#leandros brothers

[flibbleynova]

WARHAMMER 40K SPACE MARINE 2 Playthrough: Episode 9

[cant-get-no-worse]

A story in three parts

[mourningmaybells]

If I ever decide Toyang is Leandro's biological parent, I'd make it so none of the narrating voices ever bring it up as connected and neither Toyang or Leandro connect the dots that he was born 10 months after she left and that his skin and hair is darker than his biological mom and everyone in his mom's side of the family... I mean they're in their 70s and 50s respectively like they don't need a parent-child relationship at this point.

Also Toyang would never come out as trans to this weird husk of a man. She's too good for that. And Leandro would never admit he might've been lied to by his mother and his "father" migh'tve accidentally abandoned him. The only person who would ever notice is if someone read what I wrote and took down the dates.

and I'd make it official because I think it would be funny if the person they once regretted or mourned was right in front of them. and had rancid vibes. just curdled milk vibes.

[darknessillumina]

.

[dailydanielchoi]

CLOSED STARTER for @hvneymelons ( leandro ) !! WHERE: local spirit halloween popup store

The aisles of the party store were absolutely packed with Halloween decorations and the unmistakable scent of artificial pumpkin spice. Daniel pushed the cart as he and Lea scanned the shelves, the kids darting between them, practically vibrating with excitement. Lupita had taken the lead, enthusiastically pointing out every costume that caught her eye while Diego was already clutching a plastic pumpkin pail almost as big as his head. “Alright,” Daniel said, casting a sideways grin at his brother. “We’re going to need to set some ground rules, or else I guarantee you Lupita is going to talk us into getting half the store.” He nudged Lea, a conspiratorial grin on his face. He was half-joking, but half-serious. His niece had a future as lawyer if she ever wanted one.

[death-by-mercury]

Leandro e Leonardo "Vem Fazer Amor Comigo" no palco do Especial Sertanejo da RECORD TV em 1993.

[xivdl]

some more

just some silly arsenal x snoopy doodles from twitter

my twitter, if you care;

[djemsostylist]

The thing I love most about the Warhammer 40k Space Marine game, starring one Captain Titus of the Ultramarines, is that it explains NOTHING. AT ALL. This game goes "well you wouldn't be playing me if you didn't know what Warhammer was, right?" and they would probably be mostly correct except that no, actually, I didn't even know what a space marine was when I first played, way way back in the early 20teens.

The game dumps you into a world where you play as a Captain of the Ultramarines. What is an Ultramarine, you ask? Why it's Captain Titus of course! and Leandros and Sergeant Sidonus. Are there more of them? Maybe, who knows! What's a Blood Raven? It looks like you, but different colors, and there are also only 4 of them. Are all of the space marines just squads of 4? Did you used to have a fourth and he died? Are you an army or a strike force? Who knows! The game for sure isn't gonna tell you!

What's an "inquisitor?" Well, it's Drogan of course! The one you have you save! And he's a psyker see. (What's a psyker, you ask? Well, it's what the Inquisitor is! Is it the same thing? NO IDEA! Just keep killing!) Now, is he also a space marine? Hard to say! Are space marines big, or just people in like, really big armor? WHO KNOWS! Not you, now kill some orks! Why are we killing orks? Because that's your mission of course!

And oh, hey, you're on a Forge World, fighting through the factories of the mechnanicum. What are these things? Well, you're on them and in them, what else do you NEED to know?

My favorite bit is when the Forces of Chaos show up, and a demon rips his way out of the fabric of reality, and it's just like "oh yeah, did we forget to mention you might have to fight demons? OOPS! Well, they pop as delightfully as an ork, so hop to it!" and then they just give you a different sort of Really Big Gun you can use to get on with the killing. Leandros seems concerned, the Inquisitor and Sidonus don't (and who outranks who? The regular men and women call you "Lord" but you call the Inquisitor "Lord" and all of you seem beholden to a "God-Emperor" (and is he an emperor or a God, or something of both?) but the only thing that matters is whether you chose a Plasma Rifle or a Lascanon to get through this next round, so who are you to question anything?

When the Inquisitor tells you to "meet at the monument" you just do, even though the monument is a nondescript hooded figure that says nothing and means little (except that these people do have monuments to something, and is it a saint? a martyr?) and so you go there anyway because there are more greenskins coming and you are about to get a thunderhammer (and maybe a jumppack, though those never last long.)

There are skulls sort of everywhere and everything looks like some sort of outsized Gothic cathedral and the voice that drones on and on sounds British and clipped and the words she says are dystopian and strange but there are always more orks to kill (and demons and men who look like you but aren't you, and are they really men behind those masks anymore, spilling from yawning purple clouds and splattering the walls with blood before vanishing i a lingering miasma) so you just keep going.

