#but i would definitely love to comb through it for the crumbs of new stuff (i really dont think there'll be much but anything new's nice ^^

[windor-truffle]

as genuinely super very excited as i am for the graces remaster i don't think it's gonna change how i do things on this blog very much 😅 i plan on continuing my LP and commentary (maybe try to complete it before the release but im not sure i want to pressure myself when this is just for fun) and posting whatever im thinking about/working on. i'm thinking about making some celebratory art soon and maybe a countdown 10 days prior to release though 😁

if anything im most excited/nervous about the potential influx of fans! i'd gotten kinda used to most of the art and fics dating back like a decade and while i am far from finished plumbing those depths it's really exciting to think that could be new/returning fans making new stuff who are up for active discussion!!!! still nervous tho bc i am shy and im well aware that my personal approach to this game and its characters can sometimes be kinky weird and off-putting and i'd hate to dissuade or mislead those interested in checking it out

[peralta-guaranteed]

Take care

She does these things, Jake has realised, that she probably doesn't even notice herself.

If he wanted to be negative, he'd probably call it 'doting'. 'Mother henning' maybe. But he doesn't want to be negative, because that'd deny how much he loves it.

It's a lot of little things that creep up over time, and each and every one makes him stop for a second when he notices, makes his heart flutter.

The way she'll have a napkin ready whenever he bites into something really messy. How she picks up things before he even knows he's dropped them. Feeling her hand sift through his hair when they're on the subway, knowing it probably got mussed up by the tunnel wind and she's fixing it. Adjusting his collar, tie, hood, shirt sleeves while chatting, like he would never let anyone else do.

It makes him feel comfortable. Comforted? He's not sure which phrase is the right one, maybe both fit. Amy could probably explain the difference.

Anyway.

He feels comfortably comforted when she does it, but most of all, it means she's comfortable too. Because she definitely didn't do most of these things at the beginning of their relationship. She wanted to, he could tell, but she was hesitating and overthinking and probably worrying about being overbearing, being too much.

As if any amount of Amy could ever be too much for him.

But slowly, it seeped in, and with it the comfort. A tug on his shirt here, a wipe of some stain there, handing over things before he asks for them, adjusting stuff to make things easier the way he wouldn't have seen.

He loves it so much. She's taking care of him, is what it is, in a way he thinks no one ever has. Maybe it's just her organised, structured nature, her obsession with order and cleanliness, but the why doesn't really matter as much as the how. He can feel the love hiding behind it, the soft, ever-present kind of love, that means he's on her mind even subconsciously, that she's watching out for him at any moment.

It amps up after he returns from Florida, where he's proven to himself well enough that living without Amy is not only not worthwhile, but also a great big hassle. He's probably never been more chaotic and messy than as Larry, and he didn’t even care. No one was there to tut at him when he covered Larry's kitchen in a 12th sort of stickiness, and no one was there to wipe the burrito sauce stains from his cheek, and nothing mattered at that point anymore.

It hits full force after he comes home from prison, too. She must've been so worried, he thinks with a tug to his heart sitting on their sofa during a tv night, while she rubs lotion she used too much of on herself into his hands. Charles told him once, during a more serious moment, that she'd taken a tidepen out for a stain he'd gotten on his work shirt while they talked about a case, and how she’d stopped and blushed when she realised what she was doing. (He let her, of course, and thanked her. It seemed to ease her a bit.) How she'd followed Terry around one day when he was stress-eating some sweets again, after another failed attempt to find proof on Hawkins, and how she'd cleaned up all the crumbs he left behind. How he'd seen her fingers flex at the mess on Scully's desk being worse than ever, and even the oblivious old detective figured out to aks her for help organising it, which she did with almost glee in her eyes.

He'll forever be thankful that she had their friends around to hold her, to let her do these things without comment, to comfort her during his absence. It doesn't make it hurt any less.

