#I’m on the cusp of beating act 2 (not quite where I left off on my friend’s ps5. but pretty close) and all I want to do now is start over

[playerkingsley]

I’m definitely a proponent of doing a vanilla playthrough of a game before diving into modding but. the siren call of the bg3 party limit begone mod is SO tantalizing

[aelysianmuse]

SUMMARY: Canon-divergence post-Purgatory fic where Benny decides to meddle, make Cas feel appreciated and Dean jealous enough for them to pull their heads out of their asses and get together once and for all. AO3 LINK.

On the first morning back from Purgatory, Benny learns that comfort zones are where Dean fails to thrive.

Without any imminent threat to Castiel, Dean is quick to leave addressing him as his ‘angel’ behind. Instead, he slips right back into the authoritative ‘Cas’. Lingering touches shift into brief pats, and intense stare-offs turn into avoidant glances when the other one’s not looking.

Right at the very end, before the three of them had found the portal, the tensions between Dean and Castiel were so high that, if he’d left them alone for longer than ten minutes, Benny had half-expected to return to them fucking in a tent.

How they’d gone from that to this, in just a matter of days, beats him.

Either way, if he’s learned anything about them throughout these past couple of months, it’s that both of them are idiots in love. They’re wasting their time pining for each other, when they could be spending it together. It’s only Dean who seems to engage these in self-sabotaging behaviors, and right when he’s at the cusp of having everything that he’s ever wanted.

As he watches the two bicker over unwashed dishes, like a married couple does, Benny takes a sip of his coffee and smirks into the mug. He knows he ain’t much, but he’s a solid meddler. If he can get Dean back to feeling like Castiel being here’s not a guaranteed thing, he thinks he can get him to act on his feelings.

“Game on, brotha.”

1. Benny.

Benny’s in the kitchen when he hears them come back from the case.

Sam’s still unhappy that he’s allowed to stay in the Bunker, even if it’s for a couple of days, but Dean was very firm about it not being up for negotiations. They’ve found a compromise in not letting Benny join them on the hunts. Sam doesn’t trust a vamp, and Benny’s alright with that.

“Benny!” Dean’s voice cuts through the Bunker, loud and clear. “We’re back.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He responds from the other room, taking a couple of minutes to join them by the map table.

He’s carrying two cups of hot tea with him, and he walks over to Castiel’s right, placing one cup in front of himself and the other in front of the angel.

Both Dean and Cas seem to be confused at the gesture, and they’re sporting a matching frown to prove it. Okay, so maybe he’s decided to go a bit bold right at the start, but he’s only got a week so he has to skip a couple of steps.

“Dean said somethin’ about you likin’ honey. I found this guy who’s willin’ to deliver me some top-notch raw one, straight from the honeycomb.” Benny explains. “I reckon it should be good.”

The atmosphere in the room feels awkward for a couple of more seconds. Not a sound is to be heard, but for Castiel’s uncertain “Um.” The angel picks up the cup to taste the honey-laced tea, and all eyes seem to be at him.

Benny can sense Dean brimming with nervous energy.

“I know you don’t drink tea, so I figured you wouldn’t want any. But if ya want—“

“No, no. That’s…it’s fine.” Dean finishes instead of him.

“This is very good, Benny. Thank you.” Castiel offers, once he’s done with the tasting.

“Good. That’s good.” Benny responds with a soft smile. “I know nothin’ about honey, but I wanted to do somethin’ nice. Despite our differences, you had my back in there. So. Thank you.” He finishes, making sure that the expressed gratitude holds enough gravity.

Dean shifts uncomfortably from across the table and Castiel gives him one of those soft smiles he’s only ever seen Dean receive, so he counts it a win. Dean takes notice of it as well so he counts it as a double win.

“Anyway—“ Benny goes on to change the subject. Go easy on him, he thinks. He wants to shake Dean up a bit, but has to be careful not to frighten him completely away. “—Did you take care of that vamps’ nest?”

“It was challenging to track them down at first, but once we found them they didn’t put up much of a fight. I don’t expect for any remains of the nest to not taken care of.” Castiel explains, lowering the cup down to the table.

“Nice.” Benny takes a glance at Dean’s disheveled appearance. A cut here and a blooming bruise there, and then he looks at the angel. Castiel looks like he hasn’t even broken a sweat, taking on those vamps. “You look great for someone who’s just taken down a nest.” He points out, directing the observation at Castiel in particular.

It’s quite entertaining, if you ask him, watching the angel squirm. Castiel clears his throat, clearly picking up from Dean that something’s odd about this exchange, and Benny can almost see the gears shifting in his head as he tries to figure out what a proper response to this situation would be. They haven’t been exactly friendly in Purgatory, and Benny’s mostly used whatever time off from killing they had to tease him mercilessly. He figures this newfound gratitude and exchange of pleasantries between them must be weird as heck.

“Ooo-kay.” Dean is the first one to point it out. “I think I’m gonna go get a shower, now.”

“Yeah, alright, man. Cas here can tell me the rest of the details.”

“Cas?” Dean quirks a brow, not addressing the angel, but rather Benny’s usage of the nickname. Instead of acknowledging that there’s something odd about it and responding, Benny dives straight into questioning Castiel about the case until he hears Dean disappear in the background.

2. Dean.

On his way from the shower, Dean feels off. He knows well enough that it’s got something to do with Benny and Cas, but when he tries to rationalize his feelings, he doesn’t really have a reason to feel wrong about their exchange.

Two of his best friends are getting along, Benny’s given up on the teasing, he’s engaging with Cas, they’re having civil conversations and being nice with each other. It’s good. It’s what he wanted all along, right?

He runs the towel through his hair and enters the room, only to find Cas and Benny leaning into each other and laughing over something they’re discussing.

“I don’t remember there being anything that funny about the case.” He blurts out thoughtlessly, and where the hell did that come from? “Unless you’re talking about decapitation. Then I kinda get it.” Dean attempts to recover.

“Nah, brotha. Cas was just telling me his buddy up there –“ Benny points up with his face. “Benjamin, right?” Cas nods to that. “Here I was, thinking the angels are uptight, but turns out they just have a different social custom there. Once you get into it, they actually have a solid sense of humor.”

“It is true, Dean.” Castiel deadpans and Dean finds him endearing for being as socially inept as ever.

“Alright, you two. Wanna share and elaborate, maybe?” Dean asks, hating the way light annoyance tints his voice. Why does he sound like that? Like a—jealous…thing. Person. Whatever.

“It’s not of import.” Cas says. “I never would have brought it up if Benny hadn’t asked what my favorite things about Heaven are.”

Dean feels something squeeze tight around his heart. He’s never even thought of asking him that. He didn’t even know about this Benjamin, who was apparently among Cas’s favorite people. Hell, he’s been so self-centered that he assumed Cas didn’t even have anyone besides them.

He wants to say that Cas’s favorite things can’t be irrelevant, and they aren’t to him, and that he wants to know. Benny’s faster on the draw.

“I beg to differ. If it’s making you smile like that, it’s important.” Benny drawls, and for a good measure presses a brief touch against Cas’s forearm. Dean feels his stomach lurch at the sight.

It’s even worse that Cas looks all shy and grateful for that declaration, and it makes Dean want to jump out of his skin and put at least five feet of distance between them.

Dean must’ve been glaring daggers, because there’s a sudden shift in the way Cas holds himself. Like a reprimanded child, he moves back from where he was leaning into Benny, and looks worriedly at Dean.

Dean pretends not to notice.

“Sam arrived while you were showering. He said he’ll go sort through the archive. I should go and help him.” Cas gets up from the chair and leaves the room somewhat abruptly. Benny doesn’t seem to find anything odd about it. If he does, he’s as good at pretending as Dean.

When they’re left alone, Dean somehow musters up the courage to ask.

“What was that?” he tries to sound casual.

“What was what?” Benny asks, playing dumb. Or maybe he really doesn’t have any idea what Dean’s talking about, and Dean’s embarrassing himself by being paranoid.

“You, being like that. With Cas.”

“Like what, Dean?” Benny asks and leans back into his chair.

“Like…suddenly interested in anecdotes about his life, all thoughtful and appreciative.” Nice, Dean. If it sounded bad in his brain, it sounds even worse coming straight out of his mouth

“You don’t think Cas deserves someone to be thoughtful and appreciate to him?”

“I didn’t say that.” Dean snaps defensively. “You know what, nevermind. I’m gonna go get some rest, my back’s killing me.” Suddenly, he feels twice as tired, his bones twice as weary.

“Sure thing, man.” Benny responds, not pushing. Dean appreciates that, at least.

When he gets into bed, sleep doesn’t come easy.

3. Dean.

When Benny tells him he’s leaving for Louisiana on Sunday, Dean hates himself for feeling relief. He tells himself it’s because his relationship with Sam has become strained due to Dean’s willingness to fraternize with a vampire.

Five more days doesn’t seem that long, until Benny makes sure that it does.

He and Cas seem to be inseparable, and they’re always smiling and doing things.

Benny seems to be right there, all the time. Whatever Cas is doing, he’s itching to offer a hand. Throughout the week, Dean sees them baking together, playing scrabble, discussing lore, watching Our Planet on Netflix…one day he even sees them doing crafts together. Just for fun, Cas says.

On Friday, there’s a Wendigo in Topeka and Cas doesn’t offer to go with him and Sam.

