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slashersteve · 2 years ago

Text

Just Friends

requested by anonymous

pairing: Steve Harrington/Female Reader

summary: There's a reason Steve keeps making fun of the guy you're going on a date with, you just don't know what it is and he'd like to keep it that way.

warnings/extra tags: one-sided love (or is it), some ~tension~, slightly angsty i can't let it gooo, cursing, beta read, edited by me and auto correct, non-canon compliant as I mention Starcourt

note: this got out of hand, but i was having so much fun writing this! This could potentially have a part 2???? hmmm....anyway thank you for reading and enjoy!

✧ ✧ ✧

It was your first date since graduating, or well, if you were being honest it was your first date ever, or at least a real date. You were nervous, incredibly nervous, and as the weekend inched closer to your small movie date with a guy you actually graduated with the year prior who never gave you a second look in High School, your nerves were only getting worse.

No really, you didn't even know somebody could sweat this much, and you don't know how many times you've asked Keith to turn the AC on in the Video Store you worked part-time at.

It must've been a lot because he basically banned you from his office, so instead you were passing the time by stacking returned videos on the front counter in your feelings when someone snapped their fingers in front of your face.

You nearly dropped your stack of videos when that happened, and shot your gaze to whoever had done that, thinking maybe it was a customer (it's happened before), but instead you were met with the brown eyed concerned gaze of your friend and co-worker Steve Harrington.

"Woah sorry, god your glare could kill somebody if it wanted to," he joked lightly as your glare softened, "I called your name like 3 times, I just need you to...uh, is everything okay?" His prior request of whatever it was he wanted to do faded into a question as he watched your gaze grow distant the longer he talked.

You blinked and nodded, "Yeah, everything's fine. Sorry, I'm just a bit...nervous."

Steve's curiosity peaked then, and he no longer was going to ask you to help him stack the towers of videos onto the cart, and rather leaned on the counter and asked you why.

"I didn't tell you?" you questioned more to yourself, as Steve was a pretty close friend of yours so it was hard to believe you didn't, humming you continued, "I have a date…and before you say 'oh it's just a date' because I'm sure you've been on millions of them, it's my first real date, so you know...I'm nervous."

You didn't look at Steve when you said this, thinking that maybe that was why you subconsciously decided not to tell him. He goes on dates left and right, and you couldn't imagine Steve not teasing you about this one being your first or something. So instead, you returned your focus to your stack of videos, patting the sides so that they all aligned.

"You have a date?" Steve asked in what you mistook for disbelief, "Wait- with who? When? With who?"

"You don't have to act so surprised," you told him, already growing a bit agitated with him. Steve was quick to shake his head then run his hand through his locks of brown hair.

"What? No it's not that, I just want to know who's taking my friend out, and when..."

You huffed softly, not toward Steve, but toward the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach that made you want to throw up your lunch. And maybe a little toward him too.

Quietly, you mumbled the answer, "Saturday night, it's with Timothy Taylor from High School-"

"Timothy Taylor?"

Steve's voice echoed across the video store, causing some patrons to turn and look at the both of you. Your cheeks heated up with embarrassment, and you grasped the sleeve of Steve's sweater and pulled him toward you as you hissed, "Not so loud."

He cringed and apologized, but something told you the cringe wasn't toward him being so loud, especially when he said your name as if disappointed in you.

"Timmy T. is such a clown," he said, and you scrunched your face up in confusion.

"He is not- wait weren't you guys on the basketball team together?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't make him any less of a clown, guy couldn't even make a proper pass, I don't even know how he was on the team...well Coach Taylor was his dad so that explains that-" Steve's reply turned into him trailing off and you flicked his shoulder, "Right, okay, when did he even ask you out?"

You sighed at Steve, but were a bit curious as to why Steve might say an old teammate was a 'clown' so you told him how all last week he'd come into the video store and talk you up, and how you didn't think it was going anywhere or maybe he was trying to get a free movie until he asked for your number and called you earlier this week asking if you wanted to go on a date with him.

"How romantic," Steve said, though you couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, and he laughed, "I was wondering why he was asking me about you."

You paused, "He...he asked you about me?"

"Yeah, last week when you went on break, asked Robin too," Steve said as he crossed his arms as a customer approached the counter.

"Excuse me-" the older woman began, but was quickly cut off by Steve.

"Sorry we're a little busy, I recommend Fast Times. It's over there," Steve said without looking at her, and pointing in a vague direction of the video store.

You deadpanned at Steve for his recommendation to the nice older woman who stared blankly at the both of you and told her you'd be happy to help her when you were done. She seemed content with that, and stepped away to browse a little longer, not before she gave Steve one final offended look.

"You can't always suggest Fast Times, Steve, oh my god," you told him, fighting an amused grin growing on your lips at the face the lady had given him.

"Why not? It's a good movie- okay we're getting off track here," he waved his hand in your face before you both fell into your actual job of stacking the cart with video tapes side by side, "Yeah he asked about you, and I told him you were...you know cool."

"Cool? Just cool. You couldn't talk me up more than that?" you asked with a scoff. Steve rested his gaze on yours for a second, squinting his eyes slightly at you and your eyes that had gone starry and warm.

"I don't know if you should be this excited about going out with the guy," he admitted to you, making a frown come over your lips and your eyebrows to furrow questionably at him and he replied with a shrug, "He kinda sucks."

"He...sucks?" you repeated incredulously at his choice of words to describe an ex-teammate and friend once, "I don't even- can you just tell me what's wrong with him?"

"He's just...I don't know, lame? Okay no, that's too mean-"

"And calling him a clown who sucks wasn't?"

His cheeks burned a soft scarlet as he cringed once again, "Okay yeah that was also mean, I'm not denying that, just- okay- I just never imagined you dating someone like Timmy T alright?"

He grabbed two videos in each hand, his side of the cart getting fuller by the video while you stopped to stare at him with both of your eyebrows raised now, not understanding what the heck he meant by that. Was it an insult to you? At Timothy? Based on the track record of this conversation, it was probably toward him but still...

Shaking your head, you said, "Why are you imagining the person I'll end up dating anyway..."

Your statement made the tapes Steve was holding fall and the movement he made to try and catch them caused him to hit his other stack of videos. All of them crashed to the floor in a span of a few seconds, and you huffed loudly, thinking a single hah before you left Steve to his own devices to help the customer who was starting to look a little impatient.

✧ ✧ ✧

It was clear the following day you were ignoring Steve, and honestly, it wasn't the first time you've ever ignored him, but it was the first time your glare was actually toward him.

He stood by the fact that your glare would be able to kill someone if it could.

Still, it hurt that he was the one you were upset with, but at the same time, he couldn't really blame you. Clearly, you were nervous about this date, and his stupid mouth yesterday was not helping.

And he knew that. He knew that as he was saying those dumb things about his old basketball teammate, knew that as your replies got more and more agitated. He just couldn't stop even though he wanted to.

God, that was why Robin needed to be on shift with the both of you because she typically stopped him from acting so stupid, especially with you (sometimes she did the opposite but he had she been there she would've shut him up and saved him the embarrassment).

The point was, Steve was aware that you were just in need of support from a friend, because that's what he was to you right? Your friend, nothing less...and nothing more...unfortunately, but Steve didn't want to unpack that stupid warm feeling he typically got whenever he was around you lately.

Rather, he wanted to tell you he was sorry for being a dick, and that he was excited for you, even if it wasn't true when it should be. Friends, Steve had to keep reminding himself, you were friends and friends should be excited whenever another goes on a date, you certainly were whenever he did...well for the first few times because he admitted he did go on a lot of dates that you resulted to saying a single 'oh have fun' and nothing more. Still...it was support, and way better than whatever the hell he was telling you yesterday.

He couldn't even tell you he was sorry anyway because you were hardly giving him a chance to speak.

"Do you know what you're wearing?"

Steve was handing a video to a customer when he overheard Nancy's voice, and he turned because he hadn't even seen her come in. She was talking to you at the counter while you were typing onto the video store's computer.

"No, I do have some options though, but I haven't settled on anything..."

"Wait, so you have them already or?" Nancy sounded confused, and Steve watched your features contort into almost shame as you told her you didn't, and Nancy said your name exasperated and said, "You haven't even bought anything, your date is tomorrow!"

"I know, I know, I just couldn't decide and then the time just passed me with work and stuff," you said sheepishly, "Can you take me today? And help me?"

Nancy frowned, "I can't, my deadlines tonight for the paper and it needs extensive review before being published."

You groaned, "Damn, curse you and your dedication to the school paper."

Nancy shook her head at you, and looked around before her eyes fell upon Steve as he tried to make it look like he wasn't eavesdropping by poking around at the videos on the shelf closest to him. She raised both brows, before looking away in thought.

"Steve can take you?" He overheard her say. He paused, but decided not to look over and only listen for your response.

"No thanks, I can find something in my closet," he heard you respond groggily. After that, Steve heard Nancy say something, but he couldn't hear exactly, so he glanced over as discreetly as he could and saw her leaning toward you and saying something only loud enough for you to hear.

Your face contorted into irritation as you replied to her, and Nancy had scoffed, and turned to look at Steve again with a raised brow. Clearly you had told her about his stupid words yesterday. He cleared his throat, and forced a grin on his lips as some kind of greeting to her and she narrowed her eyes at him before returning to look at you.

Deciding that he didn't want to stand around anymore, he approached you and Nancy and said, "I was eavesdropping, but yeah if you need a ride to the mall, I can take you. We're off at the same time anyway."

You met his gaze and replied, "No, I'm fine."

He hated how his heart dropped at your dismissive tone, and said, "Look, I'm sorry about yesterday okay? Timmy T. doesn't suck, and he isn't a clown, he just..." he quickly thought up an excuse, "One time during a game he missed a pass and cost us a win, and I'm still a little...irritated because like I said he wasn't a good player and his dad got him on the damn team-"

Nancy elbowed him, acting like how Robin might and he coughed and crossed both arms, "Just I'm sorry, okay, he is a nice guy regardless of how he played."

You rested your gaze on Steve, visibly contemplating if he was being genuine and Steve was, slightly. He was sorry, but Timmy T. still sucked, but you didn't need to know that.

When you didn't speak, Steve decided to say, "Also...I do know him, and I think I would be better help or something- you can trust me, I was just being uh- stupid yesterday."

You stared at him for a moment longer, before looking at Nancy and Steve watched as a near telepathic communication passed between the both of you. He awkwardly stood there for a good minute or so before you sighed deeply.

"Fine, okay, yeah you can take me," you said, and Steve snapped his fingers and grinned.

"Great, we'll leave for Starcourt right after our shift ends," he told you, and you nodded.

"Sounds like a plan."

It was only 2 hours later you and Steve were walking into the semi-full Starcourt Mall together side-by-side and making a beeline for the clothing store where you had told him (well actually Nancy) potential outfits for your date were.

Steve had been forced to take your hand though as he didn't want to get separated from you in the crowd that was only getting bigger. The feeling of your hand in his caused heat to rise to his cheeks, and he hoped you didn't notice the scarlet color of his cheeks.

"Steve, I'm not a kid, you don't have to hold my hand," you had joked from behind him, but didn't move to let go. He laughed nervously, making sure to keep his eyes forward as you entered the clothing together.

"I know, sorry," he apologized sheepishly before finally letting go of your hand, "So uh- where is this outfit?"

You took his hand again, much to his surprise, and led him with you to the other side of the store as you corrected him and said, "Outfits, Steve, outfits."

There was a lot of clothes you were grabbing, different tops, skirts, shorts, jeans, and a few dresses too that Steve had wondered for a moment if you were actually just searching for a new wardrobe. He realized when you were asking for a changing room when he remembered that you had asked Nancy specifically to help you pick an outfit.

A job that was his now.

He stood outside the fitting room door, which was just a wooden bi-folding door that had the various clothes you had elected to take with you hanging over the top.

The worker there was standing nearby, always making sure to glance over at Steve because she's probably had to deal with couples trying to sneak in there all the time.

Steve wanted to say nope just helping the girl I just so happen to think about romantically from time to time find an outfit for a date that isn't with me, but that would be sad, and even though he liked to say his reputation wasn't important to him...admitting something like that would definitely put a dent in it.

"Okay, so this was the original one I wanted to wear," you were saying as you were moving the door open, "And it's cute right-"

Steve turned to look at you then, and his breath was caught in his throat at the sight of you. You were wearing a blush pink top that hung over both of your shoulders and a pair of denim shorts. It was a simple outfit, nothing risky, nothing out of the ordinary of what girls wore today, but Steve's heart nearly hopped out of his chest when he saw you, especially when you turned from him to look at the mirror that was on the right of him and your left.

God, he was never so jealous of Timmy T in his life until right now.

"...so I'm not sure..."

His eyes moved from your outfit finally, and he stupidly asked you what you had just said. Scoffing you rested your hands onto your waist and turned away from the mirror to face him.

"I was saying that I think it's too...casual now, because he called last night and said he's taking me to dinner before the movie, so I was thinking more a dress...I don't know...what do you think?"

His eyes fell back down to the outfit, and he was lost once again...very visibly.

Because of this, you grew nervous again, not understanding why he was so quiet. Did he hate it? Did he think it was too casual? Was he thinking about what his ex-teammate might think? Was it good ? Why wasn't he saying anything?

"Earth to Steve? Hello?”

His eyes snapped up to yours, and he said, "Well uh- we won't know until we see the dress...but this is really pretty on you...like really pretty. Yeah, you should probably actually get this anyway because...yeah. Look at you."

You grew warm at his compliment, especially at the fact that he had said the word pretty twice. And the way his eyes kept looking at you, and drinking you in, had also caused a wave of confidence to join that warmth as you turned back to the mirror to admire yourself.

"I actually might," you said, moving side to side while Steve tried to retain his beating heart and wandering eyes, "Okay, I'll try the dress on."

You were back into the fitting room, leaving Steve back to his own devices and he cursed under his breath because to him he had thought he was being a complete weirdo when he was simply awestruck with you.

Friend, Steve kept having to remind himself, he was your friend and friend's don't oggle each other in fitting rooms.

"So uh..." your voice caught Steve off guard, and he looked at the closed door, "What does he like in a girl?"

"What?" Steve called.

"Timothy...or Timmy T whatever you call him."

Steve raised a brow, "Does it matter?"

You scoffed from within the fitting room while stepping into the dress, "You said you wanted to help me Steve because you, in your words, know him...so you know...what does he like...look for in a girlfriend?"

Because you couldn't see Steve, he let himself frown deeply at your question because of the clear implications behind it, "You...you want to be his girlfriend? I thought it was just a date..."

"No! I mean, yeah it's just a date, but I don't know...would be nice to be with someone," you called back. Oh, how Steve was really starting to hate the empty feeling that was washing over him and how his first thought was it would be nice to be with him and not Timothy Taylor.

"Look," he started, a little defeated and slightly heartbroken but hopefully it wasn't too obvious, at least in his voice "I'm saying this as a good...friend- it shouldn't matter what he looks for...you just...you know be yourself."

You didn't reply to that for a few seconds, and Steve was afraid he had said the wrong thing and you'd do a reenactment of the end of yesterday's shift and today's. Then, you laughed, and he tilted his head and asked if you were okay in there.

"Yeah, I just...I thought I could reach the zipper on the back of this dress," you said. He leaned back onto the wall and crossed both arms.

"Oh," he said, having to stop himself from asking if you needed help or something because then he'd feel like he would be crossing a line with you.

It was surprising then when you opened the door, holding the top of the burgundy colored sundress to your chest with one arm and asked him if he could come in and help. Steve's eyes widened, and he subconsciously turned to look at the worker who was suddenly, and conveniently busy with a customer.

"Uh...yeah- if you're comfortable that is," Steve told you, and you nodded.

"Well, there's no one else here so...and I do trust you not to be weird or something," you said, adding a nervous chuckle after that. Steve's lips turned to a small smile, and he nodded before squeezing into the small fitting room with you, sliding the door closed behind him.

There was a mirror on the wall to the left, and you turned so that you were facing it, and Steve took his place behind you, his eyes trailing down to the zipper you were talking about. It ended at just above your lower back and he tried not to stare too much at your bare skin, or think about how warm you were.

