedly, “not that she’s ever going to admit it, mind you.”

The girl felt her lips split, “really?! I did always wonder… though I couldn’t be sure.”

“I’ve spent the last five years watching those two fight, believe me, I am,” he wrinkled his nose with a grin. “Duck,” he added.

Without hesitation, the two friends bent their knees, covering their heads as the Giant Squid sent a tentacle soaring into the air and slapping the water, making millions of airborne droplets come cascading over them. Knowing the system well by now, the girl snapped her wand up, creating a clear arc above herself and Harry. The dazzling white stream of magic sheltered them safely from the Squid’s tidal wave, repelling all liquid outwards from its top. From around the shore, the sound of unsuspecting student cries of surprise echoed loud in reply.

“Anyways,” the girl stood cooly, like nothing had happened, “I assume this means I shouldn’t be saying anything of it to Hermione?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, “she’d throw herself into the lake if she knew we knew.”

The girl laughed. He wasn’t wrong.

For a few minutes they walked, quiet as they enjoyed the hot sun on their skin. Behind them, though she only snuck a quick glance, Ron and Hermione were bickering; apparently Hermione had made bigger bubbles than Ron and he’d taken it as a personal attack. The girl shook her head, letting the moment pass her and the fresh air flow through her lungs before she spoke again.

“Harry,” she started nervously, “there er, is something I actually wanted to speak to you about.”

He stopped walking, sinking his hands into the pockets of his pants as he sighed deeply with understanding, “you mean you causing a row with Malfoy?”

The girl froze in her tracks, “you knew about that?”

“Well apparently you weren’t too quiet about it,” he smiled half-heartedly. “I just… don’t understand what you were doing with him in the first place,” he admitted.

The girl felt her throat go hard, “dunno that myself, really.”

He blinked at her with his big green eyes, awaiting her explanation patiently.

“I- I just,” she started unconfidently, pausing to think. “I’d noticed there was something off about him. I just wanted to see what it was about.”

“And you think Malfoy’d tell you if there was?” Harry said, voice thick with doubt.

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “I know because he -- well, because he kind of told me so.”

Harry’s mouth dropped, “he did?”

“Yes,” she repeated, feeling her face prickle with warmth.

“So what does he,” Harry began, bewildered, “does he fancy you or something?”

“No!” the girl blurted, tucking her windswept hair behind her ears and finding her eyes suddenly glued to the muddy ground. “Of course not!”

“That’s brilliant!” Harry realized, ignoring her completely as he came quickly to an understanding of how this newfound information could play to his advantage, “and what did he tell you?!”

“Erm,” she gave a weak sigh, eyes back on him, “he said he knew I was working with you and told me to shove off, basically.”

Harry’s expectant smile faltered, “oh.”

“Yeah,” she gave him a reluctant glance.

“But you’re not,” he said confusedly.

“Yes I know that,” she echoed.

“Oh,” he said again.

Harry began walking once more, letting his thoughts brew a little before he continued. The sun’s rays were hitting his glasses hard, sending bright beams of light refracting off of them. The Gryffindor chewed his lower lip thoughtfully and gave his head a scratch.

“So then, if that was all, what was it that you’d wanted to tell me?” he said at last.

“I wanted to ask you how I could help,” she said, folding her arms over her chest and keeping her eyes forward on the nearing edge of the lake.

“You want to help me?” he asked.

“Course,” she shrugged. “I still believe he’s off, or up to something at least. And you seem to be the only other one around here who's noticed it, I’ve heard.”

“You’re right,” he affirmed, “and given that Malfoy’s got some sort of soft spot for you or something, I bet you’d have more luck than me finding out what exactly that is.”

“Er, yes,” she voiced hesitantly. “Only, I think I stomped the soft spot out when I called him a fool,” she said. “And he seemed to have taken it a bit personally.”

“Has he?” Harry said with mock surprise.

“You know he spat on me in the hallway the other day?!” she recalled suddenly. “I mean, literally spat on me. Him and his goons were by the courtyard when it happened,” she recounted sourly.

“Ah, the Malfoy rain,” Harry grinned knowingly.

“The what?!” she gaped.

“Ron calls it that,” Harry continued without hesitation, “because it’s like rain… but from his mou-”

“Disgusting!” she gave her friend a shove, making him cackle.

“I’m surprised this is only your first time,” he chuckled, “I’ve been getting the treatment since my first year.”

“That’s foul,” the girl curled her lip.

“Yes, well,” Harry shrugged, unfazed.

The boy-who-lived adjusted his glasses, pushing them up his skinny nose before stopping at the water’s edge. The surface had gone completely still, making the water look like nothing more than a black sheet of paper. It was beautiful, she thought. Harry stared too, before turning back to her, his smile gone and his face hardened with seriousness.

“Y/N,” he started softly and gave a stiff sigh. “Whatever he says, or whatever he does, that soft spot is still there. Vulnerability like that doesn’t just go away, y’know?” he said. “If he had it before, he can get it again.”

The girl looked at him. There seemed to be some kind of knowing in his green eyes. It made her heart lurch nervously.

“And how might that happen?” she asked.

Harry shrugged, looking her dead on, “you’ll just have to make him get it back.”

. . .

“Well,” she tried, “how do I look?”

The girl stood before a large gold framed mirror in her room, her other self glaring steelily back at herself from within the reflective surface. It was late in the afternoon now. Yolky orange light rays seeped from the half-circle windows that encircled the girl’s bedroom and filled the space with a hot haze. One window, with its peeling paint flakes, had been forced open, providing a comforting breeze and the smell of fresh grass to the dormitory room. The circle shaped room, with its exposed brick walls, thick cream carpets, and vine stuffed walls, seemed like the nicest place for her to be at the moment. But, with Slughorn’s unfortunate dinner party approaching at an alarming rate now, the girl was soon to depart and had found her stomach turning faster and faster the closer her deadline approached. Truthfully, she’d take reading an old book whilst tucked sleepily away into her thick sheets over this charade any day of the week. And, judging by the look on her face, this feeling wasn’t one she was successfully concealing. The girl curled her fingers over her faded wooden dresser, sucking in a slow breath as she reluctantly brought her glittering eyes back up to the mirror before her.

She wore a flowing sheer cream dress, one with long sleeves and little patterns embroidered into its circumference. Wanting to stay casual, she’d thrown on her usual scuffed black boots, but swapped her school socks out for ruffle trimmed white ones that peeked over her shoe’s tops. Her hair was in its usual messy state atop her shoulders, too. Behind her, Hannah Abbott stood with her arms crossed, her head tilted as she looked her friend over.

“Erm-” Hannah started unsurely.

“Oh no,” she said, turning around with wide eyes, “is it that awful?”

“No!” the blonde assured her with a wave of her hand. “Just, well, come here.”

The girl stepped timidly closer, nervous as her friend procured her wand, looked her over, and then gave it a flourish. First, the girl’s hair started magically flattening, before finding itself lifting dreamily from her shoulder tops and into a thick bun, one with a huge loose french braid on its side, and with stray pieces dangling at the front to frame her face. Smiling with like, Hannah then stuck her tongue cheekily out and shortened her friend’s dress a noticeable chunk of inches, so that it stopped flirtatiously at the tops of her legs.

“Oi!” the girl laughed in embarrassment, throwing her hands nervously over her front.

“Oh loosen up,” the blonde giggled, looking pleased with her work.

“I’m rarely out of robes,” the girl huffed, turning back to the mirror.

“Exactly,” her friend said from over her shoulder. “You only get so many chances to show those legs off to Cedric Diggory.”

“WHA-” the girl clapped a hand over her mouth in shock, spinning around. “HANNAH!?”

“Oh please,” Hannah said, sinking down onto the plush yellow quilts that were draped over her bed. “Like I haven’t seen him trying to sneak a peak before.”

She felt her face go red quite suddenly, “excuse me?”

Hannah smirked, leaning against one of the four oak posters that closed in around her bed. She twirled her hair around a finger with glee as she blinked slyly at her friend. Wordlessly, she closed her eyes and waved her friend off towards the Common Room.

“Well,” she shrugged, “go on then!”

The girl glared daggers at her unattentive friend as she cautiously approached their room’s door frame. She stuffed her hands in her dress pockets nervously, her feet feeling as if they were sinking through the now goo-like floor with every step. The green vines that trickled down the large woody door waved their tails in an encouraging goodbye.

“Well,” the girl decided with a smile, “I’m going to throw up.”

“At least wait til’ you’ve gotten out of our bedroom,” Hannah said, leaning back in bed with a sigh. “I’m not cleaning up your vomit.”

She snorted, shaking her head as the door slammed tight behind her, and she went tapping quietly down the stone staircase and out into the Common Room. There weren’t many students around, as many of the non Slug Club members had the luck of eating their normal meals and going about their usual after-dinner-weekend plans, unlike her. Cedric was already awaiting her however, and he looked incredibly dashing in his white button up shirt. The shirt was peppered with little black dots, and had its first two buttons undone, so as to expose just a hint of the god-like collarbones Cedric was sporting. His gold streaked chestnut hair was stood just a little straighter than usual, like he’d attempted to neaten it before giving up shortly thereafter. Still, it was quite cute.

When he saw her, Cedric’s face became the sun, his lips splitting into that dazzling smile, and dimples coming to life across his lightly bronzed skin. From above her, one of the hanging plants whistled, not for the first time that year, she noted.

Cedric tilted his head towards the creature, “yeah, what it said.”

The girl chuckled, off put by the flattery and finding it hard to keep looking at the deathly attractive boy before her.

“Ced,” she protested bashfully, worming her fingers nervously around in her dress pockets.

He smiled wider, if possible, and put his own hands timidly into the pockets of his black pants.

“Sorry,” he chuckled warmly, letting her come to him. “You look lovely.”

They met in the centre of the Common Room. With the sun practically set now, the only light was from the flickering of the massive fireplace’s flames, which cast shadows over the hollows of her friend’s cheeks, jaw, and lips. For a moment, neither said anything. Instead, they just looked at each other. It was Cedric who cleared his throat first.

“Erm,” he said, “shall we?”

“O’course,” the girl responded awkwardly, trailing Cedric out of the Common Room and into the deserted halls.

The two were quiet as they made their way around corners and over moving staircases. Neither spoke, or looked at each other, really. Halfway up a moving staircase, Peeves had attempted to toss a water balloon onto the two, but Cedric stopped the thing midair and sent it flying back at the ghost, who cackled as it went through his stomach and splattering against a wall. The two friends couldn’t help but give a laugh there. One of the portrait’s, which was just nearly missed, screamed defiantly at the friends in protest. Then, about a minute later, Cedric and Y/N turned into the corridor outside Slughorn’s, where they ran into none other than Harry and Hermione.

“Hullo,” Harry grinned.

“Mate,” Cedric scrunched his nose with a smile, the two boys clapping a hand together in greeting.

“Y/N!” Hermione beamed, “you look lovely! You too, Cedric.”

Hermione was wearing a pale pink blouse, Harry a black button up. Both looked nice for the occasion. Also, both looked a little nervous.

“You as well,” Cedric and the girl replied in unison.

Hermione smiled, mumbling, “nothing really,” or something like that.

Harry, uninterested, had jerked his head towards the girl, “I take it you’re not interested in being here, either.”

“How’d you know?” she chuckled with a roll of her eyes.

“Well, me n’ you are only here because Slughorn fancies our dead parents-” he began.

“Harry!” Hermione gaped, slapping her friend upside the head so as to shut him up.

The girl let out an explosive cackle, going weak in the knees with laughter, “he’s not wrong you know.”

Harry rubbed his head as he flashed his teeth at her and raised a hand for her to slap hers against. She did, making the two only laugh harder.

“You two are awful,” Cedric said with alarm, gaining a supportive nod from Hermione.

It had seemed that the group’s commotion had drawn the attention of Professor Slughorn, who poked his head out from around the entrance of his room. He wore, on his body, a quite excessive frayed brown blazer with his black pants, and on his face, an almost terrifyingly supportive smile. When he smiled in such a way, his forehead creased with a set of expressive little lines, and he looked somewhat like a happy frog, she thought.

“Dear boys and girls, you’ve arrived!” he declared loudly.

“We have,” Harry echoed in an obvious reply.

“Come in! Do come in!” Slughorn chuckled joivally, ushering his students into the room he’d cleared for them.

It was an interesting sight to see. In the middle of the room, a huge polished oak table had been set up, around which just over a dozen large and eloquently carved wood chairs stood. Students of every house had gathered; notably, Blaise, one of Draco’s henchmen, and Neville, their friend. The table had been filled with large glass mugs, which were topped to their brims with seven massive scoops of decadent chocolate ice-cream each, atop which were further chocolate shavings. Neville, who looked just about ready to faint, sighed in heavy relief as his friends pulled aside chairs next to his own. Instantaneously, Slughorn began his unsurprising fire of questions. First he spoke to two dark haired Ravenclaws the girl was unfamiliar with, then the boisterous Marcus Belby, and finally he landed his beady little eyes on Hermione.

“My parents are dentists,” Hermione blurted nervously when Slughorn asked of her.

The girl slid her mug forward, dipping her silver spoon uninterestedly into the dessert and swirling it around dismissively. Beside her, Cedric was taking polite tastes of his desert, and, beside him, Harry was uncomfortably shoving spoonfuls worth of ice-cream down his throat. The girl snorted, elbowing her friend, who snapped his gorgeous hazel eyes to hers, his lips crinkling into a little smile as he shifted his attention over to Harry. Cedric nudged Harry, who lifted his chocolate covered face up slowly.

“What?” he said defensively, his voice low so as to be unheard as Hermione continued speaking.

“Is that a dangerous profession?” Slughorn asked the frizzy haired brunette.

“Erm… no,” Hermione said awkwardly.

Everyone, including Cedric, stared at her in awkward silence.

“What’s a dentist again?” Cedric said through the corner of his mouth.

On either side of him, Harry and Y/N tried miserably to stifle their giggles. Luckily for them, a perfectly timed interruption shifted the attention away from the two, and instead to Ginny Weasley, who had just entered the room sporting a cute black dress and some unfitting red eyes. Harry scooted loudly back in his chair, emitting a deathly screeching sound that matched perfectly with the absolute silence of the room. Hermione put a hand over her mouth, a smile spreading beneath her fingers.

“Ah, Miss Weasley,” Slughorn beamed, “come in!”

“Sorry,” she replied through a mumble, “not usually late.”

Harry let out a loud grunt and scooted back forward in his chair as if unaware he’d done anything odd. The girl looked first at the-boy-who-lived, then to Ginny, her brows furrowing in confusion as her eyes travelled. Next she looked to Cedric, who mirrored her expression, and finally to Hermione, who flickered her eyes indicatively at the two Gryffindor’s before turning her nose back to her food.

“Miss (Y/L/N),” Slughorn said loudly, refocusing his attention once again to the girl.

Her eyes darted forwards to her professor, “yes, sir?”

“Your parents,” he said, “tell me a bit about them, will you?”

It had been expected, of course. But she’d dreaded it nonetheless.

“I’d rather not, sir,” she tried.

“Please,” the old man quite literally begged.

“Uh, well erm, she started awkwardly, not knowing where to begin. “They both died when I was quite young-”

“Yes, actually about that,” Slughorn fed in, “how was it your father passed? There was little heard of him after he joined You-Know-Who’s ranks.”

The girl was quite taken aback. How bold of him. Actually, how rude.

“Er,” she blinked frustratedly, “an explosion, I think.”

“Go on,” the professor encouraged.

Everyone, not just Y/N, it seemed, wasn’t comfortable with such a discussion. What was the point of asking such things? How did this add a shine to his little collection of trophy students? Mostly, though, how was it that the man was so oblivious to his indiscretion?

“The Ministry notified me about it when it happened. He took out a bunch of muggles with himself, they said. Only, they didn’t do much reporting on him because...”

“Because?” Slughorn persisted.

“Sir-” she tried again.

But the professor looked absolutely carefree as he took a large spoonful of ice cream in with a wave of his small chubby hands, “do tell us, Y/N, we all want to know.”

The eyes of every student in the room were glued eagerly to her, whether in mild interest, discomfort, or both.

The girl felt her whole body heat up. She’d never disclosed the second part of that story with anyone before, let alone a whole damned Slug Club. Flustered, she blinked rapidly, turning her head left, right, and back left again, as the left was where the door was. And by God, did the door look good at that moment. She could feel the blood rushing to her ears, her feet preparing to bring her to a sprint, a nervous glimmer soak her brow, and yet, just as she’d decided to stand and run, something stopped her.

Beside her, the girl felt one of Cedric’s large hands snake under the table and take a reassuring hold of her wrist. It caught her off guard, the way he’d so swiftly done it. The boy’s long fingers dipped straight into her own, first landing on her wrists for a soft little rub, then sliding right up into her palms, where he closed his fingers in on her own. His hands were wam. Warm and rough. This settled her hard beating heart, if only for a moment. And that was all she needed.

“Sorry professor,” she responded flatly, “but no.”

Her eyes scanned those of her classmates more confidently, and most all of them glittered back proudly in reply. Across from her, Slughorn released a disappointed sigh, before continuing on his little train of questions and peppering Cedric with his next rounds of interrogation. Of course, Cedric was as cool, calm, and collected as ever. The boy put on his most handsome and proud lopsided smile as he answered the professor’s questions of -- well, honestly she wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying. For while he spoke, Cedric had released her fingers and found himself absentmindedly tracing the patterns on his friend’s hand, not that anyone could have known. And she, incredibly flustered, but more comforted than anything, let him. Only when dinner ended did the boy retract his touch.

. . .

“Excellent,” Harry declared, the second they’d stepped foot outside of the dungeon. “You were excellent, Y/N.”

The jet black haired boy gave his friend a huge slam of appreciation to the back. He, Cedric, Hermione, Neville, and Y/N were making their tired escape from Slughorn’s party. Together, the group made their defeated and slumped ascent out of the dungeons.

“Thanks, Harry,” she half laughed and half grumbled. “I couldn't have done it on my own.”

Her large bright eyes flickered up to Cedric’s glowing ocean ones, and they twinkled adoringly at her in silent communication. Beside her, Hermione raised a quizzical brow, though, truth be told, Y/N wasn’t paying her much attention at that moment.

“I don’t suppose I’ll be getting an invite back, though…” she’d muttered dryly.

“It’d be his loss,” Cedric fired back confidently, earning a half smile from his favorite girl.

She’d gone to say something else, but her lips had hardly opened when she saw him.

Draco. Draco, with his snow white skin and blue-grey eyes, was heading their way. This was unsurprising, given that they were on Slytherin’s side of the castle. Honestly, he was the last thing she’d wanted to be confronted with at that moment, and judging by the look on his sallow face, it went both ways. As he drew nearer and nearer, his hands stuffed into the black folds of his robes, she waited for the blades of his sharp words to slice her, for him to mouth insults her way as he had so frequently loved to do. But, shockingly, the boy was quiet. In fact, it seemed he had no plan to say anything, but rather to snake right past them, silent and unheard, like a figment of their imagination. He’d almost done it, actually, but the girl had other plans.

“What?” she said, stopping dead in her tracks.

Draco had just passed her, and gone deathly still.

She turned on her heel, asking again, “what? Not going to say anything?”

The boy turned slowly to face her, his icy eyes narrow with dislike, his teeth clenched so hard she could see the definite pulse of his hard jawline beneath his porcelain skin. Beside her, her friends all warily stopped walking, their faces clouding with concern. Apparently, they all thought it better to not acknowledge his existence. The snow white boy blinked silently, keeping his pale lips pressed harshly together.

“What? So now that you don’t have any goons around, you’re no longer interested in making a show out of us?” she asked with a bitter chuckle.

Malfoy’s nostrils flared, a hard grimace taking shape on the curvatures of his perfect mouth.

“You know what I think, Draco? I think you don’t actually care for it. I think you only do it for others to maintain some sort of facade. And I think, you’re too cowardly to face us alone.”

“Y/N,” Hermione tried, “don’t fire him up.”

Draco flickered his narrowed eyes to Hermione, then settled back on Y/N’s. Finally, he spoke.

“Much to Granger’s disappointment,” he started softly, “you don’t have the power to fire me up.”

Her lips split into a sour smile, “don’t I?”

“Y/N,” Cedric huffed with concern, “just drop it.”

Now Draco’s eyes were on Cedric.

“You, however,” he drawled, “are all very easy to fire up.”

Y/N opened her mouth to retaliate, but, as she should have expected, was beaten to it.

“Diggory,” he began, “congratulations on giving your little girlfriend an express pass onto the Hufflepuff quidditch team. I expect she returned the favor nicely with her mouth.”

Cedric flushed a bright red, his nostrils flaring, and eyes growing cold with distaste. This enraged Y/N, yes, but it enraged Cedric more. Before he had the chance to fight back, however, Draco was onto his next target.

“Mudblood,” he mouthed, addressing Hermione. “Did it hurt when Potter here beat your pompous, self righteous self to the Felix Felicis? Is that why you’ve told everyone that he cheated his way to it?”

“N-no,” Hermione replied unconvincingly.

“Shut up,” Neville added.

“You,” Draco chuckled, snapping his attention mechanically to Neville, his lashes fluttering to the beat of his laughter. “Longbottom, please. You’re so pathetic, I could almost find the sympathy to feel bad for you. Everyone can. But, I really needn’t say anything for you to know that, do I?”

Harry had a hand on his wand now.

“Go ahead,” Draco dared, focusing now on the boy-who-lived. “You’re awfully more of a milksop than one would expect of a Gryffindor,” he said, “so you won’t. Especially not on my side of the castle, where you’d be under professor Snape’s jurisdiction.”

He had a point. About that second part, of course. Slowly, Harry released the grip on his wand.

And then Draco’s eyes were back on the girl, and they were a cold stormy gray, touched lightly with a hint of mild intrigue. The girl felt her fingers shaking now, practically aching to take form into a fist. But she had to stand her ground. She had to prove his lack of power over her.

“And you,” he finished with a heavy sigh. He brought his eyes up to her friends before saying his next words. “As of late, this little thing has been of most interest to me.”

Everyone seemed to have frozen in place, including Y/N, who was capable only of blinking up angrily at him, her jaw tilted up so as to be able to reach his searing and curious gaze.

“And d’you know why?” he arched a silver-blond brow, stepping closer to her.

He looked like he wanted to touch her. Wanted to force her jaw up within the tight grasp of his hands. Wanted to step close enough that her heaving chest would bump against his own. But a flicker of his eyes to her friends stopped him, and instead he just stood there, about a foot apart from her, his hands still buried in his pockets.

“Because,” he continued bemusedly, “unlike everyone else here, you have a secret.”

“And what’s that?” she dared lowly.

Draco’s lips split into an awful, cruel, smile.

“You like having me put you in your place.”

There was silence.

The girl wanted to speak. She’d tried. But only a mute and incoherent stutter toppled forth from her agape lips.

“Fascinating,” his lips stretched wider yet, his voice dropping lower yet, “isn’t it?”

And then his hands withdrew from his pockets. Draco let his slender and silver ring clad fingers find themselves on the bend of his knee as he lowered his height so as to be level with the girl’s fiery stare. For a moment, he just let the blazing blue sear of his scrutiny make its way across her face. She could smell his cologne invading her lungs, the inexplicably alluring scent of Draco Malfoy growing vile to her. He lowered his voice, then, so that only she could hear his almost inaudible murmur.

“This little game of ours,” he whispered. “I quite enjoy it.”

Then he raised a finger, a long and slender index finger, and tapped the tip of her nose.

She just stared at him, and it was a long and wordless encounter. His icy blue eyes pierced straight through her own and into the depths of her soul. He seemed eager to see her either crumble beneath him or expel with rage, but what he did not expect is what she said next.

“Incendio.”

Suddenly, her dress was on fire.

Draco leapt back in surprise, his brows knitting as the base of the girl’s cream colored clothing went up in flames. Around her, her friends all gawked and toppled back in shock. In her right hand was Draco’s wand, plucked straight from his pocket only a moment ago.

“Catch,” she grinned, throwing the boy his wand.

The blond chuckled in bitter surprise, “and what does that achieve?”

“A spell search will reveal that you just casted a fire charm on me,” she gaped in mock shock as she extinguished the flames on her dress with a newly learned Aguamenti charm.

Beside her, the faces of her friends told her they were utterly lost. But it was alright, they’d soon find out what had happened.

Draco let loose a chuckle, “and you think Snape is going to believe that, from you?”

“Sure I do,” she shrugged, “because I also did.”

“What-” he began.

“Incendio!”

Now it was Draco whose clothes erupted in flames. Quickly, he stifled the orange licks up his robes with his own water charm. Now it made sense. The boy’s pale face had gone flush with rage upon realizing what she’d done.

“Oh no,” she shrugged sarcastically.

And then they heard the footsteps. No doubtedly, Snape was on his way to see what the commotion was about. From behind her, her friends all gaped, impressed. Then, on her command, they took their cues and bolted, cackling as they disappeared down the hall and away from the scene of the crime. In front of her, Draco’s mouth trembled with a newfound sense of rage. His white and slender figure slumped slowly with defeat, knowing he’d been outsmarted.

“What?” she teased.

He practically snarled, his eyes alight with a blazing hatred.

“I thought I couldn’t fire you up, Draco?”

. . .

“Our detention will be next week!” the girl exclaimed.

Beside her, Julian, Hannah, and Ernie all roared with approval, the group meeting their large mugs of butterbeer together in celebration. After being issued a lovely disciplining from professor Snape, the girl had headed back to the Common Room in her tattered dress, only to enter a hero to her friends, who’d heard of the encounter from Cedric. Together, by the light of the dying fire, the group celebrated the girl’s triumph over Draco Malfoy. She could only assume that somewhere, on the other side of the castle, a set of Gryffindors were doing the same.

Now, by the dim light of the fire’s embers, the group had jovially devoured a set of gooey celebration biscuits and leaned back lazily in the overstuffed armchairs of the Hufflepuff Common Room. From above and around them, plants snored lazily as they embarked upon their nightly slumber. Slowly, one by one, her friends departed for their beds, until it was only Cedric and Y/N who remained in the Common Room. Cedric was unusually quiet as they left. In fact, he’d been unusually quiet the whole evening. It’s not that she hadn’t noticed, but rather that she didn’t want to. And so, upon being left alone with him, she said nothing. Finally, after a minute of deathly awkward silence, he spoke.

“So. What was all of that about then?”

He’d said it softly. And not the way he usually did when he spoke softly to her. No, he sounded outright disappointed in her.

“What d’you mean?” she arched a brow at him.

Cedric sat stiffly upright on the squashy yellow couch, his ocean blue eyes set forward in thought. His previously neat goldish brown locks had found themselves resuming their usual messy state atop his head, with one little curl springing forth attractively upon his forehead. He still wore his button up, but his hands were folded gently upon his lap in an odd manner.

“I mean,” he continued softly, “why would you do what you did tonight?”

He turned now, his stare intense as it bore into her own. The girl found her throat closing up, and her chest tightened with uncomfortability.

“You went explicitly out of your way to rile Malfoy up. And then- and then you make some feat of landing yourself in detention with him.”

“It was about time someone stood up to him-” she began.

“No, but that’s not why you did it,” he interrupted, hurt.

She didn’t know how to respond to that, or to him, really. The boy looked weakened, his handsome figure bent over with a sort of sadness, casting a rather sad looking silhouette over the dark wooden floors of the Common Room. She’d opened her mouth, but upon meeting his eyes, stopped. They were strained. They were strained and ever so softly moistened with hurt.

“Is it?” he asked, more quietly this time, the look on his face desperate for her next word to be ‘yes.’

But it wasn’t.

“I don’t know,” she admitted begrudgingly, her shoulders falling. “Something about him just gets me going, Ced. Now more than ever. It’s- It’s because I know he’s capable of better.”

“Is he?” Cedric said with a raise of his brows.

Cedric, more than anyone, knew how to see the good in people. And Cedric, now, voiced doubt for the redemption of Draco Malfoy.

“There’s just something different,” she exhaled, feeling far too guilty to hold her friend’s gaze.

“I see that now,” Cedric agreed. “I do.”

She blinked up curiously at him.