Instead, he asks “Do you need me to join you?” And he phrases it in a way that Dean reads as ‘if it’s not necessary, I’d prefer to stay here, with Benny”.

So, naturally, Dean says “No.” He makes sure not to linger, so he wouldn’t see Cas’s joy upon hearing the words.

It’s nighttime by the time they return to the Bunker, and Benny and Cas are nowhere to be found. Dean makes sure to check the whole place, and if it takes him too long to knock on the doors of either of their bedrooms, no one has to know. No one answers anyway.

He considers texting one of them, and spends at least two hours mulling over the idea, which turns out to be long enough for the pair to come back from wherever they were. Dean hears them speaking in gentle, hushed tones and though a part of him wants to remain hidden behind the wall, so he can listen in on their conversation without being exposed – a stronger part of him propels him forward to interrupt.

“Hey.” He announces himself, and Cas takes a step back from Benny, stopping mid-sentence when he sees him. Dean’s nails dig into his palm. “I was worried about you-” comes right out of his mouth, the honesty and vulnerability of the admission scaring him. “-you didn’t say where you went.”

“Benny wanted to see the planetarium, so he asked if I’d like to come along.” Cas explains, sounding apologetic.

“I happen to know a thing or two about the stars.” Benny chimes in. “Me and my buddies from old nest used to be pirates.”

“You’re a vampirate?” Dean asks, stunned. Benny chuckles.

“Sure, brotha. If that’s how you wanna call it.”

“I learned a lot about the constellations.” Cas joins in and he seems genuinely excited to share this piece of information. Dean thought he already knew everything that’s to know about this universe, so he finds Cas’s claim that he’s learned something new from Benny odd. What if he wants to stroke his ego, what if—

“So you had fun.” Dean clears his throat, barely managing to tear his gaze away from Cas’s. He looks at Benny instead and shuffles his hands around the pockets somewhat awkwardly. He wishes he could be anywhere but here, but also, he thinks if he’s to leave now, something horrible could happen.

Not the ‘someone might die’ kind of horrible, no. Benny wouldn’t hurt Cas, that much he knows. But Benny could…

It’s a different kind of horrible.

“I’m actually pretty wiped.” Benny says instead of responding to Dean’s question, or well, more of a statement. “You two can catch up – I’m gonna go to my room now. And Cas—“

“Yes.” Cas turns to face him.

“Think about my offer. I mean, take your time but…lemme know.” Benny says and leaves it at that.

Cas doesn’t sleep, and that night neither does Dean.

4. Dean.

When Benny leaves, he decides to take the guns out and clean them. Cas decides to keep him company, in silence.

It probably would’ve been a polite thing of Dean to ask more about their little…date, but Dean doesn’t want to know. So he doesn’t ask. And Cas doesn’t tell.

For thirty minutes of muscle memory work, Dean lets this feeling stir within and gnaw at him. It takes him precisely thirty minutes to ask.

“So. Benny made you an offer?”

“He did.” Cas responds, matter-of-factly. He doesn’t seem too keen to elaborate, at least not without Dean’s further prompting. Dean’s far too curious, so he caves in.

“Can I ask what it is?” He sounds vulnerable, even to himself, and he doesn’t like that Cas picks up on it right away.

“He asked me to go with him to Louisiana, on Sunday.”

Dean doesn’t mean to, but he stops dead in his tracks and lowers the gun he’s holding on the table.

“Like…to visit?” Dean asks, unable to form any coherent thought at the moment.

“No.” Cas responds, gaze avoidant, looking down at his lap. He parts his lips, seemingly to offer further explanation, but ultimately decides against it.

The words he doesn’t say speak louder than the ones he does.

Dean swallows the lump in his throat, and he can feel the fear creep up and take roots in his lungs.

“Well, what did you decide?” he dares to ask. He feels anchored to his seat, paralyzed, and at the same time like he’s floating above and looking down at two of them.

“I told him I’d think about it.” Cas admits and Dean wishes he could refrain from reacting, but he flinches at the admission. When Cas does look up at him, he seems to be looking for Dean to say or do something.

But Dean’s left speechless. Because Cas has to think about it. He’s not sure about whether he wants to stay with Dean or leave, and Dean thinks back to ‘I always come when you call. I do everything that you ask.’

He thinks where along the way he’s screwed up so epically that he hasn’t given Cas reason enough to stay, but made him doubt whether this is where he belongs.

And then he looks back at the past week. At how Benny’s greeted Cas in the mornings, made him breakfast and coffee, and asked him about his life; learned things about him that Dean’s never bothered to in all these years. How Benny’s taken time to spend with him, out of the context of their jobs, and made it all about Cas – and how Dean’s never done that.

Of course, Cas thought about leaving. Of course.

“Well.” Dean swallows. “If you think that’s gonna make you happy…then I’m happy for you.”

Dean’s been selfish enough for a lifetime. With Sam, particularly, but everyone else that he’s ever cared about too. He wasn’t going to do that to Cas.

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas says, and Dean sees his shoulders sag. Whether in defeat or relief, because Dean’s green-lighted the decision, he can’t tell.

They don’t talk for the rest of the night.

5. Dean.

After hours of tossing and turning, Dean gives up on trying to fall asleep.

He gets up and gets into the car. He drives to the nearest open store to pick up stuff for an apple pie. It’s 4 AM and he’s baking, because it’s the only way to distract himself from the anxiety settling low in his belly.

Dean recognizes Cas’s steps when he hears them, and realizes then that he’s been making the pie with him in mind. The fact that Cas will be gone tomorrow makes it that much harder to face him, so Dean’s quick to scribble ‘For you. Hope you like it.’ on a sticky note. He leaves it by the baked good before Cas can find him.

When he comes back to the Bunker, he’s that much more certain that Cas has decided to leave. He doesn’t run into him until much later into the day, but finds a matching sticky note right where he’s left one.

‘Thank you, Dean. It was wonderful. I appreciate it.’ It reads, and Dean takes a sharp inhale to hold in, certain that if he allows himself to exhale right away he’ll crumble into pieces.

By the time sun goes down, it hits Dean that in less than twelve hours Cas will be gone and that he’s wasted what last precious moments he’s had with him on running. Panic settles deep in his bones when Cas joins him in the room, for the first time of the day.

“Hey, stranger.” He decides to speak up first. “Haven’t seen much of you today.” Or Benny, he thinks.

“Yeah.” Cas makes an attempt at a smile, but it falls flat.

“Were you out with Benny?” Dean tries not to make a big deal out of it.

“No. I don’t really know where he is. I just thought you would want some space, so I took a walk.”

“Why would I need space?” Dean frowns.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Cas puts it right out there, raw and unfiltered. Should’ve seen that one coming.

“I wasn’t—“ he starts but fails to defend himself because that’s exactly what he’s been doing. Although, not because he needed space. What Dean needed was to come to terms with what was about to happen. He needed to prepare himself because this time he was given an actual notice. A chance to see it coming and get accustomed to it. Other times, when Cas would disappear for days, he usually did so without any warning or explanation, leaving Dean to wonder what had happened. This time, he at least knew. And understood.

“It’s okay, Dean. I know that things are different here than down there.” Cas finishes for him, and he sounds so understanding, so empathetic, and without holding a single grudge against Dean. It’s like he’d take whatever Dean will throw his way, and Dean feels sick.

“What does that mean?” he asks, and sounds defensive about it, but he knows. He may not fully comprehend all that he’s feeling, but he knows some—enough of it, despite having tried so hard and for so long to push it all down.

“I’m not trying to accuse you of anything, Dean. I’m just saying it’s different when we don’t have all kinds of monsters breathing down our necks, and we don’t know if today will be our last day on Earth.”

“What are you talking about? This gig, this life…we never know—“

“You know what I mean.”

Dean’s lips press together, preventing him from speaking any further.

He feels cornered. Cas hasn’t said anything, nothing’s really out there yet, but it kind of is. It’s like they finally acknowledged this elephant in the room between them, with as few words as they could, and Dean doesn’t know how to take a step back from here.

But more importantly, Dean feels ungrateful and he feels like a coward because Cas is right – and he shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t make any difference, this thing.

“I’m going to—“

“Yeah.” Dean gives him a quick nod, seeing Cas drift towards his room after a long moment of shared silence.

6. Cas

Although he doesn’t always understand humans, the things they do, and why they do them, Cas thinks he knows what’s going on here.

When Dean asked him about the answer he’s given to Benny’s offer, Cas doesn’t think he lied when he said he’s thinking about it. ‘Cause he is. He’s been thinking about whether he should stay here, more so than whether he should leave with Benny, ever since the topic came up.

He just failed to mention that when Benny offered, Cas immediately turned him down.

“That’s very generous of you, but I’ll have to politely decline.” He’d said.

“Thought so. Still, I’d like you to think about it for a couple of more days. The offer will stand.” Benny insisted, and Cas listened.

He’s not dumb. He knows what Dean thinks of them. He also knows that’s not what Benny wants from him.

Cas figured that, while initially it was all about pushing Dean to a breaking point and getting him to speak up about his desires, Benny’s intentions transformed. After a while, because he has spent a considerable amount of time with Benny and not all of it was pretending for the sake of provoking Dean, he and Benny did get closer. Although not in a way that Dean thinks, Benny has grown to respect and even like Cas, and he believed that’s at least a part of the reason why he’s asked him to come along.

