#gear? ...maybe. he'd complain the entire time.

[kon-konk]

I would love to just lay here and think about how nice it would be to nap on a character's stomach but I'm pretty sure (almost) none of the characters I would like to do that to would deal with me and how much I move around getting comfy (or be able to lay still for more than a few minutes)

[prettyoatmeal]

Confessing Feelings (König x Reader)

First tumblr post since years of being inactive and I’ve grown a real liking towards these fellas. They’re my baby girls ❤️❤️ Reader is GN and smaller-hinted (about 5'2-5'7). Sorry future me for horny posting.

WARNINGS: Very slight mentions of death but very tame. Overall fluff

SUMMARY: You confess your feelings to König in a dangerous situation and you don't want to go out without finally telling him how you feel. He feels the same and asks you out.

Word Count: 813

Masterlist here!

***************

König was a real gentle giant; it was no secret. Or well not to you at least. Being part of KorTac for a while now, you’ve gotten to know the Austrian military man over the time you’ve spent together. You were very intimidated by him at first, both because of his height and his build. Anyone would be if they saw a ripped 6’10 man in uniform with a hood covering his entire face and only his eyes able to stare down into your soul.

He was very timid with you at first as well due to his social anxiety, poor boy doesn’t have those confident friend-making skills. Long story short, you two were both afraid of talking to each other. You were scared of him, and he was scared of you. Though, you two were once paired together and had to look after each other. You’d finally built up the courage to crack a joke about the situation you were found yourself in, and then you two slowly started chatting both in and outside of missions.

He was charmed by your outgoing nature by the time you two were regularly talking, and he’d become attached. Super attached. You'd often be the one talking and he'd be the one doing the listening. But he didn't complain. He couldn't complain. He loved, loved, LOVED hearing you talk, finding the biggest comfort in your voice.

This wasn’t to say you hadn’t grown a fond of him either, realising how you two clicked instantly, you knew you’ve made a lifelong friend (eventual boyfriend, and maybe even husband, who knows?). If you two were on missions together, he'd never let you out if his sight. And if you weren’t on missions, you two would be inseparable anyway, always together, to the point of even creating little pet names for each other; him calling you Mous, and you calling him Bear. You two slowly started building those strong feelings for each other but neither of you wanted to admit it, valuing you guys’ friendship (and jobs) too high to lose.

You finally mustered up the courage to tell him you like him in a life or death situation on one of your missions. Finding yourselves in immediate danger, you didn't want to go out without telling him.

“I like you. A lot. As a crush.” You would whisper out, not knowing if it’s like last time you two will ever see each other again.

“… scheiße…” he’d reply to you in a low growl, causing your stomach to drop as you instantly figured he didn't feel the same. Though in reality, his gears were turning and he was preparing himself to grab you by the waist and sprint to safety with you in his arms.

The moment you two were back at safety, the adrenaline slowly wearing off, he asked you,

“Do you really, (Y/N)?” And you’d nod, looking down and feeling ashamed for developing such a crush on technically a co-workers. It was at that time when you’d felt the most vulnerable in your entire life as the beast of a man stood above you, his dark eyes looking straight down at you.

He thought his heart would beat out of his chest, taking his gloved hand and placing a finger under your chin to make you look up at him. Of course you two were both nervous out of your mind. Your eyes scattered as your knees went a little weak from that gesture alone before your eyes finally fixed themselves onto König's. You could now tell by the little squint in his eyes was that he was smiling widely under the hood. And by pulling it just enough to reveal his lips, he gained that little burst of confidence to lean down and place a small kiss onto your lips. All the worries and nerves calmed themselves as your lips moved in unison.

He was always scared to touch you, knowing how small and fragile you are compared to him. He'd slapped you on the back once after a successful mission like he would with the other boys. The difference is that they have that butt load of extra muscle mass to keep them grounded. The boys were massive, you were not. The 'harmless' slap caused you to jolt forward, almost losing your balance and giving him the biggest scare of his life. After that, he'd refuse to ever lay a hand on you, afraid of his own strength and hurting you any further. Only in specific situations would he ever touch you. This was one of those situations.

Pulling away from the kiss, König lets out a shy giggle as the burst of confidence in him slowly flying away and going back to his more timid, shy self.

"So, uh.. you free after we get back day after tomorrow, Mous?"

Yes. Yes, you were.

***************

Hello there. Sorry this was an impulse post I whipped up in like 15 minutes. This is not proof read so please ignore any grammar or spelling mistakes.

[elusivewildflower]

Hello! I was wondering if you can do headcanons for Driver with a clingy/affectionate reader. Thank you

Hey there, love! Of course I can give some headcanons for Driver! He deserves someone to give him all of the affection he's been craving for his entire life. 😭😭

I think, at first, Driver wouldn't know how to feel about you being clingy/affectionate. He'd be slightly uncomfortable, if only because he isn't used to someone being affectionate with him. He's very much touch-starved and has lived a rather isolated life.

But after a while, he would grow to love it. He has stalker-ish tendencies with those he cares about, always checking up on them, memorizing their work schedule so he can make sure they get home safely, etc. So I think he would appreciate having someone who wants to be around him at all times just as much as he does. He would never get annoyed with you because frankly, he's clingy too. He's just the type to follow you at a distance until he's sure that you want him there, and then he'll never leave your side.

He'll happily cuddle with you regardless of where you are. If you snuggle up to him, he'll wrap an arm around your waist and pull you in closer. It can be on the couch in your apartment, the front seat of his car, or even while you're standing in line at the grocery store. In fact, he prefers to keep an arm around your waist or to hold your hand whenever you're in public. He wants everyone to know that you're his and his alone.

Driver used to spend his evenings driving around the city alone and it was his favorite way to unwind after work. Since being with you, though, he looks forward to sitting on the couch and binge watch your favorite shows. He's not all that interested in watching shows or movies on his own, but if it means you'll spend hours curled up into his side, you won't ever hear him complaining.

However, he does like taking you out for late night drives for a change of pace. You'll place your hand over his on the gear shifter and when the roads are really deserted, he'll let you slide over so that you can rest your head on his shoulder. Driver finds driving around listening to music very relaxing, even more so when you're there with him. But, if he's in the mood, he'll find someplace quiet to park so the two of you can sit and talk.....and maybe even climb into the back seat. 👀

[kurisus]

Noragami reread: Volume 7 & 8 thoughts

A little late because instead of reading last night I slept for 15 hours. Here we go.

This volume (7) kicks right off with more foreshadowing that pains me. We have:

Hiyori refusing to have her ties cut because she wants to be with Yato longer. Not "forever," but longer. Postponing the inevitable.

Yato being so touched by this statement he takes it way too far

The first mention of the sorcerer (or crafter as he is called in the official but I don't like that term as much) in the same chapter as Fujisaki's introduction, which is saving Hiyori from a nasty fall. They could have picked a lot of "meet cute" scenarios, but they chose this one maybe because of Hiyori naturally feeling indebted to this guy.

Yato remarking that he hasn't looked at cherry blossoms in a long time. Of course not, because they always make him sad.

Yato complaining that Hiyori made it a party since the three of them haven't hung out in ages. Choking in final arc

Hiyori and Yukine agreeing to do this again next year. Choking again. CAN THE LAST CHAPTER PLEASE HAVE THIS. IF NOTHING ELSE.

And still in the same chapter, Tenjin warning Hiyori that she needs to cut ties because what's happening on the far shore doesn't affect her. Well, we see how much that's not true.

THAT WAS ALL ONE CHAPTER. Moving on.

Yukine decides that as a guide, he should let go of all desires except the one to protect Yato. Which, of course, becomes his downfall. I'm being crushed over here.

