#ash talks amusement parks

[ashen--dreams]

my fears have been extinguished

[logaenhowlett]

TEACH YOU HOW TO GET TO PUREST HELL - L.H.

Summary: On the way to one of his cage fights, Logan's truck begins to break down and that's how he meets you, the owner of a repair shop in Northern Alberta. He promises to pay you with his winnings - but what he ultimately offers is far more interesting.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ only, Fluff, Flirting, Dirty talk, Praise kink, Fingering, Unprotected sex (against the cage), Aftercare, Logan's a snarky motherfucker (but secretly a softie)

A/N: The filthiest 4k I've ever written. I just know he was a menace during his cage fighter era. It's okay though, I'll still be clawing at the enclosure. Title creds to Radiohead. Hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Smoke curls around him, bearing a semblance of warmth against the biting wind. Logan's grip on the steering wheel is loose, the other arm draped lazily across the window. He flicks his fingertips ever so often, the ashes of his cigar disappearing into the falling snow. Mile after mile, the same barren landscape stretches before him.

He's lost amidst the silence, having turned the radio all the way down in frustration at the nonsense plaguing the stations earlier. As sunshine glares through the windshield, he scrunches his eyebrows, vaguely entertaining some ideas swirling in his mind.

Hours pass by painfully slow. He tries to ignore the low rumbling that interrupts his flow of thoughts, body firmly protesting against this all-alcohol diet he'd unintentionally adopted. Logan skims a hand into the glove compartment, clicking his tongue when he discovers only a few wrappers lying inside. Slumping back into the seat, he takes another drag, disappointment etching onto his features.

An orange, flashing icon on the dashboard snaps his attention. His eyes dart to the blinking light, a sense of irritation washing over him when he recognises the ‘check engine’ symbol. In a haste, he pulls the truck over, slamming the door shut behind him as he ventures into the cold to inspect the issue. Though he has an extensive knowledge of motorcycles, by no means does that expertise carry over to whatever mess he finds beneath the hood. Logan returns with a sigh, recalling a faded road sign he'd passed ages ago - at least he isn't awfully far from his destination.

In the distance, the town welcome monument brings him some sort of peace. After driving by plenty of dimly lit diners and pubs, he reluctantly asks a stranger for directions to the nearest repair shop. Logan arrives shortly thereafter, parking at the entrance of this seemingly empty building. Curious, he scans the place, sliding out of his seat in search of anyone.

The distinct ring of metal hitting the floor has him spinning around. He fights back the amused huff at the sight of you, bottom lip slightly caught between his teeth in an attempt to stop the smirk threatening to break free. His eyes rake over your figure as you come closer - appreciating the way your overalls perfectly capture the slopes and curves of your body - before finally, rising to meet your unimpressed expression.

"What're you here for?"

There's a smidge of annoyance in your words, a reaction he very much enjoys being the reason for. He nods towards the truck parked out front, "Problem with the engine."

When you brush past him, Logan spots a name neatly embroidered onto your otherwise soiled clothes. Smiling, he follows after you, shamelessly dropping his gaze to your ass for a moment.

Waiting patiently while you poke around the hood, he steals glances at your profile, filled with the sudden urge to wipe away the grease stain remnants off your cheeks, "Yeah... looks like the head gasket needs replacing."

Logan groans to himself before agreeing with your judgment. He runs a hand across his face, stilling in brief confusion when you chuckle quietly.

"Somethin' funny?" He asks, noting how you browse the insides of his camper with a flair of barely-masked mockery.

"Just admiring the interior design."

That one almost draws a scoff out of him. Logan knows his living quarters are rather bare-bones in nature, at best, providing decent shelter for when he's on the go. Inside, a makeshift bed large enough for a man of his size and basic kitchen appliances - though he rarely uses those. It's all he cares for anyway, yet there's a tinge of self-consciousness he shakes before gruffly responding, "You can do it by tonight?"

"Tonight?" Your eyebrows raise in surprise, "Fine... but it's gonna set you back about three grand."

"I got half for now."

A sharp laugh pierces his ears. And even though it's undoubtedly fake, he thinks you look pretty like this - shooting what can't be anything less than a deadly glare just for him. The corners of his lips tilt up when your tone suddenly becomes stern, "That's not how it works, buddy."

"Listen, I got a fight later, I'll be good for it."

"What? You that sure you're gonna win?"

You're teasing him. You know it, and so does he. Logan studies the way your hand rests against your hip, a challenging glint behind your eyes while you consider this ridiculous suggestion. He moves one step closer and proudly welcomes the surge of satisfaction at the slight crack of your demeanour.

"Darlin', I always win." It's a whisper that leaves him, hushed and dangerously low. Giving your shoulder a playful nudge as he walks by, he circles to the trailer behind the truck, retrieving his motorcycle. He smirks, pleased to witness such a glimpse of weakness, "Eleven-thirty. O'Malley's. I'll see you there."

The engine revs with each twist of his wrist, the movement so precise and natural. As he sinks onto the bike, the suspension adjusting to his weight, he sends you a wink.

"And if you lose?" You shout over the blaring sounds.

With one final grin, "Just fix my truck, alright."

Even from outside, O'Malley's is deafeningly loud. The wooden door creaks lightly with the gentlest push, and a mixture of overly enthusiastic yells paired with the clashing of glass greet your presence. You're no regular here whatsoever, but the fights that occur in this bar are usually the talk of the town. And despite its reputation, you've never had much interest in being surrounded by a crowd of angry, intoxicated men - all drowning beneath the crude insults and empty threats tossed into the air.

Some of the patrons, customers you recognise from work, acknowledge you with a polite smile while you settle into a booth near the cage. As you observe the utter chaos around the room, it only cements your distaste for this so-called form of entertainment. The current match's loser staggers past your table, barely walking on two feet even with the support of his friends.

All you can think about is returning home with your hard-earned cash. It was a rather tiring day, running around salvage yards scouring for spare parts to tend to the old piece of junk he'd called a truck. Not to mention the unforgiving weather, which seemed determined to make your day more miserable. And to top it all off, the jerk wanted it done by nightfall - the audacity! Just the simple reminder of today's events has your body tensing from restlessness.

Behind you, a group of men sneer amongst themselves and between their slurring, the words "pretty boy" and "his ass kicked" grasp your attention. Turning around, you watch as they hand over money to some younger fella, taunting others to join the bet. Oh, that makes your blood boil. This Logan had strolled into your shop with nothing but a superficial promise for your services, and now, he's presumed to lose?

You stand up abruptly, peering across the space in search of him. A rush of fury courses through you at the same time you spot him casually lounging in the corner. As you approach, the faint glow of the bulb illuminates his face, a cloud of smoke momentarily hiding the smirk playing on his lips. His chuckle cuts through the hum of the jukebox he's leaning on, eyes crinkling with a kind of smugness at your arrival.

"You're joking." The bottle of whiskey between his fingers shocks you the most, "Are you seriously getting drunk before your fight?"

Logan grins at your concerned expression, eyes tracing you up and down, "You fix it?"

"Yes, I fucking fixed it. Took me all day!" Fists clenching, you stare at him intently, "Look, I did my job - you better do yours."

"Don't worry 'bout it, darlin'. I'm a man of my word." He dismisses you completely, taking a prolonged swig of his drink. A beat passes before he lazily holds up two fingers right to your face, "Scout's honour."

He laughs again when you roughly shove his hand aside, not sparing another second for this cocksure attitude. You grumble under your breath, making your way back to the booth, "It's three fingers, asshole."

A few matches take place over the next hour, and you're only getting more antsy as each of the competitors exits the cage with nothing short of bloody faces and broken bones. The audience roars all of a sudden, some even rattling the fence as this new person strides into the threshold.

Of course, he'd stripped his shirt off and the sight of his muscle-toned chest only serves to further fuel your irritation. Logan's eyes find yours immediately, looking past the crowd of hecklers now whistling at him. With a nod, he throws you a confident smirk and turns to his rival.

The man he's up against is much more burly and has a couple of inches on him. Though that doesn't seem to faze Logan in the slightest, instead he's flexing his arms almost playfully before adopting a fighting stance. Every punch and kick has you twitching in your seat, your feet firmly stuck to the ground in anticipation.

Remembering how he'd chugged an entire bottle of liquor earlier, you're astonished by the ferocity with which he attacks his opponent, dodging most moves with deadly precision. As he lands more jabs, the spectators begin to jeer and boo, swarming the enclosure of the cage in a tantrum. You peek over their shoulders, ducking away from the things they're flinging around. There's a collective gasp when he knocks out the other man, and you sigh in relief.

Leaning towards the cage, a cigar lightly pressed against his mouth, Logan's focus shifts to you. His chest is heaving from all the physical exertion, skin damp from the sweat. As he exhales the smoke, blowing a kiss in your direction, a satisfied expression returns to his face. He runs a hand through his wet hair, leaving the arena with no regard for the protesting crowd.

You follow after him, squeezing through the tightly packed space. He's settling a score with the owner, a wad of rolled cash passing between them as a reward. After a nod of mutual agreement, Logan faces you, tossing his leather jacket on. And while you're ultimately happy he won, there's also this urge to smack the cheeky look that seems to be glowing as you come closer.

What's more upsetting is the fact that he is undeniably gorgeous - especially like this, all sweaty and wound up from the adrenaline rushing inside. And of course, he doesn't miss how your gaze wanders to the sliver of skin peeking through his jacket, every slight movement only revealing more.

Logan grabs a few bills from the roll of money and stuffs them into his back pocket, holding the rest out towards you. As you reach for the cash, he swiftly draws his hand back with a teasing smile, "Have a drink with me."

"No."

"C'mon." He drags out, repeating the same thing when you try again, "No one needs their cute, little mechanic right now."

Watching you sigh triggers a thrill of excitement, an unspoken victory he claims with no shame. With a simple gesture, he leads you towards a secluded booth, determined to make this a worthwhile exchange. Despite your hesitation, he maintains a sort of relaxed energy, draping his arm along the seat - his eyes not straying from yours.

Two shots of vodka are placed on the table and Logan mirrors your action, slowly raising the glass to his lips. In no time, the air of unease dissipates, replaced by a comfortable silence while the drinks keep coming. As the night wears on, casual conversation flows between you and he asks a few things like how long you've lived here, why you became a mechanic and eventually, when he slides you the money, "What now, darlin'? You gonna leave?"

His voice, dripping with honeyed sweetness, sends a shiver down your spine. You can't exactly place the feeling, but it's a tangle of exasperation and something else - something you're not quite ready to define. Instead, you blame it on the drinks, the late hour, and the fact that there's an incredibly attractive man just inches away.

As frustration envelops your thoughts, you suddenly excuse yourself and head towards the bathroom. The alcohol, previously a gentle companion, now seems to be taking its toll. Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you try to fight against the sensations running through your body. The splash of cold water does little to your state of mind, yet you're back outside in what feels like a tilted world, using all your strength to walk straight.

As you brush past the cage, someone collides into you. Desperate for balance, you reach out to grip the fence, but a strong hand lays steady on your lower back. With a gasp and a tilt of your head, you're caught off-guard when Logan comes into your view. His arm snakes around to gently hold your waist, his body now pressing into yours.

Overwhelmed by the sudden proximity, you tear your attention away from him and glance at the wire pricking your fingers, "This is fucking sharp."

He doesn't break the eye contact. A low hum vibrates through his chest as he leans in, the warmth of his breath dancing with yours. The space between you slowly shrinks, whatever lighthearted facade he'd worn earlier vanishes only to be replaced by something raw and inexplicable.

"How're you not bruised?" You whisper, remembering the way he'd been thrown against the cage earlier.

"Call it a special talent."

Despite your better judgment, you find yourself captivated by him, the intensity of his gaze reeling you in. And so, you decide to play his game, "Can you teach me?"

Logan pauses, "You wanna learn... how to fight?"

"Just a little punch or something."

A faint smile spreads across his face, you're absolutely sure he can feel the way your heart is pounding. When his lips lightly brush against your ear, a quiet rumble escapes and something flickers in your gut - a twist of exhilaration laced with a hint of caution.

There's barely anyone left in the bar at this point besides the one or two stragglers hanging around. Logan and you stand alone in the cage, seemingly tucked away in a little pocket of your own. He doesn't wander too far, remaining within an arm's distance while demonstrating the proper technique for a jab - the motion so fluid and effortless.

Your initial attempts to mimic his movements are clumsy and awkward, his amusement only growing more evident with each try. Slipping behind you, he sheds the jacket, once again exposing his glorious muscles and the thought of tracing his vein-riddled biceps with your tongue leaves you dazed for a moment. This time, he circles his arms around you and guides your hands into the correct position.

As you practice, your bodies nudge against each other, his breath fans across your neck and ignites a fire within you. The tension is palpable, the air thick with implicit desire. You can almost feel his gaze burning into you, every second posing a challenge to cross this imaginary line.

The rest of the patrons are ushered out the door, the owner nodding at Logan before disappearing into the back room. And the silence settles in, a stark contrast to all the commotion that lingered for hours prior. You notice the difference, inching towards the exit, "Looks like they're closing up."

Before you can move away, Logan's hand shoots out to catch your wrist, "And we got it all to ourselves."

"What?"

"Might've slipped the owner a little somethin’."

His fingers trail up your arm, thumb gently pushing your soft skin. Slowly, he brings you closer, his words just a whisper of heat on your cheek. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, a rhythm echoing your own racing heart. Your voice, hoarse and strained, barely manages a response, "Is this how you budget? No wonder you're broke."

It's his laughter that breaks you at first, followed by, "You got a smart mouth, darlin'. Tell me, what else can it do?"

His lips hover mere inches above yours, there's a moment of hesitation hanging in the air - an out, if you don't want this. But, temptation is a dangerous siren and you're already ensnared by her song.

Fuck it.

Logan's dog tags hang pretty between the slopes of your breasts, his mouth moving against yours in a rough, demanding fashion. It's sloppy. It's wet. And it's goddamn heavenly when his fingers thread through your hair, the gap between you now completely erased. You cling to him as if he's an anchor, nails digging into his shoulders while he pins you to the cool metal of the cage.

He wants to touch you. To feel the warmth radiating straight off your body. The straps of your overalls fall from his force, he takes the opportunity to slide one hand through the side, kneading your waist with a kind of tenderness that surprises him too. When you take a second to breathe, Logan peppers kisses along your jawline, then some beneath your ear before grazing his lips on your neck.

The pulsing vein he finds nearly has him growling in pleasure, "Fuck, darlin'... feel so good already... can't wait to taste you when I'm done..."

He stills when you gasp, glancing up through his lashes and then quietly chuckling at your flustered expression. Yet, he can't revel in his victory for any longer than a blink, your palm tilts his head back before you fiercely capture his mouth once more.

His name rolls out your lips, drawn out and glazed with an obvious need. Taking a deep inhale, Logan feels the bulge in his jeans growing with each passing moment. You're only getting restless as his hands roam over your body, becoming nothing more than a whimpering mess all from his doing.

"Lemme hear you for real, baby... don't be shy." His fingers latch onto the cage, using it to thrust forward and deepen the kiss. Your clothes end up pooling at your feet, the barriers between you peeling away with every layer gone. Now, skin to skin, sweat glistening on your brow, you're left bare and vulnerable to his touch.

Logan reaches down, spreading your thighs wide enough till he can push your panties aside, stroking the outside of your entrance. Clenching his jaw when he's met with a distinct wetness, "Hidin' all this for me?" He almost laughs at how you curl forward and then whine his name, craving for any part of him to be inside you, "Hm... what'd you say to me before? Three fingers?

With no warning, he slides exactly three inside your cunt, pumping in and out as best as he can, "So fuckin' tight, darlin'... c'mon... show me you're ready for the real thing." He knows he's doing something right when you squirm at his actions, jumping at the invitation to delicately flick your clit before sinking his fingers back into you.

"Logan-"

Pain consumes you as he continues, tears springing to your eyes. You've never felt pleasure like this, so intense and so profound, words lost amongst the moans trembling out your lips. Your knees begin to shake under the pressure, and his free hand immediately cups your thigh, securing your body to his. As you call out for him, urging him to fuck you senseless, he tugs his fingers away.

