#come here and do mine PLEASE

[1d1195]

Except Kael 😭

Pucking Rookie III

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~8k words

From me: oops, more slow burn

Warnings: I have a feeling you will all be requesting a much FASTER update. Angst, fluff, shitty ex-boyfriend, the usual. Some violence which could b triggering. Please be kind to your mind.

Summary: Harry hates Kael. To be fair, most everyone hates him.

“Did y’bring your skates?” Harry asked. He was taking shots into the net for about an hour and a half at the time she had arrived. She was just a little over half an hour early to their practice. He paused to skate over to her. She was putting water bottles into place, clipboards, and other things that her uncle needed for a successful practice. Once everything was where it was supposed to be, she took her camera and took a practice shot of the ice behind Harry littered with pucks.

She frowned and looked away at her camera using it to divert his attention ever so slightly. Her cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink. “They’re in my car...��

Her unease wasn’t lost on Harry. “Do y’want t’go get them and I’ll help y’for a bit before practice?” He asked, leaning on his stick propped against the board.

She shook her head. “No thank you.”

He tilted his head at her. “C’mon, Rookie. You’re not going t’learn if y’don’t try.”

She sighed. “It’s not that... it’s just...” she looked up at him. “I’m still pretty embarrassed about it and I don’t want to do it here in front of everyone and everyone try to help...” She explained. “Like Uncle Charlie will give his two cents and honestly, I’ll be overwhelmed and I’m already nervous about it. The whole team watching would be even worse.”

Harry hadn’t really thought of that. But he wished he had because that meant that he could have a private lesson with her. One-on-one time with her was easily his new favorite thing. It happened a little more frequently since the night he followed her home. When he brought the used skates to her, she ordered pizza, and they played several rounds of Cribbage together. On a morning off from practice, he happened to be going by her place (of course going out of his way to be nearby) he did yoga with her before ordering breakfast to be delivered to her. Evenings where she worked at Louis’ he placed himself at his regular table and smiled at her as she came and went from kitchen to fluttering around the room waiting on everyone.

But on game days, whether they were home or away, she stayed her distance. He suspected she knew about his habits and his hookups. Which made him feel bad in a way he hadn’t worried about in ages. Harry was very comfortable with his sexuality. He liked having sex. He enjoyed making someone else come and yeah, he enjoyed that aspect for himself too.

But since he met the pretty photographer, he didn’t like it as much. Didn’t find it nearly as satisfying. Even though he wanted to.

Harry had a pond out behind his house. A pond that was very frozen in this chilly winter air. She hadn’t been to his place yet. Her pretty being all over his house seemed like a brilliant idea. It made him want her more.

Harry never wanted a girl the way he wanted her. For him it was always a one-night stand at their place, so he had the freedom to leave. They knew what they signed up for. But she invaded every little part of his mind. Thoughts of camera flashes and smiles. His picture on her fridge. The picture she texted him of herself that he saved as her contact photo. Her wearing Niall’s jersey. The cookies she made for her neighbors. Her rundown car. Her piece of shit ex.

“Would y’want t’come t’my place? I’ve got a pond out back.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Harry,” she admitted. Her voice was quiet, but she made direct eye contact with him. She always did, even if the conversation was difficult.

He frowned. “Why?” He asked.

“Because... you’re... you.”

“What’s that mean?” His eyebrows pulled forward as he tried to think through her logic before she said it.

“It means...” she looked at the ceiling like the answer would appear there. “I am not going to be seen with you at your place when you’ve never brought a girl home.”

He blinked. “How do y’know that?” She shrugged but busied herself with her camera taking pictures of the bench. She took Harry’s gloves from him and put them in a specific place. He felt utterly annoyed when he realized why she might have known. The frustration came over him before he could stop it. “Did your stupid ex tell you ‘bout m’reputation or something? Is that it? S’why y’don’t let me in fully? Y’think m’a piece of shit too?” He asked quietly. It sounded a little too accusing. He didn’t mean to. But it was unfair. Plus, he thought they were friends. The kind of friends like he was with Niall.

Because honestly, Harry didn’t think he could be good enough for her. Maybe he was projecting what he felt. She deserved a good boyfriend who would be able to devote all his time to her. She didn’t deserve someone that got a crummy five months to be in a relationship who had to worry allthe time about him because he had never had a steady girlfriend before.

She brought the camera from her face down to rest against her stomach on the strap around her neck. Once more, she looked him straight on. It was intoxicating. Brave. Beautiful, of course, always.

“I don’t think you’re a piece of shit, Harry Styles,” she said very clearly.

He blinked. “You don’t?”

“Why would I think that? Because you sleep with women who clearly want to sleep with you? You’re entitled to whatever you want with whomever you want as long as they fully consent, Harry. I don’t really give a shit. I just refuse to date a hockey player because an actual piece of shit cheated on me for who knows how long which I did not consent to. It’s obvious you’re charming, talented, intelligent, and very handsome,” she paused briefly, took a deep breath. “Any girl would be lucky to have you, Harry Styles. I just won’t be her.”

She brought her camera back to her face. She seemed unaffected by his stunned expression. He swallowed and it felt like a rock was in his throat. “That was an awful lot of compliments, Bunny,” he hummed. She continued taking pictures, but Harry saw the way her cheeks turned another shade of red under his gaze. He leaned closer towards her. “You think m’handsome?” he teased.

“A blind person would know you’re handsome, Harry. Don’t be a dick about it.”

“Charming?”

“Are you getting off on this or something? Is your ego not big enough?”

“I just didn’t know you thought that ‘bout me. I thought y’jus’ kinda tolerated me and m’overbearing presence.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why would I hate you?”

“No reason.”

But he answered too quickly. It was the reason that hung in the air over and over. She turned from her camera and caught his gaze again. “You’re nothing like Kael, Harry. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel that you were,” her voice was extremely gentle, like she was speaking to someone with a baby napping in the room. It made him feel all over. Every cell in his body vibrating with emotion.

The breath he released was more relieved than when he found out he was being drafted to the Chargers. Harry wanted her all over his house. Wanted her in his room and not even for sexual reasons. He just wanted to see her there after any game. Wanted her to wear his jersey. Teach her to skate better. Hang any of her photographs in his house like a museum paying tribute to her talent. More than that he wanted pictures of her in his house—so many pictures of her.

*

On nights when the team had curfew because of early morning practice or a game the next day, she did not of course. Harry broke curfew almost every single day after learning where she lived. He asked her to move in almost every time he followed her home ensuring she got home safely in her crappy car.

You shouldn’t break curfew. You’ll get a big fine. Marc and Michael keep an eye on my arrival.

It’s fine. I have the money.

Harry was territorial about her and especially her safety.

Look, I don’t want to be weird, but we’re friends... Evander said you... had plans tonight with someone...

Harry wanted to kill his teammate. Who? He tried for the funny remark so he wouldn’t lose his fucking mind at the thought of her thinking about his late night hook up.

You’re ridiculous.

Making sure you get home safe is more important than having an orgasm.

...

Sorry, FRIEND. Thought we could talk about orgasms.

R I D I C U L O U S

😇

Go puck yourself Harry.

God, you’re hilarious Rookie.

Good night, Harry. Thanks for worrying about me. It’s... actually kind of nice.

Yeah, of course. Good night, Rookie.

Harry didn’t have plans that night. Not unless pining over his coach’s niece in the privacy of his own bed was a plan.

*

Charlie was currently taking his anger out on the guys, which was extremely unfair because they had no idea it was because of her. She wished she could have been surprised. Instead, she quietly took pictures, feeling bad for their poor lungs. They were breathing hard and heavy as they struggled with the conditioning drill.

“Five minutes!” Charlie snarled.

