#Like live super bowl stuff exists right

[afamiliarsword]

(WARNING, NOTHING BURGER POST:) Was very surprised today to realise that scripted "sports" shows that primarily focus on the sport is very rarely seen outside of anime and it feels like I have to be missing something

[slaytheday12]

A Night by the Fire pt2

summery: pt2 to a night by the fire, in which walker and reader see each other again after the party.

A/N: pt2 queens pt1

The morning after the party you found yourself laying on Tamara’s couch, a mug of hot chocolate warming your hands. Sunlight came through the window, spilling across the chaos o f her living room pillows everywhere, half empty bowls of chips on the coffee table, and abandoned drinks on the floor.

Tamara sat beside you, scrolling through her phone. The silence between you wasn’t awkward it was the kind that existed between close friends, where no words were needed to fill the space.

"Last night wasn’t so bad, right?" she said suddenly, breaking the quiet. Her tone was casual, but the look in her eyes gave her away.

You rolled your eyes, a small smile tugged at your lips. "It was… fine." Tamara raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Fine? That’s all you’ve got? My friends were nice, the music was great, and you got to hang out with Walker."

You froze, your mug halfway to your lips. "What about him?" She put her phone down, her grin widening. "Oh, nothing. He just told me he likes you."

You nearly choked on your drink. "What?"

"Yep," she said, clearly enjoying herself. "He said you were ‘really cool, super easy to talk to, and—oh, yeah really cute.’" Your cheeks burned as you processed her words. "You’re making that up."

"Am not!" she shot back, raising her hands. "Why would I lie about this? Honestly, I think it’s adorable."

You stared at her, your mind racing. Flashes of last night came back to you the way Walker’s smile lingered just a little longer when he looked at you, the quiet sincerity in his voice when he asked about your favourite things, the way the two of you had clicked so effortlessly.

"What did you say to him?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Tamara shrugged, trying to look innocent but failing miserably. "I told him I’d talk to you. And that maybe we could all hang out again soon."

Before you could respond or properly glare at her there was a knock at the door. Tamara shot to her feet, her face lighting up with mischief.

"Oh," she said, her tone dripping with mock surprise. "Speak of the devil."

Your stomach dropped. "Tamara, don’t—" But she was already at the door, pulling it open to reveal Walker standing on the porch. He looked slightly nervous, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, but his face brightened when his eyes landed on you.

"Hey," he said, his voice warm and soft. "Walker! Come in," Tamara said cheerfully, stepping aside to let him inside. "Y/N and I were just talking about you."

You shot her a wide eyed look of pure horror, but she just grinned at you, unbothered. Walker chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"All good things, I hope," he said, his tone teasing but his cheeks turning faintly pink. "Of course," Tamara said. Then, without warning, she grabbed her phone off the couch. "Anyway, I’ll leave you two to it. I’ve got, uh… stuff to do." She disappeared down the hall, her not so subtle wink making your embarrassment complete.

Walker glanced at you, a shy smile playing on his lips. "She’s… something else."

"You have no idea," you said, shaking your head, though you couldn’t help smiling back.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Walker shifted his weight, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I, um… I was wondering," he began, "If maybe you’d want to exchange numbers. You know, in case you ever want to hang out or something."

Your heart fluttered, his tone making your chest ache in the best way. "Yeah," you said, pulling out your own phone. "I’d like that." As you typed your numbers into each other’s phones, your fingers brushed lightly against his. The touch sent a shiver down your spine.

"There," Walker said, slipping his phone back into his pocket as his eyes met yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you. "I’m really glad Tamara convinced you to come last night."

"Me too," you admitted. "I wasn’t expecting to meet someone like you." His smile widened, his gaze softening. "Same here."

The air in the room felt different now. Walker was still standing close, his hands resting awkwardly at his sides, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, loud and unsteady, a rhythm you were sure he could hear if he got any closer.

"So," he began, his voice breaking the silence. It was softer than usual, almost hesitant. "I, uh, I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about me just showing up like this."

His honesty caught you off guard. You tilted your head, trying to work out the emotions flickering behind his hazel eyes. "I’m glad you did," you said truthfully.

Walker’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he exhaled a small laugh. "Good. I was worried I’d be intruding or, I don’t know, coming on too strong." A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "You’re fine. Really."

There was a moment of silence It wasn't an emptiness that needed to be filled, but a quiet pause before something meaningful. You glanced down at your mug, the cooling hot chocolate now forgotten, and then back at him. Walker’s gaze hadn’t left you, his expression soft but unreadable.

"You know," he said after a beat, his voice carrying a nervous edge, "last night wasn’t what I expected."

You raised an eyebrow, "Oh? In a good way or a bad way?" His lips curved into a small smile. "Good," he said quietly. "Definitely good. I mean, I didn’t think I’d meet someone like you."

Your chest tightened at his words, and a small smile tugged at your lips. "I didn’t think I’d meet someone like you, either," you replied, your voice a little softer than you'd intended.

Walker’s smile grew, and he took a small step closer, his gaze still locked on yours. The air between you seemed to hum with a quiet energy, and you felt an odd sense of calm settle over you. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice almost hesitent, like he was still unsure of how you felt. "What do you think of me now?"

You felt a small flutter in your chest as you met his eyes. "I think... you’re really cool," you said, your words coming out easier than expected.

Walker’s smile widened, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The space between you felt comfortable, like two people just figuring each other out.

"Same," he said softly. "I mean, I didn’t think we’d click like this."

You smiled shyly, feeling the warmth of his presence. "Yeah, me neither."

Walker scratched the back of his neck. "I’m glad you came last night. I wasn’t sure if we’d have anything in common." You nodded, feeling the warmth in your chest again. "I’m glad I came too."

He took a slow step back, glancing at his phone before slipping it into his pocket. "Maybe we could hang out again sometime? Like, outside of Tamara’s party?" His voice was hesitant, but his eyes were hopeful.

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a little rush of excitement. "I’d like that." Walker’s face lit up, his nervous energy melting as he relaxed. "Cool. Me too."

The moment was simple, but there was something about it that made you feel like this was the beginning of something special, even if you couldn’t fully explain it yet.

Walker stepped back and looked at his phone again, like he was about to leave. But he paused glancing up at you. "So, do you think you'll be at Tamara's next thing?" he asked, his tone light but with a hint of something deeper.

You grinned, feeling a wave of confidence wash over you. "I might just show up. You never know." Walker laughed, and for a moment, everything felt easier, more natural. He nodded and took a step toward the door, but not before giving you one last look a lingering smile that made your heart flutter again.

"Well, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see you then."

You nodded, your own smile matching his. "Maybe."

As the door clicked shut behind him, you sat back down on the couch, your mind racing. The last few minutes felt unreal, but the spark you felt between you was clear. Something had changed, though you couldn’t name it yet.

A/N: did we like it guys and what do we want to see next. Also, should we make this like a cute soft little series.

Tags: @sophand4n4

[goron-king-darunia]

Eggtober Recap and Masterpost 2023

Untitled Egg Poem Egg Yolk Splattered in a chipped bowl, Limitless potential Broken like the dawn.

Scared of wasted sunrise, Scared of loving white lies, Yearning, Wanting to breathe free.

Prison within a prison, Living without living, I am spinning, toiling, burning, Breaking, sifting, praying, learning, Nothing blooming Nothing growing Tears.

Crackling insanity, A song that boils within me A rhythm Setting me in stone.

And I'll claw in Like dandelions, Vines, like yeast and mold I'll make a mark one day, you'll see.

Rooted, I'll grow my thorns, It's not my fault for being born, Sorry if My laughter is too loud.

I'll make a reverie of mechanical monotony No more apologies Just me. Insects and wriggling larvae, Eggshell like lead paint chips, Star dust doesn't choose its shape.

Pigment from wilted roses, blood spilled by mistake, I refuse to ever break.

Not again.

Eggtober is over. We did it~ The poem doesn't really speak to a current state of mind. Just a pattern of maladaptive thinking I grew up having, being the weird kid. People like the rough edges a lot more when you grow up, I've found. Makes you interesting. Or maybe it's just easier to find your people when you're unapologetically strange online. And I like that Eggtober sort of embraces that. It's not a super serious Inktober challenge. Just a bunch of weird people drawing weird eggs. And I mean that in the best way. People expect there to be a "why" a lot. "Why eggs?" And sometimes there is a why. Sometimes I draw eggs to express something or to symbolize something. But sometimes there is no why. Sometimes it's just because an egg is easy or fun or comfortable. Sometimes an egg just feels right. Sometimes it's just to make something. Doesn't have to be poetic or meaningful. Sometimes you just draw an egg, and that's all it is. And I think a lot of discomfort around art is that everyone expects there to be a why, and if you don't have a why, then your art doesn't deserve to be seen. "Why do you like gorey stuff, kinky stuff, weird stuff? If you can't explain, I'm choosing to believe you're a freak and should be disallowed from creating." And I'm lucky, I think, to not be that popular. I don't get asked these sorts of things. But I see it happen to other people. And sometimes I get it. An answer to the why pacifies. I get uneasy with horror the same as everyone and I pacify it by reading the wiki and learning the secrets and understanding the why. But I think we need to get more comfy making up our own why, or get comfy with the knowledge that sometimes there isn't a why. Sometimes the little brain goblin decides there is no why. They just like the weird little eggs. And that's okay. And I think the reason we make up for other peoples' "why" should maybe stop being "because they're a weird little freak that likes degenerate things." Because yeah, maybe they are. But it's not a bad thing. And the world is a lot more interesting when we accept that we don't always know the why. And the why isn't always as simple as that.

I dunno. I'm rambling a bit. But I'm grateful to everyone that showed up and participated and shared and liked and just... enjoyed existing where the thing happening was lots of eggs and the "why" was just "why not?"

Hoping every one of you has a nice glass of your preferred warm beverage and stays nice and toasty for the rest of the year. (Shout out to the southern hemisphere folks if there are any. May you guys have an iced beverage of your choice and stay nice and cool for the rest of the year.)

Lots of thoughts about Eggtober 2023 and no good way to articulate them, but suffice it to say that having a loose amount of structure like this is very good on my garbage ADHD brain. If anything in the collage catches your fancy, here's the posts in order from the top left to the bottom right. May the rest of 2023 be sweet. I can't wait to see everyone again next year! And don't eat too much Halloween Candy at once, even if it is those yummy gummy fried egg candies.

Eggtober 2023 Posts in Order: (Unfortunately I didn't learn about the speedpaint feature until day 6 😢)

Eggtober 1st: Fried Egg on Green Eggtober 2nd: Lemon Fried Egg (Both Versions) Eggtober 3rd: Fried Egg Cake

Eggtober 4th: Poached Eggs and Asparagus Hollandaise Eggtober 5th: Sheet Pan Fried Eggs Eggtober 6th: Raw Egg (Both Versions)

Eggtober 7th: Painted Egg Eggtober 8th: Rice Crispy Eggs Eggtober 9th: Chocolate Souffle Eggtober 10th: Hot and Sour Soup

Eggtober 11th: Flan Eggtober 12th: Fried Eggs and Bacon Eggtober 13th: Ramen Eggs Eggtober 14th: Tiger Skin Egg

Eggtober 15th: Fried Egg with Berries Eggtober 16th: Cheesy Baked Cream Eggs Eggtober 17th: Mushroom Quiche Eggtober 18th: Cipriani Cake

Eggtober 19th: Pavlova with Strawberry Jam Eggtober 20th: Deviled Egg Eggtober 21st: Hard-boiled Egg and Mayo Eggtober 22nd: Scrambled Eggs with Cheese

Eggtober 23rd: Omurice Eggtober 24th: Shrimp Fried Rice Eggtober 25th: Uovo in Raviolo Eggtober 26th: Image of Fried Egg on Jack-o-lantern.

Eggtober 27th: Tea Egg Eggtober Eggtober 28th: Monster Eggs Eggtober 29th: Korean Egg Bread Eggtober 30th: Fried Egg on Magenta in the Stlye of @quezify

Eggtober 31st: Fried Egg on Burger Eggtober 31st Bonus: Egg Creature from SNOBBISM

Special thanks to my bae, @actualaster for the love and support, @hannikka for the encouraging words, @lady-quen for the ongoing collab, and @quezify for being the best host. Love you all! I am putting the King Sized Reese's and KitKat candy bars in your metaphorical Halloween bags.

[victorluvsalice]

-->Once all the gnomes were back in position, it was time to get everyone started on all the various chores that needed to be done! I had Alice get up, clean more spoiled food out of the fridge (while I remembered “Smiler’s cheese!” and quickly put that IN the fridge – fortunately it still had like a day to go before it went off), then go kick a creepy doll in the greenhouse before harvesting the prairie grass in Moory’s pen (just found one turquoise crystal hiding in there today). Victor, meanwhile, finished clearing up the gnome mess in the greenhouse and opening all the remaining seed packets I could find around the lot (looked like a haul of mainly lemons and spinach), and got to his tending – vacuuming weeds, spraying bugs, etc, etc. Smiler, for their part, finished up Marm’s enhancements before being sent to clean the chicken coop, recycle everyone's accumulated trash piles, and to rake up all the leaves around the yard (since, well, there were a lot of them!). And Marm, now that he was feeling a little more durable (with his latest enhancement, durability in fact decays about 10% slower now, which is nice), hovered over to the living room to put out the fireplace (which somebody had lit yesterday, or possibly the day before, in-game) and get to know Shadow. The two got along quite well, so I had Marm go and take Shadow on a short walk –

And went “you know what, we haven’t done any fun animal treat stuff in a bit” and had Alice take the Fishy Protein Treat and the Pumpkin Treat from Victor’s inventory to feed one of the brown hens and Moory the cow respectively! Alice unfortunately didn’t do a great job of giving the Fishy Protein Treat to the chickens, pouring it OUTSIDE their pen – I moved the treat pile into the pecking area in the hopes that SOMEBODY would eat it. Happily, after a short break to brush Surprise, she did much better in giving Moory her Pumpkin Treat, and – after a quick pet to keep the cow happy – got herself a nice bottle of pumpkin spice milk along with the regular milk. :) She also grabbed the eggs, since she was in the neighborhood – two regular, one hatchable. Not too shabby!

-->And with THAT all done, it was time to make some treats for the upcoming food sale! I already knew I wanted the gang to take the batch of blueberry bagels Victor had made earlier from the fridge – however, when I checked out the plate of banana split waffles in there, I found that they were very close to going off. I thus set them on the counter so Alice could quickly clean them up after they spoiled, and had Alice instead get a batch of pumpkin spice waffles and some more batches of dough started. Annoyingly, the stand mixer broke right after it was finished mixing up the dough – and after Alice repaired it, she suddenly got an inexplicable fear of death, despite the fact that, as far as I could see, she didn’t get shocked by the damn thing at all. O.o Well, all right, being afraid of death is just a natural part of existence. I’ll figure out how to help her work through her fear later! (Too bad The Sims 4 doesn’t offer the “go on a mental trip through Wonderland to confront your worries” option. :p)

While that was going on, Victor finished his tending and super-sold the greenhouse – I tried then to have him go in and make an apple pie for the sale, but he couldn’t do so until Alice finished fixing the mixer so he could get the dough out of it (an apple pie needs two batches, and we only had one available). I thus had him eat some forbidden candy instead to keep his energy up for the trip – can’t have him falling asleep in the middle of the sale! I also got a notice that Shadow (still on her walk with Marm) was getting pretty hungry, so I had the pair come back to the house and stop under the tree in the front yard so I could get Marm to call her to eat at one of the pet food bowls –

-->Except that Marm wouldn’t do it. The action just lingered uselessly just outside their queue. Puzzled, I had Alice try to call the dog over instead – but Shadow wouldn’t come, instead wandering over to the obstacle course. Frustrated, I sent Alice out there (after taking a moment to start the laundry washing again, since the game was telling me the clothes inside were still in a “Used” state) to give the dog a treat while I tried to have Marm read a book for his aspiration –

And still no go. This robot WOULD NOT move. I could not figure out why – he wasn’t FROZEN frozen, as he kept doing various idle animations and his charge continued to decay, but he just wouldn’t do anything I told him to do. *shakehead* Save file is not doing good, man...

