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purrincess-chat · 3 years

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Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH19

People weren’t happy with how things went down with Alya in the original MDCSP, so I hope this version suffices. ;)

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Chapter 19: Miss Missing You

Alya chewed her nails, pivoting back and forth in her desk chair as Lila settled on her bed. Her thoughts raced too fast for Alya to make sense of them, and Lila’s grave expression did little to calm her nerves. When Alya told her about Adrien and Chloe, she insisted on meeting up. Maybe this way they could both talk to Ladybug, but something was off about Lila. Her jaw was a little too tense, and those green eyes swirled with an intensity Alya couldn’t place. What was going on?

“Is Ladybug on her way too? We have to let her know what they’re plotting,” Alya said, but when Lila remained quiet, she asked, “What?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Lila said. “This is going to be hard for me, but I trust you over anyone else.”

“What’s wrong?” Alya asked, and Lila shifted her weight, tucking a strand of long hair behind her ear.

“Well, Ladybug and I…we kind of had a falling out.” Lila lowered her gaze to her lap.

“What?”

“Remember when Chloe tried to impersonate her to make everyone hate me? Well, I told Ladybug about it, and that she shouldn’t trust Chloe anymore, but then last night she gave her back her Miraculous without consulting me.” Lila recounted. “I tried to talk to her and understand why she’d trust Chloe again after what she did to me, but Ladybug freaked out on me and told me not to question her judgment.”

“For real?” Alya gasped. “That’s not like her.”

“I know,” Lila said, “and after what you told me on the phone, I definitely think something weird is going on with her.”

“You don’t think Chloe is manipulating her, do you?” she asked.

Lila pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Not Chloe. I think that…well, I’m sorry, but I think Marinette is behind all of this.”

“Marinette?” Alya shot a glance at the Ladyblog pulled up on her computer, a sinking feeling in her gut.

She hadn’t posted about Queen Bee’s return—couldn’t bring herself to. Something was definitely off with Ladybug, but was it really all Marinette’s doing? Marinette wasn’t one for petty revenge, but maybe she had changed since she left. Or maybe Alya just never knew her like she thought she did.

Alya thought back to the night she was akumatized, the distant look in her bff’s eyes. She’d seemed tired, like all the fight had been drained from her. She didn’t even argue when Alya suggested they stop being friends, a fact that had haunted Alya ever since. Why had Marinette abandoned her so easily? Surely if her stories were to be believed, she would have fought harder, right? Wasn’t the truth worth fighting for?

“You said so yourself, Chloe and Adrien said they were going to get Ladybug to talk about me for Marinette. I think she’s manipulating all of them to get back at me because she can’t let go even after she’s been gone for a month now,” Lila said.

“But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would Marinette do that? When I last spoke to her, she didn’t want anything to do with you or anyone here really,” Alya said. “Well, except Adrien, I guess, but she’s always been head-over-heels for him.”

“She’s obsessed! She’s never liked me, and I never understood why. The only thing I’ve been able to figure out is that she didn’t like me talking to Adrien, so now she’s lured him over to her side and fed him all kinds of lies about me. I don’t even like him that way, but she’s just so insecure and jealous that she thought Adrien would fall in love with me because of all of my accomplishments.” Lila hugged a pillow to her chest. “Now she’s taken one of my best friends away from me too!”

Alya crossed the room to sit beside her on the bed, draping an arm over her shoulders. “I’m sorry, girl. Maybe we can talk to Ladybug and convince her not to do that interview tomorrow.”

“I don’t think we can,” Lila whimpered. “She hasn’t responded to any of my calls ever since the Queen Bee thing. She’s on their side now.”

“Are you sure? I’ve met Ladybug a bunch of times, and she would totally pick up on it if something fishy was going on,” Alya said.

“Watch the interview tomorrow. If Ladybug says anything about me that sounds like them, then you’ll know I’m telling the truth,” Lila said.

Alya pursed her lips but didn’t argue. Lila’s story was just as probable as theirs at this point, and she was right. All they could do was watch the interview and see what happened. For their sake, she hoped that Chloe and Adrien’s plan failed, and Ladybug never mentioned Lila. But a heavy pit was already forming in Alya’s stomach, filling her with dread for the coming day. How had she gotten herself into the middle of all this drama? And how long would it be before the truth was finally revealed?

♪♫♪ Don’t Blame Me ♪♫♪

“How long before we give up?” Adrien asked the next afternoon. He leaned against the railing while Chloe manned the spotlight beside him.

“It’s hasn’t even been 20 minutes, Adrikins. I’ve sat up here for entire akuma battles before.” Chloe chided.

“Sorry, I guess I’m just nervous,” he said, letting a breath pass his lips.

Chloe spun on him with a scowl, jabbing her finger into his chest. “Oh no, you are not backing out this time. We’re doing this, so just think about Dupain-Cheng’s awful split-ends or whatever it is you need to keep you motivated.”

Adrien pursed his lips as Chloe turned back to her bee signal. She was right. No backing out this time. Lila was going down once and for all, then Marinette could finally be free. Marinette…

His heart fluttered, warming his cheeks. It would be obvious after today that he was helping Chloe take down Lila. Being intentionally cruel wasn’t in his nature, but he’d do anything to protect the people he loved. To protect the girl he loved.

It had taken him longer than it should have to realize his feelings for her, but now they burned so brightly, he had to wonder how he’d ever missed them. Marinette was a wonderful girl and a dear friend. If ever there was a person to fight for, it was her. She’d understand why he did all of this. It was all for her—always for her.

His heart ached with longing. Now that Marinette went to a different school, he couldn’t see her as often as he used to. Sometimes they went several days without seeing each other, and his heart grew heavier the longer they stayed apart. At least when he loved Ladybug, he got to see her every day when they fought akumas or patrolled the city, but even that wasn’t enough.

Adrien had spent too much of his life alone. Couldn’t the universe give him just one person to cure his loneliness? Missing Marinette was torture. What was she doing right now? Was she thinking about him?

He pulled out his phone and typed a simple message: what’s up?

Ugh, no, that was lame.

Hey cutie ;) what are you up to?

No, too forward.

I was just thinking about you

Too clingy. He backspaced over his message again, eyebrows knitting together in concentration. Why was flirting so much harder as Adrien? If he were Chat Noir, he’d just drop a few cat puns and tell her how pretty she was, but that might be a little abrasive coming from Adrien. The last thing he wanted was to scare her off. After all, she almost kissed him in the garden too. That meant she loved him back, right?

Pressing his lips into a determined line, he typed another message and hit send without overthinking it.

Hey, how’s your day been?

A minute passed before his phone buzzed with a reply: busy. I’m finalizing my designs for Clara. I present to her next week and im super nervous!

Aww don’t be clara is gonna love them.

I hope so! she replied. So what are you up to today?

Uhh im working on a school project with chloe. He lied. We have to interview someone we look up to, and shes demanding we interview ladybug so weve been standing on the roof with her bee signal for like 30 minutes.

Wow ladybug huh? I hope she shows up for you guys. Anyway these designs aren’t going to finish themselves so ill talk to you later! Bye!

good luck!

He smiled down at her messages. Marinette was always running a million miles an hour working on some project or another. She was so driven and passionate—something Adrien deeply admired. Clara would love her designs, and he and Chloe would definitely take down Lila this time. Then he and Marinette could be together without having to worry about anything. They could move to the suburbs and buy a cozy home for their three kids, a dog, and a hamster named-

“Looking for me?” Adrien and Chloe spun around, and Ladybug cocked a hip. “What’s the emergency?”

“Uhh,” Adrien stammered.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “We have to interview one of our personal heroes for a school project, so we picked you. Isn’t that right, Adrikins?” She nudged him with her elbow.

Think about Marinette. Everything was for Marinette. The tears she’d spilled, the pain she’d suffered… Adrien was going to take it all away. Lila would never hurt her again.

“Yeah. Do you have time?” Adrien asked.

Ladybug glanced between them and smiled. “I have a few minutes. Make it quick.”

“Excellent.” Chloe clapped her hands together and paced toward the stairs. “Everything is set up in my suite.”

Adrien took a deep breath as Ladybug fell into step beside him. A month ago being so close to her would have sent his heart into overdrive, but now his heart was pounding for a different reason. Ladybug hated liars. Deceiving her was a direct betrayal of her trust. Even if his feelings for her had changed, he was still her partner, and manipulating her like this didn’t feel right.

“Wait.” He stopped abruptly and caught Ladybug’s wrist. Chloe was already through the doorway to the stairs, and he sent her a silent apology just in case his next words ruined everything. “Chloe and I lied to you. This isn’t for a school project.”

“Then what’s all this about?” Ladybug asked.

“It’s…” Adrien took a deep breath and continued. “You remember Lila, right? She lied about you saving her and how you two are bffs?”

Ladybug sobered. “Yeah?”

“Well, her lies have gotten out of hand, and she hurt someone important to me. Chloe and I planned to trick you into admitting you two were never friends, so that everyone can finally see the truth about her. The interview was just a coverup,” Adrien explained, hanging his head low. “We shouldn’t have lied to you. I’m sorry.”

Ladybug eyed him with pursed lips, those blue eyes working out a solution like he were one of her lucky charms. She seemed to come to a conclusion, her face softening. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

“If you don’t want to help us, I won’t blame you. I know it’s wrong to seek revenge,” Adrien said.

A knowing smile spread across her lips. “That friend of yours must be really special to you.”

“What?”

“For you to resort to something like this, you must care about your friend—the one Lila hurt—a lot,” she said, then with a sigh added, “I don’t normally condone revenge, but I know how dangerous Lila can be. I’ve almost lost my Miraculous because of her several times, so I think you’re right. It’s time everyone learned the truth about Lila Rossi.”

Adrien blinked. “So, wait… You’re going to help us?”

“I made a promise to keep Paris safe, and if we continue to let Lila go unchecked, she’s only going to put more people in danger,” Ladybug said. “It’s time someone put her in her place.”

“Hurry up, you two! I have a hair appointment this evening, and I do not want to be late!” Chloe shouted from the doorway.

Adrien held Ladybug’s gaze, and she gave him an encouraging nod. “Uh, coming!” he called.

He gestured Ladybug ahead, following close behind her, cheeks hot. This was really happening. Ladybug was going to help them stop Lila. After today, everyone would know the truth, and Marinette would be free. They all would.

“Ladybug, you sit on this side.” Chloe directed. “Adrikins and I will sit on this side.”

“Okay,” Ladybug said, sliding onto the couch smoothly.

Adrien took the seat across from her, wiping his palms on his jeans while Chloe barked orders at her butler. Satisfied with the camera angle, Chloe sat beside him and fixed her hair in her compact before calling “action.”

Chloe’s butler—Adrien couldn’t remember his name—started the Instagram live, broadcasting to all of Chloe’s followers. There was no turning back now.

“Hello out there, my little worker bees. Your queen is here with some very special guests today,” Chloe cooed in her token attention-seeking voice. “My favorite people in the whole world besides myself, obviously—Adrien and Ladybug!”

“Hi.”

“Hey.” Adrien waved.

“As you all know, I helped Ladybug defeat another akuma last weekend. Being Queen Bee again was such an honor, and I admit, even I have people I look up to,” she said, flipping her ponytail. “So, Ladybug, thank you for allowing me to become a superheroine. Queen Bee is truly an inspiration.”

“Uh, sure.” Ladybug rolled her eyes. “Chat Noir and I always appreciate help from our allies.”

“You heard it here, everyone! Ladybug values my help,” Chloe said, and Adrien cleared his throat. “Now, onto the topic of today’s livestream. People everywhere are inspired by superheroes like me and Ladybug, so today we are going to give you all the inside scoop on what it takes to be a hero.”

“That’s right, Chloe,” Adrien piped up. “I don’t have superpowers, so I have to ask: what’s it like being a superhero, Ladybug?”

“Well, everyone thinks that having superpowers is all fun and games, but in reality, Chat Noir and I have a huge responsibility. Defending Paris every day requires sacrifice, and we know the whole city is counting on us to succeed. It’s a lot of pressure,” Ladybug said.

“Of course, I know what it’s like being a superhero myself, but can you tell everyone how overwhelming it is to save the day all the time?” Chloe prompted.

“Yeah, totally. It’s a lot of work fighting akumas. Sometimes Hawkmoth makes supervillains at the worst times, and I have to drop everything to go save the city. Leading a double life is challenging, and sometimes it even impacts my day-to-day life. School, friends, family—I’m always rushing all over the place juggling two lives.” Ladybug admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “But I’m happy to do it. Paris is my home, and it’s an honor to defend it. Besides, when the going gets tough, I know I can count on my partners to have my back.”

“So, when you pick a new partner, what qualities do you look for in a person that makes them a good fit to work with you?” Adrien asked.

“I look for people with courage and good intentions. Often times, the people I pick are ones who have stepped up to do the right thing, even if it’s hard. They’re people I know I can trust,” Ladybug said.

“Would you say you consider your allies close personal friends?” Chloe beamed, flashing the camera a wink.

“Well, I don’t know all of them in real life like you, Chloe,” Ladybug said with a cautious glance at the camera. “Sometimes they are people I meet during a battle that impress me, and who prove themselves to be trustworthy.”

“And how do you know if you can trust someone?” Adrien asked. “Do you consult anyone for recommendations, or do you operate on the fly?”

“Most of the time when I give someone a Miraculous, it’s because they’ve demonstrated their character to me. Every person I give a Miraculous to has earned their right to wear it either by helping me or showing that they’re willing to sacrifice to save others. The decision about who gets to wear one and who doesn’t is deeply personal to me,” Ladybug answered. “Not even Chat Noir knows the identities of our allies. It’s something I don’t share with anyone.” She shot Chloe a stern look. “Under normal circumstances.”

“So, you pick the allies by yourself?” Adrien followed up.

“Yes. In the middle of a battle, I wouldn’t even have time to consult anyone if I wanted to.”

“In other words, if anyone were to—I don’t know—claim that they help you choose your partners, they’d be a liar, right?” Chloe added.

“Yeah, I don’t talk to anyone about who I pick.” Ladybug shook her head.

“Ya know, Ladybug, there are some people out there that claim to be your best friend. How do you feel about people lying about knowing you to make themselves more popular?” Chloe asked.

Ladybug locked eyes with Adrien, the weight of their mission heavy on both of their shoulders. She clasped her hands together in her lap and said, “As I’m sure both of you are aware, there will always be people who use your name for their own selfish gain, but I want everyone out there to know that I take my job very seriously. Protecting all of you is my number one priority.”

She took a deep breath. “Being a superhero is dangerous, and that’s why, with the exception of Chat Noir and my trusted allies, Ladybug doesn’t have friends.”

“So, anyone who says they’re your friend is a liar, right?” Adrien asked.

“Yes, and they’re putting themselves in danger. Hawkmoth will stop at nothing to get my Miraculous, so please, if you’re out there… Do the right thing, and tell the truth.” Ladybug pleaded to the camera.

“It’s utterly pathetic when people lie about who they know just to get attention,” Chloe sighed in disgust. “You heard it here, my little bees! Chat Noir and I are Ladybug’s only friends.”

“Well, I’d consider you more of an ally than a frie-”

“And as one of Ladybug’s bffs, I want all of the losers out there to buzz off! Ladybug has much more important things to do, like spending time with me,” Chloe said.

“Right.” Ladybug’s yoyo beeped, and she glanced down at it briefly. “I should really get going. A hero’s work is never done.”

“Of course. Thank you for your time, Ladybug,” Adrien said, shaking her hand.

“No problem. It’s important to me that everyone in Paris knows I’m doing everything I can to keep you all safe, and the people I choose to fight beside me are people I truly trust. We’ll all keep fighting hard to protect this city,” she said, waving two fingers. “Bug out!”

“Well, that does it for this livestream, little bees. Your queen will see you all again next time. Bye-bye!”

♪♫♪ Impossible Year ♪♫♪

“So, anyone who says they’re your friend is a liar, right?”

“Yes.”

Lila was right. They really had gotten to Ladybug. Alya had done her best not to think about Marinette since their falling out. Remembering her old bff was too painful and confusing. Everything Alya thought she knew changed the moment Lila came to their school. The person she trusted became a stranger overnight. Alya wanted to believe that Marinette would never align herself with Chloe or orchestrate a hostile takedown just because she was jealous, but Alya had seen her do crazier things to win Adrien.

“I’m doing everything I can to keep you all safe, and the people I choose to fight beside me are people I truly trust.”

How was Chloe more trustworthy than Alya? All that was necessary for the triumph of evil was that good people do nothing. She’d known from day one that Chloe was evil, so why couldn’t Ladybug see it? Why would Ladybug align herself with the queen of all evil over someone who dedicated herself to doing the right thing? Was this really all Marinette’s doing? And why?

Was Marinette really that desperate to win Adrien? Did she hate Lila so much that she’d willingly team up with her worst enemy to get back at her for stealing attention away from the boy she liked? From where Alya was sitting, it looked like Marinette already had him, and Lila had always been clear that she wasn’t interested in him that way. Why go through all that trouble to get Ladybug to denounce Lila just to win a boy? But if Marinette was involved with Ladybug…

It all made sense now. The reason Ladybug had picked someone else to wield her Miraculous. How long had they been plotting all of this? And how could Ladybug trust Marinette’s word over Alya’s without even trying to hear her side of the story? Or Lila’s? How could Ladybug not see that she was being manipulated? She was a hero, and one of the best Alya had ever seen. So why was she fighting for the wrong side?

Her head spun, and she gripped the side of her desk for support. Someone needed to tell Ladybug the truth.

“You want to save Ladybug from those you deem evil. Let me help you, Ladyblogger.”

Alya jumped at the sinister voice in her head. She smoothed her thumb over her phone screen, now glowing with dark energy. A cold feeling washed over her, all of her pain and confusion bubbling to the surface. In the center of it all stood her determined resolve, driving her to give in.

Someone needed to tell Ladybug the truth. Someone like her.

#mdcsp #mdcspr #marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist #marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist remix #my writing

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joonni · 3 years

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Christmas lights | Jimin x reader

Characters: Jimin x reader, ft. Taehyung, a bunch of 95 liners and Jungkook

Tags: friends to lovers, high school reunion

Genre: fluffy fluff🌼

Word count: 8,9k

Warnings: alcohol consumption

Summary: A reunion with your high school classmates, a lit-up Myeongdong, bustling streets full of people shopping for Christmas presents, your dear friends that you haven’t seen in so long. It already sounds like a fun evening. What you don’t expect to find out though, is the reason why Nayeon always has and still apparently hates you. And that it has to do with Jimin.

- a part of the Christmas collab by @kooala

a/n in the tags! hope you enjoy!💕

Song recs: christmas lights, from: me, love you on christmas

It looks like it’s going to snow. The air is crisp, and the thick clouds are covering Seoul like a heavy blanket. You stuff your hands into your pockets as you scold yourself for forgetting the handwarmer you bought earlier. It would come in handy now. The subway ride had warmed you up, but all of the warmth escaped your body once you climbed up the stairs and took a lungful of the cold outside air.

You’re now standing in front of the sixth exit of Myeongdong station, waiting for Wheein and Hyejin who organized this whole thing of a reunion. A sign on a nearby bus stop says it’s just one degree above zero and this new acquired piece of knowledge only makes you shiver more.

Seeing a group of high schoolers in their uniforms pass by made you reminisce those times, when life was probably a bit easier than now, even if it didn’t seem like it back then. You used to be an inseparable trio in high school, always hanging out together, spending your free time either in one of the many coin noraebangs or pc bangs around your school. It made you miss the idle afternoons spent singing your heart out into the microphones with those thin fabric covers and becoming so hungry that you each ate a whole serving of tteokbokki and then get scolded at home for being too full to eat dinner.

When you found out that you got into a different university than your two friends, you all promised to keep in touch and to meet often. Which you did, if you’d define often as once every few months.

Today was finally one of those days. You were excited to meet them both, but they could hurry up a bit. You pace around the entrance to the shopping district in an attempt to warm yourself up, the tower on top of Namsan peeking through the clouds signaling the air pollution is fairly bad by its yellowish color.

Your toes are starting to get cold and your ears are not much warmer but then you feel a weight landing around your shoulders. You jump up because of the sudden intrusion into your personal space but calm down as soon as you see two familiar faces.

“Y/n! Sorry for being late!” Wheein sheepishly grins at you, her head poking out of a giant fluffy scarf.

You know her far too well, when was she ever on time. You still haven’t lost hope with her though and always come on time.

Hyejin then adds as she sneaks her arm around yours, “I tried to make her hurry, but you know how she is.”

Wheein furrows her brows at you both as you start walking but soon joins in and locks her arm with your other one. It only makes you laugh, and you stumble, arm in arm, through the crammed streets of Myeongdong.

“Your hair is so long now, Y/n.” Hyejin comments. “I may be swayed by the bob trend, but I like short hair better. And I realized only after cutting it that long hair is such a pain.”

You chuckle at that. “My mom cut my hair short my whole childhood. Don’t you think I deserve long hair at least now?”

“Suit yourself but you’re gonna understand sooner or later that short hair is superior.”

“Yeah, sure, sure.” You brush off her words jokingly.

“Not to interrupt the hair debate but, Y/n, are you sure you’re gonna be alright if Jimin comes?”

You look at Wheein with incredulous eyes while holding on to both of your friends so that you don’t lose each other in the crowd. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m long over him. You’re both insufferable, you know that?” You say laughing and poke Wheein with your elbow.

So far, this evening looks like it’s going to be great. Having these two by your side makes you feel invincible, the same as in high school. The swarm of people blocking your way seems like a piece of cake to get through with them next to you.

The only thing that bothers you is that Hyejin with Wheein invited every single one of your classmates. It was up to them if they decided to come or not after all. They assured you that people change and grow up, that it’s been three years since you last saw everyone.

You wanted to believe your friends, but your gut feeling was telling you some people are never going to change.

The pub Wheein booked is located in one of the smaller streets that connect the main streets, and one would most likely miss it if not looking for it specifically. Your fingers slowly start to melt as you go up one flight of stairs and enter the already bustling pub, your two friends following right behind you.

As luck would have it, your eyes fall on the one person you hoped not to see. Nayeon spots you and your friends as soon as the glass door closes behind you, sending you a crooked smile. You can’t help but sigh at the sight of your high school nemesis. Right next to her sits Jisoo, a girl that never really did anything bad to you but being a bystander to Nayeon’s shenanigans was as bad in your eyes.

Why the girl didn’t like you, she never said, but she did make it obvious enough. Even now, as she stared you up and down with an irritating look.

Some people are never going to change, you thought. What a lovely start to the party.

Hyejin obviously notices the shift in your mood and pulls you by your hand to the other side of the tables booked for your class.

“Y/n, don’t let that girl ruin your mood so easily!” She sounds worried but her voice is firm. “Three years went by since you last saw everyone, are you going to let her ruin this for you? For everyone? Don’t even look her way if she’s going to act like a brat.”

You can see the sincerity of Hyejin’s words in her eyes and try to look as unbothered by Nayeon’s stare as possible.

“I know, thanks.” You give her a small smile.

It’s not easy to fool your friend, but she must have seen your will to at least try because she’s sitting you down at the table next to your friends which you haven’t seen since graduation and joining Wheein at the counter, probably because of some more organization with the pub staff.

Once the two finally join in on the fun, much more people have come and you are actually having a nice conversation with Woosik, Taehyung and a boy you weren’t sure you remembered the name of. You were talking about everything and anything that happened during the time you haven’t seen each other. Which universties the others are attending, how your homeroom teacher had quit and started her own business and that one of your classmates is already married with a child on the way.

Nayeon is still slightly getting on your nerves because you can hear her obnoxious fake laugh from the other side of the room but it’s bearable with the others distracting you. A lot has changed since high school, but of course her demeanor stayed the same.

