#(that is if I manage to beat him because oh cog I think he might be the most difficult kudos boss as well)

[themagicalghost]

How unfortunate that Chainsaw Consultant is the semi-last kudos boss so it'll take me a good while for me to reach him because holy GOD does the community seem to love him and I need to find out why

[krikeymate]

Fictober 2023: Day 2: "Don't worry, I got you." - Sam falls down. Fandom: Scream Rating: T Warnings: Mentions of substance/alcohol abuse, and murder.

➖

Sam doesn’t know how she got here.

No, really. She doesn’t remember a damn thing.

She’s not sure she really knows what’s happening now.

All she can focus on is the pulsing in her head and the cold tile beneath her cheek, filth spread out before her. There’s even blood splattered across the floor.

Gross.

It’s been a while since she found herself passed out on a grimy bathroom floor in who-knows-where. A bar, she thinks, as she notices a rhythm to the beating in her head. Music. Or the world’s worst club.

Probably that second one actually, given the way her body is buzzing beneath her skin. It’s apparent there’s more than alcohol in her bloodstream.

The realisation comes slowly, her mind a hand-cranked cog twitching ever closer to understanding.

She licks her lips, the bitter tang of cheap beer complementing the acidic taste rising from the back of her throat.

Oh fuck.

What has she done?

Sam doesn’t have time to stew in her disgust, fog shocked away by the sensation of hands on her hips.

She kicks out automatically, survival instincts undampened by whatever it is she’s taken. Sam might have felt relieved by the knowledge, if only it didn’t mean an insidious little voice in her ear would use it against her.

Sam’s tired of voices in her head, she’s got enough of them as it is.

She’s fought so hard to ignore the ones telling her to take a little sip, to just give in and all the pain and strife will go away. It’s a lie. She knows it’s a lie. She’s been ignoring the voices for years.

So why did she fall now?

“Ouch! Hey,” a gruff voice exclaims, grabbing at her pinwheeling feet. “Cut it out, I’m trying to help you!”

The man sounds so sincere that it makes Sam pause. Maybe her survival instincts aren’t that great after all if one shocked voice is all it takes to stop her in her tracks.

This helpful stranger turns out to be no liar, much to Sam’s relief, as he slips her phone out of her pocket and ask her who he’s calling to take her home. She doesn’t think she could will her body to move anymore at this moment even if she wanted to, exhausted from the brief struggle and a familiar ache in her muscles, her stained fingers twitching for something no longer there.

It takes her a moment to respond through the dizziness in her head and the bile in her mouth, but she manages to call out her sister’s name, or something that sounds a little like it.

She figures that it can’t have been that long if she’s still slurring her words. It doesn’t answer why or how, but she must have been clear enough, because she hears the phone ring and her sister’s voice answer it.

Tara’s angelic hey Sammy has her closing her eyes with a sigh, smile drifting onto her face. She didn’t know how much she needed to hear her until this moment, how much she had been waiting.

Sam would swear she only closed her eyes for a moment, but when she next opens them, she’s being hauled from the floor by her guardian angel, an overweight man with a beer belly, no taller than 5’5 and with more hair in his beard than Sam has on her head.

For a moment Sam thinks she should thank him and buy him a drink, but she’s quickly distracted by the sight of her sister in the doorway, and the memory of him fades.

“Tara!” she cries, stumbling out of the friendly stranger’s hands and into her sister’s embrace.

Tara huffs at the weight, but remains on her feet, greeting Sam like nothing is wrong with this picture.

Her heart swells in her chest, overwhelmed with how much she loves her, how grateful she is that she’s still here, that she came.

Sam doesn’t deserve this, she knows. How could someone so perfect be related to something as rotten as her?

“Hey, you ready to go home,” Tara asks softly, peering up at Sam with an expression so gentle it makes Sam want to fall to her knees.

Her sister was at home waiting for her, and Sam was where? Out getting high? Knocking back drinks?

Screaming.

Shouting.

Her head being knocked back, something slamming into her cheek.

Sam blinks rapidly, scene behind her eyes fading as quickly as it appeared.

Home. Home sounds good. Safe. She can think once they get home, they just need to get home.

“I wantuh go home,” she mumbles, swaying on her feet.

Sam tries to move for the door herself, but her legs don’t quite get the message to move, and she finds herself tipping forward.

Tara is there in an instant, holding her up, the way she has her entire life. The single pillar keeping Sam’s world from collapsing.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Tara murmurs, pulling Sam’s arm over her shoulder and sliding one of her own around her back.

Despite the size difference, Tara stands tall and firm, easily able to take Sam’s unsteady weight.

She’s impressed by her sister’s strength. That she can hold her up, that she can look at her despite her state, that she’s not spitting venom and cursing the day Sam was born. She should tell Tara that, she thinks. Tell her how proud she is, how strong she is, how sorry she is.

What comes out instead is a shock to them both.

“I think I killed mom.”

[witchbiitches]

everything happened so much faster than you tend to expect. pansy had heard it said that the adrenaline that pumps through your veins during horrifying events can make your reactions shaper and the moments themselves slow, but she'd have you know that the OPPOSITE was true, at least for her. in the dreadful minutes that immediately followed getting them both out of there - when theo ( battered & bruised & miraculously unbitten ) is taken away by bustling mediwizards to be seen and pansy ( lacking the physical proof of the concussion pressure pushing at the inside of her skull and thus going largely ignored ) is left standing numb in the middle of the chaos ... well. that's when the cogs start spinning faster than she can handle. that's when everything aorund her slows. it's less helpful / more hellish when it comes as reflection rather than in the moment action. pansy thinks : i should've been faster. she thinks : he could've died, and this is where the panic that has pulling back like the shore before a tsunami starts to rush forward at rapid rate, because it's so terrifyingly true. her skull pounds and her breath starts to come in desperate little gasps and her heart aches from the force at which it starts to beat and, and, and - " theo, " she sobs, she breaks, and all but collapses into his chest. she ought to be so angry at him for abandoning the gurney. might still manage it, someday, if she's ever able to calm the nerves she'd shot, and luckily for him that currently seems an unattainable sort of goal. " i'm okay. i'm fine. i'm ... you- oh, theo, you almost died. that actually happened. you almost- you could've been killed. "

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃.         theo      ﹠      pansy,   before   respective   hospitalisations.

otherwise   quiet   ward   begins   to   rise   in   a   slow   clamor,      +      it’s   all   down   to   one   thing:      a   panic   that   builds   like   an   earthquake,   devastation   imminent      +      threatening   to   wreak   havoc   in   its   path.         (         fuck   an   oath,   they’re   not   telling   him   anything      +      the      ache      beneath   his   ribs   grows,   nothing   to   do   with   the   gouges      +      the   faint   taste   of   copper   that   hasn’t   left   his   tongue.         )         confining   him   to   hospital   bed   does   nothing         ;         theodore   nott   is   on   a   goddamned   mission,      sought   comfort   in   the   only   way   he   knows   how      /      it   takes   every   ounce   of   strength   not   to   sob   when   he   finds   her.         “         pans-         ”         broad   palms   come   to   settle   at   either   side   of   her   face,   so   painstakingly   gentle   despite   the   tremors   that   wrack   them         —         “         you’re   okay,   yeah      ?      you’re   okay      ?         ”

[cotton-tails]

So I saw this last night, and the little angsty plot bunny in my head woke up and I just had to write something. Fully intended to be a drabble of sorts, but of course it turned into a four page tear-fest, so grab the tissues and strap in.

Oh, and I haven't edited this, it's just 3am word-vomit, so enjoy the mess!

-

“So, this hasn’t exactly gone to plan.”

Della snorts cheerlessly at Donald’s deadpan comment, struggling into a sitting position and wincing at a twinge in her elbow. The chains dig into her arms with every movement, a very clear upgrade from the ropes they’d all been able to break out of within several minutes not too long ago. These idiots don’t know who they’re messing with.

Or they do; probably a little too well, hence the plan that fell apart very quickly. And the chains. And the scary looking red lightning below them.

“Shut up!” Heron snaps behind them, cuffing Donald a little too roughly around the head.

He doesn’t react more than a sharp hiss and a dark glare behind him, and Della can’t help the sharp pang of guilt under the surge of anger. She bites back a comment, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground until the villain is out of earshot.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes, keeping her voice low.

“What? Why?” Donald sounds confused but she can’t bring herself to look at him.

“You should be with Daisy right now,” she says, “I’m the one who guilted you into staying, into coming on this stupid trip. And now we’re facing the very real possibility of dying.”

Donald is quiet.

Forcing herself to look up, she frowns at the look on his face. He still doesn’t say anything, but the expression says it all; ‘Della-you-absolute-idiot-what-are-you-blathering-on-about?’

“I came on this stupid trip cause our kids were in trouble,” he hisses eventually, “my family were in trouble! You think I wouldn’t ditch my vacation in a heartbeat for any of you?”

“I-” Della starts, but her voice catches, rendering her utterly speechless. He’s not lying, she knows exactly what he would do for the family, for her. Yet, somehow that knowledge isn’t exactly helping.

She misses her chance to reply, all conversation cut off with the explosive arrival of Scrooge and Bradford through the roof.

Della clenches her fist and almost bites through the inside of her cheek as he slams to the ground. She manages to chime out a ‘Hey Uncle Scrooge,’ with Donald when his pained gaze finds them. Beakley mutters a sarcastic ‘Fantastic,’ from her other side. She can only watch as a now armoured Bradford, armed with the sword, picks him up by the back of his coat and drags him up the stairs. He’s blathering on about something, but she’s stopped listening; too busy focusing on her battered and beaten uncle and how this could have gone so completely and utterly wrong.

It’s the usual spiel anyway, threats to destroy his family, his adventures, everything he had worked for, blah blah blah.

Then the contract is revealed, and her stomach drops to somewhere around her knees. If they don’t find a way out soon, Scrooge will have to either sign his life away or they all die, and frankly, neither option sound particularly appealing.

It’s only when Bradford sacrifices his own agents that the desperateness of the situation really sinks in. It’s one thing to talk about murder, it’s entirely another to actually do it. And if Bradford is willing to throw away his own agents, Della can’t imagine what he would be willing to do to her family if Scrooge doesn’t sign.

He tries to buy some time. Della can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he tries to figure out how to get out of this one. She huffs out a half-hearted laugh at the sharp quip about the fine-print. He’d figure something out, he always does. Not to mention the kids are bound to have found a way out by now, they’d pick up the rest of their allies and be on their way to disrupt the whole evil plan.

It’s just a matter of-

“Ugh! Enough stalling!”

Never mind.

“You need some incentive.”

Della does not like where this is going.

“Perhaps the life of your most trusted ally?”

The three of them snap their heads forward as Bradford stalks towards them, sword dragging on the concrete threateningly. As the screeching rings in Della’s ears, the only thought racing through her mind is ‘not Donnie, not Donnie, please, don’t take my brother.’

Her heart almost stops when he scoops Donald up by his collar, his cry echoing in her ears.

“Donald!” Three voices scream.

She can barely breathe, crippling panic bubbling up inside. All she wants to do is close her eyes and scream, break these chains and drag him back to safety, but she can’t move, she can’t take her eyes off her twin as he’s dangled over the edge.

“What will it be Scrooge? Adventure? Or your Family?”

‘Just do what he wants!’ She’s not ashamed of the thought. They’ll figure out a way to reverse the contract, there’s always a way, always a loophole. Just do it so she can see her brother safely on solid ground.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

She can’t say she’s surprised at how quickly he gives in.

“No! Don’t!” Donald screams, “find a way out! You can beat him!”

The pen is already in his hand. “It’s not worth the risk lad.”

They can only watch in horror at the golden glow that circles around him, lifting him up and binding him with unbreakable chains that drag him to the ground.

“I did it!” Bradford crows triumphantly. “The great Scrooge McDuck, now only a poor old man!”

Della’s heart breaks just a little at the look of absolute misery on her old uncle’s face, but she doesn’t have time to mourn properly, because Bradford is talking. Again.

“Normally I wouldn’t indulge in such petty villainy,” he says, his gaze turning back to Donald, still dangling over the edge, with a glint in his eye that makes Della’s blood run cold. “But since this is a special occasion.”

He lets go.

Della’s eyes meet Donald’s for an agonising second, and then he’s gone.

There’s a flash of red, and someone is screaming.

She doesn’t even realise it’s her until a rough hand knocks her back.

“Shut it! Or it’ll be you next!”

Hot tears stream down her beak and she presses her forehead into the cold concrete, not even bothering to choke back a sob. Over the pounding of her own taunting heartbeat in her ears, she hears the sound of the machine powering down (‘Too late’ her traitorous mind provides), of her kids voices yelling something, and Scrooge shouting for them to be careful.

And Bradford, confused and angry as her family finally, finally step in to save the day.

His voice sets off something inside that she hadn’t felt since the day Lunaris betrayed her. A raging anger that burns through her, overwhelming any other emotion and completely taking over her mind.

The chains are no longer an obstacle, and even Beakley can’t stop her from launching herself at the buzzard. They tumble down the stairs, fists flying and feet kicking. Everything blurs after that, which may or may not be a side effect of a rather painful bump on the head as they hit the ground at the bottom of the staircase. She’s kicked off, then it’s just a cloud of lights and bodies and a strong arm holding her back from doing anything overly-reckless and potentially stupid.

The kids, her (their) beautiful, wonderful kids, figure out the loophole and the ever-binding contract disintegrates.

It’s done.

The maniacal villain is defeated once more. The world has returned to rights and the sounds of celebration fill the air.

But Della can only stand and watch, her hands trembling and eyes burning. Beakley stands behind her, hands hovering just behind her shoulders, ready to give comfort if needed.

He’s gone.

Her brother, the other half of her soul; just… gone.

And… oh.

Her knees buckle, a wrecked sob forcing its way from her throat. Beakley catches her with a arm round the shoulders and a hand under her elbow, lowering her gently to the ground as she crumples into a ball. She presses her hands to her eyes in a hopeless attempt to stem the tears as everything comes crashing down.

“It’s okay, let it out dear.”

He shouldn’t have been here. He should’ve been on that amazing adventure with Daisy, sailing together on that old houseboat. After everything life had thrown at him, after all the madness they’d been through, he’d finally caught a break, finally found that amazing person who loved him as fiercely as he loved her.

Then Della had come along, crying about lost time and not being ready. She hadn’t wanted to him to leave, even on a stupid vacation that he would very clearly be coming back from.

Now he wouldn’t even get the chance to go.

And it’s all her fault.

“Mom?”

The obvious confusion and concern in Huey’s voice is enough to send her tumbling over the edge all over again, fresh tears springing up at the thought of having to explain what happened to her- to his kids.

Scrooge hurries them away, and she tries not to listen to the hushed explanation, the startled gasps, and she has to cover her ears for the rest. She can’t stand it.

It’s all her fault.

“DELLA!”

‘What?’

There’s no mistaking that voice.

Her head snaps up so fast she’s half sure she’s given herself whiplash. Even through blurred eyesight, she knows that silhouette, that outfit, that stupid hat. She blinks, sniffing and scrubbing at her face with her sleeve, hardly daring to believe.

It shouldn’t be possible, there’s no way it’s possible. She saw it, she saw him fall, saw the flash of lightning, the empty space where he had been only moments before. She watched her own brother die. So how was he standing ten feet in front of her, laughing as he’s tackled by several small and colourful blurs?

A hand appears in front of her face and she looks up into the stunned face of her uncle. He looks almost as much of a mess as she feels, tearstains tracking down his cheeks and spotting on his coat.

“I think it might be best if we just don’t question it,” he says, helping her to her feet.

His hands are shaking as he holds hers tightly, but she doesn’t comment; it can’t be any worse than her own trembling limbs. They turn back to Donald, who’s ended up sat on the floor under the collective weight of the kids. He’s got a tearful Louie on his shoulder and several kids wrapped around his torso as he struggles to his feet, and Della can see him mouthing a headcount as he takes them all in.

“I swear every time we see you, you have more children.”

She hadn’t even noticed Panchito and José just beside him, grins wide and eyes twinkling with amusement and, in José’s case, something else that she can’t quite place. Donald just laughs at Panchito’s observation, the sound sweet as honey and causing even more tears to well up all round. The pure relief that sweeps through her is almost enough to make her knees give way again, but Scrooge’s hand gripping hers and Beakley’s arm still around her shoulders is just enough to keep her grounded.

Then he catches her eye.

“Hey Dells.”

The kids must see something in her face, cause they have to good sense to dart out of the way just moments before Della hurls herself at her brother. They almost topple backwards, but Donald is able to keep them just about upright while Della just focuses on wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. His arms circle her waist, holding her just as tightly. The tears are streaming freely now, but she’s beyond caring. He can yell at her about ruining his shirt later and she’ll just take it with a grin.

“You idiot!” she yells, her voice muffled by his shoulder, “I thought you were dead!”

“For a minute, so did I,” he says into her hair, “how about we just call it even?”

The soft jibe only makes her laugh, and she holds him just that little bit tighter.

Miracles do happen, and in the end all that matters is love, family and adventure.

But if he thinks she’s going to let him go galivanting off on some adventure without her now, then he’d better think again.

[kaistarus]

Caught In The Act

Pairing: HinataxReader

Words: 3K

Summary: You don’t really plan out the consequences of hooking up with your roommates best friend until she walks in on the aftermath and everything spirals into disaster

A/N: I don’t think this is NSFW, but it’s heavily implied/referred to throughout? It does however have Yamaguchi being a little shit which is *chefs kiss* my favorite kind of Yamaguchi

Masterlist

The worst melody you’d ever heard sounded throughout your room, dragging you from a peaceful dream you’d already forgotten. Groaning, you attempted to block out the sharp ringing with your comforter, but scowled when your tugs were made useless by an unusual weight. You blearily peeked down in search of the problem and froze, your heart's acceleration jolted your brain into alertness.

What you discovered to be holding your blanket down was a whole ass arm across your stomach with a whole ass person attached to it sleeping beside you.

You tried to keep your breathing even as you grasped the reality of your situation-disheveled autumn hair brushed lightly against your shoulder and soft breaths tickled your arm. It’d be easier to admire Hinata’s content features if you weren’t having numerous flashbacks involving embarrassing noises, words you didn’t think possible coming out of your mouth, and several explanations for why your legs were so sore. Your face burned as you stared at Hinata’s peaceful expression in horror and jumped when the back-up alarm began ringing.

