#and will likely have to wake up in 4 to 6 hours

[whatifitis]

♡ Cursing The Daylight - LN 4 ♡

Summary: Lando hates knowing you never sleep well so when he believes he's figured out why, he makes it his mission to save his sleepy girlfriend from sleep deprivation.

Author's note: A little blurb thing I wrote at 2 am. I tried my best 😭

WC: 1045

CW: Lando being a bit dumb and the sweetest person ever, fluff

You were currently cursing the daylight, watching as a blue bird flew past your window.

Fucker 

It was yet another sleepless night in your apartment. You continued to stare at your alarm clock, waiting for it to go off, a little reminder that if you were capable of sleeping properly, you’d still have 5 more minutes of sleep. 

For most of your life, especially in recent years, you’ve never been able to get a full night's rest. You’d always end up tossing and turning for hours, as well as waking up about 7 times a night. Every day you would feel irritated and restless due to your lack of sleep. 

However, whenever you slept over at your boyfriend's house, you always managed to get a good night's sleep. You and your boyfriend, Lando, have been together for about 5 months. The first night you two had spent together, was the first time you’d been able to sleep well. You woke up bright and early and you felt amazing, like nothing could stop you. 

Over the course of your relationship, Lando came to be aware of your inability to sleep well most nights. Whenever you would sleep in your own apartment, Lando would receive mass amounts of texts from you, all about how you slept terribly and that you either needed a nap or many coffees. 

Lando, being the ever so lovely person he is, picked up on something. The only times you would get a good night's sleep, waking up and not needing to complain about anything and everything, was when you slept at his place. 

The mattress! The boy thought, she sleeps better at mine cause my mattress is fucking mint. 

Upon realizing this, Lando goes and orders the same exact mattress he has, and has it sent to yours. He thought it’d be a nice surprise for you so that you can get a goodnight sleep every night. Another plus would be that you guys are coming up on your 6 month anniversary, this counts as a gift right?, thinks Lando. 

The day Lando gets an email stating that the mattress was out for delivery, he books it to your place, wanting to be there to see your reaction to his gift and so that he could help you bring it in and set it up. 

Lando arrives at your apartment, greeted by you with a massive smile and sparkling eyes. He wastes no time in pulling you to him by your hips and wrapping his arms around your torso. As you wrap your arms around his neck you say, “As much as I love seeing you, what are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet up later tonight for movie night.”

As Lando pulls away to look at you, the postman has just arrived. “That’s why.” he says, smiling cheekily and pointing to the truck behind him. 

The both of you watch as the postman begins to unload the mattress from the vehicle, before Lando jumps in and helps the man drag the mattress to the door of your apartment. 

Whilst Lando and the man bring the mattress into your apartment, you stand there dumbfounded. 

What the actual fuck is going on? The only thing I’ve ordered to my apartment is a new book and I don’t think the book is that big? Wait, did I order the right thing?!

As soon as the box is in your living area, you confront Lando, “Lan, my love, my gorgeous boy… what the fuck?” you ask, pointing at the big ass box in your living area. 

Your Lan stands there next to the box, all but swaying as he stands and gives you the biggest smile he could plaster on his face. 

The cheeky fuck. 

“It’s a mattress!” he says as he poses next to it, adding a pose for effect. 

“A mattress?” you ask.

“A mattress.” 

After a moment of silence, where you contemplated whether to strangle him or take his credit card away from him, you ask “Why?”

“Cause, you’re always tired and you never sleep well unless you’re at my place. So I figured out why! It’s because you find my mattress to feel so much better and comfier. I even ordered the same bed sheets I have, but I got yours in green since it’s your favorite color. They should be here tomorrow though so for tonight you can spend the night with me or we can use your old sheets.” he proposes, smiling so wide it makes your heart melt from the sweetness that you don’t deserve. 

He gets you the same mattress he has in his home, for your home. 