They all collapsed on the ice in their spots. Players on the bench were slumped and moaning in pain and they were already on a rest. She glared at her uncle holding two six-pack water bottle carriers as she stepped onto the ice. She nearly slipped twice. Harry didn’t even move to help her, which meant they were in really tough shape.

“Thanks Sweetheart,” Asher heaved.

“Coach, is something wrong?” Niall asked, chugging his water. Off to the side of the rink Callie was throwing up into a trash can. A quiet ‘pussy’ came from an equally green-looking Lang. Only Niall could get away with asking because he was the nice one of the group. But even still, Uncle Charlie silenced him with a glare.

“He’s mad at me and taking it out on you,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry guys. Uncle Charlie, can you stop punishing all hockey players on my behalf?”

“Sweetheart, don’t,” he shook his head once paying no mind to the team that was half dead on the ice before him.

She sighed heavily. “You’re being mean, Uncle Charlie. It’s not their fault!”

“It’s the reputation they’ve given the game,” Coach Wheeler agreed.

“What reputation?”

“Uncle Charlie is mad he picked me up from my apartment. He’s not keen on where I live.”

“It looks like a meth lab.”

“My apartment is not a meth lab.”

“You have a drug dealer living on the first floor.”

“Michael is super nice! He watches my car and—”

“Jesus,” Niall murmured. “Sweetheart—”

“Don’t even bother, Horan. I tried everything. She is insistent, she doesn’t want a single hand out from anybody. Which is why you’re all paying the price. What kind of asshole makes someone as sweet as her—”

“Uncle Charlie, can we not air my relationship out in front of the whole team?”

“If we’re doing suicide sprints because of fucking Kael Crowe I want to be moved to the Lightning,” Callie groaned referring to the minor team affiliated with the Chargers. “What the hell, Coach!? Take it up with Crowe!”

Exhausted agreements resounded from the ground. “You all better treat women with respect. There is zero tolerance for it,” Coach Wheeler grumbled.

“Sweetheart, do something please,” Lang begged standing to where Callie was previously, vomiting promptly into the trash.

“Uncle Charlie, can you cut them a break? They didn’t cheat on me.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Asher moaned. “Permission to cross-check when we play him?”

“Permission granted,” Uncle Charlie shrugged.

“Jesus,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead. Harry was still breathing hard, but surprisingly didn’t say anything. She was certain he would have something to say about Kael or her stupid choice. Everyone seemed to.

“First one’ll be for you, Sweetheart. Second one’s for me,” Asher winked.

“Why’d he pick y’up?” Harry asked quietly. It was interesting, it was the first thing he said after all the time spent trying to remember how to breathe. It was like he already knew the answer. He also didn’t rat her out for knowing beforehand about where she lived. Although she suspected he knew the punishment would be far worse if Charlie found out that Harry knew where she lived and said nothing.

“Car wouldn’t start,” she shrugged handing him a bottle of water. “It’s a piece of shit, but it’s all I can afford,” she admitted quietly. The conversation was just for the two of them. “I’m on a budget,” she reminded him.

Harry liked how open she was with him. When she told him and Niall that she couldn’t skate and that she got nervous about it, it was vulnerable in a way he didn’t expect. He liked how she said she wouldn’t date him (even though it broke a piece of him) and still managed to compliment him. Each time she mentioned she wasn’t swimming in cash made him feel like she trusted him. He thought of her cold apartment, her used skates, and her broken down car.

It was a shame she wasn’t going to like him as much after her next comment.

“Coach, if I let her borrow one of my cars while hers is in the shop, can we call practice early? I’ll drive her to and from games. Won’t let her out of my sight until she’s safely in the building.”

“I’m not convinced it’s a safe building.”

“Jesus Christ, Sweetheart, where are you living?” Niall sighed.

When Coach said the name of the building and the street just into the bad side of town, everyone moaned again. She shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s the right price and no one bothers me. I use you all as a threat.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Callie groaned. “Coach, we’ll take shifts, anything. Make it stop,” he begged. Lang returned from throwing up in the trash can and took water from her.

“I don’t need shifts of you guys watching me,” she rolled her eyes. “No one bugs me, they know I work for the team and that I could have twenty scary hockey players there in a matter of minutes.”

Harry smirked. It was obvious he liked the sound of that. “Coach?” Harry prompted.

“Harry, I’m not taking your car, for God’s sake!”

“Oh you don’t have a choice, Sweetheart,” he snorted.

“Uncle Charlie! You’re not getting one of your players to babysit me!”

“Then you’re responsible for their lungs bursting.”

She pouted, glared at her uncle, and marched off the ice. Snagging her camera from the bench as she did. It was childish, petty, and made her look like an idiot, but she was too mad to care. Harry sighed. “Coach, she’s a grown woman... y’could have at least asked her if she was okay with that...” Harry reminded him. Charlie leveled Harry with a stare.

“She’s the best person I know,” Charlie explained. “That piece of shit Crowe never deserved her. It kills the whole family that she doesn’t see her own worth. We watched her take care of him and put her life on hold for him. She doesn’t let people take care of her. Maybe because she doesn’t know how,” he shrugged. “So if she needs tough love to do that, then so be it.”

Harry followed her off the ice. He walked slightly awkwardly on his skates but found her outside one of the offices sitting on a bench, putting her items away in her bag. “You’re not giving me your car,” she grumbled.

“Rookie,” he sighed.

“I don’t need you saving me! This is just like when you yelled at Kael.”

He rubbed the back of his head. “We’re friends, right?”

She glanced at him. “...yes,” she said tentatively.

“Y’know how y’always worry ‘bout me drinking water? Making sure I eat dinner? Texting me t’make sure I get home after following y’home?” She didn’t look at him and fiddled with the laces of her boots. “Y’can ignore me all you want, but s’what friends do. We care ‘bout you and want t’do all the nice things y’do for us.”

It looked like she was piecing together what he was saying. But not fully wanting to accept it. “You’re really going to let me borrow your car?”

He smiled.

“I guess I could... have a skating lesson... assuming your car is at your house?”

Somehow, he managed to smile wider. “Yeah, Rookie? Great... I’ll go change and tell Coach. Be out in a minute.”

“Don’t be weird about it, Harry. I don’t want anyone to think you’re my favorite. Because you’re not.”

He chuckled. “Sure thing, Rookie.”

*

Harry hurried to her side of the car and opened the door when they arrived at his house. She grabbed her stuff from the back—it was everything she had to pull out of her car and toss into her uncle’s when he picked her up. Harry grabbed his duffle bag, as well as a small bag of groceries of items she needed to make the hot chocolate she promised after the skating lesson. “M’gonna put this stuff away and sharpen your skates,” he said holding the pair by the laces tied together as he opened the door. “Here’s the key if y’want t’throw your stuff in the car,” he grabbed it off the hook near the doorway and then headed further into the house. With the key in hand, she headed back outside and unlocked an extravagant car she would never be able to afford. Sighing, she put her stuff in the trunk, locked it, and headed back toward the equally luxurious house.

To be fair, it wasn’t a mansion. It was a nice home. It was clear Harry took great care of it—or paid people to take great care of it. Following the sound of something scraping against the blade, she found Harry in his kitchen, sitting on a breakfast bar stool at the island. The kitchen was stunning. Marble countertops, white backsplash, black hanging light fixtures, white cabinets with black hardware. There were green curtains in the window. The appliances were all black. It belonged in a magazine. It was practically pristine.

The only thing she found interesting was Harry’s sink was filled with dishes. The dishwasher looked clean, it was open and completely full as well. How many dishes did a person living by themself have? She spun the key on her finger as she approached him, setting it on the counter. “When’s your birthday?” He asked randomly.

“February eleventh,” she blinked.

Harry smiled that really beautiful way of his. The one that made the dips in his cheeks deepen. His eyes seemed brighter. “S’near mine.”