At your sudden movement Hinata’s nose wrinkled and he began squirming uncomfortably. He furrowed his brow, opening his enough to peek at you holding your breath beneath his arm. You could see the cogs turning behind his amber eyes as they darted around the room and took everything in past their sleepy haze.

Finally, they landed back on you and he gave you a lazy smile, “hey.”

Your heart picked up its pace at his morning voice’s low rasp, and rather than having any normal reaction to your situation you flung your limbs at him to shove him as far away as possible. Hinata yelped as he tumbled over the side of your bed, hitting the hardwood floor with a solid thump.

“What the hell?” He poked his head over the side of your mattress with a half-assed glare, punctuating his question with a deep yawn. It was hard to take him seriously with his wild bed head and half-lidded eyes.

“Your alarm keeps going off,” you answered lamely, trying to fight down the amusement at how even after he combed his fingers through his hair it remained a chaotic mess.

“Oh,” he used your bed to push himself up, stumbling a bit as he began searching for where his pants ended up. Your eyes widened when all of him was in sight and you pulled the comforter up to shield your eyes. “Sorry, I forgot that I have to-what’s wrong?”

“You’re not wearing clothes.”

“Obviously,” you heard the creaking of your dorm’s shitty floorboards as Hinata moved around the room. “Is that bad? I feel like at some point you saw my-”

“But now we’re in the daytime,” you looked at the floor around you and sighed in relief when you found a t-shirt nearby to put on. Now you just needed pants… “Everything is completely different when the sun is out.”

Hinata was silent for a while and if it wasn’t for the hardwood flooring giving him away you would’ve thought he snuck out. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s hard to explain,” you said, coming up for air after you heard Hinata stand beside your bed. He held out his sweatpants to you with a lopsided grin that made your heart do a weird flip. “Thanks.”

He shrugged it off, sitting beside you on the mattress as you wiggled into his sweatpants. “I have to practice with Kageyama in an hour. Do you wanna go to the dining hall or something?”

You raised a brow at his nonchalance, sitting beside you just scrolling his phone like things were completely normal. “You want to go get food?”

“Yeah, I’m hungry.” He gave you a quick once-over and smirked. “Why did you wanna do something else?”

“No,” you put your hands in front of you and ignored the slight pout on his face. “I just figured you would want to talk or something.”

“Oh,” he fiddled with his cellphone and stared at anything that wasn’t your eyes. “No, we don’t have to make it a huge thing if you don’t want to.”

“Okay,” you nodded to yourself. “I mean, it isn’t a big deal anyway. We’re friends and this stuff just happens sometimes.”

Hinata now faced you completely and he was giving you his classic sunshine smile. “Exactly, this is definitely normal for friends.”

“Right, so why even waste energy worrying about something that meant absolutely nothing.”

Hinata’s smile faltered a bit and you were too aware of how his eyes had drifted to your lips. “Uh-huh, totally nothing.”

“It’s probably best if no one finds out though,” you nodded to yourself, warmth creeping up your neck from the growing intensity of his stare. “Just because it would be annoying explaining this to everyone.”

Hinata hummed, tilting his head with a curious look that had you fisting your comforter. “So, hypothetically, if it all means nothing and no one even knows about it…” Hinata had at some point scooted himself a little too close for your liking, his face inches from yours. “There would be nothing wrong with doing it again, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at his challenging smirk, “I feel like there’s some logic missing there.”

“But the end result is pretty good,” he said, barely above a whisper, pressing his forehead against yours. You couldn’t argue that. Not with how your heart was beating sporadically in your chest and your fingers were already itching to be tangled in his hair.

“Careful,” you whispered, trying to match his overconfidence, “keep acting like this and I might just start thinking it means something.”

Hinata rubbed his nose against yours lazily while forcing down a smile, “is that a no?”

You answered by placing a hand against his cheek and slotting your lips together. The pace he set was much more languid than last night and you felt a soft smile grace his lips as he cradled the back of your head, beginning to lower your head on to the mattress. The moment Hinata decided to hover over you was when you heard the door to your dorm creak open.

“Hey, sorry I’m back so early. I forgot about our exam tomorrow.” Yachi shouldered passed the door with her back facing you carrying a hefty duffle. You and Hinata reacted in the only logical way-staying completely frozen and hoping for some reason she wouldn’t see you. “Did you and Hinata actually study without me or did you… forget…”

When she looked over her shoulder, eyes finally locking onto the comical scene you’d presented, her jaw went slack and face turned a deep red.

“Wait, Yachi,” you tried stopping her before she dropped her bag and quickly hurried out the door. “It’s not what it looks like!”

Hinata looked taken aback by your statement, “what else could it possibly be?”

You glared at him, kicking him off you and chasing after Yachi-before leaving the room you heard a faint ‘again?’ shouted from the opposite side of your bed. Yachi hadn’t sped-walked too far and you thankfully managed to catch her at the end of the hall.

“Yachi, wait,” you tugged her hand to slow her down. “I swear it wasn’t what it looked like.”

That made her pause. She looked at you dumbfounded with both hands on her hips, “what else could it possibly be?”

“That’s what I said!”

You spun around to find Hinata, standing in the center of the hallway with arms crossed and staring at you quizzically as if you were the weird one in this situation. You gave him a quick once-over to confirm that yes, he was still wearing nothing but boxers.

“What are you doing?” You asked him frantically.

“Helping.”

“Why would you think-” You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a calming breath. “At least put some clothes on, Hinata.”

“You’re wearing all of my clothes,” he said, gesturing to all of you.

You pulled your t-shirt out while glancing down with a raised brow. Huh, well look at that.

“I really don’t care if you guys are dating,” Yachi put her hands up defensively. “It’s not a big deal and it’s really none of my business any-”

“That’s just it,” you pointed at her. “We aren’t dating. Not even close. I would never date Hinata.”

“What?” Hinata looked down at you annoyed. “Why not?”

“Because you’re…” You furrowed your brow, trying to search for any of the reasons that normally would be easy to find, but for some reason your mind was blank. “Because you’re Hinata.”

“If anything that’s more reason to date me,” Hinata gestured to himself. “Look at me. I’m the whole package.”

Yachi’s eyes flickered between you before she hid a sly smile behind her hand, “oh, I see.”

Hinata cocked his head to the side, “what do you see?”

Your cheeks warmed. “You don’t see anything. You put that face away right now.”

Hinata began prying Yachi for answers while she continuously turned away from him with a mischievous smile. You let out a relieved sigh that it was basically over when a door at the opposite end of the hall creaked open and you were faced with a yawning Yamaguchi.

He carried his toothbrush and toothpaste loosely in one hand while the other rubbed sleep from his eyes. He raised a brow at you three, slowly working to process the scene before him in his still foggy state. Yamaguchi’s head tilted idly as his eyes darted between everyone, eventually lifting his toothbrush and pointing it in Hinata’s direction.

“Why is Hinata wearing boxers in the middle of our dorm building?” He narrowed his eyes further and moved the toothbrush to point at you, “and why are you wearing Hinata’s clothes?” Yamaguchi aimed the toothbrush slowly toward your door that still hung wide open and you could practically see the lightbulb go off in his mind before the devious smirk crossed his lips. “Holy shit. Did you guys actually f-”

“Shut up,” you slammed your hands over your ears. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Ouch,” Yamaguchi mockingly grimaced at Hinata. “That’s not a good reaction dude.”

“What do you-that’s not what-” Hinata stomped his foot. “It was a great time. Probably one of the best ones ever.”

“Whoa, let’s not get crazy.” You rolled your eyes. “You were alright, but definitely not-”

“Wha-alright?” Hinata threw his arms up. “The hell do you mean ‘alright’?”

“I think she means mediocre,” Yachi piped up from behind you with her hands still covering her smile.

“A little above mediocre, but…” you weighed your hands back and forth to signal that mediocre was just about right and Hinata stared at you completely baffled.

“Ouch,” Yamaguchi snickered.

“I can’t believe you thought I was mediocre,” Hinata furrowed his brow with a half-assed glare.

“Well, do you want me to lie to you?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Hinata, you almost came in your pa-”

He slapped a hand over your mouth with pinkening cheeks, “you know what? I think we all are mediocre sometimes at things, but with practice… uh… we get better.”

Yamaguchi raised an amused brow before another lightbulb went off. “Holy shit, so that means you guys were the ones who-oh my god, Tsuki’s going to be pissed when he finds out.”

“Pissed about what?” You asked after prying Hinata’s hand off your mouth.

“I woke up to a bunch of texts about how he couldn’t study because people were banging too loud,” Yamaguchi shrugged. “I’m a heavy sleeper, so I didn’t notice but he was not happy.”

“Holy shit, are you serious?” Hinata asked, sounding borderline giddy at the discovery. You scowled, smacking on the stomach to knock him down a peg.

“Hinata, that’s humiliating.”

“Oh, right.” Hinata forced a frown. “I am so embarrassed.”

“Think about it,” Yachi tapped her chin. “Doesn’t Tsukishima always wear headphones too?”

Yachi and Yamaguchi stared at you both quietly with wicked smiles before you groaned dramatically into your hands, your face was on fire while Hinata just laughed beside you, planting a hand not so comfortingly on your head. You knew in that moment your life could not get any worse.

Which was why that was the moment Tsukishima stepped out of his room a few doors away with his backpack slung over his shoulder. You almost thought you’d be lucky enough that he wouldn’t notice you, but luck wasn’t on your side as he glanced up, doing a double take at your group in the center of the hall.

It took him seconds to dissect the scene before his glare became piercing, “you mother fuckers.”

“What are the chances we all just pretend this never happened?” Hinata chuckled awkwardly while Tsukishima stomped menacingly toward him.

“What are the chances I get the sound of you moaning out of my head without someone killing me?”

“Slim?” Hinata squeaked.

“Do you think I wanted that bull shit taking up useful space in my brain?” He asked, towering over Hinata as he gulped and shook his head no. Tsukishima turned to you and you stiffened, immediately shooting your stare to your feet, “and you, forcing me to learn every one of Hinata’s kinks. I should take both of you outback and-”

“I don’t have kinks,” Hinata scoffed, turning to you to back him up, but you just looked away. “Oh fuck, do I have kinks?”

“That is not the point of our discussion, you pint-sized-”

“But aren’t kinks like a psychology thing?” Hinata looked back at you concerned. “It’s not pee, is it?”

“Why would that-I don’t know,” you looked at him warily. “Did you want to pee on me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean ‘i don’t think so’.”

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re peeing on each other,” Tsukishima pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just do it at Hinata’s dorm building next time.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty confident it’s not pee.” Hinata nodded to himself. “I really like volleyball… is that a kink? I don’t know if that’s how it works. Wait, can you combine sex and volleyball? That sounds like a kink. I want that one. Can that be it?”

“I would love to study your mind, dude.” Yamaguchi nodded in approval and Hinata just smiled back as if he’d been given a huge compliment.

“That’s not what I-” You took a calming breath. Hinata was going to be the death of you. “I mean, me and Hinata aren’t happening again, so no one has to worry about anything.”

“Wait, you guys aren’t secretly dating?” Yamaguchi gestured between you both with a raised brow.

“No, they’re hooking up.” Yachi rolled her eyes.

“Oh, fuck off.” Tsukishima scoffed. “Hinata keep your volleyball sex out of my dorm buiding. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Hinata saluted before a melodious tune came ringing from your dorm room. His eyes darted to a wall clock and his body stiffened. “Shit, I was supposed to be at the gym already.”

“I should probably give you-” Before you could finish Hinata was jogging down the hall. He returned with his backpack and you opened your mouth to point out you were still wearing all of his clothes, but he already had his lips smashed against yours in a chaste kiss. You had your eyes wide, staring at him dumbfounded before he pulled away with a sunshine smile.

The moment he processed what he’d done you saw his brain shut down as he stared blankly-Yachi’s giggling made a perfect background noise for his malfunction.

“What the hell was-”

“We’ll talk about that later,” he chuckled awkwardly, giving you finger guns while walking backwards down the hall. “I’ll text you or call you or something.”

“I won’t answer,” you called after.

“You will,” he said before he turned away. “Because I’m gonna offer you food and you love free food.”

Dammit. He had you there. You were a sucker for anything that wasn’t dining hall food. “Well, I won’t be happy about it!”

You heard his laughter chime before the closing of a heavy door told you he was too far to keep up the argument. You huffed, crossing your arms and glaring down the hall.

“How long till he realizes he’s in his boxers?” Yamaguchi piped up.

“He’s probably more nervous of (Y/N) than walking around campus in his underwear,” Yachi reasoned with a hand on her cheek.

“He should be,” you snorted.

“You guys wanna get breakfast?” Yamaguchi asked, “all this making fun of Hinata has made me hungry.”

“I’m going to the library.” Tsukishima left down the hall without a glance back at you and your shoulders sagged.

“He’ll get over it,” Yachi placed a comforting hand on your shoulder while pushing you forward. “Just give him time.”

“Okay,” you murmured.

“Hey, so what is Hinata’s kink?” Yamaguchi asked, leaning into your vision.

You rolled your eyes, “praise.”

“That makes too much sense,” Yachi hummed.

“Hinata would get off on being told he’s great,” Yamaguchi shook his head, throwing the door open at the end of the hall and welcoming the fresh air. “Well, next time you get to have volleyball-sex. Whatever the fuck that is.”

“I don’t think even Hinata knows that.” Yachi giggled.

As you tried to keep up with Yamaguchi and Yachi combining the actual logistics of volleyball to sex you found yourself admitting in the back of your mind that you really were all talk. You kind of liked that people knew about you and Hinata and maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if spending time with him became a regular thing.

Unless it involved whatever this volleyball-sex thing was, then you’d be fine without him.

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Forest National in Brussels, Belgium - August 24, 1984

Some parts of the Hammer To Fall promo video were filmed during this show - the camera was filming the audience reactions during TYMD, Radio Ga Ga and Hammer To Fall. On the next day 20 fans from the Dutch fan club were invited to come again to the filming of the promo video.

At the gig, the band asked the audience to return the following day for the shoot. However, most likely assuming it was all a joke, the vast majority stayed away; in fact only a dozen fans turned up. Undeterred, the shoot went ahead anyway, with the band's performance that day interspersed with footage shot the previous night.

(x)

This is the first show of The Works tour.

According to the July '89 issue of Record Collector, Queen ran through about 40 songs during rehearsals. This list of songs rehearsed that didn't end up in the setlist comes from someone who worked on the tour:

Great King Rat (longer version), Brighton Rock (full song), I'm In Love With My Car, Sweet Lady, White Man, We Will Rock You (fast), Play The Game, Need Your Loving Tonight, Put Out The Fire, Las Palabras de Amor, Life Is Real (both Freddie solo piano and Freddie/Brian acoustic duet versions)

The keyboardist for this tour (and also the '86 Magic tour) is session musician Spike Edney. He would also lend some vocals to many songs and play rhythm guitar in Hammer To Fall. He and Roger Taylor would form a band called "The Cross" in 1987 which spawned three albums, and he would return to Queen in the 21st century to play on the tours with Paul Rodgers and Adam Lambert.

Spike was recruited in a very informal way by a Queen associate. He went to Munich for their first rehearsal in early August, wound up partying for most of the first night, and missed the first day's rehearsal. It later transpired that everyone else had. He recalls, "The next day, we all managed to get to it eventually, to the first rehearsal, and all the gear was set up. The stage was huge, and I thought "Oh well, here we go then" and we got to the first song , and what I'd forgotten was that they hadn't actually played together for two years. So they said, OK, let's try one of the new songs, I think it was Radio Ga Ga, and we started playing it, and course, I knew it, I'd been studying it for weeks. You know, 1,2,3,4 and we start and we get about a minute into the song and the whole thing collapses. And they all look at each other, you know, very sheepishly, and they say, "Anyone know how it goes?" and I say "well, actually, I know. I know how it goes" and they said "Ah". And so I started showing them the chords and everything and Fred looked at me and said "You don't know the words, do you?" and "Well, yeah I do actually" so then they all came round the piano and we spent the whole day just going through songs, and I thought, "I'm gonna be all right here, this'll be OK"!"

The show started very late, as the band were still doing soundcheck when they were supposed to go on. Apparently over the previous week there were few occasions when all four band members actually showed up for rehearsal. Many songs (likely those listed above) never made the setlist, and soundcheck was an extensive cramming session, particularly for the older material that they hadn't played in years.

Roger Taylor later reflected that this European tour was one of his favourites, and many fans cite the early Works setlist as their favourite ever played by the band. Three medleys are now played, two of which have revived many old songs: Killer Queen, Seven Seas Of Rhye, Keep Yourself Alive, Liar, Stone Cold Crazy and Great King Rat. Staying Power from Hot Space returns to the set, as does Sheer Heart Attack from News Of The World. Only half of Staying Power is played, and it runs into Dragon Attack, followed by an improvisation running into a more compact version of Now I'm Here compared to previous tours.

Many people who attended shows on this tour recall Queen having a very heavy sound, especially on songs like Liar and Stone Cold Crazy. By 1984 they had gained a reputation as being one of the best live rock acts in the business.

Six songs from The Works are performed each night, and the introduction tape is from the album track "Machines". After the heavy G chords are heard on the tape twice, the band walk on stage in the darkness to play the chords the third time, which leads into the brand new "Tear It Up". This is yet another effective opening to a Queen show, something they would perfect time and time again.

I Want To Break Free is performed each night in 1984-85 as the first encore, with Freddie coming on stage sporting a pair of huge plastic breasts under a pink shirt. Part way through the song, he would remove the breasts and twirl them around for a while before finally throwing them into the audience. Some souvenir! As a result of this gag, Another One Bites The Dust has been moved from the encore to be earlier in the set.

This tour showcases an incredible lighting rig and an overall setup mimics the movie Metropolis, from which scenes were used for the promo video of Radio Ga Ga last year. The huge wheels behind the stage (modelled after the ones on The Works album cover) rotate at mostly random times - usually because they are turned manually by various crew members such as Roger's tech Chris "Crystal" Taylor whenever they have a free moment (Freddie Mercury's assistant Peter Freestone told the tale in 2021):

“Yeah, I mean Rio was… amazing. The feeling from that crowd… you know, something like 350,000 people. Oh, you can’t beat that. And when you’re flying in a helicopter over that crowd, it was stunning. But the thing is, I know this sounds really, really stupid but [laughs]… one thing I will always, always remember from that tour was, remember, in the back of the stage you had these wheels that turned every now and then, not constantly but just every now and then. That was because there was… the guy looking after Roger’s drums and me who actually turned those wheels. And there was no set cue or anything that, “Oh, it has to start on this bar, on this song.” No, it was when he wasn’t doing anything and I wasn’t doing anything, we’d say “Ok, let’s go and do it.” And we turned the wheels for a couple of minutes and then left them alone. He had then to do something for Roger and I would just sit there like I always did. And then you’d go back and you’d turn the wheels, like a hamster. We were like hamsters…”

However, a crew member who worked on the tour recalls otherwise: "I do know local crew members were used on the UK shows and certainly (a number of) European gigs. The other thing is that Radio Ga Ga had a set piece with the cogs and lighting, using low ambient lighting and strobes to emphasise mechanical motion of the cogs during the instrumental break. Would Roger Taylor be happy with no one covering him/his kit during a show? Possibly Peter Freestone is remembering production rehearsals when any spare bodies might have been asked to operate the cogs?"