“I sleep better at yours because you’re there. Not because of the mattress, you muppet!” you exclaim. 

You watch as Lando’s face immediately drops, “what?” he asks. He’s truly been stunned with this information, “What’d you mean it’s not because of the mattress? You mean to tell me I haven’t helped solve your sleeping issues?! I thought I was smarter than all the doctors you’ve seen for this issue!”

You can’t help but laugh at your boyfriend's statement. 

“Gorgeous, you thought that of all the doctors I’ve seen… that none of them have thought that I was sleeping on an uncomfortable mattress?” 

Lando just stood there silent, blankly staring at a wall, likely contemplating all his life choices. 

“Fuck. So, do you not want the mattress? Seems like a hassle to return.” he states as he scratches the back of his neck, wondering how he’s going to return the heavy ass box. “Wait, you sleep better when you’re around me?” he looks at you, somewhat shocked. 

You walk up to him, taking his hands in yours and making him look you in the eyes, “Gorgeous, in the time we’ve been together, we’ve slept on couches and several different mattresses. And I always sleep well no matter where or what we are sleeping on. I sleep better because I’m with you, I feel safe with you.”

“Oh… oh!” he giggles a bit. Red starts to lightly color his face, he’s blushing, “That’s nice.”

You don’t think you’ve met anyone more awkward than this man, but you love him because of that, not in spite of it. 

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 9

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Part 11

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, soapghost // CW: Hurt/Comfort, MWIII spoilers

---

Cool air flows through the dimly lit back of the supply truck, slivers of daylight seeping through the canvas sides as it trundles along toward the RV point. Soap takes a deep breath, thankful for the reprieve from the Mexican heat as he huddles in the darkness between weapon crates.

Laswell insisted on keeping Soap's involvement a secret, but Ghost is... well... Ghost. And he can still read Soap better than anyone: his facial expressions, his nervous ticks, and all the words he leaves unspoken in the wake of his trauma.

In a strange reversal, though, Ghost now speaks enough for both of them — words meant to reassure Soap even without an apparent need for reassurance.

Won't let owt happen to you, Johnny. No matter what.

The words were whispered in Soap's ear not four hours ago as Ghost, Price, Gaz, Rudy, Alejandro, and a host of Vaqueros left for their part of the mission in the wee hours before dawn — all of them once again sporting their anonymizing ghost masks. No one was supposed to know that Soap was heading out on his own mission, but somehow Ghost did.

The knowledge settles deep inside and blooms into hope that he'll succeed and make it out alive. Whatever happens, though, one thing is certain.

Makarov has to die.

The trouble is, they aren't sure they'll know if the person who shows up is actually Makarov — not when he has a serum that could make anyone look like him. And that's where Soap comes in.

The truck downshifts and slows. Three measured thumps vibrate through the wall and into his head as the truck begins to turn, letting him know they've arrived at the lowest switchback on the mountain that edges the sprawling Mexican city where Makarov has agreed to meet them. 

The trapdoor in the truck bed is light under Soap's fingers as he opens it and squirms through the narrow hole. His tac vest and the hard case attached to his back both catch on the sides, but he grabs the specially-placed bars along the bottom of the truck and pulls himself through. The hatch snaps closed behind him as he clings to the bars with his hands and feet, the ground still flying by fast enough to give him pause. He waits until the truck is about to straighten and accelerate down the slope to the city before letting go.

The engine roars as the driver accelerates, leaving him skidding along the road in a cloud of dust. As intended, the case takes the brunt of the damage, and using the dust as cover, he leans to the side and slides off the road into the underbrush. His helmet and armored suit take a beating from the thick brush that catches at his clothes and finally brings him to a halt.

He inhales to double check the filters. To his relief, clean air pours into his lungs, even as the dust billows around him. As the cloud dissipates, he clicks through on comms.

"Watcher-1, this is Snake."

"Snake, this is Watcher-1. Send traffic."

