#letting my d pilot the plane instead of my head and blinking down to see that i've written 2 thousand words

[suddencolds]

i've def heard of people having to be in the right headspace to write like, v thirsty/self-indulgent snz content, but somehow i find it equally difficult to be in the right headspace to write angst

[qlala]

Is it cheating to submit a fic request for the pride post you just made? I neeeed the whole thing (I'm on my laptop, but insert the big gay eyes emoji)

fjskdgjslg "big gay eyes emoji" you know what? just for you. just for you i have written this. i'll clean it up and upload to ao3 later but for now: have 2.7k of len dragging a sunburnt, tipsy, and glitter-covered barry back to his apartment, and happy pride!

Len wasn’t the type to begrudge anyone a good time, especially when the good time involved loud music, leather harnesses, and throwing water bottles at cops. Central City’s annual pride parade came as close as it got to challenging that attitude; families, fellow queers, and queens descended on the city waving more flags than the United Nations after a hurricane, all decked out in color combinations that Len hadn’t been able to keep straight since the ‘80s. 

The end result was the kind of crowds that could make a grown man feel claustrophobic in the middle of a city block, and that was without the visible haze of alcohol wafting off the whole event. 

But what the parade lacked in personal space, it made up for with one very important commodity: unattended wallets. 

The flock of sunburnt twinks in denim cut-offs made Len’s job almost too easy—a hand on a sweat-slicked lower back, a flash of blue eyes, and most of them wouldn’t have noticed their wallets going missing if Len had dangled their IDs in front of their faces afterwards. (While there were plenty of women dressed in just as little clothing whom Len certainly wouldn’t have minded getting within robbing distance of, he’d found queer women as a group to be less enthusiastic about uninvited touching and more enthusiastic about wallet chains, even when three sheets to the wind off of canned rosé.)   

He’d taught a dozen visiting suburbanites the importance of not keeping valuables in their back pockets by the time he spotted a familiar profile in the crowd. 

His usual red getup wasn’t much more modest than some of the outfits Len had already seen, but even knowing the shape of that body didn’t prepare Len for seeing Barry Allen stripped to the waist, bright-eyed and flushed and shimmering all over with a fine dusting of glitter. Len noted, on auto-pilot, that it didn’t seem like he’d put any of the glitter there himself; he was standing dangerously close to a drag queen throwing handfuls of the stuff on anyone who got within arm’s reach of her. It set the sun refracting off every dip and plane of muscle across Barry’s chest and stomach. Barry’s hair, already wild and dark at the roots with sweat, was full of it.   

Len’s feet were carrying him closer before he gave himself permission to move. Barry managed to drag Len into his orbit at the best of times; visibly tipsy and dripping sweat, Len would’ve had better luck resisting the turning of the earth. 

Up close, Len could take that Barry had lost his shirt somewhat recently; the slight touch of pink spanning his shoulders and chest had nothing on the serious flush across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He had a spray of new freckles as well. They were barely distinguishable under the haze of glitter stuck to his skin, but Len noticed them at once, the change unmistakable on an otherwise unchanging face (not a scar to be seen, even after three years of running into burning buildings and jumping in front of bullets; Len was equal parts frustrated and relieved).   

It looked like someone had painted a few strokes of color across one of his cheeks at some point, but it was smudged to hell and back. The back of one of Barry’s hands was stained a tell-tale matching purple, and Len could only guess at what it had been at the start of the day. 

He stepped into Barry’s space as easily as he had the rest, taking care to keep Barry between him and the source of the glitter, and hesitated for the briefest moment with his hand above Barry’s spine. He’d never touched Barry like this, skin to skin; the gloves had never come off between them, metaphorically or literally. Kept things neat. 

Nothing about Barry was neat right now. He turned even before Len touched him, and the movement brought Len’s hand into contact with his side instead. It took everything in Len not to pull it back in a flinch, and he met Barry’s curious glance with a tightly-controlled smirk. 

He’d expected Barry to step back, maybe add a bit of blush to those already-pink cheeks. Instead, Barry’s eyes took a belated second to focus, and then he gave Len a face-splitting grin. 

“Snart!” 

That time, Len did have to pull backwards to avoid Barry dragging him in for a hug. To think he’d been concerned about a hand. 

Barry didn’t seem the least bit put out, smiling loose and easy like Len hadn’t iced him to the door of a bank vault the last time they’d seen each other. He hadn’t taken Barry for such a cheerful drunk—he seemed inclined toward melodrama on a good day—but Len would take it over any of the alternatives. 

“Barry. Fancy seeing you here. And so much of you, at that.” He let his gaze slide down his bare chest and stomach, pulse ticking up at the warm brown of his nipples and the sharp vee of his hipbones that invited his gaze further down. 

“You’re overdressed,” Barry disagreed. He wasn’t quite slurring, but there was a careful deliberation in his tone that told Len it was a near thing. He took a step closer and peered at Len, suspicion evident in those pale green eyes.   “And… sober.”

“I’m not here to score. Perks include keeping my shirt on.” 

For the briefest second, Barry looked almost disappointed. But it was gone in a blink, confusion taking over. He glanced down at himself, puzzled. Then his expression cleared, and he looked up with another easy-going smile.  “I got hot.” His gaze dropped again, to Len this time, and he licked his lips. “Aren’t you… you gotta be hot in all that.” 

Len was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and thin jacket, and it hadn’t hit eighty degrees all week. But he wasn’t in the mood to argue with drunk logic. And besides, another scan of the nearby revelers had made something unpleasant begin to scratch insistently at the inside of Len’s chest, and he tapped Barry under the chin with one knuckle to bring his attention back up. 

The contact startled both of them—Len’s control had slipped, something he could not afford to happen around Barry Allen—but Len recovered first. “Where’s the rest of your team of do-gooders?” 

“Lost ‘em.” Judging by the return of Barry’s crooked grin, it was an accomplishment, not a concern. “Cisco said the shot was too strong, but I didn’t wanna go. He’s the d…” He faltered, brows pulling together as he frowned. “S’the designed. Designinated, superhero, anyway. Shh!” 

He shot a pointer finger toward Len in a movement that Len clocked, alarmingly, as intending to be pressed to his lips, as if he were the one who’d been chatting about Vibe’s secret identity. Len had three years of dealing with the Flash to thank for being able to catch Barry’s wrist in time to stop him, and he glared at him for the attempt. 

But Barry only gave him a crinkle-eyed smile and twisted his hand in Len’s grip to clasp his wrist back. “S’so good to see you here. I didn’t think…” 

“Don’t tell me you had me pegged for straight.” 

Barry made a frankly insulting noise halfway between a scoff and a hiccup and tilted Len a condescending look. 

“Speedster, remember?” he asked, far too loudly, even for a crowd currently screaming along to a pop song that’d been bad enough the first time Len’d heard it in 2000. “I see it when you...” He let go of Len’s wrist to make a gesture with two fingers, parting them in a V and sweeping them up and down Len’s body, the muscles in his forearm shifting distractingly under Len’s hand. God, the kid had to be a hundred degrees. “When you check me out. In the suit.” 

Len smirked. “It’s cute you thought I was being subtle.” 

“You’re cute,” Barry muttered, childish and sulky, and Len took it for the compliment it wasn’t. 

“You had a point, Barry.” 

Barry still looked displeased with him, but his brow was furrowed again when he met his gaze. This close, it was impossible to ignore that Barry had an inch or so on him. “About what?” 

“You didn’t think…?” Len prompted him. 

Barry stared at him blankly, and Len rolled his eyes and let go of his wrist. 

“Get out of the sun, Barry,” he said. “Find a park bench. Wait for your little friends to come find you. Shouldn’t be hard—you’re as red as your suit.” 

Barry either ignored his last comment or didn’t hear it. “Iris is here somewhere,” he said, possibly to himself. “She’s…” He twirled his finger absently beside his head. “Curly, today. And… bikini.” 

Len strongly considered abandoning Barry to his sunburn to go find out for himself. But Barry was beginning to sway a bit, and a man closer to Len’s age than Barry’s was giving Barry’s toned back a speculative look from a few feet away, and Len gave in to the unsettled feeling gnawing at his ribcage. He refused to call it worry. It was annoyance—or, at the very least, the feeling was annoying him, which was close enough.   

“As much a sight for sore eyes as that would be,” he said, allowing a magnanimousness he didn’t feel to color his tone, “I doubt Miss West ran away from her group and got heatstroke. Unlike some people” 

Barry didn’t look the least bit chastened, lips curving up mischievously in a way that drew another couple interested looks. Len needed to get them both out of the crowd before he started breaking noses.

“Tell you what. Give Cisco a call, tell him you went home. My bike’s on Kingsbridge, away from the parade route.” 

Barry’s smirk sharpened. “Trying to get me out of here, Snart? I thought you weren’t here to score.” 

Len gave him a flat look, ignoring the decidedly interested way his body was reacting to Barry’s tone. 

“You can barely stand.” 

Barry’s eyes glittered at the challenge, and Len realized his mistake. 

“Barry—” 

He hadn’t even finished biting out the second syllable when the world spun out from under him, the noise and the heat and the press of the crowd swallowed up in a hair-raising charge of yellow lightning. Exactly two and a half seconds passed in a blur of movement, just long enough for Len to realize Barry was supporting the back of his head with one too-warm hand. Then the world came skidding to a stop around them. Barry’s momentum carried them both forward several feet even after their new surroundings materialized, and they very nearly went straight through a window again before Barry seemed to remember how to stop. 

Len considered pushing him out the window anyway for the stunt. True, he’d been itching to get another taste of that feeling, the ozone snap-drag of Barry’s power like a live wire under his hands, but he’d rather have waited until Barry could pass a breathalizer. 

He realized Barry still had an arm around him and shoved him off. It did nothing to dim Barry’s self-satisfied grin, and Len had to look away or risk giving into the interested once-over Barry was skimming over his body again. 

“Pretty sure the point of a designated driver is not doing that.” 

Barry followed him when he took a step back. Len made a calculated decision, decided the risk of touching Barry again was worth it, and pressed his fingers to the middle of Barry’s chest—right where the Flash insignia would be on his suit, his brain offered unhelpfully—and pushed him backwards, hard. 

Barry unbalanced and wheeled back a step. Then the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch, and he toppled, satisfyingly, back onto the dark leather cushions. 

It was a nice couch. The whole apartment was nice, actually. Len could’ve drawn a perimeter of possible locations based on Barry’s speed and how long it had taken them to reach it if he hadn’t already known the address. 

“Sit,” he said. And then, with a smirk: “Stay.” 

Barry rolled his eyes. “Gonna have to ask nicer than that if you wanna boss me around in bed.”

The way he threw it out there, easy as anything, almost made Len miss a step as he turned away. He wasn’t going to lay a hand on Barry, not when he was drunk on sunlight and skin and whatever concoction Cisco had apparently cooked up for him. But hearing him say it, like they’d already gotten all of the messy parts out of the way—it set off warning bells in Len’s head, flashing past all the possible off-ramps he would’ve taken if Barry had ever tried to have the conversation in a more linear fashion. 

“You’re drunk,” Len said, which was a coward’s answer, and behind him, Barry made a vague noise of agreement. 

“Probably,” he acknowledged. “You could stick around ‘til I’m not.” 

Christ. Len didn’t trust himself to look at Barry again, not when he knew he’d find him sprawled out and shedding glitter all over what had looked like a very expensive couch. “Stay,” he repeated, and went off to find the kitchen. 

By the time he got back with two glasses of water, the problem had solved itself; Barry was out cold on the couch, his painting cheek pressed to the throw pillow he’d curled himself half-around. He was shivering faintly in the air conditioning, all cooled sweat and goosebumps, and Len resigned himself to the now-familiar impulse to help him that stirred in his chest. He put one of the glasses down on the table and, not trusting his hands, knocked his knee into one of Barry’s where it was bent close to the edge of the couch. 

Barry buried his face into the pillow with a noise of displeasure, and Len said his name again. 

“Last warning,” Len said. “Ten seconds, you find out if I put on steel-toed boots today.” 

Barry groaned, and if the sound hadn’t made Len’s pulse skip, the easy shift of muscles in Barry’s arm as he pushed himself up to sitting again would’ve done the trick. 

“Water,” Len said, unnecessarily, as he passed him the glass. 

Barry took it with the tips of his fingers, as if it were something personally offensive to him, and took a single, polite sip before putting it down beside the other with no small amount of distaste. Then he glanced between the glasses, and up at Len, a dirty spark already lighting behind his eyes again. 

“Don’t get your hopes up. They’re both for you.” 

Barry let out a breath with audible annoyance and dropped back against the couch cushions to glare at him. 

Len felt a modicum of sanity return to him. This, at least, was familiar ground: Barry, frustrated, asking for too much, too soon. True, it had always been about the hero business until now, but Len knew a pattern when he saw one. Give Barry an inch, and he always took a mile. 

Len gave Barry one last, appraising look. He looked ridiculous, all self-righteousness and bare skin. There was only one break in the otherwise even coat of glitter, there on Barry’s side: faint, but unmistakable, the outline of Len’s hand on his waist. The feeling in Len’s chest coalesced into something pleased and possessive. He met Barry’s glare with a slow curl of his lips, then gave him an inch.  

“Call me when you’re sober, Barry,” he said, letting his voice slip into the Cold drawl just to watch Barry’s eyes go dark. “And you can show me how well you sit up and beg.” 

He could see the impatience radiating off of Barry’s frame, the effort it was taking him to stay on the couch instead of closing the space between them. 

“Call your friends,” he reminded him. “Enough people got a look at your face today without the CCPD splashing it on every milk carton, too.”

In the elevator, Len reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the thin black wallet he’d liberated from Barry during their sprint across the city. Two and a half seconds: child’s play. A little extra incentive for Barry to track him down in the morning, not that Len thought he needed it. He flipped it open, noted the deer-in-the-headlights picture of Barry on his driver’s license with amusement, and then thumbed open the bill compartment. 

Len smirked. Barry wouldn’t miss a few dollars; he owed him for the dry-cleaning it was gonna take to get the glitter out of his jacket, anyway. 

[callme--starchild]

I Could Do About Anything

Della was able to see all angles, she was sure of that since she was a child. She couldn't remember if it was a skill that she had always had or that she developed as she grew up, but it was undeniable that it was there. Also, there were other possibilities that the sight of it offered her, and that was to read people, particularly her brother.

Of course, there were non-believers (including Donald himself) who claimed otherwise, and there were others who argued that it was because they were twins that Della was able to know what he thought, and that was partially true. Because while there were times when they found themselves thinking the same thing, the truth was that both also worked individually, and Donald himself was a different world from her.

A world that was commonly incomprehensible to many, including her. Not exactly because of the way her brother speaks, but because of the way he acts. It was not a secret that they were completely opposite, even Della had heard such comments since they were in high school, and she knew that he did as well because of the erratic way in which his behavior changed despite remaining like the typical shy boy from the corner.

Perhaps that was why she had sensed the discomfort of her twin throughout the journey, even if she was a few kilometers from him and even if she turned her back to him, as if it were a gentle breeze brushing her feathers and fiddling with her clothes. Her gaze remained focused on the sky, a path that she recognized on the way and that she recognized back; however, a part of her was focused on the conversations that were going on behind her. Goofy chatted with the children, Max's name popping over and over with such a familiar fondness that it left an emptiness in the pilot's stomach,

(Especially since it reminded her of her brother while talking about the triplets, but it didn't make sense: would Goofy have a child?

Her brother always got on better with him than her, but she had always known him as a loving guy, and surely she would have known of a child before she had taken the Spear of Selene; particularly what will his wife be like? She must be very gallant if she, again, had managed to conquer Goofy of all people.

Which, in turn, made her wonder about Mickey and Minnie, because so far the only clue she has had since her return has been that melon that Donald had with him on the island and—)

on the other hand, and now that she had stopped talking to LP, she could hear her brother having a pleasant conversation with Agent— Beakley. And though Della couldn't figure out what they were talking about, her hands were shaking on the wheel. Because Donald's desire kept tickling her mind.

Specifically, on his reason for asking it.

Not having to worry about the family being captured or lost.

"Della." Her uncle's calloused hands on hers made her blink, and she returned to focus on the flight — much to the extent that Launchpad took care of it to her apparent distraction, though she did let her uncle know that she was listening to him with a gesture, "are ye okay? Ye've bin very… quiet since we got on the plane."

In fact? No. At least, not quite. Lost, lost. Lost. The word poked at her brain incessantly, and it frustrated her.

Della cherished having discussed the Spear's topic with the children, and having her uncle's support despite yelling at each other — it was to be expected, though, with their tempers. However, she acknowledged that she still owed her twin a conversation; not only about the rift that she had formed between them a decade ago, but also about the time when he was the one who was on the moon and her apparent disinterest when he told her through that bizarre melon. Her brother had always been someone who refused to talk, particularly if it involved his feelings, but he had even refused to speak after the invasion and it made her stomach clench.

Lost.

Della knew she was lost even when she returned to her home. From the terrible second impression with her uncle to the relationship with her kids. She had no idea how to be a mother, she had barely read a thing or two even when she was waiting for the triplets because her thoughts were more focused on the world behind that stardust she saw through her window after every adventure, and when she landed on the Moon her priority had been to repair the rocket and return to Earth. Instead, her brother had read all the books on parenting the moment he discovered that she was waiting, and even she could claim that he had been made from other sources that she was still unaware of to date.

Her mind had always been in the clouds and that had led her to be stranded in space without being able to develop her motherhood. But Donald had always been on Earth, being the father and mother of her sons; But having wished Gene for a normal and perfect family, she had a feeling that perhaps it could be something more.

"Yeah, yeah, Uncle Scrooge," she said in a distant voice; though she knew she had been slow to respond, her uncle's concerned expression confirmed it once she returned to concentrating enough on the vast stage in front of her, “but I need to think a few things. Launchpad, would you mind continuing the flight to the mansion?"

Of course, the other driver was an incarnate sunbeam, and he only responded with a thumbs up and a smile without reciting any words or questions before taking the wheel again.

But no matter which direction her mind took, they all came to the same conclusion: she should speak to Donald soon.

It was with that thought in mind that she headed for the houseboat, feeling her shoulders grow heavier as she approached. The triplets and Webby were watching TV, and she had literally seen Beakley in the kitchen not long ago. Scrooge had retired to his office with Isabella's journal and Duckworth was away, doing ghost things; ergo, there was no one who could interrupt her during her conversation with her self-proclaimed best friend, but that did little to relax her and, otherwise, made her tenser. Not just because it wasn't a secret that Donald was more emotional, the lamp incident had proved it to her, but because with their infamous temperaments it was a lousy combination in case the situation got out of control, what if …?

When she was least aware of it, her metal foot stepped onto the hatch that gave her access to the boat. And even though she knew it was more sensible to go to the door and knock, especially remembering how strict her brother had been about his privacy from their distant adolescence — that, on second thought, it made no sense when it came to Donald because: what could he hide from everyone that required a dress code that never existed? —, the truth was that she was very impatient to discuss this issue to walk the deck only to go to the bow and also wait to be attended.

No. If she was going to do this she was going to do it now, and with that conviction, she raised the hatch.

"Donald, listen. I know I'm coming unannounced, but you and I have to…" Down the stairs, her words died in her throat when she saw the aforementioned accompanied by… a strange-looking duck, who had also become tense at her presence. They appeared to be looking at a framed photo, but the abrupt way in which they parted, as if they had been caught doing something wrong, did not go unnoticed.

This puzzled Della much more than expected, perhaps due to the fact that...

"Dumbella! I told you to knock.” Donald was really calm, when he used to be on the alert for a visit from any stranger. If that in itself was strange, he just looked a bit annoyed at her sudden entrance.

"Don't worry, D," however, his features seemed to relax when said stranger addressed him, approaching to murmur something that caused him to stifle a laugh. That definitely didn't twist something in his stomach.

Her brother looked relaxed, off guard, more cheerful than she could remember, and it took the pilot out of focus on the reasons that brought her to the houseboat in the first place. Sure, she remembered seeing him like this during junior high and high school with Mickey and Goofy, or in college with José and Panchito; but right now there was something in his gaze that she was unable to define.

Particularly, there was the fact that her brother used to chat about the antics he did with his friends all the time, and the visits did not wait when they were in the mansion on an almost daily basis, not to mention the multiple sleepovers that her little brother did per week.

In one way or another, they had adopted a small place under their roof, allowing her to know and grow fond of them, even if they got on better with her twin.

But this guy? She didn't recall Donald mentioning an outrageously dressed mallard, not even in a slip; there were no antecedents, there were no visits. Still, his calm in the face of this unfamiliar new face tickled the back of her neck, and she didn't like it.

"Er…" She cleared his throat, and it seemed that they too had been pigeonholed into their little bubble. There was also the look that this guy gave her at all times, as if he was watching her and reproaching her for some reason she did not know. "Donnie? Don't think I'm planned to be rude, but who is he?"

Having to fight her willpower not to point him out because Donald would scold her for the rudeness, she instead pointed her eyes at him, and the frown of her strange companion didn't soften - at least, not with her. That did less to reassure her, especially considering the way her brother's eyebrow arched in confusion, at least until he met his partner's gaze and his face lit up in an unusual way, and it lit a small sparkle in the pilot's gaze.

"Oh, where are my manners?" he exclaimed with a small blush blurring the feathers of his cheeks, and her desire to make fun of him increased but she was held back when she noticed that Donald was really sorry and her conversation with him continued in a pendulum.

