#i want a nest man

[stabbyfoxandrew]

i want to crawl under my desk and go to sleep

[aria-greenhoodie]

I fucking HATE them.

Click for Quality!

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 290

Ghosts have the habit of taking names of those they’ve defeated. Not in spars or play-fights of course, and one has to actually be an adult for the instinct to hit, but it happens. It happens far more often than one would think. 

Jason? Actually has no clue when he comes back to the living why he stole one of the Joker’s older names, nor why the Pit goes so angry when he thinks about Robin- HisTitleHisFraidNameFromFamily- 

Now the Pit? Not a baby semi-near the cusp of adulthood, in fact is Very Old even if it’s more hivemind-esque then a full on realms entity. Very offended for the Baby it was gifted, because who takes that from a literal infant?! 

Oh! Oh that’s another baby! Hm, change of plans, obviously the baby is also its. Because while adult ghosts trying to forcefully take a Name is a direct challenge? A ghostling- or in this case liminal- doing it is an open invitation for adoption. 

[starry-bi-sky]

mmmmmm read a disciple shen yuan/shizun luo binghe fanfic about two days ago where the first chapter was the Immortal Conference arc, and SQQ was the one who had to be pushed into the abyss (he was still the villain) except Luo Binghe was refusing and was like, lowkey losing his mind about SQQ being so close to the edge. SQQ ended up having to be the one to fall in himself because of the system's punishment system. The rest of the fic is leading up to that moment. But like, MMM i've been obsessively thinking about that first chapter for DAYS ever since.

now i've been in svsss for a grand total of *checks watch* a week. but god obsessed with that. I want to write/read a fic where disciple SQQ goes a little nuts down there. Like keep all of the things that make SQQ, SQQ, but just. Throw in a little bit more trauma in there. A little bit of a mental break. Let him go a little nuts as a treat. Just a tad unhinged. I wanna see him go, just a little, "god fuck it, i've tried so hard to change this shitty story's outcome and it feels like everything i've done has been for nothing. I'm going to die in this world no matter what I do, I've been doomed from the start, so might as well die the way I want to." and he just, breaks a little! Under all the stress.

He still retains the traits that makes shen yuan, shen yuan, like his overwhelming kindness. But he's just! yk. A little less patient. Paranoid. Jumpy. Colder. A little more aloof and closed off. A little more Shen Jiu. He's no asshole child abuser, but he was a Number One Hater in his past life and he's leaning into that old habit a little more now.

(On a totally coincidental not-at-all related note, there's not enough SJ-and-SY-are-the-same-people fics out there that i've found. This is totally unrelated...)

The Endless Abyss turns the mind into an over-sharpened blade, and SQQ is both fascinated and perhaps a little excited to explore a place that doesn't have a lot of info on it in the mortal realm, but still terrified out of his mind. And he's no Luo Binghe, he doesn't have the sheer brute strength and power to just bulldoze his way through, so he has to be a lot more sneaky and cunning if he wants to survive.

The fic itself role-swapped LBH and SQQ so that SQQ was the half-demon (which lowkey fucks) and LBH the human, but I'm equally-if-not-more obsessed with the idea that LBH remains the half-heavenly demon and SQQ the human. If only because I keep thinking about SQQ befriending some demons (particularly and specifically a group of succubi) and they grow very attached to this Human Cultivator so through magic plot stuff they create some kind of seal/illusion/talisman that makes SQQ appear as a demon because a human cultivator in the endless abyss may as well be the equivalent of putting a giant neon target on your back.

And iirc Shen Jiu was taught demonic cultivation by that one guy(?? i've only been here a week so im not caught up in ALL of the lore yet) so that could totally happen here.

(On the other end of the realms, poor Shizun Luo Binghe is just. losing his fucking mind over losing his most precious and beloved disciple. About .5 seconds from burning down the peaks himself. somebody sedate him.)

The Endless Abyss sucks and SQQ is having a really terrible time and can feel himself going lowkey mad, but also holy shit look at all this WORLD-BUILDING. look at all this flora and fauna, and oh if he had the equipment for it he'd be writing all of this down. ALL OF IT. He was kinda-sorta-already planning on never leaving the Abyss as some sort of fucked up self-exile and self-preservation thing, but now he might? actually just?? never leave if he can help it, like he lowkey likes it down here.

anyways the next time anyone ever sees SQQ again he's got hair so long its almost touching the ground and he's either in rags and half-feral or he's been completely dolled up by his adoptive succubi sisters and still about three seconds from biting anyone who tries to touch him. (he's also lowkey trying to book it back down to the abyss even if he has desperately missed all of his friends and shizun)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Leave wildlife alone. He probably bites.