And that pang of pain mixes into the comfort now as he watches her pick up the socks he dropped and toss them into the laundry hamper. As he stares at her while she folds up his shirt sleeves and corrects his tie properly before his first day back at work (the motion isn't one of ease for him anymore, he'd realised with a little shock, the tying of a tie not second nature to his morning routine for several months) . As she moves to rub at some sticky sugar crusted onto his lip from his extra order of donuts this morning, but especially as she stops and lets her hand drop with a blush.

"Sorry", she mumbles and that hurts even more. "I'll get you a napkin."

"Don't." he grabs her hand before she can reach away. “Don’t say sorry for these things.” He gives her hand in his a quick squeeze, three times, their unspoken love you sign he’s been doing daily since he came back.

“You don’t need me cleaning you up like you’re some 5 year old.” She mumbles, not meeting his eyes.

“I don’t need it.” He lies, because god does he need it. “But I want it. I love the way you take care of me so much, Ames.”

She finally looks at him, and smiles so softly, and wipes the sugar away with her other hand before kissing the same spot.

“I love you so much, Jake.”

And the little bits of pain stop coming after that, and are replaced with the same sense of comfort he knew from before all the horrible things. And, if he’s honest, something new mixes into the feeling as well - a sense of hope, maybe, of eager anticipation, as he thinks about the ring hidden in his sock drawer every time she picks up his dropped socks again, because he’ll probably never remember to do it. He can see her fix his bow tie at their wedding reception. He can see her wipe the stains from tinier, grubbier hands than his. He can see her sort out the same messy curls of his head on another little lion’s mane. He can see her take care of him and their little future family in all of her hundreds of ways, for forever. For better or for worse.

And he can hardly wait.

[itsclydebitches]

Summary:

“He likes this song.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

In which Cisco is given seven months to fall in love with Barry Allen. It’s admittedly a little weird - what with Barry being unconscious and all - but since when was anything normal nowadays?

Fandom: The Flash (TV show)

Words: Through Chapter Three: 8,213 (will be around 12k total)

