#do you know how difficult it when your thoughts start turning to blocks slotting into place whenever you aren't paying attention to things

[saturnaous]

ingo’s a rubix cube kid and Emmet was a tetris kid

[madamewriterofwrongs]

Sending you all my hugs 🥰🥰🥰😍 How about...Buddie having the time of their lives being absolute shit at arcade games.

I remember I asked for fluffy prompts the night my boss passed away. That was months ago but I did not forget. Thank you everyone who sent me prompts while I was processing some tough emotions.

911/Buddie 

1v1 Co-op Matchmaking

Read on Ao3

“Are you sure this is the place?” Eddie tried to peer through one of the windows with the scratched off signage but the tinted glass made it impossible to see anything beyond vague shapes in evenly marked spaces.

“Absolutely.” Buck joined him in looking through the glass but seemed to be satisfied with what he saw there. “I found this place my first year in L.A.” He went on to explain as Eddie followed him to the blacked out double doors. “I promise you’re going to love it.”

As with most things in Eddie’s life, he had no choice but to follow his partner. He entered first, a blast of cool air hitting his face, bringing with it the scent of French fries and old pennies. Beyond the sound of whirs and buzzes was quiet chatter and the occasional exclamation of excitement or disappointment (usually accompanied by a string of barely recognizable curses – no doubt, due to the ‘No Swearing’ sign hanging on the cash register in the corner). All around him were a collection of game machines in nearly straight aisles reaching several rows down and across. Interspersed between the machines were tables and chairs with folded signs informing guests that food and drinks were not to be taken to the game machines.

“It’s an arcade.” Eddie dumbly informed his friend.

Buck stood beside him, chest puffed with pride as he examined the terrain. “One of the last in the city that hasn’t been overrun by hipsters.”

“So you’re saying you found this place before it was cool?” Eddie strolled towards the register knowing Buck would be glaring at him all the way. As predicted, Buck paid for both of them and converted twenty dollars into quarters for the two of them two split.

“Oh, this place is old school.” Eddie, once again, exclaimed the obvious while pocketing his share of the coins. “How did you find this place?” he asked as they wandered the aisles looking for their first game. “I didn’t think you would be old enough to remember ‘Ms. Pacman’.”

Buck bumped his shoulder with a playful gasp. “You are being so mean to me today.” He chided before falling more somber. “When I first moved here and started training, I needed a place to study. I had, like, six roommates so there was no way I could concentrate there. So, I wandered around looking for something a little less chaotic and I found this place.”

“And this place was quieter than your house?” Eddie hadn’t lived with roommates in a few years – not since his army days – but he couldn’t imagine one house being that overwhelming.

“No.” Buck rolled his eyes at Eddie’s internal monologue. “I ended up at the library a few blocks away. But I came here once or twice when I needed to get out of the house. Obviously, work keeps me pretty busy, but I like coming here from time to time.”

All of it made sense, but Eddie heard the softness in his friend’s tone, the way he spoke about this place as though it were something precious. He was being handed a gift and he would not turn it down.

“Thank you for sharing it with me.” When Buck looked up at his partner through long eyelashes (when did he start noticing Buck’s eyelashes?), Eddie felt goosebumps rise and wash down his body. Like awakening from a long nap, his limbs tingled and he felt every step as they continued their journey to find the perfect game.

It wasn’t the first time he felt that flash of lightning through his veins at the sight of his friend – he was a single man and his partner was very attractive – but it had been happening more often than he cared to admit. Noticing the little details of Buck’s appearance (his eyelashes, for example) was new. Feeling his heart beat faster and his skin burn with a desire he hadn’t felt in a long time…was less new. In fact, Eddie was nearly ready to put a label on the feelings stirring in his chest.

Last winter, when his sisters were visiting and the three siblings got to have a big family dinner with all the cousins and aunts and uncles, he’d spent a little too long talking about Buck. Or, maybe, Christopher had. Either way, Sophia managed to corner him in the kitchen after dessert had knocked out the majority of the children, and asked Eddie how long he’d been with Buck. Romantically. It was sometime after midnight (and a bottle of wine between the three of them) that Eddie finally admitted to both of his sisters that he had feelings for his best friend. Adriana had cooed and asked if Buck felt the same and, on some tipsy instinct, he’d answered “Yes.”

Of course, he didn’t know for certain – he’d never come out and said “Hey, Buck, I want to bend you over the railing and then grow old with you. What do you say?” – but he knew Buck. He knew Buck better than anyone (Maddie might give him a run for his money, but he’s fairly certain there’s a few stories Buck hasn’t told his sister about his time travelling the country). When that man loved, he loved with all his heart, and Eddie figured out a long time ago that Buck had given at least part of himself to the Diaz boys. Why not his heart?

So, yes, Eddie had a pretty good idea of how he felt, and was nearly certain that Buck felt the same way. And now, they were standing in an arcade – the location of which Buck hadn’t shared with anyone else in his life – occasionally making extended eye contact through the aisles. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if’. It was a matter of ‘when’.

So now, when not staring longingly into his friend’s eyes, Eddie scanned the names listed above each game. Some of the names were ones he recognized (‘Frogger’, ‘Pacman’, the aforementioned ‘Ms. Pacman’, ‘Centipede’). Others, were less familiar (‘Inferno’, ‘Dig Dug’, ‘1942’) and looked…confusing. His eye caught on a ‘Space Invaders’-looking game and he called his partner to his side.

“Want to be a member of the ‘Moon Patrol’?” He bumped Buck’s shoulder with the smile he reserved just for his friend, and dug for a quarter.

“Nope!” Buck declared as he retrieved his own quarter and inserted it into the appropriate slot, bumping Eddie out of the way so he could stand centered at the controls. “I call first game!”

Though he rolled his eyes in annoyance, Eddie took the loss as an opportunity to watch his partner work. He loved watching Buck work (nearly as much as he enjoyed working beside him). There were times when the man’s focus was hypnotizing. The firm set of his jaw, the piercing eyes that seemed unblinking, the way every part of his body tensed in concentration. He’d seen Buck excited, anxious, worried, panicked, even numb – when it came to the uncontrollable dangers of their job, they had been through a lot together. Every emotion showed Eddie how much his friend cared about his work.

This expression, however, was one he doubted many other members of the Los Angeles Fire Department had seen on the young firefighter. It was one Eddie had been privy to on more than one occasion when Christopher had brought over a particularly difficult puzzle or science question. He wasn’t sure he was ever meant to see it but he happened to be standing in the doorway after putting away leftovers from dinner and he’d seen it: the desire to win, the earnest focus, the eagerness and seriousness of his intent. The first time he saw, it was an accident.  Every other time he rushed to finish his chores whenever he thought that face might emerge… that was less of an accident.

He was pulled from his fond musings by a minor key jingle and light-hearted groan of disappointment.

“Only got to Point Q on the Champion Course.” Buck exclaimed, throwing his hands in defeat.

Eddie couldn’t help himself – or at least, that’s what he told himself. His partner was too genuine. But that was one of his favourite things about the man. Where Eddie could usually keep his outward appearance neutral in the face of adversity (a skill he’d used nearly every day since joining the LAFD), Buck never shied away from letting his face show just exactly what was on his mind – even if he never said anything.

And so, Eddie laughed. Only a small chuckle, but his heart never felt so light as when he was with Buck. It was easy to see, however, that his laugh could be misconstrued as mocking. Perhaps it was both.

“Think you can do better?” The newly-defeated champion bowed and offered the center position to his friend and Eddie stepped into place with another fond eyeroll (he made a mental note to ask his optometrist if too many eyerolls could cause nerve damage).

All right, Eddie thought as he tried to get a handle on the controls, so it wasn’t as easy as he thought. The joystick was rigid and the control pad was sticky and the graphics were definitely from an era long-passed. If he hadn’t been raised with an infinite amount of patience (according to his aunt), he might have given up. As it was, he died before reaching the first checkpoint.

Buck’s laughter could not be interpreted as anything other than mocking, and he didn’t bother to hide it. “You are truly terrible.” He informed Eddie with a slap on the shoulder.

Though he knew he didn’t need an excuse, it was too easy to play when Buck was around. “I’m used to the console at home. Unlike some people, I don’t spend my time playing with technology from the Reagan-era.”

“Well then let me show you.” Before Eddie could properly interpret Buck’s offer, the man had come to stand behind him, chin hovering over his shoulder, arms palming his elbows and guiding him back towards the console. “One more round.” Buck declared, enthusiastically. At his prompting, Eddie gripped the joystick and placed his hands just above the cluster of buttons on his left side. The now-familiar starting music began and Eddie focused all of his energy into game before him. Every few moments, he heard Buck mutter a command or offer advice and he took it without question. The joystick was still rigid and the buttons were still sticky but together, they made it to the second checkpoint. And then the third. By the fourth, Eddie had all but forgotten the world around them. The only things that existed were Eddie, the game, and Buck’s voice in his ear. It was soothing, almost, to fall into that rhythm. So long as he navigated the bumpy terrain and dodged the alien invasion, nothing else mattered.

Until he missed jumping over a landmine and was blown to smithereens.

“Damn!” Buck’s voice was suddenly too close. The air around him electrified on an exhale and the heat of his chest warmed Eddie to his core. As quickly as the world had fallen away in Buck’s arms, it came rushing back, more vibrant and alive than before. Every sound of electronics whirring, Buck’s steady breathing, and people shouting – even the rumble of the cars outside the arcade – was amplified. Every smell of old metal, sweat, and smoke hidden under Buck’s aftershave was overwhelming. Every touch of his scratchy jeans, the clammy plastic in his hand, and the warm presence at his back, made Eddie close his eyes to shut out one of his senses. The only one left was taste.

Buck and Eddie had held each other plenty of times over the years. They were partners and friends who worked in close contact with one another. At the end of a hard day, in the middle of a daring rescue, at the beginning of a heated glance as they stood in front of a game machine. They had shaken hands, hugged tightly, gripped for dear life at the edge of a cliff, even bumped shoulders often enough that he had a Buck-shaped indent near his heart. But standing in this loose hold – the other man’s arms barely brushing his, his back pressed against the other’s front – Eddie had never felt the overwhelming urge to taste more fervently than he did in that moment.

He knew that Buck was an attractive man – he was repressed, he wasn’t dead – and though he’d been contemplating thinking about maybe working up to taking some next step, he hadn’t counted on standing in Buck’s arms and feeling his heart flutter like a school girl with a crush.

Upon slowly dragging his eyes to meet his friend’s Eddie found himself breathlessly overtaken by the sensation of hope. Buck’s eyes were bright and round (earnest, just as he’d known them to be) His eyelashes closed and opened slowly, seemingly disbelieving of his circumstance. If Eddie knew Buck as well as he hoped he did, then there was a question in his friend’s eyes that was begging to be asked. A question Eddie was more than happy to answer.

“We make a pretty good team.” He felt his own breath reverberate off of Buck’s cheek and it stuttered in time with his heart.

“I’ve always thought so.” Buck’s lips twitched with suppressing a smile.

Then, came the moment of truth. Eddie felt a brief flicker of panic as he took one last breath before diving in.

“What should we do about it?”

In reality, Buck only contemplated his response for a few seconds but for Eddie, the silence stretched for years – three years, in fact. He felt the world move in slow motion and within it, he watched as Buck’s face flicked with a thousand emotions: fear, anxiety, excitement, contentment, desire, hope, doubt; finally, he settled on quiet happiness.

“I think we need to find a game we can play together. As partners. What do you say?”

As if there were any other response, Eddie smiled at Buck. “Partners.”

The rest of their time at the arcade was locked away, inaccessible to even Eddie, who recalled nothing more than laughter and flirtatious eye contact as they made their way through the aisles of games. At the end of the night, Eddie would get down the block before turning back to Buck’s door. He would run a nervous hand through his hair while he knocked with the other, and waited for the answer. And then, he would blush as he asked if Buck wanted to go on a date with him tomorrow. Buck would blush harder and assure Eddie that he would happily attend, but warn that he no longer kissed on the first date.

But maybe on their second date tomorrow, he’d get lucky.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Puppy Love (A Light Fingers Moment In Between)

A/N: Sometimes I say words, and other people say words, and stuff happens. Part of me wants to say AU because it would be easier, but I love making things More Difficult on Purpose.  Word Count: 2333 Rating: G(eneral Audience)

You tapped Diego on the shoulder, nodding your head in the direction of the faint clatter you’d heard. 

The pair of you had popped in to stop a home invasion, but one of the perps had taken off with a priceless family heirloom, and you’d agreed to give chase. Unfortunately, he had a head start and you had lost him in the warren of a crowded parking garage. 

Diego pressed a finger to his lips and nodded, gesturing with his free hand for you to circle around while he approached from the front to draw attention.

You met his eyes for a brief moment, lower lip worrying between your teeth. You gave his arm a brief squeeze before nodding and setting off. No matter how long you’d been doing this, you worried about him when his plans worked out like this, with him picking fights so you could have the element of surprise. As you moved, quick and quiet, something felt wrong about the situation. Hesitantly, you fingered the knife that Diego had insisted you started carrying on these jobs, not pulling it out yet, but reassuring yourself that it was there and easily accessible. 

There was another scuffling sound and a soft whine, one that didn’t sound human. You picked up your pace now, running in the direction of the noises. There, huddled in the corner of the garage, caught and tugging on the corner of a dumpster, was a small, shivering dog. 

“Hi there,” you said softly, sinking low and holding your hand out as you crept closer to the frightened creature. 

You heard pounding footsteps behind you as Diego ran up, the sound making the dog yelp and try to cower more.

“Shh, shh,” you hummed, shifting to sit cross-legged in front of it, blocking it’s view of Diego, and giving you a more steady position to hold the little creature still while you unhooked it’s collar from the sharp, bent edge of the trash.

Once freed, you expected it to squirm in your arms or try to run, but instead, it stayed, pressed lightly against your leg, shivering. It was covered in so much mud you could hardly tell it was meant to be white and stank horribly (or maybe that was the bins), but you were pretty sure someone would be missing it. 

“Think you can find our bad guy on your own?” you murmured as Diego peered over your shoulder. “I don’t want to abandon this little one to its own devices.”

He couldn’t help chuckling. “Yeah, I got it. Meet you back here?”

“I’m not waiting for you by the dumpsters. I’ll meet you by the entrance.” 

~

After returning the expensive and hideous brooch to the family, and turning the would-be-burglars over to the cops, you and Diego made your way home, the little dog wrapped in a towel in your arms. The family hadn’t ever seen it around before, and the tag had the dog’s name, “Penny,” but no name or address of an owner.

“It’s alright Penny,” you told her as you walked. “We’ll get you cleaned up, take some nice pictures and put up flyers. I’m sure someone’s missing you and will be excited to have you home again soon.”

“Why don’t we just take it to the shelter?” Diego asked gruffly, trying to hide how cute he thought Penny was.

“Shelters are overcrowded and understaffed. They have a hard time caring for the dogs that need homes, let alone the ones that just got lost and get brought to them. Besides, I...want to make sure her family gets her back, and that’s easier to do if we make the handoff.”

Diego shook his head, slightly exasperated. “Fine. But if it takes more than a few days--”

“We’ll discuss that only if we have to.” You shifted the dog so that you would have a free hand and bopped Diego’s nose teasingly. “Don’t be a grump.”

He gaped at you. “For that, I’m not helping you wash it.”

“Of course you’re not, baby. You’re going out to buy kibble and a leash.” You smiled winningly at him.

~

Penny was with you for just over a week before you got a call during dinner one night. The man on the other end of the line said that he had seen your flyers and was sure that the dog you found belonged to his elderly mother. She had been worried sick when the dog slipped out, but hadn’t been able to follow it, and because of his work, he hadn’t been able to put out ‘missing’ posters. You told him you were glad he called and asked if he had evidence the dog was his or his mother’s. He told you he’d bring a picture of the two of them together, and arranged to meet you at Griddy’s Doughnuts the next morning. 

During the time she was there, Penny settled in quite well with you and Diego, excited when either of you left and came back, quite happy to sit on your laps while you watched tv or read at night, curling up at the foot of the bed when you went to sleep. She and Diego in particular, for all his protests, seemed inseparable. For all his protests at first, he seemed to enjoy all of her antics, and slipped her food off his plate when she gave him big sad eyes and he thought you weren’t paying attention. When you told him that her owner had finally called, he hid a frown behind a cough.

“Diego,” you sighed, seeing his face fall anyway. “You knew we couldn’t keep her…”

You were just as sad as he was, if you were being honest. You had never really imagined yourself a dog person, the idea of having a pet so far off your radar as to be unfathomable. But Penny had slotted into your lives like a missing piece, and as glad as you were to return her, safe and happy, to her home and the people that loved her, you and Diego loved her too.

“I know,” he said softly. “Just. It’ll be weird once she’s gone.”

You bit your lip, considering the words that bubbled up your throat before letting them fall from your tongue, nearly as impulsive as your marriage proposal.

“Ya know...we could...get a dog of our own?” you shrugged, trying to play off the idea as a casual thought.

~

It was hard not to be overwhelmed by the smell and sound within the shelter’s kennel area, over two dozen dogs baying, barking, and bouncing on the chain-link fencing as the pair of you were led through to an open area where you could do some meet and greets. 

Nervously you sat on the bench, fingers laced with Diego’s and running your thumb back and forth over his knuckles. 

“Hey,” he said, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “Talk to me.”

You shrugged, biting your lip. “I dunno. This just feels big, suddenly. And what if we can’t find one that likes both of us, or what if we fuck it up. I’ve never...taken care of another living thing before. Not by myself.”

“You take care of me all the time,” he said, tugging you into a hug. “And you won’t be alone. We’re in this together remember?”

Your smile was watery but genuine as you returned the hug, burying your face against his neck.

“How did I ever do shit without you?” you murmured, backing away but not fully letting go.

He didn’t have a chance to respond with more than a squeeze of your joined hands as Martin returned with the first dog. 

“I thought we’d start with some one-on-one interactions with a few dogs I think would be a good fit based on what you told me, and then we’ll see who clicks and you can have some time to play with the top two or three, pick from there.”

You nodded, holding your hand, palm out, toward the black lab tugging at the leash he held. He introduced her as Sheila, and while she seemed friendly, your heart wasn’t in it. The same feeling continued through several other perfectly nice dogs, and though you were both tempted by a roly-poly border collie puppy and by a sweet but very lazy bulldog, as soon as the handler had left the room with them, you’d looked at each other and known it wasn’t right. 

“Can we...maybe, just walk through the kennels and see if something I don’t know...calls to us?” you asked hesitantly after about the eighth dog you felt no real connection with. 

“Oh!” the man looked surprised you had even suggested it and took a long moment to process the request. “Sure, we can do that.”

Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, Diego pulled you against his side as the pair of you followed Martin back into the kennels.

“You know we don’t have to find a dog today, right?” he asked softly, sensing your continued nerves. “If nothing here works out, we’ll keep looking.”

“I know,” you sighed. “I just…got really excited, and now I feel like we failed or something.”

“Well, we haven’t yet.”

Suddenly, you stopped short, jerking Diego along with you, so quickly that your guide didn’t even notice. Staring up at you, his black fur almost lost in shadow but for his white bib, the boxer gave you the biggest, saddest eyes you had ever seen. Crouching down, you tentatively reached your hand outward, pressing it against the chainlink.

“Hi…” you cooed as he edged forward, crawling on his belly until he could sniff and then attempt to lick your fingers from the other side. 

Diego mirrored your stance, kneeling in front of the kennel door, and by the time Martin realized you were no longer behind him and doubled back, the pair of you were enraptured and the dog was no longer cowering, instead bouncing and pawing at the fence to try and get to you, tongue lolling out of his mouth and slobbering on as much of you as he could reach. 

“Oh,” he said, sounding almost disappointed. “You met Duncan…trust me, you don’t want him.”

“What?” you asked, whipping your head around to look at the man. “Why not?”

“He was born here, runt of the litter so for a while no one wanted him. Now he’s almost two and he’s ended up back here from four homes already. Can’t figure out why, but he just doesn’t work out.”

“Well there must be something going on,” you argued. “Or else that wouldn’t be true right?”

Martin shrugged. “I guess. But it ain’t my place. I just know the poor bastard’s probably going to live his whole life in there.”

“No,” Diego said, turning to you and smiling when you gave him a brief nod. “Because we’ll take him.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea. And it seems cruel to give him false hope a fifth time.”

“It won’t be false. We won’t give up on him,” you insisted. “I understand wanting to protect him, and us, but please. Just...trust us.”

“You’re sure there’s not another dog you want instead?”

“No,” Diego said firmly. “We want Duncan.”

At the sound of his name from Diego’s mouth, his ears perked up and he sat down patiently, expectantly almost.  

We know a thing or two about loving the unloved, you wanted to say, this was fate you wanted to argue. But how could you even begin?

“Let’s go take care of the paperwork and...see what my boss says.”

~

Later that night, as you rested your head against Diego’s chest on the couch, not really watching the movie on the tv, you found yourself anxiously drumming your fingers on his knee.

“Y/N,” he said knowingly, catching and stilling your hand, rubbing his thumb soothingly over your knuckles.

“Do you think they’ll approve us?” you asked, voicing the question on both your minds.

“I don’t know. We just have to wait,” he chuckled, shaking his head as you opened your mouth to interrupt, “patiently. And see what happens. Hope it’ll work out.”

You groaned. “Why do you have to be right all the time?”

“It’s a carefully honed talent.”

~

Diego’s keys jingled in the doorknob and you held your breath, praying that your companion would stay quiet.

“Just another minute boy,” you muttered. 

As soon as you heard the door shut behind your husband, you let go of Duncan’s collar and he bounded over, his entire body wriggling along with his stubby tail. Diego swore, startled by the dog’s sudden appearance from around the corner, and you couldn’t help laughing as you followed, more sedately behind.

“Wha—” Diego said, kneeling to ruffle Duncan’s ears, leaning away as his lolling tongue tried to lick his newly accessible face. 

“You didn’t steal him did you?” he asked, teasing smile lighting his features.

“I am hurt and offended that you would even suggest such a thing,” you said dramatically, a hand pressed to your chest for effect. “This was completely legitimate, and Duncan is now our dog. Or technically my dog, until you go sign your copy of the adoption contract tomorrow morning.”

“That’s...we have a dog…” he breathed, shock settling over him. 

“Diego, are you crying?” you asked gently, concern overriding your amusement. 

He was silent and you moved to his side, sitting down, next to your husband and dog and wrapping an arm around each of them.

“They’re happy tears right?” you asked, feeling some of your own building as it suddenly struck you that this right here was a family, a happy family, and all your own. 

“The happiest,” he murmured, managing a quick kiss to your temple just before the moment was broken by Duncan licking a long stripe up his cheek and flopping over onto your laps for a belly rub, sending you both into a fit of laughter.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

End Note: Is a studio apartment an appropriate space for a boxer? Should inexperienced owners adopt a dog that the shelter thinks is a “problem” dog? Probably not, as a rule. But individual dogs have individual needs, they’re active-lifestyle adults, we’ll assume there’s a dog park nearby, and also it’s fiction and I think it’s cute, so...