“I know.”

“You keeping track of me Rookie?” He was full-on beaming.

“No, but I added everyone’s birthday to my calendar after Ray’s. Figured I would make treats if I had the time,” she explained. “I remembered yours because it’s in February like mine.”

“Can’t y’jus’ let me believe y’like me?”

She ignored him. “How do you do it?” She asked pointing to the skate.

He held the little tool out to her—a little rectangle with a space for the blade to slide between. “They don’t sell skates unsharpened, even used ones. So they’re already pretty good, but I feel better doing it myself. I wouldn’t want t’put y’on skates I haven’t ensured were good to go,” he explained and waited until she lined up the blade with the tool. “Jus’ stroke the blade in the same direction a few times. You’ll feel a little resistance. S’how y’know it’s working. The duller the blade the more resistance you’ll feel.”

“Like this?” She asked making sure she didn’t mess up her new skates.

“Yup, that’s good,” he monitored the motion.

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly.

“Course, Rookie. S’what friends are for,” he shrugged simply.

But it wasn’t that simple. Kael would never sharpen her skates for her. Wouldn’t even offer. It’s why she basically stopped skating—didn’t bother to continue because he didn’t care. He never asked if he could help teach her. There was no way he would willingly give his car to her either or offer to follow her home from a game. Most of the time they were at the same arena he didn’t go home with her. In case he wanted to go out with friends.

She felt the emotion building in her throat because she knew Harry had plenty of options. But she didn’t want to be an option. It wasn’t Harry’s fault. Honestly, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just wasn’t... the right time. She was too broken and fucked from her ex. Harry was too talented and charming to deal with a steady girlfriend and he shouldn’t have to. He was young, handsome, and had ample time in his career and life to have fun before he settled down.

“Ready?” He asked interrupting her sad thoughts. Harry was sweet—really sweet. The kind of sweet she always wanted Kael to be. She shook her head to rid herself of thoughts of how nice it would be to be Harry Styles’ girlfriend. It wasn’t going to happen. He replaced the guards on her blades. “Pond’s out back,” he told her gesturing to the back slider that led to a porch.

“Your house is beautiful,” she told him.

“Thanks, Rookie, love,” he smiled. “Mum was insistent it be my first investment,” he explained.

“Smart lady.”

“The very best,” he affirmed.

Nope, she wasn’t going to fall for a man who was kind and adored his mother. Not one bit.

The back deck overlooked a decent sized yard, but it was the pond that was by far the feature of it. She could picture beautiful sunsets, and she wished she brought her camera with her. There was a layer of light snow on the ground, the bare branches. It was like a Christmas movie scene. It left her a little breathless and Harry paid no attention to it. Totally used to the beauty of his own yard.

“Y’okay?” He asked over his shoulder. He noticed her pause as he continued walking toward the little pond. Harry kicked his boots off and put on his skates while sitting on a little wooden bench. They weren’t the pair he wore at the rink. These looked a little more worn in and scuffed. Well-loved, was the best description. He laced them quickly and expertly. It must have been second nature to him. With the guards still on his blades, he stood in front of her. “Put these on,” he handed her a pair of socks from his sweatshirt pocket. They weren’t the ones he bought her, which meant they were either his or another set he had bought her just for the occasion.

Nope. Not falling in love with him. Not at all.

“Your backyard is beautiful,” she said. “I wish I had my camera.” She untied her boots and stuck her feet in the skates. Almost immediately, Harry carefully hoisted her left skate between his thighs. He held her foot in her new-used skate (with the guard still in place) and tied the laces tightly.

“I can grab it after the lesson,” he offered and worked on the laces. “S’that feel good?” He asked. “Or is it too tight?”

“No, I don’t like my ankle to move.”

He chuckled. “Y’want it t’move a little, Rookie.”

She shrugged while he tied the other skate. Once done, he pulled the guards off and held his hands out for her to take. She took a deep breath and tried not to think about how large Harry’s hands were and wrapped around hers so easily. They were warm and comforting. He bent and took his own skate guards off. “I know y’can skate a little, so I don’t want t’push you,” he headed for the ice. “Jus’ do what feels comfortable.”

She barely skated at the rink. Skating on a pond seemed like a bad idea. Sitting on that little bench watching Harry? Maybe taking pictures of him as she did? That seemed like a good idea. Comfortable, to his point. “Is the pond deep?” She asked tentatively.

He frowned and waited at the very edge as she stood just off the ice. “Bunny,” he hummed gently. “I would never let y’get hurt, so no,” he promised. “S’not deep. S’very safe,” he assured her. “C’mon,” he held his hand out. Tentatively, she took it. Fortunately, she was used to him holding her elbow while she walked or skated around.

“Harry, I really don’t want to embarrass myself,” she warned.

“M’not going t’make fun of you, Bunny,” his voice didn’t have any teasing in it. Harry was dressed in a pair of black pants and a gray sweatshirt. He looked cozy and pretty as always. His voice was too soft and made her feel safe. Which wasn’t a bad thing except for her heart. “Jus’... take little steps. M’not going t’let you fall.”

It was becoming increasingly clear that it was too late for that.

She listened, taking small steps. Harry skated backwards while facing her, holding his hands out for comfort but not holding onto her. “You’re leaning too far forward, Rookie. Y’want t’keep your weight over your skates while y’step. S’going t’change a bit when y'take your steps but s’what you’re trying to maintain,” he explained. He watched her feet as she adjusted to what he said. “Don’t stare at your feet,” he offered kindly. “I know s’hard, but it’s tough on the balance,” they glided silently for a few minutes. “Y’okay,?” he asked glancing at her face. She nodded. He smiled gently. “Okay,” he took hold of her hands again and tugged her gently. “When y’stop, just tilt your foot inward just a little,” he used his own feet to demonstrate. “You’re doing great, Rookie,” he promised. “Feel easier on the figure skates?”

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s definitely easier to balance.”

He grinned, excitement covering his features and all she had done was take fifteen little steps or so. “Okay let’s keep going. We’re jus’ going t’focus on keeping y’comfortable today. Getting used to the balance and stopping,” he continued facing her and skating backwards as he pulled her.

“How do you skate backwards?” She asked.

“You gotta walk before y’can run, Rookie,” he chuckled knowingly. She rolled her eyes.

“I meant you, Harry.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been skating m’whole life.”

“Since you were three and before you could walk?” Most every hockey player she knew had the same story. Skating was more important than walking. It was romantic in a way. A first love of sorts. Harry seemed no different in that respect.

He nodded with a shy grin. “Something like that.”

“You’re very graceful.”

“You’re so forthcoming with the compliments today, Bunny. S’nice,” he pulled her toward him. She wasn’t really skating since Harry was just guiding her, but it felt nice to be on the ice without fear of making a fool of herself. “Try stopping.”

“I’m supposed to be skating not stopping Harry.” He smirked and looked at her pointedly. So she executed her little stop and Harry’s smile brightened.

“Lovely, Rookie. Do you want t’try on your own?”

“Sure,” she sighed feeling defeated before starting but it was the only way she’d get better. Harry let go of her hands but stayed the same distance from her (which was no more than five inches away). She took little steps moving at a glacial pace. She really wondered how she could have been using the wrong skates for so long. It felt so much safer and easier to be on the figure skates than it ever had been on hockey skates.

“You’re doing great, Rookie,” he assured her. She felt embarrassed because she was in her late twenties and Harry was treating her like a child. Not his doing, though. It was in her head it felt that way.

But they skated for a while quietly, just listening to the gentle cutting of the blades on the ice. Harry put his hands out just in front of him as a gentle reminder he was there, letting her have the comfort of grabbing him if she needed.