-->Anyway – once Victor retrieved his dough and successfully baked his apple pie, I checked over everyone’s inventory, then gave Smiler the blueberry bagels from the fridge, the apple pie, Alice’s pumpkin spice waffles, and the pumpkin spice milk she’d gotten before from Moory. This was a pretty good spread, all told, but I wanted to have one more thing available for potential customers to eat, so I had Victor make a loaf of cheesy bread with some of the remaining dough while Smiler and Alice bantered and chatted under the front yard tree and Marm continued to idle uselessly. Thanks to the power of prepped ingredients, the loaf didn’t take long to bake at all, and once it was done, I moved it to Smiler’s inventory, then had Smiler make the call to have all the humanoid Sims hit up Copperdale’s Lakeview Library (hoping that it would force Marm to move...) –

[jbt7493]

the isekai thing where,

Hey this post is too long and i'm not fuckin editing down my stream of consciousness tumblr post because it's dumb anyway.

, because of weird inscrutable genre stuff, the protagonist often can't just be The Strongest Person In The World or like recruit all the strongest people into their party or learn magic or something, or use modern medicine to save lives or whatever, they need to also like. Be a business owner. and they can't just like- like, they always Invent Soap (Note: Soap existed already) or whatever, and to be fair, inventing the bessemer process is often a pretty good one.

but no they also need to be like, importing japanese cultural products (sometimes korean! when it's a korean one. duh.) to the fantasy world, which are universally beloved because obviously japanese cultural products are great and applicable everywhere. like, every medieval noble wants to wear a yukata. and like, they can never just have one business either, they have to do like 20 things and each member of their cast has their own subsidiary business (which lets you get rid of some of the cast members because theyre successfully doing their own thing, i guess). but like okay yknow. one of the ones they *always* want to do, because food is such a big thing for culture, is open a restaurant. and it's like, guys, the economics on this are insane.

(First off, this was prompted by the summer 'when a book is set in year A and written in year B and the author refers to X dollars, do they mean X dollars in year A or are they automatically translating to the equivalent year B monetary value' which presumably is talking about real life stuff)

but like dude, when these fuckin isekai protagonists open a fast food restaurant and they bill it as 'the genius idea is that we'll sell to the lower class and get a bigger market' like. first off, they had restaurants or similar equivalents back then. like, thats part of what the tavern was for. and the wealthy people could afford to just have chefs on retainer. but secondly, those peasants are not paying extra for your insanely expensive spices on your Japanese Ramen or Korean Fried Chicken In Medieval Europe. like the protagonist always has to find how some rare plant or monster part tastes exactly like the right ingredient they were missing and they're like, oh FINALLY i can eat some of the cuisine i've been missing. and then they open a restaurant.

and it's like no go back a second this shit was rare as hell you can't sell that to poor people. like dude that medieval milk soup (btw. Whats up with that. Max Miller made a video on one that was like, essentially the milk from your bowl of cereal where it was full of cinnamon and sugar. but he mentioned that there were actually savory milk soups with meat and vegetables in it, and he just isnt doing one of those. And that's like, obviously the more interesting one, and is the one you see in some of those isekai that makes you go What The Fuck Is That? Like for real what was in that. Whats up with the milk soup) was cheap as fuck. like the cows just make the milk. and like bread is bread. like the food isnt gonna be total dog shit, it's still fresh food, they have some herbs and spices just not *all* of the ones we have, the maillaird reaction still works the same. you got eggs, mushrooms, butter or animal fat. missing some veggies because you havent made contact with south america (although. i mean it's fantasy you can make it up. but they never make the thing they use to make the pseudo-japanese/korean food a super common ingredient because then it would already be in use and the protagonist wouldnt be like craving for a taste of home and then inventing a new cuisine and being super smart and innovative)

Anyway thats that but the other thing is it's insane when a story forgets to do the copper-silver-gold thing and peasants are spending like 20 gold pieces on some Fantasy Meat Skewers or w/e. like you find a treasure chest full of golden ingots and you're like holy shit we're rich but each ingot is only like a hundred sandwiches. (although admittedly i feel like copper still had to be like. pretty expensive back then right? like silver for sure, it seems insane for 10 copper coins to be worth a silver coin, but it also feels insane that you would buy a beer for multiple pieces of like metal that was taken out of the earth and refined from ore and melted into a coin. I guess they didnt have wiring so the value was probably lower)

the main thing though is why the hell are all the isekai protagonists opening like 7 small businesses. thats weird man. they should just be stabbing dragons or whatever why are they like opening a massage parlor. anyone can do that. the comparative advantage is horrible

[coffeeandjournaling]

Picks from the 12-word RPG Jam

The 12-word RPG Jam has ended and I rifled through all the beautiful submissions I missed during the last few busy weeks. Here’s a few of my personal favourites, but please do explore the list yourself if you have the time!

A word or two before we start: Micro RPGs are pretty diverse; some might work similarly to the games you are used to, others are more abstract and yet again others exist purely for the artistry of it. Try and give them a fair chance, even if they seem odd or cryptic at first. Personally, I like to see them as sort of interactive poetry (not that poetry in itself isn’t interactive, but maybe not specifically created to be interacted with in the same manner) or a recipe to aid your playful instinct. It might also be good to know that most of these are free or pay what you want, so the risk on your side is very low. 😉

Blorbo the Goblin by RatGrrrl Games

This adorable little guy is perfect for the tumblr crowd – WHAT about Blorbo the Goblin? I love that the inclusion of Blorbo in this specific meme environment immediately makes them relatable, as this format is usually reserved for slightly awkward situations or achievements that seem unimpressive to most people. Maybe Blorbo is really good at raising butterfly larvae or they can make the perfect scone – either way you feel empathetic right away and imagining a little story for them can fill a few minutes in your day. Adopt a new (but different) Blorbo today!

God Said Let Civilizations Grow by S. L.

To be super honest, I feel like I’m playing this game every week in my fridge…albeit not on purpose. Which is why this intrigues me so: break up some crackers in a bowl, pour water over and wait until something starts growing – either mould or, depending on your choice of cracker, the odd little sprout, if there’s seeds in there. Purposefully creating what most of us would just throw in the trash gives you another perspective on life, I feel like. A very meditative game that I haven’t tried yet, but will soon (yes, I’m dead serious).

Afungus by W. H. Arthur

While we are on the topic of fungi, have another one. Picking up on the Among Us mechanics (which aren’t original, either, but certainly gained inspiration from what the teens and kids once called “Mafia” and is now more widely known as “Werewolf”) and the current trend in putting mushrooms in everything, this is a fun twist on the formula and super easy to understand when you’re familiar with the concept. Best of all, this one is playable as a group! A great filler in between other games when you’re already seated at the table or perhaps something to do while you wait for your pizza to come out of the oven. I’m a sucker for puns, space settings and humour, so this is right up my alley.

Story in a Jar by Eliot Silvarian

Small items often go unnoticed after a while – your last holiday souvenir is probably collecting dust on a shelf somewhere as we speak! One man’s trash is another man’s treasure: slip into the role of a tiny person living in your own home and re-imagine the use of some of the trinkets, baubles and bric-a-brac you have lying around. That guitar pick you never use might make a durable tabletop, a pair of dried-up acorns could be holed out and repurposed as baskets and the hands on your broken wristwatch might still serve as chopsticks for someone so small. All you need is stuff from around your house and a way to record the little story you make up for your character. I have a soft spot for these low-prep, spontaneous creative exercises, plus they’re great when you have children around and need a distraction!

The Lazy Cartographer’s Guide by froggikit

I find that coming up with maps and locations can be harder than making up characters and while there’s a bunch of map-making software out there, they’re not always so easy to learn and/or accessible to everyone. This is a simple and fast way to generate a quick analogue map if you need one and might even be cool to use alongside another game (my first thought was it’s perfect for A Quiet Year). Just throw some dice, draw a wiggly line around them and interpret the numbers rolled for your trees, settlements and wondrous places. Another one that would be great in a group!

Some quick honourable mentions:

Uplifting! by Beth and Angel Make Games – a collection of 12-word RPGs meant to lift your spirit in your everyday life

Gesta orbital by La esquina del rol – a space survival game that’s pretty punishing and scary

Ominous Blessing by Junk Food Games – a collection of three mysterious and occult games for a spooky night alone or with friends

Endless Walk by From These Rolls – a reflective game about noticing your surroundings while you take a walk – or a character of your choosing

As you can see, the range is incredible: some are tools, some are ways to spark your imagination, others full-fledged games. I highly encourage you again to take some time and explore. Have fun!

[keep-it-krispy]

Hey, just discovered your account and was wondering if you could tell me something about your lmk au's :)

Or is there a hashtag or master post I could use ?

I read something about your au, where the lmk characters are musicians and I thought it looked great!

Howdy and hello there! I'm happy to tell you about my AU.

“Ride or Die” is an alternate universe that takes place in modern times. I'm still deciding on whether or not to make everybody human, buuuut (until a certain point, somewhere around the 2nd or 3rd season) magic isn't super prominent (it still exists, it's just not powerful or noticeable enough for anyone to do crazy stuff with it like in cannon yet)

[Look at this post for a synopsis of the general vibes]

As noted in the aforementioned post, It starts off pretty normally. MK is a college student that lives with his adoptive father, Paul (Pigsy is his nickname), and his husband Tang (Tang is more of an uncle to him, he came along when MK was a lot older). He works part-time at his noodle shop and attends college with his longtime best friend Mei.

Sun Wukong is a world class dancer actor and singer that's about to retire, but wants to keep his legacy going. He hosts a big contest inviting anyone and everyone under the age of 25 to compete against one another in a tournament style talent show using any kind of performance art you can bring to the table.

MK is jazzed about the event, he wants to compete but doesn't actually think he'd win. He invites Mei to compete with him and she, being his ride or die bestie (roll credits), is all for it. She insists on starting a band, as she's been wanting to do so FOREVER, and Mk agrees. They don't really know how to start a band though. Mk remembers that Pigsy used to be crazy into the performance scene, so they ask him about it.

Pigsy explains that a performance can be anything, as long as people can watch it, and you put your soul into it [”Music is life, Life is music. Living is everything you make of it, and music is the same. It can be a guitar solo; but it's also the laugh of a friend when you tell them a joke you wrote, the satisfied sigh after you finish a painting, or the smile on a customer's face after a good bowl of soup.”

“Like that!” Mk shouts, slamming his fists on the counter as the light of an epiphany glimmers in his eyes “Lyrics! We need lyrics like that!”

Mei gasps, sliding up beside her friend with stars in her eyes “Pigsy! Can you write us lyrics!?”

Pigsy sighs, their antics pulling a small smile onto face “No,” their instant disappointment makes him chuckle, he heads over to the landline and starts dialing “But I do know someone who can.”

An hour later, the four of them are down at the harbour. Pigsy leads them down the dock and to a boat house, where he knocks on the door. From it emerges Sandy, a poet beyond his years.]

From there, Tang offers to organize everything, leaving Mk Mei and Sandy to come up with some performances. I picture them going through a lot of ideas, they put together a song, a play, an art show, and even consider doing an improv thing; but none of it really feels right to MK.

Red makes a menace of himself around this time. He meets MK at a music bar (picture a hipster coffee shop/club place with a bunch of different instruments laying around that people could play if they wanted) and finds out he's participating in the contest too, then starts picking on him. MK isn't really paying attention to his jabs, strumming along a guitar left near their booth.

[Mk’s curious strumming continues to draw a litany of sour notes from the instrument, curling Red’s lips into a harsher sneer.

“I mean- how can you expect to win the contest if you can't even play that guitar!?” the redhead is out of his seat now, looking half ready to rip it out of Mk's hands.

Mk smiles, not even pretending to listen as his brow creases with determination. He continues to fiddle with the instrument “Wait…” a couple strums, hey- wait.. that one sounded.. good?? “I think…” a few more. Was he.. ”I got it!” and testament to his words, the notes emitting from the strings finally smooth into something palatable. A warbling riff slides from his fingers, transforming into a silky bass line as he continued.

Red looked at him, jaw dropping to the floor. Twisted from sour notes and amature finger work, a new song was spun into existence before his very eyes. And it was good.]

Red is instantly intimidated by Mk's apparent musical prowess, and challenges him to an Art Fight to “crush his peasant spirit”. Mk struggles at first, trying to emulate other art fights he's seen and sing/dance his way to victory, but he thinks back to pigsy's words:

[The laugh of a friend when you tell them a joke you wrote, the satisfied sigh after you finish a painting, or the smile on a customer's face after a good bowl of soup]

He catches sight of his art bag, rushes for it, and starts throwing paint around. It's a whirlwind of EDM, dancing, and flying neon paint, but Mk manages to win. His inner music(magic) leaving behind a newly (and tastefully) repainted music bar.

Mk leaves a so so butt hurt Red behind to deal with the aftermath, brimming with a new inspiration.

MK gets back to the gang. Tells them that he loves music, but illustration is his real passion. He wants to enter, but he also wants to “be true to his art form”, and he doesn't know how to incorporate it into a stage performance. Mei proposes they do something experimental. I'm thinking something using holograms, motion capture technology, sick ass music, and a TON of paint. like a bunch of AMVs that link up to one another, but happening in real life. MK gets to do his illustration thing, Sandy gets to crush millions with his heartbreaking sonatas, and Mei gets to obliterate the dance floor and sing her heart out.

They win, and Wukong takes them in as his apprentices.

After “A Hero is Born” everything pretty much lines up with Cannon for the main squad and the smaller antagonists; but instead of fighting and monkey magic shenanigans, it's concerts and dance battles and E-Tuber shenanigans.

Things get really different around The Bone Zone (I love writing).

This worlds Lady Bone Demon, Laura Demona, went missing without a trace 9 years ago. Her child, Laudia Demona, going by Malin Meister in the present day, has been investigating her disappearance ever since they were old enough to leave the house unsupervised.

With the help of their platonic life partner and basically minion, Milton, they build an E-Tuber empire big enough to fund their quest. Some strong leads they gained, some time before “A Hero is Born”, trace back to Sun Wukong; who was not only present on the set their mother disappeared from, but famously one of her Bitter Rivals.

The two competed for a lot of shows and positions in their early days, settling into badmouthing each other on screen later on, and only mellowing out a handful of years before The Incident.

Sun Wukong's competition was Malin's chance to get close to him, but “The Monkie Kidz” were simply too good to beat. Malin wouldn't let this deter them, descending into a mad spiral of plotting and scheming. Their progress would only be interrupted by an unusually familiar looking eldritch stranger (The Mayor) dropping in, chasing them and Milton around the city, bullying his way into their homes and lives, and changing the course of their destiny for years to come.