"Successful fall. On the move."

"Roger that. Stay out of sight. And good luck. Out."

Soap glances at his watch. Four hours to go.

He takes a deep breath, ignores the shadows flashing in the corners of his eyes, and begins moving toward the city below.

---

Four hours later, Soap is safely ensconced in his hiding place on top of a six-story building near the warehouse they'd chosen for the confrontation. The modified sniper rifle feels familiar in his hands, though it's strange to have the helmet visor between his eye and the scope. He should be shaking with nerves, but the calm that always comes over him in a sniper's nest is a welcome balm to his nerves, even if shadows still stalk the corners of his eyes.

Laswell asked him to be here as an ace up their sleeve, and he agreed. How could he stay behind when Makarov was involved? Still, he would've said no if not for the hours of target practice with Ghost over the past few days. The repetition took the edge off the latent brainwashing, allowing him to hold a gun without insidious thoughts overwhelming him — exposure therapy at its best. Or worst, depending on how he looks at it. But time spent with Ghost is never a waste in his opinion, even if Soap is fighting his inner demons at the time.

Maybe especially when he's fighting those demons.

And so, here he is. Waiting for someone who probably isn't Makarov to show up.

Sweats slides between his shoulder blades as the late-morning air heats up. He's in a shadowed alcove between ductwork and a massive air handler unit, relying on the contrast with the bright day to hide him from enemy eyes. Movement below catches his attention, and despite his calm, a chill runs down his spine a moment before the comm chatter starts.

"Price to Ghost. Sit rep."

"Ghost 'ere. Nearly in position."

Soap frowns. Ghost isn't supposed to be on overwatch. A Vaquero was tasked with that.

"Alright, everyone. Take positions and stay off comms. Price out."

Soap frantically scans the rooftops for any sign of Ghost, but his search is cut off when a row of armored vehicles pull up outside the warehouse. A small team of ghost operators open a loading bay door to bring out someone with Soap's height and build in a replica of his Agent Zero suit. In return, Makarov is supposed to be providing intel on the dirty Generals and the super soldier program, which they are well aware he won't actually provide.

It's all a little too obviously a trap for someone as clever and conniving as Makarov. Their saving grace is his obsessive personality — they're betting he'll show up in person on the off chance he can get Soap back and stick it to Price and the 141 at the same time. He'll have countermeasures in place, which is why Soap is here.

He's the counter to the countermeasures.

Or he's supposed to be.

Except that when the door to the middle SUV opens and a man exits the vehicle, Soap's entire body freezes.

Makarov.

The shaking he thought he'd avoided slams into him full force. He can't even touch the rifle without the scope shaking too badly to see anything. He curses and forces himself to breathe.

In. Out. In. Out.

The shaking stabilizes enough for him to correct for it, though darker figures dance in his peripheral vision. He inhales a shaking breath as Makarov's face fills the scope.

In. Out. In. Out.

He pulls the trigger.

Makarov slaps a hand to his neck and dives for the car. A gunfight breaks out, but the ghost team is ready for it. They take down the enemy soldiers with a speed that leaves Soap breathless, and Makarov is in their custody by the time he begins to shake from the effects of Soap's dart.

The screams reach Soap even from so far away. Even with ear protection.

And in the midst of the chaos, the shadows in his peripheral vision move in an abnormal way, surrounding him. His chest heaves with all the amped-up panic he's barely keeping at bay.

It's all in his head. The shadows might be deeper, more solid in the Mexican sun, but they're still just shadows. They aren't real. None of it is re—

"And here you are at last. I wondered if your Laswell would be stupid enough to bring you after all."

Soap goes perfectly still. The scene below plays out in silence, Price and Gaz securing the man who once looked like Makarov and now looks like he's melting. But it's all visual noise to Soap.

Because he knows that voice.

"No," he whispers through the clawing, choking panic. "Nononono. Not real. Just a hallucination."