Warnings: None

Pairings: Barry/Cisco

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting) 

~~~

Worth the Wait: Chapter Three

Could you know someone you’d never spoken to? Really get them based purely on their presence and a public profile? Cisco was starting to wonder.

It was freaking him out just a bit. Because the longer Barry just lay there the longer Cisco searched for him online, and the more he searched the more he felt like they’d known each other for years. Barry posted update statuses filled with enough science jargon that all his friends sent exasperated emojis and his former teachers liked the posts with pride. There were silly Vine attempts and one memorable home video, basically laying out for the world that Barry Allen would never be an actor. Barry posted more selfies than the stereotypical teenage girl (all of them stunning), wept about his food, glorified his job (which he didn’t need, he was a goddamn hero in Cisco’s eyes), comforted anyone about anything, sent heartfelt messages on everyone’s birthday, and accompanied those tear-jerkers with presents—despite his slightly iffy bank account.

He was like a ray of sunlight personified.

Cisco knew, intellectually, that a digital footprint was just one small part of a person’s whole. That they were never truly what they posted online. That, really, Barry couldn’t be this sunny, smart, gracious, and heroic in real life. Constructs like this just didn’t exist.

Except then he’d look over at the guy’s still form and think, maybe.

What cinched it for him was another real life person suddenly appearing in, what had become, his otherwise digitalized world. Cisco came into the Lab Thursday morning with bedhead and a packet of chocolate donuts, thinking about how he wanted to test the Suit’s resistance to acid and read more about whether coma patients experienced smell as well as sound. Cisco was lost enough in his thoughts that he nearly ran into Caitlin as she rounded the corner out of the Cortex. They exchanged a silent, rapid-fire conversation—Donut? No, already ate. You okay? Yeah. Sure? There’s a Thing. A Thing??—and Cisco was still trying to decipher what kind of a Thing that hand gesture meant when he spotted the woman sitting at Barry’s bedside.

Oh. That kind of a Thing.

Cisco recognized her. He’d seen her name on the Labs’ entrance logs a few times before and he had vague memories of her standing on the periphery of the action the day they’d moved Barry here. Mostly Cisco knew her from Barry’s pictures though. She was in nearly all of them.

“Hi, Iris,” he said and she turned to smile at him, the both of them totally ignoring the fact that they’d never technically met before. That was refreshing.

“Hey, Cisco.”

“Donut?”

“God yes. Chai latte?”

“Not worried about my cooties?”

“Nah. Go for it.”

She passed over her drink and he set the box on Barry’s blankets, kind of liking how some of the sprinkles spilled over. It gave him a less sterile look. Like a dude who’d actually been munching rather than just...lying there.

The chai was spicy on Cisco’s tongue. He could see the smears of Iris’ lipstick around the cup’s edge.

It was kind of amazing how put together she looked in the face of this ongoing tragedy, and Cisco had to give her points for style. He had his own sort of look going on, sure, but he also know that if his bestie/brother got struck by freaking lightning and refused to wake up he’d be sporting nothing but comfort PJs and tear stains. Cisco tried uselessly to untangle his hair.

“He loves these, you know,” Iris said, holding up one of the donuts. She tilted it so Barry could see. “He always eats the icing first though, scooping it off like—” she demonstrated, scattering more crumbs across the bed.

Cisco pulled a face. “Okay. That’s wrong.”

“Right? You need to see him eat a cupcake. He pulls it apart and like, makes a sandwich out of it. Or nachos! Jesus, he’s always complaining about not getting all the toppings in one bite. I told him to just lift, but he claims the weight is too much for a single chip, and... ”

Iris trailed off, shaking her head. Maybe she was thinking about the implications: that hopefully someday Cisco would get to see Barry and his ridiculous eating habits.

“Food is priority #1,” Cisco said. “He’s a guy after my own heart.”

As soon as he said it Cisco ducked his head, realizing the implications of that, but Iris didn’t even bat an eye.

She just took another donut.Cisco let her.

“You know I’ve started talking to him,” he shared after a few moments of silence. Iris’ smile begged him to continue. “Uh huh. I must look like a real nut on all the security footage. But I read that coma patients can, you know, hear and stuff. Sometimes. So I figured why not? Might as well give Barry something to focus on other than this insistent beeping.” It actually wasn’t even that bad--Caitlin had removed most of the equipment on the third day, growling that it wasn’t doing enough for Barry anyway—but the point remained the same.

