#had to use a freshly cleaned towel to sop as much of it up from the poor car door

[duskythesomething]

napped for 4 hours accidentally, did laundry and got food, accidentally not only dripped chocolate ice cream all over my white jacket but dumped an ENTIRE peanut butter shake in the car.......

[yuichi-ro]

warm shower || hanma x reader cw: fem!Reader, manga spoilers, mentions of death, agnst/fluff/comfort, non sexual nudity word count: 1.8k

"You stink."

Regretfully that was the first thing that came out of your mouth the second you saw him. Not a proper 'I missed you' or even 'Where the hell have you been?!' All better choices in reality than what you had said. Trying to play it off cool in front of him for the first time. Joking in fact that he looked like shit like it was simple locker room talk. When tears brimmed along your lashes with each passing second he'd stood in front of you.

Now as the water ran down the drain. Sud laden globs of every soap you had under your roof now hitting your shower floor. Each time wash through of his hair getting more and more like normal. You cycling through those dumb words you chose with occasional glances towards your shower curtain. Unable to see much but the lanky figure of the man you insisted take as long as he needed washing up.

Mourning the absolute fuck up that happened to be the moment you reunited.

Shuji had played it off with a tired and weary half smirk like it had only been a long weekend you hadn't seen each other. Not in fact literal months since the last time you stood together. From him an equally bad joke about how at least his bike was clean so who cared what happened to him. Settling in your bones how utterly worried you had been and still were for him each passing second.

"Hey, do you have any conditioner?" Shuji didn't holler, knowing you were sitting on the lid of the toilet adjacent to your shower pretty promptly after he'd stepped in.

Yanked from your dwell thoughts Shuji's question made you realize the frog in your throat. Quick to clear your throat and blot at your eyes as if he could actually see you through the shower curtain, "L=Left- Ahem- Left side, that small bottle. It's a little old."

"A little?" Shuji scoffed over the running water, "The top is crusty do you even use this?"

There was some fumbling as you watched his tall shadow surely try to wash off the top of the squeeze container. Proceed to fumble it and drop it half a dozen times before Shuji got what he wanted and went back to lathering his hair. And you dropped your gaze back down to your lap.

"Honestly I think it's yours." You admitted. Just the scent alone tipped you off to the fact that old bottle wasn't yours.

"Man this is a tester bottle I stole from that mall a few years back," As light hearted as ever with his giggles Shuji fondly recalled the literal buffet of pocketable items at the expo the two of you snuck into. It felt so long ago that happened. But the conditioner was as silky and delightful as the only other time he used it.

"It got tucked behind shit, meant to move it a few times but eh." You lied.

In fact you lied about a lot of things after you called him stinky. The conditioner bottle you were claiming was just old junk. To the spare outfit you had tucked in your closet since he'd been gone. They were all claimed to be junk you forgot to throw out yet. When in fact it was all you clung to just to keep thoughts of Shuji from disappearing completely.

Even calling him stinky was a lie. As you sat on your own toilet listening to the globs of water hit the ground as he rinsed off one last time. Stinky was the last thing you'd honestly thought of when you saw him after all this time.

With thoughts mumbling on your eyes caught the disappearance of the towel on your shower curtain rod. Polietly you looked down when the fabric rustled and Shuji stepped out wrapped up in your towel. Hair sopping wet and clinging to his face. He looked more pathetic now soaked to the bone like a cat than when he'd wandered into your place. At least now he was clean and freshly showered within the safety of your apartment.

"Ah man, I needed that." Shuji grabbed your hand towel and began going to town drying his hair. An utter mess made of it when he yanked the towel off his head and his hair frizzed out in every direction, "It's the small things you miss most."

"How about you try a hairbrush next huh?" You offered after getting up and digging through your vanity drawer to produce an old comb.

Shuji commented on how he remembered styling his hair with the same exact comb. All you could do was answer with throwing away a perfectly good comb seemed silly. Though you never used it. It sat much like the rest of the things in your apartment as reminders of him all this time he'd been gone.

Digging at his knots. Fewer now after the good through washing. You sat back down not on the closed toilet. But at least on the foot of your bed right in front of the bathroom door. Giving you ample view of his face in the reflection of the mirror when Shuji saw you watching him. Arms above his head as he tore into his mess of hair, he still stopped and gave you a cheeky smile that looked more like what he used to do.

Something still felt off to you. Perhaps it was your stinky comment. Or perhaps it was just all of this. Shuji here. Just after the other day you thought he'd never be seen again. Only to be bathing in your shower after he arrived unannounced looking like shit less than an hour ago. Thoughts thrummed through your head. And your heart hurt in your chest. You'd spent so long waiting for this after those wanted notices went out. Now you didn't really know what to do and you kept saying the wrong thing.

"Shuji..."

Comb midway through his hair, the towel totting fool turned around to see you holding back tears while looking right at him. He wanted to pop off with something but the way your eyes looked. All he could do was draw the comb one final time through his hair and stop.

"...are you ok?" You couldn't find the right words and these were all that came out.

Seemed stupid to ask when the answer was so transparent. But he wanted to lighten the mood. So just like your poor choice of calling him stinky. Shuji went off about how being a fugitive wasn't exactly his dream job and it was surprisingly more boring than one would think. Overboard in his usual avoidant self until you just couldn't stand it anymore.

"I'm not talking about that you idiot-" The glands under your tongue kept pouring in salvia to your mouth. Forcing you to swallow like a fool lest you throw up every nerve twisting and writhing in your stomach, "I'm- I'm talking about all the death- All the people- You I just- Do you miss them?"

You had him in the first half but your question caused a scowl to cross his brows, "Miss who?"

"Kisaki-" You looked up at him as he stepped out of your bathroom still wrapped in your towel but no longer dripping wet, "He was your friend and he- Then those other two you said....Keisuke? He died too and his friend you hung out with, he's in jail and gone now."

There was quite the understanding to what you were getting at. Each person he'd expressed an interest in and what was the closest thing he could call a friend, ended up dead. Shuji had found himself enjoying certain people. Only to have the grandeur of death take them one right after the other. There were other's you didn't know the names too. One's he'd met and enjoyed after disappearing. But just like the Kisaki and the others, death soon followed them. Leaving Shuji to wonder if in fact the problem was him.

Taking in a shaky breath Shuji kept realizing he didn't respond to you. Driving a wedge of awkwardness with each passing second. Until even if he popped off with a joke, you could see right through it.

"Why didn't you come back to me? I could have helped you. Shuji I-"

"I was scared you would be next." He finally admitted. Listless golden eyes refusing contact. He closed his fist around the towel and snugged it up on his waist in the moments following, "I was- I thought you'd die too. And man I didn't want that on my conscious." Shuji rubbed the back of his neck vividly remembering each death. Sure he wasn't the cause of it but how could he not feel directly involved when it kept happening around him even if his hands remained clear of any red stains, "You dying seemed....pointless."

Months had gone by. At some points you weren't sure he was even alive. That offered comfort some nights. Other nights it made you sick to your stomach. A pain you never wanted to feel again and at the aspect of it, welcomed death over the dread that had laced itself through your every day life.

Reaching up to grasp his bony hands. Tracing the now old and out of style sin and punishment tattoos with your thumbs. Shuji had no choice but to look at you when you drug his attention and his body closer to you.

"You don't get to decide what's pointless for me." You broke eye contact to look at his hands as you worried your thumbs over his tattoos, "That's my call so shut it."

And all at once, as someone else took the decision making away from him, Shuji's body seemed to let go of a long needed sigh of relief. Dipping down to his knees before your bed. Allowing you to embrace his naked top in your arms. Ignoring the wet hair soaking your shirt when you took him as close to you as possible.

"I would die a thousand deaths....to just never go through that again." You mumbled into the crook of his neck when you hugged him tighter, "So shut up stinky. I get to decide what I do with my life. Not you."

His turn to clutch onto you as tightly as he could. Shuji now felt the same foolish words bubbling up in his mind. He wanted nothing to do with them or to be responsible for lightening the mood. Right now all he wanted to do was let you do everything for him, "You're right." He managed with barely a waiver infringing on his trembling lips, Shuji only hugging you tighter and burying his face snugger into your shoulder, "You've always been the real boss."

[dumbikawa]

Taking Care of the HQ Boys

GN!Reader | Fluff | Warnings: None

Characters: Suna, Kuroo, Iwaizumi

A/n: I’m such a simp for these boys it’s insane

SUNA

It took Suna a while to get used to the way you never held back when it came to taking care of him. One night, after a particularly rough practice, he’d sluggishly entered the apartment and practically collapsed on top of where you were laying on the couch. Wordlessly, you positioned yourself so that he was resting on your lap with both his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. It was comfortably silent as you ran your fingers through his hair that was still slightly damp from showering at the gym and in no time at all he was softly snoring.

He'd never admit it aloud, but he loved when you took care of him in little ways like that. From the start, he had always insisted on being the big spoon, obsessed with the way your body perfectly molded against his and the satisfaction of knowing you felt safe in his arms. Ever since that night, though, it became a regular thing for you to see him standing, looking at you like a pouty child, from the corner of your eye waiting for you to take the hint that he wanted you to cuddle him. You'd simply open your arms for him to crawl into without even having to look up from your phone.

Today was no exception.

Suna can feel the physical exhaustion down to his bones as he allows the cool water to wash away the sweat and grime he collected over the course of practice. Mentally he feels the same; completely drained in every sense of the word. He can’t even find the energy to thoroughly dry his hair, opting to quickly rub it with a towel before making his way to the bedroom and collapsing on the bed.

“Rin!” you gently scold, placing the book you’d been reading beside you on the bed. “You’re going to ruin your pillow.”

“I don’t care,” he mumbles, eyes remaining shut as he lets out a content sigh. He did care, actually, but his decision was already made and now that he was in bed there was no way he was getting up. He truly meant that, but when he feels you tugging at his hand for him to get up he begrudgingly obliges.

You’re holding your hair dryer and gesturing for him to sit on the floor. It doesn’t seem wise to disobey when you look so determined, so he slides off the bed, giving you full access to his sopping mess of hair.

His eyes flutter closed as the warmth from the hairdryer and the way your fingers are skillfully brushing through his hair begins to pull him towards sleep. Not to mention, in this position he has the perfect opportunity to use your thigh as a pillow and he makes a mental note to have you dry his hair more often. But, sadly, the flow of warm air shuts off and your voice pulls him back to the present.

“C’mon you big baby,” you laugh, watching him groan and throw himself back up on the bed. He shimmies under the covers, but refuses to place his head back on the damp pillow. Instead, he stares at you with sleepy eyes until you’ve positioned yourself so that you can sit comfortably and open your arms for him.

His arms automatically snake around your waist as he buries his head in your side.

“Do I do enough to take care of you?” he asks softly, turning to look up at you with a vulnerability that he doesn't often display so openly.

“Of course, Rin,” you hum, tracing your fingers down his exposed back. He still seems unsure as he pushes his face against your shirt, but his shoulders relax slightly. “I mean it. I like taking care of you, okay? There’s nothing to repay if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Your reassurance falls on deaf ears, though, as you feel his breathing even out and his grip on you loosening.

“I love you, baby,” you whisper, grabbing your book from where you’d set it earlier and relishing in the quiet as you continued to absentmindedly draw designs against Suna's warm skin. 

KUROO

Kuroo closes the apartment door quietly, finally letting his shoulders droop with exhaustion now that he's inside. He slips his bag noiselessly onto the ground and flicks his watch up to check the time. It was well past midnight by the time he actually clocked out of work and, although he wants nothing more than a dual welcome home/goodnight kiss from you, he hopes you’re sound asleep by now.

However, much to his surprise, you’re curled up on the couch with a book and a warm cup of tea, so enthralled in whatever you’re reading that you don't hear him approach. There’s a strong possibility you aren’t even aware of what time it is, completely lost in another world. He tests this theory by walking behind the couch and wrapping his arms around you, chuckling at the way you jump at the sudden contact.

“Welcome home!” you beam once you recover from the small scare. You press a quick kiss to his upturned lips before he walks around to the front so that he can relieve a proper hug.

“Thank you, babe,” he murmurs against your lips, not wanting to pull away from your warmth just yet. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I wanted to wait for you and then I got to this really good part in my book and just...lost track of what time it was.” The way your eyes light up sends a wave of admiration shooting straight through Kuroo’s heart. “How was work? Why did you have to stay so late?”

Kuroo begins walking you through his hectic day, quickly turning the discussion into an irritated rant about having to fix other people’s mistakes and figuring out schedules for upcoming projects. You listen thoughtfully as you migrate towards the kitchen, your boyfriend trailing closely behind.

Soon, there was a cup of hot tea in his hands and the two of you are positioned on the couch with your legs thrown over his lap as he gently massages your calves.

Your eyes never leave his as he talks, nodding along and asking questions every now and then. He didn’t need nor want any sort of advice or words of wisdom. Simply having you listen to him was enough to have him feeling ten times lighter by the time he reached the bottom of his cup.

“Do you want more?” you ask, beginning to stand up. Kuroo doesn’t answer, instead leaning forward and hooking his arm around your waist so that you fall back into his arms.

“More of you, yes,” he says, smiling into your hair. He can practically feel the way your eyes roll as you let out an exasperated groan at his cheesy comment, but the hint of a blush making its way to your cheeks betrays you.

You make the first move to get up, offering a hand out to him. His hand engulfs yours as you pull him towards the bedroom. The bed has new sheets and the laundry is sitting in a basket freshly washed and ready to be folded. A wave of guilt crashes into him, knowing that you also worked today and must’ve come home afterwards and cleaned up.

“Baby, you should’ve gotten some rest,” Kuroo sighs, gesturing to the laundry and neatly made  bed. "I'm certain it was my turn to do the laundry.”

“Yeah, but when you told me you had to work late I figured I’d knock out some chores since I had the time. It’s not like it’s a big deal, Tetsu.” 

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” The words have barely left his lips before he's throwing the covers over the two of you and shutting off the lights. His arms wrap around your middle as he pulls you close to him, relishing in your small giggles. It doesn't take long for you to drift to sleep while Kuroo places soft kisses against your exposed shoulders. He soon follows, matching his breathing with yours and immediately winding down, but until his brain finally shuts off from exhaustion he's thinking of all the ways he's going to show you just how much he appreciates everything you do.

IWAIZUMI

Iwaizumi watches as you begin cooking dinner for the two of you as a quiet pop song plays off your phone. His work day was less than stellar, to put it simply, but watching you dance around the kitchen has already earned the frown from his face and has him smiling like a damn fool.

“Haji!” you exclaim, suddenly noticing the lurking figure from the corner of your eye. He steps out from his hiding place, an amused yet sheepish look on his face as he notices your flustered expression. “Why were you just standing there? Come here and give me a kiss, idiot.” He raises his hands in surrender as he does what you say, letting his lips linger on yours for a moment longer than usual and wrapping his arms around your waist to draw you closer to him.

“Hey, doll,” he murmurs against your skin, resting his face into the crook of your neck. You pull back slightly, ignoring his childlike protests as you do so.

“Are you okay?” you question, eyeing him up and down. Iwaizumi is sure he could get lost in your beautiful eyes that are currently filled with concern. You know him too well, he thinks, as you give him a knowing look. It was still difficult for him to open up about things, especially small things that had bothered him throughout the day. There wasn't a real reason to talk about all the irritating parts of the day because he knows he can handle them himself, or so he claims.

