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restapesta · 3 years

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Piercings. 5+1 ficlet, but with piercings. I have a problem.

Ian thought he knew pretty much everything about his husband. He knew him, inside and fucking out.

How could he not? Ian's pretty much been with him for a better part of his life, and they've had enough late-night talks to share all their demons with each other, however hard it may have been. They knew each other.

There was no doubt about it.

But, well. Ian should have known Mickey kept secrets.

He also should've known that one of those secrets was bound to put him in the grave one day with the inscription on his tombstone saying that he died from horniness.

Because one of these days, he would. There was no doubt about it.

It wasn't the most conventional way to go, but Ian didn't mind it.

Because, holy fuck, Mickey just admitted he used to have his ears pierced.

"Sorry," Ian balked at his husband who was standing in the bathroom, eyeing himself in the mirror, a pair of black studs in his right hand. "Did you just say you had your ears pierced?"

"I probably still do." Mickey grabs an earring and places it against the healed-up hole that is so faint, Ian needed to come impossibly closer to see it. Mickey had pointed it out to him after he initially said he was getting his ears pierced again. Right after Ian was left with his mouth wide open, staring widely at him, not trusting he heard him right. "And if not, I'm just gonna reopen them."

How did Ian never notice it? How did he never see Mickey, the love of his life, with earrings in his ears? With little patched-up spots of skin that were so plainly visible to the eye, now that he really looked at it.

Mickey grimaced as he pressed the needle against the hole, pushing and prodding against the uncooperative entrance. He eyed Ian in the mirror, eyes narrowing. "What are you staring at?"

Ian was stunned speechless. Of course he was. Of fucking course Mickey was about to bust out some crazy thing two years into their marriage that would make Ian finally break. Like having his ears pierced, making every single yet-undiscovered fantasy come to life.

He couldn't help but imagine Mickey with a nose ring, now. Tongue piercing. Eyebrow piercing.

Nipples.

Holy fuck.

Blood was rushing straight to his dick, and goddamn it, this was it. Ian was about to die.

Because holy fuck, the earring went through.

So did the other one.

And now, Ian was staring at Mickey, who was sporting black studs in his ears. Two dark diamonds that were obviously fake but could've not been, because this wasn't Mickey anymore. This wasn't the Mickey who rolled his eyes at anything gay—except getting pounded, obviously.

No—this was Mickey with earrings.

Ian's mouth was dry. It was dry as Mickey turned away from the mirror to face him. He stood in front of him, a determined look on his face as if waiting for Ian to call him out. Him, in all his fucking glory.

"Did you, uh," Ian finally stammered out. "sterilize the needles? I don't want you to get an infection."

"That really all you gotta say?"

Ian swallowed. "How come I never saw you with," He pointed at Mickey's ears, unable to even say the word. "those?"

"I was really young. I got 'em pierced when Mandy did. Took them out fairly soon, 'cus, you know." He shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

Ian knew.

He gripped Mickey by the shoulders pulling him closer. His eyes were on Ian's, but Ian's were on the earrings, and Ian never really knew he had a kink for jewelry.

Well, there was the wedding ring, but fuck, this had nothing to do with their relationship, and yet Ian was still sporting a raging hard-on Mickey had yet to notice.

"I love them." He said truthfully, mentally noting to get Mickey real studs once he got the chance. Not the cheap grocery-store ones, but actual diamonds that he wouldn't mind spending money on. Not when they would look so good on his husband.

Mickey blushed, pushing Ian away immediately, not getting away far, arms practically out so Ian could pull him back in. And he did, squeezing him tightly against his chest, careful not to place too much pressure on the newly-reopened piercings.

Mickey mumbled something against Ian's shirt, incoherent.

"What? I didn't hear you"

"I love you."

Ian smiled. Pulled Mickey away so he could stare into his eyes.

"You know you gotta let me fuck you with those on. Pretty sure it will be the best orgasm of my life."

Mickey only smirked, eyes lighting up immediately at the suggestion. He looks fucking amazing, Ian thought.

"Lead the way, hotshot."

Ian was right. With the earrings and the smugness—

It took him less than a minute.

When Ian saw the photo, he was pretty sure he was going to die.

No, not pretty sure. One-hundred percent sure. Death was awaiting him now, ready to pull him in. He was already feeling faint, ready to just slip away into unconsciousness. He was going to die, for sure.

Or maybe it was just the loss of all the blood that was heading way down south that was making him feel this way, because holy shit.

Holy shit.

When Mickey took the earrings out after a few days of usage, claiming how they sucked, Ian thought that was it. Mickey was never going to do anything that reminded him of being gay ever again. He had probably been embarrassed and wanted to take them out, and Ian was feeling at such loss when he saw his ears vacant that he was ready to throw hands.

But, oh God.

Ian was now staring at a picture of Mickey—a picture he posted on goddamn Instagram for everybody to see—and it was him.

Him with a fucking nose piercing.

Ian checked the comments first. It would've probably been saner to call his husband and ask if he actually got a nose piercing and if he was ready to be a widow because Ian won't be lasting much longer, but there were a bunch of comments on the photo, and fuck if Ian wasn't going to leaf through them all. This could be a joke for all he knew.

Some sick joke to get Ian's hopes up, just to get them crushed down until he never had any hopes in life ever again.

Mickey with a nose piercing. Mickey with a nose piercing.

Carl said it looked 'fuckin' sick'. Lip was putting 😲 emojis all throughout the chat, sometimes even adding the 😏 one, probably a reference to Ian (at least Ian hoped it was). The other comments were just about how good Mickey look, which was really no surprise, but holy shit, did that mean this was real?

Mickey was out running some errand. Said he had some shit he needed to. That sneaky bastard. Ian didn't care if he was in the middle of the goddamn line at the Costco aisle or in the middle of a drug run.

He facetimed him.

When Mickey's face came into view, the nose ring present and very much real, Ian was lost for words. Mickey was biting his lip to keep from smiling and once he noticed Ian was just going to continue and stare, he scoffed.

"Man, it's just a piercing."

"No," Ian said. "This is much more than 'just a piercing'."

Mickey chuckled. "Well, I figured since I didn't really like the earrings, I could do this. It felt right."

This was the Mickey Ian knew and loved. The Mickey who wanted to try new things, get to know his own style. Mickey, who was finally confident enough in himself, and hopefully comfortable in their marriage, that he didn't even consider this a big deal. Ian was filled to the brim with emotions, and he was ready to explode.

"You need to come home now."

They met each other's eyes through the screen, blue glimmering in mischief. Mickey smiled. "Why?"

"Because."

"This piercing shit really gets you going, huh, Gallagher?"

It did.

It really did.

"If you're not home in ten minutes, I'll get the whip. So better be fucking home." With that he hung up, getting up to ready the supplies.

Mickey was home in eleven.

Ian knew it was fucking intentional.

Ian might've been getting used to the fucking hotness that Mickey Milkovich with a nostril piercing was, but that didn't mean others were.

In the end, it probably didn't even matter that Ian was one million percent down for any types of piercings Mickey wants to get—he might have even been pushing him for a nipple piercing, but the why of it was for another time—what would eventually decide whether or not the earring stayed in was the reactions of somebody other than Ian.

It was unfair, really, that others would be able to affect Mickey's decision to finally do whatever the fuck he wanted to do, despite his ever-growing confidence. Still, Ian had a way of making sure that nobody made him feel shitty for doing something he wanted to do. Something for himself, without fearing the judgment of others like he had his entire life.

He was an arsonist, for fuck's sake. Let them try and eye his husband the wrong way.

Ian perhaps expected it from old, batty women at the grocery store who didn't have a clue what century they were in or Karens who were homophobic pieces of shit—but he never would be guessed it would be his own family poking fun at something that probably took guts to do. Because it took guts to actually get something like a nose piercing if you were a Milkovich with a past of growing up in a homophobic household.

"So, uh, you gone full gay now, Mickey?"

"Watch out, Ian, I think he might out-twink you."

"You look like Sandy now. Don't be surprised if I jump you."

"I think you look cool, Mickey."

"Uncle Mickey, what's that in your nose? Can I have one?"

Mickey didn't seem to really care about the Gallaghers' opinions. It was mostly just him flipping Lip off at the twink comment and winking at Franny for that last one. Ian, on the other hand.

Ian was the one who was getting fucking offended.

What if Mickey decided that all the teasing and sideways glances aren't worth it and he takes the nose ring out? What if Ian's deprived of sexy, liberated Mickey because of assholes like his own siblings?

It didn't matter how selfish it sounded. There was no way in hell Mickey was ever going to feel conflicted over something he didn't need to feel conflicted about.

So, the second Mickey was out of the room, and the Gallaghers were still unrelenting at the teasing, Ian knew what he had to do.

"Okay, that's enough," He said simply after the eight-hundredth joke about how the ring looked like a booger in his nose—what the actual fuck, Lip?—his voice stern.

"Come on," Lip said, despite the others clearly relenting, palms going up with sheepish expressions on their faces. "We're just joking."

"Well, enough jokes. You could be more like Liam. Tell him he looks good."

Lip snorted. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I asked you to?"

"He knows it's all jokes. He doesn't even care."

"I do." Ian narrowed his eyes. "I care whether or not he feels like he's done the wrong thing because you won't shut the fuck up after the joke's not even funny anymore."

That was what made the smile on Lip's face thin. He lowered his head sightly, as of bowing it down in shame. Ian knew he had finally caught on. Finally understood that, sometimes, even jokes could hurt people's fucking feelings.

Maybe Mickey wasn't at all touched by this. Maybe he really didn't give a shit about what Lip or some old-ass grandma at the store thought. Maybe it was only Ian who gave a shit.

But fuck it, he could give enough shit for the both of them.

If it meant Mickey would always feel comfortable in his own skin, then fuck yes he could.

"Okay," Lip said simply, and Ian smiled at him, thankful.

And when Mickey reappeared with a slight frown on his face and a, "what, no more jokes?" followed by a wide smile, Ian knew he had done the right thing.

Because Mickey looked good.

And the ring stayed on.

"What is it with you and the goddamn nipple rings?"

Ian bit at his lip. Okay, he may have gone a little overboard. With all the research and the reference photos and all the places you could get one... But fuck, he had a fantasy, and he needed to see it come true.

Mickey with nipple rings.

Come the fuck on.

"Babe, listen," Ian started, moving so he was positioned against the headboard of their bed. It was almost midnight—what better time to lay it down on Mickey that he would look really fucking good with piercings in his nipples and that it would be Ian's dream come true. "They'd look so good."

"Then why don't you get them?"

Ian made an incredulous face. "Because they wouldn't look good on me. They would look good on you."

Mickey swiped at his nose, diverting Ian's attention once more to the perfection that was his black nose ring. How could Ian not see all the possibilities with multiple piercings when Mickey looked like that with just one?

"Come on," He said again, the image in his head even more vivid than before. "I googled it. It doesn't even hurt that much."

"I have a feeling like that is a very obvious lie."

Ian rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe it was.

He pushed himself back down onto the comforter, shifting so he could have access to Mickey's chest. He trailed a finger from his neck, then slowly down so it rest in between his nipples, laying out his palm so it could feel the beating of Mickey's heart.

"Imagine the sex," He whispered, trying out a new technique. Seduction. It had to work.

"Probably not until it's healed up and stops hurting," Mickey scoffed. "Also, I really don't think I'd like it. I'd look like a bull."

"You'd look like a very sexy bull. Oh, by the way, septum piercing." Ian wiggled his eyebrows. "Don't you see it? Don't you think it'd look awesome?"

Mickey looked like he was on the verge of either laughing or punching Ian straight in the dick. "I think," He began. "that I've created a monster."

"A monster who is extremely horny for your ass."

"Why do you have to have a kink for this? Ian, out of all the things. Just look up porn with a bunch of jewelry on the guys if you need to get off."

Ian frowned at the imagery. "It's not the jewelry, Mick. I've had hookups who wore a shit-ton of jewelry and it never made me all hot and bothered."

Mickey smiled at the hot and bothered part. "Dork. Then what is it?"

"Well, fucking obviously it's you."

Mickey's face lit up. "It's me?"

"Ugh, Mickey, we've been together for a while. Don't make me feel shy over this."

The exasperation made Ian's cheeks pink. Suddenly, Mickey was leaning in and pressing his lips to the heat, smiling all the way through it.

When he pulled away, there was a wide grin stretched across his face. Ian was a sucker for that grin. That grin was everything he needed in life. Nothing more.

"I won't get a nipple piercing."

Sadness. All Ian felt was sadness.

"But maybe we can check out other options." It was Mickey's turn to wiggle his eyebrows. "Tongue piercing float your boat too?"

Happiness. All Ian felt was happiness.

Eyebrow piercing. It ended up being an eyebrow piercing.

And God. Ian was done. He was completely done with everything. This was it. This was all he ever needed to see in life. Now, he could die peacefully.

He was married to the hottest man alive. Ian could pride himself in that fact. Mickey truly was the hottest person Ian had ever laid eyes on.

Especially now that he had a nose and eyebrow piercing at the same fucking time.

Ian knew there would never be another man to get his attention again. Never anybody else to make Ian feel like he need to avert his gaze. Not when all eyes went to the Mickey with the hot body, amazing ass, great face, and perfect piercings.

"Maybe you should get some piercings, too," Mickey said as they sat together at the table, munching on cereal. "I mean, if you act this way over my shit, who knows how I'll act over yours."

Ian smiled. "I can't pull anything off like you can."

"Bullshit. You're hot as fuck."

Ian's cheeks pinked. "Shut up."

"No seriously," Mickey said as he got up to get more coffee. "Hottest guy I know."

Ian licked his lips, slowly running his eyes down his husband's body. "Well then, guess we both got lucky."

Mickey smiled and the piercings come into view again.

Ian really was a complete goner.

+ 1

"No," Mickey said once he saw Ian come into view. "No. No. No."

Ian grinned widely, tilting his chin slightly so he could showcase the tiny diamond—actual diamond—studs in his ears. "You like it?"

Mickey knew then that this was what heaven felt like.

He barely stopped himself from tackling Ian onto the floor.

Oh, who the fuck is he kidding.

He didn't stop shit.

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #shameless #shameless us #fanfic #PIERCINGS #piercings #5+1 things #:)))))))))#i said i had more #i wasn't lying #*ficlet

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aritamargarita · 2 years

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preview for attitude ch 10

WELL.IM ALIVE....... please take this as a ‘im sorry for not updating things are just moving slow’ post. pls take these crumbs of attitude that were stuck in my drafts.

Upon stretching with Trish, you held up the letter she gave you with two index fingers. “This is yours, right?”

The women’s champion recognized the letter immediately and withdrew from her position on the floor, suddenly pacing around. “Yeah. I left it there for you. Didn’t know ya’ found it so easily, hahah!” She threw out her arms in a dramatic fashion.

..It was kind of easy to tell she was nervous, even if it was a little bit. But you couldn’t blame her. The anticipation of seeing if someone liked your gift was very heart-racing.

But rest assured, you thought it was a nice gesture! She had no need to worry.

“It’s very nice,” You comment, holding the letter in your free hand while stretching the other towards your foot. “—the design, I mostly mean. I didn’t open it just yet, but I’m going to get around to it. I have like a bunch in my bag, so I need some time to sort through.”

“Right, right...” Trish suddenly snapped her fingers, realizing something important. “I’ve gotta get ready for my match! It’s supposed to be messy tonight.”

“Messy?” You repeat, your interest piqued.

“Gravy bowl. Like, a pool of gravy.”

