#anyone who's still following me after this past week deserves a medal

[sleepytiredrobot]

All I've done today is prepare for tomorrow's war (final round of the mcytblr sexyman poll) (trying to get the aromantic tag to trend)

[rrickgrrimes8]

Can I get rick grimes x gender neutral reader

The reader was an elite solider in the U.S army when the virus happened. They been traveling the South for five ½ years alone. So now they landed in Georgia when the Saviors and Rick Group are at war. One day Rick is attacked by the Saviors, but the reader saves Rick from the Saviors with a rifle but escapes before Rick ever notices. Days later the reader meets Rick (like how Jesus met Rick.) But Rick captures the reader and interrogates him. In the end Reader reveals how he saved Rick. Rick then forces the reader work/live with the group even though the real.

A Soldier ~ Rick Grimes imagine

hey sorry for the delay ive been super busy coz i just started school back after isolating and i’ve been doing exams all week

also for anyone else who requested i’ll try and complete them soon really sorry please remember i haven’t forgotten about yall i’m just busy

anyways @iawaythrown hope you like this thank you for requesting

let me know if there’s any mistakes so i can fix it thank you x

masterlist

request guidelines

request are open

The sun had set hours earlier but that didn’t stop you. Unrelenting you continued through the heat and the exhaustion. You couldn’t stop. Not now. Not after everything you had gone through. Even before this, you wouldn’t allow yourself to stop. Being one of America’s pride and joys serving as a respected sergeant. You had served 10 years before the world went to shit and it made you laugh now. You always thought that the meaning of your life - the purpose - was to protect and serve against threats to the U.S.A. If only you knew that your greatest threat was against the dead now living. You were grateful, more than anything. You had a lot more in this world than others did. And now 5 1/2 years later you were still going. Never stopping. Not for anything.

 Except... when you caught wind of a certain curly-haired man. He was being attacked and was substantially outmanned. You thought the best use of your time was to protect people just like you had in your previous life. The man was cornered now by the time you’d made the decision to help him. Three men dressed in leather charged him with any weapon they could find. He fought against them - to the best of his ability. Which seemed to be skilled at least. You gripped your trusty rifle, aimed the scope and without hesitation fired. 

One man fell. 

Then the next. 

And then the last. 

The blue-eyed man scoured the area for you, curious about the location of the shots. You, however, were smarter than that. You didn’t know this man. You didn’t know if he deserved what those men would’ve done to him but you did know trust is to be earned in this world not given carelessly. You ducked away out of his vision. But you never strayed far from the man. 

You could say curiosity got the better of you. Naturally and from a very young age, you’d always pester, investigate, fight for answers when they really weren’t warranted. Your mom used to tell you how curiosity killed the cat but you preferred to say it saved the cat. Being curious never hurt anyone and it certainly came as an advantage to you. When meeting people you knew how to hide, how to watch. And yes it may be creepy but it was necessary. You weren’t stupid, far from it, so why stop your ways now? 

The man didn’t return back to a camp after the attack - one that you knew he had due to his clean and well-presented appearance. He continued through the area, meeting up with a tall brooding man accompanied with a crossbow. The two seemed close. Although despite how few words conversed between them, you knew they were. If either of them fell into some trouble the other protected. They were family - maybe not blood - but no doubt in your mind we’re they like brothers. 

It had been days now and these men were still on their run. By this time you were even doubting if this was worth it but you shook off the thoughts and continued. It wasn’t your intention to draw attention to yourself. Hell, it was something you were taught against. But it happened. You, rather carelessly, stumbled across them. It all happened so fast. You saw someone in the woods - walker maybe. But at that moment you decided against your inner workings and ran. Stupidly you ran straight into this man. 

“Watch it,” He growled pushing you back slightly. They glared at you threateningly, guns were drawn. 

“Wha’ ta hell ya doin’?” The crossbowman snapped. His deep southern accent growing darker through his words. He was on edge. It being clear that interactions like this hadn’t always been a blessing. 

“Was just passing through. Calm yourself, alrigh’?” 

Unimpressed he looked to the blue-eyed man who was fixed on your stance. “You looked in a hurry. Trouble heading this way?” The man inquired warily. 

“Nah not really,” You paused looking back to the area, “Well maybe I'm not sure.” 

“Not sure? What's back there?” He looked at you suspiciously hand still grasped around his colt python. You didn't say anything to them as a sound overcame the atmosphere. It sounded like a twig, perhaps just a wondering dead but they didn't see the rational side. "Who are you? Who are you with?" The blue-eyed man barked edging the pistol closer to your face. 

"Hey, chill man. My names y/n, alright? And I'm not with anyone. I'm on my own, okay?" The men shared a look before turning back to you unbelievingly. You opened your mouth to justify your case but was interrupted by a smack to the side of your head. You fell to the ground, gazing at the two men still.

And then... nothing.

~

Hours later your eyes snapped open. Alert, you searched through the room. It was a cell. A traditional one with an iron gate. One you knew from past experience weren't the easiest to break out of. Especially after spotting a man floating around the exit. "Hello?" Your head burned as you spoke likely due to a concussion but you powered through it. The man stopped pacing and glared at you. He was a dark-skinned man, holding what looked like a stick. But the main thing was that he was clean. You had noticed earlier how the two men didn't look as ragged and dirty as you did. Telling you they had a home. Now seeing him proved it. 

"Hello," He said back, "Names Morgan, yours?" Your rational side shut your mouth for you. You didn't know these people. Hell, they kidnapped you. They didn't deserve your name. And you resented how you caved earlier and told those people. "Not much of a speaker, huh?" Again silence, "You didn't have to be afraid of me. I won't hurt you." 

Begrudgingly you responded, "I'm not afraid of you." "Your not?" "No, I'm not. Not of you. Not of those men who brought me here. Not of anyone," Morgan almost laughed at your response. 

"You're quite brave, aren’t you?" You shrugged etching a smile on his face, "you'll fit right in here." 

"Who says I want to stay?" You countered. "I have a feeling," He smirked before another person entered the room. 

"They awake?" Morgan nodded and exited. 

The blue-eyed man from earlier entered your view. No words were exchanged between the two of you. You understood he still perceived you as a threat, which you knew you very well could be. You'd do what you have to. That's what you told yourself. After years of service to the army that swam around your mind like a mantra. You'd done some horrific things for your country now and before but you didn't let it rot you to the core like your comrades. You did what you had to. There was never an exception. So if these people decided to try something you'd do what you have to. 

"Who are you?" He interrogated swiftly. Telling you that this wasn't his first rodeo. He was a cop or maybe even in the army like you. 

"I already told you," Coldly you returned. 

"Yeah well, I don't believe you," He persisted. 

"I don't entirely know what you want me to do with that," you scoffed, "I can't force you to believe me. But I know my name. I know I'm alone. I know I don't mean to bring harm to your people unless I have to." 

The man grunted. He hated how he began to believe you slightly. "Why were you running then?" 

You sighed, "I was following you." 

"You were following us?" He growled, "Why?" 

"You were attacked. Those men I killed them," You revealed, "I was curious. So I followed you. I saw a walker or maybe it was a person... I don't know. I ran and bumped into you. That's all. I have no ulterior motive." 

"Just because you tell me you have no ulterior motive doesn't make me inclined to believe you," He let out a harsh breath. 

"What more do you want, huh? Want me to do a polygraph?" 

He chuckled, "No. Of course not. But I don't trust you." 

"So let me go," You promoted. 

"I can't do that," he shook his head erratically. 

"Why not?" 

"You're valuable. If what you say is true that you did save me. Then I... we can't let that go, alright?" 

You gaped at his confession, "So you're gonna force me to stay here?" 

"Not exactly... we'd prefer if you did from your own will but if we have to," He quirked his eyebrow at you, "What do you say?" 

Sarcastically you laughed at his proposition, "You're crazy." 

"No, I'm Rick. Rick Grimes. And this," Rick gestured to your surroundings, "is Alexandria. Hopefully your new home." 

"How do you know I'm not gonna kill you all in your sleep?" You furrowed your eyebrows at his naivety. 

"I have faith that you won't. I searched you when you were out," He went into his pocket pulling out a medal you had gotten for serving in Iraq, "A soldier? I was a sheriffs deputy myself and I know I wouldn't have it in me to kill all the people in here - the children. I know you wouldn't either." 

"You're right I wouldn't but... but we're not the same, Rick. We never will be," Rick tilted his head. 

"I know," He spoke honestly, "But I feel like we're similar. You'd do a lot to save someone you'd never met. That's someone we'd like in Alexandria. Y/n you saved me. And I know you can save a lot more. So what do you say?" 

You sighed moving closer to the cell door, "Okay."

[thewildwaffle]

Friends with Monsters - Part 2

A continuation of Part 1

Kind of short, but gives a bit about the captain's past. To come: helping to incorporate Medic Fehl in with the rest of the crew! How? Spoilers: large use of humans. ***

The translation of the word “stern” was interesting. In the Captain’s case, the universal translators categorized it as a proper name with relative background connotations added. Normally, the word itself might have some complications with translators since it was an Earth word with different meanings in different Earth languages. It usually depended on the speaker’s meaning. That was the beauty of the universal translators, after all. To the captain, his name was both a gift and a reminder. It was given to him as a small, anxious child, hardly old enough to fully remember the events that led to him being orphaned and being found and adopted by a human named Adalene Bauer. She had raised him with love, as her own child, making sure he had everything he could ever need. She had been married once when she was younger, but death had stolen her spouse away and she had never remarried. She raised Stern alone and helped him learn that his fears and his feelings of loss weren’t weaknesses, but could be a source of strength and compassion. In Adalene’s native tongue, stern translated to star. She always said that he was her little Sternenkind, her little star child. Another translation of stern in another of Earth’s languages was an adjective for being firm or strict. Years later, he’d been made captain of a small star-freighter at a remarkably young age. It certainly wasn’t the most glamorous ‘captain’ job, but he was still one of the youngest rerlut captains in history, and that was a lot to be proud of. He was fully qualified for the position, or at least, he was on paper. He was certainly lacking in experience, but he learned quickly and did his best with what was an admittedly raucous crew. His inexperience came into harsh reality, however, when his ship was attacked. He’d been too soft, too lenient with his crew, and they were caught unprepared. Almost half the freight was stolen, but more importantly, several crew members were seriously injured. He and his Chief Officer, a charming red biet named Marit fought off the pirates as valiantly as they could. For one short moment, it looked like they were going to drive their attackers back. But then the tide of the fight took a turn for the worst. They got as much of the crew to safety as they could, but then… Chief Officer Marit didn’t survive. They’d jumped in front of Stern and took a shot intended for him during the fight with the pirates.

After he’d woken up in the hospital a week later, he found out he was to be awarded some medal for his bravery. So was Officer Marit, posthumously. Honestly, the whole aftermath was a detached blur in his memory. He returned home to Earth to aid in his recovery. It took months to break out of the mental fog he’d felt so lost in after the attack. It was his mother who helped him decide to go back at all. “Sternenkind,” she had called him as she wrapped him in her arms one night as he sat outside staring blankly at the sky. Even even though he’d been a fully grown rerlut for years, his mother was and would always be large enough to hold him comfortably. They sat like that a while before either of them said anything. Stern had always been able to confide in his mother, but this time his words came only with great difficulty. When they did finally come, they were heavy with his regret, his sadness, and his guilt. His mother listened patiently to it all, crying with him and letting him get all he needed to say said. When he finally ran out of words, she began to recount the day he’d been promoted to captain. She’d been so proud. And then when she’d heard of the attack, how afraid she’d been. Her arms wrapped a bit tighter around him then. “Es hätte jedem passieren können,” she’d said. It could have happened to anyone. But it had happened to him, and he’d done the best he could with what he knew. No, he hadn’t done everything perfectly, but he was an imperfect being. He now had a choice, either stay and rust in his regret or get back out there and grow from this. “Aller anfang ist schwer,” she had told him. All beginnings are hard. His was especially, but she hoped that whatever he did, he’d do his best to honor Chief Officer Marit and always remember one thing: “Ich werde immer stolz auf dich sein, mein Sternenkind” I will always be proud of you, my Sternenkind. *** His past and the path he took since that time was on his mind as Stern returned to his office to deal with Ehot Irubin and the others involved in the incident in the med bay. A crew deserved and needed a captain who could be firm and strict, and whose commands were obeyed without question. He had to make sure he stayed that type of captain. As he approached his office, the quiet chatter between the three crewmates in question cut off. They shuffled away from the door as their captain approached and opened the door, entered, and motioned for them to follow. “Take a seat.” He sat as well and sighed, staring at them for a moment. Just long enough to make them squirm uncomfortably in their seats. “I do hope you understand just how inappropriate your behavior towards Medic Fehl was.” “Yes, captain,” the three of them responded in unison. All three of them were doing their best to look as dejected and contrite as possible, but Stern knew he had to push just how serious he was through their thick skulls. “Good,” Stern sighed. “Now, convince me why I shouldn’t end your careers and drop you all off at the nearest inhabited planet with dishonorable releases.” All three crewmates looked up and stared dumbstruck at him. “S-sir?” Ehot Irubin stammered out. Stern held their gaze with his own for a moment as he let his words sink in. “Let me tell you about this ship,” he said to break the stunned silence. “The HWSS Concordia. As an Ergeen Class liner, it’s one of the largest ships in the Galatea Trade Alliance fleet. Six warp engines, two synced hyperdrive cores, and a hauling capacity of nearly three hundred standard atmospheric liters of cargo.” He took a breath, making use of the small break to indulge in a bit of pride that this was the ship of which he was the captain. “As impressive as she may be,” he continued, his voice went low and dark, “this ship is nothing in comparison to the rest of the galaxy and all the dangers it holds. When the moment comes that it’s us against creation’s terrors, it’s the crew that will be standing at your side. I am the captain, and I have selected each crew member aboard this ship for a reason, whether they be ehot, human, or even arzhi. There is no room for debate, mistrust, or bigotry. Those will get us all very dead very quick. Do you understand?” Irubin and his companions nodded sheepishly. A subdued chorus of “Yes captain,” filled the office. “Good.” Captain Stern leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Now, unless you do want to be dropped off at the nearest inhabited planet, I’ve got some additional assignments for you.” The three crew members looked up, listening intently. “I want and need to eradicate any remaining hostility within this crew. You three are going to help me do just that.”

[seventeensarmy]

(1) Stuck With You (OT7!Hybrid Au)

Pairing: OT7xReader, Jungkook x Reader, rest will come in the course of the story

Warnings: Toxic parents that lead to toxic relationship to food, reader isn´t eating good, character death (But not in detail), angst, fluff, some technical ballet words (but i explained them and they aren´t that important), tell me if i missed something!

Words: 4.750

Summary: In your society, hybrids are seen as pets, nothing more, not having many rights. You meet the bunny hybrid Jungkook, deciding not to follow the norms of society you befriend him and fall in love. On your journey to a happy life, you meet six other hybrids, who tag along in your journey. (The summary will get better as soon as i know where to go with the story, i promise xx)

Hybrids: New Zealand red rabbit!Jungkook, Black panther!Yoongi, Birman cat!Jimin, Tundra wolf!Namjoon, Red fox!Hoseok, gerberian shepsky!Taehyung, sugar glider!Jin, human!reader

Chapter one

“I´m Jungkook, but I don´t mind you calling me Kookie”    

15 years ago (Reader is 6, JK is 7)

How is a child supposed to know what right and what’s wrong? You would expect the parents to teach their child basic human decency, but sometimes it´s the parents who teach their child the exact opposite. You see, hybrids were weren´t a rare sight in your society, a lot of wealthy people owned some. While children loved to play with them, it wasn´t really a secret that adults, who could afford breaking the laws, had other plans with them. It is highly frowned upon, using hybrids, who still didn´t have the same rights as humans, to one’s gain, but at the same time, no one really did something against it. There still are a lot of people that believe that hybrids are just abominations and don´t deserve to be even alive, let alone have rights. Those are the people who want nothing to do with hybrids, who look away when a hybrid is being abused. Those are the people you´ve come to hate.

Those people are your parents.

“But Mother”, you whine, following her through the house, “I wanna go play with Hei Ryung, not with her hybrid. I won´t even look at her, I promise.”  Your mother shakes her head before she turns around, making you almost run into her, but you manage to catch yourself. Her gaze almost makes you flinch backwards, but you stand your ground, though you´re not looking up to her. “If you want to play with your friend, you´re going to have to wait till you see her at school, that way I know for sure no animal will come near you.”, you bite back the urge to correct her, saying that hybrids aren´t animals, like she makes it appear. You´ve met Hei Ryung´s hybrid before, a cute Pomeranian girl, just a bit older than you, but your parents could never find that out, the risk of you and the staff at home being punished was far too high. The last time you got punished you were not only grounded for two weeks, but you also weren´t allowed to attend your ballet classes, which was the only thing, other than school work, you got to do in your spare time.

Sensing that you aren´t going to argue back, your mother puts a smile on, “See, waiting till school isn´t that bad. Also, you need to train more, you´ve got a competition coming and I´ve seen you dance, you still need a lot of practice if you even want to attempt to win a medal.”

Ouch, you swallow. Your mother has always been your strongest critic, always finding something you could´ve done better. Still, you nod, knowing that with her last words the conversation was over and you should go practice.

Practice always ended with your muscles hurting, you weren´t dancing on pointe, your teacher saying you are still too young to dance like that, much to your mothers dismay. If it were up to her you would probably have started wearing pointe shoes as soon as you could walk and you were thankful, that none of your past teachers let her have any say in your training. You were training every day, four times a week with your teacher, the rest of the week alone, sometimes the staff came to watch, but now you think they might have been a bit worried about a six year old girl spending most of her time either in school or the practice room.

.-.-.-..-..-.-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

You were alone again, both of your parents not being at home wasn´t something new. In fact, you hadn´t seen your father in almost three weeks, some business trip to Europe, though he promised to come to your competition in a week. You weren´t sure what your father was doing to earn as much money as he did, you just knew it had something to do with a lot of deals and signed papers, that made him swear in his study upstairs.                                                                                   

As for your mother, you really weren´t sure what she was doing, other than spending your fathers money, though she always said “our money”, but you weren´t asking, you learned fast that, if you are a child, people don´t really care about your opinion (or you in general) and therefore don´t feel the need to talk to you. You overheard her talking to kitchen staff, explaining that she was going on an important trip to Bali for a few weeks (as you grew older you learned that her trips to Bali weren´t really of important nature, more of needy and lying nature, but that´s a different story).

It was always the same; your parents leaving you alone with the staff at home, you´ve come to see them more as your family than your actual family.

Your nanny always took pity on you, when you were training the whole day, letting you watch some TV in the evening, something your parents never allowed you, telling you it´s a distraction, though you found yourself more at ease the next morning as when you would have gone straight to bed or studied some more instead. The kitchen staff also had a soft spot for you, always receiving a strict diet for you from your mother, which left the cook speechless. You never really knew if your diet plan was different than your usual plan, seeing as the chef never made it when your parents were gone. You overheard him talking to you nanny once, complaining how you would become too skinny and weak if he were to actually cook what your mother planned for you.                                 “Sometimes I think she´s crazy”, you once heard them whisper, “That´s not a diet for a child, not that a child should ever be on a diet. The portion size she wants me make is ridiculous, if I would make one dish and give everyone this portion I bet you I could feed half the street!”, the chef raged, he had been your cook since you could think and you sometimes think of him as your father or uncle by the way he cared for you. Your nanny agreed quietly, it wasn´t a secret how the staff thought about your parents, but the chef wasn´t done, you heard paper rustling and figured he was showing her the plan your mother made for you. “Two dishes per day. That woman has no clue how to feed a child. She wants her to eat only two times a day and then compete at a competitive sports competition.”

Needless to say, the staff took better care of you than your parents ever could. Which is why you were now sitting in the far back of the garden, with a box of cookies and a bottle of soda on your side. Today had been your dance competition, you won, but neither your mother, nor your father were there to witness, only your nanny, who gave you a tight hug after you came down. Your nanny was always there for you, always praising you and giving you little rewards for your good work. She and the kitchen staff saw, that though you won, you were still upset over your absent parents, so they told you to go enjoy yourself in the garden and they would bring snacks for you.

After they arrived with the cookies and the soda, you went off to your secret hiding spot in the garden.  You knew no one could see you there, leaving you alone to your upset thoughts and snacks that you still didn´t touch.

You remember thinking, that maybe your parents were upset with you and decided not to come as a punishment, or maybe some important business hindered them from coming and they would call in a bit. Your six year old brain couldn´t accept the possibility of your parents simply not caring, it had to be something you did. Your thoughts were interrupted by a rustling coming from the bushes, you sit up straight, “Hello?” you call out. The rustling stops and a figure starts to rise, the first thing you see are... bunny ears? Then a head and in front of you stands a boy, not much older than you. A hybrid. In your garden? You quickly turn around, looking back to the house and let out a relieved breath when you see no one.

“What are you doing here?” you ask the boy as you turn around. He looks at you with big eyes; he looked scared, ready to run if danger should approach. “I was walking around” he explains and you raise your eyebrows, “In my garden?” The boy turned red, “I didn´t know that was your garden, I´m sorry, please don´t call the police”, he begs, suddenly in full on panic mode. Your eyes widen and you take him in, he was skinny, his clothes were dirty and he looked like he hadn´t had a good night’s rest in a long time. He´s a stray.

You raise your hands in surrender, letting him know, that you didn´t plan on calling the police or anyone on him. “Don´t worry”, you promise, “I´m not calling anyone. Are you hungry?” You offer him your unopened box of cookies. His eyes grew even wider and he surprises you by sitting down across from you. “You don´t mind?” he asked and you shake your head, opening the box and putting it down in front of him. “I´m y/n” you grin at the boy, who already had one cookie stuffed in his mouth. He replied, but you didn´t understand a single word, causing you to giggle, “I´m sorry, I don´t speak cookie or is your name cookie?” you giggle again, causing the boy in front of you to turn red, he swallows and speaks again, “I´m Jungkook, but I don´t mind you calling me Kookie”, he grins.

.-.-.-..-..-.-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The following days were probably some of the best in your life so far, thanks to your new friend. Whenever you could, you would sneak out loads of food and drinks, concerned by Jungkooks small figure. But he always insisted on you joining him eat, to which you only replied with a small smile, saying you already ate. You couldn’t risk your mother finding out that you ate something other than what´s on her diet plan for you or even worse, her seeing that you gained weight. The training she would then put you under is one you never want to repeat.

You saw that Jungkook didn´t believe you when you said you ate, he could probably smell if you ate or not, he once told you, that your house never really smelled of food, you only shrugged, not really knowing what to say. But he never said anything, not till the day he saw you almost faint on your way to your secret hideout in the back of the garden, where he was already waiting for you. As you arrived you let yourself fall back against the tree. “y/n”, Jungkook´s voice asked worried. You looked at your friend and smiled, “I´m alright Kookie, just a bit tired from practice. Don´t worry.” Your friend looked unconvinced and he got proven right, as he heard your stomach rumble. “You should eat   y/n-ah. When did you even eat the last time?”  You wave your hand, “You worry too much. I ate this morning and my mother comes home tonight, so I´ll eat with her this evening.” The bunny hybrid looked confused in your direction. “But what about lunch, didn´t you eat something now? You can´t just eat two times a day” he exclaimed.

The concept of you eating lunch is so strange in your mind that it´s your turn to look confused. You later realised, that even when your mother was gone, the staff gave you only two dishes a day, so you wouldn´t get used to eating three times a day. If your mother were to find out you would eat more times a day than she liked, the staff and you would be in big trouble. But your six year old you didn´t understand that at this time, eating three times a day was something you never did. Why eat lunch, when you could´ve also practised at that time?

“My mother says I don´t need to eat three times a day, I would get fat and then the judges won’t like my dances at the competitions anymore” you explain with a shrug, missing the way Jungkook tensed, he decided in that moment, that he doesn´t like your mother. How would you get fat? You first had to stop being underweight and from what he gathered, the only things you do are study, dance and meet up with him.

The sun started to go down and you knew you had to leave your friend soon. “Listen Jungkook”, you started and his ears straightened up, as you addressed him by his name, not the nickname you called him since your first day, “My mother will arrive today, my father probably too.   They are pretty strict-” “Are they gonna lock you away for talking to me? Are they gonna lock me away?!” You quickly took his hands in yours, calming him almost instantly. “No no no, nothing’s going to happen to you”, you promised, “My parents, they, they can never know about you, okay Kookie. They are not nice”, Jungkook frowned, not liking the idea to leave you alone with the mean people who don´t feed you and apparently don´t like hybrids, he remembered his first question. “y/n. Are they going to look you away?” You shrug, “Maybe, I don´t know if I did something yet.” You don´t look at him, you can imagine what he looked like, probably mad, he was the scariest seven year old you had ever seen. “What do you mean, you don´t know yet, wouldn´t you know if you did something?” You give him a wary smile, “Sometimes I don´t know what I did until they tell me, Kookie. Maybe I gained weight; maybe my dance is not good enough. They would want me to fix my mistakes. That´s why you maybe won´t see me for a while. I just wanted to tell you, so you don´t worry even more” you giggle a bit and poke his cheek, “If you keep frowning like this, you´ll have wrinkles as soon as you turn ten.”

If it were up to Jungkook, he would grab you and bring you as far away from those people as he possibly could. He didn´t have a family, never had, the streets are all he ever had and remembered, but even with no knowledge about family and love Jungkook knew, that what you had in this house, was neither. Before you left, you told him, he should keep the snacks and eat them, he shouldn´t wait for you and Jungkook didn´t understand how you could be so concerned about him eating enough, but still neglected your own needs so much. He wanted to help you so bad, but he was only seven.

And your worries came true, you didn´t see Jungkook for two weeks. The next time you were allowed to go out, he noticed that you were skinnier, but he didn´t say anything as you koala-hugged him.

.-.-.-..-..-.-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Five years ago (Reader 16/ JK 17)

It was a bit past midday when your parents left, leaving you alone once again. The only difference, this time, not even the staff stayed with you, this was a first, but it left you buzzing with excitement. It meant that you had could have Jungkook staying over for two weeks. Over the years your friendship with the bunny blossomed into one of the best things you could´ve ever asked for.

Your parents never noticed the teenager living in the small shed in the back of the garden. You both quickly realised, that it would be way too risky sneaking Jungkook into the house with your parents present. Their distaste for hybrids only grew over the years, since the government gave them more rights, giving the hybrids at least a bit of independence, though they were still nowhere near having the same rights as humans.

This wasn´t the first time Jungkook stayed over, over the years you tried to let him stay over as often as possible. It did help a lot that the staff in your home found out and decided to help, no longer questioning why to took so much food with you whenever you went to the garden.

