#just floating and jumping without input as one does

[luminescentmoth]

Uhhh Chai buddy whatcha doin'?

[foxaftershocks]

HEAR ME OUT!! Lars with a reader, who was a ghost but somehow got their life back. Because of that, reader is pretty much forced to be in the lab 24/7 (much to their disdain) with Lars running tests on them. Enemies to lovers 🫶

(Also, you're like the best author ever on here.)

Clearly I really liked this prompt because I wrote a lot for it. Like, seriously, this is so long. I hope you like it as much as I do.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Lars growled under his breath, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. Sitting on the able, feet kicking backwards and forwards, you were grinning at him with such smugness it made his blood boil. He knew how to do his job without the input of a woman who knew nothing about parapsychology. You weren’t a scientist. You were just some girl who happened to come back to life. Nothing special.

“Still wrong,” you sung.

His fingers tightened around your arm, holding you still. He tightened the band around your bicep, pressing the electrodes against your chest with more force than was necessary. You muttered something just outside of his hearing, most likely a curse word. Your swearing was not something he was unfamiliar with. It had been resounding through the lab for weeks now.

“Just sit still,” he ordered, returning to his equipment.

You wiggled right up until the point he turned the machine on, probably trying to make a point. If you were, he missed it through disinterest. He watched the output on the machine, your heartbeat strong and steady. No blips, nothing to suggest you’d once been a ghost.

“Anything?” you asked.

He pressed his lips together. You could never just sit in silence, continually talking in his ear, playing with his stuff. Your presence was was unending. You had been made to live in the lab while they worked out how you’d come back, and as someone who basically lived in the lab himself, you had seemed to designate him as your favourite form of entertainment. You needled him. He knew it. And yet he kept letting you get under his skin.

“Not if you keep talking,” he said.

He got up, moving closer to readjust a few of the monitors. Returning back to the readout, there was a spike in your heart rate before it calmed down again. Interesting. Glancing up, you were glaring at him, seemingly not feeling the exertion you were showing.

“Feeling alright?” he asked.

“Aw, you do care,” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Just answer the question,” he said.

“I feel fine,” you replied.

He watched you for another moment. Your head tipped up, looking to the ceiling as your feet continued to kick. You did seem fine. He had to trust you on that.

He hated not having answers.

You floated away on soft footsteps when he released you from his tests. You didn’t even bother saying goodbye and he knew it’s because he’d be seeing you later. You never seemed able to stop yourself from interrupting his day.

Looking back over the readouts the only thing that jumped out at him was the elevation in heart rate for a few minutes. Nothing else suggested anything had happened. He stared at it, trying to piece together what was going on. And yet it still wasn’t outside the bounds of normal mortal hearts.

Nothing indicated how you’d come back from being a ghost. Every test bringing up nothing. If he was a religious man, he would have said it was God playing a cosmic practical joke on him, sending him the one person who drove him crazy.

“If you never find anything am I forced to stay here until I become a ghost again?” you asked, appearing out of nowhere, whispering in his ear.

Perhaps you’d brought some things back with you when you’d become corporeal again. Silent as the wind, able to sneak up on him, your laughter echoing long after you were gone. It was eery and yet nothing indicated you were anything but a healthy human.

“You’ll stay here as long as necessary,” he replied, refusing to give you more.

“At what point does this become kidnapping?” you mused, hauling yourself up onto the bench in front of him.

Your feet kicked again, your toes brushing against his thigh. He froze, the feeling lingering before you did it again. He caught you, fingers circling your ankle. Your eyes found his, lips curling up into a slight smile. He stared back, caught in a bubble of time where everything stopped. Breath held and body frozen, the warmth of your soft skin against his making his head spin.

“Don’t tempt me to tie you up,” he murmured.

“Pretty kinky, Pinfield,” you said, voice soft and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were sharing a joke with him, “who knew you had it in you.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

Your eyes lit up and he had to fight against the impulse to find out every single way he could make it happen again. There was something about it, the way it felt like a constant battle of wits with you. It was intoxicating.

He shoved your foot away, coming back to himself. You drew back from where you’d been leaning closer to him and he turned away, ignoring you as he tried to get on with work. From his peripheral vision he saw you slide back to the ground, a huffed laugh coming from you as you slipped away.

He lost track of you again, hours going by until the sun had gone down. A bed had been set up in what had once been a junk room for you to sleep in, the veneer of privacy all the lab could offer you. For months you’d been living there, under observation, in case something changed. There was no explanation for how you’d come back from your stint as a ghost. Nothing paranormal going on anymore.

You were a mystery he was determined to solve.

A bowl of noodles was slid in front of him. Looking up, he found you taking a seat across from him, your own bowl steaming in front of you. He looked down into it, his glasses steaming up with the condensation. He huffed, taking them off to wipe them clean. The expression on your face when he put them on again wasn’t one he’d seen before.

“What’s this?” he asked, nudging the bowl you’d placed in front of him.

“Ramen,” you replied, “only the instant stuff from the kitchen but it’s better than nothing.”

He sniffed, pursing his lips at you.

“It’s not poisoned,” you said.

Your chopsticks dipped into your own bowl, pulling noodles into your mouth. He watched you for a moment, before sighing, the rumble of his stomach enough to urge him on. If it was poisoned they’d find his body in the morning and be hunting you down.

“Is there a reason you stay so late every night?” you asked, “I know you’re not doing it to keep me company.”

“I have a lot of work to do,” he replied, surprised you’d asked.

“You sleep here sometimes,” you said, an offhand observation as you shovelled more noodles in your mouth.

“You always sleep here,” he replied.

“Not by choice,” you muttered, chopsticks stabbing down.

“Do you really hate it here so much?” he asked.

“Pinfield, you’ve made me a prisoner. I can’t leave without supervision. I can’t go home. You haven’t even let me contact my friends and family. You try being happy under those circumstances,” you said, levelling a glare at him.

“But you got a second chance,” he said, not hiding his frustration, “you came back. No one else has ever gotten that.”

“That you know of,” you said, almost in a sing song voice.

He paused for a moment. It’s true, someone else could have returned from ghosthood without being documented. It took long enough for people to even accept the existence of the paranormal. Documented cases were a mixed bag of those with scientific merit and those without.

“Can I expect to see you at breakfast?” you asked, “I have strawberry poptarts.”

“You’re mad if you think those are better than the brown sugar cinnamon ones,” he said.

“I have to assume this wrong opinion is because you’re not from here,” you said, sounding deadly serious.

“I’ve done the research. I have the data. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable but the science speaks for itself,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

“Well, you can keep your pseudoscience and your bad taste to yourself. You’re not invited to breakfast anymore,” you said, sniffing.

The spike of irritation cut through the playful atmosphere. That word, pseudoscience, it was the exact thing to raise his hackles. He would never engage in such stupidity. To be reduced to such a word had his blood boiling.

But then he looked up and saw the way you were smiling into your ramen, eyes darting up to him, the twinkle obvious. The irritation melted away upon the realisation that you were poking fun at him. That you were joking. That you were purposefully trying to get under his skin. And you knew him well enough to do it with ease. He’d fallen right into your trap.

A spark of electricity ran through his veins at the realisation.

“Don’t work too hard, nerd,” you said, hopping off your stool, taking the empty bowl away from in front of him.

He watched you walk away, many things going on in his head. Mostly, surprise that it had been pleasant having dinner with you. That spark of playfulness made him want to follow you and that didn’t sit right with him.

Accepting that, he decided to head home, the night over for him. There was no chance he was going to be able to finish his work. Not when he knew you could be lurking in the shadows around him.

The next morning he found you sitting in front of the possessor’s enclosure, seeming to play with it from behind the plexiglass. One of those cursed poptarts was dangling from one hand, half eaten as your focus was completely on the ghost in front of you. He let himself watch you, knowing he wasn’t being watched in return. Your smile was bright, your laugh genuine, eyes sparkling as you played. It struck him that you’d never looked at him that way.

“Please tell me you’re not trying to convert the possessor to your inferior flavour of poptarts,” he said.

You looked up, the smile slipping from your face. With a grace he knew he would never had, you rose from your crossed legged position, looking at him with a scowl. Approaching, he found his eyes resting on the bit of icing clinging to the corner of your lips. Without much thought, he reached up, thumb brushing it free. You blinked, mouth falling open. He cursed inwardly, not sure what to make of his own actions.

“More tests today,” he said, hoping to sweep what he’d done under the rug.

“Yay, I cannot wait,” you said, the sarcasm back in your tone.

“Follow me,” he ordered.

You trailed behind him, finishing off your breakfast. He was trying to ignore it, the sound of you, the feeling of your skin burning the pad of his thumb, the unsettled feeling in his stomach. He didn’t even need to ask you as you hopped up onto the gurney that had been set up after one too many accidents in the lab. Having a routine with you felt intimate, like your lives were intwining too much and he wanted to force you out.

“Blood works today,” he said, already reaching for a needle.

“I’m going to be a ghost again from all the blood you take,” you muttered.

When he turned back to you, your hands were crossed over the front of your body, holding the hem of your jumper. It was like watching in slow motion as you lifted it over your head, exposing the tight tank top you had on underneath. His eyes were lingering on your body, longer than he knew was appropriate, and yet not able to stop.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you said, dumping the crumpled up jumper to one side.

He didn’t have an answer. The entire day was not going the way he expected and he felt off kilter, almost dizzy with his own reaction to you. Ignoring it, he stepped up to you, taking one arm. He was close enough to hear your snort, the brush of your breath against his skin sending a shiver down his spine.

With a soft fingertip, he traced over the veins inside your elbow. The breath seemed to stutter in your chest and he looked up at you, from under eyelashes, head still bowed over your arm. Your lips had parted again, something inexplicable on your face. He wanted to dig down into the expression, to take it apart until he understood every part of it. The look in your eyes was making him want to drag you closer.

“Don’t look,” he murmured, plucking the needle up from where it waited.

Your eyes closed, face turning away from him. He let his gaze linger for a moment longer before he got to work. Just another sample to be analysed later. He pushed whatever moment had passed the between of you to the back of his mind, not wanting to think on it.

“All done,” he said, pressing a cotton bud to the point of extraction.

Your finger brushed his as you took over applying pressure to the inside of your elbow. He took a moment before he stepped away, checking your colour. You looked up, catching him in the act, lips quirking up in a questioning smile.

“Go eat something,” he said, “not one of those awful poptarts.”

“Make me,” you said.

The impulse to carry you away and force you to eat something good was intense. He could picture it, the way he would sling you over his shoulder and march away with you. It was very caveman, so different from how he usually was. It broke the moment, leaving him unsure of what to say as he stepped back. Something flashed over your face, too quick for him to understand as you slithered to the floor.

“Enjoy staring at my blood you psycho,” you said as a parting shot.

“I’m not-“ he called after you before giving up. It wasn’t worth it.

He took some time to go analyse the new blood sample, searching for any paranormal signifiers. It seemed normal, like anyone else’s blood would. Dead end after dead end was making him want to bash his head against the wall. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.

He kept telling himself it was to get you out of his lab. Even if that little voice in the back of his head was saying something else.

The next time he saw you, you were curled up in one of the old armchairs that Lucky had dragged in one day in order to make the place more comfortable. You had a book open in your lap, hair falling forward. He paused, watching when your finger reached up, tucking some of the hair behind your ear. He could imagine it, the path his finger would take as he did the same thing, your soft skin against his fingertip.

“You’re actually quite smart,” you said and he realised his presence hadn’t gone as unnoticed as he thought.

“I know I am,” he replied.

Stepping closer, he noticed the book in your lap was a collection of essays, one of which he knew was his. Written a few years ago, before he’d had the funding he did now, his research was splayed out in your lap, your gaze tracing over it. The intimate feeling was a shock to him, the way it felt as if you were caressing his brain. You were reading his words. Words written years ago before he knew someone like you could exist. He felt his chest puff when you looked at him.

“Your writing could be clearer. You make it all so complicated,” you said.

He deflated, the pride he’d felt leaking from him. Once again, it left a flickering flame of resentment in its wake, and he wanted to lash out again. His mouth opened but you beat him to the punch.

“But your ideas are sound and you clearly know your stuff. I suppose I’m lucky I have your mind working on whatever mystery is going on with me.”

He sauntered closer, that same pride reigniting. You watched him approach, a half smile on your face as if you knew the exact reaction you were causing in him. He felt smug, knowing he was taking up space in your brain. You’d spent your time reading his research paper. You’d taken time out of your day to let his words seep into your brain.

“Very lucky,” he said, coming to a stop in front of you.

His words might have been flirty if it was anyone but you.

“But then I suppose you’re lucky getting to spend so much time with me,” you said.

Your bare foot reached out, your toes brushing against his shin. He lent forward, hands coming to rest on the back of the chair, right above your head. Towering over you, you looked so small to him, like something he could protect. But he kept you trapped there, looking down into your face.

“Lucky to have such a pain in my arse?” he asked, keeping his tone light.

“Well, you need something to get the stick out of it,” you replied. Only there was no bite to it.

“Been thinking about my arse a lot, have you?” he asked.

“You should be so lucky,” you laughed.

He lent closer, watching the moment you realised how close he was. He found himself feeling out of control around you, like his inhibitions had fled him. He couldn’t help it. Whenever it came to you lately, he lost himself to giving in to all his impulses.

One of which was screaming loudly at him.

The laughter died on your lips and he didn’t miss it when your eyes dipped down to his. He was close enough to feel your warmth, towering over you, leaning into your space. Your fingers clenched around the book in your lap, foot brushing his leg again. Just that touch, small as it was, sent electricity rocketing through his body. He wanted more of it. He wanted more of you.

Oh.

Oh no.

He wanted you.

He had never denied you were beautiful, that you were bright, that you were charismatic. But he had denied ever liking you. Only now, so close to you, watching the way you reacted to him, it became blindly obvious to him that he’d been lying to himself.

“Can I help you with something, Pinfield?” you asked, voice soft, barely above a murmur.

He thought that if he kissed you now you would kiss him back. Almost certain of it. Pretty sure you would. But that small amount of doubt niggled at him. You could be so prickly with him and you’d told him you hated being there. He was part of the lab. What if you actually didn’t like him?

“Cat got your tongue?” Your half smile had softened, just enough to make him question it all again, “I don’t think you’ve ever been so silent with me.”

He lent back, straightening up, leaving you blinking up at him, confusion marring your features. Turning on his heels, he stalked away from you, the confusion and the tangle of confused emotions making him need to retreat as fast as possible. The ache was new, wanting to go back and finish what he’d started. He couldn’t. Not if you were going to laugh in his face and tell him he was deluded. No one like you could ever possibly want him.

So he did the cowardly thing. He avoided you.

Days went by, hiding away in shadowy corners, doing all the work he’d been putting off to study you. The things no one wanted to do. Filing, cleaning, sorting, anything to keep you from finding him. Only he’d misjudged it. He’d forgotten you’d been living there long enough to find every single secret hiding spot.

After a few days, you found him in a secluded corner, far from everyone else working in the lab. He didn’t know how many other people knew about that spot, retreating to it whenever he needed time alone. Sitting on the floor, knees bent towards his chest, head in his hands, fingers clenched in his hair, he didn’t notice your approach. Or rather, the left over ghostly powers you had kept you silent as you came upon him.

“Have you given up on me?” His head jerked up at your voice, “the fire get too hot for you?”

“What?” he asked. You couldn’t know. There was no way you could know.

“Usually you’re poking and prodding me every day trying to figure out why ghosthood has forsaken me. Have you finally accepted there’s nothing to find and I can be released back into the wild?”

You walked towards him, and his mouth went dry with how your hips swayed. You stood over him, hands on your hips, staring down at him with an oddly fierce look on your face.

“I know it’s not because you’re doing anything more important. Clearly. Look at you. You’re sitting here in the dark doing nothing,” he said.

“Maybe that’s more important than studying you,” he replied, leaning his head back against the wall as he gazed up at you.

“Either you’re working on this mystery or you’re not. If you’re done can you let me know so I can clear out of here. I’d like to have a real place to live again,” you said.

“It’ll get done,” he replied.

“Really? Because you’ve been M.I.A. for days now. My entire life is put on paused because you can’t be bothered doing your job,” you continued on, as if you didn’t care about his answer.

“It’ll get done,” he said, firmer, standing as if that would get the point across.

“Sure it will, after you’ve spent the right amount of time hiding from the big scary scientific questions. What’s got you so rattled huh? I didn’t take you for the kind of man who would go running scared the minute things got difficult,” you said.

“Shut up,” he said.

“Or what?” you demanded, “the longer you drag your feet on this the longer I’m forced to live like a fugitive on the run hiding out from the law. Or maybe you hate me enough to want to keep me under lock and key.”

“You don’t know anything,” he ground out from between gritted teeth.

“Clearly because apparently I’m so abhorrent you have to avoid me. I thought we were alright. Fuck me, I guess. I can’t keep up with you. There is something seriously wrong with you, dude,” you said.

“Shut up,” he said again, taking a step forward until he was in your personal space.

He could feel all of the emotions simmering under the surface. You were staring at him, anger flashing in your eyes and you looked fierce. It made his blood sing, going toe to toe with you. He didn’t have the ability to deal with this today, not when he’d been fighting against his need to grab you and kiss you and drag you into the first private place he could find and show you exactly what you did to him.

“Not until you explain why you’re leaving me high and dry,” you said, both hands coming up to shove at his chest.

He caught you around the wrists, holding you like a pair of manacles. His thumb brushed over the bare skin of your inner wrist, over your pulse point. You stared at him, mouth falling open and he couldn’t figure out if it was through confusion or indignation. Tugging you closer, you were so close, your body heat brushing against him and he realised what a mistake that had been. But once again, impulse took over his brain when you were near.

“What are you doing?” you all but whispered.

“Shutting you up.”

He swooped down, kissing you, his fingers tightening around your wrists. He felt you gasp more than he heard it, but it was enough for his tongue to slip into your mouth. You were frozen for just a moment and he was certain you were about to knee him in the gonads. Then, you melted, pressing closer, kissing him back until you took his breath away.

The fire and the passion you’d brought about in him seemed to have found a match. You tugged out of his hold, arms twining around his neck as his hands slid around your body, pressing you into him. The small noise you made only stoked the fire further. His hands cupped your arse and your teeth sunk into his lower lip. He was surprised at the rush that gave him, the spike of pain followed by the soothing of your tongue running over it.

He spun, pushing you against the wall he’d so recently been leaning against. You arched towards him. His hands landed either side of your body, keeping you trapped there, caging you in. You kissed him deeper, longer, and all he could do was groan and sink into it.

You were everywhere, in every single one of his senses, consuming him. All he could do was press closer, groaning when your fingers slid into his hair, tugging on it, playing with it, mussing it. It was so much better than he could have imagined.

“Fuck love,” he mumbled, his lips trailing down your neck, “who knew shutting you up could be so enjoyable in so many ways?”

“You’re such an asshole,” you laughed, breathless as you tilted your head, offering yourself up to him.

“I think that says more about you than it does about me,” he said, teeth sinking in to your skin for just a moment.

“No one said I ever made the sensible decisions,” you said.

He drew back, looking at you. Bright eyes and kiss stung lips, you were a vision he would never grow tired of seeing. He brought a hand up, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. You nipped at the pad of his thumb and he chuckled.

“Then I think you should have dinner with me tonight,” he said, “if you’re determined to not make sensible decisions.”

“I’m not allowed out,” you reminded him.

“You are with supervision. Call me your own personal ankle monitor,” he said, “I won’t take my eyes off you.”

“Sounds like you’ll be getting more out of it than I will. Especially if I wear a sexy little number,” you said.

“And why would you do that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Maybe because I’m so desperate to sleep in a proper bed I’m willing to go home with you,” you replied.

“So you’re going to seduce me?”

“I think I already have.”

You looked down, indicating the lack f space between your bodies. The leg he’d inserted between yours. The hand on your hip, keeping you pressed against the wall. His own swollen lips and flushed cheeks. The chuckle that fell from his lips was soft, and yet joyful.

“I suppose you have,” he agreed.

“So, dinner?” you asked.

“Tonight. No need for a sec little number. I’ll be taking you home even if you’re in your pyjamas,” he said and he liked the way that sentiment seemed to melt you.

“I think you might be a closet romantic, Pinfield,” you said, lips curling up into a small smile.

“I suppose you’ll have to stick with me if you want to find out,” he replied.

Impulse drove him to kiss you again, only this time, he was certain you’d kiss him back. You did not disappoint.

[run3helldump]

run characters ranked in terms of gameplay specifically

explanations for each character below cut

Skater: As much as I love him as a character, Skater is honestly the worst character to play as in my opinion. Despite his main strength being his agility, he doesn't get much momentum in terms of jumping, which is my favorite this to do in this game so skill issue on my part. He also has to fail several times in order to get frustrated enough to go fast enough to make a hard jump, and most players will probably just switch to another character by then. Sorry little skater boy I'm only using your winter games alt.

Child: I feel like I don't need to explain this one since many people dislike playing as him but yeah. He's not even that bad, and the ability to walking on crumbled tiles freely is pretty nice but outside of that he's just kind of useless. If you've never played him, you'll find that his slow float is pretty annoying to control, and he misses tiles pretty easily. If you know what your doing, the child is a pretty good character you can use if you want to be able to save yourself from dying by correctly using the slow float, but otherwise it's best not to use him if you have better options, or if your just a biased child fan who doesn't have skill issue.

Angel: Didn't expect to put him so low but honestly as good as angel can be, I just find the other special abilities aliens above to be more fun to use. Angel has a pretty good dash that can be used to go nearly as far as Bunny when pressing other inputs. Despite this, I feel like a lot of other characters can just do what angel does but better. I still like using him in specific levels though.

Gentlemen: Not much to say about him. He's the best character to use for aggressive grinding, but he can only preform his pull ability when power cells are nearby. Good for grinding + infinite mode, but ok otherwise.

Runner: Everyone can do what Runner can do. Runner can technically complete every level. Runner is perfectly balanced and perfectly neutral, or perfectly mid if you will. It makes sense for her to have her very own middle tier.

Lizard: If it wasn't for the Lizards one gameplay flaw they would definitely be higher on the list. Their slow but easily make up for it with their ridiculously high jumping height. As mentioned before I really really like jumping in this game so Lizard is an *almost* perfect fit. They can make normally difficult gaps with ease, they can walk on crumbling tiles for a longer amount of time and can just save themselves by jumping, and they aren't so horribly slow that it makes them painful to play. The only two problems with lizard is that their jump isn't good for open tunnels, since they can easily fly out into space on accident, and their tired mechanic. It's not easy to be a Lizard main because Run 3 is an adapt game. Because of this, Lizard is the only character that cannot keep dying and coming back without slowly getting tired and falling asleep. It's annoying, but not enough to weigh them down several tiers.

Student: The gravity flip is the one and only thing that has Student going but it's definitely enough for me. You can easily save yourself from a bad fall by switching gravity, and you can go wall to wall without having to go through too much trouble. Not much else to say other than that she's honestly a really good speedrun character and definitely worth the price.

Duplicator: Duplicator is pretty goated. Not only can you just save yourself from several pointless deaths by having several copies, but you can also gain quite a bit of momentum from jumping on a copy. Like Student, Dupe is really good for speedruns and almost overpowered, making him really fun to play.

Pastafarian: I can't say so much about her since I've only played her on my cousins phone, but from what I've played Pastafarian is genuinely goated. She can just fucking walk across space like it's nothing and avoids a ton of useless deaths by just. Walking. She's really fun to play as and a good way to sweep with most levels. Despite this, the one thing that stops her from being at the top is her slightly glitchy gameplay and that her goated ability has a chance of just not working occasionally. Of course, she's beaten by what is in my opinion the most insanely goated character in Run 3

Bunny: This thing scares me. Bunny, despite being very simple on the outside, is an incredibly insane character to play as if you know how. Bunny is not only fast, but they also have an excellent jump, something that is rare to have in one character. They can make long gaps without going too out of bounds like lizard, they clear levels with absolute ease, and they can rarely save themselves from a fall with their infinite bounce. Honest to god when I say that I cleared most of Run 3 with just Bunny when I unlocked them. The only issue with Bunny is that their infinite bounce can sometimes screw you over but even then its kind of rare if you know what your doing.

anyways in conclusion bunny is goated and skater is a loser little pissboy bye

[spinningbuster98]

Castlevania Chronicles (Original Mode) Part 2: Why yes the devs ARE laughing at you!

Let’s not beat around the bush any longer: this game, in its original version, is probably the hardest in the entire franchise

Yes: harder than Castlevania 3, and I’ve played the American version!

It’s also harder than the Adventure, mostly on account of being longer, though for different reasons

The Adventure was hard because the controls sucked ass, the game was slow and had input lag

This game has no technical hiccups, nor was it made artificially harder in a later version like USA Castlevania 3

This game is MEANT to be this way

It’s around this point that it starts to fully kick in: the level design and ESPECIALLY the enemy placement are designed for the express purpose of making you suffer and to quite literally troll you

This first level is mostly original but also a recreation of stage 2 from the original

Most of it is not too out of the ordinary for a Classicvania, there’s even a secret room with some upgrades. That giant statue of the Virgin Mary crying blood should look familiar to fans of Harmony of Dissonance

It’s the last section where the game decides to brutalize you

We have a short sections where you have to avoid a tight-ass trap with rotating blades, immediatly followed by a vertical section with skeletons pelting you with bones and moving pretty much randomly

And then a monster made of stained glass springs to life, it takes some punishment to bring down, will run away from you if you try to follow it, throwing its shield at you and when you DO destroy it it will break apart into tiny shards that will fucking home in on you!

Did I also mention that if you try to tackle it the “normal way” you’ll have to do so through a hallway full of Medusa Heads that makes the infamous hallway of Original Stage 5 look like a pleasant walk by comparison?

Did I also mention that this game does the same thing that USA Castlevania 3 did, with you taking more damage the further you are in the game, meaning starting with this level you’ll die in precisely 4 hits?

(To be fair the idea that it was the US version of C3 that introduced this bullshit is actually untrue: the original Castlevania also had this including the Japanese version, even Super Castlevania IV did this)

My personal strategy is to make the fucker walk down a platform, throw a bottle of holy water then retreat back which will cause it to run towards you (it behaves pretty much like an Axe Armor) and into the fire. Then when it shatters into pieces drop at the bottom of the shaft: you will off screen the pieces

Medusa herself is easy if you have the cross with the Double or Triple Shots otherwise she can be a grueling though admiteddly well structured fight where you’ll have to make sure not to let her get to close to you otherwise she’ll spam her tail attack

All in all this level isn’t bad, it’s only the last section that’s questionable

The Clock Tower on the other hand is the worst level in the game, no doubt

Mostly due to the last section

It’s full of gears that pop from the background and hurt you and there’s NO WAY to tell which ones  do so and which don’t before they hit you you just gotta KNOW after you got hit, some of them pop as soon as you approach them, others do so OFFSCREEN! And they roll around the terrain, you can whip them to make them fall off the shaft but be careful not to make them bounce against a wall or they’ll hit you back! ( Remember: 4 hits and you’re DEAD!)

Then you gotta deal with the floating Peeping Eyes while balancing on those teeter totter things and God help you if you fall downwards forcing you to climb back up all.over.again...

And at the end of this shit show it’s only appropriate to face against the worst boss in the game: the Werewolf!

Does this bitch even have a pattern? She just jumps around throwing shit at you nonstop like a cocked up junky, I honestly don’t know how to deal with her without the cross combined with the Double or Triple Shot (this is something this game has in common with IV: the cross is overpowered but you won’t be able to abuse it nearly as much ‘cause you’ll be dying every 3 minutes)

Here’s a fun fact: the Clock in the background will actually show a different time depending on your system’s internal clock, at least in the original Sharp version

This may have been the worst of the bunch but don’t go thinking for a SECOND that the game is done with you, oh no, this train ain’t stopping motherfucker and you ain’t getting off until it’s done with you

[fulgursmediaanalysisdrama]

Nevermind the Zora is completely dogshit, absolutely worthless

Remember what I said about buttons doing multiple things? Yeah clicking A is cursed with that guy.

