#Impulse sitting two feet from him and has been feeling those exact emotions for over 25 years: let me cook

[enkays-den]

keep thinking about this tiny moment from the Imp and Skizz podcast with Claire

just,,,, the way that Impulse INSTANTLY leans into the mic because he knows. literally three goddamn seconds to answer. He gets this faraway look in his eyes and smiles like he's thinking "do you SERIOUSLY not know????" and answers before Skizz finishes his sentence. You can see him remembering the hundreds of times that Skizz helped him out and was able to shine light on difficult situations. He doesn't need to even think about it, he feels the answer come to him via memories.

He also talks in the Hot Ones stream with Tango about how Skizz is the one to help you right your ship if it's going off course

and he just said it aloud to no one. the delivery is just. so soft. And then reiterates it and speaks to Skizz directly. Because Skizz deserves to not feel that impostor's syndrome, that there's very real reasons that people feel they can trust his judgement.

AND!!! Skizz thanks him three times for saying it! He accepted the compliment for what it was and wanted to make sure Impulse knew he was heard, even if he couldn't internalize it in that moment. That's good emotional intelligence, folks.

One more layer.

Impulse literally embodies the traits he sees in Skizz when he tells him this. Good with words and people. He knows Skizz so well at this point he had his response in seconds and said it succinctly, to the point where he tries to say "you can understand situations from a wider perspective" and Skizz doesn't even need to hear the rest of the sentence, because that's how good their communication is. Also have this clip showing that Impulse uses Skizz as an example on how to live life.

Just... They're so important to me. They really give new meaning to what a Best Friend is supposed to be.

That's a man thinking about how lucky he is to have skizz as his friend

[solarune]

drop out

@rasapad​ said: Hello! Here’s an idea: “Do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?” + Renjun, and motorcyclist au… except let’s make it fun and have the reader as the one with the motorbike!

pairing: huang renjun x reader

genre: angst, some fluff, college au

warnings: swearing

word count: 1,996

a/n: my first renjun fic!! hopefully i got his characterization right, please let me know what you think!

Renjun has never been one to take risks. Before every choice he makes, he always makes a mental list of pros and cons, thinking of every single outcome possible and what they could potentially lead to. Do the pros outweigh the cons? Does this benefit him in the long run or this is only temporary? Will he get hurt? 

Renjun never takes risks but when it comes to you, it’s very hard to say no.

And that’s exactly how he finds himself on the back of your motorcycle, hands clasped together over your torso as he holds on for dear life while you zoom down the highway. You weave around cars and buses alike to avoid the traffic, some of them honking at the two of you, but unlike Renjun, you like taking risks. Where Renjun is logical, you’re emotional. Where Renjun is overthinking, you’re spontaneously doing. The two of you are exact opposites and it’s for that reason that you’re best friends and for that reason that Renjun caught feelings for you. How could he not? You’re everything he isn’t. You with your confidence, no bullshit attitude, easy laughter, and attention-grabbing aura. You’re everything he wants to be.

You reach a red light on the way to your destination and Renjun’s grip finally loosens to allow his hands to rest for a few seconds. The leather jacket that you’re wearing squeaks as you turn to look over your shoulder at him and you push the visor of your helmet up to reveal a bright smile. His heart skips a beat and he clears his throat, raising an eyebrow and asking in a bored voice, “So are you going to tell me where we’re going or are you just going to keep on driving? I would at least like to know which ditch I’m potentially going to be left for dead in because of this metal death trap you’ve forced me on to.”

You roll your eyes with a smile still on your face as one of your hands leaves the handlebars to gently hit his leg. “We’re not going to die, Junnie, you’ve been on my motorcycle enough times to know that! And-”

“And yet I still feel like I’m close to death every time I get on,” he interrupts you. “Funny how that works.”

“And no, I’m not telling you where we’re going,” you continue with a pointed look after his rude interruption. “It’s a surprise!”

“You know I hate surprises,” he grumbles but his words are lost in the sound of your motorcycle’s engine revving the second the light turns green. His grip on you tightens once more and when he lets out a squeak when he feels you accelerate, he prays to every higher power out there that you didn’t hear him. It would only cause you to go faster and it’s taking everything in Renjun to not press his entire body up against you and hide his face in your neck until you get to your destination.

Renjun doesn’t even notice that he falls asleep until you’re shaking him awake, soft voice calling out his name while the two of you just sit on your parked motorcycle. His vision is blurry from just waking up but it doesn’t explain why everything is dark and he begins to panic and is about to call out to you for help when he realizes that he’s still wearing your spare helmet.

“You’ve been overworking yourself, haven’t you, Junnie?” you question him as you take the helmet from his hands. “I don’t know why you keep doing this to yourself, you know that lack of sleep and caffeine just end up making you more tired.”

Renjun huffs as he rubs at his tired eyes. He knows that but-

“I can’t afford to waste any time, (Y/N). My classes as a second year music theory major are some of the hardest classes I’m going to take, I can’t afford to fail.”

The two of you have had this argument before; Renjun telling you that sacrificing proper sleep is necessary to maintain his perfect GPA and you telling him that taking a 15 minute break and getting at least 8 hours of sleep twice a week isn’t going to kill him. It’s like you’re both talking to a brick wall but neither of you are willing to back down. Renjun wants to succeed and you just want to keep your best friend alive and functioning. 

But you don’t argue with him this time. “I know,” you simply reply, and Renjun is taken aback. No snarky response? No threats to his life? What the hell is going on? “Anyways, we’re here!”

When he looks around, all he sees are trees and grass lit up only by the moon. That’s it, Renjun thinks to himself. I’m going to die here. You begin to walk deeper into the forest and Renjun scrambles off of your bike and runs to catch up with you, the darkness of the unfamiliar forest keeping him on edge. “Can you please tell me what we’re doing here?” he asks. He doesn’t care if he sounds scared or desperate because those are the only two things he’s feeling right now. “Because the more we walk, the more I feel like you’re going to murder me-”

The two of you emerge out onto a cliff and the entire city is laid out before you. It’s enough to take Renjun’s breath away as he stares down at all of the lights, and even in the dark, he can just make out all of the cars on the highway that you were on before. When he takes a deep breath and the cold night air enters his lungs, Renjun feels like he’s at the top of the world. When he looks over at you, he finds that you’re already looking at him with a fond smile on your face and Renjun can’t help but smile back. “This place is amazing, (Y/N)!” he exclaims. “How did you even find it?”

You take a seat on the edge of the cliff, your feet dangling off and swinging in the air, and you pat the ground beside you as a silent request for him to sit beside you. “I was just driving around one night looking for a place to think and just happened to come here.” You shrug and don’t even look up at him as you pull up handfuls of grass. “It’s been around a month since I first found it and I thought it was finally time to bring you here.”

Renjun only nods in response and a comfortable silence falls over the two of you while the wind and muffled sounds from the city provide you with background noise. 

“Do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?” you ask randomly and Renjun swears he almost topples off the cliff from how fast his entire body turns to look at you. You’re staring up at the moon and even though you’re not looking at him, Renjun can tell that you have a strange look in your eyes. He doesn’t like that. “I’ve always thought that moon is pretty, but to be honest…” Your eyes finally meet his and a sad smile appears on your face. “I think you’re prettier.”

All Renjun can do is stare at you as he attempts to process what you just said to him. “Are you okay?” he asks, leaning forward to touch the back of his hand to your forehead. “Are you sick? Why are you being so weird tonight?”

You swat his hand away with a laugh, but the happiness on your face is short-lived and is immediately replaced by a somber expression. “I’m not sick, Junnie, I’m fine.” 

When Renjun looks at you, he can tell there’s more you want to say but you just don’t know how. So he waits in silence, allowing you to gather your thoughts and giving you the time that you need to say what you want. Maybe her dog died, Renjun thinks to himself, trying to think of every possible thing that could have happened that would cause you to be this serious around him. Or she had a bad day, maybe it was her idiotic chemistry lab partner. Or-

“I dropped out today,” you finally blurt out. “Like, out of college.”

All of the air feels like it just got knocked out of Renjun’s lungs. “You what? Why?” It’s okay, it’s fine, he reassures himself. She’s always been impulsive. Maybe she just needed this semester off and she’ll come back next year. And it’s not like I’ll never see her again.

“I’m moving to America to live with my sister.”

No.

“What the fuck, (Y/N)?” Renjun practically shouts as he jumps up from his seat on the ground. “This isn’t funny, stop joking around.”

“I’m not joking around, Renjun,” you say softly as you get up to stand in front of him. “I’m leaving in 2 weeks.”

Renjun. You never call him that. It’s always ‘Junnie’ or ‘Jun’ or ‘idiot’. Never ‘Renjun’.

His vision goes blurry and Renjun doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until he feels tears running down his cheeks. He wipes away at them angrily as he glares at you. “What the fuck were you thinking, (Y/N)? Why didn’t you tell me you were thinking of dropping out? I could have helped you, we could have figured this out together!”

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” you respond, and Renjun can hear frustration in your voice. “I knew you would be like this. You wouldn’t understand-”

“Understand what?” he asks. “Understand that you just threw your entire life away?”

“Understand that this is me finally starting to live the life that I want!” you retort and at this point, you’re both shouting at each other. Your fights have never been like this before and the anger between you two is so visceral that it makes Renjun even more scared. “I don’t belong here, Renjun; in this school, this city, this country. There’s so many things the world has to offer that I wouldn’t ever learn in school and I want to find out what they are. I’m tired of sitting still. I want to do something.”

Renjun doesn’t know what to say at this point. You’ve always been restless but he didn’t think it would come to this. You’re taking a big risk and even though the decision was never his, he still feels scared.

“I’m not like you, Junnie.” Your voice is soft and when Renjun looks at you, all he sees is sadness and uncertainty, plain as day on your face. “There isn’t one thing I particularly like enough to study, I don’t have a dream job, I’m not passionate about something that’s able to make me a ton of money in the real world. At this point, I don’t even know what the hell comes after moving to America. But I need to get out of here.”

More silence. Renjun can’t bring himself to say anything. His mind is blank.

“I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish I could be like you,” you confess. “You’re always so sure of yourself, you always know the right choices to make to get to where you want to be. You’re so smart, Junnie. I wish I could be like that.”

Renjun’s hand balls up into a fist at his side. “You are smart, (Y/N), don’t you dare think otherwise. I may not agree with your decision but I always knew deep down that college isn’t meant for you.” 

He looks back out onto the view of the city. I’ve always wanted to be like her but she wants to be like me. How ironic. Now he knows why you brought him here after all this time. You were waiting for the right moment. “I just wish you weren’t leaving me.”

[neon-junkie]

can i get uhhhhh some willscuella hcs? maybe when (and how?) they understood that dutch is not the leader they want anymore so they ran together and how it all went for them and for their relationship (friends to lovers mb??) idk or just general ones i'll read anything you write about them tbh

ohhhhhhh willscuella, they make my heart melt ;-;  did i get carried away with these? yes. are they a bit scruffy? yes. but you get the gist. 

Just a warning, these hc’s does contain a description of a panic attack and a homophobic slur. its a nice ending tho, promise :) 

Bill was up one night, drinking his sorrows away, trying to shake off the creepy vibe that Beaver Hollow gives out constantly. It's far too late for anybody to be up, apart from those on guard duty and for once, Javier isn't on it.

Bill gets up from his seat and begins wandering off past the horses, heading up to the left so he can empty his bladder. He turns and begins wandering back into camp, only to find Javier sitting down by one of the trees.

Had he been there this whole time? Had he appeared after Bill popped out of the camp? Bill is unsure, but he's definitely sure of the depressing aura that radiates Javier.

"Hey," Bill simply says as he approaches Javier. "You alright?" he asks.

"Bill, hey... yeah... well, no, not really," Javier takes his time responding.

"What's a matter?" Bill questions.

"The gang, Dutch, the usual stuff, you know," Javier tells him with a shrug.

"Yeah, I know," Bill pouts as he sits down beside Javier.

Within time, Javier began to pour his heart out. Ranting to Bill about how much the gang means to him, how they're family, how Dutch took him in when he was ready to die.

He finds himself crying, angry tears as he gets worked up at the situation, the situation that he feels could easily be avoided if everybody would just work together.

"You don't think that maybe... Dutch... he ain't really... with it?" Bill questions. Everybody has noticed how much Dutch has changed, how he's unnecessarily killing, how he's becoming the exact person he swore never to be.

"He isn't. I know he isn't. I guess I just don't want to admit it," Javier sighs. He knows that the man who saved his life is no longer someone he can rely on. He's not the same man who peeled his own coat off his back and wrapped it around Javier, attempting to tell him that he'll be fine, despite the language barrier.

Sooner or later, the gang will break. People have already begun peeling away, one at a time, escaping before the storm can hit. But Javier and Bill are in it till the very end, they've sworn their loyalty to their leader, to the gang, to each other.

"Bill?" Javier questions, lifting his head up and meeting Bills eyes.

"Yeah?" Bill asks, noticing the glistening trails of Javiers tears over his cheeks.

"If anything happens... to the gang I mean, you'll stick by me, Bill, won't you?" Javier questions.

"Of course," Bill nods.

They have each other.

-----

The storm finally came and they were forced to pick a side. But when the Pinkertons showed up, everybody ran.

Javier and Bill noticed the way Dutch didn't bother with them. Dutch didn't even look at them, he didn't check if they were safe or if they were following him to safety. He ran and saved his own ass, Micah trailing behind.

Javier and Bill looked at each other whilst the bullets continued to fly overhead, knowing that now is their chance to escape.

So they left, whistling for their horses and bolting out of there. Dutch was nowhere to be seen nor heard, but this was a blessing in disguise as they could finally escape.

Days became weeks and they found themselves in New Austin, a place they hadn't been for well over the year. They've not missed the blazing sun or the dry earth, but the landscape doesn't seem to bother them. They have bigger demons to face.

A small camp is set up whilst they try and figure things out, where to go, what to do, where to hide, etc. They're sticking together, and even Brown Jack and Boaz seem inseparable, traumatized from how much that fight had startled them.

They're scavenging whatever they can, robbing the odd coach here and there, practically picking up every penny they see in the dirt in order to survive. Every day is heavy, a permanent weight on their shoulders, and they can't remember the last time they've laughed or smiled.

The nights in New Austin are cold and dark, like a vast void. It's the perfect setting for nightmares and they become a regular thing for Javier.

Bill's used to overhearing Javier jolt awake. He's used to stirring in his sleep and seeing Javier sat by the campfire, bags under his eyes with his knees tucked up to his chest.

That well-groomed and confident man that he once knew is gone, leaving behind this started lamb with enough weight on his shoulders to kill a horse.

The nightmares get bad one night, Javier jolting awake but this time, he lets out a cry. He's panting and shaking and he suddenly forgets how to breathe.

"Javier?" Bill calls out as he stirs awake, slowly sitting up to see Javier on the verge of a breakdown. "Shit," Bill swears under his breath, quickly getting to his feet and settling down beside Javier.

The tears begin to fall and Javier goes into a panicked state, shaking and hyperventilating, forgetting how to move his own body.

Bill's unsure what to do so he plays on his instincts, reaching out to gently pull Javier against his chest, softly wrapping his arms around the much smaller man.

Javier melts into him straight away, burying his head into the curve of Bills neck, clinging onto Bills shirt for dear life as he empties out all his bottled emotions through his tears.

Bill cradles Javier, softly cooing him, reminding him to breathe every so often. They stay like that for quite some time; minutes? hours? time blurs when you're in that state.

Once Javier's worn out and stable enough to respond, he sobs out a "thank you," still curled up in Bills lap, still gripping onto his shirt and breathing heavily.

"S'alright. You'd do the same for me," Bill tells him. "C'mon, let's get some rest," Bill says. Javier can only nod in agreement.

Neither of them questions what happens next, they just naturally do it. Bill pulls Javier down with him onto his bedroll, stretching his arm out underneath Javiers head, pulling the smaller man against him. Javiers arms wrap around Bill tightly, gripping onto the bear-sized man as if he was going to slip away.

They're quick to drift off to sleep, exhausted from the turn of events, but the way they've slept doesn't bother either of them.

From then on, literally sleeping together becomes a normal thing. It's comforting, reminding themselves that they still have each other, but only each other.

Javier does try to sleep by himself one night whilst Bill goes for a walk, but he ends up lying awake the whole time. Once Bill is back and settled on his own rollmat, Javier gets up and moves across to Bill, taking his normal position comfortably across Bills chest.

Bill doesn't say a word, he just stretches his arm out and allows Javier to curl up to him. If anything, Bill encourages it from the way he tightly holds Javier, and the way his cheek rests against Javiers head as they sleep.

-----

Their first kiss wasn't surprising. It was a somewhat odd situation, the pair attempting to go into town one evening for a few drinks, over a year after the event.

They'd gotten a lot better since they began finding comfort in each other, and Javier was the one to suggest that they should try and do something normal, especially now they'd earned a fair amount of money and were beginning to get back onto their feet.

Drinks were downed and they were at a comfortable level, sitting by themselves at the table. The saloon was quite busy for a dry, desert town. One that was apparently riddled with cholera but the pair weren't fussed if they catch it. If anything, it'd be a blessing.

They overheard a man make a comment about them, saying he'd "never seen such an odd pair of fags before."

Javier was the one to act impulsively, not Bill, storming to his feet and confronting the stranger.

Bill peeled him away, saying he's not worth it, and managed to drag Javier outside and have him relax as they leaned on the fence surrounding the Saloon.

Bill knew Javier was calm the second he said "that was weird for me, eh? You used to be the one to do things like that," with a soft laugh.

"Maybe you've been around me for too long then," Bill replied.

"Yeah, maybe a little too close to you too," Javier laughs, but Bill picks up on that glisten to his eyes.

"D-do you mind that?" Bill questions. The two had never actually spoken about their sleeping arrangements, naturally doing them to help benefit the other, providing warmth and comfort through their hardest times.

"The cuddling? No," Javier confidently replies.

He said it. Cuddling. They are cuddling, aren't they? Bill feels odd finally hearing it, finally coming to terms with the fact that the pair do enjoy a cuddle every night. And they don't just do it when they're in bed; they've often just lazed about together by the campfire some evenings, or spent a few minutes in each others arms before they get up.

"Do you?" Javier asks, snapping Bill out of his dazed realization.

"What? No," Bill replies.

"Hm," Javier hums in agreement.

They're silent, staring at each other. Javier's always been relaxed about the arrangement, calling it to himself cuddling from the very start, but Bill was a little unsure if it really was cuddling. He's never wanted to cross any boundaries, to hurt Javier in any way, especially not by making him uncomfortable.

Their eyes lock onto each others; Bill's wide and timid, whilst Javiers are relaxed and confident.

But regardless of their current states, they both move in at the same time to finally kiss. It's comforting, like sipping a hot drink at just the right temperature, or watching a rock skim perfectly over the water. It feels like both home and the open road, like two polar opposites finally meeting.

If they would have somehow kissed years ago then it would have never worked; their noses would have bumped too often, Bill would have been too aggressive, and Javier would have probably pushed him away.

But now, it was just right.

Just like that stranger said, they definitely are an odd pair.

[seven-oomen]

Hi, Ben!  Hope you had a good day, and are finally getting some rest!  So, did you know there are sites that let you design your own ugly Christmas sweaters?  May I present the one that Peter’s husbands get him for a party?  Except then the jokes on them because he won’t stop wearing it EVERYWHERE (at least I hope the image shows?  It saved in a different format on the site I used for this.)  Also, if you were ever to actually make a shirt of it, I would suggest an image from the reaction GIF you used for the alignment/meta anon.  Because, my god, that smirk.  XD  (Also, they are totally right.  And it is hilarious to me that the two officers of the law are firmly [and accurately] on the neutral side of that axis.  XD )

And I’m still screaming over that latest preview.  He just wants cuddles and ear scritches, Noah!  The saliva will dry, he’s just showing his appreciation for your support.  XD  And oh, yeah I knew he would eventually get better, it was more me trying to decide how quickly I was hoping for it to happen.  My “I want it asap because I hate seeing them in pain” side was warring with my “but nightmare creature cuddles would be adorbs, tho?” side (and they are).  :D  Also, terrible thought brought on by working at my job too long: since I don’t think that form has a tail like a wolf (I don’t really remember noticing one, at least?), do you think that since he can’t wag, he starts doing the wiggle-butt thing like boxers and pits tend to do?  (sorry, the thought occurred to me and I couldn’t make it stop.  XD )

Also, how dare you put the image of Noah and Chris cuddling in the window seat watching the snow fall while the listen to Peter singing ‘Hallelujah’ as he finishes the dishes, in my head?  Or them sitting at the table having coffee and joining him for the choruses?  Or Chris singing along with Tony Bennett or Harry Connick Jr on the local Christmas station?  Or Noah singing along with Chris Cornell’s version of Ave Maria (or doing a damn good impression at least [song is available on Spotify, btw, if you’ve not heard it])?  My body was not meant to hold this level of feral screaming, dude.  XD

For the undecided alignment (that don’t involve spoilers), I would vote LN for Danny and CG for John.  No specific reasons, that’s just what feels right at the moment.  And I’m curious if Noah and the kids have been in the vault at all, because Malia would be able to access it.