Though, this was the first time they ever left you completely alone, you didn´t know why, but you didn´t question it, relieved to be able to spent time with your best friend, without having to worry about him. Your mother had given you a detailed plan of your diet, which you couldn´t help but follow, not having realised yet, that all those diets weren´t really as healthy as your mother claimed.

You were eating an apple, a snack you allowed yourself to enjoy, seeing as your next real meal would still have to wait a few hours, though you weren´t even that hungry yet. You just needed something to focus on while waiting for Jungkook and you knew it made him happy to see you eat.

You sat down on one of the garden chairs, waiting for the bunny to show up, though you didn´t need to wait long, as you saw his tall figure already approaching. “Hello little dancer”, he grinned, pulling you into a bone crashing hug, he eyed the apple in your hand with a satisfied smile. Over the years Jungkook grew up quite well, he was now towering over you and you couldn´t deny, that he was getting more and more handsome.

You smiled and pulled him into the dining room, “I figured you´d be pretty hungry by now, so I prepared some food for you, then we can relax for the rest of the day.” You had prepared some steamed vegetables and chicken, knowing that Jungkook loved your cooking. He frowned as he saw that you wouldn´t be eating with him, but he choose not to say anything, it was your first day and he wouldn´t want to argue with you immediately. He started to dig in, almost scoffing at how much you prepared for one person.  “You don´t need to practice today?” he asked confused, normally you would be training every day, especially seeing as you had a show in a few days. You smiled a bit sheepishly, “I got up earlier today and did my hours”, already knowing how Jungkooks face would look like you chose to study the picture on the wall in front of you. Your training hours were absolutely ridiculous in Jungkook´s opinion. Sometimes practicing up to ten hours if you didn´t have to study for school, he dreaded thinking about the hours you spent training today.

He finished eating and you started to clean the table, while Jungkook went and took a quick shower. You also started to look for movies on Netlix that he would like, both of you loved movies, but Jungkook never had the opportunity to watch them and you never had the time.

Jungkook came back, letting himself fall down next to you, arm around you shoulder, pulling you close. His was hair slightly wet and he had changed into new clothes, which you had bought for him. You stared at him, he really was handsome. You blushed at your own thoughts, but you couldn´t help but feel attracted to him. He noticed you staring at him, seeing as he was also busy staring at you, the chosen movie in the back forgotten.

“Kookie?” you asked quietly and he looked at you waiting for you to continue. “Do you want to come with me on Tuesday? To my show?” A smile broke out on his face, his ears straightening up, eyes wide. “Are you for real? Yes I´d love to”, but his smile fell as quickly as it came. “Do they allow hybrids there? How could I get in?” You frowned, you hadn´t thought about that. Then an idea plopped in your head and you took all your courage to speak it out loud. “We´ll just say you´re my boyfriend. They won´t question you if you cover your ears and you´ll be backstage with me.” The bunny thought about that idea and his smile returned, though there was mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Only if I get to give you a well done kiss after you´re done. Like a good boyfriend would.” Never has the usually shy bunny been so forward about anything and your breath stocked, but you found yourself nodding. No matter how shy you were, you couldn´t let the chance to kiss your crush and best friend fly away. He grinned and pulled you closer, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, causing you to hide yourself in his chest. “Watch out mister” you warned, poking his chest. The bunny only laughed at your flustered state.

.-.-.-..-..-.-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Nervous. That´s the word that would describe you the best right now. You had already thrown up in the morning, leaving Jungkook worried, asking if you were really in the condition to perform. You had waved it off, telling him that´s how you are before every show, which didn´t seem to comfort him at all. Though your best friend and maybe boyfriend or fake boyfriend (who knows) stayed with you for the last couple of days, you didn´t really find any more time to relax, spending most of our days practicing. Jungkook didn´t seem to mind though, he started using the gym next to your dance room. Your parents never seem to use it anyway, so it wasn´t really a problem and Jungkook came to love having an outlet for all his energy. In the evenings both of you were too tired to cook, meaning empty take out containers were piling up in the kitchen.

“You got this” Jungkook murmured, warm hand lying comforting on your lower back. You were backstage already, wearing your plush bathrobe to keep you from freezing in your dance outfit. It wasn´t as hard as expected to take Jungkook with, a beanie covering his ears, his tail comfortable tucked away in his pants covered by a nice dress shirt you had bought him a while ago. You stood on your pointe shoes, still not being on eye level with the bunny but close, and hugged him.

“What if my mother finds out? Oh I shouldn´t have done this, maybe I can-“ you were interrupted by a pair of lips on yours, you felt yourself sinking into his strong hold. Jungkook smiled at you with the softest smile you had ever seen. He knew you were worried about your piece.

It was contemporary ballet, a form of ballet your mother despised. She was all for classical ballet, often making you train with the Cecchetti method, which Jungkook found out to be really hard on the body, no longer surprised why you were so drained after your lessons. But you had told him one day, that though you do love this form of ballet, you had started to fall in love with neoclassical and contemporary ballet. It was more modern, allowing you to bring more of yourself in your dance, Jungkook didn´t really know anything about ballet, so he had just nodded, but after seeing you dance in both, a classical and modern way, he understood why you liked the modern form so much.

“Hey, calm down, little dancer” he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You looked up to him with big eyes, he had just kissed you. Jungkook kissed you, and you found yourself craving his kiss again. “You worry too much, stop thinking about if something is a mistake. Maybe this kiss was a mistake, who knows, but it didn´t feel like it, I liked it and I know you did too. You like dancing contemporary, so do it, your mother isn´t here to support you or critic you. I´m here and I´ll support anything you do.” Touched by his words you found yourself hugging him closer than before. “Oh, what would I do without you?” you asked, playing with his hair that wasn´t covered by the beanie.

“y/n y/l/n! Ready to perform in ten, please move to the curtains!” came the loud voice of the director. Slowly Jungkook let you go, “You´ll do great, alright? Just have fun” the bunny smiled at you. You decided to collect all the courage you had and looked into Jungkook´s eyes, “Don´t I get a good luck kiss?” The male’s eyes twinkle and he can hardly contain a smile, “You get a well done kiss when you´re done, little dancer” You pout, but you know arguing with bunny won´t work, so you just sigh in defeat. Jungkook chuckled as he realised that there will be no arguing, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Go on little dancer, show me what you got. I´ll be right here when you get back.”

With those last words you moved towards the stage, ready to dance your heart out, but you felt oddly calm. With no doubt thanks to the bunny who was cheering you on from the side. The music started and you have never felt so free dancing.

And as promised was Jungkook waiting for you after your performance, you jumped into his waiting arms, “You did so well, you are amazing” he pressed little kisses all over your face, till he finally reached your lips. Needless to say, today was a good day and something told you, that it could only get better with Jungkook next to you, holding you close.

.-.-.-..-..-.-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The past one and a half weeks had to be the best you’ve ever had. Life with Jungkook couldn´t have been easier and dread filled your chest, as you thought about how your parents would be arriving today and some part of you wished they wouldn´t.                                                                            Jungkook noticed your mood change too and tried everything he could to make you feel better, not even complaining about how you skipped breakfast this morning, which you knew took a lot for him. You were stood in the kitchen; the bunny had his arms wrapped around you, hugging you from behind, watching as you were gathering the ingredients to make you guys a shake. Occasionally he would sneak a kiss to your neck or cheek.

But all that froze, as you both watched a police car park in your driveway. “Hide”, was the only thing you said, as the doorbell rang and Jungkook didn´t have to be told twice, as he hid in the guest bathroom next to the front door. He was a bit confused, seeing as normally hybrid control would come to collect stray animals and these cops didn´t even have dogs with them, but he didn´t want to risk it, almost holding his breath as you opened the door.

“Good evening”, you greeted politly, though Jungkook could hear the slight tremble and smell your panic. He wanted to jump out of the bathroom and hold you close, never wanting you to feel scared if he could prevent it.

“Good evening, Miss y/l/n, can we come in, we have some bad news for you?    It´s about your parents.”

Time slowed down as you received the news. Your parents died. The blood in your ears rushed, you had trouble making out what they said. You heard that they were asking if they should call someone, but there wasn´t anyone you could call. You had no family here; the only person you wanted was hiding in your guest bathroom down the hall, probably hearing every word.

The police told you, that in the next days a lawyer would stop by to explain to you what would be happening next, you were still underage with no family. They were asking you, if you would want to sleep in a supervised home today, but you shook your head, explaining with shaky voice that the staff would be arriving tomorrow morning and you wouldn´t be alone. After the police left you sank to the floor, “Kookie”, you croaked, vision blurred with tears. You felt strong hands pulling you into a hug, “I´m here y/n. I´m here.”

next

Taglist: Open, just ask! 

Hope you enjoyed!

[boxoftheskyking]

Pick Up Every Piece, Part Two

how do you write Wei Ying? All talking. How do you write Lan Zhan? Run on sentences, of course.

have some exposition. everyone is a mess, wahoo.

Part One

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Lan Zhan’s iron is broken. 

There’s no reason it should be—he keeps it clean and returns it to its original box after each use, and it’s barely three years old. But no matter what he does, it does not heat. He shouldn’t even need to iron his shirt in the morning, but deadline on deadline (and budget cuts on budget cuts) mean that he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in six days and hasn’t done laundry in a week. There are dishes piled up in the kitchen sink, so he’s started avoiding the kitchen entirely on his way to crash into bed so he doesn’t have to see it.

Things break, Lan Zhan accepts this. They wear out, come to accidents, disappoint you, die. But there’s no reason for this iron not to work. There have been no odd smells, the plug is fine—he’s tried three different outlets—and it’s barely three years old.

He stands in his closet in an undershirt and boxers, one hand pressed flat against the heating element, and allows himself a two minute breakdown.

There’s no reason for it. He’s done everything right, ticked every box. He started writing at age ten and hasn’t stopped since. He was top of his class at university, edited every school paper he had access to and founded two more, he got his masters. Even factoring in nepotism—which he doesn’t like to do, because it makes him feel like a cheat—he’s gone about as far as he can as a journalist. He’s won every major award, and with his uncle as managing editor he has more freedom than most in terms of how he writes and what he covers. He served the Republic, fought for two and half years and got a Sunshot medal for it. And yet, after ten years in his chosen field, everything is dying around him. No one pays for papers anymore, no one cares for the truth anymore. Political pundits on TV and radio have taken over the readership; citizens still traumatized by war just want someone to tell them what to think, tell them everything is fine now, tell them to ignore the injustices and messes and misfortunes that surround them. When he started at the Gusu Herald there were fifty people on staff—now they’re down to under twenty, including editors. All the small town papers in the area have closed, but there’s hardly the staff to even consider local stories these days. Lan Qiren tries to hold out as the last family-owned paper in the area, but corporations are circling. It’s like he spent his whole youth building a shining bridge across a canyon, only to find the other side barren and dead, miles of cold steel and no light on the horizon. 

He turns the iron and presses it against his chest, imagines it suddenly turning on, the satisfaction of the burn.

Then he unplugs the iron, puts it back in its box, and pulls on the wrinkled shirt. He pulls up the blackout curtains to let a little of the thin 7am light into the bedroom. There’s no reason to still have blackout curtains in Gusu, but he got used to it years ago and once he gets used to things he tends not to change them without reason. But he’s got plants now, gifts from his brother, and he’s trying to keep them alive. It shouldn’t be that difficult to do, he is conscientious and meticulous, but then his iron shouldn’t be broken either.

No one comments on his wrinkled appearance when he gets to work, which irks him. There is the familiar sound of phones ringing, printers going, file cabinets slamming open and closed in every direction. It’s calming to him, but he can’t help but notice how much quieter it is now than when he started. Part of it is the new computers—when he started here they were still on electric typewriters which were deafening. But mostly it just feels . . . empty.

Not completely empty, not yet. 

“Hey, hey Lan Zhan,” Lan Meiling waves him over to her desk, where a half dozen reporters are gathered around a computer printout. “Did you see this? Jin Zixun’s the new head of the Trade Commission. Just announced.”

Lan Zhan winces and looks over the report.

“But we’re not a monarchy, right guys?” Liu Dong snorts, shoving Meiling’s shoulder.

“It’s not a monarchy, it’s the other thing,” Wang Tengfei says, tapping his chin. “What’s the thing where it’s not passed down by birth, but you still appoint all your family members? That’s a thing isn’t it?”

“That’s just Jin Guangshan,” Liu Dong laughs. “But hush, hush, treason.”

“Come on, what’s the word for it?” Tengfei asks again.

Meiling takes the paper back from Lan Zhan. “Wasn’t he the one who paid for his grades in college? I get them confused.”

Lan Zhan nods. “That was Jin Zixun. Who’s got the story? There should be clippings. ‘92, I think, or ‘93.”

“Who covered that? Any of you?” Su She leans over the cubicle wall, knocking the photo of Meiling’s family onto her desk. There’s no reason for him to be here; he doesn’t cover politics. He’s had the local court beat for the past three years, and has spent those three years writing the exact same story five times a week with different names and charges plugged in. Lan Zhan is completely sure that he’d cover a person fined for unpaid parking tickets and a person arrested for smuggling baby unicorns with the exact same level of interest.

“Wei Ying wrote the story,” Lan Zhan says. The group falls silent, a troubled glance flying between all but him. “Before the merger, in the Gusu Times. Lan Shu can pull the clippings for you. It was a series, I believe.”

Lan Meiling coughs. “You can find a different reference, Liu Dong. Someone in Qinghe must have covered it.”

“It was a good series,” Lan Zhan says. He’s being needlessly stubborn, but that’s nothing new. “Wei Ying got the school registrar on the record.”

Liu Dong scratches the back of his shaved head. “Yeah, but. You know. I’ll call over to Qinghe.”

“It was a good series,” Lan Zhan says again. It’s awkward enough to break up the group, everyone shuffling back to their desks or the coffee maker. Lan Zhan has that uncomfortable feeling that he’s supposed to want to apologize for something. It’s a feeling he gets a lot, and he hates it. He doesn’t want to apologize—he has nothing to apologize for. Wei Ying was a good reporter; he wrote good stories. Everything that happened after that doesn’t change the fact that he was good at what he did.

Su She follows him over to his desk, so his day is about to keep getting worse. Lan Zhan prides himself on being rational, and he has many rational reasons for disliking Su She. He’s a half-assed writer, he wouldn’t know a decently placed comma if it was unveiled to him on a pedestal by the gods, he is a busybody and a gossip, and he lives to take credit for other people’s work. He’ll offer you the phone number of one of his “connections” and then whine about how he deserves a shared byline.

But on many levels beyond the rational, Lan Zhan hates the guy. He hates the way he pronounces words, his laugh, the smell of his lunch, even his handwriting. And he’s always there.

“You knew him, didn’t you, Lan Zhan?” Su She leans on his cubicle now, though there are no photographs to knock down.

Lan Zhan’s instinctual response is Don’t call me that, which is ridiculous because it’s his name. But he hates the way his name sounds in Su She’s mouth.

“What?” 

“Wei Ying. You knew him before the scandal, didn’t you?”

Lan Zhan takes an even breath. “Yes.”

“Did you work with him?”

“He was at the Times, before the merger. He never worked at the Herald.”

“But you knew him in school, right?”

If Lan Zhan wanted to be fair (he doesn’t), there’s no way for Su She to know that this line of questioning is particularly painful. He distracts himself from the sting of it by considering all of the answers he won’t be giving.

Yes. He gave me half a handjob in 1989 and I’ve thought of it every day since.

Yes. He called me his soulmate one day in the library at Gusu University and I’ve thought of it every day since.

Yes, I read the story that ruined his life before it was published, because he came to my home and asked me to read it and he was so proud, skinny and manic and over-caffeinated and burning, burning, burning, and I looked at him and I recognized the same thing that burns in me, the thing that keeps me coming back to this sad beige office every day, that makes me want to fight the inevitable like swinging swords at the sea, and I didn’t tell him not to publish. I told him it was a good story. It would not have stopped him, me telling him not to do it. But I could have tried. And I’ve thought of that every day since.

He just nods, instead.

“Is he still alive, do you think?” Su She asks casually.

The question stops Lan Zhan. “What?”

“No one’s heard from him since the war, have they? Could have died somewhere. Plenty still missing. I heard he went West, maybe, and the fighting was—”

“He is not dead.” Lan Zhan doesn’t know this for sure. But he would know, surely. Wouldn’t he? The thought honestly has not occurred to him in all these years, that Wei Ying might have died.

“Are you in touch?” Su She has a habit of asking questions like this, flipping from casual conversation to an interrogation. It makes him a terrible reporter.

“I served with his brother. He has not mentioned that Wei Ying has died. I have work to do, Su She.”

It bothers him, even after Su She leaves. He hasn’t seen Jiang Cheng in a few years, and they do not write or call each other. Jin Zixuan writes to them all about once a year, and he visits when he’s in Gusu, but he has always been the more sentimental one of the three of them, the survivors. But he thinks that Jiang Cheng would tell him if Wei Ying had died. 

Perhaps he wouldn’t. Jiang Cheng was not at school with them; he may not think of Lan Zhan as a person to notify in the event of his brother’s death. Would anyone think to let him know? It wouldn’t make the papers, probably, so how would he know? Wen Qing, perhaps. If she remembered. If she is also alive.

He feels it like an itch on his skin, something unsettled in his stomach, the idea that Wei Ying might not have survived. He would know, wouldn’t he? He’d feel it, the change in the fabric of the universe. Food would taste different, his voice would sound different. He’d feel it in the moments between sleeping and waking.

He makes a cup of tea and boots up his computer. They all have emails now, which is still a relatively new part of the morning ritual, but he doesn’t mind adding it as he checks his mail, his answering machine. He had a deadline yesterday and isn’t swamped this morning, so he takes down phone numbers and flips through his calendar on autopilot while he thinks about Wei Ying.

Wei Ying probably remembers him. He definitely remembers him, it would be ridiculous for him not to, but Lan Zhan doubts he remembers their college years the same way. 

(His fingers in Wei Ying’s hair, shoved against the wall in someone else’s dark bedroom, cheering and laughter from the drinking game just downstairs, cheap beer on his breath, everything spinning, spinning, his first time being drunk, his brain singing out kiss him, kiss him again, more, more, more, this is your chance, Wei Ying’s left hand on him, awkward and surprisingly tender, Wei Ying’s voice slurring in his ear “Lan Zhan I’m so glad you’re here, I’m so glad, I’m so glad I found you, Lan Zhan,” before the door bursts open and they spring apart, before Wei Ying ruffles his hair and says, “You probably won’t remember this, huh?” before they leave the party separately, before weeks of silence because what do you say to all of that, before Wei Ying and Wen Qing get together and Lan Zhan says, “I’m happy for you,” which is a lie, a lie, a lie, before Wei Ying and Wen Qing split up and Lan Zhan says, “I’m sorry to hear that,” which is a lie, a lie, a lie . . .)

He could do some digging. It probably wouldn’t be too difficult to find him, and it’s not like Lan Zhan lacks resources. But every time the thought crosses his mind it feels like too much, too violating. If Wei Ying wanted to be found, he would not have disappeared. And if Wei Ying wanted Lan Zhan in his life, he knows where to find him. Lan Zhan is not the one who left.

That’s a bitter thought, and unfair.

The story of Wei Ying is not complicated, and it’s not secret, but it’s never told right. 

They’d met in college, when Wei Ying transferred to Gusu in junior year, in a psych class of all places. Lan Zhan had a double major, because psychology and journalism was a logical pairing, and Wei Ying was meant to take a broadcast concentration but had broken his wrist falling off a roof and couldn’t work any of the equipment. 

Lan Zhan hadn’t known what to do with him at first. Wei Ying had grabbed him for the first group project a week into the semester, declaring, “We’re kindred spirits, you know,” before writing his phone number left-handed on Lan Zhan’s arm. Lan Zhan did not know. They had barely spoken before this, but for the rest of the semester Wei Ying sat by him and they studied together and Lan Zhan pulled strings to get him onto the university paper. And Wei Ying had grinned at him one day in the library, sleep-deprived and rumpled, when Lan Zhan had finished his trailed-off sentence, and said “Ah, my soulmate.”

They were kindred spirits, Lan Zhan believed. Lan Zhan decided he wanted to be a reporter when he was ten and learned the truth about his parents. After an entire childhood of being lied to, he decided his calling in life would be to tell the truth, no matter what. It made him odd and prickly, and usually lonely, but gave him a reputation of fearlessness and ferocity that he would never regret.

Wei Ying was different. He wasn’t so invested in the truth from a moral or political perspective—he was cheerfully amoral back then, in a teenage kind of way—but he loved information and he loved being right. Puzzles and secrets attracted him, and Lan Zhan watched them open up for him like lotus flowers at every turn. 

Lan Zhan settled into their friendship in a way that was unexpected, he began to rely on Wei Ying’s opinion, began to think of things from his perspective when he found himself stuck. And then he’d gotten drunk at a midwinter party and kissed Wei Ying and ruined all of it. It wasn’t Wei Ying’s fault. Lan Zhan had panicked and run and then left for break and never given Wei Ying his home number, and then when he returned Wei Ying wasn’t single anymore. He’d gone to Yiling with Wen Qing and her brother and come back someone’s boyfriend. (Wen Qing! Older, beautiful, stern and razor-sharp, who Lan Zhan had hero-worshipped, the part-time advisor to the school paper who turned down more offers than either of them would see in their lifetimes. That Wen Qing!) And Lan Zhan didn’t know how to handle it so he just . . . let it go. They stayed in touch while Wei Ying moved back to Yunmeng for a while, then got a job at the Times after the war started, and Lan Zhan joined the Herald and went to grad school, always Wei Ying reaching out first. But even after they were both single again and living in the same city, they just stayed apart.

It would be easy—completely unfair, but easy—to blame Wen Qing for all of it. But all she’d done was the same thing Lan Zhan had. Loved Wei Ying, and failed to stop him. If anything, Wen Qing is better than he is—when Wei Ying fell, at least she fell with him.

The downfall was not complicated, and he should have seen it coming. When Wei Ying showed up at his door in the middle of the night with a crumpled print out of his story, Lan Zhan should have seen where it would lead.

It was 1994, three years into the war, and Lan Zhan was in training with the cultivator corps in Lanling. In retrospect, that’s likely how Wei Ying found him—Jiang Cheng was in his unit and must have given the address. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he didn’t stop Wei Ying. Everything was so unreal, the war, the devastation, the training, cultivation itself. Everything he’d known about life, the country, physics, what is possible and what is just a legend, all of it was thrown out into a whirling storm of adapt, adapt, adapt. It was chaos, and Lan Zhan became very good at chaos.

The story would have been a bombshell in any year—over a dozen former assistants, interns, and even one sitting representative accusing the Acting President of the Republic of misconduct and abuse. Rumors about Jin Guangshan were older than his political career, and illegitimate children were hardly rare in government, but Wei Ying had been the first to get multiple accusers on the record along with recordings and photos. Wen Qing, the youngest managing editor in the country and one of only two women, had agreed to run the story.

It was a good story. A really, really good story.

But there was a war on, and Acting President Jin was the only protection the country had against the usurper Wen Ruohan and his army of traitors. Not that Jin Guangshan ever left Carp Tower himself—that’s what the oldest son was for. 

The blowback was immediate—Wei Ying was forced to retract the entire story and resign, Wen Qing was fired and the Gusu Times lost every advertiser and investor on the books. It was only natural for Lan Qiren to buy it up for pocket change, the merger he’d been looking at for years. All of the women named in the story issued statements accusing Wei Ying of lying, of doctoring evidence, of hiring actors that looked like them to fill his false story with fake photos. All statements made after visits from high ranking military officers, of course. He’d heard rumors that Wen Qing’s brother had enlisted and they used him for leverage, which wouldn’t be surprising. He hadn’t expected Wen Qing to give up without a fight.

Wei Ying had written to him once, just after he disappeared, with no return address. 

It’s my fault, it said. Lan Zhan, it was all true, the story was true, but I’m still a liar. I told them I could protect them all, if they went on the record. I promised. I promised Wen Qing. And I couldn’t. I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, I never wanted to be a liar.

And in the end, it meant nothing. Few enough people were getting daily papers, much less actually reading them, and with the immediate retraction, reams and reams being taken off newsstands by military police, it was barely a drop in the storm that was raging. Outside of the newsrooms themselves, at least, where Wei Ying and Wen Qing were nailed up on the wall as a cautionary tale. Free press, up to a point. Sometimes Lan Zhan thinks about what would happen if the story broke today, the impact it could have. But after the retraction, you can’t go back. He can’t think about it too long or the rage overtakes him. Rage for Wei Ying, for Wen Qing, for every person in the article who was smothered and tossed out with nothing. The kind of rage that doesn’t fade, can’t be extinguished.

Lan Zhan shakes himself. Wei Ying is alive. Wen Qing is also alive, most likely. Su She is an idiot.

He only has one message on his answering machine.

“Hey, Lan Zhan, it’s your cousin Lan Liang. Listen, I’ve got something I want to talk to you about. I don’t know if it’s your thing, or if you choose what you cover or whatever, but there’s a kid gone missing here in Moling and some very weird stuff going on at the building sites. I don’t have all the details, but it’s my uncle’s daughter-in-law’s foster kid. Cops aren’t giving them much, so I said I’d call you. I don’t know if the kid went wandering and got hurt or got lost or what, but maybe someone from the Herald can cover it, get the public interest up. Maybe someone knows something. I don’t know. Probably a long shot, but I said I’d call, so there you go. You can reach me at—”

Lan Zhan takes down the number neatly in his calendar. He can call after the 10am meeting, maybe drive out to Moling in the afternoon. The rage is still there, banked and contained and ready to be useful.

Part Three

[bcbdrums]

Purification

All right.  @cocoa-at-night was mad at me, and I know others will be... So this is in fact a second sequel to "Torment.”  I already had this idea in my head as a possible sequel so... Who says I can’t write two!  Therefore, readers, you get two options now.  Decide which way you prefer the story to end. 

To be very clear, this is a different sequel than “Immolation” and follows a different path to a different ending.  It begins the same however.  Please enjoy “Purification.”

FFn     AO3

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Purification

Shego ran the dampened washcloth over the smooth, polished surface of the bar and stared at the grains of wood beneath. She nearly had them memorized, for how many times she'd run the cloth over them to wipe away the condensation left by the rims of drinking glasses. She always tried to find vague shapes in their patterns; faces and objects and sometimes familiar ocean waves. She didn't have anything else to do with her days, after all.

The small wall-mounted television in the corner continued to play news from the local channel, and after three years she could finally understand the Spanish of the broadcast. She'd picked up the local slang faster by necessity, since she couldn't use her powers to protect herself from the type of crowd the bar attracted. It was ironic, for its nearness to the Caribbean, but the slums of El Salvador had been the perfect place to hide. She easily translated the broadcast into the more comfortable English:

"...And here is Dr. Drakken only days ago, unveiling his latest innovation at the world's largest scientific conference in Berlin..." the voice from the TV cut through the minimal noise at the late hour in the bar.