Naturally, her toe hit a divot in the ice at that moment which made her lose her footing. Harry snagged around her waist quickly to keep her upright. “Whoops,” the entire front of his body was pressed to hers. “Y’okay?” She nodded, not wanting to think about how nice Harry was and how warm his body felt. She pulled away as quickly as she could once she regained her footing. “The ice doesn’t get resurfaced like the rink,” he admitted shyly. Like it was his fault.

“You don’t own a Zamboni?” She gaped. “I can’t believe it!”

He chuckled, moving away from her slightly. She couldn’t believe how much colder it felt even though he only held her for no more than forty seconds. “Do y’want t’keep skating?” He asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. Because honestly? She didn’t want to leave just yet.

*

Eventually, they got off his little ice rink. She didn’t fall thanks to Harry catching her two more times around the waist. Each time she sent an electric current right through her heart. He was gentle, kind, and encouraging. Imagining him doing the same thing with his baby niece made her ovaries ache so much she had to think about anything else.

“Did you have a dinner party?” she asked pointing to his sink.

“No,” he sighed. “I jus’ hate dishes,” he shook his head.

“Do you want—”

“Don’t you dare,” he glared at her and headed down the hall toward another room. She smiled and shook her head.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to make hot chocolate with a mess in the sink,” she called.

“Don’t make it then!” He sounded far away. She couldn’t believe he stayed at her tiny little apartment when she could hardly hear him from a few rooms away. “We can go out t’get some or we y’can jus’ stuff from the dishwasher, Rookie. But don’t touch the sink!”

She rolled her eyes and shifted, through the clean dishes, pulling a sauce pan from it. Harry returned with a bag. “Can you get me chocolate chips, sugar, and cocoa powder? I don’t want to dig through your cabinets—what’s that?”

He looked at her pointedly. “Y’can go through the cabinets,” he shrugged. But it was starting to feel a little too domestic. Now they were at Harry’s house which meant she was done for. At least when they were at her place, she wasn’t subject to the overwhelmingly intoxicating scent of Harry. He found the ingredients and placed them on the counter. “Open it,” he shrugged.

It was a large bag from the pro shop at the arena. She peered in and then looked up at him. “Harry.”

“S’not a big deal, Rookie. Don’t make it a big deal,” he suggested. “What do y’need for whipped cream?”

Inside the bag were jerseys. Langford, Calloway, Asher, and Styles. Her heart felt too warm. Her eyes stung a bit over the thoughtfulness yet again. Skates, jerseys, socks. Harry was too sweet. He wasn’t fighting fair. “Sugar, vanilla, and heavy whipping cream...” she mumbled. Swallowing the emotion she felt, she opted for a joke. “No Horan?”

“He already got his turn,” he grumbled slightly bitter.

She looked at the jersey brushing her fingers over his last name. “It’s too much, Harry.”

“I get a discount,” he shrugged. “On behalf of the team, throw out all your Glacier Wolves stuff,” he grabbed the next set of ingredients and eyed her from across the kitchen island. “What?”

“Even the sweatshirt I’ve worn so much I’ve got it to maximum comfort?” He pressed his mouth into a line and stared at her pointedly. “Alright I’ll throw it out, you’re so bossy.”

He smirked and turned to the stove, turning the dial to light the burner. “Okay Rookie, time for my lesson. Show me how t’make hot chocolate.”

*

It felt like Harry was becoming her very best friend, which scared her. Kael took up so much of her life it left her very little room for friends. The friends she did have... ended up not liking her and talking behind her back. “Hey Rookie,” Harry smiled entering the locker room to drop his stuff for game day photos. “Ugh,” he sighed looking at her jersey and the smile melted.

“Hi, Harry,” she waved with an impish grin.

“Hi Sweetheart,” Asher greeted. “You look beautiful today,” he cooed.

“Shut the fuck up, Asher!” Harry yelled from the other side of the door. Asher winked at her and headed inside the locker room.

“He’s so jealous,” Callie shook his head. She smiled, shook her head, but she could feel her cheeks heating up with color. “Nice jersey, Sweetheart!” He shouted, no doubt enjoying his number on her this time. Only she knew that Callie would be more extra about it than Niall ever could be.

“You can shut the fuck up too,” Harry growled from near the door.

“He must not think I look beautiful,” she laughed quietly.

“Oh Jesus,” Lang snorted filing inside.

“What did she say?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” Lang chuckled.

“Those are fighting words, Sweetheart,” Niall chuckled heading in after his team.

After the game day pictures were posted to the appropriate social media outlets, she headed inside the arena. She filed down to her spot near the other media. She smiled and waved to people she had been chatting with regularly. They all greeted her as if she was a real media presence and not just the coach’s niece with a camera.

She took a few pictures of the empty ice adding it to her mental portfolio of this sports series she was looking to do. It was peaceful for a moment, the images forming in sequence, her ideal lighting. The way everything would come together to tell a story. It was something she was really excited about—

“Hey, baby.”

She didn’t turn immediately. Surely, she misheard. Her body felt a wave of anxiety run over it. She didn’t flinch, didn’t turn. For several seconds, she focused on her breathing and nothing else. A minute. She just needed a minute to collect herself. Turning slowly, she smiled politely.

“Kael.” His feet were on top of the seat in front of him. Some of his teammates were milling behind, a few rows back of him. He looked relaxed and uncaring of how fucked up it was that he was there. Coming up to her while she was alone. “You guys are in town early,” she stated.

He nodded, standing up and heading to her. She busied herself by inspecting her pictures making sure they looked okay on the screen. Her hands were shaking. Not because she was worried about what Kael might do but because she was angry. Kael was her least favorite person and he made her uneasy because of all the fucked-up things she let him do to her. “Nice jersey. Sleeping with Calloway?” He asked, sweeping his hand across the top of her back. It made her want to crawl out of her skin.

“No,” she clenched her jaw. She wanted to leave as little to the conversation as possible. But she couldn’t. Because Kael didn’t own any part of her privacy anymore. Part of her wished she was sleeping with Callie if only to rub it in his face. But she couldn’t pretend that any more than she could say she didn’t have a crush on Harry. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Right, sure...” he smiled slowly. “You look beautiful, baby. Even in an ugly jersey.”

She loved this jersey so much. The only jersey she would love to wear more than Callie’s, was Harry’s. Not that she would ever say that. “What can I say, orange and blue just wasn’t my color,” she shrugged. “And Kael? Stop calling me baby.”

He put his hands up. “Just wanted to say hi... I’m in the area today... tomorrow and the following day, too... thought you might want to catch up.”

“Sweetheart!” Uncle Charlie called.

She turned looking at her uncle, Ray, Callie, Niall, and a couple of the younger players staring at her from across the ice. “That’s my cue,” she said making her way back the way she came.

“You work for the team?” He asked, surprise evident in his voice.

“Yup.”

“Good old Uncle Charlie helped you out?” He wondered.

“Uh-huh.”

She walked around the edge of the ice noting every pair of eyes of The Chargers following her.

Kael followed her as well. “Do you want to get dinner, love?” He asked.

“I have to work tonight; thanks though,” she said over her shoulder wishing she could have cut across the ice. It would have been nice if she could have shown him that she could skate a bit now.

No thanks to him.

“What about tomorrow after the game?”

“Working again,” she shrugged.

“Lunch?”

“Busy.”

She was much closer now to her uncle and the guys. Their gazes felt warm on her, so she looked at her camera as she walked.

“C’mon, baby. You’re the one that wanted to talk.”

“To get my stuff back, Kael,” she sighed without looking at him. God she wanted to be done with the conversation. Why couldn’t he take a hint?

“Technically it’s my stuff.”