The groups don't really converge until “Revenge of the Spider Queen”, or the “lunar New Year music deathmatch tournament” as we call it here.

Over the course of the first season Malin hatches a plan around the tournament, setting up a series of Rube Goldberg like events that will result in them meeting with Sun Wukong.

In the post I linked above, I confirmed that this would have ended in the downfall of Malin. These events would have pushed them firmly into villainy, and villains are always fated to loose.

The Mayor did not know this. When he told Malin what happened in his world, compared it to the events that have been occuring in theirs, and left them to connect the downfall of his lady to their future, he expected them to turn to him for help.

He made sure to demonstrate his magical and strategic prowess to them at every opportunity, to establish his presence as a sturdy and dangerous weapon to lean on. He felt echos of his Lady's power grow within them each day, to awaken it would be his pleasure. Crushing these mortal versions of their enemies would make a good warmup for his Meister, they would need much training before he dragged them back to his world. A concrete goal would do them nicely.

What he didn't expect was for them to call everything off and lock themselves in their plan closet for a solid week.

Malin, high on a rush of panic and inspiration, decided to spit into the eyes of fate. If this was happening in other universes, if other versions of their mother and products of her legacy were fighting and dying to these same people, if this was a pattern? They would do everything in their power to break it.

A week later they step out of their closet, coming upon the faces of a worried Milton and a confused Mayor, and stating their new approach with a will of iron and a voice of steel:

“We're going to make some new friends.”

And this marks the start of the “How to become a protagonist in 10 easy steps.” Arc

I kind of want to focus on the “Malin tries their best to be normal around new people” aspect of the story right now, so most of the work you see on this blog will probably be from season 2 and onwards.

I've got big plans for the magic in the future. Everything's going to be pretty modern and magic free up to a point, then the meteor will hit and plunge the world into a new age of magic and demons and tasty tasty chaos. I kind of want to link Laura's “death” to the meteor too. line it up with some multiverse shenanigans I wrote out.

I'm thinking about it in four slices.

The first slice is the “Canon compliant Zone”, that's the bit I just described.

The second slice will be “how to become a protagonist in 10 easy steps”, which is what I'm working on right now.

The third slice will be “The meteor fucks everything up, nobody is happy about this.”, which will be easier to write once I establish the first two slices.

And the fourth is “Multiverse bullshit”, which is when the real fun will begin.

[garciaasfluffypen]

new roommates

prompt: jennifer jareau has a roommate. so why is there someone else in her room who's not kate? wc: 1.1k ship: jennifer jareau x elle greenaway

a/n: i've had this written for my cm oneshot book over on w*ttpad for the longest time and i love it dearly so i figured i'd post it over here!! this three parter is pretty much the kindatv show carmilla, which i highly suggest you watch if you like lesbian vampires ;)

part 2 • part 3

it all started with the mysterious letter that she found on the side of her shared dorm room that belonged to her roommate kate callahan. jj absolutely no idea what had happened the night before, since all they were doing was going to a party. she had asked around, but nobody seemed to remember seeing kate at the party the night previous- which was weird, considering kate was the one who dragged her out in the first place. how could kate have taken her to a party and then just dumped her off there? that wasn’t like kate at all. and the silas university help line was being no help whatsoever either, so she was stuck on her own. she was going to find her herself, whatever it took.

suddenly the door opened, and jj swung around in her chair. a gothic looking girl walked in, sporting a giant bag of stuff on her back.

“hey.”

“um, excuse me but, who the hell are you?”

“elle greenaway. i’m your new roommate, sweetheart.”

“my what?” jj was genuinely confused- she had a roommate. kate was her roommate. “i have a roommate.”

elle purred. “well, don’t you catch on fast?”

“no i meant- i have a pre existing roommate. a prior roommate. her name is kate.”

“oh yeah?” elle raised an eyebrow. “where’s she?”

“she’s… missing right now.”

“i see. so you can’t produce this kate or anything, but you’d like me to leave?” elle started going through kate’s stuff, unbeknownst to jj.

“well, i wouldn’t put it exactly like- what are you doing?”

“well, you see, i may not have a missing roommate, but what i do have is a letter from the dean of students that says i live here now.”

“oh my god. this is not happening. you are not my new roommate! i’m gonna find kate, and you’re going to be out of here so fast there’s going to be… scorch marks on those leather pants of yours!”

jj huffed, turning back to her computer and starting to type furiously. she needed to find kate.

---

time had past since elle’s sudden move in, and jj was going absolutely bananas. there were many things not going her way, and she wasn’t having fun anymore. elle had started wearing kate’s clothes, never cleaned anything, and constantly inviting people over to have “study dates” when all they did was make out on her bed or make fun of stuff that she did. it was driving jj absolutely insane, and she realized that if elle wanted to play that game, she’d have to up her anty and play it as well. which is how she found herself holding elle’s super special soy milk, the one she couldn’t touch because “that’s just the way the world works, cutie.” with a dramatic roll of her eyes, she started to pour the milk out into the bowl. but it wasn’t milk that was inside the carton.

it was blood.

a scream erupted from jj’s mouth as she realized what was happening, doing her best not to drop the carton that was currently sitting on her desk. the one that definitely did not have soy milk in it. not even ten minutes later, alex blake and tara lewis, the two she knew as her floor don and the sidekick to the floor don were sitting in her room, staring at the sight on her desk.

“see? blood. in the milk carton. in my creepy roommate’s milk carton. she’s got to go, right?”

alex tilted her head to the side. “well there’s no denying that it’s a little… odd.”

“odd?” tara questioned, staring at alex. “that’s where you’re going with this? how many people you know take type o with their choka crunch?”

“it’s not that i don’t understand, but you don’t think you oughta talk to her first? a lot of problems can be solved through good communication.”

“so if you two won’t help me, shall i go to the dean?”

tara and alex stared at jj with a scared look on their faces. “that’s really not a good idea.”

“yeah, better just handle this yourself. they could stick you with someone much worse. besides, your old roommate will probably be back soon and then elle will have to move out. it’s what happened with all the other girls who disappeared.”

alex froze as she realized what she just said, knowing that she couldn’t get out of it. she done messed up.

after jj questioned her about it, she was able to talk to the girls who went missing and get their side of the story- it was pretty much the same thing that had happened to kate. she started doing some searching and next thing she knew, a siren was going off around campus, and everyone was being ushered to the center of campus for a “town hall”. apparently, looking up or talking about “inflammatory” topics such as girls going missing on the silas ethernet calls for a spooky siren and town hall. she had finally made it back to her dorm, and there was quiet for just a moment before her door opened.

“hey babygirl.”

“um hi, who are you?”

the one on the left spoke up. “i’m derek, your designated zeta omega mu safety companion. this is matt. we’re kinda like an escort. but only a dude, a dudescort.” he chuckled, looking at jj. “how awesome is that?”

she let out a huff. “it is very, very nice of you large, large gentlemen to offer to keep me safe, but as you can see, i’m in my room. snug as a bug in a rug.” she stared them down. “so you can go.”

before anything else could happen, elle walked into the room. “what the frilly hell is this?”

“whoa, we’re your dudescorts, sexy lady.”

“here to keep you safe from things that go bump in the night.”

elle glared at him. “get the hell out of here before i feed you each other’s spleens.” she turned to jj. “why’d you let these lackwits in?”

“let? what part of this looks like let?”

“isn’t this exactly what you wanted when you plastered your little plea for help on the schools topic board?”

“no! and you haven’t even seen it so what the hell do you know?”

“oh no kate’s missing! oh no elle’s mean!” elle mocked her, staring her down. “am i close?”

“spot on. except the girl playing you is kind of a raging… bad person.”

“agree to disagree, creampuff.” elle flopped down onto her bed. “now get them out of here before i do something we’ll both regret.”

jj huffed. this was not going well.

[bugjizmsquawk]

I don't understand this world nor do I understand the beings that populate it and insist on calling it home. It has never been home to me or my kind if they exist which they might not. Of course it makes sense in a cosmic sort of way or should I say a cosmic joke that I am not in on and have never been. I don't get on with people as a general rule although I do like to look at them when they are running amok or posing for some god-awful reason or other. We should let the beautiful ones stand there forever and never give them respite or a reason to sit down or even an opportunity to do so. They are our statues and we deserve the chance to make them as uncomfortable as possible. Taylor Swift on the red carpet just as we expect and insist; the personification of The Moment, a true Girl in Amber who we are finally allowing to grow up and have perhaps her first Adult relationship. Did she thank her man either time she won because I didn't hear it. I heard her plugging her new album which I thought was entirely too cheap and beneath her. I never thought I would see something like this but such is the time we live in. I so much more prefer Billie Eilish's seeming inability to accept the fact that we love her and we all want her to win every award every single time she's nominated. I have recently tried to start listening to Taylor Swift because I imagine it's important to have an idea what she's on about. We will see how ubiquitous a human celebrity can be next weekend during the super bowl when she will be everywhere after being everywhere this weekend as well. So many people are sick of the whole thing but I am glad because romance is something that needs to be celebrated on a grand scale. I can only hope that they're little connection is strong enough to withstand the intense glare of 100 million eyes just waiting for an excuse to utterly despise them. So we can get back to normal where everything is just slightly out of reach and our back hurts and all we want to do is sleep with somebody who's not going to give us a disease and maybe, just maybe, not complain about the dumb things we do that pile up over time and become utterly impossible for them to look past

So, there were a lot of women dancing on stage at the Grammys and it was quite refreshing from my perspective. In fact I think the entire Grammys was so female-centric that it should have been sponsored by a tampon company. What a time to be a woman either born that way or made in a savvy laboratory by men and women of science. It does not matter how you got that way, darling. It only matters that you own it once you've got it and we all know what that is. It's the one thing men don't have but desperately crave and in fact live their entire lives hoping to find as cheaply as possible. But so many fail to find what they really, truly desire. So they go out roaming and do not return until they've satisfied that particular longing. These men are adventurous and willing to put themselves at risk. The greater the risk, the greater the reward. But, very few of our artists risk anything anymore. Everything is prosaic, pedestrian, predetermined. Except for all the new stuff that we have not been able to process yet. It's right there for us and all we have to do is let our subs be open to it by playing it when we're not paying attention. That is the only way new music reaches us. We have to be caught off guard and it is my humble opinion that a tremendous wealth of important music is out there ready to be absorbed and ready to change our lives considerably if only we give it a chance to haunt us, to become part of our soundtrack, the leg up that pushes us through the day into some kind of relaxed state.

[disease-danger-darkness-silence]

Tldr is that we NEED to get out of the place we're in. It's toxic, both literally (it was built badly and has mold, thankfully not in our room or bathroom but the kitchen is full of the stuff) and figuratively (our roommate doesn't want us there). I've set us a goal to be out by the end of January.

I cannot find a job. I'm applying left and right to all sorts of places. No calls, no emails. It's annoying.

Raven makes 2 grand a month in VA disability. That seems like a lot but it super isn't. Most one bedroom apartments in this area are 1200 a month. I'm working on getting them reassesed, because their knees, back, and neck are getting worse, as is the PTSD (povery does that), but at the moment our best bet is HUD-VASH, a voucher program for housing specifically for veterans.

We're probably going to move to Reno, because the beauty school I want to go to is up there. But we get a higher preference for the voucher if we're homeless. Otherwise the wait could be a year. Which is better than the current non-veteran wait for a housing voucher, but jeez.

So we're getting a storage unit, slimming down on things (a lot of it is clothes we don't fit into anymore, paperwork, and sentimental things that we have multiples of). I'm gonna try and find a friend or two to take the cats for a month or two while we... Be homeless for a month or two. We'll have my camping stuff. Raven gets tons of discounted camping because they're a veteran, and SoCal would allow us to camp near the ocean (which they love for some reason) and see some friends and family of both of ours.

For the record, Raven does not like this plan. I don't blame them. Homelessness, planned or not, is not a fun time. But I'm trying to make it as fun as possible.

So I need to do a lot of work on the car in preparation for this, and I need to pack things, and I need specific camping gear that I don't already have. I'm gonna try and save to get it, but I'm putting together a gift registry for what I'm calling our poor people's midlife crisis.

If you live near Carson or Reno and could take a cat or two (we have three - one bonded pair and one reactive lil bitch that I love) in for just February and March, let me know! We'd provide litter boxes, litter, food, toys, bowls, and treats. In Kono's case, I'd try to claw cap her for you because she's reactive as hell, but once she trusts you she's uber-loving.

I'm also gonna do a little tiny gofundme. I've been given a free makerspace license for solidworks, so I'll be fuckin' around with that and setting up a Patreon and a Ko-Fi store. Up until we move out, I can resin 3D print things for people that I design, or sell the STLs. I'm also super willing to 3D print existing files.

Raven is gonna work on sketching a lil, bc that can 1. Make them money in-person in touristy places, and 2. Make them money online. I had the idea that if you wanted a custom Magic: The Gathering card, or Disney Lorcana, or Pokémon, etc. You could commission us to work together. I also love the Pets As Eldritch Monstrosities concept. Those would also be on the Ko-Fi store.

We're basically trying to raise funds to live on for a lil bit while we're homeless. 2 grand is still not a lot to live on a month when you don't have a home. The bills aren't that much different, and you can't go grocery shopping.

So if you have any tips, any info, any old camping gear that works that you don't want or need, hit me up! Otherwise, stay tuned.

I'm about to start the process of posting about all of the Big Shit that's gonna happen beginning of next year, including a period of.... Recreational? Homelessness? Maybe? Idk.

It's exhausting just thinking about it.

[autocrats-in-love]

hi hi you’re asking for requests so could you do a hero x villian where they’re roomates and like pretty comfortable w eachother and one of them just casually mentions that they’re touch starved one day and they end up making out,,?

There were advantages to living with the hero, believe it or not. They always did the laundry. They didn't get upset when the villain left dishes in the sink. They liked the same shows as the villain. Overall, it was a peaceful existence since the villain had given up being a criminal.

It started off as a pretty normal Saturday afternoon. The hero and the villain were on the couch, watching Netflix with popcorn and chips. The hero's legs were in the villain's lap, which had a blanket thrown over it. The villain found themselves enjoy the warmth of the hero, if wary of being in contact with them. As often happened when they were watching a show with the hero, they were looking at their former enemy. The hero got very invested in the things they watched. Their eyes were trained on what was happening on the screen. They weren't paying attention to the popcorn they were putting in their mouth, so kernels fell out of their hand as it travelled from the bowl to their mouth. It was adorable.

"You better get your feet away from me. I'm pretty touch-starved." The villain said.

The hero snapped out of their trance. They straightened their back, which was resting against the couch's arm.

"You're touch-starved?"

The villain shrugged. "Have I ever touched you when not necessary?"

It was true. Ignoring all the punching and kicking from past fights, the villain only touched the hero when passing them something or to stop them from tripping. Two very common occurrences.

"Hmm. I guess that's true."

The hero's attention was on the villain now. They used that super focus of theirs to judge the villain's facial expressions and body movements. They then patted the couch right in front of them.

"Well, come here. I don't want to leave you deprived."

"Really?"

The hero took the villain's arm and pulled them close. Now their knees were on the villain's legs. The villain's heart fluttered. The hero smiled at the villain's flustered face.

"Aw, look at you. All blushy."

The villain cleared their throat. "Can we just watch show?"

The hero shrugged and turned back to what was happening on the screen.