At one point a man who is not a man offers you the chance to become a god, to become a creature of whatever form you wish, and you still aren't entirely sure what the ultramarines are (and who is Lord Guilliman and his tenants your battle brother holds so dear) but there is a certainty in your refusal, a rigid belief that you won't fall because you can't fall (and did the man who is not a man who offers you a godhood fall? or has he always been like this?) but you deny him anyway (because you can, because you must, because you are an Ultramarine or because you believe in something more?) and you fight and fight and fight and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and bleed until perhaps there is no blood left (your armor is huge and cumbersome and the floor shakes when you land but you move with grace and speed and roll and dodge and kill and live and what are you even, really?) and in the end you have saved a world and when you say "More than you know" you mean it with your whole heart because you are human, you are, you bleed, and you tire, and you grieve and you mourn (but are you human, really? if you can touch the darkness and not give in, not turn aside, if men call you angels and demons speak of gods) and it all means nothing because men you are you but not you show up, men in black and white (they look like Holy Orders, Hospitallers or something close) and a man who is an Inquisitor who is not Drogan, who speaks softly but firmly and they take you away and Leandros looks on with fear and maybe regret (and you do it to save Mira, you think, her and all the others you died a thousand times to save except you lived, and she lived, and they call you Angels and if you can't die maybe it's true, or perhaps you love them, all of them, the men and women who look at you with awe and fear and love, and isn't that being an Angel, in the end?)

Anyway, I've played this game thrice through (easy, medium, hard) and read all the codex and I still, to this day, do not know what happens at the Siege of Terra and what happens to make 30k 40k, and I think that's really sort of beautiful, in the end.

[adhd-fandom-hyperfocus]

✧₊⁺ This Was Not In The Codex ✧₊⁺

Pairing: demetrian titus x reader(f)

Summary: Titus is on a much-needed leave on Macragge. While there he runs into you, or rather you run into him escaping terrible punishment for being unable to tell a lord no.

Part 1/?

Arthur's Note: I am terrible at keeping POV when writing in the third person and try to do omniscient, but again I am no real writer.

Warnings: Pregnancy (reader is pregnant), mentions of SA, and general gimdarkness.

18+ Minors DNI

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

There were several reasons Titus was planet side, from a wound he sustained that required more rest than normal, and Calgar seemed all too aware that with everything that had happened, there was still lingering broken trust among his brothers. Moving Leandros to Chaplin was a means of stopping the boy from doing more harm, but it wasn't a move Calgar hadn't been overly pleased with.

But Titus seemed to understand the will of their Gene-sire better than most, and his humanity despite it all remained intact. Something Guilliman wanted to make sure was nurtured.

Titus lumbered through the streets, drawing eyes as he did. Even within the great Macragge people were still awe-struck to see an Astartes. It was odd the monotonous sounds of everyday life felt more overwhelming than the loud cacophony of war. Though the smells were much more desirable. Scents of smoked meat were pulling the large man along when his ears picked up commotion and then something small bumped into him.

Oh the pitiful creature that had run into him. You looked worn beyond your years, weak from malnourishment and shaking like a leaf in the wind looking up and seeing what you ran into. Your lips busted and scabbed over from dry blood. Your feet are torn and broken apart from no proper footwear.

The thin rag you call a dress barely hides your bump. Your hands instinctively wrapped around it, as if you could protect your unborn child from such a giant. A smell rose into his nose as he heart the faint trickling of liquid. You were so terrified you were urinating yourself. Titus had seen this fear in warzones. What in the Throne had you so scared. His size aside.

Titus could see law enforcement coming up, chasing her. But they weren't local militia, these were private. His mind reeled all the practicals and theoreticals there could be to this situation.

"Can you get behind me, please? Are you able to move?" he asked quietly, as gently as he could, though with some urgency.

You nodded weakly and moved behind him, his massive body hiding you.

The guards stop short of Titus gazing upon the Asartes. His aura gave them great pause, mostly seeing how you were hugging one of his large legs.

"I see you are one of the Emperor's angels. Lord, she is a wanted criminal, and have been tasked to bring her back to our lord's estate." one guard finally spoke, but there was a shakiness to his voice.

"Wanted? On what charges, and why back there and not turned over to proper authorities?" Titus pressed. The rough timber of his voice becoming more pressing against the guards.

The guard looked uneasy and agitated, going between the two emotions rapidly, "This matter is hardly of note for one such of you My Lord, please, let us take her."

Titus shook his head, "No. You have not answered my questions. What is her crime and why is she to be taken to your lord?”

“Is not enough that she is a serf who has abandoned her duties?” the main guard responded, “She is to be taken home and punished. On top of that she is to be questioned by the Inquisition for heresy for seducing our lord with foul magic.”

Titus choked down a snarl at the mention of the Inquisition. Of course, a group of religious zealots could be tricked into seeing a poor serf as a heretic, so a piss poor excuse of a lord could get rid of his dirty laundry.

Perhaps his primarch was right and this Imperium was a rotting corpse.

“Then this is cause for my concern. I will take her into custody and our librarian will see to her.”

You start to plead and move away, as vain as you know it to be, but a large hand stops you. Holds you in place. It is firm, but not harsh.

The guard tried once again to argue but Titus cut him off, this time not holding back so much on his voice's power, “Are you challenging a member of the Astartes guard? I am not beholden to you, and she is in my charge now, so she is no longer either. Tell your lord if he so wishes to continue this nonsense he can do so with me. Now leave unless you wish a more physical understanding of my words.”

The warning was understood and the men scattered, and after a moment the crowd that had gathered went about their daily lives. Sounds of a busy community returned.

