#i had notifications set up but they turned themself off at some point?

[perotovar]

rebirth — a pride month oneshot

pairing: genderfluid!javi gutierrez/ofc/reader (written in 3rd pov) rating: T word count: 2k content: javi uses hey/they pronouns, coming out, discussions of gender identity, mentions of misgendering and worries about being cast out/attacked for one's identity (doesn't actually happen), reader is only referred to as "she", google translate spanish, spanish pet names (used by both javi and reader), if i missed anything lmk! dividers: by @saradika-graphics beta: @qveerthe0ry and @scenaaario ily both ♥

summary: javi has been wanting to let his partner know something for a long time. in fact, this is something that javi has thought about for their entire life, and they're comfortable enough to finally say it.

a/n: written as a part of @romanarose 's pride event for week 1: coming out! i wanted to try something a little different and i hope you'll give it a try ♥

for any future fics, follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifications ♥

They were both in the living room, the credits for their weekly movie rolling in front of them. Javi had been wanting to tell her this for a while now. If they didn’t get it out now, he was sure he never would.

“I believe I am… trans,” Javi said into the quiet room, gaze fixed to the floor.

She blinked, shifting her attention from Instagram and letting his admission settle over her. Javi curled in on himself, still unable to meet her gaze. She locked her phone and set it down on the coffee table, giving Javi her complete attention.

“Oh?” She asked quietly.

Javi closed his eyes briefly and nodded, hands balled into fists against his knees. “Y-yes, I,” he gulped. “Um. I feel… Inside. I feel it inside.”

She had no personal experience in any of this before, but Javi was coming to her in confidence. Javi trusted her with this side of… them? Him? Her? She really wasn’t sure which applied to Javi at this point.

She nodded, considering. “H-have you, um,” she gulped. “What brought you to that… conclusion? I’m sorry, osito, I’m… I’m new to,” she gestured vaguely, but stopped in case that came off as dismissive. “I’m not sure what I should say.”

Javi finally turned to her, huffing out a laugh and wiping his eyes. They grabbed their love’s hand and held it gently in their own.

“I am sorry,” he said softly. “I just sort of… sprung this on you, but. It has been on my mind a lot lately.”

She nodded, urging Javi to continue.

“I did not have the language that is available now, as I was growing up. I’m not sure if I’m… I do not believe I am a woman, but,” Javi paused, looking down at their clasped hands.. She squeezed their hand reassuringly, and Javi squeezed back. “Masculinity is… fragile.”

She snorted at that, making Javi laugh a little as well.

“Well, it is, but you know what I’m saying,” Javi giggled. 

“I do.”

“I have always felt disconnected with masculinity. There were so many things men were supposed to do, to be,” Javi sighed. “I never felt like I– Like I was one of those people.”

“Should I–” she started, but fell quiet. “Sorry, I don’t want to interrupt you, osito,” she said softly, rubbing her thumb across his cheek. Javi leaned into the touch, and gave a small shake of his head.

“Por favor, pregunta.”

“How should… Is there a name more fitting for you now? Or new… pronouns?”

Javi bit their lip, thinking about it. “I like my name,” they said easily. “And… I think I like ‘they’?” Javi shrugged. “It is still new for me as well.”

She giggled softly and leaned closer to press her forehead to theirs “That’s okay. We can… We’re in this together, mi osito.”

Javi’s cheeks flushed. They nodded, steeling themself for their next announcement. “I, um. I was wondering if you could… help me?”

She leaned back to look at him, eyes questioning. “Of course, amor. Whatever you need.”

“Um, I purchased some… clothes and makeup and I was wondering if you could help me put some outfits together?” He rushed out shyly.

She beamed, excited at the idea of helping her love explore something they’d always wanted to.

“It’s just–” Javi gulped. “You always look so put together and pretty and–” “Javi,” she chuckled, taking his face in both hands. “I’d love to help you.”

The smile on Javi’s face could rival the sun.

Javi Gutierrez, he/they, discovered the word “genderfluid” a few months later. He liked that word, but it made everything all the more real. He knew that things were changing, but his mind was filled with brand new anxieties. He worried about being disrespected in meetings with studio executives, being misgendered, blacklisted, or even worse, a target.

For now, at least, he kept his identity private. Only his love, and immediate team were aware. To others, Javi was just a little adventurous when it came to fashion.

Ever since coming out to their partner, they’d gotten really good at applying their own eyeliner and lipstick, always a pretty neutral color that complimented his skin tone beautifully. Having lived in Mallorca most of his life, his wardrobe was already full of color, and he never shied away from the more “feminine” colors. Who knew wearing a pink suit would cause such a stir?

Some days they felt more masculine, and other days he felt more feminine. When they felt somewhere in the middle, they got to play around with some androgyny. The freedom to just… be was such a weight lifted off his shoulders. There were no restrictions to what they could do anymore. No pressures to act or look or be a certain way.

Javi was just… Javi.

And right now, Javi was nervous, but excited. 

“Mi amor, look! What do you think? Do you think it is too much for the luncheon?” Javi asked brightly, twirling a little in their shared closet.

She gave him a once over and felt her heart flutter at just how happy Javi looked. She’d always had her suspicions about Javi, especially the longer they’d been together. Javi always carried themself a little… differently than most men. She understood now that it was because Javi wasn’t like most men. Or even a man at all. Well, not really, anyway.

“I love the color... but it may be a little too short,” Javi pouted, nervously tugging at the hem of the skirt.

“Oh, it’s perfect, mi osito,” she grinned, stepping closer to them. “However,” she started, biting her lip as she gave him another look. Javi’s eyes widened and their cheeks flushed. “I think you should wear your knee high socks with it. Balance it out a little.”

“Are you sure?” Javi blinked owlishly. They looked into the full length mirror turning first to the left, then right, assessing the outfit. He had chosen a matching set in a soft lavender, the delicate shade perfect against his golden skin. The tennis skirt made his ass look fantastic, and the polo shirt hugged his biceps perfectly, showing off his broad shoulders. The strip of skin that peeked out between the two pieces was an added bonus. “I haven’t worn anything this… obvious to this sort of meeting before.”

“What do you want to do, honey? I think you’ll look beautiful whatever you decide to wear,” she smiled, coming up behind them to wrap her arms around their waist. She kissed their shoulder comfortingly, nuzzling into the soft fabric.

Javi bit his lip as he turned in the mirror again. “I love the skirt. I love how it feels, but… Perhaps it is too casual? No quiero ser poco profesional.”

She hummed in understanding. “Maybe the earrings? The new ones,” she offered instead.

The tiny silver hoops with small crystals in the colors of the genderfluid flag were more delicate than Javi usually wore. The gender euphoria he would feel during the luncheon far outweighed the subtlety of the jewelry.

“Good idea,” Javi smiled, turning in her arms to cup her face and kiss her tenderly. She hummed happily into it, keeping her hands on their hips. As he pulled away, Javi’s eyes softened at her blissful expression. “I am not sure what I did to deserve you, but… I’m not complaining,” he chuckled softly.

Her heart thudded in her chest. She felt the exact same way. It would take a little time for her to get used to all the complexities and nuances of Javi’s gender, but she was willing to put in the work. She loved him, loved them for exactly the person Javi was.

“Perhaps I should not question it too much, hm?” Javi winked, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Probably for the best,” she winked back. “Now, go get dressed so I can take you out later, ok?”

Javi smiled brightly and nodded, parting from her to get changed.

“I am nervous, mi amor,” Javi whispered, clutching her hand tightly in his own. 

“You’ll be just fine. And you’ve got me here with you,” she grinned, and gave him a light peck on the cheek. “Don’t want to mess up your makeup,” she said, rubbing an invisible smudge off his highlighted cheekbone and winking.

Javi exhaled a heavy breath, eyes fluttering shut as he centered himself. “Alright. Press record, por favor.”

“Hola mis amigos,” they said shakily. "I have… I have something I’ve been meaning to share with all of you.” As nervous as Javi was, there was an undeniable determination in their eyes.

To say Javi’s coming out video went viral would be an understatement. Javi Gutierrez, screenplay writer and part-time producer, famed for working with the likes of Nicolas Cage, was coming out as genderfluid. It was on every news article and Twitter account for weeks.

Javi expected there to be mixed reactions, but the only opinions that they really cared about were from the people they’d be working with directly. His team had known for a long time, and they’d been out to themself for two years. They were sufficiently comfortable in this identity, and if he lost out on certain jobs, they weren’t worth having in the first place.

He did a few interviews after his initial coming out video, but made it clear that they didn’t want this to be something he had to talk about in every interview going forward. Yes, he was genderfluid, but it wasn’t the only thing.

Thankfully, lots of Javi’s celebrity friends were on his side. Every new set he worked on, he heard encouraging words from the cast and crew. A co-star who’s brand hinged on being very feminine, said Javi’s video unlocked a lot of feelings they had been trying to repress. One of the lighting guys, a man who could have passed for a member of the Hell’s Angels, quietly asked him for makeup recommendations while blocking a close-up shot. He worried about the people who wouldn’t be supportive, until he realized he had so many people in his corner that the bigots didn’t matter. 

And above all else, he had her. She accepted them for who they were and even if she had questions or didn’t understand something, she made it a point to ask or do her own research. 

Javi had never felt so seen. So respected.

And here, laying in her arms, head resting on her chest, they felt protected and loved.

“Your hair is getting long, mi osito,” she hummed quietly, twirling an errant curl around her finger.

“Sí, quería ver cómo quedaría,” Javi muttered, lifting their head and resting their chin on her stomach. He made eye contact with her, getting lost in the color of her eyes. “I have always wanted to know how I looked with long hair.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be gorgeous, mi amor. These curls of yours,” she sighed wistfully. 

Javi swayed their head from side to side, those curls bouncing and dancing along the tops of his shoulders. “You have said how much you love them,” Javi giggled.

“Well, it’s the truth. Maybe we can get some things to put in it once it’s even longer,” she offered, smiling softly.

Javi’s eyes grew wide and he sat up, on the bed, legs tucked under his backside. They were wearing a pale blue silk nightie that hugged their thighs and accentuated their shoulders beautifully. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“I would love that!” Javi exclaimed excitedly.

“Then it shall be so,” she grinned, playing with the bottom hem of the nightie they were wearing. She gazed up at him through her lashes, taking in the sharp angle of his cupid’s bow and full bottom lip. “When do you need to wake up, mi amor?”

Javi’s breath hitched as her fingers crept underneath the silk and across his thighs, and his gaze dropped to the smooth column of her neck. Their eyes met as he crawled over her to straddle her lap. 

“Not early,” he hummed, “Did you have plans for this evening?” They asked mischievously, leaning in to tease open mouthed kisses across her collarbone.

“Maybe,” she sighed, reaching around to squeeze his ass, bare under the nightie.

“Good,” Javi smiled, leaning down to kiss her deeply, hungrily. She moaned into their mouth, relaxing as they found a comfortable rhythm.

And that’s just how it was for them. They were in sync. Javi had a feeling they always would be.

a/n: if you're curious to know what sort of nightie javi is wearing, this is what i was picturing ♥

[owljolson-archive]

welp, this account got hacked, sorry about that y’all, i’ve hopefully fixed things

[peachiswritingg]

You’ve Got Mail

Summary: Reid is not tech savvy but his partner is - well, knows at least the basics. Reader helps him out after seeing that his emails that is currently 500+. Garcia helps out too cause she and reader know that he only takes note of any notifs on his phone if its relevant to his work or not.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Tags: Pure domestic fluff. 

Warnings: Implied Age Gap and seggsy times. Abit of kissing sprinkled. Nothing too spicy though. Just short and sweet.

Author’s Note: finally made a proper oneshot yall. as promised, here is the other spence fic! this was inspired by reid’s brand of not liking technology, the clip of noel miller spotting cody having multiple unread emails and me suddenly feeling touch starvede this week, Also, Y/L/N stands for your last name. HAPPY READING!

Word Count: 954

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Y/N continued to read the novel in their hand despite the buzzing of the phone on the coffee table opposite to them. 

Buzz.

Y/N sighed frustrated and put their book down, “Spence, darling, your phone keeps buzzing!”

“Just ignore it. I don’t know how to turn that buzzing thing off. It has become second nature at this point. It’s fine Y/N.” Spencer’s voice echoed from the shower. He just got back from work and quickly took off to the bathroom while tossing his things on the coffee table.

“Okay...” 

Y/N curiously peeked at Reid’s phone. It’s been bothering them since they first got together romantically and they have been always offering to help fix his phone. However, Spencer is too stubborn to change it and doesn’t see the benefit of the phone besides important messages from work or Y/N. 

“500 plus emails?! How do you even get to that number?” Y/N muttered to themself in shock.

“Hey… Stop snooping!” Spencer steps out of the shower in time to spot Y/N’s stunned face.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. I don’t always use that at work and my team understands that. At the end of the day, I still do my job well.” He said shrugging as he dries his hair with a towel.

“Has Penelope helped you with this? Cause if you haven’t done anything about this, I will teach you how to use your phone whether you like it or not.” Y/N retorted. They continued looking through his phone.

“Fine! Let me put on some clothes first” 

“No thanks. You look fine in that.” Y/N flirted.

“That’s not ethical, dear teacher.” 

“Quickly change. I have been waiting for too long for you to utilise your phone properly Reid.”

“Okay, Y/L/N,” Spencer playfully mocks.

...

“It’s pretty straightforward since most things online follow the same format. You can edit anything about your account on your settings. It’s right there look.” Y/N started explaining.

“This is like explaining the  internet to my grandparents.” Y/N joked.

“Just because I am much older than you doesn’t mean you get to do old jokes.” Reid quipped back while squinting at the small screen on the palm of his hand.

“Whatever grandpa. Here use your glasses, please.” They placed a peck on his scrunched up nose.

“Thank you, dear. Stop calling me grandpa or I will leave your class.” Spencer replied as he put on his glasses.

“Alright. I’m sorry, artefact” Y/N grinned as she leans in for a kiss on his cheek to taunt him even more.

“Y/N! Fine, no more kisses.”

“Spence…” Y/N mopes.

“Just continue your lecturing cause I will actually listen.”

Y/N frowned and Spencer caved in. He gave them a peck on their cheek and they then had a pleased look on their face. The two continued to lay side by side on the bed they share as Y/N continued to teach Reid how to use his phone until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

...

A week later passes by and Y/N comes by the BAU to have lunch with Reid. It was their weekly ritual every Tuesday if he doesn’t so happen to fly out for a case. Y/N walks into the office with unusually fewer people since it’s the lunch break. Since they couldn’t find Spencer, they walked to the part of the BAU they can always rely on - Penelope’s office.

“Hey cutie, can I come in?” Y/N said as they knocked on the ajar office door. 

“Yeah sure.” Both Reid and Garcia replied. Spencer had his eyebrows furrow in concentration while he was towering over Penelope as he asked for information on a case.

“Reid they are clearly referring to me” Penelope teased as she typed away on her keyboard causing Spencer to scoff in response.

“Luckily for both of you, I was looking for you two.”  Y/N was beaming as she found her two favourite people in one room.

Spencer glanced and smiled fondly towards his partner. The presence of his partner comforted him after a heavy case. He couldn’t wait for a break even if it was only an hour or two. He just wants to be in their partner’s calming presence.

“Alright just send me the data to my email and I’ll get back to you after lunch” Spencer mentioned.

“Already done it. Go have your lunch with Y/N and shower them with love cause you finally have figured out how to use your phone. It is such a pain to look around in your emails”

“You already helped with them, Garcia.” 

“Then now I have to treat you for lunch next time then Pen. I had to explain it until we both passed out on our bed.” Y/N added so the two would stop bickering. 

“We were both tired from work and it was late” Spencer tried to hide his stubborn personality. 

“Yeah totally from work lovebirds” Penelope quipped.

“Goodbye Garcia!” Reid whined as he pulls Y/N out of the office.

“Help him delete his weird fan emails, Y/N!” Penelope shouted from her office as the couple walks away.

“Well, you do have weird fans from what I have heard.” Y/N chuckled.

“Yeah... I do.” Reid held a bittersweet smile while subconciously tightening his hand which is holding Y/N’s.

“Don’t worry darling. We will go through them together.” Y/N offered am affectionate smile. They lifted up the hand that held his and gave it a reassuring kiss. 

Spencer blushes and and his face slowly lit up as they shared a heartfelt look to each other.

Clickable Links for More Information

➤ About My Blog ➤ Masterlist ➤ Rules on Requests ➤ Ask Box for Requests

[ I would appreciate it if you left feedback in the comments or my ask box!

Thank you for reading <33 ]

[fates-theysband]

let stars shine until the breaking day

this fucking fic is going to ruin my sleep schedule. i could post this on ao3 or something at this point but i'm super not baring my soul to the merciless court of a general fandom's public opinion, even one this small.

standard language warning, alcohol implied but not actually directly mentioned.

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 (<- you are here)

--

The rest of the day, focusing on anything was close to fucking impossible. Literally the only thing on Charlie’s mind was This cannot be real. There’s no fucking way he was actually interested enough in me to come back to leave his number. They caught themself picking apart the message from him, trying to find some evidence of a catfish or a prank. Had someone else been in the shop without their knowledge, overheard, and gotten some kind of fucked up idea? No, not likely. The bells were too loud for anyone to pass unnoticed. They ran over in their head the list of everyone who could possibly know enough about the situation to try and pull something like this and came up with nothing–the extent of it had been the conversation with Mortimer and an offhanded mention to their roommate that there had been a cute customer at work.

The only explanation that made sense was the obvious one. But that one was too good to be true.

At closing time, they jumped at the chance to haul the empty boxes out to the dumpster. The walk back would probably be enough time to send another message, assuming the one they’d been drafting in their head for the past few hours didn’t immediately require a full edit and rewrite phase once they typed it in. Mortimer responded to Charlie’s rather enthused volunteering with a quirked brow and a knowing smile, but did not comment further. 

They weren’t even halfway back across the strip mall parking lot before they’d sent the message.

That’s great!! Sorry for the late reply btw I kinda had to sneak in that message while I was working lol. How was your day?

No immediate read receipt like last time. They kept peeking the rest of the way back, though, hoping and fearing all at once that he’d get back to them that fast again. It wasn’t to be, unfortunately; they reached the back door of the Emporium and still no response. No read receipt either, though; maybe he just wasn’t near his phone. At least, they hoped that was the reason.

Still no response by the time they’d finished up their closing tasks, clocked out, and boarded the bus home. They spent most of the bus ride back to their apartment complex staring at the messaging app–he still hadn’t even read it yet. Or did he turn off read receipts so they couldn’t tell if he’d read it because he didn’t want to make it obvious that he was ghosting them because they’d weirded him out?

Wait, shit, was a “how was your day” text too forward for someone you just met two days ago? That didn’t seem right, but social interaction, especially stuff like flirting, had so many unspoken rules that you were supposed to just intuit. Maybe that was like, Level 2 talking stage or something.

They shook their head. Honestly, were they going to catastrophize over every little thing? They didn’t actually know this guy. He could be a huge asshole past the first impression and if he ghosted them it’d be no great loss.

They almost jumped out of their skin at the slight buzz in their palm. A text message. Not from Mr. Feight like they were hoping–there still wasn’t even a read receipt–but they’d missed the notification showing who it was from. Reluctantly, they paused their vigil on that particular message log and swiped back to their full text history to see a new message from one Rico Chatte.

Hey are you off work yet?

They shot back a quick Yeah.

Immediate response. Wanna go hit up the Den tonight?

Ugh. Between the anxiety and the whole thing with being glued to their phone waiting for a message that may never come, Charlie would not be any fun in a bar setting right now. On a Friday night? Idk if we’d even be able to get in.

Brief pause. Read receipt. Dots. Touche. Wanna go halvsies on a pizza and rent a weird movie on PPV then? I’m in a celebratory mood.

Okay. Interesting new wrinkle in this whole day. What’s the occasion?

I’ll tell you when you get home.

Which they did, a few stops later. In the meantime, they noticed that Douglas had read their message, and they’d even seen the typing indicator come up a few times. But it always disappeared after a few seconds, with no message to follow. Then it would reappear a minute or two later, and the cycle would repeat. Now they were more intrigued than anything. Sure, he could just be trying to think of the politest way to say he wasn’t interested and they misinterpreted his reasoning, but he seemed like an eloquent enough guy and (they hoped) the few words they’d exchanged had been free enough of expectations that letting them down easy shouldn’t be that difficult.

It was something, they decided as they stepped off the bus and headed up the stairs to their apartment, they’d have to discuss with someone who was better versed in this stuff.

They unlocked the apartment door and headed inside, announcing “Honey, I’m home!” in a half-hearted singsong to the slight figure lying sprawled across the couch, watching what sounded like vocoded meme videos on their phone.

The sound of an electronically enhanced voice reading out hilarious misspellings of the words “Ouija board” ceased abruptly as Rico locked their phone, tossed it aside, and scrambled to their feet. “Charlie,” they said to their roommate in a mock-dramatic voice, “it is with nothing but joy in my heart that I bring you this news.”

Charlie grinned. “You’re gonna stop taking the last bagel when you leave for interviews?”

Rico gasped in joking offense, then continued. “While I don’t appreciate your attacks on my character, I will forgive them because I can do you one better. Charlie Voss, I hereby relieve you of your duties as sole breadwinner of this household. Which, I mean, my savings were covering my share of the rent and all but now we won’t be stretched quite as thin.”

Charlie’s grin widened into a genuine smile. “You got hired? That’s awesome! What’s the job?”

“You know that admin assistant gig I went for a week ago?” Rico answered, moving past Charlie and opening the fridge.. “Turns out that guy actually did think a degree and three years experience was sufficient for filing papers and taking phone calls. Or at least that everyone else’s qualifications were worse.”

“Hey, doesn’t matter what’s going on in his head, as long as you end up getting paid,” Charlie replied. “When do you start?”

“Monday. You want anything while I’m in here?”

“Yeah, can you grab me a water?” They paused for a moment. “Did you ever tell me the name of that place?”

Rico rose back to their full height and handed Charlie a bottle of water. “I don’t think I did. I think it was called Feight Tax Services or something like that.”

Charlie, who had just taken a swig from the bottle immediately before they heard that, inhaled some of the water in such a way that they were pretty sure they could go on TV and call the resulting coughing fit a near-death experience. When they were finally able to stop coughing long enough to breathe, they wheezed out, “That’s. Uh. Familiar.”

“Holy shit, are you okay!?” Rico asked, whirling around from where they were walking back to the couch.