“So, guys, the food is unlimited for that set price I sent you earlier so just remember how much you drank, got it?” You hear Wheein shout and clank a chopstick against a bottle of soju in the middle of the pub.

“I’m really happy so many of us gathered today so let’s have some fun!” She continues even louder and everyone including you shouts in celebration, some people even clapping and clinking glasses.

“Cheers!” Taehyung raises his glass over the center of your table, which happens to be a grill with sizzling meat, but people seated around you immediately join the toast. “Cheers to Jimin hopefully arriving before we get too drunk.” He then adds.

You see Woosik raising his brows in surprise. “I assumed he’s not coming since he’s not here already. What happened to our always on time class president?”

Everyone laughs at that, remembering that Jimin was always the first one in class in the morning.

Taehyung then proceeds to defend his friend after downing the shot of soju in his hand. “He’s really punctual even now. He just had something important at school he couldn’t afford to miss. But he’ll be here any minute now, I think.”

You hear Hyejin scoff. “It’s a Friday evening for God’s sake! Let us live, professors!”

A few people start complaining about the stuff their teachers make them do but before you can share your complaints about all the assignments you had to complete by the end of the semester, you hear excited welcomes from the other part of the pub. Nayeon’s squealing is especially hard to miss.

It makes everyone from your table lift their eyes to the entrance, where stands no one else than your class president.

“Speak of the devil.” Woosik says and Hyejin sends you a wicked grin and wiggles her eyebrows.

No matter how many times you told her that you really are over your high school crush, she wouldn’t believe you.

“You don’t have any closure though.” Was what both her and Wheein would tell you every time. Did you really need closure for a crush that never developed into anything more than that though?

Your high school self thought that a one-sided love was pretty great. You could like a person as much as you wanted and then stop whenever you felt like it. And you convinced your heart you felt like stopping once you graduated.

Your friends then tried setting you up with some guys, you went on dates with some of them, but the spark was never there.

At some point you managed to persuade your girls to stop trying so hard, which only reinforced their belief that Jimin was still occupying a part of your heart.

“Jimin!” Taehyung jumps up from his seat, soju bottles on the table shaking and the chair he was sitting on almost falling over.

You see Jimin’s features soften as his excited and a bit tipsy friend tightly hugs him like a koala.

He looks so different from the boy you used to have a crush on. His hair is now longer and a silverish color, both of his ears pierced by two small golden hoops, he’s wearing a bright red cardigan under a long black coat and black boots that make him look taller than what you remember.

The one thing that hasn’t visibly changed is the way his eyes turn into half-moons when he smiles.

Your heart does a flip when his eyes stop on yours for a while, that smile still plastered on his face.

Maybe you do need closure after all.

When you wake up from your daze, Taehyung is already dragging a free chair to your table, making Woosik and the other boy scoot over so that they can all fit.

Like that, you find yourself seated right across from Jimin, stealing glances at him while trying to keep track of the conversation as well as your composure. It could be just your imagination, but you feel his eyes on you too. You’re just not brave enough to face him, not trusting yourself judging from the glitch in your brain his mere presence caused.

The waitress brings a new glass and a plate for Jimin and as soon as she turns around, everyone’s attention is on the latecomer. Hyejin compliments his hair color but Taehyung immediately gushes that the pink he had on before was so much better.

“I got tired of it, Tae. Why don’t you dye your own hair, huh?” Jimin rustles his friend’s overgrown curly hair as he defends his hair color choice.

“I treasure my hair more than to bleach it.”

“You sure do. That’s why you‘ve gotten it permed.”

“Yah, Jimin! You don’t have to call me out like that.” You all crack up at that, Taehyung’s face turning into a sulking grimace.

Even though Jimin looks so different, he still seems to be the same boy inside, cracking jokes with Taehyung yet appearing to be the calmer one of the boys.

Some shots of soju and classmates’ stories later, Hyejin starts grumbling about the other table. “I thought Nayeon would calm down, but she’s still the same, huh?”

“I seriously don’t understand how Jisoo tolerates that girl’s temper.” You add. “I don’t even know what I did for her to hate me so much.” A pout forms on your lips.

“Right!” Hyejin is leaning in your direction to hold your hand with both of hers. “She’s never had a real reason to be so mean to our Y/n.”

“Wait, you seriously don’t know why she didn’t like Y/n?” Woosik then asks.

You look at him with a puzzled expression, your eyes then falling on Jimin who is seemingly… blushing?

“How would you of all people know that, Woosik?” Hyejin squints her eyes at your classmate who only chuckles and pats the blushing boy’s shoulder before continuing.

“She had the biggest crush on Jimin!”

“And…?” You pause, taking in Jimin’s embarrassed face. “What’s that to do with me?” You were confused to say the least.

Hyejin was more bored than anything by his statement. “Everyone knows that, Woosik. She walked around having it practically written on her forehead all throughout high school.”

You notice Jimin is pouring himself a shot and downing it right away, as if trying to catch up with the rest of you. You feel like everyone except for Hyejin and yourself knows some amazing secret that they were never kind enough to share.

“Ouch!” Woosik then cries out. “What was that for?” The table trembles a little.

Taehyung shakes his head at him. “Woosik, you sure talk too much when you’ve had something to drink.” He forces a smile that looks more intimidating than friendly. Jimin sitting between them is just looking down at the table, as if the plate in front of him was the most interesting thing in the world right now.

“You’re so secretive guys!” Hyejin whines, leaning on her hands against the table. “Tell me, tell me.” She seems already drunk by the way she can’t sit straight and also by the fact she can’t read the atmosphere.

“I’m gonna use the restroom for a bit.” You quickly make your escape from the tense air that surrounded your table. As you take a peek over your shoulder at where you were sitting a few seconds ago, Hyejin is still whining about them not letting her in on the secret and Wheein is just moving to yet another spot, probably trying to talk to every single person present tonight.

When you wash your hands and look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, your clouded mind wanders to the previous conversation again. If you think about how Woosik put it, it almost sounds like… like Nayeon didn’t like you because you were in her way, blocking her from snatching Jimin.

You’re pretty sure you never told no one about your crush, apart from your two friends whom you trusted to not spill anything. Also, she wouldn’t hate you just because of that, right? Other girls, God knows maybe even guys, must have been crushing on Jimin, so why would she hate you of all people?

Lost in thought and wiping the water from your hands in your trousers on your way back, you’re suddenly stopped by a wall. Wait, a wall? You lift your head to inspect the soft obstacle that has made you stop and the sight you’re met with is enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Jimin is standing mere inches away from you, looking as confused and dumbfounded as you.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you. You okay?” he asks, his voice laced with concern, both arms gently holding your shoulders.

You take a quick step back from him. “I’m alright. Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Can it be more awkward than this, you cry out in your mind and you pace out of the dim corridor. Jimin’s appearance managed to agitate you once again tonight.

“Y/n…!” Jimin’s voice stops you in your tracks. “I’m… I’m sorry for that earlier. The air became so heavy, I’m not even surprised you ran off from that table. You’re not upset, right?” He hesitates a little on that last sentence and you see a shy smile spreading on his features when you face him again.

As expected of the attentive and kind class president, always caring for others before thinking about himself.

Shaking your head, you reply. “I have no reason to be. If anyone should be upset, it’s you.” You shoot him a sheepish smile. “You looked pretty uncomfortable when the topic was brought up.”

“Ah.” Is what falls out of Jimin’s mouth and he reaches for the back of his neck, rubbing the spot hesitantly. “I know I’m supposed to treat everyone objectively as the former class president but… Nayeon is a bit too much to handle, you know?”

“Yeah, she was always a force to be reckoned with. Especially when it comes to you.”

“Right…” He sighs. “Sorry again for bumping into you like that.”

“It’s really nothing, Jimin. Don’t worry.” At that, he only smiles and passes you in the way to the bathroom.

You return to the table only to find Hyejin almost laying on the table face-front, mumbling something about Taehyung being a meanie. A long exhale escapes your lips at the thought of helping Wheein carry Hyejin to their apartment.

“Who’s down for round two?” Taehyung asks, hands busy playing with the strap of a cap from some soju bottle. “This place is dying down!”

“Let’s git it!” Hyejin mumbles and slaps one of her palms against the table surface. Both Woosik and Taehyung look at her with disbelief but start laughing after a while.

“Hyejin, you’re going home.” You scold her as if she were a kid. “No more drinks for you tonight, girl.”

“Y/n, I can take her home just fine, you go have your fun.” All of a sudden Wheein appears next to you and flashes you a brief wicked grin right after finishing her sentence.

“Whee, are you sure?” You send her a concerned look, baffled by the timing of her appearance. “I know how she gets when she’s had too much soju.”

She just waves her hand at you dismissively. “Don’t worry about her so much. We’re gonna get home just fine. It’s the opposite direction from your place anyways.”

“Okaaay, so Y/n is coming with us!” Taehyung then announces right as Jimin comes back. “Woosik? You down?”

“Sure, let’s burn this Friday down!”

Taehyung then continues, turning to the silver haired boy. “Jimin, you have no right to object. You came late so you need to make up for it.”

You were about to reject the invitation but Jimin was faster at replying. “Guess I have no choice.” He then lifted his gaze at you. “Let’s try to stay the more sober ones, Y/n. These two are already doomed to have a bad hangover anyways.” He gestures to Taehyung and Woosik. “Sounds like a plan?”

The idea of leaving drunk Hyejin with tipsy Wheein and staying out with the guys suddenly didn’t seem that bad. The things you do because of him.

“Sounds like a plan.” You repeat, the meaning of the words only sinking in once the guys are getting up and heading to the counter, searching their respective pockets for wallets to pay the dinner with.

“Go have fun, Y/n!” Wheein encourages you. She knows you don’t go out to party that often but there’s probably another reason why she’s so fervent about it. That reason being the boy that’s now heartily laughing at something Taehyung has said.

“I guess I owe you one, Wheeinie.” You say as you hug your girl friend tightly. “Get home safe and text me if Hyejin survived.”

“Don’t mention it. But I want updates about you and your prince charming!” the mischievous look coming back to her face.

Before you can retort to her request, the three boys are gesturing for you to hurry up. “Y/n, let’s go!” Taehyung shouts across the pub.

His loud voice makes a few people lift their heads, most of them just waving their goodbyes to you four.

Right as you smile and thank the waitress after getting back your card from her, you hear that high-pitched voice again.

“Jimin! Are you leaving?” Of course it’s Nayeon.

At that, Taehyung turns his back towards the pub and starts pushing Jimin out through the glass door, as if in panic. Woosik tags along and seen you don’t want to spare that girl a single look more, you bow to the waitress one last time and follow the three of them onto the stairs and down. The chilly air hits you right when you step out of the door and you hurriedly put on your scarf, a shiver running down your spine nevertheless. The things you would do to have Wheein’s chunky scarf right now.

The narrow street was completely empty except for the four of you and one older guy leaning against a building a few meters away, cigarette smoke leaving his mouth as he spares your group one look before minding his own business again.

You were never scared of the night but having three friends next to you made you feel very safe. Myeongdong may be a relatively small and safe district, but these alleyways are scary anywhere.

“Do you guys know any good spots around here?” You remember that no one mentioned where you were headed for the second round of drinks.

“Don’t worry, miss, I know of a lovely place around Jongno.” Taehyung says in a lively tone. “It’s called XX. A brilliant name for a bar, don’t you think?” He then stumbles a few steps forward, apparently more drunk than you thought.

“He’s just saying that because he has the fattest crush on the bartender there.” Woosik scoffs with a laugh. “It’s a nice place though. Not too loud and it has a nice ambience.”

Jimin then speaks up, way more sober than the two boys who are leading the way. “I’m gonna have to trust you on that too. You’re finally showing me the place, Tae.”

You then watch a scene of the two of them bickering about Jimin not making enough time for Taehyung so that he could show him the bar and the bartender lady he likes so much unfold in front of your eyes. It feels like you traveled three years in time, back to your teenage years, except you’re tipsy and out after midnight in the city center. Woosik is laughing at the two friends’ antics and you join in.

Joking around with them like this makes you relax even when you’re still trembling from the cold when the wind gets under your jacket. The nervousness you felt during the evening when you were around Jimin long forgotten.

The streets of Myeongdong are now almost empty compared to the amount of people you saw earlier that night. You exit the district, cross Euljiro where at this time of the day are only taxis waiting for their drunk customers and lastly you cross a bridge over Cheonggyecheon where you stop your steps, even though the wind is stronger here.

The way the trough of the stream is decorated with Christmas themed lanterns and various lights is mesmerizing to say the least. You marvel at the delicate snowflake-shaped lanterns that hang above the water surface as if they were falling.

Only when Taehyung calls out your name, you realize that the three boys kept walking while you stayed behind, bewitched by the beauty of your surroundings.

“It’s so pretty!” You shout back at them, your voice louder than usual thanks to all the soju in your system. Stretching out your arms, you point at the lanterns and wave at the three of them to come and take a look at the decorated stream too.

Taehyung wobblingly rushes back first, almost bumping into you as he leans against the bridge right next to you. Jimin follows right behind, circling around you and leaning against the railing from your other side.

“Waah, it looks like we’re in a fairytale!” The curly boy marvels at the sight of the illuminated water stream. “We should take a picture! Let’s take a picture!”

Woosik then joins you in slow strides. “You’re impossible. First you rush to see the bartender and now we’re taking pictures. Fine.” A sigh escapes his mouth, but he still stretches out his arm as a sign for Taehyung to give him his phone.

Before you or Jimin have a chance to protest against the idea, Woosik is taking a few steps back with Taehyung’s phone pointed in your direction.

“One, two… Jimin, what’s with that stiff smile. At least stick a bit closer to each other, it looks like a very bad family picture right now.” Woosik comments while switching his attention from the screen to you three.

Taehyung does as he’s told, squishes closer against your body but retorts to Woosik’s comment feigning annoyance. “Since when were you so passionate about photography?”

Jimin leans closer against you too. The one with a stiff smile is now probably yourself. When was the last time someone’s bare proximity made you this flustered? The speed of your racing heart only amplifies when Jimin’s arm slips around your waist. He’s suddenly so close that you catch a whiff of his perfume, only making you dizzier.

“Okay, whatever. My fingers are gonna freeze off.” Woosik’s voice brings you back to reality. “One, two, three, kimchi!”

It took you a few seconds to register, but you burst out laughing at his cheesy way of telling you to smile. “Who even says that anymore?”

You feel Jimin’s hold on you tighten as he can’t hold his laughter either. You remembered it was a habit of his to fall onto the thing closest to him when he was laughing, but actually being the object in question is very endearing.

“You’re so cute when you’re drunk, Woosik.” Jimin manages to get out as his body shakes with laughter.

“Hmph.” Woosik huffs. “Let’s go Tae.”

Your heart does a flip when the boy holding you looks you in the eyes, his own still resembling two crescent moons. “Let’s hurry, you must be cold.” He says, head motioning to Woosik and Taehyung who took off already and his arm letting go of your waist.

The reply you manage to give him is a simple nod, afraid your voice would give away the state he put you in.

“Here.” Jimin offers. You look down to his extended arm, only to spot a pair of gloves in his hand. “They’re really warm, put them on.”

What is he so kind for, you internally scream. “Ah, thank you.” You say as you accept the garment from him with a smile. “Won’t you be cold though?”

“I’ll be fine. Or you can always hold my hand and share some of the warmth.”

It takes you a while to process what he just said but when you do, your eyes widen and you feel heat rising to your cheeks.

“Come on, let’s go or we’re gonna lose them.” Jimin grins and begins walking in the same direction as your two other friends.

Was he always this flirty or is that the soju he downed speaking? Anyhow, it made you feel all giddy because you’ve never before witnessed him acting like this. Not that you ever had a chance to see him tipsy since you weren’t allowed to drink yet back then.

As you catch up with the two that are leading your way, you’re tempted to really hold Jimin’s hand like he told you to, but the liquid courage doesn’t come that easy to you. Jimin never said he was joking, yet you can’t seem to shake the thought that he’s just very kind and would give up his gloves for any of his friends.

With Jimin occasionally sending a smile your way, the four of you made your way to the bar. A small neon sign above the entrance spells “XX”, purple light from it and from the lights along the stairs that lead you below the ground level illuminating your steps.

If it wasn’t for Taehyung leading the way, you’d think it’s some sketchy club. Your opinion immediately changes once you set foot on a soft red carpet that covers the dark wooden floor. A few guests are sitting in leather armchairs that are placed around delicate looking tables, soft warm light coming from little lamps illuminates the space and Christmassy jazz music plays in the background. Though the whole room is a sight to behold, the wall of liquor bottles behind the long bar counter steals the spotlight.

Behind the counter you see a woman, maybe in her late twenties, hair tied neatly in a low bun, her bangs making her look elegant but youthful at the same time. By the frozen reaction of Taehyung, it’s most likely the bartender Woosik mentioned earlier on.

She’s very attractive, wearing a black shirt tucked neatly into her trousers but slightly unbuttoned at the neck and a golden name tag pinned on her chest. If it wasn’t for your crush on Jimin occupying most of your mind, you’d probably girl crush on her big time.

You follow Taehyung who takes a seat on one of the bar stools, closer to the bartender than at a table but still far from where she’s standing. The stools are more comfortable than they look, and you feel more tense about Jimin’s proximity than about your feet barely reaching the footrest.

“Good evening, what can I get for you?” the bartender asks, looking at you.

“Uhm…” it was your first time in a western-style bar like this and all of the bottles on display right in front of your eyes made it look intimidating. “Would you recommend me something?”

Dreading her reaction, you were pleasantly surprised to see a warm smile spreading on her lips. “Would you prefer something sweeter or something that’s more on the bitter side?”

After a moment of hesitation, you answered. “Sweet, please.”

“I’ll think of something for you, then.” She reassures you and you notice the shiny name tag on her shirt spells Hani. “And for you, gentlemen?”

As she turns to them, you see Taehyung rub his hands on his legs, probably sweaty because of the nervous state he’s in.

“I’ll have an Old Fashioned.” Jimin orders with assurance and Woosik follows by ordering a simple Cuba Libre. When it’s Taehyung’s turn to choose a drink, a silence spreads across the counter.

“Should I bring you the usual?” Hani proposes after a while.

At that, the curly boy nods and answers with a quiet “Yes, please.”

The bartender nods as well and proceeds to prepare the drinks. No sooner than she turns around, Woosik starts teasing the other boy about their brief but awkward interaction. You too were surprised that the always loud and outgoing boy became so timid in front of the bartender, but your thoughts are dispersed soon.

“Noona!” You hear a voice that seems somehow very familiar but Jimin’s expression shifts into a dubious one at the sound of it. Once you peer in the direction it came from, you’re met with a beaming face of your hoobae from your English class.

“Ah! What a coincidence.” The boy leans on the empty bar stool where you set your purse and Jimin’s gloves. “You’re not here with anyone?” It was out of his character to be out at a bar like this. Or at least out of the character he presented himself with at school.

Jimin’s attention is now on you, and it could be just your dizzy consciousness messing with you, but you swear you feel him move closer to you, his scent stronger than a while ago.

“Here’s the Old Fashioned, and a Soul Kiss for you.” Hani slides the drinks in front of you in a graceful manner. “I hope the drink suits your taste.”

You nod and thank the bartender.

“I’m here with Lisa, noona.” He says in a hushed voice as soon as Hani moves closer to the other two boys..

Your eyes widen at his words. “You finally asked her out!”

The younger boy’s cheeks turn to a pale peachy color, unable to hide his shyness at your statement. “Sort of… I’m working on it.” He then replies, fidgeting with the hem of his sky-blue shirt that fits him like a glove. The tension that momentarily formed between Jimin and the younger boy disappearing at once.

“I told you she has a thing for you.” You playfully poke at his shoulder. “Ah, right! I haven’t introduced you two. Jimin, this is Jungkook, my hoobae.” When you turn your head in Jimin’s direction, he’s closer than expected but you try to keep your cool. You don’t bother introducing him to the other two, because there seems to be no end to their bickers.

“Nice to meet you, Jimin-ssi.” A smile blooms on Jungkook’s face, showing his bunny teeth. “Are you noona’s boyfriend?”

The younger one’s bluntness almost makes you choke on the sip of alcohol you just took, blocking any words from coming out of your mouth to reply to his curious eyes. Jimin does the job for you though, all while leaning even closer to you so that Jungkook hears him better.

“Unfortunately, I’m not. We went to high school together.”

His statement makes your heart sprint. Did he really just say that?

Jungkook’s eyes grow in size, a mischievous grin making its way on his delicate features. “It’s great keeping in touch with old friends, right?”

“It would be a shame to lose precious friends just because you don’t go to school with them anymore.” Jimin adds.

“Of course!” The standing boy nods but stills shortly after. “Ah! Lisa’s back, can’t leave her waiting.” His playful attitude now slightly stiffer. “It was nice meeting you, Jimin-ssi. See you in class, noona.” The suggestive eyebrow wiggle he manages to send without Jimin noticing makes you clench your fist.

“Yah!” You chide not so subtly.

Jimin truly didn’t notice Jungkook’s grimace because he’s looking at you with confusion written all over his face. “Why scold him, he seems like a nice kid.”

“He’s nice, but…” You honestly didn’t have anything to defend yourself with.

“But?”

“He likes to tease everyone. Including those older than him.” You reply after giving it a bit more thought. “Except for Lisa, the girl sitting opposite to him. He becomes putty in her hands.” You motion to the pair with your head.

“Seems like someone we both know.” Jimin adds as he looks over to Taehyung.

You can’t help but giggle. Taehyung was like a different person in the presence of Hani. But who are you fooling, Jimin has a similar effect on you too.

“I guess you don’t go to bars that often.” Jimin asks and sips on his drink, a pleased smirk forming on his face after placing the glass back down.

“I don’t even go out that often to begin with…” Your words drift off.

“Really? You don’t seem that fazed by the amount of soju we had at the pub earlier.”

“I’ve always had a pretty good tolerance.” You take a sip of the orangey liquid in your glass. Your higher tolerance of alcohol was something you weren’t too fond of though. It made it harder to lose some inhibitions like other people. The liquid courage was never something you could achieve with an acceptable number of shots and getting wasted to the point of not remembering what you were doing was never your thing. “I hope it’s not limited only to Korean drinks though.”

“I guess we’ll see.” Jimin chuckles at your statement.

“How’s the kiss?”

“What?” Your eyes shoot up in his direction.

“The drink.”

“Ah.” An obvious blush spreads across your cheeks. “Yeah… It’s- It’s sweet. I like it.”

“Do you wanna try mine? It’s a little bitter though.” He offers.

“Sure.” You don’t think you’re going to exactly enjoy his drink of choice but you’re too curious as to what Jimin’s taste is to not have a sip.

He slides the low glass closer to your hand and you pick it up, briefly examining the contents’ color. Your face scrunches into a grimace as the liquid hits your taste buds.

“So bitter!” You let out after putting the glass back down on the counter.

Even though the sip you just took wasn’t a pleasant experience, Jimin’s reaction definitely is. Supporting himself by his hands on the counter, he’s falling over with laughter.

“You’re really cute, you know that?”

Jimin, you’re really blunt when you’ve had something to drink, you know that? You answered in your mind with a question.

“You expressed the taste so well with your face.” He’s still laughing.

“Why do you drink it, then?” You ask with a pout, stealing glances at his laughing form.

“I like this kind of taste.”

The silver haired boy proceeds to swipe his hair back, only for it to fall into its former place. You also don’t fail to notice the short swipe of his tongue over his lips. It suddenly makes you wonder what kissing him would taste like. Like the bitter drink he sips on? Or would the sweetness of your cocktail overpower it? You try to imagine the taste but there’s not one good comparison you can think of.