It seems like Father is deliberately mocking Yato and Yukine by giving Yato cases that parallel Yukine's past to an unnerving degree. But how could he have known this? Yato hasn't even dropped a hint to anyone. Maybe he just noticed their father-son relationship and assumed Yukine was a victim of domestic abuse, then went "okay Yaboku now go kill these evil men and you can't argue <333 don't you feel like you're doing the world a favor"

And he CAN'T argue because not killing these men would be like failing to save Yukine. I just. AGH. THE PARALLELS. There's a lot in this arc that really sticks out once you know more.

Father and Yato's first interaction reveals a lot too. Yato is so terrified of him, he can't even move. Even though he'd just been yelling about wanting to go home and attacking the ayakashi.

Yato and Ebisu's conversation in Yomi gets more heart-wrenching with every reread. Yato is bitter because Ebisu will always continue to live so he can afford to be careless with his life, while Ebisu wishes he could value his life like Yato. Yato will take a few lessons from Ebisu's way of doing things--the whole god of fortune thing, as well as living in the background and not interfering so much.

There's a lot to unpack about both Hiyori's and Yato's journeys in volume 8, especially with regards to the series' ending. This is the volume where Hiyori forgets about Yato (albeit temporarily), and she's distressed the entire time her memory is blank. Does this point to an ending where she keeps all her memories? I don't know. I feel like the best ending for me at this point would be for her to keep all her memories, but choose to part ways of her own accord. As Tenjin rightly points out, this isn't more important than her real life. She can't keep running around here forever. But I don't want her to forget, either. The entire story has been about her avoiding that.

Now I'm switching gears to being sad about Yato. Again, he learns from Ebisu here that a god should exist for his people and not interfere with their lives. So what does that mean for endgame? I don't want Yato to reincarnate. That was what he wanted, after all, and it was a result of him not valuing his life, the same mistake Ebisu made. Plus, if he did, he would forget Sakura, and as sad as that story is he should remember her. If he ceases to exist? I will be crying screaming kicking at the walls...but it would be a fitting end to his character arc. But of course, the remaining issue with that is Yukine. I don't want Yukine to be left alone either. Perhaps he and Hiyori can keep hanging out...in my ideal scenario where she keeps her memories but chooses not to involve herself with the far shore anymore.

But my preferred ending for Yato would be for him to remain as he is. He's gone through so much, and he deserves to continue to live, memories intact. That goes for Hiyori too. (Plus when Yato got his shrine, Kofuku said "now you can live a long life.")

God the closer I get to the ending, the sadder I get. See you tomorrow with more sadness.

Oh, Discord reactions:

[whosxafraid]

Beneath The Light

Tracked from [ x ] (because once again tumblr has f'd up editing reblogs) @morgansmornings

Alright, here's what we are going to do. We’re gonna pull you up on your good leg and pray that I can get you into my truck before you die on me.

That's about as good a plan as any given...well everything. And for a second maybe he actually thinks he might make it. Watches in pieces and parts as she disappears again. The sound of her truck being thrown into and out of gear. The crunching drag of tires moving from pavement to sandy dirt several times. The sensation of something large and dangerous being too close. And then the lights. The breaks casting everything into a weirdly shaded landscape. Colors all out of wack or nonexistent all together. And it blurs everything a bit doesn't it? Makes all this seem like a nightmarish dream and not reality.

But---

The rythmn of his head going up and down with each pant his furry pillow makes. The throbbing pain of everything screaming. No. This is real. This isn't something he's about to wake up from after too much too drink. This---

Dust is kicked up upon her return. His furry pillow inching out from under his head to do--well he's not sure what. Can't understand the commands the woman is giving, or even recognize the language. So instead he focuses on what she says and the hand on his arm.

All right, big guy. Work with me and the ketamine I gave you should help you not feel much of anything here soon...

Right. Okay. Honestly he can't even remember two seconds ago let alone that she gave him something. He's entirely at her mercy now and has been for a while. So in response to the hand on his good arm...He returns the grip. Holds on to it like a life line. Tries to begin the concept of sitting up. But its not easy and jasus christ it feels like he ways three tons. The pain blocking out the secondary part of her words. Until all he hears is...

When you're ready.

He uses it like a bit of the firing of a pistol to begin. Muscles and bones that can't take another lick are forced to work. A head that pounds and sends the world spinning but he does not give in. No with the little angel woman's help he's gained sitting up. And from there it becomes rotating to get up on his good knee, where he has to stop. Has to grind teeth to keep from screaming like a skewered pig. What feels like hours couldn't have been more than a few seconds before his arm has been moved to around her shoulders. The silent understanding now it was time to go up. And to his credit? It only takes two attempts and not a peep of complaint makes it passed his teeth.

"Born 'i."

It's a very lagged response. But there it comes. Tumbling out of his mouth as he's force to let go of her and reach out for the truck to steady himself. Prevent going head long into the side because for all that the wee woman might be capable. He's still easily twice and a half her size if not more. And he'd feel like utter shit if he ended up hurting her in the process of all this.

"Wh---where ta....s'blurry..."

Pushed out as his good eye is slammed shut. Everything starting to spin more, even if his body isn't complaining quite so much right now. She must have done something...given him...something? Wait she had hadn't she? Fucking Christ what why the fuck can't he remember?

[revelisms]

Who's ready for Emeritus family messiness? (It's me. Constantly, apparently.)

I have lots of feelings on Secondo trying to be a "good" big brother in the shadow Primo left behind, and not quite knowing if he ever lived up to it. In short: these two have an unplanned (and needed) heart-to-heart on this.

This is now also the first of several roadtrip fic ideas, for some reason, which means I'm 1) thinking too much about what cars they drive, and 2) trying to put some pin on the map for where the Ministry could be. Lately, I've been running with something around the Veneto region of Italy, more on the inland side in the valleys.

I imagine the Ministry would be housed in a physical place that is only known and visible to a select few within access of the Church; however, those living on the grounds can and often do leave for business in neighboring towns (aka: running Nihil's errands, like these two are (attemptingly) doing here).

a handful of repairs

2.5k words | Rating: T | Secondo-Centric | CWs: Dysfunctional family dynamics, arguing, language, anger issues, parentification, referenced smoking/drinking, hurt/comfort. Also on AO3

The sun, broiling as the unmasked heavens, has seemed to lay a personal vendetta against him, today—or, rather, against the ancient engine of his Ferrari. The tight-wired thing had crapped out not fifteen minutes into their drive to Padua, and the following thirty he had spent greased to the elbows, engine smoke coughed in his face, attempting to tame the overheated arteries back to normal.

Primo's shadow looms over his shoulder. "Is it shot?"

"No, no—she is just a...temperamental thing—"

"Temperamental. It is worse than the door to the old cellars."

Secondo squeaks a gloved hand off the hood. "She's mine," he gristles, leveling a pointed leer at his brother. "You all complain about it, every time you get in the Hellfucking car—but I bought her with my own money, eh? If I want to tinker with the damned thing for the rest of my life, then I'm going to tinker with it."

Beside him, Primo scuffs a breath through his teeth, fanning the unbuttoned collar of his cassock over his neck. "So long as you don't strand us on the side of the road." He pauses, taking in the endless stretch of gravel that cooks beneath their feet, and lifts a wiry brow. "Ah. Have I spoken too soon?"

A crowfoot wrenches over a stubborn gear. The metal squeals.

Countless summers of this. Satan forbid if he'll ever live this one down: the esteemed Monsignor Emeritus and the unpainted head of the Satanic Church, bickering like ravens in the middle of bum-fuck Veneto. 

He smears the sweat off his brow.

"You must have named it, with as much pride as you pour into the thing."

"Rosalina."

