#make your painfully obvious reaction posts and tags go on

[chatonnoir]

“you’re just mad because it’s not ur favorite side that’s canon!!!11!!1″ no lol I would’ve been annoyed if they went with pre-reveal ladynoir too because it would’ve been taking the easy way out of having Marinette face her fears regarding Adrien. Some of us do actually care about satisfying development in our ships rather than just wanting to see them become canon I know it’s a shocking concept

and y’all somehow still aren’t getting it because y’all really think the lovesquare sides are just surface level: Adrienette is not the “endgame” or “true” ship or whatever y'all call it when y’all are like “obviously adrienette was always going to be endgame when the masks came off” etc etc. The dynamics from all sides meld in to one post-reveal. When they’re married post-reveal and comfortable with each other and joking and being playful with each other as a grown married couple they will not have gotten that from the Adrienette side, that’s literally going to be the Ladynoir in them and that’s that 🤷🏽‍♀️

The show wants me to believe Ladynoir can’t be together pre-reveal because they have secrets and can’t share their identities!!!!! But then Adrienette can apparently date while keeping enormous secrets from each other, secrets that neither of them knows the other has whereas at least Ladynoir knows exactly what they can’t tell each other yet. Sure jan

ML pretty obviously takes insp from Spider-Man/the Rami Spider-Man movies but the whole “Mary Jane gets over her infatuation for Spider-Man and realizes she loves Peter Parker” plot point from those movies was not needed here!!!!!!! Adrien Agreste is not Mary Jane or Lois Lane because he is Chat Noir and his love for Ladybug is true and deep and based in a real bond and not some celebrity infatuation ~~~bLiNdInG~~~ him from seeing Normal Girl Marinette!!!!!! ~Getting Over Ladybug And Noticing NormalGirl~ was never the character development he needed to go through!!!!! Yet this plot point seems to want to me to think that ackshually Adrien forgetting Ladybug and going after Marinette really was the only thing that needed to change for them to get together, everything else was fluff to extend the runtime

And yet even with that plotpoint those Spider-Man movies didn’t let Mary Jane and Spider-Man get together till AFTER Spider-Man’s identity reveal (same with Amazing Spider-Man where they kissed immediately AFTER Peter revealed his identity to Gwen). Spider-Man did it better: Peter pined after Mary Jane for the whole first movie while she only saw him as a friend, before she finally realized her feelings and confessed she loved him, only for him, in a heartbreaking twist at the very end, to tell her that he could only be her friend, all because he realized being with her would put her life at risk. Peter endured breaking Mary Jane’s heart and watching her be with another guy and they didn’t end up together until after Mary Jane learned his identity and understood why he really rejected her and what he was going through in the 2nd movie.

these tags basically summed it up yes this plot point is stupid af because if I’d wanted some generic shy awkward girl x popular boy school romance plot I’d have chosen to watch something like Kimi ni Todoke which does a much better job of it, I chose to watch ML because I was sold a four-sided Love Square and advertised a superhero romance and instead I opened the box to get another generic school romance with the other sides left dead in the dust lol. Something appealing to me about lovesquare was that many of the dynamics within it bring something unique and hard to find elsewhere to the table and frankly pre-reveal adrienette dating is not one of them.

and apparently Marinette not being ready to kiss Adrien is a whole invented drama within this arc that I have to sit through now too even though she had no problems doing so in Chat Blanc god give me a break y’all are creating this fake suspense even though y’all already HAD a real adrienette kiss and pre-reveal dating plot in Chat Blanc just to repeat it again while negating that characterization for what

Apparently 4 seasons of lovesquare development didn’t really amount to anything because Marinette didn’t really need to face her fear of rejection and confess anything and Ladybug didn’t really need to fall for Chat Noir and the identities were never really a pressing matter because according to this plot all they really needed all along was for Adrien to forget about Ladybug and ask Marinette out. Soooo easy! Love to see that 4 seasons of developing Ladybug’s feelings for Chat Noir amounted to 2 whole days of loving Chat Noir followed by Ladybug and Chat Noir ...... literally giving up their kwamis with apparently zero concerns or hurt feelings over not getting to say goodbye to their best friend and once-crush. Fuck “us against the world” I guess??? They were just going to ghost each other in order to get laid and just weren’t going to worry about each other at all???? What happened to “I’ll never abandon you Kitty,” is Ladybug not at all worried about disappearing on Chat Noir again, and Chat Noir isn’t worried about losing Ladybug??? Apparently the whole of the s4 conflict really was just about making Adrien ~gEt OvEr LaDyBuG~ and realize she'd never love him in order to get him to focus on Marinette, not about bringing them closer, because clearly they're unconcerned about ditching their best friend. Dude what show am I watching??? If this isn’t at all addressed in part 2 I’ll go insane. Adrien’s just all about Marinette now to the point that he forgets about Ladybug and Plagg within 2 seconds of giving up his ring because weee I can go to Marinette’s house! And the fandom seems to be the same like who cares about how weird any of this is when uwuuuwuu they’re so cute obviously it was always adrinette 4everrrr

The kwamis also just shouldn't be able to get in the way of them making their own decisions smfh if Marinette was going to tell Adrien she's Ladybug then it should've just happened. It was literally the perfect point in the story to have them reveal!!! To think we could’ve been having a grand ol time having all these eps being PRPR, the best dynamic and the one with so much potential left untapped and unexplored and the one that would’ve been so interesting to watch unfold over the season as they tried to get used to each other’s identities and how to act in their New relationship dynamic while getting closer and closer, but no instead I have to sit here and pretend I'm not snoring over this pre-reveal generic school romance and invented drama “when will they finally kiss?????” suspense

y’all try to talk about how adrienette needed this development to happen like no, they needed it to happen while they were friends, they needed to get closer like this 2 seasons ago, skipping the pointless love rival bullshit plot that only exists to extend the time they spend apart and skipping all the nonsensical sabotaging of marinette’s actual genuine attempts to spend time with adrien and instead showing them spending more time together and as friends and letting marinette grow more comfortable and gain the confidence to face her fears regarding adrien. If not that, then have them get closer in post-reveal pre-relationship. They did not need to date at all pre-reveal for this development. making it easy for marinette by having her already know her feelings are requited is not satisfying development lmao. it’s disappointing to me when as of the start of s5 adrienette’s friendship is still sorely lacking in closeness and comfort and trust compared to ladynoir and it’s baffling that y’all somehow think it’s satisfying for them to start dating while still barely out of that state and that Dating is somehow the best way to develop their underdeveloped Friendship

also baffling that this show decided to sell $300 romantic ladynoir statues and base all their advertising imagery on ladynoir and make some of the most emotionally charged episodes like glaciator and chat blanc focus on ladynoir when apparently the resolution to this love story was always going to amount to "adrien and marinette forget about their superhero partners and decide to start dating but oh noooo marinette can't kiss adrien yet even though she was perfectly fine doing it before and the next half of the season will be focused on this dynamic!!!!!"

friendzone ladynoir and pre-reveal romantic adrienette is the most boring asinine route they could’ve gone with lovesquare actually idc

[kouxbe]

“really?” the disappointment on the coach’s face is so heavy it’s a wonder it doesn’t simply fall to the ground in a dull splat. even before he spoke, it’s painfully obvious that he is incredibly unimpressed with your latest evaluation check-in.

“we signed you because of your talent, but that doesn’t mean that we only want you doing one thing for the rest of your career. if you’re going to make it to debut, and beyond that, you need to be more than just a one-trick pony.” he sighs, taking a pause to rub his temples. “who is the most successful idol you can think of? yuna? yoojung? j-yoon? think about what they can do, how many different talents they show. in yoojung and j-yoon’s case, how they can stand out both in a group and survive as successful soloists. they’re all multi-talented and they’re able to impress with all of their performing abilities.”

the coach looks you over with a disdainful look, as if anyone has forgotten his dislike for your last skills check.

“you,” he says the word like it tastes bitter in his mouth, “you’re not impressive at all yet. you’re good at one thing, maybe two, but you could be better.”

with another sigh, the man walks a few steps away and takes a sip of his coffee resting on a desk in the corner of the room. you know better than to assume that you’re dismissed just because he’s not talking to you at this exact moment. there’s still the sense of something more to come. coaches rarely give scoldings without tasks to follow, ways to improve the thing they’re picking on. they may be harsh, but you should know that they’re only trying to help you improve.

“for the next seven days, i want you to dedicate your free practice time to your weakest skill. show me that you’re taking this seriously. i want to see improvement by the next time we meet. i’m not asking you to become a master overnight, but just show us that you’re trying. prove to us that we can still make a superstar out of you.”

with that, you’re dismissed and told to resume your lessons.

OOC:

thank you for redeeming your chance token! your muse now has 4 chance tokens remaining.

please post this prompt (even without a response) within a week of receiving it. the point changes from the prompt must be applied to your points sheet even if you do not write a response.

INSTRUCTIONS: 

respond to this prompt with a solo of any length about your muse’s reaction to the coach’s feedback or how they practice their weakest performing skill.

no form is necessary to submit to the points verification blog, but please publish this submission and link to this post on your points sheet.

please tag this post and your solo (if posted separately) with #be:takeachance.

POINTS RECEIVED:

+5 WEAKEST PERFORMANCE SKILL (sing, dance, or rap)

POINTS LOST:

none!

[bechaerin]

“really?” the disappointment on the coach’s face is so heavy it’s a wonder it doesn’t simply fall to the ground in a dull splat. even before he spoke, it’s painfully obvious that he is incredibly unimpressed with your latest evaluation check-in.

“we signed you because of your talent, but that doesn’t mean that we only want you doing one thing for the rest of your career. if you’re going to make it to debut, and beyond that, you need to be more than just a one-trick pony.” he sighs, taking a pause to rub his temples. “who is the most successful idol you can think of? yuna? yoojung? j-yoon? think about what they can do, how many different talents they show. in yoojung and j-yoon’s case, how they can stand out both in a group and survive as successful soloists. they’re all multi-talented and they’re able to impress with all of their performing abilities.”

the coach looks you over with a disdainful look, as if anyone has forgotten his dislike for your last skills check.

“you,” he says the word like it tastes bitter in his mouth, “you’re not impressive at all yet. you’re good at one thing, maybe two, but you could be better.”

with another sigh, the man walks a few steps away and takes a sip of his coffee resting on a desk in the corner of the room. you know better than to assume that you’re dismissed just because he’s not talking to you at this exact moment. there’s still the sense of something more to come. coaches rarely give scoldings without tasks to follow, ways to improve the thing they’re picking on. they may be harsh, but you should know that they’re only trying to help you improve.

“for the next seven days, i want you to dedicate your free practice time to your weakest skill. show me that you’re taking this seriously. i want to see improvement by the next time we meet. i’m not asking you to become a master overnight, but just show us that you’re trying. prove to us that we can still make a superstar out of you.”

with that, you’re dismissed and told to resume your lessons.

OOC:

thank you for redeeming your chance token! your muse now has 3 chance tokens remaining.

please post this prompt (even without a response) within a week of receiving it. the point changes from the prompt must be applied to your points sheet even if you do not write a response.

INSTRUCTIONS: 

respond to this prompt with a solo of any length about your muse’s reaction to the coach’s feedback or how they practice their weakest performing skill.

no form is necessary to submit to the points verification blog, but please publish this submission and link to this post on your points sheet.

please tag this post and your solo (if posted separately) with #be:takeachance.

POINTS RECEIVED:

+5 WEAKEST PERFORMANCE SKILL (sing, dance, or rap)

POINTS LOST:

none! 

[beyuji]

“really?” the disappointment on the coach’s face is so heavy it’s a wonder it doesn’t simply fall to the ground in a dull splat. even before he spoke, it’s painfully obvious that he is incredibly unimpressed with your latest evaluation check-in.

“we signed you because of your talent, but that doesn’t mean that we only want you doing one thing for the rest of your career. if you’re going to make it to debut, and beyond that, you need to be more than just a one-trick pony.” he sighs, taking a pause to rub his temples. “who is the most successful idol you can think of? yuna? yoojung? j-yoon? think about what they can do, how many different talents they show. in yoojung and j-yoon’s case, how they can stand out both in a group and survive as successful soloists. they’re all multi-talented and they’re able to impress with all of their performing abilities.”

the coach looks you over with a disdainful look, as if anyone has forgotten his dislike for your last skills check.

“you,” he says the word like it tastes bitter in his mouth, “you’re not impressive at all yet. you’re good at one thing, maybe two, but you could be better.”

with another sigh, the man walks a few steps away and takes a sip of his coffee resting on a desk in the corner of the room. you know better than to assume that you’re dismissed just because he’s not talking to you at this exact moment. there’s still the sense of something more to come. coaches rarely give scoldings without tasks to follow, ways to improve the thing they’re picking on. they may be harsh, but you should know that they’re only trying to help you improve.

“for the next seven days, i want you to dedicate your free practice time to your weakest skill. show me that you’re taking this seriously. i want to see improvement by the next time we meet. i’m not asking you to become a master overnight, but just show us that you’re trying. prove to us that we can still make a superstar out of you.”

with that, you’re dismissed and told to resume your lessons.

OOC:

please post this prompt (even without a response) within a week of receiving it. the point changes from the prompt must be applied to your points sheet even if you do not write a response.

INSTRUCTIONS: 

respond to this prompt with a solo of any length about your muse’s reaction to the coach’s feedback or how they practice their weakest performing skill.

no form is necessary to submit to the points verification blog, but please publish this submission and link to this post on your points sheet.

please tag this post and your solo (if posted separately) with #be:takeachance.

POINTS RECEIVED: +5 DANCE

POINTS LOST: none! 

[hyeque]

hi, first off congrats on 200! i saw that you're doing an event for your hit milestone so i wanted to ask if you do one for me :) it's number twenty two, "it's freezing, come here." with kuroo. it's the fluff one. is it alright if you made the reader fem? or use she/her pronouns which ever one is fine. again congratulations on 200 [also i've seen you like a kuroo post i've done so i thought to ask you if you wanted to be tagged in a kuroo thing i have planned for the near future?]

hiii omi! thank you so so much! and i would gladly like to be tagged in your kuroo work thanks for asking :) i hope you enjoy your request!

notes: so so sorry for how long this is, i got carried away. anyways you’re childhood idiot friends to lovers (sorry but you and kuroo are oblivious fools), also this is a bit angsty at first

valentines mishap [kuroo tetsurō]

for as many years as you could remember, you and kuroo had been best friends.

it all started the day he moved to tokyo. you were already friends with kenma, who lived across the street from you. your family and kenma's had gone to greet and welcome kuroo's to the neighborhood.

it's quite interesting to recall kuroo from when he was a child considering he didn't act at all like how he does now. he was shyer and withdrawn at first, something you'd picked up on immediately when meeting him (only second after his strange bed hair) when he hid behind his father's leg.

the three of you were an awkward bunch at first, even more so for you since you're the only girl. but it never bothered you, you just saw the two boys for who they are: your best friends.

growing close to kuroo took a bit of time and patience. the three of you would play video games at kenma's house, often you and kenma would choose what to play and kuroo would just have to go along with it. one day you decided to make this apparent to kenma.

you nudged the long-haired boy. "hey kenma, ask him if there's something he wants to do." you whispered.

kenma glanced at kuroo out of the corner of his eye, his fingers moved slowly over the controller. he sighed before asking the question, gauging the messy-haired boy's reaction.

kuroo seemed to beam at this before he got up to leave. moments later, he came back with a volleyball in hand and a huge smile on his face.

kenma mumbled how he meant video games but you found yourself excitedly asking kuroo questions about the white object.

the rest had been history ever since, and it only took a matter of time before you realized you were in love with kuroo.

it was exciting and interesting to see kuroo grow as a person. and what grew, even more, were your feelings for him. like, exponentially.

kenma found out about your crush when the two of you were alone and you were busy fretting over kuroo's state after he came down with the flu. kenma also saw the way your eyes lingered on kuroo, how they grew soft when kuroo would ramble about something, how you'd look like kuroo placed the stars in the sky after helping you with something. it was just too painfully obvious to kenma but apparently not to either you or kuroo.

the three of you are in high school now. you and kenma are in your second year while kuroo's in his third. it's a bittersweet feeling to think that after this year he will leave for college and you wouldn't see him as much. but you can't help but also feel happy for him. you know he's going to do great things beyond high school.

"are you going to confess soon?" kenma asks, and you almost want to ask why he brought it up. that is until the moment you enter school red, pink, and white decorations greet you at every turn.

that's right. valentine's day is approaching soon. you remember.

you shake your head. "i can't do that, kuroo's busy with a lot of things. he has college exams and a team to run to get to nationals. it would be selfish to drop something like that on him...besides i doubt he feels the same way."

but besides that, another factor stands in your way.

yumeko.

yumeko is nekoma's volleyball manager. she had been the manager ever since kuroo joined the team. she's very pretty. she's slender and tall too and seems to compliment kuroo very well when she stands next to him. you can't lie, it makes your stomach turn at how cute they appear together.

kenma sighs, looking at you with discontent. "you don't know that. i've seen the way the two of you look at each other. yumeko-"

"is a viable factor. he spends a lot of time with her so i wouldn't be surprised if he likes her."

kenma gives up on arguing with you. "i still don't know why you didn't join the club as a manager. you would've made a really great one. and you know as much about volleyball as me and kuroo."

you shrug, a sad smile on your face. "i was just interested in other things. oh-" you rummage through your bag to make sure you have what you need for class, and realize your pencil case is missing. "i forgot my case, i'll catch up with you later ken!"

you run off before he can say anything and before you know it you're back at your locker. noting that you have eight minutes till class starts you try to move quickly.

when you turn from your locker you become frozen in your spot. your heart nearly drops when you see yumeko holding a pink envelope while standing next to kuroo. she looks excited and animated as she talks to him.

maybe it's not for him, maybe it's for someone else...there's no way that she-

but just as your doubt tries to sway you to hold out hope, you watch her hand the envelope to him. a faint blush appears on his cheeks and you watch him hug her as thanks.

it's the last thing you see before running around the corner and into the bathroom. you flush out your eyes, hoping that any tears that may fall wouldn't appear to be obvious. you couldn't walk around all day with puffy eyes.

no matter how many times you close your eyes only the image of them hugging remains in it. your stomach only feels more sick and restless.

while not entirely fair to him, you avoid kuroo like the plague after that. whenever you hung out with kenma you'd leave before kuroo would have the chance to see or speak to you. when you went to their games you stayed for the whole time but left right after, sending them a text congrats on their win and that you were proud. you couldn't stomach seeing kuroo and yumeko together.

unfortunately for you, your game of playing hide (and not wanting to be sought out) and seek is rudely interrupted when you fail to pay attention to your surroundings.

"omi." a voice speaks.

you look up to see kuroo standing outside of your classroom. his expression is stern, lips pressed tightly in a straight line.

"meet me in the library on the third floor after school at our regular study table." it isn't an option. you can tell by his tone he expects you to be there. he doesn’t say anything else and walks off after that.

later as you sit in class you dread the time passing since it only brings you closer to having to meet up with kuroo. after your last class, you drag your feet from your locker to the library.

when you reach the third floor you see him sitting at the table, foot-tapping as he awaits your presence.

his hazel eyes move from you to the chair in front of the table. “sit."

awkwardly, you sit across from him. not able to meet his eyes.

“so do you want to tell me what’s going on? why you’ve been acting so weird lately?” he asks,

you turn away, feeling your pride take over you. “there’s nothing going on, tetsu.”

he lets out a sigh, gritting his teeth to prevent him from saying anything hurtful. “okay. then we will sit here until you tell me the truth then.”

your irrigation only grows. you hate how patient he is sometimes. “don’t you have volleyball practice? the team can’t exactly just miss having their captain.”

“that’s not anything you need to be concerned about. practice got canceled anyway because of that storm that’s coming,” he replies.

and so you sit across from him in silence for the next thirty minutes or so. you’re both stubborn and competitive by nature so neither one of you made a move to speak. stupid, truly, but nobody is going to admit that.

and unfortunately for both of you, the said snowstorm picks up way sooner than expected and you both find yourselves stuck in the school for the night. the administration sent around emergency blankets to students who like the two of you were still in the library.

"here's one for you and your girlfriend!" the woman hands kuroo a blanket.

"w-we aren't dating!" you blurt, wanting to spare kuroo the embarrassment of being associated with you. the teen doesn't flinch one bit but only side-eyes you. call yourself crazy but it almost looked like he didn't want you to say anything.

you wonder why kuroo didn't bother correcting the lady. how would yumeko feel?

it's absolutely freezing in the library. you shiver or try your best not to. you had left your favorite sweater at home because it needed to be washed.

"it's freezing, come here." you hear kuroo's voice. his voice is a lot softer from his chipped tone earlier.

"h-huh?" you stutter, facing his direction now. he's a lot closer than he was before. you watch as he removes his uniform jacket and opts to wrap it around your shoulders. he stares at you the entire time he does, a soft look in his eyes.

"is that better?" he asks, his breath fanning the side of your neck.

"yea," you respond, trying not to mentally implode, "thanks."

"can i ask you a question?" he says.

you nod, swallowing. "go for it."

he sighs, bouncing his leg. only a habit he has when he's anxious. "why have you been ignoring me?"

you don't speak right away and he continues, "i admit, i know that i've been extra busy lately, but every time i try to schedule something to hang out with you and kenma or just you, you make up some sort of excuse."

"they aren't excuses! i'm busy, i swear!" you protest. "i've been swamped with school work!"

he laughs bitterly. "that's not what kenma said. and you know that i know you're in the same class as him."

"damn him," you mutter under your breath. you'd chew out pudding head later.

kuroo huffs, clearly impatient. "well then. are you going to give me the real explanation now?" he asks, giving you a look. "i just want to know how i can fix what i did wrong. did i hurt you? was it something i said?” you feel guilt crawl in your system when you see how hurt he looks.

well here goes nothing...

"there's no easy way to put this." you say, your hands bawling into the skirt of your uniform before you look up at him. "but i like you. like as in more than a friend!"

it's silent for a moment and you start to take that as a sign of rejection and decide to continue anyway.