His boomerangs are shit, all they do is waste time. They can activate whenever you hit a surface and press b, this can happen while swimming if you're doing something else but the game decides to ground you. You also can't start doing anything until they return, doesn't matter. Also they're worthless.

The normal attack is just weak.

And yeah, why does this guy need to stand underwater? I get it but why make it hurt the gameplay so much? The amount of time I start swimming because I hit a random object with my feet or can't start to swim because... I'm on the ground? Moving? But if I don't move it just rapid floats me upwards and it's hard to swim down because the game always corrects you up? And then I need to go down and it's hard to start swimming during that again??? Why is it made so hard to swim????

Let me fix it, the zoras default movement underwater is swimming, he can stand but if you start moving he always swims. And then pressing A lets you attack while swimming because it's ludicrous that you can't, even if it would instant stop you fine.

And then R can be the magic for the fast swim regardless, even if it still carries multiple loads because it doesn't need the constant combination of -> + A + R. In that order, because moving and clicking R and then clicking swim you stay stuck in the slow swim animation. At least for a few seconds, five ish. Now commands are much easier and cleaner. And like fr there are so few areas where you have to walk to solve them, just make me be able to swim in a god damn line without making me tilt upwards a bit. Or make me be able to start swimming without having to correct downwards immediately to maybe swim in a straight line afterwards maybe. Oops sorry to slow you already got washed out of the dungeon by that mini bit of your head peaking up. Woops.

Genuinely, moving straight and then even only holding A + R is possible, though you need to start with a third direction input first, and so is moving straight or tilted upwards though the latter is a bit weird. Especially starting from the ground zorlink often really doesn't want to get going and refuses to swim. When you hold a direction the A input doesn't register and he just keeps walking. But moving straight to the surface also sucks, there weirdly isn't a hover button, since you have B and A to go up. But they just make you switch, would be nicer if they needed two inputs for a revert.

So many bad choices

And it really makes the minigame for the bottle suck, the second part is so ass with the rings having hitboxes, Zorlink randomly jumping and changing directions after bumping on objects which can include the rings, the rings stopping zorlinks movement instead of letting him slide past, the rings randomly not registering or letting zorlink glitch through them instead of having collision, random jumps after moving over objects or completely stopping to swim instead, slow starts and weird automatic camera that also affects where my input makes zorlink moves makes movement very choppy and so it's impossible to recover from any stop as you can only change directions efficiently at speed and your own inputs sabotage you as the camera exaggertes them but if you undershoot it you might just not move. It's trash, hot garbage. Wet garbage.

Challenge isn't the problem, I can tell I'm improving but it's so frustrating because the object the game wants me to interact with punishes me severely for attempting to do so all the time. Whatever

I genuinely failed the first of the ring ones because the last ring didn't count that I swam through it, and then I had to do a bunch of redos after an early success that I technically had. Horseshit.

Sucks to suck suckers but you can suck it cuz I have other five bottles already, why would I need more

I hope the dungeon is better, usually I like water puzzles.

Hot take, but after replaying it again I think Majoras Mask kinda sucks

The three day time limit feature does not aid it very well, the game is too large making the time insufficient, but the time is also too much and too long for you to wait out the times where you can do nothing not even explore.

The bombers handbook is kinda helpful, but the timeframes given in it are unhelpful without clear objectives. And all objectives are purposely unclear. I know I can always run back to the Sheikah stone, but I wanna be able to play the game not have another Rotomdex. At least the handbook notes when something is finished, but mostly I wanna reset my days quick which just seems like a waste of time. Generally I don't appreciate having quests split into three parts separated by nothing but waiting, unless you know what else to do. I'm sure if you know everything that's to do and how the game is quite satisfying to optimize, but figuring it out is awful for me. I never finished it as a kid after getting stuck with the Gorons

The map is horrible to navigate, large and mostly useless. You can't even find hints for when exactly to come back later to get into inaccessible areas.

The Witch in the woods requires a healing item, but there's no way to gain any heals.

All the minigames are frustrating to outright unfair, even beyond the waiting to do all three instances of them element, like at least don't make me do them on the same cycle if you can give me the handbook without catching the bombers a second time already. The bombchu one sucks and is unskillful as the bombchus can just veer off and move randomly, the fishing one is useless, the deku one with the moving platforms is hard to practice burns through your money fast as the 3D isn't great so it's easy to miss platforms as you don't cast a shadow on the stones. And it's not just time intensive through retries or like all the other games because it suffers from not giving more money than you earn so you have to keep farming but your rupee bag is also small so you can't carry many tries and- but also because its gameplay is waiting. Waiting is never good gameplay, it makes tedious tasks full of trial and error feel even slower than they already are, and once again this one is already hard to practice. Falling down would mean the end even without the time restriction, it does not make much sense to pretend like it's carnival game where you have a loss condition. The loss condition is not getting the time, you need to play again.

And the one with the "maze" of walls that move up and down. Terribly disorienting, you end up boxed in by three walls all the time and if you ever need to backtrack it means you've lost, the timers to short and there's no strategy to employ. (Yes hugging the wall and always turning the same way, like any other maze, but that's too slow you can't finish this way)

Another thing is I have notes about when to speak to Anju, but I can't. She doesn't react.

I have info about that madams missing son, I don't have info for her because apparently the only info will be having found him? I have been given a deadline but I can't interact with him in that deadline despite having talked to any npc I can find with the mask on. Including the shopowner of the place where he's hiding.

I can't reach any spirit, I can't reach any dungeon, nothing. Idk maybe I can use the bombs in the ice area? But that one had the strongest enemies, it should be last, haven't yet tried this though.

I've been playing for 6-7 hours, I should be much further, like fr it sucks. There's no wonder, no fun, it's just bad. Nothing I have "figured out" so far has felt smart, it's definitely not challenging and it doesn't feel rewarding. The most fun I had so far was getting the heartcointainers from trade quests and such, because they didn't waste time beyond the actions I had to take and aren't limited to very specific time frames or other anti-gameplay-limitations

I'll come back if I find a dungeon and they're better. Or worse, then I'll come back too.

I don't think playing the ds version matters, I can only think of upsides the different hardware would have. And I will not purchase a GameCube just to reexperience this game

[pegasister60]

A thing for @lemliv‘s MCYT Sugar Rush AU!

I wanted to make him a racer but then I remembered I couldn’t draw vehicles.

So you get this instead! Bedwars peeps (aka most of Tiredtwt) in a platformer! The name’s a placeholder but everything else I am confident in.

Aim of the game is to get to the top without dying and to clear as many stages based on Bedwars maps as you can. Heavily inspired by the og Kid Icarus in terms of gameplay with the exception of the default weapon not being a bow.

Below the cut will be more information about the game itself and how it works copied almost exactly from the discord dm where I gushed about it to a friend.

You’ve got story mode, versus mode, free climb, and secret levels.

Story mode is single-player and after the character select screen you cannot change your character. You complete levels and at the end of every level you’ll get some lore. Maybe a mini-boss fight.

Versus mode is just a race. 2 players will try to reach the end of the level without getting left behind. The screen does not split and scrolls upwards faster and faster as the race progresses. If you hit the bottom edge of the screen and vanish off it you take damage and depending on your character that might be it for you. Winner’s character does a boasting animation and the loser’s character does their death animation.

Free climb lets you select a map and then climb and climb and climb until you miss a jump and fall into the void. It does not have enemies and is good practice.

Secret levels are unlocked by beating story mode.

Normally when you play story mode if you get a game over you are given a code to take you back to the beginning of the level you failed in so you don’t have to replay the whole thing to get back. It can be input on the character select screen after holding down red and blue.

When you finish a character’s route you get given a code for a secret level for that character. It unlocks a cool mini-game.

Purpled’s is Dogchamp’s Dinner Rush. You play with Dogchamp following you as you climb through the levels. The only enemies are skeletons that drop bones instead of iron and the objective is to get as many as possible before reaching the end of the level. At the very end, Purpled will toss them to Dogchamp one by one and Dogchamp will jump to crunch them all and then do a happy bark.

It’s cute.

Now some stuff about story mode.

The enemies drop iron and gold and there’s shops you can jump into every few levels to buy stuff from. A potion that gives you extra long jumps for a bit, fireballs that shoot in the direction you’re facing when you use the item button, golden apples that let you take one free hit. You can hold more than one item but you have to use them in the order purchased and it only displays the currently usable item. The controls are pretty simple. There’s the green joystick, red jump, blue crouch, and purple button (tap to attack, hold to use item) along with the black select/start buttons. There’s two sets of controls bc versus mode. When you complete a level, depending on your character, you get either an emerald or a diamond. For Purpled if you get four emeralds you can get an extra life that looks like an enderpearl instead of a player head. When you get down to the extra life Purpled vwhoops onto the nearest free platform with tiny purple particles. This is not always convenient but it’s consistent.

When you lose a life and still have more left your hurt animation is kinda like Sonic’s. Most of your iron and gold scatters and ends up going over the edge, though anything that’s still on the ground you can pick up again.

Killing enemies is the basic jump on top of them, though some are more resilient and you have to actually strike them multiple times with your weapon. Some enemies act as springboards, usually the ones that float across on the horizontal or vertical. Others are just there so you have to actually watch your jumps so you don’t slam into them sideways.

The aim of the game? Advance and survive.

Advance obviously means onwards and upwards.

Survive means keep moving.

If you spend a significantly long time on one screen it rumbles and the dragon roar sounds. The dragon counter resets with every new screen but if you’re absolutely stuck then it’s game over. Dragon swoops up from the bottom of the screen and its wingspan takes out everything on the screen at once, enemies, player 2’s, and all.

When you 100% game over and the continue screen fades out it plays the character retreat animation (Purpled’s is getting picked up by a ufo) and gives you a leaderboard screen.

When you just die normally your character will collapse and their continue screen animation will play. Purpled’s is Dogchamp trotting over to sit next to him. When you insert a coin Dogchamp nudges Purpled and Purpled springs up to keep going.

The character select screen shows all the characters but sometimes they’re not available and their squares are grayed out. When you hover over a character their portrait gets shown along with their stats.

Wallibear has a special fireball jump he can do if you shoot one down. He starts with a fireball. His portrait shows a person in a bear hoodie but his sprite is a blue bear in a hoodie.

Purpled has the highest jump of any character and starts with an emerald. He also has objectively the most Story dialogue because if you don’t play as him he appears in almost every route and becomes the shopekeeper. In his route the shopkeeper varies. And so on.

The more hearts a character has the more damage they can take before they lose a life. All characters have three lives to start with unless you use a cheatcode.

A character’s weaknesses can be compensated for with items though how far into the game you’ll be able to afford them is another matter entirely.

Example being that with a jump boost most mediocre jumpers can match Purpled’s default. And with enough golden apples and enderpearls lined up Purpled can stop being a two-shot.

It isn’t as popular as Sugar Rush but it’s got regulars and it’s nostalgic as hell.

[nugnthopkns]

whatcha say we just get away?

word count: 6.5k

warnings: explicit fem!reader, marriage, cursing, fleeting mention of future children, some kinda cheesy wedding tropes

recommended listening: side effects | jade bird

a/n: the idea of a big wedding scares the living daylights out of me so i wrote about eloping with tk :))

When Travis asks you to marry him, you think he’s joking.

The two of you are standing in the kitchen piecing together lunch. It’s a sunny Tuesday in Port Stanley, and Travis wants to take you out on the boat this afternoon. 

“What if we got married?” he says casually, putting the finishing touches on his sandwich. 

You shrug it off and continue chopping vegetables. “You’re hilarious. Got an upcoming audition with SNL?”

Travis doesn’t seem to like your response. He bumps your shoulder gently. “I’m serious.” 

“This isn’t a joke?” you ask, setting down the knife and turning to face him. “You want to marry me?”

He nods and rests his hands on your hips. “I’m absolutely positive. Will you marry me?”

No words come from your open mouth. Not wanting him to think you’re saying no, you nod your head vigorously. Travis’s laugh echoes off the small kitchen, bringing you back to earth slightly. His right thumb rubs comforting circles on your hip bone. Overcome with love for Travis, you curl your arms around his neck and pull him down to meet your lips. 

The kiss is passionate but incredibly soft. You both hold so much love for each other and do your best to convey it in the small gesture. Time passes you by, but you don’t mind. If you could kiss Travis forever you would. Eventually he pulls away for air but doesn’t let you go. Resting his forehead on yours he asks another question. “Is that a yes?”

You find your voice. “Of course you idiot!”

His smile lights up his entire face and it makes him look much too young to be betrothed. You suppose he is, that you both are – under twenty-five with your whole lives in front of you. However, you know that Travis is it for you. No one compliments you like he does, and no one ever will. Travis loves you wholly and without hesitation, and you hope he can see you feel the exact same way. 

“Fuck,” Travis groans, and it makes you arch your brow. “I don’t have a ring,” he explains. “I didn’t think I’d get the balls to suggest it or that you would say yes.”

A laugh bubbles over your lips as you shake your head. “I could care less baby,” you insist. “We don’t need rings to show how much we love each other.”

The two of you stand in the kitchen a while longer, kissing languidly and basking in the deeper level of love that comes with devoting your lives to one another. Lunch is long forgotten as you get ready for your afternoon adventure, but you remember to grab it on your way out the door. The drive to the water is almost identical to every single other time, spent singing along to the radio and laughing at the terrible impressions Travis tries to orchestrate, except this time your smiles are brighter and the sideways glances are sweeter. 

For being a beautiful day in a community of mostly retired people, the waters of Lake Erie are scarcely populated. The two of you essentially have the kilometres of coastline to yourselves, which feels like a sign from the universe to enjoy the newest honeymoon phase of your relationship. It’s so nice to spend an abundance of time with Travis in the summers, and it almost makes up for all the time you spend alone throughout the winter months. You let him navigate the boat wherever he wants, laying across one of the plush leather benches with your eyes closed. Occasionally, when Travis hits a wave a little too head on, water sprays gently over your face but you don’t mind. Truthfully, it offers a short respite from the heat of the sun’s rays. 

While you lounge your mind begins to wander to what your wedding will look like. Large crowds have always made you uneasy – you aren’t like Travis in that regard, able to feel comfortable in whatever environment you may be placed in. The idea of a small wedding is nice, but the two of you know too many people and pointedly not inviting a large number of them fills you with anxiety. Feelings would get hurt, people upset they can’t fight for a minute of your big day, and you’ve heard horror stories about wedding guest lists ending friendships. You also know your mother will want to have input in almost every decision, from bridesmaids dresses to cake flavours, and that’s not something you’re sure you can handle. Suddenly marrying Travis is a lot scarier a concept.

You realize that these are ridiculous thoughts to be having. You got engaged less than three hours ago – there’s no reason for you to immediately start planning the event. For Christ’s sake, you don’t even have a ring yet. Regardless, your mind replays your fears on a constant loop. All you can do to quell the storm in your mind is sit and focus on the taut muscles of Travis’s shoulder blades.

“Now that we’re engaged you’re just going to ignore me?” Travis jokes, dropping the anchor and making his way over to you. He had pulled into a small bay, mostly out of view from the public and hard to find, so the two of you could swim and enjoy each other’s company in peace. 

You shoot him a pointed look, and he immediately understands there’s something lying beneath the surface.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

It’s stupid to be stressing over thing so soon, but you can’t stop. You wonder if you’re even going to be able to go through with the wedding seeing you’re already so worked up about it. Travis kneels in front of you, hand on your knee as his eyes meet yours through two pairs of sunglasses. “No judgement here sweetheart. Say whatever’s on your mind.”

You know he’s being sincere. There’s never any judgement from Travis. No matter how dumb a statement or how terrible a fashion choice he never thinks any less of you. “I was just thinking, well overthinking, about the wedding,” you mumble. “And I know it’s stupid because we have nothing planned and don’t have rings but I can’t stop myself from stressing over it. I legitimately don’t know if I can plan a wedding.”

“That’s quite possibly the farthest thing from stupid,” he insists. “It’s a valid thing to be worried about. Honestly, I don’t know if I want to take the heat for not doing things the way others think they should be done. But we have so much time to figure everything out.” Travis pushes himself off the ground and slides into the seat beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and places a peck to the crown of your head. 

“I think that’s part of the issue Trav. We won’t get married until next summer, which is fine, but I’m going to have so much time to overthink every single decision.”

Travis doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, he grasps your left hand in his and raises it to his lips. The kiss he presses to your ring finger, where the engagement ring would be if you had one, sends shivers down your spine. It’s a simple gesture, sweet and to the point, but it grounds you. No matter what happens, the two of you will face it together hand in hand. 

The water is cold when you eventually get in, but it’s refreshing and allows you to relax. You do more floating than serious swimming, watching as Travis swims laps around the small area you’ve claimed as your own. “Can’t even take a break from training now that we’re engaged?” you ask, throwing him the same jab he gave hours ago. 

“Gotta stay fit for the big day,” he pants, obviously tired from trying to up his endurance level. “Holy fuck, I’ve swam nearly three kilometres since we got in.”

You’re wickedly impressed and have half a mind to challenge him to keep going, to see how far he can go, but you can tell his energy is fading. Pretty soon he’ll be ready to fall asleep and you can’t drive the boat. Not wanting to be stuck on the lake overnight, you speak. “Let’s get you home there cowboy. I’ll drive once you park this damn boat.”

The rest of the night is quiet. Once back on dry land, you take control of the reins, jumping into the driver’s seat before Travis can protest. You stop to pick up dinner from a small pizzeria on the main street before continuing to the modest cottage you call home in the summer months. It’s all Travis can do to keep his eyes open on the ride home, and as soon as he finishes his pizza he’s asleep on the couch, head resting heavy in your lap. 

You card your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at the scalp as you read your book. While you were in school you didn’t have much time to read for pleasure, so since graduating you’ve been trying to catch up. You graduated nearly two years ago and still haven’t made it through your to be read shelf, but it isn’t for lack of trying. It seems that new books constantly find a home there and the three books a months you average isn’t cutting it. Maybe one day when you retire you’ll be able to make a serious dent. 

It’s silent while Travis sleeps, but you find it comforting. There’s nothing to distract you from the fictional world playing out on the pages, and you lose the anxieties you’ve felt simmering since thinking about your very distant wedding. When Travis wakes up an hour later you’ve finished your book and are staring at the ceiling. 

“You could have gotten up to grab another,” Travis murmurs, voice laced with sleep. 

You shrug. “Didn’t want to wake you. Plus I just wanted to think about some things, how I want to tackle the next year.”

Travis frowns, and you can tell he’s regretting asking the question because you’re so obviously worked up. 

“I know what you’re thinking, babe,” you say to comfort him. “And you’re wrong. There’s nothing I want more in the world than to marry you. I just didn’t realize how hard it was going to be to do things without pissing off half the people we want to invite.”

You slowly peel away from him, holding out a hand and smiling when he takes it. The two of you retire to your bedroom, and get ready in silence. You know Travis is still mulling things over, and quite honestly, you are too. Preparing to get married, no matter how far away the day might be, is a lot. After brushing your teeth and washing your face you settle into Travis’s open arms, tracing over the tattoos that call his bicep home. Travis unwinds in his own way, twirling a lock of your hair around his index finger. 

“What if we eloped?”

This question is as sudden as when he asked you to marry him in the first place. Your hand halts its actions immediately, moving to his chest so you can push yourself up to look at him. “You’re serious?”

He nods enthusiastically, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Dead serious. I know you’ve never wanted a big wedding,” he says. That much is true. You’ve never enjoyed being the center of attention, and the idea of more than twenty people watching your every move has you freaking out. “You’re so stressed already about pleasing everyone that I’m worried you won’t be able to enjoy it when the day actually comes. And to be quite frank, I could give less of a shit about the ceremony or reception. All I want to do is marry you because I love you. So let’s get rid of the things we think we have to do and just do it our own way.”

A single tear slides down your cheek. You can’t help it – you’re so relieved he’s willing to do whatever would make you the most comfortable, even if it means sacrificing something as important as a proper wedding. “That would be perfect.” 

Travis kisses you for what might be the millionth time today but you do not care. His lips are soft against yours and make you feel safe and warm. Nothing goes too far as you’re both just enjoying the thought of such a special moment being between just the two of you.

“I was also thinking we could do it this week,” he says casually, as if no work has to go into this because you’re eloping.

You sit up immediately. “Pardon?” you ask shocked. “Trav, just because we aren’t going to have a wedding doesn’t mean we can just do it whenever we please. We need to get a marriage license and make an appointment at the courthouse.”

“It’s the middle of summer and we live in an area where the youngest people other than us are like fifty, I think things will come together pretty quickly.” 

It’s hard for you to argue with his logic. Travis has a point – the chances of other people trying to get married in the next few days is very slim. The idea doesn’t sound horrible either, getting to marry the love of your life as soon as possible. You agree to look into things in the morning and fall asleep curled into Travis’s chest, his arms secure around you.

Wanting to get married within the week turns out not to be a problem. After Travis completes his morning workout the two of you travel the short distance to the courthouse to get a marriage license. It’s incredibly easy, each of you only needing to provide two pieces of identification, and while you’re there you pick a time slot for your civil service. You’ll be back at the building in two days, next time walking out as a married couple. 

“See, it was so easy,” Travis says, bumping your hip with his own on the way back to the truck. 

“Fuck off,” you grumble. No matter how hard you try you can’t find it within yourself to be mad at him. You’re incredibly excited, and are actually glad you don’t have to wait very long. It would have been a pain to wait a whole twelve months. 

The next order of business in ‘planning’ your wedding is finding two witnesses. You would have had no problem asking Travis’s parents, but they’re currently on a vacation to the east coast. The idea of phoning your mother and asking her to book a flight to attend a wedding she didn’t get a say in makes you nauseous, so it’s completely out of the question. Port Stanley might be small, but you and Travis are only there a few months out of the year and don’t know anyone besides your next door neighbours. Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson are an adorable eldery couple you invite over for dinner every week. 

Travis agrees that you should include them, and as soon as you get home the two of you are knocking on their door, pitcher of lemonade in hand. 

“Oh hello dears,” Mrs. Stevenson coos. “This is such a nice surprise. Richard is out on the back patio, come join us.”

You smile at the older lady and follow her through the modest cottage. The walls are covered in photos from family trips and graduations – you hope one day you and Travis’s will look the same. Once in the backyard the four of you settle into comfortable conversation, sipping lemonade and enjoying the sunshine. Ever the hockey fan, Mr. Stevenson asks Travis about the upcoming season, and they chat while you rise to help bring snacks to the small table. 

After a while, the conversations lull and Travis is able to bring up what you came over for. “Do you guys have any plans for Friday morning?” he asks casually, popping a slice of red pepper into his mouth. 

“Not that I can think of,” Mr. Stevenson says. “Can you think of anything Dottie?”

His wife shakes her head. “Nothing comes to mind. What’s the matter?”

Suddenly you’re nervous, and entwine your fingers with Travis’s to ground yourself. He squeezes gently, a gesture of encouragement that has you able to find your voice. “We were wondering if you could do us a favour,” you begin, “And be the witnesses at our wedding? We have an appointment at the courthouse at eleven-thirty.”

It’s silent, and you’re petrified they’re going to say no. You turn to look at Travis, who looks just as apprehensive as you. His grip on your hand tightens and all you can do is wait for a response. 

“We would be honoured,” they exclaim at the same time, and you let go of a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. It’s settled – you have all the components for the paperwork, which means you can legitimately and legally get married. You’re absolutely giddy. 

The questions come then – when did Travis ask you, how are you going to tell your families, what does your ring look like – and when you quietly say that you don’t have one Mrs. Stevenson jumps out of her seat. 

“Oh child, that simply won’t do!”

You’re quick to your own defence. “It’s truly fine Mrs. Stevenson –”

“You can just call me Dottie dear.”

“Dottie,” you say, her first name rolling uncomfortably off your tongue. It will definitely take some getting used to. “I told Trav I didn’t need a ring. Being married to him is enough.” You smile in his direction and Travis returns the look with ease. 

Not caring, the elderly lady heads into the small cottage, saying she has something that would work perfectly. Mr. Stevenson rolls his eyes and apologizes for his wife’s antics, but you insist it’s okay. She returns a minute later with quite possibly the prettiest ring you’ve ever seen. Attached to a thin gold band is a deep green emerald. The stone isn’t obnoxiously large, possibly even on the smaller side, and is completely your style. No other gems accompany it, letting the emerald take center stage. 

“Wow,” you breathe. “It’s stunning.” 

Travis leans over your shoulder to get a look and lets out a short whistle. “Totally you babe,” he chimes in.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Mr. Steveson shouts in encouragement. “Put it on her young man!”

You let loose a laugh, and soon the others join in. Travis takes it at Dottie’s insistence and places it gingerly on your finger. It’s a perfect fit, and you can’t help but let a few tears escape. Your eyes meet Travis’s and you see he’s trying to hold back tears, but is failing miserably. Overcome with emotion, you lean forward and press your lips to his. The kiss is sweet, but still all-consuming. Travis’s hands reach up to cup your face, continuing the exchange for probably longer than appropriate in public. The Stevensons coo gently in the background, having a conversation between themselves about how adorable you both are. You don’t hear them though, too wrapped up in Travis and the fact that everything feels like it has fallen into place. 

After having a small argument about whether or not you can actually accept the ring, at which both Stevensons insist you should keep it, you help set the table for dinner. The meal is quite enjoyable, and you clean up despite the protests from Dottie. Once everything is squared away you and Travis go to make your exit. You hadn’t meant to intrude on their night, but you’re glad you did. On your way out the door, Mr. Stevenson, who followed his wife in demanding you call him by his first name, slips a small bag into Travis’s hand. 

“Found these in our jewelry box. I think you might want them,” he winks, smiling softly before shooing you off with a loving tone with a promise to see you on Friday. 

Peaking inside the bag once inside the safety of your own home, you pull out two delicate gold bands, one that looks about your size and one that matches Travis’s. It’s clear they’re meant to be your wedding bands, and you’re once again overcome with emotion. What did you do to deserve such kind neighbours?

Your night, and the day that follows are quiet. For the most part you go about your normal routine, puttering around while waiting for Travis to finish his workout and a meeting he has with the Flyers front office. He packs a lunch while you answer a call from your boss, who has a question about when you’ll be returning to Philadelphia. She chats with you for a while, catching up on all your summer adventures. You make sure to conceal your enagement, not wanting all of Philly to fin out before your families. Though you love your boss, she’s not well known for keeping secrets. Once all your affairs are finished, the two of you lock the front door and head to the lake. 

“Where you taking me today cowboy?” you giggle as Travis steers the boat out of the marina. 

He tips his hat at the nickname and speaks slowly, trying to mimic a southern accent a la John Wayne. “Gotta keep it a surprise darlin’,” he drawls. A laugh punctuates his sentence, and Travis can’t keep the charade up any longer. “I actually don’t have a destination. Thought we could just cruise around.”

It’s a good enough plan for you, and you sit close by while the pair of you travel the coast. The sun glistens off the top of the calm water while you float and your eyes grow heavy for the warmth. You indulge them, allowing them to flutter shut. 

“You’re literally the worst company ever,” Travis grumbles as soon as he notices your resting figure. 

Not bothering to open your eyes you shoot him the finger. “Fuck off, you’re the one who wants to marry me.”

“Damn straight.”

Despite being ‘terrible company’, Travis doesn’t try too hard to get away from you. Eventually he anchors the boat in a small cove and the pair of you spend a few hours swimming and soaking up the sun’s rays. Just existing like this, with Travis, is enough to calm any nerves you might have about tomorrow. Though it will be a low-key affair and no one will be in attendance, getting married is a huge deal. You would be more alarmed if you didn’t have any anxieties. 

It’s dusk when you secure the boat in its slip and hop in the truck to return home. The wind coming off the water sends shivers down your spine, though you do your best to hide it. Travis notices, however, and slips the hoodie he was sporting over shoulders. 

“Thanks,” you murmur appreciatively. He doesn’t respond, just shoots you a wide grin. 

The many hours spent in the sun have tired you out, and as soon as you’re inside you bolt towards the bed. You don’t even bother to change before slipping under the covers. When Travis appears in the room a few minutes later, he laughs at the sight of you with the duvet pulled up to your chin. 

He lies directly on top of you, and you shift slightly to accommodate the added weight. The room is silent save for your breathing, and it’s peaceful. You’re looking forward to spending the rest of your life like this. 