[maskeraith]

big eldar scrolls on line post about what i thought about it

may have some spoilers for the morrowind storyline and sidequests idk also I am inevitably gonna compare it to ffxiv a lot as it’s the only other mmorpg I’ve played good luck

Writing this after finishing writing the rest wow this got too long there is a tldr though haha

so the first thing I will say is that eso’s overworld exploration and sidequesting blows ffxiv away completely, there is so much to do and fun to be had in eso simply by exploring around! the enemies feel cool to fight, there are delves and solo dungeons to just stumble across with quests in there, skill points just lying around if you look hard enough, gathering spots that you can just gather from without having to be a specific profession or something, WORLD bosses that you need a group to battle just OUT there it’s really cool! Ffxiv does have some really beautiful environments but in terms of actual stuff to do, there’s literally just fates and they’re pretty shit to be honest, and i guess the sightseeing log??

and sidequests! all my time in the game was spent in the morrowind area (vvardenfall I think? my eso lore is zero watch out) and every sidequest I did had a really engaging storyline. They do mostly amount to fetch quests and slay monster quests in terms of gameplay with some puzzle moments sometimes, but the storylines were captivating enough to justify most of what you had to do. compared to ffxiv which is BLOATED with boring fetch quests with uninteresting storylines eso has it figured out. the characters you meet and their dialogue is great and sometimes you can even make choices which affect the final outcome of the quest which is always fun (your character having the personality of a brick aside). I actually think I enjoyed certain sidequests more than the main story of morrowind they’re that involved

Also there are world events but I didn’t really get into them, there was like a huge tornado which spawned some enemies that give you massive exp, but my horsey was too slow and I only got there at the tail end because they’re great for farming so every player in the world goes there and kills them instantly they seem cool though

in terms of lore, I’m not someone who is super interested in the lore of the elder scrolls universe but I found myself learning a whole lot of very crazy stuff from the friends I was playing with who DO know all about it, and I will say that if the lore of the elder scrolls universe interests you in any way you’ll love this game! so I learned that there are Eras in this universe, and eso takes place in the second era I believe. The other main series games all take place in the third or fourth I think, so eso is able to like set the groundwork for those games and explain the history behind stuff going on in all the main games, which I think is a really good idea, perfect for fans of the lore and stuff. Like I remember the funny talking dog from skyrim and he’s like the primary antagonist of the morrowind main story like woah

The combat is where I think the game started to fall off for me, again with the ffxiv comparison but it just wasn’t reaching levels nearly as interesting as the combat in that game for me.

Firstly, there’s no tab targetting (unless there’s a setting in the menu somewhere i missed?) you actually aim all your attacks, single target, aoe, whatever. for me this made it harder to be able to gain a situational awareness, and I have to keep my camera aimed at the boss and I’m not able to move it around to see if there was anything else going on. I do see how aiming your attacks could actually make the game more appealing to some people, though, as it does give a sense that you are more actively participating in the battle and not just standing there pressing buttons, but for me this sort of thing doesn’t make any difference

The second thing was the amount of abilities you have at any one time - you have 10 abilities and 2 ultimates slotted at any one time. Five and one ult are active at a time, and you have to swap weapons (it’s as easy as the press of a button) to switch to your second bar with the other 5 and 1 ult. This does make the game a lot more accessible I think, but it also means the stuff you get to do is just gonna be a lot more straightforward and spammy compared to the interesting and involved rotations you get in ffxiv. as a tank, I set myself up to put three dots and a debuff on the enemy and then spam my one damaging attack, until I had to reapply the stuff again, and that was basically it. I had some tank cooldowns too like a shield, heal, a grab and so on. I did look up the Most Complicated Rotation to see how hard it could get, which seemed to be stamina nightblade, and even that has “Ability x11″ or something in its rotation

Simple rotations would be fine for me if the bosses themselves were more difficult or complicated to compensate, but honestly nothing was any more difficult or involved than ffxiv. On youtube I’ve watched like 5 dungeons and a trial on the hardest Veteran difficulty, and the dungeons don’t look like anything more than what you would get in other mmos. The trials looks like really great content honestly, but there’s no party finder for them as far as I know so you have to manually gather 11 other people which is never something I enjoy trying to do in multiplayer games lol

i also didn’t super appreciate that the game wanted to like hide a bunch of info from me by default? like a few hours in I complained that it was impossible to know when my dots and self buffs ran out because all I had was like little particle effects on the enemy/myself to go off, and my friends were like “oh yeah you need to turn on these tooltips in the options” like huh?? I need to know this stuff come on

There is some really cool stuff in the combat though! Every player has like a basic bash attack, which can interrupt certain attacks, and then a basic heavy attack, which can knock down staggered enemies (they get staggered if you interrupt them) so there is more to do than just your abilities.

One thing I will mention though, is that I think a huge part of the combat is resource management - you spend stamina/mana on your abilities and if you’re not careful it’s easy to run out. As a tank, blocking takes up stamina, and sometimes I would not manage it correctly and run out and be unable to use my anything for a bit. You get it back by doing heavy attacks (contrary to every game ever) and other like passives unique to whatever build you might have going on. A lot of the game’s difficulty in harder content might come from this, but I didn’t get that deep into any of that sort of thing

I think the way you pick your abilities is really cool - you level up a whole bunch of different skill trees at a time, and you can slot any ability from any tree at any time (other than weapon skills specifically, you must be weilding that weapon) into your 10 slots. Your class has three unique trees, then there’s like a tree for every weapon type, for mage and fighter’s guild, this weird guild called the undaunted, werewolf and vampire, probably more I forgot about. All of them have 5 skills that you unlock as you level that tree, and all of those skills can be morphed into one of two “strong” versions of that skill once you level that specific skill. So there is a huge amount of player choice in how you build your character! I remember getting loads of advice from my friends but also just thinking to myself “but this skill though...” (i am so sorry). There are loads of passives too but they’re kind of lame and you just sort of put your excess skill points in them to make yourself passively stronger. I am sure there are Optimal builds, but playing casually you can literally just do anything

I do think levelling them can sometimes be a pain though because like, if you want the fifth ability in Skill Tree 1 but you don’t really use any of the first four, well actually you do have to start using a bunch of those skills you don’t want because you gain more exp for that skill tree the more of its skills you use, sort of a minor thing I guess

Finally I will talk about how I really do not like the execution of the loot system... So you get armour sets in this game and if you wear 5 of them you get a very significant passive, like whenever you crit you summon a big ghoul to shoot acid, or all of your aoe abilities also taunt. I think this is a super cool idea in theory, and it allows for even further personal customisation of the kind of character you want to play. However..

So the max level is 50, but the real max level is like 180 or something because at 50, you continue to level up but each level just gives you a point to put into these big huge bonus passive skill trees which continue to increase your stats up to the 180th point or something like that. In eso, though, you can go anywhere and do anything and all the enemies are scaled to you. But, it’s actually that you are scaled to the enemies - while below level 50, you get an invisible buff that makes you as strong as a level 50 character. This means that every level you gain, you actually get slightly weaker, if you’re not updating your armour.

Armour drops at whatever level you are, up to the cap of 180 where you are the strongest you can be. So ultimately what this means is every piece of armour you get up until you reach the level cap will quickly become obsolete. Every time I collected 5 pieces of a set and got a cool passive, all I could think was “this will be fun for about 4 levels” because I knew I’d need to swap it all out for stronger stuff. Essentially I felt locked out of seriously farming for the gear sets I wanted until I reached Max Max level, which made everything I collected seem pretty pointless to me.

Also, always being as strong as a level 50 character did kind of make it feel like I wasn’t really levelling up at all? It’s why I broke my rule of “I will get to level 50 before stopping” because I actually was level 50 all along, I got all the abilities from my skill trees that I wanted and ran a bunch of dungeons with them and I was in the 30s, but there were no other skills I could really see myself swapping out so I was essentially “max level”, as far as I was concerned.

so yeah tl;dr these are my two main opinions:

This game is an awesome time running around and exploring the environment, doing quests and running dungeons! If you’re a fan of the elder scrolls world and lore it is absolutely a must play!

Customising your character’s skills and armour sets is a lot of fun, but I do think it comes at the expense of not having a really finely tuned, coherant combat style, it feels a lot like I’m Just Hitting All The Buttons.

The end lol

[electrictoes]

Closer Than We Are

For @dailysvu's Amanda Rollins Week

Day 4:  Cuddling Characters: Amanda Rollins, Sonny Carisi, Jesse Rollins. Guest Appearances: Olivia Benson, Kat Tamin, Billie Rollins, Noah Porter Benson Relationship: Amanda Rollins / Sonny Carisi Warnings: None

Read on AO3

The first time that Amanda found herself cuddled up with Sonny it was almost 4am, and they were both exhausted.

Jesse had been teething and Amanda had barely slept all week, so when Sonny had offered to come over and cook dinner she’d gratefully accepted - just the thought of someone else being in the apartment with her was enough, the fact that he was also going to provide food that didn’t come from a packet was an added bonus.

They’d had a few late nights at work that week - Sonny and Fin had born the brunt, covering for Amanda so that she could spend time with Jesse, however little rest that actually gave her - so he was tired too, but when Jesse had started screaming after dinner Sonny had told Amanda to stay where she was sitting half asleep on the couch.

She watched bleary eyed as he brought Jesse out of her bedroom and into the living room, her screams subsiding briefly as she mouthed at the knuckle of his index finger; he was holding Jesse against his chest with his left hand while she chewed on his right and Amanda watched as he paced the room with her, trying to keep her calm and soothe her back to sleep. Amanda was grateful for his help; she was doing better than she herself would've predicted at this mom thing, but having another pair of hands never hurt. Jesse eventually settled against him and he carefully carried her back to her crib before joining Amanda on the couch.

They talked a little, but mostly they sat in a companionable silence, watching sitcom reruns from opposite ends of the couch. Jesse was back up an hour later, and when Amanda eventually settled her again and came back to the living room Sonny’s eyes were closed; his head tilted back against the couch cushions. “Carisi, you don’t have to stay.”

“Nah,” he said, opening his eyes again, “It’s fine, I think you’re in for a rough night, I wanna help.”

Amanda sighed, “You don’t have to.”

“She’s my goddaughter,” he said, as though spending his Friday night listening to Jesse’s cries was part of the job description.

Amanda didn’t know how many times they had been up and down with Jesse by the time the clock ticked over to 2am, but she had begun to move past exhaustion. Sonny was back to pacing the room, Jesse drooling over his shoulder as she cried, Sonny rubbing gentle circles on her back, singing off-key lullabies. “Rollins, I’ve got her - go to bed.”

“I’m fine,” Amanda protested; he shook his head but he didn’t argue.

When Jesse drifted off against his chest, he carefully sat down on the couch again, his hand on the back of her little head as she slept fitfully; Amanda watched Jesse move with the rise and fall of his chest, and she reached out to stroke Jesse’s cheek, to rest her fingertips on her daughter’s back.

The next thing she knew, Jesse was wailing again; Amanda blinked open her eyes and found her arms had wound around Sonny as well as Jesse; he was awake too - no one in a five block radius was sleeping through Jesse’s howls - but he didn’t pull away from her; he just smiled a tired smile over the top of Jesse’s head. Amanda didn’t move away either; she didn’t have the energy.

Sonny gently shushed Jesse, whispering to her; he lifted her carefully, moving her so that she was facing Amanda, and they sat there in the dim light of the TV, Amanda’s eyes on her baby girl, one arm still slung along Sonny’s torso, her head resting on his shoulder as Jesse reached out, touching a tiny hand to Amanda’s face, her whimpers dying down as exhaustion took her again.

Dinner and bad TV had kind of become a weekly tradition - sometimes Sonny would cook for them, and some nights, when they were both worn down by a difficult week at work, they would order pizza and the three of would them flop down onto the couch, Jesse between Amanda and Sonny, and they would watch cartoons or kids' movies until Jesse dropped off, her head leaning against her godfather’s side, her feet digging into Amanda’s legs.

One of them - usually Sonny - would scoop Jesse up eventually and tuck her into bed with a kiss goodnight. The TV volume would get turned down a little lower, the cartoons switched over, and they’d watch something - anything - that they didn’t have to care about.

It was comfortable, that time with Sonny - the groove they’d gotten into over the past couple of years. Jesse had spent her whole life having weekly dinners with Uncle Sonny, and Amanda had found a friend she would never have predicted when he walked into the squad room three years ago. They laughed together - a lot - and he never judged her about the big stuff (the small stuff, sure, how many times had he bemoaned her lack of decent cookware?); she didn’t feel like she had to stand on ceremony with him; he didn’t complain about the dishes in the sink, the laundry hanging up about the place - and he told her things about himself, normal, everyday things, and she found herself opening up to him too. Not about everything, but she shared things about her past, about her family, that she had always held back from other people.

Tonight, they were tired, and if her head dropped onto his shoulder while they were talking, it didn’t mean anything more than that. He’d put a documentary on and she wasn’t even too sure what it was about - so she closed her eyes for just a second, or at least she had meant for it to be just a second.

When she woke up her head was still on his shoulder, and her arm was across his chest; he was leaning into her too, one of his hands resting just above her hip, and she was so comfortable, she felt so safe, that she just closed her eyes again, sinking back into sleep without thinking about it too much.

When they woke again hours later, still intertwined, they shared a brief, slightly awkward smile as they pulled apart. Amanda wasn’t about it admit it, but she felt better rested than she had in a long time.

Sonny wasn’t at his desk when Amanda got to work, and he was usually there before her unless they made plans to meet for coffee or breakfast beforehand. She hadn’t seen him the night before, didn’t know what his plans had been, but for some reason his absence bothered her. She sat down at her desk and kept an eye on the door waiting for him to come in - an hour passed and there was still no sign of him, so she sent him a text - just a quick “you ok?” - she glanced at her phone periodically but the message status never changed to Read. The morning was quiet - both Liv and Fin were meeting with Stone for trial prep first thing, and Amanda was working her way through a backlog of reports in between checking her phone.

Two hours after she got to work, around two hours and ten minutes after Sonny would usually have put in an appearance, Liv walked in and approached Amanda’s desk. “Carisi’s out sick today,” she said, “Can you meet Fin at Mercy? We’ve just had a call.”

Amanda frowned. “Sick? Carisi? He’s like fifty percent hand sanitiser.”

“Yeah, I think it’s the flu, he didn't sound great on the phone.”

For the rest of the day Amanda’s mind was on Sonny; she’d sent a couple more texts but he hadn’t even read them, and it was so rare for him to get sick - she wouldn’t admit it out loud, but she was worried. When she got out of work she text her nanny to say she needed to make a stop on her way home, and she drove over to Sonny’s apartment with cold medicine and Gatorade.

When Amanda knocked on Sonny’s apartment door there was no answer; she called his phone but she could hear it ringing unanswered inside the apartment, which only served to increase her worry. Eventually she pulled out her keys, scrambling to find the key he'd given her for emergencies; she knocked twice more before opening the door, calling out his name as she entered the apartment.

She didn’t visit his apartment often; could count the number of times she’d been here on one hand, in fact - she wasn’t exactly comfortable in this space like he was in hers, and she felt like an intruder as she walked down the hallway, still calling out to him. When she reached his living room she saw him. He was lying on the couch, his feet hanging off the end in a way that would be comical if he didn’t look so utterly wrecked; his eyes were glazed over, his breathing unsteady, and it took him a second to notice her.

“Rollins?” he said when he spotted her - his voice coming out croaky and weak. “Why are you…”

“I was worried,” she told him, crossing the room and putting the back of her hand to his forehead - he was burning up. “You weren’t answering my messages.”

“M’fine,” he mumbled, “Just restin’.”

“I don’t think you are fine, Dominick,” she brushed his hair back from his forehead and he let out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan.

“S’nice,” he said, leaning into her touch.

“Where’s your thermometer?” she asked, “I know you’ve got one.”

“Somewhere,” he says unhelpfully. She moved away and he sighed, lifting a hand to reach out to her, “Don’t go.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Amanda still felt like she was intruding as she went into the bathroom, opening his medicine cabinet and making a point of not looking too closely at the contents - she found a thermometer easily enough and headed back out to the living room. She’d been gone barely two minutes, but he smiled like it had been a decade since he last saw her.

His temperature was 103, and she told him so. He frowned. “No, m’cold,” he said, disbelief in his tone.

“I’m sure,” Amanda said soothingly. It took several attempts to coax him into sitting up, and to find out that he hadn’t taken any medication yet, and another five minutes to persuade him to swallow the cold medicine.

She sat beside him on the couch, slotting in to the space he left when he sat up, taking a sip from the bottle of Gatorade she’d handed him. He dropped back against her a moment later, leaning into her, barely able to support his own weight. She swept her hand through his hair again as his head lolled on her shoulder.

“You should go,” he murmured into her neck.

“I’m staying until the medicine kicks in,” Amanda told him him, her fingers still in his hair.

“But the girls-”

“They’re fine,”she assured him, “they’re with the sitter.”

“I’ll get you sick,” he said; he sounded so miserable there was no way she’d leave him alone right now.

“So then you can return the favour,” she countered, and he gave in, letting his eyes drop closed, one arm coming to rest across her stomach as he drifted off to sleep.

It was a choice to curl up next to him on New Year’s Eve - there was still a lot that had been left unsaid between them, and this was one of those things - that closeness; just a little too intimate to be platonic, but skirting the edges of admitting anything further. She had a blanket draped over herself, and he had one arm on the back of the couch; she fit perfectly into the crook of his arm, her hands pillowed between her head and his chest. The TV was on, but they weren’t paying too much attention to it; she was content resting against him as she listened to the stories of his Christmas celebrations with his family; he already knew how her Christmas was, had heard it all in great detail from Jesse when he had face-timed them the day after Christmas; the noise and clamour of the Carisi family in the background, but his attention solely on the Rollins girls.

They were comfortable together, her and Sonny. They had been for a while. It wasn’t something Amanda had ever had before - not like this, and they were on the precipice, resting between friendship and something more, but she embraced moments like this, where they could be in their own bubble - whatever happened between them in the future, she wanted to keep having moments like this. That had been what she was thinking about when she’d drifted off, midnight still hours away.

If the Amber alert hadn’t woken her, things might have ended a little differently, but there was no awkwardness when she did wake up burrowed into him. She moved only enough to reach her phone, reading the alert, sitting up only when she knew she’d have to go into work - to leave the warm comfort they’d found here and go out into the real world.

He looked as disappointed as she felt - and she wanted to drop back down against him, ignore the darkness of the world they lived in - but that wasn’t an option, and she knew there would be other nights like this, other nights they would fall asleep together, still not quite giving in to whatever kept compelling them back to this spot, this thin line they were living on.

Now, when they’re cuddled up together on the couch, Amanda never needs to pretend it’s anything different - it’s not because they’re tired, and it isn’t because one of them is sick, and she doesn’t have to analyse every movement of his body against hers - this is just who they are now, this is just what they do.

It’s movie night again - but not just the two of them - Amanda’s calling it ‘family night’, after weeks of late shifts and early starts, no one getting to spend much time with their children or the people they loved - Fin had declined the invitation, told them he’d had a better offer - but Liv and Kat are here. Jesse, Noah and Billie are on the floor in front of the TV; Sonny had set them up with cushions and snacks and with the amount of sugar they’ve already consumed Amanda’s sure they’re going to crash halfway through the movie.

Amanda glances over at Liv and Kat as she slips into the space Sonny has made for her on the couch, his arm coming around her as soon as she’s settled. Liv smiles in their direction, but says nothing. Kat raises an eyebrow - but it’s playful; she’s happy for them too, Amanda knows.

She can rest her head on Sonny’s chest these days, smile to herself as he presses a kiss into her hair; she can wind her arms across him freely. She’s always felt safe like this - been able to fall asleep knowing he’s right there with her - but now she can admit things she’s held back - now she can admit that she doesn’t just feel safe in his arms; it feels like coming home - whether it’s on a couch surrounded by their makeshift family, or it’s in their bed in the early hours of the morning, or his arm around her shoulder while the girls play on the swings - it’s somewhere she always wants to be.

[bestfrownsforever]

Heartache Arcade

Sorry for not having a proper cover again...hopefully these will do.

Also 1. my friend CLG is my co-editor now! Per's a master at finding grammar mistakes even I miss (ex. if you want the re-edited Dawn of a New Era then it's on Amino) so per'll be helping me from now on!

And 2. I'm hoping to keep a consistent schedule so expect a new Best Frowns Forever story every Tueaday! Starting with this story...

After having some brief fun as a Frown Lord, Puppycorn already hit a massive roadblock.

"Anyone else think this job doesn't make a whole lot of sense?" he asked while meeting with his co-workers around his bedroom table, "I mean yeah, it's fun to hurt people and stuff, but if we're so good at our jobs, then won't everyone be too scared to go outside anymore? Or maybe they'll leave the kingdom!? And if they do, should we want them to because it'd be bad if they did!? What should we DO!?!?"

Unikitty wrapped an arm around him from across the table. "Calm down, little bro," she assured him, "They're not going anywhere when the rest of the world sucks too."

"The solution's easy," Grandmaster Frown added, "Try luring them in with something fun and cutesy and make them almost want to suffer!"

"Oh come on," Hawkodile objected, "Something big pops up in the kingdom out of nowhere with us openly running it? They'll know it's a trap."

"Unless they're so desperate for a break that they'll take anything that looks happy and shiny," Dr. Fox suggested, "And Master Pain was the king of cringe before Frown's birthday."

"Hey!"

"I'm saying that as a compliment! You probably still like all that kiddie junk the citizens miss anyway, so why are you complaining about no ideas?"

Unikitty flew over to her brother. "I think she's trying to say that instead of using the things you like to try being cool, you can use them to actually prove your coolness as a Frown Lord!"

"Okay," Puppycorn considered, "But I already did accident-prone skateboards and roller skates...and that spiky ballpit."

"You mean I did them and you STOLE MY CREDIT!?" Dr. Fox reminded him before Brock pushed her away.

"Okay, someone needs a timeout...and if it helps, I've had the idea for a haunted arcade for a while now. But you're not wrong about the whole obvious trap thing, so from one gamer to another; how would you make it work?"

Puppycorn thought long and hard about the possibility until it hit him like his past self running into a brick wall.

"WAIT, I've been thinking into this job too hard! Grandmaster Frown did all this to be himself again, right? So maybe instead of haunted, the games can just be really hard to beat!?"

Everyone seemed interested except for the pouting Dr. Fox.

"But if they manage to win those games, wouldn't that be the best feeling ever?"

Puppycorn hummed until he lit up again like the lightbulb popping out of his head.

"They'll only get a few tickets and we'll make the prizes super expensive!!"

"Good enough."

Grandmaster Frown rose. "Then let's get to work, people! These games will need some Frown Lord-flare, and they sure aren't gonna make themselves!"

Puppycorn and Brock were the first to follow him to Dr. Fox's lab, dedicate many long days to porting the most difficult games they could find, and even more to making their own until after countless attempts at giving up, Puppycorn finally saw all his hard work pay off and open for business.

No one saw exactly when the new building appeared in the middle of town. It was just another rainy afternoon with nothing going on until people looked at their windows to see a massive, pale gray block of an exterior with a burgandy arching roof and neon colors everywhere from behind the windows. A tall sign next to it read "Heartache Arcade" with "& Casino" under it in smaller letters, both in some of the same bright neon colors.

Most closeby citizens came to the conclusion that their tyrants set it up, but some of them approached the arcade anyway, as if to say "How are they gonna break us this time?"

When they stepped in, they were greeted by giant rooms with arcade machines, gambling tables, and brighter lights everywhere, with a large prize counter and shelves for toys and other kinds of trinkets in one corner. They couldn't believe how everything seemed so...innocent.

They split up, each walking over to a different game or observing more of the retrospective dream around them, while Frown and Puppycorn spied on them from behind an "Employees Only" door.

"C'mon..." Puppycorn whispered, "Just play the games already!"

"Give 'em a bit more time," Grandmaster Frown replied, "They'll rip themselves in half before you know it."

Puppycorn turned to the nearest citizen, Theodore, stepping up to a slot machine, which hated having them there, but the others convinced him that gambling would make things all the more entertaining to watch.

"Supreme Slots, huh?" Theodore wondered before shrugging, "Well, guess it's worth a shot."

Puppycorn wasn't too surprised when Theodore bet the little money he had and won on his first try, only to get too cocky and lose it all too fast. Grandmaster Frown had a good laugh while Puppycorn looked the other way to spot Bim-Bom wrapping a hand around the joystick for the game he was most proud of; Furious Fetch.