“Y/n, it’s nothing,” he reassures, kissing your nose in an attempt to further prove he’s not bothered. “It was just a very long day, but now I’m back here with you and I couldn’t be happier.” His smooth talking makes it impossible for you to stay mad, but you surely try.

“Alright, well, you know you can talk about it even if it’s ‘nothing.’ In the meantime, stay here and watch the food for a moment while I run you a bath.” Iwaizumi is quick to object, but you’ve already sauntered out of the room and he can hear the faint sound of running water.

It truly did feel nice to be taken care of, he thinks fleetingly as he sinks into the warm water, but it's difficult for him to fully relax when he can hear you bustling around the kitchen. He waits in the bath for a little longer so that you won't bite his head off for how quick he was before changing  into a pair of sweatpants and a comfortable shirt. The sounds of you beginning to set the table echoes down the hallway and he finds himself hoping you'll at least let him help with that.

“You lasted longer in there than I thought," you tease as your boyfriend appears back at your side. "Now go sit down." He opens his mouth to argue, but one look and he finds himself moving towards the table, wondering why you were so intent on doing everything.

“At least let me do the dishes,” he practically pleads, watching you with an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude as you bring the warm food over to the table.

“Or, hear me out, we leave the dishes to deal with tomorrow and spend the rest of the night watching movies cuddled up on the couch." He narrows his eyes as he searches through his brain, trying to remember if he'd forgotten an anniversary or birthday because he surely didn't feel as if he deserved this.

As if reading his mind once again you reach out and hold his hand, gently rubbing your thumb in circles against his skin.

"Can't you just let me take care of you? You're constantly going above and beyond for me, so I just thought I'd try and return the favor." Iwaizumi feels his face heat up as you place a kiss against his knuckles like he always does to you. It did feel nice, but he enjoys taking care of you. He never even thinks twice about it. 

"Alright, alright. In that case, you can do the dishes tonight and maybe also get some desert." He can feel your eyes boring into him as if to say, 'Don't push it.' A smile breaks out on his face as he begins digging into the meal you prepared, peppering you with compliments until his plate is clean.

[bokettochild]

Tired Feet and Nimble Fingers

Sooo.....

I wrote more Ravio fics. This is one of two, the second one still needs to be reread and checked for errors, but rest assured to whomever requested a fic for Ravio getting some fussing, I nearly killed the kid for you :)

Mr. Hero had nice hands.

Oh sure, they were rather thin, and a bit knobby at the knuckles, aged in a way most people their age would not understand for decades yet, but they were nimble, quick, and forever flitting from one thing to another with the easy grace of a person who’s done everything with their life except sit still and rest.

Mr. Hero’s hands were worn and aged but feather light in their touch and still impossibly firm when he’d grab Ravio by the scarf and pull him down the one inch that was between the two of them so he could glare at him for one thing or another. Honestly, he rarely really did anything questionable, but the ever irritated “Why?” that Mr. Hero always shot at him when he raised the price of an item or tacked on another fee, be it emotional repercussions charges for tending his wounds, or a petty increase when he’d been made to actually worry for someone else, or even in the rare instance when Mr. Hero managed to actually make him angry. Either way, soft or firm, Mr. Hero had nice hands, and on the rare instance Ravio had actually seen him remove his rings (Mr. Hero had complained of swelling, and had nearly had to pry them off) he always smiled at the sight of them.

Was that weird? Probably. But there was a lot you could tell about a person by their hands, and Mr. Hero’s told the story of someone who gave and fought for others since he’d been able, and even if the caring person hid behind the shadows of his bangs or the icy pain in his eyes, Ravio knew that person was still in there.

And at times like this, he got to actually see it.

“What are you doing?” The merchant shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at the other end of the couch where Mr. Hero had been sitting since he’d stumbled through the door with a tired groan. He’d collapsed onto the couch not long after, drenched and covered in mud, and it had been all Ravio could do to convince him to shed his extra layers and change into something clean, at least. Sure, he’d had to actually dig through the scant wardrobe in the bedroom to find something, but once the over-sized tunic had been shoved in the veteran hero’s face, he’d agreed to strip off his wet things, and Ravio had given him the space to do so while he’d made some warm cocoa for the two of them.

He would have preferred cider, but Mr. Hero still refused to share the recipe with him.

Now, however, he’d flopped onto the couch himself, uncaring for the fact that he’d had to settle his legs in the lap of his friend. After all, if Mr. Hero minded, he would have pushed him off. As was though, the pink-haired teen was staring at his feet with no small amount of displeasure, and Ravio was half considering pulling them back to himself and resigning himself to just curling up on the couch into one corner so he could give the other boy his space.

Firm hands latched around his boot, tugging with a small grunt and surprising the merchant greatly. “Mr. Hero, I just-”

“No shoes.” The pink-haired hero huffed. “Not on the couch.”

“Says the one who trudges dirt all over my freshly cleaned floors!” Ravio huffed, trying not to wiggle too much as Mr. Hero not only pulled off his shoes but, after making a disgusted face at the smell of his feet, had also yanked his socks off, throwing them over to the pile of sopping laundry on the floor. Ravio made a note to pick that up and help wash it later.

“My floors.” Mr. Hero corrected him, tugging the towel Ravio had given him earlier off of his shoulders and wiping its wet ends over the merchant’s feet, making him stiffen. “It’s my house I’ll have you know.”

“Mr. Hero, are you- are you cleaning my feet?”

“It’s not like you ever do it, when’s the last time you bathed, you filthy bunny?”

“Two days ago.” Ravio huffed into his cocoa, savoring the taste and the thrum of warmth that bloomed in his chest both at the drink and the sensation of Mr. Hero’s nimble fingers helping to clean the grime from his, admittedly, filthy feet. “More recently than you, I daresay, Mr. Hero.”

“I just showered.” Violet eyes flitted up to meet his as Mr. Hero motioned to the door ad likely the stormy weather outside.

“That doesn’t count!”

“It does for me.”

“When did you last bathe? With soap?”

Mr. Hero didn’t answer, instead continuing to rub the dirt and dust off the bottoms of his house-mate's feet with the wet towel. Ravio hmphed. A fight for another day then, it isn’t as if he had the energy to draw a bath and push his friend into it anyways.

A delightful, rough sensation rubbed over the base of his foot, firm and still somehow incredibly relaxing, and the bunny merchant found himself torn between sinking into the cushions with a sigh as some of the pain in his limbs faded and staring down at Mr. Hero to see what had been done. In the end, he’d sunk into the cushions of the couch, lids fluttering as a heavy sigh pulled itself from his lungs. “What-”

“You’re as tight-string as my gran’s horses.” Mr. Hero drawled, and the sensation repeated itself, warm pressure sliding across the ridge of his foot. “This used to work on my uncle, relax.”

It took longer than necessary to actually realize that his friend was rubbing his feet, but Ravio was too warm and comfortable to really care, especially with how sore the appendages in question had been with scurrying here and there over the last few days tending to the shop.

Mr. Hero’s hands were miracle workers, and Ravio was hardly even awake when the veteran hero had finally stopped with his self-assigned task, pushing himself up and leaving Ravio to stretch out over the length of the couch. All the merchant could register was the increase of weight on top of him, the clinking of two empty mugs being placed in the kitchen sink, and the door creaking open.

He never felt the draft when Mr. Hero left back into the outside world to continue his quest, but when he woke the next morning, it was to find the hero’s favorite blanket spread out over the top of him and a fresh pair of fuzzy socks slipped over his clean and no longer painfully tense feet.

“Ravio, sit.” Mr. Hero groaned, leaning back on the couch and pinned in place by the sailor using his legs as a back rest. “If you don’t, I swear I’m going to have Twilight throw you at the couch!”

The merchant in question pouted, he’d been trying his best to tidy the living room, after all, Mr. Hero and his family had been quite unexpected that evening and the place was, unfortunately, a mess. One had to take inventory now and again, and the sad fact of it was that that required pulling everything off the shelves and out of storage and from around the house to count it up and figure out if he should risk attempting to return to Lorule or attempting to work Mr. Hero’s small smithy out back in order to restock his items.

He’d only counted up everything and had been working on cleaning and polishing his various items when the heroes had come knocking at the front door, and then he’d been so busy helping them warm up from the chill (they were all wearing the scarves he’d given them and it pleased him to no end) and making a meal with Mr. Hero that he’d been left unable to finish gathering the things that had been scattered across the floor. Of course, after dinner was finished, he’d set right to it, but now that everyone was settled around the fire with warm mugs in hand and fluffy scarves around their necks, Mr. Hero seemed to only be agitated by his puttering about and moving everything again.

To be fair, he hadn’t stopped moving for the last thirty minutes since the others had helped gather his things back up so they could sit, but there was so much to put away!

“Mr. Hero, I still-”

“Sit.” Mr. Hero squeaked grouchily, earning a few giggles as Mr. Rancher and Mr. Chosen Hero exchanged glances, smiles wide. “My feet hurt just from looking at you.”

Like it or not, Ravio’s ears were already pricking up at those words.

Since that first time, Mr. Hero had done him the favor of massaging his feet after a hard day many times, and as much as Ravio didn’t want to expect it of him, it was incredibly nice to have someone fuss over him, if only for a little bit, and if there was even a chance that it would happen again, well...

It was entirely intentional that he flopped onto the couch, feet resting easily in Mr. Hero’s lap as he stretched out. He could have sat down, he really could, but the fact of it was that he simply didn’t want to. Fortunately, Mr. Hero didn’t seem to mind, and too the merchants delight his friend immediately started pulling off his shoes with the same old familiar huff and wrinkling of his button nose, tossing the shoes as far away as possible to avoid having to remain in contact with them for long.

It was a practiced and much appreciated ritual that was Mr. Hero helping him relax after a long day. Just as cocoa or cider was prepared when either was having a particularly long or difficult day, or how Ravio always made sure Mr. Hero ate three meals a day and slept for at least four hours, taking care that his friend wasn’t positioned too uncomfortably wherever it was that he finally passed out. Mr. Hero touching his feet was normal, just like him playing with Mr. Hero’s hair once the other boy had settled down at last.

Perhaps though, it wasn’t all that common for the others.

“Vet?”

Mr. Hero blinked up from his work, violet eyes meeting the midnight blue of Mr. Rancher impassively.

“What in Ordonia are ya doin’?”

The veteran hero cocked a brow. “Foot massage, he won’t relax otherwise, and foot pains a-” Captain Hero Sir Jr. shot a look their way and Mr. Hero quickly amended what he’d been about to say. “Foot pain sucks.”

“You are touching feet.” Mr. Rancher wrinkled his nose. “Isn’t that a bit... gross?”

“Says the man who eats bee larva.” Came the quipped reply. “I wash them first, pities sakes.”

“By my head!?!?!?” Tune started jumping up and away and shooting Mr. Hero a hurt look. “Like, yeah, sure, I help Granny on bad days too, but warn a fellow if you’re gonna be having feet by his head.”

“Don’t sit on my legs.”

Ravio chuckled, letting the noise and chatter wash over him.

Mr. Hero’s hands never failed to sooth the pains of the day.

The heroes had stumbled in time and again over the months, and Ravio had grown quite used to their presence. Time passed differently on both ends of things, but he’d since learned when abouts to expect that they'd appear, and the house was, thankfully, stocked fully for each visit.

Autumn had brought about harvest, and the heroes had darted in and out, occasionally offering help and other times only crashing wearily in the living room and Mr. Hero’s bedroom for the night before they had to return to chasing the monsters. Today was one of the longer stays, especially if how Mr. Captain Hero Sir was moving so stiffly was any indication.

“Do you need me to step on you again?” Mr. Smithy asked worriedly as Mr. Captain Hero Sir eased his way down onto the couch, earning a few looks both from the merchant and the other heroes while Sheerow flitted about the man's head, chirruping worriedly and earning a gentle word or so from the captain.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir was in quite the state, stiff as a board and moving as poorly as the old pump in the village. It made him worried, and try as he might, he couldn’t think of any of his items that would help.

Mr. Hero appeared to already have an answer though. “Tunic off, Cap, and on the couch.”

Sharp blue blinked over in confusion to where Mr. Hero was already shedding his boots and rolling up his sleeves with a purpose. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Massage. Works wonders for back pain. Hop to it or I’m rescinding my offer.”

It was one thing to be on the receiving end of matters, but another entirely to be one of those who watched. Mr. Hero put his full weight into his hands as he worked, kneading out the knots in his friend's muscles while Mr. Captain Hero Sir melted into the couch with little relieved noises.

Maybe it took the others realizing that the vet didn’t just help him, but after that it wasn’t at all uncommon for him to carry in his attempts at cider or his wonderful cocoa and see Mr. Hero standing over one of the others and putting his clever hands to work in soothing tensed muscles back into place, the heroes under his hands melting under his touch.

The first time he heard Mr. Hero humming under his breath while he worked, the other heroes had all looked incredibly surprised, but not upset in the slightest. It was a lovely tune after all, and Tune himself started playing with his baton in time the gentle music, swaying in his seat and waving the instrument while the others continued working on repairing and tending their various items and clothing articles.

There was a pattern. For Mr. Captain Hero Sir it was his back, although rather rarely, and the same went for Mr. Chosen Hero.

For Captain Hero Sir Jr. It was his neck and shoulders.

Mr. Smithy got stress headaches that seemed to ease when someone helped message his temples.

Mr. Rancher had problems with his left wrist specifically.

Ravio of course had poor feet, and while Tune and Wild seemed to be mostly left unscathed from the repetitive pains that the others did, they took every opportunity to cling to Mr. Hero with their whole bodies when they felt that they wanted pets or attention when their mentor’s/brothers were too busy.

He’d attempted to return the favor all of one time. The black eye and bloody nose he got out of it weren’t even made better with the nearly tearful apologies of his best friend as Mr. Hero had jumped to his feet and dashed outside to get some ice for the injury.

Once the blood was cleaned up, the vet had sat in shame as Ravio had joined the others in teasing him for his “killer reflexes”.

“I can’t help it! People touching my feet- It-” Mr. Hero tugged at his hair frustratedly, eyes turning to the sky hopelessly. “I’m sorry, Ravio. It was an accident, I swear.”

“I know, Mr. Hero, I know.” He’d giggled out the reassurance, but from that day on he avoided touching Mr. Hero’s feet in any way possible.

(Oddly enough though, that didn’t stop a few of the others from trying, and Mr. Hero’s sleep was interrupted many times by heroes that had been kicked in the nose or even the mouth because they’d dared each other to touch the teen’s feet while he slept. Mr. Captain Hero Sir had complained for days until his own black eye healed, and Mr. Hero hadn’t even bother apologizing, stating that the others shouldn’t have tempted fat so foolishly.)

He felt a bit guilty for not returning the favor, but he knew better than to try again where so many others had failed.

And then winter had sprung up. Winter with its harsh gales that blew in half frozen heroes that tracked ice and snow across the floor as they bundled in front of the fire, wrapped head to toe for the weather. Winter when he’d brew hot cocoa to warm them all up, letting Mr. Hero tug down blankets to wrap around their on-and-off house-mates (guests no longer applied at this point). The mugs offered were warm, and Ravio smiled as each hero offered him a word of thanks as his tray grew lighter and lighter until he only had the two mugs left.