“Y/n,” Jimin starts after a short silence due to your mind wandering off. “Do you want to know the reason why the girl we barely avoided earlier disliked you? But if you don’t feel like talking about it, we don’t ha-”

That definitely woke you up from your thoughts, not even giving you the opportunity to blush. “I don’t really mind… But you seemed quite bothered by it in the pub. Why bring it up?”

“Well… It has to do with you after all.”

“I don’t-“

“Back in eleventh grade, Nayeon overheard one conversation she wasn’t supposed to hear, hell, nobody was supposed to hear.” Jimin visibly shifts in his seat, gripping the glass in front of him a bit tighter. “I told Taehyung something that I’m a little scared to say to you even now.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Your worried look easing his unnerved figure slightly, shaking his head.

“No, no. It’s not you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Jimin lets out a huff. “It’s me. I was being careless.” He pauses for a moment, eyes lingering on yours until you evade his gaze. “I told Taehyung that I like you. And she overheard it. So… It’s my fault she was so hostile towards you. I’m sorry.”

The words ‘I like you’ ring in your head, almost muting what he said afterwards. You stay frozen, your heart about to give out from the speed it’s beating at.

“Jimin… I-”

“I’m really sorry, I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t listen to anything I was saying.”

“Do you mean that?” you take a quick sip from your glass, praying the liquid would give you the courage you need.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry.” Jimin’s eyes drop down.

“No, wait, why weren’t those words in the past tense?”

“What do you mean?”

“Jimin, do you… do you like me?” You gather your courage.

“I- I…” He stutters before nodding. “Yeah, I like you.”

“Jimin…” you place your hand over his that is clutching his drink with too much force. He tenses at the contact but eases his grip soon enough. “Why did you never tell me?”

After a silence that followed your question, you can’t help but continue, the alcohol taking control of your voice. “I guess for the same reason I never told you…”

“Huh?” A confused murmur escapes his mouth.

“I had a huge crush on you during high school.” You sheepishly admit, your hands letting go of his and retreating closer to your body. “But I was never bold enough to tell you and you were out of my league. Being friends with you was more than enough for me.”

Jimin sips on the drink he was clutching so hard just a while ago and hums. “That means you don’t feel the same way anymore. It’s understandable, I’m the foolish one here when it’s been three years since we last spoke.”

There’s a sadness that spreads on his features even though the corners of his lips curl slightly up.

“I was convinced about it until a few hours ago.” You confess. “But now I feel like I’m seventeen again.”

“Jimin,” a voice interrupts you before Jimin manages to reply. It’s Woosik. He’s on his feet already, supporting wobbly Taehyung as the gets up from the bar stool. “We’re gonna get going. Tae’s had enough. Are you coming with us?”

He pauses after examining the situation he intervened in some more because of the silence that spreads around you. Both you and Jimin are looking elsewhere, his hands fiddling with his drink and yours clenched tightly in your lap. “Did I interrupt something here?”

The boy sitting next to you replies. “I’ll stay some more. We still have a lot to talk about with Y/n, isn’t that right?”

You nod and shift your focus on the two standing boys. They don’t seem to be too concerned about you and Jimin, focusing on standing straight and not forgetting any of their belongings.

“Get home safe, you guys.”

“You always end up so drunk, Taehyung. You’re unbelievable.” Jimin says but pats his friend on the shoulder.

Woosik only snorts. “Why is it always me taking him home?”

“Maybe because he’s always willing to pay for the cab and you live in the building next to his place?” Jimin retorts playfully.

“I hate you.” Is the only thing Woosik says goodbye with before heading to the staircase leading out.

“Love you too.”

Woosik butting in ended up lifting up the awkward tension between you two because you let out an unrestrained laugh, Jimin soon joining in.

“You guys really haven’t changed one bit.”

“You neither.” Jimin leans his chin against his hand, all while studying you with his eyes. “Only your hair got longer, and you’re not wearing a school uniform.”

“Oh? That’s all?” You pout.

“And you got even prettier.” He grins.

The instinct to hide your face behind your palms kicks in at once but Jimin is faster to get a hold of your hand, lightly holding it and kneading circles into it with his thumb. The soft gesture causes you to almost melt under his touch, biting on your lip.

“We may as well be the biggest fools on Earth, Jimin.” Your hand in his hold shifts so that you can intertwine your fingers with his.

“I know… Now I feel really bad, I’m sorry.” Jimin apologizes again but tightens his grip on your hand.

“Okay, no more saying sorry tonight. We can’t do anything about the past anyways.”

“Does that mean that you want to do something about the present?” A flirty smile returns to his face.

“I mean… Only if you want to.” Where did your confidence from a while ago disappear to, you’ll never know.

“I sure do.”

You look at each other for a while without saying a word but start giggling when the silence becomes too much.

“I can’t believe this.” You glance at your intertwined fingers, then at the boy’s brown eyes, taking in the tender look he’s giving you. “Doesn’t stuff like this happen only in movies?”

“Hmm, I’d say we’re living proof it happens in reality too.”

“Was the drink to your liking?” Hani inquires when she notices your glass is empty.

“Oh, yes, it was delicious. Thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” After collecting the emptied glass, the bartender turns to Jimin with a softer look occupying her face. “Is the man that walked out leaning on his friend’s shoulder okay? He seemed very drunk…” Her words drift off.

“Ah, you mean Taehyung? He’s going to survive. You don’t have to worry about him too much.” Jimin answers a little startled.

“Taehyung…” Hani repeats after him, collecting the glass in front of him as well.

“Should I pass him your number?”

The bartender’s eyes shoot open at his suggestion. “I shouldn’t be doing this during my work hours…” After hesitating for a short while though, she swiftly takes out a business card out of her shirt pocket and slips it close to Jimin. He only winks at her and hides the paper in his back pocket. Hani then dashes off to busy herself with work, cheeks slightly flushed.

“Wow, are we really not in a movie? Do you think she likes Tae?” You say, after letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“I’d say it’s clear as day.”

“Cupid must be busy tonight.” You let a sigh escape when you spot your hoobae in the back of the bar and motion his way by lifting your chin.

Lisa is leaning against him, sitting side by side in a small sofa looking extremely comfortable. Jungkook’s arm is holding her shoulder, pressing her body tighter to his, a humongous grin plastered on both of their faces.

“One would think you’re jealous, Y/n!” Jimin teases.

You can’t help but pout at his accusation. “I’m just surprised by this outburst of luck and love from the universe.”

“Well, it’s Christmas soon.”

“Do you believe in Christmas miracles?” you ask Jimin.

“I think I might from now on.”

“Cheesy!” You punch his arm lightly.

“Yes, yes.” Jimin’s resigned reply makes you both giggle. “Should we get going too? Leave those two a little privacy.”

You snort at his words. “I’ll probably hear about it all from Jungkook the next time I see him anyways. But I feel like my wallet can’t take many more of these drinks. Let’s go.”

The night air is crisp but there’s some humidity that makes it feel colder than it actually is. A pout is slowly dissolving below your scarf as Jimin intently insisted that he was going to pay for your drink as well. Because he made you stay out longer and dragged you along to Taehyung’s bar of choice. You squeeze the pair of gloves he lent you earlier and burry your chin even more into the scarf that Jimin helped wrapping around your neck.

“You must be cold.” Jimin’s neck is pretty much exposed to the freezing air but he still shakes his head in denial.

“I’m good.” He then reaches out for your hand and your palms mold into each other as if it was the most natural thing. “Do you want to see the lanterns some more? You looked bewitched by it on the way here.”

“It was so pretty! Can’t blame me.” You hope the scarf around your shoulders and the darkness make the blush on your cheeks less visible but then you stop, making him turn around and face you. “Wait, Jimin, is that it? Are you trying to find excuses not to go home yet?”

“Is it that obvious?” Jimin fakes a laugh.

“Well, I want to spend more time with you too.” His eyes widen for a little bit as a current of wind ruffles his hair but then he smiles again. “Let’s go, before you freeze to death.”

“I’m not cold, Y/n!”

“Yes, yes.”

It was how comfortable he made you feel, joke around with you, yet still making your heart flutter. Just that. No other guy was able to evoke that kind of feeling in you. Just by walking next to you, holding your hand, softly bumping into each other’s shoulders on your tipsy feet.

The wind is playing with his silver hair, sometimes revealing a little more of his forehead and you almost forget to look where you’re walking as your eyes are engrossed in studying his features. The lanterns hung above the stream are of no big interest to you, mind occupied by the man next to you.

“Isn’t it too cold here?” Jimin asks, concerned.

You walked down to the path that is directly next to the icy water to see the scenery from a different perspective but failed to consider that. Water really made the air colder.

“We can just walk closer to each other.”

Jimin then guides your hand that he’s holding into the pocket of his coat but doesn’t let go. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”

“Do what? Walk next to Cheonggyecheon at two in the morning in freezing weather?” You tease.

“This.” He says as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Give me your other hand.” Jimin requests and halts his steps. You comply right away, stuffing his gloves you’ve been holding into his still empty pocket along with both of your intertwined hands, leaving you standing face to face.

“It’s so warm.” You purr as his body heat reaches your skin. “But your neck still looks very cold.”

“It’s not like I will freeze when my pockets are this warm.” He defends himself with a smug smile.

Obviously not enough to convince you, before thinking twice, you close the distance between your bodies and lay your chin on his shoulder. You catch a whiff of his scent and the intimacy of standing so close to Jimin makes you melt against him.

Just then something cold lands on your nose.

“Y/n! It’s snowing!” Jimin lets out, excitement in his voice.

White fluffy snowflakes slowly fall all around you and fill the night sky. Everything seems quiet, as if the time has stopped, but the snow continues to fall, disappearing once hitting the ground.

“You know what they say about the first snow.” Jimin speaks up again. “If you’re together with someone during the first snowfall...”

He pulls away slightly, leaving your hands in his pockets and cups your face with his warm hands. You notice a few snowflakes get stuck in his hair, but they melt too soon for you to brush them away.

“You will stay together for a long time.”

“Hmm, I want to believe that.” You say, hands tightening in fists in Jimin’s pockets when you feel him pull you closer.

“Me too.” He almost whispers before his lips find yours, hasty at first, only slowing down when your arms encircle his waist.

You were right. No drink a bartender can mix can possibly come close to this. The keen movement of his lips still manages to be soft, sending shivers down your spine as he tucks a strand of loose hair behind your ear. Why drink alcohol when there’s something as addictive as this.

It seems you’re not the only one thinking that. No sooner than you pull away to catch your ragged breath, Jimin’s lips crash onto yours once more, this time in a more fervent manner, as if you’d disappear if he stopped.

You have an urge to pinch yourself just to make sure this is not a dream but the cold reassures you it’s not. Snow is still falling onto you both, lanterns swaying above your heads, but the only thing you can focus on is the man kissing your lips and his arms wrapped around you.

“Jimin-” You let out when he breaks the kiss, only to stare deep into your orbs and hum as a sign for you to continue. “I like you a lot.”

Jimin can’t contain the smile that overtakes his face, leaning his forehead against yours.

“You don’t even know how happy that makes me… Because I like you a lot too.”

“I know.” You plant a peck on his freezing nose and barely escape his counterattack.

You must look like a pair of fools, giggling and chasing each other in the middle of such a cold night, trying to steal kisses from one other, but you couldn’t care less.

As long as you’re with Jimin.

Epilogue:

Beagles 00:24 am

Whee: You should have seen Nayeon after you guys left hahaha

Whee: She made a ruckus that she couldn’t even talk to Jimin when she was ogling Dowoon the whole time

Hyejinie: Gets on my nervres so mu

Beagles 00:26 am

Whee: Hyejin dropped her phone lol

Whee: Hope you’re doing better than this wasted missy, Y/n

Beagles 01:03 am

Whee: Just got home

Whee: You should see Hyejin hahahahh

Whee: …

Whee: I really hope that you not replying is a good sign and you’re not passed out somewhere

Whee: I trust you Y/n!

Beagles 11:01 am

You: Should I start believing in Christmas miracles too?

#jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin fluff #bts fluff #jimin x reader #jimin oneshot #jimin x yn #bts christmas fic #mine #writing #내 꺼 #OKAY SO I.. this is my first //finished// attempt at a fic #please don't be mean🥺 but then constructive criticism is welcome😊#silver haired jimin is one of my weaknesses and if he's not yours yet then brace yourself #in other words this is just sappy christmas fluff with me missing seoul a whole lot #can't believe it's been exactly 2 years since I came back home ;;#there's also a reference to XX - a web drama #and before you kill me I know woosik isn't even close to being a 95 liner but he just fit there okay #I hope you enjoy and get some fluffy christmas vibes from this🥰💕

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geekgemsspooksandtoons · 3 years

Text

This was the first of my Mortal Kombat guest character shit. Think I made this two or three weeks ago. I forgot, anyway, enjoy these. Mainly it includes Archie from Bioshock Rebirth. The last one was meant to be with Noob Saibot. But long ago, I changed it to Shao Kahn.

Archie: You know, you remind me of someone I really hate.

Kano: Ohhh, who was he?

Archie: Let’s say he was Irish at first. Then he became a Bronx motherfucker.

Archie: I knew a crime boss that would make the entire Black Dragon look like a bunch of bitches.

Kano: Those are fighting words mate. Where is this asshole so I can gut him? Or make good business with him.

Archie: He’s already dead because I hung him from a ceiling.

Archie: Don’t you dare get near Elizabeth.

Kano: Hey, a dog can’t stop sniffing.

Archie: You touch her, and I’ll rip that metal eye off of your face.

Archie: Sonya told me all about you and the Black Dragon.

Kano: I am the Black Dragon you yobbo.

Archie: The Black Dragon is nothing compared to the Demon Of Rapture.

Archie: You remind me of someone who I have mixed feelings on.

Kabal: Wonder how I remind you of him?

Archie: He killed for money, and he was a Helluva Grim Reaper in Rapture for Ryan.

Archie: You being fast doesn’t scare me.

Kabal: Maybe I’ll visit those Little Sisters after this. They’ll probably like me.

Archie: Get near those girls and I’m gonna shove those swords up your ass.

Archie: I hate people like you.

Kabal: Black Dragon pays good. Nothing personal.

Archie: That’s why I fucking hate killers like you.

Archie: You really think you, a fast asshole of a mercenary, can beat me.

Kabal: All I’m seeing is a punk ass kid who thinks being a soldier made him tough.

Archie: I’m gonna show you why Splicers and Sofia called me the Demon Of Rapture.

Archie: So the Shirai Ryu is more than a clan?

Scorpion: We’re a family.

Archie: Me and the Vox highly commend that honestly.

Archie: You know, you’re one of my favorite characters to play as actually.

Scorpion: What do you mean by that?

Archie: I think you and everyone else would be shocked to learn what you are in my world.

Scorpion: The Shirai Ryu would be honored to have you.

Archie: I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll fit.

Scorpion: Trust me, we would welcome you.

Scorpion: So the Vox are than an army?

Archie: We’re a community in a way. Trying to take care of each other.

Scorpion: The Shirai Ryu commend the Vox for their goals.

Archie: I question why you would even praise me?

Scorpion: You’re unlike any soldier I’ve met. Imagine our combined forces?

Archie: A ninja and an Army Ranger...that’s a Helluva team up.

Johnny Cage: Come on, let me star as you in a movie based upon Rapture.

Archie: Sorry, I think you’re too old to play me now.

Johnny Cage: Okay, that hurt a little hearing that from you. We could change the age though.

Johnny Cage: Your story would make a perfect movie.

Archie: I don’t think I want you cashing in on the shithole that is Rapture.

Johnny Cage: You’re missing out on the Rapture cinematic universe.

Johnny Cage: So you’re telling me our world...is basically a video game in your world.

Archie: Yep.

Johnny Cage: Holy shit!

Archie: I think you may not want a cinematic universe based upon Rapture or something.

Johnny Cage: Come on, you know its genius.

Archie: You’re gonna have to get through Ken Levine if you really want that.

Archie: So, you have issues with your dad too?

Kitana: It’s more complicated than simply issues.

Archie: Understandable. For me, my dad was a Capitalist tyrant asshole.

Archie: Its time for your rule to end.

Shao Kahn: I’ll crush you with my war hammer.

Archie: I’ll fuckin beat you to death with a God damn golf club to make your death look insulting.

Archie: You make Ryan, Fontaine, and and Sofia Lamb look like pansies.

Shao Kahn: Is that a compliment?

Archie: No, it means you make me more sick than any of them.

Archie: You really think you, a dictator, can stop me.

Shao Kahn: All I see in a man trying to be a warrior. Everyone you faced is nothing like me.

Archie: I’m the Demon Of Rapture you shit fuck.

Archie: I don't think you would last in Rapture probably.

Shao Kahn: Do you know who I am? I am mighty.

Archie: I don't think the Splicers, Big Daddies, and Big Sisters would give a shit.

Archie: What you did to Sindel was despicable.

Shao Kahn: I'll go for Jasmine and Tenenbaum next.

Archie: If you touch my mothers, I'm making sure your brains fall out when I beat you with a golf club.

Archie: You remind me of someone I highly respect.

Jacqui: How would you describe her?

Archie: A natural born leader, and the best damn sister I know.

Archie: I’m just...reminded of terrible things that happened to people looking at you.

Jax: You mean you know people who went through what I experienced?

Archie: No. I’m reminded that Rapture literally made slaves in diving suits.

Archie: You’re not leaving this fight alive.

Joker: Awww, not going soft on me?

Archie: Do I look like your God damn Batman?

Archie: Unlike Batman, I’m going to kill you.

Joker: What makes you say that?

Archie: I’ve read The Killing Joke and The Dark Knight Returns. You make me fucking sick.

Archie: I know a clown that I think scares me more than you.

Joker: Well who’s this other clown then?

Archie: The clown is from a video game, drives an ice cream truck, and has a flaming head.

Archie: Vietnam huh? I’m sorry you went through such Hell.

Rambo: What about you kid?

Archie: A little bit of Iraq, and Rapture itself.

Archie: Green Berets, you have my respect John.

Rambo: Same to you as well. Always did respect the Rangers.

Archie: Brothers to the end am I right?

Archie: You lost your whole platoon? I’m sorry. No one should have to experience that. I feel the same.

Rambo: You lost anyone?

Archie: Even though I was a loner. I lost my whole unit. Was the only survivor from the aircraft. Damn Ryan.

Archie: You want peace as well after all the Hell you’ve been through.

Rambo: Do you feel the same?

Archie: Yes, I do.

Archie: You really think you could last in Rapture?

Shao Kahn: All those you've mentioned mean nothing to me.

Archie: Eleanor Lamb would make you her bitch.

Edit just noticed I didn't put cream after ice...so there...hope you all love the references everyone. :)

#GeekGem Rambles #bioshock rebirth #archie wynand

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sinnamonn · 3 years

Text

Welcome to Hell Ch2. “Meet Mammon”

Gia meets their new guard demon, “Mammon”. It does not go well. Also because this is my fic and I can do whatever I want Obey me is now in the same universe as It’s Always Sunny.

Word count: 1.7 K

The demon pointed an accusatory finger at the redhead.

Gia resisted the urge to bite it right off.

“Listen up, because I’m only gonna say this once!” He barked, “If you value your life then you’ll hand over all your money now! And anything else of value!”

Was this guy for real!? This bitchass was trying to rob them!? Oh hell no, Gia was not going to get robbed by some twink that still used fucking axe body spray!!

“Otherwise I’ll wipe that—“

“Fuck that and fuck you!” Gia yelled, cutting the demon off mid-threat, “Listen here, asshole, I’m not getting robbed by some twink!”

“Who’re you callin’ a twink!?”

“You, dumbass!”

“You don’t know what you’re dealin’ with, little bitch.” He spat, snarling down at them. Gia only bit back,

“I’m dealin’ with a punkass that’s about to get their shit rocked!”

“Mammon! Shut up or I’ll punch you!” Lucifer snapped, “And Gia, language!”

And then Lucifer just punched Mammon, causing him to stumble back a bit while gripping his head.

“GAH, OW! Hey, what’s the big idea!?” Mammon whined, “I thought you were actually gonna give me a chance to shut up before punching me!”

Satan gestured to his older brother, “Gia, meet Mammon, Avatar of Greed. He oversees all forms of it,” he explained, “whenever he takes a liking to someone they suddenly find themselves awash in money.”

“And he’s a masochist, that part’s important~!” Asmo added, “So I can’t wait to see you put him in his place some more!”

Ok. Ew. Gia didn’t need to know that.

“I didn’t need to know that.” Gia replied flatly.

“And it just so happens I have a job for my masochist of a brother.”Lucifer stated, only to be cut off again by Mammon.

“Quit tellin’ lies! I ain’t asked for that punch and I ain’t a masochist!”

“Mammon, you are going to be charged with seeing to this human’s needs during the exchange.” Lucifer ordered, “I expect your full cooperation.”

“WHAT!?” Both Gia and Mammon yelled at the elder demon.

“Wha!? Why me!?” Mammon exclaimed.

“Yeah, why him!? He literally just tried to rob me!” Gia argued.

“As, lucky you, Mammon! I’m so jealous.” Asmo pouted.

“Then you take them!”

Wait no, Gia got the feeling staying with Asmo might just be worse than Mammon.

“Huh? Hell no. Watching them match your energy is too funny.” He replied quickly.

“You just said you were jealous!” Mammon all but screeched.

“Just give up Mammon. There’s no getting out of this.” Satan looked at though he was holding back laughter, “You know you can’t deny a direct order from Lucifer.”

“But why me!? Why can’t Beel do it?” He whined

“If we hand Gia over to Beel we might as well just tell him to eat them.” Asmo said, now scrolling through his DDD.

“Yeah, I can’t promise I wouldn’t.” Beel agreed.

“...Mammon?” Lucifer asked lowley , his tone was dangerous.

“W-What?”

“Surely you’re not going to tell me you object to this arrangement, are you?”

For the first time, during his introduction, Mammon was quiet. He only held a sour look on his face before loudly groaning, “Ugh, I hate you guys! Fine, I’ll do it, ok!?” His attention turned back to Gia, “As much as I don’t wanna look after you, I’ve got no choice. It’s a huge pain in the ass and I’m too important for this kind of thing.”

Sure buddy, keep telling yourself that.

“But Lucifer told me to do it, so I will. But in return you better not cause me any trouble, got it?!”

Gia took back what she first thought of Mammon. He was worse than the high school boys that got stupidly mad when you didn’t stand for the pledge.

“If you can stay off my dick,” Gia sneered, “we might have a deal.”

“Fine by me, human. Just don’t forget whose boss around here.” Mammon shot back.

“Now that that’s settled,” Lucifer cut in before Gia could say anything else, “Mammon, show them to the house and try not to kill each other.”

‘No promises.’ Gia thought, reluctantly following Mammon out of the hell.

———

That lack of depth perception was really biting Gia in the ass. They felt more like a bird trying to escape a hall of mirrors, bumping into and bouncing off of walls. It also didn’t help that Mammon was practically speedwalking away from them.

“Oi! Human! Would ya pick up the pace, we don’t got all night!” He shouted over his shoulder.

“Oh sorry! Lemme just pop my eye back in and magically gain perfect vision!” They sarcastically called back, “OH WAIT! I can’t!”

Mammon stopped mid-step before turning on his heel and striding over to Gia.

“Wait...you’re missing an eye?” He questioned.

Oh great, was he gonna do that mock-sympathy schick they got more than enough back in their world?

“Damn, Lucifer couldn’t even get a human with all their parts!” He cackled, clenching his gut, as if this were the funniest thing in the world, “He had to grab some broken fucking human! That’s hilarious! ”

Broken....

Did he really just call them BROKEN?

Gia saw red, their lip pulled back into a venomous snarl. How fucking dare he! They were a lot of things but broken was not one of them.

“Oh, I’ll show you broken!”

The redhead kicked the demon’s kneecaps with all this might.

“OW! YOU BITCH!”