Ugh. That would do it. She spun on her heel. He was right behind her so now they stood only inches apart. This was the guy she seriously saw herself marrying because they had been together for so long. She was going to have children with him. So many days and nights spent at his arena wearing ugly orange and blue. Taking care of his every need and not asking for anything in return. All the other things that she didn’t even want to think about let alone speak into existence. Putting her life on hold for him because he deemed himself more important than her hobby. Now, he was going to continue holding her stuff hostage? Just for some weird power trip?

No. Not anymore.

“I don’t want anything you bought me, Kael,” her tone was biting. Teeth clenched. “I want my stuff back.”

He snorted. “Then go to lunch with me, baby,” he grinned sweetly.

“Hey Kael, we need her for pre-game pictures,” Charlie came up behind her putting a hand on her shoulder gently. She shrugged it off, she was independent, goddammit. She didn’t need her uncle or a hockey team to defend her in front of Kael. He already thought she was weak. She didn’t need to prove him right.

“I am not negotiating for my stuff,” she told him, her tone still angry.

“Sweetheart,” Charlie grabbed her shoulder a little more securely.

“Hey Charlie, sorry. Just trying to catch up with our girl here,” he smiled charmingly at her uncle. She rolled her eyes and marched around Charlie, toward the tunnel back to the locker room. “Tell Callie he’s a lucky man, baby,” he shouted.

“Fuck you Crowe!” Callie was immediately moving toward him as she pushed past. “You’re a piece of trash!”

“Hey!” Ray yelled. The other players yanked him back and away from one person who could fuck up the simplest of things with just a couple words. Kael smiled walking back the way he came. Like he didn’t cause a scene or anything.

*

Callie got three penalties in the first period. Lang had to talk him down because he wanted four. But that would have been bad for the team, and they weren’t even playing Kael.

Harry was fuming, bouncing his knee as he sat seated in front of his locker. “I hate that stupid prick,” Callie growled. She was seated on a chair outside the locker room looking at her camera. It didn’t seem to bother her much that Kael was around. Or maybe she was just continuing to be brave. It was kind of hot the way she stood up to him outside the ice rink. He wished he had known. He would have loved to have punched Kael. He was lucky Harry didn’t hear until he heard Callie yelling.

They lost the game one to nothing. No one blamed Callie because the goal wasn’t even during his penalties nor when he was on the ice. “I can’t wait for the game tomorrow,” Asher sighed. “Still allowed to cross-check?” He asked looking at Charlie and Ray.

Ray shrugged. “If you must.”

Harry wanted to strangle him. The moment he heard one of the younger players say Crowe’s name, he wanted to run to her, shove her behind him, and punch his stupid fucking face. “Harry?” Niall asked quietly from beside him.

“Yeah?”

“You good?” He asked.

“Yup,” he nodded.

“Look, he’s just trying to get a rise out of her,” he explained. “Maybe you.”

“He doesn’t know I like her,” he mumbled.

“You do like her?” Niall chuckled. “I knew it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Everyone decent?” Her voice called.

Harry perked up hearing the voice of the sweet girl he was falling for rapidly by the second. She entered holding a hand over her eyes. “You’re good, Sweetheart,” Lang assured her.

“Bummer,” she muttered dropping her hand. Harry smirked despite how mad he was as a quiet chuckle sounded throughout the room.

“Gross, Sweetheart. They’re my players,” Charlie shook his head.

“Well, you and I have the same taste in men then, Uncle Charlie.”

Another round of laughter. “You okay?” Charlie asked leaning against his office door.

Harry was staring, Niall beside him staring as well. The whole team was watching to be fair. “Yeah... he was just... hovering, signing autographs and stuff...”

“Fuck him,” Callie growled. She glanced at him briefly. Harry wanted to kill him for getting her attention today in the form of his jersey on her. It shouldn’t have been such a concern for Harry, but it was. He liked her so much and it was so unfair he wasn’t good enough for her. At least he was the one that bought the jersey for her.

“It’s not a big deal,” she shrugged looking anywhere but someone else’s eyes.

But it was a big deal, Harry was fuming in his seat. His leg still bouncing.

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing,” she shook her head.

“Sweetheart, if—”

“Can someone walk me to my car?” She asked.

“I can!” Callie chirped.

She frowned. “Callie, really, any other day. But... with the jersey—”

He frowned. “I hate Crowe.”

“Join the club,” Charlie said.

She sighed. “I’ll walk you out,” Harry quickly tossed a sweatshirt over his practice shirt and a pair of sweats on over his compression shorts.

They didn’t speak as they walked to her car. Harry’s car. She put her belongings in the back seat. “I took the night off. I’m pretty exhausted,” she told Harry leaning against the driver door. “So you don’t have to worry about me.”

But he did. Because it seemed to be the only thing he did. “Oh. S’nice,” he murmured. “Are you… do y’want company or are y’jus’ going t’bed?”

“Probably just bed,” her voice was tired. “Maybe Marc and I will watch a game so he can study.”

At least there was one man in her life he didn’t have to be jealous of. “Well, we have an early curfew anyway,” he mumbled. “Do y’want me t’follow y’home?”

She shook her head. “No. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Rookie,” he gave her arm a squeeze. “Let me know when you’re home,” Harry ushered her into the car and let her go on her way. He headed back for the arena feeling fairly defeated. But at least she was safe.

*

Eliana lived close by and expected very little of Harry. She was a nice person. She was a nurse at a local hospital and had hours that lined up with Harry’s every so often.

Harry was a fucking mess.

“Are you okay?” She asked

No. He wasn’t. He wanted the pretty photographer. Wanted to know she was home safe. Wanted to go to her apartment and wake Michael and Marc up and murder them for not protecting her when they said they would. Even though she was in all reality probably fine.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’m gonna go,” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “It’s not you.”

She smirked. “I didn’t think so, Harry. I hope you’re alright.”

 “Jury’s out.”

She rolled her eyes, pulled the covers up to her neck. “Just lock behind you please.”

Harry tried calling her. Not even caring how ridiculous he was. He was past the point of caring. He couldn’t even sleep with someone else, and he’d done nothing more than hold her hands or her elbow. He refrained from cuddling her at their sleepover beyond feeling the heat of her body while she slept.

Harry had called her every hour since he walked her to her car. Hopefully she was just asleep. She did say she was exhausted. Maybe if he drove by and saw her car, he would feel better?

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. He couldn’t follow her like that. It was different that first time. He never intended to follow her into her apartment building. His rationality left him because he was so worried about her. Now that he was okay with her living arrangement, he didn’t want to look insane.

A drink. One drink and he would be home by curfew. Something to take the edge off. Make him forget about his worry.

Harry parked in the first available spot at The Locker Room. He waved to the regulars, said hello to some fans, and headed to his usual table. Force of habit. “Hey Harry,” Louis smiled bringing Harry a drink. “Didn’t know you were coming in; she figured you had curfew.”

He tilted his head at Louis, his thumb pausing on her name in his message threads once more. “Hmm?” He hummed. “She’s... here?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Louis pouted slightly. “She’s been here since five,” he hummed like it was obvious.

“Hey, Louis!” She called from the other room. Her voice hitching slightly in alarm.

Why would she lie? Louis raced to the other room. Harry followed quickly because the apprehension in her voice was enough to bring all his worry immediately back to the forefront of his mind and he expected the worst truly. Because she didn’t seem to be very scared of anything. She lived in a seedy part of town and worked with violent hockey players.

So what could be in the main room that would make her sound so worried? A drunk guy who was getting into it with another person? A handsy guy who thought she was pretty? A girl who didn’t like her decision to cut her off?

None of his thoughts had considered it might be Kael. Who had her wrist pinned to the top of a table, his hand wrapped tightly around it keeping her in place.

Harry’s vision turned red.

She gaped meeting Harry’s gaze. “Oh fuck,” she whispered.

