#i read like 4k pages of that shit and i still didn’t understand

[cinisekha]

why the FUCK is homestuck a thing again why are we doing this get off my lawn

[all-hail-the-witcher]

say yes to the plus one

the sequel to say yes to the drinks. which you should read first. i am so tired. just have it. 

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ship: geraskier

warnings: none

editing: ish

words: over 3k but under 4k

genre: floof

__

After getting drinks with Geralt, Jaskier could not stop thinking about him. He found himself taking more time with his appearance each morning - something that he hadn't even thought would be possible - hoping that Geralt would come into the store.

But Geralt still hadn’t come into Kleinfelds since the day of his trunk show. Jaskier tried not to be disappointed. He knew that he was very busy and it had been a one off that he had even met him in the first place.

Still, he couldn’t help but think that the two of them had something. There must have been some sort of chemistry between the two of them. Why else had Geralt asked him to get drinks after he had made that awful slip up with the magic fingers? Surely, he must feel something for him.

He had been texting Jaskier though, so Jaskier knew that he was at least still interested. Every message that he got wishing him a good morning or about some funny wedding dress design or of a picture of Geralt’s Pomeranian, Roach, made his heart flutter. There just had to be a future for them, right?

So, Jaskier went through yet another day of busy appointments at Kleinfelds, hoping that he would run into Geralt.

Late May into early June was always a busy time for them. Jaskier didn't personally understand the appeal of getting married in a zillion degree heat, but to each their own. This was by far his least favorite part of the year though. He spent every hour at work on his feet, hardly getting a break as he rushed from appointment to appointment: checking on alterations, making sure that every bride was getting their dream dress, and providing tweaks to designs when necessary to prevent bridal meltdowns.

It was nothing short of exhausting.

“Jaskier!” Camille, one of the consultants, called to him at around mid afternoon.

He had just spent the last hour trying to get a very adamant, very conservative mom and a very eccentric bride on the same page. He needed a daiquiri. Or three. Still, he turned around and put on his brightest smile.

“Yes, darling?”

“You’re needed down in alterations,” she said with a sweet smile.

Jaskier nodded and turned back through the salon to walk down to alterations. He hated going to alterations. If he was needed there, it usually meant that shit had hit the fan in some sense. He braced himself for a long afternoon.

He walked up to the manager, about to ask her where he was needed, when a shout from behind him made him jump.

“Jaskier!”

And a swell of desire rose up in Jaskier’s stomach because he knew that gravelly voice. Quickly, he straightened his tie, thankful he had worn his good pink one today, before taking a deep breath and turning around.

“Geralt!” he said, trying furiously to keep his cheeks from flushing. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Surprise?” Geralt’s brows furrowed together as he walked up to Jaskier, his wolfs head cane clicking across the floor. He was wearing a light blue button down today with the sleeves cuffed to his forearms that made his golden eyes pop and Jaskier had to struggle to keep his eyes on his face. “I texted you this morning.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened as he reached into his blazer pocket for his phone. Sure enough, there were two messages from Geralt. The first was a picture of Roach, lying in a patch of sun in his apartment. The second was a message that read:

Hey, I’m going to be at Kleinfelds today doing a custom fitting. Can you help with the appointment?

And Jaskier had never even seen it. Much less responded.

“Oh Geralt, I am so terribly sorry,” Jaskier said quickly. “This is our busiest time of year and I have hardly had a moment to think today.”

“You don’t have to help,” Geralt said sincerely, concern clouding his eyes. “I don’t want to push you too hard with the rest of your appointments, but I just figured that since I was here, I would ask.”

“No, no darling!” Jaskier said, rushing to reassure him. “Of course I will help! Helping you is much better than dealing with emotional brides and entourages that aren’t on the same page.”

“It’s alright Jaskier,” Geralt said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I know you just want to see my magic hands at work again.”

This time, Jaskier did flush bright red. “ You! ” he said outrageously, gaping at Geralt’s audacity to bring up his slip up from last time. “You need a nap!”

But Geralt just laughed, a glorious sound that sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine. “I think you’re the one who needs the nap, Jaskier.”

Jaskier shot him an incredulous look. How dare he make such assumptions, and how dare he be right?

“Anyway, the fitting is for my brother’s fiancee,” Geralt explained. “I made her a custom dress and she’s coming in for her fitting today. There was a shipping delay, so we only have time for one fitting before their wedding next week. I was hoping you could help.”

Jaskier could see the tension that had creeped its way into Geralt’s broad shoulders and the worry that was clouding his pretty face.

Jaskier placed a reassuring hand on Geralt’s arm. “Of course I’ll help, darling. Helping resolve wedding dress disasters is my specialty. Er- not that your dress is a disaster,” he said quickly, amused by the way that Geralt’s eyebrows had shot up. “Nothing that you design could ever be a disaster, the way that you work lace and beads is just divine, not a disaster. Not in any way a disaster. What I meant was the fact that she only has one fitting, that’s the disaster. Not your dress.”

“My magic fingers are quite incapable of creating a disaster dress, you’re right,” Geralt winked.

Jaskier resisted the urge to smack his shoulder. “You are never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope.” Geralt looked far too pleased with himself. “Can you grab the dress for me? It’s on the rack for the day. And can you bring it to room 13?”

“Of course,” Jaskier said. He’d let the magic fingers comment slide for now. Geralt looked far too attractive with his moonlight silver hair in an artful bun, tendrils framing his face, for him to stay mad at him for long. He had never been able to resist a pretty face.

“Thank you.” Geralt moved past Jaskier and began to make his way to the room. Jaskier turned to watch him walk down the hall. His ass looked far too delicious in those gorgeous, fitted navy pinstripe pants. He just had to appreciate it. It would be a crime not to.

Distantly, he wondered if his ass looked just as delicious without the pants on. And was he wearing boxers or briefs? Oh who was he kidding, he had to be wearing at least briefs with pants like those. But what color? Geralt seemed like the type of man to appreciate a fun pair of underwear and-

Jaskier. Get your head out of the gutter.

He made a beeline to the rack and grabbed the dress. He had already left Geralt waiting long enough.

“Here you are,” Jaskier said, hanging the dress in the room.

Geralt fidgeted with his shirt sleeves, eyeing the bag. With a pang, Jaskier realized that he was nervous.

“I’m sure she’s going to love the dress,” Jaskier said, putting as much sincerity as he could into his words. “You are one of the best designers in the industry, Geralt.”

“I know,” Geralt said. “But I’ve never designed for someone that I know before, there’s more risk involved if they don't like it. Cause she’s put all her trust in me and what if she doesn’t like it? This is her only fitting. There isn't time to make anything else."

“Geralt,” Jaskier placed his hand over Geralt’s where he was still fidgeting with his sleeve. “She’s going to love it. Don’t doubt yourself so much, it ruins your pretty face.”

Fuck, did he just really say that out loud?

Geralt’s doubt dissipated as he looked at Jaskier amusedly. “You think my face is pretty?”

“Well who wouldn’t?” Jaskier said, trying and failing to backpedal. “It’s a plenty beautiful face, I mean you’ve got a nose and eyes and everything and…”

“I would hope I have a nose and eyes, yes,” Geralt laughed. Then, he leaned in, as if telling Jaskier a secret. “I’ve also heard that I have lips, too.”

Jaskier was saved the embarrassment of having to respond by a consultant escorting who Jaskier assumed to be Geralt’s brother’s fiancee and her entourage into the alterations area.

“Geralt!” a pretty girl with dark, curly hair said as she stepped up to hug him.

“Hi Triss,” Geralt said, giving her a polite hug and waving to the rest of the entourage. “Are you excited?”

“Of course I’m excited,” she said. “It’s only a week away, Geralt. This better be every bit as perfect as you said it would be.”

“It will be.” Geralt’s smile was easy, as if he hadn’t been freaking out about the appointment moments before.

“And who is this?” Triss asked, turning to Jaskier.

“Oh, everyone, this is Jaskier. He’s a consultant here and my friend,” Geralt said.

“Hello!” Jaskier said, giving everyone a wave.

“Jaskier, this is Triss, the bride to be. She’s marrying my brother.” Geralt gestured to the woman with the dark hair standing in front of them.

“Hello darling,” Jaskier said, shaking her hand. “You look just gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Triss smiled.

“And this is Triss’s friend Yennefer, Yennefer’s daughter Ciri, my other brother Lambert, and Lambert’s husband Aiden,” Geralt said, pointing at the people sitting on the bench.

Jaskier waved to them all and gave them his best customer service smile.

“Tell me about your fiancee, darling,” Jaskier said to Triss.

“I am getting married to Eskel,” she said, her face lighting up immediately. “We’ve known each other forever and he is perfect.”

“Forever is an understatement,” Geralt said. “They went to kindergarten together.”

“Oh, a childhood love story!” Jaskier clapped his hands together. “How romantic! Let’s hope you have a dress to match.” He turned to Geralt.

“Well darling,” Jaskier said, gesturing to the garment bag that Triss’s dress was in. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Geralt stepped up to the garment bag, his shoulder taught with anxiety.

“Take a breath, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, just quiet enough for only Geralt to hear. “She’s going to love it.”

Geralt nodded once before unzipping the bag and pulling out the dress. Jaskier couldn't help but gasp.

“Oh my god, it’s gorgeous,” Triss gasped next to him, taking Jaskier’s words right out of his mouth. “Geralt, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“You haven’t even put it on yet,” Geralt said, stepping away so that the entourage could see it as well.

“I don’t have to to know that it’s everything I wanted and probably more,” she said, giving Geralt another hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Geralt said and Jaskier thought that he saw a light blush tinting his cheeks. Was Geralt embarrassed? Oh that was just adorable…

The dress itself was gorgeous, just as Jaskier suspected it would be. It was a glorious ivory color that seemed to shift under the lights to be a gorgeous pale blush pink. The skirt appeared to be A line and was sleeveless with a high neck. The bodice had an intricate lace and beading design that blended into the skirt. Jaskier knew that the dress was going to be amazing but Triss was right, Geralt had really outdone himself.

“Would you like to put it on, darling?” Jaskier asked.

Triss nodded, still not tearing her eyes from the dress as Geralt stepped out of the dressing room and Jaskier closed the curtains behind him.

He helped Triss into the dress, zipping up the back effortlessly.

“Oh it fits you like a glove darling,” he remarked. “Almost like it was made for you. Oh wait-” he smiled at her. “It was, wasn’t it?”

Triss laughed at his terrible joke - bless her - as she fingered the lace and beads on the front. “I wasn’t expecting it to look this beautiful,” she whispered.

“Well then let's spin you round, darling,” Jaskier said, taking her hand as she turned to face the mirror. “That’ll really shock you.”

“Oh my god.” She clapped her hands over her mouth as she gaped at herself in the mirror, turning from side to side to look at herself better. “Oh my god .”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Jaskier smiled at her. “Geralt is far more talented than he gives himself credit for.”

“Tell me about it,” Triss said distractedly as she continued to stare at the dress. “This is absolutely gorgeous. I love it. Eskel’s going to love it. Everyone’s going to love it.”

“Stop feeding pretty boy’s ego and show us then!” someone shouted from the other side of the curtain.

“Fuck off, Lambert!” Triss called back. “I’m having my bridal moment,” she whispered, tears springing up in her eyes as she continued to stare, utterly transfixed by the dress.

“Here, darling,” Jaskier said, pulling his pink pocket square out of his breast pocket. “You don't want to get your mascara on the dress now, do you?”

Triss dabbed at her eyes and took a deep breath before handing the handkerchief back to Jaskier.

“Are you ready to show your entourage?”

“She better be!” Lambert shouted from outside again.

Triss let out a watery laugh. “Yeah, I am.”

Jaskier drew back the curtain as Triss turned around.

“Oh, Triss,” Yennefer said, tears unmistakably clouding her eyes. “You look gorgeous.”

“Holy fuck, Geralt,” Aiden muttered as he stared at the dress, his jaw dropped. “ You designed that ?”

“Hey!” Lambert elbowed him. “I already said that pretty boy doesn’t need his ego inflated any more than it is!”

“Okay but fucking look at the dress, Lambert. It’s fucking gorgeous. And I’m half fucking blind. ”

Lambert shrugged. “Yeah I mean it’s nice. It’s a dress. It’s fabric. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Say she looks beautiful!” Aiden nearly shouted, smacking Lambert’s shoulder. “And that Geralt did a great job because if you don't I swear your ass-”

“Boys.” Triss crossed her arms. “There are children present.”

“I’m nineteen!” Ciri protested, throwing her hands up.

Triss ignored her. “There are children present and this is my fitting. So Lambert, shut up and tell your brother he did a good job.”

“You did a good job not fucking it up, Ger,” Lambert muttered.

“I’ll take it. And Aiden? You can finish that sentence later,” she said with a pointed look.

She turned to Jaskier, who had been watching the entire exchange with raised eyebrows. “Sorry about them, they are always like this.”

Lambert flipped her off. Aiden threw up a peace sign.

“Well,” Jaskier said, trying to contain his laughter. “Clearly they are meant for eachother.” He was just glad that he hadn’t had to diffuse the situation. He was tired of telling entourages to get along.

“It’s a good thing they got married then,” Geralt said, standing slowly and walking over to Triss. “You like the dress then?”

Triss once again read Jaskier’s mind and playfully punched Geralt’s shoulder. “I fucking love it . I was right, it is everything I wanted and more. Thank you.” Her eyes were shining with tears again and this time, it was painfully obvious that Geralt blushed when he looked down at his shoes.

“Of course, it was my pleasure,” Geralt said, squeezing her arm. “I’m glad you and Eskel are finally tying the knot, I couldn't imagine a more perfect match for him than you.”

“Geralt,” Triss sighed, the tears pooling in her eyes spilling over again. “You didn't need to make me cry more! The dress was enough!”

Geralt just laughed. Jaskier silently passed Triss his pocket square again.

“Is there anything big that you want to change or do I just need to adjust the fit?” Geralt asked.

“Just the fit,” Triss said, dabbing at her eyes again.

Geralt nodded and set to work, silently slipping into the zone, pinning and adjusting and occasionally stepping back and squinting at his work. Jaskier knew that Triss and her entourage were talking, but he didn't even pretend to be paying attention. He was much more content to watch Geralt work, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the fabric as he made the already gorgeous gown look somehow even more phenomenal.

“Alright,” Geralt said, stepping back. “I think that that should be good, spin round for me.”

Triss turned to look in the mirror.

“Does it look okay?” Geralt asked and Triss punched his shoulder again. “Ow!”

“Geralt if you don't stop insulting your frankly quite stunning work, I will have to steal your little demon dog,” she said, looking over the dress in the mirror. “But yes, everything looks good.”

“Roach isn’t a demon,” Geralt pouted, and oh fuck wasn’t that adoreable.

“That fucking dog almost bit my hand off!” Lambert shouted from the bench.

Geralt made several rude gestures at him and Jaskier nearly swooned. Fucking hell he was gone for this man. And it was only the second time that he had seen him.

“Jaskier, can you get her out of the dress?” Geralt asked. “Be careful with all the pins.”

Jaskier nodded, very much at a loss for words.

“C’mon darling,” Jaskier said, tugging the curtain closed behind Geralt again.

He undid the zipper on the back of Triss’s dress and helped tug the dress off her shoulders, mindful of the many pins that Geralt had put in it.

“Have you and Geralt known each other long?” Triss asked.

“Oh, no not at all,” Jaskier said, glad that he was standing behind her and couldn't see the flush of his cheeks. “He helped me with an appointment a few months ago and we went out for drinks after and we’ve been texting occasionally, but that’s it.” He didn’t say that he wished it was more.

“You went out for drinks on the day you first met?” Triss asked, letting her voice rise. “That’s interesting, Geralt doesn’t often go out with people that he’s just met.”

There was a shout from the other side of the curtain, but it was muffled almost immediately, the sound of a hand slapping over someone’s mouth unmistakeable.

“Well, it had been a long day and we were both in need of one. Step out for me, darling,” Jaskier said, picking up the dress and hanging it back up.

“I’m sure you were,” Triss said from behind him as he zipped the dress carefully back into the garment bag. Before he had the chance to ask what she meant, she was opening the curtains and walking back outside to her entourage.

Jaskier picked up the garment bag and followed her.

“It was lovely meeting all of you,” he said, waving to the entourage. “Triss, darling, I hope you have a wonderful wedding and Geralt, it was nice seeing you again.” He turned back down the hall to go hang up the dress for Geralt to deal with later. He should get back upstairs, hopefully nothing too dire had happened in the salon during his absence, even if the break had been nice.

He was just turning to go up the stairs when he saw Geralt walking purposefully towards him, his cane clicking quickly against the floor.

“Jaskier!”

“Oh, hi again!” Jaskier said. “I was just going to head back upstairs, we are still very busy.” He gave Geralt an apologetic smile. There was nothing that he would rather do than stand and talk with Geralt.

Geralt winced. “Then I guess you probably shouldn't have helped me with the appointment.”

“No, no!” Jaskier said quickly. “It was my absolute pleasure, Geralt. And honestly? The salon was driving me a bit insane, so it was quite a nice and much needed break.”

“Well thank you for helping,” Geralt smiled. “I think it went well.”

“It definitely did, darling,” Jaskier said. “She loved the dress, just like I told you she would.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and looked down at his feet, placing both hands on top of his cane. “Actually though, I had something to ask you before you get back to work, if that’s okay. I don’t want to keep you.”

“The only thing you’re keeping me from is crying brides and disapproving mothers, and there is only so much of that that my poor soul can take,” Jaskier said. “I’d rather stay here with you and your-” he cut himself off before he made another terrible slip up. He had already learned his lesson from last time.

“With my magic hands? Or my pretty face?” Geralt asked smugly.

Jaskier sighed, ignoring him. “What was it that you wanted to ask me?”