But his hallucinations have never talked to him before. And never in that hated voice.

Hands grasp him. Too many hands. On his arms, his back, his head.

They pull him up from his sniper position and pull him away from the edge. He struggles, his breath coming in panicked gasps.

They try to take the rifle from his hands. 

He fights harder. 

Fights for his fucking life. And for Ghost.

As they turn him around, he elbows the person to his right, lifts the rifle, and shoots. The man with Makarov's face and voice grunts and slaps at his arm.

"Some toxin to counter the serum, I suppose?" 

Makarov's soldiers wrest the gun from his grasp and hold him, one on each side and a third behind him who is already attempting to remove his helmet. Soap's body is in overdrive, heart racing and breaths coming in short gasps as he continues to struggle against both the panic and those holding him. Makarov opens his arms wide and stares at Soap with that awful, smug look on his face.

"Fuck you," Soap yells, his voice guttural and harsh. "I won't go back!"

Makarov drops his hands and tilts his head to the side. "What a shame all that work with the previous serum has gone to waste." He clicks his tongue in a chiding way before his smug grin makes a reappearance. "Good thing I've got an upgraded version just for you. One dose and the results are gloriously permanent. Vitya?"

The soldier behind him tugs on Soap's helmet so hard his whole body bends backward.

A gunshot rings out.

A spray of blood coats Soap's helmet.

The hands on either side of him fall away as the soldiers fall to the ground in a heap — a single, clean shot through both their heads. Makarov and the soldier behind Soap scramble for cover, leaving him to fall backward between the dead bodies.

His back hits the ground, punching all the air from his lungs. Disoriented from the fall and on the verge of a full panic attack, Soap rolls to his hands and knees. 

A feminine voice warbles in his ear, but he can't think. Can't understand. 

He only knows he has to get away.

Away. Away. Away—

Everything stops, including his overwhelmed body and mind, when a gruff voice clicks through the comms.

"Go, Johnny! Get out of here! And stay low."

With his heart about to burst in his chest, Soap looks up and sees an achingly familiar specter leap from behind a row of ductwork to catch the fleeing Makarov. Using the worm's momentum against him, Ghost slams Makarov face first into the air handler. Before he can recover, Ghost grabs Makarov's upper arms and hauls him around to deflect the sudden barrage of bullets from the remaining soldier.

Somehow the bullets miss. Soap meets Makarov's gaze, and that smug smile sends chills down Soap's spine even as his blood boils with rage.

It was a distraction. A fucking distraction. Because Soap can see what Ghost can't with Makarov's back to him—

A syringe in hand.

Fire and ice pouring through abused veins.

Endless, searing, mind-killing pain — this time with no way out.

Permanent.

He won't go back. He won't. But he'll die before he lets Makarov take Ghost instead.

A desperate cry wrenches from Soap's lungs as he launches himself from the ground and into the rain of gunfire.

"Johnny, no!"

Soap ignores Ghost's desperate cry. He leaps just as Makarov lifts the needle to jab into Ghost's neck.

And the burn of all those impacts is worth it for the brief flash of terror in Makarov's eyes.

---

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Part 11

[callistocalavarni]

shifting to the 60s

hii I havent posted in a while, I've been trying re group from multiple shifts while getting my life back in order but I think I'm back.. Anyway I have a bunch of stories from so many places I'd like to share and im currently working on how I want to post them. But I don't see a lot of storytimes so I think it would be fun to share some. So i'm gonna rant about some shorter ones here.