There’s nothing respectful about the way Cas lets himself be treated, and he knows that.

He sits on the bed of his room in the Bunker, and he thinks how messed up he has to be to know that nothing’s ever going to change, and yet he chooses to stay – hoping that it will. Isn’t that the definition of stupidity?

He considers what it’d be like to allow himself, for once, to seek some finality. To ditch the hope in entirety and make peace with his truth.

If he left, it’d mean that he’s giving himself a chance to move on. He wouldn’t have to wonder anymore/ Wouldn’t feel so helpless, insecure, and stripped down to his very grace every time he’s around Dean. He’d just…know.

He’d make a choice and live with the consequences, whatever they are. It sounds as close to free will as he’ll ever get, and it’s tempting, but it doesn’t feel right.

And if he decides to stray, then what? Does he give himself a time constraint, for how much longer he gets to hope and wait? Or does he accept that regardless of him staying, everything else will remain the same and he’s going to be fine with that?

A knock grips him out of his thoughts, and he pushes himself up from the mattress to open the doors to the bedroom. On the other side, he finds Dean.

“Hey.” Dean says, and Cas doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way he gets weaker in the knees when he sees him. Once he started falling, he never stopped. Anna was right – all of these feelings that have found their way into every crevice of his being, they were massively beyond those first human experiences he’s had. Nothing could have warned or prepared him for the sheer intensity of loving Dean.

It was a different kind of pain. One as sweet as tempting, and although one didn’t want to be experiencing it, one was too weak to stop. After having heard about enough human experiences, he thought it was comparable to getting rehabilitation for drug addiction.

“Hello Dean.” He manages, unable to look anywhere but at Dean.

Dean doesn’t say anything after that, and Cas doesn’t really know what this is about, so he waits. And he waits.

And then asks.

“Is there something—“

“Stay.” Dean jumps in, and there’s urgency in the way he lets that word spill over.

“What.”

Cas can see him straighten and push his shoulders back. Dean reels in, the same way that he does when he’s expecting a punch.

Dean licks his lips, taking time to draws a sharp inhale before continuing.

“Look, man—“ he stops, then corrects himself. “—Cas.”

“If leaving…if going with Benny’s what you want, then I’m not going to stop you. But…”

Dean looks like he’s struggling to find the words, and Cas has no intent to rush him. He does feel instinctively drawn to lay a gentle touch on him, to offer comfort and reassurance, but he doesn’t.

He waits.

“If you’re looking for a reason to stay, if you need one – I want you to know that I want you to stay.” Dean says, and he looks like he has so much more to add, and he wants to, but this is as far as he can go. For now.

“Okay.” Cas manages after a while.

“Okay.” Dean nods and lets himself exhale as his shoulders sag further down. “That’s…that’s all I wanted to say.”

They both take one long look at each other after that, and then Dean leaves down the hallway and goes to his room.

7. Dean.

Dean doesn’t want to, but he sleeps soundly through the night. The exhaustion from not having rested properly these past couple of days runs him over. He dreams of nothing.

He wakes up abruptly to the clock reading 10:00 AM. That’s two hours after Benny’s planned departure.

He’s up on his feet before he knows it, running to the common room, as though he could catch up with them if he runs fast enough. There’s nothing rational about the way he’s thinking, but he can’t stop moving, can’t stop—

He gets to the map table and Sam and Cas are there, going through the lore, working on a case.

“Morning.” Sam greets him, brows furrowed in response to Dean’s disheveled looks and panicked appearance. Cas just stands there, trenchcoat on as always, nothing odd about him.

“Where’s Benny?” he asks, heart thundering loud against his chest as he grapples to reach full, sane awareness.

“He left.” Cas is the one to respond this time around, and Dean feels lighter than he has in a while.

“He left?” Dean repeats, dumbfounded. “Why didn’t you wake me up to say goodbye?”

“He said he hasn’t seen you sleep this long from the day he’s met you. Quite frankly, neither have we.” Sam offers. “We decided to let you rest. Besides, he said to tell you it’s not a goodbye – it’s just a see you later.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“I’ll try to be.” Sam offers.

He’s finally awake enough to make further steps towards the table, and join the two of them in going through the papers scattered across.

“So.” He takes a look at Cas, not yet taking a seat next to them. “You decided to stay.”

“I did. Benny’s offer was nice but this is my home.” Cas pauses for a moment, before adding “It’s where I want to be.”

Dean sees a smile tug on Cas’s lips, and he allows for a matching one to bloom across his own.

“Good. That’s good. I’m glad.” He swallows and breaks the gaze, sitting down to look at the case.

“So get this.” Sam begins. “We have reports of witnesses seeing someone leave the house of the vic, thought they saw pitch-black eyes. Victim is a young male; pathologists say the corpse looks like someone had been gnawing at it…”

“So we’re thinking rugaru?” Dean asks, feeling himself slip into sense of normalcy that he hasn’t even realized to have been missing.

He lets the voices of Sam and Cas carry him through the rest of the case as everything falls back into its place.

[renaroo]

Sweet Home (2/4)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence, PTSD and past trauma, Mentions of wartime Rating: T Synopsis: [Modern AU] In the aftermath of war, Wash is left with little direction in his own life. On his own, he takes up an ad for a roommate and suddenly finds himself wrapped up in the perplexing life of Doctor Emily Grey.

A/N: Okay I apologize that this chapter took SO very long to post, but I had a huge move across states and holiday shenanigans to wade through which, I know, isn’t much of an excuse but! Hopefully now I’m back and on schedule... right before Christmas. No promises but much appreciation for all of your patience!

A special shout out to Silverhuntress, Yin, @secretlystephaniebrown, and BraveSeeker3 from AO3, ffn, and tumblr for the feedback and support! You guys really help to make this experience that much more rewarding!

Home Cooked Meals

There’s something that Washington can only describe as an itch that starts inside of his skull. It visits him every time he lays his head on his pillow and tries to close his eyes, tries to fall to sleep.

It starts as a small irritation and then it grows, a throb he can’t quite place, a pressure behind his eyes that makes him nauseous.

Even in the off chance that he falls asleep, he rolls with motion in every limb. He feels flushed, and sick, and his heart will beat so wildly that he swears sometimes it’s loud enough to wake him up.

And he does wake up.

Every night, Washington wakes to darkness that fades into a dim, burning morning light through the blinds. And every night he’s certain that he’s going to be in the exact same place he was when the itch first started.

Some tent, a barrack, somewhere humid with the air stealing his breath as he tried to sleep. Somewhere not far enough from the cries and moans and groans of the triage tent. Somewhere where reveille threatens every moment. And where reveille doesn’t, gunfire does.

But as much as Washington expects the normalcy of the abnormal, the thing he can’t quite get used to is the fact that when he opens his eyes anymore it’s not to these things but to a hotel room. To a real room. To a transient halfway home. To a ward. To a home.

To Sweet Home.

Washington lays on his back in the bed that is too soft on the sheets that have too high of a thread count, and he stares at the ceiling wondering why there’s a vent blowing in cold air instead of stealing the moisture from his mouth.

He’s uncomfortable with the sweet comforts of a home that even with a lease signed doesn’t quite feel like his own.

Quite plainly, he hates it. He thinks it might be time to move on again.

But his bones ache at the challenge of relocating. His mind throbs with past scars too hard and too binding to struggle against. His eyes feel bloodshot even as he lacks the ability to sleep.

The world is too quiet. The land is too peaceful. It doesn’t feel real.

Civilian life does not feel real after war. It feels sickly naive and purposeless.

By four in the morning, still waiting for reveille, Washington gets on the floor and begins his pushups for the morning.

There isn’t an alarm clock in Washington’s new room, but there is a clock. And the moment it tells him that it’s seven he knows that he probably shouldn’t still be lying around. After all, as much as he could justify it to himself and not move for an entire day when he’s on his own, there’s this weird sense of obligation to acknowledge the day when he has a roommate.

That is something he honestly wasn’t expecting from the whole situation.

Is Emily the type of person to judge? If she is the type of person to judge does that mean she’s not someone Wash should be spending his time concerned with?

Would it be a bad thing if he just laid back and melted into his mattress during the day and found out he lived with someone who didn’t notice or care.

The itch inside Wash’s skull is acting up again so, for no other reason than to at least justify having a change of scenery.

Washington dresses himself mildly. Jeans, a worn out shirt, things from a life he barely remembered that fit like an alien skin. But it is enough to look presentable and not take the hit of a utterly terrible appearance on their first morning as roommates. Awkward and presentable and hiding beneath a persona that isn’t his own anymore but could act as a shield at least for a little while.

When he looks into the mirror, Washington doesn’t really recognize himself, but that is the point, after all.

He carries himself with a little bit of mustered up confidence and walks out of his bedroom to—

The entire house smells like maple syrup.

It is an entirely unexpected realization, one that has Washington walking cautiously out of his door and on guard due to pure bewilderment, but the further he walks toward the kitchen, the thicker the various smells and sounds of a fresh breakfast became and the more that Washington is sure that he is only on the cusps of understanding why the house has a name.

His stealth is challenged by the stacks and stacks of books which litter the halls, and despite himself Wash knocks down some sticky notes as he pushes through the doorframe of the kitchen.

Those are new since the previous day, and as much as he scrambles for the pieces of paper, there isn’t a whole lot to help him keep things in order. And in the scramble he knocks over a stack of books that crashed like a skyscraper caving in.

