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feralrunaway · 4 years

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A New Day

CHAPTER 1

Summary: Captain Syverson finishes his latest tour and returns to his hometown only to find that things have changed since he’s been gone.

Warnings: Cursing, Slight angst, Mentions of alcohol, Mentions of past abuse, Estrangement

Word count: 1,340

**Hi. This is my first fanfiction ever, so bear with me. I don’t know what I’m doing or how to tag things. Also, I’ve never shared a story before it’s finished, and I’m doing this chapter by chapter and it’s giving me hella anxiety. I’m sorry if this sucks! I don’t own anything related to the SandCastle movie or its characters. However, this is my original writing and I do not give permission for use of the idea or reposting without credit.**

Captain Jude Syverson looked out over the rim of his coffee mug at the base he’d been leading for the last year.

Honestly, he wouldn’t miss it. The sand. The sweat. The shit meals. He’d made some good friends during his time there, but he was ready to be back in the States. He was ready for hot showers and Southern cooking. Some decent fucking beer. Not that he was necessarily looking forward to being back home though.

Home.

If you could call it that. He missed the creature comforts, but there were reasons that it hadn’t taken much persuasion to get him on board with every new assignment. He felt a bit adrift. Didn’t want to be here. Didn’t particularly want to be there either. What was “home” anyway? Just a place to hang your hat, he guessed with an internal shrug. He was going on extended leave, because according to his superiors he deserved it. He scoffed. More like he was given a new set of orders to go back to being a civilian for a year. Some sort of mandatory mental health break wrapped up in a pretty package, he assumed.

He took another drink of his coffee and sighed.

“Pack it up boys, we’re trekking out at 0600.”

_________

As his plane neared the airport, Sy tried yet again to stuff his overly long legs into a comfortable position. He hated this feeling. Antsy and yet despondent. He hadn’t bothered to call anyone to meet him at the airport.

Ten years. Ten fucking years he’d been bouncing back and forth between missions, bases, and crews. Sy’s dad had passed a few years ago, a victim of his own bad habits, and his mother was convinced that keeping in touch with Sy was too painful a reminder of the man he looked and sounded so much alike. He had estranged himself from his remaining family with the exception of his little brother, who he only checked in with occasionally. From the brief messages they had exchanged, Jonah seemed happy enough with his new, very quiet stay-at-home wife and his four-year-old son. Perfect little small town fam-damily.

Honestly he was only going back home because he didn’t know where the hell else to go. Didn’t make a difference, he supposed. He could find some work, fix up a place, bide his time until the Army saw fit to bring him back for something new.

__________________

After the hour-long drive in the Texas heat to Jonah’s place, Sy was more than ready for that shower he had been lusting after for the last year. He stepped out of his rental car and stared a bit at the perfectly manicured lawn of his brother’s house. Not that he’d expected his brother to be a slob, the Syversons were raised to be orderly, but this looked like something out of a movie set.

The front door opened, and his brother stepped out.

“Jude! Welcome home big brother!” Jonah said, stepping close and clasping his hand. His brother was smaller in stature than him, but his firm grip belied a confidence he didn’t remember him having years ago. Jonah stood almost a head shorter than him, dressed in a suit and nice shoes. Sy felt dirty in comparison, standing on the nice front lawn in fatigues.

“Jonah,” Sy nodded, “Look like you’re doin’ well for yourself.”

“New times, brother, better times,” Jonah said cryptically. “Come on in, you look like hell big guy. Marianne just started dinner. Let’s get you settled and fed, yeah?”

Sy crossed the threshold and toed his boots off next to the door. A peek at the gleaming wood floors told him his sister-in-law probably wouldn’t appreciate any dirt tracked across her house. A light clatter from the left alerted him to where the kitchen was located, along with Marianne’s whereabouts.

“Care to introduce us?” Sy asked.

“Nah, brother, you’ll meet her at dinner. Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Jonah’s tone already set him on edge. In the past, his brother, younger by almost 6 years, had always been a bit meek. Growing up, Sy had done everything he could to protect him from their father’s drunken wrath, but Jonah had been a quiet sort, more adept at bookish things than Sy. When he’d left for the Army, he’d hoped Jonah was old enough and strong enough to make his own way, but he’d given himself plenty of grief over leaving his baby brother who he’d practically raised on his own. Seems he had worried unnecessarily, but something about this overbearing, almost-false confidence in Jonah’s demeanor set his teeth to grinding.

“Yeah, man. I’d love a decent shower.”

______________

After letting the hot water pound down on himself for probably longer than was necessary, Sy toweled off and changed into a clean set of fatigue pants and a Led Zeppelin tee. He had long since forgone the need for most civilian clothes. Maybe that was something he would have to get used to again. He made a mental note to go shopping for some jeans, along with finding a new car the next day, and made his way downstairs to dinner.

The table was set impeccably, Sy noticed as he joined the others in the dining room, again feeling out of place amongst the finery his brother seemed to have developed an affinity for in his absence.

“Jude, my wife, Marianne, and this is your nephew, Beau,” his brother said, holding a hand out toward each in turn. Marianne was a pretty woman, blonde, late twenties by the looks of her, clad in a neat blue dress and an apron. Sy leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“Oh,” Marianne said quietly, accepting his greeting awkwardly. “Nice to meet you Jude. What will you have to drink?”

“No need to serve me, darlin’,” Sy said warmly, “I’ll help myself to some beer if you’ve got it.”

Marianne looked to Jonah.

“We uh..we actually don’t have any alcohol. Just a water for my brother, Marianne.” Jonah said and she shuffled off to the kitchen.

Beau sat quietly at the end of the dining table, staring slightly wide-eyed at his uncle.

“Beau,” Sy nodded. “You sure as shit got your daddy’s blue eyes don’tcha? Nice to meet ya little man,” he said with a chuckle.

Beau continued to stare, looking unsure.

“Greet your uncle, Beau,” Jonah said lowly.

“Uh, uhm…nice to meet you Uncle Jude,” Beau said nervously.

“Call me Uncle Sy, little man, haven’t been called by my given name in years, not really used to it anymore,” Sy said with a warm smile. The boy seemed to take mostly after his grandfather, a mop of brown curls on his head and that unusual chunk of brown visible in his left eye, just like Sy’s own. Sy immediately felt a pit of shame open up in his gut for not having been there to get to know him early on.

“Beau, go wash up,” Marianne said quietly as she set the men’s drinks on the table for them and disappeared back into the kitchen to retrieve the dishes for dinner. Beau disappeared quickly to do as told.

“Seems you run a tight ship around here, little brother,” Sy commented as he sat down and sipped at his water.

“It’s a new day, brother,” Jonah replied. “I’ve learned a few things since you’ve been gone.”

Sy sat awkwardly through the rest of dinner. It was nice to have some fresh, home cooked food, but reintegrating himself with family he barely knew left him feeling drained.

“If y’all will excuse me now, I’m dead tired,” he said, “I’m gonna hit the hay. Lots to do tomorrow.”

Sy said good night to his brother’s little family and headed up to the guest room they had designated for him. He was exhausted after what little interaction he’d had with them and was more than ready to be alone.

Feeling more unsure of his decision to come home than ever, Sy fell into a fitful sleep.

(Oct 11, 2020)

#captain syverson #sandcastle #fanfic #fan fiction #a new day

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naughtygirl286 · 3 years

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So we finally got to see The Suicide Squad (aka Suicide Squad 2) this past Tuesday and I thought it was pretty awesome.

There isn't any in theater collectables no cups or buckets or anything..I was talking to the Manager back when we went to see Jungle Cruise (I talk to everyone 😛 I know alot of ppl 😄) and they said they didn't receive anything for certain movies due to Covid 19 related reasons which kinda sucked but what can you do? also I was surprised to see families at this? Like this is a R-rated movie and you are bringing small children to see it? and by small children I mean kids 10 and under! this is not a movie for kids 10 and under!!

Other then that I thought the movie was great!! it was loads of fun. the action and stunts were all excellent. it Gruesome and violent as well as funny and had that similar wit to it that Guardians of the Galaxy had but a bit more adult themed I would say. there is alot going on in the movie and it is a truly crazy ride.

I loved how everyone and everything looked. I love how they did Starro he was absolutely perfect! and I loved seeing him on the big screen being one of the more classic and odd DC villains when I first heard the rumor that he would be in this I didn't believe it but when I seen him in the trailer I had to LOL and it was awesome to see him fully realized on screen. Also Margot Robbie in my opinion is still killing it as Harley Quinn John Cena was excellent as Peacemaker Idris Elba was I thought a great choice for Bloodsport and Viola Davis is Amanda Waller she just owns that role much like J.K. Simmons J.K. Simmons does with J. Jonah Jameson it like you don't want to see anyone else is that role. I also loved both Ratcatcher2 and how they did King Shark he is not really comic accurate like I say he is on the Flash but more similar to how he looks on the Harley Quinn show but sadly doesn't have the same personality he is more of the dimwited loveable muscle in this and David Dastmalchian as Polka-Dot Man is totally completely insane!

I do feel bad for some of the characters tho..like T.D.K.,Javelin and Savant being they didn't last long and didn't get much screen time but especially for what happened to Captain Boomerang and I thought Mongal would have lasted longer too being the daughter of Mongul I guess I just expected to much from her

In the end I thought the movie was awesome I loved, I really enjoyed it. It was fun, crazy and wild Its how i would think a Suicide Squad movie would go. one of the ppl that came with us kept saying "this is an awful movie!" but I think they enjoyed too being they were laugh at stuff and having a great time. So I think I would recommend it if you are enjoying the DC movies (DCEU) and if you just want to watch it out of cursorily then I say do it!

Also there is some stuff during/after the credits so don't rush out to quick.

#the suicide squad #suicide squad #suicide squad 2 #the suicide squad 2021 #naughtygirl286 #shannonj286 #the suicide squad movie

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idlecreature · 4 years

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a mountain is a lovely, cold thing to surround one

Barnabas Bennett and Mordechai Lukas have an... unorthodox relationship.

Barnabas has debts, and Mordechai makes sure he pays them.

Vampire!Mordechai for Jonah Magnus Week! Part 1/Part 2/Part 3

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Mordechai Lukas/Barnabas Bennett, Jonah Magnus/Barnabas Bennett

Content warnings: Dubcon, Unhealthy relationships, heavy on the internalized homophobia, the Lonely, manipulation (hence the dubcon warning), Barnabas does NOT die in this fic, happy ending for Barnabas because he deserves it rrrr

Fragments from a letter written circa Christmas 1814

—and I am looking forward to fainting at the sight of his sweet little face, Jonah! The splendid mane around his neck! Your little tiger, king of his jungle, king Ceasar, his croaky battle-roar as he runs down the hallway for his cream—

Barnabas has a sixth sense for earthquakes. In the hours leading up to one, he feels odd jolts in his bones, like someone is reaching through his skin and rattling him. He feels them where he broke his zygomatic process when his mother dropped him as a toddler, just to the side of his left eye. If he had a soul, he thinks that’s where it would live: in the part of him that was first broken.

When he and Jonah are thirteen and eleven respectively, he feels his skull itching and watches the trembling of their school’s pet rabbit and the anxious pattern of birds wheeling, and on their tea break, he leads Jonah outside and takes the other boy’s hand and presses it to a patch of bare dirt beside the rugby field.

“Do you feel that?” Barnabas asks.

Jonah’s eyes narrow in concentration. His hand scrapes nonsense patterns in the dirt. “Describe what I’m supposed to be feeling?”

Barnabas shakes his head. How does a thirteen-year-old describe a sense of inescapable doom? It feels like standing outside his mother’s room unbreathing and counting down from twenty before knocking. It feels like being sucked under a wave and not fighting as hard as he knows he should to resurface. It feels like waking up on a grey morning crying.

The quake, when it hits that evening, lasts for six minutes. An entire epoch for a child. And Barnabas understands it’s no use knowing about an oncoming earthquake if you are powerless to stop it coming on.

At least he has Jonah, whose dirty hand wraps tightly around his own.

Despite what Jonah believes, there are some things that just can’t be explained in words.

His skull’s been prickling in recent months.

It’s gonna be a bad one.

—It’s freezing cold, and, oh, you know I feel the cold most cruelly. I cannot make myself warm with double-socking, or blankets over my knees, or hot bread and soup... nothing warms me, only the morning sun as she shakes her fiery head. I cannot wait for summer-time—

Isabel Blackwood is a saint.

“Another slice of Three-kings-cake, B....Barny?” Isabel asks, her knife poised in the air. There are two slices left, and James has already found the bean. Her four children stand at her elbows, eyeing the cake with hungry, dark eyes, but they, too, cede to Barnabas. Even the little king bows.

“Mr. Bennett, if you please,” Barnabas replies, aiming for a terse-but-gentle tone. “And I couldn’t eat another bite!” He pats his stomach in emphasis.

“Come on, Mr. Bennett, it’s Christmas!”

“Leave off, Mr. Blackwood,” Isabel says to her husband. She smiles at Barnabas as she cuts the two slices into four and divides them amongst her children.

“Don’t wolf it down or you’ll make yourselves sick,” Isabel warns the two girls, Frances and Annie.

The Blackwoods are decent folk, letting him come over for cake on Christmas. They were the first to sign up for Barnabas’ family charity earlier in the year; he has since taken on half a dozen more, but his closest working relationship is still the Blackwoods. The charity pulled the eldest, James, out of the workhouse and into an apprenticeship, made co-payments on lodgings that are just a step above their old squalid tenement, provided them with new ill-fitting clothes. It seems pitifully little to Barnabas, but the Blackwoods seem to worship the ground he walks on.

You can’t be too friendly with people like that. It’s unfair to you both. It’s awkward enough sitting in their smoky central room, the air smelling like damp and soap and sweat and charcoal, in a tailored suit that may as well have been spun from gold, hands soft from white-collar work, clear-eyed and ruddy-cheeked. Look, his appearance mocks, how the world could be if it were not so cruel.

Before Barnabas leaves the Blackwoods, the littlest one, Henry, gives him a tight hug. Henry tries to wrap his entire body around Barnabas’ middle, constricting him like a snake, and when he doesn’t seem to want to let go Isabel has to pry him off.

“Don’t be so clingy,” she chides her son. She looks at Barnabas nervously. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Bennett. He’s somehow got it in his silly noggin that you’re his Uncle.”

Barnabas looks at her in mute horror. “I - I - I should go,” he says, and makes a hasty exit.

Barnabas runs a finger down the perfectly neat columns of his ledger again, double-checking every minutia of his expenses. He’s made a mistake, he must have missed something. He’s fifty pounds short of where he should be.

His hands curl into fists. The absence of fifty pounds shouldn’t be a big issue, not for him and his big house and servants and nice things. But the charity is obviously chewing through more of this month’s allowance than he’s anticipated, and he needs to make some adjustments if he wants to be able to keep all the nice things and pay the servants and keep the debt collector from his door.

This is why he shouldn’t let people become attached to him. Because he ends up disappointing or hurting them. People could starve and it would be his fault.

A thick splat of water lands on his ledger, making the perfect lines run, and that’s just great, isn’t it? What are tears ever good for, when are they ever useful? He is just a very small cog in a very big machine, and now he’s getting ground up in it like the rest of them.

But what else can he do? He must participate in the world if he wants it to change for the better, even if it’s a marginal improvement. He could live in the margins.

He’ll find the money somewhere.

—did you get my copy of Queen Mab? The Vice Society has declared it OBSCENE MATERIAL, and I mustn't be seen with a copy of it in my house, but you do not rely so much upon a good reputation. I hope you keep it safe. I hope you read it and I hope you side with P.B.S. and I. A good world starts with a good person and a few choices that are made with the heart—

Barnabas’s game of solitaire lies forgotten as he stares at Jonah.

They are more different now than ever. Barnabas keeps the company of bankers and lawyers and politicians, and Jonah runs with crackpots and devils and the insane. Jonah has fourteen powers; Barnabas has a list of names in his address book. People he barely knows, who remain in his orbit because of his good breeding, his impeccable reputation, and they still only half-listen to his pleading and his petitioning and his politicking. The people with the power to actually change the world; people he wants at arm’s length.

But there’s just something about Jonah that makes Barnabas want to touch. He flares to gold with an audience; but, even now, curled up on his couch idly scratching between Julius Ceasar’s whiskers, he is a dim and majestic copper. There’s something undeniably old testament about Jonah; the fire and fury of creation, the self-annihilating stare of Lot’s wife.

Jonah’s close to buried under the Millbank proofs spread over his lap, sucking gently on the tip of his pen, occasionally darting down to make some arcane adjustment on the design—just a penstroke or puzzling scribble. Mostly he just stares at the paper, eyes wide enough to look like holes in his face. When he gets like this, Barnabas can balance teacups on Jonah’s head without him noticing. The record is three.

“Still keeping the elevator?” Barnabas asks. It’s just one of the many strange embellishments that Jonah’s insisted upon, putting it far outside the budget of any public works project. The price of Jonah’s fancies must run into the tens of thousands of pounds.