 [First] Prev <–-> Next

[gophergal]

TFTober 19 & 20 - At Home & Headshot

In which I attempt something impressionistic and end making sniper look like a muppet

[meowdy-all]

GOD i have an obsession with Omega Eddie Diaz, i cant get enough. I go back and browse the tag every other day, even though theres no new fics. Its in my blood. Its taking over my mind.

[modernvintage]

It’s fuckin wild that y’all are hating Luke Newton for having a gf that’s not Nicola Coughlan when she herself has given zeroooo indication that she wants him.

[andy-clutterbuck]

9x04 | The Obliged

[indecisive-dizzy]

thinking about Julie going into hibernation, but also how she was participating in winter activities and was at the Homewarming party.

obv an in-universe excuse is writing inconsistency within the show but nahh. i wanna get sad.

My headcanon is that Julie begins hibernation after the Homewarming party. Right after. And later in the evening it turns into a different party, Julie's Goodnight Party (name in progress).

It's fun, because any party with this rainbow monster's name in it is gonna be fun! but there's an underlying somberness. They eat, play games and talk about everything and anything like the Homewarming party, but it just feels different.

(continues below, sad warning bc I made myself sad)

When Julie starts getting sleepy, the party ends with her neighbors giving their farewells, goodnights, and big hugs.

Frank is the one to walk her home, of course. He brushes Julie's hair, makes sure her and her nest has everything she needs, and stays with her as she falls asleep. But not before they share a big, comforting, long hug filled with every unspoken "I'll miss you" and every ounce of love they can pour into it.

It's the longest Frank has ever hugged anybody. "A hug long enough to get him through winter," according to Julie.

He wished that were true.

Either way he smiles, he smiles for Julie as it's the last expression she sees before finally closing her eyes to sleep.

The tears that later soaked into his pillow are the only secret Frank's ever kept from his best friend.

[fedoraspooky]

Heck with it *tosses AU where he was developed in the lab as a dragon hybrid onto the massive pile of AUs as well*

Don't look at me, blame @mysticdoodles for this adorableness XD

[hcdragonwrites]

Epilogue ( @journey-to-the-au Fic)

This is what happens at the end of Tea trouble. It’s just short but it’s because I wanted to write fluff and cuddles and warmth.

The sun sank slowly into the sea, painting that great swath of liquid to fire. Willow felt the soft weariness sneak into her face as finally, finally her family mounted their heavenly steeds and kept back into the sky. The stars were beginning to appear in the darkening night. Gold, wood, water and fire. They marked the sky with their light as she waved her sisters goodbye.

From the mouth of babes came a second peace, a second chance. Lychee had offered the peach and Winter had taken a bite from it. An exchange and a wave of apologies. Willow had spent that time swapping tales and trading secrets of her home. Of her mountain. With her sisters. They listened attentively. They touched her hand- sought comfort and reassurance they had not lost her forever in their callous remarks. Willow reassured, reaffirmed and rebounded with each of her sisters.

She was exhausted. Willow sighed, itching her scalp. Her hairpins still bothered her, and her clothes felt too heavy. She wanted nothing more then to sleep for a fortnight. Anger was an emotion Willow rarely dove into, rarely utilized and unleashed. Calm rage? Yes. Anger that blinds like this one did ? No. It left her feeling achy and tired and o so sensitive to her skin.

Willow sighed. She was so thankful to the fruit troop, to Pear and Apple, Pomelo and Mulberry. And Lychee. The bravest little mischief maker ever. The first to offer a olive branch to her sisters and to forgive them. No one will talk that way to them ever again.

For now as the sun cast itself into the sea Willow felt her final strength ebb and fade with its light. She took a step back to rebalance herself —

Great large furred arms swung her up and over broad shoulders. She squealed in surprise as Wukong raised her up, growing in size himself.

“WILLOW!” He practically roared as the rest of the mountain followed suit. Thousands of the troop came racing forward, pressing close and reaching up to her from the spot on Wukongs shoulders. The rest of them were crowing and hollering and screaming. Calling her name.

“Gather the softest pillows and blankets ! The night will hold for us all- set the guards to chasing any beasts out of the groves. Light the fire pits! And everyone GATHER YOUR FAVORITE FRUIT!” Willow heard the roar of the crowd as they thundered off. Hammocks were pulled between trees, bundles of blankets and pillows and downy things were dragged and set down in the field. Monkeys lit the fire pits that lined the clearing, the great orange light casting dancing shadows as the sun continued its decent. Willow saw the troop laugh and chortle as they brought fruits out. A veritable second feast of food. Kiwis, grapes, oranges, watermelons, melons and nectarines.

Wukong kept Willow on his shoulders. Willow was too tired to ask why or deny the outward pouring of love from her earthen family. This was just the way they heaped support and love onto her. A veritable jungle of nests and hammocks, of blanketed caves and soft spots to lay soon covered the grass all around.

