#like sure yes. for at least half the season they don’t deal with it at all and it’s in the back burner

[sammygender]

i do genuinely think s7 is decent but even if it wasn’t it’d be like crack to me considering it’s an entire season essentially centred around sam’s trauma. it’s the closest we ever get to the show properly genuinely acknowledging the things it puts him through. which is ironic considering it’s also before many many other things he goes through!

[anika-ann]

Caught (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, fluff, they were roommates and idiots trope

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 8,2k

Summary: You hadn’t exactly planned to get caught in the rain. Then again, people rarely do. But you did.

You hadn’t plan to get caught in the soft spiderweb of feelings for Steve Rogers when your friend had set you up as roommates. Then again, people rarely do. But you did. It was impossible not to.

Arriving at your shared apartment soaking wet sees Steve springing into action to warm you up… and send you falling deeper in love with him with every passing second. But hey – what else was new, right?

Warnings: tooth-rottng FLUFF, idiots-in-love trope, they were ROOMMATES trope, brief mention of PTSD and its symptoms, one gratuitous 'fuck' and French

A/N: cross-written for the Winds of Autumn challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty and for @elixirfromthestars ' writing challenge. Thank you ALL for hosting and breathing live into the community 💕 for WoA I chose 'caught in the cold rain' for the WChallenge I chose “ Why don’t you tell me what I can do to make your day better?” 

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @steviebbboi ;enjoy y'all 🥰

This was all your fault; it really was.

There was no one else to blame for your current state.

Soaking wet, hair and clothes dripping alike, shaking so hard you nearly dropped your keys when trying to fit it into the keyhole.

A few minutes was all it took.

And yes; it was all on you.

You had practically been praying for a sweater weather. You had been so fed up with the unbearable summer heat still gripping the reigns even mid-September that you prayed and begged and swore you might be able to kill a man for a single breath of autumn.

So clearly, you had called this upon yourself.

In all fairness, you had wished for Indian summer; the normal late September weather. The light sweater weather. You certainly hadn’t been hoping to be thrown into the weather of seasonal depression, the temperature drop equalling a time machine bringing the end of November to the air and people’s hearts alike. Unforgiving icy wind, endless downpours, poking umbrellas all around, ever-present grumbling as one’s coat brushed against another, the dampness and cold seeping into yours and everyone else’s bones.

Nothing nice and prayers-worthy about that.

The thing was, this had been a daily reality for about a week now – and so one would think you were well-equipped to deal with the weather at least.

Except like the fool you were, you left your waterproof jacket at home, because you had believed today’s weather forecast, confident that the desired sweet and slightly crispy autumn was coming at last.

You and the meteorologists had been wrong.

But that wasn’t the worst part, no – the worst part would be your giddy optimism in the face a sudden NY underground failure.

Taking the ride home from work, you had nearly slammed into people surrounding you in the train at the sudden slam of breaks. A system failure, apparently. Caused by the damage to the network due to previous intense rains. A mishap stopping the trains in their stations, forcing people out.

And like the optimistic half-wit, trying to find a bright side and making the most of a miserable situation, you had thought, hey, it’s only a few blocks from here! No rain on the horizon for a change. What an opportunity to soak in the lovely autumn weather! The buses and taxis will be packed, and walking is good for health anyway.

And sure it was. And you ended up soaking indeed.

The brutal downpour and icy wind caught you in about ten minutes after you had taken off to your brisk walk.

You seriously doubted there was any benefit to your health at all, safe for maybe points to your mental resilience and an excuse to stay in bed with a book and a cup of hot chocolate next week, because you were about to catch a grade-A case of cold.

By the time you got to your apartment door, you were ready to flop on the floor the moment you’d stumble inside, uncaring for the wet smack you’d make against the hardwood or the carpet should you make it further into the apartment.

Except you knew the floor would be unforgivingly hard either way, and cold and you first had to get out of your dripping shoes and then the drenched clothes sticking to your body like a second skin and it would take you forever to strip with how shaky and numb your fingers had turned, the only sensation being cold and stiffness bordering on pain and for god’s sake could you at least stick the damn key into the goddamn keyhole-

You finally opened the door with a gratuitous ‘fuck’ on your lips, practically throwing the door open.

And were met with a surprised sleepy supersoldier blinking at your owlishly, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his white sleepshirt crumbled, the perfect case of bed hair and confused expression completing the most telling startled-from-his-sleep-but-not-Avenger-level-alarmed look.

Even in your state you had to admit he was adorable in a way men built like mountains shouldn’t.

You stared at each other mutely for several seconds, as if both surprised by each other’s presence – or at least state – processing.

You, drenched from rain and puddles, cold-dried by the wind, shivering all over and barely keeping your teeth from clattering as to hold onto the last shreds of your dignity and sanity.

Steve, still slightly disoriented, having just been woken up. Woken up by you, most likely, you thought regretfully, cursing your life-choices again. He was a light sleeper – a mere jiggle of keys would have interrupted his slumber, let alone your endless fumbling around the lock.

You spoke at the same time.

“I’m sorry for wak-” “What happened to you?”  

Your voice trailed off, a chuckle of irony echoing in the back of your head.

What happened to you?

That was a question a lot more loaded that it might seem.

What had happened to lead you to this place, facing a sleepy Greek-godlike figure with a concerned look on his face?

A whole lot of coincidences; a whole lot of fate, maybe.

Sam Wilson, a friend from childhood, with whom you had only reconnected a few years ago.

You, having been looking for an apartment ever since your landlord had announced he planned to sell the building to a huge corporation which would, from then on, only rent the apartments to its employees.

Sam again, looking to move in with his girlfriend, claiming he was leaving a roommate behind, who would appreciate a kind, trustworthy and reliable replacement.

Your ‘Gee, thanks’.  

‘Wait, no, he didn’t word it exactly like that,’ Sam had assured you. ‘I promise, he’s a real stand-up guy. Sure, a guy, but a respectful one and a neat one, with a sprinkle of a neat freak on top. He’s a great roommate and one of my best friends – I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t believe it could work.’

That was what your friend had said. And you believed him.

One thing led to another.

What Sam had conveniently failed to mention was that his real stand-up guy was a hulking drop-dead gorgeous supersoldier with the sweetest soul on the damn planet. Or maybe in the universe – what did you know? The universe had got a lot bigger ever since you found out it was perfectly possible for aliens to rain down from the sky through some kind of a hole in spacetime.

What Sam had conveniently failed to mention was that your future roommate was one of the heroes from the superhero band that had stopped these very aliens from taking over planet Earth.

After processing – even though you weren’t sure you’d ever finish processing – that you would share an apartment with Captain America, you accepted.

After all, you certainly weren’t one to look a gifted horse in the mouth; experience told you that could have done a lot worse than landing a person vetted by Sam Wilson and by a potentially world-ending event for a roommate.

In fact, you soon learned you couldn’t have done any better.

Steve was all the things Sam had promised.

And besides being the perfect person to share an apartment with, besides being the paragon of justice itself with a sprinkle of neat freak on top, he was also shockingly human.

Steve was a guy who had a routine until he didn’t, his schedule a little funny. He split housework with you in a way that left both of you content even as you felt he was doing a little bit more than his part whenever he could. He enjoyed cooking and baking and drawing and generally working with his hands, fixing any household issues before they could develop into a problem. Sometimes, nights found him in the living room with a book in his hand and quiet movie for a background when he couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, he left dirty dishes in the sink and a toothbrush on the basin instead of putting it into the holder and sometimes he forgot to put the toilet seat down. He was painfully respectful of your privacy and of your sleep alike whenever he was coming back at strange times, almost absurdly so for a man who seemed to barely fit in a doorway.  

He had a sharp mind and a subtle but deadly sense of humour on a good day and a quiet demeanour on a bad day, usually after a sleepless or nightmare-filled nights, which were always followed by him walking around the apartment with his sweats tucked into his socks because the draught and the cold on his ankles clearly bothered him. The list could go on and on and it was rather embarrassing for you, the idea for just how long you could keep listing things you observed about Steve and his habits and him; but the point was that he was a guy who was absurdly ordinary guy and extraordinary in about everything at once.

He had introduced as Steve the very day you had met, clearly not standing for any of your Captain, Sir, Captain Rogers nonsense.

He became Steve to you soon after.

He turned dear to you just as fast.

You weren’t sure when it happened; when your relationship shifted from sharing an apartment to sharing a life. It happened gradually, through dinners and breakfasts and films watched together; through nights he found you on the couch, barely awake or already sleeping after having been waiting for him even as he had told you not to; through late-night talks, about both things you were passionate about and things you wished you could forget.

You weren’t sure when this man, larger than life in both frame and heart, became your close friend.

You weren’t sure when the small butterflies that appeared in your stomach every time he smiled turned so all-consuming, spreading their wings through your whole body, circling around your heart.

It must have happened somewhere between his first smile and the sparkle in his warm blue eyes, between the tear-streaked cheeks when you found his shaking breathless body curled on the floor, between a hug and holding your hand when he drove you back from your wisdom teeth removal surgery because no one else was available, between every single minute you had the fortune to spend in his company and those you couldn’t, longing for him instead.

Somewhere in between, you must have fallen in love, the urgent feeling in your chest slowly turning unbearable and heavy. It burned, to stifle it inside, the one secret you wouldn’t share for the fear of breaking something as precious to you as your peaceful life with Steve the friend.

You weren’t sure when exactly it happened, but it got you there.

It got you here; into this very moment, just like many others, facing him and rendered speechless for a breath or two, because god, was he handsome and lovely and sweetly worried and an image of domesticity at once and you were hit with a sharp tug of a feeling whispering of coming home.

What happened to you, Steve had asked, his gaze turning more concerned by the second as you remained silent safe for the rustle of your soaked jacket you had started to strip at some point and the one clatter of your teeth you failed to stifle.

What did happen again?

“Got caught in a rain,” you rasped, stating the painfully obvious. “Underground broke down. Thought I’d walk…”

Steve frowned, sleepiness wiped off his face to give way to compassion and sternness at once, a sigh leaving his lips as he slowly neared you.

“Seemed like a smart idea at the time…” you continued when he didn’t say a word, just gently – always so gently dammit – pushed at the door to get it closed at last, his arms quietly coming around you, engulfing you in his embrace. Your heart startled at the gesture. “Steve, no, I’ll get you all we---wow okay, this is nice, you’re really warm-“

He chuckled sweetly above your head as you babbled, protests dying on your lips with a sound resembling a whine and moan as his warmth enveloped you, so relieving and inviting, prompting you to melt against his firm and yet painfully soft body.

His voice carried an admonishing note as you trembled against him, his warmth and pleasant scent of comfort seeping into your body while the cold and smell of rain soaked him in return. You did not care for the scolding; it was a kind one. And Steve still was still holding you – that was the important part.

And the most painful one.

"You could have called,” he said, like a sweet, even if already lost bargain. “I’d come get you.”

You pressed closer to him, clearly having a glutton for punishment.

Those few innocent words burned through you like the most tender wildfire. An inflection and tone that couldn’t have been good for your heart and yet you revelled in them; a statement that felt like an oath:

I‘d come get you.

I’d always come get you.

I’d do anything for you.

Something so close to love, in your reach and yet untouchable, because he didn’t mean it – he couldn’t mean it, because Steve Rogers had a large heart, but surely would have told you if you had occupied space in it that way.

And yet he held your own heart in his palms and he didn’t even know. Was it wrong you let the gentle words wash over you and let them warm you just as much as Steve’s arms, even if they meant something different than you’d wish?

You gulped, a shiver that had nothing to do with cold running down your spine.

“You only got in like three hours earlier,” you reasoned, forcing yourself to focus on the practical matters as not to slip into whispering a true confession; and perhaps doing so anyway along the way. It was true, however; as per habit and your request, Steve had texted you he was home safe and sound barely few hours ago. Knowing that led you to immediately weed out the mere idea of calling him to pick you up as it appeared in your mind the moment the downpour started. You were aware, however bittersweet the knowledge was, that he would come – that was why you hadn’t called. For his benefit. “You needed to sleep.”

Steve sighed again. And you needed to be picked up, you heard in the weary and yet somehow fond sound.

He didn’t argue, however; his hold grew tighter, appreciative, his broad hand, oh so warm, running up and down your back, pressing a little stronger than he normally would in a hug; allowing the heat of his body sink deeper, into your very bones, sending you sinking deeper into the warmth blooming in your chest as well.

Pressed against his front, you couldn’t but breathe in, allowing everything that was Steve overwhelm over your senses. The woodsy notes and musk of his cologne, the soft material of his sleepshirt burning almost too hot as it clung to his body, the smooth movements of his rough hands, his warm breath brushing your scalp, the image of his minute smile behind your closed eyelids, his voice humming in his ribcage and filling your ears like honey.

“Why don’t you tell me what I can do to make your day better?”

His question was so genuine – and a little wavery in a way that made your belly tingle in response. Tell me what I can do and I will do it. Just say the word, it seemed to whisper in your head, your heart protesting and fluttering in your chest.

You already are, you almost replied as the shudders subdued slowly despite both of you now soaking. You’re back home. You’re safe. You’re with me. And you’re warm. And big. And strong. And you smell good. And you’re holding me oh so tight and gentle and it feels so profoundly nice and you really are warm and maybe this new shiver running down my back isn’t just that I’m cold, maybe it’s that naïve hope of which I should have let go of so long ago-

He noticed the fresh wave of tremble of whose origin you yourself weren’t entirely sure of – your weather escapades or the escapades of your poor heart – and the caress up and down your back grew faster, more of a rubbing to create warmth than a soothing gesture.

“Okay, doll, you’re getting into the bathtub right away. What can I do in the meantime?”

In spite of his words, a benevolent order one might say, he didn’t let go.

Despite his question sounding urgent, you took your time responding; because it took a huge portion of your willpower not to tell him to just keep holding you.

“…hot chocolate?” you suggested meekly, a shy but slightly mischievous smile tugging at your lips when Steve released you at last, those big warm paws of his settling on your shoulders for a moment. “And you should probably change.”

He glanced at his wet clothes self-deprecatingly, as if it was his fault – and in a way, you supposed it was. But you weren’t complaining. The wet fabric clung to his body in the most delicious way, no matter the scepticism he observed it with.

When his gaze met yours again, his smile was the sun itself; but you still missed the heat of his body against your skin.

“You got it, doll. Come on.”

Much to your regret and salvation, he released you completely. You still graced him with a grateful and once again shaky smile which you could and should blame on the loss of his body heat.

“Thanks, Steve. You’re the best.”

And he was.

And if that wasn’t becoming a bigger problem by the minute.

With some of Steve’s warmth lingering – mainly the one his actions and demeanour awoke deep within your body – you managed to get rid of your clothes with enough ease and patience to have the bathtub fill with steaming hot water before climbing in. Sinking into the water then felt about as pleasant as sinking into Steve’s embrace had been – except this time, it was the rest of your body which appreciated the heat, warming you from the outside, tension leaving your muscles, your brain relaxing and slipping into a mindless haze, an absent smile forming on your lips.

You soaked in the tub for long enough to almost fall asleep and slide under the water; the only thing convincing you to fight the slumber off – perhaps besides, well, drowning – was the premise of a delicious cup of hot chocolate made with utmost care and Steve’s company, all the more appreciated since you knew he’d stay for at least five minutes even as he was no doubt falling asleep on his feet himself.

Not wanting to keep him waiting any longer, your climbed from the tub, rushed through your routine and emerged from the bathroom with steam following you, no doubt making for an image of cosiness with your blissfully dry comfortable clothes, complete with fuzzy socks.

Steve must have agreed with your assessment, because he greeted you with a grin.

He had left the two mugs of top tier hot chocolate with actual melted pieces of the treat and whipped cream on top on the kitchen counter, having brought two blankets for the couch, now fumbling with the tv remote. A quick glance around the apartment told you that while you were nearly nodding off in the bathroom, he had made a quick work of cleaning the mess you had left behind; electric shoe dryers already placed in your boots, your drenched jacket near the heating with plastic film spread on the floor as not to do any damage.  

You could kiss the lop-sided smile he gave you when you thanked him, your heart hammering in your chest with excitement and longing when he nodded towards the couch. To an outsider, the scene could easily appear as a quiet night in of a couple; a thoughtful beautiful man setting everything up for a date night full of seeking joy in simple domesticity and quiet intimacy.