There was an eerie silence. Aside from the faint chirping of crickets, the rustling of the flora and fauna upon the stone walls, and the gentle crackles of the dying fire, the only thing to be heard was her own faltering breath.

“But not about him,” he said. “About you.”

Her heart sank.

“I see it, you know?” he murmured lowly. “I see the way you look at him.”

“Ced-” she tried.

But he wasn’t having it.

“And I know in that… in that look, you know?” he continued. “There’s something different.”

Her heart was racing now. Cedric had never talked like this to her before, and the feeling was one she was unfamiliar with. And then there was the way he was looking at her, which hurt. It hurt because he was hurting. It hurt because she didn’t know why it hurt him. And then, this certainly wasn’t a revelation the girl had either expected or wanted to be confronted with, of course. But more to the point, to have it told to her like this, by the person she loved most in the world, was too much.

“How would you know that, Ced?” she murmured, the sound of hot blood in her ears making her dizzy.

“Because,” he started.

Then he stopped. His lips quivered and his lashes fluttered, a tell-tale sign that this next act was going to injure him further, that his next words weren’t ones he could take back.

“Because it’s how I look at you.”

[ssajj]

Brutus

While undercover, you run into the boyfriend you left behind.

Fem!Reader, 5.1k

TW: nongraphic depictions of violence, swearing, cigarettes, hints of a toxic relationship (not between reader and Spencer), guns

Note: dual timelines! It goes back and forth for most of the fic.

"Are you sure they want to meet me?" You ask, fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt. It's hard not to overanalyze the outfit you picked out for this occasion, even if you know it's far too late to go back to your place and change. Spencer hates not arriving on time. 

He looks at you with a quizzical expression on his face. "Of course they want to meet you."

When in doubt, you love to go for false bravado. "Talk a lot about me?" You smirk, watching a slow blush appear on his cheeks. Stepping forward, you wrap your arms around his middle and gently tug him toward you. He complies easily, his hands automatically settling at the small of your back. 

"Is it okay if I do talk about you a lot?"

That makes you smile. "It's sweet."

The blush only gets stronger. "Morgan and Garcia are pretty eager to meet you," he says. "They've been bringing up tonight all week."

He's probably only saying it to make you feel better, but all it does is spike the anxiety brewing in your chest. Garcia's an information junkie; you don't even want to know the things she's already figured out about you. And Morgan is Spencer's best friend. If he doesn't like you, that's probably the beginning of the end for your relationship. 

"It'll be great, love," he's firmer this time, melting some of the fire. Your favorite thing he calls you is 'love'. Something about the gentleness of that word, the feelings it implies, and the soft look Spencer gets on his face whenever he uses it makes you want to curl up against him for the rest of your life.

After another moment, the two of you head out the door and to the bar, hands clasped together. 

"Y/N!!!!" Garcia practically forces you into a bear hug when you walk over to the BAU's table. "Oh, I am SO glad you could come tonight. I've been looking forward to this for ages! I cannot believe Spencer waited an eternity to bring you around us. You're all he talks about anymore, it's adorable."

You glance back at your boyfriend, who looks a tad horrified. Morgan laughs and slaps him on the back, forcing a cough out of him. 

"Hey," JJ greets you, looking so much less intimidating than anyone at the table. You know it's a bit of a farce though. Spencer’s told you enough stories to know that JJ is a woman who can hold her own and hold it well, despite appearances. Idly, you note that she'd be great at undercover work. "I'm JJ. I'm assuming you know that you just got crushed by Garcia. And then there's Morgan, Rossi, Emily, and Hotch." As she said their names, she pointed at them. It was nice to get confirmation, even if you were pretty sure you knew which face belonged to which name.

Hotch nods at you. "It's nice to meet you."

"Is he smiling?" Emily hisses, leaning toward Rossi. "I think Hotch is smiling."

"It's great to finally meet all of you. Spencer’s always talking about you guys," you say, taking your seat. Spencer settles down next to you close enough that your thighs touch. The bar definitely isn't somewhere that he'd normally hang out, but he seems comfortable enough here that you assume it's a frequent spot for the BAU to visit. 

A couple hours in, you're feeling tipsy and ridiculously happy. You're getting along particularly well with Emily and JJ, who are both amazing. If he isn't talking to you, Spencer’s usually talking to Morgan and Garcia, who obviously adore him. Hotch and Rossi seem lost in their own private conversations and you wonder if it's because they're the two highest ranking agents here. 

"You should totally start joining us when we have girls night!" JJ says, clinking her beer against your glass. "I think you'd really enjoy them."

You nod, feeling flattered. "I'm down to come."

Emily grins, reaching over to knock Spencer’s shoulder. "Your girlfriend is so much cooler than you."

Before you can protest, he nods. "She is," he agrees, smiling at you.

"Awww," Garcia coos, joining the conversation. "Who knew that our baby Spencer was a secret romantic? I love it!"

--

"A wedding?" You ask, pressed up against Cal's side. It's always a bit uncomfortable, almost like your bodies know you don't fit together, that something is amiss. You just hope that your body isn't the thing that finally gets you killed. "That seems below you."

Cal looks down at you, an amused smirk twisting his face. He wants to eat you up, you think. He wants to devour you. "The groom is an old family friend," he explains. "It's courtesy that I attend. And I can hardly go without a ravishing date on my arm."

You rise up on your toes to kiss his cheek, rubbing a bit at the lipstick you leave with the pad of your thumb. "As long as I get to pick my own dress."

"What kind of man would I be if I didn't let you pick it yourself?" His grip on you tightens enough that you wonder if it'll leave a bruise on your hip. Tomorrow, you know you'll find a wad of cash in your purse. In exchange, he'll get to take it off of you after the wedding. 

Mercifully, he lets you go a second later. You step back, walking by him. He's done with you for the day. Your relationship is to the point where he doesn't need to formally dismiss you anymore. You've picked him apart and put him back together. Whether he knows it or not, it feels like you've made him the very man that you hate with every fiber of your being. At least, you tell yourself that you hate him. When it gets too hard, when you find yourself falling under his spell, you picture the last boyfriend you had as yourself. A man full of shy smiles, sweet compliments, gentle kisses, and the most beautiful assortment of random knowledge. When he's in your mind, you don't get lost in the person you're pretending to be. It's the only time you feel like yourself. 

Of course, being yourself too much would get you killed, so you limit yourself. 

You go dress shopping the next day. Cal gave you an absurd budget, so you manage to pick out an extravagant dress and also a pair of shoes and earrings. This morning, Cal had mentioned that the wedding was going to be a black tie event, giving you an excuse to feel like a princess. Well. Maybe a trapped princess, like Cinderella or Rapunzel. You walk out of the store with a heavy bag on your arm. When you return to the house, it's blissfully empty. Cal isn't due back until late, but you still do a full walk around the house, double checking before you go out to the garden. The first few months you lived here, the garden was the responsibility of the landscapers that stopped by occasionally, but you batted your eyes and sucked on Cal's lip until he agreed to give it to you. Now, no one else was allowed to touch it per his orders. And he wasn't the kind of man his staff said no to. 

Basically, it was a perfect hiding spot. You go over to the daisies, digging a little until you find the box that contained your current burner phone. You'd have to switch soon, probably within the next few weeks. It was close to dying and it was never a good idea to keep the same phone number for an extended period of time. You dial the number once, hang up immediately, dial again, let it ring three times, hang up, and then dial for a final time. Your handler answers quickly.

"What?" He asks, gruff. 

"We're going to a wedding near Virginia."

You hear him suck in a breath. "Close to where you used to live."

"I know."

"If you get recognized-"

"I won't."

He pauses. "Stay safe."

You hang up the phone and pray you make it through this alive. 

--

On your one year anniversary, Spencer brings you to a museum. He walks you through all the exhibits, rambling about anything he knows in regards to your surroundings. His hands keep waving through the air, his eyes bright and alive, a grin splitting his face. It's obvious that he's in his element. 

You love him so badly that it hurts, sometimes. 

By the time you reach the gift shop, your brain is full of knowledge you probably won't ever need again. 

"Sorry," Spencer says suddenly, looking at you. "Did I just bore you? You know you're allowed to cut me off when I get going."

You shake your head, kissing his cheek. "It was cute. I loved it."

Once you're done there, the two of you head back to his apartment. Last month, the two of you had decided not to do gifts, electing just to spend the day together instead. You cuddle with him on the couch, your body tucked perfectly against his. In this moment, you feel safe. You're with a man you know loves you, and you love him back just as fiercely. Life is good. 

--

You and Cal arrive in Virginia at the crack of dawn, early enough that it feels like you should still be rubbing the sleep out of your eyes even though you've been awake for hours. “Who even has weddings before noon? I didn’t even think that was a thing.”

Cal chuckles beside you, his arm snaking around you. In this moment, it’s hard not to shudder. You’ve never understood his need to always touch you, claim you for the world to see. As far as he knows, you’ve never belonged to anyone else. You were born and bred for this, a perfect lover. Just enough sass, just enough danger, just enough compliance, just enough meekness. He doesn’t know that this isn’t the real you, that you’re always on the verge of screaming your head off. One day, he’ll learn. It’ll end in one of your deaths. 

Hopefully, it’ll end in his death. 

"We'll stop at the hotel first, darling," Cal takes your hand as he talks, leading you along the side of the road. God, you remember this place. Of course you do. This is your home turf. A new name and a new look doesn't mean that this doesn't feel like home. "You can get changed and refreshed before we head to the venue."

You shrug. "Sounds good to me."

The walk is blissfully short, but the hotel is grand. It's definitely not somewhere you would have been able to afford. Honestly, you're almost disgusted by how the place practically bleeds money and how well Cal seems to blend into this new environment. 

Once you're in the room, you toss your suitcase onto the bed, hissing when the action results in a broken nail. Cal laughs at you as you stick your finger in your mouth. He comes over after a beat, pulling at your hand to inspect your nail. For a second, it looks like he's going to lick your finger, but he just lets you go. "Get dressed," he tells you, kissing your forehead. "I want to see how stunning you're going to look."

--

"Something's off about you."

You whip around, coming face to face with Emily. She's wearing an expression you recognize, but not on her: perfect blankness. There's no trace of a personality, no trace of a name attached to the person that spoke. Something tightens in your chest and you crane your neck to look at Spencer, who's blissfully unaware of the words that were just spoken. Instead, he's fully engaged in a conversation with JJ and Will, hands flapping as they smile warmly at him. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say to Emily, crafting a neutral but surprised look to wear on your own face. "Not sure I appreciate the tone, though."

Emily scoffs. "Don't play dumb with me. Come on. I know you got the same feeling about me."

She's right, even though you don't admit it. It almost feels like when two predators acknowledge each other in the wild- they know they're evenly matched, and so they go their separate ways. Except that everyone in the room is a predator. You and Emily are a different breed, though. 

She's done deep undercover work. 

"Ladies!" Rossi interrupts, throwing an arm around Emily’s shoulders. If he notes any tension, he doesn't comment on it. "Why are you being antisocial over here?" He points at you. "Your boyfriend has been talking the ears off of JJ and Will. I honestly couldn't even tell you what about."

You shrug. "They don't seem to mind."

"Am I not allowed to talk to her?" Emily asks, eyebrow quirked. "I need to make sure she's not a secret spy."

Rossi laughs. "Garcia would have already sniffed that out, don't worry. Y/N passed her background check with flying colors."

"Did you?" You ask Emily, a small smile playing on your lips. 

"Of course."

By now, Rossi’s gotten a good taste of the strangers of this interaction. He glances between you, eyes narrowing as they settle on you. You don't change your face.

"Actually, I think I'll join Spencer," you say, sliding past the two of them. 

Spencer welcomes you gladly, folding you seamlessly into the conversation. Throughout most of it, you wonder how everyone else can understand what Will's saying. For all you know, he could be telling you off. 

When you turn your head, you notice that Emily’s still looking at you. When you nod at her, she nods back. 

You hope that's the end of it. 

--

An hour in, you figure out that you hate weddings. 

It doesn't help that you've been ditched. Cal was stuck to you like glue just long enough for you two to walk in together before he mumbled something about "important business" and took off. Currently, you're sitting alone at a table toward the back of the venue. You don't know what the hell you got so dressed up for or why you chose such a risky dress. One wrong move meant that everyone here was going to see a lot more of you than you were comfortable with. 

"Hey, pretty lady," a man greets you, plopping himself in one of the empty seats next to you. You blink at him. "All alone here?"

"I'm here with my boyfriend."

He sighs, putting his sweaty hands on the table. "Now, what kind of man would leave his lady all by her lonesome?"

"How about you leave before I kick your ass?"

Cal laughs behind you, alerting you to his presence. You turn around, smiling at him. He's got a warm look on his face, the one that's only reserved for you. 

"Oh!" The stranger yelps, standing up so fast that he rattles the table. "I didn't realize you were Cal's-"

"Just go," you tell him, waving him off. He doesn't waste any time. 

Cal takes the empty seat. "I don't know why I bothered having security. You're scarier than all of them."

You roll your eyes. "Uh huh. Have fun chatting up all the old rich men here?"

He takes your hand. "I'm sorry to leave you alone for so long." Lifting your hand, he kisses it. You blush. 

"I'm assuming you have to go back to that?"

He nods. "Will you be okay here?"

"I think I'm going to go smoke, actually."

He's the one that got you into cigarettes, so he doesn't protest this. "Go out the west wing exit," he says instead. "There's always too much traffic at the main doors."

The two of you part, heading in opposite directions. It takes you a bit to find the right exit, but you're blissful when the crisp air finally hits your face. The view isn't bad, either, but it does make your heart ache. 

For some stupid reason, you hadn't realized that the venue was so close to the museum Spencer loved taking you to. 

You take your sweet time outside, cigarette dangling loosely from your fingers. It's the most relaxed you've felt all day, away from the prying eyes that know you as someone else. This assignment has already gone on for longer than you'd expected, but Cal is a tough nut to crack. Every time you think you have his complete trust, that he'll tell you what you need to know, a door slams shut in your face, or he gets angry with you for the littlest action. You take a drag, watching the smoke dissipate in the air. 

"Y/N?" A familiar voice asks.

Your heart stops. 

--

Your blood freezes in your veins, seemingly distorting everything around you. "What?" You whisper into the phone. 

"He'll be okay," JJ soothes. "He's getting checked out by an EMT as we speak, I promise. I'm staring at him right now."

"What happened?"

She pauses, which doesn't fill you with any kind of confidence. "He went in after the unsub without backup. They ended up getting into a bit of a fight before Morgan and I could get to him. The three of us took down the unsub together, Spence is just...bruised."

"Any cracked ribs?" You ask. 

"I'll let you know as soon as I find out. I'll call back in a few, okay?" 

Before you can reply, the line is disconnected. 

For the next eleven minutes and thirty-two seconds, you don't move a muscle. This wasn't the first time Spencer had gotten hurt since you'd started dating- perks of being with someone that hunted serial killers for a living- but that did nothing to comfort you now. Your mind always went to the worst possible place, combing over your last interaction with Spencer, wondering if he died now, would he know how much you loved him? While you were at a desk job currently, most of your career had been spent never knowing if you'd make it to dawn. This had been ingrained in you by now. You've seen people die, you've seen people be killed in a heartbeat. You survived that. 

You couldn't survive Spencer dying. 

The second your phone rings, it's answered and at your ear. "How is he?"

"Y/N," Spencer says into the phone, and you feel your entire body relax. 

Instead of answering him, you burst into tears. 

"Hey, hey. I'm okay, love."

"Sorry!" You practically wail, covering your mouth with your hand. "Sorry. What did the EMT say? How are you feeling? When will you be home?"

He answers your questions in a steady tone, obviously still worried about your emotional level. "We're getting on the jet once JJ and Hotch finish wrapping up with the detectives here."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Y/N." 

Twelve hours later, Spencer is wrapped in your arms. He has a cracked ribs and an assortment of bruises, but he's breathing and he's here.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you that causes such a dramatic reaction?" He asks, making you tense. 

"Spence…"

He sighs. "I know."

This was the biggest rift in your relationship. He pours his heart out day by day, and you're a shell of a woman with none of that to offer him. You can’t talk about most of your career. Even now, at a boring desk job, you're handling other people's undercover identities. You requested a break from going undercover and gotten it, but there's a part of your brain that still knows not to trust that. They could try to send you away tomorrow. 

--

Spencer. Spencer is here. Spencer is staring at you. Spencer just said your name. 

You know what you have to do, even if it'll hurt both of you. You'd tear yourself open to keep him safe, set yourself on fire to keep him safe, but that doesn't mean it'll be any easier to break his heart to keep him safe. 

"I'm sorry?" You ask, scrunching your face up in confusion. "I think you have the wrong person."

You don't look exactly like you did when you dated Spencer. Your hair is a different color and cut, and your face has started hollowing out from stress and hate. Honestly, there's been times where you haven't even recognized yourself in the mirror. 

He repeats your name, taking a step toward you. Instinct has taught you well, so even though you want to run forward into his arms, you take a step back. 

He looks different since the last time you saw him. Different, but good. He's filled out more, his hair is longer, and he's holding himself with more authority. This Spencer isn't constantly curled in on himself, you know. He isn't always trying to make himself lesser. He's maintained his kind eyes, though. They're staring straight through you, searching for things you can't give him. All you can remember is the love you shared with him, the love you smashed when you left. It makes you ache. 

This is conformation of your deepest fear: he's better off without you. 

"That isn't my name," you tell him, cocking your head to the side. The cigarette, you notice, has fallen to the ground. You wonder if he's noticed, but you step on it all the same. "My name is Reva."

"Reva." It sounds distinctly wrong coming from his lips, like it doesn't quite fit despite his efforts to force it. By this point, you're well used to being called the wrong name. Something about the way Spencer says it still makes you want to cringe. 

Regardless, he can't know any of that. He still has some hope in his eyes, although it's being muddled by confusion. "Yes," you confirm. "Look, I'm sorry you can't find who you're looking for. I'm not her, though."

"I'm sorry, too."

"Reva!" You hear, and you turn to find Cal coming out the door. Whipping your head back at Spencer, you gesture for him to leave, feeling some of your panic leak out into the open. Cal doesn't get to look at Spencer. He doesn't get to talk to Spencer. 

Out of desperation, you practically leap into Cal's arms, kissing him firmly on the mouth. He’s surprised, but since he never says no to this kind of thing, he pulls you closer and deepens it. “Can we get out of here?” You whine, lowering your hands to right below his ass. 

“I think that sounds perfect.”

As he takes your hand to lead you back into the venue, you spare one last look at Spencer. He’s rooted to the spot, mouth slightly agape as he stares at you. 

You have the sinking feeling that you didn’t trick him well enough. 

--

When you go into the office on Monday, you know. Your supervisor is standing at your desk, a grim expression on his face. 

“I don’t want to go,” you tell him automatically. 

All the other times you’ve been under, there’s been no one on the other side to miss you. Now, though? You think of Penelope, who likes surprising you with different kinds of flowers, of Rossi, who taught you how to make your first authentic Italian dish, of Hotch, who you just managed to work a soft smile out of, of JJ, who automatically gravitates toward you whenever you’re in a room together, of Morgan, who lifted you up and spun you around when you admitted to him that you could see a forever with Spencer, and god- Spencer. You don’t want to leave Spencer. You could survive without him, but there’d forever be a light missing. 

“Come on into my office,” your supervisor tells you. “We have a lot to talk about.”

--

For the first time in a long time, you cry yourself to sleep. 

The next day, you make your way back into the garden. Cal’s out again, probably plotting something that will result in death and destruction. You’re frustrated that he’s been so difficult to get through to, you’re frustrated that you saw Spencer last night, and all you want to do is throw your head back and scream until your throat is raw and bleeding. That isn’t an option, so all you can do is dig up your phone and make the call. 

When you tell him what happened, all you get is a sigh before he hangs up. Figures. “Asshole.”

--

“What do you want me from me, huh?” You scream, hands balled into fists at your side. Your breath is heavy, weighing the room down. 

Spencer scoffs at you. “I’ve made it perfectly clear what I want, you just aren’t listening anymore.”

“I can’t give you that.”

He won’t look at you anymore. Tears have started gathering in his eyes, and while you want to wipe them away, you know you don’t have the right. You’re the one that put them there, you’re the one making him act like this. 

“It feels like I barely know you sometimes,” he says, and you don’t even have a counter argument for that. You’ve been so many people. At this point, you’re a jigsaw puzzle of everyone you’ve ever been, but he’s missing too many pieces to solve you. 

When you don’t respond, he sighs, running his hand through his hair. And then-

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

You suck in a breath. “What?”

His voice firms. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Y/N. I don’t know if this is working. I don't think I want to keep trying."

Before he can say anything else, before you can make your case, before you can fight for him, your legs are already carrying you out the door. 

You make a single phone call. 

“I’m in. Tell me more about the assignment.”

--

On a Wednesday, it ends. It's months since you saw Spencer. Part of you had expected some big event to come from that, whether it be Cal stabbing you in the stomach or Spencer somehow tracking you down to save you. Life isn't a romance movie, though, so you just went back to being alone. 

And finally, after a century of careful prodding and poking, you get the information you need to take Cal down. 

As the sun shines and the birds chirp, the SWAT team bursts through the door, shouting to get down. You scream Cal's name, knowing that your performance isn't going to be over until he never gets to see daylight again.

Unfortunately, Cal never goes down without a fight. He comes out guns blazing, shooting one of the SWAT members before they even register that he's there. In a flash, you're pressed up against Cal's chest, the barrel of his gun pressed to your head. 

"You motherfucker," you whisper. 

"I'm sorry, baby," he says to you, raising his voice to talk to the SWAT team. "Back off or I'll shoot!"

This fantastic plan results in you bleeding from a bullet wound in your stomach, curled on the ground and Cal is hauled off by SWAT. One of them approaches you once everyone else is gone.

"Good work, Y/N."

--

You hate hospitals. You hate the lights, the sounds, the smells, and the general fear of death that spikes whenever you enter through the doors. You've already been debriefed, already destroyed Reva. As far as Cal knows, you bled to death on his living room floor. 

As you start to drift off to sleep, you hear a sudden clanging from down the hall, muffled voices oozing in frustration. Footsteps start up again, and then-

Oh.

Spencer’s in your room. 

"Y/N," he gapes, coming up to the side of the bed. He starts to reach for your hand before aborting the motion; in response, you grab his instead. You're too weak to deny him right now. "Oh, god. Y/N."

"How are you here?" You ask. 

"Penelope. I knew it was you outside the venue, and once the shock wore off, I knew you were undercover. We've been trying to locate you ever since, but your name pinged on her alerts when you were admitted here. What happened?"

"SWAT guy shot me."

The two of you lock eyes, and you're horrified to discover that you're both on the verge of crying. "Spence-"

He hugs you, arms gentle as he settles onto the bed. As you sob into his arms, you feel more at home than you have in a very long time. 

--

Two weeks later, you're curled in his bed. 

Things aren't normal. You've been gone for over a year and you left things completely unfinished. Not to mention that you've screamed yourself awake every night, panic attacks and sobs wrecking you even as Spencer whispers comforts as he holds you. But you're safe. 

Another day later, Spencer helps you sit up before announcing, "We need to talk."

"I know."

He starts fiddling with the sleeves of his cardigan. "You- you left."

"You told me to."

"No! I-" he sighs, pulling harder at his sleeves. "I know it sounded that way. But I love you, Y/N. Then and now. I was never done trying for you."

You laugh a little. It doesn't sound right. "You don't love me now. I'm not even...I don't know how much of myself is even left anymore."

"So let me find out," he pleads. "Let me learn to love all the new things about you, let me cherish what hasn't changed."

"I'm sorry for running."

"I'm sorry for not chasing after you."

--

Your first date after coming back to yourself is a walk through the park. Spencer figures you can handle that, figures you won't get too overwhelmed or pained from the experience. He still lets you lean against him the entire time.

Since the first initial conversation, you've had many more. You've detailed your thoughts, as well as your experiences with Cal. You fought and fought and fought with your supervisor to get the clearance to tell Spencer, reminding him that you refused to ever go under again and that Spencer was an agent. Eventually, he folded. Spencer still had to sign an absurd amount of paperwork. In turn, Spencer explained the things he'd been up to since you left, how he refused to lose you again once he spotted you. 

Things aren't perfect. They are better, though.

"Hey," you say, pulling at his hand until he stops. "I love you."

A big smile spreads across his face, and he leans forward until your foreheads are touching. "I love you too."

When you kiss him, you vow to yourself to never leave again. 

[barbika1508]

Hiwaga (Vampire! Jeongguk x Reader)

Part 1

Words: 11,1 k

Genre: Soulmate AU, Reincarnation AU, Enemies to Lovers, Action, Romance, Smut

Pairing: Vampire! Jeongguk x Reader

Warnings: Brief mentions of smut, Cursing

Summary: Life was good, playing out better than it has been ever before. My future was bright and full of promises and wishes coming to realization. All up until she showed up. She stormed though the front doors ruining everything along the way by her mere presence derailing my goals and purpose in life. A puny mortal, a child, a complete nuisance, and yet…The key to an unimaginable life, to the truth all along.

Author's note: Hiwaga – mystery; full of wonder Words in italics are dialogues or thoughts that Jeongguk reads from others. So I’ve done research with this fic, and used certain words that need explanation…given that there can be A LOT I’ve put a dictionary just below the fic if anyone is interested :3

Jeongguk’s POV:

‘’Stop it.’’

I barely flinch at the hiss the presence that settles on my left expected, to which my glare remains unfaltering ‘’She’s just…infuriating.’’ I sigh quietly, trying to relax my clenched jaw but just settle right back into pressing my teeth tight together while my fingers curl into fists, annoyance brewing.

‘’Why is that?’’ the question has me rolling my eyes inside my head, as I shift onto my right foot and away from the broad-shouldered vampire, keeping my composure in case of anyone looking towards us.

‘’I don’t know, I just really, really don’t like her.’’ I grumble glaring at the girl that’s grinning widely showing of her blunt teeth advertising to everyone that she’s not like us. She’s literally making herself a bait, even though Yoongi hyung made sure she was doused in his scent not even an hour ago.

She’s chatting away with a middle-aged guy, his wife looking interested as she eyes the regular girl up and down her thoughts not promising anything good. Right now, I’m cursed having the abilities that I have, easily reading through the crowd of people that’s surrounding us. I hate big gatherings, or any gatherings for that matter. Its bothersome to keep my concentration up at all times, to prevent all the voices from flooding my mind. Well except for hers. Not hearing her thoughts, is one of the most infuriating things.

‘’We know that Jeongguk-ah. It’s been a well-known fact since the moment she stepped a foot past the front doors.’’ Jin hyung chuckles clearly amused by my brooding and misery, as I recall not even a month ago how she loudly shrieked a greeting, and then just ran up to Yoongi hyung. He offered her a SMILE! HE SMILED AT HER AND LET HER HUG HIM!!!

The scene as I remember it is still bizarre and sort of unrealistic. How easily everyone accepted her, even though she isn’t of our kin. We’ve turned away, orphaned fairies, witches and even shapeshifting dragons which could have given us great amounts in the power dynamic. And yet there’s Y/N. Ugh even her name has me rolling my shoulder back, as my nose briefly scrunches, Jin hyungs hand landing on my shoulder reminds me that I need to keep a calmer attitude. Glancing over to him he’s completely amused as he looks at me.

‘’You are stewing in your anger without a real purpose youngling.’’ He teases the nickname a pain in the ass ‘’Relax, Jeonggukie.’’ He leans in closer still smirking but looks me directly in the eyes hovering up close There’s plenty of girls here. Some with royal statues or skills you can only ever imagine of. he wiggles his eyebrows at me suggestively. This time around I do roll my eyes for him to see, shaking my shoulders and him off as he ends up giggling not taking offense in my behaviour.

In a regular setting or just a regular gathering as this one is, I wouldn’t miss any single opportunity to tease him, or make fun of him blatantly but given the new guests I’m not in the mood whatso ever.