“In my dreams, there’s a glass elevator to the top of my tower, from which I look down upon the imprisoned and the powerless,” Jonah says.

“Taking cues from your dreams?” Barnabas replies. “You know only the desperately mad do that?”

“Or desperately inspired—savants and prophets and visionaries.”

“And prison wardens, apparently,” Barnabas mutters. He bites his teeth together, unwilling to work through this old argument. “Who’s paying for your dream towers, again? Think they might lend me fifty pounds for a project that actually is for the public good?”

Jonah finally unpeels his eyes from his proofs, and Barnabas’s throat runs dry. Jonah stares until he’s got Barnabas squirming in his seat, and then he says, brightly, “Oh, I’m sure he would. I’m sure I could tell you. But I don’t think I will.”

“Jonah,” Barnabas says irritably. “That’s very unfair.”

“Oh, pish posh, life’s unfair, Barny, and I can’t believe that you in your infinite wisdom and your even more infinite disposition to share it can pretend that it isn’t. That the evil in man has made life unfair, that it’s just not the natural order to put some creatures above others.”

Barnabas counters him an instant later. “Obviously, you stupid little man, not everyone was created equal, but it’s the good in man to want to put things to rights, to create a system where unequal creatures can be equal. Are you trying to make me angry with you by playing the devil’s advocate?”

“Just testing you,” Jonah says in his alloyed voice, silver-and-honey-gold.

“Well? Who’s this rich man then?”

Jonah sticks his tongue out at him.

“Alright, it’s getting late,” Barnabas says. He tidies his long-forgotten card game and makes ready to leave.

“Wait,” Jonah says.

“It really is getting on, Jonah, I promise you can tease me about secret benefactors some other day.” Barnabas stands up and stretches on his stiff legs.

“No.” Jonah shuts his eyes briefly. “It’s very late. You should stay.”

Barnabas shakes his head and makes his way out of the fire-warm lounge and into the cold front room. Jonah springs up, sending the proofs flying and Julius Ceasar yowling in annoyance and surprise, and Jonah follows close on his heels.

“It’s raining,” Jonah says more softly.

“It is Edinburgh,” Barnabas replies, but cold apprehension curdles in his belly. “I - I need to leave. I - I already visit you too often, Jonah, and you know what people say about you, and they might think that I’m.... I’m some kind of...”

Jonah steps closer. “Aren’t you, though? ‘Some kind of’?” He reaches for Barnabas’s hand where it is clumsily buttoning his coat. “I know you, Barnabas. Your morality has only ever been a thin cover for your shame.”

The blood drains from Barnabas’ face. “That’s very cruel,” he whispers.

“It’s true,” Jonah says. He cants his head. “Haven’t you thought about why your morals don’t ever make you happy? It’s because you wield them like a sword, to keep yourself away from the world. A world that won’t ever accept you for who you are. A world that wants you to keep waving that heavy, sharp thing until you give up and throw yourself upon it. That’s your pain, Barnabas, that’s your fear. Whenever I look at you I can see it as easily as I see your face.”

Jonah steps closer again. His chin touches Barnabas’s chest, and Barnabas can see the pulse fluttering in his friend’s throat. “It doesn’t have to be that way,” Jonah says.

“It does,” Barnabas says, stepping out of his reach. “Because - because I’m still afraid, and I still love the world, even - even if to live in it I must throw myself upon my sword and die and haunt my own life, all at the same time.”

Jonah remains silent. If he is stung by the rejection, his expression doesn’t show it. He’s got that crinkle between his brow he gets when he has to solve two maths problems simultaneously.

“Mordechai Lukas,” Jonah says, eventually. “That’s my moneyed friend. Tread carefully with him.”

Jonah wishes him no goodbye when he shuts the door. That’s fine with Barnabas. He’s not the only one nursing fresh wounds.

—I confess since I’ve been away this time my need or my wish for people has absolutely fled. I have learned to love solitude, and I forget what it means to be lonely.—

Mordechai looms as large as a mountain and is beautiful in the way a portrait is beautiful—two steps removed from humanity.

He tilts Barnabas’s head to the side, impervious to the muscles in Barnabas’s neck straining against him.

“Hm,” Mordechai says.

“I take it you’re not convinced by the moral position, then,” Barnabas spits out. His cheeks are burning, but Mordechai’s other hand is wrapped around Barnabas’s hip, stopping him from stepping away.

Mordechai laughs; a strange thing, guttering as it starts, in contrast with his unmoving, lifeless, beautiful face. His thumb strokes Barnabas’s cheek despite Barnabas trying to shake it off. “No. But there are certainly other positions to consider.”

“We’re in public,” Barnabas hisses. He looks pointedly at two women walking down the other side of the street.

“Are we?” Mordechai murmurs. He’s still circling his thumb on Barnabas’s cheek, but his fingers press down on Barnabas’s carotid artery, taking its measure, making Barnabas’s vision swim with silver fish.

“What - what vile magic -”

“Just a glamour.”

Barnabas processes this new information rapidly. “They can’t see us?”

“Would you like them to?”

Barnabas tries to shake his head, but it is locked in place, pulled as taut as a bowstring. The pressure is starting to hurt, and he rests against Mordechai’s hand for a moment to ease it.

“Good,” Mordechai says, and releases him. Barnabas takes several staggering steps backward, massaging his sore neck. “Spirited, aren’t you?”

“I can - I can work up a repayment plan, we can sign it at the -”

“No,” Mordechai replies, his voice heavy with finality. “I decide how I am repaid.”

Desperation is a harsh master, and Barnabas nods. He’d prefer to keep it off the books, anyway. An agreement between Gentlemen.

“You will find my terms very agreeable,” Mordechai says.

Barnabas swallows and feels the heat of his blush creep under his hair. There’s something in the way Mordechai looks at him that promises danger, but Barnabas only feels the anticipation of a fight, so strong he can barely keep it down. He takes his time to make sure he doesn’t sound too eager when he replies.

In the dark of his bedroom when Barnabas finally wraps a hand around himself, he isn’t thinking about Jonah, his many dog-eared fantasies, tired and sad Frankensteinian conjurations of the few ginger kisses they’ve shared, memories of Jonah flushed, excited, exerted stitched together and his own imagination filling in the rest—they’ve been friends for so long it’s completely understandable if Barnabas’ thoughts occasionally (privately, every night) run to intimacy. He’s trying very hard not to think about Jonah.

He’s thinking about that strange, death-pale, flat-edged face, the terrible pressure on Barnabas’s jaw, the feeling of compression on his artery, the voice both mocking and stern in turns. Its appearance in Barnabas’s thoughts elicits a new and fierce shame.

Barnabas rubs his chin, trying to chase the feeling of Mordechai’s hand.

It’s almost comical, how quickly Barnabas’s shame runs to pleasure.

His fifty pounds arrives with an invitation.

The first time Barnabas visits Moorland house, he expects Mordechai to be waiting for him. But Mordechai is not there, and Barnabas is expected to wait.

Moorland is certainly a large and imposing estate, perhaps once opulent, but it has been left to ruin. The building’s beams sag with damp; its tapestries are delicately laced with powder-white fungus; there is an atrocious stuffed albatross over the mantlepiece with half of its feathers snowed around the room. The grounds are pale and bare; an empty wind roils through.

Barnabas is fairly certain that Moorland has three servants, but they whip around or disappear through doors when he tries to approach them. Barnabas’s own house is much smaller, but he has just as many in his staff; he suspects that Mordechai is not a rich man at all, just someone with a once-impressive but dead family name and an estate too large to be managed on a pittance. He wonders why Mordechai pretends otherwise.

These thoughts slip through his mind like freshwater fish down a stream, but Barnabas wanders through the house contentedly enough. After a week he barely even notices the servants’ presence, save for his changing sheets and pressed clothes and the serviceable meals prepared set and left for him in at the kitchen table, in front of the unlit hearth. He eats with blackened silverware and tastes the neglect.

After two weeks, Barnabas sails through the house in fraying silk undergarments and dusty, pink-tinged mink he’s pulled out of a room he can’t remember, his days blurring together in their monotony. He stops to wipe a sleeve at one of the many ancient, spotted mirrors and squints through the smear of dust at his reflection, trying to reconcile the person standing in front of him with the person he thought he was. Wasn’t he supposed to have a purpose here? Wasn’t he needed in London? There is poverty, suffering; but it is far, far away, and he is in a place it would never touch him.

There are as many mirrors as there are portraits of Mordechai’s family, all exactly alike, his haunting beauty and domineering presence. Barnabas drags a finger down the paint of one of them, leaving behind a thin white line. A tally mark to as many days he thinks he’s spent in this place.

He’s sitting at the kitchen table, clipping pearlescent roses from the garden for a floral arrangement when he thinks about all those mirrors, and how a ghost could wander this house trapped forever. If he covers up the mirrors, then he could leave.

Mordechai returns when Barnabas no longer keeps track of days and nights; when the mirrors don’t make him think of anything in particular, although he wonders why half of them are shrouded or turned to the wall.

Barnabas drifts down to the coatroom and threads his arms through Mordechai’s.

“Welcome home,” he says dreamily.

“Hello,” Mordechai says. Barnabas makes a small, disappointed sound when Mordechai disengages himself to unwind his scarf. He scratches his beard. “You’re in a biddable mood.”

“‘Course I am. I’m lovely,” Barnabas replies. He presses himself to Mordechai, enjoying the whole, solid block of him. Mordechai’s hands are worryingly chilly, and Barnabas gathers them and blows on them gently. Once he finishes the task he settles against Mordechai again, pleased with himself.

Mordechai forgoes a response but for tipping Barnabas’s head back and sucking an open-mouthed kiss against his neck, working the skin with his tongue and the slick coldness of his teeth, and, oh, this is the touch that Barnabas has craved these past days. He’s felt so forlorn without it, only he never realized.

He’s gasping and moaning by the time Mordechai splits his skin open and drinks his blood. It’s only then, with his blood being pulled out of him in long, deep strokes, that Barnabas remembers with ice-cold clarity why he’s here; to repay a debt; and that he should be feeling rather a lot of either shame, or anger, pain, or worry, but instead he’s trying to rut his puffed-up prick against the vampire’s body.

Mordechai licks the wound closed and kisses Barnabas, sharing with him the taste of his own blood.

“Happy new year,” Mordechai says.

#the magnus archives #jonah magnus week #mordechai lukas #barnabas bennett #jonah magnus #second part up tomorrow it's just another 3k and my wrists are sore

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

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Promises Not Kept Part 18

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 18: Tommy and Leah tie the knot before the boxing match night.

Thomas Michael Shelby.

Leah Mary Robinson.

She picked up the license with shock and wonder. Mrs. Shelby. She was now a Shelby.

It was nothing more than signing a few documents and citing their legal vows. But Tommy held Leah’s hand the entire time. His blue eyes with a softness that was reserved for her. When he kissed her, it sealed the promise that they made to each other. Tommy would always be there for her and protect her. And if need be, Leah would care for Charlie.

But she was optimistic and the license held a possibility for them. The possibility of being a family. A family that Leah had lost hope for a very long time ago. A family that Tommy was desperately trying to hold together.

Once everything was said and done, Leah had to sit down. The lobby of the council was quiet, only a few people sifting in and out. She found a bench to sit down on as she was trembling.

Tommy followed her, not letting go of her hand. “Alright?” He asked quietly and knelt down in front of her.

She smiled and nodded even though there were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t ever expect myself to find love again.” Her hands shook as she reached forward to touch his cheek. “Never expected to make those vows again. After everything, I’ve done…I thought I never deserved love.”

He gently brushed a thumb over her cheek to wipe away her tears. “Lee,” His voice was low and soft with affection.

“When you came for me at Midland-never gave up on me. Tommy, I’ve never gotten over that.” She admitted sheepishly, her lower lip quivering. “I fell for you then and there. I was afraid that you’d never feel the same way because of who I was.”

Tommy touched his forehead to hers and brought her in close. “Doesn’t matter where either of us come from. Matters where we are now. You’re my wife and I’ll never stop loving you. We’ll be alright, aye?”

With a nod, Leah pulled back and sniffled. “Didn’t mean to get all emotional.” She laughed weakly and wiped her cheeks. “All weepy.”