"i avoided you so that it would be easier for me to get over my feelings for you. i knew that they weren't reciprocated. i thought you had feelings for yumeko because i saw her give you a letter and then you hugged her. i thought you were accepting her confession. which by the way, congrats if you two are dating!"

kuroo laughs nervously, "eh? what on earth-"

your cheeks burn. "i-i'm sorry if i'm reading into this wrong! but i doubt i am. i'm sorry if i made you uncomfortable, you can just ignore my confession and we can act like this never happened. i-"

you're interrupted by the feeling of his lips on yours. it's everything you would expect, warm and inviting. he's gentle and doesn't rush, his soft lips easily molding with your own. when he pulls away he's only several centimeters away before saying, "why would i ignore it when i feel the exact same way?"

you blink rapidly. "b-but the letter-"

"that was a letter for you, silly. i'm not the best with words so yumeko offered to help me write it out." his cheeks are flushed red and he looks away for a moment. "she gave it back to me after reading over what i wanted to say. said that if i'm going after someone as amazing as you that i shouldn't 'fuck it up'."

your heart warms at yumeko's words and also at the fact that she isn't dating kuroo. they're just good friends...and she thinks you're amazing?!

you feel kuroo squeeze your hand. "kenma told me what you told him by the way." he admits, scratching the back of his head. "he said you seemed 'distressed' by the whole thing and that i should fix things. that's why i've been trying to get in contact with you lately. i wanted to clear up the misunderstanding."

he rummages through his bag before turning towards you. the familiar pink object in hand.

"here, take it." he places it in your hands. looking at the envelope you see your name written in handwriting that definitely doesn't belong to kuroo. it's loopy and pretty and has a heart next to your name. yumeko's work.

"you don't have to read it now, but know that it's my confession letter to you. i'm sorry if i ever made it seem like i wasn't into you...i was just an idiot and went on without saying anything to you for so long."

you lean into him and smile. "it's okay, we can be idiots together. i’m sorry for ignoring you and not being honest. i was just scared.”

he squeezes your hand. “yeah. i was scared too.”

you both sit in comfortable silence for a moment before you speak again. “so what does that make us?"

kuroo looks at you with a smile. "well omi, will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?"

"gladly." you beam, before kissing him again.

the two of you spend the rest of the time talking and catching up. you both inform your parents and kenma of your whereabouts, and before you both know it, sleep takes over.

the next day you wake up with a crick in your neck and horrible back pain. but the one thing you can't say is that you're freezing cold like you were before.

the body of the human next to you definitely provided enough heat. kuroo's arm is wrapped tightly around you, your legs tangled with one another. on top of both of you is the shared blanket given to you two.

"rise and shine sleeping beauty." kuroo greets, looking down at you.

“how long were you just staring at me?” you grumble, moving to smooth out your hair and stretch.

“not long enough.” he hums before he leans down to kiss you.

a small squeak escapes you. “h-hey! at least warn me before you do that!” you exclaim, heart racing.

“sorry, you're a really cute sleeper. i couldn't help myself." he’s kissing you again, and you respond this time with open enthusiasm. the two of you become so absorbed with each other you become unaware of your surroundings.

"hey! i found them! wha-kuroo senpai is kissing omi-senpai?!" a voice boasts, one that you recognize as lev's. you hear yaku scold him about being 'loud and obnoxious too early in the day' as other voices-ones belonging to the team you assume-laugh.

blushing from being caught in an intimate moment, you hide in kuroo's neck. he doesn't seem to be bothered but rests a hand on your back reassuringly.

"what are you guys doing here?" kuroo asks, shifting you more into him.

"we came to get you two as soon as possible." kai explains, looking between both of you. "looks like you guys held up better than we thought."

yaku pushes his way past kai, huffing. "not to interrupt, but did you finally confess to her? i'm kinda owed some money and i'd really like to have it now!" he says, looking at his nails.

kuroo widens his eyes. "you bet on us?"

you watch as several members of the vbc give yaku money. but what you weren't expecting was for them to fork over money to a certain second year too.

"kyanma!" kuroo scolds, "you too?!"

the blond shrugs, indifferent. "i already knew i'd win. it was only a matter of you moving your ass about asking out omi." his eyes then shift to you. "you're both terrible with dealing with feelings, by the way. so you're welcome."

and deal or no deal, winter storm or no winter storm, you can’t help but be glad for things to turn out how you wanted them to.

do not copy and or repost. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated though! (c) 2022 hyque

[eliemo]

Snake Bite

Summary: Janus hadn’t meant to lash out. He’d just felt too much like a cornered animal, and now they all had an excuse to cast him out as the villain once again. 

Specifically tagging @anothersanderssidesblog and @wyvern-tales

Based on This Wonderful Post

TW: Panic attack, brief mention of blood, sympathetic everyone

At this point, Janus wasn’t even sure what was being said anymore. 

He knew everyone was yelling over each other, and he knew the anger and insults were all directed at him, but right now he didn’t think he could focus on the words even if he wanted to. 

And he supposed, if it weren’t for the weight on his chest and the pressure building behind his eyes, his sudden lack of awareness would be a blessing. 

He just wanted to go to bed. It had been a bad week, one inconvenience piling up after another, and he was certain if he didn’t get out of this room right now he was going to snap and say something he would regret. 

But Roman was still ranting, arms waving as he paced Thomas’s living room, and Janus knew leaving now would only make things worse. He’d let the Prince get it all out of his system, smile like it didn’t matter, and sink out until everyone calmed down. 

He understood why Roman was angry, and perhaps some of it was well deserved, but the tirade of shouting seemed entirely unnecessary. 

Sure, maybe Janus shouldn’t have disguised himself as Roman after Thomas had summoned his sides for help, especially since he’d begrudgingly agreed not to shape shift since his name reveal, but today there hadn’t been a choice. 

No one would have listened if he’d come as himself. Everyone was still wary around him, and they all seemed extra suspicious around him this week. He knew it was because he’d been a little short with all of them lately, but it wasn’t his fault he hadn’t been able to get a full nights sleep in weeks. 

He’d been waking up every morning even more tired than he’d been when he’d gone to bed, limbs aching and heavy, and by the time he found the strength to force himself out of bed everyone had already been finished with breakfast, which ruled out any chance of friendly conversation or “bonding” as Patton so lovingly called it. 

Not that he cared. He had absolutely no intention of sitting down for their little family meals, no matter what the nagging voice in the back of his head said. 

Besides, he wouldn’t have been wanted anyway. Every time he so much as breathed Virgil would act like he’d just tried to set the house on fire, and Roman didn’t even try to hide his glares. 

Logan just seemed uneasy, and Patton’s attempts to be friendly were so glaringly obvious and fake. 

When Remus made his appearances, at least everything was honest and out in the open. Nothing could offend Remus, and besides filling Thomas’s head with less than ideal thoughts at night he didn’t really mean any harm. 

Things were different with Janus, and he knew they always would be. 

So, it wasn’t completely unreasonable that Janus was beyond tired and frustrated, and he knew Thomas was too thanks to his demanding schedule. 

He needed a break, and Janus was determined to get him to see that. If he called off a few meetings, they could easily have the rest of the week off to recharge and Janus could figure out how to pull himself together. 

But Thomas would never agree to a break unless his anxiety allowed it. And it didn’t matter if Janus was correct, Virgil would be caught dead before agreeing with one of Deceit's suggestions. 

Virgil and Roman seemed to bond over their mutual hatred of him, so in a last ditch effort, Janus had disguised himself as the Prince and risen up with the others. 

He hadn't meant any harm, and it had been going so well. Roman was distracted somewhere in the Imagination, and once he’d gotten Logan to see the logic in taking a few days off Virgil had almost immediately jumped on board. 

And then of course Roman had returned just as they were wrapping up, the living room falling into silence as the two Princes stared each other down, and everything erupted into chaos. 

Janus revealed himself, despite everyone already knowing what he’d done. He’d heard Roman shout a few things like “Villain!” and “Lying fiend” and the surprisingly hurtful “Why did we even give him a chance?” before he promptly lost the ability to make sense of anything happening around him. 

He tilted his head up to stare at the ceiling to avoid having to see everyone’s stares (not to stop himself from crying, because he was not about to cry. He was used to being villainized, he didn’t care), and waited for someone to call Roman off. 

But no one did, and suddenly Roman was right in front of him, jabbing a finger in his face, and Janus couldn’t catch his breath.

“You’re not even listening!” Roman shouted. “He’s not listening! What else have you been doing behind our backs you snake-faced lia--” 

Janus didn’t even realize he was moving until his fangs were suddenly in Roman’s hand, fingers wrapped tight around Roman’s wrist, and he felt the Prince go completely still as Janus’s teeth sank into his skin. 

It all happened so fast, Janus’s mind a frantic, racing blur as he pulled away, feeling horribly like a cornered, wild animal. 

He had exactly two seconds to process what he’d done and collect his scrambled thoughts in the sudden, deafening silence before Roman seemed to realize what had just happened. 

“He bit me!” 

Patton was taking a step forward, and Janus backed away until he was pressed against the wall, wincing when he realized he could faintly taste something coppery in his mouth. 

“Kiddo, try and relax,” Patton said, a hand on the Prince’s shoulder. “I’m sure it was just--” 

“What, an accident?” Roman demanded. “Patton, he bit me! Like- like some kind of snake-faced demon! Pat, I’m bleeding!” 

He was barely bleeding, the bite nothing more than two little pinpricks, and if Janus could find his voice he would have pointed out that Roman was behaving like an overactive toddler. 

But he couldn’t. Because he’d been trying so hard to make progress with the others, to be seen as anything other than a lying villain, and one bad day had just undone all of that, completely erasing any chance he might have had. 

Because as small as it was, he’d just hurt Roman. In front of everyone. In front of Thomas. 

He watched as Logan took the initiative, hurrying to Thomas’s side and guiding him over to the couch. 

Thomas looked pale and panicked, which meant that all the commotion was probably making Virgil—

Virgil. Janus couldn’t even bring himself to look at the stairs, painfully aware he’d just see horror and disgust...and maybe a bit of satisfaction. The anxious side had probably been looking for an excuse to send Janus away. 

“I’m going to die!” 

Janus was pulled out of his spiraling thoughts by a very loud, very distraught Roman who was diligently ignoring Patton’s frantic attempts to calm him down. 

“I find that highly unlikely,” Logan spoke up. “While the reaction was completely unnecessary, the likelihood of Janus being venomous is--” 

“Was this your plan all along?” Roman yelled, and suddenly his sword was in his uninjured  hand. “To wait until our guards were down and then poison us?” 

Janus felt numb. “I did not poison you--” 

“How can I believe anything you say? You were just masquerading around pretending to be me trying to ruin Thomas’s career!” 

“I’m not trying to ruin anything!” Janus couldn’t keep himself from snapping back, feeling abruptly trapped and suffocated. He needed to get out. “I’m doing my job. I’m trying to help. Thomas needs a break- we all need a break!”

“You don’t help Thomas,” Roman snarled, letting Patton pry the sword out of his grip, his bleeding hand held against his chest. “All you do is bring him down! All you do is try to hurt him!” 

“Funny,” Janus snapped, well aware of how much power his next words held. “I remember you saying the exact same thing to--”

Patton was suddenly beside him, resting a gentle hand on Janus’s arm, and Deceit felt like he’d been electrocuted. “Kiddo--” 

“Don’t touch me!” 

Janus yanked his arm away, frantically scrambling away from the wall and nearly colliding right into the television. The room was silent again, but that hardly mattered as he realized with growing dread that he couldn’t breathe. 

The room was going blurry, his vision hazy and distorted, and it took him a moment to understand it was because his eyes were flooding with unshed tears. 

“Janus?” 

He was sinking out before he could even try to identify the voice, rising back up in his room with a strangled gasp. 

It felt like his chest was being crushed, everything too loud and too much even in the solitude of his room. 

He threw his hat across the room, yanking off his gloves with trembling hands and letting them fall to the floor, grimacing at the glittering scales along his left arm.

He hated them. He hated every part of himself that made him different, everything that proved he was just a villain. Virgil could be accepted as one of them but Janus had no right to...to…

Janus was on the ground, his legs no longer able to support him, landing hard on his knees. He didn’t bother to fight against the sobs tearing at his throat. There was no need to hide, locked away in the seclusion of his room. 

He ended up hunched over himself, wrenching sobs tearing their way out of him, his hands moving against his will to tug at his hair, scratch at his scales, pound at the floor- anything to try to unsuccessfully ground himself. 

Anger and sorrow were waging a bloody war in his heart- anger at the others for being so cruel, anger at himself for allowing himself to lose control and hurt one of them. 

Sorrow because...because he knew it was over now. There was no way to undo this kind of damage. He’d tried- tried to be one of them- and he’d failed. Miserably. Really, he never should have expected anything else but...well, lying to himself was a bit of an unbreakable habit. 

They didn’t want him here. And Roman was right, he didn’t help Thomas. 

When had Thomas actually listened to him? Just once after the wedding? They would have come to a conclusion without him once Patton calmed down a bit. 

They didn’t want him and they didn’t need him. Nobody wanted a two-faced, monstrous villain. He’d tried, he’d tried so hard, but…

Virgil had tried to duck out once. He’d been lost afraid and alone, but…

But he’d been needed. He’d been wanted. 

If Janus sunk out it would be different. But maybe...maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Thomas would be an honest person without Janus and...wasn’t that what they all wanted?

He buried his head in his sleeves in an attempt to muffle his cries, the sobbing becoming loud and uncontrollable, and if he had a little more control he might have laughed at the irony of it all. 

Crying over being the bad guy. God, he was so selfish. 

He was just barely able to hear the knock on his door in between ragged, hiccuping gasps, but the sound made panic burrow further into his chest, squeezing until he saw spots. 

“Go away!” He screamed, voice hoarse and broken. “I don’t- I’m...fuck! Just leave!” 

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if he screamed or yelled or hurt anyone, it didn’t matter if someone heard him breaking down. It wouldn’t matter if he just got a hold of himself and ducked out for good. The sooner they could all forget about him, the better. 

But the door to his room was opening (he’d forgotten to lock it, stupid, stupid, stupid), and he quickly curled further in on himself, nails digging into his scalp. 

“Jesus Christ, Jan.” 

Janus shook his head at the sound of footsteps hurrying closer, flinching when someone grabbed at his wrists. 

He tried to tell them to stop, to go away and leave him alone, but he couldn’t get the words out. Every frantic breath was more shallow than the last, and it felt like there was something beating at his chest. 

“Stop fighting me, dumbass,” the voice said, and the shock at realizing it was Virgil was enough to clear his head for a split second. “Come on, look at me. Take a breath and look at me.” 

Slowly, as Virgil pried Janus’s trembling hands away from his face, he carefully lifted his head to meet the anxious side’s gaze. It might have been his imagination, but he thought Virgil’s eyeshadow might be a shade darker than usual. 

“Hey,” Virgil said with a small smile that didn’t match the distress in his eyes. “I need you to just focus on my voice right now. You’re having a panic attack.” 

Janus shook his head, dropping his gaze to the floor until Virgil squeezed his wrists slightly, prompting him to glance back up. 

“I think I know what a panic attack looks like,” Virgil said, once again with that small, unsure smile. Janus thought this might be the first time in months Virgil hadn’t glared at him. “I’m gonna help you. I’m right here, ok?” 

It was all backwards- Virgil shouldn’t be the one crouched on the floor talking a side down from a panic attack, he shouldn’t be forced to be anywhere near Janus who clearly made him so uncomfortable. 

All he was doing right now was hurting Virgil, hurting everyone, and this wouldn’t be happening if he just wasn’t here--

“Hey, hey hey.” Virgil was suddenly readjusting his grip to take Janus’s hands, bringing them to his own chest. “You’re ok, you’re fine. I want you to copy my breathing now, can you do that?” 

“I- I can--” 

“You can do it,” Virgil said. “You used to help me do it all the time, remember? In for four, hold for seven, out for eight, right?” 

Janus swallowed and nodded, squeezing Virgil’s hands despite himself. 

Virgil smiled back at him, and slowly began to count out the breaths, gently encouraging Janus each time he made it through a count, quickly reassuring him when he didn’t. 

He sounded a bit like a mixture of all the light sides, and Janus briefly wondered how many panic attacks his new family had helped him through.

It felt like hours, but gradually Janus was able to begin to breathe on his own, his whole body still shaky and weak. 

He took one last deep breath, and Virgil released his hands when he exhaled. Janus tried to ignore the pang in his chest at the loss of contact.  

“You ok?” 

Janus nodded, running an unsteady hand through sweat soaked hair, steeling himself enough to lie. “I...I’m fine. You can go now.” 

Virgil scoffed. “Yeah, not happening. You’re gonna get cleaned up and calm down, and I’m going to sit here in case you need help. And then you’re going to let Roman apologize before he does something stupid and self destructive--” 

“I don’t need an apology,” he snapped, and it would have been much more threatening if his voice wasn’t still shaking. “And I don’t want to watch you all force him to apologize for something he isn’t even sorry about.” 

Virgil was watching him curiously as Janus attempted to get his half asleep, aching legs out from under him, furiously wiping at his soaked face with his sleeves. 

He needed Virgil to leave and stop pretending to pity him. 

“Why are you even here?” He’d meant it to come out as a snarl, but it turned into nothing more than a quiet, tired question. Virgil tugged at his hoodie sleeves, silent for a moment. 

“You were having a panic attack.” 

“Oh right, and you definitely care about that,” Janus said, finally pushing himself off the ground, grabbing his bed frame for support. “All of you made that perfectly clear today.” 

Virgil moved to stand, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders hunched. “I know, I’m sorry. We...I should have stepped in. Roman was pissed and he gets carried away sometimes. I was serious about him wanting to apologize.”

Janus cleared his throat and ran his tongue along his teeth, wincing at the reminder of what he’d done. He glanced back at Virgil, at the sudden lack of contempt or distrust in his eyes. 

“I would have thought you would be thrilled,” he said truthfully. “Today is the perfect excuse to finally get rid of me.” 

And Virgil actually looked...guilty. The anxious side had never been one for eye contact, but now he was definitely doing all he could to look anywhere but Janus. 

“You lashed out because we all ganged up on you after a long week,” he said. “I’d...kinda be a hypocrite if I held that against you.” 

“I disguised myself. I said I wouldn’t do that anymore.” 

“You did,” he agreed. “Because we made you feel like you wouldn’t be listened to if you didn’t, and I...I feel like that’s my fault. Jesus, you just wanted Thomas to take a break. So...yeah. I’m sorry I’ve been a jackass lately.”

“I…” he paused, clenching his jaw against the new wave of tears that threatened to spill over. “Virgil, I...I bit Roman.” 

And Virgil actually smirked, like it was funny. “Yeah, and I know a panic response when I see one. Roman feels bad, Janus. We all do.” 

Janus froze, wondering briefly if Virgil had just suddenly gotten better at lying since the last time they spoke. But his eyes were genuine, hopeful, and Janus found himself wanting so badly to drop his defenses and believe him. 

“Look,” Virgil continued. “I don’t...completely trust you yet. But I know you want what's best for Thomas, even when we disagree. You’re a part of him and...and I know how it feels. To not be sure if you’re wanted. But...but you are.” 

“Virgil--” 

“So here’s what we’re gonna do,” Virgil said. “You’re gonna clean up, and when you’re ready Roman is going to set aside his pride and apologize, Patton is going to smother you for a few hours, and Logan is going to ask you a bunch of invasive questions about your teeth because he’s a nerd. I can tell him to back off if you want me to.” 

Janus let himself smile, small as it was, and he watched as Virgil took another step closer, the anxious side finally looking Janus in the eyes. 

“And then Thomas is going to take a break,” he continued. “And you are never ever going to consider ducking out again.” 

Janus paled, cold panic returning with a vengeance. “Oh, please. You know I would never--” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Virgil said, voice low, and Janus fell silent. “I’ve been there, Janus. I know the look, and I know what it takes to push someone over the edge. You can’t fool me.” 

Janus sighed, running a hand over his face. He was speaking before he could talk himself out of it. “You did it.” 

“I tried to,” Virgil agreed. “I was wrong. Thomas needs me, and he needs you too. Nobody...No one hates you, Janus. I’m sorry things got this bad.”

Janus just shrugged, pushing back the emotions he wasn’t quite ready to feel, let alone share aloud. But it was...nice, he realized, not being given the cold shoulder anymore. 

He hoped it lasted. He missed Virgil more than he was willing to admit. He...wished he was closer to all of them. 

“I’m not upset,” Janus said, even as he wiped at watery eyes. “It’s just...been a long couple of days.” 

It had been a lot more than just a long couple of days, but he figured Virgil knew that. The anxious side smiled sadly. “Well then it’s a good thing you convinced Thomas to take a break.” 

“I just hope it helps.” 

“Me too,” Virgil said. “Now go wash your face- you look awful. I can hang out here until you’re ready to see the others. Unless you, like, want me to leave. I can leave you alone.” 

Janus smirked, finally starting to feel like himself as he straightened his cape and made his way towards the bathroom. 

“I’d really hate it if you stayed,” he called over his shoulder. “You know I absolutely loathe your company, Virgil.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

Janus let himself break into a full smile for the first time all day, closing the door behind him as he heard Virgil flop onto the bed. 

[redgillan]

Under Pastel Skies - 5

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 4,569

Warnings: none

A/N: Let me just thank you for your support, it’s so heartwarming and I love you so much. I’m sorry this chapter is so long, I have no idea how that happened. I hope you enjoy this :’)

Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.

After you agreed to move in with Bucky and become a full time artist, everything started to move incredibly fast. The dinner went well, you worked out the details of your contract with Sam and Nat who didn’t seem surprised that this was happening.

You left your job almost overnight, only giving them two weeks’ notice. They easily found a new breakfast attendant and you even trained your replacement. You emptied your locker, returned your name tag and your master key, and went on your merry way.

Now you were on your way to Bucky’s apartment, a suitcase full of clothes between your legs and another full of administrative papers, beauty products and whatnot between Natasha’s legs. She had insisted on coming with you to help you get settled. You didn’t own furniture or anything that required her help so you figured she just wanted to make sure Bucky was treating you right.

He had already transferred your monthly allowance to your bank account, which prompted your bank to call you. They wanted to know where the 5 thousand dollars came from and you told them it was a gift. “If your friend’s looking for new friends give them my number, yeah?” the man on the phone told you.

The rocking motion of the train had a soothing effect on you, almost lulling you to sleep. You let your head fall against the window and played one of your favourite game –people watching.

There was a man reading a newspaper, standing with his feet apart as if the cart was one giant skateboard. A woman was putting on makeup, another was playing a game on her phone. The woman sitting next to you was wrestling with her toddler who wanted to snatch your scarf. It was a quiet day.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Natasha asked, her face as cold as stone.

“’Bout what?” you replied in a sleepy voice.

“About your crush on James.”

“I don’t have a crush on Bucky.”

As soon as the words passed your lips, a tiny, sticky hand landed on your jaw, making a wet slapping sound. You blinked hard, your eyes trained on Natasha who was now openly smiling at the toddler next to you.