“We have to go brush our teeth,” Travis murmurs into the crook of your neck, punctuating his words with sweet kisses.

The noise that leaves your throat is one of strangled protest. “But I’m really comfy,” you groan. “Besides I can’t get up with you on top of me.”

“Touché.” He slowly separates his form from yours and extends a hand to help you up. “You still have to get up. I don’t want to marry someone with bad breath.”

You stick your tongue out at him in response, but grab his hand and allow him to drag you to the bathroom. What unfolds next is straight out of Bring It On. The two of you brush your teeth in silence, occasionally making faces at each other in the mirror. Travis grins at you, mouth full of toothpaste, and you can’t help but laugh. 

“Stop laughing!” he shouts after spitting into the sink. Nimble fingers find your sides, and before you can process what’s happening he’s digging them into you. 

In an attempt to squirm out of his grasp and run away, you miss the sink rather ungracefully. Toothpaste dots the bathroom counter, but it’s the least of your worries. It will take two seconds to clean up once Travis isn’t hellbent on tickling you to death. You break free of his hold and dart down the hall away from him. 

Travis rolls his eyes before grabbing a cloth to wipe away the remains of your desperate getway. When he enters the bedroom again you’re grabbing a faded 67’s tshirt to pull over head. He waits until you’re finished before wrapping his arms around your middle, no intentions of acting childish this time. You lean into his touch and he rests his chin comfortably on your shoulder. The two of you stand there for a while, swaying gently and thinking about the morning. Eventually Travis breaks away, leaving you to finish getting ready for bed, but not before placing a kiss to the nape of your neck. 

“I can’t believe we’re going to be married by lunchtime tomorrow,” you sigh as Travis climbs into bed beside you and flicks off the lamp on his bedside table. 

“It’s fucking insane, eh?”

Your lips turn into a smile, because it is in fact insane. Two days ago you were content just being with Travis and now in less than fourteen hours you’ll be his wife. Although the change is sudden, it feels right – to no other person would you want to get married. Travis is it. 

He shuffles closer to close the gap between you. His hand travels to your hair, twirling it around his finger, and you rest your head on his chest. Your eyes flutter shut but you make no attempt to keep them open. A long night of rest will be useful in helping to quell your nerves in the morning. 

“Sweet dreams Trav,” you mumble into the darkness. 

You swear you can hear the smile in his voice when he responds, “Night sweetheart.”

When you awake the next morning Travis’s arms are still tightly wrapped around you. You had assumed he’d be up earlier than normal, making sure to get a good run in before returning to get ready. Instead, his head is buried in your hair and he’s snoring softly. A quick glance at your alarm clock tells you it’s time to get up unless you want to run the risk of running late to your own wedding.

“Trav,” you whisper softly, rolling over in his grasp. “We’ve gotta get up.” When you don’t get a response, you lightly trace the outline of his nose and speak a little louder. “Babe, we’re going to be late if we don’t get our asses in gear.”

Travis shoots up at the mention of your wedding, clearly excited. “Good morning soon-to-be Mrs. Konecny,” he says before making a disgusted face. “Forget I ever said that. Totally not our style.”

You can’t help but giggle and agree. Cheesy gestures of affection have never really been your thing, and it feels strange to try it out now. You peck Travis’s cheek quickly before pushing off the covers and heading to the bathroom. After grabbing a towel from the small linen rack in the corner you turn the water on and undress. Travis walks by the open door and whistles, so you laugh and flip him off before letting yourself be enveloped by the water.

The steam helps to relieve the tension in your shoulders you didn’t know was there. You suppose it’s just natural for you to be slightly anxious – even though practically nothing can go wrong a thousand what-ifs float around your mind. Going about your typical shower routine helps calm you down and take your mind off things, and when you step out of the bathroom most of your nerves have been replaced with sheer excitement. 

Not wanting to get into the white sundress you decided to wear until you’re practically out the door, you slip into lounge clothes and go to join Travis in the kitchen. He’s munching away on a bowl of cereal but slides a cup of coffee across the counter for you. It’s made just the way you like it, of course, and you offer a quick thanks. When you move around to the other side of the island to make a bagel, you bump your hip against his. It’s quiet in the room, both of you in your heads as you picture what it will be like to say ‘I do’, but it’s nice. You eat in silence, and then it’s Travis’s turn to shower while you clean up the few dishes that were dirtied during breakfast. 

After everything is squared away you go to finish getting ready. It’s warm, over twenty-five degrees, so you decide to pull your hair into a simple updo to keep it out of your face. Though no one will be there to judge you, you still want to look the tiniest bit put together. Your makeup consists of sunscreen and lip balm, knowing that Travis wants to spend the afternoon on the water. Besides, it’s so hot you’d be uncomfortable in anything else. With nothing to do but sit and wait for Travis to be ready, you turn your attention to the ring on your left hand, soon to be accompanied by another. 

The emerald glistens as you twist the ring from side to side and you make a mental note to once again thank Mrs. Stevenson for giving it to you. Your thoughts are disrupted by Travis asking you a question. 

“Are you going to kill me if I wear shorts?”

“As long as they aren’t track shorts you’re fine,” you shrug. “It’s fucking hot out.”

He arches his brow. “So I can wear the camo ones?”

“If you really want to Trav.”

Travis does not, in fact, wear the camo ones, but a respectable khaki pair. He also rolls the sleeves of his button down up to try and combat the heat. It’s a good look, and you make sure to tell him so. The compliments return ten-fold and you can’t help but blush. Even after so many years together Travis still knows how to give you butterflies. 

“Zip me up?” you ask, spinning around so your back is to him. 

He nods and carefully tugs the zipper along your spine to secure the fabric. Once finished, Tavis rests his hands on your hips and turns you to face him. He rests his forehead against yours and looks at you with the most love filled expression you’ve ever seen. 

“I love you,” he whispers. 

You smile and press closer to him, mumbling against his lips. “I love you too.”

The kiss you share is soft and warm. Like so many others you’ve shared, it makes you feel whole. Kissing Travis is the one time you feel like you’re right where you’re supposed to be. Time seems to slow down, and truthfully you don’t know how long you spend kissing Travis in the middle of your bedroom. It’s long enough that you have to rush out the door, almost forgetting the rings in the shuffle. 

Even though you insisted you had no problem driving the four of you to the courthouse, the Stevensons insist on taking their own vehicle. “We having some shopping to do,” Mr. Stevenson explains, “And you won’t want to hang two old folks just after getting married! It’s the time to be young and in love.”

You can’t convince them to join you in Travis’s truck no matter how hard you try. The two of you eventually let them have their way and wave as you back out of the driveway with them to follow you shortly. The drive is quiet, like so many other moments this morning, and the closer the clock gets to your appointment time, the antsier you get. You just want to get it over with and finally be married to Travis. 

“Babe, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floorboard from bouncing your foot so much,” Travis laughs. His hand leaves the steering wheel to rest just above your knee, effectively stopping your movement. 

“Just excited,” you say honestly. “And nervous.”

Travis’s thumb rubs comforting circles on your bare skin as he speaks. “Me too. But I know that no matter what everything will be perfect because I love you and you love me and that’s all that matters.”

Before you know it you’re pulling into a parking spot and waiting for your witnesses to arrive. They must have got caught at a red light because they join you a few minutes later. There’s still a bit of time until you’re set to face the judge, but the four of you head inside anyways. Your fingers are laced tightly with Travis’s and you practically cling to him but no one says anything. After alerting reception to your presence you pace the hallway outside the courtroom. 

Nothing about this is traditional, but Dottie still ushers you away from your husband-to-be in order to give you a little pep talk. As you’re being ushered around the corner you see Mr. Stevenson doing something similar with Travis. 

“Don’t worry about him dear, Richard will make sure he doesn’t flee. Though I know he’d never think about it,” she says. “He’s good for you, and you’re good for him.”

You smile at her statement. The two of you really are meant for each other. Dottie talks a bit more, hyping you up and giving you some advice for married life. You rejoin the boys just before the group is called. 

“The Konecnys? Judge Holloway is ready for you.” 

Butterflies flutter in your stomach upon hearing the name that will be yours in a matter of minutes. You all follow the official into the chamber and wait for further instruction. 

“I do believe congratulations are in order,” the judge says. Applause comes from the Stevensons, and you press your face into Travis’s shoulder, embarrassed. “I’m Judge Holloway, and I’ll be performing the ceremony today. Before we get started, are there any objections?”

Both you and Travis shake your head. “No,” you enunciate in unison. 

“Perfect. I just need the marriage license and then we’ll be good to go.”

Travis hands the official document over, and the judge does some preliminary signing to make the aftermath a bit easier. While you wait you can’t stop smiling at Travis – not that you’d rather be doing anything else. Since this is a justice of the peace ceremony no religious elements are included, which you’re thankful for. Neither you nor Travis had time to write your own vows but had agreed to share them privately at a later date. Everything happening in the present was strictly legal and made the process quite speedy. 

“Alright, now that the technicalities are out of the way we can get to the fun stuff.”

The comment makes you laugh. Though hearing the legalities of marriage was slightly mind-numbing, you’d call everything that’s happened so far fun. Perhaps that’s only because you’re the one getting married. 

“Y/N,” the judge says. “Do you accept Travis as your lawfully wedded spouse?”

“I do.” You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life.

Then it’s Travis’s turn, and he’s spitting the words out before the officiant can finish the sentence. “I do.”

Laughter bounces off the walls at his eagerness. You shake your head and remember to tease him about it later. He just shoots you a wink.

Judge Holloway looks into your small crowd. “I imagine one of you has the rings?”

Travis fishes around in his pocket and pulls out the drawstring back they’re being held in. The judge nods in approval. “Place the ring on the third finger of your partner’s left hand and repeat after me. This ring signifies my devotion to you, and shall serve as a reminder that I will cherish you forever.”

Both of you repeat the words, and both tear up when placing the rings. They flow freely down your cheeks, and Travis wipes them away with his thumb. 

“I think I know what comes next,” he whispers to you. 

Taking the opportunity to tease him a little bit, you nudge his shoulder. “Oh yeah? Think you’ve had enough practice?”

“Guess we’ll just have to find out.”

You turn your attention back to the judge, who speaks once again. “By the power vested in me by the Marriage Act, I do hereby pronounce Travis and Y/N to be married.” 

Once again, applause rings out, and you can’t help but giggle against Travis’s lips as he pulls you in for a kiss to ‘seal the deal’. It’s earth-shattering, your first kiss as husband and wife, and you can’t help but deepen it by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him even closer. When you break apart neither of you can stop smiling. 

Your party signs along the dotted line of the marriage certificate and you accept the well wishes of the judge before exiting the room. In the hallway the Stevensons envelope you both in a giant hug. “Thank you both for being here,” you say, voice watery. You haven’t stopped crying since you got to sign your last name as Konecny for the first time. 

“We’re incredibly honoured you chose us,” Dottie exclaims, grasping your hands to let you know just how much it meant to her. Her husband nods in agreeance, and you say your goodbyes, promising to have them over for dinner in a few days. You watch their figures retreat out the courthouse doors, and then you’re alone with Travis. 

He looks ethereal – the post wedding glow is something you know won’t go away any time soon. Though the whole thing was quite unconventional you wouldn’t change it for the world. Something about it is so distinctly you and Travis: the spontaneity of it all, how it happened on your own accord. You know you’ll receive an earful when you call your families to let them know of the change, but you don’t care. At no time will you ever be as happy as you are now. 

Your fingers find his for possibly the hundredth time today but neither of you complain, so in love with each other you’re sure if any of his teammates were here Travis would be getting chirped into oblivion. 

“What do you say Konecny? Want to get out of here?” he asks, punctuating the end of his statement with a kiss to the tip of your nose. 

You’ve never heard him have a better suggestion. “Lead the way lover boy.”

 ❥❥❥

taglist: @jamiedrysdales​ @kiedhara​ @tortito​ @brokeninsidebutnobodyknows​ if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

[official-hawknose]

The three heads of Bayouclan, Badgerstar, Wrenflight and Stormsight. dont mind my handwriting getting worse over time.

Bayouclan is mostly composed of long-legged cats with short fur, they wade in water a lot due to the territory. They’re positioned beside Orchardclan, and their territory is mostly water, with patches of mostly-wet land in between.

Their camp is one of the highest points of their territory, and possibly one of the most exposed camps in the clans. Their nests and dens are built to float on water. Their main prey is fish, frogs, and the occasional water snake, ducks and other smaller waterfowl and on occasion, voles and mice. They compete for prey with herons, other snakes, birds and snapping turtles. Notably, snapping turtles and cotton mouths are their biggest threats in their territory, though there are some rumors that the furthest edge of their territory has alligators in it, no cat has ever confirmed it, but they do hear strange bellowing at odd hours.

Badgerstar is the leader of Bayouclan. She’s.. Well, her. She’s the shortest of the clan, and no one expected her to be Goosestar’s first choice, let alone ANY choice. She’s quick to anger, but generally is level headed and cool. She puts her clan above all else, and after Bayleap’s death, she’s devoted herself to ensuring every cat know’s the quickest routes to Stormsight or Dodgepaw, and every cat is taught how to see any snake and identify it before getting too close. She’s very well loved in Bayouclan, though, and had worked for moons to better their hunting patrols and navigation. She doesn’t leave camp much anymore, but she does go out on her own regardless. She’s a devoted leader, and doesn’t budge much on her choices, but respects her clan’s input and tries to listen to all of them when she can. Badgerstar was chosen as deputy and it was a very surprising choice to everyone in the clans, but Goosestar had a lot of pride in her and was eager to see what she’d do as leader. He chose her just moons before passing away of old age, and for the first few moons of her leadership, some cats still said he was senile and thats why he chose her. In the end, Goosestar was senile, but he loved her like his own, and knew she’d do good by the clan, even before he was up there in years.

Stormsight, the Herbalist of Bayouclan, was a Warrior for most of his life. At the end of the previous Herbalist’s life, Stormsight started having eye troubles, and due to that he’s almost completely blind. He initially stayed as a warrior, but after reluctantly realizing it was too risky for his own health to navigate the waters without a companion, he became an Herbalist apprentice. He enjoyed it, though, and secretly wanted to be one from the jump. His profession switch wasn’t taken the best, some cats thought he’d been pressured into it, but he’s an excellent Herbalist and enjoys his job deeply, though he’s rather cold and brisk with his patients. The Herbalists sleep and mostly live outside of camp, on a dryer patch of ground thats higher up than camp is. They store their herbs in a tree there, though the tree changes each season with Badgerstar, Wrenflight, senior warriors and sometimes the elders judging the sturdiest tree each season, to let the previous one rest. The herbs are dried and stored in leaf bundles in the knots and curls in the branches, and the sick or injured cats stay at the base of the tree primarily.

Wrenflight is the deputy of Bayouclan! He’s... very distant. He primarily does as needed, schedules patrols and hunting parties each morning, and stays to himself otherwise. Talking to him outside of his duties tends to be like talking to a wall, until you bring up his sister in law and her kits. Wrenflight and Bayleap were littermates, and grew up close. When Bayleap died, Wrenflight receded more from just an awkward warrior, to a shut-in half the time. But he adores Elmshadow deeply, and her two kits are the lights of his life. He tries to be present at every given moment of the day, since Bayleap is gone. Wrenflight is a highly spiritual cat, and tries to honor Bayleap any way he can. He hopes that if he ever does become leader after Badgerstar dies, that Bayleap will give him a life.

[saphirered]

Betrothal

This is part two of a request because part one already was already too long. I cut this one down too but didn’t want to turn it into a three-parter for one request 😅 but that does mean this is also a long one. Anyway. Enjoy! 

Time for another social event. There’s been way too many already in your opinion and you don’t think you’d be able to smile through another one. Lucky for you Essek shares this sentiment. Nevertheless you were expected so you’ have to attend, so attend you will. 

Ready to depart you walk down the stairs, fingers drifting over the handrail as you go. The hem of your fine garments of pristine white and silver trail a step or two behind you as you go. Appropriate jewellery of diamond encrusted platinum adorns your neck, fingers and ears like pure starlight. Already waiting at the door you see Essek, a similar style of attire shifts in the purple and night blue colour schemes, something you’ve grown more accustomed to the more time you’ve spent with him. It suits him. 

“You are quite the visage, dear.” You put a sarcastic emphasis on the pet name, something both of you have taken to when out of earshot. Ever since the arrangement between just the two of you gleeful sarcasm has replaced the belittling resentment. As you stated before, you’re much better off actually coexisting than you are making each other’s lives miserable. 

“And even the brightest stars pale in comparison to you, beloved.” The compliment is genuine but with a highly exaggerated lovesick undertone in reply to your comment. You lift your hand to your forehead and bat your eyes in a ‘I might swoon’ gesture before the both of you break and chuckle. 

“If we were actually lovers I might have to worry I’ll have to fend off the many suitors attempting to take my place.” You swat at Essek’s arm with a grin.

“I doubt I have any suitors left wishing to take your place. They are entirely afraid you’ll turn them into frogs or perhaps float them into the skies never to be seen again if they even dare to vie for my attention.” You laugh as Essek offers you his arm. You take it lacing it through his, another thing having become second nature in the past few months.

“Only if you’d ask me to would I resort to such measures. Ready to travel in style?” The comment and seriousness behind it is enough to raise your eyebrow in a ‘really?’ response but he doesn’t dignify you with an answer instead waiting for you to answer his question. 

If you’ve learned anything from the negotiations you’ve had, Essek doesn’t just give anything for free, especially not his precious time, so to say he’d go out of his way and use his precious resources without a second thought simply because you’d ask him is… new… Even more so without expecting anything in return. No favour for a favour? Odd…

“Always.” You put on your smile and in an instance the two of you are warped through space, appearing in the foyer of your hosts for the evening. Gotta love magic. 

Immediately you’re approached by the hosts, excusing themselves from whatever guests below your stations they were previously engaging with. Essek lets you take the lead and do most of the talking. He seems a bit more reversed than usual but you simply brush it off as boredom. Something is up with him and you’ll be damned if you don’t get to the bottom of it, you’d simply have to! What if he falls through and does something that could reflect badly on the both of you? That’s a proper reason to do so, right? 

The night continues but you’re not given any opportunities to excuse yourself and Essek just yet. Every time you’re interrupted by someone wanting a word with either or both of you. Topics mostly revolve around your respective work, political topics but some particularly daring people carefully try to navigate your conversation to more private matters looking for the latest gossip.

After the public announcement of your courtship, when can they expect a formal engagement or have you gotten engaged informally already? Any wedding plans on the table? If you decide to raise children which one of you will stay at the Bright Queen’s side or will you both keep your places at the Bastion? Is the Shadowhand much of a romantic despite his cold exterior? If it comes to the engagement, will you ask him or he you and have you got anything planned yet? How was your first kiss? Was it romantic fireworks and all or have you learned to love each other? 

Each and every time when you didn’t want to fabricate an answer, you made it up as you went with such conviction that some of your answers made even Essek think twice if some of these events had really transpired or not. Whenever you’d ask him for his input or suggest him saying something he did but his replies had to be pulled out of him or he’d stay in his own world unless directly asked. What in the world is going on with him? 

Yet again not being able to get a single step closer to a word in private with Essek you’d given up and decided to leave the matter until you returned home. Home. No matter how many times you say it it still feels weird. You’d never truly considered any place home, just a place you resided and could leave behind in an instance. 

You’d come to realise the towers had begun to feel like home and you’d have a much bigger struggle leaving behind the books, the studies, the meals not spent eating alone, the room with the fireplace you’d spent going over your shared paperwork with to cut down your workload and have the evenings free, those evenings spent in absolutely roasting some of your fellow court members, or discussing what rumours might have some truth and you could use to your advantages in the future… You’d miss that place if you’d go back to living elsewhere. There’s something else but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Nevermind. You’ll figure it out if it’s important. 

“Excuse me. May I have this dance?” A daring drow you recognise to be from one of the other dens approaches you and Essek. You’re about to brush him off and let the man down gently but before you can Essek interjects. 

“Please, do not feel obligated to keep me company. I can entertain myself for a moment, darling.” Essek’s not much of a dancer and never had been. You enjoy it every so often but don’t necessarily jump at every opportunity you get. You take the offered hand of the drow.

“You may.” You tell him. While you’re guided to the dance floor you give Essek a confused look. You don’t get any kind of response from him as he continues the conversation you’d been having prior to the interruption. Other pairs join in and a new song begins to play. Nothing too fancy to particularly intimate. A simple nice waltz you’d be able to execute perfectly eyes closed. Blessed be the life of a noble-born schooled in any and all social graces from a young age. 

Your dance partner is a good dancer but by the light is he a dull conversationalist. You’re dying on the inside. One moment he’s boasting about his accomplishments within his den, the next he’s asking your professional opinions on political matters and how you’d navigate them, the next your opinion is insignificant because he knows exactly what he’d do and why it would work. Before you know it he’s asking if there’ll be any spots on the Bright Queen’s side opening up in the future because he thinks he might make a good candidate… 

But you let him talk and smile through it until you feel gracious enough to rip him to shreds instead of letting him be laughed off by the inner circle. Gently you correct every statement he’s made, with examples of the past and what happened to the poor fools that tried. You’re not brutal about it, and bring it in the nicest way possible no matter how much you might want to tear him down and face this idiot with the facts. Then you suggest perhaps he’d want to try smaller scale things first, maybe more locally to see if he has a taste for it. 

Of course your charm works. Of course it did. Much to your dismay this ‘act of kindness’ made the poor drow more interested in you than he’d already been. You were schooling him like you would a child for the Light’s sake! You brush off any and all attempts of charming you and getting into your good graces but apparently this thickheaded idiot doesn’t catch on. Maybe he should stay away from politics entirely if he can’t even get a hint. Luckily the dance it about to end.

“Perhaps we could go for a walk later this week? Or maybe a lunch if you’d prefer?” The fool smiles suggestion clear. You want to roll your eyes so hard but refrain. 

“My apologies. I’m occupied this week.” 

“Another time then?” 

“I’ll have to check my schedule. I’ll get back to you on that.” The waltz ends, you curtsy. Some couples leave the dance floor, others join to replace them. You’ll have to be quick. You look around the room. Essek where are you? You don’t see him. 

“Excuse me. I believe the Shadowhand is waiting for me.” You give the fool an apologetic smile and rush off before he can do or say anything else to keep you on the dance floor. Much to your dismay you’re whisked away by another drow from a lesser den as you’re unable to reach the outskirts before the next song starts. It’s inappropriate to leave a partner standing on the floor in the middle of a dance so you’ll have to go through yet another routine. 

You thought the former one was a dull conversationalist. This one’s worse. So. Much. Worse. You can’t wait for this to end. Essek would probably find it entirely hilarious once you tell him how much you’d prefer a quiet dance partner, or at the very least one that can feign an intellectual conversation without breaking the illusion in under a minute. Even then, could they please stop trying to stroke their own egos in the hopes of getting your attention? 

Before your betrothal you only had to deal with advancements, people trying to win over your heart, or your hand in marriage, but now, they’re entirely after not only your favour but Essek’s as well, wishing to get into your good graces and climb the social ladder; be that through (attempted) smooth words, gifts or your beds. It’s a disgusting reality. Maybe if this engagement goes through between you and Essek you’ll have to ask him how he feels about displaying a monogamous relationship for the public just to keep these people away from you and by default him? He wouldn’t be opposed to keep romantic and sexual advancements far away from him now would he? 

Eventually you struggle your away from the dance floor making excuses as you go and find a calm and quiet place. You had to approach the host coming up with excuse you weren’t feeling well and needed a moment away from people. The host understanding and wishing to please you, offered you access to one of the private sitting rooms upstairs where the guests aren’t allowed to go. It’d be calm and quiet and you’d be able to have some fresh air on the balcony too. 

This moment of peace and quiet gave you a chance to think over some things, mainly Essek’s behaviour of the night because don’t think you’d forgotten about that one nor were you going to just let that slide. Any and all theories you came up with in the next several minutes made no sense and held no reasonable credibility. You’re at a loss. 

To play people’s emotions you’d need to have an understanding of them but what do you do when you can’t place those emotions or explain the reasoning behind them? It’s easy when someone disagrees with you. How passionate are they about the subject and how willing to defend it? It’s easy to draw out anger from that, or frustration, more passion, and even pity. That’s child’s play. It makes sense. Essek does not currently. 

“Okay. You got this. Set things straight. You can figure this out. Take a step back and analyse.” You say to yourself sitting down on the plush couch, elbows on your knees and head leaning on your clasped hands. After going over every explanation you came to the most reasonable conclusion. 

Essek’s internalising his problems. There’s no one he feels he can confide in. For some reason he’s realised only tonight he’s distancing himself from you. If it’s selfishness it’s because he thinks you might be able to use it against him. This goes against his need for self-preservation. If it’s because it’s something he’s committed to whatever it is, he’s limiting the people involved because of the need of secrecy be that witnesses or possibly collateral damage. 

“But that’s not it is it?” You groan frustrated. There’s a knock on the door so you quickly recompose yourself; hands clasped on your lap, back straightened and welcoming smile back on. The door opens and you see the familiar floating drow enter. 

“I was informed you were feeling unwell?” Essek asks more than says giving you a once over and coming to the conclusion nothing ails you physically. Dropping your facade you take a deep sigh reflecting your current mood but not reasoning. He steps inside and closes the door behind him giving the two of you the chance to speak freely. 

“I take it your dance was not to your liking?” There’s a hint of humour in his voice as you throw yourself against the couch looking at the ceiling with an audible groan. From your slanted position forgoing any and all social graces you were taught. If anyone else could see you now you might be in trouble but it was only Essek and you’ve seen him in similar states. 

“I might take you up on your offer to tap into the sacred arts of Dunamis to get rid of some of these fools. I don’t think I’ve ever met people more dull and lacking of refine and intelligence. One could find more brains in a gelatinous cube. ” You adjust your seating arrangement and pat the spot beside you inviting Essek to sit down but he stays where he is. 

“I’ll make sure to order some new expeditions to the Barbed Fields. While they may make for poor company the rocs might just find them a decent if not bland meal.” While the offer is made with jest you can’t help but hear a tinge of sincerity in it. What’s going on? Were the people you danced with someone Essek’s been at odds with? If so why did he suggest you go dance with them in the first place? That doesn’t add up… But you’re not going to find out more without him talking. Keep him talking until he slips up or until your run out of words and face him with your questions directly. 

“Or maybe being surrounded by someone praised for intelligence and refine just dulls everything in comparison. You’ve truly ruined me Shadowhand.” You laugh and again pat the empty spot on the couch. This time seeing your insistence and lack of intent to leave this room any time soon, Essek sits down, a bit more distance that usual between the two of you. 

You give Essek a once over getting some insight in his behaviour. He’d be aware you’re doing so so you don’t even attempt to hide it, if anything you make it obvious to push for a response. You tilt your head to the side as you lean it on your curled fingers in tough. He’s more rigid than usual. That’s uncomfortable or anxious. It’s looking closer to both now. Essek is staring back at you but his gaze is not focused on you, but whatever reaches his vision as a whole. Avoidance. He mutters something under his breath but you can’t make out the words. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Nevermind. Will you be coming back down or would you prefer we go back to the towers?” ‘The towers’? He’s never referred to them as this in this context. It’s always just been ‘home’. It is his home so why cease to refer to it as such because you’re in that context. 

“What time is it?” Essek gives you the time and you let yourself sink back into the couch once more. Why must the universe be so cruel? 

“Still another half an hour before it would be acceptable to leave.” You look around the room. It’s a higher end sitting room definitely decorated to receive more important guests. The candles are lit with an arcane flame so it was set up to possibly receive guests. The view from the balcony or close to the windows allows the people outside to see silhouettes when the fine iridescent drapes when drawn, or reveal when opened as they are now. While muffled if the room is quiet you can still hear the music and chattering from the ground floor. 

You push Essek to talk about what he’d been up to when you were dancing but his answers are right to the point, just barely detailed enough if not a bit absentminded. His behaviour shifts throughout from neutral to cold to the way he’s been around you since you both had come to terms with your arrangement, almost as if he’s preoccupied and trying to multitask equally difficult tasks. He doesn’t allow the conversation to flow naturally. Every time he’s answered he wouldn’t elaborate or carry the conversation. If you didn’t ask any other questions or give your input you doubt there would be any back and forth between the two of you. 