Iris snatched her drink back. “What do you talk about?”

“Oh, you know... stuff. Gossip mostly. I complain a lot. Just... things.”

Iris was still smiling. “He likes movies,” she said. “Put Star Wars on sometime.”

“...right.” Cisco very much didn’t voice that the Star Wars franchise was his be-all and end-all fave.

Iris stood then, reaching over to smooth the hair out of Barry’s face. “You gotta wake up,” she whispered and Cisco had to turn away, recognizing the private moment. He didn’t comment on how long it took her to speak again, or the thick quality of Iris’ voice when she did.

Cisco did clasp her arm though as she took up her purse. “Work,” she explained. “I’ll come back tonight?”

“I’m sure not stopping you.” Cisco spread his arms in a welcoming gesture.

Iris seemed to consider him then. One of those cataloguing looks that made Cisco wish he’d actually used a comb this morning. Or worn something other than his Homestuck t-shirt. Whatever Iris found though didn’t seem to be too bad.

“He’ll like you,” she said and it felt like a promise.

Cisco nodded, slowly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He definitely will.”

They both appreciated the future tense.

Iris left him then with too many thoughts and just the right amount of donuts. Cisco sighed, taking the place she’d vacated (no, it wasn’t his spot, no matter what Caitlin was starting to say) and booted up his laptop, enjoying this new routine.

Cisco pulled up Chrome in one window and a stream of A New Hope in the other. He wafted a donut under Barry’s nose as the story’s scroll began.

“Smell that, dude? Glazed glory, right here. Gonna wake up for it?”

Barry breathed even and deep. His eyes moved briefly beneath his lids. That was all.

“Your loss.”

Cisco was nothing if not gracious though. He patted Barry’s knee while taking a massive bite.

“I’ll buy you more when you do get your lazy ass out of bed,” he garbled. “Promise.”

***

Taking care of a coma patient was, sadly, not all movies and one-sided conversations. Cisco was endlessly glad that Barry gave them all something to focus on (Caitlin in particular, gushing daily now about the ever growing changes in Barry’s DNA. “It’s fascinating, Cisco!” “Uh huh. Sure, Spock.”) but there were some things that just shouldn’t have been a part of the job. Or at least, not part of Cisco’s job.

He so didn’t sign up for this when he applied to STAR Labs.

“You want me to what now?”

Dr. Wells gave him a Look. It was the particular one that was a combination of “I expected more of you” and “please leave your immaturity outside of my facility.” The last time Cisco had gotten the Look he’d accidentally set Level 8’s workroom on fire trying to create goggles that replicated heat vision.

Emphasis on ‘accidentally.’

“I have a meeting with Larson—yes, yes, of rheology fame.” Dr. Wells shook his head. “Please wipe that look off your face, Dr. Snow. She’s not nearly as impressive in person as her autobiography suggests.”

“You read her autobiography?” Caitlin teased, but she did school her features. Dr. Wells waved her off like an errant fly.

“Look, I would honestly like nothing better than to skip this lunch and remain here, but Larson is insistent that we discuss the work our two labs were conducting prior to the explosion. I have… admittedly been putting it off.” Dr. Wells took of his glasses to rub at his eyes. Cisco felt a pang. “I fear you’re the only one available for this shift.”

Cisco looked imploringly at Caitlin.

“Grandpa’s birthday,” she said, apologetic. “It’s literally the one family gathering I can’t miss.”

“Joe?” Cisco suggested, remembering the strong, fatherly man who had accompanied Iris on numerous visits.

“Working.”

“Iris?”

“Also working.”

“And look who else is in his place of employment, on the clock no less,” Dr. Wells gave him another pointed look.

Cisco felt something like panic inching its way up his throat. “And this can’t wait?”

“Don’t be cruel. You’ll be fine,” and with that utterly useless bit of confidence they just abandoned him, like two totally awful, abandoning people.

“I will have my revenge,” Cisco whispered, because really, he was not cut out for this.

Clipping toe and fingernails was one thing. Swapping out full catheter bags was ew, gross, but doable. Turning the guy to avoid bed soars was a piece of cake. But sponge baths?

Cisco looked at Barry. Barry (he imagined) was looking back, with his eyes closed. Judging. Cisco thought about how he’d feel if he was stuck in bed for months without access to a shower.

He shivered. Fine.

Getting the supplies took longer than he’d anticipated, though it gave Cisco time to calm down a bit and, as Caitlin might say, stop being such a big baby about it. He got two tubs of water ready—one for washing, one for rinsing—and made sure that the bath water was nice and hot. It wasn’t like the Cortex was freezing, but who the hell wanted a lukewarm bath?

