#and I bought fucking THIRTEEN OF THEM

[literal-ghost]

I spent an irresponsible amount of money on bath and body works stuff this weekend and only some of it was gifts for my husband and mother in law.

[nomie-11]

Last Call Home

masterlist! | read part 2 here!

synopsis: you had promised years ago that when Vi went to university, you would stay back and take care of Powder and tuition until she graduated. You just didn't understand the toll it would take on yourself.

pairings: vi x reader, powder is lowkey reader's adoptive daughter

“Hey, it’s Vi. Just wanted to call and let you know that I love you and I miss you, and I know I promised I’d be home for the weekend, but Cait needed me for a lab her and Jayce were working on. I promise I’ll come visit you and Pow soon. Happy Valentine's Day, baby.”

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, February 14th, 11:36 p.m.

—————————

Working at The Last Drop wasn’t where you had seen yourself in the long run. When your senior year homeroom teacher had asked you where you wanted to be in the next five years, you would have said university, maybe a job in a field you fell in love with, an apartment with Vi that has a balcony and a nice view.

Not living in the same city in the same dingy apartment since graduation, no college degree and a stagnant job at a bar no one came too unless college was on break. 

But that was you, at the ripe age of twenty two. 

Trudging home after a long shift at the bar, but you had work to get done, things to do before tomorrow. Laundry, bills, maybe dinner if there was enough in the fridge for Powder to eat for the next three days until you got paid and could go food shopping. 

The door to your apartment pushed open with a soft click, the scent of the cheap countertop cleaner you bought immediately assaulting your nose. 

“Hey,” Powder said, not looking up from her seat on the floor by the coffee table. She was doing the art assignment her (ridiculously expensive) therapist had told her to do. 

“Hey baby,” you said, forcing a smile onto your face as you kicked off your work boots and sat heavily onto the couch. “How was school?”

She glanced up at you, her soft, violet blue eyes giving you a one over before she answered. 

“It was good,” she nodded. 

You nodded back, draping an arm over your eyes as you stared up at the ceiling. It was unfair to Powder, and you knew it, but ever since her and Vi’s dad had keeled over and died of a heart attack four years ago, and Vi left for school the year after, you were all she had left. 

“Good.”

————————————

“Fuck, I totally forgot that tomorrow is Powder’s art showcase. I know I promised I’d be back home for it, but finals are next week and I really need to study. Just… send me photos of it, ok? I just want to see her. She’s getting so big. I’m sorry again, Y/n. I miss you.”

——phone call from Vi to Y/n, March 4th, 1:47 p.m.

———————————

Mornings started early. You never had time to make Powder's lunch when you got home from work, so you woke up before dawn to make her breakfast and something somewhat nutritious to eat. The last time you actually had enough money to take her to a family doctor, the only comment they had was that you must have been starving her with how underweight she was. 

You hated the implication, hated yourself more for not being able to prove them wrong. Powder deserved better. You didn’t even bother with breakfast for yourself anymore—not since the last time you stepped on the scale and realized your clothes were fitting tighter than they used to. Some days you told yourself it was just muscle from hauling kegs and scrubbing down the bar; other days you knew better, people aren’t meant to live off of cheap frozen meals and energy drinks. 

You shoved a granola bar and an overripe apple into Powder’s bag, watching her from the corner of your eye as she meticulously folded her art supplies into a second-hand tote you had re-sewn more time than you can count. Her hands moved with care, but there was a tension in her shoulders that weighed too heavy for a thirteen year old. She wasn’t even your sister, you were her sister's girlfriend by relationship, but she might as well have been your daughter at this point. 

She caught you looking, and her soft frown deepened. 

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” she murmured. 

“Doing what?” You asked, tying the handles of her lunch bag into a bow as casually as you could. 

“Pretending everything’s okay.” Powder’s words were quiet, but they struck you like a fist. 

You didn’t answer, just slid her bag over the counter to her and kissed the top of her hair. “Have a good day at school, baby,” you whispered, even as the lump in your throat threatened to consume you. 

——————————

“I finally booked train tickets for May, so I’ll be home for two weeks before I have to go on that research trip. Maybe we can plan a day, just me, you, and Powder? We can go to that art museum she loves—tickets are free for under eighteen, I’m sure we can still pass as high schoolers. Sound good? School is really kicking my ass. I just want to come home.”

——phone call from Vi to Y/n, April 24th, 11:23 a.m.

—————

A part of you wasn’t ready to see Vi. 

It wasn’t anger or resentment—not entirely. It was something deeper, heavier. A dull ache that grew each time her name lit up your phone, her voice brimming with excuses that always sounded too reasonable to argue with. You hated how your heart still jumped at the sound of her voice, how it softened just a little each time that she said she missed you. You hated that a part of you believed her. 

You glanced at Powder’s latest painting propped up against the wall by the coffee table. It was a tangled mess of blues and reds, dark shadows streaking through what looked like broken glass. It was beautiful, haunting even, but it wasn’t a pre-teen’s painting. It was too raw, too heavy. 

Powder was supposed to be excited about Vi’s visit. She’d circled the date on the calendar in her favorite bright pink pen, but now you weren’t so sure. She didn’t talk about her sister much anymore, and when she did, it was only in passing. 

The sound of her footsteps pulled you out of your thoughts. She wandered into the living room, still in her pajamas, her hair a long mess waiting for you to braid it carefully. “Is she really coming this time?” 

You sighed, unsure how to answer. “She says she is. She booked the tickets.”

Powder sat on the couch, curling into herself as she hugged a pillow to her chest. “She always says that.”

You didn’t have the heart to argue. She was right. 

—————

“I’m on the train now! Can’t wait to see you. I know I’ve been gone too long, but I’m gonna make it up to you and Pow. I swear. I brought her those paint sets she’s been wanting. Love you.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 5th, 3:13 p.m.

—————

You heard her before you saw her—the creak of the apartment door, her familiar laugh as she stumbled inside carrying her overstuffed duffle bag. Powder froze beside you on the couch, her pencil hovering mid-stroke over her sketchbook. 

“Hey! I’m home!” Vi’s voice was warm, teasing, like she hadn’t been gone for months. 

You stood slowly, your heart pounding in your chest as Vi rounded the corner, her eyes lighting up when they met yours. “There’s my girl,” she said softly, dropping her bag and pulling you into her arms. She smelled the same—like leather and lavender, and the faint scent of cigarette smoke that lingered from the months before she quit. You wanted to melt into her, but something held you back. 

Powder didn’t move from the couch. She stared at Vi, her face unreadable. “You’re late,” she said quietly. 

Vi’s smile faltered. “I know, Pow. I’m sorry. The train—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Powder stood, brushing past her sister without another word and disappearing into her room. 

Vi’s shoulders sagged. “She hates me, doesn’t she?” 

You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t know how to trust you anymore.” 

Vi winced, her hands finding your waist as she looked at you with familiar, guilty eyes. “Do you still trust me?” 

Your throat tightened. You wanted to say yes, wanted to believe it was true. But trust wasn’t built on promise—it was built on presence. “I don’t know,” you whispered. 

And for the first time since you met her twelve years ago, Vi didn’t have a comeback. 

—————

“Pow’s still mad, isn’t she? I don’t blame her, but it sucks. I’m trying, Y/n. I swear I’m trying. I just… didn’t think everything would be so different. Anyway, tomorrow’s our museum day, right? I’ve been looking forward to it all week. I want it to be perfect. I’ll make it up to the both of you, I promise.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 7th, 9:42 p.m.

—————

The museum was quieter than usual, the midday crowd sparse except for a few families and a group of art students sketching by a massive installation in the lobby. Powder walked a few steps ahead of you and Vi, her eyes scanning the walls, taking in every piece like she was cataloging them in her mind. 

Vi tried to catch up with her, her usual playful energy bubbling to the surface. “Hey, Pow, wait up!”

Powder didn’t slow down. She stopped in front of a painting—abstract, full of swirling colors and chaotic lines. “This one’s new,” she said, her voice distant. 

Vi stepped closer, her gaze flickering between Powder and the painting. “It’s cool. What do you think it’s about?” 

Powder shrugged, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Maybe it’s about someone trying to fix something, but they keep messing it up instead.” 

Vi flinched, but you placed a gentle hand on her arm before she could respond. “It’s beautiful, Pow,” you said softly. 

Powder glanced at you, her expression softening just a little. “Yeah. I guess.” 

Vi stayed quiet after that, no attempts to joke or lighten the mood. You could tell she felt out of place, like a guest in her little sister and her girlfriend’s lives. 

Lunch was better—Powder perked up when she was able to order a large side of fries instead of splitting a small with you, and Vi managed to coax a small smile out of her when the three of you went out for ice cream after, and Vi shelled out the extra twenty five cents for rainbow sprinkles on top. But the weight between them lingered, a silent reminder that some things couldn’t be fixed in a single day. 

—————

“Hey, it’s me. Just wanted to say I’ll wait up for you tonight, okay? I know you’ve been working late, but I want to spend some time with you. Maybe we can talk. Love you, Y/n.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 9th, 7:12 p.m.

—————

You came home long past midnight, your body aching from another double shift. The sound of the TV murmuring in the background greeted you as you pushed the door open, and there was Vi, sprawled out on the ouch, half-asleep but still waiting for you. 

“Hey,” she mumbled, sitting up as you dropped your bag and kicked off your worn shoes. “You look exhausted.” 

“I am,” you said simply, your voice flat. 

Vi frowned, her eyes scanning you more closely now. She took in the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders slumped, the stains on your work uniform no amount of scrubbing could get out, the strain on the clothes you couldn’t afford to replace. Her gaze drifted to the pile of unopened bills on the kitchen counter, the worn-out sneakers by the door, the way Powder’s bedroom light was still on because she refused to sleep unless she was sure you were home. 

“Y/n…” Vi started, her voice low and uncertain. 

“What?” you asked, dropping heavily onto the couch beside her. 

“I didn’t realize…” She gestured vaguely around the apartment. “All of this. How much you’re doing. For Pow, for—everything.” 

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “What did you think I was doing while you were at school, Vi? Sitting around waiting for you to come back?”

Her face fell, guilt washing over her. “No, I just—”

“You didn’t notice,” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “Because you weren’t here.” 

Vi looked away, her jaw tight. “I’m here now.” 

“Yeah,” you said bitterly. “For two weeks. And then you’re gone again, off to some research trip or lab or whatever else is more important than being home for Powder’s fourteenth birthday and her next art showcase and all of her other achievements.” 

Silence settled between you, heavy and suffocating. Vi reached for your hand, her touch tentative. “I know I’ve screwed up,” she said quietly. “And I know I can’t fix it in two weeks, but I want to try. Please, Y/n, let me try.” 

You wanted to believe her, but the exhaustion in your bones made it hard to hope. Pulling your hand away as you stood, you couldn't bear to look at her. “I’m going to bed.” 

Vi stayed on the couch long after you disappeared into the bedroom, the weight of her absence these past years settling over her like a heavy blanket. For the first time, she truly saw the cracks in the life she’d left behind—and the toll they’d taken on the people who’d given her the means to leave. 

—————

“Hey, Cait. It’s me. Look, I’ve been thinking, and I know it’s a big ask, but… is that offer for the spare apartment still on the table? It’s just—things here are worse than I thought. Y/n is working herself to death, and Powder’s not doing great. I want to bring them to Piltover. They deserve better than this. 

I swear, I’ll make it work. I’ll get a part-time job, and once we graduate, I’ll pay you back for everything. I just need to know if it’s okay, if you’re okay with it. They’re—well, they’re  my everything, Cait. I can’t keep leaving them like this. Let me know, okay? Thanks. For everything.” 

—phone call from Vi to Caitlyn Kiramman, May 9th, 11:37 p.m.

—————

The restaurant wasn’t fancy by Piltover standards, but it was leagues above the dingy diners you frequented when you had enough saved up to get Powder a vanilla milkshake and a burger. The dim lighting made the worn wooden tables look almost elegant, and the scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling garlic filled the air. Powder’s eyes were wide as she took it all in, her sketchbook clenched tightly in her hands like she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Vi had insisted on treating the two of you, though you weren’t sure where she’d gotten the money. “A friend helped out,” she’d said with a sheepish grin, waving off your questions. 

The meal was nice—better than nice, really. Powder had polished off a plate of pasta bigger than her head, and Vi hadn’t stopped smiling since you walked in. But when the plates were cleared and the check paid, Vi leaned forward, her expression turning serious. 

“I need to talk to you both about something,” she said, her voice steady but soft. 

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Powder, who was busy doodling on a napkin. “What’s going on?” 

Vi took a deep breath. “I want you both to come to Piltover with me.” 

Your stomach dropped. “What?” 

“I talked to Caitlyn,” Vi continued, her gaze fixed on yours. “She has a spare apartment, and she said we can stay there. Rent-free. She’s even willing to cover Powder’s school and therapy until I can get a good enough job to take care of it myself. And you can enroll in community college until I graduate and transfer to Piltover University. A fresh start for the both of you.” 

Your head was spinning. “Vi, that’s… that’s huge. We can’t just pack up and leave. What about Powder’s school? She can’t handle transferring in the middle of the year. Finding a new therapist she trusts? My job?”

“I know it’s a lot,” Vi said quickly, her hand reaching for yours. “But Caitlyn’s family is crazy rich, and she said she can help with everything. We’ll find Powder a new school with a great art program, a new therapist to help with her BPD, whatever she needs. And you won’t have to work like this anymore, Y/n. You can focus on what you want to do, not just surviving.” 

Powder looked up from her drawing, her eyes wide. “You want us to move to Piltover?” 

“Yeah, Pow,” Vi said gently. “I know it’s scary, but I think it would be really good for you. For us.” 

You pulled your hands back, shaking your head. “This is too much, Vi. What if it doesn’t work out? What if we can’t—”

“It will work,” VI interrupted, her voice firm but pleading. “I’ll make sure of it. I’m not asking you to trust Caitlyn or her family. Just trust me. I’ve got you.” 

Silence hung between you, heavy with unspoken fears. Powder’s gaze flickered between the two of you, her expression uncertain but curious with the hope of a future you wished you could provide but would never be able to afford on your own. 

“I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need time to think about it.” 

“Take all the time you need,” Vi said, her tone softening. “But just… think about it, okay? You can’t keep up like this.” 

You nodded, but the weight of the decision settled in your chest like a stone. Vi’s words made sense, but they didn’t erase the fear gnawing at you. This might have been miserable, but this was home. 

—————

“Do you think Powder will hate me for leaving again? I don’t want to go.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, May 15th, 2:54 p.m.

—————

The train station was as dreary as you remembered it being the first time Vi left. The cold concreted floors and harsh fluorescent lights did nothing to make the moment any easier. Powder clung to Vi’s waist like her life depended on it, her sobs muffled against the soft leather of her sister’s favorite jacket. 

“Hey, Pow,” Vi said softly, brushing a hand through her hair. “You’ve gotta let go, okay? I promise I’ll come back. You’ll see me again soon.” 

Powder shook her head, her tears soaking into Vi’s clothes. “Please, Violet! I don’t want you to go!” she choked out, calling her older sister by her full name. 

You stood a few steps away, arms crossed tightly over your chest, trying to keep it together. But when Vi turned to you, her eyes shining with unshed tears, your resolve cracked.

“You’ll take care of her, right?” Vi asked, her voice breaking just a little. 

“Always,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. 

Vi stepped forward and pulled you into a tight hug, Powder squeezed between the two of you. “I love you,” she murmured against your lips. “Both of you.” 

“I love you too,” you said, your voice barely audible as you buried your face in her shoulder. 

The train whistle blew, loud and piercing, signaling the last boarding call. Vi pulled back reluctantly, kneeling to press a kiss to Powder’s forehead, and then standing to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’ll call as soon as I get back to my apartment,” she promised, her voice trembling. 

Powder reached for her again, but you gently pried her hands away, lifting her up as if she was still the nine year old girl watching her sister leave for the first time. She wrapped herself around like she had when she was younger, her legs around your waist and her arms clinging to your neck as if letting go would make everything fall apart. 

Vi hesitated on the platform, her eyes fixed on the two of you until the last second. Then she turned and boarded the train, disappearing through the doors. 

You and Powder stood there as the train pulled away, her sobs shaking against your chest. Watching Vi go felt like losing her all over again, and you couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down your cheeks. 

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered as you held her tight against your chest as if she was a backpack you had strapped to your front. “We’ll be okay. Let’s go home.” 

But even as you said it, you weren’t sure if you believed it. 

The walk back to the apartment was long and heavy, Powder’s weight in your arms a reminder of how young she still was despite everything she’d been through. Her sobs quieted eventually, but she didn’t let go, her face buried against your neck like she was trying to hide from the world. 

When you finally made it home, the apartment felt emptier than it ever had before. 

—————

“Hey, Vi. It’s Y/n. I know you’re probably in a lab right now, but I just dropped off Powder at school. I quit my job on an impulse last night, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I can’t do this anymore. I miss you, and I just— I think we’ll do it. I think we’ll move to Piltover.” 

—phone call from Y/n to Vi, June 1st, 8:02 a.m.

Read part 2 here!

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[bloodwrittenletters]

YOU SAID 'forever' AND I ALMOST BOUGHT IT

pairing . . . percy jackson x fem!mortal!reader

the cassette playing . . . i miss you, i'm sorry! gracie abrams

the letter reads . . . you loved your boyfriend, but maybe he didn't love you enough to stay— or to say the whole truth.

warnings . . . cursing (just a bit), ANGST, some comedic relief (very tiny).

a/n . . . soooo......... long time no see!! i was thinking of making headcanons out of this but settled for a fic, and i'm thinking maybe doing a part 2????? i dunno, i guess we'll see 😁 also, I just recently discovered jellycats and THEY ARE SO CUTE?? I need one in my life.

many months ago, in the epitome of heart aches of many, your love had been given to a boy with a pained soul with your first kiss. it was percy's sixteen birthday, just after the battle of Manhattan had ended— one that you along with many others had thought it was an attack to the Empire State Building, and he was hurt. you knew he had been involved in some way, he was the one you woke up to be holding you, he was the one who wet your cheeks with his own tears.

you didn't ask about it, didn't question it, just as soon as you could form a logical thought— you were holding him to your heart.

percy and you have been neighbors since you both were thirteen, after his mom and him had moved into the apartment just bellow yours. the friendship blossomed when after some kids from his school decided that it was funny to terrorize him at home, too. and his crush on you had started when you showed with a umbrella ready to chase them off one hit at the time.

the rest of your relationship went down with soft touches, pinning from both sides, and sweet notes during his time at home— which wasn't a lot due to his time in his all holy super camp.

still, the both of you had cherished the little moments you two could share together. and in his sixteen birthday, you decided to seal the deal by gifting him your first kiss.

after long talks, a lot of reassurance for percy's wounded heart, and many excuses, it happened. four whole months of plain love and happiness, with little sides of bits of truths he could offer you.