Deciding you’ve had enough and this wouldn’t give you much more answers you were looking for, you give up. You turn your body to face him, look at him directly suspicious and watching his every move. You press your lips together and squint.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on or am I going to have to pry it out of you?” While there’s some worry in your voice, because you do worry, it is still a threat. You won’t let go unless he explains himself or has a damn good reason not to. 

“I assure you, it’s inconsequential. You have nothing to worry about.” Essek forces a smile. Inconsequential? To you? Because definitely not to him!

“With your attitude? I think I do. There’s two reasons why I you refuse to tell me. One, it’s secretive and possibly dangerous therefor limiting the amount of people you want involved in fear of hurting them or you getting hurt because of their opinions. Two, I’m directly involved or to blame for whatever is going on and you’re pushing me away to avoid conflict.” A sense of dread washes over Essek, you notice. Biting his tongue he holds back whatever comment he had. 

“It’s nothing you need concern yourself with. I can deal with this on my own.” Okay so confirmation first suggestion is out of the running. This had to do with you. 

“Essek, Light be with me, if this involves me please just tell me. I swear if this is how you’re going to be I need to teach you some proper communication skills or I fear for our future.” You watch him closely and there’s a hint of shame peaking through as well as guilt. 

“Would it hurt you so much to trust me?” Before Essek’s given the chance to answer there’s a knock on the door and the handle begins to turn signalling someone is entering. Thinking quickly you clench your teeth at the interruption, scoot to Essek’s side of the couch and lean your head against his shoulder, a pained frown on your face and eyes closed entwining your fingers. Essek, freezes for a second at the sudden contact but recovers quickly and joins in the act wrapping an arm around you to massage at your shoulder and neck. 

“Apologies for the intrusion. The master of the house asked me to check up to see if you needed any assistance.” The head servant peaks in and peaking from under your lashes you can see she almost melts at the sight she sees; a loving drow comforting his unwell partner. 

“Thank the master of the house for his concern and kindness but we’re alright. Will you be fine to rejoin the festivities, beloved?” Essek asks you sounding every bit the part he’s expected to play while still pushing to avoid continuing your conversation before the interruption. 

“I think I may need a few more minutes I’m afraid.” You’re not done yet and won’t let Essek get away with it so easily as you feign a heavy migraine. The head servant excuses herself and leaves closing the door once more. Essek stops massaging your shoulder expecting or rather hoping you’d remove yourself from him. You don’t and sit up just enough to be face to face with him. You have a stare down with him until he relents. 

“Fine. It is not a matter of trust.” Blunt and short. You squeeze his hand tightly narrowing your eyes not satisfied with the answer. Essek will have to do better and he knows it. 

“I’ve simply come to some conclusion I do not wish to share with you.” Okay, that’s not that bad. If that’s it, you might let it go. If he has things to sort out on his own, you’re not going to stand in the way of that. 

“And these conclusions you’ve come to have to do with me?” It’s more a statement than a question but Essek still nods not meeting your eye and instead focusing on your entwined fingers. You place a hand on his cheek lifting his face until he’s forced to look you in the eye. 

“You’ve come to me with your concerns before just like I have to you. Even when they have to do with me, know you still can. I won’t think any less of you nor will I be offended as long as you’re honest.” You’re about to pull away from your position to allow Essek some space but when you do it hits… You remove yourself from Essek’s side and hide your face in your hands. You could punch yourself right now. 

“Remind me to never claim I’m the cleverer one out of the two of us.” You groan muffled by your hands as you look back up with a frustrated exhaustion. How could you not have noticed? Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. You should have caught on but no, you were so occupied on keeping an act going you lost sight of it. And then in your little thinking process, you analysed Essek the Shadowhand, not Essek, your friend and partner. 

“So you figured it out.” Essek breaths a weight lifted from his shoulders hides the slight deflation and is that disappointment? 

“Not to be rude but after spending this much time with you, you’re not exactly a good actor.” 

“But you are and have been an exceptional actor. You could even have fooled me should you have chosen to.” A compliment with a hidden dig at himself. Is he… blaming himself for growing attached to you? That’s just terrible. 

“I could have and that would certainly explain my every action in public portraying the perfect loving couple. However, that doesn’t explain literally every interaction outside of social environments.” You can’t believe you weren’t aware of your own shift in behaviour. Before your betrothal you might have had an interest in Essek. If it weren’t for your own career you might have taken a shot prior to everything given the chance but attraction is not love.

Your betrothal, forced on you by your families closed both of you off because you’re both people that want to be in control of a situation and make your own choices. That’s why you’d been less than friendly with each other. You try to pinpoint when exactly it might have started. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t realise I had feelings for you. This is stupid.” You’re exasperated with yourself but Essek covering up shock catches you off-guard. 

“Don’t tell me you think this is all one sided. We’re both to blame for turning our lives into some cliche love story when we said we wouldn’t.” Essek looks on in shame hoping to neither confirm nor deny anything but you know him better than that. His silence gives him away. 

“You are a very convincing actor.” He defends blandly. “Are you sure you’re not still playing?” Essek adds as a joke upon seeing you roll your eyes. Your embarrassment and frustration with this whole revelation gives you a mote of courage and since this day couldn’t get any worse, you’ll take your chances. 

You move over right next to Essek sitting as close to him as you possibly can without climbing on top of him and grab his chin. Slightly confused thinking you’re about to retort his remark, Essek awaits his verdict. You bit the inside of your cheek in a last attempt to tell yourself this is a terrible idea but your mind is just blank. 

“I don’t know, my dear. Would a true love’s kiss reveal the truth?” You speak in a singsong manner that would make the bard’s colleges cringe making sure you sounded like the worst actor possible. Essek takes a hot second to figure out your words before it dawns on him what you’re asking. Do you really have to spell it out for him?

“Is it reasonable to say one may only be able to make up their mind through trial?” With that you pull Essek towards you allowing your hand to slide to his cheek. Making eye contact one final moment to make sure he’s alright with it, no hesitation is visible so you press your lips to his in a simple kiss. Essek’s hands find your hips and waist. 

You pull away awaiting his response if any. The kiss is entirely too short, in Essek’s opinion but you’re just being mindful of his boundaries not sure where this will lead and if the public displays of affection are something you’d both be comfortable with in this new context. Essek looks at you thoughtfully so you raise an eyebrow; a nonverbal tell to elaborate. 

“I think, I may need more examples to make sure you’re not just playing me.” You gasp feigning offence at his joke. Next you lean in close, hair’s breath away from kissing Essek.

“Luckily I have many more kisses to give you should you want them.” Essek leans in but you pull away just before your lips actually touch getting up from the couch and heading for the door; smile on your face. He takes a second and heads after you stepping between you and your direct path of the door but you could still easily walk around him should you wish to do so.

“Am I to understand you’ll remain a tease regardless of our involvement, beloved?” He empathises ‘beloved’ with the same sarcasm as ever. That might just have to be a habit you’ll never lose. You can certainly get used to it. 

“Did I give you any reason to expect differently. If you desire a kiss you may take it.” You blow Essek a kiss but are surprised he steps closer to you and makes eye contact giving you a chance to deny him.

“So he does find his courage.” You grin Essek’s lips meet yours in a deep if not slightly hesitant kiss. The hesitation fades quickly but the kiss doesn’t end as quickly as yours. Not that you mind. A habit you could get used to. Very used to but never tire of.

[soulwillower]

crush culture • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: fic where Richie and reader have been best friends since kindergarten, and have always had feelings for eachother secretly, until one day richie gets a girlfriend (just to take his mind off her), and the reader gets jealous and distances herself from him? he obviously gets upset by this- and things go on from there? sorry if it’s too specific! love u!

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of death, fighting, mentions of an abusive relationship, intentionally pissing off richie, a bit of angst, richie is an oblivious idiot, but reader is MUCH more of an idiot, like dude lmao, but i think that’s it, unedited tho

this isn’t rly based off crush culture, but i took the title from conan gray’s song :)  

[losers + reader are 18+ in this!!!]

3.8k words L O L :))

♡

you swear to god, you’re getting sick. that’s what this was, for sure.

it started about a month ago, when you started to get headaches and terrible hollow feelings in your stomach. it happened everywhere - in the line for coffee, in class, driving home from school, at the dinner table. but it got a hundred times worse at night and then seemed to triple in force every morning when you woke.

and it all came at you some time after richie announced he had a new girlfriend.

you were really sick the few days after that, enough that you stayed home from school and laid in bed, the pit in your stomach sinking. it didnt take long for you to realize how bad richie’s girlfriend was - she treated him like a dog, like he embarrassed her - and he didn’t even seem to mind. he just brushed off every offhand comment, rolled his eyes with a grin when she told him she didn’t want to see his friends or when she told him to stop talking. 

he still seemed to like her, anyways. and that thought made your stomach convulse.

so then you had to distance yourself from richie because it hurt you to see him with her. it hurt you to see him with someone who didn’t treat him like the incredible person he was. 

so yeah.

you say you’re sick, but you know that’s not really true. it’s easier than accepting reality at this point, though, so you spew this nonsense (to yourself, mostly) in order to justify ignoring your best friend of nearly a decade because christ, he is becoming unbearable.

like the other day, at lunch while you were all sitting in the courtyard. it was your first time eating with them again after almost a week and a half, as you’d been eating alone in your car recently to avoid richie. “rich, why’d you take off the nail polish?” bev asked, out of the blue, sounding disappointed as she grabbed his free hand and examined it.

he blew smoke out of his mouth slowly and you had forced yourself to look away, the sight of richie doing nearly anything these days being pretty dangerous for you. it also made you sigh a bit - you knew he only smoked at lunch now, since his girlfriend hated it.

“don’t want my paws to be prettier than y/n’s when we hold hands.” he had joked, wagging an eyebrow at you. you’d shook your head and looked to the ground in lew of a real response, just as you had been doing a lot recently.

you'd missed richie’s frown at your reaction, but you did catch his next statement as it was added on, “nah, actually it’s because the ol’ G-F didn’t like it. thought it looked too girly.”

you, stan, bev, and mike all stopped chewing to look at richie, in varying stages of bewilderment. you'd cleared your throat quickly but decided against speaking up just as richie’s phone started to ring. he’d answered it nearly immediately, the enthusiasm of which made you feel like you’re going to be sick again - because richie never answers your calls until the last possible minute.

god, jealousy is a fucking disease.

“hey, sugar.” he had purred suavely into the phone and for some reason, hearing him call someone else sugar had you abruptly rising, gathering your things and nearly running off to put as much distance between you and four-eyes as you possibly could, because you’re not sure how much more you could take.

after that, you were absolutely sure it was just pure denial on your part.

as far as you could tell, richie wasn't noticing too much. he still phoned your house every day, just to be met with your mother telling him you 'weren't available,' and then he'd call your own phone, which you'd let buzz itself into a dark hole on your bedside table while you stared at it solemnly, guilt heavy on your mind as he left voicemail after voicemail. 

he doesn't deserve it, you think as you open the doors to the school library, backpack on your shoulders. but you can't help it. you're not his girlfriend, and you're not mature enough to accept that with any ounce of elegance so instead you just ignore him all together. at least you're self-aware, right? that ought to count for something.

you shake your head just as a voice catches your attention, “well look who decided to show up!”

richie's sitting at the usual study table in the very back corner of the library, a spot tucked away by rows upon rows of dusty books and an alcove of couches. bill sits at the head of the table, scribbling his chicken scratch handwriting onto graph paper, mike next to richie with a textbook spread out flat. across from mike is stan, writing out his statistics work. 

all three of them wave at you before going back to their work, whereas richie just watches you expectantly. his feet are kicked up on the table, textbook balanced on his lap as he hovers on two leg chairs. his smile is as blinding as always, a dimple faint on his left cheek and full eyebrows raised in jest. his curls frame his face perfectly and you want to scream.

but you take your seat next to stan with a tight lipped smile, not really sure how to respond to richie. are you even allowed to be flirty with him like you used to? he still does it on the rare occasions when you do see each other - but that itself is the issue, you figure. his flirting is just a joke, a tiff from one friend to another. but you can't see him as just a friend, and that’s unfair to him.

so you stay quiet, which makes it infinitely more awkward.

richie clears his throat and you pull out your work with an awkward expression, the minutes slowly churning by in what has to be the quietest hangout with the Losers yet.

you feel the tension building in your body and in the air, and you're not sure what's wrong with you or why you have so much resentment towards richie in this moment, because he's not done one single thing to offend anyone in the last ten minutes.

then richie's phone rings suddenly and mike jumps a bit as he's startled out of the passage he's reading. you all look down to richie's screen, where his girlfriend's name blares up at you and all you can feel is white hot jealousy coursing through your body.

richie looks half way exhausted and annoyed at the call, which you find extremely odd and out of character, not to mention persistently frustrating.

as you all stare at the phone, the tension in the room stretches tighter and tighter, like a rubber band and you can't breathe -

"uh, why is she calling you?" mike asks, as if this was something that was forbidden or shocking in any way, and for some reason, that is finally it.

the rubber band snaps.

"how could you forget, mike? they're in love!" you say with mock enthusiasm. 

bill shoots you an alarmed look that you probably should read into or at least consider for a moment, but instead you're looking directly at richie, as if challenging him.

he blinks at you and clenches his jaw, "she and i haven't really been... talking recently." richie says lightly, shooting a glance to mike.

“well then maybe you’re just not right for each other.” you quip, the blood boiling in your veins. richie's eyes snap to you and you see the fire behind them as he suddenly breaks.

“sorry, did i miss the divine intervention when god floated down on a cloud of marshmallows and deemed you expert in relationships?” he says abruptly, making your eyes widen at his outburst. he continues, “because last time i checked, you’re a bit of a failure in that department. so i don't need some jealous, disappearing-act wannabe criticizing my life when she's barely even in it.” he seethes. it’s near quiet in the library anyways, but his words seem to silence the entire town.

with a quick glance to your right, stan and bill sharing an uncomfortable look, and mike is staring down intently at his work with wide eyes.

you want to die.

does richie know? has he known this whole time that you're just deeply, painfully head over heels for him? 

"i'm so sick of your bullshit. maybe you're jealous because you want what i had, but you’re being really fucking rude."

you nearly cry. or scream.

“criticism doesnt equal jealousy, okay?” you spit without thinking, immediately regretting even opening your mouth. you're so intent on covering for yourself, you don't even take into account the phrasing he'd used when referring to his girlfriend, instead fighting with richie in order to keep your secret from him.  

this is not how you’d intended today to go. he stares at you, eyebrows furrowed in a way that almost makes you keel over in sadness, the guilt of the situation falling too heavily on your shoulders and crushing you.

it’s tranquilizing to see him like this -  he's fuming, but he's also got bright, glistening eyes which you think may be filling up with tears.

“i didn’t really ask for your input, though.” he mutters, cheeks reddening as tears definitely well in his eyes behind his lenses. “you can’t just ignore me at your every whim just to come right back and tell me what's good for me.”

you blink, shaking your head quickly, deciding to back off. now is not the time to fight, especially when you know he’s right. you had no idea it was hurting him like this. "richie, i... i just wanted-" you gape at him, extremely embarrassed.

“-i don’t fucking care what you wanted, y/n.” richie says sharply, causing you to shut your mouth so quick your jaw clicks in the silence. clearly, even the other boys are perturbed by richie’s actions and everyone’s staring down in silence at their homework.

it’s quiet like that for a few minutes, the tension so thick that you’d need a jackhammer just to chip away at it. but stan rummages through his bag suddenly, pulling out two painkillers and dry swallowing them. you don't look at anyone else, your stomach hollow and your heart thumping so hard in your chest you think you may explode.

"d-do you have a headache?" bill asks, looking at stan with concern. the sudden voice causes you to perk up, head flowing with humiliation at the fight you and richie had just had in front of your friends.

“yeah, but it’s not that bad. i guess i’m used to it.” stan says, pen between his teeth.

“just because you’re used to something doesn’t make it any less unhealthy for you.” you say louder than necessary, your mouth suddenly deciding to speak without consulting your brain. 

the glare of pure frustration that richie throws you pierces your lungs and suddenly makes you feel lightheaded. 

your pettiness doesn’t go unresponsive, of course, and mike sighs into his hands, standing up to gather his things. "alright. i can't study when you two are like this. i'll see you guys later."

richie sighs quietly and bill and stan mumble good-bye's. the library goes back to quiet for maybe three more minutes, until you see stanley start to fidget like he usually does when he's anxious. and then you notice it after a few seconds, too.

richie won't stop tapping his foot on the desk.

for everyone's sake, you try to ignore it, because you know richie can't help his compulsions - especially when he's upset (which, your mind painfully reminds you, is all your fault).

but it's driving you crazy.

“-if you keep doing that i’ll throw you out that fucking window rich, i swear.” stan mutters not unkindly, his eyes rolling to meet richie with a concerned gaze as richie stares out the window.

you raise your eyebrows, “what’re you even looking at?” you ask, trying to mend a bit of the open, festering wound you’d created in you and richie’s friendship.

without looking at you, richie shrugs. “checking to see how high the drop is. may be worth it to have schnoz just toss me down. it would certainly do you a favor right? gettin ol’ trashmouth gone for good.”

what was he saying? you look at him, scandalized. stan and bill don’t even say anything about the offensive nickname as you gape at richie. "what the fuck?" is all your brilliant mind can think.

"what, you can dish it but you can't take it?" richie says sharply. he shakes his head, looking upset. "i'm tired of trying to be friends with a fucking brick wall."

then he's gathering his one notebook and swiftly exiting your alcove in the library in a wind of cigarettes and cologne. 

you blink, his words sinking in and making you sigh shakily. your stomach feels hollow as you remember the expression of glee on his face when you'd walked into the library, and how completely different and broken he'd looked as he'd left. you think you're going to cry.

“every minute that you don't follow him digs yourself deeper into this grave, you know.” stan says, giving you a stern but encouraging look.

you let out a shaky sigh and scramble to grab your bag, tripping over your feet as you run out of the library, flying down the staircase faster than you've ever gone and making it to your lifelong best friend just as he reaches his car in the parking lot.

"-a brick wall?" you ask, out of breath. you see richie hold back an eye roll, his arms crossing over each other as he serves you a look of discomposure.

he shrugs helplessly, looking as if he's at his wit's end.

"what do you want me to say, y/n? you've been avoiding me for weeks. i know i'm annoying and obnoxious and whatever, but i'm not blind." he says, making you swallow as guilt pangs through your chest. you have been so fucking selfish, haven't you?

it hurts to hear him say that about himself. 

he sniffles a bit, sounding choked up as he goes on, "i've had a rough couple of days - weeks, even. but every time i'm near, it's like you've had more than enough, and you just leave. am i that repulsive? why do you suddenly hate me?" he asks, looking desperate as his eyes rim red, filling with tears again.

“what did i do?” his voice cracks as he whispers the sentence and your heart breaks in two.

your own vision goes glassy as he continues, "-i've needed you, y/n/n. i'm lost, i'm seriously not okay and you just don't care at all."

you're stunned for a moment, mouth opening and closing silently as your mind races to rush something out, anything,because you aren't sure you can bear to see richie look at you like this for one more second. but your silence comes off wrong to richie, and tears slip out of his eyes.

“don’t you love me?” he asks, voice hoarse and cutting right through you, deeper than any knife ever could. "don't you want me to be happy?" he adds and you take a shaky breath, looking helplessly at him, where you're met with nothing but glassy eyes and tear trails. your heart is slamming in your chest, tears falling from your eyes and you can't breathe.

"a-are you?" you ask, trying to keep your tone even although it comes out just as vulnerable as you feel. “h-happy. with her?”

richie freezes at your words, mouth slightly open and you watch a single tear course over his high cheekbones and down to his bottom lip as it shakes faintly. you curse yourself for the longing to feel those very lips against yours.

"i was." he whispers, voice shaking as he rubs his face with his hand under his glasses, the moisture of his fallen tears clinging from his long dark lashes onto his slender, shaking fingers. "and then - and then i lost you. and y'know, i got my girlfriend so i could distract myself, but she made me feel like absolute shit all the time and so i went and broke up with her, but -" he hiccups through his tears and you blink, biting your lip as tears cascade down your cheek in wet trails.

they broke up?

he broke up with her, and he's going through this breakup and trying to better himself after she tore him down and you've just been ignoring him - he thinks you don't care about him, that you don't love him. you start to cry harder. 

"-i thought she'd distract me from you. i-i'm sorry." he says, his voice muffled by his hands as they cover up his angelic face, his shoulders shaking as more tears fall. "i'm so sorry."he repeats. 

you see double for a second, completely shocked by his words as the breath leaves your lungs. he tried to distract himself from you... and he’s so hurt because of what you did. 

but finally, for the first time this whole damn day, you find the right words. "i-no, richie, i'm sorry, please - fuck." you break, letting out a sob as you rub your eyes furiously in search of any relief from the guilt ripping you in two. "i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm so sorry, i can't believe i did this, i didn't want to hurt you, i'm just so selfish." you babble, his sniffles making you open your eyes.

he looks so alone and so vulnerable as he hugs his arms around himself in search of comfort, tears still falling from his bright eyes and down his rosy cheeks. 

he looks devastatingly beautiful in the golden sunlight of the afternoon, a breeze ruffling his curls lightly. "just please, i can't - i can't deal with you hating me. please, please, please."

he's pleading with you and you think you may be sick from the guilt and sadness that envelopes you, so you spring forward and wrap your arms tightly around him. the force of your body pushes him against the side of his car and the way he clings back to you like you're the last thing holding him to earth just makes you cry even harder.

"i don't hate you, richie. i love you, i love you too much." you say, your body shaking as he just holds you tighter against him. "i'm so sorry, i didn't mean any of it. you're right. i was just jealous... i'm so sorry. i was so jealous of her, i couldn't see you be with her." you mumble. "i'm so sorry."

richie pulls you back gently at your words, his eyes wide and wondering as you look at each other. "what?" he asks so innocently, his eyelashes wet and dark and his lips parted. 

you can count the freckles on his nose and cheeks, you're so close. you can feel his shuddering breath against your face as he huffs in a breath. your hands hold onto his shoulders and you decide to fuck it, you just have to tell him how sorry you are, to explain yourself.

"richie, i'm in love with you. and - and when you and her got together, it hurt so much, and i didn't want to deal with the fact that i couldn't have you, so i just ignored you. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry." you say it quickly and in one breath, looking down at your shoes and how they point straight towards his.

"you're in... love with me?" he says weakly, sounding hopeful as you finally look back into his eyes guiltily. 

you laugh wetly, "of course i am, richie. how could i not fall head over heels for everything about you?"

he tears up again at your words, but this time it's accompanied by a beautiful smile and a light, wet laugh. he shakes his head, his arms circling your waist tighter as he presses his forehead against yours. your butterflies tickle your stomach at your proximity.

"fuck, y/n. i can't believe i spend my time trying to get my mind off you." he says and your breath hitches a bit. "do you have any idea how long i've been in love with you?" he asks quietly, and you let out another small laugh out of shock, but it's wet and gleeful.

"i'm sorry." you whisper, your finger curling around a strand of the dark hair on his head. he shakes his head, your noses rubbing slightly. "it's okay, y/n. i love you so much. please let me forgive you." he says, pulling a smile out of you that you don't think anybody else ever could. you nod shortly, looking into his eyes as one last tear falls. 

he kisses you tenderly then, taking your breath away.

richie fills up your every sense as he clings to you desperately, his lips salty from your combined tears and his arms strong. his tongue is gentle as it runs along your lips and enters your parted mouth, one of his hands sliding up to tilt your head up towards him. you're breathless because of him for the millionth time in your life and you decide kissing richie is the only thing you want to do forever. 

you pull away slowly, and as you lean back he presses a chaste second kiss to your lips, causing you to grin. 

you barely make eye contact as you pull apart and then you greedily pull him back to you, his lips finding yours yet again with a sweet, loving laugh.

"i love you too, rich." you mumble against his lips. he sighs almost dreamily as you pull back, biting your lip and laughing when he opens the passenger door, gesturing to it with a shy grin.

"now can i please buy you a burger?" he asks, almost bashfully, and your heart does somersaults. you nod and kiss him again, his hand falling to the small of your back, palm wide and fingers lower than you'd expected. he pulls away and his grin is loving, his eyes hooded in pride as you caress his cheek softly before you slide into the car seat.

he holds your hand the whole night and refuses to let go until you slip through your front door at near midnight, blushes on both of your cheeks and lips kiss-bruised.

the butterflies you feel as you fall asleep with a grin on your face are the exact same ones richie feels as his head finally hits the pillow, a giddy smile on his own face as he smiles to himself in the dark halfway across town.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @simplesammyx@brxken-heartsclub @clownsloveyou @baby-yoda-a @moon-shine-baby  @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @finnskindofwoman @kait-tozier   @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s  @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters

[deejadabbles]

A Thousand Songs (Atem/Yami x Reader)

Chapter One: We Are Broken

One /// Two /// Three /// Four /// [Five Coming Soon]

Summary: You knew that you and your band could make it big. Not only that, but stay together while doing it; the five of you were family, after all. The only problem was that despite all your musical talents...none of you were particularly good at lyrics. After years of struggling to put out your first full album, the solution finally made himself know in chance meeting on an empty stage.

Rock Band AU, Atem x Reader, gender neutral reader.

A.N.  Woo look at me, starting a new series before I finish my current ones. Don't hate me I have the attention span of a squirrel! I know band AUs are pretty cheesy but I don't care, this idea has been floating in my head for awhile and it's super cute okay?? I was also going to wait to post this until all the chapters were done but I couldn't control myself anymore. These chapters will be much shorter than my usual length so hopefully that means I can update faster??? I won't make any promises but I'll try. Anywho, I hope you guys like fashionable, sensitive Atem because that's who'll be featured in this fic <3 The reader's gender is never mentioned but I will admit I tended to lean more towards songs sung by women in this, I don't really think that matters though (I have Atem sing songs originally sung by women so...). I really hope you guys like this series and I'll love to hear your thoughts <3 Also: @ohyema​ This is the series I told you about all that time ago lol

I am outside

And I've been waiting for the sun

With my wide eyes

I've seen worlds that don't belong

My mouth is dry

With words I cannot verbalize

Tell me why

We live like this

The crowd was small, as always, but it was enough. Anyone hearing your songs was enough for now, or so you told yourself week after week. You felt Yugi’s eyes on you as you leaned away from the mic, plucking the cords of your Stratocaster for the brief solo and you looked to your left to see him smiling at you; always the positive optimist, the sun that shone on you and the rest of the band.

You flashed him the briefest smile in return before turning back to the mic. If you closed your eyes, got lost in Anzu’s keys, Jou’s steady beats, and Honda’s strings, you could almost pretend you were playing in front of a packed venue. One full of fans solely there to hear music, and not just a dozen or so patrons who enjoyed the music as a backdrop to their late-night drinks.

Keep me safe inside

Your arms like towers

Tower over me

You could have sworn you heard another voice in the crowd join yours as the chorus came. Ah, so there was an actual fan in the crowd.

Cause we are broken

What must we do to restore

Our innocence

And all the promise we adored?

Give us life again

Cause we just wanna be whole

Your eyes fluttered back open for the briefest second and through the smoky haze in the room, you saw that someone at the bar was holding up their phone, camera aimed at the stage. That managed to make you smile, at least you had someone’s attention.

Lock the doors

Cause I'd like to capture this voice

It came to me tonight

So everyone will have a choice

And under red lights

I'll show myself it wasn't forged

We're at war

We live like this

“Are you guys on SoundCloud or anything? Cos that was pretty awesome!” asked a young man who looked barely old enough to be in the bar at all.

You were just helping Yugi pack away his turntables, having finished your set and wishing the small crowd a good night. The young man was with two others, all of them looking enthused as they stood at the base of the small stage. The girl even giggled when Honda winked at her.