"Easy, Ol-Don," he cleared his throat, letting his hand rest on the sailor's shoulder for a second, though of course, it would be enough for him to relax, before addressing her again with a serious face, all traces of complicity that he seems to have with her twin fading away.

And judging by the way his eyes widened, he noticed it too.

"Uno Ducklair, Donald's old friend. Nice to meet you.” His voice had certainly turned strict, enveloping in a dark aura that mystified Della as he shook her hand, with a smile that might look real if not for her keen eyesight.

She wasn't sure if the other duck in the residence would have noticed, but it seemed to be eyeing the blissful Uno with an indecipherable expression. Most disconcerting was the way he tried to hide his outstretched arm from her brother, as if he were trying to protect him.

But from who?

"Erm, I'm... Della Duck, Donald's sister. I'm sorry for the… intrusion, but I didn't know my brother was expecting visits" and she was really sorry, considering they both seemed to be in the middle of a chat when she arrived "nice to meet you."

Before shaking her hand with the mallard's, she sighing aloud at the grasp.

"Wow, you really have a strong hand, huh?" Laughing nervously, she heard her brother reproach her in the background.

But Uno knew.

Uno knew he wouldn't find himself in the Ducklair Tower again until years later as Odin Eidolon, when Donald and his adventures as Paperinik, as well as the friends and enemies they had made along the way, were nothing more than a vague memory in the abandoned lair. However, there he was: the tower reviving while he was reactivated and his data was transferred, the memories that he had kept hidden from his creator becoming overwhelming during the moments in which he became accustomed again to the environment that was the hiding place that once witnessed the tommyrot of two partners who saved the city and saw Anxieties in their spare time.

Uno knew that the first image in his database after that memorabilia was Donald's face, cheerful and full of life, always telling bad jokes as he faced Evronians and the misadventures of daily life. The glint in his gaze as he thought of the future with his nibling, who would later become nephews. And Uno knew that he should appreciate that look again, being almost instantaneously that he looked for his old fellow in the system while his arms were in charge of giving the last details to the body that had begun with so much care before being deactivated.

He had missed him, he had to confess. He was not ignorant that many of the machines of the time of his partner of crime were incapable of feeling any emotion; but after meeting Lyla and himself learning about them after his friend, that stereotype had been erased from his data or, in Donald's words, thrown out the window.

As he polished the finishing touches to what would be the new recipient of his data, he hadn't gone unnoticed the adding of some Gizmoduck and Darkwing Duck as saviors of the city. And though he found the absence of Paperinik alarming, that concern was forgotten the second he found the whereabouts of said vigilante.

In just a few minutes, an Artificial Intelligence had given way to an android that was heading to the McDuck Manor. That, while he took in every detail, feel, and color that the city was from a new perspective.

But as an AI, Uno's data was collected, and he was able to remember.

And he remembered every afternoon they watched every episode of Anxieties, new or old, while they both tried to disguise the effect that Saxony Starbright had on them and made a few comments about the plots and absurd twists that the writers made even if they used to be on the edge of the seat at such absurd twists like the hypocrites that they were.

He remembered every mission he did alongside Paperinik, being his eyes and ears in the tower as the hero took care of the casual villains and the Evronians in his umpteenth futile attempt to increase his army, as both would joke about it later while he checked the little scrapes and bruises between his feathers.

But he also remembered those wounds that were not generated by the occupational hazards, those occasions when Donald had to work harder and not smarter due to the adventures he faced every day in the company of his sister and his uncle. Those moments when he limped into the secret apartment, refusing to be checked to retire to put on the suit of his second job despite the reprimands he gave while Donald was dressing or when the situation was resolved, when the hero was too mentally and physically exhausted to fight the worrying intelligence.

When Donald was on the brink of hypothermia from some magical ice he was on.

When he came in exhaling a cocoa scent and trailing bright-colored plumage, his sensors detecting sensitive peck marks under his own feather coat, particularly in the cranial area.

Or each time he came in with more and more scars, his clothes shattered, bald spots, and even obvious bruises. Many times because of some crazy adventure, other times because he fought someone at school, the character of his partner added to the physical ability that he possessed from his self-induced training.

When he arrived depressed due to an argument with family members, because he refused to go out with them to the next hidden temple, because of his bad luck or even his cousin's getting in the way of each meeting, or because he was still not understood metaphorically and literally by his family or a third party.

For his family.

For his family.

For his family.

Uno did not know how, but until he discovered that Della was waiting even before Donald, the occasions in which he had seen him truly smile, at least with his family, could be easily counted and that because he had collected them, and on the other hand he really stood out when he was with friends, including him.

He really didn't want to feel some things unless they involved Donald, and while this technically involved his partner, he also knew the fondness he had for his family, so his confusion at his reaction was not only valid, but justifiable.

"Uno?" He blinked, and they knew what a relief it was for the sailor to mutter that name again even if there were no words in between, and even blinking out of his thoughts was so strange and wonderful to him, "Is everything okay?"

It was then that he recognized how nervous Della was in front of him, and tried not to feel joy at it because this was his best friend's sister and while he wanted her to fear and more, he did not want to get into an argument with Donald after a decade of estrangement and a lot of time to recover.

"Yes, yes, my apologies," and though he wasn't really sorry, it was gratifying to see Della tense enough because that was the least he feared every time Donald had to leave Duckburg with them. "I'm not that used to physical contact."

And well, that wasn't entirely a lie. Donald has been the one who has gotten him used to it, and that because he used to be very affectionate back in the tower, and getting used to the body was also new to him, but he did not know how much he had changed in recent years if the first thing he had done when he saw him was to keep clung.

But Della was watching them warily, and somehow both knew what the next question would be before it exited the pilot's peak:

"And how did you meet?"

"During the time you were in flight school," Donald began almost instantly, finally intervening between his sister and Uno even if he tried his best not to make it weirder than it already was, "I was looking for a part-time job and coincidentally Uncle Scrooge had just bought the Ducklair Tower so I started working there. Uno is... one of the sons of Everett Ducklair, the previous owner of the tower" Donald had to accept that his lying skills had rusted over the years — after raising the triplets on honesty, but the least he could do and he was grateful for was dancing around the truth because he had become the custodian of the Tower while his sister soared through the skies in search of her pilot's license, as uncomfortable as it was for him to even mention the name of his old friend's master's name.

But he also didn't want to know her reaction to knowing how involved he was with artificial intelligences, aliens, droids, and time travels. Especially when it was all over and it had been a lot to him at the time.

"Hmm, well Uncle Scrooge said you changed a lot while I was in school, that you had become more sensitive or something, and more alert," she commented out of nowhere and with a thoughtful expression, and Donald blinked after hearing someone snort, rolling his eyes after recognizing Uno's giggle even though a smile was visible on the edge of his beak, because if he had heard that several times during his time as a janitor and superhero, many times for teasing or bothering him, the truth was that he missed the teasing a lot — coming from his partner — because, unlike the ones he had heard on multiple occasions, they were not malicious. Besides the fact that facing bad boys had indeed helped his temper during his studies "it must have been for that. I guess I must thank you… Uno."

Still, neither of them missed the discomfort on Della's face, or the way she fiddled with her scarf, and her smile became strained as she spoke more.

Maybe it was because of the fact that Donald had secret friends? Because of the looks Uno gave her behind the back of his brother? Was it some older sister instinct that hadn't been around since high school coming to life and yelling at her to protect her brother from Uno at all costs?

And that was the hardest part, because Donald didn't look at all overwhelmed or alert by the mallard's presence. Indeed, she felt her twin relaxed in a way that only happened when he was with José and Panchito, and that had been while they were in college.

"I was just telling Uno to introduce him to the rest of the family, that you came in was a mere coincidence," Donald commented, with a smile so bright it puzzled Della, when was the last time you saw him so happy about something that surrounded him?

But she couldn't question it too much when Donald's face turned strange, blinking as his expression changed.

"What brings you here anyway? Not that it bothers me!" He clarified quickly, grinning nervously, and Della could have sworn the third duck's face turned warmer, and that was something she could share: she had also missed seeing Donald turn into the same nervous wreck as to when they were young adults. The duck cleared his throat and crossed both arms behind his back, “it's just, well, the only times you come unannounced are when you can't sleep. Now that I think about it, you seemed to want to tell me something… is everything okay?"

As he looked thoughtfully, he acknowledged that sooner or later he would have to talk to his sister about his desire and what happened next was more than evident. However, he did not expect it to happen so soon, and Donald preferred to wait once the situation with Uno was over and he had had enough time to think about what to say to her.

Unconsciously, that little consideration from the sailor had been enough for Della to remember what had dragged her into the boat in the first place, it can't be that she has forgotten so quickly!

However, the pilot couldn't help but wonder if now was the right time, especially seeing how calm it was in comparison to the cave. Actually, it was as if he had never had a breakdown in the first place.

She wanted to preserve that for a few more moments. Furthermore, she would never have known how to start that conversation even if she could chat with her brother at the time.

"It's not that important, it can wait." She shrugged, maintaining a serene expression that she now felt more sincere. If Donald noticed that tiny detail, he didn't say anything. "Don't you mind if I keep you company to the mansion? If anyone had the audacity to put up with my brother's plover head, it's worth knowing."

She olympically ignored her twin's reproach in favor of sneering at him, feeling satisfied when the mallard giggled despite the faint reddish tinge in the sailor's feathers.

"I don't see why not," Uno commented. And even though he still looked relatively tense, his shoulders looked more relaxed when he side hugged Donald. Della could not gloat over that small victory given the strange glint in Uno's eyes. It was a bit inhuman, though the pilot didn't want to jump to baseless conclusions, but they seemed to be on the alert, "but I'd rather wait: the plover head was thinking of wait and respond with the whole family present, he doesn't want to leave anything unsolved."

Unlike her, there seemed to be an iota of homesickness when he used the same nickname to poke fun at Donald, and though he rolled his eyes this time, an exhausted smile took place.

Della flinched when Donald suddenly raised his voice, his voice raspier with the effort.

"Family, can you come over for a second?!" Even Uno smiled, wincing at the future state of the sailor's throat. "I want you to meet someone!"

[simonsrosebud]

Alright — this is very important — what’s the wedding party look like? Do either of them get walked down the aisle? What do the bachelor parties look like? What’s the first dance like? The cake cutting? OR! Do they just elope?

Either way, the most important thing of all — what are their vows?

i’m going to warn you:  i’m afraid this is going to be a very long post.

the wedding is in january, before playoffs have the chance to start up.  it’s easier that way also, because most of their friends either play exy or coach it, so they’re all off too.  and dalton’s professor friends are off for winter break.

that being said, they’re on a time crunch for bachelor parties.  and since kevin doesn’t drink or anything, the idea of the “typical bachelor” party is out of question.  kevin doesn’t care for a bachelor party for himself, anyway.

however, when andrew is added to a groupchat with the whole wedding party, he sends two texts.  not to the group, but to allison.  she’s the one handling it, anyway.

the first text is a link to elton john at madison square garden, the second is a text.  

hamilton on broadway friday the 14th, concert 15th.

(ik the timelines don’t technically match up, but since this is all fictional who cares)

it’s perfect.  allison checks with dalton to be sure, and he lights up.  apparently kevin has gotten really into hamilton because duh it’s history, and elton john is one of his favorite artists, especially after dalton introduced him to “your song” in college.

dalton goes with him because they know kevin would want him there, unlike normal bachelor parties where you spend it without your fiancé.

as for dalton’s, he gets taken to florida (it’s only like a 5 hour drive i think but they could fly also) and his friends, who for the most part are straight besides emmie, a blazing proud lesbian, take him to gay bars on gay bars, and then go to star wars land in disney world for a day- kevin’s idea.  dalton is very excited about this because in this ask dalton reveals he’s a star wars fan and says he’d like to go see it someday.  they also get drunk in disney, don’t worry.

they both have good sized wedding parties.  for dalton, it’s carmen, bella, and his best friends jenna, reid, and sam.

for kevin, it’s andrew, neil, and dan.  if anyone asked kevin in college if he’d thought she would be in his wedding party- or even if they’d leave college being friends, he would have said no, but he was stupid to think the foxes would ever lose touch.  if anything, he got closer.

he’s also gotten closer than he ever would have probably wished to allison.  there’s something to be said for the both of them having good taste.  all it took was one trip of clothes shopping for a banquet for them to realize they’d had a lot more in common.

the only reason they never realized it was because they’ve both got the same level of stubbornness.

which is why she somehow ends up being asked to be in his wedding party, too.

kevin isn’t worried about asking neil.  a little about andrew, but he can always get neil to talk him into it.  he stops them both from leaving after practice, one day.  “will you be my groomsmen?  both of you?”

neil really doesn’t look surprised.  not even phased.  he’d been matt’s best man, after all.  “yeah, sure.”

kevin looks to andrew, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

when he does, it’s to swing his bag around his shoulder.  "no speeches.”  and before he gets to the door.  “and no one’s wrapping their arm around mine down the aisle.”  and that’s more than okay with kevin.  he doesn’t really want them speaking, anyway.

and then there’s dan and allison.  he isn’t worried about them, so all he does is text them and they agree.

there’s no more than 70 people there.  the actual ceremony only about 30.  it’s not big by any means, but they didn’t want it big anyway.  plus, kevin doesn’t have a whole group of family to invite like dalton does in the first place.  he doesn’t mind, though, because he’s grown to consider dalton’s family his own.

kevin doesn’t get walked down the aisle.  he never saw himself doing that with a woman before he realized he was bi and could potentially marry a man, so he’s never cared for it.

wymack, however, officiates the wedding.  he’s very proud of it, too.  he never seems to show nerves, and he doesn’t let kevin know, but this is something that causes him great stress.  he can’t fuck it up.

he doesn’t, of course.

he’s standing beside kevin when dalton gets walked down the aisle by his mother, and kevin told himself he wouldn’t get emotional.

he lets out a breath and a soft laugh, then looks up at the ceiling to blink away the sudden wetness in his eyes.

when anne hands him off, she kisses kevin on the cheek and whispers.  “all yours now, love.”

kevin wants to kiss dalton so bad.  so so bad.  but he has to wait.  instead he gives him a wink and takes his hands.  he expects them to be a tiny bit sweaty like they sometimes are when he gets nervous, but they’re not.  dalton’s grip is firm, and the only thing kevin can see on him is glee.

kevin feels he barely can pay attention to the words his father is saying until it’s time for the vows.  he’s first.  he takes a deep breath.pays attention to what his father is saying, too busy staring at his fiancé.  until they get to the vows, that is.

kevin is first, and his heart has never beat this fast.  he memorized his vows, but just in case, he unfolds the paper from his pocket and takes the microphone.  “i’ve made plenty of bad decisions in my life.  going to the club the night before a game, trying to fix the kitchen sink by myself.”  he smiles when dalton laughs at the memory.  “d, i knew from the moment i told you about my demons and you stayed, that choosing you was the best decision i’ve made in my entire life.  your are the strength i didn't know i needed, and the joy that i didn't know i lacked.”  dalton mouths i love you.  “thank you, for supporting and loving me unconditionally, i know i haven’t always made it easy.”

dalton gives the slightest shake of his head at that one.  loving kevin comes as easy as breathing.

“thank you for showing me how to accept myself, and showing me what it’s like to find peace, to know what it’s like to feel wanted and loved.  thank you for helping me to better myself as a man and a partner.  you make me a better person in every single way, and i promise to put it all to use and give back every single day of our lives.  i promise to love you through every hardship, to love you for who you are and who you are yet to become.  i promise to support and help you in every new adventure, and to always be at your side.  i promise to be patient and loyal.  i promise to remember to show you every day how deeply i care for you.  i promise to share my whole heart with you, to love you fiercely— for the rest of my life.  as long as you’ll have me.”

dalton blinks away tears, and after taking a moment, he accepts the microphone.  "kev,” he whispers, and takes a breath.  kevin knows he has his written down, but he doesn’t take it out.  he doesn’t need it.  “i used to think that i just got lucky that some random hot kid asked me for help with his homework.”  kevin grins.

“but i’ve realized now that the universe put you in front of me for a reason.  you have filled my life with happiness and have given me a sense of peace that i’ve never known.  you are my best friend, my biggest supporter, and the best co-pilot in life that i could’ve ever wished for.”  he smiles.  “today marks the start to the rest of our lives, whether we’re ready or not.  i will not take our time together for granted. and because words can’t do it, i promise to show you, for the rest of my life, how much i love you.  i promise to encourage you to follow your dreams.  to support you through any of life’s obstacles.  i promise to make you laugh when you’re taking yourself too seriously.  i promise to hold your hand through the good and the bad, to keep you afloat when you feel you’re drowning.  i promise to share the weight on your shoulders like it’s my own.”

a tear drops from kevin’s eye, and dalton reaches to gently wipe it with his thumb before grabbing his hand.  “i promise to never stop making up my own lyrics to songs i don’t know. although, i know you wish i would.  i promise to look back on our lives when we’re old and gray and have no regrets.  i promise, from this day forward, kevin day, that you will never walk alone.”  he lowers the microphone, whispering.  “as long as you’ll have me.”

it’s a very emotional ceremony, that’s for sure, but they’re grinning by the time the rings go on, and dalton barely holds back from jumping kevin before he can say, “you may now kiss.”

kevin has his arms around dalton’s waist and dalton’s hands on his cheek and the back of his neck, and they’re both smiling into the kiss less than two seconds in.  but kevin doesn’t care.  dalton’s laugh is the best thing he’s ever heard and he relishes in it as he crushes him in a hug before tearing back down the aisle.

their first dance is to “your song” by elton john.  is it probably overused?  sure, but kevin isn’t into music enough to know or care about that.  it’s the song that

it’s always been dalton’s go to song to sing in the car, and whenever he does he tends to just kind of grab onto kevin’s hand while he sings.  he’s no harry styles but he can hold a tune just fine.

it then turned into a song kevin listened to on bus or plane rides, and when he entered the pros dalton started sending him voice memos on text of him singing like two lines from the song before his every flight.

kevin also played it in the car back to the cabin after he proposed.

it’s their song.

dalton pulls kevin to him for the first dance, with one hand holding kevin’s and the other pressed against the small of his back.  and dalton’s singing along just loud enough for kevin to hear.  it makes him smile at his dork of a husband, and halfway through the song kevin lays his head on dalton’s shoulder and slides his arms around his neck.  he closes his eyes and ever so quietly sings along.  

dalton kisses the side of his head and wraps his arms around kevin’s waist.

when the song is coming to an end, dalton kisses kevin and smiles as he sings the last lines to him.  “how wonderful life is while you’re in the world”

kevin smiles.  “sweetheart,” he whispers.

but then the song ends, and kevin leans back against their table as dalton takes the floor with anne for the mother son dance.  he sends a thought up to kayleigh.

“i’m incredibly proud of you.”  it’s abby at his side, sliding her arm around his waist.  she kisses his cheek.  “i know you know this already, that you foxes are family to us.  but... you have always been like a son to me.  and you always will, even if not by blood.”

kevin is looking at his feet, but eventually he meets her gaze.  “you’re the closest thing i’ve ever had to a mother.”  he squeezes her hand, and, “do you want to do the dance with me?”  he doesn’t know how he hadn’t thought of it before.

abby’s a little teary, but nods.

dan rests her head on wymack’s shoulder.  “he’s done good.”

wymack nods.  he doesn’t respond, because he’s got… something… stuck in his throat.  not emotions, definitely not emotions.

kevin smears cake all over dalton’s lips when they cut the cake, and in return he presses a messy kiss to his cheek.  it’s sickenly sweet.  the whole thing is, especially compared to the kevin day that some people know, and the one they see on television.

i can’t think of other things i may have missed, but please please let me know if there is anything else you guys want more insight on, or prompts regarding these!

oh yeah, kevin throws one of the bridesmaids little bouquets as a joke.

and carmen catches it.

[gumnut-logic]

Reactions (Bit 17)

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Now we’re getting somewhere :D

For @soniabigcheese for Fandomversary with Gordon and Bedlam.

-o-o-o-

“It’s a trap.”

Gordon was glaring at John’s hologram hanging in the middle of the comms room. All four brothers were arrayed around the holographic diagram of a giant aircraft launch platform. The massive ship hovered in midair somewhere over the Atlantic offering a take off and landing option along with facilities for an audience.

Unfortunately, at some point the landing option had become a crash option and the whole platform was canted at a horrible angle that needed no engineering skills to know was bad.

Very, very bad.

John’s tone was more on edge than usual, but this was a rescue situation, so he was professional. “Gordon, there are a thousand people on that platform, including the entirety of the World Security Council.”

Gordon froze. “Penelope’s father is on that thing?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Scott spoke up as Gordon’s expression froze in shock. “What about escape pods.”

“Not functional.”

Virgil frowned. “What do you mean ‘not functional’?”

“It appears they have been disabled.”

Virgil stared at his space brother. “Why?”

John sighed. “The platform was set up for a series of rescue simulations for the launch of the new ‘World Rescue’ initiative. My guess is that they didn’t want anyone panicking and jumping ship mid-display.”

It was Virgil’s turn to be gobsmacked. How could people be so stupid. “Can we re-enable them?”

John’s fingers darted over unseen controls. “Eos is working on it, but the crash caused electrical havoc and several systems have been irreparably damaged.”

“I agree with Gordon. It has to be a trap.” Alan sat in his hover chair glaring at everything. 

Scott sighed. “John, has our help been requested?”

“If you count individuals, I have received five hundred and forty-two calls for International Rescue from persons aboard the stricken craft in the last five minutes.

“Anything from official channels?”

“Not a blip.”

It was strange. Had this been a rescue prior to the last week, they would already be airborne. As it was, they were all staring at Scott as he stood there frowning and assessing the risk.