The villain tried to pay attention. They really did. It's not that the show wasn't interesting. The villain loved murder mystery as much as the next reformed criminal mastermind, but the hero moving or exclaiming with the show was too distracting. The way their eyes crinkled in surprise or how way they froze during a suspenseful scene was unbearable.

The villain had wanted to say or do something about these feelings for months. If they could try to take over the world, this would be a piece of cake.

"Did you know you're pretty cute?"

Once again, the hero was pulled away from the fictional world on the television. They gave crooked smile and blushed as they looked at the villain.

"I did know, actually."

"Oh, yes, of course." The villain said.

"I'm stopped in the street all the time when people want to tell me how attractive I am."

"Oh, right. How could I forget about that?"

Neither one of them registered how close their face were getting as they spoke. Not until the hero grabbed the villain's face and kissed them.

In the background, on the television show, the main detective and a mafia boss were having a shoot-out in a parking garage. It wasn't a very romantic scene to be kissing to, but the villain and the hero have never been ones for sappy stuff like love songs or rose petals.

The hero pulled away, hands still on the villain's cheeks, when they heard someone on the TV scream.

"Oh crap." They whispered. "The agent's down."

That was it for the moment. But it was enough for the villain.

[inkmemes]

futurama  (  1999  -  2013  )  sentence  starters  ↪  taken  from  the  animated  science  fiction  show.  alter  as  you  see  fit  ♡

“let's get the hell out of here already! screw history!”

“when you do things right, people won't be sure you've done anything at all.”

“you have to use a light touch, like a safecracker or a pickpocket.”

 "stop! the spirit is willing, but the flesh is spongy and bruised."

"she's stuck in an infinite loop and he's an idiot. that's love for you."

"all i know is my gut says maybe."

“i've never seen a super nova blow up. but if it's anything like my old chevy nova, it'll light up the night sky!”

"every christmas my mom would get a fresh goose, for goose-burgers, and my dad would whip up special eggnog out of bourbon and ice cubes."

"what do i look like, a guy who's not lazy?"

“is heaven missing an angel, cuz you've got nice cans!”

“help! a guinea pig tricked me!"

"[name], if i said you said you had a beautiful body, would you take your pants off and dance around a little."

"drugs are for weirdos and hypnosis is for weirdos with big eyebrows." 

"[name], it would never work between us. you're a man, and i'm a woman. we're just too different."

“screw you, ill have my own contest. with black jack ... and hookers. forget the contest.”

“ah, she's built like a steakhouse but she handles like a bistro.”

"spare me your space age techno babble, [name].”

"it's sort of a two person pyramid scheme."

"i don't want to live on this planet anymore."

"you were doing well, until everyone died."

“if we hit that bullseye, the rest of the dominoes will fall like a house of cards. checkmate.”

“i am the man with no name. [muse name], at your service.”

“in the game of chess, you can never let your adversary see your pieces.”

"this is the worst kind of discrimination, the kind against me."

"you watched it... you can't unwatch it."

“valentine’s day is coming? aw crap! i forgot to get a girlfriend again!”

 "hold on to your dookie, it’s about to get spooky!"

"i'm tired of this room and everyone in it."

"i'm so embarrassed. i wish everyone else was dead."

"you can't just have your characters announce how they feel! that makes me feel angry!"

"i don't have emotions, and sometimes that makes me very sad."

"if, for any reason you're not satisfied, i hate you."

"that young man fills me with hope. plus some other emotions which are weird and deeply confusing." 

"i've dreamed about you a lot since you disappeared. what did you want to tell me?" 

"what do you think the meaning of life was anyway?"

“you're a pimple on society's ass and you'll never amount to anything!”

“life and death are a seamless continuum.”

“if anyone wants me, i'll be in the angry dome.”

“and the worst part is, i had to have the breakup sex by myself!”

“they said i was dumb, but i proved them.”

“what's the point of living if i can't say ass?”

“i'll be stuffing coal so far down your stocking you'll be coughing up diamonds!”

“we're all pawns in his diabolical game of checkers.”

"wait, i'm having one of those things, a headache, with pictures!"

“sorry, i didn't realize i was already here.”

"guess what you're an accessory to!"

"why does ross, the largest friend, not simply eat the other friends?"

“there's no scientific consensus that life is important.”

"we cooked our shoes in the dryer and ate them! now we're bored!"

“i'm just as important as him. it's just that, the kind of importance i have ... it doesn't matter if i don't do it.”

“oh what a foolish squid i’ve been.”

“my instinct is to hide in this barrel, like the wily fish.”

"that was bad, and you should feel bad!"

"technically correct - the best kind of correct!"

"and here is where i keep my assorted lengths of wire!"

"oh wait, you are serious! let me laugh even harder!"

"i gotta practice my stabbing!"

"that's the saltiest thing i've ever tasted! and i once ate a big, heaping bowl of salt!"

“i apologize for nothing!”

 "die young and leave a beautiful corpse! that's what i always say."

"here's to another lousy millennium."

“but i am already in my pajamas.”

“windmills do not work that way. goodnight.”

"you win again gravity."

"when push comes to shove, you got to do what you love, even if it's not a good idea.”

“but existing's basically all i do!”

“when will the killing end?"

"i'll be whatever i want to do."

"the use of words expressing something other than their literal intention. now that. is. irony."

"could you ask a little more sexfully?"

"hooray! i'm useful!"

"awesome. awesome to the max."

"some breaking occurred, the dolly was involved, that's about all we know."

“you want me to do two things?”

i love stealin', i love takin' things!

“i believe that qualifies as ill. at least from a technical standpoint.”

"that was the old me. he's dead now."

"jail ain't so bad; you can make sangria in the toilet. ‘course, it's shank or be shanked."

"one word. thundercougarfalconbird."

"of all my friends, you're the first."

“girls like swarms of lizards, right?”

“i lost it. in a volcano.”

"i'm gonna get you so many lizards!"

"who needs courage when you have a gun?"

“let's go! i've got jelly in my underpants!”

"interesting if true."

“i did do the nasty in the pasty!”

"something tells me i could easily beat those trained professionals."

"the two of you are good friends? but i thought we would be good friends!"

"it's like a party in my mouth, except everyone's throwing up."

“i'm shocked. shocked! well, not that shocked.”

“it's me! no one else look in this mirror!"

“you ever think you only like girls cause you're supposed to?”

"we don't gotta put up with this! we got poli sci degrees."

“sorry, i suffer from a very sexy learning disorder.”

“did somebody say something about a free hot meal?”

“you gotta do what you gotta do.”

"too many bones? not enough cash?"

“hey sexy mama, wanna kill all humans?”

"i don't know how you did that."

"the butter in my pocket is melting!"

"well ... first i got up and had a piece of toast ..."

“i can't wait til i'm old enough to feel ways about stuff.”

“interesting! no ... wait ... the other thing. tedious.”

"i knew you come crawling back, like a bird on its belly!"

“we both know you won't make it halfway before the craving sets in! then you'll come crawling back for another taste of sweet sweet candy. bam!"

“indeed so, most indeededly.”

"and by metaphorically, i mean get your coat."

“[vehicle]'s ready except for this cup holder, and i should have that done in 12 hours."

"stop. stop! i will destroy you." [ bonus if the receiver is doing something mundane to sender ]

“just make a simple cake. and this time, if someone's going to jump out of it, make sure to put them in after you cook it.”

“lies, lies and slander!”

“you raised my hopes and dashed them quite expertly, sir!”

“but going through a divorce together, you can't pretend that didn't bring us closer together.”

“when you say the human body is the most efficient thing to use as a battery, wouldn't anything make a better battery? like a potato? or a battery?”

“i'll have you know that i bejazzle my own underpants!”

“i'm sorry you had to see that, [name], usually i let my sadness fester quietly inside as a mental illness.”

“i'm not drunk, i'm mentally ill! but i agree with what, what you said.”

“this is a cool way to die!”

[calpalirwin]

Mosaic Broken Hearts

Summary: More secrets spill out the more your relationship with Bucky grows

Word Count: 4.4k

And away, and away we go!

__

Bright flashes of light, explosions, blood spattered everywhere, pain, indescribable pain. You screamed for it to stop.

“Hey,” a voice was calling out, a hand nudging at you. “Hey! Y/N! C’mon!”

You screamed louder as your eyes snapped open, scrambling to get out of bed, and promptly face planting on the floor in the process. “You have exactly five seconds to explain who the hell you are, and what the fuck you’re doing in my room before I kill you. One!” You made your voice as threatening impossible, as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position. Where the fuck was a prosthetic when you needed it? Could you kill this guy from the floor? Well… It’d be messy, but you sure as hell would try.

With your mind racing, it took a minute to register that your intruder was laughing. Why the fuck were they laughing?

“Two!”

“It’s me! It’s Bucky. You had a nightmare.”

Different flashes went through your head. Screaming in the lab for a knife. Bucky offering to carry you to your room. You asking him to stay. “Oh…”

“C’mon,” he said softly as he appeared in front of you. One of his arms went around your back, the other hooking under your left knee as he picked you up and set you back in bed. “Do you wanna talk about it, or just leave it?”

“I- Gimme a minute,” you told him, taking a series of long, slow deep breaths as the adrenaline pounding through your veins slowed. “Fuck… You’re just seeing every ounce of vulnerability I have, aren’t you?”

“Could have just as easily been me having the nightmare.”

“Only you wouldn’t have face-planted out of bed in the process. Or at least you would have been able to get up by yourself if you had,” you replied bitterly.

“Can you not play that tough guy role who has it all together all the time?”

“I dunno, let’s ask my pride.”

“I’m not going to judge you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Or think less of you, or whatever else your head is telling you I’m gonna do. You can’t scare me off, Y/N. The only thing you’re fighting here is your own pride.”

“Yes, I’m well aw-” you started, then sighed. “Thank you. I’m, uh… not used to this. So I’m probably gonna be bad at it for a while. But thank you. For staying and stuff. Now… if you wanna go ahead and be the vulnerable one for a bit, that would be fantastic.”

Bucky chuckled, his arm snaking across your shoulders to hold you loosely at his side. “I’m sure it’ll happen eventually. I’m pretty broken myself. And rumor has it you have a soft spot for broken things.”

“Aw, he pays attention, how sweet,” you teased, squishing his cheeks in your hand.

He chuckled again, and you admired the throaty sound of it. “So, the nightmare?”

You let out a sigh. “It’s always the same one. Two car accidents. Two explosions. Lots of blood. Lots of screaming. Which is ridiculous to me because one of the car accidents I wasn’t even there for. It was my parents, and I was just told about it. But I still dream about it like I was there.”

Bucky stiffened, and you assumed it was in sympathy to having nightmares about memories that weren’t your own. “And then the other accident is yours and Tony’s?”

You nodded. “Yep. My family should just stay away from cars. We don’t exactly have the best track record with them.”

“How old were you when it happened?”

“When what happened? My parents, or my leg getting blown off?”

“Both? If you feel comfortable. It’s fine if you want me to shut up.”

“No, it’s fine. I was… Let’s see… I was 11 when my parents died. And I was 28 when I lost my leg.”

“You said after your parents died you went straight into the Army. How could you do that if you were 11?”

“Okay, so I left out some steps. My parents died. I finished school. Went to Westpoint, became an officer, then got shipped overseas. All the while Tony did whatever the hell it is Tony does.”

“And you were 28 when you had your accident, which means…”

“That I’m 36, yeah. Still younger than you, even though all that time spent frozen and whatever magic in that serum slows the aging process makes you look about 32.”

“I was going to say it means we were the same age when we had our incidents. But thanks for reminding me that I’m technically 99.”

You snorted. “God, my boyfriend’s old.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Shit… Jumped to conclusions… Fuck, sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I, uh, it’s fine. It’s more than fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I happen to like you quite a bit, Y/N. In case I haven’t made that obvious.”

“Good. Cuz I happen to like you quite a bit as well.”

~~~

Waking up in the morning with Bucky’s arm thrown around you was nice in a way you didn’t expect. While your friendship with him up until this point had already made you feel better than you had in longer than you could remember, the dating part was already adding to that feeling, even though it’d only been a handful of hours since you made the change from friends to boyfriends, most of which had been spent sleeping through the night. Bucky made you feel seen in a way you weren’t used to, and while it scared you, it also thrilled you. And it was more than just being able to see you. He understood you. He understood your pain. And it didn’t scare him. It was a relief to not feel so fucking alone, or have to put up a front.

Your problem now was not wanting to wake him up. He looked so peaceful, the long locks of brown hair acting as a curtain in front of his face. You knew if those fluttering eyelids flashed open, you’d find the most stunning pair of blue eyes, which was quite the statement considering you’ve known Steve for five years. Was it an unspoken requirement that you had to be god-level hot to be a super soldier? Or did the serum do that? Either way, it was grossly unfair.

You were awake, and your stomach was growling, and now you were in a predicament. One, despite your hunger, you didn’t want to leave your bed. There was a hot man in it with his arm flung around you. Two, getting out of bed when your prosthetic limb was still in the lab wasn’t going to be an easy task, unless you woke up said hot man sleeping in your bed. Which you didn’t want to do, because A.) he looked so peaceful and B.) you knew how hard peaceful sleep was to come by, so you didn’t want to be the one to ruin it for him. But god damn, you needed food. And to get to the lab to build a new leg.

It was fine. You could do this. You could get across the room to your closet where you had a pair of crutches without waking Bucky in the process. You were the king of stealth.

Through some small miracle, you managed to make it out of your room without waking Bucky, leaving behind a small note as to where he could find you.

As you made your way to the giant kitchen area, you remembered why you usually either hid in the lab until you made a new leg, or used an office chair to scoot about the place. These crutches were a pain in the ass, beads of sweat forming on your face by the time you got to the kitchen, where you came face to face with what could possibly be your worst fucking nightmare: the full team of half awake Avengers staring at you in shock.

“Morning,” you greeted, making it the rest of the way to a countertop, and leaning on it.

Mumbles of “hey”s and “morning”s chorused back at you, with the exception of Tony who went “Kid, get a chair. With wheels.”

Peter looked up from his bowl of cereal. “Got it, Mr. Stark,” he replied before dashing off.

“Tony, that’s not really necessary,” you started. “I’m just gonna grab something and head to the lab.”

“Don’t play the stubborn hero act. It’s annoying,” was all he replied with as Peter reappeared with an office chair. “Thanks, kid. Sit, Y/N. Toast?”

“Thanks, Peter,” you smiled gratefully, easing into the chair, leaving the crutches leaning against the counter. “And yeah, toast or whatever’s fine, Tony. Thank you.”

“So cordial, are you sure you’re a Stark?” Steve teased.

“Ha-ha,” you deadpanned, scooting your way over to the table.

“Your leg okay?” he followed up with genuine concern.

“Which one?” you asked sardonically.

“Yep, definitely a Stark.”

“So hanging around the Manchurian Candidate helping you embrace amputee life finally?” Tony asked, setting a plate of toast before you.

“Actually it was an explosion that made me embrace amputee life. You were there, remember?”

“My brother, the comedian,” he said with an eye roll. “You know what I meant.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I mean I guess. It’s still not something I’m gonna go around mentioning for the hell of it. Kinda like how you don’t go around mentioning certain things.”

“Mentioning your business isn’t my business, Y/N, it’s yours.”

“I appreciate the discretion.”

“I’m sorry,” a man spoke up. “Is anyone else lost, or just me?”

“Scott, this is,” Tony started, but thought better of it. “Fuck it, it’s your business, you tell it.”

“Y/N Stark. Tony’s younger brother. Ex-military. Not an Avenger, I just live here,” you rattled off the basics. “Oh, and my right leg below the knee is fake thanks to yours truly,” you pointed at Tony. “Well, right now it’s non existent because I had to stab the prosthetic I did have. Different story, different time.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tony interjected as people stared at him with their mouths open in shock. “I did not blow off your leg. Stark weapons did.”

“Same difference. And it wasn’t meant maliciously. Just a fact. Anyway, I’m pretty easy to find if you need me because I’m usually in the lab. Speaking of, do you need me today, Tony?”

“No, we’re fine.”

“Cool. Cuz I gotta make a new leg.”

“Aw,” Bucky’s voice pouted from behind you, “and I was starting to like carrying you around.” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “You could’ve woken me up,” he murmured.

“Um… what is this?” Tony asked, waving a finger between you and Bucky.

“None of your concern,” you replied bluntly.

“Bullshit it’s not. Hanging out with him is one thing, Y/N. But whatever that is, shut it down, and shut it down now.”

“I’m going to say this as respectfully as possible 1.) because we’re family and 2.) because I don’t want my morning to become more of a spectacle than it already has been. But you don’t get a say in how I live my life. You had your chance to be involved after Mom and Dad died, and you ran away from that chance. And I try really hard not to hold a grudge against you for that. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me since our accident. But I’m a grown ass man, Tony. Who I chose to involve myself with is none of your concern.”

“Oh, so you’re fine with your new boyfriend being a mass murderer?”

You laughed. You laughed so hard you doubled over in your chair, your sides aching and tears forming in your eyes. “That’s the best fuckin’ joke I’ve ever heard!” you kept howling with laughter. “Mass murderer boyfriend, do you hear this shit? Cuz the rest of us in this room are so innocent, right? Cuz our hands aren’t covered in the blood of someone else? Oh, God! Yeah, you’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that, Tony.” You snorted. “Mass murderer. Yep. That’s a good one.”

Your brother’s eyes flashed darkly. “So, you’re aware that part of his mass murder history includes our parents? Or did Sergeant Barnes conveniently leave that out?”

You stopped laughing as you glanced upwards at Bucky. His hands were gripped tightly on the back of your chair, the knuckles on his right hand white from the force of the grip. His body was rigid, eyes screwed shut. “What?” you croaked out in a barely audible whisper.

“Yeah. The reason you got robbed of a childhood with Mom?” Tony clicked his tongue, pointing at Bucky. “Right there.”

You continued to look up at Bucky who stayed in his frozen state. “Tell me he’s lying,” you pleaded quietly. When Bucky still didn’t move, you shoved a hand into his chest. “Tell me he’s lying, Bucky!”

Slowly Bucky opened his eyes, his face, his gorgeous face, a painting of pain and sorrow. “I’m sorry…”

You hated this. You hated Tony for blowing up your life a second time. You hated Bucky for not telling you this himself. And you hated yourself for daring to believe that for once you could be happy. But you’d be damned if you’d let them see you break. You took a slow breath, sealing yourself off, the walls building around you. “I have work to do,” you said, starting to push away in your chair, but Bucky’s grip still held you in place.

“Y/N,” he said in a cracked voice. “Y/N, please.”

“You have exactly five seconds to let go of my chair, Sergeant Barnes, before I break your hands. One,”

“Y/N.”

“Two.”

“Please, let me explain.”

“Three. I swear I’ll break those hands. Metal or not.”

“Love, please don’t do this…”

“Four,” you continued to count, feeling your voice start to shake at the way he called you “love.”

He let go, and you pushed yourself quickly out of the room, not daring to look back.