And, yes, I am all for mutual body positivity support among the boys.  I remember watching some BTS thing a few years back, and Linden said something about how everyone was “running around without their shirts on, and I just feel kinda old and jiggly”, and my very first thought was “Oh, please.  You may not be I’ve-had-nothing-but-chicken-for-a-week-and-haven’t-had-liquids-in-three-days ripped like the other guys, but in no way will you ever convince me you are actually out of shape in the slightest."  Also, I’m just picturing a scene where Noah accidentally(/on purpose…?) looms over Chris, who just has this moment of "oh, yeah, that’s right, you’re tall now” immediately followed by ���well, I am learning a number of new things about myself right now"  XD  On a related note, how do you think he feels about dip kisses after realizing this?  Although, I do hope Noah does not sweep Chris off his feet in quite the same way Chris keeps doing to him.  XD

On an unrelated note, that post about Artoo and Luke about killed me dead.  XD  Artoo’s propensity for shenanigans and Luke’s pervading issues with impulse control is just a complete recipe for hilarious disaster and total ride-or-die besties.  It also reminded me of the post about how Rogue One leads into New Hope and Leia straight up lying right to her dad’s face.  Which, while hysterical, also makes me think about how many posts I see about how Leia is very much her father’s daughter, but almost never see any that point out how much Luke is his mother’s son.  I just have a LOT OF FEELINGS about this, okay?  But I will contain that rant.  XD  (Star Wars has been an on-again-off-again love for me since I was 9.  It’s pretty much a guaranteed way to get an emotional response out of me.  XD )

And I’m glad Mo doesn’t bother the tree or anything, though the box thing is pretty funny.  But he does seem to have that very cat-like tendency to want to completely block you from accessing the keyboard or pin you in place because he’s laying on you and you don’t want to disturb him, so I think he’s catting just fine.  XD  I mean, I have some friends who one of their cats is immune to scruffing (the downside of this is that he’s also almost completely feral still [he was a stray that stayed], and at one point he got a UTI and needed antibiotics.  I’m pretty sure my friend had to get like a falconing glove or something to get his pills in him.  XD )

That America being huge vs Europe being old thing also made me laugh because there was the section about the "long bus ride” that was like two hours, and all I could think about was how often we drove four hours both ways to visit my grandparents, and how in high school we took a trip to Canada, and I don’t remember the exact length of the bus ride up, but I know it was between twenty-three and twenty-eight hours.

And I hope you’re enjoying the Spiderman game, or will when you get to it!  As best I recall, everyone I know who has played it has had nothing but good things to say about it.  And wow, I’m rambling again.  Oh well.  Anyway, hope you’re doing well, and sending lots of good energy for finishing the chapter to your satisfaction (I know the readers certainly don’t mind the longer chapters.  :D )  Take care!  *Hugs!*

Oh my god I am absolutely in love with that sweater. Why is this not a thing XD 

And yeah, they definitely gift Peter a sweater like that, lbr. No other way about it. It definitely backfires when Peter wears it every single year and to everywhere. Including PT meetings and the parent/school board meetings? I forgot the American word for it, in Dutch we call it ouderraad. I know we talked about them before where Peter starts a war with the ‘Karen’ and completely wrecks her. And how all the other moms fall in love with the three DILFS.

But yeah, wears it everywhere and every year XD. 

Noah’s deputies, including Jordan, have definitely snapped pictures and post them on every computer desktop in the station. Including pictures of Noah’s reaction faces of that sweater.

Because you cannot convince me, that a bunch of cops, would not be dicks about this.

Chris is infinitely grateful that he does not have coworkers like that.

And god that is rather good smirk to go with that line XD. And yeah I guess it is funny. But it’s also true and that’s wow... XD 

I did a character alignment test for Peter and came out on CN so that is what I’m going to stick with in any itteration for him. 

As for the wiggle butt thing, he does not have a tail and I already had a very lengthy inner discussion with myself before getting this ask and I can tell you, he does wiggle butt like a boxer in this form. Imagine a fucking beast like that just wiggle butting with happiness. The image is so bizarre that I had to include it in the full moon chapter.

Chris is definitely learning a number of things about himself when he figures out Noah can now loom over him and press him against walls. Also Chris has a thing for being bound or pressed against objects and when Noah figures that one out, well, let’s say Peter certainly doesn’t mind watching those moments.

There’s also a revelation when Chris says; I can easily get out of these handcuffs and Noah translates it too; Good, that means that as long as you don’t try to, you’re consenting to whatever I’m doing to you. Deal? To which Chris, enthusiastically agrees. It’s a very fun game. Peter disagrees because they tend to lock him out during the games with some ash, although he is invited back in after they’re done and then the attention of two Omegas is fully on him. So I suppose he doesn’t mind too much.

Something that is both funny and sweet though is that through Ben, Noah discovers how much he misses having little kids running around. And he has a few moments of; oh god I want another kid realizations in this chapter.

Of course, considering their situation this isn’t the time and Noah more than realizes that. But it gets conversations about the future going for all three of them.

Oh and to answer your question, Malia has not been to the vault, but she and her siblings will get to see it. If that’s with dad or with Derek I haven’t decided yet. But they will end up at the vault in this story. Gotta get Peter’s necklace back.

So far I’ve had a bit of a rough day but by answering this and focusing on headcanons, and that freaking sweater!!!!, I feel a bit better. So thank you my friend, this helped me a lot <3. 

And I agree, Leia is just like her father but Luke is all Padme and people don’t talk about that enough. <3

Lots of Love from me and Mo!

[deansawthetvglow]

The ficlet: Welcome Home, 2.2k, post s14.

The prompt: Yo! Congrats for the 3000! I was thinking a cute ficlet of Dean finding Cas' sketch book and it's all cute drawings of Dean with little sentences or notes by Cas. Stuff like a drawing of deans sleepy waking up face and Cas' note saying "this is my 2nd favorite Dean face". for @idkmanjustgo

It’s been a week since Dean and Sam have seen Cas.

They’re stuck in the bunker, and Cas is out hunting God.

“We should be out there with him, Sammy.” Dean grumbles.

“I know Dean, but Cas can help locate him faster. Once he does, we can go help with the fight.”

Dean rolls his eyes at his brother. “How can you be so okay with Cas leaving at a time like this?”

It’s been a week since Chuck snapped his fingers and the aftermath is immense. The sky is constantly dark, black smoke blocking out the sun as demons search for available vessels to trash. Ghosts roam the earth, tied to nothing but the stench of hell. Dead men shuffle through the streets, rotting and hungry.

Cas shouldn’t be out there alone.

That’s when Dean’s phone rings and he lunges to grab it from the countertop next to the stove.

“Cas?”

“Dean. I have been...unsuccessful...in my search. I know that you would prefer me to stay away from the bunker at this time, but I’m,” an exerted grunt crackles through the phone, “quite injured and could use a place to rest.”

Dean kicks himself. It’s the end of the fucking world so of course, he had just told Cas he’s no longer welcome. “You’re dead to me.” How fucking stupid.

Dean sighs, trying not to give away how much Cas is not dead to him at all. In fact, he’s pretty much all he’s been fixating on for the entire past week and now he’s worried sick at the prospect of Cas being so injured he needs time to heal.

“Course, Cas. You, uh, you’re always welcome here.”

“I estimate my drive will be around 12 hours, considering all the chaos on the roads.”

“Sure. See you soon.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean hangs up and presses the phone to counter, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in.

“So, Cas is coming back?” Sam says over his book from the kitchen table.

Dean just nods and leaves the room.

He knows there’s not much he can do to help Cas, he knows that they are more fractured than they’ve been before. There’s no fiery anger or sorrow, there’s nothing to hold onto. Instead, it feels like a faux indifference, one overcompensating for true emotions and is eating away at them both.

Neither wants to show weakness. Neither wants to feel the full weight of their situation. Neither wants to admit the opposite of their indifference.

But Dean decides, fuck it, it really is the end of the world this time and he needs to make sure Castiel feels welcome in the family again.

It’s a small step, and it won’t erase the words he’s already said, but it’s in this moment that he decides to prepare Cas’ room for his arrival.

He reaches door 15 and hesitates. Castiel deserves his own god damn permanent room, not some guest room that’s only available when it’s convenient for them.

Dean decides to move Cas to room 12, just down the hall from his own. Maybe he’ll regret it but c’est la fuckin vie.

When he finally enters the guest room to collect Cas’ things, he doesn’t find much.

It’s a sterile room, lonely almost. He grabs the little photo leaned up against the lamp, the one they took back with Bobby and Jo and Ellen all those years back, a few spare buttons and some weird Enochian book with a few goats etched in gold on the front.

He turns to leave when he notices the corner of a piece of paper peeking out from under the bed.

When Dean leans down to grab it, he realizes, it’s not just a piece. It’s a whole notebook.

The pages are sturdy and lightly creme tinted and the cover is white, simple, smooth, blank.

He knows he shouldn’t, but once he reaches room 12 and sets the knickknacks he found down on the desk, he sits on the edge of the bed and opens the journal.

What he sees first makes him gasp.

It’s a hand on a shoulder from a high perspective. There are terrible faces screaming, warped, muddled together in the background, but there is a light, replicated by the contrast from perfect charcoal shading, that blinds in the foreground.

The bottom corner reads “Dean Winchester is Saved”

Dean’s mind flashes back to his first moment seeing the scar from Castiel. His stomach lurches.

Dean never expected Castiel to be an artist, but now, seeing the magnificence of something so simple, his heart yearns to turn the page. He knows there’s something wrong about looking through someone else’s notes, but he can’t help it.

He does.

This page is eyes. His eyes.

Angry eyes. Soft eyes. Closed eyes with long lashes. Crying eyes. Eyes with pupils so dilated, Dean can see love. A few of the eyes are framed by expressive brows, some sketches reach down to the tops of freckled cheekbones.

He breathes deeply and closes his own eyes, letting his finger softly run down the page, not enough to smudge it, but just enough to feel the intensity at which these were drawn.

He opens his eyes.

Turns the page.

This page is noses. All the same one. Freckles spattered meticulously over them. Some are side profiles, others, straight on. Some flared, some scrunched. Dean never thought a nose could be a muse, and yet...

Another page flipped means he reaches lips. Dean lifts a finger to his own to trace the shape. These are his lips. They are drawn lightly open, smiling, pressed together, shouting.

One depiction has his lips locked with another’s. His lips dominate the image so he can’t pick out who’s they are. He wonders if he’s kissed that set of lips before. He wonders if they are Castiel’s, but quickly shakes the thought from his head.

Another page turned and he’s not sure how to feel.

It’s his entire profile, perfected. Mimicked sunlight hits his face and his eyes gleam in the light. His face is sharp and determined, but his eyes fool no one.

This one is labeled, “Dean running us through a case. It’s morning, the sun rises and warms us through a dirty motel window. I don’t remember the case. I was too busy looking at him.”

The next page is him sleeping. He wishes he felt weird about it, wishes he hated that Cas had drawn him like this, messy hair and parted lips and cheek squished into a soft pillow, but he can’t help but feel warm and soft and flattered.

The accompanying note does nothing to settle the butterflies in his stomach.

“Dean didn’t sleep well last night, he doesn’t usually. He sleeps angry. But we returned from a case in Illinois last night and he needed true rest. I snuck in and gave him a dream. Here is his face when he’s dreaming of picnics with a woman he saw on a billboard for shampoo yesterday.”

He keeps turning pages, settles back into the pillows on the bed and lets his feet swing up. He flips and gazes for a long while.

There are countless images of bees drawn on the sides of pages, one page is an entire hive of them, honeycomb patterning in the back.

There are a few drawings of Sam and Jack here and there as well. Sam looks so happy in one of the sketches that Dean’s heart nearly bursts. He hasn’t seen Sam that happy since...ever...and seeing it, well, maybe it should make him sad, but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s perfect and it makes Dean think it’d be possible to see that exact expression on his brother’s face sometime.

Sometime soon, he hopes.

There’s one page in a cartoon style that depicts Jack as a superhero, a whole costume design and everything. “Angel Man” written messily at the top.

Dean snorts into the silence, Cas, you are such a huge dork.

Finally, he reaches one of the last pages, and he shuts the book abruptly. He squeezes his eyes and holds the book between two hands against his chest. He looks up at the concrete ceiling and tries to calm himself by counting air bubbles in the harsh grey above.

He can’t resist it though.

Tentatively, he opens the book again, to the place his thumb subconsciously kept for him.

It’s not just lips this time.

It’s their faces, the entirety of each, down to the shoulders. Dean is pressed up against the line of a wall and Castiel’s thumb is resting on his cheek as the rest of his hand disappears by the nape of his neck.

Dean’s hand is hidden by Cas’ face but he can see his fingers buried and tugging lightly at black hair. Castiel’s face is so sincere, like every emotion he has ever felt as an angel— anguish, doubt, fear, devotion, loyalty, love(?)—is committed to one kiss. Dean’s face is less complex, it’s accepting and relaxed and wanting.

Dean isn’t sure how Cas depicted such emotions on the page, maybe used some angel mojo or something, but all he knows is he can feel the kiss. The weight of it. The importance.

Most of all, he feels the want.

He wishes he didn’t. He wishes Cas hadn’t gotten his face so painfully right, but he had. Everything that he had built up in his chest was screaming to be let out.

Holding those feelings down had been worse than locking down Michael— perhaps that’s why he had been so good at keeping the archangel in captivity for so long.

Dean lets his eyes roam the page once more before noticing the tiny phrase written in the lower right corner, “A dream.”

His heart flutters and he gingerly closes the book this time. He sits up and sets it on the bedside table.

Running a hand through his hair, Dean lets the silence overtake him.

He wants nothing more than to feel turmoil about this. He wants to feel angry or betrayed or confused. But he doesn’t.

All he can feel, book set aside, silence settling, is peace.

With that, he finally stands. He turns down the sheets and fluffs the pillows. Adds another, extra-soft blanket from the bottom drawer of the cabinet to make it feel even more like home. Then, impulsively, he tears one of the last empty pages from the angel’s sketchbook and scribbles onto it, setting it gently on the pillow.

When he’s finished, he slips out of the room, leaving the door ajar.

—

Cas got home exactly when he thought he would.

When evening rolled around, he was pulling in to the bunker garage and walking in to greet Sam and Dean in the kitchen.

When he did, he was limping, eyes heavy and tired.

Sam was first to rise and greet him by supporting him and helping him hobble forward.

“Is there anything I need to check out for you? Are you okay?”

His voice is scratchy, but it comes out okay, “Just need rest. Thank you, Sam.”

Dean stayed silent, staring at Cas and Sam slink through the kitchen to the hallway. He sipped the whiskey in his hand for a moment before standing and following the two.

When Sam nearly let go of Cas to open the door of room 15 for him Dean let out a “Nope. 12.”

Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean leaning against the wall and half glared.

“Little help here?”

Dean moved forward and passed the two before pushing open the door to room 12 and letting them walk past.

Sam gently lowered Cas to sit on the bed. Cas smiled as he saw all of his things neatly resting on his nightstand. Finally, he turned and picked up the note on his pillow.

Welcome Home.

He read it, and Dean watched as the angel’s cheeks turned pink as he felt the familiar material of the paper under his fingers.

Cas first looked to Sam, but Sam shook his head, already knowing the question on Castiel’s mind.

“Then...who?”

Dean broke a bit at the utter confusion on Castiel’s face. How could he have said something so hurtful that Cas couldn’t even comprehend a “welcome home” coming from him?

Dean let his eyes flick over to Sam, who in turn nodded towards Cas with a soft smile. With that, Sam turned and left the room.

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, welcome home, Cas.” And washed down the rasp with a swig of his whiskey.

Cas just looked up at Dean with a mix of fear and wonder in his eyes.

“Thank you, Dean, this means,” he brought the note close to his chest and let his eyes close, “so much.”

Dean couldn’t stop his feet from moving him to sit beside Cas. But he didn’t really mind.

He placed a hand on Cas’s shoulder and let the wave of blue that hit him when Cas’ eyes were trained to his own wash over him.

Dean quirked his lips into a half smile.

Cas’ eyes, usually so set, flicked to his hands. “I assume you’ve seen my sketches.”

With that, Dean slid his hand off of Cas’ shoulder and brought it to rub his chin.

“Yeah, listen, I am so s-“

But before he could finish Castiel rushed out a “Please don’t be angry.”

Dean’s stomach twisted with guilt.

“Cas, no.”

Castiel was squeezing his eyes shut, the note in his hand now crumpled from the pressure of his fist.

“Cas, hey,” Dean breathed out again. His heart rate quickened as he reached out his index finger and placed it under the angel’s chin, moving to guide his face towards him, “look at me.”

Now facing Dean, Castiel opened his eyes and saw something he never expected. Something he never drew for fear of not having the privilege of seeing it in real life.

He saw Dean longing for him.

Like a low roll of thunder in the distance, “Dean.”

And then Dean was leading Castiel’s chin forward and bringing his lips to meet his own.

The touch was feather light at first, hesitant, but then he was pushing closer when Castiel didn’t pull away.

Their lips were slotted perfectly together.

Heaven and Hell. Angel and Man. Dean and Castiel.

When their lips finally parted, Dean refused to let Castiel away completely. He set his forehead gently against Cas’ and looked into the blur of perfect blue. Tears were leaking from the angel’s eyes, and Dean furrowed his brow in concern as he wiped one away with the pad of his thumb.

There were no words, but Dean understood. He knew what his angel was feeling. He had seen it before in charcoal.

That night, Dean didn’t sleep in his own room, and Castiel rested, drawing the details of an arm draped over his torso and a face pressed against his chest and legs intertwined with his.

Home.

[geekygoddesss]

Vids and Tricks

Free days are the best days, everyone knows that. The reason what weekends are the best and why all of those days in between hard days of work were the best had a really simple explanation and it is simply because they are the best in the world, just like today. So far, today it’s perfect.

It is one of those days, if not the only day that I and the rest of the team have had some sort of free time in between all of the mess it’s been going on in this production. I work with my boyfriend, I have done it for a while and being his ‘stylist’ and assistant was not as easy as it sounds, not easy at all if you really think about it. As an actor, he had to be in so many places at a time and rarely had some sort of break in between productions but in the middle of all the projects he was currently working on, this one took the big crown for a lot of reasons and it’s been by far the biggest and most complicated one I have ever witnessed.

Funny thing, we thought we were over with the filming of this project almost a year ago, we call it a wrap and went back to London happier than ever for completing such a big thing, but little did we know, there were some major mistakes in post productions, scripts and everything in between, a series of unfortunate events that lead us all the way back to the middle of Canada, on a house with no cell service, bad internet but an amazing view, thing that we could barely enjoy since the hours of filming were crazy and our free time was mostly spent on crucial things like eating or sleeping or usually getting a lovable but that is another story.

We have been crazy busy these last months. Until today, the perfect day.

It was a hot summer day in Canada, a Sunday to be exact and for once, we were work free and had a full mansion to ourselves, again, it was the perfect day in all shapes and forms. Since the moment we woke up, we knew, this is the kind of day we have to prepare for, so we did; we spend all morning getting all the equipment: beers, some big stake to roast later, groceries of all kinds, floats and last but not least, sunscreen, because we decided, today it’s pool day and we will make the most of it.

The moment we finally got back to the mansion, the moment I changed into a good swimsuit and go out in the sun, I love summer and I would make sure to enjoy it at it’s best while I still can, make my best to get a good tan and relax, turn my phone off, forget the world, today is a day to relax.

So I changed my clothing, dragged one of the long chairs in front of the pool and laid in there, headphones on my ears, canceling the world and the ones around me. This is me moment.

I felt like I was in heaven, the warm sunlight against my skin, the freshness of the air around me and the beat coming from my headphones made me feel like I was in my zone, the perfect zone to be in and that is just how I laid, for hours and hours. I barely notice what goes around me, I am too in my head to even think about anything, but just when I am starting to catch some sleep and fall into some deep slumber that I was feeling the need of having for the past week, a splash of water hits my feet and my eyes are opening in big surprise. That really took me off guard.

“(Y/n)!” I hear my boyfriend’s voice yell from the other side of the pool with a hint of impatience in his voice.

“Yes?” I say in the exact same tone, as I slide myself up on the chair and sit up, lifting my sunglasses off my face and looking over at Tom, who had a sneaky smile on his face as he got himself out of the pool and walked to my direction.

“Are you listening at all?” He asks, shaking his head like a dog and splashing little drops of water all around.

“Sorry, I had my headphones on” I say, pulling the chord from them and leaving them on the little table right beside me along with my phone “what’s up?” I ask, looking up at him with a questioning look.