“Ew.”

“Exactly.” She laughed. “Oh well. I guess if I can have fun, it doesn’t matter what I do.”

“That’s the spirit, Miss Stratus,” You chime, standing up from your spot. “I’ll cheer you on from backstage, then I’ll just go home. I have literally nothing to do.”

“Huh? Don’t you have things to do today though?” She asked.

“...What?”

Trish shifted around in her bag for a moment before walking over and shoving a piece of paper in your face. “Read it, but don’t weep.”

Your eyes scanned down the lines of matches....

TEST VS. SCOTTY 2 HOTTY

STACY KEIBLER VS. TRISH STRATUS

TAZZ VS. BIG SHOW

KURT ANGLE VS. UNDERTAKER

CHRISTIAN VS. EDGE (INTERCONTINENTAL TITLE MATCH)

STONE COLD & [NAME] VS. CHRIS JERICHO

RVD & THE ROCK VS. THE DUDLEY BOYZ

Holy handicap match! Did they seriously schedule that? But considering the segment that happened between you three previously..you didn’t put it past them that they’d do that.

But not only that, your eyes kept going until you landed on some words that were in tinier font at the bottom of the paper. Your name was written in the “segment mentions” section. Was that always there? They must have just recently added it, because you sure as hell never noticed.

You had thought about one of the other matches too. How interesting was that, to see Christian go against Edge for his title...it was champion versus champion just to get another championship. You’d have to remind yourself to give at least the both of them words of encouragement.

But she was right. You did have a segment. They must have updated the list at the last minute because you had no clue that you were supposed to do something for your show TONIGHT. You thought it was next week, but instead they decided to push it earlier. Ugh.

“Huh, who would’ve thought, right?”

“Get your stuff together, hotshot.” She taunted, a smile on her face.

“Get your stuff together, champ.” You fire back, shifting to a much more comfortable spot to reach your own belongings. You shove the card (coupled with a heart shaped box) into her face much like she did to yours. “This is for you. Weep all you want!”

“Color me surprised.” She says, taking the card from your hand. “I didn’t know you actually got me something. Thanks a lot, I’ll take a look after my match. See you.” With a small wave, she departed the locker room.

You watch her leave and sigh. You also didn’t want to ask Trish to come in earlier than she was scheduled to, she already had enough on her plate with that gravy match or whatever. It was fine if she came next week. The question was what could you do in substitution for that?

Suddenly, it hit you.

You’re supposed to be a heel right? Sure, you switched sides and were supposed to turn face, but who says your mean streak has to come full stop?

Those letters could definitely give you some leverage, and of course give you fake heat backstage for the sake of cementing your role.

All you needed was fake envelopes, a lighter, and the acceptance from creative to burn stuff. Maybe even sign some sort of waiver. Doesn’t matter. You didn’t care if it was in a parking lot or during your slot. You needed SOMETHING to get the interest out of the crowd.

...Is this how villains think? Just thinking about how mean you’d be was almost hilarious! It was so unlike you but being the enemy was fun. Sometimes.

Thanks to your very rushed purchases, you noticed that out of at least 25 cards, 10 were duplicates of others. You were only going to return the favor of whoever gave you one, so the rest were just trash, technically.

You could burn those! Perfect.

#arita loses her mind yet again. this is nothing new #wwe imagines #wwe x reader #wwe attitude series

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prettyinlimegreenboots · 4 years

Note

“Okay that’s it, party’s over! Get out of my house!”

Alright y’all, buckle up and hold on tight because this one is a doozy! This is 3400 words!! There’s some mentions of cursing and drinking.

October 25

Taking a sip from his red solo cup, he scanned the house, grinning at the activity around him. It was his and Race’s annual Halloween party, the music was loud and the house packed. Albert, as Captain Hook, and Race, as Luigi, were laughing about something in the corner. Jack was leaning over to kiss a black cat, Kat’s costume for the party. And himself was Mario.

His pocket vibrated, catching him off guard. Digging out his phone, he chuckled watching Race shake his head violently, denying whatever Albert had said to him. Opening his phone, he almost dropped it when he comprehended the message that was staring him in the face.

His eyes read the message once, then twice, then again just to make sure he was reading it correctly. He shuffled over to Race, who lit up at the appearance of his husband. “Spottie, imma need you to settle this debate - what’s better Kit Kat’s or Reese’s?”

“That’s what you’re arguing about over here?” Spot shook his head. “Here I was thinking that it was about football teams. But Kit Kat’s are better.”

Albert grinned and pumped his fist, high-fiving Spot. “Thank you my good man. In your face Racer.”

“Whatever.” Race grinned, wrapping his arm around Spot’s shoulder. “Haven’t seen you in a while, snookums. Where have you been hiding?”

Spot leaned up and kissed him with a grin. “Hanging out on the porch with Itey and Hotshot. But I gotta show you something.”

“Does it require the bedroom?” Race rose his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

Giving him a look, Spot slowly shook his head before handing over his phone. “Unfortunately, no but look at this.”

Spot watched Race’s face as he read the text message before looking up at him with tears. “You’re not pulling my leg, right? This is legit happening?”

“I would never pull your leg at this. Now shall we kick all of these people out of the house before heading that way?” Spot asked before Race pulled him into a searing kiss and a big hug.

Jack and Kat came up to them with identical looks of concern. “Everything okay?”

Shoving Spot’s phone in Kat’s hands, he grinned. “Can you help us kick everyone out?”

Katherine squealed reading the text message, giving them a quick hug before nodding enthusiastically. “Absolutely!”

“Okay that’s it, party’s over! Get out of my house!” Spot yelled, walking through the house towards the bedroom to change out of his costume as Race followed behind him yelling the same thing. “Party’s over! Get out of my house!”

Ten minutes later, with shouts of elation from their friends and family, Race and Spot were in the car on the way to their destination. Hands were laced together as Race drove. Spot tapped his toes, wishing things would hurry up and go faster. “Calm down Spottie. These things take time.”

“But Race …” Spot started, squeezing his husband’s hand, with a shaky breath. “This has been our dream!”

Race grinned, pulling into the parking lot of the giant building. “We’ve waited three years, a few more hours won’t kill us. Besides, Jack and Kat will be up shortly - why she didn’t want to show up dressed as a cat is beyond me?”

Spot laughed, leaning over and kissing him. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Shall we go?” Race asked, reaching in the backseat for the backpack that had been packed and in the car for weeks.

As they walked towards the building, they laced their hands, ready to face whatever was coming their way. After checking in, they were directed to a quiet room with a TV, few magazines, and six chairs, a private area to wait.

Dropping the bag on the ground, Race took a seat stretching his legs out. “Come sit, it’s going to take some time.”

“I’ve got to stand. I don’t know how you’re so calm right now.” Spot shook his head. “How have our roles reversed?”

Race opened the bag, taking out his Switch, shrugging. “Not sure but enjoy it while you can. Wanna battle on MarioKart?”

“Not right now.” Spot was tense.

Standing up, Race went to Spot’s side, pulling him into a hug, kissing him gently. “Hey, it’s okay to be nervous, scared and happy. As I said earlier, we’ve been waiting for three years, and it’s finally happening. Now all we can do is wait - if you want to pace, pace. But it’s not going to make the time go by any faster.”

Sitting back down, Race grabbed his Switch, keeping an eye on his husband before starting to play MarioKart. With a sigh, Spot took a seat next to him as Race grinned victorious. A quiet fell on the room with a cuss word coming from Race every now and then when he got hit with a green shell. Before long, Spot was pulling his own Switch from the bag, starting an epic battle of MarioKart between the two.

An hour after they had arrived, and several races on MarioKart, Race’s phone dinged with a text message. “Jack and Kat are on their way up. They told everyone to hang back and we’d text with news.”

Nodding, Spot’s tongue poked out between his lips before throwing a blue shell in Race’s direction. “Damn you Spottie. Give a guy a heads up!”

“Why would I do that?” Spot grinned, focused on the device in his hands. “And I win again …. Wanna go again?”

Race huffed, giving him a look as the door opened, revealing Jack and Kat in jeans and hoodies. “Why would I want to get beat again for the third time? Hi guys.”

“Hey yourselves.” Kat closed the door behind her grinning at the two, sitting near the door. “Any news?”

“None yet.” Shaking his head, Race handed over his Switch to Jack, standing and joining Kat across the room. “Kick his ass for me.”

Race and Kat watched the two hurl threats at one another before Kat nudged Race. “How are you both holding up?”

“Spot was nervous earlier but I pulled him into MarioKart and he’s seemed to calm down some.” Race shrugged, playing with his hoodie pocket.

“And you?” Kat adjusted in her seat so she focused on him, searching for any clues.

He sighed. “Surprisingly calm. We’ve been waiting for this for so long and part of me can’t believe we’re finally here and part of me just wants it to be over.”

“That’s understandable. But you can let yourself be excited and worried and nervous.” Kat put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna be a dad soon, Race and that’s nothing little. Just talk to your brother.”

Race laughed, shaking his head at the memory of Jack holding his nephew for the first time. “I thought he was going to drop Nathan.”

“You and me both.” Kat grinned. “Yes, we had 9ish months to prepare for it but that didn’t diminish all the emotions we felt. Luckily he was better when Lucy came and even better when we welcomed Emmy and Sadie.”

Nodding, he saw where his sister-in-law was coming from. “I guess I’m just being cautiously optimistic since two of these have gone this exact way but the mother’s changed their minds.”

“That was in the past. This one will be different.” Kat smiled. “So many things are already different between this one and the previous ones. You will be walking out of this place with a baby, Race.”

He hoped she was right. “Alright, Aunt Kat.”

She gasped, tears rushing to her eyes with a laugh. “Oh that sounds so sweet. Got names picked out?”

“Four, two of each.” Race grinned. They had opted not to find out what Samantha, the birth mom, was carrying. “And no you’re not finding out early. Shit, I should call Medda.”

“Jack did as we drove here.” Kat gave him a look. “She was a little upset she was hearing it from Jack and not you but she sends her love and forgiveness. She does want a call when they arrive.”

Nodding, Race made a mental note. “When did it sink in that you were truly a mom?”

“When I held Nate for the first time.” She grinned. “Yes I carried him and all but it didn’t hit me until I snuggled him and kissed his forehead.”

Race looked across the room at Spot and Jack who had their heads together talking about who knows what. Feeling his eyes, Spot looked up, sending him an air kiss before grinning at him.

“I always wondered how all of you killed the time in the waiting room when we had the kids.” Kat grinned, as Spot snorted.

“Hence why we brought the Switches.” Spot shook his head, fiddling with his phone. “After Nate, we learned to pack a bag full of snacks, games, and randomness because we never knew how long it would be.”

A knock on the door caught all of their attention. Spot and Race stood up, opening up the door to a nurse who has a bright smile on her face. “Sean and Antony?”

“Yes, that’s us.” Spot widened the door to let her in.

She closed the door behind her before motioning them to sit down. “I’m Anna, one of the nurses in the delivery room and I wanted to let you know that your daughter has arrived - she weighs 7 pounds, 7 ounces, and 22 inches long and was born at 9:56pm. The birth mother just signed her rights away and we’re just cleaning baby girl up and I’ll bring her in shortly.”

Tears were streaming down Spot and Race’s faces as the nurse finished. “Thank you so much for letting us know.”

“Do you have any questions before I head back?” Anna asked looking at the two awestruck dads.

Spot looked at Race before shaking his head. “I don’t think so. Thank you so much for letting us know.”

Anna showed herself out as Race pulled Spot into a hug and a kiss before the tears started up again. “Spottie … a daughter. We have a little girl.”

“Oh I love you.” Spot pulled back, wiping the tears, laughing. “A little girl.”

Race wiped his tears before looking at Jack and Kat who both had tears streaming down their faces. “Congratulations guys. A little girl.”

Jack pulled Race into a hug with a couple of slaps to his back. “Congrats dad!”

Kat did the same, but she was much gentler with Spot. “Congrats papa!”

She laughed when the “oh shit” look crossed Spot’s face as she gave him another hug. “Hey, you’re gonna be okay. That little girl will have you hooked around her finger but that’ll be okay.”

Race bounded over to Kat with a grin before picking her up and spinning her around. “Didya hear? I’ve got a little girl.”

Laughing at her little brother, Kat grinned. “I did hear something about that. Congrats Race.”

The room grew quiet as the door slowly opened revealing Anna with a bundle in her arms. She grinned at the two men who were in awe. “Who wants to hold her first?”

Kat and Jack moved back, each watching Spot and Race point to one another before Race stepped forward for Anna to transfer the baby into his arms.

Sitting down, Race let his eyes sweep over the baby - his daughter. He felt Spot sit to his right as they both admired the sleeping baby. “Oh hello there. She’s perfect, Spot.”

“Yea she is.” He looked at Jack and Kat before looking at Anna.

“I’ll leave you guys but there’s a ringer on the table if you need anything.” She smiled. “Congratulations you guys!”

Spot and Race both nodded, too enthralled with the baby. Listening to the door click shut, Spot turned to Race. “She needs a name.”

“We’ve got two. Feeling any of those?” Race asked as they both thought about the names.

Spot sighed. They had picked out Charlotte Elisabeth and McKensie Kate as their two but he didn’t feel like either name was a fit for their little girl. “No - she doesn’t look like a Charlotte or a McKensie.”

“We’re going to go search for some coffee. Let the three of you have some time.” Kat grinned. Before either could say anything, the door opened and shut again, leaving just Race and Spot in the room.

Spot pulled out his phone, going to the notes section where all of their names were listed. “Alrighty, we got Adeline, Evelyn, and Isabella. Any of those?”

“If I remember right, we both liked Adeline, right? Two nicknames if we wanted - Lina and Addie.” Holding her up, Race looked at their daughter. “I like it. You?”

“Adeline Higgins-Conlon.” It rolls off the tongue. “Now a middle name.”

Race passed Adeline to Spot with a grin. “Here, hold your daughter. What about one of the original middle names we had? Elisabeth or Kate?”

“I am drawn to Adeline Elisabeth Higgins-Conlon.” Spot grinned, brushing a hand over her light brown hair. “What do you think, miss? Do you approve?”

Adeline yawned, smacking her lips with a sigh. “I think she approves.”

The two watched her a bit before Spot looked at Race. “Do you want to go get Kat and Jack? And maybe tell a nurse her name?”

Pressing a kiss to her forehead before kissing Spot, Race nodding standing up. “I’ll be back.”

“We’ll be here.” Spot grinned, watching him leave before looking at the baby. “Hi little girl. Your dad and I are so happy that you’re here. We’ve waited a long time for you. You are so loved, miss.”

He sighed, letting it sink in that him and Race were truly parents and so far it felt pretty good. He knew that cloud 9 feeling would eventually vanish but he was relishing in it for as long as possible.

He was so in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the door open but felt more bodies in the room. He felt Katherine sit next to him and rub his back. “Wanna hold her?”

Kat grinned, holding her arms so Spot could transfer her into them. Kat’s face immediately softened. “Oh hello sweet girl. Look at you. She’s gorgeous, you two.”

“Race, did you call Medda?” Jack pointed at him with a grin. “She wasn’t happy it was me telling her that you were on the way to the hospital and not you.”

Race picked up the phone, dialing a number before listening to it ring. “Hey momma, guess what?” “No, you’re supposed to guess!” “Ok, fine … I’m a daddy. You’ve got another granddaughter. Yea, uh huh.”

Kat looked at Spot. “So what’s her name?”