Titus turned to you, his hand still upon you. He knelled so he might be close to your eyes, “Hello, Little One. I am Lieutenant Titus, of the Ultra Marines. Would you allow me to carry you back to our fortress? You are safe. I give you my word.”

What choice did you have? None really. He could crush you with no effort, and you were dead anyhow. You just hoped when he decided to end you, it would be quick, and he would spare your baby.

You nodded, but sob quietly, “My Lord...I...” you were ashamed, “I soiled myself, I would not want that on you.”

Titus smiled, “Hush now,” he spoke cradling you in one arm and standing, “Far worse has been on me. There is no shame. I will see you get some clean clothes, food in your belly, and a Medicae Mortus to see to you.”

A soft chuckled rose from him, it was unnerving, yet comforting. This angel, was being so kind to an undeserving serf like you.

“Our Apothecaries are not specialized in baseline human needs. I am not even sure they know how babies are made, or how they grow inside you. But ask them about how to deal with a wound from a spawn of the warp? Collect gene-seed? Well then they don't shut up.”

You looked up at him with some confusion, “you do not know where babies come from?”

Titus felt warm suddenly, and adverted his gaze, “I mean. Well. It was not something they deemed important for us to know.”

You could only hum a response. Resting in his powerful harm. Held so delicately and carefully. It was dangerous. You knew this, but it was still the safest you felt in months and your worn body, gave out and forced you into a sleep that was deeply needed.

[tronmike82]

I will never understand how anyone can defend Leandros; he is the epitome of the phrase “I would rather die than admit I was wrong.”

First he somehow decides that not being corrupted by a warp artifact is somehow evidence of corruption, how does that work? Is he stupid?

I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt that he didn��t know about the 200 years of misery, his accusation caused for Titus (100 years of torture at the hands of an insane inquisitor, 100 years as a Deathwatch Black Shield, grieving because he thought his brothers hated him.) because if Chapter Master Calgar didn’t know; there’s no way Leandros did.

But when Titus is finally returned to his chapter, what’s one of the first things Leandros says to him? To paraphrase; “no one here trusts you, you gotta re-earn their respect.” Which is a COMPLETE FUCKING LIE!

Gadriel and Chairon clearly admire him, and after their “I was horrible to you wasn’t I, I’m so sorry*” “you don’t have to apologize, I wasn’t treating you much better.” talk; Titus and Gadriel clearly consider each other friends.

*a sincere apology for wrongdoing! The truest mark of a good person!

In wh40k boltgun; Malum Caedo also greatly admires him, saying “I will finish the work Captain Titus started!” He also thinks quite highly of Sidonus as well, saying “Sidonus laid down his life for this planet! I protect his sacrifice!” (But he doesn’t mention Leandros at all, ha!)

Plus Calgar himself was overjoyed at his brothers return, and all of the secondary & background Ultramarines were perfectly polite and respectful for most of the campaign, which means literally only Leandros didn’t trust Titus!

And at the very end; after Titus & his team kill Imurah, banish a Lord of Change, and save Calgar’s life; Leandros says “I still don’t trust you lol, but I still requested you specifically for a super-special-secret mission that’s so important that I can’t risk operational security by briefing you over vox.” (Is he stupid?)

Fuck you Leandros, if Titus were to ever fall to heresy; it’d be because you pushed him over the edge, I hope Guilliman himself personally strips you of your chaplainship.

[flibbleynova]

WARHAMMER 40K SPACE MARINE 2 Full Playthrough

[mourningmaybells]

if Leandro was around when Claudio was born he’d be. so jealous of a fucking infant. A lot wrong with this family

[darknessillumina]

Gil Away e Leandro Psiu

[lemon-russ]

They tried to flea bomb me but I endured. The fleas return.

Thank you as always @squishyowl for the dividers

Part 15/ ???

< previous || next >

Ao3 || Taglist request ||

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Mentions of sex, not much going on today

Summary: Cato and Titus have to hitchhike the galaxy, Ambassador is grounded

word count: 1,849

Cato Isn’t sure he actually wants to go home now. Sure, he and Titus are being forced to work together to find a way to get home, and for once at least have a shared dread that is helping them get along. Nothing brings Brothers together like getting in trouble by Dad, it seemed.

But if he goes home, he has to face the consequences. Has the Ambassador explained anything to Guilliman? How much did she tell him? Was he walking into a guillotine? He doesn’t know the penalty for sleeping with a Primarch’s diplomat / assistant / Pet?, but he knows that he also disobeyed his orders, technically hijacked a ship, and went AWOL for two days. AWOL to go bury his face between the legs of a baseline human that he’s starting to think his primarch is treating like a surrogate daughter.

“Maybe you can go on ahead and I’ll catch up.” He says to Titus, who is looking over the ship ports itineraries for a way home. Titus glances over at him with a confused look.

“What? You want to hang back and see if there are any other vulnerable baseline girls for you to defile?” He says with a small snort, turning back to the papers.

Cato presses his lips into a line. “I may be a little reckless, but I’m not unfaithful.” He grumbles, turning to watch ships land and leave.

