#fic: beacon

[star-girl-05]

Were Dating?

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

~★~❤︎~✦~

His signature blue jeep pulled into your driveway at exactly eight. Surprisingly the brunette was on time for once. As soon as he parks he’s jumping out of the jeep, giving you his dorky smile before opening the passenger side door for you. You just chuckle at his actions. 

You and Stiles have been friends for years though it was only lately that he's been acting somewhat differently. He’s been sweeter to you, more thoughtful, you contribute it to the fact the two of you have been spending more alone time together. Tonight the two of you are going to see a new horror movie that you’ve been dying to see. 

You and Stiles just buttered your popcorn when you bump into Scott and allison. Coincidentally they are going to see the same movie, so you decided to join each other. ‘A double date’ in Stiles' own words. The night went amazing, after the movie the four of you decided to get food. At the end of the night Stiles drives you back to your house. Even going as far as walking you to the door. Just as you're about to say goodnight he kisses you. You freeze when his lips meet yours, completely stunned by the boy's bold move. 

“Uh.. What was that?” You weren't against Stiles kissing you but you wanted to know why he's kissing you out of the blue. 

Stiles tilted his head a blush still coating his cheeks, “It’s a goodnight kiss, can’t I kiss my girlfriend” Now you're really confused. 

“I’m your girlfriend?” 

“Of course you're my girlfriend”, he chuckled thinking you were teasing him. It's only when you ask since when with a completely straight face does he realize you're being serious. “A week in a half, I asked you out two tuesdays ago.”

It took a few seconds to place the day.

It was an average day, Stiles was driving you home like he does everyday. Only this time when you pulled up to your house he stops you. “Hey before you go I wanted to ask you something” He was oddly nervous but you didn't think anything about it, giving him a nod of encouragement. “I was wondering if you wanted to hang-out, like just the two of us.” Why he’s so nervous to ask you to hang out you don’t know but you answer right away. 

“Of course, I don’t know why you were so nervous to ask. I could never say no to you.” A huge smile blooms on Stiles face, his dimples fully on show. 

“Thank goodness, I was so nervous that you would say no” you laugh at his reaction, why on earth would you ever say no. 

Now looking back on it’s so obvious that he was asking you on a date. In your defense he never used the word date or the word girlfriend. So it wasn’t totally your fault for not connecting the dots. 

“I didn’t realize you were asking me out” your voice is soft 

“Oh” an awkward silence covers the two of you as both stare at each other. He had no idea how to respond, this whole time he thought you were his girlfriend, but you thought the two of you were only friends. He had no idea how you thought the two of you were friends. He wasn't hiding his affection for you. The two of you would hold hands, and cuddle yet you thought you were friends. He felt like an idiot, he just kissed you when you saw him as just a friend. “Well then goodnight I guess sorry I kissed you let's just forget about it” he tried to laugh off his discomfort, this is not how he thought tonight was going to go. This morning he was dating his longtime crush and now he’s finding out it was all a lie. He just wanted to run away and die of embarrassment. 

Before he could leave you grab his arm pulling him back to you and placing a kiss on his lips. His mind short-circuited, he’s on a rollercoaster. One second he's dating you then you're rejecting him and now you're kissing him. 

“Stiles, do you want to be my Boyfriend?” 

“Yeah I would love too” his smiles huge 

“That's how you ask someone out” you giggle out

“Well when someone takes you on dates and holds your hands that means your dating” the both of you laugh kissing each other once more.

[frownyalfred]

I’m sure someone else has covered this by now, but the Superman suit being Kryptonian in origin had so much body horror/Kryptonian biology/etc potential. It’s a weird suit, this alien piece of technology. Who’s to say it only functions as a clothing layer? I want to know what it was doing to Clark and vice versa, whatever the bio-mechanical input was, etc. The cape could have been mildly sentient on its own — not enough to move, really, but enough to thicken/widen/constrict in dangerous situations. The suit could have stored solar energy as reserves. It could have pressed against glands/etc Clark didn’t know he had, keeping his focus during rough battles.

And what happens when Clark puts the suit on someone else, to protect them etc? Does it change Bruce a little bit, too?

[bittersweetyrn]

big fan of essek thelyss, not the fanon interpretation, which is either "smol bean, tiny fragile elf who's a sweetheart and basically a child" or people mistakenly calling betrayal of one's home country a "war crime" and then proceeding to be flippant about it anyway, but the real Essek

pretentious motherfucker that committed treason bc he though he was smarter than everyone else

learned to float literally just to impress other rich people

canonically neutral evil

basically head spymaster of his country and master of lies but sucks shit lying to his friends

stayed bitchy even after his redemption arc

"there is nothing I would love more than to not be around you all for the remainder of this day"

a space wizard that crushed someone with telekenesis just to show off (the person was already dying)

sexy feet, nice ass, overall hottie

fell in love with a traumatized wizard of his enemy country and it was mutual despite all the betrayal

faggot

gave away state secrets to enemy wizard bc he though he was sexy

discovered time travel with his boyfriend

proceeded to say they shouldn't use time travel (bc now he's a good boy) but was willing to sacrifice everything and help if his bf wanted to use it

once confessed he had such a bad fight with his dad that his dad ran into the demon caves and never returned (essek doesn't feel bad about this at all)

young for an elf but still 120 years old, he called his bf "young man" and flexed on him about how much more evil he is

[riddlemearose]

Phoning a Friend

Warriors watches the two Champions blearily, forcing his eyes to stay focused on them. He knows one is the Shadow but he can’t let himself entertain the possibilities of who the other one is. For now, he has to think of it nothing more than another potential enemy.

The one with the odd spear that gleams gold, its green gem ornaments clinking softly against the shaft as he twirls it, keeps himself between Warriors and the twisted Champion. The golden spear spins and spins, batting away a sickening dark blade every time the bloodstained, withered Champion tries to break through his guard.

Watching the spinning spear is actually making Warriors feel nauseous. Well, he mentally amends that to ‘more nauseous’, glancing down at the blood spreading across his tunic.

And this weird noise, whatever it is, isn’t helping! There’s something heavy weighing the clearing down, pressing into Warriors’ skin.

All he can hear is this pulsing loud tick tick tick in his ears, accompanied by an odd warping sensation in his limbs.

It’s magic, he knows that much, but he’s never felt it before and has no idea which Champion it may be coming from, if it even is either of them casting the spell.

He turns his head to spit out a mouthful of blood and it feels like the movement takes an eternity to complete.

So either his blood loss is more severe than he thought, or there’s something else going on.

The spear-wielding Champion darts backwards, his grip along the spear finally shifting into a proper stance, grinning wildly.

Ha, Warriors is hilarious.

A large shining gem sitting at the dip of the first Champion's throat lights his face up from below, all deep shadows and softened edges. He’s breathing heavily, a slight tremble visible in his fingers as he readjusts his grip.

The other Champion across from them makes a sweeping gesture with its withered arm and something red and alive spurs into life, lunging forward. The shape twists, absorbing what remains of the rotted flesh, and large, monstrous fingers stretch into existence. They reach through the darkness for the first Champion, wicked under the moonlight.

The first Champion raises the spear slightly in response, his grin vanishing as it's smothered under a blank, smooth expression that Warriors refuses to recognise. The fingers, the vile magic, get closer to his face, closing the distance rapidly—

And Time shoots out of the bushes, the Biggoron sword catching the moonlight as it arcs through the air and severs the arm from withered Champion's body. The arm hits the ground and melts into a writhing pool of furious magic, thrashing around that Champion’s feet.

The ticking in Warriors’ ears stops so abruptly he's thrown off-kilter, reeling at the sudden silence left in its wake.

Time glances at him, a quick look filled with concern and worry, then shifts his gaze to the spear-wielding Champion — Wild, Warriors lets himself finally acknowledge.

Dozens of micro-expressions fly rapidly across Time's face before he finally decides on grim determination.

“That,” he says in an almost wobbly tone of voice, taking up stance next to Wild, “is loud.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told. Sorry about that.” Wild agrees, still focused on the withered copy of himself standing in front of them. He shoots Time a small grin, barely there but blindingly obvious if you know what to look for. “Worked though.”

Time lets out a quiet huff of laughter, his own small smile twitching across his face. He shifts, sword held tightly in both hands. "You're definitely not wrong about that, Wild. When we get back to camp, you'll have to tell me how you managed to make your magic even louder than it already was."

[doyelikehaggis]

7 Days of Scarepairs: Sciles | Scott McCall x Stiles Stilinski (Teen Wolf) + “Grief”

Requested by @joanthangroff (TW mention of suicide attempt)

It was a long ride back from the motel. At least, it felt longer. Stiles' gaze burning holes in the side of his face wasn't making it go any faster, either. Scott could see his bouncing leg, hear his racing heart and smell the anxiety radiating off of him. Even if he were oblivious to all of that, he would still know something was wrong with him.

"Stiles," he said wearily, looking at him properly for the first time since Coach snatched his whistle back off of Lydia and told them to sit down. "Are you okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. All good."

The way he glanced at him said otherwise. Scott raised his eyebrows pointedly and the leg bouncing stopped. Stiles ran a hand over his thigh and nodded jerkily as if reiterating that he was fine.

"Look, we're gonna figure this out, okay?" Scott assured him as best he could. "From what Ethan said, there's a good chance that Derek is alive. Once we get back to Beacon Hills, we can find him, and we can make a better plan. No one else is going to get hurt."

He just managed to bite back a promise. He knew he couldn't. He only hoped that it was the truth.

But Stiles stared at him like he could see right through him, his eyes narrowing. He parted his lips like he was going to retort, as he usually would, but instead, he just shook his head and turned to face the back of the seat in front of him. As he ran a hand over his face, Scott frowned.

"You're angry," he blurted out.