“Adeline Elisabeth Higgins-Conlon.” Spot said it carefully as not to botch it. “Race and I fell in love with the name Adeline, it means noble, and Elisabeth is after her aunt Kat.”

Tears clouded her eyes, a skip in her breath. “Why?”

“Why not?” Spot laughed, as Race hung up the phone and asked the question. “Addie is going to know how much her aunt and uncle mean to this family. You two have been there every step of the way, much more than anyone else. There was never a question of not using your name.”

Reaching up to brush the tears away, Kat nodded. “I’m absolutely honored. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank us. We should be thanking you.” Race crouched down, kissing his sister’s cheek before running a hand over Addie’s head. “Momma didn’t kill me.”

“Not yet she hasn’t.” Jack grinned. “Is it my turn to hold the munchkin, yet?”

“Sit down first.” Kat gave him a look. “Don’t want you almost fainting like you did with Lucy.”

Jack rolled his eyes but did as his wife asked. “That was one time.”

Kat gave him a look before transferring Addie into her uncle’s arms, who immediately softened at the little girl in his arms. “Oh you’re just a little thing huh? Oh hi little one. Oh you and I are going to be thick as thieves. I’ll sneak you all the Christmas cookies you want.”

“She’s not even two hours old and you're bribing her already?” Race scoffed, shaking his head. “Uncle of the year right there.”

Jack looked up and stuck his tongue out at the new dads. “I’ve gotta let her know she’s got me in her corner.”

Rolling his eyes, Race nodded at Jack. “Don’t spoil her too much before we ever take her home.”

Spot pulled Race into his arms and grinned at his husband. “Let him have his fun. We can ship her over to his house when she’s screaming at 2am.”

“I like the way you think, Spottie.” Race leaned over and kissed him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Six Days Later

It was Halloween and the family of three had been home for 3 days. They hadn’t had any visitors yet, wanting to get into somewhat of a routine but invited their family and friends to stop by during Trick or Treat to see their little pumpkin.

As Spot was on door duty, Racer was keeping an eye on their little one and refilling the candy bucket. “UNCLE SPOT!”

He heard the familiar cry of his nieces and nephew and grinned, heading into the entryway to see a princess (Lucy), a cow (Emmy), a cat (Sadie) and a cowboy (Nathan). “Hi guys!”

“UNCLE RACE!” All four of the kids clamored over to him, jumping up on him for hugs while their parents stood back and grinned.

“Where’s the little one?” Kat asked, grinning at her brother.

Pointing in the room off the entryway, Race hugged and kissed all the kids. “In there.”

He heard her laughter and a “Racetrack” before turning his attention to the kids. “Did uncle Spot load you up with candy?”

“No he said there was something special in the kitchen.” Nate said, giving his uncle a look.

Race shrugged. “Well if Uncle Spot said there’s something in the kitchen then there must be. Go look.”

The kids ran off as Katherine came back into the entryway with Addie in his arms. “Race this has you written all over it.”

“Of course it does. He’s the only one that has spent time in jail.” Spot piped up getting a look from his husband.

“It was a few hours. Nothing major.” Race argued, popping the collar on his Orange jumpsuit. “Besides, Spot looks more like the Hamburglar than an actual prisoner. It’s only fair that Addie girl fits in around here.”

Spot was in a black and white jumpsuit while Addie had on an orange onesie that they had put a piece of cardboard on her that said “l just did 9 months on the inside” with her birthday on it.

Kat chuckled. “She’s the most adorable prisoner I’ve ever seen.”

“Where did our kids run off to?” Jack asked, reaching for Addie.

Turning to the two uncles, Kat raised an eyebrow. “Apparently they have something special in the kitchen, which is code for a bunch of sugar and other things.”

“We made them Halloween goodie bags - some candy, some non candy goodies. It’s all about balance.” Spot shrugged, sticking his tongue out at Kat.

“Great they’ll sugar them up and send them home with us.” Jack said, snuggling Addie. “At this point, we’ll take Addie and you can keep our four.”

“DEAL!” Race said, not even conferring with Spot. “Addie we love you dearly but that was one deafening cry you did this morning at 2:30. I think I might have permanent ear loss.”

Kat and Jack both chuckled. “Oh I do not miss the first three weeks after we brought each one home. We’ll take our four - eventually they’ll pass out. We’ll schedule a sleepover when you’re a bit older, miss Addie. Kids, let’s go.”

They heard the kids before they saw them. “Thank you, Uncle Spot, Uncle Race.”

“You’re welcome.” They both replied as hugs and kisses were given. Jack relinquished Addie back over to Race as goodbyes were said.

Walking out onto the porch, Spot and Race sat on the porch swing, Addie still in Race’s arms, wrapped in her blanket. They swung gently back and forth. “Happy Halloween, Race.”

“Happy Halloween, Spottie and Addie. I don’t need any of the boos, just the two of you and some candy.” Race leaned over and kissed Spot with a grin. “This is the perfect Halloween.”

That was a doozy! Thanks @wide-eyed--wonderer for sending in that prompt!!! I think that’s my longest Drabble to date!!!

#newsies #newsies fan fiction #writing #ask #drabble requests #newsies drabble #drabble prompt #wide eyed wonderer #spot conlon x racetrack higgins #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #jack kelly x katherine plumber #Jack Kelly #katherine plumber pulitzer

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violetwolfraven · 4 years

Text

Pass Out

38 for sprace—requested by @just-a-gay-meme

I’m injured and I came to you because I didn’t want to tell my mom/Jack/whoever.

((So I guess this would be canon era, pre-strike when Race was selling at Sheepshead, so he and Spot did know each other, but they aren’t really even friends yet. It’s not the same universe as the one fic I’ve written with her in it, but it includes one of my ocs. Don’t worry, you didn’t forget about her. Bluebird just isn’t canon.))

...

Race would normally not be confused by the fact that he was waking up in a Lodging House, but today, he had an excuse, because he was waking up in the Brooklyn Lodging House.

“Well, well, well,” a voice said, and Race jumped, “He lives.”

There was a little girl sitting by his bed, holding a bowl and a wet washcloth that was suspiciously red, and Race didn’t think it was because that was Brooklyn’s territory color.

And Race was only 15, but this girl couldn’t be any older than maybe 10, so he got to call her a little girl, even though, as was visible because she was wearing one of Brooklyn’s signature red tanktops, she was probably stronger than he was. She had features kind of similar to Romeo, with black hair and brown eyes, so Race guessed she was Asian, or at least one of her parents was.

“What the fuck?” Race mumbled under his breath.

“Oh, no,” the little girl said, sounding genuinely concerned, “How hard did you get hit? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three,” Race said, because she clearly was.

“Hmm...” the little girl tilted her head as she put her hand down, “Do ya remember how you got here?”

“Brooklyn Lodging House? No. Got no clue. What the fuck am I doin’ here?”

“You got your ass kicked,” the little girl said flatly, “At least, I think ya did. You kinda just showed up, asked for help, and passed out. That was two hours ago.”

“Thanks,” Race said, “Um... what was your name again?”

“Bluebird. Ya didn’t know it in the first place. You’re Racetrack Higgins, right? The ‘Hattan boy Spot lets sell at Sheepshead?”

Race shrugged sitting up halfway and leaning back on his elbows, “The one and only.”

Bluebird wrinkled her nose, “No wonder ya got your ass kicked. All you Manhattan boys can’t fight to save your lives.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true! Manhattan’s probably the—“

“Blue.”

Bluebird looked at the floor as Spot called to her from the doorway.

Race sat up all the way as Brooklyn’s King walked over, putting his hand on the little girl’s shoulder.

“What did we say ‘bout antagonizin’ people for no reason?” Spot asked.

“To not to,” Bluebird mumbled.

“You’s a big girl, now, right, Blue? Your cute factor ain’t gonna get you out of fights much longer. Ya gotta learn not to pick fights you can’t win.”

“Bet I could win against him.”

Race laughed, “She’s probably right.”

“Maybe,” Spot reasoned, “But, Blue, appearances can be deceivin’. Race, here, happens to be really good at makin’ friends. Which means he has friends in every borough, this one included. Half the Newsies of New York’d go to war to defend him, so in short, Racetrack Higgins is either a good friend to have or a bad enemy. Take your pick.”

Bluebird snuck a glance at Race, “I’d rather be friends.”

Race smiled, “I’d rather be friends with you, too, kid.”

She smiled at him, and Race didn’t at all see what Spot meant. She wasn’t losing her cute factor. She probably wouldn’t for a couple more years.

“Run along, Bluebird,” Spot said, “I think Hotshot’s waitin’ for ya.”

“I’m sellin’ with Rafaela today!”

“Raf’s... busy. Go find Hotshot.”

“Okay!”

Bluebird hiked up her skirt to run faster, and Race laughed.

“So, I’m guessin’ I know what you meant by busy?”

Spot shrugged, “Yeah, she’s got a sweetheart, but I don’t know who it is. I’m pretty sure it’s either York or Joey, but Raf ain’t the talkative type, so I don’t know which. She asked me to watch Blue this afternoon, but I don’t need a little frontin’ for me.”

“And Hotshot does?”

“He’s an intimidatin’ lookin’ kid. He probably don’t need her, but with winter comin’ up, I’d rather be safe.”

Race nodded, then winced as that hurt, “That makes sense.”

Spot stood there silently for a couple seconds, then asked.

“So, what happened?”

Race shrugged, “Wish I knew. Thinkin’ back, it’s all kind of fuzzy.”

“There’s been some thugs ‘round Brooklyn lately, thinkin’ it’s funny to beat up on workin’ kids,” Spot muttered, “They targeted my kids at first, but learned to avoid us when we soaked them instead. I probably should have sent someone over to warn ya. Bluebird’s right. Only one of you Manhattan boys who can fight good is Cowboy.”

Race decided to ignore that last comment, “I don’t think I got soaked.”

“Hmm. You’re probably right. It’s just the one head wound, right? Nothin’ else hurts?”

Race shrugged, “It hurts to breathe a little, but...”

He looked down his own shirt to check.

“Not that many bruises.”

“I should check for broken ribs, anyway.”

Race honestly didn’t know what to think as Spot Conlon, the King of Brooklyn, sat down on the edge of the bed Race was still sitting on, putting up one hand.

“Can I? I know what I’m doin’.”

“I’m sure ya do,” Race admitted, knowing Brooklyn’s reputation for getting in fights with local gangs, other boroughs, even each other.

Of course, his mind was hyper-focused on the fact that Spot wasn’t known for being friendly, and he also happened to be less than a year older than Race.

He was kind of attractive. If Race was the type to go for badasses, he would be very flustered right now, which... he wasn’t. He totally wasn’t even a little flustered by this.

In the end, Race nodded, “You can check, but I’m pretty sure nothin’s broken.”

“Okay. Tell me what hurts.”

Spot gently put his hand against Race’s lower ribs, slowly increasing pressure before moving up, then checking the other side. And sure, it twinged in some places, but nothing hurt enough to actually be broken.

“Why’re you helpin’ me?” Race asked as Spot finished up.

The other boy shrugged, “Ya ain’t one of mine, Higgins, but you sell in Brooklyn. That makes ya at least partly my responsibility.”

Race wanted to protest that—he was one of Jack’s seconds, for fuck’s sake—but Spot was still talking.

“Also, that head wound wasn’t so bad that ya forgot what borough you’re from. If you really wanted to go back to ‘Hattan, you at least would’ve tried. Probably gotten run over on the way, but you’d have tried. Ya came here. Judgin’ by what little I know... you’s close with Kelly, right?”

Race nodded, “He’s like a big brother to me.”

Spot shrugged, “There ya go. Winter’s rough on every leader who actually cares about their kids, and it’s comin’ up fast. Jackie Boy’s probably stressed enough as it is, makin’ sure everyone sells as much as they can before it gets really hard, and ya didn’t want to worry him. So, you came here instead of goin’ home.”

Honestly, that sounded about right. Race still didn’t remember everything, but not going home when hurt so as not to worry Jack sounded like something he’d do.

“Well, that explains what I’m doin’ here,” he admitted, “But it doesn’t explain why ya actually helped.”

“Like I said, you’s partially my responsibility.”

“Bullshit. I’m Manhattan and you know it. Hell, I’m second in command along with Crutchie. Ya didn’t have to help me beyond makin’ sure I don’t die on your doorstep, so why? Do ya just want me to owe you a favor?”

Spot shrugged, not looking Race in the eye, “I might collect a favor later, but that ain’t why I did it.”

“Then why?”

They locked eyes, and Race could see that he was being completely serious.

“Genuinely nice people are few and far between. Bluebird ain’t the only one who’d like to be friends with you.”

Race smiled, “Well, if ya wanted to be friends, you could’ve just said so. I’m always open to new friends.”

Spot snorted, “One of these days, that’s gonna get ya killed.”

“Possibly... but I should probably be gettin’ back to Manhattan. Before I do, I have one question to ask you.”

“What?”

Race pointed vaguely at a throbbing area just above his temple, not wanting to actually touch it.

“How bad is it?”

“Your hair covers it, mostly, and Blue cleaned off the blood. It ain’t super noticeable, so if you avoid Cowboy for a bit to give it time to heal, he probably won’t have to find out.”

“Okay, great. Thanks, I guess. Thank Bluebird for me.”

“I will.”

Spot stayed close as Race stood up, probably expecting to have to catch him.

Race didn’t actually feel that bad. His head hurt, sure, but he didn’t feel like he was going to pass out anymore.

“I usually hang out under the stands when I take a break from sellin’,” he said, “If ya ever wanna... hang out, or whatever, come find me.”

Spot nodded, “Yeah. Sure. Maybe I will.”

Honestly, given that Spot Conlon was known for being hostile to pretty much everyone outside of Brooklyn, Race hadn’t expected to ever be able to befriend him. He was friendly on the rare occasion they saw each other, but he’d always seen Spot as kind of cold and distant.

Maybe it was just being in his own Lodging House—home turf—that made him drop his guard a little.

Whatever the case, Race couldn’t deny that a part of him was thinking about how if he could be friends with Spot Conlon, maybe he could slowly get closer and maybe even be more someday, but—

But this was a thought train for another day.

Well, this should be interesting.