“I have a plus one for Triss’s wedding next week,” Geralt started.

“And you haven’t asked anyone yet?” Jaskier asked. “Geralt, what have you been doing?”

“...Designing dresses?” he said sheepishly.

Jaskier swore his heart melted. He just looked so cute. How on earth was this allowed?

“Well, you better ask someone,” Jaskier said. “You’re running out of time.”

“Yes I know.” Geralt looked at Jaskier and smiled. “Jaskier, what are you doing next Saturday?”

“Saturday?” Well…” Jaskier trailed off, trying to remember what was coming up. “That is technically my day off, but I might still come in because we have just been so busy and we’re getting a new collection in and I’m going to have to….wait….” his eyes widened as he finally processed what Geralt had been asking him. “Are you….are you asking me..?”

“Would you like to be my plus one to Triss’s wedding?” Geralt asked, his golden eyes somehow sparkling in the atrocious fluorescent lighting.

“ Oh ,” Jaskier gasped. “Yes. Yes I would love to.”

“Great,” Geralt said, breathing an audible sigh of relief. “I’ll pick you up at 1pm. It’s formal. Be ready.”

Oh, Jaskier would be ready alright. He walked back to a salon with a huge smile plastered across his face.

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may be a ch 2. havent decided. 

tag list:

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@dapandapod

[ectonurites]

Conner Kent in Suicide Squad/the Infinite Frontier era: wtf is going on

Alright lads hello I just need to type out some theories/thoughts about what’s going on with my boy Kon right now. This is more for myself than anything else (just trying to organize my thoughts) but since some of y’all like to hear me talk about comics (and some of this discussion has already been happenin in my inbox) I figured i’d format it and put it on here too! its like 4k words and written over the last few days mostly at 3am. sorry <3 

this is basically just me going like

Also fair warning that like, I can be wrong and misinterpret things just as much as anyone else can, like I use panels to support why I think what I do but a lot of this stuff is subjective/complicated to understand so like... in general somethings should be taken with a grain of salt, especially because exactly what changes to the universe were made by Death Metal/Infinite Frontier haven’t been super super clearly defined yet. Also sometimes comic writers make the most random nonsensical shit happen, so I as a fan am also allowed to theorize about random nonsensical shit.

But to start: let’s backtrack!

Many months ago when Infinite Frontier was first announced they dropped some promotional art, and I remember being a little confused because. Well:

(Variant Cover spread for Justice League (2018) #59)

(Variant Cover spread for Superman (2018) #29)

Notice how Conner is back to his Teen Titans 2003 look up top, but in his YJ 2019 look at the bottom? This seemed weird to me! But then they announced that Conner would be part of the Suicide Squad ongoing title, in the T-shirt look, so I wrote this discrepancy off in my brain as ‘oh I guess that cover was just the last hurrah for punk Kon’ and moved on with life.

In Suicide Squad right away we learn he’s very much so there against his will:

(Suicide Squad (2021) #1)

Which corroborates more or less what we were also shown in Future State: Suicide Squad, although admittedly it tells... a slightly different version of the events. When I first saw both of these together I just chalked it up to being a bit inaccurate as it’s shown as a memory in Future State:

(Future State: Suicide Squad #2)

Issue 2 we saw him in action with the Squad, trying to do his best to still be a hero despite the team, but things get a little more interesting in the following issue. It starts off with an account of his history

(Suicide Squad (2021) #3)

This page gave me a few immediate red flags, mostly minor things that had to do with coloring, so more irl problems than things to take seriously in-universe (Kon’s pants are the wrong color in the first Superboy shot, and Bart’s Impulse costume is in Kid Flash colors instead of the correct Impulse ones) but then also it just bugged me the phrasing “he joined Young Justice” when he was a founder of the team, he didn’t join it he made it with Tim and Bart.

But again, chalked that stuff up to just.... writers/artists being inconsistent/unaware of things that they should be aware of, or even Nocturna just not being specific with details. But it did still strike me as a little odd considering the very accurate use of villains in those same shots, Scavenger who was a reoccurring bad guy from Kon’s solo days and showed up basically nowhere else (even holding the Spear of Lono and everything!) and Billy/Harm (Greta’s brother) from Young Justice.

But then a few pages later we got this:

(Suicide Squad (2021) #3)

Which is interesting. My first instinct was to think he’s being drugged w kryptonite or something thats leaving him hazy/out of it, but my thoughts on that have kinda changed, we’ll get there in a bit. But in general the context of ‘something’s wrong’ made the slight discrepancies on some details of his own history make more sense.

I also want to then bring up the next part to this story, the crossover issue in Teen Titans Academy.

(Teen Titans Academy #3)

So a few things. Does it feel weird to anyone else that Conner Kent, a known previous Titan who literally has a framed picture of himself in a case there, would set off alarm sensors like that? Wouldn’t he be... recognized as a Titan not an intruder by their sensors? Interesting! Anyways.

He looks really pained looking at that picture, and sad, and almost frustrated, which ya know makes sense and hurts my heart because he misses them! He misses his friends and being happy. 

But, importantly for a criticism I wanna make thats less theory related and more just me bein annoyed at Tim Sheridan, that’s a picture of Conner. Right there. That’s Superboy, on display at Teen Titans Academy, so the people who frequent this building would know who he is and what he looks like and be able to recognize him, he’s even in the same outfit and everything. Alinta recognized him at the end of Suicide Squad #3. 

So why does only one person during this big fight then comment on his presence?? Why doesn’t it get a bigger reaction???

(Teen Titans Academy #3)

And after the fight we don’t see any on panel moment of Wallace going up to the staff Titans (who weren’t present for the fight) and saying like “HEY NIGHTWING UHHH SUPERBOY WAS WITH THE SUICIDE SQUAD?” we just see him talking with his friends upset about Crush leaving. We see Alinta talking to them but we don’t see the exact dialogue. So I do just wanna take the writer by the shoulders and shake him a little bit and ask WHY because that just feels like... something you’d wanna address on panel! This is like the first time since joining the squad that Kon’s at all in contact with people from his life before Waller got involved, I feel like not addressing those people’s reactions to it/not discussing it at least a little bit on panel (especially when Conner CAME UP in the previous TTA issue, Dick brought him up and everything!!!) is a really odd choice. Maybe it’ll happen next issue and i’m just impatient, but who knows. Anyways, gripes with Sheridan aside, lets move on.

I wanna bring up how Conner... doesn’t really respond to Wallace’s question? At all? Except to just fight him off, not even an attempt at a ‘Sorry’ or anything? (the ‘Ha! That all you got?!’ seems to be coming from Culebra not Conner, although the placement of the bubble is vague enough it could be that it was supposed to be Conner? but it seems more like what she’d say, especially as she’s grabbing Emiko like that) That just feels weird. It feels off. In general he speaks so little in Suicide Squad #3 and this issue. Tbh it almost feels like he doesn’t really recognize Wallace which I mean I suppose they never exactly met (they would have theoretically during Death Metal, basically all past/present Titans were together for a while during that), but Kon’s been back in existing long enough he’d have a sense of who current heroes are anyways.

But right, so, lots of little things that feel weird... that gets us caught up to the most recently released comics... but in this household we look at solicits as they drop. Which gives us some info on what’s coming up a few months ahead of time, albeit without full context obviously. Issues #4 and #5 don’t mention Conner in their descriptions or show him on the covers at all, because there’s just other plot things going on, so ya know seems things will be quiet for him for a bit.

But then we got the August solicitations and oh BOY it’s a doozey for him! And some things start to kinda connect perhaps!

I want to just take a moment to look at that specific wording. “The teen calling himself Conner Kent” I’m probably reading too much into it but that feels deliberate, like why wouldn’t you just say ‘Conner Kent’? Usually these kinds of descriptions are trying to keep a low word count, not add in extra words that don’t need to be there. It makes it feel like that’s a name he’s using that... doesn’t actually belong to him.

So the theory I want to propose (that has been floating around already) is that based on these covers and the description, and how the Conner we’ve been seeing in Suicide Squad apparently talks about his own personal history like he’s ‘reading a wikipedia entry’ and had little response to people he should be aware of like Wallace and apparently isn’t recognized as a Titan through a bio-scan and also bearing in mind those initial promo arts with two separate looks at the same time for him... I think we're looking at a situation where the Conner in Suicide Squad so far has actually been a clone of original Conner (like... like he’s Match 2.0 or somethin) the whole time, that’s just not aware he’s not the original. 

Now that’s the base theory I wanna work with and build off of, but there’s MANY different directions that could go in/ways that could work.

For example, one idea is that the Conner we saw in #1 who was chained up is the original Conner, and he’s been being cloned and held captive, so everything else with Conner in Suicide Squad so far has been this Match 2.0 

Another idea could be the original Conner in #1 is also the Conner in #2 who Waller had then commented wasn’t ready during the mission in Arkham and had zapped with a lil Kryptonite, and after that moment she took him off the field because his spirit hadn’t been broken enough to be obedient (as he was a lot quieter in Issue #3 & the TTA crossover compared to #2, and #3 is when the Nocturna thing with the history happened)

Or it could even be original Conner in #1, then in #2 was one clone that wasn’t ‘ready’ that after that point she stopped using him, and switched to a diff clone for #3, because like that first cover did show a LOT of clones. That could be more just ‘artistic interpretation’ or something, covers sometimes do exaggerate/mislead, but it also could indicate we’re looking at a lot of clones.

(Suicide Squad (2021) #2)

With all of those in mind I also wanna bring up this little bit from Future State Suicide Squad:

(Future State: Suicide Squad #2)

Again Future State is a ‘possible future’ so stuff from it isn’t set in stone, but the idea of ‘she still has his YJ 2019 outfit somewhere’ makes me think it could be something along the lines of like, Clone!Conner finds original Conner and frees him and he gets back his YJ outfit, which could lead to like the imagery on that variant cover/the idea from my very first part of this post where I was talking about Kon being shown in both outfits in different places.

Alternatively entirely from all that, another option is that she maybe got ahold of what was needed to clone Kon, but doesn’t even have the original Kon in her possession. (again with the Future State thing, she could be lying since elsewhere in Future State we did also see a copy of YJ 2019 Kon’s costume in one of the Jon-focused Future State comics in a display case 🤷‍♂️) Which could also lead to that confrontation on the variant cover & the promo art thing... and could also explain why we have seen nothing about anyone looking for him, because in that sort of scenario he wouldn’t have even been missing in the first place.

There’s a lot of possibilities! It’s still too early to solidly know anything, but I feel pretty confident we’re entering another cloning related plot with our Clone Boy so it’s... ya know. Clone time. On the one hand it’s annoying because god we have done clone/multiple Kons plots before. We’ve done them so much.

BUT on the other hand, I think it could be interesting to use this situation to tie into some older stuff from pre-reboot that I can see some connections to, because due to Infinite Frontier altering the world and people’s memories it’s all technically fair game storytelling-wise again (and like, the use of Scavenger specifically in that flashback way above, who’s not a super well known villain in general, makes me think maaaaybe the writer did do some of their Kon homework)

Something also just dawned on me that i’m not quite sure what it means but still is worth mentioning: The Conner here in Suicide Squad is back in his Teen Titans Vol. 3 outfit, and his history as he tells it stops during Teen Titans Vol. 3. And doesn’t... mention when he died? It feels like it... stopped before that, because like I feel if he was telling his life history (even the wiki version LMAO) the part where he died and came back would be pretty important to bring up?? And Nocturna specifically says that he didn’t explain how that stuff from TT Vol. 3 then led to him in his current situation. That’s a pretty big gap (like uhhh everything from resurrection until he got lost on Gemworld + all the rest of the Young Justice 2019 stuff?) So like.. there could be something funky going on here that has to do with that. 

Similarly when he flashes back in Future State: Suicide Squad to his past it also goes right from Teen Titans Vol. 3 to the current Suicide Squad run? Like I get it’s one page so they can’t show that much, but the fact that there’s now two places that flash back to that same specific time period and nothing past it until the Suicide Squad feels just... noticeable! Not concretely indicative of something, but noteworthy.

(Future State: Suicide Squad #2)

Like...this almost has me thinking maybe it could be something where like, they tampered with his dead body and cloned from that? BECAUSE, for those of you who may not be familiar with how Kon’s resurrection (during Final Crisis: Legion of 3 Worlds) worked, when he came back there was time travel involved! He was brought back to life in the future (like. Legion of Superheroes era) because it was a process that took that thousand or so years to work/heal him (essentially because of his hybrid dna the process that healed Clark when he had died back in Death of Superman/Reign of the Supermen in the 90s just took a lot longer, but its the same Kryptonian healing chamber thing) meaning when he came back to the present alive again, his dead body was still also in the present just in it’s process of healing. Meaning especially if we’re bringing back stuff from before the reboot, Kon likely has his dead body just vibing out there while he’s goin around living life 🤷‍♂️

SO them doing something related to that could explain the choice to put him back in the T-shirt (since thats what he wore in the era his brain would be caught up to if we’re relating this to when he died) and why he’d recognize himself in a group photo with Bart, Cassie and Tim but maybe not someone like Wallace who didn’t exist back then. I don’t know, this branch of thought is still half baked. Will maybe come back and elaborate on this later. But I’m now really thinking there might be a connection to the early Teen Titans Vol. 3 era specifically because of it being referenced twice in stuff with this Suicide Squad.

ANYWAYS moving on, this is probably a shot in the dark and I only thought of it because I just was reading 90′s Superboy, but right away when thinking about ‘Amanda Waller’ and ‘Cloning Kon’ I was reminded of some stuff about the circumstances around the first clone that was made of Conner: Match.

(Superboy (1994) #35)

Match was created by an organization called ‘The Agenda’, that was after a while primarily under the control of The Contessa, Lex Luthor’s ex-wife, aided by Amanda Spence who had a personal grudge against Kon bc her dad was Paul Westfield the guy Kon was originally cloned from (before the Lex/Clark retcon). They were the big bad guys of an arc called The Evil Factory in Superboy (where Cadmus personnel got replaced with clones) which also then tied into the Sins of Youth event over in Young Justice (Remember how Match was posing as Superboy for a while there? yeah). After those plot lines finished the Agenda was pretty defeated (Amanda Spence was still out there and came back later but still) and... who got their hands on the remaining Agenda tech?

(Superboy (1994) #87)

Why none other than Amanda Waller herself!

If they re-canonized pieces of this (which also tied into Young Justice which ya know, YJ 2019 was all about re-establishing stuff from YJ even before Death Metal happened soooo) it would totally make sense for Waller to have complete access to the exact technology used to clone Conner before. 

Now, a thing to consider here though is what happened to Kon after he’d been cloned that first time, where his DNA got all destabilized by the process (and he needed to go through a procedure with Roxy as a genetic template to keep him together, which was how he got stuck at age 16 for a while). This was something where he was fine for a period of time before the side effects began to kick in. Now, I think it’s worth mentioning that was also back in the days where he was not yet Lex & Clark’s clone, but still Paul Westfield’s. So there could easily be a ‘now that certain Kryptonian genes have kicked in as he got his newer powers it doesn’t destabilize him the same way’ reasoning or something along those lines to avoid this problem. Alternatively, it could be an interesting thing to embrace rather than retcon away, especially if we’ve been seeing Clone Conner in action and Original Conner hasn’t been in our focus, things could be wrong with him that we just don’t know about.

Another branch of thinking that I think is even MORE a shot in the dark but could be interesting (or again even related to what I just said, could be a combo of things) is if this somehow ended up related to those clones that were reverse engineered from the remains of Match from the very end of Teen Titans Vol. 3

(Teen Titans (2003) #99)

All of them were then taken down with Kryptonite and killed in battle (by Rose & Damian) 

(Teen Titans (2003) #100)

But like... idk man if Waller got her hands on those corpses or even just the data from Dr. Caligan that he extracted from Match to make them... that could also be a potential way to make some new Conner clones, and that could be why the bio-scan thing at Titans Tower wouldn’t work properly because of the thing he says above about it not being a “complete match’

One thing I don’t think is the case, but has been brought up to me, is stuff with New 52 Kon. I’ve talked extensively about New 52 Kon in recent weeks because I read through all his stuff, but the thing that makes me shy away from him being part of this situation is the fact that... he’s not interchangeable with Kon the way I think some people think he is. He wouldn’t visually be recognized as Original Kon because he is literally on a genetic level a separate person. They’d prob look related, sure, like they’d pass for brothers because they both have Clark’s DNA, but New 52 Kon has Lois’ DNA and Original Kon has Lex’s. New 52 Kon would likely look more like Jon, rather than Kon. Lois specifically commented in an Action Comics issue that Kon had some resemblance to Lex, even. So like, things like Wallace recognizing him or him looking at his own matching reflection alongside the group picture at the Tower... those wouldn’t happen the same way if this was New 52 Kon.

Now I think it coooould theoretically be possible for Waller to have gotten her hands on that future N.O.W.H.E.R.E. cloning tech that had been used to make New 52 Kon, like I wouldn’t rule that out. Because she knows where the remains of their bases are as shown in Red Hood and the Outlaws (2016) #16-17, and like, Harvest is dead so she could easily just send teams out there to gather shit if she wanted. 

Onto some other things I don’t think are actually related but that I was reminded of/wanted to address:

I feel i’d be a bad timkon fan if during all of this discussion of past stories with cloning Kon I didn’t even bring up Tim’s cloning attempt stuff, but I think it would ultimately be unrelated. His tech was stolen from Luthor, and his attempts didn’t succeed because he was trying to build from scratch without Cadmus’ the data about how they altered the DNA from the original process. 

(Teen Titans Vol. 3 #34)

Then that initial cover for the annual really reminded me of part of the Hollow Men story from Superboy Vol. 5 just with like... Kon in a room full of copies of himself. I don’t think this story would be related either because it was more magic Tannarak stuff rather than regular cloning, but ya know. It’s the imagery.