He smiled and brushed his thumb over her cheek once more before standing up. “No need to apologize.” He held out a hand to help her up off the bench. “C’mon, I’ve got a few things to straighten out ‘fore tonight.”

~~~~~~~~~

“Mummalee!” Charlie chirped from upstairs.

Tommy smiled when he heard his son’s mixed up adaptation of Leah’s name. “You ought to just let him call you mum, might be easier in the long run.” He slipped off her coat for her to hang it up.

“Oh I dunno. I don’t want him to…” She sighed. It was the same excuse she’d used so many times. It was a fine line that she walked every single day with the little boy. Every day, Charlie forgot about Grace just a bit more. Soon, he wouldn’t remember anything about her. He was far too young when they lost her. But Leah didn’t want to take the title away from the woman who had given him life. The woman that gave Tommy a son. A male heir to the Shelby throne.

But at the same time, Leah didn’t want to continue to correct Charlie. She didn’t want to alienate him, make him feel like she didn’t want to have a family with him. If they were to have another child, Leah wanted Charlie to feel like he mattered just as much as his half-sibling. How awful it would be if Charlie felt like he was a black sheep just because he wasn’t Leah’s son by blood.

“I suppose if you’re okay with it, then it would be alright. But I still want him to know about Grace.” She relented.

“He’ll learn about what happened when he’s old enough to understand the truth.” Tommy agreed.

“Mummalee!” Charlie called again. “Daddy! Where’s mummalee?”

“Come on down, Charlie, mumma’s right here,” Tommy responded.

The sounds of little feet came pattering down the hall and down the stairs. Charlie scampered down to the front room and leapt into Tommy’s arms. He giggled and looked at Leah. “M’hungry.”

“Yeah?” Leah stroked his hair back and kissed his cheek. “What would you like for lunch, love? Let me make you something.”

“Actually, Auntie Ada’s coming to pick you up, Charlie,” Tommy said gently. “She’ll make you something.”

The little boy pouted. “Why?” He whined, dragging out the word.

“’Cause you’re going to stay with Karl and Mary for the night.”

Leah gasped, trying to make Charlie excited. “Won’t that be so fun? You get to play with your cousin all day!”

Charlie didn’t seem too convinced but didn’t argue. “Alright.”

“And you’ll be good for mumma and daddy?” She murmured and nuzzled his cherub cheeks.

It drew a small laugh from him and he grabbed a handful of her hair. “Yeah!”

“Good lad.” Tommy went to open the door when he heard Ada knock.

Leah kissed Charlie’s forehead. “I love you.” She said and placed him on the floor. “We’ll see you later, poppet.”

He beamed and ran to greet his aunt. After chatting briefly with Ada, she left hand-in-hand with Charlie. Tommy shut the door and turned to his wife.

She smiled and tilted her head to the side. “Alright, then, what have you got planned?”

“Planned?” He asked innocently. After locking the door, he began to head upstairs. “Got nothing planned.”

“Yes you do, why’d you have Ada get Charlie early?” Curious, Leah followed him.

“It’s our wedding night, isn’t it?”

A coy smile spread over her face and she picked up the pace. “And we’ll be spending our wedding night watching a boxing match?”

“Well, this is only our first wedding night.” He reminded her. “We’ll have to make do.”

Leah could hear the click of his cufflinks as he began to remove them. Once inside the small bedroom, he turned and began to kiss her in the doorway. It only took a brief second and he took her breath away. With just barely enough sense to tug at the buttons on his shirt. His fingers replaced hers and he swiftly discarded his shirt behind them.

Tommy could feel her hands trembling against his chest. “Easy, love.” He murmured against her lips. “Easy.”

“I just need you.” She whispered breathlessly. “Stay this close.” Her fingers traced over his tattoos.

“How’d you need me, love?” His voice lowered deeper with desire. “Tell me how you need me.” He began to undo the ties of her dress.

The desperation in his voice drew a whimper from her. “Tom…” Her voice shuddered helplessly.

“Tell me, Leah.” Blue eyes firm on hers, his pupils blown with lust.

“I’m yours now. Mark me, I want to feel you. I want to know you’re mine.” The words fell from her lips, dripping with need and endearment.

It was the perfect response for Tommy. With no one else in the house or the betting shop, there was no reason to hold back.

It was only a few hours until the fight. But Tommy was still in bed with Leah. He knew he had to get ready and brief his men, but it was too tempting to stay under the guilt with her.

His wife had dozed off beside him, curled up against him. She wore nothing but her engagement ring and the love bites that Tommy had scattered over her skin. Bruising marks, the pressure applied making her gasp loudly and beg for more.

Leah left a few of her own on her husband. Denting his pale skin, sucking and kissing at his tattoos. The final one was a strong nip at his shoulder, just a few inches from the bullet wound marring him. He closed his fingers around her hair and came so hard he saw stars.

After the intense climax, he petted her hair and kissed her all over. Murmuring words of adoration against the marks he made. Calling her his love, his wife, his one and only. His wife. Mrs. Shelby.

It was a moment of bliss before the chaos they faced. The fight was bound to bring danger. But all of them would be there. And if things came to an end for him, Tommy would have that last moment with his wife.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Can’t say I’ve ever been to a boxing match.” Leah walked arm in arm with Ada to the venue.

“It’s only entertaining towards the end.” The Shelby woman shrugged. “I brought something to make it a little more exciting.” She coyly showed Leah the bottle tucked away in her purse.

Her sister-in-law giggled and shook her head. “You Shelby girls just love getting in trouble.”

“Well, you’re one of us now,” Ada replied pointedly. “Although I hope Tommy doesn’t make you wait too long for a nicer ceremony.”

“He said he and Grace were married in the church down the road from Arrow House.”

Ada nodded. “I can remember the looks on her family’s faces. They were horrified at the idea of Grace marrying him.”

Leah smiled softly and followed her to the front of the building where a line of men was waiting to enter. “But they loved each other.”

“It’s difficult to measure love.” Ada shrugged and pushed past the men, not even waiting for the bouncers at the door to greet them. “But you can see it in people’s eyes.” The two women had to squeeze close together to get through the narrow hallway packed with loud shouts.

“No weapons! Empty out your pockets, lads! No admittance with weapons!”

Past the hallway, they finally entered the seating area. The rows were already starting to fill up with onlookers.

“Do you wonder if you’ll ever find anyone else?” Having never known Ada when she was married, Leah wasn’t sure if she was overstepping her boundaries. The woman spoke about Freddie every so often, especially when saying how much Karl looked like him.

Ada found their seats at the front row where Linda and Lizzie were already sat. Polly appeared to be speaking to her nephews a little bit away. “Sometimes I wonder.” She admitted. “But I suppose I won’t know until it’s clearly obvious.”

Leah smiled warmly. “I suppose you never know.”

Polly walked over and sat beside her. “Ada, I hope you brought what I asked you to.”

Ada pulled the bottle from her purse and began handing it down the line of women. She also exchanged a cigarette with Leah and her aunt. “How’s Bonnie look?”

“Like he’s going to rip someone to shreds,” Polly answered and lounged back in her chair. “The Lord put too much power in such a small little thing.”

“Do you think he actually has a chance?” Leah wondered. She’d only seen Bonnie in passing and he looked hardly big enough to throw a punch. Meanwhile, Tommy said that Alfie Solomons’s nephew was built like a tank. Leah thought her husband was kidding when he called the boy Goliath. But apparently God did have a sense of humor.

“Gypsy boys never stay down. They always keep getting up.” Polly gazed out over the ring. “I once broke up a fight between the boys and some Irish kids who they argued with constantly on the streets. Tommy was on the ground and I thought he’d had his entire face kicked in.” She grimaced at the memory of her bloodied nephew, no more than twelve or thirteen at the time. “Could hardly make him out, didn’t think it was him for a moment. I got them separated and out of nowhere Tommy springs up like a fucking animal. Leaped at one of the boys from behind me and brought him to the ground, fucking broke the poor lad's arm like it was a twig.”

Ada only chuckled even though the event sounded harrowing. “Doesn’t fight like that anymore does he?”

“Fights behind a desk.” Lizzie agreed. “Wouldn’t want to get those suits of his dirty.”

Leah smiled weakly but couldn’t get the image of her head. A young Tommy who never stopped fighting. Had he ever stopped? As long as she’d known him, he continued fighting. It was anyone’s guess what he would take on next.

When the fight began, Leah hadn’t seen Tommy at all in the venue. The rest of the front row seats were all taken except for one that was across the way from her. “Ada, where’s Tom gone off to?” She leaned over, talking in her sister-in-law’s ear so she could hear her over the crowd. The men around them were beginning to get amped up as the fighters made their entrance. The odds looked clearly in their favor.

“Polly says he’s been wandering in the back, somewhere in the locker rooms.” She replied.

Leah stood, an uneasy feeling suddenly coming over her. “I’ll be right back.” She called.

Ada grabbed her arm. “No, stay! We’ve got plenty more to drink!” She shook the bottle at her, the clear liquid sloshing around.

She smiled weakly and shook her off. “Well then save some for me.” She made her way through the crowds, finding a hallway that led to a quieter area. Before she reached a doorway, a broad figure came turning a corner and nearly running into her. Leah gasped quietly and stepped back in shock.

“Sorry, love, didn’t mean to clip ya.” Alfie tipped his hat and glanced up at her from under the wide brim. An amused glint of recognition crossed his blue eyes. “Fucking hell, Rosetta’s girl. Well, ‘scuse me, Mrs. Shelby now, innit?” He placed palm over his heart.

Leah’s spine locked and she made sure to keep her distance. “Mr. Solomons.” She nodded a curt greeting.

He smiled. “Be honest, right, I were surprised to hear you were still sticking ‘round Tommy. Then, fuck, I’ve heard you both snuck down to the council to seal the deal, didn’t ya? But he’s gotta knack for keeping women ‘round, don’t he? Reckon it’s them blue eyes, yeah. Makes you forget ‘bout all the things he’s done, aye?” His eyes narrowed as if he were examining right through her and into her soul. “Wonder why he rushed the wedding. Yeah, sorta insurance. Someone to watch after his boy after they’ve gutted him like a pig. Clever lad, ain’t he?”

Leah didn’t think she could breathe anymore. Panic had overtaken her and risen up to her throat.

“Yeah, hm, well.” He grunted and tipped his hat again. “I’ve got a train to catch. Have a good fight, Mrs. Shelby.” And with that, Alfie passed by her in the hallway and walked into the light of the venue.

Leah mindlessly clutched at the necklace she was wearing, trying to get herself to breathe properly again. Worried, she rushed into the room to find Tommy.

Her husband was sat on a bench, slightly hunched over his knees. He looked to be in pain, most likely a migraine. When he heard her heels on the smooth floor, he glanced up.

“Tommy,”

“Yeah, yes…love, what is it?” He didn’t seem to really hear or see her.

Leah approached him and crouched down to meet his eye-line. “Tommy, look at me please.” She begged.

He did. But he was looking straight through her. “I see you.”

Her gloved hand touched his cheek, beckoning him away from the pain. Trying to pull him towards her. Pull him out of the daze that he was stuck in. “What’s going to happen, Tom?” That was the source of her uneasiness. This wasn’t just a night of sport. It was all planned. Tommy held the puppet strings but it was only a matter of time until his grip slipped and everything came tumbling down.

He didn’t reply. Didn’t say anything that would ease her worry. He simply rested a hand on the nape of her neck, his eyes dancing around her but never truly met her face.

“If something is going to happen then you need to tell me.” She pressed. “If we’re in danger…”

“You’re not in danger. Everyone was searched.” His answer was automatic. Rehearsed even. “No weapons are in the building except for the ones we have. Told you I’d protect you.”

Leah’s pulse quickened and she fought the urge to scream at him. To demand he tell her what his plan was. Instead, she grabbed his hand and moved it to her bare collarbone. To a mark that he had left on her only hours earlier. The bruising bite covered partially by makeup, but not enough that he couldn’t see it.

“I’m yours, Tommy.” She reminded him. “Every bit of me is yours. Everything.”

Tommy swallowed and for a hint of a second, his eyes flashed vulnerability. His head tipped forward and kissed the mark he’d left. His lips lingered there for a moment and his eyes closed.

“See us through this.” She whispered.

“God’s not listening to any of us anymore.” He mumbled against her skin.

“I’m not asking God. I’m asking you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leah returned to her seat with no reassurance. But she attempted to join the women in the fun. Drinking and drunkenly cheering on Bonnie. Still, a dark presence hovered over her shoulder. Everything felt wrong and upside down. A strange nightmare that was completely out of her hands. All she could do was sit, strapped down to reality, and accept the world in front of her.

Towards the end of the fight, Tommy and Arthur’s seats went up missing again. Polly noticed first and stood up. But Leah didn’t notice as she was turned to Lizzie.

She didn’t notice anything amiss until the fight was over and the entire building was losing their mind over Bonnie’s win. That’s when Polly returned and whispered something to Linda. The blonde woman’s eyes widened and she crumpled like a leaf in the wind.

Out of the corner of her eye, Leah noticed Tommy coming in like a wild-eyed horse. He haphazardly ducked under the ropes of the ring and stood in the spotlights. Without warning, he fired shots into the air. The excitement quickly turned to fear and all the onlookers ducked.

“Close the doors!” Tommy shouted. “No one fucking leaves!”

Leah’s heart pounded against her chest and she slowly lifted herself up a little to inch towards the ring.

“My brother is dead!”

A hushed shock waved over the room. Hardly anyone moved a muscle, terrified they’d fall victim to a Shelby with a gun.

“Do you hear me?!” Tommy’s voice raised even louder. “My brother is dead!”

Leah slipped under the ring ropes and tried for the gun. Grabbing a hold of it and trying to wrestle it away from him before he did anything rash.

Tommy reacted, trying to shake her off. But instead, she grabbed onto him and refused to let go. She let him fight for a moment before he went limp in her arms.

The venue erupting into chaos around them. Accusations and grief suddenly filling the large space. Leah clung to Tommy, feeling him breathe heavily and unevenly against her. Drops of sweat pressing into her bare shoulders. His knees buckled and Leah couldn’t hold him upright. So they fell to the ground together.

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dobrikswriting · 4 years

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Broken

Request: Request: Can you write an image about David where the reader and him used to date but it ended badly, so the reader goes home (somewhere far like on the east coast) and tries getting over him. Because their relationship was public, her friends turn on her, so the reader tries to kill themselves and David finds out. Something soft and edgy

Keep the requests coming :)

TW: Suicide

"I don't think I can do this anymore." I said finally after about an hour of arguing. I don't even remember what started the fight but lately it seemed like we didn't need a reason to start going at each others throat.

"So you're just done with us then?" David said rolling his eyes. "Just giving up. That's so like you y/n" He scoffed.

"What are you talking about David?!" I shouted back, anger had worn off and I was just tired and drained and hurt. "I'm not giving up I am holding on to you for dear life but you can't be bothered to make any time for me at all. What am I even giving up on there isn't even a relationship here anymore all you care is about is your vlogs and your friends." I said tears starting to well up in my eyes as I looked at the man that once held all the happiness in my life. I loved him. But I was tired of feeling like I was the only one putting work into the relationship.

"Whatever it's my job do you like living the way you do?" He said not even looking in my direction. "I think you're right lets just end this." He said, no emotion in his voice as he got up from the couch we were sitting on and leaving to his room shutting the door behind him. I sat on the couch for a couple minutes. There was a part of me that was happy to be done with the fighting and almost optimistic of what the future could hold without having the pressure of the fans and the public. But most of me was sad. I don't know how we let it get to this point, we used to be the best couple. We used to make time for each other and we used to clear our days just to see one another. Now I was lucky if I got an hour alone with him once a week. I picked up my bag and walked out of the once familiar house that now just held a lot of memories I no longer wanted to remember. Not even the good ones. My heart ached and I just wanted to forget David all together.

-- 2 weeks later --

I unloaded the last box from my dads truck, setting it down and looking at the small apartment and thinking of ways I could make it feel more like home. "I'm glad to have you home sweetheart." My dad said pulling me in for a hug and kissing me on my forehead. I looked up at him and I know he could see the hurt inside me. That man has known me like the back of his hand all 22 years I've been alive. "I know it's hard right now but remember who you are. You don't need anyone to you special. You do that all on your own. Be young and have fun." He said pulling me closer before letting me go. "I gotta get back home but let me know if theres anything I can do for you. We'll do dinner tonight okay? I love you"

"Okay I love you too Dad." I replied and giving him the most convincing smile I could before he left me and I could drop the act.

Once I was alone I sat down on the floor looking around at the apartment. It was small but it would do. I never thought I'd have to move back to New York. I never thought I'd have to live alone or be alone again, but here I was and I was so truly alone. After the break up I thought I would get a clean cut from life and get a new start. That was far from the truth. When David and Liza broke up they did it in the perfect way where no one was at fault and this is what was best for them both, but for David and I it was a completely different story. I was just gone, and not mentioned except to be the butt of some jokes. No one tried to make it seem like it was mutual or that we both did things wrong. No one out right said I was a bad person but the second we broke up the fans ate it up and ran with it. Everyone thought I was this monster and of course thought that i treated David horribly or cheated or something. It wasn't even worth it to stand up for myself.

I had thought moving home would help to be around people that knew me before David people that were MY friends. But when I made the decision to leave LA I texted a couple people I thought would be happy and I either got no reply or a half hearted one. Its sucked being the less liked person out of a break up.

I stood up not wanting to think about it anymore and started on the unpacking. While I was doing that I texted a couple friends hoping we could get together and have drinks since I got back. I unpacked for about another hour before going to check my phone thinking I would have a couple replies but there was nothing. I sighed and laid down on my bed, as I watched the ceiling fan move in circles and thinking about what I was going to do I saw my phone light up out of the corner of my eyes, I perked up hoping it was a text.

"New Video From David Dobrik" The youtube notification read. I hadn't turned them off yet. Something in me liked to watch them. I liked to see him being happy and having fun that was the David I fell on love with. It seemed like the breakup hadn't phased him at all. I started to watch the video until I couldn't see anything any more because the tears had completely blurred my vision. He was so happy and I'm falling apart. I had never felt so small.

