#I’m still shellshocked from that ending!! my stomach literally dropped

[lazzarella]

Welp, I was up til 2am sobbing over my silly little ghost show. I didn’t sign up for this! I thought I was prepared to be emotionally devastated this week but, oh, the hubris! I was not ready at all 😭

[bunny-banana]

I'd love to hear a director's commentary on La leggenda di Niccolo please :D Have a star as well ⭐

HA! Okay well, I’ll talk about the sections that I actually wrote so here it comes:

Chap 1

Engulfed in the never ending masses of water, he reckoned one should feel intimidated. No ground under his feet, only limited amounts of air to his disposal, and the uncertainty of what lies within the darker corners of the ocean should normally frighten you. And yet, he never felt more at peace than when he was floating so freely in the sea, almost as if gravity and the world outside didn’t exist

the fucking IRONY of me writing this while being deadly afraid of deep water. its honestly like “yeah,,,,, lemme list all the things i personally hate about deep sea…. and lets add ‘well, but theres something good too about that for sure,,,i guess,,,, ”

But what was more important for me was this contrast to what Ermal dreams about, his lowkey fantasy - and where he is irl, the icy south pole. I’m rather fond of opposing things/contrasts. 

The soldier breathed heavily in and out, but there was no time to rest as the next blaze of fire was aimed at him.He countered and evaded but his opponent was more forceful, his flames harsher, faster until the soldier’s back hit the cold railing. He was caught, and when his opponent mercilessly stroke once more, he knew he had to save himself by escaping into the cold water.The man remaining on the top deck smirked. Ah yes, he’d almost assume those new soldiers were just too easy to take on even if only for practice reasons, but it pleased him more to say that he still got it.

i really hope this introduction just tells you everything you need to know about Renga’s character.

How much sooner the war could have been won had it not been for the Poles!

While actually reflecting on the universe, i realised, it must be incredibly difficult for firebenders on the poles. like, I just assume they really, really arent fit for the cold which would make invading incredibly difficult for them. also lol, renga hates it at the poles obviously.

  Shaking so hard that kids ran towards their mothers and the watchtower fell over and when the fog cleared up, Ermal felt his stomach drop. ”No.”

Nothing, absolutely, nothing in that universe is more frightening than seeing the Fire Nation military pull up to your doorstep.  

Also, lmao, love to imagine Rinald quietly going “oh nooo my watchtower D:” 

Ermal pushed himself through the crowd until he was right in front of everyone, until he was the last barrier between the Fire Nation soldiers and the village.

Ermal has Strong Opinions™ about the Fire Nation, with reasons of course, and seeing them here is the absolute nightmare to him.

  “You mean the Avatar that disappeared off the face of the Earth? The one that nobody has ever seen and that was probably never even reborn? That Avatar?”And if his cockiness gave off a certain invitation to smash his face in, then this was perhaps a little bit Ermal’s fault.

to quote the Smiths: Bigmouth Strikes Again!

“B-but he’s- he’s so young? I swear to the Fire Lord, if this is yet another trick then-”

Chap 2

Niccolò had always been in awe of the Fire Nation’s advanced industrial sector. The machinery that originated from the Nation had always had cutting edge quality which no one in the world could quite imitate nor match. This ship however was beyond anything Niccolò had ever seen. This ship was fully steam-driven with the powerful motors roaring under his feet. And those weren’t the only novelties.Steel processed so professionally that it makes impenetrable walls and doors which opened and closed only through quite sophisticated lock mechanisms. It all looked so modern, it all looked so futuristic.

so the idea was, since Nic had missed an entire century, the ship looked super modern to him. while its a canon fact that the FN is quite advanced with machinery, the ship itself is just to an up-to-date standard. But to Niccolo personally it seemed futuristic.  i like the idea of him being amazed at things he has never seen in his life just to find out they’re pretty common in the current timeline. 