One day, Steve Rogers was about to make someone incredibly happy.

The idea strung a sharp but brief note of jealousy in your chest, a lump growing in your throat as the rational part of you mocked you that the person wasn’t you. You would have known by now if you were; even though spending time with him did make you all kinds of happy.

You forced a smile through the light sting of tears, trying to stop your mind from racing and spiralling about the thought of having to move out to make space for the vaguely gorgeous and brilliant woman; or maybe sooner, just to put your heart at ease, because with every beat of it you felt yourself falling deeper into the trap of loving this man. It was beginning to hurt; and still, you approached him, smiling.

“Looking cosy. Feeling better?”

You nodded, unable to resist and placing your hand over Steve’s arm, his soft blues finding your gaze.

“Thank you, Steve. Really.”

The lopsided smile returned, his fingers brushing your shoulder. God, he was so close and all you’d have to do was to stand on your tiptoes. You’d kiss his cheek, a purely innocent display of gratitude of course, just to feel his smooth skin against your lips once-

You needed to get a grip. The brief hypothermia you had suffered was messing with your brain and was lowering your inhibitions and that was not good. 

“Anytime,” he assured you, nodding towards the screen. “We don’t have to, but I was wondering if you maybe wanted to watch a movie? I feel like we could both use that. But if you’d rather be alone-“

You shook your head quickly, your smile coming easier now because of the absurdity and thoughtfulness of his question at once. To be alone when he was there? No thank you. Who cared that the rational part of your brain huffed again, telling you that maybe that would be a better idea unless you wanted to torture yourself with false hopes.

Saying no was not an option.

You really must have had a glutton for punishment; but in some ways, you learned Steve suffered from the same condition. So maybe that was just his persona rubbing on off you… And thank you, brain, for the worst possible choice of words.

You cleared your throat.

“A movie sounds great,” you said, the mental image of you throwing its hands in the air, grumbling something about your poor old heart. Steve was still very softly holding onto your shoulder though, facing you, mere foot apart; who expected you to think rationally in these conditions? “Fair warning though, I almost fell asleep in the tub. Might fall asleep half-way through this.”

Steve grinned, stepping back to get the mugs and beckoning towards the couch again as to tell you to get settled. You obeyed without protest; you knew him well enough to be aware there was no point in trying to get your mug yourself.

He was the nurturing kind of friend.

“Does that mean I get to choose the movie so you can blame your social and cultural ignorance on my choices?” he teased.

He was also the loveable little shit kind of friend.

“Rude… and I would never,” you protested, accepting the offering of the hot chocolate, now indeed all cosy, tucked in a blanket, sitting comfortably and wrapping your hands around the mug to warm your palms further. “…but deal.”

Steve’s laugh was perhaps warmer than the mug and sweeter than its content, but you stomped at the thought as soon as it popped up in your head. You had no time nor capacity for nonsense. You had a nice evening ahead.

Better not to ruin it.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected, but this was not it.  

You had warned Steve about the possibility of you nodding off; after all, beyond having exhausted your body with the less-than-pleasant walk, nearly falling asleep in a bathtub and getting all comfortable on the couch, you had expected the large amount of sugar you’d consume to take its toll eventually and push you over the edge, the infamous sugar crash being the last straw.

You had expected to be out as a light in a matter of minutes, to be honest.

You had not expected the effect of all the warmth and sugars to evaporate much faster than that.

You were maybe twenty minutes into the movie and the anticipated sleep barely scratched the door of your consciousness; instead, the first reluctant shivers arrived. Blatantly ignoring Steve’s subtle side-eye and entirely obvious worry, you sank deeper into the couch, pulling the second blanket over yourself, tucking it all the way up to your chin, curling into yourself to preserve the warmth.

Thirty minutes in, you were shaking so hard Steve paused the movie, a crease forming between his eyebrows as he turned his upper body to you, right hand reaching out before pausing a few inches from your forehead.

“Can I?”

You hummed noncommittally, wondering yourself if maybe your grade-A case of cold was arriving sooner than expected and a fever already hit.

You were feeling just fine though; it was just the damn shivers which you couldn’t seem to stop.

Steve’s hand gently settled against your forehead, his frown deepening almost as if he could feel your heart speed up at the contact and didn’t approve. Which you knew was nonsense, because his whole mind was probably already consumed by the mission of assessing whether his inner Nurse Rogers should come out, but it worked well for cooling off your train of thought.

“It doesn’t feel like you have a fever, but we should probably check,” he hummed thoughtfully, shifting, prepared to rise his feet in search of the thermometer.

Your hand shot up from its safe warm haven, missing the target of his forearm but sending clear enough message to stop him.

He settled back down with a sigh, his hand sliding from your forehead over your cheek to the side of your neck, a delightful source of warmth spreading through your whole body and your suddenly deadly heartrate; a flicker of an image in which he’d place his hand exactly there and leaned forward, his lips brushing yours, nudged insistently at your brain.

You battled it with violent effort, refusing to even consider the soft look in Steve’s eyes was anything but concern for a good friend.

Because that was all it was: concern. What if you turned into an icicle, right? He had seen weirder things than that and he had spent whole seventy years frozen. He was naturally very worried about you having to endure the same.

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a smile that was shaky due to everything but cold. “Just my thermoregulation going haywire after all the excitement today--- Jesus how are you always so warm…”

Steve ignored your question, his hand still firmly set on your neck, the most delicious source of heat, his eyes roaming your embarrassingly shaking form.

“I’ve had a lot of practice with cold,” he said absently.

You could practically hear the wheels in his head turning, even as you were quite busy keeping your teeth from clattering. His eyes were so startingly blue, with the lightest speckle of green standing out for some reason, mesmerizing and warm as if to wreck the theory of these two colours normally belonging to the cold scale and you heart was positively about to beat your way out of your chest, because it appeared as if he was leaning forward a bit and maybe you were entering some kind of delirium, so it really was the time to move.

Move to kiss him, maybe, you bet his lips were warm too and yours were cold-

Okay, that was it.

“Okay, I think I’m gonna go for another soak-“

“Come here,” he muttered at the same time, effectively rendering you speechless when he released you only to scoot back a bit, his fingers beckoning lightly to himself, expression entirely serious.

What.

“I do run pretty hot and frankly I’d rather have you under supervision,” he said matter-of-factly, slipping into the Captain mode – managing to shoot your naïve hopes sky-high and shooting them dead in one sentence.

He was mission-oriented; that was all. He was worried, because frankly, your body was acting out and he was a good friend.

A good friend. A captain, responsible for his own.

There was nothing romantic about sharing body heat; he had probably done it dozen times on a mission.

He was simply concerned. And you should be and were grateful for that and for the practical and grounded approach to the matter at hand; you certainly preferred it to him rushing you to the doctor, because you were still pretty certain it was nothing to be worried about, nothing a good night’s sleep with loads of blankets on top of you wouldn’t fix.

So why the pang in your heart?

Why the regret and disappointment at him simply doing it to assure you’d feel better?

Because you were an idiot and you should have been so much more radical about forbidding yourself from catching feelings while living with Steve. But how could anyone blame you? He was just stupidly attractive and profoundly good and adorably ordinary in his extraordinariness, and you just wanted one touch, one taste, one moment of basking in his light and warmth and actual love.

Was that really so wrong of you?

You swallowed, voice set perhaps a little harsher than needed, the idea of him holding you out of pity making you a little sick to your stomach.

“Steve, you really don’t have to-“

“I want to,” he argued, voice so much softer in contrast to yours, and your body, that traitorous body acted, nearing to his despite your achy heart and hurting brain screaming at you to get to your feet instead, get to the bathroom or your room and lock the door and your heart and throw away the key to keep it safe.

“Steve-“

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he saw you wavering despite your verbal protest.

“Plus, I’m just doing my civic duty of protecting the innocent. You shake any harder, you’ll cause an earthquake.”

Deadpanning, you managed to stop your progress; in turn, your heart fluttered at the sparkle of mischief in Steve’s eye, that stupid muscle in your chest humming with fondness.

Godddamn him.

He knew exactly how to disarm you completely, to have you do his bidding, and he must have known of this power of his, blatantly abusing it for your wellbeing.

What a criminal behaviour.

With a sigh, you lifted your blanket a bit, scooting over to his open arms, carefully laying to his side as his arm slid under the blanket around your shoulders and pulled you closer; his warmth enveloped you in an instant, his hand rubbing gently at your arm, while his other busied itself with tucking the blanket around you to create a safe cocoon.

You felt yourself relax despite your better judgement, cheek laying on his chest, a steady thump-thump of his heart bargaining with yours:

How could you be short with him? Mad at him? He was just being the nicest person in the world, taking care of his friend, radiating warmth and smelling of comfort, selfless and without seeking anything but a simple thank you in return, if even that. And the charming bastard he was, he even tried to make you laugh.

It wasn’t his fault you had gone and fallen in love with him; it wasn’t fair to hold it against him that he was the best person you knew and your feelings were hurt just because he couldn’t think the same about you. Your mind understood that; it was your heart that was foolish.

You chased the thoughts away, only an echo of the ugly empty feeling remaining, giving way to a much more tender and insistent emotion; but mostly to sensation of your shivers subduing, almost as if they had been the trembles of an addict seeking their fix – Steve’s touch – rather than those of someone with messed up thermoregulation.

Maybe they were. But that wasn’t for Steve to worry about.

“Har har… how about your civil duty of being a sassybag…” you muttered in appreciation of his attempt, his chest shaking lightly with a chuckle.

“Oh, I’m taking that one most serious of them all.”

That he was.

The grin in his voice was infectious, however; you smiled against your will, poking his side lightly with your index finger.

“I noticed… but I forgive you.”

Because you’re really warm and sweet and for a moment, I guess I can indulge in the unhealthy delusion of you doing this because you like me close, postponing the ache of sobering up to reality for later.  

“I’m glad. How’s that feel?”

Like I want to stay like this forever.

Like I want you to want to stay like this forever.

You shushed the traitorous voice.

“Warm… comfy,” you added after a while, rewarded by a rub to your shoulder, being pulled impossibly closer. And it felt so good.

“Good.”

Simply holding you and sharing his heat indeed for a moment, he let you soak in the comfort. Seconds passed, maybe minutes; you didn’t count the beats of his heart, but heard every single one of them, soothing, whispering the little lie that maybe some of them were for you.

You didn’t argue; you didn’t quite give in.

When Steve lowly asked you if you wanted to continue the movie, you just nodded, grateful for the distraction of how incredibly right you felt in the little fantasy of yours that this, you being here in Steve’s arms, was exactly where you belonged.

As he reached for the remote, you whispered a soundless ‘thank you’.  

His ‘you’re welcome’ was softer and warmer than the blankets.

It was a herculean task to accomplish, fending off sleep, but having being in Steve’s company had rubbed off of you; you were anything but determined. Not knowing what the movie was about and what had happened on the screen in the past minutes – since the movie started, really – you still tried not to doze off at least.

You had a creeping suspicion Steve knew, deducting so from your silence or from the way your body was completely pliant against his, but he didn’t call you out, like the gentleman he was. Instead, he had simply stopped moving, safe from the periodical rise and fall of his chest, serving you as the most comfortable pillow you had ever had a chance of laying your head to, soft and warm and solid all at once.

And he seemed perfectly content to serve as one.

Just for that, you had stopped caring a while ago about his motivations. Had this been just a mission to keep a fellow human warm, so be it. He seemed pleased enough to do so and in your hazy sleepy mind, you knew one thing with absolute certainty – and that was that you did find this all kinds of pleasant too. Should the contentedness of yours come from a different place than his, well, you could deal with that later.

Or never.

You were just… happy and at peace.   

You weren’t sure when exactly you had closed your eyes, but you had; your voice was slurring a bit too, your determination to fight your exhaustion clearly not enough to win over sleep.

“Thank ya’ for takin’ care of me, Steve.”

At that, the soft statue under you shifted the tinniest bit, Steve’s thumb brushing your arm gently as his arm had remained around your shoulders. His heart was beating a little fast, you thought absently, lulled back into obliviousness by the vibration of his voice.

“You already said that…” he reminded you, humour and something else, sweeter, laced into his voice. “Anytime.”

You hummed in response, sinking deeper into the softness enveloping you.

“Hey… I mean it, okay?”

“Uh huh,” you muttered again, the dreamland already calling you, insistent and so inviting. “Same… arenchya sleepy? ‘m sleepy.”

Silence only sweetened by his still rapidly beating heart settled, another slow caress to your arm, Steve’s voice reaching you from tender proximity and endless distance all at once.

“Then sleep, doll.”

Mmm.

The dreams wrapped around your wrists like tender ribbons, coaxing you to follow them, pulling gently.

You could give in so easily. Letting the dreamland take you felt as simple as breathing; comfortable and warm, and feeling so damn safe that your heart, while peaceful, was aching a little.  

And maybe it was the tone Steve had spoken with earlier – so much emotion weaved into a few simple words, so much meaning – maybe it was the subconsciousness forming your dreams, but the memory of one of your favourites book which you had read multiple times flickered through your mind, making you smile. Or maybe it didn’t – you weren’t sure if you moved a single muscle, your body already floating.

Le sommeil partagé était le corps du délit de l'amour, the line read. A pondering of a man to whom sleeping with women meant nothing but entertainment, no feelings attached; not until he held a woman truly dear to him through the night, having fallen asleep peacefully, at last realizing that what he was feeling was love.

Sleeping with someoneor sleeping with someone, that was at the centre of his dilemma; the sharp contrast, one much more meaningful than the other. One a display of desire; the other, display of trust and love. A corpus delicti of love.

It was never like that for you – to you, the physical only came along with emotional, deep trust necessary to both. Having been learning about who Steve was, your mind argued lazily, there was no doubt in your mind Steve felt the same way about his relationships.

But the fact you could fall asleep right there, in his arms, and it felt like the safest place in the world…

It brought along a different memory; a memory of Steve’s large body curled into itself next to you on the couch, three blankets on top of him, your hands holding his, the contact seemingly somehow chasing away the demons of his past that had come to haunt his dreams. You had found him, lost in his own home, trapped in his own mind. He had agreed on a movie even as it had taken a long time to convince him that you weren’t going to back to sleep in your room while he’d try to fight off the invisible enemies his mind had created alone; so you had settled on a movie marathon instead. He had relaxed eventually, the dreamland taking him again, soft snores a lullaby to you – and you had never spoken about it again besides his quiet, ashamed and painfully genuine thank you the next morning. He had trusted you then, maybe feeling just as safe as you were now, despite you being nothing but an ordinary unenhanced human protecting him from evil.

It was a mirror image to how you were at this moment, you mused sleepily; you made him your pillow and a space heater and the source of comfort, while you tiptoed the line of reality and dreams.

His heartbeat thundered softly in your ear, calming but so vigorous and fast; and it slowly dawned to you that his body had stiffened under yours, the sensation nudging your consciousness and pulling you back, away from sleep.

Before you could voice your concern and confusion, his chest vibrated softly under you; his voice caressed you, tender with a hint of a rasp.

“…oui, c’est toujours vrai,” he whispered slowly, the words not making any sense.

Yes, that is always – still – true, you understood despite not being able to grasp at what he was saying truly or why, even as you knew French nearly perfectly, could probably speak it even in your sleep-

Your eyes snapped open, your heart jumping in your chest so fiercely it hurt.

Yes, that is always true.

It is true-

You had spoken out loud.

You had quoted one of your favourite books to him, out loud, speaking of shared sleep and love, and he had read that book too, you knew as much because you had talked about it before, he knew what that line meant, what it meant to you.

But it couldn’t be. He couldn’t be saying what you meant he was saying-

Except that tone. That soft, soft inflection to his voice, his thumb brushing over your arm again, reluctant but firm, his breath having hitched, awaiting your reaction to this… revelation?

And he got it; all sleep evaporating from your body, realizing you were basically lying on top of him – gods, you had no inhibitions in your semi-sleep state – your heart pounded so wildly your ribcage just might set it free. You gulped, shifting so you could look at him, the world slowly coming back to focus as your mind kept echoing the same words, over and over.

Corpus delicti of love. Corpus delicti of LOVE, c’est vrai-

You found Steve with his head bowed, observing you with patient and nervous anticipation, still holding you close to his body, something softly hopeful shimmering in his irises. Shadows of the evening had fallen over the living room but you could still see his perfect face so clearly, the depth of his blue eyes, the two beauty marks on his cheek, the pink lips looking so soft even as they were lightly pressed in a line – expectant of your response.