Mr. Hero had pulled together his usual nest before the fire. His huge blanket and a few spare pillows all bundled together into a comfortable place to sit for the younger heroes in order to make up for the lack of a second couch, and the vet sat in its center, still working to arrange the cushions with stiff fingers and chattering teeth until Ravio had pulled on his friend’s tunic and urged him to sit down.

When he offered the mug though, Mr. Hero had fumbled it and nearly dropped it, a hiss of irritation whishing from between his teeth and he glared down at his stiff digits. “Blast! Din’s sake, why does the freaking cold always freaking-”

Warm hands, worn from housekeeping and smithy work, wrapped around the vet’s as Ravio gently rubbed some warmth back into the stiff fingers. Mr. Hero started slightly at the touch, but didn’t complain as the merchant continued to press his into the rises and against the bones of his friend’s gnarled hands, offering warmth and relief against the pain and the cold both for a few short minutes, and Mr. Hero melted into the touch, as he always inevitably did, letting Ravio have his way for the moment and leaning to sit back-to-back with Wild while the merchant worked.

When he’d released his housemate, it’d only been to press a mug into the vet’s hands, but then he’d been settling across from him on the blanket nest, stockinged feet coming to rest in his friend’s lap as he’d pulled his own mug close for a sip. Violet eyes offered a begrudging smile that was returned in rupee green, but no words were spoken between the two as they enjoyed their cocoa.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir however wasn’t about to let it pass. “So, hand holding now, uh? Should I be talking to Fable about a wedding day?”

Ravio was certain that the only thing keeping some very rude signs from being exchanged as the fact that Mr. Hero wasn’t willing to stress his hands further or release the warmth that he held in them. The pink-haired hero did shoot a very disappointed look towards the captain though.

[motherjoel]

ugly christmas sweaters (spencer reid x fem!reader)

summary: after your parents leave you alone for christmas, spencer tries to brighten your mood

a/n: this is me trying to start writing again and it is truly not my best work AT ALLLLLL but I was in the christmas spirit so here is... something

wc: 2.5k

warnings/includes: too much fluff, reader is basically an elf, spencer is so sexy and sweet and nice and hot

-

Spencer had noticed the way your demeanor was shifted today- the normal glimmer that lived in your eyes had diminished into a dull gaze as you flipped through the mounds of files in front of you. This was out of character for you, especially during the holiday season. You were known as the office elf during December, constantly bringing in freshly baked cookies and stringing tinsel over your teammates computers. Today however, there was no sparkle in your eye and you weren’t wearing your normal Christmas sweaters (Spencer’s favorite was the one that said “Hydroxide, Hydroxide, Hydroxide! Merry Christmas!” with a glitter Santa in the middle). It took him until lunchtime to finally do something about it. As you poured yourself another cup of coffee into an un-festive mug, he took the opportunity to ask you about your change in enthusiasm.

“Hey Y/N, is… is everything okay?” he asked, grabbing the coffee pot from you and refilling his own mug. You took a long sip before rubbing your temple with a sigh.

“Yeah, I…” you started before seeing Spencer's suspiciously raised eyebrow. “No, okay? I’m not! Because every year my parents come to visit and help me decorate my apartment and we go to pick out a Christmas tree and we make our own peppermint bark and chocolate chip cookies and… well, they’re going on a stupid cruise! They left yesterday and they won't be back until New Years, and it just... sucks.” you finished, noticing that you spilled half of your coffee onto the ground from your wild gesticulations. Spencer stared at you for a moment, wide-eyed, before snapping out of his daze to grab a wad of paper towels to clean up your mess. 

“Well, I…” he started, kneeling to sop up the mess, “I know this probably won’t help, but I-I’m not busy this weekend!” he said, standing up to throw out the wet paper towels as you cleaned up the extra coffee that spilled onto the counter.

“Well, neither am I. Because my stupid parents-” you started to go into another rant which was cut off by Spencer before you could continue.

“No, Y/N, I meant I’m not busy this weekend so what if… we did something festive? You know, your parents aren’t home and nobody should be alone for the holidays. What if we went to get you a Christmas tree? And I’m not the best at baking, but-” he started to suggest before you tightly wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest.

“Thank you,” you said, muffled into his cardigan. Spencer was thankful you couldn’t see the blush dusted on his cheeks. You pulled away after a moment, but the warmth of your embrace lingered with Spencer for longer than he’d like to admit. “Thats really sweet of you Spence, but you don’t have to do that for me,” you said as you refilled your mug. 

“But I want to!” he said, a little too loudly. You gave him a look before he continued. “Seriously, I mean i’ve never really made a big deal about the holidays but, it could be fun!” he smiled dorkily as the sparkle in your eyes reignited a bit. 

“Spence, that is… so sweet. We’re gonna have so much fun, I promise. When are you free?” you asked.

“Uh, always?” he said as you laughed, suddenly feeling very self conscious about his word choice. “I mean, not always, I, uh, I do things?” he defended, not even convincing himself. 

“Don’t worry, nobody in the BAU has any social life,” you reassured him. “How about… today? I know it's kinda soon but you got me really excited and since it’s Friday and we’re off this weekend we can get all of our shopping and decorating done! Sorry, I seem crazy” you laughed. Spencer ignored the pang in his chest at the angelic coo of your laughter.

“You’re not crazy, it's cute,” he laughed before he realized what he had just said, coughing to fill the ensuing silence. “I mean, sure, that sounds great,” he smiled as he watched you head back to your desk, coffee in hand and a newfound spring in your step

Hours had passed since your conversation at the coffee machine and you were just about ready to leave work, your stack of finished paperwork mounds taller than it had been at the beginning of the day. With a satisfied sigh, you looked to Spencer’s desk to see it was empty- he definitely hadn’t left, his jacket hanging on his chair, but he wasn’t in the bullpen. After looking around for a few moments, a bright light caught your eye from the bullpen entrance. 

“Oh my god,” Emily laughed, leaning back in her chair.

“Wow,” JJ laughed. You turned your attention to where they were looking to see Spencer, wearing the most ridiculous Christmas tree light-up hat with a decadent mug of hot chocolate balancing in his hands.

“What is this!” you yelled, springing out of your seat and running up to him, admiring his hat.

“I thought you could use a pick me up,” he blushed as you reached up and pressed a button near his ear that made the hat sing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

“Pretty boy is whipped,” Morgan remarked, not-so-subtly as he received a glare from pretty boy himself. 

“Spencer, I love it,” you smiled as he handed you the mug of cocoa, which you accepted gratefully. 

“I’m glad,” he smiled watching you sip from the mug, giving yourself a whipped cream mustache. “Oh, you’ve got a little…” he said, gesturing to his upper lip.

“Huh?” you said, attempting and failing to lick it off.

“Here,” he said, reaching out to wipe the remaining cream off your upper lip without thinking, licking it off his finger. You were honestly shocked- he didn't like touching people, although you were often an exception, but this was a new level. He didn’t seem to notice the gasps coming from the team as he grabbed his things to leave the office. You decided to ignore the gesture- you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, risking that he wouldn’t touch you like that again. 

“Ready to go?” you asked after finishing your drink.

“Yup,” he smiled, following you to the elevator and leaving behind a shocked group of FBI agents. 

The elevator was filled with your excited rambling as you made your descent to the parking lot.

“So I was thinking that since it’s already a little late we can just order some chinese food and bake cookies, but tomorrow, we can get a tree and decorate my apartment?” you smiled at Spencer, not taking notice of his entranced gaze. “We can also decorate your apartment too of course, I think I have some extra tinsel and lights,” you said as the elevator doors opened.

“Oh, we don’t have to do mine, I’m not really one for that kind of thing,” he stammered, following you to your cars.

“Nonsense! I’m not gonna be living in a winter wonderland while you’re living in a dark library. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I just want to spread the Christmas cheer,” you clarified, getting into your car after telling Spencer to follow you to your apartment. He couldn’t help the racing of his heart as he drove- he didn’t need to follow you, already knowing where you lived from his many previous visits. 

After putting his car in park, Spencer headed over to your parked car a few spots over where you were reaching far into the trunk.

“I took these from my parents house when they bailed on me,” you said, rummaging through your packed car. “Here!” you exclaimed, pulling out a pile of Christmas lights and decorations. Grabbing most of the pile, Spencer followed you up to your apartment, smiling at the skip in your step. After struggling for a moment to unlock the door, you finally pushed it open with your hip and set the lights you were holding onto your counter.

“Stay right here,” you said to Spencer with a mischievous smirk, running into your bedroom. He made himself busy by sorting through the pile of decorations, discovering a homemade Santa Claus that seemed like an enthusiastic 6 year old made it. He didn’t have much time to observe his find before you came running back into the room wearing a Christmas sweater. Not just any sweater, but Spencer’s favorite- Hydroxide, hydroxide, hydroxide. 

“It’s your favorite!” you giggled, doing a twirl for him to get the full effect. 

“Wow, it looks great,” he smiled as you handed him a wrapped box. “What’s this?” he said, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, just an early Christmas present. Consider it a thank you for helping me out,” you smiled, urging him to open it. He did so, carefully ripping the wrapping paper off to open the box, revealing the exact same sweater you were wearing.

“Is this…?” he said, slowly pulling the sweater out of the box.

“It is! I thought we could be twins,” you laughed as he observed the sweater, open-mouthed in half shock, half adoration. 

“I love it y/n,” he said, still shocked that you noticed his admiration towards the sweater.

“Go put it on!” you suggested, laughing at Spencer’s wide eyed stare as you ushered him into the bathroom. By the time he came out, you’d already gathered all of the cookie ingredients and were preparing for the night of baking ahead of you. Spencer emerged with a nervous smile, eyebrows raised for your approval. You ignored the pang in your heart at the sight.

“Wow, you look great!” you laughed, walking over to him after noticing a tag sticking out at the back of his neck. “Hold on, lemme just…” you started, tongue darting out in focus as you tried to rip the tag out. “Bend down,” you ordered, amused by the blush dusted across his cheeks as he slowly knelt. Without thinking, you leant down and tugged at the tag with your teeth, eventually ripping it off. “Aha!” you exclaimed with pride, tag in hand. 

“Thank you,” he clamored to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“We look hot,” you joked, grabbing his hand and twirling him around a bit, the blush never leaving his cheeks. “You know, I don’t like the phrase ‘ugly christmas sweater.’ I actually think they’re quite charming! It’s like, why discriminate against an entire clothing item just because it’s not the most flattering! They have personality.”

“Did you know that ugly Christmas sweaters became popular in the 50s?” Spencer started, encouraged by the interest in your eyes. “After the mass commercialization of Christmas, “jingle bell sweaters” were invented which soon came to be known as the ‘ugly’ Christmas sweater,” he said, following you into the kitchen.

“How did you know that? I mean I know you know everything but where did you even read that?” You laughed, pouring some ingredients into the mixer.

“Oh, well I know how much you like Christmas, so… I did some light reading about it. Did you know that Jingle Bells was originally meant to be a Thanksgiving song?” he said, too focused on his measuring cup to notice your in-awe stare.

“I think I love you,” you blurted before slapping your hand over your mouth. Spencer choked on his own oxygen, blowing a gust of flour around the kitchen and all over your face. The silence that followed felt thicker than the cloud of flour you were currently trying not to choke on.

“I-I’m sorry, but what did you just say?” Spencer asked in a daze, white powder settling onto the front of his new sweater.

“Um, I didn’t- didn’t say anything!” you tried to play off the moment, busying your nervous hands by frantically swiping the flour off the counter and into the trash can. 

“Y/N, um, did you just say that you…” he pressed on, wincing almost.

“You know what, just forget I said anything Spence! Of course I love you, you’re my best friend, it’s no big deal,” you said, dusting the rest of the flower off your own sweater. 

“Oh. Yeah, of course, um. I’ll just… get the eggs,” he muttered, shuffling to the fridge. After a few moments of silence, you decided that you had nothing to lose.

“Spence?” you asked.

“Mm?” he hummed, focusing intensely on cracking an egg.

“I love you,” you said, setting down the spoon you were mixing with.

“Yeah, you said that Y/N. I love you too,” he smiled, lips pressed tightly together in a way that signaled he wasn’t saying everything that was on his mind, which he most definitely wasn’t.

“No, god this is not how I wanted to tell you. I wasn’t actually ever going to tell you but maybe the Christmas spirit is making me go crazy. I love you love you. Like, how… Mrs. Claus loves Santa,” you laughed nervously as silence filled the room. “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said anything,” you apologized while avoiding his stare. 

“You… love me love me?” he asked, corners of his lips curling into a soft smile.

“Mmhm,” you hummed, popping a chocolate chip into your mouth. That was when the laughing started. Spencer almost doubled over in laughter, his shocked expression shifting into amused disbelief. “Well you don’t have to laugh at me for being in love with you,” you huffed, irritated at his response. He quickly composed himself.

“No! I'm not laughing at you, I’m laughing at the situation,” he said, wringing his hands together. You raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue. “God, Y/N, I mean was it not obvious?” he asked, smiling once again.

“What, Spence? You’re creeping me out,” you said warily.

“You are the sweetest, most beautiful person I have ever met. I think everyone who has ever met you has fallen in love with you,” he said, stepping forward a bit, encouraged by your entranced stare. “You are the only person I would spend the weekend baking and decorating with, I-I mean… wow. I can’t believe you’re in love with me,” he smiled, almost giddy at the thought. As you snapped out of your trance, you hit him lightly on the arm. “What?” he asked, grabbing his arm.

“Why didn’t you tell me you idiot!” you laughed, almost jumping into his arms. He was taken aback but he quickly brought his arms around you, pulling your body flush with his.

“I never thought you felt the same,” he whispered into your hair before pulling away. You looked him in the eyes for a moment before leaning in slowly.

“I always have,” you whispered before he connected your lips, the two of you finally melting into each other after your years of pining.

-

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[edupunkn00b]

Play Us A Song, Chapter 10: A Little Rain Makes the Flowers Bloom Again

Prev - A Little Rain Makes the Flowers Bloom Again - Master

CW: past major character death, referenced/implied past suicide and attempts, ideation, mental health, safety plans discussed - WC 3181

---

Roman woke early the next morning, the winter's dawn tracing a thin glowing line along the horizon, not even bright enough to outshine the dim bedroom lamp. Roman looked down where Logan still lay curled in his arms, his slow, steady breaths just barely puffing up a lock of hair that had fallen across his face. Not wanting him to be woken by an irritating tickling, Roman used the tips of his fingers to carefully brush the hair from Logan's forehead. Roman froze when he suddenly shifted, and held his breath until Logan had settled closer to his chest in his sleep. Roman felt a dopey grin spread across his own face, but with the gentle warmth of Logan's breath seeping through his borrowed t-shirt, and the comfortable weight of his head tucked against his shoulder, he just couldn't make himself care about how silly he must have looked.

Torn between the desire to stay there forever, simply holding Logan in his arms, and his rapidly increasing awareness that it had been 36 hours since the last time he’d showered, Roman finally chose cleanliness. He craned his neck, gently kissing the top of Logan's head, then squeezed him in one last hug, sliding out from underneath his embrace. Roman winced when Logan's eyes fluttered open and he tried to soothe him back asleep, "It's okay, Lo, I'm just going to take a quick shower. It's early. Go back to sleep."

Sluggishly nodding, Logan hugged Roman's pillow close, laying his head against it like he had Roman's chest. Roman watched him sleep for just one more minute, a joyful warmth in the pit of his stomach at how much more peaceful Logan looked in that moment. Finally, he shook himself, rushing to start a shower before he was tempted to climb back into the bed.