Easy to wash away soap. Baby shampoo that smelled liked lavenders. Lots of washcloths; even more towels. It took Cisco ten goddamn minutes to find the special basin for washing hair because who the hell had put it with the old microscopes?

By the time he was ready the bath water was no longer scalding and Cisco’s heart wasn’t a freaking jackrabbit anymore. Progress.

“I hope you know,” he intoned, “that this completely solidifies our friendship. I expect best man-level status when you wake up, dude. Got it?”

Barry breathed.

“Damn straight. C’mon now...”

He’d moved Barry before, and despite the muscle developing he was still surprisingly light. Cisco got him on his side pretty easily and slid a couple of towels underneath, really not wanting to change the sheets yet if he could help it. Barry had been going shirtless most of the time anyway, so all he really had to do clothes-wise was tug the pajama pants carefully off his legs.

Cisco definitely did not look at the toned thighs as he did.

“Don’t be a perv about this,” he muttered. “Do not be a perv...”

And for the most part he wasn’t, because he was an adult, and a decent person, okay? Cisco had always viewed his nerd status as at least preferable to the Nice Guy douches, and he was perfectly capable of separating romantic situations from professional ones.

This was definitely the latter.

Even if Barry did have the most fantastic abs. Ever.

Cisco clucked, soaping up a washcloth to run over Barry’s arms and chest. “I should really hate you, you know? I should be jealous here, Mr. Lays in Bed All Day and Somehow Gets Buff. But I am the bigger man here. Even if you’re a freaking giraffe. I’m still bigger. Metaphorically. Okay?”

Talking to Barry had gotten easy over the last few weeks. It was sort of worrying Cisco a bit. He didn’t know if the guy was that good a conversationalist even while comatose, or if he was just that lonely (ha). But sometime between not startling every time he caught sight of the new edition and donuts with Iris, Cisco had let his talking get a little more... personal. Less Jitters gossip and more family drama. Then less family drama and more, ‘Hey, could we actually be buds when you finally decide to wake up?’

Part of Cisco was terrified that Barry would remember all this someday. Another part worried that he wouldn’t be nearly as cool in real life as he was on paper.

The realistic part said he would, but would also 100% not give a shit about Cisco.

“And why should you, man?” he said, carefully going over Barry’s stomach, then his back. “I mean, we just sort of got landed with you. Not that I’m complaining. But it means you got landed with us too. You didn’t ask to get struck by lightning, or delve into an extended nap, or become Dr. Wells’ charity case. You’ve got every right to ditch our asses once you’re up and about.” Cisco regarded the soapy washcloth. “Not gonna hang with your nurse, right? How lame is that.”

He was nearly done with Barry’s upper body now. “But... if you did want to hang...well. I’d be cool with that. Just so you know.”

Cisco stopped. Shook his head. He spent another ten minutes changing the water.

He paused again before removing the blankets around Barry’s legs. “Don’t make this weird,” he admonished.

In the list of things Cisco had planned and expected to do with his life, cleaning another man’s genitals wasn’t anywhere on the list. Outside of sexy-shower fantasies at least. He really shouldn’t have worried though. Barry might have been gorgeous, but there wasn’t anything sexy about a non-consenting partner that made you think more about necrophilia than second dates.

It didn’t stop Cisco from taking his time though. He didn’t like what he was doing—it wasn’t what he was starting to want it to be—but he’d sure as hell do it right.

“There,” he announced, patting Barry dry and pulling the blankets back up. “I’ve saved the best for last. Can’t promise not to get soap in your eyes though.”

It was sort of soothing, washing someone else’s hair. Cisco liked the texture of it beneath his fingers and he tried to get all fancy, like the women did in salons with their massages. He wondered if Barry was in there somewhere, appreciating it. He hoped so.

Cisco found himself smiling as he made little tufts of his hair stick up. “Aww. Look at you. Take note: you would make an excellent penguin. Feels good, huh?”

Barry drew in a slightly longer breath—

—and promptly began seizing.

“Holy—!”

Cisco stumbled back, knocking the basin as he went and sending water everywhere. The motion knocked Barry’s head as well, causing it to loll as the rest of his body jerked horrendously. The blanket he’d so carefully tucked in slipped off to the side. Bits of soap began decorating Cisco’s shirt.

He just stood there, useless.