“I don’t know about this one,” you admitted to him, “I’d need help and my family’s out of town tomorrow.”

Steve cleared his throat gently, finally moving his hands so that he could finish zipping it up for you, and he said, “Well…I would obviously help you again if you decide to get it.”

You looked at him in the mirror, catching his eyes as he looked up momentarily. He casted you a smile before his eyes moved back down, and you felt him grasping the zipper, and slowly lifted it upward.

You observed Steve for a moment, taking in how focused and careful he appeared to be in just zipping the dress up, as if he didn’t want to touch you by accident or something.

To be fair, there was something inherently intimate about this fitting room, with the way the lights were dim and how close two people had to be if they were in one together. And it was pretty close, your own face was inches away from your reflection and you could feel the heat radiating off of Steve from behind you, making you feel slightly anxious and even more warm from his presence.

You had flinched suddenly when Steve’s fingers eventually brushed against the skin of your back, but what you didn’t expect were the sent pleasant chills up and down your spine and even on your scalp. Steve reacted to your flinch with a soft, breathless chuckle, and the heat of it had hit the back of your neck, causing those chills to make a quick and gradual return and you sucked in a shaky breath.

“Sorry, it got caught on the fabric,” he told you, his voice slightly husky from having to talk so low. You simply nodded in agreement, and you leaned a little forward as he lowered the zipper and carefully brought it over the stitch, gently grasping a bit of dress underneath it.

“So…be myself?” you asked him quietly, wanting to focus on something else and not his hands just barely touching you, “Any other great advice?” You meant it as a joke, and Steve definitely took it as one as he finished zipping the dress up then grabbed the two waist ties to finish it off and laughed.

“I mean, it’s what got me a lot of dates after my dating drought,” Steve told you as he finished the knot and looked up at you in the mirror only for his eyes to catch one of the ruffled straps of the dress you chose falling over your shoulder. Without thinking, he was reaching up to fix it.

You sucked in a deep breath when you felt him fix the strap for you, wondering for a second how you didn’t even notice to fix it yourself. And damn…were his hands always that soft and smooth…did it feel like that when he was holding your hand earlier in the mall or when you took his and dragged him all over the store?

A sense of guilt came over you then, wondering why you were standing here thinking about how good Steve Harrington’s hand felt on you when he was just being a good friend. He was simply trying to make up for his weird behavior yesterday and here you were melting at every single touch or obligatory compliment he threw your way.

You shook him off of you, and he dropped his hand to the side, feeling equally as guilty as you, but once again, when he looked at you in the mirror and saw the dress for what it was, his head went completely empty.

The sundress was long, and burgundy with a white floral design that complimented you well, but it was the front of the dress that had Steve awestruck. It was a laced up top, tied delicate down the middle of the front, and the bodice was lined with a lace fabric.

“Holy shit,” Steve said from behind you, making you look at him in the mirror once more.

“Is…is that a good holy shit or a bad one?” you asked him nervously, and Steve’s eyes met yours once more.

“Yeah,” he replied, making you furrow your eyebrows at him because which was it, but when you really saw the look in his brown eyes, you knew it was good. And it was this moment you realized that nobody’s ever looked at you the way Steve was right now, so wide-eyed and visibly struck with you.

“Steve?”

He blinked quickly, and you watched his face turn a slight pink and he said, “I’m being weird, sorry, you just look…wow.”

“No, it’s not that, I just…thank you,” you finally said, “For uh- apologizing for yesterday, and helping me today. I’m really glad to call you my friend.”

Steve’s eyes had fallen along with his heart, the word friend coming from your lips directly to him serving as a cruel, but well needed, reminder that yet again that’s all you both were. He moved away from you until his back was hitting the wall opposite of you, and he said, “Yeah! Anytime really- so you’re getting this dress…or the other outfit…or…both?”

Your eyes shifted to the folded clothes on the small table in the fitting room and you nodded, “Yeah…I think I’ll take both.”

Steve was fast, picking up the blouse and shorts for you like his life depended on it or something.

“Great! Well, I’ll just wait for you out there and-”

“Well, I need help unzipping the dress,” you started to say until there was hard knocking on the door and the sound of the same employee who kept watching Steve telling him to get out of there with you. Your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, and so did Steve’s.

“I was- god this looks bad-”

You covered your mouth, your embarrassment turning to amusement before you slid the door open and told her that he was simply helping you zip up and tie the back of the dress. The woman eyed you both suspiciously, before claiming that she would help you while shooting a warning glare at Steve.

“Hey, we’re just friends, alright?” Steve told the woman defensively, “And even if we weren’t- I would never try to hook up with her in there…for one it’s not romantic and two…there’s literally no space.”

“Oh my god, Steve,” you said, placing your palm over your forehead as the embarrassment returned and you asked the woman to please help you.

Steve left the fitting room then, still holding the blouse and denim shorts in his left arm while the other went to push back his hair, shooting a quick look in the mirror. The guy he saw wasn’t the guy he typically saw in the mirror, the suave guy who goes on dates with multiple girls because they’re really into him, no…instead there was a guy who was absolutely smitten with the girl he has called his friend for over a year now who was going on a date with Timmy T tomorrow night.

“Get it together man, for your sake and for hers,” he threatened himself quietly in the mirror, even pointing at his reflection for good measure. When it seemed he got the picture, he settled back against the wall and dropped his head with a deep sigh, “I’m not going to get it together…”

#get more creative with titles challenge @ me #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things imagine #reader insert #female reader #imagines #lys writes again

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artemiseamoon · 2 years ago

Text

Back to Start

Dad! Frankie x Mom! ofc (on and off again lovers, exes)

Part 1 of 3 | fic info | next

About: After 20 years of history and 2 kids, Billie and Frankie navigate the current state of their relationship

Words: 2,781

Warnings: mention of an abortion but its very vague, sexual undertones. Implied.

Auto correct keeps changing his daughters name from Skye to Skype and I’m upset about it. 😭😭😭 I’ve yet again, gone in and fixed it.

Weaving this into my June Drabbles + Pride Month!

Prompts: fireworks + Frankie + “Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you still love me.” “I do still love you.” (w/ angst)

Frankie and Billies teen daughter (Hs age) recently came out | my ofc is bisexual poly leaning woman

Faceclaims: Billie Hayes (Aisha Tyler), Skye Hayes ( Aisha Dee), their youngest son Kian Hayes (pic via pinterest)

Billie held the doorknob gently as Kian pulled the sheets over his body, up to his forehead. The sweet sound of his laugh makes her smile as his curls stick out from under the sheets.

Still smiling, Billie lets go of the knob and steps further into the room. Sitting on the side of the bed, she lowers the covers and tucks Kian in properly. “Goodnight baby. I love you.” She leans over and plants a kiss on his forehead.

“Love you, mom.” He beams, pulling his arms out of the covers for a hug. Melting at his cuteness, she draws him in for a big warm hug before tucking him in again.

“See you in the morning cutie.”

Billie reaches for the light on the nightstand and stops, her eyes falling to the toy plane on his desk. So young, and he was already showing interest in everything pilot-related.

She lets her eyes linger on the toy a little longer before turning the lamp off. Now, the only light in the room comes from the small helicopter nightlight on the wall.

Billie glances at Kian once more as he closes his eyes. As she starts to leave the room, Skye calls out to her from the bottom of the stairs.

“Mom! Dad’s here!” Her voice boomed through the house.

“Dad?!” Kian jumps out of bed and runs past her, his little feet hitting the wooden floor.

Billie sighs, then looks at her watch. She was so close to getting him to bed. “It’s going to be a long night.” She whispered to herself before heading down the hall. “Careful on those stairs!” She shouts, stopping at the head to make sure Kian doesn’t fall or tumble.

Making her way down, she reaches the first floor and turns toward the living room where Frankie is standing.

“Ah look at you, getting bigger every day. Soon you’ll be bigger than me,” Frankie picks Kian up with a grunt and holds him, “look at this hair.” He messes with his curls. Kian smiles at Frankie and tugs at his hat.

On the couch, Skye is still texting and resting one arm on her large teddy bear.

“Did you say hi to your dad?” Billie leans in the doorway and crosses her arms.

“Of course, let him in, big hug, all of it,” Skye replied, eyes still on her phone.

“At least when we were teens, we didn’t have those things,” Frankie comments, his eyes meeting Billies across the room.

“You know what this means right?” Billie pointed to the wall clock, “you gotta put him to bed.”

Frankie nods, “ I know, I know. Come on, little guy.” He walks toward Billie and glances back at Skye, “goodnight sweetheart.”

“Goodnight dad. Love you.” Skye look up briefly, smiles, then goes back to her phone.

“I hate those things.” Frankie grumbles.

“Stop being old.” Skye comments with a small grin.

Frankie laughs it off and stops before Billie, who straightens up. She caresses Kian's face. As she looks at Kian, she can feel Frankies eyes burning into her, in that mysterious, longing, yet somber way he’s so good at.

“I’ve been trying to get him down for over an hour.” Her brown eyes finally meet Frankies.

“Sorry,” he frowns, “we - “ he lowers his voice, “need to talk.”

“Well, what else would you be over here at this time for?” She raises a brow.

Frankie smirks, and that devilish glint in his eyes appears. The one she called ‘trouble’.

Billie rolls her eyes playfully, “go, get him to bed.” She steps aside as Frankie, still smirking, heads for the stairs.

Heading for the couch, Billie sits down and tugs at the purple teddy bear. Skye sits up and turns to her mom.

“You okay? You’ve been like this all day.” Billie asked with soft eyes.

“Yeah. Fine.” Skye lowers her phone, her brows showing tension. After a moment, she places the phone on the cushion and meets her mothers eyes. “When you and dad fight, do you - “ she pauses, “I mean, I know you’re not together but…how long does it take to…”

“Oh I see, I had a feeling,” Billie picks up the bear and places it on the nearby loveseat. She scoots closer to her daughter, “you and Nadia have your first fight?”

Skye drops her gaze to the floor and slowly shakes her head, “ yeah. Over something stupid.”

“Come here.” She raises her arm, Skype cuddles in close. As they hold eachother, Billie and breathes into the hug. “Want to talk about it? Your dad can wait.”

“Not right now, tomorrow?” Skye looks up at her.

“Of course baby.” Billie kisses the top of her head.

“Mom, since tomorrow is Saturday, can we go to the roller ring?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Billie grins.

“Thank you mom.” Skye breaks away from the hug.

Billie watches as Skye gathers her phone and the bear. Frankie won it for her years ago at a Carnival, one of those water gun shooting games. Or course he hit the highest level and won the grand prize. Ever since Skye was attached to the thing and when she dragged it around the house, it was a sure sign something was wrong. It was her emotional support bear.

Skye forces a smile and shifts the bear in her arms, “I’m going to bed.”

“Goodnight baby.” Billie stands and watches her leave the living room. Billie then heads to the kitchen and pours herself a drink.

She had no idea what Frankie wanted to talk about, but their last few conversions didn’t go so great. She hoped it wasn’t another reckless decision. Even though he’s older now, he was still an adrenaline junkie and sometimes didn’t make the best choices. Frankie was an interesting mix of very controlled yet unpredictable.

Sitting outside on the back porch, Billie takes a sip of whiskey. It’s smooth on her tongue; the oak, cinnamon, and a little bit of smoke pleases her taste buds. Savoring the taste, and the quiet moment, she takes a deep breath and relaxes against the back of the chair.

A moment later, she hears the sliding door open, followed by Frankie's tell-tale footsteps. She watches from the corner of her eye as he sinks into the chair next to her and stares off at the backyard.

Frankie didn’t know how to start this conversation. And he was sure he knew how it was going to go. Frankie glances at Billie, her glass, then gets up.

Puzzled, Billie twists in the chair and watches him disappear inside before returning with a glass and the bottle of whiskey. He closes the sliding door behind him.

“Oh no,” She muttered as Frankie sits, “What is it?”

Frankie chuckles. He didn’t get nervous often, but breaking news to the mother of his children was one of the few times he did. The look on her face when he told her about the probation still haunted him.

But he can admit now, in the aftermath saying yes to that job was a stupid move. He was just…looking for something, whatever that is, and made a choice he now regrets.

Plus, any extra money he could get helped, especially with 2 kids. The job that cost him his license paid really well. All that aside, he has a family and understood why Billie was pissed as hell. But this new job would be different. Just a simple recon then back home. It should be a breeze.

“Santi is in town,” Frankie pours himself a drink and tops hers off as she holds it in her hands. Her eyes fixed on him as he speaks, “he asked me and the old crew to help. He needs a pilot.”

Billie sucks in a breath, then nibbles her lower lip. A sinking feeling hits her gut.

“I know that look.” Frankie takes a sip, his eyes still on hers.

A nervous knot grows in her stomach, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Billie was usually right. Everytime she had a bad feeling about something, shit hit the fan in some way or another. But, Frankie gave his word. Plus, it was Pope. If Pope needed him, he was there.

“It will be fine.” Frankie breaks eye contact and takes a gulp of whiskey.

Billie sits back and observes him. Frankie has always been a very mission-oriented guy. And when he gave his word, he meant it. He was dedicated, especially to Santiago. If a job needed to be done, Frankie was the perfect guy to do so, and do it efficiently. Billie could see why he reached the accolades he did in his career, why he's one of the best.

The intimate heart to heart thing, he didn't have that down so much. There was only so much Frankie availble to a partner, even to her. It was one of the many things that made Frankie a hard man to get to know, to love, to have a family with.

Billie never had any doubts about Frankie's love for his kids. Ever. He adored them, and they adored him. One of their biggest issues as a couple has always been his unavailability. There was always this part of him that felt inaccessible and off-limits. In a loving intimate bond, no matter how much love is there, that kind of thing can get lonely.

“When are you leaving?” Billie asked, raising her drink to her lips. The tone of her voice draws his eyes back to her. He knows she wants to ask more, but she holds herself back.

“Thursday.”

“Five days,” Billie swirls the liquid around in the glass, “still coming over Sunday? It’s fathers day.”

“Of course,” Frankie replies quickly. Nothing would stop him from that. Nothing in the world.

“Good.” Billie rests the drink in her lap and stares off at nothing.

Everything falls silent. Frankie continues observing her, he wants to be closer, to feel her soft skin against his. But they were in one of those gray areas at the moment. He didn't know if initiating contact would be embraced with open arms or if she’d reject him.

“Just, come back in one piece, please.” Her voice is soft, low, mixed with hints of exhaustion from her day.

Frankie leans closer, her eyes meet his, “I always do.”

“I - I worry about you, a lot, “ Billie breaks eye contact and knocks the rest of the drink back in one impressive gulp. It reminds Frankie of the days he, Santi, and her would close bars out together, before the kids, before lots of things,

Billie continues, “I know you are fully capable of your job and shit, if a zombie apocalypse went down tomorrow, I’d make sure we were with you because you - “ she pauses, feeling emotion well up in her chest. Billie takes a moment to gather herself before speaking again, “ I just fear one of these days you’re going to tell me you’re headed for a mission, and next thing I know, I open the door and it's not you standing there…it’s Santi, Will, Benny…” she trails off, not wanting to think about the thought any longer.

Frankie rises from the chair, puts the glass down, and kneels in front of Billie. He swipes the hat off his head, so she can see her better, and takes her hands into his own. His brown eyes are heavy with emotion as they gaze at each other.

“It won’t be them on the other side of the door, it will be me. I promise.”

Billie blinks twice and pulls her eyes away from his.

Frankie grips her hands tighter, “ look at me,” she does. He can see the coat of tears in her eyes, “ It will be me.”

“It better be,” she forces a laugh, “if you d- I’d pull some serious hoodoo shit and bring your ass back just to kill you myself.”

Frankie chuckles and leans forward to rest his head in her lap. “I’m more afraid of your wrath than whatever is on the other side.” He comments, relaxing against her thighs.

Billie lowers the glass to the ground and slides her fingers through his curls. The soft moan he emits sends a warmth through her entire body. This time, when silence falls, the tension is gone. Billie and Frankie let themselves enjoy it.

He could fall asleep, just like this, with her fingers in his hair. Just like he used too. He missed it, just like he missed a million other things, including her scent. Then the thought that plagued him earlier returns, ruining the moment. Before he can stop himself, the question leaves his lips,

“Are you seeing someone?” Frankie lifts his head to look at her.