How was it so easy for him to just move on and go about his day and pretend I never existed. How was it so easy for people who were supposed to be on my side who were supposed to me friends and my support system to completely turn their backs on me when no one knows the story. No one knows what happened but they're all so ready to believe some trashy internet article rather than me. I completely broke down. I hadn't cried at lot after the break up and it feel like my body was holding it all in for this very moment. I had never felt more alone. I cried until my body just shut down and I closed my eyes and fell asleep, my eyes no longer able to keep themselves open.

I woke up with a pounding headache, and a little disoriented. I looked around and reached for my phone. One text from my dad fifteen minutes ago.

"Dinner in an hour sound good?" I quickly replied that I would be over soon. I had only slept for an hour and I still felt so exhausted. I got up and went to the bathroom to get some advil for my head before I realized it hadn't been unpacked yet. I sighed and started to sift through all the bathroom boxes to find it. I had found my makeup, hair supplies and skin care products but no advil. I opened the next box that thankfully did have the advil but something else caught my eye more. The orange prescription bottle that was full of small white pain killers. I had completely forgotten about the medicine from both mine and davids wisdom teeth removal. We didn't use most of the pills and we combined the two bottles into one after when we had to travel shortly after the surgery, wanting to have them just in case. I picked the bottle up and for a second I thought to myself that this was the dumbest idea I ever. The idea to take all them right now.

But a bigger part of me wanted to take them so badly. It seemed like the answer that felt the best. The answer that would cause me least amount of pain. Just to be gone. I had already seen how easy it was for people to forget about me and move on so who would I really be hurting. I had always struggled with depression my whole life going off and on anti-depressants after I tried to hurt myself when I was in high school. Since I had moved to LA I had been able to keep myself on track with therapy and taking my medication but that hadn’t been happening lately.

I didn't take time to think everything through I just grabbed a glass of water and threw back a couple of pills with each gulp. I didn't keep track of how many I was swallowing I just kept going until the bottle was empty. I slowly walked out to my disorganized living room sitting on the cheap couch and laying my head back. A sense of peace washed over me thinking everything would be over soon. No tears, just memories going through my head.

My high school graduation, with all the people I thought would always have my back. I thought back to the first time I met David, a loud club with people dancing and music playing but I remembered the first time I saw him my world stopped. I smiled as the memory washed over me. I couldn't help but think how it would of been different if our lives weren't public. I could feel my stomach start to turn and my body starting to reject the contents I had filled it with. I focused harder the memories flashing through my head. A few tears welled in my eyes thinking about my dad and how much this would hurt him. Ever since my mom left when I was three it was me and him against the world. Even when he got remarried and had my little half brother, there was a bond between us that no one else would ever come close to. I hoped he would understand.

After a while my body started to go into panic mode as the drugs started to do the damage I had intended them to do. My brain was calm though and as my world started to break down around me I tried to find my happiest memory. The best thing I could think of to be the last time I ever think of. Davids face wouldn't get out of my head and all I could think of was the very first time we said I love you. We had just gotten back from filming a bit with Jonah's family and we were sitting on the couch, David had his headphones in and was focused on editing, I was about to go home so I kissed him on the cheek to say good bye and as I went to turn around he grabbed my hand. I looked back at him and he was looking at me with more love that I than I thought anyone would ever have for me. "I love you." He said softly. I can't explain how happy and loved I felt in that moment. I wanted to stay trapped in that memory forever. I remembered over and over again how his hair fell when he ran his hands through it, always perfectly messy. How good he looked in glasses, and how my heart raced when he looked at me with that little grin when he was slightly biting his tongue. I remembered everything, until I could remember nothing. And everything went black.

----

(David's POV)

I looked out the window as the plane landed, anxious to be able to get off the plane and get to New York. The last day had been a blur I almost don't remember how I got here. It started with Erin calling about a weird snapchat story she saw y/n's brother had posted and then finding out she had tried to kill herself. Thinking about what was going through her head to make her come to that solution made me sick to my stomach.

To think I played a part in her thinking made me feel like I shouldn't have jumped on a plane to see her. I should of left her alone and let her family take care of it and kept myself as far away from her as possible. She deserved better. But I couldn't I had to tell her how much she meant to me and how it would destroy me if something happened to her. The past few weeks without were the worst of my life. I hadn't talked to anyone about why we broke up, i think i just didn't want to admit that I was the bad guy in the situation. That I had fucked up and was focusing too much on things that didn't really matter and not enough on the one thing that was my escape from the world. The one person that had my back so much that I became used to it. I became used to it and I felt comfortable and all the things she did for me instead being grateful for them I started to expect her to do them. And when she left I realized the giant hole that was in my life without her, but i felt like I had no place in asking for her back. She deserved someone that always knows her worth not someone has to lose her to realize it.

The ride to her house felt like it was 10 hours long, hitting every stop sign, I wanted to scream at the uber to run every light. But I just kept my calm preparing myself for what I might be walking into. I don't know if she was even going to be there or going to let me talk to her but I had to try. It took a lot of convincing to her her brother to give me her address after he told she had already been released from the hospital and I needed to see her.

My uber pulled over outside of run down apartments. They looked dark and not the welcoming environment y/n usually surrounded herself with. I quickly got out and started walking to the entrance, walking down the hall searching for her apartment number. I stopped in my tracks as I saw her apartment. I took a couple deep breaths as I knocked on the door, I heard movement and was happy to see there was no peep hole on her door so she wouldn't know it was me and ignore me. I heard the latch on the door unlock and it opened.

I almost didn't recognize her. She looked so different, tired and like she hadn't been eating. She had no emotion on her face until she realized it was me then she instantly moved to slam the door which I caught with my hand.

"Please just give me a couple minutes." I pleaded.She didn't even look me in the eye as she threw her hands in the arm and just walked back into her living room. I took that as an invitation and walked in shutting the door behind me.

"It's nice in here." I said looking around her new home, it was nice, but not as warm and inviting that her last place had been.

"Why are you here?" She asked sinking into the couch.

"I just wanted to see and make sure you're okay. Your brother told me what happened and I was worried." I said not sure if I could sit next to her so I decide to just stand. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know why he thought it was okay to tell you anything about me but I think you already know the answer to that question David." She spat back at me. "No I'm not okay but I don't need your pity party, I don't need you to pretend to care about me so you feel better about yourself so you can go back to your awesome life in LA and not feel like you had anything to do with what I did." She said finally making eye contact with me for the first time. I had never seen her eyes look so hurt.

"That's not why I'm here." I replied. "I'm here because I do care, I needed you to know that if you think i don't care about you, thats wrong. If you think I wasn't affected by you leaving, that couldn't be further from the truth. I had to interrogate your brother to figure out what happened he didn't want to tell me but I needed to know. I needed to know that you were okay and I needed to see you." I said looking away from her. I couldn't stand that I played any part in making her like this.

"Look David that's thoughtful. Thank you for checking on me. You can leave now. I'm alive I didn't actually kill myself, your conscious can be cleared. Now you can go back pretending I never existed, like you have been since I left." I could hear the hurt in her voice as she replied back to me.

"I messed up. I should of never let you leave that day. I should of told you I care. I should of made changes so you could see that I care. I should of never let you feel like I didn't care to begin with. My life isn't the same since you left. And I needed to see you and tell you that I love you with my whole heart and I'm sorry." I replied back hoping she could feel the sincerity in my voice.

"Everyone turned against me. You just went about life as normal with your friends to distract you but I had no one." She said, my heart started to get tight as I realized my actions went beyond what I could imagine. "You didn't think to clear the air? You didn't think to mention that us breaking up wasn't my fault and that I had been trying for month!" She shouted. "Everyone left me because of you. I have no one."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't talk about you. I couldn't admit that I was the fucking idiot that lost the best thing that I've ever had." I moved closer to sit down next to her. "You have people in your life that care about you and I'm sorry for anything I did to cloud that. Y/n when I found out that you...... when I found out what happened all I could think about is that in that moment I would throw my whole career away for you to be okay. I don't care about it. Not like I care about you." I said I could feel tears start to form in my eyes, now that I was sitting next to her I could smell her perfume, the same one she always wore. It had an oddly comforting effect and I just wanted to reach out and hold her.

"That's nice and all David but it's too late." She said I could feel her start to get up."Please don't get up." I said grabbing her arm lightly.

"If you want nothing to do with me I will leave and never bug you again. But y/n, if you give me another chance I will never mess up again." I begged. She stayed sitting next to me.

"You can stay and we can talk but I don't know if its going to change our ending."

"I'll take it." I said back and she looked over at me and I could tell tears were ready to pour out of her eyes. She closed her eyes and began to sob.

"I'm pissed that I miss you so much. I want to hate you and not need you." She said through tears. I didn't say anything as I held her closer to me wrapping my arms around her and kissing her head and she cried into my chest.

"Everything will be okay." Is all I could reply as she continued to cry. It would take a while but genuine believed what I was saying. And i was willing to work to make sure it was.

#david dobrik #david dobrik x reader #david dobrik x y/n #david dobrik x you #david dobrik imagine #vlog squad imagine #vlog squad #imagine

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twinklecheeks · 5 years

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Friends With Benefits (Jeff Wittek Imagine) Part 1

Summary: Jeff and Y/N have been hooking up for a while. The whole vlog squad assumes they’re dating and Y/N does too but Jeff doesn’t like labels. He eventually starts to express interest in Natalie.

Note: This is my first time writing. Planning on making this a multiple part series, depending on how good it does. Also, I don’t hate Natalie at all! I actually love the idea of Jeff & Nat being a thing. They’d look so cute together. You’re 21 & Latina in this (maybe) series

Warnings! Smut, fluff, nudity, pregnancy?

Word Count: 2.3k

*How you and Jeff met*

You met at Dom’s apartment after David invited you to film a bit. You assumed he was new because you’ve never seen him before. His accent swooned you over but you didn’t want to make it obvious. David wanted to film the bit where he shows new friends Jonah p*nis because it’s so small. You’ve been friends with David for 2 years and you’ve known Jonah a while now, so you decide to join Toddy, Jeff and Brandon in the bathroom too see it.

Jeff: Are these the types of videos he does all the time

Y/N: honestly, it happens way too often. He’d do anything for content.

Jonah pulls down his pants and all of us just bust out laughing. At this point your just wheezing and trying to calm down at what you just saw. All of you walk out of the bathroom and Jeff smiles at you and says “you have a cute laugh.” You just wanted to combust in that moment and all you could respond with was a smile. You keeping your distance from Jeff the rest of the time you’re there cause you were nervous and didn’t want to embarrass yourself by saying something stupid. You have social anxiety so it’s a little hard for you to meet new people but once they get to know you, you’re an open book. After that you had to leave to film your own video. You said goodbye to everyone, including Jeff. Y/n: It was nice meeting you. Hopefully you’ll stick around w/ us. He smiles and says “ I hope so too.” After you left, he asked Todd about you.

Jeff: “Hey, what was up with Y/n”

Todd: what do you mean

Jeff: I feel like she was avoiding me or somethin

Todd: Oh no. Don’t take offense to that. She’s really shy when she meets new people. She’ll warm up to you.

*2ish months after meeting Jeff*

As time went on, Jeff started to hang out more and more w/ the vlog squad and you two started to get to know each other. You learned that he was born and raised in Staten Island, he lived in Miami, got arrested for doing dumb shit and eventually turned his whole life around and moved to LA a couple of years ago. He was surprised to find out that you were born in New York City too; but you were born in Brooklyn.

Jeff: I had a bunch of friends that lived in Brooklyn. We might have seen each other around or something.

Y/n: Haha maybe but my family and I moved away when I was 11 tho. We moved to Seattle cause my parents really struggled to make ends meet in the city. They loved it but had to leave. It’s hard living there, raising 3 kids.

Jeff: Yeah I feel ya. My parents struggled too in Staten Island but they made it work.

Both of you talked the whole night until you both of you guys fell asleep on David’s couch. You forgot where you were when you realized you were still at David’s house. You tried to move but Jeff had his arm around your waist. You smiled at the fact that you two were getting so close. This started to happen a lot. You guys started to have movie nights together and would end up cuddling on the couch or one of y’alls beds.

*Your first kiss/ first time w/ Jeff*

It was New Years Eve. You spent the night partying at David’s house. You and Jeff have basically become best friends in the 2-3 months you’ve known each other. You were hoping that this would finally be the night you kiss him. As everybody started to countdown the final minutes while watching the ball drop on tv, your heart starts to beat like crazy. You’re right by Jeff and he has his arm around you. Both of you look watch the tv and it’s the final ten seconds. Everyone is yelling TEN, NINE, EIGHT, SEVEN, SIX, FIVE… You started to have your doubts that you to would kiss and it’s like everything happened in slow motion. As it counted down the final 4 seconds, Jeff caught you off guard and pulled you in for a kiss. It felt like fireworks were going off when you kissed him. You guys pulled away but this wave of confidence came over you and pulled him in for another kiss but it was more sensual/ needy. Both of you saw the lust in your eyes and you wanted to take him right there but he started to pull you out of David’s house to head to his car. He pushed you against his car and started to ravish you. You grabbed his face and moved his lips from your neck to connect with yours. He bit down on your lip, as you moaned and parted your lips, allowing his tongue to enter. You lightly pushed him away and you guys get into the car, acting like horny teenagers. “Baby if i weren’t driving like a maniac right now, I’d fuck you right in the back seat.” You notice Jeff’s giant bulge and decide to help him out. You start to feel his throbbing member through his pants and Jeff let’s out a moan. You unzip his pants and see his cock spring up. You were excited but also intimidated at how big he was. You unbuckle your seatbelt and move closer to Jeff; the pre-cum oozing at the head. You then stroke his cock for a bit and then you started to give him a blowjob. You tease him by licking the head and Jeff swerves a bit. “Doll, are you trying to kill both of us. Jesus, This is the longest 15 minute drive to my place ever.” Jeff stops at a red light and that’s when you went all in. You hollow your cheeks so you can suck off as much as you can. His cock hit the back out your throat; you started to deepthroat Jeff while he’s still driving. Jeff hearing you choke of his cock is the music to his ears. You guys are about five minutes away and your contemplating whether to suck him until he cums in you mouth or wait until he cums inside you when you get to his place (wrap it before you tap it). You massaged his balls and continue to deepthroat him right before he was about to cum, you guys arrived at his place. You continue to deepthroat him. “Oh shit doll I’m gonna-” He reached his climax and came into your mouth. You look up to see the beads of sweat on his head. He almost cums again just by watching you swallow his cum. He pulls you in for another kiss and you look down to see that his cock is still rock hard. “Someone is still in the mood” you say while smirking. “Babe, you won’t be able to walk in the morning.” Both of you practically run into his building and you can’t keep your hands off each other. He almost takes off your dress in the elevator to take you right there. As he got his door open, all he says is “jump” and the rest of the night felt like a fever dream. And boy he was right on me not being able to walk.

*Current day*

You and Jeff act more and more coupley but he doesn’t want anything serious for right now because he had gotten out of a 3-4 years relationship 6 months before you met. At the moment, you don’t know where you and Jeff stand. You guys fuck multiple times a week and then he leaves your place without explanation. Y/n doesn’t want to say anything because she doesn’t want this to stop. She has such strong feelings for Jeff but is too scared to tell him how she feels. Over the past couple of weeks, you’ve noticed that Jeff has become kind of distant from you. You see in the comments, of several videos that Jeff and Natalie have become a thing. He’s talked about her multiple times on Scott’s podcast, fans make edits, made a joke about having kids with her at coachella and he was being flirty with her at vidcon by asking her who she was dating in front of hundreds of fans on stage during the vlog squad Q&A. You see Jeff’s insta story of Natalie with that pink filter with the romantic music. And to top it all off, the last time you guys went to Vernon Hills to visit David’s family, you were in the car with David, Jason, Ilya, Dom and Jeff is following behind. Dom sees a girl from a far and says “Damn look at that fucking ass.” Everyone is laughing cause they realize it was Natalie and David tattle tales on Dom to Natalie. You hear Jeff say “why do you think I pulled over?” But you still decide to ignore it the fact that he’s crushing on Natalie. You get back to LA and Jeff spends the night at your place. The movie nights don’t happen anymore, so has the cuddling. You both basically fuck until you both orgasm then he leaves right after. “You know you can spend the night if you want” Jeff responds with “Why would I do that?” Damn. That hurt. You play it cool and start to cry yourself to sleep right as he leaves your apartment.