It only took a moment before Scott’s head came up. “Request permission.”

“FAB.” John didn’t even blink.

The next few moments were some of the longest ever.

But John’s expression told them all they needed to know before he opened his mouth. “Permission denied.”

“What?!” Gordon glared up at his brother even more. “There are a thousand people in danger!”

“Their answer was ‘World Rescue has the situation under control. Your assistance is not required’.”

Virgil stared at the image of the launch platform. One of its massive hoverjets had been disabled when the aircraft had collided with the landing strip.The whole platform was teetering at an angle that was seriously degrading the effectiveness of the remaining three hoverjets. A few more degrees and the entire ship would fall out of the sky. Physics tolerated only so much abuse.

Virgil’s mind supplied the strategy he would take to stabilise the craft, calculations of mass and thrust, how many airjacks he would need to support all that weight. It would be fairly simple to correct that tilt long enough and strong enough for evac craft to land and get everyone off.

But instead of launching and executing that plan, he was standing here watching a GDF flyer attempting to make a landing beside the crashed plane on the damaged airstrip.

“No!” It was out of his mouth without thinking, his hand held up as if he could grab the hologram and stop the idiots from doing the ultimately stupid.

But he couldn’t. Instead he got to watch as the platform tilted even further, the three remaining hoverjets desperately trying to compensate causing a structural twist in the landing strip’s frame it was not designed to take.

Virgil’s engineering brain supplied the very moment it would snap and it did.

He sucked in a breath as the damaged strip broke and folded almost ninety degrees with the force of gravity, the platform’s whole frame shuddering as it collided with the superstructure.

The GDF flyer flipped and a wing caught in the warped framework. Fortunately. It was the only thing preventing the craft from plummeting to the ground.

The crashed plane shifted, but appeared fused to the platform and didn’t fall either.

A single flailing figure did.

“What the hell were they thinking?” It was a breath exhaled by Scott, his blue eyes staring at the hologram in horror.

“I say we launch.” Virgil made the decision without hesitation.

Those blue eyes latched onto him. “Virgil? It has all the signs of a set up.”

“There’s a thousand people in danger.” He flung a hand at the hologram. “They need our help.”

“We’d be breaking a direct order.”

“It was a stupid ass order.” Gordon glared at Scott. 

The commander looked up at his space brother. “Any change?”

“None official, however I have received another three hundred and thirty-two calls for help, and counting. This appears genuine.”

“Why are we waiting?” Virgil was on edge. “We need to get out there.”

“And I need to make sure I’m making the right decision for all of us.”

“People are in danger. There is no question.”

“Virgil...” But he could see his brother’s dilemma. It was a thousand people versus his family. Because yes, by defying the GDF, this could end everything they had worked for. IR could be shut down. Hell, they could all go to prison.

“If we don’t respond, we will be betraying ourselves.” Virgil eyed the platform as it teetered. “We need to get out there. They need us. We can’t stand by and let those people die.”

Not again.

A fire flickered in his brother’s eyes.

“Scott-“

The commander held up his hand. “Are we all in agreement? Are you aware of the risks?”

Five nods.

Blue eyes lit up with flame.

“Okay then...Thunderbirds are go.”

-o-o-o-

Virgil’s feet hit the deck plates of Two with a reassuring thud. He shoved the overhead hatch closed and revelled in the use of muscles deprived of real work over the last few days.

Slipping into his pilot’s seat gave him such a rush of ‘rightness’ he almost sighed. Behind him, Gordon surfaced through the bottom hatch, no doubt fiddling with his uniform like he always did.

“Alan’s angry.”

Virgil ran through pre-flight with ease, his mental check list ticking of items automatically as his bird began her spin and the great door opened to let the sunlight in.

God, this just felt right! This is where he was supposed to be.

He engaged her warm up sequence as Gordon slipped into his co-pilot’s seat and Virgil found himself obliged to answer. “I don’t blame him. This is an important rescue.” Two’s engines hummed up to readiness and he began her taxi out.

“Do you think it is a trap?”

His bones sung with her thrum. A flick of his wrist and the palm trees on the runway gave way.

The sun was bright this morning.

“I don’t know, Gordon. All I know is that people are in danger. That is where we step in.”

“But what if we step into shit?”

Two slid onto her launch platform and he engaged the hydraulics that lifted her nose towards the sky. He sighed. “Then we go into hell knowing we are doing it for the right reasons.”

Gordon turned away and looked up through the front windows into the blue.

Virgil engaged Two’s rear thrusters and his ‘bird roared into the sky.

-o-o-o-

Next

[freddiesaysalright]

The Most Dramatic Season Ever - Week 2

Summary: It’s your time now! You are ABC’s new Bachelorette and this is your journey! All these men (including our fav BoRhap boys and then some) are competing for your heart! Will you find love? Will you get engaged at the end? Or will you end up heartbroken? Find out, on the most dramatic season ever!

Word Count: 6.7k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​ @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @the-moving-finger-writes​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @rose-writes-prose​, @queenlover05​, @moon-stars-soul​, @danadeacon​, @deacyblues​, @thesundrop​, @cupidben​, @lostlittlenerd​, @delilahmay39​, @mazzellodeaky​, @queenmylovely​, @loveandbeloved29​, @free-pool-trash​, @fairestkillerqueenofall​, @local-troubled-writer​, @babyalienfairy​, @littlecarowrites​, @allthethingsicant​, @im-an-adult-ish​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day, y’all! Here’s my gift to you! I know you’ve been waiting a while for it and for that, I apologize lol. Hope you enjoy :D

Warning(s): None :)

Night 1  Week 1

Week 2 here we go!!!

As the next week began, you were still feeling hopeful. You were excited about the dates this week, and you knew who you wanted more from. Truly, this whole group of men had your attention. They were all so sweet and appeared to be completely committed to getting to know you. That brought you comfort, since your worst fear was getting to the end of this only to find yourself in love or engaged to someone who wasn’t genuine.

The guys were feeling similarly hopeful. However, Luke was rubbing everyone the wrong way. Even guys who didn’t really talk to him much were annoyed by his antics. He was always talking about how this was basically a done deal, and that he was going to be your husband. So, the whole house tended to avoid him. 

As they all waited for a date card, he started again.

“It’s gotta be my name,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Just gotta be.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “You don’t know that, Luke.”

“I know how she feels about me,” Luke argued. “And how strong our connection is.”

“But you’re assuming her connections with the rest of us aren’t as strong,” Allen pointed out.

“Yeah, I am,” Luke said. “Because I know that for a fact.”

“How can you know that, dude?” interjected John Paul Jones. “You’re not there for every other conversation.”

“I just do,” Luke said. “I know in my heart that she’s gonna be my wife.”

A few of the other men began to bristle at his words, but didn’t speak up.

“Just ignore this, guys,” said Wells. “Let it go.”

There was a knock at the door. Eager to escape this conversation with Luke, Gwilym got up to answer it. He took the date card back into the living room.

“Alright, let’s see what it is,” he said, waving it around before tearing it open.

All eyes were on Gwilym as he read the card to himself first.

“It’s a one on one,” he said, and the group took a collective breath. “Ben. I want our love to take off. Love, Y/N.”

Gwil handed the card to its lucky recipient, and it took everything in Ben’s power to not smash that paper right into Luke’s smug face. He read your name over and over, and his heart raced. That always seemed to be the effect you had on him.

“Well, guys, I guess I better go get ready,” he said, getting to his feet. 

He ignored Luke’s glowering all the way to his room.

You arrived at the mansion to retrieve Ben, much to the delight of the rest of the men. They all rushed to hug you before you would have to go. You sat on the couch to talk to them for a moment while Ben was still getting ready.

“So, how is everyone?” you asked as you squeezed between Gwilym and Rami. “Doing alright?”

They sort of murmured back at you and you understood. Not everyone got along in the house and you assumed that was happening here too. There were plenty of girls you were not super fond of when you were competing on The Bachelor. You wondered if this would seep into the group date or the cocktail party. Drama was a quick way to take up time, which was too precious to waste talking about other people. But, if someone there was being false, you wanted to know. It was a difficult position to be in.

Then, Ben emerged from his room. You beamed at him as he helped you to your feet.

“Are you ready to go?” you asked.

“I’m always ready for time with you,” he replied.

You flushed a little and then started toward the door. You bid the rest of the men one last goodbye before finally leaving and heading out for your date.

Rami: It always sucks to see her go out with someone else. When she walked in, I felt like, ‘Oh! There’s my girlfriend!’ So, it’s hard to know she’s on a date with Ben. Ben’s a great guy, but I still wish it were me instead, y’know? Although...part of me is just glad it’s not Luke.

You and Ben were driven out to an airport where there was a helicopter waiting for you. You loved flying, so you were thrilled by the idea. You squealed happily and jumped into Ben’s arms.

“Yes!” you cried. “I’ve never been in a helicopter before!”

“Really?” he returned. “It’s loads of fun!”

You ran forward excitedly and got ready. The crew placed a set of headphones and mic on you so you two would be able to talk to each other throughout. Then, you and Ben sat by the edge and waited for take off.

It rose slowly into the air, and you gripped Ben’s hand a little tighter. It felt uneasy, as opposed to a plane, which you were used to. The thrill of this new thing, with a man you were very interested in, made your stomach turn like you were on a roller coaster and about to drop down that first hill.

The sight of Los Angeles as you soared above it was amazing. You could see so much. The buildings, the nature around the city, everything! As the pilot headed south, you saw the coast and the cliffside shore lines.

“It’s beautiful,” Ben said in awe beside you.

You looked at him. “It really is.”

He moved your mics to the side and leaned in to kiss you softly. 

“You’re even more beautiful,” he whispered into you.

Your smile prevented him from kissing you again.

“Thank you,” you said sweetly. 

He pecked your cheek and you giggled.

The ride was really incredible. You got to see California like you never really had before, and Ben just seemed like the perfect person to share it with. You landed on a remote cliffside field, where a blanket was laid out with a bottle of champagne on ice. Ben helped you onto the ground and together you walked to take a seat and talk for a little bit.

“That was really cool,” he said as he poured each of a glass of the crisp, refreshing beverage. 

“It was,” you agreed. “I’m glad you were with me.”

“Thanks for the invite,” he replied.

You leaned over this time and kissed him. His lips were so warm and pillowy. You could have kissed him forever.

“So, what made you want to try this experience?” you asked. “The whole Bachelorette thing?”

“Honestly, a friend suggested it to me,” he told you. “I’m about ready to retire from rugby, and I want to settle down and have a fresh start. When I saw your picture, I thought my heart might stop beating.”

You frowned a little. It seemed Ben was pretty caught up in your looks.

“What else about me intrigued you?” you pressed. “What made you confident that this could work?”

“I didn’t watch the whole season you were on,” he admitted. “But from what I saw, I gathered that you’re kind, smart, and generous. And you’re ready for the same things I want. Marriage. A family. Making a home - a life - together.”

A smile slowly crept back onto your lips. “I like that answer.”

“What made you go on the Bachelor?” he asked.

You looked out over the water and considered this. None of the other men had asked you that yet.

“Well, I knew I was ready to settle down,” you said. “This process is like speed dating on steroids, y’know? But I know I’m ready to be married. So, this seemed like a good path for me. It didn’t work out with Peter, obviously, but I’m still hopeful.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said. “But I’m so glad it didn’t work out with him. You’re amazing, and I’m so thrilled that I’m getting the chance to get to know you.”

“You’re so sweet, Ben,” you said.

Once again, he kissed you. There was more passion behind this kiss than the previous ones. You coiled your arms around his neck and pulled him in closer. He grinned into you and yanked you onto his lap. You giggled for a split second before planting your mouth firmly back onto his. The feel of the ocean breeze, the quaintness of where you were, and the warmth of Ben’s body had your mind going cloudy. The only thing really in focus was Ben. You could safely say that he was one of your strongest connections.

After your little picnic, you climbed back into the helicopter to return to the city for the evening portion of the date. As you prepared for it, you thought about your day with Ben and how grateful you were for him. But, you still had a lot of questions for him. You needed to know more about his past and figure out if this was truly something he was ready for.

You met up outside an art gallery. You went in where your dinner set up was waiting. Ben helped you out of your jacket and pulled your chair out for you before taking a seat himself. You shared a small toast before sipping your drinks. You took a deep breath.

“Can I ask you something?” you wondered.

“Yeah, anything,” he answered.

“Tell me about your love life thus far,” you said. “Like, when’s the last time you were in love?”

Ben swallowed and looked at you. “Um...never. I’ve never been in love before.”

A chill went through you. Your mouth fell slightly agape as you looked at him.

“W...what?”

“I know it’s odd for someone my age, but it just hasn’t happened yet,” he went on. “I’ve never told a woman that I love her. Because I’ve never felt that way about someone.”

You blinked. Your mind scrambled for words, but none came to you. This was a shock you weren’t expecting. You had no idea how to follow up either. 

“I…” you trailed off. “Really?”

“Really.”

You tried to read his face, but his mouth was turned down just slightly in a way that told you he was becoming defensive. 

“Don’t shut down on me,” you said. “I’m just surprised.”

He sighed heavily. “I know. It’s a weird thing to admit and I’m feeling a bit...I dunno...judged.”

“Oh my God, Ben, I’m not judging you, I swear,” you said. “I’m just trying to process this because it kind of scares me.”

His brow furrowed. “Why does it scare you?”

“Because!” you cried. “Most people only know they’re in love because they’ve felt it before. Or something like it. What if we get further into this and you realize this isn’t what you expected? What if you realize it after we’re engaged? What if...what if you discover you want something more?”

His whole demeanor softened as he took your hand.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Listen to me. I’ve never been in love, it’s true. But I’ve always believed that it’s because I was only meant to love one person. One great love for all my life. Something more? What could anyone want more than that?”

With his free hand, he cupped your cheek. You closed your eyes to the contact. His skin was warm and soft.

“Who could ever want more...than you?” he said.

Your eyes opened and met his. His words eased your heart. All fear dissipated as you held his gaze. Something in his eyes showed you how much he meant everything he said. 

“This seems totally crazy,” he said. “But I could definitely see myself falling in love with you. It’s not hard for me. The picture is there. I just need more time with you for my heart to catch up with my head.”

You chuckled a little and blinked back the tears of worry that had welled up in your eyes. You blinked and one spilled out. Luckily, Ben’s thumb was right there to catch it.

“C’mere,” he said, and he tugged you onto his lap again, draping your legs over his. 

He kissed your temple. You beamed at him. Then, you reached across the table and picked up the rose. You held it between your chest and his.

“Today was really great,” you said. “Getting to see LA like that and then just...talking to you. I feel like every moment we spend together is building something special. And for you to tell me what you did, and assure me after I had reservations, that was a sign of a great partner.”

He smiled at you.

“So Ben,” you said. “Will you accept this rose?”

“Always,” he replied.

You pinned it to his chest and he grinned at you. Sometimes, you were so caught up in Ben’s eyes that you didn’t notice his smile. You noticed it now, and it struck you as something sweet and charming. It was boyish, but calm. You liked it. But, you just had to ruin it by kissing him again. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind.

After rewarding him the rose, you moved to another part of the art gallery. There, stood a singer and band, all waiting for you and Ben. They began to play as you walked in and he immediately spun you into his arms. You swayed together to the slow tempo of the song. You felt really secure there, wrapped up in him. As unsure as you were about his experience with love, you felt like he was capable of being exactly the man you needed in your life. He was strong but sensitive. Kind but honest. Handsome but humble. As you danced with him, you saw yourself with Ben for years to come. Hopefully even forever.

Ben: I feel amazing! It was great opening up to her and just being honest with each other. Those real conversations I think are so important in building a relationship. And yeah, I’ve never been in love before but I think I’m starting to get there with Y/N. I really can see her as my wife.

Back at the house, a date card arrived. It was a group date for all the remaining men. A few huffs were heard at there not being a second one on one. But, when Rami read out the card, there were more questions than anything.

“Let’s see if you can score,” Rami read. “Love, Y/N.”

“What on Earth does that mean?” Gwilym wondered.

“I’m guessing it’s sports related,” said Wells. “Which doesn’t bode well for me.”

Wells was quite slimmer than most of the guys, especially compared to guys like Ben and Kenny who were both athletes. Even so, he was as excited as the rest of them to see you.

Then, the door opened. All eyes turned to see if it was Ben, or a producer coming to take his bags. Almost everyone cheered as Ben came through, rose on his jacket. Joe was the first one to reach him and mussed his hair as congratulations.

“Yeah, Ben!” Joe cheered. “How’d it go, man?”

Ben flushed under all the attention, but his smile never faltered.

“It went well,” he said. “We talked a lot, I got vulnerable, and I felt like it was a step in the right direction for us.”

“Alright, that’s awesome,” Rami said, clapping Ben on the back.

“Did anyone else get a one on one?” Ben asked.

“No, we’re all going on a group date tomorrow,” Gwilym said. “Got the whole place to yourself, mate.”

“Oh, I’m gonna be so bored,” Ben joked.

He joined the group and also tried to speculate what the date could be. He thought that something athletic was likely, but which sport they could all play was a mystery. He wished them all the best of luck though before going to bed. The rest of them followed shortly after.

The next day, the men all gathered onto a luxurious bus and headed into the heart of Los Angeles. They stopped outside a football stadium. There, they saw you, looking absolutely adorable in a cheerleading uniform that was a soft, bright pink. As they pulled up and started climbing off the bus, you waved your pom-poms at them.

“Hi, guys!” you greeted as they all gathered in front of you. “I have a super fun date planned for today, and it’s a great way for all of you to get some energy out after being cooped up at the house. So, let’s go in!”

They all agreed and followed you into the stadium, where you were led them onto the field. There stood a large black man in his NFL jersey. He tossed a football from one of his massive hands to the other and smiled kindly at you and the men.

“What’s up, everybody?” he greeted.

A few of the guys were smiling widely, so they were clearly fans. They returned his greeting with a few polite “hellos” before waiting for someone to explain.

“Some of y’all may know this guy,” you said. “But for those that don’t, this is Thomas Davis. He’s a linebacker for the LA Chargers.”

“Fellas, I’ve been married for many years, so I know that marriage takes work, commitment, and - most importantly - heart,” Thomas began. “Just like the game. So what we’re gonna do today is play a game of football to show Y/N here that you’ve got what it takes. The winning team gets her all to themselves tonight. The losing team goes back to the mansion for the rest of the day.”

“The stakes are high, you guys,” you said. 

“Y/N has already divided you into two teams, the red team and the blue team,” Thomas added. “The red team is: Joe, Rami, Gwilym, Taron, Allen, Richard, Wells, and Mike. The blue team is: Eric, Kenny, Jared, Jordan, John Paul Jones, Chad, Luke, and John. Your jerseys and equipment are waiting for you in the locker room.”

Gwilym: I’m nervous, honestly. I’ve never watched or played American football before. I haven’t got a clue how it works. And all of us European guys are on the same team, so we might just be f***ed.

Richard: I actually love American football. I’ve seen a few games in London and had a great time. I’ve never played before, though.

As the red team all started suiting up, Mike and Joe took charge.

“Alright,” Mike said. “I know that some of y’all don’t have any idea how this game works, so I’m gonna break it down for you.”

He explained the basics of the game and what each of them could do to play well.

“We’ve got all the small guys on our team,” said Joe. “So we’re gonna have to go with a passing game since most of us probably can’t get past Kenny.”

Kenny was a professional wrestler, so making tackles would not be difficult for him.

“Are we gonna play one on one?” Rami asked.

“I think that’s best,” Mike said. “Don’t worry, I can take Kenny. Wells, you cover John. He’s the smallest on their side, and you’ve got the best shot with him. Richard, I want you on Jordan. He’s a male model, so he doesn’t wanna get hit. Gwil, you gotta cover Eric since you’ve got the height. Joe, you stay on JPJ. Rami, you’re on Jared. Taron, with Chad.”

Allen sighed heavily.

“That leaves me with Luke,” he said. 

“You got this, Allen,” Joe said. “We believe in you.”

Allen laughed a little and then they all headed out. When they returned to the field, you were chatting animatedly with Thomas Davis, but turned to smile when you saw them approach.

“Did you come up with a team name?” you asked.

“Flamin’ Hot Cheetos,” Mike and Joe said in unison, though it clearly wasn’t planned, since they gasped at each other before high-fiving with delight.

You looked at the blue team. “What’s your team name?”

“Blue Steel,” answered Kenny, and then shot his best fierce look in the other team’s direction.

“Alright, we’re gonna have the coin toss,” Thomas said. “Y/N, who’s the home team, and who’s visiting?”

You looked at the teams and considered it.

“Hmmm,” you said. “Since Rami’s from LA, the Flamin’ Hot Cheetos are the home team.”

“Okay, who are the captains?” Thomas asked.

The Flamin’ Hot Cheetos pushed Joe forward, while Blue Steel sent Kenny. 

“Joe, what do you call?” Thomas went on. “Rose or ring?”

“Ring,” Joe said.

“Okay, here we go.”

Thomas flipped the custom coin and everyone watched it twirl in the air before landing on rose. 

“Alright,” Thomas said. “Blue Steel wins the coin toss. You want the ball or will you defer?”

“We want the ball,” said Kenny with a smirk.

“Let’s get started,” Thomas replied.

“Alright, good luck, guys!” you called as you backed away to the sidelines.