(Superboy Vol. 5 #9)

It also really reminded me of the stuff from Hyper-Tension which was hypertime stuff not cloning but again just... visually.

(Superboy Vol. 4 #62)

In general I don’t think we’re EVER gonna see Black Zero or any of these multiverse Superboys again LMAO.

To try to sum up all of this in a way that might make sense here’s kinda a... flowchart of some of my main ideas for what the cloning situation could be/how the logic could work. Again this is borrowing stuff from across continuities because Infinite Frontier means theoretically anything’s fair game. (Also I don’t think I mentioned this earlier but I do mention it in the chart, but I think it’s also reasonable that Waller could get her hands on Cadmus tech if Cadmus is like properly made canon again. She just has funky government connections!)

Also I just now thought of this now several hours after I already made the chart and I don’t wanna remake it so sorry not incorporating it there but I remembered there was also that bit during House of Kent where Clark took Kon to the Hall of Justice and they were running some tests on him, so I’m thinking it’s also possible Waller got ahold of that data/that might be how she found out about Kon in the first place for this timeline. And they indicated that there was something wrong with him there, where he might eventually lose his powers or something, so maybe she tried to do cloning stuff to be able to have a copy of Superboy in his prime or something??? before that started kicking in. I don’t know, just more things to consider:

(Action Comics (2016) #1028)

ANYWAYS in conclusion: there is clone fuckery of some sort happening, I’m curious where it’s gonna go, and I just want Kon to be okay.

If you actually read this uhm. props to you bc this probably makes no sense to anyone but me its just word vomit <3 

[operation-619]

Her

Chapter two: crimson

UD- 24th June 2021

Big Thank yo to my translator, @primavera-allegoria​ this story wouldn’t be completed or written if it wasn’t for you. So thank you.

Summary: AU series were Bucky is safe and sound after AOU, (Y/N) (L/N) is a troubled woman with a haunting past, and its coming back to enslave her. But she doesn’t care, her interest is in a certain Captain America lead to a night that set off a series of unfortunate twists and turns. Can she come out on the other side, with her past a secret and a family to come home to. Or will she burn and take everyone down with her.

Warning!! this chapter contains scenes some may find upsetting and disturbing read at your own risk.

Word Count- 4K+

If you have any question please ask, reviews are welcome let me know what I can approve on and what you like.

 [Masterlist]

 Chapter I-Forest : Chapter III-Hiraeth

 __

The rebuilding of stark Tower 2012

“You know Tony, I would love to find an apartment in New York, but I can’t leave a child by itself for more than an hour, legally” (E/C) eyes cast downwards at the plans of the new compound, (Y/N) refused to wipe the smirk off her face as she heard the dramatic intake of breath behind her.

“Are you calling me a child.” She could picture the look of disdain on his face, his mouth wide open in mock shock and hand on his Arc Reactor. (H/C) textured hair bounced around her shoulders as she shook her head in disbelief. She walked over to the large window that overlooked the rubble that once was New York.

Heaving a sigh, she wrapped her arms around her torso and clenched tightly, her eyes became glassy as she withheld the tears threatening to come down her face. Her mind was running too fast for her to keep up with, the thought of what she could have done circled her head in a taunting manner. ‘I could’ve saved people, children.’ The guilt was evident in her eyes but not on her face, no she hid that well.

“You knew it had to be done,” obviously not too well, “there would’ve been more damaged with you and Banner out there, chaos. And we can really only just about control Banner. I did it to keep you safe.” The remorse was clear on his tongue she just refused to listen.

“So, knocking me out with that heavy duty sedative was your best option? I felt like a piece of shit when you did that with no explanation Tony! And to mention the fact that you left me in my room without so much of a note, do you have any idea how scary it was to wake up to you falling out the fucking hole in the sky!” her face was contorted into a painful twist as she grew closer and closer to Tony, her index finger jutted out and repeatedly jab his arc reactor. The strength behind it surprised him and led to him placing his hand onto her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down.

The veins in her body started to hum a soft crimson, her eyes filled with tears as she gasped for air. She could feel her body starting to change, the heat building up begging to be released was a sign she needed to breathe.

“You and I both know that the consequence would’ve been too much for everyone to face given our current situation.” His voice was soft as if he were talking to a wounded animal; he caressed her elbow and brought her head to lay on his chest. The soft humming of his reactor brought comfort to her. (Y/N) thought back to the moment she locked eyes upon the figure of a falling Iron Man, she couldn’t put into words the emotions that coursed through her body as she watched him fall. The scream that left her mouth shook the whole room, yet it was unheard with all the chaos flying around the city.

“I know, I am just pissed off that’s all. You promised not to do that again,” her voice was petite, the vulnerability flowing off her in waves.

She pulled her head away from his chest and looked up at him, a smirk slowly making its way to her face; “And fuck you for not taking me to get some Shawarma.” She pulled herself away from him and punched him in the arm playfully. She laughed as she watches his mouth form an ‘O’ as he rubbed the pain away.

“That looked like it hurt Tony,” (Y/N) whipped her head around at the new voice and immediately relaxed once she saw it was Pepper, the strawberry blonde gave the other lady a hug on her way to Tony. They exchanged a few words before Pepper came back to (Y/N).

“I’m going back to Malibu for a few weeks, wanted to know if you wanted to come?” The woman held a look in her eyes that (Y/N) had seen before; pity, the fact that Pepper was the one to find (Y/N) in her room with the window smashed, the furniture broken and all over the place with her sat, stark naked in the middle of it all. Pepper saw the struggle clear on (Y/N)’s face when she stepped into the room. The pain. The horror. The ongoing battle within her as she tried to claw her way out of the disorientated state, she was in.

“I don’t know, I still have to do clean up here- “

“Don’t worry about it I’ve got it, go you deserve it Foss,” (Y/N) winced at the nickname and walked out the office. The two adults watched the head of (H/C) curls disappear into the mass of construction and working bodies.

“JARVIS pull up surveillance please, from her room.” Pepper’s voice was filled with an emotion that Tony couldn’t place. It didn’t matter the moment the wall in front of them filled up with an image of (Y/N)’s form sleeping in the bed.

His face showed the confusion on his face as he looked at the surveillance footage- “why am I watching (Y/N) sleep Pep?”- his eyebrows screwed together as he looked from her freckle covered face to the video.

“Just watch.” Her voice held authority that Stark did not question.

The tape speed forward for a moment, the images past quickly from her getting up and looking around the room in confusion, to her trying to open the door, to then turning around and seeing the Chitauri flying around outside her large window. She tries the door handle one last time before slowly walking to the window. Hands on it as she surveys the scene unravelling in front of her.

“Pepper?” Tony’s voice is full of question as he watches the tape pick up speed again to the moment (Y/N) catches him falling out of the sky. The veins in her body starts to pulse a deep crimson as she slams her fist against the window in anguish.

It happens to quickly that Tony orders Jarvis to rewind and slow down the tape. Pepper takes a seat on the raised platform surrounding them and places her head in her hands.

But he doesn’t notice; he’s got his eyes focused on the image of (Y/N) hunched over in pain as her body starts to become overwhelmed in light as she screams in fear, the room starts to shake. A crack forms on the window, then one crack turns into five and then five turn into hundreds of spider webs turning the triple-glazed-Tony-Stark proof window into shards that fly across the room and fall onto the people outside. The clothes burn off as her body becomes too hot, all the pent-up energy finally being released. Crimson ribbons start to flutter around her body creating a circle that envelopes her trembling body as she hunched over in pain, the furniture in the room starts to shake as it lifted off the ground and hovers in the air.

All of a sudden, the ribbons that were once dancing around her erupted outwards as her upper body was flung upwards and a silent scream left her body. Everything broke; the bed, the table, the desk, and the walls dented.

She falls to the floor quickly, her head bounces from the immediate impact. The tape fast forwards again, and throughout her body doesn’t stop glowing, humming softly as it heals itself of self-inflicted injuries. The tapes stops suddenly to (Y/N) waking up; she arches of the ground and whips her head back and forth trying to grasp onto the perplexing situation at hand. But the confusion plastered on her face is clear as glass. A shard of bright light appears in the corner of the video before slowly becoming wider, drowning the dark and bleak room in artificial light.

(Y/N)’s face turns slowly to the figure in the doorway, a series of emotions flash across her face as she tries to understand everything, anything at all.

“Tony?” The plead fell on death ears as the 176 second clip was rewound and replayed over and over again; the already clenched jaw became slack before tensing again. His forehead creased in anguish as the image of the vulnerable woman stained is mind.

“Tony?” He exhaled violently through his nostrils before hanging is head low, he screwed his eyes shut and counted to ten in his head.

‘You fucked up’

‘Again’

“I…I promised her, I’d protect her and let nothing happen to her again Pep. I promised.” His voice meagre as he inhaled deeply trying to ignore the quaking of his lungs. He looked up at the paused video, millions of thoughts swarming his already distressed head. Taking a step back he cleared his throat.

“Jarvis.”

“Yes Sir?”

“Delete the footage, erase it.”

“Permanently sir?”

“Yes”

“And what of the Bedroom Sir?”

“What bedroom Jarvis?”

“Of course, sir.”

He looked to his left at the strawberry blonde, sat calmly watching his body, waiting for it to crumple. She was reading him like always but this time she couldn’t quite understand the writing on the pages, it kept shifting from one thing to another.

“We don’t speak of this Pepper, she doesn’t remember the surge, she just remembers waking up and seeing me fall, and that is as good as it gets,” his voice was low, a whisper of a whisper. His dark brown eyes met her blue in a silent agreement.

An agreement to protect what could destroy everything. And nothing at the same time.

“Jarvis?” He raised his eyebrows at nothing waiting patiently for the response.

“You were never here sir.”

With a nod he turned and left, never looking back as he marched to find something to preoccupy his mind from combustion.

Silence met Pepper’s ears for a few minutes before the silence was filled with a small sniffle, wiping her hand underneath her nose she looked up to the ceiling blinking a few times to calm herself. She needs to control herself for her sake. Before she screams.

Nodding to no one she gets up.

Smooths out her skirt.

And leaves.

March 14th, 2015

Medical bay, New Avengers Compound, Upstate New York.

“We had to heavily sedate her so there would be no chance of a surge of any kind like you suggested Tony, her body is damaged though. He put some kind of poison in her system that is unnatural.”

His heart stuttered as he listened to the Doctor speak, ‘unnatural, what does she mean?’.

“I tested it and I couldn’t find any kind of natural compound in the substance I extracted from her blood, I don’t think it was her body trying to decompose it if that is what you’re thinking because whatever they put in her, it’s. I’m so sorry Tony,”

His heart became erratic the sound became claustrophobic, ‘what does she mean she’s sorry?’.

“It’s aim was to halt her reaction, the deadly kind so they could do something, but it did more than that Tony, it’s made her weak. She’s broken and I don’t know how to fix her.”

His heart burst, the pain was so great it became numb, it was so great he saw black spots as his vision swam, it was so great he forgot that the team was down the hall.

It was so great that he screamed.

His heart and lungs felt heavy as he forced in air to stop him from falling, he looked up at Cho and grabbed her by the shoulders, he looked into her fear painted eyes and begged, pleaded with her to stop lying.

“Tony, there is nothing I can do, it’s all up to her biology now. My machines can’t fix her, they’d kill her or make it worse. I’m sorry.” She placed a consoling hand on his cheek, a mockery to him as the apology felt empty, scares of emotion.

His eye landed on the shell of a human, his (Y/N) laid there motionless, mindless, and uncomfortably beautiful. Her dark complexion paling and lifeless.

His stomach felt twisted as he dragged in a broken breath, it settled uncomfortably within him as he continued to stare at the woman he has known since 23, he could remember the way the dimly lit dinner made her eyes shine so brightly with pain. He felt at peace for a moment when he saw the conflict flitter across her face as he drunkenly plonked down opposite her in the sticky leather booth.

They related to each other on so many levels without a word spoken, the loss and torment they both endured was what helped them come together. But their undying love and friendship was what kept them together.

The beeping became unbearable, it mocked him with the intensity of it obnoxiously loud beep. He gritted his teeth and looked down at the monitor, it looked clean and untouched, beautifully innocent for a machine.

Unlike her, lying in that bed covered in swells, darkened colours and bumps, a majestic art-piece for the psychopaths of the world.

The rhythm of the beeping was fast, it sounded like the machine was running out of breath to keep up with her heart rate. He spent years trying to keep up with her, yet this was the closet he’d been to see her so…peaceful.

“Heal for me,” he gasped out as the tears finally dripped down his face. Placing a delicate kiss on her forehead he turned and walked out the room – if he started any longer at her he would do something; he didn’t know what yet, but it wouldn’t be good.

His footsteps echoed viscously in the hallway as he marched down towards the group of heroes sat in the living room; waiting, begging, pleading that she would be okay. They better pray some more.

Natasha was the first to see Tony enter the room, she kept quiet and just watched him, standing there- catatonic. Her eyes followed the figure as it went towards the island that separated the living room from the kitchen. Those eyes were swimming in tears as they watched Tony hunch over the island, his shoulders wide and stiff as he started hard at the marble countertop.

“Tony?” Eyes snapped to the red head that asked the question, then followed her line of sight to the billionaire that looked too quiet. No one moved as the man in question looked up to meet the questioning gaze of his teammate. No one moved as he turned his back towards everyone.

But everyone flinched when the figure lurched forward and grabbed the flowerpot off the stand and throw it across the room, next were the plates and decorations on the island, they flew across the room and landed in a million pieces.

Chairs, books, spoons, and pots danced in the air and crashed onto the floor.

It went on for minutes, the display of vulnerability became too much for Tony as he stopped and looked at the mess he made, back facing the team, he looked down the corridor he came from minutes ago. It was littered with piece of broken porcelain and china.

His face remained stoic as an image of (Y/N) appeared in front of him, broken and shattered in a million pieces, too many for him to put back together.

He couldn’t fix her. No one could.

He turned to the team, “I want background on the man that did this, everything. I want no place let untouched you hear me?” the silence answered his question. He looked at his team- “Where the fuck is Rogers?”

Bucky looked at Sam and then at Natasha. They exchanged a conversation that Tony was too tired to pick up on.

“He left with K-” Nat shot the solider a look before standing up and placing a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“He left with her, before any of this went down. He doesn’t know.” Her perfectly arched eyebrows came together as she observed the conflict smothering Tony’s face.

With a nod the billionaire rubbed Natasha’s hand and walked away to his room not uttering another word.

But everyone felt the pressure he left behind, the severity of the situation weighed heavily on their shoulders as they all, one by one, slowly got up and put their plan into action.

But their eyes were all focused on the corridor Tony had come from, because at the end of it lay their friend and teammate fighting for her life.

March 15th 13:41pm, Downtown New York

 Steve Rogers is a man of many things, loyalty and honesty is just some of them. But ever since he woke up in a different century his views have changed, not drastically but the influence of a few certain men and women can do a lot to a man.

But it wasn’t just those people that caused his views to change slightly, it was the way the world changed, the way the people changed and their views on the world. How women walked around covered in tattoos and piercing, some women walking around in barley anything.

How men no longer seemed to show women respect, grabbing them when they see fit, how the world had forgotten about all the lives lost during the war.

All his friends.

Within the first month of him awakening from the ice he had hopes that some of his past was able to hold out, anything and within minutes of that thought crossing his mind reality slapped him hard in his perfect face. Everything he knew was either changed or gone and that was that, no bullshit. And he was kind of glad about that, he knew he had to figure out what to do and he need that distraction, any distraction would be welcomed with opened arms.

After the attack of New York, he made it a priority to learn about what he missed and gain new skills, cooking being one of them. And he did, he prided himself on that, all the new skills he learnt being able to use the tablets and phone that are interactive and portable, learning that things taste so much better when there not boiled. And that he really, really feels out of place.

Although Stark offered to house him in his tower after the attack of New York, he declined. He found comfort in the separation between work and, and he didn’t really have a life outside of being Captain America. He didn’t have anything because everything in that apartment was already there when he moved in, including the food.

He worked his frustration out in the gym not far from where he lived. The same place Nick Fury asked for his helped, where he found his purpose again. But he still felt empty. So, he did what any sane person would do.

He talked to Natasha.

Now Steve Rogers is a man of simple things, he finds happiness in other people’s happiness, find love in the fact that the world is safe from the biggest threat from his time.

“You need to get laid Rogers. Simple.”

What does a man like Steve Rogers say to that, he wasn’t exactly what you would call experienced or a natural in that area of ‘expertise’, Hell he’s never seen a woman naked before let alone touch a woman with that intent. But the more Natasha explained it the more it made sense to him, the feeling of not knowing what he needs, feeling empty.

So, he tried it.

A lot.

Steve Rogers is a man of many things, honesty, sexual prowess, and loyalty are just a some of those things that have made him the man he is today, the very same man who is waking up in a bed coated in the scent of apples and cinnamon and a sprinkling of sweat covering his back.  

“Turn it off,” the scent was intoxicating, so homely and warm. It reminded him of his mother’s apple pie. The way she sang as she made one once they got home from church, the love that went into a single slice made his heart grow with warmth. The scent was accompanied by the beeping that was increasingly getting louder and quicker not to mention slightly irritating.

“Turn it off,” a hand slapped him haphazardly on the shoulder as he cracked open an eye to look at the flashing red numbers that read 13:42. The numbers kept flashing in a sequence, they mean nothing to him just random flashing numbers. He wondered if he kept staring at them then maybe they’d start to say something to him.

Suddenly a hand came slithering past his head to push a button on top of the cubed alarm-clock. Bright red nail-polish was decorating the long nails perfectly, the manicured hands attached to the slender arm wrapped around his shoulders and a hot kiss was placed on his left shoulder.

He lost himself in the tingle that covered his back; the goosebumps that enveloped him in a warm embrace, he was happy this morning in his own little world. The nails gently ran down his abdomen and danced around his belly button. The chills sent a smile to his face.