“Yeah, I just. Wasn’t expecting you to say that. I’ll explain later. Let’s, uh, let’s get that pizza order in before it gets too late.”

Rico stared at them with a raised eyebrow for what had to be a solid thirty seconds, then turned around and walked back to the couch. Charlie followed, relieved to have something to take their mind off this brand new sub-dilemma that had abruptly branched off of their main dilemma. 

That hope for a distraction lasted about as long as the walk from the door to the living room couch. The moment Charlie sat down, their phone buzzed in their pocket. They pulled it out just enough to peek at the name on the notification.

The name read “Douglas Feight”.

Charlie stood back up, quicker than they intended. “Whoa, holy shit,” they told Rico in a tone they hoped was convincing. “My phone’s super low right now. I’m gonna go run to my room and grab my charger so it doesn’t die on me.”

Rico returned to the same raised-eyebrow stare they’d had a few moments ago. “Oooookay. Uh, I’ll get my half of the pizza built while you do that, I guess.”

“Great. Awesome. I’ll be back.” They hurried into the hallway leading to their bedroom. Now definitely did NOT feel like the time to reveal to their best friend, “Hey, you know that guy I told you about the other day? Yeah, the one I said was cute? Turns out that guy is YOUR FUCKING BOSS.”

But, all the same, they were not going to let this message wait. Not after how long they’d agonized over what it might say. They headed into their room, sat on their bed, and opened the text.

It read, No need to apologize, I understand. I wasn’t able to find the time to send you this until now, after all. I had a lovely day today, thank you for asking. How was yours?

Maybe that was why he seemed to have been typing and erasing his response repeatedly earlier–he’d just kept getting interrupted at work or something before he could finish it. That thought was…honestly kind of cute, that he’d been so doggedly trying to ask them about their day despite all the interruptions. They set the phone on their bed and reached down to grab the charger cord plugged into the wall by their bed, when they heard it buzz again. They sat back up so fast they whacked their head against the nightstand, but they were so laser focused they barely felt it.

Another message. Actually, if it isn’t too forward of me to ask, are you busy tonight? I’d like the chance to meet with you, perhaps make proper introductions in person.

They hesitated briefly, glancing in the direction of the living room despite the fact that the only thing actually visible in that direction from their current vantage point was a solid wall. This was going to be hard to explain. But on the other hand, Rico had initially wanted to go out tonight. Maybe they’d be so happy that Charlie changed their mind that they wouldn’t question it.

They sent back, I’m free. You have a place in mind?

Another immediate response. I’m not very familiar with the nightlife in Cosmopolis, I’m afraid. Where do you recommend?

Charlie refrained from telling him that he was probably about as familiar with the local nightlife as they were, it being that they only went to one bar with any degree of regularity and even then it was just as a tag-along to someone who was much more outgoing, and responded, Ever heard of this place called Cerberus’s Den?

A slightly longer pause before the response. I’ve heard the name, but I haven’t been there, no.

It looks like a dive on the outside but I promise it’s great. And also it would be crowded enough on a Friday night that they could probably sneak away from Rico without arousing too much suspicion.

I trust your judgment. How does 8:00 sound?

They glanced at the clock on their phone. It was 6:30 now, and their apartment was close enough to the Den that it was only a ten-minute walk to get there…hour and twenty minutes should be enough to get ready. They hoped. 8 sounds great. They paused, realized what they did, and sent another message. Haha, I’m a poet.

Indeed you are. I’ll see you there. :) 

Charlie’s face felt like it was on fire. It wasn’t fair that someone could be so handsome and so adorable at the same time. They shot back, See you there! and then went to stand up, before a knock on the door gave them their second near-death experience in the past half hour.

“Are you dead in there or something? How long does it take to find a phone charger?” Rico called from the other side of the door. “Hurry up, at this rate the place is gonna close.”

“Sorry,” Charlie called back. “I, uh, got a call and I had to take it.” They rose to their feet and opened the door. “By the way, change of plans. I was in a weird mood earlier but I think I’m okay to go out now. You still down to hit the Den?”

Rico quirked a brow but appeared to shrug off the sudden change in demeanor. “Of course, there wasn’t anything that sounded decent on pay-per-view anyway. Are you okay though? You look like you pressed your entire face against a running toaster oven.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Charlie replied, leaning against the doorframe in a desperate attempt to look casual. “You wanna invite anyone else out with us?”

“It’s Friday night, anyone who I’d want to invite out is probably already there. Now let’s quit bullshitting and get ready. I’d hate for the crowd to get any worse.”

“You got it,” Charlie replied, closing the door to their room again as Rico turned and headed down the hall. Once it was fully closed, they slumped back against it and took a deep breath to process everything. This was really happening, they really did just have the most wildly attractive (and as it turns out, sweet and endearingly awkward as well) person they’d ever met ask to meet up, and they really did accept. With a level of mild deception that hopefully their best friend would forgive, but still.

They stood up fully again. Everything was in place, now all they had to do was not royally screw everything up. Not much to ask. Hopefully.

[panicartist]

Stein at the movies Pt. 1 “Getting dolled up” (drawfee character fan fiction)

A brief and whimsical fanfic in 4 parts about Jacob’s character Stein from this drawfee video When you are a reanimated corpse, cold weather doesn't bother you like it does the living. Even more so if you are a collection of smaller pieces of several corpses, lovingly sewn together by a mad scientist (aka yourself). The icy chill preserves your fleshy bits so that they don't need replacing nearly as often - though you have to be careful not to stay still for too long, or you may find yourself frozen in place... These are the sorts of thoughts that Stein wrote in their journal - a key component of any rigorous scientific experiment - especially when the experiment was the entire rest of their life. Today was not just any boring old winter's day though. It was December 21st - the winter solstice. Have you heard of the phrase “they only come out at night?” Well, on the longest night of the year, they come out in droves. On this particular winter solstice, long after the setting of the sun, Stein was looking forward to a date that very evening. It was a movie date with a vampire they had met on Growlr (a dating app for spooks and ghouls and various other ghastly fools). The vampire's name was Leigh, a 25 year old who had only been turned that Fall. So she's new to this whole monster gig, a bit like me, Stein thought to themself. They flicked through the photos of their date on the app, thinking about what they were going to wear that evening. Well, of course they were going to wear their usual get up - jet black short shorts and a skin-tight black tube top to match. The real question was which parts to wear underneath. They fingered through Leigh's profile, trying to guess whether she preferred her dates to be more masc or more femme. In the end, Stein went on the more masc side, accentuating the look with some particularly sturdy biceps, in case the movie was frightening and Leigh needed something to hold on to. Then again, what did a vampire have to be afraid of? They were starting to second guess themself already. Shaking off the nerves, they sauntered over to the measuring stick. 5'11" - nearly off the scale. Those leg extensions were doing wonders. On their desk, their phone lit up with a message notification: "Just leaving. Excited to meet you!" -Leigh Stein shot back a quick message "Same! To both! See you soon!" -Stein That's way too many exclamation points in one text, Stein thought to themself. I'm such a dork. Then, just as they were about to gracefully slip their phone into a pocket (a flesh pocket of course - there was no room for pockets in those short shorts), it buzzed again and lit up, this time with a message from Stein's research assistant, Fritz. "What's this I'm seeing about a date?" -Fritz "Excuse you. I thought I told you to stop checking my calendar! You're my research assistant, not my secretary..." -Stein "I just happened to spy the notification on your tablet. It isn't my fault if you leave these things out in the open and I happen to see them." -Fritz "Yes, well it happens all too often." -Stein "Anyway about this date - I was thinking perhaps I should follow on and make some notes and observations. For our research, of course." -Fritz "You will do no such thing." - Stein "Don't worry, I'll stay out of sight." -Fritz Fritz was a good research assistant. In fact, in terms of age he was Stein's senior by nearly a whole decade. In terms of maturity... not so much. And in terms of research acumen it wasn't as if Stein had more expertise in the subject, except on account of being the subject. Stein's youngest-ever-professorship at the University had been hard won and hard fought. It was the result of perseverance, self confidence, and a 'can do' attitude. A lack of these qualities, and motivation in general, was the only thing holding Fritz back. He was a good research assistant, but he could kiss his funding goodbye if he was going to impose on Stein's social life as well. They felt their heart begin to convulse from the anxiety of being observed and catalogued on their first date as a ‘monster,’ and applied a couple of brief electric shocks to restart it so that it settled back into a regular rhythm. Just the thought of turning up at the theatre and seeing Fritz there instead of Leigh was enough to send a shiver down their spine... It won't come to that. Stein told themself. It was just Fritz' sense of humour... Right? To be continued... Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[adrianasunderworld]

Something in your Aura

Raihans female!reader

Tired. He was so very tired. Raihan had a packed schedule most of the day. From a photoshoot in the early morning, a training session with his gyms trainers, and then overlooking some documents in the archives. By the time he left the vault, the sun was starting to set. He was ready to sleep, eat, and shower, not necessarily in that order.

    But it seemed the day was not over yet. As he walked down the street, Raihan heard what sounded like a pokemon cry. It was small yelping noise that gradually got closer and closer to him. Looking behind him, Raihan was greeted with the sight of the tiniest Rioulu he had ever seen come bounding up to him. The little one stopped in front of him, tilting its head up and staring curiously.

    Raihan knelt down at the little pokemons level and held out a hand for them to sniff. "Where did you come from?" 

   "Riii" it replied, putting its little black paws on his hand. "Rii rio!" Whatever the little one wanted, it seemed happy.

   While it was content, Raihan looked over the young pokemon. The Riolu looked clean and well fed. It had a little red ribbon tied around its neck like a scarf. At the end it had a name embroidered on the end in gold thread. Gently taking hold of the end of the ribbon, it said Aaron. 

    "Aaron? Is that your name?" Raihan asked the Riolu.

    "Ri!" Aaron nodded.

    "Where's your trainer then?" It was obvious the little pokemon wasn't one of the wild strays that wandered the streets. They clearly had a trainer that took care of them, and were probably very worried. Raihan picked up the small pokemon and stood. "How about we go find them?"

    "Riolu." Aaron nodded and happily perched himself on Raihans shoulder. It seemed the best idea was to go in the direction Aaron had come from. But as they wandered down the street, Raihan didn't see anyone who looked worried or was searching for something, and Aaron did not seem to respond to any of the people passing. He had stopped a couple of people to ask them, but all shook their heads and did not recognize the baby pokemon. 

     It was starting to get late, and at this point Raihan was starving. Aaron began to yawn from his seat on his shoulder. It did not look like they were going to find Aarons trainer tonight. So, without many options, Raihan bought himself some dinner and took his new friend home. 

     "Hey Rotom," he said, and his phone came flying out, the pokemon ready to snap pictures. "Lets get word to out about our little friend here." Rotom pointed the camera at him and started to record. "Hey everyone, listen, if anyone is in Hammerlocke and missing a Rioulu,  I've found him. He's safe. Say hi Aaron."

   "Ri!" He waved to the camera, Rotom being certain to get a good shot of him.

   "Please, if you are his trainer,or know his trainer. Message me and I will get back  to you as soon as possible. Good night." After posting the video and a clear picture of Aaron for good measure, Raihan settled down for the night as he waited for any responses. Meanwhile, the young Riolu seemed to finally grasp that it was no longer home. The cheerful little guy had curled up quietly in Raihans lap, looking a little sad. 

   Raihan scratched him behind the ear. "Miss your trainer?" 

   "Riii…." the baby pokemon nodded sadly. 

   "Don't worry, we'll find them." Raihan assured and let Aaron curl up on his chest that night to sleep.

    The next day, Raihans phone had blown up with notifications. Most of them were comments about how cute Aaron was and well wishes in finding his trainer. most of the private messages that had been sent were of people claiming to be his trainer, but most came off as shady at best. Raihan contemplated going down to the Pokemon center to see if anyone had reported Aaron missing, when he got another message. This one was from a girl, it said her name was __.

   Raihan opened the message and read it.

    Hi, my friend showed me your post about the Riolu you found last night. I'm his trainer, he ran off last night and was no where to be found. I've been worried sick. Please let me know when I can come get him.

    Out of curiosity, Raihan looked at her profile. It didn't take long at all to see a picture of Aaron, ribbon and all, curled up with a Lucario. Then another picture of him being held by the girl, both looking very happy. Raihan showed Aaron the picture and the little one pawed at the screen, crying out for her as if he could reach through the screen to get to her. That seemed to settle it.

     Raihan took one more look at the photo. "Why didn't you tell me your trainer was cute?" 

     "Ri?"

     He chuckled to himself as he messaged the girl back. Noon in Hammerlockes gym lobby sound good?

It only took a minute for her response. 

See you there.

    Sitting in the lobby, Raihan watched as Aaron played on the floor, Flygon had taken it upon themself to entertain the young one by letting him tackle their tail. Just as it was about to be noon, Raihan heard a girls voice from the entrance.

    "Aaron? Aaron!" 

    The Rioulu sprang up and happily ran towards his trainer. She scooped him and hugged him, Raihan could see her relax by the moment. Any worry immediately melting away from her face. 

   "Riri!" Aaron cried out and pointed his paw towards Raihan. 

    The girl looked over and walked towards him. She smiled. "I cant thank you enough for finding him."

    Raihan waved it off. "Dont worry about it, I'm just glad the little guy is back where he belongs." 

     She sighed in relief. "You don't know the panic attack I went through last night." 

    "I can imagine," he said. "What happened anyway? How did you two get separated?"

    "We were walking home after training in the wild area, when he just ran off." She said. "My Lucario did his best to track him down, but he got lost so fast we couldn't find him. I searched everywhere but no luck. Then my friend sent me that post you made and I messaged you as soon as possible." Then she paused. "How did you find him anyway?"

     "He just ran up to me." Raihan said, unsure of how to explain. "I don't know.He seemed so happy, like he was looking for me or something. "

      ___ nodded thoughtfully. "Hhmm…"

      "What do you mean hhmm?"

      "Well…" she paused as if collecting her thoughts before continuing. "I think… maybe it's something about your aura."

     "My aura?"

      ___ nodded. "Yeah… I mean. How familiar are you with the Lucario line?"

     Raihan shrugged. He didn't get to fight many Lucario. Though he was vaguely aware of their unique abilities. "I know they're the aura pokemon. I've read a bit about that stuff, but I can't say I know much."

    She nodded. "Okay, well, to make a long story short, aura is this energy that all living things have. And the Lucario line are unique in that that they are able to sense and use auras energy. I think maybe Aaron sensed your aura and went looking for you."

    Raihan couldn't help but chuckle at the idea. It was certainly an interesting theory. "What could possibly be so attractive about my aura that he would come running?"

     ___ looked him at and down, a coy grin in her face. "It doesn't seem that far fetched. You have a very good aura."

    "You say it as if you can see it."

     Her face went red and she looked away in embarrassment."....I-I can…"

     "Oh," Raihan didn't mean to make her feel embarrassed. Though now he was genuinely curious. "That's pretty damn cool."

      She turned back to him, Aaron seemed to sense whatever it was she was feeling and looked at her curiously. "Thanks, um...but yeah. I guess he could just sense you were a good person and wanted to meet you." she smiled awkwardly.

    Raihan grinned back and reached out to scratch Aaron behind the ear. "Well I was glad to meet him."

      Aaron seemed very happy about it too. But his mood quickly changed when ___ said, "Thanks again for finding him. Come on, Aaron, let's go home." The Riolu started to squirm and cry out. He kept reaching out to Raihan like he didn't want to leave. __ seemed equally distressed. "Aaron, what's wrong? What's gotten into you? Dont you want to see Riley?"

     Aaron only kept pointing at Raihan and looked as if he was begging not to leave. Until eventually, he jumped out of her arms and ran to Raihan wrapping his little arms around his leg and nuzzling him.

     "Oh no." He and ___ said in unison.

     Raihan treated them to ice cream and they sat on a bench, unsure of what to do. Aaron sat between them, swinging his little legs as he munched on his snack. Not caring about the trouble he had caused. Her Lucario, Riley, sat on the ground, arms crossed. Looking at Aaron as the disapproving parent he was. 

     She still seemed so quiet and embarrassed about this whole ordeal. So Raihan did his best to break the ice in an attempt to make her more comfortable. "Riley and Aaron are certainly interesting names for pokemon."

     __ looked at him shyly and grinned a little while her Lucario turned its gaze to him. "I guess so. But in my defense, Riley is named after an old friend. The one who gave me his egg in the first place." 

     "I take it that Riley taught you about Auras?" She nodded. "And what about this one?" He pointed at Aaron.

     "This one is named after Sir Aaron. Another Aura user. One of the few recorded ones in history. Definitely the most famous by far."

     Something about that name struck a cord with him. "I've heard of that guy. Stopped a war and saved the tree of beginning, that Sir Aaron?"

     ___ nodded. "The one and only. So you do know a bit about Auras." She said teasingly.

     Raihan shrugged. "We have a few documents on aura users in the vault. Some of them mentioned the guy. But that's the extent of my knowledge." He paused for a moment before adding. "You seem to know a lot though."

     "A fair amount." She replied, taking another lick from the cone in her hand before it started dripping. "Why, is there something you want to know?"

    "I'm a historian by nature, I always want to know." He then winked before adding, "especially when the source is so cute."

     __ blushed before snorting and rolling her eyes. "That has to be the lamest line I've ever heard."

    Raihan laughed. "Can't blame a guy for trying. But there is one thing I am curious about."

    "And what's that?"

    "What is my aura like?" __ looked surprised. "What's with the face? You can't just say I have such a good aura that your pokemon come running and not tell me what's so great about it."

     ___ shook it off. "Sorry, it's just that I don't get asked that a lot. I dont really go around telling people I see auras."

     "Really?"

     "Yeah…" she let out an irritated sigh as she relayed how annoying it could be. "Whenever i talk about Auras most people either think I'm going to talk about the healing properties of crystals and oils next, or think I'm going to read their auras for free and act like it's some kind of fortune telling. Needless to say I dont bring it up often."

     "Oh Arceus, that does sound annoying."

     ___ laughed and took another lick of her ice cream before turning towards him, resting her arm on the back of the bench. "But since you asked nicely…" she paused for what felt like forever, looking him up and down with a scrutinizing gaze. Raihan had never felt more exposed then in that moment. Though oddly enough, he found that he did not mind. "Your Aura is strong and vibrant. That much is certain. It's… warm and kind. Yet sturdy. The essence of a protector. If that makes any sense. No wonder Aaron ran to you. He knew he would be safe by your side." Then her lips tilted slightly in a smirk. "You're aura is friend shaped."

     For some reason that made Raihan bust out laughing. "Do I get to be your friend then?" 

     She smiled, "I'd like that very much."

[2jaeh]

milky way | youngtaek

you find unexplainable comfort in the words of your favorite poet, but he has a deeper connection to you than you think.

genre: fluff, a little angst

word count: 1.4k

author lin

Your favorite part of the day was curling up on the couch with a hot beverage, scrolling through your phone and having the television on low, offering great background noise so the apartment felt less empty. When the clock struck 7pm you knew you would be receiving that notification from the one person on Instagram that you cared enough to keep up with.

They were a poet who went by the name April and they were quite popular on the social media platform, despite never revealing any information about themself save for what deep feelings were incorporated into their poems. You found a great sense of comfort in their work and you were always anticipating to read their poems.

That day, April had revealed a poem titled 'Milky Way'. The post contained a plain white canvas with the words scribbled in black ink on the left side and a relevant drawing on the right - the standard format for all of their works. For this particular poem, the drawing was of a shooting star with a tiny person looking up towards it.

The poem described a relationship between two people that was so dazzlingly perfect that everyone around them was envious of how perfectly they were made for each other. Alas life moved to a point where the narrator could barely contact their lover and they slowly drifted out of each other's lives. The narrator still had lingering feelings for that person and could never truly move on. The final words of the poem read, Nothing without you, nothing without you… 

April's poems always hit close to home and prompted you to think about your own life and experiences, but Milky Way in particular felt as though you yourself was the narrator in question. A few years ago you had also been in a relationship that was so full of bliss. The boy was named Youngtaek and you always joked about how he set a standard for any other guy you would ever meet, but it was true. 

He was an aspiring songwriter and rapper and often wrote songs about you. He was someone that you could tell anything to and he would never judge. He always showered you with compliments that helped you find confidence in yourself. He encouraged you to try new things and a lot of milestones in your life involved him. Your first kiss, your first time and even your first experience getting chased out of a movie theater because he screamed too loud at the horror movie onscreen.

People who claimed the honeymoon phase didn't last forever clearly did not see the three years the two of you spent together. However, all good things must come to an end. Youngtaek left for Japan to further his studies while you stayed behind. You stayed in good contact for a long time, until you both started to live your own lives with different friends, different timezones, different lifestyles. It was a mutual decision to just end the relationship and move on, but your feelings for him could never disappear that easily.

Since the poem had tapped into an integral part of your mind, you decided to leave a comment. You never did leave comments on April's work - it was quite pointless considering they were so popular and your comment would just disappear into the swarm of others - but you were running on sentimentality at that point. 

@______: Thank you for this, I wonder if the lover will ever know the impact they had on the narrator… 

You left your phone aside and turned the television volume up to watch whatever game show was going on. Despite your eyes being on the screen, your thoughts were still filled with Youngtaek and the poem. The only thing that was able to snap you out of your own world was a chime from your phone. You grabbed your phone and opened up the notification. 

@aprilpoetry: @______ I think they do now… 

Your eyes widened at the comment before contorting into a confused frown. First of all, April didn't reply to their fans often so the interaction did catch you by surprise. Second of all, what did they mean by that? The message was so short and vague, but you didn't want to read too much into it. April was notorious for trolling and pranking their followers so you shrugged it off.

Your notifications were flooded with people liking and leaving congratulatory words on your comment. It was so overwhelming that you almost missed a direct message notification you had received. You opened the message up and you couldn't hold back the gasp that escaped your lips upon seeing it was from April. 

@aprilpoetry: As you know, I will be releasing my first book this Friday. We'll be having a small party to celebrate and I'm looking to invite some interesting fans to join us. Would you be interested?

@______: Me? 

@aprilpoetry: Of course. Your comment piqued my interest. 

@______: My comment? 

April was typing for a long time and you didn't know why you were becoming nervous. You couldn't even believe this conversation was happening. Your phone pinged and you looked down to see details as to when and where the party was being held. 

@aprilpoetry: I hope to see you there

+++++

After days of deliberation, you finally settled on just going to the party. The interaction with April was quite strange and your curiosity really got the better of you. You arrived at the venue - a sleek dining hall decorated in black and white and adorned in pictures of the art that usually featured alongside April's poems.