Stiles shook his head again and sighed. "No. No, Scotty, I'm not angry." His heart skipped but he acted like Scott couldn't hear it. "I'm just... I'm tired. Last night was..."

"I know," Scott said softly. His own heart skipped. "But the darach's not going to catch us by surprise like that again."

Stiles nodded, but he didn't say anything else. In fact, he didn't say anything else for the rest of the ride. Scott wanted to, but something stopped him. He took to staring out the window and letting his eyes unfocus as he repeated his plan to find Derek in his mind the whole way home.

*

The bus dropped them off at the school. Stiles insisted on driving Scott home, even though he had his bike. He didn't put up a fight - he just wanted to go home and see his mom before he did anything else. That phone call back at the motel had felt too real. He just needed to see her.

Of course, she was at work. Scott sighed when he found the note on the fridge, but he told himself not to overthink it. She was fine.

"Alright, well, I think we should go to Derek's loft first," he said, turning to Stiles who was lingering by the back door, his arms folded. "He'd most likely have gone back there to try and heal."

He frowned.

"Although, if the alpha pack are looking for him, that might be too obvious. Maybe we should try the animal clinic first. He could've gone to Deaton, right?"

He waited for Stiles to agree with him or suggest something he hadn't thought of because right then, all Scott had was a handful of guesses and maybes.

But Stiles didn't chime in. He shrugged when he realized Scott was looking at him.

"Stiles, are you sure you're okay?" he asked gently.

Stiles dragged a hand over his face and sighed again, his tongue in his cheek, and he could smell the irritation on him, just like when they were on the bus.

"You know what? No," he snapped, throwing his hand up. "No, Scott, I'm not okay, and, quite frankly, neither are you, and I don't get why we're just pretending that last night never happened. Because it did."

"Do you mean..." Scott couldn't quite get the words out, his throat closing up around them and forcing them back down. He shifted his feet, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment. "The wolfsbane?"

"Yeah, I'm talking about the wolfsbane," Stiles said, his voice thick with emotion he was failing to contain. "More specifically, what the wolfsbane did to you, Scott."

Scott shook his head, his eyebrows drawing together as he tried to ignore the sick feeling weighing down on him. "It was just... you saw what it did to all of us. Ethan-"

"Tried to saw himself open, yeah," Stiles cut him off. "Probably something to do with his freakish ability to combine into one even more freakish mutation with Aiden. Isaac - he was hiding under his bed. Boyd and Lydia were hearing things. But you, Scott..."

He took a step toward him, and Scott watched his feet, observing every little detail of his shoes and the kitchen floor.

"Scott, you tried to kill yourself."

"It was just..."

"No. No, Scott, the wolfsbane brought out all of your biggest fears and just - just heightened your true emotions. Boyd's guilt about his sister, Isaac's fear of his dad, Lydia always being the one to find dead bodies. It wasn't the wolfsbane talking when you did that. Was it?"

Scott knew he had to give him an answer. He just didn't think either of them really wanted to hear it. The truth hung in the air between them, as suffocating as the gasoline that still clung to Scott's senses.

"It doesn't matter," he said quietly, then looked up to meet Stiles' disbelieving stare. "We need to find Derek. We can't waste any more time, we need-"

"Scott, stop! Can you even - you nearly died! Twice!"

"But I didn't-"

"Because someone stopped you! Allison literally had to sew you back together because you felt so guilty about Derek being dead that you were going to let yourself die, too! Scott, I had to talk you out of setting yourself on fire, how can you not - how do you not see how messed up that is?!"

"Stiles, I'm sorry about last night, okay? I shouldn't have... I should've fought the wolfsbane, or..."

Stiles just stared back at him, shaking his head incredulously. Finally, in a much softer voice, he said, "Scott, I don't want you to be sorry that I had to save you. I just... I just wanna know that you don't actually believe what you said last night."

It was a simple request. It would take just two words. And yet...

Scott opened his mouth. Then he shook his head and closed it again, looking away with a piercing pain where his healed wound was just yesterday.

"You have to admit that a lot of what we've gone through wouldn't have happened if I hadn't..."

"Hadn't what?" He looked back up to see the reason for the quiver in Stiles' voice; tears shone in his wide eyes. "Hadn't survived being bitten by Peter? That's what you meant, wasn't it?"

He tilted his head but he didn't get a chance to deny or confirm. Stiles already knew. He looked like he might crumble into a million pieces.

"Scott," he said, his voice cracking as he moved closer. "I don't care what's happened to us. I don't care about the murderous werewolves or - or the hunters, or any of the crazy supernatural things that keep happening around us, alright? Because we've survived it, but what I wouldn't have survived was losing my best friend."

Scott bit his tongue, his eyes stinging. Part of him wanted to point out all the bad things - the numerous times he's put his life in danger, the people who haven't survived the craziness of their world, and everything else.

Then Stiles really did crumble. "Scott, I meant what I said last night. And I can't lose you. I can't - you and my dad, you're all... you're all I've got, and I can't - Scotty, I can't lose you as well. I need you. And I know how selfish that is, but it's true. So, if you need a reason to - to believe that you should be alive, then there it is. Me, Scott. Make me your reason if you have to, or your mom, or even Allison, because I promise you that none of us would be better off if you weren't here."

"You'd be safe, at least."

He didn't mean to say it. It just slipped out.

"You don't know that," Stiles countered, then he shrugged. "And even if that was true - I don't care. Scott, I'd rather be in danger every day of my life from some supernatural threat than live without you."

He didn't know what to say to that. All he could do was surge forward and hug him. Stiles immediately wrapped his arms tight around him, as if he never intended to let go.

"I'm sorry," he repeated quietly into his shoulder.

"Just make me a promise, Scotty. Alright? Promise that you'll talk to me, so that, when you start blaming yourself for every bad thing that's ever happened, I can tell you what an idiot you are."

Scott chuckled and nodded. "I promise." Then, he softly added: "I mean it."

Stiles tightened his arms just a little more. Both of them savoured the feeling of the other against them. Solid. Real. Alive. Safe. For a moment, they were as physically intertwined as they were in every other way.

Scott knew they should look for Derek. They should come up with a plan to stop the darach. But he wasn't ready to let go of the first real feeling of comfort he'd felt in a while.

[sunshines-child]

how do i explain to chinese mothers who are trying to improve their kid's education that this jiejie's extensive english vocabulary came from binging ao3 fics

[frostbitepandaaaaa]

The Beacon, Chapter 2

hello hello!

because we could all use a distraction today, here you go!

PREVIEW

“Should check out the lower levels, too,” he presses on after a beat. “There’s storerooms down there. Could be fuel for the generator or a whole lot of other shit.”

“Maybe some fucking caf?” Kestrel posits, faux hopeful.

“Maybe,” he puffs through a dry chuckle. He’d kiss a Hutt for a cup of caf right about now. “Wouldn’t count on it, though.”

She nods, an amused smile ghosting over her mouth as she looks into her nearly empty bowl. “I’ll seal up that window in the ‘fresher.”

Cassian nods. “I’ll fix the plumbing.”

“Just don’t pass out again,” she quips.

He smirks. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

They sit in silence for a time as they finish their meals. Kestrel pulls out a flask of water from the shadows of her blanket and hands it to him over the table, avoiding his eyes. Cassian accepts it, nods in gratitude, and takes a swig. She snatches it back from him as if fearful he’d hoard it away. He gives her a baleful look and she simply stares back, nonplussed. He sighs and massages his shoulder when it begins to throb.

“Should give you another shot,” Kestrel says, watching him. He is trying not to chafe under her strangely detached scrutiny. He knows she’s doing it out of obligation to her own sense of safety, keeping guard when she thinks he’s not looking, but her constant vigilance is already getting tiring. “How’d you get that wound anyway?” she asks. Cassian looks up at her, startled. She hasn’t shown even the slightest hint of interest in him and where he might’ve come from. Her only inquiry had been about who he might be employed by, who might own this massive ruin lain with caches of supplies. She blinks, sobering, surprised at herself. “I mean… it looked nasty. Like a vibroblade maybe.”

read it on ao3!

[zacs-of-rwby]

Home is Where Your Light Shines Brightest

Chapter 29: Time to Say Goodbye

Story Summary: Ozpin works tirelessly in his pursuit: to make Beacon of Hope a safe place for kids to grow up.  With a bigger location and more kids to take care of, Ozpin starts to feel the weight of responsibility crushing him, and he plans to carry the whole thing himself.

For Qrow, volunteering for Beacon of Hope had only one purpose: to get Summer off his back for a little while.  When he meets the polite, friendly, and handsome man in charge, he wonders if he could actually get something out of this whole ordeal after all.

With Qrow’s support, maybe Oz will be able to reach his goal of turning this house into a home.

Story Categories: Mental Health, Recovery, Slice of Life, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Found Family, LGBTQ+ Themes, Alternate Universe, Ozpin’s Halfway House AU, please check Ao3 tags for potentially triggering topics

Chapter Summary: A few of the residents get ready for discharge.

Chapter Categories: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Goodbyes

Author’s Note: I really can't believe that we only have one chapter before the fic is completely posted!!!!! I finished this final draft back in June 2024 and it seems almost surreal to be this close to the real end. But I still have the sequel series :)

[lulublack90]

Prompt 24 - Intent

@jegulus-microfic August 24, Word count 920

Previous part First Wolfstar part

Regulus flew into James’s arms when they met again. 

“We got it!” He whispered excitedly after they'd slipped out of the Manor, unseen. 

“Well done, love. Let’s get out of here,” James nodded to the others and they all disapparated. 

They hadn’t gone back to their camp. The plan was to go somewhere else first and destroy the Horcrux. They were somewhere in the Brecon Beacons. The wind howled around the wild mountain range. Their robes whipped around their legs and threatened to be torn off completely. 

“We need somewhere more covered!” Sirius called out, his voice stolen by the wind. 