The belt flies, jeans tossed behind in an instant and he grunts, freeing his hard length from his boxers. The tip of his cock teases your folds, the precum slicking down from the head. His nose presses against your cheek when your hand runs up and down - getting him all nice and ready. Breath hitching at the sensation, Logan involuntarily bucks his hips, your eagerness carrying him over the edge.

He's careless about lining himself up, giving it no more than a fleeting thought before thrusting into you. Whatever floods your brain at that moment is much more potent than anything you've ever experienced. It's vigorous, almost animalistic in nature, how hard he fucks you. The veins on his arms become more apparent as he hoists you up, pushing you against the cage. He can hear the little fibers of your skin tearing because of the friction, yet he does little to ease that pain, knowing you're enjoying the hurricane of emotions whisking you away.

Logan pants into your tits, nipping at the soft flesh, "Wanted to ruin that pussy since I saw you this mornin'... all dirty and pissed off at me - god. Thought 'bout somethin' else on your face too."

"Logan - don't... fucking stop. Feels amazing... wanna feel all of you." The words escape you - laboured and breathless - your eyes soften in delight, watching this sort of enraptured expression wash across his face, "So good for me, Logan."

So good.

For me.

And boy, if that doesn't spur him on.

Picking up speed, his movements turn greedy, grinding into you with a degree of passion he's never felt before. As you tug his hair, fingers raking through the dark tresses in a frenzy, Logan taps into the primal energy swelling within. His hands squeeze you further, your thighs constricting his waist as he drives up into you, "That's it baby... fuckin' perfect. Takin' all of me like a good girl... mhmm."

The way your body helplessly arches has him grinning, but that quickly gets swept away when his cock twitches inside you, aching to burst at any given moment. He tries his hardest to control himself, longing for your cries of pleasure as you finish. Thrusts weakening to a leisurely pace, Logan grunts into your neck, mumbling a string of curses while he rides out this wave. Thankfully, you're on the precipice as well, your body reaching its peak with a shiver.

His cum trickles out of you, thighs getting sticky as it seeps lower and lower. Lost in a daze, Logan thinks he can see the damn sun in your eyes. With a gentle swipe of your cunt, he sheepishly licks his own fingertips, a smile brightening his face.

The mattress, once a source of great discomfort, now feels like paradise as you cuddle into the crook of his neck, the soft rhythm of your breath soothing him to a state of peace. He'd carried you to his truck earlier, threatening you with a barrage of kisses when you dangled his keys in front of him. There was a rather short game of tag before you relented and collapsed into his embrace, tiredly blinking up at him. He'd tucked the loose strands of your hair back then tenderly caressed your cheek. It took all but one affectionate grin to convince you to spend the night in his camper.

Not a single inch of your body is free from his touch. He pulls you even closer, tracing patterns around the tiny scratches spreading across your shoulders. If you'd asked him yesterday, he would tell you he has no plans of sticking around this town, grown used to a life of impermanence. Yet, as he rests, tangled in your arms, Logan finds a reason to stay.

[sunlightmurdock]

Ashes, Ashes | Two | Bradley Bradshaw

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell. age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Bradley rents a bungalow about twenty minutes from base, towards the south of the San Diego bay. He explains, on the drive there, while she is hugging an overnight bag of her things, that he’s been renting it from this sweet old lady for the past four years — but he’s only been living in it for about three quarters of that time, with deployments.

He talks a lot. Shooting halfway amused looks across at him every now and again as he talks over his music, explaining his entire rental history, Avery just lets him go on and on.

Maybe he’s worried that the silence will give her room to start tearing up again, but she knows that won’t happen — it was already a rare occurrence, just the once. 

She lets him talk. He doesn’t seem to mind how much attention she’s paying either. Anything other than silence is fine, even if he’s the only one filling it.

The respite comes when he parks in the driveway, hops out, and proudly displays the home to her. It’s white all over and covered in plants, all up the driveway and over the porch. There’s a surfboard sitting on the porch, waxed up and looking ready to go.

Inside is masculine and simple, and spotless. It looks more lived in than Maverick’s place, but in an exceptionally organised way. 

Just past the front door, he has an organised entryway with a closet and one of those shoe racks that looks like an end table. 

Beyond that, his living area is all open plan. His kitchen is to the left right as you walk in, and the living room is the clear focus. He’s got a big grey sectional pointed at a big tv with a stack of video games beside it.

He doesn’t ask her to take her shoes off by the door, but she copies politely when he kicks his off. 

That leaves her, blue and white tube socks, toeing against the chewed up corner of the area rug while he busies himself with fixing the few things he deems to be out of place. 

Itching to keep moving, she prods at the fabric, examining the teeth marks, wondering where the dog must be.

“Oh— that was my ex-girlfriend’s dog. I’ve been meaning to buy a new rug.” He explains, furrowing his brows at the spot as he tosses a throw pillow down onto his soft looking grey couch. “Um — so, I do have a guest room, but it’s kind of a gym right now. You can just make yourself at home, and I’ll go get everything out of your way.”

“I can take the couch.”

“No, no, you deserve some privacy at least. I’ll just be a sec — I have sodas and beers in the fridge, glasses are in the cabinet to the right. Help yourself.” He’s a good host, and a better one than she had been yesterday, considering that Maverick’s place is now technically her own.

As he heads for the long, stretching hallway, she shoots a look back down at the mauled rug. With how spotless the rest of this place is, he must have really liked that girl to let her bring her dog here, and to let it chew up his stuff.

She wonders, aimlessly, if he was mad about it. If they argued. If they broke up long ago.

Avery hasn’t had too many relationships of her own. Some mediocre sex and a couple of couch-based movie dates here and there, nothing to write home about. 

She sits cautiously, sinking into the pillowy cushion of the couch, taking the time finally to really look around her. The space is bright, with big windows all around and a view of the bay. There’s a sun catcher dancing from the curtain rod, casting rainbows across his wooden floors.

Maybe his ex had bought that, too.

The bungalow is small, but it fits all of his belongings with an abundance of space left. Avery thinks back to her father’s place, always cluttered and spilling over with junk, treasure from his years of travels.

Maybe Bradley is a little bit less sentimental about keeping things.

He rattles around in the room at the end of the hall for a while, huffing occasionally. While waiting on the couch, she considers getting up and offering to help a few times, but ultimately convinces herself against it.

“Alright! Fresh sheets and some space to move, there’s still a bunch of stuff in there but I tried to get it out of your way.” He comes strolling back down the hallway and drops down onto the couch at her side, letting out a heavy sigh.

She screws her mouth up a little, looking across at him while he rests his eyes, long, dark eyelashes brushing his warm cheeks. His long legs, covered by worn denim, stretch out far enough that he has to bend them around his coffee table.

When one hand comes up to card through his mussed curls, she catches sight of the tattoo inked across the expanse of his bicep. LXXXVI. ‘86. She starts to think on it, letting him enjoy his moment of peace, when he shifts and startles her enough to drag her eyes away from his flexing arm.

“Thanks, for everything,” Avery manages to still sound a little cautious in her tone, even when she’s rushing to speak. “Staying last night, driving me around today, letting me stay with you. I really appreciate it.”

He smiles without opening his eyes, reaching out and letting his hand pat skim across the seam of her jeans, patting at her knee platonically.

“Any time.” He breezes, cool. 

The first night is uneventful. Avery sleeps restlessly on the futon in Bradley’s spare bedroom, turned home gym. 

She pretends that she doesn’t see the numbers on the sides of the weights, and pretends also that she doesn’t give a little bit of her imagination to the way that tattoo must move when he lifts them.

When she wakes up, Bradley is gone and there is a note on the kitchen counter explaining that he went for a run. He was gone for two hours, trying to run far enough that the sick, hot, thudding feeling in his chest would stop.

Back at the house, Natasha stops by and spends the afternoon. She lets herself into the place with her key, which sits on her own keychain like she’s had it for a while. Watching a sitcom from the armchair while they sit beside each other on the couch, Avery notices that the two of them are very close.

She wonders if Natasha happens to have a dog.

Sleep doesn’t come any easier for either one of them the second night. When he finally catches sight of the red, flashing declaration on his alarm clock that it is now 2:01am, Bradley gives up.

He tries to be quiet as he’s getting up, careful not to wake Avery. They’re in much closer quarters in his place than they had been back at Maverick’s house, her door is right opposite his across the narrow hallway.

He pads down the hallway, rubbing at his eyes, tossing up whether he’s going to try to drink something warm and go back to bed, or if he’s just going to stay up. He can’t keep not sleeping.

He almost heads straight for the kitchen, freezing in his tracks as he finally takes note of the blue light coming from his living room, and the sound of women’s voices. It takes him a second, even though he’d been being so considerate on her behalf, to remember that he has a guest over.

“Ave?” He mumbles. 

The TV immediately falls silent. She winces from her spot on the couch, craning her neck to try to see him at the edge of the hallway.

“Just me. I’m sorry! Did I wake you?” She sounds worried. He’s still half asleep. 

He shakes his head as he steps out from the shadows and heads for his kitchen. “No, I just wasn’t expecting you to be up. I couldn’t sleep.”

He passes by pretty quickly, concealed behind the kitchen island in just a few steps. Still, she saw him. Illuminated only by the light of the television, wearing a tight pair of black boxer briefs and dog tags around a silver chain. Long, muscled legs and tapered hips. 

Sure, he was good looking before, and clearly fit — but she wasn’t expecting what had been under those slightly loose t-shirts.

Her mouth is dry as she mumbles out a soft, “Me either.”

“D’you want a tea?” He stands with her back to her now, reaching around in the darkness of his kitchen. She stares, unblinking, at his back.

“You drink tea?”

“Sometimes,” He cranes his neck to look at her over his shoulder. “That’s not weird.”

Her lips almost quirk, and she gives him a confirming shake of her head. “I didn’t say it was. Do you have green tea?”

He scoffs without looking. “Of course I have green tea.”

This whole lack of sleep thing isn’t new to him. It comes with the grief, but it’s there even when he feels like he isn’t grieving anymore. Since he was a kid, Bradley has had thoughts that keep him up at night, thoughts bad enough to stir him from peaceful, pleasant dreams.

He’s tried every tea in the catalog.

He carries the two mugs across the living room without once noticing the way he’s been stared at. He sets hers down on a cute little wicker coaster on his coffee table, walking past and dropping down onto the corner of the sectional.

His legs stretch out and he shifts and twists until he finds himself comfortable. “What’s this?”

She sets her gaze steadily on the television, her hands in her lap, wondering if he’s this brash with all of his house guests. With a swallow, she shrugs her shoulders. “Oh, it’s just this TV show about a columnist in New York in the nine—“

“Are you explaining Sex and the City to me?” Bradley sounds bewildered, his face stark as he stares at her across the couch. Avery’s lips tug at a smile, and she almost forget the nerves she’d been feeling.

Until, the light from the television catches on the silver of his dogtags. Her gaze drops, like a flicker, to his bare, toned chest — and she swiftly looks back to the television.

“You’ve seen it?” She asks softly.

He’s beyond good looking. He’d always been okay looking, he’d had a nice smile in all of those pictures she had seen. But now, the roundness of his cheeks is gone and he has grown into his nose, his lips are a shade of pink that would be a bestseller in cosmetics. 

Avery curses herself; she had been pretty successfully pretending not to notice that he had gotten good looking. Then, he comes strolling down that hallway and making her tea from his apparently extensive collection, having the nerve to sprawl across his own couch looking like that. 

Across from a girl who hasn’t seen any action in the better part of a year too. 

She almost scowls. 

“Every episode,” He answers gleefully. At first, she thinks of Natasha or that mysterious girlfriend with the badly behaved dog. Then, he adds, “This was my mom’s favourite TV show, ever.”

And suddenly, she feels a little guilty for acting like those muscles make him some kind of ladies’ man. Just because the rest of them have been, she guesses. 

Bradley seems like a nice guy. He slept in a bed clearly meant for a child all night last night, and he let her take the first shower this morning, he chased her across the parking lot and offered to fix all of her problems in one fell swoop. 

Maybe that’s because of some kind of debt he thinks he owes to Pete, and maybe it’s just because that’s the kind of man he is.

She glances across, watching him chuckle at a classic Samantha one-liner and take a sip of a raspberry herbal tea. Wrinkling her nose, she settles back down into the spot she had been relaxing in, and lets herself zone out again. 

They watch a couple of episodes. Unlike earlier, Bradley doesn’t feel the need to talk. He likes the quiet, mixed with their frequent chuckles. It’s an okay thing, to not have to fill that silent void. 

Avery is the first to excuse herself to go back to bed, and she hasn’t once mentioned his little Calvin Kleins or the way they make his thighs look. 

As she walks away, Bradley catches himself. He hadn’t much thought about what she might wear to bed, or what she’d been wearing when he first sat down with her. Her hips wiggle in her stride, her fitted pyjama shorts hugging her ass as she heads for the guest room. 

The material of her loose t-shirt is tucked in at the back. Those cotton shorts hug her hips and show off just the tiniest glimpse of her round ass, from where they have ridden up a little.

He looks away before she’s even out of view, but it doesn’t change what he had been thinking. She’s Pete’s kid, for gods’ sakes. Not much of a kid anymore, but still, it wouldn’t be right.

Man, Maverick would hate it, too. 

Bradley wishes, silently, that he was here to scold him. Pete would square his shoulders and get that rare and serious look on his face, warning Bradley to keep his hands to himself. And Bradley would smile and taunt him, saying, “Don’t worry, Mav, I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

With her dad gone, it just makes it worse.

These next few weeks are going to be hard, and the least he could do is think with his head to keep things simple between the two of them. He heads back to bed late enough for it to almost not be worth it. 

He wakes to the sound of chaos over the comms, that same last conversation, those snowy peaks behind his eyelids. 

Mouth dry, heart thudding, his eyes are still shut when he stumbles out into the hall and twists the bathroom door handle. It jams, and he remembers. The sounds of water coming from behind the door stops abruptly.

Peeking her head around the shower curtain, already wincing, Avery calls back out to him. “Sorry! I’ll just be a second!”

“No — sorry, take as long as you want.” He calls back, shaking his head and heading for the kitchen. Restless and anxious, he splashes cold water across his face and thinks about Pete.

He saw Mav do this insurmountable times. He remembers all of the mornings that Mav would wake up gasping, shaking, and he would head straight for the bathroom, bolting the door. He’d come back out okay again. He wonders if Mav still did it, even all these years later.

If he still heard Goose’s voice through the comms, calling him out of his dreams. 

The thought makes him shudder. The bathroom door unlocking makes him flinch, looking up sharply. 

Avery steps out of the bathroom, her hair still dry and tied back, droplets of water still beading along the skin and flowing under the plush blue towel she had taken from the linen closet. He had told her to help herself, but he’s staring at her now and she’s second guessing herself.

He stands at his kitchen sink, his hands braced against the countertop, his knuckles white. She barely even notices his little Calvin Kleins. Her brows knit together as she takes a step toward him, barely visible around the corner.

“Hey… are you okay?” Her face creases with concern, lingering in the hallway so that he can see her just enough.

He remembers to let go of the countertop.

“Yeah,” He breathes out, unconvincingly, reaching up and shaking a hand through his tangled curls. He takes a second, trying to gather his thoughts enough to keep the conversation moving. “Were you still thinking you’re gonna need a job while you’re here?”

She blinks, her scrunched up face relaxing as she takes another step closer, cocking her head at him.

“Um, yeah. I think so.”

He nods. “Get dressed. We’ll go see my friend in a bit, can see if it’s something you might be interested in. Maybe, then we’ll take your car to a mechanic this afternoon.” 

Out of the house, he feels like he can breathe again. It’s just sleeping, that’s all. When he’s really awake, he can control it all a little better, it doesn’t get to him as much.