“I’m just about to make my biggest trick” he says, bragging, as he walks fast along the perimeter of the pool and reaching the diving platform and going up on it and walking straight to the edge.

His movements were too quick. I guess he’s been doing this for a while, it’d make sense, that would explain the splashing sounds going around and laughs everywhere, maybe I was missing out, but I didn’t care, I was having fun on my own.

“Which is?” I ask, raising my eyebrow as he happy bounces a little on the platform with the balls of his feet.

“So I jump from here, right?” he explains, pointing down at his feet and looking at me directly, making sure I was following.

“Ok” I nod

“But then Harrison throws the float and I go right through it, with… wait for it, a flip”

“Oh gosh” I shake my head, not believing or even picture how that would look like.

“Easy” he teases nodding at Harrison, who is already picking the float from the pool and walking out of the pool.

“No, not easy, you’re going to hit yourself or something” I say, Immediately objecting. Don’t get me wrong, he is a great gymnast in general, when he is on the ground but in the water it seemed a little dangerous, he looked too convinced, I knew how a good (bad) hit in the water feels like and I would hate for that to happen to him. “babe” I say, a little whiny tone in my voice.

“Babe, I’ll be fine, I’ll just hit the water at best, it’s alright” he says, chuckling. Again, too sure of this and waving this all off  “just record everything, would you?” he asks. So just for the record, I do it.

“There’s no way you’ll make that jump” I say, grabbing my phone from the table and opening up the camera.

“I will!” he says, making it sound like he was defying me.

“Don’t break your back” I say as a full warning “We don’t want broken lead characters in here” I scoff as I get him in frame.

“I won’t, I promise” he chuckles, taking a deep breathe and preparing for his biggest trick.

Sometimes he didn’t believe me when I said I loved him doing tricks all around and perfecting his ability as a gymnast after such a long time of quitting training, he said I was too paranoid that he would get hurt and become something bigger when he assured me ‘he knew what he was doing’ and I got to admit, he is right, I was paranoid and I did not want my baby to get hurt, so naturally, when things went don't to him doing these kinds of tricks, they would end up either really good or really bad. We couldn’t afford another broken nose from jumping, so I got my fingers crossed that he will be fine now that he’s in the water.

He takes one big breath and backs up on the platform just enough. He and Harrison make one serious eye contact before going on with the trick, because he seems to give his friend one silent green light as he moves on, he takes a big impulse on the platform and jumps up high, Harrison throws the float with great accuracy and Tom does indeed go through it in the first try(ish). His body go straight to it at first, but when the float is around his torso he curls his body up, doing one big flip in the air and landing on the water in the perfect position.

It takes him a brief second to catch his breath and I take it as well, because my jaw drops at the he just did and I have to control my hand from dropping the phone, that jump was really amazing.

“WOAH” He yells in emotion “OH. MY. GOD” looking up at everyone as Harrison laughed and his mom shook his head in surprise.

“That was awesome!” Harrison’s mom says, laughing in happiness.

“Did you get that?!” Tom yells, pointing at me  “Did you get it?!”

I stutter and struggle to find coherent words as I laugh “I did, I think I did” I said laughing as I stopped the video “I can’t believe it”

“Let me see” he says, sinking in the water and swimming to the edge. I move to the edge of the pool and sit on the slightly hot floor being careful to not be too close to the actual water. Tom emerges from the water and grabs on the edge of the pool as he pulls himself up and sits beside me on the floor. I put the video on the phone and show it to him as he cleans the bits of water left on his eyes and stares at the screen. He laughs at himself.

“That was awesome” He laughs, getting a little closer and leaning his chin on my shoulder this time. “I told you I would do it” he mumbles on my ear, kissing my cheek softly.

“I eat my words I guess” I chuckle, playing the video once again.

He finds it hilarious like we all did and before we can even notice, my phone is being passed around between the people around us, all of them playing the video a million times and checking out one more time, the incredible talent my boyfriend has.

I watch everyone’s reaction one by one and smile at their happiness. This was definitely being a good day for all of us. I think I was getting too much in my own thoughts like it has happened in the past, I yell in surprise when two familiar arms grab me and pull me out of my spot, throwing me in the pool along with him. There’s a cold current going around my body, all of it and I can’t help but yell in surprise once again and I emerge to the surface and find my boyfriend laughing and hugging me and I shake the excess of water off my face. That was not very nice.

“Ah! TOM” I exclaim loudly, splashing water on his face, totally with the intention of pushing him off just a little. “shit, it’s cold” I say, hugging my own body and shaking.

“Post that” He says, ignoring my words and pointing at Harrison as he swims towards me.

“Fine” he nods, making a thumbs up as he grabs my phone and sits on the same place he has been sitting for the entire afternoon.

I feel Tom wrap me in a hug, kiss on my forehead repeatedly and then presume “You defy me and I proved myself”

“I know I’m sorry” I chuckle, looking up at him  “you can do cool tricks, I think I know that”

he proudly smiles “I will take that as an apology and I accept it” he says, kissing my lips shortly and hugging me closer “now are you going to stay and swim with me or are you going to be boring and sleep in the sun?” he asks, his faded eyebrows raising.

“I wasn’t sleeping, dummy” I say, pinching his tummy a little once and then twice.

“Ouch, ouch” he says, laughing, so I stop. He moves his hands to mine and wraps them around his torso as he asks once again “so?”

I consider it for a good five seconds. Yeah sure, laying under the sun with music on for the rest of the day did not seemed like a bad idea at all, but really thinking about it, I liked the idea of hanging out with Tom just a little more on his free day, I was a great time before, but I was sure that with him I would just make my day a lot better.

“I think I’ll stay like this” I say, hugging myself to him as he smiles and kisses my forehead “not everyday you get a free day so” I mumble kissing his cheek lightly “I’ll take some advantage”

“That’s the spirit” he chuckles, squeezing my sides and swirling us around.

We hear music being played on the background, which is just perfect because it sets the perfect scene, so I lay on him and let him lead us whatever he would like us to go. Suddenly the cold was being lifted off my body and his body heat was passing onto me, making me comfortable and making me stay between his arms longer.

“Don’t be gross on the Pool” he hears his friend call in the background.

We laugh.

“Fuck off man” Tom says laughing, lifting his middle finger in the air for a brief second as we kept walking in the pool and dragging me with him.

“Where are we going?” I ask him in a small mumble, looking up at him and that smile I love so much.

“Be gross on the pool” He mumbles back, looking down at me and pecking me on the lips.

That was how I noticed he was done doing all of his tricks for the day, because today it’s his free day and it will be all about relaxing, and if relaxing meant that I would get to stick all day to his side, then I would do it without question. Because this kind of days, along with him, made it seemed just like a dream.

[badlybruisedagain-blog]

Sick of losing soulmates [ ˡᵒᵍᶤᶜᵃˡᶤᵗʸ ]

wнaт a ѕтrange вeιng yoυ are,

god ĸnowѕ wнere ι woυld вe ιғ yoυ нadn'т ғoυnd мe, ѕιттιng all alone ιn тнe darĸ

a dυмв ѕcreenѕнoт oғ yoυтн

waтcн нow a cold вroĸen тeen wιll deѕperaтely lean on a ѕυperglυed нυмan oғ prooғ.

❄------------------------------------❄

Patton Foster. Or better known as "The dad figure" to everyone. This was because he cared for everyone as his child or a best friend. The male was an only child which made him branch out and become a social butterfly, talking with everyone. Good or bad. As the years went he had crushes, dated a few people but when college came around. He had hopelessly fallen in love with a man named Roman Sanchez. This male made Patton's heart skip a beat and his stomach flutter with butterflies. He loved him from the moment they talked at a college party and everyone had picked someone and he knew he had found his soulmate. The one. Or at least he thought so. But after being together for a couple years. Two and a half years to be exact. They got engaged at the beginning of December. Everything was smooth sailing and they were planning to get married once their senior year was over. But Patton hadn't known about the cheating his fiance, Roman was doing with another. He didn't know his soon to be husband was sleeping with a male named Virgil Vexx. A year behind Patton and Roman. He didn't know until he saw a letter plastered on their front apartment door that explained what Roman had been doing and done. All his fiance's clothes and little items were gone when he entered the apartment. But Roman left behind all the songs, poetry, and letters he had written to Patton. This shattered Patton's fragile heart. 

Every poem and song Roman had ever written, spoken, and sang to Patton just seemed to break his heart and make him feel like there was nothing anymore. That there was no one. A few weeks had grown by and it was close to the end of December. Just two days after Christmas. Patton was still heartbroken and somber looking as he walked around the campus of Cresting Heights. His grades had dropped immensely and he sometimes didn't even show up to class. His heart was heavy and motivation to leave the apartment was becoming worried some. He had decided to begin shredding or burning the letters, poems, and songs he kept that Roman had given Host. After finishing with what he was doing, his hands were cut and slightly red from him burning and shredding the papers. He felt a little relief but realized what he was doing. He thought more and more. his mind clouding up before he just grabbed a jacket and raced out the door. He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts or himself anymore. Patton knew he couldn't just sulk and hurt himself.

Patton had run for a few minutes, to just make sure he was far away from his apartment. His running had caused him to make it about six blocks and end up by a frozen water fountain near the college campus. His breathing harsh and becoming clouds that left his shivering lips. He hadn't planned this out well which he never did because he sometimes acted out on impulse. The male to regain himself and looked around with fogged glasses, beginning to slowly walk now. It was growing colder in the time Patton was outside in the snowy weather. Fifteen minutes, The hazel-colored eyed male could care less but a side of him was urging him to go back home and just cry. Hideaway again and he just had to ignore that side. His eyebrows furrowed as he just closed his eyes to breathe in and out for a few seconds, but when he stopped to breathe. He could feel the snow becoming heavier and the wind beginning to howl louder. But for some reason, he stayed where he was and slowly extended his arm out with the palm facing up to catch the snowflakes. But they just melted in his hand.

Patton's eyes fluttered open as he was looking straight ahead as those glossed hazle eyes just stared at a lamp that showed the snow falling down. His body began to move towards a bench that was just a few feet away and when he approached it. His hands began to clean off a small spot so he could sit there by himself and just bask in the snowy weather for now to calm his nerves. He started to shiver a little as he felt a few snowflakes land on his brunette colored hair that stayed but some of the flakes melted. He had tears running down his cheeks, dripping down from his chin as he hiccuped out. His mind began to replay memories of how he and Roman would have snowball fights and then afterward would cuddle under a heated blanket but that was now all gone and dead. It was to never happen again. Patton wished he could just be held and told sweet things to relax his nerves but he would never get that again. He let out a cracked sob of heartache as he tried to stop the tears flowing from his cheeks and onto the snowy concrete ground. Patton figured no one would hear his cry of a broken heart but someone did. It was faint to them but they heard it. This person couldn't simply ignore it.

"Patton?" A light and almost monotone male voice spoke as those hazel colored eyes looked up to see Logan Berry. They have talked before but it was mostly in class when they bumped into each other around the campus. The two of them were more acquaintances than friends. But the sobbing male turned away from the dark blue eyed male who had said his name so flat like. It made the feeling of being small greater than before. This caused him to be quiet but for some reason, his lips opened up to speak. It seemed his heart wanted to spill out everything. "Th-that's me...don't wear it out..." Patton spoke with a joke or at least trying to so that he could play off that he was fine. He is lying to himself that he is fine. He was shattered and in agony.  The joke that the sobbing male has said, earned a scoff from Logan who sat beside the other. 

"You aren't adequate. I heard you crying and thought maybe I could help you. Or at least know why you are out here at this time of night with no scarf, gloves, and proper boots to wear."  Logan explained while he pointed to Patton's clothing. He did have a point since the other was only wearing a jacket to be warm. It was worrisome to Logan but he internalized that. The logical male was not one to understand emotions or feelings. Especially his own. Although he wasn't skillful about comforting others in their time of need. For some reason, he wanted to help Patton and be a support. A strange feeling boiling in his stomach. "I wish to understand why you are crying and how I may help you...?" Logan was confident at the beginning of his sentence but it turned into a question at the end.

"Roman cheated on me with some guy named Virgil...And I keep thinking of how I messed up in our relationship. Did I not care for him or his needs as much as I should? Did I go too fast when I said yes to his proposal? Was I not good enough for him..." Patton choked out on his words because it seemed to be what was always on his mind nowadays. His bottom lip beginning to quiver since this was the first time he had talked to anyone about what had happened to him and Roman. It was good to express your emotions and speak about what was bothering you but it pained the other to even speak. So he bit his lip to hold back any noise he was making which was sobs and hiccups. "I always think about him...I always think I was not good enough...Logan, he made me feel so loved but he hurt me by leaving, by cheating on me. I must have done somethi-"

 "Patton. You are not at fault for him cheating on you. Humans tend to do this when they feel like something is failing in a relation-" Logan soon paused because he began to realize that is word choice would not fit well. It would only upset Patton more than before and he did not want that for the heartbroken male. "I will rephrase that and say...Him cheating may result in something within in himself. But it could have been just for the fact he could cheat and did so which lead to him leaving. many factors come into play when it comes to cheating and men are most likely to cheat than women." The logical male didn't know why he was just spilling out facts instead of truly helping Patton in this current situation. It began to make him uneasy but he had to push it away. "Patton what I am trying to say is that none of this is your fault. You are not the reason why he cheated. If I may add. I feel...ugh, look at me saying feel. I 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 like he has tossed away a stable relationship in order to be with someone else. You don't deserve that. No one does."

This was confusing Patton but he had cracked a sad but light smile because the other male was trying to help and make him feel not like this was his fault. It was pleasant to have Logan here with him. He turned a little to face the other male and those hazel colored eyes were glossed over but a small giggle escaped his lips. "Logan, you're the first person I talked to about what happened. I can't express h-how happy I am that you came along. You're to help and listen which I give you props for...But I am still unsure of what to do. I feel like I am drowning in my thoughts and emotions when I am home by myself." Patton's voice cracked a little as he turned away because tears were beginning to travel from his eyes down his cheek and chin to his lap now. He also didn't want to cry in front of Logan and be judged. "He is probably better off with Virgil anyways, rig-" And once again Patton was cut.

When Logan cut of Patton it was by a plaid blue scarf being wrapped around the other's neck gently and pulled some to wipe the tears. The logical male was not well with comforting others but if he knew one thing. He knew people needed a comforting touch. "Patton, listen. This is may a rough time for you but you can not believe that this was all your fault. I do not understand how you feel but I am trying to. But, if I may suggest to you. That if you begin to experience this drowning feeling and feel like you can't escape. That you may call me. I do not offer this to anyone but for you... I want to be there and become a support for you..." His words began to trail off since he was uncertain about this offer he had given Patton. He pondered if the other male would take his offer. 

"Logan...I will take the offer that you have given me. Thank you for having the time to talk to me." Patton softly spoke out as he felt the warmth of the scarf on his neck, taking an inhale of the scent. It smelt like a fireplace. It was comforting and it relaxed Patton greatly since he hadn't smelt anything like this before. On somebody. His eyes fluttered shut for a few seconds to take in the scent a little and listen to the winds howl die down a little. But when he fluttered his eyes open, his head cocked to the side when he saw Logan

wнaт тнe нell woυld ι вe,

 wιтнoυт yoυ

 вrave ғace тalĸ ѕo lιgнтly,

 нιde тнe тrυтн

[sweetcherryharry]

youngblood

Request: “Songfic with Youngblood and Tom Holland, please” by anonymous

Summary: Tom and Y/N used to be the happiest couple ever alive, but sadly, things change.

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader [ they’re ex’s ]

Warnings: none

*italics are flashbacks

The memories flooded back as Tom looked through his camera roll. It was filled with pictures of you two, and he swore he could feel the exact moment when each one was taken.

It had been two months, two hard months for him. Ever since you left, he wasn’t the same. His eyes were expressionless, his smile was nonexistent, everybody who knew him didn’t even recognize him. Tom used to be a different man, full of excitement and happiness, he used to make people’s days brighter. But not anymore. He was now cold at all times, not even a single piece of him remained.

He came across a picture he took over a year ago, one of his favorites. The photo was of you sitting down on his bed, wearing an extremely large Spiderman t-shirt and some pajama shorts. You had a big smile plastered on your face, and your hand was taken in his. He could still remember that sleepless night clearly.

It was 4:30 a.m. and neither of you could sleep. Tom and you couldn’t stop laughing and talking about anything that came up to your minds. The room was dark as both of you sat face to face in your shared bed, a few chocolate wraps and marshmallow bags scattered around the white cushion.

The room was dark, but the moon lighted up the room through the open window. It was a full moon tonight, and it shone a little brighter than usual. The wind was cool, and it was perfect for you two.

You had been talking for hours, having deep conversations on anything you could think of. You loved sleepless nights with your boyfriend, it was one of your favorite things to do. They didn’t happen often, due to Tom’s work, since he would always be in another city filming. But you didn’t mind, Tom was worth all those weeks and months without seeing each other. The moments you had with him overcome all the days apart. You wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

Tom had just told a lame dad joke, that made the both of you laugh a little bit more than the usual, due to all the sugar rush and the hour of the night.

As you calmed down, you noticed Tom looking at you so lovingly, affection filling his eyes. You smiled at him, and you knew you looked the same as him. You were both so whipped for each other.

“I love you so much. You’re the most beautiful girl in this world.” Tom said softly as he caressed your cheek, and you felt your insides flutter. He told you sweet things all the time, but you wouldn’t get used to listening them. Even in the two years you’ve been together, the effects were still the same.

“I love you baby, I’m the happiest girl with you. I’m yours forever.” You said truthfully, and he locked his lips in yours in a soft kiss, one full of love and passion. “Please love me till the day I die.”

“I’ll always love you, don’t you ever worry about that love. I promise.”

And Tom had kept his promise, even if he hasn’t seen you in two months, or the way your relationship had been during the last few weeks together, his emotions for you wouldn’t decrease even one bit. He loved you with every piece of his heart, and he didn’t believe that would ever change.

The last weeks with you were hard, and he regretted them. He wished he could change them, to go back in time and try harder to solve the problems you both had. Your last conversations would always end like it was the last goodbye. If any of the two of you went out without the other, you would get drunk and call the other about a hundred times. At first, when the problems started, he tried to pull you into him, to make everything right, but you pushed him further away. So he stopped trying, and the relationship broke.

He sighted and decided that it was better to stop looking at the pictures, it was 2:00 am in the morning, and the empty bed beside him didn’t help the situation. He wanted you there with him, but knew that wouldn’t happen again.

His friends that had happened to come upon you, told him that you looked happy. That you now looked fine, and that he should try to do the same.

But he knew he couldn’t, you were his everything, and now you were not here.

-

Tom didn’t even knew why he agreed to come to the nightclub, Harrison tried his hardest to convince him, and he succeeded. Tom only agreed to shut him up, and maybe get a little drunk, trying to fill the void he has felt since you left.

That’s the reason he was now standing on a bar stool, all alone since Harrison left to talk to a girl that sparked an interest in him. Tom had a drink on his hand, looking through the crowd without even focusing on anything.

He had been this way for around twenty minutes, and a woman had actually tried talking to him, but she quickly noticed his uninterest in her, and she left as soon as she arrived.

He was getting more bored by the second, and he decided to leave. He couldn’t stand being here more time, so he decided to call an Uber to come pick him up. He wasn’t drunk, but he was feeling tipsy, and he promised to himself that he would never drink and drive.

He finished his drink and stood up from the bar stool, ready to leave the place. But as his eyes wandered around the room, he swore time stopped.

You were standing there, a few feet away from him. Looking as beautiful as always. You wore a red tight dress, that hugged your curves to perfection. Your Y/H/C hair was falling in your back, and your makeup was done beautifully. But what he noticed the most was your smile. A big smile was plastered on your face as you laughed at something a friend of yours had said.

His heart fluttered at the sight, he had imagined several times what it would be like when he saw you again, but he never imagined it was gonna be this way.

Before he could even think about it, his tipsy self had already walked towards you, and he placed his hand on your shoulder, drawing your attention from your friends to him.

He saw a glint of surprise in your eyes as you noticed it was him. You couldn’t believe your eyes, you were sure you were imagining him. You hadn’t seen him in so long, it brought back different feelings in your body.

You both looked at each other, stunned and shocked. Your eyes went up and down his body, and he hadn't changed one bit. He was still the same Tom you always remembered, your Tom.

You were the first one to break the ice, as you wrapped your arms softly around his body. He quickly responded, but his arms wrapped around you tightly. You both stayed like that a few moments, before breaking apart the embrace and looking at each other.

“Y/N I can’t believe it’s actually you, looking as beautiful as always.” This made your insides flutter, but you tried not to show it, just a smile appearing on your face. He felt the impulse to just hug you and tell you how much he has missed you, but he wouldn’t dare himself to do it.