Satan and Asmodeus watched as the two left for the House of Lamentation, absolutely transfixed on the two’s interaction. It was like one of Asmodeus’ trashy reality tv shows came to life, neither of them could look away.

“Uh, Lucifer, they’re already fighting.” Satan said, earning a groan from the eldest. Lucifer could feel a migraine coming on, a bad one.

“Oh my god the human just kicked Mammon’s kneecaps!” Asmo laughed, he was recording the entire interaction, “Oh he’s mad!”

“Shit, do I need to intervene?” He asked with only mild concern.

“Hmm, maybe..” Satan watched as Mammon grabbed for Gia, “wait, no he’s just carrying them back to the house.”

————

“PUT ME DOWN!” Gia beat on the demons back, “This is demeaning!”

“Just be happy that the Great Mammon was kind enough to help you!” Mammon shot back, “If you think this is demeaning then imagine how I feel! Why should I have to look after some human !?”

“ Um,bitch, I got isekaied to hell without my consent and now I’m stuck with a bunch of rich boys who reek of ‘I peaked in high school’!”

Mammon gasped, “I did not peak! The Great Mammon only goes up!I’m practically a golden god!”

Why did they feel like they heard that somewhere before? Maybe...back home? Oh shit yeah, Mammon talked exactly like this one guy who owned a bar they’d always go to when they were bored. Wasn’t his name Denny or something?

“And just so we’re clear,” Mammon continued, “it’s not like I can’t say no to Lucifer, okay!?”

Gia didn’t ask.

“I only agreed to babysit you because, um...Well you know, because…...uh…”

“It’s ok, take your time.” Gia said

“Grr! It doesn’t matter! Just don’t go thinking I’m scared of Lucifer or anything! Because I’m not!” He snapped.

“Uh-huh, sure.”

Mammon finally put them down when the two got to the house.

Gia whistled, taking in just how...elegant? No, elegant wasn’t the word they were looking for? A better way to describe the house would probably be maximalist. When they entered they were met with a double stairway accented by two gigantic gargoyle statues. Purple wallpaper clung to the walls littered with paintings of people, Allistar Crowley being the only one Gia recognized.

“This is the House of Lamentation. It’s one of the dorms here at RAD.” Mammon explained, stepping forward, “Well, it's not just one of the dorms. It’s the dorm reserved for student council members….and you I guess.” Mammon prattled on, mostly about himself, “Lucifer, Asmo, and the others take every chance they can get to insult me. Callin’ me scum, sayin’ I’m a money- grabber and stuff…..”

Gia was really only half paying attention, they opted rather to try and figure out who the other people in the photos were. Cultists, perhaps?

“...In other words, I’m a big shot. A real big shot. Like, even other big shots are impressed by—hey are you even listening!?”

“Hm? Sorry, what? I got distracted by the pictures.” Gia gestured loosely to the walls.

Mammon growled, “I was just saying, don’t you go thinkingI’m just some ordinary demon. I’m nothing like those other peons walking the halls here.”

“Ok, cool. Figured as much.” Gia shrugged

“So I suggest-wait what?”

“I figured all of you were pretty powerful, why else would Diavolo leave me with all of you? Demons eat humans, so you put the human with your most powerful and loyal demons as protectors.” Gia elaborated, “So that implies that you’re the most trustworthy and capable of this task, right? Even if you did..try to rob me. But why else would Lucifer and the rest of your brothers leave me in your care?”

Mammon stared wide-eyed down at Gia, they could practically see the gears turning in his head—wait did his cheeks get darker?

He turned around before Gia could really tell, “Well-I’m—I mean!—Duh, of course the Great Mammon is capable!!” He sputtered, “B-But don’t think flattery is getting you anywhere! You’re still just some stupid human!”

“I wasn’t trying to, it’s just logic.”

“SHUT UP. Just-! Let’s just go to your room, OK!?”

Instead of lugging Gia over his shoulder, Mammon instead grabbed their wrist and began dragging them up the stairs, avoiding looking at them.

“Ow! Fine! Lay off the dragging, though!”

Gia’s room was cottagecore as fuck. That was the only way they could best describe it. The room looked like it had been taken out of a fairytale book, it wasn’t exactly Gia’s style but they could appreciate the aesthetic. Objectively, the room was very pretty. That idea was hammered in the more Gia explored it.

It was bigger than the apartment they shared with their mom. In truth, it was more like a closet that somehow fit a bed and dresser.

“Holy shit this bed is soft.” Gia commented once they flopped onto the comforter, “And these pillows! They’re not flat! I forgot they could be fluffy.”

“Oi, human, I got some advice for you,” Mammon leaned over the bed, “ If you wanna survive even a day here in the Devildom, you’d better listen real close to what I’m about to say.”

“Aight.” Gia turned their attention back to the demon.

“If it ever looks like a demon is about to attack you..run. Either that, or die.” Mammon said grimly.

“That’s...Honestly not the worst advice I’ve ever gotten.” They replied.

“How about I vote you to die, Mammon!”

Gia jumped at the new voice, shooting up out of the bed and looking towards the door frame. There stood a pissed off looking guy with purple hair, glaring daggers at Mammon

“AH..! Levi…!” Mammon exclaimed.

#🏩self insert🏩#self ship #🖤 romantic #mammon💵🪶🤑#obey me fic #obey me shall we date #self insert writing

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thegeekerynj · 3 years

Text

All Death Metal Review (And nothing from Sweden!)

Death Metal: Trinity Crisis One Shot

Writer: Scott Snyder Artist: Francis Manapul

‘And who are YOU supposed to be? I’ve faced enough Dark Knights that no Batman scares me anymore!

Ha! Then it’s a good thing I’m not a Batman! I’m his MOTHER!’

———————————————————————————————————

Sweet Christmas! That took me by surprise!

Harley kissing Jonah Hex, that was really sweet, and gods awful creepy, and kinda gross, after the exchange, and some thought…

This is it, Gentle Readers… the Beginning of the End of the Beginning of… Oh, crap, now I’m lost… This is where the story starts rockin’!

The Gang’s all together, and the Black Lantern Bat has determined what they need to do.

The plan? Split up, naturally. That AL-ways works…

When we left them in DM #3, the Lanterns are protecting the Home Base, and taking out the Crisis Energy Antennae on the Earths left in the known Universes, The Flashes are off and running through the Speed Force, trying to find Metron, and stay ahead of the Bathattan who Laughs, while the Trinity (Superman / Antilife, Black Lantern Batman and Warden Wonder Woman) along with Swamp Thing, Harley, Hex and Jarro, head for Castle Bat, to gain access to the Crisis Earths, where the Crisis Energy is being harvested for Perpetua.

**WHEW!**

Getting into the Castle involves getting past an army of Dark Knights… and we have a bunch of real winners here!

Bat Monday - Salomon Grundy in Bat ears, I could have busted a gut laughing, until I thought about what kind of weapon a zombie with Batman’s training could be, and shivered…

Kull, the daughter of Batman and Wonder Woman, corrupted by the Dark Universe…

Ark, the living embodiment of Arkham, with all of the knowledge and abilities of ALL her worst inmates…

Chiroptor, the amalgam of Batman and Chemo (Great Elder Gods!!)…

And the Pearl, Martha Wayne, in the equivalent of HellBat Armor, complete with her iconic pearl necklace.

This is a real mindscrew for Batman, and the panels depict it, most intently.

One nice thing about Scott Snyder… he is consistent about tying up loose ends. Once we are in Castle Bat, we find out what happened to Barbatos, the Big Bad from Dark Nights: Metal. Not that we were actually wondering, since we got Perpetual, and the Batman Who Laughs, but, like I said, it ties up the package nicely.

Then, we are introduced to the character I have been most happily waiting for… the Robin King, and his Utility Belt of Death!

Gentle Readers, this is the story we have been waiting for, the chapter which tells us what the Heroes Plan of Action is, and where the story has been going, for over 40 years. You see, the opening page of this book tells us where this story began… with Marv Wolfman and George Perez, and Crisis on Infinite Earths!

Not to spoil too much, but Crisis, Infinite Crisis, and Final Crisis, ]well… they have all played a part in getting us to this story. It seems, the “Crisis Energy’ has fed Perpetua while she was trapped within the Source Wall, and, now, she wants it all, so she can recreate the Universes in her image.

Great job, if you can get it…

I can’t say enough good things about this story and artwork, as Snyder and Manapul have put together a really tight, hard hitting bottle / lead story, bringing us to the next step in the saga…

Jeebus on a popsicle stick, I hope no one lets me down… that will hurt!

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

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Death Metal: Multiverse’s End #1

Writer: James Tynion IV Artist: Juan Gedeon

‘Mr. Rabbit?

Yes, Young Lady?

Thank you for saving me.

What a kind thing to say! It was so scary out there, and you stayed so brave. I don’t think I could have done it without your courage.

You’re really, really soft.

I use a special carrot shampoo.

———————————————————————————��———————

Once upon a time, about a million, bazillion years ago in cranky fat man years, somewhere around 1982, Roy Thomas and Scott Shaw! brought Earth-C into the DC Multiverse, the earth of anthropomorphic animals… yes, they brought Super-Hero Cartoon Animals to the Super Hero Universe.

Our introduction to this Earth was Rodney Rabbit, a comics writing and drawing hare, who created the Just’a Lotta Animals comic by day, and was Captain Carrot, a Superman-esque rabbit, who got his powers from super charged carrots, when danger struck.

But, I digress… because I got really excited!

So, we have teams on the 6 Earths, each Earth holding a tuning fork, focusing the psychic pain energy of the population to Perpetual, powering her attempts to recreate the Multiverse in her image. The Earths in play, Earth - 3 (Crime Syndicate), Earth - X (Nazi Earth), Earth - 29 (Bizarroworld), Earth - 43 (Blood League World) and Earth - 50 (Justice Lords Earth) are all worlds of pain and suffering.

Their energy is the right flavor for destroying, and creating.

The heroes, organized and led by the Green Lanterns of Sector 2814 (Hal Jordan, Guy Gardner, John Stewart, Kyle Rayner, Jessica Cruz, Simon Baz), are working to take down the Antennae before the energy can be fed to Perpetual to power her Cosmic Undoing.

So, teamed with the Lanterns, we have Hawkgirl, Kid Flash (Earth-22), President Superman (Earth-23), Wonder Woman (Earth-6) and Captain Carrot, all hellbent on stopping the respective Antennae.

The problem… Each Earth’s inhabitants have been laced into the antennae, to directly feed the psychic energy to it..since the energy is effectively terror, well, what better way to induce some? Of course, this isn’t the only problem to be contended with…

Leave it to James Tynion IV to come up with a way to make a villain creepier than the Batman Who Laughs… How, you ask? Well, take the true polar opposite of Batman, and make him realize HE IS what Giggles says he is, and you have an interesting new ballgame.

You see, while the Batman who Laughs is the Ultimate CORRUPTED Batman, Owlman is the Anthesis of Batman, the purest EVIL to the Batman’s GOOD. And he plans to make sure that he continues to be the True Opposite…

Gedeon’s artwork is rough, but considering the story being told, and the pain portrayed by the characters, it fits, perfectly. Some times, I see Joe Staton and Nic Cuti in these pages, a little cartoony, but that’s not a complaint… The story concentrates a bunch on Guy Gardner and Cap, so, it seems to fit (and the art is reminiscent of the ‘A Guy and his G’Nort’ storyline from 1991).

All in all, a very good story, and a fantastic use of a truly underused treasure.

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶

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Speed Metal #1

Writer: Joshua Williamson Pencils: Eddy Barrow Inks: Eber Ferreira

‘Hey, Flash Family, Is it true a Flash has to die in every Crisis?!’

———————————————————————————————————

And the levels of snark from the Darkest Knight have reached Epic Levels!

The first three pages of this issue give us a rehash of everything having to do with Wally West, since the beginning of the Rebirth Era, from Barry pulling Wally out of the Speed Force, to Barry and Batman finding the Comedian’s Smiley Face button embedded in the Batcave wall, to the events of Heroes in Crisis and Flash Forward.

The action picks up as Barry, Wally, Wallace and Jay leave the Batman’s Vault, in search of Metron’s Chair, with the Darkest Knight hot on their trails.

In the Speed Force.

With the Darkest Knight’s presence corrupting the Speed Force, Barry and Wally bickering the entire time, I’m reminded of why I hated the post Crisis Flash… Wally wasn’t mature enough to wear the mantle of Barry’s fame.

Sure, he had the speed, he was even faster than Barry, but he was still the same jealous little kid inside, the one who needed to be patted on the head, the one who couldn’t get on with the Titans, even though he was probably the most powerful of them.

He was just an immature kid, and here, Williamson dragged that all into the foreground once again.

All so Wally West, the King of the Redemption Arc, could have another Redemption Arc…

Sorry, that did me in.

The rest of the story is pretty good… the art is wonderful, the Jay / Barry / Wallace interplay is really kinda neat, and all the Black Flashes… well, I’m a sucker for Death icons, so a mass of Death Speedsters, well that’s fun with a CAPITAL F!

But, did we need another Wally gets to whine story?

Sorry, this wasn’t the finest arc of the Death Metal Saga.

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶

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Death Metal #4 ‘Shot In The Dark’

Writer: Scott ‘Scream King’ Snyder Artist: Greg ‘The Muscle’ Capullo Inks: Jonathan ‘Bloodied’ Glapion

“So, ever wonder why you never see A Harley Who Laughs’?’

———————————————————————————————————

And, that Gentle Readers, is the crux of one of those puzzles about this series… Why don’t we ever see more twisted versions of the Villains who infest Earth Prime?

The Robin King (this is the character who rates SECOND on my memorable Characters list, especially with his own One-Shot—— Who’s First?? Time, Gentle Ones in time…) puts the explanation out there, and it is very simple.

And worth the read… But, I digress.

So, Issue 4 picks up with Sergeant Rock describing what has been happening on Earth - Prime, and we finally get to see who has been carrying him around… AMBUSH BUG! Yes, the character that made the Fourth Wall more transparent than an open Anderson window has been carrying Rock around as his own personal narrator…

Which, if you know the Bug, is a joke unto itself.

So, here we go, the ride is picking up steam, and we are now following 6, count’em SIX, separate story lines. A guy could get whiplash, or Bullwhip or some other third rate character… But, I digress.

We have the Trinity storyline, the SpeedMetal storyline, Multiverse’s End, and the Lantern Storyline from the last issue, the Justice League / Legion of Doom story… am I forgetting anything?

Oh, and of course, the Robin King.

Where to start with this… I guess the simplest place to start is the artwork.

Greg Capullo’s pencils are absolutely wonderful. For anybody who it's to watch the process of drawing I want to watch so he's got a really wonderful touch I recommend Greg Capullo’s Instagram site. As he's drawing pages for these books, he posts the pencils as he finishes pieces of the process . Normally, he has six or seven photo panels showing exactly what he's been doing. In man cases, this involves crowd scenes, with extensive detail. His work is beautiful, it’s easy to see why he is such a sought after talent.

Jonathan Glapion’s inks on Capullo’s pencils are comparable to Austin on Byrne, and Janson over Miller, Janson over Colan… Enhancing, and not hiding the intricate detail rendered in the pencils, adding that last flash of lightning to bring it all together. The balance struck between them is almost organic, a constant growth between the two, bringing them to levels bordering on the true Classic Art teams of the last 50 years.

I do not make these comparisons lightly

Now, to the story. Scott Snyder is powering a roller coaster with a rocket sled. The coordination between the different aspects of these stories is both intricate and daring. With all the different aspects of this story spinning like plates on sticks, Snyder juggles the plot lines, and what is left to him by the myriad of writers as Emmet Kelly did in the heyday of Ringling Brothers.

His deft touch, and subtle influences are balanced by lace covered sledgehammer blows, leaving the reader reeling, and wanting so very much more.

Scott Snyder, much like Tom Taylor, has pulled out all the stops, cut the brake lines, kicked out the jams, insert favorite euphemism for creating a high speed, non-stop mad ride to Hell!

And, much to my wallet’s chagrin, I am very happy about it.

Now, as it crosses to other books, and other writers pick up the reins, I am sure Snyder will still be the whip hand driving the story, not allowing some of these writers to go too far astray (unless it’s Tom King… then, well Woo Hoooo!)

I can’t say enough good things about this story, or the team creating it. I’m beginning t feel a little biased, but, what the heck.

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

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Death Metal: Robin King #1 ‘The Robin Who Would Be King’

Writer: Peter J. Tomasi Artist: Riley Rossmo

‘Aw! Come on, this is the fun part!

Get up and let’s FIGHT!’

———————————————————————————————————

Games, within games, within games…

So, the Batman who Laughs wasn’t infallible.

And the Robin King is going to be the bigger threat to the Darkest Knight than any combination of the Trinity, Flashes or their cohorts.

At least, that’s my takeaway from this issue.

We continue the story of the Robin King, as started in the Tales of the Dark Universe one shot. Bruce has grown up, and grown into his sociopathy, and genius. He has used the family fortune to get all the training necessary, and to accumulate all the tools, to begin his reign as the true Evil Overlord of Gotham.

Utilizing his accumulated weapons, he has taken out Commissioner Gordon, Firestorm, Animal Man, Adam Strange Blue Beetle (Ted Kord), and the Red Tornado, all in truly spectacular and extraordinarily grisly fashion.

While the Black Hole Implosion for Firestorm was a particularly well thought out death, I think, so far, the ‘Mortal Coil’ Death, for the Red Tornado was the most imaginative… making his powers totally uncontrollable, while moving him closer to his ultimate dream, to be a real person, before his form totally destroys itself from the stresses of his own speed.

Marvelous! Fantastic! Gross!

Enter the Batman who Laughs, with the proposition to make the Robin King special, one of his own…

But, he’s a Robin, so, off to the Groblin Pit he goes!

Hence, his mistake, and possibly another chink in the boiler plate of his plans… since Bruce Wayne is NO Robin!

Peter Tomasi’s scripting for this issue is simply remarkable. The creep factor he brings to this iteration of Bruce Wayne is almost eviscerating. Reading this was painful to my eyes and psyche, feeling the levels of insanity drip off the page, and scratch across my mind like a little bird’s unnaturally sharp talons.

He really hit all the horror factors.

Then, there was the artwork for this story. Riley Rossmo’s artwork set the mood for this story. His shattered pencil / inks style, which can be distracting, was integral to telling this story. It allowed the Reader to view this story as if it were playing out in Bruce’s mind, its all the fracturing being how he is viewing the world.

For me, this story has been the highlight of the series… thus far. I am anticipating this, which is near the midpoint of things, is setting up the Wednesday Night Episode…so, -

Tune In, Gentle Readers!

Same Bat-Time

Same Bat Channel!

The Best Is Yet To Come!

Did I neglect there is a B-story, with Signal, Spoiler, Orphan and Red Robin taking on Quietus, the amalgam of Batman Ras’ al Ghul and Duke Thimas, from another Dark Universe, written by Tony Patrick and drawn by Daniel Sampere?

This story brings in a plot line for ‘What’s happening for the Other Bat-Family Elements’, as they try to find their way through Castle Bat’s myriad streets…

I am guessing we will start to see more of these stories.

I am completely fine with this, rather than having to recap things later…

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

#dark nights: death metal #DC comics #Batman Who Laughs #Scott Snyder #Greg Capullo

21 notes · View notes

slashermom · 4 years

Note

Goomba, I will not be cucked!! I must have a follow-up to your Collector x killer!Reader HCs!!! How does it turn into a relationship?? What happens when Asa finds out they are the killer he’s been looking for?!?! Inquiring minds need to know!!!

And the adventure continues...

Part 1 :)

It wasn’t long for you to become the center of attention to the small group of professors, PhDs, and students in the entomology program.

You had told the department you were conducting research on behalf of Dr. Connery. Who was supposed to be here but allegedly fallen ill.

A man Asa had met on a few occasions at the yearly conventions and when their paths crossed while doing research.

Asa wasn’t sure what got under his skin about you.

You were courteous and polite, albeit a bit too sure of yourself but you were careful not to step on Asa’s feet.

But besides this sting he felt in his mind when he saw you, Asa didn’t immediately find anything interesting about you. Other, more important things were preoccupying his headspace.

There had been two other murders in the weeks following the package that was left in his office. Both of which seemed closer to the university.

You were closing in on him.

These two murders were also particularly violent. Were you angry with him for not acknowledging you? Or maybe you were putting these people on such a beautifully vulgar display for him?

The more he loose ends he tried to tie up the more seemed to fall into his lap.

As he went about his days, Asa began to notice your presence become more prevalent in the department. Everywhere he turned, you were making waves in one way or another.

You often had a group of eager students hovering around you when you were conducting research. Something Asa wouldn’t have tolerated for a second. He thought it was silly and disruptive but you enjoyed the company of the students. They were also great to weasel information out of.

As you were putting on a pair of gloves a student made an off-hand comment that Dr. Emory is often referred to as being the curmudgeon of the entomology department.

You laughed and agreed with the nickname. But as if right on a cue, Asa entered the research lab to go over his own hypothesis as you were about to begin talking to the group of students about Heliconius butterflies.

You two established eye contact for a second and you took in how different his eyes looked. You could hide a million different things in those eyes. But unfortunately for him, you knew just where to look.

Asa quickly moved his eyes away from yours as if he could tell you were looking through his façade and looked over your shoulder at the students. You smirked to yourself and began speaking.

“Let me simplify things before we really dig deep. You know how there’s always that one really pushy guy or that one overzealous girl at the bar who just won’t leave you the hell alone?”

Asa watched as students nod and smile among themselves with a tightening in his chest.

“What if you could somehow advertise or wear something that said you were off-limits and will screw up their whole night if they try anything funny and still look good while doing it?”

The group leaned forward as you pulled a glass display box forward with a smile on your face.

“Well, that’s what these little guys do best.”

You went into detail about the different colors and patterns the Heliconius butterflies sport; adding your own twist to keep the audience engaged.

Finally finishing up with the last small details of your own study you promised the group that if they come back tomorrow you would talk to them about their evolution and genetics as well as what your research has found.

The pupils began to trickle out of the bright room one after another leaving him to study you as you tucked all the display cases back into their rightful spots with care.

Something was gnawing at Asa.

He didn’t really care that the students seemed to be enjoying the labs and their work way more with you around.

Or that you got along well with other staff in the department and seemed to engage in meaningful/academically challenging conversations with just about everyone.

It was the power you held over everyone in a room without even trying.

You had them wrapped around your finger and you knew it too.

And it burned him.

He quickly scooted out of the room before you had the chance to strike up a conversation with him. He had some thinking to do.

Asa’s head seemed to be awfully full these days. Too many questions and not enough answers.

With his own collecting being put on hold, the unknown serial killer hot on his trail, and now you taking over a section of his mind - Asa was going feral.

Later on that day, he caught you leaning against the frame of an office door talking to a clearly distressed student. Nodding as she frantically explains her situation and her troubles.

Everything about your posture and what words he could make out screamed overcompensated sympathy. The emotions you were pushing never reached your eyes and Asa took note of it.

The young woman’s shoulders finally relaxed and she thanked you before she saw Asa staring at the two of and hurrying out.

“Office hours are used to help students with their academics. Not their emotional turmoil.”

“Mind your business, Bug Boy.” You scoffed at the older man before brushing past him.

He could smell your shampoo as you walked away from him without bothering to spare him another moment of your attention.

He was surprised at the amount of restraint it took for him not to grab you by the back of your shirt and make you realize your not the only one in this building with a lust for power and control.

As he stood in the hallway thinking about that interaction, something felt extremely off. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but his gut was screaming at him.

He’ll have to engage with you up closer.

He waited until the next day and knew he could find you puttering about the lab with a bunch of sad excuses for entomology majors.

Asa hovered in the doorway as your voice filtered into his ears. He took note of how you maneuvered your way around tables and counters. Obsidian eyes lingering on your hips and as you unknowingly backed up towards him as you talked.