He drives the same way he had yesterday. Three fingers around the bottom of the wheel, seventies music playing. Today, the windows are down. Avery makes a pretty good passenger — she doesn’t ask him to change his music and she doesn’t put her head in the way when he’s trying to check his mirrors.

Mainly because she isn’t once watching the road, but that’s okay. 

She looks around the city like she’s seeing it for the first time. Mav lived her for longer than she’s been alive — and the entire place seems foreign to her.

Bradley knows both of his parents’ hometowns like the back of his hand, and he still hasn’t ever lived in either one of them. 

“Did your dad ever tell you about Penny?” He asks so calmly, drumming his fingers along the wheel, Ray-Ban caravans sitting across the bridge of his nose.

The look that Avery shoots him gives him more than enough of an answer. She sets her phone down in her lap and studies him, frowning slightly.

“Who’s Penny?”

Shit. Bradley shakes his head and his voice pitches up a fraction. “Oh, she and Mav were just good friends for a long time.”

A product of one of Maverick’s ‘good friendships’ herself, Avery doesn’t need Bradley to explain to her what that means. It makes her a little less excited to get to wherever he’s taking her. 

With one quick glance across, he catches the little frown settling across her lips.

“She owns that bar on Breakers Beach. We drove past it yesterday when we saw Admiral Simpson?” Bradley prompts her, glancing across at the passenger seat. She nods along. “I texted her yesterday and she really wanted to meet you, said you can have some shifts there if you want them.”

Avery wrinkles her nose, trying not to frown across at him when he’s doing his best to just be helpful.

“What? — What’s that look?” He prompts, looking across at her with an amused smile toying at his lips. 

“She’s like a long time ago ex, right? She wasn’t dating Pete recently?” 

Bradley thinks on his answer for a moment. He isn’t surprised that she figured out there was something between Mav and Penny, he would have figured it out too.

But, he had heard of Mav’s experience with Penny Benjamin a long time before he had actually gotten to meet Penny Benjamin. Really, he’s surprised to find that Avery has never heard of her, she and Mav were really on and off for quite a while.

He guesses that Mav kept that kind of thing from her.

Which means that he would want Bradley to keep the fact that he had seen Mav and Penny leave the bar together three times in the weeks leading the mission to himself too.

“Yeah. Like a long time ago.” He confirms.

“Alright, okay — yeah, this’ll be good,” Avery sounds more like she’s giving herself a pep talk than like she’s replying to him. He shoots her a smile and a nod anyway. “Thanks, again, by the way. You’re cool for setting this all up.”

Cool. Not the kind of compliment he’s usually searching for from a pretty girl, but he’ll take it.

Reaching across the centre console, he gives her knee a quick squeeze. “Not so bad yourself, Mitchell.”

Briefly, his palm lingers there. It’s just because he’s focusing on turning into the parking lot, but it’s still his large palm hugging the curve of her knee for a minute longer than it should have.

Completely over the thick protection of her jeans, but she stares at the touch anyways. Then, she dares to look back up at him. Totally relaxed as he pulls into a spot up front like it’s his own personal one. 

One more squeeze, and he takes his hand back and swings open the door. The parking lot is surprisingly busy for the middle of the week at noon.

 Avery follows him out of the vehicle, gingerly matching his pace as he heads inside. It’s once he’s spotted that she falters. 

“Rooster!” Someone even taller than he is comes marching up right away and throws his arms around Bradley. Bradley hugs him loosely, greeting him with an aloof but firm pat of the back.

“Payback.” He greets quietly.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you. How are you holding up?” His warm eyes bore into Bradley, his head bowed slightly and his voice sincere. He hasn’t spotted her yet.

“I’m alright,” Bradley sounds convincing enough, but this Payback guy hadn’t seen how rattled Bradley had looked this morning. “This is Avery.” 

Finally, Payback’s gaze flickers to the girl standing behind Rooster. Halfway tucked behind his shoulder, staring at him through her lashes, looking totally lost and sheepish.

“Mav’s kid?”

In the short time Bradley has known her, he knows that’s not the kind of response she would have wanted to get.

Swinging his arm out and throwing the heavy limb around her shoulders, Payback watches Rooster drag the stunned girl out from behind him and present her at his side. “It’d pay you to learn your new bartender’s name, Fitch.”

He’s looking Avery right in the eye, and he already can see that Bradley’s going to have to be reminded that not everyone likes the heavy handed approach to affection he can have.

Still, he smiles at her like he means it and nods his head respectfully.

“Already got it, it’ll be good to have you around, Avery.” 

A small smile works its way across her lips, grateful if not anything else.

“Nice to meet you.” She answers him quietly, stiff against Bradley’s side. He pats her back and urges her forwards.

“Here, this is Penny. Penny, meet your new bartender.”

Penny Benjamin is tall and striking, standing behind the bar with her eyes already on the new bartender. There’s a recognition and affection in the blue of her gaze that tells Avery she was lied to just a moment ago.

That’s a woman who cared deeply for Pete Mitchell.

It puts a bad taste in her mouth, a pit in her stomach, a sudden coldness about the possibility of this job. Even if just for a short time, for however long she’s here, she’s just going to be an extension of the man she had always felt so far from.

Penny cocks her head to the side, just a bit. Sure, she can see semblances of Pete in the girl across from her, but it’s the rigid, flighty look in her eyes that catches Penny’s attention. 

Across from her is someone with something to prove, and a character they’ve been playing for a long time now. That’s what feels most familiar.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Avery says stiffly, trying to sound like she means it. 

Penny nods, smiling. She glances towards Bradley, then back to the girl still tucked under his arm.

“You too. Let’s talk.” 

As Jimmy takes over the bar duties, Bradley’s left with the prospect of facing his friends when Penny and Avery disappear toward the back deck.

He scratches at the back of his neck, shooting one last look at the two of them over his shoulder, and wondering what he’s supposed to say to all of those guys. 

One by one, he could manage… but all in a group like that? — He hasn’t seen most of them since it happened. 

It’s Natasha that he can trust to catch his eye first, giving him that kind of look cautious parents give their kids when coaching them on a bike. She worries a lot for someone who swears that she doesn’t care about the meatheads she hangs out with.

He heads for her as coolly as he can manage, hoping that the other guys know not to give him a hard time today. They don’t, they never would. 

His therapist says it’s a defensive thing, the way he waits for people to say the wrong thing. When he’s hurt, he expects it, almost. He’s trying to get out of it. 

They can all give him credit for that.

Even so, it doesn’t take long for conversation to fade from small talk to the newest, most exciting subject.

“So, she’s staying at your place?” Natasha’s the first one to bring up the missing party, picking up on a comment about the two of them arriving together.

Bradley shakes his head and fiddles with his root beer bottle. “No, she’ll be over at Mav’s place once we get her car fixed up. It’s a real piece of shit, I don’t even know what they’d do to make it run any better.”

“Mav loves cars — and he lets her drive a shitbox like that?” It’s Javy who scoffs that out, the only one still talking about the Captain who had taken a shine to him in present tense. 

Bradley just shrugs. This isn’t the place to unpack whatever went down between Mav and Avery. He doesn’t know enough, even if he wanted to talk about it.

“She came all the way down here by herself?” Callie asks. She doesn’t say it, but she’s referring to the fact that her mother came all the way out to Lemoore to try to move her into the barracks like it was college when she was that age. 

Bradley shrugs again. He hasn’t heard much about Avery’s mom in the past twenty years, he isn’t even sure that he ever met her — certainly wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a crowd. All he knows is the gossip he’d gotten from his mom when it was all going down. 

“How’s she doing?” Bob asks, his blue eyes deep and sincere as he searches Bradley’s face, knowing better than to ask the same question. 

“Okay, I think.” Bradley muses, thinking of how quickly Avery had questioned the recovery efforts yesterday. “I dunno how close they were, but it’s always gotta be hard. Just… trying to make it a little easier on her, I guess.” 

They all nod, slowly.

And then Avery comes marching back inside, her chin high and her hair a little wind-swept, making a beeline right for the closest thing she’s got to a friend in this town.

“Hey.” Bradley offers her a smile, and reaches out for her. His hand grazes the back of her bicep, and she smiles more genuinely than she has in the past two days.

“Hi.”

He catches sight of himself being watched, and takes a look back over Avery’s shoulder to find Penny looking. Her blue eyes flicker down to his hand on Avery’s arm. 

Pursing her lips, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and Bradley’s mouth almost falls open. There’s no way she thinks that he’s hitting on Avery. He’s just being friendly.

Penny knows Bradley well enough to know that. He’s always been a very affectionate guy. Still, the look that she gives him is one that certainly, and silently, tells him to keep his hands to himself. 

He blinks, and finds his friends looking back at him expectantly. 

“So, you’re taking the job?” He checks, shaking off Penny’s watchful eyes and settling back into what he knows. Avery nods her head at him.

“Starting tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. That’s way soon. He’s going to have to make sure he doesn’t keep her up until four in the morning watching the misadventures of Carrie Bradshaw tonight. 

“Well, guys, say hi to your new bartender.” 

He brings the bottle of rootbeer back up to his lips and shoots a quick glance back over Avery’s shoulder. Penny stares back, unfazed, as he narrows his eyes back at her.

What does she know about anything, anyways?

…

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nikolai proposes to Price.

cw: mention of past and present homophobia in Russia and the UK.

The rotor blades hadn't even stopped spinning when Nik clambered out of his cab, his hand fumbling through his pocket in search of that velvet box. The gravel of the broken tarmac scratched under the soles of his boots, his knee grazing through his jeans as it hit the ground.

He'd almost lost John.

Two meters between his head and a steel beam falling from a nearby building as an IED had detonated.

As the smoke had cleared, Nikolai had heard and felt nothing. Like someone had reached through his ribs and pulled his heart and lungs out. John Price had always seemed invincible, unstoppable, like a force of nature. But in those few moments when Nik had believed he had been killed, the reminder of John's mortality had stunned him cold. John was not immortal, not a god or a hurricane, but a human man; vulnerable, killable, and Nik's entire world.

Nik had only started breathing again when his helo had swung round and the downdraft had whisked the cover of smoke and ash away to reveal the captain hunkered down, Ghost's arm thrown across his shoulders, Gaz and Soap guarding the rear.

The lieutenant had regained consciousness on the flight home, his concussion slurring his speech, his arm broken, but he was alive. They were exhausted, slumped against each other as the danger receded and Nik carried them to safety. Soap helped his lieutenant out now, supporting his weight as they staggered over the tarmac with Gaz following, his head low.

It was in the gap between Task Force 141 and their captain that Nik knelt, his shaking hand clutching the box against his knee as the adrenalin caught up on him, his words stuck. He had planned this. A dinner at the nice steakhouse John had seen in town, and then a walk through one of the big parks to the lake where they had spent many a night fishing. There, Nik would have asked. No audience, no public display, just them in the peace.

Their love was private. Not because it was shameful, but because it was theirs. It was a place John could tentatively explore the parts he had buried to survive, and Nik could be himself without apology. They could discard their defences and show each other the soft underbelly they guarded so fiercely from others. The vulnerability, the intimacy that came with it, belonged to them and only them; one of the very few things that did.

But what if he never got the chance? What if John had died today? What if John died tomorrow? Or the next day? What if, what if. There was no waiting for them because there might be no tomorrow. They had to live here, now.

Price dropped onto the tarmac, pushing his M4 behind his back as he looked down with a quizzical expression. "Nik?"

Nik drew in a shaking breath, his gaze lingering in the smear of black ash and crust edging a cut on Price's face. He'd lost his boonie hat in the scramble to rescue his officer, so his scruffy brown hair and beard formed a wild mane around his head, framing those blue eyes that were all the brighter as they shone from the sweat and grime on his skin. Nik started talking without thinking. "Lyobit tebya - eto kak dishat… s toboi bremya ostanablibaetsya e ya shivu lish mnovyeiyami pyadom toboi..."

"I can't speak it that well yet, ya muppet, and my brain was just shook inside my skull like a maraca," John said, his voice gravelly and dry. The corners of his eyes crinkled in wry amusement, and Nik's heart ached. He lifted the box, his thumb sliding beneath the lid, and watched John's expression fade from amusement to shock.

"Ty vyydesh’ za menya?" Nik clenched his teeth, irritated at himself, but before he could open his mouth and find the English, John's hand slid over his and he dropped to his knees.

"What is this, Nik?" John croaked, those beautiful blue eyes that so reminded Nik of a summer sky over Kiev glistened.

"A promise," Nik replied. "A... plea."

John leaned forward and their foreheads met, his fingers tightened over the box and Nik felt the coarse material of John's gloves against his knuckles. His hand shook. He was keeping the ring covered, like it would vanish should he look at it, or believe for a single moment it was real.

They had talked so many times about their experiences as young men. In the early hours of the morning, when scotch and exhaustion had worn down their defences, the rawness and the hurt had surfaced. Nik, who had hidden what he was lest he face a bullet or prison, acknowledging his very existence criminalised even now; John, who had grown under Section 28, made to feel degenerate and filthy, his lack of worth reinforced by a slighted father's retribution.

Never for a moment had those boys dreamed of a happy ever after, and both had fled into the arms of violence and bloodshed to lose themselves. Both had tucked their hearts away and buried their dreams until they existed only as dogs of war; weapons of the states that had failed them.

And now there it was. Represented as a single tungsten ring with a thread of vibrant blue in the metal. Like his eyes, Nik had thought as he had purchased it.

They shared the same quivering breaths, the promise clasped between their palms, and Nik watched as the low light of dawn caught the first tear as it escaped. Those soulful eyes closing as John caught himself. Nik stroked his cheek with his free hand, thumb brushing through the tear track. "You own me, body, heart and soul. I only ask for your hand in return," Nik whispered, so very meek compared to what he had imagined.

John threw himself forward and Nik caught him, wrapping his arms around his back as John's face pressed into his neck. He smelled of char and blood, sweat and pain, and Nik held him as he sought strength and stability. There were injuries beneath the Kevlar and padding of John's body armour, and Nik would care for him tonight no matter his answer. They had lost men today and John would need convincing to rest before he embarked on the sombre task of informing their families.

When John sat back on his heels, he sniffed, wiped his nose and face on the back of his wrist and then uncovered the ring in Nik's palm. "S'nice," he said, soft and boyish despite the gruff rasp of his voice. Nik could see that young boy in John's eyes, still uncertain, still struggling to believe that someone would love him enough to want to spend the rest of their life at his side.

"Da," Nik said, "it suits you, no?"

"I like it."

"I am glad."

John smiled, the lines at his eyes returning and making Nik's heart ache. "So this is for real, then."

"Da."

"For keeps?"

"For keeps," Nik said, running his thumb over the cool metal. He remembered fondly the first time John had asked him that. Many years ago, when they had only really just met, still circling, still probing tentatively lest they reveal their secret to someone who would react badly. He had offered John a cigar and John had stared at it suspiciously before asking the very same, and Nik had been endeared by it even then. Lieutenant Price had been even rougher around the edges than Captain Price. They had already done so much healing together.

John huffed a soft laugh, wiping at his eyes before glancing at the sky, and then back at Nik. "Yeah..." He cleared his throat, another sniff, "Nikolai, I want t'... bloody 'ell," he took a breath, "I want t' marry you. Yes, I... I'm sayin' yes."

Nik barked a laugh of relief and Price echoed it, watching as Nik ran a hand through his hair as his heart settled. John pulled at the velcro of his left glove with his teeth, tugging it off between his thighs so that Nik could slide the ring over his weathered knuckle. He pressed a kiss to John's open palm, nuzzling his face to it with a contented sigh.

John leaned to the side to see Soap and Gaz gasping at them from the edge of the tarmac. Ghost was, of course, unreadable, but Nik had already talked to him about his intention. Who did you ask for a man's hand in marriage when his father was unavailable? The loyal lieutenant that had fought at his side through the worst the world had to offer, of course. "The whole base will know by lunch," John muttered.

"Da. I... I am sorry. I could not wait any longer. For a while there, I thought I had watched you die."

John lifted Nik's chin and then gathered his hand to his chest. "Ay, I'm here, aren't I? We got home, we made it. Because of you, Nik."