Bim-Bom seemed happy at first, but just when Puppycorn worried even more, she got a a little confused as to what she was playing. Did she get to the lava pits yet?, he thought, Or the bugs? She's gotta know how hard running and jumping is by now though, right?

Then he heard the Game Over music.

"What!? There's no more lives!?"

Finally, a good reaction. Puppycorn was already holding back laughs and wagging his tail watching Bim-Bom pull out another token to play again. And then another. And another until she almost reached the end of the first level.

"WAIT, jumping on them doesn't kill them either!? What gives!?"

"That's the point!" Puppycorn snickered. She clearly wanted to give up but pulled out another out coin anyway. Maybe even keep going until she didn't have any left. But as if his silent prayers were answered, Bim-Bom slipped the token into the slot and lost almost as soon as the level started that time. Screaming, she stormed off to try something else as Puppycorn lost it.

"Cut it out!" Grandmaster Frown ordered, covering a hand over Puppycorn's mouth, "The evil laughing can wait, just don't blow this for us."

Puppycorn nodded, prompting his boss let go. They continued to look around, realizing more and more citizens were getting frustrated over what they were playing. And switching to other games or slots didn't help, it only strengthened the chorus of the most mixed reactions they'd ever heard in their lives.

"These games SUCK!"

"This was all the money I haaaaaaad!!"

"I can do this, I just need ONE more coin...anyone got some?"

"At least this isn't the other stuff we've had to put up with, calm down guys!"

"Are you nuts!? This is WAY WORSE!"

Puppycorn was too proud of himself to keep the door open. He shut it to chant and dance without a care until Grandmaster Frown laid a hand where his shoulder would be.

"Huh?"

"Not bad, Pain. Consider this your first

independent accomplishment."

"Really!? Aweso-"

They jumped at the sound of a sudden crash from the back room.

"Yeah," Frown ordered, "now take care of this place before the ragequitters can."

Puppycorn proudly nodded and saluted. "I'll do my best, boss sir!"

[genesisrose74]

um hello 😳 I would like to request a fic 🥴 uhM could I get a (general, platonic lol) fukurodani with a shy third year manager? with like a subtle bokuto x manger 😳 ? oh and one day, the manager builds up the courage to give them a very quiet but motivational speech ? (bonus poiNts if they’re like,,, “protective” over them ahaha 🥴) anyways uh,, ty ty ! 😳 - @your-local-bnha-writer // bean ! ☺️

Okay first off thank you for being my first ever ask and second I ADORE THAT! Here you are darling, hope I did something to your liking!

The school halls of Fukurodani Academy bustles with activity, students hurrying to start their weekend after leaving the campus grounds. Well, all but yourself. You were zipping up your backpack and preparing to make a beeline towards one of your favorite places on campus. As the manager of Fukurodani’s volleyball team, you always made it a rule to be standing in the practice gym on time, note taking clipboard in hand and first aid kit slotted neatly between the legs of your chair. God knows you needed one (or three) on hand. Today, you were running a bit behind after being chosen to clean up the room, so you felt ready to hightail it across school.

However, you were stopped in the doorway of your now empty classroom, effectively halting your movements to get to team practice. You recognized the figure in front of you as one of your fellow third year students from the class down the hall - quite a popular soccer player if you were remembering correctly - but you internally panicked when you couldn’t put a name to the face.

“Hey, you’re the one who scored super high on the midterms a while back, right?” He asks, and you nod, feeling a little impatient but too timid to excuse yourself.

He didn’t seem to notice your antsy behavior, however, a grin widening on his face as he leaned closer to you in eagerness. Your lungs squeeze in your chest with his proximity.

“That’s super awesome! Do you think that, maybe you could tutor me sometime?”

Social interaction was something you were not very skilled at. While many people had asked you before for after school help and such, it was usually over text or around your friends, where you felt a bit more comfortable. Usually they would understand and politely go on their way. Yet now, you were having trouble conversing with this guy, let alone tutoring him, and there was no one else you knew in sight to help explain as you only became more fidgety.

“Well, I’m really sorry,” you clasp your hands in front of you, looking down as you fiddle with your fingers, “but I don’t think I can tutor anyone currently.”

The boy tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing. “But I thought you tutored Bokuto. Why not me?”

Your eyes widen. Now it looks like you’re just turning this guy down because you don’t like him, doesn’t it? “Oh, Bokuto is…” how do I explain?

Not many people knew that you were the manager of Fukurodani’s volleyball team. Such a lively sport and an even rowdier team didn’t seem like a very fitting place for someone as reserved as yourself. If they did know that, they might be able to see the large chunk of time it took up in your schedule, not leaving much room for everything else. Bokuto was an exception for tutoring, because you would help him out in the club room after practice, but that was really all you had time for.

Maybe if you could explain that, this boy might understand. Yet he was so close to your personal space, it was making it more difficult to speak than usual.

How long have you both been standing here? You’re already late for practice at this point.

“Did I do something that made you upset? Or are you just interested in Bokuto or something?” the third year presses.

Your body jolts at his inquiries, voice a bit higher pitched than before when you answer. “N-no! It’s not like that!”

“Then what’s the issue?” he leans forward even more, and now you can’t tell if he’s intentionally trying to be nosy or if he’s just being inquisitive. It doesn’t matter to you as you keep stumbling over your words.

“She’s our manager, that’s the issue,” a voice speaks up behind the unnamed boy, and your shoulders loosen up when you recognize the new presence to be Akaashi. There’s another figure beside him, his trademark hairstyle easily identifiable, and he only makes you feel more at ease.

Bokuto is next to you in a moment, already in his practice gear. You look up at him with confusion written on your features, eyes conveying a silent question of why are you here?

“You’re never late,” he explains with an easy grin. “So we wanted to check up on you.”

His hand is on your arm as Bokuto gently guides you over to the open hall, watching as Akaashi explains your occupation as their manager to the third year from earlier. As impassive as the setter is while he speaks, the male he’s talking to does not look very secure under the hardened stare of the Fukurodani captain beside you.

Before you can properly register or wave it off, the boy apologizes profusely to you before scurrying out of the building as quick as he can. Akaashi turns to you with a soft smile, although the rest of his posture expresses concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” you confirm. “I don’t think he was trying to be pushy on purpose.”

“Still,” Bokuto speaks up, unusually serious, “he shouldn’t have kept getting that close to you. It was clearly making you uncomfortable.”

His mood suddenly shifts when he looks into your eyes, voice energized and inviting as he juts his thumb over his shoulder in the now less-crowded hall. “Want to get to practice now?”

A nod is all the setter and spiker duo need to string you along on their trek back to the gym. Akaashi is relatively quiet, sometimes throwing his two cents in but mostly letting Bokuto take the lead on conversation. The second year offers you a stick of Pocky that you gladly accept, laughing gently about something Bokuto said in his class that afternoon. When you all reach the entrance of the gym, there’s no longer tension in your body, and your heart warms when you spot the entire team waiting for you to arrive.

Komi, who’s in your classroom, greets you with a somewhat guilty expression when you enter. “I didn’t realize you got stuck with clean up or I would have stayed behind to help.”

You shake your head at the sentiment. “It’s alright, you would have been cutting it close getting here.”

The rest of the boys wave at you, sharing their concern for your whereabouts when you weren’t in the gym on time. You can’t help but shy away a bit from the attention, but a smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you help set up with the knowledge that your team truly cared for you.

While you’d only known some players on the team for less than a year now, it already felt like they were part of the close friends you had accumulated over your last three years in the volleyball club. As much as it seemed out of character for you to be open to such an unruly team and their sport, it was one of the places that you felt the most comfortable. Leaving the job behind you when the time came later in the year was something you hated dwelling on, as you knew it would be one of the hardest things to let go of.

Konoha hitting that line shot just right, Washio and Onaga high fiving after stuffing a block, Komi spitting out his water in laughter when Saru completely botched his jump serve. Things so trivial, but the moments that you’d remember for a long time coming.

Of course, you’d stay in touch with your team, especially the third years with which you’d spent so many memories. But you wanted to give them something to remember you by, something to convey how special your three years with them had been. It was difficult, though, seeing as you were more soft spoken than others. It felt like a hindrance on how much appreciation you could show your team, even more so when there were so many kind and outgoing members who could brighten your day in an instant. You could barely even muster up the courage to speak to the whole team at once, despite the progress you had made with being more sociable during your time in the club.

So what could you do?

“Someone looks happier,” Bokuto notes, snapping you out of your thoughts. He takes a seat on a folding chair beside you, drinking his water while giving you the side eye.

You hum in agreement with his observation, and the captain sports another one of his easy smiles, although his eyes seem more affectionate this time around. “I’m glad.”

Your cheeks turn rosy whenever he looks at you like that, and you’re hoping he just thinks it’s a product of your shyness, regardless of the fact that you feel the most confident and outgoing whenever said third year is around. Fortunately for you, he doesn’t seem to notice it, instead standing to rummage through his bag behind the set of chairs.

A large piece of fabric is placed around your shoulders, which you notice to be Bokuto’s team jacket as it covers you. You push your arms through the jacket sleeves, much too over-sized for your figure, but you’re very much content as it instantly warms you up.

“You always forget yours,” he chides, although his sweet smile betrays his scolding tone. “I’m starting to think you like mine better.”

“Mine’s in my locker, which I never go past cause I’m always rushing here,” you mumble, looking away from him in embarrassment.

It had become a very usual habit of yours to take the captain’s jacket during practices, and it was even more common in the past year as you’d grown even closer to him. It was just so comfy and big on you, not to mention it smelled like him.

Hahahaha what-

Bokuto falters for a moment when you glance back up at him, sweater paws adjusting the clothing to look less awkward on your sitting form. He feels his heart skip a beat when you give him an appreciative half-smile. “Thanks.”

The ace clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck, becoming the shyer one in that moment as his gaze falls on anything but you. “Yeah, no problem.”

While the Fukurodani captain returns to his place on the court for an end of practice scrimmage, you take the time to look around the group of players you’d come to know and love so much. The final regular season tournament was closing in quicker than you hoped, and then it might very well be time to say goodbye. Still, you felt only a content warmth as you watched your team - from the jacket around your shoulders or from something else, you weren’t sure - as you came to a decision.

You were going to give the best damn pep talk that your boys have ever heard.

For the remainder of practice you sat in that same folding chair, clipboard in hand and first aid kit between your feet, and you scribbled the hell out of your notes. Every draft would start off strong, and you felt good about the direction of what you wanted to say, but then you hadn’t the slightest clue of how to convey your next message in the following sentence. Nothing flowed correctly or seemed good enough, so you scratched out your words and started again. That cycle continues for what seems like forever, and before you know it, the sounds of team encouragement and sneakers squeaking on the floor no longer fill your ears.

You jump a bit after registering the team calling you over for a quick huddle, scurrying beside Coach Yamiji as you freak out over the fact that practice is already over.

Shit, shit, shit. Not enough time.

Coach discusses the upcoming tournament with everyone, but you’re falling in and out of focus, frantically tapping a pen on the clipboard in your grasp. There was practically nothing you could use on it’s pages, everything either scratched out or just not even completed. The concrete resolve you had built up beforehand felt as if it were falling away like eroding sand while insecurity bubbled up inside. If it weren’t for the intense focus the boys were putting into today’s post-practice talk, a few might have noticed your fidgety demeanor, but the meeting felt much too quick until it was already time for the last cheer.

Did the moment really pass away?

Worry on what to say fell away into disappointment as each team member joined their hands in. Maybe you should just leave it be.

But your own, jacket-covered hands hesitated to meet in the middle, instead reaching out to the side and grabbing at an unassuming Akaashi.

No. That’s the only thing that crossed your mind once the doubts passed through. You tug at the setter’s practice shirt a bit, the second year looking over to you with curiosity. Bokuto also looks your way, and the rest of the team follows suit when they realize their captain-vice captain duo have their attention captured. Hands drop from the middle of the circle as you make no move to include yours.

“You alright?” Akaashi asks, face impassive except for his worried eyes.

You nod, taking in a breath as you scan the group of inquisitive boys. “I’m fine. I just - c-could I say something?”

Your voice barely raises above a murmur when addressing the team, but the widened eyes of each member indicates that everyone heard you. The shake out of their surprise quickly, though, expressions encouraging of your request.

“Of course you can, y/n!” Bokuto animatedly supports with a huge grin. “Go ahead, team manager!”

A smile of your own tugs at your lips, the captain’s boisterous attitude easing your nervousness. You hug the scribbled upon clipboard to your chest as you start, knowing for a fact that your words wouldn’t be written anywhere on there.

“I just wanted to say…” your voice is soft but sure as you begin, “I wanted to let you know, how much you all inspire me. It’s kind of scary thinking that this next tournament might be my last one with you, but I’m really confident that you will give it your all - and probably even more - to make sure we keep our time together going.

“Our school banner says to put your heart and soul into each ball, which I think you’ve always done, so that’s all you can ask of yourselves. Be proud, and show off, and maybe we can show the whole country this team that I’m so happy to be a part of. I-I don’t care what happens, but just promise me...that you’ll give it your best?”

Every person in the gym is silent as they listen to you, eyes ironically owlish while you give the first major pep talk of your three year managerial career. If you looked closer, you would have noticed the glassiness of their stares that hinted at oncoming waterworks, some of the boys biting the insides of their cheeks to keep themselves together. You can’t tell if the dead quiet is due to your awkward speech or not, so you attempt to wrap things up.

“Uhm, I’m being pretty cliche right now, so I’ll stop here...” your voice drops off, but it’s hardly noticeable to the guys at this point. The distinct sounds of sniffling reaches your ears, and it’s then when you realize that nearly the entire group appears emotional.

Komi, being one of the more outspoken players on the team, is the first one to truly pipe up, voice uncharacteristically cracking when he asks, “Is it alright to hug?”

Your cheeks grow warm with the question, your own eyes welling up as you choke out a small laugh. “Yeah, go on ahead if you want.”

The entire team engulfs you in a big, emotional, quite sweaty sandwich of a group hug, but you don’t mind the perspiration or the proximity at the moment. The third years were quickest to embrace you, their tears staining Bokuto’s jacket that you still wore - the ace’s own most definitely among them.

“That was so beautiful!” said captain wails, a blubbering mess as he hugs your waist tightly. A number of the boys share a similar emotional state, Sarukui, Anahori, and Komi spouting ‘we love you, manager!’ like it’s the only words they can remember. Akaashi gives you a light squeeze around the shoulders, while simultaneously trying to calm down the bawling squad around him. Even Washio, ever the silent one, has a gentle hand on your back in the mess of an embrace. “Thank you,” is all he says, but the phrase is more than enough to warm your heart further.

When everyone manages to peel away from the group hug eventually, wiping at teary eyes and runny noses, Bokuto takes the reins. He’s got one arm slung across your shoulders, the other one curling his hand into a fist.

“Alright team, let’s give it our best!!” the captain declares, his watery smile paired with the boys’ shaky resounding cry spurring a laugh from your throat.

Overall, a pretty great first pep talk with a pretty darn great team. If you were lucky enough, maybe there might be a few more in your future, but if not, you felt perfectly content with your time spent. From the reaction you got, your boys seemed to agree.

[gingyboo]

Mirror Mirror

A/N: Again many thanks to @booglebug

Description- Soulmates existed. People knew that much. Soulmates were rare, a handful in each generation, an unexplainable phenomenon that formed a bond closer than blood and more sacred than marriage.

Bucky finds his soulmate when he needs her most. Little does he know how much she needs him too.

(Soulmate au that slots pretty much in to the MCU but with soulmates. Set after TFATWS.)

Pairing- Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings- Mentions of violence and guns, but its mostly fluff, drama and angst.

This is a multi chaptered fic.

Please like, comment, reblog!

prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

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Chapter 5

Sam woke them up the next morning dropping into one of the armchairs with a loud sigh.

‘’Well, isn’t this cosy,’’ he announced, Bucky shot up with a start, but Nancy rose much slower pushing her hair out of her face.

‘’Anything from Torres?’’ Bucky asked noticing Sam was fully kitted out in his suit again.

‘’They’re holding him at an army base off the m20, they’ve approved us leaving from there. So, there’s a high chance they haven’t just let you go, so getting out of London might be difficult.’’

‘’Right so let’s take stock,’’ Nancy said now seemingly alert.

‘’Metal arm, I’ve got the shield and the wings, what can you bring to the table?’’ Nancy sighed racking her brain.

‘’I’ve got a degree in English literature.’’ She answered with a hopeful smile, Bucky snorted.

‘’Okay well we’ve got that too.’’ Nancy left them discussing a plan to go and get packed. She entered her room, pink and white candy-striped wallpaper adorned the walls, the large mirror opposite her showed herself. She stood up tall shaking her head. This was crazy, and yet it was something she’d been trained for. She grabbed a hold-all and made her way through to her walk-in wardrobe. She picked things out for practicality, jeans, a jumper, some shorts and vest tops, Wakanda’s climate being quite different to the mild spring in London. She looked over at her vanity, her grandmothers necklace still laid out from the night before. She slipped it into a jewellery case with some other select items. She wrote a quick note for her housekeeper, Samara, who was due later that day,

‘I’ll be away a few days, don’t worry, I’ll explain when I see you x’

She finished packing her bag and made her way back down the stairs, she could trust Samara to look after her home, but she still hated to leave it. She walked into the drawing room Bucky and Sam were both stood waiting for her. She smiled reassuringly at Bucky who winked at her as she came to his side drawing his hand into hers.

“We were thinking how to get to the airfield, I don’t feel like calling a cab, it could too easily be hijacked.” Sam started Nancy opened her mouth with a suggestion, but Sam cut her off, “Before you suggest it we aren’t taking the ‘tube’ either.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest that, the underground doesn’t go out that far.” Nancy smirked with raised eyebrows. “Actually, I was going to suggest we take my car.”

“You have a car, you didn’t think of mentioning it sooner?” Sam said rolling his eyes.

“Alright so we’ll take the car.” Bucky said smiling at her.

“Well actually, we’ll take the car,” she indicated to herself and Bucky, “it’s a two-seater.”

“Great I’ll fly above, make sure no one’s on your tail.” Sam sighed, Bucky’s smile grew wider. Bucky thought he heard Sam mutter about what kind of car only had 2 seats, this made him chuckle.

They made their way to the back of the house where a door led to the garage. Nancy left Samara’s note on the kitchen counter where they’d find it. Sam looked disapprovingly but Nancy insisted they can be trusted. Her car sat covered in the garage she carefully drew back the cover and Sam let out a low whistle. Nancy smiled stroking the blue chrome finish.

“Isn’t she a beauty,” she mused fondly.

“It’s a nice car.” Bucky nodded attempting enthusiasm.

“You even know what kind of car this is Buckaroo?” Sam asked a look of offence on his face. Bucky exhaled loudly,

“Yes, its, um, a two-seater.” Nancy busied herself filling the boot and left Sam to explain.

“It’s a Mas-er-ra-ti.” Sam said sounding out each syllable, “It’s not just a car.” Bucky nodded in response and made his way round to the driver side door.

“Oh no you don’t James Barnes. My car, my rules, I drive.” She dashed over, blocking his entrance to the car.

“Sweetheart- “

“No no no don’t sweetheart me, have you ever even driven a car in this country, this century at least?” Bucky held up his palms in surrender and made his way to the passenger side. Sam clapped his partner on the shoulder as he strode past, lowering his goggles.

“Shouldn’t be too hard to follow you, she’s not exactly subtle.” Indicating to the sports car.

“No, but she is fast, hope you can keep up.” Nancy grinned wickedly.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Getting out of London was simple enough, Nancy was comfortable enough on its busy congested roads. Driving with Bucky was a very different experience, he looked around constantly, watching every car that joined the road, looking out for anything close to suspicious. Nancy was calmer, driving was simple to her and when they hit the motorway she pushed the car into 6th gear.

“So, should we talk about how you’re about to meet my dad?” Nancy said brightly turning briefly towards Bucky.

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” This was true, with his whole priority getting her safely to Wakanda he hadn’t for a moment thought of the ambassador and what he might say or do to him should he find out. Nancy had been gracious in accepting him just as he was, past and all, somehow he thought no father would want their daughter to be bound by the fates to a 100-year-old ex-assassin. In fact, he was surprised every day how Nancy had managed to take it in her stride. It was simple to her, he wasn’t that man anymore, the winter solider wasn’t her soulmate, Bucky Barnes was. He found himself staring at her again, where others found it unnerving, Nancy never mentioned it, she caught him and smiled taking one hand off the wheel to squeeze his, holding it tightly for a moment.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll handle him, and he’ll understand, he’ll have to.” She kept her eyes on the road, she hadn’t a clue what her dad would say.

“Will he?” Bucky said quietly.

“I’m not letting you go.” She responded firmly.

Bucky felt a warmth wash over him, like sinking into a hot bath.

He then heard Sam’s voice in his ear,

‘’Two SUVs just joined at the last junction, they’ve been on your tail for the past couple of miles, could be nothing I’m gonna send redwing down, get a lay of the land.” Bucky relayed the information on to Nancy whilst looking out the back window, Nancy saw the two silver cars in her rear-view mirror. She saw a lorry in the left had lane behind her, she quickly darted out in front of it, the two SUVs carried on the lorry blocking them access to the middle lane. They overtook, one pulling in ahead of her. The other attempting to remain level, a BMW frantically flashing its headlight behind it.

“Sit back!” Bucky had his gun drawn pointing it at the driver’s side window, aiming at the second SUV.

“Don’t you dare hurt my car!” She shouted eyes darting left again before flying into the inside lane and up the slip road beyond. The two SUVs had no time to react and were pushed onwards in the throng of traffic.

“Please warn me before you do that.” Bucky said, shaking slightly from surprise. He looked around confused. “Where are we?”

“Not far off now, this is a couple of junctions too early, we’ll have to take the back roads, but that might actually be easier, now we know they’re following.”

“How are you so calm about this?” Bucky said, concerned at her blasé attitude.

“Compartmentalisation. My parent’s divorce, Kit’s death, the blip and now this. I just have to focus on one thing at a time.” She said taking a turn off the roundabout, this led them down a side road. Bucky explained the new plan to Sam who then, reluctantly, gave up following the two SUVs. “I’ve been seeing a therapist since I was 10, she says I do it too much, pack everything into boxes and leave them up there.” She tapped her temple, “I don’t even notice I’m doing it anymore.” Bucky watched her, a question burning on his tongue, what happened when you were ten, he didn’t ask it, another time he thought. It was as if she read his mind though,

“It’s nothing close to what you’ve been through of course, I mean I should be asking how you’re so calm.” She laughed almost half-heartedly.

“You think this is calm? I had a good therapist, and then there’s you, you help a lot.”

“I do?” Nancy said noticeably touched.

“Like my very own guardian angel.” He winked at her.

“Bucky...” Nancy started no clue where her sentence was going. Her skin lit up with goose bumps under his gaze. She felt tears prick at her eyes.

“It’s okay, we’re in this together now.” He curled a stray strand of hair between his fingers. The sunlight streaming through the wind screen lit up the copper tones turning her hair into a mane of shining metallic.

“I want to know who these people are Bucky, I want to stop them.” She said defiantly.

“I’ll stop them, I won’t stop until you’re safe. Katima said they wanted to ransom you for information and co-operation from your father.” Bucky explained.

“You spoke to Katima?” She sounded surprised.

“Yeah, she sent us to rescue you, I didn’t realise you knew anyone from Wakanda.” He said apologetically.

“She’s my dad’s girlfriend, that sounds so weird, she’s his partner, she’s lovely.”

“She did seem worried about you.” Bucky said.

“Dads’ going to be frantic.” She sighed.

“Maybe we should leave telling him about us for a while?” He suggested dryly, this made Nancy smile.

“Don’t chicken out on me Barnes.” She smirked, “He’ll only be more annoyed the longer we leave it.”