shifting with sleep paralysis

I wanted to talk about this shift because it stuck out to me and I can't stop thinking about it.. I had shifted about 2 times in the span of 30 seconds. For a whole week back in October I was waking up at 3-5 am in the morning without being able to go back to sleep. So as you can guess I woke up at around 4 am and was restless. At around 6 am I got tired again so I started my method and I know people say that symptoms don't exist but in the time that I have shifted all I can say is that I disagree.. Anyway, one moment I was saying affimations and then the next I woke up all tingly and in a weird sleep state I've never been in before. I didn't even say to myself I wanted to shift I just did. It was like my mind was on autopilot. Didn't say affimations, didn't go through my script in my head, didn't even try to use the 5 senses. I just started seeing myself in 1st person and what I would be doing in my dr without any forethought and shifted. The first shift, I was on a track running with a couple of men and we all were wearing 60s running wear. I had an orange and red tank top with matching orange shorts. It had felt like there was an orange filter in this reality.. if that makes sense. I was on the track about to run and I just recall looking around laughing.

When I shifted to this moment its like I felt my consciousness leave my body; Which is the weird part because I've never really experinced this before. It felt like I was being pulled up by something and all I could hear was constant noise. I don't even know what noise I was hearing it was like someone was screaming right in my ear or veryyy loud ringing/static. The noise was SO loud. I was in the middle of sprinting when I shifted back because I thought I was the one making the noise, I thought I was screaming..Thankfully it was not me. But When I came back I was still In that state and I could look around me but my eyes were still closed. It's like I was seeing everything from a different perspective. There was a spider crawling on my wall right next to me when I shifted back so I freaked out and the noise got even louder ! The spider was leaving black spots all over my wall,, I could not figure out what was going on in the moment ( when I was writing this in my journal I figured out it was sleep paralysis ) It felt like I was tripping on a bunch of pain killers when I shifted back. I still couldn't move so I shifted again to the same reality but this time I was in the shower... the noise got even louder. The noise made it feel like a bad trip and I ended up shifting back here to try and stop it. It took my like an hour to get out of sleep paralysis. Unlike the method, this reality was very enyjoyable. It felt like a Nina Brodskyaya song, I lived alone and I was successful. I think I worked at a cigarette company, which is ironic because I hate smoking. But I don't know for sure as I didn't stay long enough to find out.

Lumari is a country I scripted, Forlina being one of its nations.

This reality was late 70's early 80's and one of my favorite drs. I stayed here for about a year. I was in Forlina living in an all girls home. Forlina gives free housing to students so I moved out of my parents house to start collage. About six girls are given a room to share together, don't worry they are pretty big. I loved our room. It had big sliding windows that gave a view of the tropical forest. We each had sunken in beds, some girls who were home sick shared beds for a couple of weeks. It took me a while to get use to the amount of noise in the morning. There was this one girl who would blast music on the radio while getting ready. I only had to worry about this sometimes because I woke up pretty early. Art was one of my classes and the professer would make the class times either 7 am or 9 pm which also took me some time to get use to. idk the guy was kind of weird. I rode my bike everywhere here. I miss being able to ride down a bike trail and see the ocean. I've been thinking about shifting back here for some time. I might post more about this reality in more detail later.

<3

[gumnut-logic]

Lego Volcano (Part 6)

Alexander Sweetapple series | Lego Volcano - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

I wrote more :D And this was fun :D

Still @idontknowreallywhy, @sofasurf @womble1 and @sailing-on-a-puddle and other wonderful Thunderfam peeps’ fault :D

Extra special thanks to @onereyofstarlight for actually writing a few small bits of this as I fell out of my knowledge zone and needed serious help, and also for Kiwi advice regarding Alex - gotta help an Aussie speak Kiwi because I miss lots of things. We all speak English, but differently :D Couldn't do this without you.

All the hugs to those who commented and reblogged yesterday's chapter. You guys keep Alex alive :D

This little fic is now nearly 10,000 words long, like 9,950+

M/M and full of fluff still.

I hope you enjoy this bit :D

-o-o-o-

o-o-o-

Scott woke groggy and hot.

It was to be expected. Apparently he was sick. Damnit. Anger and frustration flared in his belly and most of the groggy part of waking up was washed away.