Yugi, as usual, was the one to speak up and pulled out a small leather folder from his back pocket. “Yeah, we are actually! We also have a youtube channel,” he pulled cards from the folder, black cardstock with your band’s name, logo, and media accounts scrawled across it in gold text. He handed one to each in the trio, smile still bright on his face, “Check us out if you get the chance, we’re trying to put out a new album this summer, so we should have plenty of new songs to listen to soon.”

With a few ‘cool man’s and ‘awesome’s, the trio wandered back to the bar, the one who had spoken already pulling out his phone with the card in hand, and the girl waving at Honda over her shoulder.

“You know you shouldn’t get their hopes up,” Anzu whispered as she set her keyboard case at the foot of the stage, “Two songs does not an Album make- we have no clue when we’ll actually have it out!”

“Well,” you chimed in, clicking one of Yugi’s several cases closed, “Maybe telling new fans to expect more from us will finally light a fire under our song-writing-asses.” When Jonouchi opened his mouth, that cheeky look on his face, you held up your hand to silence him, “And yes, I know I procrastinate too much, I’m to blame too.”

Yugi lifted two of his cases- and answered after Jou jumped in to take the heavier of the two, “I still think all of us should take a week's vacation, lock ourselves in our studio and work on the album together. Only getting together a few times a week is what’s really killing us I think- we can’t get into a creative groove!”

You and Anzu exchanged a look, knowing full well that neither of your bills would appreciate the week's loss in pay. Still, maybe it was something that you guys could find a way to work out. Then again, there was another idea that had been brewing in the back of your mind for a while now, and you weren’t sure if it was really something that the others in your band would go for...like, at all.

“I don’t know, a week probably wouldn’t even be long enough,” Honda chimed in after slinging his guitar case over his shoulder, grabbing an amp in the free hand.

Jou nodded as you all started filing out the bar’s back door, “I’m still thinking that gettin’ together every single night until the album’s done is the best way to go, even if it’s just for a few hours!”

This was the usual road the song writing debate took, or at least, how it usually went the past month or so, and soon enough the topic came to a standstill, as it usually did.

After loading up Jonouchi’s truck with your equipment, Honda gave the suggestion of stopping for some burgers at the 24 hour joint down the road, a common ritual after your monthly gig at “The Bandit’s Den”. As usual, Jou parked in the space best visible from the front windows of the dinner, and the five of you were glad to find that not another soul sat at the tables.

After settling at your usual booth and ordering, Yugi actually splayed his hands out on the table, looking rather determined. “You don’t start work until seven tomorrow. Right?” he asked you.

“Yeah?”

“I think we should take another trip to the station.”

You actually had to repress a sigh at that. Yugi was all about trying to trigger inspiration for songs, and the “station” referred to an old train station on the outskirts of town. You guys had discovered it long ago and were eager to use it in a music video, but were waiting for the perfect song to go with it. Sure, the old giant clock and brick stairs were a perfect setting, but it had only sparked a line or two of lyrics, nothing to make a full song.

Out of the five of you, most of the lyric writing fell on your’s and Yugi’s shoulders, with Anzu, Honda, and Jonouchi giving occasional input. Since you were the lead singer most seemed to think you would be the natural lyric maker, but the truth was that, despite your talent in singing and playing the lead guitar, lyrics just weren’t your forte. You’d had some luck when teaming up with Yugi, his emotional maturity helping you work through the written expressions, but that only went so far. Yugi also tried things like this, exercises and field trips in the hopes that it would spark creativity.

“How many times have we been to the station before, Yugi?” you asked, “I just don’t think it’s the oracle of inspiration we all hoped it would be. I still want to film there some time, but I don’t wanna take time out to visit it again, I’ll just get annoyed when it doesn’t lead to anything.”

Yugi’s set expression seemed to blink away, replaced with something almost like guilt, “Okay, I was just trying to think of something to get our inspiration flowing…”

Now you’re the one who felt guilty. “I know...hey maybe we could try something new? Like we could go some other place or try some different way to spark our heads?” you suggested, trying to sound positive.

Yugi’s eyebrows lifted in interest, but he was cautious when he asked, “Like what?”

“I…” you trailed off when your mind came up blank. It remained blank even as your eyes trailed over the entirety of the empty dinner as well as the dark scenery outside. A growl of frustration left your throat as you face planted on the table, “I don’t know!”

You heard Yugi giggle as he reached out and patted your head. Beside him, Jonouchi said, “What you need is some brain food! That’s sure to help some ideas come- ah! And here’s our feast now!”

Even though the food was good, kick-start your brain, it did not. If anything the meal just made you more sleepy, even as you guys chatted over the next hour before paying the tab and piling back into Jou’s truck.

Like always the next stop was the studio, the home and hideaway for you and your friends. For a small-time band whose biggest fame was on Youtube, all of you were actually quite proud of your studio. Yugi’s grandfather owned a few rental properties, and since the building wasn’t fitting for a residential space, nor in a part of town that would serve a shop well, he had agreed to give you guys the small building in exchange for help around his game shop every week.

Working together to make the space your own was some of the best memories you had with your oldest friends; going to second-hand shops to gather fitting set pieces, saving up for the sound dampeners so you could record your songs without paying a big-time studio, setting up the back room with tattered old furniture and a mini-fridge that was sure to break down any day.

The only thing that beat those days were the times you actually spent in the studio; rehearsing, recording your few music videos, spending downtime together writing new music on lumpy bean bag chairs and worn rugs (and definitely getting distracted by each other every ten minutes).

The night was late enough that no one bothered the five of you as you unloaded the truck, and soon enough all of you were taking your usual spots in the back room (Anzu sprawling out on the battered chaise, Jonouchi and Yugi filling up the loveseat, Honda falling onto a pair of beanbags, and you plopping down in the hammock chair).

“Alright you guys, I’m just going to come out and say it,” Anzu sighed after a few moments of hanging off the arm of her seat, “We need help writing our songs.”

You actually sat up as straight as you could in your chair and peered over at her- had she really just said what you had been thinking of saying for weeks?!

When she saw your look, something like panic colored her face as she waved her hands, “Not that I don’t think you’re a good writer! The songs you came up with were awesome! ...But-”

You waved off her concern, the hard motion causing your hammock to spin a little, “No- no, Anzu, I totally agree! I just didn’t know if I should bring it up...”

Even if you hadn’t thought of it too, Anzu had plenty of reason to think you needed help. In the whole four years since your group had started the band, from the first days sitting in class drawing up logo ideas, you had only written six original songs- and that included the two that were meant to go on your new album. You had gotten by with relying on covers to fill out your live sets and media accounts and making a host of excuses for the lack of originality.

“You really think bringing in another bandmate’s a good idea?” Honda chimed in, eyes narrow as he leaned back in his beanbag chair.

“Yeah, we don’t wanna end up like half the other bands out there,” Jonouchi chimed in, seeming to subconsciously pull Yugi closer to his side, “you guys know the only reason our band works is because we get each other- we’re family! We can’t just bring another person into that, it’ll ruin it and maybe even break us up!”

Yugi put a hand over Jonouchi’s, “Hey hey, slow down, don’t you think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves? First of all, bands hire ghostwriters all the time, and they don’t always join the band. Besides... I don’t know, if the person’s really cool, would it be that bad to have another member?”

“We could always have them ghostwrite for us for a while, and if we like them, then talk about letting them join,” you offered, and were glad when everyone seemed to contemplate that with at least some positivity. “But that brings up the issue I think we’ll have, I’m not sure we can find someone who fits with our style all that easily. Like Jonouchi said, there’s a reason all of us work well together.”

It was true, all of you brought something to the table, something more than an instrument. The five of you had slightly different tastes, all of it coming together in something that wasn’t quite punk, not quite rock, not quite pop or even metal, and that’s what worked to your advantage. You wanted to prove that different sounds and styles could come together in harmony and appeal to listeners all across the spectrum. Not fit into a genre-labeled box that only fans of said genre would even bother listening to.

Eventually, Anzu gave a shrug, “We won’t know until we try. Why don’t we put the word out and see what happens?”

“We can still work on our own, and if we don’t find anyone who fits, we didn’t really lose anything besides time,” Yugi added, and that pretty much settled the matter.

Tomorrow the search for a new member of your team began.

[boonki]

falling in love in a-one, two, three

also found on ao3 here 

Obi-wan is grateful that he’s able to blame the flush of his cheeks on the wine cradled in his hand when Anakin strolls in through the grand entrance. The crowd parts for him naturally, his azure silk top with puffy, long sleeves and tight-fitting black pants allowing him to fit in amongst the senators and royals, the force creating the tiniest golden shimmer around the edges of Anakin’s honeyed curls. Anakin lifts his head to scan the crowd, a note of recognition passing through his features when he locks eyes with Obi-wan. He looks ethereal, a sight to behold--

“Come here often?” Anakin teases, lifting an eyebrow at Obi-wan, who is undoubtedly staring at him, blushing at him, even. He’s had far too much wine.

Obi-wan blinks hard, the lovely image of Anakin shattered entirely, and purses his lips, shooting the man a withering glare. “The symphony? Why, yes, I do love coming here in all my copious free time. I frequent the symphony hall in between naps and walks in the park.”

“It’d be a great place for a date, too. You should invite Ventress next time.”

Obi-wan raises an eyebrow. “Yes,” he hums, “maybe the music will quell her homicidal tendencies.”

Anakin snorts at his sarcasm, and their attention shifts to skimming the crowd, cataloging each and every face mingling in the swarm of people.

The council had sent them on a diplomatic mission to steer a neutral planet into siding with the Republic. Separatist forces are growing stronger day by day; no planet has the privilege of remaining passive if the Republic is to win the war. However, before anyone could edge around the topic of politics and war, the Queen had insisted on inviting them to a symphony, followed by a ball to celebrate the Republic’s successes in the war so far. The festivities seem frivolous to Obi-wan, and a waste of time, but citizens do need joy, semblances of normalcy to cling to in the midst of dread, he supposes.

The chimes signaling the beginning of the symphony ring out, loud and heavy, and Obi-wan and Anakin regard the ceiling, noting the noise.

“Time to find our seats, it seems.” Obi-wan murmurs, letting his hand fall into the small of Anakin’s back as he guides them to the right entryway, trying to ignore the firm muscles barely concealed underneath the impractically thin top. An usher stands at the entrance, scanning the tickets as guests filter in.

“You still have our tickets, master?” Anakin holds a hand out, and Obi-wan, a little too tipsy for his own good, almost grabs it with his own before realizing Anakin is asking for his ticket. Force, what is in this wine? Obi-wan rifles through his pants pocket and procures their matching set, handing one to his former padawan. They are seated side by side, so it doesn’t really matter which one he took. The usher barely gives them any thought, grabbing their tickets, checking them in, and handing them back without so much as a peek at their faces.

And then they are inside, and Obi-wan feels the surge of emotion flood through Anakin at the sight of the symphony hall. The ceiling is painted with scenes of the planet’s most impressive wonders and heroes, gold flakes etched into the perimeters of the creature's faces. A massive chandelier hangs brilliantly from the center of it all, illuminating the hall with a golden, hazy, twinkling light, casting dim shadows into the corners of the room. Despite its massive size, the place feels intimate, cozy. Obi-wan already wants to pull at his collar, unused to wearing anything but Jedi robes or armor, let alone elegant civilian clothing. But the mission had necessitated delicacy, and the natives of the planet respect elegance, refinery, so it was important to the mission that they look the part. Anakin had laughed when the council had passed that along: “You’re a perfect fit for this, master. Maybe you can brew them a cup of tea while we’re there.”  

Obi-wan nudges Anakin’s hip, using his chin to signal that they’re holding up the flow of traffic. Anakin takes one last look around the room before gliding forward, checking his ticket one more time for the location of their seats. The lights darken not too long after they’re seated, the tranquil hum of conversation fading in anticipation. Obi-wan allows a glimpse over at Anakin, who is pretending very hard not to be excited. But Obi-wan knows him, can see the way Anakin’s eyes are a little too wide, his back a little too tense, his presence in their bond a little too electric.

A quirk of a smile catches his lips. Anakin has never been to a symphony before, has he?

A piano starts out in soothing, rhythmic undulations, washing over the crowd in whispers of comfort, followed shortly by the deep tones of a cello. Obi-wan closes his eyes, soaks in the feeling of peace, contentment, stillness. For the most part, where it counts, he is a good Jedi, proficient in wrangling in his emotions and being a lifeline of calm to those around him. But there are two things that grabbed his heart, sunk their greedy little fingers in and never let go: Anakin, and music. There is no one alive that knows this about him, for he could never live down the embarrassment, let alone the retribution of the council. And yet, he loves.

If he had been standing, he would be swaying in time with the waltz.

He leans into Anakin’s brain a bit, tugging on their bond, just enough to snag glimpses into his emotions, but not so much that Anakin would be disturbed by his presence. A wave of contentment, heartache, longing, love, washes over him. In surprise, Obi-wan cracks an eye open at him, peeking at his face.

Anakin is completely smitten. His fingers tap in time to the music on his thighs, a light smile ghosting his features, eyebrows furrowed ever so, his gaze cemented on the group of musicians on stage. Obi-wan fights the urge to brush his curls behind his ear, instead gulping down the rest of his wine in one go. Anakin does take note of him then, shooting his master a bemused look, which Obi-wan counters with a jump in his eyebrows and a daring smirk, feeling blood rise into his cheeks at their eye contact.

Siths hells, they are never going to make it through the night.

Correction: he is never going to make it through the night.

Obi-wan isn’t quite sure what’s gotten into him, but he isn’t going to fight the warmth that seeps through his bones, the pervasive happiness that comes so rarely these days. ( Love? Maybe.)

As they settle back into the music, Obi-wan’s mind wanders. He supposes it makes sense that Anakin never had the chance to come to a symphony before, or hear real music like this live, given that the music at the temple was rather limited and generally missions had them frequenting dive bars and nightclubs. It’s a shame, Obi-wan thinks, Anakin deserves so much more than he had been given in life, and Obi-wan is suddenly filled with tender softness for the moment laid out in front of him. He wishes he could bring the man more happiness like this in the day to day grueling onslaught of war. Obi-wan wonders how often he’ll be able to sneak them away to events like this before the younger man, and the council, catches on. He’ll need a good excuse. Thankfully, half-truths and omissions are his specialty.

He tips his head back, letting his presence in the force extend out around him, and treads through all the input: the crest and fall of the music, the wine churning in his stomach, Anakin’s warm glow through their bond, his own thumping heart, threatening to beat in time with the music and fall more deeply in love with the man in a-one, two, three. Anakin’s proximity in his mind is like a fire, incandescent, and Obi-wan leans into it, catching fleeting images of Anakin’s thoughts: a shuffling of people, quick steps, a warm body pressed against his. Anakin wants to dance. Flashes of auburn, sturdy hands and strong arms, crinkly grey-blue eyes-- oh. Anakin wants to dance with him.

No one could pay Obi-wan to release his emotions into the force right now. They’re all his to cherish.

__________

“No one ever taught you how to waltz? Maybe I did fail you, my dear padawan.” He says this with fake disappointment, mirth cushioning the words.

“Oh right, dance lessons in between ‘saber training and sorting the libraries, the usual.”

They’re lingering by the drinks, another glass of wine somehow finding its way into Obi-wan’s hands. In theory, they’re surveying the crowd again, taking mental note of who is dancing with who, what intel could be floating around the room. In practice, they are patiently waiting to join the throng of moving people, looking to find an excuse to join in on the festivities for a moment or two. Obi-wan had suggested Anakin find a pretty senator to charm and Anakin had mumbled something about not actually knowing the steps into the rim of his glass.

“Fighting is another form of dance, and dancing can be another form of fighting. Never underestimate the usefulness of a good dance in politics.”

“Alright master, next time we see Grievous I’ll offer my hand to him for a waltz.”

This earns a genuine bark of laughter from Obi-wan, surprising them both, and Anakin doesn’t even try to hide his smug grin. Obi-wan turns to him, setting his wine down on the nearest table and offering a hand out to the man. “Come on, then. It’s not hard.”

Anakin’s eyes widen almost comically, gawking at Obi-wan like he had just suggested they fly blindfolded through an asteroid field. “Here? Right now?” He looks around self-consciously.

“It’s a good time as any, and if we’re to go on future missions like this, I will not have you kark up negotiations just because no one ever taught you how to dance. Now, come.”

“Language, master.”

He levels Anakin with a stern glare, giving a come-hither motion with his hands, and watches with pure amusement as the man steps closer. Anakin holds his hands out in front of him, glancing over at the crowd to find an example of what he should be doing, where they should go. Obi-wan takes his mech-hand and rests it on his lower back, grabbing the other hand in his right and holding it up in the air, letting his left settle on the firm corner of Anakin’s shoulder.

They’re awfully close.

“So I’m going to step backwards with my left and you step forward with your right-- yes, just so-- and then it’s just like walking, right, left, right, and then I’ll step backwards with my right and you-- precisely .” They both chuckle when Anakin manages to step on his feet a few times, but always a quick learner, he picks up the steps after a few minutes of practice. However, Anakin’s upper body is terribly rigid and all wrong.

“You’re learning a dance, Anakin, not combat training, loosen up.” He leans into Anakin’s space, a giant shit-eating grin on his face. He can tell how bewildered Anakin is. Obi-wan doesn’t know if it’s truly the wine or the fact that he’s dancing with a man that he should not be in love with. “Try to woo me.”

Anakin stills, gaping at him, the faintest blush tinging his cheeks, barely visible on his naturally tan face. For once, he doesn’t have a clever comeback. “I have been.”

“Not with this posture, you haven’t been. Listen, slide your hand down a little farther and hold your shoulders up, and for forcesake, Anakin, relax .”

Anakin ignores him. “Trying to woo you, I mean.” He swallows the spit in his mouth, still staring at Obi-wan’s face, not moving his hands or shoulders at all.

Everything in Obi-wan tenses, unsure of the seriousness of his statement, and he steps away from Anakin, aware of the residual heat lingering where Anakin’s hands had been. The entire room narrows down to the press of the floor into his feet, the way the belt of his pants sits a little too tight, the scratchy hem of his shirt collar, the faint prickle of sweat on his brow.

He looks so eager, so intent, and Obi-wan knows he’s being truthful. What that means for the both of them is a different matter entirely; there will be the council to deal with, the war, force, this is hardly the time to start a relationship, especially with another Jedi- Anakin, of all people. Obi-wan forces the anxiety down, neatly shutting it away in a box to be dealt with later. With it gone, hope, optimism, euphoria blooms in his heart, a whole bouquet of joy growing into a meadow in the hollow of his chest.

With more courage than he thought he had, he offers out a hand.

“As have I,” he says. “Care to dance?”

Obi-wan has seen the man take on armies, a Sith, the council’s discipline with a grin on his face- the Hero With No Fear - but right now, Anakin is staring at the hand hovering in the air between them with the fear of death in his eyes.

Anakin takes his hand gingerly, leads them out onto the floor near the edge of the dancers, and Obi-wan gazes at where their hands meet, following the line up Anakin’s arm to his strong shoulders, the back of his neck, his dark curls. He’s quite caught off guard when Anakin turns to meet him, drawing him in close and waiting a beat before pulling Obi-wan into the rhythm of the waltz.

Everything is a blur, and Obi-wan feels like he’s floating, feet moving in time to the cadence of his own heart. Distantly, he catches brilliantly colored swatches of fabric, open smiles, and rare pearls of genuine laughter from the crowd swirling around him. There’s no time to think about how he and Anakin must look and what will get back to the council, so Obi-wan simply moves, letting himself be washed in the radiance of his dance partner, soaking in the happiness bleeding across their bond. Emotion swells in his chest as he glides, and he finds himself inching closer to Anakin with each step, until they’re flushed together, chest to chest.

They move together as if they are one person, drifting across the floor seamlessly. This is better than joint meditation, better than sparring, better than fighting off enemies back to back, because Anakin is so close to him, and Obi-wan can study the grooves of his face, the gleam in his eyes, the fullness of his lips. They’re both a little out of breath from the quick steps of the dance, and Anakin’s cheeks are tinted red.

He looks so beautiful like this.

When the song ends and the crowd slows to a stop, Obi-wan holds onto Anakin, who is staring down at him, something tender in his eyes.

“Have you been properly wooed, master?” Anakin asks gently, teasing.

Instead of answering, Obi-wan surprises them both and leans in to press a chaste kiss on Anakin’s lips, pulling away before Anakin has time to respond.

“I’m not sure I have sufficient data on the matter. Another dance would surely help me decide if you’ve done it properly or not.” Obi-wan schools a fake look of contemplation on his face, and if his hands were free he’d be running fingers across his beard.

Anakin rolls his eyes.

“Six years of trying and you still need another dance.”

“You’ve had feelings for me for six years?”

“Pining for six years and another dance, unfortunately.”

“Careful not to step on my toes then during this next one then, we can always make it seven years and counting.”

“ Master.”

“I’m only kidding.” Obi-wan tightens his grip on Anakin, leaning into him a little bit, reveling in the way Anakin’s eyes dip down to his mouth and back. “I promise I’ve been properly wooed .”

Anakin’s smile is blinding.

[justletmeplayminecraft]

guess who’s back at it again in @martuzzio‘s space outlaw au! this is a bit of a shift from my last two, so please heed the warnings below! if you want to know details about any, or think any others should be added, then drop me a message. it’s also over 7k, buckle in.

usual psa, may not be completely canon to the au. i pick & choose depending on what’ll be most fun, and its up to marzo what (if anything) she wants to keep!  enjoy it as it is!! (aka wels has longer hair in this because i have a crayon licence that says ‘i do what i want’.)

featuring: mumbo has a meeting on his home planet that goes wrong in an impressive way, wels has a sword, an evil tech guy villain, hurt/comfort, me being annoyed i have to use grunts instead of minions because i only see yellow things & good ol’ last minute rescues

warnings: violence, electrocution, mind control esq device (not used on anyone), injury, attempted kidnapping, brief imprisonment, pseudo-science lmao

"So I'm on babysitting duty." Wels is an intimidating sight in his suit, sword glinting in his hand. Mumbo finishes slicking back his hair, trying to get the parting perfect before he replies.

"You're not that much older than me." Compared to some of the hermits, at least. Nobody can come close to Xisuma, anyway. Wels laughs, checking his sword over.

"I feel it." He tilts his head towards Mumbo with half a smile. "I'm pretty much ancient next to you." Mumbo scoffs, flicking through his design folder again. Thankfully, this is more of an exchange than a pitch. Mumbo's improved, certainly, but he'd argue his reputation does most of the work for him. It's the main, if not only, reason he's back here.

"You're going to look it if you bring an actual sword to a tech meeting." Wels shifts his hold, the sword pointed towards Mumbo in an instant, narrowly avoiding the glass screens he's holding.

"Think you can stop me?" He teases, one eyebrow raised. There's the hint of a smirk on his face. Mumbo breathes out, relieved he's not offended him by accident.

"Didn't say you couldn't, did I?" Wels's shoulders rise with a smile, his sword coming to rest at his side.

"Smart decision." Wels picks up his weapon holster. A brief meeting or not, they all know better than to leave the ship without protection. Iskall refused to let Mumbo go until he checked each of his weapons, cleaning them thoroughly. His suit has been examined too, even if he's leaving the helmet on their ship. He knows the air is breathable here and it'll probably help if he's recognised. Wels has his helmet under his arm, waiting to put it on. "You ready to go?" He asks, holding his hand out. Mumbo nods, patting his folder and weapons.

"Got everything I need," he replies. Wels gives him a last smile before putting his helmet on, checking its secure then nodding.

"Let's go get you to that meeting, then." Mumbo glances around the shuttle, making sure everything's shut down. It locks with a satisfying beep. "You know where we're going?"

"Think I remember my way around." Wels nods, gesturing for Mumbo to go ahead with a bow. It's only slightly sarcastic. Mumbo makes sure to roll his eyes as he takes the lead.

He'll admit, it's nice being back on his home planet. Stepping out of the hangar bay to concrete roads and pavements. White buildings reach into the sky, entwined with greenery and tunnelling the layered streets. It's not often he gets to come back here. Plus, he might get to prove himself and his designs. If this works out, it's a massive step for him.

With all its familiarity, it's still strange being somewhere so busy. Cars and buses float down the roads, and they pass by people as they walk. Families with kids, couples, mostly people in the business wear Mumbo recognises. The pair get a few second glances as they make their way through the city. Wearing the suits is a bit of a statement. In truth, Mumbo didn’t want the stress of changing for the meeting. He would've spent forever worrying about what to put on and how he wants to present himself. Whereas Wels would probably live in his suit if given the chance. They're more common in a city like this than in other places, but hardly a frequent sight in public. Being part of the Hermits might also garner some looks, but they should be fine here. It's friendly territory.

Wels sticks close to Mumbo either way. Even without seeing his expression, he can tell how carefully Wels examines their environment. Mumbo feels safer having him here. He wouldn't want to come on his own. The building they're looking for is at the edge of the town centre, a tall office building with an angled top. The same pristine white as the rest of them.

"This it?" Wels asks, crossing his arms. He's looking up at the building.

"Yep."

"Fancy." Mumbo can't help a soft noise of amusement. Inside is a wide lobby, with a fountain of all things at the back of the room, cushioned seats and plants filling the space. It's also strangely empty. The front desk is obvious enough. A hologram of a receptionist appears when they get closer.

"Hello and welcome to Dukes Crown Limited!" The voice is like a parody of a person. Mumbo's never liked the voice of AIs. The closer they are to human, the more uncanny they become. "What is your reason for visiting?" The wide smile never changes. Mumbo shivers.

"Mumbo Jumbo, I'm here for a meeting." The hologram remains still before jumping to life, pointing to a lift at the back of the lobby.

"Your meeting is on the thirty fifth floor, office A. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Mumbo shakes his head quickly, "Nope, that's all, thank you very much."

He's already turned towards the lift as the AI replies, "You're welcome. Enjoy your visit!" Wels joins him as he walks, leaning in close.

"Are they always that creepy?" He whispers, sneaking looks around the empty lobby.

"Unfortunately." He's never been completely comfortable with them. It's all superficial programming. You give something the ability to think and then limit it. "Lobbies aren't usually this empty either. Must be a busy day." Wels hums, sounding unconvinced. He follows Mumbo into the lift anyway, waiting in the corner. It takes Mumbo a second to find the right button. He tries to block out the cheery music and focus on his breathing.

"I don't like this," Wels states what they've both been thinking. Mumbo stares at the door of the lift. He breathes in deep, holding it before letting it out slowly.

"We can't exactly back out now," he says. He's come this far, taken the entire ship off course for this meeting. He knows Xisuma would understand. Gut instincts are there for a reason, as they've all learnt. But Mumbo wants something out of this. Maybe it's selfish.

"We could." Wels gestures to the panel. "We press the button, go straight back down and walk out of that fancy front door."

"You can if you want to," Mumbo tells him. Wels turns to him and Mumbo wishes he could see his expression.

"And leave you alone?" Wels asks. "Absolutely not." Mumbo smiles slightly, watching the number on the display climb until they reach their floor, accompanied by the same artificial voice of the receptionist. Wels steps out first, Mumbo following soon after.

Their suits click against the floors, white plastic beneath them. The walls are halftone between white and blue. It's not particularly appealing, but these offices rarely are. It was a lucky turn of events he ended up how he did. How boring his life would be if he actually made it into one of these.

"Is this the one?" Wels points to a closed door, one of very few on this floor. Mumbo checks the symbol on the side, nodding.

"Looks like it." Wels stands beside Mumbo, resting his hand near his sword.

"You ready to go in?" He asks. Mumbo quickly checks the time, sighing. It doesn't look like he can stall. This whole set-up has brought his anxiety back full force. He knows what he's doing, though. He's practised with the others, he knows not to devalue himself. He's going to be great.

"As I'll ever be." Wels lifts his shoulders, offering an incline of his head. Mumbo smiles back. He raises his hand to knock on the door, but it slides open before he can. Wels makes a quiet noise of surprise behind him. Mumbo shakes his head, stepping into the office.

It's emptier than he's used to. Two bookshelves against the walls, lined with books that look like they've never been read. There's a shutter blocking out the window, leaving the main light the bulb overhead. Towards the back of the room is the desk. It's empty. Mumbo looks to Wels, who's hovering inside the door.