“Not so bad yourself Tom, it’s been quite a while.” You said, and you swore you saw how his smile broke down a little, but he quickly recovered, that you thought you had imagined it.

Little did you knew, Tom’s heart broke when you called him by his name, not being used to the way his name fell from your lips when having a conversation. You would always call him ‘baby’, and the realization that he wasn’t your ‘baby’ anymore started to fall on him more.

Tom knew he was a dead man inside, and there was nothing he could do about it. You looked so happy now, he had realized that the smiles you wore were real, and he couldn’t hurt you again. He loved you too much, he wanted to see you happy, even if that meant you wouldn’t be on his life anymore.

requests are open for 1d, 5sos & marvel (mcu)

[vsheridanwrites]

Need a little break?

I know that this isn’t always the best day for people, so if you need a ten minute break from whatever, see below for a short story. Read fast, this is only up for 48 hours!

Title: Under Mistletoe

Description: 1st person point-of view. Historic (1934), romantic fluff, using my characters from my novel No Good Men, out with NineStar Press in the spring

It’s a small Christmas tree, but it suits since we are a small family with just the three of us. It’s so small that Pearl decorated it by herself, her tiny hands weaving paper chains among the branches and placing ornaments with as much care as a six-year-old can muster. When she finished, Alex declared it the best tree he ever saw. Perhaps it is. He did not have a happy childhood.

I, on the other hand, spent Christmases surrounded by a very large family, and a monied family at that. Our trees were large, decorated with beads and tinsel and glass and peppered underneath with dozens of gift. The whole day was loud and filled with food and music. It was almost enough to make me forget that it never felt quite right.

Alex yawns and flops next to me on the couch with a cup of coffee for each of us, blinking against the early hour. His sandy hair is sticking up along the side, and I smooth it down for him. He gives me a half-smile and leans against me.

“Merry Christmas, Sev,” he mumbles.

I pat his knee, then tilt his cup straighter so he doesn’t spill his drink across our laps. “Buon Natale, caro.”

Pearl has already ripped through her presents. There weren’t many, three to be exact. One from Alex and me, one from Bella, and one we insisted was from Santa. I feel a little sad that we could only find the funds for so few things, but after meeting her birth father I think three is three more than she got last year. She does have a stocking full of candy and cookies, though, and she has already eaten her way through half. I consider lecturing her on patience, but it is only once a year.

“Why don’t you try on the dress Bella got you to make sure it fits,” Alex calls to her.

Pearl pauses mid-bite through a sugar cookie, then nods enthusiastically. “‘Kay,” she says through a mouthful of crumbs. She snatches up the dress from its box and starts heading for the stairs. She stops before she gets there, turns, then races up to us. She holds the cookie out to me. “Can you hold this?”

“Of course I can,” I answer as I take it from her. As soon as it leaves her hand she bolts upstairs.

Alex chuckles. “Look at you, letting her have cookies for breakfast. I thought you were supposed to be the responsible parent?”

“Keep saying things like that and next year I make sure we only get her oranges.”

“What’s wrong with oranges? I got oranges for Christmas as a kid and it was great.”

“Do not take this badly, caro, but you are entirely too easy to please.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re just really good at it.”

He kisses my cheek briefly, so briefly that it barely happens. Many of his kisses are like that, quick and furtive. Some of it comes from hiding, but some comes from his nature. He is anxious and impulsive, his mind flipping through a hundred things a minute. Even now, half-asleep and sitting, he is not still. His fingers drum silently against his cup.

“Relax,” I say. “There’s no reason to be so jumpy.”

He laughs again, awkwardly. “No, you’re right. Just…”

He tries to avoid speaking by taking a drink, but I can tell he’s flustered. He’s so expressive – his eyebrows and mouth twitch at the slightest change of emotion, and his pale skin will flush bright red – and right now his forehead is furrowed in thought.

“Are you sad,” he asks finally, “that you’re not with your family?”

So he’s noticed how pensive I’ve been the last few days. Or maybe he hasn’t, and he’s just being himself, chasing down every mental road to see where it leads him. “I am with my family,” I say.

He gives me a skeptical look. He knows how I play with words to make things seem better than they are. “You know what I mean.”

Well, I don’t want to lie to him. Not outright. “I miss them, I do. But I am not sad. I am…” I struggle over the words in English. They aren’t so easy when I’m tired. “I wish they could see me happy, but since they won’t…” I shrug. “Then they don’t deserve to see it.”

He watches me expectantly, but I don’t have anything else to say. There were always many versions of me, but I’m too old to keep up all the facades. I had to let one go, and I chose the one I hated most. If people preferred that one, well, it was a living lie, and I won’t do it anymore. If they want to see playacting they should go to the theater.

Alex gives up waiting for me to speak again and returns to his coffee. I wonder if he is sad. I do not know much about his life before this, but I know he had two friends who are now dead. Maybe there were more I don’t know about who he had to abandon, though I suspect not. He’s actually very shy; I’ve never seen him introduce himself without prompting.

Pearl thunders down the stairs and skids back into the living room in stockinged feet. She beams, ecstatic. And why would she not be? The dress my cousin has given her is fit for a princess. It’s a rich plum color with white lace on the collar, cuffs, and hem, with a white sash that I suspect is made of silk. Alex’s eyes widen, and I’m sure he is worried about how much it cost. But Bella has a lot of money and a much bigger heart than people give her credit for. If she wants to give the girl an expensive dress, who are we to stop her?

“Che magnifica,” I say. “How wonderful! You should write Bella a nice note tomorrow to thank her.”

Pearl nods, but she’s not really listening as she holds the skirt out to admire it. She squeals and spins, and when she stops she runs up to us, her hands folded together to plead. “Can I wear it today? Can I, can I?”

Alex opens his mouth, but I am faster. “All right, but you must be very careful in it. You wouldn’t want to ruin it on the first day of having it.”

“I’ll be careful!” she promises.

“Bene. Then why don’t you bring your new toys to your room and finish getting dressed before church.”

She runs to the tree to gather the teddy bear and wind-up car from beneath the tree, eager to obey quickly lest I revoke the permission. Alex sighs and gives me a look that’s more amused than annoyed.

“Now she’s never going to want to take it off,” he mutters into his coffee as she races back up the stairs.

I shrug. “Wouldn’t you rather she wear it than we pack it away and then discover she outgrew it before she could put it on?”

“Good point. Knew you were the smart one in this relationship.” He frowns into his now-empty cup. “I swear I had more coffee than this.”

“Here, I’ll take it.” I reach for the cup.

He pushes my hand back and stands up. “No, I’ll get it.” He adjusts the front of his robe and meanders to the kitchen.

I shake my head. Stubborn man. But I like that about him too, at least some of the time. He doesn’t waver or give in too easily like I do. I am trying to be more like that, more sure, more… unafraid. But it’s hard. I would like to please as many people as possible, but I have learned, unfortunately later in life, that even if I bleed to death for them, some people will never be satisfied. Luckily, I am no longer with those people and have the space to grow.

I settle into the couch and take small sips of coffee while I study the tree some more. The lights reflect in the colored glass of the ornaments, giving it a sparkle I hadn’t really noticed until now. Pearl really did do a lovely job considering the limits. I hope she enjoyed herself and that she remembers today pleasantly, even if it is somewhat spare.

“Sev,” Alex calls.

I turn my head. He’s standing on the threshold of the kitchen with a mischievous grin. About six inches above his head is something green. It’s mistletoe that was definitely not there last night when we went to bed.

“Did you just put that up?” I ask, trying and failing to hide my smile. He’s being bold today. Usually I’m the one who instigates affection. I put the cup and half-eaten cookie down and walk over to stand beneath it. “You know, I don’t generally let plants tell me what to do, but this time I will make an exception.”

The shy grin turns into a full smile – so rare for him – then wraps one arm around me. He is much taller than I am and much stronger, and every time I’m in his embrace it’s like everything bad in the world is kept out. “I want to tell you something,” he says.

“Hmm, is it that you love me?”

“I thought that went without saying.” He chuckles. “You know how I went into the city yesterday for errands? One of them was a meeting with a dime novel publisher.”

“You sold a book?” I exclaim.

He nods and blushes as if he’s embarrassed he’s finally gotten something else published.

“Caro, that’s amazing. The best Christmas present, truly.” I bring his face down to kiss him. He smiles through it.

“And, uh, one more thing. Close your eyes,” he whispers.

All my giddiness evaporates as I realize he’s trying to surprise me with a gift. “Oh, Alex, no. I thought we decided we weren’t going to exchange presents?”

“Close your eyes,” he repeats.

I sigh, but do it. It’s too late to protest now, anyway. His arm slips away from my back, and I can no longer feel his presence near my face. Then he takes my hand. I expect him to turn it over and place something in it, but instead he pulls it forward. …Forward and down? I open my eyes, and there he is kneeling in front of me. My heart jumps.

He shows me his other hand, which is empty. “I don’t actually have anything to give you yet,” he stammers. His cheeks and ears are flame-red now, and his eyes stare into mine. “And I won’t until the payment for the book comes through next month, but I didn’t want to wait anymore.” I can barely hear him over my heartbeat in my ears. He presses both hands around mine and takes a breath. “Sev, please, will you stay with me always?”

As if there was any chance of me saying no. “Of course, caro. You didn't even have to ask,” I answer, my voice unexpectedly cracking. “I was always yours from the minute I saw you. Now get back up here.”

I coax him back to his feet. His heart is hammering fast enough that I can feel it through his clothes. He smiles bright enough to outshine the tree by far and pulls me forward to kiss me. There’s no timidity about him now. He even lifts me off my feet for a second. It feels much longer, like I’m floating, like if he let me go I wouldn’t fall, but fly.

My feet touch the ground again, though I barely feel it. Alex stops kissing me, joyful tears running down his flushed face. I wipe them away with my thumb, and he relaxes, finally, at my touch. Eyes closed, he simply breathes and lets me trace his features.

“Ti amo, caro,” I say softly. “Sempre.”

He nods, eyes still closed. I don’t say anything else. He needs his own moment of peace.

Of course, nothing good ever lasts quite as long as you would like it to, and the quiet fades as Pearl cascades down the stairs once again. Alex opens his eyes and sighs, but the content smile is still there. Hopefully it will last at least the day.

Pearl scampers up and gives us a pleasant, curious look. Alex starts tensing again. We have not specifically hidden anything from her, but still we are usually much more guarded. I prepare to answer an awkward question.

She tilts her head slightly. “Where’s my cookie?” she demands.

A startled laugh escapes Alex’s lips.

“I left it on the table, gattina,” I say, relief settling my shoulders. “Do you think I would eat it on you?”

She narrows her eyes like she suspects I’m lying, then whips around to retrieve it. I turn back to Alex. He giggles when he sees me watching him, and I laugh with him.

“I think we’re going to be okay,” he says, the soft smile still curling on his lips.

It’s such a simple thing to say, certainly not what other people might think of as romantic or profound, but after all the hardships we have already endured and knowing many more are to come, just the idea that it might work out in the end is wonderfully comforting.

“Come,” I pat his arm as I slip past him into the kitchen. “We have to start breakfast.”

“I thought the cookies were breakfast?” He gives me a pleading look, almost as pitiful as Pearl’s.

I sigh, but don’t argue. It is, after all, only once a year, and there are many more to come.

[maychorian]

Weekly Voltron Fic Recs #62

A bit of life news: I am moving to a new position at my workplace working for a team that is currently very backed up, so my free time at work that I usually use to read fanfiction is about to disappear for the foreseeable future. It’s a good career move for me, and once things calm down I might have even more time and even be able to work from home. But in the meantime, yeah, I dunno how much fanfiction I’ll be reading. Whatever I do read will definitely get put in a list, though, haha.

Rules: You can find past weekly rec lists here, and non-list recs in my general fic rec tag. Also follow @maychorianrecs for individually tagged posts, the easier to search and reblog. This is stuff I like, and I have a huge bias toward Lance, hurt/comfort, and general fluff, in that order. Gen unless otherwise noted. Please comment on the fics if you read and enjoy them!

Passing Grade by IcyPanther Words: 6,998 Author’s Summary: If Lance stayed in the shower long enough maybe the water would wash everything away. Maybe it would make him forget unwanted hands and the scratchy couch. Maybe… A sob tore through his throat. No. There was no forgetting. But he did have to paste on a smile and try to because no one could find out. Otherwise it was all over. AU - College My Comments: Mind the tags. There was a time when I sought out fics with this exact scenario because it fed something very needy inside me. It still hits all of those buttons super hard, and I really enjoyed reading this sort of story again, featuring my favorite character, written by an author I trust. I’ve already re-read it a couple of times, and I’ll be returning to it again, I’m sure.

The Cost of Winning by IcyPanther Words: 9,598 Author’s Summary: “The Blue and Green Paladins serve no purpose to the Empire,” the Galran commander smirked at his bound captives. “And as such you have no use except as arena fodder.” He chuckled. “Give us a good show before you die.” / Lance is determined to protect Pidge and save her from the arena. She will not die here. Over his dead body. Hopefully it’s not quite that literal of a promise. My Comments: Superb fic, possibly the best I’ve read from this author yet. The action is great and the plot is tight and suspenseful. Wonderful platonic Pidge and Lance, both getting beat up, both badass and protective of each other. This kept me at the edge of my seat.

All That Glitters Isn’t Gold by IcyPanther for wingedflower Words: 9,998 Author’s Summary: It started with Allura wanting something shiny for an upcoming gala. She, Pidge and Lance venture to a marketplace to find just the thing in a billed afternoon of relaxation and fun. But what they ended up finding was not jewelry at all. / “Welcome to Tyrol’s slave trade, Tyrol at your service. Or, well,” a dark grin lit the trader’s face. “I suppose you are at mine.” My Comments: Mind the tags. I really enjoyed this fic, though it went to some dark places for a little bit. Always fun to see Lance bonding with his teammates. And also getting hurt and then comforted.

And Molasses by Lemon_Lemmings Words: 4,008 Author’s Summary: “That’s not enough.” Hunk motions to the cookie mountains. “I need to make more.” “How many more? I can bake.” Hunk gives her a skeptical look.Pidge crosses her arms. “My cookies might not turn out as perfect as yours, boo hoo. At least they won’t be contaminated with the plague.” My Comments: Excellent sickfic with wonderful characterization for Hunk, right on the money. Pidge stepped up to the plate and took it like a pro. I could definitely see this happening, no question.

Atlas Cannot Stand by AnaliseGrey Words: 3,609 Author’s Summary: He and Lance had taken Red in to infiltrate a low-traffic Galra base- or at least, it was supposed to be low-traffic; it was just their luck they’d try to hit it when some dignitary was visiting. They’d made a good show of it all things considered, but in the end they were outnumbered and overrun. Lance had been up high, covering him from a catwalk, but was surprised by sentries coming at him from both sides of the walkway; there hadn’t been anywhere for him to go, and they were on him too fast to use his jetpack. Once they had Lance, Keith had surrendered quickly, not wanting to get Lance hurt. He could still feel Red growling quietly in the back of his mind, trapped in the hangar he’d left her in when they arrived. So far, her particle barrier was holding, but she wasn’t leaving until he was, and he wasn’t leaving without Lance. My Comments: The torture is pretty brutal in this one, but I loved the bond between Keith and Lance and how desperately they wanted to help each other.

May They Rest at Ease by ambivalentlangst Words: 2,539 Author’s Summary: Soldiers are created to say “vrepit sa” and die in a blaze of glory for their empire. They are not created to babysit kids, but some don’t mind, because someone has to keep the cubs safe. The universe they defend certainly doesn’t. My Comments: Season 5 spoilers. I adore this. So much. The two soldiers who palled around with Pidge, Hunk, and Lance essentially adopt them as their cubs, because those are three are far too young and don’t deserve to suffer. This fic makes my heart sing. It’s so sweet and lovely, despite the savagery of war.

Everywhere Cats by Engineer104 Words: 7,363 Author’s Summary: A mysterious mishap transforms the Lions of Voltron into…cats, who are more troublesome for their Paladins than for Zarkon’s Empire My Comments: Super fun and cute! I will continue to mourn the relative dearth of animal transformation crack in this fandom until I am satisfied, but this was a good fix, though nowhere near enough. So cute, sooooo fluffy.

I Once Loved the Stars so Truly, but I Have Learned to Fear the Night by Spazzcat Words: 5,638 Author’s Summary: Samuel Holt has loved the stars his entire life, despite where he ended up because of it. Ironically it’s not until after his rescue that he starts to hate their gentle gleam in the darkness, a cruel reminder of everything he’s lost. My Comments: Lovely alternate version of Sam finding his family. It hurt, but the ending made up for it, and the language along the way was gorgeous and vivid. Great OCs, too.

In the Dust under the Stars by cleanlittlesecret Words: 5,521 Author’s Summary: The woman entering his office must be close to seven feet tall if not taller, has long and pointed ears, and is entirely purple. She has to duck to avoid hitting her face on the doorframe, and Iverson is so busy staring at her with his mouth open that he barely hears Mick say something before shutting the door behind her. What in the Sam Hill is this? (Or, AU where Krolia stayed on Earth to raise Keith, and most people are not as bothered by her as they probably should be. Plus some other changes.) My Comments: Season 5 spoilers. Lovely canon divergence AU with a great Krolia and a cute though impulsive Keith. The details really made this story come alive; it’s very well-written and enjoyable to read.

Poison by IcyPanther Words: 2,876 Author’s Summary: Lance is fine. Or, at least he keeps telling himself that. He’s most definitely not a victim of the unknown disease with no cure sweeping through the city. Nope. But now he’s coughing up blood? Maybe… maybe he isn’t so fine after all. / “H-Hunk,” he whispered. “I… I think I’m s-sick.” Hunk let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Yeah, Lance. You are.“ My Comments: What a great Lance-centric sickfic with super good comfort and a tense plot. I’ll never tire of these kinds of fics.

The Grim Particulars by yet_intrepid Words: 5,575 Author’s Summary: “Can’t believe Kolivan trusted these guys,” Keith mutters. He shifts awkwardly in the tight space, trying to alleviate some of the pressure on his arms, which are cuffed behind his back. “I always knew they were sketchy.” “They’re illegal weapons dealers,” Shiro replies. “Of course they’re sketchy.” Keith grunts, half-angry and half-amused, and gives up readjusting his position. It’s just as well, really, Shiro thinks. They’re in a tiny closet on a tiny ship, and there’s barely room for them to sit shoulder-to-shoulder, knee-to-knee. My Comments: Beware the tags. This is a grim story, as the title implies, not for the faint of heart. But good, as everything from this author. It catches you in the gut. Gave me some deep thoughts, too.

Thicker than Water by Fernandidilly_yo Words: 4,574 Author’s Summary: (Set right after season 5 episode 5)“How long?” Keith asks, taking another step into Kolivan’s office, his legs feel unstable underneath him, his body disconnected and flimsy. “How long have you known Krolia is my mother?” My Comments: Season 5 spoilers. I really like nuances of this story. Keith’s reactions and emotions all feel very realistic and true to his character, and I liked Kolivan in this too. Great stuff.

Bits by Lemon_Lemmings Words: 3,107 Author’s Summary: Violence is an acquired taste that Hunk inevitably accommodates. My Comments: Angsty and harsh and a little grim, but I absolutely believe that Hunk is like this. War is hard, and it’s not fair.

dear child of mine by glitteringconstellations Words: 2,365 Author’s Summary: Krolia went to Earth in search of a Lion, and found a family, instead. She learned what it meant to love and be loved, and she learned that sometimes, loving someone means letting them go.Or,Krolia cradles Keith in her arms for the last time. My Comments: Season 5 spoilers. Sweet and sad and lovely. I love this vision of Keith’s mother and father before the war. Or during the war, but in a peaceful interlude.

Mama is… by nigiyakapepper Words: 4,134 Author’s Summary: “A spy!” “Spy!” “Up in space!” “ ’pin space!” Keith is two. It’s one of his good days, judging by the boy shrieking with joy for no other reason than the enjoyment of the act. K - - - - -, his dad, moves as if to chase him around the sofa in their living room. Little Keith moves in turn, a ‘patta patta’ of tiny feet stomping on linoleum. He giggles while clutching his shirt—then full on screams and toddles away when his dad lunges after him. - - Who Keith’s mom is as Keith grows up. My Comments: Season 5 spoilers. Lovely snapshots of Keith throughout the years, missing his mother. I’m so glad he had such a good father, but then it hurt to lose him, too.

In Darkness We Shall Fight by Haleykim84 (tristen84) for BlackFriar Words: 6,795 Author’s Summary: Shiro and Keith are on a stealth mission that goes wrong. With no back-up and Keith injured, they struggle to get out alive. My Comments: A rollercoaster of a fic, fantastic action and wonderful teamwork and protectiveness between Keith and Shiro. It felt sort of classic, in a way, the OG duo back at it again. Fun and exciting read.