"Lucifer forbid, you have." Primo kneads a weary touch over his brow. "One can only hope I was kidding."

"Will you shut up."

"Shall I send for Nihil?"

Secondo finally gets the wretched coolant cap back on. "May as well send for the cavalry."

"Terzo, then?"

The thought makes him smear a streak of oil down his cheek.

He can see his younger brother's shit-eating grin already, the tires of his black-glossed coupe scraping to a halt at their feet, a ringed hand dangling out the window. He'd be chewing their ear off about needing full-time nursing care, the entire ride to town.

"I'll wring his neck," Secondo spits, clapping the wrench over the engine. "It just—it needs time to cool off, alright? It's fixed. It'll be fine."

"So you say."

The leather of his gloves sticks to his palms like cling-wrap. He peels them off, with a scowl. "All I'm asking you to do is wait."

"I do believe you're the one whose patience the Olde One is testing, Brother."

Maybe it's the heat, the fields swaying in a green-gold blur, the droning void of the cloudless sky baking down on them like under-proofed dough.

Maybe it's the fact that, since his Ascension, he's hardly had scant minutes he could scrub together to call his own—even the ones snatched in backstage rooms and buried in the sweet fawnings of women's necks.

Maybe it's that even the thought of Terzo having to pick up the pieces, as he himself had been shackled to do throughout the entirety of his quick-lived youth, sets his blood boiling.

His gloves squeak beneath his palm.

"I've done enough waiting," he grumbles, and pushes off from the car.

He feels his brother's fish-pale eyes on him like a brand. "And what is that supposed to mean?" Primo prods, eventually.

The sweat at his neck leaves his fingers tacky. He smears at it, again. "What it means."

It's childish. Not the time, or the place. He knows it—just as well as he knows that Terzo has already been picking up the cracked shards of their lives, for years now: forced to bear the mantle Primo had left behind, with his own donned silks and staff, that Secondo himself had stepped into like a pair of misfitted boots.

A not-father, a near-mother. A patient nurturer. A loving thing. 

All traits he'd never been; that Terzo, by his own doomed attempts, had never received.

By the time Copia is handed that mantle, the little rat will have nothing left to care for. Only himself, on the stage of Nihil and Sister's own expectations. Not that he supposes it matters.

Their youngest had rarely come to him for anything, in his earlier days. He must have learned enough, through the quick-tongued jibes of his idiot brother, that there was no living soul to come to: not for advice, for care, for any of it.

Primo, eyes averted, muddles his fingers over his sleeve. "You strand us, and start up with this?"

"Forget it," Secondo grumbles. He grinds his heel into the pebbled dust beneath his feet.

"You brought it up."

"I didn't bring anything up—"

"This is about me, yes?" Silver-blue and moon-white cut through the air between them: linger with hawkish steadiness on the lines that twitch through Secondo's cheek. "Go on. Say it." Primo flicks a bony hand, his mouth thin. "Little else for us to do, it seems."

Secondo narrows his eyes on his boots. Squeezes his tongue into his teeth.

Primo takes the silence for what it's worth. After a moment, he clears his throat. "I did what I had to," he hushes. A breeze chases again through the fields, rustling the long slopes of their silks. "You know that."

Of course he knows that.

"You left us," he cuts back—because he knows that, more.

Primo lifts his eyes. Silent, frigid, as always. "I didn't have a choice."

"You chose to stick me with them."

And he shouldn't care, is the vile thing: that he'd been left in the flamepit of Nihil's and Sister's verbal jousts; the remaining Elder to their Church-bolstered strategies and financial debts, their global visions for a house already cracked at the foundation. Left to be the Shield to Terzo's cat-eyed staring, too perceptive from the shadows, trapped since birth in a shell far too small for the soul of him. To fill the unwilling Could-Be to the fire-haired thing Sister had carried through their chapel doors, like a child birthed from the ritual slabs of Olde—unexplained, unknown, voiceless as a demon. 

Secondo had been seventeen the day Primo had walked into priesthood. Terzo, on the cusp of twelve. Copia, hardly old enough to tie his shoes.

By the time Terzo was fourteen, Secondo had buried himself in his studies, already neck-deep in Nihil's grousings about the next iterations of the tours—and Copia had decided, against every point of reason, to view his storm cloud of a little brother as the needed Something.

"You didn't see how they were with them," Secondo gravels on: the frustration stuffed into a bottle, tight as he can manage—because through all of it, for all his stifled attempts, he hadn't been with them. But he should have been. Primo should have been. "What it did to the imbecile."

Primo huffs. "Terzo's always been reckless," he whispers. 

An understatement, if there ever was one.

Even as a boy, the little menace been a magnet to Secondo's own vices—ones he'd caught his little brother exploring, red-handed, on more nights than he cared to remember.

He'd tried to give himself some grace about it. It was a folly, he'd reasoned, to beat inherited habits out of one's blood. They were all Nihil's sons, after all. Most of them.

Secondo shifts his jaw: a silent scrape of teeth. "He needed you," he grits back.

No part of him can admit the truth festering beneath that. Primo, mouth ticked, sees it nonetheless.

"So did you."

The heat wails on them.

For a breath, it's only the humid air, and the crickets, and the buzzing of gnats, and his pulse battering like a drum in his ears.

"Dino," Primo mutters, muted and still. The sound crawls under his skin like a tapeworm.

"I don't need to talk about this." Secondo swats his hand. "What's done is done—nothing to do about it, now."

His brother draws in a slow breath. Pinches it through his teeth. "Listen."

"You listen, eh?" 

"I know you...blame yourself."

The gravel scrapes beneath his heel. Secondo rounds over his shoulder, sizes up the man across from him like a moth flickering around the lamplight of his mind; like a snake that's just slithered from the weeds.

"You want to pass off a diagnosis, now?" he sneers, and coughs out a breath of disbelief. "What else is next, eh? I am the image of the All-Father, sleeping around too much? Drowning my sorrows in the off-hours? A puppet in these goddamned robes?" He presses another step closer. "I hear the talk," he hisses, "and it swings both ways, Brother. Now—hearing about blame, from you? That's rich."

Primo lifts his chin, prim as a royal. "Calm down," he orders him.

Secondo bristles like a beast. "Who started this, eh?"

That, apparently, does him in. His brother cuts his hands through the air, stalks a grumbling path down the thistled old road. "Seven Circles—"

"Ah, yes—suppose that now you're off your throne, you are the pinnacle of wisdom," Secondo barks after him. "Always jabbering on and on about the duties, and the upholdings of the Cloth, and your goddamned crown above it—"

Across the way, Primo spits a huff. "Well. Now you are Papa—and I am here, yes? So you have what you wanted, apparently. Regality, titles, those two out of your hair—"

"That's not what I meant—"

"But what you are saying!"

Primo pins him with a hard glare. The wind and the heat have made a mess of him. He fiddles with the loose ends of his hair, distractedly: reties the knot at his nape, with a scowl. "I know, alright?" he mumbles through it. "I lived it, too. You think I knew what I was doing, having you and the little one at my heels?"

He shakes his head for a moment, hands pitted at his waist, and stares down the empty road. A fly buzzes incessantly past Secondo's ear.

"I was young, Dino," Primo sighs on. "We all were." His words turn stony, steel-edged. "But it is one thing, not to know how—and it is another, not to try."

A fire scorches in his throat. "So you are saying I did not try, eh?"

Primo lifts his brows. "You tell me."

He feels tension coil in his hand: flexes it out, like an old wound. Secondo glowers at the silver sheen of his car, bright as a bullet in the blinding sun. Looks away from the young-eyed reflection bubbling within it.

"You were strong," he grumbles, at last. "We both were. Those other two—"

"Copia was a child."