To tangle and tug and touch was the Monkey way of showing love. Willow sighed, laying against her husbands very soft and large head.

“What did I do ? It was all my fault.”

“Hush you I won’t hear you taking the blame for others ever again.” Wukong admonished. Several of the troop had gathered nearby, dragging a forest of bedding and plush to make nests and enjoy the night. Wukong set himself down in the thick of the troop, taking Willow up off his shoulders and into his lap. His tail coiled around her a hand against her middle. The giant monkey practically swamped her as he chirped and cooed, crooned and kissed her temples and nose.

“Wukong don’t swallow her!” Ba admonished. Willow peered from between the fur of Wukongs neck. She felt like a chick beneath a mother hen, completely covered and warm. She saw Ba setting up a little nest beside them. Beng was busy swinging Pomelo and Mulberry about-throwing them into pillows that bounced them slightly in the air.

“Save some for the rest of us please.” Ba snorted. Lychee was seated on Chestnuts shoulders talking his mothers ear off about his day and how he and his friends had gotten Little Weaver Girl to braid them flower crowns. He still wore his on his brow, eyes bright. They two set their bedding and nesting material down beside them.

“Are we all sleeping out beneath the stars ?” Willow asked. Wukong didn’t say yes with words. He was too overcome with an emotion, a puff of pride that expanded his chest. Here was his Willow Tree. The strong women who had been betrothed to him but had chosen him- heart and soul. Willow who had turned Huaguoshan into a protected area. Willow who had stalwartly sat beside him when he had been burning and boiling and close to madness inside that bronze prison. Willow who had bravely offered herself to the Imposter to save the rest of his family. And it had been Willow again who had chosen his people and family, his friends and loved ones, and had brought to heel celestial who thought they could talk down to him and what was his.

Whatever I did - whatever luck shot through my sky and made my stone sentient - I am glad it made me in time to be with her.

“Yes princess.” He softly whispered to her. “You defended all of us yet again. You brilliant warrior.” For she was a warrior. Not of blades or fists or claws of teeth. Words were her weapon and she used them brilliantly. More accurate then an arrows fall, she pierced Huaguoshan enemies with no bloodshed.

If I had met her when I was seeking my enlightenment … before I sought Heavens recognition… he wondered. Would his life have gone on a entirely new path? Wukong mussed her hair with his teeth, nibbling until she tapped his jaw in play.

His friends settled about them and the rest of the troop began to visit Willow, offering food and comfort. The little bundle of baby fruits ran across the clearing. They had been hero’s and they didn’t even know it.

Wukong lay curled over and around Willow like some large languid cat, tail tucked possessively about her. He became larger still, letting the little fruits climb onto his back in their play. Rin Rin came forward and Wukong allowed her to take Willows hair down, to groom and to ease her scalp.

Rin Rin heard the story as Wukong, Ba, Liu and Beng recounted it. They were now all here against Wukongs side, grooming and offering fruits or each other, to Willow. The love was a warm glow in the night , a glow that came from within and rivaled that of the dying sunlight. Ba kept off his pranks and offered Willow sour green grapes- and his deepest vows of loyalty. Wukong snorted happily, a large hand gently scratching along Willows back. Beng checked their little word warrior over and then gave her a single hardy shake. Ma was blubbering with Rin Rin who simply held on and brushed Willows hair out. Liu bowed and offered his own vows of loyalty- setting Ba to trying to outdo him.

Wukong waited till the stars were bright in the sky, the moon rising now to cast her silver light to whisper and speak praise and words of love. He wanted to drown her in the emotion that beat in his chest. It was a glow as steady as the sun and as wild as the world. It was not the same love Rin Rin or Liu or Ba or Chestnut Or Beng Or Ma experienced.

Forever and always. I will See her days filled with joy and peace. I will topple the very pillars that hold this world up to give her that. Wukong watched her burrow into his side, fingers curled in his fur. He looked to the sky, to the Heavens. To beyond that- to the cosmic sphere of reality. The universe beyond the Heavens.

“Thank you for making her. She’s perfect.” Words failed. Perfect was so silly of a word. Willow was more then perfect. She was victorious, stalwart, kind, compassionate, a stone to rest his back against and the shade that hid him from the burning sun.

“I will keep you. Forever. Until the very definition of eternity crumbles. Thank you Willow, for filling my days with your love.”

Wukong kissed her temple and pulled her into his warmth, pulling several of his with her. Tails and hands, feet and limbs all intercrossed and overlapped. They were tangled, intertwined like the roots of a tree. Grounding the willow tree they all loved to their earth, to their mountain.

[physicsgoblin]

When your chatting with a man on a dating app and The What Is Your Dream Job or What Do You Want Out Of Life questions and I have to answer honestly, "I want to build and run a home and have children and teach them Dostoevsky and Physics" and that usually signals the end of the conversation. If I just say "I would like to be a teacher <3" then it's fine.