Billie lowers her head slightly, her eyes still locked on his, “Frankie, we’re not - “

He interrupts before she finishes, “ I know,” he shrugs, “ I just - “

“I am dating, yeah. Nothing serious.”

Frankie’s lips tighten into a line as he bows his head. He shouldn’t have asked, he knew that, but he couldn’t help himself. When Frankie raises his head again, Billie offers a kind smile.

“Are you?”

“Dating?” He makes a face, “no.”

Silence again.

Frankie searches her eyes, looking for something, searching for it, then he finds it. Frankie smiles and gently brushes his thumb against her cheek. The look in his eyes reawakens the butterflies in her stomach and makes her heart beat faster.

“Francisco, “ she speaks his name softly, her tone breathy and sweet. Hearing his name on her lips, is still one of the sweetest sounds in the world, “don't look at me like that.”

Frankie leans in closer, he strokes her other cheek, “like what?”

Billie notices how close his face is getting to hers, but doesn’t move back, “Like you still love me.”

Frankie's eyes light up, he slides his hand under her hair and holds the nape of her neck, “ I do still love you. I never stopped.”

Billie’s lips part slightly as she takes in a breath. Frankie presses his forehead to hers. His eyes fall to her lips as she wets them,

“I know you feel the same.” He whispers.

“Frankie,” she reaches for his face and holds it with her hands, they make eye contact, “we made a choice, to co-parent and if we could, save our friendship. It’s the best road to take…” leading with her mind, she tries to stay focused. But the desire burning in his eyes is making it difficult, “we tried, more than once, but it didn’t work.”

Frankie's hungry eyes move over her face, taking in every feature, every detail, “we didn’t work because of me.”

Billie rests her hand on his shoulders, his hand is hot against her skin as he continues to hold the back of her neck, “Frankie?”

The call of his name brings his eyes back to hers. The red hot desire in his eyes mixes with something else, something desperate, “ say it.”

Billie breaks eye contact and lifts her hands from his shoulders, “we can’t do this. It's just going to end up how it always ends up and I really don’t want another kid. You and your fucking super sperm.”

Frankie laughs and stands up, releasing her from his grip. Billie stands, but Frankie doesn't move away, their bodies press together.

“It was almost three.” Frankie raises his brows.

“Well, you and your team were off in the middle of nowhere and one 5 year old was already too much to handle -“

Frankie cuts her off with his lips. Sliding one arm around her body, he holds her closer, the other returns to the back of her head.

Billie closes her eyes, instantly submitting to his lips. Fireworks go off inside of her, just like they always have with Frankie. Even all these years later, two kids later, his touch is still electric, his kiss like a spell.

When the passionate kiss breaks, Frankie continues to hold her as close as possible. Billie runs her hand up and down his back, then over his broad shoulders.

"You still didn't say it." Frankie's heart is racing in his chest, his body needing hers.

Billie shakes her head and chuckles, “what the fuck am I going to do with you?”

Frankie bites at her lower lip and sucks it into his mouth before releasing it. “Whatever you want.”

Billie slips away and heads to the doors. She shoots him a flirty look over her shoulder, “you know I love you. Don't think I could stop if I tried," she slides the door open and steps inside, "guest bedroom. Now.”

Next chapter

Meet the family 💜

Fic info

#Frankie catfish Morales #Frankie triple frontier #dad! frankie #frankie x ofc #Frankie catfish Morales fan fiction #dad Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales

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maxismatchccworld · 4 years ago

Text

Patch Notes

PC: 1.73.48.1030 / Mac: 1.73.48.1230 Console: Version 1.40 Heya Simmers! Today we bring you a small but neat update, we hope you all enjoy it! We also hope you are all well wherever you are in the World, and thanks again for all your continued support and feedback. Chaucitos - Dag Dag! -SimGuruRusskii What’s New? In Create A Sim, we have updated two hairstyles and have converted them to be used with Children and Toddler Sims as well.

First, we have the beautiful pfHair_EF30TightCurls, cfHair_EF30TightCurls, and yfHair_EF30TightCurls as pictured below, including how it would look like if worn on a Male Frame pictured as ymHair_EF30TightCurls.

Then we have pictured below, including how it would look like if worn on a Female Frame pictured as yfHair_ShortTextured.

This author would like to apologize for her terrible photoshop skills in putting these together side by side. Very sorry… much photoshop! Getting better!

Now onto the fixes...

Bug Fixes Sims 4

Fixed an issue in which in the Gallery Preview pop-ups, Build Mode objects will now appear properly under the “Show Used Items” panel. Accuracy is the best policy… in this case.

We made some edits to some Career and School-related tooltips so they are consistent and clearer for Simmers.

The book cradleObject_GENBook is no longer visible to Simmers, it wasn't meant to be... it wasn't a pretty book. We didn't like doing it!

Some DEBUG pie menu options including some from Discover University and Snowy Escape were translated. We didn’t translate these, well since ever… as they were DEBUG and only accessible with a specific cheat, but we are working on them as we go now. Thanks for your reports and patience!

We discovered that Sims were becoming uncomfortable when Gathering Water… we didn’t really understand why, so we decided to have them not be uncomfortable. Let them feel how they want to feel, I say.

Ghost Sims will now appear as Ghosts in CAS. There were moments that they made us take a second look there, but nope, they are Ghosts and Ghosts they shall display as. I think I saw this as a plot for a movie… Ghosts… a machine, a dance… ANYWAY.

As always this editor and the Localization team made some adjustments and perfected some of the text in-game across all packs and previous updates. #getit

Get Together

Social Panel will no longer default to the incorrect tab. What tab was I on? Now I will always know.

City Living

Vegetarian Sims will no longer mistakenly eat non-vegetarian leftovers from the refrigerator. Not funny guys!

Fixed an issue that didn’t let the DigiRAD Keyboard make a sound when choosing Keyboard Auto Play.

Cats and Dogs

Listen, I think every species - well everyone, has the right to find love. But we did have to fix an issue with Female Cats going into Heat despite being Spayed. Even so, I hope my lovely Spayed Female Felines will still find love out there.

Seasons

Oh the rain, such a poetic moment from nature. Sitting cozied up with a blanket and a cup of coffee watching the world go by with the melodious sound of the raindrops falling lightly on the ground… wait… is that a Sim showering outside? Yes indeed! Showering in the Rain is possible in Light Rain conditions.

Fish Dinner will now be counted for completing Grand Meal Holiday Events.

Similarly, Shower in the Rain has been fixed for Simmers who have installed Eco Lifestyle, making the most of every resource available!

All soaps used are biodegradable - we promise!

Snowy Escape

Create A Sim asset yfBody_EP10CoatDenim will no longer create an issue with all knee-high boots. Though those boots were made for walking, the dress needs to look fabulous too. My opinion, allegedly.

Child Sims will no longer get the Unblessed sentiment after getting Blessed at the Youth Festival. Children should only get the Unblessed sentiment if they ask Yamachan about a Voidcritter Hunt and also avoid getting the Blessing of Youth from an Adult Sim as well. #Blessed

Extreme Sports enthusiasts will now be able to complete High-Intensity Skiing or Snowboarding on Intermediate or Expert Slopes. Good luck!

Recipes from this pack will now appear when unlocking Gourmet Cooking Skill Levels. Particularly Levels 3 and 5. Yum.

Sims will no longer freeze when performing interactions from a computer in Mt. Komorebi, specifically 2-4-2 Wakabamori. I think I saw this in a movie once… but… had a less “happy ending.

Discover University

Fixed an issue in which the icon for the trait Mental Magister appeared to be a Placeholder icon. Or was it?

Progressing in the Law Career will now unlock Promotions appropriately. Keep up the good work!

Eco Lifestyle

Fixed an issue in which the icon for the Making with a Mentor Moodlet was not showing the correct icon.

Eco Lifestyle-specific Traits are now added to the Clubs choices if Simmers have Get Together installed.

Collecting Beetle Nuggets will now be possible when Beetles are ready. Bon Appetit.

Outdoor Retreat

Veggie Dogs and Hot Dogs will be able to be roasted in Campfires once again. Iconic.

Vampires

Is your Vampire Sim tired of drinking the same old regular Plasma? Are they drinking it to the point that they can no longer tell if it is Plasma anymore? Ugh, such a hard diet, right? I can relate…ahem... Vampire Sims will now enjoy a more varied diet of Fish, Frog, and yes… Regular Plasma when left to their own devices.

Tiny Living

Tiny Homes will no longer magically get clean and have Dust Bunnies disappear (if Simmers own Bust the Dust) when Sims travel or Simmers reload the game. Man, I wish my apartment would magically get clean like that though.

Nifty Knitting

Fixed an issue in which the expiration timer for items listed on Plopsy was not appearing.

Paranormal

Haunted House Residential Lots will now enjoy the presence of Dust Bunnies and Fiends if Simmers also have Bust the Dust. Dust Bunny goes Boooooo.

Bust the Dust

Your Sims had a lot of things to do today, but you know what they did instead? They Vacuumed the Lot. It was a really good clean. Cooking? Vacuumed the Lot. That Gig? Vacuumed the Lot. What about those push ups? Vacuumed the Lot. Reading? Vacuumed the Lot. Looking at this bug? We made time for that. The end of this bug? Released with this Patch. Sims will no longer randomly drop their queued tasks for Vacuuming.

#s4 patch notes

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hale-13 · 3 years ago

Text

Engulfed

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 30(!!!) Prompt - Crying

It’s just all too much. Everything is too much. It’s been a year and Peter can’t stand to do anything but sit here on this roof and ruminate until his mind goes blank.

Words: 2146, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Roger Harrington

TW: Depression, Survivor’s Guilt

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Peter can I speak with you real quick?” Mr. Harrington called as the final bell of the day rang and students started abandoning the class in droves. Ned shared a commiserating look with him as he finished packing up his things and left the room; leaving Peter to approach Mr. Harrington’s desk nervously and stand in front of it, shifting his weight back and forth nervously. “Oh!” Mr. Harrington said, holding up his arms in surrender as he closed the door behind the last student. “You can relax, you aren’t in trouble!”

Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and let some of the tension drain from him muscles. “I’m not?”

Harrington raised an eyebrow at him, “Have you done something to warrant being in trouble?”

“No!” Peter said, his voice breaking a little on the end. “No sir!”

His teacher gave him a suspicious look but didn’t push it, instead gesturing for Peter to sit down in one of the empty desks as he perched on the edge of his own desk. Peter dropped his bag and sat, trying to keep his fingers from twitching from the anxiety strumming through him. Harrington observed him for a moment longer before sighing and handing Peter a folder. With curiosity, Peter opened it and paled considerably as he cycled through his latest test grade in addition to his final paper and project of the nine week grading period. There wasn’t a single grade above a ‘C’.

“So I wanted to talk to you before I handed these back tomorrow,” his teacher said gently, pulling a free chair up to the desk Peter was seated at and pulling the folder from his slack fingers. “Peter this isn’t the work I’m used to you turning in. What’s going on?”

“I uh,” Peter said, mind blanking as he flipped through his term paper that was absolutely coated in copious amounts of red ink. “I don’t know. I worked… I mean I spent… I don’t know,” he stuttered out, feeling untethered and confused.

Harrington sighed and, carefully, pried Peter’s fingers from the folder and closed it, setting it down on the desk. “You’ve seemed a little overwhelmed recently,” he said gently. “Most of your teachers have noticed it and this isn’t the only class where your work has taken a bit of a nose-dive. I know that you guys don’t always want to talk to teachers and school administrators about what’s going on in your personal life but, Peter, we’re here if you need it okay?”

Peter nodded, a little dumbly, his tongue too thick and dry to form words. He felt dizzy – he was turning in failing work in more than one class? “I uh…,” he cleared his throat and tried to wet his mouth, “I guess I have been a little… distracted recently but I’m okay,” he said and tried to hide his flinch at how unconvincing his voice sounded. He was fine right? “I’m sorry about the work, I know I can’t make up the test grade but is there any… uh… any extra credit I can do? I’ll do anything!”

“It’s alright,” Harrington said, picking the folder back up and standing. “I’m going to let you retake the test on Monday and if you write an analysis of what was wrong with your essay and correct the issues I’ll regrade it, same with the project. You’ll need to have them both to me Monday morning I can’t offer more than a ‘B’ on any of them but it should help your grade and make sure you don’t lose your scholarship.”

Peter felt like someone had ripped the floor out from under him and he had to grip the desk tightly. “My scholarship,” he whispered horrified and Harrington gave him a guilty look.

“You’ll have to speak with your other teachers on Monday about extra credit and make-up work but I believe all of them will be willing to help out,” Harrington passed the folder back to Peter who took it with numb and trembling fingers. “It’ll be fine Peter.”

“Right,” he said, feeling like he was underwater and standing shakily. “Thanks Mr. Harrington, I’ll go work on these now.” He never heard the man respond nor did he remember much of his walk home, the next thing he was aware of was standing in his room, his hoodie a little damp from the mist that had descended on the city and the barely-there drizzle that had started. Peter dropped his bag with a thump to the floor and collapsed into his desk chair.

He had work to do and he did so at an absolutely feverish pace. Reading back through his paper he had no idea how he had thought it was even marginally acceptable to turn in. He hadn’t even bothered looking at his project yet but he knew that it would look the much the same and he could already feel his gut twisting into tight knots as he considered the work he would be putting into it over the rest of the weekend.

By the time he had finished, his eyes were dry and crusty and the rain was pounding in earnest against his bedroom window; the only light coming from his desk lamp and the flickering streetlight outside his window. He sat back and blinked furiously, staring at the window with his eyes blurring in and out of focus. He could feel his heart speed up and shook his head once, hard, before jumping from his seat and stripping out of his clothes to pull on his suit.

“Hello Peter,” Karen said brightly as his HUD flickered and readings started to populate. “It is past-,”

“Mute Karen,” Peter said, voice croaking and shaky as he popped his fingers and neck. “Disable HUD and go dark.” It wasn’t often that he shut down his entire suit and went out the way he used to – just him with no extra tech – but sometimes it (and Karen) did effect his senses. And sometimes, like tonight, he just needed the silence.

He opened up his window, reveling in the cool air that creeped into his room and the drops of rain that stuck against his limbs like ice cubes. He paused for just a moment before firing a web through the fog to latch onto the building across the street, swinging out into the weather.

As he took slow laps around Queens, he let his mind drift and his body to just run on complete auto-pilot. He rarely saw any sort of major crime in rain and fog like this and his Spider Sense was quiet in his mind as he swung. Without Karen active and with his suit dark, he didn’t have his heater or GPS or access to his phone or the police scanner but he was fine with all of that. Content to just swing until he couldn’t.

The ‘until he couldn’t’ came a lot soon than he thought, his numb finger slipping on a web and sending him careening onto the top of a building where he rolled and ended up on his back, staring up at the moonless and starless night sky and the thick drops of rain. He laid there for just a moment longer, stunned and taking stock, but nothing hurt too much, he just felt detached.

With no small effort, Peter sat up and scooted over to sit with his back against the roof access, staring out over Queens but unable to see more than a few hundred feet ahead of him. His eyes unfocused and he felt his mind slowing down – blank and quiet finally.

“Do you know what time it is?” His mentor’s voice should have surprised him but, even drifting off the way he was, it was impossible to not hear the loud repulsers of the Iron Man armor. He touched down on the roof to the left of Peter and his face plate shifted up, keeping him dry from the rain but reveling his face that was a mix of disapproving and concerned. Peter just shrugged.

“Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse and monotonous in the gloom. Tony furrowed his brows at him.

“You good kiddo?”

“Sure,” Peter said, looking out over the roof top again. “Fine.”

“Right,” Tony said, his voice disbelieving. “Well its past your curfew buddy and you’re completely soaked. You okay with me giving you a lift home?” Peter nodded without consideration. He was cold and he couldn’t really feel his fingertips – getting a ride home on the Iron Man express was definitely preferable than walking. “Hop on then,” Tony motioned to his back as he turned and, after a moment to psych himself up for it, Peter stood slowly and wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck.