They all got in place on the line of scrimmage. Jordan was serving as quarterback, with Kenny, Chad, and Luke in the center for his protection. Kenny hiked the ball, and as soon as it was snapped, the men collided. Jordan faked a hand off to Eric, who ran toward the outside, but in reality, Jordan stepped back. Jared took off through the middle, dodged Rami, and ran to get open. Jordan threw, and Jared caught the pass. Rami quickly arrived to tackle him before he could get any yards after the catch. The play was over.

However, Luke had already gone too far. As he and Allen struggled at the line, he grabbed Allen’s facemask and yanked it to the side. Thomas, who was serving as ref, had missed it, and therefore didn’t call a penalty. You, on the other hand, did see it. You admired Allen for not saying anything, but you decided to keep your eye on the situation when you could.

They lined up for the second down. In this play, Richard managed to get around Chad and tackle Jordan for a sack, setting Blue Steel back five yards. When Richard got up, he smiled and winked at you, making you blush as you cheered.

The game went on, and Blue Steel had a good drive, but weren’t able to score in the end. The ball went to Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. Taron served as quarterback now, and on the first down, passed it to Richard for another first down. For the next play, Taron faked a hand off to Allen. Luke charged at Allen and tackled him hard, while the ball actually went to Joe, who ran it all the way for a touchdown. Luke, angered at his team for losing, kneed Allen in the chest before getting to his feet.

Allen let out a sharp “oof!” as Luke’s knee slammed into him. It knocked the breath out of him and he took longer to stand up. He looked out to see if anyone had noticed. A few of the guys had, but you were talking to Thomas again as the guys regrouped. Taron jogged over and helped Allen to his feet. That’s when you saw that something was off. Your brow furrowed.

Your eyes found Allen’s and you shot him a questioning look. He just shook his head and got back in place. You looked over at Luke, who was laughing at something with Chad. 

Allen: I’m not really sure what Luke’s f***ing problem is, but from the beginning of the game, he was very aggressive with me. I know he’s kind of an angry guy, but this is something else. It’s a lighthearted game and he’s acting like it’s his life on the line or something.

For the rest of the game, you noticed that Luke was particularly aggressive. Since Allen was his match up, Allen took the brunt of it, though Taron took some hits as well as Luke tried to sack him. It was enough to make you question if he really was a nice guy or not. True, winning meant more time with you, but this was only the beginning of the journey. Luke would have many opportunities to speak with you, even if his team didn’t win today. He was taking it far too seriously.

The game went on, and in the last minute, Allen scored the winning touchdown.

“Alright!” you cheered. “Go Flamin’ Hot Cheetos!”

Just as you started out to congratulate them, Luke came tearing into the endzone and tackled Allen once more. They skidded across the turf together. Allen struggled against Luke’s weight, but couldn’t shake him off. Finally, Luke stood up, and he looked about ready to spit on Allen. Thankfully, you arrived and got Allen to his feet.

“Allen!” you cried. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” he said, catching his breath. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” you fretted. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s not your fault, darlin’,” he said kindly. 

You took his helmet off and kissed his cheek. Then you rounded on Luke.

“Hey!” you yelled. “The play was over! What were you thinking?!”

“I - wait - Y/N!” he sputtered. “I was just running and couldn’t stop myself.”

“Are you serious?” you shot back. “I saw you, Luke, you were at least ten yards away. That’s plenty of time to stop.”

“I didn’t mean to!” he insisted.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my God, we all saw it! You’ve been roughing Allen up all day, which can maybe be passed off as the game, but that was completely out of line.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for your hand, but you snatched it away.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” you snapped.

Luke sighed and hung his head before looking at Allen.

“I’m sorry, man,” he said.

“S’alright,” Allen returned, though his tone made you wonder if he meant it.

“You can go wait on the bus while I say bye to everyone else,” you said sharply.

“Y/N, I -” Luke began. 

“Go!” you cut across him.

Fuming, he jogged off the field. 

Joe: Honestly, seeing Y/N yell at Luke like that was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.

You gave the rest of Blue Steel hugs before they left the stadium. You were sorry to see some of them go, since you liked a lot of those men, but you were looking forward to your evening with the winners.

Everyone cleaned up for the night, and you met them at a warehouse that was converted into a bar. It had multiple levels, and even a small, rooftop patio. It was a cool little place that you were excited to spend time in with these guys. As you all piled onto the couch, you made a small toast. Then, you turned to Allen.

“Allen, can we talk first?” you asked.

“Absolutely,” he agreed. 

You took his hand and led him off to a more private area. You took a seat together and you gave his hand a squeeze.

“Thanks for being such a good sport today,” you said. “You didn’t complain one time even though Luke was totally abusing you.”

“I’m not a very angry person, so I tried not to let it get to me,” he said. “Besides, we won in the end. That’s what’s important.”

“I’m glad you see it that way,” you told him.

“Look, I’m not here to worry about Luke or anyone else, really,” he said. “I like you, and that’s what I want to focus on.”

You smiled. “I like you too.”

“Gimme a kiss, love,” he smirked.

“You got it,” you replied and leaned in to press your lips to his.

You kissed him for what felt like hours. You could easily get lost in his lips. The way Allen kissed you was unique - although all the men were distinctive in their style. Allen was laid back and smooth, like his personality as well. It always made you feel so at ease.

You chatted for a bit longer before Joe came to get you next. You gave Allen a quick hug and then followed Joe up to the rooftop. It was chillier up there, so Joe wrapped you up in his arms. He pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” you returned.

“I’ve missed you,” he said. 

“I’ve missed you too, Joe,” you replied. “So much.”

“How are you feeling after today?” he asked. “I know you were frustrated there at the end.”

“I’m okay,” you assured him. “I like Luke, but he showed me a side of him that really concerns me.”

“Violence?” he questioned.

You nodded. Tears were already welling up in your eyes. You inhaled deeply and tried to keep them back, but one slid out anyway.

“What’s got you upset?” Joe asked.

You took a deep breath. “I...I had an ex that was physically abusive,” you admitted. You had no idea why you were spilling this to Joe. This was something you rarely told anyone. In fact, you had not even told Peter when you were competing for him on The Bachelor. “So, it really upsets me to see men act that way. I got so angry because I got scared.”

Joe’s expression softened. A deep pity moved into his beautiful eyes and he held you close to him again.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said. “No one deserves to go through that. Especially not someone as wonderful as you are.”

“Thank you,” you sniffled. 

“I hope you feel safe now,” he said. 

“I do,” you said, burying your face in his chest. “Especially with someone so wonderful.”

He rubbed your back and stood in silence with you for a few moments. Joe was as comfortable as your own family. Not that you thought of him in a familial sense. Your attraction to him was definitely romantic. He was just a solid person that you could rely on. When he kissed you on the forehead, you nearly melted.

“You’re impressive,” he said. 

You looked up at him. “So are you. Thanks for being so sweet to me.”

He kissed you properly now, but it was still soft. You really did feel safe with Joe. Safer than you had felt in a long time. You had absolutely no regrets about sharing that bit of vulnerability with him.

You talked for a few minutes more before Richard pulled you next. You went with him back downstairs to a cozy corner with a fireplace. You were excited to talk to him because he had played so well during the game.

“Hey, you were incredible today,” you told him as you took a seat. “Who knew a Scottish guy could play some good ol’ American football?”

He chuckled. “I actually like American football. I had a great time today.”

“And you played well,” you said. “You sacked Jordan a few times, and that was no easy thing, getting past guys like Chad and Kenny.”

“Well, I was sort of trying to impress my girl,” he teased. “Looks like it worked.”

You smiled. “I am very impressed.”

You paused to take a sip of your wine. “Where does your confidence come from?”

“My confidence?” he questioned.

“Yeah,” you said. “You’re always like, kind of cool and suave about stuff. Where did you get that?”

“Okay, first off, I’d never describe myself as suave,” he laughed. “But honestly, it’s not something I always had.”

“Tell me more,” you said. 

“I got sort of bullied as a kid,” he told you. “I wasn’t into things a lot of the other boys were. Like, I loved theater and dance. I could participate in a lot of sports, but that wasn’t my passion, and I was sort of different because of it.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, taking his hand. “That’s terrible.”

“It made me who I am today,” he said. “I learned to embrace what I liked and what made me different. And I found people who supported me. My family was the most supportive and it’s because of them that I regained my confidence.”

“I love that,” you said. “Are you still close with your family?”

“Very,” he said. “My parents and sisters are my whole world. My nieces and nephews are as well. I love them so much my heart feels like it might explode.”

You chuckled and grinned. “So, you like children?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I can’t wait to have my own some day.”

You gazed at him for a moment before claiming his lips with your own. You felt his confidence in how he kissed you as well. It made sense. That man knew what he was doing. His lips moved in wonderful harmony with yours, and he ended things with a soft nip to your bottom lip. You gasped a little and felt your face get hot. 

“You’re so cute,” he said, and then pecked your cheek.

“You’re so amazing,” you replied, still a bit breathless.

After Richard, you spent some time with Gwilym. You had a fun conversation with him and again you felt that hopeful feeling that you associated with him. Then you got to see Taron, and you reminisced on your Disney date a little bit before telling him he was a wonderful quarterback. Not long after, Rami stole some time with you as well. As the shortest guy there, you told him how impressed you were that he held his own on the field. The night wound down, and you got a few minutes with Mike and Wells as well before it was time to hand out the rose.

You picked it up off the table, and looked at it for a moment. For the first time, you weren’t totally sure who you wanted to give it to. Allen was one choice because he had been through the most that day. Richard was another since he opened up to you. Then there was Joe, whose time had been brief, but so meaningful.

“This is a tough choice,” you said. “You were all so great today.”

You felt their eyes flickering between your face and the rose in your hand.

“But I want to give this to someone who moved our relationship forward,” you went on. “Someone who I learned more about today. So, Richard, will you accept this rose?”

He smiled that perfect smile of his and accepted it as you pinned it onto his chest. You kissed his cheek and then stood up to bid them all goodnight.

“I’ll see you for the cocktail party,” you said. “Goodnight, everyone!”

You waved and then departed. As you and the men went to bed that night, everyone thought about the connections they had. It was becoming steadily more serious, and this rose ceremony would put the number of men at almost half of where you started.

The next day, the men were having breakfast when Chris Harrison walked into the mansion. They greeted him nicely, but they were nervous. Chris usually meant something crazy was about to happen.

“I hope you’re all having a good morning,” he began. “I stopped by to tell you that Y/N has decided to cancel the cocktail party tonight.”

A few gasps were heard.

“She said she knows what she wants, and she wants to go straight into the rose ceremony,” Chris went on. “So, I’ll see you all there tonight. Good luck, guys.”

With that, he departed. A tense silence hung in the room. The only ones feeling really secure were Richard and Ben because they had roses already. Luke sighed.

“I really needed that time with her tonight,” he said. “I needed to explain myself.”

“We all wanted that time with her,” said Jordan. 

“I know, but I needed to talk about the game,” Luke insisted.

“She saw what happened,” Allen said irritably. “What more did you want to say?”

“I wanted her to understand!” Luke cried. “That’s not who I am!”

“Isn’t it?” Taron interjected. “Then why’d you do it?”

Luke groaned. “You guys don’t understand. This is something between me and Y/N.”

“It’s not though, since it involves Allen,” said Ben.

“Shut up, dude, you weren’t even there,” Luke retorted.

With that, he got up and stormed into his room. They all heard the door slam shut.

That night, you arrived at the mansion and you were ready to face the men. You felt good about your decision to cancel the cocktail party, but you were sure the men were worried, especially those who didn’t have extra time with you on the date. But, you had to focus on your journey.

“Hi, guys,” you said. “Sorry about the cocktail party. I just...I know where my heart is and I need to follow it. I hope you can understand.”

A few of them nodded to you in return, but most of them shifted on their feet. It was time to begin. You picked up the first rose and scanned the group.

“Joe,” you said, and he hurried to you. “Joe, will you accept this rose?”

“I will,” he breathed.

You picked up the next one.

“Rami,” you called, and he approached. “Rami, will you accept this rose?”

“Of course,” he replied.

You picked up another as Rami returned to his spot.

“Gwilym,” you said.

He smiled at you as he walked up.

“Gwilym, will you accept this rose?”

“Always.”

You continued on. You called Taron, Wells, Mike, Kenny, Jared, Jordan, and John Paul Jones. There were two roses left. The remaining men were Allen, Luke, Chad, Eric, and John.

You picked up the next rose.

“Allen,” you called.

He clutched his chest with relief as he walked to you.

“Allen,” you said with a smile. “Will you accept this rose?”

“I will.”

He returned to his place. Chris emerged and stood beside you.

“Y/N, gentlemen,” he said. “This is the final rose tonight.”

Taron: I’m hoping this means Luke is leaving. He’s just...not right in the head. I mean, really, there’s something sort of unhinged about him.

You picked up the last rose and gazed out at the men, heart pounding. You knew who this rose was going to, but you were beginning to doubt yourself. Then you looked at him and felt that gut feeling that there was more to him.

“Luke,” you said.

You noticed a few men close their eyes or shake their heads. You hoped they would understand. Luke walked forward, relief all over his face, and he smiled at you.

“I don’t know what came over you this week,” you said. “But I feel that there’s goodness in you. That’s what I need to see. I hope you use your time here to prove to me who you really are.”

“I will, I promise,” he said.

“Good,” you replied. “Luke, will you accept this rose?”

“Of course, thank you,” he returned.

He pulled you in for a hug and kissed your cheek before returning to his spot. Chris came out again.

“Chad, Eric, John,” he said. “I’m sorry. Take a moment, say your goodbyes.”

Eric finished with the other men first and approached you.

“Good luck, Y/N,” he said. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Thank you so much,” you replied. 

You hugged him tightly and whispered goodbye before he left the mansion.

John came over to you next.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” he said. “But you have a great group of guys here.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” you said. “Thank you, John.”

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before he too left.

Chad was last and he hugged you before he said anything. As he was pulling away, he stopped to whisper in your ear.

“Be careful with Luke,” he warned you. “Protect your heart, okay?”

“I will,” you said. “Thank you, Chad.”

He pressed his lips swiftly to your cheek and then swept out of the room. You looked around at the remaining men, and a new surge of hope was upon you. Chris got a champagne toast going.

“Y/N, you want to tell them the big news?” he asked.

“Sure,” you replied with a grin. “So, even though you’ve all got roses, you still have to pack your bags.”

You saw their confused glances.

“Because we are leaving this mansion and heading for Asheville, North Carolina!”

They cheered as you toasted. 

“So the next time I see y’all, we’ll be in the Appalachian Mountains,” you said. “Good night, guys! I can’t wait!”

They all wished you goodnight in return as you left. You couldn’t wait to see what Asheville had in store for you and your boyfriends.

[answrs]

Catbun Shiro AU

I promised to post my notes for this au and then never got on the desktop to do it, asdfkl sorry y’all. :x @headspacedad this one’s for you. (I reeeeeally hope this isn’t too confusing, it’s mostly a big jumble of notes for the au assembled in relative order to something resembling a plot. so uh, you’ve been warned. there’s pictures at the end though!)

Important note on setting, since I’m deathly allergic to basically anything besides the existence of characters post season 2, the whole deal with the castle is pretty malleable as a setting to me. basically, castleship wasn’t destroyed, at least not entirely. it’s disabled and most of it is too damaged to inhabit, but the lion hangars and the controls are still functional, if a bit beat up. (tbh mostly because it’s much easier than trying to juggle everyone with the lions as the only transport). so they’ll end up setting up camp close to the lions with Allura and Coran having a quick way to get to the control room to steer the castle out of any action they fall into, since the weapons/defenses are basically shot. no time travel nonsense or other funky shenanigans either, but the characters are all there.

also I’ve never written voltron before and it shows asdfkl but I TRIED AND THAT’S WHAT MATTERS

Now that’s out of the way, the actual good part of the au, the plot! :p

-

It happens when Allura tries to smash “their” Shiro into the clone’s body. Something goes wrong, or maybe Shiro’s soul is just so affronted by the idea of them expecting him to just... nonconsensually wrest control from an already occupied body. But he’s still being yanked back onto the mortal plane and if he doesn’t have a body his mind will die, so either subconsciously on his part or purposefully on Black’s, it rebounds into the nearest available viable occupancy.

The group watches as Allura struggles, frustratedly trying to shove “Real” Shiro into the traitor’s body, but before they can comprehend the shock and despair on her face as the tendril of essence is ripped away from her, the black lion roars and bursts away, no pilot at the helm and racing towards stars-knows-where.

-

It’s a small junk planet of sorts, with no obvious humanoid or sentient species. Shiro is groggy and stumbling around because there is very much something wrong with his limbs… 

(the black lion seems much larger than he remembers and oh look he can see his reflection in her plating now and whoops…)

The body looking back out at him from the mirrored surface is some sort of small quadruped creature. Its fur is entirely black, or possibly a dark gray, but for the tuft of bright white on the head just like his former body’s had had. did whatever stuck him in this thing have just that sheer luck finding a body, or was that obnoxious hairstyle just inexplicably tied to his soul now-? (he can feel Black huffing her laughter in his mind, she'd had the option of a body with matching fur to her namesake color, but his quintessence had bleached his new little mane going in. or… something to that effect, at least. he'd gotten much more fluent in translating her thoughts and images into words in that void of her mind, but a year could only teach you so much with a whole universe's worth of cultural (and species) divide.)

rolling the steel grey eyes- again just like his own- or would it be former? body ("windows to the soul", a quote surfaces in his memory), he goes back to plotting out this new vessel. It's quite fluffy, but he can make out two long ears that remind him of a rabbit. the hind legs are elongated like one too, though not to the extent an Earth's species' would be, he thinks. The tail poking out just behind them is short too, but reminds him more of the grouchy old cat his grandmother kept when he was growing up. opening his mouth, the similarities to the old bobtail seem to extend to its dentition too, pointed fangs indicative of whatever species this was being at least some sort of predator. Life hadn't been kind to the former inhabitant, and not just that this body had been recently vacated. nicks are evident on an ear, and he'd bet the unkempt fur covered up at least a few scars of its own. But thankfully none of his own scars had seemingly crossed over on top of the rest. he can very much feel his (formerly) missing arm… paw? and he starts when it finally dawns on him just how much easier his breathing is without that huge scar marring the bridge of his nose.

-

the team arrive to find Black lying in a covered clearing of sorts, calm as can be, and shields down. nothing seems amiss but as they get closer, Lance with his sharpshooting eye is the first to spot something on Black's muzzle. with everyone on edge after the clone, even the local fauna don't get a pass from their scrutiny and they ready their weapons, but the moment a charge starts to hum the shields slam up, startling them.

-

(the clone = Ryou/Jiro/Taka, Shiro’d called him many things watching him from his place in Black, which is absolutely of course not just an excuse I’m making up because I can’t decide what he decides to go by so I just keep using them interchangeably sorry if it’s confusing D:)

Once the team collects Black and her finally returned passenger, Shiro absolutely is constantly sitting on Ryou's head, or riding on his shoulder, or just generally hanging out around the clone.

(Honestly, at first it's also because he's not entirely sure he trusts anyone, clone or not, not to do anything rash and he'll be damned if he's not be there to prevent another tragedy.)

(He's still rather indignant on the man's behalf, honestly, and even if he can somewhat see why the group reacted how they did he doesn't accept their actions. And he's been watching the guy through Black basically the whole time, it was so obvious to him the poor kid was being controlled against his will. Not to mention his reaction afterward, how he doesn't trust himself and is afraid of hurting anyone even tied up and literally disarmed in the back of the cockpit the group is convened in. Maybe Black has rubbed off on him with treating her chosen paladins as cubs to be protected, but he sees him almost as a little brother and it rubs him the wrong way how he's being treated by the group. So even if the comfort he can offer him is little and a bit strange, he'll chill on his leg for hours for a nap and some eventual fingers combing through his fur when the clone is finally distracted enough to not be thinking about it.)

-

It’s possible Shiro had been part of Black long enough to pick up how to communicate through the lion's bond, and uses it to talk to his new little brother. (It’s certainly a lot easier than constant, neverending charades)

Telling the kid to ask the others to remove the restraints, to which Jiro steadfastedly refuses, half because he's afraid of himself, the other because (to the other's confusion, since they only hear the clone talking out loud) they absolutely would not believe that the request isn't just his own and he was making it all up. Gets kind of heated because Shiro just will not let it go despite his refusal, because to him he obviously isn't dangerous and doesn't see the problem here. He's been disconnected from the problems of the living for a bit too long perhaps, and while he knows on a level there’s distrust between the team and the clone, and even the clone with himself, because he's seen the man’s soul and has known him much longer in a metaphysical sense he kinda forgets others don’t automatically see in that way.

There's one point early on, that the group first learns Shiro can (and has been) talking through the mind link to him. Lance notices the small fluffy body half inside of his bag, rummaging around through his toiletries. He’s been going crazy with all the extra fur on this body (it might even be shedding season for the creature, and it's just so. damn. ITCHY.) and he's desperate enough he’s resorted to getting the scissors he knows are hiding in there out himself. Except no one knows what he's doing and eventually break to come ask the clone if he knows what the fuck is going on and what he's trying to tell them, to which he's like, he wants you to trim down the fur?? he's been driving me insane complaining about it the past few days?? can he not tell you himself?? (he thought Shiro could and had been talking to the others just like he had been to him the whole time. and was just choosing to complain and annoy him constantly for whatever reason instead of asking them himself)

-

Piloting the lions in a battle the first time is... not great. There's a nearby planet being attacked and Red nothing short of demands her pilot back, allowing Blue a perfect excuse to grab Lance again, because Black's got two perfectly semi-functional pilots right here, so really, what's the problem? the paladins eventually figure since Black refuses to respond to Keith and Red is practically banging down the door to his mind while ignoring Lance that it's better to have four lions than two and fly in their original configuration, leaving Allura to pilot the remains of the castle to a safe distance since the weapons and shields are damn near useless in a fight right now.