A tickle in his aching throat had him swallowing hard.

He opened his eyes to the infirmary. He sighed. Grandma and Virgil were going to be intolerable.

His throat tickled again and he shifted on the bed, looking for the expected cup of water. Sure enough, there it was on his bedside table. Virgil was wonderfully predictable at times.

He reached out and his body creaked as he sat up, but the cool water was a balm on his throat and worth every movement.

His tablet was sitting beside the water and he grabbed at it eagerly. He needed to reply to Jack, their lawyer, regarding the latest suit from Fischler. Jack quite enjoyed tossing Fischler’s lawyers around the courtroom, but Scott would prefer a quick end to the latest shenanigans, both he and Jack had better things to do.

His tablet lit up…in green. Oh, damn.

John has restricted your access. Play a computer game, read a book, or watch a movie. International Rescue and Tracy Industries are all being expertly handled. Carly has her instructions. John and I have your back. Relax, Scooter.

Scott let air out between his teeth.

PS: Please look after Alex for me.

Huh? Scott frowned. But as if to answer his unspoken question, a snuffle alerted him to the fact there was someone else in the room.

The tablet landed on the sheets as he realised Alex Sweetapple was sleeping in the chair beside his bed. The lanky engineer was sprawled haphazardly across the furniture, blond hair sticking out in all directions.

Virgil had obviously snuck in at some point as there was a pillow in the man’s lap.

The thought of Virgil sobered him. His brother had been so sick, and now Scott was off rota…damn. He shifted on the bed, frustrated.

Alex muttered something, curled around the pillow and onto his side, now looking even more uncomfortable than before.

He snorted in his sleep.

Scott eyed the man. He couldn’t ask for a better employee, but he was a walking hazard, mostly to himself and apparently he was hazardous in his sleep as well.

And Virgil loved him.

The thought brought a small smile to Scott’s face. It was so good to see Virgil so happy. Alex was smart, goofball or no, and seemed to be able to match his brother on engineer topics - the two of them could babble excitedly for hours.

He was also very loyal. Tia’s reports were shining, Alex was definitely an asset, he worked hard.

The worship in his eyes was occasionally hard to handle. ‘Mr Tracy’ wasn’t sure he could live up to the reverence accorded him.

But Virgil loved Alex.

And that was enough.

He sighed again and let his gaze rest on the ceiling. The very worst part of being sick was the boredom.

His tablet bleeped.

He grabbed it.

A system of equations filled over half the screen.

Oh, so that is how it is, John? Going to distract me with math, are you?

But even as he thought it, the numbers started taking shape. He'd need a Jacobian matrix to approximate the first part of the solution, unless he applied an RK4 numerical method... knowing John, he'd need a justification showing the minimisation of error.

His lips curled up to one side. Okay, let’s do this.

-o-o-o-

Alex woke to humming.

He cracked open an eyelid to find he had shoved his face into a pillow at some point - explained the struggle to breathe.

His neck creaked as he moved and as his body came online, he realised he had fallen asleep on the wrong furniture again. Erica probably had photos.

Again.

The humming was interrupted by a dry cough, but after a moment started up again.

It sounded happy.

Alex unfolded and found himself in a hospital room? Wha-? But then his brain booted fully, supplying him with details of last night and Mr Tracy-

Mr Tracy!

Alex sat up straight and the chair teetered. A wobble, two feet on the ground and he managed to prevent himself from falling on his head, but it did all get the blood pumping and consciousness clear and functioning.

Mr Tracy was sitting up in bed and…writing on the bed sheets.

Wha-?

His boss had a black marker in his hand, had spread out the sheets on the bed and was methodically making notations.

While humming some triumphant overture, his voice cracking here and there, proving he was still the sick man Alex had caught early this morning.

What was he writing?

With yet another creak, Alex quietly pushed himself to his feet and every muscle complained. Wasn’t the first time he had slept awkwardly, wouldn’t be the last, but he was more concerned with the numbers Virgil’s brother was writing down…was that a Jacobian matrix?