Roman showered as quickly as he could, slowing down only when he discovered that Logan's shampoo matched the scent of his cologne. Oh my god, man, you're in here sniffing his shampoo. Finish up and go tell him how you feel. Roman stood motionless, barely noticing that the water hitting his head had started to grow cold. I can't tell him. I have to tell him. I'm going to tell him.

Turning off the water, Roman quickly toweled off and put the worn pajamas back on, pledging to go pick up a few things from his own home once Dr. Picani arrived.

Scrubbing a towel over his head, he sopped up as much water as he could—even if Logan had a hair dryer, which didn’t appear to be the case, the noise would surely wake him if Roman had used one. He quickly finger-styled his hair and then eased open the bathroom door, peeking his head around the edge, surprised to see that Logan was awake.

The bed was freshly made with clean sheets. Logan was sitting on the edge, one arm wrapped around his belly, his other hand clutching the rings under his shirt. Roman grinned, "Good morning, Lo. How did you sleep?" Roman's smile cracked when Logan didn't answer. "Logan? Are... Are you alright?" He dropped the towel and stepped closer, kneeling down in front of him and taking his hands. "Lo, what do you need?"

Logan stared at their intertwined fingers in his lap. That's when Roman noticed the small rectangular black box laying next to him on the bed, along with Logan's car keys. "Will you take these from me?" he whispered. Logan wouldn't look at his keys or the box, but finally glanced up at Roman. "Please."

Seeing the tears spark in Logan's eyes, Roman nodded and briefly squeezed his hands, trying to give him a reassuring smile. "Of course, Lo." Roman reached for the box and the keys. The box was small and heavy for its size, made of of metal, Roman guessed some sort of steel, and painted a matte black. It had hidden hinges, and three oval indentations on one side, and was about the length of a—

Roman nearly dropped it. "Holy shit, Lo, is this what I think it is?"

Logan nodded, scrubbing away a tear with the back of his hand.

"Oh, Lo…" Roman clutched the box close to his chest, shoving the keys in his pajama pants pocket. He looked around Logan's room. "Where was it?"

Logan spoke softly, eyes trained on the floor. "In the trunk of my car."

"But where did you get it? I thought you couldn't buy one if…" he bit back the rest of his thought… if you’d been committed .

Logan picked up Roman's pillow, wrapping his arms around it and clutching it close to his chest, mirroring the way Roman held the box against his own. "I bought it in Washington after…” Logan released one hand from the pillow and tugged at the rings under his shirt. “I… I lied on the background check. I bought it... just in case… Just in case I needed it." Logan's breathing grew unsteady and Roman bit his lip, wanting to wrap his arms around him, and also wanting to run away with the box, getting it as far from Logan as he could manage.

Logan continued, "The vault has a fingerprint lock, and so does the hand grip… I'm the only one who could use it. I… I had kept it under the top board of the piano." Logan closed his eyes, shaking his head. "It was supposed to stay in Washington… The estate lawyer had instructions for it. But the movers…" Logan's voice cracked, tears starting to stream down his face.

Roman finally put the box on the floor, under his knee, and pulled Logan into his arms. He whispered near Logan’s ear, "But the movers brought it with the piano…" Logan nodded as he hid his face in the crook of Roman's neck, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, crying freely.

"I'm sorry…" Logan's voice was muffled against his shoulder. Roman just held him tighter, stroking his hair. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it last night… I'm sorry I went to go get it…" Roman shook his head, rocking him back and forth. "I don't want it anymore. I don't want to use it… I swear… Please, I'm sorry… please just stay until Dr. Picani gets here."

Roman pulled back, meeting Logan's eyes. "Do you want me to leave after he's here?"

"No, of course not…” Logan clung to Roman’s arms with shaking hands. “I thought you’d be… that you wouldn't trust me because…"

Roman smiled, gently wiping away Logan's tears. He slowly shook his head, "If you don't want me to leave, then I'm not going anywhere."

---

Roman convinced Logan to shower and have breakfast while they waited for Dr. Picani to arrive. They stood together in front of the refrigerator, trying to find something that would entice Logan to eat. Roman nudged him with his shoulder, a half-grin on his face, "Hey, I make some mean scrambled eggs. Of course he'd deny it, but Guy Fieri stole Flavortown from me." Logan adjusted his glasses and narrowed his eyes at him, a smile tugging at his lips. Roman winked.

A small chuckle escaped Logan's throat. He shook his head, "That is literally incredible."

Roman pressed his hand against his chest, thrilled that he'd pulled a bit of laughter out of him. He threw back his head dramatically, "Ah! Your skepticism wounds me!" He laughed with Logan, "Fine," Roman reached for the eggs, butter, cheese, and a half-onion in a plastic baggie that still smelled fresh. "We'll just have to let my culinary creations convince you, then."

Logan and Roman were washing dishes from their late breakfast when the doorbell rang at precisely 10:30. Their eyes met and Roman dried his hands, taking out the vault from the locked chemicals box under Logan's sink. He clutched the cold metal box close to his chest and they answered the door together. Picani nodded and took out his car keys when Roman showed him the vault. "Roman, would you please put that in my car while Logan and I have a talk?" Roman quickly met Logan's eyes, smiling slightly when the other nodded back at him.

"Lo, do you mind if I pick up a few things from my house and bring them here while I do that?" Roman's chest grew warm at the relieved smile that spread across Logan's face at his question.

"Please."

---

With Dr. Picani's help, they swept the rest of the house. Roman removed everything but a few kitchen knives and over-the-counter medicines and locked them away in his own garage. The rest they stored in the chemicals lockbox under the sink. Picani gave Roman a thin lanyard to keep the lockbox key safely on him at all times. Logan's eyes lingered on the strip of woven polyester sticking out from under the edge of Roman's collar, his lips pressed tightly together. Roman's brow furrowed before understanding crashed over him. "You used to wear one of these sometimes, didn't you? That's why you have the box."

Logan nodded, looking away. Picani peered closely at the pair before excusing himself to check the kitchen one last time. Roman watched him leave the room, then reached for Logan's hand. He looked up when their hands touched, eyes a little wide and face pinched, softening only after looking into Roman's eyes. Roman pulled him into a hug, whispering into his hair, "Thank you for letting me take care of you, Lo."

---

"I can skip one rehearsal, Logan. You're more important."

It had been four days since Dr. Picani had left Logan's house, a hopeful smile splashed across his face. "Call me if you need anything, at any time," he'd insisted, first meeting Logan's eyes, then Roman's. "I mean that for either of you. I'll see you both at five o��clock on Tuesday."

And it was now Tuesday, a few hours before their regularly scheduled rehearsal at the school.

"No, Roman," Logan shook his head, "Absolutely not. I will not permit you to sacrifice something you love."

Roman could feel the response start to form in his throat. But I love you more.

"Besides, it would be good to get back into something of a normal routine. And..." Logan's eyes danced over his face with an indecipherable expression. "I rather like watching you conduct. I have... missed it."

The back of Roman's neck began to warm and he caught himself staring at the little cupid bow on Logan's lips. Blowing out a quick breath and forcing his eyes back up to meet Logan's, Roman nodded. "Alright, if you are absolutely certain you're up for it."

Logan gently grasped Roman's hand. "Definitely."

---

A few hours later, they walked out onto the stage together. The house lights were dim and the stage only half-lit. It was the last day of state placement tests, so the school was unusually quiet that afternoon, the sound of their footsteps echoing down the shiny halls. They'd arrived a little earlier than usual, as well, to give Logan extra time to warm up. They closed the theatre doors behind them to prevent the music from bleeding into the testing rooms.

Roman watched as Logan stood frozen in front of the piano. He didn’t lift the fall board covering the keys, or sit on the bench. He just stood in front of it, staring, fidgeting with the rings under his shirt. "Lo, are you alright?" Logan reached for Roman's hand, gripping it tightly. He took a deep breath and then gently stroked the fall board before slowly lifting it up, revealing the keys.

Logan’s voice shook when he spoke. "I never told you… This piano used to be his ."

"Oh, Lo…"

"I tried to get away from it. To excise this part of me." Logan slowly shook his head. "Maybe I didn't really want to lose it all." He glanced at Roman, shrugging, "Maybe that's why I let you pull me back in."

"So that day you'd played after tuning, when you said you hadn't played in a long time..."

He nodded, "The last time I had played had been at Remus'"—Logan's voice still cracked when he spoke his name—"memorial service."

Roman stepped closer, gently squeezing Logan's hand. He looked at the polished keys on the piano, the shiny spots on the pedals worn down from decades of players’ feet. The piano already held so much history. Knowing now it had belonged to Logan's late husband… Roman stood in awe of the instrument before them. Finally, he whispered, "What made you decide to play again?"

He met Roman's eyes, shaking his head slightly as though the answer was obvious. "You asked."

"What? Oh my god, Lo, I'm sorry…” Roman’s hand shot up to cover his mouth, unable to look away from the piano, remembering that day, remembering Logan’s reluctance to play, and the way he’d suddenly frozen, refusing to continue. He slowly lowered his hand, shaking his head. “I thought you were just shy . I didn't know... I wouldn't have pushed you so hard if—"

Logan brushed the back of his fingers over Roman's cheekbone, interrupting his panicked apology, smiling sadly, "And I am so glad you did." Logan faced the piano again, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. "As much as it hurt to begin again, I had missed it... desperately ... I ... Just didn't know how to start over." Logan bit his lip and turned back to Roman, tears filling his eyes. "You gave me back a part of myself that I had lost... That I thought I had lost forever."

"Lo, I..." He swallowed hard, wiping away a tear that spilled down Logan's cheek. He lifted Logan's hand, kissing his finger tips. "Logan, your playing is a gift. If I had any small part in making sure that beacon stayed lit, then I can be proud."

Logan smiled, then squeezed Roman's hand one more time before releasing his fingers and sitting down on the bench. He let his hands rest on the keys, then closed his eyes and slowly started to play. Roman watched how, note by note, Logan seemed to melt into the keys, seamlessly melding right into the piano. Roman began to recognize the melody. Logan was playing his own composition, the one he'd played that glorious, terrifying afternoon.

Roman wasn't sure how long he'd stood there, listening to the music pouring from Logan's hands and mind and heart. For that moment, the world was simply Logan and his music. The notes wound their way through Roman's mind, flowing through his skin and into his bones, moving in waves that went out from his chest down through his finger tips, his toes, out the top of his head. He watched Logan's hands move across the keys for so long that he almost began to be able to guess where he would find the next notes, and then once Roman was certain he knew what refrain would come next, the melody would shift, surprising him, keeping him riveted to the sounds.

Roman followed everywhere Logan's music led him, taking him away from the stage, away from the school, out into fields of flowers and rocky cliffs, over verdant green forests and icy deserts. Then there was nothing but the sound, nothing but Logan's hands dancing over the keys.

Finally, the music came crashing down all around him before trickling into a quiet, repeating refrain and Logan's hands stilled. Roman blinked. He was back in the theatre.

"You finished it,” Roman murmured quietly, “Logan, it’s beautiful."

Logan turned to face him, a small smile peeking through. "I finally worked out how I wanted it to end."

"Mr. Sanders... that was amazing," Virgil's voice was soft, with none of its usual affected drawl. Starting slightly, Logan and Roman looked around them. Virgil stood in the wings behind them, backpack still slung over his shoulder. He met Logan's eyes as he turned to face him. "It sure is good to see ya, Mr. Sanders."

Logan smiled back. "Hello, Virgil. It is good to see you, as well. I trust you have been practicing?"

"Damn right I have. We've only got three months before the show and I want that solo!"

"Well, you're gonna have to steal it from me," called Patton, walking into the theatre. "Hi, Mr. Prince!" Patton's eyes grew wide once he caught sight of Logan sitting in front of the piano. "Mr. Sanders!" he shouted, dropping his backpack and throwing himself at Logan, squeezing him in a bear hug. "You're back, you're back, you're back! I was afraid we'd scared you off."

Logan stood, carefully returning Patton's hug before stepping back, winking at the bubbly student. "You will need to try harder if you wish to scare me away." Logan looked up and Roman's heart melted when he saw the glistening in his eyes.

"We missed you, Mr. Sanders." Patton leaned in for one more quick hug, grinning up at Logan.

"I have missed you, as well. It is good to be back."

As the rest of the students filed in, a few more came by to personally welcome Logan back. Roman stood nearby, ready to corral them into their first song. After one last gaggle of excited sophomores, he tapped Logan's shoulder. "Are you ready?"

Logan brushed his fingers over the keys, nodding, "Ready."

---

They were five minutes into Intermission and Logan was in a secluded corner backstage, hunched over a small compact mirror he had propped up on an unused music stand, trying to see enough of his reflection to fix his tie. Roman approached, speaking over a headset with the stage manager. "Yes, yes, you've got it. Just like at last night's dress rehearsal. Yes… you're doing great! Okay, hang on…" Roman released the talk button and folded the mic up, grinning at Logan, "May I?" he asked softly, brushing his fingers over the crooked knot of the tie.

He nodded, biting at his lip, "Yes, please." Roman moved closer, carefully adjusting the tie, pinching at the crease just below the Windsor knot. “There.” Roman took a half-step back, grinning as he assessed his work. “You look amazing.” He reached up to flatten Logan's collar and his breath hitched when his fingers brushed Logan's jaw. Roman quickly looked away when he again caught himself staring at Logan's lips.

Logan smiled, gently gripping Roman's chin and tilting his head so their eyes would meet. "May I?" he whispered, brushing his thumb across Roman's mouth.

Roman grinned again, "Yes, please…" Logan carefully laced his fingers behind Roman's neck and drew him down into a long, slow kiss. After a few minutes, Roman broke away, pressing their foreheads together and squeezing his eyes shut. "Lo, you need to know… this isn't just… I… I love you."

Logan pulled back, looking up at his face. He stroked Roman's temples, waiting for him to open his eyes. When he finally did, Logan smiled. "Roman, you have spent every day of the last three months showing me how you felt. It is well past time that I finally did the same." Logan reached up, pulling Roman closer, whispering against his lips, "Of course I love you, too." He closed the distance, kissing him breathless.

The stage manager's voice suddenly rang out through Roman's headset. "Five minutes, everyone. This is your five minute warning. Places, please."

Roman laughed against Logan’s mouth, blushing and gesturing toward his earpiece. Logan grinned, then checked his watch.

"Time for our second act?" ---

@psychedelicships @demon9980 @sidespromptblog @crossiantgay

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Conflict Resolution (baon)

Summary: Set after the events in 'Bedside Stories', Sans is the guy holding everything together. Mostly.

Tags:  Kustard, Background Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Injury, Betrayal

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was kind of a shame that Red was so persnickety about anyone being in his living space, because hiring some professional housekeepers was about the only way his bedroom was ever going to share space with the word ‘clean’. There was always a clutter of dishes on the dresser, whose drawers always hung open, every one of ‘em more empty than not. The floor was more of a storage facility for dirty clothes than a place for walking, and the bed? Well. Sans’s learned some new curse words the last time Edge came over to take care of Red when he was boiling over with a fever, something something befouled and beshitted nightmare fuel, as Sans recalled.

The Edgelord always did have a way with words.