During vocal improvisations on this tour, Freddie would often include bits of "Foolin' Around" and "Living On My Own" from his pending first solo album, which he had been working on during this period.

Freddie now plays a Telecaster for Crazy Little Thing Called Love. It would remain like this through the Magic tour.

The band no longer bring a gong with them on the road. Roger now does a cymbal roll at the end of Bohemian Rhapsody.

A fan recalls hearing the band running through Tear It Up whilst queuing up to enter the venue.

Freddie's voice is in superb shape for this show, but it will quickly weaken as the tour progresses. As incredible as Freddie Mercury was, he certainly did not take care of his voice at times, especially in the mid-80s. After a couple years of heavy smoking, Freddie's voice now sounds a lot deeper and raspier overall.

Before It's A Hard Life, Freddie says, "I think tonight we're gonna do songs from just about every album that we've ever made. You heard some very early stuff from the first album. Right now I think we're gonna do something very new, and we'll see what you think of it."

Freddie does a vocal exchange with the audience before Staying Power, singing "Get Down Make Love" and "Gimme Some Lovin" a few times. The band would improvise bits of the latter a couple times in 1986.

This is the only show on the entire Works tour where Roger plays regular acoustic drums on Another One Bites The Dust (before which Freddie teases the audience with a bit of Mustapha). For the rest of the tour, he'd play electronic drums. He'd also integrate the electronic drum kit into a few other songs, like at the beginning of Hammer To Fall, where one might argue that his sounds don't appropriately complement the guitar to create the intense, heavy sound.

The band sound very tight on this opening night of the tour, with the only exception being the rough transition from Stone Cold Crazy to Great King Rat. The keyboard and guitar solos are integrated together for the first few shows of the tour, during which Brian plays a few bits from Machines. Spike Edney uses his vocoder (a Roland VP-330) for the "machines" and "back to humans" lines heard throughout the tour during this spot (he would use his vocoder for the "radio" lines in Radio Ga Ga as well). After this segment, Brian then gets a few minutes to play on his own as usual.

Parts of the promo video for Hammer To Fall were filmed during this show. Claims from some (even official) sources state that Freddie invited the audience back for (what would actually be "additional") filming the following day aren't true. Here is all that Freddie had to say before the song: "This next song we're gonna use in our next video. So everybody just go mad and maybe later you'll see one of you guys inside the video one day. Oh, just go crazy, take your clothes off. It's called Hammer To Fall." After the song, he simply says, "Good night, you guys!" as that was the last song of the set.

Here is a fan's recollection: "On the night of the gig, there was a camera mounted on an arm that would swing over the front rows of the audience during a few songs. These audience shots were taken during Tie Your Mother Down, Radio Ga Ga, and Hammer To Fall itself. I guess they also had a camera up in the box at the back of the hall [as there are a few shots of both the audience and the band]. I don't remember any cameras onstage during the gig - just the one mounted on the arm."

The Dutch fan club invited only about twenty of its members to attend the video shoot the next day. They were instructed by a roadie to sit quietly on a chair and not to move or approach the band members. After a few hours, Brian came over and had a chat with them, checking to see if they were enjoying themselves and if they were hungry. He then promptly ordered them some take-out!

A minute of Tie Your Mother Down from this show was later broadcast on the Belgian TV station "RTBF" (x) (x). An audience-shot video allegedly exists as well, containing five songs.

After years of speculation, the existence of more footage from this show was proven when bits of it were included in the promo video for Let Me In Your Heart Again in 2014. About 30 seconds of Somebody To Love (largely crowd shots) were seen. There is, however, no accompanying audio. (x)

The first photo is from the autumn 1984 Queen fan club magazine. Brian is seen with a watchful eye over the proceedings. Tour manager Gerry Stickells and his wife are also in the shot.

Pics 2 through 6 were submitted by Alessio Rizzitelli, and the seventh pic was taken by Dave Matkin.

(x)

[kstewdeux]

@inukag-week

June 11, 2021 - Firsts

| Battle Couple | Warmth | Promises | Hands |

Lock Her Down

Sitting against the wall in Kaede’s hut, Inuyasha cracked one eye open to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating and that Kagome was indeed sleeping mere inches away after being gone for three damn years. Just that morning she’d popped back into his life without warning and while that was the best moment of his life to date, he honestly didn’t know where to go from here. Sure, he assumed that she’d come back for him but did she though?

For a woman who could talk an ear off your head, she hadn’t said what her reasons for coming back actually were. Maybe she just missed being able to use her powers or…or maybe the modern world wasn’t what she was expecting. Maybe she got kicked out of that school of hers and didn’t know where else to go.  

  After all, it wasn’t like he’d actually said anything that would have let her know how he felt. If anything, he’d made it very clear for a very long time that he didn’t love her. Wasn’t like he was kind or told her she was pretty or…

 His ears drooped incrementally as he tried to come up with a single instance where he’d made it plain what she meant to him. Each time a memory occurred to him, it seemed rather lame and non-committal in hindsight. Even their kisses seemed to go nowhere and were done after something shitty happened so that didn’t help him at all.

 Well, he could change that. This was the first night she’d come back and a fresh start in many ways. There was still time to make his intentions known. Closing his eyes, Inuyasha inhaled deeply and tried to come up with a plan. A good plan. A plan to make her love him.

 A plan…

 Chewing the inside of his cheek, Inuyasha couldn’t come up with an idea about where to start much less a strategy. Sure, he could start by being nicer to her. Compliments never hurt. Flowers. Every woman loved flowers. That could work. He could find flowers. But given that they’d only been friends, would she even realize what those flowers were meant to convey?

 Flexing his hands a few times in the confines of his robes, Inuyasha shifted in his seat and let out a heavy sigh.

 He could do this. After all, Kagome was just a little human girl and he’d faced much more terrifying opponents. Overcome the impossible. There was no reason to be afraid of her rejection. No need at all to imagine the awkward little smile she’d given all her previous suitors and the subtle signs of disgust she’d exuded in those circumstances. If the worst thing that happened was that they remained friends, that wasn’t so bad, huh?

 Kagome let out a little hum in her sleep and turned his stomach into pleasant knots.

 It would be bad. So bad. Even if she could remain friends with him, he sure as hell couldn’t deal with that. He wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted anything and he was going to screw it up. He screwed everything up. All the time. He didn’t know how to people on a good day and now he was supposed to be all smooth and charming?

Exhaling shakily, Inuyasha gave up his farce and abruptly got to his feet.

 Air. He needed air.

 Running his claws over his scalp, Inuyasha mindlessly walked towards the Sacred Tree and tried to control his slightly panicked breathing. He’d rather face a thousand murderous demons than the ugly truth that she might not love him. Hell, she might not even be interested. Sure, he knew that him being part demon didn’t matter to her but that didn’t mean she thought he was attractive. Maybe all the times her scent spiked she was thinking of someone else. Anyone else. It was entirely possible that his lonely pathetic mind concocted the ‘she might love me’ idea out of thin air.

 Three fucking years trying to make it through the well and she might not even want him. Pressing his forehead against the rough bark, Inuyasha groaned and tried to catch his breath. What was he going to do? What if she married someone else? That’d kill him inside. Destroy him.

 Or lead to a very unfortunate accident wherein certain male persons met their demise. That could work. Be a shoulder to cry on?

 Sinking to his knees, Inuyasha tried to clear the static in his mind before anyone noticed he was out here having a full-blown panic attack.

 “Inuyasha? What are you doing out here?”

 Another groan escaped him as the last person he wanted to find him found him. Her voice soft and anxious. How was he supposed to explain…

 “I’m fine. Go back,” Inuyasha huffed before his eyes flew open in horror and he amended, “To the hut. Go back to the hut.”

 Stupid woman of course didn’t listen to a damn word he said and came closer.

 “What’s got you so upset, huh?” Kagome asked sweetly and Inuyasha let out a shaky breath before deciding to face his fears head on. If there was one thing he was good at, it was looking an enemy in the face without flinching. Not that Kagome was an enemy but….

 Swallowing thickly, Inuyasha unsteadily got to his feet before rolling his shoulders and turning to face her. To tell her that he’d been waiting for her. That he loved her more than he’d ever loved anything or anyone. That he wanted to build a family with her and have all the babies. That they were made for each other so even if she didn’t love him right now, she sure as hell better give him a chance.

 That....was not what he said though.

 “You’re gunna be my wife whether you like it or not.”

 Biting back the urge to cringe, Inuyasha tried to look at confident as possible even though his heart was nearly beating out of his chest. It did not help things that she looked confused. Did not help. At all. Why was she looking at him like that? This…

 “Sounds good to me,” Kagome laughed softly as she furrowed her brow in confusion and slightly turned her head, “So…why were you upset just now?”

 Inuyasha’s mouth fell partially open as he tried to wrap his mind around what just happened.

 “I love you,” he attempted to clarify – slowly and purposefully just in case she didn’t actually hear what he said or was misunderstanding, “I want you to marry me.”

 It only occurred to him after it was said that he’d never actually told her he loved her before so the whole marriage thing was definitely out of the blue and oh god, what if she didn’t hear him and now he said that and…

 “That’s nice. I also love you and want to marry you,” Kagome teased before she rolled her eyes, “Now tell me why you’re by the…”

 “Hold on. Hold on,” Inuyasha huffed in frustration, “I want to make sure I’m clear. I’m serious about this. I…”

 “I...wait, was I not clear or something?” Kagome asked as her eyes widened in surprise, “I said I loved you, right? What about that confuses you?”

 The miko watched as the cogs turned behind those amber eyes and he continued to stare at her like something was misfiring in his mind.

 “So…so we’re getting married....” he finally managed and Kagome nodded slowly like she thought he was losing his marbles, “…because you love me and that’s why you came back.”

 “Yup. That is the case,” she replied awkwardly before glancing behind him at the tree, “So…want to tell me what you were doing out here?”

 “None of your business,” he mumbled with a faint blush before clearing his throat and let out a short laugh, “So we’re getting married, huh?”

Furrowing her brow in a mixture of confusion and amusement, Kagome clearly tried to hold back a laugh as she replied warmly, “That has been established.”

 “Because you love me and I love you,” he continued trying to clarify redundantly and once again she nodded.

 “Huh,” he snorted before reaching out and pulling her into a tight hug that almost knocked the wind out of her small body, “Would you look at that.”

 Cooing happily in his embrace, Kagome hugged him back with all the strength she could muster as the reason he was out here having a panic attack was suddenly made clear. Bless his poor socially inept little heart.

[sleepylixie]

What are friends for?

College! Han Jisung X fem! Roommate reader

Imperium Universe || Jisung || Seungmin || Chan

1.5k words, Fluffy Fluff fluff,College!AU, Roommate!AU

Beware of: None other than teeth-rotting fluff and a teeny bit of swearing. Seungmin is chaotic evil incarnate but we been knew already 😂😂

A/N: the soft feels for Han Jisung hit hard 24/7, you guys. I MEAN LOOK ST THIS CUTIE BABIE I AM SIMPING. i have nothing more to say for myself. Please enjoy my offerings 🥺❤️❤️

Requests are open for SKZ and BTS! || Masterlist

//

Han Jisung wasn’t used to roommates. Him and his law major friend Seungmin had neglected to apply for on-campus housing until the last minute. A freak administrative error had the both of them assigned to a certain Y/N’s room and... safe to say, the two of them had had a bit of a surprise in store for them when they met you.  

It was disconcerting for Jisung at first- to see his first impression of your appearance as a possibly reserved, introverted character dissolve into chaos the second you opened your mouth. You were a force of nature dressed in pastel skirts, a lavender-scented hurricane that had no control over her tongue or hair. You smiled like a fox- sweet and unassuming on the surface, but sharp-witted and deceptive underneath.

Jisung knew instantly that Seungmin would click with your personality. The both of you were freakishly similar, with your innocent appearance melting into sheer devilry whenever the two of you wished so. Of course, he was right.  Seungmin took to you with great interest-the two of you clicked like kindred souls, or possibly reunited twins who were separated at birth. Jisung, on the other hand... 

He was intimidated by you, and that made it slightly difficult for him to settle down around you. While you never treated him with anything beyond familiarity and the niceties of acquaintances, he could never allow himself the same sense of familiarity that Seungmin allowed himself with you. 

He wished so dearly that he could behave otherwise, for he would be lying if he said he hadn’t found you just a little attractive (just a smidgen) from the second he met you. Jisung wanted to be close to you, gain your trust and friendship, but for some reason(him scared of looking like an idiot and possibly having you judge him for the rest of his life) he could never bring himself to do it.

//

The three of you had been living together for a good year and a half, well into your third semester and you’d all figured out how to live with each other. For example, Seungmin would only cook if there was DAY6 music playing in the kitchen. The way you entered the house was a clear indication of your mood that day- and today, it was a loud, resounding slam followed by strings of cursing.

“This is a fucking scam. This entire university is a cesspool of money mongering bastards and greedy professors who don’t deserve a shred of anybody’s fucking respect-

“Woah, slow down there, tiger, what’s got your tail on fire?” Jisung asked you, jumping upright from where he was lounging on the couch. Your eyes flashed with annoyance as you threw yourself onto the side of the couch Jisung had just vacated.

He couldn’t help but let his eyes rove your body as unnoticeably as he could manage. Your hair looked windswept from your walk back to the apartment, one of the guys’ hoodies and jeans covering your frame. How you could look so devastatingly adorable despite having steam pouring out of your ears was absolutely beyond him.

“What happened, is my fucking creative lit professor refused to grade me up for the mid-term assignment, even though I know my piece was one of the best.” You were fuming, stark raving mad, literally one second away from shooting sparks out of your ears as your hands twisted together on your lap.

“He told me that if I worked harder at trying to become a better writer, I wouldn’t have to be begging for a better grade. AND HE SAID THAT I SHOULD TRY NEW METHODS OF BEGGING IF I WANTED IT THAT BADLY.”

Jisung’s eyes narrowed as he took in the words that were spewing out of your mouth. “Did he really-” “YES HE DID I CAN’T WITH THIS UNIVERSITY-” You burst out, letting an angry yell punctuate your sentence. 

“Do you want to go to the Dean? I’m sure they’ll be able to do something about it.” 

At that, you smiled at Jisung, the same foxy smile that had him shrinking a little into himself every time he saw it- it was a thing of rather savage beauty, very out-of-place on a face as endearing as yours.

“Not really, I handled it myself.”

Jisung stared at you, his internal discomposure melting into curiosity. “What the fuck did you do Y/N, I swear if you got one of the varsity jocks to beat him up or something-”

“I’m glad you think I’m capable of that, honestly.” You giggled, anger temporarily forgotten, swatting at Jisung’s thigh. Were those butterflies in his stomach? Gods, he would eat a knife if it got them to stop fluttering-

//

“She had the Dean on call when she spoke to that sleazeball of a professor,” Jisung exclaimed, amidst assorted gasps and cheers from his audience, laughing a little himself as he sipped his beer. “guess who got a new creative lit professor and full marks for the assignment.”

You laughed as everybody around you let out peals of laughter, thumping you on the back in appreciation.

Your roommates had a gang of 6 other boisterous boys from all over the campus, united by a string of unsavory events and narrowly avoided expulsion. You should probably be concerned, sure, but the vibe the 8 of them had with each other was way too nice for you to not be roped in; now you were part of all their weekly parties at Chris and Hyunjin’s frat house. 

You were situated on the armrests of one of the couches in said frat house, red cup supplied with your kind of poison- Whiskey and soda. All of the boys were gathered around the common room, laughing and talking amongst each other when Jisung took it upon himself to recount the story of your creative lit professor’s unfortunate dismissal. 

It was a rather embarrassing pastime of yours, to watch Han Jisung. He was a strange one, alright. Out in the world, he was a loud, boisterous guy with a penchant for words, knowing exactly what to say at any point of time. It earned him his reputation of being a cheeky mood maker in any setting, the kind of guy who had friends all over the campus and beyond. 

In truth, however, the Han Jisung you came to know was reserved, a little more hesitant with his words, the kind who’d allow his friends to speak up for him unless he absolutely had to. He wasn’t a pushover by any means, no. He was just a little more picky with his words when they were meant for the people he was comfortable with.

For some reason, it warmed your heart when he behaved that way around you too- it felt like he’d accepted you into his inner circle. For some reason, your heart honest to god skips a beat when he smiles, this fucking adorable smile every time you and Seungmin tease him around at the apartment because fuck, he doesn’t always smile like that, does he? For some reason, you end up noticing his eyes when he smiled like that, the way his cheeks lifted up in this devastating manner, the way he’d laugh out loud with his whole body, so at odds with his reserved personality-

Yeah, no you definitely had a thing for him. You thought you were being glaringly obvious with it too, with the unabashed way you’d notice and steal glances at him every time he walked into the room. 

Not that you’d ever tell him any of this though, you were fairly sure you’d sent him an impression of mild intimidation with your rather...loud personality.

It was probably for the best if you admired Han Jisung from afar, hoping that your fancy for him doesn’t take the reins on your behavior.

Jisung might not have noticed, but another certain somebody definitely did. Somebody who’s brain was already thinking, well-oiled cogs being put to use.

\\

“Jisung, you should probably know that Y/N has a thing for you,”

“Seungmin what the fu-” you spluttered, neck already burning. This was not fucking happening.

“Is this what the roommate convention was for, you sneaky lil rat?” you exclaimed, doing everything you could to not lock eyes with the third roommate who was seated on your bed with the other two of you, now gawking between you and Seungmin with a rose blush scattered across his nose. 

Seungmin, to his credit, wasn’t fazed for a single second by the way the energy in the room changed, choosing to smile devilishly before continuing with his next sentence. 