[scribbling-dragon]

Watcher’s Nest Café

Chapter 8

summary:

The café was quiet.

The customers inside were sitting contentedly at their own tables, each lost in their own worlds as they spoke quietly amongst each other. He didn't know what he expected, really, from a café that relied on the local student populace. And with several final deadlines yesterday, there wouldn't have been many people willing to get up this early, let alone make the trek to the café with the miserable weather outside.

Scott wishes that a few more people would come in, only so that he might have something to do.

(ao3 link)

(masterpost)

(4,913 words)

and this is it! the complete thing- it’s been really fun to write this, so i hope you enjoy the final chapter of this fic!

The café was quiet.

The customers inside were sitting contentedly at their own tables, each lost in their own worlds as they spoke quietly amongst each other. He didn't know what he expected, really, from a café that relied on the local student populace. And with several final deadlines yesterday, there wouldn't have been many people willing to get up this early, let alone make the trek to the café with the miserable weather outside.

Scott wishes that a few more people would come in, only so that he might have something to do.

Something to stare at other than the empty seats at the front bar, something to focus on other than the absence of someone that hasn't even been inside of the café for the past few days.

It shouldn't be bothering him as much as it is. He likes to think of himself as an incredibly composed person, someone that can roll with the blows that life chooses to deal him, even if it unbalances him for a few moments.

The sunlight, cold and pale, streams in through the windows at the front of the café. It pools just in front of the counter, spilling over the wooden tables and almost blinding Scott with how bright it is.

The light is always like this, early in the morning and during winter. It’s cold and bright, shining in through the windows and forcing him to squint through the light to try and smile at the customers. Normally, he’d have someone sitting at the front bar with him, though, whether that was Cleo or Pixl or even Martyn, recently. Normally, they’d be sat there, one or two or all of them, complaining about whatever early-morning classes they have as Scott contents himself with listening, occasionally contributing, and serving the customers.

Normally, on slow days like today, he’d lean over the counter, rest his arms against them, and join in the conversation. He’d smile, far easier than he normally does, and simply talk. Cleo would raise an eyebrow at him if he flirted with Martyn a little too obviously, hiding a smile behind their drink.

Normally, Pix would pretend he was actually doing his work, tapping away at his laptop, but infrequently enough that Scott, and anyone else bothering to look, would know that he’s not actually being productive, with how often he would pause to lean in and mutter some joke, or give some random fact that no-one actually understood why he knew, to their small group at the front of the café.

But it’s not a normal day.

It’s not a normal day and he’s stood, alone at the front of the café. Standing still behind the counter, hands folded neatly in front of himself as he tries not to think too much.

It’s not a normal day, because his head still hurts, despite the tablets he’d taken before he left Grian’s house this morning, and there’s a slight pulsing behind one of his eyes as he breathes slowly. He’s still not sure what it is that Grian puts in his mystery mix, but he vows (again) to never drink it again, because he still feels a little sick. Or that might just be the anxiety.

Because it’s not normal, as much as he’s trying to convince himself that it is; because he doesn't normally sit outside, in the cold, when he knows it’ll only make him hurt even more. He doesn't normally sit and let himself think, even if it’s only for a moment, that Martyn actually meant his words and that they weren't just the musings of a drunk person.

He’s not sure if he imagined the dismissal this morning, as Martyn barely glanced up from his phone. Barely looked towards him, hardly even spared him a smile, before he was looking away again. As though he didn't care. Like he didn't pay any mind to the words they shared last night.

He breathes out shakily, smiling as a customer comes to ask for a second drink. He smiles as best as he can, though it feels more like a grimace, and asks if she’d like anything else with that. She smiles politely back at him, her smile far more put-together than his own, and declines.

She taps her card against the machine, and he asks if she wants her receipt as he taps on the screen. He hands her receipt over, promising that her drink will be over in a minute. She smiles at him again, still well put-together, and returns to her table.

He drifts away, just slightly, as he makes the drink. He’s made this drink a thousand times before, will probably make it thousands more times, and he walks through the steps easily, thoughts spinning away from him. He can hardly grasp onto them long enough to string three words together, setting the drink down with a clink from the ceramic.

She doesn't even look up, murmuring a “thank you” that he pays very little mind to, returning behind the counter and trying not to favour his leg too heavily.

He drags the stool out from beneath the counter when he gets back, giving into his pride for a moment, if only because the sharp pain lancing through his leg is quickly becoming irritating and not at all worth it. It wasn't worth it when he sat outside, in subzero temperatures, and he knew that then. He knows it even better now.

He swings his other leg back and forth as he sits, hands curled loosely around the edge of his seat. One of the tables empties, chairs scraping back and breaking through the fog of his mind. He looks up, blinking twice to clear his eyes and watching as they leave.