The armor was warm and the flaps prevented Peter from getting pestered by too many of the remaining raindrops on their flight. He let his eyes slip closed as they flew, content to drift, which he realized was a mistake when he opened them a few minutes later and realized Tony had taken them to the Tower instead. “This isn’t my apartment,” he said, dropping down to land on the over-large balcony of the penthouse so that Tony could step out of the armor.

“Nope,” he agreed, shuffling Peter inside and carefully pulling his mask over his face and dropping a towel around his shoulders. “You’re staying here tonight – I know May’s working third.”

The water dripping from his damp hair onto his neck made him shiver but Peter made no move to dry off with the towel – standing just inside the entrance to the penthouse and staring ahead at his mentor who clucked his tongue and started to dry Peter’s hair off himself. “What’s going on Pete?” He asked as he rubbed the terry cloth through Peter’s curls. “This isn’t you.”

“Nothing,” Peter said, his voice sounding emotionless, “I’m fine.”

The look Tony leveled him with was that of pure disbelief but he herded Peter toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Go take a warm shower and change. I’ll make some hot chocolate and meet you in the living room when you’re done.”

Peter nodded his assent and made his way toward his en suite bathroom. The Spidey suit was sticking wetly to his clammy skin and it took some doing to get out of it but it was worth it to slip into the fancy shower his room at the Tower offered. He stood for an untold amount of time under the burning spray of water and felt the tension leave his body, his emotions swirling confusingly in his head and leaving him nearly dizzy. Deciding he couldn’t put it off any longer, Peter grabbed the towel from the heated rack and dried off, slipping into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie before making it back to the living room.

In his time away, Tony had made one of the only things he could in the kitchen: hot chocolate from scratch (a recipe from Rhodey and his college years) and was settled on the overly large couch with a pile of throw blankets. Peter sank into the nest and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, accepting the mug his mentor offered and taking a sip of the steaming drink.

“Alright out with it,” Tony said, sitting to face Peter, the expression on his face open. “Something’s going on buddy but you can tell me okay?”

“It’s October thirteenth,” Peter blurted before biting his lip.

“October thirteenth?” Tony asked with a furrowed brow. “What…?”

“Uncle Ben died a year ago,” Peter whispered, curling up further into himself. From next to him Tony let out a sigh of air.

“Oh kiddo,” he said, voice sad and filled with understanding. Peter sniffed once and felt a hot tear leak down his cheek. He didn’t bother wiping it away. “There’s… not really anything that I can say that will make it better,” Tony said as he scooted closer and sat his mug of coffee on the table in front of them. “I know that from experience but, if you ever want to talk about him you can always come to me.”

Peter nodded once and was surprised when, just a moment later, Tony reached out and pulled Peter tightly into his side in a hug. Peter’s mind went blank for a moment and then he felt his eyes well with tears that fell in silent waves down his cheeks. He had felt so overwhelmed, so underwater for weeks leading up to this day and he just…

“Let it out buddy,” tony said, pulling him in tighter and running calloused fingers through Peter’s still-damp hair. “It’s alright.”

With that permission, Peter turned himself more fully into his mentor, curling himself in tighter and letting his eyes cry themselves out.

It felt like catharsis.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump30 #Prompt: Crying #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

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thesims4blogger · 4 years ago

Photo

The Sims 4: New Game Patch (April 27th, 2021)

There’s a new Sims 4 update available for PC/Mac and Consoles.

PC: 1.73.48.1030 / Mac: 1.73.48.1230 / Console: Version: Console: Version 1.40.

Remove all MODS and Custom Content before updating your game

Heya Simmers!

Today we bring you a small but neat update, we hope you all enjoy it!

We also hope you are all well wherever you are in the World, and thanks again for all your continued support and feedback.

Chaucitos – Dag Dag!

-SimGuruRusskii

What’s New? In Create A Sim, we have updated two hairstyles and have converted them to be used with Children and Toddler Sims as well.

Then we have pictured below, including how it would look like if worn on a Female Frame pictured as yfHair_ShortTextured.

This author would like to apologize for her terrible photoshop skills in putting these together side by side. Very sorry… much photoshop! Getting better!

Now onto the fixes…

Bug Fixes

Sims 4

Fixed an issue in which in the Gallery Preview pop-ups, Build Mode objects will now appear properly under the “Show Used Items” panel. Accuracy is the best policy… in this case.

We made some edits to some Career and School-related tooltips so they are consistent and clearer for Simmers.

The book cradleObject_GENBook is no longer visible to Simmers, it wasn’t meant to be… it wasn’t a pretty book. We didn’t like doing it!

As always this editor and the Localization team made some adjustments and perfected some of the text in-game across all packs and previous updates. #getit

Get Together

Social Panel will no longer default to the incorrect tab. What tab was I on? Now I will always know.

City Living

Vegetarian Sims will no longer mistakenly eat non-vegetarian leftovers from the refrigerator. Not funny guys!

Fixed an issue that didn’t let the DigiRAD Keyboard make a sound when choosing Keyboard Auto Play.

Cats and Dogs

Listen, I think every species – well everyone, has the right to find love. But we did have to fix an issue with Female Cats going into Heat despite being Spayed. Even so, I hope my lovely Spayed Female Felines will still find love out there.

Seasons

Fish Dinner will now be counted for completing Grand Meal Holiday Events.

Similarly, Shower in the Rain has been fixed for Simmers who have installed Eco Lifestyle, making the most of every resource available!

All soaps used are biodegradable – we promise!

Snowy Escape

Create A Sim asset yfBody_EP10CoatDenim will no longer create an issue with all knee-high boots. Though those boots were made for walking, the dress needs to look fabulous too. My opinion, allegedly.

Extreme Sports enthusiasts will now be able to complete High-Intensity Skiing or Snowboarding on Intermediate or Expert Slopes. Good luck!

Recipes from this pack will now appear when unlocking Gourmet Cooking Skill Levels. Particularly Levels 3 and 5. Yum.

Sims will no longer freeze when performing interactions from a computer in Mt. Komorebi, specifically 2-4-2 Wakabamori. I think I saw this in a movie once… but… had a less “happy ending.

Discover University

Fixed an issue in which the icon for the trait Mental Magister appeared to be a Placeholder icon. Or was it?

Progressing in the Law Career will now unlock Promotions appropriately. Keep up the good work!

Eco Lifestyle

Fixed an issue in which the icon for the Making with a Mentor Moodlet was not showing the correct icon.

Eco Lifestyle-specific Traits are now added to the Clubs choices if Simmers have Get Together installed.

Collecting Beetle Nuggets will now be possible when Beetles are ready. Bon Appetit.

Outdoor Retreat

Veggie Dogs and Hot Dogs will be able to be roasted in Campfires once again. Iconic.

Vampires

Is your Vampire Sim tired of drinking the same old regular Plasma? Are they drinking it to the point that they can no longer tell if it is Plasma anymore? Ugh, such a hard diet, right? I can relate…ahem… Vampire Sims will now enjoy a more varied diet of Fish, Frog, and yes… Regular Plasma when left to their own devices.

Tiny Living

Nifty Knitting

Fixed an issue in which the expiration timer for items listed on Plopsy was not appearing.

Paranormal

Haunted House Residential Lots will now enjoy the presence of Dust Bunnies and Fiends if Simmers also have Bust the Dust. Dust Bunny goes Boooooo.

Bust the Dust

#news #the sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 #game patch

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gohyuck · 4 years ago

Text

note: this is a repost because tumblr is a BITCH

pairing: lee donghyuck (haechan) x reader

genre: ANGST, really, it is a lot of Sadness

word count: 3.9k

warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, portrayal of what seems to be a toxic relationship, puking, alcohol consumption and drunkenness

a/n: this is written … backwards like it goes from 30 days after an event backwards to the actual event but then it flies forward at the end so be prepared for that

part of a series?: yes, 37.5% viewer ratings, my hyuck bday celebration

�� bodyache - purity ring

☀️ not everyone gets a happy ending

30 days after, 11:52 p.m.

“you’re really leaving?”

mark’s voice is soft, softer than usual as he leans against the doorframe. he’s reluctant to come into your studio, but you find that you can’t blame him. after all, donghyuck really is his best friend, even through all of this. even if mark can’t look said best friend in the eyes right now.

their relationship will heal. you can’t say the same for yours.

“i accepted a position in america after saying no to them for, like, 3 times,” you say, forcing down the flaps of the cardboard box underneath you so you can tape them together. “and it’s for 88rising, so i can’t really say no, can i, now that my biggest reason for staying has diminished to nothing?”

mark nods in understanding, pushing himself off of the frame only to stand, hands stuffed into his jeans’ pockets, in your doorway. his expression is unreadable, though you can see the slightest hint of a downturn in his lips. you feel sorry - mark lee is a good man. he’s been an even better friend to you.

“i didn’t say no to my dream job either.” he says eventually, and mark allows you a small, genuine smile before his face returns to resting, a half-worried, half-confused look he sports consistently. you’ll miss teasing him about it face-to-face: texts won’t have the impact your lighthearted disses are meant to have. you find that your heart is suddenly in your throat.

still, you force down the new, overwhelming urge to cry. you should’ve run out of tears by now, you tell yourself. if you’re going to cry, it won’t be in front of mark. not when he’s been so good to you this whole time.

“my flight leaves tomorrow at 2,” you tell him, forcing your emotions down into whatever depths they rose from. “i’ll email and text you all my details in the morning, if that’s cool with you.”

“already got the american airlines app,” mark fishes his phone out of his pocket and raises it, lockscreen of yuta’s zoomed-in face staring back at you, as if to prove to you that he’s downloaded what he says he has. a corner of your mouth lifts up on impulse, and that’s all it takes for mark’s shoulders to relax before his own smile reappears. he finally steps into your room, crossing it easily to pull you into his arms. you fall into his hold, arms snaking over his broad shoulders to bring him closer.

you’ll miss all of your friends, but you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t miss mark the most. if you’re the earth, he’s your moon, always there for you and at your side.

you try your damnedest not to think of the sun.

“call me before you board and after you land, okay?” mark mutters against your hairline, and you nod as best you can in the position you’re in. he steps back, and you do the same, to look up into his eyes for the last time before you leave.

“get a good night’s sleep, lee,” you say, grinning up at him even as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “or else you’ll look even more confused with all the drowsiness weighing your gigantic head down.”

mark furrows his brow at this, faux indignance crossing his features as you snicker gently at his expense. “damn,” he says, gently flicking your arm. “maybe i should ship you off myself.”

you laugh at this, and he spares you a quick chuckle before sobering up. mark grabs both of your elbows in uncharacteristic seriousness, and you’re forced to look into his eyes as he speaks next.

“i’m really going to miss you, you know.”

you sigh, resting your hands against your close friend’s chest.

“i’m going to miss you, too.”

23 days after, at 2:17 a.m.

“you’re drunk,” jeno says matter-of-factly, wrenching the almost-empty bottle of soju from donghyuck’s tight grip. “and i don’t want to deal with your hangover tomorrow. why are you here again? you don’t even live here.”

“be nice, jeno,” jaemin reprimands from the kitchen table, picking at his dinner with his chopsticks. “he’s heartbroken.”

“he did this to himself.” jeno remarks with ease, and donghyuck wants to smack him upside the head for it. he’s a little far gone for that, though, and resorts to groaning instead, loudly. jeno, in turn, flicks him in the forehead for his noisiness, forcing yet another, longer, groan to spring forth from between the drunk man’s lips.

“what are you doing here?” jeno asks again, tone kinder than donghyuck expects. “your bed is at the 127 dorm, or do you not remember this?”

“i’m drunk.” is all hyuck can say, though he means to say a lot more. i’m drunk, the voice inside his head echoes. drunk and sad and lonely and my bed is empty even though it shouldn’t be on a saturday morning and it’s kind of my fault because i said some really stupid and awful shit and all the 127 hyungs are pissed off at me and i can’t spend another night alone in a cold bed getting the cold shoulder. everything’s too fucking cold. that, and the alcohol is better here.

“i’m drunk.” donghyuck says again, more insistently this time. he leans forward to try and get the bottle of soju - it must be his third or fourth, though he sure as hell isn’t counting - but jeno, who hasn’t had even a drop tonight, avoids him easily.

“you’re drunk,” renjun acquiesces from the couch, a magazine opened and forgotten in his lap. “and you’re here, for whatever reason. i love you, and all, but you’re getting pathetic… unless, of course, you want to talk about it. we can do that.”

“talking doesn’t fix everything,” jeno interjects before hyuck can respond, though he doesn’t dare to say anything else under the withering glare renjun sends him. typically, jeno would use this to start a fight. hyuck makes a pass for the liquor one more time, though, and he decides that he has other hills to die on right now. that, and renjun, for whatever reason, really does have a soft spot for donghyuck. jeno equates hyuck to renjun’s jaemin, and he decides that maybe renjun does know what’s best here.

“nothing to talk about. it’s -” donghyuck hiccups, falling backwards onto his chair once he realizes that he won’t be getting his soju back. “-it’s for the best. we’re bad for each other.” his words come out as only mildly coherent babbles, slurred with his jeju accent slipping in, but renjun, jeno, and jaemin have known him long enough that they’re able to understand everything he’s saying with little deciphering.

“(name) and you are perfect, you idiot,” jaemin says, materializing out of thin air beside hyuck. it seems he’s given up on finishing the rest of his noodles. “i’ve never seen anyone else look at anyone the way you two look at each other. you fucked up big time, yes, but it’s fixable. with you two, it has to be.”

“looked.” donghyuck corrects as if on auto-pilot.

“what?” jeno asks, and hyuck looks at him through tired, hooded eyes.

“looked. the way us two looked at each other. not look. not fucking look.”

the other three men share glances between each other. the heartbroken idol says nothing more, only slides into his leather jacket, pulling his bucket hat over his eyes. before anyone can press him further, he makes a soft snuffling noise, and the other three simultaneously realize that he’s fallen asleep.

“he’s going to feel like hell when he wakes up,” jeno finally says, and renjun lets out a disappointed sigh before speaking.

“i’ll get the puke bucket. someone get his hat and jacket off. if we really try, we can put him on someone’s bed. jisung’s probably - hopefully - asleep already, and we shouldn’t wake him up.”

“you think they’ll get back together?” jaemin questions, slowly pulling the denim bucket hat off of donghyuck’s head as he does. the sleeping man in question shifts slightly, but doesn’t wake back up. he’s always hated sleep, but he’s always been a quick sleeper when drunk.

“with the shit he said to (name)?” jeno asks, getting the aforementioned bucket from the linen closet in the hallway. both jaemin and renjun nod, regardless of the fact that it’s a rhetorical question. jeno heaves a heavy sigh and shakes his head as he sets the bucket down beside the chair.

“not fucking likely.”

14 days after, at 5:03 p.m.

“i’ve been here for, like, three hours, and you’ve barely said a word.” johnny’s tone isn’t unkind, but you can’t help but bristle at what he says. he’s lounging on the loveseat you have in the back of your studio, feet kicked up on your coffee table, while you’re hunched over your electronic keyboard, practically hemorrhaging over melodies. something is flat, so very flat, about the progression you keep trying.

usually you’d have donghyuck sing it out loud for you to see what you’re missing, but that isn’t an option.

“i have work.” is the dry response you offer up, and you can practically feel johnny roll his eyes into the back of his head in exasperation. he sets the can of coke that’s been dangling between his thumb and middle finger down - mindful of your coasters, thankfully - before pushing himself off of your couch to come and stand over your shoulder.

“you guys will have to talk it over eventually-” he starts, and you shake your head vehemently, hard enough to force johnny’s words to die in his throat.

“there’s no talking it out. he said he doesn’t love me, that he wished he’d never met me, and that i detract from his life,” you say, incredulous, and you see the last hints of johnny’s smile die out in front of your eyes. his jaw drops open slightly, and you realize that donghyuck hasn’t actually told the members what had happened.

“he - what?”