A week passes by and you hear no word from Jeff at all. David texts you to come over so you can film. You enter the house and see that the guys are in the backyard. You were getting closer and you hear Zane ask “whatever happened to you and y/n? I thought y’all were a thing.” Jeff scoffs and says “ugh could never date y/n, she reminds me too much of my ex.” At this point your ears are fuming. “Just because I’m short and Latina like his ex he doesn’t to be with me?” You grab a bottle of tequila that was in David’s cabinet and walk into the backyard and spill it all over Jeff’s head and it was perfect timing because David was recording. “Y/n what the fuck” He grabbed you by the arm and you slap him in the face hard enough to leave a red mark. “Do I still remind you of your ex?” you smile as you walk away. That was the most ballsy thing you’ve done since you kissed him on New Years.

*A month later*

Your life without Jeff has been great. After that night, you blocked his number and all social media accounts. The last you heard was that Jeff asked out Natalie; you don’t hate Natalie, she’s a great person! You still hang out with the vlog squad but you act as if nothing happened. You just started your senior year at USC and can’t wait to graduate next spring. Everything has been a real life changer for you. You were eating healthier, you started going to the gym and you realized how dependent you were on Jeff to make you happy. Just as you thought everything was perfect, it started to go downhill.

Y/n woke up not feeling great. She felt very light headed and very bloated. Y/n assumed she started her period. She checked to see but there was nothing there; then realizes she hasn’t gotten her period in a while but doesn’t think anything of it because she’s never had a regular period. You head out to go jogging on a trail, one that you know Jeff doesn’t go on. It’s normal to feel out of breath but you felt like you were going to pass out. Deciding that you worked yourself too hard, you walk the rest of the way. The last thing you remember was trying walk up the trail. Y/n wakes up in a hospital room extremely confused. The nurse walks in hearing you ask what the hell happened. “Good afternoon Ms. L/n, you fainted on a hiking trail. You were just dehydrated. You should really be drinking more under your condition.” Y/n looked at her dumbfounded “my condition??” The nurse catches on and knows something you don’t. You see her walk outside and speak to the doctor. You try to depict what she’s saying but can’t hear a thing. “Hello Ms. L/N, how are you feeling?” You ignore the question and cut straight to the point “She said I had a condition, what is it.” The nurse and the doctor looked back at each other and looks back at you. “Well, it has come to our attention that you probably had no knowledge of this but we ran some blood tests and…..” “AND WHAT”...... “It has come to our attention that you are 9 weeks pregnant” Out of nowhere, you just start laughing cause you think this is a joke. “You’ve got to be kidding me” “Mam, I can assure you that we’re not.” “Is it too early to ask for an ultrasound?” “We’d thought you’d ask,” They bring the machine from outside and put the cold jelly on your stomach. It takes a minute to find it. In the back of your mind, you’re praying that you’re not pregnant. You’re only 21. This was the time to party, hang out with friends, live your life, graduate college….. Oh shit. College. It’s your SENIOR YEAR. You prayed HARD that you weren’t pregnant and the boom, you see a blob on the screen……. The nurse turns on the doppler to see if you can hear the heartbeat. You then hear “bum bum bum bum.” You already knew who’s it was, you have no idea how you were going to tell him, or if you’re going to tell him.

Is y/n gonna keep it? Is she going to tell Jeff? What the hell is she going to tell her family if she does keep it? Who knows……

Side note: I’m sorry if this is bad! It’s my first time writing fanfiction and I give huge props to people who do this on a daily cause this mess is hard. Oh and I was there at vidcon when Jeff asked who’s Natalie dating.

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ensemblehq · 4 years

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— CONGRATULATIONS TO THE FOLLOWING STUDENTS upon their enrollment in the alderidge theatre department’s fourth-year class! please send your account within TWENTY-FOUR HOURS and make sure you’ve gone through our post-acceptance CHECKLIST. we can’t wait to see you on the dash!

THEODORE “TEDDY” NEWELL-SMITH as THE JUVENILE (fc: rudy pankow)

EVIE, not only was teddy absolutely heartbreaking from beginning to end, but i could feel the attention and care you put into crafting him with every word i read. all of the little scenes you included had me so emo, from the meeting between teddy and his dad (i was crying at “he believes him”) to the final words orson said to him. in so many ways, teddy is a scared little boy, but there’s so much more to him that i can’t wait to see brought to life.

PAOLA PEREZ as THE LEADING LADY (fc: sofia carson)

KIWI, paola was so unexpected, but even after finishing your app i just couldn’t get her out of my head. everything about her background cultivated so seamlessly into this nuanced, imperfect drama queen. i love that her desire for success was driven by wanting to give her mom a better life, you gave her so many layers beyond the selfish diva described in the skeleton and i’m so excited to see where you take our leading lady!

GRACE ISHIHARA as THE SCENE STEALER (fc: reina hardesty)

RED, i don’t know how to convey in words just how stunning this application was. everything about your writing is so beautifully deliberate, so neatly constructed (so…grace like, if you will!). you wove a story from start to finish, with each little thing connecting to another. and that story? breathtaking. i saw the scene stealer in every part of her life - from chasing perfection at ballet, to imagining herself in orson’s footsteps and all the way to her wholehearted devotion to people. i cannot wait to see grace on the dash!

ALEXANDRA “LEXIE” O’BRIEN as THE STATUE (fc: hunter schafer)

BEE, you’ve mapped lexie out so vividly that she just jumped off the page from the moment i read about why she was sent to live with her grandfather. i loved seeing the map of their personality, separated between the internal and external parts of them, because it’s an incredibly important distinction for lexie. you’ve allowed her to be both cruel and soft, simultaneously angry and scared and insecure and vain in a way that works. i also adored the expansion of lexie’s aesthetic -- just an amazing attention to detail!

JULIAN BENNET as THE STUNTMAN (fc: fady elsayed)

ALEXA, where do i begin? with the way this app was structured according to fencing positions? with the tiny little details that made julian feel so real (my heart shattered with the harris treaty!)? everything about this application screamed stuntman - from his grace at his first fencing match loss, his way of befriending the underdogs and his continued resistance to being changed by alderidge. i cannot wait to see our resident with a heart of gold in action!

MADELINE ‘MADS’ LE as THE SUPPORTING ROLE (fc: lana condor)

MISHA, i won’t lie - this choice was a tough one! what drew us back to your application was the attention you paid to mads’ time at alderidge - her journey from starlet to black sheep. i love the idea that she does community theatre - and the concept of dragging all her peers there! with her wicked tongue and fishnets, i know mads is going to be an explosion in this roleplay - and i can’t wait to see the chaos she causes.

ZAHRA MALIK as THE TEMPTRESS (fc: mishti rahman)

NATALIA, with six temptress apps, this was always going to be an agonising decision. what sold us on yours was your unconventional portrayal of the temptress. there’s nothing i love more than being surprised by my own skeletons - and zahra certainly did that! from her birth on andromeda’s rock to her unconventional theatrical training, zahra was so fresh. but i think what really sold me was how you dug into hers and orson’s dynamic - her reason for being cast as cressida was super spicy - and one i never would have come up with!

JUDITH CHANDLER ROSEN as THE TOMBOY (fc: diana silvers)

JORDAN, there’s something so special about an app that just sucks you in and doesn’t let you go, and reading about chandler absolutely did that to me. she just feels so real, every detail you included was so perfect that it’s hard to focus on any one. it’s so funny to me that chandler’s beginning as “the tomboy” was just that there weren’t enough boys in her high school theatre department to fill the male roles -- and it just became what she was good at!

HUDSON WILLIAMS as THE UNDERSTUDY (fc: michael evans behling)

ASH, i just want to wrap hudson in a blanket and keep him safe forever, is that too much to ask? you’ve got me absolutely sold on this characterization, from the pressure he felt from his military family to a perceived lack of passion being the reason he could never break through into lead roles. it’s obvious that hudson is really not coping well right now, and i’m so excited to see where you take him from here!

JASON PALMER as THE UTILITY (fc: jordan fisher)

DIANA, our cast of characters would not be complete without the utility and diana, i am so glad that you will be taking them up! your application was an absolute joy to read! i particularly loved the paradox between who jason is and who they want to be - i can’t wait to see that dichotomy played out on the dash! and your future plots section? chefs kiss! that moral quandary and the fallout from orson’s death (and how jason navigates it) is going to be so fun to watch unfold!

JONAH PRYCE as THE VILLAIN (fc: alex fitzalan)

TARA, this decision nearly broke me. we had so so so many good takes for the villain - and i was still torn until about five minutes before this note was written! however, in the end, i just couldn’t say no to jonah. everything about this application took my breath away - its originality (how achilles was orson’s punishment), its detail (i literally teared up reading about his backstory!) and even his motivation for going to alderidge! you know this skeleton better than i do - the villain wholeheartedly belongs to you and i for one cannot wait to see how you break out hearts with him!

#accepted

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mentalmimosa · 5 years

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wonder if it’s still there

They sleep on opposite sides of the bed. Which is a good thing, because neither of them is asleep.

“This was a mistake.”

A flash of sirens on the ceiling, red lights chased by blue. “No shit.”

Neither of them is naked. Shaw still has his shoes on, natch. The whole room reeks of spunk. But there aren’t any windows broken and none of the bland hotel furniture has earned a new scratch. In the end, when it came down to it, their focus had been singular and remarkably non-destructive and if he’s honest with himself--if he has to be--Shaw hasn’t let himself go like that in years : almost ten, hasn’t it been? since he last bent over for a man.

He’d forgotten what it was like, not being in control. He’d forgotten how much liked it.

Which is a good thing, because this thing, here, is never bloody well happening ever again.

“You can fuck right off, you know,” he says into the silence.

“I don’t need your goddamn permission. I’ll leave when I’m damn good and ready.”

He grits his teeth and ignores the jerk of his dick, the way the blood between his legs is already aiming to recover at the sound of that snarl. God, he’s too old for this shit. “Get out.”

It comes out too softly, too hoarse; he should be bellowing and throwing fists. He’s not.

Maybe that’s what does it, though, what gets Hobbs off the wrecked sheets and onto his feet, a hulking shadow backlit by the city at night. Except the sky’s a little grayer than it should be if it were still proper dark; dawn’s coming, Shaw realizes. And he’s a fucking coward. He can’t face this shit in the light.

A scrape of a chair, there is, the sigh of overstretched cotton going back on. “You always go ass-up at family functions, Shaw, or was tonight the exception?” Hobbs chuckles. There’s nothing funny about it. “Or maybe you really are just a slut.”

Slut . A word spat in the air a half-second before he shot off: two big fingers in his ass and his own stripping his dick--a blade, then, that word, a perfect kick to the gut.

Now, though, he’s being mocked.

“I’m not gonna tell you again, Hobbs.”

The shadow turns back towards him, sneering. “Oh, believe me, asshole. You don’t have to.”

The door opens and closes. So do Shaw’s eyes.

And when he’s sure he’s alone, he sits up gingerly, all of New York at his back, and kicks off his shoes, peels off his pants. Feels that half-forgotten ache in his ass.

In the shower, he doesn’t look at the bruises or the bites even though they sting his shoulders, the soft insides of his thighs. He doesn’t touch his dick; he keeps his eyes front and center. He uses a whole bar of sharp hotel soap.

When he wanders out clean, he draws the curtains properly and strips the come-stained comforter from the bed and pulls back the sheets, slides in. Buries his face in the only unsoiled pillow.

Outside, the day’s come, he knows, but he doesn’t have to face it. Not yet.

****

They sleep on opposite sides of the world for a long time, and that’s good. Until they’re thrown together again and don’t sleep for what feels like a week.

There is Brixton and his sneer, a scab ripped from an old wound, but he doesn’t think about that, he can’t, and it’s easier when he looks into the man’s eyes dead on because there’s an emptiness there, something hollow, that hadn’t been there before. Before, when they looked at each other--in a briefing, on assignment, in the tiny shower in Shaw’s old flat--there was a heat there, a golden, gorgeous light that had bloomed brightest when Shaw was on his knees and Brixton was teasing him, rubbing that big, leaking cock in his face.

“Do you want it?” he’d murmured, his fist at the base. “Ask me, Deck. Ask me nice.”

And when he’d finally gotten it right, the pitch of his plea, the urgency, the greed, Brixton would give it to him, inch by steel inch, cupping his head and stroking his cheek.

“Just like that. That’s what you’ve wanted all day, isn’t it? Look at you. Look how hard it’s made you, darling, getting to suck on my dick.”

And after, when Brixton had come down his throat or better, all over his face, he’d get a tongue in his ass, thick and insistent, grunting, humming, stroking until he was begging all over again.

He doesn’t think about that, when they’re chasing him, whaling on him, watching him fall back senseless into the sea. The man he loved once, the man he killed, he’s been dead almost a decade; seeing this monstrous version of him is nothing but confirmation of that.

“So you and Brixton, huh?” Hat says when the world doesn’t end, when they’re sitting on Hobbs’ mum’s porch drinking something sweet and eating far too much.

“Yeah.” He cuts his eyes at her; they’ve never actually discussed this. “Is that, er. Is that all right?”

“That your ex-boyfriend just spent three days trying to personally murder us and the entire population of the Earth or that you go for men? Come on.” She bumps his shoulder and gives up a grin. “It’s adorable that you think I didn’t know, Deck.”

He bumps her back and stays there, their arms pressed together in the heat. “Nobody like a smart ass, Hat.”

She sighs, his little sister does, and reaches for her drink. “You do.”

”Yeah, well. Clearly I have terrible taste.”

“Clearly. Do all your exes try to blow up the world?”

Across the way, he sees Hobbs, hears him yelling, a mountain of a man chased by a pack of happy, screaming kids.

“Nah,” he says, kissing Hat on the head. “Not all of ‘em.”

****

When the sun sets, they do rest, all of them. There are people snoozing everywhere--“They’re passed the fuck out,” Hobbs corrects as they pick their way across the compound, “no need to get fancy”--dogs and kids, too, and for a while it looks like they’ll be kipping down in the grass.

“Ah!” Hobbs says, a sudden spark in his eye. “I wonder if it’s still there.”

“What?”

Hobbs grabs his wrist and starts towing. “Easier to show than tell, Deck. Come on.”

Where they go is the custom shop, silent now, and climb above it. What they find is a weatherbeaten loft, nothing fancy: a wooden floor, a mattress, and rolling doors pulled open, no part of the island held back.

“So basically,” Hobbs says a few minutes later, “we put the lives of everyone on this side of the island at risk, saved them, and then got them smashed out of their minds.”

“I think they’ve earned it.”

“Well, duh.” The mattress isn’t that big; there’s a dip in the thing when Hobbs turns. “My point is, asshat, that I don’t think I’ve heard this place so goddamn quiet. It’s weird.”

“Scared by a little peace and quiet?” Shaw snorts. “No wonder you talk so much. Trying to scare off the willies, are we?”

A chuckle. “Now, now, Dr. Lecter, let’s not get all brain fancy here. I’m not complaining. It’s just different, ok?”

Outside, if he listens hard, he can hear the call of the ocean: water kissing rocks into infinity, retreating, slamming, licking again and again. The earth gives in slowly, a piece here into the waves, another there. But the land’s just as strong as before, even when it crumbles; it hits the water with a punch and a loud, crashing splash.

Maybe that’s what makes him turn and reach for bare skin in the dark. They’re both down to their borrowed shorts--too big on him, too small on Hobbs--swimming in the last flickers of endorphins and leftover hooch and clean, salty sweat.

“The hell are you doing?” But Hobbs doesn’t pull away.

“I’m touching you, numbnuts.” He pinches one broad, hot nipple; snickers when Hobbs sucks in a breath. “And apparently, you don’t hate it.”

A hot hand on the back of his neck, a greedy little noise when he pinches again.

“Don’t hate it,” Hobbs grunts. “But I’d like it better if you licked it.”

When it comes down to it, they don’t have any lube and spit only goes so goddamn far so he doesn’t get fucked, no matter how much he whines. And he does whine this time, does beg for it, does get off on it, hard, that feeling of desperation, of need , and Hobbs doesn’t give him shit for it. Well, not too much, at least.

“Who knew,” Hobbs slurs against his hole, “that all I had to do to shut you up was stick my tongue in your tight little ass?”

“Fuck you.” It comes out too softly, too hoarse, but it fits this time, in this moment. Which makes sense, because right now, so do they.

“You realize Jonah’s gonna make us burn this mattress,” Hobbs says later, when they’re both satisfied.

“Yeah?” He nuzzles Hobbs’s throat.

A big, hot hand cups his ass. “Yeah. So I figure we’d better get our money’s worth out of it, huh?”

“Mmmm. It’d be a mistake not to.”

The night’s quiet for a moment. “It wasn’t a mistake last time, Deck. I know I said it was, but that was bullshit. I was--” He sighs, a big sound that shakes his whole body. “I shouldn’t have left like that, in New York. I was an ass.”

“I shouldn’t have told you to leave. But I thought you wanted to.”

“I did.” A kiss. “I didn’t. I kind of did. Shit, man. I didn’t know what to think.”

“And there’s your problem, eh? Right there.” He licks into Hobbs’ mouth, still sour with his own taste. “You’re not the brains of this operations, sweetheart. That’d be me.”

A growl. “God, it makes me hot when you say stupid shit like that. Which is good, because you say stupid shit a lot .”

They sleep in the middle of that bed, eventually, when Shaw’s pumped out and Hobbs has come twice more down his throat. It’s hot and the night air is sticky but, hell, Shaw figures as Hobbs curls big around his back, they are, too.

“Look,” Hobbs says in his ear as the sky lightens, “I like you and everything, dude, but you’d sure as shit better not snore.”

“Luke?”

“What?”

Shaw grins. “Shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”

#shobbs #hobbs/shaw #brixton lore/deckard shaw #first time #reunions

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toloveawarlord · 4 years

Text

Ch. 5

Pairing: Iris x Edgar

A/N: This was supposed to come out in December but I failed miserably. Iris is one of my favorites to write. She was my first Ikerev OC and I cannot believe it took me so long to update this XD Enjoy some Iris and Edgar!

Time passed quickly. Sweltering heat cooling off into chilly temperatures. Leaves turning from lush green to brilliant shades of red and orange. As the season changed, the animosity towards me began to fade away. I was just another soldier.

Training became second nature, but I consistently found myself growing bored with it. Unlike the others under the Jack of hearts command, I had a higher goal than simply being in the army, and that was to take my rightful place as the ten of Hearts, regardless of their rules on women.

Until then, the only place I could truly relax was my quarters. Even here in the barracks bathroom, taking a bath brought stress to me. The doors don’t lock. The men crass enough to walk in on each other and laugh. When the hour grew late and Sean stood guard outside, I had to rush to stay unnoticed by the other soldiers.