“Come with me!” Remus yelled, holding out his hands to them. They all grabbed on. Regulus felt the familiar squeezing sensation as Remus apparated them again. 

The wind stopped, and they were inside a wooden shed. 

“Where are we?” Marcus asked, picking up a dusty watering can. 

“My da’s old potting shed.” Remus shrugged. “It’s out of the wind at least. Regulus moved to the sturdy-looking bench and moved aside the collection of spider web-coated seed trays and mini-plant pots before taking the notebook out of his pocket. 

For the first time, he looked at it properly. It was definitely muggle in origin. It had a date printed on the front, 1943. So it was a diary, he thought. He opened it hoping to find some hidden secrets. It was blank. The only writing was the slightly smudged name on the first page. T. M. Riddle. Well, at least they had the right item. 

“Damn, that thing smells awful,” Marcus complained, holding his nostrils closed with his thumb and forefinger. Regulus ignored him and put the diary on the workbench. He took the box containing the basilisk fang out as well and carefully extracted it. 

He held it up gingerly to his brother. 

“Do you want to do the honours? You were the one to get it after all,” 

“Narcissa literally threw it at me. I wouldn’t exactly say I got it,” Sirius barked out a laugh, but carefully took the fang. He held it above the diary. He was about to plunge it into the diary when a shimmering form began to break free of the pages. 

“Quick, just do it!” Regulus urged Sirius on. “Before whatever that is can fully form. Sirius stabbed down with intent. He stabbed the fang so hard it went straight through the diary and stuck in the wood beneath. 

A loud scream escaped from within the pages as waves of ink flooded out of the diary, coating Sirius from his arms down and covering the dusty floor. Then everything was still and the destroyed Horcrux lay there, just a diary again, albeit a diary with a large steaming hole through the middle of it. 

It took Sirius a second to wrench the fang from the wood, but once he had, he returned it to its box and handed it back to Regulus. 

“Shit, Moony, the fangs burnt through the potting table. How pissed is your dad going to be when he sees it?” Sirius grimaced after he’d vanished all the spilt ink from himself and the shed. 

“Not much,” Remus replied sadly. “He doesn’t use it any more, not since Mum died,” Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus and whispered what sounded like sweet words in his ear, but Regulus couldn’t make them out. 

“Okay, let’s go home,” Sirius said as he pulled away from Remus, but didn’t let go of his hand. James grabbed Regulus’s hand and Marcus rolled his eyes. 

“Because you can’t apparate without holding hands. Bleh!” He fake gagged and dissapparated. 

“Poor Marcus, he needs to get laid,” Sirius snickered, before bringing Remus’s hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles and apparating away. 

“Just us, love,” James said, crowding Regulus against the neglected shed’s wall. Regulus surged forward and attached himself to James’s face. It was over. They’d found and destroyed another Horcrux.

“Can we go back to Potter Manor?” He asked, between gasping breaths. James groaned into his mouth. 

“Oi! Who’s in there?!” A voice shouted from outside the shed. 

“Shit, Lyall!” James cursed. He wrapped his arms around Regulus more securely and apparated them to Potter Manor. He pulled out his mirror and called into it. “Hey, Padfoot,” James waited for a moment, and then Sirius’s voice came through. 

“Why are you calling me on the mirror? Where have you gone? Have you gone back to Potter Manor?!”

“Er, yeah, change of plans. We need to check the library again. See you in the morning, yeah. Oh, and can you tell Remus that Lyall came out and yelled at us? He didn’t see who was in the shed, but he might have gone in by now. Love ya,” He blew a huge kiss at the mirror and snapped it shut.

“He’s going to kill you for that, you know,” Regulus couldn’t hide the grin spreading across his face. 

“Nah, he loves me too much. He might take a page out of your book though and hex my bollocks off the next time he sees me,” He grimaced. 

“I’d like to see him try,” Regulus narrowed his eyes dangerously. James chuckled, and they walked into Potter Manor, greeted by an irate Flitsy, who had not been expecting them and had nothing ready. It took James a good twenty minutes to calm her down and promise that it wasn't a problem. Regulus headed upstairs. He needed a shower after everything they’d been through the last few hours. 

Next part

[a-writing-otter]

“Now we just go in there, with bats swinging, and we—“

“Slow your roll, Mabel.”

The gates open and Bill has to squint against the bright, pulsating, technicolor lights of the glen. He holds a hand up to shield his eyes as an over pronounced “neigh” is shouted into the air, the unicorn in question shaking its mane back and forth as it stands up proudly beside the babbling water.

“Welcome to my realm of— You!”

Mabel takes three strides forward with her crossbow in hand, but stops when Bill puts a hand out to stop her.

“Quit the drama, Celeste,” he tells the unicorn flatly.

Celesteabellabethabelle and Bill regard each other for a few moments. It squints at Bill before its eyes go wide.

“Bill?!”

He raises his hand to give a wave with a grimace.

“What’re— What’re you— Why are you here?!”

He folds his arms and then starts to tick off on his fingers.

“Tried to take over the universe, got taken down by meddling kids and their pet grunkles, was sent to prison, flunked out of prison, was sent to this universe to do community service, and now my ex-boyfriend wants to turn me into a living beacon so he can take over the world.” Bill pauses for a second before looking down at Mabel. “Am I missing anything?”

“We’re here to take her hair?”

“Oh! Right. We need your hair.”

“What?! I’m not just going to give you my hair! In order for a lock of my hair, you need to be a maiden of—“

“Yeah, yeah, pure of heart,” Bill waves it off. “I remember that whole scam you set up in your realm.”

He leans down to Mabel, a hand put against his mouth as he speaks to her in a stage whisper.

“You know, they used to be from another dimension pulling this shit before everyone got pissed and they were able to bleed over here. Anyway!” He straights up and looks at Celesteabellabethabelle, “Either you give us a lock of your hair so we can do what we need to do, or I set this thirteen year-old on you.”

“And I’ve got so much pent up puberty rage!”

The three of them regard each other for a moment, Celeste looking put out, Mabel looking bloodthirsty, and Bill is kind of proud of the look on Mabel’s face. He really is starting to rub off on these kids, he thinks.

Or puberty is more of a bitch than he gave it credit for.

He prefers to think it’s the first one.

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - Event Finals Part 1

Masterpost Now on AO3 - Sous Le Ciel de Paris

Part 11 I think?

Author's note: sorry for the delay on this guys, but I just couldn't get it to a place where I was happy with it for a while. And I don’t like putting things out when I’m not happy with them. Plus I wanted to wait until I watched event finals to make sure I felt relatively okay about the logistics. Plus I've been very busy with life 😬. But this part is a bit longer, so maybe that makes up for it?

Hope everyone is enjoying the Olympics! Here's Bucky's event finals, as promised.

---

The first day of individual event finals, Bucky is alone. Just him, his coaches, and seven of his new closest friends – the other athletes from around the world competing for a medal on men’s floor exercise. The only other men’s event today is pommel horse, and none of the U.S. athletes qualified. Croz damn near did, but he placed ninth after a form break, and only the top eight on each apparatus advance to finals.

So it’s just Bucky back here in the Bercy arena warm-up gym, and he feels oddly bereft. He doesn’t remember the last time he walked into a competition alone, without Curt at his side. It’s been the two of them at the top of men’s gymnastics for years. Even when they competed in college for different schools, they met up at competitions and became fast friends. Since then, they’ve trained together. They’ve competed together. They’ve faced the world and this crazy ass sport together. And now Bucky is alone. 

It’s nearing 9am in Paris, and he’s getting ready to do his fourth floor routine of this Olympics. His fourth floor routine in about a week, after qualifications, team, and all-around. 

We don’t think it’s a good idea for you to do floor yet, the doctors told him months ago. It’s too much of a risk. It’s too hard on your leg.

Bucky basically told them to fuck off because he planned to try for Paris. Once the idea was in his head – the idea that it could be possible – he couldn’t let it go. He needed to at least try. Honestly, not even he himself knows if he really expected to get this far. On one hand, yes he absolutely did. He’s John fucking Egan; as far as he’s concerned, this is what he was meant for, a destiny set forth by the gymnastics gods. On the other hand, did anyone really expect it after the year he’d had? Did anyone think it was possible? Did anyone think he could do it without hurting himself all over again?

And yet here he is. He wasn’t supposed to do floor exercise at all, and now he’s doing it four times in one week. And honestly, not even he’s sure that it’s a good idea. Not even he’s sure that he isn’t in over his head today. 

But that kind of mentality does not have a place on the gymnastics floor.

A wet nose presses against Bucky’s thigh as he sits on the floor, securing his brace once again as he prepares to head out into the arena for warmups. It’s his ever-dutiful good luck charm, getting Bucky through these Games just like he got him through trials. 

“Hey bud,” Bucky says, patting Beacon on the head. The golden smiles at him and wags his tail, as if he’s saying you’re not alone, you have me, and it makes Bucky smile, too. “Yeah, at least I have you,” he says. “Just you and me against the world, Bea.”

Beacon licks his hand in agreement.

The golden almost hadn’t made it to the Games, but Bucky and Curt had personally advocated to find a way to get him and his owner across the pond to Paris. USA Gymnastics wasn’t going to turn down their two stars, and they pulled some strings to make it happen. Since it’s an international event, the dog can’t be out on the competition floor, but USA Gym negotiated a way to have him back by the warm-up gym, and at this point just about everyone agrees it was the best decision anyone at the Olympics had ever made. He’s become not only the team USA therapy dog, but the therapy dog for every Olympic gymnast who needs a little extra comfort. Many of the athletes from other countries have made friends with him in the last week, taking photos with him and de-stressing by petting or playing with him. No one goes out onto the floor without petting Beacon for good luck.