“Y/N, you should probably know that Jisung has a thing for you too,”

What the fiddlesticks-

“And now, for my final trick, I shall excuse myself from this room. Roommate convention adjourned.”

Seungmin walked out of your room with a literal skip in his step. You would deal with your snake of a best friend after you were done with.. oh.

Your eyes finally met Jisung’s- warm amber eyes still looking at with a mixture of curiosity, surprise and affection that just knocked the words out of you. “Was Seungmin pranking me again?” He asked quietly, a hint of a smile playing across his lips. You sighed, trying to expel the nervousness. What the hell, might as well say the truth. 

“Not really,” the back of you neck felt like literal lava at this point- “I do like you.”

You were going to kill Seungmin.

“Good to know,” Jisung sighed in relief, his fingers twisting together on his lap. “Because uh.. He wasn’t pranking you either.” The next words seemed to take effort for him to get out, because his blush spread from his nose to his cheeks. “I like you too.”

You were going to thank Seungmin.

And then you were going to toss him into a dark room with Lee Minho and his boxing gloves, but that’s for later. 

[miraculousluvbug]

WINGLESS | Ch. 7

***New to Wingless? Start at Chapter 1!

CH. SUMMARY: After Chat learns Ladybug told Rena her identity, Plagg's solution is simple: tell someone he's Chat Noir so they're even! Duh.

Unbeknownst to the three wicked stooges, Paris’s favorite cat boy sat perched upon a rooftop adjacent to the mansion, ogling the interaction between his father, his trusted assistant, and his absolute least favorite person in the entire world.

Next to Hawk Moth, of course.

As they tittered and conspired in the darkness, Chat Noir narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t help but find the whole thing . . .

Shady.

“Claws in.”

Plagg whizzed out of the ring and looked up at his holder with sad kitten eyes. Adrien avoided making eye contact, practically drilling a hole into the ground with the intensity of his glare. He hugged his knees to his chest and picked at his shoelaces.

“That was pretty rough, kid.”

Adrien sniffled and roughly smeared away his tears with the back of his hand.

“I was hoping her explanation would make me feel better, Plagg.”

Adrien hugged his knees tighter.

“But it made me feel so much worse.”

“Oh, Adrien,” Plagg crooned, shoulders drooping. He hesitated for only a second before flying to Adrien’s shoulder and nuzzling his holder’s neck.

“She doesn’t want to know me, Plagg. Am I really that bad?”

“Not at all. I already told you that no other Chat Noir could be you. I meant it. You’re the best Chat Noir I’ve ever had.”

Adrien’s sniffles quieted, but the tears persisted. He had no idea how to stop them now that they had started. With gut-wrenching envy, Adrien watched the person he hated most engage in chit-chat with his father as if it was the most casual occurrence. The man even went as far as sharing whatever was on his tablet, a feat Adrien had been trying to accomplish since before he could remember. His father always claimed to be private, unwilling to share any kind of imperfect designs with his own son.

But there Lila was. Conversing with his father more than he himself had in the past week.

And Ladybug had given her most sacred secret to Rena Rouge.

Was he invisible?

He felt so small.

Lost at sea.

A blip in the turbulent waters that no one knew was missing.

He was a boy overboard with no life raft. And no one knew to look for him.

His soul was cold and his heart felt numb.

“You know what?” chirped Plagg suddenly, snapping Adrien out of his spiral. “Ladybug is the new Guardian, right?”

Adrien nodded hesitantly. Where was he going with this?

“What’s her only rule?”

“We can’t know each other’s identities.”

Plagg hovered in front of Adrien’s eyes and flipped onto his back, making a show of nonchalance. If this was gonna work, Plagg had to make the kid think it was kind of his own idea. “Who can’t know each other’s identities?”

Adrien was unamused. To him, Plagg was beating a dead horse.

“Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

Plagg popped open one eye. He didn’t need to open both for Adrien to see the blatant impishness in them.

“So Ladybug and Chat Noir can’t know each other’s identities. What about . . . other people?”

The blonde ball of despair perked up, hair bouncing into his eyes, though they immediately narrowed at his Kwami’s scheming.

“But Master Fu--”

Plagg interjected, “--who isn’t the guardian anymore.”

Adrien blinked.

Kwamis, Plagg was so close to convincing his kid to be selfish for once. He just needed a push! A hefty, premeditated shove off the Fu-forsaken cliff!

“It’s like I’ve always said. Beg for forgiveness, not for permission.” Plagg folded his little paws across his chest, floating right up to Adrien’s nose. Adrien went cross-eyed trying to maintain eye contact. “Ladybug told Rena. So the question is: who’s Chat Noir going to tell?”

“It’s--” Adrien spluttered. “It’s risky, Plagg!”

“And so is being depressed,” Plagg snarled back, surprising Adrien. “Any other person gets minorly inconvenienced and akumatized, who saves them? You--” the Kwami jabbed a paw into Adrien’s nose “--and the bug. But you or Ladybug get akumatized, who saves you?”

Plagg saw the cogs turning in Adrien’s head. He briefly speculated who his kid might choose. Nino would be the obvious choice. He wasn’t as close to Kagami any more, but telling her the secret that had broken them apart would certainly be one hell of an apology. It could even, say, potentially repair what the secret had fractured.

There was also the off chance Adrien might choose Pigtails, who coincidentally doubled as Ladybug. Plagg would have to raid the Agreste kitchen for popcorn if that happened.

“If . . .” Adrien began.

Yes? Plagg internally coaxed.

“If I were to choose someone . . .”

Come on, Adrien.

“I think it would be . . . Nino.”

Yahtzee.

Plagg clapped his paws together over and over, rousing Adrien from his feet like a drill sergeant. “All right, then! Let’s go, let’s go! Hustle, bell boy. We’ve got places to be!”

Adrien reached into his pocket and pulled out a squishy triangle, letting loose the most intoxicating aroma Plagg ever did smell. It circled the pair and made Plagg salivate. “Don’t you want this first?”

Did I really forget about camembert? Plagg wondered incredulously.

“I--” Plagg scrambled for an excuse to atone for the touchy-feelies interfering with his one true love, but he came up short. “Of course I want that!”

Adrien smiled fondly at his Kwami and threw the camembert into the air. Not one to miss a beat, Plagg zipped and caught the cheese in his mouth, devouring the thing in one fell swoop.

“Now we can go!” said Plagg, belching remorselessly. Naturally.

Adrien chuckled. When he opened his mouth to say the transformation phrase, however, he faltered. Was he really going to do this? It . . . It felt disobedient, like he was betraying Ladybug. But could she really hold it against him, if she had needed to do the same?

Would his partner reveal herself to be a hypocrite?

The budding consequences of revealing himself to Nino weighed so heavily on his shoulders that he wasn’t sure how he would manage batoning into the air once transformed. The aptitude for disappointment just felt so tangible to him, as if it were physically chaining him to the rooftop, a meaty claw so solidly wound ’round his ankles it threatened to pierce his skin.

The thought that Nino might hate him for keeping the secret in the first place made home in Adrien’s cerebral cortex, further immobilizing him. It pulled up a chair and opened the morning newspaper like it was meant to be there, meant to remind him that not everything was just simple. Straightforward. Without fallout.

A tender paw touched his cheek, wiping away a runaway tear.

“Kid,” whispered Plagg. His eyes were misty.

Is that . . . because of me? Because he cares about me?

Holding his gaze a moment longer, Adrien uttered the words that once changed his life forever and seemed to be forever following him with new and improved ways to spice up his routine.

“Claws out.”

The energy washed over him like a cold shower, springing him into action. The need to move, to run, to fly nipped at his heels and before he knew it, he was vaulting to his best buddy’s.

If Adrien was honest, telling Marinette, his dearest friend, was his first instinct. He gripped that realization like it would fly away at a moment’s notice, at the slightest spook (he was on the precipice of truly understanding what his good friend Marinette really meant to him). But he had heard from Nino that Alya and Marinette were holed in for a “girls’ night,” so . . . Nino was the next best thing.

Nino was far from second place, however. Sharing the burden of his greatest secret with the guy who got mad at Gabriel Agreste on Adrien’s behalf was like a breath of fresh air. More than that, it was like Adrien would finally be able to steady his head above the tide.

(Telling Marinette would have been like sprouting gills and uncovering the mystery of the sea up close and personal, but Adrien didn’t want to unpack that particular conclusion yet.)

Wasting no time, Chat Noir landed nimbly on Nino’s apartment balcony and tucked his baton back into place. Giving himself just one more moment before life as he knew it was spun upside down--for better or for worse was yet to be determined--he raised a gloved claw to the sliding glass door and timidly knocked.

Nino’s balcony wasn’t decorated like Marinette’s. A few bikes of various sizes loitered against the railing, collecting dust. A few helmets hung limply from their handlebars, occasionally shifting to and fro in the passive wind. Chat could discern by the light-up training wheels which bike belonged to Nino’s little brother, Chris. The bike--which Chat realized must be new since his last visit--sported black spots against its red frame.

Chat shook his head fondly.

Someone obviously developed an appreciation for the bug after their last akumatization. But as the evening breeze softly twisted the helmet, the vision before him melted him into a puddle of endearment. Nino’s kid brother apparently also had a thing for Chat Noir.

The evidence?

A black helmet topped with an acid green paw print and two plastic cat ears to boot.

Un-fur-tunately, as much as the sight was incredibly thera-paw-tic, it also made his heart throb. His body ached for a larger family, from head to toe and down to his bones.

Adrien didn’t dream often in his sleep, but when he did . . . Oh, when he did, he was blessed with visions of him entering a cozy one-story home (his) and immediately being greeted by giggling and the blinding smiles of three faceless children (also his).

While his hopelessly romantic heart yearned for Ladybug to be his other half in that tender fantasy, lately his subconscious had a habit of inserting a particular blue-haired classmate. It baffled him at first, but he figured seeing her family photo that one time during Animan in addition to experiencing the Dupain-Chengs’ bolstering hospitality personally as both Adrien and Chat Noir made Marinette a safe space for his lonely imagination.

Whoever she married would be one lucky bastard, that was for sure.

The curtains behind the glass door swept dramatically to the side, revealing a bewildered Nino in Rena Rouge-themed pajamas.

“Chat Noir?!” he exclaimed. The glass between them muffled his voice.

A quick scan beyond Nino told Chat that his friend was home alone, but he knew he needed to be certain. “Are you home alone?”

Nino paled before realizing that a superhero asking that question wasn’t as bad as some random adult looking for an easy target. He exhaled, chuckling nervously. “My family went to the ice rink, but skating’s so not my jam.”

So he stayed behind. Good. This was gonna be a piece of cake! Adrien pointed at the door handle and raised his eyebrows in question.

“Oh, right. Sorry, dude!”

Nino clambered to unlock the door and wrenched it open. The smell of broth and herbs hit Adrien square in the nose. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since lunch. “What brings you here? An akuma?”

Stepping over the threshold, Chat tried to make sense of Nino’s question. Why would he come to a civilian if there was an akuma? “No, no akuma, Nino.”

“Oh, good, ’cause I-- Dude, how did you know where my room is?”

If Chat weren’t there to reveal his identity, he might have had a heart attack over accidentally bee-lining to Nino’s room like he’d been there before. He probably would have said something fishy like “In a house like this, it’s a given!” But he didn’t have to make up some ridiculous excuse. He wouldn’t ever have to lie to his best friend.

Never again.

“Because . . .”

Nino eyed Chat expectantly. His room was a mess. He really wasn’t expecting any visitors and his laptop was still open, his music and film ideas scrawled onto random pieces of notebook paper and scattered across his desk like a madman. Or an artist. Was there really a difference?

“Because . . .” Chat began once more.

Oh, gosh. This was it. He was going to do it. He was going to do the thing! He was alone at sea and no one from the boat had noticed him falling overboard. But maybe, just maybe Nino was the Coast Guard. Maybe Nino would throw him a buoy.

“Because claws in.”

Nino’s entire body went rigid. Crap, crap, crap!

“No, wait--!” Nino shouted, closing his eyes instinctually and reaching for Chat Noir. He had to pull him away from his laptop’s camera field! Had to get him out of sight! Why did he choose now to share Paris’s most coveted secret?!

But . . . he was too late.

The light had already dimmed behind his eyelids by the time his hands were closed around--

“Adrien?” Nino whispered, peering up at his best friend. The duckling he had sworn to protect and teach the ways of life was standing where Chat Noir should be.

Adrien smiled and opened his mouth to respond, but a high-pitched laughter rang out and the joy he felt was quickly replaced with sheer terror.

Nino grinned sheepishly.

“Uh haha, you remember my girlfriend Alya who I sometimes Skype with while working on scripts?” Clumsily, Nino rubbed comforting circles into Adrien’s arms as if he could rub away the embarrassment.

“You said you were home alone.”

“Actually, I said my family went to the ice rink.”

Adrien’s eye twitched.

Plagg, who couldn’t have foreseen this turn of events, hovered off to the side and figured if he didn’t move, he could pretend he was invisible.

Sure enough, Adrien craned his head to find an unhinged Alya screeching like a fox (he had seen a video of them laughing once on YouTube; they were so adorable!) from Nino’s computer screen. Behind Alya was a familiar cork board of friends and, well, lots of himself. The walls were pink. She was at Marinette’s like Nino said she would be.

Adrien had expected gasps. Finger pointing. A million questions. What he hadn’t expected was Alya laughing like he was the butt of a joke.

After a good minute of cackling and awkward waiting from the boys, Alya sighed and wiped a tear from her eye. Then she spoke, a dazed smile on her lips.

“I cannot wait to strangle that Hawaiian-shirt-loving Master of Unnecessary Manipulation.” Her words were completely contrasted by the amusement in her voice.

Adrien tried not to faint.

-----

We're now caught up with AO3 here on Tumblr (AO3 is where I first started posting this). Yay! :D Also, was anyone expecting Rena to be there? 😌I wasn't. 😳 Follow me for updates and check out my Instagram where I post art!

(7/?) Previous | Next

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Video Games

Alien: What is this game about? Human: It’s about being a soldier in a war that reduces you to nothing more than a cog in a larger machine ever churning onwards regardless of any personal dilemmas the characters have. Alien: And the chainsaw guns? Human: Oh those are just frickin bad ass. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: I feel this game’s title is misleading. Human: Why do you say that? Alien: Because every enemy and character you meet in game is either screaming, shouting, or loudly yelling. Human: How does that make it misleading? Alien: This is clearly not a silent hill. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: I feel terrible for this pac-man. Human: Why do you say that? Alien: He must keep devouring pills to keep the ghosts of his past from getting him and destroying any semblance of a hopeful future. Human: .......... Human: On one hand I think you’re reading way too much into it, and on the other you’re about to make me feel sad for pac-man which has never happened before in my life. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: This commando is amazing! No wonder you’re military is so good when you have augmentations such as this. Human: Yeah. It’s even more impressive when you take into account his robot arm is made out of his wife. Alien: *Drops controller* Alien: WHAT?!?! ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: I challenge you to a battle with this game! Human: *Sees game, smiles* Human: A classic for sure, but I’m the best at it. To be fair I’ll let you pick first. Alien: I pick Oddjob. Human: You son of a- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: This game is too complex! Human: Why do you say that? Alien: You must manage your resources, military, population capacity, and research all while fighting other player’s armies! Human: It’s easy once you get the hang of it. Alien :Only the insane would play these strategy games! Human: Well why do you think we keep winning every space war!? ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: How do you play this “minesweeper”. Human: It is a secret my people have long since lost. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Human: Would you like to play some Mario? Alien: No. Mario is a terrible person and I hate them. Human: That’s a bit harsh. Why do you think that? Alien: He’s a plumber that never does their job! When was the last time you saw him unclog a pipe? --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Human: You sure you don’t want to play? It’s a great game.  Alien: *Watches in horror as they play Halo: CE*  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: So this is a team based survival game? Human: Correct. Alien: And everyone is trying to escape their terrible situation. Human: Indeed. Alien: What if one of them can’t keep up? Human: Then I guess they’re *lowers sunglasses* left for dead.  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: Why do animals like dogs and horses hardly ever die in your games. Human: In video games they only have one weakness. Alien: What is that?  Human: The plot.  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Human: How are you enjoying the game. Alien: It is nothing more than an alien dating simulator.  Human: So...... Alien: It is wonderful! Human: Thought you might like it. Human: Fair warning though. If you make Tali or Garrus cry I will break your spine.  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Human: How are you en- Human: (sees alien not touching the controller) Human: What’s wrong? Alien: I do not like this. The bad humans won the war.  Human: (sees game. sits down next to them.) Alien: The things they do to people that look different....that don’t believe what they think.... Human: I know buddy. They did terrible things.  Human: But that’s part of the reason you can’t stop playing.  Alien: (looks at human) Human: The game is about fighting the bad people. If you stop fighting them, then they will win and do even more terrible things.  Human: (puts hand on alien’s should)  Human: And you don’t look like the kinda person that’d just sit back and let that happen.  Alien: (nods, picks up controller) That’s not me.  Human: (Smiles) Damn right. Now go kill some fucking nazi scum.  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: What is the point of having a gun in this game if the enemy can kill you with a simple kitchen utensil!?  Human: You got it all mixed up. The frying pan is the most powerful weapon, not the gun. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: Are all you subway tunnels filled with giant monsters?!?!? Human: Only the ones in Jersey.  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Human: Did you win the war yet?  Alien: I haven’t even started it. Human: but it’s been three hours. What have you been doing? Alien: I’m trying to get my knight to fall in love with my mage but the stupid archer keeps getting in the way.  Human: I see you’ve discovered the real enemy then.  Human: Love triangles.  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Human: You sure you’ll be able to play this alone and in the dark? Alien: I’ve been to your offspring entertainment areas. I have nothing to fear from them at night.  Human: Suit yourself. (Leaves) (Next day) Human: So how’d it- Alien: KEEP THE DOORS CLOSED! THEY CAN’T GET IN IF THEY’RE CLOSED! Human: (under breath) probably shouldn’t tell them about the forth game when they pop out of the closet..... --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Human: You don’t seem surprised by the fighting game.  Alien: In truth most of the universe thinks you humans actually hold such death tournaments.  Alien: The only surprise was coming here and finding out you actually don’t.  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: Friend human! I have discovered the secret to beating your video games! Human: Really? What is it? Alien: They are called “Loot Boxes”. Human: Mother-of-god; they’ve gotten you too! --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Human: What do you think? Alien: I think you humans have it backwards? Human: How so? Alien: Most of your games have aliens attacking your planet. Human: And? Alien: Do you realize how many planets you human’s have invaded in the last month alone?  Human: (ponders, then realizes something) Human: So did you cut us open as well for research on how to defeat us? Alien: At first we did, but then stopped when we realized you are either indestructible or killed by slipping on soap. It was one or the other and was very frustrating. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  Alien: Help! I’m being chased and don’t know what to do! Human: Just sit on that bench. Alien: How will that help!? Human: Trust me. Alien: (Has character sit on bench, watches in amazement as pursuers pass by) Alien: How did that work?  Human: We humans are often blinded from what’s right in front of us.  Alien: You can not be serious. Human: Yesterday I spent a whole hour looking for my keys before I realized they were on a bungee cord on my wrist. You alien’s give us too much credit. 