You floated around the room, taking the drink that a server offered you and inspecting the snack table for anything you might like. Everyone else was already engrossed in their own conversations, presumably about April's poetry. You felt somebody stand next to you, but your eyes stayed fixated on the pink drink in your hands. 

"The mini pizzas are really good." The person next to you spoke and you almost shuddered at the familiarity of their voice. 

You looked up to see Youngtaek smiling down at you. He was wearing black turtleneck with a black blazer thrown over his shoulders. He looked older and much more mature than from when you last saw him. His hair was dyed bright red and his ears were adorned with pretty piercings. He still had the same sparkly eyes that you had adored so much.

"What are you doing here?" You asked in a small voice and he chuckled lightly. 

"It's been a while hasn't it?" Youngtaek ran his fingers through his hair with a sheepish grin on his face, "well actually, we've been closer than we think." 

"What do yo-" 

"I'm April, ______," he cut you off and your eyes widened comically, making him laugh, "when I saw you comment on my post I couldn't believe it was really you. 

"I actually refused to believe it was, so I invited you here to find out," he let out a nervous sigh, "I'm… I'm really glad you're here and you read that poem." 

"I've read all of your poems," you admitted and now it was his turn to look surprised, "I've always followed your account and I… really love your work… Milky Way just hit very close to home." 

"I missed you, every day," Youngtaek admitted, stepping closer to you, "every time I'd think I moved on from us but then you'd cloud my thoughts all the time, just like what I said in Milky Way." 

"I missed you too," you smiled at him when you saw his eyes light up, "I guess it's fate that we found each other again." 

Youngtaek grinned at your words before leaning closer and placing his lips on yours. It felt so familiar, the feeling of kissing him while soft music sounded from the speakers, yet butterflies still fluttered in your tummy. His hands came up to cup your face as you gently held onto his wrists. He pulled away just a few centimeters away to admire your flustered face as his cherry lips curled into a smile. 

"So are we doing this again?" You laughed lightly. 

"Only if you want to ______." Youngtaek grinned, softly running his hands down your arms. 

"Of course April Poetry." 

[famouslastwordsinmexico]

Suggested for You

     You think to yourself, I shouldn’t have looked that up online.

     You’re now staring at a bunch of banner ads that frame your email inbox. Each one is attempting to entice you to purchase succulents from flower shops near and far, small and conglomerated. The bright, animated images boast to you about how their store’s succulents will set you on the path to self-care while reconnecting you with nature. You know these ads are suggested to you and tailored specifically for you based on your search history, but, really, you just wanted to know how to spell “succulent”.

     To be fair, you probably shouldn’t be looking up non-work related curiosities while actually at work, but it’s been a slow morning. And yet, right as you excuse yourself for the trivial indiscretion, you’re called into your manager’s office. You lock your computer and worriedly head over to where they wait for you. Upon entering the room you see that there is someone else here for this impromptu meeting. Or, rather, someone has video-called in, their face on your manager’s monitor, which has been turned to meet yours.

    “A representative from HR will be joining us remotely,” your manager informs you. They then sit on the front edge of their desk, not behind it, in a manner you suspect all managers unironically believe comes off as cool and relaxed.

    “Huh. Is something wrong?” You cautiously take your seat, looking between them and the digital HR rep.

    “Oh, no, not at all. It’s just a small request.” They fold their hands in front of them. “That presentation you’re working on for Friday; I wanted to ask if you would give it over to Robert.”

    “Robert? Why? I thought it was supposed to be my project.” You worked hard on that presentation, and even harder on that project. It was something that was going to get you noticed by the higher-ups, a first step towards bigger things.

    “It is. Or, it was. It…” They stop themselves, physically appear to reset, and adopt a concerned face. “We’re simply worried it might be putting too much stress on you.” They lean in. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright with you?”

    “Uh… I’m doing fine?” You’re progressively less certain about what’s happening.

    “You sure? You can be honest with us.” They lean back. “We’ve heard you’ve been depressed.”

    The shock of this gives you mental whiplash.

    “‘Depressed’?” you echo. “Why would you think that?”

    “Well,” they begin, affecting the concerned yet distant tone in which only senior managers are capable of speaking, “it’s come to our attention that you’ve been sharing some pretty troubling sentiments.”

    “I only really talk about work-related stuff with people, honestly.”

    “No, I’m referring to the stuff you share online.”

    Dumbfounded, you blink.

    “You see,” your manager explains, “we recently employed a service that keeps us up to date with our employees.” They seem mildly pleased with themself over their technological ability. They speak to you but look at the HR rep on screen. “Of course, it’s only because we care for the well-being of everyone here in the office. And their software told us that you’ve been feeling quite down lately. They even highlighted some examples; is it not true that you recently posted about how nothing really matters?”

    You don’t recall using those words for anything. As you confusedly shrug, they pull out their phone and hand you it, showing the post in question.

    “Wait, what?” you ask. “Those are song lyrics. To a very popular song! I shared them for a ‘Throwback Thursday’.”

    “Hmm, no,” they say, taking their phone back. “I’m still seeing a cry for help. Like, what about this one: ‘All I want is to sleep and pizza and do nothing and sleep’? That sounds pretty depressed.”

    “That was one of those online things where people let auto-complete write a post for them.”

    “Sure, then how do you explain this post, where you describe how you wish the food truck across the street would ‘run you over’ if you ‘tipped extra’ for your burrito before you got back in from lunch?”

    “That’s a really old post I made when I was at my old job. The one I left for this job! I made that joke to vent. Other people liked it.” Specifically two people: a friend, and the food truck’s company (which you presume auto-likes any mention of their brand).

    Your manager sighs as they shake their head.

    “Come on, now, you don’t have to hide. You can be honest.” They lean in again. “This is sophisticated software; it wouldn’t lie. Its algorithm combed through your life and crunched the numbers. You are depressed. And, if you’re feeling depressed, we want to make sure the company isn’t placing any undue stress on you. Wouldn’t want you turning around and saying we’re unfair, or that we torment you with public speaking, huh?” No one laughs at their non-joke. The HR rep briefly writes something on their notepad. “Right. Well, when we ask you to hand the presentation off to Robert, it’s not just because we want it to turn out well, it’s because we want you to be well, too.”

    “You’re punishing me because of memes?” you ask, unsure of how much incredulity you can show without further risking your job.

    “Oh, no, of course not,” they reply, “we would never!” At this point your manager doesn’t even try to hide that they’re assuring the HR rep more than they’re talking to you. “This company does not punish depression. In fact,” they add, turning back to you, “why don’t you take the rest of the day off? We’ll mark it down as a sick day, a day for ‘personal care’, even.” They nod to themself, satisfied. “I’ll mark it down in your time sheet right now.”

    They pull out their phone and begin typing, finished with this meeting. You want to tell them not to do that, since you only have a limited number of sick days, but feel there’d be no use arguing. You stand up, at a loss for words. As you slowly turn to leave you find the HR rep is pointing towards the printer in the room. It prints off something you deduce they sent remotely. It appears to be a pamphlet. The person in the monitor motions for you to pick it up, their face set in the textbook definition of a polite smile. The pamphlet is titled Dealing with Depression.

    Your smartwatch pings as you grab the pamphlet and the screen displays an ad for succulents. You turn the watch off.

    You don’t feel like going home right away. You instead head to a nearby cafe and order the kind of sugary latte you know isn’t worth the high price and higher calorie count, but you could use the comfort. There are no real baristas here, only machines that charge you extra to print a picture of yourself onto the latte foam. You pay the extra amount. You then sign on to the free wifi, checking off the terms and conditions you didn’t read, and take a picture of your cup to share online. Not five minutes of browsing later you get a call from your mom. You plug in your headset and answer.

    “Are you alright?” she asks.

    “Yeah, how do you mean?” You wonder why everyone’s asking you that today.

    “Because you’re not at work!” You realize now that the picture you just posted is location-tagged. “And I know what kind of drinks you like when you’re feeling sad; I’m your mother, after all.” You should’ve never accepted her friend request.

    “No, it’s not that, it’s just… I’m alright. Working from home today, but I figured I’d grab a coffee. That’s all, I promise.”

    You don’t think she believes you but her silence tells you she won’t push if you don’t want to tell her the truth. You instead get a notification on your phone that your mom has sent you a “poke”, a feature that only moms still remember exists. She breaks the silence first.

    “Well, okay then,” she offers, “if you say so. Anyways, there was something else I wanted to ask you about.” Her tone gets conspiratorial for her next question. “Are you and Jamie dating?”

    “What?!” You nearly choke on your latte. “No! Why do you think that?”

    “Your aunts told me,” she answers plainly. “And, apparently, some of their friends told them first. They’re still not used to, you know, those kinds of relationships.” As progressive as your mom can be, her age and upbringing still show from time to time.

    “I don’t even know my aunts’ friends, why would they think I’m dating Jamie?”

    “They saw your picture online.”

    You rub your eye, annoyed.

    “What picture, mom?”

    “Well,” she starts, and if phones still had cords you could imagine your mom twirling hers now, wrapping her finger as she shares the gossip, “you see, one of your aunts’ friends was online and saw you as a suggested friend.” You never understood what algorithms determined those suggestions. “She was curious, so she went in and browsed your page. There it was, a photo of the two of you, looking pretty close and cozy.”

    You check your account on your phone. There’s no way someone randomly looking you up online could’ve seen that photo. Although, how many times did the site tell you they were updating their privacy policy and you opted to skip the details of what that meant?

    “Mom, didn’t you see that picture yourself before? That was just Jamie and me playing around. You know we’re just friends.”

    “Yes, I thought it was nothing. But, those friends of your aunts talk a lot, and they do seem very convinced. I looked at the picture again and it got me thinking.” Her tone gets conspiratorial again. “Are you dating Jamie? I’d have nothing against it. Your father, though…” You block the headset mic to hide your exasperated sigh, and then interrupt before she can finish the thought.

    “We’re not close, mom, not like that. My aunts and their friends are making up stories.” You wonder how scrutinized any future pictures you post will be. Maybe you should restrict how much of your profile your mom can access. You’ll have to figure out the new privacy settings first.

    “Yes, fine, you’re right. I’m simply saying they sounded convinced, is all.” You can almost picture her busying herself with some chores at home to prove that she’s over it. And yet she adds, “I will say, though, that if you were with Jamie, I’d be very supportive. Jamie’s lovely, and would be lucky to have you.”

    You hide another exasperated sigh and change the topic. When she’s had her fill of catching up, your mom says goodbye and you hang up.

    You sit in the cafe, your mouth contorted in contemplation save for when you sip from your cup. You thought you were good at keeping your personal and online lives separate, but thanks to dubious algorithms and out-of-touch inquirers, your agency at work has been diminished and your sexuality is being questioned by people who’d be less than understanding. Even if you restrict who gets access to your information, what little slips through the cracks is still interpreted without context. Is that what the internet is now? For people to be data-mined so other people can make assumptions? Who wanted it that way?

    Your phone sets off with another notification, informing you that a local indoor plant store has followed you online. They specialize in succulents.

    You almost laugh out loud at the insanity of it. Of course; this hunt for data is mostly the hunt for ad revenue. While it’s a marvel how fervently someone on the other side of the screen wants to believe they understand you, advertisers are the ones who set the system up. And even they can’t seem to get it right!

    The fever of frustration breaks, giving way to a fever of defiance. Why leave room to be misinterpreted? You decide to live your online life unabashedly and unafraid to share all. Will someone be tracking your moves? You don’t care, but if they are you hope they can keep up.

    You grab your phone and browse with fury and determination. You share news articles and let your political leanings lay bare as you never had before. You hit “publish” on every dumb joke and inane thought you had previously hid shamefully as drafts. You post all of the pictures in your phone, and when you’re done with those you take a couple more. You follow musicians, actors, and influencers alike, so that no one would have to guess what your tastes are. You join in as many forum conversations as you can, and only stop when a person you’re arguing with, who has an anime-girl profile picture, threatens to dox you. You log off.

    When you finally get home you’re bleary eyed from unblinking browsing and shaky from the excess of caffeine. You want nothing more than to decompress. As you turn on your TV to search for something to stream and zone out to, you call out to your virtual assistant device and say, “Play something soothing.”

    Though your command was vague, as the speakers turn on they start playing exactly what you only now realize you had in mind. You love this band, even if you hadn’t thought of them in a while. Your phone goes off with a notification that this band has a concert coming up soon. As if on instinct triggered by serendipity, you click the notification to buy tickets.

    While browsing various streaming services on your TV you come across several documentaries that you’ve heard confirm a lot of opinions you’ve had on the state of things. While you’d love to be proven correct, you’re more in the mood for something light. You wonder if they have this one funny movie that’s a reboot of a movie that’s based on a book. Before you can remember the title you see it listed. You hit play.

    Ultimately, modern movie watching entails being on your phone, so you scroll through whatever new content was uploaded on your commute home. While you idly browse, you find another tailored ad, this time for a t-shirt boldly claiming that people born the same month as you are kind yet shouldn’t be messed with, each line in a different garish font.

    “Ha,” you laugh to yourself, “what a stupid ad.” Even after all the data you gave them, advertisers are no better than your manager or your aunts, thinking they know you and what’s best for you.

    Suddenly the page you’re on refreshes. What loads first is the ad, this time for a different shirt that’s admittedly more your style. The tagline reads, “Your life, your look.” Unsettled by the coincidence and feeling like you’ve found yourself in a conversation with your phone you didn’t know you were having, you try to click on a different link. More content loads just at that moment, though, shifting the layout of the page and leading you to click on the ad instead. Surprised, you fumble with your phone to close what’s popped up, but as your panicked fingers slip your phone decides you mean to go through with the order. You adjust your hold on your phone but somehow manage to set off a biometric scan that confirms the purchase.

    As if queued by your consumerist momentum, an ad interrupts the movie you’re watching (since when did this streaming service have ads?). The volume seems to increase on its own as the TV blares at you.

    “You don’t necessarily feel you age, so why look your age? Our skin cream can miraculously take 5 years off your face, letting your inner youth shine through.” The ad shows a model before and after using the cream. It makes a specific point of telling you the model’s age, which is your age.

    You search frantically for the remote to turn the volume down. No matter what angle you point the remote at it, the TV refuses to recognize your button pushing. You get up and simply turn off the TV manually. This gives your virtual assistant device space to chime in with a separate ad.

    “Tired of the long commute to your workplace? Find more free time while moving into one of the fastest growing neighbourhoods that’s perfect for you.” The voice emanating from your speakers describes listings in a building that you recognize is half a block away from your office. You run to unplug the device.

    One by one more “smart” appliances in your home, devices that you now question their need for internet connectivity, begin to play or display ads that were made to appeal to you exactly.

    “Our energy efficient windows fit your green lifestyle!” your thermostat boasts, citing a climate change article you just read.

    “Let us deliver the groceries you need for the recipes you love!” your fridge demands, listing off your actual favourite recipes.

    “Bzzt!” vibrates your electric toothbrush, calling you to look at its charger’s digital screen and see an ad for a dental clinic, featuring a close up of a mouth you’re weirdly certain is actually yours.

    As your apartment comes alive with the sounds of aggressive advertising, you’re terrified. You step out onto the balcony. You think to yourself, and only to yourself, that you need to get away.

    A delivery drone floats up from under your balcony and stops right at your eye level. It’s been outfitted with a display monitor. It plays a video.

    “Looking for a vacation?” it asks. “Why not fly out to Pasadena, California? You can visit the Cactus & Succulent Society of America’s annual show and sale!”

[marchivists]

not the place to fall in love: chapter two

read on ao3! [i didn’t format anything below the “keep reading,” so it’ll probably be easier to read on ao3]

For Oikawa, it was almost a completely terrible thing to run into Ushijima Wakatoshi in a place where Ushijima Wakatoshis should not have existed.

In most ways, it was completely terrible. On or just outside a volleyball court, spontaneous meetings with a fierce rival could inspire and motivate, painting the interaction with a sort of ironic charm that made looking back on the moment at least somewhat bearable. In fact, Oikawa relied on these types of encounters to justify almost everything he did. After all, what is the point of staying late at the gym six nights of every week or hopping on a plane to seek training in another country without being able to look forward to the thrill of crushing some annoying talent under your heel?

In the middle of an airport waiting area with no upcoming tournament or match in sight, an unfortunate, stomach-churning meeting was just an unfortunate, stomach-churning meeting. It did, however, make Oikawa forget about the restless fear wreaking havoc on his normally cool demeanor. Before the hapless reunion, a squall of pressurized fear and vague, animalistic alarm had settled at the top of Oikawa’s throat. It sent thunderstorms of the same make up into the back of his head and down into the center of his chest. Drizzles made their way from those points to the tips of his fingers and toes. All in all, the storm system reduced Oikawa to a bundle of aimless nerves and a defunct set of fight or flight instincts. Ironically, the shock of seeing Ushijima’s ugly mug had dispersed the worst of the downpour. This fact alone made the encounter almost completely terrible instead of absolutely horrendous.

While Oikawa’s internal forecast had most certainly shifted course, storms and bad weather had by no means been replaced with sunny skies and gentle breezes. Though the meeting had shocked his system to its senses, it had also torn fresh scabs off of his wounded pride and damaged expectations.

In the real word, far from Oikawa’s inner atmosphere, Iwaizumi wrestled with their backpacks, trying to make a place for them in the already overpopulated overhead compartment above their seats.  The rest of the passengers did much of the same, filling the plane with a buzz of productive noises as everyone settled in.

“You could, you know, help me.” Iwaizumi grunted, his voice resigned in a way that suggested he expected no help but felt obliged to request it anyway.

Oikawa looked up from his seat in time to see the ace smile triumphantly as the door closed on their things with a satisfying clunk. He pulled his knees to his chest to allow Iwaizumi to slip past and settle into his own seat. Oikawa had triple-checked their bookings to make sure he was guaranteed a place as far away from the window and the endless sky just outside of it as it got. That left Iwaizumi the middle seat and made some random sucker the jelly in a window-Seijou alumni sandwich.

“Cool, huh?” Iwaizumi asked, nodding towards the window, eyebrows raised in a way that showed he was really asking are you okay?

“I can hardly hold in my enthusiasm,” Oikawa answered, voice dry in a way that said I am quietly seething with rage and I would rather smell Kindaichi’s dirty socks than be sitting here . He stuck his wrist in front of Iwaizumi’s nose. “Quick, Iwa-chan, check my pulse. Am I too excited?”

“How do you always manage to make everything sound disgusting?” Iwaizumi huffed, swatting Oikawa’s arm away. Iwaizumi’s words, and the way he relaxed in his seat to watch the bustling runway outside the window, acted as a bookend to the conversation. His posture continued speaking silently, saying either that sounds like a personal problem, asshole or you’ll get over it . Either way, he seemed fairly convinced that Oikawa wasn’t going to make a mad dash off the plane anytime soon. The easy, confident way in which Iwaizumi could read him excited the anger in Oikawa’s stomach, irrationally wounding his already disheveled pride even more. The sensible part of his brain likened the feeling to the image of a toddler reaching for the vanilla extract despite parental protest only to be blown away both by its heavy bitterness and the knowledge that someone who isn’t themself knows more about reality than they do. The angry part of his brain, which made up the majority, scowled at the sensible part and metaphorically threw the image in the trash. He took another side-glance at Iwaizumi and decided to translate his postures’ message into I really want to look out this window instead.

With Iwaizumi focused on his affair with the window and no other outlet to use as a distraction, irritation turned somersaults in his mind. Why, of all people, did they have to run into the only person who could single-handedly remind Oikawa of every single one of his failures as a teammate, as a captain, as a person? The blow to his ego might not have been as harsh if he’d had some sort of impressive speech prepared or a volleyball at hand to set into Ushijima’s awful face. Instead, what had he said? Something about going to the bathroom? Stupid Ushiwaka, with his stupid face and stupid shoes and stupid bladder and stupi— the sudden dinging of Oikawa’s phone interrupted his train of thought.

He pulled it out of his pocket and prepared to frown disapprovingly at whatever notifications he found flashing there. He smirked fondly instead.

From Yahaba:

Could you, realistically, use dirt to wash a car? I’m trying to win an argument

From makki <3:

who are u arguing with

From Yahaba:

Watari

From makki <3:

oh

From makki <3:

whatever watari said is the correct answer

From watachi!!:

>:3

From makki <3:

ew.

From makki <3:

i take it back. yahaba’s right

Oikawa watched the messages roll in, eyes suddenly greedy for home and all the riches contained there. They flashed all the brighter now that takeoff loomed nearer and nearer.

He nudged Iwaizumi. “Should I tell the group chat about our little run-in with Shiratorizawa’s pride and joy?”

“Go for it. Tell Mattsun he still owes me ten bucks since Kindaichi cried at our send off party. He can Venmo it.”

Oikawa grinned and started typing. Some of his anger drained as he wrote, as if knowing he was still connected to his team in some way made annoyance seem less constructive than it had when he’d stewed in it alone.

From Oikawa:

guess who we ran into

From makki <3:

ur mom

From mattsun:

Tsk tsk. Low hanging fruit, Makki

From makki <3:

aw shit. ur right

From makki <3:

*iwaizumi’s mom

From mattsun:

Nice

From watachi!!:

Nice

From kunimi:

nice

From: makki <3:

nice

From Oikawa:

guess!!!! i’m running out of time

From Kyoutani:

aren’t you supposed to be on a plane

From mattsun:

It’s a sad day when Kyoutani remembers something about Oikawa that you forgot

From makki <3:

i remembered

From makki <3:

does this mean i get to take over as head of the fanclub

From mattsun:

I don’t think you could handle the responsibility

From makki <3:

:(

From Kyoutani:

i wouldn't have remembered if it had been about him staying in japn instead of leaving

From watachi!!:

Japn

From Yahaba:

Who was it, Oikawa-san?

From Kyoutani:

shut up

From Oikawa:

thank you yahaba!!!!!!!! it was ushkul;

Iwaizumi elbowed him in the side, sharp and quick, before he could finish delivering the terrible news. Oikawa’s fingers slid over the keyboard and pressed send without his permission before losing their grip on the phone entirely. It fell between their seats and stuck there.

“Ow ,” Oikawa complained. He flashed a scowl in Iwaizumi’s direction before leaning down to retrieve the phone, hands seeking blindly between the cushions for their prize. “What was that for?”

“Oikawa .”

“Gimme a second, geez.”

The good work the group chat had done on Oikawa’s mood all but disappeared. He paid no heed to the strained tint to Iwaizumi’s voice, making the hands that suddenly appeared on both sides of his face all the more surprising. They roughly turned his attention towards the aisle.