Your response to him indirectly confessing to---

Was he in love in you too?

The flicker of something you’d never dare to truly believe was real, because it appeared dangerously like adoration, lit up his eyes at your barely audible ‘really?’, a shadow of anxiety building behind the brilliant speckles of green in his irises when he nodded and waited.

As you processed, Steve never took his gaze off you in a display of bravery you were sure you would never have been capable of.

He had nodded. He had nodded.

Unless you were reading it completely wrong, unless--- unless this was just your fever actually taking over, Steve loved you, or at least was on his way to do so.

The overwhelming euphoric feeling rushed through ever nerve ending like a livewire, lighting your body up, your breathing hitching and expanding in your chest, something prickling in your eyes.

Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed, gaze flickering over your face, appearing almost desperate to read your reaction since you couldn’t seem to verbalize how you felt.

But how could you let out a single word? He had romantic feelings for you too.

“We… we can talk later, if you’d like. You need your rest too…” he argued in a reluctant whisper.

There was no universe in which you were going to fall asleep, ever again and frankly you admired his self-restraint and willingness to wait after having just confessed he was interested in more than friendship and roommate-ship.

Steve Rogers, your Steve, was holding you in his arms, your bodies aligned, and he had feelings for you.

The soft expression – and the nervous energy radiation off him – whispered urgently of you not having read too much into his gestures, of your naïve hopes not being all that naïve, of all of this being true even as it left like a dream.

Maybe it was. But if it was, you’d cling to it and never let go.

And if it was by some miracle true, you sure as hell would never ever let sleep take you, because then… well.

The corners of your lips twitched minutely in an incredulous self-deprecating smile.

You were thoroughly warmed up, all shivers having subdued a long time ago, but something inside you trembled more than your voice.

“I can’t sleep now... I’ll think I’d dreamed all this up. That it wasn’t real,” you whispered hastily, “I… I want it to be real.”

Tension melted from Steve’s body at last, muscles having been tight as a bowstring easing into their mere usual firmness. His lips, those inviting lips, curled up in a smile, an echo of his eyes twinkling with something soft and exciting.

“Sounds like a dream to me too, yeah,” he admitted, your pulse nearing the speed that would sooner or later surely lead to cardiac arrest, your mind screaming with dozen of swirling thoughts.

He liked you. Steve like-liked you, perhaps maybe, just a little, on his way to love you, shared sleep, trust and love, he had dreamed of this too, he-

“How about…” he hummed, hand slowly cupping your cheek, tilting your head up and guiding you to lift it off his chest, causing your head to spin sweetly.

You could have easily escaped the tender touch; but you didn’t want to, not in a million years. You leaned into it instead, a pleasant twist deep within your belly, a shaky exhale leaving your parted lips, air swiftly drawn back as Steve leaned down, eyes roaming your face for any sign of protest. Finding none, his eyes earned a new kind of glow that warmed you up like no blanket or shower could, his lips neared dangerously, a silent wishful sigh as your fingertips stroked lightly over his chest.

“…we share a moment so real there’s no doubt left?”

There was no doubt left; and not a second of hesitation.

It occurred to you how absurd the reasoning was, to have a real moment, what a feeble excuse; as if you hadn’t dreamed of this before, as if the images of kissing Steve hadn’t haunted your nights, so vivid and so tangible morning had felt like razor tearing the masterpiece of a canvas apart; but that thought was but a silent voice in the very back of your mind and you did not care for it in the slightest.

On the other hand, Steve was right here and you’d do just about anything he’d suggest.

“Yes.”   

The second the breathless sound left you, Steve’s lips were pressed to yours, soft and warm and real, an electrifying sensation of right rushing through your very being, proving Steve’s damn point; your dreams could have never done justice to this.

Not to the way his lips moulded against yours, the tentative touch turning eager the very moment you pressed against him.

Not to the way he felt so perfectly solid and soft under your palm, against your side, against your thigh.

Not to the way his hand on your arm curled around your bicep and squeezed when your lips parted for him with a choked whimper.

Not to the way his fingertips caressed along your jaw to your chin, tipping your head back further to truly kiss you.

Not to the way you couldn’t get enough of it, of his touch, of his taste, chocolate and sugar and home, of his scent, invading your senses in the most wonderful attack you’d yield to with delight.

When your lips parted with a gasp, your name like the sweetest endearment on his lips, his forehead rested against yours, sharing your breath, your space, the wild beats of your hearts.

It seemed that some of those beats of his heart truly might be for you; just like quite a few of yours were for him.

And it was beautiful.

An unwitting chuckle spilled from your lips, the euphoria coursing your veins spilling over, rewarded by a soft stroke of Steve’s thumb over your cheek, a deep inhale, your eyes fluttering open to his soft but blinding smile you couldn’t but mirror.

God, he was the most stunning man you had ever seen in your life.

Had you not been rendered speechless by the kiss, his beauty would have done the job.

And if that hadn’t been enough, the way he was looking at you, as if you had hung the moon and the stars and he would have hung them for you if you had just asked – how had you never noticed it before? – now that would have done you for.

You had no words; but it seemed that for the moment, neither did he.

And so your gaze flickered down to his lips, now more tempting than ever, and you let action speak louder than words.

Cupping his face in return, you kissed him again, and let the coincidence or perhaps fate, that had led you to spill your secrets at the precipice of sleep, take reigns again, not at all protesting when Steve’s hands roamed to your waist, a silent invitation for you to move closer in any way you wished.

You let the moment take you wherever it would lead, quite happy if the half-wit you had called yourself earlier that day lost all her wits to Steve’s softly demanding mouth.

Maybe next time you’d get caught in the rain, he’d be there soaking with you; and maybe just like he hadn’t cared for getting his clothes wet earlier either, you’d both stand there in the downpour in an embrace of lovers, caring little for the water dripping all over you.

As long as he’d keep kissing you.

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Happy autumn, everyone 💕 I know I should be working on my longfic but my brain seems distracted by various short-fic ideas, often fullfilling writing challenges...

I really enjoyed this one 🥰 and I hope that so did you!

Have a lovely autumn!🍂

P.S. - For those interested, the quote comes from Milan Kundera's novel Unbearable Lightness of Being (L'insoutenable légèreté de l'être or Nesnesitelná lehkost bytí).

[moonshynecybin]

what would you consider essential marc and rosquez watching? i don’t mean races but the stuff happening around it, there seems to be so much and idk where to start 😭

BIG ass question. i think it depends what you want outta this and how you best interact with content slash consume information. for me (not to brag but. winner of multiple historical essay writing competitions in high school. for context on the kind of freak i am bringing to the table here.) the research is kind of the fun part ! like i just started googling shit! i would go to inactive blogs and just search 'marquez' on them to see what would happen ! a lot of the times that works ! but it also takes a lotttt of time lol so i'll chuck some good resources your way, why not...

okay im not sure how basic we're talkin here but um. background. so the documentaries are, i think. the best place to start. theyre entertaining and offer a good amalgamation of clips to provide context for the actual racing. and like i know you de-emphasized racing (which is fine lol who cares) but it really is like the most important thing in the world to these fools and its a pretty visual sport so i think its at least helpful. like yes sepang IS about the press conference, but its also about the conversation they have ON the race track using their motorcycles. which is also somewhat a conversation that they HAVE been having all year long...

i'd start with hitting the apex (2013), its a GREAT introduction to the "characters" that does a lot of legwork to contextualize everything. lays the scene for where vale is at coming into his relationship with marc (both personally, wrt to marco simoncelli, and career-wise concerning his flop at ducati), and also how insane marc's whole deal is in general. the second half is. materially a study on what him entering the premiere class did to the sport as a whole. the introductory chapter in many respects

marc marquez: all in. MY introduction and blissfully free online. marc comma in his own words, with all the implications of that. a self-produced documentary where he is giving feedback about the edit of said documentary straight to camera and no less vulnerable because of it which is very marc imo. revealing both intentionally AND unintentionally about his whole deal with injury, vale, and his image.

motogp unlimited. im gonna be real kind of boring. like i would still watch it ! but do it kind of later, once you know the major players so youre automatically more invested. it doesnt really give you more than marc says himself in all in tbh, and i get the sense him and vale were NAWWWT interested in doing more than the bare minimum for it.

marc's rookie doc. free and subtitled on the youtubes. the first half of this is deadass just him wanting to fuck vale so bad while every comment from vale has me saying GIRL. out loud because the foreshadowing would be genuinely shocking if this was fiction. anyways the laguna seca of it all....

next i would hit up PODCASTS ! i think it makes sense after the documentaries, because these are all podcasts that arent strictly about rosquez (even if they are in many ways the main characters lmao) and personally it helps to put faces to lesser known names that might pop up before i listen to a purely audio product and get lost in the soup of sounds. the paddock pass podcast has two retrospective episodes about the 2015 season that are really good at context, oxley bom pod has a fun recent episode on valentino that i love, again just poke around a lil

videos. these guys have never filmed a lot of content together tragically. what i wouldnt give for someone to make them do an escape room. anyways ranch visit HERE (post explaining the ranch visit here). sepang presscon (sowwy) here. vale unhinged podcast interview the month after marc's documentary came out here. vale retirement interview where he gets asked about marc here. vale talking about asking marc to the ranch here. vale postrace at argentina 2018 here. UCCIO postrace at argentina 2018 here. theres a lot moreeeee just go on my blog archive and filter for rosquez and vids its easier lol

journalism. hello. okay so you should genuinely spend some time reading through mat oxley's stuff he can write (theres a paywall but you can run that shit through wayback machine). he also loves an insane comparison which i do enjoy.... again this is one that can be solved by googling his name and tacking on 'marquez' or 'rossi' or a specific time period or race it will probably reap some dividends. in terms of specific ass articles this one is kind of load bearing in terms of sepang and some of the interpersonal competitive tensions at play. that being said there are manyyyyyy crazy interviews and snippents of articles from other journos floating around motogp tumblr (like literally too many to link) adn its fun to dig around to find them, but mat oxley gets a shoutout because i was reading this article TODAY !

other content. honestly one of the best resources I'VE found for plotting out the arc of their relationship is @kingofthering's everyrosquezpodium series. you can REALLY see it play out lol. also her tagging system rules she very neatly lays out years and races... so if something jumps out at you, CLICK ITTTT ! also all of @ricciardoes fave presscon moments series. insane.

all this to say a small little rpf fandom like this rewards some digging! i would just recommend following narrative threads that interest you ! its also a small fanbase that is pretty research oriented, so if youre ever confused about somethin, just shoot an ask or run a search on someone's blog (@kwisatzworld has endless vale resources and @batsplat is one of the most thorough researchers ive ever seen, for example) like for real theres so much... i also have a primer that i made forever ago that has some links on it so you can peruse that if you so wish. but frankly a lot of it is just using those research muscles and being sufficiently deranged enough to be screenshotting reddit threads at one am so you can post them to tumblr because they mentioned marc and vale in the same sentence and that lit up some of the neurons in your brain

(and i know you said outside of races but i think theyre good benchmarks as turning points soooo you should do some diggin on laguna seca 2013, jerez 2015, argentina 2015, ASSEN 2015, sepang 2015 obvi, argentina 2018, and misano 2019. those are the big tentpoles of insane rosquez relationship drama imo. i mean theres many more but. im limiting myself.)

[skylandart]

*cries* they’re parents.

Headcanons under the cut :3

Their daughter’s name is Adelyn Jones Garcia. It was Javi’s choice because they’d made a deal.

They had her when Amelia was 27 and Javi 26. Useless piece of information, but hey :3

Accidental child.

She’s got Javi’s eyes and Amelia’s hair. And a cute little dimple near the side of her lips. And a little spacing between her teeth because when her adult teeth were growing in, she used to push them aside with her tongue just for fun. She likes the windows between her teeth. She thinks they’re pretty (they are.) and she refuses to get braces. Ever.

She has the physical Rafkonian features. She’s got the antlers and stuff, but she lacks the entire “mind reading” capabilities, the way Amelia and Aiyon do, because she is technically half human.

She’s very annoyed about this fact when she’s in her teenage. Especially because her sibling gets the mind reading capabilities without the antlers and she thinks it’s the universe being unfair.

She was also bullied as a kid because of all this. And Amelia nearly committed homicide as a result— only Javi could hold her back. And Javi…. Javi made sure no kid ever bullies Addy ever again.

They don’t let aunt Izzy find out about this tho bc if she did some primary school kids are gonna get IT.

She loves dad’s cooking. But she loves uncle Aiyon’s cooking more. Those Rafkonian taste buds make an appearance when she’s in her teenage, and suddenly her love for every single weird thing on the planet spikes up, much like Amelia.

Poor Javi. He’s now got two weird girls to take care of :3

Everytime Addy is upset, Amelia makes her muffins— except, Amelia can’t cook. It’s Javi who does the cooking, but hush, Addy doesn’t need to know that.

Javi likes to dance with her. Both of them can’t dance, really, but it’s fun to watch them stumbling about. It always cheers the both of them up, no matter what’s been bothering them.

Almost half of their home movies collection is Javi and Addy’s weird dancing. Amelia just loves recording them.

Amelia and Addy gang up on Javi every snow season, peppering him with snowballs. It’s the cause of a world war every Christmas.

Addy takes after Javi in her musical taste. Javi saw that early on, and tried to put her in music classes, but she was more of a freelancer and class timings and all of that annoyed her very much, and in the end, after three years of tantrums, they were forced to pull her out.

Javi then decides to give her home lessons. It works out much much better, because Addy likes her dad wayyyyy more than any other random music instructor.

Amelia likes taking Addy on walks. It started when Addy was five and Amelia took her out of the house for fresh air, but it evolves into adulthood and becomes their mom-daughter bonding time. They gossip about everything under the sun on their walks.

Addy has fried uncle Ollie’s computers, headphones, fitbits, and every other technical equipment, at least twice, in her lifetime.

Aunt Izzy introduces her to all the “bad” habits at the appropriate ages.

But every time Addy and her friends do stupid things, Aunt Fern is their first point of call, because Aunt Izzy tattles to the parents more.

I have more but this list has already become so long so mayyyyybe I’ll do a part two.

PS: yes. Yes Javi gets dorky dad!glasses. And yes, Addy breaks them eight times when she’s smol.

[harukamitsuki]

Hello, I saw your tumblr pop up and I saw that you are very critical of lances character. I mean absolutely no harm and want to have just have a conversation.

I’m not going to bash you completely because that’d get absolutely no where. I understand a lot of the points you’ve made. The way Lance treats his other teammates (especially Keith and allura) are to say the least… not great.

His one sided rivalry is terrible especially because Keith really is just a kid. He’s got a lot of family issues and now he’s being hated on by some kid he doesn’t even remember/recognize. Allura is dealing with 10,000 years of guilt not being able to save her planet and especially her father. Then ofc Lance comes in and immediately flirts with her.

Neither of these are good things. However, I’d argue that it helps in largely with his growth (if the writers actually cared).

In the first episode when the trio get in trouble Iverson immediately states to Lance that he’s only here because Keith isn’t.

And considering how easily he says this it very much feels like something that’s said often to him.

I don’t think Lance just started the rivalry because he just decided to hate Keith’s guys but because he’s having to be reminded that all he is, is a “cheap replacement” in a sense.

If they (writers) explored this idea more thoroughly I feel as though it would’ve made lances character more understandable. Not better (because even tho something happens doesn’t give anyone the excuse of whatever) but more to show that he’s human.

I would’ve loved to see an apology to Keith for this but obv it never happens.

I will say he does grow more with Allura though. Yes he still flirts but considering in season 5 the scene where Lance is comforting Allura really shows a change in lance.

I feel as though he really changes but the thing is Allura treats him in the end almost as a rebound (not bashing on her or anything). She clearly is more in favor of Lotor and even kisses the hallucination of him and never tells Lance when they’re together.

Moving on, I believe you’re characterizing Lance a little too unfairly. He does not get everything on a silver patter. He gets to be a fighter pilot because he’s the only thing closest to Keith’s record. He is constantly made the joke to the point where even Veronica his older sister find out that they’re being killed because she thinks Lance is an idiot (despite actual evidence mere 5 seconds ago proving it wrong). The whole bob episode makes fun of him. The team kinda leaves him behind. Hunk who’s supposed to be his best friend rarely interacts with him and is more pidges best friend than anything. Season 5s whole thing with Kuron and Lance gets scrapped instantly.

