#in the case of a real emergency i am to use the phone in the hall that would go to the fire department and let them know to come get me

[ziskeyt]

i did not sleep last night and i have no idea why. the upside to this is i was planning on going into the office today, but cause i didn't sleep i decided that would be a terrible idea -- forgetting I was already informed I shouldn't come in to the office today because they were doing a fire drill. so that worked out?? lol. however, i am very tired a lot.

[reidingandwriting]

domestic > keigo takami/hawks (mha)

Word Count: 3.6k

Ship: Keigo/Hawks x Reader

Warnings: Corrupt hero commission (we hate the hero commission on this blog), keigo overworks himself, keigo & reader fight, miscommunication, some cursing, keigo’s a little shit (he has his reasons okay), mentions of a rescue mission and the aftermath, hurt/comfort

A/N: So sorry this fic is so delayed 😭 Have been going Through It lately but I’ve got a few fics queued up to make up for my absence ❤️ This is my favorite Keigo fic so far

“pro hero hawks is the first on the scene!”

“pro hero hawks took down the villain that’s injured dozens, including some pro heroes!”

“another takedown by pro hero hawks.”

“hawks is finally on the scene, this should be over soon.”

-

keigo wasn’t answering his phone. which was expected for the first night. he had just come home from a week long mission and on his flight home, another issue came up that he had to answer to. he didn’t get home until midnight, having refused any other hero’s offer to relieve him once his shift had technically ended, until best jeanist all but escorted him off the scene. you had hoped keigo had been resting when you walked into your office the next morning, until you looked at the news and saw he was already back out on patrols.

when you walked into keigo’s office, you expected to see a mountain of paperwork on his desk. you were fully prepared to work all day to catch him up, hoping to surprise him by finishing all his work for him. you were the one surprised when you saw only one paper on his desk, a note for you.

‘gonna be working late tonight, don’t wait up for me’

you scowled as you read the note, even if you had to fight the urge to melt when you saw the little bird doodle keigo had signed the note with. you once again called keigo, this time his work number, and you resisted the urge to throw your phone at the wall when your call once again went unanswered. you pulled up your text conversation with keigo and began to type.

‘you’re going home tonight. i will be outside at eight and you will let me in. i am not kidding when i tell you i’ll wait all night. please, just let me know you’re okay.’

you knew the text would go unanswered, but you hoped. you hoped that he would read it, at the least. that he would talk to you. your phone buzzed and you quickly picked it up, and you sighed when it was just another text from rumi.

‘i’ve seen him pass by once or twice, but he doesn’t stop. i’ve got a few others looking out for him, i’ll let you know if i hear anything’

you set your phone down with a sigh as you sat back in the office chair. this was going to be a long night.

you texted keigo a warning before you entered his apartment. you had been given a key by keigo to use in case of emergencies, and your chatty birdbrain suddenly ghosting you is an emergency in your eyes. it was two AM when you entered, and you felt your eyes begin to sting when you realized keigo wasn’t home. a quick search on the hero network showed that he was last seen a little after ten, and none of your own security alerts had gone off at your apartment. he was at his agency, avoiding you. it stung, the avoidance settling heavy in your chest, weighing you down as if there was a physical weight on your body.

you texted a quick update to rumi before you left keigo’s, and you made the walk back to your own apartment. keigo would definitely have lectured you any other time if he knew you walked home alone, and a selfish part of you hoped he’d find out. you’d take the scolding if it meant he would talk to you.

you flinched as you heard a voice speak from beside you.

“surprised he let you walk home alone at this hour,” you relaxed once you recognized the drawl of eraserhead’s voice. “your guard bird working tonight?”

“you’re going to sneak up on me at the wrong time one day and you’re going to get your shit rocked,” you replied, no real heat to your words.

“i’ll take my chances.” a hint of a smirk graced his face before it relaxed into his usual stoic expression.

“but no, he’s not working tonight.” you paused. “not patrolling at least. he is working hard at avoiding me, though.” while you and eraserhead, aizawa, had only met a few times, you had established a friendly relationship with the underground hero. you had also developed a friendship with present mic, which seemed to influence eraserhead’s opinion of you. odd.

“that’s… different.” eraserhead says after a moment. “i’ll keep an eye out for him, and i’ll have hiz- present mic look out for him as well.”

the two of you continued to talk as he escorted you to your apartment. minutes later, you opened the door to your apartment and let the door shut with a soft click, and you barely made it to the couch before you fell asleep.

-

“ooh, rough night?” one of the tech interns, kazuki, teases as he watches you walk in.

“hilarious.” you scowled. you knew you looked tired; you woke up frequently throughout the night, unable to sleep for more than half an hour at a time. you gave up on sleep around five thirty this morning, and you clutched to the thermos of coffee in your hands like it was the only thing keeping you alive. “didn’t really sleep much last night.”

“hawks working you too hard? i saw him walking around a few minutes ago. looks like he was headed to his office,” your heart stopped at those words. was he actually here?

“thank you, kazuki!” you called as you sprinted for the elevator, reminding yourself to send kazuki a proper thank you later. when you burst into keigo’s office, you jumped back as a sharpened red feather flew at you, stopping mere centimeters away from your neck.

“shit, you scared me.” keigo smiled when he recognized you, and the sight of it filled you with anger. “oh, sorry. let me just.” keigo’s feather returned to its natural state and you swatted it away as it went to caress your cheek, not in the mood for his usually sweet antics. “songbird? you okay?”

and you couldn’t help but laugh. full body, doubled over laughs. keigo tilted his head, confusion flashing across his face as you continued to laugh. your name left keigo’s lips, and you recognized the slight movements he was making. he was twitchy, like he wanted to move but he couldn’t decide which move was the best. you could practically hear the wheels in his head turning and you looked up at the ceiling as you felt the familiar sting of unshed tears in your eyes.

“you son of a bitch,” you whispered. you looked at him and his form became blurry, the tears now sliding down your cheeks. “you, you have me worried for days. you ignored my calls and texts, i even had other heroes looking out for you!” you started to walk towards him and you stopped just out of his reach. “you went to the point of staying here to avoid seeing me. why?” you finally met his gaze and golden eyes were filled with an emotion you didn’t recognize. his gaze was cold, distant. yet still, he kept the smile on his face, the smile he plastered on for annoying news reporters.

“i’ve been busy.”

“you’re running yourself ragged! you’re going to get hurt or cause someone else to get hurt because you’re working yourself to death.” you reached out and jabbed him in the chest.

“you don’t understand. you never will, so why are you even trying to? i can’t answer every call and text from my assistant.”

“that’s all i am to you? your assistant?” you asked. you were met with silence and you felt your heart begin to break. “look me in the eyes and tell me that’s all i am to you. and i promise, from now on, that’s all you’ll get from me.”

“what else would you be?”

wordlessly, you dug your key ring from your jacket pocket. you pulled off the key that belonged to keigo’s, to hawks’s, apartment and you set it down on his desk.

“noted. since you’ve clearly got a handle on things, i think i’ll be taking the next two days off for some personal days. i’ll be back on monday, hawks.” the name felt foreign on your lips and his wings twitched in response. you wordlessly spun on your heel and slammed hawks’s office door shut behind you. you could feel the stares from everyone in kei- hawks’s agency watching you, and you briefly shook your head when you saw kazuki before rushing out of the building, straight into the rain that had suddenly started to downpour. because of course it did.

as you walked in the rain to the bus stop, you ignored the frequent buzzing that came from your pocket.

“what else would you be?” echoed through your head, and you couldn’t believe that came from kei- his lips. what happened during his last mission? you shook your head to clear your thoughts.

“just an assistant,” you muttered under your breath. “what the hell, birdie?”

-

it was the middle of the night and you were sitting on your couch, eating from a carton of ice cream as you flipped through the channels on TV. you had finished your second movie of the night when you stumbled across the news. you paused when you saw hawks’s name flash across the bottom of the screen and you wanted to change the channel. but you couldn’t.

“eight hours later, the search and rescue has been completed. over 200 victims were rescued from the destruction thanks to the effort of our number two hero. thank you to pro hero hawks for being the first hero to respond, and the last to leave the tragic scene of the collapsed apartment complex.”

the reporter continued to talk about the injuries and the casualties, and you scanned the screen for him, not seeing a glimpse of red anywhere, save for some discarded feathers on the ground. you pulled out your phone immediately and searched online for something, anything about your- kei- hawks. your messages were full of texts from rumi and kazuki. a few from present mic, even a text from best jeanist’s assistant with a message from the pro.

suddenly, there was a knock on the door and you jumped off the couch. you glanced at the time, a little after midnight. you had hopes for who it was. you also didn’t know what you’d do if it was him. you slowly walked to the front door, willing your heart rate to calm down, and you reached forward to open the door.

you gasped at the sight in front of you, your phone clattering to the floor but you paid it no attention. hawks stood at your door, covered in dirt and dust and… blood? his jacket was gone, pants torn and ripped to barely there shreds of fabric. his flight goggles and headphones were gone, hair caked in dirt and sweat and he looked like he was seconds from falling over. he looked small without his massive wings behind him, most of the feathers left at the scene.

“‘m sorry. i tried, tried to go home. you were closer and,” hawks gestured to himself. “kind of grounded. i’m sorry, i can go.” he swayed a bit. you dove forward as he stumbled, and you held him up as he leaned into you. you kicked the door shut and you repositioned yourself to better support the hero as you walked towards your bathroom. “what are you doin’?” his voice was hoarse, and you made note to grab him water, as well as a million other things once you got him settled.

“first, im gonna clean you up. get some water for you, heat up some leftovers, and get you in clean clothes before i put you in bed.”

“what? no- i. i was horrible. you can’t… you can’t be nice to me. not after everything i said.” hawks said and you shushed him.

“shh, you’re going to wreck your voice more. we’ll talk once you’re taken care of.” you walked into the bathroom and made quick work of setting up a shower. you started to step away to grab towels and you felt a hand grab your arm.

“don’t leave me. please,” he rasped and you turned to face him, your heart aching at the sight in front of you. your keigo.

“not going anywhere. just grabbing towels, yeah?” you walked with him to the hallway, and you grabbed your fluffiest towels. you then grabbed a caddy full of keigo’s favorite toiletries. his shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and oil for his wings. he was missing a lot of feathers, but you’d take care of what was left. he was hurt, your birdie was hurt. it was your turn to be the hero, to make sure he was okay.

when you returned to the bathroom a minute later, keigo’s tired eyes lit up at your return.

“let’s get you in the shower, yeah?“ you set the towels down, put his supplies in the shower, and turned on the shower to his preferred temperature. you then walked to him and placed a gentle hand on his shirt. you glanced up at him and when he nodded, you gently began to peel his uniform off him. you quickly scanned him as you removed more articles of clothing, taking note of any new injuries and were relieved to see relatively little. once keigo had been stripped, you stepped into the shower with him, ignoring the fact you still had your t-shirt and sleep shorts on. your only focus was keigo right now, and you guided him under the shower head.

keigo’s exhaustion had seemed to hit as he leaned against you, and you supported him as you let the water get the top layer of grime off him. “there we go,” you soothed as you shifted, reaching for his shampoo. “there’s my birdie,” a weak chirp left him and you smiled sympathetically. “think you can sit so i can wash your hair?”

wordlessly, keigo moved to kneel down and once he settled, you began to scrub his hair. your hands worked in his hair until they ached, getting everything from the collapsed building from his hair before you added the shampoo. you took your time sudsing up his hair, and you smiled when you brushed some baby feathers in his hairline that caused keigo to coo quietly. keigo pressed a kiss to your stomach as you worked and leaned into your touch, much like a cat being petted. you helped him stand back up once you were ready to wash his body, and keigo practically laid against the wall of the shower as you worked to clean him off efficiently but quickly.

what felt like ages later, you turned the shower off and wrapped keigo up in a towel. you used the other towel to pat your own clothes dry quickly before you started to towel dry his hair.

“why are you… being so nice to me?” keigo asked and you frowned.

“i’m always going to care about you, pretty bird. you were a dick earlier,” you admitted. “but like it or not, you’ve wormed your way into my heart. you deserve to be taken care of, kei. we both know you don’t do it enough for yourself.” you moved to stand behind keigo and you looked at him in the mirror. “is it okay if i touch them?” you glanced at his baby wings and back at him. you held the oil in your hand, letting him see what your intentions were and you panicked when you saw his eyes fill with tears.

-

keigo couldn’t believe it. he had been horrible to you. he had tried to be horrible, he had never planned to come back to you this way. but he did and you? you dumbfounded him with how you treated him. as if you had just had a little spat over him breaking your heart. he could feel your heartbeat change during the conversation you two had in his office, he could practically hear your heart breaking over his words. but when he came to you, bloody and dirty, wings practically gone, and you treated him so tenderly. so… lovingly. when the first tear slid down his cheek, a dam broke. keigo chirped in surprise as you spun him around before he threw himself into your arms. he sobbed as he clung to you, as if you’d vanish into nothingness if he let go.

your arms immediately tightened around him and you used one hand to stroke his wing, the other combed through his hair so gently, sad warbles left his throat. “whatever happened,” you started. “we’ll handle it. me and you, yeah?” keigo tried to respond but couldn’t force any words out, more chirps leaving him as he nodded against your neck. “that’s my songbird.” you held him until his sobs turned into soft cries, and the cries into the occasional sniffle. keigo’s wing twitched as he felt you began to pay more attention to the feathers, and his eyes began to well up with tears again as he realized. you were preening him.

you’ve straightened his feathers out before a handful of times, usually for shoots or press interviews. he’s never had this much attention paid to them before, never in such a caring way at least. his body became lax against you, pleased coos and quiet chirps leaving his throat every now and then.

once you had finished, you led keigo to your room. you walked to the drawer with keigo’s things and he watched as you pulled out clothes for him to sleep in. “gonna change out of my wet clothes real quick, okay?” he nodded and you smiled softly at him before walking to your own side of the dresser. the two of you got dressed in a comfortable silence and you guided him to the living room, where minutes later, you settled onto the couch with dinner. keigo stayed curled into your side and you seemed perfectly content as you stroked his hair.

what felt like an eternity later, keigo was finally able to speak again. “i tried to come home. when i got off that mission. it.. it went horrible and i just wanted you. but i fail- they had told me i failed. i wasn’t as efficient as i should be, one of the villains had managed to escape before i caught him again. if i was a proficient hero, he never would have gotten a chance to get away.” you looked up as keigo spoke, and keigo struggled to maintain eye contact with you. you always seemed to see him, and that was terrifying.

“so i was already beating myself up when they sent me to another disaster, to redeem myself,” he quoted and you scowled at the words. “and i did better, that’s what they told me. and for a minute, i didn’t feel like a failure anymore. i felt worthy of my hero title so i…”

“you stayed busy, worked harder and harder to get rid of that bad feeling.” you finished for him and keigo nodded.

“but no matter what i did, how many patrols i went on, how many hours late i worked, it wasn’t good enough. they said i’m letting personal things get in the way of me being a good hero, that i was a better hero alone.” keigo trailed off and you looked sad, yet angry at the same time.

“they were the reason for our fight.” you said and keigo hummed in response.

“still. i never should have said what i did,” keigo cupped your cheek and you leaned into the touch. “i need you to know. need you to know you’re so much more to me than an assistant. maybe i’m a worse hero for it, but i love you. i love you, so much.” keigo’s voice shook and you scooted closer to him.

“i love you too,” you whispered. you glanced at keigo’s lips then back up at him, golden gaze meeting your own. you leaned in and brushed your lips against his, and keigo let out a soft breath as he kissed you. he had kissed you countless times, but none had ever been this soft. this slow, this.. vulnerable. there was no rush, nothing you were aiming for. just the two of you intertwined, and keigo didn’t break the kiss until he was out of breath, and he smiled at the quiet whine you made. “i think,” you said after a minute. “you need a few days to recover. bed rest, doctor’s orders.”

“you’re a doctor now, hmm?” keigo smiled as he pressed lazy kisses down your jaw and you pulled a blanket over the two of you. “can’t argue with doctor’s orders.”

“bed rest is the first step in treatment. cuddles could speed up the healing process, as well.” you said matter-of-factly as you tangled your legs with his own. keigo closed his eyes as you buried your face into his chest, and as you rubbed his back, keigo’s thoughts became fuzzy.

“careful, will stay here forever.” you nuzzled closer and keigo vaguely remembered your reply before you fell asleep.

“i’d love nothing more.”

[penelopepine]

‘Mini Me’ was the CUTEST thing ever!!! I’m also here to beg for more Graves x Reader content 🙏. Could you write about Graves saving Reader from a home invasion?

THANK YOU! I'm so glad you liked it, and I hope you like this. I had a blast writing it so thank you for the ask!!

Intruder Alert!

Phillip Graves x Fem Reader

Content: Home invasion, light angst, fluff, guns Word Count: 1930

It’s become something of a habit for you both to call each other whenever possible at this time. You’re already laying down in bed, your favorite show is on and a book lays in your lap, when Phillip calls you right on the dot as usual. 

You turn off the TV and answer before the first ring is even finished as you happily exclaim into the phone, “Phillip!” 

“Evening sweetheart, you doing ok?” He asked; his voice low but comforting. “You better be in bed at this hour.” 

With a slight huff you reply, “I am, I am don’t worry. Just reading the book you got me. You didn’t have to do that you know.” It had been a total surprise for you when you came home one day to a package on your doorstep knowing full well that you hadn’t ordered anything recently. Even more of a surprise when it had been the final book of a series you had been raving about to Phillip just a few days ago. You had also mentioned how the last book had just come out as well.

“Nonsense, I gotta spoil my girl even when I’m not there.” 

“You’re too good to me, baby. Thank you. I love it so much; I’ll have to show you some appreciation whenever you come home.” 

You hear through the phone Phillip take a sharp breath when he hears your words before chuckling to himself as he growls out, “is that so? What sort of … appreciation do you have in mind?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to give anything anyway.” 

“Sweetheart, it’s not nice to-.” 

Crash!

That was the sounds of glass shattering downstairs, but that's not all though - you can hear someone cursing and the sound of footsteps under glass. You're suddenly regretting having those big bag windows installed.

It takes you a few seconds to realize that Phillip is calling your name; there's actually a lot of noise coming from his side of the phone now.

"Philip, I think someone's in the house." 

"Sweetheart," his voice firm, but filled with concern, "You need to do exactly as I say; do you understand?"

"I- I understand." 

"Good good, everything is going to be alright. I'm on my way to you now." You can hear the sound of a car door slamming as he says that. It's a half an hour drive from the base to here; you've seen him make it in twenty though. "Get up - slowly, and lock the bedroom door." 

Shakily you do as he says; trying to calm your thundering heart as if whoever is here can hear it and will come barging into the room. The tiny click of the door lock sounds out like a church bell on Sunday.