~~~

In the lab, you tried to distract your brain, but it still raced. There were so many swirling parts, and you were so angry that you couldn’t pinpoint what was actually making you angry.

Footsteps and a throat clearing had you snapping up your head, body tense, not ready to face either Bucky or Tony. So when you saw it was Steve, your defenses fell. “Hey, Steve,” you greeted half-heartedly.

“Hey. How you feeling?” he asked, testing the waters as he slowly made his way to you.

“I’m not gonna bite your head off if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Don’t think I could blame you if you did. What happened back there was… intense. Tony was out of line.”

“When isn’t Tony out of line?”

“Fair point. But hey, I’m here if you want someone to scream at. Someone to help answer any of the thousand of questions running through your head.”

“I don’t want to scream at anyone. Kill Tony, maybe. But I’m kinda used to that feeling. I just… Fuck, I dunno, Steve. I don’t know what to be mad at, or about. I just know that I’m mad. Hurt. I’m hurt.”

“So start at the beginning. Work through it.”

“It’s true, right? What Tony said about Bucky?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“How long did everyone know?”

“It came out when we brought Bucky in. So a few months now. Obviously Bucky knew longer.”

“Obviously,” you snorted, then sighed. “Well, that explains Tony’s feelings towards Bucky.”

“But it’s still not an excuse for how it came out. There was a way to handle that situation and that wasn’t it. So if you want to be angry with Tony for that, you’re well within your right.”

“Oh, I’m livid. Like don’t trust myself alone in a room with him, livid. And I hate the position it puts me in. Being mad at him for telling me the truth. Sounding like an ungrateful, spoiled brat.”

“You can appreciate what Tony’s done for you while hating the circumstances that led to it. It doesn’t have to be black and white.”

“I deal in absolutes, Steve. It’s what makes the most sense to me. Facts. Fact: my parents died. Fact: Bucky caused their accident. Fact: their death shaped the way I lived my life, and the way Tony lived his. Fact: Tony’s actions ruined my life, not once, but twice now.”

“And where does that leave you with Bucky?”

You sighed. “That’s where things get convoluted. Fact: he was brainwashed as the Winter Soldier. So I can’t hold that against him. And I don’t. Me knowing Bucky caused their accident doesn’t make them less dead. So as stupid as it seems, I’m not mad about that. I’m mad he didn’t tell me himself. But even then? Part of me can still understand why he didn’t. I mean, there were things about my past I kept from him. And at what point do you drop a bomb like that?”

“So where does all of that leave you?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem. Part of me wants to clock Tony for running his mouth. Part of me is screaming that this is exactly why I don’t let people in. And part of me is still stupidly head over heels in love with Bucky, even though I feel like my trust in him got betrayed.”

“In love with him? Does Bucky know?”

You shook your head. “We barely started dating. And I mean barely. Like it happened last night barely.”

“And now it’s already potentially over.”

“Yup…”

“Well. And you can do whatever you want with this advice. But, it sounds like the real issue is with Tony, not Bucky. So try not to confuse the two.”

“But how do I trust him, Steve? I laid everything out on the line, and he couldn’t do the same for me.”

“Sounds like you trust him just fine if you’re able to do all that. So is your real hurt, with Bucky at least, in the fact that you feel he doesn’t trust you back? I mean, and correct me if I’m wrong, but this is just my observations. You don’t let that vulnerable side of you show often, if ever. I mean, everyone back there expected you to rip Tony’s head from his shoulders and you barely raised your voice. You have a very tight control on your feelings. You have a very tight control on what you let others around you in on. So if you allowed yourself to be vulnerable to Bucky, I can understand how that powershift makes you feel out of control. I can see how any indication of him not trusting you back is a huge act of betrayal in your mind. It’s like you loaded the gun, and handed it to him yourself.”

“Have I ever told you how much you scare me with how observant you are?”

Steve chuckled. “I knew Bucky a long time before he was the Winter Soldier. He’s not gonna be the guy to let you down. But me telling you that, and you believing it are two totally different things.”

“So what do I do, Steve?”

“You gotta figure that out for yourself. But talking might be a good place to start.”

“Thanks. Seriously. This helped me a lot.”

“Anytime, Y/N.”

~~~

Your next visitor was Tony. “So…” he started, peering over your shoulder at the leg you were halfway finished with. “Break up with him yet?”

“So… find a new way to blow up my life yet?” you fired back.

His jaw clenched. “Blew up your life by telling you the truth?”

“Blew up my life by fucking ruining everything, actually. I was happy, Tony. Actually fucking happy. And you let me have that for all of what? 30 seconds?”

“So you’d rather your happiness be fake? Be a lie then?”

“It wasn’t fake, that’s the thing! Look, I get that you hate him. I get that you and Steve were at odds with each other because of Bucky. And I get that hearing the news that he’s the reason for our parents’ death doesn’t make you exactly keen on being his friend, or having him around here. But, God, Tony! There were a million different ways you, or Bucky could have clued me in on things. And of course, you went with the one that would hurt him the most, not even hesitating long enough to think about how it would hurt me in the process. I knew you were a spiteful bastard, but this is a new low, even for you. Whatever happened to ‘it’s not my business to tell’?”

“That’s why I’m here to apologize.”

“That was an apology?”

“It would be if you let me get there.”

“Well, go on then.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I let my issues with Dad get in the way of me being there for you after they died. Not that at the age I was in any way ready or capable of taking on the responsibility of looking after a kid. And I’m sorry that it led you down a path of eventually getting caught in the crossfire of my mistakes with the company. And I’m sorry for how I handled the news of you and Barnes and the subsequent fallout.”

“Wow,” was all you could come up with to say. Tony wasn’t exactly the apologetic or remorseful type. He was the “throw money at the situation in hopes it went away” type, a classic Howard Stark trait Tony had been unfortunate enough to inherit, alongside the arrogance. And yet, here he was, apologizing to you for everything. And all you could say was, “Wow.”

“Yeah, great talk. If you connect those two wires, you should be good,” he said, nodding his chin at your leg.

You looked at it, “Oh. Thanks.”

“Yep.”

“I mean it,” you said as he started to walk out. “The apology? Thanks.”

“Yeah, if we could not mention it, that’d be great.”

You let out a small laugh. “Works for me.”

~~~

Your final visitor was Bucky. “Been wondering when you’d show,” you said, as you walked around the lab, testing the newest prosthetic.

“Yeah, I, uh… would’ve been by sooner but I got caught up in a few things.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I might have gone off on Tony after you left. And then Steve might have banned me from seeing you until I calmed down. And by the time I did that, he had already talked to you, and Tony was in here. So I talked to Steve. And… yeah.”

“You mean I missed out on another fight between you and Tony? Damn.”

“Heh, yeah… And look, I’m not here to act like an apology is going to magically make this all okay-”

“Good,” you cut him off. 

He sighed. “But I am sorry.”

“I don’t want your apology. I don’t need it.”

“Then… Could you yell at me, or something? This eerily calm thing is really freaking me out. Yell at me, Y/N. Tell me you hate me. Tell me I’m the reason you’re broken. Something. Anything.”

You paused in your small laps around the lab, looking at him in confusion. “Why would I do that? I’m not the starry-eyed prince who cries when his knight in shining armor isn’t real.”

“I- What?”

You winced at your words. “Bad analogy. I meant that I’m not the type who’s going to cry and scream every time my feelings get hurt. So if you’re waiting for that to happen, it’s not going to.”

“Y/N, please… I don’t know what to do here. I want to make this right. Tell me how.”

“There’s nothing to make right. I’m not mad at you, Bucky.”

“You’re not?”

“No! You were fucking mind-controlled for half of a god damn century. And Howard wasn’t exactly winning Dad of the Year Awards. Fuck, I can’t even find it in myself to be mad that you didn’t tell me. I’m hurt, Bucky, but I’m not mad.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you, that’s the thing. And I know. I know I had so many chances to tell you, and I didn’t. But how do you tell someone that without hurting them?”

“God damn it!” you snapped, your temper flashing before you could reel it back in. “That’s not why I’m hurt, Bucky. I’m hurt that I trust you, and you feel that you can’t trust me back. I’ve trusted you with parts of me I don't let anyone even get near. Hell, I’ve known the original crew of Avengers for five years, and today’s the first time they figured out I’m an amputee. That’s how hard it is for me to let my walls down. And I let you break them like they were nothing. And as great as it is to feel chosen for once, I cannot fuckin’ stand that it’s one-sided. Trust me back, Bucky. Let me choose you back!”

He took a step towards you. “Love, I-”

There it was again. “Love.” God, did he know what he was doing to you when he called you that? “Can’t do it? Think you’re too broken, and you’re gonna scare me off?” you asked.

“No, that’s not what I was going to say.”

“Then what were you going to say?”

“I...don’t know actually.” He took a few more steps until he was mere inches from you.

“Well, you know where to find me when you figure it out.”

You turned to leave, but his hand wrapped around your wrist, twisting you back around the strength and suddenness of the movement causing a splintering sound in your newest prosthetic while you collided into his chest, both of your eyes wide. “Shit!” Bucky swore. “Okay, that was not supposed to happen.”

“Bucky…” you growled, both in agitation that your new leg was already broken, and in slight desperation of if he didn’t hold you steady soon, you were going to face-plant into the floor.

Thankfully, he understood the hint, and more. His arms snaked around you, holding you upright while his head tilted down, his lips crushing into yours. “Please choose me back?” he whispered desperately against your mouth.

“Not choosing you back was never an option, Bucky,” you assured, your arms wrapping around his neck and deepening the kiss.

__

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[lumosinlove]

Cw: mentions of drugs and mentions of past abuse

Previously On Relic Keel

Remus has started to associate sailing with Sirius Black ever since Sirius told him he watches his boat every morning. He thinks about how tired he is of knowing everything there is to know and wishes to leave the island.

Remus also starts his new job at the Hogwarts History Museum where he meets up with his friend Layla, whose family runs the museum, and whose brother, Lyall, Remus races sailboats against. On his way there, he reflects on the divide between Salazars and Godrics. He remembers Sirius at school, and how he was either celebrated or shunned with seemingly no pattern.

After their first shift at the museum, Layla takes Remus to The Lion for lunch, chastising Remus’ prejudices, and introduces him to Leo. Remus sees Leo’s rainbow bracelet and thinks about how badly he wants a boyfriend. We also learn that Luke is also gay, but that he and Remus have always been just friends.

Logan arrives at The Lion, too, is introduced, and listens in on Remus finding out a new exhibit on madness at the museum—the Lupins are known for going insane, but Remus’ mother mentioned nothing to Remus about this exhibit.

Leo learns that Logan is looking for someone (Finn). Logan reflects on a sleepy feeling that seemed to go away with his escape from the orphanage. Leo offers Logan a job, if he wants, and also tells him about The Voldemort.

The Voldemort is a boat from the eighteenth century that is said to have sank in The Cradle, a U shaped arrangement of islands just off of Hogwarts Southern Coast. Leo’s dad was close to finding it. Leo feels like he should want to find it, too, for his lost father.

Saint and Sirius arrive. Saint and Logan see each other for the first time in almost ten years, since Saint escaped when he was seven. Logan tells him that Finn got him out and Saint finds out that Logan sells Crucio.

Pascal, who owns the Lion with his wife Celeste, is introduced. He’s very close with Saint and Sirius, and he apparently knew Leo’s father before he went missing at sea. Saint learns that Logan is staying with Leo.

James and Remus arrive, looking for Dorcas who Thomas said might be selling Crucio to Luke. They’d like her to stop and are willing to pay. Logan takes advantage of this and, although he doesn’t sell to Luke, cons James out of 200 bucks.

Saint learns that Logan has gotten tangled up with The Carrows, the more dangerous of the two Crucio dealers, the other, safer one being Kasey Winter, in the hopes that they will help him get Finn out. Instead, he’s in their debt for using their Crucio himself.

Logan slips and calls Saint Bash. Saint refuses to help Logan get Finn out.