Turning around his eyes swept across the face of the woman that lay beside him with her leg draped carelessly over his hip. The storm in her eyes became more apparent as the sun draped its warm caresses over their laying figures. The (E/C) was like liquid heaven, whispering to him to come take a swim.

“You want pancakes or something else?” Emerald green. Her eyes were emerald green not (E/C).

‘What are you doing?’

“Steve? Are you awake in there?” his eye flickered up to meet hers; a smile was plastered over her face, her lips looked dry from the amount of alcohol she consumed last night. She giggled and rolled over, so she was sat on the edge of the bed, stretching she reached forward to grab his shirt that was hanging off the edge of the bedside table. Slipping it on she pranced out of the door and disappeared.

“Fuck.”

Sitting up he looked over the bedroom that was covered in personal effects including the lace violent panties she wore last night. The room smelled of sex and a fruity perfume that hurt his head, last night it made his head flutter but right now it burnt his nostrils with how pungent it was. He grabbed his boxers lying next to his feet and pulled them on before walking out of the bedroom and into the open-planned living, kitchen area.

His eyes were drawn to the blue fabric swishing back and forth on the small figure at the island, her hair was up in a messy bun, strands sticking out everywhere as she bopped her head back and forth. Flour was smudge on her thigh and on the back of her neck; she looked over her shoulder at the sound of him sitting down at the island. He smiled back and just watched her. He felt calm this morning, he didn’t know what it was, but he felt oddly calm.

 “You want a smoothie with it as well baby?” He just hummed, too busy watching his hands fiddle with the small Vibranium bracelet that always adorned his wrist. It was given to him on Christmas three years ago when the team did secret Santa, it took a small amount of explaining for him to understand what it was.

It was a small navy-blue plush box wearing a black ribbon tie, the letter just said ‘I noticed the ones you buy keep breaking, this unbreakable like my bond with you x’ he had a hunch about who it was from and the look of surprise on (Y/N)’s face told him, it had been on his left wrist ever since.

His thumb and forefinger rubbed the links subconsciously as he thought about (Y/N)’s words last night, how the emotion on her face looked raw and deep, he was perplexed by her to say the least. He knew about her, but he didn’t know her, and god did he want to. It seemed that she kept him at an arms distance compared to everyone else, at first, he thought it was Tony’s influence but then he saw that she had Stark wrapped around her finger. He then concluded that it was him, he was the reason she didn’t trust Steven Grant Rogers.

She trusted Captain America, when they were both on the field, she trusted him. But the moment he put the persona away and the shield down, she was back to keeping him at a distance.

“Your phones ringing.” He looked up at the sound of her voice and watched as she pointed to his phone charging on the coffee table on the side of the couch.

He numbly walked over and unplugged the phone but was a second too late to accept the call. She never called him, she never really said anything to him outside of work except a goodbye and a hello. His mind was racing as he selected redial and placed his phone to his ear as he turned around and walked back over to the island.

“It was Buck,” his husky voice drifted through the air, he nodded his head as the red smoothie was placed in front of him. Placing a kiss on the top her head he muttered a thank you as she walked past heading to sit down to eat her food.

“Thank fuck Rogers, I’ve been trying to call you all night.” He scoffed at the tone he was greeted with.

“Good morning to you to sunshine, I was a bit busy last night punk.” He smiled over his glass as he heard the clattering of a fork behind him.

“I need you in here right now Steve.” He chugged down the rest of his smoothie and sucked in a breath. He booked the weekend off, if it was an emergency, they knew the protocol.

“I’m off all weekend punk, you know this. If this is about the unfinished paperwork hand it to (Y/N), she knows the detail, she can finish them for me.” He heard silence on the other end of the phone, he called out Bucky’s name thinking the line went dead but him clearing his throat told him that he was silent for another reason.

“She can’t do that right now Steve, she’s down. Someone got to her.”

The thick glass in his hands shattered, breaking into tiny shards. Cutting his hands and his heart.

______

Taglist;

@vicmc624

[loonathevelvet]

Everything I Wanted O1: The way back home

O2

You’ve been away for twelve years, but the sudden death of your mother brings you back to the house you grew up in. In a place metaphorically — and perhaps literally — filled with ghosts, you find yourself caught up between who you are, who you used to be, and the darkness that consumes you.

Pairing: Reader x Jungkook/Jimin (I haven’t decided)

Genre/TWs: Horror, it will absolutely contain some form of violence later on. It might contain smut but don’t hold me to that promise. There’s fluff and there’s angst, but I guess a lot of angst.

Notes: I do realize I haven’t posted since 2018 yet here I am, because I really want to write this thing that appeared in my mind out of nowhere. So hello again! 

Word count: 4k

____________________________________________

Being back at the house you grew up in after all those years was a very weird feeling. You weren’t even inside it yet, still on the other side of the street. Something, though, was making you light-headed and dizzy, and you were very grateful you were sat down in the rental car you got once you arrived at your hometown. Maybe it was something about the scent of grass that hit your face as soon as the car got close. Maybe it was the old, rusted fences that surrounded it, by this point probably impossible to restore. Maybe it was the mansion’s degraded paint, and the windows, once white, now a shade of beige. Maybe it was the silence that echoed in your ears, and the way everything seemed just close enough to how you remembered it to make you want to vomit.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was finally being in that big mansion after almost twelve years.

It was, by no means, out of your own will. Was it for you, those twelve years would have turned to twenty years, and then thirty, and then forever. If it weren’t for the call you got that morning, you would never get back here, ever.

***

You recalled waking up that morning, at 7AM, and making your coffee as usual. You decided to make some pancakes, because why not? You were excited, because it was the first time since you began working as an editor at a big magazine that you would get an entire week off. So you let the calmness of the morning fill every cell of your body, breathing in and out and stretching your arms, then your back.

You could get used to that.

You picked up a book, trying your best to stay away from any and all electronic devices you owned. Your job revolved around computers. You always had to be reading something, or editing something, or researching something. You were beyond tired of screens, and the strain they put in your eyes. All you wanted was some well-deserved rest. Lazily, you sat on the couch, put down the coffee on the small table by it and started flipping pages.

It was already nearly 10AM when you decided to check your phone. You liked reading, but it was getting boring. You thought maybe you could just check if there was anything important, and then go out and do some yoga. You stood up and picked up your phone on the kitchen counter, turning its light on. That’s when you saw 16 missing calls from your assistant, Jimin, and what felt like a hundred other notifications. You had given Jimin the week off too — safe from a couple of mundane tasks you asked him to get done —, so it freaked you out to have that many missed calls from him.

He called you one more time, and this time, you answered.

— Hey, Jimin. Is everything okay?

— Have you seen the news today? — Well, that was certainly an odd question. You remarked that his voice sounded agitated, as if he was impatient or angry. Or maybe it was something else.

— I have not. It’s my week off, I was trying to get some rest.

— Good. Listen. — He paused, perhaps trying to gather his words. — Look, I don’t know how to put this. It happened earlier today. Your… There was an accident. In your hometown. And your mother, she… Hm… She… 

— Jimin, come on. — You cut him off. — Cut to the chase. 

— Well, your mom is dead. — It wasn’t anger, or impatience in his voice earlier. It was the nervousness of knowing he was about to tell you something you should have heard from your family.

Well, at least you didn’t hear it in the fucking news. They were probably either tearing apart everything she’d ever done or treating her like a saint, and you didn’t know which one you hated more.

You felt the world fall apart around you. Suddenly, it was as if your feet were directly in the center of a black hole, and everything was getting sucked in — you were completely lonely, and there was nothing and no one. Nothing but an empty feeling in your stomach. You knew, of course, that your mother would die someday. You never really cared. You weren’t really close, and she only ever tried to reach you maybe three or four times a year, when you’d vaguely catch up about everything in your lives to excuse whatever financial help or connections you might need. It always felt a bit less dirty that way. Now that she was gone, however, it all came crashing down on you.

Did you care? What the fuck were you feeling?

— Wha - What?

— Look, I am very, very sorry. I already booked a flight for you in the afternoon. Again, I’m so sorry.

— Jimin. — You said, trying to recollect yourself. — Can you book a flight for you, too? — The idea of being alone in that big house, knowing your mother was dead, truly irked you. You tried to think of an excuse to bring your assistant with you. — I’m gonna need you to make some phone calls and take care of some stuff while I’m there. Put it on company time, I’m sure they’ll understand. That is, of course, if you have nothing planned this following week.

You heard Jimin sigh on the other end of the line. You were asking too much of him, and you knew it. He had a tendency to be overzealous, and you hated to ask of him more than he could handle. But at that exact moment, you needed someone to come with you, and despite having lived for so long in the city, you had very few close friends. And of those, none would be okay with coming so far away with you for probably a month or two. You were alone.

— It’s okay. I’ll just take care of my plane ticket, then, and pick you up at three.

***

And now, that left you in the car, hands gripping the steering wheel with all the strength you had. You looked at your knuckles, slowly turning white. Jimin sat beside you. He was trying to not let his worry show through too loudly. You could feel, though, his eyes on your hand, and the very fact he was silent showed he didn’t really know what to do or say.

— Hey. — He said in a soft voice. — Maybe we should get in.

— Maybe. — Your voice sounded soft too, but the anger you were trying to keep in was showing through. 

You finally stepped out of the car, and then so did Jimin. As he moved towards the back of the car to get your bags, you took strides towards the house with all the fake confidence your body could muster.

***

The butler was waiting for you when you got there, back completely — and unnaturally — straight and a face contorted to keep from breaking down into tears. Mr. Kim was a very old man who had been working in the family since you could remember. He had seen you grow, and he had seen you leave. Most of the staff would come and go from time to time, but Mr. Kim held your family very close to his heart. You always considered him an uncle, or a father of sorts. He felt more like a parent than your parents.

— Hey. — You said, feeling heavy-hearted. You were never close to your mom. You were very much able to keep your shit together right now because honestly, you didn’t regret disappearing from her life in the past twelve years. But seeing the pain and suffering in the butler’s face made everything all too real.

— Hello, Miss. Y/N.

A weird type of silence filled the room. Jimin, behind you, shuffled uncomfortably. You didn’t have the courage to mention the tragedy, to ask questions, and Mr. Kim was clearly too absorbed in his own thoughts and feelings to pay any mind to the heavy aura that had formed. You remembered him as a lively, smart old man who would always boast about his family, and order you around because he was the only person you’d actually listen to — after all these years, it almost seemed as if he was waiting for your orders instead.

— How is your grandson? — You asked, trying to distract him a bit. — Last I’ve heard, my mother told me he was off to university. Or that he was just starting a new job, I don’t quite remember.

— Ah, yes. Mrs. Y/L/N paid for his tuition. — It seemed as if your attempt of taking his mind away from your mother was a disaster. Her life was too tangled into the Kim family’s for that to be possible. — She got him hired into a big company too. He’s a lawyer now, my boy. — By this point, a smile crept into his red-eyed face, which in turn made you feel a bit better. — He always comes by everyday. He always did, to see me (and the Mrs. too, she was always very proud of my boy), but my Taehyung has been worried about me, all alone in this big house without Mrs. Y/L/N, so he’s been sleeping here too, in one of the spare bedrooms. — His eyes suddenly shot up to you, a bit scared. — I hope that’s no trouble to you, Miss.

You wondered who he thought you were now, after all these years. You’d never turn down Mr. Kim’s grandson, even if he was a complete stranger to you. Which he wasn’t. You and Taehyung were pretty tight as children, since not everyone was allowed into your life back then. It was almost as if he feared you a bit now, as if he didn’t know you as the child he had mostly raised anymore. After everything, you understood. By all means, it was your fault that you had become strangers. Still your heart stung.

— It is no trouble, Mr. Kim. I hope both you and him are sleeping well. And if he isn’t already, move him to one of the big bedrooms upstairs. I’m sure no one else will be using them from now on.

He smiled and thanked you profusely, and suddenly you recognized the man you had grown up with. Maybe he recognized you too.

***

By night, everything was always silent in that big mansion. 

You had locked yourself in your bedroom as soon as you’ve showed Jimin in which room he’d be sleeping, and then you decided you wanted to be alone. You were already feeling lonely, anyway. You heard the sounds echo around the hallways when Mr. Kim’s grandson, Taehyung, got home, and you decided to ignore it completely. Talking and pretending to be fine didn’t seem like something you were interested in at that moment.

It was already two in the morning when you decided to leave your room, walking the long corridors very slowly and carefully, trying not to make any noise. The house was cold. Everything inside it had always felt very lifeless to you. You were lifeless. So was your mother, and the butler. Everything was either dying or rotting and the emptiness it brought you was so familiar. Almost nostalgic, in a weird way.

You reached the staircase after a while. Your bedroom was on the third floor, and you could see each step down leading you more and more into the darkness. You didn’t want more darkness, so you sat on one of the first steps and hugged your legs, resting your head onto your knees. You were sure at that moment, you must have looked very small and very fragile. Weak, even. You didn’t care, though. No one could see you in the dark.

Empty. The world, everything around you, empty. You were empty. Empty, empty, empty. You just wanted to not feel lonely in the big mansion you’d grown up in. You wanted to not feel lonely in the big city. You’d been running away from your past for so long, and you always thought the emptiness in your heart was just a price to pay for freedom. But here you were, back where you started. Still lonely. Still the same small terrified girl in that big, big mansion, hiding from your past. You just wanted to not be alone at that moment.

As if your thoughts were materializing, you heard steps behind you. You’d look back to see who it was, except you didn’t really care — between Taehyung, Jimin, Mr. Kim, and the rest of the staff, a lot of people were always living in that big mansion, and whoever it was, you didn’t want any of them to see the tears beginning to form in your eyes. You probably wouldn’t even recognize them, anyway, if they weren’t Jimin or the butler. Whoever it was, they sat beside you, and then let the silence fill the space between you.

— Are you alright? — A deep voice whispered lowly, after a while. You guessed it was Taehyung. It definitely wasn’t Jimin. He chuckled, but it had no humor in it. It was just as lifeless as everything else in that house. — That’s a dumb question, I guess.

— Do you like it here? — You whispered too.

— What do you mean?’

— This house. Do you like it? — He paused for a while, probably wondering if you were going insane. 

— I guess. It’s a pretty sweet house. 

You turned to look at him. His skin was pale, and his jet black hair was falling a little bit over his tired eyes. You didn’t remember Taehyung having such a strong jawline, or dark eyes, or being so tall. And he most certainly didn’t have black hair. As far as you could remember, at least. It had been a while, though. You’d both grown up and changed.

— I hate it here. It’s so big and so empty. I wish I could abandon it forever. I wish I’d never come back.

— Why did you? — He whispered, doe-eyes focused on your fragile figure. — I’m sure you could have stayed at a hotel. It would be very understandable, all things considered. No one would care.

— I don’t know. — You whispered back. — I wish I could tell you.

You stayed by his side, in complete silence, for just a little longer, and then he excused himself politely, got up, and left. Maybe the emptiness had gotten to him.

***

Although you’d barely slept, and your eyes looked red and puffy, you were up at 7AM. You went down the stairs you’ve feared the night before to find Jimin and Mr. Kim talking casually in the kitchen. You stood by the door before they noticed, just listening in to whatever they were saying.

— She has changed so much from what I remember. — Mr. Kim was saying, fondness in his voice. — She used to be so small, and so scared of everything. I’d send her to bed and she’d go back down to the kitchen at night. Said she heard a noise and thought it was a ghost. We had to put her to sleep again with a lullaby. — He stared off for a bit, lost in his own thoughts. — When the poor girl said she’d never step foot in this place again, I damn right believed her. But I guess one can’t run away from the past forever.

Jimin chuckled nervously.

— I guess she hasn’t been here in a while, then.

— No, no, my boy. I haven’t seen Miss. Y/N since she was a fifteen years old child, running away from this house. Boarding school, she said. Then boarding school turned into university. Then she got a big job in the big city. Always an excuse not to come visit us. But I understand.

His voice, though, betrayed his sadness. He was lonely too, in this big house. If there was one person you wished you hadn’t abandoned, it was him. 

— Why did she go away, though?

— It’s not my place to tell you, my boy. It’s not my place to tell you. — He shook his head. Was he remembering what had happened twelve years ago?

— Hey, Y/N! — Jimin finally noticed you, and smiled awkwardly. 

You wished you hadn’t listened in. Now you knew more than you wanted to know. You knew Mr. Kim had missed you all those years. You knew Jimin was curious about your past — which made you regret bringing him to your hometown in the first place. Your mother always told you that curiosity killed the cat. That was maybe the only useful advice she had ever given you.

— Miss. Y/N! — The butler smiled at you. He seemed a bit better after yesterday, even though the same tiredness you felt on your shoulders was probably crushing him too. — How did you sleep?

— I slept fine. Big house, though. I’m not used to it. — He smiled fondly. Some things never change, and he knew that a little bit of you still needed to be tucked in to sleep in the mansion. 

You sat down beside Jimin, and the butler put a plate full of pancakes and a mug of hot cocoa in front of you. You preferred coffee now, and he probably knew it, but you guessed he didn’t want to give you caffeine. He always forbade you from drinking it, saying it was bad for your health. He wasn’t wrong.

— If you don’t mind, Miss, — the butler started, excitedly. — My boy Taehyung will be joining us shortly.

— Sure! I do hope you have enough pancakes, though. — You joked, and he smiled.

— I always do, Miss. — He was right. Mr. Kim’s ability to plan things ahead bordered on the supernatural.

You thought about Taehyung for a second. The bright-eyed boy with a big smile you’d met as a child, who would always tease you for being so anxious all the time, but who also protected you from everything that could possibly hurt you. The man you met the night before, with dark hair and big eyes, and a sad, solemn aura. They didn’t seem like the same person at all. A lot had changed while you were away. A lot more than you thought. What had happened to Tae?