"It's locked." You're honestly not even sure you spoke with how softly you whispered those words, but you must have because Phillip is giving you his next command as soon as you're finished speaking them. 

“Now in my night stand - bottom drawer, is a case grab it. Go to the bathroom and lock that door as well before doing anything else with it.” 

“Isn’t that your-?” 

“Yes. Grab it.” 

It was Phillip’s gun case. He’s shown you how to use the gun inside of it about every month. For emergencies he had always said; you’ve never thought about having to actually use it on another person though. 

Pushing that thought down though you quickly get yourself settled in the now locked bathroom. “I have it; the door is locked.” 

“You know what I’m going to ask next, sweetheart. Just … just keep it close and ready. I’m almost there.” You could tell that Phillip was trying to calm for your sake right now. This was something you two had talked about though being a possibility. It’s so different being in the real situation though. 

Sitting down on the cold floor you open the case, and pull out the gun. It feels so much heavier than it ever has in your hands. 

It was in that moment that you heard the unmistakable creak of third from the top step on the stairs - it was the only one that ever made any noise. Whoever was here was now on the second floor, and only a few steps away from you. 

Quickly you pull the phone away from your ear to check how long it’s been. Everything feels as if it’s been going a mile a minute surely Phillip is almost here - six minutes. It’s only been six minutes. It could easily take another twenty for your husband to get here. 

The intruder must be at your door now because the next thing you hear is the rattle of the locked bedroom door. It wouldn’t be something you would normally hear, but in the dead quiet it's the only thing you can hear. That and the sound of Phillip’s car speeding his way towards you over the phone. 

All you can do now is wait and hope that this is just some thief who is there to steal whatever they find valuable, and not for anything related to Phillip because if they are, you know a locked door is not going to stop them from getting to you. 

It’s silent for a few minutes after that, and you really think that the locked door has deterred whoever it is that entering is not worth the hassle. That is of course not true because the next thing you know is that the bedroom door is being kicked open with a loud bang as the door and wall collide with one another. 

You can’t help but gasp as you hear it, as you do Phillip is worryingly calling your name. When you don’t immediately reply he continues, “I’m almost there; hang in for a few more minutes for me. I’m-” 

Phillip’s voice suddenly cuts off from whatever he was going to say. Pulling your phone away from your ear again you see that your phone has died. Oh.

Meanwhile in the bedroom you can hear the person shuffling around; drawers being opened and closed with no consideration for noise. You pull the gun up and steady your aim to the door. It’s only a matter of time before they try and knock this door down as well after all. 

You know you're only going to have one real shot though. Whoever is on the other side is definitely more prepared for a confrontation than you are - probably a lot stronger than you are too. 

Looking to your side you debate going out the window. You’re on the second floor, but as long as you do a somewhat decent landing you’re not in any danger of dying from the fall. It’s the fear of breaking something though that stops you from just making a run for it. Breaking a wrist or arm would hurt like a bitch, but it’d be doable. A leg though would probably put you in a worse situation then the one you’re currently in. 

With minutes that feel like hours you wait for the inevitable to happen. Only that’s not what happens because all of a sudden you hear a loud pained grunt and what sounds like two people fighting. 

Phillip. 

It has to be him. You don’t think anyone else would be inside fighting the intruder. 

You don’t open the door though. During your talks about this kind of situation Phillip always told you to wait for him - he’d be the one to give you the signal that it was safe to leave whatever hiding space you managed to find. 

Just as quickly as it started though it’s over. You can’t hear anything anymore. That is until four knocks on the bathroom door sound out - the signal. 

Immediately you're running to unlock the door. When throw open the door Phillip pulls you into his arms, and guides you back into the bathroom. “Thank fuck you’re alright, sweetheart.” 

“I’m alright,” You’re more concerned about him right now though, “What about you though? Are you hurt anywhere?” 

Try as you might to pull away and check him over his grip on you does not loosen. “I’m fine. Just let me hold you right now.” 

You don’t know how long the two of you stand there just embracing one another, and frankly you don’t care to know. It would have been longer if not for Phillip’s phone suddenly ringing out. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to let go quite yet with how he gives you one more hard squeeze before letting go, and grabbing his phone. 

“Graves speaking … good, come inside and handle the trash. I’m heading back to base.” It’s fairly obvious who he was talking to, but you still have to ask.

“Are the shadows here? How are they here already?” 

“I called Erikson to get his ass here with a few boys after our call was cut out.” Phillip releases a deep breath and rests his forehead on yours, “You had me cursing up a storm when that happened, sweetheart. What have I told you about keeping your phone charged?” 

Of course he knew it was because your phone died. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to let it get below 50% after this.” 

“Probably for the best.” You watch as Phillip now pulls away fully and grabs the gun from where you had left it; hostlering it to his side. “Now let’s get out of here. You’re staying on base until I get a new security system installed.” 

He is then pressing you into his side as his hand comes up to cover your eyes. “Phillip?” 

“Don’t want you seeing anything, sweetheart. Let me guide you out of here for now.” 

You don’t put up anymore of a fuss at that, and you also don’t really want to see whatever lies in the bedroom right now. With that he’s quick to get you out of the bedroom, and out into the hallway. There he does finally let you see again as he continues to pull you down the stairs. 

As you get to the bottom a small group of shadows are entering the house. They give Phillip a nod before hurriedly passing him as they make their way up the stairs now. 

“Wait, I should pack something before we leave.” You say remembering how he had said that you’d be staying at the base. 

“Well come by in the morning, sweetheart. After the boys get things cleaned up.” He reassures you as he practically carries you out of the house to his car. The ride for the most part is silent besides the low singing from the radio. Philip also doesn’t let go of your hand once during the whole ride as if he let go you’d disappear. 

Once back at base the first thing he does is get you settled in his room and bed. He lays down next to you, having you flush against his chest. “I love you so much, sweetheart. I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

“I love you too; I’m here - I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Damn right you’re not.” You feel Phillip relax for the first time tonight as he gives your neck a small kiss. 

You can’t help but think how everything, despite what happened just about an hour ago, right now feels perfect. Being in Phillip’s arms will never not fix everything for you. With that thought you drift off into sleep knowing that everything tomorrow will be alright as long as you have him with you. 

[emberglowfox]

you should infodump about your ocs

i'm going to talk abt a bit of the worldbuilding in steelheart redux bc i am a nerd. you'll get a pinch of arthur at the end though

holograms are pretty common tech in the SHR-verse, and at the time of the story, most are polychromatic (aka full-color, though like real-life televisions Just How Many Colors depends on model and price and whatnot) but that wasn't always the case! when holographic technology was first really figured out, holographic displays were only capable of projecting in one color, using opacity to differentiate value. early holographic phones (H-phones, or whatever lingo i come up with later to describe them) accepted this limitation in exchange for being able to just. project a big honking screen (though said big honking screen was not physically interactable in any way.) they looked kind of like this:

and since suddenly people could just whip out their phones and project a wall-sized display, a section of the entertainment industry scrambled to capitalize on this by making films and graphics For these phones (and the legion of projectors that also emerged) that were essentially black and white films, as stipulated by the holograms' display limitations. these movies were called monofilms (or just monos), and shortly separated into two categories: standard monofilms, produced for dark environments, and inverse monofilms, produced for bright environments.

(when discussing the categories of monos in relation to each other, the terms 'additive' and 'subtractive' are often substituted.)

this led to a brief, albeit fiery race for various cinematographers to become the "master" of monofilmography, which involved different lighting setups and considerations than normal filmography. it was also popular among indie filmographers, as shooting in black and white was far less expensive than shilling out for top-of-the-line, industry-standard but Fucking Pricey full-color cameras.

eventually, polychromatic holographic displays were invented and standardized, and the short golden age of monofilms passed. still, despite the major film studios that had dabbled in monofilmography returning to the standard, monos remain a staple of indie film production and enjoy a niche but dedicated fanbase.

such as arthur steele, who inherited a love and appreciation for them from his late father.

[2nd2ndalto]

what if there were two (side by side in orbit)

__

(chapter 3 here)

Chapter 4

Nico is Nico, and he’s doing the best he can with that. *warning for minor character death (off-camera)

February 1999

Will unlocks his apartment door, still pleased with their work today. Not only were he and Nico easily able to solve a case that had stymied local PD as well as several other agents at the Bureau, but they managed to keep the important parts of their investigation above-board, no complaints from the AD’s office. Will hangs his coat and drops his bag to the floor.

“Yeah, he just walked in. Hold on,” he hears Kayla say as she rounds the corner. Kayla rolls her eyes as she hands Will the cordless phone. Will raises his eyebrows in a wordless query and Kayla mouths, “your boyfriend.”

Will scowls, batting at her, and Kayla grins, dancing out of reach. Nico and Kayla haven’t actually met face to face yet, but Kayla’s begun teasing her brother that she talks to Nico more than she talks to Will.

“Hey,” Will says into the phone. Five months into working together and it isn’t unusual for Nico to call him at home. The first time, he’d simply been bursting to share information about a case, and Will got the impression he couldn’t quite help himself. But since then, they talk off-hours several times a week, when one or the other has had some sort of epiphany, or seen an interesting article. Sometimes, more recently, just to check in.

“How much do you know about vampires?” Nico asks, straight into it.

Will scoffs, grinning. He tucks the phone against his shoulder and heads to his bedroom. “You mean besides the fact that they don’t exist?”

Nico huffs. “Stories of vampires are found in cultures all over the world, Solace.”

Will drapes his jacket over a chair in the corner of the room. It’s probably good for one more wear. “Okay, so you’re saying that just because similar myths about similar creatures emerged in different locales, they must be real?”

“Ye of little faith,” Nico says loftily, and Will laughs. It’s hard to deny the appeal when Nico gets like this. They may not always agree on the basics, but Will thinks he could (okay, he has) spend hours just listening to the rise and fall of Nico’s voice as he tumbles out facts and stories about every little thing that catches his interest.

“There’s a case just outside of Columbia,” Nico’s saying. “Little town called St. Ambrose. Farming community. Multiple dead cows found over the last six weeks with dual puncture marks in their necks. Completely exsanguinated.”

“Huh,” Will considers, grabbing sweats out of his drawer and dropping to the bed. “Sounds weird, all right. There could be any number of explanations, though. Puncture wounds could be syringe marks, meant to give the appearance of fangs, for instance. You think the Bureau wants to pay for us to drive down to South Carolina to look at dead cows?”

“Not just cows,” Nico says, “One dead human, similar puncture marks.”

“Exsanguinated?”

“Yeah. Mostly.”

“Huh.”

“And four sheep. Why am I getting the feeling that you’re not taking this seriously?” Nico asks, and Will laughs.

“I’m taking it very seriously. I swear. Nico, I literally just walked in the door and I’m hungry enough to eat an exsanguinated sheep. Can I call you back?”

Nico snorts. “Fine, fine. We’ll talk more tomorrow. I gotta go pick up my dry cleaning before they close anyway.”

Will hears the phone ring again just as he’s about to step in the shower and he rolls his eyes, smiling. Kayla can take a message.

When he emerges fifteen minutes later, cleaner but now even hungrier, he finds Kayla sitting on the couch staring into the middle distance. There’s something telling on her face.

Will’s footsteps stutter to a stop. “What’s up?”

She sighs, turning to face him. “Dad’s dead, Will.”

::

A massive coronary, Will’s mom told him when he called her, the funeral already set for two days later.

Will can’t decide how he feels. He and his father haven’t had an easy relationship. They haven’t had much of a relationship at all in the last decade, honestly. But there’s no changing the fact that it’s his dad.

He and Kayla make it through airport security with time to spare, and they sit side by side at their gate in silence.

“Thanks,” Will says, reaching over to squeeze Kayla’s knee. “I know you didn’t - you wouldn’t have…” he shrugs, his throat tight. Kayla puts her hand over his, squeezes.

Kayla’s relationship with their father has been decidedly less complicated than Will’s – aided, probably, by the fact that it’s been largely non-existent. Will doesn’t think Kayla’s harboring any regrets about that fact.

They’re both well aware that Kayla’s only coming along for Will’s benefit, and he loves her for it more than he can say. Austin won’t be showing up at all, and that’s completely fine too. Will would never hold it against his younger brother. If someone had asked Will a week ago how he’d feel about his dad’s passing, he never would have expected to feel as broken as he does.

The next 48 hours are a bit of a blur, alternately dragging unbearably and zipping by so quickly that Will keeps losing track of which day it is. He gets to see all the cousins, which is nice, he supposes. Will’s always been close to his mom, and as adults he, Kayla, and Austin had grown much closer than they were as children. But Will’s never felt he fit in properly in his extended family. Every time he returns, he thinks that maybe adulthood will have softened the edges of those relationships, but it hasn’t happened yet. The nice thing about adulthood though, he thinks wryly, is he can simply leave.

The night before he and Kayla are scheduled to fly back to DC, Will finds himself seated on the porch swing outside his mother’s rambling farmhouse. Kayla’s disappeared for the evening to visit some high school friends, and most of the out-of-town visitors have gone back where they came from. The night air is much warmer than DC at this time of year, and Will closes his eyes to the sound of crickets chirping in the yard, the far-away hum of cars on the highway.

Will’s bone-tired, spent. It’s always good to see his mom, but with a twinge of guilt, he finds himself wishing he was spending this evening settled into his apartment in DC, readying himself for whatever mystery tomorrow might bring.

The screen door creaks and slams, and Will glances up to see his mom making her way across the porch carrying two glasses of iced tea. She hands one to Will and he scoots over, making room on the swing. Neither of them speaks for a long moment, just the clink of ice in glasses and the soft squeak of the swing.

“You’re looking good, kiddo,” Naomi Solace says softly, setting down her glass and reaching over to squeeze Will��s hand.

Will laughs, short. “I haven’t slept properly in three days. I can’t remember if I showered this morning.”

“I know. But besides that,” Naomi says. “You seem… more settled. Than last time I saw you.”

Will considers this. “Yeah. Maybe.” He’s feeling so scattered right now that it’s hard to remember his normal state. But he thinks it might be true. “Work is good,” he says slowly. “I feel like… I think I’m helping people. Trying, anyway.”

Naomi nods. “You’re a good kid, Will. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Will laughs weakly. “Do I?”

“Yes,” his mother says, certain. “You do. Maybe you’re a little like me, that way,” she muses, shifting to tuck her legs up under her. “We don’t always get it right on the first try, but we get there in the end. Sometimes you just have to take a more meandering path. Take in the scenery along the way.”

Will nods slowly. “Are you talking about you and dad?”

Naomi sighs, taking a sip of her tea and gazing out at the darkened yard. “I wasn’t. But I suppose I could have been. Your dad and I were just never meant to be married. That was my mistake. I think I’ll always be sorry for the effect it had on all of you kids.”

“Mom. Don’t do that. We’re fine. You can’t…” Will shakes his head, lost for words. “My relationship with Dad was between me and him.” He pauses as his voice goes weak again. Surely he should be cried out by now? “I’ve never blamed you for any of that,” he says, his voice stronger. “I don’t want you to, either.”

Naomi gives him a half-smile, squeezing his hand. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

Will gazes out into the night. He feels a prickle behind his eyes, the promise of yet more tears. But he can’t not ask.

“I – I know Dad and I hadn’t talked much these last few years,” Will begins. He stops, swallows. “But do you think – do you think he was proud of me?” Will’s voice breaks.

“Oh baby,” Naomi says immediately, leaning over to pull Will into her arms. “Yes. Of course he was proud of you. He was your dad.”

::

Kayla’s already left for work when Will wakes on Thursday morning to the sunlight creeping in through the blinds in his bedroom. He’d tossed and turned most of the night, finally falling into an uneasy sleep just before dawn.

He showers and dresses. Stares into the fridge for a moment before closing it again. There’s a light pounding in his temples and a twist to his gut, and he can’t quite stomach the idea of eating anything. He forces down a glass of water and makes coffee.

By late morning, Will finds himself at a loss. In their rush to book plane tickets and leave town earlier this week, Will had only managed to leave a quick voicemail for Nico and make a hurried call to the AD. She’d sounded uncharacteristically sympathetic, assuring Will she’d let Nico know of his pending absence and telling him not to worry about returning to work until at least next week.

And that sounds nice, in theory. But after two hours awake and alone in the apartment, Will finds himself almost subconsciously dressing for the office – pulling on his coat, locking the door behind him and walking to the metro.

Everything feels out of sorts. It’s no longer rush hour, so there’s plenty of room to sit. The people traveling at this time of day aren’t dressed for nine-to-five – moms with small children, old ladies headed out to appointments and shopping. Will’s felt out of place all this week, and it’s going to continue, it seems.

He passes through security and makes a beeline to the stairwell, hoping to avoid running into any co-workers who might have questions, or condolences.

::

Nico makes a quick scan of the office, a double-check to make sure he’s remembered everything. He’s gotten so used to having Will there whenever he turns around, the now-familiar routine of each of them reassuring the other they haven’t forgotten anything important before leaving on a road trip. Nico feels a little lost without it.

Nico turns in surprise to the basement office door squeaking open. “Will – hey. I didn’t expect to see you at all this week.” He takes a step closer to the taller man, then stops.

Will offers a half-smile. “Here I am.” He looks exhausted – his eyes shadowed, posture wilted. “I tried staying home this morning…” Will trails off, then shrugs, shaking his head. He turns to hang his coat.

“You were in Fort Worth?”

“Yup.”

“When did you get back?”

“Last night.” Will drops into his chair, turning to face Nico. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

Nico frowns. “Will. You don’t – you don’t have to be here.”

“I’m here.” Will says firmly. “I want to be here. Come on, di Angelo. Get me up to speed. Vampires, right? Or did I miss the vampires?”

Nico shakes his head, unsure. “No, you didn’t. You’re just in time, actually.” They gaze at each other for a moment. ‘I’m sorry about your dad,” Nico says softly.

Will sighs. “Thanks. Me too.”

Nico had wanted to call immediately when he got Will’s voicemail earlier this week, had been halfway through dialing Will’s number before faltering, then hanging up. He’s repeated the process half a dozen more times in the intervening days, too worried that he’d be intruding.

Now, there’s a long pause in which Nico tries to summon the courage to offer a hug, or at least a pat on the back. But he can’t quite convince himself to take the few steps into Will’s space that it would require. Will would do it, he thinks, no qualms at all if their positions were reversed.

But Nico is Nico, and he’s doing the best he can with that.

“So,” Will says, clearly trying for an upbeat tone. “Vampires?”

::

An hour later they’re on the highway, heading south. Nico begins a recap of the information they know so far – exsanguinated livestock with apparent bite marks, similar puncture marks and cause of death on one deceased tourist from New Jersey, male, age 53, and, as of last night, a second one as well – female, age 62, visiting from Florida.