A/N: I super don’t speak Latin. And neither do my trees.

part v

Dorcas watched as Saint took his book from the floor of the back seat and flipped his sunglasses down.

“How long?” he asked. “And how do I keep getting stuck with this job?”

“Because Sirius is a better surfer than you are,” Dorcas replied. “And you know what, you can take off. Her parents are out of town for the weekend so her dad won’t be coming home or anything.”

Saint paused and raised an eyebrow. “And so I just drove you because…”

“I didn’t feel like walking?”

“Clever gal.”

Dorcas smiled. “I know.”

“Whatever, I need the car anyway.”

“What are you up to? I thought you were working at the Potters.”

“Just Sirius today,” Saint threw his book back into the rear seats. “I’ve got some detective work ahead of me.”

“Does this have anything to do with that little friend of yours that Sirius told me about?”

Saint rolled his eyes. “Of course he told you.”

“You know you two can’t keep secrets from me.”

“Don’t I.”

“See you later, babe,” Dorcas opened her door.

Saint gave her a salut as she headed around towards the dug-out fence.

Marlene had her paints out and her hair up in a bun when she pushed the window up and open for Dorcas.

“Luke’s here,” she said, and rolled her eyes as she turned away.

Dorcas froze in the window frame to see Luke with his feet crossed, laying on Marlene’s bed.

“Okay,” Dorcas said. “Can he leave?”

“Hey,” Luke said. “Cousin privileges.”

“Girlfriend privileges,” Dorcas said, shutting the window behind her. “Plus, can’t you go, like, toss a ball at a net with a stick or something?”

Luke rolled his eyes—not unlike his cousin. “I’m on a rest day. Plus, I’m off the team.”

“And whose fault is that?” Dorcas raised an eyebrow.

“He’s just getting out of the house for a bit,” Marlene said with a pointed look that Dorcas understood as he’s getting away from his mother. 

“Plus,” Marlene continued. “He’s a good cover story.”

“I thought your dad wasn’t here.”

Marlene shook her head. “Came home early. Guess his newest gal pal didn’t like golf. He’s over at the club now.”

“What’s his deal, anyway?” Luke asked. He had reached over to the bedside table and put a bowl of what looked like mango slices onto his stomach. “With you two, I mean.”

“I am his little princess,” Marlene said dryly. “Not to be dated.”

“And a Salazar girl who lives in The Hollow?” Dorcas shook her head. “No deal.”

“Right,” Luke said. “Like that’s never happened before.”

Dorcas snorted and sat on the bed, too, stealing a few pieces of fruit. “Like you’re any better than the rest of them, Deveaux.”

“I am,” Luke said. “I don’t hate Salazars.”

“But you hate Hollows.”

Luke grinned. “I don’t hate them, either. They hate me, and what am I gonna do about their jealousy? That’s their issue.”

“God, you’re an asshole,” Dorcas sighed.

“He’s really not though,” Marlene stepped back as she regarded the painting she was working on. Luke’s face looked back out at them from the canvas. “He just likes to make-believe.”

“Could have fooled me and my friends.”

“He’s a great actor,” Marlene agreed, then stuck her tongue out at Luke. “I just happen to have known him before he learned how.”

“All right, fuck you both,” Luke grumbled, and ate another piece of mango.

“Believe me,” Dorcas said. “We’re not jealous of you.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “You can’t tell me you wish you didn’t have to sell Felix to make a little more money?”

Dorcas narrowed her eyes. “Like you and your money live such a great life.”

Luke looked away, jaw tight.

“Yeah,” Dorcas said. “I’d take Crucio and the friends I have over that any day.” After a moment of hesitation, she looked down and mumbled. “And by the looks of your little habit, so would you.”

“Fuck you, Meadowes,” Luke snarled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“All right, all right,” Marlene said, tilting her head as she added color to Luke’s cheeks in her painting. “Cool it, kids. Take a chill pill. Knock it down a notch. Luke, why don’t you go get us some pizza or something? Or maybe pick up from Thomas’. I crave his nachos, holy cow. Also, tell him to come hang out later tonight, if he can.”

Luke held Dorcas’ eyes for a moment, then pushed himself up from the bed. “Pepperoni, you?”

“Pineapple and ham, thanks,” Marlene said, and smiled at Dorcas as she patted his back out the door.

“Hi,” Marlene laughed once the door closed behind him. She walked into Dorcas’ arms. She took Dorcas’ face between her hands and peppered kisses to her mouth. “How are you?”

“Worried about basically all of our friends,” Dorcas laughed. “And that one, I guess, too.”

“Tell me about it,” Marlene sighed, laying down on the bed and eating a slice of mango. Dorcas mirrored her position. “No, seriously, if you want to talk about it, I’m all ears. I mean, I’ve got Luke who, one, needs to get out of his house, and two, needs someone to love, like, God, I wish he had a boyfriend. I just want him to get off this island, go to college, and meet the sweetest human in the world, you know?” Marlene sighed again, eyes far away. “He doesn’t act like he deserves that, but…it’s really his family he didn’t deserve. He’s all torn up about his dad, but his dad’s…a schemer. You know? And his mom, don’t even get me started.”

“Maybe he can still meet someone here,” Dorcas replied, and reached out to brush Marlene’s hair away from her face with a smile. “You never know. We didn’t. How long did we spend on this island without knowing each other existed?”

Marlene’s smile faltered in a way that Dorcas was beginning to recognize. It worried her.

“What?” Dorcas asked softly.

Marlene tilted her head. “Hm?”

“You keep doing that,” Dorcas said, tracing a thumb over one corner of Marlene’s mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Marlene said. “I was just thinking about Luke. I mean, my parents sucks but at least they’re…”

Dorcas raised an eyebrow. “Not in jail?”

“Yeah, I don’t know where I was going with that,” Marlene laughed. She scooted closer, letting Dorcas hitch her thigh over her hip, Dorcas’ thumb rubbing idly over her soft skin. “Now what are you worrying about, lover?”

“Sirius,” Dorcas began. “I don’t know he just…he’s never seemed…happy? Saint. He’s trying so hard to be happy that I know he’s not. And now there’s Logan which I think stirred up a lot of Saint Clair stuff for him. I mean, Jesus, how do we not know what’s up with that place?”

“Gods are good at not paying attention,” Marlene said solemnly.

“Saint never takes that damn cross off,” Dorcas said. “I mean, wouldn’t you want to let it go?”

“Sorry, who’s Logan? He got out? As in escaped? Like Saint did?”

Dorcas nodded. “I haven’t talked to Saint about it yet. Me and Sirius are gonna tag-team later, make him let it out.”

Marlene looked suspicious. “Good luck.”

“We have our ways,” Dorcas laughed. “And Logan…He deals. I know him a little. Not really.”

Marlene nodded, going quiet at the mention of Crucio as she always did.

“I like what it gives me,” Dorcas said gently. “Freedom, Marls. More than any other job here could. At least any job that I could get. And its from Kasey, who makes it safely. Unlike the Carrows. So—”

“You don’t have to explain,” Marlene said, and pushed herself closer. “I know. Really, I know. I’m proud of you. I just wish there wasn’t as much risk.”

“Like the police do anything about it,” Dorcas sighed, running a hand through Marlene’s hair. “They probably like the revenue it brings for the island.”

“Yeah,” Marlene sighed.

“Well,” Dorcas said. “We probably have at least twenty minutes before Deveaux returns with the pizza…”

Marlene smiled and pushed Dorcas’ hat off, leaning over her on the bed. “Oh? Twenty minutes you say?”

~

Saint parked the Jeep between two trees in an overgrow section of a Salazar road.  He knew where The Carrows lived. It was difficult to miss their house. Saint could practically smell the gold and diamonds. He felt like he smell the Crucio, too, the rubber bands and the plastic bags, and the sickly sweet powder.

There was no one outside. The whole grandiosity looked strangely deserted.

Saint reached into the rear again for the latest book he had borrowed from James. Frankenstein. Not one he hadn’t read before, but a good one none the less.

“Don’t know why you want that one,” James had said when he handed it over. They had both been hot from working in the sun—Saint on the lawn, James on his backhand. ���I had to write a book report on that in, like, what, ninth grade? Oof.”

“Beluis amicitiam,” Saint had replied.

“How the fuck do you know Latin?” James had said. “You aren’t even at our school.”

“You gave me a book on Latin.”

James nodded. “Right.”

“Well?” Saint had asked. “You’re at school. What’d I say?”

James squinted one eye shut. “Beast…friends?”

Saint had laughed. “Literally, sure.”

Saint opened the book now, rolling the window down in the stuffy car. The AC was broken.

“Monsters like company,” he said aloud into the small space and settled down to wait.

~

Lily didn’t expect to find herself painting an old boat with James Potter on a Saturday afternoon, but painting she was. She dipped the fat brush into the blue paint, trying to wipe her hair out of her face without getting blue in it.

“Still doing okay over there, Lils?”

Lily looked up to see James’ head pop out over the upside-down bow.

“All good,” Lily nodded. “You?”

James smiled. “Yeah. Thanks for helping me out.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lily said. “Just working on my tan.”

James’ head appeared again, only this time his expression was incredulous. “We both know we both burn.”

Lily laughed. “I guess so.”

The Potter’s had their own, small beach in front of their property, and Lily dug her feet down into the sand, looking at the inviting ocean.

She felt all too awkward after their talk a few nights ago. She had been brash, and almost cruel at some points. James was—good. But she didn’t want to end up like her mother. She didn’t want to stay for someone, like her mother had for her father, and regret it, like she could tell her mother did sometimes.

And if she had wanted someone to come out into the world with her, she couldn’t have picked a worse candidate. James was a Potter, and the Potters were Hogwarts Island’s beating heart. Their money was in every part of this island. Every grain of sand, every brick. Hogwarts Academy, whose headmaster was James’ father.

If Lily loved James, she’d never escape.

And the problem was, she did love James.

“So, I was thinking about doing a movie night or something,” James said from the other side of the boat. “Put a sheet up and a projector. We could lay it all out on the lawn, or by the pool. Get some candy and popcorn and shit, invite everyone.”

Lily cleared her throat. “Yeah, that sounds cool.”

James was at the front now, painting the boat’s nose. “Any suggestions or requests?”

Lily smiled. “Is it too cheesy to do Pirates of The Caribbean?”

James laughed. “Hell no. There’s no better place!”

Lily shrugged. “Then definitely that. Oh, Will Turner.”

James snorted. “Yeah, can’t say no to that.”

Lily smiled at him, and shifted closer to the other side of the bow.

“So, how’s your common-app going?” James asked. “These essays are sort of killing me. I mean, you’re staring out a window. What do you see? What the fuck kind of prompt is that? That’s what’s going to get me into college?”

Lily laughed. “Not to mention asking me why I want to go somewhere. They’re basically forcing me to make something dramatic up.”

“Right. If I’m being, you know, honest, I feel simple, and if I’m embellishing, I feel fake.”

Lily looked up at him. “Exactly. No, that’s—exactly.”

They smiled at each other, paintbrushes poised.

“I don’t know,” James sighed finally. “I’m—I’m sort of worried, Lils.”

“What about Lacrosse?” Lily asked.

James nodded. “That’s what my dad says. And, yeah, I love it, but…sometimes I wonder if it’s more that I love who I’m playing with. Luke, Remus, Thomas.”

Lily nodded, eyes flitting over his face which had gone serious and tense. “Right. No, that makes sense. But J, you’re so smart. And kind.”

James’ smile was small, but his eyes, when he looked at her, were fond. “Not as smart as you. And I can’t get a degree in kindness.”

Lily hummed, thinking. College was a sensitive topic for everyone it seemed. What was supposed to be one of the best parts of their lives was all uncertainty and vagueness. She thought of Marlene, and how she hadn’t told Dorcas about her early-decision acceptance yet. This seemed to be all goodbyes and leave-behinds.

“Sorry,” James cleared his throat. “That was a downer thing to say.”

Lily shook her head. “I’m starting to think college is just a downer thing.”

James smiled, and, even though it was something that had only been gone for a moment, Lily found that she had missed it. James was so bright. “Yeah.”

Lily knew that she was going to say goodbye to James in a year. But for the first time, she wondered how she knew, and when she had decided.

“You’re going to be amazing, Lils,” James said softly. She could tell that they were both thinking of their conversation. He looked down at her with his hazel eyes. “Really, you are.”

Lily meant to say thank you.

Instead, she leaned forward and kissed him. James’ body tensed, and then relaxed. His mouth opened beneath hers and she cupped his cheek, her other palm splayed on his chest. He was warm from the sunlight. He made a soft sound and tilted his head to kiss her again, hand between her shoulders. Then, he pulled back, their foreheads together. There was paint on his chest from Lily’s paintbrush. Blue, right over his heart.

“Lils,” James gasped. He wrapped a gentle hand around her wrist. “Lils, mixed messages, mixed messages…”

He was out of breath. Lily had made him that way. Her own heart was beating out of her chest.

“You’re right,” Lily breathed, and stepped away, drawing a fallen strap of her tank top up her shoulder. “You’re right, God, sorry.”

“No, it’s,” James began. “I mean, that was nice. Really nice.”

Lily sent him a wavering smile over her shoulder. “Yeah. Sorry about—” the paint. Everything.

She watched James out of the corner of her eye as he passed his hand through his hair a few times. This time, he came to stand beside her as they worked quietly.

It only took Lily a few moments to not be able to stand it any more. The feeling of him so close, of wanting him the way she did. He was gentle. He kissed in a way that made her want to melt. He had made her laugh, that night that they spent together, in between those kisses and gentle touches.

“Why did you ask me to do this with you, James?” Lily said. “I mean—aren’t you mad at me?”

James didn’t respond for a moment, but finally turned.

“What, we can’t be friends?” he asked.

“I wasn’t very nice to you the other night,” Lily said, and then groaned. “And—I mean, I feel awful about it but…you understand, don’t you?"

“I’m not here to tie you down, Lily,” James said, eyes firm behind his glasses. “If that’s what you think friends do…I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You’re not my friend,” Lily burst out, and then covered her eyes. “I mean—you are. But you’re…”

“It’s fine, Lils,” James said. When Lily looked up, he was shaking his head and stooping to dip his brush again. “Really, let’s just…let’s paint and tan. I’ll get us some sunscreen.”

“James—”

“You kissed me and then you said we weren’t friends. Forgive me if I’d rather stay where we are than go farther or backwards into those two territories that you seem to not want.”

Lily blinked.

James glanced at her, then away. “I should probably be asking you to leave. But I don’t want to lose you. Not yet. Not now, not if you really think that’s so inevitable.”

Lily stared at him. He was looking resolutely at his work, jaw tight. He looked beautiful, even when he was sad and overwhelmed. Lily was so angry at herself.

She didn’t want to lose him, either.

She timed her paint strokes to his, and they worked beside each other quietly.

~

Saint didn’t find what he expected to find.

Instead of Logan coming up the path, Luke Deveaux passed right by his car and open window.

Luke looked down in passing, probably expecting to see an empty vehicle, and then did a double take when, instead, he found Saint sitting there, Frankenstein in one hand, balanced on the steering wheel, and the other elbow resting out the window.

“Hello, tweedle,” Saint said.

Luke stopped walking. He had a gray t-shirt on with a large, navy Nike swoop on it, and black running shorts. Earbuds dangled around his neck, tangled in the two fine gold chains that hung there and trailing all the way into his pocket, where Saint could see the weight of his phone. He was sweaty, as though he had run here from Godric.