#newsies #sprace #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #race x spot #violet’s writing

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snowdxve · 4 years

Text

Be Cautious

Werewolf!Yancy x Reader

Warning: Light Gore, Mature Language, Fighting, Prison Life

Inspired by @the-moon-pal Werewolf Yancy

~~~~~

Mark and Y/n walk slowly through the commons of the prison, both were dressed in black and white striped jumpsuits with their heads down in shame from getting caught. Y/n took notice of the cautious looks from the other prisoners, some of the prisoners mumble among themselves some even began laughing at the two as if they knew something that the two fresh convicts didn’t. “Well, why did you choose a helicopter if you didn’t know how to fly one?” Mark snaps at Y/n, causing them to roll their eyes and avert their attention to a tall burly convict who was staring at the two as if they had just threatened to take his lunch money. Y/n could care less about their mistake, and they figured that Mark would’ve had some clue; they weren’t the only one at fault in this team.

Mark lets out a heavy sigh as he pats Y/n’s shoulder gently, “but never mind that, We gotta find a way out of here and get that beautiful treasure of ours. Now, we can either rally the prisoners or we can pander to the guards.” Mark suggests to Y/n, “So what’s it going to be?” Mark looks at Y/n impatiently.

“I suggest that you try and rally the prisoners, hotshot. Maybe you’ll get somewhere.” Y/n answers with a shrug of their shoulders. A curt smile turns up Y/n’s cheeks as they watch Mark roll his shoulders and attempt to crack his neck preparing a speech in his head.Y/n didn’t even bother watching, instead they make their way over to the other side of the room. They didn’t want to be linked to the man, in fact, they would be more than happy to get away from him. All Mark had done since their arrival at the prison was complain, and complain; it gave Y/n an agonizing headache.

Y/n leans against the brick wall and bites their thumb as they watch Mark approach the burly convict that had made eye contact them earlier. “I wonder how this is going to play out,” Y/n mumbles to themself as their e/c eyes follow Mark’s movements. The burly man stands and towers over Mark, he was practically a whole foot taller than Mark.

“So you’re going to help me and my fri-” Mark pokes the man’s chest before turning as if to point to Y/n who was nowhere to be seen. “Y/n?” Mark looks around the commons before he felt his body being thrown through the concrete wall. Y/n snickers and covers their mouth to hide their amusement before they felt a heavy hand firmly grip their shoulders.

“Youse is with him, huh?” The man’s voice makes Y/n shiver and takes a step away but his grip tightens on their shoulder, pulling them back. “Whoa, slow down. Why youse so eager to getaway? Youse and youses friend are new here, eh? Let me show you around.” The man’s grip on Y/n’s shoulder tightened a bit more. Y/n could feel the hostility around the room, making their stomach do nervous loops. They pulled roughly out of the man’s grip and brushes their shoulder off gently and looking the man up and down.

The man was a few inches taller than Mark, about 5’6 or 5’7. His coal-black hair was slicked back with who knows what, and his amber eyes were frightening which added to the look of annoyance on his face. The other prisoners were quiet, each watching the standoff between Y/n and this man. Y/n looks around at the other prisoners and frowns as they roll their shoulders.

“Why don’t you draw a picture? It’ll last longer.” They snap before turning their attention to the man who had lost his patience. He grabs the collar of Y/n shirt and backs them against the brick wall.

“Now, who do you think youse coming into my home and calling the shots?” Y/n stares down into the man’s amber eyes; instincts kick in immediately, they hook their hands on the nap of the man’s neck before drilling their knee into his stomach.

The man recoils as a loud gasp echoed throughout the room from everyone, even the guards who didn’t bother to intervene in the brewing fight. Y/n stares at their opponent as they bring their hands up and bend their knees a bit, just like their dad had taught them. The man lets out an inhuman growl, lunging at Y/n quickly. Y/n falls back doing their best to block the oncoming punches; they tried to remember how their dad had taught them. The amber-eyed man heaved a sigh as he lowers himself into a fighting position; there was an almost animal-like quality to it. It was familiar yet so foreign to Y/n; They made the first move, taking a step forward and swinging as hard as they could. They missed hopelessly with a rush of pain exploding from their cheek. Y/n repositions and adjusts to the irony taste that had filled their mouth; their dad always told them there was no such thing as fighting dirty.

As soon as the man threw the next punch, Y/n grabs his arm quickly maneuvering behind his back and pushing his elbow in harshly before pushing his chest against the brick wall. “I’ll break it, I promise.” Y/n says firmly as the man scuffs in annoyance.

“Youse bluffin’ you ain’t gon do nothi-.” Y/n pushes his elbow in more, causing the man to let out grumble to disguise his pain. They could feel the bones grinding any moment it could snap.

“I never did catch your name, so care to share?” Y/n asks as nicely as they could, but truly they wanted to rub the man’s nose into tiled floors. They waited patiently for an answer, they could feel the eyes of the prisoners burning into their back.

“Names Yancy, now officer when you going to let me go?” Yancy chuckles, but Y/n wasn’t listening. They were taking in the small details they had missed about the man. He was in the midst of changing, his ears had become more pointed and what looked like tufts of fur were growing at the tips of them. His fingernails were sharpened to a razor-sharp point. Y/n lets out a heavy sigh as they remove themselves from their thoughts.

“If I let go are you going to play nice?” Y/n questions as they loosen their grip on Yancy’s arm. Y/n glances around the room in a search for Mark but didn’t spot a trace of him.

“Alright, fine. Jus let me go.” Yancy grumbles. Y/n let go and steps back, rubbing their hands together. They touch their cheek which had started to ache from the wearing off adrenaline. Yancy turns to Y/n and puts his hand out with an eager smile on his face.

“Have you been talking? Cause if you have, I haven’t been listening.” Y/n grumbles as they walk across the room to an empty table, and plop down into one of the cold uncomfortable wooden chairs. Yancy follows suite, unfortunately, there was no stopping the morphing once it started. Yancy’s face and head have already begun morphing. “What do you want?” Y/n groans as they lay their head on the cold table in an attempt to soothe the aching.

“I heard you want to break out, I know all the ins and outs of this place. I could help you.” Yancy smirks as he puts his hand out to Y/n eagerly. Y/n stares up at Yancy with narrowed eyes; they slowly sit up and turn to Yancy whose mouth was slowly becoming more and more elongated. Yancy watches each of their movements carefully as they put their hands out and wave them slightly at Yancy.

“Hold on, hold on. You just tried to kill me and now-!” They put their left hand on their hip and point their finger at Yancy harshly, “you want to help me?” They try to keep their composure but it fails; they burst into laughter and shake their head with a bit of a sigh. “You’re just ready to get rid of me because I beat you!” They tease, pointing at Yancy before nearly falling out of their chair.

“No.” Yancy interrupts firmly. “Youse got something special out there and I know it.” Yancy pulls a small picture from his pocket and slides it across the table to Y/n. “It, uh, fell out of youse pocket when we were fighting.” Yancy rubs the back of his neck as he watches Them pick up the portrait. The portrait was of a tall man with large wood stumps for feet, a large bushy black beard, a scar on his right eye, and a pirate hat with a long feather coming off the top.

“Oh, shit. I wouldn’t have even realized! Thank you, Yancy!” They scoop the picture up and hug it but, of course, it wasn’t the real thing and therefore a big let down. Their father was a big man and a paper-thin picture was nothing compared to him. “This is my dad, Magnum. He might be a bit intimidating at first but he’s a big ole puppy! I bet he’s worried about me; he never did like Mark but he was always happy to let me go search for treasure.” They laugh a moment before turning to Yancy. “What about you?”

“Huh? This is home! I killed my mom and dad. This is all I got now.” Yancy hums in satisfaction. Y/n couldn’t imagine killing Magnum even being away from their Dad was worrying for them.

“So, you’re willing to help me escape this joint? When and at what time?” Y/n had completely forgotten about Mark; they were more focused on getting out and getting home to their dad with their treasure. They wanted Magnum to see that they were capable of doing their own hunts. They hoped that Magnum wouldn’t hear about them being locked up like this.Y/n stopped a moment watching Yancy; the transformation was completely. They smirk a bit and cross their arms over their chest. They had seen Magnum like this countless of times.

“Well what about-” Yancy’s sentence was cut short with grunts and growls before he crosses his eyes, staring down at his muzzle. His ears flattened against his head as he lets out a heavy sigh as his amber eyes land on Y/n as They laugh and turn away from Yancy who was struggling to talk with only whines and soft grumbles coming out. Y/n couldn’t stop laughing, holding their stomach before they sit up and put their pointer finger to Yancy’s wet onyx nose.

“Stop. How long have you been this? If you’ve known for a long time then you should know that you aren’t going to get anywhere.” Y/n giggles as they run their fingers through their h/c hair. “I need to get a box from the contanment area before I leave; I’m getting it for my dad. It’s important-” A red alarm blares out, making Y/n jump and lean into towards Yancy nervously. Yancy covers his ears with his paws and gives a low growl as Mr. Murderslaughter and two other officers walk into the commons.

“Can someone turn that infernal racket off?” Murdrerslaughter yells out. The alarm abruptly ends whilst Murderslaughter adjusts his suit and turns his attention to Y/n and Yancy. Yancy uncovers his ears, ducks his head as his ears droop to the side; his long bushy ash grey tail tucked between his legs as he stands. Y/n took notice of this as they turn to look at Murderslaughter, swallowing hard

“You, I don’t want no more trouble out of you! If you keep causing trouble I’ll toss you back out into the real world for the vultures to eat at you; now you wouldn’t would you? I didn’t think so.” Murderslaughter threatens. He turns to Yancy who cowers a bit more as his ears point forward to listen to Murderslaughter, “now Yancy, I’ve always seen you as a son.” Yancy attempts to defend himself but only whines escape him. “Ah, Ah, No. Don’t try to give any protest, you won’t win. Boys, take him to solitary confinement.” Yancy grumbles as the officers stand at two sides of him. Yancy snarls lifting his lips to show his row of sharp pearly white teeth as the officers reach for his arms. Yancy nips at them as he shakes himself out briskly, raising his tail and walking alongside them as they walk Yancy to his cell in confinement. Y/n, however, was put back into their cell alone. Y/n looks around the cell; It was actually quite cozy with a shaggy cornflower blue rug spread out on the floor, a little white nightstand next to the bunk bed. The color of the plush blankets matched the carpet; they were soft to the touch. The only unappealing part of the room was the stiff mattress. With nothing more to do, Y/n crawls into bed and pulls the blanket over their shoulder. They lay back calmly before they were getting sneezed on. Y/n scrunches up their face as they wipe a little bit of snotty off of their face. Right above them, peering down through the wire bed frame was Yancy’s giant furry head. How could they have missed the massive creature under the mattress? Y/n jumps up from the bed as Yancy sits up, pushing the thin mattress against the wall.

“Yancy, What the hell?!” Y/n covers their mouth a moment and looks around before letting out a sigh, “how did you manage to get out of solitary confinement?” They whisper to the massive molten grey wolf. Yancy crouches, causing his pants to rip at the knee. Y/n couldn’t help but snicker as Yancy’s fluffy ear flip back. Yancy drags one of his long claws across the ground writing: ‘I know the ins and outs of this place, just follow me.’

Y/n looks at Yancy, who gives them a thumbs up and a toothy grin, as he picks up a blindfold a moves towards them. Y/n takes a few steps back nervously with a brisk shake of their head. “No, not happening.” They weren’t comfortable with that in the least bit. Yancy grumbles and plops onto the ground, sneezing with a bit of annoyance; how was he going to get them to trust him?

“Yancy, you didn’t say anything about a blindfold. I know better than to let someone put a blindfold on me.” Y/n looks at Yancy cautiously. Yancy looks at Y/n with narrowed eyes, tossing the blindfold on to the bed as he grumbles to himself.

“Oh stop! Besides, don’t you think it’s a little too soon to break out? I mean, I just got here. They’ll probably be expecting me to try and break out. Let's wait a bit, and talk when you’re not a werewolf.” They tap Yancy on his snout, causing Yancy to wrinkle his snout and nips at their hand. Luckily, they retract their hand to avoid Yancy’s teeth. “Hey! I was messing with you! Don’t nip at me!” They protest but the sound of footsteps causes them to tense and throw blankets over Yancy.

“Get under the bed.” Y/n whispers in a panic, pushing him in a panic under the bed and sitting on the mattress heavily. Yancy growls out as he squeezes under the mattress and the concrete floor. Y/n holds their hand down below the head, “bite me.” They whisper. Yancy looks up at Y/n confused before lunging at their hand, only to nip at their hand and draw a bit of blood. Y/n curses loudly in pain, causing the officers to come running.

“What is it? What’s going on?” The officer asks as he peers through the iron bars at Y/n.

“I hurt my finger on the bed, Can I go to the infirmary? Please?” They get up from the bed, showing the officer the crimson liquid that was forming from their finger.

“Fine, but no silly business convict.” The officer unlocks the cell and steps back motioning for Y/n to walk ahead. Y/n steps out of the cell and glances back at the officer before making their way down the hall. The officer directed Y/n through the halls before stopping at the infirmary where was laid out on the bed with a large ice pack on his face. The nurse motions to chair next to the bed before grabbing a bandaid for Y/n.

“What are you here for, dear?” The nurse asks. Y/n holds their finger out to the nurse with a nervous smile before turning to Mark.

“Hey, Mark. Are you okay?” They lean over to Mark as the nurse cleans the crimson liquid from their finger which was beginning to stream down their hand.

Mark didn't give any sign that he was awake, or alive for that matter. Y/n frowns before slapping Mark’s thigh much harder than they had intended. Mark jolts up and removes the ice pack from his face, “What do you want?!” Mark glares at Y/n. Mark’s nose was a deep purple, and his eye was puffy and swollen shut, no doubt the prisoner didn’t let him off easy. Mark’s sudden movement cause Y/n to flinch and lean away from Mark, grimacing at the damage to his once handsome face.

“I just wanted to tell you that I found someone who can help us get out of here, but I just changed my mind. Maybe you deserve to be here, you narcassitic asshole..” They mutter. Y/n stands and makes their way towards the door as Mark scrambles to his feet from the cot.

“Wait, wait! Y/n! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” Mark wasn’t able to finish his sentence, for Y/n sent their foot straight between Mark’s legs before storming back to their cell. They didn’t wait for the officer, they walk right into their cell and slides the door shut in anger.

“You can come out, Yancy!” They call out, pushing everything off of the night stand with a loud crash. They plop down onto the nightstand.

“Finally! What took you so long? And why did you need to go to the infirmary?!” Yancy crawls out from under the bed and brushes his hands off on his white t-shirt before looking down at his pants. “Wonderful.” He mutters. Despite being mostly human, Yancy fluffy ears and long bushy tail were still very much visible.

“I went to see Mark, I figured he’d be in the infirmary, but forget that asshole. He’s only worried about himself. I just need to get ahold of my dad. I don’t want to set off more of an alarm than I already have.” Y/n taps their foot impatiently as they look at Yancy, who was trying to look back at his tail, grabbing at it curiously.

“Hey! When’s visitations?” Y/n asks, breaking Yancy from his fascination with catching his tail.

“Oh, tomorrow. I don’t get very many visitors, so maybe I can convince murderslaughter to give you my time during visiting hours.” Yancy gives a small smile as he sits down, curling his tail around his legs.

“Well, are you going to stay in here or-” “We’re bunk mates. I know, I was surpised too. Believe me.” Yancy shrugs and yawns. “Get some rest, you’re going to need it.” Yancy throws at blanket at Y/n before he climbs onto the top bunk.

“Goodnight Yancy.” Y/n calls up to the wolf as they lay back on the mattress, pulling the blanket over their shoulder.

“Goodnight Y/n.”

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

“C’mon Yancy! He wants to meet you!” Y/n motions for Yancy to follow them as they walk to a table where a tall bearded man sat slouched. The strong scent of sea salt causes Yancy to wrinkle his nose as he sits across from the massive man. Yancy slouches in the chair looking up at the bearded man then at Y/n.