"Terzo was a child." His nails bite at his palm. "A weak one, at that."

A beat passes, two, before a chill sinks through his brother's stare: two beads of ice in a black-cloaked tower, standing like an apparition against the field's green. It cuts through Secondo like a knife, and festers like an infection. 

"For that boy to endure the Sight he was gifted," Primo says carefully, "and not lose his mind from it, is a feat above us all. He's the strongest of any of us, for that alone—beside the fact he was there for Copia, after all of it."

"And that he was in the cigarette boxes, by fourteen?" Secondo scoffs. "Hell—the liquor cabinets? The clubs?"

"Weren't you?"

Shame burns in his skin. It clots any further poison from spewing off his tongue: turns him awkward, silent, fidgeting, his arms notching over his chest like a brace. He takes a hard breath beneath them. Flares it out, like dragon-smoke. 

He hears his brother loiter on the gravel. Hears his fingers wrestling with the thick lines of his collar, again. His steps crunching back into his radius.

"I had my vices, too," Primo rasps, quietly. "I was raised in Nihil's touring vans, Dino—you think I'm not without my faults?" 

Secondo pinches his fingers into his bicep. "At least you raised us."

"But I—Hell's sake. I shouldn't have had to." Primo's hand lifts, squeezes tight on his elbow. Loosens into a slow nudge. "And neither should you have."

At one time, his brother had towered over him. His sandy hair, bound to run gray. His bean-poled limbs and perpetually cold fingers; his voice that carried Nihil's smoke-pocked wheeze, even from his teenage days.

Strange, now, that the tables have flipped: Secondo, the mountain out of all of them, inches held over this one's pale-eyed leer. But still, in this moment—as he always had, in those moments before—he feels so small before him. 

A compass needle whirling for direction. A child in the path of a giant.

"To come from this Bloodline, and not regret any years lived within it..." Primo chuffs, wrinkling a smile. "I'd consider that a feat of the One beneath. Satan knows Sister has tried to pray for it."

Secondo ticks one brow. "Prayed for it," he burrs. "Bargained us off, just to open the Gate."

"All the more proof, then." 

Still, Primo's hand is on his elbow. Still, his eyes linger. 

Secondo forces a swallow. "I know," he grumbles.

"You don't know."

"I know." 

"Then you need to hear it, again."

His lashes flicker. His brow coils to a knot.

"We are all like this old engine of yours, Brother. We will be tinkering with the parts, until the day it croaks." Primo's eyes soften, skimming away. "And even then," he mutters on, "there may be new uses for it."

Secondo wrinkles his nose. "On your metaphorical ramblings, now?" He shrugs off his touch, the sun hot at his back, and scuffs his way to the driver's door. "If I am the car, what does that make you, huh?"

Primo sighs. He's forgotten the roll of his tools, left like an apron of jewels on a web of machinery. His bony hands tussle them back up. "Who is to say?" he drawls. "The, ah...windows in the old conservatory, perhaps."

"Can't stand you." 

Primo claps the hood shut, slanting a wry smirk. "You put me on far too high on a pedestal, little brother, if you think any others feel differently." 

"Get your ass in the car."

"It is cooled off?"

"Yes, it is cooled off. Goddamned should be—hour-long detour. Get in."

Primo slumps back into his seat, pulling the door closed behind him.

By the Olde One's blessing, the engine starts: a rickety burst into a lion's purr. Secondo keeps the relief off his face. Slowly, he slopes his hand over the wheel; clicks on the rolling melodramatics of the radio, the dusty burst of the air-conditioning.

Only hot air greets their wrinkled faces.

Primo cants a slow look from his seat.

"One word, and I'll slug you," Secondo growls. He jerks the car into gear, turning them back onto the white stretch of gravel that ribbons before them. 

Primo, clicking his tongue, creaks down the window. "Tinkering with it for life, eh?" he muses, flatly.

"What did I just say."

"It is just the truth of the matter, Brother."

Secondo, with more flare than needed, jerks up the volume of the radio. In the corner of his eye, Primo only shakes his silvered head, and smiles. 

[atangledfate]

His eyes closed because, she really didn't know him did she? Starline could feed her information for days but none of them really knew him. They knew the Hero, the smiling goofball who laughed and made cracks at his enemies. Only tails got to see the troubled guy under the guise of the hero. He'd been fighting for so long, and struggled so hard to stay the good guy. Chaos if she only knew how many times he wanted to snap and bring it all crashing down. He'd nearly done it so many times but--- He had to be the good guy, the righteous hero! But some days he just wanted to find someplace, curl i a ball an block it all out.

He took a deep breath and curled his arms about himself. For once her just took his own mask off, let his guard down and talked to her less as a hero, and more as that kid who was forced into a War before he was ever ready for it.

" I know its all my fault... do you think i don't? I had a chance to stop Eggman and i chose not to. The whole world paid for it... but i never asked for any of this. I was a kid when this all started... just a little older then Kit was. I thought it was a riot ya know! fightin' bad guys, putin' the gears to Eggy--- But then you watch enough people die because ... you aren't fast enough. You aren't strong enough... you just don't quite make it in time... "

He took a deep breath and looked Surge in the eyes, an often overlooked truth of Sonic. He was forced into this life, and had to cope somehow. So he chose to smile even when he was depressed, and sad about it.

" I stopped talking for a long time, couldn't find my words, guess its why i get Whisper so well. You fight long enough and you see enough people die and enough bodies pile up. You realize how precious life is... and you know they never talk about that... how many people i didn't get to, how many lives were lost... how many times i've faced death and somehow walked away... sometimes the entire planet just gets blown to pieces and somehow i'm still standing. "

Sonic rubbed his face biting back his emotions as he didn't like feeling this way. Depression, anger, frustration all of it welling up inside of him. But deep down he just wanted to run away and forget about it all. Maybe some part of him kept hoping this would be the last fight, but he never could stop could he? the endless war matched on.

" When i look at you Surge... i just see someone who is hurting, alone, and trying to pull themselves out of the muck. I've never been angry with you, or felt sorry for you. I hated what happened to you... how you lost your freedom, how you lost everything even your past--- and i want desperately to make it better. But i don't know how... i've tried, i've struggled... and more i try the more you hate me... and i'm ok with you hating me...but i want you to be happy... because i... i feel so responsible for what happened.... "

He held his hand out to surge

" I'm not saying i intend to let Mimic get away with any of this. I don't... and if he fights back i'll put his face to the dirt and grind him across the pavement at Mache 3... but taking his life in cold blood? i can't do that... i just can't ... i'm sorry..."

===============================================

Mimic was pretty sneaky when he tackled Rowan he slid a couple of the tubes with Wisps in them into Rowans belt loop. Which resulted in him getting a kick in the gut! yet before he could complain he felt himself getting wrapped up in those tentacles and the big Wisp trying to sort out which was which! He went lax and sighed looking over at Rowan and he knew him just well enough to get his facial expressions right.

" Yea, i'm sure he can tell which is which! OH look He still has some in his belt there... we better get those free pronto... I tried to get them away from him but guess i left myself open..."

He glared at the other with stern eyes!

" I think a better course would be to give us both to the authorities... You can't be sure which is which no matter what either of us say. Better to lock us both up and be sure the right one gets punished..."

He would take incarceration at Restoration and fooling these idiots then dealing with these creatures! or the crazy Lemur for that matter. He needed out of here and fast! this was his last ditch effort, and he had no other escape option--- dealing with restoration was a smidge better then this scenario.

