#If the podcast were finished i could move on i could stop being. Gestures to this post. Like this

[moookar]

john and arthur are such great friends not because of their interests or compatible personalities or anything but rather because arthur would eat the pickles from john’s burger

[christhopersturniolo]

୨ PODCAST ୧

summary: matt leaves the podcast because of his brother's jokes, and y/n comforts him.

warnings: cussing, sad, fluff

notes: this fanfic was a request! also english is not my first language so im sorry about any mistake

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The day with the Triplets has been a little stressful, specially for Matt. Each time he spoke, his brothers would joke saying that he was being way too ‘depressed’ and ‘miserable’. Or Nick would always answer with ‘Yeah, yeah nobody wants to hear about that shit’.

Now, after they invited me to their podcast, here I am, sitting next to my boyfriend, holding his hand gently.

As Chris and Nick keep talking over their brother, calling him ‘Miserable Matt’ I could see him getting more annoyed, his eyes watering, and it feels like I'm the only one seeing his discomfort.

I don’t really know what to do, cause obviously his brothers are just joking, and I'm not sure how to intervene without making things awkward.

They keep teasing him over and over.

“I'm not going to sit here for like another 55 minutes or some shit.” Matt’s voice getting slowly lower.

“What? What was that? That mumble? I can’t understand you.” The older triplet mocks him, but he tries to ignore it. “Ok go ahead-“

“Now you are ‘mumble Matt’ too” Chris laughs after Nick’s comment. “It's like I can't even understand what you are saying, sounds like rocks rolling down a hill, your voice”

I try to end the conversation "Can we just-" Before I can finish, Chris and Nick burst into laughter "Can we start the podcast?" I try again, but Matt lets out a heavy sigh.

Nick continues “it literally sounds like an avalanch coming out of your mouth” Matt gets up aggressively, starting to leave the room “I’m not doing this shit anymore.”

“Oh come on Matt!” Chris says chucking. They laugh some more as I just think of what to do. I get up from my seat, hurrying after him “Hey.. Matt..” I begin, attempting to catch his attention. However, before I could reach him, he gets in his room, and slams the door in my face, leaving me standing outside. I'm sure this is not just about the stupid jokes they were making.

I hesitate for a moment before making any move, thinking if I should open the door, i’m sorry, but I can't just ignore the urge to check on him.

With a deep breath, I reach out and calmly push the door open. Inside, I find Matt lying on his bed, his face buried in his pillow, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Can we talk love?” I say quietly closing the door behind me.

He lifts his head, his eyes red and puffy, his expression a mixture of sadness and anger. "What do you want?" His voice defensive.

Ignoring his tone, I move closer and sit on the bed.

With a gentle touch, I reach out and place my hand on his back, offering a silent gesture of comfort. For a moment, we sit in silence, until I interrupt it.

“Can you tell me what has been going on lately?” I ask softly, my voice filled with concern.

“Nothings going on” He sniffs, still with his face in the pillow “I’m fine” His voice barely above a whisper.

I shake my head, not trusting his words. "You don't seem fine to me" He stays silent, I take a deep breath.

I adjust my position, leaning against the headboard of the bed. I decide to take a different approach instead of talking “Come here..” I pat the spot next to me, in sign for him to come closer “Let's just cuddle for a bit."

He completely stops acting rude in the moment I suggest it, Matt scoots closer, laying his head on my chest, his arms around my waist. I stroke his smooth brown hair. I kiss the top of his head. We stay like this for some good ten minutes.

He presses his face into the crook of my neck and whispers with a shaky voice “I’m just so fucked up..”

Gently, I cupped his cheeks, lifting his head from my neck, making him look into my eyes “Matt.. Why do you say that?”

"I just.. I don't know" He admits. "I'm just so fucking exhausted of feeling like this all the time..”

I sigh, I hate seeing him in this state. “Since when do you feel like that?” I wait patiently for Matt's response, he looks away.

“I don’t know.. For some long time now.. I guess I've been trying to push it away, but it just keeps coming back, over and over.” As he spoke, I could see the pain in his eyes.

"I'm sorry I couldn't see it sooner babe.." I whisper, reaching out to gently brush away his tears. "I should have known something was wrong." I kiss his forehead.

He shakes his head "It's not your fault" He murmurs "I don’t want you to worry"

I wrap my arms around him, holding him close. "But I do worry, Matt" I confess softly. "I care about you more than anything."

He buries his face deeper into my chest. "I love you so much.." He whispers, his voice muffled by the fabric of my shirt.

"I love you too.." I whisper back in his ear, squeezing him tightly.

୨୧

sorry this is so short 😭😭

tags: @muwapsturniolo

[gazs-blue-hat]

Hi! :) you wanted requests love ?

Soap interactions with reader who he has a major crush on, but can’t flirt with since she’s shy and he will scare her away

Thanks so much for the request! I never expected people to actually ask. Lowkey highkey inspired by convos had with @sprout-fics Summary: Johnny struggles to find out how to woo you. Frustrated with his lack of success, his two buddies Gaz and Ghost play matchmaker Word Count:

Tw: Canon Typical Language, suggestive comments, idiots in love (LMK if I missed any)

For three years you had been friends with Johnny "Soap" MacTavish and for each of those three years, Johnny has pined after you like he was poisoned and you were the only cure. You had joined TF141 as the medic and language specialist. It was strange to Johnny to watch you work, speaking to people in foreign languages like you had been friends for years, but the SECOND he tried to talk to you, you were a skittish and nervous puppy.

He had thought you were afraid of him, but you didn't act afraid of him. When the team would go out for drink, you would always sit next to him. Your knee always bumped against his when you sat next to one another. He did his best to respect your space, scooting away to provide you more room so you were comfortable You two would sit at lunch and dinner together, not speaking but just being next to one another. Whenever Johnny tried to speak with you, you only listened and never really...reciprocated the conversation. "I don't know what to do Simon! Every time I try and talk to her, she just..." he made some gestures with his hands, exasperated. He was running on the treadmill next to Ghost who was doing pull ups on the bar next to him. "Have you ever thought that she's just shy?" Simon asked while lowering himself slowly, legs crossed under him as he worked on himself. Johnny rolled his eyes and nodded. "Aye, I've thought of that already. She only acts like that around me! She never talks, never makes conversation. She just...sits there!" Johnny was sprinting now on the treadmill, trying to work his frustration out. Simon finished his current set and landed softly on the floor next to Johnny.

“Why don’t you just..tell her how you feel? It’s not that complicated sergeant,” He grumbled after taking a sip of his water bottle. Johnny didn’t answer and Simon rolled his eyes and pulled the little cord connecting Johnny to the treadmill. The machine whirred to a stop and Johnny stood, glaring at him while sweat slipped down his forehead.

“The hell you do that for?” The Scot scolded while moving to grab the little clip back from Simon. Simon held it over his head, smirking.

“I’m not gonna let you run yourself to death MacTavish. You need to get into gear and tell that woman how you feel, before she decides you’re not worth her efforts.”

Johnny scoffed and grabbed his water bottle from the floor.

“Right bastard you are,” He muttered as he pushed the gym doors open. Simon rolled his eyes and opened his phone, texting Kyle.

Ghost: Solid copy on the package, you’re up.

Gaz: Copy that

Ghost: Think this will work?

Gaz: fuckin’ hope so. I bet Price twenty quid we could get them together by the end of the week.

Simon scoffed and locked his phone again, pressing play on his podcast he was listening to. Kyle didn’t know it, but Simon had bet Price the same amount that the pair of them would remain oblivious to one another.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Kyle put his phone down and sighed softly as he handed you another little cookie.

“I don’t know Kyle! He just…whenever I try and touch him, even a little, he scoots away.” You sounded so upset earlier and Kyle had immediately invited you to his quarters to vent have some tea. Price jokingly called these little venting sessions ‘Tea Parties’ and soon, you two started calling them that as well.

“Perhaps he just doesn’t like being touched?” Kyle offered, sipping at his tea after dunking a little sugar into it. You shook your head.

“But that’s not true! He touches literally everybody else! Even Simon! He constantly taps his shoulder or jabs his ribs. Heaven forbid I put my knee against his, he avoid touching me like… I’ve got the plague or something…” You looked down at your cup, the tea doing nothing to soothe your wounded heart.

“Perhaps…he’s nervous. Having a pretty girl touch you sometimes make a man…think certain things. He probably wants to be respectful and not freak you out or something.” Kyle shrugged, knowing full well that their resident Scotsman had often had to excuse himself from functions to…relieve some tension. The men had all given him shit for it before they realized how down bad he was for the linguist.

“Stop teasing Kyle! I’m serious!” You puffed out your cheeks and crossed your arms. Kyle shook his head and placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Have you tried..talking to him?” He asked genuinely. Your face fell and you shook your head.

“I have tried. Every time I try and say something to him…it all gets jumbled. I’ve left him little notes and stuff but the message always gets lost in translation.”

Kyle remembered when you had written him a note in Arabic that basically said ‘I like you a lot’ and being the fool Johnny is, us used google translate rather than calling Farrah or even Alex.

When Kyle had showed the note to Alex and Farrah, they laughed like fools.

Gaz: (Image:click to expand) What does this say?

Farrah: The word used means ‘life friend’ but the internet decides that it only meant friend.

Alex: I assume this note was written by your linguist. Meant for Johnny? He is so down bad, he’s blinded himself. The poor idiot.

Farrah: Who’s gonna tell him?

Alex: Not it

Gaz: Not it

Ghost: Not it

Price: You all are acting like children. Literal children.

“Well love, I dunno what to tell you. Johnny talks, he likes talking. You don’t like talking, you like touching. Perhaps…just. Talk to him. The worst thing he can say is ‘no’ right?” His words were meant to be comforting but your smile fell and you nodded.

“That’s what I’m so afraid of…”

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

You had decided to tell him. Tell him straight up how you felt about him. You held your script in your hand tightly, almost crumpling the paper in your grip.

“It’s fine…it will be fine…If he says no, you have a whole case of wine and spy romcoms to cry about.”

Johnny was coming back from a mission today and after a week apart, you were able to find the courage to write your script and prepare it. Kyle had been ever so patient in listening to you rehearse and he even gave you advice so things wouldn’t be confused.

Meanwhile, Johnny had decided he was just gonna go for it. reputation be damned he was gonna kiss you today. He was going to stand his ground and feel your warm cheek under his lips. Simon knew next to nothing about kissing (that he was willing to share),, and he was little help to Johnny. So…he used his pillow for practice. Once he thought he would preform somewhat decently, he was sent on the stupid mission that separated you two.

Once the heli hit the tarmac outside, he marched his way back into the base.

“Man on a mission then…” Price grumbled softly, lighting a cigar and shaking his head. He made sure he still that the money in his pocket if things finally worked out between the two fools.

You and Johnny collided with one another in one of the hallways in the base. You had been reading your letter again and again, memorizing the words over and over again. When you were looking down, you crashed into the object of your affections. You would have slammed back into the ground if it hadn’t been for his swift reflexes. His left hand was holding your waist gently but with enough force that you held still. His right had had gone to the back of your head, just to be sure your head wouldn’t slam against the floor if his grip faltered.

“Easy lass, get your head on straight,” He joked as he helped you get back on your feet. Your face was flushed and your breath came quickly.

“S-sorry Johnny. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You words were soft, almost a whisper. Whatever wind you had in your sails had been shoved away by the stumble. Your note had dropped to the floor and was being crumpled underfoot. Once you straightened everything out, you turned sharply and made your way back to the mess hall, scurrying away like a scared mouse.

“Wait lass! You left your pa…per.” His sentence ended once he saw his name on the top of the sheet. He picked it up and read the words, his heart racing in his chest. Pure poetry was on the paper. Your heart had been spilled in obsidian ink and flowing words.

You liked him.

You loved him.

You loved him.

The paper fluttered down as he dropped it and sprinted in the direction you had left in.

————-

“Well lads…guess Simon won this round. Despite your best efforts, the idiots have yet to realize they belong together.” Price joked as he sipped at his drink. Kyle frowned and shook his head.

“Still have three hours before lights out…there’s still time.” Kyle had taken off his hat and placed it on the table, worrying it out of frustration. Simon only chuckled and crossed his arms.

“Just admit you lost Garrick. Nobody likes a…” his sentence was cut off by mess hall doors bursting open. There you stood, blushing red as a tomato. Johnny came from behind you like a rocket, grabbing you and spinning you to face him. He slammed his lips on yours, holding you tightly so you wouldn’t let go.

“Shit…” Simon grumbled while sliding money over to Kyle who was slamming his fist on the table and cheering. Price chuckled and slid the money over to Kyle.

“YES! FUCKIN FINALY!”

All of these words fell on deaf ears as Johnny kissed you like you were the center of his world.

That’s because you were.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

[littleacebee]

Colors that mean me

Ace Podcast Week, Saturday: Celebration Walt gets an unexpected present for Spring Solstice from Violet which leads him to think about conversation from few months ago, newly learned word, the hidden meanings and community. The theme of tonight’s fanfic is colors. | Hello From The Hallowoods (3,102 words) Note: I am only finishing s2 of HFTH, so treat contents of fic accordingly.

Walt Pensive thought he should pay better attention to the dates. They were after all sometimes relevant to his work. And even if they weren’t he would be able to plan his visits to Scoutpost better. For example he wouldn’t came here, planning to use empty classroom to do some research comfortably and in silence, when the Spring Equinox was happening.

It was too late to turn his car around because Bern was waving at him from the wall. After he passed the gate, he saw the main area crawling with people.

“There goes my quiet research.” Walt murmured to himself hearing all the shouts from the outside.

He parked his van next to Scoutpost’s cars, took a deep breath to ready himself to face the crowd and left the car. He hasn’t had time to close the door behind him when voice reached his ears.

“Look who finally decide to show up!”

“It’s nice to see you too, Bern.” He said turning around to see woman walking towards him with a big smile on her smile. She reached out her hand to him and he shook it. 

“Violet would be so disappointed if you didn’t came. You know how she loves having people around for celebrations.”

Keep reading below or read on AO3

Walt chose not to tell her that he came here that day on accident and only nodded.

“I’m glad I won’t disappoint her.”

He closed his car and let Bern led him towards preparation for later celebration. They talked briefly about Scoutpost’s defenses and unwanted guests outside its gates. Walt felt satisfaction and pride hearing that since his last visit they didn’t have any major disturbances. Their conversation was cut short when they entered the crowd in the courtyard.

“Walt!” Violet shouted and waved at him immediately. She patted pockets of her jacket and when she found what she was looking for, she moved towards them.

“Hello, Violet. All the ornaments look amazing.”

Violet moved her hand in dismissive gesture but big smile didn’t leave her face.

“We are doing our best. And the kids were so excited to help they couldn’t even sit through half of their classes.”

“As you mentioned it, could I use the classroom for a little bit of research before the evening if it’s already empty?” Walt decided to take the opening Violet gave him. He knew that he couldn’t skip evening celebrations but he might still do something earlier.

“Oh, of course. There might be a mess because kids literally ran from there when they saw us starting to prepare decorations.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t make them so amazing.” Bern teased and threw her arm around her wife.

Walt couldn’t not agree with her. People were still busy with decorating and it already looked impressive. Strings with colorful flags were hang up on the fronts of the buildings and between them. The flower motifs on the big banner with “Spring Solstice” written on it were still being finished but every person who was passing by shot a glance at it curiously and immediately smiled. Scraps of fabric were assembled to look like flower and leaves and now a small group with help of a lot bigger group of kids was hanging them around. The courtyard was also slowly filling with chairs and other sits for tonight’s celebration.

“It’s truly impressive, Violet.” Walt said and smiled to the woman. “It will be pleasure as always to celebrate with you tonight. But now excuse me, I have some work to do.”

He was about to turn around when Violet stop him with her hand on his arm. He looked at her with a question on his face.

“Thank you for being around, Walt. And for coming today.” Violet reached out a hand with a small object wrapped in paper in it towards him. 

His eyes moved from the woman to the bundle and then back to her. He was vaguely aware of gift giving customs in Scoutpost but till now he never really was a part of it.

“Oh, you didn’t have to, really.” Walt said quietly and didn’t have a chance to add anything else.

“Nonsense!” Violet exclaimed and practically showed the package into his hands. “You help us so much, way more than we pay you. And you are member of this community if you like it or not.”

“I wouldn’t argue with her. Especially when she’s right.” Bern added and laughed when Violet shoved an elbow in her side.

Walt looked at the little bundle in his hands. The wrapping was hold together by some intricate way of folding the paper. Beneath it he could feel something soft. If he had to guess, he would say it was one of the famous handmade objects made by Violet. 

“Thank you very much. It really means a lot.” He looked up at the women and put a hesitant smile on his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you.”

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself with that. Just give me a hug and promise to tell some interesting stories to the kids later. You know how much they love it.” Violet opened her arms and Walt hugged her gently. Woman didn’t hold back and almost crushed his ribs in embrace.

“Will do.” He promised when he was free again.

“We start when it’s getting dark.” Violet added when he was turning around. “Don’t be late!”

Walt walked back to his car and when he reached it, he curiously looked at the object in his hands. He opened the paper, careful to not damage contents and inside he saw a pair of hand knitted socks. He gently touched them as if he was afraid of ruining them. They were nice under his touch, clearly made with care and skill. Four colors created the same pattern on both of them - black, grey, white and purple. Violet truly did an amazing job. He felt light sting in his chest thinking about how she put even more effort into them by using multiple colors. They definitely had more important things to use colored yarn for and yet she still made him colorful socks. 

After a moment of consideration he decided to hide them in his bag. He probably should put them with the rest of his clothes but he felt it would be a little disrespectful to just leave them like that. It wouldn’t be appropriate to the gesture. And it’s not like there was someone to judge him if he wanted to be able to look at them from time to time to appreciate what Violet have done for him. 

He took his bag out of the car and rummaged inside looking for some loose books. With arms full of them he moved towards the classroom. In the few minutes his trip to the car took the courtyard filled even more with people helping with decorations or simply admiring them. The banner was finished and Violet was getting on the ladder to hung it up while laughing Bern cheered on her. Walt maneuvered in the crowd trying not to drop any book and finally reached the classroom.

Like Violet said, kids had to run out from there in a hurry because many books were still laying open on the table. Before sitting down Walt decided to clean them up and put them on teacher’s desk to not disturb whatever cataloging system they had on their shelves. He left his stuff in the only empty space on the table and started to pick abandoned books, pencils and papers. Scoutpost classroom was usually clean space and its current state was telling a lot about the excitement felt by their usual occupants. 

He took another book into his hands when something inside caught his attention. The book was small and colorful with typical thick pages. On the open one there was a person holding big flag in their hands. The text above them read in big bulky letters: “I am asexual!”

Walt stopped what he was doing and looked intensely at the page. His attention was held by the colors of the flag and text – black, grey, white, purple. The colors he already saw today.

He left books he was gathering moment ago and still holding children book he went back to his things. He put down the book to look through his bag. However his eyes didn’t left the page for a moment. His hands touched something soft and he immediately took out a pair of colorful socks. He laid them next to the open book and looked from one item to another. The flag - black, grey, white and purple. The socks - black, grey, white and purple. 

“Asexual.” He read slowly pronouncing every syllable. It did end up being the only time he pronounced it correctly. He traced the letters with his finger and thought about conversation he had with Violet some time ago.

It was late at night. They were sitting near the fire waiting for Bern to finish checking up on the gates before they go to their rooms. Violet was telling some sweet stories about how she and Bern became a couple and their first dates. And then she asked him if he had someone. Normally Walt would give a short answer and change the subject. Normally he wouldn’t engage in this conversation any further. But on the nights like this, when cold seeped into his bones and dark seemed push onto him, he missed Daphne a little bit more. The dull tightness in his chest throbbed with renewed pain and Violet was looking at him genuinely interested and he thought that she would understand. So he told her about Daphne.

He told her how they met in a dinner she worked in. How her smile lit up any room she was in and even black rains didn’t seem so dark when she laughed. That she would put an extra pancake on his order and joke “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach”. That she understood him better than anyone he had ever met, sometimes even better than him. That she never pressured him to be someone he wasn’t. He didn’t tell her how he was too late to save her but he guessed Violet knew anyway.

“This your Daphne sounds like a lovely person.” She said with a smile when he finished.

“She really was. I doubt I will ever meet someone like her again.” He sighed. The pain in his chest weakened with every word of his story but didn’t die out entirely. 

Violet turned her head to look at him and a curious spark lit up in her eyes.

“Oh, are you looking for someone? Because if you do, I have to tell you I am a pretty good wingman.” She send him a charming smile and moved her brows up and down. He chuckled seeing her expression.

“I don’t doubt that.” He assured her. Here came the part that was harder to tell people. Not like talking about the dead lover was easy – but in the times when everyone lost someone in more or less horrific circumstances, it was easier for people to understand it, there was a grim mundanity in talking about lost ones. But talking about dating and relationships in the future, more precisely talking about Walt’s attitude towards dating and relationships, that was harder – for him to articulate it, for people to understand. “But it’s a… It’s a little bit more complicated than looking or not looking.”

Violet’s eyes haven’t left him. She once again had that understanding look on her face.

“I don’t want to make you talk about something you don’t want to. But if someone can understand complicated, I am this person or at least I will try.”

It was tempting to tell her everything. Violet was a person known for her openness after all. She might be the person able to understand his complicated.

Walt took a deep breath and started once again from Daphne. They weren’t the most physically affectionate couple. They would kiss occasionally, mostly as a good morning or as a goodbye. They would hold hands during walks before the black rains started and cuddle while watching movies. That was mostly it for a long time and Walt was happy and satisfied with how things were. Then, one evening, they were laying together on a couch and Daphne was moving her fingers up and down his arm. She asked him if he wouldn’t like to move to the bedroom. When he questioned if she was tired and wanted to go to sleep, she laughed sweetly and hid her face in his chest. 

“I was trying to propose to have sex, Walt.” She said with a light blush on her cheeks seeing his confused expression. His mouth formed a silent “oh” and that got him one of her lovely smiles in response. “But we don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to.”