“Dad, I know you’re mad-” “Where be that Mark? I say we go keelhauling with him.” The bearded man growls out, gritting his teeth before turning his attention to Yancy. “And who be this? Is this your friend? What’s your name?”

“Yancy, I’ve got to say you taught Y/n well. They are quite strong.” Yancy chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Magnum, Pleasure to meet ye.” Magnum gave a big smile but it quickly fades into a menacing look. “Yes, Y/n learns everything from the crew and their old dad, but you didn’t hurt my dear child, did ye? Cause then we have a problem friend; you might be the next one going overboard.” Magnum’s hickory brown eyes slowly dilate as he stares down at Yancy. Yancy fidgets a bit, looking at Y/n for some sort of help.

“No, Dad, it was a simple disagreement. I lost my temper and I popped him in the nose; the officers interevened before things could get any worse, okay? Besides, I can handle him and if Yancy were still mad at me, he wouldn’t be here.” Y/n assures Magnum who merely nods in acknowledgement. “He’s gunna get me out of here soon, just keep in touch.” They whisper as they grab their Dad’s hand tightly.

“Visitations over! Wrap it up!” An officer shouts from a corner of the room.Y/n stands and gathers Magnum in a tight hug before taking a step back. Magnum put his hand out to Yancy with a smile. Yancy firmly shakes his hand but as soon as Yancy pulls away, Magnum yanks him forward. “Watch their back, or you’ll regret it friend.” Magnum growls out in a low husky tone. Yancy nods quickly and joins Y/n on their travel back to their cells.

“So what do think of him? He’s awesome, isn't he?” Y/n says cheerfully as they skip happily towards the cell, swinging their hands.

“Yeah, Yeah. Totally.” Yancy gulps as he walks casually behind Y/n.

“Next time, be careful with your words. Be cautious.” Y/n snickers as they step into the cell.

#a heist with markiplier yancy #markiplier #a heist with markiplier #a heist with markiplier captain magnum #captain magnum #werewolf!yancy #prison life for me #errxrfics

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be-more-chill-evan-hansen · 5 years

Text

Newsboys Strike from a Different Perspective

I'M FINALLY WRITING AGAIN AND I'M POSTING ABOUT THE STRIKE BUT FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF THE QUEENS NEWSIES PLEASE ENJOY MY HEAPING PILE OF HOT GARBAGE

No warnings

****

The Queens lodging house was busy. Kids were running everywhere to get ready for another day's work, and many of them were running over each other. Micky was among the traffic trying to find Dragon Fly.

He had already heard the news about the rising paper prices, and he thought he should let her know. Once he caught sight of her, he tugged on her sleeve.

“Dragon Fly, there's some bad news.”

She looked at Micky's worried expression, and she felt worry build. “Micky, what's wrong?”

“It's the pape prices. They went up ten percent. These kids won't be able to make their living.”

Dragon Fly felt her stomach fall. The kids in this lodging house already had trouble making rent. There was no way that they could stay with the rising prices.

“I don't know what we can do,” she said. “I guess we can help pay for the kids that can't afford their usual amount.”

Micky nodded. “Yeah. I just want to know what happened.”

Dragon Fly put her hand on Micky's shoulder before walking away. “I gotta get to work after the kids get their papers. Meet me at the circ gate in five minutes.”

Micky smirked. “You got it, chief.”

Dragon Fly walked out of the room and Micky put his head in his hands. He didn't know how the kids would react.

The kids were loud and angry when they saw the price change. Some of the younger kids, who were about six or seven, were crying.

Dragon Fly was trying to talk to the men at the circulation gate, but they were being smug, which was causing her to become annoyed.

Micky saw her and ran to pull her aside. “What are they saying?”

“They said that they raised the prices because the company is losing money. The price is the same everywhere.”

“I hate to say it, but we'll have to pay the difference for the kids today. We'll figure out what to do tomorrow.”

Dragon Fly nodded and handed Micky some money. “This should cover the difference for half of the kids. I really have to get going. I'll talk to you tonight after work.”

Micky took the money and went to the circulation gate to pay.

When Dragon Fly got back to the lodging house, she saw Micky still up. He was sitting at one of the tables. He lifted his head when she came in.

“Hey, Dragon Fly.”

“You look tired.”

Micky scoffed. “Gee, thanks.” He took a deep breath. “Sales were hard today. The change is hard on a lot of the littles.”

Dragon Fly sat down by him. “I wish there was something we could do, but right now, we just have to roll with the punches.”

Micky nodded. “So how was work?”

“The usual, I guess.” Dragon Fly rested her chin in her hand. “My editor has denied the last three articles I've suggested.”

“Why?”

“Apparently I need to do something that hasn't been done before.”

“What about the everyday life of the average newsie?”

Dragon Fly shook her head. “They won't take that. No one out there is interested in a bunch of children.”

“Maybe you'll find a good story in the morning. It's late.”

“Yeah.” Dragon Fly stood and headed to her separate room. “Goodnight, Micky.”

“Night, Dragon Fly.”

When the next morning rolled around, the same routine started. Kids were everywhere getting ready, and Micky and Dragon Fly were trying to get everyone situated. They got to the circulation gate and helped the kids buy papers, then went off to the side.

“How much longer will this last?” Micky asked.

Dragon Fly shrugged. “All I know is that I'm going to be late for work if I don't leave now.” She walked off and left Micky alone.

He waved as she left and went to help one of the younger kids.

Dragon Fly got off of work early, so she stopped by the lodging house to see Micky. She ran into one of the kids, Jiffy, when she got to the stairs.

“Hey, Dragon Fly,” he said. “you're back early.”

“They let me leave early. Where's Micky?”

“Doing something in the back. Why?”

“I have something I needed to tell him. I heard some people at work talking about something.”

“Specs is here!” Tricky yelled.

Dragon Fly turned to see Specs at the door. “Hey, Specs. What are you doing here?”

“Jack sent me,” he said. “We're going on strike.”

“Is this about them raising the prices of the papers?”

Specs nodded. “We don't sell the papes until they put the price back. Jack sent me to ask you guys to join us.”

“I'd have to ask Micky first.”

“No.” Micky's voice came from the top of the stairs. “It's too risky.”

Dragon Fly turned to look at him. “Micky, just listen--.”

“Can I speak with you alone for a second?” Micky led her away from ear shot of everyone else. “Think about this before you go through with it.”

“I am.”

“No,” Micky said. “You're not. You could lose your job if this strike fails. You know the other boroughs won't even think of joining until Spot gives the word.”

“Then let's convince Spot.” Dragon Fly put her hand on his shoulder. “This is a fight for our rights. This is a fight for our kids. For every kid that sells papers on those streets.”

Micky thought before he nodded. “We're joining if we convince Spot, but only if Spot joins.”

Dragon Fly walked back to Specs. “We have to wait for Brooklyn. I'll see if I can convince Spot, but for right now, we're staying. Sorry, Specs.”

Specs nodded. “I understand. I'll tell Jack.” He left the lodging house and closed the door.

Dragon Fly stood at the door and watched kids go back to what they were doing. “I'm heading to Brooklyn. I'm guessing he's heard already, but it wouldn't hurt to try.”

“Maybe I should go,” Micky said.

“No offence, Micky, but Spot doesn't really like you. We get along, so I can try to talk some sense into him.”

Dragon Fly called Tricky over. “Can I borrow your bike?”

“Sure! Can I come with?” Tricky asked.

“Not this time, kid.”

Tricky frowned. “Okay.”

“Maybe next time.”

Dragon Fly walked out of the door and hopped on Tricky's bike.

It took longer than she thought it would, but Dragon Fly made it to the Brooklyn lodging house. She knocked on the door and saw Hotshot.

“Can I help you?” He asked.

“I need to see Spot. Where is he?”

He rolled his eyes. “He's on the pier. If this is about that strike, you can save it.”

“Thanks, Hotshot.” Dragon Fly hopped back on the bike and went to the pier. She saw Spot staring out at the sea.

“Hey.”

Spot looked over. “Dragon Fly? Don't tell me you're here about the strike. Bronx, Flushing, and Manhattan have already come to convince me. I ain't joining ‘til I know they won't blow it.”

“Look, Spot, I'm close with the Manhattan kids. They stay true to their word. They'll pull through.”

Spot stayed silent for a second. “I'll believe it when I see it.”

Dragon Fly sighed. “If anything, Jack's too stubborn to let them quit.” She smiled when she got a smirk. “At least tell me you're considering.”

He nodded. “I'll join when they prove they can take the heat. Strikes shouldn't be taken lightly.”

“Got it. I guess I'm heading back to Queens.” Dragon Fly did a two finger salute. “I'll see you later.”

Spot returned the salute. “Bye, Dragon Fly.”

“Bye, Spot."

“Don't be a stranger.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

****

THIS IS THE FIRST THING I'VE WRITTEN AND POSTED SINCE THE HOLIDAY FIC SO I'M VERY RUSTY SO PLEASE DON'T GET MAD IF IT'S HORRIBLE I TRIED BUT FEEDBACK IS WELCOMED

Also should I write from the perspective of the Bronx?

TAG LIST (MESSAGE OR DM ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED)

Also this tag list won't be in bullet points because I'm using mobile and I only have a limit of 100 lines.

@galaxytrees13 @disasterbisexualhere @marcusisaprettygay @ughwaitwhat @purplelittlepup @well-the-kids-do-too @crutchie-the-crutch @graceful-popcorn @i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing @bennie-badeend @buttons-in-the-refuge @lilcutekittykat @stormcrawler75 @aw-jus-let-em-try @suddenly-im-respecsable @bencook-isa-literalangel @i-got-personality @thebroadwayaesthetic

#newsies #newsboys #queens ocs #oc dragon fly #oc micky #oc jiffy #oc tricky #newsies specs #specs newsies #spot conlon #strike fic #queens newsies #dragon fly writes

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broadwaycantdie · 5 years

Text

Mike and Ike’s Birthday (Christmas) Party - Newsies Month: Holiday Edition . Day 23

a/n: happy birthday jacob and david guzman !

tagged: @newnewsieprice

warnings: none // modern-era

————————————————————————

“Happy birthday, bro”

“Happy birthday, dude”

“Can you believe it? Another year gone.”

“Don’t gotta make it sad, we’re having a party tonight so cheer up. New opportunities come with new age.”

“Like what?”

“Like...whatever you want!”

Mike always knew how to make his brother laugh—he kinda had to.

Every year they threw a birthday party, but since it was so close to Christmas, they doubled it as a Christmas party as well (mainly so they didn’t have to have 2 separate parties back to back).

They also didn’t ask for gifts because they do secret santa the day before and they know they don’t all have the money to constantly buy gifts. So their birthday and Christmas are pushed together—per the twins request.

The boys spent all day setting up for the party and getting everything ready.

Rather than having it in their shared apartment, they rented out a cheap warehouse outside of town. They both knew DAMN well they couldn’t fit everyone in their apartment. The twins knew how to throw a good party.

Night rolled around and the party came closer and closer. The twins looked back at the work they did and gave each other a high five.

Balloons thrown around the floor, the DJ booth blasting, colored lights everywhere, tables pushed to the sides with table cloths of red and green, christmas tree’s in each corner, a buffet table of food, an open bar, and the main centerpiece: the dance floor.

Newsies started flooding in and that meant the party was ready to start.

The twins were quite popular so that meant Manhattan wasn’t the only borough showing up.

Actually every borough in New York was coming. Queens, The Bronx, Staten Island, and of course, Brooklyn.

Little by little everyone was in one large room.

Who knows how they fit.

No one wanted to risk missing the biggest party of the year. Though it happened every year.

Everyone went through the night dancing, drinking, and just having the best time.

Ike stopped a moment and looked around.

He found his brother across the room with Hotshot. So that’s why he was so persistent on inviting Brooklyn.

Of course all the couples were together. The night was coming to an end. Everyone was drunk and horny. It happens every year.

They actively plan for it.

Memories were made.

Fun was had.

Present became past.

The next morning, Ike woke up on the floor of the warehouse. He was surrounded by red cups, confetti, sticky liquids, and unconscious bodies.

Again, nothing new.

A lot of the people there the night before had left. Either during the night or early in the morning.

Ike started to walk around. Admiring the stupidity of his friends.

Mike and Hotshot were still together. Mike’s body sprawled across Hotshot’s.

Not too far away was Spot and Race in a similar fashion.

What was up with Manhattan and Brooklyn?

Ike stopped for a moment when he saw Mike move. He started to get up and look around, his eyes adjusting to the light coming through the large windows.

“Hey, bro. How long you been up?” Mike said groggily.

“Just a couple minutes. Looks like you had fun”, Ike replied quietly—as to not wake the sleeping boys.

“Did you?” Mike said, looking around for any clue to Ike’s night.

“I honestly can’t remember.”

“Must’ve been a good party then.”

“I think this year was the best one yet, just look around.”

Mike looked at the warehouse. It was trashed.

“I guess it was.”

Mike got up and gave his brother a high five.

“That’s another one for the books, bro. Happy Birthday.”

“Happy birthday, man. Here’s to the coming year.”

Ike held his hand up, mimicking toasting a cup of champagne. Mike followed along and clicked his hand to his brothers.

“We better clean up”, Ike said.

“Eh, that can wait. We got a whole year until the next party. Right now let’s just nap.”

Ike got back down on the floor and laid on his back. He looked at the ceiling trying to recall the events of the night before.

Dancing.

Drinking.

Kissing.

Sleeping.

“Yeah that‘s good enough”, he thought to himself.

“Until next year.”

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mannatea · 6 years

Note

would love to hear your full hot take on Voltron s7 if you’re inclined to share

there HAS been a lack of salt in general on this blog, huh??

all right, FULL hot take on voltron s7. spoilers ahead. salt. hate. don’t click the readmore if you don’t wanna read it. it’s a disorganized mess also. i’m tired still. s7 drained my ability to write well--sucked it right out of me.

god, where do i even start? the season started out all right. the gameshow episode was fun! but as soon as we returned to earth things went straight into snoozemode. i was itching to turn it off and go back to finish s3 of miss fisher’s murder mysteries, because i just wasn’t that invested in watching just a couple more hours of a new season of voltron. and this after i’d just recently marathoned s1-6 with my husband.

i spent half the time staring at my phone. my husband was on his tablet. we complained about how boring it was aloud. we paused to talk shit about it.

there were a few good things, but it seems to me most of them were at the very beginning of the season. liiiike romelle. my husband was ready to set sail on the s.s. hunk x romelle which was incredible. acxa? also good. KOSMO? the best character in this series now, hands down. notice how little of the good there was in this season? hm.

anyway like i said, as soon as we had to see earth again i was bored. i don’t even know how to organize all my thoughts on this, but i’ll try.

flashback scenes for days. boring.

i’m not saying i could write it better but imo it would have been way more interesting to toss the characters into the situation without the audience having a clue what they were walking into. let them act and be overwhelmed with us?

i don’t care overmuch about sam holt let alone his wife. at first i was pretty okay with them because i’m all for fleshing out side characters, but in the end it was all pretty meh.

idk he was just right about literally everything and could do no wrong. boring.

admiral sanda is one of the worst-written cringey characters i’ve EVER had the displeasure of watching.

the only relief i felt in her character was that she wasn’t fulfilling the latino hotshot trope by being a young latino man instead of an older woman.

but making her an older woman didn’t actually make her interesting.

in fact, none of her motivations or actions made any sense.

you’re telling me this bitch is super by the books but she believes sam holt enough to spend billions on developing new tech on nothing more than his word? okay

if she’s so by the books she should have remained entirely by the books the entire time.

if she believes sam enough to spend billions in manpower and materials to build this shit she probably believes sam enough to trust in his judgment re: military tactics.

seriously i hated this character beyond hate. her little ‘redemption’ arc was poorly done. her getting a photograph at the memorial was annoying.

okay, i can take the latter as the military keeping up appearances. don’t want the population knowing you were betrayed by the, or one of the, highest ranking officers in the military. that’d be a very big yikes.

i find it eXTREMELY hard to believe this lady did all this and only realizes she was an idiot at the last second.

whaT do you meAN you aREn’T keePINg yOur eNd of thE bARgaIN?

I MEAN COME ON SHE’S NOT 23 AND BRIMMING WITH NEW POWER OR LACK OF EXPERIENCE!!!

in other words she can’t possibly be that stupid. nobody over the age of 25 is that stupid, especially someone versed in warfare, in a universe that supposedly had a WWIII.

SERIOUSLY I HATED THIS CHARACTER and for some reason it pissed me off more that she was a woman instead of a crusty old white dude. maybe because, aside from the MFE pilots, there weren’t really any other female officers named and important?