You were in your element and he couldn’t resist interjecting into your impromptu lesson about Heliconius’ genetic pathways. He wanted to see you flustered.

“But even so, wouldn’t co-mimetic Heliconius butterflies species be generated by similar adjustments to the same pathways?” He stepped deeper into the room as you whipped around to see who had interrupted. Asa watched you falter for a second and a smile threatened to creep on to his face. It took only a second for you to regain composure.

“You would think so, but no. After removing a specific gene in all three co-mimetic pairs they had dramatically different wing coloring and pattern.” You explained as you picked up a packet of paper and rounded the table to get closer to him.

“Which supports that even vastly different pathways can lead to the same wing pattern.” You now stood completely in front of him. Even though you were a good deal shorter than him, you talked and acted like you were the biggest in the room.

“Read the paperwork. It all checks out.” You held out a gloved hand with a neat packet of paper for the older man to take. Asa felt his upper lip twitch as his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose.

He took the packet away from you as you turned back to the group and continued on like he wasn’t even there to begin with.

Asa read and reread your notes several times before grinding his teeth together.

You were right.

You were right and if there’s anything that Asa Emory hates most in the world it’s to be wrong.

He set the packet down and left the room to go get some work done lick his wounds.

It wouldn’t be later that day when everyone was getting ready to head out when he would stumble into you again. You were making a cup of coffee before leaving and smiled when you saw him enter the lounge out of the corner of your eye.

After letting him stare at your back for a good minute, you turned to face the older man. You could see a conflict running it’s course through his mind and just couldn’t help yourself.

“Something bothering you, Dr. Emory? I’m sorry but office hours are not to be used for emotional tur-“

You weren’t able to finish your snide remark before weighty hands found purchase in your waist and forcefully backed you up against the counter.

A pair of dominating lips finding yours in a matter of seconds as he pushed more of his weight up against you. A guttural sound escaped the man as you reciprocated the action.

Not only was it an act of physical intimidation but also one of pure primal need.

Your hand slid behind his coat and pressed a warm hand against the muscle hidden underneath his dress shirt. His skin tingled where ever you ran your digits and Asa found himself seeking out more of your affection.

Squeezing your hips tightly in hopes that the skin will bruise and become discolored, that you’ll be forced to remember he did this to you.

He was the first to pull away. Eyes flicking down to your lips then back up to yours. You took a moment before you fully opened them and a grin carved its way on to your glistening lips.

And in that moment Asa wanted nothing more than to fuck the smugness out of you on the entomology lounge counter.

You were driving him absolutely mad. In more ways the one.

But he doesn’t know that yet.

From that point forward, your relationship was less of a cat and mouse game and more of a dance.

You often sat in his office and went over different hypotheses and data. Enjoying the challenge each of you presented to one another.

He’s began the action of hovering directly behind you while you work. Just to remind he has you beat when it came to the physical department.

You would just brush up against him in the right places and remind him that you weren’t scared of him.

This relationship was working out quite nicely but your brain was nagging at you.

Your whole reason for being here was to understand Asa, study his habits, and then remove him from your list of problems.

Not fuck him.

But you weren’t complaining. Frankly, you enjoyed his company more than you thought you ever would.

You wondered how long you could keep this going until he found out who you were.

Quite some time you wagered.

But the sadistic killer in Asa had other ideas.

As he organizing things on his desk he caught a glimpse of your handwriting and a wave of realization washed over him.

Rummaging through the contents of his desk he pulled out the small note card that he had received with the package all those weeks ago.

Asa put the two pieces of writing together and it clicked.

You were the one.

Strange enough, Asa found that he was more angry with himself for not realizing sooner than he was at you for lying to him.

Well, this is quite the development. He now had some decisions to make.

He’s wasn’t gonna kill you. No, that would be such a waste of a raw ferocity and intelligence.

Plus, the fun had only just begun between you two.

Asa’s gonna keep this little discovery to himself. Gonna let this dance you two have going continue.

But now he’s gonna lead it and he can’t wait to watch you fall.

#im sorry #theres been a huge fucking spike in asa content lately and i couldnt resist #this is such a s(crap)#have a groovy wednesday

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bldreamer · 4 years

Text

Soccer Love | TT

TharnType:

Summary: Tharn surprises Type at his soccer match. It doesn’t exactly go to plan. Genre: Hurt/Comfort. EmotionallyBruised!Tharn. Warnings: Descriptions of a bloody nose.

A/N: Because I’m bitter we never got to see Tharn in the stands at a footie match. And thank you always to @kdramama.

Two months into their official official relationship, after the breakups and makeups, after the fights and the tears and the soft whispers of I love you’s, something rather shocking occurs to Tharn.

He realizes, one breezy Wednesday afternoon, that’s he’s never seen Type play a soccer match. Not up close, anyway.

Not because he doesn’t want to or because he doesn’t care. Simply because they’re in completely different faculties at university and their schedules never line up. Honestly speaking, they’re lucky if they get time to meet up for lunch once a week.

Type usually hates surprises, but Tharn hopes he’ll like this one. His afternoon classes have been canceled due to some AC issues in the music building so Tharn follows the steps down to the university field, butterflies in his stomach. He remembers Type saying that morning that he might be home late after the match if the team has something to celebrate. Tharn hopes he can be Type’s good luck charm and celebrate with them.

The stands are crowded in some places and empty in others, the match already underway. Tharn doesn’t spot Type right away and he doesn’t want to barge to the bottom step next towards the player's benches and risk making Type nervous.

Not that he’s the kind to get nervous. Then again, Tharn didn’t think he was either and yet he can feel his stomach doing backflips as he shuffles through the spectators.

Tharn settles on a spot roughly halfway down near a group of cheering girls holding banners. Tharn doesn’t know if he’s proud of jealous when he spots Type’s name on one of them.

He decides on the former and shakes his head fondly, eyes turning back to the pitch and the scattered players who all look the same from afar.

Save for one.

Dark hair, fierce eyes, sunkissed skin. The way he moves on the pitch, graceful and fluid. Tharn would recognize those toned legs anywhere.

He smiles at the sight, not at all surprised. Type is shouting at one of the players on the opposing team, ready to start a fight. Techno standing in between them as usual, trying to defuse the situation. Champ coming up from behind to step in if he needs to.

The referee comes in and barks at Type and the other player, waving his yellow and red cards at them. They quickly dissipate in opposite directions on the field, Techno patting Type on the back while he grumbles something no doubt full of swear words, and the game continues.

Tharn sits with his hands clasped together, knees bouncing nervously, watching the back and forth of the ball. He doesn’t pay the other players much attention, eyes focused on one in particular. His narrow waist and tanned thighs.

Tharn doesn’t know much about soccer, the positions, and the play, but he does know to cheer like he’s watching his gladiator defeat a rabid lion when Type skillfully kicks the ball into the net, scoring his team a goal.

He rises to his feet -as do the girls next to him- clapping his hands together hard enough to hurt in the excitement.

Type dives into the circle of teammates around him in celebration. Tharn places his fingers in his mouth to whistle, not anticipating it to be quite so loud.

Tharn watches as Type’s head whips around, eyes squinting in his direction. He leaves his circle of teammates and approaches the edge of the pitch. Angry frown clear as day and suddenly Tharn’s surprise seems like a huge mistake.

He wonders if he sits down quickly and quietly, whether he’ll get away with it until the end of the match. Maybe slip out before he’s caught for definite. He’s wearing the same white shirt as everyone else around him and it’s not like he has any distinctive features, he could lie and pretend he wasn’t even here.

Tharn isn’t sure if their relationship is common knowledge to the whole team or just Type’s close friends. He hasn’t asked and he doesn’t want to push it. He and Type have been getting back on their feet, finding themselves again as individuals and as a couple. They both have a lot of history to move on from and it’s no use in rushing Type into something if he isn’t ready. Tharn doesn’t want to do anything to risk losing him again. The mere thought of doing something that would upset Type makes his throat constrict.

“Tharn?!” Type shouts.

Tharn’s heart pounds in his ears, flashbacks of Type telling him he feels like a joke, he feels like he’s losing himself, he feels like he hates himself, running through his mind.

“Hey, asshole!” Someone yells in the background. “Are we playing or not?”

“Fuck off, I’m coming!” Type barks at them, before turning back. “Ey, Tharn!” he repeats, hand waving in the air. Frustrated confusing melting into a grin.

Tharn feels weak at the knees at the relief, smiling back, when out of the corner of his eye he sees the ball fly through the air and hit Type square on the side of his face.

The crowd of girls gasp in unison.

Type’s knees buckle and his teammates run towards him in slow motion.

Someone blows a whistle in the distance and Tharn feels frozen until he sees the blood. Pouring down Type’s chin as he grabs his nose, face twisted in pain as he drops to the ground.

Tharn’s feet are moving down the steps before he realises he’s even blinked.

“Type? Type!” he stammers.

There’s a fight starting on the pitch, half of Type’s teammate's verses a handful of the opposition.

“Fucking asshole! You are fucking dead!” Type promises from the floor. Words muffled but as ferocious as ever.

“Type!” Tharn calls, rushing towards the small crowd around him.

“Mother fucker!” Type grumbles, Techno knelt in front of him, face panicked.

“Is it broken?” Techno flails. “Oh, shit. Is your nose broken?”

“How the fuck should I know?!” Type whines through his nostrils. “Fuck!”

“Type,” Tharn says, swallowing the lump in his throat. Too afraid to push through to reach his boyfriend. His friend. His roommate. Whatever he’s supposed to be in front of all these people.

He takes a shuddering breath, fists clenched by his sides.

Like a moth to a flame, Type’s pain-filled eyes find him in the melee.

Tharn is moving before he can think. “Type?” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Tharn,” Type growls in reply and his teammates step back, like a parting sea. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Me?”

“You distracted me, asshole!”

His teammates laugh, one of them patting Tharn on the shoulder, pushing him forward.

Tharn’s fingers start to shake. Type is hurt and Type is angry.

“Are you okay?” Tharn murmurs, bending down. Unsure if he’s okay to touch, to cup Type’s cheek, to pull him to his chest as he bleeds.

“No!” Type barks back in his face.

Behind them, Champ pulls off his soccer jersey and bends down in front of Type, prying his hand away from his nose.

“Ah, shit!” Type yells when Champ pokes at his face before pushing his bunched up t-shirt into it. Each wince like a knife in Tharn’s gut.

“It’s not broken, but keep the pressure on,” Champ says, looking across at Tharn who nods.

Tharn cups the back of Type’s neck and pushes the fabric over his nose, pinching the bridge underneath to stop the bleeding. Type grumbles at him, eyes glaring. Tharn is just grateful he finally has a reason to touch him, even if he’s cursed the whole time.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers so that only Type can hear. His words catch in his throat. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m so sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” Type asks, voice at a normal volume despite how nasal he sounds.

“I wanted to see you play. I didn’t think it through.”

Type’s hand grips his wrist. “I’ve been dropping hints for weeks that I wanted you to come sometime.”

Tharn shakes his head, he shouldn’t have come.

“I always thought you were busy,” Type pouts. “So I stopped nagging.”

“I thought you were telling me when you had matches so I’d know not to wait up?”

“No, idiot.”

“You wanted me to come watch you play?” Tharn repeats.

“Mh, I just thought I’d actually be playing the ball, not be blindsided by it. And you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know I hate surprises.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry, asshole.” Type scoffs, “We should just buy an ice machine for the apartment at this point.”

“For your injuries, or for…”

“Shut up.”

The referee blows his whistle again in the distance, calling something about a penalty. Type’s teammates cheer above them.

“Does that mean you won?” Tharn guesses, but only from the reactions around them.

Type chuckles, pulling Champ’s t-shirt and Tharn’s hand away from his face. He’s covered in blood, his top lip is bruised and there’s a small cut across his nose. But he’s no longer bleeding and he’s smiling which Tharn counts as a win.

Type holds Tharn’s chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I listen to you drone on about music, it’s time you listened to me while I educate you on the love of my life.”

“Deal,” Tharn smiles. “As long as it comes second place to your other love.”

Type smirks. “Don’t count on it, asshole.” He moves to stand with the help of Techno and Tharn hovers close as he walks back towards the pitch.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m taking my free kick,” Type informs him, wiping his hand under his nose, grimacing at the dried blood.

“You’re still playing?” Tharn says, like he’s insane.

“That’s how a penalty usually works,” Type tuts.

“Well, technically, I could take it for you,” Techno offers.

“Fuck off,” Type sniggers, pushing his friend off and walking on his own towards his other teammates waiting for him. He turns over his shoulder from afar, “Sit down over there,” he says, nodding at the players bench, “And watch me crush these guys.”

“Your fans will get jealous,” Tharn smirks, hearing the girls from earlier cheering.

“Who needs fans when I have a boyfriend?” Type shrugs, grinning ear to ear.

~Fin.

#tharntype #tharntype the series #My writing

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wwwafflewrites · 4 years

Text

A Rewrite of History

Chapter 6—Phantom Traveler (Part 2)

The first ten minutes, you felt lousy. Lousy, and also scared stiff. Why shouldn't you be? This plane was going to take the plunge in a little over a half and hour, and these people had no idea, save you and the Winchesters. And even they didn't really know the extent of it. They probably thought they could exorcise the demon before much happened.

"Just try to relax."

"Just try to shut up."

The engines whirred, shaking the plane as it lifted itself into the air.

The plane was dreadfully quiet. There were some murmurs here and there throughout the plane, but you tuned into the conversation to your left. Dean was fidgeting in his seat, humming Metallica. “I hate freaking airplanes.”

You couldn’t agree with him more.

You had roughly thirty minutes until this plane began the skydive, and there wasn't much to do but wait. Wait for the Winchesters to fumble around and finally find the demon.

You actually knew the latin pretty well—the 'Rituale Romanum'. You had practiced it back in your younger years, being superstitious and all. It was a phase where you carried salt in your bag and whispered Christo to passersby. As cringeworthy as the phase was, it was coming in handy now. Now that demons actually existed outside of your dreams.

As time extended, you became uncomfortable. A ball of pain in your stomach like a little knot, which was slowly tightening. Then, you realised: you were on your damn period. Of all freaking places. You squirmed in your seat, wondering if you could sneak those pads from out of your travel bag.

"Hey, I'm sorry, miss. You just look very uncomfortable. Is something wrong?"

You stiffened, just barely turning enough to see a kind, concerned lady behind Dean Winchester.

Hearing the question, Dean managed to suck in a breath and peer over at you, curious as well.

Nosy Winchesters.

You clenched and unclenched your fist, a nervous habit of yours. You needed to throw him off from looking at you anymore. He had too good a view of your face for your comfort, and you became self conscious of your disguise.

So, you told her the truth. "Just, uh, you know, feminine issues."

Dean looked away quickly.

You weren’t surprised. Sure, it could have partially been him realizing he was wrong to eavesdrop (no, who were you kidding), but this was 26 year-old Dean Winchester, who avoided chick flick moments better than he avoided monsters, and was very protective of his masculinity.

It was a good strategy: make him uncomfortable, and he was less likely to pay you any notice. Like how most people skipped over kissing couples in almost every spy movie ever. PDA worked to make most people overlook you, and so did periods.

This was probably the only moment in your life you could ever say bless freaking periods.

The lady made a little 'o' with her mouth and turned down the volume of her voice. "Oh, do you need something?" When you nodded, she kindly offered some supplies.

You thanked her and headed over to the bathroom, feeling relieved to finally escape that little space. Your heart was fluttering in your chest, and you needed to calm the frick down before you had a demon cramming itself down your throat.

Brightside was that the Winchesters didn't know it was you. That felt good, at least. Your disguise wasn't anything that significant, but it was working nonetheless. You kind of felt like Clark Kent, in that way.

And Dean is Batman.

You snickered to yourself, feeling a bit better. The hilarity of it all was helping.

Yeah, you thought, Dean is Batman.

///

The Winchesters were finally starting to ask the right questions. Who was it possessing?

You knew fully well, having watched the entire show, that the 'chink the armor' thing was a bunch of BS. Unless this demon just had its own rules versus other demons in the future. Or maybe it was just... weaker?

Or maybe this universe just bent with the rules of the show—it didn't matter whether its rules in the supernatural were a constant or not.

The Winchesters started focusing on Amanda, which wasn't a terrible guess. It was her first flight since the crash, after all.

Of course, you knew that it wasn’t her, so the entire time you felt like rolling your eyes as you eavesdropped. Dean brought out the holy water and you nearly snorted. It was crazy to believe they, the Winchesters, were ever once amateurs.

Sam tells Dean to use 'Christo', and sends him to the back to speak with Amanda.

In the meantime, you tried to recite the exorcism in your head.

Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas... omnis incursio infernalis adversarii… omnis... legio, omnis... congregatio et secta diabolica.

That was the easiest part. You paused, concentrating. Was it argo or ergo? You couldn’t quite remember. ...omnis legio diabolica… something something decipere humanas creaturas.

So… you were a little rusty.

You glanced over, wishing you could just get your hands on that exorcism. Alas, that might look a little suspicious to Sam Winchester, sitting not two feet from the book on Dean’s seat.

You didn’t have to wake long for Dean to return. "Alright, well she has gotta be the most well-adjusted person on the planet."

You hide the small smile that comes along your face. You really missed Season 1 Dean Winchester.

Sam is talking with him in murmurs as you try to compose yourself and your love for these boys. Despite the fact that they’re pretty keen on gutting you the next time you show your face.

Some turbulence rattles the plane and Dean tenses. "Come on, that can't be normal!" you hear, then there are some angry hushes between them.

But you know what they’re saying to each other: "You are wide open to demonic possession."

With that, Dean takes a few exaggerated, deep breaths. It’s not very convincing, but the demon didn’t take him on, so. Yeah.

It was sort of comical that none of the other passengers heard their conversations. Like, Sam Winchester was literally talking about exorcism, and the rest of the plane was in La La Land.

Despite having a lower voice, you could hear them both pretty clearly. Rituale Romanum, two parts, blah blah, expels demon—manifest—more powerful. Second part sends it back to hell. You were pretty sure they used a shorter exorcism later in the show… but whatever.

Dean brings out his signature EMF meter he’d built out of a walkman. Man, you loved that thing.

And soon enough, he was trying to covertly scan the plane. Of course, he was terrible at hiding it. Any hunter could see what it was, and any passenger was more than agitated by the weird sweeps of Dean’s hands.

The meter swept at your head and you looked up at him and tried to send him a convincing ‘wtf’ look. All the while, your brain was saying ‘scanny scanny’.

Your body was in a confusing state of boredom and anxiety, and you didn’t know how else to deal with it other than fidgeting in your seat.

Sam scared Dean by grabbing his shoulders, and you realize shit is about to go down pretty soon.

"Anything?"

"No, nothing. How much time we got?"

"Fifteen minutes."

"Maybe we missed somebody."

By cue, the EMF meter lights up red. Of course, you can’t hear it, but you swear you could feel the ‘whrhhrrhe whwehrrhhw’ sound of it in your bones.

The flight attendant comes out in sync, and the Winchesters freeze.

You couldn’t help it: you mouthed "Christo" just as Dean says it, and the flight attendant's eyes flash black.

///

There is twelve minutes left. Twelve minutes until the plane plummets and hopefully you don’t crash.

Frick. You weren’t ready for this.

You decide that focusing on what’s happening is the best way to focus, so you watch as the Winchesters go in the back to talk with Amanda. Who then are swallowed into the curtains, leaving you with the civilians.

You curse to yourself. Sam took the book with him. Of course, he did. Duh.

There are two knots in your chest now: one from your physical period, and the other from your anxiety, which weave together into one tangle. Suddenly, it's a little harder to breathe on the stuffy airplane.

Your heart rate spiked and you jumped a little as Amanda came out to go and fetch the flight attendant. Your minutes were dwindling.

The flight attendant passed by and you weren’t sure what to do anymore. Should you go help? That would certainly defeat the purpose of a disguise.

Watching the show, you’d always thought this part was so much louder. After all, the commotion was only covered by some thin curtains. You had always wondered why the civilians weren’t more concerned.

In that way, you were partially correct. The fight in the back certainly alarmed most passengers, but Amanda nervously guarded the doorway.

And then, the book was thrown into the aisle. You snatched it, bracing yourself.

Your stomach dropped, and screams erupted from all around the plane.

I’m falling I’m falling I’m falling.

You had a death grip on the seats around you as you tried to focus on the shaking words in your hands.

“Terribilis!” you shouted above the screaming. Oh my God, I’m falling. “Deus de... sanctuario suo! Deus... Israhel ipse truderit virtutem! Et fortitudinem plebi... Suae. Benedictus deus!” You barely kept your balance, bellowing the last words: “Gloria patri!”

Thunder shook the plane out and soon it was coasting normally again. If planes even coasted.

Everyone was shaken. The Winchesters lined their eyes up with you, glancing from the book to your face. You don’t see hatred, however, so they didn’t recognize you.

///

You were really hoping to leave the area without the Winchesters tagging behind. You did everything you could to disappear, but to no avail, they caught up with you.

Dean was at your side, just walking for about ten seconds before he said anything. There was no way the strategy they were using to corner you wasn’t creepy. At least you knew they didn’t really mean it like that.

The vibes you were getting from them wasn’t all that friendly, though. They were suspicious and rightly so. A hunter just happened to be on the same flight as them? Coincidences were never coincidences, and you couldn’t agree more.

“So, how long have you been hunting?” Dean asked carefully. Not how, not why, just when. You could respect that kind censorship: respecting boundaries and avoiding triggers. The boys both knew how to charm people—that was for sure.

You sighed, blowing up your cheeks a little, “Oh… about a month.”

You could see their dad’s journal peeking out from Dean’s pocket.

Both of their eyebrows raised, rocking back on their heels a little. “And you could recite an exorcism? There was no way you could read that thing. I could hardly read the exit sign.”

You thought about your lonely ass watching Supernatural, trying to say the chantations as the Winchesters did. “You could say I’ve had some practice.” Hell, you learned it from them. “Anyway, there was only a little left to recite.”

You nudged Dean, knocking the journal from his pocket and into your trench coat. “You guys did most of the work.”

You were despicable.

They look impressed. “You’ve hunted demons?”

That was a bit of a funny question, coming from the Winchesters. And also an unexpected one. In response, you got flustered. “Oh—no,” you said quickly.

Sam's eyes wandered, settling on your bag. First, his eyebrows twitched in recognition, and then he went rigid, bringing his eyes to meet yours in realization.

You felt your blood rush. "You know… I should probably get going." With that you turned tail and fled for your life. Again.

Why does it always go like this? Like, shit, c’mon already. This isn’t Tom and Jerry.

"Dean! She—!" Sam yelled and took off. "The bag!"

"What?!" Dean shouted in confusion. He was distant but loud.

"The bag! It's her bag!"

"Her—" Dean trailed off, panting as they both chased you. He knew, then. He recognized it, too.

You rounded a corner, then slammed into the chest of a man. You gasped, nearly falling on your rear, yet his hand got your arm and there was a distorted flutter.

You made out a blur of a beige trench coat just at your eye level, and you knew who it was. Dean was not kidding when he said angel travel sucked.

You curled into yourself, cradling your head. That had seriously messed with your ears, and now you just felt dizzy. You choked on a little bile, but you weren’t nauseous enough to actually vomit. You just really wanted to.

A stoic voice said, “I have transported you to your car.” Before you could respond he was gone.

You were alone once again.

///

Tag: @rosaren2498 , @pillowjj , @busy-bee-angel-misska , @elle-r , @dagnylokisdottir , @omg-we-really-doo , @millieccino

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honestlyhufflepuff · 4 years

Text

The Sleep and Secrets Between Them

Jam Week Day 3: Sleep. Summary: The events of “Escapism” and moments thereafter from Connie’s perspective. Yes, there’s angst, but hopefully that makes the moments of fluff and closeness all the sweeter. Word count: 2038.