'my family is... messy, so messy. i can't even tell you about it,' he said once. and you understood and promised to wait until he could spill the beans.

that was, until he disappeared from the face of the earth.

you fell asleep in his arm after playing Moana for him, and the next morning, there was nothing but a peacock feather tangled into your hair. like it was some fucking joke. no lover. no percy was at the scene.

for the next week, you were livid, searching through every street in new york you could get past through.

until annabeth chase, percy's bestie 2# and someone who you couldn't decide if you wanted to be friends or run for your life from, and grover underwood, percy's bestie 1# took over the case.

you were left in his room, wearing his hoodie and crying into his pillow until you passed out. you and his mom held yourselves together— at least that was what it seemed for an outsider.

your heart was irreparable, months started to pass and there was no signs from him. dreams that once gave you a sweet relief started to turn sour and not even in the darkest time of the day you were able to escape the pain.

one month, two, three... it seemed endless, and soon you were left with nothing but the memories of him. since the tears you had shred for him had washed away the smell of him from his clothes, and your lips couldn't remember how sweet his mouth was.

percy jackson was gone.

four months, five, and six, and there was only anger bottling up inside you. more and more.

"come back to me," you cried, hugging the jellycat penguin named percy you had bought for him— the same one he so gently loved and used every night. the habit to buy him more and more stayed with you, but that one was his favorite. and over the course of the months, it had been your comfort for when you wanted to hug him, but oh! you couldn't.

"just... please, come back to me, perce, i don't want to do this without you."

the endless nights of sleep turned into nights of overthinking. maybe if i held him tighter, maybe if i kissed him more, maybe if i told him i loved him—

maybe percy would still be here.

you buried yourself deeper and deeper in that pit of hell.

it was another shitty day of crying, missing, and cursing in the jackson house from your part when the phone rang. paul and sally had left you in the apartment to study. the house was silent but your head was full, of pain, of hope, of aching.

"i'm going!" like the person calling would even hear, you pulled yourself from percy's bed, dragging the blue bunny stuffy you had named mar for the last 18th with you, groaning at the sun hitting your eyes after an ocean flowed from your eyes.

"hi?"

silence.

"anyone there? is this just some stupid prank?"

it wasn't. percy was on the other line doing his best to not pass out. gods, he had missed you so much...

"i'm going to hang up if you don't talk soon—"

"hi, baby... i miss you."

[rogueddie]

Trinkets of Affection T | 700 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is not in the big things but in the small ones

Steve is Eddies first serious relationship. Even when he fantasized about what his future love life might be, he never thought he could get anything even close to what Steve gives him.

He loves with everything he is, Eddie quickly realized. If there's anything he can think of that might make Eddie smile, he does it. He turns up with flowers, or mixtapes, or rings.

One time he'd turned up with a paper rose that he'd made himself. He explained that he had thought Eddie might like things that were made, that took effort, more than expensive things.

He's right, of course.

But it all builds up, and Eddie wants to give Steve things too.

The first thing Eddie thinks to get him is a ring. He's noticed how much Steve's eyes linger on his own, how often he'll start playing with Eddie's rings when they hold hands, how he has favorites.

He can't simply buy Steve some ring he thinks he might like though. Anyone could do that. Eddie wants it to be special.

So, he digs through the tub he uses to organise all his rings. He separates them into two piles; rings he wears, and one he won't miss.

It's almost too easy to find one that Steve will like.

But, looking it over, he starts to doubt himself. Especially because it's not one of the rings he bought- it's the one he made.

The ring is painfully simple, and poorly made. Eddie is surprised it's lasted as long as it had.

It's little more than a a plain silver band with a cool rock he found on the ground stuck onto it. He can't even remember what he used to get it on there.

He had been so proud though. He had wanted to do something, and he did it.

He only hopes that he's right in thinking that Steve is as sentimental as Eddie thinks he is. That, or he also likes cool rocks.

"A gift?" Steve teases, immediately. "Aw, for me?"

"It's not much, it's..." Eddie awkwardly pulls the ring out, keeping it hidden in his fist. "I made it, like, years ago and... that seems like something you'd think was cool. Or, uh, romantic. Right?"

"Very romantic."

"Ok, uh... here."

Steve stares at the ring, dropped onto his palm, for a horrifyingly long amount of time.

"I know it's not-"

"You made this?" Steve cuts him off. He finally looks up at Eddie, with an unreadable expression.

"Well... yeah. I was only, like, thirteen so it's not very... uh... pretty?"

"What? No, Eds, this is- this is perfect."

He shifts the ring in his hands, before trying to squeeze it onto his pinky finger. It only just fits.

"I can get you something better."

Steve snorts, still looking at the ring as he turns his hand so he can see the different angles. "Good fucking luck," he mumbles.

Steve doesn't take the ring off that day, or that week, or ever. Eddie isn't sure he ever does take it off, outside of taking a shower.

"I don't want it to get, like, water damage!" Steve explained, when Eddie asked.

"It's just... isn't it annoying?" Eddie tried. "Wearing it all the time? It's clunky and-"

"And I like it. You made this, Eds. It's not a small thing to me."

"It's just a rock."

"Sure it is."

"Steve-"

"Eddie," Steve's tone is sharp enough that Eddie's mouth snaps shut. "This is something you made. It's your ring, and I get to wear it. Like... I can't tell everyone how much I love you, but this way I can at least show them."

"... oh."

"You get it now?"

"That- yeah. Yeah, I get it."

Steve glances around the shop before leaning in, stealing a quick kiss, before turning to the shelf in front of them. "Good. So, I was thinking this one might fit better. What do you think?"

"Yeah, it looks great."

But his eyes are still trained in Steve. He grins, barely paying attention to what he goes on to rant about, too lost in how his heart flutters when he glances down at his hand, at the ring he still wears.

[awionetka]

❝ 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐧…? ❞ ft. 𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

you've faced them all. ghosts, demons, evil spirits and overconfident men who couldn't even properly hold their guard. but being tasked with tracking down the prince who vanished off the face of the earth almost a decade earlier might have just been the first, even for you.

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫: fluff (?), suggestive. runaway heir!Xavier x bounty hunter!reader. implied romantic history. false identities. a fantasy esque setting with some elements of slavic mythology.

𝐜𝐰: foul language. mentions of alcohol. blood, injuries, weaponry. a semi-detailed fight with a demon.

𝐰𝐜: 2.5k

The last time you saw the Royal Palace, you were no more than thirteen. 

Clinging onto your father’s sleeve and somehow deadly convinced that the guards would spot you in the crowd and give an order to turn back and walk away with nothing. As still merely a child, you weren’t even supposed to be there in the first place, marching towards the open gates in search of a job. But your father insisted that this was the most adequate way for you to learn his craft – through observation – even if it meant smuggling you underneath his robe onto the castle grounds.

A lot had changed since that day, starting with the obvious – you no longer needed to watch in order to absorb your parent’s knowledge, if anything he could be the one learning from you. It took long, meticulous years of trial, error and everything in between to become one of the most skilled bounty hunters the Kingdom had to offer, but you succeeded, and no one could rip that away from you, no matter how hard they’d strain.

The white steeples of the Palace shimmered in the rising sun, sending almost magical reflections onto the town situated below. Usually you’d thrive in moments like these, when the outside world was still half-asleep and easy to fluster. But the rustle of papers tucked into your pocket successfully steered you off that, serving as a bittersweet reminder of what was to come next in your journey – what you had little to no control of.

However first things first; you needed a pint of good, moderately priced beer and something tasty to sink your teeth into.

Two mistakes were made by you that day (maybe more, but in your current state you couldn’t be bothered to count). Mistake number one: cheap alcohol first thing in the morning, followed by the most hefty breakfast plate they could offer. Mistake number two: you had, once again in your miserable lifetime, assumed that you could take on a divoženka not only purely by yourself but also without any preparation – and that included having absolutely zero St John’s wort on your person while entering the demon’s domain.

The first one was understandable to a degree, as you inherited your father’s resistance to liquor (it was merely a couple of beers, too!). The second one… not so much.

Leaning against the nearest tree with one hand wrapped tightly around your forearm, you stared back at the divoženka, as though your gaze alone could cause her to perish. 

"You bitch!" you spat, adjusting the grip on your sword in one swift move. "I just bought this fucking shirt!"

Letting our the most ear mutilating shriek, she lunged forward, forcing you to back out last second.

Your time was running out. At this rate, the demon was going to tire you out to literal death before you could manage to land a single blow, let alone a critical one. You had to think of something good and it needed to be done fast.

Ripping off a stripe from your freshly bought (and freshly ruined) shirt, you haphazardly wrapped the fabric around your forearm as a makeshift bandage. The wound stung horribly but at least that provided you with the information that it wasn’t too deep of a gash. 

You were never one to back out, even when the battle seemed unsalvageable, but that day you had someone else to protect – a young woman from the nearby village who got taken by the divoženka on her wedding night, straight from her lover’s arms. So if you wanted to escort the bride back where she belonged, she needed to become your priority this time.

Letting out one final steadying breath, you rushed straight at her, scraping the partly exposed skin of your knees as you slid next to the demon, eager to finally put your sword to good use.

But then, she grabbed onto your arm viciously, making blood trickle from in between her abnormally long fingernails. You screamed, pain so sudden and overwhelming it made you lose your footing and fall right at her feet with a thud. 

As often as you dealt with demons, malevolent spirits or just simply evil fucking humans, you were rarely one to call out to the kind and doting side of the realm, so as the divoženka raised her claw, you realised that you had no one to pray to, to make your demise quick and relatively painless. So you just shut your eyes, bracing for the impact and mentally cursing yourself out instead.

And then… nothing.

No brutal mutilation of your body, no deafening shrieks, not even a sound of your own laboured breathing. The world turned quiet, as though someone transported you back to the day it was even formed.

Just as you were starting to convince yourself you were actually already dead and this – whatever it could be – was some sort of afterlife, someone spoke, and the sheer familiarity of their voice sent a shiver through your body.

"So…" the person hummed, tone kept in sharp contrast to the situation you found yourself in. "Are you… getting up? The ground doesn’t look too comfortable."

Your eyes flew open in an instant, landing right on the one who’d just saved you from inevitable demise. And even though you didn’t need to ask the question that came next, you did it anyway, just to feel the word roll off your tongue, gentle and comforting.

"Xavier…?"

When the two of you met, Xavier was about to get decapitated and you were covered head to toe in striga guts.

He absolutely adored this story, smiling fondly each time it resurfaced and even twice as much when he had one too many beers to drink. After some time, you grew to enjoy it too, letting a fog of memory cover the "meet-ugly" and turn it into something that looked and sounded and felt like fate. And maybe, especially if you added all the other times you stumbled into Xavier on complete accident (and more often than not, also in the middle of going through a rather unfavourable situation), fate did in fact have a plan for the two of you, even if it included getting beaten to absolute mush in the middle of some dingy monster cave with nothing but a makeshift torch to protect yourself with.

Surely, it was a comforting thought, and after a few of those times you and Xavier had to fight (or run, for that matter) for your lives, you were starting to believe it too. Especially late at night, cooped up under a scratchy blanket in some seaside tavern you stopped at during your travels, eyes wide open and heart beating just slightly too fast for it to be considered regular. Wondering, worrying, when you’ll be seeing him again. If you’ll be seeing him again. Each time the two of you crossed paths, it was as though a shooting star passed you by, granting just one, tiny wish, then moving onto greater things. The two of you had never made a single promise, not even a mere mention of seeing each other again appeared in any of your numerous conversations. Besides his name, as well as a whole lot of random trivia about the man, Xavier was an enigma, in a true sense of the word.

But then, there were also the other nights. Ones you spent dancing together in taverns, bodies so close that your sweat dripped straight onto his bare skin. Leaning into each other’s presence, wary, curious. Needy. Legs brushing as he sat next to you on the bed you rented for the night, looking up at you in a silent plea.

It was then when you felt the most alive, so painfully aware of the heat radiating off him as your hands trailed down Xavier’s neck. And when he kissed you, hungrily and unapologetically, you could feel yourself unravel right there, on his lap, held together only by the gentleness of Xavier’s hands on your back. Feeling him, letting him feel you, proved to be the most ecstatic state you had ever found yourself in, so close to reaching the purest of joys, your soul began to tremble.

And yet, the two of you had never crossed the final line.

You weren’t sure why that was. Perhaps Xavier was fine with just this, being your occasional battle companion and friend, dance partner and the one you embraced as his lips dragged along the skin of your neck. You rarely stared at him outright, careful not to stir up what was already there, but when you did, he seemed... foreign. As though he wasn't exactly supposed to be there, more suited to something, or someone, greater.

Still, he was there with you, maybe for a couple of days, maybe just few hours, it mattered not. He laughed at your jokes, even when you didn't find them particularly amusing yourself. You played cards together, oftentimes teaming up against your unfortunate opponents of the night, swiftly relieving them of the heavy burden of the few additional coins in their pockets. However besides causing mischief, you helped each other too, offering words of advice or trading secrets of your joined craft in hopes of getting to see each other again, still alive and moderately well.

Or, you treated each other’s wounds, letting the gentle touches linger for just a little longer, more akin to a heartfelt promise rather than pure duty or guilt.

Just like in that moment.

"That bad?" Xavier’s brows furrowed with unshielded worry as he continued applying the ointment onto your damaged skin.

You allowed yourself just one, laboured, heavy sigh.

"It’s not good…?"

Even though your eyes were firmly shut in hopes of somehow warding off some bits of the immense pain you were experiencing, you could practically feel the way he smiled at your response.

"I’d be more concerned for you if it was good, to be truthful," he muttered instead, voice as soft and quiet as a shared secret. "Just a bit longer. I’m almost finished."

Offering a strained hum in reply, you dug your nails into the checkered blanket laid atop the bed.

The room was spacious. After barely making out alive that day, you decided to treat yourself with something a little closer to average living conditions and, hopefully, less than five odd looking bugs eager to share the bed with you that night.

You were sat on the bed, a stack of patterned pillows behind your back, and he knelt in front of you, carefully examining the fresh wound from earlier. It was a while ago when you noticed how skilled Xavier was at first aid – not like he wasn't a talented human being in general – and yet it never ceased to surprise you just a tiny bit each time he got to work.

"Is there something on my face?"

Your head snapped up. "Sorry...?"

"It's done." Xavier gave you a small smile, placing his hand on the bed to help himself up. "You were exceptionally brave this time. Stamina made of steel."

His eyes glistened when he said that, a silent invitation to a few bits of playful banter.

"Oh, fuck you. The last time I treated your wounds, you fainted before I could even do anything."

"I dare say it was your outstanding stitching skills that were the catalyst." He hummed in reply, one hand raised to his chin in exaggerated wonder. "True excellence occurs so rarely, my body found itself in a state of pure and utter shock."

Lip corners raised just slightly, face still fully towards you even though he was already next to the door. Xavier was lingering.

"I'd like to see your stitching skills someday, then."

His expression turned rigid. "I hope you will never have to. Have a good night, starlight."

As much as you wished for him to stay just a little longer, begin a new topic or maybe just exist somewhere close, within an arms reach, you knew that Xavier had to leave so you could sneak downstairs and gather some intel from the regulars at the tavern. It wasn't that you didn't trust him to keep a proper secret; you were forced to take a literal oath that successfully prevented you from sharing what you were truly after – the missing prince.

It still felt nonsensical, at least to some degree, how it was you that got chosen for this task, out of all the bounty hunters this kingdom had to offer. And while you were more than sure that you were being trailed by the royal guard (you hadn't noticed them yet, but you did have your suspicions), each assignment you accepted was treated with utmost care and consideration, as you never did anything halfway.

That was precisely why you were already reaching for the handwritten descriptions that were given to you that morning – eye colour, expected manner of speaking, things of such nature – when something unexpectedly caught your attention.

"Xavier, wait."

He froze with his hand wrapped around the doorknob, glancing at you above his shoulder. "Yeah?"

There was a patch of dirt on the back of his shirt, right above the waist, and an irregular cut right through the material. You gestured for him to come closer, knowing well that whenever Xavier got hurt, he would become absolutely hellbent on keeping it from you.

"I'm fine," he muttered then, clumsily trying to minimise your suspicions.

You grabbed Xavier by his arms and forced him to sit next to you on the bed. "Take off your shirt."

He stilled for a brief moment, body stiffening under your touch, and if you weren't already focusing all your attention on his back, you'd fail to notice the difference.

"Yes, ma'am..."

Grabbing the leftover ointment and bandages, you positioned yourself behind him, hunched at an awkward angle that made you huff. "Fine, my ass..."

You covered the cloth with remnants of some disinfectant you'd found earlier in your bag, forcing your eyes to stay focused on Xavier's wound and Xavier's wound only.

But, oh, how hard it was to prevent your gaze from wandering all over his back, shoulders, neck... It took each and every ounce of self restraint that you possessed to halt your hands before they could slide along the sides of his torso, outlining the faint scarring that covered it in some places. Your hands or your lips, for that matter, as you could already imagine yourself trailing tender, open mouthed kisses down his spine, stopping right next to the...

"Is it that horrid of a sight?" Xavier's voice brought you back to reality in an instant, although now your thoughts were already beginning to race, tumbling into each other in haste as you desperately tried to make sense of what was right in front of your eyes.

You forced yourself to respond. "I've seen worse."

Pressing the cloth right onto his skin, you exhaled shakily.

In the detailed notes, given to you back at the castle, there was a description of a rather unique, mid-sized birthmark in a shape of a dagger which was to be situated at the very bottom of the runaway prince's spine.

Precisely where you found the one belonging to Xavier.

[tonguetiedraven]

Yukio cares a lot about perception and keeps a distance because of that

Even while his twin is going on a journey of realizing he sabotaged his own past ability to have friends and is welcoming the new opportunity to make them (he'll fuck that up but figure it out eventually,) Yukio will not allow himself to go on a similar journey until much, much later.

Welcome to part three of my Critically Reading Yukio analysis. Part one here, and part two here. I intended to pause on this series for a moment to focus on my girl Izumo, but I'm actively watching the Yukio analysis and discussions deteriorating before my eyes so he got priority for now, but expect that Izumo analysis soon.

In this part of my analysis we will focus some on Yukio's interaction with his peers and how the way he carries himself relates to that. This, like the other parts, will be a start to a study we will want to keep up through the entirety of his story. I talked last time about Yukio's role of responsibility with Rin and others, and that is directly applicable to this section, because Yukio? Has so much responsibility.

Also, apologies but we're going back to chapter 5. I will get to the double digit chapters, and maybe even triple digit. (Dare we dream?)

I want to point out this moment after the students have taken their exwire certification exam, which they think is a practice exam. Izumo, Paku, and Shiemi have gone to the bath where big dramatics are about to happen and Shima is talking about going to spy on them.

Now aside from the incorrectly translated 'Renzou' there (it's supposed to be Shima as always, sorry), this is one of the first panels where the students acknowledge that their teacher is in fact a student and honestly, younger than most of them. Renzou, Ryuuji, and Izumo are all older by a few months.

Renzou is the only student that will point out Yukio is a student on more than one occasion. Some of you are probably inclined to point out Shiemi, but she very much treats him as a teacher and mentor and someone to put on a pedestal, and I still intend to come back to them in their own post so hold that thought.

Renzou offers a companionship branch (granted on perving but it is Renzou) and Yukio firmly rebuffs it. He does not engage in such things and cannot allow himself to be too familiar with them. One, they are his students and propriety is something Yukio sticks with. Two, he is trying to keep a rather large secret and Rin is not being much help on the secret keeping end.

Yukio has not, as far as we're aware, had real friendships. We know he became popular as a kid/teenager at some point, but his early and formative years were spent being heavily bullied. That he not only could see demons and the terrors that go bump in the night, but that humans treated him cruelly too.