I do look at the wives, girlfriends, mistresses of our guests that fill our spacious ballroom besides the variation of men, that had me tune out their thoughts the moment the first 5 arrived. And granted they are all gorgeous, youthful, pale complexion mostly with vibrant eyes full of life, and deadly fangs poking from their lips proudly. My jaw unclenches, while I raise my chin up in interest once a blonde girl, walks past us quite a distance but I don’t miss how she flutters her eyes towards me, keeping on a shy smile which is a pretence but the visual has my attention. Her long blonde hair is cascading down over her exposed shoulder the ends curled up meticulously. Her front is a bit on the flatter side, figure smooth and flawless as the red wine dress that’s running and falling down her body like an endless seem of water while a thin vail that covers it, sparkles in the lights at times making her look more out of this world.

I raise an eyebrow in curiosity ready to start this game of chase. Watching intently, she offers a wider smirk steps slowing down, when suddenly she disappears from my view thanks to the group of chattering vampires ahead of us. Looking left and right she doesn’t pop up. Interesting.

‘’That’s it Jeongguk-ah. Our fearless maknae on the prowl.’’ Jin pats me over my back smirking his words making me smile but from half embarrassment and half amusement ‘’You know I’ve picked up on certain gossip that’s been floating around.’’ The implication has me turning to my older hyung fully in curiosity.

‘’Do spill thou secrets, dearest hyung.’’ another voice replies, Taehyung joining the two of us smirking knowingly. He probably knows where this is going, being the coven’s expert gossiper and a professional drama queen so to speak. He knows the ins and outs of the vampire world, dipping his toes into the werewolf pack’s and mere-folk communities as of lately. I simply slide my hands into the pockets of the black suit creased trousers I have on. I paired my outfit with a black long-sleeved saint Laurens shirt, and over it I’ve gone with a white suit jacket with golden detailing on it.

Jin hyung has gone more with a professional (regal) look, wearing a midnight black 5-piece suit, with the difference in the dress shirt which is a darker purple colour. The tie he has one, is more visibly purple adorned in small golden accessories that state which clan he belongs to by the logo being pined near the knot. He’s not only displaying regal colours but also the wealth, the rank and honour that was given to him, when he reached a milestone in his old age which not many vampires do anymore. The status and extra titles are appointed according to age and actions and Jin hyung has made it pretty high on both of those simple to-do lists as I’d like to call them.

Taehyung on the other hand is like me dressed in all black, going with a matching 2-piece suit lacking the suit jacket which leaves him in a more of a blouse type of dress shirt that has white squares doted randomly across. He has tucked the shirt into the slightly high waisted trousers, which makes shapes up his figure to the tens.

He quirks an eyebrow as he smiles mischievous standing on Jin hyungs left, giving me a knowing look.

‘’Rumour has it, amongst our lovely ladies mainly but in a wider circle nonetheless…’’

‘’Meaning everyone, yes hyung.’’ Taehyung pips in encouragingly licking his lips as he points his stare at the elder. I quickly shush him smirking as I glance between the two Taehyung grinning while Jin shakes his head but remains humoured.

‘’…it is said, that after a night with our Jeonggukie here, even as a vampire you’ll be having problems walking the next day.’’ His eyes are fixated on me gauging my reaction while I meet Taehyung’s gaze just knowing exactly what he normally would say. I don’t even have to read his mind to know.

But he loudly snorts instead ‘’You’ve left out the juicy part of the rumours hyung.’’ I lift my chin up again but look away from the two trying to see and detect if anyone is listening into our conversation. There’s a group of vampires that is standing close to us. Some have picked up on our talk but they are occupied discussing something else that has their complete attention, two women snickering to themselves quietly ‘’Our Jeonggukie even though is the cutest and the most innocent looking as a cherub doesn’t cuddle. Or kiss after he’s done fucking your brains out. How about that?’’

Turning back to the two, the elder gives me a disapproving look meanwhile Taehyung is strictly mirthful clearly finding this amusing ‘’I’m not looking for love. It’s simply an exchange of pleasantries and then it’s back to regularities.’’ I shrug turning away as the dark-haired vampire coos, chuckling while Jin hyung who has dyed his hair into a faint purple colour tsks.

‘’Oiii we didn’t raise you like that young man.’’ He chides while my eyes finding the blonde once more. Her gaze is already on me, clearly taking me in up and down shamelessly ogling me. To keep this interesting I refrain from reading into her mind, and offer a smirk back, taking her in as well. She’s joined into a conversation which she barely participates once our gazes interlock ‘’Yahhhh don’t ignore us! Don’t prove those rumours right!!!’’

‘’Let him be hyung.’’ Taehyung defends me, chuckling ‘’He’ll learn eventually, after getting punched into the balls enough times.’’

That has me quirking both eyebrows in question as I turn to the black haired male, his hair having grown out making him look all the more attractive in the period of a few months since he let it grow ‘’Have you learned that from experience hyung?’’ now I’m the one amused at the implication. But the mischief simply rolls of him.

‘’it’s a possibility.’’ He challenges back ‘’But it’s also well known what a gentleman I am first and foremost.’’ he wiggles his eyebrows, right hand rising up fingers wiggling, the suggestion obvious which has Jin let out a dry laugh.

‘’You younglings are just so cocky.’’ The elder condemns crossing his arms.

‘’Ah hyung I’m sure you were the same as we were at one point in your long and richly filled life.’’ Taehyung half sings stepping closer to the taller male, that simply smirks, his gaze now trained forward onto someone ignoring the antics of the younger vampire who cuddles up to him. I mimic our hyung turning forward in search of the blonde again, that once more has disappeared. Damn.

‘’I’m not telling you animals anything. You’d only take it as a challenge. And then I’ll just have more work to do cleaning after you.’’ Jin ends up grumbling the bickering going on put to the back of my mind.

With the wine-red colour in mind, I scan the growing crowd finding 4 more girls with a similar dress offering gleeful smiles, and even winks in return. Even though they look nice, I can’t help but to want to find the blonde. She had this quirky smile to her, and the fact that she put on an innocent face has me guessing she’s into something kinkier than she’d led onto.

Just as I’m about to head forward and find her by myself my intentions gets stopped.

‘’Oh, waw would you look at that.’’ Only now I notice that my two brothers have fallen silent, and are both staring ahead at something at the same time. Glancing at the two, Jin is amused while Tae’s expression is sort of blank. I follow their line of sight, finding an odd pair near middle of the room conversing. My blood runs cold at the sight. The 4 men that surround them are obviously body guards, the notion simply a sign of his power whilst is completely useless.

I sigh through my nose as other’s thoughts fill my mind, the curiosity and excitement and want for bloodshed rising in each and every vampire in the room.

The vampire that’s in the middle of the 4 man is Wangseja. Nobody actually knows his real name, as far as I know and have been told it’s been centuries so everyone just addresses him by his title. He is a descendant of the royal family, and has been meant to inherit the throne in his human life time. But obviously as he’s still here, breathing and undead something must have happened for him to have has to stray away from the human world and path of life.

He is not the only vampire that’s considered being one of the oldest here. There are a few more in this very room, one being our Yoongi hyung, and Jin following just close behind, after 3 others.

The 8 gifted with the title ‘elders’ are considered being in charge, with everything that’s regarding our vampire community and largely covens as they’ve tried to portray it as if we’re families. Which we aren’t. Coven wars still happen most often than some would like, and not enough to others.

Back to the former crown prince, he’s wearing a Gonryongpo which translates to Dragon Robe. He has the famous yellow dragon woven over his back which simply makes me assume that even though he puts on a friendly face and demander he’s a cocky asshole. He must be. Those clothes are generalized as robes that government officials and royalty wore but it’s well known that they were mainly emperors clothing. A bit pompous if you ask me.

Of course, the other 8 elders are dressed similarly to him, but in comparison they are dressed in downgraded versions.

His colours are the ones of red and to my misfortune of not being able to make fun of him later he isn’t wearing the traditional hat along his attire. He is however strapped with a Samjeongdo at his side. Again, it's all telling me he's a prick. I don’t even have to peek into his mind to see him as a sheep in wolfs clothing. A dangerous sheep with incredible power nonetheless. My nose scrunches up as his laughter can be heard all the way here, the ballroom having gotten quieter, everyone’s attention and ears focused in on the conversation at hand, the odd pair presenting curiosity amidst my kin. I bet the next gossip is going to revolve solemnly onto what’s happening right now. Ugh, great.

The girl that’s standing before him sports a bright smile unbothered by the many eyes that are fixated on her, taking in every error that’s marked over her skin, every imperfection that lies over her features and hair that even though has been styled looks messy to me.

She stands out from everyone else, simply by the colour choice of her dress which happens to be a soft lilac that edges on white, and grey. Ridiculous!

The ladies in the room, are for the most part dressed in designer clothing, with jewels, glitters, and modern sewing, styled to perfection which is an overused word, but that’s just what vampires tend to do. Dress to impress, every detail smoothened and detailed 100%.

Her dress is draped from her waist down pooling shily around her feet, her neckline all but shy as the V-neck is deep showing of her collarbones and extra skin, the odd scar littered here and there ruining her darker completion, pale not being in her vocabulary. Her fingers are adorned with golden rings, same goes for her ears where golden earrings dangle in the bright lighting of the chandeliers. More gold has ben simply strewn over the mess of her hair, the style which is supposed to be elegant has had my head shaking even before.

The cuff on her bicep even though displays her prominent muscular and athletic figure highlighting her arms is unnecessary, as is the leaf belt around her waist that makes her hips look wider. I’m sure there’s plenty of men lusting after her plump figure alone. I bet her flesh is soft, and easy to hold onto, the covered-up skin probably littered with more scars that seem to litter her every inch of her body. Unlike most people she shamelessly displays them.

What irks me, and leaves me in complete puzzlement is the sword that’s strapped to her hip. I’ve been told she’s a swordswoman, and that she has had the training of it as I’ve stumbled upon her and Yoongi hyung sparing one day randomly in the gym. The space is big and can have a boxing ring in it if we wish to, other activities such as practicing martial arts, and archery enabled by its spaciousness.

The already what looks like an exaggerated grin grows wider her animated looking speech bothersome. Her right hand is the one to move around fingers twitching, constantly touching the handle of her sword, awkwardly almost while her left hand is preoccupied with holding a glass that contains alcohol in it the content unknown to me. She’s the only one with a drink in hand making her even more obvious that she doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t belong with us.

And yet the prince seems to eat her right up with his eyes alone. He’s completely entranced by her. I don’t understand one bit as to why - she’s full of imperfections like I’ve said, the fact that she’s a foreigner isn’t the issue, but the word she chooses to say are at times very disrespectful as she doesn’t know better clearly her Korean obviously lacking while her mannerism are those of a child.

Still irked I tilt my head tongue darting over my teeth and cheek as I focus my gaze onto the man, the sound of my inner voice fading back, as the haze behind my eyes and fogginess that surround me starts to lift up. It would be way easier to close my eyes, but that would make it obvious that I’m trying to do something that I shouldn’t be doing.

As I blink a few times, I find myself in the prince’s shoes which are uncomfortable but he’s keeping that at the back of his mind. He notes how she’s so small and fragile looking compared to him, easily to take, steal away if it were the older times. Okay old man.

She’s just like a child! So excited and clumsy, its adorable. That sword on her hips must be a mere toy. Something to add sparkle and value to her in a sense. But the display of it does raise questions; Why did Min Yoongi let her wear that? And the style of it, very much so foreign to our own Geom’s and sword styles in Korea.

He probably dressed her up himself, given that she’s absolutely drenched in his bitter scent. Ugh mint. I’ve grown to absolutely hate it as it’s a reminder of him whenever the scent hits my nose. If it weren’t for him, I’d be king, and all these fools and idiots would have already been kissing my feet.

So why is he displaying her off like this? He has staked his claim, but hasn’t marked her. It must be a bribery? No Min wouldn’t stop so low he’s too prideful for that.

Look at her go, rising chuckles from my chest with almost ease which is sort of unusual how her humour seems to be in tune with my own. Even though she’s more than meets the eye, she’d be fun to play around with. Tie her down, or simply hold her as she’s useless against my strength...then use all her holes us, and drain her…fuck what would I give for a taste of her blood. Even though the mint covers her up, her own sweetness has started to seep through. She smells like the freshest batch of strawberries, mint ruining it into acidness. I want to ruin her…

A backhanded hit over the back of my head, brings me accidentally to another place in the Prince’s mind, seeing the image of the human girl being tied up inhumanely, and him fucking her. The scene has my stomach churning and if I was still human, I’d be throwing up right here and now. If my blood was ice cold before it quickly warms up, as that’s no way to threat any woman or man for the matter human or no. As I blink rapidly coming back to my own stiff body, I offer a glare towards the Prince one last time before turning to a fuming Seokjin hyung that’s glaring at me hand still holding onto the back of my neck, with an underlaying treat resting heavily between us.

‘’Are you fucking crazy?!’’ he hisses pupils starting to glow more prominently red as his anger rises. Only now I notice Yoongi hyung on my left, that’s neutrally staring at me clearly disappointed but there’s this sort of glimmer in his eye that I can’t exactly read ‘’Out of all the things we’ve told you not to do and you go straight ahead and spit in our faces?!?’’ his anger is basically radiating in waves from him, as he leans in closer to me to my neck, hand tightening forcing me to hold my head still.

Taehyung was quick to move and stand in line of sight trying to block out anyone from seeing what’s going on where we are near the balcony that has remained unusually unoccupied this evening.

‘’It was me.’’ Yoongi replies neutrally. It’s that sort of neutral that’s plainly terrifying as you cannot know what direction his emotions are swinging at. Even though he is my creator, my saviour and the one I’m closest to in our coven, he is after all a very old creature that with only a stare can make anyone cry and flee ‘’My order.’’ He adds eyes finding my own, voice easily filling my mind.

Is there anything you’d like to share with me? his face remains the same, whilst Seokjin lets go off me and steps away, angrily mumbling under his breath. With a glance towards Yoongi and a barely there nod Taehyung is scurrying away after Jin, meanwhile Hoseok hyung is quick to join us out of thin air it seems, settling himself on Yoongi’s right keeping an eye out.

Readjusting my clothes and posture I offer a glance towards the Prince and Y/N that’s down’s her glass and makes a goofy expression looking like she’s having the time of her life. Ignorant fool.

He wants to steal her. Literally. turning to the platinum blonde vampire he sighs heavily through his nose looking forward with his eyes narrowed.

What else?’

My lips tighten into thin lines the blonde woman from before coming into my line of sight. Shit. Cursing further I turn to the pair in the middle of the room again, watching as the prince daringly leans closer, the girl to my surprise dodging his touches, his hand now and then reaching out seemingly casual Her sword. I admit trying hard to push down the image of the two of them, and the way he wants to torture her for his own pleasure He hates your scent. But hers is starting to come out more which has him all the more curious and wanting.

Frowning as disgust raises again, I keep my eyes on the elder on my right, not missing the way his lips tug downwards. He looks displeased.

‘’Hoseok-ah.’’ With a single word and a look, Hoseok rushes away, disappearing as if he wasn’t even here in the first place. As I turn forward to look across the room ready to observe thoughts of certain vampires the blonde catches my eyes again. She’s standing much closer now but has been roped into another group of females that are clearly gossiping way to loud for their own good. Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at me as of saying ‘Help.’.

‘’Your punishment will be decided on tomorrow.’’ Yoongi speaks monotone getting my attention. I quickly lower my head down in understanding, hands pulling behind my back as I take a step behind him ‘’Even though you’ve earned a pass, your actions have earned Jin hyungs anger.’’ He spares me a glance but I don’t lift my head and gaze from my shoes, the leather polished so that it reflects the closes chandelier to us in them ‘’Taehyung-ah will take care of your position while you join Namjoon and Jimin.’’

Instantly I grind my teeth together, wanting to retort back a denial but know better than to go against him especially where anyone can hear and see us in a crowd like this.

‘’So much for waiting for tomorrow.’’ I grumble squaring my shoulders, picking up on soft patting of feet the person I want to burn in hell approaching us. Hyung doesn’t reply, just keeps looking ahead instead even though I know I rubbed him the wrong way with my comment. But he also knows how I detest her. It really is a cruel punishment as he’s putting her safety onto my shoulders. I hate this so much, ugh why me?!

I was supposed to be Yoongi’s hyung backup. I was supposed to start learning to be his left-hand man, as Hoseok is always there when he needs him. But no, she had to fuck it all up didn’t see? Just by coming here she fucked up years of progress I’ve made. Years of hard work to be the best, in all categories that hyung needs me to excel at.

‘’Hello gentlemen.’’ She cheers gleefully completely unaware of what’s happening. Looking up she spares a wide grin and proceeds to drink more of her newly refiled glass, a waiter following her around since the start.

‘’Aren’t you being a bit careless with the amount of alcohol intake?’’ Yoongi asks sounding soft and affectionate, as she smacks her lips which are coloured into a nice pinker shade, that complement the soft pastel tones of her makeup. So annoyingly human.

‘’Me careless never.’’ She snorts giggling ‘’I’d offer a toast but given your current lack of beverage, I’ll keep on trooping on for the both of us.’’

‘’How courageous of you.’’

Another puzzling matter is the amount of alcohol intake. I know humans drink, but isn’t this too much? It’s getting to a lethal point for her livers at this point ‘’Continuing on my legacy firmly.’’

My frown deepens as Yoongi chuckles half amused ‘’Did you enjoy your chat with your newest admirer?’’

At this I spare him a glance. His expression hardens but he isn’t giving anything off his expression and posture relaxed and well masking his real emotions while she on the other hand muses and obviously turns back toward the Prince, that’s already staring towards us, offering a smirk. She hums and turns back crossing her right arm over her front while she bends her left holding the glass up near her face the posture making her look ridiculous as she fake toasts, the Prince mimicking the gesture right back.

‘’Very much so, he’s quite charming.’’ She confirms her eyebrows jumping expression seemingly too happy for her to actually be normal. How can she be so cheerful and easy going? Again, with the animal references but she’s a lamb set right now in a den of lions, ready to be devoured. She’s acting so oblivious, she is oblivious idiotically so, her attitude and the way she’s acting want me to tear out my hair.

‘’Did he ask you about your heritage?’’ at this question I furrow my brows as I look at hyung in confusion. Why is he asking her that? For sure he has paid attention to every word they’ve exchanged like everyone else so why the unnecessarily of talking about this out loud??

‘’Yes.’’ She taps the handle of her sword visibly ‘’But he didn’t get the memo quite yet. He did compare me to a princess nonetheless. I should add that to my resume.’’ Her voice that’s this dreamy aspect to it. Another sip of the bubbly liquid she tilts her head to the side smirking at hyung. The next word she speaks I cannot even phantom to pronounce or repeat - it sounds almost like she is making a sound, which for a moment I assume she just burped or something, but Yoongi hyung nods curtly. Did she just speak in another language?

‘’Oh!’’ she states in wonder turning around as music starts to play louder now the hired coven that acts as a smaller performing orchestra coming to life with a lively tune. Couples are quick to line up in the middle of the room, ready to dance ‘’How wonderful.’’ she mumbles to herself continuing to sip on her drink. With her back to me, I’m drawn by the expanse of her back the dip of her dress reaching just where her kidneys are. Harsher looking scars litter her skin, which are confusing by all means. They are long and overlapping. That must have taken a long time to heal. It almost makes me flinch.

Yoongi’s silence gets my attention and a desperate wish to peek into his mind, to see what storm is brewing there.

‘’Remember that one time, when you asked me to dance on your own free will??’’ the girl wonders sounding reminiscent while the vampire moves to stand in front of her. I feel as if I’m intruding the moment, so given my new position I walk over to the side, to a giant column that’s keeping the heavy roof intact above us. I’m close enough to them to intercept anyone, and far enough to stop any danger. But instead of focusing on my surroundings I listening in onto the two.

‘’…you’re not getting that. Even if you drag me.’’ hyung finishes amused, standing closer to her. Way too close that’s necessarily, the proximity bothering me. She’s going to give him a bad rep and he’s just letting her. I am surprised I have to admit, about the lightness of their conversation having fully expected them to start talking between one another in the foreign tongue that nobody knows about, which they usually converse in.

‘’Aigo Yoongi-yaah! Stubborn as ever!’’ I close my eyes for a moment just breathing in an out, my mood sour-ing all the more. Even though I’ve told her myself many times, that when addressing your elders, you need to call them appropriately she still goes against it acting dumb and continues to call hyung in a belittling way.

I don’t understand why he doesn’t correct her! Why is he letting her act like that? If it were any of us, we’d be dismembered, missing a limb for a few years. (Not us necessary I’ve seen him cause pain to lesser vampires that were causing too much chaos in the human world)

‘’It’s just one dance.’’ She tries hand sneaking around his waist the contrast between her brighter colour and his darker blue shaded Gonryongpo is a huge contrast furthering on her difference from us.

‘’It’s been centuries since I’ve danced this waltz. Can’t even remember certain steps.’’ he entertains her further. Ever since she came, I’ve seen him smile more times than I have ever before I feel like. Whenever she’s around him, there’s always a somewhat smile on his face.

‘’I’ll lead, it’s not like I’d be the first time.’’ she whispers as they both chuckles.

‘’Running an imaginary headache there Jeongguk-ah?’’ I glance up towards Namjoon hyung who smiles at me clearly loving my suffering.

‘’You could say that.’’ Looking at the girl, she’s basically nuzzling into Yoongi’s side not minding the many curious looks others are giving her in passing. Or plainly staring at the pair. I try to relax my features understanding Namjoon’s subtle words, in correcting myself my concentration having gotten the better of me.

‘’It can’t be that bad.’’ He pats me over the back reassuringly, eyes darting towards our hyung and the girl that finishes her drink once more.

‘’How can she drink so much?’’ I find myself asking silently not wanting her to hear me ‘’She’s practically killing herself as we speak.’’ Looking up at Namjoon his eyebrows are furrowed as he silently nods. He’s the one that’s most fascinated with humans out of all of us, and has studied human medicine for a lifetime a decade ago. So, he must know better than me, that her eating and drinking habits are unhealthy ‘’Ugh.’’ I groan as she slips and starts conversing in another language, Yoongi seemingly easy to follow along a concentrated expression drawing itself on his face.

‘’Pretentious.’’ I grumble, while Namjoon looks absolutely fascinated ‘’Don’t.’’ I warn as he looks between them and me, gaze fleeting for a moment as he smiles.

‘’This must be…’’ he counts on his fingers but ends up pointing a 5 in his mind ‘’…language that she seems to be fluent in. That’s utterly fascinating.’’ I can see how the wheels are spinning in his mind, picking up on She must be a linguist, that’s why Yoongi called her for this gathering.

His thoughts sort of do make sense. My gut feeling tells me otherwise, doubt quick in questioning Namjoon’s logic for I think the first time in my life. Her being human doesn’t make any sense, for her to still be here.

‘’I’m sure you’d be a better choice for that.’’ I point out ‘’Or me for the matter.’’

He immediately tsks crossing his arms as he stands more on my side, looking at me incredulously ‘’Jeon Jeongguk are you jealous?’’ he asks my gaze getting captured by the blonde woman again, having reached only a few steps away, waving at me a moment later getting roped in chatting with a girl similar to her. Both of them glance towards me and end up giggling.

‘’Never of her.’’ my reply is instant as I turn to glare at hyung in anger, his demander sort of knowing and confident.

‘’Hm sure. Whatever you say maknae.’’ He teases but straightens up once Yoongi approaches us, glancing after Y/N that has sat on the couch behind us. She frowns once she’s down, but accepts another refill the waiter dutifully doing his job.

‘’The meeting is going to start soon.’’ Hyung starts which has us both straightening up, and at attention ‘’I want you with me, I still need to go greet the Jeju coven and given that they’ve taken a liking to you…’’ he trails off smirking both of them exchanging looks. I expect the seriousness that settles over hyungs features once he turns to me, his dark red eyes fixating on me the feeling of him reading into my soul present for a brief moment ‘’Keep an eye on her. And be nice.’’ the last part is a warning because he doesn’t even spare me another glance. He’s moving away with Namjoon hyung that’s getting his head in the game mind elsewhere. I’m sure he’ll come and talk to me later in the morning after all this ordeal is done. I can’t really chase the feeling away of being unwanted for a moment.

‘’Many thanks, truly but I will have to continue with politely declining your requests.’’ Her voice is easy to pick up on as I’m left almost alone with my brothers mingling everywhere around the room and nowhere in my sight.

Taking in a deep breath I turn around spotting at least 3 men offering their hands over to the human, that has a rosiness to her cheeks at their advances.

‘’Just one quick dance, m’lady.’’ One tries persistently making me scowl and approach them. They do look at me, one straightening up immediately while the two others scoff.

‘’The lady already politely declined you already. Don’t turn yourselves into gossip for others by getting rejected thrice more, gentlemen.’’ I point out standing on her left, making sure I’m acting as a shield. The men eye me one insinuating that he’s going to do something more in his mind. But he does take a step back nodding, the two following as they offer their greetings and start to walk away. As I watch them give me the stink eye, I don’t miss the blonde that keeps appearing in my eyesight. Again, she has that innocent expression on, but this time she tilts her head to the side a clear invitation to move elsewhere more private.

‘’Thank you for that.’’ Her more croaky voice pips up. I spare her a glance, as she slumps against the couch again, her sword laid improperly over the couch and her lap ‘’Yoongi-ah told me to be nice so…’’ she trails off quietly for the first time this evening looking exasperated. But only for a moment as her lips quirk up, as a pair passes us bowing down offering a greeting going along and away.

‘’Don’t mention it.’’ I mumble slipping my hands into my trousers again the itch on following the blonde kind of present, but I’ve fucked up enough this evening to keep still and do as I was told.

‘’So, are you having any fun?’’ again she addresses me, and I don’t really see the point in this small talk. Because it’s coming from her mainly. It sounds unfair and mean but I’m getting really tired of her.

‘’Sure.’’ I find myself replying stoically as I look around, returning a smile or nod here and there, spotting some of my friends that are strewn around in the crowd.

‘’You know…’’ she starts and pauses. For a moment I get an image that she’s choking silently which has me turning sideways to look at her. But she’s just sitting there a bit un-lady like her legs spread instead of folded which she does after my brief thought ‘’…if you want to go chase after the blonde you can. I’ll be fine on my own.’’ At this I raise an eyebrow in question startled that she actually noticed that ‘’She seemed nice. Even asked about you.’’ At this new information my eyes raise to the crowd, spotting her wine-red dress near the entrance of the balcony on my sharp right.

‘’You’ve talked to her?’’ I frown turning back to the human, her lipstick that has gotten smudged all the more irks me immediately. Must have rubbed of the glass too much. She should stop drinking.

‘’Uh huh.’’ she replies licking over her lips, my eyes darting onto her own finding her staring straight at me. They look so…normal. Her eyes. So plain so, boring. It’s the first time that I’m actually standing so close to her, and yes, I’ve once been a human myself this shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does – it intrigues me more – but her eyes seem beautifully normal. ‘’She approached me initially having figured I’m with you only after Hoseok addressed me casually.’’ To her boring explanation I offer her a curt nod and turn to the crowd while she takes another sip of her drink ‘’So you can go to her, I’m sure Jiminie or someone else will be here to replace you instantly. Yoongi-ah worries too much, he always has a plan B, C, D, E and so on in mind.’’

I faintly smile at the statement for the first time agreeing with her. Hyung is very organized and ready for anything, partially thanks to Namjoon, but I bet his experience shaped him into who he is today. As for her I’m not so sure. She’s acting way to reckless right now even more than she does when it’s just us. She almost broke one of Bernini statues that Yoongi hyung is very proud of, that’s located in his study. How she did that exactly as it weights tons don’t ask me, the screaming match they’ve gotten into has left us all wondering in confusion as to how and why.

Again, breaking limbs isn’t uncommon to teach younglings lessons, but his way of dealing with her was to after the screaming match as over - rolled his eyes at her and pushed her out taking her to get ice cream. ICE CREAM!!! A child is what she is!!! Even if her mortal age is above twenties, she acts as if she’s 9. Even children of 5 are more respectful than she is.

‘’Are you trying to get rid of me?’’ I find myself asking as she shifts behind me, nails tapping over the metal. I can hear how her heart beat is slightly rushed thanks to the alcohol, her breathing remaining steady.