None of the paladins would want to fly with Jiro, and he doesn't trust himself enough to do it even if they would, but Shiro can't exactly reach the controls right now and she's been out of the battle long enough and the galra are converging and ffs, Black just has to do everything herself now doesn't she... Cue a very terrifying sudden scene of his body going lax with a blank look on the poor clone's face, eyes glowing the bright yellow of the giant lion as he robotically stands up and goes straight to the awaiting lion's maw, ignoring or discarding any restraint with impossible strength as the Alteans and company scramble to stop him, only to ram into metal or shield as the lion scoops them both up, apparently tired of waiting. (They didn't notice, but the small passenger's body clinging to the material of his shirt had also gone ramrod straight, but Black is very much telling both of them to Cat Up and just get over here already)

thankfully they don't have to form Voltron, since there's absolutely no way they'd be able to just then, even if the rest of the team somehow thought only the "real" Shiro was at the controls. after the battle Black finally allows the others to enter, and en masse they burst in to find The Traitor™ sitting in the seat, lone hand on one part of the controls, Real Shiro™™ situated on his knee, paws resting on the other half. Clone is eyeing them guiltily, but not moving in order not to jostle his passenger, who’s just now turning to look at the small audience, blinking owlishly as he finally manages to disengage from Black's direct connection. (he's spent so long enveloped in that nebulous and vast mindspace he needs to remember he has a body to return to now, mismatched as it is.)

---

and now some pictures! pro-tip, turns out it’s much harder to mix together a cat and bunny than i’d ever expected like what??? ah well, have a doodle of The Fur Boi

And a little pre- vs post- haircut inspo:

[padfootagain]

A Chalet And A Storm (VI)

Part 6 : Worth Changing For

Here's the sixth and final part of this series! I know it took me a long time to finish it, but it's finally here! I reckon that finishing a series is a good way to finish this year, don’t you think? I hope you like it :)

The beautiful aesthetic was made by @that-bwitch, thank you again my friend :D

Word Count: 3686

The grey clouds heavy with snow had drifted away, carried by the wind to dwell somewhere else, and had been replaced by a clear blue sky. The cold of winter tainted it with a lighter shade than the warm sun of Summer used to do. As he stared at the long line of concrete that pierced the snow, carrying airplanes towards their flights, Logan's mind was miles away. Instead of watching planes take off, it was your eyes that he saw. Your eyes shining with laughter as you joked, your eyes lightened by the fireplace from that night you had spent together, your eyes filled with pain as he…

… as he had let you go.

It was for the best, and he knew it. But if he had taken the right decision, then why was it so hard to go? Why did it hurt so much?

He closed his eyes, but your face didn't disappear. Upon his eyelids reddened by the sun, he could still see you smile.

He heard his father coughing behind him.

"With all this snow, our jet will be delayed," his father spoke behind him, but judging by the honey in his voice, he wasn't talking to his son, but to the investors he had charmed during the trip. "Probably an hour or so… but a trip in such beautiful parts of our country is worth the inconvenience, I reckon."

Logan's jaw clenched tightly. No matter how much he tried to play it all cool, he couldn't think about you the way he wanted to remember you.

A fling, a one-night stand, a sweet Christmas Eve, nothing more than what he had already done so many times before…

But instead, whenever he thought of you came to his mind – which meant constantly since he had walked away from these woods – he could only see regrets.

Not remorse. He didn't regret spending this night with you even if it was the only one he would have the chance to spend by your side, he didn't feel guilty about your engagement with this other man either. What he regretted was… you. And the lack of you that he would have to bear in his life from now on.

He regretted the fact that he would never see your smile again, hear your laugh, listen to your voice while you hummed to yourself, hold your hand, see the light in your hair… He would never see you again, and yet he already regretted this life he could have had with you. Because he could have seen you again. He could have woken up by your side again, he could have run his hands through your hair, he could have had you. Your words in the forest were clear, you had doubts, you were hesitating. He could have tried to convince you…

But it wasn't fair for you, and he knew it.

His eyes followed the trajectory of a plane taking off. In just a few more minutes, he would climb aboard one of these large planes and fly away, never to see you again.

Behind him, his father was still talking to these investors he had worked so hard to convince. Loud sounds of heels hitting the ground behind him made Logan turn around, and he looked at the stewardess passing by. She gave him a flirty smile as she let her eyes roam up and down his body shamelessly. By the warmth in her smile when his gaze met hers, Logan wondered if he knew her.

Blonde hair, beautiful smile, graceful silhouette… it wouldn't have surprised him if he had spent a night with her. He wondered who the pilot would be as well. He had slept with the last man that had guided his jet through the sky…

He didn't smile back at the blond though. He didn't want to smile to her. Instead, he could only see your smile…

And at that moment, in the halls of this tiny airport, while this father who was so distant towards him sat with investors, while Logan kept his eyes on that blonde over there, he realized that he felt lonelier than ever. It wasn't a feeling he was unfamiliar with. Loneliness. He felt lonely all the time, he had always had. Excess of everything from liquor to parties and one-night stands and drugs usually compensated that feeling. But now that this loneliness shook him to his bones once more, he realized that he hadn't felt this way in that chalet with you. And not just during this night with you, he could realize it now. During his whole stay in that chalet with you… these few days were the only ones in ages during which he hadn't felt like he was alone.

And that was thanks to you.

Perhaps all these things he had done because they felt good were not the key to his salvation at all. Perhaps pleasure wasn't happiness at all, and would never lead him to it.

And perhaps, you were this key he had hoped to find…

He checked his watch. He still had about two hours before your wedding would occur, that was just enough for him to get back to that tiny village before you could say 'yes' to Andrew. He glanced at his father still talking to his investors, and then to the entrance of the airport.

He had a choice to make, and he had to make it now…

 -----------------------------------------------------------------

 You had a choice to make, and you had to make it now.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, dressed in that white wedding gown that you had chosen with Logan. And the question kept on echoing through your mind again and again, never stopping.

Should you marry Andrew?

Logan was long gone, and after all, you had been nothing but another one of his flings to him, but you remained haunted by doubts. Even if Logan and you were not going to be together, the fact that you had cheated on Andrew still meant that you were able to betray him. It still meant that you wanted Logan.

And if you were this attracted to another man, then didn't it mean that Andrew and you were not meant to be? How could you marry him then?

"Y/N?" your mother called through the door. "It's time, honey. Are you ready?"

You blinked several times in an attempt to dissipate the tears that threatened to escape your eyes. Were you ready to marry Andrew?

"Y/N?"

But then you could see Logan all over again. You could see that look in his eyes while he rejected you. At the moment, you had thought that you could read immediate regret as the words passed his lips, but you weren't so sure about that now. If he really cared about you, he would have fought for you. And he hadn't…

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. You had made a mistake, a terrible mistake indeed. It wasn't fair for Andrew, but you were the only one to blame for that mistake of yours. You needed to make things right. You needed to get your shit together and do what was right. In a few weeks, Logan would be nothing more than a memory and you and Andrew would have a normal and loving relationship all over again.

You forced a smile to your lips and walked to the door before opening it wide. Your mother gave you a proud smile.

"I'm so happy for you, Y/N. Andrew and you make such a lovely couple!"

"Thank you, mom."

As she guided you through the corridor, you wondered if she would say the same if Logan had been the one waiting for you in that church. A playful and yet sad smile moved through your lips. Probably not…

You couldn't remember walking through the church with your father. You didn't remember the music. You didn't remember the look on Andrew's face when he saw you walking down the aisle. You were only able to focus on the world again as your father let go of your arm to leave you by Andrew's side.

He was grinning. He was happy to marry you.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't smile back at him.

The priest had started to speak, but you couldn't hear him. Your thoughts were too loud…

You couldn't deny that you loved Andrew. But to what extent? Was it true love? The big thing that you had read about in so many books and dreamt of so many times as you watched movies? Was it?

If it was, then why were you thinking about Logan again?

"Y/N? Is everything alright?"

Andrew's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to stare at him.

What were you going to do?

 ------------------------------------------------------------------

 Logan was running. He reckoned that he had never run so fast in his entire life. After a long ride in a car to get back to that lost village, he only had a few hundred meters more to cross before reaching the church where you were about to get married. Or perhaps you were already married… he hoped not…

His lungs burnt as the cold air filled them up, and he was out of breath. His side was painful and in such a cold, his legs were already starting to ache, but he didn't care. He couldn't find a way to care. He had to reach this church before you were married, before he had lost you forever, nothing else mattered.

His father had always thought that he was worthless, but you didn't. You didn't see only a jerk, a piece of garbage in him. And he had not felt so alive in a long, very long time. He couldn't just let you go. Perhaps it was selfish of him. Actually, he knew that it was pretty selfish. But if you chose him, Jesus… he would make sure you were happy. He would try. He was ready to try to make it all work. He just didn't want to feel lonely all over again, not when you had showed him another way.

He had almost reached the church, just a few more steps…

The snow had frozen here and there and he slipped, falling head first against the step made of stone leading to the church. His eyebrow hit the stone, and for a couple of seconds, he saw white stars. He let out a groan as the pain finally spread through his forehead. He reached up but winced when his fingers brushed his eyebrow, and when he looked at them again, they were covered with blood.

He shook himself and chose to ignore the pain. Instead, he got up and staggered forward and into the church.

As he opened the large doors, everyone inside looked at him. The noise was more than enough to draw all the attention of your family and Andrew's to him. The priest, on the other side of the church, looked at him as well, and Andrew did just the same.

Logan noticed that you were holding his hands…

Were you and Andrew married? Was he too late?

Finally, your eyes met his.

 --------------------------------------------------------------------

 "Y/N, is everything alright?"

As Andrew asked this question again, the priest was still making his speech. The attention of all in the church was solely focused on the priest's words.

Slowly, you shook your head, feeling tears coming back to your eyes again.

"Andrew… I'm not so sure we should… do this…" you stuttered in a whisper that only your fiancé could hear.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, taken aback.

"I mean… are you sure that you want to marry me?"

"Of course, I'm sure! What is this question all about, anyway? I'm here, aren't I?"

"I… I know… but… what if I'm not the person that you think I am? What if I'm not as good as you think I am?"

"I know you, Y/N. And I love you. You're just nervous…"

"What if I made a mistake…?"

Your voice broke, but the meaning of your words was already only too clear. You saw Andrew flinching, but he shook his head and took your hands in his.

"Whatever happened in the past, it's in the past," he breathed. "And we're about to be husband and wife, and then… then we'll start all over again. If you made a mistake long ago, then…"

"But I did this mistake, what if it means…?"

"It only means that you had a moment of weakness, a moment of doubts, but that's it, Y/N! It was just a moment. And I'm signing up for a lifetime, not just a moment."

You let his words sink in. And perhaps he was right, perhaps Logan was nothing but a flicker, just a speck of dust in the universe. And Andrew was a steady light in the dark, and he was meant to stay…

But perhaps Logan was more than a moment of weakness from you. How could you know? And this mistake was not one made a long time ago after a terrible row with Andrew, or at a moment when the two of you had almost broken up. It had happened just a few days before…

If Logan came inside the church right now, what would you do?

You opened your mouth to speak, but were interrupted by a loud noise echoing through the whole church, and amplified by the structure of stones.

Everyone in the church turned towards the source of the noise, and you did the same.

Your jaw dropped at the sight of the man standing before you…

Logan was there, he was… right there. His hair a mess because of the wind, blood running from his eyebrow all the way down the side of his face. His warm coat was left open and his dark trousers were wet, as if he had fallen in the snow. He still looked stunning though.

Your eyes met, and you could read his question in his eyes, and you knew why he was there. He didn't want you to marry Andrew…

A reassuring smile formed on your lips, letting him know that you had not said 'yes' for now, and his eyes filled with hope. But by your side, Andrew frowned hard while the priest behind you asked Logan who he was.

"I… huh… I'm a friend of the… of Y/N's" Logan answered, still struggling for breath because of his run through the cold. "I… has she said yes yet?"

"No, she… the vows have not been exchanged yet," the old priest answered, quite puzzled by the question.

"Good. Good!" Logan advanced through the church, ignoring the stares that were set upon him. "Because I'm here for her."

"What do you mean? And who the hell are you?" Andrew cut him off.

But Logan ignored your fiancé, still walking towards you. He didn't stop until he was right in front of you, and you let go of Andrew's hands to turn and fully face Logan.

"What happened to your face?" you asked him in a soft voice shaking with emotions.

"Oh, that? Nothing, I… slipped and fell right before the church, actually. It's entirely your fault."

"My fault?"

Logan nodded, taking another step closer to you. He was breathless, but it wasn't only because of his run through the street this time. His heart was pounding, but again, it wasn't because of his run through the cold. He reckoned it was because of you, because of what he was doing right now…

"Why do you think I'm here?" he asked back.

You shrugged, and he could see pain in your eyes as you answered.

"I don't know… congratulate me in person?"

But he vividly shook his head, and the movement increased the pain that was now running through his whole skull, but he ignored it.

"Congratulating you is the last thing I want to do," he said.

Next to you, Andrew cleared his throat.

"What is going on here?"

"Logan, we should talk in private for a moment," you offered, but Andrew stopped you.

"No, I want to know what is going on!"

Logan didn't look away from you as he spoke again.

"I acted like a fool," he said softly, and once more, his voice sounded only honest, not honeyed. "I… I'm a jerk, for the most part. And coming here now is probably… very selfish too. But I know that I'll regret it forever if I just walk away and give up on you so easily. I don't want to give up on you. I've never wanted to give up on you. And… I don't know if it'll work perfectly between us, and God knows that I can't promise you a happy and quiet life, but I'm willing to try. I'm willing to change for you. I just… realized it all when I was at the airport. I've been alone all my life. For so bloody long, and no matter how many one-night stands I enjoyed, no matter how pleasurable my life could seem from the outside, it's always been filled with nothing but void. And I can't… I can't live like this anymore. Not when you've showed me that there's another way. And as I was at the airport, I finally realized that during these few days that I spent with you, I didn't feel so alone. And I don't want to be alone anymore."

He held your face in his hands, your eyes glued to his dark brown ones.

"I'm willing to try. I'm willing to change for you. You're worth changing for, Y/N. I just… I need a chance to show you… I need a chance to change. I need a chance to build something with you. Would you give me that chance?"

From the corner of your eyes, you saw Andrew moving towards Logan, but you stopped him, grabbing his arm harshly. And instead of moving towards Logan, he looked at you with wide eyes.

"I thought it was a ridiculous idea," you argued.

"It is. It's utterly crazy," Logan nodded with a little crooked smile. "I love that idea."

You smiled up at him.

"I would have to change everything in my life…"

"And I would have to change everything in mine."

"I don't know where this would be going?"

"I have no clue, but I want to find that out."

There was a short silence, before Logan would speak again, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Don't marry him. Y/N, don't marry him. Run away with me instead."

There were many whispers running through the church, but you didn't care.

You turned to Andrew, and Logan let go of your face, taking a step back.

"Andrew… I'm sorry. But I can't marry you."

More outraged gasps shook the air, but once again, you didn't care. Andrew let out a shaky breath.

"What the hell are you doing? Logan… that's the guy from the chalet, right? How can you even consider it?! You barely know him! You have no idea if he's earnest, if it's going to work…"

"No, you're right, I don't know. But it's not just about Logan, it's about the very fact that I want to accept to run away with him. Perhaps Logan and I are not meant for each other, but it doesn't matter, Andrew. I want to run away with him. Doesn't that tell you enough about me? About us? How could you be the one for me then? If you were, then I wouldn't even consider his offer. But I do. And I'm sorry, because you're amazing and any woman in her right mind would want someone like you. But I don't, somehow. Not for a lifetime, at least."

You took off your engagement ring and put it back in his palm. You apologized again, but when Andrew finally looked up, he was glaring at Logan, not at you.

Before you could stop him, he had punched Logan in the face, who fell backwards and remained lying there for a moment. Andrew strode out of the church, followed by most of the church, but you didn't care.

You knelt next to Logan.

"Are you alright?" you asked with worry painted all over your features.

"Not really, you're more dangerous than I thought… you're so much trouble…"

"At least you won't be bored," you laughed.

He gave you a warm and earnest smile.

"Thank you, for not getting married and wasting your life on me instead."

"I really don't think that it'll be a waste, Logan."

You exchanged a smile, and a glint of mischief passed through his eyes while his jaw was already taking a strange purple shade.

"By the way… you're stunning in that dress, Y/N. I'd really love to help you take it off now."

 ---------------------------------------------------------

 "I can't believe you forgot my gloves!"

"You could have put them into the suitcase yourself!"

"I'll have to buy another pair…"

"Will that kill you? I didn't think so. And be careful, Logan!"

"I can drive through the snow, thank you very much, Y/N!"

"For Christ's sake…"

"And we're there! See… told you!"

You heaved an amused sigh as you opened the door of the car Logan and you had rented, to discover the chalet you had booked for the holiday season.

All covered with snow, it looked just like you remembered it.

"A whole year spent together…" you whispered as you looked at the place where you and Logan had met.

"And a lot more to come," he whispered too, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

One year spent by his side, and you were happier than ever. And he hadn't felt alone a single day since you had entered his life.

"And what a good year it was," you smiled up at him.

He grinned, leaning down to drop a peck on your lips, and you knew that what he meant to say was that he loved you.

"What a good year indeed…"

******************************

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[pepperpaprika]

Some Keitor

Snippet to a keitor fic I started around S4-- so now ITS ACCIDENTALLY THEMATIC. :D  Sometimes canon will break you-- and sometimes it is a gift.

“Who are you? Where is this?” The man demanded, accent vaguely foreign. His eyes glowed gold, with brilliant electric blue irises.

“I’m Keith.” And, because he was never one to dance around something staring him in the face, he added: “this is Earth.”

Keith unscrewed the thermos’ lid, taking a sip of hot tomato soup. He had a slightly soggy grilled cheese sandwich in his other hand, completing his solo picnic as he looked out at the spectacular night sky.

This far into the desert with no buildings around, it felt like he could see all the way out into other galaxies, spinning slowly away. The moon was a wisp of a smile on his left, climbing higher as the night wore on and Keith finished his packed dinner.

There was no particular reason to be out gazing at the stars every few days-- but Keith found it calming. Whenever he felt suffocated by tests, papers, or his own schoolmates, he always rode his bike out to calm himself, pretending he could keep going forever.

Some nights he’d track the miniscule blinking red light of a chartered plane. Others, he could count shooting stars.

Tonight, it seemed, was going to be a shooting star night.

Keith watched the white-hot flare of the head as it rocketed across the firmament, speeding through. Normally, he’d barely blink before the streak was out of sight, but this one was still visible, burning bright. Was that a comet? He hadn’t heard anything coming into visible orbit. Except, he realized faintly, the angle was entirely wrong. Instead of a haze streaking slowly across the sky, it looked like it was turning, almost, before dropping straight down. The bright crown of it swelled as it drew closer, a silhouette starting to form in its fiery center, then it crashed into the desert in an explosion of grit and sand.

Holy shit.

Keith scrambled towards the smoke, disregarding the spray of sand that now covered both him and his bike. The meteor had landed barely two dunes over. His heart thudded in his chest, rocking with the residual shock of impact.

He was expecting a meteorite- maybe a satellite that lost power.

What he found was a ship.

And there was someone inside.

“Hey-- hey, are you okay?!” Keith shouted as he ran up to what was probably the remains of a jet. It was a bit wider and shaped strangely, but what else could it be? Maybe it had lost its peripherals burning up in the stratosphere.

The aircraft’s hatch popped open as he climbed up one wing and the pilot lolled out limply, an unconscious ragdoll.

Keith hauled him out, surprised when he realized just how big the man was- easily bigger than any man he’d ever seen, though a couple of the university basketball stars came close in height.

He laid the man out on the sand, yanking his helmet free.

His first thought was that the man was suffocating, already blue and ashy from lack of oxygen. Training made him check the man’s pulse and anything obstructing his breathing, tugging at the strange suit to loosen it.

The second thing he noticed was that he had strange ears. Long and elfin, they jutted out from a fall of impossibly silky white hair. Like someone had ripped one of Tolkien’s elves from Mirkwood and put him under UV light.

He hesitated, then- gaze darting back to the strange ship. But while he had a pulse, the stranger didn’t seem to be breathing. Nothing he could see was obstructing his mouth or nose.  So he leaned down and breathed into his mouth, pumping  his closed fists down on his chest. He did it twice more before his patient woke--- and promptly pushed Keith down, flipping them over.

“Who are you? Where is this?” The man demanded, accent vaguely foreign. His eyes glowed gold, with brilliant electric blue irises.

“I’m Keith.” And, because he was never one to dance around something staring him in the face, he added: “this is Earth.”

The alien man’s eyes narrowed, finally seeming to register Keith’s human features. “...What are you?”

“I could ask the same about you,” Keith snorted. “I’m human. And you, I’m guessing, are alien.”

He frowned but didn’t deny it. His grip on Keith’s shoulders eased and Keith could almost hear his bones creak. “To you, perhaps. Does everyone here look like you?”

“Well, no, not really. We all look a little different from eachother. Mostly just hair and skin color and stuff like that. I guess they’re all humans like me, even if not all of them act like it.”

The man looked at him pensively, then his skin shifted, changing colors like a chameleon into something approaching Keith’s tone, but several shades darker. His eyes blinked and the sclera brightened into a human white. His pointed ears shrank, turning into respectable curled shells.