Of Crossing Swords and Crossing Lines by wingedflower for IcyPanther Words: 8,144 Author’s Summary: Written as part of a fic exchange with IcyPanther, following the prompt “shopping trip went wrong”. For the first time in his life, Keith sees something at the space mall that he actually wants. He’s willing to do everything to get it - especially if it involves ignoring Lance, who tries to talk him out of it. Things end up as well as expected. My Comments: A great, fun read with some interpersonal conflict and Lance getting hurt. Always a great combination for fic.

Previously Recced Fics That Updated:

Beacon (43262 words) Shadows of Stars (182291 words) A Dragon in Thy Pocket (10018 words) As Color Fades Away (293755 words) Weekend Guests (16351 words) I'm not the Lance You think I am (79775 words) Back from the Edge (10869 words)

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Jamaica

Note from Mod Bonnie: 

I wrote the story below as part of the Candle for the Caribbean fundraiser last year. Now that the period to download the fanfic anthology has passed, I am posting the story here. I still hope you’ll donate to disaster relief! The need is great, and we can all do something! 

In any case, if you’ve already read this, I hope you’ll enjoy it a second time ;)

Jamaica

Drums of Autumn (Chapter 41), Diana Gabaldon

Her aunt's voice, coming from a great distance, saying, "The poor child is asleep where she sits; I can hear her snoring. Ulysses, take her up to bed."

And then strong arms that lifted her with no sense of strain, but not the candlewax smell of the black butler; the sawdust and linen scent of her father. She gave up the struggle and fell asleep, her head on his chest.

Later that night

River Run Plantation

Royal Colony of North Carolina

I fought. 

With fists and feet and every ounce of strength I possessed, I fought; against the man’s hands on me, against the sheets and blankets as I struggled to get free of him; against the panic—I had to get away. 

The next thing I knew was that my back was braced securely against the wall on the far side of the bed, cold and solid through the fabric of my shift. My chest was heaving; my hands were raised against him, ready to fight, and each breath was raw and ragged in my throat. I honestly didn’t know how long I’d been screaming, and that terrified me more than—

“I’m so—I’m sorry, lass.”

I jumped to see the man was on the other side of the bed—huge, the shape of him. His voice was— it was gentler than I’d remembered, and that made me tense still more, refusing to believe his cunning and lies again. Those eyes were wide and blazing. Blue…not green?

His hands were raised, too, nothing like my own shaking claws. His palms were facing me,  poised and braced as though against the charge of a wild animal.

“It’s only me,” the man said. “It’s—Da.”

And with that word, that tiny key of a word, my entire body unlocked and tried to sink to the floor. I kept myself upright only by sheer will as I closed my eyes and tried to breathe normally again.

Only a dream, Bree.

The green-eyed man was only a dream.

…this time.

“I heard ye cry out from the other room,” Jamie (because it was only him) was saying, urgently. “I ran in and ye were crying and shaking in your sleep and then I tried to wake ye, and—Jesus, lass, are ye alright??”

My eyelids felt unbelievably heavy, my heart still pounding, but the emotion in his voice made me open my eyes and look at him (really look at him) for the first time.

He was dressed only in his shirt, hair wild and blazing in the dim firelight. The eyes were red with sleep, still wide, terrified as his gaze continued to search me.

Even with the bed between us, though, I could see more written there—the quiet, underlying hunger in his eyes; that desire to connect; as palpable and real to me as if it had physical shape, but held carefully—so, so carefully—in check. I could see it so plainly because it had been the same for me, since we’d met; the exact same.

I was so absorbed in it, actually, that I forgot that I had been staring openmouthed at him, not answering his question. 

“I’m fine,” I blurted finally, smiling as best I could, both shaking and nodding my head like a complete moron (well done, Bree: poise and grace incarnate). “Perfectly fine.”

To my shock, Jamie Fraser laughed.

...And I experienced a sudden visceral impulse to throw something heavy at his fucking head.

“Forgive me,” he said at once, seeing my reaction, though he didn’t bother to suppress his grin. “Only—Christ, but ye sound like your mother when ye say that.”

“Oh, no,” I groaned, barking a laugh despite myself. “Shit, I DO! I mean, oh— um—yikes.....sorry.”

I fumbled for another less vulgar swear (don’t want him to think his daughter a complete heathen after less than twelve hours), but he snorted and waved me off. 

“I heard worse cursing from Claire within the first hour of meeting her, and it evidently didna put me off in any lasting way.”

We laughed, both of us this time; shy laughter, but real, and it blessedly eased the tension of the night a little further, bringing us another inch closer to connection.

We were careful with one another, Jamie and me—not just now, in this room still clouded by nightmare, but for the entire time since we’d met earlier in the day. For what it was worth, I thought we would keep erring on the side of caution for some time, months, or even years, even if all continued to progress well between us. If Jamie was feeling anything like I was (and I would have bet money on it), the last thing he wanted was to scare me off by showing (let alone expecting) too much overt affection between us or presuming an intimacy, of asking too many questions, no matter how much he wanted to.

It was a little awkward and more than a little bittersweet, but completely natural, from my point of view. As much as we both would have liked to pretend otherwise, there was a wall between us—a huge Hoover Dam of a structure, built to withstand, made of twenty-three years; of grief; of doubt; and of suspicion. Honestly, I hated myself for even admitting that last one, but it was the cold, hard truth. No matter what he was to me factually or what I hoped he’d be someday, I didn’t know this man except from stories, nor did he know me. It just wasn’t realistic to trust one another implicitly and ignore all our reasonable reservations and cautions; at least, it wasn’t for me.

Still….there was a spark there, in each of us; a look here, a joke there, a shared moment of understanding— gentle tugs pulling us toward one another, each a tiny chip falling away from that indomitable wall. It was the simple ease of it that had shocked me, getting to know him so far. Jamie had that genuine quality you couldn’t help but be drawn to, and I absolutely was. I would have liked him even without knowing our blood connection, I think, and more importantly, I could see why Claire had loved him; why she had come back for that love. That knowledge was worth quite a lot to a daughter’s heart, really, still scarred from the loss of a mother.  

“My bed is in the next room over, ken?” Jamie said, taking a careful step forward and—seeing that I wasn’t going to bolt or go into hysterics— settled onto the edge of the bed. “…And when I heard ye scream like that…”

He shook his head, and the rest was lost in a rushed exhale. One word I caught, though: ‘…terrified.’

I noticed for the first time the knife that had been dropped on the carpet behind him.

“It was a nightmare?” he clarified, after a moment.

“A bad one.” I sat on the opposite side of the bed, trying to put on my most assured, calm face, for his sake. “But only that.”

He nodded and his shoulders seemed to relax a bit further. “Do ye need anything? Water? A bit of food?”

“I was just thinking I’d go out to the balcony.” I jerked an awkward hand toward the glass door. “It’s, um, a little warm in here.” 

A lie. It was sweltering and I was sweating like a pig, still trembling from the aftershocks of memory and dream.   

“Oh. Aye. Well.” He stood up. “I’ll—ah—leave ye to it.” An awkward bow. “Goodnight, then, lass.”

He was almost to the door before I found my courage. “Would you stay? Just for a little while,” I added quickly, flushing even more, kicking myself for the asking almost as much as for being afraid enough to risk it—afraid of being alone in the dark, alone with my thoughts.  

The way his face lit up, though—it was like the morning sun breaking from behind a hill. There, right there, that was him: the lad Mama had seen all those years ago.

When he edged out onto the narrow balcony to join me a few minutes later, he was still barefoot but now wearing breeks with his hair tied back. He hadn’t come empty-handed, either, I saw as he settled onto the wicker loveseat beside me, carrying a bottle and two glasses.

“Oh, um—Sorry, I don’t mean to be—” 

(Please don’t be offended. Please, please don’t think me awful and ungrateful for shitting on your nice gesture). 

“I don’t really like whisky,” I said with the awkwardest of laughs.

He smiled. “Aye, I ken that. Your mother told me so, once,” he said with a shrug and a widening grin. “It’s brandy, in fact, but I can fetch ye something else, if—“

“No, no, that’s fine! Great!” I said hastily, hands flapping, reeling a bit from the thoughtfulness (not to mention the steel trap his mind must be, to remember such an insignificant piece of trivia about someone he’d never meet—good grief!). “I’ve never actually tried brandy before.”

He poured a large glass and handed it to me with confidence. “Nothing like it to calm an unsettled mind.”

The first sip was like a warm hug, spreading from my throat down my spine and into my toes. “That’s good,” I said with feeling, taking a long swallow. “Thank you—for thinking of me.”

“Thank your great-aunt for keeping a well-stocked larder,” he said, off-handed.... but his eyes were warm, I saw, glowing just that little bit more from the shared moment, however small.

It went quiet between us, then, but in a surprisingly comfortable way, like when Daddy—Frank—and I would ride through the mountains, enjoying the scenery and one another’s’ company in silence for long stretches at a time.

I do miss you, Daddy.

Taking a deep breath, I made a quick— but firm—decision not to feel guilty for comparing them. They were both my father; they both mattered; but Jamie was the one here, now, the one I had the chance to get to know.

The minutes passed like that, both of us breathing the warm air: grass and woodsmoke; the sharpness of pine sap; a musty sweetness I thought might be magnolia leaves. Despite the moonlight, the grounds were dark as pitch, so that every now and again, I could see the twinkling of a firefly down below.  

And it seems like it goes on like this forever

You must forgive me,

if I'm up and gone to Carolina…

“Do ye often have troubling dreams, lass?” Jamie asked, quietly so as not to startle.

“....I didn’t used to.....” I swirled the brandy in the bottom of the glass. “Since Mama left, though—Yeah, often enough.”

“I’m sorry. I think ye might get that from me,” he said, sounding actually sorry for it.

“It’s okay. I mean, it isn’t your— It happens,” I said firmly, huffing a bit in frustration at how ludicrous it was to be accepting an apology for such a thing. He saw it and understood and we both smiled. I shifted in my seat so that I was leaning against the armrest, facing him. “So, you have bad dreams a lot, too?”

“Strangely enough, my own have been less frequent since Claire returned. A talisman for the both of us, she must be.” 

He said this with a smile so pure that it plucked at my heart with longing to see her, and a tender (and, yes, a bit jealous) awe at his evident love of her. Maybe he did deserve her, too. 

What would it be like to see them together? To have all three of us together?

“But aye,” he went on, “I’ve always been prone to nightmare, when there are troubles on my mind. It isna at all pleasant.” He offered more brandy, which I gratefully accepted. He concentrated hard on the pouring, avoiding my eye. “If there’s anything ye wish to....If I can be of....” His sigh of frustration sounded uncannily like my own a few moments before. “All I mean to say is, I’m here. If ye want to talk about it. About…anything that might be on your mind.”

I managed to get out a smile and a genuine, “Thank you…” but my guts had clenched tight at the thought of exactly what had been on my mind. The blackness started creeping in, those horrific flashes, but also a newer stab of heartbroken dread:

Would you still want to get to know me, James Fraser, if you knew what happened on that ship? Would you be able to get past the shame of it? Of me? 

“They’re not always bad, though,” I said cheerily, choking down my panic and another gulp of brandy as I forced us down a less fraught line of conversation. “I’ve just always been a vivid dreamer, even besides the nightmares.”

He seemed to be as grateful for the shift of tone as me. “What are your happier dreams like, I wonder?”  

“A lot of times it’s about painting—the colors, you know,” I said, pulling my knees up close to my chest to lean my glass on them. “Other times, just about what I did that day. Sometimes the most ridiculously absurd things, too.”

He cocked his head, amused. “Such as?”

“Umm…..? Oh, okay, once—this is embarrassing—But one time last year, I dreamed that I was in a singing contest on the moon (no idea why the moon, but there was a huge audience there) and had to sing ‘Sugartime’ with President Nixon and Donald Duck. We didn’t even win!”

Jamie snorted into his drink. “Well, I dinna ken about Presidents, but ducks are no’ known for having braw singing voices….Though,” he added fairly, “likely this Donald availed himself better than could I, so I’ll no be casting stones.”

We laughed, and at his urging, I sang him a few bars, snapping my fingers to recreate a bit of the honkytonk feel that made the song so damned catchy that it had wormed its way into my sleep.

“It’s funny though,” I said abruptly, struck by a memory in the midst of our discussion (trying all the while not to giggle) of the likely metaphor behind the ‘sugar’ in question. “It’s because of a dream that I’m here at all. Why I came here from my time, I mean.”

“Oh, aye? How’s that?”

“I had this dream last year about you and Mama being in the tropics,” I explained, memory of it giving me goosebumps. “Roger and I—” (Oh, Jesus Christ, Roger....) “—had been looking in the historical records for months, trying to find something to confirm that she had found you and that you were both living well in Scotland, but with no luck. We’d all but given up, to be honest. When I had the dream, though, it got me thinking that maybe you’d emigrated, and one thing led to another, and sure enough, I found records of you being on Jamaica in 1767.”

“Well that was a piece of good luck,” he said with approval. “You’re verra determined, lass, a fact for which I’m grateful. What came to pass in the dream, then?” He raised an eyebrow and the opposite corner of his mouth. “Were we singing sweet songs wi’ Kings and Hippopotamuses?”

“No,” I laughed (Good grief, he was witty, too? Mama never stood a chance), “and actually, as helpful as it ended up being, this was one of the spooky dreams. Not quite a nightmare, but—“ I shivered. “Eerie.”

He was interested, ready to listen.

“It was at night and I was in a huge field of sugarcane,” I said slowly, trying to remember the details after so long. “There were fires burning in the distance, lots of them, so that there was this glowing dome of smoke overhead. I walked and wandered, turning this way and that, until I came to a clearing, and Mama was there. She was talking to a crocodile. So yes, it did have some ridiculous bits, too.”

I added this last part because I’d seen Jamie stiffen at mention of the crocodile, markedly, his eyebrows drawing together. Before I could study him too closely, he relaxed (though, I thought, not completely) and bade me go on.

“There were drums...” I said, still unsettled. “Beating loud and.....ominously, and I don’t know if it was them or what else, but somehow, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something stalking Mama, wanting to hurt her, you know? I tried to call out to her, warn her. I was begging her to not to go after it, but she was—I don’t know— in a trance, or something. She couldn’t hear me…. but you could.”

“….How did ye ken it was me?” He was still as stone and his voice very tight—terse, almost.

“A red-haired man with my mother? I guess I just assumed.” I shrugged. “I turned to him—you—and I called for you to save her from whatever it was …or something like that….” I shrugged again. “ And you saw me. You heard m—Um….Are you okay?”

He had stood abruptly, setting down his glass and going to stand at the railing. Jamie didn’t have a rude bone in his body. Something I’d said had upset him, and my belly was crawling again, trying to figure out what it had been.

“What is it ye said?” It didn’t even sound like Jamie. He had a vice grip on the iron. “In the dream. Do ye remember the words?”

Baffled, but having no idea of what else I might say next, I closed my eyes, trying to remember. I could always recall colors, from my dreams; colors and shapes and movement and light, but words always slipped through my fingers like sand. I could almost remember, though. Don’t—something…Don’t—?

“Don’t let Mama go alone....”

My eyes flew open.

“That’s what ye said, aye?” Jamie still had his back to me, shoulders hunched. “We were in a cane field, your mother and I. On Jamaica. There was a crocodile.” He turned and looked me dead in the eye. “And we did hear your voice, lass.”

“That’s....not possible.” I heard glass shatter and I was on my feet, though I didn’t remember getting there. “You couldn’t possibly…”

“Your mother can attest,” he said, his face drawn and white, but his eyes wide. “I’d no’ have believed it to be anything other than base trickery, sorcery, only I saw her face—went pale as stone and just as still. It was your voice, Bree. Yours, in a wisewoman’s mouth. You go with her, ye said, I’ll keep you safe....And then ye said—” His voice broke, then broke off entirely as he hung his head.

I was shaking from head to toe and I couldn’t even blink. I had to hold my hands over my mouth to keep from exploding, because it was exactly as he described, the words verbatim, even down to the cadence and tone of my own manner of speech. How…. HOW—??

When he looked up at me again, he was weeping freely. “Ye said... I love you, Daddy.”

“It….” I moved my hands away enough to ask the unfathomable. “It was real?”

“I dinna ken how,” came the husk of his voice, “but—aye—in whatever way— It was real.”

Then I was throwing my arms around his neck. 

“Oh my God,” I kept saying, my hands and my jaw shaking as though it were freezing cold. “Oh—dear GOD—“

He was saying more or less the same, in the same tone, as he held me, or that’s what I thought at first. After a while, I realized what he was saying: Thank God.

“It terrified me so, and yet I treasured it,” he said against my hair, still speaking through sobs, kissing a spot just behind my ear. “I felt as though it were a sin to rejoice, for it was black sorcery that had brought it about, or so I thought—but yet—I couldna think otherwise except that—“ He broke off and held me tighter. “It was the only time this side of Heaven that I’d hear your voice….I’ve thought about it so often, since.”  

“I’m glad it wasn’t,” I choked out, hugging him as tightly as I could. “The only time.”

“Christ, so am I, my...my Brianna.” A big hand came up and cupped my head securely against him. He gasped for air. I could feel the genuine struggle of it in his chest. “I know I shall live my entire life—before I’ve done enough good—to deserve it... the gift of you, mo chridhe.”

“Oh..... Da…”

All my fears—of cane fields and wisewomen, of Irishmen, even of the possibility of being shunned—they all melted away into the night, and I let them. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the power of him, my father, a shelter against the paranormal, letting only the essential remain: the connection between us, those tiny, tentative sparks, protected from the wind and growing stronger. Maybe someday, it would tear down the wall entirely.

“It’s getting late, a leannan,” he murmured a long, long time later, kissing the top of my head, “and you’ve had a long day. A long many days, I think, and a trying night. Get ye back to your bed for some rest, now.”

He started moving toward the door, but I clutched at him, holding him back. “I can’t.”

“Another glass of brandy may help, if—“

“I don’t want to sleep again.”

His mouth twitched in a tiny smile as he put a hand tenderly on my cheek. “Ye might find that difficult to sustain, after a week or so.”

I was dead-serious, my fears wrenching out of me in a whisper, a raw plea, like the frightened child I was. “What if everything I dream is real?”

He could have told me not to talk nonsense; that I was a grown woman and obviously dreams were dreams, excepting the one event in question.

What he did, though, was to squeeze my hand and draw me back down onto the loveseat, putting his arms around me. “Lay your head, lass,” he said, bringing my head gently to his shoulder. “We’ll bide together, you and me.”

I felt the words stirring on my tongue as sleep began to settle around me, knew it would be the truth of my heart to say them aloud, but I couldn’t speak even one word in my present state, let alone those.

Besides, I’d said it before I even knew him.

I love you.

… Da.

[confusedgoldenflower]

An Aftermath Etched into Souls

Fandom: Ancient Egyptian Religion

Relationships: Ash/Set (Ancient Egyptian), Horus/Set, Seth/Heru, Setekh/Heru, Nebuty/Setekh, Aset/Wesir, Ash/Horus, Nebuty/Heru, Ash/Seth/Horus, Nebuty/Setekh/Heru

Characters: Ra (Ancient Egyptian), Horus (Ancient Egyptian), Set (Ancient Egyptian), Ash (Ancient Egyptian), Thoth (Ancient Egyptian), Nephthys (Ancient Egyptian), Isis (Ancient Egyptian), Osiris (Ancient Egyptian), Wesir | Osiris (Ancient Egyptian), Setekh | Seth (Ancient Egyptian), Heru | Horus (Ancient Egyptian), Nebuty | Ash (Ancient Egyptian), Aset | Isis (Ancient Egyptian), Nebet-Het | Nephthys (Ancient Egyptian), Djehuty | Thoth (Ancient Egyptian), Ap/o/phis (Ancient Egyptian), Shu (Ancient Egyptian), Tefnut (Ancient Egyptian), Nut (Ancient Egyptian), Geb (Ancient Egyptian), Anubis (Ancient Egyptian), Yinpu | Anubis (Ancient Egyptian), Ammit (Ancient Egyptian), Heru-Wer | Horus the Elder (Ancient Egyptian), Horus the Elder (Ancient Egyptian)

Other Tags: Soulmates, because why not, I'm spicing up the fandom, LMAO, Slow Burn, ? - Freeform, Idk I have no patience though, we'll see how it goes, Natural laws mean nothing, they're gods, I ain't gonna tell them no, Post Contendings: Ancient Egyptian Mythos, Ancient Egyptian Literature & Mythology, Ancient Egyptian Deities, Ancient Egypt, Wing fluff, Wing Grooming, Wings, Magic, Transfiguration

Summary: After the Contendings between them, Heru (Horus) and Setekh (Seth/Set) go their separate ways. Heru goes to his father's throne, and Setekh tries to consolidate everything that has happened in the last few centuries; what happened prior to the birth of the five siblings. There is much to reflect upon and the past decades left lasting damages of various kinds for everyone. Ra sees this and makes an executive decision on how he thinks they can heal--or heal one another... binding two souls or hearts together.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32563603

Chapter One: Reunion of Hearts

“You’ve returned....”