-- general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionvoid @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissinthekitchen @boopookie @indierockgirrl @stylesfever @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @mads3502

@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine

@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl

@emmie2308 @fruity-harry @somebunnybaby @avas-queen-black @mema10

@tulips4harry @sturnrc @sassamanda77 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @mp-269

@jmp1494 @fangirl509east @sideboobrry11 @drewrry

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[raplinenthusiasts]

I LIVE SO I LOVE

for @aprylynn 💙

© namuspromised, doolsetbangtan spotify template, animated lyrics template

[r0semultiverse]

What changed Ice Prince Finn back to normal & where did he get a crown from?

Was Finn stealing a baby what ended up changing him as a person in the Farmworld universe? Similar to how Marceline kept Simon prime grounded & humane for a while.

Maybe Jay Mertens (I think that was his name, the eldest son) reminded him of his little brother too.

As for how the crown came back into the Farmworld reality, that would be because of whatever wacky effects are happening from Fionna & Cake going through the multiverse. Scarab was also messing with the multiversal TV's insides.

Going back to Farmworld Finn's little brother, maybe he was the one who broke the crown since I doubt a coward like the destiny gang leader would have been able to do it (or there's some sort of timeline loop going on with a bunch of the crowns that'll get shown later). This is assuming the little brother is alive, but we don't even know that for sure. There is just a lot we don't know.

edit: I see what y'all are saying about the old episode, seems like Prismo didn't wipe anyone's memories, he only made it so the crown would be destroyed. People still remember The Snow Man AKA Ice Prince Finn & what he did with all of that magical power. I also still think Jay Mertens could be the baby at the end of the flashback at the start of the episode.

[simpjaes]

if u can't be creative enough to write your own plot points or support me as the writer that inspired you, don't come at me wondering why you're blocked

[the-way-astray]

you're famous

@myfairkatiecat i think this anon meant to send this to you but got the usernames mixed up. tragic

[daughterofsarenrae]

The problem with a kestrel sitting on your shoulder is that its not supposed to happen for many reasons, among them that they are wild animals and not pets and you dont want to allow overly friendly behaviors like that to develop even if they're non releasable, and even tho they are small they do have the capacity to do harm and should only be on the glove for safety for both of you. However, and this is crucial, it is extremely cute

[morgana-ren]

Happy New Years fuckheads! I'm going to be even grosser and nastier and even more disgusting! You should too! This year! I'm striving for it! We're going to be sicker and weirder and stranger! We're getting real weird with shit!! We're getting real fucking strange with it!! Let's go, baby!! Let fucking go!!

[nyxofdemons]

four years for this show...

[quibble-auk]

@thebrokenmechanicalpencil

Dropmix Trials stuff again. Part three of whatever is going on (I have no idea. Once again I thought I knew what I was doing again and I lied to myself.)

I feel like I’m just making things so much worse. There has to be an easier way to solve things. I’m struggling.

Previous

Next

Cue Jeopardy entering like

—

Disclaimer: I actually only know the basics of first aid and have no idea how medical stuff works….

—

Jeopardy hadn’t thought much about it when he had turned the music back on. The systems weren’t new or anything, there were bound to be a few errors every once and awhile. He could probably get Nova to look at the systems later. The music had cut out for a few seconds. Jeopardy calmly placed down his tools and walked to the terminal on the wall, fiddling with one of the settings to turn the music back on.

Just as quickly as it had shut off it was back on. The pleasant lulling sounds he had grown so familiar with resumed. It filled the otherwise sterile medical space and made it feel more welcoming than it looked. It has always been a welcome addition to the mundane life of a medical mech.

What was weird was that it was paused. It wasn’t buffering. It wasn’t having technical difficulties. Someone had paused it. Intentionally.

Dropmox had never paused the music. He would offer to turn it down, change the genre, or move it to his internal systems.

He never paused it.

::Dropmix? Did you pause the music?::

Jeopardy had sent out the message before he could think twice, returning to the patient's side. They were trying to replace some of the internals that had been damaged in the fight, it was nothing too bad. They probably would have only felt a bit of discomfort from them at this point with how they were healing, but it was always better to be safe with these kinds of things. He and Dropmix were pretty close to being finished as well. Had to reattach a few more lines and cables then close them back up.

The medical mech shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he resumed his work, a bit more aware of Dropmix’s absence. He had stepped out a bit ago to go grab another dose of sedatives for the patient. There had been a small complication and they didn’t want them to wake up. Nothing too bad, the small surgery was just going to be a little longer than they originally planned. Usually they kept extra sedatives nearby, however since they only got restocked they hadn’t had the time to refill the extras.

He hummed lightly to the music as he worked, doing his best to ignore the lack of the large presence that usually accompanied him. When Jeopardy had first arrived here he had found it almost unsettling how much Dropmix loomed, though he had grown accustomed to it. No one else ever seemed to notice how he stalked and watched; but no one else ever hung out with the dark medic anyway. It took time but Jeopardy has realized that there was something a bit protective in the way Dropmix watched over him.

It almost reminded Jeopardy of the guardians he had grown familiar with in his short time working in the Iacon medical facility before the uprising had occurred. After the arenas fell more and more guardians and other work based mechs similar to then started defecting to the Decepticons. Jeopardy had never been mad at them for it. All their life they had been treated like scrap and Megatron was a leader like them, someone who had gone through the same kind of mistreatment as them and sworn to make it better.

Dropmix should have been back by now, the storage closet wasn’t too far and the sedatives were always easy to find.

He also should have responded.

Unease clung to the white medic, he looked up at the door. The walls were soundproofed in here to let medics remain focused. If there had been a struggle he wouldn’t have heard it. Would he be any help in that situation? Probably not. But he could feel paranoia starting to sink its icy claws into him as he stared at the door. The music felt more ominous than it did comforting at the moment.

Had Dropmix shut off the music to try and signal him about something? Was his communicator not working? Was the closest thing to a meteor he had in danger?

::Dropmix?::

Jeopardy watched the door, expecting for it to open and for the large medic to lumber in muttering about how he had tripped or something. That was another thing, Jeopardy was by no means a large medical frame, but Dropmix was the biggest he had ever seen. How he was able to operate on the smaller patients like Nova or Saberfire had always blown him away.

The silence continued and Jeopardy’s grip on the medical tools tightened. His brow furrowed as he stared at the door. He swallowed awkwardly, his sparkrate picking up slightly. He shouldn’t panic, this was a ridiculous thing to panic about anyway. Dropmix could take care of himself. Jeopardy was overreacting and overthinking things just like how Dropmix always claimed he was.

::Dropmix is everything alright?::

He was just letting his anxiety get the better of him. That was all. Just like it always did. It would Drive Dropmix up a wall, he would sigh, exasperated, trying to explain that Jeopardy was getting caught up in the little things. He was young and mistakes were bound to happen, not everyone would want to be helped, patients still had their own agency when it came to accepting treatment. Jeopardy couldn’t have known any better, he couldn’t blame himself for someone refusing to take care of themself.

That had been after the incident with Nova. It felt like ages ago when it had happened but it still haunted him. It had been after Jeopardy was on the outlook for a few months, he was still trying to get close to the rest of the bots on base at the time and… it had scared him to almost lose one of them like that. It was also the first time that he was able to see some of Dropmix’s softer side—his genuine one, not the mask he put on for patients. Jeopardy forced himself to let out the breath he was holding.

::Dropmix?!::

Jeopardy couldn’t hear the music over the sound of rushing energon and his spark beating rapidly. He was overthinking this again. He knew better. He knew better than to snoop and push boundaries. That only got him in more trouble. It got him demoted and rejected. Why no medical officer wanted him as an assistant, no one wanted him around. Jeopardy poked at things that weren’t meant to be poked at, he shared his opinions when no one wanted to hear them or agreed. He hadn’t messed up yet, he had been so careful to not push.