“See? Even the baby knows you’re a liar,” she said, singing the last word.

You turned your head to look at the baby and saw him put his fist in his mouth, his eyes bright and wide. With a happy squeal he launched himself at you again, smacking you in the face. The mother apologized and held her child against her chest, softly admonishing him to stop throwing himself at strangers. You felt that. He spent the rest of the ride looking at you.

“So, really, you’re going to move in with a man you have a massive crush on, and we’re not even going to talk about it,” she pressed on.

You huffed, wiping baby goo from your cheek with your sleeve. “You’re like a dog with a bone.”

“And you’re the bone.”

You got off the train and walked to Bucky’s apartment, your suitcase rolling behind you. Natasha was silent next to you, something that almost never happened. You counted your steps in your head, waiting for her to speak.

“You didn’t have to move out of my apartment.”

22 steps. That’s how long Natasha managed to stay quiet for. “Of course, I had to. I’m not going to do Brooklyn-Chelsea every day.”

When Bucky had offered his guest bedroom, your first reaction had been to politely refuse. Bucky seemed like a nice guy, but what if he had a glass cage in his basement? What if he trapped you there and commissioned paintings to you? Psycho killer, qu'est ce que c'est.

Then he opened up about his past, his insecurities, and it made you long to hold him. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, the kind that only come from an unprotected heart. You realized there was more chance of you hurting him than the opposite.

“You’re the one who organized this whole thing,” you reminded Natasha.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you had a crush on him. And if someone tells Okoye this was my idea, she’ll kill me.”

You turned to her with a not-sorry smile. “Yup.”

Your big sister was like most big sisters: extremely protective. When your mother had to work late, she was in charge and she took her role very seriously. You were nine when she finally got her driver’s licence, and that day she graduated from sister to mother. Eat your vegetables. Did you do your homework? I know you didn’t brush your teeth.

Okoye was loyal, protective, intimidating, and never afraid to speak her mind. When she decided to join the Dora Milaje, you thought the job was perfect for her –the king’s bodyguard, now that’s something you’d like to put on your resume.

“Do you want me to stay tonight?” Natasha asked as you got inside the elevator.

“Why are you so worried?”

“I don’t know.” She pressed her back against the wall and shrugged. “It’s always been you and me. Since first grade.”

You returned her sad smile with one of your own. “Heckle and Jeckle.”

She barked out a laugh at the memory. It was the nickname her father had for the two of you. It used to be a popular animated cartoon in the 50s. It was the story of two talking magpies who were always getting into some kind of trouble.

You stepped out of the elevator, still arguing about which one of you got to be Jeckle, the less problematic of the two, when you noticed that Bucky was patiently waiting for you by the front door. He didn’t say anything but there was an amused smile on his face.

He let you put your suitcases in the guest room near the kitchen and told you that he had to run a few errands, giving you a little privacy. Natasha hung up your clothes in the wardrobe while you unpacked your other stuff and put them away in the drawers of your dresser.

It didn’t take you long to unpack. When you were done, you threw yourself onto the bed, watching Natasha. You were excited to sleep in a real bed, you couldn’t stop running your hands up and down the comforter.

“Jeckle,” Natasha said, looking at the mostly empty wardrobe. “You need new clothes.”

“Ugh, yes,” you groaned from the bed.

When you were a teenager, you used to spend every weekend at the mall with your sisters and Natasha. Your wardrobe wasn’t big enough to fit all your clothes and your mother often asked you to get rid of the things you didn’t wear anymore. You never did.

Then life happened, and you didn’t have the energy or money to go shopping anymore.

You went to the kitchen to grab something to drink. Bucky’s fridge was even bigger than the one you had at work, and it was full of food in neatly labelled rows of Tupperware containers. The one in front of you was labelled ‘baby carrots’.

“Neat freak alert,” Natasha commented, peering over your shoulder into the refrigerator.

“Stop it.”

You took a bottle of water and sat at the kitchen island while Natasha continued investigating his kitchen. Bucky had several gadgets that few people had in their kitchen like a cutting board with suction cups on the bottom and nails on top to hold the food in place while slicing.

It was obvious that he liked to cook, and for some reason it made you smile. You pictured him cooking for one and your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. It was a sad mental image and you shook your head to get rid of it.

The front door opened and you lifted your head to see what Natasha was doing. She was holding Bucky’s meal plan, perusing it intensely. Bucky entered the room and greeted you with a smile before he made his way over to the fridge.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asked.

Natasha waved the meal plan in your direction mouthing ‘it’s laminated’ while Bucky retrieved a bottle of water for himself. You gestured wildly at her to put it back down.

“No, I’m good,” you replied with a slightly crazed smile. He looked between you and Natasha with a frown. “Natasha was about to leave.”

“Was I?” she replied, tilting her head.

“Yeah, you have stuff to do, remember?” You gave her a pointed stare.

“No.”

You widened your eyes at her and moved your head in the direction of the hallway that led to the front door. You tried to be discreet but you knew you weren’t fooling anyone. She watched you, unfazed.

Luckily, Bucky came to your rescue.

“Thank you for coming all the way out here, Natasha. Do you want me to call you a cab?” His tone left no room for discussion. You hid your grin behind your glass.

“That won’t be necessary,” she replied without looking at him.

You walked Natasha back to the front door and opened it. She glared at something over your shoulder and you turned to see if Bucky was there. He wasn’t.

“Wait, I forgot to tell him that if he hurts you I’ll kill him.”

You grabbed her by the shoulders when she tried to move past you. “I think he got the message. Thanks for coming with me. I’ll call you tonight.”

“You’d better,” she warned with a slow nod.

When you returned to the kitchen, it really dawned on you that you were alone with Bucky. He glanced up at you while he was going through his mail. You took your seat and nervously looked around the room. It was too quiet, you didn’t like it.

“I like your friend,” he said, grinning. “She seems very protective of you.”

“She is,” you sighed.

An uncomfortable and strangely melancholic silence hung between you. You were both afraid to say or do the wrong thing. You felt like you didn’t belong there; like a patch sewed on a worn out pair of jeans, mending holes.

“You ok?”

You looked up at him. “Yeah, I just feel a little awkward. I’m... not sure what you want me to do now.”

“Nothing,” he said, rounding the kitchen island to sit on the stool next to you. His eyebrows were pulled together in concern. “This is your home. You can do whatever you want.”

“It doesn’t really feel like my home.” You shrugged one shoulder. “It kinda feels like I just unloaded my crap in your guest room, which is exactly what happened.”

He observed you a moment. “Well, make it your home. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable here.”

“So,” you glanced at him sideways. “If I bought a few things to make this place more... homey, you wouldn’t be mad?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled up as his smile grew. “I’m begging you to make this place more homey. It’s really boring, isn’t it?” he said, looking around the kitchen with a comical frown.

You chuckled. “No, it’s not. Well, maybe a little.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” he said with a laugh.

Bucky watched you with his cheek in the palm of his hand. Your eyes were moving around the room, making mental notes of the things you wanted to add. He smiled, the sparkle was back in your eyes.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, straightening up.

He left the room for a second and came back with his hand hidden behind his back. You looked at him with a playfully suspicious frown as he approached you. You followed his movements closely, your frown deepening when he placed a little white box on the kitchen counter.

“Open it.”

You removed the lid and pulled out a set of keys, undoubtedly the keys to his apartment. The keychain was gleaming the light; a small silver angel that fit snugly in the palm of your hand.

You barely managed to croak out a thank you before you threw yourself at him, hugging him tight. His body tensed instantly and you were about to apologize when you felt his arm wrap around you.

You felt pressure build in your throat, a tingling sensation in your nose, and tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck. The last thing you wanted was for him to catch you crying over a set of keys. Though deep down it wasn’t about the keys, it was the accumulation of pent-up emotions and the realization that you were now completely free to follow your dreams.

You released him but he was still hanging on to you. Tight. His heart was beating fast against your chest. He was a lonely man craving human interaction. So you closed your eyes and rubbed your hands up and down his back –gently and out of sync. After a few long minutes, he untangled himself from you.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes. “C’mon, there’s something else I want to show you.”

“Another gift?” You sighed his name when you noted the guilty expression on his face. “It’s too much.”

“It’s a practical gift, hardly a gift at all.”

He took you upstairs to the room that was now your studio. The room hadn’t changed since your last visit, except for the easel placed in the centre. You entered slowly as if you were approaching a frightened mythological creature. You ran your fingers along the wood, your chest tight with the heft of your emotions.

You hadn’t seen one in a while, and now it was right in front of you, beckoning. “Show me how you feel,” the easel said. “Show the world what you’re made of.”

“Thank you so much,” you said, your voice soft.

“I thought it was the perfect housewarming gift for you.”

You turned to him and smiled. “It is. I already bought everything I need. Paint, knives, brushes, canvases... an easel. Sorry, I didn’t know you were going to buy me one. It’s good to have more than one though. Online shops are a bit impersonal.” You walked toward the door where he was waiting. “I miss the smell of art supply stores. It’s so intoxicating, it really gets the creative juices flowing.”

“What does it smell like?”

You closed your eyes and tried to concentrate. “It’s a mix of paint and paper, a woody pencil-sharpening smell mixed with chemicals and ash.”

“Sounds relaxing.”

“It’s heaven,” you said with a dreamy sigh.

Bucky gave you a fond smile and glanced at the keychain still in your hand. “So that’s where angels come from, uh?”

You laughed and pushed his good shoulder playfully. Ever since that fateful day when Bucky asked you out for coffee and you mistook his business date for a romantic date, you learned not to take the things he said too seriously. Bucky was a nice guy, a bit of a flirt sometimes, but his intentions were clear. He wanted a companion, not a girlfriend.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a flash, you went to your room and rearranged a few things while Bucky stayed in his office. At dinnertime you set the table while he finished cooking. You sat in front of a bowl of homemade soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.

After you had practically licked your bowl clean, Bucky leaned back in his chair and watched you with a grin. You felt a little embarrassed. You wiped your mouth with your napkin, trying to look a bit more well-mannered.

“It was really good,” you said.

“Thank you. I gotta say, I was tired of cooking for one. It’s not fun.” He put your empty bowl in his and carried them to the sink. You gathered up plates and utensils and followed him. “You’ll have to tell me what you don’t like.”

“As long as you don’t make me eat broccoli ice cream, I’m good.”

He laughed, remembering your conversation from a couple of week ago. “I don’t think I can stomach it either.” He handed you two small plates and two forks. “I bought a cake. I thought we could celebrate our first day together. Is it creepy? I can’t tell.”

“No, that’s a great idea!” you laughed. “You’re making me feel like it’s my birthday.”

You carried everything to the table while he opened the fridge and retrieved a large pink cardboard box. He balanced the box in his hand, a sharp knife sitting on top. “I’m surprised you didn’t bake it yourself,” you said, picking up the knife.

“Dessert isn’t my forte.” He opened the cardboard box, revealing a three-layer red velvet cake. “I’m too much of a perfectionist. I can make pretty decent pies but sponge cakes are hard to control when you only have one hand.”

“We can bake cakes together if you want. I’m clumsy as hell but I’m willing to learn.”

“That’d be nice,” he replied with a smile.

It was, without a doubt, the best cake you’d ever had in your life. It was incredibly light. The chocolate and vanilla burst in your mouth, mixing perfectly with the bitterness of the buttermilk.

“Red velvet is my favorite,” Bucky said, licking his fork. “Blueberry cheesecakes are good too. And Blackout cakes, umm, so good. Except fruitcakes,” he said, his mouth twisted into a downturned grimace. “Fruitcakes are the devil.”

“You’ve got quite the sweet tooth.”

“You have no idea,” he said, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

After a minute of silence, you said, “The last time I ate red velvet cake, my sister had put too much white vinegar. It was disgusting but we didn’t want to hurt her feelings so we ate all of it.”

Bucky chuckled. “How many siblings do you have?”

It was a standard get-to-know-you question and you knew he would ask it at some point. Yet, it made your guts twist in pain. It was a question you always dreaded because you didn’t have a clear answer to it. Should you leave Pietro out? He was gone but he was still your brother.

“I, uh,” you mumbled, staring down at your half-eaten slice of cake. “I’m not sure what the answer is.” He frowned at you, confused. “Do you... do you count the ones you lost?”

Understanding flashed in his eyes and he gave you a patient smile. “Yes, I do.”

You met his eyes and tried to smile, though you were pretty sure it looked more like a grimace. “I have four siblings then.” You took a forkful of cake and chewed slowly, allowing yourself a few seconds to clear your thoughts. Without success.

“I was adopted,” you revealed. His eyebrows rose in surprise but he let you continue. “We were all adopted. My mom lost her husband when she was young. They wanted to have a big family but they were too busy working. They both had very demanding jobs.”

“What did they do?”

“He was in the military, and she was the co-founder of an extra-governmental military counter-terrorism and intelligence agency.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Bucky chuckled.

“You should hear their name.” He gave you a ‘go ahead’ look. “It’s the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.”

You watched Bucky process the name, waiting for the moment realization would dawn on him. Then his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.? Your mom’s the co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D.” He stared at you, his mouth wide open. “Your mom’s Peggy Carter!? Jesus Christ,” he sighed, shaking himself out of his stupor. “When we were kids, me, Stevie and a couple of other kids pretended to be secret agents working for S.H.I.E.L.D. We even had a name: the Howling Commandos.”

You screwed your eyes shut, a smile breaking across your face. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, embarrassment colouring his face. “I dunno why I’m telling you this. Please, don’t tell your mom.”

Your laughter died down, and you continued smiling at him. He was cute when he was flustered. You smothered that thought as soon as it materialized.

“I didn’t know she had adopted five kids.”

“Yeah, I guess her job as the co-founder of one the most important secret agency gave her the freedom to adopt without having to wait.”

“Do you get along with your siblings?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I mean, kinda. Scott, my older brother, is a few years younger than you. He’s really smart but he’s a big goof. He left for San Francisco when I was a kid. My sister, Okoye, left when I was 19. She’s King T’Chaka’s bodyguard.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” you chucked. “The twins are only three years older than me. We were really close, but then Pietro,” you took a small pause, “he, um, he died and, Wanda, she couldn’t stay anymore. It was too much, y’know. She went to Sokovia -where they were born- and she never came home. Last I heard, she was backpacking through Europe.”

“You still have your mom though,” Bucky said with a warm smile.

“She’s in London,” you said, smiling even though you had to dig your nails into your palm to keep yourself from crying. “She’s in a nursing home. She was diagnosed with a form of dementia, something similar to Alzheimer. She has no idea who I am.”

You tried to speak in a normal, detached tone but your voice wavered and you fought not to cry. Bucky reached for your hand, your nails had left half-moon indentations in your palm. Wordlessly, he smoothed his thumb over your palm, inspecting the damage.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice soft.

Until now it had never occurred to you that you had never said those things out loud before. Natasha knew because she’d been with you through all of it. She was your best friend, the only person who hadn’t abandoned you yet.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d met someone new, someone you felt comfortable enough to talk to about your family.

You didn’t want to end the day on a sad note, so you pulled yourself together. You straightened up, wiped your eyes and sniffed back the tingling feeling in your nose. Bucky seemed to notice that you wanted to change the subject because he let go of your hand and picked up his fork again.

“So,” you said after clearing your throat. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“It’s a serious question and it’s important that you tell me the truth.”

Bucky flinched, his throat working as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I promise.”

You took a deep breath and rotated your head left and right, working the kinks out of your neck and back. Then you levelled him with a direct stare.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Bucky recoiled as if he had misheard you. He looked momentarily startled by your question before he burst into laughter. When your face remained stoic, he realized you weren’t joking. “Oh? Umm, I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He seemed lost in thought for a second. “I like blue.”

“Which blue? Navy? Tiffany blue? Sapphire? Baby blue? Teal? Duck-egg? Turquoise?” you enumerated them quickly.

“Just...blue?” he replied carefully. You took a deep breath and released it slowly, shaking your head. “No, wait,” he added in a hurry. His eyebrows pinched together in concentration while he was trying to come up with a better answer. “The color of the sky when a storm is brewing. That’s my favorite color.”

You smirked. “Poetic.”

“Well, I’m a writer,” he replied with a lopsided grin. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Oh no, you can’t ask me that. I’m a painter, it’s like asking a parent who their favourite child is.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded, waving his hand to dismiss the question. “Let me ask you an equally important question.”

“Oh, boy,” you laughed.

The warmth of his laughter was reassuring. It made you feel at ease, calm. What you hadn’t realized yet was that you weren’t trying to change your personality to please him. You were yourself, flaws and all.

“When you read a book, how do you keep track of your reading?” he asked. “Do you use a bookmark? Receipts? Candy wrappers? Book ribbon? Do you fold the corner of the page? Do you leave the book face down or memorize the page number? I need to know.”

You didn’t have to think about it. “Dog ears.”

“Oh, God, you’re a folder.” He stared up at the ceiling and sighed heavily. “I think I got you all wrong. You’re not an angel, you’re a little demon.” He pressed his lips together in a thin line to hide a smile.

He quickly gathered up the dirty plates and carried them to the sink while you remained seated at the table, laughing. You turned in your chair and saw him fill the sink with hot water and suds. What kind of millionaire doesn’t own a dishwasher?

“I bet you also write in ‘em,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a hint of a smirk.

“No, I would never,” you said, joining him at the sink. “I like books that look old though. Cracked spines, folded corners, tea or coffee stains.”

“Please, stop I’m going to hyperventilate,” he joked.

You chuckled. “Do you a have a towel?” you asked, giving him a little tap with your hip so he would scoot sideways.

He let go of the knife he was washing and pulled out a towel from the cabinet under the sink. You were a bit in awe of the way he cleaned everything with only one hand but you didn’t want to sound condescending so you kept it to yourself.

“What’s the point of having books if they look like nobody’s ever opened them?” you said. “I want to know my books had a good life before I bought them. I want to know they were loved. Sometimes when you love something, you mess it up a little.” He rinsed a plate and handed it to you. “I bet you have one of those sentence pointer bookmarks.”

He stayed quiet for a moment and you cursed yourself, thinking you might have hurt his feelings with your little teasing. His meal plan was fucking laminated, of course he had a sentence pointer bookmark. When he spoke, you felt like you could breathe again.

“I do have a bookmark. My niece made it for me at school. It’s pink and it has a braided pink and purple ribbon. No sentence pointer.”

His rueful smile and slightly red cheeks made your chest warm. You had to remind yourself that Bucky wasn’t flirting with you. He was just being nice.

“I’m jealous,” you said. “I wish I had one.”

“That can be arranged,” he nodded, his bottom lip jutting out in a pensive pout.

You wondered what this would look like if someone were to enter the room right now. They’d see you and Bucky, standing side by side at the sink as though you were the protagonists of a Norman Rockwell painting called ‘Domestic Bliss’. You wanted more days like this one.

“Yeah?” you breathed out. “You sure?”

“Anything for you, angel.”

Part 6

[sulkybbarnes]

I just saw your post about misinterpreting characters. It was tagged with Adam and Bucky (two of my favorite fictional characters) and though I feel like that when I sometimes read fanfics, I can never just put my finger on it and I'd love to read your take on it!

Oh lord where do I even start... alright, this might get long so apologies in advance, but I have nearly a decade’s worth of thoughts on this. The short answer is: both characters often get severely over simplified, stripped away from essential characteristics, and their understandable reaction to their respective trauma gets overlooked in order to make them more “palatable” and to favor other characters in fics. 

The long answer: 

Let’s start with Adam Parrish. We meet Adam when he’s only 17 years old and we learn that he is an abuse survivor who comes from severe poverty, and along the way we witness trauma that leads to Adam having a disability, and later on learnt hat Adam is bisexual. Adam’s character is very realistic to someone in his position, so that he’s flawed and has issues to work through as the series goes along. These issues are presented at the start of the series through two unreliable narrators: Gansey who is proud and often self-victimizing, and Adam himself who is very introspective and lives in fear of turning into his father. Thus the characteristics the text gives us is that Adam is “cold and calculating” which is courtesy of Gansey, and that Adam is lonesome and prone to anger/arguing with his friends which is Adam’s own worries and insecurities manifesting in his chapters. And yes sure Adam at the start is -understandably- angry with the world at large and feels as if he’s ten steps behind everyone and playing catch-up, but he’s also visibly self-aware and constantly trying to curb any anger and moderate his reactions (even when they’re justified). The book also shows us through actions that Adam is sweet and thoughtful from how he acts around Blue, and shows that he develops as the books go on to be more aware of his actions, more confident in his own goodness, and more willing to show love and allow himself to be loved in return. The later books (BLLB, TRK, Opal story, CDTH) all show an Adam who is kind (his interactions with Opal), thoughtful (his constant thinking about Ronan’s feelings and not wanting to act before he knows he’s as serious/sure about them as Ronan is), a good friend (I’m just gonna.. gesture at the whole Blue/Gansey thing and how gracefully Adam handled it when they didn’t even deign to give him the benefit of the doubt), and a very loving person (which we see in his every interaction with Ronan from TRK onwards). So that’s Adam Parrish, complex and flawed but inherently a good person and a good character. 

However, Fanon Adam Parrish is a different story all together because he is often stripped to whatever bare essentials would serve the fic he is in. SO, in fandom you see an Adam who is either cruel and cold, as to serve some infantilizing hurt angsty version of Ronan. You see an Adam who is angry and prone to lashing out, to serve posts about Gansey being an angel who’s faultless and constantly hurt by his friends. You see an Adam who is disrespectful and hurtful to serve posts about why it was okay for Blue and Gansey to behave the way they did to him. Or on the complete opposite end, you get an Adam who is demure, shy, and almost disgustingly helpless to serve in a fic where he needs saving or some misguided hurt/comfort thing. Adam also often gets stripped away in the latter fics from any rightful anger or sharpness that relates to his trauma. Said anger is treated as something that makes him an unlovable or annoying character (you can find these takes everywhere in trc fandom), and therefore people need to overlook it to make him more palatable to them. Adam’s anger, as we see in CDTH, is often turned inwards and is an on-going struggle for him because it still feels at times as him against the world. It’s one of the best things about his character if you ask me, because it is what he grows out of the most, and what he continues to face and develop against. This trait makes him human and shows his vulnerability. Adam in canon is touch starved and loves fiercely, but in fanon the anger he displays gets used to paint him as unfeeling or constantly angry. Even though Adam shows anger only as much as any other character in the series, and often in a way less explosive (Ronan) or hurtful (Gansey) or entitled (Blue) manner. And so the point is that fandom takes away the complexity that makes Adam Parrish who he is, and molds him into whatever is easiest to digest and shove into a box that works better for the other characters. Adam’s development and arc get completely overlooked most of the time. He is often misinterpreted as one shallow thing, when he is a beautiful mix of emotions that make him Adam Parrish, and make him endearingly and painfully human and real.