He knew she meant it so he told her how he truly felt. The whole honeymoon stuff never really registered on his radar or interested him at all. It wasn’t even that he actively didn’t want to, it was just outside his thoughts all the time and when he was faced with it, it felt out of place and unexpected. But if sex was something she was interested in, he could go with it. He got a tired look from her after he said a last part. 

“If you don’t want it, I don’t want it either.” She said in a tone ending all discussion. Then she make him promise. If his attitude towards sex ever changes, one way or another, he would tell her and they would talk about. And unless it happens, the whole thing is consider closed and put away. “No more “if you want to, i can do it for you”, you get it?”

Walt promised.

Nothing changed after that. Daphne would kiss him on his cheek when he was leaving the dinner, he would embrace her while she was cooking. They would cuddle in their bed and in the morning she smiled at him as brightly as always. Walt of course thought about the whole sex thing from time to time, but he didn’t reach any conclusion. Daphne looked as happy with him as before so he let the whole thing go and decided that it will be what it will be. Then Daphne was gone and he never found someone who would cause him to think about it again.

Walt finished talking, his eyes fixed on a fire.

“So, you are like asexual.” Violet said after a moment.

He looked up at her confused. Such short and simple answer wasn’t what he was expecting. 

“Ase- what?” He didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Asexual.” She repeated with a small smile on her lips. “Someone who doesn’t feel sexual attraction. Sex is not really it for them.”

Walt listened to her words curiously. There was something oddly familiar in them.

“Oh, I guess, I guess it fits.” He said hesitantly and chuckled. “Huh, didn’t even know there was a word for that.”

“Turns out people before us had a very similar feelings and experience and created a words to describe them.” 

They were interrupted when Bern came into the lighting shaking from the cold. She complained about the weather and Violet told her “I told you to wear warmer jacket”. The topic changed quickly and Walt hadn’t really thought about their conversation since then.

Now he was sitting in the empty classroom with children book and four-color socks in front of him. The book was a relic from the world that no longer existed – where people didn’t have to focus on survival and had time to match labels to flags and colors. He never took part in it, not thinking then that he could have his own colors somewhere in the rainbow. But he did. Violet showed it to him. She knew he would probably not recognize the colors, but she used them anyway. Because there were colors that meant him, that symbolized his experience, that he shared with a community. She went out of her way, just in case if he one day recognized them, he would know she understood.

Walt gently moved his fingers on the handmade material and looked out the window. Violet was shouting at Bern to stop laughing and help her with the banner. The kids were running around, probably causing more trouble than help, but no one seemed to mind. Someone started humming some melody and more people were picking it up.

He took a deep breath, tucked all his belongings in the corner away from prying eyes and went outside.

“Need help with that?” He shouted stepping next to the ladder Violet was standing on.

“Oh, thank you, Walt. Yes! Someone else here is very unhelpful.” Woman shot her wife treating look that didn’t have any real anger behind it and got only another chuckle in response.

Walt help her put up the banner and then arrange chairs. He wasn’t at all late to the celebrations as he haven’t left the courtyard. Bern made sure he kept his promise regarding telling stories to the children. They all seemed extremely transfixed by his words and were complaining loudly when their parents said that it was enough for one night.

Before he went to the guest room Violet insisted he took for the night, he stopped next to her.

“I just wanted to thank you once again for a present. It really means a lot.”

Tiredness was creeping on her face slowly but her eyes were shining with happiness.

“I’m glad you like it. And I really meant it – you are part of this community.” She pointed a finger in his chest and he nodded in response knowing that arguing will not achieve anything. He also didn’t feel like opposing at the moment.

“And I wanted to thank you for the other night, when you-, well when you understood me.” He said quietly. “And the whole ahsexual thing."

Big smile showed up on Violet’s face and it was obvious she got that he learnt the meaning behind the colors of the socks. She went to hug him tightly and Walt reciprocated the gesture.

“You are welcome. And if you ever want to talk with someone, I am always here.”

He thanked her again and went to his room. 

Later when Walt was falling asleep, pair of hand knitted socks laid on top of his bag ready to be worn the next day.

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

“Ready?” Tim asked. He took a last look over the microphone on the desk in front of him, then sideways at Dick and Damian, arranged on either side of him, a few feet away, with their own microphones.

Dick held up a sheet of paper. “I have the question list.” 

“I think that’s it, then.”

“Are we supposed to do some kind of intro?”

“Uh, unclear.” Tim snapped his fingers and leaned into his microphone.

“This is a podcast-interview thing,” he said. “We’re answering questions. Okay, I nailed the intro, so let’s hear the first one on the list.”

“Can somebody please explain Bruce Wayne’s family?” Dick read. “I know he has a bunch of kids, but I can’t figure out how many or where he got them from.”

“Interesting phrasing on the back half of that,” said Tim. “I feel like something expensive that went on sale.”

He clutched a hand to an imaginary necklace in feigned admiration. “Why Bruce! You must tell me where you got those!”

“You were never expensive,” said Damian. “Perhaps a grocery check-out display?”

Tim sighed and turned sideways, so he could look Damian in the face. “Being honest, I didn’t think you knew enough about shopping to make that joke.”

“Understandable.”

“I would never set you up on purpose.”

“I know.”

“Let’s get back to the question,” Dick suggested. “Can somebody please explain Bruce Wayne’s family?”

“I don’t know,” said Tim. He swung back towards the microphone, grimacing. “Maybe? It’s complicated.” 

“Complicated,” Dick repeated, flatly.

“Yeah, complicated.”

“It’s your own family.”

“That doesn’t make it simple,” said Damian.

“Do we get time to make an outline?” Tim asked, emboldened by the unexpected support. “Before we do our presentation?”

Damian half-smiled at that, while Dick looked the two of them over with a skeptical expression. 

“Are you telling me you don’t understand our own timeline?”

Tim waved a hand in a why-are-you-looking-at-me kind of gesture. “What, does anybody?”

“I do.”

“You experienced it linearly! We came in partway through, it’s different.”

“Unbelievable.”

“You take the question then.”

“If the two of you can’t manage it,” said Dick, with a distinctly sarcastic shrug.

“Obviously I can do it,” said Tim, suddenly defensive. He knew Dick was trying to get a rise, but Dick was good at that, and it was working. “I’m just saying it’s a confusing story.”

Tim pointed in Damian’s direction. “Back me up.”

“Absolutely not.”

“We can take turns,” said Dick, apparently satisfied with his victory. “Okay. Thomas and Martha Wayne died when Bruce was eight years old. Nineteen years after that, when Bruce was twenty-seven, he attended Haly’s Circus the night two acrobats fell to their deaths during a trapeze routine. Bruce took in their surviving son, me.”

Dick held up a finger. “My name is Dick Grayson, and I was Bruce’s ward from age twelve until the day I turned eighteen.”

“Which is different that being adopted,” Tim put in, “so bear that in mind for later.”

“Right. At eighteen, I became an adult, so Bruce wasn’t my guardian anymore. A year after that, Bruce met and adopted Jason Todd.”

“The second child he took in,” said Tim.

“But the first child he adopted,” said Damian.

“Exactly,” said Dick. “In that moment, Bruce was thirty-four with one former ward and one adopted son— which again, are distinct concepts.”

Tim nodded. “Jason Todd passed away three years after his adoption, when he was fifteen.”

“I never met him,” said Damian, straight-faced.

“Me neither,” said Tim, like he hadn’t spoken to Jason that morning. “I did meet Bruce though, at around that time.”

“The next few years are… harder to explain, I guess,” said Dick.

Tim raised an eyebrow in Damian’s direction, shaking his head in mock disgust. “See? Now he admits it.”

“Unbelievable.”

“The nerve.” Tim grinned as smugly as he could manage, so that Dick could see. Was Tim being difficult on purpose? Absolutely. Was he going to change that? Absolutely not. 

“Right, it can be my turn. I’m Tim Drake, and I met Bruce when I was thirteen years old.”

“I was…” Dick glanced upwards, like he was trying to remember— or, failing that, calculate. “Right now you’re…?”

“Do you not know my age?”

“I probably do.” Dick tapped a finger against the desk a few times, looking pensive. Eventually, he gave up.

“I’m blanking.” 

“Congratulations, Damian,” said Tim. “You are no longer my least favorite sibling.”

“I was your least favorite?” Damian asked, with such innocence that Tim couldn’t stop himself from bursting out laughing.

It took him a few moments to regain control. “You looks so proud of yourself,” he told Damian, as soon as he could.

“Thank you, I am.”

“I’m writing you both out of my will,” muttered Dick, “as soon as we get home.” 

“Shame.” Tim swiped a sweatshirt sleeve over his eyes, still grinning. “I had my eye on your terrible CD collection.”

“The estate in its entirety, I believe,” said Damian. 

“Shut up,” said Dick. “Keep answering the question.”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute.” Tim held up a hand to count on his fingers. “We did circus, Jason, Jason’s death— oh right, me. I met Bruce when I was thirteen and Dick was twenty-two, which would make Bruce thirty-seven.”

“I would have gotten there eventually.”

“Go to hell. Two years after that, when Bruce was thirty-nine, he met our sister, Cassandra Cain.”

“She was seventeen then,” said Damian.

Dick nodded. “Simplifying, we met her through a family friend. That same year, Bruce adopted me.”

“Which puts Father at thirty-nine with two sons—”

“One deceased,” added Tim.

“Having already met Tim and Cass,” Dick finished. 

“Now if you think that’s confusing,” said Tim, gesturing broadly, “you’re right, it is.”

Damian nodded. “It gets even worse.”

“Yeah. For another two years we were— again, simplifying— in roughly the same place. After that, Bruce adopted me—”

“—making my life even worse.”

“Shut up, you weren’t even around yet. At forty-one, Bruce had three sons, one deceased.”

“That’s Todd.”

“And then came—”

“Me.” Damian raised his own hand. “My name is Damian Wayne, and I am my father’s genetic son. We met for the first time when Father was forty-one, and I was ten.”

“Four sons,” said Dick. “By age it’s me, Jason, Tim, Damian.”

“But from Bruce’s perspective,” said Tim, “Jason, then Dick, then me, then Damian.”

“I’d note,” said Damian, “that I was born several years before Todd’s adoption, and since I have been a Wayne from the beginning, I am both my father’s youngest child and his first child, whether he was aware of me or not.”

“But wait!” Tim interjected. “There’s more!”

“We’re almost done,” said Dick. “We already mentioned meeting our sister Cassandra. Bruce adopted her formally after Damian arrived, while Bruce was still forty-one.”

“Which means,” said Tim, “that we can do a final tally. Damian?”

“Yes?”

“Assist me. We have Dick—”

“Alive,” said Damian.

“Jason—”

“Not alive.”

“Cass—”

“Alive.”

“Me—”

“Alive, regrettably.”

“And you.”

“Yes.” Damian sat back in his chair. Tim leaned forwards in his, so he could put his elbows down on the desk. 

“That’s pretty much it,” he said. “I won’t say how old we are right now, because it turns out Dick doesn’t know, and I don’t want to help him.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “I barely know my own age.”

“You’re eighty. One thousand, nine hundred, and forty. Some other number. I don’t know, why would I remember a very basic fact about my own family member?”

“To be fair to him,” Damian put in, “you are very forgettable.”

“And you’re my least favorite again.”

“Shame. As a last fact, I’d also note that Martha and Thomas Wayne died when Father was very young, so he was primarily raised by the butler.”

“That’s Alfred,” Tim agreed, “and his formal title is butler, but he’s also, you know, our grandfather.” 

“Can we move to another question now?”

“I guess?” Tim looked over at Dick for confirmation. 

“I don’t know,” Dick sighed. “Maybe.” 

-----------

Merry Christmas, my loves

timeline post / google doc

[hugespace]

Therapy helps rhett realize that all of those "I'm dead" UFC moves were actually just a way to fulfill his need for physical intimacy at a time in his life where he didn't feel it was acceptable to ask for it, especially from another man. Now that they're both adults and completely different people than they were in college, rhett decides it's time to explain it all to link and let him know that he actually misses that physical contact with him.

It took me a really long while, but I finally finished this one! I really loved that prompt, so thank you so much for giving it to me, lovely Anon. I was initially going to write it as a platonic/romantic friendship kinda story, but it seems I'm determined to write a hundred different first kiss + feelings realisation scenarios, I simply enjoy those way too much.

*** 2,5K ***

Let me hold you

He’s done it again.

Not so long ago, Rhett promised himself not to bring it up in front of cameras or a microphone unless he talks it out with Link, privately.

Especially not as a joke.

And he’s failed already, he scolds himself short after the Ear Biscuits episode is recorded and they’re both out of the room, heading back towards their office.

He thinks he could have just omitted it, shouldn’t have mentioned anything. It simply wasn’t necessary to mull over it again, even with the topic of the episode revolving around their college experience. It wasn’t a big deal, he said it himself, countless times. Every time they talked about it on the show.

So, every time.

There’s never been a conversation in private about that incident or anything that preluded it, never in the absence of people to entertain, never not around at least one recording device. Because why would there be? It wasn’t a big deal. A funny story, s’all.

He’s also never been able to just let things go, though, and thanks to that inability, the lore of wrestling and the “I’m dead” move had to live on. It was an innocent story, a funny albeit embarrassing one – their unofficial brand after all, an easy misunderstanding and a fun little anecdote, not his carefully curated version of what happened, nor a watered-down one, not just a part of the entire story devoid of any feelings associated with it, not a big deal-! And most of all, not… true. Not true.

Rhett isn’t sure if Link has been consciously going along with that wordlessly agreed upon version of what their UFC phase looked like, repressing the truth behind it, or… simply never realised what it meant for Rhett and genuinely thought of it as a humorous yet insignificant part of their friendship in the past.

Most likely the third option, he has to assume. After all, why would Link attach any meaning to it? It’s not like anything actually ever happened, not outside of Rhett’s mind at least. Frankly, he himself went decades without understanding his own motivations, more than once confused by why the memories of wrestling with his friend and laying on top of him felt both shameful and deeply comforting. Why even long after they grew up, stopped being kids, and as a result retired all their UFC moves, the only way he could describe what he felt thinking about that time was longing.

Until therapy happened.

Just like with many different things in his life:

There was something in the darkness, and then therapy shone a light on it.

It was like there were countless situations he navigated solely on instinct, without paying much thought to the reasons behind why he acted a certain way, and once therapy equipped him with the ability to do so, he unearthed an entire deep layer of feelings and emotions that were always there. Just hidden, even from himself.

The wrestling being one of those things.

So, he thinks Link doesn’t know.

And he’s finally determined to change that.

Why now, when he’s had so many chances to talk to Link over the years ever since he started being more in touch with himself? He doesn’t really have an answer; it’s just that after talking about it with such levity again, after repeatedly making a joke out of it, it feels like he might explode if he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t confess to Link what it was really like. And most of all, it feels like the yearning has become stronger lately, and the conversation yet again playing it all off as them being young and silly only ignited it, made the flame inside of Rhett burn brighter, threatening to make his heart combust.

“I need to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind.” Rhett says easily once they’re in the office. It’s not an unsure statement or a nervous plea with words tumbling out of his mouth before he can lose his cool and change his mind. It would have been all that and more a couple of years ago, sure.

But he’s a different man now. He’s not afraid to tell the person who’s been with him for almost the entirety of his life what he feels.

Link, however. He does look unsure, a bit alarmed even, when he looks at Rhett and responds.

“Sure-? What is it? Do you wanna talk now?”

It’s just like him to worry. Run a hundred different scenarios in his head, most of them negative, trying to prepare himself for every possible outcome of a serious conversation before it even began. It’s an anxious survival instinct that makes Link resilient to even the worst that life has to offer and able to face it all head on. But right now, it’s nothing scary. Rhett doesn’t want his friend to be worried, so he quickly says as much.

“Don’t worry, s’not bad. Just something we talked about on the podcast today.” The blonde sits down on the couch and pats the cushion next to him, hoping he appears to be as calm as he truly feels inside and that it might dissolve some of Link’s concern, still written all over his face.

The other man takes his place on the sofa and looks at him expectingly.

“Right. So-“ Rhett’s calmness doesn’t completely evaporate once Link gives him his full attention, but it’s suddenly laced with some nerves. “About the wrestling. You know, in college. And before that. And- Especially about my ‘I’m dead’ move. I’ve been thinking about it, and-“

“Rhett, I swear, if you made me sit down for a talk only to tell me you’d like to make it a part of our conflict resolution again, then ha-ha. Very funny. I’d like to go get myself some coffee now.” Link cuts him off with an unamused look in his eyes and almost makes a move to stand up.

Rhett is quicker though and grabs the brunette’s arm before he can really move, effectively making him stay in place.

“What? No. That’s not what I’m saying. Like, at all. I-“ He realises he’s still holding onto Link’s arm and instinctively wants to retract his hand, but that same feeling that led him to initiating this conversation in the first place makes him reconsider. “I’ve been thinking about what it all meant and why I did that, especially when we fought or you were angry with me, and-“

“Because we were young.” Link quickly answers what wasn’t even a question. “We had too much energy and neither of us really wanted to hurt the other by punching him or- or fighting in earnest. What else would it mean.”

“Link can you let me talk? I’m trying to say something important.” Rhett squeezes Link’s forearm. “So, as I was saying. I mostly did it when you were angry or I was feeling unsure, and I didn’t realise it back then, but- But I know now, that I just… needed reassurance. You know, physical contact.” He explains, looking straight into Link’s eyes and trying to interpret his reaction before it comes.

When nothing happens, and the brunette just stares back at him with a furrowed brow, he feels compelled to continue and elaborate.

“Like when people… hug after an argument-?” His brain almost challenges him to make a different comparison, presenting a parallel between laying half-naked on top of your best friend and another activity people often partake in to make up after a fight. But that’s not- It’s not what he’s trying to say. It’s not like that.

The face in front of him frowns in confusion, blue eyes squinting and mouth opening and closing again, only letting out a puff of air and no sound at first.

When Link finally responds, his voice is unsure, like he suspects that he’s not understanding something right. “Are you trying to tell me you wanted to hug me when we bickered, so you pushed me to the floor and laid on me till I was even angrier, instead…?”

That’s not fully what Rhett meant, but it’s close enough, so he nods.

“What the crap, Rhett-? You're not making any sense.”

“Okay, listen…” He decides to go for a different approach. “We still don’t hug after arguments. We never hug hello. I think I could count on my fingers how many times we’ve actually hugged each other as adults, outside of the show!”

“Yeah! That’s just not what we do! We’ve never done those things, it’s just not a part of our relationship- I still don’t know what you wanna tell me here Rhett.” Link throws his hands in the air in a gesture of resignation.

“I want it to be a thing we do, okay?! I always did, but I was afraid to ask for it so I just took what you could give me without talking about it. Can’t have actual intimacy? Make up a UFC thing so I can be close to you! Can’t hold you when I’ve made you mad? Better lay on top of you till you give up and have no choice but stop!” Rhett pauses to finally take a breath.

“That time that guy saw us- I’m sure you remember I stormed off right after-? I panicked, it was like him seeing us and thinking there was something else happening almost made feel like it was something else, and since I started it, it also felt like I wanted it to be something else. I got so angry at myself for even trying and I never did it again. I’m sure you remember that, too!” Words flow out of Rhett in a hurried and increasingly loud cascade, while Link’s eyes grow bigger and comprehension dawns on his face.

“I know how stupid it sounds. But you know how I was. We were well into our thirties when I still refused to get close to you. And it’s not that I didn’t want to, it was the opposite – I wanted it a lot, man.”

„But I thought...?” Link seems to be turning a thought over in his head. “I thought you just never liked it. That the wrestling thing was about you… asserting dominance. That’s what it felt like at least. Like you trying to act like an older brother or somethin’.”

“No- It was me wanting to be close to you and not knowing how to ask for it. My very convoluted way of expressing love, you could call it. And I’m sorry it took me-“

“What changed-? I mean, what made you wanna talk about it?” There’s urgency in Link’s voice when he cuts Rhett off.

“I… I realised I miss it. I told you, we still don’t really hug or get intimate, however that sounds, and I’m not gonna just topple you and pin you to the ground again. We’re too old for that. For once, I don’t think either my back or your shoulders would survive if we started wrestling every time I wanted to be affectionate. But also- We’re over forty, Link. What does it say about me if I can’t just ask a person I love and have loved for almost four decades to hold me when I need it and would resort to, well, aggression-? That’s not how it should work.”

Link ponders Rhett’s words for a few beats before opening his mouth again, only to let three breathy words escape. “You love me-?”

It seems like the wrong thing to focus on, Rhett just opened up to say he not only craves physical intimacy now, but also struggled with that same need when they were younger so badly, he had to invent an entire intricate system allowing him to be closer, and Link questions the one thing he knows already. Because of course he knows, Rhett’s said as much dozens of times, of course he loves him. But it appears he has to say it anyway, judging from the weird look in Link’s eyes.

“I do, of course I lo-“ The blonde begins, yet he doesn’t get a chance to finish and ask whether Link heard the other part of his confession at all, because at once, his mouth isn’t free to keep talking and there’s no air left in his lungs as the man who was just sitting right next to him plunges forward and collides with him, lips first.

Oh. Rhett manages to form one more coherent thought despite being startled and entirely taken aback. Link misunderstood. That’s why he got hung up on the love confession. That’s not what Rhett meant, that’s not what he was trying to say, it’s not like that-

He feels like he should clear things up as quickly as possible. Logically, he should be panicking, racking his brain for a way to straighten things up, to explain to Link that it wasn’t what he was trying to say without making things worse, without ruining everything and making his best friend feel miserable and embarrassed, until…

Until Rhett realises his body went rogue and started responding without his conscious decision, his lips are moving against the other man’s, one of his hands is cupping Link’s face, while the other strayed away and is caressing his back. And it feels like his heart is trying to break out of the ribcage with how hard it’s pounding in his chest, along with his stomach doing wild summersaults. And he’s not panicking, not at all. And it’s not a misunderstanding, how could it, when he loves Link with his entire soul, with his whole being- And exactly like that, it hits him. Starting this conversation, he thought he already understood everything, but he didn’t– there was still that last puzzle piece missing.