There was not much time left, Niccolò had to think quickly. Extremely convenient how his nose started tickling right in that moment.The powerful sneeze that followed had two consequences: One, the guard in front of him was catapulted straight into the metal door of the cell, rendering him unconscious.Two, Niccolò and the guard behind him were also forcefully pushed back to the other end of the corridor, crashing into the hard wall.Well, at least the guard did. The young airbender was spared that fate, by that nice pillow the guard turned out to be, so he quickly got onto his feet and ran as fast as he could with his hands tied behind his back.

so yeah ngl, this was just copied from the OG ep

Now that his hands were freed, he opened the first door that presented itself to him, but in front of him, he simply saw the quarters of General Renga who stared at his now roaming prisoner in shock. Okay, time to turn around, it seems.

listen, i just love the thought of overconfident General Renga being so shellshocked to see his prisoner escaping that he just gapes at him. And ofc Nic slamming the door shut immediately jsfkld

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Niccolò cursed as he evaded a burst of fire that was aimed at him before taking the next corner “Where’s the exit?! Where’s the goddamn exi- AH!! A DOOR!!” He pulled it open to reveal a startled guy sitting there just minding his own business. An unexpected sight, with an even more unexpected odor following. “Oh? uhm- Sorry man! Just- just take your time! Also, perhaps light a candle when you’re done. Bye!” The young Avatar swiftly apologised as he closed the door of what was most definitely not an exit.

Fav OC so far!  That simple FN dude was just trying to take a dump in peace but who would have known that all hell would break lose and the goddamn Avatar of all people would walk into him smh.  Also, I really enjoyed the thought of while this is all hectic and dangerous, Nic still being human enough to go like “oh, my bad! sorry dude!” at this random soldier. Who knows, maybe we should bring that one back some time later. And i kinda wanted the whole escape to be funny, since its Nic’s POV, and it just wouldnt suit his carefree spirit to make this super serious (yet). 

“I’ll give you that, hiding for so long was sort of impressive.” Niccolò heard Renga’s voice behind him as the General had caught up with him. 

almost wrote “century” there but then remembered  nah omg he can’t know yet 

A piece of ice may or may not have also hit Renga straight into the face but nobody would complain about that anyway. 

yeah i just love the thought of this super dramatic scene of Nic entering the Avatar State and then theres a chunk of ice knocking Renga unconscious lmao get fucked, dude 

“Nic!” Ermal ran towards the slowly decreasing water pillar to catch the unconscious airbender in the last second, dropping to his knees in the process. That was beyond anything anybody of that age should normally be capable of. That was beyond what any waterbender could ever be capable of. And yet, lying in his arms, Niccolò looked so exhausted, so weak. Just like any other kid. Not a trace from the sheer force that was unleashed moments earlier.

I think this was really the moment Ermal started feeling real responsibility over Niccolo. Just seeing him do all these crazy things and yet being reminded that this huge burden of being the Avatar is literally thrusted upon a simple kid.  Also, this is the first time he called him “Nic”

Various noises and sounds buzzed through the air that afternoon: The loud shoveling of snow from the bow, the quieter crackling emerging from the hands of the firebenders who were melting their frozen compatriots, the fast steps rushing left and right over the ship. All these different sounds were heard, but none of them were chattering. Nobody dared to chat. Not after this disastrous defeat. What a disgrace that had been, General Renga thought grinding his teeth.

Everybody on this goddman ship is just scared shitless that Renga will roast them if they so much like whisper. they know he moody, they know he’ll blame them for the avatar’s escape. so lets all just work and repair shit and keep quite. 

When he found consciousness again, he was left with not only one horrendous purple bruise on his face, but also with a half destroyed ship. 

jdsfksajfklf OK SO YEAH, my first intention was “lmao let a piece of ice hit him” but then i realised “oh wait he’d have a bruise afterwards”  and then “LMAOOOO he’d be like Zuko, how perfect is that”   ok so granted, unlike our dear fire prince, Renga’s bruise is only temporary, but i really hoped someone would pick up the connection to Zuko

Whatever had happened to the Avatar earlier, it left a colossal mark on the ship, and secretly, on Renga personally too. He might have gotten fooled once, but he wouldn’t get fooled again.

basically, he feels personally insulted about being beaten by a kid. what a loser lmao

“Martino!”