Bucky Barnes, my original fave guy, follows strongly along the same lines. All you have to do is change names and events from what I said before and you’ll get how fandom treats Bucky. What I adore about Buck’s character is that he was established instantly as fiercely loyal, loving, fun, a good friend, and someone who is so important to Steve that we see Steve take on a suicide mission to get to Bucky. The progression of the other movies deals with Buck’s trauma and shows all the new aspects to his character that stem from said trauma, while maintaining the undercurrent of goodness and humor that we saw from pre-war Bucky. But once again, the complexity of Bucky’s character and his storyline; the trauma, the PTSD, and the fact that m*rvel never lets him heal, all boils down to fandom only choosing what they find palatable about Bucky and leading with that. I have less to say about this only because I’ve been a fan for too long, and have learned to conduct myself so that I don’t run into upsetting posts anymore, and read fics with a tone and characterization that works for me, but there’s a lot of content out there that strips Buck of his characteristics so much that he might as well be an OC. I will say that you might get more leeway with content based on a movie, than you do with content based on a book (where everything is glaringly obvious in the text), but I still have to roll my eyes at most content I see for Bucky, where he’s either helpless and waiting for someone to save (did we watch the same movies??), innocent and naive in how he conducts himself (...did we watch the same movies?!), or he’s unflinchingly cool and cold and unfeeling (seriously, DID WE WATCH THE SAME MOVIES?!). So once again the endpoint is that Bucky’s misinterpretation comes from a shallow understanding of his character, or complete lack of care about how he’s portrayed so that only one trait -whatever is needed for a fic or a post- is central and amplified while everything else he is falls away. I’m not pretentious enough to say that people can’t just have fun with a character and write whatever they want about it, because they absolutely can.. I’m just saying that it’s not my cup of tea and I wouldn’t read it. In fact, I only made a couple of attempts years ago at writing Bucky myself and then decided that I would rather read well-written things about him, than try and get it right myself because I’d get all in my emotions about his character. 

Tl;dr The theme of having your autonomy taken away and fighting like hell to get it back, and remaining good along the way is what makes both Adam and Bucky so close to my heart. Their respective trauma and complexity is what makes me love them both a lot, and I wish fandom didn’t often strip them away of their complexity to make them easier for fandom to digest.

[96thdayofrage]

Instead of sharing in the outrage of Nia’s brutal murder, they came with fury for being tagged in a post that they felt challenged their own perceived feminist accomplishments. There were grand displays of defensiveness, demands that they be acknowledged for all the things they had done for black people in the past, and a terrifying lashing out that included racial slurs and doxing.

The fragility of these women was not a surprise to me. In a crucial moment of showing up for our marginalized community, there was more concern about their feelings and ego as opposed to the fight forward for women as a whole. What could have been a much-needed and integral display of solidarity and true intersectionality quickly became a live play-by-play of the toxicity that white-centered feminism can bring to the table of activism.

It is the type of behavior that rests under the guise of feminism only as long as it is comfortable, only as long it is personally rewarding, only as long as it keeps "on brand." But if the history of this movement taught us anything, it is that intersectionality in feminism is vital. We cannot forget the ways that suffragettes dismissed the voices of black women, sending them to the backs of their marches, only for black activists like Ida B. Wells and Anna Julia Cooper to make major moves while fighting for the vote in tandem with their fight for rights as black people—ultimately shifting the shape of this country. If there is not the intentional and action-based inclusion of women of color, then feminism is simply white supremacy in heels.

Going up against liberal progressive white feminists who refuse to let down their guard of “ultimate liberation” to actually learn from women of color—who have been fighting this fight with grit and grace for generations—is the most straining part being a black feminist activist. Still, as disheartening as the actions of many of these women who were "called in" became, my highest hope is that this bizarre episode serves as a lesson, a dissection if you will, of what toxic white feminism actually looks like. Let's take a dive into a few of the items in The Toxic White Feminism Playbook:

TONE POLICING

When women of color begin to cry out about their pain, frustration, and utter outrage with the system that is continuing to allow our men to be murdered, our babies to be disregarded, and our livelihood to be dismissed, we are often met with white women who tell us perhaps we should “say things a little nicer” if we want to be respected and heard.

SPIRITUAL BYPASSING

The easiest way for white women to skirt around the realities of racism is to just “love and light it away”. When confronted with ways they have offended a marginalized group with their words or actions, they immediately start to demand unity and peace; painting those they harmed as aggressive, mean, or divisive.

WHITE SAVIOR COMPLEX

Many white women insist that there is no way they could be part of the problem because of their extensive resume of what they’ve “done for you people.” Instead of listening to what the women of color are trying to express, they instead whip out the Nice Things I’ve Done For Black People In The Past, which often includes everything from “says hi to the black man next door every single morning” to “saved a black child through adoption and treats them just as nicely as my white children.”

This is the most common of all. White women get so caught up in how they feel in a moment of black women expressing themselves that they completely vacuum the energy, direction, and point of the conversation to themselves and their feelings. They start to explain why race is hard for them to talk about, what they think would be a better solution to the topic at hand, and perhaps what women of color can do to make it more palatable.

As these things play out over and over again, it is made painfully obvious that many white women believe that the worst thing that can happen to them is to be called a racist. Let me be clear, it is not. Seeing your child gunned down in the street by the police unjustly is much worse, being turned away for medical care due to race and underlying biases by medical staff, resulting in death, is much worse, being harassed by authorities only to be charged yourself instead is much worse.

But even moments of explicit dehumanization to the black community haven’t been able to rally the majority of liberal white women to join us in our fight for racial justice. I've learned through my work that white women seem to only digest race issues when it is reframed in the light of (white) feminism. So I often have to lay it out this way:

When you try to exclude yourself from the conversation of race by saying things like “I don’t see color,” or “I married a black man and have brown kids,” that's just as irrational as a man saying there is no way he could be sexist or misogynistic because he has a daughter.

When you seek to not be lumped into the conversation about oppressive systems against marginalized people, because you view yourself as woke, you are essentially screaming “not all men.”

When you try to rationalize police brutality by saying “but black people also kill black people,” you’re coming in with the same argument that men have when they say “she shouldn’t have worn that skirt, she deserves to be raped”.

When you walk into black or brown spaces and “suggest” how they can more aptly reach white people on the topic of race you are basically mansplaining, only now it's whitesplaining how people of color should approach their own activism.

When you begin to feel defensive about the conversation of race, demanding explanations, it is like a man walking into a women’s space saying: “Make me feel more comfortable in this moment, even though the point of this space is sorting out how I make you feel uncomfortable everyday in multiple ways.”

So what does allyship actually look like? Accepting the reality of this country's dynamics. White skin yields white privilege and an ally is willing to use their privilege to fight with and for those who are marginalized. Allyship means voting for elected officials who have a track record of ensuring the most marginalized among us are heard and advocated for. Allyship means using your sphere of influence whether it be your dining room table or the boardroom of your company to call out racist actions and ideals. Allyship means uplifting the voices and experiences of people of color so that we are not continuously drowned out and ignored.

"Many liberal white woman have an immediate reaction of defense when someone challenges their intentions."

What makes allyship so hard for most? Many liberal white woman have an immediate reaction of defense when someone challenges their intentions. And it is in that precise moment they need to stop and realize they are actually part of the problem. It is never the offender who gets to decide when they've offended someone. If you feel yourself dismissing the words or experiences of people of color—because you think they're "overreacting" or because you "didn't know" or because "it has nothing to do with race"—it's often due to your ego, not rationale. Listen and learn, instead.

Dr. Robin DiAngelo, a white woman sociologist who studies critical discourse, reminds us in her new book White Fragility that “the key to moving forward is what we do with our discomfort. We can use it as a door out—blame the messenger and disregard the message. Or we can use it as a door in by asking, Why does this unsettle me? What would it mean for me if this were true?”

Racism is as American as pie. In order for the feminist movement to truly be progressive and intersectional, white women must face this fact and begin to take on their load of work. We are long overdue to dismantle this system, which, if it is not intentionally and aggressively addressed, will defeat us all in the end.

[jawritter]

Finally Yours

**Warnings!!** SMUTT!! LOL. ABO dynamics, Rutting Alpha, Near Farel Alpha, Heat-induced smut, rut induced smut. The implication of male masturbation (brief), Late bloomer reader, language, angst, I think that’s everything!!

A/N: This story was cross-posted from Wattpad! All mistakes are mine! Please don’t copy my stuff!! If you would like to be added to my tag list let me know!! Hope you all enjoy this little ABO Oneshot!

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam X Read (Platonic friendship)

Word Count: 3087

********Check out my masterlist!!!*******

MASTERLIST!!!

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Dean’s POV:

Dean pulled himself up from his lying position, sweat dripping from his body. Throwing the toy he’d been trying to use to find some relief across the room, aggravated at the damn thing for not work for him anymore. No matter what he did, he couldn’t find any relief. He’d been in a full rut now for more than a week and a half. He’d hired Omega’s to help him through ruts in the past, but no one really wanted to help an Alpha like him. One that was past his prime.

He was 41 years old and unmated, so he was surprised he’d lasted this long alone without going feral before. Now though, it seemed this rut would be the one to do him. 

Running his hand down his face harshly before pulling down the rest of the scotch in the bottle he’d been drinking he picked up the phone with shaking hands and dialed Sam’s number. He needed to be locked down before he went completely feral. While he still could make the choice not to hurt anyone around him.

He thought when he met Y/N that she might be his mate, but she turned out to be beta. He’d heard all the stories of true mates, and soulmates, but he supposed it just wasn’t in the cards for him. Maybe his fate got thrown off when he was brought back from hell all those years ago, his omega given to someone else while he was gone.

He was hoping against all hope that Y/N would have been an omega, he’d loved her for a long time now, even if he was too afraid to say it. They just weren’t biologically compatible, and there was no changing that. 

She was Bobby’s niece. He’d promised Bobby that he’d look after her after he was gone, and so far he’d kept to his word. 

Now, who would watch over her? He was going to die down here, he knew it, this was it for him, he was going to go completely feral, and his brother was going to have to put him down. There would be no going back for him.

He always thought that he’d go down in a hunt, some vengeful spirit, Djinn, hell a vamp or a demon. He never thought he’d go down like this. Here it was though, no way out. He’d been trying to find a release for days now and nothing. His vision flashes red before him in increments as he dialed Sam’s number. He knew he didn’t’ have long. Growls falling from his chest involuntarily.

“Dean, Is it over, are you ready to go on a hunt?” Sam answered the phone hopefully, Dean suppressed the whine that wanted to escape him.

“Sammy, I need you to come to lock me down…” 

Silence fell on the other end of the phone. Sams’ heart was racing. This couldn’t be. No there had to be another way. His brother couldn’t go feral and leave him.

“Dean, just hang in there, I’ll find you an Omega to help you.”

“It’s too late Sam, I don’t have much time before I lose me completely, If you bring an Omega in here I may hurt her.”

Silence fell on the other end of the phone again. 

“I’m on my way to you Dean, just hang in there, we will figure this out.” 

With that Sam hung up the phone, and Dean dropped it to his side, looking at the toy that lay on the floor across the room from him. His crotch throbbing painfully from his prostate to his knees, causing him to whimper loudly as he fisted himself harshly, getting up to and retrieve the useless toy to try again. He couldn’t give up, even though he was exhausted. Sam depended on him, he always had. He had to fight this.

Your POV:

You watched the desperation run across Sam’s face as he hung up the phone with Dean. Pressing the accelerator harder into the floorboard of Dean’s beloved Impala, flying toward the bunker toward his brother.

You had been with the Winchester brothers ever since your uncle Bobby passed away. He had been taking care of you after your parents were murdered by a demon all those years ago. You were only 8 at the time.

You, like Sam, were a beta. Dean was an Alpha, much like his father before him. Dean had become your most trusted friend and protector over the years that you’d spent with the brothers. You had just turned 25 years old and had been with the brothers since you were 17.

Even though you loved Sam like a brother, over the years you had developed quite a large bit of feelings for the elder Winchester. When you were 15 though, and all the other had already presented by that age, you were still a beta, which meant even after you turned 18 there would be no future for you and Dean. It just didn’t work out that way in this universe. He needed an Omega, there was very little you could do for him.

Still, the heart wants what the heart wants, and you just couldn’t shake the feels you always had for Dean, even after all these years. Even though yourself and Sam where beta Dean still made you leave the bunker, hotel, or whatever and wherever you were at when his ruts would start. He always said he didn’t want you to see him like that, but really you knew he just didn’t want you to watch the parade of Omega’s that he would hire or find at a local watering hole to help him through his ruts.

You and Sam had taken this opportunity to go and see Jody and the girls for this rut. When you didn’t hear from him you both assumed that everything was fine, and going like it usually did. You were about fifteen miles from the bunker when Sam’s phone rang, and you knew something must have been horribly wrong judging by Sam’s reaction. It made your heart seize up in your chest. You just couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to Dean.

“Sam, what’s wrong?” you asked, watching him closely.

Sam swallowed heavily, looking at you briefly, then back at the road. It was no secret to Sam the way you felt about his older brother, even though he knew you tried to hide it and never would admit it to him.

You knew he knew as well, but you just couldn’t say it out loud. Saying how you feel out loud made it real, and then his rejection was real. You didn’t know if you could handle that.

“It’s Dean, he’s still in rut, he can’t come out of it. He wants me to tie him up, so I’m going to tie him up, and then try and find an Omega to help him. Y/N, he says he doesn’t have much time, he thinks he’s going feral…” Sam cut off his sentence unable to say anymore.

Your stomach twisted in you tightly before letting go. You felt like you wanted to curl up and vomit all at the same time. You couldn’t lose Dean. If he went feral, and you couldn’t help him, and Sam couldn’t find someone who could, you couldn’t think about the consequences.

In what felt like no time Sam landed at the bunker. Your stomach had been doing flips and cramping ever since Sam told you the situation. You didn’t know if it was nerves or the greasy dinner food you had eaten on your way here, but you didn’t have time to deal with being sick right now. So you pushed it down and ran after Sam down the stairs, and toward the hallway to Dean’s room.

Just as you rounded the corner with Sam outside of Dean’s door a smell hit you, something heady, and strong. Stronger than you’d ever smelt before. It was the smell of leather, and pine and gun powered; mixed with something that was unique and appealing. As soon as you smelt it your stomach knotted up on you like someone had twisted a white-hot poker in your gut, then twisted it. Sweat broke out over your skin in an instant.

Sam stopped in his tracks, skidding to a halt, and looking at you doubled over in pain. You couldn’t stop the scream that fell from your lips. Sam dropped to his knees next to you.

“Y/N, what’s wrong!” 

Sam was starting to panic.

Tears were running down your face now. You were scared, you had never experienced anything like this. The overpowering scent was making it hard to concentrate. It filled your senses, making it all you could focus on. Filling every fiber of your being. “I don’t know Sam..”

Through the door of Dean’s room, a low growl eliminated. The sound made your whole body tremble. Sam watched you, realization showing in his eyes.

“Y/N, I know what’s wrong.. You are presenting. Your and Omega, my brother’s Omega. His rut has triggered your first heat.”

“That’s impossible Sam, I’m 25 years old!!”

“Late bloomer,” Sam shrugged. 

Suddenly the door to Dean's room opened behind Sam. You heard the growling sound before you saw him. His eyes were almost black, sweat dripping from his body, it trembled as he leaned against the doorway, his muscles jerking under his skin at random. His eye were hooded as he stared at you, grows mixed with whimpers leaving his solid bear chest.

“Omega,” he whispered, and your body responded to his command immediately, slick coating your underwear in a gush. His scent hit you harder than you’d ever smelt anything in your life. Your body trembled on the floor before him, and your head bowing automatically without your control.

“Alpha..” 

At his title, he purred low in his chest, more slick coating your underwear now, responding to Dean’s obvious approval. Your thought process was falling out of the window. The only thing you could focus on was the overwhelming need to have him.

Opening the door wider for you to come into his room, Dean stood and waited for you, as you stood to your feet and staggered your way toward the tall alpha. 

Your alpha. 

There was no doubt in your mind, Dean Winchester was your alpha, and you need each other now more than ever before.

Sam jumped up and grabbed your arm, causing Dean to snarl and step toward his brother. Sam threw his hands in the air in surrender. 

“Wait, wait, Dean, you said on the phone that you were afraid you were going to hurt an Omega if I brought one here for you.”

“Not going to hurt my Omega Sam, now get out of the way and let her come to me.”

Reluctantly, Sam moved to the side and allowed you to move closer to him. As soon as you were in grabbing distance, Dean’s hot hands were on your body, pulling you close this chest before slamming the door.

“Y/N, are you sure you want this with me? Because I’m too far gone, I’m not going to be able to stop.”

His scent was surrounding you. You were panting as his hands roamed your body, Dean backing you towards his bed. His smell was all over the room, clouding your judgment, and making your head spin. All you could see what him, all you ever wanted was him, all you’d ever want again was him, nothing else would ever matter again.

“I need you, Dean. Please Alpha..”

The words weren’t even good and out of your mouth before his mouth was on yours in a bruising kiss. Tongue diving into your lips.

His tongue quickly dominated yours. His body pressed against yours. His rough calloused hands roaming your body. Picking you up harshly he carried you across the room, quickly laying you down on the bed. For the first time, you noticed that he was completely naked. His thick chest and shoulders heaving with heavy breaths. His muscular arms caged around you as he buried his face in your neck, breathing in deeply and whimpering. Trying to hold onto his own control that was slipping from him quickly.

Grabbing your shirt he ripped it from your body roughly. Buttons flying across the room, clinging as it hit random objects in his room. In one swift movement he had your pants undone, and your bra and panties down in one pull. All along with your boots and socks that went in what felt like a flash.

Sweat was prickling all over your skin. With every growl or whimper that left his lips your body produced more slick, that was now running down your legs.

Once he was satisfied that you were completely naked he looked at you, a deep growl escaping his lips. His own body trembling as he took you in. His thick length standing at attention, bobbing against the strain to reach its goal. A small bead of pre-come gathered at the tip. He was massive. You had heard about the size of alpha’s being impressive before, you had never been with an alpha though, and the sheer size of him was downright terrifying.

A shudder and a whimper ripped through you as another wave of cramps assaulted your body. Getting worse every time there was a fresh wave.

Dean laid his body back over you, Pressing his weight down on top of you. Your body soothed some by his touch and his closeness.

“Going to take care of you ‘mega.” 

Letting him Nussle into your neck, he slipped two fingers into your aching core, curling them inside of you, sending shock waves of pleasure through your whole body.

“So beautiful Omega, so responsive.” Dean purred above you, licking the same spot on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You could feel the familiar coil begin to burn and tighten in your abdomen, just as you thought you couldn’t get any close to the edge your overheated body trembling and twitching, Dean added a third, thick finger into you and fell to pieces.

White spot speckled your vision and you moaned deeply something you had never done before. Dean worked you a little more gently until your body came down from it’s high.

When you opened your eyes again Dean was hovering over you, watching you. Light growls emanating from his chest.

“Alpha, I need you.” 

The words barely above a whisper, but it was the permission he seemed to be waiting for. His eyes darkened even further if that were even possible. Fisting is thick harshly several times before lining himself up with your dripping entrance, he brought his lips to you in a bruising kiss as he sank himself deep inside of you until the tip of his throbbing length hit your cervix.

A deep breath pushed from your lungs involuntarily as your body adjusted to him. His thick arms caged around you. His scent everywhere, making you feel drunk. Your walls already fluttering around him. His body twitching above you, shivering with restraint as he tried to keep himself from pounding into you until your body had adjusted to his.

Reaching up he brushed your hair out of your face and brushed his lips across yours. Kissing you softly before the last of his humanity faded away, and he began to start moving slowly.

He moved slowly at first, purring above you. Then something seemed to snap in him, and a growl rumbled deep in him. He started pounding into you at a brutal pace. Your body responds to him immediately, taking every brutal thrust with ease. Which surprised even you.

Moans and purrs escaping both of your lips, as both of you quickly made your way toward the edge again. Without warning, he pulled himself out of you and flipped you over to stomach, pulling you up to your knees before ramming himself back into you. Picking up his pace even further.

His knot starting to swell and catching your entrance with every push and pull of his body against yours. You tried your best to meet his pace as he pounded into you. His knot swelled even further as his fingers wound their way around, finding your little bundle of nerves and circling harshly with his fingers. Plummeting you over the edge as his knot locked deep inside of you.

A deep growl fell from his throat as his teeth sank deep inside the skin of the junction of your neck and shoulder. The pain quickly erased into pleasure as the strongest orgasm you had ever experience washed over you. Momentarily your vision went black and your body jerked without your control.

Dean slowly withdrew his teeth from your neck, laying you down slowly. His knot still connecting your bodies, and his cum spilled deeply inside of you. He pulled you tight to his chest, purring and licking your fresh claiming mark. Healing it, and soothing it like only your Alpha could.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Dean finally asked after a long while with the two of you just laying there holding onto each other. Adjusting to your new reality, and the warm fuzzy feeling that seemed to be flowing from your Alpha to you.

“I’m okay, but what about you?” you say, remembering why you and Sam had rushed here in the first place. Turning your head so that you could look at him some.

His face looked calmer than you’d seen him in a long time. Tired even. His rut was finally gone. Peacefully purring as he leaned down to nuzzle your claiming mark. Licking it lightly before answering you.

“I’m fine sweetheart, I’m going to be just fine.”

For the first time in a long time, Dean believed what he was saying. It wasn’t forced, it wasn’t a lie, he really felt like now that he’d found his Omega, the woman he’d been in love with even when biology said there was no way was finally his. Everything else would work itself out. Right now his Omega, his love, laying here in his arms was all that mattered to him.

—————————————————————————————————-

Tag List:

@deanwanddamons​  @imabitch4jensen​   @rvgrsbrns​

[40sbarnes]

Medici: Spymasters of Florence

Chapter 7: Gone For A Swim

Part seven! Sorry it’s a little late, I might edit it slightly in the morning I just wanted to post it! (Please excuse any typos!)