You never had many friends as a child. Your parents, particularly your mother, were very scared of letting their only child get hurt in the real world. They had money, power, and influence, and with that comes enemies — powerful enemies, who wouldn’t mind using a child to get what they want. You were homeschooled for a big portion of your childhood. Back then, you only had Taehyung. Mr. Kim had lost his daughter shortly after his grandson was born, you knew that much — and although Taehyung’s dad tried his best, he could use some help from an old wise man. So Mr. Kim would often bring the small child with him to work. Your father hated it, as much as he hated every single one of your mom’s staff — he didn’t bring the coin home, though, your mother did. So every day, you’d play with Tae. And although he could very much resent you for everything you had and didn’t want, and everything he wanted and didn’t have, he never did. 

From what you’ve heard, after you left, Taehyung replaced you in the big empty house, and in your mother’s heart even. And you were grateful for that. 

— My boy, did you sleep well? 

Mr. Kim’s words burst the bubble you had created for yourself, deep in thought as you were. You turned around to see a tall man with tan skin. You zoned out of the conversation happening around you once more as you took in the features you remembered from your childhood, and the way they had adjusted to adulthood. He had dark brown eyes and dark brown hair, and a very warm smile. He was dressed formally, probably ready to be out the door for his job right after breakfast. It suited him well. He looked so much like the old Taehyung from your childhood. Tae smiled at you fondly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He looked sorry for you.

And most importantly, he looked absolutely nothing like the man you saw the night before.

— I’m really sorry for what happened to your mom. — Taehyung said, taking you out of your mind once more. You shook your head and smiled at him.

— It’s okay. I’ll get through. — He sat beside you, getting ready to eat his own pancakes. — It must be hard for you too, though. How are you holding up? I know my mom was very close to you. — He shrugged.

— I’ll get by. Do you need help with anything? Grandpa already did most of the arrangements for the funeral while you were traveling, but I’m sure there’s stuff you need to do.

— I don’t think so. — You thought for a little while. — Oh, wait, there’s my mother’s will. And all the legal stuff. I’ve heard you’re a lawyer. — You chuckled. — I promise I’ll pay you. — He nudged you with his shoulder.

— Absolutely not. — By this point, he was done with his pancakes, and was already standing up to go to work. — We’ll talk when I get back, okay? I’ll get everything done for you.

He hugged you goodbye, and you couldn’t help but be grateful for the Kim family. Without them, you wouldn’t even know where to start. As Taehyung left and Mr. Kim started going on a rant, which were sometimes about his amazing grandson, sometimes about your mom, and sometimes about something else, you let your thoughts carry you away again. To the boy you talked to last night. Who was he? You were sure you were neither dreaming nor hallucinating. He was there. Or maybe he wasn’t. Either way, you thought it was better not to mention him, just in case everyone looked at you like you’re insane. Maybe you were.

At that moment, though, Jimin was staring at you with something else in his eyes. Maybe it was confusion, or discomfort. You couldn’t quite tell. As Mr. Kim went to another room to talk to some of the staff, you tried talking to him. 

— Hey, Jimin. — You said from across the big table. — Are you okay? You seem a little out of it today. — He shook his head affirmatively, but you weren’t convinced.

— It’s okay, don’t worry about it. — He scratched the back of his neck. — Do you have any work for me to do today?

— Oh. — You had to think about it again. Jimin was always running errands for you, but being back home meant everyone was always running errands for you. It was a bit overwhelming, to be honest. — I guess you could call the office and tell them I’ll be switching to home office for the next two months. I’m sure they’ll understand, all things considered. — Jimin nodded.

You always hated to admit it, but you got your job mostly because of your mom. She was friends with the man you worked for. And because of that, because he’d be sad for the loss of your mother, he’d probably be okay with giving you more time off than he’d give any other employee.

Although you always avoided taking advantage of the privileges you had, you needed some time to figure everything out right now.

— So. — Jimin started, catching your attention again. — Are you close to Mr. Kim’s grandson?

— I guess I used to be. We haven’t talked in a very long time, though. — He nodded, suddenly relaxing a tiny bit. You took a mental note of how weird that was.

Jimin stopped asking questions about your past then, probably aware that you didn’t want to answer them. His growing interest, though, was starting to get you thinking, but you were sure you were just being paranoid.

[scribeofmorpheus]

As Fate Would Have It (part 18)

Paring: WinterSoldier!Bucky x Spy!Reader

Catch Up here | Masterlist | Words: 4k |

Taglist is open. Send an ask.

Warnings: Themes of contemplative murder… eh, some other stuff. Took a bit of a dark turn.

Note: Alexei Shostakov (Red Guardian) in this story is canon divergent and so will not share any similarities with the version we get in the BW movie. I also haven’t proofread. Comments and feedback is welcome.

Vocabulary: Snezhinka is russian for ‘Snowflake’ and Vot der'mo  roughly translates to ‘Shit’. Also, Voroshilov is a tank named after a military general.

Several Months Later…

The window was left the slightest bit open. The winter air crept in like an uninvited guest, blowing the cold onto your toes, making you shiver. You didn’t try to fight it. The cold kept you alert, awake, even if your body protested from lack of sleep and proper nutrition.

You stared over several maps, documents, newspaper cut-outs and conspiracy pamphlets, printed in English, Russian and French, scattered on your desk. The work lamp had taken on a yellowish hue as the bulb started to wane.

Your vision would blur and then snap back to focus as you read over the words that melded together in your brain to form nothing cohesive. No concrete leads, no possible hunches… just nothing. The Winter Soldier was a ghost, and your body felt like it hadn’t recovered from the shock of finding out Bucky was alive. But you had to find something to go on, some small clue you’d overlooked. You couldn’t lose him. Not again. Not like this.

The trail for the Winter Soldier had led you to a small town on the outskirts of Belarus. There was nothing there but chilly weather, suspicious locals and an entire culture of food steeped in fried potatoes and salted meats. Alexei had been reluctant to let you go along with your wild goose chase, but you insisted that you were going anyway, no matter where it led you, and he insisted on being backup.

The keys jingled before the lock to your rented hostel room click and turned. Alexei walked in with snow dusting the shoulders of his red leather jacket that strained at the seams against his large frame. Two paper cups were in his hands. It didn’t escape you that the earthy, dark aroma of coffee didn’t pervade from the steaming liquid.

“That better be coffee, Alexei,” you said with the panache of someone with a short fuse.

Alexei laughed as he balanced the paper cups and locked the door behind him, his neck and upper spine bending so he could pass through the doorway. “Any more coffee and you’ll get a heart attack.”

“At this point, it would be an improvement!” You slammed your fist in frustration, chasing loose leaflets to the floor.

“No new leads, I see,” Alexei handed you the cup of tea. A gentle smile on his face pulling his cheeks back and relaxing the age lines around his mismatched blue and brown eyes. He may have looked closer to fifty, but from his size and athletic ability, he was as formidable as a bodybuilder in his twenties. “You should rest, Snezhinka. You can’t help anybody if you can’t even stand straight.”

“I am standing straight!” you contested.

Alexei poked your upper-chest with his index finger lightly and you staggered like a piece of paper blown by the wind. The hot tea sloshed over the edges and just missed your shirt.

“Vot der'mo!” you swore as you steadied yourself.

“See?” Alexei cocked his head to the side with a proud smirk.

You frowned at him, peering your eyes like daggers. How did he not understand how important finding Bucky was to you? You had told him everything after that night in Versailles. Seeing Bucky alive, talking to him, having a piece of that life you thought was dead return from the grave only to be swept away, leaving you with more questions than answers, that messed with your head. You needed someone to talk to, someone to keep you from spiralling too far. And you trusted Alexei, with your life if need be. He had been the one who found you and offered you a job with the company. Working, keeping busy, it had saved you. It gave you something to distract yourself with while everyone around you aged and moved on with their lives.

“I can’t stop!”

Alexei sighed as he sat on a weak, wooden chair that creaked under his weight, “I’m not telling you to stop, Snezhinka. I’m telling you to rest.”

“I can’t. Every minute I waste is another minute that he’s out there, getting further and further away from my grasp!” You were being unfair and loud, and it was just like Alexei to let you go through the motions. He just took your tantrum with no judgement. “Don’t you see? I have to find him! I have to-- If you knew him like I did, if you saw how broken he was in that room…” You drank a sip of the tea with shaky hands to soothe the dryness growing in your throat.

Alexei sighed, his chin falling onto the sharp protruding joints of his shoulder bones as he stared at the spot where his ribs had been fractured by Bucky. “This Voroshilov really means that much to you, even after he tried to kill you?”

Voroshilov. That nickname never ceased to make your lips twitch upwards. Alexei had started referring to Bucky as Voroshilov because, as he put it, fighting the Winter Soldier was like going toe-to-toe with a Russian heavy tank.

“He does. When I was a child, I had nothing… No one, except…” The image of Yelena, young and scruffy around the edges popped into your head. You drowned the image out with another sip. “Then the Widow’s took us in. And they trained us to let go of everything that made us who we were, but a part of me kept dreaming. Kept hoping there was something better out there. He became that dream for me. He gave me my humanity back. The least I can do is do the same for him.”

Alexei set his cup down and nodded, “Okay.”

“Okay?” you repeated in confusion.

“Okay,” Alexei said as if you hadn’t heard him the first time. Then he sat up and left the room.

Alexei had been gone for days and the only thing you could do from going up the walls was focus on the outdated intel piling up in your small room. The files would range from ambiguous speculation about a shadow organisation that stole the homeless from the streets to experiment on them, to horror stories of a ruthless killer who was more machine than man. No matter which thread you tugged, it always ended up being a snipped end not tied to anything else.

When Alexei returned, he had a bruised nose, a black eye and raw knuckles.

“What the hell happened to you?” you asked.

“Broker double-crossed me.”

You rushed to his side with gauze and rubbing alcohol, but he simply shook his head and pulled out a thin, manila file stamped with Cyrillic letters obscuring the KGB seal. He swapped the file for the rubbing alcohol and walked over to the mirror to tend to his own wounds.

You huffed in amazement as you tentatively opened the manila jacket, heart pounding like a jackhammer. “You know, you could have just told me what your plan was before you barged out of here.”

“You needed to rest,” Alexei said simply, wincing when the alcohol-drenched gauze came in contact with several scrapes and cuts on his face.

You flipped through heavily redacted pages about a former Hydra operative who defected to the KGB once Hydra lost the war. In the legible areas of text, the operative was quoted as having mentioned a super-soldier with a metal arm. The report was over forty years old and the lead was flimsy at best, but it was still more than you had to go on a second ago.

“Can we trust this?” you asked.

Alexei had finished cleaning himself up and wiped his hands on a beige towel, “For the most part.”

“It’s not much to go on.”

He cracked a smile, “Your gratitude warms my heart, Snezhinka. As always.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “My gratitude is always implied. I just can’t believe you went through all this trouble for another dead end.”

Alexei tossed a set of keys at you. You caught them effortlessly without looking away from the blacked-out pages. “What’re these?”

“Keys.”

“I can see that. Why are you giving me keys?”

Alexei pulled out your duffle bag from under the bed and started tossing what little extra clothing you had into it. “Because the broker mentioned where that operative is hiding.”

Your eyes grew large, a twinkle of excitement and hope bubbling to the surface of your weary face. “What?”

“I didn’t bloody my knuckles for an outdated file, little one.” He zipped up your duffle bag and flung it over one of his shoulders. “You’re driving. I need some sleep.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

Reality hit you like a tonne of bricks. Russia. You hadn’t been back since that harrowing day in the mountains. Chills travelled up your spine like minute pinpricks, reminding you of the trail of scars and needle marks that never faded from your back. You instantly dropped the manila file onto the adjacent table, tied your hair with a hair tie banded around your wrist and pocketed the car keys.

 Your snowboots crunched into the sleet covered ground. The dissolving ice covering the driveway was slippery, sparkling with shards of rock salt. You looked up at the old, pre-war building with bars blocking the windows and layers of limescale turning the white of the walls to sloppy brown from years of rain.

You turned to look at Alexei as you slammed the car door shut, “Are you sure this is the place?”

Alexei took the final puff from his rolled cigarette and crushed it under his foot, pulling the collar of his thick jacket closer to his neck. “Trust me, this is the place. I put the fear of God himself into that weasley broker. He wouldn’t lie.”

You looked at the signpost dug into the earth next to the steps of the building. Reading the word ‘sanatorium’ made your stomach flip and turn in discomfort. In another life, you could have easily seen yourself being strapped to one of the many beds kept in that building. Shouting insane things like, “I don’t age,” and “I saw a dead man come back from the grave with a metal arm and no memories of me.”

You sighed, “Of course this is the place.”

Alexei chuckled dryly.

The two of you walked into the building looking like two fugitives afraid of being identified by someone in the right place at the wrong time. The large door creaked like an effect out of a horror movie, making you more on edge than before. You scanned the area in search of anything that stood out. There was nothing outwardly threatening besides the muffled moans of patients locked behind doors and spots of discolouration that could’ve been anything between vomit or dried blood. Your nose itched for no reason.

Alexei made his way with giant steps towards the receptionist that looked like a dried-out raisin smeared with red lipstick and wearing grey scrubs. He put on his most dashing smile and turned his charm up to eleven. The previously hostile and disinterested looking receptionist transformed into a model of etiquette and false politeness. You bit back a smile and tried to keep your gaze on the bare, undecorated walls of the institution. Alexei snuck some cash under his palm towards the receptionist who disappeared into a back office, and after a few minutes, another staff member with a baton strapped to his hip unlocked a metal door and nodded his head for you and Alexei to follow him.

The moans were louder now, and more blood-curling. You walked for a while, passing row after row of locked metal doors rusting at the hinges. The man stopped next to an open doorway that led to a pathetic looking recreational lounge filled with old board games and stacks of questionable books.

“Five minutes,” he said with no life on his face or in his voice.

You nodded and took a step, then the man pulled out his baton to act as a barricade between you and the doorway. “Only one.” He looked up at Alexei.

Alexei narrowed his eyes but took a step back. “I’ll wait here,” he said. “The patient’s number is 28.”

You shot Alexei an apologetic look and made your way into the rec-room. Your eyes bounced from one old and greying patient to the next, looking out for the one with the number 28 stitched onto their clothes. It was surreal, being here. You looked at each wrinkled, sagging face accompanied by thick, or thinning heads of silver hair and saw a little of yourself in each of those strangers faces. Had time been kind to you, you would have looked exactly like them. Several patients regarded you with curiosity and scepticism. Your white hair seemed to catch a lot of inquisitive eyes.

Feeling like a circus freak put on a pedestal, you swallowed your anxious thoughts and pushed forward. In the back, facing a window that looked out onto a walled fence, sat a frail, feminine form with long, oily greying hair. The number 28 was stitched onto her clothes.

“Can I join you?” you asked the old woman.

She stared blankly at the wall, head tilted at an uncomfortable angle, fully formed cataracts in her eyes. You realised then that she wasn’t staring out the window, she was blind.

“Your accent is different,” the old woman said with a knowing smile that made the hairs on your arms stand erect.

“Do I know you?”

“You’re voice is still young. How is that?”

You moved closer to her, trying to see past the age on her face, down to what she would’ve looked like had you known her in another time. And then, like a spark to gasoline, your brain caught on fire with years of unresolved anger.

“Kathy?” you said her name with utter disdain.

The old lady made a croaking noise that was intended to be a laugh, “In the flesh.”

You had dreamt about coming face to face with Kathy many times when you were in that Hydra facility. Your hatred toward her and Yelena was one of your five-a-day in that cramped prison cell. On coherent nights, you had imagined exacting vengeance on them both. Countless times, in countless ways. Driving a knife between her ribs until you punctured her heart. Poisoning her food. Snapping her neck. Burying her alive in a cold steel coffin like the one she had locked you in. In every one of those scenarios, Kathy was always the same age as the last time you saw her. Picturing this feeble, old woman with purpling veins and cloudy eyes in young Kathy’s stead somehow didn’t seem as satisfying. Time had dealt her a bad hand. She had had her comeuppance. And it angered you that it wasn’t by your hands.

“What, no hug?” she jabbed.

“Screw you,” your hands balled into fists, nails piercing through your tough skin.

“There she is,” Kathy let out another croaky laugh, her bony, crooked fingers reaching out for your face. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You recoiled and took a step away, folding your arms to prevent yourself from doing something you’d regret, “I came here for answers.”

Kathy moved her head for the first time since you started talking, shifting it to crane up. Her eyes were directed nowhere near where you were standing. “So… you need something from me?”

You kept your jaw shut tight. Not giving her the satisfaction of an answer.

“Fine, but you have to do something for me first.”

“You must be nuttier than a nut-bar if you think I’ll do a thing to help you!” you whisper shouted to not upset the other patients.

“Trust me, this is something you won’t want to pass up.”

Begrudgingly, you took the bait, “Spit it out.”

“I need you to swear to me that after I tell you what you want to know, you’ll kill me.” Kathy’s face was stone-cold serious. No fluctuation in her voice or twitch of her facial muscles. She proceeded to try and explain herself, perhaps in an attempt to persuade you to feel empathetic to her current state. “You have no idea what it’s like for me here. The slop they force down my throat each day that they pass for food. The constant rotation of meds that makes me feel like a damned lab rat. The humiliation of needing someone to change my sheets when I piss myself. And I can’t even read a book to pass the time.”

“Even if I wanted to, it’s not like the security here is lax.”

“You’re a fucking spider. You and I both know the locks on those doors aren’t enough to stop you.”

You were conflicted, and a little bit surprised by her request, but you would say or do just about anything to find Bucky. Your soul was damned enough already. “Fine.”

“Swear it!” Her hand snatched onto yours, scaring you for a brief second. “And I’ll know if you’re lying.”