[iloveyou3thousand]

Ever

Pairing: Pepperony Rating: Teen & Up Word count: 2785 A/N: This was written for the Pepperony Valentine's Exchange for @kassyscarlett​. I hope you like it!!

Tags: Jealousy, misunderstandings, light angst with a happy ending, established relationship, mid-canon

Read it on AO3 here!

__________________________________________________________

“Oh—” Pepper stops dead in her tracks, and almost takes a step back, “Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”

Which is odd, considering that she is used to knowing the ins and outs of Tony’s schedule by heart. Rarely does any set appointment pass by her unnoticed. She may not be Tony’s personal assistant slash glorified secretary anymore, but that doesn’t mean she’s managed to get out of her ways yet. Old habits die hard, as they say.

The lady in the chair opposite Tony’s turns, and while she gives Pepper in the doorway a polite smile, Pepper can tell that they were laughing about something just moments before by the way her eyes are still wrinkled at the corners and the way Tony’s leaning back in his own chair, so nonchalant, with a lopsided grin on his face.

A grin that, in any other circumstances, could make Pepper feel weak in the knees.

But she stands firm, looking from the vaguely familiar woman to Tony and back again.

“It’s fine, Ms. Potts, join the party,” Tony says with an air of relaxation.

I’d rather not, she thinks, but doesn’t say. She stays polite, as much as it infuriates her to have to do so when the cogs in her mind are already working overtime connecting dots that she’s sure aren’t there, or shouldn’t be there.

“You remember Ms. Hansen, right?” Tony continues.

“I do,” Pepper says, “How could I forget?” Frankly, she’s a little surprised that Tony remembers. Or maybe he doesn’t, and he’s doing a great job at bluffing his way through this little get-together – or whatever it is.

She briefly shakes hands with Maya when she extends hers over her shoulder to not have to twist around in her seat too much. Either she doesn’t want Tony looking right up her skirt, or she’s found a position in which she knows Tony can most certainly look directly at her panties and she doesn’t want to risk losing that. Pepper doesn’t know which one it is, and she’s not sure she even wants to know.

Maya’s smile is friendly and her handshake is professional but still, something about the situation doesn’t sit right with Pepper, who suddenly feels like she would much rather be anywhere else than with those two in one room.

“Pleasure to meet you again, under somewhat better circumstances,” the other woman says, and Pepper flashes an amiable smile.

“Likewise,” she responds, and backs up again to return to her spot in the doorway. She focuses her attention on Tony again, because that’s who she came in for in the first place after all. It looks like she manages to cut him off right before he is undoubtedly about to say something about what him and Ms. Hansen were just talking about. Pepper, frankly, doesn’t want to hear it. “I have something I want you to look at, but it’s not urgent. I’ll forward it to you so you can tell me what you think later. Okay?”

Tony salutes her solemnly, and gives a nod. “You got it, Pep.”

“Good. And don’t forget you’re having lunch with Osborn.”

Tony mutters a grumbled ‘how could I forget’ under his breath before Pepper turns to take her leave. She closes the door behind her and puts a good amount of distance between her and it in just a few quick strides. But even so, she can hear the unmistakeable sounds of laughter coming from inside the office. She stops, listens to the muted cadence of Ms. Hansen’s voice, honeyed sweet without a doubt. She winces, and makes herself scarce as quickly as she can. It won’t do her any good to stand outside of Tony’s office and listen in to what she assumes might very well be going on inside.

She doesn’t want to know. Ignorance is bliss, right?

Except even though she doesn’t really know what has been going on inside Tony’s office, she still spends the rest of the day thinking about it. Tony rarely invites women over nowadays, and they rarely show up in the kind of skirts that Maya was wearing. Jesus, she wasn’t even wearing pantyhose or anything. Pepper can’t help but wonder if she was wearing anything underneath her skirt at all…

But Tony has changed over the years. She thought that he was really committed to what they had going for them and how their relationship had grown. She had been tentative in hoping that Tony’s playboy days were over, but Tony had proved himself to be loyal, at least in the first few months.

As the day progresses, Pepper can’t help but think that maybe he’s slowly drifting back to what he used to know because he’s gotten bored of it all.

And what if he has? What if he has gotten bored of Pepper and of their relationship and of what she can and has offered him for the time that they have been together? What is she supposed to do, or say, about that? It’s not like she could help that – if it was even true at all.

That is probably the worst thing though. Even if this is really taking place, if her fears are correct, then there is nothing she can do to change Tony’s mind. She doesn’t have much more to offer than she has already given Tony, and she can’t exactly make something up.

She thought it was enough…

But now she can’t stop thinking about all the things they could possibly be doing behind closed doors, and all the things that Pepper should have been doing, or could have done, or at least suggested. Has she really not tried enough? Has she not shown Tony that things don’t have to stay the way they used to be?

She really thought that Tony had been happy with what they had.

A voice in the back of her mind says that it should reassure her that at least he’s not going for any random floozie at least, he’s sticking to someone he knows this time, but the longer she thinks about it the longer she realizes that that’s actually even worse. At least there are no feelings involved when he sleeps with someone he doesn’t know and won’t remember the next day.

Has he fallen out of love with her?

Was he ever in love with her in the first place?

Pepper can’t concentrate the rest of the day and it shows. Usually she’s all smiles, even with the people she doesn’t like. She knows that politeness gets her furthest, but her face is set with tension for the remainder of that day at the office and she avoids people she doesn’t necessarily have to see at all cost.

Unfortunately, Tony is her ride home.

Or, well, she could call a taxi. But if she gets her own ride back while they usually drive together, it will most certainly arise suspicion, and she knows that Tony won’t be able to let it go until she spills her guts – and she’s not keen on doing so at the moment. She’s sure that if she does, a lot more will come flooding out than she intends to allow, and that’s a recipe for disaster.

So begrudgingly, she walks into Tony’s office toward the end of the day, glad to find that it’s empty bar for Tony this time, at least. She can’t help but comment on it.

“No more surprise guests?”

“Just little old me, Ms. Potts,” Tony hums as he gathers his things before whipping out the doors and heading toward the elevators.

They ride down toward the garage together but Pepper doesn’t have much to say. Usually she would put some effort into trying to explain Tony’s schedule to him so that he’s prepared for what the following day has in store for him in case he forgot (which he is prone to do), but this time she is quiet.

Occasionally, Tony tries to break the silence with a comment here and there, but Pepper’s answers are short and to the point, leaving little room for the conversation to continue. She tries to busy herself with her phone, drafting some emails to send the following morning, but she comes up blank most of the time now with her mind so clearly on something else.

Even as Tony puts the top of his car down as they drive down a long, winding road back to their home, offering the occasional glimpse of the sea and the California coast, she’s quiet. Lost in thought. Normally she might have complained about the wind whipping through her hair and pushing it into her face, might have tried to control it with both hands while watching Tony laugh as she cusses him out, but now she just lets it.

Maybe that’s what is the final straw for Tony.

He slows down, which Pepper doesn’t realize until they’re pulling up alongside the mostly empty road, and Tony goes as far as to turn the engine off and twist in his seat towards her. He means business, that much is clear. Pepper turns her head to the right and looks out over the ocean and the sun dipping lower and lower toward the horizon.

“I feel like I’m being punished for something and I’m not quite sure what it is,” Tony says. Pepper worries her lower lip with her teeth for a moment, but doesn’t answer.

“C’mon, Pep. Can’t even look at me now? Must be something serious.”

There’s a beat of silence before Tony’s warm hand lands gently on her thigh just above her knee and just below where her skirt stops. She resists the urge to pull away because she knows it’s childish. Instead, she turns her head to Tony at last. It’s the least she can do.

“Oh, it’s definitely something that I did,” Tony teases, although a moment later a frown creases between his eyebrows as if he can see something in her expression that worries him.

Pepper takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Might as well be honest and get this over with to avoid stewing for much longer, right?

“Why was Maya in your office?” She can barely stand to look at him, but keeps her eyes level as best as she can.

Tony looks puzzled for a moment.

“Ms. Hansen,” she clarifies. Immediately, Tony’s expression clears up significantly.

“Ah, Ms. Hansen. Honestly, I’m still not entirely sure why. Something about… Right, she was wondering if I could oversee a project she’s doing. As if I’m responsible enough to be able to oversee anything.”

Tony flashes a smile but Pepper doesn’t think it’s entirely funny. He has a habit of playing the self-deprecating joke card when she’s not feeling great, and she doesn’t think that that kind of behavior should be encouraged. She doesn’t want Tony to think about him in that way.

When Tony sees that there is no smile on Pepper’s face but only a slightly disapproving set of her mouth, he drops the joking act and tilts his head toward one shoulder.

“Why does it matter what she was there for?” He asks. Pepper doesn’t have a good answer for that except the truth, and she’s not about to hand that over to Tony on a silver platter. It feels ridiculous. She shouldn’t be so doubtful to the point of distrust, but seeing Tony so at ease with a woman he’s slept with doesn’t sit right with her.

It’s prejudice, she realizes. She doesn’t have that reaction to Tony talking to any other woman, and there aren’t enough ladies like Maya who slept with Tony and yet somehow always kind of…stuck around.

Pepper looks away, shame on her cheeks. She feels awful for the way she feels and can’t argue past the lump in her throat because it’s getting too real. Either Tony is about to tell her that it’s fine and nothing is wrong, or he’s about to tell her that they can no longer work things out, that he’s no longer interested, that once they get home maybe it’s better if they part ways…

“Hey…” Tony murmurs, his voice dropping into something concerned now. He takes his hand off her knee and puts it on her back instead, laying the warm flat of his hand over her spine – something that could have been so soothing if it hadn’t been for the intrusive thoughts in Pepper’s mind that maybe Tony would rather be somewhere else touching someone else like that right now.

As if he can read her mind, Tony leans in and presses a kiss into her hair just above her ear.

“You know you’re the only woman in my life, don’t you?” He says softly, a kind of soft that is usually only reserved for her. She hopes that’s still the case. She really does. “If that’s what you’re worried about, then don’t be. I only have eyes for you, Ms. Potts.”

Pepper doesn’t realize how much she needed to hear that until she sighs out another deep breath, and feels the tension set in her shoulders ease, feels herself lean into Tony a little bit, almost wishing they weren’t divided by the center console in the car.

Again, it’s as if Tony reads her mind, because he’s out of the car and around by her side in moments, opening the car door and offering her his hand to get her out and pull her directly into a firm embrace.

“I know it’s ridiculous,” Pepper says, breaking her own silence for the first time since the last thing she said in the elevator.

Tony combs a hand through her hair at the back of her head, and presses a kiss to her shoulder. She buries herself into his neck even further at that.

“A little bit,” Tony admits, but Pepper can hear the playful tone in his voice, “But if it was really that ridiculous then you wouldn’t be feeling this way. So I guess I just have to prove to you that you’re the only one for me until that feeling subsides once and for all. Are you agreeable, Ms. Potts?” He pulls back, cups her cheek, and makes her look at him.

Sometimes, Tony’s emotional availability is far beyond what he makes it out to be and it still surprises Pepper sometimes. But above all, she’s relieved that he knows just when to be serious and genuine about these things. Right now, it helps her calm, and see the realistic side of things.

Tony would never have stayed with her if he didn’t love her anymore.

He would never have lead her on like that. He respects her far too much.

And of course, that feeling is mutual.

She sighs again, and nods her head, mimicking the tentative smile curling at the corners of Tony’s lips. “I’m sorry,” she says, but Tony shakes his head.

Wordlessly, instead of tucking her back into the passenger seat and driving them the rest of the way home, Tony takes Pepper’s hand and guides her toward the hood of his expensive car, where he urges her to sit down.

In the distance, the sun is just about to dip below the horizon. With all the things that had been going through Pepper’s mind, she barely noticed it before, but now she can see it all up ahead.

The sky is a canvas of blended hues of yellow, orange and pink, stretching far and wide. Tony sits down next to Pepper and puts his arm around her. Pepper doesn’t hesitate to lean into his side.

“It’s almost as if you planned this. The timing is immaculate,” Pepper comments as the sun sinks down further, remembering how Tony had delayed their departure by a little while, saying he still had some work left to ‘finish up on’. Pepper feels Tony smile where his cheek rests atop her head.

“I may or may not have heard through the grapevine that you weren’t feeling too well today,” he admits.

“Tony…”

Pepper loves sunsets. She’s always loved sunsets. It’s the sole reason she sits by the large floor to ceiling windows of their Malibu house every night, looking out over the sea and at all the colors swirling in the sky.

“I would do this any day for you, Pep.” Tony’s voice is soft. “I’ve already missed so many sunsets in my life. I never want to watch another one without you.”

“Ever?” Pepper asks with a curious quirk of her brow, lifting her head a touch to be able to look at Tony.

He smiles, and kisses her gently, pulling her close.

“Ever. Never ever.”

[cockasinthebird]

Stuck? Stuck.

This year for the senior weekend trip, Hawkins High students gets to enjoy a lovely stay at a hotel so cheap it's a risky gamble to even set foot there, and a Saturday trip to the Indianapolis Museum of Art, to which absolutely everyone is equally excited about.

Which is not at all.

Steve groans and sits up in the hard bed he has to sleep in for two whole nights, sharing his room with three other guys from his year that he swears he has never ever seen before, despite them all knowing his name and history quite well.

The drive here hadn't been that long, although it felt like hours, nerve ridden and anxious to not sleep in the safety of his own haunted mansion. Sure it's nice to be surrounded by people on all sides if he were to tell the truth, but...

Billy fucking Hargrove had been staring at him all day, sat two rows behind on the bus, and whenever Steve turned to look, he was met with an icy stare and suspicious grin. Billy had even actively gone out of his way to bump into Steve, push him around and kick his bags away, to which Tommy had laughed and patted Billy on the back, that fucking traitor. Sure they hadn't talked since after the fight with Jonathan, but Steve didn't know their friendship had been so fragile.

With an exhausted sigh and jittery hands, Steve carefully closes the door to his room, then heads down the hallway to find the elevator. He can never sleep when he's away from home, yet Dustin had convinced him that this is a great idea! Get out and have some fun! People always hook up on those senior trips! And then he did that Chewbacca wanna purr of a sound, prompting Steve to push his cap down his face.

The elevator climbs slowly up to his floor as he thumbs his lighter, on and off, on and off. Who here would he even hook up with that he hasn't already before he got together with Nancy? And now that they're over and Billy is running the school instead, Steve's odds had fallen even farther into the pits of hell.

He just needs to get out for a smoke, and maybe flirt his way to a drink or two at the sleazy bar; this place doesn't look like it cares about serving minors alcohol, what with the water stained ceiling and floor, the peeling tape, and the creaky as shit elevator, as it barely can manage a ding once it reaches the 4th level.

It whines just the same as he steps inside and feels it bounce dangerously underneath his weight. It requires several attempts and hard jabs from Steve before the ground floor button registers his attempts, and starts closing.

When just in the last second, strong fingers curl around the rusty metal and pries open the doors again.

That grin, those curls, the sun-kissed skin.

Billy fucking Hargrove.

“Where you off to, Harrington?” he asks with a flash of predatory teeth and steps into the limited space.

Suddenly Steve is feeling hot and claustrophobic, heart racing both from the presence of his enemy, and from the fear that the elevator might not be able to support both their weights.

“Why the fuck should I tell you?” he snaps and does his best not to meet those blue skies that just won't give him the same courtesy of pretending the other doesn't exist.

“Could be you wanted some company,” Billy says with a low tone that hints at something secret and suggestive.

“And why are you up?” Steve doesn't really care to know, but thoughts of why Billy might be up and about this late flows freely. There would only be one reason, and maybe it's the second floor where all the girls are located.

But he doesn't press the 2nd floor button. Simply puts his hands in his denim jacket and leans with his back against the wall.

“Oh you know exactly why I'm awake this late, princess,” Billy drawls out and licks his lips.

Which Steve doesn't notice, if anyone were to ask. He pulls up a cigarette from the back he has stashed in his back pocket, and slips it between his lips to save time once they're able to get away from each other again.

Yet it's gone just as quick, as Billy reaches out and snags it away, just to place it beneath his mustache. And Steve stares daggers at him, all too quickly he's angry, but really it takes no time with Hargrove around, as his mere presence in Steve's life in a constant source of pain and fury.

“What the fuck you asshole, give it back!” Steve frowns and clenches his fist with a strong urge to punch. It's been too long since he's felt the bliss of nicotine, and he can feel it in his blood. “Get your own shitty cigarettes.”

“Why don't you come over here and take it, then?” Billy muses with a cocky grin that goes from ear to ear.

“Yeah yeah, very mature, give me my fucking cigarette back, Hargrove. I'm almost out of smokes and patience with you.” Steve turns to stare at him now, a few feet apart filled with air so tense you could cut it with a fucking butter knife.

“Well that was quick,” comes the response as a mean spirited chuckle.

“Oh don't be like that; you've been harassing me all fucking day you shit!” And Steve steps closer, up to where he can feel Hargrove's breathing. “What is your deal with me?”

Billy lifts up his chin, looking all brash and smug. “Do I have to one?”

“Why else would you be making my life a living hell?” Steve's fists clench tighter. “Isn't it bad enough you stole my best friend and 'knocked me off my throne'?” he says with possibly the most infuriated air-quotes anyone could ever manage.

“Nope.” Short and crude, the p popping loudly despite the cigarette caught between teeth.

“Then what the fuck do you want?!”

And as Billy's grin somehow grows more sinister, he doesn't get to answer before there's an abrupt jump of the elevator and a nerve wrecking screech.

The loud whir of cogs and mechanics silent. The elevator has stopped.

“Are... are we...” Steve dares not say, as if that would make it real and not just his imagination.