Titus chuckles tiredly. “That’s the part you have a problem with…?” He mumbles as he turns a page. “Look, I know you’re afraid of what Guilliman is going to do to you, but you don’t get to just hide.” He gives a casual shrug. “If you die, you die. Face it like a man.”

Cato glowers at his battle brother. “Wow. Thanks. Really comforting, Demetrian.”

Titus rolls his eyes. “Don’t call me that. We aren’t first name friendly. And I’m not going to rub your back and tell you it’s going to be ok. You committed like, four crimes. I know I’m not one to go around thumping the Codex at people like Leandros, but even I have a line. Four is a lot of crimes for a week, Sicarius.” Titus says tiredly. “Plus, I still hate you.”

Cato huffed a breath out his nose and crossed his arms. “It was probably only three crimes and maybe a grey area misdemeanor, Titus.” He grumbles.

“Ah, grey areas, we all know how much the Ultramarines love grey areas.” Titus says sarcastically. “I think I found a route we can take to a trade planet, and from there we can probably get a ride home or at least charter one.” He says, closing the stack of pages. “We have about an hour until the ship arrives.”

Cato sighs deeply, slumping his shoulders. “Do you think Lord Guilliman will believe me if I say I had a lapse in sanity? A mental break from over work?”

Titus chuckles. “I think you would be the first Astartes to ever break their programming to do so, so, no. I don’t think he would. I think your only chance is to confess to it all.”

Cato grimaced. But Titus was right. Guilliman valued honesty and taking responsibility. The issue was to be honest meant he would have to admit he had no regrets. He wasn’t ready to apologize and agree to stay away from the Ambassador. He tried staying away from her and it made him lose his mind and steal a ship. Even now, he was anxious that she was out of his sight again.

Was Guilliman being easy on her about this? Likely. He spoils her, and he probably assumed everything was Cato’s fault. Which was absurd- He is the victim here, if anyone. The Ambassador was the one who wanted to talk about feelings after they slept together, and she was the one to kiss him when they got home the first time. She clawed her way into his psyche and cursed him with obsession. Not that he can be mad with her, which is only further proof of her mind games honestly.

“What about you? Aren’t you nervous, or are you too used to getting reprimanded?” Cato asks, following Titus as he leaves the hangar and walks to the lodging areas.

Titus rolls his eyes. “Getting in a scrap with a brother is not a serious offense, especially not when he finds out why I hit you. I think in this case of ‘I was trying to defend the Ambassador from a predator’ I will be okay. You, not so much. But that’s what you get for being a deviant.” He says with a mocking shrug and smirk.

Cato scowls at him. “And I think when I explain you were checking out her ass all day and just are jealous because of some crush you don’t wanna admit, you’ll be in trouble with me.”

Titus grits his teeth. “I am not- you’re insane, you know that? You’re projecting your perversions on me.” He snaps. Cato rolls his eyes as they walk into the lodging area, heading to their rooms to pack. ”Right, well have fun trying to unravel all that. I just know the way you were looking at her in that dress was the same way I was, and only one of us has her permission to do that.” He huffed, heading to his door.

Titus growls a little, then slammed his door behind him. A moment later he flung it back open. “You still have my clothes, too, asshole, and left your dirty ones on my floor.”

Cato laughs a bit. “Sounds like a you problem, Demetrian.” He says as he shuts his door behind him.

Titus lets out an angry huff. “Don’t call me- argh!” He grumbled as he slammed his already splintered door again.

__________________________________________

You stare at your pile of paperwork, pouting a bit and doodling aimlessly on a scrap paper. Things were a little awkward since you returned to the Macragge’s Honour with Guilliman. He knows about you and Cato now, though he has to keep asking you to clarify that yes, it is romantic, like dating, like intimate, and yes you are a willing participant, and noCaptain Sicarius does not have blackmail on you.

He also made you get more head scans, Recalling how Cato was worried you’d bumped your head when you got back from the first mission together. The scans thankfully showed your brain was squeaky clean and, despite what Cato says, full of wrinkles. You even got a copy of the scan to show him when he got back, next time he calls you smooth brained.

None of this comfoted Guilliman though. And now you were grounded. Well, not grounded, but lets be honest. He grounded you. He doesn’t want you to speak to Cato until he does, and in fear of your apparently “erratic and confusing” behavior, you now had new babysitters.

Brother Gallan and Brother Brutus took turns hanging out outside your office door, reporting to Guilliman any time you left the office and where you went. They were specifically not allowed near you quarters though. Embarrassingly, Guilliman would not take your word for it that you don't have some sort of low level psyker effect on his Sons that makes them fall in love with you.

You shudder at the thought. It was a new, previously unknown level of mortification that now your boss is afraid of letting his supermutant soldiers around you too long for fear they will fall for some siren song of yours. He actually locks down your quarters- if you leave, he gets an alert. You’re allowed to go where you like of course, but now he wants to make sure no one is leaving with you, or Emperor forbid returning with you.

You sigh and rub your face. You haven’t gotten any of your work done, because also mortifyingly, you still can’t stop thinking about Cato. Is he ok? Are he and Titus pummeling each other still? How do you get home without imperial ships? You frown and rub your temples.