“Y-yes, General?” stuttered the lanky assistant with the askew glasses, clenching his hands around his writing board. One would think you’d get used to Renga’s harsh tone over time, but that was simply not the case..

rip martino but renga absolutely needed a poor anxious assistant whom he could terrorise

“We need the best of the best to defeat him. And I just know the right choice for that job…”

heeeeheeee ….. no comment ..for now.  but im curious to what you guys think about that 

Thank you so much! this was a lot of fun to do ! :)

[obdurare-archive-blog]

I was talking with @changing-roads about Fallout in general, and about how it's a very personal thing you have to actually experience on your own to understand and she got me feeling feels in regards to Sole Survivor Hector that I never asked for because it's hard to put that in words someone not canon-familiar, especially with Fallout 4, might not understand fully, because it's a Shared Thing if you've already been through the game yourself. But I'm gonna try. Because you have to understand to live through something like the Great War will change a person, even someone like Hector who is so sure in who and what he is.

FALLOUT 4 SPOILERS BELOW

To start with, you have to understand that he'd be in a unique position that not even the prewar ghouls would know. He's a man who went to sleep while the bombs were dropping, and woke up two hundred years later while the world is bouncing back from that devastation. It's not that there was a war and he got locked in a vault. That's not what shakes him for a minute before he's able to pull himself back together enough to function in a somewhat ruthless and automated state until he has a Plan. In reality, it's not even watching his Nora get killed while he's literally helpless to do anything, because he's still locked in the cryopod (and you better believe that it wasn't just him banging on window, I promise you Kellogg heard very clearly exactly what Hector was going to do to him when he got loose - and the promise he would get loose - and found him, and I guarantee you those things don't really need to be repeated here). It's not that Shaun was kidnapped, though after that he certainly looks at certain things in a different light, which I'll get to. It's that when he finally escapes Vault 111, for the first time in his entire life, he is completely, and utterly, alone. Where's Jack? Is he still alive? He doesn't know. He can't say, can't pick up the phone and check anymore. Is anyone else still alive? Or is he all that's left? He doesn't know. And he can look, yes, but that has to wait for him. To go and see if anyone else is still as shellshocked as he is. And that's the real theme of these games, I think. The protag is a one man army, but they're also still very alone. There's a sort of desolate, aching lonliness in walking down a broken highway through a place that was once a busy suburb that now the only sound you hear is the wind through the blasted trees and the grass. And that was the kind of thing he emerged to. Just a desperate, aching sense of being truly alone for the very first time. He's not a man that handles feelings like this well, because he doesn't know what to do with them. They're not part of his status quo, and at the first he doesn't know how to compartmentalize them. This isn't the kind of shakeup he's used to, it's not a curse, and it's not freeing a goddess, and it's not coming back from death. Because all of those happened in a world he was familiar and comfortable in. When he comes out of Vault 111, the world has literally ended. There are no small comforts, because those are all gone, and he's still there. It's a sort of lonliness I can't really explain. You really have to feel it for yourself, because Fallout will make it very personal. You'll get immersed in the world and it will swallow you, and after that you'll just know what Old World Blues means without an explanation. Someone will say Fallout and you'll feel it. Someone will say prewar and you'll know. Fallout will take your heart and make you laugh and then smash it on the pavement and grind its heel into what's left, and that is no joke. So that leaves Hector alone. In this near silent world on the edge of a crater that would kill you without adequate protection. A crater that causes storms filled with radiation. And he goes home. Because what else can he do? He goes home, he talks to Codsworth, the robot that was purchased before the war, and he sits in his old house for a while, until he has a Plan. Because he is a strong person, more force of nature than man, but being literally thrust into a world where everything he knows is gone - his own house is a wrecked ruin falling apart around him, it's been picked clean by scavengers, and the few things that are left are actually painful to look at, which is another feeling he has to adjust to - leaves him with very few options. And I've said it before, he gets attached easily, though he'll never admit it, but it's harder in the Commonwealth. Mala was talking about it with Elle, but I'm gonna borrow it here: These aren't his people. This isn't his home. He adjusts quickly, he shakes everything off fairly quickly, but it takes a while