A soft smile came to Shego's face. And then suddenly her vision was filled with the large form of a dark-skinned man wearing a t-shirt that had seen too many years, and with a face that hadn't seen a razor in weeks.

"Venga, chica. Bailar conmigo."

Shego stepped back from the strong scent of alcohol and scowled at the man, a regular at the establishment, but one who never quite took the hint. Especially not when he had had too many.

"Raquel?" came the accented voice of Esteban, her boss and the owner of the place, from across the room where he was wiping down tables and stacking chairs for closing.

She leaned around the offensive man to merely smirk at her boss knowingly in return. He grimaced slightly, no doubt wondering how much of a mess there would be to clean after she was finished with the brute.

Truthfully, she didn't always reject the men who asked her to dance. Whenever she'd had a few shots it was easier to say yes, and she enjoyed closing her eyes and moving to the rhythm of the music, and imagining herself in a different place. But it would always end the moment any of them tried to lay a hand on her...

She couldn't cross that line. There was only one set of hands she ever wanted to touch her, and they never would. Allowing herself to indulge once and pretend with anyone else would open the gate to far worse sins than her most definitely out of control drinking, and she didn't want to deal with the ramifications of heading down that path.

She still wasn't sure when she'd fallen in love with Drakken. She'd certainly been in love with him before she left, but she'd only realized the fact while in her self-imposed exile, when all she could think about was him.

Numerous magazines and newspapers were delivered to the tiny room she rented above the bar, but not of the variety she'd used to get. Now it was all science periodicals, and world news... And her wall was adorned with newspaper cutouts with his familiar, confident grin. The only reason she watched the news at all was for word of him.

She was pathetic.

Her 'clean break' as she'd hoped to make it seemed to have worked for him. He was finding the success she knew he would as soon as she was out of the picture, no longer holding him back. She knew that would have been the result had she stayed, making him question his sudden yearning for 'good.' Less for good, she knew of course, and more for the recognition and honor his genius rightly deserved. She wouldn't have said that years ago, but with the new understanding she had of her feelings...

She couldn't have stayed. He would have denied himself for her. And she refused to let herself think it was because his feelings were deeper too. No, that wasn't possible. It had been made abundantly clear to her over their four years as partners in crime that he simply didn't think of her that way. She was little more than an asset and a comfort; a listening ear for his endless dronings and rantings, easily replaced.

So she had left a note on her pillow one day after painfully listening to him describe the amazing job offers he had received, and simply vanished. She knew he would come looking for her, as he always did because 'he needed her,' so she had made herself impossible to find. She'd not hardly used her powers in three years, and she'd managed to convinced the locals in the high-poverty, high-crime rate slums she'd hidden in that her skin color was due to something between genetics and illness.

'Shego' was gone.

Now she was Raquel, the barmaid who drank too much, wouldn't let anyone get close, and who had a strange obsession with science magazines. Esteban and others had tried to get her to talk about herself, or her apparent science interest for awhile, but they'd finally taken the hint that she was out there in the middle of nowhere, at one of the only respectable establishments in those slums, to make sure know one ever knew her story.

Shego waited until Esteban wasn't looking, and then she lifted her hand above the leering man's head as his greasy fingers reached across the bar for her, and she let him have just enough of a pressure blast from her glow to knock him out. When the man's large, dead-weight hit the floor, her boss turned with a start.

"Ai ai ai, Raquel! Someday I will see how you accomplish that."

Shego merely smirked as her eyes shifted back to the television. It was a simple, lonely life... One that she might leave someday to pursue other interests. 'Shego' as the world had known her could probably never return, after her world-saving ventures with Drakken. She wouldn't want to put his career at risk in any way. But living from day to day and drink to drink, with only her periodicals and the TV to briefly soothe the ache in her heart wasn't plausible. She needed to move on.

The reason she hadn't was for the lack of one thing in every photo, article, and broadcast about the blue former villain who had saved the world: he was always alone. Even the candids taken by paparazzi that she would find in the trash magazines she had specially delivered only ever showed him having breakfast alone at a sidewalk cafe, or seated alone in an audience as he waited to accept an award.

Why hadn't he met someone and settled down already?

That was the last piece... That was what was missing. When Drakken finally had a woman on his arm, and his happiness was complete...then she could risk moving out into the world and being seen again. If he had someone else, he most definitely wouldn't need her. And she wouldn't have to face up to the fact of possibly seeing him again, with the feelings she'd been harboring for too many years that simply refused to die.

"...It has been confirmed to have been a suicide attempt now, as a note was leaked to the press by a source who wishes to remain anonymous from within Japanese Intelligence..."

Shego's attention snapped to the television, where now a years-old photograph of Drakken at the UN, wearing his medal, was displayed in the corner of the screen as the Spanish news anchor continued to read the copy.

"The note was addressed to fellow-hero Kim Possible, and the text reads: 'I can't figure out what I did wrong. I can't live without her anymore. I'm sorry.' The note was not signed, but handwriting analysis easily showed it to be in the script of Dr. Drakken."

Shego felt the world spinning around her as her vision seemed to spin in the opposite direction. Her head swam and ached all at once, and she could see bright spots dancing in front of her eyes even as her view darkened. She stumbled forward to lean against the bar as she struggled to listen to the television.

"And the world remains in shock, one week from the date the acclaimed scientist attempted to take his life by jumping from the roof of the Osaka World Trade Center. We will keep you updated with more details as the story continues to unfold. This is Paola Ramos, reporting."

Suicide attempt? Drakken, of all people? It didn’t make sense... He had everything...everything he had ever dreamed of, and more. She had made sure of it by removing herself from his life so he would have nothing holding him back. How could he have attempted suicide?

"Raquel! ¿Qué pasa?"

She peered upward and let Esteban take her hand and help her straighten up from where she had all but slumped over the bar.

"Phone..." she managed to get out, her throat strangely tight. “I need...I need to know...”

“You need to make a phone call?” he asked.

Shego nodded. As Esteban fumbled in his pockets for his cell phone, Shego thought about what had been reported as the contents of the suicide note.

"I can't live without her anymore," it had read.

He couldn't... He didn't... He wouldn't...mean me?

Shego felt like she might throw up, and as Esteban offered her the phone, she moved past him and all but fell onto one of the bar stools, suddenly feeling like her feet would fail her. She began dialing a long-memorized number, then realized as the phone rang that she didn't know if the number would be the same after so long, but that thought was broken by Esteban stepping into her vision.

"Are you calling 911? What is wrong?" he asked, his dark eyes wide and worried as he studied her. But then, the phone connected.

"Hello?" the familiar voice said through the line.

Shego suddenly realized she had only ever called the girl 'Princess' or 'Pumpkin' or 'Kimmie,' and wasn't sure how to address the now young woman and for a brief time, ally.

"Kim..." she finally settled on, the name leaving her throat hoarsely.

"Yes? Who is...?" A familiar gasp sounded through the phone. "Shego?"

"Drakken..." was her one-word answer as suddenly tears began filling her eyes. "Drakken's note."

"Where have you been!? Where are you? We looked for you for over a year!"

"Did that note... Was it real? What I saw on TV, did he really...try to kill himself?” she asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand before digging her fingers tightly into her side as her hands started to shake. When had she started crying?

“Yes... He did.”

Shego’s throat tightened. “Have you...seen him, or talked to him?”

“Yeah, right after it happened, but...he doesn’t want to see anyone. He’s angry and embarrassed that it didn’t work. Shego—”

“Did he, I mean...how is he? Is he okay? How did he survive?”

“His vines. Their own sense of self-preservation must have kicked in, and they grabbed onto the building partway down. He’s in the hospital.”

Shego realized tears were streaming down her cheeks, and her hands were shaking so much it was hard to hold the phone. She closed it hard as she let her hands fall to the bar, and then she leaned forward again.

“Raquel! Mi lucecita, what is wrong?”

Shego took a breath and gathered her strength to push away, even as her vision swam. She left the phone on the bar, knowing exactly what would happen, and then reached across the smooth wooden surface for a bottle of tequila. She ignored Esteban's words as she numbly made her way to her room, climbing the stairs and pushing through the door to stumble against the bed, the bottle of alcohol falling from her grasp. She spun around, and after shoving the door closed she fell back to sit on her narrow, uncomfortable mattress as she fumbled with the lid of the tequila bottle.

She looked around at her walls, with their newspaper clippings and magazine cutouts of photos and articles about Drakken's successes. Tears fell from her eyes anew as she brought the bottle to her lips and soon felt her throat burn nearly as badly as her eyes. And the words of Drakken's note played through her mind repeatedly, her every thought and excuse for the past three years dissolving into torment.

-------------------------

The next morning a pulsing, booming sound caused her to wake, and as she sat up hurriedly with hands alight, the vision of red, purple, yellow, and black that swam before her eyes brought back to mind what she had drunk the bottle of tequila to forget. She let her glow die as she fell back on the bed and hid her face from the light with a pillow.

“Shego!” the astonished voice of Kim Possible resonated against her skull. She regretted the hangover, but she couldn’t have handled her thoughts the night before. Tequila had been the only choice.

“Are you all right? You don’t look so good,” the side-kick’s voice followed just as loud with concern.

“You’ve lost so much weight!” Kim continued.

“Yeah, what about it?” Shego said into the pillow, even her own voice painful to her ears.

“Is this where you’ve been all these years?”

“What have you been doing?”

Shego grit her teeth and ignored the questions of her former enemies-turned-allies after Drakken saved the world, finally moving the pillow to narrow her eyes at them.

“Will you take me to see Drakken, or not?” she asked bluntly.

The brows of both young adults rose, and they looked at each other.

“That’s the only reason I let you find me. Cell phone trace, right?” Shego said, grimacing against the throbbing in her head as she rolled over and got her feet on the floor.

“Yeah... It only took Wade—”

“Will you take me to see Drakken?”

“Yeah... I guess, sure. We can do that.”

“Good. Wait downstairs, I need to shower,” she said.

The two young heroes didn’t move, and Shego realized they were studying her walls with the photos and newspaper clippings of Drakken. But she was under too much stress already to worry about what two college kids thought of her. As she painfully stood, her eyes lighted upon a figure hovering in the doorway. Esteban was hanging back in the shadows, watching the interplay nervously.

Kim and Ron were still staring at the walls, and Shego first beckoned her employer into the room before frowning and sighing dramatically at the other two. They both looked at her.

“Haven’t you already read a lot of this stuff? Hurry up, I want to get to Japan before tomorrow.”

The pair gave her another once-over before glancing at each other and finally slipping through the door, giving an even more confused look at the curly-haired Latino who had been welcomed in. They closed the door behind the darker-skinned man as he looked curiously at the adorned walls which Shego had called home for three years. Finally, he sighed.

“You are going to him, then? This man, from the news report.”

Shego nodded, grateful for her boss’s softer tone.

“Yes,” she said.

“He is the reason you came here?”

She nodded again, sitting on the bed as her head pounded.

“...Why did you run from him?”

Shego’s brows knit together, but after all that Esteban had done for her over the years, she supposed it wouldn’t matter to give away a little more. Especially since she would never be seeing him again.

“I thought I was doing what was best for him,” she said with a shrug.

“But surely, if you were in love...? Was there some problem?”

Shego looked up, her brow twisting further in confusion.

“What... You think...he was in love with me too?” Her head was reeling again. That couldn’t have been what his note was about...could it? He had never showed any sign of having those types of feelings for her...

‘You never showed any of your feelings to him.’

She grimaced at that thought. And she wondered with a sickening feeling...had it really been necessary? All she’d done for three years was wallow in her own misery and loneliness and think of nothing but him. What if she had just...taken the risk?

“If the note on the news was real, then it would seem so,” Esteban had replied as she’d been thinking. She looked up again.

“Then I... I... I have to go.”

She stood again to get some fresh clothes and then paused, looking back at the suddenly long face of her boss.

“I hope you can find him. He will recover under your smile.”

Impulsively, Shego closed the distance between them and threw her arms around her boss’s neck. She felt his large palms hesitantly rest on her back.

“Thank you, Esteban...”

“Goodbye, Raquel.”

---------------------------

Shego raked her fingers through the ends of her hair for what must have been the tenth time just walking down the hall. As she found the correct door number she pushed her hair back over her shoulder, and then tugged down the simple green blouse and black jacket she wore. Possible had been right before... The garments weren’t fitting her as they should, but that was a concern for another day. She took a shallow breath and with a trembling hand, pushed the door inward.

The hospital room was dim and silent but for the beeping of monitors. On the bed, a familiar blue face lay atop a pillow, bandaged, like much of the rest of his body that could be seen. One forearm and foot were in casts, and his other arm was bandaged with the slightest of bloodstains showing through, like the one on the side of his face. She held her breath as she stepped in silently, as if walking into a dream. But he heard her.

The corners of his lips turned down before his eyes opened to slits, but then widened slightly upon seeing her. She hesitated only a moment before continuing her slow approach. She could see now the one side of his face was swollen, and his lower lip was split and bruised. She tried not to picture him falling from the top of a skyscraper, smashing against its sides on the way down only to be inexplicably rescued by his own mutation. Instead she fixated on his eyes that were bleary, shocked, and disbelieving.

“Shego?” he croaked out.

She fought the tears that tried to come to her eyes. “Yes. I... I’m here,” she managed, her throat tight.

He seemed to be studying her as she sat down on the edge of his bed, afraid her legs wouldn’t hold her and also needing to be nearer. The thought that he could have...that he very nearly died, and she didn’t even know...

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Her lips parted as she stared at his expression that was quickly becoming anxious, despite the haze in his eyes she was sure was in part due to the heavy painkillers that were doubtless coming through his IV line.

“What...?” she breathed.

“Whatever...I did...to make you leave...” Drakken said quietly, each word coming out labored through his dry throat. “I’m sorry. Please...forgive me.”

Shego didn’t bother trying to stop her tears anymore. She took a slow breath to try to calm the ache in her chest as she tore her eyes from his, instead looking at his hand lying on the bed, his knuckles bruised and scraped. She hesitated, but then gently held his hand in both of hers. His skin was clammy and cold, and she noted for the first time the too-slow beeping of the heart monitor.

“You...you didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, looking back at him. His confused and now fearful expression was a blur through her tears. “I did.”

“...What?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she repeated with more strength, recalling the words of his note. “I did. It was just me. I...I’m so sorry, Dr. D.”

Her voice rose on the last as her throat tightened, and she closed her eyes tightly as hot tears slid down her cheeks. She tried to keep her cries quiet, and some time later her attention was drawn back by his hand shifting in hers. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. He looked a bit more focused, and a familiar, analytical expression had joined the caution and confusion on his face.

“I don’t understand,” he finally said. His fingers curled around hers and held on firmly.

Her heart thudded against her ribs, and she let her gaze fall to her lap. She had already broken her promise to herself, to never see him again... But clearly, that had been a mistake from the beginning. If she was honest...then at least she would know, there was nothing else she could have done. And yet, the most important words she could say to him still died on her lips.

“I didn’t want to hold you back,” she said, staring down at their joined hands. She was careful not to hold too tight for his bruised knuckles. A long moment of silence passed before he spoke again.

“What...? But... Shego...”

“I didn’t want to be part of...this world,” she said, lifting one hand briefly to gesture weakly at the opulence of the hospital room. Not exactly what she meant, but she hoped the point would get across. “But I know you, Dr. D.... You...you wouldn’t have taken any of the jobs, without me. I just...wanted you to be happy. And I didn’t want any of this...”

There was another silence, broken only by her sniffling as she gradually brought her tears under control. She heard Drakken take a long breath in through his nose and then release it just as slowly.

“Thank you for visiting me...”

Shego turned abruptly, her tears stilling with a silent gasp. Drakken’s eyes were on their joined hands, and he looked sad.

“You look...” he began, glancing up at her briefly before his gaze fell again. “Hm. Where will— That is...”

He trailed off, glancing away toward the curtained window in the room with a slight grimace. Shego tried to follow his train of thought.

“I don’t...have to leave right away,” she ventured carefully. He looked back at her, his expression guarded. “We could...catch up for a while? If...if you...”

She broke off as tears threatened her eyes anew. Who was she kidding? His note had been clear...

‘I can’t live without her anymore.’

“If you...don’t mind having me around, I could stay...longer.” She set her hand back atop his, minding the scrapes on his knuckles. The pressure of his fingers against her palm hadn’t diminished.

Drakken’s swollen lips parted, his dark eyes seeming to glitter even brighter for the mottled bruising on his face. And then, a shadow came over his features.

“No, that’s...that’s all right. You can go back to...your life.”

Shego held her breath. She thought about telling him she knew about the note, but...what if that only made things worse? Then he would be embarrassed, and he had already...apparently given up on living. What would that new revelation do to him?

His words were also unknowingly meaningless, she realized, as because for the past three years she...had had no life. Only worrying and pining over him, waiting for the day he married so she would know he didn’t need her anymore, and then and only then could she come out of hiding. But she had left El Salvador behind fully when she had come to Japan. The bar was already out of her mind. All she wanted, and what she really needed, was...

She took a breath. “Drakken...”

When she met his eyes they were sad. She looked down again.

“I...I also left because...because I’m in love with you. But I knew...you didn’t feel the same. I knew you could find someone to replace me and...really fulfill you, and it seemed like...the best way I could give you everything you wanted...was to be out of the picture.”

She sniffled, bringing one hand up to wipe her eyes and nose before straightening up from the tense hunch she’d found herself in and then leaning back on her hand, the other still firmly gripping his. She didn’t want to hear his confirmation, but she needed to. Knowing that her feelings weren’t reciprocated would mean it was all worth it. Even though it didn’t explain his years of solitude...or the note. She didn’t want it to be about her. She couldn’t be the reason that he’d nearly—

“Everything I wanted? Shego...”

She cast a cautious eye on him, and he looked a mixture of confused, hurt, but somehow resolved. His hand suddenly left hers, and her throat constricted with the sudden loss. And then she was gasping in worry as Drakken started trying to push himself up.

“All I’ve ever wanted—” He stopped short with a hiss of pain, shaking as he paused halfway up.

“Dr. D....”

“...Is you.”

Her breath caught, and they stared at each other eye to eye. Drakken’s expression was steady but fearful, and her own she knew reflected utter shock. She was so startled she hadn’t even realized she’d spoken a response until he answered her.

“The note was about me...”

Drakken let out a soft, almost exasperated puff of air and lightly shook his head.

“What did I do to...make you think I didn’t love you?”

Shego blinked rapidly as tears filled her eyes.

“Oh, Dr. D.!”

Her arms were flung around him as her lips gently pressed against his, minding the cut and swelling. His least injured arm raised to wrap around her, but without the support his frame shook and he began to fall. Shego guided him down, never breaking the intimate contact. Her tears fell on his face as she cried through the kiss, but his hand pressing into her back strengthened her. She let her fingers move through his hair, ever so softly touching the swollen parts of his scalp as their lips barely moved. She was careful to keep her full weight off of him, but the warmth of their chests together was like a salve, beginning to mend the wounds in her heart.

When they finally parted and she opened her eyes, she found his just as wet.

“Shego...” he whispered hoarsely, and she heard a catch in his throat. “Don’t leave me.”

She held him tighter. “Don’t let me go.”

--------------------------

One month later, Shego was grinning happily as she pressed her face further into Drakken’s neck where they sat together on the sofa in his new apartment. She sighed contently as she snuggled closer into his left side, her arms around his neck and her legs folded and halfway over his lap.

“Shego...” Drakken whispered, “this isn’t exactly...it’s not...”

“Mmmh, let everyone see how much I love you...” she murmured, turning to face the camera placed in front of them, the magazine photographer looking at them quizzically as she offered something between a smile and smirk. The interviewer stood close by, equally ill at ease, but Shego didn’t care.

She positioned her hand on Drakken’s shoulder so the diamond of her engagement ring sparkled in the light. Her heart warmed when his healed left hand reached up to hold hers, and she laced the fingers of her right hand through his, setting her left on top again to show off the ring. She tilted her chin up toward him and was rewarded with his radiant smile.

“I love you...” she said softly, “and I want to spend the rest of my life telling you.”

“I love you, Shego,” he breathed.

Their lips met in a gentle, ardent kiss. Beyond them, after a long minute, the camera flashed.

[mlm-writer]

Pride and Penance (John Kennex x M!Reader)

Gif Source

Pairing: John Kennex x Male Reader (trans-friendly) Rating: Mature Words: 1591 Summary: John used to be the one getting medals, awards and commendations, but since the incident with InSyndicate, that was the past. It bothers him and seeing someone taking his title of being the best was not helping.  Tags: Established relationship, angst, jealousy, John is emotionally constipated, reader is not good at confrontation either, Dorian is somehow most emotionally capable, good guy Dorian, light fear of abandonment, a bit (physical) fighting, making up and kissing. 

The lights were blinding as the captain stuck the shiny medal to your formal uniform. You hardly wore it, but with the latest addition to it, you would almost consider it, were it not for how incredibly uncomfortable it was. As you gave your speech, your eyes scanned the crowd for a certain detective, the man who helped you improve your shot, the man who gave you the inspiration to think outside of the box, the man whom you shared your bed with on the weekends, feeling safer being held by those hands than having a gun in your own. However, he was nowhere to be found. You noticed your words slowing, your smile growing weaker as you didn't see the man whom you wanted to thank the most. You mentioned him briefly, trying to not put any attention on the fact that he was not here and left the stage. 

As you passed by your colleagues, you shook hands and received congratulations on your new medal. You have been hoarding awards, commendations and medals lately, but lately there was a lot more to work hard for. As you finally made it to the bullpen, you saw it wasn't as empty as it should have been. There he was, John Kennex, sitting at his desk, hunched over several papers. "Someone's life better depends on what you find in those documents," you commented light-heartedly, as you walked up to your boyfriend, "because you just missed your boyfriend getting his third medal."

"Congratulations," John mumbled in reply. He didn't look at you, his face twisted in a way you hadn't seen before. This was not his 'dammit I'm missing something' face or the face of 'gotta work fast or someone dies'. It looked worse and you weren't sure if you should ask about it or not. 

You forced a smile on your face and sat down on the chair one desk from his. "Need some help?" He shook his head, still not looking at you and you started to feel like he was angry at you. However, angry John was yelling and hitting furniture and stomping the ground, but never the silent treatment. Your blood ran cold with what you could possibly have done that went past his anger tantrums. "Okay, then I'll leave you to it." 

You cried at the nights to come. John didn't say much to you nor did he invite you over on the weekends and you did not dare to invite him either. The fondness in his eyes was gone and you were waiting for a break-up text, doubting he would break up with you in your face. However, you didn't want to break up, so you avoided him. Every time he seemed to want to have a serious talk, you deflected, discussing work or Dorian and then fled. You hadn't so much as hugged in weeks when Dorian cornered you while John was in the captain's office. "Why are you and John fighting?" 

You dragged him into a supply closet, shutting the door behind you and slumping down against it, the bottled up feelings finally breaking through, the pressure too great. "I don't know," you sniffed. Dorian's hands hovered near you, coming closer and retracting again. "John started giving me the silent treatment and he never gives anyone the silent treatment, so I panicked and now I think he wants to break up, but I don't wanna break up. Dorian just please tell me what I've done." Dorian had finally decided on what to do as he crouched down in front of you and pulled you close, hugging you firmly. He was surprisingly warm, his synthetic skin radiating heat like a human's would. 

Dorian patted your head and back, letting you cry it out. When you were done, he spoke up. "John thinks you're angry with him and he's been trying to apologise," he confessed, making you look up, searching his face for insincerity, but Dorian had no reason to lie. "You do know that between you, John and me, I'm the only one who can talk about his emotions? Don't you think that's weird?" 

You chuckled and wiped your face. "Oh no machines are taking over the emotions industry," you joked, making him laugh too. Dorian helped you off the floor. "So you're sure John doesn't want to break up with me?" 

Dorian nodded. "They got about three new bouquets down in forensics, because he keeps chickening out leaving them there instead of apologising and giving them to you." 

You laughed; that did sound like John. You wiped your face again and put your hand on the door handle. "Thanks, Dorian. I guess you should consider a career as a relationship therapist, should police work not work out for you." He smiled at you as you opened the door to the supply closet. As you both walked out, you came eye-to-eye with John, his favourite mug steaming in his right hand. 

"Oh so that's what's been going on," he said short of a shout, before turning on his heels and walking away from you. You looked between you and Dorian and then realised how it must look to get out of a supply closet together, your face a bit of a mess. 

"John, we need to talk." "No thank you, have fun."

You rolled your eyes and followed your hot-headed boyfriend. You wanted to let him cool off, but if you were walking away now, you knew you would never push yourself to confront him again. "If you're thinking Dorian and I got something going on, you're dumb as shit John," you called out as you struggled to keep up with his pace. He didn't say anything again. "John, don't give me the silent treatment." You didn't even look where you were going and before you knew it, you were standing with your boyfriend in a hardly used, mostly broken bathroom in the corner of the precinct. He put his mug on the sink and finally turned to you. That same look from a couple of weeks ago was planted on his face. 

"Maybe we should just break up," he sighed. You sputtered out partial words, your worst fears crashing into the words you had mentally prepared on the way here. Everything shattered and you were left with only shards of what you wanted to say. "Just shut up!" You went quiet, John's anger always scaring you, but it was somehow a comfort after the silent treatment. "I got the message. You're better than me and you deserve someone at your level. Don't fucking try to feed me bullshit!"

"What? You're the one gobbling up bullshit like it's a buffet!" You stomped closer to him, shoving him against the wall. He grabbed you by the arms, restraining you and keeping you at a distance as he stood against the wall. "The only reason I am better than you is because I wouldn't bail on my boyfriend getting a medal. The fuck is wrong with you anyway? I checked and you had no cases open at that time. Why weren't you there?" You forcefully pulled yourself away from him. Tears pricked in your eyes, but you tried to hold them in at all cost. 

"Because I couldn't stand you getting yet another reward for doing work I taught you to do!" He punched a stall door, the sound of it echoing through the bathroom. It then dawned on you. John was jealous. He used to get medals and awards and commendations. He used to be the fastest, the one with the best aim, just the best. Now it was you taking that place. You worked your ass off to show John how well you could listen and learn from him. You wanted to show off the skills he taught you, but he took it as a slap in the face. 

"I just wanted to make you proud," you muttered, "but I guess all I did was making you feel worse." You hugged yourself, looking down as you feel horrible for reminding him of all the things he could no longer do. John did not say anything and truth to be told, there was little you had to say either. You closed the distance between you and hugged him. It felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders as you were where you wanted to be most once again. John seemed hesitant, but he reciprocated eventually. “I’m sorry, I’ll try not to show off anymore.”

John squeezed your shoulder. “No, you’re such a talented officer. I just don’t want to be the one holding you back.” He kissed the side of your head and you were no longer afraid you had to let go of him. 