***

They slept as much as they could in the tower. It helped fight off the boredom, the aching hunger, and the despair. The air was stagnant and hot, and the floor hard and unforgiving. There were no sweet Pebbles who made the last room they stayed in feel so much like home. The two of them cycled between sleeping tangled in each other’s arms for some source of softness and comfort and sleeping on the concrete alone to avoid the sweat and heat of the other.

Steven being able to astrally project was the only hope they had of rescue, which is why she so willingly offered her lap as a pillow. She started regretting this sooner than she’d hoped, her legs aching against the hard floor under Steven’s weight. He remained eerily still in his slumber. His breathing came so soft that she placed her hand in front of his lips several times to ensure he was still alive. The earth was an unfathomable distance away, and Connie wondered what would happen to them if he couldn’t find help, or if he couldn’t find his way back to his body.

She shook her head violently, rejecting all the grim possible outcomes of their situation. She had to continually choose to believe in Steven. Dwelling on the alternatives was not productive.

Hours passed, and still Steven slept. Connie’s eyelids grew heavy, and several times her head snapped up before she almost fell forward on top of him with exhaustion.

She picked up Steven’s hand and dropped it a couple of times. It always landed heavy and limp, with no indication of stirring. She nodded, confident she wouldn’t wake him, and slid her hands under each arm. With a few heaving pulls, she got him close enough to the wall that she could rest against it. She lowered his head to the floor and attempted to stand to stretch her legs.

Connie buckled on her knees immediately, wincing as pins and needles shot through her awakening blood vessels. She limped and stomped around the room, cursing under her breath, until she regained sensation in her limbs. She paced around the lengths of her prison, hating that all she could do was wait while her passed out best friend relied on his iffy psychic powers for their rescue. Her stomach roared at her and her throat burned for moisture. Serial murderers got more humane living conditions than this on earth.

“Stupid space-nazi bitches,” she muttered to herself.

It felt like a warranted situation to cuss in, being in prison and all. Despite that, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her mom could hear her from light-years away.

With a sigh, she resigned to sit back down and wait for Steven to return.

Leaning against the wall, she pulled his head back into her lap, making sure to sit with her legs to the side so they wouldn’t lose feeling as easily this time. She stroked his cheek, feeling a very faint island of stubble on otherwise baby-smooth skin. She straightened his pink clothes, which had gotten bunched and rumpled when she moved him over to her. She marveled at how naturally he donned the outfit and role of his late mother like it was just what he was supposed to do.

“Steven,” she croaked, clearing her parched throat, “I know you’re sorry for leaving me behind, back when you tried to go and sacrifice yourself, but I know you’d probably do it again if you knew I wouldn’t get pissed at you. You always want to shield everyone to the point that you try to do all the dangerous stuff alone while you leave them behind.”

Curls of hair stuck to his forehead, and she wiped them away. “I know you regret bringing me with you because you don’t want me to get hurt. But I chose to come here, because the earth is my home, too. I couldn’t stand to live in a bubble while you did all the hard things; I’d rather die. I might die. But if I do, it was my choice.

“If we don’t make it out of here- or if I don’t- I want you to know that it isn’t your fault. I want you to know that I’m ok with you making me like Lars, if you can, because I want to continue to fight for my planet for as long as I can.

She swallowed the lump of tears in her throat, not wanting to get dehydrated anymore than she could help it.

“I know your mind is back on earth, and I hope everything is going ok there, but I hope some part of you can still hear me. Because I want you to know that…” she let out a shaky exhale, looking for any sign of awareness in his face.

“I want you to know that I love you, Steven.” Despite her best efforts, a few tears finally spilled down her cheeks, “I know sometimes you think I don’t like you the same way you like me because I don’t care about marriage and romance that much, but I do. I love you so much that all those things that seem stupid and gross in romance stories seem beautiful and sweet when I see them through your eyes,” she choked out a laugh and wiped her face, “I hope someday I have the guts to tell you all this stuff when your consciousness is at least on the same planet as me.”

She leaned over his face and opened one of his eyelids, staring at his black pupil fully dilated and still. As she let his eye slide closed again, she pressed her lips gently against his forehead before sitting back up.

“You can’t hear me at all,” she said with a sigh, “That just means I’ll have to survive. Because you deserve to know. I’ll find a way to tell you when we’re back on earth.”

Connie leaned back and sleep overtook her in almost the same moment that she closed her eyes.

She woke what only seemed minutes later, but it must have been several hours judging from the low light outside. The nights were a little cooler on Homeworld, making snuggling more tolerable. She sighed against the softness of Steven’s bosom, and smiled as she felt his arms tighten around her. Then she realized that if he was holding her, that meant he was no longer in her lap. She bolted upright, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“You’re awake! You’re back! Steven, what happened?”

“Hey, Connie,” he said with a tired smile, “I found Bismuth and Dad. I hope they’re gonna be able to come.”

“And? What else? Details, Universe!”

“Details-” he scrunched up his face, “I think I possessed a watermelon person? And I think I died.”

“You-” Connie withdrew her hands from him, “you died?”

“Yeah,” he looked away from her, “I don’t really want to talk about it anymore, if that’s ok with you. It was kind of a weird experience.”

“Of course, that’s ok! I’m just glad you’re here.”

“What about you? Get into any trouble without me?” He offered her an attempt at a playful smile.

“I, um…”

She thought of her gushing monologue to his uninhabited body before and tried to think of how to say it now that his wide eyes were looking back at hers.

“Yeah?” Prompted Steven.

Connie couldn’t bring herself to tell him, because then it would sound like a goodbye, and she was not about to have any goodbyes in that damned, musty tower.

“Oh, you know, I just kind of dozed off,” she said.

“Heh,” his shoulders slumped, “yeah, I guess there isn’t much else to do.”

Conversation had always flowed easily between them. They used to relish every allowance to have a sleepover or stay up late into the night talking and goofing off.

It was a different dynamic in the tower, though. They had a few good conversations, and even a few sparse moments of laughter, but their interaction became more and more minimal as the heat from the next day crept into the dank room. They slept as much as they possibly could, and even when sleep didn’t come, they often pretended to be asleep as the thirst was making them both too groggy and irritable to attempt anymore interaction than necessary.

After they were released from the tower by Blue, Connie figured the most traumatic part of the journey was behind them, but then she watched Steven’s gem get ripped from his body. She carried him, right in front of White, who could crush her dead at any second with her pinky nail.

He almost died right there in her arms, and even after he reunited with his pink side, and after the gems were released from White’s power, there was still an unspoken seriousness between Connie and Steven that hadn’t been there before. It was only perceptible in the most quiet moments.

When they got back to earth, Connie insisted on still being able to sleep with Steven for a month straight. Her parents protested, saying it was “hardly appropriate,” but once Pearl informed them that she could keep watch since she didn’t need sleep, they seemed placated.

When the gems all wanted an account of how they won White over, Steven told a doctored version of the story where he used his shield to block her attack and talk to her, with no inclusion of the gem removal.

Whenever Connie began to grow uncomfortable with him telling that version of the story, he met her eyes with a knowing stare, communicating the gems couldn’t know what White did if there was any hope of peace and trust between them and the Diamonds. He wouldn’t even talk about it with Connie, insisting that it “didn’t matter” how he was affected by it because the outcome was a happy ending with everyone fine.

So, none of the adults in their lives knew the full reason why Connie insisted on sleeping next to Steven. None of them knew why he thrashed in his sleep almost every night until she calmed him. None of them knew why he raised his shield every time he was mildly startled.

Eventually, Steven had to go back to Homeworld, because the Diamonds lauded him as the Savior that had to teach them how to be better in order to not have an oppressive caste system that harvested entire planets.

Connie knew she couldn’t go with him that time, unless she just intended on dropping out of high school. Her parents wouldn’t be ok with that, but neither would she. She didn’t want to abandon her academic ambitions, her family, and her friends at school to go spend years on a planet that regarded her as little more than a “pet” at best, and someone to be discarded or imprisoned at worst.

It was odd, getting used to sleeping alone again when she’d grown so protective over Steven. She found herself waking up in the night clutching for him, as she dreamed of White’s inky talons ripping through her blankets after them.

Connie eventually got some counseling, and the dreams lessened until they hardly happened at all.

Still, she looked forward to the nights when Steven would warp into her room and wordlessly nuzzle against her under the covers, making her especially relieved her parents deemed her mature enough to have a lock on her door. Steven was always so tired the nights he came. Even when he tried to stay up to talk with her, his sentences would trail into incomplete mumbles until he fell asleep minutes later. She wondered how much sleep he was getting on the nights he didn’t come.

She noticed little changes in those quiet nights. More indications of facial hair. Broader shoulders. Longer limbs. A year after their events in the tower, he went from looking like an eight-year-old to a kid nearly his actual age. Now that he was no longer expected to be someone he wasn’t, he was finally growing.

She could sleep better knowing that.

#jamweek #connverse #yeah idk if a short drabble is happening this week guys #because once again i have no chill #and i am losing sleep over writing these cinnamon rolls #lizzywrites

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vinca-majors · 3 years

Link

Michaela Brown, ScaryMommy:

Upon graduating college with my hard-earned degree to teach high school English, I almost immediately began planning for my graduate studies. Lots of high schools around the country require their teachers to have a masters degree, so that was a motivator. Plus, it came with a pay raise. And, I truly enjoyed going to school. In fact, at the time, I hadn’t ruled out going on and earning my doctorate as well.

I did end up graduating with my M.A. in secondary education, after writing a thesis I’m damn proud of. My path changed a bit and I never went on for my doctorate, but you can be sure as hell if I had that I’d claim that Dr. title. That my students—even the grumpiest of teenagers whose eyes shot daggers at me as I made them read Shakespearean sonnets—would be calling me Dr. and not Mrs. or Miss.

And as I’ve encountered other professionals with that Dr. title, I’ve never hesitated to refer to them that way. My children’s formal principal went by Dr. Matthews. No one questioned it. I’ve had professors at the undergraduate and graduate level use the title. Again, that’s what we all called them. With respect. And without hesitation. Just as we refer to famous figures like a man we’ve all heard of—Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.— because each of these people put in the work, the years, the money, the commitment, and the dedication. Each of them earned their Dr. title.

So yeah, when Dr. Jill Biden completed her education and earned her Doctor of Education (Ed.D) from the University of Delaware, she rightfully earned the title “Dr.” and deserves to be referred to as such. Just as any other professional with that level of expertise does as well. Is she a medical doctor? No. Does she claim to be? No. Have professionals in academia added Dr. to their titles once they’ve earned their doctorate for centuries? Yes.

However, because some ignorant asswipes remain stuck in 1950, or don’t understand how higher education works, or simply are bound and determined to hate on the Bidens as they hated on the Obamas even though they are kind and supportive of others—regardless of political party, her title is under scrutiny.

The Wall Street Journal stupidly published an op-ed, which has now gone viral, that was moronically entitled, “Is There a Doctor in the White House? Not if You Need an M.D.” And, of course, this piece of trash essay included a byline that reads, “Jill Biden should think about dropping the honorific, which feels fraudulent, even comic.”

Joseph Epstein, the “writer” of this ignorant word vomit, opens by condescendingly calling Dr. Biden “kiddo” and offering her advice, as if he is in any position to advise the First Lady of the United States on literally anything. “Madame First Lady—Mrs. Biden—Jill—kiddo: a bit of advice on what may seem like a small but I think is a not unimportant matter,” Epstein mansplains.

He then goes on to insult her dissertation on student retention at community colleges, calling it “unpromising” and, in the same paragraph, refers to the idiotic but commonly used quip that no one can call themselves “doctor” unless they’ve delivered a child.

Let’s break this bullshittery down, shall we? First of all, Mr. Epstein, your piece reeks of envy. We’re sorry you didn’t have the… guts? courage? stamina? intelligence level? (who knows) to actually ever earn a doctorate, but you sound bitter. It’s not a good look. Also, it’s clear that you don’t respect the value of community colleges, which is where Dr. Biden has spent a large portion of her career. And, finally, the world now knows that you are threatened by smart women. Bravo.

Also, we’ll be sure to let all the medical doctors out there who’ve tirelessly fought COVID-19 this year, holding the hands of dying patients, and also those brilliant scientists who thankfully have brought us a vaccine that offers a beacon of hope, that they don’t get to call themselves “doctor” because they’ve never caught a newborn baby. I’m sure they’ll appreciate that tidbit of info from you—*checks notes*—a man with one single undergraduate degree, no earned doctorate, and zero medical expertise.

Basically, Mr. Epstein, it’s obvious that you have some personal issues you need to unpack. Maybe take some time over the holidays to do a little self-reflection? Like, why do you even care what title Dr. Biden goes by? Why are you so scared of women who are more successful than you?

Your piece then goes on a long, barely coherent rant about “honorary doctorates,” which is not what Dr. Biden has. If you’d like to blast the validity or point of bestowing honorary doctorates on celebrities like Stephen Colbert and Seth Meyers, for example, go right ahead, but that has nothing to do with Dr. Biden. This lack of cohesive argument is why I’ve referred to you as a “writer” a few paragraphs up, because it seems apparent that you don’t understand the need for basic textual support.

(Calling you a jealous asswipe, well, that’s just a reflection of your character.)

Finally, your last “supporting argument” (again, use of quotes intentional here) as to why Dr. Biden should drop her title is because apparently doctorates don’t count anymore. Back in the day, you explain, doctoral exams were far more grueling, but today’s candidates get off way too easy.

“One had to pass examinations in two foreign languages, one of them Greek or Latin, defend one’s thesis, and take an oral examination on general knowledge in one’s field,” your op-ed states. “At Columbia University of an earlier day, a secretary sat outside the room where these examinations were administered, a pitcher of water and a glass on her desk. The water and glass were there for the candidates who fainted. A far cry, this, from the few doctoral examinations I sat in on during my teaching days, where candidates and teachers addressed one another by first names and the general atmosphere more resembled a kaffeeklatsch.”

(I had to look up what kaffeeklatsch meant—it’s an informal social gathering at which coffee is served. Excuse my lack of knowledge there. I’m just a silly woman with a higher degree than you.)

And, as you end with, “Dr. Jill, I note you acquired your Ed.D. as recently as 15 years ago at age 55, or long after the terror had departed,” you not only insult her by addressing her as “Dr. Jill”, but you also imply that because she likely didn’t faint while taking her exams or defending her dissertation, that somehow her degree isn’t real.

That’s the crazy thing about education—it evolves. Today, kids even use these neat little things called computers! You wouldn’t believe it. Another way we’ve evolved is to realize that shockingly, our doctoral candidates don’t have to become physically ill to prove they are smart and worthy of their degree!

(I mean, you never even tried, Mr. Epstein, so I guess even today, doctoral programs are only for the toughest among us, like Dr. Jill Biden.)

Also, it seems that Northwestern University, where you were previously listed as “emeritus lecturer of English,” has scrubbed you entirely from their website, stating that it is “firmly committed to equity, diversity and inclusion, and strongly disagrees with Epstein’s misogynistic views.” Again, evolution! Change is good.

Hmmm. So one of you is a misogynist with no teaching history to even brag about as your previous employer has disassociated with you, and another is a successful educator committing to helping all Americans have access to a proper education. Oh, and the second one goes by Dr.

Looks like the real “comical fraud” is you, bruh.

And just so we’re clear, Dr. Biden has always been committed to ensuring that everyone (not just pretentious twats like you, Joseph Epstein) has access to a fair education. Earlier in her career, she worked in a psychiatric hospital where she taught English to adolescents with emotional disabilities. During that same time she also earned two (yes, TWO) master’s degrees, one from Villanova University and one from West Chester University. In 2009, after earning her doctorate, she began teaching English at Northern Virginia Community College, and advocating for community college education has since been her passion. “Dr. Biden has always said that community colleges are ‘one of America’s best-kept secrets.’ As a teacher, she sees how community colleges have changed the lives of so many of her students for the better,” explains former president Barack Obama’s White House website.

Sorry, Mr. Epstein, but not everyone can afford to enroll in an English class at Northwestern taught by a raging sexist who gets his balls in a bunch when women succeed. For many, community college is a better fit, and Dr. Biden is a big part of that.

“In 2012, she traveled across the country as part of the ‘Community College to Career’ tour to highlight successful industry partnerships between community colleges and employers,” the website goes on to say. “In the fall of 2010, she hosted the first-ever White House Summit on Community Colleges with President Obama, and she continues to work on this outreach on behalf of the Administration – frequently visiting campuses, meeting with students and teachers, as well as industry representatives around the country.”

Imagine all of the hard-working Americans Dr. Biden has helped by supporting community colleges. Future teachers just like her often get their degree while working full time, raising a family, and going to college at night. Who knows, some of them may even—gasp—go to grad school too. High school kids who choose to forego going away to a full-time university and instead, take classes at a community college closer to home, are given that option because of people like Dr. Biden. Kids who go on to be EMTs, police officers, technicians in trade industries, engineers, and find success in the business world. Or, they transfer those college credits to a larger university down the road when they have the means to do so. Single moms doing their best to give their children a good life often attend community college classes online, after their children are asleep, proving that they have the drive and determination to do more and be more.

So, what it all boils down to, Mr. Epstein, is that you really, really hate that there’s about to a woman in the White House who’s smarter than you. And not only that, but she inspires women everywhere to work hard, earn their degrees, and then they’ll be smarter than you too. Yikes. That’s a tough pickle to be in, Mr. Epstein. We’re sorry that you are so insecure and unhappy with your own lack of success.

At least you can still wrote those stellar op-eds though! Good luck with your “writing” career, kiddo.

#dr. jill biden #michaela brown #scarymommy #op ed #joseph epstein #current events #SO fired up right now #gimme that feminism #my country tis of thee #long post

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iamnotbrianmay · 5 years

Text

call me when it’s over (and myself has reappeared)

heyyyy, so part two of this fic is finally finished! I am so proud of what I have written and dear god this is a tear jerker. Also, this chapter is very graphic, so if you feel triggered by anything regarding depression, self-harm, and/or suicide please proceed with caution.

First part of the fic is Here! It is also cross posted in AO3 along with all of my other fics!

I hope you like it!

***

It's Mental Health week at Imperial College. Otherwise known as the most dreaded week of the year for Brian May.

The psychologist had decided six months into Brian's course that there needed to be some sort of education on Mental Illnesses and that a bunch of, not quite yet mature, young adults will actually take the week seriously. It's the 70's, the world isn't open-minded enough for people to take Mental Illnesses seriously. Hence why Brian shouldn't be surprised about the comments some of his classmates make.

Brian's depression, however, didn't get the memo about ignoring the words sprouted by his classmates.

He can see it in slow motion, the way that the biggest asshole in his class raises his hand once they start discussing the reasons for people self-harming. The way he smirks at his friends, and they all snicker, knowing they are about to make the poor teacher upfront mad as hell. He gets called on, and the words he says leave Brian's ears ringing, "Aren't people who self harm practically useless? I mean, what kind of freak even does that?"

The world around the guitarist freezes.

His brain becomes basically useless after that. He can't hear the teacher's answer. Can't listen to the comments of his classmates who are a little less stupid. He can only hear the phrase on a loop. That mixed with the thoughts that had been growing ever since the incident at the bar about being a burden to his bandmates, a something easier left behind than taken care off.

He honestly doesn't know how he gets to their flat. It feels more like a blur of colours and sounds than actual memories, he only knows that when he opens the door, there is already someone inside. Freddie peeks out from the kitchen and gives Brian a smile. The guitarist stuffs the box of razor blades deeper into his pocket and smiles back.

The older man walks over, swinging his hips and making a show of walking while wearing the 'Kiss the Cook' apron. He grabs Brian's face and starts peppering him with kisses until Brian is blushing a cute shade of red. He doesn't laugh, which was what Freddie was aiming for, but the sweet smile is enough for him to stop. He gives him one last kiss on his nose, and then looks into his eyes, "How was your day, Maggie?"

"Tiring," he doesn't need to lie, "I feel like I could sleep for the rest of my life."

Freddie hums, giving him another kiss on his cheekbone and reaching for his school bag, "Go get a shower, when you come out there will be food waiting for you, sounds good?"

"Okay," Brian mumbles, "But I have to wash my hair, so it will probably take longer."

Freddie smiles at him, telling him he will be waiting anxiously for Brian to get out, and the voice in the back of his mind reminds him that those are just lies. It's almost eerie how said voice sounds exactly like him. Almost as if it was just himself making up these incredibly complex scenarios in which everyone hates him. He shakes his head, trying to clear his head, he has enough problems as it is now.

He gets a pair of oversized pyjamas, something that wouldn't raise Freddie's alarms, and an oversized sweater. The bandages are under the sink, the antiseptic in Brian's corner of the bathroom cabinets, and the box is tucked safely on the pocket of his hoodie. He turns on the shower, gets undressed and gathers everything he needs before stepping into the shower.

His urges didn't get the memo that he no longer owns his collection of bracelets, because his first cut is clean across his wrist and he feels the familiar haziness take over his brain. It's like all logical thoughts are instantly thrown out the window. All the images of Freddie covering his face in kisses, John curled around him like a cat, and Roger singing soft love songs are forgotten. Replaced entirely by hurtful words said to him and around him. Even those fabricated by his own mind.

He can't escape it at that moment, and he only notices he has been saying those words to himself when one of the words cuts of into a groan of pain as he goes a little too deep. A little too long. Then the world comes into focus again.

He can hear the sounds of Freddie's soft singing and pans clanking as he finished their dinner. He can feel the fact that the water has grown cold by then, and that his skin is aching from the scalding water that had been rolling down his spine. But most importantly, he notices the blood. It's trickling slowly down his arm and into the bathroom floor, but god it so much.

He feels the tears prickle at the corners of his eyes and panic rising from the pit of his stomach because he has never had this amount. Especially not after such a long time clean. It had been well over a month without the lightest scratch on his skin, and now he has gone an done this. And then all of the things that should have been in the front of his mind before he even picked up the box from the store come rushing through.

Memories of the last month in which Roger is running ice up and down his arms to calm Brian down, or Freddie is drawing beautiful patterns in his thighs while he wills himself to calm down, or John driving him out to the middle of nowhere and making him scream as loud as possible. It's all for nothing, all their efforts, all their hours spent on Brian, wasted in a shower.

He is calling Freddie's name before he can register it. The older man comes running into the bathroom and gets into the shower as fast as possible. He is pressing a towel to Brian's wounds, comforting the guitarist as he mumbles incoherently about being sorry. About letting them down. Freddie is pressing the cuts down, applying as much pressure as he can with one hand while running the other through Brian's curly hair.

"It's okay, baby," he whispers, the words so soft he can barely hear them over the sound of the shower, "we knew this might happen eventually, darling. You don't need to feel sorry for anything."

Brian doesn't miss the tears on Freddie's eyes.

***

He finds himself on Freddie's bed once the bleeding has stopped and they have changed into pyjamas. The older man is softly cleaning his wounds and applying butterfly bandages. Brian tries to pretend he doesn't see Freddie's trembling hands. Once the last of all his cuts are closed up, he picks up the bandage and wraps it around Brian's arm expertly.

Once it's done, once the evidence of what he has done is covered up, Freddie places a soft kiss over his wrist, then on his palm, then he leans over and presses their foreheads together, "What happened, dove?"

And it's amazing how three simple words have Brian spilling his guts. He tells Freddie everything, for the smallest of details, to the reason why he ended up in the shower. And Freddie looks more than pleased. He stares at Brian like the is the most wonderful being in the universe. He kisses the tears away, holds Brian's hand through the entire thing, tracing slow patterns on the palm of his newly bandaged arm.

At the end, when Brian finishes his story, Freddie cup the back of his neck, "Brian, darling, if we wanted to leave we would have done that ages ago."

"Would you?" Brian whispers, holding out to that little string of hope.