Everything in his head seems to settle, somehow, as Nico begins talking. The buzz of disjointed thoughts, his plans for the investigation, even the route he’s plotted out for their drive. He’s been fine without Will here this week, really. It’s been quiet. Maybe a little dragging. Fine, though.

But god, this is so much better.

Nico’s gaze flicks over to his partner as they leave DC in the rearview. Will still looks tired, but there’s a ease to his posture, his head tilted toward Nico, listening. His lips twitch up when Nico’s hand rises from the gearshift to emphasize a point, an expansive gesture in the little car.

They’re just passing the last exits for Fairfax when Nico glances over again to see Will fast asleep, head tilted back against the seat. He feels a rush of sympathy. He bumps down the volume on the stereo. He drives.

::

Will blinks his eyes open to a motel parking lot, streetlights casting the interior of the sedan in dim orange light. It’s fully dark outside. He turns to see Nico next to him, the driver’s seat pushed back and a pile of papers in his lap. He’s managed to park in such a way that the streetlight illuminates the papers he’s holding.

“Jesus. How long did I sleep?” Will asks, his voice raspy. His mouth is dry, cottony, his eyes itchy.

Nico glances over, then dog-ears a page in the file he’s been reading before closing it. “Almost five hours.”

“Shit. Sorry.” Will pushes himself upright, scrubbing at his eyes.

Nico shrugs. “You looked like you needed it.” He begins gathering the papers he’s spread out across the front seat and the dashboard. “Thought you’d wake up when I stopped for gas, or when I went in to book the motel rooms, but you were out like a light.” He gives Will a small smile.

Will shakes his head. “Yeah. I haven’t slept well in… well. I haven’t been sleeping.”

Nico just nods.

“Starlight Galaxy?” Will asks, squinting out the window at the sign above the motel. “Sounds classy.”

“You know it.”

Files collected and stowed back in his bag, Nico opens his car door. Will follows suit, standing and stretching from toes to fingertips. There’s a stubborn kink in his neck, his legs stiff. He tilts his head from side to side, taking in the slope of the freeway exit, just a few blocks down the road, the humidity in the air.

“Where are we?” Will asks. He knows Nico hadn’t planned to drive all the way to South Carolina today. He’s feeling completely disoriented, having missed most of the journey. It’s not like him to fall asleep in cars.

“Ah. Just outside of Fayetteville,” Nico says, glancing over his shoulder just as Will stumbles on a curb. Nico reaches out to grab his arm, brow furrowed.

“I’m okay,” Will assures him. “Still waking up.”

::

There’s a little diner nearby, and Will finds himself hungrier than he’s been in days, making his way through an enormous burger and a heap of fries.

“I fell asleep in the middle of your vampire lecture,” Will realizes suddenly, as the waitress finally clears their plates.

Nico’s lips quirk. He’s cast his coat and jacket aside, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair is just a little overlong, a soft curl of it falling into his face. Will wants to brush the hair off his forehead, trace a finger down his exposed forearm. The whole tableau is incredibly distracting, and Will glances away. As he’s told himself repeatedly over the last five months, there’s no need to have this reaction to Nico simply because he’s the only man Will’s spent any significant amount of time with lately.

“It’s fine,” Nico teases. “You only hurt my feelings a little.”

Will breathes out a laugh. “I promise it wasn’t personal. Wanna pick up where you left off? I’m all ears.”

Nico watches him for a moment, his gaze warm. Will tries to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. God, he’s being ridiculous. He’ll blame it on the stress of the week he’s just had.

“Vampires can wait. We should get you to bed,” Nico says, and at least this time it’s him who goes red, quickly dropping Will’s gaze.

“Well, if you’re offering,” Will manages, light as he can.

Nico snorts, pushing himself up from the table. “You know what I meant,” he mutters, and Will grins.

::

Despite his hours-long nap, Will’s still exhausted when he falls into bed. But sleep won’t come and the quiet in the motel room sounds louder and louder until Will finally gets up to find the TV remote, settling on an old episode of This Old House. After tossing and turning for what feels like hours, he eventually wakes to sunlight, static on the TV and Nico knocking at the door.

“Give me ten minutes?” Will yells. The knocking stops, apparently in agreement. When Nico returns, he’s grabbed them both coffee. They pilfer muffins, doughnuts and an apple apiece from the motel’s continental breakfast before they’re back on the road.

“How’d you sleep?” Nico asks, glancing over as he nudges the car up to speed. Will just shakes his head, enough of an answer.

Will thinks he manages about forty-five minutes of Nico’s vampire briefing this time before passing out against the passenger side window. He wakes to a gentle shake of his shoulder and the golden arches beckoning welcomingly above the windshield.

Will blinks up at Nico, bleary. “Fuck. I did it again.”

Nico’s eyes are dancing with humor. “You did. Now I’m starting to get a little offended.”

Will groans. “I’m so sorry, I swear I never even fall asleep in cars –”

But Nico’s shaking his head, grinning. “Seriously Solace, it’s fine. Sleep when you need to sleep.”

“Maybe I’m developing narcolepsy,” Will mutters, reaching for his styrofoam cup of now-cold coffee and draining it before following Nico into the restaurant. Normally, he finds he’s never able to trust anyone or their driving enough to sleep, but with Nico… well. That’s certainly not something Will’s planning to spend any more time thinking about.

::

They arrive in St. Ambrose late in the afternoon, heading straight to the tiny police station.

“Should have brought my cowboy hat,” Nico mutters under his breath as they cross the parking lot.

Will hums in agreement. He feels safe enough in most situations when he’s protected by his suit, badge and gun. But taking in their surroundings… well. This doesn’t particularly feel like a welcoming space for anyone who doesn’t fit the mold. Will hasn’t had any confirmation of his partner’s sexuality, but he has his suspicions. And he can’t help but wonder if Nico feels the same way, assesses new situations with a similar paradigm.

The police station is the smallest Will’s ever seen, tacked on like an afterthought to a small funeral parlor and a makeshift morgue space. He checks in to get on with the autopsy on the most recent victim while Nico follows the sheriff to a nearby cemetery. They agree to meet afterwards in front of the Budget Host Inn – easy enough to find as it’s the tallest building in town.

Will falls into his work. The autopsy is soothing, somehow, almost meditative – the familiar procedure coming to Will’s hands without much thought. He assesses, records, observes. And it’s just as Nico described - two small puncture wounds in the victim’s neck, the body mostly drained of blood. The victim’s last meal included mushrooms and some kind of sausage, Will notes idly. Interesting. Will’s pretty sure the previous victim’s stomach contents were the same.

::

The police station is a mere two blocks from the Budget Host, and Will’s happy enough to stretch his legs and take in the last of the sunset as he makes his way to the motel. He’s hungry, legs aching from standing over a body for hours.

Nico’s waiting for him in the parking lot.

“So, they only had one room left,” Nico says, apologetic, as soon as Will’s close enough to hear him. “Guy at the front desk says there’s a convention and everything’s booked up. So you can stay here.” Nico presses a key into Will’s hand. “There’s another hotel up the road. I’ll go see if they have a vacancy.”

Nico turns back to the car, and Will grabs his arm. “Hey, wait.”

Nico turns back, his eyes just a bit wide. Will immediately drops his arm. “There are two beds, right? In the room here?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m fine with sharing a room if you are. It’s been a long day, we’re both tired.” Will shrugs. “Makes more sense than you driving all over the county trying to find another hotel.”

Nico looks hesitant, studying Will’s face as if he’s going to find some argument there to contradict what Will’s just said. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course. Growing up, we’d have six of us sharing a hotel room. The hotels only allowed four and we had to sneak the other two kids in. Two to a room is luxury.”

Nico still looks unconvinced. “You sure you don’t want more privacy than that? I know it’s been a rough week for you.”

Will shrugs, glancing away. It has, but – “I actually wouldn’t mind the company. If you’re okay with it.”

With that, they drop their things in the room and head to the bar at the end of the street.

“Autopsy didn’t yield any additional information, by the way,” Will says as they walk. “I sent off for a tox screen, but we won’t get the results back until at least tomorrow. How was the cemetery?”

Nico shakes his head. “Nothing to write home about. No evidence of vampiric activity that I could see.”

Will restrains himself from scoffing, but he’s pretty sure that Nico can tell. There’s no offense on his face, amused.

“What’s your theory, then?” Nico asks, lips quirking.

“Well,” Will considers it for a brief moment. “Ritualistic bloodletting could point to cultists of some sort.”

Nico huffs. “Your cultists have some sharp little teeth.”

Will nods solemnly. “You’re right. It’s probably that Mexican goatsucker.”

“El Chupacabra?” Nico asks. “Not in this case. They have four fangs, not two. Besides, they suck goats, not cows or sheep. All the evidence so far points to classic vampirism, Solace.”

“If you say so,” Will says. “We can stock up on garlic on our way back to the motel.”

They turn into the bar’s parking lot, a weaving path between pickup trucks. There are several motorcycles parked in the glow of the neon lights in front of the building.

Looking around, Will realizes they’re ridiculously out of place in the bar, both of them in suits and ties surrounded by a sea of cowboy hats and the occasional biker jacket. They’re certainly attracting some curious looks.

But Nico’s there. It’s odd how that seems to make so many things easier to take, lately. It softens edges, blurs lines. The persistent feeling Will’s always had of not quite fitting in, the blanket of grief and loss that’s trailed him around all week.

The hostess seats them in a booth near the small dance floor, and they both idly watch a lone couple two-stepping as they wait for their menus. There’s country music playing – at a reasonable volume at least – but Will’s pretty sure he can hear Nico’s thoughts as clearly as if he’s spoken them aloud – it’s not even real country music, Will. Pop-country is a travesty. It’s an insult to the history of the genre.

Will smiles to himself. He glances to his partner. There’s a muscle jumping in Nico’s jaw that Will’s pretty sure has nothing to do with exsanguinated sheep. Maybe telepathy does exist after all.

Nico turns, catches his eye. “What?” he asks, pained.

Will shakes his head, still smiling. “Nothing. It’s just good to be back at work.”

Nico huffs, but his lips twitch into a smile, too. The dance floor lights play over his pale face and the errant wave of hair falling over his forehead. “Yeah?” he says. “You were missing this sort of ambiance?” Nico gestures around them.

“Yeah,” Will grins. “You wanna dance?”

Nico’s eyes go wide, his expression caught adorably somewhere between horrified and embarrassed. “To this? Not in your wildest dreams,” he mutters as the waitress approaches with their menus.

::

Back at the motel, Will showers, trying to talk himself out of the awkwardness he feels as he emerges from the bathroom in sweats and an old Stanford t-shirt. He’s perfectly presentable, nothing he wouldn’t leave the house in on a weekend. Nico’s sitting on his bed similarly dressed, and they exchange a somewhat shy glance as Will settles himself down.

Nico’s looking inconveniently soft in gray flannel pants and bare feet, a worn Ramones t-shirt snug against his torso, the curve of his biceps. Will’s stomach lurches and he quickly directs his gaze to the TV. Way to be completely inappropriate, Solace.

Nico’s already flipping through the limited cable options and, at Will’s urging, settles on an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation. Nico hasn’t seen it before, but the show is a comfort watch for Will; he feels himself relax into the familiar characters and dialogue.

They’re both quiet until the commercial break, and then Will shifts, stretching out stiff muscles and pulling the thin hotel blanket over his lap. “Marina Sirtis?” he says, gesturing to the screen, “the lady with the long, dark hair? She was my first crush. I had a poster of her on my wall when I was ten.”

Nico laughs, a bit louder than usual after two beers. He’s fully stretched out on the bed now, head propped up on both pillows against the headboard. Will watches the other man, feeling a little louder himself. Warm. Nico’s shirt has ridden up just a little, a hint of pale skin at his waist, and Will drags his gaze away slower than he should.

“Mine was Judd Nelson,” Nico says after a rather loaded pause. He’s chewing on his thumbnail, gaze fixed on the TV. “First crush, that is. I saw Breakfast Club with my sister when it came out.”

Will feels his heart pick up speed, nerves and anticipation.

“Yeah, he was cute,” Will says, light as he can. He reaches for his own beer, takes a sip. “I – I kind of had a thing for Emilio Estevez. After I saw Breakfast Club.”

Nico glances over, his gaze lingering. “Yeah? You were into jocks?”

Will can feel his face warming. “He had nice arms. I appreciate a good bicep.” He flexes his in demonstration.

Nico huffs out a laugh, his gaze flicking to Will’s arms, then back to the TV. His posture relaxes a bit, Will thinks.

Will falls asleep to the sound of the TV in the background, waking some hours later to the rhythm of Nico’s soft breathing across the room. Will drifts off to sleep again almost immediately, sleeping better than he has in days.

::

“Got the tox screen back,” Will announces as he steps back into their motel room the next afternoon. There isn’t enough room for them to work at the police station, so they’ve set up shop in here, Nico’s papers spread over the rickety little table next to the window.

Nico turns in his chair. “Anything good?”

“Chloral hydrate.” Will hands the printout to Nico, then kicks off his shoes, dropping onto the bed. “More commonly known as knockout drops. They were found in abundance in the victim’s body. I’m willing to bet we’d find the same in the cows and sheep. And the first human victim, if anyone had thought to check. Your vampire must have drugged them before he drained their blood.”

“Huh.” There’s silence in the little room as Nico scans over the rest of the results. “What kind of vampire would do that?”

“Probably someone who’s watched too many Bela Lugosi movies,” Will offers. “They believe they’re a vampire – or they want to – therefore they act like one. So maybe not so spooky after all.”

Nico’s brow furrows. “What about the bite marks, though?”

“Well, someone so obsessed might file down their incisors to look the part. A moulage casting might help us identify the perpetrator. I wonder if there’s a dentist in town,” Will muses.

Nico looks disappointed. Will swings out a leg to kick him gently in the shin. It’s not a far reach, in the small room. “Sorry. I know you were hoping for something more supernatural.”

Nico attempts to kick Will back, not quite managing to reach. “I see what you’re saying. But I’m not fully convinced.”

“Okay,” Will says easily, “do tell.”

Nico grabs for a gray folder and flips through it. “Your autopsy report said the victim’s shoelaces were untied.”

Will settles himself more fully on the bed, rolling to his side and propping his head up. “Yeah. So?”

“Remember I said that we don’t know what sort of vampire we’re looking for?”

Will blinks. He has no doubt that Nico mentioned this fact, but he has zero memory of it. Quite possibly because he’d fallen asleep. “Yeah?” he says anyway.

“Well, oddly enough, there seems to be one obscure fact that remains the same, over all the vampire stories told across various cultures. Vampires are notoriously obsessive-compulsive. If you toss a handful of seeds at a vampire, no matter what he’s doing, he has to stop and pick them up.”

Will frowns, now completely lost. “Seeds?”

“Historically, certain seeds were thought to fascinate vampires,” Nico continues, now at the point in his storytelling where his hand gestures get bigger and he leans forward in his seat, his gaze intense.

Will can’t help but smile. “I was going to run to the grocery store for snacks. You want me to pick up some bird seed?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Nico nods, looking serious. “Can’t be too careful. Historically, oats and millet were most interesting to them. Get those if you can.”

Will nods, absently wondering where one would find millet.

“Anyway,” Nico continues, jabbing a pen in Will’s direction. “If a vampire sees a knotted rope, they’ve got to untie it. It’s in their nature. I’m guessing that’s the reason for the untied shoelaces.”

“Maybe our wannabe vampire is just as familiar with the stories and myths as you are,” Will points out. “Or maybe our victim hadn’t gotten around to tying his shoes before he was attacked.”

“Both valid points,” Nico nods, tapping his pen absently against the desk. “You know, I think I wanna go back to the cemetery.”

Will shrugs. “Sure. Right now?”

Nico shakes his head. “No. We should wait until nightfall. I just have this feeling the killer is going to be drawn back there at some point. That it’ll hold some kind of fascination for him.” He quirks an eyebrow. “You up for a spooky cemetery stakeout?”

Will laughs. “I thought you’d never ask.”

::

Eleven pm finds both men seated in their fleet car at the edge of the cemetery in a copse of trees. It’s fully dark – the site is about a mile from the small town, untouched by any artificial light. The car is turned off, windows half-rolled down to let in the cooler air.

“So remind me what we’re looking for?” Will asks, quiet. He taps the gun at his belt. He’s not planning on needing it, but it’s good to know it’s there.

Nico gazes out over the dark expanse in front of them. The half-moon provides a little light, shading the crests of the trees in silver.

“Anything unusual,” Nico murmurs. “Broken or shifted tombstones. A faint groaning sound coming from under the earth.”

Will suppresses a shiver.

“The sound of manducation,” Nico continues. “The creature eating its own death shroud.”

Will makes a face, withdrawing his hand from the Bugles in his lap and tossing the bag into the back seat. “Suddenly I’m not feeling so much like snacking.”

Nico snorts. They sit in silence for another long while until Nico speaks up again. “I think I want to go out there, take a look around.”

Will sighs. He unbuckles his seatbelt. “Well, you’re not leaving me here by myself.”

“Why, feeling spooked?” Nico asks, light.

“Maybe a little,” Will admits. “Plus, someone’s got to have your back. The AD won’t be impressed if you get exsanguinated on my watch.”

Will’s never had a problem with cemeteries. Death is simply a part of life. But he also hasn’t spent a lot of time skulking around cemeteries in the dead of night, and this one is undeniably creepy. He can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching them as they lurk behind trees, skirt quietly around tombstones.

Nico’s quiet and alert, just a step ahead. Will quashes the impulse to reach out and take a hold of the other man’s jacket, to make absolutely sure they don’t get separated. He’s seized by the ridiculous thought that if Nico gets more than a few yards ahead, he’ll sink right into the shadows, never to be seen again. Idly, Will wonders why he ever thought he’d be a good FBI agent.

Then Nico comes to such an abrupt stop that Will stumbles into him. Nico grabs hold of his arm, his grip almost bruising, gaze never wavering from where he’s staring straight ahead at the empty space between the end of the cemetery and a small grove of spindly trees.

“You see that?” Nico whispers, barely a breath.

“Where?” Will’s hand fumbles to his gun.

Nico moves a step closer, the side of his body pressed to Will’s, tense and warm. Will can’t tell if the embarrassingly immediate increase in his heart rate is due to their sudden proximity or the possibility of imminent threat to his life. He quickly decides now is not the time to worry about that.

Will blinks, trying to force his eyes to see the shapes and borders of objects ahead, everything blurred and obscured in the darkness.

Then, there’s movement in the trees. Someone emerges, walking quickly in the direction of the road. Will can just make out the general shape of a male body, curly hair, rather round in the middle. Beside him, Nico pulls his gun from its holster.

“FBI, stop where you are,” Nico commands, stepping forward.

The man turns to face them. As their eyes meet, there’s sudden a flash of what looks like green light – and the man is gone, disappeared in a second.