Oikawa’s throat made a strangled noise, like a small animal trapped in a snare, without his brain’s permission. Ushijima Wakatoshi was making his way towards them, hideous strong arms wrapped around a hideous green duffel bag as he, presumably, searched for his hideous seat.

Oikawa watched in dumb silence as Ushijima passed them. His breath hitched as his chest made a connection his brain wasn’t quite ready to put into words. At the sound, Iwaizumi’s hands fell back onto his lap. Oikawa turned. His eyes locked with Iwaizumi’s; the wide shock and raw pity Oikawa found there suggested that Iwaizumi had made the same connection but come to terms with it more quickly.

Ushijima Wakatoshi is going to the same place I am.

“Excuse me,” a hideous voice snatched the breath right out of Oikawa’s lungs. He spent half a second working to reclaim it, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He turned. “I think this is my— oh.”

Oikawa despised that oh , a sound of flat surprise that only confirmed who the voice belonged to. It also implied that the owner of the awful noise had not worked to fabricate such a disgusting situation, meaning fate held a personal, violent grudge against Oikawa for some unknown, unwarranted reason. As the oh suggested, Ushijima stood in the aisle in front of their seats. He glanced down at his ticket as though he couldn’t believe it had led him to the right place.

Ushijima continued. “I did not realize you would be on this flight.”

Oikawa felt his mouth fill with something poisonous and distasteful. Iwaizumi interjected with something blunt instead. “I’m here too, you know.”

Ushijima blinked, as though Iwaizumi had just solidified into a person worth taking note of. He nodded his acknowledgment. “Iwaizumi.”

Silence encased the three of them as Oikawa struggled with the venom that so desperately wanted to strike out at the easy target in front of it. He stumbled, not out of any moral hesitation, but because there was simply so much to be said that it seemed impossible to start.

Ushijima broke the silence first. “Oh,” he said again. Oikawa’s jaw clenched painfully at the sound, teeth scraping against teeth like nails on a chalkboard.“Are you going to watch the acceptance ceremony in New York?”

Oikawa felt his eye twitch. “I got accepted, actually.”

“Oh,” he repeated. That little sound, so full of preconceived notions and decided opinions, set Oikawa’s heart on fire and made it hard to keep his fist where it lay, clenched against his side. Iwaizumi moved so his shoulder rested lightly against Oikawa’s, gently pressing him to the seat. The movement cleared some of the angry haze that made Oikawa feel like he was simultaneously seeing everything and nothing; he caught a spark in Ushijima’s eyes that might have meant something interesting if Oikawa had been able to conjure the empathy to dissect its meaning. “I’m glad to see you made a wise decision.”

Wise decision?  

Oikawa caught the reference to their past conversation long before it flew over his head. The fact that Ushijima was most definitely speaking sincerely only made his words pierce deeper into Oikawa’s skin. He scowled.

“Excuse me?” a stewardess interjected. “Please take your seat, sir.”

“My apologies,” Ushijima replied, moving closer to their seats to make more room in the tiny aisle as he placed his duffel-bag in the overhead compartment. Oikawa shrunk into Iwaizumi as Ushijima’s broad chest invaded his personal space. He shrunk even more as Ushijima slid past them to take his place by the window and did not unshrink even as Ushijima settled in his seat.

There had been a time in Oikawa’s youth when he had been afraid of most everything. He’d shrunken a lot during that time, made himself smaller to minimize the chances of being seen or getting hurt. He shrank now, not out of fear, but out of disgust, as if Ushijima was oozing oil or tar or some other terrible, poisonous thing. Nowadays, Oikawa was not a fan of shrinking. He forced himself to lean forward, straight into the blast zone of whatever Ushijima was radiating.

“So,” he started. Now that he’d begun speaking everything he’d ever wanted to say to Shiratorizawa’s ace fought for purchase on his tongue. His pulse surged. Iwaizumi gave his foot a kick which Oikawa swiftly returned. His voice felt unnaturally cool in his mouth compared to the heat in his chest. “You’ll be training in New York too, hm?”

“Obviously.”

“Hm. That’s funny. Well,” he sighed. “I suppose they had to get their charity work in somewhere. For the tax deductions, you know.”

Ushijima blinked. “No, I don’t.”

Oikawa leaned across Iwaizumi’s lap to give Ushijima’s knee a quick, patronizing pat. There was no satisfaction to be had in the straightforward, unbothered way Ushijima followed their conversation nor in the confused, open manner with which he looked down at the spot where Oikawa had touched him. Oikawa liked his prey to understand that they were being eaten and Ushijima didn’t seem to realize that he had been caught in the first place. Nevertheless, he continued.

“That’s alright. I’m sure they’ll find something for you to do. Water boy, maybe? Janitor? What do you think, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi studied Oikawa’s face for a moment before replying. “I think New York is short on ball boys, actually.”

Oikawa flashed his ace a bright, toothy smile. Iwaizumi frowned like he’d taken a bite out of something spoiled. “Ah, I think you’re right. You’d make a wonderful ball boy, Ushiwaka-chan.”

Ushijima blinked twice. “I’m going to be playing volleyball.”

“We’ll see,” Oikawa hummed. “We’ll see. Say, Ushiwaka-chan?  Please take this the wrong way, but, isn’t there some other place you would rather sit? Perhaps with someone who doesn’t know you?”

“This is my seat.”

“What an astute observation. But let’s entertain the thought,  just for a second, that you could switch seats with whoever you’re traveling with?”

“I’m not traveling with anyone.”

Iwaizumi frowned. “Nobody?”

Ushijima turned to look at Iwaizumi, eyes full of the same genuine transparency they’d held after Oikawa had patted his knee. “My father was supposed to come with me. He had to cancel at the last minute.”

“Oh, what a shame,” Oikawa rushed his words to cut off Iwaizumi who had opened his mouth to say something. “Daddy issues are the worst .”

Iwaizumi slammed his foot down on top of Oikawa’s hard enough that the people in the seats across the aisle looked up from their magazines. Oikawa grimaced both at the pain and at the harsh gleam in Iwaizumi’s eyes. It said that’s enough, Oikawa Tooru. They held each other’s gaze for a few long moments, each trying to win a silent argument. Oikawa looked away first, not because he’d lost, but because his throbbing foot desperately needed nursing. He slouched in his seat, angling away from his two seat partners, and pressed on the top of his sneaker to search for broken bones.

He heard Iwaizumi cough. “It’s uh, good to see you again, Ushijima.”

Oikawa scowled at that.

He continued to scowl until an hour or so after take-off. The plane had quieted down, with half its occupants asleep and the others occupying themselves with books or some other silent task. Oikawa had shifted sometime during that hour so that his back was pressed against the aisle. He watched Ushijima’s sleeping face, the soft, vulnerable way the boy leaned against the wall beside him. Oikawa didn’t have the energy to find it particularly disgusting; his anger had lost almost all of its sharpness, leaving behind a dull ache and a pounding head.

“Iwa-chan,” he whispered.

“Hm?” Iwaizumi murmured, attention focused on the book in his hands. His anger seemed to have dissolved too, though a sliver of annoyance shone through the sound.

“Would you accompany me to the restroom?”

“Aren’t you a little tired of the last thing you bumped into during one of your little bathroom excursions?”

Oikawa laughed, the sound cold and fatigued. “As if we could find anything worse than Ushijima if we tried.”

“Hm,” Iwaizumi murmured again, unamused. He flipped through a few pages in his book before sighing and standing. “Let’s get this over with. If we run into that freaky red-headed dude in there I’m throwing you out the window.”

The plane bathroom had not been built to house two young men. Oikawa, as the caller of the meeting, took the worst spot and settled on the edge of the toilet. Iwaizumi leaned against the sink, arms crossed. They sat in stuffy silence for a few moments.

“I’d like to throw Ushiwaka out the window,” Oikawa mumbled finally.

Iwaizumi sighed. “I know this is hard on you. I wouldn’t want to train with him any more than you do. But you’ve gotta quit it with all the passive-aggressive shit. You should like a villain from some crappy anime.”

“You say that like he doesn’t deserve it.”

“Give him a break, Oikawa. He’s going to this thing by himself. It’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, so you’re on his side now?”

“Don’t go picking a fight with me just because you’re butt-hurt that things aren’t going the way you planned them. You know whose side I’m on.”

Oikawa looked away. The swirly designs in the bathroom wall seemed to frown at him.

“Look,” Iwaizumi started. “I’m not saying you have to, like, be nice to him or anything. Just be civil. He’s gonna be your teammate, for fuck’s sake.”

Oikawa slumped and ran a hand through his hair. “I know. God.” He looked down at his shoes, posture silently saying I thought this was my chance to start over.

Iwaizumi pulled him up and into a hug before Oikawa had time to silently say anything else. The hug said this is still your chance. You’re going to do amazing things.

Oikawa leaned into the embrace. Iwaizumi still smelled of home. He thought of everything they’d accomplished there, of the friends and teammates they were leaving behind. He shuddered. “I’ll probably have to set for him.”

“I know,” Iwaiumi pulled back to ruffle Oikawa’s hair. “Just don’t make it easy for him, alright?”

Oikawa smirked. “Obviously.”

Oikawa drank in the fond look in Iwaizumi’s eyes. He felt whole again.

“Let’s go back. I don’t want people thinking we’ve been taking simultaneous shits this whole time.”

Oikawa left the bathroom with a much better outlook on the day than when he’d entered. Then he saw Ushijima’s outline, still visible over the seats even though he still slouched sleepily against the wall, and had to fight against a wave of nausea that churned in his stomach. He shuddered.

I’m going to have to set for that man. I’m going to have to make him the best player he can be.

What a terrible thought.

[sucker-for-sniffles]

Hello I wrote 2.4k words about another set of OCs because I have no self-control. Clay is a regular dude who was briefly kidnapped by the fae, and Avin is a faery who gave up their immortality and became human to save Clay’s life (long story), and they’re in love

—

Clay was woken just before 3am by the sound of his phone buzzing on the nightstand, and squinted at the brightness of the screen. Reluctantly, he dragged himself up to sit and grab lazily at the phone. It had stopped buzzing by the time he managed to bring it to his lap, but his notifications showed three missed calls from Avin. He let out a tired groan before tapping the screen to call them back.

They picked up in an instant. “Clay?”

“What’s up.” He let his eyes slip closed again.

“How do I know if I’m dying?”

Clay paused for a moment, stopping the exasperation he was sure would show in his tone otherwise. “You’re not dying. What’s wrong?”

Avin sniffled, and Clay could hear a wetness to it even over the phone. “‘M really cold,” Avin said, “and I’m tired and I just feel bad, and I’ve been coughing and it hurts my throat, and I can’t breathe through my nose.”

“Sounds like a bad cold.” Clay pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you have a thermometer?”

“Mhm.” Clay heard the shuffle of fabric for a while, and Avin said, “Eighty-four.”

“Uh.” Clay screwed up his face, trying to get his tired mind in gear to work out what the hell a temperature of eighty-four would mean. “Uh, Av? Are you looking at your thermostat?”

“What?”

“The—on your wall, where you set how warm you want—“

“Yeah.” Avin sniffled again, hard. “That’s what you asked?”

“No, I meant to—wait, you’ve got your apartment at eighty-four?”

Another sniffle. “I’m cold.”

“Okay, okay.” Clay pulled his blankets off himself and got up to find pants while he talked. Avin was probably pretty feverish if they were still cold with the heat so high. Honestly, Clay was starting to get nervous himself. “Turn that back down, or you’re gonna hate your electricity bill. I’ll be over in, uh, half an hour?” Avin was silent. “Av? You there?”

“M’kay,” Avin mumbled, and there was another sound of crumpling fabric. Sounded like they were already bundled up, even with the heat so high.

“I’m gonna hang up now, okay?” Clay’s heart was starting to race uncomfortably, a familiar tension running into his hands. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye,” Avin said, and hung up before he could.

Clay pocketed his phone and dug around in his bag for his rescue meds. It wouldn’t do to go and panic in front of Avin now. He swallowed a couple tablets, pulled on a hoodie without bothering to wear a shirt underneath, and headed out.

—

Thank God for 24-hour pharmacies. Clay lingered in the doorway to let his eyes adjust to the light, then shot Avin a text: can you swallow pills? and any med allergies?

He didn’t expect a quick response, so he put his phone away and headed to the cold and flu aisle. He’d usually just grab a bottle of DayQuil and some Gatorade and be done with it, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to stock up Avin’s medicine cabinet. He started with tissues and a thermometer, those were easy, and his phone buzzed with a text back from Avin:

ye pills

iron

Clay couldn’t help but laugh, glad Avin couldn’t hear it. He and Avin had been too scared to test if Avin would still react to iron in a human body, but Clay doubted they would. Still, he sent back: got it no iron pills

pills r ok

just no iorn

iron

Clay set down the basket he was holding to text back: i will bring you pills to make you feel better. they will not have iron

Avin sent back a heart emoji and Clay finished out his trip, checking out with far more cold medicine than a single human could possibly need at once. The cashier didn’t even blink. She was probably more exhausted than Clay was. He thanked her and headed back to his car.

—

It was nearly 3:20 when Clay knocked on Avin’s door. God, why did 3:20 AM feel so much more ungodly than 2:55? Clay shifted the bag between his hands; the handles dug into his palms under the weight. He wondered if he’d bought too much Gatorade. Well, if Avin didn’t drink it, he would.

It had been nearly a minute since he knocked. Maybe Avin had managed to get to sleep, but he knocked again.

“‘S unlocked,” came Avin’s unbearably hoarse voice, faint through the door. Clay tried the handle, and sure enough, the door opened easily.

The inside air hit him like a wall after the cold of the night. He shut Avin’s door quickly and pressed the lock in. “You didn’t turn the heat down, did you?”

“Mm-mm.” Avin gave a tiny shake of their head. Turning human hadn’t cost them their unearthly beauty, but the lines under their eyes, the rumpled hair, and the fever-flushed cheeks now chained them decidedly to this world, not to mention the pathetic burrito they’d made of themself on the couch. “‘M cold.”

“Still?” Clay set down the pharmacy bag on the couch and sat by Avin’s feet. He wished he’d worn a shirt under the hoodie; he was gonna melt in Avin’s apartment.

“Mm-hm.” Avin squirmed around so they were half-sitting, facing Clay with dull, tired eyes. Clay tucked a stray strand of hair behind their ear, and between Avin’s fever and having just been outside, the heat was almost enough to sting.

They might really be sicker than Clay had thought. Avin didn’t have any frame of reference; he figured they were making a scene of a bad cold, but a cold shouldn’t come with a fever that high. He tried uselessly to recall those cold-or-flu signs in the doctor’s office.

Avin interrupted his half-asleep musings with a soft cough that turned quickly into an awful-sounding bark. Clay stood to help Avin sit up to lean over their knees until the fit subsided. They made a small noise that might’ve been a whimper and dropped their head onto Clay’s shoulder. He could feel their heat on his neck.

“Oh, baby, you sound awful,” Clay said sympathetically. With his free hand, he pushed back Avin’s hair, running his fingers through it. “Do you hurt?”

Avin nodded. “Kinda...all over,” they croaked.

Clay bit his lip, his own throat starting to sting despite the anxiety meds. “Okay. Okay. I’m gonna give you some medicine, but let me get a number on that fever first, okay? It might help later.”

Avin made no response but a slight tilt of their head. Clay laid them gently back on the couch and dove into the pharmacy bag. He pulled the thermometer from its blister pack and held it out to Avin. “Push the button on that and hold it under your tongue until it beeps.”

“Weird,” Avin murmured, but accepted the thermometer. Clay busied himself tearing open a bag of cough drops and unwrapped one before the thermometer beeped.

“What’s it say?” Clay asked.

“Um. L-O.”

After a moment of confusion, Clay bit his lip against laughing at them. “Did you put the end with the numbers in your mouth?”

Avin nodded.

“Okay,” Clay said, managing to keep his voice even. “Gross, but lemme do it for you.”

Wordlessly, Avin handed the thermometer back, evidently too exhausted to care what they’d done wrong. Clay took it half-reluctantly, making a note to wash his hands as soon as he could. He held the button to clear the last reading and slid the proper end under Avin’s tongue. As he did, Avin gasped sharply. Clay pulled the thermometer back quickly. “Sorry, Av, did I—?”

“hh—kshh!” Avin ducked their head forward slightly with the soft, exhausted sneeze, not enough to stop Clay from feeling the spray on his face. Okay, a whole shower as soon as possible. Or maybe he should accept that he was gonna catch this. At least he’d had his flu shot this year.

He reached in the pharmacy bag for the pack of tissues while Avin sniffled and wiped their nose on the sleeve of their pajamas. Actually, Clay was pretty sure those were his pajamas. Not anymore, he supposed. “Cover your mouth, Av,” he said, trying not to sound irritated.

Avin sniffled. “Why?”

So now they were curious. “Stops you from getting other people sick.”

Avin scooted back upright, away from Clay, with one hand over their mouth. “You could get sick from me?”

Even muffled by their hand, Clay could hear the waver in their voice. Shit. “It’s okay, babe,” he promised. He handed them a tissue, and thankfully they intuited what it was and blew their nose, as soft and tired as everything they’d done, but still productive. It didn’t stop their sniffling, or the water that rose in their eyes.

“It’s not,” Avin protested. “I feel so bad. I don’t want you to feel bad, too.”

Clay sighed softly, shifting closer to Avin. “I can take care of myself,” he promised. “You can’t.”

Avin hiccuped and, despite Clay’s efforts, a couple tears ran down their face. “I feel so bad,” they repeated.

“I know, babe,” Clay murmured, wondering if they’d let him hug them. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Avin sniffled and pointed at the thermometer. “That?”

Clay took a moment, wondering if it was worth taking their temperature by now. It would probably be tougher on Avin to change his mind on them, he figured, and picked the thermometer back up. “Yeah. You saw how to do it?”

Avin nodded and put the proper end of the thermometer back in their mouth while Clay unwrapped another cough drop, the first one now unfortunately stuck to Avin’s couch. He set it over their blankets by one hand. “Suck on that when you’re done,” he instructed. “It’s basically candy, but it’ll help your throat not hurt so much.”

Avin nodded, and the thermometer beeped. They took it from their mouth and read, “Thousand thirty-six.” They popped the cough drop in their mouth and frowned. “That’s...that’s too high.”

“Hundred and three point six,” Clay corrected, taking the thermometer from them. “It is too high, but you’re not gonna burn through the couch.”

“But I’m cold,” Avin murmured around the cough drop.

“Yeah, it’s, uh…” Clay sighed, trying to recall what he knew about fevers and coming up empty. “I’ll explain when we’re both more awake, okay?” he said in lieu of a proper answer.

Avin nodded and sucked on their cough drop in silence for a bit. “This tastes weird,” they commented.

“Like the warped shadow of a cherry in a graveyard,” Clay offered.

Avin laughed, and for a moment Clay was glad to finally see them smile, and then they doubled over coughing again, their free hand pressed hard over their mouth. Clay hissed an apology and put a hand on their shoulder until they looked up blearily.

“I think I swallowed it,” they said, their voice quiet and rough.

“That’s okay,” Clay said, “it won’t hurt you. Basically candy. Do you wanna take some medicine and go to sleep now?”

“Yes, please,” Avin rasped, and guilt stung Clay at how defeated they sounded. He should’ve skipped the thermometer and cough drop and just put them to bed.

“Okay, give me a second,” he said gently. He pulled out a pill bottle at random and squinted at the directions. Two tablets every six hours. He tipped out two tablets and handed them to Avin, followed by an open Gatorade bottle.

Avin didn’t say anything. Clay figured it hurt to talk. They put the pills in their mouth and washed them down with a wince and a hand at their throat.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Clay murmured. “There’s a few more.” Avin nodded and Clay dosed out the rest of the medicine. By the end, Avin had downed two thirds of the Gatorade bottle, and Clay was glad he wouldn’t have to make them drink water after this.

“This last one’s liquid,” Clay warned, pulling a bottle of NyQuil from the bag. “It tastes gross, but it’ll hit you faster and make you really sleepy so you can get some rest.”

“‘M already sleepy,” Avin mumbled, and by the twitch of their face seemed to regret speaking.

“I know, but this stuff’ll knock you right out.” He handed a full cap to Avin, who swallowed it like a shot and made a face. Clay couldn’t help but smile at the childishness of it, and gestured to the Gatorade in their other hand. “That’ll help the taste go away.”

Avin downed the rest of the Gatorade.

“Okay, let’s get you in bed,” Clay said. Avin stared down the hallway to their bedroom, looking tired beyond belief. Clay crouched down and offered his arms. “I’ll carry you,” he offered, though he was entirely unsure of his ability to carry a whole person.

Gratefully, Avin looped their arms over Clay’s neck and crawled into his arms, laying their head in the crook of his neck. They could’ve been asleep already, Clay couldn’t tell. They were lighter than he expected, and despite the fever reducers, he could feel their heat through his sweater. The meds probably hadn’t kicked in yet.

And then they tensed with a sharp breath and ducked their head down, holding their nose shut and keeping themself up by one arm. “hh’kgtt!” They made a raspy, pained sound that Clay doubted they could’ve stopped if they’d tried.

“Oh, babe,” Clay said gently, while Avin again rubbed at their nose with a sleeve. “Don’t hold them in like that.” He saw concern cross their face, and added, “Just cover your face, don’t stifle anything.”

Avin didn’t respond, but hooked their arm back over Clay’s neck and settled into him again. Clay took them to their bed and set them on the foot to pull the blankets back. They crawled across the bed themself and let Clay tuck them under the sheets, then put the comforter they’d been wrapped in back where it belonged. “Good night. Feel better.” Clay pressed a gentle kiss to their hot forehead. “Love you.”

Avin cracked one eye open just a sliver, a faint smile on their face. They mouthed something, smart enough to not try talking again. It looked like love you, too.

[comic-is-trying-to-write]

"Alright, everyone!” I’m not sure if anyone else knows this, but it does take a bit to convoke any kind of courage once you get so used to running away from your problems and are far from being used to asserting your self in the faces of seven others. Luckily, Soren ain't much of a wallflower. “It’s time to go! We only have one shot at this! Remember, once the Formidi-Bomb is crafted, it will explode in a matter of seconds! This means that whoever is doing the crafting will be in grave danger…and...well, I was hoping that…perhaps we could draw straws…!”

Although Soren was as straightforward as he could be, a heavy wave of awkward fell upon everyone, hushing them into silence. 

No. 

No, no, no, no. 