Is Lance a flawed character? Absolutely. But he is very much not given everything. In all honesty I believe Keith is the one who is the most “spoiled” in the show.

Season 1 and 2 lovely. However when shiro dies everything kinda changes.

I understand what the writers were going with but in truth Keith is by far (in my opinion) the worst option for being the black paladin.

Yea Keith has a fucked up backstory. He didn’t want to be the black paladin. he was forced into it.

But that doesn’t mean he is the right one. When he starts he almost kills everyone. Yes he’s starting out but afterwards he doesn’t become his own leader. He just steals shiros character.

When the clone comes in he dips. Sure ita because there isn’t space anymore but considering how easy it is for him to leave is what makes me think of him as spoiled.

The others don’t get an out. If the others had to leave they couldn’t. They don’t have galra genetics that can make them a marmora. They don’t have a space mom to travel with.

They’d have to stay in the castle because there is no where else to go for them.

Keith in the other hand gets an out. He is half galra he has a mom out there in space.

We never see him interact with the others again or even think about them. He only ever thinks about shiro.

When he comes back all of a sudden everything that the paladins have been working on is flipped on their heads. Now Keith has to save the day. Kuron goes bonkers and instead of using all that build up with Lance it’s Keith.

Keith leaves the team defenseless and without Voltron to deal with Lotor.

Gives absolutely no remorse on killing Kuron and just allows shiros mind to be put into his body.

Then he doesn’t give a rats ass about shiro anymore. He never gives him the black lion back (despite that being the original reason he left in the first place)

Shiro becomes a cardboard cutout of who he used to be. And to top that off despite the buildup between shiro and sendak Keith kills him off (despite shiro not even getting injured)

Now as a shiro fan yes I am biased. But, even then this doesn’t give Keith the excuse of being a Mary sue.

The mission where Veronica calls Lance stupid is the one where he leaves the team again to do his own thing.

Despite him agreeing with the others to take off the armor their tracking to run and hide the next scene we see is all of a sudden him being the savior of the episode.

no one else gets this. especially not Lance.

Yes lance is selfish. But I’d rather watch him be the black paladin than Keith.

Because in that Lance can learn and grow. Show that yea being a leader of a team isn’t as “cool” as you think. I wouldn’t loved the paladins being mad at him and him having to actually learn to grow up and be better.

Keith being the black paladin is just him being a recycled shiro.

I wish in all honestly that we got to see the characters be more flawed. and see them ACTUALLY grow instead of being either a carbon copy of another or just completely being thrown.

I hope you see this and I’d love to see your feedback.

Okay. At first, I was really liking this ask. I agreed with a lot of your points about Lance. While I have been heavily critical of him, that's only really because of how much people adore him and are afraid to criticise him. I've already stated, in my original 'Lance bad' post, that I didn't have an issue with Lance in season 1. I liked where his character started, but it was only in later seasons that I started disliking him.

I liked that he was insecure, but there was no pay-off to it. Maybe there were a few times he was reassured by someone, whether it be Allura, Shiro, Keith or whoever, but it feels like less of a trait/flaw and more of a way for him to be comforted. There's no scene in which Lance's insecurity puts the team in actual jeopardy, which would be a great way for his character to develop and to put some actual meaning to making him insecure.

I liked that he was flirty and goofy, because the cast needed a balance between the serious characters and the comedic ones. I liked that, even though he was goofy and comedic, the staff still tried to take him seriously. (Unlike Hunk).

So, yeah. There is stuff I do like about Lance, which is why I'm still treating him as fairly as possible in my rewrite. His insecurity is alluded to early, he's actually best friends with Hunk and it's not just saying that, he at least tries to defend his friends against Iverson, he is quite protective of Pidge, and he is capable of speaking to Allura (in SEASON ONE) without flirting every ten seconds.

But. In canon? I can't stand him. You say he doesn't get everything handed to him on a silver platter, but I don't see your point being proven. Instead, you point out how he's the constant butt of a joke. In season 7 and season 8. Yes, he's made fun of, but that doesn't mean he's not spoilt?

You also say that Keith is spoilt the most, because he gets the Black Lion and 'gets an out'. I feel like you just wanted to see Lance in the Black Lion more.

You claim that Keith is the worst option. That just because he has a fucked up backstory and was forced into it, it doesn't mean he's the good option. Um. That isn't why the Black Lion chose him?? Keith was the only one who didn't have selfish reasons for entering Black. Pidge and Hunk were basically goofing around but they're mostly comfortable where they already are. Lance wanted Black for selfish reasons, to prove himself. That's fine and all but it's not what Black was looking for.

Allura and Keith are the only ones who didn't want the Black Lion for themselves. A lot of people think Allura should have been the Black Paladin, which is fine but I honestly prefer Allura in Red and Keith in Black. Keith only went into Black's cockpit because Shiro wanted him to and the universe needed a Black Paladin. He did it for selfless reasons.

Onto your next point. About how Keith led them into danger and near death when he started. Um. He's just started out? And nobody has comforted him about losing Shiro (AGAIN). Instead, we have Pidge calling him a loner, Lance accusing him of using Shiro's death for his own gain, and everyone just being overall mean and nasty to Keith, RIGHT AFTER SHIRO DIED.

Honestly, I'd love to see you try to lead a team that seems to hate you. At least Keith gets his head screwed back into place before long. And calling him a B-tech Shiro? Should I remind you of: "You want me to lead Voltron? This is how I lead!" The whole point of that was to show how different their leading is. Shiro would rather play it safe unless he's emotionally compromised like at the end of season 1. Keith would rather hold nothing back and go at it 100 percent.

Also, I seem to keep having to bring this up. When Shiro was still there but was knocked out or unavailable, guess who was the one issuing orders? Yeah, that's right. It was Keith. Keith was always the first to ask Shiro what's wrong and then issue orders until Shiro gets back. He was always meant to be the Black Paladin, it's you guys who refuse to see it. I mean, if you look at his clothes, you will very quickly notice that it's not Red's colours. Mostly black with some red, white and yellow? Hmm, that's-- Oh yeah! That's Black's colour scheme. He was always meant to be in Black.

Also saying that Keith is spoilt because he 'gets an out' is stupid. Yes, I am insulting you because that's so far from the truth? Lance could have been dropped off on Earth while Allura stays as Blue and Keith goes back to Red. Allura could have taken a step back and let Lance go back to Blue and Keith to Red and Shiro to Black. Shiro could have stayed dead like he was supposed to and let nothing change.

That first episode of season four? Voltron are doing parades. The BOM are searching for important information to take down the Galra Empire. What, did you want Keith to do the parades? Surely, the people could understand that the Black Lion is out on a mission. There's no need for all five to be there. But, no. Of course, Keith is in the wrong. Regris dies right in front of him and he nearly dies out in space and he's doing incredibly dangerous and important work. But when he gets back, surely the others will be there for him after a fellow Blade died and he nearly did? Right? Nope. They just glare at him because there was an attack nobody could have predicted.

Keith leaves and nobody stops him. Keith leaves so Lance can stay happy in Red and Allura can stay happy in Blue and Shiro can get Black back. He leaves, not because he gets an out or is spoilt. The work he's doing is arguably MORE dangerous than Voltron's work. He isn't hiding inside a Lion, he's doing all this in person.

Saying that he gets to go around on Space Whale with his mother? The same one who abandoned him? While reliving past memories such as his father's death? While having to go through future scenarios again and again, essentially dying over and over to Shiro. His brother.

The whole point of setting some stuff up between Lance and Kuron is to compare with Keith and Kuron. Keith who would have been able to hear Shiro. He would have heard Shiro be cruel and snappy and he would have been on that case immediately. He would have done everything to find out what the hell is happening.

Keith is not spoilt. Lance is not spoilt either. Yes, Lance is given mostly everything he wants, but he still suffers. It's not directly correlated to what he wants/gets, but he suffers nonetheless. Keith is the furthest from spoilt. The only time he can get to relax? Um... He doesn't. Not even in the two-year time skip on the Space Whale because he's constantly suffering from images of the past and the events of the future.

Also, it's ironic that you call Keith a carbon-copy of Shiro, even if they're completely different. Because that's what viewers want Lance to be. They never admit or outright say it, but they want it. They want him to be traumatised, kind and serious, and they want the Galra to take something from him (like, say, a limb), and they want him to struggle to rely on others. That's Shiro. They want Lance to be Shiro but Cuban.

Lance would be a horrible pick for Black Paladin. As I've said time and time again. The reasons are in a pervious post if you want to find it. I've only just woken up at the time of writing this. It's kind of funny to me that I can provide a good reponse to this while I still have sleep in my eyes and I can barely remember the multiples of seven.

If Lance was white, I wonder how many people would still love him.

[iffeelscouldkill]

Fic: the old stars are of no importance

Summary: In which RJ McCabe has more emotions about listening to a drunken group singalong than they'd expected. Set during season 1 episodes 9 & 10 and the aftermath of episode 10.

Also posted to Dreamwidth & AO3, or just keep reading for the fic!

---

Junior Agent RJ McCabe is having a terrible day.

A terrible week, actually. Or make that a terrible career.

RJ is no stranger to hard work – no-one can power through the Academy and get a Junior Agent role at twenty-three without working incredibly hard. But since Park was tak- since Park was rightfully apprehended, it’s not felt like hard work so much as desperately paddling to keep their head above water. All the weird stares, the muttering, the pointed questions from their superiors that RJ answers as honestly as possible while frantically analysing the words for anything that could reflect negatively on them.

They go from urgent briefing to the office to one-on-one report with the Major General to another briefing to the office to home, finally, though they’re barely sleeping. RJ is pretty sure their blood volume is 95% caffeine, lately – thankfully the IGR doesn’t test for that.

In recognition of the awfulness of break room coffee, they brew it at home and bring a big flask with them. Or they would, except that this morning they tiredly fumbled the pot while pouring and scalded their hand, causing them to flinch and drop it, splattering half of the coffee across their tiny kitchen floor. They lost ten minutes to the clean-up and they have half as much coffee as they need, damn it.

All of which is to say that they’re not in the mood for Junior Agent Goodman’s attitude.

“Twelve hours of nothing?” RJ repeats as they stare down at Goodman, whose normal mask of impassiveness has given way to annoyance. He looks tired, but RJ is no stranger to all-nighters, and Goodman shouldn’t be either if he wants to get anywhere in the Republic.

“The crew was mostly asleep for part of it,” Goodman responds. “Is there coffee?”

“It’s dreck,” RJ says. They’re wondering if padding out their stock of coffee with the break room sludge will result in halfway drinkable coffee. It will probably just taint the decent stuff.

“Yes, because I drink break room coffee for the delicate aroma,” Goodman says, his sarcasm acidic, and RJ’s patience snaps.

“I don’t want to write you up for insubordination—”

They listen to Goodman’s rationale for throwing away a full twelve hours of audio, interjecting with pointed questions. When Goodman says, “Trust me,” they almost snort. Trust Goodman. Trust Goodman after his leading questions about Park and his poorly-hidden recording device. After RJ had confronted him about the recording, he’d simply smiled and said, “You can’t be too careful.”

RJ is just taking his advice. They hold out their hand. “Hand me the headphones.”

The audio picks up mid-conversation, and at first it sounds like so much nonsensical rambling, until RJ is able to pick up the thread of what the insurgents are talking about. Edict 1837. Any confession by a known criminal needs to be transcribed, analysed, and examined for veracity – no matter what the contents.

RJ has to suppress a smirk when they realise what Goodman has been dealing with all night. For once, they’re glad they’re the ranking Agent.

They’re tempted to skip over it, but they can at least listen to the entirety of the group’s confessions. Patel and Tripathi’s knowledge of Republic laws and edicts gives them the advantage in creating, if not convincing confessions, certainly detailed ones. Jeeter’s is less elaborate, but would require a qualified Ancient Pre-Crisis Languages expert to verify. The Dwarnian Krejjh’s ‘confession’ is a pure flight of fantasy – no-one rational has believed Dwarnians can shapeshift since at least 2175.

As for Violet Liu – RJ would have expected her to choose a confession oriented towards her history as a Republic scientist. “The lead singer of Birdie and the Swansong” is just silly.

Their finger hovers over the fast forward button as Patel drunkenly challenges Liu to “prove it”.

And then –

Violet Liu starts to sing.

“So long, can’t dodge the dawn, red light shines on and on and on and on and on...”

RJ has heard Violet sing before, during 'Report 1: Violet Liu', but there's something startling about hearing her suddenly strike out into song, a little unsteady but clear and melodious.

The note hangs there for an uncertain few seconds before Patel takes up the next line.

“But it’s not the sea that’s coming for me-”

And then Liu joins back in-

“-and it’s not the storm, no, it’s not the storm…”

Tripathi starts playing a guitar – they’ve heard her idly strumming it in her room during downtime – and suddenly they’re all singing.

“When I go to sea, don’t fear for me,

“Fear for the storm, fear for the storm!”

RJ squints in confusion, forehead creasing. What are they all doing? Is this a taunt? Because they know they’re being listened to? Why else would the whole crew be sitting around singing like they don’t have a care?

(Fleetingly, RJ wonders what it would be like to have that level of comfort with a group. An image of Nan and Ferdy flashes across their mind’s eye before they quickly squash it. They’re getting distracted).

“So gather your charts and your portents,

“Throw them aside,

“The old stars are of no importance,

“They’re not what I navigate by...”

In hours of monitoring, RJ has never heard the crew sing together, yet they harmonise seamlessly like they’ve done it a hundred times.

The words are – nonsensical, just old-world seafaring imagery of seas and charts and stars. But the way the group sings gives them an energy; makes them important. Like they might be the last thing you’ll ever hear.

“Though I may burn, the heavens may learn to fear for the storm...

“Fear for the storm.”

Liu sings the final lines, and then Krejjh exclaims, delighted,

“Oops – I guess we’re all Birdy and the Swansong. What a coincidence!”

The whole group bursts into laughter, and RJ’s finger stabs angrily down on the fast forward button.

“Don’t tell me it’s all like this.”

They pretend not to see Agent Goodman rolling his eyes.

---

The rest of the day blurs past, the usual chain of reports, audio, meetings, exchanging terse words with Goodman (who’s even more sarcastic thanks to his all-nighter), more reports, more audio.

They dismiss Goodman at the end of the workday, even though overtime is the norm in the Republic to the point where the ‘workday’ doesn’t really have a beginning and an end. (This was less depressing to RJ when they thought the agents were all getting overtime pay). He quickly goes, obviously not wanting to wait around for them to change their mind.

Silence descends.

RJ mechanically fills in a few more forms, initials some reports, getting caught up on the endless paperwork that’s generated by active cases. The Rumor audio isn’t being logged as it’s coming in; last night was an exceptional case in the aftermath of the insurgents making contact with the other Violet Liu, but based on the subsequent twelve hours of audio and today’s similar experience, they’ve determined it’s a more prudent use of resources to analyse it after the fact.

So, there’s no reason for RJ to be going over to the bank of audio desks and slipping on a pair of headphones. An audio file has just come in, but RJ pulls up an older file and scrubs through it, looking for the right timestamp.

They’re just double-checking Goodman’s work – making sure nothing was omitted when investigating the insurgents’ confessions under Edict 1837. A missed detail could give rise to a lot of additional paperwork, and their department can’t afford another blot on its track record. They pull an empty notepad towards them and poise a pen over it, ready to take notes.

But the notepad stays blank throughout the confessions, and then the singing begins.

“So long, can’t dodge the dawn, red light shines on and on and on and on and on…��

Maybe the lyrics could be – could contain some kind of code? RJ scrawls, The old stars are of no importance, and then just as quickly scratches it out. Code for who? That wouldn’t make any sense. The words don’t mean anything.

“So gather your charts and your portents,

“Throw them aside...”

RJ has never been one for music or singing (especially in public); they always shrugged Nan off when she tried to cajole them into karaoke. At the Academy, they’d sat on the sidelines during that kind of drunken, raucous group bonding, nursing one drink and wishing they could be literally anywhere else. Eventually, they’d started making excuses about work to catch up on.

Listening to the Rumor crew sing should sound like that – the kind of alcohol-fuelled stupidity that RJ has never wanted to be a part of.

It shouldn’t sound like –

Like family.