Also wanted to say tysm for all the support on previous parts! It’s really inspiring and it’s so overwhelming to see that people actually enjoy my work!

tw; mentions of blood

Parings; lorenzo x reader, (friends) francesco x reader

Tag list; @brynthebulldozer @mythicalamphitrite @nana035 @valravnsraven

Also credit to @heyrowena for making the cover pic for this chapter!!! It looks so profesional I’m in love anyways..,

The splash of the water quickly faded in with the rain pouring down onto the crashing waves. You remained at the end of the dock for a moment, studying the water, as if your victim would be reanimated by the water, and come back for revenge. Contrary to your imagination however, the rocks you'd desperately shoved into his clothing had been effective.

You took another deep breath to steady yourself. You were still soaked in his blood, although it was almost dried now, even beginning to flake on your skin. You had considered the thought of washing up by the ocean but you decided it was best to flee the scene while you still had the chance. It had to be just midnight, and the possibility of some drunkard seeing you wasn't null. Not to mention the literal blood trail leading to you. You had to think quickly, you didn't know whether someone would come looking for him, or if somebody already was. The Pazzi home was so close by, and you knew you could always seek refuge there, Francesco would never turn you away, but turning up at this hour, covered in blood, minutes after their messenger left, they'd have connected the dots by the morning, and you'd be joining the messenger by noon.

You considered just going home. It was your first instinct, but it was too far. You'd have to cross half the city, not to mention how most of your neighbours would be up at this hour. And the minute Pazzi started looking for information on tonight, they'd all be telling tales for the reward. There wasn't a real sense of community there. You knew a handful of holes in the wall within the city that you could hide out in, but you'd run into the same problem again.

There was one place you could go. It wasn't too far and you could dance around the outside of the city to reach it. It had decent security, sure you knew how to sneak by it but hopefully others couldn't. If anyone happens to track you back there, it wouldn't be an awful shock that it was to the Medici home, and it definitely wouldn't point them in the direction of y/n Bellondini. You began heading there, Lorenzo wouldn't be home anyways, he had made it painfully obvious he was going to Lucrezia tonight. You would have until morning to clean up and rest, and you could explain it to him then, when you had perfected your story.

This has all gotten so terribly out of hand so quickly. You were supposed to do a simple lift. Of a piece of parchment. How did it all go so wrong? You gritted your teeth as a steady stream of tears made their way down your cheek, slipping through the cracks in the blood.

You pulled your cloak tighter around your body, feeling the night as the adrenaline wore off and guilt crept in.

That man had thought he was making a simple delivery. He worked for the Pazzi's exactly as you did. Conversed with Francesco as you did. You wondered how close they were. If Francesco would grieve him. You took some solace in that you had only seen him in the courtyard the once. Although it's not as if you often crossed paths with other Pazzi spies. You didn't have a weekly catch up to gossip about Jacopo's new hair style. How much easier life would be if you did. The simple thought was amusing, until you imagined the man at the bottom of the ocean giggling over your bosses ponytail.

You quickly pushed the thought out of your mind, watching as the Medici home came into your view. Each of your footsteps became precise, your tears stopped falling. You couldn't imagine your fate if you were dragged into Lorenzos office by guards, let alone appearing the way you did right now. It probably wouldn't even be Lorenzo, perhaps his mother or brother, who had no motive to not turn you over to the authorities. You steadied your breathing, you were just raising your own anxiety levels. You were well able to sneak in, you had done it before. No matter how much Lorenzo liked to tease you otherwise, you were a good spy. Such a good spy, you murdered another one. No. You didn't have the time for this now. You did what you had to do.

The grass softened your footsteps as you snuck through the gardens outside Lorenzo's window. There was no one about, what with it being midnight and lashing rain. You skipped across the paths to reach the stone walls, reaching up to grab one of the protruding ones. The wet cobble made it much more difficult to get a proper grip, but you were determined. The sky kept pelting down on you and you climbed, ignoring all thoughts of exhaustion and weakness, willing yourself on. It took you almost double the time it usually would, but you reached Lorenzo's window, and desperately pulled yourself up onto the sill.

You sat there for a moment, collecting your breath, shaking as the sky continued to open itself onto you, the wind feeling harsher at this height. After a few seconds passed, you moved to open the window before freezing to death. You peered into the room quickly, knowing Lorenzo was probably already with Lucrezia right now, but just having the instinct to check. It was dark inside, the only light coming from the fire crackling in the corner, but no one was there. Thank the lord. Your fingers curled around the window frame, attempting to pull it open as you always did, to find it wouldn't budge. You tried to look at it from the inside, unable to get a clear view. It must've been locked. All your effort, to sit on a window sill. You glanced back down at the ground, unsure if you had the effort to make your way back down. Where would you even go once you made it down? You just wanted to close your eyes, they were desperately trying to get you to do so, but you knew you couldn't. Your brain searched for a solution, but you didn't know what to do. You let your head rest against the window pane, your knees huddled into your chest, contemplating just smashing the glass and praying for Lorenzo's forgiveness later. But that would make an awful loud noise... you were running out of options. Your eyes fluttered closed, you knew you couldn't fall asleep here, but you couldn't hold out any longer. A glimmer of light forced your eyes open. They focused on the door opening within the room, Lorenzo had entered. He quickly grabbed something off the desk, clearly having forgotten it, before going to head back out. Your initial instinct was to hide, to not let him know you had failed so badly, but you knew it wasn’t an option right now. You couldn’t choose your pride over your life. You mustered all your energy to knock measly on the glass. Lorenzo froze in his tracks, unsure of what he heard, until you knocked again, this time with more force. He turned, and saw you sitting on his window. He closed the door instantly, shocked, and crossed the room to unlock the window. You tried to move to climb in, his arms moving to your waist to lift you in as you did.

You fell inside, straight into Lorenzo’s hold as he helped you, your hood falling as you burrowed your forehead into him, both of you kneeling on the ground by the window, the rain trickling in. It was as if you crumbled completely beneath his touch. Finally feeling safe enough to do so. You forced yourself not to let any more tears fall, already feeling weak enough. Lorenzo simply held you for a few moments, as if he could feel how badly you needed it.

You pulled back, Lorenzo still holding your arms, “What happened?” He took in your state fully.

“I’m sorry,” you instantly began with, not looking into his eyes, “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Y/n,” his hands moved to hold your face instead, forcing you to meet his gaze, “where are you hurt?” His eyes scanned your blood-covered body, looking for a wound he wouldn’t find.

“It’s-“ You sighed, watching as he continued his search, lifting your hand to sit atop his on your cheek, “it’s not my blood.”

Lorenzo froze, staring at the floor beside you, deep in thought. “Good,” his eyes flashed back to yours, as he gave you a flicker of a smile, “what did you do?” His voice had lost any hint of softness, and you remembered who you were dealing with.

“The messenger...” you chose your words carefully, “attacked me,” you lifted your chin to the ceiling, hoping the choke mark was still visible beneath all the blood. Lorenzo’s hands fell to your sides. “I had no choice,” you croaked out, your mind taunting you with the thought of whether or not that was the truth.

Lorenzo stood up, turning away from you, uncharacteristically quiet. “You killed him?” He asked, peering over his shoulder to gage your reaction. You nodded ever so slightly, dropping your head afterwards, as if you were hearing the news yourself for the first time.

Lorenzo’s footsteps padded across the oak floors, until you heard the door creak open. He’d left you. He was going to tell everyone. You shouldn’t of trusted him. You spun to face the window, the rain pouring down even stronger than before. There was no way you made that trip safely. What did you do?

The door opened again, and Lorenzo was back, with a bowl in his hands. Your eyebrows furrowed, he hadn’t gone to yell your crimes to all of Florence? He set the bowl down beside you, before kneeling in front of you. Without a word, he reached into the dish, which you could now see held water, and pulled out a piece of cloth. He rinsed it, letting the majority of the water drip back in, before lifting the fabric to your face, gently prodding at the blood. You despised how you leaned into his touch. His other hand positioned itself under your chin to hold you steady. You closed your eyes, not being able to look at him. This was certainly not what you expected from him. The soft crackling of the fire was the only noise in the room for a few moments.

“I got it,” you spoke up, desperate for him to not view you as a complete failure.

“Hmm?” He stayed focused on washing your face.

“The message,” you reached to retrieve it to give it to him.

“Thank you,” he took it from you and placed it behind him. His lack of interest almost offended you, but you caught yourself, as he refreshened the cloth in the water.

“Where is he... now?” Lorenzo questioned tenderly.

“Swimming,” you replied instantly, your voice steady as you kicked his lifeless body off the dock all over again. Lorenzo let out a light chuckle, before moving down to dab at your neck. You winced without thinking.

“Sorry,” his movements became much more gentle, you couldn’t believe how he was acting so kind.

“It’s fine,” you assured him, tipping your head back slightly to make his job easier. You readied yourself now, willing yourself not to flinch. And you didn’t.

“No one saw you?”

“No one.”

There wasn’t much to clean after that. It was all over your dress and cloak, but on your actual skin there was just your arms left. He brought your hands into the bowl to clean them, both of your attention being brought to his ring which you still stupidly hadn’t taken off. You gently took the rag off of him, finishing rinsing your hands. He smiled, although there was no happiness in his eyes. He got up once again, heading for his wardrobe, pulling out one of his undershirts.

“I’ll get you something proper in the morning, but you can sleep in this,” he passed the garment to you.

“Thank you,” you graciously took it from him. You knew he had to do all this, so he wouldn’t suffer the consequences when people found out who you were working for, but he didn’t have the usual bitterness he carried around you. It was strange, but you invited it. He picked up the bowl off the floor as you slipped your cloak off, moving it to his desk, turning away from you. “Two nights now in my room, y/n, people will begin to talk,” he teased, still looking away from you. You took the opportunity to change, although Lorenzo didn’t face back until you spoke.

You moved past his comment. “What of my clothes?”

Spinning to meet your gaze, he took the aforementioned clothes from where you’d dropped them on the floor. “I hope they weren’t your favourite,” he huffed before tossing them into the fire. You watched as the flames struggled to catch them, until they were fully engulfed.

“Get some rest,” Lorenzo tilted his head to the bed.

“I really am sorry,” you promised him, he had been too kind to you, you didn’t trust it, you had expected a far harsher reception.

“It’s as you said, you had no choice. We’ll talk more tomorrow. For now, rest.” He spoke calmly.

You just nodded in gratitude, climbing into the soft sheets for a second night, your mind wandering as soon your head hit the pillow. You wondered if he was just rushing you so he could go meet up with Lucrezia already. You had certainly made him late. Or if he was waiting to suffocate you in your sleep. You shouldn’t of slept either way, but you couldn’t help it. Exhaustion was too quick to take over, your body desperate for a moment of relaxation.

In your last moments of consciousness you wondered how long it would take before Lorenzo left you, rushing to Lucrezia, choosing her. Although, it didn’t take him any time, as he didn’t do it. He stayed there, sitting on the same chair as the night before, all night. He chose you.

[panharmonium]

Hi! Love your blog l, found it today and inhaled all of your Merlin Meta. All of it just resonated with me. So, I just wanted to ask what your thoughts were on 2x08 when Merlin lied to Arthur about the truth of his birth, and what other ways it could have possibly played out, i.e. do you think it would have been possible for Merlin to have stopped Arthur from killing Uther but without saying that Morgause was lying?

Hi, nice to meet you! :D  So, I’ll admit right up front that the first part of my answer to this is gonna be super boring, because I am totally the worst person to ask about other ways this scene (or any scene, really) could have played out.  I’ve never had much interest in AU scenarios, so I virtually never think about them - I think the only exception is the “Will comes to Camelot” story that a few friends and I are perpetually playing around with, and that’s only interesting to me because it’s Will, and I enjoy pretty much anything where he’s concerned. X) 

But besides that, I don’t typically enjoy thinking about alternate pathways - I really like the way the canon Merlin story plays out up until the finale, so generally all I want to do is think about the canon.  I’ve never wanted to dream up new ways for things to go (I dunno why; I’ve just never gotten much interest out of it).  So unfortunately I don’t have any cool ideas about other ways this could have played out, but I know there are tons of people in this fandom who love making lots of AUs, so maybe if anybody has recommendations they can point you in the right direction in the replies here!

In terms of just general thoughts on 2.08, one of the most interesting things to me about this episode to me is how Morgause actually *is* lying (not completely, but enough.)  She doesn’t tell Arthur the whole truth about what happened with Uther, and she doesn’t even truly summon Ygraine; it’s an illusion of Morgause’s own making.  And we know that because “Ygraine” herself gives it away - earlier in this episode, Arthur says, “I never knew [my mother].  She died before I opened my eyes,” but then when the so-called Ygraine appears, the show specifically makes sure to have her say, “When I last held you, you were a tiny baby.  I remember your eyes.  You were staring up at me.”  Which is the tip-off for us - that’s not her.  

And because of this, Morgause has complete control over the framing of what Arthur hears in this scene.  It’s true that Uther went to Nimueh, and it’s true that he knew a life would have to be taken in return, but he didn’t know whose.  Morgause, though, through her illusion of Ygraine, specifically makes it sound like Uther knew Ygraine herself would die (”He sacrificed my life so the Pendragon dynasty could continue”), and I mean, it’s not that I think Uther’s decision is any better just because he was willing to sacrifice some random person’s life instead of his wife’s, but it’s relevant that Morgause embellishes the truth specifically to engineer a particular reaction from Arthur.

And, given this, it’s also relevant to note that Merlin doesn’t actually lie to Arthur at the end of this episode.  He says, “Morgause is lying.  She’s an enchantress.  She tricked you.  That wasn't your mother.  It was an illusion.  Everything, everything your mother said to you - those were Morgause's words.”  And that’s true.  Arthur makes the assumption that this means that the substance of Morgause’s words was all false - and Merlin allows him to think this - but Merlin never actually says as much.  

And to be honest, it shouldn’t even matter what Merlin says.  Afterwards, when Arthur asks Uther flat-out whether Merlin is right, Uther never actually denies the part he played in Ygraine’s death.  Arthur says, “Swear to me that it isn’t true, that you are not responsible for her death,” but Uther just replies, “I swear on my life, I loved your mother.  There isn't a day that passes that I don't wish she were alive.  I could never have done anything to hurt her.”  It’s a pretty clever bit of maneuvering, but it’s not a denial.  He swears that he loved her.  He doesn’t swear that he didn’t cause her death.  

And the thing is, Arthur is fully capable of realizing this.  Uther’s dodge is painfully obvious to everyone listening.  Arthur knows what he really asked his father, and he hears the evasion his father offers in response, same as everybody else in the room.  Regardless of what Merlin said previously about Morgause (all of which is technically correct!), Arthur is still completely capable of arriving at the truth on his own.  Uther’s own words make it very clear.  If Arthur would just think about it a little harder, or look at it a little deeper, he would see that.  

But he doesn’t want to.  He chooses not to examine it too closely.  It would be too hard to accept, and it would hurt too much, and the only way he can make all his difficult feelings go away is to fall back on a familiar, comfortable, “sorcery is evil” explanation.  It papers over the truth for him.  It allows him to continue on with his life without having to confront pain.

And that’s a problem, as I’ve said many times before.  We can rag on Merlin all we want for having the audacity to stop a friend from committing patricide, and we can blame him for arresting Arthur’s momentum and letting Uther live and sentencing the magical community to further suffering, but the ultimate fact of the matter is that Arthur is the one who ultimately chooses to look away here.  Arthur has all of the information he needs regardless of what Merlin says, and he chooses not to pursue it, because it would cause him too much pain.

And it’s not the first time he’s done this.  I talked about it before, in the tags of this post, when Arthur reacts to a so-called sorcerer who dies saving his life, and it’s the same exact progression - he’s confronted by something that challenges his worldview, and for a second he feels troubled/pained/guilty, and then, to escape those uncomfortable feelings, he retreats back into a framework that makes sense to him.  A framework that is easier for him.  A framework that hurts less, and, most importantly, a framework that doesn’t implicate him in any wrongdoing.

So what I’m saying is, in my opinion, it doesn’t matter if Merlin tells Arthur that Morgause was tricking him or not.  She was!  And Merlin’s acknowledgment of that fact isn’t enough to dissuade Arthur from attacking his father; Arthur is still pressing Uther to swear his innocence after Merlin says it.  It’s Uther’s words that make Arthur back down, but those words are also exactly what make Uther’s guilt apparent.  

Arthur just doesn’t want to acknowledge it yet.

[dessarious]

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt72

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

AO3   Beginning   Previous   Next

Bruce waited impatiently in the living room surrounded by his family and Diana Prince. He’d been surprised to see her in her civilian form but once she got over the initial shock of the Miraculous users being teenagers she’d been staunchly on their side. He still had no idea if the Ladybug and her team were showing up transformed or not. He had no idea how many were even coming.

Barbara seemed more tense than the rest though he wasn’t sure why. He knew she’d spent a lot of time talking to Tim the last couple days though he had no idea what about. Dick and Steph were both about to vibrate off the couch in their excitement. He wasn’t entirely sure why but he’d heard them mention something about Ladybug hopefully having black hair and blue eyes in her civilian form so they could get a new sister. It was nonsense that he could only roll his eyes at. Jason was calm and that honestly worried him. Cass was… well Cass. She wasn’t very emotive on her best days and right now was no exception. She never participated when they discussed Paris’ Heroes so he wasn’t certain what she thought of this whole thing other than she’d agreed to be here not suited up.

When the portal finally opened he almost let out a sigh of relief. The first through were Tim and a horse themed holder who were arguing about various things from the sound of it. Next came a boy with teal hair and a blonde girl, both of which just seemed done with the other two. When the portal closed behind them he was a bit surprised, slightly less so when the horse themed hero turned into Damian. Neither one of the other two looked like Ladybug, both were too tall for starters, but perhaps the transformations could change them more drastically than they’d thought.

“Father I’d like to introduce Luka Couffaine, who holds the Snake Miraculous as Viperion.” The boy with the teal hair smiled calmly and nodded to them all. “Chloe Bourgeois, who holds the Black Cat Miraculous as Discorde.” The blonde girl had been sizing them up the entire time and was still just looking at them with an air of calm disdain. “And…” Damian let out a string of curses. “Is she seriously asleep?” Luka looked amused but Chloe just turned her annoyed glare on his son.

“She has been ever since you two refused to stop arguing about things that had already been decided. She’s had an extremely taxing week and none of this is helping.” She was speaking through gritted teeth, as though trying not to yell, and Bruce finally noticed that she was carrying someone on her back. Damian just glared back at the girl but Tim immediately looked guilty. While Chloe and Damian continued to try and stared the other into submission Luka reached behind Chloe to the person she was carrying.

“Come on Maribug, time to wake up.” They all heard a groan and saw matching fond smiles on Chloe and Luka’s faces. There was a hint of movement before a face appeared over Chloe’s shoulder, one hand rubbing sleep from her eyes. Bruce couldn’t help but notice how worn down the girl looked. It wasn’t having just woken up either. Her face was pale and she had dark circles under her eyes. Her eyes were another story entirely, and that made him pause. That haunted look of having seen too much that was normally reserved for soldiers coming back from war had no business being prominent in one so young. He had hoped that the Miraculous magic made them appear younger than they were but it was painfully obvious the two girls were the same age as Damian, and the boy not much older. He looked over at Diana and she was staring at them with horror and pity. Damian cleared his throat.

“And this is Marinette Dupain-Cheng who holds the Ladybug Miraculous.” The girl offered a shy smile and wave before dropping her chin to Chloe’s shoulder. Damian went through and introduced all of them as well, noting the looks of interest when he got to Babs but no one said anything. Once he was finished Marinette offered them all a bright smile.

“It’s very nice meeting you all officially, and I would like to apologize for our last interaction. I was very pressed on time and I couldn’t afford to have any unknowns making an even bigger mess of things. It was necessary but I still feel bad about how short I was with all of you.” Trying to reconcile this exhausted ray of sunshine with the hero who had appeared in the Batcave was simply not working. Chloe being Discorde made sense. She was still staring at them all, daring them to screw something up so she could lash out at them, though he had no idea why.

“You can put her down you know. No one here is going to attack you.” Luka winced as Chloe actually growled at Diana’s words. Bruce was just thankful it hadn’t been one of his family to cause that reaction and he watched Marinette whisper in Chloe’s ear, obviously trying to calm the girl down. When she finally turned to Diana she just looked resigned.

“She can’t put me down actually. I was paralyzed in the last confrontation with Hawkmoth in a way that Tikki couldn’t heal.” Diana’s astonishment was written all over her face and she didn’t seem to be able to respond. Suddenly their interest in Babs made a lot more sense.

“That’s why you’ve been hounding me about wheelchairs and everything else related to my condition.” Tim just nodded and Barbara turned a sympathetic gaze to Marinette. “You need anything you call me. It’s rough, especially at the beginning, but it helps to have a good support system.”

“I definitely have that.” He noted the way her arms tightened on her partner. “And once my parents stop freaking out about everything I’m sure it’ll get even better.” Chloe let out an amused snort but Luka looked concerned.

“You never did say how telling your parents about all this went.” Marinette let out a sigh.

“Well their immediate reaction was to ground me. I told them I’d appreciate the break as soon as the meeting with the Justice League is over. They didn’t really seem to know what to do with that information. It’s a lot to take in and honestly I would have rather eased them into it, but with the way things happened…” Her guilt as plain but it took a minute for Bruce to really catch on to the meaning.

“Wait, are you telling me that you’ve been Ladybug for over two years and your parents didn’t know?” She just nodded but Chloe started glaring at Damian again.

“No one knew until your son decided that his temper tantrum was more important than Mari’s privacy.” All eyes turned to Damian and he just scowled at them all.

“What?”

AO3   Beginning   Previous    Next

Ko-Fi

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[cheesy09]

Bartender, A Whiskey Please

So here’s another Kiro fic I wrote. I gave a shot (pun intended) at second person narration, and this is how it turned out.

Just so you know, this is incredibly self indulgent and probably incredibly OOC. But hey, I just needed to post this, or else I might’ve gone insane. Oh, it’s also super, super long.

Pairing: Kiro x Reader Word count: 4,108 Genres: Fluff

But without further ado, Enjoy!

───※ ·❆· ※─── ───※ ·❆· ※───                                                           

“Ugh, what I would do for a coke and a bag of chips right now…” You groaned as you slumped against the table. The boy behind the counter let out a laugh seeing your exhausted state. He walked up to you and bent down a bit so he was eye level with you. “Not a fan of weddings?” He asked.

You looked up to study him. A handsome face covered with a mop of blonde hair looked back at you, obvious amusement shining in his deep, sea-blue eyes. He didn’t look any older than you, his bartender uniform stretched across a lithe, yet sturdy physique. Your eyes travelled down to read his name tag. ‘Kiro’ it read. Kiro? That was a pretty unusual name. Not that it mattered to you. If he was willing to listen to you, his name could have been Mowgli for all you cared.