“John, you’re the one who brings out the best in me. These medals and shit are yours too. I’m so happy you were an arrogant shit at the shooting range when we met.” He chuckled and you pulled away. “Can we just kiss and eat Chinese together?” You pouted, hoping a little acting cute would convince him. 

“You’re not angry that I was… you know?” “Jealous? I mean, I get it and you shouldn't have given me the cold shoulder nor just not show up when I got my medal, but I guess you’ll just have to make it up to me.” 

John grinned and pulled you in a slow kiss. “Chinese on me then?” You laughed and gave him a playful punch. Things weren’t ok quite yet, but they would be. 

[spaceskam]

another part of me could be you

for @capmanes (i meant to have this done literally an entire week ago but i have no concept of time management)❤️️

ao3

warning: blood & guns; this also turned into something a little spiteful if you squint

Michael didn’t exactly hate Forrest, hate was a very strong word, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get unreasonably irritated every time he saw him do something stupid like breathe. The guy was clingy and stuck to Alex’s side more often than not which made it extremely hard to get information from him, but Alex never even seemed to mind. It was like he was using Forrest as an excuse to get away from all of their alien bullshit and refused to admit it. It made Forrest even more annoying.

Yet, when Forrest showed up outside the airstream, alone and panicking, Michael couldn’t turn him away.

“Whoa, dude, breathe,” Michael instructed, guiding him to go sit in one of the chairs around the fire pit. He went, bowing his head in his hands as he tried to steady his breath. Michael stayed crouched in front of him, making sure he was going to be okay. As much as he didn’t like him, Alex liked him, and that meant that it was now Michael’s responsibility to make sure he didn’t get a scratch on him. “What happened?”

Forrest grabbed fistfuls of his own hair, taking a sharp and shaky breath.

“Alex,” he said, voice breaking, “Someone took Alex and he just told me to go to you and, and we need to find him. We need to go find him.”

Michael’s chest clenched and he tried not to get too angry at the thought of Alex just being taken. What the hell did that even mean, taken? Who took him? Where? Why? What?

But Forrest was crying and Michael knew from experience that, when one person was losing it, the other had to stay strong. So, for once, for Alex, he had to just stay strong.

“Do you know who took him?” he asked, keeping his voice as controlled as possible. It was hard to breathe and his skin was on fire, desperate to go find where Alex was and steal him back. Maybe even kill the person who took him, who knows, he was feeling a bit unpredictable these days.

“No,” Forrest said, shaking his head. He lifted his head to make eye contact with Michael, not a single trace of shame as he cried and sniffled. “No, they just jumped us. I-I thought at first it was... But they grabbed Alex and literally started dragging him into a van like some shitty mob movie and he tried to fight back, but he was, like, really outnumbered and I-I couldn’t help, one of ‘em had a gun pointed at me and I just froze. God, I’m a piece of shit, I just froze.”

“No, that was a scary situation, it makes sense,” Michael–who definitely deserved a medal after this–said, “Then what happened?”

“They just threw him in and he just yelled to go to you before slamming the door closed and driving off,” Forrest explained, voice turning a little whiny as a new wave of tears threatened his eyes, “I feel so bad.”

“Hey, look, we’re gonna find him. Can you tell me anything about the van or what the guys looked like? Look, follow me and let me see if they were stupid enough to let Alex keep his phone.”

Forrest nodded and managed to stand up, both of them heading into the airstream. Michael pulled out his laptop that was a little bit shotty but he’d rigged it up pretty nice. Then, when he and Alex were still on good terms, he’d tweaked it a little bit more to make it even better. He instantly started trying to track Alex’s phone even though he knew it would be hard since Alex wasn’t really a fan of being traceable.

“The van was just all black, tinted windows. There wasn’t anything on it to make it stand out from any other all black vans with tinted windows. The guys all had masks.”

“Anything identifiable? Did you catch any license plate numbers or anything?”

“No, I mean–Wait, it was a government license plate,” Forrest said. Michael looked over his shoulder at him.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m, like, 99% sure. It didn’t have as many numbers or anything as regular license plates.”

“Good,” Michael breathed, turning back to the laptop, “So let’s find some military places and see if there’s any in the vicinity of where Alex’s phone is. If I can find it.”

“I just don’t get it. Who would want to take him?” Forrest asked. Michael sighed, realizing that, as much as he wanted to keep their secret to the small group they had, it looked like that might not be possible. Even if he kept it away, Forrest would be curious and he would ask questions.

“How much do you know?” he said. Forrest was quiet for a minute, clearly not understanding the question. Which meant Alex hadn’t really told him anything. But then again, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Alex was loyal. “Right. How much do you know about Alex’s father?”

“Um, that he’s a dick?” Forrest filled in, “I know... I know about what happened when you guys were young.” Michael froze for a moment, taking a grounding breath before putting his focus back onto the screen. “Alex said he’s done bad things, but didn’t elaborate past that.”

“Yeah, well, Alex’s whole family is affiliated with a pretty sketchy government organization,” Michael said, trying to keep his mind focused, “Alex has been trying to dismantle it.”

“What?”

The computer finished loading in that second, showing that Alex’s phone had received a text ten minutes prior and it’d pinged off a cell tower that had about a twenty square mile range. Michael grinned to himself, feeling prideful as he began searching for places in that area that he might be. His first instinct was to show Alex, show what he learned from watching him, but that wasn’t an option. Not right now, at least.

“Can I trust you?” Michael asked, writing down a few different addresses that might be it. He turned to face him, seeing that he was really fucking confused but he nodded. “No, seriously. If I start talking, you need to be aware that if you share anything I say to you with anyone outside of Alex, that you’re going to be in danger.” He didn’t really mean it as a threat. Or, maybe he did. “But you need to know if you’re going to help me get Alex.”

Forrest swallowed and nodded, drying his face entirely.

“Tell me what I need to know.”

-

“So. Aliens.”

“Aliens.”

“And you’re one?”

“Yep.”

“And Alex probably got taken because he protects you guys?”

“Probably.”

“And I was absolutely wrong about the Nazis?”

“Yeah,” Michael said, “Also, you should probably dial back the Nazi obsession when you’re literally related to modern day Nazis. It’s not a good look.”

“Yeah, well, clearly I need to get a job on Ancient Aliens after this, so,” Forrest huffed. Michael managed a smile, but it quickly faded as he spotted a black van in the lot of an abandoned building. “Coincidence?”

“Nothing’s a coincidence around here.”

Michael stopped his truck and turned it off, leaving it in plain sight on the property. There wasn’t much sneaking they could do anyway and, besides, he was feeling pretty powerful in the moment.

“So, what’s the plan?” Forrest asked.

“We go in, I throw guards at the wall, we get Alex, and we fucking flee to the bunker.”

“What bunker?”

“Either Alex’s or mine.”

“Wait, you both have a bunker?”

“Technically, Alex has two, but–“

“Who are you people?”

“Right, so basically just watch my back and I’ll watch yours. Alex said you’re ex-military, so you’ve got some skills, right?” Michael said. He shrugged slightly. “Good enough. Here, use this.”

Michael leaned over to the glove compartment and moved the acetone to pull out the gun, handing it to Forrest. He eyed him skeptically, but took it anyway. 

“You think he’s gonna be okay?” Forrest asked. They made eye contact for a second and Michael nodded. Him not being okay wasn’t an option. Alex needed to be okay or Michael wouldn’t be okay. Simple as that.

“Let’s go get him.”

-

It was easier than it should’ve been to slip into the building. There were no snipers, no guards, no nothing. It had them both on high alert, just waiting to be caught off guard.

Michael kept his power bubbling under the surface, focusing on his anger that someone had taken Alex and making sure that he would be a force to be reckoned with the moment he needed to be. Forrest kept the small gun held up, finger off the trigger like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I’ll have you know, I’m very against guns,” he’d said when they climbed out of the truck despite the fact that he cocked it easily and checked it over. Michael had rolled his eyes, but felt a bit safer knowing he wasn’t gun crazy. Less of a chance he’d actually shoot Alex.

“This is weird,” Michael whispered, slowly making his way down the hall, “Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, something’s wrong, they took Alex,” Forrest pointed out. Michael shook his head.

“No, I mean...”

He trailed off as they took a corner and saw a guard laying in a pool of his own blood right outside a door. They both froze. It didn’t make any sense. Where were the other guards? Who did that to him? Anxiety pooled in his stomach and he looked over to Forrest. 

“What now?” Forrest asked. Michael took a deep breath and nodded his head to the door.

“We go in.”

“And if Alex is hurt too?”

“Then I kill the person who hurt him,” Michael said easily. Forrest didn’t respond.

They both moved closer to the door and Michael used his mind to throw it open quickly, giving them the element of surprise to whoever was inside. But the only conscious one on the inside was Alex.

He was on the floor, prosthetic nowhere to be seen as he clutched his side. Three bodies laid out around them and Michael wasn’t sure if they were alive or not, but he knew for sure that Alex had taken them out. And Alex, wounded and struggling to breath, gave them a bloody little smile.

“Hey, Prince Charming,” he said, not really specifying which one of them he meant, “Just in time.”

Forrest immediately put the gun away and went to his side. Michael watched like an intruder as Forrest kissed his cheek as a small form of comfort and apologized. Alex smiled tiredly at him before pursing his lips for an actual kiss, something he got despite the fact his lips were covered in blood.

“Great reunion and all, but you’re hurt,” Michael said, pushing away that gut-wrenching feeling that came with not being the one Alex wanted when he was in pain, “Let me see it.”

Alex didn’t move his hand as he gave him his attention, still breathing raggedly. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Michael moved closer and watched him keep on pressing. He was going to bleed out.

“I’m fine,” Alex said, smiling up at him with those eyes that would’ve been totally swoon worthy if he wasn’t denying his pain, “Just a scratch.”

“Alright, Mercutio, move your hand,” he said, crouching in front of him. 

Alex breathed a laugh and his head fell back against the wall, still smiling at him and refusing to move his hand. 

“You remember that scene in Romeo and Juliet?” he breathed, closing his eyes slowly and opening then just as slow, “Remember we-we had to act it out freshman year together? You were Romeo, you-you had to hold me as I died. You-you suck at acting. Still Romeo, though, still. Now. That’s kinda funny. The-the cinematic parallel no one predicted.”

“Okay, we’re not about to reminisce or make jokes, that’s what you do when you’re about to die and you’re not fucking dying,” Michael said, keeping his voice steady despite the fact that he was getting more and more worried. He looked at Forrest who seemed way in over his head, but he still held Alex and pushed his hair off his sweaty forehead to comfort him. Michael had never been so grateful for someone he didn’t even like. “You’re gonna be okay, Alex.”

“Yeah?” Alex laughed, “These violent delights have violent ends. You know that one, right, Forrest?”

“Is he delirious?” Forrest asked Michael, turning to him for guidance. Michael licked his lips.

“You trust me?” he asked him. Forrest looked at Alex who seemed to be fading out of it more and more by the second as he bled, continuing to murmur Shakespeare under his breath. Which, Michael had to admit, was kind of funny. But he could laugh about it when Alex was healthy.

“Yeah,” Forrest said, nodding, “I trust you.”

Michael took a deep breath and nodded, closing his eyes as he mentally pictured his powers rising and strengthening specifically for Alex. Always for Alex.

“Lay him on the floor,” Michael instructed, “I’m gonna heal him, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it completely. More than likely, I’ll just be able to do enough to get him to Kyle, but I’ll be fucked up too. So you’re gonna need to drive and call Kyle as soon as I stop, okay? Then you’re gonna need to call Max so he and Liz can come out here and deal with the body and DNA situation, okay? Can you do that?”

“Absolutely,” Forrest agreed. They both helped as they laid him on the floor.

“Don’t touch him. It’s a lot of electrical power and I don’t wanna accidentally fuck you up,” Michael warned. Forrest nodded and moved just a little, giving them just enough space. Michael carefully peeled off Alex’s hand, seeing the nasty wound on his stomach still gushing blood. It was so bad, Michael couldn’t even tell what caused it.

Still, he layered his hands over it, feeling Alex’s heart pumping hard as it tried to save him.

“Thus, with a kiss, I die,” Alex said, huffing a little laugh as he took a strangled breath.

“Not that kinda kiss, babe,” Michael replied, “And you’re not dying.”

Then Michael focused all of his power on him, thinking of nothing but Alex and everything that he was. His pretty smile, his undying loyalty, his protective nature, his unmatched kindness despite all the cruelty he endured, his eyes, his mouth, his heart. Everything that was Alex Manes was incredible and it was way too soon for him to go away. Michael wasn’t done showing him he was good. Hell, he hadn’t even started.

He was starting now.

Things were blurry when his body decided it’d reached it’s peak and he had to turn to throw up. If a good amount got on one of the guy’s that kidnapped Alex, well, that was someone else’s problem.

“Michael,” Forrest said, his hand reaching for Michael’s shoulder and squeezing. It grounded him more than he’d ever admit. “Michael, you good?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and turning back to them. Alex was breathing well, eyes wide as he sat up on his own and stared at Michael in something akin to shock. They both knew he’d have a hand print on him and that was a bridge that would absolutely not be fun to cross. But it didn’t matter. He was breathing. “Yeah, I’m good. Sick, but good.”

“Alex, are you good?” Forrest wondered, his hand still on Michael as his other one went to Alex’s cheek. It was strange to see someone so unabashedly caring. For both of them.

“Yeah,” Alex said, nodding, “Still bleeding, but not as bad. Thing you just mended an artery and a, a kidney, maybe? I don’t know.”

“Good,” Michael breathed, laughing slightly, “Good.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Forrest urged.

Alex stood between them as they helped him get to the truck, letting him use them both of a crutches. Michael was weak and dizzy, but he could feel Alex’s gratitude and that pushed him. Besides, he had acetone in the truck.

They squeezed in the bench of Michael’s truck, Forrest in the driver’s seat and Alex in the middle. Forrest pulled out his phone and immediately started making calls as he put the truck and drive and got them the fuck out of there. Michael went for the acetone stash in his glove box. He downed it quickly and tried not to react when Alex leaned against him. 

When he glanced at him, he had his eyes closed and he was taking extremely controlled breaths as he pressed his hand to the wound. Michael watched him for a moment as he drank and, once he was done, he carefully grabbed a t-shirt that was stuffed behind the seat. He smelled it, making sure it wasn’t gross, before moving Alex’s hand and pressing it over the wound.

“You need anything from me?” Michael asked softly so as not to disturb Forrest as he got directions to the cabin from Kyle, “Like, are you grounded or are you just lucid enough to be thrown into a panic attack over being kidnapped and having to take out four guys by hand?”

Alex huffed a laugh and tilted his head back to look up at him, eyes fond. Michael loved that look.

“I’ll be okay,” he promised, nodding, “Thank you for saving me.”

“Thank Forrest, he made sure we made it in time and handled the alien information like a champ,” Michael said.

“Thanks Forrest,” Alex hummed. Forrest glanced over at them both, flashing a smile. He held the phone to his ear with his shoulder, reaching out to squeeze Alex’s thigh gently. 

“Yeah, Kyle, thanks. I’ll call Max and I’ll tell him where to go,” Forrest said, letting go of Alex to grab the phone and end the call, “You two still doing good? No one’s gonna die on me?”

“No,” Michael assured, “Not gonna let that happen.”

Forrest made momentary eye contact with him, going back and forth from the road to his eyes. 

“I know. Thank you.”

“No worries.”

Forrest got Max on the phone and Michael settled into holding Alex. Everything was going to be okay.

-

“So, he’s gonna be okay?”

Kyle nodded and looked between Michael and Forrest. He’d stitched up Alex and left him on the old bed of the pullout couch, pain killers in his system. Michael knew, logically, that he had to leave soon and just let Alex be with his boyfriend while he healed. But, fuck, he didn’t want to go.

“Yeah,” Kyle confirmed.

“Thank God,” Forrest breathed, visibly relaxed at the confirmation. Kyle smiled and looked at Michael as if waiting for him to ask for a ride. He cleared his throat and decided he didn’t really have a choice.

“I can, uh, leave my truck here for you guys whenever Alex is feeling okay if, uh, you wanna give me a ride back into town,” Michael said. Forrest looked to him like he’d lost it.

“No, what if they come back? We need you here,” Forrest said. Michael didn’t know how to feel about that, didn’t know how to handle being needed.

“Stay,” Alex called sleepily. Michael looked back at Alex and then at Forrest, both of whom seemed eager for him to stay. He took a grounding breath. He didn’t want to go.

So he looked back to Kyle.

“Um, I guess I gotta hold down the fort,” Michael said. Kyle eyed him before slowly nodding. 

“Take care of him, call me if anything goes wrong,” he said, “Bye, Alex, stay safe.”

“Bye,” Alex hummed.

Michael followed him to the door, quickly locking it behind him. He watched until Kyle was gone and then watched a little longer, making sure no one followed them there. After that, he closed his eyes and did a mental sweep of all the locks on the doors and windows in the cabin and made sure they were secure. Until they knew for sure who took Alex and why and if there was anyone else, he needed to be on high alert.

“Hey, Romeo,” Alex called. Michael turned his gaze to the pullout couch, seeing Alex in the middle and Forrest laying beside him. He figured before today he would’ve wanted to throw up at the sight. But, right now, he was grateful. 

Really fucking grateful. 

“C’mere,” Alex added, patting the bed beside him.

Like always, that magnetic pull tugged at Michael’s heart and he slowly stepped out of his boots and walked towards the bed. He looked at Forrest, making sure he was cool with it, and then laid down when he got a nod of confirmation. Alex grabbed his hand and held it over the stitches where the hand print was slowly but surely making itself known. He felt a rush of just pure fucking love and had no idea how to handle it.

So he moved closer, still checking with both of them that it was alright with glances. Forrest was already pressed to Alex’s side with his hand in his hair and he didn’t seem to have any issues as Michael pressed in just as close on Alex’s other side with his hand on his bare stomach. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest, his head still feeling a little off from healing Alex and acetone. Maybe he misunderstood.

“I-Is this okay?” he asked carefully. Forrest nodded solemnly.

“That was scary, it’s still scary, we don’t know if they’re coming back,” he said softly, “No one should be alone.”

“You’re being way too nice to me,” Michael huffed, swallowing harshly. His hands were shaking and he didn’t really know why. He couldn’t understand why this guy was being so nice to him, so open to him, and yet didn’t want anything from him. That didn’t compute.

“Not everyone has an agenda,” Alex murmured, eyes closed as he relaxed to the feeling of both men at his side. Michael could feel through the mark just how safe he felt with them, both of them. He could’ve cried.

“You take care of Alex, I take care of you, simple as that,” Forrest added, staring at him over Alex’s head. Michael nodded curtly as he finally understood a little bit better. Forrest was taking care of one of his own.

And Michael fell under that umbrella.

Simple as that.

[blankdblank]

Brother Dearest Pt 15

Called off to meet up with some old school buddies Eddie was off for the day and with an early start you bought some flowers from Mrs Peppers stand and made your way to the cemetery. Right past the bustling city you found the zone of silence where the lost were laid to rest. Following the familiar path you found the trio of stones and already tearing up you nodded at Victor’s saying, “We have a friend a few lines over so we can give you a bit, Pipsqueak.” The pair of them kindly greeted your parents and uttered Steve’s name flatly and walked off saying, “If you need us we’re a call away.”

You nodded after passing them each a flower they kissed your cheeks in receiving and watched them go. Alone again your gaze dropped to the stone and in your green dress you lowered to crouch and set a single flower on your dad’s grave already feeling your face scrunch up.

The sniffle following in the drop of a tear down your cheek turned the heads of the guys seeing you wipe your cheek and look up trying to calm down reading the name etched in the polished stone. In a slightly squeaking whisper you said, “Hey Daddy.” Sniffling again. I’ve been away a while, I haven’t just been ignoring you. Got roped into nursing, Mom. But um,” weakly you squeaked out, “I’m ok. I’m back now.” Glancing down again leaving a flower for your mom too. “I, got medals. And my picture in the papers.” You sniffled again eyeing the final two flowers, “Daddy I don’t know if you could do what I can, but I can do so many things. But I swear I don’t use them unless I have to. And, I met Edie, she has a son few years younger than me. They were sent to these death camps. Broke out and we met in Paris, right after this big battle, it was huge. I think, even if I was a son you’d be proud of it…” hastily you wet your lips not knowing how deeply the words were hitting the men on the verge of tears staring at a practical stranger’s headstone they had helped bring home from the Civil War.

“And daddy I got my high school diploma, and all these schools have given me tours. Just visited Brown, going to Barnard next. You took those summer courses in Columbia that last year we had. And even President Truman invited us all out to the White House for a garden party, not sure what that entails. We met these brothers, we’re gonna be a family, me and Eddie spent the winter in Canada with them in their cabin. Got to see tons of animals and fish and hunt and even learn to cut down trees and make a bird feeder and little houses for them.” Again the guys were grinning.

“I’m not sure how school is going to go, or what’s going to happen. They’re not Catholic, or Jewish, so, who knows what some of the neighbors will say, but they’ve always been there and it really doesn’t matter. Because we’re safe now, and you’d love them Mom, you would too Dad. They bought our old building and we’re gonna fix it up, and maybe get a dog. Hopefully a huge fluffy one that loves to laze around and snuggle.” Sharply inhaling you wiped your other cheek dry, “We’re gonna do great things, you’ll see. And I’m not just going to be some housewife. I’m gonna work so hard, you’ll see, and I won’t ever forget what you both taught me.” Turning your head you said, “I just wish Steve, you could see it. Maybe then you wouldn’t have hated me so much. If you could have seen me grown up and know that I wasn’t your hassle anymore. Maybe you could have been an uncle, come around to talk, play charades or cards, helped to teach the kids the trumpet you could never get just right with those little lungs of yours.”

A flower was set down on his grave and James and Victor paced a lap through that row of stones to keep from racing back to you, “I think you could have been happy, after all this. We could have been friends. Heard you found a gal while you were in camp, our kids could have had a whole gaggle of cousins.” Again your voice cracked, “And you could have told me why-,” standing up you sniffled again holding the last flower you carried closer to the guys now turned to meet you that flanked you to see where you were going.

Victor’s arm wrapped around your back and he asked wiping away a stray tear, “You Alright?”

You nodded saying, “The Barnes’ are just over here.”

James, “Bucky then?”

You nodded, “Me and Eddie used to joke they might end up in lovers plots, side by side to the end of the line.”

James leaned over kissing your forehead, “They didn’t deserve you, you know.”

“The idiots still earned flowers at least. Never had any bodies to bury. Just stones. Bucky’s dad died hearing about him, his mom and sisters are still a few blocks over.”

Victor, “How old are they?”

“I think they were four when we left town.”

James, “How were his parents with you?”

“Not like Bucky. His dad owed money to the Brocks, drank a lot, used to play cards with them in the locked basement club.”

Victor, “Ah, so he knew who he was messing with when it came to you.”

You shrugged, “Stayed to himself most days, then he’d just show up, looking, mangled. Like he’d been drug around town and he’d come to the pool hall but he’d always swing at anyone but he wouldn’t touch me. One time I was in the back and he broke the door down and I was so scared but he saw me and turned away, started shouting for Dave breaking the other doors till he got thrown out. Used to think maybe, like my head zings. Maybe I did something to keep him away.”

Down the proper row you went and stopped at Bucky’s stone unsure of what to say just laying the flower on top of the stone. “I wish we could have known each other better, and you had more than just Steve to come after you in that camp. Bye Bucky.”

The pair eyed the picture of him left at the stone and turned with you. Warmly Victor’s lips met your forehead and he hummed out, “Come on, museum tour. Let’s go see what this state has to offer since our last visits.”

Museum of natural history, Museum of modern art, Brooklyn museum, New York historical society, Metropolitan museum of art three full days dedicated to soaking up all you could while Eddie relaxed enjoying time with his friends.

Each one opened for you and in a near grueling path through the city you managed simple tours of each. Including sections where the guys shared their own additions of events they had lived through with even a portrait they were both odd blob like figures in the back of they recalled exactly what had occurred while the artist was painting nearly making you burst out laughing. The last place being your safe haven, the crowning glory of your childhood, the New York Public Library.

“Ooh, lions.” Victor hummed snapping a picture of the one you were walking towards.

“This one’s Fortitude.” They glanced at you and you added, “The other one is named Patience.”

James, “So sweet.” Making you roll your eyes in his palm pressing to yours and fingers weaving together.

“Oh, good Lord…” Victor said tilting his head back inspecting the front hall of the library, “I should have expected this, but I didn’t… wow..”

Smirking to yourself you led the way in as the pair of architecture nerds adored each book and cranny of this place. You didn’t have long before it closed and there was just one stop you had to make. Straight to the office you went and were spotted right away by the little lady behind the counter who grinned widely. “Oh, there you are!” Giggling softly you approached the desk and James releases your hand so her hands on the counter between you could cradle yours in her loving gaze, “You’ve grown. Why the last time you were here you could barely see over the counter.” Making you smirk again. “Let’s get you a new library card, Miss Pear.”

After a step back her hands released yours and she said, “I will have you know it was stunning to have just stopped seeing you. Thought you might have been moved out of the city to relatives but then one day your face just popped up in the papers, receiving medals of valor and for service. Even out here there was an article President Truman himself was quoted in that you were among the most stunning of our returned heroes. Shot three times in service,” Her eyes focused on you while her hands continued to move through the task of making your card she filled out by memory. “Why I nearly choked on my breakfast reading that, but here you are intact and fully grown now. And that face, I could have known that face and smile anywhere. Welcome home my dear, to the state and the library.”

She looked at the men, “Why there wasn’t a weekend through school we wouldn’t find her curled up with a mountain of books just grinning as she blew through them. Wasn’t the same without you.” She said with her eyes on you again in her move to bring you the new card she folded into your palm, “Oh, I kept a list of all the new books for the sections you read through.”

Victor chuckled, “Sections?”

The woman nodded, “Any school would be thrilled to have such a mind among their alumni.”

Victor nodded, “We’re set to tour Barnard next week.”

She gasped, “Oh that is a great school! Well done!” Then she looked to the men sliding them two slips of paper, “Of you’ll fill these out I’ll have your cards out in a jiffy.” A stolen glimpse of the endless books and the hall of tables the men admired was all you were able before they had to lock up stirring grins on the faces of the guards recognizing you and welcoming you back again.

.

“I’m going to go make some meatloaf, loudly.” Victor said in a smirk earning an eye roll from you on your way up to the bedroom to change. James behind you smirked in removing his shoes he left by the door only to follow after you in Victor’s push to steal some time alone with you.

“I have a library card.” The words deepened the already spreading grin on his face in easing the door shut eyeing your excited twisting stance in the steps out of your heels unhooked in a backwards lift of each one to undo behind your back. It was a simple fact but the joy and pride in it had you as the most attractive person on the planet to him even more so than the rest of your days he utterly adored you.