‘’Hm, not at all.’’ she replies quietly. I can feel her eyes on me, and I refuse to look back at her keeping my eyesight ahead. The Prince comes in sight as he finishes the dance with one of the many mistresses her has, or concubine I’m not sure what title to use with anyone anymore ‘’You’re the realest one tonight to be honest.’’ I can hear her whisper to herself clearly taking another sip after. Glancing back, she picks herself up not faltering as I’d assume, she would. She steps forward standing next to me expression serious and for a moment calculating as she scans the room. Thanks to the high heels she has on, she actually stands taller next to me. Even without them she stands tall, at a sort of an average length – it isn’t enough to tease her for her height.

The heels add an edge to her ‘’Ugh I’m too sober for this.’’ She complains silently at the Prince that starts approaching us. Luckily enough he gets distracted by another lady that literally steps in front of him. Glancing at the human girl her smile falters, eyes meeting my own ‘’If it were up to me right now I’d be upstairs, settled in that gods-sent fluffy bed and would have a controller in my hand, just annihilating one person after another either in Overwatch or I don’t know. Maybe replay Last of us.’’ At this revelation I look her up and down whilst she greets the waiter with a grin who hands her a new glass instead.

So, she plays games huh. Wouldn’t peg her to be the type but what do I care. I’m sure I’d beat her with ease, she has nothing on me.

‘’And what would you do, if I was there right next to you?’’ comes a flirty remark from an orange haired Jimin hyung that offers Y/N a golden tube of lipstick that probably matches the one on her lips. Only now I notice upon taking a closer look how her lips despite the fade-ness in the middle, how plump they actually look. Bite-able.

‘’That depends.’’ Y/N remarks back accepting the lipstick and small mirror handing him her glass, which he takes a sniff of ‘’Where would you exactly be? Next to me? Behind me?’’

I roll my eyes at her poor attempt of flirtation scrunching my nose up ‘’Why under you of course.’’ Ghhhhhhh.

She simply muses for a moment in silence, probably giving him a flirtatious smirk or something, which is a grimace I bet. With the corner of my eye I half watch as she opens up the lipstick ‘’Hm interesting proposition. Unrealistic but courageous in attempt. You think you could handle me?’’

I want to facepalm so hard it’s not even funny. Jimin the bastard he is giggles like a little girl almost, watching her intently, whilst I spot the blonde again talking with another guy, that’s clearly showing interest into her. Fuck.

‘’Oh, little mortal there’s not that much to handle from what I can see. I think I’ll take my chances without a second thought.’’ He shamelessly ogles her.

‘’Are you willing to bet on that then, Jiminie? Stick to your words?’’ she dares back. I spare him a glance surprised at seeing him faltering. Her head is angled in a way where I can’t see her expression, but I can see that she isn’t necessarily smiling. Huh.

He visibly gulps ‘’You’re trying to raise the stakes, aren’t you?’’ he muses confidence having faltered, so he settles for a cute approach smiling exaggeratively for a moment ‘’All or nothing, huh darling?’’ he’s putting out all his cards, posses, smiles, and the looks he gives her. And yet I know for sure somehow that she has him hocked around her finger. All done with a single look nonetheless. Not a lot of creatures let alone humans can get to him and here she just did. He is a touch but to crack so to speak.

‘’All or nothing.’’ she repeats recapping the lipstick and is quick to hand both items back to the pink haired man, accepting her drink back ‘’From what I just saw I’ll choose the latter, kitten.’’ The remark has me rising an eyebrow power balance shifting. Knowing very well that Jimin is a switch and that it sometimes takes him only a word or a motion to render him putty this is highly amusing and interesting indeed. And I think judging by the silence, she broke him sort of. Glancing towards him yeah if he was human, he’d be blushing all over, the puppy eyes telling me everything I need to know.

‘’Let’s get this show on the road boys.’’ she comments off handed. I miss completely as people start to gather around the middle and end up clapping, the orchestra being thanked for the wonderful tunes, a speech from the Prince ensuing. All the while I stare as Y/N down’s her drink, and gulps it like its water. Getting a whiff, I’m seriously questioning her will for life. That’s the scent of strong clean, vodka with a hint of peach in it.

She smacks her lips again and turns to me ‘’Do I look okay?’’ she asks the question completely flabbergasting me. But I do automatically take her in, head to toe. Her dress is still in place not even wrinkled. And this close up, I can see more scars which don’t deter me away anymore. The gold on her fingers, the rings add elegance to the look more completing it, and the earrings are a cheery on top not glinting much under the lighting up close. Her hairstyle the messiness I understand it, and same goes for the gentle touch on her makeup.

Looking at her lips they look perfectly drawn and arched. I dumbly nod instead, taking a glance at her sword. The blade being a kopis, has the handle curved the detailing on the grip is shaped as a pouncing lion the underside of the guard has a winged horse on each side the wings sort of creating the handle . This is the heritage they’ve talked about as the blade is traditionally Greek. She’s turning away faster than I can assess her weapon further more. I watch as she puts on a smile, letting out a heavy breath and hands of her glass to the waiter that’s ready to refill her glass.

She offers him a silent thank you, and then steps forward. It takes me a nudge from Jimin to register that I should follow after her. So, keeping up a distance but remain relatively close I mingle into the crowd keeping her at the corner of my eye at all times noticing the way the draping of her dress elegantly seems to float behind her.

I join in the clapping as we come to a stop reaching the middle of the room. I’m surprised to see Yoongi her and remain standing in the back watching as the human steps right over to his side, bowing respectfully to the elder coming from Jeju that’s the closest one next to her.

The murmurs that raise, confirm my hunch – nobody is protesting her position in their lines but they are all questioning it. Out of the gathered mass my friend Yugyeom makes and appearance across us trying lowkey to keep a surveillance of the room, but he ends up looking straight at me. Crossing my arms, I shake my head amused at his fresh blood so to speak. I know he has been put in charge of protecting, their coven’s linguist Jackson. He simply smirks in return and disappears into the crowd. The other linguist or advisors’ steps next to their elders same as Y/N did while the Prince continues on telling a war story, probably meant to inspire everyone and instead I bet it has everyone wanting to stab him or someone else to end his miserable tale.

‘’…for the future!’’ he ends his speech soon after but not soon enough. The claps arise once more, while the elders start moving towards the end of the room, where a door will lead them into another room which happens to be our grand library, expanding up into the second floor as well.

One by one they make their way inside, the Prince getting distracted by his own advisor standing near the back. But I think for the most part everyone’s attention is situated on the only being that’s not of our kin in the room. The human accepts Yoongi’s offered arm, wrapping her own around his as they follow everyone else ignoring the rumours and different expressions offered towards them.

If I had a heart, I think it would be beating out of my chest by now. My body doesn’t necessarily lack all human traits but the stillness keeps emotions hidden luckily more times than not – I feel the heaviness settle in my stomach like a boulder invading my senses. For some reason I get a bad, bad feeling about this. My anger returns as this just crosses all the lines doesn’t it. And by some snarls once the two of them pass the doors lets me know I’m not feeling this alone.

My friend’s presence next to me, stops me from reacting too strongly like some vampires do hisses and protests rising. We both watch in silence and with frowns as the party mood turns tense. Some of the more mature meaning older vampires start to protest loudly, some going towards the doors where Taehyung has settled himself, along with mainly Prince’s extra guards. There’s an official speaker that’s been left outside trying to calm and charm the defiant bunch. Hoseok and Jimin hyung aren’t far away trying to get the party started once more doing a way better job than the assigned guy. Jin and Namjoon entered the meeting as well, leaving the responsibility onto us; mine being mainly security and basically manhandling if someone turns out to act too unruly.

‘’Interesting developments.’’ Yugyeom comments quietly. Glancing over at him, the turtleneck he has on wants me to make fun of him, but this situation prevents me from doing so. Dressed all in black and with freshly dyed black hair, he looks aged somewhat. The fluorescent yellow hair he had not even a month ago made him look younger.

‘’Uh huh.’’ I simply hum tearing my eyes away from the doors and crowd ‘’I’m surprised you’re still here.’’

Sparing him a glance my friend doesn’t seem phased at my question, just snorting in response at first keeping an eye out as I do too ‘’Gotta earn my place in due time.’’ I tilt my head to the side briefly rising my head up as I smirk knowing those words all too well myself ‘’So what’s this whole infuriation thing going on with the flesh bag?’’ he asks, motioning for me to start walking. The nickname he uses for the human strikes a weird chord deep withing me. I keep silent at first, as we make our way towards the other side of the room, and the balcony that’s closest to the library. No guards are settled here, which makes it seem as a lack of good strategy having been put in place. Anyone can jump through the windows to get the elders attention – this is getting strange and not in a good way.

The terrace is illuminated by the outdoor lights, as well as the half of the moon that’s glowing above us. The chilliness of the air is welcomed, even though I literally can’t differentiate temperatures as much as I did when I was a human in a sense of them bothering me.

‘’Rumours are already spreading.’’ The vampire next to me says keeping his tone down, as he leans against the railing, offering me a cocky smirk. I frown at him, turning my back to the gardens while I glance towards the library. The wall has been built in a way that you can barely see inside. And right now, the curtains have been drawn close. So, I glance inside at the calmed down vampires, spotting newcomers. It’s easy to detect their fastened heart beats, excitement rising. The main course of the night has arrived.

‘’Oh, do tell.’’ I grunt again spotting the blonde that seems to be haunting me this whole evening. She’s dancing with a human male, that’s almost literally slobbering over her.

‘’Where to start.’’ Yugyeom chuckles clearly amused ‘’Some say, she’s just a new pet Yoongi hyung found. Some have the impression of her being his concubine seeing her skin so battered. Others speculate that the scars are from fighting, as in some being former fighting and even sword wounds. The huge scaring on her back someone said is from whipping which isn’t it kinky ey?’’ he wiggles his eyebrows snapping his fingers, acting ridiculous.

My brows furrow at new gossip, and his words and implications. Fighting wounds? Whips. I know how whips feel, how whipping…how…

With some difficulty I swallow the lump in my throat. I can’t find myself imagining her being whipped, it just doesn’t make sense. She’s to chirp and loud and, full of life to have been put through something traumatic such as whipping. The rock in my gut just seems to have been set on fire, as nerves settle more prominently.

‘’Hah yeah.’’ I fake a smile which he does buy into it and continues on.

‘’Some are into the aspect of fucking her.’’ my lips go into a thin line as he says that cheerfully ‘’I think as a fetish more or less or something I’m not sure.’’ He pauses for a moment ‘’Do you think I can have a go at her too?? If hyung is willing to share her that is. Price and all included.’’ legitimately he looks eager and suddenly hungry pupils dilating slightly.

I simply glare at him the growl grumbling in my throat unexpected and has me freezing. But he gets the hint and raises his hands up a bright grin settling over his features ‘’No harm done bro! Understood loud and clear.’’ He even winks at me raising up a finger gun acting as bad as she does ‘’Man why do all exciting things happen to you and none to me?! It’s pretty boring sometimes. You should visit sometimes.’’ He’s quick to switch the conversation tension that has risen between us deflating halfway. But it’s still present.

I love Yugyeom I really do; we grew up together when we were humans so he’s more like a real brother to me. But right now, I’m finding myself disliking him, and the way he was led to think about Y/N. I’m the first person wishing for her to just leave us alone, but I would not want her to fall into the hands of these fuckers here. Everyone that attends these sorts of gatherings hold themselves way to fucking high up, as if they are royalty. In reality we all, came from dirt – and the ones that have not are pretentious pricks that have been handed things on golden platters unfortunately.  There’s no in between in our society.

Screams raise up from the inside, fright loud and clear in the air as the invited humans try to run away. Its soon after that moans replace the terror the flip quicker than the usual. Our guests were hungrier than they led on.

‘’When all of this excitement goes down I will.’’ I promise smiling feeling my shoulders relax as the scent of blood reaches my nose. It has my friend straightening up as well shifting from one foot to another ‘’We’ve got a bet to settle, don’t we?’’

He wiggles his eyebrows chuckling, pushing himself away from the railing ‘’Wanna end it now?’’ he challenges. The bet is ridiculous and downright douche-y. I won’t go into details right now, as the nerves of the mere thought of trying at it, does the opposite of exciting me.

I shake my head at him waving my hand in dismissiveness ‘’Next time. I’ve had my fill earlier today.’’ I lie smoothly. He must be really hungry because he nods and is backing away instead of trying to wrestle me inside.

‘’Your loss bunny boy.’’ I roll my eyes as he reaches the doors ‘’More for me!’’ and with that he’s out of sight easily catching a fleeting girl twirling her around. Not wanting to see what follows, I spare a glance at a man that has another one pressed against a column, draining him hands roaming all over the human’s body who looks like he’s in pure bliss.

Another pair has settled on the ground shamelessly grinding against one another. With a bitter taste in my mouth I turn my back to all of them, and lean onto the stone railing, looking across the garden. Even though there’s so much going on behind me, I do pick up on pitter-pattering of creatures ahead of us. There’s a forest not far away from our estate, the back gardens connected to it. So many creatures do have access and roam freely around it by daylight mainly, sensing us as we sense them.

The smell of blood, and heaviness of sex whisks past me, the mixed smells raising the all too familiar itch to start scratching at my throat insistently so. Even with years of self-discipline and learning control the hard way, by being chained up most times than not it’s hard to ignore my instincts. I do want to just run in, and sink my teeth into some girl, or guy to drink them dry. This is the only time where we can do it, as usually our food comes from donors these days.

What I don’t understand is why for the first time something is holding me back. The blood doesn’t smell right, its either to sweetened or bland. Same as the noises and screams; nothing in particular arouses me, not even my own thoughts of the blonde. Her red wine dress, tugged up legs spread wide open beneath me, as I take her right where I’m standing here it’s just…I bet she’d moan nicely and beg to be fuck hard to the point before breaking. Her eyes would glow nicely wouldn’t they…

But the glow feels wrong. Her flawless skin would match my own under my palms, it wouldn’t be heated up, or fleshy to grope. Same as her melodic tone, it wouldn’t be raspy like I want it to be. Her scent is probably all wrong too, I bet she smells nothing like strawb…

‘’There you are.’’ as if I’ve called her or have pulled her straight out of my mind she’s right there at the doors. Turning around I raise an eyebrow upon seeing her, dragging another human girl that’s panting and has a leash around her neck. She visibly shivers at the change of temperature but the blonde pays her no mind ‘’You’re a hard man to catch.’’

Smirking I straighten up half turning around watching as she licks a bold stripe up the human girl’s neck making a show of it ‘’Hard to believe that. I wasn’t hiding or running away from you.’’

She muses pursing her lips, as she stands on the humans left side groping her whilst her eyes are hungrily taking me in ‘’Duty before pleasure I presume.’’

‘’Afraid so.’’ I nod in return, as the blonde whispers something in the girl’s ears. She moans hungrily eyeing the blonde that pushes her against the wall and shushes her down promising to do filthy things to her. It doesn’t take much for the human to comply, her hands flying under the skirt of her dress eyes shutting closed. My attention remains on the blonde instead as she turns around and approaches me still musing.

‘’Politics are such a bore.’’ She states standing next to me, looking across the garden ‘’Like life sometimes.’’ Looking at her she looks up at me curiously ‘’But I bet you can’t say the same.’’

‘’Hmm define the word boring.’’ I tease back her lips quirking into a smirk.

‘’Ah you know the usual. Feed, seduce, feed more and so on so on.’’ she replies stepping closer to me ‘’Now you’re turn.’’ Her hands are quick to rank up my suit jacket, nails a contrast that doesn’t go together with my outfit.

‘’Not much difference. Feed, train, feed more and train a bit more.’’ I almost neutrally reply, holding in my breath as he hands reach just beneath my collarbones abandoning my suit jacket in favour of testing out how firm my chest is.

‘’Hard to believe there’s nothing more, exciting to fill up your schedule.’’ Her eyes meet my own. And same as in my day dream, they glint briefly brightly red. She is laying all her cards on the table. And I’ve waited all night for this to happen. Granted I wanted to chase her down, like a gentleman but she’s here either way in my grasp.

Straightening up, I place my hands over her hips keeping silent for a moment further as I slide them shamelessly to grip her ass, the action having her breathing hitch. It doesn’t feel all that nice. Leaning down, I hover inches away from her thin lips shaded into a matching colour to her dress.

‘’There’s a possibility I like keeping that part of it to myself.’’ at this she arches an eyebrow showing of her sharp teeth as she smiles. As I intake a breath her scent fills my senses completely. She smells like roses, and butterscotch the combination wanting to be sweet and yet – I don’t find it nice.

It lacks that real tender sweetness, and fruitiness.

‘’Do you reveal it to only a handful of people then perhaps?’’ she breathes out eyes glowing brightly red, as I tug her left thigh upwards pressing her to myself shifting so that she can’t exactly feel me against her. I’m not hard at all. Not even semi-hard. Okay maybe a tiny bit but it’s worrisome that I’m not feeling any attraction to her anymore.

I take a look at her up and close trying to get my body to react, or convince myself to at least think that’s she’s attractive. Her blonde hair seems fake up close, features way too symmetrical and off putting for whatever reason. Her makeup is heavily put on, lines not visible. Glancing down at her body and how she’s pressed against me…the hold I have on her…it’s lacking. She’s very plain. The perfection I praised not long ago, is now just dull and uninteresting.

‘’We can share.’’ She adds probably detecting my hesitance ‘’Kitten won’t mind it once bit.’’ the nickname she uses throws me off further. Even though I do look at the human girl that’s shamelessly uncovered her lower part and is rubbing herself for us to see, moans filling the night air – it’s not convincing enough. I’d rather take the human girl for myself instead of sharing.

Grunting I let go of the blonde’s leg realizing in the back of my mind that I don’t even know her name. She looks at me with furrowed brows, as I take half a step away distancing myself.

‘’Found you!’’ a voice sings cheerfully from the doors. Both of us look towards the orange haired male, that grins widely, his mouth smeared in red ‘’Oh what do we have here.’’ He’s quick to skip over to the human, taking her in ‘’Yah Jeongguk-ah you are so selfish.’’ He pouts, running his hands over the trembling girl’s side.

‘’Jimin-ssi when I told you to beat it, I meant it. With all due respect.’’ Blondie pips up crossing her arms and looks annoyed while my hyung remains playfully touching the human girl, that’s panting louder.

‘’C c c Dahyun-ah. That’s so mean coming from such a sweet girl like yourself.’’ He pouts crowding behind the girls back. He hocks his chin over her shoulder as he gives us puppy eyes. I smirk at his antics thanking him quickly in my mind, that he was so quick to answer my call not even 2 minutes ago. Given by the silence of the blonde – or apparently Dahyun he has her hocked.

‘’Why don’t you teach her some manners hyung?’’ I propose crossing my arms as I lean back against the railing. She turns to look at me stunned mouth opening to say something, but Jimin in a bat of an eye is right there crowding into her space blocking her view away from me.

‘’I really should, shouldn’t I?’’ he growls lowly hand reaching under her chin to keep her focus on him ‘’You think you can handle it baby doll?’’

I frown instantaneous turning away eyes trailing off to the library, mind switching to the image of Y/N. Those are almost the same words that she used to tease him. Turning back to the two, they have ended making out – plain and simple. But once he opens his eyes and grins, she continues licking at him like an animal trying to get every trace of blood from his chin and cheek.

Jimin doesn’t say anything just sends me a wink and a I owe you one Jeonggukkie dragging both Dahyun and the human girl back inside in mere moments. He even closes the balcony door. A gentleman indeed.

My shoulders just sag, as I sit myself on the railing climbing over it, letting my legs hang over the edge as I stare at the moon at first watching as it lowers down slowly, orbiting around us.

What a stupid and weird night. I run my hands over my face trying to gather my thoughts that are in disarray. So much has happened, and still is happening. There are so many mysteries too, more than I thought there would be resolving one simple human. She should have stayed hidden upstairs away from everyone’s greedy gazes and thoughts, far away from the centre of anyone else’s attention. Rephrase that she should be here in the first place.

Saying she’s hyungs long term friend is stupid. I’ve known hyung over 190 years given that he was the one who saved and turned me. I’ve never seen her before; he never even mentioned her name or anything.

Even if he does have meetings in the city, there’s no way they could have hung out. Either of us would smell her on him, even if he did change clothes before coming home. Which we know he’s too lazy to go through that much trouble. He’s not hiding her away right now, meaning he didn’t give her a second thought then either.

There are so many questions to answer some completely illogical on their own.

Looking towards the library, nothing has changed. Not even the boulder in my stomach that weights me down. Something is about to happen. Changes are coming. She’s the initiator of it all. I just hope it’s not something of a downfall for us. It sure feels like it.

Part 1 / Part 2

Copyright 2020© by barbika1508. All rights reserved.

Dictionary: Wangseja - Crown prince, the son of the king who appointed as heir to the throne. Gonryongpo – Dragon Robe/ were the everyday dress of the emperors or kings of China, Korea Vietnam and the Ryukyu Kingdom. Samjeongdo - the sword given to newly promoted Korean military generals each year by the Ministry of National Defence. Kopis - a heavy knife with a forward-curving blade / the Ancient Greeks often used single-edged blades in warfare, as attested to by art and literature.

[dialux]

Oh man I just finished your Booker fic and it’s making me feel so many things, its so good!!! Also Booker having nightmares post-Quynh around the others after not having any for like a century? Oof

!!! That’s the good shit there, nonny! Top tier angst!! Sleep deprivation!!! All the things that make for the best stories!!!!

He startles awake, heart racing.

The details of the dream is already fading, but the after-effects are a fucking bitch and a half to manage: Booker’s wide awake, and jumpy enough to probably break the neck of the idiot that’s sneaking up behind him-

“It’s just me.”

“No just about it,” grumbles Booker, but his voice is thankfully low enough that the other three don’t wake. “Why’re you awake?”

“I don’t sleep well,” says Andy carelessly.

Booker swipes a hand over his eyes and gets up. Stumbles to the kitchen. He feels like such shit, and it’s almost beyond him not to dial into the shipping company and just… re-direct some of the downers to the shores of sunny Lima. Blitz out his locus coeruleus with enough norepinephrine that even his swift healing takes about four hours to fix it. Add another two hours of passing in and out of non-REM and Booker can claim to a proper six hours of sleep: it’s enough to survive. With the alcohol numbing him further, he can stretch that sleep out to eight hours on the really, really bad nights.

Absent the drugs, though, he needs other things to focus on. Their bodies can function on less sleep- the same way they can survive on less food- and Booker’s been experimenting with that for the past couple weeks.

It is not, as Joe’s told him multiple times, going well.

“Doesn’t mean you have to be the same.”

Booker pours out the coffee, mixes it with concentrate of yaupon holly, and then adds a shit-ton of sugar to the brew. Andy watches him with dark eyes, but he doesn’t offer it to her; the last thing they all need is a jumped-up six thousand year old warrior high on the strongest caffeine that Booker can, legally, get his hands on.

“What was the dream about?”

“Fuck if I know,” says Booker, and hisses out through his teeth as he drains half the cup. Christ but it tastes terrible, too bitter and too sweet in equal measure. Still, the trembling ache in his shoulders, tight about his ears, softens. “You know how it is. It’s not like I’ve got a paucity of nightmares. None of us do.”

“You’re the one waking up in the middle of the night.”

“And you’re the one not sleeping.”

“I’m used to it, though,” says Andy. 

Booker rolls his eyes. “Dream diaries don’t work. Talking about them doesn’t help. I have tried to literally rewire my brain and it isn’t happening. Turns out that being depressed and missing your family when you die makes it impossible for you to feel anything else.”

Andy rolls her eyes. “Just because you automatically accept the most depressing possible theory doesn’t mean that it’s the correct one, Book.”

“If I could go back in time,” Booker tells her, “I would seduce Nile’s mother and ensure that she remained heartbroken over the handsome French baker who disappeared into the clouds and therefore could not marry Nile’s father.”

“I assume there’s a point to that,” says Andy dryly.

“I liked you a hell of a lot better when you weren’t this fucking optimistic is the point,” says Booker. “And I know that it’s all Nile’s fucking influence. So.”

“So,” says Nile, grinning at him from the bedroom she’s just walked out of, “if I don’t exist, you’d be happier?”

“Your mother doesn’t know what she missed out on,” says Booker, and drains the rest of the brew.

…

A bridge of gold and laughter. A bridge as silver as his wife’s grey hair. A bridge, shining as a gun in broad daylight-

Booker wakes, gasping.

Coffee. Holly. Bitterness down his gullet. 

It’s not really new any longer, is it?

…

He takes a knife to the gut, and then sees another soldier sneaking up behind Andy. There’s no time; he’s still barely standing, much less able to voice a proper warning. Instead, Booker lets the intestines he’s clutching inside spill out in a dark, bloody slither. Stumbles. The soldier slips on the sudden viscera: Booker’s yanking his guts back into his own body, mouth open in a silent scream because it really, really hurts.

He wakes up, gasping.

…

He drowns, and drowns, and drowns.

He wakes up, gasping.

...

“Right,” says Nile. “You need help, Booker.”

“Fuck off,” says Booker. 

He’s on mile twenty-one of a marathon-esque circuit, and his body’s pretty much hitting the wall; he does not want to talk about his issues right now. Joe and Nicky have gotten tired enough of his grumpiness to escape to the city for the day, and Andy’s off on one of her personal missions that nobody knows any details about.

Booker hasn’t slept in about forty-one hours, and it’s not getting better.

It’s why he left the house and went on this run! It’s why he’s trying to drive his body into- well, not an early grave, but a grave nevertheless!

Booker regrets many things in life. Introducing Copley to Nile ranks high among them, especially after the little shit went and learned how to hack phones from a fucking CIA agent.

“I’m telling you this because you aren’t going to listen to anyone else,” says Nile. “And this seemed like a good time to make sure you listened. Look, Booker, there are things out there- therapists- courses, if you aren’t going to talk to anyone. You really, really-”

Booker rips out his headphones, takes the little molten sun that feels rather like something has ruptured in his chest, and pushes the energy into his legs. 

He sprints the rest of the way home. 

He’s pretty sure he’s ripped one of the muscles in his thighs with it, and the agony of that is enough for him to focus on something else apart from Nile. Who does not look impressed.

“You need help,” she says quietly, when he finally stops clutching at his own thigh and drops back into the mud and mulch of the garden.

Booker laughs. He laughs, and keeps on laughing, and only manages to stop by rolling over and suffocating himself in the roots of a fucking- plant. 

Probably a Cycus aculeata, which means that either Booker’s in the wrong hemisphere or Andy’s been introducing invasive species again because she misses her fucking girlfriend too much.

“Yeah,” he says, and sits up, already planning the lecture and the following plant-removal that he’ll have to do. Then he sees Nile’s face, and Booker pauses, reviewing what he’s just agreed to. “No,” he says. “I mean. Yes, I need help. That’s, like, the fucking- understatement of the century. Past two centuries. But. I’m not getting help from anyone else.”

Nile folds her arms over her chest. With the sun streaming right behind her, she looks like a goddess come to life: haloed, beautiful, the slightest bit unreal.

“That’s fine,” she says. “I’ll just ask Joe to become a therapist.”

“Sure,” snorts Booker. “And I’ll ask Andy to become a pacifist.”

Nile points a finger at him. “Don’t be mean.”

“Ask Nicky,” Booker advises her. “I mean, I don’t think you’ll get anywhere, but. You’re less likely to be laughed out of the room.” At her questioning look, he elaborates: “Idiot was a priest, back in the day. And, you know, all those people- well, priests were as close as you’d get to therapists before all of this psychology stuff came about.”

“Right,” says Nile warily. “So why do you think I’ll be laughed at? Nicky sounds like he’s good for the job.”

Booker stares at her. “What did the man do, the second he had a chance to leave?”

“Er. Leave?”

“He went on a fucking Crusade,” says Booker. “He killed people. He- well, you know, did the whole invader thing. Liked it, too. He only really stopped because he decided he liked Joe more, and Joe was, like, I’m not going to let you kill my people for fun anymore, and they worked out their excess energy by fucking in sand, because both of them are absolute idiots.”

Nile blinks at him. “So. Not a therapist.”

Booker grins at her, and knows it’s more of a baring of his teeth than anything comforting. “I guess your best bet is Andy, then.”

“I cannot believe I’m going to have to get a degree in fucking therapy because of you,” hisses Nile.