Would Dropmix turn him away too if he pressed? Or would his refusal to respond and act only cause more harm for the large medic that he had become attached to. His patient needed tending to, he could still help them. He should help them. It's not like he was incapable of doing so. He didn’t need Dropmix’s supervision, he wasn’t some nurse or lowly assistant. Dropmix had made that clear before, time and time again.

::DROPMIX?::

Jeopardy placed his tools down. Even if he was concerned for his mentor, his patient would be needing those sedatives soon. They only had about 30 minutes left of promised unconsciousness, from there it would be a gamble. They could wake at any time to find Jeopardy still messing around with their insides… that was the kind of medical trauma that would mess up a bot. It would ruin their trust in all medics.

He couldn’t afford to be the reason that happened to someone.

So, Jeopardy wasn’t going to poke at things that should be left alone—he rationalized—no, he was going to get supplies for his patient. That was all. If he happened to stumble across something he shouldn’t he could ignore it. Turn a blind eye or just say that he was getting supplies and had no idea what they were talking about.

::I’m going to get the sedatives::

He had sent the comm out before he had a chance to think about it too much, before he would work himself up to the point where nothing sounded right. Was it a warning? Another attempt to reach out? A reminder to Dropmix about why he had left in the first place? He didn’t know. It honestly felt like more of a confirmation for himself. He was going to do that. Anything else he stumbled into was just coincidence.

The medic set his tools down on the sterile tray carefully. His hands hurt from how tightly he had been gripping them. Jeopardy forced a few more even breaths from his mouth. He walked towards the door, praying that suddenly Dropmix’s silence would be broken and jeopardy would laugh off all of the suffocating concern that had settled on him.

To his despair, the communicator remained unbothered by the time he had reached the door. He paused, staring at the blank metal surface like it had all the answers to the universe. Jeopardy was just getting sedatives. He didn’t doubt Dropmix's ability to do so. This wasn’t an attempt to push. He was just doing what he needed to ensure his patients' wellbeing.

That was his entire purpose.

The reason Jeopardy existed.

He was just trying to help.

With another deep, grounding breath he pressed against the door, unlocking it with medical codes. It took a brief moment for him to type in the final digit. Some part of him hoped that Dropmix would finally respond or open the door himself. He didn’t. Jeopardy finished the code and the door slid open.

He could smell energon and hot metal.

Jeopardy sucked in a breath, eyes widening at what he could see of the main medical bay. The operation room was tucked around the hallway so he didn’t have the entire view of the other room. But Dropmix’s desk had been placed so he would be able to watch over all of the medical bay at once, or at least get as close as he could.

Dropmix was pressed against the wall, breathing deeply but frantically. He had curled up and was cradling his head in his hands. There was energon on them, the bright liquid radiant on his dark armor. His face was out of sight, his posture pained.

The green mech that Jeopardy had grown fond of was hunched over a still form. Liquid falling down his cheeks. He was crying… like an organic might have—he was an organic. Cometeater was breathing raggedly, panicked and he crouched over the limp form of his brother on the ground.

The energon must have belonged to Sunstreaker, the motionless form on the ground. A halo of it gathering around his head on the ground in some grotesque display. Jeopardy’s scanners informed him that the gladiator was still alive—which was a relief. But his condition was less than promising.

The white medic stood in the doorway dumbly for a moment longer.

Then he began moving. Jeopardy rushed into the room, sedatives forgotten as his processor scanned for damage. No one else was hurt. The other patients were alright. Sunstreaker needed to be aided first. Comet looked unharmed. Dropmix hadn’t reacted when he had approached. The black medic would be able to handle his own injuries. Jeopardy fell to his knees beside Sunstreaker.

Cometeater hissed, posture growing volatile as he reared on Jeopardy. The medic hadn’t had time to react before fangs had sunk into his arm, tearing through the thick armor—like it was nothing. He yelped, pulling back sharply, pain spiking through him. Cometeater growled, plating flaring up in an angry display. He loosened his grip on his arm for just long enough to allow him to readjust and bite back down even harder.

Jeopardy let out a pained cry, falling backwards and trying to pull away desperately. He had done it again. He had messed up. Pushed too far. This was the consequences for it. But Sunstreaker needed him. The gladiator had already lost enough energon when they had found him. Comet wasn’t stopping the bleeding. Head wounds bleed a lot. He needed to stop it.

He needed to help.

But Cometeater didn’t seem to want his help.

The white medic looked over at Dropmix. He hadn’t started moving but he had looked up. He stared numbly at Jeopardy, his eyes distant. His visor wasn’t there either, it had been shattered, a long claw mark etched into his face. There was nothing but an empty socket under where the small screen had once been. Dropmix wasn’t helping, he wasn’t responding, he wasn’t there.

Claws raked at the smaller medic’s armor, peeling paint and leaving gashes in the once pristine surfaces. Jeopardy winced his mind screaming at him to get away and help at the same time. He wouldn’t win in a fight, but Sunstreaker needed him. He needed to keep himself together. Be professional. Don't get attached. Don't take it personally. Just act.

“Com–Cometeater, I need to help Sunstreaker,” He began, struggling to get his words out between shaky gasps of air and his frantic spiraling mind, “I’m not going to hurt him! I just need to stop the bleeding.”

The green figure growled even deeper, eyes narrowed into slits as he dug his fangs even deeper into Jeopardy’s arm. He started to twist his head, starting to pry off the plating with an effortless amount of practice. Cometeater’s claws moved from his shoulders to his chest, pressing against the transformation seams, trying to pry more plates off.

Jeopardy’s hand pressed against the other’s chest desperately. He didn’t know when he had ended up with his back on the floor with the other above him. Everything was still happening too fast, his mind was still focused on the steadily bleeding wound on Sunstreakers head. His plating on his arm finally gave way, snapping off and Jeopardy cried out in pain.

“Stop! Please I–” Jeopardy tried to reason again, cutting off in another cry—it might have been closer to a scream—as Comet’s fangs redirected themself at his chest. His green head cocked at an angle to allow his jaw to grip at one of the panels that his claws had uprooted slightly. He ripped off the plating swiftly, jaw going for another one.

Primus, Comet was trying to kill him!

He almost laughed bitterly at himself as he desperately tried to push the other’s face away only to have a clawed hand pin the arm to the floor.

No, Cometeater was going to kill him.

Jeopardy had failed again. He had made a critical error and now it would not only cost him his own life, but the life of Sunstreakers—probably the patient that still lay waiting on the operating table. He let out a choked cry, trying to press the other off of him desperately as his own energon spilled onto the ground.

“Please! Please–” Jeopardy’s voice cracked painfully. It had become so hard to breathe. He wasn’t built for this. He wasn’t trained to fight back. He didn’t know what he was doing. Comet didn’t care. He wasn’t stopping, tearing into Jeopardy’s chest one plate at a time. His eyes shut as more pain rippled through him.

Jeopardy screamed.

Cometeater wasn’t on him anymore.

He gasped for air, shaking, plating pressed against himself tightly as he trembled. He tried to ground himself, the feeling of energon pooling on his chest felt heavier and heavier. Cometeater wasn’t on top of him anymore, he wasn’t going to die. Jeopardy was still alive, still breathing. The feeling of being moved is what brought him back into the present, to the stinging pain in his arm, his burning chest.

Dropmix was hovering over him, teeth bared in a snarl and an animalistic growl rumbling from deep beneath his plating. He had pulled Jeopardy close to him protectively, possessively. His large arms wrapped around him, tucking him safely away from harm. Dropmix smelled like fresh welds, energon and hot metal scent almost suffocating. He was tense, pain rippling through him in tremors. His expression was focused but it wasn’t angry or animalistic like Comet’s, it was fearful.