They come up for air, panting from the intensity of that first kiss, foreheads flush with each other. Rhett finishes the sentence he began before Link’s move changed everything. “Of course I love you.” He means it now, he means it exactly like Link took it and can’t comprehend how he didn’t think of it before, but it’s perfectly obvious now.

So he hugs Link. He encircles the man’s body with his long arms, squeezes, and holds him, feels his friend snuggle into him, nuzzle his face into the crook of his neck and breathe deeply, holding Rhett's larger body in return.

All he needed was ask for the closeness.

He asked, and he got it.

He got all he wanted and so much more.

So, so much.

[adorethedistance]

READING MY BOYFRIEND’S FANFICTION?? - Owen Joyner x Influencer!Reader

JATP masterlist

Requested: OMGGG!! Could you do a an Owen fic based around his girlfriend being an armature youtuber/social media influencer (shes also an actress and they met on set and have been dating for a while) and it’s “reading/reacting to my boyfriend’s fanfiction” ? You can do whatever you want with the fanfic part it’s just a concept that has been running around in my head for a while. LOVE ALL YOUR WORK!!

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sex, very mild

Words: 1460

A/N: A fic?? From Ace?? Hi. I’m off spring break officially and so my stress has dissipated immensely. School was becoming so much these last two weeks and I thought I’d be stressed or worried, but I’m actually fine? It’s weird lol so I decided I could be productive with my stress-free moment and post a little fic for y’all. I love this prompt, and before any of you writers panic, I’m using my own fics for the fanfictions because I wouldn’t want to put y’all on the spot like that. Also this is my 3000 post! thought that was cool lol

“Do you wanna do the intro?”

“I think I have to do the intro.”

“Okay, go for it.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out a heavy breath in exaggerated preparation for my (some would say lengthy) intro. “Hello, hi. Yes, okay, this is Y/n Y/l/n vlogs, welcome or welcome back to my channel!” Once Owen finishes his statement I’m so stunned I can’t generate any sort of response other than a slacked jaw semi smile.

“That was not even close. Do you know my intro?”

“I got the first part right!”

“You’ve lost intro privileges,” I turn back to the mess of lights and tripods in front of me and ignore the disaster of an intro Owen offered. “Oh, hello, hi! I am Y/n and this is: Reading My Boyfriend’s Fanfiction!”

“That’s basically what I did.”

“No, it is not! It’s ‘oh, hello, hi. I am ‘name’ and this is: ‘title of video’.”

“You don’t ‘welcome to my channel’?” Owen’s voice has dropped to a hushed volume as he genuinely inquires about the segments of my usual introduction.

“I do not.”

“Don’t use any of this,” he pleads when making direct eye contact with the camera. “Mister Sid. Editing Sid, please don’t embarrass me.” His pleas fall on deaf ears, knowing that I’ll be using the footage in full.

“Anyways. Butchered intro aside, I am Y/n and today I am here with my lovely “So Many Stars” costar and scene partner, Owen Joyner!”

“I’m also your boyfriend.”

“That too,” I give Owen’s pointed comment a soft place to land, “So, yesterday--it was actually like, two weeks ago, I don’t know why I said yesterday--a little while back, I came across a tweet telling me someone had written a fanfic about us-”

“Did you read it?”

“On Wattpad. Of course, I read it. There are only three chapters up right now and they’re all in the 2-3k range so it was a quick read.”

“2-3k?”

“Words,” I reply nonchalantly as I unlock my phone. I bookmarked a few one-shots beforehand for us to read, and I’m slightly cocky about my selections. Owen then responds with an outburst of shock.

“2-3 thousand words is a short read?” I merely give him a blank stare.

“Judging by that reaction, Owen hasn’t read any fanfics in his life.”

“Is that not long to you- That’s what she said.” Owen cuts me off with his own stupid joke and I briefly sigh before answering.

“No, that isn’t long. Baby, I’m here for that 130k slow burn enemies to lovers on AO3 with the ‘only one bed’ and ‘locked in a closet’ tropes.”

“The what?”

“Oh, we have so much to catch you up on.”

__________________________

“So I saved three fics, an angst, a fluff, and a smut. Which do you want to read?”

“Wait, what does that mean?”

“Oh my- okay. Angst is the sad shit, it’s what you read when you need your heartbroken and a good cry. Smut is pretty much in the name, it’s explicit content that will undoubtedly get this video demonetized, but that’s okay because we do have a sponsor. And fluff is the cute moments, domestic and sometimes mundane romance that makes you smile like an idiot and put the device down to screech into a pillow.” Throughout my whole explanation, I can tell Owen was becoming more and more lost, so I opt to give him a few moments to collect his thoughts.

“Let’s start with the fluff just to ease into things.”

“Smart choice. This fic I have saved is called ‘Baby Fever’ and the summary says ‘you and Owen spend a day at the zoo babysitting Baby Shada, and her presence sparks conversation about adding a new presence of your very own’.”

“That sounds so ominous.”

“Here, I’ll read the narration and reader’s POV, and then you’ll read your own dialogue.” Owen nods and leans over my right shoulder to read off of my computer screen.

“You actually start the fic.”

“‘You ready, little one?’” The instantaneous actor mode Owen slips into has me howling with laughter at which he looks at me confused. My gasping for air makes Owen laugh empathetically despite still being unsure as to what’s killing me at the moment.

“Why are you laughing?!” He yells, dramatically shaking my shoulder.

“Just the way you jumped into that, I wasn’t prepared for you to turn on the acting charm. Okay, uhhhh, ‘I bite back a laugh when I hear Owen’s voice coo from the back seat’.”

The two of us go back and forth between reading the narrative, bouts of laughter, commentary on the accuracy of Owen’s character, and we finally manage to finish the 2.5k fic in about forty minutes.

“‘When he looks up from CJ’s tiny body and recognizes the familiar ‘baby fever’ look in my eyes, he smiles and utters a simple-’.”

“‘I told you so.’”

“That was cute! I like the tie-in of having us watching over Baby Shada- or, sorry, you and ‘y/n’ watching over Baby Shada.”

“They wrote me kinda funny, I don’t think I’d ever fabricate a life to make conversation with a stranger due to baby fever.” My jaw drops slightly and before Owen can respond to my reaction, I cry,

“That is such a lie!”

“What?”

“You absolutely would do something like that, are you kidding me?!”

“No, I would not!” Owen punctuates every word with the utmost offense. He has the same look in his eye as when he was proving himself to be the cleanest phantom of the three on the Sunset Drive podcast.

“You literally told the guy at Home Depot yesterday that we were buying plants for our child’s nursery!”

“Okay, that’s different-”

“How is that different? That’s the exact same thing as fanfic you!” Owen’s furrowed brow and dropped jaw are a sight to be seen as he leans away from me, bending at the waist to stare at me with defiance. I raise my eyebrows pointedly as I await a response. Instead of actually producing a response, Owen lunges forward, grabbing my waist in his hands and squeezing gently. The feeling makes me screech and gasp of laughter from surprise and also being ticklish.

“Owen! Owe-STOP, I’m gonna drop my laptop!” I manage to say through my laughter and with one final grab, he releases me from his hold. It takes a minute for my laughter to settle but once I do, the two of us are simply breathing heavy and staring at one another with giddy smiles on our faces. In a moment’s clarity, I turn to look into the camera lens to talk directly to my editor,

“Sid, don’t use any of this. And please don’t cut to this after we finish reading to make it look like- things were happening.”

“Actually, I think you should, Sid. Just cut to right there and make the world think we-”

“OKAY, thanks for watching, bye!” I quickly stop the recording before Owen says something we’re unable to recover from. I hear him laugh gently behind me as I set my laptop down on the coffee table behind the tripod. Coming back to the couch, I move to plop down but before landing successfully on the cushion next to my phone, Owen grabs my body and moves me to sit on top of him.

“You are crazy, you know that?”

“Hmm. Crazy for you, maybe.” His cheesy line makes me scoff but smile nonetheless. I reach my right hand up to caress the side of his face as we sit cheek to cheek.

“Remind me to never film with you again.” The gesture is sweet and the sentiment is not which makes Owen laugh and he presses a soft kiss to my cheek. I lean back into him so my back is pressed flush with his chest as he lazily wraps both arms around me.

“You say that now but you’ll regret it when you wanna do a ‘boyfriend does my makeup’ challenge video.”

“Nah. I’ll just call Charlie to-” Without allowing me to finish my sentence, Owen is digging his fingertips back into the tissue of my sides and I squeal with laughter once more. This time the torment is short-lived and Owen releases me after a sweet, reconciling kiss. “Do you have baby fever now?”

“It was cute and all, but not really, no.”

“That’s too bad,” I stand up from my spot on his lap to grab my computer and hold it to my chest, “I was gonna say we could practice some baby-making.”

And with that, I turned on the balls of my feet, heading for my bedroom when I heard Owen stand up eagerly, quick to follow.

***

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[radiantmists]

Title: and you give yourself away

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Pairing: Jon/Martin

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 4414

Jon is not an idiot. Contrary to what some of the people who love him might believe, he’s not even entirely oblivious to social cues, though he’ll admit they elude him perhaps more often than is standard.

All of this to say that in the week following their escape from the Lonely, as Martin graduates from shy smiling glances and tentative clutching of clammy hands to full-bellied laughter and warm, steady embraces, Jon is fully capable of figuring out where things are going. And, yes, the idea makes him uneasy when he faces it head on, but if there's something more he can do to feed the way Martin is unfolding, blossoming into the man he'd been before— except more sure of himself, somehow, steadier—

Well, there isn't much Jon wouldn't attempt for that, given the option. This is something small, something he's not even actually opposed to, just... less than completely sure of.

So when they’re sitting on the couch together, giggling over some charming thing the grocer had said to Martin, and Jon looks up to find Martin’s blue-green-grey eyes mere inches from his own, a breath caught in each of their throats, he's prepared for what Martin is going to say before the first sound emerges.

“Jon,” he whispers, “can I k—”

“Yes,” he blurts before Martin can finish.

Too loud and too abrupt; they both rear back with the force of it, and for a moment Jon feels like an utter idiot before he notices Martin giggling softly.

“Not eager at all, are you?” he teases, and now Jon hesitates.

The thing is—he’s not oblivious, which means he’s been thinking about it. He’d known how Martin felt since just after he woke up and listened to that awful tape with Elias; perhaps he’d figured it out even before that, somewhere between the fifth cup of perfectly-brewed, perfectly-timed tea in as many days and the third scrambled phone call from an ocean away, picked up on the second ring despite the forgotten time-zones.

But there had been so much going on, at first, that Jon had never had the chance to really think about it. And then after he’d woken, when he’d really had the chance to consider what he and Martin were to each other, it had always been in a sort of abstract sense—I need him to be okay, I need to trust him and I do trust him, and in the most maudlin moments of hopeful fantasy, I want him to still want me.

Only now, when they’d found that against all odds they were okay, and they did trust each other, and even begun to signal that they wanted each other, had Jon begun to consider what exactly ‘wanting’ might look like for Martin.

“I—wait,” he begins, the word tasting bitter. He knows Martin won’t be unkind about this, but that isn’t necessarily the same as understanding. Jon still has to say it. “You can kiss me, but only if you won’t be offended if I don’t like it.”

Martin sits up shock-straight, eyes going wide as he looks at Jon. “I’m not going to do it if you’re not going to like it! If you didn’t want to, why didn’t you just say no?”

Jon sighs, irritated. That hadn’t come out right.

“I didn’t say no because I do want you to kiss me,” he says, trying to be patient. “I mean, if you want to—”

“Of course I want to, Jon, but that doesn’t mean you have to say yes!” Martin replies, frustrated, gesturing sharply with his hands. Jon blinks, leaning back slightly, and Martin sighs, arms coming down and his tone going softer, smaller. “It’s not—this isn’t something you need to give me, Jon. I know you love me. It’s okay to have boundaries.”

Jon hadn’t had to come out to Martin, because the archival gossip chain had done it for him. But he supposes there was enough ambiguity in the terms that it’s worth having the conversation anyway.

“Asexual people can and do kiss, you know,” he says. “Some even have and enjoy sex, although I have to be clear that that will not be happening.”

“I—I know that,” Martin says, going red and avoiding Jon’s eyes. “And I know you can kiss, I wouldn’t have asked otherwise, but—you said you wouldn’t like it.”

Jon wrinkles his nose with a sigh. A whole week of turning this over, of deciding how he wanted to address this possibility and even rehearsing what he needed to say, and he’s still made a mess of it.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t like it,” he says slowly. “I asked you to be prepared for the possibility that I might not, because I don’t actually know. I want to try, but only if you’re okay with this maybe being the only one you get.”

There’s a long moment of silence.

“Jon,” Martin says slowly. “Have you not—would that have been your first kiss?”

Jon has to bite his tongue on the first, defensively scathing reply, and nods instead.

“But—”

Martin stops, hesitant, and Jon waves permission for him to continue with a sigh. Maybe the next question is going to be indelicate or ignorant, but better to address it than to leave him wondering.

“I mean, I know you’ve been in relationships before,” Martin explains carefully. “I—I’m not as surprised that you haven’t done it, there’s nothing wrong with that, I’m just confused because it seems like if it was something you wanted, you could have?”

Turning that one over in his mind, Jon nods slowly.

“I suppose you’re right,” he allows. “I guess it isn’t something I want in the traditional sense. I don’t look at someone—even someone I love—and want to kiss them, any more than I look at them and want to have sex. But sex at least makes sense,” he grouses. “As… off-putting as I find the idea on a personal level, it’s necessary in an evolutionary sense and obviously it involves biological processes that are designed to be enjoyable. I get why people do it, and those reasons don’t appeal to me.”

At this point, Martin is brick red, but he nods in acknowledgement. “And… kissing is different?”

“Yes!” Jon’s maybe a little excited to get to talk about this. Sue him, he’s been thinking about it enough. “It’s not as awful as sex seems, but it also serves no functional purpose, and yet the whole world is utterly convinced that it’s absolutely wonderful, and I don’t understand it. Another person’s mouth does not seem like an appealing thing to have in your mouth. But then again, objectively neither do pen caps, and you’ve seen me with those.”

Martin snickers. “Apparently they’re irresistible.”

“Yes, well,” Jon says, flapping a hand. He’d made the joke, but somehow he still feels a prickle of embarrassment, so he moves on quickly. “The point is, there’s nothing inherently appealing or especially off-putting about it, in theory. But I’ve never had an especially good reason to try, and none of the people I’ve dated really liked it, so I’ve never bothered. That doesn’t mean I’m not… curious.”

His first two partners had also been ace; Georgie wasn’t, but simply ‘wasn’t a fan’ of kissing, though she’d never been able to explain why, any more than Jon could articulate why the idea of anyone touching him sexually made his stomach flip even though he saw nothing inherently wrong with the act. It didn’t matter why, really; as Martin had said, boundaries are important. But it meant he’d stayed curious.

There was a little more to it, of course. His first boyfriend had asked Jon if he wanted to try kissing once, casually, since he’d never done it before. Jon had declined. Perhaps he hadn’t been quite as secure in his sexuality then, perhaps he did actually feel more of a need to at least try for Martin, who genuinely wanted this. Jon likes to think, though, that his desire to try simply speaks to how comfortable this whole relationship has felt, how safe. There was no reason that kissing had to be any different from that pastry recipe they’d done together the other day, the one they’d thrown out after three bites each with little more than a regretful shrug.

“I… that makes sense,” Martin says finally, and Jon sits up.

“You still want to, then?” he asks.

Martin blinks, an uncertain smile spreading on his face. “You are excited.”

“I’ve been thinking about it!” Jon says defensively, and Martin gives a shocked laugh-gasp. “I mean—I thought you might want to, which meant I had to decide whether I wanted to try, and so now I just… I’ve just ruined the mood, I suppose,” he finishes, deflating.

Martin’s smile doesn’t grow, but it stops twitching and tucks in at the corners like it’s decided that it’s there to stay. “I wouldn’t say that. Unless you’d rather not, of course.”

“No, I’m fine,” Jon replies. “Let’s try it.”

He studies Martin’s face, leaning forward slightly. Jon has considered the mechanics of this before, of course, and he’s seen it in movies, but there’s a difference between knowing how to do something theoretically and having experience, so he’s hoping Martin will take the lead, as it were…

With a frustrated noise, Martin pulls back.

“What?” Jon asks, blinking. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I—I guess I’m just nervous now!” Martin replies, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I brushed my teeth this morning, but that was hours ago, what if my mouth tastes weird?”

Jon frowns. “Is that usually a problem?”

“Not—really? Not unless you’ve just woken up, or eaten something really strong…”

Would Martin’s mouth even taste that different from his? They’d eaten the same things today, after all, and used the same toothpaste. The memory of the bathroom with their toothbrushes sitting in the same cup, of sitting across from each other over a lunch they’d made with crisp sunlight streaming through the window, makes Jon grin a little even as Martin barrels on.

“Or—I thought, something chaste at least to start, but lots of people like deeper kisses way better, and really I’m not exactly talented, or even all that experienced! What if I put you off kissing forever, but you actually just don’t like kissing me?”

He looks down at his hands as soon as he’s finished; Jon reaches out slowly to take one in his own, contemplating this.

“If I don’t like kissing you,” he says finally, carefully, “then that’s all I need to know, isn’t it?”

Martin makes a cut-off sound that Jon can’t identify, and when he chances a glance at Martin’s face, his eyes are wide.

“I’m never going to want to kiss someone else,” Jon points out. “Best case scenario, you show me a fun new activity we can do together. If we… bump teeth or something, some good reason it’s an abnormally bad kiss, we can try again. And worst case—well, you don’t get to kiss anyone, I suppose, but—”

“It’s not like it’s something I need,” Martin interrupts, but he’s squeezing Jon’s hand. “Yeah, okay, I see your point.”

“There’s no pressure to be perfect from my end,” Jon agrees, but now he can feel himself hesitating. “But—there’s a good chance that I won’t like it, and it won’t be your fault, but if you’d rather not try at all, I won’t be upset.”

“Jon, I can promise you you’re not pressuring me into this,” Martin smiles.

Jon bites his lip. “I don’t want to do it if it’s going to upset you, or make you feel like you’re… inadequate.”

Martin sighs.

“Jon, I feel inadequate all the time,” he says frankly. “As long as you don’t—I don’t know, dump me over it? Make fun of me?—it’s not going to make a noticeable difference.”

“I think that’s worse,” Jon replies, and Martin winces. Jon wonders how much he’s already contributed to Martin’s feelings of inadequacy and decides it’s definitely worse.

“Well— I can promise I won’t be upset with you if you don’t like it,” Martin says finally. “But I think at this point we’re in utter agreement that we don’t have to, so maybe we can just—table this discussion?”

Jon sighs and shifts to rest his head against Martin’s shoulder instead. “Yeah, okay.”

Martin’s soft laughter rumbles in his chest and through Jon’s cheek into his skull. “Wow, you sound more disappointed than I am.”

“I was a bit excited to try,” Jon admits, running his thumb over the back of Martin’s hand in his own. “I’ve been curious about this for decades, Martin.”

“…yeah, that tracks.”

His tone is fond, but Jon still shifts uncomfortably, trying to make himself smaller.

“That’s me,” he says quietly. “Can’t leave any question unasked.”

Martin sighs. “Jon, you know that’s not what I meant.”

Jon does know. He does, except--

“You don’t mean it until it’s what makes me do something idiotic,” he blurts, sitting up. “It’s all just me, Martin, and—”

“Okay, being curious doesn’t require you to be ridiculously self-sacrificing!” Martin argues, letting go of Jon’s hands to gesture in frustration.

“Well, fine,” Jon bites back, crossing his arms. “I’m curious and an idiot. Happy?”

��“No!” Martin snaps. “There’s a difference between being stupid, which you aren’t, and being so convinced that your own safety doesn’t matter that you’ll knowingly throw yourself into danger, or, or let someone maim you for a story!”

Jon opens his mouth. Closes it. Martin is studying him, the tension slowly leeching out of his posture and leaving him just looking tired.

“I… I needed to know those things,” Jon says weakly.

“Most of them, yeah,” Martin agrees. “But—Jon, when you need something, when you’re curious, why is you getting hurt the first option? When did that happen?”

When had it happened?

Long before he’d entered the Lonely, the possibility of his death not even registering if it gave him a chance to retrieve Martin. Surely before Jared, when he’d traded an extra rib for a statement with hardly a moment’s hesitation. One rib for the statement, one for Daisy, as though they were remotely equal, and the obscenity of it had occurred to Jon only later. He’d been glad, in a sick way, that it hadn’t worked.

He hadn’t known exactly what would happen, with Melanie, but he hadn’t exactly been surprised to look up from the bullet to see her swinging at him with murder in her eyes. It had been worth it, though, even if she’d hated him afterward.

Jon had expected to die in the Unknowing, deep down. He’d accepted that the circus would kill him at some point during that interminable month with Nikola, though he hadn’t realized it until he’d been accepting Michael’s offer of a cleaner death—a trade in itself, he supposed, his life for an end when he’d had nothing else to bargain with. He’d spent the next few months increasingly exhausted, until putting himself on Trevor and Julia’s shitlist in exchange for some real answers from Gerry had hardly even been difficult.

Did Martin even know about any of those? He hasn’t seen Jon’s rib, hasn’t asked about the new scar on Jon’s shoulder or, in the whirlwind surrounding their departure, what exactly two hunters were doing at the Institute. He must have listened to some of the tapes, in those months that Jon can’t quite remember, but had the one recording Michael’s statement ever made its way to the Institute, or has Jon just automatically included it in the perfectly-accessible archive in his head?

Martin might be thinking about the Unknowing, or perhaps about Jon’s hand, which he’d patiently helped re-wrap on the day Jon had returned to the Institute, when the wound had practically ripped itself open with the strain of holding a shovel and digging.

Maybe he’s thinking about less concrete hurts, the way Jon had thrown himself into the idea of being useful if he couldn’t be human. About how Jon couldn’t give his life anymore, how he’d traded his human death to Oliver in exchange for waking up.

Or maybe it had been earlier, in a moment Martin will remember: that first, frantic rush of Prentiss’ attack, when Jon had grabbed for the tape recorder on the desk through a sea of writhing white flesh without even considering whether there might be a second.