“What?” Luke said.

“Bad move,” Saint replied. “Taking your hit from The Shining twins.”

Luke just stared at him. He pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes. Saint smiled. He liked Deveaux when he was caught off guard. This had never happened before.

“Well—” Luke began. “You’re here, too.”

“Not like that.”

Luke narrowed his eyes. “You said you didn’t deal.”

“I don’t.”

“So,” Luke’s eyes flit around the Jeep’s exterior. “You just sit in junk cars and read—” Luke looked forward. “Shelley?”

Saint frowned in approval and squinted back towards the house. “You say that almost as if you’ve read it.”

“I have.”

“What, in your ninth grade book report?”

“No, with my—” Luke turned his head away, mouth clamping shut.

“I see,” Saint said after a moment. “A bit of a strange parental bonding choice, but all right.”

“Fuck off,” Luke said. “And what the fuck did you call me?”

That was when Saint spotted Logan. He sat up and unlocked the Jeep doors with a click.

“Get in,” Saint said.

Luke scoffed. “Fuck off.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that in five seconds. Get in, tweedle, or I’ll tell your mother about your candy addiction.”

To Saint’s slight surprise—he was used to people being drawn to him—that seemed to work and Luke complied, but he walked slowly, distrustfully, around the bonnet before sliding into the passenger seat.

Logan was coming up a different path, one stemming from the back of the house to what looked like a side door.

“She wouldn’t care,” Luke said as he slammed the door.

“You in my passenger seat says differently,” Saint said, and glanced at Luke’s wrist. “Nice watch.”

It was gold and glittery. It looked like it had probably been his father’s, and by no means looked like it should be worn on a run.

“Your car smells like wet dog.”

“I don’t have a dog,” Saint replied, eyes on Logan. He had knocked and was waiting now.

“I was talking about Black.”

Saint glanced at him. “You’re funny, Galileo.”

Luke just shook his head, bringing his t-shirt up to wipe his forehead. “Stop calling me tweedle—you think I’m dumb?”

Saint laughed. “No.”

“All right,” Luke put a hand on the door. “I’m getting out.”

“No,” Saint said, and grabbed Luke’s arm, fingers wrapping around his wrist. “Stay here or you’ll blow this for both of us.”

Luke shook him off and Saint pushed his door open. He began his stride up towards the house without looking back. He wondered if Luke was a snoop. The thought made him smile.

Logan saw him when he was half-way to the door, and rolled his eyes, shoving his hands out in an effort to silently say go back.

“Hello, number ten,” Saint said, leaning beside the door. “Now, who are you waiting for?”

“Saint, don’t.”

“Look, I’m hoping it was me, and if so, your ride’s here.” Saint narrowed his eyes. “Let’s go.”

“What do you care if I’m here?”

Saint looked at Logan’s backpack, the one that was always filled with Crucio. Even at the sight of it he imagined that he could feel the sweet, sleepiness that occupied his nights at the orphanage.

The door opened.

“Oh, look,” Amycus said, resting a hand on the door. “Haven’t seen you in a while. What is it you’re calling yourself these days? Saint.”

“Hello, Amy,” Saint smiled. “Nice to see you, we’re going now.”

“You can’t,” Amycus snarled. “He owes us.”

“I’m sure you haven’t lost that much,” Saint said back evenly.

“Oh yeah?” Amycus laughed. “Why don’t we take a look at green-eyes here’s subconscious. You want something bad enough, you like something enough, something feels good enough, then there comes a point where you don’t even know how far you’ve gone to get it. How much Felix have you taken, do you think, Tremblay?”

Logan just looked down.

“See?” Amycus cocked his head. “He doesn’t know. Which means I make make up whatever number I like.”

Saint nodded, thoughtful. “Interesting. What number is that?”

Amycus just grinned. “Your friend here will know when I tell him.”

“Bullshit,” Logan snapped, and Saint held up a hand.

“We’re going now, and you know what?” Saint leaned in. “You don’t know shit about what he wants.”

“Come back without your handler, Tremblay,” Amycus called after them.

Back at the car, Saint could see Luke reading Frankenstein through the windshield.

“Who’s that?”

“Who you got your two hundred bucks for,” Saint murmured.

“What about the two hundred more you just cost me?”

“You’re welcome,” Saint said, and motioned to Luke to get out.

“And what exactly was I supposed to get out of this?” Luke said, crossing his arms.

“A chit-chat with yours truly,” Saint replied. “Logan, get in the car.”

Logan glared, but took Luke’s place in the passenger seat.

Saint slid back into the driver’s side, took Logan’s backpack from him, and slung it into the back seat.

“Oh,” Saint leaned out his window. “And I’m sure you can go right up now.”

“I’m sure I can,” Luke tossed Saint the book. “Don’t forget Potter’s book. Did you steal it, or what?”

If only he knew, Saint thought. 

“Bye, Luke,” Saint called as he turned out of the grove and down the street. He looked in his review mirror and smiled at the sight of Luke standing, framed in it. Then, he put his arm lazily on the steering wheel and let Luke’s golden watch flash in the sunlight on his wrist.

“You didn’t have to fucking—fetch me,” Logan grumbled.

“Yes, I fucking did.”

Logan turned towards him in his seat, and for a moment Saint thought he was going for his backpack, but Logan just looked at him.

“Look,” Logan said.

“I’m driving.”

Logan ignored him.

“There’s a treasure,” Logan said instead. “Leo told me about it. He thinks his dad knows where it is—The Cradle? Look, I—If we can get it—”

“Oh, good,” Saint sighed. “He sells Crucio and he’s a Voldemort tourist.”

Logan blinked. “You know about it?”

Saint scoffed. “Of course I know about it. Everyone knows about it, Logan.”

“Fine, but—if we can get it, then I can pay off—”

“I’m sorry, excuse me, excuse me,” Saint held up a hand, one on the wheel. The houses went from the tall mansions of Salazar to the workshop rows of Helga, to the low houses of The Hollow. “Did you or did you not just place all of your hopes of freedom on a long lost, legendary treasure.”

“Bash—Saint.”

“Answer the question.”

“It’s not my hope, it’s just an option.”

Saint just shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Come on,” Logan urged as Saint stopped the car in front of The Lion. “Isn’t there something you want? Something that much gold could get you?”

“Come to think of it, there isn’t that much I want, no.”

Logan paused, and then said, “Then, is there something you hate?”

When Saint didn’t reply for enough time, Logan took his backpack and got out of the car.

~

Sirius had dreamed about his little brother last night. Only, he had been on Wolfsbane, and Regulus had been on shore. There had been someone else in the boat, too, someone expertly pulling the ropes and taking Sirius farther out to sea. The wind had been warm.

Sirius had woken up thinking about Remus Lupin.

His entire day was thrown off.

Sirius looked over at Saint. “Are we going to talk about it?”

Saint had his head in Dorcas’ lap and his eyes closed. “Pardon?”

Dorcas and Sirius glanced at each other. “Logan.”

“We were at Saint Clair together. What else is there to say?”

“Maybe how he got out.”

“And why,” Dorcas added, running a hand through Saint’s hair. “It might help if you talked about that place more.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Sirius groaned. “Saint. Come on, that kid looked freaked talking to you and then he bolted. What’s up?”

Saint sighed, his face opening up into a rare moment of softer eyes, and he sat up, nearly facing away from the both of them.

Sirius listened to the crickets outside. Before, he had just wanted to know about the orphanage. Now, he wanted Saint to not have to keep it all inside.

“When I arrived when I was five, Logan and Finn were already there,” Saint said finally. “And its not like its this horrible place. We have beds and food and we go to school together. We have friends. But we’re also locked away. The nuns are strict. The punishments are old-fashioned. A slap. A few days in solitude. The problem is…”

Sirius got up from his perch on the window and sat beside Saint on the ratty old couch they had dragged in. Saint didn’t look at him, but let him and Dorcas lay gentle hands on him, Dorcas’ on his back, Sirius’ one of his crossed ankles.

“I watched kids turn eighteen,” Saint said, voice steely. “And they’d be packing their bags and then—unpacking them.”

“They,” Dorcas began. “You mean they decided to stay?”

Saint just shook his head slowly. “I still haven't completely figured it out. I think—maybe Crucio has something to do with it. It’s the only thing I can think of that would make them stay. I keep having this—this memory of being so tired at night. And these dreams.”

“The plant Crucio is made out of has Melatonin in it,” Dorcas said, brow creased. “It influences the dreaming. The hallucinations.”

“So, what?” Sirius asked. “They stay for Crucio, you think?”

“They work some,” Saint said. “Around the island. But, yeah. They stay.”

“You think they’re bringing money back?” Dorcas asked gently. “To the orphanage?”

Saint shrugged. “I told you. I haven’t completely figured it out. But I’d rather figure it out from the outside. Even when I was seven, I knew something was wrong. But I was older when I arrived. Finn and Logan had been there since they were too young to recognize something like that. They didn’t know anything else.”

“And…you do?” Sirius asked faintly. Saint had never brought up remembering anything about his prior life, his family.

Saint laughed faintly and got up. “Who knows. That’s the thing about memories, right? We tend to make them worse, or make them better.” Sirius watched him go to the sink and turn it on and off. He opened the refrigerator and then closed it. Finally, he stilled.

“But I hate them,” Saint said, almost to himself. “I hate them for making anything feel real.”

Sirius opened his mouth to respond when Dorcas’ phone lit up with a loud ping.

She picked it up. “From Marlene. Apparently we’re invited to a movie night at Potter’s house.”

“Of course we are,” Sirius sighed, and got up and wrapped his arms around Saint from behind. “What do you feel like?”

Saint looked at him over his shoulder. “Well, how could I ever pass that up?”

~

When Logan didn’t find Leo at The Lion, he went to the Knut’s workshop instead. He’d been in there a handful of times now. It was a crowded room, walls-to-ceiling tools and cupboards that organized different found objects. Sea-glass and shards of blue china. There was large glass jars of things like compasses or pieces of weather vanes hanging by woven rope plant holders from the ceiling. There was a forge that was cool now, and there was a long work bench.

He found Leo on the work bench with the garage door open to the street, shirtless and welding something together.

“Oh,” Logan said instead of announcing himself.

Leo looked up, then back down, sparks flying around him. “Hey, what’s up?”

Logan walked a few steps inside and set his backpack—which was still empty—down.

“I want to help you,” he said.

The sparks stopped and Leo pushed his welding mask up. He was sweaty, his cheeks flushed from the heat. “What? With this?”

Logan rolled his eyes and walked in to straddle the other end of the work bench. “The treasure. We need to find the treasure. Think how rich we’d be.”

Leo stared at him for a long moment, then took his mask off and set his equipment down. For a moment, his face looked thunderous. Logan thought he was about to tell him to get out, but the storm dissipated.

“This isn’t a joke to me,” Leo said evenly after another pause. “And it’s not some greedy game, either. That’s not why my dad looked for things like this. He loved history.”

Logan blinked. “You—you don’t want the money?”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. What do you think the finder gets?”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying don’t make me regret telling you. I’m saying my dad was never one to just pawn things off. He wanted things like that on display, for people to learn from.”

“How very, very noble and grand,” came another voice, and they both looked up to see Saint standing there. He had changed since the last time Logan had seen him. He was wearing a t-shirt that said New Orleans Saints.

“Saint?” Leo said.

“Hi there,” Saint gave a little salute. “I have a movie night to go to, apparently, a nice little godly sleepover, but I thought I’d stop by.”

“What are you doing…” Logan began warily.

“Well, come to think of it, there is something I hate.”

Leo tilted his head. “What is he talking about?”

“Not to mention,” Saint continued, and touched the bottom of the hanging compasses. He studied one, then looked at them and grinned.

“I do like gold,” Saint said.

[spacedikut]

“i want to love someone and be loved” ; spencer reid - part 1

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x reader

summary: spencer makes a confession as you’re doing dishes together. this is from a prompt list but i can’t find it :( 1633 words. part 2 

a/n: this was originally a poe dameron thing but i started thinking about it with spencer and then there were tears streaming down my face then i wrote it

Your favourite memories with the team are always those where you really feel like a family. Most days these are only fleeting moments, less than five minute conversations filled with banter and affectionate insults, but there are times, like now, where you’re all sat around Rossi’s dinner table with too much wine and too much pasta (although there is no such thing), and you feel like you might cry from happiness.

You’re a family.

The downside to being a family is you get treated like a family member, meaning when you and Spencer are assigned to clean dishes, dry them and put them away, you sulk to the kitchen just like you did when you were eleven and your younger sibling got out of helping by claiming he has too tired.

At least you can stare at Spencer as you do it.

In the kitchen, you’re working in perfect harmony – you, elbow deep in somehow tolerable hot water, scrubbing away at the bowls and plates stained with pasta sauce, and Spencer who methodically dries said bowls and plates with a worrying amount of scrutiny.

Right before you open your mouth to ask him if he’s okay, Spencer speaks.

“What do you think of love?”

Huh. Didn’t expect that.

“Love is… is good, I guess.”

You’re not sure what to say, or what he wants you to say. There’s obviously an answer he’s looking for, but you’re not sure you can provide it.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Your brows furrow. The question catches you off guard and your hand freezes mid-wipe. Why is he asking you this? It’s not that you’re not close with Spencer, cause you are, but you feel ill-equipped for this conversation. You wish you could somehow swap positions with Hotch, or Rossi, maybe Derek. Or Emily! Anyone, except you.

“I don’t think so, no, Spence.”

He grimaces.

“Why?”

“Well, because-cause…” He pauses and grits his teeth, as if the words are painful to force out, “I want to love someone and be loved.”

The confusion shines brightly in your eyes, “You are loved, Spence. Everyone in our unit would do anything for you, you know that. I’d go so far as to say you’re the favourite, probably the most loved person in the BAU.”

“No. No.” He shakes his head, “I want someone to love me. Romantically. Not Dr Spencer Reid of the BAU, notorious rambler and know-it-all who’s exceptionally good at pissing people off. I want them to love me – Spencer – the guy who is a technophobe, a pretty bad shot, and secretly wants to be a cowboy. The guy who has a recurring dream that Morgan forces me into a room where I’m plunged into darkness and Doctor Who is playing but it’s in a language I don’t understand. I don’t.. I don’t want someone that’ll make me feel like a baby, like the team sometimes does, you know? I think I’d be a great partner and I just… I just want someone to share something with. Something good, something pure, in this job where we face evil and demise every day.”

You’re in stunned silence when he makes eye contact, hands stilled mid-air as you gape at him.

“Sorry. Totally unloaded a lot of emotional stuff on you there – my bad. Uhh..” He clears his throat.

The air becomes awkward as you figure out how to reply. You flounder. You don’t know what to follow that speech with. It almost feels like the right time to admit your feelings for him, but a second later you realise this conversation sounds a lot like one you’d have with someone you definitely do not have feelings for. You’re just a consultation, you’re not the end goal. Suddenly, you wish you had been assigned to clearing the table rather than washing up.

Swallowing what feels like pure acid, you begin, “That’s sweet, Spence. Genuinely. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting that.” You want to reach out and touch him, but your hands are now submerged in water, and touching him might break you. “So what’s stopping you?”

“Huh?”

“What’s stopping you from getting that?” You ask. “I’ve seen you. When you put your mind to it, you can be preeeetty smooth with the ladies. Remember the magic trick you did for that one girl?” Spencer gives a small, shy smile, “Exactly! So what’s stopping you?”