"Do you think we're early?" Wels doesn't get the chance to reply. There's a loud bang from nearby. Mumbo spins in the direction of it just as his suit lets out a warning beep and the light flickers out. When he tries the display it won't turn on. Oh no. "Wels-"

He cuts himself off when he sees him fighting with his helmet, fingers missing the release latch. Mumbo drops his folder, rushing forward and batting Wels's fingers away so he can get to it himself. Wels fights him momentarily but settles when the helmet clicks and Mumbo can slide it off his head.

Fear isn't a stranger to Mumbo. He's certainly feeling it right now. But he's never seen it on Wels before. His eyes are wide until he scrunches them shut, his breath coming out in short puffs and his hair stuck to his forehead. He reaches his hand out and Mumbo offers his own to hold. His heartbeat picks up considerably as he glances around the room. The door has closed and Mumbo has no idea what this is.

"Wels?" He tries, when his breathing has calmed. "You with me?" Wels nods, taking a deep breath in and squeezing Mumbo's hand.

"Helmet stopped getting input." Mumbo winces, glad he didn't wear his.

"It's supposed to release when that happens-" He shakes his head "-I'll look into it. We've got worse problems." Wels blinks hard, standing straight and taking in the situation. His face is still red, but his composure has returned. He finally releases Mumbo's hand.

"The door's shut." Mumbo nods. He examines it, considering the model in his head. The keypad won't even activate when he tries it.

"This model is supposed to open when it loses power," he says, thinking out loud, "It's a safety feature."

"So someone's changed it on purpose."

"Appears so." Mumbo isn't going to think about those implications. "What even was that? Nothing's working." Wels's face is grim, trying to pry the shutters open.

"Localised EMP, I think. Probably only affected this floor."

"Well." Mumbo glares at the door, deciding to pry the keypad open. "This is just wonderful."

"Note to self." Wels ducks under the desk. "Trust our gut instinct." Mumbo makes a noise in response, sorting through the wires in the panel. He knows how these doors work but it doesn't seem to be getting any power. There's no amount of re-ordering wires that can change that. He tries his suit again but gets the same result. They need to get out of here and contact the others.

"Found anything?" He asks when Wels appears again.

Wels shakes his head, "Nothing. I was hoping for an escape latch or... Something." He makes a frustrated noise. "Somebody wants us trapped in here and I'm not going to let that happen."

"Well, I don't think there's any way I can open the door. Unless we can lever it." Wels looks it up and down.

"Right. Last resort." Wels pulls out his sword, launching it at the thin parting in the door. "Please don't break," he murmurs under his breath. In a sharp motion he angles his sword, managing to pry the door open by a crack. "Mumbo!" Mumbo squeezes his elbow in, pushing the door until the gap is wide enough for them both to fit through. Thankfully the only resistance is the weight, rather than any mechanism.

"I doubt the lift will be safe," Mumbo says, checking down the hallways. Wels has his sword by his side, holding it ready. He's left his helmet behind, same as Mumbo's files. An annoying loss, but he's not fighting the door again for them. "Did we pass stairs?"

"I think so." Wels leans on one foot to look down the corridor. "Are those signs?"

Both of their heads jolt in the direction of footsteps down the corridor. There's nowhere obvious to hide. Wels pushes Mumbo into the small alcove by the lift, standing in front of him with his sword to attention. Mumbo can't see his face but his shoulders are set in a tense line. Mumbo reaches for his gun, although he has a feeling it won't work. Neither of them breathe as the footsteps grow closer.

It's two men, dressed in dark clothing. Neither of them look in their direction, focused on the door they should be behind. There's no hint of movement before Wels launches. He butts one of the men on the head with the hilt of his sword, swinging as he drops to knock the gun from the other's hand. He follows it up with a strike against his head with the flat of the blade. Less deadly, but it leaves them incapacitated enough. Wels kicks their guns in Mumbo's direction.

"Anything work?" He asks, pushing the hair from his face back with a scowl. Mumbo scoops the weapons up. His own gun isn't working, so that's great. He plays with the other two, attempting to activate them. He only gets 'access denied' on a small screen.

"It's fingerprint locked. How absurd." He twists the gun to see the underside. "I could rewire it." Wels shakes his head.

"That would take too long," he says, "Our only advantage right now is that they don't know we're free. The blast will have knocked out the cameras on this floor." He nudges one of the grunts with his toe. "When these two don't report in or... Whatever, they'll realise."

"At least we know where the stairs are." Wels smiles, stepping over the grunt. He keeps his sword ready by his side, only slightly bloody.

"That's the spirit." Mumbo exaggerates his sigh and gets an amused puff in response. Wels gestures for him to continue with his hand, both of them making for the stairs.

"What's actually the plan here?" Mumbo asks as they reach the stairwell, thankfully open. Wels leans over the barrier to check below them. "Do we even have one?"

"Nope," Wels pops the 'p'. Well, nothing new there. "Stay behind me."

"Planning to."

He tries to tread lightly down the stairs, difficult with his suit. Wels nearly dances down them, feet ghosting over each step. He stops them both by holding a hand up. Mumbo only stumbles down one stair as he tries to stop. Wels turns, mouthing and pointing them both up around the bend. They press themselves around the stairwell, listening as a few people enter. Mumbo can see Wels relax when they go down away from them.

It's a tense wait for the voices to disappear, punctuated by another door sliding shut. The two wait for a few seconds more.

"This must still operate as an office building," Mumbo murmurs, keeping his voice low.

"It's a big building to rent out just for an elaborate trap." Wels continues down. "Is there usually a back door?" Mumbo hums, trying to think to his adolescence.

"There should be," he replies. Usually into an alleyway, for taking out the trash or something.

"Well, it's that or the front door." Wels checks ahead as they go down another twist. "Which would be a statement."

"They set an EMP off and tried to trap us in a room, Wels."

"A statement," Wels repeats, pausing to give Mumbo a cheeky smile. Mumbo shakes his head. It reminds him of the situation they're actually in. He has no idea what the motivation is for this. At least it's not Convex, he hopes. Variety is the spice of life or whatever. He trusts Wels when he says it was an EMP. There's something very wrong with this situation. Mumbo's a big fan of run first, ask questions later.

They encounter trouble as they reach the ground floor. Wels holds a hand out in front of Mumbo when they hear shouting, both of them stilling. Wels leans forward, listening carefully.

"Head up slightly," he murmurs, pushing Mumbo in the right direction. Mumbo hides around the corner, peering so he can just see Wels. He's pressed against the wall, his breathing measured. He's looking at the ground as the sounds come closer, voices and footsteps.

The door opens and Wels pounces. He kicks behind the knees of the first person, hitting his head with his sword. Without hesitation, he twists to the next, jabbing backwards and knocking them into the person behind. Mumbo is barely breathing, watching Wels's precise movements. Wels is quick to knock their weapons away, hair falling into his face.

A noise behind Mumbo startles him to his feet, raising his arms as he spots more grunts rushing down the stairs. He glances to Wels, finding he's mostly dispatched the ones by him.

"Wels, we need to go!" He calls, rushing down the stairs. Wels drops the last one with a jab to the spine, his shoulders rising with heavy breaths.

"Okay, that's a lot." He grabs Mumbo, narrowly pulling him out the way of a shot. His hand stays around his wrist until they're into the corridor, releasing him to sprint ahead. Mumbo gulps, breaking into a run. He can hear the crackle of electricity hitting the wall beside him, far too close for comfort.

He pauses when he hears a crack of electricity coming from up ahead, calling out a panicked, "Wels!" Wels stops, swerving to the side, but not fast enough to avoid the rope that flies out from a side door. It wraps around his torso, sparking with electricity and pinning his arms to his side. Wels falls with a pained shout. He lands hard on his arm, gasping out for breath. The sword falls too far from Mumbo's reach. He instinctively moves to help until his head kicks in, hearing the shouting around him.

"Hands up!" Mumbo looks at Wels on the ground, his chest heaving as the wire (he can now see that's what it is) crackles again. Wels shifts in place, letting out a weak cry at the pulse as his body tenses. Maybe it's a good thing his hair hides the pained expression Mumbo knows must be there. He raises his hands, allowing one of the grunts to grab his arms and pull them behind his back. Something solid and heavy is secured around his wrists. He almost loses his footing at a sharp tug, turning to see the bloody gash on the guy's head. Maybe Wels should have hit him harder.

A figure enters the corridor that Mumbo is more familiar with.

"Mr. Dukes-" he keeps his voice steady, masking the fear churning in his stomach "-This is an interesting meeting." Internally, he curses the guy out. He only has to take one look at Wels for his morals to disappear. But he knows they're at a disadvantage, and he knows that won't help anything.

"Mumbo," Dukes nods very slightly to acknowledge him before nudging Wels with a pointed toe. Wels groans, trying to curl up and Mumbo bristles. "This would've been much easier if you stayed put." Dukes waves at the grunts. "Take him to an office. I'll move them at nightfall, figure out what to do with the extra." There's a few affirmatives before Mumbo's being dragged away, battling every urge to break free or to call for Wels or something. It feels like he's failed somehow, but he doesn't fight. He doesn't know what to do.

-

Mumbo paces the room they left him in. He's tried everything he can get his restrained hands on, checked the walls, checked the door, the little furniture there is to check. He can't find a way out of here. In the tiniest crack at the base of the shutters, he can tell it's ticking into evening. They've got time. If they're moved to a second location they're absolutely boned.

There's no telling how long it'll take the others to realise something's gone wrong. First it'll be when they don't get an update after the meeting, but when did they expect the meeting to end? Then they'll send a message but how long until they worry about the lack of reply? A deep part of Mumbo is gnawing at him with the knowledge they might mobilise too late. The Hermits stop at nothing to protect their own, but they need to find them first. It's too easy to disappear.

With any luck, Dukes was only after Mumbo. Wels was extra, wasn't he? Turn him into the right governmental body for a quick profit, easy. Just as easy as it would be for the others to break him out. It's himself he's not sure about. He was the target of all this. For his designs, he's guessing. He slumps against the wall, watching the sunlight creeping under the shutter. He pushes away thoughts of what might happen to him. He's sure he'll find out soon enough.

The light outside gradually fades in colour. Mumbo paces the room several more times until it becomes a strong amber, travelling across the carpeted floor. If he stays still for too long he thinks his worry might consume him. He tries his suit a few times as a last ditch effort, knocking it against the wall. He can't even get annoyed at the work it'll take to fix it. He might not get the chance.

He's mid-pace when the door slides open. Two grunts grab his arms, holding him in place in the centre of the room. He scowls, trying to shift their grip. Dukes follows soon after them.

"It has," he replies, falling into the professional tone. "Do I get to know why we couldn't just have a peaceful, ordinary meeting?" Dukes strides forward, his hands clasped neatly behind him back. He's only an inch taller than Mumbo, but he makes him feel tiny.

"It's been some time, hasn't it, Mumbo?" Should've been longer, apparently. Being rejected for that internship destroyed him, back then. The constant comments, the reminders he'd never make anything of himself. All of it. He was so excited to finally prove himself and look at what that gets him.

"You have no idea how valuable you are, do you?"

Mumbo tilts his head side to side, "About ten million, actually, last time I checked." Dukes laughs.

"One of the smartest minds of a generation," Dukes says, "And still unsurprisingly foolish." Mumbo frowns. It's an effort not to reply. "See, I've been working on a project but I need more brains to push it further. It's nearly perfect and once finished, it could change the scene as we know it." Mumbo doesn't know it. He doesn't want to know it.

"That could've been done through negotiation," he replies, "I'm available to hire."

"I don't think I could pay you to work on this." Dukes holds something in front of him. A collar of some kind. There's sharp, thin spikes around the back, on the inside. Mumbo cringes at the sight. "This has been my brainchild for some time. This collar, combined with a remote, taps directly into the wearer's spinal cord. It can stop or send its own signals, allowing control of body parts the wearer can't use, better health management-"

"You want to use it to control people," Mumbo interrupts, the reality sinking in. He glares at Duke, hiding his terror as anger.

"Smart boy."

"You're right. I won't work on it." He edges back into the hands holding him. Dukes laughs again. The sound makes Mumbo feel dizzy.

"You wouldn't just be working on it," Dukes tells him, in the same tone someone would use to talk to a child. "You'd be one of the first test subjects." Mumbo's eyes widen. He pushes back, thrashing to loosen the grip on his arms.

"No- no, no, no-" He's completely broken and he knows it. No going back now. "Get away from me. Take that thing away. You're sick." Dukes stands there, ignoring Mumbo's panic. He opens an antiseptic cloth, running it over the metal points.

"I imagine it'll hurt going in," he explains like he's reading a book. "But we made sure it'll do as little damage as possible. It's getting it out that could mess things up a little."

"You can't do this. You won't get away with it."

"I think I already have-" Dukes steps forward, holding the collar up, "What will you do, call for help? Oh, wait-" A smile with too many teeth "-You won't be able to." Mumbo pushes himself back, drawing in as a last ditch effort to protect himself. He shuts his eyes and hears the crackle of electricity.

Then the hands around his arms release.

He tumbles to the floor, opening his eyes to see a suit he recognises stunning the second grunt. False turns to him, her expression hidden by her helmet.

"Mumbo-" It sounds as if a heavy weight is lifted when she says it. She drops to her knees, gently checking him over. "Are you okay, did he hurt you?"

Mumbo shakes his head, "No I'm... Alright. I'm okay." He's... It might take a minute to believe it. She sighs, resting her glove on his cheek.

"We were so worried. We just-" She shakes her head, standing and turning to the incapacitated people around her. "Let me sort this out first."

"No, please do." Safer than making the same mistake they did. She pulls out her sets of cuffs, securing the grunts first.

"We got a distress signal from Wels. Apparently it's set for if his suit fails. Then we couldn't find either of you- X went near ballistic," she explains as she works. Mumbo listens, her voice a grounding anchor. "We came as soon as we could."

"Who's here?" Mumbo asks. He knows they couldn't fit the entire ship.

"Iskall, Etho and I. Doc's on back up."

"Is Stress there?" False nods. "Wels might be injured. He seemed bad when he went down." She finishes checking the bindings, raising her arm.

"False reporting," she pauses for an unheard response, "I've got Mumbo. No injuries but he says Wels might be. Tell Stress to be prepared." Mumbo wishes he could hear the conversation, but False lowers her arm afterwards. She hesitates when she sees the collar, picking it up cautiously.

"What even is this?" She asks, helmet tilting to Mumbo. He shudders, drawing his legs closer to himself.

"It's a... controlling device. It accesses your spinal cord to send nerve signals. Lets you control someone." False looks at it for a long second, then to Mumbo.

"He was about to put this on you." She sounds breathless. Mumbo looks into his lap, can't find the words to reply. He might break down if he does. "I'm getting those cuffs off and getting you out. What are the authorities like here?" She leaves the collar to the side.

"They're not awful," Mumbo explains as she works on the restraints around his wrists, "But someone with money and influence like him... He'd probably find a way out of it." She makes a frustrated noise just as the restraints fall away. Mumbo's muscles ache in relief. He rubs at the soreness around his wrists.

"We'll see what we can do," she decides. She offers him a hand. He stumbles forward, kept upright by her firm grip. "Who is he? I'm assuming that's the leader." She dips her head in Dukes' direction. Mumbo sighs.

"Tristan Dukes. Everyone in the city knows him. Well-known for his innovation and inventions, donates regularly to charities. Most inspiring inventors want to work for him." Mumbo gives his wrist a last squeeze. "I tried going for an internship here. It didn't go well. Probably good I didn't get it, if this is what he's doing behind the scenes."

"If I wasn't afraid of waking him up then I'd kick him harder." Mumbo can't help an amused snort. His legs are still trembling.

"That's not very do-gooder of you, False." She laughs, bumping his side gently enough it doesn't knock him over.

"What X doesn't know can't hurt him." He breathes a little easier at her light tone. She reaches for her belt, placing a stun gun in his hands. "You ready to get out of here?" Mumbo glances to the door. He'd like to see Wels, get proof he's okay. But he'll only get in the way. The three of them are a well-oiled machine on missions like this.

"Absolutely." It's a cause for celebration when he steps out of that office prison on its own. "How did you guys get here?" It would be a bit obvious to have a crew in their full suits through the city.

False makes a high-pitched "Well." She shrugs, sounding not very sheepish. "We took one of the ships. Then we may've borrowed a few cars."

"Borrowed," Mumbo repeats. She holds her hands up.

"Hey, we fully plan on returning them this time!" Mumbo shakes his head, following behind her. She raises her arm. "False again-" Pause "-Yeah, I'm getting Mumbo out. Left three people in the office. Floor forty, office B. The one in the fancy clothes is the owner of the company, Tristan Dukes. I want a background check on him. Dig up all the dirt you can find. He's not going free." She hums, glancing at Mumbo. "Okay. Keep me updated."

"Who was that?" Mumbo asks. False starts moving towards the exit, giving her gun a quick check over.

"Ren," she replies. "He's doing comms from home. We should be all set." And isn't he glad to hear that?

Their escape goes better than his and Wels did. Any grunts on the staircase have already been dealt with, tied up in neat batches for the police to find. False still scopes out each corner, all business as they move through. It's the side door they leave through. The cool air in the alley nearly makes him sag in relief. The night is almost on them. She leads him through a network of alleys, head twitching towards any sounds she hears. The distant traffic is a quiet undertone. She approaches a parked car, knocking on the window of it.

The door swings open, Doc inviting Mumbo into the seat. Mumbo near collapses into it, shutting his eyes and leaning against the headrest.

"Mumbo," Doc greets. Mumbo cracks his eyes open, giving a tired smile. "It sure is good to see you."

"Yeah. Yeah, I could say the same." He's ready to sink into this seat forever. Doc rubs his shoulder and Mumbo allows himself to be pushed.

"What are you doing?" Doc looks to False, who's bouncing in place. Mumbo follows his gaze, listening along.

"I'm going to head back in," she tells him. "Can I trust you've got Mumbo?"

"Won't let him out of my sight." Mumbo rolls his eyes, slouching further into the seat.

"I am sitting right here." False laughs, patting his head.

"I'll keep in touch. Stay safe."

Doc nods, "You too." She offers a quick nod, closing the door and darting back into the alleys. Doc turns to Mumbo. He's smiling, but Mumbo can tell concern when he sees it. "How are you doing, man?" Mumbo sighs.

"Exhausted," he admits. "I don't think I've processed it properly at all."

"Understandable," Doc replies. "What even happened in there?" Mumbo groans, rearranging himself to rest against Doc's side. The suits aren't comfortable, but it helps to know someone is behind him after being alone in that room. He sticks his feet on the seat so his legs shield him from the door.

"Meeting could've gone better." Doc laughs deeply at that one, careful not to knock Mumbo off.

"Well, that's one way to put it." Mumbo smiles to himself, resting his eyes.

"Got into the office, EMP went off, broke out the room, nearly got out but got caught, rescued by False." He isn't going to mention the collar, or his history with Dukes. He'll save reliving that for the official report. "Think that covers it."

"Yikes."

"Yep."

"Guess it's not just Cub and Scar we gotta worry about, huh." Mumbo presses his hands to his face with a noise of displeasure.

"I don't even want to think about that. I do not want this to be a reoccurring nightmare." Doc chuckles, patting Mumbo's shoulder carefully.

"You'll be fine. Hopefully, it'll all be sorted after this. And you've got us. We're pretty terrifying." It takes a bit of effort, but Mumbo leans his head back far enough to see Doc's eyes.

"You know what, I'm holding you to that." He yawns, the energy that's been keeping him going has drained. He can tell he's crashing. "Protect me from businessmen with delusions of grandeur."

"Oh, of course." Doc's voice is dry. "I'll let Iskall know." Mumbo chuckles, shaking his head. He closes his eyes again, accepting he might not stay awake much longer.

"Big scary Iskall."

"He was big and scary when he found out you were in trouble."

"That's Iskall," he agrees. It's nice knowing that they all care about him. He wouldn't be forgotten. They'd keep looking until they found him.

He doesn't realise he's dozed off until he's being gently moved. He blinks his eyes open and realises he's now lying across the seats. Looking up, he finds Doc resting his hand on Mumbo's side. He's talking to someone out of eye-line. Mumbo relaxes. If Doc's there, then he's fine. He has no doubt in his mind about that at all.

The next time he wakes up, it's because he's being nudged awake. Doc is next to him, with a gentle smile.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he greets, sitting back so Mumbo can sit upright. He yawns, covering his hand with his mouth. "We're back at the ships. Got some stuff to finish up before we go back home."

"Is it finished?" Mumbo asks, rubbing his eyes. When he looks out the window, he recognises the hangar parking.

"Yep." Doc crosses his arms, leaning back in his seat. "There was an incident-"

"Is Wels okay?" Mumbo interjects, fear twisting his stomach. Doc's expression softens as he nods.

"Wels is fine. Fractured his arm and a little bruised, but Stress has got him. He was asleep last I heard." Mumbo sighs, his chest finally expanding again. He sinks back into the seat. He has no idea how they've made it out of this situation as lucky as they have. "You wanna head into the ship? Let one of the others return this car." Mumbo nods. Would be nice to avoid running into the law after all this.

When he gets closer to the ship, he can hear shouting. He frowns, pressing closer to Doc. Doc simply rolls his eyes.

"They're still going," he murmurs.

"Still?"

Doc shakes his head, "Don't worry about it."

He leans over to open the ship door. The arguing silences immediately. False and Iskall turn to them as they enter. They're helmet-less, although False's hair is still in a bun at the bottom of her head.

"Mumbo!" Iskall moves before Mumbo can react, nearly knocking them over as he wraps his arms around him. Mumbo's brain momentarily malfunctions, taking a second to remember to hug Iskall back. "I was so worried, don't you dare do that again."

"I wasn't planning to, but I'll let you know." Iskall steps back, keeping his hands on Mumbo's forearms.

"And you're okay? How are you feeling?"

"I'm-" The lie nearly slips out before Mumbo thinks about it. He sighs, answering truthfully. "I'm a bit shaken. Finding it hard to believe that all happened, honestly."

"We've got you, okay?" Iskall reminds him. "I'll listen if you want to talk." Mumbo nods. He's not sure when that will be, but he knows it'll do him good.

"Will Xisuma want a proper report?"

"Not until you and Wels are rested up," False says, "He's pleased you're safe." She nods to Doc. "We're going to take the car back."

"Make sure you check in," Iskall tells them.

"We will," Doc reassures, offering a wave as they head outside. The ship feels much emptier with the two of them gone.

"Do you want to see Wels?" Iskall asks. Mumbo didn't realise how much he wanted that until now.

"Yes. Yes, I'd very much like that." Iskall smiles, leading Mumbo through the ship. It's bigger than the one he and Wels took. Offers more than three rooms. Iskall takes them into one of the side doors. Mumbo can immediately see the pink of Stress's suit as she moves around the room, humming a tune to herself. She pauses when she sees them in the doorway.

"Oh! Mumbo, you're back!" She smiles. Mumbo spots Etho curled in a chair on his phone. He raises a hand to acknowledge them. "You're not secretly hiding any injuries are you?"

Mumbo laughs, shaking his head, "No, I promise I'm okay. No injuries on me." She pokes her finger into her cheek.

"And you wouldn't mind me checking?"

"Um, if you want to."

She beams at him, "Nah, you're fine!" Iskall scoffs, gesturing out.

"How come that doesn't work for me? This is bias. Surely that's against oath."

"Iskall, love," Stress starts, her voice dangerously sweet, "Your idea of a minor injury is a stab wound. You've lost trust privileges." Iskall makes a noise of protest whilst Mumbo breaks into laughter. He can see Etho smiling out the corner of his eye.

There's a groan from the bed, then a teasing voice, "Who let you lot in?" Wels pushes himself up with one arm. The bulk of his suit is gone, only the black under-layer left. His other arm is bound by tight fabric to his chest. More interestingly, his hair has been neatly plaited out of his face.

"You shouldn't be moving, mister!" Stress scolds, jumping to move the pillows so he can sit up. "No jostling that arm."

"Yes ma'am," Wels replies. He laughs when Stress flicks his cheek, batting her away with his uninjured arm. Mumbo feels like he can finally breathe properly for the first time since all of this started. Wels looks at him, his expression soft. "Good to see you, Mumbo." His voice turns serious when he asks, "You're okay?"

"I'm fine. Virtually untouched." He holds his arms out before remembering he's still wearing his full suit. "Don't know if I can say the same for you." Wels laughs, sinking into the pillows.

"It's only a broken arm."

"Only," Iskall teases, "Like you're not going to complain when you still can't use it in a week."

Wels hums, "Well, Stress gave me painkillers, so I'm not exactly hurting right now." Stress waves her hands.

"All of you have complexes, I swear! You're gonna gain nothing by sitting there all miserable and sore!" She sounds genuinely exasperated. Mumbo is guilty of falling into that category.

"Admit it, you just like seeing us all loopy." Iskall tilts his head towards her. Stress flashes a smirk, resting her cheek in her palm.

"You can't prove it."

"That's admittance." Etho chimes in, keeping his eyes on his phone, fingers moving impossibly fast.

"I- I don't think that's how you use that word." Iskall frowns, his face scrunching in confusion.

"They're all made up anyway," Etho replies, "I'll use them how I want."

"Stress?" Wels asks, turning to her. His voice is perfectly polite.

"Yes?"

"Can I have more painkillers for the headache they're giving me?" Mumbo barely holds back his laughter. Iskall doesn't, doubling over with it. It only gets stronger when Etho makes a noise, looking disappointed at his phone.

"Yeah, I think you're going to be okay." Iskall pats the bed by Wels's feet. Stress finally sighs, standing fully and shepherding the two in.

"If you're going to clutter the room up then get some chairs. We can have a sleepover." Mumbo smiles, getting pushed into the chair Iskall slides under him.

"Woohoo," Iskall cheers dryly.

"Does that mean I get ice cream?" Wels asks, "I think I deserve ice cream."

"You need more sleep, is what you need." At Wels's dramatic noise she adds, "Ice cream when you wake up."

Iskall sticks his hand up, "Do the rest of us get some?"

"I want ice cream," Etho adds. Stress breathes in slowly, closing her eyes.

"You lot are gonna be the end of me," she announces with a smile. "Go to sleep." Mumbo laughs. Despite his impromptu nap, he can already feel tiredness settling in again. Surrounded by everyone teasing each other, it's not hard to drift off. Nothing's going to get him here.

-

"He was going to put that collar on him," False explains. Her arms are folded, back straight. The hologram of Xisuma frowns, a surprising display of emotion during a debrief. "If I'd been literally seconds later, X, I don't know what we'd be dealing with."

"And he's doing okay?" Xisuma asks, concern in his voice.

"He's dozing with Wels," Iskall replies. "He said it hasn't set in yet. I've told him I'll be there if he wants to talk about it. Stress and Doc are with them."

"Okay. And Wels?" The two glance at Etho.

"He wasn't great when I found him," Etho explains, his mission voice in full force. "We think he's broken his arm and he was giving me static shocks, so probably electrocuted. Won't know more unless they open up, but they seemed in good spirits earlier." Iskall nods in agreement. It's concerning him how quickly they've both settled. As if nothing traumatic happened. That's the most insidious kind. The one that punches you later.

"What about the people responsible?" All three of them share glances at that. False swallows.

"We secured most of the grunts. The authorities have picked them up." She made sure of it herself.

"But?" Xisuma prompts.

"The main guy, Dukes or whatever, completely vanished." Bitterness is still heavy in Iskall's tone. False sighs.

"I left him in the room, out cold, whilst I got Mumbo out of there. He was gone by the time I got back and so was the collar."

"None of us saw him leave," Etho adds.

"This is... More concerning. So that device is still out there."

"It won't be easy for him to build himself back up after this," False explains, "Most of the papers are already linking it to his company."

"That's no guarantee," Etho points out. "There's ways to place blame, claim he had no idea."

"Or he'll use it to go even deeper," Iskall comments. Xisuma taps his fingers on his arm, the hologram flickering as he thinks.

"Have you told Mumbo or Wels about this?" He asks, finally. He always puts his crew first.

"We've... No," Iskall admits.

"We're not sure how to."