"Yeah," Freddie whispers, "If we didn't want to help you. If we didn't want to be around you. If we weren't willing to stick through the bad days and help you heal we would have left ages ago."

"And would you leave if I said I wanted help?" Brian asks, then realises how that sounds, "If I decided I want to see someone about... this."

He thinks Freddie might be a little upset by the idea of Brian leaving them, or by the fact that Brian thinks he might need a little bit more than just what they are giving him, but instead, Freddie looks ridiculously proud of what Brian just said, "No darling. We would be here, waiting for you until you were ready to come back to us."

And maybe, just maybe, that's exactly what Brian needs.

***

Brian had his bag ready three days before he was due to be released.

To say he can barely contain his excitement is an understatement. He can't wait to see his friends, go back home and spend hours sprawled on their couch playing Scrabble and chatting. He can't wait for the moment when he gets to share the songs he has written with his friends, can't wait to go to bed pleasantly cuddled by three other people.

A month and a half in the hospital has gone both incredibly fast and torturously slow.

He has listened as their album slowly rose to the top of British charts, Killer Queen playing every so often in the old battered radio of his room, and his roommates have a field day every time it does. They dance and sing at the top of their lungs, making Brian cry with laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. By their side, the hectic hospital wing doesn't seem nearly as daunting.

Brian knows he is going to miss them, Sebastian, with his too bright smile and too thin arms, and Phil, with his curly hair and ever-changing moods.

He keeps the letters that Freddie, Roger, and John had written to him before he left. He treasures them, following their instructions and opening one of the forty-five letter pack they gave him each day, and all but cries every time he finishes reading one. By the time three letters remain Brian finally realises how much he misses his boys. He wishes he had his phone with him, or maybe even access to a computer to make sure that the press hasn't eaten them alive in his absence.

Yeah, a month and a half have been torturous.

He enters his psychiatrist's office with a smile in his face, the warm sun is streaming through the windows, the room smells pleasantly of incense, and the young woman is sitting in her reclinable chair, smiling at Brian. He walks over to the board and places one blue sticker on the box marked with March 23rd. The woman smiles, "Two months clean, eh?"

Brian's smile widens, "Two months clean."

***

It is almost frightening how the thing that you have been waiting for the most might sometimes scare the crap out of you. To Brian, the scarcely decorated psych ward, and the homey like office of his psychiatrist had been his home for a long time. And sure, he couldn't wait for the day in which he was released, but now that he was signing the papers and being handed everything that they took away from him before he entered the hospital, well Brian couldn't help but feel nervous.

It had been a month and a half since he had last seen his boys. Forty-five days, sixteen hours, and twenty-three minutes. After all, only next of kin were allowed to visit Brian during his stay.

The doors to the hospital opened after a long beep, and once the air came inside Brian felt tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. Not for anything else but for the image of his mother standing right outside the hospital. Arms crossed over her chest and a sweet smile on her features. He walked over, letting his suitcase flop on the ground as he wrapped his arms around her and spun her around.

Ruth laughed gleefully at her son's bright mood, tangling her hands into his hair and smacking a wet kiss on his cheek. His father came out of the car then and gave Brian a hug as well. And once they were all seated into the car, and his father turned the ignition key, the radio crackled to life and 'Killer Queen' blasted through the speakers.

His parents laughed, and his mother even let herself hum along to Freddie's voice, but instead of feeling the same glee he always did, Brian could only wonder about two things. One, if Sebastian and Phil were rocking away like they usually did, and two if he still had the same place in the band he had left behind.

After all, in one of his long reading session at Saint Mary's Hospital, he had read that it only takes twenty-one days to make or take something out of your routine. And Brian... well Brian hadn't been a part of Queen for forty-five days.

***

Even after his mother's insistence, they ended up taking Brian from the hospital directly to the flat he shared with the rest of Queen. He was tired, to be honest, and just wanted to lay in his semi-uncomfortable mattress while listening to Roger's nonsense, Freddie's laughter, and John's scoldings. He wanted to be back home, even if it was for only a few days, before going out of the house again.

He bid his parent farewell and climbed the stairs into his building. There was no one around the place as he hiked up the stairs lugging his bag and grunting when the exercise became too much for his exhausted limbs. His hands were shaking terribly as he unlocked the door and toed his shoes off. A part of him expected a warm reception, but the other half of his brain, the one used solely to think about his bandmates, reminded him that they were all bound to be either working or studying at the moment.

He wandered into the kitchen, marvelling at the state of near perfection in which everything was placed. Just like Brian liked everything to be. The house smelled clean, almost like someone had taken the time to scrub every surface clean. Which is surprising given that Brian is the one to do that for them, always. For one second Brian wonders if they hired someone to do that for them with the extra money coming from both the record and having one less mouth to feed and one set less of guitar strings to buy.

He padded over to his room, turning the knob of his door and letting it swing open.

The room is covered in flowers. Literally. Every available surface has at least one vase filled with the most beautiful arrange of flowers Brian has ever seen, and seated in the room between his and Roger's bed, holding a bouquet of flowers each, are his boys. They are dressed in plain, comfortable, clothes, looking like they have barely slept a wink in at least a week, but smiling so brightly that Brian swears he has never seen anything so beautiful.

Freddie is the first one up. He throws himself into Brian's arms and nearly makes him topple over. Brian buries his face into Freddie's neck, taking in the sweet smell of Freddie's jasmine perfume. Someone pries one of Brian's hand away from Freddie's waist and tucks themselves into the embrace. John smells of cinnamon, as he always does, and his soft hair tickles Brian's nose as he hugs them both to their chest. Promising himself never to let go.

Roger is the last one to join the hug, he makes Brian look up and wipes the tears of joy streaming down his face with his thumb. Then stands on his tiptoes to give Brian one kiss on his forehead, followed by two more kisses on his cheeks, one on the tip of his nose, and finally brushing his lips against Brian's chapped ones.

The guitarist's heart nearly beats out of his chest then, and Roger just smiles, "We've missed you, you know? Could barely sleep without you here."

It takes all of Brian's strength not to crumble to the floor, dragging his boys down with him. There are butterflies in his stomach, and the strange urge to have them all lay on top of his, crushing him under their weight and reassuring him that they are here. That this is not a dream like one of the thousands he had during his stay at the hospital, where they would all come talk to him, or kiss him senseless, or cuddle with him, and he would wake up alone in the uncomfortable bed.

He is sure he can ask for that later on, for now, he is just content to tighten his grip around John and Freddie's bodies, and lean down to kiss Roger, "Not half as much as I missed you, that's for sure."

He isn't sure who whispers, 'we are so proud of you, Brian' and who whispers, 'welcome home, baby.'

He only knows that, yeah, Brian is proud of himself too.

#Brian May #roger taylor #John Deacon #freddie mercury #Queen #My writing #tw: depression #tw: mental health #tw self deprecation #tw: self harm #tw suicidal ideation #angst #poly!queen #Maylor #frian #breacy

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i-llbedammned · 5 years

Text

I ended up writing the Good Omens noir fic I talked about about before. I am excited and nervous as this is a hard pairing for me to feel like I am doing them justice. You can read it on Ao3 here : https://archiveofourown.org/works/19854631 I will also post it down here:

Light practically sparkled on the grey suit and fedora of one kindly Aziraphale, private eye. It was different being on this side of the pond. Yes, he knew that he could go anywhere in the universe but there was just something so comforting about London that kept him coming back to it. Instead he was here in New York City and even though it was better than dealing with the bombs and the Nazis directly there was something still colder in this city. The roving packs of gangs and the brusk way that everyone talked was just something so unsettling.

He wouldn’t even be here if it was not for a very important mission. Someone had stolen one of his books, you see and it was a first edition of a Charles Dickens novel that he just couldn’t bear to part with. Crowley had given that edition to him shortly after it was published, telling him that reading Dickens was akin to torture so he was really trying to plague him rather than give him a kind gift. The angel was grateful for it all the same.

“What’re’ you looking at?” snapped a man in a flat cap standing near a stoop.

“Oh, ah. Nothing.” Aziraphale gave him a small, brittle smile and quickly looked away.

“Oh I’m nothin’ then?” the man started following the angel, a sour look upon his face.

“I��m just looking for a book shop, I will be right out of your way. My apologies.” He said, looking aside at the man, who had moved to block his path.

“I think you owe me a bit of reparations for the insult sir.”

Oh no. Barely here and it was already leading to a fight. What did he ever do to this man?

“Sir, please just leave me alone and I will be on my way.” Aziraphale tried to move around him and the man stayed with him, blocking his path forward.

“I don’t think I will.” The sharp click of knife sounded from the man and Aziraphale held up his hands as the man brandished a knife.

“The man said he is done with you. Piss off.” Came a deep growl from beside him. A figure with long red hair and a slinky black dress strolled up beside Aziraphale with a swagger that was unmistakable.

“Listen lady, this ain’t none of you-“ the man’s cries were cut off in terror as he beheld the flash of yellow snake eyes and the sharp smell of smoke as his hat began to catch alight. Beating the flames out, the man dropped his knife and began to run in the opposite direction. Cat-eyed sunglasses were placed on her lovely eyes once more.

“Crowley, what are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked as the man fled, looking at his fellow immortal with gratitude. He could have solved the problem easily enough, but he hated having to evoke terror and do violent things. It just made him uncomfortable.

“Saving you, angel.” She drawled, with her eyebrows raised like it was a fairly obvious question.

“Oh of course." The angel grinned in an embarassed way, "Nice dress.” Aziraphale complimented sincerely, taking in her lovely red lipstick and the golden slither of the snake along her back. It really suited her hips and showed off her legs with the long slit up the side.

“Don’t stare too long, I’ll start to think you’re interested.” Crowley laughed as Aziraphale looked up, a small tinge of color staining his cheeks pink.

“I’m not-Not that you aren’t lovely, but it wouldn’t be right.” The white haired man stumbled over his words a bit before finally changing direction entirely, ”What I mean to say is have you seen a first edition Dickens book around?”

“First edition Dickens? You lost the first edition Dickens book?” Crowley backed up, looking hurt. The look almost broke Aziraphale’s heart on the spot.

“No! I didn’t lose it. It was stolen.” Aziraphale extended his arm and Crowley rested long black taloned fingers on the crook of his arm as they walked side by side, now returning to her default moody look. “The shop was broken into and I found a jacket made by an American tailor in New York with some dollars in it so I assumed it would be here.”

Crowley began to laugh, “So you just miracled yourself over here to look for a book?”

“Well there’s also a lovely Vaudeville show in town that I thought I might pop by and see once I found the book.” Aziraphale wove his way through the city streets, arm in arm with his companion following the strange sort of gut instinct that usually was divine providence at work. He was supposed to be going in this direction, he just knew it.

“Care for a little company for the show? I’m bored and could use something to excite me.” Crowley smirked as Aziraphale’s heart did an instinctual flutter and she laughed.

“Well I can’t promise it will be exciting but-“Aziraphale paused, looking at the window of a bookshop in an alleyway. There it was, his Dickens book on display.

Without a further word he strode into the bookshop. A nasally voice answered his as a tall man with glasses glare at him, “I’m sorry, sir. We are closed.”

“Where did you get that book in the front window?” He demanded.

“It’s from our international shipments, but I told you it’s not for sale. Now scram!” The man spoke in pinched tones, exchanging glances with the other men in the room. All of them looked far too scarred and muscled to be book dealers.

“But that’s my book!” He protested loudly, indignant that these mortals would have the gall to both take his book and then refuse to give it back.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure it is.” A large man with shoulders twice Aziraphale’s width started shouldering him through the door, flinging him to the opposing wall. He could have resisted, but he chose not to. Really. “And don’t come back!” the man yelled after him.

“Oh bother!” he mumbled, picking up his silver fedora and looking ruefully at the door he had just been flung out of. Wait a second, Crowley never followed him out of the door!

Through the glass he could see Crowley slink forward, with all of the men’s eyes upon her hips and chest. He could not make out the words that were being said, but they appeared to be getting into an argument over it, bickering amongst each other as Crowley made flirtatious facial expressions at the big man who had thrown the angel out.

Wait! From behind the counter Aziraphale could see a man raising a gun towards Crowley’s back. The other men appeared to also be drawing up their various weapons as the conversation got more and more heated. Oh no, if that his her she would most certainly be discoporated for a period of time. That would never do. Aziraphale channeled his energies towards Crowley and with a small miracle, the bullets missed her as they flew about the shop knocking the other men dead.

As the various tough guys fell over from their various wounds, Crowley grabbed the book and walked out. “Was all that violence your doing?” Aziraphale tried to look away from all the death and violence, cringing at the thought of it.

“I wish. It certainly would boost my hellish numbers." Crowley looked mock disappointed, "Alas it was just a bunch of normal human violence though.”

“A pity on all accounts then.” Aziraphale sincerely mourned.

“Now what about that show?” Crowley asked, snapping her long black nails as a ripple of power waved over the City that Never Sleeps. “I think a private box just opened up for us.”

The box seat was lovely with red velvet seats and curtain to close them off from the world should they so choose. It just so happened that everyone who was supposed to have those seats got food poisoning and would be quite unable to attend that night. Poor things.

Aziraphale and Crowley sat next to each other, their arms barely touching.

“Angel, I do believe I owe you something,” Crowley whispered into his companion’s ear as on stage they did some sort of clown act.

“Whatever do you mean?” He responded, turning away from the act to face Crowley. Her face was very close to his all of a sudden, her heavy grey shadowed eye lids and full red lips standing out against the pale of her face in the darkness.

“You saved my life back there, don’t think I didn’t notice.” She grinned at him, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were falling a bit for me.”

“Oh not falling. Never that. But I didn’t want to see you discorporated.” Aziraphale smiled.

“You’re not falling, not even a little?” Crowley’s hands stroked Aziraphale’s arm, tracing patterns on his suit jacket.

The angel swallowed hard as his nerves began to pound, “I’m not sure this is a good idea, my dear. They could be watching us you know.”

“You know, no one can see us here.” Crowley whispered into the angel’s ear, nipping at his lobes with her teeth sending a shiver through his body. He made no effort to pull away from her actions, “And if someone was going to stop us from above, they damn well would have by now. What’s say we really enjoy the show?” “What do you have in mind?” Even though angels were not supposed to enjoy this type of behavior, Aziraphale had allowed himself to be drawn into Crowley’s actions time and time again. After all, he could just blame it on the demon should he ever be brought up by his superiors and claim that he had some sort of magic used on him.

“I ride you til neither of us can move in this dark little box while the clowns play below.” Crowley’s lips had moved to his neck and were beginning to kiss it slowly, licking along the path of the neck. Her fingers loosened his tie so she could better reach his neck.

Aziraphale cast an eye at the show below. It didn’t appear that this show was exactly the type of high art that he was going to truly enjoy as they did yet another slapstick routine. With one hand he lifted Crowley’s face to meet his, pressing his lips gently to hers as he undid his tie fully with his other hand. She moaned softly, abandoning her seat to sit on his lap.

With a flick of his fingers Aziraphale closed the curtains, throwing his hat to the ground. He ran his hands along the black satin of the demon’s dress, tracing soft swirls along her back. Crowley snapped her fingers and suddenly there was a change in her and Aziraphale’s bodies. The angel felt a quivering starting in his loins where previous to that he had been just as sexless as the day he was born.

Instincts took over as Crowley straddled Aziraphale, now kissing him deeply and letting her forked tongue explore his mouth. He responded back in kind, running his hands over every bit of skin he could reach along her back. The angel wondered which set of human sexes they had been granted this time, excited to try something new. This was all so public, even though no one was watching them from the darkness. He felt his own begin to rise as Crowley rolled her hips aggressively over him. Biting his neck rough enough to bruise. Pain, just the right amount sent a wonderful shudder through him. His hands wound underneath her skirt, feeling the garters and silk panties that were beyond her stockings.

Nothing was there to rise, feeling over the mound there. Good to know. Aziraphale unhooked her garters to let her stockings fall to the wayside and unclipped the belt they were attached to.

“Oh angel, the things I will do to you. Tell me, how much do you want me?” Crowley whispered furtively, her breath becoming thick with lust. Her forked tongue flickered out of her mouth.

“I want you more than I want to actually read the Dickens book that we saved today. More than an actor wants attention.” The grinding was doing its job and Aziraphale could feel his cock stiff against the suit pants. White hot need burned in the pit of his gut. He covered the demons mouth with his, reaching under her skirts to stroke at her clit through the underwear.

He needed release and he needed it soon. The pressure that was building up within him was going to be too intense and soon he would be able to bear it no longer. Crowley was relentless, unbuttoning the fly of Aziraphale’s pants and pulling them down just enough that the long length of his newfound cock could be released from within after a quick tug took down the underwear. With a decisive hand, Crowley reached under her skirt to peel the high waistband downward on her own underwear. A flick of the wrist sent it flying.

“How much do you want me again, angel?” She purred, as his fingers worked a steady pulsing rhythm on her clit.

“I swear, I will explode right here if I don’t get a chance to bed you immediately,” Aziraphale moaned as the demon’s fingers slowly ran up and down his shaft, his cock twitching in her hands helplessly.

“Oh but what is in it for me?” She guided his fingers towards her opening, putting in one of his fingers, followed by a second.

“I will make you feel…pleasant?” Aziraphale blanked, the length of his dirty talk coming to an end and just knowing that he wanted to feel her upon his lap riding him right now. To feel her breath on his neck hitch and her whimper as she struggled not to scream in the middle of the theater. “Please, I don’t have words for it, but I’ll show you.”

“Oh close enough, angel.” Crowley conceded, climbing on top of him once more and thrusting his length roughly into her. Her hips rolled and it was Aziraphale who had to fight back the urge to scream. To muffle himself he flew forward, pressing his lips into her neck and his hands into her hips. He felt her rump as she moved and undulated for a moment before she moved one of his hands to move down her dress. Soft breasts met his hands and the angel moved his fingers underneath the bra to massage them as they rolled together.

Crowley’s breath became more strained as she moaned, “Teeth. Bite me angel. On the neck. As hard as you can.”

“But won’t I hurt you?” Concern flashed across Aziraphale’s face.

“Yes, that is the point.” She growled, her hips moving faster and faster til he felt like he was about to explode.

Aziraphale obeyed the orders gratefully, biting her hard enough to bruise on the right side of her neck as he felt the sharp wave of an orgasm wash over him. Crowley’s body tensed him as he bit and she whimpered into his ear as she rode him hard.

That was not to be the end, mind you. The cycle continued three more times, til both of them felt exhausted and were very done being human and messy. With a flick of her talons, Crowley dismissed the sexual organs. Aziraphale focused very hard and they were both in a bedroom, a familiar bedroom that was draped in black.

“All the way in London, angel?” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s neck as the angel laid down next to her on the bed. They could have miracled off their clothes, but even that felt like too much of an effort after the show they had just put on. They were cleaned up and that was really what mattered. And he had his book, which was promptly placed

“Well I wasn’t going to sleep in New York. It’s the City that Never Sleeps after all.” Aziraphale joked, feeling his eyelids be awful and heavy. With drowsy hands he moved the covers over both of them, glad that Crowley had invested in soft blankets despite the fact that both of them only slept as a hobby.

“Remind me to yell at you for that joke when we wake up,” mumbled Crowley, nesting closer to his angel. Aziraphale certainly didn’t mind considering how warm he was.

“I still wonder how they got my book.” Aziraphale queried as he draped his arms around the lovely demon in front of him.

“Oh that. Right. I arranged it. Figured it would be a good way to get you in the Vaudeville show and actually in New York. You’d never go to New York otherwise.” Crowley mumbled as Aziraphale nuzzled her ginger hair.

“Oh that’s wicked.” Aziraphale answered, but without any venom to his voice.

Crowley smirked, lazy and satisfied, “It worked didn’t it?”

The angel demurred softly as they both drifted off to sleep, the sound of bombs echoing in the London skies.

#good omens #fanfic #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #female crowley

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pontmercyingtil · 5 years

Text

RebelCap Prompt Fill!

So, I tried to answer using ALL three prompts for your request, because it was fun. Enjoy trying to spot them! (and thank you for being such an awesome fic friend, @cassandor)

----------** All Things New and Bright **---------

“Do you ever have nightmares?” Jyn asks, her head pillowed on his chest. Outside of this cot, the chill of Hoth awaits them, and she sees no reason at all to move.

“No,” Cassian replies, his voice soft, just like the snow that must be falling outside. It’s hs nighttime voice, as she thinks of it. Private, intimate, a part of him he keeps away from the rest of the universe.

“None at all?” She shifts a little to look up at him, which accidentally sends her elbow straight into his gut. There’s the tiniest exhale from him, a faint wince. “Sorry.”

“I’m fine,” he says. “It’s the occupational hazard of sleeping with you.”

“Hey, kriff off.” Her lips narrow, but only for a second, because he’s leaning in to kiss her forehead. The forehead kiss, Jyn thinks, is a decidedly unfair tactic, one that completely negates whatever glare she was delivering.

“Kriff off? As in, go somewhere else? And leave you all cold in this cot?”

“Do it. I dare you.”

He just answers by tugging the three layers of blankets around her a little tighter. Two of them are their standard issue ones, a faded green-brown like so much else in the Rebellion. Another is bright, bright blue, and nearly brand-new. She’d seen it on a mission that for once, hadn’t required stealth or speed, and bought it with her new officer’s salary, a concept that still baffles her. Jyn knows Cassian surrenders his pay, that it goes to those more in need, but she can’t bring herself to do the same. Not yet. Not when, for the first time in years, she can buy things that are bright, soft, new.

“You know I won’t leave,” Cassian whispers. Ah. To him the joke hadn’t been funny, not like it had been to her. Because Jyn knows that, by now. He’s stuck by her side for two years, seen her at her worst and helped her be her best. Why the hell would he leave her now when she’s just started being a bright, new, type of person?

“Unless you asked,” he adds. Something sharper than a shard of glass, sharper than a razor-edged vibroblade twists in between her ribs. Her hand fumbles for his under the blankets, their callused fingers tangling. Jyn has never held a hand that doesn’t have the calluses from a blaster’s grip, and she doesn’t think she ever will.

“Well, I won’t. Unless you start hogging blankets, and we know you don’t do that.” Jyn keeps the mood light, has to. She can’t surrender to the pain inside of her, the ache of knowing that as much as she is new and bright and focused now, Cassian is still worn and tired and broken. She’s tried to mend him as best she can. But it’s hard when she doesn’t know how to fix, only to destroy, and harder yet when it is the very thing he loves, his Rebellion, that keeps shattering him, tearing him apart at all the ragged seams Jyn has welded back together with kisses and promises.

“Maybe I’ll hog blankets on another base. You never know.” He says her slang word with carefulness, as if it’s a new language to him. Cassian, she’s learned speaks seven languages fluently, and can converse in four more.

“Oh yeah? What kind of a planet would make you, Captain Cold, want a blanket?”

There. A flash of humor sparks in his eyes, the way she’s seen Skywalker’s lightsaber ignite. Both lightsaber and Cassian’s smile, she thinks, are the light of hope.

But the light fades as he ponders the question, finally admits, “Rain.”

If she hadn’t been looking at him, she might have teased him about that. Might have asked if Fest called particularly wet snow their rainy season. Might have asked if he disliked rain because it might mess up his hair.

But her gaze has been locked on his, so she knows not to. Because even the thought of rain on his hair, of rain at all, takes her back to a planet she tries to forget, a moment she can never forget. And given the coldness like a wall of ice in his eyes, Cassian is thinking the same thing.

“You know what we should do?” she asks, her voice casual still, but so light. Her own bedroom voice, one she is just learning. “Next leave? Let’s go somewhere it rains.”

“What?”

Her free hand slides up to brush the hair from his eyes, to stroke the little crease between his brows. To touch him in all the intimate, soft, new ways she’s learning. “I mean it.”