“That does not fill me with confidence.” He laughed lightly. They drove quietly down the twisting road. As they neared the airfield Sam dove down flying alongside their car. The gates granted them access on the first sight of Sam, they made their way up to where Torres was sat on the steps waving to them. Nancy tossed her keys to the nearest member of ground crew.

“Please look after her, I expect her back in one piece.” The man looked as though all his Christmases had come at once, his mouth gaping at the Maserati. Bucky took Nancy hand as they walked towards the jet. Sam was already aboard, hanging out the military jet.

Before they could reach the stairs a loud gun shot fired behind them. Bucky instinctively spun round pushing Nancy behind him, a man stood all in black, skin milky white, he could have been 30 or fifty, a cloud of dark hair surrounded his head.

“Give me the girl!” He shouted, voice clear and calm.

“Not a chance!” Bucky called back, his own gun drawn “get to Sam now,” he hissed behind to Nancy, she didn’t move a muscle.

“Nancy, come with me.” The man continued. Nancy stood defiantly, feet routed to the spot.

“Go now,” Bucky said louder this time. More mean appeared now, each wearing the same masks as the men from the night before. They appeared from the same silver SUVs as they’d encountered on the motorway. The men held up arms against the military personnel of the airfield.

“Christopher is alive!” The man shouted. Nancy’s composure broke.

“Liar!” She came out from behind Bucky and stared the man down. Bucky reached out catching her arm in his metal one.

“I’ll take you to him.” The man continued.

“Nancy,” Bucky started, she looked over her shoulder and smiled. From above their heads Sam swooped down, the intruders so focussed on Nancy they hadn’t been watching Sam. He gripped the black hair man by the shoulders and shot straight up in the air. His men followed them with their eyes. The brief distraction allowed the soldiers to overpower the masked men. Nancy ran up the stairs, Bucky helped her up into the jet, Torres was already initiating take off. Bucky brought her over to the bench, strapping her in securely. He knelt in front of her. Her head hung to her chest.

“Nancy, I’m so sorry,” he muttered, cupping her face in his flesh hand.

“It’s not your fault, that bloody bastard!” She shouted, Bucky saw Torres jolt at her outburst from the cockpit.

“Any chance he was telling the truth?” Bucky asked quietly, Nancy shook her head.

“Kits’ dead, he’s not coming back.” She ran her hands over her scraped back hair. Bucky raised himself onto the seat next to her.

“You should have gone when I told you to.” He Sid quietly taking her hand and running his thumb over her knuckles.

“I wasn’t going to leave you there. All alone.” Shook his head smiling, gently drawing her hand to his face and kissing her fingers. Nancy freed her hand from his grasp and cupped his cheek. “I’m not going to leave your side.” She whispered. He lowered his forehead to hers, closing his eyes.

Sam entered the jet with a bang as he landed on the metal floor. The couple jumped apart quickly.

“I’m sorry, were you two having a moment?” He jested, raising his eyebrows at the pair. He closed the jet’s side door and they all felt Torres increase the planes’ altitude.

[yaimlight]

For The Sake Of Writing

A/N: I am struggling with this, with writing in general right now. Can’t find the drive, the desire to do so and I have tried, many a time but nothing comes out, the page stays blank. So I put it all away and decided to write something else, something completely different and unrelated to anything else but even this has been difficult, like pulling teeth to get the words on the page. I have no idea what this but I feel at least a little accomplished that I managed to get it out. I didn’t know what to do with it once finished but I thought I would share it with you guys. It’s not part of a fandom or anything, it’s just me and whatever came out and though I may not be 100% with it I still hope that maybe you will enjoy it.

Love is not the morel of the story. It is not a fix all or a balm to sooth deep wounds and it is definitely not an excuse for any wrongs done. It doesn’t ride in on a white horse and save the day, making everything perfect and happy and all sunshine and rainbows. It doesn’t make a bad person suddenly good and nor does it render all wrong doing excusable.

Love is the biggest lie the world was ever sold. All it ever brings is pain and suffering and people welcome it with open arms and eager smiles.

Idiots the lot of them.

Though you supposed you shouldn’t knock it, people’s misplaced desire for love was what kept you in a job. Well, sort of. You were what came after, when hearts were broken, people’s pried bruised and their reputations damaged. Funny how that was normally the one that hurt the most. People claimed that love was everything yet it was their reputation and wealth they cared more about. When push comes to shove they always picked the material things in life, dressing it up as something other than greed, like that made their actions better, excusable.

Sighing you focused your attention back on the room across the street. The blinds were wide open, the two people as clear as day as you adjusted the scope. You would think they would be a little better at hiding this kind of shit, considering the illicitness of it all but their idocity made your job easier. They looked so happy, the women smiling as she pulled the mans shirt off him, the two of them making quick work of stripping the other down to their underwear and trading passionate kisses and teasing touches.

Objectively the man was attractive with broad shoulders and rippling muscles, his skin perfectly smooth and tanned. It was clear to see he took care of himself, hours spent at the gym as well as in front of the mirror. You knew the type an you would bet money on him being a narcissist, more concerned with himself than the people he was pissing off along the way. He was young though, to caught up in the fact he had caught the eye of someone hot and rich. To young to think about the consequences of his actions. He was probably so fucking smug, landing a women at least a decade older than him that still looked like a model and had enough money not to even notice when hundreds of dollars started to disappear from her account, squirrelled away for a rainy day. Her husband on the other hand had noticed almost straight away and it hadn’t taken long to find out where it was going.

The women fell back on to the bed, the man crawling after her until he hovered over her. You could see the two of them smiling at each other, staring into each other’s eyes like they could see the whole universe there. He leant down, pressing his body against hers as they went back to kissing. Her hands sunk into his black hair, her wedding ring glinting in the light.

You readjusted your aim, lining up the shot as you focused on her ring finger. You breathed in, your finger pressing down and you breath out.

The glass cracked, her eyes going wide as the man slumped lifeless on top of her. A second passed, a beat of a heart. Just a moment where she lead there blood splattered and missing a finger, not understanding what had happened before everything settled and she started to scream. Frantically she shoved the dead body off of her before falling to the floor and scrambled away to a corner, screaming the whole time.

Huffing out in amusement you stepped away from the window and dropped down onto you knees next to your bag. You made quick work of taking your gun apart, placing every bit back into the correct slot without really having to look. Clipping the case shut you slung it over your shoulder, rising to your feet and heading towards the door without a backwards glance. The job was done, there was nothing left for you here now.

You took the stairs, slipping on your sunglasses and cap before shoving your gloved hands into you pockets. It was still sunny enough you could get away with it though dusk was starting to settle in but you would be far enough away by the time your attire started to become suspicious. For now you would blend in with the crowd, be able to slip away unnoticed and unremarkable amongst the other occupants of the building coming and going.

You took the train, skipping the nearest subway station and heading to the next one along, going in the completely wrong direction and changing lines twice, paying in cash and keeping your head down. You lost the glasses after half an hour, the hat an hour latter when you finally got on the right line and sank into one of the ratty sets with a sigh, your gun case safely between you legs. You didn’t worry about closing your eyes and tilting your head back, counting stops in your head and knowing that if someone tried anything you had a switch blade in your jacket pocket with their name on it. You must just give off that air of danger though because no one comes near you, not even taking the empty seats on either side of you but that was fine. It’s how you liked it.

It was dark when you finally got off the subway, hands still shoved into your pockets as you kept your head down and navigated the still busy streets. It didn’t take long for your destination to come into view, the glitzy looking hotel standing out amongst the boring and monochrome buildings next to it. You slipped round the back, smiling and exchanging greetings with the people you passed and slipped into character like you did every other night you came to your other job.

The building was alive, the hustle and bustle of activity having you weaving around people as you made your way through the busy corridors until you could slip into the locker room. It was just as busy in there, people getting ready for their shifts and seemingly being as loud as they possibly could. You let the sound was over you, blocking it out until it was almost like static in the background and focusing instead on the steady beat of your heart as you headed towards the back corner of the room. You stuffed your case in your locker, the black box fitting perfectly inside before pulling out your change of clothes and hanging the garment bag up on the door. It wasn’t idea but it wasn’t the first time you had brought a weapon here and you doubted it would be your last. You did try not to mix jobs, mix lives but on days like this it was unavoidable, you just hadn’t had the time to go home first.

Toeing off your shoes, you quickly stripped down to your underwear, folding your clothes nicely and placing them on to the small shelf, your shoes just fitting at the bottom of the locker next to your case. “Cutting it close tonight Harland,” a teasing voice came from behind and you scoffed, not even bothering to look as you pulled on the white blouse, deft fingers making quick work of the buttons. “You know I like to live dangerously,” you smirked, finally glancing over your shoulder to look at the women leant against the row of lockers next to yours.

Rosie huffed, rolling her eyes at you but her smile still stayed in place on her to red lips. She looked pristine in her black pencil skirt and white blouse, the cut low enough to just show of a hint of cleavage but not enough to be overtly suggestive. Her auburn hair was pulled up into a bun, her emerald bright eyes rimmed in perfectly applied eyeliner and her pale skin looking like porcelain. She looked the picture perfect representation of professionalism, what with her head held high and oozing confidence. Shame it was just a front, the woman was addicted to amphetamines and a borderline alcoholic who was just teetering on the edge of a full blown breakdown but at least she was normally fun to be around.

Turning back to your task you quickly rolled your stockings on, having barely snapped them into place before you were pulling on your own black pencil skirt, slipping on your black kitten heels at the same time and tucking your blouse in. The two of you chatter away about pointless shit as you finish getting ready, platting your hair and doing your makeup whilst Rosie tells you about her boyfriend and how much of a dick he is being about her work hours. You hum along but don’t really comment on the state of her most likely doomed relationship. You’ve had that conversation before and it hadn’t gone well. Lucky for her you had been willing to stick around and take her to the hospital instead of letting he choke on her own vomit. You had thought about it though.

She doesn’t seem to either notice or care that you don’t really participate in the conversation and as you take the lift up to the lobby you contemplate telling her that her precious boyfriend was screwing around with her sister just to get her to shut up but the headache it would bring you outweighed the satisfaction you would get at seeing the shock and hurt on her face. It wasn’t that you wanted to hurt her you just couldn’t stand the constant insistence that she loved the scumbag and their relationship was perfect. It made you want to smack her head against the nearest hard surface until she finally understood how stupid she was or passed out. Whatever one came first.

The lift doors dinged as they opened, Rosie finally falling silent as you both slipped into your rolls. You were on the clock now and it wouldn’t do to be caught gossiping about personal matters by the famous and affluent that frequented the hotel. No instead the two of you would smile and listen, taking in every little detail. You did it because information helped in your other line of work and you had even got wind of a contact or two from guests who didn’t seem to know the meaning of a private conversation. Rosie did it just for the gossip.

It didn’t take long to change over shifts, the list of requests and awaiting check ins surprisingly small. It meant a slow and easy night, only really having to deal with any calls that came from the demanding guests up above and that was fine. It was why you worked the night shifts anyway. You hardly had to interact with people face on and the mindless and repetitive activities brought you a kind of peace that you didn’t really get anywhere else. It‘s why you had stayed, originally getting the job to do recon on the rooms for a job but long after the women had been found dead and the body moved you found yourself reluctant to move on. So you hadn’t. You had an understanding with the owner anyway, having deposed of his abusive farther or him. As long as you didn’t kill anyone else in his hotel he didn’t care what you did and that suited you just fine.

As midnight crept closer a calm fell over the hotel. Most of the guests were sleeping now and those that weren’t were either still at the rooftop bar or would be out partying till the early hours. There had been no calls for the last hour, no idiots stumbling into the lobby and being loud and rude drunks that you wished you could stab in the face when they broke your serenity. Rosie had abandoned you as well, allegedly in search of coffee but you highly doubted that. Most likely she had slipped off to go make eyes at one of the bartenders in the lounge and score a shot of something. The point was that you were blissfully alone, with nothing but silence and admin to keep you company and it was perfect.

It didn’t last long.

The sound of the city beyond flooded the lobby as the doors were open, the warm night air spilling in and interfering with the air conditioning. As quickly as it had all come though it was gone, instead replaced by the steady thump of shoes hitting the tiled floor. Lamenting the loss of your solitude you kept you eyes on your screen, finishing up your notes on room 308 and the new spattering of complaints about its occupants. You didn’t look up as the person got closer, didn’t even acknowledge them when they came to a stop in front of the desk, highly unprofessional but you were technically busy. Surprisingly though they stood there in silence, patiently awaiting you to finish what you were doing. Shocking considering most would be huffing by now or impatiently ringing the bell, even hurling abuse at you.

It was odd, unusual and you weren’t sure how to deal with it so as you submitted the form you plastered a smile on and started the expected greeting as you looked up. “Welcome to the Hotel Astoria. How can I help you...” the words died on your lips, your smile falling as dread filled you. No. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not ever. You had been having such a good day as well.

Your fingers twitched towards the letter opener as you stared straight ahead, trying to work out how best to get rid of the man before you without it being noticed. Eyes like the summer sky stared back at you, endless and bright and almost impossible to pull your attention from but you managed it, letting your eyes slowly drag across the rest of him.

He had gotten older, now in his early thirties instead of his twenties but he still looked just as good. He was tall, with broad shoulders and well defined arm muscles that were straining at the sleeves of his black shirt. His skin was golden, sun kissed and oh so very tempting. His jaw was sharp, a light covering of stubble that gave him a rugged handsomeness apposed to the boyish charm you had known. He still had the same ridiculous haircut though, his blonde hair parted to the side with one side longer than the other, his fringe hanging just over his right eye and looking soft despite the amount of product he had probably used. He looked good, annoyingly so considering the time of night but despite all that it was his smile that held your attention, his lips twisted in a cocky smirk that left you wanting to punch him in the face. God you hated him.

Huffing in laughter Johnathon leant forward, resting his arms on the counter and tipping his head to he side slightly. Your fingers tightened around the letter opener, body tensing as you got ready to attack. “I see I still leave you speechless,” he teased, smirk getting wider and sounding oh so smug. You blinked, his words jogging you out of your stupor and you narrowed your eyes at him, lifting your head up higher to look down your nose at him. “Hardly, I was just trying to decide on the best way to dispose of your body.” You let the letter opener go, instead crossing your arms over your chest and schooling your features, trying not to give away how much you were panicking. He was an idiot, not a threat, not in that way at least.

“You always say the sweetest things,” he winked, exuding confidence as he flipped his fringe out of his eye. You had liked that about him once but now it had your jaw clenching and your fingers twitching with the desire to grab a fistful of his hair and smash his face into the marble countertop. “If you think that’s sweet wait until I tell you about how I’m going to stuff your body in the trash compactor,” you said, voice sickeningly sweet and a smile on your lips.

The idiot actually laughed at that, the sound rich and deep and you didn’t even know you had missed that sound until heard it once more. Huffing you shoved that thought down, trying to drown it under the anger you were currently feeling. He shouldn’t be here, couldn’t be here and yet he stood before you without a care in the world, acting as if this was all some big joke when in reality it was so much worse. “As charming as always. Going to finish it all of with a kiss,” he waggled an eyebrow at you, smirk getting impossibly wider and something inside you snapped.

You moved quickly, one hand darting down to grab the letter opener as the other shot out to grab at the front of his shirt and yanked him forward. His hands slapped down on the counter, his eyes going wide as you leant forwards and pressed the edge of the blade against the delicate skin of his throat. “You have five seconds to explain to me what the hell you are doing here before I shove this through your carotid and watch you choke on your own blood,” you hissed, pressing the blade harder against his throat and watching the way it bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes had gotten darker, his lips parted slightly and breathing deeply, a slight flush to his cheeks. You knew that look and it had no reason to be present in this situation.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you hissed angrily, jerking away from him like he had burned you, dropping the letter opener on the counter with a clatter as you moved. He had the decency to look embarrassed if only slightly as he coughed nervously and stood up straighter, eyes darting around the room and rubbing at the back of his neck. He licked at his lips, your eyes tracking the movement before you even knew they were doing it. He let out a deep breath, “in my defence I didn’t know...” What ever he was going to say was cut off though as both of your attentions were pulled to the doors.

The doors opened once more, a warm breeze filling the space as a women stepped inside. She was stunningly beautiful, with long blonde hair and legs that seemed to go forever and a figure most women would be envious of. She looked like a model, like she had stepped right of the pages of some glossy magazine. “Fuck,” Johnathon mumbled and you tore you eyes away from the women working her way towards the desk to raise an eyebrow at him. He was finally starting to look worried but you didn’t think it was in regards to yourself.

“Sorry darling but you know how Cynthia is, I couldn’t just ignore her call,” she smiled, slipping up to Johnathon’s side and wrapping her arm through his before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips. Something twisted in your gut, dark and ugly as you watched them pull apart, the women beaming at Johnathon whilst he offered he a soft smile. You didn’t like it, whatever the feeling was you would have been quiet happy never to experience it again.

“So we good?” she asked, that ridiculously bright smile still on her lips. “Hum?” Johnathon hummed, looking at the other women in confusion and you had to fight the urge to snap out no, nothing was good. They needed to leave, he needed to leave. The two of you had had a deal and him being here was like throwing your kindness back in your face and spitting on it. The blonde tipped her head slightly towards you and he turned to you with a frown. You could practically see it when he realised what she had meant, his eyes widening and lips forming into a small ‘o’. “Oh, yeah, right,” he rushed out, laughing nervously as he turned to look at you.

You already knew what was coming, that heavy feeling of dread back again as you silently begged him not to do it. To say there was a mistake and take his arm candy and just leave before things got bad but you knew he wouldn’t, could see it in his eyes as his looked at you with genuine apology. “Johnathon Harland, checking in,” he mumbled, offering you a small smile and not for the first time this night you had to push down the urge to punch him.

Love was rotten, a twisted ugly thing and all it ever did was make every situation go from bad to worse. It made smart people make mistakes, act stupid and irresponsible when normally they were so calm and collected. Love ruined everything, made people weak, soft and once that set in you could never undo it. It set in like rot, leaving you crumbling into dust. In the end you were better off without it, were stronger for never knowing what it felt like to have that connection with another. It would save everyone a lot of pain, a lot of suffering and maybe the world would be better for it.

You really should have killed him when you were supposed to.

[blackbutterfliescal]

He Wanted Love, I Taste Of Blood

A Muke One Shot

Pairing: Michael Clifford x Luke Hemmings

Word count: 2.3K

Rating: E for Everyone

Content: college AU, major character death, light discussion of sexual situations (no actual smut), gore mention but nothing explicit/drawn out

A/N: I’m so excited to share my first ever collab event fic!! This kinda became it’s own monster and is pretty different from anything I’ve tried before. My prompt was “The legend said it only goes after virgins…so sucks for you I guess.” The title is from the song Love Like Winter by AFI, which has nothing to do with this fic but it’s a jam 😅 Big thank you to @spicycal ​ and @devilatmydoor ​ for encouraging me to stick to my guns while writing this. It’s a little shorter than I’d like but 🤷‍♀️

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———

The scratch of dead leaves skittering across the pavement in the twilight breeze is the only thing occupying Luke’s mind, causing his skin to crawl the same way that nails on a chalkboard do. With every scuff of his shoes along the hard ground, he traps another smattering of decaying foliage under his sole, leaving deep hues of carnage on the sidewalk in his wake.

A warm presence quickly spreading across the inside of his palm causes his head to stop its constant nervous swivel, snapping towards the sensation. Luke lets out a breath of laughter when realization dawns on him - it’s just Michael. “Are you even listening to me at all, Luke?” Michael’s tone holds a gentle tease as he slots his fingers between Luke’s and prods his side with an elbow. Luke timidly returns a smile but his eyes are still wild. He can’t stop thinking that Michael is much too calm as they look ahead to see the lights down the street flicker on; the resulting buzz loud enough to drown out leaves crunching under their feet.

The two of them had spent the better part of the chilly Saturday afternoon at the park down the street, holding warm cider in their sweater paw-clad hands and trading off bites of the various pumpkin treats they’d picked up from the bakery across the street. When Luke had transferred to the local college a little more than a month ago, he hadn’t known anyone. He’d intentionally chosen a school far from home, wanting a new start after spending his first year at a community college near home. Starting over without knowing anyone was stressful and he was thankful that Michael had so quickly introduced himself. Luke always felt terribly awkward trying to make new friends, especially since so many people met their friends through events like freshman orientation, which Luke missed out on. He’d met Michael through his roommate and he’d immediately taken Luke under his wing, appreciating that Luke could match his banter and weird sense of humor. They’d hung out a couple of times in the dorm commons where Luke lived, playing video games until the wee hours of the morning. But today, as the sun casts the vibrantly colored trees in deeper shades of yellow and orange, Michael is thankful it’s just the two of them. It means that there’s no worry of prying roommates and he feels free to pull Luke into him, planting a soft kiss on his lips under the sprawling oak tree. It’s warm and sweet - the lingering cider and confections still clinging to their lips. Luke’s expression leaves Michael panicked that he’s gotten everything mixed up yet again but it didn’t take Luke long to fall into Michael once more. And then again. And again. Until he feels like he’ll crash and burn without the taste of Michael on his lips.

Neither of them are sure how long they’ve spent hiding from the world under that oak tree before Michael volunteers to walk Luke home, but Luke is sure they’ve stayed too long to make it across campus to his dorm before dark. It’s getting more and more difficult to see Michael’s soft features when they pass through the dim spaces between worn out street lamps. As they take the turn to Luke’s block, Michael can feel Luke’s pace pick up - clearly wanting to be in the safety of his building. They pass a newspaper box and the print pressed against the plexiglass window catches Michael’s attention. “THREE ATTACKS IN THREE WEEKS” reads the bold letters atop the page. A slightly smaller line below calls out the newly-implemented dusk curfew due to little police progress in the investigations. Michael keeps quiet about the papers, not wanting to add to Luke’s frenzy, but the way Luke averts his eyes tells him that Luke is already well aware.

Michael had heard the wildest rumors - that there was some sort of inhuman monster to blame for the deaths or that it was occult related. And sure, he knew every New England town had its share of weird cryptid stories and weirdos, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it was anything other than a particularly bold black bear. He’s lived nearby his whole life and has never seen anything like the hysteria that was gripping the sleepy little town now. It makes sense to him that a newbie like Luke would be overly terrified though, especially as the days grew shorter with the approach of the harsh grey winter.

As they approach the loop in front of Luke’s dorm, Luke is practically dragging Michael behind him in a sprint. Any trace of daylight is completely gone from the sky and each passing second seems to increase Luke’s panic. They come to a sudden halt in front of the large glass doors that lead to the commons and Luke drops Michael’s hand, beginning to fumble for his keycard between ragged, panting breaths. Michael is doing all he can to not giggle at Luke’s frantic nature. Michael couldn’t be less worried about the dark; he knows there’s not a black bear in the world brazen enough to come up to them right now. Assuming it was a black bear causing all the trouble... It seems like an eternity that Michael watches Luke’s hands struggle to make the machine on the door read his card.

“Why does this stupid thing never work! I live here!!” The shadow suddenly casting over Luke’s clumsy hands is enveloped quickly by Michael’s frigid fingers. Michael’s hands feel firm around Luke’s and Luke lets him pull the flimsy plastic from him. Michael does his best to calm Luke as he runs the card through the machine slot a couple of times until the latch clicks open to grant them access. “See? We’re okay. Nothing to worry about.” Michael’s tone is gentle as Luke releases the air that’s been burning in his lungs. The nip in the air isn’t doing Luke any favors when it comes to catching his breath or the flushed tint on his face. And the kiss Michael places on the rosiest part of his cheek definitely isn’t helping either.

The offending keycard lands in Luke’s palm as Michael flashes a comforting smile. “Well, now that I’ve been a gentleman - walked you home and kissed you goodnight - I should get home too. Curfew and whatnot...” Michael sheepishly tucks his hands in his pockets, trying to keep them from freezing stiff, and turns away from Luke.