Whatever Martin is thinking about, he must see on Jon’s face that he doesn’t have an answer, that the list is so long and so old that he can’t even begin.

“That isn’t okay, Jon,” he says softly.

“You did it,” Jon finds himself replying, defensive. “With Peter, you knew he was dangerous—”

Martin sighs, cutting him off even though the sound is almost silent. “Yes, I did, Jon, after you’d been in a coma for three months, and Tim and Sasha were dead, and the Institute had been attacked again, and my mother had just died. Do you really think that was a healthy decision?”

No. No, it had been terrifying, listening to the tape they’d found in the Panopticon and hearing Martin’s recorded voice call it a good way to get killed. Even with him bustling around packing in the other room, perfectly safe, Jon had felt the terror rise up cold and choking in his throat.

“You’re not a tool, Jon, and you’re worth more than a statement or a convenient solution to a problem,” Martin says. “It terrifies me that you don’t seem to get that.”

“It—I can see why it would,” Jon allows, throat tight. “But what I am now, whatever it is that Peter thinks Magnus ‘got’ out of their bet—”

“That isn’t your fault, Jon—”

“I hurt people to live, Martin,” Jon replies, exhausted. “Don’t I owe those people—and the people I’ve gotten killed—whatever good I can do, even if it might not be… comfortable?”

Martin leans back, his eyes closed. He looks hurt, and Jon feels abruptly and deeply ashamed of himself. After everything he’s gone through, with everything he’s still struggling with, Martin shouldn’t have to deal with Jon’s baggage as well.

He’s searching for the words to make this go away, to assure Martin that he’ll think about it and that he’s not planning to throw himself into danger any time soon, that he’s happy to stay up here and leave it all behind for as long as it’s safe or until Martin wants to go, when Martin speaks.

“What do I owe you, then?”

Jon blinks. “What?”

“For making you come after me,” Martin explains. “My plan didn’t accomplish much except for giving Magnus something he wanted, after all.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Jon argues. “I—it was my choice to go in, I—”

“It was Tim’s choice to go into the Unknowing,” Martin replies. “And Daisy’s for that matter. They didn’t do it for you, or even really because of you.”

Tim wouldn’t have chosen to go in if Jon hadn’t utterly ruined his life; neither he nor Sasha would have died if Jon hadn’t asked them to be his assistants in the first place. And even in the Unknowing itself, if Jon had just been able to see through it back then the way Elias—Jonah—had predicted he should, the way he’d almost easily found his way out of the Lonely, they could all have gotten out just fine.

Martin glares at him, apparently reading the justifications on his face. “They chose, Jon, with their eyes wide open. Don’t tell me otherwise, because I won’t believe you.”

“Even ignoring that,” Jon says, though the words are bitter, “it’s not—we’re not alike. You hadn’t hurt anyone—”

“I’ve been thinking about that one, actually,” Martin says, and his tone has gained the distant, thoughtful tinge he’d always had in his lonely office on the topmost floor of the Institute. Jon reaches for his hand, worried, and Martin doesn’t move away, but doesn’t close his own fingers, either. “I was enough of an avatar to convince Peter, wasn’t I? He must have been able to feel the Lonely on me, even if some of it was lies. That power had to come from somewhere. From someone, someone afraid.”

“He had control over the whole Institute,” Jon points out. “Maybe the low-level loneliness just sort of… carried over?”

But Martin shakes his head. “Maybe a little,” he says, “but I don’t think so.”

“Why?” Jon demands, frustrated. “There was no one who came in and made a bloody statement about you ruining their lives. Who did you hurt?”

“You, I think,” Martin answers, looking down at their hands. “Most of the Institute, they were afraid of the policy changes that Peter was making, or that he’d fire them or their friends—well, disappear them, but they mostly didn’t know that. And at first I think you were worried about what he’d do to me, too, but…”

“You kept making me leave,” Jon realizes, the words coming out almost before he understands them. “I started to worry that you’d chosen the Lonely, started to be afraid of more than just Peter realizing you were conning him, that you’d decide you really were better off without me.”

Martin stares at him, hands still limp in Jon’s. “That was… God, I’m right, aren’t I? You just Knew it.”

Jon had.

“It—it doesn’t matter,” he insists, squeezing at Martin’s hands almost desperately. “You didn’t even know you were doing it, it—”

“I knew I was signing myself over to an evil fear god, which is more than you did, going in,” Martin objects. “I knew Peter was evil, I knew you weren’t doing well—”

“It wasn’t your job to manage my emotional state, Martin—”

“Well, I’d have liked not to make it worse!” he snaps back. “God, talk about poor self-worth, you saved me after I practically left you to die over Peter Lukas’ theories—”

“About the literal apocalypse,” Jon points out. “It isn’t like I’ll be doing better if the Extinction really does emerge.”

Martin snorts dismissively. “His solution was to take over the world instead and kill the whole Institute in the process, that wouldn’t have been better either. And I might not have known that, but I did figure his plan was to use me for a ritual, and I still played along.”

“Because he’d have thrown you into the Lonely as soon as he realized you’d turned on him,” Jon replies.

“Which he did anyway. I’d have had to stop listening to him at some point.”

“Well, we did find out about the Panopticon, and Magnus,” Jon argues. “And you didn’t know if there was something even bigger he was leading up to, something we could use. You were doing the best you could, Martin, it’s only hindsight that makes the other options seem so much more obvious.”

Martin is blinking at him, gaze steady. Jon looks back. Thinks over his last few words. Makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s really not—”

“You’re genuinely so smart,” Martin interrupts, in a tone of wonder, “and yet so unbelievably stubborn. Yes, Jon, it is the same! You made some mistakes, most of them totally understandable in context, and none of them, even the really awful ones, mean you have to—to keep giving away bits of yourself!”

Martin voice has risen, gotten harsher as he goes, and he’s squeezing Jon’s hands tight enough that he can’t get them free to cross his arms, so all Jon’s frustration goes into his tone.

“Fine,” he snaps. “Fine! Neither of us will blame ourselves for things we couldn’t control, and we’ll both value ourselves more and build healthier self-images and all of that, and everything will be fine. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Jon glares. Martin scowls back, jaw set, still holding Jon’s hands tightly.

“Just like that,” Jon says.

“Absolutely.”

One more second of stubborn frustration passes. Then, helplessly, Jon snorts. Martin’s face twists, confused-irritated-wry, and then he’s snickering too, until they’re both laughing desperately, each leaning forward until Jon’s head is practically tucked under Martin’s chin.

“It’s not going to be that easy, you know,” Jon murmurs when they’ve calmed down, looking up to meet Martin’s eyes properly.

It’s an understatement; it’ll be hard enough just to keep things as good as they are. Martin still starts to drift off if he’s left alone for long enough, and no deal they make with each other is going to change the way Jon’s monstrous appetite is already starting to clamor for a statement.

“Well, at least we’re agreed,” Martin replies, but there’s a dry note in his voice that Jon knows means he understands. “We can remind each other.”

“I suppose.”

Their faces, once again, are very close together, and Jon abruptly realizes that he can feel Martin’s soft, tingling breaths on his cheeks. He pulls back, wrinkling his nose.

“What?”

“Nothing, just—breathing on me,” Jon explains. He’d mentioned his discomfort with that on their first night here, when he’d made sure there was a pillow between him and Martin on the bed.

Martin hums acknowledgement, then cocks his head in thought. Jon feels a curl of unease; this argument has been draining enough already.

“You know,” Martin says, “when you kiss someone, you can definitely feel them breathing on your face.”

“Oh,” Jon replies, utterly thrown. That was what had started this whole conversation. “Well. I probably wouldn’t have liked it much, then.”

“Good. And we figured it out without you actually having to do the uncomfortable thing,” Martin says. Jon sighs, then squints at him.

“And without you feeling like you’ve messed it up,” he replies pointedly, and Martin opens his mouth, then stops and chuckles.

“See? We’re going to be great at this.”

It’s not even remotely true. Jon still wants to know what kissing is like, though not with any real urgency, just as before; he’s still alarmed by Martin apparently feeling inadequate ‘all the time,’ and he doubts this has made a dent in it. Still, it might at least not make it worse.

Jon groans, leaning forward to rest his head on Martin’s chest and bringing his arms up to snake around his torso. “We can just hug instead.”

“Yeah,” Martin replies, folding him in tighter. “Yeah, okay.”

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (i)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, potential spoilers for the west wing if you've never seen the show

series masterpost: here

a/n: hi!! i am so incredibly happy to finally be putting this fic out into the world. it means an awful lot to me and i can't wait to share the little world i've created :)) x

Magdalene is content with where she’s ended up.

Denver is wonderful. Her friends are there, her cat is there, and it’s the perfect place for a fresh start. She arrived in the city nearly six years ago – a wide-eyed University of Denver freshman and has stayed put ever since. Her hometown of Aspen holds a few too many bad memories, but is close enough that she can return if an emergency calls for it. So far she hasn’t left, too engrossed in finishing her degree and moving on. There’s a job offer lined up with the university’s library upon graduation that Magdalene is ecstatic about. It means she gets to stay right where she is – where she’s comfortable.

☼☼☼☼

The sun might be shining as she exits her apartment building, but it’s cold for March. Magdalene pulls the thick scarf her best friend Bette got her for Christmas higher up her face and walks as quickly as possible to campus. There’s a brief meeting to attend with her advisor before grabbing lunch with Bette, and then her plan is to spend the rest of the day holed up in the library working on her thesis. It’s due in two weeks, with the defence in just over a month, and Magdalene is incredibly nervous. Though she’d gone through submitting her undergraduate thesis two years ago, presenting her master’s research was going to be a lot harder. She’s heard through the grapevine that the committees are being tough this year and she doesn’t want to fail.

Dr. Williams is waiting for her in his office with a smile on his face. He’s a tall man, with thin facial features and wire glasses that box him perfectly into the intimidating professor stereotype. “Miss Stevenson, please sit,” he gestures to the chair across from him.

“Gerald,” she sighs, “You can call me Magdalene, I don’t mind. Besides, it makes you quite the hypocrite if you insist I call you by your first name but you won’t use mine.” There’s no malice in her voice, just a decent amount of teasing.

The older man scoffs but concedes. “I suppose you’re right. Well then Magdalene, tell me, how are your final edits coming along?”

Magdalene spends nearly twenty minutes detailing all the elements she has tweaked since their last meeting, from the title to the citation style. She’s out of breath by the time she’s done, rambling at an impressive speed, and takes a big gasp of air while the professor mulls over her words. Dr. Williams doesn’t say anything, causing Magdalene to shift anxiously in her seat. “Sir, is there something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing,” he beams, “Everything is perfect. It’s a shame you don’t want to continue researching. You’d make a fabulous academic.”

The compliment makes Magdalene’s heart soar. It means a lot, especially coming from the person who has seen her cry over the oxford comma. “Thank you sir, but I belong in the practical realm. Someone has to file all the documents you obsessively scan.”

She leaves the building soon after, promising to stop by after she drops off the final draft in a few weeks. It’s a bit later than she expected and hopes Bette won’t be mad. There’s nothing the blonde hates more than poor time management, but Magdalene prays she’ll understand. It wasn’t that long ago and Bette was scheduling her own appointments with advisors on how to graduate. Barn Owl Book Company is located halfway between the school and her apartment, making it the perfect spot to meet. In addition to being a used book store, Barn Owl sports one of the best cafés in downtown Denver. Bette is perched delicately at her friend’s favourite seat, a bay window converted into a small nook, and typing furiously on her phone.

“Sorry I’m late,” Magdalene apologizes, “Williams talked a lot more than I expected him to.”

Bette looks up and smiles, shoving a cup in the other girl’s direction. “As always. How is he?”

Sliding into the booth, Magdalene fills her friend in on what’s been going on in their former professor’s life. Bette graduated with a minor in Classics, and it was Magdalene's major, but the former decided not to further her education and is instead doing full time charity work for the Colorado Avalanche. Her boyfriend Tyson is one of their star players, and the two of them are so smitten it makes Magdalene sick. Conversation quickly turns from school to life, which she’s grateful for.

“So,” Bette says, “Are you in for the trip this summer? I’ve got to confirm the reservation in a week or something.”

“I don’t know Bee, I'm going to be the new girl. Asking for time off like two months into the job would be rude.”

“Linny,” the blonde whines, “Please? I want you to come.”

Magdalene scowls. Bette knows just how much the nickname sours her mood but she chose to use it anyway. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps with quite a bite. “Can someone else take my spot if I decide not to go a little closer to the date?”

“Of course! Gravy said he’d fill an extra spot if one comes up so we don’t lose the deposit,” Bette blabs before trying to switch gears entirely. Magdalene cuts her off.

“Who’s Gravy?”

If her friend is exasperated by Magdalene’s lack of knowledge surrounding hockey, she doesn’t show it. Bette calmly explains that Gravy, who’s real name is Ryan, is a defenceman with the Avalanche and a good friend of Tyson’s. She also makes a point of mentioning that he’s single, to which Magdalene rolls her eyes. Bette has a masterplan for her life – which includes her best friend becoming romantically involved with an Avalanche player so the two of them can live the better half life together. As the best friend, Magdalene is constantly barraged with potential players who are looking to date. Once she went on a few dates with Mikko, but that ended fairly quickly when the two realized they were better as friends. Every time since she’s turned Bette down as gently as possible, not wanting to get involved with anyone. Her life is just starting, and Magdalene wants to be secure before settling down.

The conversation eventually shifts to what Magdalene plans to wear for both her thesis defence and graduation. Bette is fashion savvy, while Magdalene is decidedly not. Her everyday wardrobe consists of collared button-downs and sweater vests, which is supposedly never going to back a comeback, according to Bette at least. The blonde eventually wears Magdalene down, and secures a position as stylist for the graduation ceremony. There was an attempt at the thesis defence, but the other girl insists she needs to be as comfortable as possible on such a stressful occasion.

A glance to the clock on the opposite wall has Magdalene stretching her arms and giving an apologetic glance to her friend on the other side of the table. “I should go,” she says. “I’ve got to put in some serious work on my citations today, and you know Caligula doesn’t like it when I’m gone all day.”

Bette rolls her eyes, but there isn’t any frustration behind the gesture. “I swear to god Mags, your cat has more separation anxiety than I do. Speaking of, I’m supposed to pick Tyson up at the airport and I’m running behind.”

“Tell him I say hi,” Magdalene says as she wraps her arms around Bette for a quick hug.

The two girls part ways on the sidewalk, with Magdalene heading back to campus and Bette sliding into the sleek Audi she shares with her boyfriend. Headphones find their way into her ears, and Magdalene listens to a random comedy podcast. Once tucked safely inside the library she’ll put on her favourite lo-fi playlist and concentrate, but for now she just enjoys the funny anecdotes of stories past.

It’s quiet in the library for a Tuesday, though Magdalene isn’t complaining. Her favourite table, the one she swears up and down is the only reason she ever gets anything done, is open, and she all but sprints to place her bag on the worn leather chair. While setting up her work station a few of the librarians come over to offer their congratulations for her upcoming job. News certainly travels fast around here, Magdalene thinks, but accepts their generosity with a smile on her face. They leave her alone soon enough and the tedious work of double checking the formatting of every single citation in the sixty-five page paper begins.

Hours pass, and Magdalene stays working in the library until as late as she possibly can. Caligula is going to start to worry about the length of her absence soon and his anxiety response of knocking over plants is not a mess she feels like cleaning up. She packs up her laptop and walks the short distance home as fast as possible.

“Little boots, I’m home,” Magdalene parrots in a sing-song voice as she slips her jacket off her shoulders and onto the hanger. At the sound of his nickname, the small cat bounds into the entryway. “Hi darling, did you miss me?” Magdalene gets an obnoxiously loud purr in response that she takes it as a yes. She reaches down to pick up the tiny animal before continuing further into the apartment, scratching behind his ears as she does so. The two of them settle into the respectably sized couch, where they stay for the rest of the night watching reruns of The West Wing before Magdalene falls asleep.

☼☼☼☼

“You fucking did it!” Bette shrieks as she bounds towards her best friend. Magdalene braces herself for the oncoming assault, and manages to keep them both upright after Bette jumps into her arms.

Her thesis defence had just finished, and the committee found Magdalene a worthy candidate for the Master of Information Science qualification. The presentation itself was open to the public, so Bette and Tyson sat in the front row to support Magdalene, but were escorted out for the conversation that followed. The two girls had developed a code so the news could be shared in a subtle way, though Bette threw the original plan out the window as soon as she saw her friend give a sneaky thumbs up when the conference room door opened.

“Congrats Mags,” Tyson says sincerely, doing his best not to add to the growing spectacle, but Magdalene can tell he wants to give her a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” she smiles softly, “And thank you guys for coming. It means a lot.” As two of her closest friends, both Bette and Tyson know that her family situation is rocky at best, and having them act as her support system means more than she’ll ever be able to articulate.

The couple shares a knowing look before engulfing their friend in a hug. “We’re always going to be here for you,” Bette whispers, “No matter what.”

Magdalene’s smile is so genuine it crinkles her eyes as she wraps her arms around Bette and Tyson’s shoulders and leads them out the door and into the sunshine. The group continues to the parking lot, where they climb into Tyson’s car and drive off campus in the direction of Magdalene’s favourite restaurant. Though she had tried to convince her friends they didn’t need to celebrate, she failed, and Magdalene soon finds herself laughing hysterically over a plate of carbonara as Tyson tells a story about the shenanigans the team got up to on their last road trip.

There’s a game tonight, and Bette has somehow convinced her into attending. Magdalene knows she should go, expand her social horizons a little, but all she wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep for three weeks. Her one condition is that she can go home straight after the game without being guilted into following the group to whatever nightclub they’ll celebrate the win or drink away the loss in. Tyson has to get ready so he drops the two girls off at Magdalene's apartment complex. She’s in charge of getting Bette to the rink, and she’ll leave with her boyfriend after the game.

Once inside the confines of her home, Magdalene promptly lies on the floor. “Holy shit,” she sighs, “I did it. I fucking did it.”

“You did!” Bette says as she lies down beside her best friend. “I’m so fucking proud of you, and Tyson is too. Even if he won’t tackle you in public to prove it.”

The comment garners a laugh from Magdalene, which alerts Caligula to the presence of others in the apartment. He pads over the rug currently being occupied by two adults, and snuggles into the small space between them. Bette and Magdalene continue to lay there, petting the cat and looking back fondly on all the times Magdalene called her friend in tears because she didn’t think she could push herself any farther. Bette was always there to pick up the slack, editing whatever section Magdalene was working on or to bring over a hot meal. Her support earned her the top spot in the acknowledgements section of the thesis.

Ball Arena is already crawling with people when Magdalene pulls into the small lot for player’s and their families. Normally she parks with the general public, but Bette insists they watch this game from the better halves box, and these spaces are closer to that entrance.

“Stop dragging your feet,” the blonde chastises as Magdalene takes her time cutting the engine. “I want to get a glass of rosé before they sell out.”

Sighing, Magdalene follows her orders. “Don’t you have a special bar in the box?” she asks while locking the car.

“Yeah, but the other girls are absolute fiends. They’ll drink it all before we get there with no remorse.”

The girls climb the stairs to the better halves box, Bette chatting excitedly about the game, but Magdalene stops just before the entrance. She’s met most of the others on multiple occasions and has nothing to worry about, but she can’t help but feel anxious. Her life is so different than everyone else’s in the space, and it feels like cheating when she’s there because she isn’t romantically involved with anyone on the roster. Bette likes to joke that she’s her better half, but Magdalene knows it’s said just to calm her nerves.

“It’ll be fine,” Bette whispers while squeezing her hand, “And if you get too uncomfortable we can find some seats in the nosebleeds.”

Once inside Magdalene’s nerves dissipate. Most of the other wives and girlfriends pay her no mind, but the ones that are especially close to Bette congratulate her on passing her defence. It warms her heart a little, and the small group Magdalene finds herself in settles down to watch the game unfold.

It’s a fairly intense one between Colorado’s division rival St. Louis. Both teams are fighting for first place in the conference, and a win for the Avalanche would put them three points ahead of the Blues instead of one. Players from both sides are amped up, and more than once a scrum at the net has turned into a dog-pile. Colorado is outplaying the other team, but have still managed to find themselves a goal short heading into the final period. At the buzzer Tyson takes the face-off and is immediately shoved by a member of the opposite team. He goes down hard, and Bette squeezes Magdalene’s hand so tightly she fears it will lose blood flow. Silence falls over the arena as Tyson doesn’t immediately get up. The inside of lip finds its way between her teeth and Magdalene bites down hard, worried about her friend. She’s so focussed on Tyson that she doesn’t notice a fight breaking out.

“Holy shit, Gravy is going to town!”

The remark is made by someone Magdalene recognizes as Gabe Landeskog’s wife, and it makes her peel her eyes off of Bette’s worried features and scan the ice for some action. Sure enough, a very tall man is laying right hooks to someone who looks significantly smaller than him on the Avalanche blue line. The referees let the fight continue until Tyson drags himself off the ice and onto the bench before separating the men and throwing them in the penalty box. Magdalene can tell words are still being exchanged from both sides of the glass, but she’s more focussed on the fact Tyson doesn’t make his way to the dressing room – a good sign that allows Bette to drop her hand and let out a shaky breath.

Nothing of great importance happens until MacKinnon ties the game with seven minutes left. It happens while the Avalanche are short handed, and the goal seems to light a fire beneath the team. Magdalene may not know much about hockey, but she’s smart enough to notice the insane amount of energy all the players suddenly have. Time ticks by slowly and before she realizes it, the final face-off is taking place. Luckily it’s in the St. Louis zone and won by Colorado. The puck is tipped back to the same player who got in the fight for Tyson, Gravy, and he one times it right into the back of the net. The buzzer goes off not a second later, and the entire team piles on top of the player who just won them the game.

Bette and Magdalene join in the shrieks of the other partners, jumping from their seats in excitement. Eventually they make their way down to the hallway outside the locker room and lean against the brick while they wait for Tyson.

“You don’t have to stay,” Bette insists, “I can wait by myself.”