“Damn it,” Wash hisses at himself as he tries to figure out where the rewind button for his life is hiding.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re up, David!” Emily calls cheerfully from the kitchen.

Hearing his name makes the hairs on Wash’s neck stand on end and he drops almost half of the sticky notes he has tried desperately to save from his own clumsiness. Still, it seems small compared to the intrusion that is hearing his first name come from someone else’s mouth.

In the cluttered kitchen there is a new assortment of books on the island that hadn’t been there the night before. On one side there is a neat stack of text books on what looks like an odd combination of local history, zoology, and a few field guides for reptiles and mammals. The other side is messily arranged with cook books and self-help guides that are tattered, overused, and covered in questionable substances. Neither side is particularly comforting.

“I go by just Washington,” he corrects without thinking. Realizing that is a weird greeting in the morning, he shakes his head and refocuses on the doctor’s back as she continues to cook at the stove opposite of the kitchen to him. “Sorry. I mean, I apologize for… the mess. I didn’t see all of this here last night when you were showing me around.”

“They weren’t there,” Emily assures him. “They are my research notes for my sessions today. I was just jotting down what I thought is relevant this morning before it is time to cook breakfast.”

He levels his stare at her, raising a brow at the acute lack of interest she seems to have in apologizing for how insanely cluttered the house they are supposed to share is mostly with her stuff. But he is able to convince himself to write it off as a quirk and press forward toward the seats at the island.

After all, there is plenty of things that Emily is doing seemingly just out of the goodness of her heart that day. Not the least of which is a giant breakfast.

“It’s been a long time since I had a big meal for breakfast,” Wash tries for amicable, settling in a seat. “Military rations aren’t what they’re cracked up to be.”

“Ah, yes, military,” Emily says, turning around on her heels with a platter full of pancakes — there has to be three stacks at least ten pancakes high each, glistening with syrup and butter and who knew what else considering each battered pancake is speckled with what looks like finely chopped fruit. “That would explain your sleeping patterns. I counted at least four rotations during your two hours of consecutive rest. Dreadful. Statistically speaking.”

Wash’s eyes are still attempting to return to a normal size in his skull before he could even begin to process her comments. He blinked a few times before raising his chin and looking over the pancakes to Emily Grey herself. “Why are you observing my sleep, and what did you make these pancakes for and—“

When Grey had been turned to him, Washington took for granted that the molecular patterned robe has been hinting as to whatever nightwear that Emily is into. Not that it concerned Washington, it is simply something that he makes the poor choice of finding a non-feature considering the nerdy gear that Grey has on display the day before as she showed off Sweet Home.

Not in a million years would Washington have predicted even if given the chance, to assume that his roommate would be cooking breakfast in glorified, translucent lingers with frills and lace and garters hooked to her thong.

Almost immediately, Washington buries his head in his forearms on the table and squeezed his eyes shut as much as he could.

“Why are you in lingerie!?” Wash screeches out as soon as soon as the air returns to his lungs.

“Oh, I got caught up in my notes and then needed to start breakfast and never got around to it,” Grey answers with a hum.

“So it’s not an accident!?” Wash’s voice cracks even more.

“Hm. Mister Washington, you seem to be uncomfortable. Is this because of my food or because of my flagrant disregard for socially constructed norms?” Emily asks curiously.

For a moment more than Wash cares to admit, he actually has to consider the question and even wonder about its validity. Things that, were he rational at all, he shouldn’t require a moment’s thought to be wasted on.

“Typically if I don’t see people doing it in the streets then I assume that it’s probably not something they should be doing in company either,” he says instead.

Relief crosses Emily’s face almost immediately and she takes a deep breath as she puts a hand over her chest. “So it isn’t my cooking then!”

“What? No! Of course not. Thank you. The… Yes. Cooking is fine. I… wasn’t expecting it and…” Wash isn’t sure how she was able to turn the awkwardness on him so quickly, but he’s fully committed at that moment and he pokes at the stack of pancakes with the nearest fork. “Well, I’m not… entirely sure how I’m supposed to eat all of it, if I’m being completely honest.”

Emily looks a bit astounded, her eyebrows raising high over her glasses. “You believe you can eat the entire stack? Why, that’s absolutely fascinating…”

Beginning to grab at the hair on the sides of his head, Washington feels himself tense up. “No? I couldn’t eat… I think they smell and look delicious. Again. Thank you. But there’s no way I could—“

“Oh, thank goodness. I wasn’t sure if I’d have much time to make more at this time!” Grey laughs in relief, acting as though she’s wiping sweat from her brow in a quick sweep. “You shouldn’t worry people like that when they have company on the way, Wash. You joker.”

The tenseness only amplifies at that statement and Washington gives his roommate a horrendously terrified look. “Company? What company? I didn’t know you were expecting people. I… Do I need to leave or…” He stops himself by physically reaching up with his hands and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly as his eyes squeeze close. The pinch should also serve to wake him from the nightmare of that morning if things in his life aren’t as topsy turvy as he thinks they may actually be.

Of course, he opens his eyes and is still in the oddity that is his life. So he tries to work with it.

“You seem distressed,” Emily points out worriedly.

“You have company coming and you’re in lingerie and an apron,” Washington counters.

“You’re right, that’s not very professional of me,” she remarks before smacking the palm of her hand against her forehead. “Come now, Emily, not so silly.”

Washington is beginning to run out of surprise left in his system so he eases back into the island’s first stool and awkwardly hugs his arms against his body in anticipation. “So you’re going to put… things on, right?”

“Absolutely!” she says cheerfully, taking her apron off and tossing it over the counter first. It leaves Wash no recourse but to cover his face and turn a shoulder toward her entirely. “Thank you, Washington! I knew you would be an excellent addition to this house! Tell everyone that I will be down shortly!”

Emily is passing him again and up the stairs before her words really make an impact on him.

Straightening up, Wash’s head swivels back toward the hall and stairs. “Emily? Em… Doctor Grey? What do you… When are the people supposed to be—“

As if he is part of some cosmic joke, the front door, which apparently Emily doesn’t keep locked, opens with a bell ring and standing on the porch is six teenagers who range from anxious to excited to plain bored.

And one disgusted.

“Gross. The newspaper drug dealer is going to be here for breakfast?” the girl Wash saw not that long ago at the front desk of the motel says from the side of the group, squinting at him suspiciously.

“What… Why are you…” He stops and then looks up toward the ceiling as if to glare through the second floor at Emily Grey herself. “Is she… Ms Frizzle or something?”

“Oh, man, that’s hilarious! We should start calling her that!” says the anxiety ridden boy in the front wearing a letterman jacket too big for him and bright turquoise sneakers.

“Shut up, Palomo,” the disgustingly bored kid with a lip ring snaps at him before pushing forward. “Dude, what kind of drugs do you deal?”

Washington squints. “I don’t deal drugs— Shouldn’t all of you… I don’t know. Do school or something?”

“Pay attention, Antoine, the man obviously deals in newspapers,” the tallest of the teens claims with some authority he should not feel he has.

“Oh!!” the second girl breathes thickly through large braces. “Whischech one? My mahum worsched for the Pohhsscht. Before it went under. Oh! Are yousch unemploight too?”

“Obviously that’s why he started selling drugs,” the girl from the motel desk claims.

“I don’t deal drugs!” Washington snaps angrily.

“What do you do?” the last teen, a meek boy in the back asks.

Head throbbing from frustration, Washington got to his feet and heads right for the door, rushing past the teenagers. There’s a steady thrumming in his chest that’s causing a dryness he cannot stand. And he needs to get away to clear things up, he just knows so instinctively. “I leave dramatically,” he answers sourly as he makes it to the door. “Enjoy your pancakes.”

He’s a few steps down from the porch when he hears a scathing “Way-to-fucking-go, Matthews.”

But Wash is already out. With no shoes or socks. And in pajamas.

He regrets his decisions quite a bit within the first block, but as he presses on in determination he decides that he really hates his stubbornness a lot more.

More humility probably will end up serving Washington well in the future but, until then, a few trips down the street and back made him  at least receptive to going back to Sweet Home. The gravel denting the soles of his feet and the discomfort of being in pajamas even in a neighborhood that seemingly had no one within it made him downright eager.

By the time he reaches the corner where the bizarre house he is trying to make a home, there’s a different group of people entering through the picket fence as the teenagers vacate, shooting him befuddled looks and whispering among themselves.

He hears something along the lines of I told you he was on drugs and only with gritted teeth is able to ignore it.

Looking at the house again, Washington feels the weight of the bags under his eyes as well as the uncomfortable twisting of his guts that are trying to punish him greatly for passing up on pancakes.

Practically backed into a corner by circumstance, Washington sighs heavily and goes on into the house with his annoyance in check.

The books lining the hallways are, somehow, different than the ones he nearly knocked over as he tried to leave, and there’s a large amount of arguing from the kitchen where he can barely see anything but a blur of very colorful t-shirts.

Bright clashing colors and loudness isn’t really feeling like Washington’s bag at the moment so he decides to take his rumbling stomach up the stairs and to his room so he can get dressed and maybe find some greasy fast food to waste his meager savings on. But as mornings seem to be desperate to counter his every opportunity at fleeting sanity, he hears a familiar voice come up behind him when he’s only a few steps up the stairs instead.