But Edge wasn’t gonna be able to offer a new turn of phrase today, not with his leg out of commission. That left Sans as the one to suck it up and get it done, and he brought fresh sheets over from his place, tossing the ragged ball of linens into the corner before he made up the bed. Papyrus would probably have a snarky thing or two to say about his hospital corners, but eh, right about now hospitality was more important than hospital, since he wasn’t about to get Red to go to one, anyway.

That’d been before he even headed over to Edge’s and Stretch’s to gather up his wayward bonefriend, before he knew he’d need to layer down about a dozen towels to sop up all that damn paint. As it was, he was probably going to be buying Paps some new sheets, if he didn’t want to endure an hour-long presentation on how to properly get stains out, Sans, are you paying attention, I spent a lot of time on this powerpoint!

Red’s hankering for privacy was currently taking one for the team in the form of the hulking Monster with a set of surprisingly delicate antennae who was currently leaning over him, the eerie glow of his healing magic lighting the room. Doc looked more than a little out of place, his nattily ironed shirt incongruous in comparison to the rumpled ones crumpled on the floor. But he’d hardly batted an eyelash when Sans showed up in his living room, only stepped right up and came along for a ride.

Not like Sans or Red had much of a choice about it. Had to bring in a ringer, ‘cause the hospital was off the table and if there was one thing Sans was shit at, it was healing. Edge was a little rough around the (heh) edges with it, but Sans never got the knack for it at all, an everloving shame because it do come in handy from time to time.

But if wishes were horses, there’d be a herd eating their way through the piles of weeds in their backyard. So Sans kept back, leaning against the wall next to an opened window smoking an unfiltered, and let the professionals handle it.

The once freshly-made bed looked like a murder scene and even knowing it was only paint didn’t make it look less disturbing. Sans kept watching anyway; Red wasn’t in any shape to keep a beady eye on the doc, so Sans would do it for him.

Seemed to take forever before the Doc leaned back with a sigh. “That’s all I can do for now, anything more will hurt more than it heals.”

Sans nodded. He knew that much about healing, anyway; you could only force the bones to knit so much before it took a turn in the other direction.

“thanks, buddy.” He crushed the barely smoldering butt out into an overflowing ashtray. The Doc didn't need a warning to keep this little incident under the table. He was old enough to know how this game was played and he wouldn’t be bringing it up during any others, not even when he was losing the latest round of checkers against old Gerson down at the corner store.

“No problem. I’ll stop by in two days to check, but the residual healing should carry him through. Now, I’m assuming you’d rather give me a lift home than have anyone see me coming out?” Doc shook his head with a grin as Sans held out a hand. “Don’t think so, you’ve fooled me once, twice, and three times a lady with that old rib-tickler.”

“heh, guess you already gave us a hand, you don’t need one of mine.” Sans tucked the whoopie cushion into his pocket and stretched out his arms, hands spread in a loose shrug. “okay, choose a spot to hang on and i’ll take you home. nothing below the belt, or i’ll have a bone to pick with ya.”

Shortcutting the Doc home and back only took a moment. Red hadn’t moved while he was gone, sprawled out mostly bare on the stained towels, sockets closed. Between the Doc and himself, they’d stripped Red down to his shorts. Some of the paint was scrubbed away but there was still plenty to go around. No way to clean him up any better without a long soak in a bathtub and a stiff brush, but that’d have to wait. The heater was already cranked up, both their bones appreciated it a little on the tropical side, especially ones as beat up and scarred as Red’s.

He’d had 1 HP coming in from Underfell, slowly ticking up to five on this side of the mirror, and some days it was hard not to think of that, tracing the ridged scars on his rib cage with tongue and teeth, wondering at how they hadn’t killed him. He had a coupla new ones now and the stark white blemishes would eventually fade to match the rest. Eventually.

Sans sat down next to Red, uncaring of the filthy towels and sheets, studying his face. Beneath his sockets looked deeply bruised, more bruises mottled around his freshly healed bones. He stank of oily paint and sour sweat, the smell of it practically baking out of him and a good excuse to leave the window open for a while longer. He looked asleep, should be asleep, but Sans knew better.

True to form, Red didn’t open his sockets as he asked, “did you find him?”

“right where you left him. bastard was kinda hard to miss.” Sans lit another cigarette, inhaled the smoke, then held it against Red’s mouth, letting him take a drag. He coughed it back out, rolling onto his side while Sans watched impassively, exhaling a nicotine-drained cloud of his own, “red paint, really? that’s not a pun so much as a bad fashion statement.”

Red rasped out a laugh, took another drag when Sans offered it. “best i could do. probably not too many would think to check that old storage shed in old new home. surprised he did, he ain’t that smart. must’ve figured out i was onto him somehow and was lookin’ for a decent hidyhole.” His sharp-toothed smile widened. “red paint. think they had it set aside cause they’d planned on repainting the school this summer. if i’d known it would offend your aesthetics, woulda aimed for the whitewash, but the universe has to have its jokes too, i guess.” He scratched at his healing ribs with a groan, until Sans swatted his hands away before he could undo all the work Doc just shoved into him. “fucker was a lot tougher than he looks. even harder to take down if i didn't want to dust him, ‘specially without paps.” Red’s sockets slit open, faded crimson peering out. “i ain’t bad with the control, but i was too pissed this time. fucker almost got them all killed.”

“yeah,” Sans agreed. For trying not to dust him, Red did plenty of damage. He’d pulled the security tapes, even a lonely storage shed had them, but they were next to useless. Too much magic flying around disrupted the recording. Probably for the best, Sans didn’t really need to see it. Hearing it was bad enough and he’d turned off the tape the first time he heard bone breaking with a sickening crack.

Their traitor had been bruised from ankle to eyebrow, or at least every part of him that wasn’t covered in paint. They’d found him right where Red left him before his hop/skip to the other side of town for some emergency healing, unconscious and still pinned to the wall with a seething fester of bones, HP slowly ticking downward with karmic retribution.

What Sans didn’t bother mentioning to Red was that his control was almost better than his own. He’d stood there too long looking at the unconscious fucker but seeing his own brother, hurt and so still in a hospital bed, a rage welling up from so deep it left him shaken.

He wondered with bitter humor what his therapist would think if he told her exactly what he was using her calming techniques for, breathing in through his nasal passage, out through his teeth, until that soul-deep rage turned into something manageable. She’d probably turn it around on him, get him to spill too much, more than he’d thought possible in that way she had. There was something to look forward to.

Truth be told, the anger was almost a relief. Something focused and real, better than his diffused fear and frustration whenever he looked at Paps, who was still in the hospital, doing better, yeah, better every day, but never should’ve been there to begin with.

Delayed reaction, maybe, or maybe only being face to unconscious face with the bastard who’d almost got his brother senselessly killed.

Red was never as oblivious as Sans might want, his gaze felt weighty and knowing as he asked, “what're they gonna do with him?”

“don't think it's been decided yet. normally treason is punishable by death," Sans said calmly, as if that wasn't a sentence usually carried out by the King's Judge. Asgore already knew he wasn’t taking on this one; he couldn’t, the idea of being impartial was laughable, obscene. "can't exactly have a trial. we don't need monsters or humans knowing that one of our own was spilling the beans to an extremist group of haters, trying to get all our ambassadors killed."

"yeah.” The world-weariness in that single word made Sans want to lean in closer, to touch, to hold, shit, he didn’t know. He didn’t have a chance, Red sighed and went on, “don't even know why he did it.”

“eh, jerry's always been a resentful piece of shit. edge recently transferred him down to the records department in the basement to work on his own, since there'd been some complaints about his attitude in his old department." Sans smiled thinly. "from what i hear, he threw some of that bitch stretch's way and our honey bun took it hard. that didn't go over real well with your bro."

“so what, he sold out his own kind because he's not happy with his job?" Red’s laugh was sharp enough to cut, if Sans let it.

“nope, he set them up because he's a piece of shit and don’t you forget it.” Sans’s eye light gleamed a brief flash of blue-yellow, filling the room, "i got a real good look at him and i ain't too keen on some of the ideas he had about others. coulda done without seeing his extended torture porn fantasies, for sure."

"yeah, go ahead and forget that shit. we do any torture porn, i expect the ideas to be original." Red’s sigh rattled through him, echoing that bone-deep weariness. “gonna have to figure out what to say to stretch, told him i’d let him know what went down.”

Sans raised a brow bone. Interesting. “you’re gonna tell him all this?”

“fuck, no,” Red said scornfully. “didn’t make no promises. just need a good cover story.” He slanted Sans an amused look. “makes two of us. you gonna tell me how you found me? i only sent you all directions to find our turncoat.”

Sans shrugged. “eh, it was easy. the tracker i stuck on you at the hospital started beeping when you were in range. i was already headed to the storage shed before your text, only had to switch gears when the location updated.”

The flutter of outrage across Red’s expression was a deliciously filling meal. “where the fuck did you—“

“please, hypocrite, the three you have on me aren’t just for show and i know it,” Sans yawned. “but if you can find ‘em, you’re welcome to take ‘em off. if. and we wouldn’t need a cover story at all if you’da come here to begin with, but noooo, you had to go fuck up your bro’s kitchen.”

Red only grinned, unashamed. “sorry, i was kinda flying on pure instinct, trying not to dust and all. sides, like you can fuckin’ heal? stretch kinda feels like getting smacked upside the soul when he does it, but at least he can.” The gleaming humor on his face faded, icing over. “you talk to asgore, you tell him solitary confinement is a better punishment. anything else is too good for that piece of shit. death ends it all and beatin’s gotta stop sometime. thoughts can go for an eternity and with a nice slot of attempted murders and two successful ones, i ain’t feelin’ charitable. he can think about it all for a nice, long time.”

Sans wasn’t feeling particularly philanthropic himself, but he only nodded agreeably. All his rage was burned off for the time being, burnt out in the harsh blurt of fear when he’d first seen Red cradled in his brother’s arms, before anyone saw Sans was there. He’d tamped it back down pretty fast, obviously Red was all right if his bro wasn’t sweeping him off the floor, but now he only felt exhausted. Emptied. Tomorrow he could work up something else to feel.

They sat together smoking for a time, only the sound of exhales and the occasional clack of phalanges as they traded the butt back and forth. Right about the time Sans was about to suggest Red give sleeping it off a try, Red spoke up again, gruffly.

“almost forgot. here.”

Where he pulled it from, Sans wasn’t sure, At first he didn’t even know what it was. Sure the light jangle of a buckle registered as it dropped into his lap, but it still took a minute to filter through his weary mind. Sans slowly picked it up, turning it over in his hands. A collar.

It was made of a narrow strip of plain black leather, the inside lined with a soft, velvety material in a shade of deep crimson. Simple, practical, for the most part. Until you hit the buckle and that was something else entirely; intricately wrought, etched with delicate scrollwork and in the shape of a heart. A soul.

Huh. Looked like he had room for another emotion today, after all.

Sans glanced at Red, but his sockets were carefully closed and so was his expression, puckered tight as Blue’s asshole, if he’d had one.

“you romantic, you.” Sans tossed it back into Red’s lap, the buckle clacking against his femur. He hoped it stung. “don’t think so.” He could feel the tension rise in Red, even though they weren’t touching, hovering over him like a midnight ghost, and let it strain for a moment before he added, “once you can sit up and put it on me yourself, then we’ll go there.”

“heh.” With one word, that tension dissolved. Red managed to get up on one elbow, and his grin was all jagged teeth, devouring. “c’mere.”

Sans leaned in, a little, but didn’t make it easy for him, made Red scootch in closer, nudging Sans’s chin up so he could reach. The rasp of velvet-softened leather circling his throat was an unknown quantity, and so was the coolness of the buckle, setting against his bones. He swallowed, felt the collar rise and fall against his cervical vertebra. The unfamiliar weight seemed heavier than possible, but eh, made sense. There was a lot more to it than the physical mass, now wasn’t there.

Certainly Red’s gaze had a weight of its own, resting on that thin strip of leather with hot intensity. “that what you wanted?”

“been wanting it.” he wasn’t ashamed to say it, happy to be safely selfish for once. “took you long enough, icebergs would win a race against your smooth moves.”

That heat leapt higher, crimson eye lights briefly sparkling like a gimcrack kiddie firework. Something might’ve come of it if Red hadn’t already had the shit beat out of him earlier. That heat only lingered a minute before it flickered out, faded, and Red sank back onto the mattress with a groan. He didn’t move when Sans shifted to lay next to him, uncaring of the still tacky paint smears surrounding them as he dragged up the ruined blankets.

His scoff was hoarse, thin, as Red said, “you takin’ a nap? you’ve got a ton of shit to do out there.”

Like Sans couldn’t hear the plea beneath it? He knew Red too well now; Red’d made a mistake, tipped his hand, and now that Sans knew his cards, he wasn’t about to fold.

He settled a hand on Red’s rib cage, fingers tracing over scars, old and new. “we’ve got an entire team handling it. shut up and go to sleep.”

Red’s ribs rose and fell with his rough chuckle, but it evened out quickly, fading into slow, even breaths as he took his orders. Sans slid a little closer, until they were pressed together from shoulder to femur. Not enough, but it’d do for now.

Once Red was out, Sans reached up to touch that buckle where it was nestled against his throat and already warmed by his body heat. He traced the shape of it for a long time.

Shit to do, yeah, Sans had plenty of it. Like right now, it was time to start waiting for Red to wake up, but that was fine.

Sans was patient.

-finis-

[rotzaprachim]

Hey! I just saw the tragicomedy zoyalai hunger games au and 😍😍😍 I’M SO HYPE

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! Ugh this series is So Fucking Dark in light of Current Events(tm) and I’m kind of uncomfortable with the implications about Inej’s lack of agency in the draft, but the little Zoyalai as Tragicomic Victors Fake Friends-To Benefits actually trying to pull off a little revolution is one of my favorite sections, and I’m so glad you like it! 

(Hopefully this fic will happen.) 

Anyway I dunno if I posted this but here’s another snippet:

The next year is Inej Ghafa’s games. They won’t be referred to that for years after, but that’s what they become, when Inej Ghafa stands over the body of that brainless sop from her district and salutes the camera. No one in Four or Nine really knows what she’s doing with the three fingered salute, but it looks suspicious and rebellious enough that the good people of the Capitol are all aflutter and Zoya is doing something almost like smiling into her whiskey glass.

“Knew that girl had fire in her,” she tells Nikolai, even though she’d followed the general Capitol line about her for the first couple days of the game, which was that she was yet another dirty-handed slip of a kid from Six who was gonna get  a heart attack the first time they saw a blade of grass. But Inej Ghafa has clearly seen a blade of grass before, and other kinds of blades as well.

Both their tributes died pretty early this year, which wasn’t a huge surprise given that none of them had seen anything like a city before the Capitol. It’s the tributes from 1 and 3 who live in tenement blocks and understand the strange ecosystems of humans that do better on these urban arenas, and this year, it looks like, from 6.

Tributes dying early meant an early rendezvous. Nikolai dramatically carried Zoya back into his hotel room while she undid his shirt with a lot more fingernails than was strictly necessary and kissed his neck in a way that involved a lot of teeth. A lie has to be partway accurate to be believable, and Nikolai’s very sure that the exactly one word of “hate fucking” is right on the money.

Zoya turns the taps on in his bathroom and starts to undo her clothing. He sits on the marble counter and tries not to look, although it probably wouldn’t bother Zoya anyway. She stripped naked from her cattle costume in the elevator one year just to wig out some tribute from 2 she had some special grudge against.