His eyes danced over the somewhat smudged digits on the bed. Numbers and letters lined up in chains, reading them…omigod…

“That’s beautiful!”

The humming ended in a squawk. “Alex!” The ‘A’ in his name cracked and Mr Tracy sounded more like his youngest brother than himself as his voice skipped up an octave.

But Alex only had eyes for the work on the sheets. “How did you get such a perfect solution?”

“Wha-? Oh,” he cleared his throat again, “John likes to distract me with math.”

“I’d say he succeeded.”

Mr Tracy grunted and coughed again.

There was a smudge of black ink on his cheek.

The numbers were just amazing. “How did you get that solution?”

Mr Tracy’s eyes darted between Alex and the numbers on the sheets “You can read that?”

“God, yeah.”

He stared at Alex a moment longer before pointing out a particular section. “John thought he could catch me here. The variable could easily be switched out and replaced with a static whole number - it would solve it perfectly, but a bit on the boring side. If you input an exponential function here, however, it creates a whole array of possibilities.”

Alex focussed on the equations. Whole number, yes, he could see that, the answer was clear. But if he threw in the function…the numbers just danced. “That’s so elegant. The pattern is perfect.”

“Yeah.” Scott was grinning.

Alex looked up to see those tired bruised eyes lighting up.

John was apparently right.

Scott liked maths.

Now this was a language Alex could speak.

“What happens if you put in a polynomial?”

-o-o-o-

Virgil yawned. He really wasn’t up to it, but he had to do it. Much better than Scott killing himself.

Two would be landing momentarily, with a furious Gordon aboard, and he needed to help his brothers with post-situation protocol…and possibly talk Gordon down from something vicious…that John had probably already enacted…yeah, his brothers were chaos itself.

But their hearts were in the right place.

Earlier he had checked on his biggest brother and found both him and Alex asleep in the infirmary. Grandma had left firm instructions with John adding his own version of early morning events.

Fortunately, while Scott was still very warm, he was finally getting some rest. The bed readings provided some reassurance.

Alex was a gymnast in sleep as usual. The man could sleep anywhere in some of the most outlandish positions. It certainly wasn’t the first time Virgil had needed to dig up a pillow or picked up his boyfriend and haul him off to bed.

He was adorable when he was asleep.

Of course, mentioning this when Alex was awake brought on all the flushed embarrassment which had its own adorableness that always needed to be kissed away - any excuse, really.

So Virgil was smiling when he gently tucked the pillow under Alex’s head.

And the thought had him smiling right now.

But before Two landed and almost inevitably disturbed Scott, Virgil wanted to check on him.

To his surprise, as he approached the infirmary, laughter was echoing down the hall.

“He really thought that?”

“Yeah, to infinite decimals and beyond.”

That prompted more laughter which suddenly dissolved into coughing and had Virgil hurrying into the room.

Which was not the room he had left earlier.

The infirmary was draped in bedsheets, a cupboard left askew where they had originally been folded neatly. Now they were stuck up on the walls with surgical tape and draped over the curtain rails.

And covered in mathematical notation.

At the centre of the room sat Scott in bed scribbling with the black markers Virgil had left behind earlier in the hope that John would be able to trigger a math distraction.

Apparently, he had.

But he hadn’t thought his boyfriend would end up with black smudges all over his face and hands.

Because Alex was beside his brother, holding the bed sheet so Scott could write on it.

“I think we should cube this.” Alex pointed at a spot on the sheet. “It will look good.”

“Hmm, I think a factor of…seven will be prettier.”

Prettier?

“You could be right. It definitely needs to be an odd number. Even would be too regular.”

“Yeah.” Scott scribbled something. “What if we cube this and seven that. They’ll work nicely together.”

“Oh, I like that. Follow that one through.”