He became popular, but we do not hear that he had friends. How could he when he had a secret full time job at age thirteen and pulled good enough grades to be the top student of his grade in True Cross?

Yukio separates himself from them over and over again and you'll see that all through the chapters in little touches and big moments.

Here's another example from chapter 7 (the chapter where Neuhaus tries to kill Rin and they fight on the roof and Yukio breaks the summoning circle) where the new exwires have been bought a meal for their victory.

Yukio is shown to be standing outside and away from them. He gets called in by one of them and joins the group, or so we think until a few panels later when we see

He only sort of joined them. Now it is possible he's sitting with a few of the students, likely Takara and Yamada if anyone, but however it happens, he's still not sitting with the group in this shot. Even Mephisto is more connected to them. He is facing away and at his own table watching them, but never joining.

He is excluded from his fellow exorcists by necessity, always treated a bit strangely because he is so much younger and he was Shirou's protégé, and eventually he's outed as the other son of Satan and that furthers the gap between him and his coworkers. He excludes himself from the exwires and other students his age because he can't be like them. He has to be their teacher and leader and he has far more going on in his mind and life than thinking about the girls taking baths. He has been given a very lonely and isolating path to walk.

Made worse, I will once again say, by Mephisto.

Moving forward, I want to touch on this moment from chapter 8 before I hit Kuro:

Yukio gets a lot of flack for, well, everything, but this one bugs me in particular. Yukio tells Rin not to fight a certain way because HE KNOWS MORE THAN RIN. If Rin relies more on the demon part of himself without doing anything to try and control/restrain that part of himself he will be controlled by it. He is essentially turning the demon tap all the way on without any idea yet of how the handle works and what the size/strength of the spray will be. He needs to do this slowly or it will lead to problems, and it does. Rin gets taken over by his demon half later on in this story and it almost goes very poorly for the exwires. It is only Mephisto and the Paladin that stop it from happening.

Rin does not know what he's playing with when he's just going ham on the flames and injuries.

But more on that later.

Yukio is seldom not willing to explain something to Rin. The problem is that Rin doesn't want the lengthy explanations from Yukio that Yukio likes to give. He wants a quick and interesting yes or a no that feels more like a yes later, and he doesn't really want any 'no' from Yukio who he doesn't see as an authority because he still sees his brother as smaller and weaker even if he shouldn't. Now Yukio probably could use a less condescending tone, but honestly he's not being that condescending and I think the guy is permitted some annoyance at Rin. Neither of them want to be stuck in this situation and the horrible heat is amplifying everyone's sour mood.

Rin gets mad and growly and tells Yukio to shut up because he saved Yukio and Yukio isn't Father Fujimoto. Rin is referencing the incident with Neuhaus on the roof and grossly simplifying it. While it could be argued that Yukio was aided by Rin, it is not apparent that Yukio was at all saved by Rin. In fact, it was Yukio that got rid of the demon and saved Rin.

However Rin is right, Yukio is not Father Fujimoto.

Rin does not know that Yukio has basically been raised to replace Father Fujimoto. Yukio does know that and it simply adds to his own complicated feelings about their entire situation.

There fight escalates through Shiemi to this:

Yukio getting mocked. Now it's friendly sibling banter at a glance, but we know that Yukio has been bullied and made fun. He is trying very hard to have a serious conversation and Rin will just not have a serious conversation with him and strikes out, sends Yukio's glasses soaring, destroys them, and then laughs at that fact.

Yukio is still on that babysitting duty and it's moments like this that make it seem more like actual baby sitting.

I can feel people getting tense and wanting to interject that I'm being harsh to Rin and mischaracterizing him and he's just goofing or what does it matter when Yukio is so bossy and mean anyway?

Take a breath, hold on, and remember that the vast majority of aoex fandom text is lauding Rin and tearing Yukio apart. This is a Yukio centric study so I'm not going into Rin's emotions and drives as deeply as I'm trying to cover Yukio.

I love Rin and I also find the way the glasses landed hilarious. Kato has a fantastic sense of humor that lines up with my own far more often than not. However, as a sibling who has had her own items destroyed by siblings who just found it funny, I also see this so clearly from Yukio's side. Especially with the fact that he carries himself in a way that makes it seem he doesn't feel safe to express any emotions over this and doesn't get a chance to properly express his mounting frustration before he's being called to the job he shouldn't be stuck with.

He is not permitted to be upset. Rin quite literally just yelled at him, but Yukio yelling back gets him ganged up on. Yukio does not allow himself to express his real emotions and fights them down so that when they do come out, they come out in a snap that's usually intense because they're so far from his usual even demeanor or perfected customer service smile. A "This isn't funny!" from any of the other characters wouldn't be shocking, but with Yukio it is because he never lets himself show that much anger or frustration. Even in chapter two when he was leveling the gun at Rin he did so with an even expression and voice. It was not an emotional thing for him. It was a testing thing.

No one represses an emotion as quickly and efficiently as this 15 year old.

Yukio was bullied from childhood and even his own twin calls him a cry baby, though from what we see, Yukio hasn't cried since he was a child pulled into Exorcism work by Shirou. He has spent more years not crying, but will never lose the conception of wimpy cry baby in Rin's eyes, and it is Yukio's deepest fear that he will always be that. Rin does not realize that is one of Yukio's biggest fears and would certainly not constantly push and poke and deliberately prod that very tender spot if he did. He's an idiot, but he is very rarely a purposefully cruel idiot.

Yukio does not confide himself in anyone because it has never been safe to. He couldn't tell Rin most of what was really going on through the majority of their life because they couldn't risk the seal that was on Rin. Knowing too much and certainly knowing about demons would weaken the seal and an unsealed Rin is a Rin that would be killed by the Vatican. Shirou was someone Yukio couldn't bear to appear weak in front of, and Yukio has no other friends.

There's Shiemi, and he lets himself be more open to her than most people, but he also doesn't quite see her as she really is, and he's slow and tentative about being open with her because he doesn't want her to see the darker parts of him.

But I'll cover them later, I promise.

Focusing on chapter 8 again, I have to say that Rin is a damn menace on this mission. He follows Yukio, shoves himself into the mission while reminding Yukio that he broke his glasses, disregards Yukio's orders in front of others (something that continues to frustrate and upset Yukio visibly and something Rin does a lot, and Shura will as well when she shows up shortly.)

We find out that Shirou had a familiar and it was Kuro who is unquestionably the best boy and deserves cat treats and a warm sun beam to nap in, and who Yukio watched Shirou tame last time he went feral.

Shirou is brought up a lot in this chapter. Over and over by everyone in it. He is haunting this chapter particularly hard. He's been haunting the narrative since he died, but it gets especially cranked up here. The memory of him and the pressure of what he'd do and the way the knowledge of him, of who he really was separates the twin.

Yukio has a super secret package from Shirou, presumably a weapon, specifically for if Kuro loses it. Yukio does not know what this package is and can only assume it is a weapon because he knew Shirou as a warrior. As strong and brave and never afraid. He raised Yukio to fight and defend so of course Shirou would anticipate this and make a weapon to stop Kuro's rampaging.

(Also this is mark two on the tally of Shirou seeming to know he was going to die. Just saying. There's a lot of signs.)

Anyway, Yukio orders everyone away to use his presumed weapon. Rin disagrees with the attack and has been hearing Kuro this entire time but Yukio doesn't know that and Rin doesn't get how he's hearing it, and goes to confront Kuro himself. He literally uses his head and tells Kuro that he gets why Kuro is sad because he misses Shirou too, and Yukio:

Yukio remembers. He remembers Shirou saying almost the same thing to Kuro and sees himself further and further away from being the image of his father he so idolizes while Rin makes it look easy to be like that.

They decide that Kuro will now be Rin's familiar and a lot of people saw Rin take the headbutt from a cat sidhe without any kind of issue, so more stress on Yukio to keep Rin's secret underwraps.

By the way, this is the sort of thing I'm talking about when I say Rin does not work hard to keep his secret. Flame lapses aside, Rin just doesn't pause and think about how something he does will be perceived by anyone. He does not slow down to think. Yukio has to carry that load and Rin will not listen to him. To be fair, no one has taught Rin how to hide a secret. It's not something he's had to do, and Rin has spent most of his life avoiding people and interactions, so it's not something he's good at even without having to keep super strength under wraps.

Rin and Kuro will from here on be inseparable. Rin will have a small buddy at the worse moments and honestly, Kuro is fantastic and I adore the bond they both have. Rin needs and deserves that kind of friend.

Moving on now that Kuro has joined the party!

Chapter 9 starts with everyone getting an assignment to hunt a ghost. Rin embarrasses Yukio because he very obviously stares at Shiemi in all her not-in-a-kimono state. Small spat and everyone goes out and about on their stuff.

It's a dramatic chapter and once again shows that Rin is just not doing well on keeping the whole Satan son thing under wraps and that it is really just the benevolence of those that do know keeping it quiet that is keeping him safe at this moment. His secret will come out and it will almost certainly be a moment of their choosing, because Rin is also easy to manipulate.

Yukio reappears at the end of the chapter. After the roller coaster has been destroyed and Amaimon has returned Rin's sword and they have destroyed a good portion of the amusement park and come horrifyingly close to killing Shiemi.

We get this moment.

We get Yukio running and visibly upset as he should be. This was obviously Rin's doing what with the flame damage and how much strength would be required for this. He doesn't know Amaimon was here at this point.

Yukio comes running up and Yamada, the hoodie wearing team work refusing student that has been hanging out in the background is standing their and holding the bag that Kurikara is in. Yamada is standing there, holding the secret of Rin's flames and his heart, and Yamada speaks.

(Also, apparently 'Yamada' is the Japanese equivalent of John/Jane Doe. Gotta love how low effort that was on Shura's part xD )

Yamada speaks and Yukio immediately knows who Yamada actually is. Whatever Yukio's history with her, it's enough of a history that Yukio recognizes Shura Kirigakure's voice without seeing her face or signature clothing style.

The chapter ends with her saying who she is. The next chapter Rin is getting dragged to the Tokyo headquarters and Yukio is silent for most of it until they're in the building and Shura is saying she will have to report Rin and wants to interrogate him. Mephisto has shown up as well, and it's when Shura starts to walk away to interrogate Rin that Yukio breaks his cooperative silence.

And now I'm gonna skip to chapter 15 before I explain this, because damn it, there is just not enough analysis on the relationship between Shura and Yukio and how messy it is. Shura is such a complicated character and that complication shines with Yukio in so many ways. They bring out the most interesting and sharpest edges of each other and were both rivals for Shirou's attention and neither one has any of their Shirou baggage at all resolved and they can't work together because they can't take the other seriously and they both care about each other and man, the complexities amplify every time they're in a scene together.

I want to focus on this moment in chapter 15. Chapter 15 is at the start of the Kyoto/Impure King arc and is right after the trial and right before they all leave to Kyoto.

During that moment we see Rin getting his new training to burn candles and try to burn specific ones. Shura tells Yukio she wants to spar while Rin is doing that, and it's made apparent it's something they used to do. She uses her sword and he uses his guns, and they both see who can destroy more of the targets in the time limit.

Yukio says no and Shura orders him to do it, and makes it clear that if he loses she expects him to buy him dinner.

This is yet another example of someone who refuses to see that Yukio has grown and changed from who he was, and there's a tremendous power imbalance in this situation. Shura loves to treat Yukio like a kid brother, but she has authority over him and a lot of years on him, and she uses both to try and manipulate him into doing what she wants.

That's a core piece of who she is and absolutely from how she was raised, but I'll probably expand on that later. It's enough to see that she often pushes and manipulates and ridicules Yukio into doing things her way and makes fun of him when he's trying to be serious.

Chapter 15 goes into a flashback after she orders him to join her in the spar. It shows us a scene from when Yukio was in training to be an exorcist, likely around 10ish though I'm not certain of the exact age, and Shura, who is more than ten years his senior, beats him. Unsurprisingly. Because he's ten.

Shirou sees it and sees Shura laughing and mocking Yukio and calling him names and leaving the room, and we get this moment of reflection from Yukio about why he hates Shura. (And a bit of wisdom from Shirou.)

Yukio, understandably, hates looking stupid. He hates that she's immensely talented and acts like everything is a joke because it makes him and being serious look dumb because if someone who isn't taking it at all seriously can beat him, then what chance does he have when he's giving it his all?

(Also the size of that gun in his tiny hands kills me. Take the gun away from the child. I know why you did this Shirou but it kills me and it's awful. ;-; )

Once again we see the problem of perception on Yukio. Of the way he is seen and mocked and how he continues to hate that. He does not want to be seen as weak and stupid, and two of the most important people in his life at this point both see him as weak and stupid, or at least give him the opinion that they see him that way. Rin would probably say he doesn't think Yukio is weak, and Shura would certainly say she doesn't think he's stupid, but that's the way they make him feel and it is a problem as it pushes him to keep showing that he is not those things.

No one in this manga will be as successful as breaking Yukio of his cool as Shura will be.

We will explore the rest of chapter 15 later because it is a Yukio gold mine.

Back to the moment where Yukio finally speaks up in chapter 10. At this point we see him begging to be taken in Rin's place. He knows much better than Rin what is likely waiting on an official interrogation, and chances are he's been carefully versed by Shirou on what to say.

But also, this is his brother and he wants to protect Rin. Everything he's done up to this point has been in an effort to contain and protect Rin and he will continue to work to protect Rin.

Remember the end of chapter two. Shirou brought Yukio into all this madness by asking him if he wanted to get strong and protect Rin, and Yukio steps fully into whatever game he believes Mephisto is playing, knowing he is stepping into a game and that Mephisto is manipulating everything. He does so willingly to continue to protect Rin. It is undeniably his expressed goal. Say what you want of Yukio, he works hard to keep Rin safe from Rin's own self destructive actions and he works hard to keep the secret and shield Rin from the Vatican and this.

Shura dismisses Yukio and his growth. She takes Rin away and leaves Yukio there with Mephisto.

We do not see him again that chapter.

The next time Yukio pops up is in chapter 11 when he's shown sleeping as Rin slips out to go to the roof with Kuro.

Or Rin thinks he is asleep.

This is a tremendously tiny moment that Kato gives us and is easy to skip over as just a funny little ha ha, but it tells us more about Yukio. He's fully aware of what Rin is doing and like always, he is watching. He is aware of Rin slipping out and hears Rin talking about him. Rin is not pulling something over on him.

He is smart and observant. He is a step ahead of Rin. (Probably several.)

We then skip to the next morning and the exwires having some sort of training camp coming up. Will it be a real one this time since their last training was a fake training and actually a test?

Methinks not, lol.

The exwires gather at the bottom of the stairs near the True Cross Midway Station and we see Yukio with what I call his customer service smile.

This smile is ALWAYS a lie. If Yukio is wearing it he is frustrated and pretending not to be. In this moment Shura is almost certainly the reason for the fake smile.

He leads them into the forest for their mission, and it's like mid July in the middle of the day in Japan in Tokyo and it would be so damn hot and humid out there. This is just the nastiest sort of mission to send the students out on. If you do not live in a humid place then know that there is no relief unless you're in the ac. Shade does not help much because the humidity carries the heat and it is an exhausting kind of heat. You should not be going on a hike like this in high humidity. Especially not with those kind of packs and not in a heavy coat.

Yukio's careful façade cracks a lot on this mission. He is starting to show himself and his breaking cool to the students more and more despite trying not to. While Rin is getting lazier about his secret and struggling with figuring his powers out, Yukio's carefully gathered control of himself is starting to fray.

His response will be to double down in the next arc.

A few notable examples of this fraying are:

(Kato fucking kills me with the exwires all :o at Yukio's outburst in that last scene. I laugh every time.)

Hot, stressed, dealing with a person who irritates him more than anyone else, watching as the one person he really considers something like a friend goes more for his brother, Yukio is fighting a hard battle to remain always composed and smiling. This forest is not only a trial for Rin.

None of this is ever only a trial for Rin.

Yukio forces his façade back in place and continues his explanation of the mission.

The last shot we get of Yukio in that chapter is with the customer service smile firmly back in place. The façade cracked but he shoved it back in place. He's pleasant and in control again, not giving the appearance of being emotional, weak, or a cry baby.

The very next close up we get of Yukio is in chapter 12, and needless to say

That smile died again.

I'm going to end part three here with this strip. Yukio visibly loosing his cool and exhausted with Rin while Shura laughs in the background. Yukio saying audibly "I can't hide his power much longer."

This was never just a trial for Rin.

As always, you can see more of my aoex meta by looking at my tag #raven ramble and I'll post another part to this series and hopefully Izumo's analysis soon (๑•̀ㅂ•́)ง✧

[newyearseve1979]

Cool Niece, Cooler Aunt

Or, Lilia and Alice spend some time together.

Content warnings, brief mentions of death and grief, allusions and mentions of malicious drug use. It’s pretty tame, generally

Lilia stared at the boiling teapot. The stove glowed gently under it, the sun lit up its shiny metal surface, but the water itself seemed unchangeable. If her stare bore into the kettle hard enough, the water would boil faster (or something like that.) “You could just use magic,” Alice said, leaning against the kitchen counter. Her hair was still messy from sleep and the orangish red streaks in her hair definitely needed re-done. She had an old Le Tigre band shirt on. Lilia vaguely remembered going to one of their concerts.

“It's the little routines that keep a girl together,” Lilia shrugged.

Alice nodded, smiling. She could appreciate the sentiment.

Lilia’s own robe was burnt orange and one of softest things she owned. Sun streamed through the window, lighting up the spacious kitchen. It was a far cry from her old apartment, Lilia knew, and she wouldn't have been able to afford it without the rest of the witches. After the road, after she’d fallen, she’d been stuck in a weird kind of Limbo. Alice had been there too, but that's all they could remember. Turns out the road had been made up so they didn't really die, even though Rio has still arrived to take them to that little inbetween world. Lilia didn't want to think too hard on that, because they’d gotten out when Jen completed her trial. What mattered was that she and her fuck ass coven (as described by Lilia herself) had bought a house together, roughly an hour’s drive out of East View, in the woods. It was close enough to other people for the working witches to keep up with their lives, and far enough away for Agatha to… what was she up to again? While the two waking witches assumed everyone else was asleep, Agatha had already gone out for a walk in the woods before the sun rose.

The teapot whistled, and Lilia took it off the stove. Alice had already set out two mugs and the honey pot. The house was quiet. Lilia and Alice were the only ones in the kitchen, and since it was a Sunday, no one had work. Not that there was much to do; Jennifer’s business was largely remote until she felt like returning to her shop, and Alice was still on the job hunt. Agatha was… well Lilia didn't need to touch that until she felt like it.

The quiet was interrupted by the music Alice had switched on. Bikini Kill, Lilia recognized it, Reject all America. “Good band,” she said, turning off the stove and mixing honey into her cup. Alice only looked slightly surprised. “I saw them live a few times.”

To Alice’s credit, she didn't let her jaw fall all the way down. “You Lilia? Really?”

Lilia smiled to herself. “Oh yeah,” she pointed at Alice’s shirt, “them too.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I’m not!” Lilia insisted, amused. She hugged her soft rope close, and sipped on her tea. Riot Grrrl had attracted plenty of witches in her area, and yeah, Lilia had been pretty into it. Alice shook her head, still smiling.