“Trust me, I have learned many times you do not say things you do not mean.”

That quirk of his lips, neither smile nor frown, she soothes with a kiss. “Good. So. Rainy planet. Or moon. Whatever. Let’s go, yeah? Let’s go and make some new memories.” It’s a wild, bold idea, one that she can’t even believe she’s suggestion. It might be the most luxurious thing she’s ever suggested to him, beyond the time she tried to convince him they had time to take a bubblebath in the mansion they’d snuck into for a recon mission. Because even then, that had been spur of the moment, a joke, admittedly laced with desire, but an impulsive joke.

This? To make plans for the future in the middle of the war? To plan for good memories when all of their best so far have been snatched out of darkness and shadows, moments of joy as much as survival. It’s an impossible thing, she’s asking for, she thinks, but one she wants to give him. “I want to kiss you in the rain,” she admits. “I want… I want to catch raindrops in my hands, and smell the wet mud. It’s got… there’s a smell to good mud, you know? It’s bright and warm and full of potential.”

“Mud-smelling is not exactly something I’ve had much experience with.” Cassian replies. But he’s talking. That’s good. Even better is when he admits, “we did… we had a greenhouse though, and my sisters and I… we’d, you know, try to build with it. Made a mess.”

“I’d make mud houses and try to chase down a Tur-Toad to stick in it. Always collapsed by the time I got one.”

The corner of his eyes crinkle. “You should build with snow. Much more stable.”

“And where am I gonna find a Tur-Toad in the snow, huh?” Really, where would she find one anywhere but Lah'mu, anywhere but a planet she didn’t want to go back to. Which meant, perhaps, one day, she should.

“Are Tur-Toads really that important to this diorama?”

“Absolutely.” she shifts in the blanket nest again, her cold feet brushing over his calf. She has a bad habit of kicking her socks off.

“Shavit!” he curses, one of the words he’s picked up from her. “Those are like ice, Jyn. You didn’t tell me you’re cold.”

“I’m not,” she promises. Smiling, because he is too. Because they managed to get past the pain of the past, to even find some small joy in stories of their long-ago past. It would baffle the others, people like Leia, who asked what Jyn and Cassian talk about. No one would believe the two so-called heroes spend a good deal of time arguing over Tur-Toads and cold feet.

“Mm.” he fusses more with the blankets, holds her closer. “So, a rainy planet. Full of mud and tur-toads.”

“One with a spring,”Jyn insists. If they're going to build this dream that may never come true, then she wants it to be the best possible of all options. “I like spring.” Likes its potential, the light, the longer days.

“I do, too.” This time, it’s Cassian who leans forward, who kisses her, shy at first, like he always is (except when they’re kissing after an argument), warming to her the way snow melts, slow, then all in a rush. She tucks her head in the crook of his shoulder after. They should both sleep. Soon. Tomorrow will come and there will be no spring, not on Hoth, and they will have work to do.

It’s just…

She sighs. “I still have nightmares.” There. The topic that had woke her, the topic that she’d hoped he would share.

“You do?” his voice is a low rumble now, protective. “You haven’t… you never told me.”

Because he sleeps so rarely. Because once he falls asleep she’s terrified to wake him. Because oftentimes, reaching out and feeling he still has a pulse is enough to send the nightmare away. Because… she doesn’t want to admit this. Hates admitting anything. He won’t leave her, he’d said, but a lifetime of being left points to the opposite, and she’s scared to trust in a future that might be different. “They’re worse when you’re gone.”

He’s silent. Thinking. There’s nothing to be thought of, though. He can’t comm her, not when he’s allowed no communication back to base. Can’t send her flirty holomessages the way Solo does to Commander Organa, because even if he was permitted to, both of them would die of mutual embarrassment before finishing a recording. And he absolutely can’t start skipping missions. Not for her.

Sleep tugs at her. She yawns. “It’s fine, Cass.”

“No, I…” he starts, but is cut off by another yawn. This time, one of his. He kisses the top of her head now, since it’s all he can reach with her clinging to him like a mynock. “Boordii has nice rain,” he says. “Spent a few months there as Aach a few years ago. No Imps, no bases. Just a bunch of smugglers and some cigara greenhouses.”

“That where Aach got his bad habit?”

“Maybe.” He lets out a deep breath. “Nice planet. Lots of places to play Sabaac, so that’ll keep you happy. Good food. You’ll have to let me know about the mud.”

“Boordii, huh?” her eyes slide closed again. “Tell me more.” She falls asleep listening to him describe the remote planet, and then, what they might do on leave there.

Four nights later, he wakes her with that same gentle nighttime voice, but this time, it’s to tell her he’s headed out. They never say goodbye. Not to each other. But he does let her know when he leaves, and she does command the Force to be with him, making the well-wish sound more like a one-woman threat against the greatest power in the universe.

When she wakes, she finds three things on the stack of crates that serve as their dresser. An old, handwoven blue blanket, with a note on top of it. It’s his handwriting, because no one else has writing that looks as if each letter is personally attacking the next one after it. “Stay warm.” her fingers skim the blanket, feel the soft wool. There’s what looks like a burn singe in the top corner. The lines of color are sharp peaked stripes, and suddenly, she remembers Fest used to be famous for such weavings.

Under the blanket is, impossibly, delightfully, a stuffed toy, small, with little bits of scrap duraplast for eyes, and the exact same faded green-brown as the Alliance fatigues it must have been sewn from. The same green-brown of all Tur-Toads.

When she lifts it, she sees there’s something attached, a tiny datachip. Toad and blanket in hand, she pads back to the cot, and plugs in the datachip to the pad that she’s claimed as half-hers, since the ALliance is short on new ones. It has multiple files. Leave paperwork. Fake IDs for both Aach and a lady smuggler named Raine Tur. The name makes her smile, though she does wish he hadn’t used that picture of her mid-sneeze from that day he’d made stuffed hot peppers. Kay had taken the holo, though, and it’s a good enough memory to forgive the depiction... which is probably why he picked it in the damn first place. Clearance for them to head to Boordi.

It has, she realizes, all she needs to hope for the spring that will come someday, making everything soft and bright and new.

#RebelCaptain #cassianXJyn #cassjyn #cassian andor #prompt fill #my fanfic

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iceamericanoventi · 5 years

Text

Love Will Find a Way, Well, Eventually : 2. In Between

“Where are you going?”

If it was inside Cartoon Network’s universe, everyone must be able to see the smoke fuming from both his nostrils and ears. Jinki looks beyond distressed when he’s lifting his ass from the chair. No one on the table was his partner, but Minho decided to throw some ridiculous question then played dumb as if he didn’t just ask one.

“Should I have number one here?”

He started getting irked, but that doesn’t stay long until Kibum casually munched his breadstick while spluttering his witty comments as usual, “Surely Taemin would be delightful.”

Taemin who didn’t do anything almost chocked himself with a piece of tomato and kicked Kibum’s shin under the table, eventually.

“Promise me you won’t run away?”

Dumbfounded, Jinki emptied his pocket and almost smashed the table with his belonging.

“Are you my husband? Here’s my wallet. And my phone!” and with that, he left the other three men finishing their meal.

“Is he always in this temper?”

Lee Taemin gave him another look, pleading him not to embarrass them further, but Kibum just shrugged and muttered ‘I’m just asking’ under his nose.

“He was mad with me since this afternoon. Plus, he has lots of stuffs to think about these days. But don’t worry, he never really got mad unless you disturb his nap.”

“What is he? A bear?”

“Yaa! Kim Kibum!”

Minho couldn’t help but laugh to the scene happened before his eyes. Taemin is famous for being friendly and very expressive only if you know him, even if he’s talkative. To penetrate his bubble is very hard at first, but this man sitting across him, he seems like he’s already inside that bubble since the very beginning. He really is someone closed to him. Kibum looks mesmerizing, even in his grumbling nature. The oversize sweater wrapped his lithe build perfectly.

A phone call arrived to Kibum's phone, he picked it up frantically and excused himself to take it outside.

"What do you think?"

“Eh?” Minho doesn’t even realized he got his eyes entailed Kibum’s silhouette until it disappear by the entrance door.

“You seemed in trance. I know Kibum is beautiful but I didn’t expect you’ll be this amazed with my friend,” Taemin’s sipping his wine, a smirk is very apparent in his devious face.

“I guess it’s safe to say that you’re not a liar.”

Minho reopened his mouth few minutes after he’s assured that Kibum’s not going back any soon. Taemin is not ecstatic, sometimes he wondered if Minho has a decent sense of humor of a friend.

“For your information, I’m not and never been. I’m the most honest person you’ve ever encountered in your life.”

“Everyone in this room knows that’s not true.”

“Whatever. I might know my ways deceiving people, but I never lie to my friend.”

“Did you just admit that you’re lying here and there, Lee Taemin?”

Taemin rolls his eyes, again, probably for the nth times already this evening. Without Jinki around, he can be more relaxed on throwing his tantrum on Minho.

“Choi Minho, people lies at some certain points of their life. Get over it.”

He gulped down the rest of his wine, Taemin then called a waiter near them to bring him another one.

“Kibum seems nice. He sounds smart.”

“Sounds? Did you even listen to yourself? No writer is not smart, Choi. Moreover, someone who’s been writing the past decade!”

“I only know him for one night. Who knows he’s just acting?”

“Dude, not everyone is an asshole like you.”

“An asshole wouldn’t agree to bring his best friend along in front of a psychopath like you.”

Taemin snorted and Minho’s smirk reappeared on his face.

“That is literally what a psycho would do, selling their friend for their own benefits.”

Minho wiped his mouth before washed down the dinner with cold water, “And that’s exactly what Jinki accused me for. You two shared a brain or what?”

“Any sane people would say the same, Honey,” this time Taemin’s smirk that made the other scoffed, “By the way, what’s the deal with Jinki? He looks like he’s been sitting on thorny cushion the whole dinner!”

Minho knows Taemin would ask such question eventually. However, he couldn’t say that Jinki hates the whole dinner date plan, it’s impossible. Besides that, knowing him for years, Jinki really is an angel in disguise, well, at least when he’s in the mood.

“People have different, what should I say, defense mechanism? And that’s how he is. What kind of person who talked nonstop during their first meeting, anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t know, me?”

“That’s why you’re a freak.”

“A freak who introduced you to your potentially next boyfriend.”

“Ha. Point taken,” Minho raised his hand to ask for the dessert, “Jinki is just not the type of person who will talk a lot and open up in a second. But I guarantee you, he’s a good person. Sometimes a little bit care too much for other at certain time so probably being brazen is his forte.”

“That reminds me of someone.”

Taemin and Kibum spent their high school days together. Separated for some years due to works and educations, their relationship’s all well maintained. They understand each other, including Kibum’s nature to always put others before him at any given situation.

“Appearance wise, though, what do you think about Jinki?”

“Choi Minho, I’m not a teenager anymore. Judging people around by its cover is no longer my habit.”

“But a designer like you must love a beautiful package, don’t they?”

“Well, to be honest, his lips and eyes itself could get me floored in one glance.”

“I knew it.”

“You’re a famous photographer for a reason.”

***

Cold wind slapped Kibum’s cheeks lightly when he pushed the door and parched to the corner near the valet post.

“Okay, now you can speak. Sorry, I don’t know why the reception wasn’t good enough inside.”

“Then I’ll be frankly here. There’s a possibility for making the special edition for the short story collection. But then, we’re still short of two stories at the moment.”

“Wait, wait, but we already have nine! I finished writing nine! Why should I add another two?”

“The publisher agreed to the preposition for at least twelve stories. You should be grateful I could pitch one less story!”

Kibum looks like he’s about to punch anyone passed within radius one meter around him, but nothing in reach besides a huge pot of short palm tree and concrete wall. And he needs his hand to finish his books still.

“But, Amber. Page wise, those are more than enough to make two new books. Are they out of their mind?”

There’s a loud groan banging on his ear drum came from the other line, “Dude, I almost flipped the table when I was at the meeting you have no idea. The board has new man and that guy is a pain in the ass.”

“Would it change the circumstance if I talked to them by myself?”

“Since when do they have time to talk to the writer directly? We’re head to head with bunch of snobs here, did you forget?”

“I should had not agree to let them touched my writings. Now we’re about to face dead end.”

It was a dream to work along this publisher. It was Kibum’s dream since he started writing when he took gap year after graduated high school. And as if it’s a fate, it was the only publisher agreed with his graphic novel concept five years he climbed his career professionally.

“Listen, Kibum. When I met you years ago, I promised I’ll work my ass hard to help you publishing your books. Not because I knew you, it’s because you’re good. You’re amazing writer and I’m not giving up easily. And neither you. Not when anybody can tell that you’re a gem.”

“I haven’t written any book since last year, Amber. I’m in a slump. Writer’s block is not even describing my bad luck at the moment.”

“Honey, you haven’t written any because you’re currently waiting two books released. And if I could do my magic, another one in, let’s say, six months.”

“If I could make up some words into another story within two weeks. If you could convince them to give me mercy.”

“Did you just know me yesterday?”

Kibum’s tired giving sane response, “What do you mean?”

“I’m waiting their secretary to call me in ten minutes. We’re going to discuss some new deals and I’ll make sure one of them is going to be your new nine stories book.”

“I actually have no idea if I don’t have you as my editor slash manager slash friend slash personal ranting partner slash whatever you want to be.”

“Rockstar. That would be cool.”

“You’re going to be a kick ass one to be honest.”

“I bet. Anyway, expect another call from me in the next couple hours. I’m sorry, but tonight we might need video call to resolve some issues.”

“I hate you for confiscating my time but you’re the best.”

“As always, ain’t I?”

The phone call ends already, but he still forlornly looking at his phone’s screen. With that, Kibum remembers all the works he needs to catch up for tonight. With that, he can put aside all the unnecessary anxiety and tension of tonight’s stupid match making session.

He took a glance of his watch and could only sighed, he better hurried inside to his dessert. The faster he finished, the sooner he can hit home and face the real deal. His deadlines.

Two steps away from the entrance however, he caught a familiar face sitting by themselves, staring to the busy street in front of the restaurant.

“Jinki?” he carefully calling the man, “Lee Jinki, right?”

The later tilted his head to the right and gave Kibum a simple smile, didn’t realize it dropped Kibum’s heart by the bottom of his gut.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Everyone would agree this winter is even harsher than last year’s. Jinki just lifted his left hand to make sure Kibum saw a cigarette slipped between his fingers, “Can I sit here?”

Jinki chuckles, “Aren’t you cold?”

Listening to the same question he threw a minute ago, he just rolled his eyes and took a place next to the other man.

“I’m waiting a phone call.”

“Important?”

“Kinda.”

Jinki blew some smoke out, “Hmm, I guess so. You sounded pretty upset over there.”

“Did I scream that loud?!”

“In my opinion? No. but a girl flinched and buzzed off rather hastily, so, you tell me.”

When he saw Kibum’s gaping like a fish in frantic expression, Jinki has no choices beside laughed again, surprising Kibum who’s quite convinced with his aloof personalities.

“I didn’t know you have so many jokes in store.”

“You learn something new every day.”

“Your face doesn’t show.”

“What about my face?”

“It’s handsome but with that attitude inside, seems like you’re the type who woke up at the wrong side of the bed every single morning and could kill someone annoys you at any time.”

“Well, to be fair, I did wake up in the wrong side of my bed this morning. But it’s because a certain dog occupied half of my blanket so I couldn’t disturb her.”

“You have a dog?!”

Kibum’s face lit up thousand times as if he just won some lottery. Strangely, it warms Jinki’s heart. No, scratch that, it would warm any heart, Jinki tried to generalize the situation.

“I don’t, unfortunately. She belongs to my friend. I’m taking care of her while he’s travelling abroad. Her father will pick her up this weekend.”

“Ah, too bad. We could have play date with my boys.”

“I’ll make sure to give you a call when I decided to adopt one later.”

“Do you think my invitation hasn’t expired yet by that time?”

“A man can only dream, can’t he?”

Kibum’s laughter is muffled by his own palm covering his mouth.

“Let’s go inside, you must be shivering.”

“But your cigarette?”

Kibum’s half stuttered caught red handed, Jinki already pressed the half-done cigarette on the sand bowl on his left, “I can always have another one at home. Besides, I doubt you would go inside without me dragging you along.”

Kibum thanked the universe that the place is not well lit, so he could hide the blush creeping his cheeks. Unfortunately, Jinki has a very good eye sight.

***

“Is my baby being a good girl when daddy’s away?”

Jinki scoffed when the man just entered his living room just literally threw his suitcase aside and scooped the little dachshund running toward his embrace. He gathered the suitcase and poor leather bag on the floor and placed it neatly near the saffron color couch.

The man later dropped himself next to Jinki who’s lounged himself there, checking his phone halfheartedly.

“Minho texted me the other day.”

“Why did he keep texting you?”

The man with dark grey hair didn’t catch the frown hanging on Jinki’s face and buried his face to the dog’s belly, making him groaned again. He lightly pushed the dog further and toppled his head on the other man’s laps.

The dog owner realized something’s happened when he’s not around. He put the dog on the ground and tapped her butt to send her back to her small bed near the pantry.

“Minho has my number and I have his name in my contact list. He can text me whenever he wants. Still jealous?”

Jinki closed his eyes when he started playing with his hair, “He’s still one of the reasons we broke up.”

“Baby, the only reason we broke up is because neither of us didn’t want to succumb into marriage. Minho was just a handsome face happened on the wrong time.”

“I have no idea why I still befriend him when it’s clear he wanted to shove his face to yours, all the damn time.”

“And I have no idea that you’re this type who holds the grudge for a long time. We were already out of relationship back then.”

“Still, a friend wouldn’t openly chase after their friend’s ex.”

“A friend wouldn’t, but a best friend would.”

“Whatever.”

He almost lost his control and slapped Jinki’s head of him, “Oh, come on. What’s bothering you this time?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. It’s written all over your face the second I saw you behind the door. And I’m pretty sure it’s not because my daughter misbehaved while I’m on my annual pediatric conference.”

Jinki sighed, nothing he could really hide it from the other man. Since they were in their almost five years relationship, since they became best friends around three years prior.

“Minho invited me for a dinner night.”

“Wow, fancy,” actually Minho already texted him about the dinner a bit, how he wanted to introduce Jinki to some acquaintance he has, “He gave up on me so he went for the only option?”

“For the record, your mom agreed that I’m way much sexier than you.”

“Three years ago, before your cheek bones buried under those mount of fluffy fat.”

“Said a man who came to me and straight ahead told me I looked cute after leaving a piece of paper with their number on my table.”

“I will put aside the fact that I love how romantic you’re for still remembering our first meeting but let’s back to the right path here because I don’t like the upset you. It’s fucking annoying.”

“He introduced me to someone, Jonghyun.”

He let out inaudible gasp and thanked the universe Jinki’s still closing his eyes. Otherwise, he would stop at once and avoided any discussion of the main reason which distressed his ex-boyfriend. Knowing the scenario before hands didn’t prevent him with the sheer pain graze him when it came from Jinki’s mouth himself.

“So? Isn’t that great? Do you think it’s about time?”

“I was about to argue that two years are still not enough to get over you but I guess you’re not in the same page with me so I’d say that I’m not interested into some relationship whatsoever at this point.”

Jonghyun wanted to cry listening to such words. His heart clenched, he inhaled – a very long one – before he continued caressing Jinki’s forehead.

“I am flattered, but I know you’re just teasing me.”

“Ha, you know me so well.”

“I’m not gonna fall on the same hole, Lee.”

“You won’t. You’re too smart to repeat the torture on the loop.”

“It wasn’t a torture, Jinki. I love you as much as you do. Or maybe just slightly more.”

“Not a chance. I love you more.”

“Stop it or I will kiss you.”

“I dare you.”

“I told you I’m not gonna fall on the same hole.”

“Smart, very smart,” Jinki opened his eyes only to find Jonghyun sticking his tongue out, “Okay, so at first, I don’t like the idea already. You know I hate any type of match making method. Even the online one. But being there, I realized that my current focus doesn’t involved other party besides me, my business, and—“

“And your grandfather?”

Jinki looks annoyed, “Remind me to add ‘always-cutting-people-sentence’ on the list of reasons why I broke up with you when I’m writing my journal tonight.”

“It’s true. I think he was also the cock blocker during our relationship back then.”

“Dude, we’re talking about my gramps. And to put him on the same category with Minho is beyond weird.”

“We already broke up when Minho made his move, for Pete’s sake!”

“Okay, okay! No need to raise your voice, you’re so scary when you’re angry.”

“Then don’t make me! Now, now, can you please be a normal human being so we can talk like adults for once?”

Jinki pulled himself from the couch to the pantry, snatching a pack of cigarette on the tea table before slipped one on the corner of his mouth.

“Can you not smoking inside?”

He snorted and padded to the direction of his balcony. It’s in the middle of winter but he doesn’t care a bit to the wind ready to slaughter his bones. If tomorrow the cold prevented him to leave the bed, then let it be. For once, he just wants to free his mind from the business.

“You need to remember that I can only treat patient on certain age,” Jonghyun followed few minutes after with a blanket he spread as wide as possible to cover both of them without feeling suffocated for standing too close.

“The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends people be under pediatric care up to the age of 21, though.”

“Did you just quote Wikipedia? And we’re not in fucking States! Above and beyond, shame on your wrinkles!”

“Rude.”

“You’re the rude one to your lungs!”

“Then tell me how to ease my mind without nicotine! Tell me how to forget all those troubled night and just sleep! Do you think it’s easy taking care of worrisome business and messy family without distraction?! Stop talking non sense if you do know how to save my days!”

Any word seems taboo once Jinki exploded. Both man just staring into the dark evening below Jinki’s unit. People paraded as quickly as possible on the street to fight the harsh weather. It’s not that late, but only few cars passed by. The dim light of the street lamp’s soothing the tense atmosphere in a way.

Jonghyun leaned closer to Jinki’s arm and rested his head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you with that.”

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“You know that you can always talk to me right?”

“I’m tired bothering you. You already have a lot in your hands.”

“Besides my patients and Roo, there’s nothing really confiscated my time.”

Having someone like Jonghyun who would stand next to him, scold him then hug him right after, no matter how awful he behaved and treated the other man, Jinki every so often thinking what kind of good deeds he did in his previous life.

Jinki cocked his head, inhaling the trace of scent of Jonghyun’s favorite shampoo. Initially, he was about to kiss the top of his head, like he used to do when the other man leaned on him for whatever reason it was. He remember, though, the earlier period after their broke up – after settling their feelings for few months of course – the shorter man told him not to do that anymore because it was the doctor’s Achilles heel. So instead, he rubs his cheek over the thick hair, silently telling Jonghyun he’s sorry.

Some nights – especially right after that dinner date – he had thought, maybe one of the reason he reprimands Minho’s idea is just because he still has tiny hope that Jonghyun and him might had another chance in the future.

“From time to time, I was thinking that the more day passed, we’re closer to the image of friends with benefit.”

“Friends with benefit? Tsk,” Jonghyun slapped his forearm, “The only benefit I got from you is you’re the only perfect nanny for Roo when I’m away.”

“Those cups of coffee every single time you stopped by my shop?”

“Pfft. How stingy. I’m leaving.”

“Heartless.”

Jonghyun didn’t say anything more and returned inside to gather his things and called Roo. He desperately needs some hot shower. Somewhere inside him, he was expecting Jinki offering him to stay the night knowing how caring the man and the fact Jinki knows he bolted to the other’s apartment right away after landed.

When Jinki handed him the leash, that hope vanished in second.

“What if later I really considered this person? Or any other person collided with me on the future?”

Jonghyun smiled, he looks tired, but very sincere, “Then good.”

“Because I’m not gonna bother you anymore?”

“No. Because you’ll have someone to share the happiness with.”

***

cross-posted in my AFF

#shinee fiction #shinee scenario #LWFAWWE

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