“yep,” you say, popping the p as if you’re responding to someone asking you if you’re okay with their movie choice. you turn your head away from johnny, moving your focus back to your music. this isn’t something you want to re-live.

he teeters between choosing whether or not to say something for what feels like eons. you can feel johnny’s anger engulf him, and even though it’s not at you but for you, it makes you feel small. you wish desperately that johnny wasn’t mad, that his reason for being so horrified and disgusted and enraged didn’t exist. you wish you were still happy and in a relationship with your one true love.

but you’ve come to find that wishes are not reliable.

johnny, for his part, settles on saying nothing. you think that he’ll sit down again, seething to himself, but you’re surprised when he wraps his arms around your shoulders from behind you in a backhug over your chair. he’s always been good at knowing what you need - you think it’s his ingrained older brother instinct.

it’s been a bit too long since you’ve been held so tenderly. you use this as your excuse to yourself when you realize that you’re crying. the excuse no longer stands when you double over into yourself, sobs wracking your body, but by that point you aren’t thinking of it.

johnny, for his part, pulls you closer to his chest.

you thank him in your mind. you know he gets it.

5 days after, at 7:47 p.m.

“you fucked up a record-breaking amount of times today,” mark remarks playfully as he wipes the sweat off his face with a short towel. donghyuck gives him no scathing response, and that’s when mark knows that something is wrong. it can’t be that he’s upset - hyuck is a great dancer, and he picks things up quick, so it’s okay if he messes up too much during a dance practice. he definitely knows mark means nothing by his teasing.

still, mark realizes that hyuck hasn’t really done much today - no fake kissing pranks, no loud screaming - and he suddenly feels awful.

“you okay?” mark asks, voice gentler this time. donghyuck looks up from his phone, finally making eye contact with his friend, before nodding shortly.

“yeah, i’m-”

“he’s fine, dude,” jaehyun says, smirk evident across his features. “i’m sure he’s just antsy to go get laid. the dorm auntie said (name)’s over there right now.”

before mark can say that, no, he’s sure it’s something else, donghyuck speaks up, voice hard as steel and cold as ice.

“we broke up. (name)’s just getting stuff.”

the room stills immediately, as if everyone stops breathing at once. after a beat, two, and then three, doyoung finally speaks up.

“what - and i cannot stress this enough - the fuck?”

it’s as if a dam breaks - suddenly, all 8 members other than donghyuck are rushing to ask questions, to give their opinions, to find somewhere to sit down and internally process this new information. mark’s grip on his towel tightens without him realizing, though his mind is elsewhere: no wonder you haven’t responded to his texts for the past week.

he’d assumed you were busy with work. after all, you are helping put the finishing touches on 127′s upcoming album’s b-sides.

“we just… we didn’t work out.” donghyuck says, and the way he speaks implies that that’s the end of the conversation. when the youngest accidentally makes eye contact with mark, the latter searches his eyes desperately for something, anything.

he comes up empty. donghyuck, for the first time ever, is unreadable.

mark realizes that, for the first time ever, donghyuck wants it to be that way.

the end of it all, 2:22 a.m.

“what did you just say to me?”

your eyes are narrowed, your fists clenched so tightly that your nails are digging into your palms. your boyfriend glares back at you with equal venom, though while you’re standing while facing off with him, he’s manspreading on the couch, his body relaxed while his face is angry.

“i said that i wish i’d never met you.” his voice is even, and this makes yours waver even more. he’s never - never, not ever - been this cruel, and you’re almost taken aback by it. sure, your relationship has been slowing down greatly in the past month, with both of you unable to make time for the other, but you’d assumed it was due to album preparations. with you in the studio days and nights working on producing tracks and donghyuck perfecting his performances, there’s been almost no overlap between your schedules.

you thought everything would be fine. evidently, you’d thought wrong.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?” you throw back at him, voice rising, getting higher-pitched in disbelief and exasperation as you continue speaking.

“it means that i haven’t seen you all fucking month and it’s been the best month of my whole year. you’ve been actively - fuck, i don’t know - keeping me down, keeping my mood down. i can’t live like this, knowing that you’re - you’re adjacent to me. i can’t do it anymore.” donghyuck responds, both bark and bite, pushing his shoulders off of the couch and pulling his legs in slightly. his brow is furrowed and his stance is hostile as he yells at you, but there’s no hint of remorse in his eyes, and you realize that he must really, really mean what he’s saying. it feels sudden to you, of course it does, but this must be something he’s sat on for days.

your heart shatters. suddenly, your throat is dry, but your water bottle in the kitchen seems too far out of your reach for you to get. without meaning to, the ending of your first fight with hyuck, ages ago, comes to mind.

“it’s difficult to articulate yourself during an argument, isn’t it?” donghyuck sighs against your hairline, and you nod, not trusting yourself to speak through your tears. your fight had ended with both of you unable to explain yourselves, and you’d burst promptly into tears because of this, causing donghyuck to drop his anger in favor of comforting you. as he runs his hands up and down your back and allows you to cry onto his shirt, he has an epiphany.

“we’re both musical people, right?” he asks, and you pull away from his grasp to look up at him, confused, through your tear-heavy lashes. “i mean that you’re a producer and i’m a musical artist. we’re music people, right? we get music?”

“i - i guess.” you sniffle, unsure of where your boyfriend is going with this. he smiles down at you before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“whenever you think you can’t explain yourself to me, give me a song or songs that says what you want to. i’ll do the same if it’s vice versa. that way, we’ll always understand each other, yeah?”

you nod against his chest, and he wraps his arms tighter around you.

“yeah.”

the overwhelming urge to get the hell out of the situation you’re in consumes you, suddenly, and you take a long, shuddering breath before snatching your car keys off the coffee table from where they are by donghyuck’s boot-clad feet. his expression defaults to bored, and he barely looks at you through hooded, pissed off eyes as you shrug your coat back on. you don’t even know how this argument had started, but you have a feeling that it’s over, just as your relationship is. the kind of seriousness donghyuck has shows you that there’s no going back to him. never.

you swing open the door, but right before you leave, you look back at him one last time. the words come out of your mouth on their own accord.

“bodyache by purity ring.”

donghyuck doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even show that he’s heard you, but you know him. you know he’s heard you, and that he’s seen you. with that knowledge, you shut the door of the 127 dorm and turn away, turning your back on lee donghyuck forever.

31 days after, 6:06 p.m.

the dorm is only almost silent whenever donghyuck is there. nobody’s told him this, but he’s sure of it - after all, all of his members had loved you. you’d been a close friend, a confidant, and he’d taken that from them. he isn’t sure how to feel about this - about you, about himself. did he make the right call? now, as he faces a stillness he’s unused to, he’s not quite sure.

he’s pouring milk onto cereal as an afternoon snack when jungwoo breaks the silence by turning on the news. there’s something frantic about the way he grabs the remote, the way he presses the on button, that forces everyone’s eyes onto him. jungwoo’s phone, which had been in his hand and was likely the source of his rush, drops from his hand and onto the couch beneath him.

“mark,” jungwoo calls, voice shaking. the man in question looks up, his gaze landing on his hyung before it can land on the tv. “mark, you- (name)’s flight info.” jungwoo manages to get out, his own eyes trained on the news channel. slowly but surely, mark’s gaze - and everyone else’s, donghyuck sets the milk down and twists the cap on - turns to follow jungwoo’s.

none of them could have expected the headline they see.

FLIGHT AA1116 ICN TO LAX CRASH; OFFICIALLY NO SURVIVORS

donghyuck’s world stops.

he watches as mark pulls out his own phone, almost dropping it in his haste to see if your flight number is the same one that’s flashing across the screen. he watches as mark, upon seeing what’s on his phonescreen, lets out an ungodly groan, stumbling into jungwoo as his own knees give out. yuta grabs mark’s phone out of his hand, and donghyuck can only observe as yuta’s shoulders tense up completely before they start to shake. before he can process what’s happening, everyone around him is in hysterics - some members are holding each other, wailing loudly, others are staring, steely-eyed, at the reporter on the tv as if doing so will change the past.

donghyuck watches, and watches, and watches. it feels as if he’s frozen in time.

it’s only when mark, overcome with grief, composes himself enough to push donghyuck against their fridge, that time unsticks itself. it’s while mark berates him, blames him wholly for the fact that you’re gone, that the feeling returns to donghyuck’s body.

he’s barely able to push mark off of him and rush to the bathroom before he’s doubling over, emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet. you’re dead. he heaves again, more bile coming up. you’re dead because you left for america. you left for america because he left you. donghyuck sputters out more foul-tasting liquid, barely able to weakly pull the handle and flush everything down. you’re dead. he dry-heaves.

he dry-heaves once more before he manages to pull himself up using the corners of the sink. donghyuck washes his mouth out as carefully as he can afford. it’s when he catches sight of his reflection that he has to grasp onto the sink for fear of collapsing against it.

you’re dead.

you’re dead, and it’s his fault.

as he forces himself to look into his reflection’s eyes, donghyuck feels sick beyond the physical realm. he’d broken up with you over nothing - it was a split-second decision backed by hollow but harsh words following a grueling, grueling month of work. he’d broken up with you and been too stubborn to try and get you back, and now you’re dead because you’d chosen to move on and take the leap to the next phase of your life. he’ll never feel your hand in his again, your lips against his. he won’t hear your laughter or hear from mark about your endeavors. you’re dead, and he’s alive, and he knows that he’s being punished by the cosmos for his sins.

donghyuck searches back to your last words to him, reaching for some semblance of a relationship with you where there is none. his memories fall on a song, and he remembers your recommendation. he fishes his phone out of his pocket - the news app sends him a notification of the plane crash that has his heart feeling as if it’ll stop beating immediately - and opens his music player, typing bodyache into the search bar.

he places his phone on the counter and heaves a shuddering sigh, and as the music washes over him, so do the years he’d spent with you, the years he’s now lost. as the lyrics wash over him, so do his tears.

You said, you said "Turn the lights down, I wanna be alone” I ran your head away I couldn’t stand how it pleaded I needed to take Take a break, take me down, take me down there I wanna stare at the tears, how they water your years Take a break, take me down, take me down there I wanna stare at your tears, how they I, I, I lied, now I’m lying awake I, I, I cried ‘til my body ache I, I, I lied, now I’m lying awake I, I, I cried 'til my body ache

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shanie-the-toyaddict · 3 years ago

Note

I would like to hear your Zowens headcanons and I will in turn share a few of mine with you.

WHEEEEEE

Ok, so I posted a list a couple weeks back that contained most of mine but I have added a few more in here in the meantime.

So, combined from that list and the new one, here goes...

Headcanons behind cut.

it’s a fine line between love and hate and they’ve been tap dancing on that line for so long it’s been trampled to oblivion

Kevin likes to think he doesn't need Sami in his life and that he would be just fine without him. He especially likes to forcefully repress all memories of the time between Sami's call-up and his own when he was proven painfully wrong.

Sami is loyal to a bloody fault and it’s why he keeps coming back for more.

Kevin is a huge grump. He has always been a grump and he will always be a grump even when he's trying to be nice. The only time he isn’t a grump is when Sami manages to chip away at his shell long enough to let Kev’s heart pour out and, when it does, it only pours out onto Sami.

The exception to this rule is when his heart is pouring out about Sami which is what led to heartfelt promos about missing his best friend and regretting his life choices.

As mithen put it, “Unbridled Obsession”. Fight Forever is in reference to exclusively THEM. Nobody else has or will ever matter.

The sheer magnitude of cosmic OOMPH surrounding them… I once described them as “A yin and yang yo-yo, spinning around each other endlessly while oscillating back and forth between friend and foe and being controlled by the red string of fate.”

Kevin struggles endlessly with his feelings about Sami. His brain and his heart can never seem to agree on where they stand but, in the end, his heart always wins be it for better or worse.

Meanwhile, Sami figured this shit out ages ago and lives in eternal wait for his better half to get it together. This is, again, why he always comes back.

The reason Sami has it figured out was because, despite his better judgement, he fell in love with Kevin almost immediately and decided he would wait as long as it took for Kevin to come around. He's still waiting and, even with his recent turn for the crazy, there's a part of him that he's tried so damn hard to destroy (and failed) that's still waiting.

However, despite figuring out his own feelings and wanting Kevin to reciprocate, Sami is damn near clueless when it comes to receiving the signals from Kevin about it. When the day comes that Sami figures out that Kevin does indeed love him back it will have involved a bullhorn, three billboards, half a dozen hallmark cards, a shouting match, bite marks, a punch in the face, copious amounts of aggressive kissing, and possibly a marriage proposal.

If cheap motel rooms had mouths, our guys would have filed a TON of NDAs by this point. What happens on the road, stays on the road.

That said, if said walls did have mouths and word got out, both Sami and Kevin would claim it meant nothing and was just a product of too much free testosterone and adrenaline in a small space (with only one bed).

They would both be lying.

You always hurt the one you love. [gestures at that recent backstage photograph of Sami’s back]

“I Love You” has no meaning at this point. They’ve said it so many times it’s just part of the script. “J'taime” on the other hand...

The aggressive cheek kissing was a compromise with Vince that replaced Kevin's desired lip locking. Little does Vince know that lip locking is second on their list of "romantic gestures" and that touching foreheads is infinitely more intimate to them.

On a related note, It’s not biting it’s a possessive kiss with teeth and it's number three on the list.

Kevin, for all his grumpiness, looks like an angel while he sleeps.

Sami, meanwhile, looks like an idiot and Kevin finds it both endearing and hilarious and has a ton of photos on his phone which he’s assured Sami he’s deleted (but hasn’t).

The shared selfies we've seen of Happy!Keven and Confused!Sami are just a small sample of the ones he's taken. It's one of Kevin's favorite pastimes to snap photos of Sami off guard and it pisses Sami off to no end. (Kevin doesn't care, he still has them all saved multiple places on his phone and cloud storage, to prevent Sami from breaking into his phone and deleting them.)

Speaking of breaking into phones, they've both given up on device security between the two of them. It doesn't matter what they change their passwords or swipe-locks to, they know each other too damn well for it to work. They've just come to an agreement to respect each others stuff as much as possible.

"As much as possible" does not include refraining from going on each other's social media accounts and going on blocking sprees.

Kevin did indeed stun L*gan P*ul because he hurt Sami and would do so again a million times if he had the chance. Nobody does that to Sami Zayn.

Nobody except Kevin Owens, of course.

Both men have foul mouths but for Kevin, it’s just words. He weaves cuss words in and out of his sentences like friggin punctuation marks. The only time they mean anything is when he gets into the sacre.

Sami, meanwhile, tends to go more for exclamations. He doesn’t pepper his speech with swearwords but, when he’s excited, he’ll go for the biguns in a heartbeat (see his MFER cry over his IC Title Win)

Sami has a penchant for petnames and nicknames. He's been known to full-name Kevin when he's pissed and when he is most angry, he doesn't bother using a name at all. Meanwhile, When Kevin is feeling kind towards Sami, he has a similar thing going on but it usually just involves spewing insults (that may or may not be meant affectionately).

Re: Above - “Idiot (affectionate)”, “Shithead (romantic)”, “Dumbass (soulmate)” and so on.

Kevin Owens has learned to appreciate a good Gyro for the sole purpose that it’s about the only thing he can stand on the menu of the Greek Cafés Sami always used to drag him too.

Kevin is a burger addict. One of the easiest ways to gain his affection is gifting him with a perfectly cooked bacon cheesburger.

One time, one dark, DARK day, he let Sami get the food from the burger joint. He was horrified to discover (immediately, upon the first bite) that Sami had gotten him an impossible burger to try and convince him they tasted the same. Kevin was not happy at ALL and Sami was forced to clean up the mess in the car while Kevin went and got a real cheesburger.

One of the biggest reasons they have remained close for so long is that, long ago, they both decided that the car radio remains OFF. Anything else leads to screaming matches and possibly auto accidents.

If those ridiculous Hallmark movies my mom watches are correct and there is such a thing as a Godwink, then the Montreal Screwjob was God winking so damn hard he nearly blinded himself in one eye.

Kevin secretly loves both Sami’s long hair and his dancing but the world will end before he ever admits either.

Similarly, Sami finds it adorable how Kevin's beard is starting to turn grey but knows better than to say word one about it.

Both men are bi but Kevin is way, WAY more bi than Sami. Like, Sami is straight with a side of Kevinsexual. Kevin is much more… open in his attractions; his heart belongs to Sami but he has never been afraid to mess around with other men as well.