Billy shoves Steve away and steps over to press a button, any button, and when there's no response, tries a second button, then a third, then every other option there. Punches the keys over and over and over-

“Fucking stop that! You're just making it all worse!” Steve shouts and grabs on to Billy's sleeve to tear him away.

“Oh like you know how a fucking elevator works!” Billy snarls back and pushes Steve hard for having even dared to touch him. “I know your grades, I've heard the questions you ask in class, I bet even Max could answer half the shit you can't!”

Steve doesn't even have time to think before he flings his fist after Billy, who catches it perfectly on the nose. Cigarette flies from his mouth, blood drips onto the sticky floor, onto Billy's dirty boots and his clean, white tee. And he continues being unable to think, as Billy fucking laughs.

“God damn Harrington, I can't believe you had the guts to do that,” he sounds near insane as he talks, swipes his tongue up to lick his upper lip clean of dark red. “You know you're gonna regret that now, right?”

“According to you I don't know shit.” Steve stands with his feet too far apart, shoulders raised and fists aching for more. As much as he would prefer not to fight, since he always gets his ass kicked, the rush of seeing blood flow from Billy's nose is invigorating.

No matter how prepared he thinks he is, Billy's fist still feels like a goddamn boulder against his eye, and barely has Steve staggered backwards at the brute force, before Billy grabs him by the collar of his striped polo and shoves him into a corner; caging him there with his own broad, muscular shape.

“You punch like a girl, Stevie,” his voice low and... oddly sensuous?

He reeks of cologne, teeth sharp and perfect like a wolf, body sturdy and thick, pressed into Steve with such intent that he can feel every inch of power.

“What are you gonna do now, Harrington?” Billy's chuckles like thunder in his chest as they stay flush together.

Steve feels his heart beat in his swelling eye, lumping in his throat, beating against his ribs like xylophones, and somewhere between his legs. Red really is a great color on Billy's lips.

“What are my options?” he groans out and wants to move away from the insufferable heat that's gathering too far down.

Eyes jump around every one of Billy's strong features, looking like a damn model from afar and up close like this. Jaw square and stubbly, an ocean's view in his eyes, a thousand eyelashes that he doesn't deserve to have, freckles like a starry night that he didn't even know existed on Billy's perfect skin, lips so hopelessly inviting despite the wicked grin.

And maybe Billy catches how he's being admired right now, because his smile falters to a slightly slack jaw. “Doesn't seem like you have any,” he mumbles out, tone uncertain of something.

“I fucking hate you, Billy.” Steve can't move his head away, can't tear his gaze from where that tongue peeks out to lick his lips clean once more.

With a timid whisper, barely more than a breath, Billy utters out, “I hate me, too.”

Lips meet with obscene force, Billy pushing against Steve's mouth as if it's his only source of life, and immediately Steve opens up; tastes the metallic blood that still drips slowly down from Billy's wounded nose, and feels that captivating tongue intrude deep as it urgently memorizes every inch of wet heat.

It's as if they've both been starving for years, and now they're all too worried it'll end in the blink of an eye.

Billy bites and pulls at Steve's lower lip with a guttural groan.

“Fuck, Billy-” Steve nearly moans out and tries to buck out his hips.

“Shut the fuck up, Harrington, or I'll punch you again,” Billy growls and dives back in to lick where his teeth had just tortured sensitive skin.

“Mmh- ah-” and Steve pulls away to say, “Do it.”

“What?” Billy has never looked more dumbfounded.

“Fucking hit me again.” Steve licks his lips clean of Billy's blood and stares intensely down at him. “Slap me in the face.”

And Billy grins like the devil, bites down on his tongue, breathing staggered as he contemplates on whether or not Steve is serious. Then brings a flat hand across a pale cheek.

It stings and burns throughout his entire body, anger and lust confusingly mixing and making his blood pump faster, his cock growing harder. He pokes at the inside of that cheek where he can practically feel the red hand print form.

“God you're a freak, pretty boy.” Billy wags his tongue and stares with a confident brow. “This why Nancy Wheeler left you, huh? She couldn't keep up with your perverted desires.”

Steve doesn't speak, simply digs a hand in between them, and oh what an exciting bulge he finds there, one that forces out an “Arrh,” from stained lips and feels the hips below urge closer.

“Like you're one to talk.” Now Steve is the one to smirk, crooked and looking like the cat that got the cream.

Which Billy fucking hates. All he can do is press their lips together again and grind his full dick against Steve's hand caught between them. His movement irrepressible as he rolls his hips and swallows every single moan that spills from Steve's puffy lips, pleased and turned on by every syllable, irritated that Harrington can't just shut the fuck up.

It would be all too easy to get caught like this. But isn't that just exciting?

That thought strikes both of them at the same time it seems, because just as Steve moves his hand out of the way, Billy's flies down tear away at their belts, all the while maintaining the rhythmic dance of their ever so insatiable tongues.

Neither dares to utter a single word, because the wrong one could stop it all too soon, so they settle on hushed grunts and groans, barely a cursed word till Billy's hand shoves into Steve's trunks once his fly is down.

“A-ah- shit, Billy-” Steve moans out and closes both his hands in the denim jacket.

“Be fucking quiet, Harrington, I swear to God,” Billy hisses out with his gaze low.

Attention caught on how fucking long and hairy Steve is, the head of his flushed cock wet with pre. He doesn't waste any time with getting himself out as well, his own leaking erection girthy with clear veins snaking around. Not as long as King Steve's magnificent dick, but definitely wider.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out hard at the sight of them both out in the open like that, shiny and standing at full size.

A moan cuts through him as Billy brings his free hand up to muffle every sound, with such force that it knocks Steve's head into the wall. The pure display of dominance that that move is, makes Steve leak even worse and struggles to keep his eyes open.

“I said shut the fuck up,” Billy's voice deep and threatening.

Steve feels as if he's staring death in the eyes, and all he can do is whine and thrust his hips into the iron grip around both their throbbing cocks. It's dry and uncomfortable, but fuck if it doesn't get him to where he needs to go.

And once again their minds must be in perfect sync, because Billy brings up his hand, and Steve watches intently as Billy spits into his palm, clear blue eyes never looking up to catch how burning amber stares.

Finally he gives in, when that slick hand twists around the two of them, and Steve's eyes roll back between fluttering lids as his mind goes blank with searing pleasure. A calloused hand, thick veins, hoarse groans, all of it the only things to matter in his world now, as every practiced jerk of his all too hard prick tears away at his self control and shoves him into the deep end of urges he never realized he had.

Urges he doesn't care to ignore.

Never before has he heard Billy go this long without insulting him, and he kinda misses it. He fights to open his eyes again, and catches how Billy's brows are raised high up and pinched together, his mouth wide as he barely manages to choke his own moans before they grow too loud, stare locked down where he's fisting them together with such fervor he could light a fire with it.

Steve is aching to hear Billy call him names, throw around abuse like it's nothing and shame him for something, anything. Perhaps tonight will give him new material finally, call him a queer or gay, just to then overpower him as he always does when they fight, now maybe followed by... a handjob? A blowjob? As long as his hands are on him, Steve won't complain anymore.

Can't complain when he's so close. He hadn't realized how badly he needed release at all till Billy had started pushing into him just minutes ago. Had their constant struggle just been pent up sexual tensions? Was this what it was all leading up to? An inevitability? Billy pumping his closed hand around them in a gross as all hell elevator, feeling every single inch of Steve's painfully intense erection?

“Fuck, ah shit, lift up your shirt,” Billy's quick to groan out with labored breathing that stutters as he speeds up his hand as fast as he can go.

And Steve doesn't hesitate to do as told, brings both hands from Billy's jean jacket to his own striped polo and lifts it up as high as he can, what with the way they're crammed together in a corner.

Feels the heat gather, the coil in his gut tightening till it's seconds away from springing, the vice grip around him doing wonders in pulling him to the edge, then shoves him off as he cums, hips shoving into Billy's rough hand with short bursts as he moans against the one stealing away his air, feels how he ejects wet heat all over his abs in a toe-curling feat.

Shortly followed by Billy as he empties all he's worth onto Steve's stomach, forehead pressed on top of the hand covering Steve's mouth, eyes still unblinking as he watches what a gorgeous mess they're making. He squeezes their spent dicks till the last drop drips down his broad fingers, and then lifts up his hand.

Ensures that Steve is watching, as Billy sticks out his whole tongue and licks his hand clean, sucking on the digits till there's not a trace left.

Steve moans into his hand at that, and despite the fact that he's been depleted of all his energy, still feels it jolt through him and burn into his memory for forever.

Finally Billy pulls his hand from Steve's mouth, and wipes the spit off in his jeans as he steps away.

And Steve nearly collapses without the support of thick muscles to keep him up, boneless in the afterglow of the best orgasm he's had in months. But... what's he going to do with the way they've painted his abdomen? There's no fucking towels or paper here, and he can't just take off his expensive polo shit and use that! He stares down in slight panic and gestures with his hands as if he's just going to, what, wipe it off?

When his sight gets blinded by something soft that reeks of musky sweat, and he catches Billy's shirt before it would fall to the floor. He looks up to see Billy put his jacket on again.

“Use that to uh...” He points to the cum that slowly runs down Steve's exposed skin.

Although hesitant for very good reasons, Steve does eventually wipe himself dry with Billy's tee, and awkwardly hands it back, as if he can really use it for anything now.

And a prolonged silence fills the air between them, as Steve remains in the corner and Billy struggles a bit with the doors; no clue what floor they're on anymore, and the counter above probably hasn't worked in years.

“What happens now?” Steve asks cautiously from where he's sitting in the same corner, a spot that he dares not leave.

Billy groans out a complaint and shakes his head at the immovable steel doors. Then goes to sit next to Steve with only slight space between their bodies.

“You mean if we make it out of here alive?” he laughs, and hears Steve give a tired chuckle as well. “That depends...” his tone grows wary and serious. “Harrington... if you tell anyone about this, I will fucking kill you, you understand?”

Their eyes meet, and in Billy's there's a storm of mixed feelings. Fear of getting hurt, premature anger of being found out about, and maybe hope? But that could just be Steve projecting his own thoughts and feelings onto the other.

“And what if I don't?” Steve swallows hard around the anxiety that clumps together in his throat. “What if I don't tell anyone about... us?”

One corner of Billy's rather stern grimace quirks up. “Then I'll see you tomorrow night.”

[s-horne]

Hi! Could you please write a ficlet where tony and Steve just got married and Steve takes tony to his mums house as a new husband, where tony officially meets Sarah, Sam, Bucky as Steve’s new husband? And they all gently tease the new married couple and make tony feel at ease? Thank you so much! xx

Maybe it was quick to have gotten married, but Steve had known it was real as soon as he’d met Tony. He had never been a believer in love at first sight until Tony had come along.

They’d met through work, at an intimidatingly large party thrown by the company’s board in order to bring all staff from every department together for the first time. They’d thrown out some trash about company relations or keeping the cogs working together as a strong team. Steve had thought it was all utter nonsense. He’d only gone for the free booze.

All the seating had been mixed and, as a result, R&D had met marketing. Steve and Tony had been introduced before the appetizers had been served and had been playing footsie by dessert. Their hands were linked during the speeches and only one out of their two hotel rooms had been used that night.

The months had flown by and before anyone realised, they had been together for a year. A wedding had seemed like the most natural thing in the world for Steve to propose next. He had known that they would be together for the rest of their lives, so the timeline didn’t matter to him.

*

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Steve snorted as he took the exit. “You haven’t eaten enough today to be sick.”

He could feel Tony’s glare on the side of his head as Tony rolled the window down. “You’re meant to play the role of the sympathetic husband here.”

Laughing again, Steve pulled up to a stop sign. “Sorry, sweetheart. Shall we try it again?”

Tony huffed. “Moment’s passed.”

“And the nausea?”

There was a moment of silence before Tony sniffed. “Gone.”

“Good.” Steve couldn’t control his smile as he looked over to see Tony staring out of the window. He reached over and rested a hand on Tony’s thigh. “There’s nothing to be nervous of.”

Tony’s head shot round and he glared at Steve. “Nothing to be nervous of? No, of course not. Just meeting your whole family for the first–”

“Technically Sam isn’t my fa–”

“Okay, but that’s worse,” Tony snapped, the worry clear in his tone. “That’s so much worse that he isn’t actually family.”

Steve squeezed his knee tighter, rubbing his thumb in what he hoped were soothing circles. “It’s going to be fine. Mom loves you.”

“Moms don’t love me,” Tony said, “that’s just a fact.”

“Well,” Steve said, not letting the words get to him and keeping himself as the strong one, “mine does. And quite honestly, she’s the only one that matters.”

*

Something settled inside of Steve when he cut the engine outside the unimposing, red-brick house. Though it wasn’t where he’d grown up, it was still his mom’s house. It was where Sarah Rogers had moved out to when they’d passed the worst times in Steve’s childhood, when the illnesses had been battled and the poverty somehow left in the past. Steve would never know how she’d done it, but he thanked God every day.

He wasn’t homesick in New York, not by a long shot. The apartment that he and Tony had made their own was the only place he ever wanted to go back to after a long day at work, the sight of Tony sprawled out on their couch more than enough to make up for the fact that the dishes were always left piled up on the marble counters.

But there was still something about going to his mom’s house. No matter where Sarah lived, she provided a refuge. It was a safe place to escape to, a break from the hustle and bustle of the city center. Sarah herself made it that safe place and Steve couldn’t wait to give the exact same thing to Tony.

“You get the bags and I get the flowers, okay?”

Steve was pulled from his musings by Tony appearing at his side. “Sorry?”

“Unless that’ll make it look like I don’t do anything for you.” Tony bit his lip and shook his head. “I get the bags and you get the flowers – but then your mom might think that the flowers are from you instead and you laughed at me when I suggested buying them. So, I’ll take the bags and the–”

Steve cut Tony off with a soft laugh, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist and pushing him in front of Steve’s body. Holding Tony tight against his chest, Steve leant back until he was resting on the car door.

“Please calm down,” he murmured into Tony’s neck. “I love you and my mom loves you. You talk every week.”

“Of course we do,” Tony said, relaxing minutely into Steve’s hold. “But that’s just because we gossip through The Bachelor. There’s no Bachelor episode to discuss here. The season finished.”

“Thank God.” Steve laughed when Tony reached a hand back to jab him in the thigh. “Sweetheart, please. It’s going to be fine.”

Tony took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted Steve’s hand to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to the ring around his finger before freeing himself from Steve’s hold. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit, sweetheart. Exactly how to sound when faced with your in-law.” Rolling his eyes, Steve stood upright again and reached down for their suitcase. “You’re making her sound like a haunted house.”

*

When Steve snuck up behind him and wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist, Tony jumped almost a mile in the air. He spun around in Steve’s embrace and smacked him on the chest, an angry flush to his cheeks.

“Asshole. You scared me.”

“Yeah,” Steve laughed, snagging one of the cookies Tony had snaffled away when Sarah had kicked them out of the kitchen, “you look really terrified.”

“Oh, shut up.” Tony’s flush darkened. “It’s stress eating.”

“Well, at least you’re finally eating,” Steve said, brushing a crumb from the corner of Tony’s mouth. Tony had been too tired to manage breakfast and claimed he could never eat on planes. If Steve hadn’t seen him do the same thing before every big business meeting, he’d have been worried.

They could hear Sarah bumbling around preparing their lunch, pots and pans banging together over the faint hum of her music. She’d had the same playlist for as long as Steve could remember, the same one she used to twirl Steve around the kitchen to.

“It’s going well,” Steve said quietly when he’d finished his mouthful. “Mom adores you – she made those cookies just for you, you know. What are you stressing about now?”

There was a beat of silence before Tony broke Steve’s gaze, swallowing another bite of Sarah’s macadamia-nut cookies and shuffling awkwardly.

“Oh.” Steve ducked his head until he met Tony’s eyes again. He ran a finger down Tony’s cheek, chucking him under the chin. “If this is about Bucky, then I promise you, you have nothing to worry about. He’ll love you, too.”

Tony lifted his chin and stared directly at Steve, reaching for another cookie and taking a large bite.

*

“You know about the tradition, right?” Sam asked, lifting a leg and settling his ankle on his opposite knee.

Tony blinked and turned to look up at Steve with a bemused expression. “No?”

Steve bit down on his grin and shrugged back at Tony as though confused. Maybe it was a bit mean, but he couldn’t resist the tease. Sooner or later Tony would jump right out of his shell and get his own back. Until then, Steve would poke a bit of fun at him.

“Oh?” Bucky joined in, a smirk growing on his face. “Stevie didn’t tell you about the garter?”

Tony’s eyes widened comically. “The what now?”

Sam snorted. “Typical Steve. We have a tradition here where–”

“Oh,” Tony said in recognition, relaxing back into the couch. Steve frowned, wondering what Tony knew. “That tradition. Didn’t realise you all knew about Steve’s kinks. We covered that on the honeymoon, but I can reprise it for you guys if you’d like.” He paused before he turned to look up at Steve, biting his lip thoughtfully. “Might have to go shopping, though. Think we, um, ruined the last outfit I had.”

There was a beat of silence where Steve stared at Tony with wide eyes, mouth hanging open ever so slightly. Tony arched an eyebrow in challenge, clearly refusing to back down. He’d been waiting for Tony to lose his nerves, but, damn, Steve hadn’t seen that coming.

The silence stretched on until a sudden bark of laughter came from the other couch. Having almost forgotten that they weren’t alone in the room, Steve jumped.

“Amazing,” Bucky said through another laugh. When Steve looked over at him, he was wiping a finger under his eye and thumping himself on the chest. “That was awesome. You’re awesome. Another beer?”

Thinking his best friend was speaking to him, Steve opened his mouth. Before he could speak, Tony’s voice rung out.

“No, thanks. But I’ll grab one for you. I’m going in to see Sarah.”

“Don’t be a punk,” Bucky said, using Sam’s thigh as a brace to push himself up. “I’ll get it myself.”

“I don’t mind,” Tony said and Steve’s eyes flicked between the two of them as they bantered like they’d been friends for years. “You just want to steal her cookies.”

As Tony untangled himself from Steve’s embrace and stood up, Bucky snorted. “Like you’re not going for the exact same thing.”

“Yeah, because she made them for me. She even told me so. I’m the guest of honour.”

As he crossed the threshold to the hallway, Tony turned and shot Steve a wink, lifting his middle finger and holding it up as he disappeared out of view. Steve felt a wide smile spread across his face, grinning like a madman as he sat and stared at the space that Tony had occupied.

“That’s it,” Sam said and Steve turned to him with a question on his face. “We’re keeping him.” 