He stands, dragging himself from his stool, and cleans their table. He returns the dirty mugs to the sink, leaving them for a moment as he returns to wipe the table down, cleaning it quickly before returning to his stool.

There aren't enough dirty mugs to justify running a full sink of water, for now, so he leaves them. He’ll get to them in a moment, once there’s a few more mugs or plates and it’s later in the day, and his brain feels less like it’s trying to burst out of his skull.

The bright morning light isn't helping, with how it streams through the windows and hits him directly in the eyes. But he can't just close his eyes and lay his head down- it would be unprofessional, and his boss hasn't come in recently, so he could visit any day now, checking up on him and making sure that the café he doesn't even care about is running to a “proper standard”.

He squints his eyes halfway shut, and he can almost see Martyn sat at the counter across from him, chin resting in one hand and balancing his head with the other as he stares down at whatever assignment he was struggling with at the minute.

The sunlight always hit his hair just right, seeming to illuminate it- turning it to gold right in front of Scott’s eyes, as cliché as that sounds. It’s almost embarrassing, the way he sounds like a teenager with his first crush, prone to waxing poetic about the smallest details.

Maybe he should have been a writer. His English teacher had always pushed for him to do that, nudging him along the path, even once he reiterated that he wasn't interested. He could, if he wanted. His grade in English was good enough to get him into most universities nearby- but it’s not something plausible.

He’d never been able to shake the habit of poeticising everything he comes across that snags his attention, only catching himself once he’s halfway through thinking about the exact green of the grass or the way the clouds hang heavy and low in the sky. It would be embarrassing, if any of his friends could read minds; thankfully, they cannot, and he hardly leaves any of his musings out there for someone to stumble across by accident.

The bell chimes, interrupting his train of thought. He looks up, curious to see who his next customer is.

He blinks once, then twice, staring at Martyn.

Martyn stares back at him, chest rising and falling quicker than usual, as though he’d run here. Or done something else to physically exert himself recently. His eyes are slightly wider than usual, hair falling over his face in a way that’s not at all like the usual, purposeful way it falls over his eyes.

His hair catches the sun just right, still. Lighting up behind him in hues of wheat-gold. The door swings shut behind him, slipping free from his fingers as he continues to stand in the threshold. The bell chimes once more as the door latches into place, and the small sound seems to break Martyn out of whatever had him frozen in place before.

Nobody even looks up as Martyn walks over to the counter, and Scott leans back on his stool when Martyn reaches him. He glances past Martyn, before looking back up at him, worrying his lip between his teeth, careful not to split the skin. He’s more than aware that Martyn could accuse him of…something. He’s not sure what, but he knows that he could definitely get him fired from his job if he was embarrassed enough about last night.

“I'm sorry,” Martyn says, the words spilling past his lips hurriedly as he continues to stare down at Scott. He slowly stands from his stool, not liking the height advantage Martyn has over him, however slight, when he’s sat. He freezes in place as the words percolate through his brain and process, leaving him staring at Martyn.

“Uh,” he says, intelligently.

“I'm sorry,” Martyn repeats, quieter this time, leaning over the counter. It puts them closer together, their faces scant inches apart. Martyn looks tired, probably as tired as he looks, the toll of staying up late and drinking more than is probably healthy. “I shouldn't have let you leave like that this morning, but I did anyway, and I feel like shit for that.”

“I- yeah,” he nods at that. “Just…do we really want to have this conversation here?” He asks, lowering his voice a little bit further when the girl from before looks over, slipping her headphones down to listen a little more intently. She looks away when Scott catches her eye. “It echoes.”

Martyn looks a little taken aback, before looking around and realising that the café is actually quite full, even if it’s really early in the morning and the only people here are those with the day off or a later shift, or something. Scott doesn't know anyone in here, aside from the one lady watching them intently from the booth beside the window. She comes in twice a week, the same days every week, and orders the same thing every time. He thinks she might be lonely, that she comes here for the conversations Jimmy normally engages her in and to people-watch.

“Yeah,” Martyn looks back at him. His eyes are still shining with something, hair lit up and framing his face, almost like a halo. He scoffs internally at the comparison, stuffing it away and hoping that he never thinks of it again. His face feels a little warm. “I just, I couldn't wait. I knew you were working, so, just, tell me to go away if this is pushing any boundaries, yeah? Because I know you can't exactly leave if you're uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing I want.”

“Come, uh, come to the back,” he steps back, swinging the counter up so Martyn can shuffle through. He can only pray that his boss doesn't choose today as the day he comes in to check that everything is running smoothly.

The girl from before gives him a judging look, eyes sweeping up and down Martyn- and, alright. Maybe not the best look, especially when his clothes are very obviously rumpled and look like they've already been worn. Absolutely not the best impression to be setting right now.