Without a second thought, Luke reaches out to wrap his spindly fingers around Michael’s wrist and doesn’t bother to hide worry on his face. “Maybe you should stay. Just to be safe, I mean. I don’t want you to walk across campus alone with god knows what out there.” Luke tosses a quick glance beyond the well-lit drop off loop, eyes wide. “Come on! I’m pretty sure that my roommate’s gone for the weekend, so there’s even an extra bed. And I’m sure I can find something of mine for you to sleep in.” The surprised look on Michael’s face brings back the panic in Luke’s chest as he spits out a quick “Only if you want!!” trying to play it off.

The smile that lifts Michael’s cheeks is amused while he assures Luke that he’s walked home in the dark plenty of times and lived to tell the tales. “Besides… even if it is a monster, the legend says it only goes after virgins…” The teasing on Michael’s face vanishes completely, watching Luke hug his arms around his own stomach and chew on his bottom lip. The concern on his face makes Michael reconsider - though he feels like there’s something else hiding behind Luke’s pleading gaze. Was Luke worried about still being a virgin? Or maybe he was worried because now he knew Michael wasn’t?

“Ohhh. Oh!! That’s why you’re so scared.” Michael turns back toward Luke and lets his hands rest on Luke’s too-broad shoulders, trying to use the most calming tone he could manage. “Listen, it’s just an urban legend. Some stupid frat guys probably made up to get their girlfriends to sleep with them!” Luke wasn’t expecting this turn of conversation after only three dates and he’s fallen quiet, hyperaware of the fact that the automatic lock on the door had clicked in place again and they still hadn’t made it inside yet. His steely blues meet Michael’s soft green eyes and the wind howls around them.

“Is that why you want me to stay over so soon, Luke? I mean…. I like you. I really do! But I don’t know about taking your virginity just because of some crazy rumor…” Luke lets out a small laugh and stares down at his feet. He unravels his arms from around his middle and holds out his hand for Michael. “No, you goon. I just really don’t want anything to happen to you. You’re the only friend I’ve got here!” Michael scoffs, feigning offense at Luke’s use of the word “friend”.

“Sucks to be you, I guess. You’re never gonna lose your virginity if you keep making out with guys and then calling them your friends,” Michael teases as he bumps Luke’s shoulder with his own. Luke rolls his eyes in response, earning him a fit of laughter as he scans his keycard again, managing entry on the first try, and pulls Michael through the main doors and down his hallway.

Once inside the warm air of Luke’s room, Michael sinks down onto Luke’s bed with an overexaggerated sigh, immediately making himself at home and watching as Luke roots through his dresser to find sweatpants for the pair of them. He eventually finds suitable options and makes his way across the room, offering Michael his pick of the outfits he’s gathered up. As Luke stretches out his hands to show Michael his choices, Michael grabs them both with a playful grin and tosses them onto the bed beside him. Luke begins to protest at his disregard but Michael reaches for Luke’s now-empty hands, ever so slowly pulling him forward until his knees knock against the bed. He holds Luke’s gaze as his hands move toward his hips, gently tugging him onto the bed so his long legs can fold over themselves on either side of Michael’s hips. Luke lets his lips part in anticipation as he settles onto Michael’s lap.

Michael’s hands have warmed from their previous state and Luke thinks they might burn right through him where they snake around his waist. Luke’s thawed fingertips land softly on each side of Michael’s full cheeks as he smiles up at him. The space between them is alive with electricity as they move closer before Luke finally leans down to close the gap. This kiss was different than the ones underneath the oak tree this afternoon, full of something Luke had never let himself experience before. It was soft and slow and filled with the kind of tenderness that only appears in timid new relationships.

Not wanting to rush into anything Luke might regret, Michael breaks the kiss and begins to speak while tracing feather-light touches up and down Luke’s back.

“‘S cute that you worried about me, you know? You’re sweet.” Luke smiles before pressing his puffy lips to Michael’s again briefly, leaving them behind to trail down the side of his neck, causing his reply to come out muffled.

“Not as sweet as you’ll be.” Michael hums inquisitively, assuming he misheard.

“I said, not as sweet as you. I can still taste…” Luke leans into Michael’s lips again. “Pumpkin...apples…and….” Michael smiles under the kiss this time. “Cinnamon!” Luke lingers over Michael’s mouth for a few beats, a hungry look in his eyes. “I’m glad you decided to stay tonight. Much better with you here.” Michael pulls Luke’s body flush against his, the mischief on his face matching Luke’s.

“You know, I still don’t think we should do it just so you won’t be a virgin anymore, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still have fun…” Michael bites the corner of his lip and pulls Luke down to him with much more purpose this time. A flurry of hands begin to tug at fabric and rush over heated skin. Luke nips down Michael’s neck again and he’s sure to leave bruises but that doesn’t seem to bother him.

“We don’t only go after virgins, just so you know,” he offers to Michael between shallow breaths. Unsure he heard correctly, Michael sits back to take in Luke’s face. “What? What does that mean? Who’s ‘we’?”

“Just that you shouldn’t believe everything that you hear,” Luke states very matter-of-fact with a glint of something indiscernable in his eyes. “Luke… I don’t - What? You’re scaring me. What are you talking about?” Michael’s sure that Luke’s messing with him, probably as payback for the virgin jokes earlier.

“Well. Virgins are sweeter - like getting to eat dessert for dinner. But the rumors are wrong. We don’t only go after virgins. That’s not really practical, is it?” As he speaks, Luke looks directly into Michael’s eyes and runs his thumb across Michael’s glossy lip before trailing over the marks already appearing on his neck.

The little bit of color that was flushed over Michael’s cheeks previously is gone and the horror that’s taken over his sweet face almost makes Luke second guess what comes next. Almost. And someday he’ll learn not to play with his food but he admits that it makes things so much more fun. Michael thickly swallows and squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe if he doesn’t open them, it won’t be real. Maybe he’ll wake up from a nap in the park under that old oak tree.

When his curiosity gets the better of him, he unscrews his eyelids to see Luke, still on his lap, with eyes that glow a deep amber. The sinister smile that stretches across Luke’s face reveals multiple rows of pointed teeth, which he uses to make quick work of Michael’s throat, desperate pleas and screams still trapped inside.

———

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[takeflight-hermitcraftau]

Chapter 3- The Storm

Warnings: Panic attacks, vomit, near death experience via drowning. 

A few days had passed, and Grian was plotting yet again. He was planning on going into Mumbo’s base, and building a little meeting room to propose his newest idea. He jumped down Mumbo’s water elevator, laughing to himself before getting stuck. He yelped, struggling out of the door before getting punched across the face by a slime block. Grian sputtered, looking at the machine that had knocked him to the ground.

“Really Mumbo? What is this? An anti-Grian Machine?” He laughed, before quickly going over to Mumbo. He poked the man, seeing him just sitting down on the ground, eyes closed and in a deep meditative state. He giggled mischievously, looking around the area for the certain spot he knew would lead to the other side of the mob farm. He mined through a few blocks, putting them back as he walked through the small hallway. He wasn’t sure how Mumbo could get through these tight hallways with his huge wings. Even with his smaller ones this was difficult and tight. The hallway opened up to a slightly larger room, and he quickly made he way over to the ravine. He had already planned out the area he was going to use for this idea, and his inventory was filled with everything he’d need.

About an hour later he was done, the gravel ‘accent wall’ done and a lever by his own chair. He grinned excitedly, opening his inventory and pulling out a nice red suit he had made himself with wool. He pulled off his red shirt, stretching out his wings to make the process easier. He looked down at himself. He wasn’t anything to sneeze at, but not some sort of model either. He was slim, having recently gained much more of a swimmers body than anything. He glanced behind his shoulder, where his wings attached to his upper back.

The red coloration of his wings molded down seamlessly into his back. He grabbed the white dress shirt he had gotten off of Scar (the two were rather similar body type wise), throwing it over his back and letting his wings slot into the opened section in the back. It was nice to be able to have others help him with clothing. Back home it was hard, given he’d always need help cutting out patterns in his shirts that allowed his wings to come through. But Scar helped him out big time, giving him a patterns to use to make shirts and whatnot. He buttoned up the white shirt, stretching out his shoulders. It was definitely a tight fit. But honestly?? It didn’t look half bad on him. He took the red suit jacket, and slipped that on as well. He had to reach behind him to zip up the area around his wings, so it fit better and looked a lot more professional.

He just lazily pulled the red dress pants over his gray slacks, and then groaned as he realized the green tie. He unbuttoned the jacket, and struggled to tie the tie around his neck. He privately messaged Scar.

Grian: hey dude. How do you tie a tie?

GoodTimesWithScar: Oh my goodness. Your hopeless.

Grian: I knooooww.

Grian laughed a bit, but Scar told him he was busy right now, and he took that answer and just tried to pull up a video on his communicator. He took about ten or so minutes trying before he finally got it, and just then it came up on his communicator that Mumbo had stopped being AFK. He grinned, rushing up to the little window he had made behind Mumbo’s spawner. He heard Mumbo laugh at seeing him, walking up to the mirror.

“What are you doing?” He asked, and Grian just beamed.

“I am here to propose the deal of the century!” He said, his smile wide.

“Get over here.” Mumbo said, smiling tiredly at the energetic body. Grian walked through the small hallway, beaming. “What are you wearing?” He laughed.

“I’m Here to give You! The deal of a life time.” Grian said. “Also! What is this?!” Grian held up the tag, and Mumbo laughed. Grian just sighed. “Follow me! We mustn’t waste time.” Grian grabbed Mumbo’s hand, dragging him through the tiny hallway once again.

“This isn’t really a professional entrance.”

“Well it’s what I had to work with.��� Grian laughed, getting into the ravine and climbing up the stairs, just dodging mobs and arrows.

“Not very safe either.” Mumbo laughs, taking his sword and killing a skeleton attacking Grian. Said dirty blonde laughed, getting to the room before the meeting room.

“This is where my secretary works. If i had one.” He joked, and Mumbo laughed a little. He still had a grip on Grian’s hand, a part of him not wanting to let go of it. Grian was just. So excitable. His little giggles were adorable and it sent Mumbo into another plain when he managed to get the little gremlin to laugh. He didn’t romantically love the man, no. He wasn’t gay after all. But he loved the man platonically, despite only knowing him for a few days. Grian somehow had that effect of the other hermits. It felt like they all knew Grian all their lives already.

“So, Mumbo.” Grian said, letting go of Mumbo’s hand to sit down at the chair he had made. Mumbo sat in the chair beside him, looking over to him. “As you know, most of the hermits have these little groups of theirs. ConCorp, New Hermit Order, excetera. I want to propose a new group between us! You’re the only hermit i really know so far, so i wanted to make a partnership. So if i need redstone help you’d be able to help me, and vise versa!” Grian smiled, reaching towards the lever. “And the name of this partnership??” He pulled the lever. “BUILDSTONE!” The gravel fell to reveal the name, besides one stack of gravel.

“Wow Grian.”

“See?? This is exactly why I need your help!” He laughed. Mumbo couldn’t help the little laugh that left him as he watched Grian shovel the gravel away. He looked at the logo Grian had on the wall.

“I see. Well, Grian. I’d love to have a partnership with you! I really do need the building help.” He smiled. Grian gaped at him.

“With that deathstar of your’s i doubt you do!” He said. Mumbo laughed again.

“No seriously I suck when it comes to building.” Mumbo smiled shyly. Grian just laughed.

“Well! I’m glad to have you as a partner Mumbo! And the name is totally up for debate. I just kinda threw this together.” Grian added.

----

Grian was sitting on the platform of his base, looking up at the sky and thinking of what to do next. Mumbo said yes to his proposal, He now had the tag, AND he couldn’t even go tag someone else! He huffed, going through the days footage and just starting to edit as he laid on the floor. A brief thought crossed his mind. He should go and find this world’s borders. He nodded to himself, standing up and saving the video as it was for now. He’d finish editing it later.

He yawned, looking up at the sun as it was starting to set. “Better go quickly.” He muttered, taking off and flying up past the rim of his base so far. He just headed towards Scar’s base, just starting to fly without any real purpose of motive. He flew past the volcano that Scar was building, whistling to himself. “That man is a terraforming God.” He muttered to himself. He saw a outline of a person on top of the volcano, but paid it no mind. He just figured it was Scar.

He hummed, just feeling the wind in his hair and wings. He allowed his mind to wander for a moment, his eyes closing. He wondered what he should do next for his base, who he should try to get in contact with next. Grian dipped down closer to the water, letting the waves crash against his hand as he flew. He knew that there was mostly ocean for a few kilometers, but he didn’t really care. It would still be a nice and relaxing fly.

‘Why did the watchers let me go?’

The thought appeared in his head, sudden and quickly. He let that thought fester and stay. One thought grew into 2. Then 3. And before he could control it his mind was filled with negative thoughts and feelings. He felt fear gripping at his core, its ice cold hands restraining him. There was no where to land. His chest was heaving and he felt tears falling down his cheeks and the thoughts of him not being good enough roared through his head. The thoughts telling him he was a cruel monster. He wasn’t normal. Wasn’t okay.

Grian just flew into the ocean, letting the bitter cold water wash over him the soaked his wings and made it impossible for him to fly. But he didn’t care. He floated on the ocean surface, wings spread out as heaving sobs left his body. “Why would they miss me?” He heard himself say. He gasped for air, hands pulling at his hair. He knew this was a panic attack. He was prone to them. Taurtis usually helped him calm down. But he was out here, alone with only the ocean to comfort him.

He noticed water dripping onto him, and his eyes opened for a moment. Harsh stormclouds were forming above him, and he gasped. Oh fuck. The light dripping turned into a harsh and rapid rain, the ocean starting to twist and turn. He dived underwater to avoid being knocked unconscious, swimming back towards Scar’s island. Why couldn’t he see it anymore? How far had he actually gone??

Was he lost??

He poked his head above the water to look around, only to get knocked under by a huge wave. Panic once again settled into his bones, the need to breathe burning at his lungs. He swam back onto the water’s surface, his wings just dragging behind him and weighing him down. Oh god why couldn’t he just get out of the water?? Why couldn’t he fly?? Another wave crashed into him, and it drove him deep underwater. Grian just started ti swim desperately, using his wings to propel him under the water the best he could. He needed to get to dry land, to breathe. He swam towards the surface a final time, his head spinning and everything moving far too fast.

“GRIAN!” He heard a voice call out, and he felt a warm hand grab his. He was pulled out of the water and into someones arms. He could feel leather, but that was about it. His eyes closed and he gasped uselessly for air. “Its okay buddy. We’re gonna get you help. I promise.” Grian kept his eyes closed as the person re-adjusted their hold on him, and he was officially knocked out.

__

“What do you mean he was flying to the border?!”

“I don’t know! I just saw him fly past and i noticed the storm clouds! I don’t know what else he would be doing!”

Grian came too to hearing the two bickering voices. His lungs felt heavy, and before he knew it, he threw himself over the side of the bed, dry heaving and coughing up water and salt.

“GRIAN!” two voices yelled in unison. He just groaned in response, and he felt someone push him back into bed.

“Oh my god man, you scared us to death!” Grian’s eyes focused, and he noticed that mustache he was so fond of.

“Mum...bo?” He rasped, his voice sore from inhaling salt water.

“Yes its me, you absolute spoon.” Mumbo brushed some hair from Grian’s face. “Are you okay? Actually don’t answer that I know you’re not.” He said. Scar was standing behind him, a towel thrown over the water now on the floor.

“Yea man. You took quite a beating.” Scar fretted, having taken off his jacket at some point in time. Grian put his hands on his face, grounding himself. He felt leather move around his arms. Oh, so that’s where the jacket went. He just groaned, closing his eyes again. “Grian?”

“I. I had a panic attack out at sea. Came randomly.” He muttered, as Mumbo handed him some water to help soothe his throat. Mumbo frowned.

“Why didn’t you message one of us to help you?”

“Didn’t wanna bother you guys.” He said, sighing. Mumbo just nodded, helping Grian sit up. “And i was too far out. You wouldn’t have found me before the storm.”

“Grian, you’re lucky i saw you from my little island.” Scar said, sitting on the bed and touching Grian’s forehead. “And you’re burning up!” He fretted. Grian just pushed his hand away.

“I’ll be okay Scar.” He smiled, slowly going to stand up.

“Oh no you’re not.” Mumbo said, pushing him back down. “You’re sick.”

“And you have a mustache. Are we done stating the obvious?” Grian shot back before he could control himself. He covered his mouth with his hand quickly. “Oh my god i’m so sorry I didn’t mean for it to come out like that!” He said, watching Mumbo for any signs of anger. He only got a light hearted laugh back.

“Its quite alright mate. Guess i do sound a bit like Captain obvious don’t i?”

[chibitabathasloves]

Happy secret friend day to my friend @jivesjunkfood​! 

I scoured your blog, looked at your #hc tag, and I wrote something I hope you’ll like. I’m also going to post it on AO3 and will include the link here.

This is just over a thousand words, and so it doesn’t eat up too much space on your dash, I put it under the read more c:

Robbie's head was pounding, the kid and that annoying blue bouncing elf would not quiet down for anything.

What he needed was a plan. A plan to keep them still.

But what was this brilliant plan going to be? Then it downed on him and he held his finger in the air saying, "I've got a plan.

Walking down the aisle holding his disguise machine, he looked at the first tube.

A carpenter? "Too noisy." Farmer? "Too mosey."  A clown? "No." He shook his head, too silly.

The final tube, like usual, had the perfect outfit. Relaxed paint spattered jeans, an artist's smock, and a bandana. "Perfect."

With a pull of a lever and a quick twirl about, he was ready to do battle with those small menaces.

~*~

The clay was warming under his hands, thank goodness. His hands were beginning to cramp up from trying to mold the substance how he wanted.

"What are you making?"

The pink one. Of course. "Shhh," he hushed. "My muse is speaking to me, we can't interrupt them now, can we?"

When he turned to look at the girl, big brown eyes looked up at him with hands clapped over her mouth, shaking her head no.

A smile curled at his lips, this was going to be the greatest. "You can watch, but you must not interrupt."

Turning back to the task at hand, he squished the clay down, shifting it slowly into the shape he wanted.

~*~

He hadn't been expecting them to whisper. It wasn't a bother really, but not being able to hear what they were talking about was beginning to make him anxious.

"What are you kids talking about?"

"How when you're done, that sculpture will be mine." Sticky had his hand to his chest.

The pink one rolled her eyes. "No. We were wondering if you could teach us to sculpt. After of course. We're not trying to interrupt you or anything." She held up her hands as if to show she meant no offence or harm.

He did have more clay in the lair. "I can arrange it. Now hush."

~*~

"It's a good looking sculpture."

That accent, Sportadweeb.

"Thank you."

"The kids are excited to learn how to sculpt. May I join as well?"

Robbie scoffed, wiping clay and water from his fingers with a rag. "You can't sculpt with your feet. You'll have to sit still."

He looked over, hoping to see the defeat on the hero's face. A bright smile was being beamed directly into his skull through his eyes, it hurt. "Of course! I'm always willing to try new things! See you later Mr. Artist!"

~*~

Now Sportanerd was sitting with the kids, all watching him as he worked the clay slowly. He found words falling from his lips, filling the space around him with quiet sound.

"When you're working with clay, you don't want to use too much force. You want to coax it into the shape you want. It's not always easy. Clay, like your muse, can be temperamental. A slight wrong move, and you have to try again. Or you may even mess up a part you just finished and felt good about." He dipped his fingers into some of the sun-warmed water by his hip. "Water can help, and hinder." He pressed his damp fingers into the clay, pulling and stretching the bit he managed to get with his thumb. "Too much water, you have a huge mess, not enough, and the clay might not move at all."

He frowned, before adjusting the shape he'd drawn out of the clay. That was better. "It takes a long time to be able to work on something this large. But that's okay too. Everyone learns at different paces. What took me years, could take you moments. As long as you're taking your time, and happy with what you accomplished, that's what matters."

~*~

Robbie frowned at the sculpture in front of him. Crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why'd I sculpt Sportaloser?"

~*~

All the little menaces had their own smocks or aprons on to protect their clothing. No sign of the blue kangaroo. Good.

He ushered them towards the picnic tables he'd set up in the night, small blocks of kid friendly clay piled in the center.

"These don't look like what you were using mister!" the small blue one piped up.

"These are a little less messy, but the colors will be nicer for your finished peice. I'll even fire them up in my kiln, show you how to glaze them."

Of course, that's when the Sportajerk shows up. "Hello kids! Have you started without me?"

A chorus of no's floats up from around the table, and Robbie rolls his eyes. He's wearing some sort of blue tracksuit that's probably seen better days, and no smock or apron.

"Excellent. Let's give it a try shall we?"

Sport reached for the purple colored clay, while Robbie found himself picking up some red to start.

~*~

Tricky made a snake, green with a pink tongue, and brown and yellow layered spots. it wasn't so bad. Sticky made a piggy bank, the slot and dollar sign made out of black clay, and the feet were a little wonky, but it would stand. Gizmo made an umbrella, or a satellite dish, it was hard to determine, it could be either or really. Pinkie came up with a more difficult idea, trying to make a person, so Robbie helped her out a little, a small version of herself stared up at him. Siggy made a bunch of small fake candies, he had also tried to eat them at one point, so Robbie prayed that the kid wouldn't try to chew on them when they came out of the kiln.

The last two sculptures that he was placing into the kiln were the oddest to him, a perfectly molded apple, and an easel.

The easel was purple and gold.

~*~

When the kids took their finished projects and ran off to give them to the adults in their lives, Robbie couldn't help the smile that curved his lips. They weren't so bad when they sat down to be quiet.

"Robbie?"

He flinched, of course the hero had seen through his disguise. "What?"

"For you." When he glanced over, the hero was holding out the easel, with a picture placed in it. It was a picture of them all working on the clay together, smiles and laughter he could hear from its glossy face.

He gently took the item from the hero, it was actually a really thoughtful gift. "For my most important friend. I hope you're feeling better now."

When he saw the soft smile looking up at him, he did not cry. Villains don't cry.

He held the apple out to Sportacus. "For you, so you don't forget today happened. I know you can sit still and be quiet now."

His friend laughed, a warm sound that made the dampness on his cheeks seem not so bad. "Thank you Robbie. Apples are my favorite-"

"If you say 'sportscandy' I will make sure to launch you into the ocean next time."

Blue eyes crinkled, and the hand that clapped his back with a laugh didn't feel so bad.

[lady-divine-writes]

ACITW AU one-shot “Locked Down” (Rated M)

Summary: Kurt and Sebastian have been locked away in their penthouse for weeks. When it all started, Sebastian thought they'd be having the time of their lives, but with anxiety looming, it's been a little farther from that than he'd imagined. (3109 words)

Notes: A lovely Tumblr anon requested a quarantine fic set in the ACITW AU universe, something along the lines of the Bash fic I wrote a while back - with lots of caring, protective Sebastian.

Read on AO3.

“Hey, babe! You up yet?” Sebastian asks from underneath his towel as he scrubs his hair dry, a second towel tied tight around his hips. He usually doesn’t shower without Kurt if he can help it, but it’s been an off morning. But they’ve had a lot of off mornings, even before lockdown officially began.

Sebastian is ashamed to admit he didn’t take the whole lockdown thing as seriously in the beginning as he should have. Not with regard to his actions - he did everything they were advised to: arranging to work from home, washing his hands eighty times a day, wearing a mask religiously, even bleaching the soles of his shoes and leaving them to dry out in the hallway. It was in his mindset - the idea that being locked indoors with Kurt for weeks would turn out to be one endless, naked, drunken orgy, the best time of their lives, a time they’d look back on fondly.

It only took a week for Sebastian to realize it would be nothing like that at all.