Magdalene shakes her head. “No way. I want to make sure he’s okay too. What good is a friend with a black eye?”

The other girl laughs at her friend’s stubbornness but doesn’t shoo her away. Once Magdalene has made a decision it’s hard to get her to sway from it, and Bette knows better than to push. Besides, who is she to deny her friend a bit more social interaction? Magdalene has spent the past six years practically holed up in the library and deserves to stand in a crowded hallway.

The friends chat idly while they wait, with Magdalene sharing some of the most ridiculous questions she got asked in her defence interview that morning. She’s mid story when Tyson exits the dressing flanked by a man dressed sharply in all black.

“Hey guys,” Tyson greets, dipping his head to place a kiss to Bette’s cheek before doing an elaborately goofy handshake with Magdalene.

“Good game baby,” Bette compliments sweetly. She then turns her attention to the boy standing awkwardly on the fringes. “You too Graves.”

He smiles shyly, muttering out a small thanks. It’s then he seems to notice the final member of the group, and offers his hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Ryan.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Magdalene.”

She puts two and two together on the walk to her car. The Ryan Magdalene just met is the same who will take her spot on the trip, fought someone in Tyson’s defence, and scored the game winning goal. Though they’ve only said a few words, she likes him. He seems genuine, and those people are the rarest to find.

☼☼☼☼

Magdalene is walking across a graduation stage for the final time in two days. However, she can’t find anyone to take the third ticket. The University of Denver has a stupid rule where all graduates must have three guests attend the ceremony. Bette and Tyson are obviously occupying two of Magdalene’s seats, but she’s having trouble filling the third.

“I can ask Tys if one of the guys is free,” Bette shrugs. The two girls are sitting in the window of Barn Owl drinking iced lattes and discussing what Magdalene should wear to the ceremony.

“It’s okay,” Magdalene says, “I don’t want to bother anyone. Maybe I’ll just ask June.”

Her friend’s eye roll so far back into her head Magdalene isn’t sure they won’t stay there. “You can’t ask your boss to watch you graduate Mags! Besides, Gravy owes Tyson a favour and was already looking for something to do. I’m sure he won’t mind wasting a few hours as long as he gets drinks out of it.”

There isn’t a better option, so even though she barely knows the guy, Magdalene agrees. “Make sure he gets this?" she sighs, handing her friend an envelope with a single ticket in it. "I have to go. Caligula should be done at the vet soon.”

“Say hello to little boots for me,” Bette giggles as she waves goodbye.

Hours later, tucked into her couch with a glass of wine in one hand and Caligula playing with the fingers on the other, Magdalene realizes she invited a complete stranger to her graduation and how that could be a terrible idea. Sure, Ryan sounds like a great guy from the way Bette and Tyson talk about him, but he’s only ever spoken three words to her. Since that game she’s gone out with the team a few times, but the man with the piercing stare is yet to make an appearance. Magdalene considers that perhaps he’s more like her than his profession gives him credit for, and she feels a twinge of guilt about being worried he’d cause a scene at the ceremony.

There isn’t any more time for her to fret over the third and final guest on the list. At the last minute Bette decides there’s nothing in Magdalene’s closet that’s suitable for her to wear, so a trip to a local second-hand store ensues. While it’s nice that her friend has taken their carbon footprints into consideration, Magdalene wishes it didn’t have to happen an hour and a half before the ceremony is supposed to start.

“We have to be there in twenty minutes Bette,” she frets, tapping her foot nervously against the tile flooring.

If they can’t find whatever it is Bette’s looking for, Magdalene will have to walk across the stage in denim cutoffs and a faded t-shirt with Neil Young’s face on it, which is something she’s hoping to avoid at all costs.

“Have no fear, Mags,” she says with a knowing glint in her eye, “For I have found it.” Bette holds up a hanger that is holding a beautiful long sleeve dress adorned with a whimsical floral print.

Magdalene can’t help the gasp that escapes from her. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, “But let’s hope it fits.”

The dress does in fact fit, and the workers are kind enough to let her wear it out of the store. Bette drives at a speed that might not be the safest to travel at in downtown Denver, but she gets to the school with minutes to spare. She shoos her friends out of the car so she can go pick up Tyson and Ryan, and Magdalene checks in with little hassle. The pool of graduates is fairly small, so she chats with a few classmates while they wait for the call to put their gowns on. Time passes quicker than expected, and soon Magdalene is being directed to her seat. She zones out while the dean gives a congratulatory speech and they go through the first few names. At one point she looks backwards into the crowd to find Bette, Tyson, and Ryan all giving her a thumbs up. The nerves she didn’t even know she had settle.

A faculty member signals for Magdalene’s row to stand up, and she smoothes her dress before dutifully following the person in front of her. Giddiness bubbles in her stomach at the thought of being done school forever. A hand from the stage crew give a cue, and Magdalene appears on the stage as her accomplishment is broadcast through the microphone.

“Magdalene Stevenson is being awarded a Masters in Information Science in Archival Studies and Records Management.” It feels so good to finally be finished that she lets a tear slip as she shakes the hand of the staff member handing her the package with her diploma in it.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur, and before Magdalene knows it her friends are approaching to congratulate her. Bette and Tyson wrap her in a tight hug, murmuring praise in her ears. Ryan stands awkwardly to the side before Bette drags him into the celebration. The four of them stand in the courtyard where the ceremony was for much longer than needed. Bette is crying enough to refill Sloan Lake if there is ever a drought and is yet to let go of Magdalene’s figure.

It’s only when the event staff ask them to leave so they can tear down the stage does Magdalene turn to leave campus for the last time as a student. She’ll be back in a few weeks as an employee, but deep down she knows this is the last time she’ll ever feel such a deep connection to the place.

“Victory is mine, victory is mine! Great day in the morning people, victory is mine!” Magdalene yells, quoting Josh Lyman as she skips down the path towards Bette’s car.

Both Bette and Tyson are confused at the sudden outburst, not knowing what she’s talking about, but Ryan responds without missing a beat. “Should I bring you all the muffins and bagels in the land?” His response doesn’t clear anything up, but it elicits a giant smile from Magdalene, who laughs and nods in confirmation.

Sitting in the back of Bette’s Audi, on the way to a graduation party she’s supposed to know nothing about, Magdalene decides that she wants to get to know Ryan Graves better. From what she’s garnered from Bette and Tyson he’s a class act, standing up for friends and giving good advice. He likes The West Wing and showed up to a stranger’s graduation, so how bad can he be?

☼☼☼☼

additional notes: see what magdalene's graduation dress looks like here // the quote from the west wing is from 1.02 if you were curious!

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy (add yourself to the taglist!)

[avengersassemble-fics]

Stark’s Girl

part 013/015 “i’m not going anywhere”

previous part // next part

masterlist

word count 3.1k

The Avengers Compound has not changed one bit, albeit the lack of people roaming the halls was hard to ignore. Your first couple months with Nat had gone relatively smoothly and you didn’t have a single blackout episode yet, but you had been taking precautions. You didn’t tune into the news, opting instead for streamed episodes of that Office show tony demanded you finish. Natasha had introduced you to podcasts, but you were careful to avoid any of the ones about “Moving on After the Blip,” or “Remembering before the Blip,” because you were sure you’d lose it. Sometimes you chose to just listen to soft classical music, which was your choice for today. It was the weekend, things had been quiet on the communication end for Natasha, so she dismissed you for a couple days (not that she wouldn’t be able to call for you if she needed, but the idea of having free time was nice.)

Every week you set aside some time to come to the deserted half of the Residence hall.. The rooms that once were lived in by other Avengers were abandoned, and this was one of the most glaring reminders of what was lost four years ago. You had a pattern that you always stuck to, and you always started with Sam’s room, clearing off any dust that may have accumulated and repositioned the knick knacks that adorned the shelves that lined the walls. There were pictures of him with his flight partner wearing the wings that Sam had made his own. 

Vision’s room was a little more bare. And by a little more you mean it was basically two chairs and a painting. Nonetheless you made sure the painting always hung straight and no dust dared to stay on the famous Mulberry Tree. Sometimes you’d stop and wonder why Vision had chosen this painting out of everything, and almost always you opted for the answer that Vision admired Van Gogh’s acknowledgement of no matter his place in the world, all he could do was carry on and paint. Maybe that resonated with Vision, especially given his connection with Wanda.

Wanda’s room was more homey, you had always admired what she had done with the place. There had been a number of times she’d let you come in with a bowl of popcorn and you both would watch old timey sitcoms together. You took great care in making sure her room was exactly how she left it, and made sure to replace the vanilla sage wall scent just in case.

The last room that you often avoided was Steve’s. Nat said that he stopped by often for laundry purposes and to check in, but you had yet to see him since you moved back in. Was it an invasion of privacy or was it a nice gesture since you’d done everyone else’s? With a deep breath and steady hand, you pushed open Steve’s door and turned the light on and took in the sight.

It was almost exactly how you remembered it. The bed remained untouched all this time, still made perfectly just how Steve had done every morning. No one must’ve come in here in awhile, or maybe Steve did the last time he had come to see Nat, because there was a faint hint of his cologne in the air. You did notice that the small touches Steve did have in here were long gone, the only hint that anything had adorned the shelving in the room was the faint outlines that were slowly but surely being covered by dust. You hesitantly ran a dust rag over the shelving, going row by row before beeping interrupted your cleaning regime.

“Stupid earphones,” you grumbled and took them out your ear and shoved them into your pockets. You made a note to self to charge them when you went back to your room (and not run them through the washer like you did with tony’s pair that one time). You reached down for the windex to spray the mirror that hung on the wall when you gasped at the sight of someone standing behind you.

“What the hell, Steve,” you exclaimed. 

Steve stood in the doorway holding a basket with what looked like a heap of clothing in it. The small smile that graced his face let you know that he was amused, and not afraid to show it. “So we’re breaking and entering now?”

The callback to your first meeting post-Siberia fallout didn’t fall flat. You stood a little straighter and motioned towards the door. “I um.. I did the other’s and thought I should do yours too.”

“That’s a nice gesture,” Steve confirmed. He took small strides into the room, never giving off more than a casual vibe, and set his basket down on the bed. Steve proceeded to start folding the clothes he pulled out and you weren’t sure if you should leave or not, but the feeling was quickly squashed. “Don’t let me stop you from your routine.”

The term he used made you raise a brow, but you also didn’t question him on how he knew of your routine. Instead, you turned back to the mirror and sprayed it down, and wiped away the liquid with paper towels. The only sound in the room was the light squeaks made from your wipes, and the soft sound of his clothes falling into folded piles. When you finished you turned around and set the windex in the carrier you had with more cleaning supplies which caused him to look up from what he was doing. “Right I should.. Get out your way.”

You grabbed the carrier with no objection from Steve and made your way to the door. As much as it pained you to admit it, sometimes you missed his company. Steve had always been the one person you felt at home with, besides Tony and his family of course. But with Steve it was like.. Like how Pepper and Morgan were to Tony.. His family. Steve had begun to feel like yours, and maybe that’s why it was hard to not have that anymore. But his voice tore you from your thoughts, and froze you in your tracks. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“What?” You asked, unsure if he was even speaking to you. You turned around to him and he indeed was looking your way, folding a shirt in the process.

“Have you had dinner?” He asked again.

“Uh,” you checked your wrist and the watch you were wearing blinked back up at you that it was 6:45. “Actually no I haven’t.”

“Nat was planning on a late night to catch Rhodey on an update on a mission,” Steve started, placing the shirt he was folding down behind him and meeting your gaze again. “I was thinking Thai?”

You didn’t answer right away, averting your gaze to the floor in thought, which made Steve smile. “Oh come on.. I know it’s your favorite.”

You couldn’t help but laugh and raise a brow at him. “We’ve resorted to bribery?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Steve admitted. You found yourself biting your lip and finally gave him a nod.

“Alright, I’m game, but only if I get some of those little cheese rolls,” you countered. Steve nodded with a grin on his face.

“Deal. I have another load finishing but let’s meet in the kitchen in.. Thirty?” He asked.

You nodded in agreement and took a step back out the room, “Thiry.”

It was a nerve wrecking thirty minutes. Did you dress up? Why would you even dress up? Steve was just being.. Nice. That was all! And you weren’t so easily swayed with the offer of food, though the grumbling in your stomach said otherwise. When you had caught a glimpse of yourself you hurriedly changed out of the disheveled shirt you had been wearing and threw on some sweater you had found in your closet. It was warm and cozy, but also more put together. Did you want to look put together? God, why were you even stressing out like this? Steve and you were done, finished, over.. But you couldn’t help but think back to his smile. The damn smile was enough to make your head feel light. You tapped your phone against your thigh when a message came thru from Nat, and you scoffed at it.

Nat: Give me a heads up if things get steamy, I don’t want to hear make up sex tonight.

You weren’t going to reply, even when she double texted using that winky face emoji with its tongue out. You opened your bedside drawer and tossed your phone in there and decided you weren't going to stress about this anymore. You were going to go down to the kitchen and enjoy your favorite food from your favorite place (did Steve remember that too?) and.. See what happens. Go with the flow is what Tony always told you right? You didn’t want to stop and think if that applied to dealing with Steve again, and instead threw open your door and made your way to the kitchen.

The sweet and savory aroma that filled your nose as you came into sight was welcomed, and the sight of the familiar logo of the restaurant made you even more giddy. Steve did remember. He was pulling out take out boxes and the given chopsticks and dressings when he glanced up to see you approaching, and cracked a smile while he continued to lay everything out. “I think I remembered everything.. Shrimp pad thai, level three spice.. Let’s see..”

He drifted off as you watched him pull out another smaller box and give a little nod to himself. “Soft spring rolls with the peanut sauce,” he paused and pulled the small container of liquid out of the bag. “And as promised, an order of cheese rolls.”

He set everything aside and you chuckled, “Wow you really remembered everything down to the sauce.”

“What can I say, I’m a man of my word,” he motioned to the rest of the common space. “Maybe we can watch something while we eat?”

“Sounds good to me,” you agreed, and carefully with stacked takeout boxes, Steve and you made your way over to the common area, sitting on the same couch but with a comfortable space between you two. The night divulged into the two of you eating dinner, and Steve had picked one of the shows Wanda had introduced him to, called I Love Lucy. You weren't sure how long you both had stayed in the same spots, but the food was long gone, and it was pitch black outside. But you were.. Comfortable. You were enjoying his presence, though you both did still keep your distance. It was significantly colder now since there wasn’t much movement in the room, and you sat back with your legs under you and arms crossed over your body, your sweater no longer much help.

Steve took notice a while ago and had periodically checked his watch. The time neared closer to 11, and knowing you sooner or later you would fall out. The lights may have been dimmed but he could see the way your hands pulled your sweater cuffs to cover your fingers. But you didn’t make a move, which he didn’t know why. Well.. He kind of knew why because he had felt the same way. He was just as nervous as you were, but he didn’t want to see you suffer in silence. “It’s gotten a bit chilly, I’m gonna grab a blanket real quick.”

You had let out a small mhm, and Steve stood and walked over to the cabinets that surrounded the tv you both were watching, and grabbed one to use. He proceeded to sit back where he had been all night, and spread the blanket over his lap. As he fiddled with the fabric he glanced your way and saw you eyeing the soft cover, and he lifted the part closest to you. “There’s plenty to share if you want?”

You weren’t so hesitant this time. Steve only held the blanket open for you for a few seconds before you grabbed a hold of it and slid yourself closer to him so the blanket covered you fully. You glanced his way as you made yourself comfortable right by his side, and cleared your throat. “Thank you.”

You knew what he was doing, you weren’t completely blind to it, but you also were grateful that he wasn’t making it a big deal. Because it wasn’t right? It was just two adults watching tv, who had dinner together, and sharing a blanket. Totally, completely innocent. You were forced to refocus on the screen when Steve shifted next to you, and his arm draped on the couch behind you.

Innocent enough.. Right?

Steve was relaxing, he was getting comfortable. A few minutes passed before you decided to unwind a bit too. You relaxed deeper into the couch and pulled the blanket up a little higher, and let out a content sigh. In all honesty you couldn’t remember the last time you felt at peace like this. And it was thanks to Steve, which was a little infuriating to admit (because he knew what he was doing, you were sure of that). 

Steve was unsure what was running through your mind, but he knew it must’ve been working a hundred miles a minute. He tried his best to focus on the episodes that passed by, not even aware of how much time had passed when he felt you fall into his side. He glanced down and there you were, laying into his side with closed eyes, and it made him check his watch. Sure enough it was past midnight, which was right on time for you. He could hear the heavy exhales, and he moved very carefully.

The arm he had draped on the back of the couch (in all honesty, in preparation for this moment) he lowered down to hook around you, and used his hand to pull the blanket up higher. Steve kept his arm wrapped around you and relaxed back into the couch, then with his free hand he grabbed the remote and shut the tv off, the bright light fading from the room. The only cast of light came from further down the hall, and allowed him to fully gaze down at you.

Steve had forgotten how peaceful you looked while sleeping, even despite what he knew was running through your mind. So Steve did what he thought was best, he closed his eyes and eventually drifted off to sleep too.

Nat was not prepared to walk into the kitchen early in the morning and catch Rogers and you cuddling on the common room couch. But boy was she living for it. During her morning routine she had a shit eating grin on her face, and prepared her coffee as silently as she could. The coffee pot warmed up with a soft hum, she had made sure to load it with coffee grounds quietly, and when it was ready to be poured she opened up the cabinet, grabbed a mug, and closed it as loud as she could.

Bang.

The sudden noise was enough to startle you, causing your eyes to peel open and be met with the glaring sunlight that poured into..

Oh no. The common room. You were still in the common room.

Your eyes darted to where the sound had come from and there was Nat smiling into her coffee mug, and you slowly shifted your gaze up to Steve who was just waking up. You were now very aware that he was holding you which therefore meant you were cuddling with him. You had never gotten up so fast in your life, pulling the blanket up with you. Steve glanced Natasha’s way and then back at you, who was rolling the blanket up rapidly. “Oh-”

“I’m so sorry,” you offered, and even offered him the blanket back. Steve, with a raised brow, took the balled up blanket with one hand and you proceeded to shake his other. “Thank you for the dinner, Steve.”

And then you were gone in a flash. Steve sighed and set the balled up blanket down and rubbed his face with his hand when a chuckle from the kitchen. Natasha took a couple steps closer to him, and rested her shoulder against a wall. “You’re certainly playing with fire.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Steve replied as he stood from the couch. Natasha shrugged and tapped her fingers against the mug in her hands. “We fell asleep.”

“All I’m saying is you told me you were going to just ask to have dinner and call it a night.. But here we are,” she couldn’t help but laugh at the end of that statement and Steve rolled his eyes. “Sorry, it’s just.. Well it’s kind of cute how much you’re trying to deny you didn’t plan this.”

Steve shook his head, and without another word to Natasha he headed to your room. It was a familiar route, right down the hall from his old room, and the door was closed when he finally got there. He lightly tapped his knuckles against the door and rested his shoulder against the frame. He could hear the creak from your bed and your feet hit the floor, and in a few seconds you pulled open the door and blinked up at him.

“Hi,” Steve offered.

“Hi,” you replied back. You didn’t move and neither did he and Steve sighed.

“I’m sorry if that was.. Too much. Just wanted some company last night and lost track of time-”

“I’m sorry for falling asleep on you,” you cut him off. Steve couldn’t help the lopsided smile that spread over his face.

“It’s not a problem at all,” he reassured you. For a second a smile formed over your lips, but then it faded, and your expression fell.

“Steve… What are we doing here?” You asked him point blank. Steve inhaled deeply before lightly shrugging his shoulders.

“I guess I’m just.. Trying to do the right thing,” Steve offered. You smiled sadly at him and he motioned his hand at you. “I missed you and just.. I wanted to do something nice.”

“It was nice, Steve,” you whispered to him before taking a deep breath. “But I’m.. Not ready-”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered to you. You met his gaze and he shook his head lightly at you, not breaking that eye contact. “As long as it takes.. I’ll wait.”

Steve meant what he said, and sure enough he started to come by more. He offered his companionship and in slow strides you accepted his invitations.. But one question looms.

Was Steve going to keep his word?

- - - - - - - - - -

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[newtonsheffield]

I love all the world building and relationships you’ve written about since starting Bridgerton & Sons but Kate and Gregory still hold the specialist place in my heart...can I tempt you with quickly revisiting them?

Kate and Gregory are... without a doubt my favourite Kate + Bridge Sib interaction that I’ve written about or in canon. Absolutely no need to tempt me into revisiting them. And I’m more than likely gonna add some Lucy and Gregory in there because I love and adore them, and I miss writing about them! 

Gregory Bridgerton had known from the very first time he met Kate Sheffield that he liked her immensely. She was the only person he’d seen (their mother aside) tell Anthony that no he absolutely could not have his way all the time just because he wanted it. And it made Anthony absolutely wild. And yet even as intimidating as she was, Gregory saw the kindness she treated everyone else in the office, the way she seemed to draw everyone in around her like moths to her warm personality. That didn’t make him any less intimidated by her though, and so when, a month into his employment Anthony had passed him a stack of memos and said, I need you to give these to Sheffield and watch her read them. She can’t keep ignoring them forever! Gregory had loitered nervously outside her office door even after Lucy had told him it was fine to go in. After a minute Lucy had tutted and rapped smartly on the door before she said Kate, Gregory for you. Opened the door and thrust him inside. Kate had looked a little startled as he’d entered, her eyebrow raised as she leaned back in her chair, her mug frozen halfway to her mouth. Gregory had nervously shuffled in, adjusting his glasses as he said Miss Sheffield, Anthony needs you to look at these memos and a little smirk had appeared on her lips and she’d said You can leave them there, thank you Gregory. I’ll email him my thoughts. And Gregory had shifted nervously again unsure how to say what he had too. Kate had laughed brightly and said He told you to watch me read them didn’t he? And Gregory had nodded nervously his eyes darting around the room ad Kate had hummed and then startled him by saying Gregory, Do you like apple turnovers? His eyes had flicked back to hers as she set her mug down pulling the memos towards him and nudging a little brown paper bag towards him If we’re going to be in here for the next few minutes together it only seems right that we share it. And Gregory hadn’t been able to stop the smile that had spread over his face as he’d sat in the chair across from her and 15 minutes when he’d left he’d felt that Kate Sheffield was someone who could be his friend. 