for him to start thinking in terms of "Us" instead of "Them". But with regards to change, because I'm not going to run through the plot and his step-by-steps here, that sort of aloneness, along with his suspicion that just comes naturally, has his walls ten feet thick. He uses sarcasm and intimidation to get by, but it's all deflection and misdirection. It's also why no companions were romanced in his runthrough, because no one ever fully got through those walls. And a lot of the time he stays angry, because while he's the ultimate survivor, it's hard to see the point when the world is literally over and there's nothing to really fight for beyond the filth and ruins of the old world. It helps, in this respect, to change that view in that Preston and the gang are the first people he really talks to outside of Codsworth, because the raiders are aggressive and he does what he does best and doesn't really think about it too much. But it's a long, long time before he sees anything as worth anything. And the Minutemen give him a purpose, and the ability to find the bastard that killed his wife and took his son. It's the beginnings of a Plan. But there's that bone-ache, through his entire time as the sole survivor of Vault 111. Prewar ghouls like to talk about the old days, but they've adapted and changed with the world while he's still in that shift, and he's Behind. He catches up eventually, but it's jarring. And all the same, he's still protective of that, to a degree, because it's a reminder that it all really happened. These were people - and it takes him a while to see it that way - just like him, who had lives. Things they did on a daily basis. Routines and loved ones and homes. He's the same way about journals and holotapes, he collects them and hangs on to them, even if he'll only usually listen to them once and never touch them again beyond shoving them in a drawer because they're all bits and pieces of the old world, and for a long while, he's got those Old World Blues bad. There's a dissociation there, of being in a wrecked ruin of a building full of ferals that were once people, same as him, who have been twisted and eaten by radiation, listening to 50s upbeat music while performing, as he sees it, mercy kills. There's something jarring for him to stand on the boardwalks along the shore and see ships - almost fully intact, just in need of new sails and a crew - sitting idle where they'd been anchored, where the only sound is the water hitting the rock and the brick in a place that had been filled with beachgoers and noise. It takes a minute, to adjust to that for him. Teddy bears, especially those still being held by their unfortunate owner, especially those that feel like a memorial, will get him to pause a moment. Teddy bears in the wasteland have a feel to them, either they're in need of a home, or they're to be left alone where they lay. There's something that haunts him for a long while, walking around downtown Boston, distant gunfire in the distance, among the ruined hulks of buildings that have long fallen into disrepair, their sides gaping open, knowing that, in that particular block, he's the only living thing moving. Dogmeat makes good company for those wanderings, but he doesn't take away that feeling of being Alone. It's not that the world used to be a bigger place, like he told Jack several lifetimes ago, but what Jack told him. There really is just less in it. And that hits him pretty hard. And it's something he's not sure how to deal with. He helps out, he does his part, but the entire time there's another motive there. A dual motive, even, in that it gives him Purpose, and it helps him form a Plan. Killing Kellogg is revenge, but it's a cold, half-closure. Finding the Institute and Shaun is another form and hardens his skin again. Destroying the Institute puts prewar Hector in his grave, and the one that adapts fully to the wasteland is the one that crawls back out of it. Detonating that device kills his last ties to the old world, and that's how he has the stomach to face Nuka World and its raiders, and try to bring them to heel before deciding they can't be and destroys the lot of them. The pirate part of him has always been the side he's leaned on but here he stops pretending? He's ever been anything but that. But he changes, because that's what the wasteland does to a person. You don't live through that and stay exactly as you were. The version that dwells in the Mojave is so much different than the man Calypso raised from the dead. The one that emerges from Vault 111 is so much different from him, and they're both so much different than the man who obsessively hunted down 882 pieces of Aztec gold. Like I said, the feeling of the wasteland is personal. It gets to the core of a person and twists something, almost like the radiation can effect the soul, too. It's not something that can necessarily be explained if you don't already understand it, but mostly I wanted to just put down, in words as best I could, what I mean. My sole survivor version of Hector might be a canon au of himself, but he's a different man with different priorities, and it's because- (Don't you do it, ho, don't do it-) /whispers War.  War never changes.   (Oh my God.)