"Make sure you do," Xisuma tells them, "Before you get back tomorrow." He pauses, looking over the camera. "Well, today now. Consider yourselves dismissed. We can have a full debrief when you're back on the ship." The three nod. They exchange a brief farewell before the hologram shuts off. Iskall turns to False, resting his hand on her arm to stop her rushing off.

"I'm sorry for shouting earlier," he apologises, straight to the point. "This has stressed me out more than I'd like, and finding out that scum got away just-" He breaks off. False smiles.

"It's okay. I get it." She couldn't believe it when she got back and he was gone. Then nobody knew where and her blame had to fall somewhere. "But they're with us, now. We're all safe. We got there in time."

"We nearly didn't."

"But we did," Etho states, joining the conversation. "Don't get stuck on the ifs right now. They're going to need us."

Iskall nods. "Right. Yeah." He perks himself up. "After mission nap?" False shakes her head, the three heading back through the ship.

"It's past midnight," she reminds him.

"After mission bedtime," Etho suggests. Iskall laughs, but nods along.

"Things could've gone worse," he states. False claps lightly, aware of the possible sleeping hermits.

"There you go! That's more like it."

"Mission successful-ish," Etho agrees.

"We got them back," False says, "That's the main thing."

"Yeah."

None of them want to consider the alternative.

[bittywitches]

Kitty Love (Ethan Dolan Fanfic)

GIF credit *@ethanhes​*

A/N: I wrote this sooo long ago (literally right after the first mini home video came out??) but it didn’t even end up being all that related to the vid in the first place....lol

Basically Ethan and Y/N are childhood bffs and Y/N has never really been away from Ethan for that long before and it starts to cause some ~tension~ when she comes to see how things are going on the van

Anyways, thanks for reading, ly <3

“It seriously should not have taken you that long to get here.” Ethan grinned when he saw Y/N walk into the room. 

“Hey, lay off. I’ve never been here before, it took me a while to figure it out.” She smiled back at him, pulling the straps of her backpack closer to her back. 

“Yea yea.” He stretched his arms out, welcoming her into his embrace. She walked into his arms and gave him a tight squeeze. “I’m so bored. Thank you so much for coming, I’d probably shoot myself by now if you didn’t show up.”

She grabbed his shoulders and looked over them, peering over at the others working on the van. Sawdust floated through the entire room, and there was overall dampness in the air that seems to come with all of the wood material around.

“Gray isn’t letting you do any work, huh?” She stepped back from him and was able to catch Grayson’s attention long enough to give him a quick wave. He smiled and waved back, then went back to sawing more wood pieces.

Ethan groaned. “Yeah.”

She shrugged. “Understandable. You can’t do shit.”

“Wow, okay. Fuck you too.”

She giggled and patted his cheek. “So, road trip, huh? Sounds pretty exciting.”

He grinned. “Yea. It’s gonna be so fun. We finally have the time to put more effort into something cool.” The next few weeks were pretty much booked solid for him, filled with one fun thing after the other. They’d take a Road trip to Jersey where he’d be able to hang out with his family for a bit, and then fly out to Australia. Sure, they were cutting it close, but that was all part of the excitement, right?

“Right. And clearly, you’re putting in TONS of effort.” She patted his chest with both hands, chuckling at him a bit. Her eyes seemed to sparkle a bit whenever she did that like there was some magic in there that came out of her with every smile. Maybe it was just the familiarity of her, but whenever Ethan saw her little dimples it sent a warm feeling throughout his chest. 

Ethan and Y/N had been friends for almost forever, and she came over quite often. They’d met each other back in grade school, and became really close as they got older. He was fairly certain she wouldn’t have moved out to LA if the twins hadn’t decided to in the first place. He was confident enough to say she was his closest friend, after Grayson of course. She was his cozy place he could retreat to whenever he wanted. 

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Are you just here to insult me?”

“Hey, you’re the one who called me!”

“And you somehow are making me regret it.”

“Shut up.” She shoved his chest, and he smiled at her.

“So, how are you doing?”

“You ask me that as if you didn’t see me just yesterday.”

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying.” He brushed a hand through his hair. “How're classes going n stuff?”

She sighed, rubbing her shoulders, which were peppered with freckles. They matched the ones on her face, and Ethan loved to run his fingers over them, dragging his finger across the freckles like he was connecting the dots to draw a bigger picture. “Alright, I guess. Everything’s been super boring lately. I just work, eat, go over to your house, and sleep.”

“Sounds pretty fun to me,” Ethan remarked.

“Yeah, well maybe you should take my classes for me and I’ll go on your little road trip.”

Ethan groaned, and she giggled. “Sorry. I don’t mean to complain.”

“No no I’m not annoyed.” He rubbed her elbow. “Maybe you SHOULD come with us. That seems like it’d be more interesting than your classes.”

She laughed. “I know you’re not serious because you’d never kick Kyle off the trip.”

“Who said we’d have to kick off Kyle?”

“That bed can not fit four people!”

“Who says? You can just snuggle up real close to me.”

“Hmmm.. while that does sound appealing...” she stepped closer to him then flicked his nose with her finger, making his heart flutter. “you know that’d never work. School and whatnot.” She slumped her shoulders.

“Yea..” Ethan sighed. “Wish you could though. I’m not gonna see you for so long.”

She looked up at him, head tilted, a gentle look in her eye. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” It looked like she was holding back, but she gave that up and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face into his chest. Ethan was caught by surprise a bit but loved the feeling of Y/N’s warmth all the same.

“You okay?” He rubbed her back gently, burying his nose into her hair. 

“Yea.” She brought her hands down to rest against his chest, placing her ear next to his heart. “You won’t even be gone that long. Dunno why I feel like I’m gonna miss you so much.”

“E, come over here!” Grayson shouted from the table he was at.

Ethan groaned, annoyed that this was the moment Grayson finally decided he needed his help. “Hey, gimme a sec.” He untangled himself from Y/N, then grabbed her waist, hoisting her up onto the nearest counter. “Be right back.”

“Okayyy.” She dangled her feet, kicking them back and forth as she watched Ethan make his way over to Grayson. Her eyes lingered, as If she was trying to memorize his shape. She was right, he really wouldn’t be gone for that long, but something about not seeing his face every day hit her in a bad way.

Only then did she notice that there was a big white splotch of dust on the back of Ethan’s pants. She giggled, then yelled, “Ethan, when did you start powdering your ass?”

He turned around abruptly, looked down, and smirked as he wiped the dust off of himself. “Eyes up here, honey.”

She sniggered. “All right, hot stuff.”

“You know it!” He yelled when he turned his back to her to keep walking.

She laughed, her eyes following him somewhat wistfully. 

He’s pretty cute, isn’t he? She thought.

Y/N took her bag off her back and set it down next to her on the counter. then brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly. She found her eyes kept wandering back to the twins, one in particular. Ethan was wearing a loose sweatshirt and black shorts, and his hair was all ruffled up, a bit of sawdust floating around the top of his head. He had his hands planted on his hips, seeming to look deeply entranced in whatever Grayson was telling him. Y/N giggled, thinking that he probably had no idea what his brother was talking about. She loved Ethan, but his attention was all over the place. He’d never been able to keep his focus on anything for too long.

Except maybe on her.

Ethan wrapped up his conversation with Grayson and started to make his way back to Y/N. she was on her phone, kicking her feet back on forth and they were rhythmically tapping on the side of the counter. Her hair was tied back into a braid, and she was wearing a loose tank top and tights, her sweatshirt wrapped around her waist. She kept fiddling with the hair peeking out over her ear, and Ethan smiled. She seemed to always be fiddling with something, she could never sit still. It was like she could never calm herself down. She always had to be doing something.

Except maybe when with him.

“Hey, sorry about that.” He walked up to the counter. 

“Oh, no problem.” She tucked her phone away into her pocket. “I’m sure you were doing something VERY important.” Her mouth quirked up.

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll have you know that this van wouldn’t be able to be built without my input.”

“Oh, yea? What was Gray asking you about?”

“...the colour of the floorboards.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize you were in a position to make such big decisions.”

“Shut up!” He shoved her shoulder, and she laughed. 

“I’m sorry, teasing you is so fun.” She stretched her arms out for him, and Ethan boosted her off of the counter.

“Jesus, there’s so much dust everywhere.” She wiped the dust off her butt and thighs. 

“I mean that’s kinda what happens when you sit on the dusty counter.”

“Which you put me on.”

“Same difference.”

“Wait, so you’re saying that your powdered ass was a result of you sitting around doing nothing while Grayson’s out here doing all the heavy work?”

“Oh my god, I’m done with you.” He walked off to the other side of the workshop and she laughed as she followed alongside him.

“I’m sorry, you make it so easy!”

——

It had been nearly an hour, and both Y/N and Ethan were bored out of their minds. They debated leaving to go hang out elsewhere, maybe go get coffee, but Ethan didn’t want to leave Grayson alone to be making all the decisions on the van. Like he was making any in the first place.

Ethan kept wandering around the room, looking around at what the others were doing, when he finally settled for a few minutes in one corner of the workshop.

“Y/N LOOK WHO I JUST FOUND.”

Y/N’s head perked up from her phone, looking around for Ethan but unable to catch his eye. “What??”

Ethan stepped around the corner, the biggest grin on his face and the cutest little kitten in his arms.

“Oh. My god.” Y/N jumped off the counter and ran up to him with a smile matching Ethan’s. “Oh my GOD he’s so cute!!”

“Right??” Ethan scratches him below the neck, causing the kitten to purr.

“Oh, you sweet little baby.” She ran her hand over his little head, scratching behind his ears. His nose twitched, and Y/N squealed in delight. “You’re a little cutie, aren’t you?” She said in a baby voice, and it felt like Ethan’s heart had doubled in size.

“Since when do you talk like that?”

“Since you started bringing me the cutest kitten ever.”

She was entranced with the little kitten, love, and adoration pouring out of her. God, she was so adorable. Ethan couldn’t help but feel like he wanted that kind of adoration from her. 

“Yes, you’re just the most adorable thing ever.” She babied the cat, and Ethan couldn’t help but grin ear to ear. 

“He’s so cute givehimtome.”

Y/N went to take the kitten from Ethan’s arms, but he pulled back for a moment, deciding he wanted to have some fun with Y/N for a bit.

“Hold on. This cat is precious. You have to be careful you know.”

“I know how to hold a cat!”

“This cat is a BABY. It’s our baby! I can’t be so carefree with my child!”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “He’s not our baby.”

Ethan gasped and cupped a hand over the kitten’s ear left ear. “Don’t you dare talk like that in front of our son!”

“Ethan come oooon I want to play with it too!”

“Our CHILD is not something to be played with, Y/N! He deserves the utmost care and to be fair I don’t think you can do it.”

“How dare you!” She lunged for the kitten but Ethan turned his back to her, holding the cat out of reach. 

“Ethan careful you’re going to drop him!”

Although Y/N didn’t really think he would. To be honest, the cat seemed to be having a fun time, wiggling his tail about as Ethan held it in his arms. 

“I am being careful, unlike you! You are a danger to this precious creature!”

“Ethan PLEASE! I want the fuzzy baby!” She grabbed his arm and tugged, making him turn around to face her. 

“No Y/N, I can’t trust you. You need to calm down.”

“How am I supposed to come down when you won’t let me hold our son??”

Ethan immediately stopped the charade, blinking at Y/N. Y/N, surprised at Ethan’s abrupt stop, looked up at him expectedly with her arms outstretched. “Give him to me.”

He did so right away and watched how Y/N’s expression of annoyance quickly morphed into one of excitement. 

“You called him our son.”

“I did what I had to do so I could hold him.”

“Uhuh. Sure.”

She rolled her eyes once more and turned her back to him. “I’m walking away now.”

“No you’re not, we need to discuss this! What does this mean for our son??”

“Ethan!”

——

Nearing the end of the day, the rest of the boys and Grayson were finishing up their work on the van.

“E, I’m so tired.”

“Mhm.”

Y/N rubbed her eyes and let out a yawn. “Let’s go home.”

“Come on...” he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and gave her a tight squeeze. “They’re almost done.”

“That’s what they say.” She groaned and leaned into his chest.

“C'mon. Let’s go.” She grabbed his sweatshirt and started to tug him.

“Y/N...”

“Pleaaaase.” She groaned. “I’m exhausted.”

He was tempted, but he knew he’d never hear the end of it if he left Grayson without saying anything.

“Okay... hold on.”

He shouted over to Gray. “Yo! Y/N’s tired, I’m taking her home!”

Gray shot him a thumbs-up, and Ethan turned back to her. “Alright, let's go.”

“Wait. Go where?”

Ethan blinked at her. “Are you high or something?”

“No!”

“You just asked if we could go home. So now I’m taking you home.”

“My home?”

“Okay, are you seriously alright? Did you breathe in too much sawdust?” He creased his eyebrows.

“Ethan!” 

“YES, your home.”

“No wait, I meant your place. Let’s go to your place.”

Ethan raised her eyebrows at her. “This late?”

“I’ll just sleepover.”

“But you have class tomorrow morning.”

Who cares?

“You can drive me.”

“I don’t think I’ll have time to..”

Seeing her face drop made him change his mind completely.

“Yea. I can do that.”

She grinned and pumped her fists into the air. “Yusss, I’m gonna get cuddles.”

Ethan’s faces flushed, and he rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Nope. You will drown in my cuddles.”

She grabbed his sweatshirt and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her nose almost touching his. Ethan’s jaw had dropped just a tiny bit, not knowing what to do, being so close to her. His face heated up so fast, it felt like Y/N could almost feel it, but she laughed. “Carry me to the car?”

“Oh my god, you lazy ass.” 

“Hmph.” She jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, then rested her head on his shoulder. Ethan grabbed her thighs and held her tightly, grinning like a fool.

“What’re you smiling about?” Y/N asked him slyly. 

“Nothin’.” He said, making his way towards the car. 

“Dumbass.” She murmured, smiling into his sweatshirt.

---------

“Open the door, it’s freezing.” Y/N shivered, retreating into the sweatshirt Ethan gave her while in the car. 

“Okay, okay. Hold on.” Ethan’s hands fumbled in the cold, shoving the key into the lock and jiggling it vigorously before the door opened.

Y/n couldn’t help but giggle at his red-tinted ears and nose. She could tell he was cold, but he was trying to hide it. Though not very well, because along with his shivering fingers, him shifting his weight from side to side while searching for the key was a dead giveaway. She felt kind of bad taking his sweatshirt, but she also loved that he was willing to do that for her.

“Okay, it’s open.” He huffed.

“Finally.” Y/N ran into the house, kicking her shoes off at the door. “How can it be this cold in LA?”

“We’ve been spoiled by the heat.” He closed the door behind him, placing his shoes next to hers by the door. “Canada would make us it’s bitch.”

“Honestly, yea.” Y/N grabbed Ethan's hand to drag him to his room, but let out a small gasp. “Jesus, your hands are freezing.” 

“Yea, because somebody stole my sweatshirt.” 

“You gave it to me!” 

“Whatever.”

She grumbled. “Okayyy I’m sorry. I’ll give you extra cuddles while we watch a movie to make up for it.”

“Hey, you have school tomorrow.” His eyes softened and he pulled her into his chest, and she huffed into his T-shirt.

“Whatever.” She mocked him.

“Dude, it’s late.” He looked down at her. “You’re not gonna be able to wake up in the morning.” 

“Yea I will.” She shoved him gently. “We’ll watch it on your laptop, then I can just fall asleep on your bed.” 

“Y/N…”

“Come onnnn.” She tugged on his arm, and he sighed in defeat. 

“Okay! Just let me go make some tea or something.” She nodded, letting his hand go so he could leave for the kitchen. “My laptop is on my bed, just pick a movie, ‘kay?” 

She gave him a thumbs-up, then made her way to his bedroom. She plopped down onto his bed, grabbing the laptop then throwing the covers over her. She sighed, relaxing her shoulders at the familiar environment of Ethan’s bedroom. 

Although...

What am I doing here?

Y/N sighed, slumping down further into the mattress. What was she doing here? She had come over to Ethan’s house at midnight, in hopes of watching a movie with him on a weekday? With school tomorrow? What was she doing?

God, I’m so into him, aren’t I?

She groaned, pulling the covers over her head in defeat. The overwhelming smell of Ethan from the sheets only helped fuel her frustration. She grunted, throwing the sheets off of her, trying to free her nose of the scent. 

“ETHAN!” She yelled for him.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” She heard his voice echoing down the hall, followed by his footsteps. He pushed the door open with his side, both of his hands being occupied by two cups of warm tea. He sat himself down on the edge of the bed and handed her one of the cups. “Here.”

She looked at him warily, trying her hardest to take the cup without touching his fingers, which got a weird look from Ethan. She took a sip of the tea.

She groaned.

It was perfect. Exactly how she liked it.

“Oh my god, you suck ass.” She swatted his shoulder in frustration.

“What?” His eyebrows creased. “I swear I did the way you usually do. I soaked the tea bag for exactly three minutes, added the teaspoon of sugar before the milk, and then just one spoon of honey-”

“GOD, I hate you so much.” She shoved him in the shoulder again, groaning as she laid her head back onto the headboard. 

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” Y/N mumbled.

“Are you mad at me or something?”

“No!” she said, flustered.

“Did I do something to upset you?”

“Ethan, NO!” 

“Then what the fuck are you so pissy about?”

“NOTHING, okay?” She set her tea on the side table and pulled the laptop towards her aggressively. “Jesus.”

Ethan tilted his head at her. “Y/N?”

“What do you want?” She looked up at him menacingly.

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Will you just tell me what the matter is?”

“There is no matter to tell you.”

“If you don’t tell me I won’t watch the movie with you.”

“I have nothing to say!”

He took her hand. She almost flinched, his warm hand sending a shock throughout her entire body. She looked at him, and his eyes were concentrated on her. “Tell me.”

She lost herself in a few seconds of bliss, but then yanked her hand away. “Get out of my face.”

He huffed. “Okay, fine. You don’t have to tell me what it is, just tell me if I’m the reason you’re all grumpy.”

Are you kidding?

She groaned. “Ethan… please just watch the movie.” She shimmied over patting the seat next to her.

He shook his head. “Tell me first.”

She sighed. “Okay. fine.” She took a deep breath. “You are the reason.” 

Ethan leaned back, seeming a bit bewildered. “Okay. don’t know what I was expecting you to say, but kind of didn’t want it to be that.” he waited for her to respond, to give him something, anything, but she just awkwardly stared at the laptop screen.

He sat there for a moment, wondering what exactly to say to her. He looked like he really wanted to ask her what this was all about, but he knew he couldn’t. He said that he wouldn’t.

“Okay then.” He got up. “Did you pick a movie?”

Y/N was so lost in her own thoughts, she had practically forgotten about choosing one. “Oh, yea. Sure. Just lemme check.”

“Alright, just let me text Gray real quick, okay?” She nodded. Ethan sat down at his desk chair, swiveling it around so he faced her. He took out his phone and began typing up whatever it was he was going to send to his brother.

Y/N watched him, warily from the bed. She didn’t know what to do. There were so many things going through her head at once. She wanted to tell him. She wanted him to know why she was there. She wanted him to know why she wanted to watch a movie. She wanted him to know how she felt. She wanted him to feel the same way. 

She wanted him. 

“Hey, E.” 

“Mhm?” 

“Look at me.”

He looked up at her skeptically, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”

She looked at his eyes for a moment, the brown and hazelnut seeming to warm her from the inside. She took in every part of him. His eyes, his nose, his pesky hair that never stayed in one place. His beauty marks and almost non-existent acne scars, his sharp jawline and his stubble. His somehow still tinted ears, his dimples, his soft pink lips.

Huh.

“Kiss me.”

He didn’t react at first, not seeming to follow. Then a quick flash of a smile, thinking it was a joke. But as he realized she was serious, his eyes widened, the colour from his ears now flushing to his face.

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

He moved his mouth, but couldn’t seem to form any words. “I don’t-”

“Ethan kiss me before I change my mind.”

He seemed frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. He didn’t seem to understand the words she had just said. He stared at her, running his eyes over her, landing finally on her lips. He’d tried so hard to keep his eyes away from them, but now he couldn’t help it. They were all he wanted.

She was all he wanted.

He got up, cupped her face with his hands, and pressed his greedy lips to hers. A moan escaped Y/N’s lips, and Ethan smiled against them when he heard that heavenly sound. Her face flushed, feeling the smile on Ethan’s lips, and she pulled away.

“I hate you.”

“I’m sorry. You’re fucking adorable.”

“God, I HATE you!” She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him again. He leaned forward, pushing her all the way down so she laid down on the bed, and he held himself over her, propping himself up with his arms on either side of her. He deepened the kiss, not able to get enough of the taste of her lips. He pulled back, smiling at her. 

“I thought you were mad at me.”

She glanced away from him. “Well, I was.”

He laughed. “For what?”

“For not taking a hint!” She couldn’t help but giggle.

“It’s not my fault that you’re 90% sarcasm.”

“It’s not my fault that you have such a thick skull.”

“You are so ruining this.”

“Shut up!”

He leaned down once more, kissing her again. She sighed, letting her arms make their way up his arms and back around his neck. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then her jaw, then her neck.

She blushed, hard. “Ethan!!” she pushed him up so they were both sitting upright, sitting as close to each other as possible. 

“Cmon, this is the least I can do for catching on so late.”

She smiled at him, then laid her head against his shoulder. “How about we just watch a movie instead?”

He grinned like a fool. “Sounds amazing.”

[pumpkinpenguin]

Bottled Up: SonKnux Oneshot

Knuckles watched with minimal interest as Sonic destroyed yet another one of Eggman's robots. This had become routine; Egmman wants the master emerald so he gets a robot and Sonic smashes it before it can even get to Angel Island. He had to admit, it made his job easier, but he wondered why Sonic was so bent on protecting Angel Island. He brushed it off and went back to watching the scene in front of him unfold. Eggman gave his usual speach of "I'll be back you wretched hedgehog!" before speeding away in his Eggmobile. Knuckles just shook his head and looked down to see if Sonic was still there or not, but of course, the speedy blue hedgehog had already run off.

That was another thing; Knuckles never got the chance to talk to Sonic about what the hell he was doing or to even get out a quick, "Thanks." It was a bit frustrating. Of course, the echidna knew that Sonic didn't like staying in one place for long but with how much time he seems to spend around the floating isle, he could at least stop and say hi. He would never admit it, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss the blue blur's company. It was weird to go this long without all the teasing and compliments. Knuckles never thought he'd wish to be teased so badly, but the small interactions they had always gave him a warm feeling.

Maybe it was the fact that he kept seeing Sonic and never got the chance to talk; but he never realized how less lonely Sonic made his job. Of course Rouge would always drop by, but she only came to gossip about what goes on in Mobius and complain about how 'brooding' Shadow is. Knuckles would always tune her out, but still give his input here and there. She would always tell him that he gave great advice before flying off, but Knuckles knew that she was just being nice. To be honest, he only believed compliments if they were coming from Sonic.

The two were good friends and very close, despite the frequent fights they had. So, it hurt more that Sonic wouldn't even give the echidna a passing glance. It made Knuckles feel a pain in his chest when he thought about it. Maybe Sonic didn't want to be friends anymore and just wanted to stop Eggman. Maybe he got bored with Knuckles. Maybe-

No. Knuckles shook his head and stood up. It's no good to think that way. All it does is make him anxious and upset, ruining his good mood. He would just have to wait for when Sonic was ready to talk again. He didn't know what he did to make his friend so upset, but he would respect his boundaries and not jump to any conclusions.

Sonic let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding once he was far enough away from Angel Island. He didn't know why, but he always got super nervous around Knuckles now. Actuallly, he knew exactly why; but he would rather die than admit his feelings for the hothead. The blue blur was never one to communicate his feelings. Heroes weren't supposed to have negative thoughts and they were always supposed to fall for the damsel in distress. But he always gets so uncomfortable when girls flirt with him after he saves them. He would much rather look at the stars with his friend, Knux. He was surprised the echidna never realized that Sonic had feelings for him, but he was always a bit of a knucklehead. He was determined to keep it that way, even if it meant avoiding the echidna. Another bottle to put on the shelves.

Sonic plastered a smirk on his face and entered the house he shared with Tails. He knew that he'd be in the workshop, but he can never be too careful.

"Hey Sonic! Did you go to Angel Island again," Tails asked as he emerged from the shop. The hedgehog just nodded at the boy before opening the fridge and reaching in to grab a leftover chillidog.

Tails beamed. "That's great! I'm glad you and Knuckles get to hang out more these days! I heard from Cream that he'd missed hanging out with you." Sonic choked on his food hiding the blush on his face from his two tailed companion. The fox gave Sonic a confused look.

"Are you okay?"

"Completely fine! I'm one hundred percent okay! I guess I shouldn't try and talk with food in my mouth. Ha."

Sonic hoped he didn't seem too nervous or flustered about the situation. He didn't need anyone knowing about his feelings for Knuckles. He didn't need anyone knowing about his feelings at all. Tails shrugged before heading back into his workshop, leaving Sonic to finish his lunch.

Sonic could still feel that his face was heated up, flustered at the thought that Knuckles missed him. He shook his head. No. Surely Rouge must have said something to Cream while her and Shadow were babysitting. The small rabbit must've come to that conclusion herself. There's no way. Sonic knew Knuckles would never reciprocate. He sighed. Maybe he should stop going to Angel Island altogether. But he couldn't. He worried too much. Yes, Knuckles had giant fists to protect himself, two very holdable fists, and he could deffinitely smash any robot Eggman had; but he couldn't help but worry. Knuckles was very easily persuaded by Eggman's tricks and sob stories; he couldn't help it! He's a big softie. Sonic just didn't feel comfortable knowing that Eggman could trick him again. And he really, REALLY, did not want to fight with Knuckles right now. He sighed once more before getting up and zooming off. A run would clear his head.

_________

so i wrote this to satiate my friend's need to read my fanfic i stopped writing

come get y'all juice

[starlightbuck]

i wanna be known (by you)

part 1/2 || word count: 6.5k || read on AO3 

“I didn’t mean to do it.”

Hen glances down at Eddie’s phone then back up at him in disbelief. “How do you ‘not mean’ to download a bunch of dating apps but still have them on your phone?”

Or

In which Eddie delves into the intimidating world of online dating.

“I didn’t mean to do it.”

Hen glances down at Eddie’s phone then back up at him in disbelief. “How do you ‘not mean’ to download a bunch of dating apps but still have them on your phone?”

Eddie ducks his head, feeling a warm blush work its way up his neck and onto his cheeks. He can’t tell Hen the truth. It’s a pathetic story that includes a night without Christopher, a bottle of red wine, and a very sad Spotify playlist. “It just happened.”

“Okay,” Hen says, but her tone makes it painstakingly obvious that she doesn’t believe him. Eddie is just grateful that she’s choosing not to call him out on his lie. “So, remind me what you need me for again?”

When Eddie woke up this morning, he had a phone full of apps he didn’t remember downloading but couldn’t bring himself to delete. Sober him was too scared to take the first step towards putting himself out there again, but apparently last night’s wine-drunk version of him wasn’t. He was thankful for that courage, up until he tried logging into the first app and realized that he was way out of his depth. He needed help and he knew exactly who he could turn to.

“I don’t know how to use them.”

Hen leans closer to Eddie so that she can hear him over the chatter in the firehouse. “Can you say that again? I didn’t hear you.”

“I don’t know how to use that dating app,” Eddie repeats, gesturing to the one that Hen currently has open on his phone. When her eyes widen behind her glasses, he resigns himself to being a little overheated for the entirety of his conversation thanks to his embarrassment. “Or any. I’ve never used one before.”

He braces himself for whatever jokes Hen has up her sleeve in response to his confession - she always has at least three at her disposal - but they never come. Instead she says, “alright, then let me show you.”

“What?”

“I’m going to show how to use the app.” Hen tilts the phone in his direction so that he can see what she’s doing. “Once you get the basics down for this one, using the rest of the apps will be a breeze.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open. He had mentally prepared himself for the teasing he’d be on the receiving end of as soon as he recruited Hen for assistance. He knew it would be done good-naturedly, which is why she was the one he chose to turn to. “You’re not gonna make fun of me?”

Hen sighs, lowering Eddie’s phone and using her free hand to hold his. It’s an unexpected move, but not unwelcome. “C’mon, Eddie. In what world would I possibly make fun of you for putting yourself out there again?”