“Though I may burn, the heavens may learn to fear for the storm…”

The song ends, and RJ quickly hits ‘stop’. Almost guiltily, they navigate back through the audio to where the beginning of the song would be.

Distant footsteps sound in the corridor, and RJ goes very still, listening. Clark went home hours ago, so it’s not her.

They refuse to look around furtively, because that would be childish and also, they’re not doing anything wrong. They’re just doing their job.

RJ hits ‘play’ again.

“So long, can’t dodge the dawn…”

---

Chaos reigns as RJ, Park, Liu, Patel and Krejjh dash towards the window where Tripathi hovers with the heisted spaceship. The Vre Chel Noke nanoswarm, which had been a thick, shimmering mist around them seconds ago, hovers ominously like a warning.

It’s enough to keep Goodman and the other guards from trying to retaliate as Tripathi begins helping each of them into the open spaceship door. (RJ was tempted to take a potshot at Goodman in the chaos, but they told themself they’re better than that. Also, they didn’t want to waste any time). RJ is keeping their eyes fixed on Park, deliberately not thinking about what they’re doing, just thinking about the next moment. Stay alive. Get out of here. And then – we’ll see.

As Tripathi holds out her hand to RJ, though, they can’t resist a last glance behind them at everything they’re leaving behind. They thought this building would be the site of a long and (hopefully) distinguished career; it was practically their home, their life – until recently.

A line bubbles up in their mind, and RJ stifles the absurd urge to laugh. The old stars are of no importance – They’re not what I navigate by…

RJ turns away and accepts Tripathi’s hand up into the ship.

---

All things considered, it’s not surprising that only a few hours after joining the crew, RJ finds themself in the middle of a group singalong.

The mood is a mixture of tense and exhilarated in the immediate aftermath of their getaway. Everyone is visibly exhausted, Park possibly most of all, but it’s clear they’re all too wired to sleep or rest. They wander around the new ship, acquainting themselves with the layout and the rooms. The Rumor crew all exclaim over the size of the mess hall, which is pretty small to RJ’s eyes, but they guess anything would seem impressive compared to the homemade junk bucket the crew were flying in before.

The crew have a couple of bags stowed away, stuffed with supplies – all that’s left of the old ship. RJ thinks fleetingly of their small, bare apartment. There’s nothing they’ll miss.

Jeeter – Brian – makes some food and crucially, coffee, which is as bad as the break room dreck, but RJ will inhale anything at this point. The group chatters, their voices still surreal for RJ to hear in person and not through headphones.

They glance at Park, who looks more relaxed than they’ve ever seen him. The Rumor crew are sharing details about what happened to each of them during ‘The Plan’; Park volunteers a little about his own part, though there’s a conspicuous lack of detail about anything related to Zone Z. Sometimes the conversation falls awkwardly silent when the subject comes up. RJ isn’t about to push, and can tell the others don’t want to, either.

Trip- Sana and Krejjh determine it’s safe to set the new ship to autopilot, and Krejjh comes into the mess, intensifying the noise and cheerfulness. RJ tries not to stare; they’ve never been in close quarters with a Dwarnian (well, before shooting Krejjh earlier) and have only ever seen them in Republic training footage and, uh, Sh’th Hremreh. But Krejjh seems to find them fascinating, too, gamely questioning them about their ‘sharpshooting’ skills. Apparently sparing their life carries more weight than shooting them in the leg.

Eventually, Krejjh’s attention turns to their fiancé and the wider group, and RJ, no longer observed, lets their shoulders slump. They’ve drained the last of their coffee and want to ask for more, even though they’re practically vibrating. Adrenaline has carried them this far, and they don’t want to find out what happens when they crash and the reality of what they’ve done hits them. Part of RJ feels like they left their body back at Headquarters; or like they’re about to blink and wake up in their office chair with Goodman glaring at them.

“You okay?” Park asks in an undertone, and RJ jolts, upsetting their thankfully empty cup. They open their mouth to reply, but then Sana calls, “Okay, everyone!”

She’s holding a guitar, and RJ stares, wondering how much space that must have taken up in the supply bags. Arkady groans, but she doesn’t look angry. Violet covers her mouth in amusement, and Krejjh cheers.

“I thought we could christen our new ship with a bit of a song,” Sana says earnestly (RJ is learning that ‘earnest’ is Sana’s default mode). Park’s eyes widen, which makes RJ glad that they’re not the only one experiencing slight panic. Is it too late to sneak out? Sana plucks at the guitar strings, twiddling the pegs to tune them. She strums a chord and nods, satisfied.

“What shall we start with? Any suggestions?” Her gaze alights on Park and RJ, and she smiles encouragingly. “McCabe – do you want to suggest a song? You don’t have to sing if you’re not comfortable.”

“Uh…” RJ would like to suggest something less – incriminating, but unfortunately, there’s only one song currently on their mind. “What about... ‘Fear for the Storm’?”

To their relief, Sana doesn’t ask questions. “Good choice!” she says, and RJ feels, ridiculously, pleased. Park quirks an eyebrow at them after Sana looks away, but RJ just shrugs, not wanting to explain.

Sana strums a few opening chords, and Violet and Arkady begin, singing the first line together.

“So long, can’t dodge the dawn, red light shines on and on and on and on and on...”

RJ sits back in their chair and fractionally, begins to relax, letting the singing wash over and around them.

Quietly, too quietly, to be heard beneath the singing, they hum along.

---

A/N: So the idea conception for this fic went something like this:

Me: Okay, I've got this fun idea I want to write about the real lead singer of Birdie and the Swansong listening to the Iris casefiles and reacting to the group singalong-

My brain: I have an even better version of that idea!

Me: Yes?

My brain: What if McCabe-

Me: OH MY GOD

...Go on...

I have one (1) character whose perspective I'm consistently inspired to write from and can do so at the drop of a hat xD (I was trying to write this in a few days for the Small Fandoms Surprise Scramble on Dreamwidth. I succeeded!

The idea that became this idea was sparked off by listening to the full cast version of Fear for the Storm and having some Emotions about it again :D I remember how captivated I was by this song when listening to Episode 9 for the very first time, and so the idea of giving McCabe some of those Emotions was a very appealing one. Poor thing is going through it.

This also gave me a chance to write about the immediate aftermath of Episode 10, which I had not done before!

[nyoomfruits]

“Can you scent me so the others think I’m taken?” with max & oscar pretty please?

EBYYYYYYYYYYYY i love you <3 taken from this list (feel free to send me one!)

“Can you scent me so the others think I’m taken?”

Like all things in Oscar’s life recently, it’s mostly Lando’s fault. After all, he is the one that drags Oscar to the club with him, yelling something about ‘celebrating the first half of the season’ and then promptly disappears into the crowd when they get there. It leaves Oscar standing near the bar with a drink in his hand, a little lost, bobbing along to the music a little awkwardly as he desperately tries to find a familiar face in the crowd.

It doesn’t help that he’s an Omega, standing alone, which means every so often an Alpha slides up to him, trying to shoot their shot. Oscar’s interested in none of it, politely tells them to fuck off, and they listen, mostly, but it’s still. In a situation where he already feels a little off kilter it’s doing nothing to make him feel less off kilter.

After the fifth Alpha he turns down gets a little aggressive about it, Oscar is about ready to leave. Which is, of course, when he runs into Max Verstappen.

“Hey,” Max says, doing a double take when he spots Oscar. “Didn’t know you were here, too. How are you?”

“Yeah,” Oscar says, nodding his head a little too enthusiastically, realizes this, and quickly stops, making a little hand motion towards the crowd of people. “Lando, uh. Brought me here. And then disappeared.” He tries to sound cool about it, like it’s no big deal that he’s now here alone, like he’s totally cool with that. Because this is Max, and he wants Max to, well. Not think he’s a loser, at least.

Max laughs. “Yeah, he does that. So, you’re having fun?”

No. Oscar thinks. “Yes! Yeah. I mean, I had some annoying Alpha’s trying to flirt with me, but other than that. Yeah, it’s cool.” Max is wearing a pretty tight shirt, tight enough that Oscar can see the outline of his pecks through the fabric. He tries not to stare too hard. “I mean. The last one got pretty aggressive about it, so that kind of sucked,” he continues, because maybe if he keeps talking Max will stop looking so goddamn hot and he can be normal about things again.

“Maybe I should ask Lando to scent me, later. So they think I’m taken,” he continuous, mostly thinking out loud, distracted by the way Max’s biceps bulge under the fabric of his t-shirt when he shifts his drink from one hand to the other. They do that sometimes, him and Lando. Make people think they are together so they’re left alone. It’s a pretty solid deal, if a bit unconventional.

“I can do that,” Max says, and Oscar blinks, dragging his eyes up to Max’s face.

“What?” He asks, because. What.

“Scent you. So people think you are taken,” he shrugs, like this is no big deal somehow. Like Oscar’s insides don’t feel like they’re on fire all of a sudden.

“Oh, uh,” he says, because what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. “Yeah, no. That would be great, if you wouldn’t mind.” If you wouldn’t mind. Christ.

Max steps forward then, into Oscar’s space, reaching up to wrap his hand around the side of Oscar’s neck, and Oscar’s brain momentarily short circuits. This much up close Oscar can smell his scent, a mix of rain and gasoline and forests that makes Oscar want to tip forward and bury his nose in Max’s t-shirt until he’s drowning in it.

He barely has time to process anything because suddenly Max’s other hand is on his waist, and he leans forward, burying his face in the crook of Oscar’s neck, and Oscar gasps. Max’s nose moves over his scent gland, and even though Oscar knows it’s the fastest way to scent someone it still surprises him when Max’s nose is quickly replaced by his mouth.

Max’s tongue darts out, licking at the sensitive skin of Oscar’s scent gland and Oscar is forever grateful Max is holding him so tightly, because he can feel his knees buckle and he’s pretty sure he would’ve fallen over otherwise.

It’s never felt this intimate, with Lando. Never this intense.

As fast as it’s started it’s already over again, Max pulling away after pressing a small little kiss to Oscar’s neck, stepping away. There’s a dark look in his eyes, though Oscar is pretty sure it might be the lighting in the club.

“Thanks,” He manages to breathe out, voice rough and a little shaky. The places Max has touched feel like they’re on fire, and Oscar can smell nothing but raingasolineforest, and he feels like the world his spinning out of control.

“No problem, mate. See you around,” Max says, and with one last pat on Oscar’s shoulder, he disappears back into the crowd.

Oscar stands there, frozen in place, staring after him, probably for way too long. At least no other Alpha approaches him. They would be mad to, when he so deeply smells like he belongs to Max.

And god, isn’t that a wonderful thought?

Lando finds him again, eventually. Tells him he stinks with a wrinkled nose, and calls them a cab. When they’re in the backseat, he offers to scent Oscar, get that ‘disgustingly cloying Alpha scent off him’.

Oscar declines with a vague excuse that it’s not that bad, and turns to stare out the window. It’ll fade, eventually, Max’s scent on his skin. Whether Lando scents him or not, it will eventually disappear.

But for now, for this tiny moment in time, Oscar can pretend he’s Max’s. And he’s not yet ready to let that go.

[nerdieforpedro]

WIP Tag Game (The XL edition) 🤣

I was tagged by @missredherring and sure I did it earlier this week. Could I have come up with a new WIPs because my mind is never quiet? 🤐

Yes, yes, Yes I did. 😆 I’m also structuring it similar to how she had it because it spoke to me. 🤭

Current foci (because having just one is difficult as I bounce around):

1. Weddings 101 with Dieter and @angelofsmalldeath-codeine - We’re going to finish it one day or at least the next chapter. Also AO3 link.

2. Coasting through the Rainbow 🌈 - I’m half way done with chapter four of this finally. 😆 2 and 1/2 more to go! Also AO3 link.

3. Waters of Lethe - The Qimir one. Maybe 2-5 parts? We’ll see where it goes. So far only one part. AO3 link

4. Honey and Sugarplum - With Jack Daniels and an OFC. Very sweet, smutty kinda and fluffy. ☺️ AO3 link.

Excuse me Ma’am? We’re over here in the back!

1. Unnamed Fae Jack Daniel fic for Monster Smash Challenge. I did write out some Fae facts for this one and I plan to keep it…..an actual one shot?! It’s been 900 years since Nerdie’s done one of those.

2. Fifty-Six Wildflower Lane - this one with Frankie still needs an ending, then I can post it here like. Just need part number four. AO3 link.

3. Tasting Ambrosia - Ezra, ever the scoundrel nagging at the back of my brain has a small WIP. No idea where this one is going. Also trying to do drama and will he make it out sort of deal. 👀

We been waiting for our day to come for so long:

1. Travel to You - A sweet and maybe a little obsessive Javi G? He’s adorable, has golden curls and can shoot those clay bird things down accurately so, totally fine. Have discord and FFXIV references, very nerdy. 🤣 AO3 link.

2. Therapy for the Well-Adjusted - Marcus Pike and Imani are finally going on that date. Or do they? Maybe they go somewhere else? Also AO3 link.

3. A Safe Place for Us - Dieter and Aisha continue to sort their feelings and trying to make a baby. What could go wrong? Also AO3 link.

4. Green Shop of Memories - that Marcus Moreno AU where I made him a wizard/warlock that owns a cafe. 😘 It’s all sad, and cute. Plus it has fairies and a Magic Council. Also fake dating? AO3 link.

5. Kissed by the Sun - I had an idea that Oberyn Martell was a son or descendant of Apollo and he pissed off Venus (Aphrodite if ya nasty) and was barred from his soulmate being able to interact with him other than his voice. Because…..I read too many Marcus A fics that kept referencing Roman gods. 🫡 AO3 link

6. Din’s in the Neighborhood- Modern Din AU that has him meet on OFC DV survivor post divorce. Also Grogu is a human boy and we have Finn/Poe. There’s also Johnnie Mae and Luke that are just together? No one’s asking and I don’t think either of them would given an answer. 😆 So many cameos and randomness, so little time. Side notes: I gave Din tattoos, Obi-Wan is a children’s author and there’s a Jedi Law & Order show. Also AO3 link.

7. Fire and Fury - Pero and Calista’s story likely has two more parts. Complete with smut, more fighting, a bathtub (I promised @avastrasposts that one) and they’ll get their revenge! But what happens after? Also AO3 link.

8. Hands of God - This could be a long one shot or I might have to split it up. The Marcus Acacius fic that @soft-persephone and @megamindsecretlair “gently suggested” that I write. I did start it. 👀 There will be some infidelity, plots, murder and a coup. Also a dash of smut just for seasoning. And maybe a subby Marcus A? Can I do it? Only time and Marcus’ sash will tell.

9. Front Office Adjunct - One of two Dave York fics. ☺️ Dave blackmails on OFC into working for him. Things appear to be stacked in his favor, but are they? This one is a slow burn one, enemies to lovers maybe? Also espionage, murder, violence, smutty and bad behavior. Just bad. 👀🤫 AO3 link

She hasn’t touched us in so long:

Pleasure Principle - The first series I ever started anywhere. Has Dave York in a toxic working on making it better relationship with an OFC. I’ll finish this one someday. 😭😭 Also AO3 link.

Uncomplicated Mi Amor - The fic where I swore I was going to have something sweet for Javier Peña. Which it is, I just haven’t finished it. 👀 Also I will finish someday. Also AO3 link.

Roc & Doc - A Tim Rockford crime series with an OFC ME that is my love letter to the likely thousands of hours I’ve spent watching crime procedurals or listening to true crime podcasts. Also AO3 link.

Some have just AO3 links, I haven’t gotten around to putting them on Tumblr yet and some are in both places. A few just exist in notes. 🗒️ I should also never look through my WIP this in depth again. This thing is very long. 🤣🤣🤣

NPT because you may have already done it but I described things this time around. 🙌🏽

@schnarfer @maggiemayhemnj @lotusbxtch @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @604to647

@inept-the-magnificent @connectioneverywhere @for-a-longlongtime @lady-bess @tinytinymenace

@perotovar @julesonrecord @yourcoolauntie @clawdee @magpiepills

@trulybetty @rhoorl @grogusmum @syd-djarin @sin-djarin

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[mikaela-granger]

The Long Wait (Season 2) Chapter 13

Mr Sandman

Fandom: Grimm

Pairing: Sean Renard/OFC

The Long Wait Masterlist

A/N: A strange wesen is in town, well stranger than normal.