“Stop right there!” Nico pelts into the darkness. Will takes off after him, trying not to trip on the uneven ground, his gaze darting left and right to see where the man could possibly have disappeared to.

They reach the stand of trees, but there’s nothing. Darkness and silence except for their ragged breathing. Nico’s gaze scans the country road next to the cemetery, catching his breath. Nothing but farmers’ fields and open road.

“Fuck. Where the fuck did he go?”

Will shakes his head, panting. “No idea. I know it’s dark, but it just seemed like he…” he trails off.

“Disappeared?”

They begin a more thorough search then, a close inspection of the area where they saw the man, then a careful grid search through the little cemetery. Will keeps an eye on his partner, Nico’s flashlight beam tracking back and forth just a few yards from Will’s. It’s odd, though – the cemetery doesn’t feel nearly as spooky now. Almost as if Will knows in his heart that there’s no longer any threat. And that feels eerie in itself.

“I don’t think we’re going to find anything,” Nico sighs, shoving a hand through his hair as they reach the fence at the far end of the cemetery.

“Could have been nothing,” Will considers as they walk back towards the car. “Just someone out for a walk?” It feels like a stab in the dark.

Nico shoots him a sideways glance, skeptical.

Will shrugs. “Yeah, I know.”

They spend another hour sitting in the car at the cemetery’s edge before heading back to the motel, Nico teasingly complaining that Will’s yawning is going to disturb the undead.

::

Will wakes the next morning to heavy cloud crowding the sky outside and a tangible humidity that’s seeped right into the room with him, sweat on the back of his neck.

Nico’s bed is empty, the blankets pulled up neatly. A glance towards the dark bathroom tells Will he’s alone in the room.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, dropping his elbows to his knees and his head into his hands. He feels blurry, his head fogged. He’s close to dozing again, fingers pressed into his forehead, when the door opens.

Will sits up, blinking. Blessedly, it’s Nico, with muffins and coffee, a careful balancing act with two styrofoam cups tucked under his chin, a banana under his arm. His brow creases when his gaze catches on Will.

“What?” Will croaks.

Nico turns away, nudging papers aside with his elbow and settling the food on the table by the window. “Did you sleep?” he asks Will.

Will sighs, deep. “I think so. Some.” He dreamed of his dad last night, nothing significant, just glimpses of the older man in the periphery. He woke afterwards feeling heavy, aching. It had been a while before he was able to sleep again.

Nico eyes him for a moment, then comes to sit on the other bed. “I don’t think you want to hear this, but I just need to say it once to make sure.”

Will looks up, stomach lurching.

“You don’t have to be here,” Nico says, just a little too intense. “If you decide you want to go back home at any time, it’s fine. No one will think any less of you. And I can handle things on my own. Or if you just wanna hang out in the hotel, that’s cool too. Just tell me.”

Ridiculously, Will feels his eyes burn with tears. He focuses on accepting the coffee Nico passes into his hand. “I’m good,” he says. “But thanks. I promise I’ll tell you if anything changes.”

Nico nods, silent.

Will shifts, too aware of his sleep-rumpled clothes, a stark contrast to Nico’s neat polo shirt and leather jacket. God, his leather jacket. Will runs a hand over his head, a fruitless attempt to tame what’s surely an appalling bedhead. “I made it through my whole residency on less sleep than this,” Will says.

Nico watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I know you’ll bow out if you think you’re a danger to me, or to yourself,” he says. “I just want to make sure that you know you don’t need to get to that point before you tap out.”

Will nods, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

::

The day passes, quiet and uneventful. The nearest dentist is an hour away through back roads and farmland, and they make their way that way after lunch, hoping to gain some insight on anyone with abnormal dentition in the area. The trip yields no additional information, but the drive is pleasant enough, the sky thick and dark with clouds, no rain falling yet.

They talk idly about the case and Will makes a concerted effort to stay awake, now hyper-aware of Nico’s concern for his state of mind.

He glances to his partner, who’s looking particularly breezy and cool in his short-sleeved polo, his leather jacket an unfortunate casualty of the humidity. Nico’s right hand rests on the gear shift, left arm extended, a relaxed grip on the wheel. Nico’s slim, his features almost delicate, but he has muscle in his arms that isn’t immediately obvious in the looser dress shirts he wears to work most days. Will finds his attention drifting repeatedly to Nico’s arms every time they’re available to his gaze. The bulge of his bicep as it flexes, the defined lines of his forearms. He forces his gaze away for the third time in as many minutes.

Even a few weeks ago, Will realizes, he would have made a joke, teased Nico about working out. They’ve developed a sort of light, comfortable teasing over the last five months, even flirting, low stakes. But something feels as if it’s shifting lately, and Will finds he can’t get the words out. It doesn’t help that he’s thought of Nico’s arms far too often over the last three days. Will searches for another topic of conversation, anything.

“Hey,” Will says, wrenching his gaze determinedly to Nico’s face. “You’ve never told me where you grew up.”

“Um.” Nico clears his throat and Will’s surprised to see the other man looking uncomfortable. He knows Nico well enough now to recognize the way he retreats at the threat of personal questions, but really. They’ve known each other for months now. It’s not as if Will’s asked if he can borrow Nico’s Social Security number.

“Just – Massachusetts,” Nico says, eyes on the road.

“Nice,” Will nods. “Whereabouts? One of my aunts lives up there.”

There’s a pause. “Martha’s Vineyard,” Nico mumbles.

Will laughs in surprise. “Oh, you’re a rich kid!”

Nico snorts, clearly embarrassed. “My dad’s the rich one. I was just… a little weirdo.”

Will watches the other man out of the corner of his eye, intrigued. “Do you see your dad much?”

“No,” Nico says, in a way that indicates that his participation on this topic is clearly over. Will blinks, startled at his tone.

Then, a moment later – “sorry,” Nico says, softer. “I didn’t mean to snap. My dad and I… well. There’s no love lost there. He’s – we never–”

“I’m sorry,” Will cuts in. “I wasn’t trying to pry.”

Nico nods, falling silent. “I know you weren’t,” he says a moment later. “And I –” he reaches over, his fingers brushing over Will’s wrist, there and gone. “I know you just lost your dad. And that sucks. I can’t help thinking… well, I can’t help but think that I wouldn’t miss mine if – you know.”

Will nods, his gaze on the farmland passing outside the window. “My dad and I – we weren’t exactly close.”

Nico doesn’t respond with more than a flicker of his gaze, but there’s a tilt to his posture that tells Will he’s listening.

Will sighs. “We hadn’t talked much for the last few years. Things hadn’t been… well. Things weren’t easy between us, maybe not ever, but especially since my two older brothers died. He kind of checked out after that. I always thought we’d find a way to be close, someday, maybe as I got older. I guess that’s off the table now.” Will swallows, wipes at his eyes. “Sorry.”

Nico shakes his head. “No need to apologize,” he says, soft.

“I’ve been thinking that maybe I’m mourning the loss of what I wanted us to have. You know, more than the loss of what there actually was.” Will digs in the pocket of the passenger door for a fast food napkin he knows he stuffed there earlier this week. Finding one, he dabs at his cheeks.

“What was your dad like?” Nico asks.

Will lets out a breath, leaning back in his seat. “He was… larger than life. Maybe just because I was a kid, I don’t know. But I have these memories of him – loud, exuberant. Charming. He got along with everyone he met. I wanted to be just like him. He was a doctor, too. That’s why I went into medical school.”

The landscape flashes by outside, greens and browns and yellows, then shades of smoky gray above the horizon. Nico stays quiet, waiting.

“He was good at everything,” Will continues. “Or at least that’s how I remember it. And Michael and Lee – my older brothers – they were the same. The three of them played baseball and football together, they were… you know.” Will shrugs. “Tough. Loud. Boys’ boys. Even as a little kid, I felt like I was too soft. Too different. And not just because I was younger. I felt like they knew it too.”

Will can’t remember thee last time he talked this much. The words seem to keep pouring out, though. And somehow it doesn’t feel so bad to just… let it happen. Here, cradled in this small space on this country road under these dark clouds and with this man – his friend, he realizes rather suddenly – this feels safe.

“And then when I was ten, my dad and my older brothers were in a car accident. Lee and Michael were dead before the ambulance got there.” Will pauses for a few deep breaths, his vision blurring with tears. “My dad was driving.”

“I’m sorry,” Nico says quietly.

“My dad left not too long after that,” Will says. “He’s been overseas ever since. Or he had been. Doctors Without Borders. From what I hear, he was a really good doctor. He wasn’t such a great dad, unfortunately. He never really said he was leaving my mom, or leaving us…” Will shrugs. “But that’s what happened. He called less and less. The last time I talked to him was in September, when they transferred me out of Quantico. We talked for maybe two minutes and then he was rushing off.” Will sniffs, dabbing at his cheeks again. “Sorry. You’re probably wishing you’d left me back in DC when you had the chance.”

Nico shakes his head slowly. “If I was going to leave you anywhere, it would have been in Fayetteville, after you fell asleep in the middle of my best vampire lore.”

Will chokes out a laugh, surprised, and Nico shoots him a smile.

“Dad and I talked a few times when the FBI first recruited me,” Will adds, remembering. Now that he’s started talking, somehow it feels easier just to keep going, like running downhill. “I was so keen on med school at the beginning – everything was new and exciting, I couldn’t wait to learn more. Then halfway through my residency it just stopped feeling right. I felt like I was dragging myself out of bed every day. And I remember thinking – god, how am I going to keep doing this for another forty years? So when the FBI came calling, I jumped at the chance to try something else.”

“What did your dad think?” Nico asks.

“It was hard to tell,” Will sighs. “I think I read into him too much. I don’t know if he really understood. I wanted so badly for him to be proud of me, but I’m still not sure if he was. I guess now I won’t ever know for sure.” Will falls silent, his throat tight.

“Anyway.” Will clears his throat. “That’s my childhood trauma. How were your formative years?”

Nico shifts a bit in his seat, takes a breath and lets it out, like he’s working his way up to something. “My mom died when I was seven,” he says.

“Oh, Nico –” Will begins.

“It’s okay.” Nico’s voice is wobbly. “Bianca – my sister – I think I’ve mentioned her. She was five years older than me. She looked after me a lot, after that. We were really close. And then she died when I was seventeen. The end.”

Something aches in Will’s chest. “That’s a very… brief summary,” he says gently. “Succinct.”

Nico laughs, short. “That’s more than most people get.” He glances at Will, quick, a half-smile. He sniffs, turning back to the road.

“Then I’m honored,” Will says, offering Nico a McDonalds napkin, stiff and scratchy.

Nico accepts it, wiping at his face. “You should be.”

There’s silence for a few moments. Nico sniffs a few more times.

“You have another sister too, right?” Will asks.

“Yeah. Half-sister, technically. Hazel. We didn’t actually… know about each other until after Bianca died. My dad had an affair. Apparently.” Nico grimaces. “But Hazel’s amazing. We’re really close. Learning my dad was even more of a dick than I thought – that sucked. But Hazel made up for it.”

They’re quiet for a few miles after that, just the hum of the engine and the crack and pop of gravel under their tires. Will feels drained, wrung out. But somehow he's also more relaxed than he's been in days, boneless in his seat, his gaze fuzzy around the edges as hills and fields blur past. He wonders if Nico's feeling the same. There's a softness to his posture, to the line of his mouth and the drape of delicate fingers over the gearshift.

As they near St. Ambrose, the conversation picks up again bit by bit; plans for the remainder of the day, a query from the AD as to how much longer the investigation is going to take, Nico wondering aloud if it's worth staking out the cemetery again. Nico pulls smoothly into the motel lot, parking the car in front of their door and pulling the key from the ignition.

"Hey," says Will, pausing as he unbuckles his seatbelt. "Thanks for listening."

Nico gazes at him for a moment, something unreadable there. "Any time." He looks away, reaching for his own seatbelt. "What are FBI partners for?"

Will breathes out a laugh. "What indeed."

::

Several hours later, Will's putting the finishing touches on his report of their interview with the dentist when Nico's phone rings. Will's just about to reach for it when Nico emerges from the bathroom, scrubbing a towel through damp hair. He darts past, leaving a fresh scent of soap and shampoo in his wake.

"Di Angelo," he says into the phone. Will's only half-listening, mulling over word choices and paragraph spacing. It only takes a minute before Nico ends the call, flopping down on his bed.

Nico’s voice comes out frustrated. "Another dead tourist."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Fuck."

"Puncture wounds?”

"Yeah. Seems to be missing all his blood."

Will clicks his laptop closed and pushes back from the table. "Where's the body?"

"At the morgue,” Nico shoots him a knowing look. “It's almost nine. You can do the autopsy tomorrow, Solace. Besides, the pizza will be here soon."

Will stands, stretching. “I think I’d rather get it done now. Might give us some direction as to where to investigate tomorrow.”

Nico gives him a considering look. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Will glances around, finally locating his jacket draped over his overnight bag in the corner. “Save me some pizza.”

::

It’s a quick walk back to the morgue and Will’s quickly immersed in the examination. The man looks to be about the same age as the last dead tourist, same puncture wounds on the same side of his neck. Will makes a y-incision and begins his inspection of the chest cavity, assessing and measuring the internal organs and dictating his results. The police station is nearly empty at this hour, and Will wishes he’d brought some music along. He’s just thinking of doffing his gloves and looking around for a radio as he reaches for a scalpel to open the stomach cavity.

“Stomach contents include…” Will peers closer. “Mushrooms, sausage…” Weird, same as the last two victims. It looks like…. pizza. Will pauses, scalpel hovering in the air.

Fuck. The pizza.

::

Nico reaches for the TV remote, pizza boxes stacked on the bed next to him. To his surprise, he’s been enjoying sharing a room with Will. But he also can’t deny that it’s kind of nice to have an evening to himself; no worries about what anyone else might want to watch on TV, no Will with his distractingly brilliant smiles and appealingly broad shoulders. Nico gives his head a sharp shake, determinedly moving his focus to the TV. It’s Sunday night. He’s pretty sure he can find an episode of M*A*S*H.

There are commercial breaks on every channel, so Nico turns his attention to the pizza instead, extracting a warm, cheesy slice from the box on top and sliding it onto a styrofoam plate. Generous portions, he notes, the end of the piece overhanging the edge of the plate. He bites it off.

Nico’s halfway through his pizza and ten minutes into M*A*S*H when he gets up to grab something to drink. He sets his plate aside, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

Whoa.

Nico sometimes gets light-headed when he stands up too fast, but this feels… extreme. He grips the edge of the bed, waiting for the wave of dizziness to subside. It doesn’t.

Maybe he just needs some water. He tries and fails to remember the last time he had anything to drink. Okay, sure. He’s a little dehydrated. That makes sense.

He makes an attempt to stand and immediately finds himself flat on his back on the floor. Ow. Fuck. Okay, this is definitely not normal. Maybe if he can just reach his phone… but his arms won’t move. What the fuck. This almost feels like the reaction he had to the drugs when he had his wisdom teeth pulled.

Wait. Drugs.

Fuck.

The motel room door opens and Nico prays to any gods that might exist that it’s Will. It’s only been about half an hour though, and the autopsy earlier this week took Will over two hours. Fuck. Fuck. On some level, Nico registers that this is a very weird feeling, panicking and feeling so… floaty and content at the same time.

A face looms over him that is not Will’s. It’s a stout young man, curly hair – tighter curls than Will’s, darker hair – the man they saw running through the cemetery, Nico realizes with a chill. The man looks Nico over, appraising, as if Nico is a particularly appealing steak dinner. He sinks to the floor, smiling weirdly. As Nico gazes at him, paralyzed, the man’s eyes begin to glow with a greenish light.

Nico’s heart is running marathons in his chest. He puts every ounce of thought he has into willing his hand to reach for his gun, but there’s nothing, nothing. Fuck.

Everything’s getting so fuzzy.

The door flies open, slamming into the wall.

“Nico?” Will’s voice is panicked, as panicked as Nico felt a moment ago. He can’t quite find it in himself to panic right now.

The man with the glowing eyes is standing now, but he’s gone blurrier. Then there’s a gunshot, and another.

There’s a cool breeze coming from the open door. That’s nice. Nico lets his eyes fall shut, no real choice in the matter. But then there are hands, warm hands, on his face and at his neck, and he blinks heavy eyes open to see Will, wide blue eyes standing out in a pale face.

That’s nice. He likes Will. Will feels safe. Will probably won’t drink his blood. And Nico thinks he might let him if Will wanted to. He thinks Will’s talking to him. He sounds worried. But Nico’s just so tired.

::

When Nico comes to again, there are voices, several of them. He keeps his eyes shut, listening. He’s not actually sure if he can open his eyes. Oh, but there’s Will’s voice. It cuts through the others, calm and sure. If the sound of Will’s voice is anything to go by, Nico doesn’t have to open his eyes just yet. It sounds as if Will’s got things under control.

Time passes, or maybe it doesn’t, but Will’s voice seems closer, suddenly. There’s a warm hand on Nico’s shoulder.

“Nico. Hey, sleepyhead.”

Nico’s eyelids aren’t quite as heavy now. He opens his eyes to Will leaning over him, his gaze tired, but fond. Nico finds that he can move his arms again and reaches out to grasp Will’s arm. He sighs, content. Behind him, Nico sees two double doors open to the night, medical gear all around.

“How’re you feeling?” Will asks. “Do you remember what happened?”

Oh. Right. Nico’s not usually here in… the back of an ambulance? How did that happen? His brain feels as if it’s booting up sluggishly, skipping merrily over details that are probably important.

“Fuck,” Nico croaks. Then his eyes go wide. “The pizza. It was drugged.”

Will nods. “It sure was.”

“And the delivery guy –” Nico says, trying to sit up. Will helps him with an arm firm around his back. Nico’s head doesn’t spin the way it did last time he sat up. That’s probably a good thing. Will’s the doctor, though. He should ask Will. Wait.

“The delivery guy,” Nico says again.

Will nods, a smile pulling at his lips as he watches Nico struggle to process. “Yes, the delivery guy. He lunged at me when I came back into the room, I shot at him. I thought I hit him, actually, but then he took off. Pretty fast for a guy who’d just been shot.” Will’s talking a little slower than he normally does, which honestly feels a little patronizing. But Nico doesn’t actually want him to stop, because it still feels like the words are coming at him too fast.

Nico rubs at his eyes, clumsy. “Did – did you go after him?”

“Well, no, because I needed to make sure you were okay.”

Nico beams and sways. Will laughs, tightening the arm around him. Nico likes making Will laugh. Will is warm. And he smells good. Nico nestles his head into Will’s shoulder. It’s right there after all. And Will has really nice shoulders.

Will laughs again, a shake of his body against Nico’s. “You’re adorable,” Will says.

Nico thinks Will’s probably right. He feels a little bit adorable right now.