Beacon, who started as a USA Gymnastics celebrity, is now an Olympic celebrity. Everyone knows who he is, especially at Bercy. After winning team silver, Curt laid his medal around Beacon’s neck for a picture, citing him as part of the team. He attends interviews with the boys, gets professionally photographed, and can be spotted from time to time around the Olympic Village. The dog even has his own custom “Beacon the Good Boy” pin for the Olympic pin exchange, and it’s quickly become a highly sought after souvenir for the athletes.

A Japanese gymnast, the favorite to win floor finals, walks by as he prepares to head out into the arena. He stops to lean down and scratch Beacon on the ears, and Beacon wags his tail and boops him on the arm. Bucky and the other gymnast exchange a smile and wish each other good luck, and then Bucky’s coach is grabbing his bag for him, letting him know it’s time to go. 

As Bucky gives Beacon a kiss on the head and walks away, he’s aware of every single athlete heading out to floor exercise – all eight of them, no matter what country they’re from – stopping to pet the dog. For good luck. 

As the announcer calls his name – “For the United States of America, John Egan!” – Bucky walks through the open doorway into Bercy Arena, the American flag projected on the wall behind him. He smiles and waves at the crowd packing the arena on all sides and heads over towards the tumbling floor with the other gymnasts. As he walks, he feels some nerves begin to return, and he runs a hand through his hair and bites his lip as he takes a deep breath. 

One more time, he tells himself. He’s hit every other floor routine this week. He can hit this one, too.

He’s leaning over his bag, which his coach had set on one of the chairs to the side of the tumbling floor, when he hears a familiar voice. “Egan, why don’t you give me a smile?”

Bucky whips around, and he can’t stop the grin that breaks out across his face. “What the fuck are you doing here!”

He pulls Curt into a hug and claps him on the back. The other gymnast, not competing today, is wearing one of the red USA Gymnastics coaching polo shirts. He has his Paris Olympics ID card and a floor pass strapped across his body on one of those pink and blue Paris lanyards. Hand-written on the pass in a messy scrawl are the words “MAG Coach 2” – Men’s Artistic Gymnastics coach 2. 

“Pulled some strings,” Curt says. “I’m your other coach for the day. Thought you could use some of my awesomeness down here.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but hugs Curt again. “Thanks, man.”

Curt grins at him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s rack ‘em up and knock ‘em down.”

When it’s Bucky’s turn on floor, he spares a glance up to the stands. When he was younger, cockier, he’d interact with the crowd constantly during meets. Sometimes his coaches would reprimand him for it, telling him to focus. He didn’t really listen.

He didn’t necessarily lose that cockiness, but a greater wariness has welled up within him during his recovery, dimming it. In the last week, he’s been finding a better balance again, but he’s been different since he returned to competition. During trials, he tried to block out the crowd, not wanting to let it get into his head. He didn’t have quite so much fun, didn’t want to think about anything other than the next apparatus, the next pass, the next skill.

But that was before he cared about who was watching. Here, in Paris, he’s made a point of knowing exactly where Gale is sitting, as if that alone can fight off his nightmare from before all-around. As if that alone can keep his leg together, keep his mind and body on the same page, ensure he can stick the landings on these tumbling passes that his doctors don’t think he should be doing. 

Gale Cleven. Bucky’s other good luck charm. 

Gale is exactly where he said he’d be, five rows up, right in front of the tumbling floor. Benny is beside him, and Marge, fresh from winning team silver in show jumping, is in the next seat over. She waves excitedly when he looks up, and he waves back. Gale notices him at the last second and breaks into a smile that takes away any last remnants of nerves that had been swarming around Bucky’s head. Any anxiety he feels starts to simply melt away, because Gale smiling at him like that is like basking in the glow of the sun.

On Gale’s other side is Croz, Alex, and Brady. The rest of Bucky’s team, here to hype him up and cheer him on. Brady has a tiny American flag stuck behind each ear, and all three of them are wearing quite obnoxious custom John Egan t-shirts. Bucky wonders how they got them without him noticing. 

He stops at the chalk box and kicks the slides off his feet before stepping into it, coating his feet in white chalk as he waits for the go-ahead. Then he leans over to the elevated chalk bowl and does the same to his hands. Over the quiet chatter as the audience waits, he can hear Brady yell “Yeah you get that chalk!” And it makes him laugh. 

The commentators on TV will note that John Egan has the second highest start value in this competition. Second by a mere tenth of a point. If he chose to compete the floor routine he wanted to – before he fought with his doctors and coaches over the integrity of his leg and the importance of not fucking it up – he’d have the highest start value by a mile. But as a compromise, he chose to omit one of his harder passes due to the danger of over-rotation and re-injury. The commentators still talk about how it’s incredible that he’s doing what he’s doing at all, that he qualified second on floor after the injury he had. 

Bucky knows that, injury or not, his gymnastics speaks for itself. His floor routine speaks for itself. His difficulty score speaks for itself. He knows that, injury or not, he is seen as one of the best gymnasts in the world right now, and that is why he’s here. But sometimes he wishes the commentators and the interviewers and the media would see it that way too, that they’d stop qualifying his accomplishments by saying he’s doing a great job “for being terribly injured just months ago.”

Injury or not, he’s John fucking Egan. And he’s going to make sure everyone in this stadium knows it. Sure he already has the all-around gold, but as long as he’s here, he needs to keep proving that he’s more than a comeback, more than a pity story.

He’s John fucking Egan. 

When the green light comes on and the announcer says his name, he swears he can hear his friends cheering for him over anyone else in the stadium, and he lets it fuel him. He salutes the judges, steps into the corner of the floor to set up his first pass, and he throws himself at it with every last bit of energy he has. 

Triple twisting double back layout. Perfect stick. Applause. Combination pass. Near perfect stick. Applause. Double salto forward. Stick. Applause. Cartwheel, somersault into the splits. Japanese handstand – his non-acrobatic element – arms straight out to the side, hands pressing into the floor holding himself up, head no more than a fist’s width distance from the floor, legs straight in the air. Hold. Roll out of it. Three more passes left. 

On the penultimate pass, he can feel it when he’s only midway through, still ten feet in the air. It’s a feeling no gymnast, no matter how well trained, likes to have: he’s going to under-rotate this. When he lands, in an attempt to save himself from falling on his face, his left foot hits the floor at a very strange angle in front of him and causes him to stumble back a step on his right. He grimaces when he feels a painful tug on his left knee, straining the joint. 

Not now, he thinks. Not fucking now.

The commentators on TV will comment on the disconcerting way he landed, the look of concern that flashes across his face before he schools his features once again and regains his balance. They’ll mention his knee, his injury, his comeback, the fact that his doctor’s didn’t think he should do floor but he wouldn’t be stopped. 

Curt watches with concern, wondering if his fears were right, that today was just too much. He tries to analyze the way Bucky landed and the look on his face and what it might mean. He’s playing coach today, and he’s trying to make heads or tails of what’s going through Bucky’s head right now. But like any coach, it’s not up to him. Out there on the floor, it’s up to John and John alone. All he can do is watch what happens next.

In the stands, Croz, Alex, and Brady all cringe at the same time, making Gale go “What? What’s wrong?” with his eyes wide in alarm.

“He landed a bit weird on his left,” Croz explains. “Looks like he’s gonna keep going, but…”

Shit.

He’s gonna keep going, but he’d keep going even if he shouldn’t. 

Bucky’s fine. Enough. He’s fine enough. He needs to be fine enough. He’s still standing, so there’s no other option. He can still move, so anything else he can work out later. Whether he’s actually fine or if the adrenaline coursing through his body is masking the pain, he doesn’t know. Doesn’t matter.

He cocks his head, shakes his arms out as he brings his feet together in the corner once again. Just gotta make it one more, he tells himself. It’s fine. We’re fine. He can hear Curt on the sidelines, yelling encouragement despite his own uncertainty. “You’ve got this! Get it done, Bucky! Get it done!”

Bucky takes a deep breath, looks across the floor at the opposite corner. He can see the judges, watching his every move, finding every possible little fault in his performance. He stares them down, like a dare. They all know he has to be perfect on this last pass. 

He thinks of Gale. Find your line. 

“Find your line,” Gale whispers in the stands. Benny puts a hand on his knee and squeezes in anticipation. 

Ignoring the slight stinging pain in his leg, Bucky runs, flips his way into his dismount, and launches himself up into the air to complete the triple full. When he hits the floor, that spike of pain shoots through him again, but he grits his teeth and forces himself to stay in control. He landed with one of his heels just barely out of bounds, and he knows that one-tenth deduction will probably cost him the gold, but he stuck the landing perfectly otherwise. He gets too much power on that pass; he always has, and he’s quite frankly surprised this is the only time he’s landed out of bounds the entire routine. He laughs a little bit anyways, because even if it’s not gold, even if that Japanese gymnast beats him out, he fucking got it done. 

He will be only the second American male gymnast to ever win an Olympic medal on floor exercise, and the first since 1976.

Deafening chants of “USA! USA! USA!” go up around the arena, and he salutes before pumping his fist in the air and jumping across the floor, leg be damned. He waves his arms to pump up the crowd, and they cheer for him. Because they know, no matter what country they’re from, what it means for him to be here right now. 

“LET’S GOOOO!” He yells out, and he can hear Curt doing the same as he goes absolutely crazy on the sidelines. When Bucky haphazardly shoves his slides back on his feet and hops down, he jumps right into Curt’s arms as the other gymnast lifts him off his feet, jumping up and down in celebration.

“That’s how it’s done!” Curt exclaims.

If Bucky’s in any pain, as the commentators, his coaches, his friends feared he would be, when he steps up onto the podium for the medal ceremony, no one notices. He hides his slight limp. He waves to the crowd. He can’t stop smiling as he bows his head to receive a silver medal. His third medal of the Paris Olympics. 