“Usually I am. But my entire summer vacation was spent planning for this wedding,” you tucked a few strands behind your ear and sighed. “Plus, these heels are killing me.”

After your second year of university, you had hoped to spend the summer relaxing. Not planning a wedding. From the invitations, to the decorations and the dance lessons, you couldn’t remember when was the last time you had slept soundly. And this past week had been the worst of it. Your sister too was overwhelmed by all of this. But then again, she was bound to be. After all, it was her wedding.

“Shouldn’t girls be used to stuff like that, though?” Kiro asked, cocking his head to the side, as if he was genuinely interested to know.

You shrugged and answered nonchalantly, “Not me. If I had my way, I’d make everyone dress in casuals for my wedding. Ripped jeans, sneakers and all. Mandatory. No exceptions.”

The boy laughed again, still leaning forward on the counter, the sound of it almost infectious. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“So, um, Kiro…” you purred, causing the blonde to cease his laughter and look at you. You slowly twirled a lock of hair around your forefinger and innocently batted your eyelashes at him. “You don’t mind giving me a glass of that beautiful whiskey I see behind you, do you?”

Kiro turned to look at the bottle that you had been eyeing and then turned back to look at you again, his eyes narrowing as the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk. Your breath caught for a second. His smirk shouldn’t be that sexy.

“No can do, Miss Chips. No alcohol for you.”

You gaped at him. “What? Why not? And— Miss Chips? Really? I have a name, you know.”

He shrugged. “I think it’s cute. It fits you.”

You had no answer to that, a stunned expression adorning your features. You couldn’t believe the nerve of this guy! It hadn’t been even five minutes since you two met, and he had already come up with a nickname for you! It was as if the man held complete mastery over the art of flirting. No doubt he’d used it on countless girls before you. Either that, or he was just destructively honest. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the warmth that spread throughout your cheeks, turning them into a light shade of pink. Not wanting him to see you like this, you looked away.

“That’s a dumb nickname,” you muttered. “What, do you flirt with every girl who wants a drink?”

You felt the smile in his voice deepen. “Nope. Just you.”

That made you go even redder.

In your flustered haste, you tried to find a distraction. Something, anything, that would keep you from losing yourself in that penetrating gaze. “Anyway, about that drink…”

“Sorry, Miss Chips, but my answer is still a ‘no,’” he replied. “Orders. Until the guests arrive, no drinks. And even then, no alcohol.”

“Why?” You stared at him in horror. This was inexcusable. Getting wasted was one of the best parts of a wedding. What was the point otherwise?

“We can’t have the maid of honor getting tipsy even before the reception starts, now can we?” Kiro gave you a dorky grin, this time turning around and using his forearms to lean against the counter. He lifted a hand and ran his long, slender fingers through his messy golden locks, making him look absolutely alluring. The sight of his white shirt and waist-coat outlining the tight, sculpted muscles of his body was enticing, making you swallow unknowingly. If only you could run your hands over those biceps, to tangle your fingers in his hair and—

No, stop.

You caught yourself before you could allow your thoughts to go any further, your face heating into a deep shade of scarlet. Since when were you the type to harbor such sinful thoughts about a person you barely knew? Not to mention he was way too cocky for his own good. And yet… there was something about him that you found… irresistible.

Before you could let your mind wander any further though, you heard your name being called by an awfully familiar voice. Namely, it was your mother’s.

“Guess I’ve got to go,” you say, standing up in your painfully high heels. You so regretted not getting an extra pair of footwear to change into later. Note to self, remember to carry a pair of sneakers next time you go for a wedding.

“Well, Miss Chips, if you ever need to talk to someone, I’ll be right here,” Kiro said, giving you an exaggerated, flamboyant bow. “Your Kiro will always be here to relieve you of your stress.”

“My Kiro?” You asked playfully, ignoring the addictive giddiness that was starting to take over you. “And since when did you become mine?”

“Since right now,” he declared, placing his elbows on the counter and flashing you another cute smile, causing giggles to erupt from your mouth. Really, that was the only word to describe him. He was cute. And handsome, apparently. And quirky, and sassy, and sexy and… Okay, so there were many words to describe Kiro.  

No longer in control of your body, you leaned forward with your own teasing smile and hooked your forefinger under his bowtie, pulling him closer, leaving only inches of space between the two of you. “Sure. If I feel the need to unwind, I’ll come find you… my Kiro,” you murmured seductively, your heart hammering in your chest. You watched how his cheeks flushed indistinctly, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, savouring every inch of his immaculate face.

Then, as if giving into temptation his eyelids drooped a bit, and his body leaned even further, slowly closing the gap between you. “Yours and yours alone, Miss Chips…” Kiro whispered, a flame of desire mixed with his low, magnetic voice, his hot breath ghosting over your lips, his fingers across the counter slowly twining with yours…

…And just before your lips could brush against each other, your mother’s voice cut through the blistering air, causing both of you to pull back from each other.

“I’ll see you later then,” you smiled at him apologetically, silently cursing your mom for ruining the moment. You began walking away before the atmosphere could turn awkward when you heard Kiro’s voice call after you.

“Oh, Miss Chips? Just wanted to say—you look absolutely stunning today!”

You laughed, detecting the dramatics behind his voice, and waving your hand behind your back you walked away from the bar.

  ───※ ·❆· ※─── ───※ ·❆· ※───                                                         

The party was in full swing well into the night, lights bright, guests scattered all across the venue, and the music from the live band filling the air. It had been almost two hours since the party started, but from the time it began, you never seemed to get a chance to just let loose and have fun. First, you had to take part in the wedding march, then you had to go around greeting all the guests, and as if that wasn’t enough, your mother made you go check on the kitchen as well. As the night continued to wear out, you were starting to grow more and more impatient.

That was until the band started playing some pop numbers that you loved and that was enough to drive you over the edge.

You took to the dance floor ignoring your aching feet and lost yourself into the music along with some other youngsters. You swayed your hips to the beat, the backless grey dress that hugged your curves in all the right places making your movements look seductive. You could feel dozens of pairs of eyes on you, and your gaze aimlessly wandered to the drink bar where Kiro was standing.

His eyes were on you, drinking in each and every one of your movements. A young boy was trying to get his attention, probably wanting to order a drink, but he seemed to be too occupied with your dancing figure, causing the boy to turn the bartender next to him in annoyance. You didn’t know why, but him looking at you made you feel attractive and sexy. You couldn’t get enough of it.

In the midst of his ogling, you managed to catch his gaze, which caused his cheeks to colour and he finally looked away bashfully, busying himself with his work again. You almost laughed aloud at the reaction. Who knew that the boy whose witty mouth could drive you crazy, could also be that cute at the same time?! It just made him even more desirable.

After a while the music changed to a more slower paced song and you exited the dance floor, hot and sweaty from dancing for so long. You made your way towards the bar where Kiro greeted you with a happy grin on his face. “Miss Chips! Nice to see you here again.”

You smiled at the continued use of the nickname he had for you. Quite obvious flirting, but you didn’t mind it. Not one bit.

“Bartender, a whiskey please,” you ordered, leaning your arms against the counter.

Kiro shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Still a ‘no,’ miss. How about some fruit punch instead?”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, whatever. Just give me a drink, mister. I’m parched.”

“Right away, miss.”

Amusement still dancing in his sparkling eyes, Kiro poured you the drink in a glass and served you in a very efficient manner, his motions giving off a sense of practice and familiarity. It piqued your interest, to say the least. You wanted to know more about this beautiful blonde boy who looked like he could be an actor in the movies or a teen model. So far, all you knew were each other’s names, nothing more.

“So Kiro,” you began, taking a sip of your drink, loving the sweet flavor of apple than ran down your throat. “How long have you been working here?”

He thought for a while. “Six months, I guess? Though I do plan on getting a better job soon.”

“Oh… I see…” you said, lowering your head a bit. You couldn’t stop the disappointment that rose in your chest. It was to be expected. It’s not like Kiro could stay here working for long. Besides, would you even be able to see him again even if he did?

Suddenly, an idea flashed through your mind and you looked at him again. You hesitated for a bit. Would he find it weird if you asked him for his number? Would that be too bold?

Before you could voice any of your thoughts though, you felt someone sidle up in the space next to you and heard a deep voice say, “a whiskey, please.”

Kiro nodded and got into work mode again, busying himself with the preparation of the drink. You turned your head to the right, looking at the dark-haired young man who stood way too close for your comfort and moved a few inches away from him. Just as you were about to continue brainstorming ways on asking Kiro for his number though, the guy suddenly turned to you, a casual smile gracing his lips.  

“Hey, you’re the bride’s sister, aren’t you?” He asked, taking a few steps closer to you and almost closing the distance that you had put between yourselves earlier. “My name’s Ryan. I saw you dancing earlier. Looked absolutely gorgeous, and also…” he lowered himself to your ear and a chill ran down your spine when you felt his fingers brush against your bare back “…very sexy.”  

Disgust as well as mortification swelled up in you. You couldn’t believe that this man even had the audacity of approaching you like this. You were about to push this creepy stranger away when you heard someone clearing their throat from behind the counter, sounding very, very unpleased. Kiro stared at the man, placing a whiskey glass down in front of him on the counter. The usual warmth from his eyes had completely vanished, only to be replaced by a bone chilling contempt.

But the man, Ryan, didn’t seem to give him a second thought. Without explanation he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you against him. “So, Beautiful. What do you say to a dance with me? I promise, I’ll show you a nice time,” he proposed, whispering it into your ear.  The smell of alcohol on his breath made you want to throw up as fear gripped you. You thought of protesting and pushing him away when you felt his hand slowly travel down your back and land against your behind.

That was the last straw.

You didn’t even think twice before you acted. You pushed against his chest, taking a step back and effectively separating the two of you. Then, you grabbed your half-finished drink and spilled the contents on his pristine, white suit.

“Don’t you dare. Touch me. Again,” You snarled through your teeth, each word profound and powerful, ignoring the surrounding onlookers who had stopped what they were doing to catch a glimpse of the drama.

After that, you ran. Ran as fast as your heels could take you, not wanting to show the tears brimming in your eyes to Kiro, or anyone else for that matter. But one though still stuck with you as your feet carried you to wherever it wanted you to go, only making you even more upset.

You never found a chance to ask for his number.

───※ ·❆· ※─── ───※ ·❆· ※───

One of the demands that your sister made when it came to her wedding was that she wanted it to be in an open-air hall. And so, with constant research, your parents had managed to book a place with a gigantic lawn and pleasant atmosphere. Almost three-fourth of the space was taken up by the dance floor, guest area and buffet table, but there were still some secluded corners of the venue, where the lights didn’t quite reach. And that was where you were, sitting on a bench under a gazebo and looking up at the stars.

You had found this secluded corner on your first visit here to scout the venue. The romantic structure had sent a delightful thrill in you when you had first laid your eyes on it, sending that hopeless-romantic side of you into overdrive. You had planned on visiting it again, but certainly not like this; a broken, crying mess. After that fiasco at the drink bar, your legs had somehow managed to carry you here, and you had collapsed onto the bench, as your quiet sobs filled the air.

“I see you found this place. Quite romantic, isn’t it?” a quiet, familiar voice suddenly cut through the air. Kiro walked up to you and quietly sat in the seat beside you, keeping a respectable distance apart from you which you were grateful for. You didn’t think you could bear the touch of any man right now. The memory of Ryan’s hands on you gave you goosebumps whenever you thought of it. You winced. “Why are you here? Don’t you have work to do?”

“Nah, it’s alright. Savin’s looking after it for me.”

“Savin?”

“My colleague.”

“Oh.”

Your words died down, not knowing how to continue, but at the same time, you didn’t need to. The two of you were content on just sitting there in silence, finding comfort in each other’s presence. Kiro’s body heat was like an antidote, slowly healing you from the inside. You looked at him, from the corner of your eyes. He was busy looking up at the stars, his pretty, long lashes quivering in the moonlight. He looked ethereal, with a hint of sensuality that seemed to draw you in, like a moth to a flame. The soft smile on his face was one that eclipsed the stars, and suddenly the distance between the two of you seemed much too wide.

Closer. You wanted to get closer. To touch him, feel him, soak in his warmth.

Carefully, hesitantly, you scooted closer to him until your arms were touching, and you gently laid your head on his shoulder. Kiro didn’t protest, nor did he push you away. In fact, after a few seconds, you even felt his body start to relax under your touch. The air was peaceful, the only sounds being the cool breeze and your light, shallow breathing.

You didn’t know how long the two of you sat there, in silence, seconds bleeding into minutes. Somewhere along the way, the two of you had shifted even closer, he’s head resting atop yours, your fingers’ entwined with each other's. A soft melody drifted into the air. It was a song that was familiar to you; one of your favorites. I’d Love You To Want Me, by Lobo.

Kiro slowly nudged you. “Hey, Miss Chips. You didn’t fall asleep, did you?”

You smiled to yourself. No matter how many times he used that name, you still couldn’t get enough of it. “Mmhm,” you whispered, burying your face in his neck and taking in his sweet, intoxicating scent.

“Oh good,” he chuckled. “‘Cause if you did, we might be the only ones left here when the party finally ends.”

“Is that a bad thing?” You mumble, slightly lifting your face to brush your lips against the shell of his ear. You felt the way his hand suddenly tightened it’s hold on your’s, heard the way his breath caught in his throat, and it sent a sweet thrill down your spine.

Funny. You hadn’t had a single drop of alcohol that day—courtesy of Kiro—but you felt drunk, somehow. A sudden idea occurred to you. “Hey, Kiro?”

“Hm?”

“Dance with me.”

“H-huh..? Whoa!” Before Kiro could even register what was happening, you were already tugging his arm, kicking off your high-heels (it was getting painful to walk in them), and leading him to the center of the gazebo. “You do know how to dance right?” You teased, placing your left hand on his shoulder while his right hand circled your waist.

“Of course, I do,” he replied indignantly, only for it to be replaced by a teasing smile of his own. Your heart thumped at the sight of it. “I’m just wondering if you’ll be able to keep up with me.”

And here comes the sass again, you thought, rolling your eyes. You took a step closer to him and looked him in the eye, rising to his challenge. “Try me.”

The two of you swayed to the music, Kiro’s scorching hand pressing against the skin of your back as you stuck to his chest. You swallowed nervously at the sensation. There was a certain kind of intimacy that came with dancing like this. It wasn’t something you had noticed before; only ever slow-dancing with family members. But now, at this very moment, with his face pressed next to yours, his hot breath fanning against your ear… the sultry heat and passion that suddenly filled the air was so thick and tangible you could cut it with a knife. The cool breeze that blew by did nothing to cool your burning skin. The music seemed to fade away into the distance, leaving nothing but the two of you, locked in each other's embrace.

Maybe your fruit punch had been spiked, or maybe it was because of the heat, but that feeling of drunkenness returned and you couldn’t stop your hands from roaming, fingers busily trying to undo the bowtie around his neck. Kiro’s fingers twitched against your back.

“Miss Chips, what’re you—”

“Say my name,” you breathed, pressing your lips to his ear. “Please say my name. I want to hear you say it.”

He shivered, pressing into you further. It took a few seconds, but you soon heard the whisper of your name fall past his lips, his tone soft, raspy, like he was holding something back. It sent your heart racing, your senses tingling at every nerve-ending.

Without any word or warning, Kiro bit the skin of your neck and sucked, brushing your hair out of the way for better access, leaving a blossom of red on your flushed skin. You whimpered as his lips gradually worked their way up, stopping only when his teeth grazed your right earlobe and he growled, “You're doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Whatever do you mean?” You asked with feigned innocence. The two of you had stopped dancing by now but continued to keep your embrace. By then you had already managed to loosen his bow-tie, dropping it to the floor beside you, granting you better access to his slender neck. “I’m just flirting with the guy I like,” you continued, the tone of your voice teasing as you boldly trailed your forefinger down his throat, in a sinuous, sensual drag, pausing at the first button on his buttoned-up white shirt. You undid it. “Is that so wrong?”

Kiro let out a low, dark chuckle as he shook his head against you, his soft, blonde hair tickling your neck. “You are going to be the death of me.”

You laughed, kissing the side of his neck, finally, finally getting to run your hand through the luxurious blonde locks that you had been craving to touch the entire night.

“Kiro?”

“Hm?”

“Kiss me.”

“……”

Time had stopped, your heartbeat the only sound audible to you as you waited on bated breath for Kiro’s response. He slowly separated your bodies and looked at you with wide eyes, as if he was unable to process what he had just heard. His mouth opened and closed several times, looking like a gaping fish, until he finally asked in a soft voice “are you sure?”

You nodded—all too eagerly—and that was enough for Kiro to throw caution into the wind and close the distance between you.

His lips captured yours as he brought your body back against him, his initial movements slow and tentative, as if testing the waters. His lips were soft and warm, and everything you’d dreamed them to be. Your arms slid around his neck as you surrendered yourself to the kiss, standing on your tiptoes to deepen the kiss.

It was like the flood gates had been opened. Or a bunch of caged animals that had been let out into the wild again. Because once the two of you started, you couldn’t dream of stopping. Your hands tangled up in his hair while his snaked up your back to cradle the back of your neck, angling your head to deepen the kiss even further. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, requesting entrance, and, without a second thought, you opened your mouth to him, tangling your tongues together in a heated battle.

You didn’t know long the two of you stood there, tangled up in each other’s heat, gasping, moaning, kissing the living daylights out of each other. But all too soon—to you anyway—the two of you had to break up for air, breaths still mixing as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“Well, Miss Chips,” Kiro panted, a breath-taking smile spread across his face. “Since we’ve already come this far, I think I should ask, but… would you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?”

You giggled at his awkward proposal, as your noses brushed together. You didn’t think chance encounters like these were possible, except in movies. And yet here you were, accepting a proposal from the cheekiest, funniest, cutest, most attractive bartender you met only a few hours ago. You kissed him again, a happy smile spreading across your lips as you murmured, “thought you’d never ask!”

───※ ·❆· ※─── ───※ ·❆· ※───

Thank you so much for reading! If you’re interested in checking out my other works, you’ll find them in my Masterlist.

[myherowritings]

masterlist

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize. thank you and have fun reading!

SOCIAL MEDIA AU MASTERLIST

HAIKYUU!! MASTERLIST

TODOROKI SHOUTO

i. animal instincts

with your shapeshifting quirk, you take on the duty of becoming the resident undercover therapy cat for class 1-a. one day, you see todoroki restless in the middle of the night and try to comfort him in cat form. but what happens when he confides in you his feelings you weren’t meant to hear?

ii. into your arms

you’re prone to tripping and todoroki is prone to being there to catch you. or, in which you’re a bit of a klutz and, for a reason he can’t explain, shouto wants to make sure you never get hurt.

iii. an otome addiction

you become obsessed with the characters in the otome game, mystic messenger, and your boyfriend todoroki gets a little bit jealous.

iv. strawberry scented dreams

the 3 times todoroki falls asleep on you + the 1 time you fall asleep on him. shouto is always sleepy and needs some rest, and your shoulder just happens to be the comfiest place to get it.

v. can you keep a secret?

you and shouto are secretly dating and none of your classmates know. during a study session in todoroki’s dorm, kaminari, sero, and midoriya find your lacy thong under shouto’s desk and try to figure out whose it is.

vi. frosting fights

midoriya has been feeling sad lately, so you and todoroki (try to) bake him a cake in the middle of the night. 

vii. the panty thief

modern au. “my cat steals underwear and i come home to find you chasing my cat to get your underwear back.” in which todoroki is a new cat parent and you’re his new neighbor whose panties keep disappearing.

viii. overheated 

it’s super hot out and you feel like you’re dizzy and about to faint. todoroki is there to cool you off with his right side.

ix. jealousy for dummies

jealous of all the time shouto has been spending with yaoyorozu, you hatch up a plan with bakugou to give todoroki a taste of his own medicine.

x. ghostwriter masterlist [smau]

college au. you’re an aspiring writer with a longtime crush on the ghost hunter on campus, todoroki shouto. when you two are paired up for a semester-long journalism project, you come up with the perfect, foolproof plan to get him to fall for you.

xi. hearts intertwined

roommate au. you and todoroki have been roommates for months now but have barely had more than a two minute conversation. when quarantine hits and everyone is on lockdown, you find yourself forced to spend more time with him and actually end up…enjoying it?

xii. fictional crush

class 1-a has an avatar: the last airbender marathon and you can’t help but swoon over your fictional crush, prince zuko, leaving todoroki feeling a little jealous.

xiii. letters of my love [smau]

tatbilb au. you and your friends mail out your past love letters because you want to see your old crushes’ reactions. on accident, you mail your current crush’s letter. to make it seem like your crush on bakugou is gone, you fake date another letter recipient, todoroki shouto. 

xiv. eat the rich [series]

ceo/barista au. todoroki shouto was a wealthy, young ceo who inherited his father’s enterprise. you were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. one day, shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. to your surprise and complete pleasure: it was not.