sendak was a disappointing anticlimactic bore.

seriously he was a case of the doldrums.

i don’t know what i expected out of him, but he wasn’t conniving or interesting at all. this is a guy who let his own ships blow up just to get at his foe. i find it incredibly difficult to believe he wouldn’t have just blown that defensive base to dust.

yes, even at the risk of losing a ship.

let’s talk about adam, another useless husk of a character.

kill the gays stereotype in full effect. usually it’s lesbians. i guess good job on it being a guy who dies?

i love how the whole fandom stanned adam and then not only was he dead as fuck but he was pointless as fuck.

voltron writers eagerly watching the audience, tails thumping in a poor attempt at suppressed excitement, bodies practically wriggling like a dog waiting for the command to eat the treat balanced on its nose: TELL US WE DID GOOD!! TELL US WE’re GOOD BOYS!! VALIDATE US!!! WE INCLUDED TEH GAY!!!!

like bitch...y’all gave this away in advance AND FOR WHAT?

you know why. YOU KNOW. i know. WE ALL KNOW. it was just to try and earn representation points with the audience.

i hate rep points more than i hate a lot of things right now. it’s just so cringey. it’s just showrunners trying to get points for being ~progressive~ while never having to actually stick to being progressive on a continual basis lmao.

don’t get me wrong, i don’t give a SINGLE fuck about adam. i’m just mad he was touted at a convention and then ended up meaning abSOLUTELY nothing. no, shiro looking at his memorial plaque doesn’t change anything lmao.

look i’m not saying it makes his relationship with adam ‘less’. but i AM saying that making him an ex and also a dead ex means the creators don’t have to commit to continuing to deal with shiro’s sexuality, whether it’s gay, bi, or pan. they can just avoid addressing it or writing it at all. because this isn’t a romance series. they just shove adam into a figurative and literal casket and want their pats on the back. which, uhhhhh they’re not gonna get from me. adam isn’t progressive. adam’s boring.

all the action in the last four or so episodes? dull. insipid. uninspired. i’m out of insults. i just don’t care about these mfe fighters. earth is almost wiped out. am i supposed to still be caring about it?

that yawn-worthy last stand speech had me wanting to take The Long Sleep like sendak cares if you put up a fight or not. you’re all weaklings. ‘we’ll go down swinging’ is as old as the hills. i don’t know what i needed instead of this, but this wasn’t.

there was a bRIEFLY good moment with hunk but like

how convenient that everyone’s families are alive lol

or at least hunk’s parents and lance’s entire extended family

that annoyed me idk. they’re going for this gritty shit where almost everyone is dead but then pull that?

ya lost me.

on the PLUS side the little scene with keith trying to be of comfort was nice. if anyone Gets It, keith does. and then he tries to help hunk too, which i liked a lot.

but it didn’t detract enough from the Boring of the episodes to really feel good to me. sorry.

hi i’m shiro and i’m sick. i’m so sick. the sickest. but i’m going into space anyway!!!

did i miss something or did shiro’s mysterious sickness just never mean anything?

did the galra cure it? that’d be interesting character stuff.

speaking of shiro, his hover arm is weird and i hate it.

what was with allura giving him her crystal thing? is that ever going to mean anything or was it useless too?

ATLAS is now a giant robot??? what

haha sam holt built this but didn’t know it could do this? don’t fucking??? pull that??? it makes me want to die. it’s so bad. it’s CRINGEY

he’s the enGINEER!! he’d know!! if it was capable of even 50% of that!!!

haha it’s magic

shut the fuuuck up magic needs to still be explained!!!!

where are the citizens and crew on this robot anyway like you do realize they’d be dead from the force of it moving around and probably getting rattled around inside the ship right?

they’ve got a massacre in the hold to clean up when this is over.

the super robot that was like massively strong and shit?

yeah let’s DBZ it up i guess and create antagonists that are exponentially stronger as if that’ll maintain the audience’s attention lmaooooo

it was boring and the reveal at the end with the altean was boring. who cares. i don’t.

i hated the attempt at a wholesome reunion looK IT’S TEAMWORK EVERYONE WORKING TO G E T HER!!!!

shay showing up to hug hunk WITH HER BROTHER was the only wholesome thing about it

i dunno it just seemed kind of forced to me. oh look how the paladins were lucky enough to keep their families!! what about the rest of earth. now none of the paladins can even really relate to it. it’s depressing. :/

i dunno. the beginning was promising! and interesting! and maybe even fun. but the earth’s last stand stuff was dull. i think because it was so rushed it lacked the balance of humor that has made the show worth watching. and there were cute fun MOMENTS in the later episodes of the season (re: kosmo, “i gotta get me one of these”), but it wasn’t enough to balance out how dull the rest of it was.

if there’s anything i missed talking about, let me know and i can add it/make another post. but right now this is my current salt.

i mean mostly my opinion is:

wow that was a waste of my time.

#i could have leveled in wow and gotten more out of my time #like it was seriously SO boring #my husband said it was almost painful to have to sit and keep watching #like...i know we didn't have to but #this is a new season of a show we watch together?#so... anyway yeah it was bad. BAD BAD. boring.#voltron #character hate #cute anons #answered mail

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jeminy3 · 6 years

Text

FIRESIDE - Chapter 2

2. there's all these secrets that I can't keep.

like in my heart there's that hotel suite

and you lived there so long

it's kinda strange, now you're gone

There's not enough stuff exploring how exactly each member of Team Mustang got their positions under him, so I had an idea and ran with it.

WARNINGS: war and death mentions, fatalistic talk/thinking, threats

Read on AO3

Read on Google Docs

Ch. 1 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5

- Roughly 8 years ago -

Jean Havoc always thought of himself and his life in one word: simple.

A simple boy from a simple town, born to simple shopkeepers, making a simple living at whatever he was good at. Which was helping out in the family business at first, but after hitting hard times as simple families tend to do, he drafted himself and became a soldier. And for that, there were really only three things you had to be good at: fighting, following orders, and giving them.

He grew into a simple man with simple desires: fight some wars, get a girl, settle down, have some kids, and live a good, simple life like his parents did.

So he was a bit surprised when his humble contingent was selected to serve in East Headquarters under a newly-promoted Lieutenant Colonel by the name of Roy Mustang. He could call it good fortune, but he'd rather blame it on this new commander being shockingly young for the position (barely in his mid-twenties, like Havoc himself), so he probably didn't know any better.

...But maybe he did, since he was also the famed Flame Alchemist and, as the military called him, "The Hero of Ishval."

Havoc and his men were at the very outskirts of the Ishvalan Civil War, but they all heard the stories - awful, terrible stories. After spending enough years in the service, you get sort of numb to stuff like this, but Ishval was an exception in just how... grisly the whole thing was from beginning to end. An entire subset of Amestrian civilians all but wiped from the face of the earth completely, just for trying to push back against unfair treatment from their own government.

Tensions had been rising since Havoc's parents were young, and maybe one could argue that both sides were guilty parties, but all Havoc was concerned about was the fallout. Hundreds dead, even more missing, many of them women, children, elders. In a word - innocents. People that the military were supposed to protect, last time he checked.

Havoc never said it out loud - not even to his own family - but any real, genuine pride he had in his country was gone at this point. He didn't sign up to serve a military that slaughtered innocent people like butchers, no matter how they tried to justify it.

Something needed to change, and fast, before anything worse happens - but alas, if only he were a smarter man. Right now, Havoc was merely the Corporal of a small group of soldiers, and any hopes of making earth-shattering changes to make his country a righteous place again were far-away dreams. But a dream's a dream, he supposes.

He holds onto that hope, small as it is, as he stands abreast his team in East Headquarters' courtyard, all equally tense as Mustang approaches them. They all knew the gist of what this so-called "Hero" did to earn his title and rank, so none of them were particularly looking forward to meeting him - especially not Havoc.

He certainly looks the part, Havoc thinks, as Mustang inspects his contingent one by one. He stands tall and firm, as intimidating a presence as any old General. Especially with his face - stony and expressionless, no doubt hardened by the slaughter he'd participated in.

He won't be broken, Havoc thinks, as Mustang curtly announces the end of his inspection for all to hear. He's made it this far, this hotshot new commander won't scare him. ...Even if he could turn him and his men into cinders with a snap of his fingers, supposedly. He's not nervous...

...Well, just a little bit.

He resists the urge to swallow as Mustang stops in front of him, holds his gaze for a moment, his dark eyes looking out between thin strands of black hair. Something smolders in them, a fire that's probably as black as his soul - piercing, burning, studying. Despite himself, Havoc feels a prickle of heat go up the nape of his neck.

And then, to his surprise, Mustang smiles. "You have good men here, Corporal Havoc," he says, warm and genuine.

Havoc blinks, stammers, but only for a moment. He quickly straightens himself and salutes. "Th- Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, sir."

Mustang's smile widens slightly, softening his eyes. "Just Mustang or Lieutenant Colonel will do, Corporal."

Havoc blinks again. Huh... maybe he's not as scary as he first thought.

---

The next several months are relatively peaceful for Havoc and his men. Serving under Mustang, they find themselves usually sent out for small-time reconnaissance missions and general peacekeeping in the immediate area. It's odd, compared to what they're used to - most commanders are eager to send them out to fight in the nearest conflict, or as reinforcements for a bulwark or occupied town.

Nonetheless, Havoc finds it a relief and counts this as a blessing in disguise, as it's given him plenty of spare time to scope out East City's dating scene. But he's still not quite sure what to think of his new superior.

Mustang seemed so serious at first, but since settling in, he doesn't do much besides the usual office work - inspections, meetings, phone calls, and mountains of paperwork that he's notoriously slow at. And when he isn't working he's a total goof-off, flirting with any attractive woman who crosses his path, going out to bars and taking the women he's wooed out for nights on the town.

He even chats with girls on the phone during work hours! Good grief! Havoc had some discretion when it came to girls, this guy was just shameless!

Havoc's been trying to figure him out for a while. Even now, as he takes his usual afternoon smoke in the break room, seated in a chair near the back. Mustang just... rubs him the wrong way. Like what's his deal? Is he even trying to take his job seriously? No, he must be, he's practically a decorated veteran after Ishval... He just isn't acting like it.

Acting... Hm. Havoc shifts his jaw, bothering his cigarette with his teeth, pondering. That's gotta be what he's doing - an act. Pretending to be a lazy, good-for-nothing skirt-chaser, because...

...Because he's a heartless murderer getting fat off his blood money, like every other commander from Ishval.

- And suddenly the break room door creaks and moves, jostling Havoc from his thoughts and nearly sending him right out of his skin. Even more alarming is who's walking in - Lt. Colonel Mustang himself.

He shuffles in, looking somewhat drained as he nonchalantly pushes the ajar door further open, gazing distantly across the room before catching sight of Havoc. His dark eyes brighten, and he smiles warmly. "Ah- Hello, Havoc," he says.

"Uh, hey- I mean hello, sir," Havoc says, remembering his formalities in time to quickly correct himself and give a half-hearted salute.

Mustang only chuckles dismissively as he strides in, holding the door open for a moment to allow someone else in with him - and sure enough, following closely behind him is 2nd Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, his personal aide and bodyguard.

Havoc's wary of her as well, since her face is as stern and unreadable as Mustang's was the day he met him - except she looks like that all the time. She sticks to Mustang's side like glue, assisting him with daily tasks and accompanying him on official outings, her cold brown eyes always stoic and alert for potential danger.

...But usually, she's just standing by Mustang's desk, watching him as closely as her namesake to ensure his paperwork is completed before the end of the century.

After Havoc's occasional sightings of her practicing at the shooting range, it's obvious that she lives up to the title she earned in Ishval - 'The Hawk's Eye', a sniper who never misses her mark. According to rumors, she graduated ahead of her class before she was even twenty years old to be deployed there, and she's supposedly a good friend of Mustang's from those days.

...In other words, she's another murderer of innocents. More tragic here, since she's an awfully pretty young woman to be so heartless.

That's not what's bothering Havoc, though. What's weird is that Mustang and Hawkeye rarely show up in the break room, much less together. Something's not right here - but Hawkeye gives nothing away, as usual, and greets him with a silent nod before moving to the counter to use the coffee pot and surrounding cupboards.

Meanwhile, Mustang plops himself down into one of the cheap chairs near the center of the room, but not too far from where Havoc's seated. The oncoming summer heat seems to be getting to him, as he loosens a few of his uniform's buttons and pulls it apart, exposing his undershirt and some of his neck.

"God... all this paperwork's killing me," he says with a deflating sigh, sinking back into the chair.

"I'd think you'd be prepared for the workload, sir," Havoc responds, smirking in his direction.

"I guess I should have been," Mustang says, shrugging nonchalantly.

After a pause, he looks over, jerking his chin. "So, how's your day been, Corporal?"

Havoc raises an eyebrow. Small talk, huh? Sure, he'll play along. He makes a show of relaxing as well, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs.

"Oh, same as usual. Training the new guys, keeping the older ones busy, seein' as we aren't getting a whole lot of action lately." He side-eyes Mustang, hoping he gets the clue.

Mustang purses his lips, nodding. He doesn't seem to catch it. "Mm. Good to hear. Are the new recruits doing well?"

"Well enough."

"Good, good... Any complaints so far?"

"Nothing much, besides the usual. Weather sucks, uniforms're too stuffy, y'know."

Mustang looks down at his own open uniform. "Well I can vouch for that," he says, chuckling heartily. Havoc joins in with his own forced laughter.

But the mirth dies as quickly as it came, and an awkward silence settles in, broken only by the bubbling of the coffee pot and Hawkeye idly tapping the counter. Havoc shifts, but says nothing, hoping that Mustang will break the silence with whatever business he's really here for.

Sure enough, Mustang glances around awkwardly before meeting Havoc's eyes again. He studies him for a moment, then leans forward slightly.

"Ah... How about we drop the titles for a few moments, Jean? Talk man-to-man, as it were."

Havoc blinks at him. "Huh?"

"Lieutenant, if you please." Mustang lifts a hand, signaling to Hawkeye, and she nods, turns off the coffee pot and strides over to the break room door. She locks and closes it with an ominous click, then stands firmly next to it, stern and wary as always. Meanwhile, Mustang leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees, interlocking his fingers. He narrows his eyes - and now that old flame's back in them. That burning, studying look that Havoc saw months ago.

Havoc swallows lightly as he looks between him and Hawkeye, feeling every bit like a wild 'coon caught in a trap it didn't see coming. He does his best to keep a straight face even as his heart begins to thump in his ears.

"...What's this about, Mustang?"

Mustang shrugs lightly. "Oh, not much. I just wanted to ask you something."

His mouth drying out and the room closed off, Havoc wisely decides to take his cigarette out of his mouth and put it out against his boot. After tossing it into his ash tray, he sits back, jerking his chin. "...A'right, then. Shoot."

Something sparkles in Mustang's dark eyes, and he smirks. "What do you think of me, Havoc? Be honest."

...Well that's a loaded question if he ever heard one, Havoc thinks. Your boss locks you into a room with him and his bodyguard and demands your honest opinion of him? May as well be asking, 'where'd you like me to leave your body - the city dump, or a river?'

Havoc shifts his jaw, despite not holding a cigarette in his mouth anymore. If he lies, Mustang will probably see right through it and press him harder. But if he's honest like Mustang wants him to be, there's a chance he'll go easy on him for complying. And he may as well get some things off his chest.

Havoc leans forward, stares his boss dead in the eye and says evenly,

"...Honestly? I think you're full of shit, Mustang."