[jetsnacks]

Bulletproof (ch. 1)

OK SO REMEMBER WHEN I GOT PROMPTS AND THEN D IDNT DO THEM? this is why. this absolute frankensteins monster. I just. I had this human!au in my head, and… now it’s a thing. A very long thing. With a plot… help. @velocifoxy @idk-and-idc-and-idr

Descrip: Slow burn (not super slow to start w/ but it gets slower. Like. Really slow.) suuuper hurt comfort, probably gonna get nsfw in the future because. I hate writing easy things apparently. (There’s a one night stand implied that m i g h t not be the best decision the characters ever made. This does get addressed in another chapter, but not this one) really a lot of awful angsty metaphors that go on like 3 sentences too long I’m sORRY

Pairings: Logince (eventually lamp but… yknow. slow burn.)

TRIGGERS: Alcohol mention, emotional abuse, rebound, bad break up, poison/gun mention, v brief murder mention, gets a tiny bit nsfw at the end (they don’t even kiss, guys, Roman is just a big flirt who maybe makes bad decisions sometimes)

Prompt: From @killerfangirl3 “I’m bulletproof, just don’t shoot me”

They say if you take little bits of poison everyday for years, you could one day be immune, if those little bits didn’t kill you first. Unfortunately, the same isn’t true for love.

Roman staggered out of the party early, words ringing in his ears. “Convenient.” That’s all he had been. “Convenient.” A step up to bigger things. He was famous, but not famous enough. Rich, but they had wanted richer. Soft, when they wanted useful. The casual voice over champagne clinking. “You didn’t think it meant anything, did you? People like you. Now, they like me! It was convenient to-” Roman winced at the memory. He had to move. It was near midnight, and pouring rain, gold from the streetlights playing on every drop as they fell. His jacket and umbrella were inside, but his wallet and phone (dead, probably) still sat in his pocket, so he cut his losses, stepping out from under the porch of the grand, old house, still glowing with lights and people and noise. He though little bits of love would be okay. But it never worked like that. He couldn’t just do a little. It was less like saying to take small doses of poison everyday, than it was getting shot everyday. The only way to be really bulletproof was to never hand someone the gun …He didn’t know where he was going. His dress shoes didn’t have the same satisfying click on soaked pavement as they did on marble or hardwood. His hair was flat, and clinging to his skull. He didn’t feel anything. So he kept walking.