The patients were growing rowdy from the disruption caused by Kathy’s shout. You yanked your hand away and signalled for Alexei to relax his shoulders when he looked like he was about to charge through the much smaller guard beside him.

You stared into Kathy’s eyes, knowing full well she couldn’t see you and answered truthfully, “I swear.”

She smiled, pleased with your answer, then she placed her hand back on the armrest. “What do you want to know?”

You dragged a chair over and sat close enough so Kathy’s whispers wouldn’t be a problem but far enough so that she couldn’t reach for you again. “In a KGB report written in ’47, you mentioned you had come in contact with a man with a metal arm during your last mission as Hydra. I want to know what happened.”

“Der Wintersoldat,” she said. “I remember that mission like it were yesterday. Are you sure you want to hear this story? It may be hard to swallow.”

“I’ve been to hell and back. A damn story isn’t going to be the worst of it.”

Kathy licked her dry lips and cleared her throat so she could speak clearer, softer. “After the war ended and Schmidt was defeated, a power vacuum tore at the heart of Hydra. The allies were rooting us out all over Europe. I was part of a division tasked with finding and obtaining any samples of the Erskine’s serum and destroying any evidence.”

You frowned, “Why would Hydra ask you to destroy their own serum?”

“I wasn’t tasked with finding Hydra samples,” Kathy coughed a dry, raspy cough. “There were rumours of the Russian’s having a sample. Intelligence said they had already started testing the serum on viable candidates. So while the Allies hunted Hydra, I hunted the Russian’s –could you get me some water? My throat is dryer than my scheide.”

You took a long, pensive breath and then got up from your chair to grab one of the plastic cups staked next to a plastic jug of water. When you returned to your seat, you handed her the cup and watched impatiently as she sipped slowly. The guard tapped his wrist, his body language leaning more towards annoyed. You held up five fingers to ask for more time but he looked to be heading your way. Immediately, Alexei put one hand on the guard's shoulder, spun him around and clocked him hard enough to knock him out instantly. Alexei caught the guard before he could tumble, shrugged at you innocently before placing the guard on the floor gently.

“Your friend's got quite a way with the locals,” Kathy joked before handing you the cup and continuing: “I had managed to discover the whereabouts of the Widow’s main operations. To think, the Red Room was moonlighting as a group home for the displaced and orphaned youths of the war, much like yourself I gather.” She chuckled. “Smart. Hiding in plain sight. The only problem was, our numbers weren’t sufficient for an attack, and with the rumours circulating of potential super soldiers being trained by the dozen, we didn’t have the manpower. So Hydra sent one of their remaining assets to assist.”

You knew instantly who she was referring to, “The Winter Soldier.”

“Yes,” Kathy held back another cough. “Until that night, I had thought him to be nothing more than a ghost story, but he was very, very real. One of his arms was made entirely of impenetrable metal. I never saw his face, only his eyes. I had never seen such hollow, soulless eyes before. He single-handedly shifted the fight in our favour, and he was… unstoppable. The next thing I knew, smoke was rising from broken windows and screams were lost to the fires.”

You blinked repeatedly, trying to remind yourself that Bucky and the Winter Soldier weren’t the same person. They couldn’t be. Suddenly it was all making sense. That’s why he’d looked so broken, it’s because he was. Hydra had turned him into… a monster. Was he the reason Yelena was missing an eye? Did he really kill all the Widows?

You rubbed your face and eyes with the ends of your fingers and tried to keep calm. Despite the rise of bile in your gullet and the feeling of dread filling your empty stomach, you held strong. “What happened next?” your voice wavered.

Kathy’s eyelids grew heavy, her head slowly anchoring down. “Some of the Widows managed to escape, the Winter Soldier made it his priority to hunt every last one down. The ones we got talking revealed there wasn’t an army of super soldiers. Most of their experiments had failed. There was only one subject who survived. A boy.” She paused for a moment, the memory bearing too much emotional heft for her to cruise through apathetically. “I found him hiding in the woods. Scared, alone and young. So, so young. But I had my orders…”

Suddenly, Alexei snapped his fingers at the doorway to get your attention. A whistle blew as the sound of feet running your way echoed throughout the concrete walls. “Snezhinka, we are out of time!”

“Hold them off for a few minutes, please.”

Alexei nodded and barrelled down the hall like a gladiator of Rome. The sound of grunting and fighting made its way to your ears, and the ears of all the other patients, causing them to burst into hysterics. Several guards shouted in Russian before they met Alexei’s fists, but you blocked it all out, focusing only on Kathy.

“Kathy, we’re running out of time. What happened next?”

Kathy was lost in her memory, disassociating for a moment, “The boy, he looked at me with such childlike fear. Nothing had shaken me like those brown and blue eyes of his. So peculiar. So rare… So beautiful. I had to let him go. I had to. But my team wouldn’t listen to reason so I killed them. All of them. And then I ran. I changed my name, my hair… And my reward was this.”

The mention of a boy with brown and blue eyes shook you to your core. The thought was there, waiting to come to the surface, but it couldn’t be. The coincidence was too high. It couldn’t be the same person.

Kathy laughed maniacally as more of the patients burst into an uproar. You shook her at the collar of her clothes to try and get her to return to her senses, “Kathy, I need you to focus. The soldier, you must know something about him, anything!”

“Before he left –the soldier–he mentioned a place to one of his men.”

“What place?” you had to stop yourself from shaking her a second time.

Kathy whispered, “Siberia.”

You released your grip on Kathy just as Alexei stormed back into the room with a sweaty brow. “We’re leaving, now!” he urged.

“It’s fine, I got what I came for,” you looked at Kathy one more time before walking away.

“Our deal?” She shouted in anger, confusion visible on her weathered face. “I heard it on your voice. You didn’t lie. You swore!”

You smirked, a slithering darkness surrounding your next words, “I am killing you, Kathy. Just like I promised. I’m just giving you a chance to die slowly.”

Alexei stared at you as if you had turned into a stranger, and in turn, you looked at him the same way. The two of you made your way through the facility, taking down a few more guards along the way, and got back into your car. Police sirens bellowed out from down the road as you sped away in the opposite direction.

Chapter 19 coming soon!

[shadowofmytime]

>> some of my absolute favorites ! like and reblog if you save and enjoy ! happy reading and give some kudos to these amazing writers ! always feel free to send me some of your favorites ! ! <<

>> There is a bit so for your convenience they are in alphabetical order ! The ‘s’s are some of my all-time favorites ! ! <<

>> min yoongi x park jimin <<

All the seasons of your love - 5k+ [college au]

The movement in the library was still slow in the first week, so Yoongi could easily remember the few people who came by. That's why he pays so much attention to a certain dark-haired freshman who walks in on a Wednesday afternoon - or at least that's what he tells himself. He goes over to the front counter and asks Yoongi for directions to the Economy 101 session and, God, his voice is as sweet as his eye-smile.

Or how librarian Yoongi fell head over heels for cute freshman Park Jimin who, unfortunately, was very much straight - or so Yoongi thought.

Bon Voyage - 47.9+ [tourist! au]

Yoongi was meant to be taking the trip of a lifetime with his boyfriend. But now he's in Paris, alone and miserable. That is until he collides - quite literally - with one Park Jimin.

Boys who talk shit - 26k+ [college au]

When Yoongi enrolled in BTS (aka Boys who Talk Shit) Boarding School, he wasn't really expecting to be the only 'straight' (to be read sarcastically) guy in a room of seven geniuses (aka children aged five to ten, honestly). Plus four pet spiders. Yes, plural.

Chaotic episodes in A Place of Love and War, where Yoongi learns all about True Love via Park Jimin, Music and Marriage. Sort of. Brain bleach and earplugs are strongly recommended.

Conflicting arrangement - 162k+ [fake boyfriend au]

"Absolutely not," Yoongi deadpanned. "Namjoon-ah. I value you as a friend, and I think I'd even go as far as to say that you're my best friend, but absolutely fucking not."

"You owe me," Namjoon pleaded. "Come on, Yoongi, it's not a big deal."

"Your boyfriend's best friend's best friend needs a fake boyfriend to come out to his family this Chuseok, all the way in fucking Busan," Yoongi repeated drily without pause, making Namjoon wince. He flipped a page of his textbook, picking up his highlighter. "Not a big deal, Namjoon. Amazing."

Cotton Candy - 240k [high school rock band]

"He could get used to sitting next to Yoongi like this. To have him around. To have the band around. To smile and feel happy. To see Yoongi sitting in front of an instrument and having him play just for him.

'If this was my happy ending,' Jimin thinks, resisting the urge to lean his head on Yoongi's shoulder, 'if I wasn't who I am, I'd just let you have me whenever you want. You could have me anytime.'"

As spring turns into summer, school band Cotton Candy unexpectedly loses its singer and the members are forced to look for a new vocalist. Six boys find one in the form of the promiscuous pink-haired boy Park Jimin who makes a home in their hearts and finally finds a place he belongs

Daegu drift - 53k+ [motorcyclist / playboy au]

Jimin stops in Daegu for a big motor show and gets caught up with the locals. Specifically one Min Yoongi.

Sneak Peek:

Yoongi has his arms folded as he stares Jimin down.

“Are you going to join the rally, or not?”

Jimin takes his time answering because he likes the way Yoongi is looking at him. “Sure. I guess it could be fun. But you do realize none of you have a chance against a Bugatti, right?”

“It’s not the car that wins the race,” the other man says. “It’s the driver. You could have the fastest, best-equipped car in the goddamn universe, but if you’re a shit driver, it doesn’t make a difference.”

Goodbye from lonely - 65k+ [uncle yoongi!]

Park Jimin works two jobs that he loves and is going to college to get his teaching degree.

Min Yoongi is a personal assistant who hates his job and spits in his boss' coffee every day.

Kim Taehyung has been infatuated with his clueless co-worker for the better part of a year.

Jeon Jeongguk has a three-year-old daughter that he'd do anything for.

Somehow the tiny human brings them all together.

Or

Tae is in love with Kookie -> Kookie's daughter takes Jimin's ballet class -> Yoongi is Kookie's stepbrother -> Jimin and Yoongi meet because of Kookie's daughter.

In your eyes (it’s where I wanna be) - 5.5k [coffee shop! au]

Jimin pauses with his marker inches away from the cup, because — is he really going to do this? Isn’t it a bit old-fashioned to write something flirty on a coffee cup? But no matter what his churning gut says about the danger and what the hell are you doing do you want to die, this guy is — with no better way to put it — totally Jimin’s Type with a capital T.

(Or: Jimin accidentally starts a nickname war with the cute blonde who likes his coffee way too bitter.)

Inked flowers - 6.4k [tattoo artist / florist au]

Something stopped him. A sound of a piano. He looked around and saw a light coming from the window on the other side of the street. On the third floor was an open window. A light and the sorrowful sound of a piano flew out of the room. Jimin looked closer and saw a figure or at least a top of someone's head.

The melody was so sad and sorrowful that Jimin wanted to cry. He started thinking, what could possibly go inside that person’s head? What were they thinking? Jimin just hoped that they weren’t sad and alone.

(let me see you) get high then low - 4k+ [photographer/model au]

"The light-haired model is the kind that fascinates Yoongi, and at the same time, he prefers to steer away from. He's all smiles and flowers, drawing you in with his cuteness until he's not anymore. Suddenly, he’s something else entirely; he's that false calm, the ocean that looks smooth on the surface but will drag you down to its depths if you dare to touch it."

or

Min Yoongi works in a photography studio with some (very questionable) friends that can't get any work properly done without making a bit of a fuss.

Park Jimin is a model handcuffed against his will and bored. Also a little bit horny, maybe.

Math Tutor - 11.7k [bad boy! yoongi]

Min Yoongi is the school's resident Bad Boy™. He's covered in tattoos, is pierced, curses like a sailor, smokes like crazy, doesn't give a shit about anything, possesses a hot temper that has people steering clear of him, and is desperately in love with Park Jimin, the adorable math nerd. When Jimin is tasked with tutoring Yoongi in math, who is in danger of failing the class and being held back a year, both boys are hesitant. Yoongi because he can't think straight around the boy with startling red hair, and Jimin because Yoongi is scary as hell and looks like he can easily kill someone. Gradually, though, the two grow closer, and Jimin finds that Yoongi is nothing like how he'd imagined.

Maybe I hate you can be our always - 35.9k [enemies to lovers]

When Yoongi thinks about it, really gives it genuine thought, it's possible that Park Jimin isn't the worst person in the world.

//

(Or, Yoongi and Jimin get off on the wrong foot.)

Ode to yoonmin - 4k+ [texting]

yoongi and jimin are in very much in love but they're the only ones who don't know it

OR

chat fic with a bunch of bad jokes and memes ¯\_(ツ)_/

Out of my system - 101.6k+ [one night stand]

Yoongi likes one night stands and he understands how they work. What he doesn’t understand, however, is how he ended up in bed with a probably-not-legal kid crying in his arms about his broken heart, because he’s pretty sure (and correct him if he’s wrong) that a babysitting job was not what he was looking for when he went to the opening of his friend’s new club

Standing on the brink of 376 - 42.9k+ [street racing]

When Taehyung woke him up at three AM to go to a street race—an illegal one, no less—claiming it would help his social anxiety, Jimin never actually expected it to do much for him, except maybe make him cry hysterically. He found that he really wasn't too far off-kilter with that assumption, but it was only after he'd suffered through countless bouts of insecurity that he realized, hidden behind each stuttered breath, every inevitable tear, every spark of unavoidable fear, and even the customary cloud of cigarette smoke itself, lay a tremendous amount of affection for a certain platinum haired street racer that he can't even begin to justify. But when his opinion of fact, fate, and even life itself continues to blur with each push of the gas pedal, he thinks he just might be able to forgive himself for falling in love with a criminal, when the nonsensical moonshine of the present mutes the anxiety that had been a constant within his heart up until this November.

Strawberry lube - 82.7k+ [college au]

Yoongi remembers little to nothing of their crazy drunken night out. But of two things he's absolutely sure, one: he's not gay, two: he just slept with Park Jimin

The Paradiso Lounge - 192k+ [photographer/stripper au]

“Do I have to pay you for that service?”

This isn’t a dream (let me love you) - 26k+ [highschool au]

As captain of his high school’s basketball team, Min Yoongi dedicated all of his attention to his team and their games. His focus on the game never waned, not once for anything or anyone.

Well, until head cheerleader Park Jimin flashed his abs during a solo cheer and made him fuck up his shot

Trying to Behave (but you know we never learned how) - 329k+ [non-idol! au]

It's been years since Yoongi's last seen him and the younger boy is a shell of his former self in a way that makes his heart twist in his chest. And yet, after all this time and countless days of convincing himself to let him go, he's still unconditionally, head over heels in love with Park Jimin.

(Jimin and Yoongi grow up together.)

Valentino Summers - 657k+ [‘80s gangsters]

Whether or not Jimin was smuggling drugs really didn’t matter. He was hustling, and these days that was all there was to it.

Hustle and survive or struggle and die.

Y/N masterlist  << check it out !! xoxo

[souridealist]

Minami Kenjirou, Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri, gen-ish, 4k, G. No archive warnings apply; other warnings at the link. This is my contribution to @rareshipsonice!

Katsuki Yuuri is a war hero; Minami Kenjirou's personal idol; and is spending his military retirement quietly hauling asteroids at a training-stint station in a forgotten corner of the galaxy. Yurio Plisetsky is an abrasive, arrogant mess of a pilot, but he seems to know what's going on. Kenjirou doesn't want to invade anyone's privacy, but he does want to understand.

I’m going to take a page from someone I knew on LJ and muse a bit about writing it behind the cut! 

It was weird writing this, because I signed up and then immediately went off and got fixated on a three-year-old video game? I feel like I should have more control over these things than I do. But I had made a commitment and I was Determined to Finish It. 

So: space! I agonized so much over whether this was the wrong kind of space AU, but my recipient seemed to like it. I borrowed a ton  from the early Vorkosigan books - neural-interfaced cyborg pilots, asteroid mining, the politically complicated war hanging in the backstory but mainly relevant in how it impacted the protagonists. I had fun trying to feed enough information to the reader without infodumping, although that has some pitfalls - I got Avery to read the first two-thirds or so and in the middle of a separate discussion he said “especially since you decided to have Viktor be dead in this AU --” and I lost my shit and went to make some edits. The original version of the first scene was something like: 

“Just because Viktor –”

Yuuri’s head jerks up. “Yurio,” he says. “Don’t talk about Viktor.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Plisetsky sneers. “Your precious Viktor –”

“Yurio,” Yuuri says, rubbing his forehead – rubbing at the silver circle of his interface implant as if it pains him. “I will walk away from this table.”

So, yeah. The value of getting other eyes on your work! 

(The other interesting thing Avery said was that he’d never expected this setting from me. I love knowing when I surprise people? I’m not sure why.) 

Putting together my Minami was interesting, because we really only see him interact with Yuuri in the show, and he spends most of this fic bouncing off Yurio. Minami has very little patience for Yuuri’s self-deprecation, in canon, so I decided he would have exactly no time for some angry asshole’s Yuuri-deprecation. And then he realizes there’s a bit more to Yurio than that, and that most of Yurio’s aggression is a front. 

I’d actually originally intended this as Yurio/Minami, but I decided that was one more ball than I could juggle in this story. (Especially since I kept writing unrelated things. I posted like four things during the fest’s writing period and every single time the ‘fulfill assignment?’ checkbox stared out of the screen at me like a judgmental eye.) Some of the buildup is still in there, though, which is why I marked it as gen-ish up there. 

The title is grabbed from a Leonard Cohen song (”Night Comes On”), as is rapidly becoming my fallback whenever I can’t think of one, and the title is much more about Yuuri than Minami and Yurio - the song is in fact about a soldier learning to re-engage with the world, so I guess the title gives the plot away. I didn’t have any better ideas, though. 