Nik could only nod. There was no point thinking of next time, not when John knelt before him, battered but alive. "You need a medic."

"I need a shower..."

"Medic," Nik insisted. "And if you are a good boy and don't swear at the nurse, I will shower with you."

"Hmm," John smiled, bashful and soft, "seems a fair exchange."

Nik helped John to his feet. Now that the adrenalin had faded and his men were safe, John was limping, an arm folded across his torso. He submitted to inspection with only a minor grump, and then checked on Ghost, Soap and Gaz. They were sound, as John liked to say. Ghost had to stay the night and Soap remained in the chair at his side, but the nurse was happy John's sprains and cuts were manageable with a little support from Nik.

As they stood in the shower, Nik's lips on John's skin, his arms around his waist to hold his body close, Nik let the hot water disguise the tears running down his face. Happiness, relief; they were as heady and overwhelming as anger and sadness sometimes. Nik let himself feel it, knowing it would leave his mind clear for enjoying John later.

"You solid?" John asked, warm hands stroking down Nik's forearms.

"Never better, solnyshko."

[k-nayee]

Saints and Sinners Devil All The Time

wc: 3.9k a/n: Song Inspiration: Take Me To Church by Hozier; recommend you listen while reading!!

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The heat clung to Arvin like a second skin, the late afternoon sun turning the school parking lot into a sweltering wasteland.

He stood next to his truck with a cigarette hanging from his lips, the brim of his cap casting a shadow over his eyes as he waited for Lenora—something he did every day, watching the doors of the school for her figure to appear.

His patience was wearing thin, the relentless humidity weighing on him, but he didn’t dare leave without her.

Not here. Not in this town.

His eyes scanned the yard, and that’s when he saw it: Lenora, standing off to the side, clutching her books like a shield.

She was surrounded by a trio of girls, their voices sharp and mean, cutting thick through the hot air.

Arvin could see the way she shrunk, trying to make herself smaller as their words slicing into her without mercy.

A surge of protectiveness flared—the same way he always did when someone threatened her,

He flicked his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with a curse under his breath.

Just as he was about to intervene when you appeared, striding through the dust and heat with the kind of confidence that turned heads and stopped conversations.

You walked right into the middle of the scene unbothered by the sneers and whispers thrown your way.

“Didn’t think she’d need a slut to protect her,” the leader of the group spat, her posse snickering behind her.

You didn’t even flinch. Cool as ever, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a effortless precision that had Arvin mesmerized.

“Slut, huh?” you echoed. There was something almost playful in your tone, like you were amused by her attempt to insult you. “Ain’t that what your boyfriend calls me when I see him?”

The girl’s sneer faltered, her eyes narrowing as she tried to hold her ground. “Wha...what’re you talkin’ about?”

"Your name’s Gina, right?" you asked, exhaling smoke into the humid air.

Gina stiffened, sensing the shift in conversation. "Yeah, why?"

You shrugged, flicking ash off your cigarette and giving her a once-over that made her bristle. "Just something your boyfriend mentioned."

Gina blinked, her face twitching with confusion. "And what the hell's that supposed to mean?!"

"You know you're cuter than I expected," ignoring her question you blew smoke into her face, making her take a step back. "Then again, don’t remember much he said when his face was buried between my legs."

The other girls gasped as the color drained from Gina’s face. She opened her mouth, but she struggled to find the words in a sputtering rage.

Arvin, caught between surprise and amusement, couldn’t stop the choked chuckle that escaped his throat.

His sudden sound made everyone turn, including you.

Your eyes landed on Arvin, still smirking as if you’d known he was watching the whole time.

Gina, humiliated and seething, took the chance to storm off with her friends trailing behind her.

"You...you disgusting WHORE!" she screeched over her shoulder, her voice cracking in anger.

You didn’t miss a beat. “Funny, that’s not what your boyfriend was saying,” you called after her, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Ate me up quicker than a sundae in July!”

Arvin shook his head in disbelief as the trio disappeared from sight, trying (and failing) to suppress his grin.

He glanced back toward you and Lenora, who was still clutching her books like a lifeline, her face flushed with embarrassment.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Lenora murmured, her voice soft, full of gratitude but laced with worry. “People already—"

"—talk about me?" you cut in with a shrug, flicking the cigarette butt to the ground and crushing it beneath your boot.

“Don't worry 'bout it Bible Thumper.” Your tone was playful, the nickname clearly something affectionate between you and her.

You lift your chin, gesturing toward Arvin’s truck. "Looks like your ride’s here."

Lenora gave you a small smile, casting a final glance at the ground as she shuffled over to the truck.

Arvin hadn’t moved though. He was still standing there, watching you.

You were dressed in a tight, low-cut top and a short skirt that hugged your curves—clothing considered vulgar by small-town southern standards, especially for 1965.

The bright red bandana you had tied in your hair made you look even more rebellious, standing out like a beacon among the pastel dresses and modest cardigans the other girls wore.

Then there was the fact your brown skin was a rarity in Knockemstiff, Ohio. The town wasn’t overtly racist, but had an undercurrent of prejudice was always lingering like smoke in the air.

You raise an eyebrow at him, catching him staring. "Got a problem with your vision church boy?"

Arvin flushed, realizing he’d been caught.

"No, uh... no problem," he muttered, fumbling with the brim of his cap before awkwardly tipping it in your direction and stumbling back toward the truck.

Lenora was already in the passenger seat, her wide eyes watching the exchange with mild curiosity.

He shot you a final glance before getting behind the wheel, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.

As the truck rumbled to life Arvin couldn’t help but steal one last look at you in the rearview mirror.

You were leaning against the side of the building with another lit cigarette, your form growing smaller as the truck rolled away.

The road stretched out in front of him but his mind lingered behind.

It wasn’t until a few miles down the road did Arvin work up the nerve to ask, “That girl...back there. She, uh...you know her?”

Lenora didn’t look up, instead trained on the frayed strap of her bag that she was nervously fidgeting with.

“Her name’s ____,” she said, her voice soft with fondness. “She’s been helpin’ me. You know, with the girls at school.”

Arvin frowned, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Helpin’ you? Didn’t seem like the kind of person who—”

Lenora snapped her head towards him, eyes fierce. “You don’t know her, Arvin.”

“She’s good!” She continued, more certain, like she needed to make it clear before he could form any more judgments. “She’s not what people think.”

Arvin raised an eyebrow, giving Lenora a sidelong glance. He wanted to believe her, but it didn’t add up—not with what he’d heard, not with what he’d seen of you.

“Doesn’t even come to church,” he tries.

Lenora shrug, facing the window. “Doesn’t make her bad Arvin. Jesus loved Mary Magdalene, didn’t he?”

The statement hit him harder than he expected. He wasn’t sure why, but the comparison lingered.

Lenora, despite being the town’s purest soul, seemed to see something in you that no one else did.

“Mary Magdalene,” he muttered, as if testing the words on his tongue.

“Mary was a sinner, wasn’t she? A woman with a reputation. Jesus showed her love and forgiveness. He saw her for who she really was, not what people thought of her.” She paused, her eyes back on her lap. “I think ____ is a lot like that.”

Arvin fell silent. He had grown up hearing stories of redemption, how Jesus saw past sins to the heart beneath.

It was one thing to hear those stories in church—to recite scripture and praise, but to apply it to someone like you? Could it be that simple?

He thought about the way you had stood in that parking lot and how you defended Lenora without hesitation.

You did cared about the insults thrown. You didn't falter when they spat the word slut in your face.

Then there was Lenora, tucked behind you, her wide-eyed innocence protected by someone the town swore was trouble.

Arvin didn’t know what to think. Part of him—the part raised under his grandmother’s strict moral code—wanted to reject it, to cling to the safety of what he’d always been taught.

People like you with a reputation weren’t to be trusted. They were trouble. They’d drag you into the dirt with them if you weren’t careful.

But another part of him couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The way you had looked at him, with that teasing smile like you knew something he didn’t. Like you weren’t afraid of him, or the town, or anything.

There was something so free about you, so untouchable...and it was dangerous.

It stirred something deep in him, something that had nothing to do with right or wrong.

“I don’t know,” he muttered finally, more to himself than to Lenora. “Just seems like the kind of person you shouldn’t be hangin’ around with.”

Lenora’s head snapped up at that. “I mean what would Grandma Emma say?” he added quickly, trying to justify his hesitation.

He didn’t want to sound like he was being overprotective, but the thought of Lenora getting caught up in your world—it didn’t sit right.

“She knows,” Lenora said, her voice surprisingly firm. “She doesn’t like it, but... she lets me. Because she knows that ____ is kind. She helped me, Arvin. No one else stood up for me the way she did.”

Now that stopped him cold.

If Grandma Emma with all her devoutness and strict adherence to Christian values could allow Lenora to be around you, then maybe...maybe there was more to you than what he thought.

Arvin glanced at Lenora then back at the road. The thought gnawed at him, your image lingering in the back of his mind like a half-formed idea he couldn’t quite grasp.

He was caught between two worlds—his grandmother’s moral code and the inexplicable draw you had over him.

Temptation, that’s what it was. Plain and simple.

It didn’t feel simple. It felt heavy, he wasn’t used to feeling that pull,

But maybe Lenora was right. Maybe, just like Mary Magdalene, you were more than what people said.

Maybe he’d been too quick to judge.

The drive home was quieter than usual, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The weeks that followed your encounter with Arvin in the parking lot slipped by slowly, each day dragging with the heavy heat of summer.

You had begun to linger in his thoughts, creeping into his mind in the quiet moments when he least expected it.

He noticed you more now. At first, it was accidental—a glance here or there when he’d pick up Lenora from school or drive through town.

Sometimes you’d offer him a nod, a faint smirk playing at the corner of your lips as if you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

You didn’t go to church, not like the rest of them.

Every Sunday without fail he'd catch you: leaning casually against the brick wall near the chapel as you waited for service to end.

It was one Sunday, Arvin stood with Lenora under the oak tree by the steps, half-listening to her talk about something from the sermon.

His eyes drifted across the street, scanning the quiet neighborhood out of habit—and there you were.

The sun caught the edge of your dress, and for a second, you looked like something out of place. Not of this town, not of its rules or restrictions.

Like you were from another world entirely.

Without thinking, his gaze lingered too long, and you caught him. Your eyes locked onto his, and for a split second, Arvin felt that strange tightening in his chest.

Embarrassment crawled up his throat, but you didn’t look away. Instead you smiled—the corners of your lips curling up as if you’d expected him to be watching.

He swallowed hard, quickly glancing back to Lenora who was still talking, completely unaware of the silent exchange.

He tried to brush it off—told himself it didn’t mean anything. But the feeling of being seen by you, noticed in that way, was something new.

The feeling stayed with him long after you were gone.

In the weeks that followed he caught himself looking for you more often. He’d spot you from a distance, sometimes walking by the side of the road as he drove by in his truck.

Your posture was always casual, unbothered. Your dress would sway with your movements, your hips rolling in a way that defied everything about this small, stifling town.

There was nothing modest or demure about you, and Arvin couldn’t stop looking.

And whenever you catch him staring, that same smirk tugged at your lips before you’d nod in acknowledgment.

At night, when the house was quiet and everyone was long asleep, Arvin would lie awake, your image burning in his mind.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to think about you.

His grandmother’s sermons about temptation played on a loop in his head, warnings about sin and damnation ringing out in her voice.

But you weren’t just a temptation; you were kind to Lenora, protective even. Arvin had seen it, the way you stood by her side without expecting anything in return.

People called you all kinds of names, painted you as something to be avoided, but none of that matched the way you were with her. It didn’t make sense.

As for Lenora, she spoke more often of you now. She adores you—admire even. That always struck Arvin as odd.

There were days when Lenora would beg you to join her in the woods, sitting under the trees while she read aloud from her Bible.

You were nothing like the type of person he imagined Lenora would fall in line with, but then again, Lenora was far more forgiving than anyone in Knockemstiff.

She defended you like she had something to prove, telling him how you’d been helping her and that people didn’t know the real you.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The afternoon sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky as you and Lenora walked toward the Russell home.

You’d just finished leaving the woods, her familiar chatter filling the silence between you.

Lenora (ever the sweetheart), had invited you in, mentioning that it was Arvin’s birthday and they were planning a small dinner to celebrate.

Knowing the town’s judgment followed you wherever you went, especially in public spaces like the Russell home, you turn it down.

It wasn't until you saw Lenora’s broken expression did you hesitate. Before you knew it, you were walking up the steps with her.

You didn't plan on staying long, just until dinner started.

The idea of sitting down for a family meal, especially at the Russell home, wasn’t exactly something you were comfortable with.

As soon as you stepped inside, the scent of warm bread and mixing chatter of the Russell family greeted you.

Grandma Emma was in the kitchen, her back straight as she prepared dinner. She gave you a brief, suspicious glance when you entered with Lenora.

Earskell seemed to take an immediate liking to you. He was lounging in his chair by the living room window with a grin spread across his face, looking entirely too relaxed.

Arvin stood near the doorway. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, clearly caught off guard by your presence.

For a moment, the room froze. Your eyes met his and the tension was immediate.

You hadn’t been this close to him since that day at the school, and it was clear he hadn’t expected you here—certainly not for something as intimate as a family dinner.

His gaze flickered over you. It was more modest than usual, a subtle nod to Emma’s old-fashioned ways.

With a black knee-length skirt, your light-colored blouse clung to your shoulders, the neckline dipping low enough to be daring in this town.

Arvin’s eyes traced the curve of your collarbone, his throat tightening at the sight.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Arvin muttered, low voice barely hiding the nervous tint beneath it.

You gave him a slow teasing smile, your eyes glinting with amusement as you stepped forward.

“Didn’t expect to be here either. Hope ya don't mind birthday boy,” you replied, the words rolling off your tongue with a soft lilt that made Arvin shift on his feet.

Earskell watched with a grin, clearly enjoying every second of the interaction.

Blissfully unaware of the tension swirling around the room, Leanora hurried back to the kitchen when Grandma Emma called for her, leaving you and Earskell alone with Arvin.

“Well, well, well. If it ain't miss ____." Earskell drawled, his voice carrying a hint of Southern charm laced with mischief. “Didn’t think we’d have such fine company tonight. Sure do brighten up the place.”

You grinned at that, makin your way to sit on the couch next to his chair, arms casually crossed. “You flatterin’ me old man?”

Earskell barked a laugh, eyes twinkling. “Just callin’ it like I see it. Ain’t often we get someone who can keep up with me.”

“You ain’t wrong about that,” you shot back, your voice low and teasing, the crassness in your tone catching Lenora by surprise as she returned from the kitchen. “Though I’m not sure your nephew here knows what to make of it.”

Arvin tensed visibly, his ears burning red at the way the conversation seemed to be shifting toward him.

He stayed quiet most of the time, barely able to meet your gaze. And now, with his uncle egging you on, he felt like a rabbit caught in a trap.

“Boy’s always been a quiet one,” Earskell said, waving a hand dismissively. “But I reckon he’ll come around, especially with someone like you lightin’ up the room.”

Arvin shot his uncle a sharp look, his face flushing even deeper. “Earskell,” he muttered, warning in his tone.

“Ain’t no need to be shy, boy,” he teased, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “Not every day a pretty girl walks through that door, is it?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, giving Arvin a sideways glance, watching him squirm. He was trying so hard to keep his cool, but the flush on his neck and the way his hands fidgeted gave him away.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite,” you say to him before giving a flutter of your lashes. “Unless you ask.”

Arvin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, the tension in the room thickening for just a moment.

He couldn’t bring himself to respond, instead opting to drop into his chair at the far end of the couch, avoiding your gaze entirely.

The older man didn’t miss a beat, clearly delighted by your banter.

“Now don’t go thinkin’ you can outtalk me, girl,” Earskell said, leaning forward in his chair with a grin. “I’ve got years of experience on ya.”

“I ain’t scared of a little experience,” you replied with a smirk, flicking your eyes over to Arvin long enough to catch him glancing away.