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

i. one hell of a knockout

boxer au. bakugou is a young pro boxer climbing his way to the top of the charts. one day, his friends kirishima and ashido invite you to a match. unbeknownst to you, you end up accidentally distracting katsuki during a fight and he gets a punch landed on his face.

ii. take you out

you ask bakugou out on a picnic date to the park, but he thinks you’re challenging him to a fight. you can’t tell who is more confused when the day finally comes.

iii. kitty kisses

your boyfriend and your cat don’t get along. bakugou keeps trying to come up with different ways to get your cat to finally warm up to him. (or, in which katsuki spends 3 hours baking treats for a tsundere cat.)

iv. “you’re hot when you’re angry”

you and bakugou get into a disagreement, you get pinned underneath him, and he smirks and realizes just how hot you are when you’re pissed.

v. a soothing touch

pro hero au. katsuki is sore and stressed from a long day at work but is too stubborn to let you give him a massage.

vi. “she’s my wife”

pro hero au. when bakugou forgets his lunch in the refrigerator, you decide to deliver it to him at his agency. but when you’re there, the new receptionist calls you a bitch. bakugou responds appropriately. 

vii. cold shoulder

pro hero au. whenever you and bakugou get into a disagreement, he blasts the air conditioner until you have no choice but to ask him to cuddle.

viii. the appreciation post

pro hero au. one of the responsibilities of being a pro hero in this day and age is having a social media presence. you tag bakugou in an appreciation post while he’s out in public and he gets embarrassed in the best way possible.

ix. slip of the tongue

pro hero au. during a charity interview with the top three heroes, deku and shouto “accidentally” give away ground zero’s crush on you. you’re asked about bakugou in an interview of your own and, during a fit of excitement, accidentally let your crush on him slip.

x. the jealous type | fanart

class 1-a has a game night in the common room. bakugou sees you and todoroki getting too close for comfort and can’t stop himself from getting jealous.

xi. a forgotten anniversary

pro hero au. it yours and bakugou’s one year anniversary, but he’s so busy with hero work that he forgets. you’re hurt and upset, but katsuki may have a few tricks up his sleeve…

xii. shirt on, bra off 

aged up au. bakugou sees you take off your bra, one-handed, and he can’t help but be in a bit of awe. 

xiii. bear hugs

you see your childhood friend, bakugou, for the first time in years and you greet him with a giant bear hug...only to find yourself in the nurse’s office right after. 

xiv. call me b-a-b-y

bakugou absolutely hates when you call him pet names. he hates the smile on your face when you say it, hates the way he can’t stop blushing-- he hates it. right?

xv. fever talk | fanart

pro hero au. “side effects may include: light-headedness, disorientation, and accidental confessions of love.” you help nurse a fever-ridden ground zero back to health, but little did you know it should have come with a warning.

xvi. the language of flowers

you decide to make the most of your nature quirk by giving your crush, bakugou, endless bouquets of flowers. 

xvii. fact or fiction? [18+]

pro hero au. ground zero’s crush on you has become painfully obvious to everyone, leading to an incessant amount of shipping. one day, he gets himself off to one of the many lewd stories about the two of you and you find out.

xviii. paparazzi

pro hero au. you and ground zero go on your first date as a public couple and the paparazzi won’t stop harassing the two of you. bakugou decides to take you to his house to cook for you and things begin to heat up in the kitchen.

xix. number neighbor masterlist [smau] 

college au. in which bakugou katsuki is a grumpy and sarcastic college student just trying to get his degree and you are his bubbly number neighbor who is determined to become his new “bestie.”

xx. all that ass [nn scenario] | fanart 

a number neighbor bonus fic. one night at the gym, you see a handsome guy with so much ass, you take a picture on the sly and send it to your number neighbor, bakugou, to freak out over. but what you don’t expect is for bakugou to reply with a picture of you from the same gym.

xxi. honey, honey

pro hero au. ground zero, deku, and shouto are scheduled to have a meet-and-greet at a primary school to boost their rankings. there, bakugou unexpectedly meets a kindergarten teacher with a sweet smile who likes to call people honey.

xxii. under my patrol

pro hero au. after seeing your boyfriend cheat on you on a night you were supposed to be on a date, you mope alone at a bar. stumbling home, you crash into the famous hero, ground zero.

xxiii. found a treasure

modern au. “it’s nice that your voice was the first thing i heard today.”

xxiv. mistletoe kiss

holiday au. after a few weeks of dating, you and katsuki still haven’t kissed. you hope that will change under the mistletoe this holiday season.

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU

i. the pizza delivery guy

modern au. your roommate orders a pizza with the special instructions, “send your cutest delivery boy ;)” and you’re left in begrudging awe when it actually works.

SHINSOU HITOSHI

i. you suck at gaming masterlist [smau]

youtuber au. you’re a youtuber known for your chaotic yet wholesome content and shinsou is a gamer who keeps getting accused of being an eboy. one day you upload a video trying your hand at gaming and shinsou tweets out about how much you suck.

ii. borrowed sweaters, stolen kisses

aged up. in a game of truth or dare, you’re dared to sneak into your crush’s dorm and steal one article of clothing to wear the next day. it just so happens that the hoodie you snatched was shinsou’s favorite sweater.

iii. turn on your airdrop masterlist [smau]

modern au. you’re at a theme park when kaminari dares you to airdrop memes to the first device that pops up and reluctantly, you give in. but never would you have thought they’d send you memes back… nor could you have guessed the person you were feeling a meme-connection with was your first love and first heartbreak, shinsou hitoshi.

iv. maybe it’s fate [toya pt. 25]

a turn on your airdrop written chapter. after discovering the mememate you fell in love with was your ex-boyfriend who broke your heart, you find yourself alone in a bar with a dead phone in a poor attempt to cope. the person who helps you at 3 a.m. is the last person you want to see.

KAMINARI DENKI

i. play me a song [smau]

youtube/celeb au. you’re an actress and singer who is highly adored by youtuber, kaminari denki. after his endless simping and thirsting on twitter, you finally decide to reply to one of his tweets.

TODODEKU

i. pinky promise

a quirk sends todoroki back in time and there he sees a four year old midoriya crying in the park. what better way to cheer him up than with some strawberry ice cream?

HEADCANONS 

HC: bakugou meets his s/o’s unsupportive parents

HC: pro hero shouto meets his quirkless s/o working at a hospital

HC: todoroki absolutely does not get along with his s/o’s male best friend

HC: shouto takes care of sore s/o

HC: bakugo + kirishima get a surprise kiss from s/o

HC: todoroki and s/o bake brownies and things get a little messy

HC: todoroki and s/o go to hanami (flower viewing)

HC: s/o peppers kisses all over todoroki’s face + he turns bright red

HC: todoroki and s/o have your first date at the aquarium

HC: iida + midoriya + todoroki react to their s/o whose nose twitches when cold/concentrated

HC: sleep deprived s/o with todoroki + bakugou

HC: getting high with kirishima + bakugou + todoroki [18+]

HC: baku + kiri + todo react to s/o being catcalled

HC: you’re harassed by a stranger and, to make them stop, you grab your friend [shouto + katsuki] and give him a kiss to prove he’s your boyfriend

HC: boyfriend!denki headcanons

HC: how baku + todo + kami kiss their s/o and what they taste like

HC: bakugou + todoroki cuddling headcanons

HC: bakugou + todoroki react to their s/o squeezing their butt

HC: bakugou + todoroki find their crushes diary and accidentally read it

HC: bnha as fuckboys (kami + todo + kiri + shin)

HC: autumn with todo + baku + kiri

HC: valentine’s day with baku + todo + shin

HC: shin + todo + baku replying to flirty anons

FAKE TEXTS

FT: prank texts on your crush todoroki

[xlady-saya]

an unconventional crossing [fic]

Relationships: andrew and aaron, andreil, kateaaron

Summary: Aaron likes to believe he and Andrew have a lot more practice navigating their conversations now. And he’s right, mostly. But sometimes, challenges arise at the strangest times, and especially when their significant others are concerned.

In which Andrew and Aaron run into each other at the grocery store, and choose not to part ways.

Tags: twin bonding, lots of references to how they’re whipped af, discussions of past abuse/addiction 

Read on ao3!

Aaron is only a little bit ashamed that his first instinct is to run far away when he turns the corner and sees his brother standing there.

At first, he thinks he might be dreaming. It's past nine on a school night, and the brightness of the store burns his already tired eyes. The switch from the darkness outside to the stark white tile and fluorescent lights makes Aaron squint. His brother is more like a grainy, black smudge in front of him, and Aaron lingers on the double knots of Andrew's combat boots and the shiny item in his hand. Soup. A can of soup. That's also what Aaron needs.

For Katelyn.

And like that, Aaron remembers why he's here. In fact, he's pretty sure there's dried snot on his sleeve where Katelyn mistook him for a tissue. It's disgusting, but given the bookstore fiasco of last year—which Aaron has repressed and will take to the grave—it's not the grossest thing they've witnessed from one another.

In sickness and in health and all that...he guesses it still applies to boyfriend and girlfriend, too.

It's why he's here now, prepared to stock up their mediocre medical supplies. It does not explain why Andrew is here. He looks around a few times, then looks back, and expects to be alone in the aisle. But Andrew is still there. Holding soup.

The grocery store is practically empty apart from a few people picking up alcohol or extra junk food for studying binges, which only adds to the dream-like quality of it all. This is...not where he's used to seeing Andrew—this is not how he's used to seeing Andrew. Which is nonsensical, because everyone needs groceries.

He kinda just figured Andrew survived off chocolate.

He clamps down on the urge to leave; it's an old, pathetic need, and one he no longer wants to encourage. He freezes in place instead, and reflects. Classic, he thinks, rolling his eyes. Aaron hates how much he listens to Bee now, but with all the leaps and bounds he and Andrew have made, random things can still be hard to navigate.

Grocery store trips, he guesses, are included in that.

The habit of bolting whenever his brother is in the same room as him is not one he likes, but it's a knee jerk reaction he hasn't completely gotten rid of. A ghost, latched onto his back. But that's okay, because he's sure it's the same for Andrew too. The need to keep Aaron at a distance, when they've been doing the exact opposite.

He spends a lot of time with Andrew now, more than he'd probably admit if asked. They study together, silently—that hasn’t changed. But even now there's an occasional greeting or a mutual scoff when someone in the library is being annoying. Andrew will help Aaron review his exam flashcards, or Aaron will form a post with his hands so Andrew can flick paper goals. They play videogames with Neil and Katelyn, they have lunch together… Their sessions no longer feel like a chore.

Standing in this soup aisle, Aaron realizes he couldn't have asked for more, would've never asked for even a fraction of it a few years ago. Now he can't imagine his life without Andrew slotting into it somewhere, whether it be on miniature golf double dates or Nicky's failed family baking nights.

It's startling, but not unwelcome.

Still, it's odd to see his brother looking so...normal. Silly.

Aaron is aware now that Andrew is a regular person with fears and wants, just with unorthodox methods, different roots...but he can't help but always think of the cool, blank stare. He thinks of Andrew leaning against a wall, smoking, not giving anyone the time of day. Including Aaron.

Especially Aaron.

It takes him a second to remember the nerd who sulked after getting beaten in Mario Kart, or the one who apparently threw up after Disneyland from one too many churros.

(Neil told them that story).

He certainly doesn't think of the man who walked all the way back to the dorm because Neil sent him a crying emoji and a 'I cut my finger' text.

But that's the real Andrew, too. There’s always more underneath all the closed off, reserved portions laced with barbed wire. Andrew has finally allowed Aaron to see that.

This Andrew is, once again, a far cry from cool and collected. This Andrew looks tired, not as put together. He's wearing wrinkled jeans that clearly need a wash, Neil's hoodie (stained), and seems .2 seconds away from throwing the store's entire inventory into a dumpster fire.

The spell is only slightly broken, and Aaron catches himself smirking.

His brother glares at the can of soup like it offends him, reading the label before putting it back on the shelf and grabbing a different brand to see if it's anywhere closer to his standards. Whatever the hell those might be.

Unfortunately, dating Neil has made his brother even more perceptive than before. Probably because Neil can smell trouble from miles away, and then he goes and seeks out said trouble to jab at it with a metaphorical stick. The stick is just an endless stream of cuss words and insults.

Needless to say, Aaron isn't able to enjoy this comical sight for long.

Andrew's gaze darts over to where Aaron is standing at the end of the aisle, and Aaron can see the exact same reaction run through him. The tension seizes his brother like a snare, and there's that all too familiar step forward, like Andrew is ready to turn around and disappear.

But then he doesn't. Andrew remembers what Aaron does, and then it's gone.

What they didn't account for was the awkwardness. Again, they aren't trained for grocery store encounters.

Andrew doesn't exactly nod at Aaron, but he inclines his head just so and turns back to the soup, staring into some void Aaron can't see. He's not sure if it's an invitation, but it's as good as he's going to get.

Aaron's sneakers squeak on the tile and he stumbles, but ultimately ends up at the edge of his brother's bubble, staring at the soup right along with him.

Progress.

Aaron sighs and grabs Katelyn's preferred brand. It's the chicken soup with the extra big chunks of chicken and the flatter noodles. Katelyn likes them because they're 'chewier,' and Aaron just thinks it's weird. But what she wants, she gets, because how is he going to deny his sniffling girlfriend as she whines miserably in bed?

Come to think of it, they're probably here for the same reason. With how much Neil and Katelyn see each other outside of games and general Fox gatherings, it would be no surprise if they both came down with the same cold.

Which means they probably need the same things. Soup, cold medicine, tissues.

Aaron freezes as he glances at the soup, feeling his brother's imposing presence beside him. For someone so obsessed with not being noticed or talked to, Andrew doesn't do a good job of hiding. He's like a cliff or a mountain, steady and bulky. A road block.

Aaron should leave. He has what he needs, so he can move on. He doesn't have to wait for Andrew; they don't have to shop together.

But then why does it feel so weird to weakly wave goodbye?

Aaron raises his hand only to stop mid-motion, thwarted by his own thoughts. Andrew tracks the movement. God, this is even more awkward now. They aren't usually like this anymore.

Maybe it's because they've realized the same thing.

Here they are, both making sweetheart runs in the middle of the night. It should be mortifying, but part of it feels strangely natural.

Probably because there's always a comfort in knowing they're the same in this way.

They both have their suffering partners waiting for them, but despite that, Aaron doesn't know how to broach the subject.

Bee's words from some faraway session echo in his head: "It might help the both of you to try talking about your partners with one another under more casual circumstances."

Aaron nearly scoffs, just like he did then.

Yeah, sure. It's the one area they're not great at, and it’s easier said than done.

It's not that he hates Neil anymore, and he has his suspicions that Andrew's opinion of Katelyn is at least a calm respect, though he's not sure when or how it happened. They spend time together as a group, and, in some cases, separately.

Aaron will tutor Neil or help him through difficult game levels, or Katelyn will be the one to help Andrew with the snack runs when they go to the movies. It's...fine.

No, it's great.

Aaron just still has a hard time acknowledging it.

But this? This they don't do. They don't talk about Neil and Katelyn together unless it's for therapeutic purposes during their sessions, and even then it's caked in wariness.

Aaron wonders if they're afraid of ruining the progress they've made by unintentionally starting a fight, but he's never known Andrew to be that caring of those things.

Perhaps it's simply too vulnerable, too exposed, to show how much they care. Even when it's so obvious.

Aaron notices Andrew finally settles on one of the more premium soup brands, and yeah, alright. Painfully obvious.

Aaron has always pushed that piece of Bee's advice away, procrastinating, because surely it can't be that important. But it is.

Ugh. It probably is.

So this time, rather than avoiding it, Aaron figures he might as well show Andrew up by taking the first stride. Talking about Katelyn is easy. She's everything to him; he could wax poetic all day about her. He knows her class schedule, her favorite subjects, her dreams.

With that in mind, Aaron confidently spins the can around at the same time he opens his mouth in Andrew's direction, and smoothly says, "You know, Katelyn likes soup."

And what a stride he takes.

Fuck me.

“Uh. When she’s sick, I mean. And other times but—that’s why I’m here. Sick soup.” The can falls from his hands and he barely catches it in time. He doesn't think he could add that to his mortification without giving up and running out.

It wasn't a lie. She does like soup, even if it's the really disgusting kind, but it's not a fact that evokes any groundbreaking emotions. It certainly doesn't bridge the gap.

Andrew turns to squint at him in that way—the precursor to a full on dismissal. Aaron's not sure why he's even still here, but maybe now his respect for Aaron now extends to telling him off with words. Aaron braces for it.

He watches the exact moment Andrew opens his mouth to tell Aaron he doesn't care, but it never comes. It's rare to see Andrew hesitate; someone so methodical and cautious doesn't tend to question his thoughts when he's sure of them.

But Andrew stops, mouth hanging open for a beat too long before snapping shut.

And Aaron doesn't know what it is, doesn't feel like blaming it on the twin telepathy theory...

He just knows Andrew remembers, same as him. Probably better than him.

Andrew can hear Bee's advice too, far away and obnoxious, ringing in his head.

His brother turns back to the soup can, smoothly over the ridges under the bright blue label. Hm. No, can't be. His brother isn't that sappy.

A few moments pass where Aaron can't move, kept in place by some invisible orbit, waiting for...something. Just that alone makes it all so surreal; he never used to expect anything from Andrew.

Yet, Andrew keeps surprising him with how much more he's willing to do now. For Aaron. For both of them. His brother sighs eventually, staring at the shelf in front of him, and begrudgingly replies, "Neil won't even admit he's sick. He didn't want me to come."

It's stilted, clearly forced out, but Andrew did it. He returned the gesture. And if there's one thing Aaron knows about his brother, it's that it's the closest thing he's going to get to a chance. Excited for some inane reason, Aaron almost doesn't process the words. But oh, he gets it. Neil is so fucking ridiculous, Aaron can't stand him. It makes sense his 'I'm fine' routine would stretch to this, too. Aaron almost wants to see the state of him, fever high and unable to move without his sweat sticking to the blankets.

His face sours, and the instinctive insult creeps to the edges of his mouth. Andrew watches, waits for it, and Aaron nearly bites his tongue to stop himself. Being hostile to Neil is more playful nowadays, but it's still a reflex. If he does that here...part of him just knows whatever is happening will effectively be cut short.

He clears his throat, rocking on the balls of his feet and willing his glare to go away.

"That...sounds like him," Aaron forces out. It's the best he can do, but it probably still sounds judgmental.

God.

Why are they so bad at this?

"He's an idiot," Andrew replies with a nod, so softly it almost doesn't sound like him. Aaron almost scoffs. Here he is trying to be considerate, but Andrew scolds his own boyfriend anyways. Aaron should've known better than to bother.

He slides his gaze over to his brother again, and that train of thought effectively stops. There's a tightness in Andrew's jaw, and an antsy quality to his stance. Aaron replays the words, and realizes Andrew's voice is different from the usual monotone, the uncaring inflection. It would be neutral still, to most people, but Aaron can sense that it's laced with something strong, self-directed. His brother's hands tighten around the can with a vice grip, and Aaron should really be better at detecting Andrew's concern by now.

Suddenly, he gets it. "He didn't want me to come."

It must be grating for someone like Andrew, who despite the vibe he tries to give off, does nothing but look after his own. It's the worst with Neil, because his motivation is borne from an intense emotion Aaron can't even associate with their relationship. It's too much, too theirs. He feels uncomfortable trying to define it when he's never heard Andrew actually say the three words.

Still, it's all consuming. It's real.

Nauseatingly so.

And it must be particularly infuriating, because Andrew's need to protect Neil isn't the result of a deal at all. He wants to. Wow, he probably hates that he wants to.

It only gives Aaron some satisfaction; it is Neil they're talking about.

Andrew's frustrations bleed through the cracks a little more, and he harshly brushes a hand through his bedhead. "His cold is just going to get worse if he keeps it up."

Ah, so they're still sharing. Aaron can do that. It's a welcome distraction; he can only take so much of thinking about his brother's intimate relationship with the most infuriating person on the planet.

Aaron looks down at the tile, lining his feet up with the edge of the blocks as if he's walking a tightrope. "Katelyn tried to go to class this morning. She didn't want to miss her lecture," he says, and tries to act like it's no big deal. He sways a little, and swallows the lump in his throat, because these are not things he gives away to anyone. It's just as exposing; as soon as he'd found out, he'd walked her back to her dorm and helped her change into pajamas. She passed out almost instantly, her fever spiking. Too much care, too much worry. Aaron had paced the floor a good twenty minutes, debating an urgent care visit.

He's just as pathetic as Andrew, but he wouldn't dare stop if it means looking after Katelyn. He bites his lips and shrugs, as if it's not as emotionally revealing as it is. It probably doesn't work. "I was so mad. Uh, you know how it is."

No kidding—they both just accidentally revealed it. Aaron never thought 'hopelessly enamored' would ever be associated with his own feelings, much less Andrew's.

But there's really no other explanation with that one.

"Oh?" Andrew tilts his head, as if daring Aaron to continue. It's dangerous territory, but that's what they deserve for addressing an old therapy issue in the middle of a grocery store. They might know their feelings are the same, but verbally acknowledging how is a different matter.

So continue, Aaron does. Neither of them are getting out of this one.

Won't Bee be proud?

Petulantly, Aaron glares, and loses his balance on the wire. He promptly spirals down. "Yeah, well… You want to take care of Neil too, right?"

It's a dare, a provocation. It's also ill-advised, but he can't be more mature in every way. There's no way Andrew can refute it and have Aaron believe him. He's been trapped into the truth.

Andrew tenses and glares back, expressive for how much he tries not to be. Aaron is more used to that now too. On the subject of his striker, his brother can't keep up the expression. It melts back into a reluctant calm, and his sigh is relenting.

Right.

A store intercom rings above them, something about how they really need someone up on registers. It's grounding in a way; Aaron grabs a few more cans and stubbornly throws them into the basket by Andrew's feet.

They're in too deep at this point. This is now a joint trip, as painful as it may be. Andrew looks down at the basket, which as of now holds both their soup choices and a candy bar Andrew must've snagged along the way.

Andrew squints, looking back up at Aaron, and surprise, surprise...

"I need the extra strength cough syrup."

He avoids answering altogether.

Aaron sighs; he saw that coming, but Andrew's trapped himself unknowingly.

"That's more expensive, you know," Aaron says, a playful lilt to his tone.

Andrew glares, but he must admire Aaron somewhat for the payback, because he finally admits: "It's better for him, it's also the only one with the flavor he tolerates," Andrew grits out, and no amount of bravado can make that sound anything less than....oh, completely fucking whipped.

So, Andrew gives some more as a war prize. "I need the tissues with the lotion too."

Aaron suppresses his snort (also, for real, those can't be necessary), and dutifully leads them to the next aisle.

--

Andrew ends up convincing him that the lotion tissues are superior, so one point for him or whatever.

They still don't know how to do this, and they don't get a lot better at it over the course of the following forty-five minutes, but they continue dropping the most mundane facts in hopes it doesn't give too much away.

But it always does.

Andrew makes a sharp turn with the sole intention of making the basket stab Aaron in the knee, and Aaron kicks it in return. Then he realizes where they are, and the words pour like shots.

He wonders if it's a consequence of therapy, that he ends up flaying himself open for Andrew in the hopes that he'll be given honesty in return. He's learned that lately, it's more effective than he once thought.

"Katelyn...hasn't been drinking much lately," he starts slowly when they pass through the alcohol aisle. It's a far cry from the boring 'favorite color' facts he's been trading thus far, but it hits him like a blow. It's not that it hasn't been on his mind, he just hasn't had a chance to talk it out because...

Part of him kind of doesn't want to. The person he talks to is Katelyn, and he's not quite ready for this discussion.

But tonight's that kind of night.

The aisle is a shortcut, nothing more than a connector to the medicines on the far side, but Aaron falters. The brands and bottles all stir up confusing memories for him, some fun, some not so much. The colored glass warps his expression like liquor warps his mind, and his body is already swimming through molasses to keep up.