He shakes hands, he poses for photos with the other medalists. He blows a kiss to Gale in the stands. He waves to the crowd. He talks to a reporter about what this means to him.

He has one event left. 

—

Bucky sits on the uncomfortable mattress, leaning back against Gale’s warm chest. He’s polishing off one of the infamous chocolate muffins from the dining hall, which he’s been looking forward to all day. Curt snagged it for him earlier that afternoon after Bucky complained about not being able to get to the dining hall to get one himself, and Bucky could have kissed the guy for it. Sure, maybe he still has one more event to go bright and early tomorrow morning, but he’s earned himself a damn muffin and then some. Gale bumps the side of Bucky’s head with his nose, and Bucky raises the muffin up so Gale can have a bite before it’s gone.

Curt and Bucky’s small bedroom is full the night of his floor exercise silver. Tomorrow, he and Curt have rings and vault finals, so it’s a chill night in for them. No drinking or painting the town red or even mingling with the other athletes in the USA House. Bucky and Gale sit together on Bucky’s bed. Curt sits on his own bed, Croz beside him and Brady half laying across them both. Alex sits on the floor in the small space in between, leaning back against Curt’s bed, with Benny also on the floor, leaning against Bucky’s. Marge sat out their little gathering in favor of meeting up with her jumping team, which benny gave her shit for.

Ice is wrapped around Bucky’s knee, which is still sore but doesn’t seem to be seriously damaged. He’s been able to walk fine unless he stays still too long, and Gale took it upon himself to massage his leg earlier in the afternoon (which Bucky totally did not try – and succeed – to turn into a makeout session). Either way, he thinks the soreness might be worth it, because he has three Olympic medals hanging around his neck. And they’re heavy. 

“Maybe you should compete with those weighing you down,” Alex jokes. “Give the rest of us a fighting chance.”

Bucky laughs and holds up his second silver medal, bites down on it like he did for the photos on the podium. “Jealous, much?” 

“Of Olympic all-around gold medalist, comeback kid of the year, John Clarence Egan?” Alex says dramatically. “No. He’s an ass.”

“Oh fuck off!” Bucky laughs and throws his pillow at Alex, who doesn’t have time to dodge and lets it smack him in the chest. Then he takes it for himself and shoves it behind his back. 

“Wait! Bite down on the medal like that again,” Croz orders, motioning to Bucky as he pulls out his phone. 

“Aren’t there enough pictures of me biting an Olympic medal?” Bucky asks. There’s at least several from each event so far this week, and if everyone in this room is being honest, they fully expect him to add another medal to his collection tomorrow morning.

Gale makes to unwind his arm from around Bucky to get out of the frame, but Croz says “No, Buck, you stay there.” Gale arches an eyebrow but slowly wraps his arm securely around Bucky once again, pulling him close.

“Oh! Hold on,” Bucky says. He tells Curt to grab his silver medal, and Curt understands. He pushes himself off the bed, nearly knocking Brady to the floor, and grabs his medal from his bedside table, because that’s obviously the perfect place to store an Olympic medal. Reaching across Bucky’s bed, he motions for Gale to bow his head, and he places the medal around the blonde’s neck. A stand-in for his own eventing silver medal. 

“There,” Bucky says, pressing his fingers to the medal now resting on Gale’s chest. “Très beau.”

“Très beau,” Gale agrees with a soft smile.

“Okay, look over here,” Croz tells them. And he takes their picture.

Bucky decides not to even be shy about it. He posts the photo on Instagram immediately, with the caption “silver medalists ❤️” at the bottom. Bucky biting down on his silver medal with a smile as he leans back against Gale’s chest. His other two medals hanging around his neck. Gale’s arm wrapped around him as he holds up his own silver medal with his other hand, smiling shyly. Both of them in comfy team USA t-shirts. The ice on Bucky’s knee is barely visible at the bottom of the frame.

“Aren’t you two cute,” Benny teases, reaching up to pat Gale on the leg. 

Gale rolls his eyes as Bucky kisses him on the cheek. “We sure are,” Bucky agrees. Then he looks at his teammates on the other side of the room, as if he just remembered something very important. “Did you guys see the adorable pictures of Buck and Whiskey after the medal ceremony?”

The other gymnasts shake their heads, and Bucky insists that they look. Gale blushes, trying to hide his face in Bucky’s hair, but Bucky won’t let him. He pulls out his phone and forces Gale to look at his own post with him for about the hundredth time. Gale may be the one who posted it, but Bucky is the one in love with it, as is the rest of America. It’s been re-posted by the US Equestrian, US Eventing, and Team USA accounts, so millions of people have seen the pictures at this point. Between that, opening ceremonies, and the media tracking his and Bucky’s “love story,” he’s gained hundreds of thousands of followers during the past week alone.

After Gale won his individual silver medal, the first thing he did when he saw Bucky again was shove his phone in his face and say “look at my girl!” It wasn’t even himself he was proud of; it was his horse. As usual. 

Aside from the professional photos that came out later that day – photographs of Gale on the podium, Gale on Whiskey with a pretty second place ribbon attached to her bridle, Gale and Whiskey together as he held up the medal around his neck – there’s also countless non-professional photos, mostly taken by his groom, Kenny, after he got back to the stables that day. 

Bucky’s favorite, though, is a selfie that Gale took, still looking sweaty with his cheeks flushed, hair sticking up in all directions, as he held up the medal. The picture was taken from below, so you can also see Whiskey’s face. Her forelock, which had just been released from a braid, is also sweaty and sticking up in all directions, but she looks like she knows exactly what she just accomplished. Her ears are perked forward and she’s sticking her tongue out at the camera. Bucky’s favorite part is the ecstatic smile on Gale’s face. Him and his mare and nothing but pure exhilaration. 

Bucky wasn’t the only one who liked the picture either. It’s tucked in the middle of the photo set Gale posted that night, but it’s the most shared photo from the entire set, circulating across social media platforms and even on the news. The eventing team had been invited to the Today show to talk about their Olympic success, and they displayed that very picture for everyone tuning in to see. 

Now Bucky looks around, satisfied, as the other guys find the post and instantly like it and comment on how awesome Gale and Whiskey look, because apparently he’s that kind of boyfriend now. The kind that wants anyone and everyone to know how awesome and adorable and successful and sweet his boyfriend is.  

And… boyfriend. Wow. Okay. That’s the first time he’s thought of it that way…

It makes him feel funny. A little scared and uncomfortable and unfamiliar, but also warm. It makes him… happy? Proud.

Before he can really panic too much about it, though, Croz is holding up his hand and saying “Wait wait wait, is it true that the horses fly on a plane called Air Horse One?”

Gale chokes on a laugh, blowing warm breath into Bucky’s hair where he’s still hiding his face. It makes Bucky feel fuzzy. He’s been sitting here, wrapped safe and warm in Gale’s arms as he ices his leg for quite a while already, but he’s suddenly very very aware of it. 

“Yes and no,” Gale says.

“Air Horse One exists,” Benny explains. “But our horses didn’t fly to Paris on it this year.”

“Well what’s the fuckin’ point then?” Curt exclaims.

Gale shrugs. “Just kinda depends what company is available to fly ‘em. It’s pretty much the same treatment no matter what.”

“Didn’t you say the horses have passports?” Bucky asks. Almost experimentally, he leans forward, out of Gale’s hold, under the guise of taking the ice off his leg. He quickly realizes, though, that he really misses the warmth and security of Gale’s embrace, and that information assaults his brain with all the subtlety of a freight train. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why he can’t just admit that he loves this guy and be okay with that and let himself be happy and not question it anymore. But every single time he feels himself coming to a new realization about it, it throws him off guard.

Just let yourself be fuckin’ happy, you idiot, he thinks. 

He realizes Gale is answering his question. “Yeah, they all have to have a passport to travel internationally. Just like us. Whiskey’s technically been to more countries than I have.” Benny scoffs from the floor below them.

Curt gets up and takes the ice pack from Bucky. “You good?” he whispers, no doubt seeing the startled look on his face. He also accepts the medal that Gale hands back to him. 

Bucky nods as he leans forward, basically folding in half as he stretches his leg out, then rubs at the joint.

Gale, who, of course, noticed the concerned exchange between Bucky and Curt, puts a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You need heat next?” he asks.

Bucky’s heart stutters because yes he does need heat, and of course Gale thought about that and wants to make sure Bucky has what he needs because he’s thoughtful and sweet and it’s not like anything Bucky has ever had before. And why does Bucky feel emotional about that?

And Gale and the others were having a totally different conversation but now everyone is looking at Bucky instead because he got freaked out and pulled away and Gale got concerned because of course he did and now Bucky’s face feels hot.

So he just nods and looks at Gale and sees those beautiful blue eyes looking back at him, wide and sweet and concerned. “Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Yeah, heat would be good.”

Curt gives him a knowing look, flicking his eyes from Bucky to Gale and back, that says almost exactly what Bucky just told himself: stop overthinking this and just be fuckin’ happy that this amazing guy likes you. Curt knows everything Bucky has been through in the last several years. He knows how stupid Bucky can be. And he knows that Gale is one of the best things that could ever happen to him. If Bucky would just accept that.

“I’ll get the heating pad,” Curt tells him, with another look that says now lean back into his arms and quit bein’ stupid.

So Bucky does. He sighs, and he lets himself lean back, and Gale’s arm immediately wraps back around him like it belongs there, and then gentle lips are being pressed to the top of Bucky’s head. And Bucky lets himself smile again.

“Wait what country has Whiskey been to that you haven’t?” Croz asks, now that the attention is off Bucky again.

“Austria,” Gale replies. “That’s where she was born.”

Benny pops his head up and looks, surprised, at Gale. “She was born in Austria?! I thought she was born in Germany.”

“What?” Gale laughs. “Just ‘cause she’s a Hanoverian?”

“Well, yeah,” Benny nods.