Satisfied, the shapeshifted alien got up, walking to his ship. He looked over it at first, taking in the dire condition of its engines before sighing. At a touch, it disappeared, blending into its surroundings.

“Very well, Keith. I need your help.”

“Do you want to see our leader?” Keith asked wanly.

“No, my presence must remain unknown. My ship will take a while to repair and I need a place to stay.”

“What are you running away from?” Keith asked, suspicious.

“My father,” he said simply. “He’s trying to kill me. Any more than that I’d appreciate telling you somewhere safer. You can’t be the only one who noticed my ship crash.”

No, he couldn’t. Keith hesitated a moment, then led the man back to his bike. “Do you have a name?”

“Lotor.”

“Well, Lotor, hop on and let’s ride.”

[weaselle]

I put them both in one post.

I have a brother 10 years older than me and a younger brother and sister 5 and 7 years younger than me respectively. I call the older by his name, and also “dude” a lot. You know those twisty metal puzzles you have to figure out how to take apart or put back together, like puzzle rings and shit? He can do those in seconds without even thinking about it, like, idly while talking to you. He’s a daredevil bombs and blades tinkerer, and a practical joker. Once he told me he was getting out of the lake because it was noon and that’s when the sun shone straight down to the bottom and woke IT up, and then got out and snuck halfway around the lake to climb back in and swim up from underneath me to wrap a hand around my ankle and suddenly yank me down about ten feet at an angle toward the center of the lake. He went to jail for building a bomb, it’s a good thing they never found his other homemade weapons, like arrows with exploding tips, or the underslung potato gun mounted to the frame of his car. And I SAY potato gun but I saw him use his tester model to launch a wad of duct tape through a truck camper shell at the junk yard in the R&D phase, and he use to load it with a wad of something for batting topped by a snapple cap and a handfull of roofing nails and disintegrate mail boxes with it. He is a good wood sculptor and has a surprisingly delicate yet raw style when drawing with charcoal or graphite. He can take apart and put together almost anything. I could just write a whole book about his antics.

With my younger brother it’s mostly his name and “dude” quite often. Every once in a while, I will call him bro, or brother, but usually when I am low-key reinforcing our age difference. Like if he thought mom would react one way to something, but I had seen her reaction to that same thing before he was born or whatever, like, brother, I’ve known her longer. He is one of two people I know personally who may be legit geniuses. He used to play video games in the early 90′s by hacking their code and modding them - I’d walk in and he’d be 12 years old like “Instead of cannon balls, I made the cannon shoot cows that bounce around randomly a few times and explode, and I’m trying to make it so that each time a cow bounces, it spawns another bouncing cow bomb”. He has a… I want to say a Masters in Physics. His math teacher in high school tried to hold his interest by having him teach the first 15 minutes of each class. Once when the rest of us siblings were all standing around talking about sneaking out of the house, we asked if he ever did and he was like “why would I sneak out in the middle of the night… that’s when I sleep.” Now he’s a very mellow polyamorous hacker who brews his own beer and “isn’t allowed to tell you where I work, it’s so silly”

Our youngest I call by her name, and dude a fair amount, and a combination of the word sister and her name (like if her name was Brittany I would call her Sisttany) I do call her sister more than I use brother for my fraternals, but she calls us all brother quite a bit.  I think there are some complex reasons for that, but it boils down to her having been teased terribly and given a very hard time growing up by us, her brothers, who had a certain alliance against her. Of course by now we’re forced to admit that she is awesome and special and maybe the best of all of us. Certainly the coolest. Like, my younger brother is hella cool on paper, but when you’re in a room with him, he’s a little.. the only way he pulls it off is by truly not giving a fuck if people think he’s cool, which, as we all know, instantly awards coolness to whatever you’ve got going. On the other hand, when my sister is in a room, people laugh when she decides something is funny. Someone else is often making the decisions, but everyone only agrees to go along with them if sheagrees with them. She’s not wearing those clothes because they are cool, those clothes are cool because she’s wearing them, Once she worked at the same hotel I did for a while, and I asked her what she thought of it, and she said “I only ever want to work in a hotel again if I OWN it”. She was 19. She once knocked out her (now ex) boyfriend for forcefully taking his car keys away from her too roughly when he’d been drinking. He realized what he’d done too late to save him and she pulled him down from the fence he was climbing to get away from her so she could lay him out. She ran her own business for a while doing marketing stuff for publications and wineries and things, but she felt she was working too hard for the return she was seeing, and now she works for some firm overseeing the people who manage their social media or something.

And then there’s me, the Bard of the group, basically. I travel around on lots of adventures (I was arrested by the US airforce in Germany, I got stuck in England for a summer when they took my passport away from me at Heathrow - I stayed at a circus school with a few of the circus students who had no real home to go back to for the summer, and I put together a circus busking group with some of them and that’s how I made enough money to eat every day.) I used to write and produce full length comedies for the stage. I was SO sure I was going to be a con-artist, so I studied slight of hand and magic ( I ran a crooked poker game at recess) but as a young adult, when I picked my first pocket, I found I had no taste for stealing from real people (I’ll fuck up Coke any day, where’s Amazon’s pocket? Side note: I tapped the guy on his shoulder and handed his wallet back to him and said “I think you dropped this” and never picked a pocket again, but I can still do some pretty interesting stuff with cards and coins and things, Juggle knives and torches. that sort of stuff). Anyway, I adventure, and I write songs and stories, and my siblings mostly call me by my name, and very occasionally, dude. Also, my origins are steeped in mystery and my siblings are actually my cousins by blood, but that’s another story. Okay, here is that story.

My Grandmother was left-handed and the reason I love cooking and definitely some kind of Being. Her title was The Grandma. She had 4 great grandchildren by the time she died, and so her daughters became Grandma, but she was THE Grandma. She had this way about her, like she was incredibly present, but also paying attention to everything in the whole world. And then sometimes (notably when you fucked up) it was like she pulled her attention off all those things and put the whole thing on you; it was very unsettling. And she had the Voice, which she almost never used.

The last time Grandma traveled on an airplane with us, we were going though security and she couldn’t go through the metal detectors because by then she couldn’t get out of the wheelchair for longer than twenty seconds at a time. The TSA agent said she was going to search her or pat her down instead, and reached for my Grandmother. And Grandmother said, in the Voice

“Don’t touch The Grandma”

The TSA agent blinked and looked at grandma’s eldest daughter (a celtic witch if ever there was one) who merely shrugged and said “…don’t touch the grandma”.

TSAgent hesitated as if about to reach forward and insist, thought better of it, called TSA Supervisor over. TSA Supervisor explained everything to The Grandma - it’s just a quick pat-down, everybody who can’t go through the detectors has it done, they won’t even ask her to stand - and then reached forward to pat down my grandmother

“Don’t. Touch. The Grandma”

TSA Supervisor’s hands stopped as if hitting glass. She looked confusedly back and forth between the TSA agent and my grandmother for a second, and then the confusion left her face and she stepped aside, looked at the TSA agent and said “Don’t touch the Grandma” and waived us through security. They didn’t even scan the rest of us

It’s a shame she couldn’t fly anymore after that, she loved to fly; when her first husband died, she married P, a WW2 B52 crewman who taught her to pilot small planes, and they would fly up and down the coast to any cities they wanted to visit - she knew the West Coast in a way few people do.

One morning in the deserts of Nevada a year after P’s death she woke me up and said “get dressed, were going to into town to the casino; P visited me in a dream last night and told me I’d win a video poker jackpot with a royal flush today” and we drove into town so she could spend fifteen minutes playing video poker. I say fifteen minutes, because after fifteen minutes she hit her jackpot with a royal flush in hearts, and we went back home.

She used to sit in her chair in her living room with her back to the kitchen wall, and I’d go to leave the kitchen and I’d hear her from the other room “don’t you leave my kitchen mat like that” and I’d look over my shoulder at the mat in front of the sink, and sure enough, it would be all rumpled up; sorry grandma.

Grandma and I shared a birthmark, a red stain I won’t describe fully. And my grandmother and I were both adopted. Let me explain.

My Grandmother was adopted by a nice family.

And then that family all died, and she was adopted AGAIN.

She grew up and married a man whose Irish father I am named after: K, who came here from Ireland to work the Alaskan gold rush. She and her husband lived with his father K for a while, and this is a story about that:

Every Sunday. great grandpa K would go off on his own for a couple hours to “walk in the woods”. Grandma followed him one day. K walked into the woods, packed a pipe, sat down with his back to a tree, and took a small handful of nuts and seeds and fruits and leaves out of his shirt pocket. He scattered them around. Soon, as if expecting him, several animals came and helped themselves. The squirrels climbed all over him, on his head even. The raccoons sat in his lap. The birds sat on his knees and shoulders and in his beard and peered into his face. The deer checked his jacket for more snacks. After they hung out for about an hour, they all went on their way. Then K smoked his pipe and went home.

Grandma and K’s son had 5 kids.

One died as a child.

The eldest became an ER nurse and a savant witch. She would never admit she is a witch, but there’s a horseshoe over her door (not the front door, mind you, but the door she actually uses) and she’s the one who taught me to always leave a single spider in your house when you clean. She has a natural way with plants and animals -  the deer eat everything but her herb garden, which isn’t even fenced. This year one of them stayed in her backyard for nearly two months raising twins to be big enough to take back to the herd. She recognizes the individual squirrels and birds in her yard and knows their personalities and habits and things about their families. And of course as an ER and ICU nurse, she’s a hell of a healer.

The youngest was a witch, but sadly neglected, remained immature. Still, she had talents. She could fool people and make them laugh as easy as breathing, like some kind of glamour. Every long line of strangers she ever waited in became a party among friends. Could literally smell if you were lying to her. As in, she’d lean close and take a couple deep sniffs and then be like “Nope. Tell me, where did you really go after school?”

The only brother became a wandering holy man of sorts. Used to hitch-hike around the country in robes and junk, with a small, like, cult; then he quit them to just grow his own holy experience. He died in his 30s.

And the middle sister was my mother. She was double jointed and very dyslexic, and everyone says she was incredibly gifted in many ways. She did intricate artwork in ink, fractal gardens and faux woodgrain that was made of salvador dali faces, stuff like that. She was self taught on the piano, used to just walk up to a piano and play songs she made up on the spot that sounded how she was feeling and little crowds would gather. Made her own exercise equipment. Could pick up an accent within minutes and become semi-conversational in days. She had me with a half Japanese guy in the Air Force (he didn’t stick around). Then when I was about three, she sent me to live with her eldest sister, because her life got too, ah, interesting. Like, her partner had a hit put out on them. It wasn’t safe for me. By the time I was six it all caught up with her, and she died in an accident when she jumped out of the passenger side of a car and tried to run away as it stopped at a red light.

That’s when her eldest sister adopted me. The paperwork was messed up and my name is different on my birth certificate, my SS card, and my ID. Then, the person who filled out the “messed up” paperwork was fired, but I’m still a mystery to the bureaucratic world.  

So here I am, same birthmark as my psychic grandmother, orphaned son of a savant creative criminal and a Japanese-American soldier, named after my Irish, gold hoarding, bearded, pipe-smoking beastmaster great-grandsire; raised by a celtic witch, hidden away from the official world. Sometimes I feel like all those hero origin stories are trying to call me out of hiding. More about my adventures soon.

[wilwywaylan]

Dress to impress

Fandom : Star Wars VII / VIII

Modern AU, Poe Dameron x Armitage Hux, 1595 words

Part of the Sparks to Flames series, established relationship. Just the dorks being cute, for May the Fourth :D Prompt was "you are in serious need of a good... how can I say......... redesign"

Also on AO3 !

Poe was working on his plane, whistling a little song, when a jaunty little melody rang through the hangar, making him jump and effectively hitting his head against the wing above him. The pilot held his wounded head, kicked his toolbox to express all the pain of his situation, and let out a string of curses. Why did he always forget to turn off his ringer while working, he didn't know. But at least once a week, he almost gave himself a concussion that way. He checked his fingers : no blood. Good. He'd just have a bump. One more. He turned towards BB-8, who was looking at him, holding the phone in his jaws. He took it, patting the dog on the head, and watched him bounce away to his basket before carefully wiping the slobbered screen. He lit it, and smiled at the tiny picture of Millicent beside a small envelop. Quickly, he opened it.

"Office party at 7 PM. Please come."

Count on Hux to always be short and to the point. Poe was starting to type an enthusiastic answer, when a second text made his screen blink.

"Important event. Please dress correctly."

Poe didn't know if he should laugh or be offended. Did Hux really think he didn't know how to dress ? Okay, he had some.... questionable tastes sometimes, and didn't care to get better dressed if all he did was fly a plane and run to the coffeeshop or to Rey's exhibitions. But still, he was able to dress... okay maybe not elegantly, but correctly at least ! On the other hand, he could recognize his boyfriend's aim at perfection, especially about everything touching on his work. If it was so important for him, then Poe would make an extra effort to be at his best. Now, what did he own that could pass for elegant in Hux's eyes...?

~*~

Poe rang at the door at 6 PM exactly. He knew that Hux was very keen on ponctuality, and would approve of his efforts. But instead of Hux, Phasma opened the door. The woman looked him up and down, in the intimidating way she always used with him, and kind of made him want to run home and change. But no, he was wearing his best pants, a clean, ironed shirt, and his jacket was cleaned and brushed too. Even his shoes had been wiped. He really was on his best. He straightened his back, smiled as much as he could, and asked nicely :

- Is Armitage ready ?

Phasma raised an eyebrow.

- Almost. Come in.

Poe obeyed, BB-8 on his heels. He tried to find something to tell her, a pleasant conversation, but she had already left him on his own devices. Poe just walked to Hux's room, knocked on the door and let himself in.

Hux was standing in front of his mirror, adjusting his collar. He turned when he heard Poe come in, and the pilot's breath hitched a little. He'd already seen Hux in a suit, of course, the man didn't even own anything else to wear. But that one... was different. It was very close-fitting, more than anything Poe had seen him wear, and he wondered if the thing had been sewn directly on. It was falling low, past Hux's hips, in a graceful curve, longer in the back. The shoulders were straight, almost angular, the waist thin. The black fabric was shimmering dimly, perfectly complimenting the white shirt, and was he wearing gloves ?

Poe must have been stared for a long time, because Hux finally cleared his throat, pulling him out of his reverie. He closed his mouth, and walked up to him.

- Very nice suit, he remarked, smoothing the lapel with two fingers.

Hux inclined his head in thanks. It's only then that he seemed to realize what Poe was wearing. He looked him up and down, and frowned.

- What ? Poe asked, feeling self-conscious again. Is it... not good ?

Hux closed his eyes, shook his head.

- How can I say this... You are in serious need of a good... how can I say... redesign.

- You don't like my clothes ?

Something passed on Hux's face, very fleetingly. Something like... concern ? Something soft that tugged at Poe's heart.

- We're going to my firm's office party. You'll need something fancier. Everyone will be wearing a suit.

- I don't own a suit.

Hux's expression turned to something akin to horror at the thought of someone now owning a suit. He massaged his temples, delicatly.

- Luckily, he said, I think we still have some time to do something about that...

~*~

Hux looked above the heads of the people crowding the meeting room, to where Poe was standing, currently talking animately to the head of the civil law department. He'd been a bit scared of what being stuck in a room full of lawyers could do to Poe, had even been tempted to cancel his invitation. But Poe seemed very comfortable with the situation, and didn't mind being surrounded by a bunch of lawyers and other lawpersons. For the last hour, he'd been talking with a group, then another, charming his way through the whole firm. BB-8 had gathered his share of compliments, starting at the door where he'd been greeted with squees and Poe assured that the dog was as welcome as him. To be fair, Hux thought that part of that interest was due to the fact that at least half of the persons present were extremely surprised to see Hux, grumpy, overworking and distant Hux, arrive with someone at his arm. But the rest was probably Poe's shining personnality. And outfit.

Hux grabbed two glasses of champagne on a passing tray and made his way towards Poe. Mrs Sloane laughed at the pilot's joke, complimented Hux on his choice of companion, then disappeared into the crowd to give them a moment. Hux held a glass out to Poe, who took it gratefully. To his credit, he didn't down it in one go, instead savoring it.

- It seems, Hux remarked, that you've made a great impression in Mrs Sloane.

- Is she your boss ?

- She's not my direct superior, but she's very important in the firm.

Poe watched in the direction Sloane had gone.

- She seems like a very strong woman.

- The strongest I've ever met.

Poe smiled at the admiration in Hux's voice.

- Then it's a good thing she seems to enjoy your boyfriend.

- She's a woman of great judgement. But to be fair, you look very good.

To be really fair, "good" didn't make him justice. Poe was looking better than good, even, and Hux couldn't help but admire him. Not just his work, even if he was quite proud of it. He'd managed to find Poe a suit, and a damn fine one at that. The white jacket with black lapels looked quite nice with his skin tone, and fell perfectly on him. The rest was all black : shoes perfectly polished, straight pants hugging him everything they should, shirt with just the collar button open. A comb had put some order in his curls, and they fell on his forehead just right.

But more than the suit, it was Poe's attitude. Anyone else, used to jeans and old t-shirts, would have looked very uncomfortable. Not Poe. He looked very comfortable, and moved as if wearing a suit was an everyday occurence for him. No wonder everyone was looking at him like that. Hux wondered if he would have to scare some pretendants away. Then again, who would try to steal his boyfriend away, knowing his temper ? No one. And he was kinda sure that Poe wouldn't leave anyway.

- Say, he asked, grabbing Poe by the arm. Can I introduce you to my superior ?

- That, dear Hux, would be a pleasure.

~*~

Finally, the party came to an end, and they left as did the others. Hux's flat wasn't far, so they decided to walk, instead of the pain of having to find a taxi. The night was almost warm, just enough to make the walk enjoyable. Poe's arm had come to rest on Hux's waist, under his coat, and the pilot was humming softly under his breath.

- You know, he said as they reached the corner, you look mighty fine in that suit. Makes me want to kiss you.

Instead of answering, Hux grabbed Poe's jacket, spun them around. He had to catch himself, alcohol wasn't that good for his balance, but he managed to keep them both upright. Poe found himself back against the brick wall. His eyes were bright under the street lamp, and his cheeks looked flushed. Hux bent down and kissed him, very slowly. Poe made a surprised noise, but didn't push him away. On the contrary, he held him closer, until they were pressed against each other.

- My, Mr Hux, Poe drawled when they finally let go. What a debauchery, kissing an innocent man in the street like this !

Instead of protesting, Hux just smirked.

- You're not that innocent, Poe. No one looking that good in a suit is innocent.

Poe's grin grew larger.

- You think I look good like this ?

Hux nodded.

- Then, he whispered, what do you think of taking this off of me, and see how good I look then ?

Hux almost dragged him all the way to the flat.

[sleepyverstappens]

Just by the Side of Amsterdam

Title: Just by the Side of Amsterdam

Pairing: Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden

Rating: PG

Word Count: ~3.6k

Summary: Aaron, Robert and Liv visit Amsterdam the weekend before Christmas.  

(Read on AO3)

A/N: My Secret Santa fic written for @justleavemebreathless , which is now on AO3 as well :D!

Christmas 2018

They get the hotel voucher as a wedding present, a weekend away to Amsterdam. Though with their honeymoon and then life just getting hectic again they don’t end up cashing it in until December. It’s the weekend before Christmas and they’ve finally found the time for a weekend away.

The flight from Leeds to Amsterdam is just over an hour long, but somehow Robert had conked at the minute they sat down on the plane, leaving Aaron to entertain himself during the flight. So here he is, staring out of the little plane window at fluffy clouds while his husband is drooling on his shoulder.

Liv is engrossed in some game on her phone as she’s still sulking her loss of the rock, paper, scissors game he had had with her over the window seat. He hadn’t wanted the seat all that much, but he liked riling his little sister up. When he’d offered her the seat anyway she’d just huffed and plopped down in the aisle seat. Robert had shook his head at their antics, happy to sit wherever so long as it was next to Aaron. Turns out he just wanted to use Aaron as a pillow anyway.

Before he knows it the plane already starts making its descent and slowly the clouds are replaced by vast green fields. They’re not here for the tulip season, he knows because Robert had bemoaned the fact endlessly, going on about wanting to see the colourful fields. Aaron had reminded him of the fact that the gift voucher was only good till the end of the year. In the end he had finally managed to shut him up by promising a return visit to Amsterdam in a few months, that and a blowjob that had left Robert gripping the back of the sofa tightly to keep upright.

As the pilot starts telling them they’re about to land and Robert is still out to the world he softly shakes his husband’s shoulder. He knows from experience that getting woken up by a plane touching the ground is no fun. The sleepy look Robert sends him as he blinks his eyes open is so cute it makes him lean in for a kiss.

---

They somehow manage to steer Liv away from the overpriced food at the airport and get a taxi to their hotel. It’s a simple room, two king-sized beds next to each other. Liv had pointedly packed her noise cancelling headphones when she found out she would be in the same room as them. Aaron had just given her a disgusted look back, as if they were gonna do something with her right there, he’d scar himself just as much.

It doesn’t take long before Robert whips out his notebook full of things they apparently need to do in the 72 hours they’re here. There were apparently a bunch of Christmas markets all over the city and of course a bunch of cliché touristy things to do. Liv just wants to go ice skating and eat all the food she can find. He doesn’t really mind what they do so long as he has his mum and Paddy’s Christmas presents sorted by the end of the trip. Robert and Liv’s presents are already bought and wrapped, ready to be put under their giant tree back at the Mill.