He was practically squirming now, clearly unsure of how to handle the banter and the easy way you seemed to command the room despite barely trying.

You stood after a while, brushing your hands off on your dress and glancing toward the kitchen. “I should get goin’ before dinner’s on. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Earskell laughed, waving a hand. “You’re always welcome here, girl. Don’t let these sour faces fool ya.”

Grandma Emma emerged from the kitchen just in time, wiping her hands on a towel and nodding toward you. “You’re welcome back anytime.”

You gave her a nod, offering a respectful smile despite the subtle weight of judgment that always seemed to hang around Emma.

She wasn’t cruel, not like the others in town, but she was set in her ways—rigid in her moral code.

You appreciated her decency, even if it was accompanied by a thin veil of disapproval.

Earskell leaned back in his chair, grinning as he turned toward Arvin to nudge him. “Why don’t you walk her out boy? Least you can do, seein’ as how she graced us with her presence.”

Arvin flushed at the suggestion, his hands immediately coming out of his pockets as he looked between you and his uncle.

“Uh... sure,” he muttered, the nervousness thick in his voice.

He rose from his seat and awkwardly motion for you to follow him to the door. The walk was short, but every step seemed to stretch out painfully for Arvin.

He could feel your presence next to him, the  faint scent of cigarette smoke and wildflowers clinging to the air.

It was intoxicating, and he cursed the way his skin tingled when your arm brushed lightly against his.

At the door, you turned to face him, your expression softening just a little.

The usual teasing glint in your eyes was still there, but something else had crept—something more intimate, more dangerous.

“Happy birthday,” you say quietly, your voice softer now, as if you didn’t want the rest of the house to hear.

Before he could respond you reach into your bag and pull out a small card, pressing it into his hand.

Your fingers brushed his as you passed it over, the contact sending a jolt through his body.

He stared down at the card, blinking as his mind scrambled to catch up. “What’s this?”

“Just a little somethin’ for later,” you murmured, your eyes locking with his for a heartbeat too long. “Don’t forget to read it.”

Giving him one last smile, you turn and walk out into the fading evening light.

Arvin stood frozen at the door, watching as you disappeared down the dirt road. He could still feel the ghost of your touch on his skin, the weight of the card heavy in his hand.

His heart was pounding, the familiar pull of temptation gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he glanced down at the card.

His name was written across the front in your neat handwriting. And when he flipped it over, his breath caught in his throat:

Meet me at the abandoned barn by the cornfield.

His mind raced, the invitation clear—undeniable. His heart thudded in his chest, and a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him of all the reasons he shouldn’t go.

All the reasons this was dangerous, reckless. His fingers tightened around the card, and for a brief moment he wondered what the hell he was doing.

But he knew, deep down, that he’d be there.

.*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silver-blue glow over the fields.

Arvin could hear the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears as he made his way down the narrow dirt path toward the barn, the folded card tucked tightly into his jacket pocket.

He’d read it at least a dozen times since you handed it to him, each glance sparking a new wave of heat that crawled up his spine. 

He should’ve stayed home. He knew that. He’d spent the last few hours after dinner sitting on the porch, wrestling with himself.

When he reached the barn door he stopped just outside.

His grandmother’s warnings about temptation played on repeat in his mind, endless sermons about purity and righteousness and the consequences that came to those who strayed.

It wasn’t just her voice he heard; it was the town’s, too—the collective judgment of the people he’d known his whole life.

They wouldn’t hesitate to condemn him, to call him a fool for even thinking about following you here.

Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about you

The way you’d looked at him when you handed him the card, the softness in your voice when you wished him a happy birthday.

The memory of it made his heart race and he hated how much he wanted more of that feeling. More of you.

His fingers nervously twitched at his sides as he took a breath, steeling himself before finally stepping inside.

You were already there, waiting for him.

[adoriels-tears-if]

Ash and Eli’s reaction to MC being pregnant with their grandkid for the ninth time because Arthur and MC are rabbits (I blame Arthur’s kink). 🐇🐇🐇🐇

Ashlyen stares at you in silence. His ears twitch, his lips purse in a thin line, and he crosses his arms before slowly turning to glare at Arthur.

There they go again.

"You are aware, aren't you, that there are many other ways to spend time with my child, right?"

Arthur, unperturbed, flashes smirk and places a proud hand on MC's belly.

"I don't see the problem, sir."

Ashlyen pinches the bridge of his nose, mumbling something in Elvish that you're pretty sure you can translate as "My bloodline is strong and my blood secure, but by Adoriel, it's too much ."

You fight back a smile.

But beyond exasperation, there's something else in his eyes. A shadow of concern. He slides a hand over your shoulder, his thumb tracing a light circle against your skin as he plunges his gaze into yours.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks in a low voice, his gaze softer. "You're not too tired?"

You nod, touched. "Everything's fine, Ash."

He doesn't seem totally convinced, but he doesn't push further. Instead, he gives Arthur another dark look.

"I hope you realize that pregnancy isn't a walk in the park. Are you going to give them some time from time to time ?"

Arthur, relaxed and smug as ever, tenderly strokes your belly as you lean on him.

"Only if MC wants me to, of course."

The elf closes his eyes for a moment. Inhale. Exhale. Trying to control himself.

Meanwhile, Elianna is simply delighted. She places a warm hand on your belly, raving as if for the first time and already talking about names, before adding, turning slightly towards Ashlyen. "Don't listen to him, you two, and do as you wish."

"Please, my love, don't encourage them." Ash growls.

She gives him a mischievous look before leaning over to whisper in his ear, a teasing smile on her lips:

"You're just jealous because we can't do the same."

Ashlyen slowly turns his head towards her, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh yeah?" He crosses his arms, his gaze darkening with a glint of amused defiance. "Because the last time I tried to show you how much vigor I still have, you were the one who fell apart on the bed and said we weren't twenty anymore."

You gasp, horrified. "Ewww, please say no more!"

Elianna blinks, opens her mouth, closes it again, then squints, her cheeks taking on a scarlet hue.

"Did the cat get your tongue?" Ash questions, laughing.

"...It was a low blow."

Ashlyen sketches a victorious smile.

"It was the truth."

Elianna, still vexed, growls in a low voice:

"You'll see tonight who goes down first."

Arthur, who hasn't followed any of this exchange, sighs dreamily.

"I've always loved large families." He leans over and brush his nose against yours. "Let's make it ten, my rose."

[nexkoyotl]

Warrior dump facts.

As a teenager, The Warriors was my special interests and I LOVE the movie and I used to play the Rockstar game when i was younger and now I LOVE the Lin & Eisa album so, here are some facts from the movie (+the comics) and game (Not canon to each other) to give you guys ideas for fanfics, fanarts, etc.

I'll refer to them as their masculine counterpart since I'm talking about the movie/comic/game, where all (except Mercy) are men.

Warrior facts.

The most known fact, 2 warriors weren't included in the album, Vermin and Snow

The Warriors get their money by mugging, and selling Stereos they steal from cars

Cleon has a Girlfriend named Lincoln, she was supposed to appear at the start of the movie but they deleted the scene

Mercy hated that his then boyfriend Sully (Yes, the guy from the Orphans) care more for his car

The warriors and the riffs brake Ajax out of prison

Cochise lived in Harlem until he and his mother moved to Brooklyn

Rembrandt is gay

Ajax has like a few girlfriends

The warriors started as part of another gang "The Destroyers" they had problems with the leader so Cleon and Vermin left and formed the Warriors

(Not sure if this is true) Fox was supposed to be Mercy's love interest at first

The warriors make some Coney businesses pay them for protection, 25$ weekly I think

Their hangout is an old abandoned building that, to me, looked like a storage for the amusement park

Cochise lived in Harlem, yes but didn't join the boppers 'cuse he thought they weren't tough and he didn't like their colors.

In a deleted scene, Cleon said there's like 120 warrior members

Mercy dated a rich guy. He gets her an apartment and other stuff. This, of course, causes trouble between her and Swan

Ajax sucks at pinball

Rembrandt can use both hands, he's ambidextrous (dunno if I wrote it right)

Cowboy is really protective of his hat, and calls it buddy

Rembrandt also goes to an art class

Swan was a destroyer too, but him and Cowboy left the gang before Cleon created the warriors

Then Cleon ask Swan to join the warriors, and he accepts only under the condition of them accepting cowboy too

Only Cleon, Vermin, Swan, and Cowboy were Destroyers first. The rest arrived directly to the Warriors

Mercy dated the rich guy to get her apartment because she thought the Warriors life was no way to live

Technically, Mercy and Swan are not really together, tho Swan insist for her to go back to Coney with him

They (Mercy and Swan) end up reconciliating, and she goes back to living with him in Coney

Rembrandt sprays paint on his enemies faces as a fighting attack

Before Fox, they also lost a member named Ash, the leader of the Destroyers killed him

He (Ash) was also really close to Vermin, and his death affects him pretty deeply

Rembrandt's art teacher tries to convince him that the gang is only using him and to leave it so he drops his class

Mercy was not only Sully's girlfriend but also the Orphans' prostitute

Rembrandt gives Swan a drawing of Mercy that he made for him

After Cyrus' death, everything went back to the "normal". The truce was off, and the gangs went against each other again

This is not an IN movie/game fact, just a movie/game fact, but still interesting

You may know the movie symbol, a skull with feathers. Well, this symbol looked too similar to an actual gang that sued them, so it changed to a snake in flames

These are some of it, if I remember more, I'll do another list, but I think this are the most important. Do with this information as you guys pleased.

[dippindaz]

could you write something with billy where the reader is very similar to him personality wise? :)

Sorry there isn’t much to this one, I was at a bit of a loss! But I hope you enjoy regardless!

The roaring engine of Billy Hargrove’s Camaro echoed through the Hawkins High parking lot, a siren for trouble. You leaned against your car across the lot, cigarette dangling from your fingers, watching him through narrowed eyes.

You weren’t sure why you hadn’t walked inside yet. Maybe you wanted to see if the King of Hawkins High was everything people claimed he was. Or maybe you were just bored.

Billy stepped out, his swagger as loud as his car. He didn’t notice you at first, too busy scanning for his next conquest. But when his eyes finally landed on you, something shifted.

You didn’t look away. Instead, you blew a lazy stream of smoke in his direction, your lips curling into a smirk.

“Nice car,” you drawled, your voice dripping with a mix of challenge and indifference. “Guess compensating is a universal language.”

Billy froze for a second before his mouth curved into a grin, sharp and wolfish. He strolled toward you, his cocky demeanor practically daring you to keep going.

“You got a lot of opinions for someone I’ve never seen around here,” he shot back, folding his arms.

“And you got a lot of ego for someone I just met,” you countered, flicking ash onto the ground.

His grin widened. “You always this mouthy, or am I just special?”

You shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”

Billy’s gaze didn’t waver, and neither did yours. It was like a silent game, two sparks waiting to ignite. He took a step closer, the air between you charged with that strange energy only the two of you seemed to understand.

“You know,” he started, voice lower now, “most people are too scared to talk to me like that.”

You raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving your face. “Maybe they just know better.”

Billy’s lips twitched, clearly amused but also a little intrigued. He studied you for a moment, like he was trying to figure out what made you tick.

“And what about you?” he asked, leaning in just a bit. “You think you know better than me?”

“Don’t know if I know better, but I definitely know how to handle people like you,” you said, pushing off from your car and standing tall. You had never been one to back down, especially not now, when the challenge in his eyes made your pulse race.

Billy’s grin turned predatory, like he was enjoying this—enjoying you. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” you said, stepping forward until you were standing toe-to-toe with him. “You talk a big game, but deep down, you’re just like everyone else.”

Billy’s eyes narrowed. “And how’s that?”

“You hide behind the bullshit. The car. The attitude. But I see it, Hargrove. You’re just as messed up as the rest of us.”

There it was. The thing neither of you had ever dared to say aloud. It hung in the air, heavy and raw.

For a moment, Billy’s expression faltered. You saw it—just for a second—the mask slipping. Then, just as quickly, it was back in place, harder and colder than before.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he muttered, but his voice wasn’t as confident anymore.

You could tell you’d hit a nerve, and for once, you didn’t back away. You stood firm, watching him struggle to regain his composure.

“Maybe I don’t,” you said, voice softer now but no less cutting. “But I know enough to see when someone’s full of shit.”

Billy’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath, trying to mask whatever vulnerability had slipped through. He forced a chuckle, stepping back, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Well, aren’t you a little truth-teller.”

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you took another drag from your cigarette, the smoke swirling between you like a barrier.

“I don’t have time for games, Hargrove,” you finally said, flicking the cigarette away. “If you want to throw insults, fine. But if you think you can scare me off with your attitude, you’re wrong.”

Billy studied you for a long moment, and just when you thought he was about to say something else, he just laughed—a low, genuine laugh that startled you.

“You’re something else, aren’t you?” he muttered, shaking his head. Then he smirked. “Guess we’ll see how long you last.”

You watched him walk away, but something in his voice lingered. A challenge.

And you never backed down from a challenge.

—————————————————————————

Music thumped through the walls of Tommy H.’s house, the bass reverberating in your chest as you wove through the crowded living room. Red solo cups littered every surface, and the smell of cheap beer mingled with perfume and cologne. You didn’t even know why you’d come.

Maybe because it was something to do. Maybe because a part of you wanted to see if Billy would show up.

You didn’t have to wonder long.

The Camaro was impossible to miss, gleaming under the streetlights when you arrived. Inside, Billy was holding court, a drink in one hand and a girl draped over his shoulder. His laugh cut through the room like a knife, drawing every eye to him. He lived for that kind of attention.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping on whatever watered-down drink someone had handed you, watching him with a mix of amusement and irritation. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too caught up in being the center of everyone’s world.

“You’re staring,” came a voice beside you.

You turned to find Carol smirking, her lipstick too bright for the dim lighting. She was practically radiating smugness, like she’d just uncovered some big secret.

“And?” you replied, your tone sharp enough to make her falter.

“Nothing,” she said with a shrug, flipping her hair. “Just thought it was funny. You and Billy? I mean, come on.”

You didn’t bother responding. People like Carol thrived on reactions, and you weren’t about to give her one.

As if on cue, Billy finally noticed you. His gaze slid past the crowd, zeroing in on you like a predator locking onto its prey. The smirk that followed was slow, deliberate, and infuriatingly cocky.

You held his gaze, refusing to back down. If he wanted a game, you’d give him one.

It didn’t take long for him to weave his way over, leaving his entourage behind without a second thought. The crowd seemed to part for him like he owned the place.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” he said, leaning against the counter beside you.

“Didn’t think you’d care,” you shot back, taking another sip of your drink.

Billy chuckled, tilting his head as he studied you. “Oh, I care. Can’t have someone like you running around stealing my thunder.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Please. I’ve been stealing your thunder since day one.”

That laugh again, low and genuine, but with an edge. “You really think you can keep up with me?”

You turned to face him fully, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “I don’t need to keep up, Hargrove. I’m already ahead.”

For a moment, the air between you crackled with something almost dangerous. His smirk faltered, just slightly, and you could tell he wasn’t used to someone standing toe-to-toe with him.

Before he could respond, the girl he’d been with earlier appeared, sliding her arm around his waist. “Billy,” she whined, glaring at you like you’d just insulted her entire family.

Billy didn’t look at her. His eyes stayed on you, the smirk returning as if to say, What are you going to do about it?

You didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. Instead, you reached out and plucked his drink from his hand, taking a slow sip of it.

“See you around, Hargrove,” you said, your voice smooth and confident as you turned and walked away.

You didn’t need to look back to know he was watching you. You could feel it, the weight of his gaze burning into your back.

————————————————————————-

The party had spilled out into the backyard, where the air was cooler, tinged with the smell of cigarette smoke and freshly cut grass. You leaned against the edge of the wooden fence, letting the muffled bass of the music fade into the background. The drink you’d stolen from Billy was still in your hand, though you’d barely touched it.

You weren’t alone for long.

The creak of boots on the grass caught your attention, but you didn’t look over. You already knew who it was.