“I noticed.” He hummed mirroring your steps closer. “It suits you, all those books…”

In the tracing of your fingers up his tie while you rose up on your toes he leaned in melting into the kiss clearly coming and a low hum left him in the hand stroking across his jaw, cheek and then into his hair. A dip of his later and at his side your legs were curled through his lifting you off the ground carrying to the bed. Over you he stretched out blindly weaving his legs with yours adoringly refusing to be the one to end the deepening lip lock. Under the vest you had undone muscles flexed against your palm sliding over the shirt covering his torso to clench on his back melting him even more against you. Sharply the phone by the bed rang making you flinch and break the kiss only to weakly chuckle. “Never did get used to phones. We never had one.”

Victor answered downstairs, and in a dip of James’ hand into his back pocket he pulled out his kerchief to wipe the lipstick off your face making you giggle again. “We don’t have to have one if you don’t like them.”

“We should have one. Just in case.” You said taking the cloth to wipe off his own face that when clean was stealing another kiss from you.

“Whatever you say,” stroking the side of your cheek in an adoring gaze, “I’m gonna build you an incredible library.”

“Careful, I may just take that as a proposal,” he wanted to smile, every muscle in his face wanted to shift into the biggest dopiest grin only to lose focus halfway in the warm lingering hold of your lips to his.

Again your lips broke and teasingly his nose stroked the side of yours in a ghost of his lips across yours, “I’m gonna build you that library and pack it with as many odd books as I can find that wouldn’t seem like a library would have them. All for you.”

Tracing a finger down his cheek his lips met the tip of your nose and your eyes eased from his blurry nose up to his refocusing adoring gaze, “What do you get out of it?”

“I get to build you a library, fill it and then watch you enjoy it.”

“That’s all?”

“It’s so much more than that, and you know it, My Darling.”

All at once in a moment his gaze flickered from unending adoration to something else in the press of his palm to mold against your cheek, “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” he hummed back brushing a thumb across your cheek tenderly.

“Looking at me like I’m leaving.” Over you it washed again his lifetime of loss before he had met you, up you leaned to close the distance closing his eyes again with a tender kiss. Down on the pillow your head laid again and his eyes scanned over your face puzzled at what to say, what could be the right thing to say knowing he could be facing that agonizing loss and betrayal of time again to be with you. “I read once before the big bang that created the universe there were millions of atoms just floating around together.”

“Really now,” he smirked melting into what he assumed to be you changing the subject.

“All the atoms in the universe were pressed together in this one cluster until it all exploded.” His brows inched up in amusement through a creeping grin at your soft blush prickling across your cheeks. “For 13.7 billion years we’ve been bumping around this universe,” Instantly his grin split into a wide smile, “The moment you opened that door I knew you. You bumped into me once and you hit me again, I felt like I’d been looking for you everywhere. You’re mine, I’m-,” Firmly his lips melted onto yours into a seemingly endless kiss leaving you breathless and him barely able to whisper.

“You are the most stunning creature on the planet with that endless mind of yours. One day there’s going to be billions of books available with a flick of your adorable finger and I’m gonna make sure we live to see it. I give you my word on that if I have to build it myself.”

“You are skirting dangerously close to-,”

“Oh trust me, I am going to propose, but it certainly won’t be in a room with clowns on the wallpaper in the john.” Unable to help it you melted into giggles through his own chuckles, nuzzling into his chest to just hold each other close sharing hopes for the future you would see shape together through the rest of your lives.

“Excited?” He rumbled in your move to sit up, his hand trailing down your back with fingers locking into your curled ponytail when he sat up in a gentle guiding hint to turn your head allowing him to kiss you again.

“About the clowns?” You teased making him chuckle again and drop his arm to rest around your side.

“Visiting Barnard. I do hope it’s better than Brown was.”

With a sigh your head tilted to rest against his shoulder, “Who knows. Maybe all I’ll end up as is a wife-,”

James scoffed, “You are not. No matter what you want we will make certain you get it. No matter how many etiquette blunder heads we have to sift through.”

Giggling softly you parroted back, “Blunder heads?”

He gave a curt nod, “Can’t think of a better insult right now without being rude. They’re just ladies following the path they’re allowed, we just need to break that path wide open. We can do it.”

“If I don’t kill anyone first.” Tilting your head back you said, “Oh, Momma Brock wanted us to go to Mass Sunday. Father Thomas wanted to speak with us. Did the same for all the boys coming home afterwards.”

James locked eyes with you in your shift back and he asked, “Did you want us to go?”

“You don’t have to. Not the most entertaining way to spend your Sunday.”

“It never is. I know our church used to last hours, tiny cramped with no heat or air circulation long before modern soaps and dental hygiene.”

“Oh, poor teddy bear.” That had you giggling in his scooping you up onto his lap smiling to himself at your forehead pressing to his, adoring the feel of your arms circling his shoulders. “What horrors you must have faced.”

“You have no idea. You think I smelled bad you should be glad you didn’t know half of my friends and neighbors. I am glad you did not have to live then with this adorably powerful nose of yours.”

“I would have lived in the woods.” Making him chuckle again in his next peck on your nose.

“I would have followed you there. No doubt you’d still smell like apples.” Kissing your nose again stirring another giggle from you.

.

With a wiggle of your shoulders your dress fell to the ground and a reach under your slip had your bra off and laying on the chair soon joined by your stockings and garter belt. Onto the bed you climbed and settled against the pillows brushing the covers down in a glance your way James smirked seeing your arms circling your legs pulled up to your chest. “I know that look.” He said tossing the tank top he threw on top of your clothes.

“Do you now?”

Undoing his belt he walked to the chair dropping his pants he added to the pile along with his socks then crossed to the bed to settle down beside you sliding his arm behind your back, “We have an early train.”

Sliding down on the bed as he did you turned onto your side, “I know that. There’s no look.”

Smirking through a chuckle he rumbled back shifting his head to face you brushing his nose against yours, “My mistake.” Planting his lips on yours in a loving kiss.

Afterwards he shifted with his free arm used to shut off the lamp by the bed then glanced your way in his adjusting the covers higher over you both smiling at your peck on his cheek. Tenderly your hand settled on top of his chest and deeply he exhaled in your fingertips gliding across his skin through the dark patch of hair. “My Dad had this picture, one I found in his book of favorite quotes. He had me on his chest, right here.” You said circling your fingers on that spot, “Used to say I wouldn’t sleep unless I was here. Do you think-,”

When your voice broke off his arm tightened around your back and he pressed a warm kiss to your forehead, “When we have children we can photograph them wherever you like on me.”

Softly you replied nestling your head against his cheek, “Thank you.”

“Victor wouldn’t let a moment go by undocumented. No doubt we’ll have ample with him as well. We will get through this together when the time comes.”

“How long did you want to wait?”

“For babies?” You nodded and he snuggled more around you after another kiss on your forehead, “After the wedding, few years at least if nature allows, so we can get you a firm footing. There’s no rush for all of that. We’ll get there, no pressure, just sleep.”

..

Lost in the middle of a ‘fun’ questionnaire at a club you had been somehow wrangled into once they had realized your name was the same as that of one of the potential students to woo James’ eyes turned to the den mother in charge of this side of the room’s sparse gentleman guests. “Miss Pear is quite the catch. Will she be moving close by?”

Eddie nodded saying, “We’ve got a place we’re going to fix up over the summer in Brooklyn, bit of a ride but it’s worth it.”

She nodded and forced a grin stating, “The four of you.” Again she forced a grin and asked, “Now, Mr Pear, clearly you two are related, but I am curious how, you two gentlemen are related to Miss Pear. We do have strict moral guidelines we wish from our pupils.”

James shifted a bit closer making her a bit nervous at first until she caught his gossiping grin, “If you can keep it a secret, a family ring is being resized. We’re an item now, but by September we’ll be engaged. And my brother Victor is gonna help us set up the house. Plenty of space.”

Eddie nodded, “Ample room, to grow into.”

She caught the hints and they could tell the silently tarnished reputation she had assumed that was also rippling through those you had met so far and withholding her gleeful gasp she said lowly, “Well that is just wonderful. And no doubt we will be honored to have her among the masses of minds to mold until situations change, that is.”

James smirked saying, “Call me a bit out of fashion, but, I admire her fire more than anything. Just that spunk to face anything. I wouldn’t dare try to smother that. For now family can wait, we all want to see how far she can go, and we can go, together.” She was stunned for a moment and he added, “This is a great school, it would be a shame to keep her here for just six months. Her father left funds for her schooling and we want to honor that, a sort of way to get his blessing for us.” Sentimentally her grin twitched wider and she turned to glance over the room allowing her a moment to keep from tearing up at the kind gesture from a man assumed to want to rule over his spouse.

Across the room however the brunette charged with guiding you around asked, “So, when are you and your fiancé settling down? It would be nice to know how soon we will be losing you.”

“You won’t be.” Her brow inched up, “We’re not engaged,” in her shifting expression you added, “It’s only been half a year,” her expression switched in confusion and you said, “But we’ve talked about families and James and Victor bought the building my family used to live in,”

That made her gasp, “The building?”

You nodded, “We’re going to remodel it before school starts and I’ll commute from there.”

“What does he do?”

“Well he was a Colonel, how we met,”

“Aww, I love a man in uniform.”

Smirking for a moment you paused then said, “Back in Canada there’s a lumber mill they work for.”

“Ooh, well we can’t wait to hear more about them when you join us.”

The female Professors were more of the same, all asking about the guys and how you would restore your honor in their eyes, with each of them calming at the rippled rumor of plans to come. The male Professors however, the few that there were, each held little interest in teaching just another future housewife wasting their time by taking up a seat.

Yet their smug grins faded when in the physics classroom you wiped away a word in the quote written across the board. Two of them got upset until you quoted it back to them word for word finding the book and correct spot stirring up a round of questioning leading to their realizing you had memorized more than half of the books they had set out on display in the classroom and had a vague knowledge of what the others held. Science clearly was your chosen field and they were uncertain of how long you would stay but all of them held a shared curiosity for what the next semester would bring. One class you had considered but nearly brushed aside was Mythology, mainly focused on Norse Mythology by a Professor Elliot Randolph.

The short man just barely your height with your heels grinned at you in the sea of young women practically ignoring the men around you. “Miss Pear,” his hand remained at his side but with a nod of his head had you looking him over a bit confused at his almost eager greeting. “My name is Elliot Randolph. This would be my first semester here. And I heard you might be considering this school. Are you interested in Mythology?”

“I haven’t really touched on it yet.”

“Ah,” his eyes lit up and he stepped aside allowing a group past. “Well then I don’t doubt you wouldn’t enjoy it. Everyone loves a good story. Grand deeds, sinister motives and plots. Centuries of stigma and history all tangled in these magnificent creatures who could do spectacular things, heirs to the Gods.”

A motion of his hand to his classroom had him showing you a brief intro on what was around the room. Subtly it seemed he was wooing you in with hints of stories on these stunning creatures and lands from long ago and as another string of ladies came in you said, “I think you might have just convinced me to give Mythology a shot.”

At that his grin split widely into a smile, “Oh that is wonderful news. I have seen your record and I can tell you will be a marvelous student. I shall dust off my best in anticipation of granting you a challenge on learning past what is in the text.”

“I look forward to it, Mr Randolph.” The women swooped in and swarmed him causing your slip away. Hushed conversation on the eager Professor in the bunch ended at another aid coming to guide you to your next set of courses to meet those Professors as well.

Nearly all your classes would be on the women’s campus, but three of the ones you would want to take guided your tour to the men’s campus. There the men in your group were drawn forward and boasted to endlessly on the benefits of the campus until the Professor came to greet James with his hand extended, “And am I to assume I have another group of boys in blue to join my ranks of minds to mold?”

James shook his head, “No, we’re here with my girl,” his head nodded your way turning his head to the stack of books on his desk you were reading the titles of. “Moral support and all that. She wasn’t in blue, neither were we, Canadian Forces.”

The Professor nodded, “Ah, yes, another Nurse, lo-,”

Victor cut him off, “Corporal,” that turned the heads of the potential students and Professor, “Corporal Pear, Medic of the Canadian Forces, first woman to have earned an officers position and to earn the Medic patch.”

The Professor asked, “How’d she manage Corporal? That’s what, E-4?”

“I got shot,” his head turned to you and you flashed him a wide grin, “Three of your books have been discredited. I hope they’re not on the syllabus.”

His brow inched up and he moved closer as you named them and the man who disproved their theories making him scoff, “Communist rhetoric.”

“He’s Swedish,”

“My point exactly, I don’t bend to foreigners opinions in my classroom.”

You nodded, “Then I suppose all Greek and Roman Philosophers would be banned as well, leaving, well, not much really once you drop all the books from Eastern Europe.”

His eyes narrowed, “Clearly you do not understand just how vast this subject is and I doubt you could begin to comprehend-,”

“Mr Crane, I could fill a naval carrier with all the doubts people have had about me. You don’t have to like me, but I do suppose we will have to wait until the first lecture to see which one of us wins on grounds of competency.” His mouth dropped open, “Because I’ve read two thirds of the books on physics in the New York Public Library so far, and I do hope with that big brain of yours you might be able to see past the dress and try not to talk to me like I’m some idiot waiting on my pot roast to bake.”

“For competency’s sake, I do, hope, you do arrive ready for a battle of wits.”

Smirking to his back in his turn away you fired back, “I’m not the one who’s unarmed.” The phrase halting him in his tracks making him turn only to see you walking with your smirking men around you on the way to your next class a few hallways over, “Clearly we’ll be best friends.”

James chuckled lowly easing his hand across your back through the sea of staring men looking you over from head to toe. “Once he licks his wounds.”

Victor, “Sweden is Communist,” your group chuckled, “Who’d have thunk.”

Again you giggled saying, “Hopefully the Philosophy Professor won’t have negated his syllabus as well.”

James rumbled back, “If he has it would be a very glum class. Glum and dull.”

This one at least spoke to you and seemed eager to have another woman in the class, sharing that his own daughter would be attending one day hopefully. It did seem word got around that he was more respectful of a Professor for female students leading to their taking his course over the other male Professor. The day wasn’t a complete failure in your self esteem as you left the joint campus closing ceremony looping James’ arm around your back by swinging your joined hands over your head drawing a smile from him to you. Clearly for the men this wasn’t the same education the men would be getting but no doubt you could get the degrees you wanted and fill in the blanks. Against his side you slumped slightly anxious for all of this, wanting to forget the lingering male students staring your way.

All the way to the station you stayed under his arm only to end up seated by Eddie on the train on the seat across from the brothers, who got pulled into a conversation with the little girl beside Victor that lasted until she got off the train a few stops before yours. Smiles came from the pair and when the people around you left they jumped at the chance to sit beside you. Victoriously James slung his arm around you again making you giggle in his splitting grin and peck on your forehead.

A stop at the markets came with mingling people in town all glad to see you at mass the following morning and followed with a jumble of arms in the kitchen to make dinner. As if you blinked you were laid out on your side in bed feeling yourself drift off in the warm body easing up behind you to fold around you tightly.

…

In a floral white blouse tucked into your navy skirt you adjusted the waistband turning in front of the mirror on your toes spotting James in the mirror holding up your black heels he bent to help you into. Gently kissing each knee in buckling the strap around your ankle while you secured the side of your hair back with a pink petal coated pin that would be seen under the navy bowknot fascinator of your mother’s the Brocks had brought over from storage. “You look very beautiful, in a modest and religiously respectful sort of way.”

Giggles escaped you and your hands smoothed over his vest deepening his grin, “You can put down the shovel, and thank you.”

When your hands moved to the tie he left slung over his chest he smoothed his hands around your hips and asked, “I’m not going to have to sit across the room from you am I?”

“No. Just unfortunately can’t hold hands through it.”

Lowly he chuckled, “Kind of figured that part.” His eyes lovingly inspecting your expression while you tied his tie for him and tucked it into his vest smoothing your hands over it again.

“You don’t have to go.”

“I know,” Leaning in his lips tenderly pressed to yours and he said, “This is a part of your life. They are all Catholic and welcoming you home. If it helps, I suppose you could call me lapsed. Hard to have religion if you can’t die and have spikes jutting out of your fists. Wars didn’t help either.”

After wetting your lips you asked, “What happens if I don’t die?”

Deeply inhaling his eyes locked on yours again and he answered, “We’ll be here for you. Always.”

You nodded and said, “We should go.” Turning to grab the white gloves and your purse holding your mother’s rosary. Down you went and with the others and into the sidewalk you went joining the other families on the way to the gothic church seeming more ominous than when you were little. From the walk in past the bowl of holy water used for people to mark a cross over their head, shoulders and chest to claiming your seat on one of the rows the Brocks usually took up you settled after a rusty step back through all the tiny details.

The lengthy mass and words after flooded into the group pot luck in the hall and gardens behind the church for the returned soldiers upon the looming anniversaries of certain battles. Yet alone you walked inside with Father Thomas after his time speaking with Eddie alone, “I am glad you were able to come home to us. You have been a steady fixture on our prayer lists.”

“Thank you, Father.”

His hand motioned and inside his office you stepped and stood in front of one of the leather chairs as he closed the door behind himself. Straight to his chair on the other side of the desk he asked, “I know it has been some time since you have attended our services,” you nodded still keeping the rosary tucked in your palm with your thumb stroking one of the beads in a subtle way. “I have offered a sort of counseling session with each of the boys returned home, I wished to offer that to you. War, war is a very troubling time on the soul. Are you finding any difficulty in your return?”

“To be perfectly frank,” he nodded, “I was 15 when we got moved to Canada, 16 when our Hospital was attacked. I was terrified, but I was a kid and now I’m almost 21. The men all looked after me, kept me safe, never treated me like I was beneath them. And I come back here, and it’s dresses, heels, make up, all these lessons and back to a world where the best thing I could ever hope to achieve is get married and have babies.” He nodded again, “Please don’t get me wrong I know the birth of woman and their roles in the gospel is to serve their father’s and then husbands, just, I have a brain, and opinions, and I want to do great things. We went to Barnard college yesterday and even there the male Professors just look at us like we’re cattle, wasting his time because all we will ever be is someone’s wife.”

Lowly he chuckled, “It is troubling. I know my niece had a hard time last Spring with a project her teacher demanded a boy handle even though she was the best juggler in the theater group. I also know you, I never saw you without a book, or pile of them. They will bend to your stubborn will.” Slowly he let out a breath and said, “I would like to offer my sincerest condolences for your brother, Steve.” It was your turn to nod, “I understand he wasn’t the best guardian, but he did serve honorably. You will always have family here, even if you are tied to marry a Canadian. Is he Catholic?”

“Lapsed, his family was. He’s faced a lot of loss, but he’s supportive of my coming here, if that is what you are worried about.”

He shook his head, “No doubt. We have heard great things. We all look forward to getting to know him better. You will be down the block after your old building is rebuilt.”

Anxiously you wet your lower lip and said, “I have a question,”

“Of course, ask away.”

“When we were going through Paris, a bit after Normandy, I ran into a cousin and aunt of mine I didn’t know I had.” His brow inched up, “They had broken out of a death camp,” parting his lips, “Turns out my father’s family was Jewish, he came to New  York to be safe. My question is, if he was Jewish does that mean I have to be too?”

Shaking his head he said patting his hand on the table in a comforting way, “Truly if his intention was to protect himself and his family by not telling you or forcing your mother to change her religion it would not be mandatory for you to convert. And I can say this truthfully, none of us would turn you or your relatives away for not being Catholic. Truly they have been through harsh faces of the world and we will pray for them to find comfort, are they still in Paris?”

You shook your head, “No, James and Victor helped Eddie set up travel to get them to Canada. Erik’s in a great school now, Edie’s got a good job. They’re finding comfort again.”

“That is good news. Marvelous news.” He looked you over again in your glance at the rosary in your hands.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to get comfortable. But, I feel so out of place. I killed a lot of people. I won medals, but, that doesn’t change anything. I’ve done terrible things, and I’m just supposed, to come to mass…”

Onto his feet he stood and walked around the desk to sit in the chair beside yours drawing your attention to him in his hand patting the arm of your chair, “Absolution comes in time. I can tell you have repented, truly remorseful. Peace will find you.”

“In time.”

He nodded, “Yes, more troubling than helpful right now. Until then, we should eat.” You nodded and joined him on your feet again walking with him out to rejoin everyone else taking up the seat Eddie saved for you and the plate Victor had filled for you while James fetched drinks wading through the women trying to talk to him.

Pt 16

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Enchanted | Mark Lee

Pairing: idol!au mark lee x y/n Genre: fluff, pure fluff. Words: 3,132k (woops 👀)

Enchanted - Taylor Swift

“Y/Nnie~ you’ve got mail.” your British friend approached you with the envelope in her hand. “Mail? Why would I get mail?” you scoffed at the idea of you receiving any mail when you thought you didn’t really deserve all the praise. “It��s from Korea.” you froze thinking that it could be from your family but when your friend said that it wasn’t you felt like you recovered half of your life. “That’s odd. I don’t think I wrote to anyone else. Especially these past months.” you took the envelope from your friend and tucked it in the pocket of your duffel bag telling your mind to keep a note about the letter.

After training for several hours you arrive in your apartment. Kicking your shoes off, not bothering with wearing your house slippers since you just want to have a hot bath right now. You walked straight into the bathroom, dropped your duffel bag on the floor and prepared the bath. You set your sleeping clothes by your bed then went back to the bathroom to turn the water from the tub off. You got in after tying your hair up in a bun and released a long sigh. It was a sigh of relief. You hadn’t felt this exhausted since the first time you competed.

You were about to close your eyes and lull yourself to sleep but you remembered about the mail you got. Turning your head to your bag you reached for the mail lying inside the front pocket. You looked at the return address then you saw that it really wasn’t from home. The address was unfamiliar as well. “Hm..a fan letter? But I never posted anything about where I am.” You thought aloud. Flipping the envelope around to carefully open the sealed flap. You take out the paper inside and unfolded them to see what the content was.

Hi Ms. y/n!

I’m sorry if this is so sudden and random. I realize now — as I’m writing this that maybe you didn’t want to receive any fan letters. I sincerely apologize for that! I swear this is probably the last time you’ll be hearing from me.

My name is Mark Lee and I’m from Seoul, Korea. I’m not sure if you’ve heard about NCT before but I’m part of that group. Anyway, I didn’t write this letter to promote myself or anything like that...I wrote this to let you know I admire you so much.

The first time I saw your match, I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. You were oozing with confidence and you were sure you’d get that gold medal. When they announced the scores, I couldn’t help but feel the way you felt. You felt vulnerable - I could tell, but you were able to keep your head high. I really admire you for that.

I know it seems weird that I somehow was able to write you this letter. I wanted to message you privately instead on social media but I heard you weren’t a fan of that. So I went old school. I really hope this reached you. You don’t need to let me know but here’s my kakaotalk ID. I know you’re probably busy but if ever there’s a chance for you to let me know that you got it, I’ll be waiting for your reply. I promise you I’m not a creep or whatever. If you’re still skeptical, here’s a photo of me. Uh...it’s the only one I could find so I’m sorry if it looks awful.

Have a good day, Ms. Y/N! :]

Sincerely,

Mark Lee

You picked up the photo that was wallet sized and you felt your lips curve into a small smile. You admitted he was cute and that his letter was adorable. This guy was a fan, but not only that he’s actually an idol who admires you as an athlete. “I guess it’s okay...” you mumbled to yourself while gazing into the photo at your hand.

After drying yourself, you laid down on your bed scrolling through the messages you received. They were mostly updates on your schedule in the group chat with your team. Then you had a thought. You suddenly remembered Mark’s kakaotalk ID and thought of sending him a message. It was the least you could do after reading that adorable letter. You searched for the time in Seoul right now and learned that it was 6PM. He’s not busy right now I suppose...

itsy/n: Hi :) Is this Mark Lee? From NCT?

Six and a half months, you and Mark became good friends online. You’d tell each other how your days were when they’re over since you don’t live in the same area. Sometimes, he’d give you a call — with your permission of course and if you didn’t have training the following day or if he didn’t have rehearsals or anything scheduled. Both of you made sure that you wouldn’t get in the way of each other’s lives too much since both of you require focus, most especially you.

Few months after, the competition drawing near and it just so happened to be in Seoul. You packed your things two days prior to the flight but you told Mark weeks before. He was excited that you were coming home and he made sure that he’d watch the competition live. He couldn’t hide his excitement to the members that they ended up being excited for him as well. They’ve seen your matches on tv before or whenever Mark would watch reruns and they weren’t oblivious to the friendship you and Mark made. They would also tease him on how much you both talk to each other or how much he mentions you to them. He brushes off that feeling quickly because he didn’t want things to be awkward— well he hope he wouldn’t make it awkward. The members weren’t just teasing him for fun, they had a feeling he had taken interest in you romantically and obviously he’d never admit that. At least not yet.

The day of your arrival came and lots of press came to greet you. The flash from their cameras were blinding you that it was starting to get on your nerves. Thankfully, you were able to get on the car quickly. You arrived in the hotel that the event organizer booked for all the athletes that came. Since dinner was much later, you took this chance to freshen up and rest for a bit in your room. Just then, the sound of your kakaotalk went off notifying you’ve received a message.

Canada: Hey :) You landed yet?

You: Yup, just got in my room too. Your timing is perfect haha

Canada: Cool! Hope your flight was smooth. Have you had dinner?

You: Not yet. Dinner’s going to be a little later. All the athletes are having dinner together at the same time so, I’m gonna freshen up a bit and rest.

Canada: Make sure you eat a lot! :) 

You: Ha, I think I should be telling you that? The last photo you sent me of yourself, you’re not looking so good? Are you sure you’re eating? :P

Canada: I am! I’m gaining muscles too! 

You: Uh-huh, yeah, sure you are

As you were about to put your phone down a sudden call came from Mark. It wasn’t just an ordinary call, it was a video call. You froze for a bit, not knowing what to do but you couldn’t leave him hanging either. After two rings, you answer the call and made sure the camera wasn’t too close to your face.

“Do you see that?” He asks, pointing the camera on his mirror as he flexes his biceps showing you his muscles. 

“Hm, I don’t really see it Mark.” You lied. Of course you did.

“Why are you doing this to me, girl?” He clicked the icon that rotates the camera to his face and pouted. All you could do was scoff and shake your head as you walk around with the phone in your hand. Now that you’ve guys started the video call, neither of you wanted to end the call. 

“My bad, were you about to prepare?” He sets his phone down on his stand as he sat down in front of it. “Sort of? I was just going to wash my face and change to something more comfortable.” You said while going to the bathroom, setting your phone down on the counter. “I guess I could show you how I wash my face.” You chuckled as you removed your team jacket to hang it behind the bathroom door. “Alright, let’s get it.” You laughed when he said that. Hearing your laugh was the highlight of his night after coming back from a really sweaty practice.