And friends they were. But Gregory couldn’t help but notice the way his brother’s eyes would always flick to Kate whenever she stood laughing with Lucy and him. Or when she smiled at Stephanie the paralegal. Anthony would stand, a little transfixed until Kate moved away or he was interrupted. Eventually Gregory took it upon himself You could just talk to her you know. He said as they left the staff meeting one week and Anthony had huffed, his eyes sliding from Kate who was running her hands absentmindedly through her hair as she laughed at something Lucy was saying. Who do you mean? And Greg had scoffed unwilling to let him get away this easily Kate. It’s obvious that you like her and she’s my friend and I think you’d- Anthony closed his office door with a sharp Go and ask your friend Kate if she plans to do any work today Gregory did not move from his seat but laughed loudly.

Kate knew something was wrong as soon as she walked into the office that Wednesday. Lucy and Gregory usually stood, even before they were dating, practically chest to chest as they whispered and laughed together waiting for Kate and Anthony. This morning Gregory stood by the lift, and Lucy stood on the other side of the reception desk, her back pointedly turned towards Gregory who was looking a little longingly at her, and more than a little like a kicked puppy. Lucy is everything alright? Kate had said gently as Lucy had joined her to review the day and she’d been greeted with a tight smile and an Of Course. Kate couldn’t help but think Clearly.  By lunch time it had reached breaking point. The tension in the office was worse than it ever had been between her and Anthony and Kate had had quite enough. Gregory, we’re going to lunch. She said sharply, looking at her fiancé’s startled younger brother spring from his chair and follow her from the office. Kate distracted him as they walked down the street talking about the discussion on a Harry Potter podcast she’d started listening too and made her move when they sat at the tiny table So what happened with Lucy? And his whole body seemed to deflate as he groaned I have no idea? We were just talking and she said something about Hermione and I agreed and then she just went really... distant and I asked her what was wrong but she just... went home and now she’s still being distant this morning and I just- He finished, his head falling into his hands and Kate’s heart clenched What did she say about Hermione? the suspicion that she knew what this was about creeping in And Gregory shrugged I honestly don’t remember something about how her Uncle liked Hermione because she was pretty and he thought her brother needed a- Oh Fuck!  Gregory said his mouth falling open in understanding his eyes looking more than a little devastated. Kate hummed sympathetically Greg, Honey, You know I love you, but you can be just as dense as your brother sometimes. It’s possible that Lucy might feel just the tiniest insecure when it comes to Hermione Gregory’s mouth had fallen open to protest and she’d said I know that you love Lucy and so does she, she might just need a little reminder. And when they’d arrived back at the office half an hour later, despite Kate’s best counsel that Gregory should calmly discuss this with Lucy he practically sprinted from the lift through the office pulling her from her chair ignoring a little squeak of surprise as he crashed their lips together before practically yelling Lucy, I love you and every time I see you I have to catch my breath  Kate’s heart had leapt for her poor sweet Brother in law as Lucy had looked a little embarrassed though more than a bit pleased as she said gesturing awkwardly Gregory have you met my brother Richard?    

[swordandquill]

Leverage Writing Prompt #31

Title: Future Tides

Fandom: Leverage

Summary: Nate has been keeping a secret from the team, but an inopportune explosion forces him to reveal it.

This is a prompt fill for @leverage-writing-prompts. I actually submitted this prompt back in July, but only got around to finishing it now.

In honor of the beautiful (and also occasionally creepy) mer-May art I still have circulating on my dash: Parker (or Nate) is secretly a merperson. When a job goes wrong, they’re forced to reveal their secret.

@rinahale did a really fun fill for it already with Mer-Parker.

You can go here to read this on AO3 instead.

Author’s notes: The merrow are Irish merfolk who require a magical cap to move between land and sea.

Bone and Sickle podcast by Al Ridenour did a really great episode on the Kraken (Ep 65: The Kraken & Other Marvels of the Northern Sea). In its earliest renditions, the Kraken was a sea serpent. It was only later that it became associated with first giant octopi, then the giant squid.

*************

Nate knew as soon as the explosion knocked Eliot over the railing of the pier that he only had one option. Eliot was strong swimmer, but not stronger than the turbulent currents under the pier, particularly if he was unconscious. Nate hadn’t been able to tell in the split second it had taken to register him going over.

Even as he was yelling for the rest of the team to get off the burning structure, he was shucking off his shoes and jumping over the railings. He hoped they listened. The rickety structure was going to collapse, with or without another explosion. Getting to Eliot before he got bashed into the pylons was going to be enough of a challenge without having to worry about the rest of the team ending up in the water.

By the time Nate hit the water, his fingernails had hardened into claws, and he used them to tear the rest of his clothes off so he could finish the change. There was something euphoric about settling into his other form. He hadn’t changed since before Sam was born, and it was like finally allowing himself to scratch an itch that had been burning its way through his skin.

There wasn’t time to think about that though. Nate blinked his second eyelid closed, and the murky water sharpened into black and white, the fire above reflecting through the water in bright, washed-out streaks. He had to fight the chaotic currents rushing under the pier to stay still long enough to spot Eliot.

He had already been swept under the pier, probably already been driven into the pylons at least once, and was limp in the water. Nate flicked his tail and pushed into the current, using it to reach Eliot before he could be driven into the pylons again, but he wasn’t able to get them clear of the pier before the next surge. The best he could do was curl around Eliot and turn them so his back hit the pylon instead of Eliot. He was going to be bruised, but it was better than Eliot hitting again.

He pushed hard across the current and surfaced a good four meters from the pier. Eliot started coughing as soon as they broke the surface. The shear relief of it left Nate drifting for a moment, Eliot’s head tipped back against his shoulder and the rip tide pulling them out. There was blood fanning across Eliot’s face from a cut at his temple, and he wasn’t quite conscious, but he was breathing, and for now, that was enough.

Nate cut across the rip to escape it, then brought them into shore, doing his best to keep Eliot’s head above water, although there was no doubt he had breathed in more water by the time they reached the shore.

Changing back was not as easy or simple as the change to had been, but Nate had known it wouldn’t be, known he couldn’t deny his body something it had been craving for so long, then expect it to just let go of it so quickly again. It meant he had to drag Eliot up onto the beach with a tail, which was less than ideal and required more arm strength than he was used to using in either form, but he managed it.

He turned Eliot on his side in the sand as he continued to cough up water. Part of him wanted to leave him here for the team to find and make a break for it before they saw. Eliot was unlikely to remember anything, and Nate was sure he could make something up that would appease them. Then nothing would have to change.  

Eliot’s eyes fluttered open, and he shifted fitfully, his whole body shaking with cold and shock.

“Just lie still,” Nate brushed the wet hair from his face with a webbed hand, “you’re alright.”

Eliot blinked up at him, and Nate waited for the reaction, but Eliot just gave an unsurprised “oh” before another coughing fit had him curling back into himself.

Nate let out a sigh and rubbed his back. He couldn’t wait to hear what “distinctive” thing about him had tipped Eliot off to what he was.

Someone yelled his name, and he looked up to see three silhouettes, framed against the light of the burning pier and racing towards them. It was a relief to see them, but Nate couldn’t help the unease as they got closer.

Parker reached them first, too focused on Eliot to pay much attention to Nate. She dropped down in the sand next to them, grabbing Eliot’s shoulder and shaking him in the Parker version of gentleness. Eliot batted at her weakly, but curled closer to her none-the-less. It wasn’t until Nate brushed her hand away when she tried to poke Eliot that she finally looked up at him.

Nate braced himself for fear, or disgust, or any number of negative reactions, but her face lit up like she’d just received a bag of non-sequentially numbered bills.

“You have cool teeth!” she told him brightly.

Nate’s world snapped back into place and all the unease drained out of him.

“Thank you, Parker,” he said drolly, just managing to not run his tongue over the points of his teeth.

“Oh my,” Sophie stopped short as she reached them, and Hardison almost ran into her.

“What is it?” the hacker demanded anxiously, “is Eliot…”

Hardison trailed off, mouth open and eyes wide at the sight of Nate’s tail.

“Nate’s a mermaid,” Parker announced gleefully.

“Do I look like a maid to you?” Nate groused.

“Maybe if you had a feather duster,” Sophie was giving him a look that said they would be having a long, unpleasant conversation later, “and a frilly little French smock.”

“Mermaids are real?” Hardison sputtered.

“Merrow,” Eliot corrected hazily, then curled into another coughing fit.

Nate was never going to hear the end of this from any of them. The fast-approaching sirens were almost a relief.

“Get him out of here,” Nate helped Parker to sit Eliot up, “don’t let him tell you he doesn’t need a hospital. He’s got water in his lungs.”

Hardison ducked down and helped Parker get Eliot to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, and the two were quick to get his arms around their shoulders and take his weight.

“What about you?” Sophie gestured towards his tail.

“Changing back takes longer,” Nate made a shooing motion, “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“You promise?” Parker demanded, refusing to be dragged in the direction Hardison was trying to usher both her and Eliot, “not like the little mermaid; you won’t turn into sea foam for loving humans?”

“No, not like that,” Nate assured her with an eyeroll, “hurry up and get out of here so I can too.”

“But you promise,” Parker refused to budge, “you’ll catch up later. You won’t disappear.”

“I promise,” Nate snapped, “go already.”

Parker grinned and turned back to help Hardison with Eliot.

“Don’t think I won’t send a trawler after you if I have to,” Sophie threatened, then turned to follow the rest of the team in the direction of the waiting van.

Nate didn’t doubt she would, and that they would find him, but he didn’t have any intention of making them do that. For now though, he pushed back into the water and let the waves carry him back out towards the open sea.

**********

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you were a mermaid,” Hardison hissed, voice low in a futile attempt to not wake Eliot.

“Merrow,” Eliot mumbled groggily.

Futile because Eliot wasn’t sleeping. Exhausted, still feeling chilly if the truly ridiculous number of blankets piled on him were any indication, and a bit out of it from a not insignificant head injury, but not asleep, at least not at the moment.

“You know, I googled that,” Hardison groused, “just because Nate wears stupid hats all the time doesn’t mean he’s some kind of Irish shape-shifting sea creature.”

Sophie snorted indelicately.

“That’s not…” Eliot started to protest, only to be cut off by Parker, which was probably for the best given how soar his throat sounded.

“You can’t have your hat back,” Parker pulled Nate’s hat down farther on her head; she must have picked it up after he dropped it at the pier, “just in case.”

Eliot moved restlessly in his hospital bed, and Nate, sitting on the edge of it, dropped his hand down to pat the hitter’s wrist. He left his hand there, fingers resting lightly against Eliot’s pulse point.

“You can keep the hat, Parker,” Nate said easily, “it looks good on you.”

Parker beamed at him from the foot of Eliot’s bed.

“It’s a con anyway,” Nate continued dismissively, “someone made it up centuries ago to trick fishermen and it stuck.”

“You really are a merrow,” Hardison deflated, as if the reality of it had finally sunk in.

“Yes, Nate,” Sophie sat back in the uncomfortable hospital chair regally, looking for all the world like a queen reigning over her court, “do tell us about being a mythical sea creature.”

Parker leaned forward like a child eager for a bedtime story.

“Well…”

Nate was interrupted by Eliot reaching up with his free hand to try to pull his oxygen cannulas off. Again. Nate caught his hand and lowered it back down to rest on his chest.

“Leave that be for now,” Nate gave his hand a pat.

“I don’t want it,” Eliot shifted, movements agitated and unsure, as if he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do, “we should get out of here. It isn’t safe.”

“I’ve got it all taken care of, man,” Hardison reassured him patiently, “we’re safe.”

“Security’s not…” Eliot started to protest.

“We’re security,” Nate let his hand fall back to Eliot’s wrist and left it there, “we’ll check in with the doctor this afternoon and reassess, alright?”

Eliot grumbled, but settled down again.

There was very little chance of Eliot being released before tomorrow. He was responding well to oxygen, and the CT had looked good, but he had been unconscious underwater, and that wasn’t something any of them wanted to take lightly. He was having trouble focusing and keeping track of what was going on around him, and it wasn’t because of the relatively mild pain meds he had been given.

Better to keep him where he could get the care he needed, at least while they could. Nate wasn’t kidding about reassessing. If the situation changed, and they needed to go to ground, they had other resources they could tap into to make sure Eliot still got taken care of. For now, though, this was best.

“Nate,” Parker was looking at him intently, “Sophie said I should pick something besides money that I want for my birthday.”

Nate turned to face her, resigned to whatever was coming.

“I like gold and gems too,” Parker grinned, “shipwrecks have lots of gold and gems.”

Nate gave a long-suffering sigh, and pointedly ignored Sophie suppressing a snicker.

“It wouldn’t even be like stealing,” Parker pressed, “it’s not like anyone really owns it anymore.”

“There are plenty of countries that would disagree with you on that,” Nate said dryly.

“Only if they know we have it,” Parker shrugged, “so can we go diving for treasure for my birthday?”

“You have to commit to a date for your birthday first, sweetheart,” Sophie pointed out, “also, if we’re diving for treasure, there is the platinum reserves Spain dumped into the ocean in the 16th century. Probably not enough to make the expense of an actual expedition worth it, but if you could just swim to it…”

“No,” Nate said firmly, “absolutely not. We are not treasure hunters.”

“But we could be,” Hardison smiled impishly, “we do need alternative revenues streams after all.”

“Not Spain,” Eliot murmured sleepily, “’s guarded.”

“By what? A kraken?” Hardison scoffed, then paused, “wait, there isn’t a kraken, is there?”

“No,” Nate said firmly at the same time that Eliot said “yes.”

He glared at the hitter, who gave him a tired, shit-eating grin.

“It’s not a cephalopod,” Eliot looked far too pleased with the way Hardison started to sputter.

Nate pinched the bridge of his nose. At this rate, they were never going to get Hardison near the water again.

“You’re making that up,” Hardison balked, “there aren’t sea monsters.”

“How would you know?” Eliot countered, “you don’t even swim.”

Hardison opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but Nate interrupted him.

“What I want to know, is how you knew what I was,” he gave Eliot a curious look.

It would be good for him to know what had tipped Eliot off so he could fix it. The fewer people that could tell what he was, the better. Maggie had known, had seen him change once before they were married, but he hadn’t wanted to split his life between two worlds. He had chosen the land, still chose the land. That remained where the things that mattered to him were.

“You bled all over me when you were shot,” Eliot said, “your blood is different than human blood. It’s distinctive.”

Not something he could do anything about then, although it was interesting to him that Eliot hadn’t bothered to say anything about it sooner. As with all the random and far-reaching knowledge Eliot had, Nate was caught between wanting to know how he knew and feeling it was probably best not to ask.

“That’s just nasty,” Hardison grumbled.

“So we’ll go to South American, and Hardison and I will track down the shipwreck sites,” Parker continued as if she had never been interrupted, “you can search the shipwrecks, and Eliot can help me update my dive certification.”

“Whatever you want, darling,” Eliot yawned.

“Do I get a say in this?��� Nate asked.

“Probably not,” Sophie looked thoroughly amused.

“It will be like a family vacation,” Parker grinned, clearly excited by the idea, “you and Sophie keep saying I’m supposed to try normal people things that I haven’t done before.”

Nate knew a lost cause when he heard one. He sat back and listened to Hardison and Parker plan, keeping half an eye on Eliot as he finally drifted off to sleep.  Sophie alternated between encouraging the pair with much too much enthusiasm and giving Nate thoughtful side glances. He was grateful she didn’t push for more information. Not yet anyway.

He had told Maggie before he had proposed to her. It had seemed unfair not to. And Sam… Sam had been so young. Nate was never sure he really believed it was more than a fairy story. Maybe if he had lived longer… gotten to be older… who knew what could have happened, what potential had never been unlocked. It hurt to think about, made him want to reach for a bottle and try to forget all the things his son should have been, should have had.

Eliot reached for the cannulas in his sleep, and Nate caught his hand, bringing it back down to his side and holding onto it.

Nate had a future here. Different from the one he had so badly wanted, shaped by different tides, full of unexplored depths and currents, but still good. He was learning to live with that, slow though the process was. It wasn’t the catastrophe he had always thought it would be, having them find out.

If the trade-off for this new future was the occasional treasure hunt, Nate could live with that.

*********

Parker continued to be non-committal about choosing a birthday, but there was a lovely 16th century gold and ruby pendent necklace tucked under the tree for her at Christmas.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 131

Two things about this chapter:

One: I am a sucker for these domestic chapters. I love showing people being people, and weaving world-building and plot development into those scenes.

Two: I am currently doing better from a work-exhaustion perspective, thank you everyone who was concerned!  I actually took the day off the day before I wrote this and just slept as much as I could that day, because the last day I worked, I was literally swaying on my feet if I stood still.

As always, thanks to @the-raven-fae, @baelpenrose, @anotherusrname, and @charlylimph-blog for keeping me going, along with every. Single. Person. Who has found this story somehow and just binged it as fast as you could. I love when my inbox gets detonated by someone new, please never stop!

Glimmering Feathers Podcast is currently doing The Miys from the very beginning! Please listen and support!

“Have the shelter locations for non-combatants been shortlisted?” I panted as Tyche and I sat on the floor of the gym after an intense cardio and sparring session.

She shook her head as she took a gulp of water. “Not that I know of, but Xio hasn’t really told me anything yet.”

“You would think we would be told pretty quick,” I complained. “After all, we’re supposed to be putting together the rosters of who goes where.”

“We put together the lists of combatants and non-combatants.” She stood and held out a hand to help pull me off the ground. “Our part is done for right now, and we’re pretty far ahead of schedule, honestly.”

“This isn’t exactly the kind of thing we want to leave to the last minute.”

Tyche groaned. “Right about now, I wish you were planning the Festival still. You get crabby when you’re stressed and don’t have anything to work on.”

I scowled and made pincer-like gestures with my hands.  She just laughed and shook her head before I asked, “Are you and Antoine coming over for dinner tonight?”

“Only if you let me shower first. We both stink.”

There was no way I could argue with that, especially as I went to put my glasses on and caught a whiff of myself. “Showers, then dinner at twenty-oneish?”  As we exited the gym, I paused to let my eyes adjust to the far-dimmer lighting. Chills ran down my back every time I recognized the similarity to the nightmares Else had given me while trying to communicate, and I always had to spend a few minutes forcing myself not to step over debris that wasn’t actually there.

“Can we do vegetarian tonight?”

“You have to talk Conor into it.”

 A couple hours later, we were standing in my kitchen area.  Tyche was aggressively mashing chickpeas while staring down a nearly-flinching Conor.

I leaned over from where I was mincing herbs. “That isn’t what I meant and you know it,” I whispered.

“Don’t worry. I’m making him lamb, he just doesn’t know it,” she whispered back from the corner of her mouth. 

To avoid smiling and giving it away, I called out instead. “Hey, Antoine, can you come start the tzatziki? You’re better at it than I am.”

“If you would give in to the existence of salt, Sophia, you would be a much happier woman,” he teased with a serious face.

“I use salt!” I objected.

“At the end,” my sister pointed out. “He salts the cucumbers before mixing everything together.” She glanced back at Conor before arching an eyebrow at him.

Distraction time. “Love, how are the plans for the housing fabrications coming?”

“Your mate Arthur apparently convinced Huynh - somehow, it’s not like they talk - that we don’t need fortifications,” he groaned. “I keep trying to explain that we aren’t putting up fortifications, it’s for agriculture.”

“Wait, what? What does that have to do with housing…?”

He tilted his head side to side as he considered. I could almost see him rewinding. “We have several different blueprints drafted for housing, dependent on what we learn when we drop into ‘real space’. Lots of them include plans for those espell-things to grow on the side, but Huynh is pushing back. It’s holding up the approvals.”

“What does Charly think?”

“Anything that helps us grow more plants with less impact on the environment is a win for her, so I’m trying to take the long view. He can decide whatever he wants now, but she’ll go with the plants every time.”

Antoine appeared next to me, wiping his hands. “How would your plan work if there is a cavern system, as suspected, rather than a surface settlement?”

He conceded the point. “Still working on a sustainable grow-light system for that one. But if it works, we would have year-round crops, so it would solve for the problem of storage in the winter.”

The door to our quarters opened just then, and a very tired-looking Maverick paused to take off his boots. “What would solve for the winter storage issue?” he asked.

“Sustainable grow-lights,” Tyche tossed over my shoulder from where she was hiding the lamb.

He made it as far as the table before dropping into a chair and leaning heavily on Conor, who wrinkled his nose. “Mav, you stink.”

“Turns out grav-mechs are greasy, even in space,” he mumbled, nuzzling into the other man’s shoulder instead of taking the hint. “I hate calibrating them.”

“No dirty hands at the table!” I reminded him. He didn’t move his head, just held up two meticulously scrubbed hands. “Fine…” I surrendered.

“Why are we talking about grow-lights?” he asked.

“Huynh is fighting with me ‘bout the housing solutions,” Conor explained, stroking his hair.

“Ah… the plants?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t you just make the plants where they can grow with less light? I thought you were already working on that.”

“They turned black, tasted horrible, and we ended up with a sentient plague,” I pointed out. “No more dinking around with plant genomes please?”

Tyche turned around, hands on her hips. “We are already trying to manage a food festival and a potential invasion by space-pirates. No more plagues. Knowing her luck - “ she jerked a thumb in my direction “- this one won’t be the apologetic and cute kind.” Apparently the words that just came out of her mouth registered, because she rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air before turning back to her top-secret dinner plan.

I finally finished turning the pale green paste into patties and shoved them in the oven, removing the griddle that had been warming in there. Hefting it onto the heating elements that served as a stove, I started putting together dough for pitas. “So, grow-lights. What kind of light do we need for them to work?”

“Blue, ideally,” Conor responded without even having to think. “Four-fortyish nanometers. Weirdly red light, six-fiftyish nanometers works, too.”

“So explain the issue, because I feel like I’m missing something. Charly designed lights in both those colors.”