“Oh! David! I was hoping you would come back before the next batch of pancakes are done!” Emily called out almost in song.

Wash turns enough to really give her a look over, somewhat relieved that she’s wearing another colorful, white and purple outfit rather than, well, whatever she wanted to call her apparel before. But her bright, wide eyes and general cheer was exhausting.

“I was just going to grab some things and head out,” he informs her, throwing a thumb toward the top of the stairs. He neglects to mention that the thought is also running through his head to just grab all of the things and take off entirely.

“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t, there’s just too many people to meet, and with a town this small once you meet some of the people, you’ll soon know all of the people!” she says in a tone that makes Washington feel he should be delighted. But it doesn’t help provide any such delight.

“Why is the whole town eating breakfast in your kitchen?” he asks instead.

“Our kitchen,” Grey corrects him without hesitation.

“Okay,” he decides against arguing.

Grey waits for a moment before letting off a small laugh. “Silly, please, the whole town isn’t eating breakfast in the kitchen today. Just everyone on the community’s intramural volleyball team.”

Wash squints at her. “Why? And why do they think I do drugs?”

“Because everyone likes my pancakes,” Grey says like it’s an answer. “Hm. Do you do any drugs?”

“What? No,” Wash remarks, utterly offended

“Huh. That’s odd. I have no idea why they would make that kind of assumption. You know what they say about assumptions,” she sings again. When she finishes and looks back at Washington there is something softer in her expression, a gentile to her eyes that undercuts the abundant enthusiasm and high pitches just enough to change the entire mood of the conversation. “Do you not want to join us for breakfast? I can leave you some food in the warmer if you need time in the morning to go through a routine or anything. And I won’t let anyone else upstairs.”

“Yeah… I’m… I don’t feel like meeting new people today,” Washington answers keenly. “I… had enough excitement yesterday to last me a while. And I would appreciate those pancakes.”

“Alright then!” Emily says.

There’s a moment where Wash feels… relief, or something from the exchange. A small comfort from confiding, perhaps. But then the rest of his roommate’s words catch up with him and his brows furrow in despair. “Wait. Anyone else? You let people upstairs earlier?”

“Of course,” she responds like it’s a completely normal thing.

Without another word toward her, Washington rushes up the stairs to check his things.

“Alright then! See you later, David!”

“It’s Washington!” he yells back over his shoulder.

It takes him two hours to go through the very meager supplies he brought with him in the move, and by the time he finishes the house is empty and he is starving. His nerves are frayed, like they are left to discharge static after a monumental disruption. No one has taken his things, no one has gone through his things, and no one is in the house anymore to meet or watch or judge. And yet his heart is pounding.

People could have. And that possibility suddenly feels like enough to move anywhere else in the world to get away.

But, of course, the finances for that sort of escape are the very reason he is in Sweet Home to begin with.

It’s not even ten in the morning, but Washington feels like his entire day is torture.

[glitchonline]

Gaming: My Long Lost Best Friend.

By Zoey Ribbons

Me and video games go a long way back. From my earliest memories with a Nintendo 64, my relationship with gaming is a long and complex one.  The vast majority of my life up until a few years ago was spent with a gamepad in hand, exploring new worlds to escape the reality I found myself in. A reality where I was alone, confused, anxious, and downright depressed. To the outside world, I was someone who could quite possibly be classified as addicted to gaming, a disorder which has just been classified by the World Health Organisation a few weeks ago. I’m not someone who believes this choice by the WHO to be the right one since in my opinion humans can be conditioned to become addicted to anything. I do, however, understand the appeal of losing yourself in a world that is not your own to numb the pain of day to day life.

I suppose to understand how my fascination with video games started you first need to understand a little of my backstory. I was born in 1993, right on the cusp of the revolutionary switch from 2D to 3D graphics. My parents separated when I was one year old, with my Mother holding onto the fact that my Father left her with a burning hatred which bled out onto me and my sister. My dad bought me a Nintendo 64 for my birthday when I was 5, with Diddy Kong Racing being a staple between us in those early years.

I went through 18 years of my life thinking it was normal for boys to want to be girls, before having the brutal realization that no, that was not the case. I came out as Transgender when I was 19, suffering from a lot of deep-rooted depression and anxiety before and after that time. At least my doctors told me it was just that. I was eventually diagnosed with Bipolar disorder when I was 25, which to me came as a relief due to years of living in limbo, not knowing what was wrong with me.  

As you can imagine, this was the perfect mixture of circumstances to create someone who was looking for the sweet fix of escapism. I was unhappy and anxious at home most of the time, so what better way to ignore that than to shut myself in my room with a PlayStation? I was an outcast in my all-male social group at school and lived an hour away from the school itself, so I was never a kid who went out to play until the break of night. I would get home from school and the first thing I would do was to boot up a game for the night. I’d have a break to eat, and possibly spend a bit of time with my family in the rare moments that tensions weren’t running too high. I didn’t need someone to tell me I played a lot of games, I had the save data utility of a PlayStation 3 to tell me.

The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion =  700+ hours. Demon’s Souls =  600 Hours. Metal Gear Online = Another 600. Fallout 3: 300 Hours. And this is just a select few games from memory, for one console generation. Weekdays, weekends, holidays, all the time. If I was away from my main console for too long, I wouldn’t get irate, just unhappy. At least if I went on holiday I could bring a portable console with me, but forcing me to be away from even that… I would just be miserable.

I think my parents knew this. It was clear to them I was an unhappy child and teen. Even during the peak of “Video games will ruin your children” hysteria of the early to mid-2000’s, my parents would leave me be. No restrictions on time, age rating, or any specific content. They would try and coax me out of staying in my room, but nothing ever worked. Video games and I were just synonymous with each other at this point, and everyone around me knew that.

While it might sound like I’m painting my experience with games in a negative light, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I consider my relationship with video games in my youth to have played a formative role on the person I am today.

Firstly, video games taught me to be tenacious. After spending so much time playing games, more so competitive multiplayer during the seventh generation of consoles, It’s safe to say I got pretty good at them. Video games nurtured a drive in me for competition, and more so, not giving up. This all happened quite early on. My Dad will never let me forget when I was a kid, no older than 7, who cried in frustration over and over when I couldn’t beat the final boss of Diddy Kong Racing. Sure, I got angry with games, and still did even in my teens. But I never gave up, a trait which now applies to all aspects of what I do in life. It’s a trait I am extremely proud of.

The pride itself from being good at games was also something that I held on to. It may sound a bit sad, but for a kid going through a pretty depressive and emotionally abusive upbringing, being good at games made me happy. If I’m being honest with myself, video games were probably the primary reason I wasn’t having nervous breakdowns throughout my teens. I was a very lucky kid in that I was very bright at school without having to put in practically any effort. So I could spend most of my times playing games without the stress that I was messing up my life in any substantial way. Being hooked on virtual worlds was a pretty mellow vice in the grand scheme of things, a fact I learnt quite quickly upon going to university. Cannabis and alcohol became my new favourite forms of escapism during that time, starting the journey of my break away from video games.

I barely made it through university with a passing grade. Quite the fall from the straight-A student who never had to try. Unfortunately, it took me 4 more years from graduation to reach a point in my life where I considered “my shit to be sorted out”. Video games still stayed with me until then, but it was never quite the same. As I grew older and started asking myself why I felt the need to escape all the time, I started to slowly fix myself. Video games started taking a back seat in my life to the point where my experience with gaming from dusk till dawn became a distant memory. It actually feels like more like an impossibility for me now.

My relationship with video games is now something far more casual. While I still hold a deep love and admiration for them in my heart, I tend to break up playing into hour-long chunks or so before I start getting bored. I’ve missed out on this entire console generation, something which a teenage me would have thought was an unbelievable concept. I still follow the newest releases with great curiosity, but will happily wait for a game I’m interested in to go on sale before I pick it up.

Even though I play games far less than I used to, it’s not to say I am less interested in them. Quite the opposite in fact, as I now see games as being far more than simple tools for me to run away to. Games for me now are wonderful, curious things that I will always have a deep-rooted respect for. Whether it’s the visual beauty you see in something from Supergiant Games, the incredible storylines from a series such as The Witcher, or simply the game design of something quirky and fun like Enter the Gungeon.

Games as art forms now act as a springboard into my own creative mind. As an aspiring writer and animator, where better to go to find inspiration than a good video game? Watch Dogs 2 was a recent release for me that simply filled me with awe every time I played it, from its beautifully coloured rendition of San Francisco to the incredible design, writing and performances behind its great cast of characters.

Video games are simply incredible. The talent and passion that goes into creating titles that can stay with you for a lifetime is simply immense. We all have our own personal relationships with video games, and I would not change mine for the world. Video games were there for me when I needed them the most. They got me through some incredibly difficult times, often when I felt I had no one else to turn to.

Very few other mediums can claim to have such impacts on our lives as video games do. Games can be whatever you want them to be. Whether that be a tool to help switch your brain off after work, a way to help you see somewhere new and exciting, or just somewhere to relieve a bit of stress. I’ll always love video games, no matter how old I get. I can’t wait to see what amazing things come out next.

[ellipsesarefun]

Otayuri Fic Recs #2

References: Summary, Thoughts, * (Complete) Note: This has been sitting in drafts for quite some time and the ones that were WIP are now complete. If you do want an Otayuri Fic Mayhem for the day, or week, or month for your vacation, here’s the second fic rec!