Spencer looks like a deer in headlights. What is stopping him? He’s proud to say his confidence has exponentially grown since joining the BAU. When he started, his self-esteem was non-existent, but times passed and he’s grown to accept himself the way he is. It helps that you’ve been there, cheering him on and showering him in compliments whenever he starts to doubt himself. Initially, Spencer thought you were doing it just to get on his good side, maybe build some good karma, but somewhere along the line he started to somewhat agree with you. The compliments never ceased.

“Well,” He starts, “I’m picky.”

You scoff, “Yeah, if I was you, I’d be picky.”

You turn and squirt some dish soap into the sink, smiling when Spencer laughs, “What does that mean?!”

“You know what it means! I always say you could be a ladies man if you truly put your mind to it, and I stand by that. You’re a ten out of ten on a bad day so, yeah, you should be picky. I’m tempted to say no one is worthy, but I’ve already inflated your ego too much.”

He grins at your teasing and licks his lips, “There is one person.”

“Oh?” You ask, interest piqued. You ignore the pang in your heart.

“Yeah. She’s really cool. It’s kind of terrifying.”

You giggle at that. There’s a warmth to Spencer’s words, and you realise whoever this girl is is super fucking lucky. He’s completely and utterly smitten and she doesn’t even know it. You kind of hate her.

“So are you gonna tell her?” You ask.

He shrugs, “I guess so. Should I?”

Finally done with the washing up, you move to put the dried plates into their cupboards. With a quizzical look, you say, “You’re really asking me that? Yes, you should tell her.”

“Would you tell her?”

“God, no.”

“What?!”

“I’m shy when it comes to that stuff! I’d rather ferment my feelings and then tell myself to get over it and never think of it again.”

“Sounds healthy.”

You grin, turning to lean against the counter next to Spencer, “I would tell her if I was you, though. You’re sweet, attractive, and you have more than just your looks going for you. If I was you and got rejected I’d be like… okay, cool. I’ll just go bang every one of your friends, then.”

Spencer guffaws, “You’d what?!”

“I’m kidding!” You laugh, a hearty laugh at his expression. The pure shock and borderline disgust makes you oddly proud. It’s a rare reaction from Spencer.

He rolls his eyes but still smiles. His eyes lock on your face and you can’t pinpoint what emotion is pouring out of them, but it’s so strong that it shoots panic through you. You quickly turn and pick up as many glasses as you can, manoeuvring to the opposite side of the kitchen.

You can’t be thinking about him like that if he’s about to admit his feelings for someone else.

“So, you gonna tell her?” You try to sound nonchalant, but you can’t deny you’re unbelievably curious.

Spencer hums, but still sounds unsure, “I think I will.”  

“If she’s as great as you think she is, no matter her response she’ll handle it well. Otherwise, she wasn’t worth your time anyway.”

Behind your back, Spencer barely contains a gentle smile and thinks, yeah, you are pretty great.

“What did you say?” You swing around to face him.

Spencer straightens up and furiously dries the last bowl, “What?”

“You mumbled something.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

You’re visibly bemused but don’t say anything. Spencer opens his mouth to speak, maybe tell you what he should’ve a while ago, when Emily comes sliding in.

“Garcia has had too much wine and I’m one glass away from joining her. Y/N, are you ready to head home?”

You roll your eyes and nod. In hindsight, you’re glad that you refused the big glass of wine Rossi initially offered you because you knew this would happen and you’d be taking drunk girls home. “Yeah, all good. Spence, is it okay if I leave you to put the last few dishes away?”

Spencer nods eagerly and glances at Emily when she sways, “No problem. Drive safe.”

You mumble a thanks and move to the living room to collect your bag. Garcia is splayed across the biggest couch and you can’t help but aww at her sleeping form. Just an hour ago she was giving a sermon on why Hotch is the best dad and how that translates to the bedroom (why did no one stop her), and now she looks at peace with the world in the fluffiest pillows you’ve ever seen. Then she chokes, snorts, and springs upright with a loud “Derek!” and you jump back at her volume. When she sees you, she looks like she’s found the cutest kitten and makes grabby hands, asking for a hug.

Yeah, it’s time to go home.

Just before you leave Rossi’s house, you turn to Spencer and shout across, “Good luck, Spence!”

Morgan turns to Spencer and silently asks what? And Spencer barely acknowledges him, “I’ve got big plans for tomorrow.”

“Big plans, huh?” Morgan teases.

“Yeah. Big plans, big payoff, and all that.”

Looking over your shoulder, you give one final wave after tying Garcia to her seat.

Spencer wonders if you realise you’re his big plan.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Things You Said at the Kitchen Table- Prompt Fill

Jon's ill, Tim makes dinner.  After the Unknowing.  Kind of a follow up to Can’t get up, Is that all your blood, and Feverish and teary/how long has it been since you’ve eaten.  Sort of a follow up to the first two chapters of @janekfan‘s Too Much before more beautiful chapters were added to that verse.  

@laurawatchesthebees

cw fever, nausea (mentioned), dizziness, past suicidal ideation, grief, references to death, food

Jon at his kitchen table.  

Hardly the first time for that.  Not even in recent months.  

But Tim isn’t used to it yet.  

It might be that he had meant to die a couple days ago.  Not officially, but he was fairly certain he wouldn’t be coming back, no matter his intent.

Hasn’t quite accepted that he is still living and breathing and existing in this flat.  

He’d cleaned.  Really cleaned.  Didn’t box anything up, because he knew Martin would hate it.  Knew Martin would know what that meant.  

Martin had still glared at him in suspicion when he tossed out a lifetime of stuff.  His clothes are still there.  His books.  And Danny’s room is still untouched.  But Everything is too pristine.  Making it easy for whoever had to clean it out after he was gone.  

Except he isn’t gone.  

And Jon isn’t gone.  (Even if that fever has been wasting him away to nothing, but Tim is pretty sure that it’s mostly stress and exhaustion).  

And Martin isn’t gone.  

The opposite of gone.  

Halfway moved in with him.  Both of them.  

Jon still has half his things at the institute, but Tim is certain that at least half his clothes are here.  And his weighted blanket.  Certainly all his toiletries.  

And Martin has slowly been taking over corners of his too-empty flat over the last couple days, which is baffling to Tim, because Martin rarely leaves.  Has rarely left these last few days.  

Tim doesn’t exactly know what Martin went through.  Martin hasn’t really been up for talking about that.  And Tim can’t fault him, because Tm very much doesn’t want to talk about… all of that.  

Jon has been the perfect distraction.  Fever flushed, and limp.  Clinging weakly to whoever has been in reach.  

They haven’t been to the Archives in a few days.  So far no one else has been ill, so Tim has to assume that Elias being arrested has done something to postpone or stop the if-you-are-gone-too-long-you-will-suffer thing.  Which.  Good riddance.  Fucker.  

Jon is sitting at his kitchen table while Tim makes dinner.  They’d been living on takeout, but Jon’s uneasy stomach hasn’t been up to much, so Tim finally dug himself out of the depression-confusion-fog of not really accepting that everyone is still alive.  (Everyone except Sasha.)  

He’s fine.  Fine enough to make dinner.  Martin brought back groceries.  Enough to fill out the too-clean too-empty cabinets.  Making Tim’s flat stop looking like a real-estate showing that just happened to have some extra homey touches, but not lived in.  

Martin is off puttering around, possibly unpacking?  It’s all gone a bit unsaid.  Something that needs to be resolved, because Tim knows that Jon and Martin Need the verbal reassurance that they are welcome.  And honestly… if this is going to happen…. Tim’s going to need a new flat.  With more bedrooms.  And one that doesn’t have a shrine to a dead brother taking up one of the bedrooms.   Unless… unless sharing a bedroom is now just going to be a thing?  His flat has three… well one spare… one… one he doesn’t have the strength to open the door anymore… and one his.  They could share?  Or have an extra for whoever needs a bit of space.  It’s all… He doesn’t know.  There aren’t edges to this friendship?  Relationship?  Fucked it he knows.  And it doesn’t really matter… does it?  

Then again, he doesn’t Need those kind of labels.  

Later.  

But not now.  

When Martin and Jon need those labels.  

And honestly it might be just those two.  Which Tim doesn’t mind?  Unless he does?  

Not a thought for now.  

His thoughts are making a soup for Jon.  One of those big soups that he can freeze part of and still have food for days.  

Because it isn’t like he has the mental fortitude for cooking often these days… 

Or he might now?  He hasn’t really accepted that his quest for revenge was successful.   

He expected to be dead, or maybe not expected, but half-expected… or maybe just to have this huge wight lifted.  But… but he’s having a really difficult time comprehending that it’s really over, you know?

Like he doesn’t feel quite real.  Like nothing really happened.  

But Jon…

Jon who really ought to still be in bed.  Tucked up with medicine while Martin slowly takes over a third of Tim’s closet.

But Jon never could sit still.  Even clearly feeling like shit, he wants to be helpful.  

Of course Tim shooes Jon back to the bedroom.  Managed to get the rest of the chopping done before he wanders back.  Trailing on hand along the wall, dizzy and small, draped in his weighted blanket.  The one that Tim bought for the holidays back in Research.  

Tim is honestly astounded that extra weight doesn’t take Jon right down… Jon can hardly hold himself up.  

“All that’s left to do is stir, bud.”  Tim gestures to the few bowls full of chopped veggies on the counter, all the cutting boards washed, everything else in the pot already.  Tim wished he was adept at making bread… he might be able to sweet talk Martin into making some later.  

Jon’s the real chef here, but Tim is pretty competent.  Martin decent enough, but Martin is the one who can work some magic with the oven.  Cakes and pastries and bread.  

There is nothing better than Martin’s baking.  

(Sasha was the best at grilling).  

Tim needs to be better at shutting thoughts of her out.  Or maybe just letting himself think them.  

Not now.  Soup.  Now is for soup.  And maybe talking to Jon, assuming Jon isn’t going to be smart and go back to bed (hah).  He isn’t… not quite up to listening to his thoughts just now.  And music… well let’s just say he’s been listening to one of his two deep depression playlists.  Probably not a good thing.  

Instead of heading back to bed, like Tim had hoped… but not expected.  Jon plunks himself down at the table.  Shivering a little as he draws the blanket close.  

It has a fleece cover that Tim and Sasha and Martin made one evening early Archives days.  

One of those knotted covers.  Easy to make.  And Martin suggested because… well Tim is pretty sure that Martin might practice witchcraft.  Or at least, doesn’t dismiss the idea that knot tying might hold some sort of power of intention.  (Then again he might have seen Martin clip a little packet of herbs and stone chips and sigils on the inside of the cover… but that is none of Tim’s business.  It might be though, if Martin is going to be living here.  Tim can’t say he minds… it’s… it’s nice.  Nice that he believes that intentions have meaning and that even if it does nothing… it’s still doing something.  Tim understands the need to do something even if… even if it means nothing in the end.  Or… maybe he doesn’t understand.  he understands the urge, but hasn’t let himself believe.)

Jon feels utterly useless.  And disgusting.  He needs a shower.  But the gummy feeling of fever sweat and exhaustion cling to him… no matter how many times he scrubs himself dizzy on Tim’s shower floor.    

He wants to help.  

He’s been mooching off of Tim and Martin’s kindness for too long.  

But he’s been… weak and ill and helpless.  And it’s been… nice to be looked after.  

He wants to help, though.  He’s never been good at sitting around and recovering, which is probably about half of his troubles right there.  And he needs to be useful.  Needs to not be a burden.  

Not to mention keep an eye on Tim, who… who hasn’t been doing well… As far as Jon’s fever-addled brain can figure.  (Martin is keeping himself busy to avoid thinking, Jon is positive, but he seems to be handling things better than Tim right now, so Jon will focus on Tim for now.  Besides there is only so much he can do feeling like crap… and if he stays in bed any longer, he will either explode from sitting around with his thoughts too long, or he will fall asleep and be useful to absolutely no one.)

So he joins Tim in the kitchen, not surprised and rather thankful, but also rather annoyed that he can’t actually help with food.  But.. that’s probably for the best.  He’s still a little queasy.  And standing for more than a couple minutes makes his head swim.  ...More than usual, that is.  

The weighted blanket feels like it’s going to drag him through the floor… but not in a bad way.  Entirely.  

The weakness and shakiness is bad.  But the pressure is good.  And he would have the first two even without the blanket adding an extra weight.  

He shuffles over to the chair and sits heavily.  Pressing his face against the cool wood.  He will worry about the skin grease on the table later.  Hhhhhhh he feels disgusting.  

Tim sits down perpendicular to him at some point.  Reaching over slowly to feel his forehead.  

“Mmmmmm.”  Undignified sound after undignified sound.  That’s all Jon has to offer.  

Tim chuckles.  “Feels good, doesn’t it, cooling you down, huh?”

Jon glares halfheartedly.  He knows this is some sort of jab about not resting.  Probably.  

Actually, he isn’t sure.  

“Has Martin gotten you some medicine recently?”

Jon nods.  Still more-or-less face down on the table.  

“How ‘bout some Lucozade?”

“‘M fine.”

“I’ll get you some.  How does… uh blue?  Sound.  Think Martin got you some blue.”

Jon shrugs.  

Tim’s hand retreats.  Tim retreats.  Then he is back.  Setting a glass at his elbow.  

“Think you’re up for some soup?”  

Jon shrugs.  

“Not super chatty, huh.”  

Jon shrugs again.  He wishes he had more words for Tim.  But Tim is tired of apologies, and Jon can’t think of much else to say.  

“Thanks for …”  He doesn’t want to say it.  He wants to thank.  He wants to apologize.  But he really doesn’t like that he needs the help.  But Tim deserves the thanks.  Especially if Jon has been a dead weight around the house.  “Looking after me.”

Tim laughs again.  “Bud, that sounded like it hurt to say.”  Tim nudges him.  

It’s nice.  Jon doesn’t flinch.  “Don’t like that I need looking after.”  

“I know, bud.”  

Tim’s hand on his back.  It’s… gentle and grounding.  And warm.  Although Jon is probably imagining that through the blanket.  The blanket is warm, though.  Jon yawns against the table.  

Tim is rubbing small circles on his back now.  

“Sure you don’t wanna go back to bed?”  

Jon shakes his head.  Moving sounds bad.  

“I can carry you.”  

“Mmmm.  Here’s fine.  With you.  Thought you might want company.”  Jon tilts his face slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of Tim’s face.  

Tim’s face does a couple odd things.  Jon doesn’t know what they mean.  He hopes they are good.  

Tim sounds a little… choked up.  “Thanks.”

Tim drapes himself over Jon in an awkward side hug.  Until he gets up to add some more veggies and give the soup a stir.  

Jon sits up far enough to have a bit of the sports drink.  Then slumps back down.  

“About a half hour until the soup is ready.  Maybe you can look sick and pitiful enough that Martin will take pity on us and make us some fresh bread tomorrow with leftovers, you did Am Dram, I bet you can convince him.”  

Jon snorts.  

“Half an hour then we are getting you to the couch.  Unless you want to shower now then we can get the soup and some telly.  Should be ready by the time you’re done?”  

“Mmmmm.  Feel gross.”  

“Yup.  Okay.  Up with you.  Think you can manage by yourself?”  

Jon shrugs.  

“Well.  Give a shout if you need anything, okay?  I’ll be right here.  Then we can take it easy this evening.  

Curled up on the couch with soup and Martin and Jon, Tim is somewhere, tangentially approaching happy.