“I thank you for your sacrifice,” says Booker, and pats her on the shoulder gingerly.

He gets an armful of a furiously emotional Nile a moment later, hugging him so tight around the neck it feels like a throttling. Then she backs away, and goes into the house, leaving Booker in leaves and mulch and a burgeoning headache.

Fucking invasive species, he thinks, and wishes he’d never studied botany. Really. If he was just like Nicky and purposely uneducated in all the ecological implications, he could ignore it. But Booker had to go and study plants and try to synthesize his own compounds and get tangled up in ecology legislation in the 1980s, and so he knows, goddammit, and he’ll have to face Andy’s hangdog expression tonight when he serves up roasted cycad beside whatever Joe’s preparing for dinner.

Fuck my life, he thinks, but it isn’t half so sour as it might have been just a month earlier. Fuck my life, he thinks, and heads back into the house, whistling the whole goddamn way.

[astoriias]

{ cisgender woman, she/her } ❝ Thank god women learned to whisper / though I crave a megaphone. ❞ huh, who’s CAITRIONA BALFE? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually ASTORIA MALFOY (NEÉ GREENGRASS). she is a 47 year old PUREBLOOD witch who is CHIEF WARLOCK OF THE WIZENGAMOT. she is known for being JUDGEMENTAL, DISHONEST, COLD, RIGID, and CALLOUS but also PRACTICAL, DRIVEN, INNOVATIVE, STEADFAST and DISCIPLINED, so that must be why she always reminds me of the song TOMORROW - MINER and BLACK LEATHER BRIEFCASES, THE CLICK OF HIGH HEELS ON TILE FLOORS, THE LINGERING TASTE OF FAIRY FLOSS, BURGUNDY NAIL POLISH, AND PEARL HAIR PINS. i hear she is aligned with NO ONE so be sure to keep an eye on her. 

BIO

Cursed with a blood malediction that left her and her parents preoccupied with maintaining her health throughout early childhood, Astoria grew up without direction, without passion, and without much to do or think about other than staying alive. She did what she was told and completed what was asked of her by her parents: mostly swallowing thick potions that made her head spin and remaining in bed when all she wanted to do was tumble through the lush gardens of the Greengrass estate and scrape her knees like other children. As she grew older and defied Healers’ expectations — making it past 5, then 10, then 15 — Astoria grew weary of the half-life she’d been prescribed. At Hogwarts, she followed her sister Daphne into Slytherin because she didn’t know where else to go. 

It took Astoria almost a year at Hogwarts before she would speak up in class or acknowledge anyone with more than a handful of words — and each time she did her heartbeat would quicken, her face would flush. If she was called on by a professor and — Merlin forbid — got the answer wrong, her eyes would fill with tears, her gaze would shift to the floor, and she wouldn’t be able to breathe. One day, outside her second-year Transfiguration class, an annoying boy named Colin saw her heavy breathing and told her about panic attacks — Astoria’s irrational fear of social situations and new people now made sense.

That same annoying boy became her close friend not long after. It was a month into study sessions by the Black Lake that Astoria Greengrass learned that her Colin, the boy who kept a camera slung around his neck at all times and was so nice to her, was Colin Creevey, yes, that Colin Creevey, who was petrified by a Basilisk a year prior for being MUGGLEBORN. Astoria found that didn’t bother her very much. Sure, she never advertised that they were friends and didn’t freely associate with Colin in public places, but he understood her position or in the very least, didn’t protest it. She even got him to join Herbology club — though she insisted that they enter and exit the greenhouse at different times and never spoke directly, his presence was a comforting balm.

Colin tried to get her to join up with the student resistance that was brewing in her third year — but Astoria knew she wasn’t the type to stir up such trouble. She couldn’t stand with the muggleborns and blood traitors no matter how right they were; she couldn’t risk losing her family. Unlike those in Dumbledore’s Army, Astoria didn’t see this conflict in terms of black and white, good vs. evil — there were plenty of others like her, struggling to find themselves in the midst of conflict, battling tradition and family expectations. She kept out of Umbridge’s way during that time. Kept out of her father’s way during that time — while he had no Dark Mark to speak of, his entrepreneurial hands passed cursed objects and ingredients for poisons to any Dark Lord-aligned wix who wanted them.

Through her friendship with Colin and her time in Herbology Club, Astoria learned she was a talented witch in her own right. Formed an identity outside of being the sick girl everyone doted on. Quietly realized that her muggleborn classmates  — despite what her pureblood indoctrination taught her — were fully-fledged human beings. To someone who didn’t grow up feeling trapped in the (sometimes socially constructed) confines of a blood illness, perhaps her time in Herbology Club wouldn’t seem so transformative. But for Astoria, it was everything.

Nowadays, Astoria is still defying life expectancy estimations and is perhaps best known for her robust political career. She joined the Ministry as a pupil/intern in its Wizengamot Instruction in Magical Law Program (W.I.M.P.), and in the span of twenty-five years has climbed the ranks to barrister’s assistant, barrister, then Wizengamot member, and finally, the youngest Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot in the last hundred years. She is extremely opinionated about the runnings of the legislature and judiciary, and her past two years as Chief Warlock have been marked by her love for procedure, due process, and fairness -- essentially meaning trials are very thorough and very focused on making sure the Ministry doesn’t overstep its bounds. 

BLOOD MALEDICTION

i’m truly on my bullshit and this needs its own section..........,,,,, i’m sorry

I originally started writing Astoria out of pure spite — it enraged and continues to enrage me that all we’re given about this woman is a few lines about her and an off-page (or off-stage, I guess, but Cursed Child is its own beast) death. It makes me mad that she is only defined by her role as a mother and wife to Scorpius and Draco, that she doesn’t get her own ambitions and a life of her own. The racist and sexist underpinnings of the blood malediction/Maledictus concept are par the course for JK but still, bad!

And while I can’t choose for Astoria to have this particular chronic illness and completely divorce it from those origins, I can at least eschew parts of it I don’t like and give a Astoria a rich and fulfilling life with a chronic/potentially terminal illness — not in spite of the blood curse, but because those of us with illnesses and disabilities are people with rich and fulfilling lives, wants, desires, and ambitions.

AN IMPORTANT NOTE:  I try to be really careful about ableist language when I describe this blood malediction and its effects on Astoria’s life — I think that there is so much to explore regarding chronic illness and what, exactly, we constitute as ‘health’ — but I know that I can fall into the traps of my own internalized ableism. If there are terms or concepts here that make players uncomfortable and/or have harmful effects, let me know! I’m happy to make changes.

So anyway!

— origins of the blood malediction

I don’t have this fully worked out, but I think the Greengrass blood malediction stretches back a good ten generations to a very vindictive-in-her-righteous-cause-Muggleborn-witch cursing the family for their refusal to let her marry their son. It’s not limited to just the girls in the family, because I hate that, but it does affect at least one child per generation, so long as the family continues to marry exclusively purebloods — which they have continued to do, not knowing that their bigotry (though in some cases, real love!) is the reason for the curse’s spread. Astoria’s parents mistakenly believed that since the last few cases of the curse had cropped up in different branches of the Greengrass family — distant cousins living on the Continent — that their children would be spared.

— astoria’s symptoms and treatment

Since it’s a blood curse, I figure Astoria’s symptoms manifest as issues both with her blood and with her cardiovascular system at large. I’d compare it to haemophilia. Her blood itself is thin and cannot clot without healing spells and thickening potions, meaning that nosebleeds are frequent, bruising is easy, and bad cuts can be fatal. She’s at high risk for internal bleeding in her joints, and  a big — though often unvoiced fear — of hers is a brain aneurysm that ruptures into a haemorrhage.

(miscarriage tw) These symptoms have waxed and waned her entire life, with particular incidents that have brought her close to death; an accident falling from the garden wall at five, a wayward spell hitting her across the face in second-year DADA, trying for a child. She doesn’t regret that last one — not at all — though it was five weeks after her miscarriage before she was able to stand unassisted, and her Healer’s face when she said “I strongly advise you to not have any more children” haunts her to this day. Scorpius’s birth, possible due to a wonderful surrogate, was alternatively the happiest day of her life. (end miscarriage tw)

Then there come the potions — a barrage of them, to be taken at specific times of day, with extras if she’s bleeding externally or feeling pain in particular areas — that come with side effects like exhaustion, headaches, and nausea. She visits St. Mungo’s once every three months to ensure that the potions are working as intended and has learned to accept her Healers chastising her for the times she skips parts of the regimen or pushes herself too far physically.

PERSONALITY

astoria!!! my love. clearly i have a lot of thoughts and Feelings about her lol,,,,,,,

there isn’t any world or timeline in which astoria would be rushing to join the death eaters -- lol, i’ve always envisioned her being extremely inquisitive and Critical of other people, their motivations, their methods -- this makes her extremely Good at Lawyering and Suspicious of Bullshit. i also have always thought that it was important for her to make a muggleborn friend or two just to really hammer the point home that pureblood nonsense is just that.

still, again, she’s not really motivated by niceness, she doesn’t have a bleeding-heart-sense-of-empathy, she’s kind of snarky and mean. her friends describe her as an acquired taste. 

has a massive sweet tooth. her family is regularly concerned she does not eat enough vegetables.

adores her son. just, absolutely thinks he can do no wrong. she and draco agree that most parents think their child is the most perfect and amazing child in the world, but scorpius actually is the most perfect and amazing child in the world, so. 

a note on astoria and draco: i think draco doesn’t treat her with pity or kid gloves, and has never underestimated her capacity to get shit done in light of her blood curse. and they have an honesty and rapport with each other that astoria hasn’t been able to cultivate with anyone else. they may not be very great people but they’re great partners and great parents. i luv them ok bye

STATS

GENERAL

name. astoria céline malfoy (née greengrass)

nickname. aster (reserved for use by her sister only!)

birthdate. 1 january 1982

place of birth. greengrass residence via midwifery

family. daphne greengrass (sister), draco malfoy (husband), scorpius malfoy (son)

residence. malfoy manor, wiltshire

occupation. chief warlock of the wizengamot

gender identity. woman

romantic orientation. biromantic

sexuality. bisexual

blood status. pureblood

relationship status. married

pets. a scottish terrier named hades

HOGWARTS / MAGIC

house. slytherin

extracurriculars/leadership. herbology club

allegiance. neutral/no one

n.e.w.t. grades charms (o), transfiguration (o), herbology (o), d.a.d.a (a), potions (a), arithmancy, astronomy (o), history of magic (a), ancient runes (e).

wand. willow, nine inches, unicorn hair core

boggart. tbd

patronus. also tbd! my brain hurts 

magical strengths. nonverbal casting, herbology, transfiguration, ancient runes

magical weaknesses. flying, defensive spells, domestic spells

[along-came-atsushi]

Novel Recap: Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era

Chapter 1

After hanging up, I quickly stuffed the rest of the bread down my throat, then cut my Canadian bacon and scrambled eggs into thirds before inhaling them. I poured some freshly brewed coffee into my mug, tossed in a sugar cube with some cream, and drank it up all while slipping on my shirt arms-first. [...] I shaved, then put on some pants and hoisted my leather harness over my shoulders. It had holsters below my armpits, which I slipped my trusty 9mm handguns into. Finally, I tossed on my coat and left the house.

- Oh, nothing of importance here, I just wanted to share Odasaku’s kinda morning ritual with you. For uuuuuuhhhhh... scientific reasons, of course!

- Ok. The whole scene with Mori, Elise and Odasaku is even more uncomfortable in the novel than the anime.

“Our men were killed instantly after being hit with around ten to twenty 9mm rounds each.”

- People die if you kill them???!!!!

“Mr. Hirotsu, I don’t know why, but I was given the lofty position of executive, and when you’re an executive, you get subordinates whether you want any or not. But I can’t produce results with a bunch of sloppy flunkies. That’s why I cut the bad ones loose early. You should do the same.”

[...] In the Mafia, “cutting the bad ones loose” means killing them. Refusing executive orders is treated as betrayal and dealt with in the same fashion.

Hirotsu apologized but said no more after that. Dazai fixed him with a piercing gaze; the silence was so deafening that time nearly froze in place.

“...Ha-ha! Just kidding!” Dazai abruptly added in a cheery tone. Hirotsu stared back at him, confused. “The reason you have so many people following you is that you don’t turn your back on them. I’ll leave things in your hands. I won’t tell the boss.”

He patted Hirotsu on the shoulder and smiled. Hirotsu unconsciously rubbed his throat while he nodded. He must have been tense.

- Hirotsu after that, internally:

Joke aside: So the reason Dazai highly respects Hirotsu and Hirotsu Dazai in return to this day (not just because Dazai is/was his superior) is explained in this conversation here. That’s another thing missing and not really comprehensible in the anime as to why those two still get along, even though they’re on different sides now.

I always liked Hirotsu, but now I like him even more.

“Y’know,” Dazai commented after a good few moments of silence, “I’m thirsty.”

“I will have someone buy you a drink.” Hirotsu gave a flick of his finger, signalising the subordinate by hsi side to go. [...]

“Get me a coffee with lots of milk, Make sure to cool it off!” Dazai cheerfully yelled out as the man dashed away. “Oh, but no ice, okay? If you can get me a decaf, that’d be even better. And double the sugar, please!”

- Dunno who I should feel more sorry for: the guy who has to get Dazai’s coffee, or the person who has to make it.

Now that I thought about it, I knew next to nothing about his [Ango’s] personal life. Our relationship was always like that, though. Ango and Dazai never talked about themselves. The three of us were like a band of thieves who just happened to be hiding under the eaves of the same abandoned temple to avoid the rain. We’d always get lost in conversation, never knowing exactly who the other was.

- I think this is very interesting, because they have this kind of distant relationship, and yet they see each other as friends and are honestly concerned about the other.

As I sprinted, I punched in Dazai’s phone number. “Dazai?”

“Wow, it’s not often I get a call from you, Odasaku. I’ve got a feeling this is big! Hmm. Allow me to use my genius brain to guess the situation! You suddenly thought of a hilarious joke, and it was so funny that you had to call me to-”

“Someone tried to snipe me.”

Dazai immediately stopped midsentence as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs.

- YOU SEE?! But also, just as a sidenote: I read somewhere that Asagiri said in an interview (or something) that Dazai and Odasaku were calling each other often and that they talked for hours? Is this true? Because it contradicts the situation in the novel.

I hesitated for a moment. The reason I called Dazai was because he was the only one I could turn to with confidence on such short notice. However, he was one of the five executives, making him only second to the boss in terms of the Mafia hierarchy. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve had to send someone to ask permission to even meet with Dazai, then wait at least a month before getting an answer. Calling someone like him and giving orders is like asking the president to walk your dog.

“Dazai, I have a Silver Oracle with me. If you don’t mind-” “Quit it. You don’t need that to ask me for help. You‘re in a fix, right?”

- bUt DaZaI iS a VeRy SeLfiSh MaN aNd MaNiPuLaTeS eVeRyOnE!

Also, thanks for the image of Donald Trump walking my dog, if I had one.

- A detailed description of how Odasaku fights the two assassins and also how snipers do their job.

“You killed them?” I asked, looking down at the two fallen assassins.

“Yep. Capturing them and trying to get them to talk would’ve just been a waste of time. [...]”

I didn’t reply. It felt as if there were a lump about the size of a boulder in my stomach. Dazai faintly smiled, then said, “I know. That’s not what you were asking, right? But, Odasaku, these men were professional assassins. It doesn’t matter how good you are. Killing them was the only option.”

[...] “I can see you’re not happy... I’m sorry for compromising your principles.” His smile weakened as he spoke. Dazai usually never apologized to anyone, which was why what he said really rang true.

- bUt DaZaI AvOiDs EmOtIoNs aNd EmOtIoNaL aTtAcHmEnT!

- Odasaku just not wanting to believe that Ango betrayed the Port Mafia and Dazai probably hating to admit this, but it’s the truth >_<

“I hope you can see the excitement in my eyes, too.” Dazai continued to address the enemy who was holding him at gunpoint. “If you just squeeze your finger ever so slightly, you can give me precisely what I crave most. [...]”

[...] “Dazai!” I screamed. I felt as though we were thousands of miles apart.

“Please take me with you. Awaken me from this oxidizing world of a dream. Come, now. Shoot.”

[...] I looked at Dazai. There was something there invisible to the human eye. You could’ve called it demons of the mind--something that could never be seen--just something compelled to destroy all.

[...] Had our ranks or relations been any different, I probably would’ve punched him right then. [...] With every step I took, I felt as if the ground were going to collapse creating a bottomless hole that I would fall through for an eternity. Dazai’s expression as he placed a finger on his forehead and approached the enemy--that of a child about to burst into tears---remained burned into my eyes.

- afahgsakjhakj!!! So, Odasaku describes that Dazai has a big smile on his face while approaching the enemy, and Dazai is all about “Yes, that’s exactly what I want, I’m so happy it’s happening” but in truth, Dazai looked like a child about to cry...

[totalvibration]

55 Albums Released in 2019 That Splash Oat Milk In My Earl Grey

This year felt like slo-mo, a holding pattern and a fast-forward button stumbling towards unknown ends. I spent the early months in paternal bliss and sleep deprivation, caring for my newborn daughter, then spent the rest of the year running to slow down… to make the most of small moments with my family, to juggle that thing every lifestyle magazine calls the work-life balance, to know when I need help and being willing to ask for it, to making priorities with loved ones. 

Also, after years of oolongs and a staunch no-milk-in-tea-except-milk-teas policy, I started putting honey and oat milk in my Earl Grey, an old tea standby that's felt warmly familiar in colder months. Similarly, I dug my heels into familiar-to-me gnarly metal, deep drone and abrasive punk this year, uninterested in poptimist takes on indie-rock. In an effort to maximize more time with new family and less with bulls***, I leaned hard into my Viking's Choice column at NPR Music (which went weekly!) to shout out underground debauchery and beauty to anyone who would listen. 

Below are 55 albums (and a few reissues and archival releases) that hit me in different ways over 2019. No ranking, just links out to Bandcamp where available. They come paired with emoji because that's a thing I do on Twitter. 

See also:

Viking's Choice: The Year In The Loud And The Weird (my annual year-end episode of All Songs Considered)

20 Punk Albums Released In 2019 That Flip Eggs, Pick Up Chains

20 Metal Albums Released In 2019 That Bluurgh Over Sick Riffs

A nine-hour playlist of 2019 jamz 

But first, some stray thoughts:

Ta-Nehisi Coates' still-ongoing Captain America run has been extremely rewarding. A beloved superhero comes to terms with the line between patriotism and nationalism as Coates underlines that American progress often comes from reluctance. 

Daniel Warren Johnson's Murder Falcon spoke to me not only as a metalhead who loves cartoonishly kick-ass violence, but also as a dude with a tender heart… that final issue still gets me in the feels. 

Krzysztof Kieślowski's Three Colours is secretly a trilogy of movies about the loving, painstaking process of creation, specifically music. I'd never seen any of them until paternity leave (and a sleeping baby) gave me hours to binge long-neglected to-watch lists. In 1993's Blue, in particular, a composition mirrors the grief of Juliette Binoche in an exquisite performance. 

Tiny Desk concerts I produced for NPR Music in 2019: American Football (with a children’s choir!), Thou, Erin Rae, Carly Rae Jepsen (sort of), Jimmy Eat World and Mount Eerie (videos coming in 2020). 

There’s a gallery at Glenstone, a truly stunning museum experience, that’s literally just a room full of books, a sculpted wooden bench and a large window that looks out on the rolling hills of Maryland. I could spend hours there. 

The second season of KCRW's Lost Notes, hosted by Jessica Hopper, built episodes like albums, sequenced with eureka moments throughout. See: the story of a teenage Farsi New Wave sibling duo and a difficult and necessary reassessment of John Fahey through the women in his life.  

High Spirits (May 7, Atlas Brew Works) is such a force for good. Heavy metal singalongs about love, friendship and positivity. I feel like this band needs to tour with Sheer Mag to be fully appreciated by an unknowing audience. 

Has your baseball team ever won the pennant with the sleeping baby on your chest? So many silent screams of joy in our household as the Nats not only won the National League, but the whole dang World Series. I haven't lived in a city/state with a baseball team that's gone to the World Series since 1995. 

Circuit Des Yeux's Haley Fohr (Dec. 5, Hirshhorn) tuned her voice to feedback hum and the rest that followed felt like a wordless eulogy for 2019. I felt renewed by it. 

I can't think of a prettier song released in 2019 than "This Time Around" by Jessica Pratt. It is saudade whispered into the wind.

This was my Linda Ronstadt year. Heart Like a Wheel, Canciones de mi Padre, her records with the Stone Poneys — the Queen of LA, with a voice that both bursts out of and melts into dusk, softened the edges of long days with an equally adventurous and easygoing spirit.

🚙 Petrol Girls, Cut & Stitch: In 2019, it was crucial — life-affirming and -saving, even — to make your own noise. "This is the sound / It moves in our bodies / It passes through time / Brings what came before us," Petrol Girls' Ren Aldridge screamed at the top of a turbulent punk record filled with compassion. That boundless philosophy resonated with me this year — to listen and absorb more deeply, to excavate the traces of memory in music.

👽 Blood Incantation, Hidden History of the Human Race: Simultaneously exists in the gaping maw of death-metal tradition and the galaxy brain of its future. 

💾 Kali Malone, The Sacrificial Code: Seeks the solemnity of the drone in the pipe organ, but leans into the vulnerability pushed through the air.

🕹️ billy woods & Kenny Segal, Hiding Places:  An album-length self-excavation that crawls through moldy memories in a brutal poetry that is at times darkly funny but mostly wrestles with personal and societal truths that'll leave you touched, shook. 

📟 Holly Herndon, PROTO: One of our deepest thinkers went to the past to make music from the future. 

🚨 Rakta, Falha Comum: Creepazoid emanations from a subterranean plane.

🐣 Sunwatchers, Illegal Moves: Ecstatic protest music summoning the beauty and rage of Alice Coltrane, Sonny Sharrock, Rhys Chatham and Hawkwind. 

🏞 Bill Orcutt, Odds Against Tomorrow: The most engaging, radical, but surprisingly accessible solo guitar album of the year. Bill Orcutt's ragged-yet-tender guitar skronk gives shaggy texture to rapturous melodies.

🍕 Control Top, Covert Contracts: This hits some dance-punky Erase Errata sweet spots for me, but with the technical finesse of a power trio. 

🚟 Real Life Rock & Roll Band, Hollerin' the Spirit: Applies minimalist techniques to rumbling, dueling guitar histrionics with a reckless, but locked-in energy. Never woulda thunk American Football and Henry Flynt could hoedown together. 

🐠 Caroline Shaw & Attacca Quartet, Orange: Balances austere beauty with rumbling earth. Riveting music for string quartet. 

💥 Mdou Moctor, Ilana (The Creator): Where ZZ Top bombast, Black Sabbath riffs and Tuareg trance rhythms swirl into an acid-rock stomp. 

👑 Vagabon, Vagabon: Goes so many places, yet always returns home. 

🎭 JPEGMAFIA, All My Heroes Are Cornballs: A neon-freaked feast blasted in slow mo and fast forward all at once.

🌆 Denzel Curry, ZUU: Dude's a metal rapper without a metal band, but if he ever started one, I'm down 100 percent. 

💨 Whistling Arrow, Whistling Arrow: An avant UK supergroup of prepared guitar, violin, electronics and hypnotic percussion drinks deep of dark lagers and mossy earth.

🐸 101 Notes on Jazz: Things are getting hard around the boloney hole...

🐳 M. Sage, Catch a Blessing: Warm, fuzzy world-building from blocks of sound stretched and warped into a new nostalgia.

🚇 Mizmor, Cairn: Deliberate and patient in its annihilating pace; lumbering, yet regally melodic riffs echo into a chasm of feedback.

🌅 Takafumi Matsubara, Strange, Beautiful And Fast: Next-level grind from the Gridlink mastermind and friends. While No One Knows What the Dead Think picked up where Discordance Axis left off, Takafumi Matsubara shreds into the future.

🐎 American Football, LP3: A reunion that keeps on giving and growing. Impressionistic in its quietly bursting arrangements and attuned to the individual talents of its vocal guests, especially that stunning duet with Hayley Williams. 

🔋 v/a, Seitō: In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun: This compilation does for modern Japanese women in experimental music what P.S.F.’s Tokyo Flashback comps did for the Japanese psychedelic scenes of yore. 

👗 Carly Rae Jepsen, Dedicated: Didn't hold together as much as I wanted, or play like E•MO•TION's late-night mixtape, but every time one of its singles popped up on a friend's playlist -- "Julien," "Want You in My Room," "The Sound" and especially the slow-burn synth-pop exhaustion of "Too Much" -- I'd think, "Carly Rae Jepsen is the Queen of the Song I Needed Right Now."

🌕 Rong, wormhat: Just bonkers. Boston's Rong channels the joyous chaos of Japanese punks Melt-Banana and the aggro skronk of Brainiac with a tad of Deerhoof's weirdo-pop hooks.

✊🏿 Sounds of Liberation, Sounds of Liberation / Unreleased Columbia University 1973: Free jazz and funk band deep in spiritual grooves. Killer performances all around, but such a trip to hear more from young vibraphonist Khan Jamal during his Drum Dance to the Motherland era. 

🐬 Great Grandpa, Four of Arrows: If Sixpence None the Richer made an emo record, but only had Return of the Frog Queen on the mood board. 

📳 Sarah Louise, Nighttime Birds and Morning Stars: One of my favorite guitarists right now. Digitally processes melodies and single notes in an electronic elation landing somewhere between Robert Fripp, Alice Coltrane and Terry Riley.

📮 Sarah Hennies, Reservoir 1: An immersive sound cycle in constant motion, a quiet rumble that slowly transforms in and out of a glorious clatter. 

👣 Psychedelic Speed Freaks, Psychedelic Speed Freaks: Munehiro Narita essentially picks up where High Rise left off, still plays the guitar like it's about to blow up. 

🍩 Town Portal, Of Violence: Most instrumental post/prog-rock puts me to sleep, but this Danish trio illustrates just how dynamic and sound-rich this music can be. 

🛀 Jim O'Rourke, steamroom 45: An electronic excavation from the deep abyss. The 37-minute "Sigaretstraat" is a master class in patience, dynamics and sublime dissonance.

🎀 Cristina Quesada, I Think I Heard a Rumor: Multi-lingual, ultra-chic dance-pop with super-smart synth arrangements. Think: Tiki drinks and mod dresses. 

⏹ John Luther Adams, Become Desert: Truly time-less music; as in, music without time. 

⏏ Julia Reidy, brace, brace: Late night, longform excursions that offer an alternate Blade Runner soundtrack with frenzied 12-string, fuzzy synth glossolalia and an Auto-Tuned bummer haze.

🚞 A Million Dollars, I Love Your Voice and I Love You: Weird and warped twee-pop that woulda headlined Silent Barn. 

📠 Priests, The Seduction of Kansas: Truth-telling and truth-seeking through a mangled disco haze and bleak New Wave romanticism. 

🏭 Werner Durand with Amelia Cuni and Victor Meertens, processions: Majestic drones capture an undulating wonder with enveloping somnolence.

🎳 Sheer Mag, A Distant Call: The denim-and-leather-jacket-wearing standard bearers of truly independent rock and roll double-downed on their sound, but opened their hearts a bit more. 

📒 Susan Alcorn / Joe McPhee / Ken Vandermark, Invitation to a Dream: Illuminates the flickering motions of exploration. 

😱 Serpent Column, Mirror in Darkness: Pitch-black metal chaos with forceful melodies twisted into the tableau. Honestly? Deathspell Omega but skramz.

🏅 Pernice Brothers, Spread the Feeling: Joe Pernice digs into his '80s record collection to return with some of his most delicately written, winsome guitar-pop in years and tons of one-liners: "Love is a shoeless charlatan, a silver-tongued huckster with a sadist’s lipless grin."

🍓 Kalie Schorr, Open Book: Whip-smart, hook-twanged country-pop raised on MTV2 pop-punk and Sheryl Crow. 

📀 Angel Olsen, All Mirrors: In a year where we lost Scott Walker, this felt like a torch passed from 1969. 