He wasn’t sure how long it took, but when sensation returned, it came in the form of being cold. Then his feet hurt. Looking around, the only light on was shining from a dusty looking store front. He doubted anyone would be open at that hour, but the crash of heavy rain was weighing on his senses, and his last stitch of self preservation pushed him to the door. It swung open with a halfhearted jingle from a rusted bell. At first, he couldn’t see anyone. Every wall seemed to be covered in books, as well as much of the floor. He could hardly see the ceiling, but the shelves went past where he thought a regular ceiling ought to be and then some. Stacks of ancient creaking leather bound tomes, dog eared paperbacks, and bent, stained hardcovers nearly covered every inch. It looked less like a store and more like a… hoard. Roman stood dripping on the doormat in utter awe, until something moved in the back of the shop. Sure enough, a face was poking out from around a bookshelf. The man had large black glasses pushed up onto his forehead, making his hair spike in every direction. He had red marks on the bridge of his nose from wearing them too long, and was blinking at Roman like he’d just woken up. “Oh, uh give me a moment.” He extracted himself clumsily from what must have been a desk at some point and unfolded from a leather chair he’d been sitting in, adjusting his tie and putting his glasses back on their perch. “Alright. My name is Logan, what are you looking for tonight?” He was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, his clothes crumpled. Roman was so shellshocked by the sight he nearly forgot to answer. He felt his cheeks grow red from more that just the cold. “I- uh- I’m not looking for anything in particular, I’m just… Browsing.” He willed the man to leave it at that, he could pretend to look at books, warm up, call a taxi and go cry into his pillow without being recognized by a cute clerk at a weird bookshop. Logan squinted at him from behind the glasses, taking a step forward. Roman flinched instinctively back, shoulders bumping the glass door. /this is it, he’s going to recognize me, tell a some news site and get a picture as I run off or something. ‘Local star now local washed up wreck…’/ “Are you sure? We usually only get people looking for something specific… we only really have older, out of print books that people value as collectors… Sir? Are you alright?” The clerks voice had nothing but honest curiosity turned concern as he walked closer. Roman realized his eyes where still closed tight, waiting for when he’d have to run. He opened them to find Logan much closer too him, inspecting him with a worried face.

/he’s cuter up close… wait no don’t do that bad idea/

“uh. Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” “No, no you’re not. Your teeth are chattering. Follow me. Try not to get any books wet. If you have to, drip on the romance novels on the left. They never sell anyways.” The clerk turned on his heel and walked further into the shop. “You could also go back into the rain, if you want, but I would recommend accepting help. You look freezing and probably lost, and nothing else around runs this late.” Roman shrugged. 'Local star murdered by weird book seller’ sounded better than 'local star found frozen solid on side walk’ anyways. He followed Logan back into the shop. Two large bookshelves split the space in two, creating a doorway between them into the rest of the room. A rickety wooden staircase disappeared into shadows at the very back. To Romans right was what could almost be called a parlor, a large, deep leather sofa sat facing several cushy armchairs covered in fading fabric, separated by a low coffee table. On his left was a workshop of some sort, incredibly tidy in contrast to the rest of the store, a bright desk lamp shone on a thick, dusty book, which lay naked with its leather cover to one side. A number of tools stood like a row of soldiers to one side. Roman let himself be ushered onto the sofa, which reminded him exactly how sore his feet were. He let out a sigh. It might have been a terrible idea to crash at a random collectors book store because the sofa was comfy and the clerk was cute, but after a night like his it was danm tempting. Logan was mostly quiet as he moved about the space, up and down the stairs to fetch things, leaving Roman to his thoughts. He stared into space, trying not to think them, until something warm wrapped around his shoulders. He looked up to see Logan pulling a wool blanket around him, tutting under his breath. “It’s never a good idea to soak yourself to the bone like this. It’s going to take a while to warm you up.” Roman nodded dully, remembering how much of a mess he must look. /that’s probably why he doesn’t recognize you. The longer you stay the more you’re risking…/ he ignored himself, watching Logan move around the space. His shirt, already rumpled, was pushed up past his elbows, showing his arms. His hands and his slacks were covered in ink stains that Roman hadn’t noticed at first. The wool blanket smelled like peppermint. Maybe that’s what Logan smelled like.