Mixing drinks with what he used to do was never smart, and Aaron's thankful he's where he is now. He's not so reckless, but he indulges from time to time. Katelyn used to also, but lately she's been finding more reasons not to. And that's okay. He's never pushed or questioned it, but he can't help but wonder. He pauses in front of the daiquiri mixes. Katelyn's favorite.

The action makes Andrew wait for him, regarding him from the end of the aisle for a long moment. Then, in another act that shouldn't surprise Aaron but does, Andrew comes back for him.

Aaron's closed throat feels less tight. What did he call Andrew earlier? A road block. No, maybe he's more like...a steel beam, every once in a while. Supportive, but it could crush him in an instant. It's not Andrew's intent, but he'll take it. "I know she's never been a drinker, but part of me thinks it's because she worries about me."

And there it is.

He's aware he should be angry, just a little. But he can't be, because the worry and judgment come from a place of honesty, commitment. Aaron won't say he hasn't had the same fear—the fear of falling back down a different hole of addiction. He's better now, more responsible. He couldn't imagine ruining their lives like that, but he and Katelyn are pragmatic people. He knows it's hard to keep control in those circumstances, to rise above once he's caught in the trap. It wouldn't be all his fault, but he's susceptible and they both know it. She would stand by him as much as she could, but Aaron's honestly not sure if he would want her to if it ever came down to that.

That's not fair, and that's why he's determined to not let it happen.

Katelyn's precaution, intentional or subconscious, is just her protecting him in return. It's what they need to work on, what they need to talk about, before it's twisted into a misunderstanding.

But revisiting old wounds is not what Aaron is good at. At least, not right away.

He's not expecting Andrew to say anything; it's not his business and his black and white worldview probably prevents him from seeing it that way. In his mind, Katelyn is in the wrong and that's all that matters.. If anything, Aaron expects that statement, but then—

"She shouldn't," Andrew says, nearly admonishing. Aaron's gaze snaps up, and Andrew glares at the bottles in front of him to avoid meeting his eyes. He'd usually grab that particular brand of whiskey, but today he doesn't. Then, after a moment: "Knowing her obnoxious levels of optimism, she's probably trying not to. But that's her problem."

Andrew’s words are strained, but no less meaningful. He doesn't do comfort, and that's not what this is. Aaron knows a few things in that moment; the first is that Andrew definitely does not agree with Katelyn. That's fine. He never asks his brother to understand everything about his relationship anymore. Aaron certainly doesn't understand parts of Andrew's. The second thing, arguably the aspect he cares about more, is that Andrew clearly knows something Aaron does not.

Andrew isn’t offering a pat on the back, only what he knows to be factual.

He feels involuntarily exposed this time, and forgets that sometimes it's simply the way it has to be to move forward. Aaron nearly growls. "How—"

But Andrew simply sends him a look that reads don't ask. Aaron should know the answer.

Neil.

It's been a while since Aaron has felt a sharp slap of disdain for the redhead, but it shoots through him in the moment before fizzling out. Of course. Why wouldn't Neil know? Why wouldn’t Neil confide in Andrew about it?

Aaron always liked to think it was a shared strength, that he and Andrew could trust their partners so completely, give or take some setbacks. But it seems this time he's the one lagging behind.

He glares at the floor. He doesn't know how to feel. Why Neil possibly knows about this issue before he gets to address it himself is something he wants to feel rage over, but he just can't. It's not like confronting Neil at the cabin or in the dorm hall. He doesn't have the energy, and he knows he doesn't want to.

It's not...like that anymore.

Just knowing Katelyn has someone to talk to is enough, because that only means eventually, she'll talk to him too. And can he blame her? Here he is, telling Andrew.

Andrew, who feels as much sympathy as a log on most days, is still trying his best to give Aaron the truth.

Leave it to Andrew to rip off the bandaid, and Aaron feels the sting. But he needed it. It's the only thing that reminds him it'll eventually be okay.

It's quiet for a few moments as Andrew looks back at the bottles, tracing the curvy scripts. There's a steadily building tension in his frame; at first, Aaron thinks it's repressed hostility towards Katelyn, but far from it.

Andrew's struggle to give in the same way is all too apparent in his words.

"Neil and I drink sometimes, just when we're together," Andrew forces out evenly. He reaches out to spin one of the security tags on a particularly large bottle of vodka, tracing the ears of the rabbit logo afterwards. Aaron flinches a little; he didn't know that. His brain catches up just enough, letting him know that Andrew is giving this to him in return for his own vulnerability, so he should at least listen. Flexing his jaw, Andrew's tone loses some of the smoothness. "Last time...something happened. With me. He's been hesitant ever since."

It sounds like Andrew is chewing glass, and Aaron knows better than to ask for an elaboration on the ‘what’ that happened. Hell, Andrew exposing the reason for his and Neil's weekend getaways is most likely more than Andrew wanted to share in the first place.

Andrew won't answer anything Aaron asks, but he reads into it enough. "You miss it," he says, and again it feels like they're on a level playing field.

Andrew glares his usual 'I don't miss anything' glare, but doesn't actually say the words. Instead, he turns back in the direction of the medicine aisle, and throws the words over his shoulder.

"I hate losing control," he states. "Neil is a reason I hate it less."

Translation: Yes, I miss it. But Neil is just as stupidly worried as Katelyn.

It goes unsaid that they ended up with worry warts for partners. Aaron gives up trying to analyze anymore; there are things about his brother and Neil that are impossible to grasp. But Aaron is learning more and more that their relationship has similar flaws to his own, that they have their own challenges to wade through.

And if one of them can manage, so can the other.

Aaron walks away from the aisle feeling less stuck—the quicksand around his ankles turns to water, easy to wade through.

He's not sure how many more of those confessions he's going to get, but he won't take them for granted.

Later, when they're passing through the candy section for Andrew's stockpile, the facts turn lighter. "Katelyn only eats the red starbursts, it's cute," he says, unable to hide his dreamy smile as he throws the red starbursts pack into the basket. She won't be able to taste them yet, but whatever, it'll be a welcome reward in a few days when her sniffles are gone.

Instead of the apathy and dismissiveness, Andrew holds the gummy bears in his hand at arm's length. Like they offend him. Aaron was wondering why he's even considering them. They're not even close to Andrew's usual brand of cavity inducers.

"Neil never finishes his gummy bears," Andrew says, and seethes a little over the word 'his.' Of course, it's Neil's fault that Andrew has to spend money on the bland treats Neil doesn’t even love. But Andrew puts them in the basket anyways. "Last time he was bored, so we built a fake set for them."

Aaron blinks, following after Andrew towards the registers. "Like...for a play?"

"It helped him study for his lit exam."

Somehow, it's impossible for his brain to conjure up an image of Andrew building a gummy bear Shakespeare set, but he supposes weirder things have happened. He wonders if Andrew indulges Neil by doing voices, or if he recites the lines in his normal dull monotone.

Aaron hides a smirk at the thought. "Nerds."

He takes them back to the medicine aisle last minute due to the guilt tripping from Andrew for buying the cheaper brand of cough syrup, and figures he might as well stock up on bandages too. Exy is a violent sport, and he's not quite sure why he plays it.

"Bandages are over there," Andrew says, pointing deliberately at where Aaron is clearly already looking. Dick. "Don't buy the cheap brand, they gave Neil a rash."

Aaron scoffs. "Guess you would know best, with how much your boy gets scraped up," he says, but he still listens. Once more, he notes that Andrew's suggestion is several dollars more. He really does spare no expense on anything, especially for his boy toy—boyfriend. Boyfriend.

"He's never as bad as the other person," Andrew remarks offhandedly, but Aaron gets stuck on the comment. Before, he used to not pay attention to anything Andrew said that didn't make sense to him, writing it off as unimportant. It's amazing what he can pick out now that he actually processes the words. In this case, it's thinly veiled praise for his violence-prone boyfriend.

Aaron's no idiot; Neil has to at least be somewhat capable at throwing a punch, and who knows what else.

It's appealing, watching someone you love trade blows. Aaron himself never fails to feel a rush of adrenaline and adoration when Katelyn rushes to his defense.

It would make sense for Andrew to enjoy watching Neil be his typical chaotic self. But for whatever reason, that logic doesn't compute with what he knows about Andrew's protective streak—especially where Neil is concerned.

And since he doesn't know how to put that all into words, he says: "I don't know how you don't kill anything that tries to touch him."

That's how he thought it worked, how he's seen it work. So why all the fuss about letting Neil fight his own battles, when it's clear it eats at Andrew like a vulture picking at his intestines?

Andrew regards him slowly, looking at him like he's grown two heads. Right, because Aaron is supposed to be able to parse through all their weird layers. He rolls his eyes.

"I will when he asks," Andrew responds calmly, and before Aaron can open his mouth he holds up a hand. "And he does."

Again, a warning laces his tone: don't ask.

Aaron huffs. Fine. He guesses he'll believe it for now. Come to think of it, he's been seeing less and less of Neil's insistence to handle shit on his own. Just the other week, he seemed to give up too easily when arguing with a jock from another team, and Andrew had stepped in a moment later.

He had thought Neil looked a little too happy about that.

Tracking him still, Andrew shrugs in such a careless way that he'd think Neil had taken over his body. "I know he doesn't need it. And yes, it's annoying."

Aaron's not so sure. It's scary how Andrew can read his mind sometimes, can connect the dots of the intricate roadmap between them. He sees things from a distance, sees it all, while Aaron is the one who forces them to actually zoom in and take in the landscape. Piece by piece, he forces them to explore.

"So why do it?" he asks, frustrated, but Andrew only picks up the blue can of chicken noodle and waves it in Aaron's face.

"Soup."

Fine, don't tell me.

He figures this is just Andrew's way of saying he's done with the abnormal sharing for the night, but then he realizes. Soup. Motherfucking soup? Aaron had said—

"You want to take care of Neil too, right?"

Son of a bitch. Does Andrew always have to be so cryptic and non-linear?

That's the explanation. It's the obvious one, the one Aaron could already infer. But the confirmation is staggering. Andrew wants to protect Neil; more than that, he likes to. That's the difference. He never would've admitted that before. It doesn't matter how capable Neil is or how appealing it is to see him fight. At the end of the day, they both have some weird thing about it.

Aaron feels nauseated. He’s learned too much. Again.

"Is that really so hard to say, Andrew?" Aaron huffs the next moment though, so he guesses he must be more upset than he thought. "You know, I'm trying here."

He only has so much tolerance for his brother's ways. He can detect them better now; he can see the ins and outs. But sometimes it's tiring. Sometimes he wants to be given things in the same straightforward way he gives them. It's childish, it's selfish, but fucking hell, Aaron isn't perfect. He knows it won't happen, but if they're still being truthful, then Aaron can at least let Andrew know that it's hard sometimes.

It's hard to do this, but it's worth it. So he won't stop. Andrew just has to put up with his bitching every now and again.

At 10 p.m., he's reached his limit.

Andrew beats him to it, throwing up a barrier for Aaron's rage to smash into and fizzle out into nothing. "Are you going to scream your undying love for Mrs. Minyard to me, then?" he asks, and Aaron jumps back. Andrew's anger simmers, barely, but his words are cutting. "I am trying too."

They've both been trying so damn hard the past year. And for what?

Well—for a lot, actually. They've certainly gained more than they've lost.

And like that, Aaron's made Andrew give more than he was maybe willing to tonight. The guilt sits somewhere in his gut, but he can't regret it. Because Andrew still confessed. Andrew still held out his hand, just a little. Like he's been doing for months.

Aaron can't begin to imagine how horrible it must be, for someone like his twin to acknowledge the effort he's putting in. It sounds ridiculous, but Aaron should get it better than anyone right? That it's hard to admit you have faith in something when not much in your life ever lasted before.

Taming his own outburst, Aaron clenches his fists at his sides. Slow, measured. "I know, but—"

"You're suddenly so hung up on listening to Bee, what happened to her affinity for patience?" Andrew says, nearly mocking, but Aaron knows it's not some flippant comment. He means it. He's telling Aaron to back off, and while he respects it most days, he feels too close to a revelation to listen.

This is never easy, and it shouldn't be. Not for them. They always knew that, even before they were fully convinced they could get any farther than silent videogame marathons and nods from across the room. Before they thought they would ever keep in touch past college.

Now, Aaron knows there's no way they won't. They're just...fighting. They're having a typical, moronic squabble. It's not a setback, it's not a threat. Aaron has to repeat that over and over in his head, and it somehow makes snapping back less menacing.

"Asshole," he bites out. "You just want to get out of it. You know it's...it's fine to just say those things, it's—"

"Normal?" Andrew asks, and yup, that's definitely mocking. Aaron's not sure what that means, what's in Andrew's head about the word or Aaron's connection to it, but it doesn't matter.

"Yes," Aaron says with a laugh, disbelieving. He paces to the end of the aisle and back. He knows he's just as thick headed, and that's what hurts the most. Embarrassing. "It's normal to just admit you think your dumb boyfriend is cute, and talk about him because to be honest, it's obvious already how much you want to!"

It's potentially unfair; he never expects normalcy from Andrew. He doesn't want it anymore, apart from getting to act like brothers and argue without the fear of exploding and fucking up everything. Aaron wouldn't dare ask Andrew to be normal in any situation, but this is different. He's not saying it's normal or necessary for society's standards, or because other people do it. He's saying it's fucking normal because Andrew wants it to be. Hell; Aaron's been watching his twin bite his tongue and keep back details from Aaron all night. No shit, Andrew will never share the private feelings—the ones he keeps close, just between himself and Neil. But goddamn, if he wants to tell Aaron about Neil's weird gummy bear Macbeth monologue, he should just go for it.

For a while, Andrew stands there, tight lipped, until finally: "I don't care what's normal." For a brief moment, Aaron thinks he's lost this round, that the point escaped Andrew completely. But his twin is smart. Stubborn, and infuriating too. But smart. With a sigh, Andrew relents, though not without resistance in his voice. "I care...that it's us."

Aaron holds his breath, waiting for Andrew to refute it or storm away. But he doesn't, and Aaron can exhale.

Yes, duh. Neil and Andrew...no one will ever mistake them for anything remotely close to normal. They've built their own version of it though, and Aaron only hopes that in time Andrew can expand the definition to include this. That he'll be able to indulge himself however he wants, like Aaron does with Katelyn. That he'll be able to talk about Neil without worrying about how it reveals his feelings. Because Andrew hates sharing Neil, but he wants to trust Aaron enough to offer bits and pieces.

And Aaron wants to do the same. It's been a rough first attempt, but an attempt regardless.

And anyways, Aaron won't tell him tonight, but one day he's really going to have to let his twin know...

Andrew's feelings haven't been well hidden for a long time.

Until then, they have to deal with the awkwardness they created, standing in silence as an old lady walks through the aisle and regards them warily.

They should've saved this for their session. Whoops.

Pathetically, for the sake of doing something, Aaron grabs a thermometer (he needs one of those, right?) and throws it into the basket. Awesome.

In return, since that's the glorious theme of the night, Andrew tosses in some bandaids. The patterned ones. They're pink and cutesy, and make him think of Katelyn, wrapped in her fluffy pink towel after yet another hot shower to clear her sinuses.

He doubts Neil is faring better. They should get back.

At the thought of Katelyn, Aaron smiles. It brings him back to something softer Andrew said, though just as peculiar. He never fails at that.

"Why do you call her that?" Aaron asks, breaking the silence. It's gentler this time, less of a shatter and more of a push. When Andrew blinks, Aaron waves his hand. "Mrs. Minyard."

It gives Aaron a funny feeling in his chest, not necessarily good but also not bad, and he pushes it away to deal with another time.

Andrew's expression gives nothing away. That’s always the case, but even more so this time. It's blank, but he blinks slowly, chewing on his words in the way Aaron hates. Well, he supposes no one can quit cold turkey.

"A feeling," Andrew answers, and doesn't elaborate. He looks down at his own hand for a moment too long, flexing his fingers, then turns away like it's nothing. Aaron doesn't have enough braincells left to figure out what the fuck it's all about.

"Come on, let's go," Andrew says. Aaron feels like after all that, he has to put himself out there at least once. He has to prove to Andrew it's okay. It's okay to do this and trust him with this, so he'll believe in Andrew too.

"I do. Love her, I mean," Aaron says, mumbling the statement petulantly. He's a natural grump. It’s unavoidable. However, when Andrew turns back, he clears his throat. He can't say this without enthusiasm, without conviction. It's just not possible. He thinks of Katelyn's sugary sweet smiles, the croak of her voice after she cheers him on too hard. He thinks of it all—of tears staining his sweater, of being held while shedding his own. He thinks of calloused hands, rife with paper cuts from too many study guides, and the way she whispers each goodbye, because she secretly hates them. All of that and more, too much to contain in the word, but he tries. "I love her so much, it feels like saying it cheapens it somehow. I...don't usually, unless we're alone. But I do."

And it's humiliating to say to this person—his brother, someone who he's always held at an emotional distance. But he can't hope to bridge this gap any other way; he can't hope for more of Andrew's steps forward if he doesn't take his own.

It's a formula they're familiar with now. It's one he hopes they never stop using.

And just when he thinks it's for nothing, Andrew nods. Once, subtly, but he does.

"I understand," he offers, and there's a heaviness to the statement Aaron doesn't get. But it's enough. He wants to tell Andrew it's enough, but Andrew meets him halfway. "Neil told me people don't have to say it, if they know it's true. He's infuriating like that, but he's right about people's idiocy."

Aaron has a feeling 'people' is being used as a stand in there, but he doesn't comment. He's well aware he doesn't have to say it, that saying it changes nothing about how he feels. But—

"I guess he's right for once," Aaron comments lazily, and throws Andrew a smug smile. "But I still want to."

He likes to. And that's all there is to it, sometimes.

So if you one day want to, I'm all ears.

Even if it's not the three words, if it's just some offhand comment about Neil's fighting skills, or where he and Andrew went on a date...he'll listen.

It'll be gross, but he's got plenty more anecdotes to throw back. He despises admitting when Bee is right, but he'll give her credit this time.

They have their people, and they should be able to talk about them.

Andrew rolls his eyes, but stubbornly keeps his gaze fixed forward. "Don't give him that much credit," he mutters, and no, Aaron wouldn't dream of it.

They don't mean to sync up their steps as they walk. It just happens.

--

"Oh, hang on," Aaron says out of the blue as they stand in line. He's thankful he has some control of his reflexes, as he almost smacked Andrew in the arm. They aren't there yet.

But nevermind that. Priorities. Next to them is a toy stand, one of those three tier ones grocery stores always put near the registers because little kids can't resist hounding their parents for one. This one in particular has a good selection of tiny stuffed toys, and Aaron spies his jackpot almost immediately.

It's a spotted, light pink kitten with giant eyes. It's soft, and so absurd looking. Whoever designed it probably tried to think of everything cutesy they could before sewing it onto the plush. In short, it's the kind of sappy, adorable thing Katelyn will love.

Proudly, he picks it up and holds it in front of him like he's a genius. He sort of is.

He's not sure he's ever seen his brother look so disgusted in his life, which is saying quite a lot. Aaron's smugness increases.

God, it's minuscule. It fits in his hand perfectly. If he's lucky, Katelyn will squeal even through all the snot.

He's not sure why Andrew decides to humor him. He must be in a better mood than Aaron thought, since he eventually asks: "Why?"

Aaron is all too happy to explain. He holds the kitten up to Andrew's face as if tempting a rabid rottweiler.

"Ah—what? It's cute. Katelyn loves stuff like this," he explains, but his next words have a softer edge. It happens against his will, and he blames it on Katelyn entirely. Knowing this ridiculous thing will bring her some joy is more than worth the twelve dollar price tag. "It'll make her feel better. Like a gift, ever heard of one? I've seen Neil's growing wardrobe. He's not buying his own clothes."

Andrew's expression sours further, but he doesn't fight the statement right away. He should know he can't. The clothes are only one example; Aaron's also seen the jewelry and various fox-themed knick knacks Neil has lying around. Idiot.

Instead, Andrew bats the kitten away. “Clothes are required, especially when you live out of one bag your whole life," he comments, but it doesn't expose him any less. From the smug grin on Aaron's face, Andrew must sense it. He points at the kitten harshly. "That, however, is pointless."

Aaron's grin falls, but he's unwilling to give up. Andrew obviously doesn't see the full picture in this case. He holds the kitten close to his chest. While he normally hates these things too, it's been designated as a gift for Katelyn.

Therefore, it's sacred.

"It's adorable. Katelyn will go nuts over it, and I'll take sick kisses over no kisses," Aaron points out, and delights in the moment Andrew tenses. Haha. "You're only hurting yourself."

"Never thought I'd hear that in this context," Andrew mutters, but turns back to the stand with significantly less annoyance.

Aaron is having too much fun.

"I'm just saying, Neil would probably hate this shit on its own..." he adds, and leaves the rest unsaid. The implication is clear. Neil could give a rat's ass about gifts and stuffed toys. But coming from Andrew?

He'd probably burst, like a loser. And whether or not Andrew likes to admit it, it's a weakness. He can't resist evoking that reaction from his jock boyfriend.

Still, he tries. "Neil would never be interested in this," Andrew says, and reaches out to grab one of the toys roughly. It's a little stuffed lamb with snow white wool, and it’s even smaller than the kitten. In Andrew's large, murderous hands, it almost seems to be crying out to Aaron for help.

Andrew stares at it for an impossibly long time, and then it's their turn. Aaron takes the basket from Andrew's stalled hands and tries not to make any wheezing sounds from how heavy it is. Andrew was carrying that shit for an hour?

"Well, how would you know?" Aaron throws over his shoulder as he dumps the contents onto the conveyor belt. He looks at the lamb, at how stupid it looks, and wonders when he himself got so soft. He's not sure what it's a consequence of, but it doesn't feel bad.

No reason to question it.

Andrew turns to him and arches a brow, and Aaron delivers his final punch.

"Neil's probably never had a stuffed animal before," he remarks, doing his best to impersonate Neil's shrug. The ones Allison has tried to force on Neil in the past don’t exactly count. Then, because they share the asshole trait, Aaron adds: "I mean, living out of a bag and all."

And oh, Andrew's glare could send their world as they know it straight to the depths of hell. He squeezes the lamb in a death grip, but notably doesn't let go.

Aaron's spine tingles from Andrew's intense, vengeful stare on the back of his neck as the cashier rings them up, but whatever revenge he gets will be worth it. He figures it can't be too bad when Andrew offers him a ride home, and the silence is more peaceful than anything else.

They walk to the dorms with the stuffed animals pressed under their elbows. If they both end up sick a few days later, neither of them choose to bring up the cause.