Due to Sami's otherwise straight nature, he's managed to do a really good job lately of convincing himself that he never cared about Kevin in the first place and that his hatred is well placed... you know, like a liar.

Kevin Owens Steen is too violent for his own good. Violence is his primary means of communication and it's how he expresses himself in all things. This is a big reason that he is so hurtful towards Sami, even when he is trying to help him. He doesn't know anything else. There is a reason so many of his kisses come with teeth (as mentioned above).

This is also why... um... er... in the times where they did hook up, Kevin was the one in control. He would never willingly let Sami pin him in the ring why the hell would he let Sami pin him... uh... elsewhere.

That said, if there were anyone who Kevin would be open to a change in position with, it would be Sami. As long as Sami knows full well who's driving the car, Kevin's up for relinquishing control of the radio for a night.

Overall, Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn are both the best and worst things to happen to each other. The best because, for better or for worse, they drive each other to put their all in everything. They bring out the star in each other time and time again and neither one of them would have ever made it to the stage without the other.

They are the worst thing to happen to each other because... well, have you MET them? Enough said.

Sorry this list is so long. I have a ton of thoughts about these two and if I don't wrap this up now, the list will only get longer.

#Zowens #Headcanons

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lambourngb · 4 years ago

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This Hard Truth

Fic prompt: “Are you drunk?”

THIS HARD TRUTH picks up immediately after THIS HARD LIE, an AU that explores the changes to Roswell and Michael if Alex had decided to tell the Air Force to go pound sand. It’s not all roses. Also folks, not sure if I’ve said, but I’ve been writing these each day literally from scratch off an old vague outline I abandoned a year ago, and today’s the first one that I’ve struggled with, so there’s your warning. Once Michael Guerin Week is over, this is going to a beta and will find a home on AO3. Thank you for loving the raw story.

****

The solid black Range Rover parked in front of his Airstream didn’t surprise Michael in the least.

It had been three days since Jesse Manes had succumbed to his terminal cancer diagnosis, those final days silent under a steady morphine drip. The doctors were correct with their less than a month pronouncement which had left Michael with the uncomfortable position of hoping that Jesse was going to defy those odds. It was a win-win of extended suffering for a man who had earned that and it would have kept Alex in Roswell longer.

He had seen Alex exactly seven times since that first night at the Wild Pony, all of them casual spontaneous encounters that became less spontaneous after he’d learned the nursing rotation of Manes brothers and home care staff. He’d shuffled his jobs at the garage to leave openings in schedule and stopped eating at home during the nights he knew Alex would be free, emptying out his dining out jar.

This was a species thing, he had reminded himself as a curl of guilt had started to squirm inside him at the level of low-key stalking he had done to see his ex. Between Max’s somber admission that he still could remember in crystal-clear detail the day Liz Ortecho touched his lip almost eight years ago in high school and the reaction one of Michael’s attempts at dating had to his story of showing up on Alex’s doorstep two years after a breakup with no warning, well he was aware this wasn’t a normal intensity. The date with wide eyes picking up their phone, even though it hadn’t made a noise, saying, “You seem like a nice guy, but I need to take this call, it’s probably work, we can try again some other time-”

That was the proper reaction to his story he learned, not nodding sagely like Max had and encouraging him to go in the first place.

Humans couldn’t calculate within a minute the amount of time they had recently spent with someone the way Michael could. It was a full commitment of energy to stay carefully friendly with Alex, to keep his alien focus under wraps even though he probably tipped his cards that day in Nashville. On his good days he told himself that Alex hadn’t called the cops on him because he’d been happy to see Michael and on his bad days, it was because he didn’t want the press.

With Jesse Manes dead, Alex’s reasons for staying in Roswell were over. It was time to say goodbye to this small interlude of where Michael felt completely himself, brimming in mitochondrial buoyancy with every cell alive and sparking. Back to the cards of Hallmark blandness and the short notes of congratulations after a song does well.

Alex looked up from his casual sprawl in the lawn chair, his phone in hand, and smiled at Michael’s approach, “thought I might return the favor, and show up at your door unannounced. I gotta say, an Airstream at Sanders’ was not what I was expecting as Casa de Guerin.”

Suddenly aware of the dark stain of dirt staining his cuticles, Michael shoved his hands in his pockets as he strolled up to him. Everywhere he looked was a reminder of the divide, from the shiny Range Rover Sport to the smooth manicure and high-end clothing that wrapped Alex’s frame. “What did you expect then, bedroll in my truck again?”

“Whoa,” Alex stood up, pocketing his phone to hold his hands up harmlessly. “Sorry, that’s not what I mean, I was referring to the doctor boyfriend you’ve got. Most doctors I’ve met are about the trappings, it looks like you found a good one that likes you as you.” Alex’s smile wavered, “I’m happy for you.”

Now even more off-balanced, Michael sputtered, “wait, I don’t-”

“I’m less happy it’s Kyle Valenti, but I guess it’s possible he’s changed, or received a personality transplant-”

“Holy shit who have you been talking to?” He finally cut in, looking over his shoulder back to the office at the auto yard, half expecting to see Isobel being helpful. She had never quite forgiven Alex for finding happiness in Nashville, and it would be just like her to spin a version of events to make Alex jealous. As if that was possible, even in a universe where Michael was capable of being a Stepford boyfriend worthy of a doctor, nothing compares to the life Alex has built without him. Not even zero-percent body fat doctors who did know quite a bit of anatomy. The mention of Kyle did remind Michael that he hadn’t heard very much from him since that last night shortly before Alex had rolled into town. “We’ve seen each other a few times now, Alex, I would have told you if I had a boyfriend. Anyway, Kyle has changed, but he’s not- we’re weirdly enough friends.”

A pang of longing shot through him at seeing Alex arch his eyebrow at him in judgment. “That is not what Maria says, or Arturo, or Old Man Sanders for that matter.”

“Well, they are wrong.” Michael said firmly, stepping around Alex leaving a careful amount of space as he flipped open the lid of his cooler for a beer. “It’s not like that okay? I don’t have a Dennis and a dog in my life, it’s casual and fun but nothing more.”

“I wish I was sad about hearing that, but I’m not.”

Michael paused in the middle of popping the cap off his bottle, “Wow, thank you.” That stung more than he was expecting to hear that Alex was happy he was alone. Fame and fortune really did change people. Swallowing the lump in his throat, “Listen, I’ve loved seeing you Alex, and the less said about your dad the better, so thanks for coming by to say goodbye and eh, enjoy Nashville,” he grabbed the knob on his Airstream door to flee.

A hand covered his, keeping the door firmly closed against the frame. Michael cursed his species for the thousandth time as the touch sent waves of weakness through him. Alex leaned in close, too close for just friendly words, “Wait, that came out wrong.”

“Did it?”

“Yes,” Alex stated firmly. He held onto Michael’s hand, stepping into the space between them to block the retreat into the Airstream. This was the closest they had been to one another in four years, not since that last fight the morning before Alex’s flight east that ended with fucking on a bare mattress after Michael had packed their sheets for Alex to take. “Coming back here, seeing everyone, um, seeing you, it reminded me of who I was before I became this guy,” he gestured at his clothes and back toward the expensive car vaguely. “I’ve got all these things now, useless things, that when I look in the mirror, I see my dad, a guy who cared more about a uniform than he did his own kids.”

“Alex, you could never be him, I don’t care if you become more famous than McCartney, it’s just not possible.”

Whatever Alex saw on his face made him shake his head gently in response, “I don’t get it, you still look at me like you did when we were dumb kids surviving on ramen, like nothing’s changed at all.”

“Nothing has changed for me,” Michael insisted firmly, bringing the open and almost forgotten beer to his lips. A merger shield to employ. It was pretty clear that nothing ever would and that was his reality. It was as true now as it was when he had borrowed a guitar from the music room at seventeen. “But you knew that already, that’s why we broke up, remember? Things were changin’ for you, you were goin’ to bigger places than Roswell, and that’s a good thing. A great thing even.”

“I know. You should know that I’m not going back to Tennessee right now, Michael.”

“What?”

“There’s no Dennis, I mean, not anymore. That kinda fizzled out after your visit, and the dog was his,” Alex kept his hand over Michael’s, slowly moving it up to circle his fingers around his wrist, “I do miss the dog, she was sweet.”

“Your house-” Michael started, his pulse back to pounding senselessly in his ears.

“That was mine but I sublet it to a guy I know who’s doing session work at the studio while I was here. I just let him convert the sublet into a lease.”

“And your agent?”

“Dealing with the fact I’m taking my first sabbatical in four years,” Alex finished smoothly, an answer ready for every disbelieving question that Michael could muster about his house and life. He took a step back, as if he was suddenly aware of how he had crowded him against the warm metal door of the Airstream.

There was just one question left to ask though, as Michael studied Alex’s face intently. The transparent way his eyes kept flickering from the beer bottle against Michael’s mouth and then away. “If you’re not here to say goodbye to me, then why are you here?” he asked challengingly, raising his beer back to his mouth to finish with a full lipped suggestive swallow.

Gauntlet dropped and accepted as Alex surged forward to press Michael against the door and kiss him. The glass bottle dropped uselessly to the ground, glancing off the metal steps as Michael reached behind him to turn the knob quickly. He stepped backward, letting Alex crowd him through the doorway, chasing his mouth hungrily.

The metal door slapped hard against the door jamb, as Michael fell back on his mattress.

Alex gulped audibly for air from the break, pulling back to tug off his v-neck shirt over his head and then stilled as he took in the state of Michael’s small bed. His eyes widened, scrutinizing the setup and Michael had to look away in embarrassment, knowing exactly what Alex had just recognized. “You goddamn liar! When I said I didn’t want our sheets to take with me, you said you were going to burn them!”

“Yeah, well, it seemed wasteful.”

Michael leaned back on the thin mattress, ripping his own shirt off to toss carelessly on the floor. He watched as Alex reached down to unbutton his pants. The yellow light from the trailer window brushed a gold glow of Alex’s half naked torso. He drank in the small, subtle changes in Alex’s body, like the corded strength in his torso that spoke of some sort of workout. Probably yoga or dancing maybe. The playful outrage on Alex’s face slowly changed over to a dawning realization as he took in the details of the small and cramped surroundings.

This was why Michael never brought anyone back here. All around were the skeleton remains of that first apartment together. The same dishes in the tiny sink. The same cheap poster advertising Warp Tour was taped to the back of the wooden built-in dresser. The same stupid classic car clock that Alex had brought home, after Maria had bought the Wild Pony and upgraded the decor, all because the cars reminded him of Michael.

Everywhere in the Airstream was some piece of memorabilia from those three years together. It was as close to a shrine to their relationship that Michael could build without setting out candles and a full altar.

“Holy shit, you really do love me.”

“Uh, yeah,” Michael rubbed at the back of his head ruefully, before laying back to accept Alex’s warm weight over him. He closed his eyes as Alex kissed him, turning his head upward as those long, musician fingers tangled in his hair. Gasping softly, he confessed, “Never did figure out how to stop.”

“My dad was wrong, I mean, I knew he was- but he was so convinced that your species weren’t capable of it-” Alex stopped abruptly, aware almost immediately that Michael had gone rigid under him.

Dimly Michael realized that Alex was still talking but nothing registered after ‘your kind’. It was subterfuge earlier, when Alex joked that first night about his father being a lunatic lost in the ravages of a brain tumor. He believed Jesse, worse he seemed to know that Jesse was right, that Michael was different.

Cool palms cupped Michael’s face, pulling him away from his spiraling thoughts. Any hope of laughing off the response was gone with the serious look in Alex’s eyes. “Hey. I don’t care, okay? You are still the first person, hell the only person, I’ve ever loved completely. Where you came from doesn’t matter to me. I know who you are-”

“And you know what I am.”

“Yes.”

***

Michael stared up at the ceiling of his trailer not daring to look sideways at Alex, who was pressed as close he could get against Michael on the narrow bunk. After a soft acknowledgment that he knew that Michael wasn’t alone, that he’d figured out that Max and Isobel had to be the same even though his father had died believing only Michael was an alien, Michael told him everything.

The crash, the pod, the years in the system, the knowledge that he was different and the fear that came with that knowledge. The fact he has powers, that they all do. The joy he had in finding Max and Isobel again at eleven even though he didn’t trust why he felt that way toward them. Then the vow they had made for absolute secrecy. “Not even Noah knows about Isobel, and they’ve been married four years now.”

“And Max? He never told anyone either?”

“His partner knows Jenna Cameron but that wasn’t planned. They were driving back to the station after a long circuit patrol for speeders and got caught up rescuing some people from a flash flood. The Berrendo. Cam got hit by a tree branch, femoral artery, and yeah, Max healed her. No one saw him because it was a dark night, but healing leaves a handprint. Impossible to deny it.”

Alex ran his hand absently through Michael’s chest hair, soothing them both. “It was a relief when my dad had Flint show me the evidence.”

“A relief?” Michael joked weakly, his mouth twitching upward in the effort. “Low key worried now that learning I’m an alien was a relief to you.”

“I thought the novelty of being with me had worn off. I mean, my choice after telling the Air Force to fuck off was starving to death or splitting expenses with you for rent. I figured after 3 years, you were ready to move on, so you let me go.” Alex reached up to cover Michael’s mouth with his palm briefly. “I know how that sounds, but you have to understand, before you? No one had ever loved me. My mom left when I was eight. I mean, maybe my older brothers did for a bit when I was little and cute? At least until I was thirteen and my dad started singling me out. He would kick my ass in front of them, daring them to protest, and they didn’t. I didn’t even love me.”

“Alex,” Heartbreak was in every syllable. “I never wanted to let you go-”

“I know, I’m just saying, I could finally believe it when Flint handed me a piece of a 70-year-old spaceship.”

“Dropping in on you with no warning a couple of years ago wasn’t a clue?”

Alex pursed his lips together, and laid his head on Michael’s shoulder. “Honestly I had spent two years telling myself that you didn’t give a shit, and then when you showed up, I thought it was because I was making a name. All sorts of people come out of the woodwork when the first taste of fame comes along. Then you confused me, because you left and started sending me these terribly boring greeting cards.”

“Fuck off, I spent forever picking out those cards,” Michael protested with a laugh. “I was trying to show you that I had chill, that I wouldn’t boil a bunny or stalk your social media.”

“Well you succeeded, I did keep all your cards though. It might have been a factor for Dennis moving out,” Alex joked in return before sobering with a tired sigh, “but little did you know, the real stalkers here were my family. Ever since 1947, a Manes man has been tasked in protecting humanity from your kind, starting with my great-grandfather Harlan, and ending with my brother Flint.”

Michael echoed the sigh, tucking Alex closer to him. The idea of the government, especially the United States Military, believing in aliens was enough to send his pulse rattling upward with fear. Every fear made real.

“On the bright side, my dad is dead, so that’s one less Manes hunting you.”

“What’s the other side?”

“I thought my brother was in Germany except he’s been stateside for the last five years working with my dad. He’s a weapons expert, and he’s so important to the project that the military forwarded his mail to Germany for the proper postmarks.”

“Well fuck.”

***

The next day, Michael took a rare sick day from work and guided Alex out to the desert to the cave to show him the pods, where his story had begun according to his memory. Then it was Alex’s turn for show and tell, as he directed Michael to the abandoned air base.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to get in, but Flint calls it Project Shepherd. It was Dad’s center of operations in Roswell. He tapped into all the traffic cameras and even planted one on the gate to Sanders’ Auto,” Alex explained as he stepped out of his Range Rover. “You fixing cars must have bored the shit out of him.”

Weeds and scrub grass covered the broken pavement of the air base, lending to the air of disuse. The huge metal hangers covered the expanse, the domed tin roofs punctuated the horizon like a scattered group of D’s. Michael scanned the surroundings, a feeling of disquiet and dread filling his veins. It was probably the height of foolishness to visit a top secret bunker with only the company of a musician as back up, even if he did have the last name of Manes.

A dark shadow caught his eye, and frowned as he realized that they weren’t the only ones on sight. A familiar dark blue BMW was parked off to the side, mostly hidden by a building named B unimaginatively. As he crossed the parking lot with Alex a step behind, skipping over the broken slabs of paving markers, he drew to a halt in front of an open door.