“I'm trying to picture you at a punk concert.”

Lilia rolled her eyes. She thought about a time when she’d straightened her hair and her old thrifted jacket. “Get me that leather jacket of yours, doll,” She smiled. Memories of stitching protection runes into the inside of her jacket came back to her. “I'll try it on and that’ll give you a pretty good picture.”

Alice gave Lilia a once over. Her robe was snug and secure, her curly hair was piled on her head, and an amulet hung from her neck. Lilia looked like a classy broadway star, not a Riot Grrrl fan. Still, she could almost picture it. Lilia with a shaggy haircut, leather jacket, and punk shirts, cursing out some moron. “Come on, don't tell me you think I'm too old,” Lilia huffed, half kidding.

Alice waved her off. “I’d sneak into concerts when I was younger. My um, well you know my mom died when I was thirteen? I wanna say that was the same time the movement was getting traction.”

Lilia nodded. “The years blended together for me after a bit. All my big losses happened -oh god- forever ago.” She finished her tea and put the cup in the sink. “How long did you keep up with it?”

Alice hummed, and hugged herself. “Till college. It kind of fell off a bit after I graduated you know? But freshman year was intense. I dated this girl who I thought was big into Team Dresch, so we’d gone to a few concerts. Turns out she’d been more into the story about my mom. That wasn't the whole reason we stopped going out though. But the movement had been this part of my life, in a massive way after mom died. She’d made sure music was always important to my life. I needed away from the magic shit, and it was a good place to be angry. I really needed to be angry; you know I stayed that way for a long time.

But after a few years, when I'd put in my old cd’s and records all I could think of was how… upset I was as a teenager. You know I didn’t deal with my grief until recently, so, I guess that’s something else. ” Lilia watched Alice, nodding at the right times. She definitely knew. She wasn't about to forget Alice’s trial on the road, or what she’d said later.

“Sad is better than angry.”

Alice’s head was tilted down, but Lilia saw her eyes getting misty. She moved over to Alice’s side of the kitchen. She put a hand on her shoulder. “I got back into it recently,” Alice added, "the music. It's way easier to find the old music on the internet, especially when Jen pays for my subscription.” Lilia knew what she meant; she was also on the plan.

“Well I don't know how to tell you this, but punk attracts all kinds of outcasts, witches included. Even if they tended to uplift white middle class girls over other groups.” Lilia patted Alice’s arm before stepping back again. “Trust me doll, you were where you needed to be.” The speaker had switched over to Dyke March by Le Tigre. Their singer was the same one from Bikini Kill. “I met her once,” Lilia mused, tapping on the speaker,“Kathleen Hanna.”

Alice wiped at her face. It was early enough that she hadn't put on her usual makeup yet. “Yeah? Do you think she remembers you?”

She chuckled. “No, probably not. But I know she’s touring right now with Bikini Kill again.”

“I saw that.”

Lilia didn't hesitate. “We should go see them. Tonight. They’ve got Eastview stadium for the week, and it's cheapest tonight.”

“Lilia Calderu is inviting me to a punk concert?”

“Lilia Calder is offended at this disbelief,” Lilia huffed, “you know twenty years ago I was getting more comments about my age when I was getting pins and patches than I bet your thirteen year old ass was. Compared to me, you’re practically a child. I should be asking if it's past your bedtime.”

Alice swatted Lilia’s arm. “You’ve been around Harkness too much.” Lilia shrugged. The pair made plans to go to a punk concert once the sun went down.

That evening, Lilia went through the boxes in her room that she still hadn't unpacked. “I know where it all is, there's no point in reorganizing!” She’d say, but it was really because part of her still wasn't certain the roommate situation would last. Either way, she found some dark, flowy clothes that were probably more Stevie Nicks than anything, but honestly, who was going to care. Lilia dug around for a few protection rings; the ones she always took, and the few extras she took to this kind of scene because she’d been around long enough to see some messed up shit.

A vision flashed to Lilia. Crowded room, packed venue. Sweaty bodies pushing her around. Someone yelling, Piss off Lilia! And harsh hands jerking her to the side. Too loud, too loud, too loud, so loud that it blurred her vision. She swayed. She dropped her drink; the mussels in her hand betrayed her. Was it the crowd or was it- no shit shit not again. When is this? Last time-

“Lilia!” Soft hands shook her gently, and Lilia put her own up in self defense, pushing back against a pink clad body. Soft hands held her in place as she pushed, letting Lilia have something to physically resist.. She found herself sitting, then, black skirts piling around her, grey curls falling in front of her face. Lilia was coming back to herself when Jen said her name again. “Hey? Kooky?” Lila looked around. She'd knocked over the box she’d been rifling through. Bobbles scattered around the floor, thrown about like whatever timeline was trying to speak to Lilia. Alice stood in the doorway. Lilia’s brow produced little beads of sweat as she tried to determine if she’d visited a vision or a memory. Jen nudged her again. “Lilia?”

Lilia shrugged Jen off. She rubbed her temple. “I just…”

“You went away for a minute,” Jen nodded. She tilted her head, with a rare Kale smile. “Anywhere good?” Definitely not.

Lilia chuckled dryly, using Jen to help her to her feet. “Somewhere loud.” She looked over at Alice. “You look… concert ready.” She nodded approvingly. Alice’s orange streaks had been re-dyed, with the help of Jen earlier that day. Her outfit was pretty close to what she wore the first time Lilia had met her. Only this time, it was a slightly different jacket with a list of different feminist punk bands painted onto the back. Her makeup was a bit bigger too. She tossed Lilia a pair of ear plugs.

“We’re good to head out in ten?”

“Give me twenty,” Lilia said. It wasn't a question. Alice nodded and went back downstairs. Jen smoothed out the shirt on Lilia’s shoulders. Then she went over and sat on Lilia’s bed. Lilia settled herself into a plush chair she’d picked up back in Vienna, right in front of her mirror.

“Where did you go this time?” Jen asked when Lilia didn't ask her to leave.

Lilia pursed her lips. “A concert.” She flexed her hands in front of her face. They did not fail her as she applied lipstick and mascara, or when she clasped talismans around her neck and wrists. They would not fail her again, and they hadn’t that night. It had been a close call, Lilia remembered, but that's all. She didn't tell Jen and Jen didn’t push. Oddly, she’d stopped pushing since the trial. But she had started watching Lilia. She’d stay in the same room a little longer, stay up a little later, all little things Lilia noticed, but wouldn't ask about yet. What right did she have to anyway, to tell her to leave. Not after she sent Jen down the road without her, and Lilia knew that.

Alice had the car running and music already playing. “What’s this?” Lilia asked as she slid into the passenger seat.

“Mommy Long-Legs,” Alice smiled. They pulled out of the wider part of the driveway and started down the road that wasn't necessarily a private road, but might as well have been because of how long it was, and the fact that there were only two houses on it, both perfectly crafted for woodland semi-isolation. As far as Lilia knew, their neighboring building was largely uninhabited. She’d never seen it though, as it was hidden so far back that the trees blended together into black before you could hope to see a house.

“What else do you listen to?” Alice asked, breaking Lilia from her thoughts.

Lilia hummed. “Jazz, older Italian songs, but seventies and eighties rock was a pretty good time for music too, I suppose. Stevie Nicks is wonderful.”

“Mom performed with her and Fleetwood Mac.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. I was pretty young, but I remembered it being a huge deal.”

“I remember that,” Lilia reminisced, “that was a good show.”

They got themselves out of the woods and started driving along a series of fields. Houses slowly started showing up, becoming closer and more clustered the longer they drove. The lights of civilization began to shine down on them, and suddenly the road was a bit less empty. When they made it into Eastview, approaching the venue, Lilia could start to guess who was on their way to the concert. She smiled-

Fuck off Lilia! She’s pushed to her knees, or has she fallen on her own. Help! Who needed help! The picture is fuzzy. Wrong. It’s not as clear as it should be. She’s inebriated. No, she's… she’s…

Her body slumps down, and before she can catch herself, Lilia hits her head off the dashboard. She curses herself, looks at Alice who drives calmly, and sits back up in her seat. “Um,” Alice starts slowly. She turns into a parking spot and shuts off the music. “Are you… back?”

Lilia looks at Alice, searching. Who’s voice had told her to- “Say something,” Lilia said.

“Something? Lilia are you ok? Do I need to call Jen or…?”

Lilia’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need a babysitter, baby. I’m fine.” But she wasn’t fine. Time was not linear and she was actively jumping around. She couldn't hold herself, couldn't find where she needed to be like she had on the road. She looked at Alice. She needed to ask for help. She needed her sisters for the craft.

“I dont…” Alice bit her lip, “I don’t know how to help you.”

“Well I'm sure that's really hard for you,” she snapped. She rubbed her temples. In the vision… she couldn't get a grip on reality. It was like something was infecting her.

“I’m not taking your shit old woman,” Alice snapped right back, not missing a beat. Lilia barked out a humorless laugh. She nodded approvingly. It confused Alice.

“You’re into punk, right doll? Right. So why the hell are you a cop?” She gave Alice a hard stare. Alice didn't flinch, but regarded Lilia with suspicion. “I’m not, ok, that sounded judgemental. It was.”

“I wanted-”

“To help people? That wasn't intuition, that's common sense. The Protection Witch wants to protect people. So why not get into security? And don't give me that mall security bullshit, that wasn't your choice.” Lilia had successfully deflected back onto Alice. For now. Divine Mother, she really was spending too much time around Agatha. That thought made her shiver, so she softened. “You could be anything, baby,” She reached over for Alice’s hands, “embrace it.”

“Oh fuck off Lilia,” Alice groaned, “fuck that. I’m glad you had your enlightenment moment on the road, but you’re not ok!You still haven't even told me what happened after I died, so unlike Jen, I still don't have a damn clue what's wrong with you! And that's fine! But how am I supposed to protect you?”

“Don't protect me then!” Lilia shouted, “Protect yourself, baby! I’m not senile, I don't-”

“Need a babysitter! I know! You’ve fucking said Lilia, youve fucking said.” Alice slammed her hand down on the horn of the parked car. A group of punk girls, in their early teens, late twenties, cheered. “You’re smart and you can take care of yourself because you've been doing it for centuries. You and everyone else in the house, ok, I've got it. No one taught me how to be a witch. I never made a habit of spending time with women literally centuries older than me.” Her eyes welled up with tears, even as her face contorted back to the familiar anger she’d lived with for so long.

Her mother holds her hand, showing her how to spread the tarot cards. How to read people like reading cards. She will see her mother’s death, and her mother may not see the truth in it. “Please Mama, please won't you listen? Let me help, let me help,” and then in the dark of the night after vision after vision-

“Just let me help you! Don't leave me alone!” Lilia cries out, her hands flying to her hair and pulling her curls out of place, like she’d done as a girl. She shakes as her lungs try to puncture themselves on her ribs, expanding against the shell of her body. She looks back to Alice, ashamed. “That wasn't,” she started, “that wasn't for you.”

Alice nodded. She had unbuckled her seatbelt and was sitting against the inside of the door, her feet pulled up to her knees. Her head was tilted on her arms like they had been at the campfire on the witches road. Alice wasnt smiling though, she was waiting. Lilia handed her a ring to fidget with.

“My mother,” Lilia confessed quietly, “well. I lost her too. I couldn't protect her.” Lilia glances at herself in the side mirror. Her hair had been pulled into disarray. Her makeup should just be wiped off at that point. “I do not want to talk about it. Jen knows. But I knew it would happen, and I couldn't stop it, and I was alone and no one wants to be around a woman who sees their deaths-” her voice cracked, “so I was run out of everywhere. I apologize if I don’t know how to fix you, doll-”

“So don't try to fix me,” Alice said. She started out firm, then paused. She reached over for Lilia’s hand. Lilia took it- hesitantly. “Don’t try to fix, try to help. Advise. Ok?”

Lilia nodded. She pulled the curls out of her face and readjusted the neck of her shirt., fixing her posture. “And you don't need to protect me… just, oh Divine mother, just, support me. Sometimes.”

Alice nodded. A silent agreement passed between them. They did not, in fact, hug it out. They didn't go to the concert, either. With a peace made between them, Lilia saw a worse future. Her abilities were not deteriorating, she was visiting a time where she was drugged. Roofied. After Alice would tell her to fuck off, again, the protection witch would be separated from her. Neither would reach for their powers in time, because they would both be incapacitated. So instead, they went to an old vinyl shop. They left with some Grateful Dead, Billy Joel, and Alice turned Lilia onto the Crane Wives.

The shop owner, an older man, didn't peg them as mother and daughter, like his assistant had asked Lilia. Of course, Lilia said no. The shop owner, who knew and sensed more than his young apprentice, immediately saw them as Cool Niece, Cooler Aunt.

Sisters of the craft. He charged them extra.

They had yet to really understand each other, but certainly, they were getting there.

[juuuulez]

🎧 | are we still friends?, michael berzatto.

don’t get green skin (green skin), keep contact (keep contact) / don’t say, "goodbye, smell you later" (bye, later) / nah, i can't / i don't want to end this season on a bad episode.

writing this was really fucking brutal for me. i’ll do something nice and sweet another time because this was rooouuughh.

Established Mikey/You, platonic Richie/You, generally just sad stuff.

request a playlist roulette here!

Being with Mikey was warm. That’s the only way you could describe it. Warm in the way he’d look at you, the way he smiled, laughed. His tendency to touch everyone. Kisses on cheeks and hugs from the side. You wanted that in your life, you welcomed it, warmth and love.

But now it’s cold and the cold is biting. It’s harsh and relentless, seeping through layers of black silk, penetrating the nice coat you bought for this occasion. The cigarette between your lips flares with each inhale, a reddened spark you cup your hands over, in futile hopes that it’ll give off heat. It doesn’t.

“Nice shoes.” You remark the second they’re in your vision, black and shiny. It’s not like you look up, either, staring down at the pavement and Richie’s pointed dress shoes. But you know it’s him: you can smell his cologne mixing with the smoke in the air, creating a scent that’s harsh and bitter but seemingly appropriate.

“Thanks,” He mutters, following your gaze. “Tiff bought ‘em.”

You want to make fun of him. Make some stupid remark, berate him for folding so easily, for doing what she says with no complaint. It’s what you would’ve done, what Mikey would’ve done: Lettin’ her make you pretty, huh? What— you gonna be wearing lipstick next? It’s so close yet so far, you can basically hear it, and you’re sure Richie can hear it too.

“She around here?” You end up asking instead.

And Richie shakes his head, already lighting up a cigarette. “Had to go relieve Eva’s babysitter. Some fuckin’ thirteen year-old from our street.”

“Yeah, well, one day she’s gonna be that thirteen year-old.”

The silence settles between you again, thick but not suffocating. Just there. You’re fine to leave it that way, you’ve been standing here regardless, leaning against a brick wall in the parking lot across from the funeral home. Five cigarette butts have fallen to your feet, and you intend on adding to the pile.

“Heading home after this?” Richie asks.

You don’t look up because you don’t want to see the look on his face. Worry. You hate worry, because you lived in worry. A perpetual fear, an anxiety settled deep in your gut, making your skin tingle and itch. But Mikey never seemed to mind; he taught you not to worry, to laugh more, to care less.

Look where that got you.

“Dunno,” You shrug, dropping the cigarette butt to the floor. It sizzles on some residual snow, which you squish down under your nice heels. “Was gonna try and back out of the lease.”

“Thought you loved that place?” Richie is quick to counter, “Y’know, green tiles and whatnot.”

It was a little apartment, one you’d found after hours of hunting. The green backsplash in the bathroom had caught your attention, and you’d spent days chatting anyone’s ear off about how you’d style it.

But now you shrug it off, appearing indifferent. “It’s not that big a deal.”

It’d been five weeks. Five weeks of domestic bliss, or, your equivalent to that. Of finding little trinkets and unique homewares to furnish the new place. Of getting excited after work, because you get to come home to your boyfriend, instead of an empty bed.

Boxes were still shoved into most corners of the place, not yet unpacked. For a moment you wondered if that was the intention. That, in not unpacking, Mikey was saving you the grief of eventually removing his presence from your place. He was making it easier, cutting out the middleman.

“Maybe Chicago isn’t for me.”

The words slip from your mouth before you can stop them, and you’ve finally looked up, meeting Richie’s gaze. It’s odd because he’s looking at you, and not at the same thing, like his mind is elsewhere. You get it. Your mind is also elsewhere.

“Fuckin’ stupid,” He mutters, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

So you shrug, another cigarette pinched between your teeth. You don’t remember lighting it. This weird haze has you on autopilot, you’ve been in it all morning. Maybe all week.

“I dunno. Might be good to get away for a bit.” You try to justify.

“Nah, fuck that. You’re not goin’ all alien on us,” Richie continues to contest. “There are people here for you. Y’know.. Tina ‘n all the cooks, and fuckin’.. fucking Fak, and Nat.”

“Natalie said—“

“I know what she fuckin’ said, it’s bullshit.”

Richie flicks out his cigarette, letting it drop into your little pile. His jacket is ironed and those shiny shoes are covered in snow, and for the first time in ages, he looks nice. You notice it. You notice the effort he’s put in, despite everything, and you know he feels the way you do.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” He begins. “You’re gonna come to The Beef once a week. Eat a sandwich, talk to us, ‘n shit. And you’re gonna come to family, too. Always.”

There’s a grimace on your face at the idea. Stepping foot in the restaurant seems like a colossal task, let alone attending family. Because that’s the thing, you weren’t family, not anymore. You’d hoped that one day you would be, for certain, a Berzatto. And now that wouldn’t happen.

“I’ll try.” You end up saying, even if dread builds in your stomach. It’s the most you can do.

Richie seems to understand, letting the silence linger for another moment. “C’mon,” He sighs. “We’re getting a drink. I’m gonna pull one smile outta you tonight.”

The notion of smiling, today, seems foreign. Yet you obey regardless, following along as Richie’s hand finds your back, and he swipes the cigarette from your mouth to throw into the snow.

It ends up being a good night. As good as it can be, at least. Each memory shared, each story told is laced with an underlying bitterness, something that settles on your tongue and behind your eyes. It’s thick and equally cold as the air; prickling like goosebumps. Richie feels it too. Everyone does, but you convince yourself that it’s not forever, that it’ll go away and the warmth will return.

[lunshimmer]

money well spent

summary: yelena has an amex black card, a trip to macy's, and a dream

₊˚ෆ fandom: marvel cinematic universe

warnings: none!

₊˚ෆ a/n: hello i saw someone on here say that in the thunderbolts post cred scene it looked like they all bought a dyson airwrap and i took that shit and ran w/ it. so here u go!!!!!

₊˚ෆ word count: 1,866

₊˚ෆ divider by @firefly-graphics ₊˚ෆ

The first thirteen-ish months at the old Avengers tower had gone off (mostly) without a hitch.

It took some time, settling who got what room and who did what chores-- often with a why does Bucky get the master bedroom? from Alexei and a who the fuck isn't turning on the dishwasher after they load it? from Walker.

After a while, they fell into a routine-- movie nights on Fridays, Yelena and Ava grocery shop on Wednesdays, Alexei vacuums (loudly) on Thursdays.

Yelena thought that this would be good for her-- give her some purpose as a member of a team, and maybe even begin to make up for all the rights she's wronged. The statement wasn't completely false. She enjoyed having people around to drown out the bad thoughts.