First Fic Rec is HERE.

1. A Heart Beats At Night by  magicalyoyo  >>  Otabek’s heart was pounding a sickening, dizzying rhythm, but he schooled his face into stoicism as he pulled his helmet off to get a better look. “Yuri Plisetsky died two years ago,” he growled. “What the hell are you?” >> ANGST, ANGST, DRAMA, THEN FLUFF. Full of supernatural beings and jargon. I might re-read this again, because I skipped some parts to gush and weep over the Otayuri angst and fluff moments. I missed the other portion of the story, but this is a great read! Several chapters to look forward to.

2. * Anatomical Accuracy by  Fayina (Dayea)  >>  Yuri has a secret talent in drawing, and he'd be damned if Otabek finds out about his shameful collection of the Kazakh's portraits. Oh and his skype call with Mila and Sara is getting out of hand. >> This suits me. Why? Because I’m a sucker for anatomy (and because I’m in a Bio course with a slight art enthusiasm that I would be completely immersed into AU’s such as this one) and because I love College and Roommate AU’s. With Pining, of course. 

3. Break Me Down, Down, Down by  legolifesaver >> Yuri refused to let anyone call his videos “pointless”. He spent too much of his time on them and he wasn’t about to let some asshole question him.orYuri runs a fashion channel, Otabek makes covers, and they both meet in the middle. >> A Youtube AU. This AU’s rare for this pairing, but i’m not sure.. I’ll probably scavenge for more if I missed any. Three chapters in and my brains already spewing daydreams all over the place for this couple!!

4. More Than He Bargained For by  FollowYourDreams  >> Yuri made one mistake. One. But, since it resulted in police bringing him home, his parents put their foot down. Now, he's being sent away for the summer to learn his place. He'll be staying with the Altin family and learning from their son, Otabek.Aka, the one where Yuri is a rebellious shit and ends up spending the summer with Otabek and falling in love and shit. >> First heavy fic I’ve read for this pairing. There is a ton of dense and tear-drenched backstory for Yuri and he needs all the XOXO’s he can get and that’s from Beka himself. My heart kept tearing itself in pieces for my smol little son. Also, I adore a literature enthusiast Beka. Brilliant mentions for Jane Austen and Ernest Hemmingway (if you do want some classics, you could dive in to Ernest Hemmingway’s stories; maybe even a John Steinbeck?).

5. On the Cusp of Dawn by  LoveActually_rps  >> Otabek bowed to the new Prince and offered the flower crown that his sister, Sabrina, had made and a basket full of fresh cherries which he'd collected from their small farm on the cusp of dawn. Carefully, he set them down on the overflowing heap of gifts. The Prince, who’d just turned six, frowned at the basket for a long moment before raising his hand and shoving a fistful in his mouth. Otabek blinked at him, totally taken aback. “Mmm-hum… ” the Prince hummed, closing his eyes, as he chomped on the bites of the plump fruits in his mouth. He opened his eyes, fixing his crystal green glare on Otabek. “Bring me more tomorrow,” he ordered, taking a few more from the basket. “Y-yes, your highness,” Otabek stuttered, bowing again before he was shoved away by a royal guard to clear the area. He hadn’t missed the way the Prince had shot a burning look at the guard. [Aka, AU where Yuri is a Prince and ranked highest among Omegas, whose life has revolved around his childhood friend, Otabek, who holds the lowest rank among Alphas. Their worlds suddenly comes shattering down after a loss they both isn’t prepared for] >> What got me into this fic is the fresh concept of omegaverse. There’s a level of Alphas, Omegas and Betas, with a hierarchy that (idk if there’s a proper wording for this but I’m just word vomitting) dictates how people treat other people and it’s apparent here and it seems to relate in the society we’ve been living in for a while now. I like this concept, and it just sparks a rich dynamic between Otabek and Yuri. Otabek’s determination is also pleasing to read. Here you have an Alpha of the lowest rank who’s trained for years and it’s finally paying (which is fucking awesome). I’m excited for more chapters to come!

6. * I’ll take in stride, the consequences of falling by  harajukucrepes  >> He wanted to ask to be touched, because in times like this intimacy would break him, and if he was broken enough, Otabek would finally see that he wasn’t ok. Stop having faith in me, stop idealising me, I’m not perfect.But Otabek would kiss him like he was the most wondrous thing to have happened to him, the most treasured, most beloved, and if there was one thing that would make him feel the worst he could humanly be is to be loved like that, because he would only want to lock this feeling, hide Otabek away and crush him underfoot if he could.He would bury his thoughts, destroy his voice, vanquish his own colours. >> Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful MASTERPIECE. At least for me, it is. It’s just an awe-inspiring work of art! It’s familiar that it almost felt like a Haruki Murakami tale and I don’t see words, I see feelings, music, anything that explores the relationship of these two people. I just love how this author blends all timelines together without disrupting the mood of the story (I think that’s what you call it, I’m not sure). I LOVE THIS PIECE and I love it so bad. This deserves more than one kudos from me!

7. Fly by  foreverhalo  >>  Otabek Altin, CEO of Altin's Aviation Academy has a secret business not many know about. He meets Yuri Plisetsky and offers him a chance to become a pilot, a long awaited dream ready to be fulfilled. With no questions asked, Yuri accepts but he doesn't know what awaits him beyond a simple act of kindness. Then again, Otabek wasn't expecting for Yuri to open a side of him he wasn't aware of. >> This deserves more attention. This fic is AWESOME. It’s a shady business in the guise of an aviation academy that features a darker, much more sinister (maybe? but the author seems to be leaning towards it, idk) Otabek. I haven’t really explored fics with a Dark!Otabek but this is a start. Maybe it’s a mild Dark!Beka for now, but it’s only been a few chapters and I love it. I love the story plot and how Yuri is dragged into this mess. I’m predicting it’s gonna be a bumpy ride for these two idiots. 

8. * They're All Long Gone (It's Only You and Me) by  JennaFlare  >>  Five years after the show, Otabek visits Yuri in Russia and dredges up what Yuri thought was long-dead history. >> Unrequited love dugged up into something reciprocated after a few years of friendship. My kind of tale, actually. This was an indirect inspiration to my fic ‘now i gotta wash my hands out with soap’ and ‘Reunions’.Maybe because of the events that occurred in my life or maybe because it’s absolutely relatable topic on a daily basis, I love this fic.

9. * Of Monsters and Men by  RoseAnthem  >> Ever since the day dark, mysterious, and endearing Otabek Altin told Yuri Plisetsky that he had the eyes of a soldier, Yuri hasn't been able to stop thinking about him, the boy who saw him as something other than a beautiful, delicate fairy. Now three years later, Otabek has moved to Russia to live with Mila, his new fiancee and Yuri's skating accomplice, and train under their coach Yakov.Yuri knows that his skating career is more important, but he can't seem to ignore the tightness in his chest when he sees Otabek and Mila kiss or the tug at his heart when Otabek smiles sweetly at him. He knows that he isn't in love, so why does he feel this way? Yuri decides to bury his foreign emotions as he always does and focus on what makes him happy, but as they grow closer, he cannot ignore the pain in his heart; and neither can Otabek.This is a story about the tough choices of love and the sacrifices you have to make to be happy. The story about two boys who don't know their fate, because their futures are standing in the way. This is a story about love and life. >> OtaMila is my NOTP. Friends are... fine, but essentially, I don’t really like otamila (sorry). But I love this story. So much drama! So much self-hate! So much self-deprecation! DAMN this is a monstrous fic! My waterworks filled a dam in my heart. This is so BEAUTIFUL YOU HAVE TO READ THIS FIC. If you want to of course and if you want drama, angst, and all that with a tinge of happy ending, this is your fic. 

10. * Frayed String by  Errolina  >>  Nikolai Plisetsky always told his grandson that he was the one that got to make his fate and not a string. Yuri always hated the fact that he was always reminded that he didn't have a soulmate. Otabek always did want to defy what was left of his string and make his own fate. >> Now this fic takes a bumpy turn on the concept of Red Strings of Fate Soulmates. It’s a fresh concept, one that I adore very much and love how it’s used in this three-shot. Go check this out if you’re up for some tears and fluff in the end. But there’s some angst too. 

(For some reason, most of the fics involve pining, angst with happy endings, and more pining)

11. * Talk Flower To Me by  ABoyWorthFightingFor  >> "Can I help you?" A voice asked, shocking him back into reality. Yuri gave a small jump at the sudden words, cursing under his breath for being startled."Otabek Altin?" He asked. The bassoonist gave a nod, but didn't offer anymore words, so he spoke on. "I'm Yuri. You're accompanying me, or whatever.""I know who you are," he spoke, starting to disassemble his instrument. "You're in my math class." Oh. So that's where the name's familiar. The black haired teen looked amused. "You didn't know? You sit right in front of me. Every single day." The Russian only scoffed with a roll of his eyes to try and hide his embarrassment. >> In my own Filipino language, “Nakakakilig ‘to”. It’s so giddy and it’s full of fluff everywhere! This is a unique way to spice up the use of flower language. Happy endings coming your way! Read this if you’re having a bad day or nothing seems to get right. This cheers me up!