😪 Mount Eerie, Lost Wisdom pt. 2: Phil Elverum draws us in evermore, revisiting a beloved album, mode and collaborator (the remarkable Julie Doiron), and molding them into his ever-changing songwriting and circumstance. Contains the most tender couplet of the year, which I'll carry with me always: "If ever the bonfire that I carry around could warm you again / I will be out here in the weather for you glowing."

🙉 75 Dollar Bill, I Was Real: Serious hypno-grooves from these drone excavators. 

👢 Karen Marks, Cold Cafe: The early '80s artist behind the Sky Girl comp's broodiest track gets a few more songs of existential synth-pop and jangly post-punk. Just wanna put them on mixtapes for friends. 

🍻 Haunt, If Icarus Could Fly: Synthesizes an earnest, studied love for '80s heavy metal with tons of guitar harmonies and can-crushing anthems, yes, but also a ton of heart.

🍖 Bob Dylan, The Rolling Thunder Revue: The strangest, most mystical and wild Dylan persona in all of its face-painted glory. 

🌹 A Pregnant Light, Broken Play: Damian Master's endless creativity and shameless bravado coalesce into a rugged beauty. As always, riffs for days. 

🦄 Fire-Toolz, Field Whispers (Into the Crystal Palace): Clashes New Age synthscapes, clubby raves, jazz fusion and metal shrieks into an idiosyncratic master's pure creation.

🌇 Maria W Horn, Epistasis: Quiet, yet forceful acoustic elements are wrapped in the sinews of technology to blur composition. A stirring mix of icy string drones and minimalist piano. 

🐲 Soul Glo, The N**** in Me Is Me: Distills the rage and terror of living in America while being black with blunt force.

🍢 Mára, Here Behold Your Own: Snapshots of a time before parenthood rendered in garbled organ, ambient guitar loops and echoing lullabies. Felt this one deeply. 

🚙 The Go-Betweens, G Stands for Go-Betweens: The Go-Betweens Anthology - Volume 2: There's a live KCRW version of "Quiet Heart" that just absolutely destroys me. Deeply thankful for the presentation and preservation that's gone into these box sets. 

😈 Bat for Lashes, Lost Girls: A coming-of-age concept album about a teenage vampire gang that was somehow severely overlooked. Some of Natasha's most tender songwriting and a rich synth-pop world that'd make M83 jealous.

[scandalsavagefanfic]

Sneak Peeks

I feel bad that things are taking forever so I figured I’d post a couple sneak peeks for my upcoming stuff. Just to prove to you (and myself) that progress may be slow and I may be a little scattered at the moment, but work is being done.

——————————————————————————————————————-

Therapy, Chapter 9 (BruJay) - side note: this will be posted this weekend!

“Why did you not run off the moment he opened the door?” Alfred asks gently after a long stretch of silence.

Warmth seeps into Jason’s skin as he cups both hands around the heated china cup filled with tea. The phantom feel of Bruce’s strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him out of his nightmares, holding him… those dreams are always so vivid, so real, he wakes with headaches from crying, throat scratchy from screaming, feeling wrung and raw. Bruce saving him from his nightmares is comparable to Bruce actually saving him back then. It feels just as real as his death. There is a deep emotional high that soaked his brain in endorphins with what amounts to a realized wish fulfillment. Bruce saved him.

The words, the touches, those gentle fingers tightening in his hair, hot desperate lips on his own… everything that’s passed between them, said and unsaid…

He grasps the wooden box tighter, like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. Because it may well be.

His voice is small and timid when he finally answers. “He told me once if I ever left it’d be my choice,” Jason looks up from his food, falls just short of Alfred’s eyes and forces his gaze up the rest of the way, “It—that… I would never choose to leave. Never.”

Untitled WAtPG side story, Deathstroke’s POV (SladeDickJay)

“Is that Jason? What have you done to him, you fucking brute?”

“I showed your human slut his place,” he growls. Nightwing doesn’t have the moral high ground here, he has no right or reason to be angry. Despite this absolute fact, his husband still looks incensed.

“Shit, D, I told you about him—“

“Yes, you did. You told me about the mortal bitch who’s kept you on earth for over a year. What did you think was going to happen?”

Nightwing’s jaw falls open in shock, “Not this!” He shouts in disbelief, “I told you he was special and I thought you would like him too!”

Truthfully, Deathstroke does feel like maybe he got a little carried away. Especially after whatever that was there at the end, after all his righteous fury had burned away and he could feel again. He’s not as experienced with human lovers as his husband is, most of them can’t handle his predilections. But there was something about this kid. As much as Deathstroke is loathe to admit it, something sparked.

Salvation, Chapter 2 (Thomas Wayne/Jason, others)

Thomas wakes to the smell of fresh coffee being brewed and stretches out from where he had allowed himself to curl around the young man he’d been gifted. It’s been a good long while since he’s slept with someone. In either sense. But even longer since he has just had someone next to him, in his bed, throughout the night.

He’d forgotten how nice it was, that warm weight at his side.

But Jason is no longer lying under the covers where Thomas had tucked him after he’d passed out.

Awareness finally catches up. He crawls out of the bed and throws on a robe. There are a couple kitchens on this floor that provide meals for the cult’s high-ranking officers, but each apartment also comes with its own. That’s where Thomas finds Jason when he enters the main living area, bustling around, humming some made up tune, a fluffy towel wrapped low on his waist.

Even though the kid is skin and bones, what muscle is visible ripples as he moves. Thomas’s mouth goes dry at the sight. A brief fantasy of that smooth, pale skin sliding against the rougher, scarred up expanse of his own, flashes across his mind before he shakes it away.

“You seem much more alert than you were yesterday,” he says, considering it a bonus when the boy jumps and scrambles to catch the towel before it falls off him completely.

Untitled SuperBat, new

Sometime over the months they’ve been doing this, it became fun.

It started as work. Just another necessary part of the tedium required to run a perfect world. Usually the best way to deal with a pest problem is eradication, with extreme prejudice. But when the pests are smarter than the average insect, the solution often calls for something more creative.

It’s easy to justify the state of the man swaying unsteadily from the crude chains that keep him off balance, toes barely scraping the floor. The big empty cell, nearly pitch black but for the sliver of chilly winter light from the single long, narrow window set stories above them, echoes every clink of metal and droplet of blood.

Untitled JayTim, new

Tim gets so caught up in things that he doesn’t pay attention to where he’s going and he suddenly looks around to find himself in Park Row. It’s busy for how late it is. Working girls and boys waving at the odd vehicle driving by at 3am are leered at by unsavory characters clinging to the shadows. Predators, pimps, or pickpockets, Tim is not at all equipped to handle even the smallest most unassuming of them.

He turns sharply on his heel to go back the way he came, clutching his camera close, and runs smack into a large man who has seemingly embraced the Creep 101 stereotype. Ratty Hawaiian shirt open, exposing a thick gold chain and a stained tank top that was maybe white at one time, baggy cargo pants slipping off his hips, hiked up with the hand holding a nearly depleted cigar. The man gives Tim a lascivious grin that makes his blood run cold even before the other hand drops, heavy and clammy, onto his shoulder.

“Well hey there, cutie pie,” the man coos at him, “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here at this ungodly hour?”

Frozen in terror, Tim’s brain stalls and he can’t remember what he’s supposed to do if a stranger tries to make him go somewhere.

——————————————————————————————-

There are a few others but I’m on mobile and it sucks for formatting so this is all I feel like doing 😉

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

The Senator from Montana

CHAPTER THREE: Victory Lap

Featuring Sen. Jon Tester (D-MT)

All was well on this Wednesday morning in Great Falls, Montana after the AP called the senate race in favor of Jon Tester. He was on the top of the world, winning his third term in the U.S. Senate by beating Republican Matt Rosendale in a race that was too close to call until Wednesday morning. Jon walked around the convention floor with his chest stuck out surrounded by family, myself and supporters as he announces his victory.

“Look, we did it,” Tester said to a roomful of supporters at a Holiday Inn in Great Falls.

He congratulated Rosendale on a hard-fought campaign. Tester noted the president’s four visits to the state to campaign for Republicans as well as several trips by the vice president, the president’s son and several other high-ranking Republicans.

“You beat ‘em all!” Somebody from the crowd shouted.

Locking on to Sen. Tester’ eyes which always made me horny, I thought of our last encounter a month ago. Going over and over the sensation I felt when I took his big cock into my mouth. The feel of his cock pumping in and out of me. When I looked back into his eyes, he was thanking his wife, Jean and three sons followed by his staff. He winked and smiled a warm friendly, knowing smile. I wonder what was on his mind as I just smiled back. After he finished his speech, Sen. Tester went though the crowd, thanking them. Once again he looked in my direction and winked. I was thinking what a cute little flirt he was.

He spent the day wrapping up a few things here in Great Falls including an interview with CNN’s Anderson Cooper. They talked about a variety of things including the firing of Jeff sessions to this morning’s election results.

I opened it to find those sexy blue eyes looking at me has he flashed that warm smile again.

“Jack, let’s go over the questions for my interview with CNN.” He said loud enough to sound business like.  

“Yes Senator.”  I replied just as loud, stepping back so he could come in.

Jon did a quick check up and down the hall before he stepped in and closed door in a single motion.  Almost immediately, we fell into an embrace, sharing a long passionate kiss as we began frantically pulling off our clothes. It has been over a month since last time we fucked, so I didn’t know if he was eager or just didn’t have much time to “fraternize with his assistant” before continuing on with his duties. But he wasn’t waiting for any conversation and I certainly didn’t mind.

I quickly dropped to my knees and took his dick in my hands. His rod had a thickness that filled my mouth nicely as I slid my lips over it and took it in down to its base. Jon exhaled slowly as he stood there with his hands on my shoulders. I could smell that old fashioned cologne again along with his natural musk. My tongue worked his fully erect shaft as I moved slowly up and down. I pulled up again to look at his knob before I started working my tongue around again. My other hand was feeling the hair on his balls as I thought about what his load that was brewing in them.

“Fuck yes.” Jon said as I took his dick in my hands, stroking up and down as I worked my tongue to down under his nuts.  

I gnawed gently here and there, slowing the pace of my stroking on his dick. He moaned a bit, then a bit more. After a delicious minute or two he  suddenly exhaled, “No!”

Then suddenly he pulled me up to my feet. I figured he was getting too close, too soon so I paused and waited for his cue. Whatever he wanted next, I was going to do my best to please him; not that I didn’t have ideas of my own.

"I want you to make love to me.” Jon said as I looked up at him and saw an inviting smile on his face.

“You mean that you want me to fuck you?” I asked him excitedly.

“Why not?” He replied. “You can see that it’s horny for you.”

I looked down at his still stiff dick and put my hand around it. Jon quickly dropped to his knees with my rock hard cock hitting him on his cheek before he started licking my balls. Then he ran his fat tongue down my shaft to my tip before closing his mouth around it. He started sucking on it with such enthusiasm, like this was his first ever sex act with another person and the memory of it would be burned into his brain forever. Even though we were fucking for weeks before the tail end of his re-elect campaign, Jon was never this into sucking my cock. Going further down my cock, he started to gentle fondle my balls with his weathered workman like hands.

“Like it.” I asked as I watched him work my cock.

I slowly work myself to the near by bed, not letting Jon’s hot mouth off my stiff pick. He was now on all fours running his tongue up and down my cock as I leaned back, spreading my legs wide allowing him better access. Holding my cock in his hands, he again work his tongue around my dickhead. Then he started running his hand up and down my cock as he worked his tongue to down under my nuts before gnawed gently here and there.  

“Oh yeah, the balls.” I said as his tongue hit them.

“Yeah, get right between those nuts.” I added, holding my cock aside to see him lap up my balls.

Wanting more, I grabbed him by the head and pushed it down pass my nuts. I started slapping my cock atop his flattop as I looked down his broad back to him now stretched out on the floor.

“Oh yeah, work in there. Fuck yeah.” I said as I pulled my legs up and scooted my ass towards him. Without hesitation, Jon push his tongue up my ass.

I was going crazy as Jon worked his tongue deeper and deeper into me causing my dick to jerk uncontrollably. After awhile, Jon jumped up, quickly removed his pants which still around his ankles before started taking his boots off.

“Keep them boots on.” I said as I slowly worked on my cock.

When he was done, he just stood there, letting me admire his husky body.

“Oh, sweet ass.” I said as he spun around.

“I’m going to own it.”

Earlier in the day I’d fantasized about what it’d be like to fuck him. Those fantasies were about to be realized as Jon turned around, knelt on the bed with his butt facing me and told me to fuck him. I took one look at his big ass with his balls and cock hanging down between his legs, I set in quickly on eating his ass. Making my tongue wide and flat, I covered his hole and licked long, broad strokes up and down his crack. Starting low against the back of his balls and on up to where his crack ended at his tailbone. I continued slowly moving up then down again as he moaned deep and low. I could tell he was enjoying it as he squirmed a bit, pushing his ass back into my face.

I slid my tongue in to his warm canal and continued to work my way in until I couldn’t get my tongue in any further. He continued moaning as I worked my tongue in and around. I felt him start to relax even more as he leaned forward laying his forehead on his folded arms, tipping his ass up a bit.

He was breathing heavily when I finally stood up. He looked back without saying anything, but his sexy blue-eyed gaze told me he was ready for my cock. I reach over to my overnight bag, pulled out some jelly pack and ripped it open with my teeth. Spreading the gel on my cock and his ass, I set the tip against his hole and paused: wanting this moment to last forever.

As the head of my dick slipped in he gasped. He was pretty tight and I thought I was going to shoot off before I could get my cock into Sen. Tester. I felt his ass start to relax as edged my dick in more. Keeping it all rather shallow, began to slowly fuck him. I worked it back and forth, in and out as his tight ass relaxed further. And when Jon rose up, pushed his ass back and down on my dick, I knew it was time to go in all the way. I listened to his long slow intake of breath as I slowly pushed until my bush was pressed flat against his ass.  

“Yes,” he moaned as he reached back to pull me against him, making sure I was all of the way in.

I pulled out and pushed back in. Out and back, making the slowest of rhythms. He turned back to face me again and I leaned forward to kiss him. We held a kiss as I worked his ass. He turned back to the wall and moaned as I continued, now moving a bit quicker. Every so often he would squeeze my dick with his ass muscles. He rocked left and right, spreading his legs a bit wider as I continued to pick up the pace. My fucking worked up to a solid rhythm with my balls occasionally slapping against him. He began moaning low, very quietly at first, but with an encouraging note.  

As I continued to fuck him, his moaning grew louder. His ass felt so good that I knew I couldn’t hold back much longer. So I quickly pulled out his hot ass, holding my cock at the base.

“What’s wrong?” Jon asked as he quickly look back at me.

“Nothing wrong. Just that ass is so good.” I said as I flipped him over on the bed, holding up his legs high in the air as I pressed the swollen red head of my cock against his tight asshole.

This time my entry was easier as the lube and my cock had stretched his hole enough that it would never be as tight again. And the moment my entire 8" cock was fully inside him, I fucked like a wild man, which I could see clearly on his face was very pleasurable. For the next 10 or so, I fuck his ass the way he would have fucked his wife. Each time I pumped deep inside Jon, we both moaned and groaned with great ecstasy. I leaned over and kissed him as my cock repeatedly drilled his ass. was begging me to fuck him harder.

By this time, I knew I was getting close and Jon was begging me to fuck him harder. He was spreading his legs wide apart, giving me full access to his ass. His thick cock was leaking all over his belly and I knew from the look on his face that he was getting close himself. So I double my effort and fucked his ass even harder, angling the entry direction to smash against his butt nut. That did it.

"Oh, shit!" He cried as he grabbed the bed sheets.  

Suddenly his cock spewed married cum all over his chest and stomach. His body convulsed with each spurt as he emptied out his seed onto his body. Some of which hit me full force in the face. I opened my mouth as wide as I could, trying to get a good helping of his salty-sweet cum all over my tongue. Then contraction of his ass on my pistoning dick while he went through his orgasm brought my own climax. With no intention of pulling out, I made one final, hard lunge into his ass and spewed my seed deep into this Big Sandy farmer’s guts.  

Needless to say, the rest of our stay in Great Falls was memorable.

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

Permanently Barred

My very first Barricade Day fic! While it is set in my Crooked Politician AU it is 100% standalone! HUGE shout out to @wordshakerofgallifrey  thank you for letting me bounce ideas off of you and for finding me pretty clothes for the boys and for putting up with my utter exhausted inability to comprehend hats. <3 Rating: PG-13 for mild fisticuffs Words: 2,890 Gen AO3

There was a slight crash from elsewhere in the House. Enjolras didn’t react though, there was always a slight crash from somewhere in the House. At this point in his life he was beginning to believe that there was just always going to be the sound of minor crashes in his vicinity. So, he kept working not fully registering the sound.

He did register Courfeyrac’s howling as it resolved itself into words being sung from directly in front of him.

“I wanna go- ou-OOUT toNII-IGHT!”

Enjolras paused but didn’t look up from his laptop as he tried to place the line. He frowned when it finally clicked and almost didn’t want to look up from his laptop, fully expecting to see Courf dripping glitter and wearing fishnets and leopard print like Mimi had in the movie. Grantaire had made him watch RENT Live with the rest of the ABC but they had all agreed not to speak of it and as such he honestly couldn’t remember the scene in that version. Also, his brain was a bit overstuffed on more pressing matters; like getting the proper permits for the rally that Cosette, Musichetta, and Eponine had taken point on organizing.

Bracing himself he glanced up. Enjolras was shocked by Courfeyrac’s outfit for a very different reason. He wore a full suit with a vest and bowtie, an umbrella clutched in one hand, hat in the other as he threw his arms out. It wasn’t the boring cut and colors worn by those who worked on the Hill either. It was a deep green that was almost black with the vest an incrementally lighter hue with metallic threads and the bowtie a mossy green. Or at least he’d call it mossy, Grantaire could tell him the exact shade later. The cut was impeccable and Enjolras could tell it had been expensive which might explain why he’d never seen it before. Alternatively, it might not as Courf didn’t shy away from his family’s wealth if it was for a good purpose and investing in a quality suit for various functions definitely counted as such.

Courf grinned and carefully set his hat onto his cloudlike head of curls. “C’mon Enj, take a break. You’ve been driving yourself crazy feeling like your hands are tied on these bills while simultaneously running yourself ragged helping the ladies get all their ducks in a row for the rally. Plus,” his expression slipped from charming to pleading, “it’s my birthday.”

“No, it’s not. Your birthday was ages ago,” he felt compelled to point out.

That earned him an eyeroll. “Yes and I turned twenty-one and we couldn’t go out and party properly because it was right before the election and then we kept pushing it off and pushing it off because there were admittedly much more important things but we all agreed that once the semester was officially over for everyone we’d have me a birthday party. The time has come my friend.”

Enjolras felt his brows pull together as he thought. “When did we do that?”

“April,” Courfeyrac said fondly. “After I had to cancel it again because I got picked to be a lawyer in the moot Supreme Court that was my ConLaw final. We all agreed to an arbitrary date in early June. It is now said arbitrary date and I got an A in that class so we’re going. Now.”

Enjolras knew that there was no arguing with Courfeyrac when he was like this. Besides, he was sure he’d agreed to this back in April and in the haze of finals and everything else in the past two months had just forgotten about it. If Enjolras was being quite honest with himself, he hadn’t been fully aware that it was even June. That did explain why the giant pride flag was hanging in the front window though.

He raised a finger to Courf, asking him to wait and just knowing Courf was raising his eyebrows in response. Enjolras finished the sentence he had been typing, hit save, and closed his laptop. “Ok. Give me a second to change.”

“Wait, you’re not going to fight me on this?” Courf trailed after him as he headed for the stairs.

“It’s your birthday,” Enjolras replied. He stopped with his foot on the stairs and turned to grin at Courfeyrac.

This was met with a huge smile and an equally huge hug before Courf was pushing past him and rushing up the steps. “I am not letting you dress yourself then! You obviously have no memory of what you agreed to and I refuse to let you ruin this for me!”

~

“This is such a tourist trap,” Enjolras said as he sneered in the direction of the White House.

“Yes,” Courf conceded, “but I’d never been and it’s the roof of The Willard and I’m only a local by virtue of the college I attend.”

“Besides, we’re not the only non-tourists here,” Ferre said and jutted his chin in the direction of a group of men, all dressed in suits that were decidedly more boring than Courf’s and decidedly cheaper. They were the uniform of staffers and lobbyists. While not out of place in the city they were out of place there at that hour.

“Well,” Courf huffed, “you two can stand here and people watch all night but it’s my birthday and I’m going to have a good time. And look! There’s our friends! Doing the same thing!”

Courfeyrac raised his glass in the direction of where Bahorel and Grantaire had managed to pull Feuilly onto the dance floor and headed towards them. Enjolras watched as Jehan emerged from the crowd, head thrown back and laughing wildly with Marius and Eponine trailing behind. Musichetta was still at the table next to them though, swirling her drink and giggling at the memory of Bossuet spilling his own all over himself before being ushered off to the bathroom to be cleaned up by Joly.

“At the very least we could go eavesdrop on them,” Ferre suggested dryly.

That made Enjolras snort. “Why not. Liquor makes for loose lips, might learn something interesting.”

~

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes when he noticed them camped out at the table next to the group of young men. They were rather loud to begin with and as the night went on and the drinks flowed faster they got even louder.

Enjolras bristled as they made yet another prejudiced remark. His friends were starting to tire, needing to catch their breath and wanting to chat.

“Any reason you’re here holding down the fort, Enj?” Bahorel asked, clapping him on the shoulder as he came up to them.

He jerked his head towards the table next to them and Bahorel raised an eyebrow, slotting himself between Enjolras and the other table silently. One of them made another remark and Bahorel’s other eyebrow rose to meet his first.

“All night,” Enj muttered acidly.

Bahorel shook his head and moved closer to Enjolras and further from the men.

“And you haven’t said anything?” Feuilly asked, genuinely surprised.

Combeferre snorted. “Oh, he’s said lots of things; just under his breath.”

“I’m trying to be on my best behavior,” he muttered darkly.

“Oh really? And how’s that working out for you?” Grantaire teased. He shot a dark look towards him in response.

Marius’s phone began to ring loudly, preventing him from formulating a proper retort as everyone’s attention turned towards watching the other boy scramble to pull the device from his pocket before it stopped.

“It’s Cosette, I promised we’d talk every night while she’s on vacation. I have to take this,” Marius said in lieu of apology. He quirked a smile before rushing off towards a quiet corner of the bar and picking up.

“I’d be mad if they weren’t so damn cute,” Courf sighed.

There were mumbled agreements but Enjolras’s attention was once again drawn to the table beside them. “That’s it,” he muttered before whirling on them. “You really believe that you’re making the world a better place? For who? Please, tell me.”

The men blinked, dumbfounded or blindsided he didn’t know and didn’t care.

“Because all you’re really doing is making it a better place for people like you and worse for everyone else. People like you who don’t even need it. Who society panders to and has for centuries. While millions of people struggle every day just for an inch of respect. And then what do you do? You don’t even give them that.” Enjolras hadn’t meant to but his voice had gotten incrementally louder as he spoke and he found himself out of breath from yelling, his chest heaving as adrenaline decided to pour into his system.

“What’s your problem, man? Why do you even care?” One of them asked.

Enjolras closed his eyes and tried to keep his temper in check, really he did, but the question was too similar to the way Grantaire would rile him at meetings and it elicited an almost Pavlovian response. He exploded.

“Why do I care? I care because I’m a decent human being. I care because I want to help. I care because I can make a difference. I care because I know people will listen to me when they might not listen to someone else. I care because there are real life people out there who need someone to care about them. I care because caring is the bare minimum you can do.”

Enjolras could feel his friends closing ranks around him. Suddenly Combeferre and Bahorel were at his shoulders and he could feel someone, Courfeyrac or maybe Feuilly, press a hand into his back. Joly and Jehan were at the corners of his vision and he could see Bossuet and Musichetta begin to speed towards them from across the bar; Eponine and Grantaire were unseen but he knew they were there too.

“Grow up kid. And learn to hold your liquor,” one of them jeered and the others all laughed. Enjolras tensed but Bahorel was already moving, launching himself at them.

“Learn to hold your tongue,” he snarled as his fist connected with the guy’s jaw.

For a second, the jerks all froze. It was all the group of friends needed to begin moving. None of them were strangers to fights and at this point they could all tell when a brawl was brewing, if they didn’t strike first then it would be too late for them.

Enjolras had only taken two steps towards the table when they got over their surprise and he was forced to block a messy punch before countering with a solid one of his own. Bahorel had started giving him the occasional boxing lesson and R had insisted that they practice together, saying they could take out mutual frustrations on a punching bag instead of each other and insisting that for Enj it was a necessary life skill. These all paid off as the guy stumbled back, clutching at his nose as blood streamed from it.

He heard a gasp and looked up to see that Bossuet and Musichetta had reached them. And that Musichetta had just upended the drinks she had been carrying over one of their heads. He laughed at the satisfaction it brought to her fierce expression.

His distraction had cost him though because suddenly he felt himself careening to the side, his temple stinging. Enjolras had been punched in the side of the head and it had made stars burst behind his eyes. Dizzy, he spun to try and face his assailant, only to find that Eponine had already grabbed him and forced him to the ground. Likely after a kick to the balls and a knee to the gut. He nodded his thanks to her and she nodded grimly back. Her hair had come loose of the careful twists she had it in and she swiped at the strands as she turned to help Jehan.

Turning himself, Enjolras found the man he initially punched had recovered and joined two others and were slowly backing Courfeyrac and Combeferre towards the wall. He rushed over and slammed his foot into the back of the guy’s knee, kicking him once more as Courf and Ferre each went after the others.

“Gotta say,” Courf gasped as they quickly stepped away from where the three were slowly trying to get up, “this is not how I saw tonight going.”

“Happy birthday,” Combeferre offered with sarcastic tilt to his lips.

“I don’t know, Courf,” Enjolras couldn’t help but start to smile himself, “I think teaching some dicks a lesson is a great birthday present.”

Courfeyrac huffed. “Well now I know what to get you.”

Enjolras laughed, temporarily distracted. It cost him. He was clipped in the chin and sent stumbling into Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

“Oh no you don’t,” Grantaire said, appearing behind the man who had begun to bear down on them. R grabbed the man by the shoulder and whirled him around, punching him directly in the face before grabbing his shoulders and hauling him down to meet the knee that he was shooting up and aiming for the man’s stomach.

The man toppled easily and with it Enjolras finally got a clear view of Grantaire who looked more than a little worse for wear. Drinks, blood, and other liquid now dotted his nice shirt and the hat he’d been wearing when they arrived was gone. R reached out a hand and Enjolras took it, letting him help pull him to his feet. Looking down Enjolras realized that he wasn’t in much better shape, his blazer was rumpled and there was a new rip somehow in the knee of his jeans.

“You ok?” Grantaire was asking as around them the fighting came to a near sudden stop. Management had finally taken notice and sent a bouncer to break it up.

“Fine,” Enjolras said, wiping his hair out of his face.

“I’m going to ask you all to leave,” the bouncer was saying.

“Gladly!” Courfeyrac jutted his chin into the air and smoothed down his ruined jacket. “We don’t want to be somewhere we’re not welcome and they made it pretty obvious we’re not welcome.”

Courfeyrac began marching towards the exit and the rest of them quickly followed. Leaving the jerks behind with the bar’s manager and bouncer and bill. Rather than try and squeeze in the elevator or risk getting caught while waiting for it they all made a beeline for the stairs. Bossuet bent to give Joly a piggyback and soon they were all making a break for it.

Soon they were all spilling out onto the sidewalk, laughing and whooping from the high of the fight still singing through their veins. “Now what?” someone asked as they haphazardly made their way in the general direction of the Federal Triangle metro stop.

“We celebrate our victory! To the House!” Courf crowed, still leading the way.

“But we got kicked out!” Joly pointed out, still on Bossuet’s back. “That’s not exactly a victory.”

“But they did too,” Combeferre shrugged. “A stalemate is not a defeat.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it a stalemate,” Grantaire quirked an eyebrow.

Jehan let out a loud whoop. “That’s because until they kicked us out we were WINNING!”