Kurt is at his best when he sticks to a routine, and since everything is pretty much shut down and canceled for the indeterminate future, he’s become emotionally derailed, reverted back to old habits of counting and sorting Stevia packets when he makes his tea, wearing exclusively sky blue socks because they’re a happy and calming color, looking at his face in the mirror then away three times before he leaves the bathroom.

Sebastian does his best to help. He’s tried several times to wrangle together a schedule of some sort, get them back to a sense of normalcy even though things are far from normal and won’t be for a long time.

But he failed.

Kurt barely sleeps anymore, and when he does, he knocks out so hard, he doesn’t wake till close to dinner time. He didn’t stir when Sebastian climbed off the bed to take a shower, and seeing as Sebastian couldn’t rightly remember when either of them finally fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning, he figured he’d let Kurt get his rest.

That was two hours ago.

“It’s almost …” Sebastian peeks up, stifling a chuckle when he catches sight of a mournful Kurt awake and dressed all in black, standing at one of the bedroom windows, his fingertips lightly caressing the glass as he stares longingly down at the street below “… two,” he finishes as he drops down onto the bed, invitation for Kurt to join him implied. Kurt doesn’t turn to look at him, but Sebastian can see his face via the reflection in the glass. It’s a gloomy day outside, gray in a way that would have inspired them to venture outside if it were months ago, take a walk to the park, sit under a tree with a steaming hot knish and wait for the rain to start.

“Do you think Bloomingdale’s misses me?” Kurt queries with the dramatic air of a Victorian widow (unbeknownst) waiting in vain for her husband to return from the war.

“Definitely. You and your credit card. But good news! Online shopping’s still a thing.”

“It’s not the same,” Kurt mutters. “Most stores aren’t shipping non-essentials for months, and I’m not giving Jeff Bezos one thin dime.”

“And I fully support you on that.” Sebastian knows it’s not shopping Kurt misses as much as hanging out with his favorite spending buddy. They haven’t seen Sebastian’s sister Olivia in the flesh since this whole lockdown fiasco began, and even though they FaceTime nearly every single day, it’s not the same as strolling arm-in-arm down 34th Street, ducking into Macy’s and manhandling everything on the racks while they talk and gossip and laugh out loud to the annoyance of strangers.

“What’s with the black outfit?” Sebastian asks. “Did I miss a dress code memo or …”

“I’m in mourning. Neiman Marcus applied for bankruptcy.”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you.” Kurt sighs. It’s heavy, steeped in something more substantial than the loss of a favorite designer retail chain (which, of course, they both know will probably not stick). “I’ve never seen the streets of Manhattan this empty before. It’s unsettling. Like something out of a horror movie.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian agrees with a sigh himself. “It is.”

“You know, I think I could stand quarantine, the solitude, being locked indoors without a physical connection to humanity …”

“Kurt!” Sebastian balls up his wet towel and tosses it at the window beside Kurt’s head. “I’m right here!”

“Humanity, dear. I said humanity. Anyway, I could bear it better if everything didn’t look so desolate. And depressing.”

“You’re from Ohio. You should be used to desolate and depressing.”

“Yes and if we were in Ohio, I’d say this is another day ending in ‘y’. But this is New York. It’s not supposed to be so empty. So quiet.”

Sebastian watches Kurt’s eyes scan the city below - his city. The city he’d worked so hard to get to, going so far as to even date Sebastian for money. But it’s not for the loss of his daily non-fat mocha at Starbucks that he’s staring out the window, not for want of a shopping date with Olivia that his hands are trembling.

Sebastian sits up straight, mildly concerned by what he might hear when he asks the question, “That’s not all, is it?”

“Of course it’s not,” Kurt says, more breath than voice. “I’m …” A dozen words catch in the pause - bored, despondent, terrified “… worried.”

“I don’t think you need to be. You’re healthy, you’re young …” Sebastian tries harder to sound reassuring than he would normally because he just doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if what he’s saying is true. Every morning he wakes up and reads the news, there’s a different dumpster fire blazing somewhere in the world, burning his beliefs and the things he knew logically to be true the day before to ash “… you have no social life to speak of.”

Kurt shrugs. “Well, I’m living with you so …”

“You can’t blame me for not wanting to share you, babe. Besides, a night in bed with you is nine times better than dinner and the theater.”

“Can’t wear my new Gucci suit to bed.”

“Not with that attitude you can’t.”

“I bought it at Neiman Marcus, by the way.”

“And yet you couldn’t save them.” Sebastian tuts. “Pity.”

“I did buy it on sale - fifty percent off, marked down from four thousand. Livvie agreed it was a good deal.”

“You animal! No wonder they’re going out of business!”

Kurt’s lips twitch at the corners. Despite himself, he manages a small smile. He knows Sebastian is teasing to cheer him up. The man deserves something for his efforts.

“I’m worried about my dad mostly,” Kurt says in a voice that bounces off the glass to reach Sebastian on the bed. “It’s kind of hard not to. I mean, he suffers from all the things the news says makes a person vulnerable to this disease. Then there’s Carole, your parents, Olivia and Brian, the kids …”

The sentence fades into condensation on the window. Sebastian waits for more. When it doesn’t come, he asks, “What about Julian?”

“I’m not worried about Julian,” Kurt replies in a tone that says otherwise. “Nothing bad can happen to him. The Dark Lord won’t allow it.”

Sebastian snorts. “Can I tell him you said that?”

“Absolutely. With all the spare time I have, I might even embroider it on a pillow for him …”

Kurt tries to keep it together, act like business as usual, maintain this back and forth banter that sustains their relationship. He tries hard. But his lower lip wobbles; every word he can think of, every punchline he’d prepared sticking in his throat. His voice hitches with the threat of tears. A second later, Sebastian is behind him, hands on his shoulders, shushing him gently.

“It’s okay,” he says, giving Kurt the space to decide if he wants to turn around and be held. Kurt doesn’t - not because he doesn’t want Sebastian to hold him. It’s simply too difficult to convince himself to move.

“Why do things like this happen?” Kurt asks, his brow pulling with disgust at how childish those words sound. And they do. As a child, he’d said them - when his mother died, when he got bullied in school, when Blaine broke up with him, when his father had his heart attack, when he thought he’d never make it to NYADA. Over and over he’s been slapped to the ground, and he still managed to get back up on his feet again.

Because he’s Kurt Hummel.

He’s unstoppable.

But things like this - he can’t control this! He can’t predict a fucking virus! Or the devastation it could cause! How do they escape something like this? It’s not like there’s a whole other planet they can run off to! Sure, they’ve locked themselves away for weeks. They’re fortunate that they can when so many people can’t. But that doesn’t mean they’ve completely kept the virus out of their lives. They still order in from time to time, have their groceries delivered, pass by neighbors on their way to get the mail. And even with Kurt’s obsessive house cleaning, his disinfecting every package that UPS drops at their door, his demands about hand washing, and the masks that become permanently fixed to their faces the moment they even think of opening their front door, they could have been exposed to it without them being any the wiser.

They went to the pharmacy for Sebastian’s allergy medication when the delivery service dropped the ball, waited outside in a long ass line to get into the market down the block when there were no Instacart time slots available and they’d run out of everything. They’ve been jogging a few times when the stir crazy got to them so bad they almost did something drastic (Sebastian was a hair’s breadth from shaving his head and Kurt was on the beveled edge of borrowing Sebastian’s only flannel shirt). They both wore masks the whole time. Sebastian almost passed out trying to keep up with Kurt, grumbled something about erotic asphyxiation being more fun at home. Afterwards, they took the masks off correctly, washed their hands the way the doctor who visited The View told them to, and then jumped in a shower and washed each other, just to be sure.

But doesn’t the virus linger in the air for thirty minutes after an infected person exhales? And doesn’t heavy breathing through exercise exacerbate it, send it up higher so it hangs in the air longer? What if they passed through the invisible cloud of someone who had jogged by earlier, someone who was a carrier without knowing it? Kurt had made their masks by hand, added a pocket for a filter, and then bought the filters in bulk. But what if the three layers of cotton he’d used aren’t finely woven enough? He couldn’t see through it when he held it up to the light, but what if? He’d sacrificed one of his best bed sheets on the advice of the CDC but what if it isn’t enough!?  

Kurt takes a deep breath in and let’s it out shuddering. Sebastian is right (as far as they know). They’re both young and healthy. They’ve kept their distance from every human being in the vicinity as best they can. They both have excellent health insurance if things start to go south.

After reading a handful of heartbreaking news stories, they’ve both written their final directives.

They’re as prepared as they’re going to be without building a bunker.

From what Kurt has heard, who gets it and how bad it turns out seems like the world’s cruelest game of Russian Roulette, but they stand a decent chance of fighting this thing if they catch it. But things like this - the life threatening things, the things that could potentially strip Kurt to the bone and destroy him - don’t ever go after him, do they?

They always go after the people dearest to him.

This one could actually kill his dad.

“I don’t know,” Sebastian admits, resting his chin on Kurt’s shoulder. “I don’t know why things like this happen. It seems like the universe has it out for us sometimes. And considering the havoc we wreck on the environment and ourselves, I don’t exactly blame it.”

Kurt harrumphs. “It’s good to know you’ve come to peace with Mother Nature pulling an Order 66 on all of us.”

Sebastian grins. That’s a Star Wars reference. Sebastian made them watch all of the movies (in chronological order) three nights ago. Kurt adores the original trilogy but feels the rest of the movies are sacrilege. He claimed forcing him to watch them when he was in no position to leave the premises was against the Geneva Convention and therefore grounds for kicking Sebastian to the curb even if the penthouse was originally his. But he’d suffered through anyway.

“I know you’re down. It’s difficult not to be. And I know this is going to sound hella lame, but I think we should focus on the good things we’ve got going on in our lives. We’ve got such a long road ahead of us. We can’t give up here. We need to live our lives from distraction to distraction, find a way to take our minds off things until they get better. Because they will get better.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, knowing instantly where Sebastian is heading with this. “So sex it is, I guess?” he says halfheartedly.

Sebastian scoffs. “Again, not with that attitude!” He smiles when Kurt does, but too quickly, Kurt returns to near tears. Sebastian softens, backs off the teasing, even the good-natured variety. “Only if that’s what you want. We’ll do whatever you want. We can make brioche, I can kick your ass at Scrabble, we can FaceTime your dad or Liv or one of your asinine friends from high school ...”

“I think, right now, I just need to know that everything’s going to be okay.”

“It will be,” Sebastian answers too quickly.

Kurt sniffs. “Do you honestly believe that?”

“Yes, I do.” Sebastian swallows hard before he adds, “I do believe that. With all my heart.”

Kurt leans his head back on Sebastian’s shoulder and tilts his face up to look at him. “I love you, Sebastian. And because I love you, I’m required to tell you that you’re a horrible liar sometimes.”

Sebastian’s jaw sets. He doesn’t argue. He wishes he felt more optimistic so he could put up a better front for Kurt, but he doesn’t. Not a hundred percent. He can’t say he hasn’t thought the same things Kurt is and about the same people. Every day they wake up, he’s afraid Kurt will receive that dreaded call from Carole saying Burt is in the hospital.

Burt is on a ventilator.

Burt didn’t make it, not even long enough for Kurt to say goodbye, which he’d have to do over the Goddammed phone from their penthouse several states away because hospitals aren’t letting loved ones visit their dying fathers, mothers, husbands, children …

And what about his folks? Greg and Charlotte Smythe are the picture of health. But didn’t a 53-year-old marathon runner recently pass away? They’d had no symptoms, no cough, no fever, no shortness of breath - none of the harbingers they’d been told to look out for. They’d reported feeling a slight uneasiness in the morning, were on a ventilator by noon, and before eight in the evening, when most people are sitting down for dinner, they were gone.

They’d left behind a spouse and three teenage children.

Sebastian doesn’t even remember their name but their story hit him a little too close to home.

Is this how Kurt feels when he hears about the covid deaths on the daily news?

Probably nothing close to it.

Sebastian has always admired Kurt his strength after losing his mother so young, a mother he’d loved more than life. Kurt talks about her from time time, reminisces about the things he can remember - the scent of her perfume, the books she’d read to him, the things they’d bake together after a hard day at school.

Kurt is a stronger person than Sebastian will ever be. Losing his mom and almost losing his dad? Those are two of Sebastian’s biggest fears. If he ever lost his parents before they lived an extremely long and fulfilled life, he’d never recover.

He doesn’t think Kurt ever has, but he hides it well.

“I like the brioche idea,” Kurt decides, taking the pressure off Sebastian’s shoulders to do or say something that will make him feel better, knowing that his fears aren’t likely to be assuaged by anything Sebastian comes up with - honest or no. Nothing is going to be solved in the next ten minutes here in this bedroom no matter how hard he wishes it. “And instead of me kicking your ass at Scrabble, let’s jump online and drag Julian and Cooper into a game of Words with Friends.”

“You know Julian will demand we play strip Words with Friends.”

“Yeah, well, we can rib him about how that’s the only four-way he’s getting from us. Besides, we’ll win.”

“That’s the spirit,” Sebastian says, kissing Kurt on the forehead. Kurt’s gaze meets his, fear and exhaustion brimming in intelligent blue eyes. Sebastian sees him thinking, sees his forehead wrinkle, then smooth, sees the apples of his cheek rise as he comes to another decision.

“But first …” Kurt turns around slowly, sporting a wicked grin, biting his lower lip in that irresistible way that’s both blushing virgin and smoldering tempter. He tugs the towel tied around Sebastian’s waist free, lifts it to eye level, then drops it on the floor. He slides his gaze down Sebastian’s body, grinning appreciatively when he reaches the start of an impressive erection.

Sebastian grins over Kurt’s staring. “Does that mean you want to …?”

“Fuck? Yes, please.”

“Great! I’ll climb into bed while you get dressed.”

Kurt’s eyes snap to Sebastian’s face, wide with confusion. “What? Why? What am I changing into?”

Sebastian winks. “We’re gonna get some mileage out of that Gucci suit.”

“Sebastian!” Kurt gasps. “You can’t be serious!”

“Serious as those murder hornets up in Washington.”

“Sebastian!”

“Kurt! Neiman Marcus is circling the drain because you decided to buy an overpriced suit on sale! Don’t let their sacrifice be in vain!”

[xlady-saya]

an unconventional crossing [fic]

Relationships: andrew and aaron, andreil, kateaaron

Summary: Aaron likes to believe he and Andrew have a lot more practice navigating their conversations now. And he’s right, mostly. But sometimes, challenges arise at the strangest times, and especially when their significant others are concerned.

In which Andrew and Aaron run into each other at the grocery store, and choose not to part ways.

Tags: twin bonding, lots of references to how they’re whipped af, discussions of past abuse/addiction 

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Aaron is only a little bit ashamed that his first instinct is to run far away when he turns the corner and sees his brother standing there.

At first, he thinks he might be dreaming. It's past nine on a school night, and the brightness of the store burns his already tired eyes. The switch from the darkness outside to the stark white tile and fluorescent lights makes Aaron squint. His brother is more like a grainy, black smudge in front of him, and Aaron lingers on the double knots of Andrew's combat boots and the shiny item in his hand. Soup. A can of soup. That's also what Aaron needs.

For Katelyn.

And like that, Aaron remembers why he's here. In fact, he's pretty sure there's dried snot on his sleeve where Katelyn mistook him for a tissue. It's disgusting, but given the bookstore fiasco of last year—which Aaron has repressed and will take to the grave—it's not the grossest thing they've witnessed from one another.

In sickness and in health and all that...he guesses it still applies to boyfriend and girlfriend, too.

It's why he's here now, prepared to stock up their mediocre medical supplies. It does not explain why Andrew is here. He looks around a few times, then looks back, and expects to be alone in the aisle. But Andrew is still there. Holding soup.

The grocery store is practically empty apart from a few people picking up alcohol or extra junk food for studying binges, which only adds to the dream-like quality of it all. This is...not where he's used to seeing Andrew—this is not how he's used to seeing Andrew. Which is nonsensical, because everyone needs groceries.

He kinda just figured Andrew survived off chocolate.

He clamps down on the urge to leave; it's an old, pathetic need, and one he no longer wants to encourage. He freezes in place instead, and reflects. Classic, he thinks, rolling his eyes. Aaron hates how much he listens to Bee now, but with all the leaps and bounds he and Andrew have made, random things can still be hard to navigate.

Grocery store trips, he guesses, are included in that.

The habit of bolting whenever his brother is in the same room as him is not one he likes, but it's a knee jerk reaction he hasn't completely gotten rid of. A ghost, latched onto his back. But that's okay, because he's sure it's the same for Andrew too. The need to keep Aaron at a distance, when they've been doing the exact opposite.

He spends a lot of time with Andrew now, more than he'd probably admit if asked. They study together, silently—that hasn’t changed. But even now there's an occasional greeting or a mutual scoff when someone in the library is being annoying. Andrew will help Aaron review his exam flashcards, or Aaron will form a post with his hands so Andrew can flick paper goals. They play videogames with Neil and Katelyn, they have lunch together… Their sessions no longer feel like a chore.

Standing in this soup aisle, Aaron realizes he couldn't have asked for more, would've never asked for even a fraction of it a few years ago. Now he can't imagine his life without Andrew slotting into it somewhere, whether it be on miniature golf double dates or Nicky's failed family baking nights.

It's startling, but not unwelcome.

Still, it's odd to see his brother looking so...normal. Silly.

Aaron is aware now that Andrew is a regular person with fears and wants, just with unorthodox methods, different roots...but he can't help but always think of the cool, blank stare. He thinks of Andrew leaning against a wall, smoking, not giving anyone the time of day. Including Aaron.

Especially Aaron.

It takes him a second to remember the nerd who sulked after getting beaten in Mario Kart, or the one who apparently threw up after Disneyland from one too many churros.

(Neil told them that story).

He certainly doesn't think of the man who walked all the way back to the dorm because Neil sent him a crying emoji and a 'I cut my finger' text.

But that's the real Andrew, too. There’s always more underneath all the closed off, reserved portions laced with barbed wire. Andrew has finally allowed Aaron to see that.

This Andrew is, once again, a far cry from cool and collected. This Andrew looks tired, not as put together. He's wearing wrinkled jeans that clearly need a wash, Neil's hoodie (stained), and seems .2 seconds away from throwing the store's entire inventory into a dumpster fire.

The spell is only slightly broken, and Aaron catches himself smirking.

His brother glares at the can of soup like it offends him, reading the label before putting it back on the shelf and grabbing a different brand to see if it's anywhere closer to his standards. Whatever the hell those might be.

Unfortunately, dating Neil has made his brother even more perceptive than before. Probably because Neil can smell trouble from miles away, and then he goes and seeks out said trouble to jab at it with a metaphorical stick. The stick is just an endless stream of cuss words and insults.

Needless to say, Aaron isn't able to enjoy this comical sight for long.

Andrew's gaze darts over to where Aaron is standing at the end of the aisle, and Aaron can see the exact same reaction run through him. The tension seizes his brother like a snare, and there's that all too familiar step forward, like Andrew is ready to turn around and disappear.

But then he doesn't. Andrew remembers what Aaron does, and then it's gone.

What they didn't account for was the awkwardness. Again, they aren't trained for grocery store encounters.

Andrew doesn't exactly nod at Aaron, but he inclines his head just so and turns back to the soup, staring into some void Aaron can't see. He's not sure if it's an invitation, but it's as good as he's going to get.

Aaron's sneakers squeak on the tile and he stumbles, but ultimately ends up at the edge of his brother's bubble, staring at the soup right along with him.

Progress.

Aaron sighs and grabs Katelyn's preferred brand. It's the chicken soup with the extra big chunks of chicken and the flatter noodles. Katelyn likes them because they're 'chewier,' and Aaron just thinks it's weird. But what she wants, she gets, because how is he going to deny his sniffling girlfriend as she whines miserably in bed?

Come to think of it, they're probably here for the same reason. With how much Neil and Katelyn see each other outside of games and general Fox gatherings, it would be no surprise if they both came down with the same cold.

Which means they probably need the same things. Soup, cold medicine, tissues.

Aaron freezes as he glances at the soup, feeling his brother's imposing presence beside him. For someone so obsessed with not being noticed or talked to, Andrew doesn't do a good job of hiding. He's like a cliff or a mountain, steady and bulky. A road block.

Aaron should leave. He has what he needs, so he can move on. He doesn't have to wait for Andrew; they don't have to shop together.

But then why does it feel so weird to weakly wave goodbye?

Aaron raises his hand only to stop mid-motion, thwarted by his own thoughts. Andrew tracks the movement. God, this is even more awkward now. They aren't usually like this anymore.

Maybe it's because they've realized the same thing.

Here they are, both making sweetheart runs in the middle of the night. It should be mortifying, but part of it feels strangely natural.

Probably because there's always a comfort in knowing they're the same in this way.

They both have their suffering partners waiting for them, but despite that, Aaron doesn't know how to broach the subject.

Bee's words from some faraway session echo in his head: "It might help the both of you to try talking about your partners with one another under more casual circumstances."

Aaron nearly scoffs, just like he did then.

Yeah, sure. It's the one area they're not great at, and it’s easier said than done.

It's not that he hates Neil anymore, and he has his suspicions that Andrew's opinion of Katelyn is at least a calm respect, though he's not sure when or how it happened. They spend time together as a group, and, in some cases, separately.

Aaron will tutor Neil or help him through difficult game levels, or Katelyn will be the one to help Andrew with the snack runs when they go to the movies. It's...fine.

No, it's great.

Aaron just still has a hard time acknowledging it.

But this? This they don't do. They don't talk about Neil and Katelyn together unless it's for therapeutic purposes during their sessions, and even then it's caked in wariness.

Aaron wonders if they're afraid of ruining the progress they've made by unintentionally starting a fight, but he's never known Andrew to be that caring of those things.

Perhaps it's simply too vulnerable, too exposed, to show how much they care. Even when it's so obvious.

Aaron notices Andrew finally settles on one of the more premium soup brands, and yeah, alright. Painfully obvious.

Aaron has always pushed that piece of Bee's advice away, procrastinating, because surely it can't be that important. But it is.

Ugh. It probably is.

So this time, rather than avoiding it, Aaron figures he might as well show Andrew up by taking the first stride. Talking about Katelyn is easy. She's everything to him; he could wax poetic all day about her. He knows her class schedule, her favorite subjects, her dreams.

With that in mind, Aaron confidently spins the can around at the same time he opens his mouth in Andrew's direction, and smoothly says, "You know, Katelyn likes soup."

And what a stride he takes.

Fuck me.

“Uh. When she’s sick, I mean. And other times but—that’s why I’m here. Sick soup.” The can falls from his hands and he barely catches it in time. He doesn't think he could add that to his mortification without giving up and running out.

It wasn't a lie. She does like soup, even if it's the really disgusting kind, but it's not a fact that evokes any groundbreaking emotions. It certainly doesn't bridge the gap.

Andrew turns to squint at him in that way—the precursor to a full on dismissal. Aaron's not sure why he's even still here, but maybe now his respect for Aaron now extends to telling him off with words. Aaron braces for it.

He watches the exact moment Andrew opens his mouth to tell Aaron he doesn't care, but it never comes. It's rare to see Andrew hesitate; someone so methodical and cautious doesn't tend to question his thoughts when he's sure of them.

But Andrew stops, mouth hanging open for a beat too long before snapping shut.

And Aaron doesn't know what it is, doesn't feel like blaming it on the twin telepathy theory...

He just knows Andrew remembers, same as him. Probably better than him.

Andrew can hear Bee's advice too, far away and obnoxious, ringing in his head.

His brother turns back to the soup can, smoothly over the ridges under the bright blue label. Hm. No, can't be. His brother isn't that sappy.

A few moments pass where Aaron can't move, kept in place by some invisible orbit, waiting for...something. Just that alone makes it all so surreal; he never used to expect anything from Andrew.