You could hear a pin drop in the ensuing silence.

Mustang's smile doesn't waver, though. Even widens a little. "...Really, now?"

Not angry, huh? Well, Havoc may as well get it all out. "Yeah. You came in here all serious and shit months ago, but all you do is sit on your ass and goof off with chicks all day. And I can understand that as another man, but you? You're shameless."

Mustang just nods slowly. What, is- is he actually liking this? Bastard... Havoc feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Feeling braver - and angrier - he continues.

"That's not all. Your so called 'heroics' in Ishval? My men and I, we heard the stories. We heard what the grunts saw, not the Generals. You were a monster. Whole villages reduced to dust with a few little flicks of your fingers. Men, women, children, everyone. Dead."

Mustang's smile drops into a thin line, but he's still nodding. Havoc feels his blood boiling at this point, clenching his hands on his knees.

"And I don't know about you, sir, but I like to think that what I do is honorable. I uphold the law, I protect people. Citizens. Those Ishvalans? They were citizens too, under the law. Y'all can call it a war till yer blue in the face but as far as I'm concerned, that was a massacre."

Finally, something dark and distant passes over Mustang's face, and he stops nodding.

"...Yes, it was," he says, almost whispering.

Havoc jerks to his feet, fists clenched, ignoring how Hawkeye tenses at the door. "So you agree, then? That yer a goddamn murderer without a drop of remorse in yer goddamn body?!"

Mustang only frowns in response, still staring at him. Then he slowly rises to his feet, carefully readjusting and closing his uniform. He says nothing.

Havoc can't stand this anymore. "Well?! You gonna say something to defend yourself? Or- Or maybe you already know there's no point, after what you've done."

Mustang regards him for a moment, then reaches a hand into his pants pocket. Havoc feels a rush of panic - he knows he keeps his Alchemy gloves there. He's watched Mustang use them here and there at official demonstrations: he'll coolly walk into the center of an arena, pull his white gloves out of his pockets and onto his hands, red transmutation circles emblazoned on their backs. Then with a snap and a flash of light, he'll summon tongues of flames and explosions of any size and force he wants.

This is it, Havoc thinks. He's going to die here. But he'll be damned if he doesn't go down swinging.

Despite the fear gripping every bit of his body and sending him deep into the throes of his fight-or-flight response, he strides toward Mustang, sidling up so his chest is almost flush with his own, daring to put his face right in front of his.

"So that's it, huh? You gonna kill me now?" Havoc hisses, narrowing his eyes.

Mustang jerks back at the sudden closeness, but stands his ground. He lifts his head to meet Havoc's eyes, and at this distance, Havoc can see every detail of his face clearly. The creases around his eyelids, the sharp pupils of his black eyes, the sweat building on his brow. He can even feel the quick breaths from Mustang's nose against his lips.

Havoc jerks his eyes and head toward Hawkeye at the door, still speaking in a low, dark voice. "Didn't want your goon over there to get her hands dirty, right? I've seen 'er at the shooting range, best shot I've ever seen. But you know that'd leave too much of a mess, don't you? So instead yer gonna turn me into a nice li'l pile o' dust so I clean up nice an' easy."

Mustang only narrows his eyes, but Havoc can sense his breath hitching slightly, see his throat working, his lips pressing together. At this distance he can see that they're not as thin as Havoc assumed, sort of... soft, pliable. Pink-ish in color. And Mustang's actually significantly shorter than him, Havoc realizes vaguely, so it wouldn't take much, just a jerk of his chin and a lean forward, and he could-

...Wait, what is he-

Havoc jerks back, puffs out his chest, pushes away a vaguely flustered feeling that he blames on his highly emotional state. He keeps his eyes even with Mustang's.

"W- well do it, then," he sniffs. "I've said my piece. I got no regrets."

There's a beat of silence, the tension so palpable that Havoc can hardly breathe anymore. He glances between Mustang's hand still in his pocket and his face, his expression still unreadable. Havoc keeps his face tight, defiant. His senses fade around him, and all that seems to exist now is him, Mustang, and the sound of his heart in his ears. He flinches as Mustang's hand suddenly moves again, and pulls out-

A napkin.

...Wait, what?

Havoc just... stares, slack-jawed, as Mustang wipes his brow with the napkin, sighs long-sufferingly, then deposits it back into his pocket. Then he looks back up, clearing his throat, looking very tired, suddenly.

"No, Jean... My days of being a murderer are over," he says thoughtfully.

Havoc... doesn't know how to respond.

Mustang leans on one hip, lifts a finger to point at him. "You are right, though. About everything. And if I'd intended to get rid of you, that's probably how I would've done it. You're a smart man, Jean."

Havoc just... gapes at him. "Y... You're not- What?"

Mustang lowers his hand, smirking. "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you. Either of us."

Then he straightens and folds his arms behind his back, smiling serenely. "Sorry for the scare, I just uh- needed to test you. And I must say, you passed with flying colors, Jean. In fact, I'm thinking of giving you a promotion, if you don't mind."

"T... T- Test?" Havoc stammers uselessly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. He looks between him and Hawkeye at the door and- Wait, is she smiling? Holy shit, she is. For once, Hawkeye's stern face wears a small, knowing smile, and her eyes are warm and mirthful instead of cold and distant.

When he looks back at Mustang, his eyes sparkle with inner laughter as well. "Has it ever occurred to you, Jean, that there is more to me than meets the eye?"

Havoc stammers again. "I- yeah, but... But you... and Ishval..."

The sparkles fade, along with Mustang's smile. "Yes, I did do all those things in Ishval. And I can tell you now that not a single part of me is proud of that, any of it. But if anything decent's come out of that hellhole, it's this-"

Mustang unfolds his arms, taps his forehead with a finger. "A plan. One that, if successful, will see me rising to the highest echelons of this godforsaken government, where I can enact change that will turn this country into something that both of us can be proud of again. A place of peace and justice, where the Ishvalan War, or any war, will never happen again. No more innocents will die, Havoc. I can promise you that."

Havoc feels his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. "You- You don't mean... the Führer?"

Mustang nods, his eyes burning again. "Oh yes. I do."

He glances and nods in Hawkeye's direction. "But I can't do it alone. I need people on my side to help me get there. People I can trust, not just with my life or my orders, but with my ambitions. This will be dangerous in every possible sense, Jean."

Then Mustang's smile returns in its brightest form yet as he regards Havoc, puffing out his chest and lifting his chin, looking at him as if he were something... special. Like a grand treasure he's just discovered, a trophy he's won.

"...But from what I've seen? I think you're up for it," he says.

Havoc just... stares at him, breathless again. What he'd thought was a cage meant to kill him was a challenge that he'd risen to meet without even realizing it. He'd guessed correctly that his superior was putting on an act, but he'd misjudged his intentions completely - Mustang made himself seem lazy and shameless not to hide his inhuman cruelty, but so no one would ever suspect the earth-shattering ambitions hidden beneath his surface. Not his superiors, and certainly not his own subordinates. And maybe that in itself, the misjudgment, was part of the act too.

Something swells in Havoc's chest, and it must be pride, he thinks. Mustang was trusting him, simple ol' Jean Havoc, with those ambitions now. No one else, besides Hawkeye.

He's... Mustang... He's nothing short of incredible. There's no doubt about that, now.

...But he's not worth spacing out over like an idiot, Havoc realizes, and he blinks himself back into existence before he makes himself look even more foolish. He straightens quickly, and gives Mustang the best salute he can muster. "I- I- I'll do my best, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang sir!"

"I know you will," Mustang says, still smiling at him. "Now, let's head back to my office. There's much to discuss."

And that was how Havoc gained the title of 2nd Lieutenant, and more importantly, an absolute shitload of admiration and respect for his superior.

#jeanroy #royvoc #royhavoc #roy mustang #jean havoc #jeminy writes

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haroldslovekitten · 7 years

Text

Sweet Creature - Pink Series pt. 1

Hello lovelies! Here is part one of that angsty, slow burn, friends to lovers series I’m starting! The series will be called Pink and there will be 10 parts in total, each one inspired by/including one of the songs on Harry’s album.

Word Count: 5k

Enjoy! .xx -M

“So, you’re ready to get back into the game again, huh?” you ask around a mouthful of scone, crumbs tumbling from your lips as you speak.

“Yeah, I think I am. It’s been a long break, and I think I’m ready to really start writing again,” Harry smiles, the future career he’s planning seeming like more and more of a reality.

“Well, I for one, am excited. Always wanted to know what you’d do on your own.”

“You’ve heard some of my own songs,” he questions, sipping his tea.

“Well yeah, but like, none of those were written for your own personal album, H, they were more for fun. I wanna see you in your element,” you say.

Harry smiles at that, thinking about all the possible directions his music career could take now that it’s just him. The prospect is exciting and terrifying. He has to admit though, having friends like you supporting him is a huge help, and he knows the boys will be supportive too as they branch out themselves.

“What about you?” Harry asks. “What are you planning now that you’ve graduated?”

“Psssh,” you huff nervously. “Honestly, I have no fucking clue. Might just be a bum. Or maybe I can be a groupie for Harry Styles on his solo tour!” you say sarcastically, dodging the question.

“I’d be happy to take you along, you know that,” he says, but you just roll your eyes. “Really though, what are you going to do?”

“Honestly, making a career as a filmmaker isn’t exactly easy. It’s not like I can just go audition on a TV show and have my entire life made for me,” you tease. “Think I’m going to have to try to be an assistant to some hotshot first, then get my scripts out there.”

“I could talk to some people, if you want?”

“No no no no, Harry. No,” you say firmly. “I will not have you doing all my networking for me and let myself become successful just because I’m Harry Styles’ best friend. Gotta do it on my own, you know?”

“Mmmm,” he nods his head, understanding completely the need to make it on your own merit. The same thought is what’s haunting him about his solo career. “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Even if it’s just reading your work or summat.”

“Yeah, I will,” you smile, reaching over and squeezing his hand in thanks. “So, how’s the love life?”

“You’re a blunt one aren’t you?” Harry laughs before actually considering his answer. “It’s pretty nonexistent.”

“What about that one model?”

“Yeah, that’s over. Very, very over. Just don’t think it’s the right time for me. Don’t know when it will be, but I spend all my time with people I don’t really know. Not exactly fairytale circumstances for me.”

“Well, you spend time with me. I could be your fairytale,” you giggle at the absurd thought.

“Mmm, my tea-slurping, messy-eating, in her head entirely too often fairytale,” he teases right back.

“Oh yes, I’m quite the catch,” you respond, harmless flirting being a staple of your friendship for years now.

“What about you? Any prince charmings on the horizon?”

“As if. I have a very steamy conversation with the barista at my local Starbucks every morning if that counts.”

Harry snorts at the pun and nods, knowing the feeling.

You spend the next hour talking about mutual friends, family, venting about work and media and discussing just how important it is that Harry continue to wear women’s pants.

“Never thought me wearing ladies’ jeans would be such a fucking deal,” he laughs.

“Yeah well, you look better in them than I do, so you can go fuck yourself,” you respond, laughing.

“Nonsense,” Harry says, ever the gentleman.

You pick up your phone, reading a text and gasping. Harry looks up, slightly disappointed. You must have to leave. You never get to hang out enough, in his humble opinion, but any time he spends with you feels just like old times, so he’ll take what he can get.

“James just text, the actor we hired for our short film just bailed. Got a part in a commercial and thinks his career is going to take off, so he quit this. I’ve got to go sort this out. I’m so sorry,” you apologize.

“Don’t worry about it, good luck finding someone else. If there’s anything I can do, let me know,” he tells you, genuinely wanting to help and spend more time with you.

“Actually, yeah, come to my house Friday around 8? I’ve missed hanging out with you. We’re always so busy, I never feel like I know what’s going on with you. Let’s make an effort to see each other more, yeah? Now that you’re on a break and all? It’ll be something to look forward to for the rest of the week. Get me through the hell I have to put up with at work,” you smile and Harry feels like he might blush, which is weird. He guesses he’s just not used to being the reward for a long week of work, it feels so domestic.

“Sounds perfect. I’ll bring that wine I know you like too.”

“You’re literally the sweetest,” you reply, grabbing your purse, giving him a quick kiss to the cheek, and rushing off.

Harry finishes up his food, paying for the both of you before he heads home, a silly smile on his face the whole way there. When you live the life of a popstar, sometimes normalcy is hard to find. Life is big, luxurious, fancy, and damn expensive. Having you as a best friend brings him back down to earth as he goes to coffee shops with you where you always order the cheapest thing, despite him often paying, drink the cheapest wine he’s ever bought but knows you love it, and having conversation that doesn’t revolve around this and that famous person or catty feuds with people. You’re his breath of fresh air and he’s ecstatic that you wants him around more often, possibly more ecstatic than he should be, he thinks, but he’ll ignore that for now.

The next two days go by in a blur as he begins doing a little more writing for his album, getting his brain back in music mode. Honestly, knowing he was going to spend time at your apartment on the weekend put him in an incredibly good mood. As he finds himself writing, his song is happy, chipper even, and he finally feels like strumming away on his guitar is a fun activity, rather than an obligation. Just before he jumps in the shower Friday night, he gets a text from you.

Okay, I’m super lame and went on Pinterest to find something to make tonight and I found the most complicated recipe for cheesy chicken pasta I’ve ever fucking read. Be prepared to work your butt off suzy-homemaker.

Who says I’ll be helping?

He replies with a giggle before showering, washing his newly short hair with way too much shampoo. He still hasn’t gotten used to using like half the product he used to. By the time he’s finished getting ready, he’s smelling like Tom Ford cologne and looking good enough to eat, if he does say so himself. He doesn’t like to be a particularly cocky person, but he is well aware of how swoon-worthy he looks sometimes. He checks his phone once more before leaving.

Well, unless you want burnt chicken and overcooked pasta for dinner, you’re helping.

Only because I love you x

He winces a little after he texts that. You used to tell each other you loved each other all the time. He tells most of his friends that, if he’s being honest, but they’ve been so busy lately and have kind of drifted, so he’s a little worried that you won’t feel quite as close as you used to, that it might weird you out.

Love you too, asshole. Now hurry up, I’m hungry.

Harry’s breath huffs out in a relieved laugh when he sees the response, and he promptly jumps in his car and drives over as quickly as possible. He stops by the corner off-license to grab the wine, getting two bottles because he knows you will probably drink a whole one yourself, and makes it to your place just before 8. When you open the door, you’re in short shorts and a t-shirt with holes all in it, obviously dressed down for the occasion. Harry looks down at his skinny jeans and floral button down and instantly feels overdressed.

“Someone looks fancy,” you chirp, taking the wine from him and ushering him inside.

“Yeah,” he laughs nervously.

“You know, you don’t have to rub in how unbelievably handsome you are, right? You could at least try to look like a normal person every once in awhile,” you tease, getting all of the ingredients for dinner and setting them on the counter.

“Sorry about that, ‘m just so irresistible. Do you have that spare pair of sweats I used to keep here? I could maybe dress down? Make you feel better?” he jokes.

“And what shirt would you wear?”

“Ummm, none? Or one of yours I guess?”

“Yeah, shirtless you is going to make me feel loads better. Actually…I might have the perfect thing,” you say after contemplating for a moment.

You wave him to follow you into your bedroom, the once familiar territory looking much the same as it did two years ago when he’d spend nearly every free weekend he had hanging out here. You rustle through one of your dresser drawers, pulling out a pair of sweats from the very back. Harry can’t lie that he’s a little disappointed you had these stuffed in the back of a drawer, rather than wearing them yourself every once in awhile. He pushes the thought away though, you’re is just his best friend. Why would you wear his clothes? With a smile, you goe to your closet, thumbing through shirts until you find one.