"I'm not talking about some petty thief's or two bit chumps. I'm talking about the worst of the worst who clearly aren't doing anything to change, and that's a small fucking list. Eggman, Mimic, and Clutch, that's three people. I want a fucking line Sonic. A line of when enough is enough. You want to try and loop me in with them? How many people have I killed? How many times have I ACTUALLY ruled the world? How many illegal operations do I run? HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE I FUCKED OVER, KIDNAPPED, AND TURNED THEM IN SOME CYBORG FREAKs?!" Surge was clearly done trying to be calm.

"Where's the fucking line Sonic?! When do you say enough is enough and STOP trying to save the people who just keep hurting everyone and the world over and over?! How many times does someone like me or Kit have to happen before you realize not everyone can fucking change?! No, you always act like there's nothing wrong and that everything is fine! IT'S NOT!" The tenrec couldn't keep her cool, though didn't want to punch Sonic. So she dash's over to the nearest wall and punch's full force, making a hole bigger than her. The speedster breathing was rapid, though slowly calmed down.

"I know I already said that, though I don't think you understand how it really feels. You're trying to do it because you think it's helpful, though it ain't. All it does is make it feel like you're just ignoring the problem, which is me." Surge could say her issues were all from Starline, though they weren't. Maybe a good chunk of them, though the tenrec couldn't blame it all on him. "I'm not asking for a fucking pity party, though do something that crack a joke or smile. Be fucking angry or upset, shit maybe even be a bit sad at what's happened. I don't fucking know." The tenrec felt like she was losing her mind.

"Just, stop ignoring the fucking problem. Can you honestly say you don't feel some sort of way about me? Yeah, I know you put most of it on Starline, though the whole Eggman tech Wisp stuff was me. Working with Clutch was me. Shit, it was me that ended up making your gear go all weird at the start of the Grand Prix. Give me something, anything." Surge wasn't sure where she was going with this. There was much more important shit to do, yet the tenrec couldn't let it go.

==========================================================

To saw Rowan was caught off guard was an understatement, barely enough focus and time to kick Mimic off from the noise. The lemur's eardrums felt like they were going to burst if this kept going on, though he did notice all the normal sized Wisp back off, looking at each other confused. At least they seemed to grab the Wisp Mimic had in his hand.

The large Wisp would wrap a tentacle around both of them and finally stopped the noise now that she had them both to where they couldn't run. Then it began looking between them, not seeming very amused about this. "🕈︎♒︎♓︎♍︎♒︎ □︎■︎♏︎ □︎♐︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎ ♓︎⬧︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ □︎■︎♏︎ ♒︎◆︎❒︎⧫︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⧫︎♒︎□︎⬧︎♏︎ ♍︎♒︎♓︎●︎♎︎❒︎♏︎■︎✍︎" This was getting tiresome.

"Look, I'm sure you just asked who's who, though I don't think the other guy is going to be very willing to give himself up. I have one of the shadow Wisp's that's been traveling with me though, I'm sure they can tell I'm the real one." Rowan knew just saying he wasn't Mimic wouldn't cut it.

The Wisp raised a brow, seeming not to completely believe Rowan, though began looking around yet none of the Wisp came up. That's when she noticed one was missing, looking out of the Shadow Void, seeing them trying to open a portal with other Wisp and two Mobians. "🕈︎♋︎♓︎⧫︎📬︎📬︎📬︎ ♓︎⬧︎ ⧫︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♒︎♏︎♎︎♑︎♏︎♒︎□︎♑︎ ✋︎🕯︎❖︎♏︎ ♒︎♏︎♋︎❒︎♎︎ ♋︎♌︎□︎◆︎⧫︎✍︎" She'd open a portal up to allow the Wisp as well as Sonic and Surge to enter.

[sipsteainanxiety]

one of the things you've come to learn about bakugou katsuki was his weakness towards praise. compliments.

particularly from you.

it all started when you first met the man—after you'd been hired at the ground zero agency to work down in its support lab. he didn't do the hiring, just cleared your papers, so you didn't actually see him throughout the entire process. not that you were complaining, of course. you'd heard stories of lord explosion murder king death god dynamite and well, they didn't quite paint him in a... positive light.

you met the other heroes running the agency over the first few weeks you were there, all of them assuring you that it was fine to address them by their actual names. they popped in and out of the support lab to drop off their suits that needed repairing after tough patrols or missions. you ranked them in your head based on how often their gear was damaged.

kaminari was at the top—he came down more often than not to drop off his busted shooters. you noticed he flirted with you quite a lot whenever he was around and liked to linger in the lab to avoid his paperwork responsibilities. sometimes you wondered if he damaged his stuff on purpose just as an excuse to come talk to you.

next was kirishima, though you gave him a pass since his quirk required him to physically put himself in the path of danger for anyone. he was a delight to talk to and never seemed to run out of conversation topics. he also sometimes snuck you some snacks on days you worked really long shifts.

tied for third place were sero and ashido. they'd made it a competition once you'd told them their ranking in your little mental system, but they were still neck-to-neck even after all this time. there was a point where they'd started sabotaging each other, but you shut that down real quick—you didn't want more work, thank you very much. still, ashido was great to talk to whenever you wanted the daily agency gossip, and sero was pretty fun when he wasn't pranking you.

and way, way at the bottom... was dynamite. you didn't see him around the lab too often—maybe because his suit didn't get roughed up much, which you guessed was likely seeing that he was the number two hero and all. he had to be good at his job, right? or maybe he went down for repairs whenever you were off duty or something. you didn't know and honestly, you didn't care all too much.

still, it was only inevitable that you would eventually meet dynamite.

kirishima had invited you to join him for lunch in one of the agency's breakrooms, as he tended to do once in a while when your schedules matched up. sometimes you were both joined by others, but today it was just you and kirishima in the empty breakroom at one of the two-person tables. it was nice being able to sit down and chat about this and that—he often told you stories about his patrols or missions he'd done in the past.

you got so wrapped up in the conversation that you almost didn't notice when dynamite entered the room. you raised an eyebrow when kirishima suddenly brightened up in the middle of a bite of his sandwich and waved an energetic hand at someone behind you.

"yo! bakugou!" he called out—loudly, even though there was no one else here. you almost choked on your drink. what did he just say? you twisted your upper body around, the straw of your drink pinched between your lips, just in time to see the man the myth the legend himself trudging over.

dynamite was dressed in a black shirt and matching black sweats—a contrast from his hero suit that you usually saw him in on the news or from a distance in the agency. the short sleeves of his shirt showed off the muscles and veins that bulged from his arms—the scars that littered them. he looked disgruntled, but then again, he always did, so you were sure that was just his default expression. you watched as he came to a stop near your table, a short "what" escaping his chapped lips.

"done with your patrol?" kirishima asked cheerfully, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth to get rid of the crumbs there. dynamite nodded, his eyes flicking over to you briefly. you sipped at your drink slowly, just as something to do, but nearly choked again when kirishima looked between the two of you and said, "oh! have you guys met yet?"

you set your drink down on the table and looked up at dynamite with a raised eyebrow. you didn't think you'd ever seen him this up close. he kind of looked a bit different than what you were expecting. in a good way, though. "nope. you'd think i'd see my own 'boss' more, working in the same building as him, but i guess not," you joked. you stuck out a hand for him to shake. "'sup?" he stared at you for a moment, then at your outstretched palm. you almost thought he wasn't going to respond, but he eventually gripped onto your palm with his own to give it a short, firm shake.

but before he could pull away, you found yourself opening your mouth as you continued to stare up at him, words coming out of it before your brain could even process them. "you've got pretty eyes."

you both froze. kirishima's jaw dropped open.