There’s a knock on your door, and you can tell who it is by the height of the sound. “Come in, sir…” you say tiredly, as Guilliman lets himself in and comes to stand at your desk. He smiles awkwardly down at you.

“Ambassador. How goes your work?” He asks with forced casualness.

You press your lips and move a paper over your doodles. “Uh, fine, sir.” You lie.

Of course he doesn’t actually care how your work is going, so he doesn’t press. “Of course, diligent as always. On another note, I have been… Thinking.”

You frown a bit. “On what, sir…?”

He clears his throat, glancing at the wall. “About… you and Captain Sicarius.” He says. “I think, if I can talk to him- and after he serves punishments for his actions, I can’t let hijacking go- then if he seems sufficiently reasonable and dedicated, and you in turn…” he sighs and gives a resigned frown. “I’ll consider looking the other way on your…. relationship.”

You sit up, eyes widening. “Oh- um, thank you sir” you say with a little surprise. “That would mean a lot to me. I know it is odd but, I do like him a lot.” You add with a small smile.

Guilliman gives a tight frown. “Yes. You’ve made that abundantly clear, Ambassador.” He says with a small sigh. “…I mean… Have you considered Ventris…?”

“Sir!” You gasp, blushing. “Please! Th-this is not just me wanting to hook up with any Astartes-” you stutter.

He lets out a small groan. “Fine, fine. I just thought maybe you could consider your options. I have so many nice, obedient, responsible sons, and you choose Sicarius?”

You frown, crossing your arms, face still pink. “Please, sir, don’t make me explain it in any more detail than we are both comfortable with” You plead.

He sighs a long, deep sigh. “Okay, fine. I’ll be heading back to my office then. Just… keep up the good work.” He says tiredly. He starts to the door, looks awkward, then walks back to your desk and pats you on the back. “You… you do a good job, Ambassador.” He says, clearing his throat.

You blink up at him, knitting your brows. “Uh… thank you, sir?”

He clears his throat again. “I did some reading. Some literature suggests that baseline women who do not feel like they receive approval from their patriarchal figures in their life will seek out men who do not value them well-”

“SIR!” You snap, cheeks burning.

He puts his hands up defensivly and returns to the door, “Okay! I’m going.” He chuckles. “I value and appreciate you, Ambassa-”

“LORD GUILLIMAN!” You interrupt with a shout as he chuckles and closes the door behind him.

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 11/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE

TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

                “A fishing boat?” Bradley asks, pulling a face. “Really?”

                “You said you wanted to be in the Navy. Are you scared of a little seasickness?”

                “No. I just…”

                “Understanding and appreciating our food, from where we harvest it, or take it, is all important. Learning what fresh really looks like is also very important when it come to fish and seafood hmm?”

                “Oh yeah, I guess that’s true,” Bradley says, thinking of Johan’s ability to look at fish and simply pick the best pieces.

                “Also a week in Greece is not the end of the world hmm?”

                “Okay, you deliberately made it sound like I was going on a fishing boat in the North Sea, not a… charter boat for a week in Greece.”

                “Hmm. You will earn your stay. But I think you will enjoy the change of scenery.”

                Bradley had no idea how Leandro knows him so well, but he finds himself the sole chef on a charter yacht for a group of six tourists. They’re American, and once they realize he’s also American they stop speaking slowly and loudly, chat happily to him while he cooks. He fishes and dives with them during the day, makes breakfasts and lunches and then cooks what they’ve caught that day. He doesn’t recognize any of them, but when the week ends a couple of them tip him heavily, even though he tries to insist there isn’t any need. Then one of them passes him a business card.

                “If you ever consider setting up shop back home, look me up. I’d be interested in supporting you. And eating more of your food.”

…            …            …

                “Holy shit. Bradley Bradshaw.”

                “Yeah. Hello again…”

                “You’ve met already?” Jake asks, looking between Bradley and who must be his sister. She’s maybe a few years older, hair the same color but longer, tied back in a plait. Bradley finds himself automatically nodding, although he’s also hoping that her surprise is that he’s at her front door, and not because she’s starstruck. She hadn’t seemed at all perturbed when he’d met her on Saturday with the film crew trailing him. Turning up with her brother shouldn’t be any more alarming, surely?

                “Yeah, at the Farmers Market in the weekend,” Bradley starts. “I tried the chili jam, it was really good. Bought a few jars.”

                “Oh cool. Well, then I don’t need to introduce you. Well, her name is Maria if you need a reminder. I call him Leo because Bradley Bradshaw sounds made up.”

                He’s glad Jake has provided a name, and he notes Maria’s eyebrows shoot up and god, he’s been enjoying Jake’s complete disregard for Bradley’s fame, whether it’s real or contrived he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think Jake would care, if he did know, but it’s also really nice not having any expectations put on him from the person he’s with. The last few days have been great, reminding him of his younger years in Europe.

                “Leo is the name my Italian family call me. Short for Leonardo.”

                “I definitely prefer Leo,” Jake says, grinning at him and he follows his lead in taking his shoes off, putting the bags of ingredients and previous iterations of sauce down. “Keep forgetting your name is actually Bradley Bradshaw…”

                Maria makes a high-pitched sound Bradley can only guess is a choked off laugh and he grimaces and shrugs his shoulders, tries to convey that he’s doing the best he can and Maria is just looking at him and shaking her head, her eyes wide as she looks between him and her brother.