“Do you think you can walk?” Will asks. “The EMTs want to take you to the hospital, but they’ll let me monitor you in the motel as long as you can move under your own steam.”

Nico nods. “I can definitely walk. Don’t wanna go to the hospital.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Will agrees, helping Nico to stand.

Will has a quick exchange with the EMTs while Nico maintains a firm grip on Will’s arm, trying his best to look like someone who Does Not Need To Go To The Hospital. It must work, because a moment later, they’re making their slow way across the motel parking lot. Nico stumbles a few yards from the building and Will’s grip on him tightens.

“Try to stay upright for a few more minutes or they’ll make you get back in the ambulance,” Will mutters, low.

Nico thinks he giggles, and Will snorts. Will’s quick to unlock the door and usher Nico inside. He flicks on the light.

“This… isn’t our room,” Nico says slowly. He’s pretty sure of that, anyway. The furniture seems to be in different spots. And there’s a single, king-sized bed in the middle of the room.

Will lets out a breath, his shoulders slumping as he glances over the room. “Fuck. No, they moved us. The other room is a crime scene now. Local PD is processing it and we can’t go back in there. I uh… I didn’t realize there was only one bed, though. I can – I’ll go to the main office and –”

“No, no,” Nico argues immediately. “It’s fine, Solace. I just wanna go to bed and – it’s fine. There’s plenty of room for both of us. ‘S a big bed.”

Will holds his gaze for a moment and Nico does his best to look as certain as he can. It’s a little hard to focus on Will’s face, but he thinks he manages it.

“Are you sure?” Will asks. “That’s not just the chloral hydrate talking? Because I really don’t mind moving us.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine,” Nico says. He wonders if he should say it one more time. He carefully closes his mouth instead.

Will shrugs. He really does look tired. “Okay.”

Nico manages the few steps over to the bed without any assistance. He’s honestly pretty proud of himself. He sits down heavily. After a few unsuccessful attempts to kick off his shoes, Will suddenly appears, kneeling in front of him and taking over.

Will looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but Nico decides not to take it personally. Nico flops back onto the bed, legs still hanging off the side.

“Are you ready to sleep?” Will asks.

“Mm hm,” Nico responds, closing his eyes. “‘M a bit hungry, though. Is there any pizza left?”

There’s silence, and after a moment he opens his eyes to Will, looking pained.

“Kidding. I was kidding,” Nico says. “Haha.”

Will huffs. “It’s not funny yet,” he says. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Nico mumbles, trying to shift himself fully onto the bed. After a moment Will appears to help. Wow. He’s really strong.

Will snorts.

Huh. Did Nico just say that out loud?

“I am going to tease you about this so much tomorrow,” Will mutters.

“Mean,” Nico mumbles, turning his face into the pillow.

::

Nico wakes to find himself alone in bed, sunlight seeping in around the blackout curtains and a throbbing behind his eyes. He lifts his head, squinting against the light.

“Hey.” The bed dips and Will’s there. “Good morning.”

Nico groans, dropping his head back to the bed.

“Headache?” Will asks. Nico nods.

“I’m just going to check your vitals again, okay?” Nico feels Will’s fingers close around his wrist, then a warm hand on his forehead.

“Wait,” Nico croaks. “Again?”

“Yeah. I had to wake you a couple of times during the night to check on you. You don’t remember?” A smile pulls at Will’s lips.

Nico feels mildly terrified. “No, I - don’t. I don’t remember,” he says, slowly pushing himself to sit.

“That’s okay, that’s normal. You were very… sweet about it,” Will grins.

Nico covers his face with his hands. “Oh god.”

Will laughs. “I’m going to go grab you some aspirin.” He disappears into the bathroom and Nico wracks his brain, trying to piece together, well… anything.

By the time Will returns, Nico is brimming with questions.

“So, the delivery guy –”

Will shakes his head. “They haven’t found him yet. Here.” He presses the glass of water into Nico’s hand and Nico takes a sip. His mouth feels disgusting.

“Were his eyes,” Nico says, trying to make sense of his memories of the night before. “Were they… glowing?”

Will rubs the back of his neck. “You saw that too? I thought I must have imagined it. It all happened so fast. Maybe colored contacts?��

“Maybe,” Nico says doubtfully, staring into the middle distance. His brain is slowly fitting the pieces of last night into place and as it does, he begins to feel some of the terror that felt so distant under the dulling of the drugs. He’d been on the floor, helpless. Awake, but paralyzed. The curly-haired man loomed over him, hunger in his eyes.

“Fuck,” Nico suppresses a shudder. “That was close.”

“Yeah,” Will says softly. He opens the aspirin bottle and presses two into Nico’s palm when he holds out his hand. “I’m awfully glad I got there in time.”

“Me too.” Nico swallows the aspirin and drains the glass of water. Will gets up to refill it. Nico can feel the fog in his head slowly clearing. His eyes are itchy, his brain fuzzy.

Will crosses to the window and twitches the curtains just a smidge wider. Nico is vaguely grateful not to have his tired eyes immediately blasted by sunlight. Will walks back to the bed, all long and lean, sleeves cuffed below his elbows, the thin beam of sunlight catching in his curls.

Will sets the glass of water on the nightstand. “Hold on, one more thing,” he says. He leans around Nico, grabbing something from his bag, then straightens. Warm fingers come up to gently cup Nico’s chin. Nico’s stomach nearly leaps up through his throat, then settles somewhere around his lungs as Will clicks on a penlight.

“Bright light,” Will murmurs in warning, his face close. “Look straight ahead?”

Nico does, realization slowly trickling in as he cooperates. Will is quick and efficient, checking one eye, then the other. He smiles, a gentle pat to Nico’s cheek as he clicks off the light. “All good.”

“How did you know?” Nico asks, trying to distract himself from his suddenly racing heart. He’s exceedingly grateful Will’s already checked his pulse. Will passes him the refilled glass of water.

“That you were in immediate danger of exsanguination?” Will asks, wry. “Well, I was in the middle of the autopsy when I noticed that yesterday’s victim’s stomach contents were the same as the first two.”

“Pizza,” Nico realizes.

“Yup.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast in my life,” Will says. He breathes out a laugh, his jaw tight.

“Thanks for that,” Nico says, stupidly grateful.

Will gives him a small smile. “What are FBI partners for?”

::

An hour later, showered and changed, Nico’s feeling much more like himself. The door opens and Will enters, dropping himself onto the chair across from Nico.

“So? What did you find out?” Nico asks immediately.

Will sighs. “Well, the alleged pizza poisoner is nowhere to be found. His name’s Ronnie Strickland. Police found traces of chloral hydrate in his locker at the pizza place and at his home, but all his stuff is gone. He’d been renting a house in town, but it’s completely cleared out. His landlord lives in the place across the street – says he was home all night but never saw Ronnie coming or going.”

Nico lets out a breath. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Will grimaces. “They put out an APB for Ronnie and his car, but that’s about it. The case is in the local PD’s hands now.”

With that, the two pack up the car and gas up. Nico gets back into the driver’s seat at the gas station and pauses, gazing out at the dusty road.

Will, who’d been flipping through CDs, pauses. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Um. Would you mind driving?” Nico asks, hesitant. He always drives. He’s a bit of a control freak that way, he’s well aware. He’s pretty sure Will knows this too.

A smile breaks over Will’s face like a fucking sunrise. “Really? You’re going to trust me to drive? Are you feeling okay?” Will leans over with his sunrise smile to press a warm hand to Nico’s forehead and Nico jerks out of his reach.

Nico can feel his face flooding with warmth and he scowls. “Whatever, never mind, it’s fine.” He turns the key in the ignition.

Will laughs, loud and bright. “Nico, I’m kidding. Come on, let me drive. You’re probably still feeling a little dopey after your drug trip last night.”

Will’s out of the car and around to the driver’s side before Nico’s fully unbuckled. Nico opens the driver’s door and squeezes past the taller man.

Will snorts. “You don’t have to look so grouchy about it. I promise I know how to drive.”

“Stick?” Nico says, pained.

“Yes, stick.” Will rolls his eyes. They settle into their seats. “Now buckle up,” Will grins. “I wanna see what this Neon can do on the open road.”

“Oh god,” Nico mutters. He brings the passenger seat forward a couple of inches before reaching for his seatbelt. Stupid Will with his stupidly long legs.

Will’s a perfectly adequate driver, as it turns out, though he keeps glancing over at Nico with a teasing smile tugging at his lips. Finally he pats Nico’s hand where it’s clutching the seat. “Relax,” he laughs. “If I wanted to kill you I could have let the vampire do it last night.”

Nico snorts, pulling his hand away. It tingles, where Will touched it with his stupid warm fingers. Probably just the lingering effects of last night’s doped pizza. Or Hazel, putting dumb ideas in his head.

Will looks entirely relaxed at the wheel, though the car’s a bit small for his tall frame. He glances over and tosses Nico a brilliant smile. Nico rolls his eyes.

In sudden need of a distraction, Nico grabs his wallet of CDs off the dash.

“Oh, I have music, actually!” Will exclaims.

“Great,” Nico says, deadpan. “I didn’t get my quota of Disney tunes on our last road trip.”

“Come on, you know you loved The Little Mermaid,” Will teases.

Okay, maybe Nico liked that one. A little. That secret’s between him and the amazing acoustics in the basement hallway. “Fine, let’s see what you’ve got,” he says, trying for harassed.

“Blue bag in the back,” Will directs. “In the side pocket.”

A moment later Nico’s flipping through CDs, and okay, it’s not all bad. Disney and boy bands, as expected, but there are some more folky, indie-type selections as well. Mostly nothing Nico would really choose for his own listening. But good music, objectively speaking.

“You’ve got some decent stuff in here, Solace,” he says grudgingly.

“Wow, thanks. Do I get the di Angelo musical seal of approval?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Nico mutters. He pauses on one CD in particular. “Huh. Naomi Solace. Any relation?”

Will glances over. “Yeah, I forgot that was in there. That’s my mom.”

“Seriously? Your mom?”

Will smiles. “Seriously. You can’t see the resemblance?”

And Nico can, actually, studying the picture of the blonde woman printed on the CD. The photo is grainy, but he realizes he recognizes those bright eyes, that teasing smile.

“She’s prettier than you,” Nico says, “but yeah, I can see it.”

Will laughs.

“And I guess you can carry a tune.”

“Oh, high praise,” Will teases.

Nico bites down a smile, sliding the CD into the player. There’s warm acoustic guitar, then a mellow alto voice followed by light, tinkling mandolin. A song about love, and loss. Nico breathes.

Two tracks in and neither of them has spoken, lulled by the quiet, cozy soundtrack and the hum of the road.

Will glances over. “It’s good, right? This is her newest one. I think she gets better with every album. And not just because she’s my mom.”

Nico nods, finding his throat a little too tight for speech.

Will’s gaze flicks over to him again, then back to the road. “You should come with me to see her play. Next time she’s in town,” Will says, softer.

Something flutters to life in Nico’s chest. “Yeah,” he manages. “That would be cool.”

A soft instrumental track shifts to something poppier, light. Nico finds he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open. Surely that’s acceptable, though. He was drugged last night, after all. He clears his throat.

“Um. Would you – do you mind if I take a nap?” He knows there’s really no need to ask, especially considering that Will slept most of the way here. But it still feels weird. Too intimate, somehow.

Will glances over, his gaze soft, and Nico can tell he feels it too. “Of course not,” he says, no teasing this time. “Sleep when you need to sleep.”

Nico’s throat is tight again. It must be some side effect of the drugs making him more emotional than usual. Maybe the near-death experience helped too. He reclines his seat, just a little, closing his eyes against the late morning sunshine. He lets his mind drift over the last five days, the case, his partner. Little parts of himself doled out sparingly, things he almost always keeps buried. He thinks of Will at his side through all of it. Will, heart on his sleeve. Solid, dependable. Soft.

Nico turns his head towards his partner. Will’s mouthing the words to his mother’s song. He looks a bit melancholy maybe, but settled. Steady.

“Hey,” Nico begins, then immediately regrets speaking before he’s plotted out what he needs to say. Will glances over. “I was just thinking about what you said before. About your dad.”

Will smiles, tired. “Which part?”

“Just – for what it’s worth.” Nico swallows, gaze flicking back to the windshield. “He’d be an idiot. Not to be proud of you.” Nico’s voice goes a bit rough and he swallows against the lump in his throat.

There’s no response from the other man for a moment, then, “thank you,” Will murmurs. Warm fingers brush over Nico’s hand where it’s resting in his lap. Nico closes his eyes.

(chapter 5 here)

Notes:

1. Another chapter! A million thanks for the lovely comments on the last one. It makes me so happy that people are enjoying this. Comments keep me going and get me writing faster :) 2. Thanks as always to @rosyredlipstick for the beta! 3. This chapter is loosely based on two episodes of the X-Files - Bad Blood and Beyond the Sea 4. I loved writing this chapter. I hope you like it too. 5. If you read this within the first 12 hours of me posting it, there was only one previous human victim at the beginning of the case - now edited for two! In all my meticulous editing I somehow missed a somewhat important plot point :)

[pillsandumbrellas]

Yesterday was an actual nightmare. I've cut my mother completely out of my life. Probably my father too since he empathizes with her actions. My mother came over yesterday as a random surprise. She walked in like she owned the place, yes she has a key (this key was given to my parents to be used only in the case of an emergency). I was still asleep btw. She woke me up and started yelling at me for well you name it. Then when I got up and started to tell her off, she started telling me off about my weight and how I was going to end up failing my classes again and be a disappointment because I was obsessed with my appearance and was boy crazy. I've had 2 relationships in my entire life btw. She then proceeded to charge me, dragged me to fridge and yelled at me for nothing being in it except apples and energy drinks. Shoved an apple in my mouth and held it there and made me eat it. I was literally choking on the apple. She held it there and watched me until I finished it. Then she got up and left to get more "real food." I left my house and went to a friend's. She was calling my phone the entire time and texting me. I blocked her. I went back home today and got my door's key fob changed. I'm leaving for Australia in a month anyway I just have to avoid her until then. No doubt she'll be at my door again soon. Idk what to do. I honestly just am scared she's going to get me put into a facility again and I'll be put into forced recovery. She's the reason I even have an ED to begin with btw. She used to make me starve and didn't let me eat normal kids food. She used to body shame me at a normal kid weight when I was around 8y/o. Then when my grades started dropping in HS because I just didn't eat she was ashamed of me and assumed it was because I was trying to make myself attractive for boys. I had never even SHOWN an interest in boys at that age. Vile. Absolutely vile. I'm fucking exhausted. Emotionally drained and traumatised.

[bitchinbarzal]

little slice of heaven | life with otis

summary; today of all days, they know he’s their little piece of heaven.

warnings; this talks about parental death, more specifically Brock’s dad, Duke. If that makes you uncomfortable please don’t read.

-

This year was a write off, you’d decided.

It was horrible from the off set and throughout. To go from last off season getting married and buying your first home to this one, spent by your father in law’s bedside. You’d spent the first half of the year facing issue after issue with your house build and receiving time after time, negative pregnancy tests.

You weren’t even in Minnesota when it happened. You were in Vancouver closing on your house sale, Brock told you he wanted to be at home in case.

He didn’t say anything on the phone, he just cried.

“I’m coming baby, just hold tight”

The day of the funeral was quiet, nobody spoke much and you didn’t blame them.

Getting back to the house where it was just family felt nice, everyone in there was grieving the same.

You’d been feeling off all day, dizzy and sick.

“How’re you feeling my love?” You mumble, kissing his shoulder and sitting down next to him.

“Numb I guess, Petey called”

“Yeah he asked me how you were, said he’s sorry he couldn’t come on time” you smile, holding his hand “Im sometimes worried he’s more of your wife than I am”

He chuckles, the first time you’d heard him laugh in a while.

“I Just… it doesn’t feel real that he’s not going to be here for things like my first cup? Our first child” he deflates and you can only run his hand soothingly

“I know baby, I’m so sorry”

“He should be here you know? I know we’ve been dealing with the negative tests and I’m so proud of you for your resilience. He was so happy for us and he won’t be here to see it when it’s finally a good result”

You couldn’t say anything, there was nothing to make that feel better.

Later that night, just before bed in the bathroom you were watching your face and looking for a towel. You pulled open the cupboards and a box fell out.

An unused pregnancy test lay at your feet. You looked at it and thought about when you’d last taken one. Deciding to just use it, the answer would be the same but a little bit of hope never hurt.

You’d used it, say it to the side and forgotten about it. Shutting off the lights and heading to bed.

Middle of the night, Milo had jumped onto the bed and woken Brock up so he decided to go to the bathroom while he was awake.

He saw it sitting there, confused he picked it up to throw it away before looking

pregnant

He dropped it, completely shocked. Forgetting the reason he was originally in the bathroom he walked back out to the bed and shook you awake.

You groaned “What? If the house isn’t burning leave me alone”

He smirked “You really thought you could get away with not telling me you’re pregnant?”

Your eyes shot open “I’m what?”

He looks equally as confused “You didn’t know? Who’s test is that?”

It dawned on you then “In the bathroom? Show me!”

He went in and emerged with it, you were now sitting up and grabbed it. Tears immediately filled your eyes “Oh my god”

You gave your husband a watery smile “We’re pregnant”

Brock engulfed you in a hug, peppering kisses all over your face “I love you, I love you! We’re having a baby, our baby!”

Laying there, staring out the window for the next few hours was bliss. His hand rested on your belly until you fell asleep.

When the sun began to rise and he could hear you snoring softly, his hand still hadn’t moved.

“Thanks, Dad” he mumbled, looking out of the window and towards the sun rising above the trees.

otis duke boeser

february 11th, 2023

He was early, but right on time.

Holding Otis as the Boeser’s filed into the room you smiled at the family fawning over him “Oh my he’s beautiful y/n”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“He picked some day to be born, eh?” Brock’s brother laughs.

“Yeah, Happy Birthday Duke and Happy Birthday Otis”

[mercury-crux]

Nosy Neighbours Incorrect Quotes

Pearl: The Ocean is a soup. BigB: BigB: Do elaborate. Pearl: What are needed for something to be a soup? BigB: Erm… Water, salt, some form of vegetation, and personally I prefer some meat in mine. Pearl: Tilts head BigB: The Ocean is a Soup. Pearl: The Ocean is a Soup.

Pearl: We’re having a moment, aren’t we? BigB: If by 'a moment' you mean me not wanting to strangle you for the first time since we met, then I guess we are.

Pearl: I'm having problems with a guy… BigB: Like his dead body won't fit into your trunk kind of problems, or you like him kind of problems?

BigB: :) Pearl: >:( BigB: Turn that frown upside down! Pearl: ):< BigB: Not sure what I was expecting…

BigB: Sorry it took so long to bail you out of jail. Pearl: No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have used my phone call to prank call the police station.