A few days after Sean stopped by, Lorelei, Nick, Hank, Rosalee and Monroe met at Monroe’s place for dinner to discuss the recent developments. Nick had confirmed that Sean was wesen.

“I can’t believe our captain is a hexenbiest.” Hank commented

“Well, technically, he’s a zauberbiest, being male.” Rosalee told him. “But I never heard of either being Royal. Somethings not adding up here.”

“I’ll tell you what’s not adding up, is a captain in the Portland police department is at least part hexenbiest, has Royal blood, and woke Juliette up from her coma with a kiss. Wait a minute, do we know who his parents are?”

“I don’t.” Nick said.

“Me neither.” Hank added.

“I know that his mother is the hexenbiest. And his father is King Frederick of the House of Kronenberg. At least, according to Adalind.” Lorelei told them.

“Right, cause we can trust anything she says.” Monroe said. “But if it is true than…”

“He wouldn’t be fully accepted as a member of the Royal family.” Rosalee said, and Lorelei felt her heart go out to Sean. She knew he didn’t have a good relationship with his half-brother, he had never mentioned anything about his father or the rest of his family. “It might be why he is so interested in you two.” She directed this towards Nick and Lorelei. “If he has you two working for him, it could give him a big advantage over his family.”

“That’s probably why he gave you the key back” Monroe said with a mouth full of food.

“Yeah.” Hank said, agreeing with Monroe. “He wants you guys on his side.”

“But who’s side is he on?” Nick asked.

“And how many sides does he have?” Monroe added.

“That’s what we need to find out.”

“Either way, he’s got some big hairy plans.” Monroe said as got up. “Anyone want some more…?” He cut himself off when he saw the others holding out their wine glasses for a refill. “I’ll take that as a yes. Lorelei, you sure you don’t want any. You’re never one to turn down a glass of wine.”

Lorelei shook her head. “I’m sure. I’m still not feeling too well.”

Nick looked at her in concern. “Still? What did the doctor say?”

Lorelei shrugged. “Probably just the flu. Just told me to take it easy.”

Nick seemed to accept that; however, Lorelei saw Rosalee watching her intently from across the table. Lorelei glanced down at her plate, avoiding the older woman’s gaze. She knew about Lorelei’s interactions with Sean earlier in the year, however Lorelei had never updated her on the change in relationship status. Hopefully she wouldn’t work things out before Lorelei was ready to tell everyone.

A couple of days later, Lorelei was with Nick and Monroe at the trailer. Nick had a weird case, that may be wesen related. They were looking through the books, trying to see if anything jumped out at them. At one point, they heard someone approaching the trailer, which put them on alert. Thankfully it was Hank.

“Sorry I’m late.” He said, handing out the coffees he had brought with him.

“It’s ok. It looks like we found something.” Nick told him, gesturing to the book Monroe had in front of him. He and Hank joined Monroe and Lorelei by the table.

“It’s called a Jinnamuru Xunte.” Monroe said, struggling with the name.

“Alright, so what are we dealing with now?”

“Let’s see, departed London April 16, 1905, arrived Kenya May 20th.” Monroe said, reading from the book. “My third trip to the interior where I encountered one of the most fiendish wesen known on the dark continent. It took me fourteen days, but I finally captured the beast who has been terrorising villagers. He blinds the innocent, feeding off their tears like an opium addict. The tribesmen call him, uh, a jinnamuru xunte, which roughly translates as tear stealing evil spirit, which I find ironic since until recently he was the local parish priest.” Monroe looked up at the others in surprise. “Ok, so confession, right? Guilt, sin, remorse. That’s perfect for tears. It’s like a jinnamuru xunte smorgasbord of grief.” Monroe told them, before returning to the book. “When I removed his brain from his severed head, I discovered it was swollen, blackish, and crawling with vile red worms. Alright, anyone want to take over here?”

“I got it.” Lorelei told him, sliding the book towards her. “Jinnamuru xunte will often revisit his victims, targeting their family members whose tears are readily available.”

“So, he returns to feed off the grief he’s caused by blinding his victims.” Hank said, as Nick’s phone rang.

Hank and Nick headed off to check in on the surviving victim. The call had been from the ME who advised Nick that it was the same parasites they found in the first victim, and they were growing.  Lorelei and Monroe headed to the spice shop to see if there was, anyway, they could help the second victim.

“He should have been here by now.” Monroe said, referring to Nick as he paced back and forth. “I mean, he should have been here by now!”

“He’ll be here.” Lorelei told him. “Probably just caught up.”

“This is very nasty. These parasitic worms have barbs that hook into the eyes, making them impossible to wash out.” Rosalee said, looking down at the book in front of her.

“Are you sure you’re looking at the right book?” Monroe asked her, standing beside her to look at the page. “Oy, god. What are we supposed to do?”

“I will find something.” Rosalee assured him, getting up to look at the shelves. “By the way, I was with Juliette last night.”

Lorelei and Monroe stared at her. “What?” Monroe asked.

“She’s like…having sort of hallucinations.”

“From the stuff we gave her?” Lorelei asked.

“I guess.” Rosalee replied and Monroe groaned. Before he could say anything, the door opened, and Hank came in carrying Nick. It looked as if their wesen had gotten him. Monroe was fretting as they bought him into the side room and laid him down.

“Look, we’ve been working on this for a while and the only thing that we’ve been able to figure out for sure is these worms, ok, they have barbs that actually hook into your eyeball.”

“Monroe.” Rosalee shouted at him.

“What? I’m telling him. It’s better to know.” Monroe defended himself. “I’d want to know, I think, I don’t know, maybe I wouldn’t. I’ll shut up.” He said, as Lorelei gave him a dirty look.

“Ok, we have to keep his eyes open. The worms thrive in the dark. Light slows them down.” Rosalee instructed, as she continued reading.

Hank instructed Nick to open his eyes, and Nick confirmed that he could not see anything at all. Rosalee joined them, and they were all surprised that Nick seemed to realise it was her. They set up a lamp in front of Nick. Hank took Lorelei and Monroe aside, telling them that previous victim no longer had any eyes left.

“I think Rosalee found something.” Nick commented from his spot on the loveseat.

“What are you talking about man? How do you know what…”

“Lorelei, Hank, Monroe. Can you come in here please?” Rosalee called out from the other room.

Weird looks were exchanged before they joined Rosalee in the main room. “There is a cure.” She told them quietly.

“Oh, thank god.” Hank said.

“But we have to pull his eye out.”

“Pull his eye out! How is that a cure?” Monroe asked.

“No, no, not Nick’s eye. The eye of the jinnamuru xunte.”

“Oh.”

“It’s like a vaccine. We need the antibodies that only the host carries. That’s why he’s not blind.”

“Ok, so…how are we supposed to pull out on of this guy’s eyes?”

“With a spoon.” Rosalee answered, showing them the image in the book. Monroe groaned in disgust.

“Are we supposed to do this while he is still alive?” Lorelei asked.

“Yes, and he has to be in full form.”

“Full woge!”

“How much?” Came Nick’s voice from behind them, they turned and saw him leaning against the door. “How much time do we have before these, worms finish their meal?”

Rosalee got up and rushed over to him. “The next three to four hours are crucial. After that, it’s too late” She told him honestly. She started to lead him back to the loveseat. “Ok, so we need you lying down and looking directly into the light. That is the only way we are going to slow this thing down.”

Lorelei, Rosalee, and Monroe worked on the potion needed to save Nick’s eyesight, while Hank waited to hear if Wu had managed to track the jinnamura xunte down.  Lorelei kept glancing at her brother, looking so helpless. He couldn’t seem to catch a break. Hank received a call, and thanks to the information received Nick was able to work out where the jinnamura xunte was going. He was going after the sister of the second victim. The five of them packed up and headed off. They waited in the car, as Hank walked to the front door to check things out. Nick commented that it sounded like the jinnamura xunte was already in the house.

Eventually, after a fight between Lorelei, Nick and the jinnamura xunte, they managed to get its eyes. Nick’s eyesight was saved, and he seemed to walk away from the encounter with enhanced hearing.

The next evening, Lorelei found herself laying on her bed, looking at the sonogram photo she had received from the OBGYN. It still didn’t seem real that she was pregnant. Lorelei had never given it a lot of thought before. She was only nineteen, almost twenty, how many people her age were thinking about having babies. Lorelei would have to start planning what to buy, how she was going to juggle a baby on top of work and school, would she need to take time off school and work when the baby was born. The OBGYN had said based on her last period, she was due sometime in early November. However, Lorelei knew this was more of a guesstimate. The baby could come sooner or later than that.  Based on some of her research, Lorelei saw that people usually waited until twelve weeks had passed before sharing news of their pregnancy with others. That gave Lorelei about six weeks to figure out how to tell both her brother and Sean. It also gave Lorelei some more time to figure out how she was going to do this.

A/N: Another shorter chapter. It was a little hard to incorporate Lorelei into this one. Sorry I didn’t really give you much in regard to the fight between Lorelei, Nick, and the jinnamura xunte. I was drawing a blank. No matter what I wrote, it was not good.

Next Part

Taglist: @zoexme

Banner by @cafekitsune

[shunin-gumis]

As Master Joe Wishes - Track 06

Seasonal Team Event - L4mps

Location: Manor – Large Parlor

Joe: Oh my, tomorrow morning? This is the first I’m hearing of this.

Yodaka: Tomorrow morning… This really is short notice.

Samejima: Sorry about this. It’s not that we don’t trust you, but we were taking precautions against any information leak. As it is, we’re limiting the discussion of the situation with involved parties only.

Toi: Um… If the transfer has already been confirmed, does that mean our orders have changed as well…?

Samejima: I’m glad you’re quick on the uptake. As you guessed, the next 12 hours will be the most dangerous yet.

Samejima: Our troops are stationed in the gardens, as well as the surrounding houses, but– 

Samejima: As we are aiming to lure in the target to arrest them, we’ve decided to deploy only the bare minimum within the manor, so as to not arouse suspicion. That would include a couple of us from command, and all of you. 

Hiramei: If we pack too many folks in here, they’d figure us out immediately and get away… 

Ryui: Wha–

Ryui: (Ain’t no fuckin’ way, it’s way too dangerous. That said, might be worse if we try to get outta here now…) 

Samejima: I suppose it’d be too much to ask for you to spend the next 12 hours doing the same as usual… But of course, I hope you avoid doing anything dangerous. 

Ryui: (They’re aiming for that spoiled brat of a bear. If I can just keep Toi away from her, I should be able to protect him even if they come down on us…)

Nagi: In a development like this, they’re all but guaranteed to come to us.

Nagi: Maybe we should set up some traps to drive away the intruders, like in that one famous Christmas movie.*

Joe: Oh my~ What a splendid idea! I am quite fond of that film myself~

Toi: I love it too! Although, I do feel bad for the robbers at the end of it… 

Daniel: If yer gonna do it, make sure ya don’t half-ass it and have your allies end up in the cross-fire instead. 

Daniel: Anyways, I’m gonna go lie down. Back’s still sore and all. 

Yodaka: He’s got a point. While there’s some appeal to setting up classic traps, I’m worried about being unarmed against a group of thieves… 

Ryui: Oi, old man. Tell ‘em they oughta give us a proper guard, or at least give us somethin’ to protect ourselves with. 

Samejima: Hmm… Maybe I could get permission to get us some batons… 

Daniel: Batons… Well, better than nothin’ I guess. We don’t have much time, so you should—

Netaro: Ask and you shall receive~ ! Drumroll please! There is no need to worry your little heads~ A kawaii and cool arms dealer has arrived~ 

Netarobot: Yes indeedy we have weapons indeed~

Nagi: That scared me… weapons?

Netaro: Tada!

Ryui: T-This is… 

Yodaka: From handguns to rifles… There’s even a grenade launcher… These are all elaborately crafted airsoft guns, aren’t they?

Toi: So cool! Just like in an action movie…! Did you design all these yourself, Netaro-san?

Netaro: Roh’s the one who designed the exterior~

Yodaka: Oh? Sakujiro did?

Netaro: Remember when Ryui oh-so-cruelly rejected the servant clothing that Roh had designed? Well, he said we should at least have some weapons on us and came up with these designs one after the other! 

Yodaka: I see. Now that you’ve said it, I can tell these weapon designs were made in mind to match the butler and maid uniforms he had shared before… Put them together, and the design would leave a deep impression on a certain subgroup of people… 

Nagi: Could I use this one as a blunt weapon?

Netaro: Gii, if you mess with that, you’ll get blown away, along with the entire manor.

Nagi: Eh… 

Netaro: Roh may have designed the exterior, but the interior execution was done by yours truly~ They’re equipped to overkill any band of thieves (or anyone, really)!

Toi: So, they’re like the real deal? 

Netaro: I am an arms dealer after all~

Ryui, you can have this one.

Ryui: Woah, aight.

Daniel: –An assault rifle huh. A mid-ranged weapon that can be used in both offensive and defensive formations. From the looks of it, it’s semi-automatic too, perfect for beginners to use.

Netaro: I’ve adjusted the recoil so it won’t shatter Ryui’s shoulder. Once you’ve strapped on the ammo belt over both shoulders, you may shoot to your heart’s content like Ramboo!*

Ryui: Got it.

Netaro: This one’s for Toi!

Toi: W-woah! It looks really cool but, can someone like me even use it…? 

Daniel: Sniper rifles are long distance, meaning you won’t be targeted as easily. It’s plenty enough if you can just calmly assist your allies from out of sight.

Toi: I can protect Ani-sama with this!

Netaro: Gii gets hand grenades!

Nagi: Thank you… I don’t get a gun, huh. 

Daniel: The hand grenade is considered one of the most powerful weapons because it can reduce a wide area to ashes in an instant. Nagi doesn’t have much of a presence, and he’s real fast. Might be surprisingly suited for a vanguard. 

Nagi: I should be careful not to pull the pin on accident… 

Ryui: (Not sure if we should trust him with that thing… )

Netaro: Yoda can have this one~

Yodaka: A revolver, huh.

Yodaka: (Hm… How strange, feels like it fits right in my hands… )

Daniel: Revolvers are standard equipment for JPN police. Although the bullet count is limited, it’s the easiest to maneuver in close combat, right after the assault rifle. 

Nagi: Buchi-san, how come you know so much about these?

Daniel: … Who knows. 

Netaro: And finally, I get to have everyone’s favorite grenade launcher! The grenades come in seven different colors and seven different abilities and pop out one after the other for great efficiency~ That’s all!

Daniel: … What about me?

Nagi: You’ve got your muscles, Buchi-san.

Netaro: If you must have one, here.

Daniel: A magnum? 

Netaro: I considered scrapping this extra-large caliber gun since it would dislocate the shoulder of any of the other weaker-bodied humans but… Your dynamite muscular frame should be able to handle it no problem~

Samejima: Um, I’m technically still a police officer here, so seeing this blatant violation of the Firearm and Swords Control Law right in front of me is a bit… Well, I’ll still grant you permission, of course.

Hiramei: I’ve been recording the whole thing so, if push comes to shove, it’ll only be Samejima-san’s neck on the line!

Joe: Being middle management must be quite the difficult job indeed~

Samejima: Yeah... Please take me in if I get fired for this.

Samejima: With that being said… I’m sorry to ask this of you after all you’ve done to help already, but until the transfer is complete, please be–

Toi: Um, this is only a suggestion, but… Could we hold a farewell party for Joe-sama now?

Joe: Toi…!

Samejima: Be–

Toi: I’d like to make some more memories with Joe-sama! I can’t believe we’re parting in just 12 hours… 

Joe: Oh my, I am so very happy to hear you say that~!

Samejima: –Be on your guard and as we prepare a wonderful party.

Toi: Yay! It’s decided then!

Note:

The famous Christmas movie Nagi is referring to is the 1990 film Home Alone.

Ramboo is a reference to Rambo.

[fleurywiththesave]

For the ask game: ↻ FLIP FLOP for It’s the magical mystery kind (especially the reveal outside the bar at the allstar game / the ending from Leon‘s POV) please💙

YES I LOVE THIS SO MUCH THANK YOU!!! (here's the original fic)

(↻FLIP FLOP:send me a scene from one of my fics and I’ll describe or write it from another character’s POV!)

Leon can’t seem to catch his breath in the bar. He was okay during the actual game, but now he feels hyper-aware of Matthew’s presence just a few tables away from where Leon’s sitting with Connor. He’s with his brother, drinking and laughing and apparently having a wonderful time. Which he should be. This is meant to be fun.