They all cheered at that and Enjolras raised his hands over his head as he clapped.

“Wait!” Eponine said suddenly and everyone stopped, turning to face her. “Where’s Marius?”

Enjolras furrowed his brow, he couldn’t remember seeing Marius during the fight. He looked around frantically, examining each of his friends. They would all need to use the first aide kit later but none of them were Marius.

“Did he ever come back from talking to Cosette?” Musichetta asked.

That’s when it hit Enjolras. “No,” he breathed out, “he didn’t.” They had left poor Marius behind. He probably hadn’t even realized that they were the ones in the fight. Granted, he could infer, but still.

“Someone call him,” Combeferre said firmly but Eponine already had her phone out and put it on speaker. They all crowded together around her.

“Eponine?” came the small voice from the phone. “Where are you guys?”

“Ohmygod, Marius are you ok?” Eponine asked quickly.

“We got kicked out, we’re on the other side of Freedom Plaza,” Enjolras said at the same time.

“Oh thank god, I was worried. I mean, I saw the fight but then it was over and you were gone and now I’m standing here with the manager and she’s really pissed,” Marius said in a rush. Enjolras winced. When he spoke again it was softer, just above a whisper. “I managed to keep her from pressing charges or making you pay damages, but you’re all permanently banned.”

Everyone seemed to let out a sigh of relief and Enjolras distinctly heard Bahorel mutter “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Marius you’re a life saver,” Enjolras said honestly. “Meet us back at the House as soon as you can. We all owe you one.”

A chuckle came from the phone. “Ok, see you in a few.”

They all chorused goodbyes and Eponine hung up.

“Well that was close,” Grantaire drawled.

They all looked around at each other a little shell-shocked as the night’s events began to sink in. Enjolras caught Grantaire’s eye and smirked. “At least we’re not dead.”

[bleedingcoffee42]

Eureka AU-  Part 1

RoyAi Eureka AU I got the idea for yesterday and had to write out.   More coming, easily a 20k word fic if I let it be.    Premise is a modern day AU where there is a secret small town in the middle of nowhere that houses a community of scientists who make tech for the government.   Great series that I miss.  An AU that is so vaguely built on the concept of this series you have to squint to see it.   Thanks Dream Me for coming up with another WIP I don’t have time for.

Under a readmore, Part 1 got longer than I wanted it to.  

xx

Riza Hawkeye watched the senators and military higher-ups try to interact with the scientists at this impromptu party Roy Mustang had thrown together.   Eyes were glazed over, tablets were displaying incredible scientific breakthroughs and there were small robots roaming the foyer with trays glued to them so they could deliver drinks and snacks.   She understood why this was necessary, funding was in jeopardy as always, but she didn't understand why an unfathomable genius couldn't used his goddamned phone to give them more than three hours notice this was going to happen.

Roy smiled and lead his group of important government officials around the room, purposely directing them away from scientists like Edward Elric who would instantly seize the chance to declare science was for the people not the military.   He has been in the capital for budget meetings, trying to prove that this little town nobody had heard of was the epicenter of technology and needed to remain funded.   Weapons, medicine, electronics, space technology....all was on display here by the country's best minds to prove to these individuals that Eureka was a vital asset to the country.

Eureka, a town that was on nobody's map and nobody's radar.  A town founded decades ago by  geniuses who wanted to remove the pressures of the outside world from interfering with research while also providing it's occupants with safety and resources.   Isolation also meant that these important people had no idea the routine mishaps that occurred because said experiments often went horribly, horribly wrong.

Scientists could be complete fucking idiots.

That was where she came in, Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye was on assignment here to be the military's presence and protection.  She wore the uniform of the town's Sheriff, something that did nothing to encompass the massive scale of her job description.  With only her and her Deputy Jean Havoc, the small town's law enforcement office covered everything from petty arguments to defending Eureka from attack if enemies ever discovered it for the treasure trove of knowledge it was.

Today's danger was only the head of the program itself, Roy Mustang.   Dr. Mustang, with a slew of doctorates that he would gladly brag about when given the chance, had just come back from a month away from Eureka and failed to send a single text or communication to tell anyone he was planning to do so.   A man with incredible resources at his fingertips, a phone on his hip at all times and enough brainpower to juggle a dozen tasks at once, yet not one single brain cell dedicated to thinking about how she would react to being surprised by his announcement three hours ago.

And she knew he did it for dramatic effect.   She knew he did it to surprise his people because she would have definitely let them know and prepare for this visit.  He wanted them scurrying around, tripping over themselves in excitement and fear when these important people arrived.   Chaos made things seem busy instead of the boring calm that was research being done; testing the research as when it could have unpredictable outcomes.

The alternative would have probably lead the group to enter Eureka and find the town in flames, chimera running the streets and clocks running backwards.   It's not that these geniuses were incompetent, it was that they had the resources and freedom to do what they wanted and every damned one of them took advantage of it.   Putting pressure on them to have something to present to Senators and Generals would have been a disaster.   It also kept some secrets, secret.   It gave tastes of things to come, if the budget was approved, versus delivering results they could shutdown the place and use now.    Roy knew what he was doing, but she hated it none-the-less.

And he knew it.

Riza decided to take a walk, help herself to some coffee that wasn't made by gourmet contraption that required way too many levels of input.  She knew she had to be emanating levels of anger from the way people were avoiding her and that wasn't helping anyone.   She walked down the hall to the break room, avoiding a cleaning robot who was spinning in circles trying to clean popcorn it was dropping from an overloaded popping machine epoxied to it lid.   Then she ducked as a drone flew overhead with a cookie tray.   Did nobody remember the Christmas Party disaster from last year?   Why the hell was all this stuff out of storage?  

No.   NO.  This was Roy's mess and if the tray gave someone a concussion that it was on him.   He'd spectacularly dance around the blame and find some positive to it, he always did.  This was her five minutes to brew coffee in a 'primitive' 'cheap' coffee pot she had to smuggle in to town on her own in order to have simple, perfect coffee.  Five minutes to cool off.

She heard someone at the break room door as she pressed the 'On' button after loading the offending machine.  She didn't turn around knowing who it was and her phone went off.   She pulled it out and saw a simple text message from Roy, 'sorry'.   Damn him.   “No, you're not.”

Roy watched her turn around and cross her arms.   “You're right.  I'm not and I won't insult your intelligence by explaining why I did it.  You already know.  I'm sorry that I had to employ that tactic and upset you, though.”

“Well, we are right back to where we left off before you ran out of here last month without so much as a phone call until you were in the car full of government officials driving back to Eureka.”

“Our conversation...” He paused and took a step towards her and then another.  Enough to close the gap and keep things quieter but not invade her space.  “Needed to be had in person not over the phone.”

“Don't patronize me, I'm not mad because you 'upset' me by doing your job.  I'm downright pissed you have no respect for me what-so-ever to include me in whatever scheme it is you think necessary to keep your job.” She said and remained in place, eyes on him, the coffee pot gurgling as it brewed it's batch of bean water like these people thought the early settlers did.

Roy reacted even though he was trying not to.   “Well, sorry if 'I think' it a priority to keep Eureka from becoming a ghost town so we don't descend into the dark ages scientifically or worse have the personnel here go to the private sector and sell their ideas to the highest bidder.    It's my job to protect our interests here and your job to protect this place physically.”

It was a misstep and he knew it.  She watched him close his eyes and put up his hand, asking to pause and take back what he said.  Unfortunately that project allowing the rewind of time for a few seconds had already imploded on itself last week.  A mess he wasn't here to clean up, so no her job was more than to just protect this place from invasion.   “Go back to doing your job Roy, when you can fit me in on your schedule you let me know.  I need to be read in on what exactly our partnership is here because I'm tired of being the ally when you agree with me and your enemy when I dare question you.  This is my town too.”

“Riza.”  He said and opened his eyes.  He took a deep breath and tried to take himself out of the mindset of dealing with politicians.   “You're not my enemy, you're my wife.”

“Am I?”  She asked.  “Because neither one of us is capable of not being who we are professionally in order to make those fleeting moments of personal neutral ground happen for longer than a few days.   My job is to protect you and everyone in this town.   Your job is to protect all of us from the world.   Why the hell can't you stop being such a dick and throwing around your rank when you don't get your way?  To me.  We should be partners professionally, but you can't give an inch and I do not answer to you.  I still am active military and this Sheriff's uniform is just to put everyone at ease.   So when General Raven comes to me for my situational report, what do I say?   Am I a member of this town or not, because I have a list of really concerning things I should be sending to him that we just put in the shredder and forget about once your people resolve them.”

Roy knew he should get back to the party but he saw his marriage slipping away as Riza turned her back to him to make her military grade garbage coffee.   She was right, of course she was.  She allowed him to focus back on reality.   He loved her and he took her for granted.   “Can we talk now?  In my office?”

“We have a lot to talk about.”  She said and turned back to him, coffee cup in hand.  “And, if I recall, you ran away when it didn't go your way last time.”

“OK, I deserve that.  I didn't run away from us, I ran towards a inferno that was our annual budget going up in flames in Congress.”  He replied.  “Riza, It was an emergency.   I'm not used to...sharing.   I'm just not used to burdening someone else with everything I deal with. ”

“Roy, this isn't about you running out the door and saying 'duty calls' this is about the fact that we got married and you thought you could soften me up about not turning over your technology to the military.”  She replied and walked up to him and looked him in the eye.   She could see him struggling with what to say because there was no compromising for them on a lot of issues.   He wrongly thought he could count on her to stop being a soldier, to stop seeing their successes here as something that could save lives.  Lives of men she served with, lives of men who were still serving while she was on special assignment.  

“Sometimes, what we make here is too powerful to be in someone's hands.  Sometimes it's too much to be released into this word and we need time to modify it for use.“  He said softly.  “I know I said the wrong things, but I don't know how to argue without being an asshole.”

“You should learn.”  She said .  

“Teach me.”  He said in a whisper, begging.  “Don't give up on me yet.”

“Go back to your party before Edward launches into a speech about the evils of having science married to the military and someone reminding him that this is a Department of Defense venture.” Riza said.

“Let him.”   Roy waved that threat off.   “It will make them want it all the more.    It will make them see the very real threat of a genius like him going and working on his own.   Don't tell him I said that.”

“If you want to talk, you know where my office is.”  She said and walked around him only to have him reach out and take her hand.   “It will do you some good to find out what it's like to not have everything happen on your terms.”

“Are you still sleeping in your office?”  He asked.  

“You know I am.  You have your house's security system reporting to your phone.”  She replied and tried to take her hand back.  He was rubbing his fingers over her wedding ring.  

“Its our house.”  He said and could feel months of bad decisions all coming down on him and wishing he had that damned time machine to go back and fix them.  It really wasn't their house.  He just had her move in with him when they got married, assuming it was just a house.   A place to live. Another decision he didn't consult her on.   She felt more at home on a surplus cot in her office, in a jail cell, than in his home.   He felt a flutter of panic now.  “Please, give me ten minutes.”

“You really think that ten minutes will finish the conversation we were having last month?” She asked.

“It's a start.”  He said.  “It will give you time to drink your coffee.”

“Fine.”

xxxxxxxxx

[theculturedmarxist]

Randall Lane is a fucking bastard capshit shill that should shut his idiot cockholster.

I was in the library the other day and sitting on a shelf was a stack of Forbes magazines, the facing issue featuring some dickhead grinning smugly at me beneath the headline

Reimagining Capitalism: How The Greatest System Ever Conceived (And Its Billionaires) Need To Change

I knew that I was going to hate whatever I found on those pages, but I had to read it anyway. It was intriguing for two reasons: capitalists actually acknowledging the fact that systemic changes need to be made is something in itself, something which should make people extremely nervous, and it’s never a bad idea to read enemy propaganda. Of course Forbes is capprop par excellence, and I was morbidly curious in regards to what they thought needed to be changed and how. The most surprising thing about its suggestions was just how unsurprising they are in their tepidity and belief in their own perverse self-assured reaction, with the usual capitalist mythologizing mixed in.

Sitting in a modest room in New York’s ­immodest Peninsula Hotel, the richest person in the world for most of the past 20 years ponders an existential question suddenly in vogue among the left’s confiscatory set: Should he even exist? “It is fascinating,” says Bill Gates, “that for the first time in my life, people are saying, ‘Okay, should you have billionaires?’ ”

Dispassionately, he begins to unpack that thesis. “I’m afraid if you really implemented something like that, that the amount you would gain would be much less than the amount you would lose. Now, that sounds self-interested, so who’s the neutral witness on this one? … We need somebody who’s not wealthy to say that in some cases allowing people to be wealthy is okay.”

Allow me to raise my hand. For the past year, I’ve had one-on-one discussions with no fewer than two dozen billionaires, including face-to-face meetings with the three richest people in the world—Jeff Bezos, Gates and Warren Buffett—touching on various aspects of capitalism’s future. It comes at an urgent moment: You’d have to go back to the 1960s, or maybe even the 1930s, to find a time when the primacy of the free market system was so widely questioned.

Just 56% of Americans say they have a positive image of capitalism, according to a Gallup poll last summer, compared with 37% who said the same thing about socialism. In a Fox News poll during the same period, 36% of adults approved of a shift in the U.S. “away from capitalism and more toward socialism”—a huge increase from 2012, when just 20% said so. Among Millennials and Gen Z, free market skepticism is actually the majority view. In Gallup’s poll, 51% of those 18 to 29 had a positive view of socialism—albeit the largely fuzzy Scandinavian/Bernie Sanders version rather than the Soviet/Berlin Wall hard stuff—compared with 45% for capitalism. That finding was echoed by a Harvard survey of young adults in which 51% said they did not support capitalism and only 19% said they “identify as a capitalist.” These sentiments come amid an economy that by all traditional measures is booming, with full employment and 3% growth. So far, 2019 has offered only reinforcement of these views, as tech companies have continued to bleed credibility, Howard Schultz turned himself into a cartoon and a slew of tax-the-very-rich proposals garnered surprisingly high support. “This has been brewing for years, accelerating in the last few months and again in the last few weeks,” says Steve Case, the AOL founder who now runs an investment firm, Revolution. The hedge fund titan Paul Tudor Jones adds: “I think we need to acknowledge that we’re at a crossroads, with massive social fissures.”

And those were just some of the billionaires willing to speak on the record. Virtually everyone I talked to acknowledged the need for change. Some incremental and many systemic; some spoke in whispers, many in full-throated pleas for “reform” or “a reboot.” The rock star Bono had perhaps the most poetic suggestion: a reimagination.If such a term conjures Steve Jobs or Walt Disney, two of capitalism’s visionary saints, so be it. Entrepreneurial capitalism remains, objectively, the best system ever invented to create and distribute prosperity, and if you look at the billion-plus people in China, India and elsewhere who were lifted from extreme poverty in the past two decades, it remains easy to sing its praises. The dynamism remains true in the U.S., too. Of The Forbes 400 list of richest Americans, 67% are self-made and 11% are immigrants. “America works, and it works now better than it ever worked,” Buffett says.

Since too many Americans don’t feel that way, the time is ripe to reimagine a system that addresses them. Pick the brains of some of the greatest-ever manifestations of the American Dream, and an AAA-version of capitalism emerges, one more authentic, accessible and accountable—and perhaps, in an age of uncertainty, one that’s built to last. The stakes couldn’t be higher, as forces gather to threaten the greatest prosperity engine ever built.

Reimagining Capitalism as...Authentic

The French nobleman Alexis de Tocqueville’s travels across America in the 1830s coincided with the emergence of socialist theory back in Europe, a movement he presciently and stridently criticized. For Tocqueville, the balanced capitalism he witnessed compared favorably to the options back home, such as ceding power to the government or a more feudal system “managed by a few rich and powerful individuals.” “The inhabitants of the United States almost always manage to combine their own advantage with that of their fellow citizens,” he observed. Tocqueville’s musings inspired Friedrich Hayek’s Road to Serfdom and filtered into the very first issue of Forbes, printed during Russia’s Revolution, when the magazine’s founder, B.C. Forbes, famously declared that “business was originated to produce happiness, not to pile up millions.”

Milton Friedman was another 20th-century admirer of Tocqueville, particularly for his focus on political equality as a driver of prosperity. But Friedman famously held that among all the constituents of business—the customer, the employees, the community—just one ultimately mattered, the shareholder. The only social responsibility of business, he declared, was to maximize profits. If shareholders wanted to spend their profits on altruistic projects, great, but that was at their sole discretion, with the assumption they were buying something of value—perhaps social approbation or the assuaging of guilt.

This maxim gave us LBOs, private equity deals and employee buyouts. And to many of the world’s most successful capitalists, it also created many of the current ills. “How wrong I was about Milton Friedman—most of us were,” says Jones, who built a $5 billion fortune exploiting market opportunities, including shorting the 1987 market crash. “It came at great cost to other corporate stakeholders and eroded the trust on which companies, and civil society, depends.”

In an era when consumers crave authenticity, the Tocque­ville version, which sees profits as a by-product of business rather than its singular mission, offers a natural strain of capitalism that’s already hugely popular, especially among younger Americans. For Millennials, according to a massive Deloitte survey in 2018, the bottom three priorities for a business should be profits, efficiency and sales. The top three? Generating jobs, improving society and innovation.

Authenticity explains why Americans, while disliking Wall Street and big business, continue to love entrepreneurs (87% approval, per Gallup) and small business (96%). And why purpose-driven companies like Patagonia and Warby Parker are wreathed in halos, no matter what they’re selling or how rich the founders get.  

“When we’re acquiring companies, one of the things I look at very closely is ‘Are the founders of a company missionaries or mercenaries?’ ” Jeff Bezos told me several months ago, before revealing the answer with his famous braying laugh. “It’s actually very easy to tell—missionaries make better products and ser­vices.” They also engender the one authentic trait that’s ultimately the most profitable: trust. That word, says Bezos, “is what allows you to expand the business.”

Of course, trust is a double-edged sword. As Facebook treats user data as a chit rather than a covenant, the company’s reputation—and Zuckerberg’s—has tanked. (In the realm of extremely unlikely outcomes, it’s now easier to envision him in the Big House than in the White House.) It’s also why Wall Street remains about as popular as big tobacco.

But even in finance, roots of authenticity shoot up. Impact investing, long dismissed as a niche for do-gooders, has emerged as a growth area, with some $35 billion committed in 2018 to fund businesses that carry societal benefits without sacrificing returns. “We’re talking about solving problems using innovation and entrepreneurship,” says Nancy Pfund, who founded DBL Partners and has raised $625 million in three venture funds. Her flagship, with investments in Tesla and SolarCity, has ranked in the top performance quartile across this decade. “When you just look at the super-short-term shareholder, you’re not taking advantage of innovation—and you’re cheating the future.”

The numbers are getting larger: Breakthrough Energy Ventures, backed by a consortium of billionaires such as Gates, Bezos, Michael Bloomberg, Richard Branson and Jack Ma, has pledged $1 billion for startups that promise radical solutions to carbon emissions. A similarly platinum-plated tycoon cohort, including Bono, Laurene Powell Jobs and Jeff Skoll, has backed the Rise Fund, an arm of private equity giant TPG that has deployed $1.8 billion in 25 investments they think will have significant impact on society. “People are rightfully asking, ‘Is the system working?’ ” says Bill McGlashan, the CEO of the Rise Fund. “We believe that capitalism is a better servant than master.”

Reimagining Capitalism as...Accessible

For those who rightly still believe in America as the land of opportunity, a Fox News survey from just a few weeks ago should offer pause: 42% of Americans do not think “the way capitalism works in the U.S. these days” gives them “a fair shot.” Even more troubling: In a country that has always held true to the premise that you could make it through hard work—or at least your children could—18% thought that the American Dream is out of reach for their family.  

And there are ample stats to back up the sentiment. In the U.S. the top 1% of workers, collectively, earn vastly more than the bottom 50%. “The market system as it gets more specialized pushes more money to the top,” Buffett explains. “The natural function of a more specialized market economy is to divert more and more of the rewards to the top. That’s something I don’t think we’ve fully addressed in this country.”

But the situation is actually far worse than yawning income disparity. Americans have historically viewed the superrich as heroes, not villains, for a simple reason: “We all thought we could be like them,” Jones says. It’s the accelerating lack of upward mobility that’s fueling much of this populist anger. For all the anecdotal success stories, if you’re born in the wrong Zip code, to the wrong parents, the road to The Forbes 400 has never looked longer or narrower.

Take venture capital, the clearest starting point to a billion-dollar fortune over the past 20 years—a door the vast majority of Americans have no way of opening. Just 15% of VC money goes to women founders, 1% to black entrepreneurs and less than a quarter to anyone who lives outside California, New York and Massachusetts. Yes, a far more global, diverse pool now has access to those funding meccas, but that’s little comfort to a parent whose kid goes to a so-so public school in a city or region that’s been left behind.

“It needs to be a national priority to level the playing field,” says Case, who for the past few years has conducted a Rise of the Rest bus tour, traveling the country and putting millions into more than 100 companies that aren’t in Boston, New York or the San Francisco Bay Area. To Case, it’s both civic duty and opportunity, as brilliant minds lie fallow in low-cost areas desperate for high-growth hope.

Pfund actually counts women leaders before investing in a firm—almost two thirds of the companies in her funds have a woman at the CFO level or higher. She also pushes her portfolio to spread the opportunity, through profit-sharing plans, living-wage commitments and encouragement to hire in underserved areas.

All these efforts are on the margin, short of a commitment to create educational opportunities for those with ambition and then a track for them going forward. “We will have the resources,” Buffett says. “The question is, will we in effect pull everybody in who’s able-bodied and willing to work 40 hours a week so they can make a decent living, raise a family?”

Reimagining Capitalism as...Accountable

Something unusual happened a few hours after my sit-down with Bill Gates. Fresh off pondering the future of billionaires, he went on Stephen Colbert’s eponymous show with his wife, Melinda, to a crescendo of cheers. In accepting his new role as the world’s second-richest person, he quipped, “We’re trying to give it away faster”—and the audience swooned. From their call for higher taxes on the superrich to the obligations of the successful to the empowerment of women, the applause kept coming. By the end, Colbert was playfully goading the Gateses to run for political office.

Compare that with the Bronx cheer that echoed through New York later that week, when Amazon announced it was pulling out from its HQ2 plan in Queens. The math-challenged politicians who killed the deal took justifiable heat from pretty much everyone except their base. But Bezos was bloodied just as badly. He’s worth over $130 billion (at least until his divorce settles), and Amazon is worth $800 billion. Why extract a measly $3 billion in corporate welfare from New York? In the truest Friedman sense: because he has shareholders—and he could.

The dueling reactions underscore an American truth as timeless as Astor and Cooper and Rockefeller: Americans expect their meritocratic royalty to remain accountable to the public that helped create them.

Traditionally, that means philanthropy, an aspect of extreme success (there are now 137 deca-billionaires in the world) that no longer feels optional, albeit one that still engenders cynicism. Says Gates: “The attack that ‘Why should you even have a say in setting the agenda?’ That has a certain resonance to it.”

For Gates, who within our lifetime will likely be regarded as the greatest philanthropist ever, accountability starts with framing the role: “picking novel ideas” or “off-the-wall theories,” as he says, and then proving that the concepts work, or don’t, taking the kinds of risks that no taxpayer-funded government—or shareholder-dependent corporation—could justify.

But in this era, Gates also recognizes that motives will be questioned. “If we come and improve math class,” Gates says, “then people are like, ‘Hey, you didn’t do the band.’ ” For this reason, Gates tries to hold himself publicly accountable through transparency, including a public letter from the foundation that he and Melinda write each year. It’s also the driving reason for the Giving Pledge, in which 189 of the world’s wealthiest people have affirmed, for all to see, that they will give away at least half of their fortunes, most much more.

A Giving Pledge signatory, Salesforce founder Marc Ben­i­off has similarly shifted from anonymous giving to putting his name on two hospitals, in part to be a role model for emerging tech billionaires and in part because “it sent a message that we’re supporting the community in a tangible way.” And he does the same thing with his company, which pioneered a “1, 1, 1” model that placed 1% of the company’s equity in a trust, along with a pledge to donate 1% of its software products and 1% of his 35,000 employees’ time to volunteer work. It’s a combination that’s generated $260 million in grants and 3.8 million hours for civic causes.

Rather than rely on such voluntary munificence, Jones, who cut his philanthropic teeth founding the innovative Robin Hood Foundation in New York, has focused for the past several years on holding corporate America directly accountable for better capitalism. He founded Just Capital, which has surveyed more than 80,000 Americans in order to get a precisely calibrated take on what makes a good corporate citizen. America’s older workers, it turns out, aren’t so different from its youngest, desiring companies to pay and treat their employees well, put out good products that have integrity, and care about the environment and the community.

Just Capital ranks every major public company across its 36 criteria, from best to worst, proffering a Good Housekeeping-like seal to the top companies, in order to spur better corporate citizenry. (Disclosure: I’m on the Just Capital board, and Forbes publishes the annual Just 100 list each fall.) “You can’t manage what you can’t measure,” says Jones, who also helped Just launch a $200 million ETF in June 2018 that has so far outperformed the S&P 500.

Measurement has also been driving McGlashan at the Rise Fund, which has a hard time justifying billions in investments in social good when no one can define what “good” is. To that end, Rise incubated and then recently spun out Y Analytics, a firm devoted to measuring this impact—a key step in making capitalism still more solutions-oriented.

Such remedies are urgent. “Unless we find a market-based solution to the exponential growth in inequality, we will end up with populist legislation that creates a hammer to go after every nail,” Jones says. He’s right. Alexandria Ocasio-­Cortez’s much-touted 70% income tax bracket displays a stark lack of understanding how fortunes in this country are built—through ownership, not earnings. Elizabeth Warren’s wealth surcharge would require an army of appraisers. “Here’s the problem with all of those,” says the venture capitalist Vinod Khosla. “There is international mobility.”  

Virtually every billionaire I spoke with acknowledged that higher taxes on the billionaire set are inevitable; most even saw them as beneficial, if correctly applied. According to Gates, Buffett, Khosla and others, the correct way to levy taxes on the superrich is at a transaction point. Either an estate tax without the loopholes that currently render it useless or a higher capital gains tax applied only on extreme fortunes, to avoid suppressing growth.

And better yet, the tax code can be refined to encourage growth and spread it around more evenly. The launch of opportunity zones, engineered by the Facebook and Spotify billionaire Sean Parker, has already been put in motion, offering tantalizing tax breaks in needy areas of all 50 states. Adjusting corporate tax rates based on jobs created—more jobs, lower taxes—is another worthy idea.

The eternal beauty of the free market is its ability to evolve. Leave it to the most admired capitalist in the world, Warren Buffett, who has lived through more than one third of this country’s history and who bought his first stock in 1942, at a moment when it was conceivable the U.S. could lose World War II, to make a prediction: “The luckiest person that will ever be born in the world to date will be a baby being born in the United States today.” Bet against Buffett, and capitalism, at your peril.

Some socialists poo-poo periodicals like Forbes or The Economist for being bourgeois rags, and they’re right. This whole piece is trash not fit for wiping one’s ass. It’s nothing but a puff propaganda piece for capitalists to tell other capitalists about how great they are, how essential they are, how right they are by virtue of being billionaires and how the jealous little people should just bootstrap themselves into wealth and plenty like they did.

It’s thanks in part to pieces like this that make class warfare and violent revolution ultimately necessary. These cretins delude themselves in a comfortable fantasy, a narrative myth about their own greatness meant to reassure themselves that the innumerable interlocking apparatuses which produce and secure their wealth are in fact benign, that the human suffering it produces is incidental rather than inherent. Randall Lane, this stupid fucker, praises Benioff for doing nothing. Nothing! He himself doesn’t do anything for charity except give away a tiny fraction of other people’s stolen money and forces his employees to do “volunteer work.” But that’s praiseworthy in their degenerate minds. Other people do the work, and they get all the credit.

“Opportunity Zones.” Reading the words made me want to vomit. Orwell, who these bastards have the temerity to quote in the back of the magazine, sandwiched between Sappho and Ayn Rand, would have a field day.