I think that’s it, except that I had a fun moment in trying to decide what to call Minami’s hand-held, extremely powerful ansible-enabled communications-and-Internet-surving device, and then realized that if we’ve gone from wall-mounted telephones which you can’t even dial to tiny computers that fit in your pocket, and kept calling them phones the whole time, we’ll probably keep calling it a phone when we hook it up to an FTL communications net.

[cyberstabbing]

Sci-fi/Dystopian future/Danger Days/idk

Heaven’s Not About Your Reputation - Desolation Row AU. The Tipper Laws have consumed the nation; more and more freedoms are being restricted every day. After getting thrown in jail for causing a riot with their illegal punk show, My Chem decides to do the logical thing: cause even more trouble. 28k

In Repair - "Shit,“ Frank mutters, and shoves both hands through his hair. He looks around the kitchen like he’s gonna find what he should do scratched into the old linoleum, then looks back at the bot. He gnaws on his lip. Fuck it. He already knows what he’s gonna do. He’s just gotta do it.

Getting down on his knees, he braces a hand on the edge of the crate and leans over the bot. It’s dressed in a plain white tee and matching drawstring pants like an escaped mental patient. Frank rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles, shaking the ache out of them before carefully laying his palm against its cheek. He’s pretty sure his voice is steady when he says, "Activate.”

Nothing happens. Fucking shitty packaging– the thing’s busted. But Frank keeps his hand where it is, jumping a little when he feels the surge of energy beneath it. The robot’s skin goes from room temperature to lukewarm, then warm. Frank watches it open its eyes, the light behind them adjusting until they’re a pale sort of brown. It looks at him and asks, “Am I dead?” 33k

sing it for the n00bs - Gerard would be killing twice as many dracs right now if his fucking spacebar would quit sticking. (Gamer AU, wherein the Danger Days universe is an MMORPG.) 17k

I was rereading this on a bus in France with my stepsister. She asked me what I was reading and I just squirmed around in my seat. So she shouted “FANFICTION??” And I was like … Well, I mean, yes–but hear me out!! And so I told her about Danger Days, the Killjoys and the whole gamer au concept.

She actually thought it sounded pretty cool. Or maybe she just wanted me to quit gushing about it and leave her alone.

The point is, if someone who just heard a second-rate description of this fic still thought it sounded interesting, that means it’s HELLA RAD. And it is. So. Read it.

The Way They Fly - Frank is a robot. He is in love with his genius creator, Gerard, who doesn’t realize that Frank is capable of real feelings. Frank starts breaking down, getting ill, and Gerard doesn’t know what to do to fix it - all his methods are completely useless, none of the programming explains why this is happening to his Frank - but it’s because Frank has a broken heart. 17k

Of Another Kind - Gerard is an alien on a mission–to find a human mate on Earth. He’s decided on Frank Iero, but his database doesn’t give him all the facts he needs to win over his future companion, and there are just some things he will have to learn on his own. 17k

Let The Darkness Lead You Home - Vampires are in charge and most of the humans on earth are prey, so Frank Iero’s parents have him train as a cyber tech to protect him. Leaving the family he’s born into may have saved his life, but his parents never could have expected the lengths he’d go to in order to find a new family to call home. 49k

The Chasing of Moons - The biggest dilemma in all of this is that Frank slept with his future husband. Now Frank’s just got to make sure that the future with him stays intact, but it’s not so easy when present day Gerard seems to hate his guts. 110k

Might I Have a Bit of Earth - Gerard took things. He didn’t used to take things; he used to ask before, say please and may I and other things his parents taught him, because that was what you did. You didn’t just take. 14k

Space pirates :D !!

Are You Broken? (from the Robot!Gerard series) - Frank gets sick and Gerard doesn’t understand. <1k (the series is 7k)

Lovely Way to Burn - Frank is no stranger to sickness. He’s been wheezing his way in and out of hospitals since he was a kid, but things are different now. He was already pulled from two assignments due to illness, and the third time is the charm. Three strikes and you’re out. 4k

video girl - This is a space AU that has more random worldbuilding than actual porn in it. In which Frank wanders into a virtual sex video booth. 1k

Reaching Through The Mirror - The one where Party Poison and Basement!Gerard have sex. 5k

(part one of Time Travel ‘verse)

James Cameron Got It Wrong - In which 2005!Frank and Fun Ghoul get it on. Then Frank accidentally winds up in 2019. 56k

(part two of Time Travel ‘verse)

yoooo i just found some really really REALLY good fanart. .. unbelievably good. and six years after the fic came out! that’s amazing!! anyway, here it is.

EDIT #2: found some more! Man, that fic just keeps giving.

EDIT #3: Damn it, the artist’s blog (second one) is marked as having “sensitive content”, so I couldn’t view it anymore on this account. So here is the post reblogged on a sfw blog for y’all youngins, and here is a screenshot juuust in case the sfw blog deactivates and that link stops working, too. 

The Science of Sleep - It’s 2011 and Frank Iero’s life is pretty average until the night where he starts getting dreams about a strange, apocalyptic California where there’s rayguns, grey corporations and terrorists who use art and color as a weapon. Interesting and fun at first, but the more he dreams about this world, the more he starts to wonder if it really is a dream… and the deeper he gets into this futuristic world, the more it seems to affect his life in the present day.

And just how exactly does everything all seem to link in with that douchebag black-haired artist who sits in Starbucks every day?

(Set in the Danger Days world but not necessarily following the cannon established by the album and music video’s.) 93k

Killjoys Never Die - No description. 2k

i want to die i want to die i want to die

Up Against Your Will (HERE is the chapter index) - Stepping into a world so different from their own, Frank and Gerard struggle to survive. 18 chapters

this was amazing, but also hard to read in some parts, bc of the non con and gore :/ not my cup of tea, but I did love the word building and the fic overall.

Fogs, Sheets and Thunder - Not as grey as it seems. A post-apocalyptic postal service AU. 5k

And ze art!

​The World Famous Extraterrestial Diner - Sure the menu had a picture of literally everything in it, causing the menu itself to be ten pages in total, but that was for the foreign visitors. And not just the ones from other countries, according to the owners.Gerard worked at a diner located directly on the famous ‘extraterrestrial highway’. The pictures were more for if any actual aliens ever came by Earth for a good meal and couldn’t speak English. They had the pictures to see exactly what was on offer. Even the beverages had their own separate pictures.Not that they had had any extraterrestial visitors since, like, ever. 8k

Born to Motorbabies - Here's the thing with having a crush on a mysterious DJ; it's kind of an inconvenient place to hang your affections. 12k

The person who’s rec list i snagged this from (can’t remember who, sorry!) added “​affectionately referred to as the dishwasher fic” which is v cute so I’m putting it here too.

...the weapon - Tattoos are one of the ways they measure out the time between getting ghosted. Inspired by Art is... 0.2k

Code Red - In the fall out of a fire fight, Party Poison goes looking for medicine, and finds pretty much the exact opposite of that. 2k Ship: Party Poison/Korse

Workplace Appropriate Attire - Korse is a creepy boyfriend. 1k

Ship: Party Poison/Korse

This was fun to read, but some lines made me go OH SHIT, because ...... well if you read this you will know what I’m talking about.

We Got Machines - There are questions on the lips of everyone with eyes or money on the arena. Who is this kid? Where’d he come from? Who trained him? BLind’s got no records on him, meaning he’s a Zonebrat returning to the grasp of the city of his own volition. Another anomaly. That a 16 year old nobody could waltz in out of nowhere and turn the system on its head is... concerning to BLind. <1k

Part 1 of KJ/Griefers 'verse (3.5k in total)

Ship: Deadmau5/G3rard

xoxoxoxo - Party Poison wakes up somewhere he's never been - but there's plenty that's familiar here. 1k

Ship: Party Poison/Korse

Looking for Satellites - Galaxy-hopping alien trader Gerard has business on space station Perseus Four. Getting to know station administrator Grant is a nice bonus. 25k Ship: Gerard/Grant Gerard is a sexy, telepathic and open minded (heh) alien and it’s great.

the only hope for me - Korse has never been one to show his emotions. 1k Ship: Korse/Party Poison

your kicks don't hit, so we remain the same - a battery city ambush goes somewhat wrong. korsepoison. 0.8k Ship: Korse/Party Poison

Methane Skies - Run, run, bunny, run. 3k

Hot damn this is some creepy and suspenseful stuff. Ship: (implied) Korse/Party Poison

mutilate, maim and destroy (just a tad) - For clarification, this fic is about Gerard Way the actual person being tortured by Korse in the Killjoys universe. Like. Hnng, you'll see nevermind. Ship: Gerard/Korse

A Room Full Of Suicides - His jaw was clenched and his whole body quivering. He looked right at Korse with those huge, transparent eyes. “Do what you want to me. I don’t give a shit, Korse.” He drew in a breath that shook. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s about standing up for what you believe in.” God, the kid was adorable. Korse couldn’t wait to make him scream. 4k Ship: Korse/Party Poison, Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (implied)

Of All the Places in the Universe - Gerard, an alien with a severe case of anomie and wanderlust, crash-lands in Jersey while traveling the galaxy. A chance meeting with a creature his studies had told him didn't exist leads to a surprising turn of events. With time, Gerard comes to call Earth home, and finds love with the adorable punk who found him--Frank, an energetic puppy of a werewolf who's really more bark than bite. 30k

"You know The Smiths?"

Gerard grinned. "Oh, yes! They're one of my favorite Earth bands."

Thank You For The - Just an alien in New Jersey, looking for a mate. 0.5k Ship: Gabe Saporta/Mikey Way

"Have fun," Gerard said, even though he'd just told Mikey he couldn't have fun because he needed to be careful. Mikey wished his venom sacs were fully developed. He would spit on Gerard's shoes.

Double Exposure - “The worst part was the confession. Well, the explanation sucked too.” Written for prompt 38. Frank/Mikey - Frank and Mikey bodyswap during tour and have to play shows as each other. 2.5k

Frank isn’t part italian in this fic. He’s part alien! :D Ship: Frank/Mikey

[bobodelrey]

i’ve been trying to fix my pride fandom: voltron legendary defender ship/rating: klance//g words: ~4k summary: Lance's soulmark showed up on his wrist when he was eight--the only problem is, he can't read it. It's in another language entirely.So the obvious answer, of course, is to get it covered with a tattoo. other tags: modern au, soulmate au, college 

also available on ao3.

Lance sticks his right arm out, wrist up. “I need you to cover this.”

The guy behind the counter—his age, likely, though it's hard to tell through the haze of his hangover—levels him with a look. A look that clearly says that he is not in the mood to deal with whatever bullshit Lance can manage to cook up.

Then he goes back to looking at his phone.

Lance clears his throat, shaking his wrist in the guy's direction. “I need you to cover this,” he repeats a little louder. “Please?”

He finally looks up, locking his phone and setting it down on the counter. He's Asian, and could easily be considered attractive if it wasn't for what he called his “hairstyle.” The sweat bands on his wrists that were popular in middle school didn't help things either.

“Fine,” he agrees, a hard edge to the word that Lance is too tired to take proper stock of. Maybe, it he hadn't spent the night before drinking and maybe, if he had eaten something before he had decided to march into the tattoo parlor closest to campus, he would have cared.

Lance nods, a single sharp jerk of his head downward, and waits. He's going to jump out of his skin if this takes any longer, nerves setting his teeth on edge, head pounding in time with his heart.

He waits for the guy behind the counter—he hasn't caught his name, yet, and Lance isn't going to ask just yet, not when it could crop up in general small talk while he's getting the mark on his wrist covered up—to say anything to him, to make a move toward the back, to ask Lance what he wants for a tattoo.

Instead, he pulls out a bandaid, opens it up, and before Lance can properly process what in the hell this guy is doing, places it directly over the mark on Lance's wrist.

“Done.”

There's a curl to the guy's mouth that Lance is pretty sure means he's pleased.

“That's not what I meant.”

The guy shrugs. “It's covered.”

Lance narrows his eyes, taking a step back from the counter. He can't exactly argue with that logic, but sticking a band aid on it isn't what he meant.

“I'll be back.” It's nearly too Terminator-esque for his tastes, but he means it. “And your mullet is horrific,” he shouts over his shoulder.

*

He was eight when the characters showed up.

He had been brushing his teeth at the time, elbowing for room at the sink between two of his sisters. He was more focused on his teeth than his wrist at the time, as most people typically are.

Halana had noticed it first, eagle eyed and nosy as she was. She had smacked her hand against the mirror, mouth full of toothpaste, excited noises making their way to her lips.

Lance had scrunched up his nose and kept brushing, because Halana did things like that too often and it wasn't like he could understand her anyway.

But it had attracted Sophia's attention, and her eyes had affixed on Lance's wrist in the mirror. She had started screaming for their mother immediately, and it had scared Lance half to death because he thought something was wrong.

Instead, his mother had sat him down and explained to him the concept of soulmates and soulmarks and everything else that had gone with the territory.

It was an incredibly traumatizing time for eight year old Lance, made worse by the fact that he couldn't read his soulmark. They were character of some sort, and even then Lance wasn't much one for linguistics.

But it was, nevertheless, the name of his soulmate. He just couldn't read it. It wasn't English, certainly, which his mother and countless other told him meant that his soulmate, whomever they were, was unlikely from America.

He was never one for covering it up, instead going with the hope that no one would notice them instead. It was rare, he was told by the expert his mother had taken him to at the age of ten, to have a name in a completely different alphabet on his wrist. Rare, but not impossible.

By the time he was twelve, he has resolved to himself a handful of things: That he was going to work for NASA, that aliens were definitely out there somewhere and whas going to find them, and that he would likely never actually meet his soulmate. Which was okay, because he was a realist and he knew that the first two would take up all of his time.

*

Lance is far more clear headed than he was the day before when he walks into the tattoo parlor, bell jingling merrily above the door.

“I need a tattoo covered,” Lance says. There's another guy behind the counter with the one from yesterday, also Asian but more imposing. The scar across the bridge of his nose, coupled with a patch of white hair, draws Lance's eyes immediately. “With ink, this time.”

His current nemesis opens his mouth, likely to retort, when the other guy chides in warning, “Keith.”

'Keith' deflates immediately, shoulder's slumping as he side eyes his co-worker for a moment before turning his attention back to Lance.

“Fine,” he says shortly. “What kind of tattoo were you thinking of getting?”

Lance's mind sputters to a stop for a moment; he had been more than prepared to fight for this, too stubborn to go to another tattoo parlor because this one, specifically, was posing a challenge. There was very little Lance loved more than a challenge.

“Just put, like, a black bar? Or an equal symbol for marriage equality or some shit? I don't care.”

“You don't care?” A beat. “You want me to cover a tattoo you already didn't want with something you don't care about?”

Keith, despite being so against giving him a tattoo in the first place, is up in arms about this. It surprises Lance for a moment before he realizes that anyone with a mullet has to have a skewed set of priorities.

“I just need it covered, dude.”

“Done,” he says, sitting back smugly while tossing the marker back under the counter.

Lance sputters for a moment, unbelieving. His mouth is wide open, and the voice in his head (Pidge calls it reason; it sounds more like Lance's mother) is telling him he's going to catch bugs with his mouth like that.

His jaw clicks shut abruptly, annoyance bubbling up in his chest. This guy is infuriating.

“I'll be back,” Lance threatens, stepping away from the counter again, intent on leaving.

“Good,” Keith snaps back. “Make an appointment.”

A handful of business cards are thrown bodily in Lance's direction on his way out—Lance manages to catch most of them, far more than he'll ever need, and is out the door in a heartbeat.

He's almost back to this dorm by the time he looks at the business cards, all of them the same:

Voltron

Keith Kogane

Something in Lance stirs when he reads the name, but he assumes it's his stomach. Lunch seems so far away.

*

Later, he relates the whole story to Pidge and Hunk over soggy pizza slices and open textbooks, marker dried over his soulmark. The two of them are his best friends, and they understand his tenuous relationship with his soulmark—Hunk has one himself, though he's already found his other half, and Pidge never got one at all.

“Why do you keep going back to the same place?” Hunk asks, flipping back in his textbook to reread a passage he only half absorbed. “I mean, wouldn't it be easier if you didn't have to deal with Mullet Man?”

“This is Lance,” Pidge says, shoving a slice of pizza in their mouth. “He's too stubborn to do anything else but stick with Plan A.”

“I am not!” Lance objects immediately, slamming his text book shut. He remembers, a half second later, that he still needed it open to a specific page, and begins to skim through it again hastily.

“Lance, your plan B if you didn't get into college was to join the circus?” Hunk reminds. “I'm not saying that's extreme, but it was a little extreme.”

Pidge, eyes wide with this new information, sets their pizza slice down and fixes all of their undivided attention on Lance. “The circus?”

“I'm a man of extremes, Pidge.”

Hunk, spotting the devious gleam in Pidge's eyes, cuts in before the situation gets so far out of hand that there's no hope of salvaging it.

“Why do you want your mark covered up anyway? There's still a chance you could meet them, buddy.” Hunk has tried this line of reasoning with his best friend before, and had doubled down on it when he met the girl whose name was on his wrist.

“What if I don't want to?”

“And by that, he means he still hasn't managed to translate the characters on his wrist, nor has bothered to try,” Pidge jibes.

Lance can't argue with that, because what they've said is true. So he steers the conversation away again, saying, “I wanted to be a lion tamer. Maybe one of those people on the high wire?”

Pidge cackles, “You'd clearly be a clown!”

*

It's another week before Lance wanders through the door of Voltron, right on time for his appointment. The interior is empty, like is has been for each of his last visits, artwork decorating the walls and not a single customer to be found.

Keith is the only one behind the counter again, lower lip tucked up behind some of his teeth as he focuses on his phone.

He still hasn't looked up by the time Lance reaches the counter, so Lance does as most post-pubescent males do—he slams his hands down on the counter top and hopes for the funniest possible reaction.