"hah?" dynamite was the first to recover, his eyes widening as his hand clenched down on your own, worryingly tight. his top lip curled up, exposing some of the watermelon pink of his gums. you gave him a sheepish smile, wondering if the sweat you were feeling in your palm was your own or his. you weren't lying or anything—he really did have pretty eyes. a bright crimson, like smoldering coal, framed by thick eyelashes that models would absolutely kill for. you'd never noticed before—not in images or videos of him you'd seen online.

you opened your mouth to ramble off some excuse, but before you could, kirishima butted in with a wide, bright grin on his face. you knew that look—it meant trouble.

"hey, we've got the same color eyes, does that mean mine are pretty too?" he asked with a snicker, fluttering his eyes at you once you turned to give him an unimpressed look. you rolled your eyes and slipped your hand from dynamite's—surprisingly easily—so you could cross your arms over your chest.

"fishing for compliments now, huh?" you replied dryly. you glanced back up at dynamite, who was still frozen in place. he glared at a spot on your table, a flush creeping up his neck and tinging his ears. shit, was he mad or something? dynamite was infamous for his temper, wasn't he? you gave him an apologetic look when he briefly flicked his eyes at you. "shit, sorry man, it kinda slipped out." there was a moment of silence. you had the sudden urge to run.

"whatever," he eventually grumbled under his breath, promptly turning on his heel so he could stomp back out of the breakroom, not even grabbing a snack or anything. you watched him leave, confused at his sudden retreat, then looked over at kirishima who'd suddenly burst out in laughter.

"h— holy shit!" he choked out, one of his fists slamming onto the table hard enough to make it rattle. "holy shit i can't believe you told him that to his face! wait until denki hears—"

"it really did just slip out!" you interrupted defensively, a pout lingering on your lips. your voice lowered into a mumble. "not my fault his eyes are nice-looking..." kirishima only gave you a sly look and took another bite of his sandwich.

from then on, you started seeing more of dynamite. it was obvious kirishima had told the others what had happened, and it was even more obvious that they were determined to get you and dynamite to hang out together. though, you were unsure why it was such a big deal. it was just a compliment, right? surely dynamite was used to it by now... that was what you kept telling yourself (at least to make yourself feel better).

in any case, you didn't mind, not really. it was fun hanging out with everyone whenever they would invite you to one of their little group outings. which was where you were at the moment—a quaint little restaurant with all six of you crammed into a booth in the back.

you picked lazily at the noodles on your plate as you listened to kaminari ramble off about one of the more recent villain battles that had aired on the news. you remembered watching it on the t.v. down in the support lab. it had been a very impressive fight—impressive, but dangerous as it always was.

"—we'd wrapped everything up easy-peasy!" kaminari boasted as he leaned back in his seat with his arms behind his head. the epitome of confidence. "villain was taken to tartarus and i got the number of this sweet babe—"

"uh huh," you interrupted, still swirling noodles around with your chopsticks. "i bet she was so impressed—especially with how much you wrecked your shooters, right?"

you lifted your gaze to look at the blond as he spluttered out, a cheeky grin on your face. "well!! we won anyways—"

"yeah but guess who had to stay up all night to fix your shit for the next day," you interjected, giving him a faux disappointed look. sero snickered from next to you as ashido let out an "ooooh." you pointed a thumb at dynamite, who'd been sitting quietly across from you in the seat near the wall. "why can't you be more like dynamite here, huh? efficient. he hasn't fucked up his gear in a hot minute."

"oh come on!" kaminari whined out loudly. "you're holding me to too high of a standard here!"

"efficiency!!!" you cried out dramatically, reaching over sero to shake kaminari's shoulder. "responsibility!!!"

kaminari just reached back over sero to shake you as well, a mischievous smile on his face. you made a face at him that he copied, the two of you locked in a battle of endurance and high-wit. though, you both had to eventually stop roughhousing when sero got sick of being the man in the middle and karate-chopped the top of your heads.

you settled back in your seat with a silly smile splayed across your lips, your hand rubbing at your head. your gaze moved to look at dynamite—automatically, maybe, purposely seeking him out—and you noticed the way he'd turtled into his collar. you could see the way his ears were red, his neck flushed as he glared down at his plate.

he made eye contact with you briefly, then seemed to flush even more as he looked away with a small scoff. his jaw tensed. you felt heat in your cheeks as you focused on your food once more, missing the way ashido nudged kirishima meaningfully.

later that night, when dynamite dropped you back at your apartment, he told you to call him bakugou in a quiet voice.

---

the more time you spent with bakugou, the more you learned about him. the man you saw at the agency was nothing like how the news painted him to be and you wondered why you'd let the media influence your perception of him in the first place.

he started coming down to the support lab more—a surprise, of course, but welcome all the same. every time, he came with the gruff order that he needed his gear tweaked. a dent here, a cracked cover there. you diligently obliged to his requests, tinkering away at your desk. he liked to linger, sometimes, not that you were bothered by him. he made good company. though, you did notice a suspicious lack of visits from... other heroes. you weren't dumb—you knew what they were pulling; you couldn't say that you minded.

sometimes you'd catch bakugou staring at you, your eyebrows raising in silent question each time.

and he would always say the same thing when you asked what was up: "nothin'. jus' making sure y'aren't fucking anything up." yeah he made good company, but he was also a little shit.

one day, you needed his help with fitting together some small pieces together for his bracer. you could do it, but it was taking you longer than usual with all the individual parts. plus, your fingers were kind of greasy and the metal kept slipping from them.

bakugou grumbled a bit about how it was your job, but he approached your desk and pulled over a stool to plop himself down on. you gave him instructions on what to do and slid over all the tools he would need. he immediately got to work—diligent, you thought to yourself—which gave you time to get up and wash your hands at a sink in the corner.

you grabbed a paper towel and wiped your hands as you wandered back over to your desk and peered over bakugou's shoulder to watch him quietly work. his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, ash-blond hair partially covering his ruby eyes.

"your hands are surprisingly nimble," you commented as he clicked on a latch and fit a tiny screw in its respective hole so he could start screwing it in. you reached over to grab the section of his bracer that he'd finished in the few minutes you took to scrub your hands. you let out a low whistle. "quick too! nice work!"

his shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly as you set back down the bracer and rounded the desk to grab some more parts. as you turned back to sit next to him, you noticed he was pointedly avoiding your gaze, the apples of his cheeks dusted in a red to match his eyes. a familiar scowl danced across his lips.

and it was then that you finally realized that flush wasn't him getting angry. he was embarrassed. at you and your offhanded compliments.

the discovery was surprisingly humanizing—he could get shy over things, who knew! your gaze softened and you took your seat next to him once more, doing your best to pretend you didn't notice the way his movements turned slightly robotic and his hands lingered over your own whenever you passed him something.

it took time, but you soon realized that it wasn't dynamite you were complimenting—it was bakugou. and that made a world's difference to him.

bakugou, who was so used to people giving him compliments and praise when he stood before them in his hero suit—an invincible hero, a god amongst men. who never got compliments when he was just... himself. and that affected him more than you would ever know.

as you got closer and closer to him, you found it was easier to praise him over the smallest of things—things that you just noticed. and every time, it always filled you with a sort of warmth when he would flush and turn away with a scoff. it was kind of funny, when you thought about it, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

you dared to test how far you could go one day when bakugou dropped by the lab with a large box in his hands.

"oh!" you perked up as you hopped down from a table and cleared the space so he could set the box down on it. "it came already?!"

"mmhm," he hummed once he stepped back and wiped the sweat off his brow, "jus' got here."

"hell yeah." you grabbed a box cutter from a drawer and cracked the box open so you could rummage around in it and pull out the wrapped items. you'd asked bakugou to order you new materials for you to experiment with on his gear: carbon fiber sheets, mesoporous silica, zetix, etc. they hadn't been cheap.