The realization hit Jeopardy like a tidal wave.

Dropmix was scared.

Jeopardy didn’t move for a second, staring up at the other medic. He had never seen him scared before. It felt wrong. That was something that Dropmix wasn’t allowed to feel because he was bigger, stronger, more experienced than jeopardy would ever be. If he was afraid, what hope was there for Jeopardy?

The white medic looked over at where the other’s attention was, his breath stilling as he looked at the scene before him. Sunstreaker was still on the ground—Jeopardy needed to help him but Dropmix’s hold refused to budge at his attempts to pull away—Comet was being held by the golden gladiator's twin.

Sideswipe was holding Cometeater.

He must have crawled his way over and was now desperately pressing himself against Cometeater in a crushing hug. Jeopardy could see his mouth moving, though he couldn’t make out any of the words. The red twin guided Comet into his lap. The green mech seemed shaken and fragile, energon coating his hands and dripping down his face. He pressed against the larger bot shakily. Sideswipe looked over at them, expression lost and confused.

It reminded Jeopardy of when he first met the two. Comet clinging desperately to the red mech’s side like a lifeline.

The music hummed above just like it always had.

[thisismeracing]

Since when did we start charging money on patreon for fanfics 😭😭😭😭 is this for real😭

hi, love. I haven't seen that many people doing the Patreon thing when it comes to fanfic, but it's pretty common for people who draw for example to set up a Patreon. I believe that everyone who does, just like myself, needs the money. I wouldn't be doing it if i didn't need to. I figured the Patreon setup was the best idea since it's not really that common for people to tip writers, we've been struggling with getting reblogs and comments, so you can imagine.

Right now, I'm applying and doing tests to get an internship, which still won't be enough because I'm also trying to apply for a master's. So, yeah, I'm really thankful for everyone who tipped me on ko-fi and subscribed to my Patreon, last month my savings were over, and the Patreon money was what helped me pay for some medical stuff I needed (Idk if you saw the whole mick schumacher's sick club, but yeah — huge thank you for everyone who subscribed/donated btw).

We often see fic writers as little robots who don't eat, drink, or sleep. We request stuff, and expect an instant reply, and when we get the content we don't even go back to the page to tell the writer our thoughts. We don't reblog, nor leave comments, but still, we expect them to keep writing and keep sharing everything as if it didn't take hours, sometimes days to come up with a 1k piece polished to what we think readers will like best. I hope I don't sound rude, I'm just trying to make a point because I'm tired of seeing writers deactivating, tired of seeing my friends getting writer's block and then people still demanding things.

On top of that, I'm still posting a lot here, from smau to blubs and long fic requests (and I won't even talk about how some pieces aren't even getting a hundred notes, which always makes me wonder if I'm doing something wrong, if my writing is bad, or if there's anything that I could do to make the reader's experience more enjoyable), and it takes a lot of time, it's even harder to balance the two profiles now, but still, I keep sharing some of my work for free. so please, please, don't make me feel bad about needing money. thanks ❤️.

[some-mari-thoughts]

What do you make of the idea of Blackspace kinda fusing with Hellmari after a post-good ending Omori gave her true life, therefore making her the entire realm by technicality? Omori would do that cuz he needs something to kinda fill the void that appeared when Sunny left and he's getting desperate after not finding anything in Headspace to do that...

(woooooooooo explaining my omori au lore-)

Truthfully this is so wildly different to my idea of headspace and omori and after-good ending that i cannot make anything of this! i think that's up to u to decide

[r0semultiverse]

Qrow’s Semblance is Fortune! 🐦‍⬛

I talked about this briefly before, having speculated that Clover’s pin carries on his good luck after death or that Qrow has just done a lot of training mentally and/or physically. @benevolentslut had some amazing additions as well & I want to sum up this theory for you as best as I can as we reached similar conclusions even before I had read her reblog.

Qrow has only been in the negative all his life, mentally and emotionally.

This man has had barely any positivity in his life.

"His whole life he's been the epitome of cynicism and pessimism." - @benevolentslut

Qrow grew up under constant stress & threat of those around him.

Needless to say, but I don't think he could trust anyone he grew up around except maybe Raven.

Then he has to constantly worry about being found out by the other huntsmen! Also growing up with the threat of huntsmen and Grimm the entire time!

Then Oz drops the whole Salem problem on him & I'm sure that didn't help his mental health in the slightest!

"His sister leaves him and their team, and then summer disappears." - @benevolentslut Yeahhhh he is losing everyone close to him in one way or another! That cannot be a fun experience!

This look like the face of a guy that's doing okay?

I'm just going to copy paste this here as I hadn't noticed it & it feels worth noting that the intensity of his misfortune seems to increase with the increasing mental strain.

While we don't know for sure that all of these things are a byproduct of Qrow's misfortune semblance, it certainly isn't out of the realm of possibility. Notice the worsening of his mental health resulting in potentially more disastrous outcomes. 😰

"we see him blaming himself constantly for everything that goes wrong, and it only causes that to become more true." - @benevolentslut

She lists a lot more examples of where Qrow's semblance has potentially worked this way in the original post. Clover comes along & starts lifting him up, giving him actual hope. He now has a little seed of hope planted in him. 🍀

Wow, Qrow is doing so good for himself lately! I sure hope nothing-

Oh... oh no. From his perspective Ruby & Yang could literally be dead. He is stricken with grief as he watches it all unfold & probably sunk back down into a negative spot mentally. He may even blame himself in some way.

When you're this low, there's a saying that goes "nowhere to go but up."

I firmly believe that Qrow would see things that way, especially after reaching his lowest point. He can only do his best to help those around him. Though he's the most alone he's ever been, he's becoming a part of a new community where people help one another. In that sense, it's impossible to be alone. In spite of it all, he slowly finds his mental health improving! Ruby's message to the world is bringing people together! 🌹

"and we see him take up clover's role, both in terms of how he's helping out around shade, and more literally, in the unmissable parallel where he catches the guy who trips." - @benevolentslut

Ruby & Clover have both filled him with hope & he's more optimistic than he's ever been, which results in bursts good fortune! ✨

There's also already a premise for shifts in mental health and trauma resulting in semblance evolution.

Cinder betrayed Neo & so she winds up in the Ever After & through her form changes is showing us that she now has negative feelings towards Cinder.

She's so upset that her semblance starts to make multiple clones of her which it has never been able to do before. Her Overactive Imagination semblance has evolved due to the state of her mental health.

Her semblance begins to evolve so much to where she can create entire architectural structures and buildings out of it!

She can even use it to talk through the people she recreates, something she's not physically capable of herself.

While we do have to take into account that the Ever After plays by rules that are a little bit different at times; this absolutely confirms that semblances, much like people, can change & grow! 💪

My conclusion: Volume 10 & beyond will show Qrow's personal semblance evolution as he finds out that his power is actually Fortune itself & the ability to control it, good and the bad.

[the-way-astray]

if kotlc book ten isn't the last kotlc book, i'm throwing hands

[girlivealwaysbean]

.

[companionwolf]

if this was inevitable. what was the point. a brief freedom? only for it to be taken. i can't stop thinking abt ct. and wp. and just. my friends. my friends! 'oh but they're not dead or gone' it feels that way! which ig is unhealthy too right?! so dissociated it feels like loss. that's what people would say. 'don't grieve them they're not absent' then why does it feel that way huh? why?

and then. i don't know what happened. what possibility is true. i might never know. and it might happen again. to us. to me. if i or anyone else takes a perceived misstep. i am so fucking sad. so fucking afraid. of what it meant, what it means. what happens next.

[paradoxgavel]

i think i should be allowed to cast Evil Wizard Spells on customers actually. i think that should be encouraged actually. i think that'd be cool and neat and fun actually.