Gale shakes his head. “No. Austria. I’ve been to Germany.”

“You imported your horse from fuckin’ Austria?” Brady asks, incredulous. This makes Bucky snort, because clearly Brady knows nothing about these ridiculous equestrian folk. Not that Bucky does. But he’s learning a lot.

Gale nods, and Benny adds, “My gelding came from France. Just about an hour from here.”

Curt returns with the heating pad and helps Bucky wrap it around his leg. “15 minutes, okay? No more.” Bucky nods and Curt returns to his own bed, manhandling Brady so he can sit back down. Brady promptly flops back across his lap.

“Fuckin’ equestrians,” Alex mutters, shaking his head. “Buying horses from Europe and then full sending themselves over shit at break-neck speeds.”

“Yes, that is the motto of FEI eventing,” Gale deadpans, and that makes Bucky laugh, too.

“And he’s funny,” Brady exclaims, nearly smacking Curt in the face as he throws his hand up dramatically. “Damn, Bucky. You gotta tell me where you found this guy so I can find one just like him.”

“On a plane,” Bucky says through a yawn. He grabs onto Gale’s hand, which is resting against his side, and pulls it up close to his chest, interlacing their fingers. “A very special plane.”

This somehow leads into a weird conversation about dating horror stories that Bucky doesn’t much feel like contributing to. The whole world already knows his biggest dating horror story, after all. How much worse can it get after a crazy ex forces your coming out on a global scale?

He’s started letting himself drift off instead, his eyes blinking tiredly closed as his breathing slows, and he settles even more fully into Gale’s arms.  

“How’s your leg?” Gale asks him eventually. Bucky blinks his eyes open again when he feels Gale shift, leaning forward to carefully unwrap the heating pad from his leg. The caring gesture makes Bucky feel as warm as the heat did. “It’s been 20 minutes,” Gale whispers. “Don’t tell Curt, but I understand wanting that heat just a little longer.”

Bucky smiles sleepily. “It’s alright,” he says. “A little sore. Somethin’ fuckin’ weird happened when I landed the second to last pass.”

“I know,” Gale says soothingly. “You gonna be alright for tomorrow?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be alright.”

—

Bucky has always liked rings. Any other event, the slightest inkling of nerves can have a domino effect on your entire body, and one second you’re doing fine, but the next, a bit of tension in your neck can cause you to land all wrong or smack your foot on the apparatus. Next to no one, for example, ever wants to start all-around on pommel horse, because if you are anything other than completely relaxed and perfectly focused, the odds are high that you fuck it up.

Many of the other events are not much better, in that way. There’s no room for nerves or fear on the competition floor, because no matter how good you think you are at hiding them, your body will betray you. It’s Bucky’s biggest concern this season, in his first handful of competitions back after near-certain career death. He’s used to being the cockiest bastard on the floor, for better or for worse. He’s used to having next to no doubt about his capabilities. In the past few months, though, he’s found himself still battling the remnants of the anxiety and the fear that nearly kept him from returning. He fears the pain that he felt when he flew off that high bar. He fears another set back. 

After nearly having his career ripped away, after crawling his way back, he fears losing it again. For good.

Still rings are the most forgiving for people like Bucky, who have the brute strength to pour their entire being into that routine. That’s what still rings are about – pure strength. It’s about holding your body as still as can be in positions that other people think look impossible. It creates an illusion of sorts, making people wonder how it can be real. It can be almost meditative, despite the burning in his muscles. All he has to do is hang on and channel the wayward energy in his mind and body into staying still. No matter what Bucky is feeling, he can pour it all into rings and it’ll hardly cost him a thing.

In Tokyo, it was anger. He became known for “angry gymnastics” after his sister died. Between that and the pandemic, he was mad at the whole world, and he shoved all of that emotion into his gymnastics. He limited his focus to one event, and then another, making sure every single move was perfect, crisp, strong out of pure spite and adrenaline. He pushed his way through all of it, straight-faced and with a sheer determination to keep going. Don’t look around, don’t look back, don’t look forward, just do.

The rings are served well by that kind of emotion, and that’s what got him his first silver medal on this apparatus three years ago.

He’s not angry anymore, though. That’s another thing the commentators have caught on to. He’s not angry. He looks like his normal, cocky, carefree self, just having fun out there. The angry, rough gymnastics he was doing three years ago has refined itself into something elegant, strong, unbreakable. He came out the other side somehow better than before, they say. 

He’s not angry anymore. But he isn’t always carefree either.

He’s relieved all he has left is rings. Because he’s worried anything else would betray the anxiety slowly creeping over him, the exhaustion weighing him down, the pain crawling up his leg like a vine. He can try to push it away, convince even himself that he doesn’t feel it. But the apparatus always knows. The body always knows. Even if your mind doesn’t. If Bucky’s learned a single lesson through the process of returning to the gym, it’s that.

In the hall outside the warm-up gym, Beacon keeps gently booping John’s bad leg like he knows something is wrong with it before staring up into John’s eyes and wagging his tail. Don’t be dumb, he seems to be saying. Don’t hurt yourself.

“I know, bud,” Bucky says, reaching down to pat Beacon on the head with an encouraging smile. “I’ll be alright, though.”

“The dog’s tryin’ to tell you something,” Curt points out as he sits on the ground beside Bucky, stretching out his hamstrings. Rings and vault finals are on the same day, so Bucky and Curt arrived at Bercy arena together, bright and early this morning. “You sure you’re alright?” 

Curt is still worried about the way Bucky landed on that pass yesterday. It was just the right kind of slightly off that it could easily have screwed up something in Bucky’s knee, and he’s concerned that it was something more than some ice and heat last night could fix.

Bucky just shrugs as he straps on his brace. He’d been debating over whether or not he should wear it for rings, since the entire routine relies on upper body strength alone aside from the dismount. But after yesterday, even he can admit that the brace is probably a good call right now.

“It’s a little sore,” he admits. “I mean, I’ve done three all-arounds and an extra floor routine in less than a week. I think that’s to be expected.”

Curt frowns and pauses his stretching to sit up and look Bucky in the eye. “Would you tell me if it was bad?” He knows what it is to push through pain to hit that one more routine. Just one more vault. One more pass. It’s the nature of the sport, always has been. That toxicity of gymnastics might be getting better now, but every athlete is the same. Every gymnast. Just one more. I can do one more.

Bucky shrugs again. “I’m fine, Curt. Just one more event. And it’s my best.”

He smirks before kneeling down in front of Beacon and giving the dog a good scratch and a kiss on the head. “Got my good luck charm and everything. What can go wrong?”

He pats Curt on the shoulder, and he hopes to God he’s right.

Today is Bucky’s fifth day walking through that doorway to thunderous applause in Bercy arena, and no matter what, it always feels surreal. Today is his last day in this stadium, and Bucky takes a deep breath as he walks out, smiling brightly and taking it all in one last time. He knows better than anyone that the career of a gymnast is uncertain. He hopes this isn’t his last Olympics; he thinks, if he plays his cards right, he could make it to LA. But there are no guarantees in this sport, or in any sport, especially after the injury he’s had. So he looks around him at the Olympic rings on the walls and the packed stadium cheering “USA! USA! USA!” as he walks out. And he actually lets himself think, for a moment, about how goddamn lucky he is to be here.

The Tokyo Olympics were a mess for him, between COVID and the death of his sister looming over him. Paris has been the exact opposite, with team and individual success, good times with his friends, meeting Gale, getting to actually be with other people. He has loved every single moment.

Despite having to prepare for vault finals, taking place in just a couple of hours, Curt manages to leave the back gym and get to the competition floor for Bucky’s turn on rings. He stands to the side of the rings podium with the coaching staff, calling out things like “You got this!” and “Show them what’s what” and “Just remember, you’re a fuckin’ Greek God! Buck said so!”

Bucky chokes as he takes a drink from his water bottle, looking over at Curt and mouthing what the fuck?

“It’s true! He did!” Curt yells back.

Bucky laughs and shakes his head. Somewhere inside, he knows Curt said that on purpose to get him to relax, but hey, if it works it works. His eyes scan the crowd as he adjusts the ring grips on his hands and rubs chalk over them. He quickly finds the rest of his team, and right beside them are Gale and Benny, who have taken the time to be here this morning before rushing to Versailles to watch equestrian in the afternoon. 

Bucky waves, as has become custom this week. As if he can’t start his routine without waving. Gale smiles at him and waves back. 

“Go John!!!!” Benny yells. He’s quickly joined by the other gymnasts, who get to their feet and jump up and down obnoxiously, yelling his name. Bucky shakes his head and re-focuses on preparing for his last event of the Paris Olympics. He checks his brace one last time.

When the green light finally comes on by the judges’ table and the announcer calls his name, he salutes, and then he jumps up to grab the rings. His coach grabs his legs from behind and lifts him higher while he adjusts his hold, then eases him down so he’s hanging from the rings, arms straight. Bucky’s on his own. 

He rotates himself upwards, keeping his whole body perfectly straight, so his legs swing up over his head and then back down again in a full 360, leading into his first strength hold, a cross. “The iron cross,” they call it, because the gymnast is meant to look immobile, still as a statue, a pillar of strength. Bucky has spent years perfecting it. He spreads his fingers out, letting go of the rings so his hands rest flat on them, just to show off a little. It’ll make the commentators laugh, because even though it’s such a small gesture, it’s so characteristically John – a little bit of a show-off.

He lets himself drop down, feeling that familiar pull straining his shoulder muscles before he pulls his hips upward, folding himself in half with his upper body upside down, legs straight, toes pointed towards the ground. He holds himself like that for just a moment, gathering his strength, before launching himself upwards, flipping his legs up towards the ceiling so he’s upside down again, landing in an inverted cross. His muscles ache as he holds himself up, arms out to the sides as straight as possible.