12. Watch Out for This by  dovesnroses  >> “It could have been your guardian angel, ya know?” Georgi observes as he’s testing the soda dispensers the next night. Yuri reaches over the bar and takes an olive.“No such thing as guardian angels in this part of the city,” he retorts stuffing the olive in his mouth. Georgi gives him an amused look.“Well if they’d been planning on raping and or murdering you, they would have done it. ”Or: Otabek DJs at the club Yuri works at, and everything goes from there. >> Awesome piece of work! I’m loving the dynamics of not just Otayuri but other people as well. I can’t really predict what’s gonna happen in this fanfic, because recently there was some angst, and while that angst was resolved, I’m not entirely sure it’s gonna stay that way.. After all it’s still a WIP, so I’ve got a feeling there’s more! After all, what’s a happy ending if there’s no angst? HAHA kidding kidding.. But I love this fic. I re-read the sentences over and over again until the plot’s in my memory cabinet. Go check this fic out!

13. crystallofolia by  RennieOnIceCream (Hitsugi_Zirkus)  >> Yuri stared at the flower, utterly paralyzed, ignoring Viktor’s scandalized, “Oh my!”“What the fuck is this?” My eyes aren’t beautiful .Without wavering, Otabek continued to hold the flower out. “I call it a tulip. As well as an offer of friendship.”AU in which Viktor is a florist looking to start a family, Otabek is a flower vendor dreaming of home, and Yuri is an orphan wrapped in seven layers of teen angst that he can only get out by screaming profanities and shoving flowers in people's faces. >> What other way to spice up the language of flowers than to put a gallon of angst, backstory, and more angst. It’s like embedding the scientific name of a parade craniates in a fanfic that has an involvement with the feelings, the plot.. everything! If you want a dose of new flowers per paragraph and chapter, this is the fic you’re looking for.

14. * Reaching out for Silver Linings by  Muspell  >> There’s a whole life he didn’t know. A whole person he didn’t know. A whole person Yuri considered his best friend. But who the fuck is he? Is anything Yuri thinks he knows actually true? Who the fuck is Otabek Altin, after all? Has he ever even known who his best friend was?------------------------------------------- Warnings are there for a reason, please have that in mind.Second part of the KazGang series, sequel to To Judge a Book by its Cover. >> Angst... So. Much. Angst. So much misunderstandings... I’ve been treading lightly when this fic first came out because I knew how I can’t get over an angsty fic easily, so I waited till the angst wavered for a bit before reading it. And it was mind blowing. Still mind blowing. I’m planning to read this again because I like how Otabek’s dark history was portrayed here. So mysterious... 

15. * A Stiller Doom by  Tessa on Ice (tessacrowley)  >>  “It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions ... ferment in the masses of life which people earth.” Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre >> I saved the best for last. It revolves around the OmegaVerse, the major differences on how people treat alphas, omegas and betas and how it influences Yuri as a omega skater amongst the crowd of alpha dominant field of skaters. What I do love this if most is how the politics blends in chapter by chapter. It’s rare that I read such and I love how the socio-political aspect was dealt with in this fanfic. This is a great read, and if you are into stuff like this, you could try this out! 

[hardcore-evil-regal]

Blades of Steel - Chapter Two

Blades of Steel

They Call Me the Cavalry (BadassNinja)

Chapter 2

Summary: Phil and Melinda have their first date.

Notes: I'm hoping to make these chapters longer when I update, so this also means that it will be longer between updates too. I hope you guys enjoy anyway, I for one am enjoying this story.

You can keep reading this here on on AO3 or FF.net

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Two

Her hands smooth down the front of her dress for what must be about the twentieth time now. Frowning at herself in the mirror she tries to calm the nervous butterflies in her stomach. It's fine, perfectly fine. She can do this. Her fingers itch to run through her hair in her current state of stress but she can't because of the updo that her hair is currently in plus the amount of hair product she had to use to make it stay in that style. Nervously, her fingers twist themselves in the flowing skirt of her dress before she consciously stops herself and disentangles her fingers from it. Staring at herself she then contemplates whether the red dress is too much. Is she overdressed? Christ! What if she's under dressed? Glancing over at the clock she realises she's only got five minutes before Phil’s due to pick her up, that's not enough time to change outfits. She'll just have to stick with what she's already wearing.

Taking a deep breath she attempts to settle her nerves before Phil arrives. In the three days since they arranged this date she’s been in a fluctuating state of excitement and worry. As past relationships go, she doesn’t exactly have the best track record. She knows that it’s only a first date but she really wants it to go well and Phil seemed like such a nice guy when she met him. She manages to calm herself somewhat as she settles herself into a brief meditation before there is a knock on her door. Almost instantly her heart picks up and the butterflies are back and it's like she didn't just manage to calm her nerves moment ago. Chastising herself mentally as her hands smooth down the front of her dress again she reaches for the door and opens it with a twist of her wrist. Phil is standing in the other side and when he sees her his eyes widen a bit as he stares at her mouth agape slightly. She can feel herself blush under his gaze and she supposes maybe it was a good idea to stick with what she is wearing after all. He's dressed nicely in a crisp white shirt with the top few buttons undone and smart black slacks. His eyes drift over to hers and he knows that he wasn't the only one staring just then. How could any mortal man stop himself from staring at her he asks himself? The dress she's wearing  is strapless, highlighting her figure perfectly with its loose flowing skirt and  sweetheart neckline, and it shows her shoulders off in an elegant way. Her long dark hair is done up with just a few tendrils left out to frame her face nicely.

“Hi,” he finally says and she smiles at him making his heartbeat race.

“Hi,” she says back.

“You look beautiful,” he tells her and finally remembers the single red rose he is holding in his hand. “This is for you.”

She accepts it from him graciously and his fingers tingle from where her own brush against his as she takes the flower from his fingers.

“I'll just put this inside,” she says before stepping back from the door and disappearing into her apartment.

He lingers by the doorway not quite sure whether to follow her in or wait outside. It doesn't really matter though because she's back before him in what must be less than a minute with her purse in hand and a nervous smile on her lips.

“Ready?” She asks looking at him with those beautiful dark eyes.

“Ready,” he confirms as they walk out the door together and she locks up the apartment.

The elevator ride down to ground level is quiet and balances on the cusp of awkwardness as the doors ding open and he walks her over to his car. Surprise is shown on her face as he opens the door of the little red corvette for her.

“I used to work on her all the time with my dad when I was a kid,” he tells her as he slides in beside her and starts up the engine.

“Her?” She raises an eyebrow and turns to him with an amused expression.

He blushes as if a little embarrassed before flicking his eyes from the road over to her.

“Her name’s Lola,” he says tapping his thumb on the steering wheel.

Her lips are curved into a teasing smirk and he just knows she is laughing at him even if she isn't doing it out loud.

“Nice to meet you Lola,” she says running her hand lightly over the dashboard as if patting the car.

The movement catches his eye and for some reason her talking to his car causes a slow warmth to spread through his chest and down his arms making his fingers tingle in a good way like when they touched before.

The drive to the restaurant isn't too long and she allows him to open the car door for her and push her chair in as they sit down at their table. It's an elaborate place clearly intended for the upper class sort and Phil hopes he's not coming off too desperate in his desire to impress her. This is the first date he's had in awhile, not including his recent non-dates where his date failed to show or couldn't make it. There is soft classical music drifting through the room and there are candles on the table along with a vase of flowers and- my god, cloth napkins! They're both reading their menus and he can't help but use the moment to evaluate his surroundings and observe the beautiful young woman sitting across from him. He desperately tries to focus on the menu in front of him but for some reason his eyes keep drifting to Melinda sitting across from him. Clearly he's not the only one sneaking glances at the other as when his eyes flicker up they catch hers looking at him across the top of her menu. As if burned they both jerk slightly before averting their eyes to study their menus intently.

“What do you think you'll have?” She asks  him eventually, pulling him out of his intense scrutiny of the main courses.

“I think I'll go for the stuffed peppers to start with,” he shares putting his menu down to look at her.

She hums at him in agreement as she places her own menu down on the table.

“I'm going to have the caprese salad,” she states.

He tips his head in agreement even though he's not a particularly big fan of salads.

“So ready to order?” He asks.

She smiles nodding her head in confirmation as he raises his hand to wave over a waiter. They both give the waiter their orders and Phil picks out a lovely wine to go with their meal. Their service is efficient and the meal is delicious as they talk and learn things about one another after gradually breaking the ice and losing their previous awkwardness. He is a massive Captain America nerd and loves history, she is brilliant at latte art and can speak several languages. His blue eyes sparkle in the most attractive way when he smiles and she has the cutest set of dimples when she laughs.

They take their time over dinner and she even lets him feed her a spoonful of tiramisu. His eyes follow as she licks her bottom lip clean and she watches his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. Somehow the food no longer has their interest and she sort of just wants to go home now, with Phil. The chemistry between them is undeniable and when he touches her hand she feels like she's been charged by a thousand lightning bolts. Phil signs for the check and pays for their meal before helping Melinda from her seat like the gentleman he is, and opening the door for her as they leave. The soft appreciative smile she gives him makes his heart beat faster and he knows without a doubt that he would do anything to make her smile. The car ride back to her apartment is quiet and they keep glancing at one another, occasionally locking eyes causing cheeks to flush and heart beats to flutter. It's like they're teenagers in love and it's been so long since she's felt this sort of a connection with anyone.  It's only the first date she has to remind herself more than once. There is still so much she doesn't know about this wonderful man sitting beside her, but she's willing to find out more. She wants a second date, and a third and a fourth and whatever more she can have.