                “Um, yeah, okay, hi again. Jake said you were after some help with… tasting things. Right. You’ve been… trying to feed him,” Maria says, now looking at Jake. “Wow…”

                “Yeah. He’s pretty decent. Not as good as grandma, or even you or Olivia, but he hasn’t killed me yet.”

                Bradley clenches his jaw to stop himself from laughing outright, his eyes not leaving Maria’s face, and she looks equal parts mortified but also like she’s also trying not to laugh again. She makes a little high-pitched sound and Bradley has to pretend to cough as a burst of laughter makes its way out. She definitely knows who he is, had known on Saturday when he’d been walking around with the film crew but she’d been very chilled and laid back, hadn’t even asked for a selfie.

                “What chores need doing? I can go and do whatever it was you were planning on doing and instead you can help Leo with his new recipe… I like your cooking, but I am kind of over tasting the same thing over and over and you expecting me to be able to taste the difference,” he says to Bradley. Bradley looks back at Maria who has covered her mouth with both her hands and closed her eyes, had her head tilted back like she’s hoping the ceiling has answers.

                “Thank you, I’ll try my best not to poison your sister…”

                “Oh god…” Maria says from behind her hands.

                “Thanks. Appreciate it. Maria, you okay?”

                Maria wipes at her eyes, waves away Jake’s concerns saying it’s the pollen making them itch and hands Jake a piece of paper with writing on it and he tucks it into his pocket.

                “I’ll be back.”

                Then he’s kissing him, his thigh slotting between Bradley’s and he finds himself almost being dipped and he knows he’s flushing bright red, wonders if that was Jake’s whole aim, trying to embarrass him. It’s over quickly, although he’s not sure if that is a good thing or not.

                “Don’t be mean,” Jake says to Maria, and then he’s tugging boots on, grabbing the same cowboy hat Bradley remembers him wearing on Saturday.

                “When am I ever mean?”

                “Only every day of my life,” Jake says with a grin, but then he’s tipping the hat and Bradley bites his lip as he watches him stride back outside. Hmm.

                “So, you’re Leo. I had no idea he was bringing you around.”

                A little reluctantly he stops watching Jake stride off, and he turns to find Maris watching him, eyes amused and he smiles.

                “Yeah. I gathered he hadn’t told you when you said holy shit first thing when you opened the door. He and I met years ago, in Italy. He said he told his sister?”

                At that Maria’s lips twitch and Bradley starts feeling a little uneasy.

                “Did he say which one?”

                “Uh. No?”

                “Has he mentioned exactly how many sisters he has?” Maria asks, and she’s folding her arms and leaning back, watching him and Bradley feels like he’s being tested. That’s fine. If he can survive the Gallo family he can survive Jake’s sisters. Why he feels like he needs to survive or befriend Jake’s sister isn’t something he’s going to examine too closely but… he likes to think he’s a nice guy when he isn’t stressed out.

                “Not exactly? But… three? I mean, I know he’s the youngest. And there’s a sister with kids because he babysat them on Monday night.”

                “Sandra.”

                “And then his sister who he told about meeting me in Italy? And that isn’t you?”

                “Hmm. He only told me about meeting you in Italy on Sunday, so… it was probably Nicola when it happened originally.”

                “Okay. So. Jake just mentioned an Olivia, so… four? That’s my best guess. Four.”

                He can’t even imagine having four older sisters, having Violet is bad enough, although he calls her cousin he sometimes wonders how much closer they’d be if they were actually siblings. She’s his best friend.

                “Nope. Five. You’re missing Amanda. She’s Nicola’s twin.”

                “Five sisters. Holy shit.”

                “What about you? Big family?”

                “No. All the stuff about me losing both my parents is true. I’ve got a big Italian family that informally adopted me though…”

                “So he met you, and you bumped into each other on Saturday and now you’re…”

                She doesn’t finish the sentence and he’s grateful, although the look she gives him clearly spells out exactly what she’s thinking. She grabs some of the bags at his feet and jerks her head for him to follow her.

                “So you’ve told him your name, he’s just…Oh my god… he has no idea who you are.”

                “You think so? I kind of like it,” Bradley admits and Maria’s shaking her head.

                “Oh, he’ll have no idea. He’s smart, but he’s also fucking oblivious. Also I’m judging you. He adds sauce to nearly everything…”

                “Yeah. I’ve noticed.”

                “Well, he had really bad reflux as a baby. Like… he needed an operation to fix it type bad. He was such a picky eater as a kid, drove us mad. We got around it by pretty much putting sauce on everything.”

                “Oh…” Bradley murmurs, and he’d wondered. He sets out the ingredients and the little containers of sauce saved from his previous attempts.

                “Yeah. Obviously he’s an adult now, he doesn’t have to add sauce, but if he has the choice?”

                “On it goes. Right. Okay…”

                “Yeah. You okay with that?”