"you got everything!" you grinned as you pulled out more black sheets and set them off to the side. your lips twitched slightly as you hummed, then said, "good boy!"

you could practically sense the way he'd straightened up then stiffened. you dared to chance a quick look up at him—hovering just in front of you on the other side of the table. his face had turned a bright red, as though someone had lit it on fire. his hands had clenched into fists at his sides.

"you—" he forced out hoarsely in a way that made you finally raise your head to properly make eye contact with him. he glared at you, lips pulled back in a snarl that wasn't all too intimidating with how much he was blushing. "—you... fuck, do y'know what you fuckin' do to me?" he swallowed thickly and you had to force yourself to not trace the bob of his adam's apple.

you tilted your head to the side and opened your mouth to respond, but he cut across you sharply. "sayin' this shit on purpose— are you fuckin' trying to piss me off? hah?" he sneered at you and your heart sank, just a bit. "make me look like a fuckin' idiot?"

"bakugou." you dropped everything so you could round the table and step up closer to him. you reached out to hold onto one of his clenched fists. he looked down at you with a heated glare, and yet his lips trembled—minutely. if you hadn't been watching him so carefully, you never would've noticed. "i—"

"yer takin' me for a goddamn fool," he rasped out, eyes narrowing. the redness in his face had faded only slightly. "i hate people who say shit they don't mean."

your gaze softened at his words and you released his hand to reach up and hold his warm cheeks between your palms. there was a moment where he seemed to want to step back—to pull away—but he didn't. you took that as a good sign.

"bakugou," you whispered gently to him, "baby, i meant every word." your thumbs traced over his apple cheeks. "all those compliments? you deserved every single one. okay? they were genuine, i swear."

his eyes flicked over your face, searching for something. it seemed like he wanted to protest—to argue—but suddenly, like he'd been popped with a needle, he deflated. he leaned his head closer down to your own. relieved, maybe. accepting. defensive no longer for things he didn't think he deserved.

"shaddup," he mumbled, the hot puff of his breath fanning across your face. "you and yer sappy shit. gonna kill me one day."

you chuckled. "you like it, though. i'll sing you praises for forever if i must." you gave him a cheeky wink, your lips curling into a grin. "wherever and whenever you want, bakugou." he huffed out through his nose.

"katsuki," he told you gently, bopping your head with his own. "call me katsuki."

[major-trouble]

For the fic title thing:

Home for the season

Hello friend!!! Thank-you for your patience pls enjoy

Home for the Season

The airport had been so crowded when they landed. It had taken nearly an hour to get through customs, and another to get their luggage, fighting through throngs of hyperactive children and exhausted parents.

At least finding their car had been relatively easy. Long term parking was a conveniently short complimentary bus ride away from the main terminal. It was quiet. The night had crept up and extinguished the lingering evening, the stars just starting to become visible against the velvet blackness.

Valdo pulled the keys from his pocket, unlocking their car and releasing the latch on the trunk before stowing his bags inside. He waited as Jaskier did the same, though slower and with a great deal more sighing.

At least he wasn't complaining anymore. The younger man had moved past tired into deep exhaustion, and he barely grumbled as he pointed all the available heat vents directly at his face as he settled into the passenger seat.

The tour had been draining for both of them, but Jaskier - the lead singer and therefore face of their band - had spent so much time smiling and shaking hands and hugging people and talking that Valdo didn't entirely blame him for his silence now. It made him a little jealous, though, that their fans got so much of him and he was left with this quiet, tired version of the normally gregarious character.

Not that he minded a little quiet, now and then, but they were home for the winter break now. And he'd been hoping, maybe a little selfishly, that they could spend time together as friends, instead of band mates.

"You're sulking," Jaskier’s voice startled Valdo out of his thoughts.

"I am not," he retorted, squeezing the steering wheel and desperately wishing the car would hurry up and defog enough for him to see out the windows. "You're confusing me with you."

Jaskier made a derogatory snorting noise. "No, I can tell you're sulking because your forehead is all wrinkly and your lips look like a pursed asshole."

"I - ! What the fu - ?" Valdo sputtered. Jaskier just huffed a laugh. "Oh shut up, you complete and utter tit." He rubbed his hands together, hoping against hope that the air would warm up faster. "I'm tired and I want to go home," he added, sounding petulant even to his own ears.

"Me too," Jaskier sighed, looking out the condensation-clouded window. He smiled suddenly. "Do you think it'll be like last time? That Lambert and Eskel will have tried to stay up and have fallen asleep on top of each other again?"

Valdo couldn't help but grin at the memory. He shook his head. "No - I don't think they'll let themselves be caught in such a compromising situation a second time."

Jaskier barked a laugh. "True. I guess I should have used a washable marker instead of sharpy."

Finally, the fog on the windows had lifted enough for Valdo to see where he was driving without killing anyone and he put the car into gear, pulling out of the lot and making his way towards the highway.

They drove in companionable silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, before Jaskier spoke again.

"I want you to come to my parents' place for Yuletide this year."

The statement was said with such nonchalance it took Valdo off guard and he nearly drove them into a ditch. He gripped the wheel a little tighter as his brain came back online.

"You what?" he squeaked.

"Come with me. To me parents'. For Yuletide." Jaskier spoke slowly, like that would help Valdo parse the words better.

"But your parents don't like me! They think I'm the whole reason you got into this whole band thing in the first place! They said - and I quote - 'That Valdo is a bad influence and will never amount to anything. Musicians are a plague.' And you want me to what exactly? Make nice with them?"

"Well, when you put it like that…" Jaskier trailed off. "I don't think they actually hate you." He paused and Valdo glanced over to see him smiling wickedly. "Besides, Lambert will be there too. It's not like he's going to let them get away with insulting his boyfriend."

Valdo took a moment to think about what that would look like and started laughing.

"Okay. Okay! Fine. I suppose I could join you and your family on their country estate for the holidays." He said it in the most snooty tone he could conjure. "But," he swallowed, not entirely sure how to phrase his next question. "But - "

"Why now?" Jaskier supplied. "Because you're my friend. And I - I regret that I don't get to be that for you enough." He sat up a little higher in his seat so he could look at Valdo more fully. "Touring is great and I'd never give it up - fuck knows Essi and Pris would hate me forever if I did and don't even get me started on Yen - "

Valdo nodded at the mention of their other bandmates and terrifying manager.

"But we've been friends since grade school and I miss just being, I don't know. Just being us, I guess."

Silence descended again as Valdo mulled over his words. It would have been easy to dismiss them out of hand, and he would have if it had been broad daylight and not the murky depths of deepest night, but they struck a chord with his own thoughts.

Still. "You're a huge sap, you know that?" he grinned. Before Jaskier could protest, he added, "And yeah. Me too."

Jaskier drew breath to speak again and Valdo slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Don't ruin it."

He glared at Valdo but subsided, and they drove the rest of the way back to their shared flat in the quiet, no sound but the hum of the tires on pavement.