Your first video call went well. He made sure washing your face was entertaining that you couldn’t actually do it properly. After that you had to close the camera so you can comfortably change. Once you were done, you opened the camera again and set the phone down to the dresser to put on light make up that was close to looking natural. Mark kept talking to you as he watched the way you put on the foundation and fixed your eyebrows by coloring it lightly. The whole call wasn’t awkward at all and when it was time for your dinner you told him he call you back if he wanted to. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about the call you just had with Mark. Although you weren’t paying attention to him since you were busy with preparing, you’d take glances at your phone and notice how his eyes were big. His face was somewhere in between a little boy and a boy in his teens when he’s already in his early 20s. 

The whole month you arrived in Seoul, you spent the days training and constantly talking to Mark. The day of the competition was about to arrive and you found out that Mark and his group were invited to perform. You were nervous to see how he was on stage because you got to know him as someone who was a goof ball, really loves to laugh and generally he seemed like a happy person to you. You wondered what he was like when he was performing, but you didn’t wonder long since you also had to keep your head in the game.

You were aiming for gold this time and you couldn’t let your team down. You couldn’t let yourself down either. You wanted to win it this time. 

The time has come for the event to open and all the athletes were in their respective areas. The announcers on the side were doing their opening spiels then when they were done they announced that NCT 127 is about to take the stage. You didn’t want to seem too excited to see Mark performing for the first time so you kept your composure. But when you see him walking towards the stage as their music began, you felt your heart rate rise up as if you were the one performing. Their song began, a song you’ve listened to a couple of times but it was very different when seeing it live. 

You saw a very different Mark up there and that really caught your attention. You couldn’t stop staring at him. The way he looks at the cameras passing by towards them was very intense but left a charm for their fans for sure. After the performance, they introduced themselves and all their charisma while performing vanished. Some of them were shy, some were actively smiling towards the fans and the cameras and then where was Mark. It was like he reverted back to the guy you were talking to but a more professional one. When one of their members were talking, you accidentally locked eyes with one another and you panicked inside. You didn’t know whether to give a wave or smile but before you could decide he sent a smile and a light nod towards you. You returned it hoping that none of your team mates saw that.

Finally, the match began. NCT had the privilege to stay and watch but not all of them were able to due to other schedules. Mark stayed behind with another member, they stayed where the audience were seated but they were in front. Just when they sat down it was your turn. You were competing in the archery category since that was forte and that was you’ve been training for ever since you discovered archery. You took your position with your professional bow and waited for the referee to signal you to begin. You take a deep breath slowly, calming your heart and your mind. The referee nodded his head towards you and you inserted the arrow to where it’s supposed to be. When you were ready, you held your equipment high, keeping your eye in the middle marking the bullseye. You pulled the bow string backwards while holding on to the tail of the arrow, you took another deep breath and released.

A year has passed since then and you kept in touch with Mark as he goes in and out of Seoul. You made up with your family before heading back to London to continue your training and at the same time continue your education. You prioritized training over studying before but now since you won the gold medal you’ve been working hard for, you now had to face another challenge. Graduating.

There would be times that you and Mark would meet up in London in secret if his group was there but most of the time you had video calls and regular calls. His group members already had an idea that both of you were more than friends at this point and were just denying it. There were pros and cons of dating each other that you both knew even if neither said anything about dating or confessing your feelings. He constantly travels, you permanently live in London and his bombarded by fans all the time. There was actually no time to see each other to date if ever and it was entirely impossible. 

However, one night, you and Mark were on a video call. He just got back from a schedule while you were working on homework. “What are you working on?” He asked while munching on a bowl of cereal. “Science homework. I want to get this done so on the weekend, I can just train or something.” You replied typing on your keyboard. “Do you seriously just train the whole weekend? Don’t you have friends to hang out with?” 

“I’d rather just train. Training is tiring enough for me, socializing will just flat out make me lowbat.” you chuckled softly. “Ah, then I must be lucky.” 

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you have enough energy to socialize with me like this.” you can see him grinning even though you weren’t looking at the screen. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I mean, I’m practically talking to an idol.” you chuckled. “You didn’t even know me until I mailed that letter. Girl, please.” he rolled his eyes playfully. You both were laughing. “I had my doubts you know.”

“About what? The letter?” you saw him blink his wide doe eyes. “Mhm.” you nodded slightly. “Why?”

“I don’t get mail. Let alone a fan letter.” you chuckled softly at the thought of calling it a fan letter. “No one knows my address here. My family didn’t even know until I came home and made up with them. So, how did you find out?” by now you were looking into the camera. “I- uh..” he kept averting his gaze elsewhere, unable to look at you. “Come on Canada, you can tell me. You’ve got no choice anyway.” 

“I...really wanted to find a way to reach out to you.” he began. “There was something that drew me to you. I just felt like, I needed to reach out somehow. So, I had help from the staff on finding out how to at least send the letter.” you weren’t typing anymore. You just watched how he told you about his efforts on finding a way to reach out. You saw how he was looking for the right words to say, every pause he took before speaking out and the way his hands rubs against his own. He looked nervous and you wanted to hold them. “Thanks to one of our staff, they got a hold of your manager and explained how much I really needed to send the mail. Your manager wouldn’t budge at first, but she eventually did. I guess, she got tired of me or us for constantly trying to get your address.” he rubbed the back of his neck feeling embarrassed.

“Nah, she was actually surprised that I’d get a fan letter. I was the one who didn’t want to receive anything coming from Seoul. Because at that time, I wasn’t in good terms with my parents. I didn’t want to receive anything from them either so I told my manager, my team and my coach even that if anyone sends me anything from Seoul to not accept it.” you explained. “They were just doing what I told them.” you assured. He let out a sigh of relief which you found cute. 

“Thanks for that by the way.” you started to speak. “If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have had...motivation.” you saw that he was doing the same thing you were doing when he was the one talking. “I actually wanted to give up everything before I got that letter. I wasn’t doing well during training that I kept missing the bullseye.” Now you were the one trying to focus your eyes elsewhere. “I had doubts because it was too good to be true that it was from an idol and...also I thought my team mate was lying when she gave it to me. I thought it was from my parents but when I saw the return address that’s when I opened the letter and read what you wrote.” you paused.

“I didn’t think I’d be texting you on kakao, actually. But I’m glad that I did.” you showed a shy smile which Mark returned. Both of you were silent for a while. You let the comfortable silence seep in before reaching out to your keyboard again to type. Both of you knew what that comfortable silence meant. Both of you wanted to say something but thought it wouldn’t be the right time. 

Both of you were enchanted to meet each other and hoped that both of you wouldn’t fall for anyone else until the day one of you confesses.

a/n: that was longer than i expected 👀i hope you enjoyed it as much as i did writing this. there’s a part here that happened in real life but of course not with mark lee lol can you guess what it is? 🤔

copyright 2020 rin-archives, all rights reserved.

[jeaniegreysummers]

crying power || Jean & Bruce

WHO: Jean Grey-Summers ( @jeaniegreysummers ) and Bruce Banner ( @hulkout ) WHERE: Stark/Avenger’s Tower WHAT: Jean has spent weeks planning a big science experiment, with a single intended goal - to bring Erik Lehnsherr back from the dead, sans Phoenix. She recruits Dr. Bruce Banner to assist. WARNINGS: death mention, murder mention WORDS: 3.7k

JEAN: The widely held view within the walls of the Institute was that the Avengers were a bunch of over-hyped frat boys in receipt of extensive preferential treatment, and Jean was loath to disagree with them. After all, the X-Men had been fighting this world’s battles for decades before Nick Fury put together his merry little band of misfits, and all they got for their efforts was sent to Salem to hide behind masks and pretend they were ‘normal’ (whatever that meant). The Avengers got praise. They got accolades, got medals, got their faces plastered on billboards and songs written to celebrate their glories -- with one notable exception, at least from the original team.

Bruce Banner.

She’d researched him, before, followed him through with both a personal and scientific curiosity. He was a man born human who tried to make himself something more. He was a man playing with genes on government contracts, and it went wrong. He was a man who, it could be argued, deserved what he got.

But he was a man who, when given the potential to destroy entire cities, went on the run for years at a time. He was a man who took the role of scientist on a team where he could be the heavy hitter. He was a man who was very hard to find, a man who filled the role of pacifist far more than his friends.

And he was a man Jean needed, despite her previous feelings on him, despite everything else.

(Jean was good at putting aside personal feelings for the mission -- at least until the mission was over. She’d learned that from her father.)

Avengers Tower was a fortress. Its defences had been bolstered after the siege, even if Stark had backed down remarkably quickly (and uncharacteristically quickly, Jean noted). Still, the Phoenix could move her through in an instant, could have her in the labs a couple of seconds before the alarms started blaring.

Heels clacking against the linoleum, Jean stepped out of the darkness, coming into the direct eyeline of the very scientist she’d been looking for. “Dr. Banner,” she said, holding out her hand for him to shake. “A pleasure to finally meet you. Do you mind telling Mr. Stark’s lovely computerised assistant that I’m here for a meeting before I get shot at? That wouldn’t end very well for anyone involved.”

BRUCE: Inadvertently, people who often strayed too far from the limelight always made themselves a target. One small slip up and the mystery was far more notable than any secrecy. Still, it never surprised Bruce if someone knew his name, and surprised him far more if someone knew his face when he was much more human and much less green, donning a lab coat and a pair of reading glasses.

F.R.I.D.A.Y sent out an alert that someone was in the facility — not the actual housing unit — but credentials weren’t given. Typically that meant that Tony had allowed them past the new functionality they’d put in place, working endlessly on code and bantering over F.R.I.D.A.Y’s own comments through the night. It was almost easy to fall back into the routine of it — being Tony’s tech-guy. His science guy. The person he always counted on to be sitting on the lab stools well into the night.

It had been easy to fall back into being an Avenger too.

Which was why the snake of nerves in his stomach uncoiled and hissed at the sight of an X-Men in the lab. His safe haven. His safety room. The room of safeness where he drank his tea and poured over a biochem journal when he was stressed—

“We don’t really do the gun thing anymore,” Bruce balanced around the pencil between his teeth, hands preoccupied with realigning a piece of equipment, “If you were going to get shot, it probably would have been before the big doors opened for you.” With a hiss and a click, the mechanics slid into place, Bruce turning his attention toward his guest. Tony’s guest? Jean. White? No. Grey. “Hi. Uh,” Bruce dropped the pencil, looking at his hand afterward when he thought about the possible saliva transfer. Gaze flickering over the smooth, cool one of Jean’s, he hesitantly gripped her much smaller ones in his own, “Bruce. Well. You know that. You just called me by name. Anyway, hi — what are you doing here exactly? Tony’s not here. Well, I mean, he’s here, he’s just not here.”

JEAN: The answer seemed simple to anyone on the outside, to those who still believed the carefully crafted story that Jean’s propensity for dragging herself (and others, now) from the grave was a secondary mutation meticulously honed. For all intents and purposes her resurrections had been flawless, and if she wasn’t as close to Scott as she was, she may not have noticed a difference -- but she did. She saw Erik shift, felt the cool off her husband’s skin, saw how Maddie’s smile twisted just a little too sharp. She knew it was the bird within them, knew the effect it could have, knew how it could blend things until the horrific was justifiable.

Jean couldn’t use the Phoenix to bring Erik back, but she needed him. She needed him as a father, of course -- needed him more than she’d needed almost anyone. She needed him as a leader, too. The future they had built, the legacy he left behind, that was threatened by the Black Knights. It was threatened from the inside as much as outside forces. Genosha balanced on a knife’s edge, and she needed to guarantee safety for her daughter.

It’ll be Rachel, one day. Jean wasn’t going to allow that to happen. She’d always been a pragmatist -- a soldier’s daughter.

“You’re telling me a Stark backs away from things that go boom?” Jean asked, an eyebrow raising. She managed to keep her more aggressive thoughts about Iron Man to herself, managed to train her voice to a careful tease rather than anything too condemning. She wasn’t particularly concerned about the concept of Bruce refusing her, but she always preferred to use her words than her powers -- and she wasn’t entirely sure how it would work with the Other Guy. She’d seen the wreckage in South Africa post Scarlet Witch intrusion. “See, the doors didn’t open. I scattered my molecules, went through the wall. I think that’s why your electronic friend is having a mild coronary.”

Tony’s not here. Jean held back a snort, and simply nodded instead. “I know he isn’t. I sent him to my lab in Genosha.” He was easier to distract than she thought he would be, although Jean did get the distinct impression Stark was aware he was being distracted and went with it regardless. He got the opportunity to dig around her archives, after all, so it was a win win. “I was looking for you. I have a case I’d like to get your input on.” Jean reached for her bag, pulling out a stack of papers which she set on the workbench between them. “I was looking into the Cradle,” she said. “My colleagues seemed to think it was a thing of legend, but I’m not so sure. Every myth has its place in reality, right? Now, imagine the Cradle, combined with that nanotech Stark boasted about at the Expo. Imagine it combined with the energy I can provide, or take from the people around me.”

Jean allowed the words to settle, eyes flashing with just a hint of orange as she finally met Bruce’s gaze. “I could bring my father back to life,” she said. “I could bring him back to life, but I need you to do it. What do you say?”

BRUCE: It would have been easy to get defensive - to say that there’s no way he would be stepping toe into anything that so much as even sort of resembled Cradle. That he wouldn’t be participating in playing God anymore and that his time years and years of time for all of the nonsense was over. He’d gone into hiding for a purpose after all — but the notes in his desk drawer currently, the ones marked in blue and black ink with little comments from FRIDAY as he worked, said otherwise. The ones with the exact nonsense he hated - like time-travel.

And then, the words really hit him. “You ... Erik’s dead?” Dark eyelashes fluttered, dipped in cherry red in the right light, and Bruce had to hold himself back. He strayed away from the news. Purposefully so, considering most of the time it was negative things (like the world exploding, or Bruce going on a rampage, or more terrorist attacks on meta-humans and mutants).

The ache clawed it’s way from his stomach and into his throat, and for a second the whole world flashed green, tilting sideways and knocking into his skull like the angry fists of a small child who was too large for his age. Uncontrolled, like a battering ram.

Caramel eyes flickered down to clenched fists on the metal table in front of him, indents of his fingertips marring the edges in warped zigzags where his hold was too strong. Where Hulk’s hold was too strong. His reflection in the same metal table showed that same jade at the corners of his temples too.

“How did it happen?” Using her words as a bartering chip, Bruce would get his answers. After all, she couldn’t access it without him, without Stark (and deep inside, he’d hoped that Tony would say no if Bruce asked him to).

The scientist ignored that the same rumble of hurt in the guts of him called out for Erik, his new friend, his new maybe-something if Bruce didn’t fuck it up. He would bring Erik back. He didn’t really have a choice. “How did it happen?” He repeated again, less strangled this time.

JEAN: There was that word again. Dead. So final, so complete, so absolute — to everyone but Jean Grey, it appeared. To everyone but the people Jean Grey loved the most (her best friend, her sister, her teammates and fellow soldiers … it was only a matter of time, she told herself, before they were all back on firm ground) it lasted beyond human compression, spanned centuries and even longer. Legacies lasted for a millennia but death? Death drew on even after that.

Death wouldn’t draw on for Erik Lehnsherr. Logically, they needed him. Emotionally, Jean had been half alive since he took his final breath. Scott could scarcely get words past the lump in his throat. Maddie was shifting, changing, questioning. The world wasn’t on its even keel anymore, and they had battles and wars facing them they had no idea how to handle alone — and he was her father. More than anyone else, he was her father. He raised her, cared for her, protected her. Challenged her.

Was killed, by her.

“He’s—” Jean wanted to correct him, wanted to say something like not alive or not breathing or temporarily indisposed, but those would be lies. She couldn’t feel him anymore. Neither could Lorna, who lost her due north. “He’s dead.”

And then she got a front seat to Banner in all his grief, in all she needed to know to realise she’d been exceptionally strategic in choosing him for this request. She knew this already, of course. Erik taught her compassion, taught her love, taught her how to decode messages and read faces and expressions — but he also taught her how to plan, how to read people.

How to use people, that small voice provided. Jean pushed it to the back of her mind. That wasn’t what this was. She could do it by herself, if she wanted, if she so desired. The only reason she was here was because she was trying to do things differently, trying to learn from past mistakes. Trying to be better.

(But there was still a part of her that hoped, when that flicker of green came across his irises, when his grip increased on the steel of the table. There was a. part of her that yearned for a fight, a flicker that turned into a spark. We haven’t had a challenge like this in a while, the Phoenix crowed. A good way to expel some energy. A good way to level New York, more like.)

Jean clasped her hands behind her back, wringing them together as she waited. Charles’ lessons were still clear and bright in her mind. She was strong enough to hold him back, perhaps, if she tried — but getting into his head wasn’t what she was here for. Making him comply wasn’t who Jean was.

It wasn’t who she wanted to be.

The moment passed, and she didn’t breathe a sigh of relief. She didn’t react at all. He asked the question she knew was coming, and she steeled herself, prepared for a rejection.

We could make him do it. We could. Stop holding yourself back. We have all the pieces, now, you and Madelyne. Why ask anyone else—

“It is a very long story,” Jean prefaced, “and from what I understand, you will want to know each detail. I’m not sure I can provide that much. There’s a lot even we don’t know, as X-Men — as mutants — but I’ll tell you all I can.”

Where to start?

“There is a cosmic force,” she began, “an entity I’ve only known referred to as the Phoenix Force. It is, for lack of a better term, the embodiment of life itself. It’s capable of great feats, and draws even more power from the universe if it has an appropriate host.” This time, Jean did chew on the corner of her lip, did lose some of the strength in her shoulders and confidence in her stance. “I’ve been its host since I was eighteen years old. It always protected me, brought me back when I was injured or … or when I was killed. It did the same for my husband, after Central Park. But there’s a cost.

“It takes everything in you, and makes it stronger. Anger becomes rage, affection becomes passion. Love becomes all consuming, but so does hate. And in my ignorance, I split a piece of this force, and it found a home in Erik. It … changed him. Altered him. Encouraged him to make decisions he would normally measure more carefully.”

She didn’t want to talk about the missiles, not in detail. She didn’t want to tell this man how she scarcely held her father back from committing a massacre against the very people Banner had fought alongside with the Avengers. She didn’t want to tarnish the memory that still existed of him in the public consciousness — a flawed man, perhaps, but ultimately heroic for what he had done for his people.

“He was a danger to himself and others,” she settled on. “I made the decision, as I did for myself many years ago, to end that particular threat before it went any further. We saved the world, but I lost my father. My sister lost her father. My people lost their leader, my husband lost his light, and Erik lost his life.” She sucked in a breath, brought her hands around to the front. “I hope if we can restore the latter,” Jean continued, “the rest might fall into place.”

Wishful thinking, perhaps. Wishful thinking — but God, wasn’t that what the X-Men were built on?

BRUCE: One talent that Banner and Hulk actually shared was the ability to stay quiet; read the room for tells, evaluate situations based on the now rather than the could be.  While the scientist in Bruce often disagreed with Hulk’s methods of ‘smash now, ask questions later’ there was definitely something to it.

The urge to put his fist through the metal table quelled just a few moments after it had appeared, but there was something about Jean’s story that just didn’t add up to him. So you and Scott took it into your own hands to decide whether or not he got to live or die? Bruce didn’t actually say it, but the desire was strong. Lucky for him, he had much better self-preservation than Tony or Clint, and he let the woman finish her explanation before he even tried to comment.

“You know death does not come with convenience, right? If it’s not the…” He swallowed, “Phoenix, it will be something else.” Like lack of forgiveness, or Erik coming back a lifeless zombie. There wasn’t an exact science, to resurrection. At least not yet. After all, it was one thing when you had an internal power that was able to bring sustenance back to regenerative cells, it was another when you were starting from scratch, like with the CRADLE. Bruce would have to write algorithms based on Erik’s DNA: mutated DNA.

He said so, a moment later, but his words were not dismissive in nature. Instead, they were just facts.

Bruce Banner was going to help bring back a man who was likely better off dead. But you don’t want him dead either, Banner a voice betrayed in his psyche. How obnoxious, to be betrayed by his own subconscious. The physicist had spent countless hours staring at DNA. Sorting how to evolve and demonstrate it differently when being accessed through a different source code. Pulling it apart like the strings of a handmade sweater, like he’d done with his and Hulk’s. While he was specifically oriented in gamma-radiology, it should have been less complicated to perform tasks with something much more humanoid than Hulk would ever be.

“Okay.” Bruce said finally, twirling his hands around one another with some thought, “I’ll help you.” He should have made conditions. Should have said, But if things go wrong, it’s your fault. But he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Wanted to see his friend again. Wanted to share a connection with someone who was inherently good, despite what the outside world may have perceived.

Standing from his stool, Bruce marched forward with an odd confidence, “It’s going to take me some time to write the code. I need his file. Uh, anything you can get me pre-Auschwitz.” Bruce looked at her from under his fringe, one sturdy finger pushing up the rim of his round glasses.

JEAN: No one thought of Jean Grey as the brains of the operation in the early days of the X-Men. They all had their respective roles. Scott was the stoic leader, Warren was all charisma and private school charm, Bobby was the comic relief, Hank was the scientist and Jean … well, Jean was the girl. She was the one who tried to hold them together, the person who knew instinctively when someone was upset long before she went venturing into their mind (perhaps a little too far in the early days, before she learned restraint -- before she learned that curiosity shouldn’t win out against sanctity), the one who defended Charles and softened Scott and hardened Warren in the places that mattered.

No one thought of her as anything other than the girl on the pedestal, or the body rotting six foot under. No one thought of her past the tragedy, a life ended far too soon and then violently brought back into the present, constantly within and without, years missing where she was absent from lives that moved on without her. (Bruce said death wasn’t convenient like she wasn’t the person who knew that the most, like she hadn’t lived and died more times than anyone could ever imagine). She opened her mouth to say that, to tell him what it really felt like to be dragged from the dirt, how it was better than the emptiness that Erik was lingering in now.

Death still terrified her. Every part of it, every aspect. They said it was the unknown that scared people, about what happened after. Jean knew, and she still hated it, still ran from it at every opportunity -- still couldn’t leave Erik in it, no matter what.

It wasn’t a lack of love that killed him. It was a lack of choice. She wanted to say that, too, wanted to ask Bruce if he’d ever stared a monster of cosmic proportions in the face and felt it calling to him. She thought he would understand, thought the Hulk would give them something of a shared foundation, a trust that would linger (because to have anyone near Erik, she needed to trust them immediately, wholly). Instead, she found nothing but suspicion on his face, found she was staring down the barrel of a gun instead of the compassion she had expected from his reputation.

But she wasn’t here, in the end, to make friends. She wasn’t here to be the Jean Grey that had portraits hanging in the Institute, or counselled her friends after a hard battle. She wasn’t here to be the golden girl, the shining beacon of morality. She was here for a single purpose, and she was here as a scientist.

“I have it all in here,” Jean replied, tapping the side of her temple. “I did my homework before I came to you.” Weeks and months of scouring through records and minds, trickling her way through states and countries to gain information that was long thought lost (but nothing disappeared forever. Jean knew that). “I’ve been coding it, on my personal system. I can send it through.”

The information read cold, clinical. She tried to think of it that way, as she manufactured this plan -- as she realised that it was going to work. But there wasn’t a part of Jean that could maintain that for long. She nodded once, allowed her gaze to drop from Bruce and move to the CRADLE, instead.

(It was Erik who first sat down with her, she remembered, long before the X-Men were even thought of. It was Erik who said, you’ve got a lot more in your head than you let people see, don’t you? It was Erik who first said sometimes telepaths have the most to hide, the heaviest burden to carry. It was Erik who helped her know physics so she could deconstruct it.)

It wasn’t a logical plan, but it was the only one she could make, the only choice that didn’t choke her.

“Let’s get started.”

[crystaljins]

When the ice melts | Drabble

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 3.1K

Synopsis:  At Jimin’s insistence, you have waited until you bring home that gold medal to tell him how you feel.

Can you finally say it?

Sequel drabble to When the Ice melts

Notes: I left this fic as an open ending originally because I wanted my readers to imagine how things worked out for Jimin and reader, but since you guys have been so sweet and showered my fic with so much love, I figured there was no harm in a tiny, mini sequel. It’s very half-assed and written quite carelessly but hopefull it gives you the closure you are all searching for, haha. 

Warnings: Jungkook calling people idiots. Kissing. Silly people lol.

The entire nation is holding its breath.

Every camera in the arena is trained on you. Your face is being broadcast across every major channel your country has to offer. You’re out of breath and some of your hair has dislodged slightly from its careful styling. But nothing can dim the brightness in your eyes as you beam, breath caught in your throat and heart on the verge of taking flight. Surely you will be taking home the Olympic gold medal after a performance like that.

Though technically the results won’t be announced until later, there is no doubt in anyone’s mind who the recipient of the gold medal should be. You didn’t just skate on that ice- you soared. You glided- you danced. One of the judges even raises his handkerchief to dab gently at his eyes, a movement he thinks is subtle enough to go undetected but is actually being caught by a lucky reporter. It will be broadcast as a viral video when the news over the next few days.

But you are oblivious to that, oblivious to way that you glow like something ethereal as you step off the ice. You catch the eye of your choreographer and she winks at you, proud of how you made her choreography come alive. In a few days, her phone will be ringing off the hook as people who are desperate to capture the magic of your performance want to hire the creative mastermind behind it. She will merely smile and accept the offers though she knows the truth- that while her choreography is good, only you can bring the soul and joy to it that will win you the gold medal.

So, if you are oblivious to the way your stunning performance will and has changed so many lives in that exact moment, what is it that you are thinking after having delivered a routine that will go down in the history books of the figure skating sport? You’ve always been a one-track mind kind of girl. It’s how you were able to focus solely on ice skating and nothing else throughout your youth, and no clearer does this personality trait show as in this moment: Your eyes scan the crowd and they go impossibly brighter when they find the target of their desperate search.

Jimin leans awkwardly against the wall in the kiss-and-cry area, obviously waiting for his athlete to wave off the crowd of people congratulating her and make her way towards him. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and his hip is cocked- often he rests weight on only one leg, to take the pressure off his bad leg. Large amounts of reconstructive surgery means that he can walk normally, but sometimes in cold weather he still feels the ache. Though you are exhausted and sore after such a challenging and passionate performance, your body feels light, like you are floating on a cloud as you draw nearer. He’s always handsome but in this moment he is ethereal- light catches his cheek bones and you can’t help but admire the fine set of his figure. Though he is no longer a figure skater, he carries himself with grace even off the ice, even after so many years of retirement.