Yet, Andrew keeps surprising him with how much more he's willing to do now. For Aaron. For both of them. His brother sighs eventually, staring at the shelf in front of him, and begrudgingly replies, "Neil won't even admit he's sick. He didn't want me to come."

It's stilted, clearly forced out, but Andrew did it. He returned the gesture. And if there's one thing Aaron knows about his brother, it's that it's the closest thing he's going to get to a chance. Excited for some inane reason, Aaron almost doesn't process the words. But oh, he gets it. Neil is so fucking ridiculous, Aaron can't stand him. It makes sense his 'I'm fine' routine would stretch to this, too. Aaron almost wants to see the state of him, fever high and unable to move without his sweat sticking to the blankets.

His face sours, and the instinctive insult creeps to the edges of his mouth. Andrew watches, waits for it, and Aaron nearly bites his tongue to stop himself. Being hostile to Neil is more playful nowadays, but it's still a reflex. If he does that here...part of him just knows whatever is happening will effectively be cut short.

He clears his throat, rocking on the balls of his feet and willing his glare to go away.

"That...sounds like him," Aaron forces out. It's the best he can do, but it probably still sounds judgmental.

God.

Why are they so bad at this?

"He's an idiot," Andrew replies with a nod, so softly it almost doesn't sound like him. Aaron almost scoffs. Here he is trying to be considerate, but Andrew scolds his own boyfriend anyways. Aaron should've known better than to bother.

He slides his gaze over to his brother again, and that train of thought effectively stops. There's a tightness in Andrew's jaw, and an antsy quality to his stance. Aaron replays the words, and realizes Andrew's voice is different from the usual monotone, the uncaring inflection. It would be neutral still, to most people, but Aaron can sense that it's laced with something strong, self-directed. His brother's hands tighten around the can with a vice grip, and Aaron should really be better at detecting Andrew's concern by now.

Suddenly, he gets it. "He didn't want me to come."

It must be grating for someone like Andrew, who despite the vibe he tries to give off, does nothing but look after his own. It's the worst with Neil, because his motivation is borne from an intense emotion Aaron can't even associate with their relationship. It's too much, too theirs. He feels uncomfortable trying to define it when he's never heard Andrew actually say the three words.

Still, it's all consuming. It's real.

Nauseatingly so.

And it must be particularly infuriating, because Andrew's need to protect Neil isn't the result of a deal at all. He wants to. Wow, he probably hates that he wants to.

It only gives Aaron some satisfaction; it is Neil they're talking about.

Andrew's frustrations bleed through the cracks a little more, and he harshly brushes a hand through his bedhead. "His cold is just going to get worse if he keeps it up."

Ah, so they're still sharing. Aaron can do that. It's a welcome distraction; he can only take so much of thinking about his brother's intimate relationship with the most infuriating person on the planet.

Aaron looks down at the tile, lining his feet up with the edge of the blocks as if he's walking a tightrope. "Katelyn tried to go to class this morning. She didn't want to miss her lecture," he says, and tries to act like it's no big deal. He sways a little, and swallows the lump in his throat, because these are not things he gives away to anyone. It's just as exposing; as soon as he'd found out, he'd walked her back to her dorm and helped her change into pajamas. She passed out almost instantly, her fever spiking. Too much care, too much worry. Aaron had paced the floor a good twenty minutes, debating an urgent care visit.

He's just as pathetic as Andrew, but he wouldn't dare stop if it means looking after Katelyn. He bites his lips and shrugs, as if it's not as emotionally revealing as it is. It probably doesn't work. "I was so mad. Uh, you know how it is."

No kidding—they both just accidentally revealed it. Aaron never thought 'hopelessly enamored' would ever be associated with his own feelings, much less Andrew's.

But there's really no other explanation with that one.

"Oh?" Andrew tilts his head, as if daring Aaron to continue. It's dangerous territory, but that's what they deserve for addressing an old therapy issue in the middle of a grocery store. They might know their feelings are the same, but verbally acknowledging how is a different matter.

So continue, Aaron does. Neither of them are getting out of this one.

Won't Bee be proud?

Petulantly, Aaron glares, and loses his balance on the wire. He promptly spirals down. "Yeah, well… You want to take care of Neil too, right?"

It's a dare, a provocation. It's also ill-advised, but he can't be more mature in every way. There's no way Andrew can refute it and have Aaron believe him. He's been trapped into the truth.

Andrew tenses and glares back, expressive for how much he tries not to be. Aaron is more used to that now too. On the subject of his striker, his brother can't keep up the expression. It melts back into a reluctant calm, and his sigh is relenting.

Right.

A store intercom rings above them, something about how they really need someone up on registers. It's grounding in a way; Aaron grabs a few more cans and stubbornly throws them into the basket by Andrew's feet.

They're in too deep at this point. This is now a joint trip, as painful as it may be. Andrew looks down at the basket, which as of now holds both their soup choices and a candy bar Andrew must've snagged along the way.

Andrew squints, looking back up at Aaron, and surprise, surprise...

"I need the extra strength cough syrup."

He avoids answering altogether.

Aaron sighs; he saw that coming, but Andrew's trapped himself unknowingly.

"That's more expensive, you know," Aaron says, a playful lilt to his tone.

Andrew glares, but he must admire Aaron somewhat for the payback, because he finally admits: "It's better for him, it's also the only one with the flavor he tolerates," Andrew grits out, and no amount of bravado can make that sound anything less than....oh, completely fucking whipped.

So, Andrew gives some more as a war prize. "I need the tissues with the lotion too."

Aaron suppresses his snort (also, for real, those can't be necessary), and dutifully leads them to the next aisle.

--

Andrew ends up convincing him that the lotion tissues are superior, so one point for him or whatever.

They still don't know how to do this, and they don't get a lot better at it over the course of the following forty-five minutes, but they continue dropping the most mundane facts in hopes it doesn't give too much away.

But it always does.

Andrew makes a sharp turn with the sole intention of making the basket stab Aaron in the knee, and Aaron kicks it in return. Then he realizes where they are, and the words pour like shots.

He wonders if it's a consequence of therapy, that he ends up flaying himself open for Andrew in the hopes that he'll be given honesty in return. He's learned that lately, it's more effective than he once thought.

"Katelyn...hasn't been drinking much lately," he starts slowly when they pass through the alcohol aisle. It's a far cry from the boring 'favorite color' facts he's been trading thus far, but it hits him like a blow. It's not that it hasn't been on his mind, he just hasn't had a chance to talk it out because...

Part of him kind of doesn't want to. The person he talks to is Katelyn, and he's not quite ready for this discussion.

But tonight's that kind of night.

The aisle is a shortcut, nothing more than a connector to the medicines on the far side, but Aaron falters. The brands and bottles all stir up confusing memories for him, some fun, some not so much. The colored glass warps his expression like liquor warps his mind, and his body is already swimming through molasses to keep up.

Mixing drinks with what he used to do was never smart, and Aaron's thankful he's where he is now. He's not so reckless, but he indulges from time to time. Katelyn used to also, but lately she's been finding more reasons not to. And that's okay. He's never pushed or questioned it, but he can't help but wonder. He pauses in front of the daiquiri mixes. Katelyn's favorite.

The action makes Andrew wait for him, regarding him from the end of the aisle for a long moment. Then, in another act that shouldn't surprise Aaron but does, Andrew comes back for him.

Aaron's closed throat feels less tight. What did he call Andrew earlier? A road block. No, maybe he's more like...a steel beam, every once in a while. Supportive, but it could crush him in an instant. It's not Andrew's intent, but he'll take it. "I know she's never been a drinker, but part of me thinks it's because she worries about me."

And there it is.

He's aware he should be angry, just a little. But he can't be, because the worry and judgment come from a place of honesty, commitment. Aaron won't say he hasn't had the same fear—the fear of falling back down a different hole of addiction. He's better now, more responsible. He couldn't imagine ruining their lives like that, but he and Katelyn are pragmatic people. He knows it's hard to keep control in those circumstances, to rise above once he's caught in the trap. It wouldn't be all his fault, but he's susceptible and they both know it. She would stand by him as much as she could, but Aaron's honestly not sure if he would want her to if it ever came down to that.

That's not fair, and that's why he's determined to not let it happen.

Katelyn's precaution, intentional or subconscious, is just her protecting him in return. It's what they need to work on, what they need to talk about, before it's twisted into a misunderstanding.

But revisiting old wounds is not what Aaron is good at. At least, not right away.

He's not expecting Andrew to say anything; it's not his business and his black and white worldview probably prevents him from seeing it that way. In his mind, Katelyn is in the wrong and that's all that matters.. If anything, Aaron expects that statement, but then—

"She shouldn't," Andrew says, nearly admonishing. Aaron's gaze snaps up, and Andrew glares at the bottles in front of him to avoid meeting his eyes. He'd usually grab that particular brand of whiskey, but today he doesn't. Then, after a moment: "Knowing her obnoxious levels of optimism, she's probably trying not to. But that's her problem."

Andrew’s words are strained, but no less meaningful. He doesn't do comfort, and that's not what this is. Aaron knows a few things in that moment; the first is that Andrew definitely does not agree with Katelyn. That's fine. He never asks his brother to understand everything about his relationship anymore. Aaron certainly doesn't understand parts of Andrew's. The second thing, arguably the aspect he cares about more, is that Andrew clearly knows something Aaron does not.

Andrew isn’t offering a pat on the back, only what he knows to be factual.

He feels involuntarily exposed this time, and forgets that sometimes it's simply the way it has to be to move forward. Aaron nearly growls. "How—"

But Andrew simply sends him a look that reads don't ask. Aaron should know the answer.

Neil.

It's been a while since Aaron has felt a sharp slap of disdain for the redhead, but it shoots through him in the moment before fizzling out. Of course. Why wouldn't Neil know? Why wouldn’t Neil confide in Andrew about it?

Aaron always liked to think it was a shared strength, that he and Andrew could trust their partners so completely, give or take some setbacks. But it seems this time he's the one lagging behind.

He glares at the floor. He doesn't know how to feel. Why Neil possibly knows about this issue before he gets to address it himself is something he wants to feel rage over, but he just can't. It's not like confronting Neil at the cabin or in the dorm hall. He doesn't have the energy, and he knows he doesn't want to.

It's not...like that anymore.

Just knowing Katelyn has someone to talk to is enough, because that only means eventually, she'll talk to him too. And can he blame her? Here he is, telling Andrew.

Andrew, who feels as much sympathy as a log on most days, is still trying his best to give Aaron the truth.

Leave it to Andrew to rip off the bandaid, and Aaron feels the sting. But he needed it. It's the only thing that reminds him it'll eventually be okay.

It's quiet for a few moments as Andrew looks back at the bottles, tracing the curvy scripts. There's a steadily building tension in his frame; at first, Aaron thinks it's repressed hostility towards Katelyn, but far from it.

Andrew's struggle to give in the same way is all too apparent in his words.

"Neil and I drink sometimes, just when we're together," Andrew forces out evenly. He reaches out to spin one of the security tags on a particularly large bottle of vodka, tracing the ears of the rabbit logo afterwards. Aaron flinches a little; he didn't know that. His brain catches up just enough, letting him know that Andrew is giving this to him in return for his own vulnerability, so he should at least listen. Flexing his jaw, Andrew's tone loses some of the smoothness. "Last time...something happened. With me. He's been hesitant ever since."

It sounds like Andrew is chewing glass, and Aaron knows better than to ask for an elaboration on the ‘what’ that happened. Hell, Andrew exposing the reason for his and Neil's weekend getaways is most likely more than Andrew wanted to share in the first place.

Andrew won't answer anything Aaron asks, but he reads into it enough. "You miss it," he says, and again it feels like they're on a level playing field.

Andrew glares his usual 'I don't miss anything' glare, but doesn't actually say the words. Instead, he turns back in the direction of the medicine aisle, and throws the words over his shoulder.

"I hate losing control," he states. "Neil is a reason I hate it less."

Translation: Yes, I miss it. But Neil is just as stupidly worried as Katelyn.

It goes unsaid that they ended up with worry warts for partners. Aaron gives up trying to analyze anymore; there are things about his brother and Neil that are impossible to grasp. But Aaron is learning more and more that their relationship has similar flaws to his own, that they have their own challenges to wade through.

And if one of them can manage, so can the other.

Aaron walks away from the aisle feeling less stuck—the quicksand around his ankles turns to water, easy to wade through.

He's not sure how many more of those confessions he's going to get, but he won't take them for granted.

Later, when they're passing through the candy section for Andrew's stockpile, the facts turn lighter. "Katelyn only eats the red starbursts, it's cute," he says, unable to hide his dreamy smile as he throws the red starbursts pack into the basket. She won't be able to taste them yet, but whatever, it'll be a welcome reward in a few days when her sniffles are gone.

Instead of the apathy and dismissiveness, Andrew holds the gummy bears in his hand at arm's length. Like they offend him. Aaron was wondering why he's even considering them. They're not even close to Andrew's usual brand of cavity inducers.

"Neil never finishes his gummy bears," Andrew says, and seethes a little over the word 'his.' Of course, it's Neil's fault that Andrew has to spend money on the bland treats Neil doesn’t even love. But Andrew puts them in the basket anyways. "Last time he was bored, so we built a fake set for them."

Aaron blinks, following after Andrew towards the registers. "Like...for a play?"

"It helped him study for his lit exam."

Somehow, it's impossible for his brain to conjure up an image of Andrew building a gummy bear Shakespeare set, but he supposes weirder things have happened. He wonders if Andrew indulges Neil by doing voices, or if he recites the lines in his normal dull monotone.

Aaron hides a smirk at the thought. "Nerds."

He takes them back to the medicine aisle last minute due to the guilt tripping from Andrew for buying the cheaper brand of cough syrup, and figures he might as well stock up on bandages too. Exy is a violent sport, and he's not quite sure why he plays it.

"Bandages are over there," Andrew says, pointing deliberately at where Aaron is clearly already looking. Dick. "Don't buy the cheap brand, they gave Neil a rash."

Aaron scoffs. "Guess you would know best, with how much your boy gets scraped up," he says, but he still listens. Once more, he notes that Andrew's suggestion is several dollars more. He really does spare no expense on anything, especially for his boy toy—boyfriend. Boyfriend.

"He's never as bad as the other person," Andrew remarks offhandedly, but Aaron gets stuck on the comment. Before, he used to not pay attention to anything Andrew said that didn't make sense to him, writing it off as unimportant. It's amazing what he can pick out now that he actually processes the words. In this case, it's thinly veiled praise for his violence-prone boyfriend.

Aaron's no idiot; Neil has to at least be somewhat capable at throwing a punch, and who knows what else.

It's appealing, watching someone you love trade blows. Aaron himself never fails to feel a rush of adrenaline and adoration when Katelyn rushes to his defense.

It would make sense for Andrew to enjoy watching Neil be his typical chaotic self. But for whatever reason, that logic doesn't compute with what he knows about Andrew's protective streak—especially where Neil is concerned.

And since he doesn't know how to put that all into words, he says: "I don't know how you don't kill anything that tries to touch him."

That's how he thought it worked, how he's seen it work. So why all the fuss about letting Neil fight his own battles, when it's clear it eats at Andrew like a vulture picking at his intestines?

Andrew regards him slowly, looking at him like he's grown two heads. Right, because Aaron is supposed to be able to parse through all their weird layers. He rolls his eyes.

"I will when he asks," Andrew responds calmly, and before Aaron can open his mouth he holds up a hand. "And he does."

Again, a warning laces his tone: don't ask.

Aaron huffs. Fine. He guesses he'll believe it for now. Come to think of it, he's been seeing less and less of Neil's insistence to handle shit on his own. Just the other week, he seemed to give up too easily when arguing with a jock from another team, and Andrew had stepped in a moment later.

He had thought Neil looked a little too happy about that.

Tracking him still, Andrew shrugs in such a careless way that he'd think Neil had taken over his body. "I know he doesn't need it. And yes, it's annoying."

Aaron's not so sure. It's scary how Andrew can read his mind sometimes, can connect the dots of the intricate roadmap between them. He sees things from a distance, sees it all, while Aaron is the one who forces them to actually zoom in and take in the landscape. Piece by piece, he forces them to explore.

"So why do it?" he asks, frustrated, but Andrew only picks up the blue can of chicken noodle and waves it in Aaron's face.

"Soup."

Fine, don't tell me.

He figures this is just Andrew's way of saying he's done with the abnormal sharing for the night, but then he realizes. Soup. Motherfucking soup? Aaron had said—

"You want to take care of Neil too, right?"

Son of a bitch. Does Andrew always have to be so cryptic and non-linear?

That's the explanation. It's the obvious one, the one Aaron could already infer. But the confirmation is staggering. Andrew wants to protect Neil; more than that, he likes to. That's the difference. He never would've admitted that before. It doesn't matter how capable Neil is or how appealing it is to see him fight. At the end of the day, they both have some weird thing about it.

Aaron feels nauseated. He’s learned too much. Again.

"Is that really so hard to say, Andrew?" Aaron huffs the next moment though, so he guesses he must be more upset than he thought. "You know, I'm trying here."

He only has so much tolerance for his brother's ways. He can detect them better now; he can see the ins and outs. But sometimes it's tiring. Sometimes he wants to be given things in the same straightforward way he gives them. It's childish, it's selfish, but fucking hell, Aaron isn't perfect. He knows it won't happen, but if they're still being truthful, then Aaron can at least let Andrew know that it's hard sometimes.

It's hard to do this, but it's worth it. So he won't stop. Andrew just has to put up with his bitching every now and again.

At 10 p.m., he's reached his limit.

Andrew beats him to it, throwing up a barrier for Aaron's rage to smash into and fizzle out into nothing. "Are you going to scream your undying love for Mrs. Minyard to me, then?" he asks, and Aaron jumps back. Andrew's anger simmers, barely, but his words are cutting. "I am trying too."

They've both been trying so damn hard the past year. And for what?

Well—for a lot, actually. They've certainly gained more than they've lost.

And like that, Aaron's made Andrew give more than he was maybe willing to tonight. The guilt sits somewhere in his gut, but he can't regret it. Because Andrew still confessed. Andrew still held out his hand, just a little. Like he's been doing for months.

Aaron can't begin to imagine how horrible it must be, for someone like his twin to acknowledge the effort he's putting in. It sounds ridiculous, but Aaron should get it better than anyone right? That it's hard to admit you have faith in something when not much in your life ever lasted before.

Taming his own outburst, Aaron clenches his fists at his sides. Slow, measured. "I know, but—"

"You're suddenly so hung up on listening to Bee, what happened to her affinity for patience?" Andrew says, nearly mocking, but Aaron knows it's not some flippant comment. He means it. He's telling Aaron to back off, and while he respects it most days, he feels too close to a revelation to listen.

This is never easy, and it shouldn't be. Not for them. They always knew that, even before they were fully convinced they could get any farther than silent videogame marathons and nods from across the room. Before they thought they would ever keep in touch past college.

Now, Aaron knows there's no way they won't. They're just...fighting. They're having a typical, moronic squabble. It's not a setback, it's not a threat. Aaron has to repeat that over and over in his head, and it somehow makes snapping back less menacing.

"Asshole," he bites out. "You just want to get out of it. You know it's...it's fine to just say those things, it's—"

"Normal?" Andrew asks, and yup, that's definitely mocking. Aaron's not sure what that means, what's in Andrew's head about the word or Aaron's connection to it, but it doesn't matter.

"Yes," Aaron says with a laugh, disbelieving. He paces to the end of the aisle and back. He knows he's just as thick headed, and that's what hurts the most. Embarrassing. "It's normal to just admit you think your dumb boyfriend is cute, and talk about him because to be honest, it's obvious already how much you want to!"

It's potentially unfair; he never expects normalcy from Andrew. He doesn't want it anymore, apart from getting to act like brothers and argue without the fear of exploding and fucking up everything. Aaron wouldn't dare ask Andrew to be normal in any situation, but this is different. He's not saying it's normal or necessary for society's standards, or because other people do it. He's saying it's fucking normal because Andrew wants it to be. Hell; Aaron's been watching his twin bite his tongue and keep back details from Aaron all night. No shit, Andrew will never share the private feelings—the ones he keeps close, just between himself and Neil. But goddamn, if he wants to tell Aaron about Neil's weird gummy bear Macbeth monologue, he should just go for it.

For a while, Andrew stands there, tight lipped, until finally: "I don't care what's normal." For a brief moment, Aaron thinks he's lost this round, that the point escaped Andrew completely. But his twin is smart. Stubborn, and infuriating too. But smart. With a sigh, Andrew relents, though not without resistance in his voice. "I care...that it's us."

Aaron holds his breath, waiting for Andrew to refute it or storm away. But he doesn't, and Aaron can exhale.

Yes, duh. Neil and Andrew...no one will ever mistake them for anything remotely close to normal. They've built their own version of it though, and Aaron only hopes that in time Andrew can expand the definition to include this. That he'll be able to indulge himself however he wants, like Aaron does with Katelyn. That he'll be able to talk about Neil without worrying about how it reveals his feelings. Because Andrew hates sharing Neil, but he wants to trust Aaron enough to offer bits and pieces.

And Aaron wants to do the same. It's been a rough first attempt, but an attempt regardless.

And anyways, Aaron won't tell him tonight, but one day he's really going to have to let his twin know...

Andrew's feelings haven't been well hidden for a long time.

Until then, they have to deal with the awkwardness they created, standing in silence as an old lady walks through the aisle and regards them warily.

They should've saved this for their session. Whoops.

Pathetically, for the sake of doing something, Aaron grabs a thermometer (he needs one of those, right?) and throws it into the basket. Awesome.

In return, since that's the glorious theme of the night, Andrew tosses in some bandaids. The patterned ones. They're pink and cutesy, and make him think of Katelyn, wrapped in her fluffy pink towel after yet another hot shower to clear her sinuses.

He doubts Neil is faring better. They should get back.

At the thought of Katelyn, Aaron smiles. It brings him back to something softer Andrew said, though just as peculiar. He never fails at that.

"Why do you call her that?" Aaron asks, breaking the silence. It's gentler this time, less of a shatter and more of a push. When Andrew blinks, Aaron waves his hand. "Mrs. Minyard."

It gives Aaron a funny feeling in his chest, not necessarily good but also not bad, and he pushes it away to deal with another time.

Andrew's expression gives nothing away. That’s always the case, but even more so this time. It's blank, but he blinks slowly, chewing on his words in the way Aaron hates. Well, he supposes no one can quit cold turkey.

"A feeling," Andrew answers, and doesn't elaborate. He looks down at his own hand for a moment too long, flexing his fingers, then turns away like it's nothing. Aaron doesn't have enough braincells left to figure out what the fuck it's all about.

"Come on, let's go," Andrew says. Aaron feels like after all that, he has to put himself out there at least once. He has to prove to Andrew it's okay. It's okay to do this and trust him with this, so he'll believe in Andrew too.

"I do. Love her, I mean," Aaron says, mumbling the statement petulantly. He's a natural grump. It’s unavoidable. However, when Andrew turns back, he clears his throat. He can't say this without enthusiasm, without conviction. It's just not possible. He thinks of Katelyn's sugary sweet smiles, the croak of her voice after she cheers him on too hard. He thinks of it all—of tears staining his sweater, of being held while shedding his own. He thinks of calloused hands, rife with paper cuts from too many study guides, and the way she whispers each goodbye, because she secretly hates them. All of that and more, too much to contain in the word, but he tries. "I love her so much, it feels like saying it cheapens it somehow. I...don't usually, unless we're alone. But I do."

And it's humiliating to say to this person—his brother, someone who he's always held at an emotional distance. But he can't hope to bridge this gap any other way; he can't hope for more of Andrew's steps forward if he doesn't take his own.

It's a formula they're familiar with now. It's one he hopes they never stop using.

And just when he thinks it's for nothing, Andrew nods. Once, subtly, but he does.