“Aha,” you giggle, handing him a small white t-shirt that has his face from about 2014 plastered on it.

“What the actual fuck is this?” he cackles.

“Told you I was a fan, you know, before we met,” you laugh.

“This picture wasn’t taken that long before we met!” he doubles over in laughter, clutching the shirt. “Plus, it could fit a 12 year old!”

“Shut up! I developed late, okay? You know very well that I look much different now than when we met!”

“Mmm, true. Now you’ve got those cuuurves,” he giggles, beginning to unbutton his shirt to change.

He doesn’t miss the blush on your cheeks as you watch him, then shake your head and leave the room to give him some privacy. Once he finishes changing, he realizes just how absolutely ridiculous he looks. For starters, the shirt used to fit a tiny 18 year old you and barely stretches over his broad frame. His face is all dimples on the fabric, and you can see his tattoos through the shirt. It’s the silliest thing he’s ever seen. But, to top it off, he hadn’t thought about the fact that the sweats were also a few years old, and much too short for him now. So now, rather than looking hot as hell in his tight jeans and designer top, he’s wearing high-water sweats and a shirt with his own fucking fetus face staring out from it. Just what he needs.

He walks back into the kitchen slowly, head hanging in mock shame.

“Oh my god,” you shout, almost immediately falling to the floor in laughter. “You look insane,” you say between harsh breaths.

“Oi, shut up. I make this look good,” he drawls ironically, which just encourages further laughter.

“Okay okay, I need a picture. I need a picture.”

“No no no no, absolutely no fucking way,” he says, eyes going wide with worry.

“It’s not like I’m going to post it, you idiot. But I need it, for posterity’s sake. Pleeease?” you whine, and how the fuck can Harry resist those big blue puppy-dog eyes.

“For your eyes only,” he says sternly, pointing his finger at you for emphasis.

“Mmm, course,” you reply in mock seriousness before grabbing your phone and snapping a quick shot with him pouting angrily.

Now that you’re both dressed down and more comfortable, you dim the lights a little bit, and begin cooking, you doing most of the chopping and slicing of things, Harry handling anything to do with fire. You could not be trusted to not burn down the house, and to be honest, he was actually quite worried about you having a knife in your hands as well. More than once, he almost intervened and said he’d cook the whole damn meal. But, you looked so happy and excited to be cooking this new recipe with him, he couldn’t be the reason that giddy smile and look of concentration left you face when it warmed his heart so much to see it there, so instead, he kept a close eye on you, making sure you didn’t lose a finger. You both wiggle around each other in the kitchen, singing along to the Motown playlist you had put on, cooking and sipping wine together in complete harmony. Harry could not honestly say that his eyes didn’t linger as you wiggled your hips to a particularly upbeat song, or that he didn’t bite his lip when you’d bend down to get another cutting board from the cabinets. More than once, he stopped himself from reaching out and pulling you close, these new feelings definitely shocking him. Sure, it’d been awhile since he’d seen you, but he’s never thought of you as anything more than a sister before. So why now, is he sitting here struggling to keep his gaze purely platonic? You really were a sweet little thing, a sweet little creature, and he couldn’t deny that nearly everything you did put a smile on his face.

“Hey, you’ll burn the chicken if you keep looking at me like that!” you shout, swatting at his arm and bringing him out of his daze. “Don’t look that hideous, do I?” you laugh somewhat nervously.

“Not at all, love, just got a bit of something on your face,” he mentions before reaching out and smearing a bit of the cream they were using for the sauce onto your cheek.

You look at him aghast, picking up one of the cherry tomatoes you were slicing and throwing it directly at his forehead.

“Come now, don’t waste food,” he scolds, to your utter shock!

“You’re the one who initiated it!”

“No need to go pointing fingers,” he grins before going back to cooking.

“Dick,” you mumble under your breath, but can’t keep the smirk from your face.

Soon enough the meal is cooked and you are already halfway through your bottle of wine and still barely tipsy. When you sit down and eat, Harry laughs at the way you stuff your face with pasta, no shame at all. He feels a little pride when you groan in satisfaction at the taste of the pasta, knowing he did most of the work. As you both eat, Harry’s phone buzzes with a text from Gemma.

Always knew you were a self-obsessed ass.

Apparently there is a picture attached and when he opens the message he sees the photo of himself, ridiculous shirt and sweats and all. His jaw drops as he looks at you as you unsuspectingly finish one of your last bites of food.

“What?” you ask, confused by his gaze.

“I said for your eyes only, little lady!” he scolds, showing you his phone.

You nearly spit out the food in your mouth as you realize Gemma is just as bad at keeping secrets as you are.

“Come on, how could I not send that to her?”

“Fair enough,” Harry replies, knowing his sister probably enjoyed it immensely. “Never gonna trust you again though.”

“Hey, you can trust me!” you pout, taking a gulp of wine.

“Can I really? Said you’d keep that private and now my sister’s sending it to me. Tell me the truth, did you even for a second think about actually keeping it to yourself?” Harry accuses.

“Not for a second,” you laugh loudly. “But you tell me the truth, did you ever for a second really think I would?”

“Not exactly,” he laughs, admitting defeat.

“Knew we still knew each other well,” you smirk.

“Mmm, bet there are some things we don’t know though, yeah?” he asks, a suspicious grin coming across his features.

“I suppose,” you respond, giving him a questioning look.

“What do you say to a bit of truth or dare?” Harry asks and you can honestly say you’re shocked, though it could definitely be fun.

“Hmmmm, alright then,” you say after a moment’s hesitation.

“Who first?” he asks.

“Well you, obviously! You suggested it!” you laugh, taking another admittedly huge gulp of wine.

“Alright, truth,” he says, making eye contact with you as if challenging you to ask him something really good.

This is almost your least favorite part of the game, coming up with something interesting to ask the other person. You don’t want it to be so embarrassing that they’ll lie, but you also want to find out something really great while you can. After a moment, you finally come up with your question.

“How much did you hate me when we were at that bar last year, during the summer, and that really hot blond gave you her number and offered to go home with you, but you couldn’t because I was drunk off my ass and needed you to take care of me?” you ask, almost nervous of the answer. You two had had an amazing night that night. Though you can’t remember much of it, Harry caught plenty of your drunken karaoke in his living room on video and those are some of your favorite not-so-well-remembered memories.

“Honestly, I was completely angry at first, probably a little rude to her too when she offered to come home with me and I told her no. But that night was worth it, oh so worth it,” he says, laughing at the memories he still has perfectly in his head.

You flush at the thought, knowing you probably did some terribly embarrassing things that night that you don’t recall but that Harry would have in vivid memory.

“Okay, your turn! Truth or dare?” he asks, the excited light in his eyes letting you know you definitely have something to worry about.

“Hmmm, dare,” you say, though completely nervous as to what he’ll make you do.

“Call your sister and tell her you’re in love with me and that we’re running off to get married,” he says after only a moment’s pause.

“Oh my god, we’re bringing her into this?” you ask, but take out your phone nonetheless.

“Sure are,” he chuckles, his eyes on you. “And have it on speaker too.”

With a mumbled ‘shit’ you put your phone on speaker and call your sister.

“What do you want?” she answers, always the courteous one.

“Hello to you too, asshole,” you laugh.

“Hi,” she says, obviously annoyed.

“Oh my god, lighten up, what are you doing?”

“Nothing important,” she says shortly.

“Okay, well,” Harry nods at you excitedly, some of his now short hair falling onto his forehead when he does. “I...uh, I just called to tell you I’m madly in love with Harry and uh, we’re eloping,” you try not to giggle as you tell her the blatant lie.

“Am I supposed to be surprised?” she asks coldly. She’s always had a strange way of showing affection, but you know she means no harm. “Uh...yes,” you laugh awkwardly, looking at Harry whose eyes have gone wide, mouth open slightly. “Especially since it’s a total lie, Harry dared me to tell you. How could you even think I’d be in love with Harry?” you laugh, quite enjoying this dare.

“Oi, being in love with me’s not that wild of an idea, is it?” he asks, mock offended.

“Shut up,” you giggle, trying to listen to your sister.

“Oh, ok. Well, whatever. Hi, Harry,” she says after having heard his voice.

“Hiiiii,” he drawls, giggling and apparently already a little tipsy.

“Is that it?” she asks.

“Yeah, that was it,” you respond, now wanting this conversation to be over.

“Ok, well bye.”

“Bye, love you!” you say, rushing the ‘love you’ to squeak it in before she hangs up.

“Love you too,” she says quickly before ending the call.

“Oh my god,” Harry cackles, proper rocking in his seat from laughter, but you know him well enough to see that it is at least a little fake.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” you laugh, avoiding eye contact.

“Mmhmm, course not,” he giggles.

“Anyways, truth or dare?”

He doesn’t miss the way your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are avoiding his when you ask, but that could be the wine and your sleepiness after a long week. It doesn’t have to mean anything, does it?

“Ummm, dare,” he says, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

You nod, thinking for a moment before finally deciding on something. This is so much easier when you have other people to discuss with before choosing your truth or dare…

“I dare you to play me the newest thing you’ve been working on,” you smile, proud of your dare. He probably would have done it anyway, but now he has to!

He stares at you for a moment, debating if he will actually do it or not. His gaze is intense, as it always is, but there’s something new behind this look. He is internally panicking, wondering what you will think of the song and also if you’ll be able to figure out it was mostly inspired by you. Of course, a few of the lines were inspired by Gemma, but you were the general idea backing the song. If you knew that...he doesn’t think he could handle it. You, on the other hand, have never heard him so nervous to sing to you, but chalk it up to the fact that this is his first solo work, the first stuff that is only him, so it carries a bit more weight.

You both move into the living room where you keep the guitar that used to be your grandpa’s but you never play, despite having tried to teach yourself how multiple times. He picks up the guitar, tuning it quickly as he sits on the couch. You sit down on the floor below him, amping up the feeling that this is a performance, and he can’t help but stare at you, looking at him so expectantly with those eyes, those fucking eyes that drive him crazy and feel like home. Your face is full of support and admiration, and it’s the fact that he knows you will support him even if you think it’s shit that gives him the courage to really do it.

“Okay so, well this song is about Gemma really, so yeah…” he says as if excusing it somehow, to make the blow less painful if you tell him it’s awful, which you know it won’t be.

He plucks along the first few notes and already you’re in love, staring at him with the biggest smile he’s ever seen on your face, and his voice wavers a little when he begins to sing.

“Sweeeet Creature,

had another talk about where it’s goin’ wrong,

But we’re still young,

we don’t know where we’re going, but we know we belong...”

He begins and the awe on your face gives him the courage to continue the song. His belly is flip-flopping as he does, but he ignores it because here you are, listening to him sing this song, which is really all about you, though you’ll never know, and he loves your adoring eyes so much he’d sing forever if it meant you would keep looking at him that way.

“Sweet creature, sweet creature,

Wherever I go, you’ll bring me home.

Sweet creature, sweet creature,

When I run out of rope, you’ll bring me home…”

He continues and he swears to god he’s getting tears in his eyes and he’s never sang this as emotionally as he is right now and he really needs to bring it back before he scares you. One glance at you, with a small smile and watery eyes as you look at him like he put the stars in the sky makes his heart jump and he finishes the song with as much precision and passion as he can muster, wanting nothing more than for you to like it.

When he’s done, he sits in silence, not making eye contact with you, afraid of your reaction and wanting you to have space to hate it if you do.

“Harry,” you whisper, bringing your fingers up to your mouth, covering it slightly. “That was...incredible.”

You can see the breath he’s been holding leave his body in relief as he finally looks at you, and he looks like a child again, seeking approval, wanting to be liked, and boy, do you like him.

“You’re not jus’ sayin…” he trails off before you can let him finish.

“Harry, no. Don’t you dare do that. Don’t doubt yourself for a second. I’m your best friend, I of all people would be completely honest with you if it sucked and it definitely doesn’t suck, not even a little. That’s the sweetest most heartfelt song I’ve ever heard, H. Have you sung it to Gemma yet? I know she’ll adore it knowing you wrote it about her,” you say, only imagining what she’d think of it. She’d probably tear up, and you knew Gemma - she wasn’t one for tears.

“You really think it’s good?” he asks, needing as much praise as you’re willing to give.

“Absolutely stunning, Harry, just like everything you do,” you respond.

His stomach is in knots, his face blushing and whether that’s from nerves from performing new material or just the fact that he performed for you and you loved it, he’ll never be completely sure.

“I haven’t told Gemma yet, don’t think she’d care that much,” he huffs, a small chuckle leaving his lips.

“Trust me, H, if I had someone write a song like that about me, I’d about die of happiness, she’s going to love it,” you soothe him.

He tries to control his reaction to your last statement, tries to keep himself from muttering anything about the true inspiration to the song, and he keeps a good lid on it, still not completely sure why he’s so nervous to tell you. You are his best friend after all, it’s not surprising that you bring him back down to earth, that you are a super important influence in his life, and that he’d write a song about you. It doesn’t seem crazy at all, actually, but yet, he knows how he felt while writing that song, knows how he felt while performing it, and honestly, those feelings are much too intimate, even for best friends, he thinks. It’s really something he’s got to get sorted out and soon if you’re to be spending so much more time together now that he has more control over his schedule.

Sensing his discomfort, you get up from the floor, take the guitar from him and settle down next to him on your couch. He sighs when he feels your body next to his. Things are good, they are the same, nothing has changed just because you heard the song, he’s going to be okay, you’re both going to be fine, he tells himself over and over as you turn on the television and rest your head on his shoulder.

“Feels a little silly playing truth or dare after you unloaded that masterpiece on me,” you say, flicking through channels.

“Mmm, yeah, I suppose,” he agrees, wrapping one arm around your shoulders carefully so as not to cross any ‘best-friends don’t do that’ lines.

You can feel his body tense slightly when the channel lands on a rom-com, Friends with Benefits it’s called, with Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis, so you leave it at that, assuming his reaction means he likes the film.

As he sits next to you, your body pressed against his and watches this film about two best-friends having lots of wild sex and ultimately falling in love, his body simply can’t relax. He wonders what’s going through your brain, if you’re having the same kind of ‘maybe we should try that’ thoughts that he’s having. If you’re busy staring at the glorious creature that is Justin Timberlake or if your mind is focused on the way his body feels next to yours, because he can say with absolute certainty that he hasn’t been able to pay Mila Kunis a second of attention with you against him like this. He runs his thumb along the skin of your shoulder soothingly and you nustle deeper into him, your sweet smelling vanilla perfume wafting into his nostrils and absolutely intoxicating him. He really needs to get a lock on what he’s feeling, if these are real feelings, if they’re just lust, missing you as a friend since it’s been so long since you hung out like this, or if he just desperately needs some physical attention from a female. Yeah...he decides, that’s what it is. He hasn’t been laid in at least 3 months, too busy with family and setting things up for work to worry about it and now, having you here like this is reminding him of what he’s missing. That’s it, nothing serious. You’re just a woman and he can’t help feel this way, even if you are best-friends. But that’s all you are and all you’ll ever be - friends. And he’s completely okay with that...he thinks.

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