Don’t wobble, he thinks, trying to keep his legs still and straight, toes pointed towards the ceiling. 2 seconds. Each strength hold must be held for 2 seconds, but sometimes those 2 seconds feel like forever.

Letting himself drop out of the hold with a quick exhale of relief, he throws himself into a couple of swing elements, flipping around first in a tucked position and then in a piked position until he stops stock still in a perfect maltese. His body is perfectly parallel to the floor, his arms extended below him, holding him steady. One. Two. 

From there he sinks down until his body is level with his arms, his arms out to the sides. A maltese cross. One. Two. 

Relax. Drop, hang upside down. Flip up into a handstand. Hold. Drop. Up into another handstand. 

And then the kicker. The skill that, if he can hit, will indisputably secure him another medal in this event. It’s the reason his difficulty score is the highest of anyone here. The reason he qualified first in the world for rings. 

He used to flip himself up into another maltese cross, impressive and highly valued in itself. But before his accident, he’d been working on another skill that he’s wanted to achieve for years. When he came back to gymnastics after months of being told he never would, with his leg giving him grief but his upper body strong as ever, he threw himself into perfecting this skill because, if absolutely nothing else, he still had rings.

First he does another swing element, flipping himself up until he stops, perfectly immobile, in another cross. One. Two.

Then ever so slowly, he tilts himself back, his legs extending out in front of him until he’s parallel to the ground again but facing upward. His arms are extended out to the side, level with the rest of his body. An inverted maltese cross.

His shoulders burn. His core. His back. His everything. But this skill has been attempted by so few, and done well by almost none, that of course John Egan took one look at it and went “I can do that.” 

So he did it. He’s doing it.

He competed the skill in qualifying, but chose to omit it from all around in an attempt to save his upper body. He made the decision to bring it back today, because he can’t resist a little showing off. And, he won’t lie, he wants that damn gold medal. It’s only the third time he’s ever performed this skill in competition – once at Trials, and twice in Paris, and he grits his teeth and forces himself to breathe through it as the two requisite seconds seem to pass in slow motion. One… Two…

But finally, they do pass. Fighting the urge to gasp in relief, he lowers himself out of the strength hold and flips up to one final handstand. A couple flips on the rings to build momentum, and then he’s launching himself up into his dismount, flipping and twisting through the air until his feet hit the ground and he sticks the landing perfectly.

The moment his feet hit the mat, the entire arena is cheering and applauding for what he just accomplished. Even in a foreign country, an unmistakable chant of “USA! USA! USA!” goes up around the stadium for John Egan. He forces a smile, feeling a sense of pride wash over him for a fraction of a second. It’s just too bad that it can’t last, because the moment his feet hit the mat, no matter how perfect of a landing it was, he felt the pain.

Pain shooting up through his left leg, filling him with some instant, vague sense of dread and nausea that he knows he has to push through right now.

He keeps that damn smile on his face. And why not, he just gave the best rings performance of his life. He hit the skill he’s dreamed of hitting for years. He’s in Paris, and a French stadium is blaring with a chant for the United States, for him.

He salutes the judges, because he isn’t officially done with the routine until he does. He pumps a tired fist in the air. It’s uncharacteristic, not like his typical scream of “LET’S GO” as he hypes up the crowd, much like he did after floor. But he just… can’t. He can’t right now.

“Fuck,” he mutters instead. 

He needs…

He needs…

He lowers himself slowly to the ground with a grimace, pulling his left knee up close to his chest as he leans back on his left hand. Then even that is too much, and he lets himself fall onto his back so he’s staring up at the ceiling, staring up at the bright lights that blind him.

“Bucky!” Curt yells from the side. “John?”

The USA chant disintegrates into nothing as the stadium goes silent.

...

...

Please don't be mad.

Much of Bucky's rings routine comes from Asher Hong's in 2023 (right through the first maltese cross)

After the maltese cross, I have Bucky doing an inverted maltese cross (or inverted swallow), which is kinda insane

Side note: I would die for Stephen Nedoroscik ❤️❤️

[star-girl-05]

Knight in Shining Armour

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

~★~❤︎~✦~

There were a hundred reasons why Stiles hates Theo Raeken. He’s a douche and on multiple occasions he has tried to kill his friends. Lately though his hatred for the man has grown, all because of you. More specifically the way Theo interacts with you. He’s always overly touchy with you, finding any excuse to touch you. Even going as far as whispering in your ear. The worst part is you let him do it. 

Stiles wants to be the only one allowed to be that close to you. To whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Instead you let Theo, and it takes everything in Stiles not to do something about it, scared you’d get mad at him. Tonight though that all changes…

Tonight is one of the few nights the pack is doing something normal teens do, Partying. Everyone’s just cutting loose, forgetting about all their responsibilities and just living in the moment. Of course just as they were having fun Theo has to show up souring everyone's mood. He only says a few words before disappearing into another room but his presence is enough to put everyone on guard, especially Stiles. 

While the others try to get back into a partying mood, Stiles is focused solely on Theo. Watching closely as he walks over to you, standing much too close for his liking. This time however instead of letting Theo stand close to you you're shoving him away earning a silent cheer from Stiles. However his smile quickly falls when he sees Theo roughly pull you back to him. 

Stiles moves on instinct making his way across the room to you. As he approaches Theo drops your arm rolling his eyes once Stiles is in front of him. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks immediately, concern evident in his voice. 

“Yeah I’m fine, Theo was just leaving” you set Theo with a glare making sure he got the message. Not that he ever does no matter how many times you tell him off he just comes back. 

“Oh come on Princess” he moves to reach you again but Stiles intervenes. Theo chuckles as Stiles stands in front of you, “Oh I see, you’re her knight in shining armour. Well when you get sick of this dumbass give me a call”, with a final smirk he walks away. 

You let out a breath of relief, before turning to Stiles. “Thank you, he just never listens” 

“This has happened before?” He looks so concerned, it warms your heart that he cares so much. 

“Yeah he’s always bugging me can never take no as an answer”  

“Well if he tries something again call me” you can’t help but chuckle a little, stepping closer to him. 

“Guess you really are my knight in shining armour”, Stiles blushes at your words, “Every hero deserves an award” he freezes as you lean in, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

“I- it was no problem” he stutters doing his best to try to seem like he wasn’t totally freaking out. 

“Come one my knight, let’s dance” you grab his hands leading him into the crowd of teens all dancing.

[strqyr]

harbinger has gears. def something qrow picked up from ozpin, so if he already had harbinger before attending beacon, it would have had to look different.

thinking about younger qrow, hearing stories about the grimm reaper and wanting a weapon similar to hers. maybe he had a sword similar to omen at first ( hence the hidden red blade that is only seen in harbinger's scythe form, cut into parts to account for the curved blade ), but after scavenging enough parts, he starts to build up from it. with lots of trial and error, he finally succeeds in creating something... workable, though the mechanism he has in place still jams more often than not.

just... the thought of harbinger that looks more like scrap put together that still works but isn't quite what he expected it to be, just because qrow wanted a scythe and that's not something you just find laying around, so he did himself with what little he had.

and then he gets to beacon and can upgrade harbinger to his heart content, taking inspiration from around him; harbinger finally becoming how he always imagined it to be.

[greencloakedfae]

Deeply Entwined (5346 words) by GreenCloakedFae Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Renegade Nell (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Nell Jackson & Captain Jackson Characters: Nell Jackson, Captain Jackson (Renegade Nell), Sam Trotter Additional Tags: Everyone else is mentioned but is not a focus, Nonbinary Nell Jackson, Nonbinary Character, Character Study, Minor Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, War, Nell Jackson needs a hug, An exploration of Nell's life from childhood up until the end of canon, A little bit of gore, i swear there are sweet moments in this fic too, the author gets to project onto nell jackson, as a treat

Summary:

She was a woman.

It didn't matter that the word tasted so bitter on her tongue, that it left a scowl on her lips and the feeling of bugs crawling under her skin. It was a statement of fact; as irrefutable as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. But on dark and quiet nights left alone to moments of reflection, Nell would still try place reason to her distaste of the word.

Or, Nell gave the author a gender crisis so the author is giving Nell one back

[billy-cockblock]

Your beacon fic goes SO HARD dude. I gotta ask, will Caz be developing any more mutations as the fic goes on?

WILL THERE BE HINTS OF HIVE MIND STUFF WITH HIS FELLOW INFECTED?????

Your getting me invested bro and it's perfect timing I just started watching Jack's let's play of this gameeee <33

THANK YOU THANK YOU!!! And YES JOIN US

For Caz developing more mutations as the fic goes along, I thought about it, and kinda wanted to, but ultimately decided not to. Kinda spoilers for what I want to write later, but my thoughts were that the shape infected them and caused them to mutate, but if this were a good end thing, then they couldn’t come back to the mainland if they were still infectious. So, once they get infected, it mutated them, but then their immune systems kinda fight off the infection and just leaves them like that. The same happens to Caz, but on a much smaller scale (and with a sprinkling of my theory that he gets Ethan Winters’ed and it somehow slows his infection). He got infected, it mutated him to be able to bioluminesce, and then his body fought off the infection and left him like that.

And I LOVE HIVEMIND STUFF. It might not be on the level of a true hivemind, but I definitely plan to have some “we’re connected on a deeper level than people are supposed to be” stuff. Hehehe

[saywhatjessie]

Break out the ale! These men are thirsty!

Advent Calendar Day 7! (prompts by @raven-cincaide-words) Today’s prompts: Snowed In | Roommates | Hidden Feelings Fandom: Teen Wolf - Pairing: Scisaac 2k[Ao3]

“Damn,” Scott said, pulling the curtain aside as he looked out the window. “I don’t think we need to finish our biology homework.”