Forbes is a valuable resource for any socialist. We should thank the capitalists for being so considerate in compiling in one place so much information on these criminals and their crimes. All in all, a tremendous compilation of evidence for each of these loathsome worms’ cases before the people’s tribunal. Masturbatory passages will be read aloud to the millionaires and billionaires and their subhuman frontmen like Randall, and will be the last thing they hear aside from the hissing sound of metal on metal before the People’s Razor delivers the results of their “market-based solutions.”

[beaubcxton]

“You’re so brew-tiful, Snow.”

For @recgulus on her birthday. I love you & I hope you enjoy this 5.8kish mess. What is canon, right? Also, I made Simon say Crowley because I really like the word even if it doesnt have any context here. This is rushed but like, enjoy.

It happens on a Monday. Of course, it does Nothing good ever happened on a Monday.  Simon should have known to keep his head low on a day like this. Children sobbing was the welcome tune that announced the beginning of a new day, fingers stumbled on the steering wheel; a sign that the night before might have been exhilarating but now was just, tiring. Mondays were like the thorns in a bed of roses.

Back in the day when his dad was still decent, his father warned him to take care of himself. ‘Nothing like a Monday, mate. Can’t smoke or drink, can ya?’ And Simon had smiled toothily at his father, shrugging off the advice like it was dust that had found its way onto his coat.

He really really shouldn’t have done that.

Reason 1: His mom died two years ago in June on a Monday.

Reason 2: Agatha broke up with him last week. Surprise, surprise! It was on a Monday!

Reason 3: He just spilled hot coffee on the fittest guy in the world on a fucking Monday aka today.

---

“Simon!!”

Feet wheeling automatically at the familiar voice, I extend my arms right in time for Penelope Bunce to fling herself against my chest. Her giggles send a row of vibrations in me that shudder each bone. I-weirdly- find myself inhaling her hair as if to assure myself she’s there. (She smells of watermelon and ink. Typical of her to do something study related even on vacation ) I shift uncomfortably in the hug, her phone digging in my arm.

Pen is my best friend. Been since we were tiny tots. She'd been gone for nearly a month. Being the only person who included me in social ongoings also known as parties where you could get wasted, Penny was the Jake to my Boyle. When conversations had the opportunity to become awkward and stifling, Pen was pretty cool to divert my attention. We'd video called at least five times a week this month.

She pulls back, grins still wide on both of our faces and surveys her surroundings.

It’s earlier than I would like it to be; it’s just barely afternoon and I’ve been awake since dawn. It’s a tiny cafe, huddled alone with its vivid hues of orange and brown amongst the grey concrete building. Good for business. Unlike the outdoors, the interior of the cafe’s temperature induced warmth and placidity. I usually notice several kids hunched and pored over their studying material. Textbooks that hid their anxious face from view are stacked on the tables, their coffees long since drained but I rarely pay attention to it, opting for my ‘want a free refill, mate?’ chime. Employed at the beginning of fall, I was given only a few days to suit the shop with the atmosphere outside. Pumpkins decorate the cashier desk and they’ve been carved to look like famous people. My favorite one is the one that looks like Miley Cyrus. Strings of lights, the ones you get in IKEA fall from the ceiling casting a mellow glow in the gloominess of the upcoming winter.

“I can’t believe you work here now.” She huffs, still having a staring competition with one of the pumpkins. Taylor Swift must have won because my best friend snaps her gaze towards me as if waiting for an explanation. I know where she's going with this and I have no intention whatsoever to get into it. It'll just end with her storming out or worse so I just hum in agreement or whatever she expects from me.

Surprisingly between tucks of hair and another staring completion with Shawn Mendes, she tells me, “It’ll be good for you. I hope, at least. You’ve been a mopey mess since Agatha, now don’t give me that look Si. You know it’s true. I told you not to get involved with her but-“

I will my jaw and heart to loosen. “Missed you Pen.”

Her teasing and motherly grin could light the whole shop up. “Micah and I missed you too.”

My smile wavers. Right. Her boyfriend in America. Really decent bloke, always up for the occasional drag though he’s a right wanker when he’s reading a book. We get along swimmingly. And it's not like I like like Penny but whenever she talks about Micah, it reminds me of my recent break up with Agatha. Someone who I thought I'd spend my life with. For fuck's sake, we're twenty-three. I'd be Pinocchio if I told you that I didn't go ring shopping.

“Simon?” I run a hand through my hair and grimace when it comes out sticky. I haven't talked about Agatha since she broke up with me.

“I’m alright,” I say and conclude the statement by sending her a shaky smile. Penny looks wary but doesn’t do something weird like putting her hand on my shoulder or lending me a hug. I’m grateful for it but also resentful.

The door tinkles and-

“Simon Snow?”

My first thought is ‘Fuck me.’ My second is ‘I’m going to act like a dunce. Crowley, this boy knows my name.’ And my third is nothing.

I go blank. Nada and nil, both poetic wonders dance from my tongue. Penny pinches my arm. I can see her smirking and hiding a giggle but I don’t reproach her for it. Not when Adonis is standing right in front of me, his muscular form a barrier against the cool wind he’s brought with the open door. With slanted eyebrows and thin lips, he looks like someone you’d see in portraits at castles, despite the smirk on his face.

“Simon Snow?” He calls out again and I watch mesmerized as his mouth opens and pronounces my name. I flush. It’s probably in my best intentions if I don’t drool over a customer and with hardly any cool, I raise my arm up like a moron and squeak out a “Here?” like we’re kids and back to roll call.

Super Fit bloke- as I recently decided to call him in my head- shifts his searching glance and focuses on me and I almost reel back in surprise. He’s wearing a hat that shadows his features but even blind, I’d recognize him anywhere. His eyes are grey and unlike anything that I’ve seen. It’s like a storm in there and I’m captivated by observing them. It’s so different watching them up close, up person in daylight than stalking his Instagram profiles at 2am.  And his hair is carefully messed up in an extravagant manner, dark and shiny locks peeking out lazily.

I'm speechless. This is the best day of my life.

“Bastillon Pitch?”

My mouth blurts the words out but I suspect even if I had time, I’d say those same words. That same name. Do you know who is standing in my-not mine but you get the point- coffee shop right now? Award winning and three-time Oscar nominee, Bastillon Pitch. He has nine million and seven thousand followers on Instagram (not that I would know) and he’s been called to Ellen which he’s refused, by the way. For all my understanding (and obsessive knowledge) about  him, I could never understand why he would do that. I mean, who refuses Ellen? That’s like refusing chocolate. Only a few months older than me, he’s the youngest actor to star in so many bloody iconic movies.

The man grimaces and looks around to see if anyone’s heard my exclamation but that would be ridiculous because the only people in the room are him, Pen, me and two ladies with floral blouses and wrinkled fingers. The latter are deep in conversation and are stealing glances at us occasionally to check whether we’re eavesdropping. They’re loud so that’s taken care of. In the seventeen minutes that they’ve been there, I’ve learned that they are lesbians whose gay son eloped with a girl. I'd like to say that's the strangest thing I've heard but it doesn't even rank top ten in today's conversations.

“I go by Baz and shut up, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Rathe dumb, aren’t you? You’re the barista here?” His voice is smooth and dark like wine drunk on a summer night. The tone, however, implies he thinks I’m incompetent. It’s like he’s trying to convey, ‘You? You’re the barista here? Seriously?’ I feel like I’ve been slapped. Hurt and embarrassment course through me simultaneously.

It’s not every day that one gets to meet their fucking celebrity crush but well (I like boys too, you see) I imagine I’m handling it rather well, never mind that my face is probably beet red and I’m this close to stammering. Don’t give me that look. ‘Baz’ Pitch is literally an icon. He’s acted in several movies and he’s so good at it that I get goosebumps watching him. And Crowley, I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t the fittest person I’d seen in my life. 10/10 ass and a perfect asshole. I don’t think I can handle his fucking beautiful lilt this early in the morning what with Agatha presence still ghosting my mind. Bastillon Pitch or not.

“Yes.” I bite. “Why?”

“Just expected a bit more, I suppose. Most baristas have a uniform” He breaks off suddenly and stretches hard like, his shirt literally goes up and I have a view of strained muscles. Crowley. I’m staring at it so hard I’m not aware he’s speaking till he coughs. Shit. I want to wipe that smirk off.

“You seem like the type of guy to like Brooklyn Nine-Nine but you don’t even wear a uniform so I can’t consider you a true fan. Seriously Snow, who wears that to work?” His mouth is opening and closing but all I hear from him is the sign ‘I’m a prick.’

“Sorry, we can’t look like posh assholes all the time.”

He rolls his eyes again at my attempted jab. “You-“

“You  know,-“ I interrupt loudly, “-I wonder if you keep rolling your eyes because you’re trying to find a brain back there.”

The asshole grins and I’m disarmed by the beauty of it for a moment. His teeth do not contrast well with his tanned appearance. They look almost yellow in the dim light of the coffee shop but they’re sharp. I oddly wonder if he’s played a vampire. But then I know he’s not. I’ve watched all of his movies. Twice. Okay, thrice.  (And maybe a few more times after that)

“Touche” As he walks towards me, I can swallow my disgust. He’s so damned tall. Seriously what was the point of these people with their ridiculous heights of six foot when I, a mere mortal was just five foot one? (I never said I wasn't dramatic.)  “I didn’t expect it from you. Soft, aren’t you Snow?”

Pen, the traitor is nicely backing away.

“Soft?” I splutter manically even though I know being soft is wonderful but Bastillion Pitch cannot know in any universe that Simon Snow is soft. It would not bode well on his impression of me.

He grins wolfishly. “Shame.”

Shame? Shame? What does that even mean?

His sudden bark of laughter shakes the bloody walls. “Flustered, mate?”

​Oh. Oh. Pen has long since retreated, thankfully because I wouldn’t feel like quitting if she was here. It’s just like the universe to make the (EX) love of my life an arse who has no consideration for my feelings. I admonish myself for sounding like a sap.

“I only get flustered in front of cute. Hot, hot people.”

Predator smirk combined with no reply sets me on edge. “What do you want?”

“Good grades but I already have them. Do you, Snow?”

I try not to let the bitterness seep into my tone. Of course, acting isn’t enough for the Great Bastillon Pitch. He’d have to study and rank too, possibly. I couldn’t understand why he’d need to work with all that money.

“Stop calling me that.”

Damn, how does he raise just one eyebrow?

“It’s a name, Snow. Surely, even you know what their purpose it?”

What? I’m so confused right now. I rack my brains and ask myself if I’ve done anything to warrant such behavior but I come out short. Did I bump into him on the street and not apologize? Kick his dog? No to both because I’d remember being a shithead. I don’t want to be on bad blood with Bastillon Pitch, however, so I try to rein my irritation in. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot.

“What are you majoring in?”

He stares at me. Blinks. Stares. “I want to become a lawyer.” He draws out the words like he thinks I’m a moron.

Who knew it’d be hard to have a conversation with Bastillon Pitch? Not me.

“I think you playing a vile asshole has rubbed on your in real life personality.” This time, I’m teasing.

His laughter is a sound I’ve not heard before. It’s warm and cold, both at once like he’s rarely had the opportunity to full on laugh, uncontrolled and unpracticed and he’s not sure how to excel in the skill. I think that irks him, not being able to control it because he stops quickly though I won't forget how, for a moment, his eyes crinkled shut and how his fingers curled in. I shiver.

It’s like someone has clicked a button on his personality. His face becomes a mask of nonchalance. “Coffee.” He orders. “Tall and with milk.”

Disappointment finds its way to me. Despite the ongoing insults, it was exciting to spar with someone. I’m just usually bored here. I grind the dusty little machine on (it’s certainly not Starbucks material) and waits for the hum that it’s working before I assemble the milk and sugar, distinctly aware that eyes are trailing me.

“You’d be a good lawyer,” I say suddenly as I pour a teaspoon of milk in, anxious to continue the conversation. His eyes widen. “Make people all mad and that. That be two pounds.”

His lips twitch as he silently hands over the money. I draw up the bill and as I’m handing over the coffee, full to the brim in a paper cup. His nails brush the desk as he leans forward, breath warm against my cheek as he murmurs, “You’ve got a nice arse, Snow.”

And because, I’m Simon Snow, because I’m a walking disaster, because Bastillon Pitch is an asshole who deserves it, I splutter and my hands shake for one infinite second before the cup goes down, falling and the piping beverages jumps onto Baz’s leather clothes.

Times stops in that standstill of a second. Nothing moves. In that second, I’m not an idiot but the spell is broken and I realize what an A class clown I am.

“You’ve got a little coffee there.” I murmur, mortified as Bastillon Bloody Pitch stares at himself for several seconds before his charged animal eyes hook me in place.

“What the fuck, Snow?”

I splutter maniacally, flinging drool here and there. Sending a plea to the ground to swallow me up, I stumble in my haste to get some towels. I start to dab one on his chest and flush when I realize I’m essentially touching his breasts. I am touching Bastillon Pitch, Oh my Gosh.

Do not think about that, Simon Snow. Do not think about that.

Baz pushes me off and tugs the towel and wipes himself. He’s snarling and his eyes have darkened but I (shockingly) notice pink coloring his cheeks.

“Rubbing it won’t help, Bastillon. You’re supposed to dab-”

“I reckon you’d know a lot about this. This your ninth time dropping coffee on a customer? And I go by Baz, how many fucking times-”

I raise my hands and back away. He seems almost embarrassed but I do not want to be in the way of an angry ‘Baz’  Penny, please be there. “I’m sorry. Coffee’s on the house.”

“THERE IS NO COFFEE, TO BEGIN WITH!”

Well, he has a point there. I concede defeat and murmur apologies. Baz drops the towel on the floor like a wanker and storms out, the door slamming shut behind him and the texture of frost whipping across my face for a millisecond as I process the previous events.

The old ladies are looking at me and grinning. I bury my hands in my face and groan.

I could not catch a break.

---

“Snow!”

Fuck. What is he doing here? I shut my eyes for a second, try to collect any calm in this universe and curse softly.

“SNOW!”

I move out from the kitchen and press my apron, hastily. The warm aroma of coffee ground hits me as I step out the door and face to Bastillon.

“Hey.”

He sneers. “Where's the apron?”

My eyebrows pinch together and I look down at myself, just to double check. I had worn it.

“What are you on about, mate? It's right here.” I say and gesture to my clothes.

Surprisingly, Baz flushes and growls out, “Where's my apron, you moron?”

I know he's trying to be a really tough boy and crap but whenever he growls, it sounds really cute, almost like he's imitating a baby bear. I have the sudden urge to pinch his cheeks and coo over him.

“Snow!”

He even has the personality of a bear.

“Sorry. Lost in thought. What did you say?”

Baz shutting his eyes will forever be one of the most dramatic and exaggerated actions  in the world. It's like one of those slow things. First, he twists his fingers and they curl around the table. Then, his lips purse. All the while his eyes are slowly shutting. Maybe, he took classes for that.

“I said,” He manages to say. “Where the fuck is my apron?”

Sighing, I run a hand through my hair. “Look mate, I can make you a cup of perfectly fine coffee, provided you don't startle me like-”

“Urgh!” Baz implores to some deity. “I’m working here, you dumbass.”

I freeze.

There is no way I heard correctly.

“What?”

“Fucking Crowley.” He murmurs, throwing his look downwards.

Just when you think life’s picking up, when you finally move on from the incidents of yesterday and go a few hours without this complete and utter arse, Bastillon Pitch drops in and says, “Hey! I‘m going to work with you. ”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Crowley, I'm going to need to tell my aunt about you.”

Somewhere inside me, my heart stumbles. “What?”

“My aunt?” Baz smirks. “The owner?”

Are you serious? Someone up there had it out for me. Embarrassment rings through me.

Pinching my lip, I have a revelation about what I must do. Alrighty then. I give him my apron and resign. Guns and Roses blare in the background as I do this mighty and heroic deed. I leap off the platform, pluck my sunglasses off and kiss the mole on Bastillon face because no matter how much of an asshole he is, I will forever be attracted to him before I pull away and slam the door on my way out.

Well, I imagine all of this. Could you tell? I really cannot believe my luck. Now, his aunt who I assumed was a perfectly good woman is going to fire me and I’ll live on the streets for all eternity. Staring at how happy Bastillon looks with the bombshell he's just dropped doesn't help me in the slightest. Moving to get him an apron, I throw it towards him and cross my arms as a thought strikes me.

“When did you start?”

Chuckling low and warm, Baz pulls the apron on top of himself and smiles. “And here I thought you were dull.  Yesterday.”

Xxxxxxxxx                                         

We’ve settled into a routine. Baz and I. It’s really just one rule though we’ve found it hard to obey. Do not interfere with the other.

Sometimes, I’m making coffee when Baz leg brushes against mine and while both of us turn pink, I choose not to say anything while he goes into a rage about how I’m an imbecile who hogs all the space and how ‘you hog all the space with your fucking stupidity, Snow!’

So I’d retaliate. The other day, for example, he’d asked me for a cuppa. He was on break and by obligation, I had to make him one so I set out to make a cup of tea when this brilliant idea struck me. I boiled the gatorade up and put it in a cup with sugar on its side. Waiting patiently as he raised his eyebrows, sipped the tea and then, spat it out, I couldn’t help but feel vicious satisfaction.

We play a bunch of games too. Not the friendly ones that children in playgrounds do but the ones that people with no lives and who thrive on annoying their rival do.

One of them is the growling game; every time, we roast each other and someone doesn’t retort but growls, loses. The other is The Quick Game; we have a tally on who serves the most customers. So far, Baz is winning by a marginal. (a lot) My favorite is the Embarrassment Game; when we’re talking to customers, we tell them ridiculous things about the other. Baz, of course, started it first. He had told one of my favorite customers that I’m a rather dull kid and his aunt had hired me in pity. I had told the next customer he was gay. He, surprisingly, didn’t have anything to say to that and we haven’t played the game since.

---

“You’d think that a barista would know how to make a cup of coffee.” Baz is saying to his aunt, Fiona who is coincidentally my boss. Did I mention that before? We’re at her office, not because she’s called me though that was what I was led to believe, cue angry glare at the boy on my left. “But Snow dropped the whole fucking mug, sorry, freaking mug on me on my first day and I had to go home.” Baz added, opting for a pout.

Crowley, he looks brilliant. Bugger. We’re playing the Embarrassment Game again and I am not ready, for once.

I try to display some professional mannerism. Might as well look good before I was fired. Still, I feel melancholic as I rack my brains about my future prospects. What would I work as now? Who’d want to hire me? The guy who can’t hold a cup of coffee? I wouldn’t hire me. I can’t help but feel resentment towards Baz.

“Simon.” Fiona reproaches, leaning forward, hands crinkling some papers as she does so. I liked Ms. Pitch. Despite her hubris and ridiculous attire; fluffy clothes that suited a ball venue and not a coffee shop, she was sweet when you (really) got to know her. Never in my wildest dreams would I imagine her to be connected to Baz Pitch. It was typical of my luck for my rival’s aunt to be my boss. “I am very disappointed in you.”

My eyes shut, ashamed. You’d think I’d be used to it, right? The shouts that I’m not good enough but-

“You should have poured the whole bloody machine on his head. He certainly deserves it!”

Baz’s eyes widen proportionally while my mouth drops open.

“What?” We both articulate.

Ms. Pitch goes on as if she hasn’t heard out exclamations. “I thought I couldn’t love you anymore. I was wrong.” Her eyes fixate on me and I stare back, stupefied.

“Go on, then! You have a coffee shop to run.”

As I’m leaving, she says, “And Simon? Expect a raise soon.”

The door slams shut before I can express my stupefied gratitude. I think of going in, again but then I hear Baz’s groans and protests and my feet express a desire to get away, as quickly as possible.

Xxxxx

“Hey, Baz?” I begin, crumpling the cupcake wrapper in a ball and stuff the cake in my mouth. We’re on lunch break now. Sitting right in front of me is Baz though his focus is on his phone and not me. It’s a real pity. Is my sarcasm obvious? I wonder if he’s hungry. Looks like he’s starving. That would explain his pallid color. I know he’d prefer sitting away from me but it’s either here, in the kitchen or outside and attending to people. Every introvert’s worst nightmare. “Baz?”

He rolls his eyes at his phone and cranes his neck upwards. “What, Snow?”

I tsk. He’s like a fucking crab, always ready to bite my head off even though I’m perfectly pleasant. I suspect that even if the Queen of England were to knock, he’d slam the door in her face, grumbling about something.

“Do you ever eat?”

Surprise flashes in his eyes before he scoffs. “No, Snow. I don’t. I’m a vampire and I drink blood.”

I grin toothily at him. They’re probably yellow and red, resultants of the red velvet cupcake and gummy bears I had for lunch.

“Always knew you were a soul-sucking monster.”

Baz turns back to his phone though I can see a hint of a smile at his lips.

---

The other day, word got out that the Bastillon Pitch works at a humble cafe so we’ve been swarmed by teenage girls. Baz, true to his credit, threw them a stellar personality before he said rather dismissively, “We’re closing early! Technical issues.”

I had thrown him a look. “Baz. We worked at a cafe.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

I rolled my eyes and sent his fans a smile but they ignored me. “Can you sign this, Baz?” “Baz! Will you marry me?”

The requests were strange but Bas took them in stride. Soon, we had most of them out but camera lights still flashed in out direction. When we decided to close for the day, Baz and I lazed about in the room. Him working on study material and I worked on getting my Tumblr theme.

“I don't understand what those girls see in you.”

Baz barely spares me a glance as his fingers click the keyboard.

“I’m an actor, Snow.”

“And a real-life vampire.”

Baz grins. Hides it. “What are you studying?”

“I don't go to college anymore.”

“Oh?” Baz seems surprised. “If you wanted money, you could ask-”

I don't know if he's jesting or being genuinely kind but it stings me, regardless. “I don't want to go.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

---

“Sorry! I’m latte!” The pun comes naturally as I burst in the coffee shop, almost an hour late. The bell tinkles as I run towards the cashier.

Baz is leaning against the counter, no customers in sight. It’s a slow day. But apparently, I’ve made a horrendous mistake as Baz folds his arms over his chest and stares me down, the textbook picture of condescension.

“Thank Crowley” I breathe as I pull over my apron. Normally, I’m not late. I’m really not but today, right as I was about to leave the flat, Agatha comes barging in, tears cascading down her pretty face. Her mascara was smudged so I’d known she had been crying for hours.

“What’s wrong?” I had set her down on the sofa and went off to make some tea. That’s all I’ve been doing lately. Agatha started going on about how she missed me and agreed that maybe, we should have given us another shot.

“Let’s get back together, Si, alright?” Agatha had said, staring at me with those bluebell eyes I had grown so accustomed and fond of seeing.

And then, I had a revelation. I did not want us anymore. It wasn’t so much that I was afraid of being hurt again but something else. I had moved on. It felt weird because I was so used to being in love with her, I forgot the feeling of not loving her. And, this feeling was so great I wanted to giggle but I couldn’t do that, not with Agatha flooding my apartment with her tears so I had steered her out and said very softly, mind you that ‘No, I’m sorry, Aggy but no.”

Now, here I was, still panting and victim to ‘Bastillon Pitch Full On Glare’, something I did not want to ever see. He’d looks like he’s swallowed dung. So fucking angry.

“I met up with Agatha.” I say, shortly. That does not dissuade him in the slightest. If I had to say, he looked even angrier. I had rambled about my ex to him in the past weeks. I wish I hadn’t.

“Oh,” He says cooly. “And, I suppose the lovely pair has gotten together again?”

“I didn’t want to.” I pacify him and he cools down, slightly.

“Oh.” He sounds like Christmas has come early. Wanker.

“I can’t expresso your attitude-”

Baz groans. “Stop with the fucking puns, Snow. You’ve been on them since yesterday.”

“And you’re still not used to it? Oh, bugger.” I mock a sympathetic sigh.

And then out of the blue, he says something that sends my heart which is already pounding a million miles per hour, race again because he’s looking at me like that and the twat leaves the room after he says it, like he knows I can’t chase him after the bombshell he’s just dropped.

He stares me right in the eye and says, disinterestedly, “I’m gay.”

Xxx

Ever since he’s told me he’s gay, I feel like something’s changed between us. Do I tell him I’m gay or bisexual too? It’s gotten awkward. I tried to talk to him and transfer the message that I’m not homophobic to him but he gets all clammy if I’ve walked two steps up to him and begin with ‘Baz?’

Normally, I don’t let this bother me. We get on each other’s nerves. Totally normal if I kept persisting. But he looks genuinely uncomfortable and he probably regrets telling me even though I don’t know why he’s told me in the first place, to begin with. I steer out of his way the rest of the day.

As the day progresses, he gets even more on edge, nearly snapping at an old lady who couldn’t see the menu. I try to manage the orders and let him work near the machines. But after, he kicks the machine that we all know doesn’t work, I give up trying to soothe him.

When two people have filed a complaint, I almost facepalm. My killer headache helps in making my day worse. With that and Baz’s mood swings, there’s nothing more I want but to go back home. But of course, that’s when the day gets worse.

It’s nearly night when Fiona rings us up. She rarely comes to the shop but does her paperwork at home. Efficient and tactical.

Baz picks up the phone and I can hear Fiona’s distant chattering but I focus more on Baz’s darkening face. Suddenly, he slams the phone down and tells me, “Close down.”

“It’s not 8pm, yet,” I state, dumbly.

“Fast, you imbecile.”

“But-”

That is, of course, when the lights flicker off and we’re buried in darkness. Baz’s shadow stands out prominently, in front of me and his groan followed by a curse, splits the air.

“Blackout.” Baz explains when I continue staring as he drops on the ground. I rub my eyes and lean against the counter. This was perfect. Fiona had installed those automatic doors today in the afternoon, the ones that functioned on electricity so we were locked in. Two rivals trapped in a room together. Maybe, once I went insane, psychologists could study me and they’d be shocked with the observations.

And maybe, they'd be surprised at how much I still like Bastillon Pitch.

---

Charcoal darkness has winnowed in and coated us with anxiety and tension. There were no curtains so we’d stumbled behind the counter, afraid and weary.

“Sleep in the kitchen?” I say as we’re munching leftovers.

“You can take the kitchen.” He's talking to me. “I’ll sleep here.”

Scoffing, I nudge him with my foot which apparently sets him off. “Don't be ridiculous, Baz. We’re thin enough to fit in the kitchen.”

It'll be cramped and we’ll be arm to arm but I wager we’ll manage.

Baz tears through the bread with his teeth. “Fine.” He bites off.

My foot starts to sleep so I shake it.

“Would you stop doing that?” Baz murmurs after a few minutes. He sounds agitated as he rubs his head. We’re just sitting in darkness now, doing nothing but analyze each other.

“What?”

“Shaking your fucking foot, Snow. I'm trying to sleep.”

My jaw clenched. He was so infuriating sometimes. “You are not sleeping here.”

“Oh?” Baz scoffs, curling into the wall. “Since when do you care? You’re always running after-”

I let out an angry cry. And I don't think, I do. I want him to shut up. Surging forward, I notice how Baz’s monologue starts to delve. He has his eyes shut, I faintly register before I tilt my head and kiss him.

Bas stills and sags beneath my palms like I’m draining all of the oxygen in him. And Crowley, he’s so warm. I care, I try to tell him. You're the sun and I'm crashing into you. You mean so much to me.

I'm leaning over and when he doesn't respond, I pull away, disappointed and embarrassed. He's breathing heavily and I can see his grey beautiful eyes stare at me, wide with shock. I'm stumbling to get away when I fall into his lap. Pushing away, I’m horrified and about to fucking shoot myself.

All I can think about is how the door is locked and I'm trapped with a guy who's probably going to sue me because I assaulted him and oh my god, what am I-

“Snow.” Baz murmurs.

“Here,” I repeat like so long ago.

“Snow, what the fuck?” Baz is already departing his wall. At least, he’s engaged in being frustrated.

“Look, just don't tell the table-”

Baz tsks. “You’re such a moron, Snow.”

I splutter but then he kisses me.

And my mind goes blissfully blank.

---

We sleep in the kitchen that night, my arm draped across his body and his fingers twitching for me.

There’ll be time to talk about what I am, what we are later. How it’ll affect the press and other matters.

For now, it doesn't matter. We don't care. It's just us, two boys who’ve found solace and whose heart aches for the other, suspended in the dark, in time.

It's Baz and me.