                “Of course. He’s not making me eat it. I’m not…” he shrugs helplessly, wants to try and say he’s not the uptight and angry chef that that TV producers like to portray him as. Sure he has a temper, but it’s definitely not as bad or as frequent as they make it seem. He also knows he's got something of a resting bitch-face. At least that's what Vi calls it.

                “Hmm. Thought so. Anyway, Jake doesn’t cook. He’d never watch a cooking show. Doesn’t like reality TV at all… If you wanted to keep it on the downlow you could. I don’t think he’d accidentally stumble across you. And I can keep my mouth shut.”

                “I don’t want to keep it a secret from him or anything. He knows it’s my job. And he knows my name…”

                “Okay. So… not to be super crude but you’re just, uh, hooking up right?”

                “I mean… yeah.”

                “Well. If you decide you want something more than hooking up with him, you’re going to have to spell it out, be really obvious. More obvious than you think you need to be. And I have an idea for showing just how oblivious he can potentially be…”

TWELVE

[autisticlancemcclain]

part one

———

Over the next several weeks, Marcela continues to keep an eye on the boy. (Takashi. She knows his name is Takashi, and that he is an adult by legal standards. But she can’t get over how — how young he is. She can’t get over the scars on his face and the straight-backed robotic way he walks and the haunted look in his eyes. She hates America, often, and she hates the world, for letting children — encouraging them — to sign up for something they can never understand. He has been alive for less than one quarter of his lifespan. He is just a boy.)

She’s careful not to overbear him, to keep some distance, but at least once a week she’ll make a plate and send it his way, or have Luis weed his garden as well as theirs. She’ll even kick the football into his yard when she’s playing with Lance and Rachel, just to give them an excuse to go get it, just to give the boy a reason to get up and answer the door. She’s always been a light sleeper, too, and when she hears his car start up in the middle of the night, far too late for any errands, she’ll press a gentle kiss to her sleeping husband’s temple and slide her feet into her slippers, quietly padding over to the kitchen and watching with a mug of tea until the car pulls back into the driveway. (Some days, that takes hours. Some days the sun rises again before she sees the beam of his headlights bleed back onto their streets. Some days, even, he won’t leave the driveway, sitting instead with his hands clutched on the wheels and his eyes staring, unblinking, at the chipping paint of his garage door, for hours. Those are the worst days. On those days, she makes sure to make something sweet and warm and comforting, and leave a heaping plate of it on his doorstep. On those days, she swallows the lump in her throat and hugs her children tightly and they grip the seams of her shirt and say nothing, not even whining or squirming when she pulls them away from their games. On those days she misses her brother so much it aches in her teeth.)

On one particularly hot day, she’s reorganising the kitchen cabinets and only paying half attention. The rest of her is staring out the window above the sink, because the boy walked into his backyard two hours ago and stood ramrod straight in the middle of the clover and has not moved since and worried does not begin to cover it.

“Maaaaaaaaamá,” whines a voice behind her. Marcela jumps, whirling around, pressing her hand to her heaving chest when she sees who it is.

“Leandro,” she scolds, turning back to her half-hearted sorting of their colourful collection of mugs. “You startled me.”

Her baby doesn’t respond to that, choosing instead to flop dramatically over the kitchen table, cheek smushed on the scratched wood and limbs askew.

“I’m so bored,” he laments, brown eyes big and pouted and pleading. “There’s nothing to do. No one to play with. I am alone and despolate.”

“Desolate,” Marcela corrects, grinning. “You’re a mocoso descarado, you know that?”

He beams at her. She sets the final mug away, then walks over to brush his hair from his face and press a kiss to his forehead.

He leans into her touch, sighing. “How come I couldn’t go with everybody? It’s not fair. I’m very mature. I could have watched the scary movie.”

She hums, taking the seat next to him and gathering him into her arms. He goes willingly, elbowing her in the side in his haste to tuck himself into her lap and under her chin. She rests her cheek on the top of his head and strokes her hands gently down his back.

“You’re very mature, mi vida,” she agrees softly, squeezing. “But maybe no scary movies for the chico mono who gets nightmares when he sleeps without a nightlight and cries when he sees a dried out worm, hm?”

He harrumphs, wounded. She hides a smile in his hair and loves him with her whole body.

“‘M not a baby.”

“There’s nothing babyish about having a big heart. I just want to keep it —” she tickles the spot just above his heart, making him giggle — “safe and sound, okay?”

“Okay.”

She pulls back slightly so she has room to clasp her palms to his cheeks, kissing him smack in between the eyes with an exaggerated ‘mwah’ noise.

“There we go, mijo.”

She settles them back against the chair, rocking them a little. Her baby has grown up so much. It startles her, sometimes, when she checks in on him — on any of her babies — and sees a big, growing kid in a big boy bed, instead of the baby in a crib she’s expecting. Five years is nothing, and five years is hundreds of days worth of knowing and loving him. She hopes her children know how much love bubbles out of her, all for them. How much she treasures every single second she had and has with him.

He squirms, slightly, in her lap, forcing himself still after a couple seconds when he catches himself moving. She glances down to find him fidgeting, twisting his fingers. He’s restless — he’ll get moody soon. He’s been cooped up in the house all day with no one to play with. He’s been an angel, either helping her around the house and entertaining himself, but it’s not fair to him.