Neither him or Liv like going to museums, but Robert tells them they at least have to go and see the Rijksmuseum whilst they’re here, so that’s their first stop. Not before they get some food into their bellies though and the smell of something sweet soon leads their way to a poffertjes stand. The tiny, fluffy pancakes doused in powdered sugar and a square of butter on the side are a delicious treat to still their hunger. It’s probably not the healthiest of lunches, but then they’re on vacation.

“You’ve got a little,” he says gesturing at the speck of powdered sugar on Robert’s nose.

Robert wipes at his nose, but of course he doesn’t get it. It’s like some soppy rom-com moment as he leans in to rub his thumb over the spot, before pressing a kiss against the tip of Robert’s nose.

“Looked like a right druggie, you,” he jokes.

“Oi!” Robert quips back, before tickling at his sides.

“Ugh, are you guys gonna be all over each other all weekend?” Liv breaks them out of their little moment.

“You’re the one that insisted on coming with us. Should’ve known not to join a loved up newlywed couple.” Robert’s quick to retort back.

“You’ve been married for months now!”

It had taken a while for Robert to get in Liv’s good graces again, but after almost a year they were right back to sniping at each other like before. He drowns out Robert and Liv’s squabbling as they make their way over to the museum, happy to take in the sights along the way. He hears Liv groan as the queue at the entrance gets in sight. Great, waiting in the cold to see some paintings. He sends Robert a pleading look, but his husband is determined.

“We’re gonna get some culture in the both of ya,” he grins as if he hasn’t seen the seemingly endless line of people waiting to enter.

---

The paintings were nice and all, if you were into that sorta thing and Robert had oo’ed and ah’ed at the paintings hanging on the walls. They’d gone to see the Night Watch first and Aaron couldn’t help but be impressed by it. The massively sized painting a sure crowd pleaser, if it could even get him and Liv to look at it for more than a few seconds. But in the end even Robert had gotten bored of looking at the seemingly endless displays of paintings and they’d venture outside and back into the cold.

That’s when Liv noticed the big ‘I Amsterdam’-sign and the ice skating rink across from it. Excited to get the picture every tourist seemed to get during their stay in Amsterdam she’d hurried along to it. She handed her phone to Robert, because apparently Aaron was shit at taking pictures, and started to climb onto one of the massive letters.

As Robert had taken a bunch of pictures of his sister and she started to climb back down again, Robert pulled him forward.

“I’m not taking a cringe photo like that Robert,” he says pulling a face at the other man that was still pulling at his arm.

“Oh come on Aaron, we’re here now, might as well go full tourist huh.” And the big grin on Robert’s face was enough for Aaron to give in. He handed Liv his phone as she had finally managed to get down from the big ‘I’ without falling flat on her face.

Robert wrapped his arms around his waist as they stood in front of the sign, planting a kiss on his cheek as Liv took their picture. The pose as cheesy as can be, but it still sends a warm happy flush through his body.

“You two are disgusting,” Liv says as she hands him back his phone, the smile playing on her lips negating her words.

It had gotten dark while they were at the museum and the Christmas lights around them give of a warm glow as they walk towards the ice skating rink. His sister bouncing around with a big grin on her face as she sees the rink full of people skating circles.

“Can we go now, please?”

“Let’s get some food first yeah, I’m starving.”

“Fine,” she sighs, before her stomach starts to rumble in agreement.

---

They devour their burgers and chips quickly, while the poffertjes had been delicious it really hadn’t been a very filling lunch. He’s just drinking down the last dregs of his beer when Liv starts bouncing in her seat again.

“You’re like a 5-year old bouncing around in your seat like that, it’s like you’ve never ice skated before,” Aaron chuckles at his sisters antics.

“I haven’t!”

“What? You’ve never gone ice skating before? Not even with school?”

“No, mum never let me. Always kept me home ‘sick’ because it was too dangerous.”

“Never stopped you before,” Robert quips.

“Yeah well, you don’t get far without the money to rent skates and your mum suddenly being a helicopter parent on the days school went skating,” she says sadly.

“Well let’s get you a pair of skates then, huh.” Aaron says, determined to give his sister an amazing night.

---

“You sure you’ve never skated before?” Aaron asks Liv as she seems to be cruising along just fine after a first few wobbles.

“Just like rollerblading innit,” she shrugs as she skates off for another lap around the rink.

“Just like rollerblading,” he hears Robert huff behind him. Unlike his sister, Robert was having far more trouble keeping upright. He clung onto the barrier the second he so much as staggered a tiny bit.

“Just get a bloody chair to hold onto Robert, don’t be daft.”

“I’m not using a stupid chair to hold onto, not even the little kids are using them,” he says gesturing at the little kids skating around without any help, before grabbing onto the barrier again tightly as he almost loses his balance again.

“Yeah, well they’re probably Dutch kids aren’t they, they’re born with skates under their feet.” He can’t stop the laugh from bursting from his lips at the look of disdain Robert sends him at that. He shakes his head and reaches for Robert’s hands.

“Come on lemme help you then.”

Slowly they manage to get Robert away from the barrier. Aaron is by no means a professional skater either, but somehow he manages to get them both a lap around the rink. After that first lap he figures they can try a round without Robert holding on to him. They get about halfway around the ice rink before Robert starts to wobble again, arms flailing around wildly before he loses his balance completely and knocks both of them down onto the ice.

The air leaves his lungs in a burst as his back connects with the cold surface and he huffs out another breath as Robert lands on top of him.

“Ouch,” he laughs.

“Sorry,” Robert mumbles as he makes no move to get back up, but instead leans in closer to Aaron. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Aaron manages to say back before Robert leans down to press his lips against his. The world around them subsides as their lips connect. Warmth spreading through him, even though he’s literally lying on ice, as Robert’s tongue runs over his lips softly. He lets himself indulge in the kiss for a little while longer as he opens his lips and closes his eyes. Robert’s nose is cold against his skin as their lips keep moving against each other, mouths the only warm thing about this kiss.

“Oi!” They hear from above them as Liv comes to a halt in front of them. “You two are keeping everyone up.”

He slowly opens his eyes, can’t help the smile lingering on his face as Robert tries to get up from the ice. “You did that on purpose,” he says sending Robert a knowing look. Robert, who’s finally on his feet again, just shrugs, a look of fake innocence on his face as he says, “I think it’s time for hot chocolate.”

---

“Bit naff innit? A canal tour?” he says the next morning.

“It’s the way to see Amsterdam apparently or would you rather bike around Amsterdam instead,” Robert shrugs, knowing both of them would rather sit in a warm boat than cycle around the city in the cold. Especially with the Dutch cyclists whizzing around seemingly everywhere. They’d been almost knocked off their feet multiple times and had quickly learned not to walk on the red bike lanes.

“Can we go tonight instead, I saw something about a light festival canal tour thing,” Liv pipes up, phone momentarily forgotten as she excitedly explains what it is.

“But then what are we gonna do during the rest of the day?”

“Might as well do that brewery tour,” Aaron grins cheekily.

“It’s 10 am Aaron! Anyway, Liv won’t be allowed in.”

“She will be, she just can’t drink anything,” he says pointedly looking at his sister.

Liv just holds her hands up, a look of fake innocence on her face.

“And it doesn’t have to be right now. Need to sort mum and Paddy’s pressies out still. Don’t you need to buy some presents still?”

“Alright fine. And no Aaron I’ve had everything sorted for weeks, not everyone leaves buying presents till the last minute.”

---

A few hours later he’s a bag full of goodies from Rituals for his mum in one hand. And in the other hand a bag with a woollen hat with bicycles and the word Amsterdam embroidered in it for Paddy, some foam wooden shoes for Leo and a pair of real ones for Zak.

Liv had made them indulge in some freshly made stroopwafels that had left them with sticky fingers, but had been delicious. She swinging around her own bag of presents now, some ridiculous weed sunglasses for Gerry and some earrings for Gabby. And Robert hadn’t been able to stop himself from buying Victoria an extra present, a nice pair of earrings to match the necklace he’d gotten her.

“Time to go and drink some beer,” Aaron says after they’ve dumped all of their newly acquired stuff in their hotel room.

The tour is actually pretty interesting, he’d never really given that much thought to how his pints were made, but the enthusiastic guide manages to keep his attention all throughout the tour. He learns a bunch of new stuff. He probably won’t be able to impress anyone with it, his family happy to just drink their pints without knowing how they were made, but that’s alright.

“That was actually pretty fun,” Robert says as they leave the Heineken brewery.

“Told ya! Not enough beer though!” he chuckles.

---

It’s a few hours later when they find themselves on a boat. Dinner had been a quick affair as they’d had to rush to make it to the canal boat in time. The boat perfectly build to fit underneath the many bridges they pass on the tour.

Robert and Liv are looking around excitedly, taking in the picturesque row houses along the canals and all the light displays along the canals. It is a beautiful sight, but after the first few houses and lights they’d passed it had all become a bit of the same, so Aaron had found his mind drifting off. Thinking about Christmas. It would be their first Christmas as husbands. A proper family Christmas with everyone coming over to the Mill. Victoria and Marlon combining forces to make Christmas dinner for the Dingle and Sugden clan.

Such a difference from last year, when Robert had been in hospital and Aaron pretending he was over him, but actually worried sick about Robert as he lay unconscious in a hospital bed. It ended up being the beginning of them getting back together though and Aaron couldn’t be happier to finally be able to share Christmas together again.

Before he knows it the boat is slowing down again, reversing and turning to get into its spot again. He hadn’t realised how long he’d been lost in his own mind for, but when he looks up he finds Robert staring at him with the softest look.

“What?”

“You’re beautiful you know that.”

“Shut up.”

“No really. That little frown you get when you’re thinking about something, totally lost in your own mind. The way you look at me slightly confused when you get back to the real world, nose crinkling. That twinkle you get in your eyes, when you think I’m being daft. Like right now. Just for once believe me when I say, you’re so beautiful Aaron Dingle.”

He feels his cheeks warm as he lets Robert’s words sink in, still not used to hearing those words. He believes him though. It had taken him a while to let himself believe it again, but slowly he’d learned to take those words for what they were, the truth. Robert had never stopped loving him and neither had he, he never really could.

The boat has gone quiet and when he looks away from Robert he notices that everyone has already left, Liv standing at the exit waiting impatiently.

“Let’s go.”

---

The next morning is a flurry of packing up all of their stuff that somehow seems to have exploded all over their hotel room. Liv frantically looking for her phone charger and shouting in victory when she eventually finds it stuck between the mattress and head of the bed.

They manage to pack up everything with just a few minutes to spare before check-out and then they’re on their way. They’ve still got a few hours left in the city before they have to head to the airport, so they walk around for a while. Their first stop is Dam Square where they watch a street performer do some tricks while his crowd claps and cheers enthusiastically.

For lunch they stop at one of the cafés on Leidseplein, the terraces warm and cosy as heaters are on full blast above them. Liv talking excitedly about her plans to go ice skating in Leeds with Gabby after Christmas.

He’s happy his sister has had a nice time. They hadn’t planned on inviting her along with them, but seeing her sad look after he had told her about the trip him and Robert had planned he’d convinced Robert to let her come with them. After the disaster they had come home to after their bachelor party they hadn’t let her stay home alone again. And though she still insisted she could be left alone at the Mill, she usually didn’t mind staying over at the pub or Wishing Well when they went away. However much she tried to deny it though, she still would rather stay with her big brother and husband. They’d become a proper little family, with family dinner every Friday night and everything.

Convincing Robert had been a bit of task. He’d looked forward to a weekend just for the two of them. With Liv living at the Mill and Gabby and Gerry dropping by more often than not they didn’t get as much alone time as they would prefer. Robert loved Liv in his own way though and he’d only really delayed agreeing to her coming along to get some sexual favours out of it.

---

They’re on the plane back home, Liv happily in the window seat this time, Robert once again sleeping on his shoulder before the plane has even taken off. He envies his ability to fall asleep so easily, his own body tired to the bone, yet sleep still won’t come.

He feels his phone buzz against his leg repeatedly and fishing it out of his pocket just as the pilot is letting them know about their imminent ascent. He opens his messages before the internet connection inevitably cuts out. It’s a bunch of pictures Liv’s send, a few of the three of them together and a bunch on just him and Robert.

The picture they took in front of the ‘I Amsterdam’-sign is there. The happy look on his own face as Robert had kissed his cheek makes him smile. A picture of Aaron holding Robert’s hands as he helps him skate around the ice rink, followed by a picture of them pressed together as they’d fallen onto the ice.

Aaron pulling a face as he’d seen what kind of monstrosity Robert had tried on in the ridiculously expensive shop down the P.C. Hooftstraat. Thankfully he had managed to convince Robert not to spend months’ worth of savings on the shirt. There’s a picture of Aaron trying to sneak a bite of Robert’s stroopwafel as he had already finished off his own.

A picture of Aaron winning the pint pulling competition at the Heineken brewery tour, beer glass raised high in victory. And lastly a picture of the two of them sat on the canal boat, matching grins on their faces and a persistent blush on his own as Robert had told him he was beautiful.

He nudges his little sister after he’s scrolled through all of them another time. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Liv just shrugs, a soft smile on her face as she goes back to watching the video on her phone. A video he had taken of her as she’d skated circles around them on the ice skating rink. Her ponytail swishing around behind her as she’d skated past him and Robert again and again.

A content smile lingers on his face as he rests his head against the top of Robert’s, might as well try and get a few minutes of sleep for the rest of the flight.

---

They’re back home, the ride back home from Leeds too long in Robert’s cramped Porsche and his legs crick loudly as he finally gets out of the car. He leaves Robert and Liv to gather their bags in favour of opening the front door for them.

“Look,” Robert says as he’s about to unlock the front door, pointing up. Pointing up at the strand of mistletoe hanging at the top of the door.

“Really Robert, you planted mistletoe before we left?”

“Maybe…” Robert says, a grin spreading wide on his face, eyes twinkling.

He rolls his eyes, but pulls his husband close nonetheless, can never resist him when he’s looking at Aaron like that. He presses a slow lingering kiss onto Robert’s waiting lips, feels fingers twist into his hair as Robert presses further into him, making the most of the kiss.

“Welcome home Mr. Sugden,” Robert says breaking away from the kiss, before pressing another kiss against his lips.

“Welcome home Mr. Dingle,” he grins back.

(“Welcome home Miss Flaherty,” Liv mocks from behind them.)

[mrcoreymonroe]

Circle-to-Land Life-Saving Tips

Arriving at the airport for the visual part of a circle-to-land approach requires you to remember that you're flying a VFR traffic pattern while doing it differently than you normally would, for some good reasons.

Circle-to-land approaches get a bad rap. Granted, they earned it by breaking a bunch of aircraft, and they can lure the unprepared out of bounds in an eye-blink. Yet to say, “I never circle-to-land ...” can be just as dangerous as going cavalier because circling approaches aren’t one-size-fits-all.

Best case, a circling approach is essentially ending your instrument approach by flying a traffic pattern to the runway of your choice. We don’t think of joining the downwind in visual conditions as circling, but it is. Few people would call that an inherently a risky maneuver.

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Of course, conditions may dictate flying the “pattern” lower than normal—potentially within 300 of the ground. (Well, within 300 feet of the highest obstacle, but you get the idea.) This could be done in low visibility. It could, in some cases, be done at night.

Safely entering some kind of traffic pattern without the benefit of seeing the airport from miles away requires planning. Your circle-to-land shouldn’t be an improvisational move. So, it’s not, “At the end of this approach, I’ll circle for runway 27.” Instead, you’ll brief: “My final approach course is 360. If I have the runway in sight with more than 1.2 nm to the missed approach point, I’ll turn right and make left traffic for runway 27. If I cross 1.2 nm before I see the runway, I’ll turn left to overfly the runway on an upwind and then make left traffic for runway 27.”

Planning is critical both for situational awareness and because the approach chart or Chart Supplement may restrict which patterns are available for which runways. On the approach chart, the restriction should appear in the notes. You might see, “Circling North of runway 09-27 NA,” or “Circling NA at Night.” You also must respect the standard traffic pattern for each runway. If the Chart Supplement says it’s right traffic for runway 27, you must plan your circling for right traffic. An instruction from ATC at a tower would override that, but at non-towered airports, it’s a restriction the FAA has come down on pilots for breaking.

The takeaway from all of this is that you maximize your odds of success by planning the transition from the safety of the final approach course to the safety of at least some part of the normal traffic pattern. Your circling minimums define the safe area that allows that transition.

If the ceilings are overcast at 1100 AGL and the circling minimums are 450 AGL, you don’t descend to 450 and fly a pattern. You level off at pattern altitude and fly the pattern as normally as you can. From the downwind on, this is a normal pattern to land. This presumes enough visibility to fly that pattern and no shreddy bits hanging down from the clouds you must avoid.

When ceilings drop below pattern altitude and visibility is restricted, the goal is still to rejoin an otherwise normal pattern already in progress. Suppose the ceiling was 500 AGL with a circling minimum descent altitude (MDA) of 450 AGL. You’d fly a downwind at 500 feet, base at 500 feet, and turn final at 500 feet before joining the normal approach angle to land. But you’ve reestablished normality on final.

There’s a trap here. Any time you fly a traffic pattern lower than normal, you must either fly a wider pattern to end up with a normal position and speed on final. The vertical distance you lose in a normal traffic pattern sheds energy and is part of your space for turning. The effect is subtle and non-intuitive, but it leads to an overshoot of final if you don’t expect it.

Fear of flying outside the circling area tends to keep pilots unnecessarily close to the runway—exactly the opposite of what needs to happen to join a normal pattern at some point. A common (and too often fatal) circling error is flying a close-in turn and then adding a steep descent to join a really short final. Better to fly far enough away from the runway to make a level turn so you can line up with the landing runway first—while still at or above circling minimums—and then descend for landing as you intercept a normal short final.

That’s not always possible, especially as you get down near MDA for your approach category. Bear with me as I haul out some math.

Start with the safe area and circling radii. The safe area extends a certain distance from all edges of the runway surfaces. The distance gets longer for aircraft that fly the approach faster. The slowest is Category A, which fly no faster than 90 knots while circling and may have a safe space reaching only 1.3 nm from the runway. Category D aircraft can circle at 165 knots, but their safe area extends at least 2.3 miles to allow for a bigger turn radius.

Let’s assume you fly approaches at 100 knots and will start your circle from that speed. You use Cat B minimums and have an area to maneuver that extends 1.5 miles (or more, see sidebar) from the runway. That’s wider than most of us fly GA traffic patterns.

For 100 knots true airspeed and 15 degrees of bank, the diameter for a 180-degree turn would be 1.2 nm. But there’s a complication. If you fly 1.2 miles from the runway on downwind and then started that turn just abeam the numbers and at our hypothetical MDA of 500 feet, you end the turn over the threshold 500 feet above the runway. That is not exactly a normal landing.

If instead you fly at 500 feet AGL far enough away from the airport to intercept a three-degree approach to landing, you’ll be at 500 feet about 1.4 miles from the runway threshold. That sounds within Cat B minimums, but it doesn’t account for the turn radius you need to line up on that final. You’ll actually exceed the safe area by more than half a mile if you try that stunt.

However, a standard GA pattern has a descent angle of 4.5 or 5 degrees. That puts you about a half mile from the threshold. It’s possible to circle and end up in this position. When you look at a downwind 1.2 miles from the runway and a turn at 100 knots and 15 degrees of bank, you can start that turn as late as 0.67 miles past the threshold and just barely stay inside the protected airspace.

If it’s a long runway or there’s a headwind on final, that’s in your favor. If the MDA was 350 feet AGL, you have less altitude to lose, so the final descent isn’t that steep. If the MDA is higher or the runway is wet and short? This might not end well.

I can hear you asking, “1.2 miles for the downwind? 0.67 miles past the threshold? Hold on while I break out my aviation micrometer.” Fair enough, but that GPS in your panel can be just the tool in this case. To offset 1.2 miles from the approach course, fly until you see a 1.2 nm cross-track error. Know the length of the runway and still have a distance shown to the missed approach waypoint (MAP)? You can know when you’re 0.6 miles past the landing runway. It just takes some forethought.

The direction and velocity of the wind, the type of plane you're flying and even the length of the runway are important considerations when planning your pattern speeds, turns and descents.

Circling doesn’t always involve a turn. This downwind situation is really the worst-case scenario. The most common reason for circling to land is that the runway aligned with the approach isn’t aligned with the winds or isn’t available for landing, or that there’s no runway at all aligned with the final approach course. Some kind of pattern is required in this situation, but it might just be a base leg and final. This means fewer degrees of turn and can be done in a smaller radius. However, it’s still ideal to use more of the circling area, so you can maneuver horizontally first to line up for an aligned descent.

Sometimes the approach aligns with the runway you want, but only circling minimums are published. In this case, either the descent angle from MDA to the runway is excessive or the runway environment lacks enough visual aids, such as paint, lights or even parallel taxiways that help you find it visually. You don’t have to overfly the runway and come back on a downwind. You can land straight in from circling minimums if you can make a normal descent to the runway. Just know it may be a steep angle and hard to see when conditions get near minimums. The wind can make a huge difference in how hard that descent is in practice.

Speaking of wind, presumably you’re circling to land into the wind, so at least part of your maneuver will be with a tailwind. If that tailwind is on a downwind to your landing runway, ensure you start your turn back to final early enough that you don’t exceed the circling distance while you have the extra groundspeed. The turn back to the airport will slow everything down to your advantage and steepen your effective descent angle.