"I understand," he offers, and there's a heaviness to the statement Aaron doesn't get. But it's enough. He wants to tell Andrew it's enough, but Andrew meets him halfway. "Neil told me people don't have to say it, if they know it's true. He's infuriating like that, but he's right about people's idiocy."

Aaron has a feeling 'people' is being used as a stand in there, but he doesn't comment. He's well aware he doesn't have to say it, that saying it changes nothing about how he feels. But—

"I guess he's right for once," Aaron comments lazily, and throws Andrew a smug smile. "But I still want to."

He likes to. And that's all there is to it, sometimes.

So if you one day want to, I'm all ears.

Even if it's not the three words, if it's just some offhand comment about Neil's fighting skills, or where he and Andrew went on a date...he'll listen.

It'll be gross, but he's got plenty more anecdotes to throw back. He despises admitting when Bee is right, but he'll give her credit this time.

They have their people, and they should be able to talk about them.

Andrew rolls his eyes, but stubbornly keeps his gaze fixed forward. "Don't give him that much credit," he mutters, and no, Aaron wouldn't dream of it.

They don't mean to sync up their steps as they walk. It just happens.

--

"Oh, hang on," Aaron says out of the blue as they stand in line. He's thankful he has some control of his reflexes, as he almost smacked Andrew in the arm. They aren't there yet.

But nevermind that. Priorities. Next to them is a toy stand, one of those three tier ones grocery stores always put near the registers because little kids can't resist hounding their parents for one. This one in particular has a good selection of tiny stuffed toys, and Aaron spies his jackpot almost immediately.

It's a spotted, light pink kitten with giant eyes. It's soft, and so absurd looking. Whoever designed it probably tried to think of everything cutesy they could before sewing it onto the plush. In short, it's the kind of sappy, adorable thing Katelyn will love.

Proudly, he picks it up and holds it in front of him like he's a genius. He sort of is.

He's not sure he's ever seen his brother look so disgusted in his life, which is saying quite a lot. Aaron's smugness increases.

God, it's minuscule. It fits in his hand perfectly. If he's lucky, Katelyn will squeal even through all the snot.

He's not sure why Andrew decides to humor him. He must be in a better mood than Aaron thought, since he eventually asks: "Why?"

Aaron is all too happy to explain. He holds the kitten up to Andrew's face as if tempting a rabid rottweiler.

"Ah—what? It's cute. Katelyn loves stuff like this," he explains, but his next words have a softer edge. It happens against his will, and he blames it on Katelyn entirely. Knowing this ridiculous thing will bring her some joy is more than worth the twelve dollar price tag. "It'll make her feel better. Like a gift, ever heard of one? I've seen Neil's growing wardrobe. He's not buying his own clothes."

Andrew's expression sours further, but he doesn't fight the statement right away. He should know he can't. The clothes are only one example; Aaron's also seen the jewelry and various fox-themed knick knacks Neil has lying around. Idiot.

Instead, Andrew bats the kitten away. “Clothes are required, especially when you live out of one bag your whole life," he comments, but it doesn't expose him any less. From the smug grin on Aaron's face, Andrew must sense it. He points at the kitten harshly. "That, however, is pointless."

Aaron's grin falls, but he's unwilling to give up. Andrew obviously doesn't see the full picture in this case. He holds the kitten close to his chest. While he normally hates these things too, it's been designated as a gift for Katelyn.

Therefore, it's sacred.

"It's adorable. Katelyn will go nuts over it, and I'll take sick kisses over no kisses," Aaron points out, and delights in the moment Andrew tenses. Haha. "You're only hurting yourself."

"Never thought I'd hear that in this context," Andrew mutters, but turns back to the stand with significantly less annoyance.

Aaron is having too much fun.

"I'm just saying, Neil would probably hate this shit on its own..." he adds, and leaves the rest unsaid. The implication is clear. Neil could give a rat's ass about gifts and stuffed toys. But coming from Andrew?

He'd probably burst, like a loser. And whether or not Andrew likes to admit it, it's a weakness. He can't resist evoking that reaction from his jock boyfriend.

Still, he tries. "Neil would never be interested in this," Andrew says, and reaches out to grab one of the toys roughly. It's a little stuffed lamb with snow white wool, and it’s even smaller than the kitten. In Andrew's large, murderous hands, it almost seems to be crying out to Aaron for help.

Andrew stares at it for an impossibly long time, and then it's their turn. Aaron takes the basket from Andrew's stalled hands and tries not to make any wheezing sounds from how heavy it is. Andrew was carrying that shit for an hour?

"Well, how would you know?" Aaron throws over his shoulder as he dumps the contents onto the conveyor belt. He looks at the lamb, at how stupid it looks, and wonders when he himself got so soft. He's not sure what it's a consequence of, but it doesn't feel bad.

No reason to question it.

Andrew turns to him and arches a brow, and Aaron delivers his final punch.

"Neil's probably never had a stuffed animal before," he remarks, doing his best to impersonate Neil's shrug. The ones Allison has tried to force on Neil in the past don’t exactly count. Then, because they share the asshole trait, Aaron adds: "I mean, living out of a bag and all."

And oh, Andrew's glare could send their world as they know it straight to the depths of hell. He squeezes the lamb in a death grip, but notably doesn't let go.

Aaron's spine tingles from Andrew's intense, vengeful stare on the back of his neck as the cashier rings them up, but whatever revenge he gets will be worth it. He figures it can't be too bad when Andrew offers him a ride home, and the silence is more peaceful than anything else.

They walk to the dorms with the stuffed animals pressed under their elbows. If they both end up sick a few days later, neither of them choose to bring up the cause.

[djinmer4]

Echo (Spacelord AU)

“You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks, Star-Lord.  You’re not looking so hot yourself.”

Quill thumped his chest.  “I just got out of a healing vat less than a week ago.  What’s your excuse?”

Bloody Bess turned to look at Quill’s companion.  Kitty smiled and said, “He got shot while kare-”  A short burst of static.  “-while singing at a bar.”

The platinum blonde woman nodded.  “Not a bad story.  I just didn’t get much sleep.”

The male Terran wiggled his eyebrows.  “Fun night?”

She eyed him out of the corner of her eye.  “It’s the Captain annual birthing month.  It’s too busy and too noisy to sleep.”

“Wait, wait, time-out.”  Kitty held her hands in a perpendicular shape in front of her.  “I thought Captain Vag’ner was male?  And what’s a birth month?”

“He’s a Ruler Bamf, so that makes him a hermaphrodite.  But he prefers to identify as male.  Don’t you have hermaphrodites on Terra?  And a birth month is just because he decided it’s easier to boost our numbers all at once rather than spreading it out over the year.”

Quill quirked an eyebrow.  “No?”  But Kitty shook her head.  “Yes but . . . they’re kind of rare.  Or maybe I’m thinking of transgender.”  She shook her head.  “Never mind, I’ve got more questions now but it’s not important.  But I guess timing is why he’s cashing in that favor from running down the Kree Light-Speed Engine?”

The other woman nodded her head.  “Yup.  He really wanted to do this himself, but rumor has it that another treasure hunter got the coordinates too so now it’s a race against time to see who gets to claim the goods first.”  Bess had three blue, fuzzy, collared creatures, two of which she held out to Peter and Kitty.  “Our job is to just get into the palace.  Once there, we contact either the Palatine or the Milano.  My crew will then use these Workers as homing beacons and teleport in.”

“And steal the place blind,” continued Kitty dryly.  “I assume the natives are going to object.”

“Nope.  As far as we know, there shouldn’t be anyone living there anymore.  So your conscience doesn’t have to worry about a thing.”  She looked at the younger woman.  “I assume you’ve got a new suit after the last time?”

“Yeah.”  It was an older version, carbon nanotubes rather than the more advanced holographic one, and black rather than Quill’s (and Yondu’s) favored red, but it’s not like Star-Lord’s little cadre was a wealthy Ravager clan.  They probably had to take what they could get.

“Both of you get suited up then.”  Bess ushered them over to one of the Palatine’s M-ships and then took off towards the planet.

While Bess and Quill took the cabin seats, Kitty looked out the window.  “I don’t see anything but ice.”

Bess focused on piloting while answering.  “We’re not sure that is ice.  The planet’s got an incredible cloaking device, no visual or gravitational clues until we were almost right on top of it.  Cardinal thinks the ‘ice’ and ‘mist’ we’re seeing are actually parts of the shield.”  

They landed on a cubical pillar, no different from any of the others that covered the planet and wandered around.  By chance, Quill stepped on some sort of trigger mechanism and a circular platform began to descend.  Once it had completed its journey, they were left to find their way among crumbling catwalks, rickety staircases, and cramped tunnels.  “This reminds me of HR Giger,” mumbled Kitty.

“Who’s that?”

“You never saw the Alien movies?”

“When did they come out?  Might have been after Yondu abducted me.”

Kitty placed her hand against one of the decaying pillars.  After a second, she frowned.  “I can’t phase through this material.  If we need to cut and run later, that could be a problem.”

“That’s what the Workers are for,” Bess reassured her.  “If it gets bad, we can use them to teleport back to the Palatine.  And why we each have one, in case we get split up.”  At that point, she slipped, grabbed both Quill and Kitty’s arms to try to stabilize herself, and they all ended up sliding down one of the support beams.  “Well, now we’ll have to use the Workers to get back.  We’ll send a second crew to pick up the ship when we’re done.”

They continued down.  The fog got thicker until most of the light from the star was blocked and they had to switch on their lights.  “I wonder who made this place,” whispered Kitty.  Unnecessary, they had encountered nothing living the entire time they were here.

“Probably one of the Big Three,” Bess found herself also whispering and consciously forced her voice back up to normal volume.  “It wouldn’t be a big deal for one of them to strip-mine an entire planet to create something like this, then just forget about it.”

Once again, Quill was the one who found an access hatch.  And when the lever to open it proved too difficult for all three of them, he ended up shooting it with his blaster, freeing it from the ice.  They passed through a brief air lock type passage, with another lever (fortunately not frozen over this time) that opened up into the main body of the planet.

“There are no lights at all,” said Kitty, looking around.

“Fortunately, there’s only one direction to go.”  Bess tapped a few buttons on her helmet.  “Cardinal, are you getting all of this?”

A tinny voice could be heard in all their helms.  “I’m with you.”

“Creepy,” muttered Kitty.  “It all looks completely untouched.”

“Pretty though,” noted Quil, picking up a golden candelabra.  “Are we just going to grab anything then leave?”

Bess shook her head.  “Only as a last resort.  Supposedly there’s some fantastic technology here.  Something that allows you to bring back the dead.  That’s the real prize.”

They found another door.  In front of it was a pillar with an empty slot.  “Dead, unfortunately.”  Kitty tried to phase through it with no luck.  “This almost looks like a keyhole.  There must be a way to turn on the power for this place.”

Bess looked around then made a decision.  “Let’s keep going down.  It would make more sense for the generators to be near the planet’s core.”

Quill eventually abandoned the candelabra he’d picked up, then a mirror gave all three of them a jump scare.  Despite that, none of them could ignore the palace’s beauty.  “It’s all so pretty,” gushed Kitty.  “It reminds me of Versailles.”  She trailed one hand over a tuning fork, but no sound could be heard in the vacuum.

“You’ve been to France?”

“No, but I’ve seen pictures.”

Bess’s HUD pinged her and she followed the tracer symbol.  They came to a pillar, encircled by heavy metal rings.  Inset in the pillar was a scepter, which apparently carried a gravitational charge.  “I think this is our key.  It looks a lot like the pillar in front of the door.”  She hooked it through a belt loop and they made their way back to the door.  Bess inserted the scepter into the slot and . . . 

“Nothing’s happening.”  Noted Quill.

“Huh.  Maybe it really is just a dead world.”  Bess turned away, intent on simply picking up whatever they could carry off on their way back to the entrance when Kitty cried out.  Turning back around, she and Quill saw the pillar retract into the ground and the door open, panels sliding away into the walls.

They stepped inside.  “Do you see that?  That dim glow on the ceiling.”

Bess squinted at the ceiling.  “The scepter may have started up an evacuation procedure.  If there’s one thing that’s going to survive after all this time, that would be it.”  She looked around and spotted a couple of staircases.  “We’ll continue going down.”

They continued walking.  “This place is huge,” muttered the only male among them.  “How are we ever going to find anything without coordinates?”

Cardinal answered that.  “The scanners can pick up energy signatures.  I’ll pin them to your HUDs and you can look for those.”  They went down a few more levels until they came across another door.  This time, instead of a pillar, there was a giant throne in front of it.  Kitty stared at it, wide-eyed.  “What kind of species made this place?”

Bess just frowned.  “Theatrical ones.  There’s a limit to the size you can be in an environment like this, nothing that could actually use a throne like that would have been able to even move in this gravity unless it was aquatic.”  Despite her comment, Kitty had used her phasing ability to climb and sit down on the chair.  Quill quickly caught their attention and pointed out the door had opened in front of them.  But when Kitty got off, the panels started closing again.

“Get back on, and then get ready to sprint as soon as you jump off,” Bess ordered.  “If you don’t make it, squeeze the Worker a little and it will teleport you back to the Palatine.”  She and Quill stood by the door and stepped through easily when it opened.  Kitty waited until the panels had fully retracted, then hit the ground running, barely making it in before the door fully closed and crashing into Bess, knocking her down to the floor.  There was a huge chamber on the other side.

“I think this is it!” crowed Bess.  They quickly climbed the stairs to the small pavilion at the top.  There, the was a large marble slab, with silver circuitry embedded in the top.  At the foot of the coffin-shaped slab, a pillar with arc lightning provided the only other illumination.

Quill stared at the giant slab of marble.  “How are we going to get this out?”

Bess waved her fuzzy little blue elf-thing in his face.  “Teleportation!”  She placed one hand on the slab then did something with the Worker and vanished in a puff of smoke.  Star-Lord and Kitty exchanged confused glances, but before either of them could say anything, Bess was back in another puff.  “I’m surprised, that didn’t work.”

Awkwardly, Quill spoke, “Maybe it was too big?  Didn’t you say these things have a mass limit on how much they can teleport at once?”  She nodded her head.  “Try that pillar instead, it’s smaller.”

Bess walked over to the pillar, it was small enough that she could embrace it with one hand, careful to keep away from the arcing electricity between the top and bottom.  Once again she gave a slight squeeze and vanished.  But again, the pillar was left behind.

When she came back, Bess was frowning.  “I think the whole apparatus is like the walls outside.  Just like you can’t phase through them, Pryde, the bamfs teleportation doesn’t work either.  I guess we’re just going to have to cut our losses and pick up whatever valuables we can carry.”

They made their way to the door but then encountered another problem.  It wouldn’t open.  “I guess that makes sense,” muttered Kitty.  “Someone needs to be sitting on that throne to unlock it.”

The eldest member of the party looked around.  “Still, there are three other doors here.  Let’s go see if any of them will open.”  They split up, Quill and Pryde to the left and right respectively, and Bess to the door opposite the one they entered.

“Locked!”

“No good on this side either.”

They reconvened at the pavilion.  “So now what?” asked Quill.

Cardinal’s voice cut across any potential plans.  “Now the three of you squeeze those Bamfs and get back here.  Another ship just pulled into the system.”

“Shi’Ar?”

“Unknown.  But it’s bigger than the Palatine by a factor of 10.  I think our unknown competitor just showed up.”

Bess sighed in frustration.  “Looks like this whole trip was a bust then.  Cardinal, you’re going to need to send someone down to bring the M-ship back to the Palatine.  Star-Lord, Pryde, we’re going to teleport back to the ship.”

Just before they left, Kitty heard Peter say one more thing.  “Guess even the greatest Ravagers can’t win them all.”

[winters-cursed-king]

Some People Pay- Chapter 1

Fandom: Harry Potter

Summary: The first term holidays were never going to be good for Sirius. Provoking Lucius Malfoy at a pureblood gathering made them even worse and McGonagall might be slightly concerned

Tws: Child abuse, physical abuse, violence, implied/referenced self harm, blood, torture, bullying (?) 

Fake Your Death Series || Read On AO3 || Chapter 2 

Sirius pushed the box of blades shut, taking in deep breaths. Blood trickled slowly down his forearms, but he couldn’t work out what was from the cuts lining his wrists and what was from his shoulders.

The letter shook in his hands, words blurring together as he tried to read it.

Good evening Sirius,

I hope your holidays have gone well and you are well refreshed for your second term at Hogwarts.

The uniform you gave me has been placed back in your dorm, alongside all your books. As per request, I have asked the house elves to avoid your bed however I expect it to still be kept tidy.

I would remind you there is a transfiguration essay due in on the first Friday back and if you are having any issues please come see me for help.

On the train back, I will be in compartment three. There is something that came out of the bag you gave me that I would like to talk about.

Regards,

Professor McGonagall

His hands shook harder as he folded the letter up, the paper scraping against his fingers as blood blotted the edges.

Pushing himself up off the wall was more difficult than he’d expected. His legs were weak under him, shaking and betraying him, and he almost tripped several times while trying to remove the false brick from the wall.

Carefully, he tucked the letter into the matchbox alongside the one from James. It was worn out, carefully wrapped in tissue paper. Hidden alongside his wand and the notes Remus, James, and Peter had written to him in class.

Slotting the fake brick back over the hole, he pulled the dress shirt off the rack, trying not to cough as dust was scattered across the room.

He buttoned it up slowly, hair pins in his mouth. He was careful not to pull too hard on the fresh cuts as he fixed the cuffs.

As he pushed his feet into the dress shoes, he pulled down the mirror. He had a blackeye, and his lip was slightly swollen, but it’d be fine.

He fixed the last pin in his hair. The bun was not messy enough to call it attention to it, but just messy enough to be a statement of rebellion.

He could feel the footsteps from the crowds downstairs and the voices discussing every piece of latest gossip. It rattled the black iron railing that ran down the halls and made the doors creak and shudder.

The staircase was long, and windy, and in full view of anyone in the ballroom. He could see the guests floating around in the candlelight, whispering to each other. He knew most of them by name, and all of them by deed. He could see Lucius showing off something on his arm, and Bellatrix carefully adjusting the hem of her skirt.

It took everything he had to stop his hands from shaking. He gripped the railing as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes scanning for the safest corner to hide in.

How Lucius managed to cross the room in the span of milliseconds, Sirius would never know.

“If it isn’t our little blood traitor,” Lucius sneered.

Lucius was taller than him and broader than him and older than him. His white hair was pulled back off his face, held in place with a slytherin clip, and his fingers were dripping with rings.

“Fuck off.”

Lucius caught Sirius’ wrist, nails digging in deep, stepping closer and closer. “What did you say to me, runt?”

“I told you to fuck off. Go suck a dick or something.”

There was an art in keeping a cocky grin on his face. A sort of rhythm in the way he ignored the irregular beating of his heart and focused his eyes squarely on Lucius’ cold ones.

Lucius twisted his arm back, pushing him up against the railing of the stairs. It pressed against the cuts on his wrists and sent fresh flames of agony through his shoulders and back. On such an awkward angle, he couldn’t even stand up straight.

He leant in and whispered against Sirius’ ear, fist tightening around his wrist. “Do you want me to show you what we do to blood traitors?”

Sirius kicked at Lucius’ shins. “Get off me, you jerk. I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, Lucius,” Andromeda draped her arms over his shoulders. “Don’t you have better things to be doing?”

She had a fading bruise under her cheek bone, and her eyes were tired. Brown hair had been gathered meticulously into a silver bun net and her fingers were worn.

Lucius shrugged her off, digging his nails in deeper until he drew blood.

But he didn’t even look at her.

She gave Sirius an apologetic look, but walked off, her fingers twirling the loose strand of hair.

The punch hit Sirius in the chest before he even saw it.

“Fucking mudblood lover,” Lucius snarled. “Do you really want to make a mockery of us?”

“You do that just fine by yourself.”

Another blow caved Sirius’ stomach in.

He didn’t get a chance to breath before Lucius’ wand was pointing under Sirius’ chin, digging in sharply.

Pain burst through his body. It twisted patterns, igniting every bruise and cut. It laughed and snarled, biting at his skin and gnashing at his bones. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to focus on anything but Lucius’ grin and the pain that ran through his bones.

“Oh Lucius!” Sirius’ mother fawned. “I couldn’t find you anywhere. How long has it been?”

The wand left Sirius’ throat instantly, and his wrist was released. But the pain wasn’t gone. His mother’s voice kept everything on edge- fists clenched, heart racing.

“Far too long, I’m afraid,” Lucius sidled. “I haven’t seen you since the end of school last year.”

Sirius’ breath caught in his chest. He couldn’t open his eyes, they wouldn’t work for him and he couldn’t make them. They were fixed firmly shut, unwilling to cooperate. He could feel his hands shaking and he hated it. He couldn’t show weakness. Especially not here.

His mother slapped him across the face, nails digging into his skin.

His vision was blurry. His mother’s pearls seemed to reflect the too bright light, her black netting obscuring his view of the room. Her snake headed cane tapped against the marble floor.

“What took you so long? Do you exist to ridicule me?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to watch whatever scene you were making,” he shrugged.

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He was tired, and sore, and school started again in a couple of days.

Lucius’ smug smile said it all.

“I should’ve locked you up in the attic,” she growled lowly. “Be grateful I’m too kind to do what I should’ve. If you had any parent but me you wouldn’t be here, you can bet on that.”

“I don’t want to be here.”

“Do you want a taste of what responsible parents do to their blood traitors?”

The head of her cane hit just under his chin, tilting his head up slightly.

He raised his chin to look her in the eyes, words turning bitter and painful before he spoke them. “How bad could it be?”

The cane sent a sharp burst of pain across his chin, hitting his split lip. He could taste blood, feel it trickle down his chin.

He didn’t even have time to focus on it. Time and time again his mother’s rings scraped across the skin of his cheek, drawing blood, and the cane sent bruises blossoming across his body.

She stayed detached, upright, observing with cold eyes. Sometimes he thought it’d be better if she yelled or screamed or snarled.

He fell into the routine he’d perfected over the years. Taking shallow breaths, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor, biting his lip to keep the tears from forming.

The room was spinning around him in a blur of light when the blows stopped. It took all of his willpower to stand up straight and look his mother in the eye.

He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. He could see Cygnus nodding in approval, and Lucius’ smug, aloof grin.

The only one looking away was Andromeda. She was staring at the ground, hands shaking in her lap, whispering something to Regulus.

But he wasn’t listening.

He was watching Sirius with wide eyes and fists clenched around his robes. His chest was rising and falling jaggedly, with the trained restraint of someone who couldn’t show fear.

Sirius caught his eyes, trying to fix his face into an easy going, reassuring smile. Everything was going to be ok.

But Regulus looked away, his face quickly going blank.

Sirius leaned back against the railing, ignoring the shots of pain from the not quite healed gashes on his back, and laughed as best he could through the raspiness.

“Is that all you’ve got, you old bat?”

Shots of pain pressed against the skin of his wrist, carving patterns and letters he couldn’t bring himself to look at. Bursts of purple and red cut through his mind, blocking out his vision entirely, and he could feel his throat constrict. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see. He was numb except for the blinding white pain that became his only tether to reality.

This was it. This was how he was going to die.

He couldn’t remember anything after that. He’d be able to feel the agony in his veins for the rest of his life, or the feeling of his skin splitting open and his bones splintering. He’d be able to say how hoarse his throat had been for days after or how the fury in his mother’s eyes was permanently ingrained in his mind.

But the details were gone as soon as it had happened. A massive dark gap in his memory that stretched for an indeterminable amount of time and hid images that haunted him in nightmares.

He could remember the aftermath, though. He could remember falling to his knees, face a mess of tears and blood, body shaking and breath trapped in his chest. He could remember the cold marble against his split skin and how he hit his head on the railing.

He could remember that one last glimpse of Regulus’ pale face before everything crumbled into an empty, unforgiving darkness.