Her brown eyes bore into his and it takes all of Eddie’s strength not to look away. They’ve been working together for close to two years now. It’s how she knows about Shannon’s passing and how much of a mess Eddie was after it happened. “Thank you,” he whispers.

She pats his hand before picking up his phone again. “Now, enough of that. It’s time for us to get down to business.”

She inputs some basic information on Eddie’s behalf, all the while showing him what she’s doing so he can do it on his own with the other apps later.

“And now all that’s left before we choose some of your pictures is to put in your sexual preference,” Hen explains, finger hovering over the word ‘women’.

Eddie’s heart rate kicks up a couple of notches as Hen moves to click that word, not even bothering to acknowledge the other two options. It’s a conversation Eddie has never had at work, not because he’s ashamed, but because it’s never come up.

He can let Hen believe her assumption is correct and choose the ‘women’ option for him now and go home and change it for himself later. She would be none the wiser and nothing would change. But, Eddie decides that that’s not what he wants. Hen, hell the entire 118, have become his family and it doesn’t feel right to lie to family. Not that he’s been lying so much as omitting the truth.

“Actually,” Eddie interjects, cutting off whatever Hen was in the middle of saying. If he doesn’t do this now, he might never do it. He holds his breath as he lightly knocks her hand out of the way so that he can bypass the ‘men’ and ‘women’ option to choose ‘both’.

She looks over at him, shock clearly written across her face before letting out a startled laugh. “Okay, Diaz. I see you.”

He exhales, happy that coming out to her was as simple as that. No questions, no accusations, nothing. It makes a weight he didn’t even know he was carrying float away and he’s lighter because of it.

He knocks his shoulder against Hen’s and she does the same back to him before giving him his phone back.

“Okay, time to pick the pictures you want on your profile.” Hen taps her chin before saying, “taken a picture with any puppies recently? No one, man or woman, can deny a cute man holding an even cuter puppy.”

Buck, 26 Los Angeles, CA Birthmark not eye herpes.

“He’s cute.” Eddie drops his phone face down onto his lap, heart racing as he looks over his shoulder. Hen is standing there, smirk firmly in place. He doesn’t know how long she’s been there and he’s not sure that’s something he wants to know. If she’s been there the whole time, that would mean she knows he’s been openly staring at this guy’s profile for the last twenty minutes. “Did someone punch him in the face?”

“Did someone punch who in the face?” Chim asks as he raids the fridge for a snack.

Bobby must be in his office or somewhere else in the station because no one would ever dare to mess with anything in the kitchen when he’s around, especially the fridge. They’re all convinced he has some kind of organization system in place in there that he refuses to tell them about. It’s the only way to explain how he always knows when something’s been moved.

Eddie shoves his phone into his back pocket as if doing so will suddenly end this conversation. “No. No one.” He clears his throat. “No one got punched.”

Hen snorts, mouthing ‘smooth’ at Eddie before heading into the kitchen area to make herself a cup of coffee. She only gets as far as replacing the coffee filter when the alarm suddenly sounds overhead. They’re all heading for the stairs in an instant, leaving everything behind in the loft as they go.

Well, almost everything.

Eddie’s mind strays to brilliant blue eyes and a bruise-like birthmark as he jumps into the fire truck.

“Why is this so hard?”

Eddie stares at his darkened phone screen before tapping his finger against it. When he does, Buck’s profile lights up the otherwise dark room. He’s spent close to an hour on the app, finger ready to swipe right on Buck, before chickening out, letting the phone lock itself and then repeating the process all over again.

There are people out there who use dating apps with ease and it’s apparent to Eddie that he’s not one of them. He probably should’ve seen this coming as soon as he asked Hen for help setting up his profile, but he didn’t. He had foolishly assumed that creating his profile was the final hurdle he needed to get past before putting himself back out there in the dating world. He didn’t take into consideration the fact that there was still one last hurdle to get past - actually swiping right on someone.

It sounds completely innocuous when it’s put that way - swiping right. It’s nothing more than a quick motion, a movement that can be done in the blink eye.

For Eddie though, it’s more than that. For him, it’s the equivalent of letting someone know you like them and hoping that they feel the same. It’s a position that Eddie hasn’t been in in years and, now that he’s stepped back into it, the ground has become unsteady beneath his feet.

But it’s time, it’s been time. If he doesn’t now, when will he?

“Fuck it.”

With a bout of confidence that wells up from an unknown source somewhere deep within him, he unlocks his phone and finally swipes right.

The action alone is enough to make Eddie smile triumphantly. He did it. He didn’t think he could, but he did and now -

You’ve matched!

The words on his screen are accompanied by two small circles - one that has Eddie’s profile picture and the other has Buck’s. It must be the app’s way of letting him know what him and his match will look like together, but all it’s done is send Eddie’s heart rate spiking. He’s been so focused on the steps that needed to be taken to put himself out in the dating world again that he didn’t stop to think about what would come after that.

In this case, that ‘after’ means sending a message to the person he’s matched with.

“Shit.”

“Daddy?”

Eddie puts his phone down right away, screen facing down so that he can offer up all of his attention to his son. They’re sitting at the table working on a project for one of Chris’s classes and, although Chris swore that he could handle it on his own, Eddie chose to sit across from him and offer up some moral support. There aren’t too many days where he can just sit and be in his son’s company, so he figured he’d take advantage of the opportunity today. “Yeah, Chris?”

“Are you mad at your phone?”

“I- what?”

“You were looking at it like this.” Chris pushes his eyebrows together with the tips of his pointer fingers and turns his lips down in an exaggerated pout. Something tells Eddie he didn’t look exactly like that, but maybe that’s how obvious his mood is to his son. And here Eddie was thinking that he was good at keeping his emotions under lock and key. “You only make that face when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

And he’s not, at least not per se. He’s mostly just aggravated at himself and his inability to type up a simple message.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chris asks earnestly. It’s done in such a way that Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s something he definitely cannot take credit for teaching his son. Not him, someone who makes it a point to bury his feelings so deep beneath the surface that it would take at least a full day of digging to actually reach. “Carla always tells me that it’s good to talk about my feelings instead of letting them bubble inside me.”

“Carla’s right,” Eddie admits. He wishes there had been someone out there to tell him that when he was younger. It would’ve been refreshing to hear in comparison to his father’s motto of keeping everything bottled up inside where no one can see it.

“So, why are you mad, daddy?”

Chris’s head is tilted just so and it makes it impossible for Eddie to tell him anything other than the truth. Or at least a version of the truth that’s appropriate for Chris’s ears. “I made a new friend recently and I’m trying to figure out what to say to him.

“Oh!” Chris is excited about this, something that's apparent to Eddie after years of learning how to read his son. It might’ve been hard for him to really decipher his son’s words and actions upon returning from overseas, but Eddie found his bearings over time. For example, if not for Chris’s voice, Eddie would be able to deduce his son’s excitement from the red in the apple of cheeks and the flailing of his limbs. “That’s easy. You just say, ‘hi’.”

“Hi?”

“Yeah, what else would you say?”

His son makes a very valid point and Eddie feels a little foolish for not thinking of that himself.

“When’d you get so smart, kid?”

Chris’s answering grin is bright as he picks up his pencil to get back to his project. “I’ve always been smart.”

Eddie laughs before grabbing his phone, unlocking it and opening the app where an introduction is waiting for him. There’s no world where he would've considered typing a message to an almost stranger after a conversation with his son, but who cares. He’s tired of overthinking things.

He types up the short message quickly, hitting send before he has a chance to second guess himself.

Eddie (6:42pm): hi

Buck (6:43pm): hey! :)

“Carla send you a cute picture of Chris again?”

Dazed, Eddie glances up and finds Bobby staring back at him. “Huh?”

“Picture of Chris?” Bobby asks, pointing at Eddie’s phone. “You’ve been smiling at your screen for the past five minutes.”

“Oh uh yeah.” Eddie is quick to switch over to his photos app and pull up a picture that he had taken of Chris at the park yesterday. His captain will be none the wiser of when it was actually taken. “The two of them went to the park today since Chris had a half-day,” he explains as he holds his phone out for Bobby to see.

Bobby’s eyes light up immediately. It’s a reaction that Eddie’s grown accustomed to whenever Chris is involved. There’s no denying just how cute his son is.

Eddie waits until later, after Bobby has gone back to his office and no one else is around, to open the dating app that he spends a fair amount of time on these days. And to think, only a week ago he was asking for help on how to use the app.

Eddie (3:02pm): my boss called me out for smiling like an idiot at my phone

Eddie (3:02pm): I’m mortified

Buck (3:03pm): hi mortified! i’m buck!

Eddie shakes his head, biting the corner of his lip to keep from laughing.

Eddie (3:04pm): you’re the worst

Buck (3:07pm): if I was the worst would you really be smiling like an idiot at your phone because of me?

Eddie (3:09pm): I never said that YOURE the reason I was smiling at my phone

Buck (3:10pm): you haven’t denied it yet either ;)

Eddie stares off into space, trying to find the words he needs to send a message he should’ve sent ages ago. It’s just that talking to Buck these past two weeks has been fun, easy, and he never found the right time to bring up the fact that he has a son. Maybe if they had met in person, it’s something that would’ve been mentioned much sooner, but it’s different since the two of them are only messaging each other. Eddie is sure that there must be some kind of etiquette about telling someone you’ve met online that you’re a single parent, he just hasn’t figured out what it is just yet.

But, as he watches his son whoop happily as he flies down the playground’s slide, Eddie knows it’s time to be upfront with Buck and tell him. Better now than further down the line, especially if Buck has a problem with Eddie having a kid.

He really hopes he doesn’t.

Eddie (5:42pm): I have to tell you something.

Eddie thrums his fingers against his phone and tells himself that the way his stomach swoops has everything to do with the burrito he had for lunch today.

He doesn’t have to wait long for Buck’s response.

Buck (5:44pm): Is this when I find out that the pictures on your profile aren’t actually yours?

Buck (5:44pm): I knew it was too good to be true

Buck (5:45pm): Who’s THAT good-looking and easy to talk to???

Buck (5:46pm): I wonder if I can get on Catfish with this story

Buck (5:47pm): I’ve always wanted to be friends with nev

Eddie thinks that maybe he would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so nervous. He types out the message quickly, but between checking on Christopher again and his own nerves, it takes him longer to hit send.

Eddie (5:55pm): I have a son.

Buck (5:56pm): Cool! How old is he?

Eddie’s eyes widen, it can’t be that easy. Can it?

Eddie (5:57pm): he’s 9

Buck (5:58pm): that’s such a fun age!

And, because apparently Eddie doesn’t know to not look a gift horse in the mouth, he shares his disbelief with Buck.

Eddie (6:00pm): you’re okay with the fact that i have a kid?

Buck (6:01pm): i love kids

Buck (6:02pm): i’m a 1st grade teacher

Buck (6:02pm): did i never mention that?

He most certainly did not. Although, now that Eddie thinks about it, he never told Buck what he does for a living either. He should probably do that.

It’s interesting, the details that don’t come to the surface versus those that do in the world of online dating. Eddie’s sure that, had he met Buck in person, them talking about what they did for a living would’ve been one of the first things to come up in a conversation.

Eddie (6:04pm): you didn’t but i’m glad i know now

Eddie (6:05pm): i’m a firefighter by the way

Buck (6:06pm): you’re kidding me

Eddie (6:07pm): nope

Buck (6:08pm): so you’re hot, easy to talk to AND a firefighter

Eddie’s face heats up at the casual mention of his own attractiveness. Apparently being complimented via text makes him react the same way he would’ve had he heard the compliment in person. Add that to the list of things he’s learned thanks to the world of online dating.

Buck (6:09pm): please do not be alarmed if i don't respond for the next hour or so, i need time to properly digest all of this information

Buck (6:34pm): totally unrelated question, but if i set my apartment on fire right now will you come save me?

“I know that look.”

Eddie startles, almost dropping his phone in the process. When he seeks out the person who has caught him off guard, he’s surprised to see May. What surprises him even more is how the knowing look on her face is an exact match for the one he’s seen Athena wear countless times before.

It’s unsettling.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with the boys?”

Eddie and Chris already had plans for a movie night when he overheard Hen complaining about her babysitter canceling on her and Karen, thus leaving them without anyone to watch Denny on date night. Eddie, knowing that Chris wouldn’t mind the extra company, told Hen that Denny was more than welcome to join him and Chris for movie night. Then, because Bobby was sitting right next to him, Eddie extended the invitation to Harry and May as well.

It’s how he ended up here in his home on a Friday night with three young boys and May.

“I was, but they’re thirsty so I told them I’d come by and see what’s taking you so long.” May walks a little further into the kitchen and leans against the counter. “I wasn’t expecting you to be distracted by whoever it is you're texting and obviouslycrushing on.”

Eddie splutters. “I-what?” He can’t remember the last time he was called out for having a ‘crush’ on someone. The term itself sounds so juvenile. “I wasn’t texting and I’m not ‘crushing on’ anyone.”

May rolls her eyes. “You might be able to fool an adult with that argument, but not me. I saw the heart eyes you were directing at your phone as soon as I walked in here. So, can we skip past the part where you try to deny it?”

Eddie’s jaw falls open at May’s bluntness. He really thought he was in for an easy and fun night with the kids and instead he’s being called out by a teenager. If this is what he has to look forward to when Chris gets older, Eddie will start looking into ways to keep his son nine-years-old forever.

As if conjured by his father’s thoughts, Chris yells, “daddy! Are you coming back with our hot chocolates?”

Eddie moves to pick up the tray of mugs he was planning to bring to his living room before getting sidetracked but May beats him to it. She purposely takes two mugs off of the tray, leaving them behind on the counter. “I’ll take these to the boys, get the movie started, and then we’re gonna talk.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument and all Eddie can do is stare at her as she walks away. He’s always known better than to get on Athena’s bad side and, tonight, he’s learned that the same can be said for May.

Accepting that there’s no escaping what he’s sure is about to be a very thorough interrogation, Eddie picks up the two mugs May left behind and brings them to the table before sitting down. He’s tempted to message Buck while he waits for her to return but messaging him earlier was what got him into this situation to begin with.

“Okay,” May says as soon as she returns, taking the seat across from Eddie and wrapping her hands around her mug. “Spill.”

“Spill?”

“Yes, spill. Who’s got you looking at your phone like a lovestruck teenager?

Eddie’s grateful he wasn’t taking a sip of his drink when May asked that question because he might’ve choked on it. Lovestruck teenager, really?

“Just someone I’ve been talking to for a couple of weeks now.”

“And?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “And what?”

“Can’t you be a little more detailed?” May leans forward, forearms resting on the table as her inquisitive brown eyes lock on Eddie. “When did you two meet? Where? Are they cute? Can I see a picture of them if you have one? Have they met the team yet?”

Eddie’s head is spinning from all the questions being thrown at him, but what really sticks out to him is May’s use of the gender-neutral terms ‘they’ and ‘them’. He’s grown so used to everyone around him assuming he’s straight, that it barely phases him when they use female pronouns. But here May is decidedly not doing that.

“They? Them?”

“You’ve never explicitly said what your sexual orientation is, and it’d be wrong of me to assume,” she explains, shrugging as if there’s nothing out of the ordinary with her reasoning. It’s that, her blasé attitude towards something people barely put any thought into, that cracks Eddie’s resolve.

“His name is Evan, but he goes by Buck.”

Eddie goes into more detail about the man that he’s been talking to, answering all of May’s questions about him. The experience makes him feel a little like his abuela when she sits at the dinner table gossiping with relatives.

“This is him,” Eddie tells her, sliding her phone across the table to her so that she can look at Buck’s pictures.

“Oh!” May exclaims, covering her mouth at the last second to keep from being too loud and drawing the boys’ attention away from their movie. “He’s cute.” She swipes through a few of Buck’s pictures. “Really cute. You two would look good together.”

Eddie does not puff out his chest a little bit at the compliment.

“Have you guys exchanged numbers yet?”

“No, why would we? We can just talk on the app.”

May shakes her head as she hands Eddie back his phone. “That’s the next step of online dating. You’ve gotta transition away from the app and, after messaging on it nonstop for three weeks straight, I think it’s time.”

Her statement lingers in Eddie’s mind later that night after all the kids have been picked up and Chris is tucked in and asleep. Honestly, he never even thought about asking Buck for his number so they could text each other instead of having to rely on the app. It would definitely be much easier to remain in contact that way and Eddie won’t have to hide his phone every time he opens the app to keep anyone from seeing it. The messages app is much more inconspicuous.

Eddie (9:34pm): what are your thoughts on exchanging phone numbers?

Buck (9:40pm): i thought you’d never ask :)

Eddie is walking into the station when his phone chimes. The sound is followed shortly thereafter by a second chime. He’s carrying a tray full of drinks, having woken up early and in a good enough mood to stop by the team’s favorite coffee shop to pick something up for Bobby, Chim, Hen, and himself. The tray itself isn’t all that heavy, but Eddie doesn’t trust himself to carry it in one hand. If his friends found out that he had purchased them all drinks, only to end up spilling it right before their shift began, he’d never hear the end of it.

At the same time, there’s only one person who would be texting Eddie at this time. It’s the same person who he’s continued to talk to nonstop since they exchanged phone numbers.

Although him and Buck had already gotten into the habit of messaging one another through a dating site, things somehow feel different now that they’ve switched to texting. More intimate. More real.

With this on his mind, it’s easy for Eddie to decide to take the risk - balance the tray in one hand so he can use the other hand to retrieve his phone.

Buck (8:50am): my kids are going to be the death of me

Buck (8:51am): if I had known I was going to die today I would’ve at least dressed better

Buck’s flair for dramatics is a trait that Eddie learned about the younger man when they first began messaging each other. It’s thoroughly entertaining.  

Eddie (8:54am): what happened?

Eddie (8:54am): just asking so i can give the police the correct info when the murder investigation begins

In place of a text, Eddie receives a picture. In the background, there’s a chalkboard that says ‘You’re the best, Mr. Buckley!’ and on a large desk which must belong to Buck, there are various cards and what looks like a container with cupcakes in it. Eddie would zoom in to confirm this assumption, but it’s a little hard to do so with one hand while walking up the stairs.

Eddie (8:56am): why are you the best?

Buck (8:57am): i’m thoroughly offended that you even have to ask that

Buck (8:58am): (it’s teacher appreciation day)

“Are those for us?”

Eddie stops abruptly. The drinks in the tray tilt precariously, but Chim steps forward to save them with a steadying hand.

“Well someone’s distracted this morning.”

“No I’m not,” Eddie argues, locking his phone and stepping around Chim so he can carefully place the drinks on the counter.

Chim’s there a moment later, grabbing the mixed berry smoothie he’s been trying to convince his coworkers to drink instead of coffee. He takes a long sip before leaning against the counter and studying Eddie. “Distracted and defensive. Something’s definitely going on with you.”

In place of answering and implicating himself, Eddie grabs his coffee and takes a sip. It’s nowhere near as good as the one Abuela makes for him at her place, but it has caffeine and that's what matters most. He’ll gladly drink anything that’ll help him get through a 24-hour shift.

Chim stares at Eddie a little too intently for his liking, but Eddie stands his ground and doesn’t look away. Looking away would mean admitting defeat and that’s not something Eddie is prepared to do, even if Chim’s observation is correct.

“There’s something different about you these days. And I intend to find out what it is.”

It’s definitely a threat, but it’s one that Eddie can handle especially since Hen and Bobby unwittingly come to his rescue only a few seconds later. They collect their drinks from the counter and thank Eddie for them before Hen engages Chim in a conversation. Bobby heads in the direction of the fridge, which temporarily allots Eddie some time to himself. He intends to use it wisely.

Eddie (9:03am): you definitely deserve the appreciation

Eddie (9:03am): those kids are lucky to have you as their teacher :)

Buck’s reply doesn’t come until much later in the day, but that doesn’t stop Eddie from laughing when he sees it.

Buck (4:10pm): I read your message during lunch with some of the other teachers and got mocked for my reaction to it

Buck (4:12pm): and no I will not tell you what that reaction was. you don’t deserve to know

It’s late when Eddie finally gets home. Christopher is spending the night at Abuela's, which means it’s also silent as Eddie slowly makes his way towards his bedroom.

He hates it.

The silence reminds him of the last call from his shift. A neighbor had called in about a very loud argument going on in the house next to theirs. As soon as the 118 arrived at the scene and began gearing up, the sound of two gunshots pierced through the night air and threw everyone into high alert. The all-clear was given at some point thereafter and, when Eddie and the rest of the time were finally allowed inside of the house, they were met with silence.

Two DOAs. Nothing they could do to help either person.

Eddie changes out of his clothes on autopilot, thankful that he had the forethought to shower at the station. Now that he’s home, all he wants to do is crawl under the covers and forget about the horrors of the world for a little while.

He has just pulled back his covers and laid down in bed when his phone vibrates. It’s not until it happens a second time, that he checks to see who’s texted him.

Buck (10:45pm): pretty sure I just saw you and your team on the news?

Buck (10:45pm): could be wrong but I figured I’d ask

Right, the news. Eddie forgets that, sometimes, being a first responder means ending up on television. It’s a part of the job he could happily do without.

Eddie (10:50pm): yeah that was us

Buck (10:51pm): are you okay?

Without thinking, Eddie’s fingers tap out his response - yes. Right before hitting send though, he stops himself. No, he’s not okay. Not really.

It’s late, he’s tired, and he doesn’t feel like being a liar. Not tonight. It’s why he erases his original response and types a new one.

Eddie (10:52pm): no

Eddie puts his phone down beside him and closes his eyes. As soon as he does, the image of the dead man and woman from earlier infiltrates his mind. In comparison to everything he saw during his time in Afghanistan, the crime scene he witnessed today was nothing. But it’s the fact that it was a crime scene at all is what really got to him. Death was the norm overseas. It shouldn’t be the norm here, at home.

What’s the point of going off to war in the hopes of making the world a better place when violence can still be found everywhere you turn?

Eddie’s phone vibrates and, at first, he assumes it’s another text. When it continues vibrating, Eddie realizes that someone is calling him. Considering how late it is, he assumes it’s his grandma and is quick to pick up the electronic device. He’s about to accept the call when he sees the name at the top of the screen - Buck.

They’ve been messaging each other for over a month now and it’s become such an ingrained part of Eddie’s daily routine that it’s hard for him to imagine a time when that wasn’t the case. There have been moments where he’s felt like maybe they’ve been taking things a little too slowly and that, by now, other people would’ve met already. Or perhaps even gone on a date or two. But Eddie is in no rush and he’s been more than happy to keep things moving at this pace.

But now, here Buck is taking things another step further and catching Eddie completely off-guard. Exchanging phone numbers was one thing. Talking on the phone is something else entirely.

His phone is still buzzing in his hand and Eddie stares at it. The alternative to not answering this call is to continue lying in bed and being mocked by his overly quiet home. The latter is somehow scarier than the former.

“Hello?” The voice, Buck, says as soon as Eddie answers. It’s weird that Eddie can list off so many random details about Buck - what he does for a living, what his favorite taco place is, what kind of music he listens to when he’s in a bad mood, where he grew up - but he’s never actually heard him speak. Not until now.

“Hi, Buck.”

For a few seconds, all Eddie can hear is Buck’s breathing on the other end. Then, “I hope it’s okay that I called. It’s just, I saw the news about that call you were on and then you said you weren’t okay and just texting you back didn’t feel right. But maybe this is weird, and I should’ve asked you if it was okay before doing it. Sorry. My sister says I should work on my impulse control.”

Buck rambles when he’s nervous. That’s good to know.

“It’s okay,” Eddie tells him, smiling when he hears Buck’s sigh of relief. “I’m glad you decided to call.”

“You are?”

Eddie pulls the covers up to under his chin and turns, allowing him to wedge the phone between his ear and the pillow. “Yeah. It was too quiet in my house.”

“Christopher?”

“At Abuela’s for the night.”

Buck hums and Eddie relishes in the sound. It makes him regret not transitioning into phone calls with Buck sooner.

“Did you… want to talk about it?”

Eddie knows the ‘it’ that Buck’s referring to and also knows it’s that last thing he wants to be having a conversation about. “No.”

He doesn’t mean for the word to come out so harshly, but it does that of its own accord.

“Oh.”

“I’m just not really up for talking.”

“Right, of course.” Buck says in a rush. “You just got off of a crazy shift. You don’t need someone bothering you when all you really want is to rest.”

And, now that he’s said more, Eddie understands what Buck thinks Eddie meant when he said he’s not up for talking. “No no no.” He wants to correct this misunderstanding now before it leads to Buck hanging up the phone and leaving Eddie alone with his thoughts again. He’s not ready to stop hearing Buck’s voice, not now. Having just this small taste of it isn’t enough. “I just meant I don’t really want to talk, but if you do, I’m all ears.”

“Are you sure?” His voice is timid, small. “I talk a lot.”

“I’m sure.”

There’s rustling on Buck’s end and Eddie wonders if the other man is getting into a more comfortable position too. “Let me tell you about what my first graders did to me today.”

It’s almost two in the morning when Eddie’s phone rings. He groans, rolling over onto his side and trying to ignore the loud intrusion altogether.

“Shut that off!” Someone in the bunk room calls out, and it’s that that fully wakes Eddie up. He’s the only one on shift that keeps his phone volume on at all times, just in case a call comes through from whoever is taking care of Christopher.

He scrambles out of his bunk, presses his phone against his chest in an attempt to dull the noise, and all but runs out of the bunk room. His eyes are still half-closed when he answers the call. “Hello?”

“Eddie.”

“Buck?” There’s a choked sob on the other end of the line. The sound is amplified in the stillness of the station around him, and it pierces Eddie’s heart. “What's wrong?”

“I-” Buck gulps back air and Eddie reaches his free hand out, as if his touch will somehow reach Buck instead of the empty space around him. “I can’t sleep.”

Eddie is sure there’s more to the story than that, but it’s not his place to pry. Only a few nights ago, Buck offered Eddie the distraction he needed before going to bed. It’s only fair that he returns that favor.

“Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”

That seems to bring some of Buck’s vocabulary back to him. His voice sounds raw when he says, “I don’t want to keep you up.”

“I was up anyways,” Eddie lies, making his way up to the station’s loft and sitting down on the sofa. It’s a little odd being up here with all the lights off and no one else around him. Odd, but peaceful.

“Let me tell you about some of the calls we had today.”

Eddie’s not sure just how much time has passed, but he’s in the middle of telling Buck a story about a woman who got stuck in her date’s window when he’s interrupted by soft snores. He smiles, thoughts drifting to the image of Buck asleep in bed with his phone still in his hand.

Eddie ends the call then and wills himself to get off of the sofa so he can catch at least another hour of sleep in the bunk room. The pull of sleep is far stronger than he’s expecting it to be and, instead of getting up like he should, he leans further back on the sofa and closes his eyes.

When he wakes up later, it’s with a dull ache in his neck, a small blanket tossed over his body, and two new messages from Buck.

Buck (6:40am): I’m sorry that i kept you up so late

Buck (6:52am): thank you for answering my call

Eddie doesn’t need anyone to tell him what the next step to take with Buck is.

Before he can second guess himself or chicken out, he dials Buck’s number.

Buck answers on the first ring.  

“Hey, Eddie!” Buck’s enthusiasm would be obvious to anyone who can hear him. It’s an observation Eddie made early on when they switched to daily phone calls. Whereas Eddie keeps his feelings as close to his chest as possible, Buck is happy to put them on full display. So much so that those same emotions always find a way to bleed into his voice. “I didn’t think we were going to be talking until later tonight?”

“Will you go out with me this Friday night?” Belatedly, Eddie adds, “like on a date?”

Eddie can’t remember the last time he’s had to ask anyone out, but that’s no excuse for forgetting just how nerve-wracking it is to wait for an answer.

Time loses its meaning as Eddie holds his breath, waiting for Buck to respond. It might be seconds but could also be minutes later when Buck finally speaks.

“Yeah I’d-I’d really like that.”

A bubble of laughter threatens to creep past Eddie’s lips, but he manages to keep it at bay. He can’t keep from smiling though. “Cool. I’ll text you the details.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”