He was too tired for attractive strangers, he decided. He was heart broken, metaphorically and literally lost, who cared if he wondered if attractive nerds smelled like peppermint or not. He settled further into the couch, wrapping himself in the blanket like a cloak. /you’re so screwed./ his brain whispered. /so very very screwed./ The stairs creaked, and Logan came reappeared carefully balancing two steaming mugs. He set one down in front of Roman, then lowered himself into the chair and blew on his mug. When Roman didn’t reach for his immediately, he held eye contact and raised an eyebrow pointedly. Roman sighed and sat up, peering into it suspiciously. “It’s hot chocolate. It’s not going to bite you.” “I know what it is! I was just-” the eyebrow again. “Fine, fine. I’m drinking it. Happy?” Logan hummed and Roman tried not to burn his tongue. It wasn’t good hot chocolate by any means, but it was hot. And vaguely chocolate. So it helped, at least a little. They sat for a while, until both cups sat below half, and Roman had a pleasant glow in his stomach. Logan set his mug down with a decisive clack. “So. Talk.” Roman immediately stiffened, and Logan backed up, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t have to tell me everything, or anything at all, really, but you clearly had a difficult night. I’m not sure what else you need right now, and some context would be appreciated. Besides.” Logan leaned back in the chair, eyeing him. “I don’t usually get that many mysterious customers on the nightshift, surprisingly. I’m curious.” Roman felt his cheeks heat up again, and scolded himself for being so happy for the attention. Most people assumed they knew everything about him. It was nice to feel… interesting, in a normal way. /whatever./ his brain muttered bitterly. /he’s probably just curious about the weird, wet idiot on his doorstep. You look horrible, anyways. Any chance at 'charming stranger’ was ruined ages ago./ he sighed, and cleared his throat. “I… bailed on a party.” That was true, technically. “I…” /say anything/ his brain urged. /you don’t need to tell him how pathetic your night was. You didn’t ask for his help/ “I had a pretty bad break up.” /really?/ his mind was screaming. But Logan just winced sympathetically. “That must have been difficult… do you… would you like to talk about it?” Every instinct in his head told him not to. But he felt… warm. Safe. “I… was seeing some one who… was after something specific. After …they got that, I was unnecessary.” His voice sounded small and broken in his own ears, despite him trying to keep it steady. When he found the courage to look up, there was no pity or disgust in the other mans eyes. “That sucks.” It was the most casual he’d been all night. Roman couldn’t help laughing.

The terror of telling things like that to strangers returned somewhat after that, and the conversation moved on to lighter things. Mostly about Logan. He found out Logan slept upstairs, for convenience sake, and that he worked part time as a substitute English teacher, when he wasn’t restoring books. Logan tapped his fingers on his chair like he was playing a piano when he was thinking. Logan snorted when he laughed, if you could get him to do it. Logan didn’t think he was very good with people. Romans eyes were raw from crying, but he felt like the full effect of the night hadn’t even started to hit him. It was terrifying. Almost everything was. Tomorrow morning felt like some kind of deadline. Some kind of cliff.

Fortunately, it wasn’t tomorrow morning yet. Logan coughed politely, bringing him out of his thoughts. “As nice as this is,” ('he thinks it’s nice!’ Part of him said. 'Shut. up.’ said a larger part) “my shift is about to end.” Romans heart sank. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?” Logans voice was soft, almost… nervous. Romans heart was on a danm rollercoaster. “I… technically, yes.” There was the eyebrow again. “Technically?” Bile rose in Romans throat. “I would… rather not go back in this state, but I do have somewhere to go. If you lend me your phone I could call a cab-” “No! -I mean.” Logan cleared his throat, less gracefully this time. “That’s not necessary. You can stay here. If you want, that is.” This was familiar ground. Roman could feel his feet under him as Logan got more and more flustered. “And who’s bed would I be sleeping in, exactly?” Roman knew he was grinning at this point. “Uh- t-there’s a spare couch upstairs, I suppose you could have my bed if you-” “Not quite what I meant, gorgeous.” Roman pulled himself up off the couch, and stalked over to the armchair Logan was sitting in. He was close enough to see the other man swallow nervously. Getting no signal to back off, he planted both hands on the arms of the chair, caging Logan in, and waited for him to make a move. Throw him out, or… One of Logans hands grabbed the back of his neck. “I suppose” he muttered, pulling Roman towards him “I wouldn’t mind sharing.”