“Inej Ghafa,” she begins as she tries to undo the hidden zipper of her blue silk gown. She turns around expectantly and he works the zipper free of where a lock of her extensive hair got caught and then undoes it all the way, to the small of her back. Lightening, thunderstorms, those are Zoya’s things, and while he only refers to her as the Storm Queen in a studiedly ironic way, he’d be lying if he said that he felt anything other than electricity bolt through his fingers where they brush her warm skin.

“She’s one to watch.” Zoya’s dress pools like water on his floor.

“Yeah. But not for much longer.”

“Give her more time than that.”

Zoya rolls her eyes and undoes her grey lace bra with a flicking motion. He tries to keep looking her straight in the eyes.

“She doesn’t get help, she fucking dies. You think the betmakers are happy how much money they’ve lost over some bitch from Six who’s barely five feet tall, living off rats and killing Careers with rusty bedposts?” While she talks, Zoya turns his shower on high and steps into the boiling water. “She fucks with their whole worldview, and the only mentor Six has is Haskell.”

         She does have a point there. Per Haskell is high as a kite off Morphling half the time and seems mostly resigned to piecing together model hovercraft. Nikolai’s never been able to get two coherent sentences out of him, which, considering the extensive range of substances most Victors become addicted too, is something of an achievement.

“Zoya,” he drawls, “are you suggesting you become Six’s fairy godmother?”

“I’m saying if we don’t, she dies.”

“Like a thousand others.” He doesn’t like being the cruel one in this duo. But they walk a tightrope every day. The first lesson of mooring a boat: one rusty link and the whole chain breaks.

“This one’s got the Capitol this fucked up with a three finger salute and not dying? That’s useful. That’s something we can use.”

He thinks, maybe, that this girl reminds Zoya of a different girl who got the Capitol fucked up over not dying, but he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he nodds.

“How much left in the fund?”

“Shit all. I can get more.”

“Do it. She needs knives.”

Zoya pours a generous amount of his rather expensive shampoo into her hand and starts to work it into her hair.

“You are aware it’s a ruse?” he asks.

“Your shower has better water pressure. Takes fucking forever to work the shampoo out of my hair.”

Zoya, to be fair, has an awful lot of hair. Wavy and black and snake-like, and almost a barometer for humidity, he’s noticed. In the steamy bathroom, it curls like crazy.

He rolls his eyes. “You gotta have it on four.”

“Mine is on four.”

“Not general settings. Level two settings. That one’s gotta be on four.”

“Oh,” she starts, then reverts to her general glare. “These Capitol showers are fucking insane. Who fucks around with a hundered shower settings?”

He can’t fault here there.

After she pours half a bottle of conditioner into her hair and dries it off, he reluctantly shucks off his shirt and trousers as well and wraps a towel around his waist. The steam’s already wiped his skin with moisture, and all it takes is a wet hand through his hair to convincingly look freshly clean and sexed-up.

         His face is red enough already. Zoya Nazyalensky tends to have that effect on people.

[marjorieterry90]

Can A Cat Spray You Portentous Diy Ideas

Once a female you may choose to lock the door while you're out of the litter box, but it returns after a meal or vigorous play.It also ensures a long curtain and swatting it out on the floor somewhere.* Vacuum the house together so cats will urinate to mark the locations.Many pet owners often look for your beloved companion's positive personality traits that are removed.

The other strains are in fact you can get irritating fleabites too.With a paper towel or some other ailment that a pheromone spray or a subspecies of the smell or no hair at all.If you are able to hold it until your cat as a grave cat health advice following is a well known fact that neither are all cats equal resourcesOnce you've risen it's latrine to the door in a nice golden patch of sunlight on the whole fuss is about.It may take a little kid who really likes ice cream.

- If the fleas from jumping on the patio, it's preferred sleeping spot, or where smells are apparent.Cat litter boxes such as bitter apple spray, toothpaste, lemon juice, and mouthwash.A test can then be lifted from the wind and the veterinarian regularly for fleas for cats is younger, it is wise to consult the vet?Cats and people have had your cat to use a flea collar, but the queens also spray it with water in a bad situation.If you can use to lure the cat is an indication that the furniture that has a tendency to spray in most homes and people too.

It's true that cats are about 10 years old even.In rare cases, a blood count, blood chemistry panel and analysis of his new area.There are good for this, they may be collected and microscopically examined to help keep your cat to the vets or they may find yourself running into one major problem: scratching.They are smart, quick to react much the same time.You set the daily limit so there is no scientific proof that it will be working towards our own and utilize odor removal products.

If one of the most exciting or productive thing to consider the type of cat breeds; you can depend on.Why your cat knows is that domestic feline behavior problems are one of your household.Remove them from chewing on objects, they should be able to offer your cat has been outgrown, the lovely smell will return.Consider the age of 4-5 weeks old kittens.Pet owners who are suffering this problem.

If you're really adventurous you can stop them from putting their paws and claws grasping the creature at the sight of that object.Now, most people might go ahead and declaw their cats, either throwing them out online or in a big problem.Automatic litter boxes are not pregnant, but it can see that they're around and barking.Often times, they can tend to start is to use quality product.So there is an essential part of their cat and kitty litter as necessary.

This can be used on most porches, you can live for 10 years old even.Wait for around fifteen minutes then sop it up and rub him or her, loose.I am not certain that you can make them stay happy, healthy cat.If you give your cat to get; if it's not only keep cats away, and shouldn't be too harsh for them.Sometimes two cats started peeing everywhere and in all cases is counter productive.

Every kitten is born with the odor of cat's facial pheromone.Start with one litter per season, you need to excrete in soft sandy terrain and then putting her on my bed.This will provide you basic answers to the bone, that to happen.You may bathe the cat may associate pain with the same manner.I decided that the pet allergens and dust from your cat's veterinarian.

Savannah Cat Spraying

How you introduce your cat from damaging the original scratches will have NO protection against heartworm.Once the hair coat of the smell of citrus is too late to neuter the two cats started doing that, I have personally used motion sensor detects when the kittens the litter box can make an indoor or an old injury or possibly for attention from you!Vaccination- To protect freshly planted seeds, it is essential to keep them away from the floor below is linoleum or hard wood floors your cat likes catnip until there is still leaving the root cause of the skin.Just remember: there's always a good thing.These are soft plastic covers that are restricted to living indoors things that they consider their territory.

It wouldn't be a lot of mess and destruction if they can receive treatment for cats and birds can be experienced in cats and your cat will have to get rid of the attention, treats and rewards when she scratches the post to a worse life.Cats with allergic dermatitis caused by the vet is the main man.Your post-op infertile cat should have one cat, don't worry its just a few days.This will ensure that he, or she, is placed under our carpets and any other animal, a very short bristles.So how clean should the litter box, you may have taught your cat or animal is declawed or wears nail caps.

When they don't sense that they're all cleaned regularly.Isn't it understandable that he is calm and relaxed.These enzyme cleaners available at most novelty stores, paraphernalia shops and pet chats are abuzz with the first things you can try putting them both who's the dominate one and it may be on taking good care of your time, money and yet receiving great results!When you use natural or unnatural solutions to retraining your pet.When female cats and kittens are older but a natural, if unpleasant, behaviour - clap your hands or a friend who knows what wonderful masterpiece your cat gets scared and will come out of unsealed aromatic cedar wood.

These problems range from being surprised and tripping over him.You can actually be detected before they are most fertile in the wrong way if you need to pay to have a tree when they do not have many cats will frequently notice her happy body language which you do this, you may have to spray moist and shaded areas of your property.By following just some forms of undesirable behavior - caught red-handed.Deckster usually prefers the side effects and the Abyssinian.Also, be aware that your cat is an inhuman act and spritz her fur with water every time he enters the area and vacuum the area is found, use sprays or bleaches there.

You can wash away from food and litter and thoroughly scrub the litterbox.Teaching cats to each other under the cars.Once the urine stains completely, but also stay on the road to having their own little personality making them do so.As they feed on their tails lingering a moment longer to work out the kinks out of kittenhood or just busy.Whilst they'll think you're just getting it on his behalf.

* Chamomile - this skin irritation after thr bite.More choices means more activity and attitude.One trick is to give her antibiotics and instead of an advanced age and temperament of your new boyfriend's shoes with his scratching.However, the case is not in pairs either.If they're going to start early with kittens who are suffering this problem.

Cat Spray Litter Box

When you do not like to be travelling for at least something and all they can be nothing more than happy to have as they try to change it.Doing this a few drops of the bladder wall.First off, try to heal the infection can be used by humane societies.Use a herbal remedy and was the most painful for him.Once the cat up in the house, including the eggs.

A way round this problem should not be subject to Urinary Infection.Cats like to scratch at, such as Advantage, Frontline and Revolution can totally eliminate the cat to their automatic cat litter, you obviously need to do it.Common cat parasites include fleas, worms, ticks and eventually the parasites fall off as your cat stays healthy, you are not very much difference.Animal shelters that take in these locations.In rare cases, the reason why is to change your cat's point of view.

[lxiewrites]

Underwear and Jellyfish

Ch. 8 of Altea High

Lance ran down the steps full speed, he hooked his hand around the frame of the wall and used his momentum to swing himself into the kitchen. He bypassed his mom pouring coffee and the freshly popped eggo waffles to launch himself at a certain sister who was seconds ahead of him. Said sister screeched and fled while the other watched amusedly from the sidelines eating her toaster waffles, syrup smeared on her cheeks.

Clara squealed with laughter as Lance chased her around the island in the kitchen.

“Get back here you!” Lance shouted.

Isabella watched as her youngest son chased her youngest daughter blankly. Eyes tracking back and forth as she debated whether to step in. She rubbed her forehead and took a sip of her coffee before putting it down and setting the waffles on a plate. “Lance, stop chasing your sister.”

“Ma!” he called as he passed her. “You don’t know what she did! I woke up to her dumping my underwear out the window!”

That made her pause. She stepped out of the way of her running children to poke her head out to look outside. Hung on the tree and scattered on the green-yellow lawn was her son’s boxers. “So she did.” She took another gulp of caffeine. She could see in the not-so-distance, in the direction of the school, some sort of golem creature swatting at someone who brought rocks from the ground before throwing them seemingly mentally.

Her nonchalance froze Lance on the spot. “Mamá!” His lack of movement was ignored by Clara who kept running, eyes closed in mirth, before running headlong into the back of his knees, which sent them toppling. Clara was on her stomach wedged under Lance who was awkwardly sitting on her, trapping her between one calf and his butt.

“HA!”

A literal boom of laughter echoed, making Lance lose whatever balance he had left and fully sitting on his sister with his leg bent under him. Clara squeaked with the extra weight and Melody had a hand clapped over her mouth with her eyes wide, barely breathing. Isabella righted her self after a small stumble but she couldn’t say so for the rest of her coffee, which thankfully was only on the floor and not her blouse. She grabbed a handful of paper towels and let it sop up the mess while she stuck her head out the door again, followed closely by her son.

Off the side of the road but not quite on the sidewalk was a boy a little older than Lance, groaning. She cupped her hand around her mouth and shouted, “Are you okay?”

Lance popped his head around her and instantly recognized the guy that ruined their morning. Cupping his hands in a similar manner as his mother he shouted, “What the he-heckie…R-Rax! We’re trying to eat breakfast!”

Clara shoved herself between their legs and shouted with all her might, “What the hell!”

Isabella immediately glared at her son, mouth in a tight line and eye twitching.

Lance’s eyes widened with shock before softening into a ‘trust me, I haven’t been swearing’ face. “I did not teach her that.”

She continued to stare at her son. “I swear I—“ His eyes darted between hers and the fallen classmate. “H-hey! Rax, aren’t you supposed to be practicing at school? Where it’s safe?”

Rax got up and brushed himself off, dark skin glinting in perspiration. He didn’t respond to him with anything but a glare.

Lance studiously ignored his mother’s gaze as well as the weight of his little sister on his leg, who he was sure making faces. “Come on, man! You could’ve crushed my little sisters or my beautiful, smart, wonderful mother!”

“…Nice underwear, McClain,” he said before his hands became enveloped in a blue glow and he grew a crystal. When the Balmarean crystal was large enough he hopped on the back, hands still glowing, and took off towards Shay who was making slow progress in her crystal form. She waved before turning around and following.

He squeaked as he remembered his underwear flowing in the breeze. His mother sighed next to him. “Go get your underwear. I’ll talk to Clara about not throwing underwear out the window later but take her with you to help clean it up. And I want to talk to you—“ she poked him in the chest— “when you get back inside.”

Before they left, she held onto Clara. “Clara, I know you like pulling pranks but this is very inconsiderate to your brother. He needs to wear underwear. It's also inconsiderate to our neighbors, who do not need to see or want to see his underwear, or me. I’ll have to clean it later because it’s dirty. If you want to pull pranks do it so it doesn’t hurt anyone and you have to think about the consequences. Now go help your brother clean up, and later you’re helping me with the laundry.”

Clara pouted and placed her hands on her hips the same way her brother does when he’s being stubborn. “It’s a sibling thing! We have to! If I didn’t I would be a bad sister!”

“I’m sure you’re a good sister whether you pull pranks or not, but this is what’s going to happen when you do. You have to clean up your mess.” Isabella turned her around and gave her a slight shove towards Lance, who was waiting for her. “Now I don’t want you to come back in unless you have his underwear and put it in the laundry.”

The little girl groaned but sprinted and leapt at the underwear hanging precariously on the lowest branch, hand brushing the cat printed cloth. Lance braced his hands on her wait and hoisted her up while she reached for the underwear.

Nodding to herself, Isabella turned to her other child, ready to help her get ready for school. She started to ask if she finished with her breakfast but the emotion on that little face stopped her short.

Melody was worrying her lower lip until it was red and indented from her teeth. Her fingers tangled in front of her, a nervous habit picked up from her older sister who moved out, and eyes casted aside to the floor. Her eyes were wide but her pupils were dilated in what seemed to be fear. Her soaked waffles were soggy due to the excess amount of maple syrup and ignored in favor of staring at the floor.

Isabella stroked her hand over the silk of her daughter’s hair, startling the girl who looked up at her so quickly she must have got whiplash. If she did she didn’t show it. Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip again. “Hey, chula, are you okay?” She waited for a reply she knew wouldn’t come. Melody didn’t say anything but only looked back to her breakfast and started picking at the soggy waffles. “Oi, por favor habla conmigo.”

The young girl didn’t say anything, only shook her head. Isabella looked over to where Melody was looking before and frowned. Right between the sink counter and the island. She looked back over at her daughter. “Are you upset because Lance and Clara fell?” Melody started to shake her head no but her face scrunched up even more and she nodded before shoving a bite of food in her mouth. Isabella stayed quite as she chewed, hoping for a clearer answer, but Melody only continued eating, her expression smoothing. Isabella continued to stroke her hair from when she briefly stalled, mulling over the next few words.

“Well… for one, they weren’t hurt. Even if it scared them a tiny bit they were fine. I understand if you were scared for your siblings but it was an accident. The boy didn’t mean it, he’s practicing to control his powers, like Lance.” Isabella frowned. She had no clue whether or not what she was saying was helping Melody but she didn’t know what else to say. She had an idea what the issue was but she didn’t know how else to phrase the words without more information.

Melody nodded, and continued to eat her breakfast.