He glares at her, just because he can, and because it’s expected of him at this point. She stares right back at him, quirking an eyebrow judgmentally before she turns back to whatever the hell it was she was doing. He doesn't even know her.

The door swings shut behind him and Martyn, and then they're both stood in the break room-storage room fusion. The boxes are pushed into one corner, filled with the things that can afford to sit in there for another week until they have space for the stock out front.

“I'm sorry about last night,” Martyn says. His stomach drops a little at the words, the slight hope he’d managed to convince himself wasn't dangerous promptly shrivelling up and dying. “I didn't mean to get that drunk, I definitely wasn't sober when I had that conversation with you, and I don't think you were either.” He’s refusing to meet Scott’s eyes, even as he continues to stare at him. He should be burning a hole into the side of Martyn’s head with his stare, but Martyn remains unaffected.

“Ah, yeah,” he chokes out, feeling as though he’s speaking past a lump in his throat. He swallows, in an attempt to get rid of the feeling, but it remains lodged firmly in his throat. He feels like he can't breathe. “Neither of us were very sober then.”

Martyn scuffs his foot over the ground, back and forth, back and forth, before looking up and meeting Scott’s eyes. There’s something there, and these are the sorts of things that Scott prides himself on- he might not be great at the academic intelligence, though he’s decent enough, but he likes to think that he more than makes up for it with his emotional intelligence. Still, he finds himself scrambling for an answer that doesn't present itself when he looks into Martyn’s eyes, feeling slightly breathless and more than a little sick.

“I still meant it.” Martyn says. He refuses to look at Scott again. He feels almost weak in the knees with relief, the wave crashing over him so abruptly and with so much force that he’s almost carried away by it. He sways, a little, and his knee twinges with the motion. “I just…” he trails off, sucking in a large breath, “I just didn't want to keep thinking things over if you…didn't.”

“I- Martyn,” he can't help it. He really can't. He sighs Martyn’s name, feeling the lump in his throat disappear as he swallows. His heart seems to replace it, seeming to lodge itself right in his throat with how hard it’s beating. “Oh my god.” He laughs a little, because he feels incredibly, incredibly stupid now. Like he’s overlooked everything.

“What?” Martyn looks worried now, hands clasped tightly together, tight enough that he can see the whites of his knuckles.

“We’re both idiots,” he manages, breathing it out between laughter.

“Hey!” Martyn puffs up, looking offended and relieved at the same time. “What do you mean?”

“You know all of our friends had bets on us, right?” He asks, instead. Martyn blinks at him. “They had a board in their kitchen, apparently, but they wiped it off before the party, so we couldn't see it. Xisuma told me.”

“They- what?” Martyn sounds so genuinely confused that he can't help but laugh again, bending over slightly as relief sweeps over him again. “They bet on us?”

“Did you expect anything less?” He asks.

“I- no! But I still would have appreciated being told. Why did Xisuma tell you?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs, “guess he took pity on me.”

“Aw, man,” Martyn sighs, slumping against the opposite wall and tipping his head back. “I do feel like an idiot now- all of our friends knew and they didn't say anything?”

“We figured it out eventually,” he shrugs, going for it far more casually than he actually feels. He feels like he should be screaming, or something equally dramatic. Maybe sliding down the wall in a panic. He should probably be checking that there aren't any customers waiting outside. He finds that he doesn't actually care, when Martyn looks up.

“Guess we did,” Martyn says. He pushes himself off of the wall, taking one step closer. The break room isn't that big, and with that single step the distance between them is halved. Scott could reach out right now and grab him by his hoodie. He doesn't, looking at him from beneath his eyelashes as Martyn wavers. “Do you…have an answer to my question?”

Scott debates for a moment, continuing to watch Martyn from half-lidded eyes, leaning against the wall beside the door. He smiles, tilting his head to the side. “What question?” Martyn left him to stew in his emotions for a few hours, he can afford a few moments of floundering.

“You're seriously gonna make me ask?”

He considers it for a moment, before allowing his smile to spread a little wider, showing off his teeth as he looks up at Martyn. He expects a little surprise, maybe for Martyn to pull back as his teeth are revealed. He doesn't waver, continuing to stare down at him. “Yes,” he breathes, after a moment. He hardly needs to speak louder, with the distance between them even the slightest sound will be heard.

“Scott,” Martyn says, stepping closer, but not touching him, hands still hovering as he pushes closer, toeing the line between friendly closeness and…something else. “Have you ever thought about kissing me?”

Yes, he thinks but doesn't say. He’s thought about it several times, so many times, over the past few weeks. Every time Martyn would smile at him, grinning in his stupidly infectious way; every time he would comment on Scott slipping something from a rude customer. Every time the sun would hit his hair just right and he’d light up the entire café. Scott wasn't sure how people could look away from him when he was like that.