Setekh turned from the blood stained sunrise to look at the temple oasis he had found himself not able to approach any further. The voice was gentle. Oh, so gentle. It had been that way for so long even in his vague glimpses of memory.

“I thought you’d forgotten about me… us…?”

He smiled kindly, or as kindly as he could for as far as a deity of bloodshed and burning sand is capable of gentleness. His heart wavered.

“Nebuty, I… glimpses, only, but I remember. I only want to know how you are and then I will be off.”

The figure a couple dozen paces away stumbled forward as if pushed. He stepped closer, but his outstretched arms caught nothing in the air.

“No, stay! If you can… I would like that.”

The Great God of the Sahara never found himself at a loss for words but…, “after all that has happened and all I have done?”

There was a lapse in spoken words as their eyes bore into one another’s. The wind stirred the sand forward. Surely the Lord of Oases had overheard the gossiping of travelers by then.

“You don’t remember our last night together? I know that even reborn as you were, you would never do something like that--or anything else. It is the humans and their scribes and their allegiances to stories.” Setekh couldn’t bear to stare into those eyes and so he looked away. The figure moved, bare feet against the limestone and then gently crunched on the sand. A warmth took over his hand.

“At least stay today? Please?”

An exhale akin to a sigh and dying breath left him then and the corners of his lips turned up. Setekh was pulled into Nebuty’s temple without struggle.

Frankincense and sandalwood wafted beautifully strong through the limestone corridors. It made the dry heat tolerable, at least that’s what a human may say, but for the specific deities of the desert and the oasis, this was ideal. Nebuty, however pleasantly thriving in such a state well into the desert, did not look over the many humans that kept up the temple and devoted themselves to him. They were all so very dear to him; such special spirits that were free to take from his oasis what they would. They also shied away from the villainous red haired god of calamity, eyeing him warily as he walked with their lord.

It didn’t go unnoticed by either, how the humans reacted. Setekh pretended he didn’t see any humans at all and Nebuty’s heart was saddened as he recalled the desecration of Setekh’s own temples generations ago. No human would be old enough to remember it. Not now. But gods remembered and gods could be hurt by men.

He swallowed hard as his temple faded to heaps of burnt offerings, incense and objects alike aflame with broken chairs and tables, even effigies of Setekh. What wasn’t able to be burnt was looted and subsequently melted down or otherwise brutally disfigured. He’d knelt there and wept and lost all notion of time before a cousin came to rouse him. That had hurt even more for his dearly beloved’s name had been spat in hate already. So much so that he couldn't even recall the exact god that came to him. Shouldn’t they have known?

“Nebuty,” a chest thrummed deeply like the whirling thumps of a distant sand storm. He blinked and registered his home and his beloved who looked back at him with a face that had learned to color such emotions as concern. He merely nodded and offered a smile for them both as he shuffled a bit closer. Setekh didn’t protest or push him away.

As a singer’s ethereal voice reverberated off the painted plastered walls and ceilings, he led the other to the rooms where he liked to stay. The temple attendants were ushered out. Then they were alone.

Nebuty stared into Setekh’s blood red eyes, the color he painted the morning sky after slaying the truly evil serpent bent on utter destruction of creation. His skin prickled and he fought the urge to sway on his feet like an uncertain adolescent. Why was this silence so… wrong?

“We have much to talk about?”

Setekh sighed heavily and let his eyes close as he looked away, “I have grown so weary of talk; that is all they do!” He growled while stalking away then stopped abruptly. Nebuty stepped toward him.

“It isn’t my intention to bring this into your temple,” but those eyes still hadn’t come back to look into his. He missed that boring depth. That perfect but miniature reflection of the desert.

“I brought you into my temple and so I have brought your troubles here as well. Stay,” he added quickly, before Setekh could make argument and leave, “let yourself be rejuvenated here.”

Setekh nodded silently. Nebuty grabbed some wine as he led the other to the richly decorated, sha-headed couch.

“All this time, how have you been?”

He smiled quietly to himself, Setekh never was good at serious conversation.

“It’s lonely out here but it is home… you make it so.”

Setekh was silent, staring at nothing. Those swirling red eyes were shining with thought. Neither of them ever really needed much conversation anyway, and so Setekh vaguely felt himself pulled down to sit beside Nebuty.

“You want me to stay?” The words were certain, almost harsh but he had long ago hidden his heart away.

Nebuty leaned against him even in the sweltering heat, “of course I want for you to stay with me… again.” The silence stretched long. The singer had long since passed over the first song. Eventually, he allowed himself to relax against the other and, “breathe in such bliss after so long.” Nebuty didn’t risk injury to Setekh’s scattered emotions by telling him he had spoken allowed, only basked with him in one another’s company.

~~~@%*^*%@~~~

“Yes, yes, I am well aware we are all exhausted from recent events,” Ra began with a brief pointed look at Heru, “but I have decided something. And while it is my doing, I do not have dictation over it; no one does.”

“Well?” He questioned in the height of Ra’s summer heat grabbing them even in the shade of the stone ceiling.

“I have decided to tie souls together.” Ra paused without elaboration. He was no doubt where Setekh inherited his, albeit enhanced, air for dramatics. A hush of steely whispers passed over the assembled deities.

“So if one of the souls dies, the other does as well?” Setekh questioned, seemingly bored. He had his head rested on a hand and the elbow on the table. He hadn’t touched his wine. Heru had, it was the only thing that was borderline cool. Ra regarded his distant offspring with what could only be described as an air of some sort of affection.

“No. Merely, souls that have been aligned; I know not who neither can I transfer nor repeal it. But each of you will know. I see my grandchildren Nut and Geb have-.”

“And yet you separate us!” Came the son’s envenomed words, “but the space between earth and sky must remain.” Shu, their father, interrupted, unperturbed.

“As I was saying,” Ra regained the conversation and Heru imagined the feathers of the solar disk bearing falcon to be ruffled and hassled in annoyance. A sip of wine hid his small smile.

“You will know when you know. It is to be happy, children, all this strife and violence has greatly weighed upon me and I have little doubt, you all as well. So I made a solution. What say you of my ingenious idea, Setekh?”

“I’m not sure, allow me to ask Pharoah,” Setekh smirked pettily as he turned his head to Heru who took in a breath and set down his goblet, he could feel his mother’s dissatisfaction radiating off of her form, though he had no choice but to agree.

“I am not sure as of yet, this is new and quite impulsive,” he jabbed at Ra.

The elder creator deity chuckled, “More so than you questioning the wisdom of those older than you? I have been thinking on this for a very long time.” Djehuty nodded his approval from nearby. Setekh’s eyes shone with a certain sort of amusement.

Heru’s eyes narrowed, “and the point of this? How could forcibly tying us together possibly see an end to violence.”

“Mated souls,” was the only reply.

His mother raved audibly when they left and returned to their new home, the royal palace. He listened silently, taking note of everything she said. He spoke when her acceptance of a ripe fig gave pause to her ranting.

“Can you feel who you are attached to?”

Her brief pause in chewing gave indication of her thinking, “...your father.” He smiled.

“We did not need Ra’s bizzare intervention to tell us that we love each other,” she remarked quietly.

“Does he know?”

“Oh, yes, I told the winds to tell him what happened earlier.”

Had he been too caught up in thought to have missed that? He had been sure he had been listening attentively but….

“This is just a ploy for Ra to stay relevant, there is nothing to worry for.” She sighed out, fire gone.

“Come now, you still have meetings to attend, my son, the day is not yet over.”

He obeyed and saw to his duties, but he did feel as if there was something to worry for. The air was hot and his body was sweating, yet he felt oddly cold. Like being alone without anyone around to offer even so much as just their presence. It chilled his bones.

“Mother,” he asked when they were finally left alone, “how can you tell it is father that your heart is tied to?” Her head tilted slightly, a tick that his father once told him endeared her to him beyond reason.

“It is a softness… a lingering… somehow so difficult to describe. But… I feel almost wrong here and know that I would be perfectly content with his company.”

“I see.... I think I will go for a walk.”

She revered him for a few seconds, “alright. Be safe, my son.”

“I always am. I love you.”

Her smile stretched almost triumphantly like it had when they’d won over Setekh, “I love you more.”

He transformed into a falcon and departed her company. Aimlessly soaring through Shu’s separation almost stripped away the day’s trials and tribulations. How many days had it been anyway? Since he’d been fully blessed with his father’s inheritance…. No matter, he was doing well under Aset’s careful tutelage and the country’s people were satisfied with their new monarch. He watched them, his people, moving around on the ground. Adults were working still as there was some light yet left and small children ran about, doing away with their last energy stores to be put to sleep easily. It made his heart happy in a way that filled him so much that he couldn’t breath almost.

Temples and Faiyums passed below him. Rich and poor alike were blessing the incoming night and burnt offerings of resin were already being lit. An air currant brought him down to zip between the mud brick houses. Although he was not recognized in such a form without great procession, the children shrieked with delight. Some dogs gave chase, and the cats could hardly care about him in favor of the vermin that were ruining food stores. He rode the current down to where he no longer had any lift, then transformed back into his humanoid form.

“Here,” he whispered as he touched a column in the shade of the stone structure. So many memories… so many-.... just, so much. He hadn’t cared to hide himself from the view of mortals for they knew better than to enter even the radius of the place.

“Are you looking for Setekh?” Heru jumped at the sudden and unfamiliar voice, “he is not here, and it may be best to leave him be, at least for quite some time.”

He stared at the other deity, sure he had had some sort of knowledge about their entire and sprawling family by then, but he could not identify the other.

“Oh, pardon me, Pharaoh.” The other added with his kind face and soothing voice.

Heru finally came out of his shock, “and you are?”

“Nebuty.”

“Beloved of Setekh,” Heru thought aloud.

“Yes,” Nebuty smiled. Silence lapsed between them as the shadows stretched further and further on the limestone floor.

“You do have eyes like the Great Green Sea beneath a bright sky,” Nebuty finally said, seemingly impervious to the awkwardness of their transaction. It was then that Heru realized that the sun must have been shining off of one of his eyes as it sank below the Western sands.

“Thank you…. Ah, I am not familiar with you…?”

A brief look of panic, realization and shock passed over the other’s face, “I stay in my temple within the sands of the desert. I came out for… the first time in a long time to see everything even if it hurt….” Nebuty’s voice trailed sorrowfully off as he turned to stare in the western direction despite the still blinding solar disk.

“Within his desert? It pains you?” Something akin to a mounting dread weighed Heru’s stomach down and bound his feet to the floor.

“Yes, well, it is good to see Kemet in good order. The people are happy and the harvests seem bountiful. I am glad.” Before he could think, he found his hand closed around the other’s arm as Nebuty had turned West to return to where he claimed he came from.

“Wait… how can you be in Setekh’s desert?!” He motioned towards said landscape to give emphasis to his words but nearly stopped short when his keen eyes noticed a roiling tension.

“His anger has been peaked by today’s meeting, you cannot go now!” He continued.

“It may also be because you grabbed me,” Nebuty returned calmly. Heru blinked a few times. This was so beyond anything he had experienced up to that point.

“You need not fear for my well being,” Nebuty pulled Heru’s hand off of him, “I am actually safer within those fiery parameters he lords over.” Heru watched Nebuty, the one that was the beloved of Setekh, walk away and disappear into the darkness both of night and the sandstorm.

He shook himself from his shock and resolved to focus on promising punishment if the storm came into the Black Lands and harmed people or farms.

Yes, that would have to be sufficient… but then why was there such a deeply set chill that night?

~~~@%*^*%@~~~

“Anything of note?” Setekh asked immediately in the shelter he made for them in his sand storm.

“The people are happy and the country is protected,” Nebuty returned. Setekh gave a curt nod before beginning their way home. Only then did it occur to him that what he had said had offended the other. I know you are a fine king. But he knew better than to press that particular matter.

“Any trouble?”

“No, I hid myself from the humans’ gaze. However, I recognized Heru.” Setekh stopped and whirled around. The storm around them spiked in veracity.

“He came back to the meeting place. I know not why but assumed it had to do with you, considering the place’s utter emptiness and all but certain locations for everyone else but you.”

“What did he say,” Setekh demanded and if it wasn’t for those decades they had spent together and the longing in his heart, he might have flinched.

“He was confused and did not know me, then was worried for me when I had to depart. Perhaps he went back to try and make sense of Ra’s declaration? Humans often say it helps to be in the location where something happened.”

Those fiery eyes that somehow reflected light well into the darkness of night looked beyond him then, squinted. He took a clenched fist into his hands.

“Come, I am sure we are both tired from today’s happenings.”

The other bodily folded around him then, “you spent too long away.”

“Hmmm,” he responded and closed his eyes into the embrace. This was where he belonged, and where his heart was whole.

[spectrumscribe]

one, two, step-

@rhi-draws-things three million years ago drew me my goatsona (goat persona) for my DnD group, and i was supposed to give her something in exchange, so uh sorry i’m late Rhi but here’s a Thing that i hope you like.

set in/based on Rhi’s excellent tmnt 2012 Fusion AU. an alternate universe where mutants have the ability to fuse with other mutants and also humans. its v good trust me.

Borne out of habit and repetition, there’s eventually a day that Mikey wanders into the barn specifically just to see Donnie, because he’s got nothing else to do and no one else he wants to talk with. Not that he really wants to talk, what with a weight of aimless uselessness sitting in his chest and a snarl of unhappy emotions waiting to spark into a right storm. He just needs… something. Something to do, someone to see who isn’t anyone inside the farmhouse.

Of course, Donnie is about as welcoming as he ever is these days. Crookedly slouched, absolute intensity on his work, no room for niceties or kindness. Just steely determination to fix things.

Donnie has been like that since they got here, and even worse since he diagnosed Leo’s coma as one that could be indefinite. Mikey has seen only scarce glimpses of his older brother, since Donnie can’t figure out how to sit still longer than passing out on the couch for a few hours. It’s a little weird, seeing Donnie behave so much like Mikey sometimes does. Honestly, it’s disconcerting, and it gives away just how really upset Donnie probably is about Leo, and their father, and everything.

It makes him a right asshole to talk with, too.

Mikey says hello anyway, and rolls his eyes at the curt greeting he gets in return, as well as the “go away, Mikey, I’m busy,” that follows right after.

“You sure you’re busy? Not just obsessively working on shit ‘cause you’re neurotic as hell?” Mikey needles, leaning on the desk beside Donnie and hoping to maybe start a good bicker. His brother doesn’t even look up.

“Mmm,” is all Donnie grunts. Oh, so he’s regressed to monosyllables? Nice.

Mikey pokes Donnie’s shoulder. His brother shrugs it sharply and keeps working. Mikey just about rolls his eyes out of his skull.

“Skill testing question: when was the last time you stood up, and if that number is not below five hours ago, how much feeling have you lost in your lower half at this point?”

“Mgh.”

“That answer just fills me with new knowledge, really. I feel all warm and tingly and shit. I might write a thesis paper on it.”

“Go away, Mikey.”

Mikey sighs loudly, pushing away from the table dramatically. “Look, I’m bored as fuck, so not I’m leavin’ until you stand up and at least attempt to take care of yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Donnie says, even though his voice is rough and his eyes bloodshot. Mikey frowns, watching his brother’s steady fingers keep working at the helmet-thing for April. Though his hands move fluidly, Mikey sees a serious slump of exhaustion to Donnie’s shoulders.

And not even a herd of wild horses could drag Donnie off to bed, not while Leo’s still asleep and Donnie has work he apparently has to do, even though he needed a break like, forever ago. Mikey knows his brother well enough to know no matter what he says… nothing is going to make Donnie go and actually take care of himself right now.

Desire for a good mock fight evaporates in Mikey, and he’s left feeling worn out again.

Mikey sighs to himself, watching his brother try to single-mindedly solve everyone’s problems in one go. A part of him is kind of jealous of Donnie’s sheer determination and near compulsion- at least he has goals, and drive to do meet those goals. Mikey has energy to burn, but nowhere to aim it on this stupid farmland. Playing with chickens and cooking meals only keeps him entertained for so long, but right now that’s all he knows how to do. Everything else is outside his capabilities.

Mikey misses home, misses their friends, misses their missing father and things being easy, at least sometimes. They’re all cooped up in the farmhouse together right now- him, Donnie, Raph and Casey and April- and yet it feels like there’s distance between them all, so long as the gap Leo left remains open.

Mikey’s lonely, honestly, and he knows his brother probably is too. Unwillingness to actually talk that out doesn’t erase it from being a thing.

Donnie has no energy to keep this endless workhorse drudgery up anymore. Mikey has too much energy to handle and not a single task left to spend it on. Neither of them is willing yet to actually talk about all the horrible stuff sitting inside them, but they’re both in serious need of closeness with someone, because this isolation feels like it could kill.

And then Mikey nearly smacks himself upside the head. There’s an easy solution to all of this.

“Hey, Donnie?”

“Mm? What.”

“Turn around.”

“What? No I’m working-”

Mikey grabs the back of Donnie’s chair and spins him around. Donnie barely lets go of his tools in time, unwillingly rounding with a scowl in place and his mouth already open to scold.

“Fuse with me,” Mikey says seriously, and Donnie’s mouth clicks shut.

“…why?” Donnie asks, giving Mikey a suspicious look. Mikey grins, grabbing his hand.

“Do it and you’ll understand,” He says cryptically, just to annoy Donnie, and hauls his brother out of the seat he’s probably been in for the last ten hours. Donnie stumbles, blinking rapidly and muttering about hypoglycemic attacks and the chances of him passing out mid fusion dance. Mikey ignores Donnie’s grumblings, and artfully corrals his brother into the dance.

Donnie drags his feet at first, annoyed and clearly at the end of his science-‘til-I-drop binge, but Mikey feels a tingle start in tips of his fingers as they fall into sync. It spreads up his hands and arms, from his toes up his legs- fluttering and warm and making him feel lighter than air. There are hints of sadder things, of heavy hearted emotions and pain, and those feelings from Donnie are evenly matched by Mikey’s. Neither of them is okay, neither of them is willing to talk about it. Not yet.

Fusion removes the need to talk.

Mikey laughs in surprise as Donnie abruptly spins him, his brother abruptly throwing himself 100% into the effort to fuse, and there’s Donnie’s familiar laugh; something Mikey hasn’t heard in weeks since they arrived at the farmhouse. It’s creaky in places but its real, and it makes a bubbly feeling burst in Mikey’s chest.

They spin together, drawing close as their feet slide and tap in perfect sync- they’re at opposite ends of the scale nine times out of ten, and then there’s times like this, where it’s all ease of movement and simple knowledge that the other knows the exact step they’re going to take next- where everything just makes clear perfect sense, and there’s no falter in their communication at all.

They’re the B-team for a reason, and it’s not just because their older brothers are sometimes jerks and get too easily exasperated with their eccentricities. It’s because they sometimes just click.

Donnie actually smiles, and it’s like months of stress lift from his eyes just with that expression, and Mikey mirrors the toothy grin with all the sincerity he’s got in him. It overpowers all the twisty awful emotions he’d had before this, and Mikey finally feels nothing but okay.

Donnie obviously feels the same, laughing freely as they dance, and against the echo-y rafters of the barn and mixed with the smell of old wood and hay and substances Mikey couldn’t even name- it’s amazing sounding, and it draws more exhilarated laughter out of Mikey.

Step, step, and twirl- they crash together in a burst of feelings and understanding and unconditional familial affection and love-

-and Monnie opens his eyes, all three of them feeling significantly less achy and awful than Donnie’s had, and from a much higher perspective above the ground. He yawns, feeling the urge to go and sleep off the fading exhaustion one part of him has, but the burbling energy the other half provides gives boost to the absolute determination he possesses, and then he doesn’t need to anymore.

Stretching his four arms above his head and behind his back, Monnie sighs happily as strength and vigor erases aches and cramps from bending over a desk and bedside. Good fucking god, why didn’t he do this hours ago, if not days? Weeks, he could have done this weeks ago, rather than sit around feeling miserable and tired and aimless and too wired to sleep at all. Why didn’t he? Everything is so much easier to handle now that he’s fused.

Both sides of him respond that it’s because he’s two parts of dysfunctional individuals with communication problems. Monnie tells himselves to fuck off.

He glances at the now very short table all of Donnie’s projects are scattered across, and finds a dozen new solutions popping into his head now that he’s got a fresh streak of creativity to add to the genius’s, and all the knowledge needed to articulate, refine, and execute the ideas. The daunting tasks of medical, mechanical, and economical problem solving are much less stressful, now that he’s got a thrum of excitement in his chest and broader perspective.