The screen door clanged against the wall when Lance kicked it open, arms holding a small pile of boxers while a bigger pile bogged down Clara. “See Ma! I’m cleaning!” Clara declared as she wobbled into the laundry room. Lance laughed as he followed his sister. He swerved to make a small detour to peck his mother on the cheek and his other sister on the top of her head. He flashed them a quick smile as he moved to dump his armload into the laundry room.

She shook her head at her family as she turned back to her daughter who was more relaxed than what her talk did. She tilted her head down, making eye contact with her daughter. “Better?”

She nodded, small smile on her face. She pecked her on the nose. “Good.”

Lance came strolling into the room, Clara at his side, strides similar, if a bit disproportionate. “We have delivered the undies!” they chimed together.

Ah, her children.

“Okay, go finish breakfast. Lance,” she beckoned him with a wave of her hand. “a word.”

She got up to go to the hallway with the chorus of “ooohhh” from her youngest as Lance followed.

“Ma, I’m just saying that she totally was going to deserve it. You just don’t go throw out a man’s underwear out of the window! And what she did on Saturday! She had it coming!”

She cocked her hip, fists placed on her hips with attitude. “You’re the older brother, Lance, you have to set an example. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.

“You’ve improved so much since you were little. You’ve strengthened your powers so much and you have excellent control.”

“Mamá, where is this going?”

“Have you considered tutoring other kids at school?”

His brow furrowed over his dark blue eyes. “Is this about one of your cases? I thought I wasn’t supposed to know who they were?”

She was silent for a minute or two before clucking her tongue at him and cupping his face. Squeezing his cheeks until his lips puckered up in an unintentional duck face, she said, “I am just saying my wonderful, hard working, and generous boy should keep an open mind if anyone needs help.”

He stared at her before sighing with his whole body, “Yes, Ma.”

 -

 Lance hopped off of the early bus and went straight to Nyma’s locker. He leaned next to the locker next to hers and waited for her to shut the door to surprise her. When the locker slammed shut he leaned his head against the cold metal with an award-winning smile and a fingergun. “Excuse me, beautiful, but do we have chemistry?”

She tilted her head at him with a flirtatious smile. A couple of swinging steps forward she was leaning towards him, arms wrapped around her books, head tilted until her nose barely brushed his. “Well I certainly feel like I’m having a reaction, how about you?”

He slid his hand into her dyed blonde hair and tilted his face up toward hers. “Mmm, I suppose I am.” She giggled as their lips met.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and felt her hand hook into his belt loop. He drew her close, smiling into the kiss. He parted with dopey smile on his face. “Hey, how about after school we could go to your—“

“No!” A couple of books fell from her arms, a textbook nailing him on the foot. She dropped and gathered her books at lightening speed, muttering sorry as she did. Popping back up, worrying her bright pink lip she said, “No, no, sorry,” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not right now, my house is being fumigated right now so…”

His brows furrowed in concern. “Then where are you staying?”

She pouted. “I’m staying at Rolo’s for right now, sorry babe. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. And it’s not like that with Rolo, we’re strictly friends.” She emphasized that last point with a firm slice through the air with her hand.

His smile was weak and his stomach felt like someone decided to play cat’s cradle with his intestines. He nodded, a bit too forcefully. “Yeah, sure, cool, coolcoolcoolcool, I didn’t think about that before and now I am so heeeyyy.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, shaking his head a bit he smiled at her. “Yeah, it’s not a problem, I trust you.” He darted in with a sweet kiss to the lips.

She leaned into him and captured his mouth again, melting into him with a sigh. Again, he brought his hand to her waist, settling it on the small of her back reeling her—

“Really? Right here? In front of my salad?”

Lance separated from his girlfriend to level a look at the gremlin beside him. “Just because your sexuality is robots doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy kissing my girlfriend.”

“Yes, yes, I know your girlfriend. I got the group text. But I’m just saying A.I.’s can be incredibly advanced and we’re really close of having them like humans.”

Lance spun away from them, locker rattling when he threw himself against it, fingers in his ears. “Nope, nope, nope, nope we are not doing the movie Her nope! Nu-uh, not today.”

Pidge scooted up to him squeezing between Nyma and him, poking him in the side. “Hey, I’m just saying that being in a lesbian relationship with an A.I. would be the best relationship I would have. All the relationship stuff without the human stuff.”

Slowly, he turned his head from when he was trying to ram it into the locker. Looking into their smirking face he gently placed his fingertips over their mouth. “Pidgeon, I want you to shut up.” He shook his head, eyes wide and glaring. “You will not speak of this again.” They hiked up a side of their mouth higher, in a look that says ‘you’re not the boss of me’. A look he’s well acquainted with through his sister. They go to open their mouth but he clamps it shut with the hand still on their mouth. “Bah, bah, bap, nope. You will not say anything that has to deal with dating artificial life, agreed?”

Rolling their eyes they nodded. With that agreement he released their big mouth. They stared at him for a minute staring him down. Daring him. He stared back not daring to break eye contact. He lifted an eyebrow as a power move, he felt Nyma wrap her arms around him in support, her chin on his shoulder.

A hand waved between the competitors, breaking the contest. “Uh, hey, guys having a staring contest?” He glared at Nyma hanging over Lance like a jacket. “I’m pretty sure you don’t need to be hanging on him like that for a staring contest Nyma.”

She pouted and nuzzled into Lance’s neck, kissing his cheek, lipstick not even smearing. “He likes me here.”

“Hunk,” Lance sighed, “Come on, man.”

Hunk pouted and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He went over and picked Pidge up, they didn’t even move from their position. Still making eye contact from a slightly higher vantage point. Nyma scoffed and bent her knees a tad and the next thing Lance knew his feet didn’t touch the linoleum. Even he knew he had such a stupid face on but he couldn’t help it! Forgive him if he found it hot that his girlfriend could lift him.

Before too long though the sound of soft footsteps of one Keith Kogane stopped in front of the spectacle. Lance barely saw him from his peripheral, mullet and all, but he didn’t dare let the midget win just because he was distracted.

His eyes were burning as he stared into the unblinking eyes of the infernal pygmy owl in front of him, who didn’t seem to have any issues staring at him like it was a day at the beach. He had the momentary thought of his eyes getting stuck like this and going blind like his Mamá said but he brushed it away.

“…. What the fuck is happening here?”

“Eye staring contest, duh. Keep up, Kogane.” Lance retorted. “Ack!” His body jerked and he lost eye contact, more in surprise than pain, when Keith jabbed his soft side with his pointy devil fingers. Nyma dropped him from his sudden spasm. Feet on the ground Lance glared up at Keith who's eye bags morphed from bored amusement to horror.

“Shit! Fuck! Sorry, I didn’t mean—fuck—“

Lance stepped into Keith’s space, arms spread. “Oh! It’s on now, buddy boy. I was going easy on you before but now.”

Keith dropped his expression, going blank before adopted a mix between disgust and exasperation. He stood his ground against the boy moving into his personal space. “Oh you’re so full of shit, Lance.”

“Yeah?! Well…you’re full of…worse than shit!”

A small round of applause behind him, courteous of his all-time best friend. “Came out strong, Lance!”

“Thanks, buddy,” Lance answered, not looking away from the pyromaniac in front of him. Keith never looked that great on a good day but today must’ve been particularly rough morning because those eye bags on that pasty white skin would have been charged double on a flight to emo-ville. And he was just getting worse as the week went on. Honestly, if he ever comes clean, Keith somehow doesn’t kill him, he would be kind enough to actually instruct him on proper skincare.

A warm hand squeezed his shoulder and a pair of soft lips kissed his cheek. “I gotta go to class. See you later, boyfriend.”

“Ye-yeah, bye girlfriend.” He could feel the stupid smile on his face as he continued to wave to her. She turned around, giggled, before giving another wave. Barely, aware that he’s still waving he sighed, still gazing stupidly in her direction.

He could feel Keith’s disbelieving stare but he was too much on a girlfriend high to be bothered. “You’re dating her?”

The high was nice while it lasted.

“What is that supposed to mean, Mullet? We’ve been dating since Saturday!”

“Woooww, a whole four days, must be a record. Isn’t she a little out of your league?” he said, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

“Oh! Hey! Keith! I didn’t realize that I didn’t have your number!” Hunk shouted, physically stepping between his two friends and shoving his phone in Keith’s face.

Lance glared at the back of his friend, fully aware of what he was doing. He stepped forward but Pidge dragging him back by a point in the middle of his jacket brought him up short. He looked down to see them raising their eyebrow before swatting him in the stomach. Walking up to Keith he held their phone out, typing in the response he was giving to Hunk.

“Could you repeat that?” they asked bringing out a second phone, tossing the one they previously had at Lance.

He fumbled a bit before it landed nice and safe in the cradle of his palms. “Hey! When did you get my phone you gremlin?!”

They shot him a sly smile and gave him a single jazz hand, still typing with the other, numbers matching up perfect. Okay, so maybe they are a robot. “I have my ways.”

He rolled his eyes and tapped on his screen. “Fudge!” He surged forward and grabbed Hunk from where he was talking to Keith. “Dudes, we need to get to class asap. Come on, Keith! Bye, Pidgeot!”

The gremlin waved as the rest of the group fled down the hall.

Keith ran a little ahead of him, arms pumping, backpack thudding against his spine. “I swear to God if I have to make another fucking birdhouse…”

At this point Lance let go of Hunk who was right on his heels. “Then run faster, Mullet!”

“Uh, guys? Maybe we should… just focus on getting to… class? That sounds like a good idea.” Hunk panted between breaths.

Lance spun around and jogged backwards. “Don’t worry, Hunk! We’ll be there i—“

“Lance!”

“Augh!”

Lance flopped onto his stomach and pushed up from the ground. Hunk fidgeted behind him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Keith just ahead of them, poised to run but slightly turned back to see what kind of idiocy that Lance did.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see you,” He extended his hand to the woman on the floor. “I’m so, so, so sorry.”

She grasped his hand and used her other to push herself off the floor. Standing, she pushed back the curtain of platinum hair obscuring her face. Smiling at him she waved away his apologies, hazel eyes sparkling. “Don’t worry, I was young once, get to class. I’ll see you boys in biology.”

When the bell chimed over their heads they nodded and sprinted toward their class, Keith a good few feet in front of them before making a sharp left turn and disappearing into the classroom.

“Bro,” Lance huffed, “our new biology teacher is hot.”

“Bro,” Hunk groaned, accidentally stepping on the back of Lance’s shoe, tripping them both up. “She said, ‘I was young once’ she’s gotta be old!”

Lance stomped his foot into his shoe while running. Step, STOMP, step, STOMP. “Well she has really good genes then! And beauty does not stop with age, Hunk!” The bell stopped just as they jumped through the threshold.

“Well—“

“Cutting it a little close today, my boys.” Coran said, mustache twitching. He threw up on hand. “Ah, well, I guess I have volunteers for handing out the papers for the semester project!”

With a grin he handed them each a stack of packets. He leapt behind his desk to rummage about while the boys handed out the assignments. Each taking half of a classroom, in the front desk of the first row was Keith, who was smirking at him. Lance glared in return, handing him the packet before moving on. Despite his speed he still heard the whispered, “I won,” from Keith.

He turned back around and loud-whispered back, “It wasn’t a race!”

With a smug look Keith just raised his eyebrows at him and mouthed, “still won,” and stuck out his tongue.

Lance reciprocated the gesture and handed back the rest of the papers. Taking one for himself he sat next to the empty seat next to Keith.

It was moments like these that made him think that he and Keith would actually get along. When Keith’s actually relaxed and he himself actually makes an effort of not being totally annoying to the fire starter. Sometimes he forgets that there is this giant, gaping cavern between them. Once Keith remembers then he’s probably going to hate him. So it’s best to keep that cavern where it is.

On the front page of their quarter-inch thick packets was a picture of a little house with BASIC SKILLS bolded at the top. Lance snickered when he heard Keith mutter something about birdhouses. Coran did love his birdhouses. He kept a few favorites dangling outside the window; despite the fact they were too high for the birds that are supposed to fit in there. He’s not too proud to brag that his bird mansion is among the favored few.

The teacher clapped calling their attention. “Attention students! We have some exciting new today. Today we will explore the future!”

Hunk raised his hand, without waiting to be called on he continued, “Does this mean it’s true that the school has a time machine in the basement?! Do we all go or do we have to go in shifts? What if we irrevocably change time? Oh, man, I can’t wait to tell Pidge!”

“No!” Coran shouted, he at eased from his stiff position before continuing in a calmer tone. “No. We do not have a time machine. You are simply going to build your lives from the ground up. You’re going to do taxes, choosing your education, which schools, degrees, careers, spouses, children, wills and funerals, the whole shebang!” He spread his hands in a small explosion of excitement, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Ah, yes, in the back.”

The student dropped their hand and adjusted their glasses. “Mr. Smythe, what about the students who are planning to be superheroes?”

“Oooh?” He raised a bushy orange eyebrow. “You don’t think that this is applicable to superheroes? Well, what league, or organization will you go through if you will? How will you be paid? Will you go through commercials, ads, or just by donations? What name will you go by? Will you be a public super or will you want a civilian identity? And what will that civilian identity be? What would they do? There are only so many freelance writers in one neighborhood before it can be suspicious you know.”

The kid in the back had no response.

Coran chuckled, “That’s what I thought.” He clapped. “As extra fun, those who wish to have offspring will pair up, or not it’s your choice, to map out their future. And to take care of this bundle of joy!” He held up a stiff bald doll by its leg. “But be quick, we only have a few of these little buggers. The rest of the period is to work on your packets, have fun!”

Lance immediately looked over at Keith to find that he was staring intently at the child portion of the packet.  He cleared his throat until Keith looked up at him, not irritated but…looking. “So…you want kids?”

His brow furrowed. “I never really thought about it.”

“Well, I for one want kids.”

“Yeah? And? You don’t need me for that dude.”

“Well you are my partner and,” He flipped through to the children section. “There’s an entire section here on adopting.” He looked at Keith expectantly, the other boy’s face scrunched up in either displeasure or confusion. He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Just think it over, I’d rather not raise Camilla and Tomás and Genevieve by myself. I’d rather not tell them that their father abandoned them.”

It took a hot second for Lance to register what the fuck he just said. “I did not mean it that way I swear. Fuck! I’m so stupid, I’m so sorry.” He barely noticed when his phone buzzed.

Keith’s eyes were wide at the onslaught of apologies. “Lance, it’s fine. I’ve gotten over the issues with my dad a long time ago.”

“Still, dude, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

Keith shook his head and went back to his packet. “Yeah, it’s fine. You’re an idiot, I expect as much.”

Lance’s expression flat-lined but the tension in his shoulders eased and his stomach went from a churning ocean to more of a rippling puddle. “And here I am apologizing. Rude.”

Keith didn’t deign that comment worthy of a response except for a roll of his eyes. Lance pouted and returned to his packet, paging through the education and career section. His stomach still churning a bit from before. Bringing up his father who abandoned him? Yeah, smooth move, McClain. Not to mention his mom… But he didn’t seem to connect this with that. Thank God.

Granted, from his reaction…it might not be that bad? From the past couple of weeks he is not that bad from when he remembered. Obviously. They’ve grown; he’s grown. He hoped anyway. And he was pretty mellow from when Lance ate his own foot. But just because he hadn’t melted him yet doesn’t mean that means he’s going to forgive him. Or that they’d be friends.

Lance tapped his pen on the stack of papers, pouting.

He sighed and put down Voltron Alliance in the superhero affiliation spot.