“Wrong wavelengths,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck. “And it’s apparently really hard to finetune the wavelengths of organic lighting. She’s managed to get it right, but only for about twenty four hours before it shifts too far one way or another.  We don’t want to depend on completely inorganic light, if Von is as metal-poor as we think it will be.”

“Can’t replace them,” I half-asked. He winked and shot me a finger-gun to confirm my suspicion. “Yeah, that’s a huge problem.”

“The star emits just the right kind of light, barely, so if we stick with surface settlement, we should be okay.”

“And that’s where the storage issue came up,” Maverick mumbled sleepily, bringing us back to the original question he asked.

Conor jostled him gently, and I heard something about a shower to wake up before Maverick padded off in the direction of the bathroom.  Right at the same time, Tyche reached around me to flip a pita before blowing her fingers and cursing softly.  Apparently, her secret was done, so I handed her the spatula and started rolling out more dough.

By the time Maverick came back with wet hair and a too-big shirt that had to be Conor’s, most of the food was on the table and we were ready to eat.  Conor started grumbling about no meat and how could us weirdos eat a meal with no meat when he was interrupted by Tyche clearing her throat. His head snapped up and his jaw dropped.

“You! You are the sneakiest, most beautiful sister in law I could ever ask for,” he extolled dramatically as he saw the platter of lamb skewers in her hands.

She moved the platter out of his prodigious reach as she approached the table. “There’s a catch. You have to at least try the falafel. By itself, no lamb. Then you can have the meat.”

Maverick, more awake now and with half a sandwich already in his mouth nodded. After chewing and swallowing, he nodded again. “It’s really good, I swear.”

I pretended not to notice that he grabbed a skewer off the stack.  Then again, Maverick also wasn’t a grown man who still had to be bribed to eat vegetables. Usually, he had to be bribed to eat meat actually.

Conor, on the other hand, took the falafel pita that Tyche made for him and eyed it skeptically. “I feel like I need to point out that this isn’t a sandwich, this is what you put on a sandwich.” His hesitancy lasted about as long as it took for Antoine to stand and pick up the platter before he took a huge bite out of fear that the lamb would be taken away. He chewed frantically until Antoine put the platter back down, before he actually registered the taste.

I wanted to laugh at the confusion that flooded his face as he stared down at the sandwich in his hand. Finally, he swallowed, but the confusion didn’t stop.

“That’s…. Actually not bad. I thought vegetarian food was supposed to be bad?” He flinched when dual glares were thrown his way by me and my sister. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant - you know what, I’m going to shut up and eat before you two ladies decide I’m for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Very wise course of action,” Antoine confirmed solemnly as he carefully spooned tzatziki on his own, onion-loaded sandwich.

Still shaking my head, I started making my own food when I realized something. “I thought we made a lot more falafel than this?”

Tyche smirked but didn’t say anything. Neither did Antoine, focused on his own meal. Maverick however, was suspiciously quiet. I glanced over at him, only to see him staring really hard at his plate, which now had three empty skewers on it.  As my mind caught up, I actually found the sight kind of adorable.

I must have stared too long though, because Maverick muttered pathetically. “I was hungrier than I thought.”

Kissing the top of his head, I put another pita on his plate. “Baby, we made more than enough. Eat all you want. I just don’t want you to choke, that’s all.”

A long-fingered hand with slightly ginger hair on the back put a skewer on his plate. “Love, we can’t eat all this, you’re fine.”

“I always make enough food for ten people when you two are eating,” Tyche confirmed, not even looking up. “Teenage nephews in the Before. Lots of practice.”

He slowly looked up at us, and realizing that no one was angry, just surprised, he looked less afraid and sat up straight. Conor patted the top of his hand before deploying one of his weaponized, thousand-watt smiles. “C’mon, I’ll show you to make one with the lamb. You’re gonna need a lot of onions for this…”

I groaned, setting off a round of laughter. I wasn’t against onions on a sandwich, but they didn’t have to sleep between two men with onion breath.

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[egcdeath]

cabin fever

pairing: ransom x female!reader 

warnings: very cheesy and unrealistic. lots of fluff, your teeth might fall out. strangers to lovers

summary: when a nasty snow storm ruins your girls trip to a ski lodge, you have to... adapt to your interesting new roommate. 

word count: 2.7k

a/n: and there was only one bed…. oh my god there was only one bed…. 

Come on, they said. A girls trip would be fun, they said. You all needed a break from your routine and work, they said. Who doesn’t wanna kick off their New Year on vacation, they said. Of course, that was all before you arrived at a remote, overbooked resort in the middle of nowhere, hours after your friends’ flights had been cancelled due to an incoming horrendous snow storm.

Now, you stood near the counter in the lobby, biting back tears as you began to desperately rake your brain for solutions to the bizarre issue you were facing.

“God damnit, don’t you know who I am?” a deep voice at the desk thundered.

“Of course, Mr. Drysdale, but you know that we can’t just give this room up to you in conditions like this,” the poor hotel employee told him, trying to keep his composure. “We have way too many clients for you to get a room like this all by yourself!” After hearing this remark, this ‘Mr. Drysdale’ character, who didn’t seem much older than you were, grit his teeth, leaned his head back, and groaned exasperatedly.

You tried not to be too nosy, but it was nearly impossible not to look over at the dramatic scene that was playing out next to you. A grown man, throwing some sort of hissy fit about not getting a room. Luckily for you, he glanced in your direction at the perfect moment to make an uncomfortable eye contact, and suddenly, his annoyed look turned into a devilish smirk.

Oh no.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m not here all by myself. In fact, my girlfriend is right over there,” he tilted his head to gesture to you. Oh no. This was much worse than you anticipated. When you saw that smirk, you thought that maybe he’d hit on you, maybe even catch you at the bar and make some crude offer to you. You didn’t think he’d be using you in order to get a room.

“Oh, I-” you stuttered, not even knowing where to begin. What the hell was going on? You could barely process the last 5 hours of your life, let alone the scenario you’d just been tossed into.

“Alright, Mr. Drysdale. Sorry about the inconvenience.” The hotel employee didn’t even bother hiding his annoyance as he looked down and began to type on the computer. The man looked back over to you, gave you a little chuckle, then moved a bit closer to you so that he could wrap an arm around you.

You were honestly at a loss for words. What the fuck was happening? Maybe you were asleep. There was no way that this was all real. You were incapable of fighting this situation, or even arguing with this man. To be honest, he was pretty handsome. And it seemed like you two were getting one of the last rooms in the whole lodge, so at least you wouldn’t be sleeping on a couch in the lobby until the snow storms stopped.

“Alright, Hugh, Here’s your key. 2C.” The employee bit the inside of his cheek, enjoying the tiny win of calling the bothersome man a name he hated. Hugh? Really? You thought to yourself while rolling your suitcase away, and keeping up the act of being some stranger’s girlfriend until the pair of you reached the elevator.

As you two stood in silence, the weight of your actions began to sink in. What the hell did you just sign yourself up for? For all you know, this Hugh dude could be a murderer. Or a rapist. Or a crazy murderer rapist. You began to envision your name as the title of some True Crime podcast. ‘The Ski Lodge Slaughter of Y/N L/N.’ You began to feel yourself sweat under your winter coat.

“So, your name?” Hugh asked you casually, as if he hadn’t taken you more or less against your will. He basically kidnapped you. Oh god, ‘The Kidnapping and Killing of Y/N.’ Hugh looked down at you and quirked a brow. “My God, loosen up. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost!” He laughed. You debated whether or not to even tell this man your real name, but in a split irrational decision, you blurted it out.

“Y/N,” you said, then grimaced after. “Hey, don’t try anything funny on my guy,” you warned, trying to sound tough, but probably not sounding like it. “I have pepper spray on me, and I know your full name. No funny business, Hugh Drysdale.” You warned.

You watched as Hugh’s face went through a rollercoaster of emotions, but the general theme of which being amusement. You swore he stifled a laugh as the two of you exited the elevator and walked through the rather cozy halls. The pair of you stopped in front of a pine door labelled 2C.

“How about you call me Ransom,” he told you before opening the door to your home for at least the next week.

----

You spent the first few minutes in your suite looking around at all the luxuries it offered. It was essentially an apartment, and saying you were impressed was an understatement. The space was truly beautiful, with views like nothing you’d ever seen before. The master bedroom overlooked a mountain, the bathroom was massive and gorgeous, the balcony contained a hot tub, and the living room held a massive fireplace. There was only one problem.

There was just one bed.

Maybe you could sleep in the living room or something. It was definitely large enough. You were simmering deep in your thoughts while staring out the main window in the living room when you heard the words of your new roommate.

“It’s nice right?” He asked while coming to stand next to you.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“We used to come here every year, you know.”

“Oh really?” you replied, trying to sound intrigued in order to stay on his good side in the event that he actually was a murderer. “Like, you and your family? Or like, you and your friends..?”

“My family,” he looked away from the window and at you. “I can assure you, it’s always this nice.”

You looked up at him and tried to ignore the fact that you felt like you were a character in a Hallmark movie. “Why’d you stop?” you inquired, and he shrugged before turning away. You honestly felt kinda bad for the guy, even if he was just a random stranger. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I was supposed to be here with my friends. But their flights got cancelled because of some impending snow storm.”

You swore you heard a faint chuckle as Ransom began to walk into the bedroom. “That is pretty funny,” he confirmed before you heard the door close. Rude. You thought to yourself, before sitting down on the sofa in the middle of the room, and trying to find a show to hold you over.

----

The flight must’ve taken more out of you than you initially thought, because you woke up early in the morning with a blanket lazily draped over you, and a sharp pain in your back. You dug into your pocket and checked the time on your partially charged phone. Unsurprisingly, it was way-too-early-to-be-awake-o’clock. Damn jet lag. You tossed the blanket off yourself and figured that if you were awake, you may as well be eating something good. Shuffling into the kitchenette, you found a room service menu, and ordered enough for a small army. It wasn’t like you were paying for the food in the first place.

Sometime after your food arrived, Ransom walked into the room as well, and sat across from you at the table. “Morning babe, what’d you get us?” He asked playfully before popping a strip of bacon into his mouth.

You couldn’t help but to quirk your lips. You were kind of annoyed that he hadn’t even attempted to offer you the bedroom and left you to sleep on an uncomfortable couch, but his playful demeanor was infectious. “Basically everything, babe, hope you don’t mind the tab.” You gave him a little smirk as you lifted a mug of coffee to your lips.

“Not a problem, babe. How’d you know I’d wake up with an appetite this big?” He continued to banter with you.

“I just know my baby so well,” you giggled, then abruptly stopped when you noticed Ransom was not exactly laughing along with you. “Uhm, I’m gonna go take shower,” you said quickly before standing up, pushing your chair in, then escaping to the bathroom.

----

Your awkward interaction had been about a day ago, but luckily you hadn’t had any moments like that since. Some time in the afternoon, you sat back down on the sofa and cuddled into your own little corner. A bit later, Ransom joined you on the opposite end of the couch, and the two of you sat in a comfortable silence while watching reruns of classic Christmas movies ever since.

You were honestly shocked at how fast you and Ransom warmed up to each other, and how quickly you’d let down your (nearly nonexistent) guard. But to be fair, what girl had the willpower to resist the kinds of baby blues in his eyes? And his slightly overly confident, yet funny personality was quickly growing on you. Not to mention the way he was wearing the shit out of every sweater he put on. You couldn’t help but to daydream about the man while a pot in the kitchenette warmed up the milk for your hot chocolates.

“Hurry up, babe,” he whined from the sofa, to which you rolled your eyes. What a brat.

“On my way, dear,” you giggled, before finishing up the drinks and bringing him a mug. “You know, I really didn’t know what to expect when you basically kidnapped me,” you stated while sitting down.

“Haven’t you had fun? I mean, I know we can’t really go out in this kind of weather, but I like to think of myself as a fun guy.” he took a sip of the drink, then reeled at the heat’s assault on his tongue.

“I mean, I never really saw myself having as much fun with a stranger as I did when we played Uno last night,” you gave Ransom a shy smile.

“That was pretty great,” he nodded in agreement, and returned your smile with a lopsided grin.

“You know, I really expected you to be a dick. I’ve never seen someone make as big of a scene as you did in the lobby those days ago,” you snickered, then let your laugh die away when you saw Ransom press his lips together, furrow his brows, and stand. “What?” you asked with concern laced in your voice.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said dryly before walking off to the bedroom. This man and his Goddamn mood swings. You set down your mug, and cuddled into the quilt covering your body before attempting to go to sleep.

--

You awoke to a loud thud, and the sensation of goosebumps prickling all over your skin as a visceral reaction to the frigid cold that had suddenly taken over the suite.

“What the fuck,” you’d heard a groggy voice say from the bedroom. Ransom shuffled out of the room, and stood in the hall leading to the living room while pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Did you do this?” he slurred slightly, words heavy from sleep.

“No!” you pouted. “I just woke up in the same freezer as you!” You sat up, and stretched your arms while you tried to think of a reason why it was suddenly so cold in your suite. Maybe the employees were playing a prank on their least favorite tenant. Maybe the furnace was broken. Either way, you were both cold as hell, and couldn’t find a solution. You only had so many blankets. Suddenly, something came to you.

“Go back to your room, asshole,” you said quietly before wiping the sleep out of your eyes. Ransom obliged, and you began your search for as many toasty clothing articles you could manage. Luckily, you were smart when packing, and made sure to bring plenty of cable knit sweaters with you. In your tired haze, you clumsily threw the articles of clothing on, then began your trek to the bedroom.

“What are you doing here?” Ransom asked while pulling on another sweater, seemingly having the same idea as you.

“Get in the bed,” you demanded, before flopping in the bed next to him and yawning. You nearly moaned at the comfort of a real bed, rather than a sofa, but filtered yourself. “Cuddle me. We’ll be like little penguins.” You whispered sleepily, already feeling more relaxed at the heat radiating off your bed partner.

There was not one word of complaint coming from Ransom as he threw a strong arm around you, then buried his nose in your hair. “‘Night, Y/N,” he told you, his voice trailing off.

Even in your sleepy haze, your heart rate quickened when you realized that the two of you fit together like puzzle pieces.

----

In the morning, you woke up to a soft, yet empty bed. The heat was now clearly back on, and the heat was definitely back on in your face when you began to recall last night’s events.

----

That day was more of the same for you, watching shitty Rom Coms, over-indulging on room service, playing endless rounds of chess, and even more card games. Neither of you addressed the furnace sized elephant in the room of your late-night cuddle session, and you honestly hoped to keep it that way.

Sometime between a game of Solitaire and Crazy, Stupid, Love, you fell fast asleep, and were surprised when you woke up without the crick in your back, and deeply inhaling the scent of pine.

After you’d drifted off, Ransom had decided to carry you into his bedroom. You just looked way too peaceful to have to spend another night in your sofa hole. He set you down on the bed, pulled the comforter over your body, then gave you a quick peck on your forehead.

“What the fuck,” He wondered quietly out loud to himself.

----

Cabin fever was beginning to eat at you and Ransom, and apparently, there was no better way to battle that than to drink excessively. It started when you added a bit of Bailey’s to your hot chocolates, and only escalated as you spent the night raiding the minibar.

After a few too many shots, you grabbed your phone and hit shuffle on a random playlist on your phone. “Come dance with me,” you giggled, pushing his hand away from a bottle of Grey Goose, and grabbing it instead. The pair of you stumbled over each others’ feet for a few minutes, before waltzing into the bedroom together and plopping clumsily onto the bed as a unit, with you straddling Ransom’s thin waist.

“I can’t believe I’m spending New Year’s Eve with you,” you leaned down and spoke into his face. “Imagine if I wasn’t so dumb, and I didn’t go along with your stupid plan to get this room,” your nose was basically pressed into Ransom’s at this point. You looked deep into his eyes, and he was quiet for a moment.

“Y/N, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life,” he commented out of the blue, reaching up to rub his thumb on your flushed cheek.

“Shut up,” you averted your gaze. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Yeah?” He asked raspily.

“Yeah,” you agreed, setting your hand on top of his hand that sat on your cheek.

The sound of fireworks being shot off in the distance briefly caught both of your attention, leading you to look out the window for a moment, before looking back at each other.

“Happy New Year, Y/N,” you were quickly pulled into a sweet, passionate kiss.

And honestly, you couldn’t think of a better way to start the year.

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH 15

////TW Deceptions of canon typical violence and a home invasion near the end////

“Yea so the pizza is not only aesthetically pleasing but pretty fuckin' good too.”you finish your rant on why the two of you should drive out to Point Pleasant some time.

“Not gonna lie it seems more like you want to,” he pops his knuckles, “drag me miles away to sacrifice me to some old god.” the popping gets worse.

Shit, Toby's getting nervous. You probably look pretty sketchy right now considering the fact that you've been suggesting the two of you go out to Point Pleasant for the past thirty-ish minutes. Toby had pulled off to the shoulder lane once Connor's barking started up. Alerting the two of you to his incoming tics. It seemed to be a long episode so you offered to drive off the interstate and on to the side of the road instead. Hoping that maybe the absence of the additional outside stimulants coming from cars driving past you two would calm Toby's tics.

Unfortunately you'd gotten caught up talking about your late night escapades having been taken by the fact that Toby didn't seem to mind. He'd actually understood that restlessness you went on about. And when he asked what was the furthest town you've driven to in one night. You kind of let loose and spilled your guts about the Mothman capital.

For half an hour, on an offshoot of the interstate in the middle of nowhere, he was trapped with no where to run. Of course the poor guy was probably scared of you at this point. He was just indulging you out of fear not out of any genuine interest.

Why couldn't you just read signals properly?

“No!” from his jump you've probably said that way too loudly, “I mean sorry I get carried away – Mothman's cool – the town is a nice tourist trap and I thought you'd think it was cool – but then I just probably just seemed weird to you and now I just....ughr none of that made sense did it?”

“Weeell” he drags out as thought he's thinking on it “nope none.”

Looking at his face you can see his red stained scarred lips pull into a sort of smirk and there's a glint in his eyes. He's being sarcastic, he's making fun of you. He isn't weirded out by you just being yourself and ranting about nothing in particular or running around in circles with a train of thought only  to get confused or baffled by the workings of your own brain.

The smug dick. Letting you spiral while he watched on in amusement. This reeks of Brian, has his fuck boy energy written all over it. You'll just have to spend more time with Toby to make sure the sweet man next to you doesn't turn into a menace to society. Or at least not a menace to you.

“Meanie.” you blow a raspberry in his direction, he returns the gesture albeit a lot messier than he intended. Spit seeps from the gash in his cheek and dribbles down the scarred edge of his lips.

Toby lets out a grunt and looks down at his spit in disgust. Whether that's in himself or just his spit you can't tell. Leaning over the console you pop open the glove box to hand him some emergency napkins you had in there.

“Fuckin' Mary Poppins.” you hear him mutter over you.

Choosing to ignore his teasing and take the high road in this you hand him the napkins and relax back into your seat. Watching him run the napkin up and down his arms trying to get any spit that may have backfired onto him, which was definitely most of it.

“You good?” you ask.

“Uh yea 's just spit no big deal.” it's such a simple statement but you can't help the smile that it brings to your face.

You meant if he'd be good to drive yet since you two had been out here for the better part of an hour now. It was nearly two in the afternoon. Neither of you anticipated the quick slushy run turning into an all day event. And while you wouldn't mind driving around for two more hours or so – you're quickly coming to the end of your battery.

“Meant to drive, dork.”

“Hmm...Yea should be now,” Toby says wadding up the napkins before spinning in the passenger seat towards you and gently flinging the wad of napkins in your face, “and 'm not a dork. You are.”

Returning his spit used napkin to him, tossing it just a tad harsher than he originally had, “You're right you're a brat!”

You exit the car before he can throw it at you again. Though it really doesn't matter when he just pelts you with it from over the hood when you switch seats anyway. Picking the napkin up off the ground you hold on to it and place it in one of the empty slushy containers sitting in your console.

The mature course of action. However, you do poke your tongue out at Toby as you do it. He only rolls his eyes as he huffs out a laugh at you.

Toby hovers over the gear shift waiting for either an alert or one of his tics to rear its head. When neither happens he put the car in drive and you two begin your hour and half drive back to Kepler.

Or would've, had it not been for the traffic you seemed to get stuck in not even five minutes after getting back on the interstate.

“You're fucking kidding me.” Toby says incredulously.

After ten minutes of going nowhere, all the while his leg bouncing was shaking the car, Toby abruptly get out of the car and marches to the passenger door flinging it open.

“You're driving.” is all he says.

You don't think there's any talking him out of it. You're good to drive so that isn't the issue, his abruptness about the situation is what stuns you. Wordlessly you get out of the car and take the wheel. Getting buckled in you see from the corner of your eye Toby grabbing you phone and typing away.

He seems to find what he's looking for as static flows through your stereo. The sponsored ads for the white noise “podcast” start playing before fading back into the never ending static. Your phone is placed back under the radio and Toby reclines his seat all the way.

It's tense for a moment as you wait for something else to happen. Whether it's an outburst or an explanation you aren't sure, the anticipation for anything to happen hangs thick in the car. You keep your focus on the road and traffic in front of you figuring Toby will let you know what's up in his own time.

The sound of shuffling comes from behind you as Connor scoots over to his handler to be of assistance. Only for him to be gently waved off. And he goes back to his spot laying down and honing in on you. Since you are currently driving...even though scooting the car up a few inches in the past twenty minutes shouldn't really qualify as driving. Nevertheless the pup remains vigilant in his work.

It's probably an hour or so before Toby finally speaks, breaking the semi silence he put the car in.

“Traffic jams make me anxious.” he doesn't move from his reclined position, just stares up at the ceiling of your car.

A noncommittal hum comes from the back of your throat. You'd assumed it was something to that nature but didn't want to pry. It must be bad if it was something that made him willingly pass the torch of driving, something that also made him wildly uncomfortable.

“Wanna talk – or do you just need silence.”

The answer came in the form of the silence that followed. It was another long hour and a half before the traffic finally cleared. You weren't even aware so many people could be on the interstate going through West Virginia on a Monday afternoon. Since you were at the tail end of the traffic by the time you got to where you assume it started, by the left over debris in the road and fresh skid marks heading into the median, you really couldn't put together what had gone on.