Yelena still felt empty. Not completely empty anymore, but it definitely wasn't a glass-half-full situation.

Her feet dangle over the balcony of the tower, as cars pass below. She imagines she's a giant and pretends to squash them.

She liked the city, but it took Yelena some time to adjust to the New York lifestyle. Streets filled with tons and tons of people, a surplus of buildings sky-high, and she couldn't even begin to describe department stores.

She was never one for high fashion (not that she had a choice, really), but idiot Americans in New York will spend $200 on a pair of athletic pants and call it a steal. Yelena disagrees with this. Who wants to spend a lot of money on ugly clothes when you can just buy a vest from a corner store and spend a fraction of the price? Sometimes athletic pants don't even have pockets. Her vest has sixteen.

Yelena didn't have time thus far to explore New York City by herself, not to its fullest potential. She had seen in American movies, Home Alone 2 being an example, how people will shop and shop and spend thousands of dollars. She wanted to do that.

As her eyes scan the New York skyline, they stop on an old looking building with red lettering on the front: Macy's.

Valentina had (begrudgingly) supplied each of them with a team credit card, instructing them to use it to buy necessities and whatever meaningless things you idiots want. Yelena reaches her hands inside her pocket to find her wallet and retrieves the credit card. It's a sleek black, with the words American Express displayed across the front.

Valentina was going to regret giving her this card.

---

"I'm leaving," Yelena calls, searching the living room for traces of her teammates. The time on the digital clock reads 2:32 pm, and she figures that Bucky is probably at the gym, Alexei with him. Ava might be reading in her room. She only finds Walker and Bob, both engaged in a cutthroat game of Fortnite on the big screen TV.

"Where you goin'?" Walker responds from the couch, not bothering to tear his eyes away from the screen.

"Eat shit, asshole." Yelena replies, earning a small fuck you in return from Walker.

"Bye!" Bob says, taking his hand off the controller to wave to Yelena. His avatar is promptly shot and killed. An aww follows.

Yelena smiles and waves back as she heads for the elevator.

---

The streets of New York City are crowded, given that it's near 3 pm on a Friday. Yelena opts to walk instead of hailing a cab.

After a brisk three mile walk, she arrives at Macy's.

The interior of the building is huge, spotted with shiny glass counters showcasing various products and clothes as far as the eye can see. Two escalators sit in the center of the room, big and shiny and white. A store directory hangs on the wall to her left, showcasing each department and floor. In big, silver lettering, each floor is laid out by departments, and Yelena counts a total of ten floors. This place was massive.

Her eyes scan the directory, taking note of cosmetics, perfumes, jewelery, and handbags on floor one, shoes on floor two, sunglasses on floor four, and clothing on floors six and seven. She immediately rules out men's clothing and furniture-- there was no way in hell she was buying any of the men anything on her solo shopping spree, and she had no way to transport furniture back to the tower. Yelena starts up the escalator and into the cosmetics section.

Right from the start, she spots what looks like fancy face lotion from a brand called Lancôme. She buys three: one for her, one for Ava, one for Bob. She finds a scary looking light up mask and buys it purely because it reminds her of the mask from Silence of the Lambs. She decides she's had enough of this fancy lotion bullshit and moves on to the makeup section.

Yelena finds an eyeshadow palete complete with shades of black and brown and adds it to her tab. She skips over the lip gloss section (she doesn't like the way it sticks to everything), but picks up a dark red Clinique lipstick on her way past it. She throws an expensive mascara in her shopping bag for Ava and picks up a waterproof eyeliner for herself. Yelena thinks that the fact that the eyeliner is waterproof must mean that it'll last through a mission or two.

As she parades through the makeup section, an old woman glares at her from behind a counter. Yelena knows immediately what she's thinking-- because she isn't dressed like every other posh asshole in the store, means that she doesn't have the money to blow on all this shit. Yelena shows her the black card and her middle finger.

She exits the makeup and finds the haircare section. Yelena couldn't believe the amount of products people put in their hair-- oil, leave in conditioner, dry shampoo, heat protectant. The most she had ever done to her hair was bleach it.

As she looks over the haircare section, she spots it-- a fancy hairdryer. It looks like an employee is demonstrating what it is and how to use it to a group of fancy looking women. Yelena slowly joins the crowd.

"... so, if you want a nice blowout, you'll use this attachment." The employee drones. It sounds like she's done the spiel before.

"I'll take three." Yelena interrupts. All the women turn to stare at her. She glares at them back.

The employee falters. "Uh, ma'am... that comes to almost two thousand dollars."

"Holy shit, I don't care." Yelena complains. She once again flashes the credit card. "Give it to me."

The employee obeys, adding the three boxes to Yelena's shopping tote. She reads the product name on the front of the packaging: Dyson Airwrap.

---

Yelena decides she's done shopping at a little after 7 pm. She opts to stop after spending nearly $10,000 at Macy's in items of various departments.

As she makes her way back to the tower, her phone buzzes. It's Valentina.

Yelena answers the call. "So, I gather you've had a little shopping spree for yourself today?"

"Fuck you, Valentina." She replies, ending the call.

---

Bob and Walker aren't in the living room anymore when Yelena gets back. It's Walker's night to cook, and Yelena swears the only thing he knows how to make is spaghetti and meatballs. She spots all of her teammates at the kitchen table eating just what she thought, spaghetti and meatballs.

" 'Lena, you missed dinner!" Alexei calls.

"Good," she replies, walking to her room to open her new things.

She sifts through the four bags of items, putting aside things to give to Ava and Bob, and pulling out the three new fancy hairdryers.

Yelena opens the box of one, removing the item inside and plugging the end of it into a nearby outlet. She flips the on switch and the hairdryer whirrs to life.

Her hair had grown significantly since they had first become the New Avengers and was down to her shoulders now. Instead of chopping it off with blunt scissors like she normally would, she slicked some of her hair back and used the curling attachment of her new toy and styled the ends. It takes her five minutes.

She grabs the other two hairdryers and brings them to the living room, where the rest of the team is gathering for movie night. "Attention!" She calls.

Walker gives her a dirty look from the couch. Bob smiles at her. Alexei pauses mid shoveling popcorn in his mouth.

"I saw these today, so I bought them. They were $600 each." She states, placing them on the table.

"Jesus Christ, Yelena." Walker mutters, bringing his hand to his face. Ava punches him in the arm.

"They make your hair look nice." She gestures to her own hair, turning around fully to demonstrate. "The lady called it a 'blowout', whatever the fuck that means."

"Yelena, shouldn't we be spending the money on--" Bucky starts with a sigh, arms crossed. "Shut the fuck up. Use it." Yelena interrupts, pointing at him. "You especially. Your hair looks like shit."

"Can I use it?" Bob pipes up. Yelena nods with a smile. "I'll do your hair. Come on." She gestures for him to follow her. Ava joins them as well.

---

Back in Yelena's room, Bob sits in her vanity chair while she stands behind him and demonstrates the hairdryer. It takes her even less time to do his hair.

Bob looks at himself in the mirror while Ava studies his hair from the bed. "That actually does work quite well."

He says a small thanks to Yelena while she goes to the Macy's bag containing the things she bought for Ava and Bob. She tosses the fancy lotion to each of them-- Ava catches it, Bob doesn't.

The brunette opens it, sniffing the inside. "It smells like old lady." She laughs. Yelena opens hers and smells it as well. A grin spreads across her face. "It does."

"You think it would smell better for being almost $300." Yelena states. Shock appears on Bob's face.

Walker's fist pounds on the door. "Come on! Stop playing hair salon on Bobby and come watch the movie!"

"Fuck off!" Ava and Yelena shout in unison. They decide to rejoin the others.

---

A month passes by, and both of the hairdryers are nowhere to be seen. Yelena sits at the bar, eating a bowl of Lucky Charms.

Bucky passes by, looking... different, somehow. New outfit? no. New arm? probably not. Yelena can't put her finger on it.

He sits down at the other end of the bar, plate in hand, and that's when Yelena clocks it-- his hair. It didn't look like shit for once. It was shiny, flowing away from his face in small, soft curls. He had used the fucking Airwrap.

Yelena gasps, mouth full of Lucky Charms. "Oh my god! You used it!" Bucky sighs and shakes his head. Too late to hide now. "See, I told you you'd look not like shit!"

Bucky picks up his plate and walks away from the bar. "Fuck off, Yelena!" He calls.

A wide grin spreads on her face. She was right.

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 29/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FORTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTYONE TWENTYTWO TWENTYTHREE TWENTYFOUR TWENTYFIVE TWENTYSIX TWENTYSEVEN TWENTYEIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTYNINE

                It feels like he’s done nothing but cook for three days, his arms are sore from kneading dough and turning the handle on the pasta machine; he’s also drunk too much and he hasn’t had enough sleep. Filming isn’t this much hard work. Silvia had tutted and told him America was making him soft, and he supposes it has been, because nothing puts him through his paces like a big family wedding where he and Leandro are cooking the food. It’s one of his and Vi’s cousins, not one of the one’s he’s closest to, but it doesn’t matter.

                They’re all family.

                He’s coming to learn he’ll do anything for family.

…            …            …

                “I bought you something.”

                “Yeah?”

                “I don’t know what it is, but the guy in the store assured me it was food.”

                He hands Bradley the jar and he recognizes it instantly.

                “Lotus roots. Nice. Thanks sweetheart.”

                “Hmm. I’m going to try and find something you don’t recognize.”

                Bradley snorts, smirks and raises an eyebrow, thinks about all the crazy ingredients he’s either worked with or that have featured as part of ridiculous cooking challenges in some of the shows he’s been a part of.

                “Well, good luck…”

…            …            …

                Bradley stands behind him, rests his chin on Jake’s shoulder as he slices the pepper for their omelette.

                “Just…” he wraps an arm around Jake’s waist, smiles as he feels Jake press back into his body. Then he rests his other hand over Jake’s. “Let the knife do most of the work. It’s sharp and gravity is on your side. Just pull back and drop, it’ll go much smoother…”

                “Jesus fuck Leo…”

                “What?” Leo asks, breath warm and damp against the side of Jake’s neck like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.

                “We’re meant to be making breakfast.”

                “Mmm. Would rather eat you…”

                “God you’re corny.”

                “Rhymes with corny…”

                He leaves the peppers half cut on the bench.

…            …            …

                Ninety minutes later, showered and definitely starving now but definitely sated sexually Jake walks through the apartment. Leo has shooed him out of the kitchen, adamant he’ll work faster alone. Poured Jake a cup of coffee and told him to go and curl up on the sofa. Except it's his first time here in Leo's space and there are so many photos. He recognizes Vi of course, and then Leandro and Silvia because Leo has shown him pictures on his phone, and he’s going to be having his first video call with them this coming week, which he isn’t nervous about at all. He’s studying a picture of what he would bet large chunks of money is Leo and his parents, and he feels Leo step up behind him, circling his arm around Jake’s waist.

                “Are these your parents?” Jake asks, and he knows they are, recognizes Nick Bradshaw from the research he’d done when he’d realized Leo was more linked to the Navy than Jake had previously thought.

                “Yeah.”

                “Anyone ever tell you that you look a lot like your dad?”

                Leo laughs, nuzzles a kiss into the side of Jake’s neck.

                “Yeah, all the time. Breakfast will be done in two minutes. You want to keep being nosy?”

                “Yep. You’ve already had your chance.”

                Leo grins at that, kisses him on the cheek and then leaves for the kitchen again. He keeps looking at the photos, and he knows what he's looking for, Leo's elusive godfather. He doesn't think that he's going to get that lucky, that Leo will just have a photo of him out. But... Yeah. He's done some more digging since Admiral Kerner confirmed that Uncle Tom and Iceman were one and the same. He knows now that Nick Bradshaw flew with Pete Mitchell and he was flying when Leo’s dad died. That Maverick and Iceman were wingmen.

                So the fact that Leo has never mentioned Maverick is what makes a little silent alarm bell ring in his head. That maybe this man is Leo's godfather and in regards to all aspects Leo is a well-adjusted and mature adult. Except when it comes to his godfather. Of course, even with Captain Mitchell cleared, it doesn’t mean Leo doesn’t still blame him, so that could be the reason. There could be another person out there who Jake can have a little silent vendetta against. Jake came hold a grudge like no one else, especially against people who have hurt people he loves. And he does love Leo.

                Yeah.

                Maverick Mitchell better hope he never crosses paths with him.

…            …            …

                “Honey! I’m home! God you both better be fucking dressed! Tell me you’re dressed!”

                Bradley lets out a long breath, but Jake is grinning, then throwing back his head with laughter, standing to reach out and envelope Vi a hug and he feels a surge of happiness that they get on so well; realizes that he hopes Jake feels the same about him getting on with his family.

                “We’re dressed!”

                “You mean you don’t want a show?”

                “No. Definitely not interested in that kind of show… however does smell good. Is there any left?”

                “No, I didn’t make enough for three…”

                “Where has the love gone?” Vi exclaims dramatically, and she’s making the face which tells him she’s in a shit stirring mood. Fucking great. “L’amore si misura in piatti cucinati,” Vi sates, grin sly and Bradley flushes, because he’s there. He’s so there in terms of loving Jake, and the fact that he just seems to make everything feel so much easier and fucking Vi knows that, but…

                “What did she say?” Jake asks, and Bradley wonders how much he already understood, because Jake definitely understands more Italian than he lets on.

                “Love is measured in cooked dishes…” Vi says, failing to look innocent and Bradley huffs in mild annoyance.

                “Hmm. Is it also measured by eating them?”

                Bradley’s eyes shoot up and Jake is looking at him, one eyebrow quirked up and his heart does a little skip in double-time.

                “Yeah,” Bradley breathes, “we can make that a house rule…”

…            …            …

                “Did you want to do anything tonight?” Bradley asks, hours later, curled up on the sofa and watching a documentary about the Antarctic. Vi has come and gone and it’s just the two of them until they’re wheels down in Texas tomorrow morning.

                “We fly at eight tomorrow, would like to make the most of every minute we have alone…”

                “I know. Me too… just. It’s New York. People generally like to catch a show or go out somewhere nice for dinner. Just… am happy to go out if you want.”

                “No babe, I want to stay right here with you. Will leave the fine dining experience to Phoenix…”

                Bradley grins up at the ceiling and can’t help but press a kiss to the back of Jake’s head.

                “Yeah? What does she have on her list?”

                “Some famous place… she had to make a reservation months ago apparently. Not my type of thing…”

                “Oh. I’m well aware of that fact. Trust me. Uh. Do you know what restaurant she was going to?”

                “Uh. Yeah. Tartaruga Blu. Italian right? That’s why I remembered the name. She said it’s been on TV or something… Have you heard of it?”

                Bradley lets out a nervous laugh, glad that they’re alone for this, reminds himself that he doesn’t think Jake will care.

                “Ha. Yeah. Yeah I’ve heard of it. It’s… Um. It’s actually where I work. Usually.”

                “Your steady job when you’re not flying around cooking for the rich and famous huh?”

                Bradley blinks, because that’s not wrong exactly; but neither does it capture celebrity chef either; he’s just going to have to be more obvious. Remembers what Maria said about Jake being smart as a tack but also sometime wilfully and blindly oblivious to some things that he just didn’t register as important.

                “I… wouldn’t put it quite that way. But yeah, I guess so. I’ve been on TV. A bit.”

                “Have you now?” Jake asks, and Bradley can hear the amusement in his voice, feels him shift carefully on the sofa so he’s facing him, Bradley leaves his arms around him, kisses the gentle smirk off Jake’s face, so glad to have him here.

                “Yeah.”

                “You going to forget all about me when you’re all rich and famous?”

                “No. That’s never going to happen,” Bradley says, because it hasn’t yet and he’s pretty sure it’s never going to and he’s prepared to work at that too.

…            …            …

                “Oh, I need to give you your key back…” Jake mutters, fishing the key out of his pocket. It has a little Lego minifigure attached, dressed in chef whites and he’s kind of attached to it for some weird reason.

                “No. That’s your key. I got it cut for you.”

                “Uh. What?”

                “You can’t move in with me, but you can come stay whenever you want. In fact, I kind of expect it if you’re in town.”

                They’re words, still not I love you, but it’s what they mean. Like the sly way Vi has talked about love being measured through cooking, like she knows how Leo feels about him. He’s going to tell Leo that he loves him, use the actual words despite how terrifying it feels to say it to someone who isn’t his family or Javy. He’s confident his feelings are returned, the way his sisters and Vi tease them both. However he’s not beyond avoiding the subject, the airport terminal is definitely not where he first wants to say the words.

                “Well, five-star rating. Food wasn’t bad, bed was super comfortable. Company was the best part though.”

                The almost bashful smile Leo gives him is gorgeous and Jake hip checks him, pushing him toward their gate. He wonders if he can find a Lego minifigure wearing a naval aviator uniform, give Leo a key to his apartment. Because it’s as practical as Jake having a key to his place. However it’s not the practicality, it’s the physical acknowledgement of something more and fuck, they’ve only been doing this for eight months, but… he wants eight years or no, eighty years.

                Yeah.

                That’s a good place to start.

…            …            …

                Somehow they’ve been bumped to business class and Jake is not complaining about the extra legroom, because he hates flying commercial, but this is actually nice. And he has Leo to talk to, which makes a nice change. He settles in beside him and reaches for his hand.

                “What? You a nervous flier?” Leo asks, and he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face, clearly thinks he’s being funny and Jake rolls his eyes.

                “It’s not my favorite, but I’m not nervous.”

                “Mmm. I’ve always loved flying. Every part of it.”

                “And maybe I just want to hold your hand. Ever consider that?”

                Leo rolls his eyes, squeezes his hand hard and Jake retaliates by starting a thumb war, which he frustratingly loses because Leo somehow has double-jointed thumbs which are gross and freaky. He lets Leo know what he thinks and Leo smirks and leans in close ‘you’d still let me put my gross double jointed thumbs all over you…’ and Jake hates that he’s right.

                “So, uh, I’ve been thinking… You want to meet my mom?”

                “I… do you want me to meet her?”

                “Yeah. It’s just, uh, you know…” Jake trails off, because he’s talked about her dementia more than once, Leo isn’t oblivious to it or how Jake feels about it.

                “I’d love to meet her.”

…            …            …

                They arrive and it’s a whirlwind of people and family lunch. It’s nice not to be cooking, instead both Maria and Olivia keep asking him about the different dishes and Jake is smirking and shaking his head.

                “Hazard of the job…”

                Bradley will happily take that, and he’s glad he was able to bring a range of cookies, because Jake leaves his sisters with the clean-up, which he feels awful about but is simply waved away. Then they’re off to see Jake’s mom and dad. He’s not worried, Chuck, Jake’s father, already likes him; but he would like to make a good impression on Jenna, for both his and Jake’s sake. They sit in the car, Jake resting his wrists over the edge of the steering wheel, hands hanging lax as he sucks in deep breaths and swallows roughly, clearly psyching himself up for what is to come.

                He keeps quiet, knows that this is what Jake does when he first gets home and also just before he leaves. That a late lunch happened first is an anomaly probably for his benefit. He reaches out tentatively, places his hand on Jake’s thigh and just lets it rest there, hopes it’s enough to just let him know he’s not alone. Then Jake is sucking in a deep breath, blowing it out between his teeth, throwing his shoulders back and reaching for the door handle, but not before resting his hand over Bradley’s for a brief second and giving him a small smile. He follows him and then Chuck is shaking his hand, giving him a quick hug, and offering a drink all in the same moment.