Pearl, texting BigB: I’m a theif. BigB: Thief. Pearl: Theif. BigB: I before E except after C. Pearl: Thceif. BigB: NO.

Pearl: Remember, BigB, don't do anything I wouldn't do. BigB: I think I crossed that line when I got a date.

BigB: I can't imagine what Pearl is planning. But I can tell you two things. We won't like it and it won't be legal.

BigB: Look, Pearl, it's the third time this week you had a mental breakdown and its Monday.

BigB: When I said bring me something back from the beach I meant like a conch shell! Pearl: Struggling to hold a seagull Fucking say that next time!

Teacher: Your child was in a fight. BigB: Oh no, that’s terrible! Pearl: Did they win?

Pearl, answering the phone: Hello? BigB: It’s BigB. Pearl: What did they do this time? BigB: No, it’s me, BigB. It’s actually me. Pearl: What did you do this time?

Pearl: Well BigB, I have to say, I'm really disappointed. BigB: Well, you didn't HAVE to say it. You could've just thought it.

Pearl: BigB… BigB: Oh no, 'BigB' in B flat. BigB: You're disappointed.

Pearl: I’m terrible at expressing myself. BigB: Don’t worry, actions speak louder than words! Pearl: Yes, but my actions are also bad.

BigB: You have an impressive pain tolerance. Pearl: Thanks, it's the trauma.

Pearl: I trusted you! BigB: Why?

Pearl: Here you go, BigB, a nice hot cup of coffee! BigB: It's cold. Pearl: A nice cup of coffee. BigB: It's horrible! Pearl: Cup of coffee. BigB: I'm not sure if this even IS coffee. Pearl: C U P.

BigB: There are some things beyond our understanding. We must accept them and learn from them. Because these moments of crisis are also potential moments of faith. A time, when we either come together or fall apart. Nature always has a way of balancing itself. The only question is, what part will we play? Pearl: Did you just make that up? BigB: No. I read it in a fortune cookie once. Pearl: BigB: A really long fortune cookie.

BigB: Good morning! Pearl: Is it? Is it really?

BigB: Pearl, you're testifying in an aggravated assault case tomorrow, and the D.A. is worried about how you'll present yourself on the stand. Pearl: Why? I'm fine on the stand! flashback to Testimony #1 Pearl: Look, I'll make this real simple so even these dumdums can understand. Pearl, to the jury: MAN DID CRIME. flashback to Testimony #2 Pearl: I'm sorry, could you make her stop doing that weird thing with her face? Defense Attorney, next to the crying defendant: …Crying? flashback to Testimony #3 Pearl: And when this is over, I'm gonna find you and I'm gonna break those little fingers. Judge: Could the witness please stop threatening the stenographer?

BigB: You have Crayons? Pearl: Yes, I have— BigB: You're— how old are you? Pearl: YES I AM AN ADULT AND I HAVE CRAYONS, I HAVE A BOX OF EMERGENCY CRAYONS IN THE CABINET UNDER THE TV BECAUSE EVERYBODY NEEDS CRAYONS SOMETIMES, OKAY? EVERYBODY NEEDS CRAYONS.

Pearl: We just ate. Why are you making pancakes? BigB: For the frogs. Pearl: Why are you making pancakes for the frogs? BigB: They don't know how.

Pearl: Why are you on fire? BigB: This is just how my day is going.

BigB: Can I have some water? Pearl: starts chugging their water bottle Pearl: chokes from drinking too fast Pearl: spills water all over themself Pearl, coughing: I don't have any water.

Pearl: Come on, BigB! How any times do I have to apologize? BigB: Once! Pearl: …No.

BigB: sSSSHIT- I BURNT MY LIP- Pearl: …Why the fuck would you even drink coffee with a METAL STRAW in the FIRST PLACE?? BigB: BECAUSE WE WERE OUT OF THE PLASTIC ONES!

Pearl: There's nothing worse than people using big words they don't understand. BigB: I photosynthesize with this.

BigB: Pearl… Pearl: I can tell by the tone of your voice that you are disappointed. Alas, I must further disappoint you by affirming how little I give a fuck.

BigB: I drink to forget but I always remember. Pearl: You're drinking orange juice.

Pearl, acting tough: You guys don't want to mess with me. BigB: Yeah, Pearl will straight up cry in public. Don't try them. Pearl: Exactly, I will straight up- Pearl: Pearl, tearing up: BigB, why would you say that?!

BigB: You saved me! Why? Pearl: People would think I murdered you if I didn't.

Pearl: I’ve invited you here because I crave the deadliest game… BigB, nodding: Knife Monopoly. Pearl: I was actually going to play Russian roulette, but now I'm really interested in whatever knife Monopoly is.

Pearl: Do you have a superpower? BigB: Yep! It’s hindsight. Pearl: …that’s not going to help us. BigB: Yes, I see that now.

BigB: I’m genuinely surprised you haven’t gotten arrested, let alone gotten a felony yet. Pearl: Nat 20 Charisma. BigB: That is NOT how that works-

Pearl: How do you want your coffee? BigB: Black, like my soul. Pearl: Pearl: BigB, your soul is a latte.

BigB: You need to be more careful! Pearl, who was dragged into BigB's issue: Careful? CAREFUL?! I'LL CAREFULLY WRAP MY HANDS AROUND YOUR THROAT-

BigB: Watcha doin? Pearl: Stealing my neighbour’s cat. BigB: Scandalous. BigB: Can I help?

BigB: You’re charged with…..breaking into a pet store? Pearl: I thought the animals might be lonely.

BigB: Okay, help me, please! Pearl: Got two words for you. BigB: I bet they won't be helpful. Pearl: Your problem. BigB: I was right.

Pearl: You ever get so tired that you start seeing spiders? BigB: Me after I take 17 Benadryl and start seeing the hat man. Pearl: THE WHO? BigB: Oh is this not a safe space suddenly?

BigB: An Apple a day keeps the Doctor away! Pearl: An Apple a day can keep anyone away if you throw it hard enough.

Pearl: BigB told me that brown is just navy orange, and I have never been more disappointed with something I agree with.

Pearl: Astrology is fun because i can pretend that all of my behaviors are just a result of being a Gemini and not symptoms of mental illness. BigB: Being a Gemini is a mental illness. That’s not hate it’s just a fact.

BigB: I love murder mysteries! Pearl, trying to impress them: I've been a suspect in four murder cases.

BigB: I literally cannot believe I let you talk me into this. Pearl: I literally said “I have an idea,” and you just went along with it without question.

[coraniaid]

There's so many good ones so I wanna ask one more! (Feel free to ignore of course!) Fuffy + 91. "I can't breathe." Happy writing! (Tbh I am team full season rewrite tho if/when you feel up to it! 😂 I'd love to see another! You did so incredible with the first one)

You sent this prompt in months ago, I know, but ... uh, better late than never?

(This is canon compliant and set in late Season 3, so I hope you like angst.)

In her whole short life leading up to today, Faith's only ever memorized four phone numbers.

The first of them was the phone number of the tiny apartment she’d lived in with her mother ever since she was a kid.  The dismal too-small box back in Southie that she’d spent years dreaming of escape from. Not that she ever had any reason to call that one, or to invite anyone else to call her either.  Unlike some people, she didn't exactly have a fawning little gang of sycophants and hangers-on to arrange late night gossip sessions with. 

She used to have to give that number to teachers though sometimes. Before she was smart enough to just take the hint and drop out of school entirely.  They used to demand it after summoning her to some principal’s office or some classroom for after-school detention, then get pissed at her when nobody answered.  As if it were Faith’s fault her mom was too busy enjoying the drinking and passing out parts of life to pick up the phone.  As if she’d ever asked for her to do that.

(Hell, maybe if she’d just asked her to carry on drinking herself to death then her mom would’ve stopped.  God knows she’d never given Faith anything else she’d ever asked for.)

Anyway, that was one number she could go ahead and forget.  Good riddance to that.

Then there was Diana's number. Diana Dormer.

Diana was her first Watcher, and – in every way that mattered – her last Watcher too.  Snobby Rupert Giles had only ever looked at her like she was a cheap, flawed copy of his favorite golden Slayer, and lying Mrs Post had only ever been using her to get her hands on that stupid glove, and that jailbait-chasing creep Wesley was somehow worse than both of them put together. But Diana had been okay.  For a Watcher, anyway.  She’d been all right. 

Diana had given her her number early on, shortly after she’d first invited Faith to stay at her place.  "In case of emergencies," she'd said gently.  “Or if you just want to talk.”  

Faith had never known when to use it.  Never been sure what Diana wanted from her until it was too late to ask.  Her Watcher's house had been real nice, the few times she’d gone round to visit, but she'd worried that there was some kind of trick she wasn’t spotting, some strings attached that she’d not be able to escape.   So however much she’d wanted to, she'd never actually called her on it.  Not really.  

She'd rung the number once, for the first time and the last, only after Diana died.  When even a stupid little kid should've known it was way too late.  Driven by some weak childish impulse on a very bad night, after a string of at least a dozen bad nights, when she was already halfway across the country.  It rang and rang and rang and however long she waited nobody had ever answered.  

Well, what had she expected to happen anyway?  Diana was dead and she’d not been good enough to stop it and no amount of wishing would ever change that.

She could probably go ahead and forget that number too.

The Mayor had given her his number, as well, last of everyone. “Saving the best till last as usual, are you Faith?” he might have asked her, beaming at her in his office over another plate of cookies.  (The Mayor hated crumbs and mess and disorder, that wasn’t a secret, but somehow he never seemed to mind her eating at his desk.)

It was his private office number, direct line.  Not the one most people had to call.  The real one: the one Trick had used, and Mr Finch, and maybe some other dead losers Faith had offed without knowing it.  That was good. it meant he trusted her, that she was useful to him.  That she was safe.  She didn't think she'd ever call him on it either though.  What if she said something stupid and pissed him off?  What if he decided he could do better?

Mayor Wilkins wasn’t Diana.  The Mayor wasn't all right. Not really. He was a monster, and a killer, and he was wicked gross. Only … he was on her side, wasn't he? He’d set her up in this place, hadn’t he? A little nicer than that dump of a motel she’d been left to rot in.  He’d given her a chance.  He got her, the way nobody else in this town did.  The real her.  After all, she was a monster too.  Everyone knew it.  She belonged, with him, in a way she’d never belonged anywhere before.

Use it or not, she'd be hanging onto his number for a while.  It wasn’t as if she had a choice.

And then there was the third number.  The one she didn’t want to think about.  The most important number.  Her number.  Buffy Summers’s number.  The Buffy Summers, the one Diana had told her about almost a year ago. The one Faith had known about, somehow, even before that, the face she’d glimpsed in her dreams the night before she’d woken up stronger and stranger and different than before.

The other Slayer – the real Slayer, Faith supposes, the good Slayer – had given her number to Faith herself on her third night in Sunnydale, after the big fight with Kakistos.

They’d been hungry, after dusting that old monster.  Both of them.  Starving.  And, maybe, they'd both been feeling something else.  Something that Faith had been sure she’d seen, deep in Buffy’s eyes, that very first night they’d met.  A feeling she’d never been able to talk about it with anyone else, because they wouldn’t have been able to understand.  The feeling she’d always gotten after a good slay.  The high that kept her going, night after night, vamp after vamp.

They were hungry, but the only place open that late at night was a crappy little diner a few blocks away from the vamps’ old hideout.  It had been nearly deserted when they’d shown up, no other customers at all, and for a minute Faith had been worried they’d be turned away.  She probably would’ve been, she thinks, if she’d been on her own.  Something about her just had that effect on people.  She was trouble, she was a problem, and it was like everyone could smell it on her.  Like a stink she couldn’t ever wash away.

But she’d been with Buffy, Sunnydale’s golden girl, and nobody in the world had ever known how to say no to her.  That was why, not long after arriving, they’d been sitting together squashed up at a little plastic table, a table piled high with more burgers and fries and milkshakes than Faith had seen in one place for a long time.  More food than she’d ever had since she’d lost Diana.

Buffy might have claimed to crave nothing more than low-fat yogurt back when she was with her friends, but Faith hadn’t bought it.  No way that could be true.  And that night, when it was just the two of them, Buffy hadn’t bothered to pretend.  She’d torn through the burgers almost as fast as Faith, almost as if she didn’t have a mom at home who’d stay up late waiting for her and cook her hot food any time she asked.  Almost as if she was as empty inside as Faith was.

At one point, she’d looked up at Faith, mouth still slightly smeared with sauce, and Faith had had the weirdest feeling.  Because, fuck, this was Buffy Summers, the girl she’d dreamed about being the first night she was Called.  This was the girl whose death she’d lived through in her nightmares, just like she’d lived through a second death bleeding out on the library floor at some vampire’s feet, and falling through the air to the ground far below, and hundreds of other deaths before that.  

Buffy Summers, who Diana had told her stories about as if she were some kind of fairy tale.  Buffy Summers, who she’d dreamed about again as she fled across the country, running for her life, not knowing where else she could turn to.  Buffy Summers, who’d drowned but lived to joke about it, who’d never lost a fight, who blew up demons with rocket launchers and was really real.  Who was real and alive and warm and sitting so close to her, and who – even disheveled and dirty after a fight, even with fading bruises on her arms and ketchup stains on her fingers – was the most beautiful girl Faith had ever seen in her life. Buffy Summers, who was like her, but better.  Perfected.  Perfect.  

She’d looked up at her, and Faith had felt her heart lurch in her chest in a way that had nothing to do with all the greasy junk food they were eating.  And for the first time in the longest time, she’d dared to let herself hope that maybe everything was going to be okay.

If things had been just a little different back then, if Buffy had given her just the smallest, slightest sign, Faith thinks she might have kissed her right then and there.

Not a quick kiss on the forehead, like she had after their big fight back in Angel’s mansion, but a proper kiss.  The sort of kiss a girl like Buffy deserved.  Romantic.  Slow and deliberate.  Gentle and soft and forgiving  in a way that Faith could never make herself be.

But things hadn’t been different.  They never were.  Everywhere you went things were always exactly the same forever.  Buffy had glanced away; a tired-looking waitress had shown up to ask if they were going to be done soon; the moment had slipped out of her fingers, unseized.

So Faith had just helped herself to the last few fries on Buffy’s plate when she was almost finished, smirked at her with her mouth full when the other girl protested, then left her to foot the bill and made her way alone back to her motel room.

Alone.

She’d been alone for months, out on the wrong part of town, and nobody had cared.  Not really.

Giles had come round to see her once, much too late, almost a week after she’d arrived in Sunnydale.  He’d looked over the place, peering over his glasses, barely managing to hide his distaste, and asked her haltingly if she was looking for somewhere else to stay.  Well, nice try.  Faith wasn’t about to fall for that one.  What was he going to suggest: putting her up in the spare room in his place?  Out of the goodness of his heart, or something? How dumb did he think she was? 

“I’m five by five here, G-man,” she’d smiled insincerely, almost as keen to see the back of him as he obviously was to leave.

You couldn’t trust guys, even older guys who seemed okay at first.  Even guys you were supposed to be able to trust.  Especially not those guys.  Faith wasn’t naive enough to think otherwise.  She hadn’t been that naive for a very long time.

Buffy had come around to see her a few times, too.  Not so much after they’d fought over Mrs Post’s glove – well, to be fair, Faith hadn’t exactly wanted to see her then either –  but a couple of times.  The last time was just before Christmas, when Buffy’s mom had guilted her into inviting Faith over for the night.

She might have kissed her that night, too.  She might have, if she could’ve gotten away with it.  Found some way to play it off as a joke.  Lurked around the mistletoe and surprised her with a shy and furtive peck on the cheek at the stroke of midnight.  She might have kissed her, if that damn vampire hadn’t shown up to ruin everything.

As it was, Buffy hadn’t even hung around to open Faith’s crappy little presents.  She hadn’t even cared.  Just abandoned Faith again, the way everyone else did.  Left her to guard her mom like she was some kind of dog.  Like she was a stray she’d briefly felt sorry for and invited into the warmth for a night, only to regret it when she realized how flea-bitten and mangy and disgusting she truly was. 

She always thought she was better than you, Faith reminds herself angrily, hating the way she always forgets. Right from the beginning, and you never ever let yourself see it.

Sometimes she still thinks about calling her, even now.  What for, she isn't sure.  It's not like they were ever friends, is it?  Not really. Buffy was just using her, same as everyone else. She gets that now, even if she'd never wanted to admit it.  There was no way Buffy had ever been going to let her into her life for real.  There was no way Buffy was going to admit that they were alike.

Still, she thinks about it, some nights.  Most nights.  She’s been thinking about it tonight.

It’s idiotic.  She’s idiotic.  She’s embarrassing herself again.  it's just like Red had told her, back in the Mayor's office.  It's too late, it's way too late.  She knows that.  She’s known it for a while.  She’s not a stupid kid anymore.

Only … she’s never going to get another chance, is she?  One way or another, it’s all going to be over soon.

It's well after midnight when she finally screws up the courage to pick up the phone.  Not long to go until graduation day now.  Not long to go until the Mayor's big ascension.  This town will get what’s coming to it, and so will Buffy Summers.  And so will she.  Everything will be different.

"Willow?" Buffy says sleepily on the other end of the line, when Faith finally has the guts to dial her number.  "Is that you?  Are you okay?"

Faith feels herself scowling at the mention of that little witch's name, the smile she’d not been able to stop when she heard Buffy’s voice curdling on her face.

Red.  That smug little witch.  Of course Buffy would ask about her.  Of course Buffy would choose her over Faith, again and again.  Willow’s not a Slayer.  She isn’t like them, she isn’t important.  She’s soft and weak and shy and coddled and she’s got a family and a house and a future.  She doesn’t need Buffy the way that Faith needs her.  Why can’t Buffy see that?

Too late, she realizes how long it’s taking her to answer.  Now Buffy's getting impatient. Sounding a little more stern.

"Who is this?  What do you want?"

Faith freezes.  The little script she’d pieced together in her mind all evening fades into gray nothingness.  What does she want?  Forgiveness, maybe.  Absolution. For somebody else to really see her and agree that this was the only way that things could go.  That, really, none of this was anybody’s fault.  Or maybe she just wants a chance to say goodbye.

I should have kissed you, back then, she thinks.  That night after we dusted Kakistos.

She can see in her mind exactly how it would have played out. Like a scene from a movie – not one of those grainy black and white flicks she used to watch on the broken television in the motel after patrol, but a real movie, on the big screen, so bright and colorful and sharp and real that it almost hurts to look at.