Your eyes didn't focus in on the leftovers of the accident nor did you slow down like many other vehicles. It's not like you enjoy seeing the wreckage of cars or people being lifted into ambulances but you understand most people give in to that base human curiosity. You just hoped everyone involved was safe and okay.

From your peripheral you catch Toby turning his head to face you every few minutes or so. Disregarding it as a tic you continue on driving. While this accident had cleared you don't doubt the power of stupidity to not influence another reckless driver, who might now be late from traffic, to start weaving in between lanes.

“Are we past it?” comes the quietest voice you've ever heard from Toby.

So stunned by the volume it takes you a minute to register what he'd asked.

“Uh...oh yea. We passed it like fourteen minutes ago?” assuming 'it' had been the crash site, though you hadn't been keeping track of time honestly.

No point when the two of you would be getting back to Kepler after dark anyway. You'd ask Toby if he'd want to grab food before you drop him off at the lodge but his continued silence as he fixes his seat up right clues you in that he might not be up for anything other than turning in for the night. Honestly you're at the point yourself, so you don't really mind the silence driving back.

Just like you thought the two of you got into Kepler a little after eight o'clock. Having been stopped by another accident, this one not lasting nearly as long to get situated, had really taken a toll on Toby's mood though. You could practically feel something eating at him as anxiety radiated off his form.

He didn't offer any clarification for his reactions and you didn't pry. Most times when you get a similar way you find it's easier to just let it run it's course than to try and calm yourself. So you're a little surprised when you reach the lodge and  Toby practically volts out of your car, when he gently taps on your window after he's retrieved Connor from behind you.

“Get home safe.”

Those words hit your ears with a bit more weight than they normally do. Maybe because the day's been full of accidents on the road. Or maybe because of the lack of interaction the two of you have had for the past four hours. Whatever the reason it doesn't change how Toby lingers at your side even after your reply. He finally steps away, once again falling silent, and you're able to drive home after a final farewell to him.

The way Toby reacted today never leaves your mind. While theories and ideas toss around in your head you can feel the bubbling weight in your stomach build as cold sweats break out all over your body. Combating the weight in your stomach is its emptiness. Having only eaten the bowl of cereal today and nothing else has left you on empty since you'd gotten into traffic. However, being so preoccupied with Toby's change in behavior you'd forgone food in favor of getting your friend home as soon as possible.

Pausing when you come to the fork in the road making you choose between going straight home and fighting with cooking a meal or running to the mini mart and grabbing something quick and unhealthy. You normally take a bit to decide, but today it seems your gut is telling you to forgo the food and get home. You can't quite place a finger on what you're feeling – not quite fear or anxiety or even paranoia. All of which would be valid considering how weird your afternoon had been. Instead it feels like a little voice is ever so quietly telling you that you should get home immediately.

The voice pipes up again as soon as you gently shut your car door. It seems to warn you that there is danger near by.

'Fuck' is all you can think about as memories of the evidence of your stalker come into play.

It had been so busy lately that you'd honestly forgotten all about the stalker. Hell your bat was still in your room, so you were fucked if your intuition was right about this. You were at least going to be smart about this and pull up the Cowell's home phone contact on your cell before even getting near the front door. If anything happened you'd call and either leave a message or have a concerned Big Jo over instantly.

The house is silent as you open and shut the front door. Not anything new to you but with the tension in the air you're more than certain someone is here with you. Making your way through the house you peer into the kitchen and living room. The coast is clear on those fronts which leaves the hall closet, your bedroom, and the bathroom right across from your room.

Quickly ruling out the closet because of the limited space for a grown adult to hide in. The only options are your bedroom and the bathroom. The bathroom that has the door open at all times and would make a great place to hide and ambush you while you went into you room. Or a good place to lock yourself in to call Jo in case they were in your room, you'd just have to be ready to sprint out faster than they could register seeing you. Then there's your room, multiple hiding spots and the baseball bat you'd left in there. Even if they came empty handed they were the one with the weapon right now, you had to be careful.

As you make your way slowly and soundlessly down the hall way you hear a small beep come from your bedroom just as you stand in the doorway of the bathroom. You don't own anything that beeps. This thought causes you to freeze in place all but your thumb which hits the dial button.

Just in time too, because in your stupor a large figure in a black ski mask opens the door to your bedroom. You barely have time to react to the sudden appearance before they come barreling into you. A sharp pain bursts in the back of your head as it collides with the wall that you are tackled into. Phone forgotten, instinctively you bring both hands to your attacker's face.

They may be wearing a ski mask but it will do little to protect their eyes against your nails. Thankfully they have a stupid red frowny face decorating the mask, giving you the perfect target for their eyes. Not expecting your quick reflexes the attacker pulls away slightly trying to get out of your reach, and get your hands off of their mask. They must be worried you'll find out their identity, and while that would be nice you'd enjoy surviving this encounter a lot more. So you continue your assault on your would be assaulter.

A large hand comes down and swoops both of yours in a crushing grip. Harshly yanking them away from their face. Unfortunately for them they'd gotten one of your knees pressed against your chest when they tackled you. With the new distance between your bodies you're able to lift your leg up higher and kick at them.

“Get OFF of me..you piece of SHIT.” more force exerted on certain words while you kicked them solidly in the chest.

Their grip actually gets tighter on your hands as you knock the air out of their lungs. Aside from that and their pained grunts they weren't giving much of a reaction. You'd be certain you weren't kicking hard enough if it wasn't for a cough that ripped through them on a particularly powerful kick to the stomach.

There's a distant warble that you can't make out, it's high pitched and annoying. Good, that irritating sound will only succeed in pissing you off more and enabling you to unleash your rage on the fucker holding you down right now.

Before you can give another blow pain erupts through your chest as it constricts. You can't breathe and you see black dots forming in your vision as you're slammed into the tile floor of your bathroom. There's a foggy feeling in your head, and that distant warble gets more frantic and higher in pitch. But you can't focus on that you can't focus on anything that isn't the merciless thudding in your chest, the pounding of your head, and the god awful static that is starting to burn your ears like a white hot fire.

With the first heavy and heaving breath you're able to take as your assailant presses you into the ground, you feel the rush of adrenaline surge through you. Without any leverage you can do little more  than squirm and thrash under the heavier figure. A brief feeling of vindication showers you as one of your arms is tugged free in your flailing. Your attacker isn't quick enough to restrain you this time and you reach your hand up to their face, this time intent on clawing it up from under the mask. That way some one would know based on the nail marks who did this, and maybe the DNA left under your skin would be enough identify them and save a future would be victim.

God you didn't want to be a victim.

Just before you can hook your fingers into their flesh they are thrown off of you. All adrenaline you had before turns into ice as you stare at their companion. The white mask with painted black features. It hadn't been a hallucination.

They hadn't been a hallucination.

They'd been in your home before. While you were there and blissfully unaware. They'd been so still, so quiet that you'd never even thought they were anything more than a messed up part of your psyche. There isn't enough time to dwell on this feeling of pure terror that spikes through you. But you still freeze in the face of the mask, only to be rewarded with an iron grip locked into your hair pulling you up by the scalp. Then you're bashed against the floor twice.

You honestly hadn't meant to play dead. In your shock it was the only thing you could do to just go limp. That once high pitched warble is now a drawn out moan almost, the static is playing at the edges of your mind as you barely make out the sound of retreating footsteps.

You want to roll onto your back but as nausea hits you at just the thought you stay on your side. Eyes fluttering against your will, this time not a tic but in an attempt to heal your body on it's limited energy reserves. You doubt you'd be able to turn over again if you needed to vomit. Hell you'd be lucky to stay conscious till someone came looking for you.

Would that be in the morning when you don't show up for work? Would it be days from now? Wait did you manage to call the Cowells?

The pounding in your head gets worse with each passing second. You officially can't keep your eyes open anymore. There's no reaction from you when you hear your front door burst open and yelling echo through the empty house. You don't stir from your sleep as someone taps you, not shaking you but just gentle taps careful to not exacerbate your injuries.

When Big Jo got to your home he slammed open your door and had his gun at the ready for your attackers. The house didn't look messed with and nothing was out of place, at least to him he'd only ever been out this far to drop little Jo off once or twice. It was quiet in your home except for a murmuring coming down the hall. So he made his way down slowly, vigilant for any sudden movement if there was anyone other than you here. He'd called your name several times since entering and hadn't received a reply.

As he got closer to the bathroom the murmuring became louder, peering in his heart stopped for a beat. The weathered man has seen a lot of shit in his time but he always hated to see a kid in your condition. Beaten with bruises littering your face and wrists all while being unresponsive as he tried to wake you. The source of the noise became clear when he saw your phone a few feet away slid into the corner away from you.

Dia was still on the line and sobbing now. If that didn't twist the knife that was already speared into his heart. Picking up your phone he spoke with his wife trying to reassure her as he felt for a pulse. You had one, one that was faster than normal. Your body was probably still reeling from what you just went through. But he wasn't a doctor and wouldn't count you out of the woods until one assessed you themself.

Jo wasn't waiting long before he heard the sirens, he went out front to meet the sheriff. After you'd been packed into an ambulance and taken to St. Francis Hospital Jo told Dia so she could meet you there. He'd stuck around while the sheriff and his deputy surveyed the area and came back to him for his statement.

“Looks like we've got most of what we needed Jo...But the kid, they got hallucinations you said?” Sheriff Owens asked.

“Why're you asking Zeke?” now wasn't the time to anger the large man as he was barely holding his normal civility.

“Now I don' mean nothin' by it – 's jus' tha' well we didn' find any evidence of a break in.”

“You think the kid coulda done that to themself? The marks on their wrists are bigger than their hands!”

“Jo, in some cases people sufferin' from delusions can do all sorts a things ta themselves... 'm just trin' ta find out if we ought ta have 'em kept in the ward for a bit.”

“They're fine. They've told me themself that they only get visual hallucinations and they can differentiate between the two.” a small lie on his part, he knows occasionally a hallucination will grab your attention for longer than it should if that were the case but he'll keep you out of the damn ward for now because this wasn't a hallucination. He had heard the struggle going on between you and someone else.

Right now his top concern was getting to the hospital and meeting up with Dia to make sure your condition was stable. If he had to lie to the sheriff to do it, so be it. Not like he wouldn't enlist his own detail to figure out what went down here. He'd let you stay with them while he contacted Lydia about updating security on her property.

Sheriff Owens didn't put up a fight on this, and said he'd swing by the hospital Wednesday to get your statement on the encounter. With that the sheriff and deputy piled into their car and left. Jo had found your keys still in the door and locked your home, a lot of good it did you but at least this way a bear wouldn't get in before they set up the new system.

Jo got to St. Francis and was greeted by his teary eyed daughter and sobbing wife. Dia really wasn't cut out for any type of violence. He's have to make sure she called her therapist this week for an extra appointment or two just to help her through this. Looking at his daughter he sees the worry in her eyes as she runs to him.

A doctor comes up to the family to inform them of your condition.

“Ah Mr. Cowell good to see you. Mx. LN is responsive right now, and in enough of their right mind to complain that we are keeping them awake.” The doctor pauses with a slight chuckle, “We have them set up with an IV drip that's giving them fluids, their pain meds, and for tonight they'll also have a caloric infusion. They mentioned that they hadn't eaten much today. So to ensure their body has the energy to heal we thought it'd be the best course of action. We're keeping them up for another hour or so before they can sleep and then we'll be keeping them for observation for at least two days.”

“Can we see YN?” little Jo interrupts.

“Unfortunately we believe they wouldn't enjoy that right now. Their injuries aren't extensive but they are quite cranky due to residual pain and hunger.” the doctor says with a smile to little Jo. “Now speaking of their injuries the worst of which is their slight concussion again we're monitoring that and they seem to be very receptive to us right now. And then there's the dislocation of their left shoulder that we've already mended and the various bruising and mental trauma they're likely to retain from the incident your wife has briefly informed us about. We'll give a card for a good therapist to you and one to Mx. LN on their departure. When can we expect the Sheriff coming?”

“Owens said Wednesday.”

“Perfect, then that should be all. If anything changes or we want to keep them longer we'll let you know right away. And Miss Cowell if you come back in the morning we're sure Mx. LN will be much more agreeable company.”

The doctor waits for a moment letting the Cowells have time to process and ask a question or two. But when nothing comes up the doctor turns away to continue their work elsewhere.

And with that the very emotionally exhausted Cowell family go home. With plans to come visit you sometime tomorrow. Big Jo does however makes a few phone calls before going to bed that night. It isn't lost on him that he's already had one employee mysteriously vanish, he doesn't like the thought that she was targeted and your next on some hit list.

[quixotic-writer]

Bermuda Love Triangle

Request: @gionline and anon(s?)

Summary: Flirting between Sal and Q had always been a little quirky joke between them for entertainment value until they both catch feelings. Sal plays it up, Q plays it off. When Sal seemingly moves on though, jealousy brews in Q and he doesn’t know what else to do but finally say what’s on his mind.

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Truth be told, Q was a bit of an idiot. He was well aware of this and knew it often caused him to get into situations he sometimes couldn’t escape from. There was nothing he was more oblivious to than emotions. He was more specifically blind to romantic feelings, be it his own or others.

The moment he heard about vulquinn, he and Sal both played it up for their audience just for the reactions and their own personal entertainment. The need to always be right next to each other at live shows, their own podcast filled with inside jokes and personal stories, the way they managed to communicate through only their eyes, and the countless compliments and jokes about being romantically involved with the other.

‘If chicks can do it and be simply best friends, why can’t we?” Was his thought process. And it was true, it was just simple little gestures to one another that was merely just platonic affection. That was until it started bleeding into their regular life and the pair found themselves doing their little “act” for an audience that was non-existent around them. There was no one to get a good laugh or reaction out of, so they just tried to laugh it off.

Hidden behind those laughs was a realization within Sal that he had actually started falling for his best friend hard and fast. The flirtation slowly didn’t become an act, it melded into meaningful gestures. He found that his heart would race when Q would wrap an arm around him to bring him closer, when they made eye contact he could feel the butterflies burst from their cocoons into his stomach and tickle his throat, and the way that no matter where they would, the flirting never stopped. It all felt so real and he believed it was real too.

Q felt the effects of it all but had chocked it up to typical feelings for your best friend. Everyone felt comfortable with the thought of kissing their best friend… right? Cuddling your best friend during a scary movie and letting them hide in your arms was totally normal, all simply platonic… right? So on he kept saying how Sal was his “best friend,” little did he know exactly how much it hurt Sal to hear them being only that title and never anything more. Sal kept quiet about his feelings and never said anything not wanting to destroy or lose everything the two had built up.

One tour though, the tides quickly changed and shifted.

“Bri! This is Chris Distefano, he’s gonna be an opener for our shows!” Sal introduced Chris to Q. In that moment he got a look at this guy, he thought he looked way better than him and Q felt something inside of him coil up and make him sick. He passed it off as some nerves from being around someone new, so he remained civil and made his best attempt to make a good impression on this guy.

As the tour progressed, Q noticed that Sal wasn’t attached at his hip so much anymore. He was busy chatting things up with Chris. What he saw had made this fire ignite in his head, a jackhammer was what it felt like. He saw Sal leaning up against him, crying tears of laughter, hands folded over his stomach pushing out more laughs, and Chris in the same condition as the other. Q had thought he was one of the few people that could get Sal to laugh like that, and seeing Chris effortlessly do something he thought only he could do made him unreasonably upset.

As he lay in his bunk on the tour bus, Q couldn’t help but wonder: ‘What is going on with me? Why do I feel like this? I should be happy he’s making other friends.’ He barely got sleep that night and he was a total drag up until they were called up onto stage for their next show.

“Hey babe!” Q had never whipped his head around so fast at the sound of the familiar voice and he almost thought he was gonna get whiplash or pull something. As it turned out, Sal’s words were yet again not to him, but to Chris instead who greeted Sal with a wide smile and a warm hug. Q didn’t realize his jaw and fists were clenched so tight until Murr had pointed it out and he allowed it to relax and all the pressure in his head eased a bit and his hand stopped throbbing.

“Just a bit of pre show nerves, heard it’s gonna be a big crowd tonight.” He lied through his teeth and to himself too.

Tour had come to a close leaving Q within the four walls that he had grown familiar too along with the silence that accompanied it. He was finally able to have time to self reflect and really think about what was going on with him. It had been so long since he had even felt this strongly about anyone in his life and for so long he had kept trying to tell himself that everything they did was strictly platonic and nothing more. But Q seeing Sal with someone who was, in his opinion, much more attractive than him and doing basically everything that they used to do together had flipped the switch that this wasn’t just simple friend jealousy.

“Fuck…” He said out loud to himself, “I’m in love with my fucking best friend.” He finally admitted it out loud and buried his face in his hands as his cats nuzzled around him demanding immediate attention. Q’s head felt like it was spinning, he felt almost sick. “Why am I so stupid?!” Mentally beating himself up for not realizing things and sorting it out sooner. Now that he finally realized what that feeling was, jealousy, every other emotion attached had felt so much more intense. Magnified even. He had called Sal for lunch to get together.

“Maybe Chris could join us?” Sal asked curiously.

“Can't just be us?” Q said in quick opposition and realized he sounded like a jealous boyfriend without actually being his boyfriend, “I mean, we haven’t had a day with just us in a while.” He quickly back paddled and covered those secret emotions.

When the day rolled around, he convinced himself that he would finally confess everything. All he wanted was to finally have it all out in the open and hold nothing back. It felt weird keeping secrets from his best friend. Everything was going great, they were catching up on some things, sharing some little life updates, and as always they shared a few good laughs and stories.

“You know Q it’s great we had this day because I have exciting news that I wanna share with you! You’ll be one of the first to hear it.” Sal sat across from him in the booth they were in and had a big beaming smile plastered on his face. He looked as thorough if he didn’t get whatever it was out in that moment, he was just gonna implode.

“Well i’d love to hear what the news is!”

“Chris and I are starting a podcast together!” Q’s stomach sunk like the titanic. It felt painful and he knew he couldn’t mask any of his emotions after trying to build himself up. Sal quickly picked up on all of it and could read Q’s signals well, “Is there something wrong with me doing that Bri? I can read you like a book. You’ve been acting strange lately, what’s going on?” Q doesn’t know what came over him, but his emotions swirled him like a tornado and consumed everything.

“What’s going on? Sal, I know you’re smarter than this.” He forces a chuckle as he rubs his forehead staring down at the table. Sal had an inkling as to what it was, but he wanted to hear it out of Q.

“I don’t think I know what you mean…”

“For god’s sake Sal I like you okay! More than a friend should. Seeing you with Chris… It just…” There it was. The confession. But, for some reason it made Sal mad. All this time, the hints he kept dropping, the countless moves he tried to make. Only when Sal started taking interest in someone else did Q finally show up and show out what he had been wanting for so long.

“Does it make you jealous Brian?” Something about the way Sal said his name made it feel like his veins were wrapped tight around his neck and were suffocating him. “Only now that i’ve started showing interest in someone else do you care. I liked you too, okay?! But you couldn’t be bothered to notice my desperate hints. You just kept throwing ‘friend’ and ‘buddy’ around so I just gave up trying to win you over.” Guilt riddled Q and he felt paralyzed in that moment.

“Sal, i’m just so stupid.”

“Yeah, you are.” Both of them knew Sal didn’t mean it, but it still stung Q like a jellyfish wrapped around his leg. “I’m tired of the mind games Brian.” His head hung low as Sal left without another word. More than ever, Q had felt like the biggest clown in the circus he called his life. He tried to finish eating his food, but all he could do was pick around at it and wallow in his own self pity. By the time he left the diner, he came to the conclusion that this discussion wasn’t done and shouldn’t be left where it was.

He had made his way over to Sal’s house, approaching the front door and about to hit the doorbell

“Q?” All motions come to a quick halt as he turns around to see Chris standing there. He feels the jealousy and anger slowly building again, “What are you doing at Sal’s man?”

“What are you doing here?” It was a little sharper than he intended to sound.

“I asked you first!”

“And I asked you second!” He didn’t want to dish out any info about him and Sal, especially to the guy that Sal’s found a new interest in. Chris takes a deep breath, looking at Q with almost hurt eyes.

“Do you hate me or something? You just seemed to not want to be around me, especially on that tour. What did I do?” Before saying anything else, Q takes a moment to step back before making another mistake he’ll regret. Chris stood there with hands in his pockets waiting for an answer.

“Listen, I don’t hate you. Guess I was just getting a little jealous…” He admits not giving away too many details as he rubs the back of his neck. Looking at Chris though, he could tell he was able to piece some things together with that sentence alone. A moment of clarity hit him.

“Of me and Sal?”

“You just seem to make him happier than I have, you’re a lot more attractive than me… like honestly really attractive…” Q was trailing off and slowly understood Sal’s attraction to Chris.

“Don’t be like that, you’re quite the looker yourself babe.” Q’s cheeks rose in heat and he found it a bit hard to speak.

“You just seem to make him happier and get him to laugh really hard. Guess I let jealousy get the best of my emotions. Maybe… Maybe it’s better he has you. I should… I should just go.” Q began backing away from the door and was gonna leave, but Chris placed a hand to his chest and stopped him.

“Funny, it’s you I should be jealous of. Not gonna lie, I am interested in Sal but he told me he liked you, Q.”

“Wait what? When did he say that?”

“When… we got back from the tour..?”

“Well he just got done telling me he liked you. That’s actually why i’m here.” They both stood there in silence for a moment looking at each other. Their eyes wandered to Sal’s front door, then back again to one another. In a mirrored movement they both went right to the door and rang the doorbell. Footsteps grew louder as they got closer, the door unlocked and cracked open.

“Chris!” Sal said with a smile. Chris moved his hand out opening the door more to reveal to Sal that he had more than one visitor and his eyes grew wide. “And… Q…”

“You’ve got quite a bit of explaining Sally.” Q said with a devilish smirk as Sal broke out into a nervous sweat. When Sal looked to Chris, he wore a similar smirk.

“Yeah, babe. Let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we?”