Except, Keith doesn't jump. He just looks up from his phone, glaring at Lance like he's the anti-Christ or something.

Lance grins and holds his right arm out toward him, wrist up. Keith rolls his eyes, but locks his phone and puts it underneath the counter.

“What was it you finally decided on?” Lance had gone through and made the appointment over the phone after his conversation with Pidge and Hunk, more firm in his decision to cover up his soulmark than ever.

“Just put a bar over it,” he says, dropping his arm to the counter. “Like, all the way around so it looks like a band and whatnot.” It's not original. It's not artistic. But it's going to work for him.

Keith is, understandably, unimpressed.

“Do you even know what these mean?” he asks. Lance can't tell if it's out of derision or curiosity. “Or did you get them at some kind of frat party and regret your decision?”

“I wish.” The words are out before Lance can think about them properly, but that's the problem with being him most of the time—he doesn't come equipped with a brain-to-mouth filter. “It's one of those soul-identifying marks or whatever,” Lance says dismissively by way of explanation.  “Kind of diminishes my chances with the ladies, if you know what I mean.”

Keith fiddles with one of the sweatbands around his wrist—Lance has managed to keep his mouth shut about those, for now, but he can feel whatever good manners he has breaking down—before sliding a few papers across the counter.

“So. Just need you to print your name, date and sign where it says . . .”

Lance does as he's told, printing his name as nicely as he can (“You have the handwriting of a kindergartener,” Pidge says in his head; maybe he should get that checked out—he's certain he's only supposed to have his own voice in his head, and Pidge being part of his voice of reason likely means nothing but trouble), and signs the papers with a flourish.

He pushes them back in Keith's direction when he's done, hands shoved into his pockets and balled into fists with his nerves. He can't actually believe that he's doing this—that he's getting his stupid soulmark covered up once and for all, he's never going to have to actually see it again, he's never going to have to think about it again.

Keith glances over the paperwork, fiddling with his sweatbands again, and all of Lance's willpower not to say anything about them breaks. “You know, those were popular in, like, middle school, right?”

“Do you have a problem with me?” Keith demands. “Because I don't actually have to give you a tattoo! I don't have to cover up your soulmark! I can let you wander around with it until you go somewhere else and stop bothering me!”

“Yikes,” Lance says after his initial shock. “Someone didn't eat their wheaties this morning.”

The frown Keith graces him could easily curdle milk.

He shucks the sweatbands off, throwing them to land beside the register. He doesn't break eye contact with Lance even once, bringing his hands back to the counter. “Better?”

There's a challenge there, and Lance isn't quite sure what all of that is about. He just made a comment and might have, maybe, purposely, escalated the situation.

“I mean, yeah, chill? I was just saying.”

Lance's eyes catch on Keith's wrist, red and wrinkled from where the sweatband was.

“Lance McClain,” he reads slowly. And then he laughs, short and dry. “Ha, that's my name! Funny.”

Keith is staring at him like a deep caught in headlights, like he can't really believe what he's seeing.

Lance pulls a face at him. “There's seventeen people in this country with the same name, my man. Now can we get this covered, or . . .?”

“There's seventeen Lance McClain's in this country?” Keith repeats, almost like he can't really believe himself. He sounds strangled.

“Uh. I just said that? I'm sure one of them has your name and whatnot?” Lance is starting to feel more than a little jumpy, like his skin is going to dance off of his skeleton. “Like, is this going to be a problem? Because I can go elsewhere, I guess.”

He doesn't really give Keith a chance to answer—he's already backing up and away from the counter, resolutely not looking at the other man, and his wrist is itching, burning like it hasn't in a long time, and why his lungs feel like they're going to blow?

Lance barely hears Keith before the door closes between them:

“That's Korean on your wrist!”

*

“How'd it go?”

Pidge is the only one in his dorm room—Hunk must be out somewhere with Shea, and Pidge never stays in their own room anyway.

“I, uh. Didn't get my tattoo.”

Pidge looks up from where they're spread out on Hunk's bed, blankets piled up high around them. Lance can smell the open bag of Doritos from where he's standing, and he doesn't even want to question just how long Pidge has holed themselves

“What, did they run out of ink?” They snicker at their own joke as Lance shucks off his coat and kicks his shoes off.

“No.”

“Did you chicken out?”

“No?” He doesn't count leaving because the guy who was going to cover his soulmark happens to have his name on his wrist as chickening out. Not entirely.

“The name on his wrist is the same as mine.”

“The same as yours as in polyamory, or the same as yours as in literally your name?” And. Well. Pidge always catches onto things a little too quickly for Lance's melodrama to fully mature.

“The second one,” Lance says. It isn't a big deal. Nope. Not at all. Not even remotely.

Pidge practically chokes on their spit before launching a textbook at Lance's head. “You're a goddamn idiot!”

He barely manages to dodge the offending object, slamming himself backward so hard his head knocks into the wall.

“What the heck, Pidgeon!”

“He has your name on his wrist!” Pidge's eyes are wide behind their wire framed glasses, and he's never seen them so crazed other than the time he threatened to pour cream soda all over their keyboard. “And you just? You left?”

“Yes?”

There's pause that feels like it stretches miles. It makes the hair on the back of Lance's neck prick up, and his palms begin to clam.

“Do you remember that day you woke up naked in the quad with lipstick and glitter smeared all over your face?”

He has uncomfortable flashbacks; he doesn't know, exactly, how he ended up there.

“Because, you know,” Pidge rolls on, “I have the video of how you got there. And if you don't go back to the that tattoo parlor, I am going to upload it to every social media site and everyone will know your shame before you do.”

Lance questions, for a moment, if Pidge is lying. And if they aren't lying, then could he possibly live with what is on the video? He doesn't remember anything from that specific night, but waking up buck ass naked in the quad with a pidgeon perched on his dick was bad enough.

It's better, probably, not to doubt Pidge.

Lance tucks his feet back into shoes and scoops his jacket up, and leaves Pidge to their own devices.

*

He passes Hunk on the way down the stairs. His best friend is beaming, steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

“Heya, buddy!” Hunk greets, effectively stopping Lance in his tracks.

“I need your advice,” Lance blurts. It's exactly what he wasn't going to say, but Hunk has always been more than willing to listen to Lance's problems—he is, also, the one that was encouraging him not to go through with the tattoo.

“Oh, no. Is your tattoo already hurting you? Are you nauseous? Did you eat before you went in like you were supposed to? You can't take any ibuprofen yet I don't think—it's a blood thinner, y'know, and you don't want that to bleed anymore than it needs to but--”

“Hunk,” Lance interrupts, “buddy. I didn't get the tattoo.” He keeps on down the stairs, fully intent to be on his way.

Except, Hunk turns around and follows him back down the stairs, out into the chilly night outside of their dorm building.

“What happened?” There's no joke about running out of ink or breaking needles—that's Pidge's area, a hundred percent. With Hunk, it's always been genuine concern and gentle understanding.

“The guy I've been dealing with the whole time—the one with the mullet? I made fun of the sweatbands he wears over his wrists. So he took them off.”

Hunk waits for the rest of the story patiently, even as they reach the quad and cross it. He's always had this way of making Lance talk, of causing Lance to divulge more information than he necessarily wants to just because he's Hunk.

“He, uh. Has my name on his wrist. But there's seventeen Lance McClain's in this country,” Lance explains. The night is cloudy, cold, and the street lamps are giving off a yellow lighting that is doing terrible things to his complexion.

“Okay. So there's seventeen people—including you—that have that name. What do you think the chances are of walking into the same tattoo parlor where someone has that name on their wrist?”

And Hunk—Hunk could probably go into schooling for being a councilor, or something, if this whole engineering degree doesn't work out for him.

“You can't make me do math at a time like this, Hunk,” Lance whines instead, leaning his head on his best friend's shoulder. “It's inhumane.”

“They're infinitesimal, Lance. Less than one in a million.”

“Is this the part where you tell me fate sent me into that tattoo parlor?”

“What do you think you are, some kind of Disney Princess?” Hunk jokes, elbow going into Lance's ribs.

Lance blows a raspberry at him rather inelegantly, relishing the childishness of the action.

“He also says that the characters on my wrist are Korean and, uh. I'm pretty sure he's Korean, Hunk.” Lance perches himself up on the brick wall, heels digging into the mortar. Hunk sets his coffee down and hauls himself up beside him.

“I get that you've had these weird ideas about your soulmark—we've been friends since we were ten, dude, you can't deny it—but is this freaking you out because you might have actually found your soulmate, or is this freaking you out because they're a dude.”

Lance snorts, snatching Hunk's coffee cup out of his hands. “You know I don't have a problem with that.”

“With what?” Oh. Hunk wants him to admit it.

Out loud.

“With, uh.” Lance rolls his shoulders, attempting to gesture dismissively. “The whole being a dude thing.” He's never actually admitted his bisexuality to Hunk—he's always just kind of known.

Of course, walking into a bathroom to catch Lance making out with another dude their Junior Prom might have given him a pretty big hint.

Lance looks to his friend, waiting for the conversation to pick up.

“Now, while I'm glad we've had this heart to heart, it's really cold out here. So I'm going back inside, and you're going to Voltron.”

He really needs new friends.

*

Lance strolls into Voltron again, hands shoved in his pockets. The florescent lights inside are nearly blinding after being out in the dark; he has to pause for a moment just inside the door to blink tears out of his eyes.

Keith is still sitting resolutely behind the counter, and Lance wonders again if they ever actually have customers of if there's some mysterious benefactor just paying the bills.

“Hey.” Keith looks up at him for a moment before looking back down at his phone, acting like he hasn't seen him.

“It's. Uh. Come to my attention that I was a bit of a dick.”

Keith keeps looking at his phone, shoulder's stiff as a board.

It's incredibly unnerving, and Lance—he isn't used to being in the wrong, to having to own up to his mistakes, to even openly admitting he's bisexual.

And to be faced down with this gorgeous tattoo artist, this guy who is in all probability his freaking soulmate, is compounding that.

He feels like he's going to die from a heart attack; he should have taken Pidge up on creating his last will and testament before he left.

“Like, I mean. A seriously huge dong. And it was definitely uncalled for. I just—of all the tattoo parlor's I could have walked into, and I picked the one with my soulmate working behind the counter. So, uh, whoop-de-doo. Also, about your sweaty wrist band things, I'm sorry I made fun of those. Like, I get people want to cover up their soulmarks and whatnot—I mean, that's why I was even here in the first place—and it was really . . . insensitive? Is that the word I'm looking for?

“Anyway, it was insensitive of me to ask you to cover up your name even though it's on my wrist. And for making fun of your questionable fashion choices—like, maybe thank me later for not making fun of your mullet out loud?--and. Uh. For like every other time I've been in here?”

He knows that Pidge would have wanted a video of this. It's more than enough blackmail material, and it's the first time Lance has had to actively apologize in years.

Keith finally looks up from his phone, face expressionless. He's not moved by Lance's apology at all.

“There's a diner about a block from here,” Keith says in lieu of accepting Lance's heartfelt apology. “We could go get dinner?”

He's surprised, for a moment, that Keith would still want anything to do with him—considering how much of a dick he's been since the moment he walked into Voltron, he was expecting something quite different.

Lance clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. Sure.”

He's not sure what it will lead to, but something feels like it clicks in his core when he walks out of Voltron, side by side with Keith.

[rightwingbully-blog]

Returning to Conservatism at the Height of Controversy

As many reading this already know, all throughout the latter half of 2016 I was a vehement supporter of Hillary Clinton. Today I can say with the utmost confidence, I was wrong and I’m sure some of my friends and family will never let me live that down. First and foremost, I need to clarify: I strongly believe that Donald Trump is the most unqualified, embarrassing, and repulsive individual to work in the oval office to date. I will likely never support him, nor see him as a legitimate leader. HOWEVER, I feel that under a Republican ran congress, with actual politicians working along side him, America actually may have a shot. There are a few things I want to accomplish with this initial blog. First and foremost, I want to clear the air as to why I ever fell into the trap of socialism. Second, I want to make a case for my fellow men and women on the right who may need some statistics to back up their claims in their next heated Thanksgiving arguments. Lastly, I want to express clearly what it is that the Republican and Libertarian parties represent to me. So without further ado, topic number one.... It all really comes down to one key element- marketing. With a solid marketing plan you can make even the most ludicrous items seem enticing. The Democratic Party have managed to grasp on to a majority of today's millennials and young adults by painting a vivid picture of a socialist utopia with no person left hungry, sick or wanting. They make progressive Europe out to be the epitome of civilization and cultural acceptance, laying out bullet point after bullet point of good things that might happen if you are willing to release “this” freedom or “that” one in a blind trust- or at the very least, you'd be willing to compromise on them, right? By captivating such a large majority of today's youth, they have gained a plethora of individuals that are undergoing or have completed a higher level of education. These individuals are formidable. Buying into the promises of big brother, they contort statistics and budgets to fit their agenda. They tell you that free or affordable college or healthcare will not affect your taxes to any degree, or that it will be such a small amount you won't notice it. The young and struggling, like myself in the very recent past, further buy in to this fantasy in hopes that it may set us free of financial mistakes we may have made previously. I will counter this using simple statistics, and at the same time address the issue of illegal immigration. My example of socialism will the ever-praised Canada, and obviously my example of capitalism will be the best god damn country on the face of the fuckin' earth (USA!) So, it's all pretty simple math once you find the numbers to plug in. This is what it looks like:

CANADA 35.16mil people 17mil of which are tax payers cost of healthcare $141 billion

This averages out to $8,294 per tax payer annually. Information provided by Fraser Institute, note the figures they give show the price per Canadian, not per tax payer. Since not every Canadian is a tax payer that leads to one of the misleading statistics that I addressed previously. (The number they provide is $4k)

USA USA USA 319mil plus approximately 11mil illegal immigrants totaling to 330mil. 122mil tax payers Due to the population of the US being roughly 9x that of Canada, we simply multiply the cost of Canadian care by nine to end up with a total of 1.2 trillion. This averages out to about $9800 per tax payer annually.

If that doesn't sound bad enough, take into consideration that the entire federal budget of 2015 was only 3.8 trillion. There is simply not a way to “smarter spend” our way without raising taxes drastically. (source for 2015 budget:nationalpriorities.org/budget-basics/federal-budget-101/spending ) Socialism is not a sustainable idea for a nation this populated with a budget that size. Even if it were, such an idea can not become a reality without a strong border. This isn't a new, bigoted concept that evil Orange Hitler came up with. For decades presidents have been calling to strengthen our border security- ol' Tiny Hands just so happens to think a wall will work (spoiler: it wont, that's not how we should go about it.)  And if you think Obama didn't believe that, do a quick google search right now saying “Which US President had the most deportations?” To tackle the idea of illegal immigration, I'll bring up one method that these men and women are and have been using for quite some time. It was brought up during the Swift Raids of 2006 but I haven't heard much of it since. A large number of those arrested by ICE during those raids were charged with identity theft. There isn't a specific number anywhere that I've found, but all articles claim hundreds. The most common method of identity theft for work purposes is using their own name, but stealing a SSN. That is 98% of such cases ( cis.org/IdentityTheft ) We do have a system in place that detect this fraud but it is not nationally enforced. Using this method, they do help our federal government by paying their income taxes, however, in addition to the felony crime they're committing, we also lose economic stimulation. According to the Bureau of Economic Analysis, illegal immigrants send about $50 billion in remittances to their native countries annually. That averages out to about $4500 a person. WOW- that's a lot of info and a whole lot of numbers to remember. But I will end the boring stuff there, thus concluding my second objective. So now we arrive at the heavily opinionated part of today's lecture, children. Feel free to check out now, I don't care. Revisiting the marketing aspect, for years the left had all kinds of empty rhetoric logged into my mind as to what was offensive and what wasn't. They've played out the words “Hitler” and “Nazi” so much that they can now call a gay Jew with a black boyfriend a Nazi with a straight face, and absolutely mean it. They convinced my that a wage gap was real, that people were really missing out on opportunities due to something like race or sexual orientation... With enough of the echo chamber, you begin to feel guilty just for existing as a straight, white, middle class male. In these echo chambers- these facebook pages, forums, YouTube comment threads, etc- you will be silenced and told you don't understand the struggles these groups face. You're conditioned to believe that you're not allowed to feel oppressed or overworked and under paid. Well I'm gonna tell you right now- that's a load of fucking horse shit. I'm embarrassed it took me so long to realize. They call America the land of opportunity. There are no conditions to that title. It's just that. All US Citizens are now guaranteed the same rights- and the reason people immigrate here, legally or not, is because of THOSE values! Cherry picking instances like Alton Sterling or Castille to try to paint a picture of a nation of racist pigs but condemning me for believing ISIS is the true face of Islam is not only hypocritical but it is marvelously stupid. [Short rabbit trail- I don't like cops either but tens of thousands of them go to work every day without committing a racist act. Meanwhile you can find more than one verse that condones the beheading of non-believers in the Quran. I find this to be an interesting comparison because the left argue you can't attribute the actions of a few to the whole crowd- apparently unless it's the judicial system.] All that said, I'm still fairly progressive on some things. Climate change is real and we need to do something about it. I'm pro-choice but to me it makes sense to ask for the father's consent as well. And of course, I want gays and lesbians to be able to have the same opportunity to be miserable like everyone else. I wouldn't mind being able to smoke a joint once in a while either, but whatever. To close: I hope Trump does well through his presidency. I hope our congress can get things moving in the right direction. And above all else I hope to someday see us govern based entirely off the constitution. If you liked this please let me know. I'm going to periodically post opinion-based blogs from now until whenever I feel like not doing it anymore. I may do some where I dissect amendments of the Constitution, interpret them and really dig in. Not sure yet. The ol' hamster is just now starting to run, but mostly I'm hoping that doing something like this will help me keep my personal facebook a little less political. That's all for now!