That’s an understatement. 

The wave that was Soren’s warning violently collapsed directly onto their heads from behind, abruptly in the sense that they could feel the spine-chilling presence of the thousand-foot tide at the back of them, a thunderous collision powerfully plunging onto them as they shrieked. That is, before the brackish water forcibly crammed into their noses, the unbelievably uncomfortable event had them to reflexively gap their mouths in teeth-grit, only to be forced to gasp even more salt-filled water, the roofs of their throats ironically dehydrating, the desperate desire to screech bloody murder merely intensifying as the strong current threw them, shuttling them into a harsh tumble, flailing their arms about, incompetent to swim to the oxygen cruelly teased overhead of them as they each try to preserve their lives, ultimately asphyxiating without a witness about, their lifeless body to only be discovered and mercilessly ripped apart, limb-to-limb by a sharp-toothed predator, their blooded remains to be left at the bottom of the ocean for centuries, for all some know--an unquestionable death for all. 

Except for one survivor, that is.

“Anyone?” I mean, even requesting in as meek of a tone of voice that was, Soren subconsciously knew that asking something of a suicide mission was a bit much to invite. “Please…?”

“This is my chance to be a hero.”

All of the seven others present, including Soren, instantaneously shot their head, some letting out small and to-be-expected exclamations, as they began to gawk at the individual who had courageously shattered the cowardice tendency that was circulating back and forth throughout proximity into fragments, accepting to conclude the journey that consisted of locating each and every member of the world’s greatest band of heroes to ever exist–the Order of the Stone, one of which had never to have been accompanied by the light of day in years, appearing to be belatedly rescued from his insanity, a result of isolation. Not only that, but having a full-on adventure alongside Gabriel the Warrior. Not to mention generally evading and scheming to eliminate the Witherstorm: a monstrosity completely competent of tearing the entire world apart, corner to corner, whilst it unmercifully murders everything that moves, mindlessly destroying the environment, atmosphere breaking, every step that it takes. Or every air it flies, I mean. A teenage group of four, a blessed extension to a combatant, somehow accomplishes all that and much more, however, none of them dared to risk their life, all-so-fatally. After all, sure they’d be honoured as a hero but would they want to be honoured as a deceased hero? It’s a given that no one would be okay with that fate. 

Besides Jesse, that is.

“This is my chance to step up.”

Once everyone had comprehended the fact that Jesse was volunteering to risk their own life for a problem that wasn’t his fault, several offered encouraging remarks whilst Soren presented a fake smile of good-luck and pleased approval as he stepped across to Jesse, giving custody to the Formidi-Bomb to the heroic soul, “Very well then...!”

Coughs echoing into the night sky, Gabriel bringing a hand to his mouth, a polite custom, before reminding his allies, the best engineer and rogue in the world: Magnus and Ellegaard. His tone being slightly angrily, “We should be ashamed of ourselves…!”

Ellegaard silently bit her lip, Magnus wordlessly glancing at the night-shadowed terrain to his left, both in an embarrassment of their friend’s notification, although they both already knew that. Even if they didn’t want to. At all. After maybe a second or two, eventually, both Magnus and Ellegaard shifted their attention towards one another, sharing shy, pitiful glimpses, supplied thoroughly with heavy regrets and laments, hearts quivering with sorrow. Remembering all that happened that day…The memories that happened that fateful…terrible…day… Eyes closed, heads lowered in absolute disgrace, they had broken away from each other’s pain-recalled expressions as if they could just shut out the recollections of the Order of the Stone’s most recent mission that easily. Most recent in a several years span, I mean. Ellegaard cradling herself, holding the humerus portion of her arms, Magnus simply trying to evade eye-contact with anyone, the guilt crushed them. Have to fix it. Even if that means to die. I’d be a hero, right? Die a hero.

“Jesse…take my armour,” Ellegaard offered, taking a small step up to Jesse who was now standing on the bridge ahead of the group next to Soren, “It will help.”

“Nah…” Magnus advised. Perhaps he was copying Ellegaard. Perhaps he thought that was a good idea too, “Take mine–It’s gotten me out of a lotta jams!”

Ellegaard got a bit upset, a stern voice, “I insist.”

Magnus argued, “I double insist.”

“I triple insist.”

“I…insist four times.”

“Quadruple.”

“Betcha don’t know what the fifth one is though!”

“Quintuple…alternately pentuple.”

“Know-it-all.”

“I’ve never found that insulting.”

“Up to you, Jesse,” Magnus turned his eyes back to Jesse. “Either real armour…or nerd armour.”

Jesse sighed, laughing. It was kind of funny, really. Even when they’re voluntarily placing their lives on the line, an abnormality ripping everything that they’ve ever loved apart, they persist to quarrel like five-year-olds. Both the engineer and rogue looked hopefully at Jesse–Jesse themself obviously wanting to make a conscious choice about who’s armour to select for, what they all had hoped to be, the final battle against the WitherStorm. However, Jesse didn’t want to take up a long amount of time. After all, wasn’t there a blood-thirsty monstrosity, made with an unorthodox material, smashing everything in it’s path to tears and tatters, a million times their size, Jesse themself being expected to slaughter the abnormality? In fact, wouldn’t the very solution to eliminate it would be to use an explosive that could vigorously detonate and fracture to fragments before it’s challenging, elusive production? 

We don’t have time to waste! 

“Jesse,” Ellegaard began, warmly smiling as Magnus bitterly pouted, “you won’t regret this. The choice that you’re making means that-” Ellegaard suddenly jumped, looking overhead, head snapped back, arms fiercely pressed to her sides, eyes shut, “we’rE ALL GONNA DIE!”

Magnus added, “Well, that’s inspirational-” Magnus violently flinched upon noticing in the corner of his eye what Ellegaard shrieked about, instantaneously shifting himself around to have a clear view at it, a finger sternly pointed, “WELL, THAT’S PANIC-INDUCING!” Alike to everyone else, he then shouted bloody murder, a drawn-out screech, spontaneously accelerating elsewhere. Anywhere elsewhere. The earsplitting outcries and heavy, fleeting footfalls pressed to the slightly damp grass, cause of the eight characters present; the noises echoed into the darkened twilight atmosphere, though it was blocked for the most part. A spine-chilling reality polished against all of their fingertips, cold, nervous sweat slipping drown their already stressed claws, a disturbing tune hallucinated in and out of their ears, filling the sky. None of them cared if they were sprinting into whatever was left of the monster-infested territories. None of them cared if they were running directly into a more open-area, monsters a higher chance of attacking them. None of them cared about producing a much of a loud racket, giving away their position. None of them cared if they had just up-ed and abandoned the rest of the group–others needing them. The didn’t care if others would or were worrying about them. They didn’t care about what was politely customed. They didn’t care about anyone else besides themself at that moment. All that they cared about was to get at a gap from the WitherStorm.

- - -

“Jesse!” Soren addressed trying to get Jesse’s attention, though the ginger bloke was running right next to them, alongside the rest of the group, “You’re going to have to set down a crafting table out there and make that Formidi-Bomb! Everyone else, grab a buddy and spilt-up! We need to keep that WitherStorm on track, so build, build, build!” Suddenly, a purple, dangerous tractor beam appeared in front of the group. The beam would elevate whoever was unfortunate enough to be in harms-way of the monster off of the ground and to their tortuous death, a strange feeling to come into the recipient’s stomach, though that may’ve been the certain death giving them that sense, a red outcome. The group was forced to disband from one-another; not that the violet stream was anything of an inconvenience though–they were going to scatter anyways. Jesse’s group disbanded to the left-hand side, the Order of the stone to the off route, the breeze of the cold especially pressing against Ellegaard’s chest, armour not defending her from the chill like it previously was; her armour being awarded to “Jesse!” Soren reminded in a loud yell, “Don’t forget! Super TNT in the middle and gunpower all around!” 

While the Order took the right-hand side, Jesse’s group the left, Jesse themself took the center, Formidi-Bomb materials in hand, eager to destroy that wretched creature, it being made by corrupt hands. A pursuit to a proximity of the unnatural creation felt like hours–It felt like the area where they had to approach was getting farther and farther away as they moved closer. The hurricane-like-wind, produced by the WitherStorm’s general existence, strongly stormed into Jesse’s face as they were hastening to a nearness; the breeze also gradually fluttered away Jesse’s confidence to small fragments to detonate the explosive in such a vicinity to the killing monstrosity that they were running to; a near-fatal activity…not that they really had a choice. This’ll save the world. Greater good, yeah? The noise of the rapid, racket footfalls of their allies echoed into the twilight atmosphere. Jesse taking a glance behind them, they saw their friends and supporters constructing mini-structures, only for the WitherStorm to forcefully shred it apart, the creature growing stronger in the process. They continued doing that. Over and over. Loyally is one thing. Over-optimism is another. But still…thanks, guys. Jesse finally reaching an appropriate distance, they set the crafting table onto the ground and, just as Soren informed, they located his unique TNT in the center, gunpower surrounding i-

Heart-drop.

Purple.

Purple. 

Purple.

Jesse’s feet felt nothing.

Jesse’s hands felt nothing.

Jesse’s body felt nothing.

What was happening?

They were going to die.

They were going to die.

They were going to die.

They were going to die.

This was it.

They were going to die.

Entering god-knows-what.

Literally.

Their friends will grieve.

Over them.

Their fault.

This.

Was.

It.

…

No.

Determined, Jesse swiftly swirled, propelling themself with one foot–foot jostled against the block which was pushed away, launching themself off of the crafting table–crafting table tumbling away, close to slipping out of the gravitation the Jesse and his materials were overpowered into, near to stumbling out of any possible arm-reach. Jesse whirling themself around, they frantically scanned their proximity as if their life depended on it. Which it did. Jesse striving to seek the ingredients of the Formidi-Bomb which had also elevated alongside them, they desperately glanced around. One. Jesse springing forward to quicky grab a single piece of gunpowder that had been lost, another coming into view, a natural result, out of the corner of their eye, they hurriedly snatched the second item out of the air. Well. Loose air. After all, Jesse was in the air, as a result of the tractor beam. Two. Jesse was barely able to feel as much as a small sense of satisfaction and self-achievement before they metaphorically collapsed into a panicked state. A very panicked state. Oh god, please no… In their peripheral vision, they saw something that really, really alarmed and scared them. A lot. In peripheral vision, Jesse saw his friends and allies creating another structure–a pig-like structure. But what exactly caught their eye in a bad way? 

“Magnus!” Soren warned in a shout, “Ellegaard!”

From the woman’s perspective, that’s when everything faded to black.

[royalbloodedbastards]

chatzy // cinema and starlight

DATE: April 2, 2020 CHARACTERS: Kieran and Alec ABOUT: Kieran and Alec watch a movie and make burritos. They admire the stars and think about the past.

Kieran missed the feeling of walking on dirt. Feeling his boots sinking into the loam earth of camp, he was reminded of the one nice part of living in Maine. As the weather warmed and the chirps of insects and animals slowly returned to New Athens, Kieran felt more rejuvenated with each new day. Kieran had never been to the Tyche cabin, but the ostentatious decor made the place easy to find. Even from the outside, Kieran could hear the chiming and clicking of old casino games. Would Alec even hear a knock at the door? Thinking better of it, Kieran pulled out his coveted iPhone (11 Pro Max, 512 GB) and texted Alec:

I'm outside.

In line with their attempts towards A) a reasonable schedule and B) something that resembled a degree of responsibility, Alec had taped a roll of wrapping paper to the wall of the fourth 'bedroom' with the pattern of the paper against the wall, to use as a schedule. Each day was split into its own square with a permanent marker, and they had started scrawling plans onto it to keep track. As such, they were not only expecting Kieran, but had the projector and disk fully prepared for his arrival– two hours too early, but ready nonetheless. The time Alec had to spare once realizing they had overshot the mark was spent on tidying up the various knick knacks lying around their cabin. By the time their phone pinged a notification they were elbow deep in dishes and, deciding they had done enough that it appeared the dishes were only from the day prior, they wiped their hands on their jeans and bounded over to the door to open it. "Hey! T'es prêt d'regarder the film? I'm right excited!"

Kieran smiled as the door swung open. "Le sentiment es mutuel." As he stepped inside, Kieran raised an eyebrow at all the stimulus in the cabin. Flashing lights and chirping games—Alec's demeanor seemed very at home. Maybe it was a Tyche thing. Kieran slid off his coat and folded it in his hands. "This cabin is surreal."

Alec beamed at Kieran as they closed the door behind him. When he spoke, they glanced around their cabin in an attempt to put themself in the shoes of someone seeing it for the first time. "Ah bon? I haven't had anyone new in here for a while, j'imagine qu'it's a titch overwhelming." Alec patted the top of one of the pinball machines. "The noise is nice, since I'm here by myself. Like white noise!" Moving further into their cabin, they spread their arms to gesture to the rest of it, then noticed Kieran holding his coat and laughed. Usually they would say to toss it anywhere but instead, they held out a hand. "Want me to hang that up?" they offered brightly.

"That would be great, thanks." Kieran had no idea how anybody could sleep with this much noise, but Alec seemed to operate at a much higher threshold for life than most people. Kieran followed them deeper into the cabin, noting the distinct lack of architectural separation between the main area and the sleeping area. He stuffed one hand into his pocket, holding out his coat with the other. "Remind me, est-ce que toute ta famille parle français?"

Alec took Kieran’s coat and hung it up in the little-used open closet beside the door. Once that task was completed, they spun around to follow Kieran further into their cabin. “Ma famille de Tyche?” they questioned. “‘Cause, no. Just my, uh-“ they almost said sister, but corrected themself with an uncharacteristic pause, surprised at their mistake. “My step-mother. She taught us. So all mortal.” Already recovered from their confusion, they sauntered into their ‘kitchen’, which was the part of the living room that had a fridge. “Did you want any water?”

"Sure, water would be great, thanks." Kieran strolled around the space. He was surprised to find that the longer he was in the room, the homier it felt. Gesturing toward the lofted area, Kieran asked, "Is that where you have the projector set up?"

Alec took a clean glass from the drying rack and filled it with tap water for Kieran. "Yep! Careful though, sorry, the ceiling may be a wee bit low for you. I even have to duck my head a bit." They held out the glass for him, then retracted it. "I'll carry it up, unless you're proficient in ladders." They laughed. As usual, even their teasing lacked even a single note of malevolence.  "Ça marche? J'peux essayer de move le projector down, but that's the comfiest place in the apartment."

"Not proficient in ladders, just chutes." Kieran gestured toward the ladder for Alec to go first. "Don't trouble yourself, the loft works just fine. I've always wanted to hang out in one of these, actually. Never had the opportunity before."

Alec laughed at Kieran’s joke- they hadn’t forgotten how funny he was, but the effect managed to not be dampened by expectations. “Awesome!” Glass of water in one hand, they easily scaled the ladder to the loft. “You’ve never been in a loft before?” they asked, poking their head over the edge so they could still see him. “I thought the Hermes cabin had one.”

"I didn't have to spend any time in the Hermes cabin, fortunately." Kieran followed Alec's lead and climbed up to the loft. As they predicted Kieran bonked his head on the ceiling as he reached the top step. "Ow." Crouching down, he crawled into the space. It was small but homey. Kieran made a bet with himself about how long he'd last up here before becoming too uncomfortable. "This is really charming. I like the way you've dressed it up."

"Fortunately?" Alec questioned, pretending Kieran didn't hit his head as they fiddled with the projector to readjust it to the proper area on the wall. With how old the machine was, it tended to slowly dip its focus towards the floor after an hour or so of focus. After fixing it, they pulled a pillow to a comfortable distance from the 'screen' and sat down with crossed legs. Instead of starting the movie, they turned to Kieran. "Really? Thank you! I tried to make it comfy even though the roof is low. I think keeping one window open really helped, even though it's kinda too dark to see out now."

"I don't do so well in cramped social situations." Kieran looked at his surroundings. "Current circumstances excluded." Kieran found a small pile of pillows to lean on and pulled them towards him. He tried lying down several ways before getting comfortable. "I'm sure this nook is really picturesque during sunrise. With a proper breakfast and bed, you know. The works."

"Fair, fair." Alec pulled a few pillows towards them as well but didn't change their position yet. If they wanted to lie down during the movie, they didn't wish to interrupt by dragging cushions around. "It is! Making a smoothie and crawling up here is the best way to start a day, really. Wait! I changed my mind. T'peux monter sur le roof et voir le sunset in the morning. Lying on your back, feeling as the first rays of sun wash over you, y'really feel amazing. Like a new person."

"The sunrise?" Kieran smirked. "Sorry. That does sound really wonderful. I actually used to wake up a daybreak when I was still living in Maine. On the weekends, I'd make a habit of getting up before the sun so that by the time the sun was rising, I was already out of the house. I'd take long hikes or just walk around the city."

Confused for a few seconds, Alec went back over their words, then threw their head back in a laugh. Their body followed soon after as they sprawled across the floor of the loft. "Sunrise," they corrected themself. "But that sounds awesome! I've never been to Maine. That's on the East coast, eh? I say 'eh', but I'm really not sure. I'm pretty sure. It is, yeah?"

"Yes," Kieran laughed. "It's on the east coast. But the coast up there is much more beautiful than the ones down here. I mean, you have to be vaccinated to enter the waterways here. Up there, there's more rocky outcroppings and greenery. It's almost romantic." Kieran gestured toward Alec. "How about you? You're from Canada, right? Were you close to the coast?"

"Oh, I love romantic scenery." Alec sighed and pressed the back of their hand to their forehead. "If I don't feel like I'm in an old, like, pastoral novel at any point, I'm living my life some wrong." They rolled over onto their stomach and hugged a pillow under their arms as they turned to Kieran. "From Canada? What gave it away, the accent?" They laughed at their own joke. "Y'could say I'm close to the coast." As they said it, they realized Kieran wouldn't get the humour in it. "I'm from Nova Scotia, in the Maritimes. As close to the coast as you can get."

Kieran laughed, following along with Alec's words. "Oh, you don't say? I've always been curious about Nova Scotia. A lot of great films have been shot there. It sounds like a beautiful place."

"It's cool," Alec answered, dipping down a degree in enthusiasm to only a mid-level of eagerness– which for a regular person, was still high. "Lots of lighthouses. Halifax is really the best place to go, smaller towns, pretty boring." Recovered already, they smiled at Kieran. "It is beautiful, I love the ocean." They barely took a breath before continuing. "I'm really glad you came over! You seem really interesting, y'know? And we've only talked a few times."

Kieran laughed at the quickness of Alec's train of thought. "Likewise. I don't think I've met anybody else that matches your level of enthusiasm for... Most things." Kieran gave them a genuine smile. "I'm glad we made these plans."

Alec beamed back at him. "I love things!" Immediately, they realized how that sounded, and they laughed. "Most things, I mean. J'sais pas une reason to not be enthusiastic? I mean, I know a lot of reasons to not enjoy specific things. But I think going into anything new, or anything old and proven true, if I assume it's going to be good, things tend to work out! Like talking to you."

"That's a great outlook. I grew up with the 'if it doesn't have monetary or social value, it doesn't have value' type of outlook. Open-mindedness came in short supply. And then coming here, I mean," Kieran waved his hand. "Judgment comes very easily for me and now I have siblings to share that quality with. But it's refreshing to think in a different way."

Alec listened carefully, not so much filing everything Kieran was telling them away as they were committing the impression of this moment to memory. "I think I kind of get it? My parents are right judgemental, but I got lucky with siblings." They tilted their head, alarmed momentarily."That's not saying you didn't! I just meant growing up with them." Breathing out the mood change, they brightened up again. "I'm glad I can help with that! I mean, I hope that you meant me." They laughed, not worried in the slightest. "Or that'd be awkward."

Kieran chuckled. "Yes, I meant you." He gestured at the projector. "Anyways, sorry to have diverted our attention from the thing we came here to do. Thanks for setting all of this up."

Alec had forgotten about the projector. "Right, right!" They crawled over to their ancient laptop and tapped the space bar until the screen finally lit up. "I think you'll like this movie? Like I said, the DVD is old as death, but it's better quality than streaming it online." Glancing back at him, they smiled. "Comfortable?"

Kieran made a makeshift nest to give some padding between his bony frame and the floor. "As comfortable as I'll ever be." He had trusted Alec's choice in cinema, given everything they had discussed previously. Kieran was legitimately excited and hoped that it showed through his RBF.

[LINE]

Alec waited until the final credits rolled to pause the DVD. They sat up from their pile of cushions, stretched forward like a cat stretching, then smiled at Kieran. Anxious was too strong a word, but there were certainly still some nerves present. Something about Kieran made them want to... not impress him, but find more similarities. "Qu'est-ce que tu penses?"

Kieran, who had slowly come to an upright position as the film progressed, had his chin cradled in one hand, brows furrowed in thought. He let Alec's question hang in the air for more than a moment before responding. "What can I say? It was... Brilliant." Kieran gestured carefully in the air, trying to parse his thoughts. "Firstly, the way that the film maximizes the medium by telling a story in real time, letting the audience steep with Cleo as she goes through this soul-searching two-hour period—there's a level of intimacy shared between the filmmaker and the audience that is so often neglected. And then the way Cleo's superficiality and narcissism is constantly contrasted with her morality and the direness of her circumstances—I mean..." Kieran shrugged. He wasn't used to having an outlet to voice these thoughts out loud and found himself at a loss for words. Kieran was beaming. "It was wonderful.”

Alec pressed both of their hands to their cheeks as though trying to contain the grin that was spreading across their face. "Câlisse, I know, right?" They were too excited to stay sitting and moved up onto their knees. "The titles built in, that specify the time? Genius. Especially because, hear me out, this is crazy, the film isn't actually keeping pace with us! It's like, fifteen minutes off overall, but because it's so close– since they only have scenes last a minute or two over what the time in the movie says it is– and they put the timing right on the screen, like 'Cléo de 8 à 8:15', it feels like it's only fifteen minutes 'cause they trick us into it!" They shook their head. "And don't even get me started on how they tie her narcissism into the constant mirror imagery and her admiring herself, and that the turning point, that the moment Cléo realized she had to change was when her own pocket mirror broke? Crisse, goosebumps, every time."

Kieran nodded along, hanging onto Alec's words. Once Alec finished, Kieran gave them a smile. "You know, you're very insightful."

Alec ran their fingers through their hair to fix how it had been flattened to one side from lying down. “Yeah? Thank you! I’m glad you think so!”

"Yeah," Kieran laid onto his side, propping himself up with his elbow. "You're very interesting."