Michael started forward, but Alex slapped his hand over his arm to halt him, “you should let me go first-”

“What, no!”

“I’m human, what if there’s some sort of anti-alien trap down there?”

“And you’re human, so what makes you think you’ll trip it?” Michael shot back reasonably, shaking off Alex’s hold. “If there’s a trap, I’m the one with the lock pick in my brain, besides, I think I know who’s down there.”

“This is like every bad horror movie, Michael.”

But outside of that pronouncement, Alex let him take the lead down the stairs of the open bunker into the cool shadows of the underground facility. As expected, he made it down uneventfully and found exactly who he expected at the bottom, spinning around in a slow circle in a leather covered office chair.

“Did you know they’re selling a shirt at Planet 7 that says ‘I’ve been probed by an alien’? I should buy it, because I can wear it unironically,” Kyle greeted as Michael made it to the bottom of the staircase. He shut his mouth comically as he realized that Michael wasn’t alone, “Whoops, did I just blow your secret like I’ve blown you?”

In Michael’s experience with Kyle, working the almost-friends and all-benefits angle, he had seen him in a lot of states. Worn out from a long shift at the hospital, solemn because he’d lost a patient, giggly because of Michael’s tendency toward wild bedhead, horny strangely because of a good football game, and finally tipsy after a pair of IPAs. He had never seen Kyle in this state.

“Are you drunk?” Michael asked, disbelievingly even though there was a mostly empty bottle of bourbon on the long conference table, stretching along the width of the room under the fluorescent lights.

“I am very drunk. That is the only sane response to my dad, I mean my day, actually I had that right the first time, my dad.” Kyle nodded vigorously before looking over Michael’s shoulder, “Hi Alex Manes. I’m sorry I was a homophobic jackass in high school. I have really changed. Ask your ex. Or is it current? Am I the ex now? Are we both Michael’s ex? Exes? Fuck is that plural or possessive-”

“You are definitely an ex now,” Alex answered firmly.

“Holy shit you are wasted,” Michael shook his head, slightly amused in spite of the deep alarm he felt in finding Kyle Valenti deep in the command center of an alien hunting operation. It was hard to feel too afraid considering the words pouring from Kyle’s mouth unedited.

“Listen I changed myself okay? I did the hard work examining my privilege and my toxic masculinity. I did it because I like sucking dick, but also because my dad is a good person and I wanted to make him proud. But I was fucking wrong. Not about sucking dick, that’s great, but my dad, he’s not good, Michael, he is really not who I thought he was.” Kyle pronounced seriously with the heavy emphasis of the inebriated. He staggered over to a computer system to press a key, pulling up a surveillance camera of a nondescript building on the set of command monitors. “He runs an alien GITMO,” the outside image clicked over, showing a line of cells, including an image of an all-too familiar man, “And he had Jesse Manes killed by an alien.”

#mguerin20 #guerinweek20 #malex fic #michael guerin #malex #roswell new mexico #au after the shed #the lost decade #oh yeah still got a bit of plot to wrap up #alex manes

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dickspeightjrs · 4 years ago

Text

Nut Up, Novak (au / 1.7k words)

Prompt 13 from my ‘30 Destiel Prompts’ for @caslikescoffeeandfreckles

ao3 link

Castiel hummed to himself. He felt like a bumbly bee, happily buzzing around the kitchen. He was packing up a lunch to have on a picnic date with Dean.

The thing between them was still a little new. They’d only been on a handful of dates since they’d met at the library where Castiel worked.

Castiel had been stacking and rearranging the shelves when this man had come sauntering up to him loudly asking about a book he needed.

After telling him, politely, to lower his voice because the green-eyed man was getting glares from the college students trying to cram for finals, Castiel took him to the correct area that he needed in order to find the book he was looking for.

“Thanks, man, you’re a life-saver.” He said. “My nerd-ass brother needs it for his final but he’s deep in study mode.”

“You’re most welcome.” Castiel assured, with his customer service smile tacked onto his face.

The man hesitated for a moment, raking his eyes up Castiel’s body, taking in the slacks and sweater vest Castiel was wearing. “How do you remember where all the books are in this place?”

Castiel shrugged, trying not to feel self conscious at the stranger’s examining gaze. “I’ve read a few from each section, which helps a little, I suppose. I also happen to enjoy my job.”

“Wow,” he said, “you must be super smart.” He grinned a lop-sided smile.

Castiel blushed. “Well, I don’t know about that. But thank you.”

The lop-sided smile on the man’s face turned into a cheeky grin. “So,” he said, leaning his shoulder against the bookshelf he’d just picked up a book from, “how about we get together one day soon and you tell me some of the stuff that’s in your big brain?”

Castiel’s face couldn’t get any more red. Was this, frankly beautiful, man asking him out? It couldn’t be. They’d barely known each other for even a few minutes but Castiel could tell this man wasn’t the kind of guy that was normally into him.

Castiel’s tie and sweater vest certainly weren’t the typical match for the ripped jeans and henley that this wonderful man was wearing.

“What d’ya say?” The man asked when Castiel still hadn’t given an answer. He seemed a little cocky to Castiel but, instead of being put off by it, Castiel just thought it was a little goofy and endearing.

“I think I’d like that.” Castiel smiled.

“Good.” The man pushed himself off the shelf he’d been leaning against, and pulled his wallet out of his jeans pocket. He produced a card and passed it over to Castiel.

‘Dean Winchester.

Singer Salvage & Autos

TEL: 07593123344’

Dean. It was suddenly the best name Castiel had heard (or seen, he supposed).

“Text me.”

* * *

Since then, Castiel discovered that Dean was much more than the cocky ‘bad boy’ vibe he’d tried to give off.

For example, Dean cared a lot about his brother, Sam. He talked for most of their first date about Sam being the most hard working kid, and how he’d got into Stanford on a full ride.

After about an hour, Dean had stopped for a second and cringed. “I’ve been talking about my dork of a little brother for our entire date, haven’t I?”

Castiel had chuckled and nodded but was quick to assure Dean that it was nice to hear about someone Dean cared so deeply for. He only hoped that one day Dean could care that much for him too.

Now, Castiel was preparing for their third date. He’d planned a picnic to have on the grassy expanse overlooking the river on the edge of town.

He was hoping that today would be the day that he’d finally work up the nerve to ask Dean to officially be his boyfriend.

Putting the finishing touches to the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Castiel licked the remaining peanut butter off the knife. If he wasn’t saving room for when he ate with Dean later, he’d finish off the jar.

Peanut butter was a gift from the Gods as far as Castiel was concerned.

Noticing the time on the clock, Castiel rushed to pack the remaining parts of the picnic into the basket and leave out the door.

* * *

Later, at the river, Castiel arrived first and set everything up in anticipation for Dean’s arrival.

Looking at the spread of food laid out on the blanket, Castiel couldn’t help but feel proud of what he’d put together. He just hoped Dean would like it.

The nerves began to set in and spotting Dean across the way, walking towards him, only made it worse.

Dean looked good today. His dark blue jeans and khaki henley hugged him in all the right places. And it sent Castiel’s heart racing. How was he meant to pluck up the courage to ask Dean to be his boyfriend now?

“Hey, Cas.” Dean waved, as he approached.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel replied, patting the spot on the blanket next to him, inviting Dean to sit down with him.

“Oh man,” Dean said, taking in all the elements of the picnic in front of him, “did you do all this?”

“Yea,” Castiel couldn’t help but blush, “I thought it would be nice for our third date. I hope that’s okay?”

Dean nodded with an excited smile on his face. “Yeah, dude, this looks awesome!”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean grinned from ear to ear.

Gosh, Castiel thought, Dean truly was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

He couldn’t wait any longer.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, making eye contact with the other man.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Um, I was wondering, considering we’ve been on a few dates now, and I really enjoy spending time with you, and you’re very kind and caring and-”

“Cas, you’re rambling. What do you want to ask me?” Dean teased, a knowing grin on his face. If Castiel wasn’t so nervous he’d tell Dean off for winding him up.

“Sorry. I just wanted to ask if you’d be my boyfriend? Officially?” Castiel immediately closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see Dean’s reaction.

A hand came to rest on Castiel’s cheek.

“Castiel, look at me.” Dean whispered.

Castiel fluttered his eyes open to find Dean’s green ones intimately close.

“I would love to be your boyfriend.”

A huge smile spread across Castiel’s face. He was so happy. He’d never expected it to lead to this when he’d helped a slightly cocky guy look for a book but he would never change a thing.

“Can I ask you a question now?” Dean smiled.

“Of course, Dean. Anything.”

“Can we eat some of your food now?” Dean gave Cas a cheeky grin.

Castiel chuckled and nodded, moving to take the food out of the packaging he’d wrapped it in. Dean’s eyes lit up when Castiel took a pie out of the basket. Already, Castiel knew that he’d do anything to keep that look of happiness on Dean’s face.

Dean’s happy smile stayed on his face as he reached over to pick up a sandwich from the pile Castiel had carefully constructed.

But the smile quickly turned sour when he brought the sandwich to his mouth. Castiel frowned when Dean sniffed at it instead of taking a bite.

Just as Castiel was about to get really offended, Dean spoke up.

“Uh, Cas?” He asked. “What’s in these sandwiches?”

“Just peanut butter and jelly. They’re my favourite. I ate some earlier though so it’s okay, there's nothing wrong with them.” Castiel explained.

“No, no Cas. It’s not that, it’s just,” Dean awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck, placing the sandwich delicately back on the pile, “I have a nut allergy. That sandwich could literally kill me.”

The blood drained from Castiel’s face. Dean had only just agreed to be his boyfriend and now Cas was trying to kill him! God, Dean would probably never want to see him again, let alone date him after this.

“Oh my god, Dean! I’m so sorry! I had no idea. I didn’t even think. Oh god. I could have killed you.” Castiel frantically apologised, breaths coming fast and deep.

“Woah, dude.” Dean raised his hands in a calming gesture. “It’s okay. It’s an honest mistake. You couldn’t have known.”

Castiel could hear Dean’s words but his body wasn’t watching up. Deep breaths kept being drawn into his body.

“Cas,” Dean gathered Castiel’s hands in his, “focus on your breathing and listen to me. It’s okay. I hadn’t told you yet. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re okay.”

Castiel finally snapped back, his eyes focused on Dean’s. They then moved down to look at his hands enclosed by Dean’s.

Dean noticed Castiel calm and leant down to place a soft kiss on their joined hands. “Are you back with me?”

Castiel nodded. He didn’t trust his voice to speak.

“It’s not something I usually tell people right away,” Dean explained, softly. “I dunno, I guess I feel embarrassed by it. It’s kinda nerdy. I tend to just avoid things where I don’t know that the food situation will be, y’know?”

Hearing Dean speak badly of himself made Castiel find his voice. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You can’t help it.”

Dean shrugged. “I just feel bad. You went to all this effort for me and I can’t eat it.”

Castiel shook his head. “It’s okay, Dean. We still have the pie. I got an apple one because I remember you mentioning that it’s your favourite?”

Dean blushed. “You remembered that?” Castiel nodded.

The two men looked softly at each other for a moment. Dean looked into Castiel’s eyes like he was searching for something. After a couple of moments, he must have found what he was looking for because he opened his mouth to speak.

“Cas, how long ago did you have some of that peanut butter?” Dean whispered, moving his hand to cup Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel frowned. “A few hours ago. Why?”

“I just wanted to check it was safe for me to do this.”

And with that Dean leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Castiel’s lips. Once Castiel got with the program, he opened his mouth to allow Dean to deepen the kiss.

* * *

Eventually, when Dean and Castiel moved in together, Castiel had to give up his favourite food.

But he’d found that the taste of peanut butter wasn’t his favourite anymore. Instead, it was the taste of Dean every time they kissed.

Now that was the true gift from the Gods.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it Lexi!

Fun fact: I have a severe peanut allergy so I really enjoyed writing this one lmao. And much like in the fic, everyone else is always more concerned about me dying from it than I am haha

If you liked what you saw, REBLOG! and consider reserving a prompt from my ‘30 Destiel Prompts’ challenge, or just send me your own prompt you’d like me to fill!

TAGS: @eccentriccas @starrynightdeancas @credentiast @imbiowaresbitch @starclaire @cockleslovesdestiel @bend-me-shape-me @destielfactory @dea-stiel @wendeano @wingsandimpalas @aggressivedean @flowersforcas @chill-legilimens @pancakesofthelord @saltnhalo @caslikescoffeeandfreckles @assbuttboyfriends @jhoomwrites @breathingdestiel @simplymisha @thekingslover @aelysianmuse

(once again tagging my faves, let me you if you’d like to be removed from future fics - or added if you’re not already there! we don’t have to be mutuals)

#destiel #destiel fic #destielfanficnet #dean winchester #castiel #myfic #fluff #first kiss #au #1k #librarian!cas #prompt fill

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Kurtbastian one-shot “Surprise Guest Stars” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Chaos ensues when some uninvited performers show up to Thomas's Christmas pageant ... (2221 words)

Notes: Blaine friendly. Assume this happens in a world that hasn’t met Covid yet. A re-write for @kbweek2020 Day 4 prompt Parents.

Part 60 of Daddies.

Read on AO3.

“You tell him!” Sebastian whispers.

“No, you tell him!” Blaine whispers back fervently - a huge fail if he was trying to keep Kurt from hearing him. For a man who’s been working in theater professionally since college, how could Blaine forget that Kurt would be able to hear him from every corner of the stage? Rule number one of working backstage - no shushing and no whispering.

“Why me?” Sebastian asks.

“Because you’re his husband! You have a child together! If I tell him, detectives will never find my body! He won’t hurt you!”

“Yeah, right. Wanna bet?”

“Sure. Can you break a hundred?”

“For God’s sake!” Kurt snaps, too overwhelmed this close to curtain to handle anything that might go hand-in-hand with those two and their whisper fighting. “Would one of you just tell me what the heck is going on? What are you arguing about?”

Sebastian looks at Blaine, waiting for him to give Kurt the explanation he’s demanding while Sebastian searches for a place to hide. He’s out of luck when Blaine catches him off guard with a huge shove towards center stage right in the path of the steely-eyed man walking aggressively toward them, the thick heels of Kurt's Jimmy Choo loafers pounding against the wood floorboards marking down the remaining seconds of their lives.

Blaine may have made his living on the stage, but Kurt takes theater much more seriously than he ever has.

“We might have a problem,” Sebastian says.

“What? What problem!? It’s fifteen minutes to showtime! Don’t talk to me about problems!”

“O … okay ...” Sebastian smiles sheepishly, splaying his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Let’s call it a hiccup then.”

“A hiccup is a safety-gated synonym for problem, and I refuse to accept that there are any problems.”

“And yet, we still have one.”

Kurt sighs, throwing a hand to his forehead to shield his already blooming headache from whatever stupidity this is, and ends up smacking himself with his clipboard. “Fine!” he groans, rubbing the sore spot. “What is it!?”

“Look up there.” Sebastian reaches out to take his husband’s shoulder and redirect his attention. But after considering the possibility of getting his hand bitten off - a hand that will become most important if Kurt decides to never sleep with him again after this - he motions with his chin instead.

“Up where?”

“Up … up there. In the Christmas tree.”

“What? Is Mrs. Popson complaining that the ornaments are unbalanced again? Are we going to have to re-Feng Shui the lights to better complement her third graders’ angel piglets?” Kurt allows himself a snicker as he follows Sebastian’s instructions and gazes up. Eight dozen ridiculous things have happened so far, and their little pageant has yet to even open. That’s probably all this is - something ridiculous. A minor inconvenience blown way out of proportion.

At least, that’s what it had better be.

But as he peers through the branches of their picturesque twelve-foot Fraser fir, he realizes no. This isn’t a little thing. It’s a rather large thing. So large, he wonders how come he didn’t notice it before now.

“Oh … shit,” he mutters.

“It's Blaine's fault. I didn't see it until he pointed it out,” Sebastian says, passing the blame off on an offended Blaine and leaping quickly aside in case this revelation has consequences.

“This,” Kurt hisses, jabbing a finger upward, "is why I told you I wanted an artificial tree for the Christmas pageant! Where did we get this thing anyway?”