It was Barry’s right arm flying off the bed (limp, pale like a dead fish) that finally sent him into motion. Cisco’s first instinct was to throw himself atop Barry and stop that godawful movement, but a vague, oddly calm voice in the back of his mind reminded him that you didn’t do that. No. That was bad. But what did you do instead?

“Dr. Wells!”

That’s what he did. He got help; got his mentor. Cisco scrambled over to the Lab’s sound system and slammed his hand over the button with enough force to leave an outline on his palm. “Dr. Wells get up here!” He must have shouted it more than he’d thought, because by the time Cisco remembered that Dr. Wells had left his voice was feeling terribly raw.

Dr. Wells was gone. He was out, for the first time in ages. Because of course this happens. Cisco pulled at his hair, trying to get his useless brain to function for two goddamn seconds. He couldn’t call Dr. Wells. He didn’t know his number. The three of them had practically been living together for four months and he didn’t know the man’s goddamn cell number.

“Oh my god, oh fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Cisco whirled on the monitors, trying to get all his training in engineering to somehow translate into medical knowledge. He was halfway through a muddled translation of the meds Caitlin had been feeding into Barry this week when one piece of equipment finally made sense.

The steady beat of Barry’s heart—a sound that had become a necessary part of Cisco’s world—suddenly stopped. Rapid beeps became a long whine that sounded like a scream.

“No,” Cisco whispered.

In the same moment he thought, Call Caitlin.

Because he did have her number. They’d swapped months ago. He was her emergency contact, now that Ronnie was gone.

Barry’s not Ronnie, Cisco insisted and dove for his cell. He had it ringing while he grabbed for his Macbook too, screaming as Siri to find him tutorials on CPR.

“Why the fuck didn’t I take that summer class?” Cisco shrieked, trying to get the bed to go flat.

“Why didn’t you what?”

And there it was, Caitlin’s voice, a godsend that cut straight through Cisco’s panic. Even so, he couldn’t recall exactly what he said to her then, only that his breathy ramblings seemed to make some sort of sense, because he was able to toss Siri aside (useless) and follow Caitlin’s instructions instead. He had the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, Barry’s heart directly beneath his hands.

Cisco spotted a drop of water. It might have been from the bath. It was probably because he was crying.

“It’s not—he’s not—” he kept gulping, feeling like he was about to pass out. There were actual spots in Cisco’s vision when he was suddenly wrenched off the bed, hard enough that he fell straight onto his ass.

Caitlin was here, impossibly. She looked calm and doctor-y and Cisco sucked in a massive breath.

“How?” he managed and she said something about her and her mother getting into a fight. She’d come back here and, oh Jesus, Cisco was so glad she had.

The relief was sort lived though. Barry was still coding.

Which made Caitlin’s next action all the more shocking. She just...stopped. She even stepped back, regarding Barry while every machine attached to him screamed that he was dying.

“What are you doing?” Cisco hissed.

Caitlin looked up. Her expression was awe. It was the first and only time Cisco had seen the true definition of the word: reverence mixed with fear.

“He heart hasn’t stopped,” she whispered. “It’s... tachycardia. It’s beating so fast the machine can’t pick it up.”

Barry stopped.

Instantly. Like the conclusion of a puzzle when you’d finally found the answer, he just stopped. From 60 back to 0 they had their sleepy, peaceful looking guy again.

The monitor began a steady rhythm. Beep, beep, beep.

“God,” Cisco said. Still on the floor he crawled the last few inches to the bed, heedless of how soaked his jeans were getting. He reached up and took Barry’s hand in his. Unbidden, Caitlin did the same.

That’s how Dr. Wells found them twenty minutes later—still wet, still holding onto Barry. Caitlin told him in a shell-shocked voice about the impossible heart rate; how the ‘seizing’ Cisco had seen was actually vibration, Barry’s body moving at a frequency she just couldn’t explain. When Dr. Wells reached them Cisco expected a thorough questioning on this phenomenon. He expected the scientist.

Instead Dr. Wells raised a hand of his own. He hesitated only a moment before laying it on Barry’s arm.

“But he’s okay?” he asked. Dr. Wells raised his gaze, taking in the three of them at once. “You’re okay?”

“Mmm hmm,” Caitlin agreed, a little watery. Cisco nodded.

“Good... good. Let’s get this place cleaned up.”

It was while Dr. Wells was bundling Barry’s soaked sheets that Cisco stopped him, daring to lay his on hand on his mentor’s shoulder. When Dr. Wells didn't brush him off—didn’t even flinch—Cisco mustered up a smile.

“Hey. So I really need your number.”