"'Cause of my movie views?" Alec changed position again, this time moving back to sit with their legs crossed. They grinned at Kieran. "Or in general?"

"In general," Kieran clarified. "In part because of your interest and knowledge, for sure, but also because of your personality at large. Maybe I just need to meet more people, but in my experience, most people don't have your joie de vivre." Kieran let himself lie all the way down, his elbow already protesting his position. "You're also a surprisingly good listener."

“I make other people listen to me so much that I figured I should return the favour,” Alec laughed. “But thank you! I hope I can keep proving that!”

Kieran laughed. He idly ran a finger along the seam of a small throw pillow beside him. "So do you live here by yourself?"

Alec sighed as they stretched their legs out in front of them now. “Yeah, both my siblings moved out. It’s right quiet now, other than the machines, so I try to have people over whenever I can.”

"Are you the type of person that craves company?" Kieran suspected that he knew the answer but asked anyway.

“I dunno if I’d say crave.” Alec pressed a hand into their cheek as they considered it. “I mean, I have a lot of hobbies that I can do by myself. But I definitely prefer being around people than not! I’d go crazy being by myself all day.” They cocked their head to one side. “You?”

"Well..." Kieran felt a small hiccup of self-consciousness. "I spend a lot of time by myself, actually. Most of the time." Kieran deliberately omitted the fact that 90% of his time was spent in solitude. "I never find myself yearning for social interaction. It's actually taken a lot of conscious effort the last few days to go to all of these outings."

“Hm.” Alec drew their eyebrows together, trying to imagine what that was like. “Why have you been going to them? Pushing your comfort zone?”

"Yes, in a way." Kieran folded his hands behind his head. "I suppose I'm realizing that I'm reaching... Adulthood. And I spend most of my day lounging, pursuing hobbies, not really contributing to the greater culture in any meaningful way. And then the other at the party when I got so unreasonably emotional about what my siblings were doing..." He shrugged. "I guess I'm realizing that all of my brainpower is going toward my siblings and watching movies. And I love those things, of course. But I'm realizing how small my world is. I'm like le petit prince, still stuck on my little planet with my vain, little rose, but I need to explore the rest of the universe."

Alec smiled at the reference, especially at how Kieran related to the story. “That’s why you wanted to hang out alone, then? Build some new connections?” They leaned back on their hands. “Makes total sense! Do you have any other hobbies?”

"Yep, exactly why." All of Kieran's instincts were screaming at him to stop talking. He was incredibly unpracticed with sharing his feelings and doing so now felt simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. "Not many other hobbies. I sometimes do some freelance videography for small businesses or whatnot. I've considered taking up documentary filmmaking but I haven't come up with a subject that inspires me." Kieran turned to look at Alec. "How about you?"

"I was going to ask if you wanted to make your own films!" Now too excited to stay still, Alec returned to half sitting up on their knees. "Chouette! I wish I knew more about making films. I've seen my friends do it but I don't think I have the broad vision for it." They made a frame with their fingers and smiled at Kieran through it. "But you seem like you would. I get too caught up in the wee tiny details and then nothing gets done." As they speak they make the frame smaller and smaller until they can only see part of Kieran's face, at which point they drop their hands onto their lap. "I'm way better at stuff with like, a singular focus, that doesn't need to tie a bunch of things together. Like origami! Or baking, or card tricks, or sewing. Even though sewing is kinda literally tying things together?"

"There's some advantages to that approach. Completion being one," Kieran shrugged. "I'm not sure if I'd be the same way. I suppose I haven't yet found my niche."

"Isn't that good you haven't found it yet? Now you have way more time to explore more interests!" Alec ran their fingers through their hair again, this time messing it back up. "Y'never know what you could stumble across while still looking. Like, my step-mother took a Creative Writing class in college 'cause she thought it'd be a throwaway, and now she's writing a book! Focusing all your interests on one thing at our age seems kinda boring? At least, if you aren't trying anything new because of it."

Kieran laughed bitterly. "Well I'm not trying anything new, but I'm hardly focusing all my interests on one thing. They're not really focused on anything, truly." Kieran gestured toward Alec. "Do you have some grand ambition?"

Alec was undeterred. “The first new thing you could try is trying new things!” They shook their head when Kieran gestured to them. “I’m bad with ambition. It’s my fatal flaw.”

"I think meeting new people is enough of a new venture for a while. Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Kieran nodded. "You and me both."

“I’ll dial it back then,” they laughed. “Sorry. I can get a bit too...” Alec made a heaving gesture with their arms. “Ahead of myself, sure. I’m working on it though! The ambition, not the enthusiasm.” They sighed. “I don’t think any of my skills are really great for work?”

"I don't think that anybody at camp has skills that are particularly suited for corporate America," Kieran joked.

“Whaaat?” Alec grinned at Kieran. “You’re saying I can’t make a career out of avoiding lava while rock climbing?”

Kieran laughed. "I'm sure Michael Bay would find you an invaluable asset."

Alec doubled over laughing. It took them a solid ten seconds to regain some control. “Oh my god. Yeah, I’m sure, I’ll keep that in mind!”

Kieran let his head roll back so he was looking straight up at the ceiling. He usually never had to fill these silences and found himself having nothing more to say.

Alec was fully used to being the one to fill silences, so they easily launched back into conversation. “Have you talked to your siblings?”

Kieran laughed. "Uh. Yes. The day after, actually. Went surprisingly well."

“Yeah? I’m so happy to hear that!” Alec sounded genuinely delighted. “Amazing followthrough. Ten out of ten.”

"Thank you, it was a proud moment for me." He chuckled and turned to face Alec. "Actually, though, thank you. Our conversation was a bit of a turning point for me and I really appreciate that you helped me parse through those... Emotions."

Something inside Alec’s chest warmed up. Nothing felt better than knowing they had helped someone out, even a little bit. “I just listened, really. And I’m really down to do it again, if you need to talk to someone! Like I said, the degree of separation is golden sometimes.” They paused for a couple seconds. “And we’re friends, right?”

Kieran smiled up at the ceiling. He let the question hang in the air for a few moments because the answer felt warm in his head. "Yeah. We're friends."

Alec exhaled nerves they didn’t know they had once Kieran answered. They would have brightened up, had it been possible to smile more than they were already. “Really?”

"Don't make me say it again, it already took me three years to admit I was related to Parker and Malia," he joked.

“I won’t, I won’t,” Alec laughed, waving their hand. “That’s just nice. You seem like you choose your friends carefully.”

"I maintain a pretty high barrier of entry, yes. I guess you just managed to jump right over it."

“Like a horse, in a competition! Jumping over a barrier.” Alec didn’t know why they said that. “How did they react to being disinvited? Uninvited,” they corrected themself.

Kieran snorted. "Exactly like that." He ran his fingers across the weave of his sweater. "They took it well. They were actually very supportive of my reasoning."

“Yeah?” Alec leaned forward, propping their chin up on one hand. “That’s awesome! You must’ve explained it well, eh?”

"Eloquently?" Kieran suggested.

“Eloquently,” Alec confirmed. They sat up again and ran a hand back through their hair to mess it up once more with a half grin. “You talked to them about everything you wanted to?”

Kieran joined Alec in sitting up and pulled himself into a cross-legged position. "I told them that I'm trying to make friends with people outside of just my siblings, that I'm looking to find my own space. I didn't get into the nitty gritty of my quasi-existential crisis, but I think the point was made all the same."

Alec nodded along as Kieran spoke. “Yeah, y’don’t have to tell them every detail.” They sat back down into a cross legged position to mirror Kieran without realizing. “I can introduce you to way more people, too! You might get right along with my sister.”

"Who's your sister? I'd be happy to meet her." Kieran wasn't sure if he meant this, but he figured that if he was going to try to meet new people, going with friends of a friend would be the safest route.

“Fizzy!” they exclaimed, ridiculously pleased by his answer. “Fizz Caner. You could not, but I dunno, I have a feeling it’d work and those tend to be right. Tyche intuition?”

Kieran pursed his lips together. The impulse to comment on their sister's name was overwhelming. Kieran swallowed the thought and smiled in return. "Well, seems like you've been pretty lucky thus far."

“Right you are! We wouldn’t be friends otherwise.” Alec leaned over to grab a loose pack of cards from beside the wall and started shuffling them so they wouldn’t fidget. “You know any good games?”

"Rummy? Solitaire?" Kieran hadn't played cards in years and wasn't sure if he even remembered the rules to any card games. "Go fish?"

Alec laughed. "I love Go fish." Looking at the cards now, they found they didn't especially want to play, but they continued shuffling the pack between their hands. "Did you eat before you came over?"

Kieran nodded. "A bit. I had some Waldorf salad left over from lunch. Have you?"

"Nope! Just snacks. Want me to make something?" Alec started putting some of cushions around them back against the wall. "There's this recipe for black bean and sweet potato burritos I've been wanting to make for centuries."

“Oh, I didn’t you know you cooked.” Kieran tried not to sound too awed. “That sounds delicious. Sounds like the kind of thing I usually order for myself, actually.”

"Makes it easier to be vegan if you can cook your own food!" Alec started stretching, turning to crack their back. "Awesome, I'll get started on that then. Doesn't take too long. How spicy do you like things?"

Kieran laughs. "I don't." He plants his hands behind him to arch his back, getting a much needed stretch. He could already tell he would be sore the next day from being curled up for so long.

"Order taken! No spicy." Alec started down the ladder. "Do you cook?"

"I assemble." Kieran followed Alec, waiting at the top of the ladder as they climbed down. "Raw things, I can prepare just fine. I'm okay with a stove, but my brother is much better. He usually cooks."

Alec hopped down when they were just a few rungs off of the ground. "Parker? Huh. I don't think I knew that." They headed over to start pulling ingredients out of the fridge and cabinets. "Wanna help me out then? I can teach you the recipe!"

Kieran followed down the ladder, being careful not to knock his head this time. “Sure. Whatever you need me to do. I’m not particularly speedy but I know how to follow directions.”

"It's simple too," they chattered, lining everything up on the counter. "Basically three ingredients and some spices. Not spicy spices, just spices." Alec put a pot on the stove to start boiling the sweet potatoes. "Can you drain the black beans?"

"Yes I can," Kieran nodded. He grabbed the can opener and went to work. "How long have you been vegan?"

Alec twirled a knife and started slicing the sweet potatoes. "Eleven years or so! I think I was ten? So yeah, that makes eleven." They laughed. "I can do math, totally."

"That's pretty young. Was it a familial decision?" Kieran punctured two holes in either side of the can and started pouring the bean water into the sink.

"Oh god no, my dad's a fisherman." Alec made a face. "I wanted to when I was nine but they said I had to wait, so I waited a year and then refused to eat meat anymore. And I was already allergic to dairy, so."

"Well that worked out conveniently, then." Kieran opened the can of beans up the rest of the way once they were drained and slid the can toward Alec. "What's next, chef?"

Alec finished cutting the squash and rinsed the can out, leaving it in the sink for later. They laughed. "Honestly? Nothing until the squash is boiled. It's a super simple recipe, just gotta wait and then mash it, fold the beans in, put them in the tortillas and spice and bake them." Alec stretched their arms out behind them. "Five minutes prep, twenty minutes bake."

"Alright," Kieran leaned against the counter, wiping his hands on a random towel. "How should we spend twenty minutes?"

"I'd love to get to know you more!" they said earnestly, wiping their hands on their jeans. "Or if you don't wanna just talk there's a bazillion games around, or I could show you the roof? Not sure if climbing out a window is really your thing though."

"Not really," Kieran admitted. "But neither is talking, so why don't we go up to the roof, I'll tell you more about myself, and we'll call that the game?"

Alec blinked a few times then broke into a smile so wide they could barely see. "Amazing! You're a real innovator, eh?" They turned the stove off so they could quickly complete the final few steps and set a timer on their phone for twenty minutes once the burritos were in the oven. "So y'know, I do mean actually climbing out the window, there's no ladder."

"Shit. Okay, well, let's see it." Kieran already knew he was going to have objections, but maybe it wouldn't be as bad as it sounds. "Lead the way."

Alec triple checked their phone was in their pocket before heading over to the ladder. They tapped their collar quickly then scaled it with ease and waited for Kieran at the top. "It's easy to get up there! Just thought a heads up is good, eh, so you don't re-climb the ladder just to sit in the loft again like some intense deja-vecu?"

"I think you might be overestimating my athletic ability." Kieran followed after them, making sure to duck his head this time as he reached the top. "I might need a hand getting up there, if that's going to be possible."

"Of course!" Alec chirped, pausing to smile at Kieran over their shoulder midway through opening the window. "The ledge goes out a few inches so it's pretty easy to get up once you're standing anyway." They pushed the pane outwards and rested one hand on the inside of the wall, one on the outside to steady their balance as they stood, then pulled themself up to get to the roof in one fluid motion. A second later, their head appeared upside down in the window frame. They grinned. "Hi."

"Inches," Kieran repeated in a whisper. He walked up to the window and grinned at Alec. "This seems potentially injurious." He stuck his head out of the window to assess how bad the fall would be and sighed. "How am I supposed to do this?"

Alec scooted back on the roof so their head wasn't in Kieran's way. "If you stand on the ledge your head should be above roof level, and then you just gotta pull yourself up." They rested their chin on one hand and smiled down at him. "I can help you up too, if you take my hand."

"If I survived a war just to fall off a roof..." Kieran sighed and climbed onto the windowsill. "I might need your hand," he mentioned as he stood on the sill. Grabbing onto the edge of the roof and suddenly imagining all the grisly ways he cool fall and maim himself, Kieran's adrenaline kicked in. With one assertive push, Kieran managed to get high enough to swing a leg over. With one desperate pull, Kieran flopped fully onto the rooftop, his heart pounding. "Fuck."

Alec sat back, ready to grab Kieran if he needed it, and instead was astoundingly impressed. They whistled a surprised note and scooted backwards on the roof to give him space. "Câlisse, I only try the ol' leg trick when I'm feeling fancy! You're a natural."

"Funny, I only try it when I'm fearing for my life." Kieran took a moment to catch his breath before sitting up. "You do that often?"

Alec leaned back on their hands and nodded their head towards the plastic cushions strewn about the roof. "Couple times a day! It's great for stargazing or watching clouds, or if you just gotta get away, eh? No one can see you from the ground up here."

Kieran crawled over to the plastic cushions, collapsing onto a small pile of them. Folding his hands behind his head, he looked up to the sky. "I could see why this would be worth the effort."

Alec followed him and lay down a couple feet away. "You ever think about how big the sky is?" They rethought their words and laughed. "That sounded weird. I meant like, it really puts everything in perspective. No matter what's going on down here, the clouds keep drifting and the sun keeps shining and the wind keeps blowing, eh? Nature's a force way beyond us."

"True." Kieran thought beyond the sky, of the insignificance of their position in space, of the minuteness of humanity in the timeline of the universe. He wondered if that was too cynical to mention. "This is a nice spot."

"Yeah," Alec exhaled happily. "It is. It's the best spot to just think on things." They rolled onto their side to face Kieran. "Do you have somewhere like that in your apartment? The 'calm' spot?"

"My bed?" Kieran chuckled. "No, Parker and I are pretty calm. There's not really a calm spot, it's just the climate of the apartment in general."

"Huh." Alec laughed and rested their cheek on their hand. "Maybe I gotta set apart different spaces, 'cause I live by myself? I dunno, it's nice to have a place to be even more alone even though no one else lives here. Does that make sense?" They shook their head and moved so they could lie on their stomach now, still facing Kieran.

"Sure." Kieran turned onto his side to face Alec. "I suppose I'm just so often alone that I never feel the need designate a special area for it."

Alec considered Kieran's response carefully, adding it to what they already knew about him. "Do you like being alone so much?"

"I don't think about it," he admitted. "It's my default. I've always been by myself, even when I was younger. I didn't have any siblings, no neighbors. Not too many friends, honestly. Not to sound tragic, I truly did not mind being alone."

The corner of Alec's mouth tugged down but they didn't fully frown. "That sounds really lonely, Kieran," they said after a moment's pause. Going over his words again, they blinked a few times. "Not even neighbours?"

"No," Kieran sighed. He didn't love to talk about his home life, but supposed this is how relationships were formed. "My father is fairly well-off, so we lived on a pretty large property at the end of a long drive. We had no neighbors by design. But again, it suited me just fine. I mostly spent my time hiking trails or watching movies. I was never really very social."

"Because you didn't want to be, or 'cause that's how things were?" they questioned, then shook their head. "Sorry, you don't have to answer anything I'm asking if you don't want– I'm just curious." Alec made a face. "Not like, curious in a way that I'm examining you or anything, I just want to get to know you better?"

"That's okay," Kieran responded. "It was a little bit of both. If you raise a child in a room with no light, he learns to thrive in the dark, right? I mean, ethics and morality aside. The metaphor is flawed." Kieran chuckled. "But I think you get my point."

Alec nodded along slowly as Kieran spoke, hanging on to every word. "No, no, it makes sense. But in that case, when exposed to it, even if the light is glaring for a while, your eyes adjust eventually, eh?" They smiled at him. "Let me know if I'm shining a flashlight at you. Metaphorically."

Kieran laughed, nodding in understanding. "Excellent point." He fell onto his back again and looked up at the sky. His eyes had adjusted to the dark and he could see all the stars, pinpricks of light in the sky.March 30, 2020

Alec watched him for a few more seconds before following his lead and turning to stare at the stars instead. "How long've you been at camp?"

Kieran thought back. "Eight years." Saying it out loud, he suddenly realized how long he had been here and how much time had passed. Kieran knew that he must have been a different person after all that time, but wondered why he felt so much of the same. "How about you?"

Alec counted backwards on their fingers. "About four years? Three maybe." They laughed. "I think I was seventeen, but that could be wrong."

"I was fifteen," Kieran reflected. "Strange how time passes." The words sounded hollow, but Kieran meant them. At the very least, Kieran did find it all strange.

"Really is, eh?" Alec turned their head to look at Kieran again. "Ever wish you had like, a normal high school experience? I sure don't."

Kieran pressed his lips together. He thought about it all the time. Kieran knew the only reason he came to camp is because his father didn't want to risk his own safety and didn't think twice about sacrificing Kieran's chance at a normal life. "Frequently," he replied.

Alec frowned and rolled back onto their side. "Yeah?" they asked to prompt him to continue.

Kieran held his silence for a moment. "This is not where I belong, Alec. I think it's painfully obvious that I don't have any of the skills that Chiron is grooming these kids to have. Every altercation I've been a part of, I've needed to be rescued." Kieran shook his head. "The things that I'm good at aren't valued here. Maybe they would have been great assets in a formal educational institution, but my dad robbed me of that opportunity because he was afraid of his own life getting messy. So," Kieran shrugged, "Yes. I do wish I had a normal high school experience and not this lethal bootcamp for super-powered individuals, with whom I have no place."

Alec rested their cheek on their hand as Kieran spoke. Once he finished, there was a solid silence as they mulled his words over. "What's the reason you've stayed for so long?"

Kieran's voice fell to a murmur. "Where would I go?"

That was the answer Alec had been expecting, but a solution hadn't come to mind in the two seconds of lead up. They bit the inside of their cheek. "Where do you think you'd be if you hadn't come here?"

"Dartmouth," Kieran speculated without missing a beat. "It was my father's alma mater and he's an annual donor. They'd have to take me."

"Have you thought about getting your high school degree online?" Alec asked, pulling one of the cushions closer. "If that's what's stopping you?"

Kieran half-chuckled. The idea of an online education sounded laughable, but Kieran realized he wasn't in a place to judge. "Maybe. I suppose I haven't considered it." He shrugged. "Honestly, at this point the idea of attending an undergraduate program when I'd already be older than 99% of the students is... Unappealing to say the least."

Alec frowned slightly, not understanding. "But if that's what you want to do, why let something like that get in your way?"

Kieran furrowed his brows. "I guess... I don't know what I want."

Tracing a few patterns on the pillow, Alec continued. "You have plenty of time to figure it out. And maybe more of a blank slate? Following what you think you should do doesn't leave much room to learn, y'know, who you actually are or what you want. They're called growing pains for a reason, eh? S'never easy."

"Hm." Kieran fell quiet, Alec's words sitting in his brain. He was just now realizing how easy it was for him to deflect these thoughts—apparently he had been doing so for eight years. "I suppose."

"Sometimes just knowing you want something is ambition enough until you work the rest out!" Alec gave Kieran a soft smile, then flopped onto their back again to stare up at the sky. "Part of being kind to yourself is being patient, eh? And if you're already studying film and your other interests without school, you've sure got the drive to do anything you want, with or without it! Trust me, I have none of it. The drive, I mean. I've had enough of school." They laughed.

Kieran contemplated Alec's words. "That's an interesting assessment." Kieran sat up and looked around. "How much time is left on the oven?"

Alec checked their phone, following Kieran's lead to a seated position. "Five minutes! We can head back in now. It's easier getting in, I think, 'cause you just gotta step down." They stood up and made their way over to the edge of the roof.

Kieran sighed, not totally convinced. "I'll have to watch your technique more carefully this time." He followed Alec to the edge of the roof and tried not to look at the distance to the ground.

"Okay!" Alec got down on their stomach on the edge of the roof so they could swing their legs over the side, then moved one hand to the inside of the window and wiggled down an inch until their feet were touching the window sill. "I'll be just inside, so if you need a hand to pull you in, I gotchu!" With that, they let go of the roof and pulled themself into the loft with their other hand.

Kieran crawled over to the edge and yelled down, "I'll definitely need a hand!" With his best effort, Kieran recreated Alec's maneuver. With one foot landing firmly on the sill, he stepped down slowly with his other before slowly crouching, trying to step back inside.

Alec reached forward to take Kieran's forearm and help him inside. They grinned at him. "You're a natural! Ça va?"

Kieran caught his breath as he landed inside. That was enough risk for the entire month. "Ça va," he replied, dusting off pants and palms.

"I have a lint roller if you need it," they offered with a laugh. "Gotta get the cat fur off somehow before the Morph cabin makes me die."

"That's okay." Kieran shook his head. "It's just clothes." Kieran made his way down the ladder. "It smells delicious in here."

"It does, eh?" Alec turned the timer off on their phone and followed Kieran down the ladder. They grabbed the towel hanging from the bar on the oven and used it to remove the burritos. "Can you grab a couple plates from the drying rack?"

Kieran did as he was told, making a neat stack of plates on the counter. "Should I set a table?"

Alec tried to remember what that would entail. "Sure! Silverware's in the drawer in front of you there. And I have... cups? What else do we need?"