Connor has no idea – no one does, Leon’s managed to keep everything locked down tight – but he keeps asking Leon why he’s acting so squirrelly, until Leon finally gets fed up and steps outside to attempt a reset.

“Stop being weird,” he orders himself. It doesn’t help much. Or at all.

He’s not even entirely sure when it all started. It would be easy enough to say it was their first all-star game, but that’s not quite right. Maybe that’s when the Matthew switch in his head initially eased off of PUBLIC ENEMY NUMBER ONE, but the rest of it…it crept up on him. At some point during the Covid season, when they were playing each other constantly, Leon began to wish that he were the person making Matthew laugh, genuinely laugh, the way his teammates did. And he’s been suffering in silence ever since.

The past few months have been harder, he won’t pretend otherwise. It’s not like Leon ever made any progress on attempting even just a friendship with Matthew, but at least when they were in the same province, he could still fool himself into thinking that he might. Now Matthew is on the other side of the continent, loving life in Florida, no doubt headed to a Cup win within the next few years, and Leon…

Leon is just a loser who doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings, and Matthew can never, ever know. Which shouldn’t make it so hard for Leon to act normal around him, since their normal is, well, nothing. But apparently that would be too easy for his brain.

He’s staring up at the moon, feeling kind of like he belongs on a teen drama, when there’s some noise behind him and he turns to see Matthew. Of course. Of fucking course he does. Because the universe is out to get him.

“Hey, Tkachuk.” Wow, solid. Try to sound more flat and unfriendly, Leon. He’s usually pretty good with people – how come he can never quite get his shit together around Matthew?

“‘Sup,” Matthew says. He’s a little wobbly on his feet and Leon has to stifle laughter. Drunk Matthew kind of resembles a baby deer.

“Having a good time?”

“I’m a responsible drinker,” Matthew responds, which isn’t really an answer, but he’s nodding sagely like he’s just delivered some profound wisdom and Leon has to fight even harder against laughter.

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, then adds, when Matthew sways a little bit like he’s getting dizzy, “Hey, maybe it’s time to call it a night. Do you want me to get you an Uber?” There, that’s good. Friendly, helpful. A normal, thoughtful gesture.

But Matthew turns fiery in a second, hissing, “Go fuck yourself” so surely and ferociously that Leon can practically feel it washing over him. He’s half-tempted to just turn tail and run back to Connor like a wimp, but he makes himself try again.

“Come on, Tkachuk. Let me take you home. I think you need to go to sleep.”

“Don’t wanna sleep,” Matthew says. Or, more accurately, whines. Leon kind of hates that he still finds it endearing. “I hate sleeping.”

He doesn’t even know what to make of that. “Um, okay? But—”

“When I sleep, I have to wake up,” Matthew says, cutting him off. “And when I wake up, you’re always gone.”

It’s like a bucket of ice water being dumped over his head and flooding his lungs.

“What did you say?”

“You’re always gone,” Matthew says again. “‘S not fair. ‘S like…like…oh, Matthew, here’s your person. Just kidding! He’s in Edmonton and he hates you!”

Leon can’t decide if he’s about to throw up or pass out. How, how, how did this happen? He’s always been so careful, ever since the day his parents sat him down and explained what he could do. He was twelve years old and utterly horrified by the whole concept, and resolved immediately that he would master how to control it and it would never be an issue. And it never has been, until now. Of course it’s now, when it matters most of all.

“Matthew…” He has no idea where he’s going with that sentence. Matthew starts to walk away before he can figure it out, but he’s still shaky on his feet and Leon grabs his arm without even thinking about it. “Whoa. Okay, okay. Matthew, come on. Let me take you home and I…we can talk in the morning. I’ll explain in the morning.”

“Explain to your mom.” Yeah, Matthew is pretty damn drunk. But he tells Leon his address and gets in the uber without a fuss, and, after trying and failing several times to open the front door himself, hands his house keys over to Leon.

Leon peeks in the upstairs rooms as quickly as possible until he finds what must be Matthew’s room. What a joke, what an incredibly sick joke by his old friend the universe, that he’s actually in Matthew’s house, in his bedroom, and it’s only to make Matthew get some sleep before Leon has to confess to what’s been happening and beg for his forgiveness. He tugs Matthew’s sneakers off of his feet and gets him to lie down and hates himself the entire time.

“I don’t wanna have another dream,” Matthew mutters.

“You won’t.” He never will again, Leon can at least promise that. Now that he knows what he’s been doing, he would give up sleep himself if that’s what it takes,

“You don’t know that. You’ve been hau–haunting me for months. When I find out who’s doing it, ‘m gonna…gonna…gonna pinch ‘em, really hard.” Matthew sounds like a petulant child, which only makes Leon feel worse. He should be furious, shouting and swearing and maybe trying to call the police, not morosely threatening classic older brother treatment.

“You won’t,” Leon says again. “I’m sorry.” Matthew doesn’t respond. He’s asleep.

Leon promised to explain in the morning, so he can’t exactly leave. But he can burrow into Matthew’s couch – one that’s clearly been chosen for comfort rather than aesthetics, which only makes him more endearing – and call his mother. Unfortunately he starts to cry as soon as she picks up.

“Leon?” she says, sounding understandably alarmed. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

“I messed up, Mama,” he whispers. It all comes tumbling out, everything he’s been keeping carefully hidden for the last couple years and how badly he’s managed to screw up anyway. His mother makes a few startled noises along the way, but when he finally gives her a chance to get a word in edgewise, she’s utterly calm.

“It’s going to be okay,” she says soothingly. “You can tell him the truth in the morning.”

“He’s going to hate me,” Leon says. “Even more than he did before.”

“What you’ve described does not sound like someone who hates you, Leon.”

“Well, he does,” Leon says firmly. “I’ll just be lucky if he doesn’t tell the entire league what I did.”

“I think you should try to get some sleep,” his mother tells him. “Our problems usually don’t seem quite as scary in the light of day.”

Leon is a good son, so he follows her instructions. Or at least, he does eventually. It takes him a long time to fall asleep, since the sheer embarrassment and mortification of the night gives him another jolt every time he closes his eyes, but he gets there in the end. It’s restless and uneven, but at least he keeps his word to Matthew.

_____

Matthew hasn’t emerged yet when Leon wakes up, with a sore neck and a headache even though he had way less to drink last night than some people. At least Matthew’s coffee maker is a simple model. He stumbles into the kitchen when the pot Leon started is almost ready, also looking a little worse for wear.

“Hey,” he says. “I have multiple guest rooms, you know.” Leon knows – he looked in two of them last night before finding Matthew’s room – but it didn’t seem appropriate to just help himself to Matthew’s space when he hadn’t actually been given permission. He says as much. “Well. Thank you for getting me home. And for making coffee.” Matthew is looking at him expectantly. Leon digs down deep into his guts to dredge up every bit of courage he can.

“Matthew, I owe you an apology.”

“For what?” Matthew asks. Leon pulls in a deep breath. He can’t even look Matthew in the eye when he answers him.

“For the dreams.”

“For the—it was you?”

Leon nods. He can’t feel his hands. “I swear to you, I had no idea I was doing it. I never, ever meant to project any of that onto you. It’s been a long time since I had to work to control it, and I guess I got sloppy…I’m really, really sorry. I don’t know how to make it up to you.” His voice sounds desperate and pathetic even to his own ears, so he can’t imagine what Matthew must be thinking. Matthew’s face doesn’t betray anything. He mostly looks confused.

“But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would you do that to try to knock me off my game? Why would you do it by accident?”

“Knock you off your game?” What is he talking about?

“Yeah!” Matthew says. Now he’s starting to sound kind of angry again. Leon braces himself. “Brady and I figured it out – someone was trying to mess with my play by giving me weird dreams. But you don’t—and you just said you didn’t mean to project it, so—I don’t get it.”

He really doesn’t get it. He has no clue what’s been happening or why it’s all Leon’s fault. Leon is going to have to spell it out, and then go hide in a cave forever. Maybe he should book one of those cruises to Antarctica and forget to get back on the ship at the end.

“Matthew, I wasn’t trying to mess with your game,” Leon says. “I was…I was just imagining. What I wanted. And I guess it was just so strong that it…went to you too. That can happen sometimes even when you don’t mean to do it.”

“What you wanted.”

“I’m sorry,” Leon whispers. That sick, heavy feeling from last night is back. He’s never been more sorry for anything in his entire life. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t intend for you to find out, certainly not like this. I promise I have it under control. I won’t make things weird again.” He has to look away from Matthew for a second time, can’t bear to see the hate in his eyes when he tears Leon to pieces.

But that’s not what happens.

After what might be thirty seconds or an hour, Matthew’s feet appear in his line of vision.

“You’re an idiot.”

When Leon looks up, Matthew kisses him.

[chaoticproductivity]

Love in 3 A.U. - ... end.

[2/5]

이음악을빌려너에게나전할게 I’ll borrow this music and tell you 사람들은말해세상이다변했대 People say the world has changed 다행히도우리사이는아직여태안변했네 Thankfully, between you and I, it’s still the same

The sound of falling boxes, shattering glass, and the grunt of an old ninja made Hinata pause in the doorway of Naruto’s office, trying to understand whether the Sasuke buried under her late husband’s belongings needed any help—or maybe a trip to the hospital—but she dismissed the idea as soon as he merely sat up, rubbing his lower back. Despite his age, he was still the strongest shinobi alive; he would be fine.

At least physically.

She placed a tray with steaming teacups where she could on the cluttered table, cleared what she could from a chair, and sat down as the Uchiha stood and walked across the small office to approach her.

'Any progress?'

'None,' Sasuke said, sitting on a stack of books that Naruto likely kept only as decoration since their spines were intact and the edges of the pages were stained from disuse. 'That idiot never understood the need for an organization system.'

Hinata laughed, knowing the truth of those words.

'Do you think we’ll manage to finish organizing everything by the end of the season?'

'If the season is summer, it’s possible.'

They left the office, teacups in hand, and went to the winter garden, where Hinata had set the teapot and some snacks for their break.

The glass doors and walls let them see the beauty of the snow falling in the backyard of the Uzumaki residence, all from the warmth of the insulated room. In one corner stood a modest cabinet where Hinata kept her gardening supplies, craft materials, and personal and family documents.

While Naruto’s office was a proper room—in reality, it was used as a storage space, as the Hokage rarely worked from home—Hinata had converted the space she had, working as best she could.

'Did you finish sorting out the clothes?'

'Yes, they’re in the genkan .'

'Are you sure you don’t want to keep anything?'

Hinata nodded, lowering her gaze. Her hair, long as it had been in her youth, was braided, with a few strands falling across her face. She looked exactly her age and bore all the grief she was going through.

'The history department at the Fire University requested some of the clothes to be preserved in their archives. The Hokage hat and cloak, the orange jackets that are more patches than proper fabric by now, his headband…' Hinata set her teacup down. She’d managed to eat half of a mochi stuffed with azuki beans. 'I have no reason to keep his clothes. The smell of him has already faded from our bed… The same will happen with the clothes.'

Sasuke nodded, understanding how she felt. He had Naruto’s memories stored in his Sharingan as well as in his heart and could relive them anytime he wanted—the gestures, the mannerisms, the voice, the expressions, the words, the emotions—but even his powerful bloodline had no way to preserve scents.

'There’s all sorts of junk kept in that office,' Sasuke commented after they had spent a few minutes in silence, just watching the snow and sipping their tea.

'I wouldn’t be surprised if you found something alive in there, Sasuke-kun,' she replied. 'Or something rotting.'

Sasuke half-snorted, half-grunted, which Hinata recognized as one of the few ways he knew how to show amusement.

When she married Naruto 47 years ago, she didn’t know Sasuke would come as part of the deal. At least, given the Uchiha’s personality and his wandering spirit—‘itinerant’ or even ‘nomadic’ might be better words—she hadn’t expected him to be a constant presence in her home and in her life.

She had been wrong.

She suspected even Sasuke himself wasn’t sure how that had happened.

Appropriately, Uzumaki Naruto attracted people to him like a powerful whirlpool.

'I’ll make spaghetti for dinner.'

'Is the curry gone already?' Hinata nodded.

'We’ll need to go to the market soon,' Sasuke nodded back.

'We haven’t left the house in five days.'

'It’s cold.'

'Winter is your favorite season.'

'It used to be,' Hinata replied, pulling her cardigan closed and rubbing her aged hands along her arms. 'These days, I feel the cold down to my bones.'

'With that water chakra of yours...' Sasuke stood up, his knee popping audibly as he headed back into the house, his slippers shuffling across the polished floor. Hinata smiled to herself at the remark she had heard a thousand times. She got up and headed to the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

When Sasuke returned, finding her with water already boiling on the stove, the portion of pasta separated for cooking, and the sauce halfway done, he made her set down the heavy knives she was using to mince the meat.

'Go soak in the ofuro before the water cools—it’ll warm up those old bones of yours.' He nudged her toward the upstairs bathroom by the shoulders. 'I’ll finish up dinner,' he added before she could protest.

'Don’t you want to join me? We can save water.'

'I’m not falling for that again tonight.' Because he had given in to that suggestion the night before.

Hinata didn’t insist. She knew he would give in easily if she pressed, but she didn’t. They had bathed together the previous night—and many, many nights before that, with Naruto and without him—but there were different kinds of peace in shared intimacy and in solitary intimacy, and tonight, Hinata wanted to feel a bit of the latter.

Sasuke left, closing the sliding door behind him. Hinata didn’t lock it; she hadn’t needed to lock doors since the children had left home, and at her age, it had even become a bit of a hazard despite her still-active ninja status.

She leaned on the sink as she undressed in the ‘anteroom’ they had set up to disrobe before entering the bathing room proper, and she caught sight of Naruto’s orange toothbrush, which she hadn’t yet managed to touch. It looked like a child’s toothbrush, with the bristles slightly worn. She had managed to talk Naruto out of buying children’s toothbrushes, but never out of buying the five-color multipacks. It worked for them, since the other colors were purple, blue, red, and pink, which ended up for the other family members. Now only the purple and blue ones were still in use, slightly damp from the last time Hinata and Sasuke brushed their teeth.

She kept the orange one there, as if Naruto still needed it. Every morning, she thought of throwing it away and changed her mind.

Apparently, Sasuke couldn't get himself to do it either.

[wuxiaphoenix]

Hurricanes: A Brief Suggestion

I’m writing this inspired by a full-on double facepalm the other day watching a tow truck haul wrecks out of a gas station. People, when it comes to hurricanes, like any other crisis situation, the first rule is don’t panic.

(The time to panic is when you are trapped in your attic and the house is still flooding. Don’t be those guys.)

So. Yes. When I was writing this, there was potential for Helene to hit somewhere on the Gulf Coast, at the time predicted to most likely be somewhere in the Big Bend area. Which practically means anywhere from Mississippi to south of Tampa, but hey.

I live down here, so I check all my hurricane supplies before the beginning of every hurricane season. Meaning yes, June. And then I just keep rotating stuff like bottled water, nonperishable food, batteries, etc. That way when something is predicted to be heading this way, I just pick up a few extra things to round out what we’ve got and call it a day.

...This is also why I never let the car get below half a tank. Trying to find gas after a hurricane is Not a Good Idea. First off, the roads may be covered in debris that can shred your tires, water that can sink you, or other nasty problems. (Including alligators.) Second, the stations may not have power to pump. Third, they may be out of gas. It’s happened. Especially with people grabbing all they can to run generators full blast.

So if you’re not local and you find yourself in the path of a storm? Again, don’t panic.

First, check your elevation. Google Maps often has this info. If you’re above about 14 feet, and not right on the shore, just take a breath. Storm surge is unlikely to flood you - and that is the biggest killer. If you have height, and the place you’re in is more solid than a trailer, then staying put may be the best policy. It’s definitely safer than getting on the road at the last minute.

This does not apply if you depend on medications that need to be stored at standard room temperature. If that’s your situation, go. Just go. Hurricanes wreck power grids, always, and the life you save is definitely going to be your own.

Second, if you’re going to evacuate, do it at least 24 hours before landfall. Hopefully 48. The sooner the better. Roads clog up very fast - especially when everyone who does live on the coast decides to bring their boat too. Drive carefully, do not speed, and remember too many people around you are... agitated. To say the least.