Steve laughed as he took a long swig of his beer. The love he felt for Tony threatened to make him explode. He felt as though it were seeping out of every pore. “I had planned to, actually.” 

“Not you,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Us. Me, to be more specific.”

“Well, I’m glad you approve.”

“Oh, I do more than approve.” Sam sipped his beer and set it down on the coffee table. “I’m stealing him. He’s my new partner in crime.”

“What am I then?” Bucky asked indignantly, coming back into the room at that moment. He smacked Sam on the back of the head as he flopped onto the arm of the couch. “Chopped liver?”

“Stale,” Sam answered dryly. “You’ve got no new jokes. I need someone new, someone lively.” 

“You dick. Can’t believe you’re dropping me so quickly. And anyway, what if I wanted to claim Tony for my new sidekick?”

Rolling his eyes with a laugh, Steve shook his head. “Please stop fighting and tell me what you’ve done with my husband.”

“Oh, relax,” Bucky said, elbowing Sam. “He’s fine. He’s charming the pants off my Sarah.”

“If she’s anyone’s,” Sam said as he shoved at Bucky’s thigh, “she’s mine.”

“I’ve known her longer. She definitely loves me more,” Bucky argued, wiping the condensation from his new beer on Sam’s face.

“Doesn’t mean anything. Quality over quantity and all that.”

Watching them shove and push at each other. Steve stood from his chair and went in search of his partner. He couldn’t believe anyone could ever be nervous about meeting those two overgrown children.

*

Steve stood in the doorway and watched two of his favourite people laughing over something. It was probably him, but he couldn’t have cared less. Steve knew he would happily be laughed at if it meant that he could see Tony and his mother bond so well in front of him, if he could see Tony fully relax into a domestic setting.

“Hey,” he said, smiling when Tony and Sarah both turned to face him with wide smiles. He winced when a crash came from somewhere behind him.

“Hello, my darling,” Sarah said before she turned to Tony, squeezing his forearm. “Can you keep an eye on the oven for me, sweetheart? Let me just go and sort out those boys in the living room.”

Tony fixed her with a wide-eyed stare as she left the room. “I can’t keep an eye on the oven,” he hissed. “How do you keep an eye on an oven?”

Laughing, Steve crossed the room and wrapped Tony in a tight hug, pinning his arms to his sides. “God, I love you.”

“Help me! I don’t know what to do.”

“You stand here,” Steve said, grinning into Tony’s neck, “and that’s about it.”

“Oh. Well, that’s easy enough.” Steve felt Tony relax in his hold and softened his embrace enough for Tony to wrap his arms around Steve’s waist. “Your mom’s nice.”  

“Told you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, the eye-roll audible in his voice. That was a special talent that Tony seemed to have perfected during their relationship. “You were right.”

Steve gasped and pulled back to meet Tony’s eyes, knowing there was a smug grin on his face. “Can you say that again? I’d like to record it.”

Tony rolled his eyes, fingers slipping into Steve’s back pockets. He bit his lip as the amusement fell away. “Do you really think they like me?”

“Believe me,” Steve said, lifting his hand to cup Tony’s face, thumb swiping over the dent in his bottom lip, “they adore you.”

[bibliocratic]

Soulmate au for jm prompts? Any kind you want

soul-identifying marks, jonmartin, episodes 158-160 spoilers

(this prompt came into my home and beat me over the brain.)(it might not be exactly what you were after, hope it’s ok!)

–

Martin’s waging a passive-aggressive one-man war against an excel spreadsheet when the temperature, risen to bearable by the grunting old radiator in the corner, swan-dives into shivery.

“Peter,” Martin says, not exactly a greeting, as frayingly cordial as he can manage. Not absolving Peter’s intrusion with his attention, triple-pressing the right mouse button and hissing an irate oh come on when the computer refuses to bend to his will and instead freezes again.

Peter will say whatever mysterious bollocks he’s come to imply and hint at and implicate, scattering his bloody breadcrumbs. Martin will be left just as pissed off and in the dark as he was before, so he might as well get it over with so Martin can actually get some work done.

Surprisingly, Peter doesn’t say anything. That’s actually what makes Martin turn round.

Peter’s slate-shingle eyes are observing Martin’s exposed lower arms. Sleeves rolled up haphazard out of his way, folded over in messy and unmatching bunches at his elbow.

He’s studying the designs that blemish the sun-ditched pale of his freckled arm with an interest Martin baulks at. Traces with his eyes the blocky wood-cut patterns in precise and abrupt black lines that start at the line of his watch, sprout up and under his clothes. Idly, he takes his time to let his gaze traverse over the open pages of tomes unfilled with words and unbroken by ink; the landscape of woodland and tree lines and shadowy hollows of roads mysterious or untaken that mar the faint curve of his lower arm. The lantern swinging on the bough of a wintry tree, its candle recently blown out.

The eye, thick and wide, staring out at the crease of his elbow.

Peter flicks a glance up, and Martin reads something like pity there. His face heats.

“The Archivist?” Peter Lukas asks. His voice isn’t mocking. Martin isn’t sure what it it.

He hates the tone of it.

“Do you want something?” Martin responds curtly. Frosty. Tugging his sleeves back down pointedly.

Peter’s expression is ever so proud.

–

When Jon wakes up, he charts the changes death has wrought on him. Sitting on the small bed he’s set up in document storage, swaddled in the uncomforting comfort of his archives, he chronicles the new damages done. The rough tissue of scars on his arms, upper legs, chest. Pitted marks from shrapnel and debris and being in the radius blast of an explosion.  He supposes it could be worse.

He thumbs at the faded, almost unrecognisable nazar just below his shoulder, the crossed compass and ruler nearby in the same state. The colour bleeding out of them like they’ve been left too long in the dark. He doesn’t think about his parents much. Not in a long time. His memories sanded down to an uncertain rote recollection that his brain is equally as likely to have invented as not. He doesn’t recall enough to miss them, but there must be something there for him to still bear them on his skin.

There’s a bleary shape splotched on his inner wrist. Forming like the build-up of sediment, the slow grind of tide, and it has been doing so for months, since before he died.

It’s almost fully realised now. He rubs at the shape of it tentatively  as though the colour might run if he’s too rough with it. The delicate fawn-brown of its wings, the beaded black circle of its eyes.

He knows who it represents. Impossible not to, really. It’s his representation after all. The complex understanding of a human being realised as imagery and flowering on his skin.

He stares at the nightingale for the longest time.

–

When Martin was nine, struck by the well-echo hollow in his chest, unable to articulate the shamed and hot tears his mother would scold with a cluck of disappointment, he tried to clean the clock off his right leg. Sitting in the bath with the water gagging with too many bubbles, he scrubbed at the cogs and mechanical intestines of the thing, seeing the lies of his father in how it was wound, not wanting it, because surely if his dad had loved him then he wouldn’t have left, and if he didn’t then why should Martin boast his love so obviously. He held and scrubbed until his skin was pink and scalded and he’d started to wince. But connection doesn’t work like that, and so the clock never disappeared, and Martin tried to ignore it every time he took a shower.

Turns out the Forsaken was good for something after all.

–

“How’s the poetry?” Jon stammers at him, so obviously, earnestly angling to drag out their impromptu meeting. Martin wants to be anywhere else but here.

“Jon, I really need to – ”

“Oh. Yeah. I – sorry, I-I know you’ve got… your thing with Peter Lukas.”

“It’s not like that – ”

“I-I know, I know, sorry, I didn’t mean…” Jon stops. His eyes – and were they always so gaunt, so hungry in his face? – have stopped trying to both catch and avoid Martin’s gaze apparently simultaneously, and they’ve snagged instead on Martin’s collar. For a moment, something too thirsty catalogues the pale and vacant skin of his throat, where the purple hooded bells of monkshood usually thronged. Their leaves had grown spikier as he’d aged, stretching out to his Adam’s apple in a bid to form a collar of choking vines.

“Martin…” Jon stares at empty skin, and his expression blooms into something comprehending and distraught.

“I have to go, Jon,” Martin says forcefully.  He doesn’t give Jon much of a chance to reply.

He doesn’t want Jon’s sorries. Doesn’t need his worries or his understanding.

He just wants him to be safe.

–

The nightingale sings entangled by coarse and insidious brambles. Jon’s taken to holding his hand over the pattern, like shielding with a careful hand a wind-tossed, guttering flame, when the hunger starts to gnaw though him like frostbite.

It doesn’t stop there. The emblems grow into iconography, twist into tableau. The pictures grow and spread simply as moss, and Jon doesn’t despair because he doesn’t have the space for it any more.

Jon’s evidence has always been discrete. The stamped shapes for his parents like memorial images were all he held for the longest time. Something started to flourish for his grandmother, when she took him in, and he tried to show her the blotched shape in a childish effort to bring them closer. She hadn’t needed to stay anything. She pursed her lip and strained an apologetic glance and he knew even at that age that there was nothing, would be nothing in kind, decorating her skin for him. That choked the image like weeds, and it faded quickly as the passing of inclement weather.

The space, at his jutting hip-bone, was only later taken up by Georgie’s mark. That one never faded quite like the image for his grandmother or for his parents, but it went sun-stained and overexposed long before they broke up.

Martin’s imagery is not so subtle.

It swallows up his arm, roils over his shoulder-blades, infects the untouched skin over his collar bone.

Jon takes to wearing longer sleeves.

–

Martin’s skin has always taken easily to marking. Some people do, he guesses. Wear their hearts on their sleeves, on their throat, on their stomach. Martin’s a scattered museum of loves that he’s tended to over the years, unrequited affections or spluttered out romances.

He’s pleased, in those early days, that nothing ever bruises on his skin for Jon. He likes Jon, even fancies him, for a long time. And it’s annoying, because Jon can be a real arse, but it’s manageable. Jon doesn’t make him go hot at the nape of his neck or make him stumble over his words. His presence encourages harmless daydreams and flights of fancy, but Martin’s under no illusions.

And then Jon listens to his statement. Sits him down, and believes him, and doesn’t break eye contact the whole time.

And Martin had felt, dazedly, Seen. For the first time in a long time.

The first eye had opened up around then like an unclenching fist under his ribs. He’d seen it a week later. Had thought oh and had quickly dressed to cover it.

It’s not the first mark this love leaves him. In time, it scores him with tooth marks and sailor’s knots of worry, and eyes, always eyes, blinking open over his flesh.

He loses the one on his ankle first. Scratches at the space where it was, touching the crease where his sock has dug a band around his skin, right where the line used to bisect the thick and dark pupil.

Then the one on his lower back. His upper thigh. His left wrist.

It’s for the best, Martin, Peter says when he catches him looking at the undamaged patch of skin these absences leave behind.

Martin doesn’t disagree.

By the time Lukas banishes him to the mercy of Forsaken, thwarted and cheated and feeling something almost human, Martin’s skin has already been entirely washed clean.

–

There’s a nightingale on Jon’s wrist. It’s one of the first things that catches his vision, that refocuses from blurry in this undemanding nothing. The colour is too vivid, lurid in this desaturated landscape.

The bird is nestled, or maybe caught, in a twisting of brambles but its beak is open in song.

“Look at me, and tell me what you See,” Jon asks him, and Martin wonders if maybe Jon’s been carrying around his own heart on his sleeve for a while now.

–

His mother’s flowers don’t grow back when he vacates the Lonely. His father’s clockwork finally cleansed from him. The leaves and keys and umbrellas of the numerous small loves and connections he’s now lost the taste of.

Martin’s skin remains unblemished and clear, and he wonders if the Lonely took this capacity from him.

Jon’s hand is dry in his. And nothing blooms on Martin’s arms but a sensation like prickling, like pins and needles, settles under his skin, and Martin holds on just as tightly.

–

There was a downpour on the way back to the safehouse. The sky splitting with a cascade of rain, sheets moving in waves and quickly transforming dewy grass into boggy swamp-land. Their waterproofs, such as they are, have done a poor job and failed to live up to their name, and Jon is dripping a cloud’s-worth of rainfall from his hair alone as he crosses the threshold. Martin, no different, water draining off him like guttering, tuts. Helps him strip the sucking, soaking outer layers off, frigid fingers fumbling with the pull of the zip. Jon awkwardly gets in the way in his efforts to return the gesture, making a face at the sodden slump of Martin’s waterlogged woollen jumper as it hits the floor. Martin catches his t-shirt on his nose as he tries to pull it over his head, trying to unbutton and kick off his clinging trousers in one motion. 

He doesn’t feel embarrassed. Doesn’t cross his mind to be. It’s hard, when Jon’s snickering as he nearly trips over his own legs in his efforts to shake his legs free, when they’ve been clung to each other like tethered buoys each night, coddled by the unbroken dark.

“I’ll get dry clothes,” Martin says, the first to have divested himself of most of his clothes, and he bounds upstairs, damp feet squeaking and slipping, longing for a hot shower as he trails puddles into the bedroom. He throws on thick pyjama bottoms, is half wrenching on an errant t-shirt before he realises it’s Jon’s and has to rifle around for a spare one of his own before he slips it on. He collects some clothes for Jon and rushes back.

Jon’s managed to get off his own trousers, slopped in a pile of fabric by his feet, the skin goosepimpling and dark hair standing stark from the chill. He’s pulling his sticking vest off over his head as Martin returns.

Martin sucks in a gasp. Jon blinks, confused for a moment before a reddening mark stripes across the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, splotches at the dip of his neckline.

“What…?” Martin starts, staring at the tapestry on his skin, and he can’t help it.

Before, Tim would joke that Jon loved his job more than he loved people. Was probably conservatively decorated in little stylisations of his perpetually present tape-recorders, probably had a library over his heart. It was something he said as a joke at the beginning and hissed as a recrimination by the end, and Martin and Sasha (and later only Martin) would tell him off, tell him to keep it down, that it wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t his business. But if Jon had been marked, they wouldn’t have known. They were hidden under crisp shirt sleeves and well-placed collars even in summer.

The nightingale, wings scratched by thorns, was the first image Martin had ever seen Jon wear. He’d expected that to be it, had hoped such an emblem was meant for him, but it, well, it is dwarfed in comparison to the harmony of colour struck over Jon’s body like a collage.

Every piece of skin that is not torn up and jagged with scars has been brought into the striking shock of deep blues and blacks that slide and ring over dark skin. A choir of imagery that Martin can’t decipher immediately, like a jigsaw he has to step back from, the artworks all wrapped up in each other, each feeding off the other. There are nightingales, some grounded on thin wind-touched branches, some held mid-flight; these become a stylised compass pointing north. There’s the solid structure of a lighthouse taking up most of his gangly upper arm, its lower levels painted in a sea bound mist, or it could be the curling wisps of inviting steam. His stomach, curving concave, is overwhelmed by the imperious crags of icy cliffs, the rocks dashed by high foaming waves, above which hangs the ribboning line of northern lights.  On the sea, a sturdy boat tipping on the water, its spinnaker puffed out and billowing in defiance.

There is so much, so much of Jon taken up, painted in testament, and for a long moment, Martin doesn’t understand.

Jon looks at his feet, and then glances, almost shyly, at Martin’s unpainted throat, his blank arms. Visibly steels himself, moves his gaze up to meet Martin’s.

“It…” he begins, before he breathes in, sets his spine straight. “You. It’s – it’s you. In case, in case you didn’t know.”

“Can – ?” Martin asks, and his fingers are twitching, yearning to trace the lines, to memorise their shapes, and Jon blinks again and then makes a nervy nodding motion.

Martin’s about to reach out before he remembers that Jon’s half-naked and dripping wet in the hallway, that the stone flags will be frozen on his feet, that now is perhaps not the ideal time.

Later. After they warm up, after they shower and the gas boiler grunts and complains and then near-burns them with hot water, after they dress in pyjamas warmed on the radiators, after they go upstairs. Martin runs his hand reverently, shakily over the lighthouse, the compass, the boat, the birds, wonders if this is how Jon sees him, how Jon understands him, wonders why he’s taken up so much space. Looks at all the pictures that are both isolation and sanctuary, song and sorrow and strength, tries to decipher what Jon sees in him.

“There’s so much,” he marvels softly, scarcely believing, hovering the pads of his fingers over the horizon line of a lightening sky, the peaking gleam of a sunrise at Jon’s lower back, the anchor bound in twisting rope around his ankle bone, the up shoots of snow-drops and lily-of-the-valley not far away. Most people get one image, maybe two or three, as proof of meaning to another person, as a tangible reflection of connection. Martin has an entire gallery exhibited across Jon’s body.

“You mean so much,” Jon says softly in response, like that explains it. Maybe for him, it does.

He charts the other bold designs he finds. Realising that for all his earlier pretences, Jon has not, and never has been an island. There’s Daisy’s faintly rusted golden chain caked in mud and blood around his other ankle, Gerard Keay’s thick leather-bound book, its open pages wreathed in fire, the near-vanished marks for his parents, for Georgie, the scant others who came into his life and left their mark.

There might have been an eye, wide and open and unyielding, and it would stare out at the bottom of Jon’s throat if it wasn’t for the rush of wild-flowers also grown there, snow-drops and holly-berries obscuring its vision.

Jon asks him, falteringly, as though unsure of forming the question in his mouth, what Martin had. Before the sea-salt wash of Forsaken cleaned them from him.

And Martin points to where his mum, his dad, his old loves left their remembrances on him. Carefully, honestly, he tells Jon about the tooth marks clamped around limbs like he’d been bitten, because it was not always a kind love Jon made him feel. The eyes that near the end had swarmed like frog-spawn around his middle, slashed across his back like a constellation. The forbidding forest on his arm, the lantern.

Jon strokes the places where he would have seen these things.

“If they don’t come back….” Martin says, and Jon hums.

“They might not,” he says. “That’s… that’s OK.”

“But…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jon says, and he touches at the space where he would have marked Martin ever so kindly. “Something new might show up. In time.”

“Yeah?” Martin croaks, and it’s not a question of if it will or not. Jon’s looking up at him, a smile on his face, his whole body inked with how much he feels, all the words he finds so difficult to express writ large on his body. Martin’s heart feels too big for his chest. And he wonders what meaning they might make of each other together.

[hermionemonica]

The Beginning of Something Unexpected

Happy birthday @lalunaoscura! Enjoy some Zutara!

(AO3)

Zuko sat up with a jolt as the door of his room slammed open. “What in the-"  

He stopped mid-sentence as he realised that in the doorway, stood the last person in the world he would have expected to. Although he could not see her face, he knew from her silhouette, her long dark tresses.  