“You’ve got a bad habit of stealing what’s mine,” Billy said, his voice low and rough.

You turned your head slowly, meeting his eyes. His smirk was still there, but there was something darker beneath it now.

“Didn’t realize a drink counted as a prized possession,” you replied, tilting the cup toward him mockingly.

Billy took a step closer, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “I’m not talking about the drink,” he said, his voice dropping even lower.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest even as your pulse quickened. “Let me guess. Your ego’s bruised because I didn’t fall at your feet like everyone else?”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You think you’re so tough, don’t you?”

You shrugged. “Or maybe I just know you can’t handle someone who doesn’t play by your rules.”

That struck a nerve. You saw it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his smirk flickered for just a moment. But instead of snapping back, he leaned in even closer, his voice a low murmur.

“Careful,” he said, his breath brushing against your ear. “You might find out just how wrong you are.”

You didn’t react. If he wanted to intimidate you, he was going to be disappointed.

“You know,” you said, your tone as sharp as the edge of a knife, “for someone who talks such a big game, you’re awfully predictable.”

Billy straightened, his eyes narrowing. The tension between you was electric, crackling with the kind of energy that could either end in a fight or something else entirely.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out?” he asked, his voice hard now, defensive.

You took a step closer this time, the space between you nearly nonexistent. “I think you’re scared,” you said, your voice quiet but steady. “Scared someone might actually call you out. Scared someone might see through all the crap you pull and realize there’s nothing underneath.”

For a second, the mask fell. You saw it—the raw vulnerability he tried so hard to bury. But just as quickly, he snapped back, his smirk returning like a shield.

“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” he muttered, but his tone was different now. Softer.

“Not a chance,” you said, taking one last sip of his drink before shoving the empty cup into his chest. “See you later, Hargrove.”

You turned and walked back toward the house, leaving him standing there, staring after you like he didn’t know whether to be furious or impressed.

And you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, knowing you’d gotten under his skin.

[pokeshippingweek]

POKESHIPPING WEEK 2024!

It's that time again, pokeshippers!

Last year, we announced that the format of Pokeshipping Week - one theme per day - was getting retired. We also said that we'd still put on a celebration of some kind going forward. Well, the time is here, and I'm happy to announce that we are planning a pokeshipping zine...next year!

If you'll forgive the bait-and-switch there, we have seriously talked about doing a zine, but time got away from us this summer. So, while we do hope to tackle that undertaking in 2025, for this year, we're planning what you might call an open Pokeshipping Week!

How does it work, you ask? Simple: over the years, you all have submitted a lot of potential themes for Pokeshipping Week. For every seven that got chosen each year, plenty were left behind. Well, now you can fill November 1 to 7 with art, fics, AMVs, GIFs, graphics, etc., all about our favorite Poke-couple, using any seven you'd like from the unused themes list.

Any and all contributions are welcome, and if they're tagged #pokeshipping week 2024, we'll reblog them here and on the main @pokeshipping blog. Besides Tumblr, we’ll keep our eyes out for the tag on Twitter and DeviantART for artwork, for fanfics on FF.Net and AO3, and for AMVs on YouTube (no NSFW, please).

The full list of unused themes (from years 2020 through 2023) is below the "Read More" break. Use, combine, and create as your heart desires, and we'll see you November 1!

A bad fight A day in the life  A never-ending road A ship full of shippers Alola sunset scene Amusement park Anime characters meet their game/manga counterparts Anniversary Art classes together/Drawing each other Ash and Misty in Sinnoh Ash’s hat Avatar: The Last Airbender AU Birthdays  Breakup Cameran Palace ball (as in Movie 8) Celebrating Celebrities Champions/Masters  Cheerleader Misty Childhood sweethearts Chocolate Comfort during a natural disaster Comforting each other Competition Confiding in one another Cooking disaster Costumes Criminal/Detective Crossover Crossover with game/manga-verse D&D Dealing with Team Rocket’s teasing in “A Scare in the Air” Dewpider/Araquanid Different hairstyle Disaster dates  Disney AU Double dating Elder years  Elders Ash and Misty Evolution Fairy tales/Fantasy AU Fankids Fireworks First day on the job Food Fortune-telling/foresight Game of Thrones AU Giving advice to a younger generation Grey hair Gym leader Ash/beginner Misty Halloween/horror/ghost story Hanahaki disease Handkerchief Happily Ever After/Fairy Tales Hiding Hogwarts AU Horizons Hot tub/Hot springs If Ash heard Misty’s Song If Ash or Misty weren’t from Kanto If Ash started his journey at 16 or older If Ash’s journey had ended after winning the Indigo League (in season 1) If Misty caught Lapras If one came from another region If their parents met If they didn’t meet on Ash’s first day In-universe Pokéshippers Intimacy Japanese-style confessional love letter JRPG AU (ie, Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, Monster Hunter, etc.) Karaoke Ladybug and Chat Noir Last goodbyes Learning a different language Lost Pikachu Love Letter  Love triangle Lovers across the multiverse Lovestruck (if Ash acted like Brock) Meeting the parents/relatives Mewtwo Strikes Back alternate ending Misty and other Pokégirls discuss their loved ones together Misty meets Goh and Chloe Misty overcoming her fear of Bug-types Misty the coordinator Misty’s Bug-type phobia Mixtape/playlist  Mystery dungeon Nervous Ash  Never have I ever Other Pokemon games AU (Detective Pikachu/Pokemon Masters/etc) Out of their element  Overprotective Misty  Perspective of Oak Ranch Pokémon on their relationship Photo shoot Pirates Plot twist Pokemon daycare Pokémon Mystery Dungeon AU PokéNav communication/Video calling Possessed/evil Misty Pregnancy/Birth Pro-gamers Puberty Reappearance of Ash’s father and/or Misty’s parents Regency Era Romance  Return to Orange Islands Romeo and Juliet Sci-fi AU Scuba diving Secret identity/superhero AU Slow Slumber party Spies AU Stargazing Studio Ghibli AU Sunshine and Rain  Superhero AU Swimming lessons Sygna suits Tabletop RPG AU Taller (height differences)  Tauros ranchers Ash and Misty Time capsule Training together Umbrella Vacation Visiting Oak’s ranch  Water and electricity/water and fire What if Ash didn’t take Misty’s bike? Yoga together Z-ring/Mega Stone

[shogunish]

𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻.

satoru x f! reader, tooth-rotting fluff, satoru and reader explore their relationship, space talk bc i'm a sucker for that

970 words

“the moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?’’ said satoru with cerulean eyes hidden behind sunnies that were as dark as the space in-between the seemingly infinite stars. his face was pale as the moonlight, hair white as snow in the middle of december and those eyes..oh, they held the skies and everything holy in them.

little dots sparkled in the dark of the night sky which was illuminated by the moon which merely reflected the sun’s own light. craters and their shadows were visible to the naked eye - no six eyes were needed for that. dew lay atop blades of green grass like countless little crystals just waiting to disappear once the sun would kiss them with its first rays. gently, the grass tickled satoru’s ankles as he sat down right next to you.

his gaze drifted from the moon towards your awestruck face scrutinizing the moon and trying to read constellations that you had never been able to find. too many stars, you always said and gave up with a pout. it was cute, satoru thought. even though he knew nothing about the night sky and its celestial wonders, he did know about you.

a chuckle vibrated in the back of his throat, deep like the ocean yet soft like the waves kissing the shore. he shrugged his shoulders almost nonchalantly as if amused. “she looks a little lonely, but maybe that’s why i consider her beautiful.”

“the moon isn’t that lonely. all these little dots of stars are her company and yet..the sun is the star closest to her and lights her up.” your voice came out as nothing but a murmur that was as gentle as the caress of the night breeze caressing the leaves of a tree above.

a hum of understanding. satoru didn’t know why he was next to you, shoulder to shoulder and having this sort of conversation with you, yet his heart seemed to know the answer and spoke before his brain could approve. “do you think the moon is the sun’s favorite companion?”

“who can say what the sun truly thinks of the moon? he’s big and complex and pulls everyone in his orbit like magic.” leaning back, you supported your weight on your palms. then, your eyes drifted over to satoru. the night cast gentle shadows upon his defined yet soft features that would always distract you during yaga’s classes. a little unfair how the gods crafted satoru with such care and the fingertips of a mother. “what i can say is that the sun is the moon’s favorite companion.”

a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. going on missions with satoru was a walk in the park. it was always him who exorcized the curse and treated you to a bowl of ramen in the hidden streets of tokyo. you envied him. if only you could show him your strength for once, but he always insisted on keeping you safe.

satoru tilted his head to the side, one eyebrow furrowed before he came to face you with a curious expression on his face. “what would happen to the moon if she strays too far?”

for a moment, you had no words. was this not..about the moon and space and everything lingering in-between? a blush dusted the apples of your cheeks, your tone a little wistful. “i think the moon would feel lonely and roam the emptiness of space forever.”

dissatisfaction was painted all over satoru’s face and a huff left his lips; his breath came out in a little white cloud of smoke. “that fate is too depressing,” he stated, “then what if the moon came closer to the sun?”

to sit next to satoru with the inside of the universe bared to your eyes was probably the closest thing to bliss you’d ever experience. perhaps, this was a little taste of paradise just behind the dormitories, hidden behind trees and bushes and atop a small hill where the grass was still dewy. “the things that get too close to the sun burn to ash. but if the sun truly loves the moon, i hope he’ll let her come close enough to spend an eternity together.”

underneath satoru’s ribs, his heart was suddenly pounding. he liked to believe that the moon reciprocated the feelings the sun had for her, but..he still tested the waters and only dipped a toe into the waters. “i think the sun would appreciate if the moon came a little closer.”

there was no infinity when you scooted a little closer to satoru and your shoulder gently bumped against his. nowadays, it was rare to see satoru without infinity surrounding him. you couldn’t possibly blame him for that decision and yet, you appreciated this little gesture more than any “good morning”, than any hug and any bowl of ramen he’d treat you to.

he trusted you.

he didn’t burn you.

instead, he carefully lured you into his orbit and refused to let you leave his space.

“like this?” you giggled, eyes crinkling at the edges.

for some reason, satoru was still dissatisfied. sure, you were quite a bit closer than before, but his heart yearned for more. “mh, no. more like this.”

and before the words on the tip of your tongue could fall, satoru cradled the back of your neck with a warm palm and pulled you in until his lips were upon yours in a sweet kiss. his lips tasted like those strawberry lollipops he always sucked on and his breath warmed the apples of your cheeks.

when satoru broke the kiss, his lips hovering just above yours, you asked, “how close do you want us to be?”

gentle fingers tugged a strand of hair behind your ear and caressed your warm cheeks. “close enough to taste you.”

taglist. @torusmochi

(if you wanna get added to my taglist, hmu 🧚🏻‍♀️✨)

[lunatiics]

i know i like dancing with you (pt. 3) | buttking

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Three words. Twenty-seven letters. Say it and I'm yours (mango pineapple refresher).

Part 1 Part 2

—

Lydia flicked ash off the end of her cigarette, her foot tapping anxiously against the sidewalk. She wasn’t even a regular smoker—she only ever bummed one off Suzie when she was particularly stressed. And right now? Right now, she felt like she was about to jump out of her skin.

She leaned against the brick wall behind her high school, eyes darting toward the parking lot where Kori had told her to meet after cheer practice. The ninety minutes between the end of school and the end of practice had felt like an eternity. Lydia’s nerves were singed, her thoughts spiraling in a dozen different directions, none of them soothing.

Why had she said yes? Why hadn’t she laughed in Kori’s face and told her to take her weird, misplaced interest somewhere else? Why had she kept responding, and continued responding, to Kori’s texts all week? Why did she find herself smiling when Kori would text back? Why did she care what Kori wanted?

Lydia took another drag, exhaling slowly, watching the smoke curl into the warm afternoon air. The cigarette wasn’t helping. Her pulse still hammered in her ears.

Maybe Kori would change her mind. Maybe she’d decide this was a mistake and leave Lydia alone for good. Maybe she’d walk up to Lydia, flash that effortless, too-perfect smile, and say, Never mind. I don’t need you after all.

Lydia tried to convince herself that would be a good thing. That she’d be relieved. 

But deep down, she knew she’d be crushed.

Lydia hadn’t expected to actually enjoy texting Kori this week. At first, it had just been about the dress—quick, straightforward messages about meeting up and how long the process would take, etc., etc.—but somehow, their conversations had spilled over into everything else. They talked about school, boring assignments, plans after graduation, music they liked, movies they loved. Even though Kori was more of a rom-com girl and had never heard of David Lynch in her life, she had tolerated (and even encouraged) Lydia’s tangents about the director and his dreamy, disturbing, entrancing style that only Suzie had ever tolerated. 

They were so different, but somehow, it worked. It was a pinch-me moment, talking to quintessential Top 40s’ Kori King about Eraserhead and All Time Low. It was like Lydia herself had entered a wormhole and fallen into another dimension.

Talking to Kori was easy in a way that caught Lydia off guard. She was funny, quick-witted, and seemed actually interested in hearing what Lydia had to say and what she loved. It was stupid how much Lydia’s heart would jump when she saw Kori’s name on her phone. So stupid.

And then there was yesterday, when Kori had spotted Lydia in the hallway, mid-conversation with Suzie, and waved. Not just a casual, half-hearted lift of the hand, but a real, deliberate wave—paired with a smile that did something weird to Lydia’s throat. Suzie had been in the middle of complaining about her physics test, and Lydia had immediately stopped listening, her brain short-circuiting as she struggled not to visibly react. It was ridiculous. But for the rest of the day, she’d felt light, like Kori had pressed some secret button that made her want to levitate.

She had waited anxiously all week for this meet-up to talk about prom. And here it was.

Lydia was halfway through her cigarette when she heard footsteps. Light, confident, and purposeful. Lydia knew who it was before she even looked up.

She braced herself, inhaling one last drag before flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under her boot. She turned to face Kori, who was approaching and eyeing her with something like amusement.

“You smoke?” Kori asked, tilting her head.

“Not really,” Lydia said quickly, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “Just… sometimes. When I’m stressed.”

Kori smirked. “Oh, so I stress you out?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Save it.”

Kori laughed, the sound warm, teasing.

She stepped closer, standing just inside Lydia’s space but not quite intruding. It was like Kori had a way of existing just on the edge of comfort, like she knew how to toe the line without crossing it. At least, not before she had permission.

Blonde hair swept back in her signature ponytail, Kori wore a fitted gray hoodie and a cheer skirt, and her gym bag was hiked over one shoulder. She looked effortless. Annoyingly so.

Lydia swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how much her heart was pounding. She still had no idea why Kori being here, standing in front of her, made her feel like she was walking into some kind of trap.

“How was practice?” Lydia asked, desperate for anything to fill the silence. 

Kori smiled. “It was great, actually. Jewels is back and our stunts are fab. I’m super excited for the next football game.” She paused. “You should be there. I’ve never seen you at any of the games.”

Lydia crossed her arms. “Yeah, not really my thing.”

“Well,” Kori said, leaning against the brick wall, mirroring Lydia. “I’ll be there. So it should be your thing.”

“Maybe,” Lydia said. She cleared her throat before she could process Kori’s invite or the fact that Kori had been looking for her at the games. “So, prom dress.”

“Okay, yes.” Kori clapped her hands together. “I want something different. Something that actually feels like me.”

Lydia nodded. “Okay. Do you have any references you like? A specific style?”

Kori hesitated, then stepped closer—close enough that Lydia caught the faintest whiff of her vanilla perfume. 

“That���s the thing,” Kori said, toying with the drawstring of her hoodie. “I don’t know exactly what I want. But that’s where you come in.”

Lydia frowned. “How so?”

Kori’s lips curved slightly, like she was enjoying this. “You’re the artsy one. And if you’re going to make something that actually feels like me, you’re going to have to actually get to know me.”

Lydia blinked. Was that... another invitation? Or some kind of test?

“I was thinking,” Kori continued, her voice dropping just a little, “maybe something a little edgy. Hot Topic realness. Like you.”