"Napkins?" Kieran pulled a pair of forks and knives from the drawer, laying them on top of the plate. "May I use your restroom before we eat?"

"Right, yeah, napkins! I have paper towel?" Alec gave him a sheepish grin. "I'll figure it out. And yeah, right over there!" They wondered if hand towels folded small enough could pass for fancier napkins.

"Thank you." Kieran stepped back to the front of the cabin to fish a small pouch from his coat pocket before heading to the bathroom. "I'll just be a few minutes."

Alec's forehead creased in confusion as they watched him, but they shook it off and set about figuring out the napkins. Quickly, they remembered one of their main hobbies and folded two hand towels into miniature swans, setting them in front of each plate on the poker table they had chosen to serve as a dinner table. Once it was arranged to their liking, they took a seat to wait for Kieran.

After a few minutes, Kieran emerged from the bathroom and joined Alec at the poker table. "Resourceful," Kieran smiled. He sat down across Alec, laying the pouch on the edge of the table. "Thank you for cooking tonight."

Alec beamed at the praise. "Thanks! Figured I'd put a talent to use!" They rubbed their cheek against their shoulder at the second compliment, taking it more genuinely than the first. "No problem! I love cooking. Especially for friends." They glanced at the pouch. "Can I ask what that's for?"

Kieran couldn't help smiling a bit at the mention of friends. "This?" Kieran put a hand on the pouch. "It's just for my glucose meter and insulin."

"Oh! Okay." Alec nodded in understanding. "Good to know." They picked up their knife and fork, then put them down again. "These're burritos. Oops." Instead, they picked up their burrito and lifted it to Kieran with a laugh. "Cheers?"

Kieran laughed and opted for the fork and knife anyway. He tapped the tip of his fork against Alec's burrito. "Cheers."

[imaginesandideas]

Hii so I saw you were taking requests so I thought of requesting something it crossed my mind the other day, can you please do a Ben x Reader where the Reader is also a actress/singer and they date but Ben was away because of work so they haven't seen each other in like 2 months, so when the reader starts to get very close to her best friend/co-star he starts to get insecure because of what gwil or joe once told him about "The ones who doesn't make themself present aren't needed" ? Thank you!

I’m so so so so so sorry for coming with this only now, but I hope it’s worth the wait! ❣️🙌

I changed the request a bit, but the main idea remains.

Missing you

you two meet during some audition

it went bad, oh so bad

you were still relatively new to this business, so your stress wasn’t helpful either

you were paired for a improvised scene and the thought itself had you biting your bottom lip in attempt to calm your nerves

the man was breathtaking to look at, not to mention that he seemed just as stressed as you

that is, until he looked at you

his attitude mellowed and soon you two chatted loosely, forgetting about your audition completely

by the time you were supposed to start your line, you were totally messed up by Ben’s 3rd or 4th petty joke

“Hey, hey. You know how can you tell when a plane is full of actors?”

you try to stifle another wave of giggles as your mind already imagines the answer

“Uhm, no?”

“When the engine stops but the whining continues.”

Ben can’t help but laugh as you snort, hiding behind the script in your hands

it’s at that moment that he knows that no matter how much you two are about to ruin this audition, he has to get your number

and then ask on a date

and several other dates

and then ask you to move in with him after few more months as you lay tangled in duvets one day

many auditions later, you’ve gotten used to having to race constantly between sets

many times you ended up going straight from the airport to Ben’s set, just to see him before you’d have to return for additional shots

he’d do the same thing for you

if one of you doesn’t not have any upcoming projects, you’d join the other on set

you two would spend every spare moment talking plans, practicing lines, cuddling, making out

making up for all of the lost time

sometimes you’d join Ben on occasional hangouts with his co-stars, some of them quickly becoming your friends too

when you met Joe you two clicked momentarily

it was easy since you shared similar sense of humour

Ben loves watching your interactions and reading the inside jokes you’d exchange every minute

after all you and Joe are his favourite people on the whole world

“Alright, maybe I’ll just leave you guys since I’m clearly not needed here?”

“Oh Benny. Jealous cause I get along with your girl better than you do?”

“Yeah but guess who’s taking her home smartass.”

“I can be very convincing, right _____?”

“Oh I don’t know Ben, America seems nice...“

“That’s it, we’re going home!”

over time it became harder for you to see each other for longer than just a few weeks

there were times where you’d barely exchange few hurried kisses before you had to be off to some party, despite just coming back from long weeks of shooting

he wasn’t mad, not a bit

all of all the people you knew, both your family and friends, he’s the only one who actually understands the scenario your life revolves around

it’s only on lazy days, when he’s not making a film, or when he’s finally alone in his trailer when it dawns to him how much he misses you

he misses how your eyes lit up when you’re telling him about your day

or how you laugh when he’s telling you about his own

so when one time he’s back home from filming much sooner than you, he’s missing you more than ever

daily calling and FaceTiming don’t help much, because you haven’t been around each other for two months now

“Baby I miss you so fucking much.”

“Ben, baby... You know I’d be there in a heartbeat if I could.” you can hear him exhale on the other end. Rubbing his thigh, he continues.

“Y’know... I could always fly myself up there.”

“Honey...”

“I’d be useful! I could rub your shoulders? I bet you’re bloody tense after all those reshoots.” you sigh into the phone, because he has a point, again “And then, I could edge you off some more...”

“Christ, Ben! Don’t get me all flustered when I need to be back in front of the camera in 3 minutes.” you hear him chuckle and smile creeps on your own face too.

“Love you.”

“And I love you too blondie.”

over weeks you stopped calling as often, only texted him from time to time

but he knows it’s not your wish but the circumstances obligating you to set your work first

luckily Joe had a visit planned out, so you know Ben is in good hands

you realise how good ones, after you check your notifications the next day, and find loads of sweet declarations of love

but like, in every app you two have accounts on

and they’re all full of misspellings, but your heart immediately melts

you also get some videos

but it’s mainly Joe recording as Ben is doing a semi-coherent monologue about how much he misses you, or generally Joe and Ben singing some serenades

most likely Love Of My Life or Somebody To Love

you’re having fun with your co-stars too, often ending the day with a drink or two at a nearby bar

you realize something’s off because Ben’s messages are more distant

even when you talk on FaceTime he seems more tense

you’re just hoping it’ll change once you’re back home in his arms

but when you see him, he seems upset by something you can’t quite put into words

of course he’s all smiles when he holds you at the airport, covering your entire face with loving kisses and holding you so tight against him as if you could disappear any second

he says it’s the stress, but deep down you know it’s more complicated than that

you don’t continue the conversation and wrap the day up with Italian takeaway on the couch as you show him pictures from the set and sightseeings

mouth filled with pasta, you explain every photo, especially if there’s a fun story behind it

but he’s not remarkably invested in the slideshow

his eyes almost always dart to you and how corners of your lips ride up at the hilarity of clips

it’s the next morning that he finally lets it all out

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking pathetic.”

He nearly breathes it and it takes your sleepy head a moment to catch what he meant. You frown and turn around to face him. The warmth of your bodies tangled in sheets makes it incredibly hard to start such conversations so early.

“What do you mean Ben? I never said-“

“_____ I know, it’s just... you’re out there, having fun, making friends. And I’m not there. And I feel left out, which is fucking silly because you could say the same thing when I’m gone but-“

You place a finger on his plump, trembling lips.

“Are you seriously jealous?”

He lets out a sigh, eyes locked with yours, though he’s desperately trying to avoid you seeing through him. But it’s too late and you’re already placing a hand on his cheek, thumb caressing his cheekbone. “Ben I love you. Why would you feel like there’s a reason for you to be jealous?”

His gaze lingers lower, to your neck and he’s trying to own up to the thoughts he’s been having. His fingers are gentle, unsure even, as if the bond you’ve built has suddenly became fragile like glass.

„I saw the pictures with that guy you’ve posted while Joe was still here, and I thought that you don’t need me. Cause I’m always away, and when I’m not there’s always something else going on anyway, and ugh... ‘The ones who doesn't make themself present aren't needed’ and all that shit.”

“Who told you that?” he’s rubbing his neck now, a nervous habit of his.

“Uhm, J-Joe?”

“Oh come on! He’s such a dumbass for making you think like this! Oh my god, I’m gonna call him right now!”

At an instant you’re pulling off the sheets to reach for the phone on your nightstand, but he’s quick to catch you by your waist to draw you closer to him.

“Oh fuck Joe, it’s not about him. I just...” he sighs again.

“He’s making you think that I’d dump you for people I barely met.” You look into his baby-blues again, sure to drown in their depth any second. He’s clearly apologetic but you can still see the glimpse of insecurity in his gaze. You place a gentle kiss on his lips. “That’s just fucking stupid. I love you like crazy Ben, and there’s no other person I’d rather spend my time with.”

You let your fingers trace over his exposed collarbone and up to his jaw. “Sometimes I hang out with others of course, but that won’t change anything between us. Cause we’re stuck together. I want to be stuck with you till my bones grow old.” you exclaim sweetly enough to make his whole expression soften. You leave a trail of kisses on his cheeks, jawline, one on the nose and forehead.

“Marry me.” you abruptly stop.

“W-what?”

“Marry me _____. Not now, not tomorrow, but let me love you forever” a kiss “and ever” another one “and ever.” You breathe out and return the kiss, only intensifying it, almost losing yourself in his warmth.

You pull away, vision a but blurry and lips pink and swollen. His entire face is glowing, redness taking over his features. You can feel how his heart sped up, just in time with yours.

“Only if I can return the favour.” you cuddle into his side and he wraps you in his arms and kisses the top of your head.

“Any day doll, any day.”

“But I’m gonna kick Joe’s american ass anyway!”