As Virgil watched, Scott jotted down several lines in his smooth precise hand. His tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth as his eyes darted back and forth, calculations bouncing in the blue.

Alex’s eyes were following the numbers and every now and again, he would make a suggestion or ask a short question…

“Oh, I see what you mean. The seventh iteration is just perfect.”

“The third isn’t that bad either. That’s why they work so well together.”

Virgil found himself grinning like a loon. He knew Alex could speak math. You didn’t get to do any engineering without math. But he had no idea he could speak at Scott level math. Hell, even John got lost sometimes at Scott level.

And to see the two of them so relaxed in each other’s presence…

“Virgil?” Scott was suddenly frowning at him. “You okay?”

“Virgil!” Alex dropped the sheet and hurried over. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I was helping Scott and then fell asleep and then…did you know Scott likes maths? Not just maths, but real maths? The fun stuff?” His boyfriend was positively vibrating.

Virgil couldn’t help but grin. He placed his hands on Alex’s arms. Seriously, the man was bouncing. “I’m fine. And yes, Scott likes math. I didn’t know you liked to play, though.”

“Oh, um, sometimes.” His eyes darted back to Scott for a moment. “Usually I stick to applied math, and I’m certainly not at Tracy level.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He leant up, kissed Alex gently on the cheek and whispered in his ear. “If you can keep up with Scooter here, you’re definitely up there.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Alex brushed his fingers across Virgil’s left temple.

He let his head drop against his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I’m tired, but I’m fine.” He looked over at his brother. “I’m more concerned about Scott.”

But his big brother was peering at the sheets again, eyes wide. It was obvious he had thought of something.

The marker came down and scribbled another line.

“But then again, he’s resting and amused.” Virgil’s ears picked up the approach of Thunderbird Two. He looked up at Alex. “Keep him distracted a little longer?” Alex really did have dark eyes, Virgil could stare into them all day.

“Sure.”

Scott was muttering something about a polynomial.

“Thank you.” Thunderbird Two roared into land as Virgil leant up and kissed Alex, clinging just that moment longer before letting him go.

“Hey, Scooter, zero point nine to infinity still doesn’t equal one.”

“Virgil!” His brother’s outrage was echoed by Alex’s sudden ‘What?!”

Virgil just laughed as he left them to it.

Their discussion of his lunacy followed him down the hall.

-o-o-o-

TBC

[nebuletteart]

augh i know i shouldn’t have responded to a bad addition to a post at nearly 4 am, never trust your brain past 12 goddamnit, but i’m gonna stick to my guns

[suddencolds]

~

[nickbutnodick]

whoever created public high school schedules deserves to be shot in the head

[britneyshakespeare]

screw whatever else i've said; the most important thing you can do in this lifetime is watch tv

[flying-cat]

ily bakugou katsuki u are the only thing that hasn't pissed me off today

[begaydodrughailsaten]

I am physically incapable of saying no to anyone! I am the worlds best door mat!! (<- guy who just agreed to work an 11 hour shift today knowing damn well he has school work and laundry he needs to get done)

[mejomonster]

Perplexing to me. My health issues have made major progress, like eons of progress from 3 years ago and i am truly really grateful and hopeful.

But i also still wake up every morning with abdominal pain for a few hours :/ every day.

[lynaferns]

School is draining any small motivation I had for art

or creativity in general

(tw: I got pretty much depressive in the tags but I needed to dump this somewhere and this may not be the best place but is where I feel better talking about my problems or insecurities, so feel free to ignore)

[carcarrot]

i did tell you people i met a they might be giant right.

[icicleteeth]

Every time a post either mentions TES 6 or makes me think about TES 6 I'm that spongebob meme of the guy with the spear, stopping myself from blackpilling all over again....

[luxidae]

i wish i was good at arts so i could have a reason to stay at home and draw all day

[doodlboy]

Local man has not been taking his meds, whose fault is this? His