It had been some time since I’d actually soaked in a bath. Perhaps once I had my quarters in the main building...

Swiping my hand across the mirror to catch a glimpse of my reflection, one of the only times I got to see my real face without magic, I gave a long sigh. What I wouldn’t give for better soap and some moisturizer. “It’ll be worth it.”

“What will be worth it?”

Through the mirror, I could clearly see those jade green eyes gleaming with exhilaration at the discovery he’d made. Blaming Sean would be ridiculous. He couldn’t turn away the third highest ranking officer. It wouldn’t have ended well for him. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“Consider this a surprise inspection,” Edgar replied, gaze falling down to my body clad only in a towel. His lips tugged up into an amused smirk. “This is quite the curious situation, isn’t it?”

No more a secret that I’m a woman, not man. Without the crystals to hide my feminine features or the wrapping around my torso, that much was clear. “What are you even doing in here?” Something had brought him here, and it wouldn’t hurt to ask. I’d soon be thrown out or arrested. Impersonating a soldier would yield a harsh punishment.

Edgar leaned back against the wall, humming softly to himself. “It’s my duty to inquire about strange occurrences and you, dear Iris, have been a strange occurrence since the moment you arrived. Am I correct to assume you’re Iris Adley, Ian’s sister?” The question rhetorical. He’d likely done research on my family.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to. Your games don’t amuse me, Edgar,” I replied with a frown. What’s he waiting for? He could drag me to Lancelot’s office and turn me in. He could arrest me himself, lock me in the dungeon. So why is he just standing there?

Silence lingered between us, waiting for the other to make the first move. Drops from my wet hair fell down onto my bare skin, rolling down between the swell of my chest and disappearing beneath the towel. The steam from the hot bath beginning to settle in his brown locks as well.

Edgar lifted his hand to brush it back, leaving it messier than usual. “This is quite the predicament. Allow me a chat over tea in my chambers.” An invitation posed as a command, as my superior officer. His gaze pierced into me, like he could read my hesitation. “I promise to be nice.”

That is not my main problem, but he knew that. He’s messing with me. I narrowed my eyes. It would be a pain to resist and have him use force that would result in a fight and ultimately end up with me arrested for either murder or my original crime of impersonating my brother. That doesn’t mean I want to. “I don’t know if you have a nice bone in your body, Edgar.”

“Ah, you wound me, Iris. I’m not going to spill your secret,” he replied, flashing a charming smile. One that said, not yet, at least. Of what use it would be to him...

Darkness fell over us, signaling lights out as the crystals in their fixtures went out. The small window fixed up high in the bathroom left a strip of moonlight illuminating the Jack of Hearts with an otherworldly glow. Perhaps he was a demon after all, I had yet to determine that. “I don’t have much of a choice, as you’re blackmailing me.”

Edgar chuckled, jade eyes glinting in the light. “Blackmail? I have no need to blackmail you. You see, I admire your resolve. You may have failed in the eyes of all the other officers in your fight with my dear protege, but I was undoubtedly impressed. Why would I have taken you on in my unit if I hadn’t found you most intriguing?”

Looking back now, it must be even more admirable that I made a draw of the spar with Zero. “You were ridiculously bored and wanted a new puzzle to solve.” Rumors of him circulated through the barracks often, especially through his unit. Highly respected for his skills but known to be eccentric and unusual.

“I haven’t solved you yet, have I?” Edgar tilted his head, sliding his tongue over his lips in anticipation of unlocking more secrets from me. He had been incredibly bored until this.

I slid my pants on under the towel, letting them hang loosely around my hips. “Maybe you never will.” The shirt stuck to my skin as I slipped my arms in and began to button the first few. Once decently covered, the towel pulled away and crumpled on the floor. The last few buttons easily done.

“I do so enjoy a challenge.”

Throwing an irritated glare at him, I swiped my earrings and wrap from the counter. The halls were empty, all in their rooms like good little soldiers. Sean had even disappeared, dismissed by Edgar. Should anyone else see us, it would be over.

Our steps silent, moving nearly in sync down the carpeted hallway of the main building. Passing the ten of hearts personal chambers, empty of its rightful occupant, I took a quiet breath. If he didn’t tell my secret, then it’s still in the cards for me.

The door closed with a resounding thud, followed by the click of the heavy lock turning. None could disturb without prior warning. Edgar motioned to the sitting area, moving to the cabinet to retrieve a tea set. With the use of magic crystals, heating the water an easy task. “Pumpkin tea is very popular in Central Quarter right now. I’m delighted to have someone to share it with.”

I sat in the chair to keep the distance between us. No matter where he chose to sit, it would be a good length away. “What is it that you want from me?” His motive unclear, and I would get a real answer out of him before I left.

“You excel at every turn. Tactical, strategy, swordplay, hand to hand. More so than any I’ve had the pleasure of training. It’s almost as if you don’t even need me.” Edgar elegantly poured the steaming tea into a delicate cup, not a single drop spilling, as if showing off his own skills.

“That’s not true. I haven’t beaten you in a sword fight yet,” I answered with a shrug. His skill shined through with how he wielded a sword. Since watching him, I’d adjusted how I held my sword, finding the perfect balance to have as graceful and clean a swing as him.

Edgar sat on the couch nearest me, holding his teacup up but never taking a sip from it. “I’ll wager you’d put up a better fight as Iris rather than Ian. You hold back. At first, I imagined it was due to fear of failing, but the more I watched you, the more purposeful I found your movements. Precision to keep from winning against your opponent.”

He’d been watching me that closely?

“Ian has never been good at swordplay. He sucks at literally everything, even the poetry he desperately tried to win that idiot girl’s heart with.” If he’d had even an ounce of skill, I could have already worked my way up to being at least half as good as I am. The sweet steam of the tea wafted up from the cup. “Sean knew my brother well enough to tell a difference, so I had to be extra careful. Apparently, not careful enough.” A frustrating thought. My brows pulled together in anger.

Edgar took a long sip of the tea, happily satisfied with sweetness. “You’ve got the entire army fooled. I’ve even heard Jonah speaking a little praise of how well you adjusted and your skill.”

I studied his features, not a hint of his true intentions showing. That rumor stood true. None could fool the Jack of Hearts but gleaning his real self a near impossible feat. “If you aren’t going to expose me, then what is it that you want? People don’t keep secrets without a reason.”

“It’s simple. I want to see how long you can keep up this charade and what will happen once you’re found out. I can make predictions, but nothing will be as satisfying as observing it unfold.” No lies were laced in those words. Edgar found this a game, one that he could cure his own boredom.

The teacup hit the saucer with a loud clink. I stood from the chair, brushing my damp hair back. “It’s late. Unless you have any more questions, I’m returning to the barracks.” Not waiting for a response, I crossed the room to the door. Casting a glance over my shoulder, I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t trust you.”

Edgar laughed, rising gracefully from his seat. Pulling the key from his pocket, he unlocked the door for me to leave. “One last thing, you’ll be starting as my apprentice effective immediately. Outside of unit training, you’ll spend all your time at my side.” He was enjoying this a little too much, knowing that I couldn’t say no.

“Better watch out, or I’ll end up punching you one day.” The perks of being an apprentice were incredibly clear. It would jump start my knowledge on how the inner workings of the Chosen Thirteen operated. It seemed as though he was helping me. For what it gained him, I couldn’t puzzle out yet.

“I’d love for you to try, Iris.”

With the door opened, I slipped out into the hallway after checking for any guards. Returning to the barracks uncaught would prove easy. Even as I walked away, his gaze never left me. Sleep would be near impossible. The thoughts swirling around in my head.

What could Edgar Bright really gain from having me as his apprentice? Was it a spur of the moment decision to keep me close? Being that close to him would put me under the scrutiny of King Lancelot and Queen Jonah. If either discovered my secret, it would be game over. That was not an option. Whatever game Edgar desired to play; I would be the victor.

#i love them together #iris adley #edgar bright #ikemen revolution #ikerev #jack of hearts #ikemen kakumei #for crimson glory

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settlingtheocean · 4 years

Text

"Right Mindfulness”; going beyond “me” to go beyond anxiety

Those who are familiar with meditation may be familiar with the word “mindfulness”. Those are familiar with Buddhist meditation may be familiar with “right mindfulness”. This is a word that, for some, may create feelings of discomfort. Who has the authority to say whether mindfulness is “right” or “wrong”? Isn’t that judgmental and/or moralizing gatekeeping? Speaking for myself, I occasionally come up with this kind of thinking and can understand the concern, however I think it’s worthwhile to question this weariness. After all, we should consider that perhaps our desire to be “more mindful” is concurrent with a desire for goodness, even when we say it isn’t. If we didn’t think it was somehow good to be mindful, we wouldn’t do it. “Right” mindfulness, any way, is not the mindfulness that makes us say “you’re doing it wrong and I’m doing it right.”

The Satipatthana Sutta describes “mindfulness” as being mindfulness of the body, feelings, mind, and mental qualities in and of themselves. In the Buddha’s teaching, all of one’s efforts are for the sake of freedom from suffering. This is right mindfulness, and conversely, wrong mindfulness holds objects of mindfulness as they relate to the world. The Sabbasava sutta expresses the differences in attitude well:

This is how he attends inappropriately: 'Was I in the past? Was I not in the past? What was I in the past? How was I in the past? Having been what, what was I in the past? Shall I be in the future? Shall I not be in the future? What shall I be in the future? How shall I be in the future? Having been what, what shall I be in the future?' Or else he is inwardly perplexed about the immediate present: 'Am I? Am I not? What am I? How am I? Where has this being come from? Where is it bound?' ... Bound by a fetter of views, the uninstructed run-of-the-mill person is not freed from birth, aging, & death, from sorrow, lamentation, pain, distress, & despair. He is not freed, I tell you, from suffering & stress.

...

[The well-instructed disciple] appropriately, ‘This is stress... This is the origination of stress... This is the cessation of stress... This is the way leading to the cessation of stress.' As he attends appropriately in this way, three fetters are abandoned in him: identity-view, doubt, and grasping at precepts & practices. These are called the fermentations to be abandoned by seeing.

As a Taijiquan practitioner, this teaching would make me feel uncomfortable because it made me wonder if my taiji practice might be wrong; in taiji, we’re mindful of the body in a way which is meant to be conducive to health and well-being, but also in a way which is concerned with martial application. Is my taiji practice wrong mindfulness, then? Similarly, some who are familiar with popular teachings of mindfulness (so often for the purpose of success in business, relationships, etc) may experience discomfort at the slightest utterance of “right” - that’s so judgmental, some might say. If mindfulness has been helpful in one’s more worldly endeavors, it would be a bummer to taint that with this consideration that “maybe I’m doing it all wrong.”

Before beginning to write this, I was reading Erving Goffman’s book, Stigma. Erving Goffman is a sociologist who studied social interactions on a small (micro) scale, helping us understand the role of social and personal identities in human social behavior. Stigma is more specifically about how humans carry stigmas, external signs which lead one to be discredited by so-called “normals” when they are made apparent - one can be discredited by being deaf, depressed, dark-skinned, etc. Because of this potential to be discredited, it’s natural that humans would want to avoid the disclosure of their stigma. This leads into a phenomenon known as “passing”, where the person does what they can to avoid disclosure and be classified as “normal”.

It is here where we find problems of anxiety and social isolation, as the endeavor to prevent disclosure of the facts of our life requires us to be rather circumspect on our behavior and fearful of letting the truth get out. Goffman offers two quotes to illustrate this:

‘We have many ingenious tricks for disguising or minimizing our blocks. We look ahead for “Jonah” sounds and works, so-called because they are unlucky and we envy the whale his ease in expelling them. We dodge “Jonah” words when we can, substituting non-feared words in heir places or hastily shifting our thought until the continuity of our speech becomes as involved as a plate of spaghetti.’

...From a homosexual:

‘The strain of deceiving my family and friends often became intolerable. It was necessary for me to watch every word I spoke, and every gesture that I made, in case I gave myself away.’

It occurred to me that this is a perfect example of wrong mindfulness - but not in the sense that, “okay, somebody should really tell these people to suck it up and do a better job next time.” Moreso in the sense that paying attention to one’s daily life like this is surely stressful. Does anybody want to live like this? Based on my own experiences with anxiety, I know that the way I pay attention to the “triggers” and the anxiety itself plays a big role in how that anxiety unfolds. Despite the fact that my anxiety was largely conditioned by rather hurtful behaviors of my peers, If I believe in everything anxiety says, I’m bound to remain stuck in anxiety. Speaking for myself, it wasn’t until I started learning about “Right mindfulness” that I began to realize I could be free from this anxiety. In the case of anxiety, one is mindful of their speech and bodily actions, but in a way that is just plain stressful: mindfulness for the sake of avoiding emotional pain (like the plague) and a compromised personal identity (as if it were made of glass). This is mindfulness which takes the objects of experience as one’s “self”, or as pertaining to a “self”, or as being owned by a “self”; the objects of attention become means for managing one’s social identity so that one may avoid being discredited or shamed. For those familiar with Brené Brown, one may understand this mindfulness as being a mindfulness concerned with shirking away from vulnerability because of the potential to be shamed for our supposed (and often imagined) failings.

This is “wrong mindfulness” not because it’s morally evil, or just because you’re not doing what the Buddha said. It’s called “wrong” simply because it isn’t “right” for one interested in the pursuit of peace, just as a square hole isn’t “right” for a round peg. Wrong mindfulness is mindfulness that is not only concerned with the world, but is bound with suffering. When we take the body as “me”, or when we hold it relative to an imagined social identity, we begin to get anxious and defensive. The seeds of anxiety are planted as soon as we begin to attend to things as they relate to “self” or a “self” as it exists in the “world”, hence the Buddha’s notion of “inappropriate attention,” quoted above.

In this case, “right mindfulness” isn’t about following a dogma, or even being “right”; attachment to dogmas and a preoccupation with being “right” are not just concerned with constructed identities, they are bound up with stress; the stress of being argumentative, doubtful, obstinate, arrogant, and conceited. Rather, "right mindfulness” or “appropriate attention” is concerned with attending to the world in a way which doesn’t perpetuate our suffering, especially the suffering caused by inappropriate attention. For this reason we don’t seek to become “better at breathing” or “really good at being mindful all the time” but rather we learn to attend to our body in a way which not only puts us at ease, but also helps us understand our suffering; right mindfulness is the mindfulness which makes things clear, not the mindfulness which makes us bound and confused.

But not only does “right mindfulness” give us peace in the moment, it also protects us in the future. Erving Goffman notes that when passing, one takes on a self-imposed (and sometimes externally-imposed) duty to prevent disclosure of their stigma. However, he notes, this doesn’t mean one is free from disclosure; one is not free from being discredited or shamed even if they pass successfully. This is because there are those who are “wise” - those who, while not necessarily stigmatized, are wise to the ways in which the stigmatized hide their stigma. Goffman gives the example:

“Why don’t you try a chiropractor?” she [a casual acquaintance] asked me, chewing corned beef, giving no slightest indication that she was about to knock the bottom out of my world. “Dr. Fletcher told me he’s curing one of his patients of deafness.”

My heart skittered, in panic, against my ribs. What did she mean?

“My dad’s deaf,” she revealed. “I can spot a deaf person anywhere. That soft voice of yours. And that trick of letting your sentences trail off -- not finishing them. Dad does that all the time.”

In this way, passing is revealed to be “marked with dukkha” - it is not a reliable refuge. One’s mindfulness to guard their identity may make one feel secure, but once the conditions for one’s sense of safety are undermined, suffering arises; in this way, the seeds of suffering are planted in “wrong mindfulness”, because the sense of security, comfort, or even happiness that is sustained by this kind of mindfulness is insubstantial and must be sustained by a rather stressful and anxiety-ridden effort. Once the foundation has been uprooted - the bottom knocked out - then the fruits of one’s efforts are destroyed.

It is here where mindfulness clearly becomes more than just a mere tool or faculty that can be employed to make us “more mindful people” or “brave leaders” or “better and more sensitive lovers”. It becomes a tool by which we come to understand the very things which not only create external suffering (e.g. rocky relationships), but also internal suffering (a desperate longing to be a self that is perfect and free from ridicule).

Going back to my concern with taiji, one should note the concern revolves around fear: that "my" taiji is wrong which would mean "I'm" wrong. This is perhaps one reason why people feel uncomfortable with "right" and "wrong": it puts their sense of self at risk; few want to be "wrong" because they'd rather feel "right". But it’s at that point where one is worrying about “being right” and “not being wrong”, in this sense, that one should remember: this is dukkha. It’s suffering. And it’s also here where, if we practice something like taiji, perhaps we should consider: what am I practicing for? What are the results of my practice? Am I investing in attitudes which are harmful to myself or others? If this practice feels good, is my attitude toward that pleasure causing unneeded suffering? To what extent am I too reliant on this practice - do I feel afraid because I miss a taiji session or don’t do the form right?