Of course… a repressed part of one half is calling to the restless part of the other half, demanding to be outside in the sun and getting his blood pumping. Part of him has been cooped up in this barn for weeks, and it makes the other halve jittery just to experience secondhanded. Monnie feels it thirdhanded and he understands both sides of the equation.

“I need to finish this, though,” Monnie mutters to himself, picking up his tools and the helmet and examining them, as well as absently starting to rearrange the desk into a manner that suits all him instead of just one half of him. He really does have so many things to get done- so many things, jeez- but the sun is warm and the wind is sweet and part of him recalls a very lovely climbing tree not far from the farm.

Admittedly, Monnie is as determinedly focused as he is impulse and whim driven. He needs to get work done, but he also needs to get out and stretch and re-fucking-lax, Donnie, you’re tying yourself up in knots like this-

-I know what I’m doing-

-wrecking your posture is what you’re doing-

-like you’re one to-

-talk, slouching so-

-much of the time over-

-videogames-

-desks-

Monnie shakes his head, quieting the brief squabble with himselves. His fusion remains solid despite the bickering, which is nice since it’s been ages since he was himself, and while he has occasional scattering days where a lot of messy and painful feelings make his emotions and opinions invert and turn sharp and terrible and hating, aimed at himself and himselves and everything- Monnie really, really does love himself a lot. Even if he finds bits of himselves annoying at times.

He’s made of two halves that click just right, sometimes, despite being such laughable opposites in so many ways, a perfect mix of them both… and that topic of thought leads Monnie to an idea.

“…strike a balance!” He tells himself triumphantly, setting down his tools and projects. “One- two- one hour of hiking, and then work for a few more, and then dinner prep and another walk? Yeah, that seems fair.”

Both parts of him are in total agreement that being away from the farmhouse will be good; getting away from the oppressive silence and failure that lingers in the upstairs levels, choking and painful to even think on. That will ease the continuous worrying Leo’s coma causes for everyone.

Which Monnie isn’t going to do, because he has a tree to climb and a forest to explore with new eyes and so very many things to accomplish after that.

Monnie steps away from the desk, humming pleasantly to himself an aimless but upbeat tune as he walks towards the barn doors. They open easy as anything for him- he has twice the strength of either side of him- and Monnie is bathed in the hot afternoon sun as he steps out.

The wind is sweet, the more indoors-y half of him finds delightedly, and he laughs to himself as he squints up at the blue, blue sky. It really is such a lovely day, and being himself makes it seem even lovelier.

Raph is on the porch currently, fiddling with what looks like his sketchbook, and staring at Monnie with something between exasperation and confusion. Monnie waves cheerily, and turns the motion into a quadruple flipoff as he absconds from the farmhouse lawn. Raph had been snappish and unpleasant to Mikey this morning when he just tried to say hi, and Monnie feels absolutely justified in flipping his brother off and explaining nothing of why he’s fused.

The forest welcomes him and the jaunty steps he takes speed up as it does. The trees are taller and thicker than anywhere in NYC, a hundred birds and small animals are just nearby, and the earthy rich scent of everything speaks to a nearly buried part of his brain.

It feels wonderful. The tug of duty and responsibility and guilt and love remains, tying Monnie to the farmhouse despite how much he just wants to run and run and never look back, but he lets none of those things seize hold of him.

Monnie will go home later, finish projects and make dinner for everyone- later. For now, he has a tree to climb.

[forgetmenotsandroses]

กอด

SEUNGCHUCHU WEEK DAY 4: FREE DAY

 A/N: This might not be my best work ever, but I wrote it on adrenaline in two hours and I think it's alright!! Pretty proud of this :) Dedicated to @slightlystalesushirolls who puts up with my shit. Also Blood Sweat & Tears is a BTS song for y'all who don't know. Happy Seungchuchu Week!!!  @seungchuchuweek

PHICHIT:

He’s tearing up and the walls are closing in, and his makeup starts running (should’ve worn waterproof), then something breaks in him and he’s sobbing and wailing and he doesn’t really care about anything anymore. 

“Shhh.”

The sound is soothing, the last thing he would expect from Seung Gil. Especially because now there are tear stains and makeup all over his nice jacket and Phichit himself is an ugly, crying mess who’s had too much to drink. It’s the party for the GPF, and he should be happy. After all, Yuri is engaged, Michele and Emil are dancing (how’d that happen?) and even Yakov is actually smiling (until a drunk Viktor begs him to officiate his wedding to Yuri). But all he can think about how he is such a disappointment. How his family will be ashamed to tell their neighbours that he lost, how he let down his entire country.

As happy as he is for Yuri and Yuri, and, he supposes, JJ, seeing them all so happy is a bit… much. Like rubbing salt into a wound. Even though Phichit is eternally happy for his friends, who deserve all the medals they get, some small, selfish part of him whispers, ‘it could’ve been you’. After all, he had worked as hard as anyone to train for the GPF. He’s sacrificed, poured out his own share of blood, sweat, and tears. Thinking of the song in such a situation brings the barest hint of a smile to his face, but Seung Gil notices. 

“Are you feeling better?”

He sounds… concerned? It’s odd. Phichit has never pegged Seung Gil as someone who really cared about other people. Borderline sociopathic. But here he is, wrapping Phichit in his arms and telling him it–whatever it is–is going to be okay. They’re nice, all of these unexpectedly sweet gestures.

“Do you want to go out for dinner?”

“Wha–?” Is Seung Gil actually asking him out? Why does that make his heart flutter?

“I just thought that you might want to get out of this bathroom and have something to eat. Have you even tried any of the banquet food?" With Phichit’s mind racing at mach five, it’s hard to comprehend the question (another question?), let alone answer it.

"Uhh.” Is his voice slurring? Does he sound like a drunk idiot? He is a drunk idiot. He should be celebrating the success of his friends. What the fuck is he doing? So many questions…

“I don’t think I’ve eaten since… This morning!”

Seung Gil raises an incredibly well-defined eyebrow at the loud remark, but nods. "Then we should go out to eat something. It can’t be healthy to be drunk on an empty stomach.“

"I’m not drunk! Well, maybe a bit. But not really!”

“Right.”

Seung Gil hauls his intoxicated ass out of the building, somehow managing to hail a taxi. The next thing he knows, they’re sitting in the car and awaiting their destination. Except he’s leaning on Seung Gil’s shoulder. It’s hard work to keep upright when the world is tilting. His body is heavy and he’s just so tired… When he wakes up, they’ve stopped at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Seung Gil supports him as he staggers in.

“Where are we?”

“I don’t really know, I just asked for the driver’s recommendations.”

Phichit almost laughs, because the incredibly put together, notoriously logical Seung Gil does not have an exact plan. It’s a miracle! Albeit a strange one. After all, who is Seung Gil to him? He’s being kind at the moment, yes. And he seems less reserved than normal. A bit awkward, actually. Cute. Before Phichit can ponder this further, Seung Gil pulls him into a seat and tells him to order. He ends up with something called 'Escalivada’, which turns out to be grilled eggplant and red pepper with onion and tomatoes. Seung Gil, true to his meat-eating reputation, orders 'Fricandó’; meat and mushrooms in a sort of rich sauce. As they eat, he eyes the mushrooms with distaste, pushing them to the side like a picky child. Phichit frowns. 

“You should eat those! No use in wasting food!” “I hate vegetables.”

“Mushrooms aren’t even vegetables! They’re f-fungi." He’s stuttering now? Maybe it’s the alcohol. Or his proximity to Seung Gil. The table is so tiny that they’re knee-to-knee in the corner of the restaurant. He’s put his elbows on the table in an effort to keep himself from face planting into his food, which means he’s practically leaning across the small table. Right into Seung Gil. Just as he comes to this conclusion, Seung Gil seems to realize it too. He flushes a dark pink (highly visible with his pale complexion), and mutters something about needing to use the washroom. He stands up, nearly knocks into a candelabra, and walks off.

With that, Phichit is left alone with his thoughts. About what just happened. Normally, he is the whirlwind force of nature, impulsively trying to make others feel better and generally have fun. But tonight, Seung Gil seems to have fulfilled that role. (Not the fun part, just the impulsive kindness part. Seung Gil doesn’t really seem like one to just get out and party.) After all, hasn’t Phichit just been swept off his feet into this… date? No… meal. There’s nothing romantic going on. Nothing at all. All this thinking hurts his head, so he tries to focus on the present. Seung Gil is being kind, the food is good, and he feels better about the competition. Much better, he notes with surprise. There’s still disappointment with himself, of course. And the shame of letting down both his family and his entire country. But in this moment, he could care less. By the time Seung Gil comes back, Phichit is happy and somehow filled with new energy, or at least adrenaline. 

"I think we should go clubbing!”

“What? Wait, shouldn’t we go back to the hotel–”

SEUNG GIL:

It’s Seung Gil’s turn to be subject to a force of nature, though perhaps not the gentle one he himself had attempted to be. Phichit stumbles out, feeling very much himself again and nearly smacking into a lamppost, right before running back in when he realizes Seung Gil is still inside paying the bill. Phichit makes Seung Gil promise that he’ll let him pay him back (“friendly” Asian competition) and they walk outside together.

PHICHIT:

“Really, we should get back to the hotel. It’s getting late now. Almost 11:30.”

“It’s not that late!” But Phichit is obviously losing ground. The adrenaline rush wears of almost as fast as it’s come, and his eyelids begin to droop. And his body begins to feel like it’s made of bricks. Unfortunately, neither knows the streets of downtown Barcelona well. Or has enough money to hail a taxi. Neat, orderly, rigid Seung Gi has a horrified expression on his face.

“I am never going to do anything impulsive ever again. I swear, I will every second of the rest of my life out. We’re lost, and coach is going to kill me when she finds out an–”

“Seung Gil, you should try to just… live a little! Y'know?”

“What? We’re lost! How is that relevant?”

Phichit giggles.

“This isn’t funny! We’re lost in Spain, thanks to my impulsivity.”

“Maybe that isn’t a bad thing. Maybe we should just go with the flow.” Seung Gil sputters.

“Maybe if you weren’t drunk!”

“Hm.” This is a valid point on Seung Gil’s part. If the amount of alcohol he’s consumed at this point is any indication, he should be seeking out a place to rest, and sleep off the headache he’s probably going to have in the morning.

“Fine.”

By the time they reach the hotel, it is 2:53AM. Seung Gil is exhausted and irritable, and Phichit is so sleepy he’s ready to pass out in the lobby. Somehow, they manage to make it to Phichit’s room.

“Seung Gil?”

“What.”

“We might have a slight problem…”

“What is it?”

“I can’t find my room key.”

“Fuck.”

Seung Gil groans comically, or in a way that would be comical had they not spent the last few hours desperately trying to find their way back to the hotel. “You can stay in my room. I can’t deal with this bullshit any longer.”

SEUNG GIL:

That’s how they end up, Phichit flopped onto the comforter in borrowed pyjamas and Seung Gil on the floor, slightly uncomfortable with this breach of privacy.

Phichit starts suddenly.

“What am I doing on the bed? It’s your room! And you’ve shown me nothing but generosity and kindness tonight!”

It’s Seung Gil’s turn to argue.

“You’re drunk! And going to have a hangover, as well as be sore from all the walking we did!”

“So’re you! This is stupid. Just come sleep here. The bed is big enough for two.”

Grudgingly, Seung Gil accepts. But only to get this argument over with. They lie down on opposite ends of the bed, sharing the covers. 

“Seung Gil? I really am grateful for tonight. Thank you.”

“Mhmm.”

PHICHIT:

The sunlight on his face wakes Phichit up. He feels safe, warm, and strangely comfortable. A pounding headache overcomes him, though, and the urge to lay down and die overtakes him. Then he realizes. There are arms wrapped around him. And legs tangled with his. And a person snuggled into him. Seung Gil stirs and mutters something incoherent. A dark blush spreads across Phichit’s face. 

They didn’t, did they? No, nothing of the sort.

The night’s events slowly come back into focus. His embarrassing meltdown. Seung Gil’s unexpected kindness. Hours spent combing the city for the hotel. Just then, Seung Gil wakes.

“I-I’m sorry! That was a direct violation of your personal space–”

“It’s okay. I didn’t really mind…”

“Oh.”

“But I wanted to apologize for my shameful behaviour last night!”

“No no, it’s okay.”

They stare at each other, both at a loss for words. Conflicting emotions flit across Seung Gil’s face as he detangles himself from Phichit. He silently gets up and fills a glass of water for Phichit to drink. Phichit takes it and drinks–there’s so much to repay him for, why can’t you just say something damnit? But the awkward silence is maintained. Seung Gil breaks it painfully.

“I guess you should go down to the lobby and tell them you lost your key, huh?”

“I guess.”

“I’ll see you out.”

As they approach the door, Phichit leans in and kisses him. Lee Seung Gil. Spontaneously, passionately, and full on the mouth. 

He walks out the door and calls out a thank you, tripping down to the elevator.

SEUNG GIL:

Seung Gil leans on the doorframe and dazedly wonders what just happened. (Five hours later, he gets a text asking if he wants to go out to dinner for real this time. He accepts.)

[nobodys-pearls]

Hit on Me Chapter 4

A Miraculous Ladybug AU about pro-fighting and amateur flirting ;)

Read on [AO3]

Ship: Kimax (Le Chien Kim and Max Kanté) 

If he was being perfectly honest, Kim was still surprised that Max had said yes. He hadn’t planned this far ahead. He hadn’t even thought through asking him out to dinner in the first place, it just kind of happened. It was moments like these when he fully realized how much trouble his impulsive nature could get him into.

As they approached the café up the street, Max a few paces behind as he struggled to keep up with Kim’s long strides, thoughts kept racing through Kim’s head. It reminded him of his days on his lyceé track team, dozens of athletes running around and around in circles on a never-ending loop of synthetic, rubbery material.

‘Why did I do this? Is-is this a date?’ Kim thought, almost stumbling over his feet. Then he clenched his fists. ‘No, it’s simply so that our teamwork is, like, super efficient or whatever Max said. Yeah, that’s all.’ Kim reasoned, nodding his head.

‘Then why am I so nervous?’ He stopped suddenly, and Max ran into his back. Kim turned around and rubbed his neck sheepishly.

“Sorry,” Kim apologized, then he pointed at the sign above his head. “We’re here.”

Max gave him a peculiar look and adjusted his glasses. “Are you feeling okay?”

Kim’s eyes widened. “Wh-what do you mean?” He shifted uncomfortably as Max continued to look him over.

“You’ve seemed kind of off today. I don’t have much data to go off of, but you definitely have been acting differently than you did in the elevator.”

“Oh, I’ve uh, been feeling a little under the weather. You know how those seasonal allergies can be.” Kim said with his most convincing smile.

Max simply hummed in what Kim could only assume was agreement. “Shall we sit down then?”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Kim glanced at the tables outside. The weather was perfect for outside dining, but they had come during the dinner rush so none of the tables were open. He tried to hide his disappointment. It really was a beautiful night.

“It’ll be better to eat inside anyway.” Max said. Kim wondered if his coworker could read minds as well as predict the future. “You know, because of your allergies.”

“Huh? I mean, yeah, you’re right.” Kim stumbled out, opening the door. “After you.” He said, gesturing inside. Max gave him a small smile and walked into the café. They took an empty table near the back, and outside the window they could see the Charles Arena in the distance.

Kim watched as Max opened a menu and scanned the page, his eyes moving back and forth. Kim could almost see the gears whirring in his head, and he wouldn’t be surprised if steam started coming out of his coworker’s ears. Then he glanced down at his own menu.

“You don’t have seasonal allergies, do you?” Max asked. Kim snapped his head up to look at him, but his eyes were still on his menu.

“What do you mean?”

“I have a hard time picking up on emotions, but I’m not completely devoid of social skills. I can pick up on things eventually, and it seems like something is bothering you.”

Kim waited as the waiter brought them a bottle of water. Then he filled his glass. “Nothing is bothering me.” Kim said, releasing a short laugh in an attempt to ease the tension. Then he raised his glass to his lips and took a sip. The little track stars in his head began to run faster.

“Is it because I’m gay?”

Kim choked on his water. “W-what?” He said between coughs.

Max put down his menu and looked at Kim. “It’s okay if it is. I know people need some time to – adjust – when I tell them.”

“No!” Kim exclaimed. Then he blushed and smoothed out the napkin in front of him nervously. “Trust me, it’s not that. You being gay isn’t a problem or anything. I mean,” Kim said, struggling to find the right words. Then he took a deep breath. “If anything it’s nice to know that we have something in common.”

“What do you mean?” Max asked, quirking his brow.

“I’m bisexual.” Kim said casually. “Or as Adela puts it, a ‘raging bisexual’ since she thinks that I’ll flirt with anyone I meet.” Kim added, rolling his eyes. “I like to say that I have a lot of love to give.” Then he chuckled to himself.

“What?” Max asked, curious eyes on him.

Kim laughed again. “I’m just imagining how those asshole, steroid-junkies would react if they knew that two gay men were doing the commentating on their favorite sport. They’d probably pop a vessel.” Then he erupted into more laughter.

“They’d be absolutely florid with anger.” Max agreed with a soft laugh of his own. Then he looked thoughtful for a moment. “Wow, two gay sportscasters, who knew the PFL was so progressive?”

“Actually,” Kim said, becoming more serious. “The PFL has always been quite ahead of its time. We’ve had a female league ever since it was founded almost seventy years ago. And now some of the tournaments are even co-ed.” He leaned back in his chair. “The champion five years ago was trans, I’m surprised you never heard about that. It was all over the news.”

“I had to study a lot that year. A lot of code to learn. Didn’t really give me much time for anything else.” Max said, looking down. Kim could see a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Hey, I get it. That was a busy year for me too, now that I think about it. The bottom line is that the PFL is actually a lot more accepting than other leagues. I don’t think that we’ll run into much trouble if it comes out that we’re gay.” Kim said with a reassuring smile. “Although, it would be fun to get into a fight with a juiced-up fan…”

“That is not happening.” Max said, giving him a withering look. Kim responded with a wide smile. They sat like that in silence for a moment.

“So, why did you act so strangely today?” Max asked quietly.

Kim ran a hand through his hair as he tried to come up with the right words. “I mean, you’re so put together and smart – like, freaky smart, I mean how did you know the exact moves that Chat Noir was going to use?” He exclaimed, then he realized that he was getting off topic and straightened up in his seat. “And you’re funny too. And good at a lot of things apparently. I guess I’m just…intimidated.”

Max covered his hand as he began to laugh. “What?” Kim asked, not expecting that response.

“You’re intimidated by me?” Max said, letting out a snort that Kim couldn’t help but find adorable. “You’re like a foot taller than me! And just look at yourself!” He said, gesturing to Kim’s chest. “You could squash me with your bare hands!”

Kim smiled at the compliment, and then that smile quickly shifted into a grin as he leaned forward in his seat. “Have you been checking me out?” He asked, quirking a brow. He could see the blush creep up Max’s neck.

“You know I like to collect data…” Max mumbled.

“Oh, you can collect as much data as you want.” Kim said with a wink.

Max rolled his eyes and opened up his menu once more, moving it so that it covered his face. “I think I’m good.”

Kim laughed and opened his menu as well.

“I’m glad that we’re good though.” Max said from behind his menu. “As – difficult – as this Kim can be, I like this version of you better. You seem more at ease than you were before.”

Kim smiled to himself. “Yeah, I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t usually get like that I promise. I like to keep moving, you know?”

“Then I guess I’m weirdly honored that I was able to stop you for a moment.” Max said, then he chuckled.

“What?”

“I guess this is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.”

Kim laughed as well. “I guess your right. I wouldn’t call you immovable though.”

“I guess I’ll have to prove it to you then.” Max said simply. And yet something about that casual reply made Kim’s heart skip a beat.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Max?!” A voice said from the middle of the café. Kim couldn’t see where it was coming from. Then a short, pink-haired girl about their age materialized from the crowd and gave Max a friendly noogie. “What’re you doing here?”

Max laughed and batted her away. “I was at the arena and my coworker suggested that we have dinner together.” He explained.

What Kim could only assume was Max’s friend looked him up and down. “So this is Le Chien Kim?” She asked, putting emphasis on his name.

“The one and only.” Kim said, putting on his most charming smile. “It looks like Max has already been gushing about me.” He gave Max a wink.

“Nah.” The girl said, coming to sit next to Max. She put her hands behind her head and looked out the window, seemingly uninterested in the guy in front of her. “He just told me how dumb your haircut is.”

Kim instinctively touched his hair, grabbing one of the spoons with his free hand to check his reflection.

“Alix, play nice.” Max scolded. Then he turned to look at Kim. “I didn’t say that.”

“I was paraphrasing.” The pest – Alix – said, giving Kim a wink as she slouched in her chair.

“Who is this?” Kim said politely, putting down his spoon. He had to stop himself from saying ‘What’ instead of ‘Who’.

Max sighed and smiled. “This is my best friend Alix Kubdel. She’s one of the PFL trainers; I’m surprised that the two of you haven’t crossed paths.”