Martyn’s still watching him, still waiting for his response. His hands still hover, close enough that Scott can feel the warmth of his skin, but not quite touching. Not until Scott says he can.

“More times than I can count,” he replies. Martyn flushes at that, blush rising high on his face, causing his ears to turn pink at the tips.

“Then,” Martyn says, “can I kiss you now?”

“Please,” he breathes, hands already reaching up to pull Martyn closer to himself, because he’s not certain he can deal with the almost touching for much longer without going entirely insane. “Martyn,” he says, voice embarrassingly soft as he hooks his hand around the back of Martyn’s neck, pulling them closer.

One of Martyn’s hands settles on his hip, pulling them flush against each other. The other raises to his face, pushing his hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear, and kisses him.

It’s chaste, just a simple brush of lips on lips. Martyn pulls back a moment later, eyes already blown wide, blushing like someone that’s just had their first kiss.

“Martyn,” he asks, a teasing lilt working its way into his voice. “Have you ever kissed someone before?”

“Yes,” Martyn hisses, face growing pinker with embarrassment. “Of course I have.”

“Have you ever kissed someone for longer than a moment?” He asks, he softens his voice, “I'm not making fun, I promise.”

“I- no,” Martyn’s eyes dart away, then back to him again. They drop to his lips, and Scott smiles at the silent admission. “It…I never felt the need to do more than that.”

“Can I kiss you again?” Scott asks.

Martyn nods slowly, still watching him. He smiles, tightening his grip on the back of Martyn’s neck and pulling him closer until he’s close enough to connect their lips again. Martyn goes easily enough, the hand still resting on his hip squeezing tighter for a moment before relaxing again.

Scott sways into Martyn, pulling him down as he brushes his tongue over Martyn’s lips. Martyn makes a small noise at the action, but he doesn't pull back, even as his lungs must begin to burn. Scott’s own lungs are burning, too, but he pushes further into the feeling, biting down on the very edge of Martyn’s lip.

Martyn pulls back with a gasp, eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Too much?” He asks, cradling the side of Martyn’s face in the palm of his hand. 

“I- no,” Martyn breathes out, still staring at Scott. It’s almost intense enough to make him cower away from it, but he pushes himself towards it instead, leaning further into Martyn, pressing them close together until his chest is resting against Martyn’s, close enough that he can hear the thump-thump-thump of his heart. “Just…unexpected.”

“In a good way?”

“The best way.” Martyn agrees, and then he’s kissing him again.

Martyn’s hand crawls into his hair, tugging at the strands there, lightly at first, then harder when it makes Scott bite his lips again, swiping his tongue over the spot a moment later to soothe it.

Martyn pulls back again, still staring at him with those wide eyes, pupils swallowing a lot of the colour in his eyes, making them look far darker than they actually are.

“Can I-” Martyn stutters off, out of breath and flushed, “Can I touch your hands?” He asks, after a few moments of catching his breath, staring down at Scott.

“Huh?” He pulls his hands back slightly at the question, flexing his fingers and listening to the way the leather creaks. Martyn reaches up to catch his wrist, holding it firmly but not tight, continuing to watch Scott.

“You can say no,” Martyn tells him. And his voice is sincere enough that Scott knows it to be true. He could say no and they could both move on; continuing kissing, if they wanted to. Even if Scott really needs to at least poke his head out and make sure that there’s no massive queue of customers awaiting his return.

“Why?” He asks instead. Because his hands feel sweaty, uncomfortable within the gloves, and taking them off doesn't seem like the worst decision in the world. He can think of several, far worse, decisions he could be making right now.

“Because…I want to see all of you,” Martyn says. “You're just- you're hiding your hands, and I don't know why. And everyone else seems to know, but I don't, and I want to tell you that it’s fine, but I can't, because I don't know.”

“And what if it isn't fine?” Scott asks. Because he has to. He has to. He’s worn gloves for the past four years, and no one’s ever asked him to take them off. Everyone’s just assumed that he’s wearing them for a reason, to hide something - and they're right - and they can't bear to be proven right. “What then?”

“Then we work past it,” Martyn says. “I don't know what to do with myself, Scott, you've driven me insane. I can hardly think of anything else; I've hardly been able to focus on my work, knowing that you're out there, somewhere, and I could be there with you if I wasn't working.”

“That’s silly,” he says. But he would be lying if he said he wasn't touched. It’s sweet, especially with the way Martyn smiles down at him.

“Please?” Martyn asks, and the last of his (admittedly very weak) resolve crumbles in the face of Martyn asking.

“You can't- you can't run away,” he says, even as he pulls his hand back, loosening the gloves. He can't remember the last time he took them off outside of sleeping, and even then he wears them to sleep in sometimes. Can hardly stand the sight of his hands himself.