Here, thoughts of “right and wrong” aren’t what’s being bypassed, but rather it is the self-position which is being put aside in favor of “right” and “wrong”. In other words, we think in terms of “right and wrong” in the context of actions, consequences, and suffering - not “right and wrong” as it pertains to a “self”. With this consideration, “right mindfulness” need not be feared. Instead, we can use it as a reminder to be honest with ourselves in our pursuit of peace or goodness in life. If we’re afraid to drop our practices that are in some way worldly, first we should really take a look at that fear and consider its connection to an identity (perhaps an “identity-at-risk”) we’ve constructed around those activities. If the activities were themselves wrong, or if it was wrong to pay attention to the world in any way, then the Buddha wouldn’t have praised virtues such as generosity (which occurs within the social world), nor would he have praised the hard-working layman with a righteous livelihood, nor would he have formulated rules for laypeople and monastics which themselves relate to the world, but on a more fundamental level relate to suffering and the cessation of suffering. Worldly things have their purpose, but it is when we attend to them in a way based in delusion that we begin to sow the seeds of suffering. It is for this reason that the Buddha distinguished between a “right” and a “wrong”.

#buddhism #Mindfulness #anxiety #suffering #self #identity #stigma #morality #goodness #meditation

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composereggwrites · 4 years

Text

Love will not break your Heart (but dismiss your Fears)

Chapter 2: just let me go (we'll meet again soon)

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Rating: T

Characters/Ships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Alice “Daisy” Tonner/Basira Hussain, Gerard Keay, Gertrude Robinson

Additional: Reincarnation AU, Soul Bond, Team as Family, Autistic Jon, Post-Canon Fix-it, Childhood Friends, Hurt/Comfort

They stand in the Panopticon, fire raining down from the sky, as the Eye stares down at them.

Jon takes Martin’s hand in his.

A wedding, a death, a fire, and Tim.

Chapter: 1 | 2 (below)

Ao3: 1 | 2

They stand in the Panopticon, fire raining down from the sky, as the Eye stares down at them.

Jon takes Martin’s hand in his.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Martin?” he asks, one last time, because fear has made a home in his heart. A palace in his bones.

“Jon,” Martin says, looking him in the eyes, so full of determination, filled with warmth, with love. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Sap,” he mutters, but a smile creeps onto his face nonetheless. “We’ve already left the message for the girls, and well… This is really it, isn’t it?”

“Got cold feet?” Martin asks with a laugh.

“Always,” he snorts. “You’ve felt them when we’ve slept. You’re the space heater between the two of us.”

Heart beating in his chest, Jon takes Martin’s hands. The world is crumbling in every direction. A year of this hell has been far too long. Searching, aching for answers, for a way to fix the devastation he has wrought-- no, the devastation Jonah Magnus used him to usher into the world.

Jonah Magnus, who, like the rest of the institute, is no more than a pile of ash at their feet now. Martin had been quite happy to have the honor of setting that blaze.

It’s touching, in a way. Finding the answer on how to set them both free, and Martin chooses to do it for him. No more ash on Jonathan’s hands.

(He’s more than a little fragile, at the end of the world, but he could’ve been the one to do it. The one to bring Magnus to the ground. That he didn’t have to means more than he can express with words. Martin has always been looking out for him, even when he was too much a fool to realize).

The Web’s strings hang heavy in the air around them, coated with the remnants of their old life, of their meeting. But the Mother of Puppets doesn’t have control of all these ties. Jon’s body is linked to everything now, the perfect conduit of fear. The lynch-pin in this hellscape. Take him out, and the rest crumbles. The issue is in managing to kill a near-immortal Archive.

Martin has always been his anchor. He never needed that rib, Jon gets that now. And this is something they can use. Here.

“Martin, I love you,” Jon starts. “You keep me grounded. When I start to fall apart, you hold me together. Even as I dealt with the end of the world rather badly, you drew me back out of my shell. I promise to be at your side forever more, I promise to return the favor. You are not just a caretaker, you deserve to be taken care of, and I will be there for you. I am here, with you, as we stand, united.”

Martin is already tearing up, as his hands shake in Jon’s grasp. “Jon,” he says, with a waver in his voice. “I love you. I know, it was a long time coming. Back when we were both researchers, I thought I could ignore this little crush, because that’s what it was. But you’re so kind, underneath that abrasive exterior. You pretended that nothing could get to you, that you at most tolerated the people around you, but I could see through that.”

He takes a shuddering breath. “I’m with you, until the end of time. I tie myself to you like I’ve done a hundred thousand times before, in less words. In actions. Every step we take together has brought us here, bound to each other at the end of the world, and I wouldn’t do this any other way.”

The strings around them pull taught, smash them together. Jon clings to Martin. Holds him tight as the web holds them tighter. It hurts, the Eye observing this, burning through them as he clings for dear life, but observation just makes it real. The Web tries to resist, but Jon pulls harder, pulls the strings of his own design, and lets them bind.

A thousand stars scream in the sky, but the roar of the still-burning fire is louder. The pounding of his heart in his ears louder still. Or maybe that’s Martin’s. He can’t really tell anymore, as their hearts beat to the same tune, in the same time.

As the pain dies down, he can feel Martin, there in his chest. An ache subdued by his presence at his side. A new hole carved and filled with love, with his anchor.

Jon laughs, hysterical, for just a second. Tears on his cheeks until Martin puts his hands on his shoulders, steadying him.

“Ready for the next step?” Martin asks, worry flooding his voice, and oh, he can feel that in his heart. All the concern for him, bubbling over the edges of the pot. It makes him gasp, legs trembling, and all he can do is grip Martin back. It’s all he can do to not drown in the Tsunami of Martin, the whirlpool with them both at the center.

“Give--Give me a second, yeah?” he whispers. “Don’t tell me when.”

“Oh,” Martin replies, no doubt feeling the outpouring of gratitude. “Yeah, alright.”

They hold each other. Letting the waves of emotion crash down, drowning out the fear, out the pain. Held close together. This is what matters.

Then--

Pain.

Sharp, biting pain. Driven into his chest.

Blood meets his lips as he coughs, his own sharpened rib embedded in his heart, by Martin’s trembling hand.

As Jonathan Sims falls, he holds Martin’s hand, and wishes he could muster the energy to wipe those tears away.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, as the door in his mind becomes a vacuum, sucking all the fear out of him, waves of love and safety and peace replacing the frostbite of terror. “We’ll meet again, yeah?”

Martin nods. He sits down by Jon, and kisses him, ignoring the iron taste. Ignoring the poison that he takes from Jon’s mouth.

The fire closes in, and consumes them. But there is no fear. No pain.

The world bends.

Good cows stand in a field, and no Eye bears down from the sky. No people scream in terror on that day.

Four bodies are found dead in The Magnus Institute, and the world dreams of a year that never happened. A year of fear and pain burying itself deep in their hearts.

A year that will never come to pass.

And Jonathan Barker-King wakes up.

---

Jonathan has always been an odd child.

Georgie and Melanie knew this when adopting him.

But that doesn’t change the fact that one night, when he’s twelve years old, Melanie can feel him shaking her awake.

She rolls over, facing him. “Mm, what is it?” she murmurs, knowing the shaky hands as someone who is afraid.

Jon’s voice is heavy, edged with static, and Melanie wishes she could see his face, as he says, “There will be fire. We need to leave.”

That gets her out of bed, kicking Georgie awake.

“Mel, what’s wrong?” her wonderful, sleepy wife groans.

“Up up up, now! Phone Basira, tell her we don’t know how much time we all have, but we need to go.” She tries to keep her voice level, urgent but hushed.

It gets Georgie up, at least. Springing to her feet. “I’ll get the emergency bags. Fuck. Alright. Guess it couldn’t last forever.”

Melanie makes sure she’s holding Jon’s hand, as she leads him back to his room, digging out the always-packed travel bag hidden there. Filled with clothes and food and money, and for him, some books he’s shoved into it. “Pack up your laptop and anything else you want that will fit, alright?” she says, soft.

“Got it, mom,” he replies. “Go take care of what you need to. I’ll be out in five minutes. That’s the plan, yeah?”

She nods at him. “Very intelligent, you are.”

And then she dashes, grabbing her own bags and the keys, tossing them all in the trunk of the car. Important documents, keepsakes she knows they wouldn’t be able to bear losing, anything irreplaceable. From the the meowing coming from the back seat, it sounds like Georgie had managed to catch The Admiral and bundle him into the cat carrier, too. The stubborn old cat refused to die of old age or illness, but Desolation’s flames might be enough to do the trick, and none of them would want to risk it.

There’s sounds from the house next door, and that reassures her that Daisy and Basira are up now, no doubt going through the same protocol they’d set in place for just this event. Hopefully it’s a fluke, but they can’t take that chance.

If it’s the past coming back to haunt them, with fire and flames, then they can’t afford to wait.

In ten minutes Georgie is at the wheel, and the car roars to life. Basira is getting the last of the Hussain-Tonner bags in their car, Martin bundled away in the back no doubt.

“Can I say goodbye?” Jon whispers, and Melanie sighs.

“Sorry, kiddo, but we gotta go.” She reaches out, holding his hand between the seats, as they peel out, headed far away.

He’s quiet, solemn. After five minutes of quiet, he sighs. “That’s alright. I’ll see him again, someday.”

“Yeah, no doubt about that,” she whispers back.

The next morning, their houses are on the news, as they watch in their hotel room, a hundred miles away. A fire, a roaring blaze, arson. But no bodies to be found.

“It was Jude, no doubt,” whispers Georgie, while Jon is fast asleep.

She nods. “Guess we tested our luck too long, staying in one place like that. If Jon hadn’t… Known. Then we might’ve been dead by now.”

“I’m worried,” Georgie sighs. “About him, about Martin. They-- We’re right, yeah? They saved the world together, and it involved a soulbond. They were both absolutely miserable before they saw each other that first time.”

Leaning her head on her wife, Melanie says, “Yeah, but… We’ll just have to make do, for now. Keep an eye out on them both. I think it might be a good idea to keep them separate, no contact, otherwise they’ll be sneaking out to the car some day and meeting each other halfway.”

Georgie snorts. “That’s absolutely something this Jon here would do. We’ve really spoiled him, huh?”

“From what I understand, we’ve been parenting just fine,” she says back, a roll of her unseeing eyes. “It’s his grandma who gave him all that childhood trauma last time. And a Leitner, what the fuck? How do you let an eight year old get his hands on one of those?”

That gets a full blown laugh. “Yeah, alright, you’re right. We’ve probably fucked him up somehow, but he’s not nearly as fucked up as when either of us first met him. Man, he needed some intensive therapy.”

---

Tim Stoker looks at the new-hire one time, and after the thought of I’m going to flirt with him so much passes through his head, another pops in of, wait that’d be weird--

Why?

He stares. Jonathan, the name tag reads, and why is that so familiar?

“Welcome aboard the library crew, my man!” He says out loud, giving a casual grin. “What’s a pretty boy such as yourself doing here?”

“You’re quite the flirt, Tim,” he says back with a laugh. “Sorry, not in the market right now. I’m not really… I’m not interested, mostly.”

He holds up his hands. “Hey, all cool, no worries, Jonny-boy.”

That gets a snort. “Call me Jon, nothing like that, please.”

“Got it, boss. Still haven’t answered my question,” he says.

“Oh, well…” Jon takes out a pen from his pocket, and twists it around his fingers, spinning to and fro. “I’m going to be working down in the archives, mostly. Gertrude’s taking me on as an… Well, an intern, I guess? Assistant? It pays decent, and it’s my chosen field, so… It’s a good chance.”

Tim nods. Opportunistic. Not many people get to work with good ole’ Gerty. “She works in the paranormal department yeah? That oughta be fun.”

“Parapsychology, specifically,” he says back. “With a focus currently in the not-apocalypse. Lots of info on that still to be gathered.”

“So you’re interested in spooky stuff, awesome!” Tim laughs. “You gotta tell me all the weird things. We should do a scary movie night sometime together.”

Jon stares at him, as if trying to piece together some mysterious puzzle. With big eyes, intense eyes, meeting his, looking into him, in a way that he hasn’t felt since--since--

A nasty migraine is forming in the back of Tim’s head.

Jon looks away.

“Sure, why not? You're off shift now, though, right? You should get to your class.”

“How did you--?” he starts to ask, but Jon has already descended the stairs into the archives.

The pain doesn’t go away, as he makes his way through math. It’s all numbers and easy problems. A blur as the teacher speaks, and he can’t focus. There’s something he’s forgetting. A nagging sense at the back of his mind, and he’d ask Sasha, or his roommate Martin for some help, except that seems like a very bad idea right now. He doesn’t know why. But it does.

Crashing onto his bed as soon as he gets back to his dorm is the best idea. Martin will assume he’s been out having fun, and he can sleep this stabbing agony off.

It almost works, too.

Fire, fire, so much fire.

Danny--who is Danny?-- Danny dead. The world a mess. Revolving around him in Stranger ways.

Falling apart.

Sasha is Not Sasha. Jonathan Sims is a Monster.

Martin is a stubborn fool.

The world blurs.

Explosions ring in his ears.

Tim Stoker r e m e m b e r s . . .

Shooting upright with a gasp, Tim stumbles out of bed. It had only been a few hours, but if anything the migraine has gotten worse.

He runs to the toilet, puking up whatever's in his stomach from that morning. Dizzy as another wave of nausea hits.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

There’s a knock on the door, and Martin -- Martin Blackwood, Martin Hussain-Tonner, fucking Martin -- is there, asking if he’s okay, in that kind way he always has.

“Yeah--” his voice cracks. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Just some bad food.”

“Alright,” comes the reply. “Let me know if you need some help.”

“Got it,” he croaks. And then he’s alone.

Sitting on the cold tile, he holds his head in his hands, groaning.

He needs to contact someone.

Who?

Jon--? No. Not Jon, not yet. It was Jon’s presence that did this to him, no doubt, but he didn’t seem to actually know Tim.

Gertrude, maybe?

Fuck it, Gertrude it is. He has her number, she’s his boss, after all.

^Hey, Gerty, I think my head just died. Absolutely exploded with pain. Not coming in tomorrow.^

Not the most formal, but she hasn’t minded before.

^Well, I hope you feel better, Tim. Remember to check in if you’re staying out too long. It’ll be a circus here, otherwise, if we’re understaffed.^

“Fuck,” he hisses out again, because she definitely remembers. And she knows what happened.

^Mind filling me in on how the circus is doing?”

^They’re all in bits and pieces. It was quite the display, or so I hear. I have the tapes, if you want to listen to them.^

Of course she does.

^Sure, I’ll grab them on my next shift, sound good?^

^See you then. Feel better, Tim.^

He does.

Looking at Sasha now, it’s bizarre. A deep pit in his stomach, knowing he forgot her, believed the Not!Sasha had been her for so long. It doesn’t sit right.

As he makes his way down the steps to the archive, he finds her following. A few feet before the door, he turns to look at her.

“Need to speak to Gertrude too?”

She blinks, crossing her arms. “If I do, it’s none of your business.”

A snort escapes him. “Learning how to be abrasive from our lovely head archivist?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You know, he wasn’t really that bad. I mean, I totally got killed during the worm thing, so whatever you went through, I guess I still need to find out, but… He was trying his best,” she says, nonchalant as she picks at her fingers.

“Did seeing him give you the worst migraine of two lives too, then?”

“Absolutely. I thought I was dying. Turns out I had!”

They both start to laugh. He bumps his shoulder against her. “God I missed ya, Sash. Things went whack without you there.”

“Did the two lovebirds ever manage to work out their problems?” she asks, rolling her eyes.

“Not before I got exploded! Shit got weird. Honestly, you missed a lot of stuff. I--Well I’d fill you in, but whatever tapes Gertrude has will probably do that for me,” Tim says, gesturing back to the door.

“Listening party?” Sasha suggests, as she steps forward to open it.

“Sure, maybe the trauma of listening to our own deaths will be easier with a friend and some good wine. Gotta be at your place though, cuz Martin doesn’t know.” He steps in with her.

Gertrude looks at them, a box set on the empty chair. “Take it, have fun. I believe it’ll do the job enough to fill you in.”

“Thanks Gerty! We’ll get them back to ya’ when we’re done!” Tim says, giving a wave as Sasha scoops up the box. He can feel her hatred of the nickname, but it’s far too late to stop him from using it now.

They pick up on tape 39, conveniently labeled in order by Gertrude no doubt, for Sasha’s sake.

It’s awful.

She’d been spared the paranoia, the depths Jon had been plunged into.

They stop on tape 50, for the night. It hurts too much to keep going.

---

Jon wakes up from his nightmare.

Shaking, terror coursing through his veins. Memories he can’t remember. He’s not a fool.

Reincarnation was part of what he’d studied, while looking into parapsychology. No conclusive evidence, of course, that’s impossible to get. Almost everything presented as esoteric is false. The most true subjects tend to involve the apocalypse, and even then, it’s not a sure shot.

But they always involve dreams. Dreams of memories. Past lives mean past memories, trying to find their way to the present.

And his dreams have been getting worse.

But that’s ridiculous, right? Utterly ridiculous. He’s being superstitious. Gullible. There’s never been proof of reincarnation adequately presented. To think he had a past life is to give into the folly of the people he criticizes.

(He knows, deep in his soul, that some things are true. He can’t discount everything.

But there’s no need to let this knowledge consume him.)

Jon sighs, sitting up. It wouldn’t do to dwell on this, not when he has a test today that he needs to last-minute cram for.

His phone lights up by his side, though, and he picks it up. Blinking blearily at the screen in confusion before yesterday hits him.

^Hey Jon! Good morning! How are you doing?^

From the contact of Martin!!

A smile spreads over his face, dragging him out of bed and through his morning routine. Food. Toothbrushing. Clothes. Heading out for his class early, instead of almost late for once.

^I’m good, Martin. I have a test today, soon. Going to study for that. How about you?^

The reply comes almost instantly, which drops a small pit in his stomach, because martin’s first text had been two hours before Jon had gotten up.

^I’m good too! Thanks for asking! I’m working on an essay right now, but nothing super important.^

^Well, don’t let me keep you from your work.^ He’d feel bad if he were the reason Martin got a bad grade. It’d be awful.

^Nah, I don’t really need to worry about this class. I’m passing with a 96% right now, and I’m one of the only people who talks in class. Like, during the discussions and all!^

^Teacher’s pet, are you?^

Jon can picture the little laugh Martin does at this, scrunched up nose and crinkled eyes. ^Better than failing, that’s for sure. You’re absolutely someone who sits in the back of the class and does his best to avoid conversation, though, aren’t you?^

He chuckles, smiling. Then he rubs his neck, glancing around as he walks to make sure no one is staring. There’s the usual bustle of people, but no one looking at him. Just leaves falling in the breeze, and the nip of the autumn air. He’s good, so far, but it’d be dangerous to keep this up inside.

(He might not care, because this is Martin. Self-consciousness be damned.)

^Yeah, you’ve got me pinned.^ he says back.

^I hide behind my laptop screen whenever I can, studiously take notes, and never talk to another living soul if I can avoid it.^

^Wow, what a nerd :P^

^Can’t believe my best friend is a nerd :P^