You'd have tasted sweet, but just a little salty, between those fries you were demolishing and the specks of strawberry milkshake waiting on your upper lip.  You’d have tasted just like I imagined, all those summer nights on the run.  And afterwards … afterwards, you’d have gone all shocked and wide-eyed for a second and neither of us would've said anything. Then you'd have turned all pink and protested and pretended you hadn’t been into it at all, and maybe you’d not have talked to me again for weeks and weeks afterwards.  You’d probably have been weird about it for months.  

But I think it would’ve been worth it.  To show you. Who I was, and who you were.  To take what I wanted, just for a moment.  To have what I was sure we both wanted, deep down.  What we both needed.  To know that I was right, and that the two of us were the same.  To taste it.

And now it's like ... it's like I'm drowning, like I can't breathe.  I’m in that quarry the kids used to fool around in, back in Boston. I’ve jumped in from way up top like always, only something’s gone wrong. I'm stuck. I can’t get out, I can’t even move, and I'm waving for help but nobody can see me.  Nobody wants to see me.

It’s just like it was back then, after I failed Diana, except I know nobody’s going to take my hand and drag me out this time.  I know there’s nowhere left for me to run, and no other Slayer I can trek across the country to find is going to save me.  I know the only way out is down into the dark.  The only thing left to do is let the water in and drown.

Faith opens her mouth.  Hesitates again, for the last time.  Buffy doesn't give her another chance.

"I don't know who you are or how you got this number, but I know this isn't funny," the other girl whispers furiously.  "It’s the middle of the night and I’m trying to sleep.  Don't ever call here again."

The line goes dead before Faith can say a word.

[fiercefauna]

@tiredsn0w - here’s the second part. Chapter’s 4-5 roughly the same length as the first. Take your time with it okay, I’m currently working on other things and this is a background project. To anyone else - this is a series about 6118, first part is lower down.

Part 4. 

“Savages! No knowledge of heal! No knowledge!” The apparition that emerged from the medical suite now spoke a broken standard dialect and seemed intent on leaving. Tasha had seen images of this thing before, it was Terran but it wasn’t human, not exactly; it had human legs and plantigrade feet though, so it was probably at least related. 

She addressed it in what she hoped was impeccable English. “I’m sorry but the gravity and oxygen levels are different here. It may be causing some problems in there. You’ll need to let us help you figure out what’s wrong.” 

“He was doing some kind of surgical work on his own brain, ma’am.” Offered one of the other doctors. “We found him seized up, bleeding from his left eye. These are the tools he was using.” The primitive implements - red with alien blood, were unexpected, and their hints at what the ragged creature may have been attempting, sickening. 

She looked at the “Doctor” itself; the armored, white facial mask, the semirigid beak structure for filtration with a small mouth likely tucked underneath it, and the bioengineered containment suit. This was some human equivalent of a Two, but with a medical rather than martial function. Had some lost technology allowed the Terran to create this only to abandon it after it had become obsolete? 

“This is a dangerous and drastic procedure with uncertain merits. If you’re suffering neurologically, I’ve learned enough about the brains of terrestrial people to perform tests and am licensed to recommend medication.”  

The Doctor sniffed. “Where are my things?” 

A black bag was brought to him and he began to rummage through it. 

One of the other doctors discreetly whispered in Tasha’s direction. 

“It’s empty, we checked.”

“To what extent were you able to examine him while he was seized?” Tasha was handed a data chip that she plugged into her phone. The “Doctor” clutched his bag like a security blanket. “Will you be leaving?”

“Yes” she sighed. She collected her things and guessed they’d probably let her go. 

Part 5. 

That damn Two medic planted her on a bench between display columns covered in large, native lichen composites. “What was that?” It buzzed through the face plate. “All you did was talk to him.” 

“What could I have done that the others haven’t done already? He seems fine now, perhaps if I check the data from this incident I can get a better idea. Clearly, the guy self-harms so I’d put him under observation.” The Two nodded solemnly, relaxing their grip. “I think you should stay awhile in case something else happens.”

There was shouting behind the Two. The beaked alien was clutching a view screen like floating debris. “No, no, no, no, is false!, Is picture! Need to see real!” 

The voice of 5a82 replied from the view screen. 5a82, the Asu, the cure, global savior and fulcrum of the recent ceasefire, was quartered at this facility. Knowing that, was one thing, hearing his voice in real time was another.  

“Stay strong for me alright? We can see each other again next week. The sooner I get this done, the better.” 

5a82 almost bit the hand that took his view screen. The attendant shrieked “That’s brilliant!” and ran off to share the footage with the propaganda department. The guards in the hall put their fists to their chests, as the view screen and It’s precious sound file was carried past. It was so hard to get bangers out of the Murder Messiah.  

7cb7 stepped out of the corner of the stark and empty room, normally used for interrogation, and put their hands on the shoulders of Kepler’s best hope. (The name of this planet simply meant “world” so the term Kepler was used when explaining things to English speaking Terran) 

“I’m sorry I did this to you. I just thought - everyone thought, you had died on Earth. I - didn’t think you’d be hurt by any of it.”

“I’m a war-criminal. You couldn’t have lionized any of the people I killed?” 

“The fact you worked for the Federation and turned so dramatically to the aid of the Resistance seems to validate the merits of Twos and Twos are the darlings of the Feds. They seem to want to get out of this war at least looking like they won it.” 

“What’s all of this going to mean for him? 

“Everyone around you has ulterior motives, and you’re worried about him?” 

7cb7 stepped around to face the ex-assassin, glaring like a vengeful ghost.

The whirring of their prosthetic legs and hands often held in fists to manage nerve pain associated with regenerated limbs, recalled the event, - the event 5a82 had personally witnessed. It was not the kind of thing that anyone usually survived and it had made 7cb7 an Asu in their own right all through the blind luck of biology and ballistics, though the mad Doctor would claim otherwise.  

“What is he even? Bodies don’t evolve to look like his. There is some kind of uniform built into him and it doesn’t look at all like what a Terran might typically call a doctor. He was made - for a purpose!” The rebel One paused, realizing they’d spoken ill of lifeforms engineered for dubious “purposes.” Fortunately, the highly defective super soldier was still on the topic of his boyfriend. 

“He is or was some kind of scientist. I’ve seen him do incredible things. He likes to study anatomy so, maybe bring him some preserved local lifeforms? Earth people freak out if they get ahold of so much as one alien - for him this whole world is aliens. Why hasn’t anyone at least given him a tour?” 

7cb7 gritted their pointed, interlocking teeth. “I can make some calls, but behave yourself till I get back. 

Part 6.  

Tasha slipped past oncoming foot traffic as she headed for the exit. It seemed the rebel compound employed additional staff at certain times of the day, staff quartered elsewhere between shifts. 

That Two was still hovering around. The Feds had started sending these things to kill people shortly before the ceasefire. The apparent allegiance of this individual to the rebels did not make her feel any better, for her official allegiance was currently to the Feds, and secretly to no one. 

It glided through the crowd like a pathra pursuing prey through dense trees, its relatively large size not at all a hindrance. It waited until she was outside and out of the way to hand her a phone. She took the call without thinking. “They weren’t expecting the beaked guy to live, plans have been made that don’t involve lovebirds.”

“I’m not babysitting public figures anymore! I thought I made that clear!” Tasha hissed under her breath, hoping the weight of words like “Public Figures” might frighten off whoever this was and the favor they were about to ask. 

“He’s very important to 5a82, and technically an asset for that reason. 4b80 will continue to accompany you for the time being. It doesn’t seem to like our friend either. Just try to be nice to the Doctor alright, he’s been re-structured toward some kind of lab work so letting him play with dead animals all day could keep him busy. He’s waiting at the Westside Monument, which was where we were going to put him one way or another.”

The phone made a noise and the Two took it back. It didn’t return to the building though, but just stood there, unmoving. After a staring contest lasting at least a minute it buzzed, “I think you’ve seen enough of the Doctor to understand why letting him run around loose might not be wise.”

“You’d mean they’d just - ’’ 

“We are spread thin in there as it is, the Federation wants 5a82 back real bad, the main council room is full of enough passive aggression to freeze a fart.” 

Hearing a word like “Fart” out of a Two brought down upon Tasha the full gravity of the situation. It started to move, and she followed. 

Tasha saw that 4b80 was considering a capped syringe. The color coding was for alternate species, with an anthropoid shape beside an Earth symbol. 

“Do you really think that will be necessary?” 

The syringe disappeared so quickly it may have been cut from reality’s fabric by a divine editor. “Word is, the Terran were keeping this thing at some kind of asylum. We looked into it, and there is a grain of truth.”

“He could have been working there.”

“Five-aye was there also. If this thing was working there and a relationship formed with a patient that’s already concerning. The Asu has a special immune system. This thing seems to be made for bio-hazardous study. I don’t think he’s in love, I think he’s fixated.” 

“I don’t know this ‘Asu’ person outside of news reports and a brief encounter where my sibling provided him with a lavender plant. I was told this ‘049 Doctor’ was important to him.”

Forby stopped. Before them was a table made of artfully stacked war rubble, upon which a heap of decomposing flowers lay. 

“Where is he?”

Forby sighed as it strided off. “I’m looking!”

[dyrewrites]

Bloodhound -- yes we're doing shark vs vampire again stop judging me

More terrible thinking led to more discoveries, namely that Leandro’s blood stuck around longer than other wolves he’d accidentally tasted—he rarely went looking for wolves but they looked a lot like humans most of the time. And that terrible thinking led to blame, especially for the itching on his finger, wretched thing I am. His eyes, his hair, the build even, so much like you it’s cruel, but his growl is what lured me. I wanted his blood. To drown and forget and now that I’ve done both, I’ve sunk too deep to escape.

‘Sunk’ was an interesting choice of words at that moment...what with water dripping in from the ceiling of his submersible.

Also the walls, the windows.

And a little dribbling from the teeth.

“Fottuto pesciolino,” Deluca muttered for the drops raining on his face before straining to see out quickly blurring windows. Sunrise fluttered in his veins too weakly to light the sky and he checked for his duffel—floating in the foot or so of water rising all around him, “at least you’re waterproof.”

Vampires were not required to breathe, didn’t need to in order to remain ‘living’. They did anyway, as reflex—certain things were too ingrained for the body to stop—and being without air in their lungs was a problem. For the pain of not the breathing, the agony of suffocating without dying. And any other vampire would have, out of instinct older than lifespan, taken a deep breath as the water rose to their neck.

Not Deluca, who once called the sea home and fell into it enough to know the pain of drowning as one might an old friend.

So, what he did was exhale all of his breath—after fixing his duffel to his back with creative use of strap arrangement. Then he held the seat so as not to float, being ever-lighter than expected. As water soaked his hair, he breathed it in, deep and drowning—literally. Was it agonizing? Yes, but not enough to compete with other pains he’d survived and so it was bearable.

Swooning song pitched to a keening screech as the construct creaked one last note and slammed into a conveniently horizontal slab of rock. All its pretty lights sputtered next as metal cracked and sigils split.

Eyes keen enough to pierce the night-black sea—not near as far as he’d have liked given all those dimensions to worry of—all Deluca need do was get out and swim in the direction it faced until he found land. Fairly easy task, were the water not working against his efforts to kick the spiderweb fractures in the windows.

This is penance for not heeding Alessandro’s advice, he scolded himself through a harder kick, and another, he said to build a toolkit, in case of emergency but no, no, you’re a big scary monster who didn’t need a fucking toolkit. Well look at you know, asshole, stuck in a stupid, another kick, fucking, toy shark waiting for bigger, scarier monsters to show you their insides.

As he continued to curse his ego, a shiny bit of metal floated by his face, one that certainly wouldn’t be working ever again. Blowing bubbles for the surprise he grabbed for the phone, popped it open, gnawed a lovely pointed tip in it—cutting his lip in the process—and jammed it into the crack.

Then he kicked it.

A few things happened that warrant a moment of breath—one he did not take.

Glass shattered and bits were sucked out with whatever minuscule pressure remained, then a horrible creaking sound shuddered through false shark and the pool of ocean it died in, and all the while Deluca’s cut lip bled free and bright and red.

He did want a shark to wrestle...and one was waiting right outside the window, considerably smaller than the ‘Minnow’ but definitely bigger than Deluca.

At least I won’t arrive starving, he resigned before another creak broke his easy plans of getting the real shark stuck in the false one.

See, the ‘Minnow’ had not landed on an especially wide bit of rock, only a hard bit, and it was keeling over in exactly the wrong direction.

Frantic glances around the ship offered a coat floating above him as the only weapon—beyond himself and the duffel, of course—and he had it in hand as the Minnow slipped off the rock. With a few well-placed kicks to the window edges, he was out of the Minnow and had the shark a stroke later, face wrapped in canvas. In an amusing swim-hop up and around, he held the massive, blind, angry fish by coat arms as it thrashed.

For about two seconds.

Shark beat canvas, awfully fast too, but Deluca had wrestled such a beast before. One bigger than he straddled even. So he wasn’t without options.

Duffel tight on his back—holding onto his spare clothes and remaining blood bag for dear life—he rammed his fingers between teeth and clapped his legs over the shark’s gills.

Intent on throwing him off its gills, the shark swam straight up to jump out and slam the irritating meal off its back. Unfortunately, said meal had no intention of allowing that and a hot, sharp pain beat the shark to the surface. Bite though it knew it, never had it felt such teeth. Staring in its nose and spreading with all its sharp heat to every vein in its sinewy body, devouring the icy, ravenous want of its blood. Sleepy, it would say, it grew sleepy in that pain.

Sleep it did. A bloodless, motionless, eternal sleep.

While Deluca continued the rush to the surface, arms tight to his sides, whipping his legs about together like a tail. Until he breached the surface, leaping far too high in a softening sky before diving smoothly back into bruising waves. Following the instincts of the shark’s blood—something he absolutely knew would happen—he remained in those waters.

Hunting fish and other sharks closer to an island pulsing with hotter and hotter blood. Oblivious to the drowned woman floating above him, and the garden of others planted beneath.

[neednothavehappenedtobetrue]

okay!

you currently feel like a trapped animal ready to chew your own hand off at the wrist to get free.

but that's not real. it's just a feeling.

(Big Anger and the prospect of estrangement under the cut, metions of rape and suicidality).

on Monday, HR is going to fix your paycheck. if they refuse to make it retroactive, you can loop in L, M, and N and see who they can escalate to. they owe you (redacted) dollars and they will pay you (redacted) dollars or you will quit your job.

if you have to shelve querying for a little while so you can look for a better job, you will not die it will hurt, but it will not kill you.

tomorrow, text Z and get some time on her calendar for Budgeting Round One.

your brain is generating worst-case scenarios and then looping on them for hours at a time. please try to stop doing that.

you will make a budget.if you have to, you will get a new job. this is BIG SCARY but less big scary than just Doing This Forever.

and then you will invite your parents to go to family therapy. if that doesn't work, you will write them a letter. you will say the stuff you need to say so it does not rot inside of your body and make you so sick you die. they will react how they do. maybe you will need to stop talking to them for a week or two. maybe you will have to stop talking to them forever.

your brain is creating an itemized list of scary escalations they could do if you tried to set a boundary with them (driving to your apartment, forcing you to go back to PA with them, etc.) your brain is spending a lot of itself on making disaster plans for emergencies that are, at worst, a year out and, at best, never going to happen.

your brain is scripting what you will tell your brother, your pastor, your aunts and cousins. you do not need to know those things yet.

please get your brain to stop looping and go to sleep.

you are doing this because you are scared. I think you are a little bit scared that the next time your dad snaps at you on the phone, instead of bursting into tears and folding yourself up like an origami swan, you will instead go YOU DON'T GET TO MAKE ME FEEL UNLOVEABLE ANYMORE FUCK YOU FOREVER NEVER SPEAK TO ME AGAIN and you know you can't do that until you can pay your own rent.

I think for part of your brain it would be a relief if they did something totally out of pocket, something you could say to people and they would go 'oh, that's why you don't talk to them anymore, that tracks"

maybe take a break from trying to be grateful it's not worse, grateful that you get to do this on your own timeline, grateful that you can't imagine them doing anything dangerous (apart from the dangerous things they have already done, but those things were neglect-dangerous not abuse-dangerous)

you know, even typing this, that the best-case scenario is to get to a place where you have a sustainable relationship with them. you only want to nuke them from orbit because you feel so trapped and scared.

but maybe just take a little hiatus from gratitude that they didn't/aren't hurting you worse. stop imagining your calmest and most reasonable communication of boundaries in the face of the scariest thing you can imagine them doing. they probably will not do that thing and also there is no legal mandate that you have to be as calm and rational as possible in your maladaptive emergency planning/daydreams.

imagine how it would feel to go "no, fuck you, the ketamine is keeping me from literally dying, I will not stop taking it because I do not wish to literally die. you have done zero things ever to help me in pursuit of not becoming a suicide statistic, even when i was a child and you had an obligation."

imagine how it would feel to go "no, fuck you, I am as loveable as any person who can use a knife properly and I always have been. fuck you for spoon-feeding that garbage to me when I was too young to know better."

"fuck you for preferring shaved leegs with self-harm bandages on them to unshaven legs. your priorities are broken."

"fuck you for every single thing you have ever said about my body and the way I feed it."

"fuck you for every nasty, belittling little remark I am supposed to swallow"

"fuck you for telling me it wasn't rape! you are not the arbiter of that! fuck you for telling me "don't call it that" like my language was the priority when I came to you in pain. your priorities are broken"

"fuck you for brushing me off the first time I tried to tell you I had anxiety. fuck you for convincing me I was lying about having migraines."

"you guys are mean and your priorities are wrong and you did not try very hard to keep me from dying between the ages of 12-18 and you did not have my back when a boy gave me PTSD. you praised that boy for taking such good care of me and you told me "oh, you'll get over it," when I told you he had raped and terrorized me. and you fed me poison that made me grateful for him for a long time before I left."

you might love me, but you sure do treat me like I am hard to love. you do not respect me even a little bit. you are not reliably kind. you do not see me. you refuse to engage with the lived realities of my life. you do not love me in a way that feels like love, now that I have been loved by people who do not prefer a version of me that doesn't exist.

come correct or spend the rest of your life telling people that your daughter was a crazy person who cut you off for no reason. I'm prepared to spend the holidays alone, are you?

you will be able to tell them a version of this in three to eighteen months, depending on how the budgeting and a possible subsequent job hunt go. it will be scary but you will no longer feel like chewing off your own hand every night.

[thetoaddaddy]

@riyu-uzumaki

Notes: Werewolf au. Mod au. Supernatural creatures and humans are exposed and aware of each other but don’t completely coexist peacefully. Medication has been developed to assist supernatural creatures.

Jiraiya tried his best to hide it. People don’t like his kind. They think he’s.. dangerous. And in a relationship with a mother with two little boys… well.. it’s questionable. Even with medication it lingers. It aches. Like a deep itch needing to be scratched. 