Lydia’s breath hitched. Was she imagining this? The way Kori was looking at her, almost playing with her?

She forced herself to scoff. “You? Edgy? Since when?”

Kori smiled, her eyes sparkling and her fingers idly twirling the strings of her hoodie. It took every ounce of self-control in Lydia’s body not to stare at Kori’s hands. “Since now, I guess. You can handle that, right?”

There it was again—that something in Kori’s tone, like she was daring Lydia to read between the lines. Lydia felt like she was standing at the edge of something dangerous. Something she couldn’t name yet.

“I can handle anything,” Lydia said, lifting her chin. “I just don’t think you can.”

Kori let out a soft, surprised laugh, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Oh, you really don’t know me, do you?”

Lydia didn’t have an answer for that. Or maybe she was just too afraid of what the answer could be.

Kori pushed Lydia’s arm lightly, the touch sending an electric jolt through her. “Come on, designer girl. Let’s go figure out how to make me look hot as hell for prom.”

The words fell out of Lydia’s mouth before she could stop them: “You already—”

Fuck. She almost said you already do.

Kori tilted her head, a smirk curling her lips like she knew exactly what Lydia had almost admitted.

Lydia cleared her throat, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. “Don’t you have something better to do? Like, with your friends?”

Kori furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”

Lydia shook her head. “Sorry, nothing. Sure, let’s go.”

Kori stared at Lydia for a beat, as if trying to dissect the meaning behind Lydia’s question. But after a few seconds, when it had become clear the answer was buried deep in Lydia’s mind, she turned back around and started toward the parking lot.

Lydia followed Kori to her car, a little silver convertible, classic Kori King. Kori opened the passenger door for Lydia. 

“Buckle up, sweetheart,” she said, as Lydia slid into the seat. She swore Kori could hear her heart beating out of her chest, and couldn’t fight the smile that crept up her face at Kori’s words.

—

“You’re getting a refresher,” Kori announced.

Lydia wrinkled her nose. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I always get a cold brew.”

“Exactly,” Kori said. “Live a little. Try something new.”

Lydia scoffed, turning her attention back to the menu. They had stopped at Dunkin’ after leaving school. Lydia had told Kori about her Friday afternoon tradition and was trying not to freak out over the fact that Kori remembered.

She could feel Kori watching her. This was ridiculous. Why were they even arguing about this? And yet, somehow, it felt important. Like if she gave in, Kori would win something unspoken between them.

Kori leaned in just slightly, voice dropping lower. “What are you afraid of, huh? That you might like it?”

Lydia’s stomach flipped, and she hated that it did. She rolled her eyes, trying to play it off. “Fine. Whatever.” She turned to the cashier. “One mango pineapple refresher. Small.”

Kori beamed. “Make it two,” she said.

They took their drinks to a table by the window, and Lydia begrudgingly took a sip of her refresher. It was… good. Too good. She refused to admit it, though, giving Kori a flat look. “It’s fine.”

Kori snorted. “You like it.”

“I tolerate it.”

“Oh, sure.”

Lydia took another sip, trying to hide the smile that didn’t want to seem to leave her face when she was around Kori.

They spent the next hour talking—not just about the prom dress, but about everything. The conversation unfolded effortlessly, just as it had over text, the minutes flying by, pulling Lydia in before she even realized it. 

In person, Kori was just easy to talk to, as easy as breathing. She was always ready to volley back Lydia’s snarky comments. And she listened in a way that made Lydia feel… seen. Like she wasn’t just waiting for her turn to speak. Like she wanted Lydia to keep speaking, and never stop. It wasn’t just a front Kori had put on over text. It felt real.

And then there were the moments when Kori would say something—something unexpectedly thoughtful or quietly personal—that made Lydia stop and really look at her. About how she felt like she didn’t fit in with her friends. How she loved them, and admired them, but never really felt like she fit in. About how much she missed Boston and was excited to go back for college (her family had moved right before high school, just like Lydia). How all she wanted was to make her parents and her sisters proud. 

It was like Kori had read Lydia’s mind and was reading the script Lydia had been writing her whole life.

Kori’s sincerity, her depth, her easy expression of vulnerability made Lydia wonder if she’d been underestimating Kori all these years. It pained Lydia to admit, but maybe she had written Kori off too quickly. That there was so much more beneath the polished, self-assured, confident facade than Lydia had ever let herself consider. If maybe, just maybe, they weren’t so different after all.

And then there was the way Kori looked at her—like she was trying to figure something out, like she was intrigued, like she was searching for something in Lydia’s face and maybe finding it. Hoping to find it. Like she liked talking to Lydia just as much as Lydia liked talking to her. And fuck, Lydia liked talking to Kori at lot.

That thought alone made Lydia’s mind go blank and her heart freeze over. Because the idea of Kori liking her—even just as a friend—felt like standing at the edge of something exhilarating and perilous all at once.

When the sun started to set and they made their way back to the parking lot, Kori leaned against her car, watching Lydia. She had offered to drop Lydia off at home, but Lydia’s car was still at school, and she wanted to drive herself home. 

“What?” Lydia asked, shrinking under Kori’s eyes.

“So,” Kori said, leaning on the hood of her car, “does this mean I’m officially your best client?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I don’t have clients.”

“That’s surprising.” Kori tilted her head. “I guess that makes me special.”

Lydia didn’t have an answer for that. Or maybe she was just too scared to say the truth.

Because Kori King was surprising. And definitely special.

[ashen--dreams]

: )

[serenityluvz]

𝘾𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙖𝙨 𝙄𝙘𝙚

(𝘌𝘯𝘩𝘢 𝘚𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 | 𝘚𝘮𝘶𝘵 | 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 | 18+)

⋆𐙚₊˚ˢᵉʳᵉⁿⁱᵗʸᴸᵘᵛᶻ

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, angst, toxic relationships, rough sex, emotional manipulation, slight degradation, mentions of competition and rivalry.

Summary: The ice has always been your battlefield, and Park Sunghoon has always been your greatest rival—both on and off the rink. When a heated competition pushes you past your breaking point, one reckless night turns into a dangerous cycle of lust, hatred, and something neither of you want to admit. But in a world where winning is everything, how much are you willing to lose for him?

The ice has always been your sanctuary. The sharp slice of blades against the rink, the crisp air biting at your skin, the intoxicating blend of adrenaline and control—it’s where you feel most alive. But tonight, the ice feels different. It feels suffocating.

Because he’s here.

Park Sunghoon. The name that makes the judges swoon, the crowds roar, and your blood boil.

You’ve hated him for as long as you’ve known him.

And maybe that’s why you’ve always wanted him so badly.

THE COMPETITION HAD ended hours ago, but you’re still here, practicing the routine that should have won you gold. Instead, you stood beside Sunghoon on the podium, watching as the medal was draped around his neck instead of yours. Second place tastes like ash on your tongue.

“You’re still here?”

That voice. Smooth, confident—an infuriating contrast to the sharp coldness in his eyes when you turn to face him.

“Obviously,” you bite back, your skates digging into the ice. “Some of us actually work for our wins.”

His lips quirk into that signature smirk, the one that makes your stomach twist with rage. Or maybe something else. “You think I didn’t earn it?”

“I know you didn’t.”

He laughs, a low chuckle that sends heat curling through your veins. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

Your breath catches when he skates closer, stopping just inches away. You can see the sharp line of his jaw, the way his damp hair sticks to his forehead, the beads of sweat still clinging to his skin from his flawless final routine.

“I hate you,” you whisper, but it doesn’t sound convincing.

Sunghoon hums, tilting his head. “Funny, because that’s not what you said the last time we were alone.”

Your stomach flips. That night. The one you swore you’d never talk about again. The one where Sunghoon had you pressed against the wall of the locker room, his fingers buried deep inside you, whispering filthy things against your ear as you came apart around him.

You should leave. You should shove him away and pretend this tension doesn’t exist.

But when he reaches out, gloved fingers tilting your chin up, you don’t stop him.

“You want to lose again?” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement. “Because if you don’t walk away now, I’m winning this round too.”

Damn him.

You grab the collar of his jacket and crash your lips against his.

THE LOCKER ROOM is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of sweat and something headier, something unmistakable. Your back slams against the cold metal of the lockers as Sunghoon’s hands tear at your skating outfit, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

“This is stupid,” you gasp, but your fingers are already threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

Sunghoon laughs against your skin. “Then tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

Instead, you arch against him as he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist. His fingers slide beneath your tights, teasing, taunting, making you whimper in frustration.

“You’re so impatient,” he muses, lips ghosting over your collarbone. “Did losing get you this worked up?”

“Shut up,” you snap, but the insult dies on your tongue as he finally, finally pushes inside you.

A sharp moan escapes your lips, and Sunghoon groans, resting his forehead against yours. “Fuck, you’re always so—” He cuts himself off with a sharp thrust, and your nails dig into his shoulders.

It’s fast, desperate, almost brutal—the kind of sex that feels like a competition, like you’re both fighting for dominance, for control. But Sunghoon never lets you win.

“You like this, don’t you?” he pants, his voice ragged. “Hating me. Fucking me. Pretending you don’t want this when you’re falling apart on my cock.”

You bite down on his shoulder, muffling a cry as pleasure coils tightly in your stomach.

“Admit it,” he growls, gripping your hips so tightly you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow. “Say you like it.”

Your pride won’t let you. But your body betrays you, tightening around him as you shatter completely, gasping his name like a prayer.

Sunghoon follows moments later, his breath hot against your neck as he shudders against you.

For a moment, the world is silent. Just the sound of heavy breathing, the distant hum of the arena beyond the door.

Then reality crashes back in.

You shove at his chest. “This never happens again.”

Sunghoon smirks, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Sure,” he lies.

You both know it’s not true.

THE WEEKS THAT follow are a blur. More competitions, more stolen moments, more nights spent tangled in sheets you swore you’d never share again.

It’s toxic. It’s inevitable.

And then the news breaks.

Your name. Sunghoon’s. Together, on every sports headline.

"Figure Skating’s Golden Boy and His Secret Affair with His Rival—Did He Cheat His Way to Gold?"

Your stomach drops as you read the accusations. Bribes. Scandal. A secret relationship that tainted the competition. The article claims you let Sunghoon win. That your affair was the reason he took home gold while you settled for silver.

Panic claws at your throat as you burst into his apartment, shaking. “Tell me you didn’t—”

Sunghoon stands by the window, calm as ever, his phone in his hand.

And then you see the message on his screen.

A text to a journalist.

“It’s time to leak the story. Make sure it ruins her more than me.”

Your heart stops.

Sunghoon turns, his expression unreadable. “You wanted to win, right?”

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

He steps closer, tilting your chin up just like he did that night on the ice. “Now you will.”

Realization slams into you like a blade to the chest. This was never about love. Never about sex.

This was his endgame all along.

And you fell right into his trap.

[frokenkeke]

Making of Today Forever

Well, it finally happened. After much toiling I managed to finish Today Forever, the follow-up to last year's Ashes to Ashley. Like last time, I also want to talk a little bit about where it came from. By all means, check out Making of Ashes to Ashley as well for full context if you haven't already, as a lot of the points brought up there still apply to this new comic.

Today Forever continues the day after Ashes to Ashley. It is a story about what happens after your great coming out, when everything is new but life still moves on in its familiar mundanity. Despite the elation of last night, Ashley has trouble fully letting go of the past. The loss of the Ride shirt becomes a symbol for the jarring and complicated emotions of reconstructing yourself. It is a story about the nature of happiness, it is an awkward romance, it is somehow also about the 90s band Ride.

While writing Today Forever I gave extra thought to the idea of sequels, in particular the second installment of a story. You do something once and it is the whole of itself, you do it twice and it's a mirror reflection of contrasts, you do it any more than this and it's simply "another one". I always intended Ashes to Ashley to be an episodic series with self-contained adventures. The original comic may be complete, starting and ending satisfyingly; it doesn't need to continue, but nevertheless I wanted it to. I don't want there to be just one story, or even two stories. I want "another one" to be in the majority. Yet despite how much you iterate on something, the second entry will always be the domain of contrasts; number two reveals what was unique about number one. In the differences and similarities we establish the boundaries and understand how the story will both change and remain familiar from here on out.

With this in mind, Today Forever is intended to be the polar opposite of Ashes to Ashley. I selectively reuse only the parts that are most crucial. We still follow Ashley, she's on tour with her band, she's rediscovering herself through a trans lens, the tone is cute and lighthearted, everything is drawn on paper with an old worn down Bic mechanical pencil and digitally colored with an ugly sponge brush built into Photoshop. However, this time we go somewhere new, with outdoor scenes in broad daylight, everyone is enjoying their leisure, they're all wearing different clothes, some characters are more prominent while others are less, shoegaze remains a crucial central theme but no one ever picks up an instrument. These points both expand what Ashes to Ashley can be while simultaneously reinforcing its core. The audience understands the story more clearly. Heck, the author probably also understands the story more clearly.

These were the first preliminary character sketches I made for Today Forever, including the cover art concept which remained more or less intact until the end. I went for a "first day of summer" motif to signify everyone being on their day off. I can't remember why, but it's explicitly written in the script that Gabriel and Miki change outfits somewhere after the breakfast scene. This was probably not that necessary, but it is admittedly funny that Miki puts on her Lush T-shirt (featuring the lemon from the Split album cover!) while Ashley is mourning the Ride shirt. Is Miki teasing Ashley?!

It should be noted that the script and story didn't arrive fully formed in my head! Today Forever went through some pretty drastic revisions, and I kept changing around elements until the very end. Above is the beginning of the first draft, you can see how parts were both cut and reshuffled, while a few remain unchanged. In the first version of the story Ashley actually spent the entire day moping in the van. The intent was to focus on her dynamic with Kate, as Kate was the least featured character in the previous story. To reinforce this, I wrote the rest of the cast out of the plot by sending them off to an amusement park. It was a scattered mess of ideas, quite miserable. I felt lost with the whole thing until my girlfriend Alicia took one look at the draft and asked a simple but crucial question; Why doesn't Ashley go to the amusement park? This practically saved the entire comic, giving me a fun central theme to work with. The ideas wrote themselves, the tone got lighter, the initial story became a bookend for the gang running off to the fireworks factory.

Here are the initial panel layouts for the "final" script. Somehow 32 pages became 37.

Today Forever commits the fatal writing cliché of starting with the protagonist waking up in their bed. This was to immediately connect it with the ending of Ashes to Ashley, to the degree where Ashley is wearing the exact same getup, complete with smudged makeup and loose tights. Rules are made to be broken!

The band's van is bigger on the inside for the sheer writing convenience of having a spacious motorhome. This was inspired by the comic Tank Girl where a throw-away panel blurb states that "the tank is bigger on the inside like the TARDIS". No more explanations necessary.

Debbie getting awkwardly up-close and casual with half-naked Ashley is one of my favorite gags. It's goofy while also suggesting a lot about the characters. I like that Ashley feels comfortable enough with her friends to wear nothing but underwear in front of them.

Floppy Park was initially named Playland as one of several Ride references, subtly alluding to the 1990 Play EP. I ended up changing this because it sounded like a playpen for toddlers.

The panel where Ashley is admiring herself in the mirror is another one of my favorites. She has so much self-love! Also, her face looks funny when pressed on a flat circle.

I was worried about having sufficient space for the breakfast scene, but luckily I fit it all on one page without too many compromises. My biggest dilemma was having choose how Ashley would respond to her day off; either with a puzzled "Hmm...? Free day?" or an understated "Wow". Both felt in line with her personality, but there was only room for one. Looking at it now I'm still conflicted on which to choose. The wow line is still funny to me.

Debbie truly is the ultimate romantic foil to Ashley. While Ashley is painfully clueless and uncharacteristically slow for a bunny, Debbie is kind to a fault, accepting the smallest suggestion with full sincerity. Debbie assumes Ashley understands everything about the situation, Ashley doesn't even parse that there is a situation. Ashley's cluelessness is based on myself, I suspect I unwittingly live every moment like Ashley.