“I never got the chance to meet many trainers during my internship.” Kim replied with a shrug. When he thought about it, employment had changed a lot the past two years. People were retiring, young people became more interested in the business – it was hard to keep track of it all. But maybe it was his own fault that he hadn’t been paying more attention to the people around him. He thought about that for a moment.

“It must break your heart that you’ve been deprived of my presence for so long.” Alix said, dragging out the last two words as she put her hands dramatically against her chest. Kim watched as Max tried to hide his smirk.

“Oh, it’s absolutely shattered. I don’t know how I would’ve gone on if we hadn’t met tonight.” Kim said dryly.

Alix straightened up in her seat. “I like this guy. He’s fun.” She said to Max.

“I’m glad I have your approval.” Kim said, rolling his eyes. But honestly he kind of liked this girl. She was interesting, and if she was friends with Max she had to be pretty cool. Even if she did make fun of his hair.

“So the Jolly Green Giant is paying right?” Alix asked Max, taking his menu.

“I could beat you up you know. You’re even shorter than Max.” Kim declared, crossing his arms.

“No, you really couldn’t.” Alix said, lifting her eyes to look at Kim. He could see the challenge in them.

“Yeah, you don’t really stand a chance.” Max confessed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Betrayed by my own partner.” Kim said, putting a hand on his chest in surprise.

“I was his best friend long before you two were partners.” Alix pointed out as she combed through the menu. Kim noticed the inflection in her voice when she said ‘partners’. It made Kim’s cheeks feel warm.

“And also realistically you would lose. Fighting people is her job.” Max pointed out honestly. Alix raised her hand like she wanted Max to high five her, but he gently put it down. “I’m just telling you for your safety.” Max said to Kim.

Kim huffed and crossed his arms. “Never bet against Le Chien Kim.”

“Oooooo, using your full name and the third person, I’m positively shaking in my combat boots.” Alix said, flipping onto the next page of the menu.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you here anyway? I thought you had a session with that new pupil?” Max asked.

Alix closed the menu and set it down, looking at her friend. “Yeah, but she’s been pushing herself too hard so I let her go home early for the night. And I thought that I’d treat myself to a nice meal. I didn’t know that you’d be here, or that the Le Chien Kim would be so nice as to pay for me.” She said, smiling sweetly at Kim from across the table.

Kim scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

“We’ll see.” Alix said with a wink, then she put on a more serious expression. “You two should keep an eye on my new protégé, she’s going places.” She said, looking between Max and Kim.

“What’s her name?” Max asked.

Alix wagged a finger and smiled mysteriously. “I can’t tell.”

“Oh, so she’s the other anonymous fighter.” Kim said. “Does she have a cat costume too?”

Alix crinkled her nose. “Ew no. Wait, does the other one wear a cat costume?” She asked, leaning back in her chair. “That’s hilarious.” She swiped Max’s glass and took a sip of water. Kim watched as Max rolled his eyes and smiled. “Her costume is’nt exactly my style, but it suits her. You’ll just have to wait and see for yourself.”

“How about tomorrow? We got to sit in on part of Chat Noir’s practice, can we see some of yours?” Max asked, looking at Alix with wide, pleading eyes.

Alix looked at her friend for a moment, and Kim didn’t think she’d give in, but then she slumped her shoulders and smiled. “I can’t say no to you. It’s like the equivalent of kicking a puppy.”

Max pumped his fist in triumph. “You’re the best.”

“I know.” Alix said. Kim could see the warmth in her eyes. “Tomorrow. 9am. Don’t be late or else.” She said, looking between Kim and Max.

Max nodded his head and Kim gave her a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

“So this, Chat Noir,” Alix asked slowly, taking another sip from Max’s glass. “Who’s his trainer anyway.”

Max rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, uh –” He began, dragging out his words.

“It’s Chloe, isn’t it?” Alix said flatly, looking at her friend. Max’s expression was all the confirmation she needed. Kim watched as she slumped further in her seat, a dramatic groan escaping her lips as she traveled further and further down. Soon he could only see her pink hair sticking out from above the table.

“It can’t be too bad, right?” Max said, trying to console his friend. Alix only groaned in response. After a moment she straightened back up in her seat and put her arms on the table in despair. And Kim thought that he could be dramatic.

“Okay. So this is how it’s going to be.” Alix finally said, looking at Max. “If I say the word ‘orange’, that means I need you to hold me back because I’m about to murder her.” She explained simply.

“I don’t think I’m strong enough for that.” Max answered honestly. Alix turned to look at Kim.

“If I say the word ‘orange’ –”

“Yeah I got it.” Kim said, rolling his eyes and trying to suppress his smirk.

“I think you need a better code word.” Max said seriously, adjusting his glasses. “I’m quite partial to using ‘Lazyto-”

Suddenly Alix had Max in a headlock, and Kim would’ve intervened if Max wasn’t dying with laughter.

“I told you not to use that word poindexter!” Alix said, grinning as she kept her grip on Max.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry!” Max said, still laughing.

Kim didn’t really understand what was going on, but he smiled as he watched them. He liked hanging out with these two. It was in that moment that he realized that he made a good decision when he chose to have a partner. He’d been running the track of life alone for so long, it was time to have some teammates. It was time to have some friends.

“Are you three ready to order?” The waiter asked, standing in front of them. He glanced down to see Alix and Max play fighting, and Alix straightened up and put on her best smile.

“Yes we are, Monsieur.”

In the end, Kim ended up paying for dinner.

[wavervelvett]

for the 'things you said' ficlet meme, how bout 14 for inasure or niceart? your choice ~ love your writing btw!!

inasure + things you said after you kissed me

“What—” Slaine’s voice is calm, but edging on panic. Or rage. Maybe a bit of both. “—the fuck was that?” His fingers fly to his lips, like he’s guarding against future attack, and he stumbles backwards a few steps.

To be honest, Inaho isn’t sure what the fuck that was. He hadn’t really planned it. Or maybe he had. Maybe it was a bit of both. Slaine tends to have that effect on him where he doesn’t really know what his plan is until two seconds before he follows through on it, which makes it debatable on whether that actually counts as ‘planning’. But whatever his plan may or may not have been, he’d turned to look at Slaine and Slaine had graced him with one his small and genuine smiles and Inaho had leaned in and kissed him.

“It was a kiss,” Inaho informs Slaine, hands hidden behind his back so Slaine can’t tell how they’ve started to shake a little.

“A kiss?” Slaine repeats, voice muffled by his fingers. He scowls and turns away to stare back across the lake. “A kiss…” He says again, like he’s working it over in his head. He takes a few steps forward and leans over to rake a hand over the pebbles lining the shore. “You—” he declares, sending a stone skipping across the water, one skip and kerplunk, “—are a terrible kisser.”

Inaho doesn’t rise to the bait at first. He knows that’s what this is. Slaine will challenge him, trying to rile Inaho up, trying to get him to rise to the unpredictable level of Slaine’s own untamable emotions, and then ultimately fail, because even if Inaho functioned ‘like a regular person’ like Slaine has complained, Slaine still soars high above and plummets down without warning and he can never drag Inaho along with him. For two years, Slaine Troyard has been placed under Inaho’s direct supervision, and the two of them still can’t figure each other out. Inaho is apparently too much of a robot, and Slaine is just a twisted ball of complexes sent whirling into the pinball game of life.

So Inaho just returns to their blanket and casually eats another grape from the remains of a picnic lunch. Slaine skips a few more stones. The tracking device around his ankle flashes green every couple of seconds, a happy reminder that Slaine is indeed within his one mile range he’s allowed before the electric shock knocks him out. That had been tested more than once when Inaho first brought Slaine home. The third night after Inaho was granted custody, Inaho received the alert on his phone, and then he’d walked out into the pouring rain, using his phone to track Slaine’s exact location and carry him back, unconscious the whole way. Slaine had been just skin and bones back then, so easy to carry. Looking at him now, Inaho can simply appreciate the way Slaine’s figure has filled out, healthier and stronger. Slaine glances back over his shoulder after a stone skip and catches Inaho looking. He blushes hard and launches the next pebble as far as he can throw. It plinks into the middle of the lake.

Inaho had wondered why Slaine kept running off and trying to leave his established perimeter, back during those first few weeks. He wasn’t a fool, after all, so why run when he knew it wouldn’t work? It took Inaho a while to realize Slaine wasn’t testing his boundaries; he was testing Inaho, seeing if Inaho would come after him, if he could make Inaho raise a hand to him. That’s what it’s been like, learning to live with Slaine Troyard.

This is no different. Slaine is waiting to see how he’ll react. Inaho takes his time to consider how he wants to go about this as he waits for his nerves to die down a little. Finally, Inaho’s hands are calm enough to ask, “So where did you receive your kissing expertise? Have you had a lot of practice?” Certainly not while staying with Inaho. Probably not in solitary confinement. “Was it Princess Lemrina?” Inaho says quite innocently, and Slaine turns to chuck a pebble at him. Predictable. Inaho leans to the left to avoid it and eats another grape. “So am I right?”

“No!”

“Some other woman?”

“No!”

“A man?”

“No!” Each no is punctuated by a pebble sent his way. Inaho catches the last one and tosses it from hand to hand.

“So why would you say I’m a terrible kisser when you yourself have little experience?”

“Because!” Slaine sits in a huff on the pebble beach. “Kissing is supposed to feel like more.”

Inaho could let it go right now. Slaine will gladly forget that this ever happened. After so long, the years in prison and the years since Slaine was released, they’ve finally reached a place of, if not understanding, mutual respect. Slaine doesn’t cause any sort of purposeful disaster, and Inaho lets Slaine do whatever he wants to do around the house, whether that’s dragging the couch to a sunny spot so he can nap there, or writing in the notebooks Inaho brings him for hours upon hours on end, sometimes straight through the night to morning. Working on stories, he  says. He’s almost like a child in how impulsive he is, but if Inaho understands correctly, childhood was something Slaine never really had, so after being imprisoned for five years, perhaps Asseylum’s not-so-official-pardon triggered a rebirth of some kind, a child discovering for the first time what it’s like to be able to choose what to eat, how late to sleep in, what hobbies to engage in, how far he can push Inaho’s buttons before realizing Inaho will never slap him away or take a cane to him. Sometimes weeks go by without incident, only to be followed by a maelstrom of a day that begins over nothing that has them both ready to stomp out of the house and leave forever, except that’s not in the least bit a possibility. So a constant daily ‘let’s forget that ever happened’ mentality is pretty much essential for them to live in any sort of peace.

So Inaho knows he could never mention what just happened and Slaine would let it disappear and pretend to forget it ever happened in silent agreement since that’s what they’ve done with so many things. But Inaho, for some reason, doesn’t want to let this go. Because Slaine seems to be leaving something important out entirely. Inaho stops tossing the pebble around and peers at it with his one good eye as he says it.

“You kissed me back.”

He’d turned to look at Slaine and Slaine had graced him with one his rare smiles and Inaho had leaned in and kissed him. And Slaine had kissed him back, gasped a little in the space between, and then pulled himself away like a puppet on strings.

Now, Slaine gives a little muffled noise of protest and turns pink.

“So if it was a terrible kiss then it’s half your fault,” Inaho finishes, and Slaine narrows his eyes at him, the blush working its way down his neck.

“That’s not true. I am fine at kissing.”

“Because it should feel like more?”

“Yes!” Slaine squeaks.

It’s far too easy to get Slaine riled up. Inaho wipes the smile from his face and scoots down the grass to the beach. Slaine watches him closely, but doesn’t move away when Inaho sits beside him, thighs bumping. “I’ve never really kissed anyone,” Inaho admits. “Unless CPR counts.”

“It…it…doesn’t,” Slaine decides, and stares down at the ground, one finger tracing a path among the pebbles. “I don’t think it’s the same. Even when we want to pretend it is.” He clears his throat and looks Inaho dead in the eye. “Your complete lack of experience, even compared to my own, is what made that kiss terrible. Nothing more.”  

Inaho hums and laces his fingers together. “But I do have experience now.” He’s not sure where he’s going with this, or even if there’s an overarching plan. He just knows he likes the way Slaine’s ears are turning pink.

“One terrible kiss with me will not make you good,” Slaine huffs, and angles himself away from Inaho.

“How about two terrible kisses?”

Slaine chucks another pebble at him. It bounces off Inaho’s head. “What is wrong with you? Too much sunlight? Or has the curse worn off and you’re finally a real boy?” Another pebble.

Inaho holds a hand up to ward from future projectiles. “Please stop.”

“Why did you kiss me?” Slaine all but wails, and stands quickly so he can put some space between them. His bare feet splash into the shallows of the lake.

Inaho pauses to try to come up with a better answer than the truth. But anything such as ‘it was a trick’ or ‘I wanted to see how you would react’ makes his stomach twist. “I just wanted to,” he replies, and Slaine turns away with brow furrowed. He kicks his feet in the water—which must be freezing—and stares out across the lake to the trees on the other side.

“Of course, it has been over two years since you’ve had any sort of intimate contact with someone,” Slaine reasons after a moment of splashing. “Even for someone as repressed as you, that would be a hardship. I just happened to be convenient.”

Which is just…

“Slaine Troyard,” Inaho proclaims, “You have never nor will ever be a convenience for me.”

Slaine sends a splash of water up onto the beach. “Well, you’re only an inconvenience to me.” He kicks at the water again and manages to spatter Inaho’s pants. Inaho stares at the wet mess of his trousers and then to where Slaine is unsuccessfully hiding a smirk.

“Right,” Inaho says, and pushes himself upright. He stalks down the beach, shedding his shoes and socks as he goes. Slaine’s eyes go wide with surprise and he backs further into the water, the lake lapping at where he’s rolled his pants up. Inaho stops, and wonders if this is one of those moments he’s accidentally calling up one of the more unpleasant times of Slaine’s life, but then Slaine reaches down, cups his hands into the water, and sends it splattering all down the front of Inaho’s shirt.

It’s cold.

“Easy target, Orange,” Slaine teases. That old nickname is more than enough to make Inaho sure Slaine knows this is a game. He unbuttons his shirt as quickly as he can and tosses it to the beach before wading further after Slaine. Slaine laughs and splashes him again. He doesn’t seem to mind the chill in the water he ventures further and further into. Inaho sends a few waves his way, but Slaine is too far away, and Inaho is loathe to wade out further than his knees. Slaine, though, is waist deep in water and still laughing at him.

“You’re going to get sick,” Inaho says. Slaine shrugs it off.

“Maybe that will stop you from kissing me.”

“Then why kiss me back? Am I convenient for you?”

Slaine’s laughter cuts off in an instant, back to sullen and embarrassed. “No,” he grumbles. “You’re not convenient. You’re the last person in the world I would want to kiss.”

“And yet you did.”

“I was surprised!”

Inaho frowns. “We both know that’s not it. If you didn’t want to be kissed you would have pushed me away instantly. Or punched me. Not kissed me back. So why?”

Slaine stares at him for a second, smirks, and tosses himself backwards into the lake.

***

“Honestly.” Inaho checks on the state of his pants, hung over a branch to dry. “Of all the things…”

Slaine just sighs from where he’s splayed out on the grass. He’d refused to take off any of his clothes, insisting lying in the sun would do the trick. Inaho, on the other hand, has strung everything along the tree branches. Everything but his undershirt and briefs. He grumbles a bit more as he fishes his phone from his pants pocket. It still turns on, thank God, but the wad of bills he’d stored in there will need to be pried apart one by one once dry.

“You’re indecent, Commander,” Slaine drawls, and rolls over onto his stomach.

Inaho rubs his hands vigorously through his hair. “You were the one who decided to drown himself.”

He’d really had Inaho convinced too. He’d waited and waited long after the bubbles stopped and then swam like hell. Slaine had been smiling so triumphantly when Inaho hauled him to the surface that Inaho had nearly dropped him again.

Because of all the ways that Slaine tries to push his buttons, these kinds are the ones that work.

“Didn’t we have an agreement about this?” Inaho asks, sitting on the grass and curling so the least amount of skin is shown. “No intentionally hurting yourself?”

Well, it hadn’t been so much an agreement as a lecture. Now, Slaine rolls back over and shuts his eyes. He must be cold, especially with a slow wind picking up, but he’ll never show it. “Chains of misery, chance of redemption, and so on and so on…” He waves a hand idly. “Doomed to babysit me for the rest of your life due to the…” His face scrunches a little. “…strange sense of mercy that…Her Majesty possesses…” The hand drops. Slaine can never talk about Asseylum for long. Inaho watches him for a moment, the uneasy rise and fall of Slaine’s chest, and then slowly unfolds his limbs so he stand and walk down to where Slaine is. Slaine stares up at him with an eyebrow raised, but Inaho doesn’t bother saying anything yet. He lays down next to Slaine on the cool grass and tingles a bit at the feel of the blades all over his arms and legs. They lapse into a natural silence and Inaho takes the time to plan his words. Truly plan them, not Slaine-plan them, those two-second useless plans that got him into this mess in the first place.

Finally, when he’s ready, he turns his head to face Slaine. “I never told you,” he says quietly, “Because I didn’t think it mattered. But Asseylum never asked me to care for you. We discussed other prisons you could be transferred to, ways to ease your existence, something we could do to stop you from wasting away the way you were.” Slaine turns his head to stare back at Inaho, eyes blown wide with surprise. “I asked for you to be put in my care,” Inaho tells him softly. “And I knew all the ramifications of what I was requesting.”

Slaine rolls over onto his side, closing the distance between them. His eyes search for the lie, but he should know by now that Inaho doesn’t lie. Never to him, and not about this. “Why?” he asks at last.

Inaho stares back up at the sky, hyper-aware of Slaine’s breath on his cheek. “I wondered about that for the longest time. But somehow, between capturing you and those five years you were in prison, I became obsessed with what you would look like free. No titles, no war. Just a chance at a normal life. And then the Empress agreed to help me make that a reality.” He hums a little and shuts his eyes. “I think it was when you smiled, the first chess game you won. You couldn’t be Count Troyard anymore, after that. That was why I kissed you, too. Because you smiled, and I seem completely incapable of logical thought.” He sighs deeply. “I can usually understand my emotions but you make it so difficult. It makes no sense that I should care for you, and yet I do, so much I willingly give you the rest of my life, so you can have a little bit of freedom. It was my sacrifice to make, and I do not regret it, as strange as that is.” That’s all he has to say. He goes quiet and waits for Slaine’s response.

He hears the shift of Slaine’s wet clothing, feels the presence of someone hovering overtop him. “If I kissed you now, would you kiss me back?” Slaine asks, voice soft and scratchy.

“I thought you didn’t want to kiss me.”

“I’m willing to try.”

Slaine’s lips meet his, cold from the lake and clumsy with inexperience. Inaho tries to respond with a hand on Slaine’s face, but the kiss is short-lived and after a few seconds, Slaine pulls away and sits up so Inaho can’t see his expression.

They stay like that for a few minutes. Just them, the lake, Inaho’s clothes strung up along the tree branches, and the remnants of a picnic lunch. The sun still hangs high in the sky, warm against their skin even with the chill of a breeze.

“Am I still a terrible kisser?” Inaho asks.

“Dreadful,” Slaine replies immediately. But then, much softer, almost like he doesn’t want Inaho to hear, “But maybe it also felt like something more.”

“Can I practice again?”

Slaine nods, and responds to the kiss this time, parting his lips a tad bit. Inaho is at a loss. Three seconds later and Slaine shoves him off. “It’s not CPR!”

Inaho grabs Slaine’s chin and kisses him again. “I think I’m improving,” he says once he pulls away. Slaine snorts.

“You still have a lot of practice to do.”

“Is that why you’re kissing me back?” Inaho shoots in, and Slaine turns his head to the side. Inaho relaxes the grip on his chin, but his fingers never leave Slaine’s skin. Suddenly, the answer to why Slaine kissed him back becomes the most important thing in the universe. Inaho stares at the shadows that move across Slaine’s face when the wind shakes the trees above them, stares at the delicate curve of his nose and swoop of his eyes, runs his fingers along a jawline still cool from the water. Slaine moves with his touch, turning back to Inaho with a lost expression, brows knit and mouth pursed with worry.

“I can’t think of a good reason.”

Inaho’s hand wanders up to push Slaine’s hair off his forehead. “So why?”

Slaine shuts his eyes and leans slightly into Inaho’s touch. “Because it feels nice. Even though you’re terrible at it.”

Inaho hums and nods and leans a little further in. “Why does it feel nice? Is it…?”

He stops. Maybe he doesn’t want to know what the answer here is.

Maybe he’s just a convenience.

But instead Slaine blushes even brighter and reaches for a shirt collar that isn’t there. He opens his eyes and grabs hold of Inaho’s shoulders instead. “Don’t make me admit it here, Kaizuka,” he mutters, and that’s all the answer Inaho can ask for. Right here, right now.

Maybe in another seven years they’ll be able to say it.