                “Who is it Chuck?”

                “How about you come see for yourself?” Chuck says, and then there’s a woman there, so clearly Jake’s mom that he finds himself smiling automatically.

                “Oh! What are you doing here?”

                “Uh…”

                “This is Bradley Bradshaw,” Chuck provides, looking between her and Bradley.

                “I know who it is Chuck,” Jenna says with a laugh and there’s Jake’s laugh.

                “Uh… It’s nice to meet you Mrs Seresin.”

                “Jenna, please! And who is this?” Jenna asks, looking toward Jake with easy curiosity and Bradley’s heart twists. Jesus. How does Jake even do this?

                “Uh, this is my boyfriend. Jake,” he says, reaching for his hand and gripping it firmly, pulling him toward him because he needs the support, the closeness, no idea how Jake might be feeling.

                “Mmm. Well, you always did have good taste. Seems it applies out of the kitchen too…”

                Bradley can feel his cheeks flushing as he glances at Jake, who simply looks shattered.

                “Jenna, how about you come and help me make Bradley and Jake some coffee. They’ll be here for a little bit…”

…            …            …

                As he watches his parents walk toward the kitchen he feels Leo’s arms go around him, hugging him and he doesn’t understand.

                “Why… how… why does my mom know who you are?”

                Leo looks so sad and he has to stop himself from snapping that he doesn’t want pity, because he doesn’t think that’s what Leo is experiencing right now.

                “Um. You know how I said I was on TV a bit, well I also used to have a cooking channel on YouTube. Your dad said when I met him that they watch it together… almost every day.”

                “Oh my god… this is… she doesn’t recognize me but she knows who you are. This is so fucked up. You just introduced me to my own mother.” He takes in a shuddering breath, swallows roughly against the tears and then just decides to let them fall.

                “Jake, I’m sorry, I…”

                “Don’t. It’s not your fault. I just… it’s unfair. And I say that, and I feel like an asshole because your parents aren’t even alive, so I should be grateful right?”

                “You can be upset about your mom Jake…”

                “Fuck.” He scrubs at his face. “In all the scenarios I ran through in my head, this was not one that even crossed my mind.”

                “I didn’t think she’d know who I was…”

                “I want to see…”

                “What?”

                “Your cooking show.”

                “Uh… sure. Actually, you know your mom might want to show you her favorite bits, if you asked her…”

                Jake hadn’t thought of that, that this is something his mom can share with him, because he’s never been interested in what she liked watching, but if it’s got Leo then he’s definitely more invested. So when his mom and dad come back carrying a tray of coffee and cake he asks, and she just lights up. He admits he hasn’t seen any of Leo’s, sorry, Bradley’s, shows, and he’d love to see what the fuss is about. Then his dad is exchanging looks he can’t quite parse, but then he’s looking at a still image of Leo on YouTube, frozen with his mouth open, no moustache and he lets out a huff of surprised laughter.

                “Oh wow, you look so young.”

                “Yeah, that was a while ago.”

                It’s only a twenty-minute show, and it’s just Leo talking about making pasta, why he enjoys making it from scratch but also the friendly way he talks to the camera makes him understand why his mom likes it. She talks to Leo almost constantly through it, and Jake finds himself switching between watching the video and then watching his mom and boyfriend talk about different pasta making techniques and yeah, it sucks but it’s still better than he thought it could ever be.

                “Who was filming you?”

                “Oh. Vi. There’s a blooper reel on her private channel. It’s pretty humiliating.”

                Jake can’t wait to see it, chats with his dad as Leo then works in the kitchen with his mom, making pasta from scratch. They decline staying for dinner, but Leo says he’s happy to come back, maybe make some cookies if she doesn’t mind Jake’s nieces and nephews coming as well and of course his mom just lights up. She doesn’t seem to question why Leo doesn’t have work, or even what Jake does, but he’s not going to question his good luck. They’ve made their goodbyes and he doesn’t feel the usual sinking dread about the next time he’ll have to see her, knows it’ll be sooner rather than later but Leo will be there and it’ll somehow be easier as well. It’s dark, and cooler, the air crisp and he stares up at the sky, stops before he gets to the car and turns toward Leo.

                “So… people know your name. Do lots of people know your name?”

                “Yeah. If they’re that into cooking food.”

                “Well, I’m into you…” Leo’s teeth flash white in the dark with a smile, and Jake reaches for him, wraps his arms around his waist and tugs him in close. “In fact, I’m so into you that I might go so far as to say I’m in love with you.”

                “Might?”

                “That’s the word you’re going to pick out to focus on?”

                “Mmm. I love you too Jake.”

                “Good. Very good.”

…            …            …

                He has an idea, but he has no idea whether it would be well received or not, but the fact that Jake’s mom recognizes him makes him think it might. He also knows the best person to ask is Maria so he works at getting a moment alone with her.

                “I… you heard that your mom recognized me?”

                “Yeah,” Maria says, and she’s grimacing, because he knows that it has got to suck, is thinking about how he’d feel if Leandro and Silvia didn’t recognize him. Fuck. Even Ice and Mav, and not for the first time he feels a twist of regret about not talking with Mav for so long, but he knows he’s doing okay because Ice had told him when he asked.

                “So, feel free to shut me up any time, I was just thinking, we could make a short film, like… Bradley Bradshaw at home. And introduce Jake as my boyfriend, and then all his sisters… and your mom could watch it every day. I don’t know if it would help, but…” he trails off, not sure if this would even work, but if he can film the baking session with all of Jake’s nieces and nephews then it gives them a family video, but also, if Jenna maybe watched it everyday she might recognize everyone, even if she didn’t realize they were her family.

                “I… that’s really thoughtful of you. I don’t know what my brother did in a past life, but I’m glad he found you.”

                “I love him,” Bradley says easily, because Jake didn’t need to do anything in a past life, he does plenty in this one which makes Bradley consider himself lucky.

                “Yeah. I’m aware. Right. I’ll see what we can do.”

…            …            …

                Time slips past them, around them, passing over them like the cool water in a stream passes over a stone in its’ path. Month-long deployments come and go. Bradley spends time on the farm both with and without Jake. He films another four different cooking shows, publishes another two recipe books and also opens the second Tartaruga in San Antonio, this one called Violet, which Vi hates but doesn’t actively sabotage. The location is close enough to the Seresin Farm and he decides to see if he can buy the house he’d stayed in when he’d first met Jake again; Jake just laughs when he tells him. Jake spends time in New York with Bradley, although it’s usually only one or two nights before they’re on a plane to Texas. They may only see each other three or four times a year, but they cram in as much as they can with the time that they do have.

                He’s not really paying attention to the noises coming from the restaurant. They aren’t open yet and there are still two hours. He’s a little grumpy because Jake hasn’t sent him any messages in over a day, which is fine, but usually he gets a little heads up that he’s going into blackout comms. Some of Jake’s COs have been better than others in terms of being willing to pass baked goods on. Honestly, he’s worried about Jake, although he’ll leave it another day before calling Ice. Of course he’ll actually have to share with Ice that he’s gone and got himself a boyfriend, because Slider has let him know that it’s no fun if he can’t gloat he knew first when it’s been nearly three years.

                Except in that three years they’ve only had about five months with each other, so even though they both very much all in and he feels like they cope well with all the time they spend apart he will never not worry or miss him while he’s gone. It’s just part of his natural state of being he’s come to accept. Vi walks into the kitchen, wearing one of her pant suits she wears when she’s got people to intimidate and he raises an eyebrow.

                “Meeting with… suppliers? Or the bank?”

                “Pfft. Like I need to scare the bank. They want to loan us money and don’t like us paying it back faster. No. I needed you to come out the front. I have something to show you.”

                “Okay, just let me…” he waves his hands, because he’s in the middle of prep, signals for one of the newer and younger chefs to take over and then exchanges a look with Adrienne to ensure an eye is kept on quality. Then he’s following Vi out the front, and she’s walking ahead of him, leading the way so he notices the film crew in the same moment he sees Jake, standing in his full service khakis looking absolutely amazing and everything else fades to unimportance. He’s across the room and kissing him, hands on either side of his face, mouth hot and insistent and he ignores the polite coughs trying to get his attention.

                “Hi…”

                “Hi. That’s a welcome home.”

                “You’re early. Like. Weeks early.”

                “Yep. Can’t talk about it, but, uh… I have almost ten weeks off.”

                “Wow.”

                “Mmm. Pretty sure you’re going to get sick of me.”

                “Never going to happen,” Bradley promises.

…            …            …

                He doesn’t often get creative control, but Jake hasn’t ever signed a waiver saying he’s happy to appear in any of the shows and right in this moment he’s infinitely glad for it. Bradley has kept Jake’s name and job out of all interviews, he’s not about to reveal all of it along with his face. That’s just never going to happen.

                “You can’t use any of that footage,” Bradley states.

                “Care to explain why not?” Cassandra asks, because they’re used to Bradley’s little fits of pique when he’s having a bad day, but he shakes his head, tries to look a little apologetic, because he’s not trying to be difficult.

                “You can’t identify him. It’s a security situation. Only way around it is if you blur his face, nameplate, squadron badge and his ribbons. Any identifying markers. Including his shoulder and collar pins.”

                “Surely his squadron badge…”

                “No. That narrows it down to maybe a group of twenty-eight people. Likely smaller, depending. He can’t be identifiable. It’s bad enough that people will be able to pick that he’s a naval aviator.”

                “How the fuck are they going to figure that out if everything else is blurred out?”

                “Oh. They’ll know if they’re looking closely enough,” Bradley mutters, because he’s pretty sure his days of Slider being unable to gloat are finally numbered.

                At least someone will be happy.

THIRTY

(Every 10th chapter is an IceMav chapter).

(And did I start writing a Phoenix/Vi side story? Yes. Yes I did.)

[suzukiblu]

Day four of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

"Dead," Tim says, because it's not like it's a secret in the community or anything. "Joker happened to him."

And a lot of other things. Sheila Haywood and Felipe Garzonas and Bruce's eternal control-freak paranoia and constant inability to just talk, to name a few. But Joker, in the end.

Still, Tim can't help thinking about the chances to have avoided what happened to Jason. Especially when thinking about what's currently happening to Kon.

If Kon gets taken advantage of or hurt or killed because no one's paying enough attention . . .

Tim takes another drink.

"That sucks," Kon says with a grimace. "No wonder Batman goes all weird mama Bat on you all the time."

Tim chokes on an incredulous laugh and also a mouthful of soda, because Bruce is definitely not that and this isn't something to make light of either, but–

But also, he thinks about how no one ever goes "weird mama Bat" on Kon. No one ever has, as far as he knows.

No one takes care of him at all.

Tim really, really doesn't like that. Kon shouldn't have to rely on working for people who think they can build custom-designed personal-use superheroes based off of stolen dead bodies and are constantly making clones that are just inhuman-looking enough to not be able to blend into society outside the lab, and therefore don't have a choice about where they live or what they do with their lives.

Maybe it's not as bad as it sounds, or at least not as malicious as it sounds, but it's still the results of what Cadmus is doing either way. Kon has the option of being a superhero, at least, but he also has a custom-designed face that looks exactly like the face of one of the most famous heroes in the sector and was given absolutely no idea how to either establish or support a civilian life, so that's just about his only option.

Aside from, again, just working for Cadmus for the rest of his life.

Tim definitely hates the world.

"Please don't call it 'going mama Bat'," he says to distract himself.

"Please tell me what else you'd call it," Kon says.

"Micromanaging," Tim replies matter-of-factly, and Kon chokes on a laugh of his own.

"What, is being Robin your after-school job?" he teases. Technically it is, Tim supposes, but he doesn't exactly think of it that way.

"I consider it more of an unpaid internship," he says, since explaining the whole "emotional support sidekick" thing would probably damage Bruce's Bat-mystique, and if he tells Kon the full story there he's basically telling all of Young Justice. Kon barely seems to understand the concept of secrets, much less the concept of keeping them. "Like I get an expense account but not a paycheck, you know? And sometimes we get cookies in the Batcave."

"Cookies. In the Batcave," Kon echoes, his eyebrows shooting up. "Are they bat-shaped?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Tim replies with a pleasant smile. Alfred doesn't usually bother with anything quite that on the nose, but according to Dick there are Halloween cookie cutters in the kitchen that he's not above bringing out when Bruce has been being especially ridiculous, so . . .

"Oh my god," Kon says delightedly. "Does he make them himself? Is there a Bat-apron? A Bat-oven? Or does he just order them special from the Bat-bakery?"

"There is not a Bat-bakery," Tim says, trying not to laugh again. Goddammit, Kon shouldn't be so fucking funny all the time. He's not even that funny, objectively; Tim is just a smitten idiot.

"So there is a Bat-apron?" Kon says with a smirk.

"I plead the fifth," Tim says, since explaining the novelty Halloween apron Jason bought Alfred when he was thirteen is not actually on the table. Details compromise identities, loose lips sink ships; all that.

"Listen, man, Cadmus doesn't have a bakery unless you count the test tubes they cook us up in," Kon says with a snigger, grabbing himself another slice. Tim thinks thoughts about incendiary devices. "They buy our cookies frozen or just get the industrial-sized pudding cans. Or make bread pudding, the bastards. So you gotta tell me about the Bat-cookies."

Tim winces at the thought of industrial-sized pudding cans and bread pudding, because that sounds absolutely horrifying and he never, ever wants to taste industrial pudding. Ever.

"Well, they're definitely not frozen," he says. "But Nightwing started being Robin a lot younger than I did and the last Robin started younger than me too, so I think I'm just reaping the benefits of younger kids needing after-patrol snacks and everyone else getting in the habit of it."

"I could get into that habit," Kon says musingly as he tears a bite off his newest slice. Tim immediately resolves to order takeout after every possible Young Justice mission that he can. Or they could go get ice cream or something, he doesn't know. "What do you think, wanna make me Bat-cookies sometime, Rob?"

Every weekend for the rest of their respective lives, although Tim would never actually say that. He's not even a good baker. He doesn't even like to bake.

This crush is definitely a problem.

"You're not Gothamite enough to handle Bat-baking, Kon," Tim says dryly, and Kon sniggers.

He also ducks his head a little, looking . . . oddly soft, for a moment. Tim doesn't understand why, until he realizes–oh. It's because he just called him "Kon", isn't it. He wasn't even thinking about it; just did it reflexively.

Tim is pretty sure he needs to ruin the credit of every single "responsible" adult in Kon's life for not naming him sooner. Well–Dubbilex can have a pass, considering he was also made by Cadmus and his own name is Dubbilex, so it probably never occurred to him that "Superboy" wasn't a perfectly acceptable name. And also he probably doesn't have credit either. But all the rest of them, definitely and for sure.

Superman is getting an envelope of powdered Kryptonite in his fucking mailbox, to start. Or maybe Tim could aerosolize it and pepper-spray him with it. That might work.

"You don't know, I could be," Kon huffs, putting on a mock-offended expression. "I was born and raised in a lab, I'm way tougher than the average guy."

"A Metropolis lab," Tim says pityingly. "Might as well be a kindergarten science class."

"Oh fuck you, Batboy!" Kon protests with a laugh. "Tell that to the next alien invasion."

"Aliens know better than to invade Gotham," Tim says. Kon laughs again. It's–weirdly nice, honestly. Usually Kon's too busy trying to act cool in front of whatever "audience" he thinks they have to actually, like . . . just talk all that much or anything. And also usually he gets offended really easily or starts being annoying about something he doesn't know as much as he thinks he does about or just . . . something.

Tim admittedly is less and less annoyed and more and more endeared by that kind of stupid behavior these days, but still. It's the usual pattern their interactions follow.

He guesses they're actually just, like, hanging out right now. It's not like there's a bad guy or a crisis or even any teammates around or training to do, so . . .

Yeah. He guesses they're just hanging out.

Kon decimates the pizza and wings, Tim pretends to be helping and takes a few mental notes on how much Kon is eating and what that may or may not say about his required caloric intake, and they just kind of keep . . . hanging out, really. And they talk, at least as much as Tim lightly interrogating Kon and subtly evading providing any personal identifying information counts as "talking".

Tim really doesn't know if the guys at school or Young Justice are more authentically his "friends", at this point, but at least Young Justice knows there are things they don't know. Everyone from school . . .

Not so much, with them. They all only know Tim Drake, and none of them have any reason to suspect the existence of Robin. Young Justice only knows Robin, but at least they know there is a Tim Drake somewhere, whether they know him or not.

Maybe they are the ones who are more his friends, thinking of it that way.

It'd explain why things never really go anywhere with civilians and he's developed this stupid inadvisable crush on Kon, at least. Though not why things fizzled with Steph, since she knows Robin better than anyone in Young Justice. If he should be having a stupid inadvisable crush on anyone, at least it could've been someone with an equally stupid and inadvisable crush on him.

Unfortunately, he and Steph have officially friend-zoned each other and also Kon exists, so Tim is having his stupid inadvisable crush on an alien hybrid metahuman clone in a terrible living situation with stupid taste in sunglasses and a mysteriously infinite-seeming supply of leather jackets. So now Tim is in this situation and his supervillain timeline needs recalculated, and also he's going to be buying Young Justice so much takeout to make sure Kon gets to eat something that isn't cafeteria food in a way he won't get offended by.

Hopefully, anyway.

"Well, I'm glad the new job's working out," Tim comments eventually, after some very careful conversational maneuvering, and Kon . . . pauses.

"I guess," he says after a moment, picking olives off the remains of his current slice and not quite looking at him as he says it. Tim resists the urge to absolutely pounce on the blood in the water and makes himself wait. "I mean, it's fine, it's not like it's bad there. Like, I don't love that it's my only real option and I don't love the same lab that made me out of DNA that it literally got out of a literal grave being in charge of me, but it's not like Westfield's still running the place or anything. So like, could be worse."

Tim hates the world. All of it. Seriously. Alfred's snickerdoodles get an exception and that's it. Nothing else.

"I'm sure it'll all work out," he says, because yeah, he officially needs to actually do something about this. He doesn't know what something, but something. If he doesn't, who else is going to?

Kon puts on a fake grin and says something stupid and easy in reply, the comment lighthearted and dismissive and a screamingly obvious coping strategy from someone who doesn't see any way out of their current situation but through, and Tim . . .

Tim finishes his Zesti and starts to think.

[goodoldfashionedengineer]

TUA Tumblr Simulator pt. 1

Find more here: pt. 2

—

🪩traumallama Follow

The Umbrella Academy never should have existed. Those were CHILDREN!! They were THIRTEEN when they first appeared! They KILLED people! Two of them DIED! It really goes to show how much you can do if you have money

FUCK Reginald Hargreeves

🌺thinkingthings Follow

Wait 5 DIED?!

🪩 traumallama Follow

It was never confirmed, but honestly, seems the most likely that they would have just covered it up. If he's still alive, I hope he got to live a nice life without that cult

10,846 notes

💗L0veOnLo4n Follow

Every journalist, interviewer, fan, whatever, who is asking Allison Hargreeves about her brothers or her father should just be sent to space. How would you like it if I bring up your childhood trauma constantly?

🌫️love-h4te-whatevs Follow

Didn't she like kill people?