If you’re working a crosswind, strive to turn such that you’ll head into the wind as you head for final. You’ll have to watch out while you have a tailwind as always, but the latter part of the turn is into the wind and slows your closure on final with the nose already in the direction of the crab down final.

The takeaway from all of this is that you can improve your circling safety by planning for each situation and specific approach. You might end up using an approach category higher than technically applicable for your aircraft to get the lateral distances you want. But that’s better than getting disoriented, overbanked, or too low before having a clear path to the runway.

Go out with a safety pilot and try this out. Make your circle-to-land as a series of level turns to align on final and then an essentially routine final to land. Practice incorporating tools like GPS distances, synthetic vision and terrain/obstacle warning as well. Even if you’ll “never” circle to land from an approach, it’ll help with those days you only “break out and enter the pattern.”

The post Circle-to-Land Life-Saving Tips appeared first on Plane & Pilot Magazine.

from Plane & Pilot Magazine http://bit.ly/2R8F6xi

[celebratorypenguin]

Fic: How To Be

Rating: PG-13 for language and sad situations

Summary: Paul is summoned as George nears the end of his days.

Notes:While Paul did visit shortly before George's death, the events of this story didn't happen and are not meant to be considered historically accurate. I repeat: THIS DIDN'T HAPPEN.

How To Be

November, 2001

Paul peers half-heartedly out the window as the plane approaches New York City. He shudders at the raw scars crisscrossing lower Manhattan. Just like post-war Liverpool, where he grew up and met John, who died in New York City.

Where he met George, who was dying in New York City.

He's beginning to wonder if New York is cursed, or the city is cursing his loved ones, or some combination of the two.

At least they wouldn't be over Midtown, over the fucking Dakota. "Rosemary's Baby" had been on the telly recently and the mere sight of the building had been enough to make him nauseous and angry.

He shakes his head, weary from the long flight and all the emotions that had been percolating since he'd gotten Olivia's phone call.

"He's asking for you. Please, come as soon as you can."

Fuck cancer, anyway.

Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he can still see Linda taking her last breath, can see the moment when her loving soul left her depleted body. Too soon. Too soon. And now it's going to be George.

George, stunning him by turning up at Linda's memorial despite the frosty cordiality their relationship had known since the Beatle breakup.

Once that first memory flies out of the jar, a flood of others spin quickly, like a filmstrip being run backwards.

George, playing ukulele in his garden during the "Anthology" filming while Paul plunked along - secretly envious that George could even make THIS instrument sound so much better than he could himself - while Ringo patted time on his jeans.

George, asking him and Linda and Ringo to "join in" on a little song he'd put together for John.

George, slagging Paul off on TV. George, playing a brutal, brilliant solo on "How Do You Sleep?"

George, bleary-eyed and sad, trying to speak too softly for the camera to pick up that he would play whatever Paul wanted, or not play at all if Paul didn't want him to.

George, sitting with his sitar across his lap, fingers flying.

George, flustered and blushing as he asked Paul to be his best man.

George.

Ducking jelly babies on stage. Sulking in the EMI studio, hiding his black eye from the photographer. Gazing helplessly at Paul and John as the German police took him away. Playing "Raunchy" atop a double-decker bus.

Paul hears a crashing E-Major chord...no, it is just the pilot on the PA announcing that they had landed, and to be careful opening the overhead bins as objects may have shifted during flight.

Paul blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision from the treacherous wetness welling up in his eyes.

Lives may have shifted during flight.

He has prepared himself for dealing with the Public and having to put on a brave face my brave face but is relieved that a discreet, liveried driver drive my car meets him at the gate and efficiently takes his bags for him take it away. Someone has trained this guy well, and they pass the long drive to Staten Island in silence.

Paul's breathing quickens when he considers that he might be too late, that George might already be gone. He lets out a little moan, and then checks that the driver hasn't responded - he hasn't - and settles down again in his seat.

Little, mundane tasks, that's what he needs. Breath mint, comb, swig of water. He can do this, he can absolutely face Olivia and have the same fucking banal fucking conversations people held with him when Linda was dying, and FUCK IT here are the tears again and he'd be damned if he will do that in front of Olivia.

He opens the water bottle and downs most of it without drawing breath. He forces himself to look in the rear-view mirror.

Bad, bad, bad, bad. He tries on a smile but dismisses it as making him look like a constipated shark. Instead, he settles for putting his hair in something like order. The last wispy strands get under control just in time for the car to pull up to a side entrance. Mindful of his manners even when he's falling to pieces, because that's what he DOES, Paul makes himself thank the driver, screwing up his face at how tight his voice sounds, and goes in search of the office where Olivia is waiting to meet with him before taking him to say goodbye to George.

Fucking cancer, fucking SHITBALL cancer.

Olivia is waiting in the doorway. She looks small and exhausted, and when Paul takes her in his arms he is shocked at how frail she seems. But she is Olivia, the woman who had cracked her husband's would-be murderer over the head with a lamp, and she is a thousand times stronger than Paul could ever be.

"You look tired," Olivia says when she pulls back, appraising him with her warm eyes. "I appreciate you coming so quickly, I know how busy--"

Paul cuts her off by putting his finger over his own lips and then hers. "Don't even think about thanking me. I'd have come even if you'd told me not to."

She brushes her hair back from her forehead and nods toward a small table with four chairs. "Let's sit down for a bit first. Can I get you any coffee from the cafeteria, something to eat?"

Always, always the kindest lady Paul knew besides his own Linda the lovely linda. Paul shakes his head. He doesn't want anything in his stomach because he strongly suspects he'd be re-visiting it. He pulls a chair out for Olivia, and then sits next to her rather than across from her.

Her smile is sad, grateful. She takes his hand and holds it in hers, her wedding ring glinting in the fluorescent office light. "It's down to days, now," she says.

"Fuck," Paul says aloud without meaning to. "Sorry," he amends, squeezing Olivia's hand gently.

"Please, I lived with an ex-Beatle for decades and raised his son, you think I'm going to start clutching my pearls now?" They share a giggle for just a moment, a ray of sunshine penetrating storm clouds. "We aren't going back to England. George doesn't want a...shrine, anywhere. There's a detective looking for a place, something private where he can just go in peace."

Paul tries to clear his throat. He doesn't trust his voice, and with good reason because it comes out as a pained scraping sound. "I know this sounds crazy, but is there anything I can do?"

Now Olivia has taken his hand in both of hers, the silent gesture frightening Paul more than any tears or sobs could have done. "I need to ask you something. If it's too difficult, then just...well, answer me anyway. Please?"

"Of course, of course," Paul hears himself saying in a vacuum of misery. "Anything. I mean it."

Olivia squares her shoulders. "Well. George has been planning his d...death, and what he wants afterwards, but I need help with what happens after that. I need help, Paul, I don't know how to be a widow, much less a Beatle widow." She blinks back tears, looks at their joined hands, then gazes at him again. "But you do."

It's a sucker-punch. Paul takes in a lungful of air through his nose and lets it out through his mouth. He has to look away from her for a moment and he tries to focus on the details of this office. Big desk, lots of books, blinds on the window. Whose office is it, he wonders idly, but it's not enough of a distraction.

When he dares to look back at Olivia, she has her head tilted to one side. Waiting. Hoping he will say something to ease her pain, to get her on track for the years and years and years of wishing if you were here today.

"I'm not a wise person," Paul says carefully. "I'm a pretty rubbish role model."

"Well, it's either you or Yoko," Olivia declares, wrinkling her nose.

Ah.

"Well," Paul says after he takes a steadying breath, "I'm not gonna lie to you, Liv. When...at the end...I thought the moment Linda died would be the worst one of my life, but it turns out that it was just the beginning of a long and winding road stretch of absolutely fucking awful."

Olivia nods.

"The kids kept me grounded, just like Dhani will do with you. Something kicks in and you have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, have to get up and brush your teeth like it's any old day just another day because if you fall apart, they fall apart." He remembers the pain of getting up the morning after Linda died, how howlingly dark the world seemed, how much he just wanted to stuff it all and jump off a building, but he's not going to say that to her. "I did some drinking. Don't recommend it."

She nods again, her teeth digging into her lower lip.

"Then there are the firsts - the first birthday when you realize that she'll never get older, the first anniversary spent alone. And other things, like giving away her clothes. Like washing the sheets that still smelled like her..." That finishes him, and he averts his gaze so Olivia won't see the tears leaving hot, oily tracks on his face.

Paul hears the squeak of the chair leg across the floor just before Olivia's arms wrap around him. She strokes his hair so gently that he's hardly aware of her light touch. "I'm so sorry, Paul," she murmurs at his temple.

He lets himself go on for a few moments while she rocks back and forth. Then he remembers who's supposed to be comforting whom and he gently pulls away from her, drying his eyes with the heels of his hands. "No, no, 's okay," he rasps. "I just wasn't prepared for the question, that's all. Sit back down, I'm sorry, I'm okay now."

He isn't, and he knows that she knows he isn't, but he's a BLOKE and they don't do this. Olivia takes her seat again but she's watching him for any more signs of being utterly fucking useless. No, that isn't right. Olivia's nothing if not fair; she won't judge him based on the last three minutes.

Hopefully, not on the last thirty years, either, he reflects, and that reminds him of something.

"I said, after John," and he has to stop and take a deep, shuddering breath, "after John died, that I'd never get into a situation again where someone died with...with important things unsaid." Olivia gives him a sad, sweet smile. "I hope George and I are...okay, now."

"You were the second person he asked to see," she says with a rueful grin when Paul raises an eyebrow at his ordinal number. "Ringo was the first. George wanted to clear the air about Maureen, to ask Ringo's forgiveness for that, for the lawsuit, and some other stuff."

"You knew?" Paul asks. It's not like George to have-an-affair-with-his-best-mate's-wife and tell. He remembers hearing about it from Pattie, how her enormous blue eyes were rimmed with scarlet from all the tears. Oh, Christ, he's probably going to have to be the one to tell Pattie, and he's not sure how he's going to do that. "You knew about Maureen?"

Olivia rolls her eyes at him. "Paul, it's all over the place. I could hardly miss it."

Paul, who avoids "places" whenever possible, wonders what other secrets you afraid or is it true? are out there. He has fond memories of Maureen little willow, who died a few years before Linda. Maureen was the first "Beatle wife" to go. Ringo and her husband were both at her deathbed.

He wonders if anyone will be left when it's his turn.

That line of thinking won't help George. Paul forces himself into the present. "You know what the weirdest part was?" he asks Olivia even though there's no way she can know the answer. "It was the way the word 'widower' tasted. Seriously, every time I called myself that I could feel a sour, bitter taste in my mouth."

Olivia's mouth forms the word "widow" but no sound comes out. She puts her hands over her face and lets out a short, sharp cry. Her fist goes over her lips, as if to push the sound back in.

Paul knows, knows somewhere at the atomic level in his bones, exactly what Olivia is feeling. He gets up, knees creaking a little when I'm sixty-four, and kneels in front of her. "Liv," he murmurs, "it's not going to be okay, not for a long time, but I promise you that you'll get through it. And I'll help you, I'll do whatever I can." He waits, one hand resting lighty on Olivia's knee while she pulls herself together.

"I'm sorry," she gasps, reaching into her purse for a tissue. "I keep thinking I'm cried out, then all of a sudden it just grabs me all over again."

Paul nods. He doesn't want to tell her that he still cries. Not just for Linda, but for his parents, and John dear friend. Always John, snatched just as his life was getting back on track. Forget fucking cancer. Fuck guns, and fuck that shithead whose name is a waste of oxygen.

The devil's best friend, as George had called him.

At least the anger helps Paul keep the tears at bay. He rises, offers his hand to Olivia, and gently guides her to her feet. "I'm ready," he says softly.

She gives him a smile that almost, almost makes it to her eyes. She leans gratefully against him as she leads him down the corridor to where two guards stand outside a room with a handwritten sign: George Arias.

Dhani is also there, slouching against a wall, eyes wide open and staring sightlessly at the ceiling. He is wearing a white t-shirt and tight jeans, and he looks so much like George that Paul is reasonably certain that his heart is going to shatter at the sight of him.

"Here's Paul," Olivia whispers to get Dhani's attention. Dhani leans over to kiss his mother's cheek, then flings his arms around Paul. Paul pats his back - just as thin as his dad's, with the same sharp shoulder blades - and presses his cheek against Dhani's thick, wind-blown hair of a thousand laces.

"I'm so sorry," Paul murmurs. "I've loved your dad since we were kids together."

"He's told me," Dhani replies. He's a bit hoarse and sounds far older than his years. "He was so happy when Mum told him you were on your way."

Paul can't remember the last time George was happy to see him.

"Anyhow, he's awake now. You should go on in."

Paul waits for Olivia's assent before stepping past the guards - who stand a little straighter at the sight of a Beatle - and into the stark white hospital room.

George is lying on the bed. His body has the paper-thin skin and sunken musculature he remembers from Linda, and his mother. Only the eyes are the same, large and dark, with a spark of humor still evident despite the drugs being pumped into his frail frame.

Paul musters up a smile when George beckons him closer. He pulls up a chair to the bedside but George shakes his head and pats the mattress at his side until Paul sits there instead.

He breathes deeply as George takes hold of his right hand. His left hand goes briefly to George's sharp cheekbone, then comes to rest in the shorn, gray remnant of his once-luxurious hair.

Fuck cancer. Fuck it to the ends of the fucking, fucking earth.

In memory of his parents, of Maureen, of Linda, and of John-always-John, Paul leans over and listens as George offers words of apology, of reconciliation, of love.

He will listen as long as George wants to talk, and will talk as long as George wants to listen. He will be there for Olivia and Dhani, will promise to look after them, and after Ringo as well.

Because if there's one thing Paul knows how to be, it's a survivor.

*** END ***

[mrcoreymonroe]

Circle-to-Land Life-Saving Tips

Arriving at the airport for the visual part of a circle-to-land approach requires you to remember that you're flying a VFR traffic pattern while doing it differently than you normally would, for some good reasons.

Circle-to-land approaches get a bad rap. Granted, they earned it by breaking a bunch of aircraft, and they can lure the unprepared out of bounds in an eye-blink. Yet to say, “I never circle-to-land ...” can be just as dangerous as going cavalier because circling approaches aren’t one-size-fits-all.

Best case, a circling approach is essentially ending your instrument approach by flying a traffic pattern to the runway of your choice. We don’t think of joining the downwind in visual conditions as circling, but it is. Few people would call that an inherently a risky maneuver.

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Of course, conditions may dictate flying the “pattern” lower than normal—potentially within 300 of the ground. (Well, within 300 feet of the highest obstacle, but you get the idea.) This could be done in low visibility. It could, in some cases, be done at night.

Safely entering some kind of traffic pattern without the benefit of seeing the airport from miles away requires planning. Your circle-to-land shouldn’t be an improvisational move. So, it’s not, “At the end of this approach, I’ll circle for runway 27.” Instead, you’ll brief: “My final approach course is 360. If I have the runway in sight with more than 1.2 nm to the missed approach point, I’ll turn right and make left traffic for runway 27. If I cross 1.2 nm before I see the runway, I’ll turn left to overfly the runway on an upwind and then make left traffic for runway 27.”

Planning is critical both for situational awareness and because the approach chart or Chart Supplement may restrict which patterns are available for which runways. On the approach chart, the restriction should appear in the notes. You might see, “Circling North of runway 09-27 NA,” or “Circling NA at Night.” You also must respect the standard traffic pattern for each runway. If the Chart Supplement says it’s right traffic for runway 27, you must plan your circling for right traffic. An instruction from ATC at a tower would override that, but at non-towered airports, it’s a restriction the FAA has come down on pilots for breaking.

The takeaway from all of this is that you maximize your odds of success by planning the transition from the safety of the final approach course to the safety of at least some part of the normal traffic pattern. Your circling minimums define the safe area that allows that transition.

If the ceilings are overcast at 1100 AGL and the circling minimums are 450 AGL, you don’t descend to 450 and fly a pattern. You level off at pattern altitude and fly the pattern as normally as you can. From the downwind on, this is a normal pattern to land. This presumes enough visibility to fly that pattern and no shreddy bits hanging down from the clouds you must avoid.

When ceilings drop below pattern altitude and visibility is restricted, the goal is still to rejoin an otherwise normal pattern already in progress. Suppose the ceiling was 500 AGL with a circling minimum descent altitude (MDA) of 450 AGL. You’d fly a downwind at 500 feet, base at 500 feet, and turn final at 500 feet before joining the normal approach angle to land. But you’ve reestablished normality on final.

There’s a trap here. Any time you fly a traffic pattern lower than normal, you must either fly a wider pattern to end up with a normal position and speed on final. The vertical distance you lose in a normal traffic pattern sheds energy and is part of your space for turning. The effect is subtle and non-intuitive, but it leads to an overshoot of final if you don’t expect it.

Fear of flying outside the circling area tends to keep pilots unnecessarily close to the runway—exactly the opposite of what needs to happen to join a normal pattern at some point. A common (and too often fatal) circling error is flying a close-in turn and then adding a steep descent to join a really short final. Better to fly far enough away from the runway to make a level turn so you can line up with the landing runway first—while still at or above circling minimums—and then descend for landing as you intercept a normal short final.

That’s not always possible, especially as you get down near MDA for your approach category. Bear with me as I haul out some math.

Start with the safe area and circling radii. The safe area extends a certain distance from all edges of the runway surfaces. The distance gets longer for aircraft that fly the approach faster. The slowest is Category A, which fly no faster than 90 knots while circling and may have a safe space reaching only 1.3 nm from the runway. Category D aircraft can circle at 165 knots, but their safe area extends at least 2.3 miles to allow for a bigger turn radius.

Let’s assume you fly approaches at 100 knots and will start your circle from that speed. You use Cat B minimums and have an area to maneuver that extends 1.5 miles (or more, see sidebar) from the runway. That’s wider than most of us fly GA traffic patterns.

For 100 knots true airspeed and 15 degrees of bank, the diameter for a 180-degree turn would be 1.2 nm. But there’s a complication. If you fly 1.2 miles from the runway on downwind and then started that turn just abeam the numbers and at our hypothetical MDA of 500 feet, you end the turn over the threshold 500 feet above the runway. That is not exactly a normal landing.

If instead you fly at 500 feet AGL far enough away from the airport to intercept a three-degree approach to landing, you’ll be at 500 feet about 1.4 miles from the runway threshold. That sounds within Cat B minimums, but it doesn’t account for the turn radius you need to line up on that final. You’ll actually exceed the safe area by more than half a mile if you try that stunt.

However, a standard GA pattern has a descent angle of 4.5 or 5 degrees. That puts you about a half mile from the threshold. It’s possible to circle and end up in this position. When you look at a downwind 1.2 miles from the runway and a turn at 100 knots and 15 degrees of bank, you can start that turn as late as 0.67 miles past the threshold and just barely stay inside the protected airspace.

If it’s a long runway or there’s a headwind on final, that’s in your favor. If the MDA was 350 feet AGL, you have less altitude to lose, so the final descent isn’t that steep. If the MDA is higher or the runway is wet and short? This might not end well.

I can hear you asking, “1.2 miles for the downwind? 0.67 miles past the threshold? Hold on while I break out my aviation micrometer.” Fair enough, but that GPS in your panel can be just the tool in this case. To offset 1.2 miles from the approach course, fly until you see a 1.2 nm cross-track error. Know the length of the runway and still have a distance shown to the missed approach waypoint (MAP)? You can know when you’re 0.6 miles past the landing runway. It just takes some forethought.

The direction and velocity of the wind, the type of plane you're flying and even the length of the runway are important considerations when planning your pattern speeds, turns and descents.

Circling doesn’t always involve a turn. This downwind situation is really the worst-case scenario. The most common reason for circling to land is that the runway aligned with the approach isn’t aligned with the winds or isn’t available for landing, or that there’s no runway at all aligned with the final approach course. Some kind of pattern is required in this situation, but it might just be a base leg and final. This means fewer degrees of turn and can be done in a smaller radius. However, it’s still ideal to use more of the circling area, so you can maneuver horizontally first to line up for an aligned descent.

Sometimes the approach aligns with the runway you want, but only circling minimums are published. In this case, either the descent angle from MDA to the runway is excessive or the runway environment lacks enough visual aids, such as paint, lights or even parallel taxiways that help you find it visually. You don’t have to overfly the runway and come back on a downwind. You can land straight in from circling minimums if you can make a normal descent to the runway. Just know it may be a steep angle and hard to see when conditions get near minimums. The wind can make a huge difference in how hard that descent is in practice.

Speaking of wind, presumably you’re circling to land into the wind, so at least part of your maneuver will be with a tailwind. If that tailwind is on a downwind to your landing runway, ensure you start your turn back to final early enough that you don’t exceed the circling distance while you have the extra groundspeed. The turn back to the airport will slow everything down to your advantage and steepen your effective descent angle.

If you’re working a crosswind, strive to turn such that you’ll head into the wind as you head for final. You’ll have to watch out while you have a tailwind as always, but the latter part of the turn is into the wind and slows your closure on final with the nose already in the direction of the crab down final.

The takeaway from all of this is that you can improve your circling safety by planning for each situation and specific approach. You might end up using an approach category higher than technically applicable for your aircraft to get the lateral distances you want. But that’s better than getting disoriented, overbanked, or too low before having a clear path to the runway.

Go out with a safety pilot and try this out. Make your circle-to-land as a series of level turns to align on final and then an essentially routine final to land. Practice incorporating tools like GPS distances, synthetic vision and terrain/obstacle warning as well. Even if you’ll “never” circle to land from an approach, it’ll help with those days you only “break out and enter the pattern.”

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