His eyes flicker up as he hears your approach. Perhaps he is aware of the many cameras trained on you, of the people still reeling from your performance, but for you, all you can see is him. His face, his smile, his eyes, the way his hair falls against his brow. You love him. You love him so much- he’s been your coach for over a year now and every moment has been precious. Even though he’s grumpy and bad at expressing himself, even though the only thing he can ever think about is figure-skating… You love him. And you can finally say it. You know that he’s been pushing you away for months now, afraid of interfering with your budding career, today is the day he will finally let you say the words.

“Jimin!” You call, and his smile is warm as you rush up to him, still in your skates. He doesn’t even hesitate as you throw your arms around him, pulling you into him and holding you tightly.

“That triple lutz landing was messy.” He mutters into the crook of your shoulder and you laugh. He pulls away and glares at you with a slight frown. “Is that a joke to you? We’ll be training twice as hard from now on! No more messy landings.”

“That’s fine.” You say, with a coy smile. “That just means more time with you, right?”

Jimin tries to look stern but he can’t keep the smile off his face despite his best efforts. What comes out is a strained but fond smile as he shakes his head.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” He says and despite the harshness of his words, there is no denying the adoration in his words. Because Jimin loves you too- not only has he said it before, but he’s shown it. In the way he buys you dinner after practice, or the way that he pulls you in close for a hug when the exhaustion and fatigue of training sets in. In the way that his eyes shine with love as he watches you skate across the ice or the way that he’ll rearrange everything for something as simple as taking you to a movie. And despite his insistence that the two of you have to wait until you win your first gold medal, he does not have the strength to stay away, and now he won’t have to.

“I know.” You say gleefully. He grins.

“Let’s go get that gold medal.” He tells you softly, taking your hand gently in his. He’s always affectionate with you- he likes to hold your hand and sit close enough so that your legs press together, and yet your heart still flutters at the warm sensation of his fingers interlaced with yours.

“Wait. First I want to say it. I lo-“ You begin eagerly. The words are always on the tip of your tongue, ready to burst forth but you’ve held them in at his insistence. You can’t wait any longer.

“Just a little longer.” He cuts you off. “I want to see that gold medal around your neck first. And then tomorrow we can go for dinner and we can talk, ok?”

You frown.

“Tomorrow is so far away.” You complain and he smiles and the look he gives you is tortured.

“Believe me, (Y/N), I know.” He says with a laugh. “Now let’s go get that medal.”

You sigh and follow obediently. They’re announcing the result in a couple of hours and you suppose if you’ve waited an entire year to be able to say those three words to Jimin, you can wait a little longer.

++

The press has a field day. The Olympics are sacred- the thought that there could be corruption amidst the judges is an outrageous claim and yet not a single person can deny that you deserved the gold medal. The only proof, however, is that the person who took home the gold came from the country where the Olympics were being hosted and the videos of your dazzling performance. Despite the petition that goes up to launch an audit into the score, the authorities come away with nothing. Perhaps you were marked harder than strictly necessary- highly specific technicalities that no one has brought up for years were subtracted from your final score, but they were all rules in the book. You even get a phone call from the distraught gold medallist, promising that she would never cheat and the results were as unexpected to her as they were to you. You reassure her with a smile on your face and you respond in all the interviews with that same easy smile. People can see the difference though- they had seen the way your smile normally reaches all the way to your eyes and how in interviews after the announcement they just seem dead.

You go back home with a silver medal.

A silver medal isn’t bad. In the past, you would have been thrilled with such a result. To even have the opportunity to skate in the Olympics is so beyond your wildest dreams and to do it with Jimin, your former idol-turned-coach is even more unbelievable. The experience was thrilling and when you rewatch videos your heart still races. A silver medal is a wonderful thing to receive.

The only problem is Jimin. His eyes had gone dark and foggy at the announcement of the results, like someone had flipped a switch. All the colour had drained from his face and he had actually had to leave the room. He hasn’t contacted you since and all your texts in the week that has passed have gone unread.

You know Jimin loves you, but you also know he loves you because he fell for your skating. And with his radio silence, you can’t help but feel the doubts start to creep him. Has he decided you aren’t good enough from him, because you were unable to take home the gold medal like he expected you too? Perhaps his refusal to allow you to confess your love hadn’t been a desire to wait. Maybe he wanted to see if you could prove yourself worthy of him and you failed the trial? Perhaps he never even loved you in the first place- maybe it was only the opportunity to go back to the Olympics that he loved.

All these thoughts swirl around until your heart is heavy and dark. You can’t even bear to go to the ice rink your father owns. Instead you linger around at home, sulking in your bed, refusing to see friends or go out. If it were just the silver medal, or it were just Jimin ignoring you, you would have been able to cope. But the two combined leaves you devastated until you can’t even bear to leave your room.

It’s Jungkook who finally drags you outside. Your parents let him in and he barges upstairs and storms into your room without knocking. He doesn’t even give you the chance to change out of your pyjamas- he just grabs your wrist and drags you. You aren’t weak- you’re an Olympic athlete, after all, but you find yourself powerful against Jungkook’s muscles and you are dragged pathetically after him like a ragdoll.

“Where are we going?” You complain, still in your cow-themed pyjamas and with unwashed hair.

“Out.” Jungkook snaps. He turns to glare at you. “You haven’t even washed your hair!” He notices with irritation. “The both of you are such a handful.”

You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s your father’s ice rink he pulls up at. He turns to you after parking and frowns.

“Now, this party was supposed to be a surprise to celebrate you winning your silver medal. Jin even baked you an entire cake. But you’ve ignored all my messages all week where I was trying to get you here for the surprise and Jimin has dropped off the frickin’ radar, so here’s what we are gonna do: You’re gonna go in there and have the time of your life. I don’t care that you’re in your pyjamas and that your hair isn’t washed. You are going to have fun. And then you’re gonna go home and speak to Jimin. I won’t be at the party because I’m going to find him and beat his ass and then drag him back to yours. Now go have fun. Jin will drop you home.” And with that, Jungkook is shoving you out of his car, still in your pyjamas, and speeding off, out of the car parking lot.

You blink a few times- the sunlight is bright and no doubt you look shabby in your ratty pyjamas and uncombed hair. But the sentiment is sweet, and you feel bad for dropping off the radar as you did. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. Jungkook is right- winning a silver medal at the Olympics is something to be celebrated and you can’t keep acting like the world has ended. Plastering a genuine smile on your face, you square your shoulders and step into the building.

What greets you first is the familiar, clear and misty smell of the ice. You only get a whiff of the familiar smell before it’s replaced with the smell of smoke- dozens of party poppers go off and confetti fires into the air as the few close friends you have managed to keep with your busy schedule leap out from hiding spots to scream congratulations. Someone has strung a huge banner across the far wall of the rink and someone else has turn on the disco lights.

“Nice outfit.” Jin snickers, and you gaze around at all the people who love you enough to throw such an event and you tear up.

The party ends up being a hit. There aren’t a huge number of people and the people who are there are the kind who don’t care that you’re in your pyjamas. They’re happy if your happy and it warms your heart.

You’re having such a good time that you don’t even notice when he steps into the building, dragged along by Jungkook. You’re laughing with some old school friends with a smile brighter than the sun and Jimin’s heart aches at the sight of you. It’s been a week and yet he feels like it’s been a year. He’s such an idiot.

Jungkook shares the sentiment.

“You’re such an idiot.” He admits with a shake of his head. “I’ve literally never seen someone so whipped in my life. Go talk to her, dummy.”

It takes a rough shove from Jungkook and a moment to gather his courage, but Jimin stumbles towards you like he’s gone a week in the desert and you’re a glass of ice water.

When you spot him, the cup in your hand slips to the ground and liquid spills everywhere.

“Oh!” You cry, and another friend rushes to try and help you mop up the mess. Jimin follows, crouching down to help you, but he just ends up bumping heads with you. You cry out in pain, stumbling back and rubbing the tender spot on your scalp.

“Are you ok?” He cries, diving forward and placing his hand on either side of your face, tilting your head around at different angles to examine the area he bumped. Your hands come up to grab his wrists and gently tug them away.

“I’m fine.” You say softly. And Jimin would honestly give his soul to make sure you never look at him like that again- with equal parts heart break and distance. He’s such a fool. And Jungkook obviously beat that knowledge into him, but he’s spent the past week knowing that to be true. He’s a coward who ran away because he couldn’t handle the fact that he had failed you.

Because for you to take home a silver medal means that he’s failed as your coach. And he knows you deserve the gold and that the judges got away with it by being sneaky, and he’s so frustrated that there’s nothing he can do. And it means he’s wasted the past year not showering you with love and affection because he wanted to wait until you took home the gold medal. So he ran away because he couldn’t handle the crippling guilt and misery, and as always, you pay the price for his own emotional incompetence. And the worst part is, despite the fact that you are probably devastated at being denied a gold medal that is rightfully yours, all he can think about is he can’t bear to weight another four years to properly date you and kiss you and hold you. He doesn’t even know how he’s lasted a year. Why did he decide you taking home a gold medal had to be the starting point of your relationship? He can’t wait that long.

“Can… can we talk?” He asks softly. The friend who is helping you clean up seem to sense the tension in the air and is quick to clear out. You bite your lip before nodding.

“I… Yeah. Yes we can.” You say softly, ducking your head shyly and he can’t help the warm smile that slides onto his face at the sight of you. He missed you so much in just the short space of a week.

It isn’t hard to find a private corner, but the second you do, the words spill out before he can help them.

“I love you.” He cries. You blink a few times in surprise. “I love you so much it hurts and I’m sorry for avoiding you. I was just ashamed and couldn’t bear to talk to you because I’d let you down. And I know that probably made everything worse and Jungkook told me that you probably think I hate you, but I don’t. I hate myself because I couldn’t give you what you deserve. But I can’t hold it back or push you away any longer. I love you.”

You’re silent for a few moment, staring at him incredulously and to his immense surprise you burst out in laughter.

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” You cry in between peals of laughter. “Jungkook is right. We’re both idiots.” You say. Jimin blinks in half offence and confusion. Why are you laughing at his apology? “I’m sorry for only taking home the silver medal, but I’m not going to wait another four years to say it back.” You snap, and then before he can say anything, you’ve grabbed him by the collar and have pressed your lips firmly against his.

It’s like fireworks go off behind his eyes. Like he’s leapt into ice cold water. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and more- more thrilling than performing at the Olympics and more precious than the weight of the gold medal in his hands. And he’ll never win another gold medal in his life but he thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life happy if he can keep kissing you.

“I love you!” You cry, when you finally pull away. “And I can’t believe you made me wait that long to say it, but I won’t wait any longer.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, dumbstruck, but then a warm smile spreads widely across his face.

“Silver suits you better anyway.” He says, stepping forward to gently run his finger across the silver cat pendant resting against your collar bone. The one that you still wear even now, a year later that symbolises so much between you and him. “It matches this.” You shake your head with a laugh that is quickly cut off from him.

You’ll take home the gold medal next time. For now, the two of you have won something far better.

[virtchandmoir]

Tessa Virtue, Scott Moir pushed ice dance boundaries throughout exemplary career

September 25, 2019

The announcement was hardly unexpected, so much so that it created little buzz even on figure skating news groups.

After all, no one thought Canadians Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir would be extending their extraordinary competitive career after taking another post-Olympic leave from the sport with yet another Olympic ice dance medal (this one a second gold) on their résumé.

And retirement is what they in fact confirmed last week.

Yet there was part of me that hoped they would come back again, especially with this season’s world championships not only in their own country but also in the same city, Montreal, as their training base before the PyeongChang Olympics.

Whether they won another world medal or not in Montreal – and a recommitted Virtue and Moir were very likely to be on the podium, if not atop it – the couple would have been awash in deserved acclaim from the home crowd, as they were in winning their first Olympic title in Vancouver in 2010 with a free dance that left me spellbound then and does the same in every re-viewing.

There will undoubtedly be some celebration of Virtue and Moir’s career as they perform on the Rock the Rink tour that begins Oct. 5 in British Columbia and meanders across Canada (with one stop in Cleveland) for nearly two months, playing mainly smaller arenas in smaller cities.

It would be more fitting if they could play the big stage, the 2020 world meet at the Bell Centre in Montreal. Maybe add them to the lineup for the gala? Skate Canada would say only they will have a role at this season’s worlds.

I had done interviews last year in PyeongChang to write an appreciation for Virtue and Moir after they won two more gold medals, team and individual, but that idea hit the digital dead letter file when the women’s singles event generated an avalanche of storylines.

Now, with the confirmation of their retirement, it’s time to use some of those interviews and the history-making achievements on their record to convey and appreciate their singular excellence.

*By the numbers: Virtue and Moir are one of two teams to win two Olympic ice dance golds, one of two to win three medals (gold-silver-gold; the other team, Marina Klimova and Sergei Ponomarenko of the Soviet Union, won bronze-silver-gold.) With two team event medals, silver and gold, Virtue and Moir have a record five Olympic figure skating medals.

In 2010, they were the youngest to win Olympic ice dance gold and the first Olympic dance champions from outside Europe. In 2018, he was the fourth-oldest man, she the third-oldest woman to win ice dance gold. They had competed against their final coaches, Marie-France Dubreuil and Patrice Lauzon, at Skate Canada in … 2006.

*British ice dance team Penny Coomes and Nicholas Buckland used their 2018 Olympic short dance as homage to their compatriots, Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean, who dazzled the world with their innovative, thematic programs en route to the 1984 Olympic gold medal. Coomes and Buckland see Virtue and Moir’s skating as an extension of what Torvill and Dean had done.

“Torvill and Dean reinvigorated ice dance and took it to a place nobody had ever seen,” Coomes said. “Tessa and Scott have picked up that ball and carried it a little further.”

In the mid-1980s, there were few written rules governing ice dance, so Torvill and Dean revised the unwritten rules about programs that had left the discipline in predictable stasis.

By the time Virtue and Moir began senior international competition in fall 2006, the International Skating Union had implemented a scoring and judging system that codified everything, including ice dance.

Then a big piece of the new rules changed after 2010, with the compulsory dances eliminated. Virtue and Moir simply adapted.

“When the new judging system was introduced, you saw a lot of couples do the same things on the ice,” Coomes said. “Tessa and Scott took the rules and expanded them. Rather than stick in the box, they reached outside the box and grabbed new and innovative ideas.”

Some were in lifts created by Igor Shpilband, one of the coaches who helped them win the 2010 Olympic gold. Others came from their ability to use their surpassing skating skills to create corporeal unison that allowed two bodies to assume the moving shape of one. They were artists and technicians.

Their relationship in performance was so close and complete, especially in romantic programs, that many assumed, incorrectly, they were a couple off the ice as well.

As my colleague Lynn Rutherford wrote during her valedictory to Virtue and Moir: “Skating to the tender music from ‘The Umbrellas of Cherbourg’ or Gustav Mahler’s haunting ‘Adagietto,’ Virtue and Moir could break your heart as easily as they could spin off perfect twizzles.”

The Mahler-based free dance at the 2010 Olympics, to a piece of his Fifth Symphony, is Virtue and Moir’s transcendent masterpiece. As I wrote that night in the Chicago Tribune, they had an “exquisite interpretation … subtly underscoring the emotional power of the music and still managing eye-catching lifts and pirouettes and a striking final position worthy of ballet.”

As a whole, it was a magnificent exercise in understatement, the brilliance of simplicity, down to the costumes – she in a gossamer, white dress with some sequins from waist to shoulders, he in a white tuxedo shirt and black pants. Even in their most powerful moments of that program, what you remember is not the difficulty of the moves but the positions of their arms and bodies, of two people expressing themselves as one.

Then there was the Latin-themed short dance in 2018, an apparently incompatible mash up of “Sympathy for the Devil,” “Hotel California,” and “Oye Como Va.” Virtue and Moir made it a stunningly seamless integration of the very different music by the Rolling Stones, the Eagles and Santana, performing with so much emotional and physical energy, such sassy body heat and such finesse that their scores would allow them to take gold despite losing the free dance.

“I think Tessa and Scott have such a vast range of body of work, it’s possible for every fan and every skating person to find some program they love,” said Carol Lane, a longtime ice dance coach and Canadian TV commentator. “My favorite thing is a short dance to ‘Tears on My Pillow.’”

Virtue and Moir did that in 2004, when she was 14 years old and he 16, when they were still rising through juniors after seven years skating together.

They would compete together over a span of 21 years, so long that they would have two sets of formidable major rivals at the senior level – Meryl Davis and Charlie White of the United States until 2014; Gabriella Papadakis and Guillaume Cizeron after that. Coincidentally, Virtue and Moir trained in the same rink under the same coaches with first the U.S. team and then the French team while they were competing against each for Olympic and world titles.

The Canadians beat Davis and White for gold in 2010, lost to them in 2014, then beat Papadakis and Cizeron for gold in 2018. The three couples won nine of the past 10 world titles – three by Virtue and Moir, who skated in just five of those 10.

“Think back to Vancouver, the acrobatics they brought, the level of technical difficulty they brought … it was unheard of,” NBC Sports analyst and 2006 Olympic ice dance silver medalist Tanith White said. “Now [the 2018 Olympics] to see them incorporate back in the element of dance – it sounds silly, to put dance in ice dance – to bring in that musicality, that flexibility in their movement. That truly set it apart from anything anyone else is doing.”

*It only seems that Virtue and Moir rolled easily from one triumph to another during their careers.

Their move from Canada and Canadian coaches to suburban Detroit to train with demanding Russian émigrés Shpilband and Marina Zoueva in summer 2004 was fraught with teenage angst (she was 15, he 17) in an atmosphere Moir would describe as cold in a 2015 TED talk. From 2008 through 2010, Virtue battled compartment syndrome that would require surgery in each of those years and severely curtained her training immediately before their first Olympics.

And then there was the comeback after a two-year hiatus following the 2014 Olympics.

“We would be lying if we said we were just coming back to be part of the pack,” Moir said when they announced the return. “That’s definitely not the goal.”

The goal was to challenge Papadakis and Cizeron, who had used the Canadians’ absence to establish themselves as the world’s dominant ice dance team with world titles in 2015 and 2016. Despite losing the free dance, they beat the French for the 2017 World title, but just three months before the 2018 Olympics, the French beat Virtue and Moir in both programs at the Grand Prix Final.

It was just another challenge for them to overcome, even if it involved near complete revision before the Olympics of their free dance program to “Moulin Rouge.” The improvements were enough to cut the free dance point gap with the French in half from the Grand Prix Final to the Olympics. That was the difference between silver and gold.

“They are a team that has always gone for it,” said U.S. Olympic ice dancer Madison Hubbell, who trained with Virtue and Moir from 2016 to 2018. “They never seem to play it safe with their elements, with how difficult they make their programs. They always want to be better and they don’t compare themselves with other teams.”

The record books tell us Virtue and Moir had unsurpassed success. They slipped away quietly from the sport in which they are among the greatest ever. Their incomparable skating already has passed the test of time.

—NBC Sports

[italianfish]

Here’s some things that I’ve overheard recently

- That bridge was created by erosion

- Holy tolino that’s a nice tree!

- Ivy! There’s the guy we don’t like (Trump in a car)

- Why wouldn’t you want to be king? You could get corgis, they’re adorable

- That’s not an allergy, that’s a life choice

- Are you that one guy? Are you DongleMc DongleSon?

- Woooo! CHEMEX!

- THE FURIES ARE COMING

- I NEED A BOYFRIEND AND A SWEATSHIRT

- I wonder what animal that is? Oh wait, it’s a log

- Just a cone, no ice cream. I don’t like ice cream

- My chicken BLT came without the chicken!

- I should have kept the headband from the tampons

- You’ve been reduced to a codename

- Hug, Marry, Exile, the Brucified sleepover game

- It’s just the toes

- Parf Tarts

- It’s crispy?!?!

- When I’m like, 60, I’m going to do drugs

- What really is life without watching Bob Ross?

- 13 YEARS!!!

- Stacy’s mom is Parker’s grandma~

- EmBruce it

- It’s not a water break, it’s a hydration break

- That bird is using a crosswalk!

- I don’t know any colleges in Massachusetts!

- What even is frick without frack

- I’m emotionally offended by your haircut

- That’s like a cat fart

- Someone just shat

- I’M NOT A CHILD PREDATOR DEANNA!!!

- I’ll sue that movie, they stole my idea (Just finished watching Hotel Transylvania 3)

- See, Amanda. That’s your noise

- My mom told me that if you sleep with your phone under your pillow you get fat

- If he were gay he’d be adorable

- He’s racist to chairs

- Flarion is my boob

- Don’t throw the ball at the referee, it’ll hurt his feelings

- Fuck yeah, your name’s Keith

- Can you deep throat a firecracker?

- Your earlobe is soft

- I would sell my toes for my old hair

- It’s like eating a period, NO

- What a funny looking animal (Giraffe)

- Giraffes are the most ridiculous animals

- Ew, keep your ebola away from me

- Look at that glass shard, that must be uncomfortable

- Do sloths have ears?

- Lip jellies freak me out

- A: I have three boobs (Sloth in shirt) B: I have uh.... Arthritis

- Instagram knows I’m lonely

- Knock on any Nonna’s door and tell them you’re Jewish and they’ll pity you and throw you a feast

- But this time it’s just the nose

- I want Granny panties

- Why do we only have confidence when our shirts are off?

- Why is an 8 year old twerking on my leg

- She has curves, you have rectangles

- I’m depressed, give me your water

- Dude! I look like a freaking lion!

- My loofa unraveled...

- I’m eating ramen with a singular coffee straw

- These walls better be soundproof (Amanda loudly singing in the background)

- I’m ready for my 4am Taco Bell runs

- Wifi in Spanish is wee-fee

- I didn’t see the body

- We should crochet together

- Yeah! I was a baby model.

- I don’t know if he likes me or if he’s just the gay best friend

- Have you pooped this week? You need to poop

- You’ve got all your limbs and you’re ready to go

- I need affection

- Diego’s eating rocks again~

- Wait. You’re instagramming my dog?

- I love letting people know what I’m up to

- It’s so funny, it’s like the ying and the yang

- You’re in my world now Grandma

- Two nipples? I don’t need nipples

- You are one gassy fellow

- You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up on our side of the bus

- I can never tell if you’re just depressed or listening to music

- I’ve got a photo shoot coming up for a calendar, for hot teachers with 6-packs. I’m October

- 38 on rotten potatoes!

- I’m hungry, I’m delirious

- DON’T PINCH MY CHUB

- I love clapping thighs in the evening

- Dude, I’m so ready to mingle

- Do you have a magician book

- Let’s taste those minerals

- The sauce is forever

- Why is everything so straight

- The right nipples don’t deserve rights

- We used to have a zebra and he was vicious

- Very important, I forgot shoes

- You look like a lumber snack

- A: I’m the only one here who looks like a hobo B: Really? Say that again A: We can be hobos together

- Woah dude! Can we take a picture of you? *Truck next to the bus*

- What were you guys doing? Bathing yourselves in the toilet?

- I want to be those people in Wii sports (The background characters that make the noises)

- Then we can have a dance party in a prison cell!

- Most of the bible sounds like gay fanfics

- It’s Frozen all over again!

- I have my metal bus on the straw

- My mom told my Dad to not be a weenie

- I’m going to build my house doors really short so you can’t come in

- Do you want to be black with me?

- Are you the black man?

- How did chutes and ladders go sexual?

- What if there was a rotisserie chicken hanging from the ceiling

- No one said Californians are smart, they’re just hippies who smoke weed

- Stop losing me in airport bathrooms

- What’s with those muscular kneecaps

- Queers doesn’t shake hands

- I’m drowning! I’m not even in the water

- Is this baptism?

- Breakfast doesn’t deserve grace

- It’s not just airport bathrooms

- Ice Age, watch it, absorb it

- I call first waz

- If you’re saying waz you’re not fancy

- I have so many bodily fluids to get rid of

- Don’t eat the lotion samples

- Why are our shoes not curved

- I’m just a fat guy so everything is delicious

- My name is Gay Fieri

- *Monotone iCarly theme song*

- I love Chipoodle

- The others are just Bat-ships

- You ever tie a banana to a tree?

- Can we have a fashion show?

- I’m gonna waz myself

- That’s the Death Star again

- Why do you have glitter on you?

- I smoke the mara-ja-wanna

- I have a gelato emergency

- This is our entertainment for the day (Watching a (probably) crazy man dance)

- I have a lot of questions about pottery

- Ever since I was a small child I have found myself goo-goo-ga-ga

- There are too many cans

- We need to stop canning beans

- Forks are way better than spoons

- I hate spoons

- Do you not want two hours of smooth jazz

- A man just stole my nut

- That’s a really bad name for a gay bar

- Is your tongue comfortable in your mouth

- I’m a penguin enthusiast

- He kept force feeding me marshmallows

- Why would you judge a girl by her neck?

- Are there shampoo bars?

- Why would you want a shampoo bar?

- Don’t burn down the house

- Halloween is my day

- You want to be hydrated?

- Are you kidding me? Right in front of my salad?

- We can still cartwheel into a fiery ball

- It’s your last day of camp, why are you trying to land a plane

- There’s a scale from dude to bro to sir

- Gotta vacuum the bird

- I’m teaching my rabbit spanish

- Ok, who got the cheese on a bun???

- I feel like a wet lasagna

- You can get a star for Jazz???

- I have 3 bottles of hand sanitizer

- A- We make children cry! B- NO WE DON’T

- A- Can I have chicken on a plate? B- Chicken on a plate? A- Chicken on a plate

- I want to go to band to get sweaty

- Proactive, it helps your face

- The cult meeting is next week from 2-7

- This is so vegany

- I HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THE SONG! NOT THE BEATLES!

- I have shrimp for later

- It burns my eyes, I love it

- It’s not that we hate you, it’s just that sometimes we can’t stand you

- Locked and loaded for a photoshoot first period

- This chalk keeps following me

- Kinda like a Starbucks atmosphere

- How dare she learn how to drive

- You have to sing our anthem with us

- It fits right into the squiggle

- I’m immune to hot sauce (Downs little cup of hot sauce)

- How was fake meatloaf?

- Can you train a fish?

- I haven’t worn pants in a year

- It smells like yogurt

- I have ties for every holiday

- There’s no laws on the moon, so like, you could kill someone???

- Optional means I don’t do it

- I’m gonna cook your dog!!!

- Is that where we almost went to park jail?

- We don’t condone sporting

- I want to turn orange

- Let’s make a buzfeed quiz that tells you what bridge you are

- (In Spanish) Where is the milk?

- If silence is gold, duct tape is silver

- A: So, what are you guys doing? B: Drugs.

- Young successful jewish boy

- A: I’m fun size! *Friend laughter* B: I’m just short...

- A: Where’s my medal??? B: Up your ass

- I’m a leech

- If anyone’s getting salmonella, it’s going to be me

- Does it involve backflips?

- I get to see all the little children getting confused as you disappear into a chair

- I think someone stole my balls by now

- A- A plastic knife can cut another plastic knife B- Why did you cut a plastic knife? A- Dedication!