💗L0veOnLo4n Follow

She was a CHILD! It was all planned by their father, he was the one who "trained" them. He should go to prison but that won't ever happen. Not to mention he didn't just adopt those children, he bought them

3,245 notes

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

WE GOT A BEHIND THE SCENES UMBRELLA ACADEMY BOOK OWNDNAOWOE

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

I am so excited to go read this

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

Starting off: WOW Reginald Hargreeves was an even bigger asshole behind closed doors. Who would have thought?

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

Okay, okay okay WHAT WHAT WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK?!!

ALLISON Hargreeves and Spaceboy were IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER?!

WEREN'T THEY LIKE SIBLINGS?!

I know the book says that they weren't really a family... But they were?? They are clearly described as brothers and sisters?

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

Had to put the book down for a while

Gosh, that so surprised me

I used to have the BIGGEST crush on Spaceboy but now I doubt I can think of them the same way ever again

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

Calmed down, I'll continue now

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

BIG MISTAKE, BIG MISTAKE

WHY ARE YOU TELLING US ABOUT THE TIME YOUR MOTHER TOLD YOU AT DINNER THAT YOUR BROTHER HAD HIS FIRST WET DREAM!

That does NOT belong in a book!

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

Drug addiction by age 13, damn

🌕eyestothesun Follow

Wait who was addicted to drugs

🌨️twirlingandwhirling Follow

The Séance. Kinda surprised so many people are shocked about this. There are quite a few interviews with them in which it is just blatantly obvious. Look at his eyes in this one for example. Or in this one he is so chill, not really there, but his siblings do all the talking

🌳drrrrreams Follow

Wow first time I've heard about this but this is so... Incredibly sad.

👥lurkeringlurrlurr Follow

Honestly? I'm more surprised that not more of them are addicts after all they've been through

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

Thanks for the additions!

Five's tragical disappearance. This is the worst part of it by far. They were so close and you can just feel the grief. And to never know what happened, damn

And one of their brothers can see dead people...

I don't know if I'd want to ask him or not. Asking for closure's sake, but if you don't, there is still hope that he'll come back some day.

This is just so sad

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

Spoke too soon, it can get sadder

Ben was their glue, his death was so brutal. He died so young and so painful, I can't imagine what that must be like. For him or for the siblings.

No wonder they disbanded after that. It makes you question your own mortality

8,799 notes

🚵rolly-molly Follow

Wait what happened to Spaceboy? Did he give up on missions and move out?

🤺theyseemen0t Follow

He died

🚵rolly-molly Follow

WHAT

🤺theyseemen0t Follow

I mean, it was never confirmed, but he got really badly injured on his last mission, lethally, and hasn't been seen since

🚵rolly-molly Follow

I had no idea. Rest in Peace

🍇thelandbeforewine Follow

False news, he got injured, but he survived. Otherwise we would have known about it from "Extra Ordinary" which came out last week, given that all the other family secrets were shared in it.

🚵rolly-molly Follow

Ohh, thank you so much! That makes me really happy, I was really worried

2,840 notes

[vaxildanscyare]

Just a silly tbb incorrect quotes #1

Crosshair : They don't make them like me no more. I'm the last of my kind.

Tech : thank god.

Omega : what is Which is correct, seven and five IS thirteen, or seven and five ARE thirteen?

Tech: Neither.

Tech: Because it's twelve.

Hunter: Don't worry, I have a few knives up my sleeve.

Tech: I think you mean cards.

Hunter, pulling knives out of their sleeves: No, I do not.

Hunter: You bought a taco?

Crosshair: Yes.

Hunter: From the same truck that hit Tech?!

Crosshair, with a mouthful of taco: Well, me starving ain't gonna help them.

Omega: Do you ever feel bugs on you when really there's nothing there?

Crosshair: Those are the ghosts of the bugs you killed before.

Omega:

Omega: *sobs*

Tech: You fucking scared them, you idiot.

[sillyslvt]

𝓘𝓿𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻

𝓒𝓦: 𝓪𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓶, 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭 𝓪𝓫𝓾𝓼𝓮, 𝓭𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓬 𝓪𝓫𝓾𝓼𝓮

edit: tagged infidelity but changed my mind, here is the correct cws

quick clear up— this is NOT my experience. (shoutout to my dad!! he’s awesome and I love him!!) please don’t read this one if there’s a possibility of it triggering bad memories. im willing to change anything that doesn’t seem necessary or feels incorrect, but this is the backstory i have created for my character and it is the one that properly contextualizes her experiences most.

happy (late because this was supposed to be done yesterday) father’s day. i hope your dad is nothing like Ivy and Lucas’s

✮ Ivy’s dad never truly treated Ivy like a daughter, even though she had his features. She was Lucas’s sister and her mom’s daughter; not his.

✮ this is because Ivy wasn’t a planned pregnancy. they hadn’t wanted a second kid, but when they saw how excited Lucas was about having a little sibling, they knew that they had to go through with it.

✮ the marriage had been strained before that— Ivy’s dad drank a lot, and Ivy’s mom didn’t like that.

✮ after the second child, he had to work more and ended up drinking a lot in the evenings.

✮ he never physically harmed or assaulted Ivy when he was inebriated. when the night drinking turned into day-drinking, he stopped showing up to Ivy’s events (he’d already stopped showing up to Lucas’s) and got far more snappy.

✮ (keep in mind Lucas is six years older than Ivy!!! he’s seen the day drinking and is old enough to know what it means and notice the difference.)

✮ one of the only good memories Ivy had of her father was when he went on a walk with her. he’d been drunk, which Ivy hadn’t noticed because she was eight.

✮ he’d taken the ribbon out of Ivy’s hair— a white one with pretty lace— and tied it around a tree “so they wouldn’t get lost”.

✮ he’d promised they’d get it when they went back around, but they hadn’t passed by it. she’d been sad about it (as an eight year old would be) and it’d started raining on their way back.

✮ she’d went crying to her mom, cold and wet, and her mom had been FURIOUS at him for not looking into the weather or even just looking at the fucking clouds in the sky.

✮ her parents had fought that day. badly. it was the worst fight she’d ever seen them have, and from the looks of it, they’d done it often.

✮ her dad had walked out into the storm after that. Ivy had ran after him, crying, screaming for him to come back.

✮ “dad! d-daddy, please, where are you going?! Dad!!”

✮ Lucas (who was fourteen) had come after her and held her in the rain while her mom retreated up to her room. It was him who’d given her a warm bath afterwards and let her sleep in his room while their mom cried.

“Don’t ask him to stay, vee. He won’t.”

“Why not?” // “Because he’s bad.”

✮ the next day, Lucas had gone back to get the ribbon. it was tattered and dirty so he’d went and bought a new one, pretending it was the same. Ivy was elated.

✮ when her dad had come back to get his things (a few months later— Ivy was nine by now) she saw him hit her mom.

✮ she’d ran up to Lucas’s room and let him hold her, burying her face in his neck and shaking.

“why’d he do that?” // “I don’t know, Veevee. I don’t know but I’ll protect you, okay?”

“I don’t think he’s coming back.” // “…yeah. Me neither.”

✮ When Ivy thought she was old enough to know what happened (thirteen), she’d asked Lucas (nineteen) about him. And he’d told her everything.

✮ it made Ivy feel sick, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking questions.

“Had he hit her before?” // “Yeah.”

“Did he hit you?” // “…only if I intervened.”

✮ when he’d told her that, she’d burst into tears and just wrapped him in the tightest hug. he’d been surprised for a moment until he’d felt her tears on his shirt and then he’d just sighed.

“I’m sorry I asked him to stay.” // “Don’t be. Mom let him.”

“But why?” // “She loved him. Or…wanted to. But he didn’t love us.”

“I’m sorry, Luke.” // “You don’t have to be.”

“You were a kid, Vee. // “So were you.”

✮ that was when he’d really stiffened, frozen completely, and then he’d crumpled and started crying, letting his own tears fall into her hair as he gave her the firmest hug he could.

“How are you so smart? You’re like ten.”

✮ she hadn’t responded. just hugged him tighter as they both cried.

✮ their dad had tried to come back a few times (because he got drunk / high…) but Ivy never knew (she wasn’t told) and he’d never asked about her.

✮ the only time she knew about this happening was when Ivy was fourteen and Lucas was twenty.

✮ Ivy had answered the door, and Lucas had been in the kitchen. He’d froze, dropping the glass he was holding, the perfect expression of controlled fear on his face.

✮ Ivy had paused, and she’d only looked back when their dad had addressed Lucas directly. Ivy barely even heard what he’d said, just caught that he’d said “scared, boy? Come here, let me get a look at you.”

✮ he’d pushed forward, and Ivy had pushed back, screaming in his face.

“No! You don’t get to talk to him!”

✮ Her dad had stilled, clearly furious. “I can talk to whoever I want. I’m your father.”

“No you’re not. You haven’t been my dad in years.”

✮ That had pissed him off, and before she could react, he’d grabbed her by the front of her shirt and tugged her close.

“Listen here you little brat—“

She could hear Lucas taking a step forward. “Get your hands off her!”

“Shut up!”

✮ Ivy had just barely managed to not flinch back at how close he was as he screamed. She just stood there and let him yell in her face, and when he was done, she just whispered “you’re not my dad. you’re a pathetic excuse for a human with a smaller dick than your brain.”

✮ Her dad’s grip on her shirt tightened. “Let me talk to the boy.”

✮ She could hear Lucas’s breath catch behind her. He’d never admit to being scared, but she didn’t have to look behind her to know he was.

“No. You don’t get to. You’re going to leave, now, or I’m going to call the police.”

“You’re protecting him? You’re protecting him from me? I’m his father!”

“No, you’re not. You’re an abusive sonofabitch, and he’s a far better man than you’ll ever be!”

“You’re just like your bitch of a mother,” he spat, shoving her with so much force it sent her stumbling backwards. “Forget it. He’s not worth it anyway.”

✮ oh, fuck no. she wasn’t going to let that be the last thing Lucas heard.

“He’s more worth it than you! He’s more of a father than you ever were and it wasn’t even his job to be. So just get OUT!! Get out and don’t come back, just fucking LEAVE!!”

✮ it took some more screaming and shoving, but he did eventually leave.

✮ Once he was gone, she shut the door and slumped against it with a sigh. she turned to where Lucas was standing in the kitchen, staring at her with wide eyes. He looked terrified, very uncharacteristically so. She could see his hands shaking.

“Are you okay?” He stepped forward, pausing a few feet in front of her, hands hovering as though he wanted to touch her but wasn’t sure if he’d be allowed.

She nodded. “Think so.”

“Did he hurt you?” // “No, I-..I’m fine.”

“You didn’t have to do that. He could’ve-...” // “I won’t let him hurt you. Never again. Not when I stood by so much.”

Lucas had just stepped forward and given her a hug. They both ignored the way he was still shaking, his hands clutching at her t-shirt.

“It’s not your job to protect me. That should be the other way around.” // “It’s not your job either. You’re not my dad.”

“Yeah, but you deserve to have one.” // “Not if he sucks.”

He sniffed, pulled back. “Shit, i broke the glass. I should clean that up.”

“Don’t you dare. Your hands are still shaking. Just sit down, I’ll get it.”

✮ From then on, Ivy didn’t feel jealous of all the other girls who had good dads. She had her brother— that was enough for her.

[chesirecatsmile]

could u write maxiel getting matching tattoos plssss

it’s 2am after their first las vegas grand prix when daniel meets him at the hotel lobby. he’s holding two bottles of beer, and they are cold when he presses them on max’s naked arm.

“oi,” he says, laughing loudly and pushing max a bit with the bottle until he steps over his feet and tries to stay up as much as his champagne fuzzed brain allows him to.

“fuck off,” max says, snatching the bottle and pressing it on daniel’s cheek, “let’s get out of here.”

they have this thing, after races. ever since the red bull days, whoever finishes behind in the race has to buy the other a beer.

daniel has bought max a lot of beers these last few years.

and so here they are. almost 8 years later and daniel is bringing max a beer and smiling at him.

“you wanna… go to my room?”

that’s another thing they do, ever since the red bull days. daniel will look at him with shiny eyes and a big grin and ask max if he wants to go to bed with him. and max will say yes sometimes and some other times he will say no, if he’s not in the mood or he’s got someone else to fuck.

but not today, “lead the way.”

the sex is good. but the sex is always good with daniel. max lets him fuck him like no one else has before, dirty and raw and all over the room.

they lay in bed afterwards and hold each other and pretend it doesn't mean anything when they both know it does.

max is tracing his fingers on ink, carefully following a wing on a butterfly and then a petal on a flower. daniel makes a noise and closes his eyes, ignoring him completely.

“how many do you have?” he speaks into the quiet of the room.

“tattoos?” daniel says in that soft accent that max likes so much, “i have no idea.”

max hums and continues his tracing, moving on to an envelope and pusing higher and higher until his hand is resting on daniel’s ass and squeezing.

“you like them?” daniel says, kissing max’s chest and leaving small bites on his pecks, smiling when max gasps softy.

max nods and when daniel opens his eyes, he’s is looking at him back. his eyelids droppy from what max can tell is a pleasant buzz in his belly.

his lashes are so long and they are so close max can count every single freckle on his nose. so he does, 1, 2, 3, 4…. he counts freckles to distract himself from the feeling of alcohol in his system and the need to run away that’s always on the back of his mind.

“we should-” daniel starts.

“get a tattoo,” max blurts out for no reason.

daniel leans back and stars at max, his eyebrows furrow for a second before they raise in amusement. “and what would we be getting, maxy?”

max feels his heart beat hard in his chest. he can’t really back out now. he’s never liked the idea of tattoos, until daniel, that is.

daniel, with his intricate patters on his thigh, the way he will tell you what each of them means as he lets your fingers trace them. daniel, who gets hard and lets you suck his dick if you say his tattoos are hot.

the idea of having something related to daniel on his body forever is definitely something he can get behind. he just can’t believe he’s okay with it after never thinking about tattoos in his life, and that daniel has no questions or doubts and is immediately asking what they should get.

“i-” max licks his lips and thinks, for a good minute, “our race numbers?”

“thirteen?” daniel smiles and lets himself fall back on the pillows, smile widening, “come kiss me.”

“i meant three hundred thirty three.” max says and slides closer, his thigh on top of daniel’s their crotches pressing together.”

“i know, i just like the way you say three.” daniel kisses him, bites his bottom lip and doesn't let him protest. max pillows his elbows on each side of daniel’s head, throws his leg all the way over and straddles him.

“hey,” daniel says, starting up at him with interested eyes, “what are you up to?”

max shifts his weight and doesn’t say anything, just stares at daniel for a long minute. “would you…”

“what?" daniel’s hands findmax’s ass and he squeezes, his voice getting lower, “you want to go again?”

max lets out a breath, and daniel’s mouth quirks up at the corner, “just say what you want.”

“sit on your face,” max whispers. his eyes slam closed, afraid to see what comes next, but daniel just rubs his palms against the soft skin of max’s upper thighs.

“come here,” daniel says with an exhale, letting max shuffle up until his thighs are on either side of daniel’s grinning face.

daniel reaches around, pulling max down by the meat of his ass, and then he's lifting his head so that he can drag his tongue up, coming to press against his hole.

it feels so good and max settles himself down more firmly, hips straining back into the slickness of daniel’s tongue. he’s sloppy about it, spit already dripping everywhere, making max groan and roll his eyes.

his hands come up, roughly spreading max’s ass open so that he can lick him more firmly, and he moans loudly, embarrassingly. it feels like it's punched out of him, and daniel chuckles softly against him before withdrawing, one finger slipping to the side and sinking into max to replace his tongue.

"you like that?" he asks. "you like me getting you all wet, baby?”

max doesn't respond, just arches his back and pushes his ass out, silently begging. the message seems to come across loud and clear, because then daniel’s tongue is back, lapping at him like he can't bear the thought of another moment passing in which he isn't doing just this. he thrusts his finger roughly inside of max, opening him up and demanding that he make space for him inside, and when his body has given in to that demand, daniel just adds another.

it has max's knees shaking even as he grinds back, desperate to get more of anything, the hard press of daniel’s fingers inside of him or the slick interruption of his tongue between them. but then daniel’s wandering, his tongue flicking down over max' balls, sucking lightly until max keens and shifts further back to daniel’s shoulders.

he feels daniel smile before he brushes his lips over max’s dick softly before taking it in his mouth, sucking it down until max cries out, hips jerking forward.

daniel’s mouth is so hot and wet around him; max can feel the soft ridge of his teeth against the head, and then daniel clenches his fingers on the meat of his ass as he lets max thrust in his mouth over and over.

the sensation is so good, so perfect, that max plants his hands on the mattress above daniel’s head, giving himself better leverage to roll his hips into his mouth. he tilts his head down so he can watch his dick sliding out and then back in, daniel’s lips stretched obscenely around him, his eyes half-lidded in concentration.

maybe he could do this faster, harder, fuck daniel’s mouth like he really wants to, but he loves the view far too much. loves letting daniel have control.

when he starts getting closer, panting softly, max sits back up. daniel’s fingers stir inside of him again, rubbing against his prostate and sucking on him harder now, and max's hands reach down, one cupping daniel’s face, the other carding roughly through his hair. he wishes he could do this all the time, not only after a beer and a race.

but the thought that he might never have this again makes it hotter, better. he feels overloaded and shaky, and daniel only rubs harder inside of him until he tugs frantically at his hair, trying to get him to draw back.

"please," he begs. "i’m gonna-"

daniel just sucks more firmly, fingers crooking inside of max, and with a long moan. max is coming down his throat, long pulses forcing his body into shivers. his fingers fist tight in daniel’s hair as he thrusts slowly against his tongue, determined to get every last drop of come down daniel’s throat.

when it becomes too much, he shifts back, hurriedly pulling off daniel like he’s hurting him. he crawls off of daniel, laying down in silence, and daniel curls around him, nosing gently at his neck.

"we need to get a tattoo," daniel says against max’s ear. "three hundred thirty three.”

[magniloquent-raven]

life's what you make it

@tommykinardweek Day 1: Coming Out

CW: descriptions of animal abuse & pet death

(also on ao3)

When Tommy was nine his father bought a lanky Rottweiler with paws too big for his skinny legs. “He’ll be useful when he fills out a bit,” was all his dad said about it, with a chuckle and a backhanded slap against Tommy’s chest. Rotties are loyal, obedient working dogs. Guard dogs.

His dad named the dog Budweiser after one too many. In retrospect, he picked the first thing he saw to get Tommy to shut up about what they were going to call him, but at the time Tommy thought it was a great idea. After all, the dog was his Bud. (His Budweiler. It took three days for his dad to get sick of that joke.)

A week after he came into their home Tommy’s father nailed down a stake in the front yard. Bought a chain to clip to Bud’s collar. And he scoffed at Tommy’s whining about how sad Bud looked out there, all alone. “It’s a fucking dog, Tom, it’s not sad.”

But Tommy smushed his face against the window to watch him rest his blocky head on his too-big paws, and he saw him sigh. A big gusty sigh that moved his whole body.

Arguing with his dad about it didn’t change anything. The stake stayed. The dog stayed outside, where animals belong.

“Wouldn’t have bought the damn thing if I knew you were gonna be such a girl about it,” his dad muttered into his beer.

And that was that.