[beyuwol]

months go by, and nothing has really changed.

the tight grip yuwol's parents have on his entire life doesn't really loosen, perhaps in an effort to make sure that the mishap that is his participation in next gen doesn't occur again. an invisible collar sits at the base of his neck, with his parents holding onto the leash showing no signs of letting go. every look they send him is calculated, each eyebrow raise they show him is a glaring reminder of the accumulated disappointment that yuwol has become in such a short amount of time.

he could spend the rest of his life repenting for his singular act of rebellion ( even though it's something that he wanted to do for himself, unrelated to them ). it wouldn't be enough, though. in their eyes, yuwol opened himself up to scrutiny—everything that he's receiving is punishment as much as it is guidance, for him to return to the right path; the one that his parents have set up for him. ambition and dreams hardly ever do him any good. once upon a time he picked up a violin bow with hopes of weaving a beautiful melody that can permeate itself throughout a lifetime, now all he feels is his ribs constricting and dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. yuwol looked to next gen as a solution to his problems, his lack of aspiration. in the end, that amounted to nothing too.

maybe, this is the most that he'll get out of life. yuwol doesn't think he should complain, there are others less fortunate than him. his parents would drill that into his head over and over again—he should be glad he has something to live for; music, of his parents' choosing. but yuwol hasn't felt alive for a long while, doesn't know what it's like to have that adrenaline run through his veins and the exciting drumming in his chest. he felt a sliver of that, when he stood on stage in next gen. but he slowly began to forgot what it was like; memories blocked out.

this feels similar though. the tight feeling in his chest when kou appears out of nowhere in front of him, like warmth spreading across his once lifeless body. kou, ushering him out of the prison that his home has become, taking him to a corner tucked away from the prying eyes of his parents, adorned with twinkling stars that he hadn't seen in what feels like ages. but they don't hold a candle to the way kou looks at him now—with unfiltered love, etched into the gaze kou holds for yuwol. just yuwol.

kou, who wanted yuwol to find something else to love. kou, who believed in yuwol no matter what trials and tribulations were sent his way. kou, who still loves with all his heart; even though yuwol is in tatters, unable to return anything without bile piling up in his throat.

you know i love you, right?

yuwol's brain stills, for a moment. no—it was always at a standstill, quiet and barren, the gears in his head frozen ever since his parents gave him the ultimatum. but now, it's stunned, for a different reason. he can never comprehend what kou sees in him, in his soul, so empty and dark. but kou wants it, regardless. his thoughts could occupy him ( and they do, often ) with a million reasons to explain kou's love but he'd come up empty handed. yuwol hadn't given kou anything worth loving.

but, love exists. in kou, and with kou. love exists.

"i know," yuwol replies, his voice soft—and it shakes. his eyebrows furrow, his vision is getting blurry, so he blinks a few times. he can't lose sight of kou, not now. "i know you do, i know you love me. i don't know... why," yuwol pauses as he takes a breath; it trembles too. "but i do know that you do. you... love me. even though i did nothing... for you. and all i do is fail. you still love me."

kou loves him.

he can't see, suddenly. kou's face becomes a fuzzy mess he can't see through—wait, are his cheeks wet too? he wipes it with his sleeve, confused. yuwol sniffles, puzzled. something is welling up in the corner of his eyes, foreign and new. "is it raining...?" he asks, foolishly, his voice wavering as he speaks, like there's something clogging up his throat.

unconditional / @beyuwol

it all really comes down to the group chat that kou shares with a few other women ( all within the ages of 40 - 50 ). this might have seemed odd to anyone else — why would kou, a man in his 20s, be in a group chat with older women? but it's kou, and that perhaps is enough of an explanation as it is. amongst their shared recipes, and daily gossip, ahju nice does their best to update kou on yuwol's whereabouts, how he's been doing, and what not. kou had gone from seeing yuwol everyday, falling asleep by his side — to now receiving updates through a group chat.

so when they'd told him that yuwol's parents would be away for the night, kou had immediately jumped at the idea of stealing him away ( "can i really steal him away ahjummas (ToT)?" "yes of course!" ). which is how he'd ended up here with yuwol, staring up at the night sky painted with stars. it had all happened in a flurry, kou running up to yuwol's house, dragging him away, before shoving him into a cab and telling the driver their destination. it had also taken everything in him not to kiss yuwol at that very moment.

but the truth is, he hadn't kissed yuwol in a while, and had slowly begun to forget that feeling. it's odd, he'd gone from having his lips attached to yuwol at every moment, to nothing.

he takes hold of yuwol's hand as he brings him to a quieter corner, one without too many street lights polluting their vision. the stars were clearer like this, brighter. he doesn't let go of yuwol's hand, instead he moves closer to the taller boy and rubs his thumb against yuwol's palm. its been a while, he thinks, since they've had time like this to themselves. it's been months.

"you don't have to audition for dreamwave if you don't want to," kou finally says after a moment. he isn't looking at yuwol, instead his gaze has settled towards the sky above. "i just don't want you to regret anything, and i thought it would've been a good opportunity. when you were on next gen... you looked like you really enjoyed performing. you always tried your hardest," his mind flickers back to when he'd caught yuwol's performances on television, to the amount of effort he'd seen yuwol put in. and then the night of the finale, when the rankings were solidified and his heart sank. "i just want you to be happy, yuwol."

he turns to yuwol, and finally, he lifts his eyes to look at the older boy's. it's different, but it's all the same. kou is still in love with yuwol, he always will be. "yuwol," he says, and he smiles — it's gentle, selfless. "you know i love you, right?"

[gregorygerwitz]

This is stuck in my head so "Death of a Bachelor" as a made up fic title 💙

I started writing a fake summary and then switched gears because I was inspired by something (maybe it was Princess Diaries, unsure)

death of a bachelor

After a few choice photos from a club are leaked to the press - the kind that included substances and a partner that his parents would never approve of, even he'd had a name that they recognized - Gregory Gerwitz (the fourth) was left with a reputation that was more than a little tarnished. He used to be the picture perfect face of the family, an MIT graduate, following his father's footsteps into the family business, making all the right media appearances with shelter dogs and orphans and everything else the family publicist came up with, and he was held up too high to ever fall gracefully.

He's sent on a mission, in his mother's words, to fix that. All of Chicago sees him as a mess, something that used to be great, as the kind of man who's willing to get on his knees in a club bathroom for some stranger. And he has until his next birthday - nine months - to find the right kind of person to have on his arm. The right kind of person, according to his mother, is a woman, preferably blonde and younger than him, the kind of model-pretty that her entire circle of friends regularly complained about. But she never said he had to find a girlfriend. He just had to find a person. As long as they were respectable and by his side for his birthday party, and had some potential of wearing a ring within the year after that, he was fulfilling his reluctant promise.

Except he let too much time pass without getting serious about the mission he'd been given, and one month turned into three turned into six, and Greg hadn't been on a single date. At least, not the kind that he was supposed to go on. He'd been to clubs and parties with friends, and there were a few tinder matches he went home with, but they didn't count. They weren't a serious relationship, not even close. And then he has to break up a fight between a few people who got too drunk before even getting to the bar, and the officer who takes his statement - with a badge on his chest that says HALSTEAD - actually smiles at the usual flirtatious comments that come like breathing, and it's not like he was in any trouble for trying to break up a fight before it got out of hand.

And it's mostly a joke, asking an on duty officer to drinks, and he almost thinks it's a joke when his invitation is actually accepted, if postponed for a night when Halstead wasn't actively working. And then drinks turns into making plans to see some new movie that seemed interesting, and then they might as well just grab dinner together after that. They were just friends, that was all. Halstead - call me Jay - had an ex he was hung up on, and Greg didn't like the idea of dates anyway. They were a lead up to after the date, to going off and doing what they were getting together to do anyway. They were an excuse to spend too much time in someone's presence and try to make small talk.

But he was getting desperate, and he didn't want to think about what his parents would do if he didn't do the one thing they asked of him. His image was on the line, and potentially his entire life the way he knew it, and that was far too big of a risk for his comfort. So, it was another thing that was mostly a joke - Jay would go along to the party, take a few pictures for the gossip magazines and journalists that his mother would surely invite to the celebration, and he'd be paid for his time. It was like hiring an actor, the family publicist did it all the time. So what if he used a few of her tricks for his own gain? No one was going to get hurt. And he'd owe Jay more than just a handful of cash if everything went as planned.

And then Greg had a date to his birthday party.

[ send me a fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write ]