“No doubt about that.”

~~~~~

Ooof, that went further than I planned , but I regret nothing

Comments, ideas and words of notice are always appreciated 💜

[leakirazine]

Pillow Fort

(@katealot)

One and a half years. One and a half years ago, the Hignue had invaded and unleashed hell on the world. Hordes of extraterrestrial electronic life overwhelmed humanity and in 6 months, that flame of human life was all but quashed.

Three months. Three months ago a team of four survivors set out on their mission to follow the whispers rumors of the Resistance, a supposed group of surviving anarchists with connections to an un-infested safe haven.

28 days. It had been 28 days since the last time they’d heard from Heirloom. After two months of weekly correspondence, the radio silence was more than unusual.

Pana sat on a pile of pillows in their corner of the room, a laptop on their lap, and a radio scanner next to them. Their brow was furrowed in concentration as they typed furiously. Their last communication had been on the 27th of last month. Pana glanced at the beat up calendar tacked to the wall. Today was the 24th. They let out a sigh through their nose and focused back on the scanner, picking up the radio that was attached and pushing the ‘TALK’ button. They played a recording of the S.O.S. tone into the receiver before speaking.

“If there is anyone who reads me, please come in. We need help. Again, if there is anyone out there who reads me, please respond. The city has been overrun. We are survivors who need help. Please respond.” They strapped a rubber band to the com so that the talk button would stay on and kept the S.O.S. on repeat, as it would stay for the next hour.

Then, through the front entrance came a voice and then another following suit.

“I just don’t understand why we have to go now. We haven’t had time to talk this through.”

“That’s not your choice, Leo! He’s my brother. Not to mention his husband and the others. Why can’t you get on board with this?!”

The first to come into sight was Akira, who stepped over the tripwire and disabled the intruder alarm up front. Then came Leandro, whose face was twisted in some sort of emotion that resembled either anger or sadness or maybe concern? Pana couldn’t tell.

“Well excuse me for being a little uncomfortable with up-and abandoning the only thing we know for certain is safe!” He shot in Akira’s direction.

Akira approached Pana’s corner, paying notice to when they pointed toward the lit ‘On Air’ sign and keeping his voice quiet.

“Any interference?” Pana shook their head. “Have you heard from Heirloom?” He tried to keep any twinge of hopefulness out of his voice, but shit, he needed good news. Pana’s frown deepened just so and then another shake of the head. Akira sighed and closed his eyes. A month was too long. They had to do something.

Leandro appeared behind Akira and put his hands on either side of his arms, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion.

“Look,” he said next to his ear, “I just don’t like the idea of taking you and Pana to chase after silence. If we don’t know what happened to them-”

Akira turned on a dime.

“Don’t go there.” He hissed in a whisper. And he stormed away.

Leandro looked at Pana and huffed. He reached into on of his jacket pockets and pulled out a package of gummy bears, tossing it to the ginger.

“Anything?” Head shake. “Damn. Guess I better go talk to him.”

“Probably.” Pana throws a green gummy bear at him.

“Hey,” he smirked, pointing at them “don’t waste those, they’re hard to find.” Pana cracked a smile and threw another gummy.

“Go console Akira.”

“Yeah, yeah…” And so he left Pana to their tech and headed toward the second story ladder.

                                             - - - - - - -

Leandro peeked his head above the landing. Akira was sitting with his back to him, knees folded to his chest with arm around them, looking at the lilac evening sky through the gaping hole that made it less of a room and more of a balcony.

He climbed up and walked over, plopping himself down next to him and draping his arm over his shoulder. Akira laid his head against him without saying a word. They stayed quiet, just watching the sky, droids zipping through the air and collecting data on the conditions to report back to their homebase. Leandro spoke first, softly and with care dripping from every word.

“You understand, everything I say comes from a place of love right? I need you to understand that.”

Leandro felt Akira take a deep breath against his body.

“I know.” He said. Another moment of quiet. “It’s just,” he sighed “I don’t know where he is. Dashi, a-and Dante and Sansa and Henrae… they could be lost or captured or… dead for all I know. And I… I just need to know.” He finally turned to look Leandro in the eyes. He looked so deflated. Softly he added, “Wouldn’t you want the same the for your family?”

It still hurt., but it was duller now. The topic didn’t knock the wind out of him like it used to. It didn’t cause him to double over and hyperventilate. And the ache he felt now wasn’t the same ache he got after hours of sobs racking his chest. Now it was more muted. He’d almost come to terms with it. His family had all been at home when the invasion started. Cuba was hit so fast and so brutally, the damage and death toll was devastating. What few phone lines weren’t destroyed were jammed and nobody could seem to get ahold of anyone. Rescue teams that had been sent didn’t come back and eventually the world diverted their attentions to… to places that stood a chance.

The only family that could have evaded it was his sister Vera, who’d been stationed in Canada during the attack. But even the military suffered. Wearing itself thin until corruption and panic all but tore it apart. Leandro stopped hoping. He made the very realistic assumption that everyone he cared about was gone. He’s lucky Tadashi, Henare and Akira had found him when they did. That kind of mindset doesn’t bode so well in a place where death wasn’t that hard to achieve.

“You guys are my family. All I want is to keep you safe.” He nudged against him so they swayed together for just a moment.

“We can only live in safety for so long.”  Hearing a catch in Akira’s words, Leandro realized with a start that he was crying. Akira wasn’t a crier. He was more of a punch-holes-in-the-wall kind of emoter. He stared at his downturned face while he continued. “The Hignue are closing in, they’ll have the city clean soon, we’d be lucky to get 3 more months here. Pana’s driving themself crazy looking for any shred of evidence Morgan and their family is okay and now Tadashi-” His shoulders shuddered and his words caught in his throat. Leandro’s brows knit together, and he looked on, heartbroken, at a boy who was so used to pushing his fear aside it ate him alive.

He turned and pulled Akira into his body and rubbed his back as he cried quietly into his jacket. He rested his head atop his and shushed him sweetly, looking out toward the edge of the city that used to taper off into a nice suburban area. Thing’s still smoked. Buildings lay crumbled against the skyline. Akira was right, of course. They didn’t have much longer here. They had hoped that Heirloom would make it to the Resistance base and give them the greenlight to follow by now. But when they stopped receiving telecommunications, shit hit the fan.

Leandro took a breath.

“We’re going to go after them.”

Akira met his eyes, puffy and but wide with emotion.

“But… we take time to properly prepare.” He took one last over the fading color of the sky. “We don’t go tonight, or tomorrow. We get our shit together. Then we’ll go.” He turned back to meet Akira’s gaze.

He doesn’t say anything. Just studies Leandro’s face before nodding. That’s all Leandro needed. He pressed a long, gentle kiss to his forehead.

They watched the darker hues takeover the sky and the moon grow brighter until it illuminated the sky in a soft pale yellow glow from behind a passing cloud. Akira retired downstairs to prep tomorrow, leaving Leandro gazing at the sky deep in thought, legs dangling. He thought about everything they were about to get into. About how the second they stepped foot beyond city boundaries they were completely at the hands of fate, who thus far, had appeared to be nothing but cruel. But the thought that kept making its way to the front of his mind demanded him to know what the future held. And he didn’t know how to answer that thought. Not even when he pulled the little box out of his pocket to look at the ring he held on to. Especially then.

One of the featured fics! Zine coming out soon! Keep your notifications on!

[auntie-diluvian]

What would have happened in chapter 2 if you decided to write it?

Eek I’m so sorry I took so long to answer this!

The longer I think about it, the more I think a second part would have really jumped the shark any way I’d have written it, but I did have some thoughts*, which got… uh, kinda long (hence me taking forever to answer your ask), so I’m gonna put them beneath a cut if I can figure out how.

Some of this was sort of charted out in a long chat between me and Py (specifically I think the bit with Papyrus showing up, which I think was her idea?), but that conversation was so long ago it’s been lost to the sands of time (and tumblr chat having no search function), so most of this is new and specific to the version I posted.

I had a couple of scenes in my head that were a little more defined, the rest was just kind of vague, and it never came to a conclusion, really. So I guess, in theory, all of those “Reader goes to Italy and carboloads themself into personal fulfillment, Sans dies of skelesyphilis, and his gf fucks off somewhere” fantasies can still happen. If, you know, by the end of me rambling about this, any of that still sounds, oh god, you know, fuck, appealing, or whatever. If not, then uhhh whoops sorry I don’t have any ending for you at all, my dude.**

Also this hasn’t been beta’d or anything, I didn’t want to give it the same status as the stuff I actually publish, just like, on principle? so like. keep your expectations in check maybe? especially re: some of the most cliche and melodramatic dialogue I’ve written to date lol

The first scene was to take place on Jan 2nd:

Your friend, the one you’re now glad isn’t speaking to you, is standing at your door, anxiously clutching a small, rectangular cardboard box bearing a sticker you recognize as the logo of your favorite bakery. She speaks to you, and you feel your stomach flip.

“Um, so, these are for you. Uh, happy new year, by the way, and um, the frosting probably got a little smushed- you know how high they like to pile it on. But, you know, they’re fresh, so- should be good. Got your favorites.”

She hands you the box and you peek inside. Cupcakes, of course. Half the frosting’s on the lid, like she said, and you stare at them, dumbfounded. Can’t look at her.

She clears her throat.

“I know what I’m like, sometimes. I can be melodramatic and petty and- and self-destructive. I do dumb shit like drive away my closest friend with the silent treatment because I didn’t get the answer I wanted. I’m so sorry. You were right, and, god, furthermore? The entire thing was just… stupid, you know? Can you forgive me?”

You sway on your feet, dizzy.

“Of course.”

She steps forward and hugs you, and as her arms wrap around you, so does an awful panic.

Your cell phone is burning a hole in the pocket of your bathrobe, from the text you had received ten minutes prior, alerting you to your friend’s impending arrival:

Sans: she’s coming over to your place. please don’t tell her anything. i’ll figure something out. sorry to ask you to do this. i’ll make it up to you

Sans: ok that sounded wrong. not what i meant. everything sounds wrong though

Sans: i’m sorry

“Oh, thank you,” she says, sounding more grateful than she should, her scarf tickling your cheek. “That’s such a relief. Thank you.”

Really just laying that guilt on thick. Uhhh let’s see, after that:

You tell her you’re sick just to get her to go away and she believes you because you look horrible and are wearing a bathrobe in the middle of the afternoon

Cue angst about furthering the extent of your dishonesty

The next day she texts you just to “catch up” but in the middle of it, drops that Sans has been more than usually distant. They talked about so much and she knows it’s going to take time for things to get better, but since that first conversation on New Year’s Day, he’s kind of shut down-

But enough about her problems, what’s been going on with you? Oh, Not Much, you tell her. You’re still getting over your cold but you’ve gone back to work. It’s the truth, more or less. You have the sniffles, at any rate, though that’s more due to your daily extended heartbreak/guilt crying alone sessions than any physical malady.

A week later, your friend is back to sending you memes and talking about her job, your favorite shows you watch. Sans is living with her. Everything is normal, on the surface. Sans chimes in on the group chat every now and again, but that’s it. Not another word from him. The awful feeling in the pit of your stomach has faded to a dull ache that only bothers you at night.

Which is why it’s a total surprise when Papyrus shows up on your doorstep one evening and lets himself in. You didn’t even know he was in town. You’ve met him a few times, loved the guy, but he’s not here for a social call.

Well, okay, he is, but it’s not a pleasant one. He is. So. Disappointed. In you. He’s prepared a speech! To express the enormity of your fuckup.

About the 45-second mark of which, you break down sobbing. He stops immediately and grabs you a glass of water and a cool washcloth for your neck.

He apologizes as you calm down, and you have a long talk with him about the hows and the whys. It’s incredibly cathartic, you’ve never told anyone about any of this situation, and you’re drained by the time you’re done. But as he leaves, he has this look on his face and you hate it- pity tinged with trace amounts of leftover dismay, so it’s a relief to lock yourself in for the evening, even if the alternative (i.e. being alone with your thoughts and your guilt and everything else) isn’t much better.

An hour or two later, you get another text from Sans: “i’m sorry again, i didn’t know he was gonna do that.”

Interrupting myself here to say as an aside, so much for a synopsis of my vague concept; this is now going on 800 words. Look at all this work you definitely made me do that I didn’t put on myself at all. Anyway.

Sans text, continued: “he’s in town cuz of me, though, so i think i gotta listen to him. he’s uh saying we should get together and talk about how i”

“hang on”

Five minutes later: “scratch that i’m not listening to him.”

Ten full minutes later: “we can have lunch tomorrow. to talk. if you want. you don’t have to agree to it. i’ll understand.”

It’s about two in the morning when you finally respond: “Where and when?”

He replies immediately.

It’s a good sandwich. A shame you can’t do much more than just poke at it and nibble at the toppings that have fallen out of it onto the wax paper basket liner. And the bag of chips is completely out of the question. You’ve already put them away for later, for when you might eventually start regretting skipping lunch because of the awful somersaults your innards keep doing. Sans’s sandwich isn’t faring much better- he’s twirling his frilly-ended toothpick between his fingers, occasionally poking it into his dill pickle wedge.

Neither of you has said a word past your perfunctory greeting and the order you’d both placed at the counter eight minutes ago. The rest of the sandwich shop doesn’t seem to care, though. Most of its other patrons are absorbed in getting their order and getting out, or making the most of their too-brief lunch hour. It’s noisy, and it would be the perfect setting for the conversation you’re supposed to be having, you credit Sans with that much. If you could just speak.

You’re staring off over his shoulder, at the display rack of different brands of hot sauce, when he startles you by biting off over half of his pickle, chewing, and swallowing with his eyes closed and a sigh.

“thanks for… you know, not telling her yet.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” you say with enough sourness to give that pickle a run for its money.

“no, yeah, i know- i just. yeah. i’ll tell her, though. soon. uh, -ish.”

“Will you tell me when you do it? I don’t think I can take another unexpected visitor, and  I-” you laugh, ”-I’m going nuts checking my phone, panicking at every single notification.”

“‘course. yeah.”

“Okay. Thanks. For that.”

“sure.”

You tear off a piece of sliced turkey that’s hanging out the edge of your sandwich.

“…can i say somethin’?”

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“i didn’t- uh, know you had- i just thought you were riding the same wave of… whatever that was, as me.”

He clears his throat.

“i didn’t know you felt that w- i mean, that you had actual feelings for- at least, not until you started sayin’ all those things–”

“–I changed my mind, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

He ducks his head.

“yeah, okay.”

You take another bite of your sandwich, chewing as you scramble for something, anything, else to say.

“So. Uh, how’s, um, y'know, everything else?”

He blinks, shakes his head, and laughs.

“what, you really wanna know? or are you askin’ just to ask?”

Shit. No, you don’t really want to know.

“Yeah. I wanna know.”

He leans back, the plastic of the chair back creaking, and looks out the window behind you.

“shit… it’s all… it’s all fallin’ apart on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, already a well-honed reflex.

“not your fault, really. in the end. i’m just already tired. a week ago, this’s all i wanted, for everything to go back to normal. but it turns out normal was just a lot of her pretending she could stand me. and we’re not pretending, anymore. so… but that’s supposed to help us sort everything out, right?”

Goddamn your bleeding heart that got you into this in the first place.

“feels capricious of me, right? but if it’s gonna end, why can’t it just end already? but i’m not allowed to give up yet, because that’s not what we’re doing, we’re working through our issues.”

He pushes his basket over to the seat next to him, and folds his arms on the table, head nestled into them.

“even though giving up is all i wanna do anymore,” he says, voice muffled by his sleeves.

“Every relationship requires work, Sans,” you say. Platitudinal, but true, if not particularly helpful.

“but at what point do you cut your losses? is it before or after the seventieth thing this week she tells you you’ve been doing wrong all along that she never bothered to mention to you before? you know she prefers the loose end of the tp to come out underhanded? i didn’t. she’s wrong, but hey, fuck- anything for my baby. i’m tired. i didn’t know it was gonna be like this.”

Underhanded toilet paper rolls? Do you even know who she is?

“i should just go ahead and tell her about this whole thing, already, see if that- i dunno, breaks us beyond repair. but if i do that now when all our wounds are still fresh, i don’t get to say i tried to fix things, and i guess on some level, i need that.”

He rubs his face.

“fuck, listen to me whine. i’m making it sound worse than it is. ”

“Dude, I don’t know. I’m still horrified by the toilet paper thing.”

He snorts.

“i don’t even use the stuff much, so it wasn’t worth makin’ a whole thing out of it.”

“Okay, but I’m fixated on it. It’s like, all I can think about. What the fuck?”

You’re overcome with the strangest feeling- it shouldn’t be so odd to you now, three weeks into your guilt spiraling, but you want to text her about this so badly, to give her grief about it. And if this were a normal situation, if you hadn’t made everything awful, you wouldn’t hesitate. But you’re having a clandestine lunch with her boyfriend to discuss the awful thing you did, and therefore you can’t give her shit about her weird habit you now know about thanks to him, which is what friends do. Friends don’t let friends put the roll on the wrong way without at least dragging them for it for the rest of their natural lives, so can you still even call yourself her friend?

Probably not, huh? That, and the other thing you did. Friends don’t do that, either.

Your smile fades as you start to understand on a much more personal level what he meant. You doubt you’ll be granted the same mercy as him, of working out your issues, and until then you have to live like this, unable to even joke around without it turning bitter. You’re going to lose her, too- you’re going to lose them both, maybe, probably, and the waiting and pretending is only adding to your misery. It’s a hollow kind of wanting, for something to be over and done with, but it’s rooted in you all the same.

You finally decide you’re not going to finish your sandwich, but you wrap it back up in the wax paper liner anyway, and start putting your coat back on.

“Well. Thanks for meeting with me. I think I’d better head back to work, now.”

“you realize we didn’t talk about what happened at all, right?”

You shrug. “Maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe we don’t need to.”

“you don’t- you don’t have anything you wanna say to me.”

You close your eyes and sigh.

“I’m… sorry?”

“shit, yeah, me too.”

“It was a mistake.”

“unequivocally, yeah.”

“I think that about covers it, don’t you?”

He nods silently.

“Then… I’ll see you around.”

You almost make it to the door, leaving him slumped in his seat with his uneaten sandwich. You look outside at the cold, slushy parking lot, check the time, and nearly get in your car and drive back to work. But instead, your feet carry you back to the table, back to Sans.

“I do actually just have one question.”

He looks up at you, and you can see deep into his eye sockets, and the dark semicircles beneath them, how tired he is.

“sure. anything,” he answers.

“If you had known how I felt, would it all have gone- would we be here now, having this conversation? Or would I have gone home before and none of this would have ever happened?”

Your fool brain wants you to continue: Or would you have stayed?

But you already know the answer to that one, so you stop yourself; these questions are dangerous enough, as is.

He actually looks somewhat taken aback.

“i don’t- i dunno. and i dunno how much good speculating about it’s gonna do. what’s done is done.”

“Please. It’s the one answer I feel like I have any right to.”

He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and leans back.

“yeah. i think i’d have done the same thing.”

Your chair creaks as you fall back into it, defeated.

“Why?”

“what do you mean, why? did it seem like i gave a shit who else i was hurting at the time?”

He slumps a little further down, and in a softer, more soothing tone, says, “what are you after? do i care now that i hurt your feelings? …yeah. not that it really counts for anything.”

“It counts,” you croak.

“hmm.”

He stands, finally.

“guess you’re right, though. i’d better be getting back to work.”

He shrugs on his wool coat and winds his scarf around his neck.

“you uh… you gonna be ok?”

Are you? Feels like… maybe not?

The sobbing starts, even as you will it not to- christ, no, anything but that.

“oh. uh. shit.”

People are staring, now. You hide your face behind your hands, try to even out your voice to reassure him and your new audience that no, really, you’re fine, but it just comes out all the more overwrought for your efforts. Sans is useless, grimacing, hands outstretched towards you, placating, like with a panicking animal, and it reminds you of the conversation you’d had that night, when you’d offered yourself up as a shoulder to cry on.

“you wanna get out of here?” he asks, and you nod, rolling your eyes at your own uninvited histrionics and swiping at your cheeks.

“k,” he says, and when you open your eyes again, you’re sitting on your couch, in your apartment.

“got tissues?”

You swallow.

“Uh, bedroom, but- please don’t go in there, it’s- it’s bad.”

“k.”

He returns a few seconds later with a handful of toilet paper, and you take it from him.

“hey. it’s gonna be okay. y’know why?”

You blow your nose.

“Why?”

“no matter what else happens, you’ll always know: you put the toilet paper on the holder the right way.”

You chuckle weakly into your wad of tissue.

“You’re right. I’ll always have that.”

He sinks down on the couch next to you. Not too close.

You sigh and slump forward, elbows on your knees, calmer now.

“Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen. The- you know, the turning on the waterworks in a sandwich joint. That was embarrassing. I’m embarrassed.”

“happens. plus, i think you’ve earned the right to cry.”

Your chin wobbles again, threatening.

“Oh? I have? Cool. ‘Cuz I don’t know what I have the right to feel, or do, right now. It all feels wrong.”

“yeah. i know,” he mumbles.

“Sometimes I start feeling sad, for me, because of what I’m about to lose because of this? But then- no, can’t do that, because- hey, maybe I should have thought of that before we-” you catch your breath.

“yeah.”

“I’m mad at myself, and I’m pretty okay with that. But then sometimes I think maybe I’m mad at you for like, seven different reasons, and half of those reasons conflict with each other, but I can’t even… stay mad at you like I think I want to.”

You aren’t looking at him, but you can feel his stare.

“like how?”

You poke and prod at your face, trying to relieve some of the tension headache that’s building around your eye sockets and temples.

“Like, as your friend, I’m annoyed that you put up with ALL of her bullshit. You’re such a doormat when it comes to her. But as her friend, I’m so fucking appalled that you’d sleep with me, her best friend, less than a month after the breakup of a like- how many years? Six?”

“…seven.”

“Seven year relationship. Fuck, sorry, not to belabor the point or anything, but- yeah.” You sniffle. “And then- here’s the kicker. Just as me, alone, not relative to anyone else- I keep wishing you’d just fucking stayed in bed after I poured my heart out to you. Like I have any right to feel that. And of all of it, all the shit, that’s the one that sticks the worst, so the rest don’t get a chance to mean anything.”

The second you turn your head to make eye contact with him, he’s there, leaning in, warm. Big old eye sockets looking at you just like you’d wanted for so long.

“i should’ve. i know.”

Your breath leaves you, almost-but-not-quite on a sob, as he kisses you, and everything is right and better, if only for a split second.

“Wait.”

“yeah- yes. ok.”

“What about-” you can’t bring yourself to speak to him more than a few inches removed from the kiss, as if tethered there by a spell, “-what about everything you just said, what- this isn’t fixing things.”

“no.”

“And I can’t- you can’t do this to me again.”

“i won’t. it won’t be like last time.”

“You can’t promise that,” you say as matter-of-factly as you can manage, given the circumstances.

“keep thinkin’ about how i can’t remember the last time i felt the way i did when you were sayin’ all that stuff about me.”

Your cheeks flush even harder, as if the rest of you hadn’t yet gotten the memo.

“That’s called an orgasm.”

The ridge above his nasal cavity scrunches up pleasantly when he laughs.

“We shouldn’t.  If it was wrong before, it’s so much worse now.”

“i know.”

You cast your eyes aside to your front door, then down to where your hands are almost touching as you lean towards each other on the couch.

“You’re so full of shit, you know that?” you ask. “Fuck you for making me fall for it twice.”

Your eyelids flutter shut as you pull him in by the back of his neck.

THEN YOU FUCK AGAIN!!! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING!!! HOW COULD YOU!!!

hehe

He keeps his promise, more or less. It’s not her he has to run off to, at the end. You both have half a day of work ahead of you. You’re both late, and it’s as good an excuse as any for you to pretend he won’t still be going home to her, later.

You still have questions. You can’t focus at work.

He never promised much of anything, you now realize. It felt like he was offering much more, but- so what? Is he actually done with her? After everything? What does this look like tomorrow? A week from now?

What, you seriously think he’s going to leave her for you? Only if she kicks him out, you think, bitterly. Which makes you what, exactly? A consolation prize for his neglected ego?

You call him right as you’re getting off work, but hang up before he can answer. You want the truth??? You can’t handle the truth!!!

Things get better as they get worse. He starts coming over to see you, at least once a day. He stays an hour or two when he can. He talks with you in bed.

Yours, now, you think, sometimes.

You don’t ask him when he’s going to tell her. He’s choosing you, so he has to, right?

He will. Soon.

*Now I’m looking back at the beginning of all this and I’m like-

Some thoughts??? Bitch! You just wrote most of the damn thing! And after you said you weren’t gonna!

…So CLEARLY I had like, a little more I evidently wanted to say about this fucking thing. So there you go???

GOD that was a lot of dashes in there though, huh? I didn’t even try to keep the number down.

Oops hehhe

But, uh, yeah! I don’t know how this ends! Or even, at the risk of sounding a bit pretentious, if it ends! Maybe everyone learns from their mistakes and suffers the consequences! Or maybe nobody does! Or maybe it’s a weird combination of learning and not learning and suffering and not suffering because it’s supposed to be like, way more complicated than that.

**Or maybe reader and Sans’s gf wind up auditioning for the same local network tv wrestling show and they have lots of sexual wrestling tension together and also reader has like a will-they-won’t-they thing with an 80s disaster caricature of Marc Maron and they both bond with a group of wonderful interesting women and get to create something bigger than themselves!

God, I love GLOW. Maybe just go watch GLOW instead of this, it’s like, basically the same thing only with more eighties vibes and less skeletons and more women’s wrestling and less magical penises.

So really, not the same thing at all except for the one plot point of sleepin’ with your best friend’s dude that they kind of share, but very very good, you know?

Anyway! I love getting asks (I apparently love them so much that I can’t help myself and end up writing almost an entire chapter just to answer them), and fleshing out all the vagueness a little more without the self-imposed pressure of having to finish it into something publishable was really fun. So thanks for this ask!

[probablymango]

Dungeons and Arcana

Chapter 2: Character Building

Muriel stared at the screen, idly petting Scout as he tried to see if there was any jobs in town. So far, most of them were for jobs he didn’t qualify for or gave him too much anxiety for him to consider. “..... ugh. That’s enough for today.” He closed the laptop and set it aside. After a few seconds of not staring at a screen, he got up and set Scout down. Time for chores. There wasn’t much to do, the apartment was small, but they needed to get it done. Feed and water the dogs and Faust, make sure Scout didn’t try to eat Inanna’s food, make the bed, put clothes in the basket for later, put the dishes on the counter to be washed later, make sure the dogs didn’t shit or piss in the house, take the trash out, and finally, walk the dogs.

As he walked, he hoped that they’d be getting a new home soon. It was cramped living in the apartment with two other people, a snake, and two dogs, but it’s what they could afford. His mind drifted off as he thought about the kind of house they all wanted: out of town, a big backyard, good insulation, and big enough so that they could each have their own room. It wasn’t going to be cheap, but it would be so worth it.

He was about to turn back when Scout stopped and stared at a person, the boofed, grabbing the person’s attention away from their phone. “Hey, Scout, no.” They looked up at him, small tail wagging. “No boofing at strangers.”

He looked up to find the stranger walking up to him with a smile. “Hi, awkward question, can you help me find a place?”

“Um….” Inanna gently nudges his thigh. “Y… yeah. Where are you looking for?”

“Do you know a place called the Rowdy Raven? My brother wants me to meet him there, but the map doesn’t think it exists.” They hold up their phone, trying to prove their point.

“.......” He taps their phone, putting in the address. “This map isn’t up-to-date… There.”

“Thank you!” They grin, bouncing in place, then turning and holding out their hand to him. “I’m Portia, she/her.”

That was the first time someone introduces themself like that, he like it. “Muriel, he/him.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you, and hopefully, we’ll meet again!” She runs off, red hair flowing after her.

Scout snapped him back to reality by barking and tugging on the leash, pointed towards the apartment. He smiles softly, following the terrier hom. When he opened the door, he was hit with the smell of lemons and strawberries. He lets the dogs off their leashes and wanders to the kitchen, finding Mordenkainen watching a pan in the oven. “Hey M.C.”

They look up and smile. “Hey, Muriel! How was your walk?”

“It was alright, someone asked for directions though.” He looked around the room and groaned. “Mordy.” The kitchen was a mess, cabinets and drawers were open, dirty dishes and ingredients were left out. “You can’t keep doing this.”

They look up with an expression that was hard to describe, but gave off the feeling of ‘I know I’m being a brat, but am trying to look as non-guilty as possible’. “Doing what?”

He gestures at the rest of the kitchen. “This aries mess! You know to clean up.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” They squat in front of the oven, as if that would hide their deeds.

“I’m a virgo, you can’t leave messes like this!” He groans, torn between laughing and mortification.

They wiggle a bit in place, smiling. Then a timer goes off and they pull out a cake, lemon with strawberry. Scout comes running into the room, boofing softly and watching the cake. “Not for you, it’s not for you.” They baby voice their dog, setting the pan on the oven. They run a sink full of water and soap, then wander around the kitchen for dishes to clean.

“Thank you.” He sighs, closing cupboards and drawers, then wiping off the counters. “Why did you make a cake?”

“Can’t I ever just make a cake?” They pouted, then nod. “It’s for Julian’s sister and the group, she had a birthday recently and I figured it would be a good excuse for a cake. That reminds me, Lucio agreed to let you join the group.”

He stops wiping the table. “Oh……” He was nervous, he knew there wasn’t that much to be worried about, but groups of people still made him nervous.

They stop and look at him. “We.. we can cancel plans with him, if you really don’t want to.”

He shook his head, he wanted to, but that didn’t stop the worry in his thoughts. “I… What do I need to do?”

They smile and sit at the table and urge him to sit as well. “Well, you don’t need to bring much, just a character sheet. Asra and I can get the other items, like dice and some snacks.” They tilt their head at the cooling cake. “Would you like help with a character creation?”

He thinks for a bit, then nods. “Please.. I don’t even know where to start.”

They leave the room, then return with a laptop. “He said to do a self insert, so you don’t have to really worry about choosing a personality or basic looks, other than your own. We basically just need to select a class, choose some equipment, and then wait for Lucio to give us information on the world so that we can make you a background. Also, at some point we need you to get in contact with him.”

He nods, looking at the sheet they pulled up. “Okay, okay.”

Within a few hours, they’ve managed to do the basics and have them explain some of the finer details. “Remember, if you get confused, just ask one of us, okay?”

“Okay…… You said that… Lucy? Wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes, Lucio, would like to talk to you. Would you like his number or to meet him in person? His discord maybe?”

“....... Discord might be best for now.” They give him Lucio’s discord, then leave him at the table to frost the cake. “What kind of cake did you make?”

“Lemon with strawberry pieces.” They grin, setting the frosted cake into the fridge. “I think Portia will like it.”

Portia.. Could they mean….? “What does Portia look like?”

“Not sure. Julian said that she was him, but shorter and brighter.” They sat down with him again. “He said that most of us will probably get along with her. Why?”

He shrugs. “Met someone who said her name was Portia earlier.”

They grin, leaning closer. “Ooooooo~ You met someone.”

He blushed a bit, pushing their face back. “It’s not like that. She asked for directions, then ran off.”

They laughed, patting his hand. “You met someone, and if it’s the same Portia that Julian speaks of, you’ll see her Saturday.”

He slowly takes his hand away. “Okay…. Can.. can you sit with me while I contact Lu… Lucio?”

“Sure thing, dude.”

He smiles, whistling Inanna to come over, he pet her for a bit, then sent a message to him.

Muriel: This is Lucio? glamorousCapricious: That depends, who’s asking? Muriel: Muriel glamorousCapricious: arsa’s friend? Muriel: yes glamorousCapricious: can you give me a few minutes? Busy at work with a drunk Muriel: ok

He sits back and sighs, he wasn’t sure if waiting was worse, but that’s all he could do. “.... go get some rest, M.C.”

They shrug, trying not to yawn. “Not that tired.”

“Maybe not, but I know you have work tomorrow. Go to bed.” He lightly pushes at their shoulder, urging them to bed.

“Fiiiiiine.” They yawn and get up, gently patting his shoulder. “Don’t stay up too late yourself, okay?”

“Okay, good night.”

“Niiiiight!” They wander to the bathroom, probably to shower.

He hears the notification on his phone and pulls it up. It’s from Asra.

Asra: guess who i found at work! Me: Julian Asra: no Asra: well, yes, but hes not the focus!

Asra sent him a selfie of himself, Lucio, and a vaguely familiar person.

Asra: found your cuz! Asra: did you know he was coming today? Me: I thought he was coming tomorrow

Shit, shit, shit! He got out of the seat and started trying to clean up the living room and extending out the bed from the couch.

Asra: apparently he had to cancel plans due to his break up and just came early Asra: is it alright that he comes to our house a night early?

No!

Me: yeah Asra: ill let him know! Asra: he says hi and thanks!

The shower stops, so he takes his chance. “Mordy! Where did we put the extra blankets?”

“Uhhhhhhh! I think they’re under the bed!”

He runs into the bedroom and looks under the bed, immediately followed by Scout. There was a plastic container filled with blankets. Scout crawled under and batted at the box. “Yes, good puppy.” He struggles to get it, but is eventually able to have the blankets. He picks out some of the warmer blankets and gets them onto the couch. “Pillows, pillows..” Those were easier to find, scattered all over the house. He found a few different ones, not sure what his cousin prefered. “.......... this should be good enough.”

Me: tell him I said hi Me: when is he and you coming over? Asra: after my shift or til he gets bored of this place, so in a few hours or less

That’s not comforting.

Me: ok Asra: i gotta go back to the music, ttyl! Me: bye

He was about to put his phone away when he got a text from an unknown number texted him.

Unknown: This is Muriel, right? Me: who are you Unknown: Lucio Me: how did you get my phone number? Unknown: Arsa. he gave it to me, probably didn’t know that someone else gave you my discord

Yeah, that sounds about right. He saves Lucio’s number.

Me: then why are you texting me? Lucio: texting is faster in here than discord Me: oh Lucio: can I ask you some questions for the game? Me: sure Lucio: do you have a character sheet and a general sense of a backstory? Me: yes, do you want a picture of it? Lucio: that would be perfect

He sends him a copy and a small blurb of the background he’d come up with.

Lucio: interesting Lucio: are you open to suggestions? Some details might work better in the world i’m trying to create Me: what changes? Lucio: instead of living on a mountain, would you be open to the middle of the woods? Me: yes, that works Lucio: also, what would you/your character ask for as a super power from a magical entity? Me: …….. Im not sure Lucio: i see.. Lucio: you wanted them to be an ex gladiator? Me: yes Lucio: do you desire an active part in the campaign or would you like a more passive role for now? Me: passive would be best for now Lucio: did they have a gladiator name and did the crowd like them? Lucio: or do you want me to decide that? Me: don’t have a name, but i think he was hated

It takes a while, but he does respond back.

Lucio: How does Scourge of the South sound? Me: sounds good

The rest of the conversation was determining some of the finer details, like his relation to some of the other characters, a bit more backstory, that he could bring Inanna to the game, and that he was now an accomplice for Lucio to move the plot forward for the others. In his words, ‘The others sometime go on a streak of not doing things and results in them not doing anything, but wanting more to do of what he didn’t plan for.’ He snorts. That sounds like M.C. and Asra.

Maybe this game wouldn’t be so bad.