He eases the leather off anyway, shivering as the air hits his skin and scales. He flexes his fingers, moving them around, even as he keeps his eyes fixed on Martyn. One, to watch his reaction, but two, because he cannot bear to look at his hands himself.

Something brushes over the back of his hand and he gasps, the small sound falling past his lips involuntarily. He shuts his eyes, keeps them squeezed shut and simply nods when Martyn asks if he’s alright.

“They're just…sensitive,” he manages, after a moment, once the feeling of gentle fingers on the back of his hand has eased. “I don't…I’m not used to someone touching them.”

“Oh.” Martyn says. He brushes a careful hand over the scales on Scott’s wrist again, before slowly trailing back up. He twists his wrist at the end, fits their hands together carefully, holding Scott’s hand carefully, as though it’s something to be protected.

“How can you,” he chokes out, breaking his silence when Martyn continues to hold his hand, looking completely unbothered. “How can you just hold my hand? You're not blind, are you?”

“Of course I'm not blind,” Martyn looks him in the eye. “I'm simply appreciating you as a whole, your hands are a part of you, how could I dislike them?”

“How can you just say something like that?” He can feel his face heating up, the way his fins press back against the sides of his head in embarrassment. “They're everything that people find disgusting about sirens. The only thing remaining to identify us as something else.”

“And Jimmy has the yellow feathers of a Canary,” Martyn says. “That identifies him as an omen of death, of misfortune, but everyone is friends with him still. Tango’s sclera is almost black, and I'm pretty sure we've all seen the depictions of demons like that, but Tango isn't a demon; I'm pretty sure he’s the furthest thing from a demon.”

“That,” he doesn't have a good argument against that, nothing to argue otherwise. “I guess.”

“Is it so hard to believe that I might care for you because you're just…you?” Martyn laughs. “At the risk of sounding cheesy, I don't think there’s much you could do to push me away now.”

Yes, he wants to say, yes it is hard to believe you. Because Martyn was doing what his family had chosen not to do. What his father and his brother had decided they couldn't deal with, couldn't stand seeing the reminder of his mother. Couldn't bear to see the resemblance between the two, when she had abandoned them so easily.

The weight of the watch in his pocket can attest to this. Its face cracked and broken, hands perpetually stuck in a time of the past. It speaks of a tipping point- a point of no return, something that he cannot, would not, return to, even if he was given the chance. He’s not sure he could face his brother again.

He doesn't say this, just sighs and rests his head against Martyn’s shoulder. And Martyn holds his hand.

The sound of the bell interrupts them, and his head jerks up, pulling his hand free from Martyn’s grip.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, realising that they're still stood in the break room. “Oh my god, Jimmy’s never gonna let me live this down.”

“What?”

“I abandoned the café to come kiss you in the break room- I make fun of Jimmy for doing that.”

Martyn stares at him, wide-eyed, for a moment. Then he laughs, the sound so loud compared to the quietness of before.

“I need to go,” he says, pulling his glove back on, fumbling to tighten it properly again and cover up the mess of scales that is his hand. “Oh my god, they're gonna make fun of me. They're gonna be horrible.”

“I'm sure it’ll be fine,” Martyn says, but he’s still laughing when Scott escapes the break room, still a little pink in the face. There’s only one customer waiting, and he doesn't look like he’s been stood there for too long, so Scott breathes a sigh of relief.

The girl from before is gone, leaving two empty mugs in her wake. The lady in the window booth gives him a small thumbs-up.

*

“How are you always right?” Jimmy complains, leaning over Grian’s shoulder, reading the message from Martyn. “It’s not fair, the universe is rigged against me.”

“Then you gotta stop betting, Timmy,” Grian nudges at him, shutting his phone off when Martyn’s texts devolve into nonsense. “If the universe is against you, you're never gonna win.”

“I thought for sure I would be right this time,” Jimmy slumps over the counter, ignoring Grian as he collects his spoils of war. He looks unbelievably smug- and really, they should ban him from betting ever, he seems to have made some kind of deal with Luck, with the way he keeps winning.

“There, there,” Tango pats him on the head, messing his hair up worse than it was before. “At least it wasn't as bad as-”

“If you bring up the Sheriff Incident one more time,” Jimmy growls, “I might kill someone.”

“Did someone say Sheriff?” Grian spins on his heel, wearing a smug grin very reminiscent of a cat. “Lemme tell you, I have an entire folder dedicated…”

“Kill me,” Jimmy whispers to Tango. “Send my congratulations to Scott, and then kill me.”

“No can do, buddy,” Tango pats him on the head again. “I like you too much to do that.”

[articskele]

Some screenshots of truffula fruits because I just think they're neat

[lazyblogposter]

Nobody told me that trying to get nested in COS is so hard and infuriating.