“Why.” Katara whispered through clenched teeth.  

The light from the hallway lit her from behind, so that her face was in darkness. Zuko squinted to make out her expression because he had no idea what was going on. Why was Katara in his room at so late an hour?  

“Katara, what's-"  

“Why did you come into my life, Zuko?”  

That was most certainly not what he was even remotely expecting to hear. However, her words did not hit him as hard as did the way she said it. The intensity and pain in her voice made a shiver run down his spine; he had never heard her like that. He tried to say something, but found himself unable to utter a single word.  

“I was okay,” Katara went on, slowly, but resolutely, walking towards Zuko's bed. “I had my life was in order. Everything was going alright, until that day you decided to barge in with your gorgeous smile and your pretty hair and your intense eyes. Even then I thought I would be okay. I thought you were just another good-looking guy. But oh boy, I had no idea.”  

If Zuko was confused earlier, that was nothing compared to what he was feeling now.  

“Sokka had warned me about you. I was determined to stay away from you anyway, especially after how your sister and her friends cheated Suki out of the soccer team. I assumed you were just another of those snobby, rich assholes. Even after you managed to befriend all of my friends, I could not bring myself to trust you. But that day, after that accident...” Katara trailed off for a moment. “Why, Zuko, why?” It was difficult to miss how her voice cracked; and although he could not see her face clearly in the dark room, he could tell that she was crying. And knowing that made his heart clench painfully in his chest. Again, he tried to say something, anything, but the words would just not come out.  

Silence fell between them, broken only occasionally by the heart-rending sound of Katara's sobs. Frustrated by his inability to utter words, Zuko felt that he could not stay still any longer. He had no idea why Katara was saying what she was saying, but he knew that he could not stand seeing her in anguish like that. He leapt out of his bed towards her. He hovered awkwardly for a few seconds, before advancing to enfold her in his arms.  

But Katara pushed him away with a shove right in his chest. “Don't touch me,” she hissed.  

Zuko staggered a step backwards. Katara stood there for a moment, wiping at her face, before storming right past Zuko to plop onto his bed. She pulled her legs up to curl onto herself, and kept sobbing.  

Zuko turned and sat down beside her. If she did not want to open up, that was okay. But he wanted her to know that he was there for her.  

After a while, Zuko felt her sobs quieten. He was unsure about whether he should ask anything. So he waited for her.  

A few minutes of silence passed before he heard Katara again. The faintest of whispers.  

“Why did you do that, Zuko?”  

Zuko knew what she was talking about. That day, when he had pushed Katara out of the way of the speeding car, and ended up getting hit himself.  

To be honest, he could not explain why he had done that. He had no definite answer. All he knew was that when he saw the car approaching towards her, everything else had vanished from his sight. All he could see was Katara, frozen in front of the car. And he did not think twice before jumping in to push her out of the way.  

He had really not counted on getting hit by the car instead.  

Zuko had never been that close to Katara. He had managed to break through Sokka’s prejudice and befriend him. Suki had forgiven him. Toph had never really disliked him in the first place. Even Aang had gradually warmed up to him. But he never could fathom Katara. No matter how much he tried, she would not talk to him. She would avoid him as though she did not want anything to do with her.  

Sokka had told him that Katara visited him in the hospital every day when he was healing, but she would not enter the ward. (Maybe except for that one night when he had woken up to a touch on his hand and had opened his eyes a slit to find her sitting at his bedside, her hand lightly caressing his, her eyes fixated on the bandages on his abdomen. But he had been too weak and delirious back then, so that might as well have been a dream.)  

When he had returned to the college, he had hoped things would be better between them. But he had been so wrong. Katara wouldn’t so much as look at him. She would run away whenever she noticed him approaching, and when she couldn’t do that, she would try her best not to meet his eye. More than once, he had caught her stealing glances at him, but she would promptly turn away as soon as he set his eyes on her. Tonight was actually the most she had talked to him, ever.  

“Why, Zuko?” Katara's voice brought him out of his thoughts. He turned to find her looking at him, her bloodshot, blue eyes twinkling with tears.  

“I don’t know,” Zuko replied in a little voice.  

Katara sighed in exasperation. “You can’t just go around jumping in front of cars and say that you don’t know why!”  

Zuko remained silent for a while. Then he spoke up. “Why were you crying earlier?”  

Now it was Katara's turn to be silent.  

Zuko decided to trust his luck for once. “You can’t just barge into people's rooms in the middle of the night, crying and screaming, and not say why.”  

To his immense relief and delight, that brought out a giggle from Katara. “I asked a question first,” she mumbled.

Zuko took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter.”  

“It so does!” Katara almost shouted at him. “You don’t just go around throwing yourself in front of cars for random people!”  

“But you're not just some random person!” Zuko yelled back. “You are-"  

He stopped abruptly in the middle of the sentence.  

“Go on?” Katara taunted. “I am?”  

Silence. And then, a shaky whisper. “You're- you're Katara.”  

But who am I to you?, he wished she would ask.  

But who am I to you?, she stopped herself from asking.  

When she turned away, Zuko spoke up again. “I asked you a question too.”  

Katara did not reply for a while. She just sat there, staring at her lap.  

A few seconds later, she spoke. “I broke up with Aang.”  

Zuko turned his head so fast that it was a wonder he didn’t get a crick in his neck.  

“What? Why?”  

He didn’t know much about their relationship, but from whatever time he had spent with Aang, he knew that the boy was crazy about Katara. And he wouldn’t even hurt a fly, there's no way he would hurt Katara, right? Them what happened?  

Katara made a soft sound, which was somewhat between a sigh and a laugh.  

“Because of you, Zuko.”  

Okay, Katara needed to stop saying things like that and start explaining.  

Zuko silently urged her to keep going. His heart was beating like a hundred elephants running together, but he managed to keep a calm expression.  

“I couldn’t do it to Aang. He has a beautiful and innocent heart, and he deserves better than someone like me. Someone who spends her nights thinking about another man. Someone who cannot stop thinking about the other man. Someone who is in lo-"  

Katara stopped herself mid-sentence. With a sigh, she went on, “Of course, none of this matters unless you-” She hesitated.  

Zuko felt a gentle touch on his hand as Katara's tiny hand slid into his. She intertwined their fingers together as she spoke, her voice barely a whisper.  

“Unless you tell me what I mean to you.”  

Zuko was stunned into silence. He couldn’t speak, he couldn't move. The cogs in his brain were running furiously, and his heart was beating like crazy, and was he even breathing?  

“Please say something, Zuko.”  

Her words did something to her. Something that he couldn't explain. It was like a spark inside himself, and also like a wave that washed over him. And in that moment, he responded by leaning in and pressing his lips to hers.  

Katara did not respond at first. Zuko thought that maybe he had gone too far, too soon. He slowly broke away from her. An apology had barely reached his lips, when Katara launched herself onto him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him hungrily.  

This time, Zuko wasn’t one to hold back. He too poured all his longing, all his emotions into that one desperate kiss. As he wrapped his arms around her to pull her close, as he felt the warmth of her body against his, he realised how much he had actually wanted this.  

When they broke away, Zuko rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, Katara,” he whispered breathlessly.  

“I love you too, Zuko,” Katara spoke in a shaky whisper. He could hear how her voice broke.  

Zuko lifted his hand to touch her face lightly. “I promise, we will figure everything out.” He spoke reassuringly, as she leaned her face into his hand. “And you won’t be alone in this.”  

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

A Singular Cog in the Machine Chapter 3

Chapter Title: Soul and Emotion

Summary: "It was pure logic when it came down to it. Why allow harm befall the others if Logan could stop it? Surely, it was much more beneficial for only one to be harmed than for all to undergo excruciating pain and misery. A broken cog is more easily replaced than if the whole machine fell apart.“

Logan adheres to the belief that needs of the many far outweigh the needs of the one, the latter being himself. Or in other words, Logan tries to sacrifice himself for the sake of the others. Fortunately for Logan, they won’t let him get away with that.

Chapter Word-Count: 2k

Pairings: platonic lamp

Warnings: Injuries, Referenced Torture, Crying, Misunderstandings, Angst With a Happy Ending

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | End       AO3 LINK

As promised, here comes the comfort! I want to give a quick shout-out to both @delimeful and @today-only-happens-once as their own sci-fi aus helped inspire me to finish what I started with this one heh <3

-

Logan woke up alone for the first time in a long while. Approximately sixty-six cycles, five hours, thirty-two minutes, four, five, six seconds ago. 

‘Internal Clock program is running functionally,’ Logan thought as he closed his eyes, running a quick diagnosis scan. It was not...completely optimal. Parts of his code had been ravaged, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. His biological body still suffered grievous breaches. His artificial eyes were damaged, only working at 70% efficiency. 

This made viewing things from a distance rather difficult. However, it was clear enough to recognize he was not in his own quarters. Rather, he was still in the ship’s common recreation area. The “living room” as Virgil referred to it. 

He laid on the couch, swaddled in soft blankets and cushioned with a plethora of pillows. Both he expected came from Patton’s hoard in his quarters. He was almost surprised not to see a stuffed animal in the crook of his arm. The television was on, the volume lowered to only a pleasant murmur could be heard. Images of animals flashed onto the screen. A nature documentary, one that Logan had previously found to be captivatingly informative.

 “--we’ll take care of you, we’ll watch all your favorite nature documentaries, how does that sound?”

Patton had said that, he recalled. But when? He tried locating the source of the memory file. Except--

ERROR MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED.

He dug a bit deeper, finding more and more memory files in a similar disarray. He’d known this problem was occurring. But that didn’t explain the chill that swept through his body just then. A fever perhaps? No, his body temperatures remained at their normal regulated levels.

Before he could contemplate this further, his ears picked up on noises in the distance. Too far away to make it out from his position. There was a simple solution to his quandary. The ship computer. Or Odysseus as Roman insisted on calling it. He could request an audio transcript. 

Pinging...pinging...pinging…

He couldn’t reach the ship computer. That was not optimal. His only option was to investigate the noises himself.

Logic dictated he was wounded. He should remain on the couch unless absolutely necessary. He remained put, concentrating on the television. The urge to find the source of the noises would not go away. It festered, growing rapidly like a disease until he could not withstand it any longer. 

Standing up from the couch proved far more difficult than he anticipated. His torso flared in pain, his legs shaky and unstable. He gripped the side of the couch, breathing in deeply. His vision spun, distorted and decorated with bright spots of light. It took a moment for it to completely clear.

He looked down the corridor, the distance stretching into oblivion. No, that was a falsehood. It was only ten meters long. However, in his current physical state it might as well be a thousand meters.

It didn’t cause his pressing curiosity to fade in the slightest. He took a step forward, his foot stinging like pins and needles to quote an idiom of Virgil’s. He didn’t collapse. Granted, he heavily leaned onto the couch for support. He took another step forward and then another.

 He held onto the corridor wall the whole way, a small grunt of pain leaving him. The dizziness returned, but he pushed through it. All that mattered was reaching the end of the corridor. If Logan’s memory was still accurate, it should lead to the ship galley. Perhaps the others were engaged in re-energizing through fuel consumption? 

As he drew close, the noises crystallized into recognizable speech. 

“Are you sure?” Virgil’s voice asked, pointed and edged. Someone responded, much too low for Logan to catch. He gritted his teeth, propelling himself onward at an accelerated rate. His vision frizzled and crackled, everything becoming a blobby mess of colors.

“Maybe we should--Logan!” 

An arm wrapped around his waist, hoisting him up. Logan opened his mouth to protest when a wave of nausea hit him. He quickly shut it in favor of keeping his stomach contents down. The person guided him to a chair, careful and steady. He sat there, grimacing as the nausea gradually subsided from his systems.

When he glanced up again, he met the furrowed brows of Roman, Patton and Virgil. They gathered around him, forming a semi-circle. He examined them, scrutinizing every detail. His drive whirred from the amount of tests he processed in the matter of nanoseconds. Each one proving the validity of his suspicions every single time.

“You’re real.” He croaked.

They all exchanged a glance.

“Yes, we’re here Logan, you’re safe now,” Patton confirmed, laying a hand on Logan’s shoulder. A gesture meant to be reassuring except it wasn’t reassuring at all. 

“No,” Logan shook his head, “You should--cannot---I don’t--it does not make sense!”

“Why does it not make sense?” Roman asked, dropping down on one knee. He acted odd,  more muted than usual. The way his head bowed indicated a sign of exhaustion. Logan shook this thought aside in an attempt to formulate a response.

“To quote Spock from the movie Star Trek II Wrath Of Khan, ‘The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one,’” Logan said. Upon their blank stares, he elaborated, “A singular cog in the machine is more easily replaced than if the whole machine falls apart. As the ship engineer and navigator, my role is vital but replaceable, therefore--” 

Patton drove into Logan, embracing him firmly around his middle. The titekan’s whole frame shook as deep, guttural sobs fell erupted from him. Logan blinked, almost short-circuiting from this unexpected turn of events.

“I...do not understand.” Logan admitted. He glanced up at Roman and Virgil only to find them in similar states of malfunction. 

“You colossal intelligent idiot,” Roman murmured, his face dripping with ivory tears. He shoved his head against Logan’s shoulder, placing his arms around both him and Patton. “Did you really think we could function without you?”

‘‘Yes,’’ Logan wanted to say, but he couldn’t. The word wouldn’t come out of his clenched throat. Virgil was the only one left standing at this point. He was the captain, the system administrator. He was a much-appreciated source of reality.  Surely, despite his human emotions, he understood the logic. 

“Lo,” Virgil sighed, running his hand through his hair, “When you disappeared, we searched all over the galaxy looking for you. We looked for weeks. And after we found you, we’ve been taking care of you in shifts. You know why?”

Logan shook his head.

“Because you’re not a broken cog to us. You’re more than that--you’re a kraffing sentient being. You’re--” Virgil’s voice wobbled. He inhaled harshly, pushing on, “Dammit, you’re family, Logan. And it’s cheesy but we don’t give up on one another. Never.”

“Captain Fearless is right,” Roman said, and Patton made a rumbling sound of agreement.

“Oh,” Logan managed, swallowing, “Oh.”

He’d thought so much about the others’ and their importance to the system. He analyzed and calculated it all. He saw how removing any of their variables would be detrimental. But in all his calculations, he never considered how he himself affected the equation. 

“I did not--I made a slight miscalculation--” Logan breathed in, “I am sorry.”

“No,” Virgil said, stepping closer, “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I should’ve told you, I assumed it was an understood thing. We could’ve rescued you sooner if I hadn’t second-guessed myself--”

“Virgil.” Logan said, the clenching feeling in his throat tightening. Wordlessly, he reached out a hand to Virgil. He wasn’t quite sure what he was attempting to convey. Fortunately Virgil seemed to understand. He leaned over and joined the entangling of limbs and bodies. 

‘A group hug,’ Logan’s dictionary program informed him, ‘an instance of three or more people embracing one another simultaneously, typically to provide support or express solidarity.’

They held onto one another for quite a while, not moving a single muscle. Great globs of tears were shed amongst them all; even Logan wasn’t immune to it. He rationalized it was his body reacting to the others’ emotional displays. It probably did not have to do with the strange, tingly warmth lit up inside his chest.

He would worry about this sensation if not for the melatonin in his system starting to take effect. He closed his eyes, a long intake of oxygen following this action. 

“Logan?” Patton sniffled.

“Yes?” 

“Th...there’s something we need to tell you about.”

Logan’s eyes fluttered open. He looked expectantly at Patton, waiting. The titekan opened his mouth to continue, but Virgil and Roman beat him to it.

“Patton, are you seriously going to tell him--”

“We should wait--”

“No,” Patton said, interrupting them both, “we can’t keep this from him. He deserves to know.”

It didn’t increase in volume, but Logan’s heart was the only thing roaring in his ears. Deserves to know? The only scenarios Logan could come up in his mind was his tests were faulty, wrong wrong wrong about this being real. It was all fake. A simulation, surely or worse; an experiment. The thousand eyes watching him behind a screen, shattering his hopes once more.

“Logan?” A soft hand touched his cheek, “you with us?”

“Yes,” Logan heard himself saying, “Yes, I’m here. Go on, Patton. What is it that you’d like to divulge?” 

“When we brought you back, I did a few medical scans, to try and see if there was any internal bleeding going on,” Patton hesitated, refusing to meet Logan’s eyes, “I found an AI chip in your brain.”

What? Impossible, his AI was supposed to be undetectable by scans--

“That disgusting buvah must’ve stuck it in you for the kriffs and giggles,” Roman growled, his scaled tail whipping with indignation. 

“As far we can tell, it doesn’t have a tracker,” Virgil said, “and removing it could be lethal.”

“Okay.” Logan said faintly. 

“Okay?” Roman repeated, squinting, “We just told you that you have a freaky AI chip in your brain and your response is, ‘okay?!’”

“Hey, lay off him, Princey,” Virgil hissed, “He’s been through a lot, you know that.”

“Well,” Logan began, “this is not how I expected to inform you all of the fact that I am an advanced artificial intelligence operating inside of a biological body.”

“What?!” Roman gaped at him. Virgil and Patton also stared at him, showing similar signs of duress. 

“I did not think it was imperative intel as it did not negatively impact my performance as neither an engineer or navigator.” Logan said. And while it was true, it was also a bit of a lie. The reality was that most people seemed to be wary of AIs. This was why he chose to clothe himself with a biological body to blend in, so to speak. All it took was working lungs and a beating heart for others to respect and listen as illogical as that may be.

“I admit, that perhaps that was another lapse of judgment on my part. I understand if knowing this...makes you uncomfortable,” Logan added, a weird twisting feeling settling in his gut. Perhaps he was ill? He could not find himself to meet their gazes. He tried not thinking about how that was a sign of nervousness. He was not nervous, after all, AIs do not get nervous.

“Freaky?” Roman let out a high-pitched laugh, “did I say freaky? I meant to say there’s a freaking fantastic AI chip in your brain.”

“I agree,” Patton chirped up, “You could almost say that he’s too cute to compute!”

Now it was Logan’s turn to gape at them. “It really does not bother any of you?”

“It’s like I said,” Virgil told him, a small smirk growing on his lips, “you’re family. We love you, AI or not.”

Logan blinked, slowly processing the others--no, his family’s words. It didn’t make sense. His systems struggled putting it in neat, quantifiable boxes. He feared trying would only result in his systems crashing. For once, however, he found it didn’t matter that didn’t need to make sense.

So his response to this was purely logical. In ways Logan refused to elaborate or share even within himself.

“I...find you all sufficient as well.”