But Bud was always digging up his stake. Tugging at his collar. Running in circles around the yard, getting tangled up in his restraints. The first time they came home to dirt patches and overturned sod Tommy’s dad chucked his shoe at the dog, irate about how much it was going to cost to clean up. Tommy spent the rest of the afternoon outside, quietly raking up the chunks of grass and taking breaks to sit with Bud, petting his short, bristly fur.

Locked in the bathroom, he would tear up magazines. Left in the backyard he’d paw endlessly at the patio door. Then he started running away. The first time it happened Tommy was in hysterics. He cried his eyes out, and shut himself in his room where his father wouldn’t see.

It didn’t matter how many afternoons he’d spent outside feeding Bud bits of leftover lunch meat from his sandwiches, trying to tell him he was supposed to stay in the front yard, if he was a good dog he’d stay in the front yard. Explaining to him over and over again that he was here to protect them—his job was to scare away Mormons and the tax man, whoever he was—didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

After two years he started to believe his father. Bud was just a bad dog. A stupid dog. Defective. They kept him chained up in the front yard, and Tommy stopped spending time with him beyond giving him a pat or two on his way inside. He was too old to keep pretending that the dog understood what he was saying anyways. And he had better things to do.

When Tommy was thirteen, Bud slipped out of his collar again. It was old news, and Tommy was past freaking out. He’d always find Bud running off down the street, chasing squirrels or trying to wriggle under the neighbours’ fence to play with their fat little Bulldog. Sometime he’d be at the house four doors, laying very very still while the five-year-old who lived there played his back like a drum.

It should’ve been just another day. “Your dumbass dog got loose again,” his dad yelled from the couch the second Tommy walked in. Standard. Usually a twenty minute detour, and he figured he’d still have time to get his homework done before dinner.

He didn’t.

Bud was two streets over, breathing shallow, bleeding into the gutter.

And Tommy watched him die.

He didn’t sit with him, didn’t touch him, didn’t have words. He just stood there, pale and shaken, full of something too cold to be panic and tasting bile on his tongue.

It was his fault. He went to bed before sunset, staring at nothing, knowing that he was to blame. Feeling it.

His father told Tommy the city would take care of the body. He was roadkill, they had people for that. Good riddance to a financial burden. All Tommy could do was nod along dumbly.

Five years later he enlisted. It was the adult thing to do, his only option when he was told to grow up and make something of himself.

It would take him years to realize he didn’t like what he’d made. The person he saw in the mirror looked more like his father every day, and the man who raised him looked less like himself than he ever had. After two divorces, forty years of chain-smoking, three bypass surgeries, and just plain old time, he was hollowed out and had nothing to replace the emptiness with.

They see each other once a year, on Thanksgiving, and the visits get shorter and shorter. There’s only so much of the same tired speeches Tommy can take. He knows his father’s Reasons Why Marriage Is A Sham by heart, so well he could act it out if pressed, cadence and all.

Maybe some of it stuck deeper than he thought. A tired old man’s legacy, the voice in the back of Tommy’s head telling him it’s not worth it, none of it’s worth it.

His father’s influence might explain why he got cold feet and ran out on his fiancee. It’s as good an explanation as any, seeing as he’s still trying to figure out what the fuck even happened.

One minute he’s picking out napkins and listening to her plan their future, the next…

He’s got a decent little place to himself, at least. He got lucky there. No roommates, no rowdy army guys packed into a barrack that smells like the world’s evilest gym sock. Just him. Alone.

He thinks about getting a dog.

It’s fine, coming home to an empty bungalow. Living off of ready-made TV dinner meals like some kind of sad cliche. Work is great, the guys—and Hen—are great. He works as many shifts as his body can take, goes out for drinks with Howie and blames the beer when he sits a little too close in the booth, throwing an arm over the back and letting the booze push them into an almost-embrace.

The warmth doesn’t linger long enough to keep him from curling in on himself at night, hugging his pillow.

He doesn’t tell anyone besides his neighbour, Arthur, that he’s considering checking out animal shelters. The guy isn’t his friend, exactly, but there isn’t anyone else he can ask to pet-sit while he’s at work.

They chat sometimes. He’s a little older than Tommy, and somehow broader in the shoulders. He used to work construction, apparently. Now he’s living off workers’ comp. Tommy doesn’t know what happened, just that he’s in a wheelchair sometimes, and since he lost his job he’s started growing his hair. It’s shoulder-length now, dark and wavy.

“My sister didn’t put you up to this did she? I’ve got hobbies and shit, I swear. I’m fine,” he says when Tommy mentions he might need help feeding a dog in the near future. He’s not entirely sure how serious the accusation is. Tommy errs on the side of glib.

“No, I’m just too cheap to hire a professional.”

Arthur grins, the tan lines around his eyes disappearing into crow’s feet. “I can respect that.”

Months go by, and he’s still thinking about it. Weighing the pros and cons. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, it’s not like he can’t afford it, and he can just drop the dog back off at a shelter if it doesn’t work out. It would be nice to have a reason to go on walks, or run, if the dog is high-energy. Plus, less chance of someone breaking in and making off with his stuff.

Bud never quite lived up to his potential as a guard dog—an impersonal way to put it, but it's the way he's forced himself to look at it over the years—but his dad wasn’t wrong about dogs having their uses.

There’s no particular reason for it when he takes a different route home after work one day. It was a normal day, normal calls. They pulled a kid out of a collapsed playground structure. Checked out an apartment after someone burned their popcorn. He chimed in with a joke or two when Hen and Chim started ribbing each other over lunch. No one died, nothing exploded.

Then he thought about going home to an empty house again and…

He’s pulling into the parking lot of the closest shelter thirty minutes later.

The girl behind the desk is sweet. She’s maybe twenty, and barely eye-level with Tommy’s collarbone, dressed in a purple hoodie and sneakers with a name tag pinned to her shirt that says Katie. There’s a peeling dolphin sticker next to the K.

“Did you have anything specific in mind?” she asks him, a big smile on her face that he’s sure is part of her job but looks genuine anyways.

When he pictured getting a dog the image in his head was always just… Bud. Black and brown, the tiny spots above his eyes, short bristly fur and somehow always drooling a little bit. He didn’t have his heart set on a Rottie, exactly, it was just all he could see himself getting.

He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. “No.” Then he pauses, eyes scanning the white tile walls behind her. There are so many brightly coloured posters tacked up on it they all sort of blend together. “I work a lot, if that’s a problem.”

She shakes her head, her expression softening to something sympathetic. “No, not a problem, we just need to find the right match for your lifestyle. Certain pets need more attention, of course, but I’m sure we’ll find someone for you.”

“Right.”

There are so many options. When she leads him into the back room a few of the little dogs start yapping. One that looks like a bathmat with beady little eyes runs in circles making more noise than a creature that small should. Another one with curly fur and white fluff around its ears barks so hard its whole body bounces with the effort.

“They’re just excited,” Katie says with a sheepish laugh.

The whole long room is lined with plexiglass alcoves, and smells overwhelmingly of dog. A black lab paws at its window as they walk past. A lot of the animals are furry lumps with their backs turned, hidden in the corner of their enclosure.

“Did you want a minute alone with them?”

Tommy blinks at her, feeling a little out of his depth.

“I think it’s easier to find out if it’s a good match if it’s just you and the critters, you know? Just come get me if you take a liking to any of them, and we can see how you do with face-to-face time.”

“Oh…kay.”

She pats his elbow and gives him another sunny smile before heading back up front.

He wanders up and down the length of the room for a while, stopping in front of every dog that demands his attention. They’ve all got cards in the upper corner of their windows. Name, age, sex, and breed. Some of them have little notes about special needs. There’s a diabetic Poodle mix that huffs at him when he walks past. A Yorkie with a limp and a mean growl.

Around halfway through his second loop around he notices a fluffy white dog snoozing on her back. She’s a medium size, no listed breed. And she’s running in her sleep. Paws waving in the air, tongue lolling out of her mouth.

He chuckles.

According to her card, her name is Periwinkle—which Tommy wrinkles his nose at, what even is that—she’s two years old, and…oh. She’s deaf and blind. Probably not the best pick for him then. He already had doubts about how much time and attention he’d be able to give a dog, he doesn’t want to bite off more than he can chew here.

She snuffles, nose twitching. It’s stupidly adorable.

“She’s a sweet girl.”

“Jesus Christ—” Tommy startles, hands flying up to his chest where he presses a palm to his racing heart as he whirls around.

“Sorry!” Katie laughs, clearly more amused than apologetic. She clears her throat and schools her expression. “Sorry, it’s just you’ve been in here a while, I thought I’d check in.”

“It’s fine.” He smooths some wrinkles out of his shirt, trying to act like it was his intention all along.

“So, Periwinkle?”

Tommy can’t help but purse his lips. “What kind of name is that, anyway?”

“Oh, she was part of a whole litter that we took in, they were all named after flowers. Periwinkles are pretty little blue ones.”

“Ah…”

“She’s the last one we have left, all her brothers and sisters were adopted as puppies.”

Okay, well. She didn’t need to make him feel bad, that’s just uncalled for.

She’s not what he was looking for. Not the kind of dog that scares away intruders, or anyone, really, she looks like a marshmallow with floppy ears. And he’s not sure he feels qualified to care for a dog with disabilities, she needs someone loving and attentive and patient.

He opens his mouth to say as much, to say she probably wouldn’t be a good fit, and list off all the things he told himself were the reasons he’s here in the first place. No words come out.

“Would you like to meet her properly?”

“…Sure.”

She has him wait in a little side room down the hall. There’s a rickety folding chair in the corner that he eyes but doesn’t sit in, instead choosing to stand in against the wall with his arms folded tight across his chest. The knot of anxiety in his gut is ridiculous, and stupid, and he doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, but he can’t stop shaking his leg and digging his nails into the meat of his forearm.

There’s very little in the room to distract him. Apart from the chair, there’s an empty steel bowl, a grey mat, and a basket with a couple knots of rope, a tennis ball that’s seen better days and a rubber ring that looks oddly untouched compared to everything else.

He’s probably only waiting for a few minutes, but it feels like it’s been an eternity when the door finally clicks open and Katie sticks her head in.

“Okay, here we are!” She sidles into the room, guiding Periwinkle by a short leash. Her posture is alert, tail up, sniffing the air. “I’ve got some treats in my pocket if you want to give her some. Dogs are not above taking bribes.”

Tommy lets out a little breath of a laugh.

She approaches him slowly, squinting milky blue eyes. Now that he can see her properly, he notices the yellowing bits around her ears and under her chin. Part Golden Retriever, maybe. She’s got the face shape for it.

She pokes his shin with her nose. He’s not sure if she bumped into him or if it was on purpose until she does it again, eagerly sniffing at the leg of his jeans.

He came here right from work, he can’t imagine he smells very good. Then again, she is a dog.

“I, uh…” He glances from her to Katie. His arms are still folded across his chest, and he’s not sure what to do with his hands.

Katie pulls a little bone-shaped cookie from her pocket and offers it to him, eyebrows raised and her smile encouraging. “Just make sure you don’t make any sudden moves, okay? Be gentle with her.”

He nods, and very carefully squats down to her level. He gets the treat about four inches from Periwinkle’s face and she starts wriggling up a storm, tail wagging, loose fur flying, snuffling reaching a fever pitch as she noses around trying to locate the food.

It’s impossible not to grin at her excitement. Affection blooms between his ribs when she bumps into his thumb and gives it a test lick. It doesn’t take her long to devour her treat once she finds it, and she cleans the crumbs from his fingers when it’s gone.

Seemingly satisfied with his tribute, she lays down on his feet. Then rolls against his shins in a warm fuzzy heap of loose limbs, clumsily pawing at him until he reaches out a tentative hand and runs his fingers through the fluff on her chest.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say she likes you!” Katie beams.

“Yeah.” Tommy’s voice cracks, embarrassingly, suddenly emotional. He swallows past a lump in his throat.

He stays crouched awkwardly, unable to shift into a more comfortable position even when his knees start to ache. Periwinkle breathes evenly, seemingly content to rest on his boots while he rubs her belly and makes stilted small talk with Katie.

She’s more than happy to pick up the conversational slack, giving him all sorts of tips about what’s good to feed pets and how to train a dog that can’t see or hear you. There’s so much information, he’s sure he won’t retain it all.

By now Katie has migrated to the folding chair, she’s seated with her legs crossed at the knee and talking with her hands. “Now, I recall you saying you work a lot, but is your schedule consistent? It’s important for a dog like Periwinkle to have predictable routines.”

“Yeah, pretty consistent.” Monotonous is the word that comes to mind, and he cringes away from it. He likes his job. His job isn’t the problem. “I work long hours though. Sometimes days at a time.”

Katie’s forehead pinches at that. “Okay. Do you have anyone to look after her while you’re gone? A family member? Girlfriend?”

His stomach lurches. “No.” He digs his fingertips deeper into thick fur, feeling her heartbeat under his hand. She’s calm. Relaxed. He should fucking relax. He doesn’t. “I had a fiancee,” comes spilling out of his mouth, “things ended…weird. I just don’t think I’m ready to date again so soon, y’know?” He forces an airy laugh. There’s no good reason for him to have explained all that, or for it to have felt like a lie.

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Tommy lets out a slow breath. “I asked my neighbour if he’d help out. With the dog.”

“Oh, great!”

She moves on easily, but he doesn’t. The moment sticks under his skin, like a splinter he can’t scratch out. It aches, dull but present, for the rest of the conversation, and beyond that. While he signs adoption papers, when he walks out the door, Periwinkle’s leash in hand, all through the quiet drive home. She sits in the passenger seat, and he cracks the window just enough for her to stick her nose out while he pretends to listen to the radio.

He has a dog now.

The next week or so is a bit of a mess. He buys everything he thinks he’ll need, and probably goes overboard. Dog-proofing his house is trial-and-error, Periwinkle keeps finding new things to chew on, and he never realize he had so much clutter until there was a blind dog bumping into things all the time.

It’s beautiful chaos and he loves it. She falls asleep on his lap when he watches TV, and he gets stuck there for hours. It turns out she hates peanut butter, and when he tries to fill a chew toy with it for her to play with she only picks it up long enough to jerk her head and toss it across the room.

Katie told him touch was important when bonding with a blind and deaf dog, and he figured it would be a slow process, easing Periwinkle into her new surroundings, showing her that he can be trusted. They have hit a few bumps (no pun intended) getting her used to navigating his house, but amazingly she seems to have no reservations about him specifically. She’s glued to his hip nearly every moment he’s home, pressed up against his leg when he’s standing at the kitchen counter, head on his thigh when he’s on the couch, always nearby.

Thankfully she likes Arthur nearly as much as she likes Tommy. Possibly because he always has a piece of jerky for her when he comes over. Which is understandable on her part.

Three weeks after he brought her home, he finds Arthur sitting on his porch with Wink in his lap and looking mildly sheepish.

“She wouldn’t let me go home.”

Tommy grins. “Want a beer?”

“Please.”

He thinks they might be friends after that. He wants them to be friends after that.

It didn’t bother him so much before, that they were just casual acquaintances. Tommy’s got plenty of acquaintances, and it suits him fine. But one evening with the dog between them leaves Tommy with a strange ache he can’t place. The next day all he thought about was the dying glow from the sun catching on deep-set brown eyes, sparkling with mirth. That adolescent desperation he tried to stomp down whenever he made Arthur laugh, that voice that babbled do it again, like me, like me, please—

It's not until Sal catches him grinning down at his own hands and punches his arm, crowing “Well hot damn, look who finally moved on. What’s her name?” that things start to fall into place.

A lot of things.

He just barely manages to excuse himself without throwing up, and makes it to the bathroom just in time to burst into tears.

Once the dam cracks, he’s helpless against the tide. His lungs burn from the effort it takes to keep from sobbing audibly. Chest heaving slow, painfully, methodically slow, he buries his face in his hands and cries, cries, lets snot dribble down his wrist and doesn’t care, squeezes his eyes shut so hard he sees stars and still the tears drip down his nose. It hurts, and all he can do is hang on, hoping the bells don’t go off, hoping no one walks in or wonders where he’s gone.

He’s so stupid for not seeing it. There’s a whole well of secrets he’s been keeping from himself and he feels like he’s been pushed into it to drown.

Does anyone else know? Has anyone figured it out before him? It’s not like he’s never had anyone make dumb jokes, all of Sal’s favourite jokes seem to boil down to hey, you’re gay. Kids in school would make fun of him for getting weepy about shit, or talking with his hands too much, or being too picky about girls, but…

Christ, he’s so stupid.

Maybe everyone knows, and always has. Fear grips him tight, sharp fingers grabbing a fistful of his guts. Has everyone been laughing at him behind his back. Every time he makes a dumb comment about not getting what the big deal is about a pretty girl, or makes excuses about another breakup.

Oh God, does his father know?

His father can never know.

His stomach heaves again, and he tastes bile.

It’s unclear how long he’s in that bathroom, hazy, knees buckling under the weight of his whole life turning on its head and hitting him at once. He splashes water on his face to rinse off the snot and tears, but it does nothing for the blotchy pink around his nose and eyes.

He spends the rest of his shift jumpy and distracted.

For the first time in weeks he’s hesitant to go home, but he doesn’t want to impose on Arthur any more than he already has.

Arthur’s on his porch again, reading a book and petting Wink. She perks up when Tommy’s truck pulls into the driveway. He’s not entirely sure how she always knows it’s him. Could be a scent thing. Or maybe she can feel the vibrations coming off his engine. Whatever it is, it’s comforting to know someone’s always gonna be happy to see him.

The steering wheel creaks in his grip, and an itch builds behind his eyes. He takes a moment to blink it away and compose himself, but Arthur still shoots him an odd look as he approaches the house.

Great.

“Bad day?”

Tommy shrugs. “It was fine.”

Wink trots down the ramp he replaced the porch steps with last week, meeting him halfway to bump her forehead against his knee.

The ache in his chest twists around his heart.

“Mhm,” Arthur hums. He’s in his chair today, and Tommy absently watches the muscles in his forearm flex as he turns. It takes his brain a second to catch up to what he’s doing, and he jolts, tearing his gaze away. “That’s what I always tell people too.”

Tommy bites his tongue. There’s a barb on the end of it, and the taste of iron in the back of his throat. He’s too tired to start an argument over nothing. And he knows he’d regret it later.

He bends down to pet the top of Wink’s head and lets Arthur leave without another word.

He smells like burnt sugar and cinnamon soap, and Tommy holds his breath just to stop trying to inhale every trace he left in his wake.

It really is like that, huh. He really does…

Three fingers of whiskey later he still feels like crawling out of his own skin.

He’s got the news running in the background. All his comfort things feel dangerous tonight. He can’t be sure he won’t put on his favourite movie and discover he only liked it because he was wildly attracted to the leading man and had no idea this whole time. He’s terrified of finding out anything else about himself, but it’s left him twitchy and bored and mostly alone with his own thoughts.

Wink had taken up residence in her usual place, head resting on his knee, but as the evening went on she got up and re-positioned. Now she’s sitting in his lap, leaning against his chest and snuffling into his shirt.

It’s the closest thing to a hug he’s gotten in a while, and it breaks him a little bit.

He wraps his arms around her, burying his face in the fluff around her neck.

“I think I’m gay,” he mumbles into her fur.

Nothing happens. The world doesn’t end.

He breathes. He’s going to be okay.