There is a smile on his lips as he walks her into her apartment building and travels up in the elevator with her back to her apartment.

“I’ve had an amazing night tonight,” he tells her as they stop at her door.

Turning to face him her back presses lightly against the door as she looks up at him with a smile of her own.

“I had a great night too,” she replies tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

His blue eyes are sparkling in that attractive way again and she so desperately wants to invite him in, maybe he could stay the night...but she knows she can't. Knows she won't. Even though they have a great connection and she really likes him, she still barely knows him. The memory of the pain from past loves is what keeps her from acting impulsively, but she feels that Phil is different from her previous partners. She wants to believe that he is anyway. Only time will tell.

Saying good night is always a little awkward a on the first date and she bites her lip a little nervously as her eyes flicker up to his waiting for his next move. Glancing down at his lips for the briefest of moments she wets her bottom lip almost as if in anticipation. Taking a small step forwards, he is closer to her, close enough to kiss and her heart begins to thump harder in her chest at the thought. A tentative hand reaches out to brush a few wayward strands of hair out of her face and she can feel herself practically leaning into his touch. His eyes hold a question in them as he gently cups her cheek in his hand leaning forward, so close. Is this ok? He waits, wanting her permission before continuing any further, and if she didn't want him so before, she definitely does now. Nodding her head she leans up towards him in answer. They close the short distance between them as their eyes flutter shut and then they are kissing and she could quite literally melt in his hands. A soft sigh escapes her and his hand around her waist holds her just a little bit tighter, the other around the back of her neck, fingers spearing into her hair. She presses a little closer into him and deepens the kiss just a little. It's perfect, and she's just a little bit disappointed when it ends. Rubbing a thumb gently over her cheek he smiles at her sweetly as her dark eyes slowly open to look at him. Smiling back, all she can think is ‘wow’. She'd expected the kiss to be good but she hadn't been expecting that.

“Wow,”she breathes just a little breathlessly and he chuckles gazing at her with those crystal blue eyes.

“Yeah, wow,” he echoes her softly.

The look he's giving her makes her heart race and causes a fluttery feeling in her stomach. She's never felt anything like this so quickly with someone before and she can tell what that means. She is screwed. She is so, well and truly screwed.  

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

Natasha has not stopped throwing her curious looks since the minute she walked through the door and Bobbi when not swamped by customers has been just as curious.

“So how was your date?” Natasha asks her excitedly as the store finally calms down a little and there aren't any immediate customers.

Rolling her eyes Melinda continues to froth the milk as she purposely makes her friends wait just to mess with them.

“Fine,” she eventually sighs causing Bobbi to punch her in the arm lightly.

“Spill, now,” she orders firmly.

“It was nice,” Melinda finally shares with them smiling a little at the memory. “Phil was really sweet and we had a great time.”

Natasha smirks at her as if she can already tell how head over heels she already is for him.

“How was the kiss?” She asks slyly leaning in closer over the counter.

“Perfect,” Melinda admits with the lightest of blushes covering her cheeks.

“Awww, somebody's smitten!” Bobbi teases playfully, earning herself a light shove from Melinda. “So when's your next date?”

“Tomorrow night,” she tells them, excitement bubbling up inside her at the prospect of seeing Phil again soon.

“So soon,” Natasha raises an eyebrow, “somebody must be eager to see you.”

She shrugs her shoulders a little in response. She so desperately wants this to work out because she really likes Phil, she does, but she doesn't want to make the same mistake of jumping the gun and falling for the wrong guy. When it comes to Phil though she has a good feeling, he's so sweet and warm and caring, she can't help but feel that there is something special about him.

“Just be careful ok?” Bobbi turns to her with a serious look on her face, all traces of teasing gone. “We want the best for you Mel and don't want to see you get hurt again.”

She pauses in making coffee to giver her friend a hug.

“I know,” she says softly into her ear, holding her tight, touched by how they care so much about her.

She truly is so lucky to have them in her life.

“I will be careful,” she reaffirms giving her friend a final squeeze before releasing her, “but I've got a good feeling about Phil. He's different from the rest.”

Both her friends smile brightly at her, happy that's she's found someone that could be good for her.

“I hope this works out,” Natasha pats her hand gently, an affectionate look on her face.

“Me too,” she smiles, sincerely hoping that maybe she and Phil might just stand a chance.

The bell by the door jingles as it opens and all three women return back to their stations, work mode assumed once more. Slowly more and more customers begin to trickle in and soon they are working flat out trying to serve everyone in the afternoon rush. By the end of the shift they are all tired and about done with customers. Mornings and afternoons are by far the busiest times with people coming in for their morning wake up hit of caffeine followed by a pick me up later in the day. After working a ten hour shift Melinda feels practically dead on her feet and can't wait to go home and collapse into bed. She's been up since four thirty in the morning and she's had about five cups of coffee today. As soon as she shuts the door behind her she drops her keys in the bowl by the door, places her bag beside it and toes off her boots. Taking off her clothes as she heads towards the shower, she walks gently on feet sore and tired from standing all day. The hot water washing over her feels like bliss and afterwards leaves her feeling invigorated and a little less exhausted.

The  muted sounds of the television follow her as she moves about the kitchen fixing herself up some dinner, the smells of chicken and vegetables wafting from the pan on the stove. Once it’s all cooked she slides it into a bowl with some rice and takes it over to the table. Going back over to the kitchen counter she picks up her book and glass of water, a slice of lemon wedged between the ice cubes floating in it. Taking it all over to the table she sits down to have her meal and read her book. She’s about halfway down the page when she hears her phone go off, alerting her to a new message. Marking her place on the page she gets back up again to swipe her phone from the counter. A small smile lifts the corners of her mouth as she reads the text.

Text: I heard about your win at Regionals recently, congratulations my girl! Xx

Text: Thanks Peggy. Nick’s been a good coach :)

Text: I should hope so. I trained him!

Text: Haha. It’s not the same as having you but he’s good.

Text: I’m glad you’re doing so well xx

Text: Nationals soon, hopefully I’ll make the cut.

Text: I’m sure you will! I have every faith in you.

Text: You and Steve still travelling?

Text: Yes, we’re in Greece at the moment. Unfortunately I don’t think we’ll be back in time for Nationals :(

Text: That’s alright. You and Steve enjoy your honeymoon :)

Text: We will, and we’ll be thinking of you. Got to go. Will chat again later xx

Placing her phone down on the table she bites the edge of her lip. A part of her is disappointed that Peggy won’t be able to make it to Nationals, but the rest of her is just really happy for her old mentor and coach. After all that Steve and Peggy have been through together, if anyone deserves some happiness and a wonderful honeymoon, it’s them. She hopes though that if she does make it to the Olympics though, Peggy will be able to come and see her. It feels only right in a way that she should be there when she finally lives out her childhood dream since she was seven. Peggy was her first coach and there will always be a special little spot in her heart for her. She nurtured and guided her throughout her life, and Melinda would have no idea where she would be today if it hadn’t been for Peggy. The woman had taken her under her wing and turned her clumsy, awkward seven year old skater self into a professional and successful figure skating champion. She owes a lot of her success to Peggy. Nick is her temporary coach though whilst Peggy is away. Though Peggy may have trained him, he is so very different from her coach. He’s gruff and serious, full of hard stares and raised eyebrows. Sometimes she wonders how on earth he ended up under Peggy’s tutelage. He just doesn’t seem the type. Then there are moments when he shows a softer side, a smile when she perfects an element of her routine, a clap on the shoulder after a hard session. That’s when she knows that his cold hard exterior is all just a bit of a show. He’s a real softie inside she thinks secretly. There’s something mysterious about him though and she’s made it her mission to try and get to know as much about him as possible. He has a sense of humour she’s discovered after he laughed amusedly at one of her pranks, she was so sure she was going to pay for that one. Luck was on her side that day. Sometimes he laughs at her jokes, other days he just stares at her and gives her a gruff order to concentrate on the ice. He’s a bit of a fickle one, but he’s grown on her.

Humming quietly to herself she washes up her dishes and wipes down the counter. Walking over to her living room area she flicks through a couple of the television channels before turning off the set and grabbing her book. Reading for about half an hour, she then checks the time before getting up to prepare herself to head to bed. She grins around the toothpaste and brush in her mouth as she receives a text from Nick.

Text: Go to sleep kid, got an early start tomorrow. I want to see you there 5:30 sharp.

She rolls her eyes at the message because she’s nothing if not punctual, and she usually follows her routine to the tee. Wake up, train, school, work maybe, train, sleep, repeat. He knows that, but it’s his way of showing he cares she supposes. ‘You have sweet dreams too,’ she texts back along with a little kissy emoji just to mess with him. Spitting out her toothpaste and rinsing her mouth, she then leaves the bathroom with a grin and climbs into bed just as she receives a reply from him. It’s a little smiling poo emoji and she laughs for a moment before shaking her head at him, clearly he’s in a more relaxed mood tonight. Sometimes he just sends her back a full stop. Shaking her head one last time at him she plugs her phone into its charger by her bed, then snuggles under her blankets and closes her eyes. She has to wake up at 4:30 tomorrow.

x

x

Notes:

What did you guys think of their first date? Some new characters too, I want to know what you guys think about that... Please leave a comment, it's the food of authors. Gods have ambrosia, we authors have comments. Please leave a comment, don't let me starve :(