“What’s up?” Isaac said, looking up at Scott. He had one hand in his hair where he’d been yanking on it, stressed out about said homework and working on it with Scott in his room. It was kind of funny to see him so overworked while he was reclined so casually in a beanbag chair. 

Scott jerked his head at the window and Isaac made a big show of standing up out of the chair to come look. Scott watched him do it, smiling at the dramatic complaints Isaac made getting out of the chair. There was a time Isaac would have never admitted he was uncomfortable or even dreamed of complaining.

Isaac came up on the other side of the curtain and pulled it away, letting out a low whistle at what he saw.

“That’s a lot of snow,” he said, leaning in closer and looking up. There was no way he could see anything: just white specks coming out of a black sky.

“Yeah, it’s sticking really fast,” Scott told him. “Stiles said we were expecting a foot but I didn’t believe him.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Isaac said, his head still craning around to catch every angle of the snow. “When’s the last time we got this much snow in Beacon Hills?”

“It snowed a lot when I was little,” Scott offered. “My dad’s plane got grounded once while he was away on a business trip when I was three. Mom and I spent Christmas snowed in by ourselves. It was still fun, though.”

Isaac snorted. “Snow was hell for me as a kid. Locked me in the house with my dad with no escape. I stayed out in the snow so many times to avoid him. He was gonna lock me in the freezer when I got in trouble, anyway, might as well freeze while  I still had my freedom.”

Scott frowned at him, reaching up to grab his shoulder. “God, Isaac, your childhood is a bummer.”

Isaac leveled a sideways grin at him. “Don’t go toe to toe with me on childhood trauma, McCall. You’ll always lose.”

Scott ducked his head and laughed, gripping Isaac’s shoulder tighter before letting him go. He could feel Isaac still looking at him but he couldn’t meet his eyes. They lived together now – Scott had to get it together.

He wasn’t sure what he and Isaac were. Friends, definitely, that much was obvious. But was Isaac in his pack? Was he technically Isaac’s alpha? Isaac reacted to him like he was: he listened to Scott and Scott could calm him down and he deferred to Scott in almost every situation. Which was actually really cool – after a lifetime with Stiles, it was nice when someone just trusted him to know what he was doing and not fight with him about it.

Not that he wanted Isaac to agree with him all the time. He wanted Isaac to be able to think for himself and speak his mind. If Scott was his alpha, he'd make sure Isaac knew he didn’t have to… submit? Scott fought off a whole body shudder: he hated the way that sounded.

But it was still kind of nice to think of Isaac as being in his pack. His pack for so long had just been him and Stiles. And kind of Allison for a while but now they were broken up. And Isaac might have his own thing with Allison? It was all super confusing.

Scott cleared his throat. “We should probably keep doing the homework, anyway,” said Scott. “If we finish it now we won’t have to worry about it all day tomorrow. We can just chill all day.”

“Snowed in,” Isaac grinned. “I can finally make you watch all of the Lord of the Rings with me.”

Scott groaned, his confusing thoughts about Isaac drowned out with fond irritation. “Dude, I already watched all of Star Wars with Stiles. Don’t do this to me.”

“Star Wars and Lord of the Rings are nothing alike!” Isaac said, offended. “George Lucas wishes he could tell a story like J.R.R. Tolkein.”

Scott sighed. “None of that means anything to me.”

“Oh, but it will, Scott,” Isaac said, dropping back onto the beanbag and clicking his pencil, pointedly. “It will.”

The next morning saw a snow day, Scott’s mom pulling a double at the hospital, and Stiles under house arrest from his dad. Which meant Scott and Isaac were truly snowed in, alone.

“We finished our homework,” Isaac said, fake casually, walking his hand along the back of the couch.

Scott smiled at him. “Yes, we did.”

“And no one else is coming over,” Isaac sighed, mournfully.

Scott sucked his lips into his mouth. “Nope.”

“So I guess there’s nothing left to do… but have a Lord of the Rings movie marathon.”

Scott groaned but he was laughing, too. He knew he'd be watching the movies with Isaac as soon as he’d asked, but he had to put up a little bit of a fight. Can’t let Isaac win too easily.

Isaac shushed him and guided him by the shoulders to the couch. Scott sat without protest, just a small sigh that was meant to convey “I’m here against my will,” but he was so happy to be spending down time with Isaac like this, he wasn’t sure it translated.

Isaac winked, clapping Scott on the shoulder, before darting off to his room. 

Scott took a deep breath. He was cool, he was normal, it was fine.

Isaac came back, a DVD box set in his hands and a guilty look on his face.

Scott smiled. “Oh, cool, you have the whole box set?”

“Yeah…” Isaac started, his voice strained. “Promise not to be mad.”

Scott cocked his head. “Why would I be mad?”

All of Isaac’s breath came out of him in a whoosh. “I stole this,” he said, looking down at his hands. “I stole these movies.”

Scott frowned. “Why?”

“Well it’s not like my dad would have ever bought them for me.” Isaac snorted. “He already thought I was a loser, no way he would have been happy with me liking fantasy movies.”

Scott was still frowning, but he nodded. “Okay. Who’d you steal them from?”

Isaac looked up at him, finally, slightly disbelieving.

“Not the library or something, right?” Scott asked, trying to be more stern. “You shouldn’t steal from libraries.”

“No,” Isaac assured. “No, I stole it from a Borders.”

“Oh!” Scott said, immediately smiling. “That’s okay, then.”

Isaac’s eyebrows hiked up his forehead. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Scott confirmed. “Stiles always says ‘If it’s a chain it’s free reign.’ Those corporations make too much money. And Borders went bankrupt anyway so it doesn’t really matter anymore.”

Isaac choked a laugh. “Yeah, I guess.”

Scott hummed, settling further into the couch. He grabbed the blanket off the back and threw it across his legs.

Isaac shook his head, a wondering smile on his face, but got the TV set up with the first DVD.

The movie was… long. And it was interesting, sure, but it was long. Isaac had put on what he called the extended editions so they were even longer than they normally were. And it was so long.

He spaced out for a lot of it. He tuned in to listen to Isaac’s little tidbits and fun facts, but for most of the movie, he was just watching brown shapes on the screen.

He did feel soemthing during the one human guy’s death scene. He could feel Isaac looking at him during the monologue. “I would have followed you my brother. My captain. My king.”

He refused to look back. He didn’t want to think about whatever that meant.

Scott hadn’t realized how much he and Isaac had slumped into each other until Isaac had to get up to put on the next movie. He tried to shake himself to be more present and awake. He wasn’t sure where snuggling landed on the ‘what are we?’ question. He snuggled with Stiles. But he’s also snuggled with Allison. Is it fair to snuggle with Isaac when Isaac didn’t know Scott was having Allison feelings about him?

Isaac plopped back down on the couch, tucking himself right back into Scott’s side. And, well, they were a pack, right? Puppy piles? Plus, Isaac probably didn’t have a lot of positive physical contact in his life. He shouldn’t have to go without just because Scott was being weird.

The next movie was also long. Scott definitely started nodding off: he was so cozy and Isaac was so warm. He was pulled back by Isaac’s hand gently shaking his knee.

“Scott,” Isaac whispered, roughly. “Hey, Scott!”

“Hm?” Scott said, turning his head to look at Isaac

Isaac’s face was very closed.

Scott could not be blamed for kissing him. He was so sleepy, and Isaac’s face was so sweet and excited. And he was a werewolf! Werewolf impulse control? Historically not great.

So he kissed him. And after a second of surprise, Isaac kissed him back.

It was very quick. Just a couple heartbeats of warm lips on lips. And then Scott pulled away, blinking slowly, and saw Isaac blinking slowly back.

“Sorry,” Scott said, perfunctory, not looking away from Isaac’s face. “What were you gonna say?”

“Huh?” Isaac said, still staring at Scott. He blinked again, visibly remembering. “Oh, Viggo Mortinson broke two of his toes in that scene. When he kicked that helmet.”

“Oh,” said Scott. “Cool.”

Isaac nodded before surging forward and kissing Scott again.

And that? That was awesome.

Scott hadn’t really kissed anyone but Allison, and definitely no guys, no he spent a while memorizing how Isaac kissed. His strong jaw under Scott’s hand and how much bigger Isaac was, his body looming over Scott’s on the couch. HIs hand felt huge on the back of Scott’s neck, the other one spanning the width of his collarbones.

Scott could have probably kept kissing him forever. But something happened on screen and Isaac pulled away, scrambling for the remote.

“Wait, shit, nonono! Don’t look, you’ll be spoiled!”

Scott’s mouth felt puffy from kissing and his brain was completely deep fried. “What?”

Isaac paused the movie, hitting the rewind until it got back to the scene where the guy kicked the helmet.

Isaac had to scroll back for a while. How long had they been making out?

He hit pause on the guy screaming and turned back to Scott. He seemed to hesitate, like he wasn’t sure if he should go back to kissing or not.

Scott leaned forward, hand going for his jaw again, and gave him a soft kiss.

Isaac felt the difference, frowning when Scott pulled away. “Did I ruin it?”

“No.” Scott laughed. “No, you didn’t ruin it. I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

Isaac smiled, closed lipped and soft. “Cool. Me too.”

“Cool.” Scott smiled back, dropping his hand from Isaac’s jaw and finding his hand. He laced their fingers together. “You want to finish watching these movies?”

Isaac’s eyebrows scrunched together. It was clear to Scott that he did want to finish watching the movies but also wanted to keep kissing. Scott laughed, bringing Isaac’s hand up to his mouth so he could kiss his knuckles.

“Let’s keep watching,” Scott decided. “We can make out later. Mom’ll probably be gone all night.”

Isaac beamed, leaning forward to peck Scott again before turning back to the screen and pressing play.

“That scream was a real reaction,” Isaac said immediately. “From breaking his toes. They kept that cut in because it sounded so painful.”

“Very cool,” Scott told him. And he wasn’t really talking about the movie.