- A- Oh my god! B- What does this have to do with god? C- *Whispering* Everything

- You’re probably going to die of liver

- I’m a five year old! You can’t have that profanity in here!

- Hey kids get in the van, we’ve got free wifi

- That’s worse than 10 babies hanging from a tree

- Are you from the piggers of creation???

- A- You’re like an old married couple B- (From the distance) He started it!

- I am a Jesus Christ in a person!

- YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MANY CHROMOSOMES THAT COST ME!!!

- I will implant a chip in your ankle! And you won’t know which one!

- I’M AN AVATAR! AIR! (Nothing happens) AIR! (Still nothing)

- When I was on a plane, we started dropping 200 feet at a time, the funny thing was that half of the plane had just gotten their drinks so half the plane was soaked

- Is Christianity a cult?

- A- Do you have experiences with holes B- (Very Unsure) Yes

- I’m her bitch, not your bitch

- He has the IQ of half a ferret

- A- Did you read the game manual? B- The gay manual??

- I want the pleasure of whipping you

- One time I poured a glass of apple cider vinegar and I drank it

- I changed my name to Johnyay West

- Too much damage done to the duner

- On a scale to 1 to Bill Cosby

- Ariana Grande is a criminal

- A- It’s sticky B- Can I take that out of context? A- No

- YOU ZIP TIED HIM TO A CHAIR?!

- It’s half past a freckle

- I need the crotch

- I don’t have imaginary friends. I don’t have friends.

- It’s like a mini fridge for pillows

- You hurt yourself with a stationary elbow

- My parents met at Burger King

- A- What’s the capital of Ohio B- Arkansas...?

- A- What do you do after school? B- Eat C- Sleep D- Cry

- Ask for cocaine, not Coca-Cola

- HOW HAVE YOU NOT TOLD US YOU MAKE STAINED GLASS?!

- You stole my meme bro

- A- Where you the one who drank chocolate sauce? B- (Seemingly proud) Yes.

- OW! MY CALVES!

- The Kardashians are necessary in our society!!!

- I feel like a homeless prostitute

- Ya wanna share a fork

- Now you have a pile of hot cheese

[wallstagram]

january - march fic recs

this might be a long one, so hold on for the ride! below are some of my favorite, favorite, favorite fics that i’ve read so far in 2019 - some are new works, some are tried and true ones that I always come back to for inspiration, and some just make my heart so happy, that they made it on this list! 

all authors are listed by their AO3 name but linked to their tumblr, if I could find it!

:: J A N U A R Y ::

honestly, such a busy month for me! i spent most of that month focused on school and working on my own fics, but after having a look at my history, these were the works that stood out as favorites!

like an endless summer by objectlesson 

Or, Louis is a riding instructor at a summer camp, and Harry is a fellow counselor who he’s been successfully managing his crush on for the last two summers. That is, until Harry shows up this year leveled up and lethal, and all Louis’s formerly perfected veneer of nonchalance melts like a popsicle in the sun. 

OKAY. This story is wonderful. I’m such a sucker for summer camp AU’s, and this one is so drawn out and well done. At 87k, it gets slow burn right without becoming boring. Sweet and sexy moments about facing fears and finding love with all your best friends around. I’m also here to rec the sequel palms reflecting in your eyes because YES.

hymns for restless stars by turnyourankle

Every Holiday season Louis has his pupils write down their Christmas wishes for class. He's read almost every wish under the sun, but one girl's wish takes him by surprise. It's for her uncle not to be alone anymore. It's not a wild wish by any means, but Louis had no idea that former teen idol Harry Styles was lonely in the first place.

this is such a sweet, sweet work that is so near and dear to my heart. It touches on some themes that I feel are downplayed by the fandom (but that rant is for another post, haha) so it was lovely to see it done so well. I just love the characterization and how the whole thing flows from beginning to end. It may be ~38k, but as a 25-chapter fic, I’d consider it an easy read over time, and a story I fully recommend. 

:: F E B R U A R Y ::

a firm believer and a warm receiver by objectlesson

a few months ago, Louis had his first heat. It was no big deal, aside from it being awkward and weird and all the other things it was supposed to be. He figured he would present as an omega, so he wasn’t exactly surprised or anything.

But then, last week, Harry had his first heat, too.

---

Or, the omega/omega sleepover fic no one asked for but y'all really, really need.

so - i’m all about non-traditional pairings, and the ABO verse has been full of amazing ones! While this story is shorter than a lot of my recs (at ~ 11k) it is wonderful and the characterization of H and L is wonderful. Highly recommend this one for anyone who likes ABO.

leave your mark on me by fullonlarrie 

When Chef Harry Styles’ unbonded Omega designation threatens to derail his career, he does the only thing he can, and goes in search of a black market bond.

wow. okay. so this is one of those stories that - it just blows my mind that more people aren’t talking about how amazing this is! it weighs a bit more heavy on the oppressive realities of ABO for omegas, and i love falling into a version of ABO that I could really envision being an alternate reality. I love the style of it, and the pace is exactly what it needs to be. About 32 k, nice slow burn. (if you haven’t seen a theme, I love a good slow burn!)

from, your secret admirer by flicker_album

Or the one where Louis is Harry's Tumblr crush so he sends him secret admirer messages for Valentine's Day

I really love the idea of fanboys!H&L. I loved the real-world touches, and I think the prompt is so stinking cute! It’s a nice, light read. I thoroughly enjoyed the style and just the dialogue set. 

fugue by iwillpaintasongforlou

Harry falls asleep a 17 year-old who lives in Cheshire and is probably rockstar Louis Tomlinson's biggest fan. He wakes up 24 with a wedding ring on his finger, two kids, and Louis Tomlinson attempting to wake him up with a blow job. The doctor calls it organic retrograde amnesia, says he might never get back the last seven years of his life. The only thing that feels the same is how he feels when Louis touches him, and maybe that's enough to make him fall in love all over again

i really think of this fic a lot more than i’d care to admit. there are a few (in my opinion) classics in the fandom that I think everyone should read, and this is surely one of them. there’s the perfect blend of angst and falling in love, dolloped with domesticity, learning to trust each other again, smut, and happiness. i often get so lost in this work that I imagine it’s much longer than it really is (at 17k) but it’s enough to really sink your teeth into and get lost inside of. when i need to be filled up as a writer, these are the kind of works i go to - the ones that have stood the test of time and still are wonderful every single time I come back to them.

:: M A R C H ::

somewhere between a minute and a lifetime by dinosaursmate

“Is your passport definitely in your bag?” “It’s definitely there,” Harry huffed. “I’m not stupid.” “I never said you were, love. I’m just asking from experience.” “It happened once.” Louis pressed his lips together and wheeled his suitcase towards the front door. “And… you really aren’t wearing a plug? You swear?” Harry finally cracked a smile. “I swear.” --- Harry and Louis go on their first big holiday, and they have a few surprises for each other along the way.

so I recommend the whole series, but this third installment is surely my favorite, and the one I come back to. i love holiday fics, and there’s something about this spunky couple that has me following every single word the author has written. I love how witty Harry can be in this, and how nothing about their holiday is picture perfect. all to say - for a smut-centered fic, it knows how to balance an amazing plot and really keep me wanting more. it’s also a nice length at 20k, that I feel satisfied but not like i’ve been reading for forever. i’m really hoping a part four is on the way!

the second hand unwinds by fullonlarrie

Louis Tomlinson is one of the first members of NASA's top secret Chrono Exploration Program. When things go wrong and he's sent further back in time than planned, he has no other option than to show up on his ex-boyfriend's doorstep.

this story fucked me up in the best way possible!!! I really read it all in one go, set it aside, and came back to it. Skimmed for the parts i needed to read again, read the entire thing again, and since I read it, it always comes to mind as one of the first fics I’ll recommend out to someone. i already babbled about my adoration for this fic in the comments, so i’ll let you go see for yourself! it’s ~52k of pure gold.

tell me this is paradise by quickedween

Harry Styles has been lucky in love but unlucky in the bedroom with all of her previous boyfriends. When her best friend Niall finds out that she's never had an orgasm, she knows just what Harry needs: Louis Tomlinson. Niall sets Harry up to get sorted out.

if you asked me five weeks ago if i’d ever have a girl!direction fic in my list, I would’ve laughed. for some reason, i’ve never been able to fully immerse myself in the plot, really get into it. I just - I couldn’t take it seriously. until this. this fic rocked my entire world. it’s the shortest fic on my list at ~ 5k, so i’ve read it multiple times and would seriously recommend based off the characterization, amazing smut, and the fact that it turned me into a girl!direction believer. (AND it inspired me to go on a similar journey to the one Harry has - but that’s for a different post!) but thank you for converting me to girl!direction, quickedween!

like a siren in the night by whoknows

“There is an infestation in my home,” Louis hisses, righting himself quickly and pushing his way past Harry, heading directly for the kitchen. He’s rather haphazardly dressed himself, a coat thrown on over a loose flannel shirt and black pants, slippers on his feet.

Harry resists the urge to sigh, closing the door and trailing behind him slowly. “What kind of infestation?”

For all he knows, Louis is going to claim that there’s a ghost infestation. Harry has no idea what the end game is here – all he knows is that Louis has found at least three complaints a week to bring up since he’s been living on Harry’s property, and he’s been living here for six months.

It’s way too many fucking complaints, is what Harry is saying. Especially when most of them are ridiculous to start with.

oh, my heart. i love this fic so much. it’s ABO, and it has the perfect level of angst, love, and everything in between. i love the imperfect relationship between H and L - and i’m sure you will too! such a darling, sexy, and wonderful work! (~25k)

salt and the appetite by sadaveniren

Aka Harry, a popular BDSM blogger, writes a negative review about Louis’ club. Louis wants to have a chance to make it up to him.

so i’m a huge fan of anything sada writes, but the no control club series itself is so amazing! i always come back to it for something that I know won’t let me down, that is steamy and perfect! this work that starts off the series is 14k of smut and all sorts of fun, sexy stuff that H and L get up to. if you haven’t already read it, you must be living under a rock. go check it out!

so, that’s the list! thank you to @sadaveniren, @becomeawendybird, @fullonlarrie, @dinosaursmate, @canonlarry, @flicker-album, @horsegirlharry, and @turnyourankle for writing such masterpieces! stay tuned for my next rec list! if you survived reading this entire post, you deserve a medal

[simplyyeol]

ten out of ten

word count: 3.638

pairing: kim jongin x reader

genre: fluff! sports college! au (weightlifting fairy kim bok joo, anyone?)

author's note: hello! it’s me ;; lol, um so I was supposed to finish this sooo long ago for the valentine’s day collab with @lucyandthepen @baekbuns @jiminiesthighss and @starcrossed8 ! read there parts at @v-daycollab, they’re all so good and fluffy and uwu. anyways i hope you like it!!

+

“I’m so sorry, Jongin.” You muttered into the phone for the millionth time in just the past five minutes of your phone call with your boyfriend.

“It’s not your fault, that you got sick. We can just go on a date next weekend and say it’s Valentine’s day.”

You chuckled before coughing, a nervous cough more than a sick one. He’s so thoughtful. The guilt slowly started to creep up you.

“Okay, I’ll let you rest, Y/N. Get well soon.” His sweet words made you wince. You really hope karma won’t beat you up for this.

The screen went back to your basic wallpaper. The call was over.

You made eye contact with your roommate who was lounging on her bed, hugging her Pikachu plush, before you screamed. Or well, more like a girly shriek that bounced off the empty walls of your shared apartment as your feet frustratedly kicked the empty air wishing that your luck would go and fuck itself. You’d somehow lost balance on the bed (anything was possible with you) and tumbled off the bed, a loud thud echoing throughout the empty room. You clenched your hand, void of your phone as you’d thrown it somewhere else immediately after the phone call ended. Hopefully, you didn’t throw it too far. You couldn’t bear to starve to fix a broken screen, again.

You struggled to come out of the blankets that you’d wrapped yourself in (claiming that if you acted like a sick person maybe you’d sound more like one) and scrambled to the wall mirror attached on the wall next to your bed.

A gasp left your mouth as your fingers brushed over the big, red, disgusting, and very ugly pimple that resided on the tip of your nose.

“Did it get bigger?” Your roommate questions from her bed.

A shriek comes out in response. You cover your mouth, muttering, “Why is it so big?” You poke at it a few more times, careful not to touch it too much, reading somewhere that you should absolutely not touch a pimple if you don’t want it to scar.

“Wow, it’s so big.”

Min, your roommate, ducks as your hand flies straight towards her cheek. You almost smack her in the face but she’s always been blessed with fast reflexes, part of the reason why she has trophies stacked upon one another in your shared medal case, well, cabinet. If it wasn’t for that, she’d be sporting a good hand-sized mark on her face. More specifically, your hand-size mark.

You smack her on the shoulder a few times because she scared the living shit out of you (how does she move that fast?) still careful with your strength as not to hurt her (again) before you jump back into your bed and bury your face in your pillow. It takes a minute for you to calm down, and flail some more about how bad your luck is, and for Min to recover from her ‘near death experience’ (she deserved it) before she comes over to pat your head and attempt at soothing away your loneliness that you’ve been misfortuned with on Valentine’s Day.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have a Valentine either.”

“Oh shut up, you chose to be lonely.” Your voice is muffled by your pillow so it sounds more like gibberish than anything.

Min was a part of the swim team at your college. With both of you attending one of the grandest sports colleges in Korea, that fact alone made her “popular with the guys.” Her words, not yours. She was also pretty and had an amazing body from swimming every day, every week, every hour. You, on the other hand, were just a measly Taekwondo major. You know how to swing a good kick, maybe flip a few people, but you envied Min’s abs, and thighs, and her extremely model-like physique. It’s not like you didn’t have any muscles or nice looking features, they just paled in comparison to Min’s. The girl eats so much, you wonder where it all goes. 

You’d gotten here on a scholarship and Min had been scouted from a national competition. You’d been lucky to just have been runner up in a grand Taekwondo competition that your teacher had signed you up for. Thank god for the fact that people do (sometimes) look at people other than first.

It's been three years since you’ve started college. Three years of hard work, training, bodybuilding, sweat, tears. Being a third year at the college, had its perks, though. For example, not having to do your seniors laundry just because they’re older and they told you so. Those people who take the notion of respect and use it in that way piss you off. A lot.

Maybe it has something to do with Taekwondo since respect is a major factor that needs to be taken into consideration when doing the sport, or you were just that amazing and great of a person. You lean more towards the latter option.

You’re embarrassed to say that outside of your own department, people basically knew you as the ‘Taekwondo major who fights everyone.’ Min’s words, not yours. She'd told you this one fateful day when a group of freshmen guys scurried away when you made eye contact with them. 

The first time you actually encountered Jongin, your boyfriend, who you’d just bailed on over a phone call, was at the beginning of this year. About nine months ago (you weren’t counting or anything, just an estimation off the top of your head, totally). You’ve obviously seen him around (he’s literally in the same year and college as you, how could you not?). A part of the swim team, with everyone knowing who he was with just his name, and he was cute too. A swimmer with good looks? Kim Jongin has all the women swooning.

It was a good afternoon, after you ate lunch, walking to practice, you and your teammates filling up the silence about how nice the Hapkido team’s, Byun Baekhyun’s kick was in his latest match. And his ass, but that doesn’t matter (the guy’s got a really cute butt, though, good for him). But in all honesty, you all should get a few tips from him.

A man around the age of forty, you assumed he was one of the teachers or mentors just from his looks, but he acted like a total asshole, walked up to you and started ordering you around.

“Finally! I need you all to take these chairs to the big stadium!” He shouted at your team. It was only the third years, and you all were only passing from the cafeteria to get to your gym. Why would he ask random students out of the blue?

You step forward, seeing no one else in the gym. “Are you talking to us?”

He waved his clipboard in the air and huffs in annoyance. “Well, who else? You guys are students here aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah. Are you a teacher here? I’ve never seen you here before.” You cross your arms over your chest, as he eyes you up and down.

“Obviously, now stop asking questions. They need these in the big stadium before one-thirty.”

“No one told us that we had to do this.” You sneered, mocking him. “We don’t even know who you are and we’re Taekwondo majors. We don’t even lift weights, and you expect us to take all these to the stadium across the school?”

You feel someone elbow you in the side. “We can just take them, it’s fine—“

“Yeah, listen to her, you girly. At least she shows respect to her sensei.”

“Sensei?” You spit. “I only give respect to a sensei that deserves it.”

“Hey! Hey! What’s going on here?” You turn to the side to see the swim coach walk into the gym with his whole team following behind him. You barely, not even for a millisecond, lock eyes with Kim Jongin who was right next to him before you turned away, embarrassment finally flooding through your veins. “Y/N? Are you picking another fight?”

Embarrassment never lasts with you however, when you're wrongly accused.

“Wait, wait, wait a second.” You spread your arms and throw a glare at the man. Coach Kim awaits your excuse this time. You could see how bored he looks already and here you are thinking that you’re on good terms with him. “He told us,” you point to your teammates, “to take these,” your finger points to the stacks of chairs, that looked to be about five hundred chairs, “to the stadium.”

Mr. Kim chuckles under his breath. “That’s it? He’s the performance director, Y/N, and I’m glad that you took precautions, but—“ he turned to the rest of your teammates, “none of you have ever seen him before?”

One of the smaller third-year girls spoke. “I think I’ve seen him around the dorms a few times.”

“See! You should’ve said that earlier, so all this wouldn’t have happened!” He clapped his hands in a very teacherly manner. “Now all is settled! Just help him out this once, yeah?”

You scoffed but didn’t say anything.

“Great! I’ll see you all later.” He clapped your back and waved at the other girls before making his way towards the exit with the rest of the team following him, whispering among themselves. You really hoped that they weren’t talking about you.

“Now that all’s settled—“ the performance directed twirled his pen, very uncoordinatedly you may add, as it flew out of his hand and landed behind him. He turned around to pick the pen up when you heard his pants rip. 

He looked back, surprised, but his hand was too late to cover what everyone saw.

You gasped. Another girl screamed. Before everything went to chaos.

Hot pink had peeled out from the rip and you were clearly able to see the strands of a fucking thong coming out from his pants. You grabbed a chair and used it to shield you from him, when he turned around and, and had the audacity to smirk at you.

“Do—don’t come closer!” You stuttered, as you shoved the chair towards him, a slight tremble visible in your voice. “Someone go call Coach Kim!” He stepped closer, hands raised wearily, and a chorus of screams rang throughout the gym.

At that exact moment, with you clutching the chair in front of you, a few girls behind you, and you cowering in front of a completely disgusting psychopath, Jongin came running in with Coach Kim hot on his heels. It was all a blur from there.

Everything was taken care of cleanly in the end, however, you were very much scarred. Never in your life had you thought there were people who actually did those type of things.

“Hey, are you okay?” You looked up from the office chair to see Jongin, looking at you. Was he... worried? No, that’s ridiculous. He didn’t even know you.

“I—um, yeah. Just a... weird day.” You winced. Great, when you really needed to be good at words you turn into an ugly mess.

“Yeah, weird is an understatement. Come on, I’ll walk you to your dorms.” He held his hand out for you, which you embarrassingly didn’t see. If you hadn’t seen him awkwardly wipe his hand on his jacket when you got up you wouldn’t have even noticed.

You couldn’t help but think that maybe it was because you were a Taekwondo major. People never saw you as feminine or girly. They reserved their hands to be held by art, literature, dance, rhythmic gymnastics types of girls. Not by a ‘strong and boyish’ Y/N. You also weren’t too bad looking. Nothing over the top, but you could look good if you tried. You just didn’t try seeing that no one really cares in the end.

He held the door open for you on your way out with you mumbling a small thank you before silence loomed over the two of you. You were jittery, finding the silence uncomfortable before he spoke up.

“I guess Coach kept only you and me for the witnesses.” He muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets to shield him from the cool evening breeze. Everything had taken longer than expected, well this has never happened to you, so it’s not like you could speak from experience, but from the times you’ve visited the main office, this is the longest it has been.

“Yeah, I’m glad he didn’t bring the other girls into it.”

“Yeah.” He paused. “I think that was really brave of you.”

Your head whipped towards him before you laughed.

Your laugh echoed throughout the empty courtyard, and maybe, the shock had finally started filling to you from the horrible day you just went through You may have heard Jongin’s join in with you in the middle, but no, he probably found you even weirder, or crazy or possessed. It’s happened before. “Please? Me? Brave?” You scoffed. “I was literally shaking.”

He lightly nudged your side. “I’ve never seen someone hold a chair that confidently. Ten out of ten from me.”

You chuckled. “Thanks, Jongin.”

It all went uphill from there. Morning chats when you didn’t have class and accompanied Min to the pool, you’d spot him. Small talks led to you going out eating together, watching movies, and even shopping whenever you felt like it, as he needed a girl’s advice on what to wear for another one of his blind dates. He really was popular from how many times that had happened. Obviously, you were jealous, after growing a small crush on him. Well, it’s not exactly your fault, who wouldn’t be able to.

You only started dating last month, with you fumbling over your sentences for at least an hour after he confessed to you (apparently those blind dates that he needed to get ready for were excuses to go out with you. Please, you absolutely melted when he confessed). Because Kim fucking Jongin confessed to you. Sure, you had one boyfriend before in high school, but everyone knew that Insik was a tool. So, that doesn’t really count.

+

Lounging on the couch, stuffing popcorn in your face with blankets thrown around all over you, you jumped when you heard a thud coming from your room. You jolted upright, confused as to if something fell or someone broke into your house and was about to kill you.

Min left earlier for practice. Checking the time, you deemed it was about time she got back. Could she even help if a thief broke in? What if it wasn’t even a thief? What if it was a pedo—you choked just at the thought of it.

No other sound came from the room, but before you could call the coast clear, you had to make sure. Throwing the covers off of you, you padded to your room, your hand reaching out to turn on the light—

“Boo!”

The scream that flew out of your mouth would no doubt have been heard by your neighbors. Your back hit the wall, hands coming up to cover your mouth when you looked up to see if you could recognize the person who’s about to steal all your money and kill you. But then your eyes met those familiar, warm brown ones and you screamed even louder.

“Jongin?” You shriek, enraged. “What the fuck?” You grab a pillow that just happened to be on the floor next to you and chucked it as hard as you can at him.

He doesn’t look phased, a small smile spreading on his lips. You cross your arms, an unconscious pout forming on your lips as you send a glare in his direction.

He slowly walks towards you and you back away, suddenly feeling trapped. What’s happening—why is he—why does this feel like one of those movies where the guy traps the girl against the wall and kisses—

Your own foot betrays you. It knocks itself into your other foot sending you tumbling, and you obviously grab onto the closest thing available to steady yourself, which is obviously Jongin.

A stream of curses flies past your lips as your back makes contact with the floor and Jongin collapses on top of you. On top of you. On top of you.

You can feel your face flaring when you look down feeling something on your chest. That was Jongin. And his face was buried in your neck.

The door opens at that exact moment and your roommate enters. She analyzes the situation before making a move.

“I’m out.”

Both you and Jongin’s head turn to her, finally noticing her presence when her back is turned as she closes the door.

“Wait! Min—“

Jongin stumbles as he scrambles off of you, and you cough way too much for normal, your face probably tomato red at the moment. You hear the front door close, and you internally throw a roundhouse at your friend. It was not what it looked like.

“Well... um.” You look towards Jongin who’s running his fingers, distractedly through his hair, a sheepish look on his face. “I brought soup.” You look towards the lunch box that tumbled from his hands during your fall. You make eye contact, then burst out laughing. The soup didn’t survive the fall either.

+

“You know that pimple looks cute on you.”

You gasp handing flying to your nose to cover it. It’s been a few hours since Jongin crashed at your place. You’d totally forgotten that you were supposed to go on a date with him and bailed on it because you had a ginormous monstrosity on your nose and wanted nothing to do with him until it was gone.

“Is that why you said you were sick?” Your eyes widened when you realized that you were caught.

“N—no! I’m actually sick!” You faked a cough just for an extra measure.

He suddenly leaned towards you and you felt a wave of deja vu wash over you as you leaned back. It seemed you leaned a little too far back, as you almost fell off the couch. His hand shot out and grabbed your shoulder, to which he stilled you before his hand cupped your face. You looked back at him wide-eyed, his eyes holding yours for what felt like an eternity. You could feel your face burning up under his touch.

He hummed while pulling away. “Yeah, you’re not sick.” You scoffed, turning away from him, letting your hair drape over your face hoping he couldn’t see you become tomato red. Confrontation is not your friend. Jongin looking at you like that is not your friend either.

You cupped your own face with your hands wishing that your cool fingers could calm your red blood cells. Any more and you’d burst. “You can’t go all up and close to me like that without askin—“you muttered turning around and almost screaming again when you saw just how much space was between the two of you.

With both of you on your couch, your blankets covering the both of you. He was almost hovering over you, leaning on to the couch arm for support, as to not fall (unlike you, who almost fell earlier, he has precautions). His breath fanned over your face and your eyes searched him, frantically. You had no idea what was going on.

His voice was no louder than a whisper when he spoke. “Do I need permission—“ and then he swooped down and kissed you.

You’ve only kissed one other guy before and then, it was mediocre. You deduced that maybe, that was just how kissing was. You didn’t see the appeal that all the other girls talked about. It was more of an awkward mouth sucking, lip biting, and teeth clashing kind of experience. It was horrible, per se. However, today you find out that appeal that all the girls would talk about it. It wasn’t kissing that had no appeal, it was the tool that you had kissed. He was nothing compared to Kim Jongin.

It was a gentle kiss. his lips pressed to yours, fingers playing with the baby hairs that framed your face. Your hands felt awkward placed on your lap, as they started moving upwards, exploring his broad chest. Does he work out that much, good Lord—

He pulled away slowly, his forehead touching yours, causing your hands to still. Too bad. You sighed, lips parting and opened your eyes. A small smile formed on your lips when you saw his eyes flutter open an almost dazed look coating them. “—to do this?” He finished his sentence and you only just registered what he said before.

You gasp, flabbergasted. He kissed you like that to just ask if he needs permission to—! You smacked his chest hopefully not too hard, but still enough to make up for him teasing you.

“Ow,” he whined. “I come to bring you food when I thought you were sick, and then I find out that you bailed on me, and now you’re abusing me.” He pouts, and you see it as one of the cutest things in the world. He perfectly resembles a kicked puppy. You literally coo on the inside. He’s too adorable for his own good.

You open your mouth to retort but he cuts you off with another chaste kiss. You frown at him because you forgot what you were going to say.

“It’s alright, though. I think this is a pretty good Valentine’s day. Ten out of ten from me.” He leaves you speechless, and you can’t even say anything when he winks at you before he brings you into another kiss.

It doesn’t really count as a date. But, you agree. You'd give this ‘date’ a ten out of ten as well.