Third, if you’re staying put, make sure you have plenty of water. You can fill empty bottles from the tap before the storm hits, for one. You don’t just want it for drinking - though you’re going to want a lot for drinking, especially if there’s no power and no air conditioning. But you also want water to flush toilets, brush your teeth, and sponge off for cleanliness when there’s no shower or bath. You may even need some for handwashing clothes, depends on your situation.

Fourth - hand can openers. And bug spray. You may get windows broken, and the bugs will be everywhere. You’ll essentially be camping inside; even if power lasts through the storm it may go down after when they have to turn main lines off to fix breaks.

Fifth, think of your pets, if any. How would they fare with no power or running water? Either prep for them or prepare to evacuate with them. Note that many emergency shelters will not take pets in. Plan accordingly.

Sixth, communications. No power means cell phones may be of limited use. How will you communicate with neighbors? Local emergency services? Worried relatives out of the state?

There’s more, a lot more; you can find specific hurricane preparation advice on most county websites in the Gulf states. But this should hopefully get you started on what problems you face!

...And maybe start thinking about how you’ll deal with everyone who didn’t think ahead....

[mike-haters-dni]

Some S5 Ideas, Before Information Starts Coming Out And They Get Destroyed lol, Pt. I

Part II | Part I.V

Roughly ordered from most to least likely to actually happen, but I'm at most like 50% on any of these. Except for the first one which is a 100% :)

No one dies. Yeah, that’s right. Maiming is on the table tho.

The Duffs said we were getting the original groups back together so I’m running with the idea that our boys (and girl) spend the majority of the season as a unit. (yes, this is mostly about the party, I only think about them lmao)

Mike and El have twin arcs that center around responsibility. They are both officially named the party’s leaders who get the last say on anything the group does, specifically for dangerous situations to make sure the group works together. Technically El is the Supreme Leader who gets the final say if they disagree on anything and generally isn't argued with, but Mike is more often coming up with and overseeing plans. They both take this role very seriously, and end up putting perhaps unnecessary pressure on themselves. They both feel responsible for keeping everyone safe, to the point where they would gladly sacrifice themselves if it meant making sure no one else got hurt or died. Mike grapples with his own fears and starts to buckle under this newfound feeling of being responsible for his friends lives, while El also feels the larger responsibility of being the only person with the power to actually fix the apocalypse. Does this mean she has to be willing to do absolutely anything to fix it? Is she even actually the only solution? Does she have to prioritize saving the world over saving her friends?

Lucas of course feels horrible about “letting” max die and funnels his regret into training to make sure he never loses a fight again. As soon as they figure out a plan to get her back he’s on the warpath, and ends up making some game-winning (and very risky, much to Mike's chagrin) plays for the mission.

Will’s arc is about him finding his own self-worth, and ends with him getting to physically defeat the representation of his trauma.

Nancy teaches Mike how to shoot a gun.

Hawkins gets destroyed. I want it destroyed. The rot from the gates and the gates themselves spread over time and eventually monsters come pouring out, making the area completely inhabitable and everyone gets evacuated and the town is closed off. Of course, our heroes eventually have to sneak back into it to fix The Plot. Imagine a scene where they go to the Wheeler house looking for something and have this terrible “oh shit. Nothing is ever going to be the same again” moment as they see how broken down and destroyed everything is. Our homes are destroyed and there’s no going back. It’s like a metaphor.

Everyone ends up having to begrudgingly work with the government/military to fix Hawkins cuz I mean, there's no way they’re leaving the area of this insane alien disaster and someone on the Alien Disaster Response Team is going to know about Eleven and realize that she’s their best resource for fixing this (again lol). Our heroes agree to this because they don’t really have a choice, plus the military has a ton of resources that they can steal utilize.

I also want that timeskip. A lot of it is spent in a makeshift military base in the next town over trying to figure out how to approach the Vecna problem, who has been weirdly absent for too long. There’s very much a held-breath, dread vibe during this section.

During this lull, everyone trains to become apocalypse-ready, and El finally gets an unironic, non-trauma-based training arc to become the finely-honed, superpowered boss bitch she was always meant to be.

Also Dustin learns a good deal about field medicine, which becomes a skill that he utilizes at least once in a very life-or-death situation later.

The other half/two-thirds of the story is spent traveling to the heart of the apocalyptic Hawkins after confirming the military can’t be trusted.

Will gets slightly more utility out of his monster sensing powers/curse than just being able to tell that the giant ominous rumbling is danger, actually. He can more or less read their minds and sense where they are in an area, which allows the group to avoid or ambush them. It would also be really cool if there was some moment where he sensed some goal the monsters had and it was all spooky and cryptic, or he figures out a way to mask his presence from them and there's a tense scene where he sneaks through a heavily infested area to get to something. Idk, the show’s scifi magic system barely has rules anyway we can have fun with it.

Max gets woken up halfway through the season and has some important new information that is the key to stopping Vecna. I like the idea that she retains like 20% vision and her bones healed through the coma (and the timeskip cough), so she forces the boys to bring her with them on the final mission to end everything despite their reasonable concerns about her physical state. Just so we can have the whole group together.

Continuing the responsibility theme, the idea of El having to sacrifice herself to fix everything is brought up multiple times. She never argues with this—its clear she agrees on some level, but then when the moment comes for her to do the thing and die to save the world, she decides “fuck it, I wanna live actually” and fights her way back to her friends.

The one time someone (Dustin) is brave (dumb) enough to suggest El sacrificing herself in front of Mike he almost spontaneously combusts with rage and gets to say the one ‘fuck’ of the season. I would say lmao but its actually a very intense emotional scene ok take this seriously please.

Mike finally gets a real Violence Moment (checkhov did lend him a gun). As well as anyone else that wants one.

It would be fun to see Dustin like legitimately bitter and angry after what happened to Eddie. He blames the townspeople for Eddie’s death and generally lacks empathy for anyone opposing them. Not sure how that would wrap up for him though.

El loses her powers permanently at the end of the show. I just think it would be a good ending for her to finally get to be normal, and not have the government breathing down her back (as much) anymore.

Part II | Part I.V

[icequeen1371]

You can tell people that grew up, or are still middle income, or being taken care of by middle income, parents, or grew up in a house where there’s money. But they didn’t consider themselves rich or are rich. Just saw someone post something supposedly helpful. A list of 13 things people “usually have in their kitchen“ but can’t think of what to make for a meal. Meanwhile, no, not everyone has avocados and green bread or eggs let alone, fruits and vegetables in their fridge. Do you want to talk about making a meal? How about you? Talk about the bread, the ketchup, the mustard, no eggs, pasta, and maybe a can of pasta sauce, and a leftover container of butter in the fridge. Make some pasta, put a little bit of margarine on that to loosen up the noodles, a splash of sauce, couple of cheese slices to melt within the pasta stirred up at salt and pepper a bit of garlic powder some Parsley, because those are all found at the dollar store. And you have yourself a meal. If you do have eggs, you could put those on toast and make a toasted egg sandwich. If you’re lucky enough to have peanut butter in the house call me you can make a toasted peanut butter sandwich. A lot of it depends on bread. If you have no bread, depends on pasta. Pasta is really cheap but the dollar store. There’s not much room in a freezer when you’re low income because you deal with the freezer that you have in the apartment that you’re renting. So bread has to be a weekly thing, make sure you have $10 on top of the fridge or in the cupboard put away specifically to go buy bread every week. Because a lot of times if you don’t have bread, you can’t eat. Bags from the dollar store are a good thing, makes you feel like you actually have something to drink besides water from the tap. Get a bag of sugar and use it sparingly don’t have super sweet tea. Otherwise she’ll run out fast. Milk always runs out. That’s why I always kept a can of carnation milk in the cupboard just in case. You can always water it down for cereal if you’re desperate. If it’s cold, you can’t really tell. Canned vegetables, canned fruit. They can last along time you don’t have to worry about them. Going to waste in the fridge. Ramen noodles, there’s 1 million recipes for those out now. Get all your spices at the dollar store. Eggs and tuna are always great protein but don’t spoil fast. Learn how to love drinking water from the tap. Buy a case and refill the water bottles but don’t forget to clean the lids and the rims at least once a week and if the bottles get cloudy? Throw them out and save for another case. Yes, I said save because some people don’t have a three dollars to spend on a case of water or don’t want to spend the money on non-reusable plastic. You can always pick up some water bottles from the dollar store that are reusable and fill those up in your fridge. Just don’t forget to wash them with the dishes at least once a week. Can’t exactly offer those people when your mouth has been all over them. Lol so always make sure you at least have a couple bottles put away for guests. Get to love no name brand soda. When you have money to treat yourself get namebrand. But not like a case of it or something. And a case is always cheaper in the long run than just one 2 L bottle, so you can afford it ration it out. It’s not actually that bad. Cinnamon sugar on toast, a can of tuna mixed with a Lipton sidekick creamy Parmesan with half a can of peas, mix that up well with a little salt and pepper and you’ve got tuna casserole for two people. Three people if you have a little salad on the side. or you can make garlic bread. Even if you’re using slices of bread. Toast them, then butter them, add a little bit of garlic and herb seasoning to each one with a little handful of cheese, or even just some Parmesan cheese shaken on top. Let that toast, got some real cheap and garlic bread. Pretty tasty if you’re in a pinch. And you’re not bougie like people are now. I’ve had to put ketchup in hot water with half a can of mixed vegetables to make myself some soup before. Cheap eating is a skill.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

Yes, hello! I am currently dealing with allergies in my dorm room. May I please have any of the Noah's Ark Circus crew taking care of an s/o who has an awful case of allergies? I'm talking similar to seasonal allergies but year-round and unpredictable AF. I hope I'm not asking too much.

never too much! aaaaaaaa

Well, she’s doin’ the best she can, but… wot exac’ly is she s’posed t’ do?? Other than fetch you anything you need, which she’s already doing. It’s not as if she knows of anything that can make a person stop sneezing, after all. And, although she sometimes gets a little irritated by the repetitive noises when symptoms crop up, she knows it’s a her problem and not your fault. She’s definitely sure that you’re infinitely more irritated with it all than she could ever be. Still, the best way to help eludes her… you just tell her what you need and she’ll do it, she simply doesn’t have any ideas of her own which might help. Other than giving you kisses on the cheek and running a loving hand through your hair, as long as you’re alright with that. She can’t ‘fix’ anything; she’s a great emotional support, though, and maybe that’s all she really needs to be.

Errrrr… damn… ‘e don’t s’pose some kinda tea might ‘elp, would it? The first time he experiences this he’s almost in shock, seeing that they’re treating it like this is normal for them. He’s pretty sure something like that would drive him mad — regular hayfever in the spring is bad enough! Despite that he might get a little bit of it himself, it’s nowhere near as severe as (Name)’s, and at least that slight bit he goes through lasts only a couple of months. He’s the type to dote as much as he can, offering possible remedies that he’s asked around about and reminding his S/O every so often that he’ll do whatever they need him to. It makes him pout some, to see them in a not insignificant amount of misery with nothing he can do about it. At least he’s there, so he prides himself on making sure he takes very good care of them.

Lord, but they never seen someone sneeze so many times in a row! Ain’t (Name) dizzy?? If nothing else, they understand that yes, their darling is probably a little lightheaded from all that. Immediately following any kind of allergy attack, Freckles is quick to let their S/O lean on them, or they’ll reach over to steady their sweetheart. They have no shame in the way that they try to help, mainly because it’s the kind of thing they’d hope someone who loved them would do for them. That’s what it should be, shouldn’t it, to treat someone you love the way you want to be treated? Of course, they’re forever giggling about it, teasing their S/O: “Oi, y’ exaggeratin’ this jus’ ‘cause y’ want me t’ ‘old y’? Y’ don’t need an excuse f’r that!” It’s mostly an effort to get them to smile and make them feel a little better during moments that might be a struggle. None of it really bothers Freckles, and they’re perfectly willing to ask what they can do to be of help. Whatever their darling needs, they’ll get!

Haha, goodness… they’re a sight! Aww, ‘e ain’t laughin’ at ‘em, ‘e’s jus’… th’ situation’s a li’l funny! While he’s never really seen someone with these kinds of allergies before, he can certainly imagine that it’s not a good time at all. He and his family have run into a lot of different people in their lives, so this sort of thing doesn’t really surprise him despite it being something he’s never encountered until now. Honestly, his poor darling; he’ll have to take them to visit Doc and see if there isn’t anything which might take the edge off, however small it may be. Aside from that, he’s always more than glad to take care of them. All they need to do is tell him what they need, and as long as it’s something that’s physically and financially possible, he’ll find a way to make it happen. He also thinks he’s hilarious, because he counts their sneezes, and gives them a half-affectionate, half-cheeky, “Bless ye ten times, m’ love!” once they’re finally done. Just smack him to train him out of that habit!

Wot the devil… are they alright?? They’re not comin’ down with somethin’, are they? He’s far more likely to assume it’s illness, (mostly in the beginning), than he is to think it’s some kind of year-long hayfever sort of condition. Although he hasn’t ever heard of anything like that, he doesn’t have any problems accepting that’s what’s going on once they tell him. It makes him wince a little whenever they complain about their eyes watering, because he’s had his own issues with vision, and he’s a bit scared that it could lead to them not being able to see. Thankfully, he doesn’t often show his fear, and just does whatever they need him to do. If they’re okay with him carrying them around just in case they start sneezing, so that they don’t get dizzy, he’ll do that. As well, they don’t need to do anything other than mention something that may help, and he’s off to go get it or set it up or whatever they need. He doesn’t think anything of it, but he’s really incredibly attentive.

Good God, wot is goin’ on with them?! Even when ‘e’s sick as ‘ell, ‘e don’t sneeze or sniffle ‘alf as much as they do! Much like Jumbo, Peter is definitely inclined to think it’s a cold or something rather than allergies. While he’s got his own respiratory and immune issues, well… he complains in the beginning that his beloved is “bein’ drama’ic, surely it can’t be that bad??” He thinks they’re exaggerating for sympathy and rolls his eyes a little. (This has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he’s sometimes faked an extra sneeze or two so that he can ‘prove’ he’s so sick and has to sit out practice or performances. Nope. No projecting here.) Once it clicks that they literally can’t help it, he freaks out in a panic that he was so mean. It’s like watching a switch flip — he’s suddenly at their beck and call, fetching whatever he thinks they’ll need even before he thinks they’re going to ask for it. He surely feels bad about acting so dismissive, so he desperately wants to make it up to them. He might even apologize as he’s trying to take care of them. Dammit, he doesn’t want them to suffer!

(… How many times was that?) Hm. Not sure, Emily. Seven, was it? (Good grief. They’re never going to stop, are they?) Both he and his friends are all startled the first couple of times they see it happen. Actually, it’s a little funny, because Snake tends to sneeze at least five times in a row whenever he does, so he’s borderline relieved to see that it isn’t just him that happens to. Of course, he’s usually sick when he does, and he’s practiced for years to try to keep his from being noticed. (Name) looks a little dazed and annoyed, just… not really surprised. And they don’t seem ill. Tsk. Even though he doesn’t know exactly what it is, other than some kind of long-term hayfever, he knows that any cold remedies probably won’t work. So he tries some of the folk remedies for hayfever that he knows, gently sliding them over toward his sweetheart with eager eyes that beg them to try it. It puts him in pain to see them suffering, so he wants to ease it a little, if he can. If nothing else, he’s content to curl up with them and just… be there. Emotional support Snake, all the way.

One, two, three, four… Lord, ain’t it ever gonna let go of ‘em? They jus’ look so damn itchy ‘n’ uncomf’table! She couldn’t imagine having to sneeze so many times in a row, and coupled with the sniffling and watery eyes that apparently come with whatever this is, she’s quietly worried about her S/O. It extends into her going to see Doc, asking about if such a thing is normal and if anything might be able to help her darling out. That must get old, and she certainly knows how old it gets from the fact that she and Peter tend to catch a cold seemingly every two weeks in the winter. As far as she can picture, that’s a taste of what this year-round hayfever must be like for (Name). If they could see through their sneezing, they’d notice her watching them with a blatantly concerned expression whenever it happens. As small as she is, she thinks she can give them some help, or at least be of comfort. It’s not going to stop her from trying, anyway, so she likes to just lie down with them as often as she can, an attempt to get them away from whatever might be bothering them and a chance to relax. If they tell her anything will help, she’s prepared to go get it. She just… she wants to take care of them. Any way she can.