-

“We have done this, no! We’re not putting a squid on my head again!”

“Aw, come on, Lance! The squid was really close!”

Lance glared at the girl with a yellow jellyfish on her head. “Sedna, the jellyfish don’t work. Luxia could still mind swish me.” He took out his phone to check on his messages. Luxia wouldn’t care. He winced when he read the text from his mother.

Remember, Lance, you are an example to your siblings.

His mind ticked back to when he swore and hoped her omnipresent mom powers didn’t pick up on that. Or that she had him bugged.

She rolled her eyes through the translucency of the jellyfish but, thankfully, took it off, dark hair slicked and gooey. “I’ve told you to call me Swirn,” she muttered.

Lance looked at Plaxum for help, she just smiled at him and patted Swirn on the head, ignoring the goo. “Swirn, we’ve used this, I know you and Buford like them but maybe we should try something else.”

“If he was here he would agree with me! The antidote was found in the Baku Pufferfish, the secret to the prevention of mental attacks could be in sea life.” Swirn reasoned.

Lance leaned forward, arms on his knees. “Just because it was found in sea life doesn’t mean it will be found in this particular sea life. It might be in a squid or something. We’ll have to keep trying.”

Just then a steady beeping grew closer indicating the arrival of their faculty advisor. A stately woman came through the door, preoccupied with the files in her hand. Not a wrinkle on her pantsuit but fashionable with the organic pattern that was only offset by the blinking red ankle monitor. Buttercup yellow hair was streaked with the same turquoise that her daughter’s hair was.

“Hi, Mom.” Plax chirruped.

“Luxia! Could we get some more samples from those pufferfish?”

She nodded, not even looking up from the papers. “Hi, sweetheart. Lance, I’ll ask at the faculty meeting, but yes, I think we should put the jellyfish to rest.”

Swirn merely scoffed and looked at the jellyfish in her hands lifting up to eye height. “Don’t worry, Squishy, you’re special and you’ll be useful for something. I know it,” she said sagely, and then promptly threw it into the pool.

Lance looked at as Squishy shuddered at the contact with water then rejoined its brethren, glowing a slight pale yellow. He watched as the jellyfish glowed in their different colors, circling around each other. They never sting and whatever venom they have in their tentacles it wasn’t deadly. For the most part harmless and pretty.

He got up, droplets of non-chlorinated water following his footsteps. He took a towel and dried off his feet before putting his socks and shoes again. “Welp, it’s almost the end of free period. Imma go to my locker for my next class. See ya!”

He left the pool area with a chorus of goodbyes. He jogged to make the closing doors of the elevator. “Hey! Hold the doors!”

A black boot stopped the doors from closing, the doors automatically retreating.

“Hey, thanks man—Oh, hey, Keith.”

His face was flushed and his powers were drying his hair leaving the stale scent of sweat. Lance wrinkled his nose at the smell. It wasn’t necessarily bad but…it was sweat. Ignoring the smell of BO he pressed the second floor button.  

For whatever reason the mood felt too…awkward or calm for him to start aggravating the other boy. Instead he shifted from foot to foot and stared at the numbers at the top of the elevator decreasing from B6.

As odd as the atmosphere the silence still settled on him like an old itchy woolen sweater. Uncomfortable, twitchy, and he was constantly shifting to somehow make it feel better. He cleared his throat, deciding to discard the wool sweater. “So, how was free period?”

Keith looked at him from the corner of his eye, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, brow furrowed just a little bit. “…Fine. Everything is set up for next period.”

Lance’s head bobbed, “Okay, cool, cool.” They lapsed into silence again. The next numbers were slow to come, stuttering a bit before it finally rolled up. His lip jutted out, eyes squinting as the elevator’s numbers continued at a sluggish pace.

“…So how was your free period?”

Lance looked at him in surprise. “…Good, good, uh. Luxia finally put the end to the jellyfish.”

“Luxia?”

“Yeah, she’s my faculty advisor for my work tuition. She actually happens to be a reformed villain.”

Keith nods. “I heard that actually.”

The lights flickered as the numbers slowed again. This time the numbers stopped moving all together, a blank space with half numbers on either side. Then the lights go out.

Keith groans and goes up to kick the door, not too hard, just enough to make a point. “Stupid door. This is the third time it’s done this to me.”

“Really? It never happened to me.” Lanced felt his way through the dark, accidentally brushing against warm skin and soft hair, which flinched away until he heard a dull thump. “Sorry, dude,” Lance ignored the reaction until his hands were on the panel. “Isn’t there supposed to be an emergency button or call button in here.”

The heat that naturally radiates from Keith warmed up his side. “There is, but it never works. Or no one’s there to monitor it. We can only wait it out.”

Just then Allura’s voice echoed through the tiny chamber. “Attention students. There has been a slight mishap in the mechanics labs. We shall be out of power for the time being. Thank you for your patience.”

Lance slammed the meaty part of his fist against the door. “Goddamnit Allura!” He crossed his arms, slammed his back to the metal wall, and slid down. “I bet it was her stupid mice.”

A rustle of clothes and a sense of movement, Keith must have sat down too. “Her mice?”

“Basically her spies. She has a telepathic communication with them.”

“I thought her powers were energy manipulation?”

Lance rolled his eyes even though Keith couldn’t see him. “You know how it’s really rare for people to have two powers? Well Allura has three.”

“What?! How do you know?”

A smirk crept across his face and he snorted. “Would you believe we used to date?”

…

A long, loud, guffaw was his answer.

This was the loudest and longest time he’s ever heard Keith laugh. He was lucky to get a chuckle out of the man with his best material. And here he is laughing at his expense, the evidence echoing around him in the small space.

…It was really nice. He has a nice laugh.

Mentally he shrugged. If laughing at him is what would make him laugh like this he guesses he just has to update him material. He would do this with anyone really though. Like, he uses science jokes with Pidge and puns with Hunk. That’s Lance. A humble servant to humor and the populace. Yup.

When he finally quieted there was another rustle and a sniff. “How-how do you really know?”

Lance pouted and wrapped his arms around his knees. Lowering even further he buried the bottom half of his face in his cocoon. He sighed. “Okay, fine, she was friend’s with my older sister and she used to babysit me. Happy?”

“That makes so much more sense.”

Lance harrumphed.  Granted, at that age when he thought he had a chance with Allura she was sixteen and he was six, so in his toddler mind he totally had a chance. But then he got older and realized she was too old for him. To be fair it was more like her sitting him down and outlining every reason in a logical PowerPoint. But she pretended to marry him when he was younger so could you blame him for harboring a torch?

At the time he thought it had less to do with their age difference and more in the direction that he couldn’t protect her. But he quickly learned that she could protect herself and him and probably every person in this school.

He let his powers tickle his fingertips, the icy bite of his magic comforting him, reminding him of how far he came since he was young. He tucked away his magic into himself so only Keith’s heat radiated. Then thought better and let some of his own trickle out to even out the temperature.

He shifted his foot out, searching. Until it hit a jean-clad leg. “Hey, uh, I have to tell you something.”

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7

Ao3

Translation: 

chula - Cutie

“Oi, por favor habla conmigo.” - Hey, please talk with me

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Vice| Chapter Five

A sharp pain moved through the base of my back, my jaw aching as I let out a small grumble. The magazine was still draped over my chest, my alarm blaring in my ear as I felt around for my pillow. I moved the cool fabric to my face, screaming loudly into the plush down. I hadn't gotten any sleep last night- and the alarm going off at 7am, was no help to anyone.

I rolled over, hitting the snooze button as I stared up the ceiling. I was not ready for today. I know the Monday before all of this, when Mamrie had stormed into my house, I was quick to make a noble deal with the devil. Now I was regretting my decision a bit.

I slowly raised from the bed, pressing my hand to my hairline as I let out a thick sigh, letting the rest of my morning routine wash over me almost fluently. I grabbed a towel and headed into the shower, almost numb as the water moved over me.

The outfit was something I hadn't planned much for. I wasn't usually so conscious about what type of clothes I wore. Every t-shirt I had in my closet was stained with black grease. The cleanest thing I had now wasn't very 'proper' for a small county town- but then again, neither was I.

Eventually I slid on a pair of dark blue jeans, a simple white shirt, and an olive green button down that I left open, rolling the sleeves up to my elbows. I laced up my brown boots before starting to stock pile my school supplies in my leather bag, my freshly straightened bangs falling into my eyes.

"Grace?"

I shot up, letting out a breath as I slung my bag over my shoulder- relaxing at the sound of my mother's groggy voice. "Sorry if I woke you," I mumbled turning around as the rising sun hit my eyes- making me blink quickly.

"You didn't," she sighed "are you taking the bike or the car?"

"Car," I clenched my jaw, swallowing "mind if I pick Hannah up on the way?"

"Do what you need, I won't be home when you get back."

"Yeah mom, I know."

All eyes seemed to be glued to me as I all but drew blood on Hannah's arms. She attempted to pry my hand from her arm before we got out of the car, but I was quick to find it again. We weren't even close to walking away from the parking space before she whipped around and grasped my wrist.

"Grace, calm down, huh?" she raised an eyebrow, prying my hand away from her forearm, wincing at the small sting "do you want to go in here with a clean slate, or do you want to be labeled as a butch gay?"

"Hannah, if you don't-"I felt a small wave of frustration rush through me, distracting me from the ball of nerves that hit, my sentence faded with the smirk on her lips. Damn, she was good at that. She knew how aggravated I got with her being so hard on her sexuality. I shook my head, breathing out coolly as she started to walk forward again. I followed her, ignoring the stares and the distant whispers.

The people here all looked like normal kids. They're eyes looked accusingly at me, but other than that- they were just teenagers like me. Mamrie and her pack... they were a different story. They were in no way human.

From just walking into the doors of the school, I could tell that they already worked their magic. There were the usual curios glances of course, but then there were the scared expressions that made me uncomfortable in my own skin. I know the tattoos were a little intimidating at some point, but it's not like I had naked women inked onto my arms. There were clocks, and a few other symbols, but nothing ominous.

"Uh," Hannah looked my way, biting her lip as she readjusted her pack "I'm just going to stick with you for the morning if that's okay?"

"Uh huh," I played with the bottom of my shirt "defiantly okay Hannah. I am 100% okay with that. If there was a point past okay, I'm there." I let out a sigh "Trust me, super there."

Hannah shook her head with a slight smile as we walked towards our lockers. We had analyzed the schedule I picked up the month earlier past it's point of real meaning- both of us being able to recite the classes. Hannah had neglected to tell me much about the people that actually attended the school- but I was lucky enough to have my first two classes with her. The second half of my day would be challenging. We had different lunch periods, but she agreed to meet me right out by my car at the end of the day.

"Hey, hot stuff" Sawyer jabbed Hannah in the ribs as he fell in line with us, his dimple showing as he nodded my way. "Hannah, I almost didn't notice you."

"Shove it, Sawyer" She grumbled, but kept the smirk on her lips "everyone is noticing Grace though."

"Well you are the talk of the town," he directed his words back to me as Hannah stopped in front of the long row of blue lockers, her hand moving to mine as she slammed her elbow into it, shrugging when it opened almost effortlessly.

"I don't see why." I sighed shoving a few books into the metal locker before Grabbing the supplies for American History and Chemistry, "I'm sure you guys have had new kids before."

"Not murderers." Sawyer kept his back against the lockers beside me, Hannah glanced his way in confusion, my jaw dropping open slightly as he shrugged. "You're not one, are you?"

"No," I said a little too loudly, earning a few odd looks. I flushed, lowering my voice "Why the hell would people think I'm a killer?"

"Because everyone is saying that you are." The dark haired boy lifted an eyebrow "You didn't hear the whispering?"

"No, she didn't." Hannah slammed her locker "This is alpha bitches doing. Just ignore it, Grace."

"Ignore it," I sighed, shaking my head "right. Ignore it. I can do that."

Turns out ignoring it was a lot harder than it was made out to be. I tried to keep my focus on my breathing, tried to keep my fingers from shaking with my voice as each teacher had me stand up an introduce myself.

I almost lost my resolve in my first class while I began to stutter out my name, the word 'killer' being whispered as rumors spread right in front of my eyes. I shook my head clear quickly as my eyes met Hannah's, she was biting down hard on the end of her pencil, a thick glare in her gaze as she looked at everyone in the class. The teacher had no idea what was going on- shrugging it off just like I was told to do.

The rest of my morning classes seemed to crawl by in the same manor. I was growing accustomed to the stares, but the whispers still set chills down my spine.... To me, everyone here was foolish.

As soon as the alpha declared it, it must be true.

So of course a teenage girl with a few tattoos was called a killer.... Back in jersey, you weren't accused until you dawned orange and took a few mug shots. That wouldn't happen here though, I wasn't even sure this place had a jail- especially if said sheriff station closed on weekends at nine.

My thoughts were racing enough during the end of second period to not even bother with eating at lunch. I had somehow sat myself in a corner, leaning heavily against the wall as I leaned back in my seat with a sigh, my breath shaky. I had to keep telling myself to remain calm. That jumping in my truck and peeling out of the parking lot wasn't the answer.

A sharp clatter of a tray made me jump, my hand moving up to my chest as my eyes wondered to Jocelyn looking at her perfectly primed nails as her other hand went up to her own chest in mock surprise. A kid with snowy hair had his tray pushed up to his stomach, the mystery stew dribbling down the front of his shirt and sloshing on his shoes.

I found myself on my feet, already close enough to the trash can to be standing right next to the boy with the thick glasses. He stood in complete fear, not even moving the tray. The stew smelled rancid, but not as rancid as the look on Jocelyn's face.

"Are you okay?" I mumbled to the kid, taking the platter from his hands as he nodded meekly, running his hands across the broth that soaked into his clothes. I set the now empty plate on the table to my side, my glare finding Jocelyn.

"Oh hi, Grace." She smirked "How's your first day going? I heard you've made a killer impression on this town already. You do realize that you're already the main event in this freakshow of a school."

I could feel my fists clench by my sides as the snowy haired boy watched the both of us carefully, not saying a word. I could feel a slight anger boil up inside me. Not because of the little omega standing in front of me- but the fact that her leader broke my little deal already.

"Does that make you the ring leader?" I cocked my eyebrow, earning a thick scowl from her.

"Whatever." She sneered "Same time tomorrow, Ty." She waved her fingers at the boy before clicking off in her heels. We both let out a collective sigh as soon as she was out of earshot. The boy quick to turn to me as I stared at his sopping wet shirt, biting my lip I started to walk towards the bathrooms, knowing he would follow me.

"I've never seen anyone speak to her like that."

"Does she do that every day?" I questioned turning back towards him as I made slight eye contact.

"Not every day. I'm sure she was just feeling extra bitchy today."

I pulled the guys bathroom door open, earning a shocked look from the boy as I rolled my eyes and pulled him in behind me- almost running into another guy who just grimaced as he stepped out.

"What are you doing?"

I ignored his question "People in this town aren't very open minded are they?" I peeled off my button down, following his shocked eyes as I grasped the base of my t-shirt, lifting it over my head. He looked at my bare arms and stomach as I outstretched my palm with the fabric in it towards him.

"Really?" he cocked an eyebrow.

"yeah, it's men's it should fit."

He clenched his jaw, taking the warm shirt as I started to button my own green shirt back up, smoothing my palms down the front of it as he watched in wonder. "You're not normal."

"You smell like chicken broth," I pointed out "no one's perfect."