Jon has to take a second to pause, sigh, and roll his eyes, because Martin, please. ^You mean the same friend who would spend hours recounting books he’d read to you in perfect detail? Or the friend who once asked their teacher for more homework because he was bored? That friend?^

^Absolutely.^

^What a shock.^

^I’ve been completely betrayed by your sudden nerdom that has arisen in the past 11 years that I have totally never encountered before.^

That tugs a full-fledged laugh out of Jon, and he has to duck onto a less-used path behind a building to hide for a full minute, because Jonathan Sims does not randomly laugh at his phone in public.

When the coast is clear, he keeps walking, and slips into the building with the ease of someone whose had classes in it for three years already. He navigates to his classroom and takes his (unofficial) seat in the back, pulling out his notes and pretending like he’s studying, not thinking about Martin.

^I feel like I’m not the only nerd in this conversation.” The text sends as a quick reply, and then he follows it up with: ^Also, in class now. Going to study. Chat later?^

^Of course! Let me know when you’re free! See ya :D^

He rubs his face, setting his phone to silent and in his bag, trying to scrub away the blush that must be rising to his cheeks.

Martin is… So Martin.

Over the past decade Jon had wanted so much to reconnect with his old friend. An ache in his chest, screaming until all he knew was the noise, yearning to find him. Fixated on the missing piece until the misery became background radiation in his life, his new normal. Settled deep in his bones. Uncomfortable weight buried in his skin, just enough to fade into his usual, everyday pain. There, but not the focus.

(Not usually. There were some days, some nights, where the loss of Martin dug its claws in. His body full of hooks and they pulled. As if trying to tug him closer. Back to Martin.

He almost followed it, a few times. Deep in his mind, a haze of the gaping hole, guiding his feet onto an unknown path. But he never went far. Always turned around and walked back home. His moms raised him well, he knows better than to be alone.

College the first year was scary. Terror welling in his throat. New people, new places. Too many unknowns.)

One small, niggling little voice in Jon’s head, a voice filled with the needles of anxiety, had tried to tell him that Martin wouldn’t be the same. That if they ever reunited, Martin wouldn’t care about him. Or maybe, maybe the years had warped his thoughts, his understanding of who his friend was. An idealized image instead of the real person.

But he also remembers Martin fretting over him when Jon fell ill. Spending the night out of worry, sneaking in through his window to bring him medicine at midnight.

He remembers Martin listening as Jon rambled, and then rambling in turn. Jon knows so much about spiders to this day, because Martin had found a book and read all about it to him.

He remembers the poetry, still scrawled in notebooks and on pieces of paper he refused to throw away. Packed into that bag as from the fire they escaped.

That voice in his head never held any real sway.

But it’s nice to be proven right, for a change.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #georgie barker #melanie king #jonmartin #what the girlfriends #gelanie #guess who realized they never posted this to tumblr!!!#I forgot #pls subscribe on ao3 #that's so much more reliable than following my tumblr I beg of u

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localspacelesbian · 5 years

Text

Father’s Day

Jonah’s parents aren’t always there for him, but that’s ok because he has a new family who is.

word count: 2082

Bowie was at the Red Rooster, standing behind the counter and leaning on it. Aside from a couple kids in earlier that day for guitar lessons, things had been pretty slow all day. He was considering walking around and cleaning everything, just for something to do, when he heard the door open. He looked up, assuming it was a customer. But it was not a customer. It was Jonah. And he was breathing heavily, just like that first time he had come into the store. The smile fell from Bowie’s face and was quickly replaced with a look of concern.

He walked quickly around the counter and toward Jonah. He said his name to get his attention. He led him over to the couch and told him to sit down and breathe. He reached over and grabbed the nearest guitar and put it in Jonah’s hands because hey, that worked last time, right? He sat down on the table in front of Jonah.

“Can you play a D for me?” It took a few seconds because his hands were shaking, but Jonah played the chord. “Ok good. Now, an A?” He got that one a little more quickly. “G?” Jonah played that chord immediately and seemed to be calming down. “Well, you can still play the three best chords in the world, so you aren’t dying,” Bowie tried to joke.

Jonah exhaled quickly, almost like a laugh, and looked up at him. “Thank you.” He still sounded a bit out of breath.

“Hey, no problem man. Do you want some water or something?”

Jonah just nodded, so Bowie went to the back to grab a bottle of water.

When he came back, Jonah had put the guitar away and walking back toward the couch. Bowie handed him the water. “Thanks.” Jonah took the bottle and opened it as he sat down.

Bowie sat back on the table. “Do you wanna talk about it? It’s ok if you don’t, but I’m here if you do.”

Jonah took a long drink of his water and then sighed. He just sat there quietly for a minute, thinking. Just when Bowie was going to say something else, Jonah finally spoke. “It’s just. It’s my parents. They were fighting again.”

“Oh.” It was the ‘again’ that surprised Bowie the most. Jonah had never really talked about his family much. Bowie knew that they had some kind of financial problems, but he didn’t know they also had other problems. “I’m sorry. How long has this been going on?”

Jonah shrugged and took another drink of his water. “I wanna say it’s just been since we lost our house, but I think that’s just when I started noticing it. I don’t think I can even remember the last time I saw them happy together.”

Bowie moved over to the couch and put his arm around him. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t really know what else to say.

“It’s always kinda sucked, but I never really thought much of it. And then you showed up, and you actually came to our frisbee games. And you and Bex and Andi are like the perfect family. And I’ve never had that. Like I have my parents, and now I have my aunt and uncle and cousins, and I love them, but it’s like we’re not even really a family; we’re just people who live together.” Jonah set his water on the table and pulled his knees up to his chest.

Before Bowie had time to think of a response, Jonah kept going. Apparently, this was something Jonah had been holding in for a while that he needed to get out.

“They’ve never come to my frisbee games, which is like whatever; no one comes to our games. But they haven’t been to anything I’ve done since I was in baseball like five years ago. And my dad was the coach, so it’s not like he had much of a choice. They don’t even know that I started playing guitar. Or that I have panic attacks. I haven’t introduced them to any of my friends or girlfriends since Amber. The first time we dated, I mean. And my parents made it pretty clear that they didn’t like her. Which, like, is fair considering she used to be kinda mean, but it still sucked, y’know?” He leaned in to Bowie then.

“Have you tried telling them any of that stuff?”

Jonah shrugged. “They’ve never asked. Besides, they expect everything to be perfect. They want me to play a real sport and have perfect grades and go to college and get a job and have a house and a wife and two and a half kids. How am I supposed to tell them about my anxiety or that I don’t know if I want any of that. I mean, I feel like my ideal situation would be living with a bunch of friends and our dogs or traveling and doing music or something.” He shrugged again. “And I have no idea how they’d react if I came out. They probably wouldn’t believe me. They can barely handle me playing a sport that they don’t think is real. I think if I just walked up to them and was like, ‘mom, dad, I’m aromantic and have panic attacks and play guitar,’ they’d probably have a heart attack or something.”

Bowie took a deep breath while he thought of something to say. “My mom still calls me my deadname.” Jonah looked up at him then. “And she still tries to cut my hair every time she sees me.” He looked down at Jonah. “I love her, but she can be a bit much sometimes, which is like the opposite of the problem you have I guess. I’m not telling you this to try to make this about me or whatever; I just want you to know that you’re not alone. Sometimes, our parents suck. Sometimes, they try their best, and they love us, but they still hurt us. Sometimes they don’t even try. And it’s not the kid’s responsibility to reach out and fix things. Sometimes, you find a new family. Family doesn’t have to be the people who raised you or the people you’re related to. Family is the people who are there for you and care about you. I’m sure your parents love you in their own way, but if you ever need someone to show up at your games and concerts or whatever, or just sit here and listen to you, I’m here. I know it’s not the same, but I can be your mom and your dad and your cool older sibling and your weird uncle and your lesbian aunt with nine cats if you want.”

Jonah laughed slightly at that last part, which made Bowie feel like he was doing something right. “You don’t have cats.”

“I will get cats for you if that’s what it takes to make you see that there are people out there who care about you, even when it doesn’t always feel like it.”

Jonah leaned over and hugged Bowie, which Bowie returned. “Thanks, Bowie.” They pulled away from each other and Jonah sat back in his previous position. “Y’know, you’re pretty good at this whole parent thing, considering you’ve only been doing it for like two years.”

“Well, I had to make up for all the years I missed by being a good parent to all my daughter’s friends too.”

“Thank you.” They heard a phone vibrate and Jonah pulled his out of his pocket and checked it, grimacing slightly when he saw whatever it said. “I should probably get going.” Jonah stood up, so Bowie did too. They hugged again, and then Jonah started to walk away.

“Remember.” Jonah stopped and turned to look back at him. “If you ever need anything.”

Jonah nodded. “I know.” And then he walked out the door.

A few weeks later, Jonah showed up on the doorstep of the Mack’s apartment. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Bex opened the door. “Hi, Jonah.” She turned her head to call into the apartment. “Andi, Jonah’s here!”

“Actually, I’m here for Bowie.” “Oh.” Bex seemed a little surprised and confused but just turned and called into the apartment again. “Bowie, Jonah’s here.”

Both Bowie and Andi appeared next to Bex.

Jonah handed Bowie a red envelope and looked down at his feet. Was this weird? Maybe this was a bad idea.

“What is it?” Bex was trying to look at it over Bowie’s shoulder while he opened it. “Is that… a Mother’s Day card?” She looked to Andi. “I didn’t get a Mother’s Day card.”

“Yet. Be patient. Also, I made you breakfast in bed, what more do you want from me?” Andi and Bex looked back to Bowie and then to Jonah.

Jonah looked up and saw that the three Macks were staring at him. Bex looked confused, Andi looked weirdly proud, and Bowie was smiling, and Jonah thought he could see his eyes watering, but that might have just been a trick of the light. “Sorry if this is weird. But I just… yeah” He gesture toward the card hoping that it got his message across for him because he didn’t really know how to put how he felt into words, especially with the three of them staring at him. “And I didn’t really want to wait for Father’s Day, and I figured you wouldn’t mind. You did say you’d be my mom and my dad and my cool older sibling and weird uncle, right? Although, I don’t think those last two have holidays.”

“Don’t forget lesbian aunt with nine cats.” If Bex looked confused before, that really threw her off.

Jonah laughed. “Oh I could never forget that.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bracelet Andi had helped him make. It had nine completely different cat charms on it. He handed it to Bowie.

“Thank you, Jonah.” He looked down at the bracelet in his hand, and yeah, there were definitely tears in his eyes now.

Bex helped Bowie put the bracelet on. “Dang kid, when did you get so good at gift-giving?”

“Andi may have helped a little.” He turned back to Bowie. “But I promise your Father’s Day present is going to be way better. I’m already working on it.”

“I get a Father’s Day present too?” Jonah smiled. “Of course. Until they make a Nonbinary Parent’s Day or a Queer Mentor’s Day or whatever you wanna call it, anyway.”

They were all smiling at him by that point, and Bowie pulled him into a hug, which quickly turned into a group hug.

Bex opened the door a little wider. “Do you want to come in? We were about to start making a cake for Cece and could always use an extra pair of hands.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t wanna intrude.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re family,” Andi insisted. Jonah couldn’t hold back a smile as she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the apartment.

About a month later, it was the day before Father’s Day, and The Red Rooster was having another open mic night. Jonah had made sure that his performance was last, which he was starting to regret as he nervously waited for it to be his turn. He was fidgeting with the black ring he had on his right middle finger.

“And last but certainly not least, Jonah Beck!”

He smiled at the person who introduced him as they walked off stage and he walked on, and they smiled back. He grabbed his guitar and sat on the stool in front of the microphone.

He had tried to plan something to say before he started his song, but all of those thoughts flew out of his head as he looked out into the crowd, so he just started playing. As he played, he looked over at Bowie and all of his friends who were there to support him.

When he finished, he walked off stage and put his guitar away while the person who had introduced the performers closed out the show. He walked over to where the Macks were standing in the audience, and Bowie immediately engulfed him in a hug, which once again, quickly became a group hug, with not just Bex and Andi this time, but Cyrus and Buffy and Amber and TJ as well.

This, Jonah decided, is what family felt like.

#andi mack #jonah beck #bowie quinn #fanfic #found family #panic attack #aro jonah #nb bowie #bowie being a father figure to jonah gives me life #happy fathers day

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hejer-maomao · 5 years

Note

Ok, inspired by Vampire! Lancelot could I get some Vampire! Edgar? With his human MC? Because honestly I can't get enough vampire and am eagerly anticipating IkeVam.

Hey there! Of course you can ❤

With Ikemen Vampire’s release just around the corner, your request is the perfect fit! I’m so hyped as well!

Vampire! Edgar and Human! MC HCs:

Edgar is the physical incarnation of every classical mythological image of Vampires. Charismatic and sophisticated, Edgar is strong-willed; independent and confident, almost to the point of arrogance. His predatory nature is well-hidden behind a beautifully crafted mask of the perfect gentleman as he effortlessly seduces humans into his bed and drains them from their blood before searching for his next victim.

Edgar is your typical ruthless Vampire, the type who looks down on humans and sees them as nothing more than food. His delicate features and gorgeous face perfectly shape him into a lethal angel, capable of deceiving and slaughtering anyone for money.

His family’s business is to eliminate any humans who prove to be threatening to the Vampires’ dominance or dangerous to their absolute reign. Edgar has lived his entire life serving the Royal Family, passively obeying orders and spilling blood in their stead, never feeling a shred of guilt.

At least, that was Edgar before he fell in love with you.

The night he first met you was a cold, somber and gloomy night. Edgar’s job that day went smoothly, without a single hitch, but the Vampire’s mood could not be any more terrible. The Counsel of Elders, whimsically deciding to slaughter a young woman because she stumbled into the Vampire’s territory by mistake, hauled the disgusting chore into Edgar’s bloody hands. Edgar, who heard countless screams and watched life slowly drain form hundreds of eyes, was only left with an empty feeling inside his chest as soon as he laid eyes on you, and no matter how tight he clenched his sword, the assassin could not bring himself to take away your life.

Ridiculous. So not him. That’s what Edgar thought as he walked through the crowded streets of Cradle, barely managing to camouflage his presence as his bloodied hands tightly wrapped around a rare survivor of the night’s duty, the woman whose eyes refused to dim even face to face with a blood-sucking monster, and whom he decided to save in a moment of absolute madness.

Edgar hid your existence for as long as he could. He turned to Lancelot and Jonah for help, as they were the next candidates for the leadership of their Clan, and his two friends, after yelling at him for hours about how stupid he was for saving a human, managed to aid him in sneaking you in, undetected.

Edgar’s aim was to nurse you back to health, erase all of your memories and then send you away to live somewhere safe, where the Counsel cannot reach you anymore. That was Edgar’s original intention, and yet somehow, after spending few weeks by your side, Edgar’s frozen heart began to move for the very first time in his long, lonely life.

At first you were weary of him, and kept your distance, wanting nothing to do with him. But seeing that Edgar was the savior you owed your life to, you quickly warmed up to him as you figured if he wished you any harm, you would have been dead for a long time already.

Edgar, on the other hand, has never met a human like you before, a human who not only does not seem to care that he is a Vampire, but also treats him as an equal, laughing and arguing with him, trying to treat his wounds even if she knew they will heal by themselves, baking him some delicious cakes and cookies and embracing him whenever he comes home exhausted, unshed tears clinging to the insides of his heart.

Your existence, however, was slowly getting harder and harder to conceal and the Elders, who were getting suspicious of Edgar’s actions, were on the verge of acting. Your time with Edgar was coming to a close sooner than you both expected and Edgar found himself incapable of parting with you.

Temporarily leaving behind his Clan, Edgar decided to elope with you, until the time finally comes for both Lancelot and Jonah to access the Royal Throne and have the Vampire world under their shared control. Only then would Edgar, now accompanied by a human wife, would be able to return with no fear on his beloved’s life.

Edgar has desired your blood ever since the moment he met you, but in between trying to hide your existence and attempting to escape the Elders’ wrath, he didn’t exactly have the luxury to taste it. After your marriage, Edgar’s feelings of guilt and self-loathing got into his way and prevented him from asking for your blood, contenting himself with the illegally-obtained blood packs from hospitals, as bland as those were.

You tried your best to give him time to accept himself and to realize that he was not the same person he used to be. But when your stupid husband failed to see that he has indeed changed and that second chances do exist, you decided to take things into your own hands.

Talking Edgar into drinking your blood was the hardest task you have ever had to perform. But after weeks of arguments and near-fights, Edgar relented.

The first time Edgar tried to drink your blood, he was extremely gentle, to the point of frustration. He would repeatedly graze your neck with his sharp teeth but without actually breaking the skin, glancing at your face to look for any sign of discomfort.Once Edgar feels you are ready, he would try to be as composed as he could be and control the amount of blood he takes in. Pleasure would wash over you both, and Edgar would let your warm blood circle in his own veins, feeling alive for the first time since he was born.

The idea of turning you into a Vampire with his own hands came up for discussion a few times, and Edgar made it quite clear that it was your decision to make. He swore he would love you for the rest of his life, regardless of your race, and promised he would follow you to the ends of hell no matter what your decision turns out to be.

Vampire! Edgar is to die for ❤ Thank you for your request!

(Excellence points for those who managed to detect the JonaLot references up there. You are my soul mates and I love you all. I couldn’t resist adding some hints. Hmm. Maybe I should write some Vampire! JonaLot?)

#ikemen revolution #edgar bright

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