Drawing angry Ashley was heaps of fun. I played around with doodling a full-on "aaugh!" Peanuts pastiche, which evolved into other monstrosities like the Ashley blob and the big eyed Ashley I used to represent myself in the Transparency Aquanaut's Holiday video.

Having the cast argue about the number one shoegaze band was among the most crucial pages to me, remaining intact from the very first draft. I'm just really into shoegaze and have no other outlets for this! I get excited whenever someone tells me they actually sat down and listened to one of the mentioned bands. They're all important to me.

I absolutely love the panel of overly melodramatic Ashley sitting in front of the stereo blasting Seagull (she didn't even pick a sad Ride song, she just literally put on the Nowhere album!). Her graceful theatrical display of sorrow contrasts the scene towards the end where she cries for real. Happiness is one of the core themes of Today Forever. Ashley encounters it as a conflict. She declares today the best day and the worst day with equal hyperbole as she flip-flops between emotions. Sadness is a comfort, sometimes sadness is easier, eventually happiness makes her sad, happiness seems forbidden, yet happiness doesn't declare its presence. In the end happiness always finds her again.

Every now and then I needed to do some warm-up sketches, usually after a longer absence from drawing. At some point I drew old pre-transition Ash again out of curiosity.

The scenes at Floppy Park take direct inspiration from my own amusement park memories. In particular, the setting is based on Gröna lund, the local amusement park in Stockholm where I live and grew up. Just like in the comic, their fun house Lustiga huset is accessed through a cumbersome staircase, has a zigzag hallway and ends in a carpet ride slide. Conversely, the hall of mirrors is in a separate building, and there's no Escher Relatively room.

Like with the fun house, the ghost train is inspired by Blå tåget at Gröna lund, a ride where you sit in blue carts while ghastly horrors jump out at you. I went through a bunch of different ideas for the monster that spooks Debbie so much she exists the comic panel, but ultimately a simple jaw creature with dark shading did the job. The burning scarecrows are of course a reference to the Sonic Youth album Bad Moon Rising.

In hindsight, I probably should've cut the claw game scene for brevity, since it's similar enough to the shooting gallery. If I could revise it I would have Ashley fail the game, for contrast and drama. But whatever, I'll let her have this one. Several of the plushies in the claw machine are old comic characters of mine, they live on as commodified kitsch in Ashley's world.

Returning to the rest of the gang in the Ferris wheel for a crucial shipping report and some cocky evil Ashley's on top. Ashley gets a power boost whenever her femininity is verbally reaffirmed, like when Um Jammer Lammy hears "dojo, casino, it's all in the mind".

The rollercoaster is the big climactic payoff to the amusement park setting. The moment Ashley says "ugh... rollercoasters..." we know she'll inevitably end up riding one! The name Grasshopper is taken from the Ride track of the same name, it's a lengthy instrumental piece which features screams that sound like people riding a rollercoaster, the choice was clear from the beginning. Drawing terrified Ashley was a blast, Ashley's soul slipping from her dead body in sheer terror is an obscenely exaggerated visual. I did not use it because it posed too many theological questions.

The shooting gallery scene was conceived by Alicia, she loved the idea of Debbie posing with a gun. It gave Debbie some depth and a slightly rustic lean. Somehow I find Debbie's marksman skills more believable than Ashley's claw game luck.

As Ashley states, the shark plush is a reference to the cover of Ride's Today Forever EP, which is where this comic got its name. However, it is obviously also modeled after IKEA's stuffed toy Blåhaj, whose blue-pink-white color scheme made it a trans icon.

Ashley and Debbie sit down at the end to emphasize the emotional core of the story. Ashley is peculiar, but in a special way. Ashley finally thanks Debbie for what we can presume are years of patient kindness. They have the perfect romantic moment, yet are both too shy to bring it any further. Theirs is not a "will they-won't they" relationship, it's a "please just do it now god damnit" relationship.

The two pages where Ashley cries and the rest of the gang shows up were late additions to the comic. I felt a lack of emotional punch and a too abrupt cut to the next scene where everyone is walking back home. As the sort of "day after" story this is, Ashley is expressing the feelings I felt shortly after I began my transitioning. Just sheer shock at the realization of how sad I had been for my entire life. Like someone flipped a switch to turn on the lights. That the darkness was so overwhelming I hadn't ever noticed it.

In case the young folks were wondering, Kate is working with screenprinting here. A technique in which one covers a mounted net with a special coating that can be manipulated by burning a monotone motif onto it. Essentially you convert a picture into a shadow that preserves the holes in the net. Stroke a batch of paint across the net and you've got a print!

I had immense troubles drawing the ending scene. For whatever reason I had crammed it onto one page in the script, giving it no breathing room and an abrupt ending. Eventually I just spread it out across two pages to spare me continued pain. I'm not quite sure what "makeshift karaoke" entails, but I imagine the reader will come up with their own funny conclusion.

The last two pages to be drawn were the ones where the gang arrive at the park and Kate's phone conversation with Floyd. These were primarily shoehorned in to make every double page spread satisfying and cohesive. They were seeds of ideas that had been cut because they weren't fully necessary, however they ultimately contribute some last minute additions to the story. The park getting a big establishing panel creates breathing room among pages that are otherwise quite cramped, I also get to elaborate Ashley and Rachel's buddy dynamic. In the same vein, Kate yelling at Floyd was important for her redemption, to truly show that she DOES care and will stand up for her convictions.

While I had a clear concept for the cover from day one, I ended up having a lot of troubles with the finer details. Like how the first comic's cover paraphrases Loveless, I wanted Today Forever to paraphrase the early Ride covers for the Ride EP, Play EP and Smile compilation, which feature framed monochrome beds of flowers. Ashley and Debbie were supposed to be superimposed on top of this, but I wasn't fully in the clear on what they would do, how they would pose, what expressions they would wear. I ended up drawing a bunch of different ideas until I ended on the double blushed side-eyes.

On top of a cover, I also wanted a quick recap of the previous comic, as it had almost been a full year since I made it. I ended up with pulpy mugshots of the cast, taking inspiration from the recap pages in the Dragon Ball manga volumes I read as a kid. The mugshot of Ashley accidentally lacks her ear fluff, oops!

I am glad people enjoy Today Forever as much as Ashes to Ashley. I am still partial to the first one. I do have my problems with the new comic. There are parts that didn't quite come together like I had wanted, it's probably a bit too long, I feel the tone may be too juvenile at points. Mostly I felt frustrated going from one month to make the first story to an entire year for the second one. The last comic is strategically set in vaguely defined void rooms while this one keeps having to establish new locations and props. There are more panels of all the characters hanging out together. There was simply more to draw and less time to do it. Somewhere along the way I got lost in being more careful and meticulous about the clean-up and coloring as well. However, it doesn't matter now that it's all out, from here on out it's in your hands either way.

I will have to think over what I learned from Today Forever and keep that in mind while working on the third comic. Hopefully I can balance it all out. Maybe next time I figure out how long Rachel's ears are supposed to be!

/Kiki

[remember-digimon]

Next up is my favorite, Matt!

Wow what a cool guy.

So, Matt is usually described as a loner, Tai's rival, and the Angsty Cool Guy. None of these actually describe who he is, so let's dive into that.

1. Loner. Matt isn't a loner, he's lonely. Big difference. He keeps others at a very long arm's length as a self-preservation mechanism; due to his parents' divorce basically breaking his little heart at a really young age. He learned then that other people could hurt him by leaving, and decided from then on he wouldn't give them the opportunity to hurt him. His loneliness is so deeply rooted that it's interpreted by others as aloofness, while he is only 11 years old. Like damn wtf

2. Tai's rival. Outside of the Cherrymon incident, which was just good ol' manipulation to get the two most powerful Digimon in the group to fight, Matt was really only considered Tai's rival in early promotional stuff that had a little bio for each character. Matt likely gets interpreted as Tai's rival because they fight a lot, but it's not that simple. Matt doesn't want to compete with Tai, he doesn't want to be the leader. He butts heads with Tai because they're basically opposites. Matt is acutely aware of the group's feelings and needs, while Tai remains laser-focused on the goal at hand. This dynamic isn't like Ash vs Gary, where they're actively competing with each other. Matt gets frustrated with Tai very easily, and he feels things so intensely that he can't really help but blow up.

3. Cool Guy. Let's get one thing straight, this kid right here is not cool. This was more of a thing in the dub iirc, but regardless, his attitude is just a cover to keep people from getting too close. Hell, it takes Gabumon a few episodes longer than the other Digimon to really get close to Matt; before that point, Matt certainly isn't a total dick to Gabumon, but he isn't fully trusting yet either.

Matt's relationship with TK is an interesting one. He feels like it's his sole purpose to protect TK, not just from monsters but from anything unpleasant in life. All of the familial love and affection he gets comes from TK so it's understandable why he would feel this way.

One complaint I often hear about Matt is that his breakdown in the Dark Masters arc when TK gets kidnapped by Puppetmon is way overblown, that he wouldn't normally react that way. He left TK at the amusement park during Weregarurumon's Diner, and when he couldn't immediately leave he didn't break down like that.

The difference in these situations is obvious if you pay close attention. First of all, from the time the kids get up on the day Bakemon raid Odaiba to when they're back at the digital world and split up after talking to Homeostasis, is all one day. It feels much longer because of how many episodes that is, but they're all on at least 24 hours without sleep or taking a break. Also, keep in mind that Matt woke up earlier than the others, before sunrise, as his dad got him and Gabumon to the warehouse to keep them from getting abducted by the Bakemon.

Second, in that span of time the kids have all realized what they're up against. They've lost Wizardmon, Chuumon, Piximon, and Whamon in quick succession, the last three to the Dark Masters. Learning that his little brother has now been captured by one of these Dark Masters would lead Matt to fearing the worst.

Then there's the big fight he had with Tai just prior to the breakdown. He accused Tai of being obsessed with fighting and ignoring the others' grief at the loss of their Digimon friends. By the time he and TK are in the tree with their Digimon, he's already showing signs of wanting to break away from the group, saying that they don't need the others.

Matt also feels that his growth is stagnant compared to the others; this is untrue, as Gabumon would not be able to digivolve to higher levels if Matt wasn't growing and changing. But his self-image is so damaged that he always sees the negative aspects of his personality when comparing himself to his peers.

And of course we have to talk about the Dark Cave. Because of how the Digital World operates, Matt's depression materializes and manifests as a cave that he can't escape until he comes to terms with it. Obviously this quick recovery from a depression spiral is not based in reality, but this is an episodic kid's show so I'm surprised we even got this much.

Matt's experience in the cave is one that a lot of people who have dealt with depression and loneliness can relate to. He says he wants to be alone, but Gabumon calls him out on that and makes him realize that isn't what he wants, actually. He wants to be more open with people, he's just under the impression that he's not really important, not wanted, so it's better off to just not even try. His relationship with his mother is highly strained because of the divorce, and because he has an overwhelming sense of loyalty he probably feels he has to be cold to her for his father's sake.

As for his father, Hiroaki is at work more often than not. Every time we see Hiroaki and Matt interact, Hiroaki is either brisk and business-like or even annoyed; when Matt meets up with him at the TV station, Hiroaki is angry that he didn't stay hidden. Obviously this is out of concern for his son, but still. A moment later, when TK shows up, suddenly Hiroaki is much softer in speaking. So I imagine that this dynamic would also have an impact on Matt's mental health; his dad is almost always at work, and when we do see him with his dad, Hiroaki is a bit tough with him.

But it isn't all sad times and angst with Matt. He loves music, later forming a popular band in middle school and high school. Once he realizes that he can open up to people, and they won't intentionally hurt him, he's able to create real, lasting relationships that aren't based on the cold exterior he uses to protect himself. It's clear that he needed to learn to let others in, and once he did learn that, he becomes much happier and more willing to open up and let those walls down. Even if it's just a little bit.

[thebumblingbookbee]

Kit x Ty College AU (another snippet of WIP)

Ty POV

Ty felt sort of weightless as he bounced up and down on his tip toes, a habit his uncle had done his best discourage by always tapping the top of Ty's head harder and harder until Ty would stop. But it didn't matter now that Arthur wasn't here. He was in Kit's shared uni kitchen waiting for him to return from his bedroom with some sort of surprise for Ty, he claimed it wasn't anything big at all and Ty shouldn't get excited but Ty strongly disagreed.

To distract himself from how long Kit was taking Ty glanced around the kitchen. It was pretty decently clean for a kitchen shared by six twenty-somethings. The dishes were mostly done and drying on the rack, just a few mugs left in the sink. The crumbs of some toast on an otherwise clean countertop. It was however a little cluttered with mementos and ornaments with everyone trying to make space for themselves. An expensive coffee machine, vase of flowers, various textbooks and a deck of cards overwhelmed most of the counter space. He smiled at the photo he had never noticed of himself and Kit on Julian's birthday the month before, photo Ty smiled back wider than Ty had been aware he could smile, a blush covering his cheeks. Kit looked equally happy having just snuck a kiss to Ty's cheek the moment before the click.

He moved his feet down to relax and rest on his heels and walked forward to take a closer look at the photo wondering when Kit had gotten it off Emma and when he had printed it. He made a mental note to ask and clicked the pen in his pocket several times.

"Okay okay sorry!!" Kit shouted as he walked into the kitchen holding a large shoebox. "I couldn't find the ones I got when Mina and I went to the park last week remember? But she's been helping me collect them so she spotted them so if you like them it's her you have to thank really" he cut himself off with a sharp laugh that sounded nothing like his real one and more like a seal. Ty just looked at him waiting to hear what he was going to say to explain why he was so nervous. "Um....I found them anyway I had left them in my jacket pocket....". He then placed the shoebox down on top of Ash's drama textbook, Ty wondered what that contained what sort of homework did a drama student get? But he shoved that thought to the side quickly as he took in the box in front of him.

It was filled with rocks. Ty clicked his pen in his pocket faster and tried to control his breathing.

Kit was already talking again, faster than Ty could quite catch in his excitement but the tone of increasing panic did register. He looked back up at Kit to find that he was not looking at him and was instead staring down at the rocks like they had done him wrong. "If you think it's weird I totally get that Josh said it was fucking bizzare to collect rocks to give to someone-". Ty cut him off "I don't like Josh." Kit stayed silent and blinked at him in confusion "um okay?" He said it like a question with the inflection at the end but Ty didn't want to explain now so he deflected and said firmly "I do not think it is weird." Gesturing to the rocks with his left hand, and reaching in to pick up the purple one ran through with gleaming white like marble. He swayed gently as he admired it, turning it over in his hand and squeezing it at different angles to find the most pleasing way to hold it. He glanced up for a moment to see Kit watching him with his eyes dazed and his mouth just slightly open, he loved catching Kit looking at him like that. Not that Kit was ever trying to hide it, even now as Ty caught him Kit just switched to a soft pleased smile. He didn't speak so Ty asked "Why did you do this?" He felt a bolt of panic dart through that his choice of words might be rude and rushed to clarify "I really like them they are beautiful but I want to know why".

Kit laughed lightly at him shaking his head in what Ty assumed since it was Kit was light hearted amusement and said "I saw you had loads of them lined up along your windowsill at your sister's place when we were there at Christmas. The light was shining in the window on them and I remember thinking how they were all so lovely and unique. After that I kept seeing all these beautiful rocks or stones everywhere and thinking to myself that it might make you happy and then I couldn't stop myself picking it up." He shrugged as he finished speaking as if he had said some casual and completely ordinary.

Ty swallowed thickly. Blinking down at the rocks, of various sizes, shapes and colours. "You just thought I would think they were pretty? So you kept them? Mina was helping you with this? You've been doing this since Christmas?" His questions rushed out of him like demands but he knew Kit would understand. He squeezed the rock in his palm tight opening and closing his fist. "Why?"

Kit beamed at him his cheeks turning a soft rosy pink that made Ty want to reach out and trace his finger along his cheek.

"Because I love you" Kit answered as if it explained everything. "And like I said Mina did help and actually I think she is waiting to hear what you think of them" he laughed. Breathing out a deep breath Ty grinned back at him. He felt like he was weightless.