As a full moon gets closer the more irritated he gets. Taking the family to a nearly off grid acreage seemed like a good idea at the time. It’s quiet. It’s isolated. It’s self sustaining. They’re the only humans he liked… he wanted to protect them from all the other monsters out there. Most are reasonable but others are truly evil. They go into the city from time to tome but always with him and only when absolutely needed. 

With the boys helping all the chores aren’t so bad. They’re adorable.. often they get distracted mid task to do something else. Usually with Adam fixated on digging a hole and Idris walking around with the chickens. Riyu is.. amazing. She keeps busy with helping on the small farm they’ve made or even going to assist neighbours with their health even if it did take half a day to get to their land. 

With a heavy swing Jiraiya imbeds the axe back into the chopping block. He rubs his forehead as he leaned back to stretch out his shoulders. Lately it’s been worse. His skin was crawling for relief. The fever was setting in. 

He sighs and heads back in to get his medicine. Firewood can wait. He’s never told her. He’s told no one. The bite mark on his leg he excused as getting bit by a mountain lion while on a hunting venture. He heads to the back of the master closet to the lockbox. The combination is known only to him. He knows it bothers Riyu but the prescription was plainly clear, especially to a nurse like her. While the supernatural are known and mingling in society no creature is ever without its stigma. More so for ones like him. Ones turned by the parasitic nature of tainting the blood with their vile conditions. 

Jiraiya opens the box. 

Fuck… Fuck! 

He’s out. He was sure he had another months worth! He slams the box closed again. As if to mock him for his poor preparation his phone dings with an electronic owl hoot. It’s the alarm for a lunar app tracker. Lunar creatures and humans alike use it. Creatures like him who need a little extra reminder of the phases of the moon. Humans for the same thing. They get paranoid around the time the moon is full. 

With a sigh he exits the bedroom. Checking his phone.. yes it is a full moon tonight. The alert told him to take emergency suppression medication or go to a safe location. Real handy. Well out in the middle of nowhere surrounded by woods he’s free to transform without leering eyes, terrified people and hunters. He called the boys inside before telling Riyu to come outside. He can’t hide it. While he’s still conscious and him when he’s all furry… he’s just prone to be more impulsive. But he’s lucky. Accounts from other werewolves he’s heard lose all sense of self. 

“Just.. walk with me.. into the woods for a bit.” Jiraiya whispered. 

He led the way until the light from the house was distant. Enough so the boys won’t hear but close enough that Riyu can run away. It’s dusk, the sun is nearly gone. The moment he gets a glimpse of moon he won’t be able to resist it. The nights are getting chilly. The fever made it comfortable. He turns to face her. He pulls his shirt off and kicks off his shoes. 

“I’m sorry I never told you this before. I just.. didn’t want you to be afraid of me.. I never intended to ever transform again but...” He explains as he undoes his pants and pulls them off. He pulls the pill bottle out of his pocket before dropping his pants to the forest floor. He tosses the bottle to her. In case she didn’t believe him that should make it clear. “I’m fully sentient like I am now. I can’t talk. But I won’t hurt you.” 

Casting his eyes up to the sky he sees it peeking out. Moonlight. Given it was years of suppressing it his curse couldn’t wait to break free. The mere hint was enough. 

The worst part about being aware was he felt it all. The more feral ones black out after they see the moon. After a deep breath he folds like a cheap suitcase. Pain riddled his body as limbs transform and body turns. It looked as if his long white hair consumed him as fur sprouted in the same colour all over his body. His boxers shred apart as he grows into a massive beast. 

When it ended he was less a man more a wolf. Bipedal, with more humanoid arms was all that really deferred the wolf and werewolf. Everything else was rather natural. Long thick white fur. A long fluffy tail and rounded ears. Claws and fangs. The face is full wolf with the only difference being the eyes. Intelligent calm eyes. The lanky nature of the arms made it clear that it was uncanny even on all fours. Jiraiya remained crouched, fur fluffed up and eyes watching her. He didn’t blame Riyu if she ran away screaming. He is after all just a monster. 

[oh-surprise-its-me]

ron/chris prompt. we’ve seen how Chris is when Ron gets hurt but what about if the roles were reversed and Chris got hurt on a call? Imagine if Ron was on deployment at the time although i’m not sure how that would work because with DADT would they even be allowed to be each other’s emergency contact? I don’t know. I think it’d probably be Sarah and she would then have to inform Ron or something. Just wanna know your thoughts.

PS I don’t know why but I love this pairing so much!

I’m so glad you love them!!

Technically speaking they could have each other listed and claim roommates. That’s the entire point of don’t ask don’t tell. Their superiors can’t ask unless someone says something that implies or a soldier tells about homosexual behavior. (1994)

So yes. Ron would be called. He could show up to the hospital but medical treatment is another thing. Unfortunately boyfriends/girlfriends couldn’t make medical decisions for them. A family member would have to. It was fucked up. So in Ron’s case that would be Sarah. In Chris’s it would be his sister Rebecca. (Keep in mind they would have to keep it this way until 2010.)

That being said it’s time for me to cause them pain.

In 1995 Ron was called into his superior officers office.

He has to just stand there and nod as he’s told that Chris is in a coma. Chris is in a coma, and Jake is with Chris’s sister.

Oh god Jake.

Freak accident they’re saying. Load bearing beams fell on him. They don’t know much other then he’s stable, has broken ribs and a leg.

When Ron comes back to their room and sees Tom he whines. It makes Tom’s head shoot up. “Ronnie? What’s wrong.”

He opens his mouth and closes it again. He can’t be here on a ship thousands of miles away from Chris and Jake. How dare he do that to them. “Chris.”

Ron watches as Tom process what was just said to him. “Okay is he alive?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay where’s Jake?”

“Becca’s.”

Tom comes closer and pulls Ron onto the couch. He sits so Ron can lean against his chest. “And Chris?”

Ron shudders. He starts crying for real. “Coma. Some broken things.”

Tom inhales. God. He feels his own tears start for Chris. “Can we leave early? Get to Texas?” Ron shakes his head. “Asked. They said no. Have to stay the rest of the month.”

Tom wipes at his eyes. “Mav can go. Bradley can stay with Sarah.”

Ron sits upright. He scrubs at his face. “What kind of boyfriend am I. What kind of father. Christ I’m just like my dad.”

Tom smacks Ron. “You are never allowed to say that you are nothing like him. It’s not like you wanted to be on a ship when this happened. We got called for flight we aren’t even technically supposed to fly anymore. How were you supposed to know Chris would be in a freak accident.”

Ron nods. He knows this. But god. Jake is only 8. He should have one of his dads around.

Tom pulls Ron back down, he starts running his fingers through his hair. “It’ll be okay. He’ll wake up, I’ll call Mav in the morning he’ll show up and tell us how bad it actually is.” - “I want to throw up. I can’t loose him.” - “you won’t.”

—

When Mav sets foot into the room the first thing he thinks is he’s never seen Chris not moving. It’s a very unnerving sensation.

He flips through Chris’s chart. Shit. He’s got some burns on his leg under the cast. He’s going to be pissed about those.

Otherwise it seems like they are waiting for him to come out of the coma on his own, a good sign.

He walks to the nearest phone and dials the number he was given. “He’s fine. Waiting for him to wake up on his own. New burns but not bad. He’ll be okay Sli.”

—

When Ron gets the message he collapses into Tom’s arms. They don’t care who sees them this time around. “Mav says he’ll be fine.” Tom lets out a breath he didn’t know he was still holding.

“Three weeks until you’re back home. We can do that.”

Ron grabs onto Tom’s wrist. “Can you come for a day. I know you’ve obviously gotta get back to Bradley but please.” Tom hugs him. “Course. I gotta make sure that fool of yours is okay.”

-

When they show up in Texas Chris is on crutches. His ribs are wrapped, Jake is helping him cook.

Ron just walks in and Tom follows. He gets a yelled dad from Jake. The kid slams into his legs. “Hey chickie you take care of your dad while I was gone?”

Jake nods, “yeah! But aunt Sarah helped some once Mav left.”

Tom moved to take over things at the stove, but before he did he held onto Chris. Tom kisses his head and then gently pushes him to Ron.

Ron is crying a bit. When Chris reached him he puts his arms around Ron’s neck. It’s a stretch and the doctors probably said not to do stuff like that because of his ribs. He doesn’t care. It’s now he’s always hugged Ron. That’s not going to change.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, sorry you had to get that kind of phone call.”

Ron shakes his head. He picks up Jake, Chris kisses the side of Jake’s head. “Chickie here has been a fabulous help. Some of the guys from the station are helping out also. But Mav was a lifesaver that first week.”

Tom laughs “don’t tell him that.”

Ron looks at his family. He can’t believe he almost lost Chris. But if he keeps thinking about it he’ll go insane. Chris is fine he’s breathing.

He’s going to have nightmares about this for months though.

[banannabethchase]

Not Really a Dick Pic - also on AO3

~

Pairing: Danny/Yuta

Rating: T, for excessive discussion of boners

For @wrestleprompts Week 4: asking permission to send a dick pic. This is a crackfic. This is chaos and nonsense and...I almost feel the need to apologize. Warnings for: excessive use of the word dick, mildly horny medical concerns, and bromoerotic interactions.

~

Wheeler blinks down at the phone. He closes the text app, and opens it again to make sure he’s reading it right.

Yup.

dude I think u broke my dick can u check

Wheeler sighs. He’d been hoping he’d been struck with an acute case of wishful thinking or word-based hallucinations, but nope. This was Danny Garcia, who he had just flattened in a tag match, asking him to check his dick.

Am I really the one to ask? I’m not a doctor.

yah but ur the 1 who did it so

Wheeler is sure he’s going to regret this. Go ahead and send me the picture.

He braces himself and tries to convince himself he won’t be a creepy combination of unprofessional and horny. It’s not really a dick pic. It’s a medical concern, possibly medical emergency, that his colleague is asking for help about. A boner is inappropriate. His, or Danny’s. He’s about to see Danny’s boner.

Oh boy.

His phone dings and Wheeler’s hands are, to be fair, a little shaky. It’s not because he’s into it. He’s not anticipating anything. He’s concerned for the wellbeing of his colleague.

Exhaling slowly, he opens the photo.

“Huh.”

It’s clinical, he tells himself, the way he examines the image. He notes a gentle curve to the left, a red-purple color, and thinks about the gory parts of Grey’s Anatomy to remind himself he’s here as a clinical support.

What’s the issue?

its bent it doesnt usually bend

Yeah, go to the doctor, man. This is not my area of expertise.

There’s a few minutes, and then there’s a phone call. “Why’d you land on my dick, anyway?”

“Hello, Daniel, nice to speak to you,” Wheeler grumbles. “Your dick looks fine.”

“But, like,” he huffs on the other end of the line. “You fell on my dick during the match. Why’d you fall on my dick?”

“I don’t know, man!” Wheeler finally says, throwing his free hand in the air. “Jesus, you can’t send a guy a dick pic and expect him to know how to deal with it.”

The other end of the line is quiet. “It wasn’t really a dick pic, technically.”

“It was close and I got flustered,” Wheeler retorts. He takes a deep breath. “Okay. I don’t notice anything wrong with your dick, okay? But, I, uh. I might not be the best reference, since I’ve never seen your dick before.”

“Would you want to?”

Now it’s Wheeler’s turn to go silent. “What?”

“Ignore that,” Danny says. “Fuck. I don’t know. I’m gonna, like, go to urgent care, get this checked out. And then next Wednesday I’ll come find you and – and apologize for the dick pic.”

Wheeler can’t fight a smile. “I thought you said it wasn’t a dick pic.”

“It wasn’t!” Danny says. “Stop – you broke my dick, and you’re making fun of me.”

“Wait a second,” Wheeler says, “does that mean – did you have a boner during our match?!”

“You and Claudio were – I had to – shut up!”

“Danny,” Wheeler says, “do you wanna get railed by Claudio?”

“No!”

The only other option hits Wheeler like a train. “Um. Do – do you want to –”

“Signal’s going out,” Danny says, “can’t hear you. Talk to you next week.”

Wheeler is left, baffled, staring at his cell phone. When the call closes, it goes back to the photo of Danny’s dick.

He allows himself to look at it, for real this time. “Goddamnit,” he mumbles. “This is the best dick I’ve ever seen.”

~

Full disclosure, this started as a HangMox fic, and then I realized that Mox isn't quite this much of a dumbass. But you know who is? Danny Garcia.

[rockitmans]

Blaine Anderson Vs Valentine's Day (10/14)

Summary: Blaine drunk posts on his Instagram asking for a date for Valentine's Day. He gets one.

Notes: Written for the @klaineccfanficlibrary Valentine Challenge. Song: Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce.

Read on AO3 or below

~~~~

"Morning, Valentine," Kurt's happy voice chirps down the phone. 

"Mmm, morning," Blaine mumbles, still half asleep. "I could get used to waking up to your voice."

Kurt hums his agreement. "Sorry it's so early, I moved my hours so I would have time to get ready later. It's a trek from Bushwick."

Blaine thinks about their date tonight. Elliott has taken the edges off his anxiety, and this morning's call from Kurt has basically smoothed them completely. "I can't wait to see you."

"I can't wait to see you . I'll be the one looking fabulous."

"I know what you look like," Blaine points out, smiling. 

"I know. Just want you to be adequately prepared for how dazzling I am so you can react accordingly."

Blaine laughs. "Nothing could prepare me for that." 

Kurt makes a sweetly pleased noise. “Anyway, I just wanted to say good morning, I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“Kurt, wait a sec.” Blaine sits up, blinking himself more awake. “This is probably going to sound crazy.”

"Oh no," Kurt says but he sounds more amused than worried. "Do tell."

"I know my original post came across kind  of horny but… I want it to be clear that this isn't just a hookup for me. I want it to be more than that."

There’s a breath and a pause at the other end of the line and Blaine gets seized by a dread so fierce that he nearly hangs up out of pure denial. But then, “It’s not crazy,” Kurt’s voice is kind. “But I would have thought that goes without saying at this point. However, in case it doesn’t. This is nothing close to a hookup for me. I’m in try-hard dating mode. Prepare to have your life irrevocably changed.”

Blaine laughs, relief making it slightly shaky. “Wow. I better up my game.”

“You better, Blaine Anderson.” Kurt’s voice softens. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” Blaine says, beaming like an idiot. “Soon.”

~~~

Blaine is in a ridiculously good mood all day. Even though the store is heaving with last minute panic buyers looking for The Ultimate Love collection. Even though it’s raining and his hair is a frizzy mess, probably beyond help. Even though there’s a guy buying two identical gifts for two separate women that likely don’t know about the other. Blaine is immune to it all. He wishes everyone a wonderful, love filled day and hums along to every song that comes out of the store speakers. 

“You’re so right, Jim Croce, there never is enough time to do the things you want to do,” Blaine declares cheerfully to no one in particular, and Elliott groans. 

“You are beyond obnoxious right now.”

“Oh come on, Elliott. You’re so happy that two of your favorite people found each other, remember?”

“So many regrets,” Elliott moans, burying his face in his hands. But he’s smiling when he re-emerges. “It’s nice to see you’ve gotten over your anxiety.”

“Oh yeah. I'm going to romance Kurt so hard he won’t know what hit him.”

Blaine manages to slide away early to get ready, mostly thanks to the kindness of Elliott, who basically shoves him out the door when it looks like he’s going to get entangled in a lengthy interaction with a customer. He grabs flowers on the way home and has the very real desire to climb onto a streetlamp and start singing as the rain continues to hammer down. Sometimes life just calls for a musical moment. Kurt probably understands that. He resists the urge, more out of a desire to protect the flowers than any deep seated sense of personal shame. That ship has long sailed. 

Once home, he takes his time in the shower, letting the drum of hot water soothe some of his anticipation. There's just something about the way he clicked with Kurt. Something that promises forever. If he can just not fuck it up. With that in mind he dresses in the outfit Elliott suggested and uses the barest amount of product on his hair, leaving it to fall in loose curls. He takes a quick picture of himself and sends it to Tina for approval. After a moment's hesitation, he also throws it onto his Instagram. That’s where it all started after all. 

Queen T: 🔥😍🥵

Queen T: I can't reply because I'm too busy swooning 

Blaine smiles and taps out a quick thanks. His phone is flicking instagram notifications as people start to comment on his photo. Mostly just thirst comments, which Blaine is somewhat used to at this point.  There’s some teasing about how quickly he’s moved on and a lot of people wishing him luck. And then a comment from Kurt catches his eyes. 

hummelbrag Wow. Your new man is very lucky. 

Blaine draws in a shaky breath, pink creeping into his cheeks. He’s the lucky one. And Kurt is waiting for him. 

~~~

Blaine gets to the restaurant before Kurt, at least ten minutes early and is freshly reminded of one of his completely valid fears. Di Fara is stuffy. Expensive in a way that wants to appear wealthy rather than stylish or comfortable. Blaine is pretty sure there are more people having business meetings here than dates, even on a night supposedly put aside for love. It’s a very Sebastian sort of place. There’s also a lot of men wearing suits. Blaine determinedly doesn’t think about his jeans. He looks hot, that's all that matters. 

He decides to wait in the lobby rather than be seated because he wants to be the first thing Kurt sees. He can't stop shifting his weight, checking his phone restlessly as the clock ticks towards their agreed meeting time. Somehow being early is worse than being late. The anticipation is killing him.

And then Kurt walks through the door. Blaine has heard of hearts skipping beats but he’s not sure he’s ever fully experienced it until now. Kurt is just that stunning, his coat flapping open to reveal a gorgeous yellow shirt and blue scarf. He’s wearing jeans too. Light grey and so tight that Blaine struggles to tear his eyes away from Kurt’s legs. 

“Hi!” Kurt greets him brightly, eyes lighting up at the sight of him. 

“Kurt. Wow. You’re so… cute. I mean like dirty cute.”

Blaine immediately cringes and Kurt raises a confused eyebrow. “What?”

“Sorry. I panicked. Even though you warned me. I still wasn’t prepared.”

Kurt laughs and leans in to wrap Blaine in a hug. “Speechless adoration is also acceptable.”

Blaine melts against him, getting a lungful of sweet shampoo. “You look incredible,” he murmurs close to his ear, a lot more normally. He can do this. Just the most beautiful human in the world hugging him. Perfectly average Tuesday. 

“So do you,” Kurt says and Blaine can hear the smile in his voice as they draw apart. “Are those for me?” he adds, eyeing the flowers. 

“Oh. Yes. To celebrate us finally meeting. Or at least it feels like Finally. Even though it’s not been that long, it also kind of feels like forever. And I know red roses are kind of cliche but…”

Kurt’s eyes soften as he takes them. “They’re not cliche, they’re classic. And beautiful. Thank you.”

Blaine just nods, slightly overwhelmed.  "Shall we?" He offers his arm. 

Kurt takes it. "We shall."