Her eyes drift back out the kitchen window, and she gets an idea.

“Lancito,” she starts, straightening out as a plan begins to take form, “you want to play chess?”

He blinks at her.

“You stink at chess,” he says, not unkindly.

It’s true — she does. She understands, objectively, how to play, but she’s never managed to see the board the way Lance or Veronica see it. She doesn’t understand how to play strategically and never has. She can’t picture future moves or anticipate strategy the way chess players can, so she’s always pretty easily beat. Not that it would matter too much if she could play well — Lance has beaten everyone in the house several times over. When he’s allowed to play on the computer, he beats the players there, too. He’s bright, and he has been obsessed with the game since his fingers were big enough to move around the pieces and his Abuela taught him to play.

She helps him to the floor, speeding to the fridge and pulling out some leftovers as Lance watches in confusion.

“There’s someone you haven’t played before, though.”

“Nuh-uh.” He starts listing on his fingers. “I beat you, I beat Papá, I beat Luis, I beat Veronica, I beat Marco, like, a hundred times —”

Marcela finishes setting up a — pointedly and deliberately — balanced plate, wrapped with parchment this time because she’s run out of aluminum foil. She spots Lance’s folded up chessboard and grabs it, placing the plate on top and offering it to Lance, who stares at it with furrowed brows.

“I bet you Takashi is a new challenge,” she says enticingly. “Why don’t you go over and ask him to play?”

Lance, bless his little extrovert heart, brightens immediately.

“Oh yeah!”

She walks him to the door, hand on his head to help guide him around the various tripping hazards in the hallway — her family is messy, and Lancito has never been the most coordinated child. He’ll be fine (probably) when he gets outside.

“Okay, make sure you’re either back in a couple hours or you come let me know that you’re staying,” she says, lingering at the front steps. Lance is already skittering across the driveway, not even bothering to wave.

“‘Kay! Bye!”

She watches as he rushes up Takashi’s steps, careful not to spill the plate. The door is open — it really is hot today — and only the screen is left closed. Marcela crosses her fingers, hoping the boy will come when Lancito knocks, and —

She freezes. Her jaw drops. Lance — didn’t knock. The little dork just…opened the door of a relative stranger’s house and just.

Walked in.

“Dios mio,” she mutters to herself, hustling back to the kitchen to continue spying out the window.

She makes it there just in time, not even bothering with the pretence of reorganizing cup ware as she watches her son stride up to the boy, a particular sort of childlike confidence guiding his bare feet, and plant himself in front of him. The boy, strangely, does not seem to notice him, still staring blankly ahead of him.

Lance considers this for a moment. He steps over to the side and sets down the plate of food, walking back to stand squarely in front of the boy. He pokes him. The boy startles.

Marcela scrambles to open the window.

“I need a chess buddy,” Lance declares.

Takashi blinks at him.

“How,” he says, finally, gesturing at Lance as a whole. “What.”

“Chess is a strategy game played by two people,” Lance explains, missing the meaning of Takashi’s statement entirely. Marcela bites her tongue to keep from laughing. “Sit down, I’ll teach you.” Lance sits. He opens his chessboard and begins meticulously setting up the pieces. “I call dibs on playing black.”

Takashi doesn’t move for a long while. For a moment Marcela worries that he won’t let Lance play; or worse, he’s frozen again, uncomprehending of what’s in front of him.

But, slowly, he sits. And he runs his fingertips over the top of the pawns. He swallows, harshly, several times. Something painful works its way across his face before settling into something pensive, soft.

“I would appreciate that,” he says quietly.

He clearly knows how to play. He lets Lance explain, but he has no trouble keeping up with Lance play for play; eventually cornering Lance’s king. Lance glares at him for several minutes after, which Shiro allows with a stoic look in return, until the frown on Lancito’s face suddenly shifts to one of begrudging respect.

“Rematch,” Lance decides, ever the most competitive child Marcela has ever known.

Shiro cracks a smile. “So I can beat you again?”

Lance huffs. “We’ll see, butthead.”

Satisfied that the boys are fine, for once, relieved at the animation returned to Takashi’s spirit, Marcela turns back to organizing the kitchen in earnest. She puts on her favourite CD and dances around the kitchen as she arranges the plates and bowls in a very particular way she knows will drive her husband insane. She loses herself in the monotony of scrubbing the fridge clean for no reason except that it’s Sunday and she’s bored and she has to time to lose herself in tedium, lucky as she is.

Hours later, long after the rest of her family comes in, Lance stomps his way into the living room where Marcela is braiding Rachel’s hair and helping her run lines for her school play.

“I want to trade Marco for Shiro,” he announces. He explains for their benefits: “That’s what Takashi told me I could call him.”

Marcela hides a smile. “You can still visit next door if you keep your brother, you know.”

“Ugh,” Lance says.

Rachel snorts. She knows as well as everyone else in the house that it will be Marco, tonight, who Lance will turn to to help check his room for monsters or sleep with should he have a nightmare. And Marco will sigh and whine and complain and never entertain the idea of not helping.

“I’m glad you and Takashi have become friends,” Marcela offers.

This brings the smile back to Lance’s face.

“Duh,” he says. “It’s Shiro.”