“It was donated by Father Bruno at St. Adalbert’s Parish to show support for the school's LGBTQ+ inclusive program. He went out to the woods and cut it down himself!”

“Right!” Kurt folds his arms over his chest. “He probably planned this! Did it on purpose to sabotage our pageant! You can’t trust the Catholics! Don’t I always say that!?”

Sebastian looks at Blaine, and a confused Blaine looks back, each wondering if this is some inside remark directed at the other.

“No!” Sebastian pulls a face. “I have never heard you say that!”

“Well, you can’t,” Kurt sniffs. “And whether I said it or not, it’s generally implied.”

“I don’t think the man did this on purpose,” Blaine says, but does so in that soothing tone he used so often on Kurt in high school. A bad decision, Blaine realizes, the moment Kurt's head pivots his way, and he sees everything from Kurt’s neck to his scalp turn a bright, crayon red.

“Really!? Then let me ask you this - during the time it took the good father to cut this tree down and drag it over here, he never once noticed there was not one, not two, but three nests inside!?”

“I guess not! But neither did y---we,” Sebastian corrects, his life flashing before his eyes when he comes close to implying his husband is at fault. “We got the tree last minute. I guess they slipped through the cracks.”

“Obviously.” Kurt closes his eyes and drops his head, searching for an answer in the dark behind his lids.

Five minutes.

By now, they only have five minutes. He hears the children lining up with their teachers backstage while he and his husband argue. But they need to stop arguing and come up with a solution.

Fast!

He takes a deep breath in and exhales out, the inklings of a plan forming in his head.

“It’s okay,” he says, reassuring himself more than anyone, the headache simmering behind his eyes threatening to become a full-blown migraine. “It’s going to be okay. They haven’t let the parents in yet. They’re still in line outside. We can fix this. We can still fix this. We can move them, right? Just … shimmy up there and get them down?”

Blaine and Sebastian shoot each other anxious looks. This time, Blaine starts, choosing to jump on the grenade for Sebastian. “Uh … no. We can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” Kurt counters, over-enunciating consonants through teeth clenched so hard they’re about to pop from his skull. “Figure out a way to skitter up there and pluck them out. It can’t be too difficult.”

“I’m sorry, Kurt …”

“Or come at them from above. You can reach down from the catwalk. That might work out better seeing as they’re so high up.”

“No, Kurt …”

“We’re not going to hurt them,” Kurt interjects as if that might be the big hold up. “We’re going to relocate them.”

“Kurt …”

“There’s a cat carrier in the fifth-grade room,” Kurt continues desperately, unsure why it is this can’t be done, why Blaine can't say, "Brilliant, Kurt! I'll get right on that!" He’s seen people do it before. The Crocodile Hunter (God rest his soul) rescued birds left and right. That nice Officer Kevin from the SPCA who rescued the deranged pigeon from his father's auto body shop. And wasn’t there a famous Vine where some guy got an owl out of his kitchen using a broom? It can’t be that difficult. “We’ll toss them in there for the time being and then …”

“Kurt!” Blaine cuts in, raising his voice a tad higher than advisable considering the situation. “We can’t move them!”

Kurt's glare nearly takes the top of Blaine's head clean off. “And why can’t we?”

“Because those aren’t just any birds.” The three men look up at the exact moment nine fluffy faces peek over the edges of their nests and look down, probably wondering what all the commotion below is about. “Those are loggerhead shrikes.”

Kurt and Sebastian both look at their friend with confusion on their faces.

“How do you know that?” Sebastian asks.

Kurt puts a hand on his husband’s shoulder and shakes his head. “That question is going to require a longer answer than we have time for. Plus, there are children in the building. Just accept that Blaine has a thing about birds.”

"PG? Or R?" Sebastian asks, needing clarification regardless.

"Try X," Kurt says in a lowered voice.

Sebastian looks at a blushing Blaine with wide, disgusted, but somewhat amused eyes.

"Continue," Kurt says, "from the part where you tell us why these birds are about to ruin our pageant.”

“Loggerhead shrikes are threatened. That means they’re protected. We can’t move them ourselves. We might not be able to move them at all without taking the tree with them.”

Kurt’s eyes bug. “We can’t … we can’t … the tree!? Oh great! This keeps getting better and better!”

“Relax.” Sebastian takes the risk and puts a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. He tries to massage it, but it’s hard as a rock. “It’s okay. We can still sort this out.”

“And how do you suggest we do that!? Huh!? Our Christmas pageant, which your son is starring in by the way, and is supposed to start in …” Kurt spins around in search of a clock. When he can’t see the one on the far wall, ironically because of the tree, he fishes his cell phone out of his pocket and checks the screen. His eyes bug out farther “… two minutes! has been hijacked by birds!”

“Look, Kurt, they’ve been chill so far. Maybe we can have the pageant with them there and move them after. Problem solved.”

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees optimistically, trying to force his heart to slow down, seeing how, with no time to spare, this could be a feasible option. “You're right! We’ll let them stay! Problem solved! I mean, what’re a few birds? It doesn’t look like they can even fly yet. And they’re cute! They’ll add realism. They won’t be any trouble.”

“Not exactly,” Blaine says, and Kurt has never wanted to punch him in the face so hard in his life. Wait … come to think about it, there may have been one or two other times. “There may be a whole other bigger problem.”

“And that is?”

“Those are babies. Juveniles, specifically. I don’t see any moms. Or dads for that matter.”

“I know I’m going to regret asking this,” Kurt moans, resigned to whatever fate Blaine’s knowledge is about to bestow upon them, “but … that’s a problem why?”

“Because loggerhead shrikes are protective. Being separated from their chicks, the parents will get aggressive. Also, if the babies don’t know where their parents are and they get nervous …” A series of jarring screeches interrupt Blaine’s explanation. Kurt glares up at the birds, mouths open wide, cawing loudly into the air. Blaine points up. “They’ll do that.”

“Great!” Kurt yelps, at the end of his rope. “So we have potentially agro birds loose in the theater, baby birds that spontaneously scream bloody murder, and a play set to start in half-a-minute, which we may have to postpone indefinitely in case we need to call animal control - do I have that right?”

“Basically, yes.”

“Well, skippidy do! Is there anything else!? Anything at all you’ve forgotten to tell me!? Because what else could possibly go wrong!?”

The doors at the back of the auditorium fly open, and Kurt blanches, knowing that right then and there, his question is about to be answered.

“Kurt! Sebastian!” the assistant principal yells, looking a little too much like Tippi Hedren in The Birds for anything good to come from her sudden appearance. “Come quick! It’s an emergency!”

“What? What, what, what is it now!?” Kurt asks, sounding less than sympathetic.

“Insane birds are dive-bombing parents in line outside! Three people have already been pecked! Everyone is scattering!”

With the auditorium doors thrown open, Kurt can hear the panicked yells of parents banging on the steel doors outside, begging to be let in. Above that, the shrieking of the birds searching for their babies echo through the halls, their screams so high-pitched and piercing, they make their way through the thick stone walls and double-layered storm windows. Hearing their parents’ cries, the baby birds respond, frantically flapping their wings in an effort to take flight themselves and reach them.

Bitterly Kurt thinks all of his problems might be solved if they give it a go, plummet to the ground, and break their little birdie necks.

How un-festive of him.

Sebastian looks at his done-in husband. “Do you want me to go outside and handle this one alone?”

“No.” Kurt straightens his back, squares his shoulders, hands his clipboard over to Blaine, and makes for the stairs to the stage, head held high like a gladiator going off to fight an unwinnable war. “I’ll go. Blaine? Tell the teachers … there’s been a bit of a delay.”

“Will do,” Blaine says, leaving the stage with a solemn salute and a sigh of relief.

“And Sebastian?”

“Yes?” Sebastian says, falling in behind his husband, unwilling to let him walk off into the bird battle alone.

“Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“The next time I ask what could possibly go wrong - gag me.”

“Absolutely.” Sebastian smirks, preparing to die on the hill of bringing a smile back to his husband’s face. “Just so I can plan appropriately … will you be asking that anytime tonight, perchance? Because I can get a babysitter and rent a room in about five seconds.”

“Great,” Kurt replies humorlessly. “Do that. Let’s pray I’ll have enough blood left in my body to enjoy it.”

#kurtbastian #kbweek2020 #kurtbastian fic #sebkurt #sekurt

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max-is-really-okay · 5 years ago

Text

Ink On Skin Chapter One

Ethan walked into his little flower shop with a soft smile on his face. His leather jacket had done its job of keeping him warm in the harsh winter outside. He sat behind the desk, ready for another slow day.

Set up beside him were flower arragements he lovingly called the ‘Fuck You’ bouquets. While no one did much research into flowers much anymore, he had put together a bouquet full of flowers which gave the message of hatred. He was proud of how much research he had put into them, even if they weren’t his best sellers.

There were quite a few pre-arranged bouquets for his customers, but there were also lists of flowers and their meanings for those who wanted to make their own. Ethan had spent weeks making the list and fighting with auto-correct.

He sat behind the front desk and took his jacket off, the sleeve of tattoos on his arm now showing to the world. He looked at his forearm, where his favorites were. One of the biggest ones was of a spider standing over a dead cthulhu type. Under it in cursive was just the name ‘Webby’.

He traced the picture with his black nail and pictured who had the tattoo. He had only gone into a tattoo parlor once, to get his ear pierced. His uncle Hidgens had surprised him for his eighteenth birthday by paying for it.

He never wanted a tattoo for himself. He had dealt with enough pain back when he was living at home. Ethan just didn’t see the use of having someone stab ink into his skin. The worries of infection always crept in when he even considered the idea. He was glad that his soulmate liked them though, they were badass.

As the day went on, at around noon he heard loud rock music coming from the tattoo parlor next door. He didn’t mind it, as it was his type of music anyways. He just nodded his head along to the beat as he cleaned up.

Ethan looked up when a nervous looking man walked in. He was tall and had casual business attire on. He was slightly bug eyed, but not unattractive. Ethan moved to stand behind the counter to get the man’s order.

“Hey. What can I do for you?” He asked the nervous man, leaning slightly over the counter and resting on his forearms.

“I want to get some flowers for my girlfriend. Well- not girlfriend. I’m asking her to be my girlfriend. That’s why I’m getting her the flowers.” The man rambled.

“Alright, and what kind of flowers do you want to get her?” Ethan asked, looking for a notepad in the mess that was behind his desk.

“Well I was hoping that you could help me with that.” The man admitted. “I don’t know anything about flowers, and I don’t want to make her one of...well something like that.” He nodded twords the ‘Fuck You’ bouquets. “But, I also don’t want to say I love you to her yet. Since- well it’s not like I don’t love her, she’s my soulmate, of course I love her, bu-” The man looked so nervous he might explode.

“I’m going to cut you off, pal. Don’t want you having a panic attack. I’m thinking of a bouquet with purple delphinium flowers, pink carnations, and gardenias. Very romantic and pretty.” Ethan suggested lightly.

The nervous man seemed to calm down and nodded. When he looked up, Ethan swore that if he hadn’t have cut him off the other would have started crying. “Yeah. That sounds good.” His shoulders relaxed.

“When do you want to pick ‘em up?” Ethan asked.

“Is Thursday too early?” He asked.

“Not at all. They’ll be waiting for you on Thursday, and you can pay me the eighty bucks then. Is that cool?” Ethan raised his eyebrows.

“It is more than cool.”

“I’ll need a name for the order.”

“Paul.”

“Alright Paul. See you on Thursday.”

Ethan watched as Paul left his store and smiled fondly. It was always nice to see when someone really cared about their soulmate.

He took inventory and put aside the flowers he would need for the bouquet. After he had the flowers set aside, he went through his little shop and took care of the flowers that needed it. He took the wilting bouquets off of the shelves and put them with the other sad bouquets in the ‘sale’ portion.

He looked outside and watched as people left the tattoo parlor next door to him. People walked out, and he imagined some of them as his soulmate. Maybe it was the nerdy looking guy with the bowtie. Maybe the girl with short blonde hair and glasses. It was hard to tell when everyone was wearing long sleeves.

There wasn’t much else to do that day. A couple on a date came by. A large muscular man with dark eyes and a small red headed woman holding onto his arm. The man smiled and bought her a reasonably priced bouquet of roses. She had kissed him.

Ethan smiled as they left, the sun setting. He pulled his leather jacket on and took a few tens from the register to pay for his dinner. He didn’t feel like cooking that night (he didn’t have anything to cook), and knew of a shitty coffee place that was always open late. He always made sure to eat at least once a day.

He walked outside and the freezing air hit his face. He looked over to notice the woman who owned the tattoo parlor next door locking up as well. He gave her the obligatory smile as he turned the key to lock the door.

Occasionally they would lock up at the same time. Sometimes she would have her little sister next to her, tonight wasn’t one of those nights. He didn’t know much about the other woman, other than that in winter she wore a big black jacket.

He turned to start walking, then noticed the woman walking the same direction as him. Towards the edge of Hatchet Field. Everything was cheaper there. “Where are you headed?” He asked as he noticed her match his pace.

“Beanies.” Was her short reply.

“Me too!” Ethan gave her a slightly goofy smile, which in turn made her lips turn slightly up.

“Well that’s cool.” She said.

Both of them walked quietly, and Ethan was nervous that he had creeped her out, but she kept walking beside him.

Soon enough, they got to the small coffee shop. Ethan held the door open for her and soon they were both in line at the small counter.

Ethan eyed the numerous pastries behind the glass, thinking about what he would want. There were quite a few options, all of which could make his mouth water since he had skipped breakfast and lunch.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard the woman in front of him swear.

“Shit. I’m a few bucks short.” She mumbled. She looked up at the barista who looked done with life apologetically.

“I guess I’ll just get the black coffee. Thanks.” She looked down and made a b-line to a table in the back corner.

Ethan stepped up and looked at the short barista “Um, whatever else she was trying to order, I’ll pay for it.” He said awkwardly, handing the other one of his ten dollar bills. This just meant that he would have a smaller dinner. “And I’ll get a large hot cocoa and a brownie.”

“That’ll be twenty five dollars.” She told him, giving him a quick and forced fake smile. Ethan nodded, giving her the rest of the money he had grabbed. He put the last five dollars into the tip jar.

He sat in an empty seat a few tables away from the woman who owned the tattoo shop. Her name was called first and she walked over to the counter. Ethan couldn’t hear the conversation, but he could hear a surprised tone coming from the woman who owned the parlor.

He looked back down at his phone until a hot cocoa was rather forcefully slammed onto the table. He looked up to see the woman holding her drink. It was labeled ‘Lex’.

“What the fuck man?” She asked, setting two plates down. One had his brownie and the other had the worst looking cinnamon roll he had ever seen. He took his brownie.

“I’m sorry?” He tilted his head.

“Why did you pay for the cinnamon role?” She asked.

Ethan wasn’t sure if she was angry, as she sat down at the seat in front of him and started eating. She still had her jacket on, as well as he did, but she had pulled her hair down. It was wavy and went just above her shoulders.

“I just wanted to be nice. And you look like you’ve had a long day.” He shrugged, taking a drink of his hot chocolate. It wasn’t good, as expected. He was pretty sure that they made it with water. Heathens.

“Oh. Well thanks.” Lex looked down, her shoulders relaxing.

“Where’s your sister?” He asked, just wanting to avoid silence for a bit longer.

“With her babysitter. I was booked solid today, and there wouldn’t be time to bring her out for lunch.” Lex told him, digging into her food.

“Want half of my brownie?” Ethan asked her, already cutting it in half. He was used to skipping meals.

“Thanks…” Lex eyed him suspiciously, taking the brownie.

“What?” Ethan asked.

“I’m not going to sleep with you, you know?” Her eyebrows went up.

“I didn’t think you were.” Ethan hated how squeaky his voice sounded.

“Alright then.”

“Alright.”

The two of them were quiet as they ate. Lex had a slight pink to her cheeks and Ethan didn’t know what to say.

They finished as the barista started closing up. Ethan made sure to thank her before leaving. He still held the door for Lex, who mumbled a ‘thanks’ as she walked past him.

He walked back to his tiny and shitty apartment and unlocked his door. He walked in and saw his cat, Greg, sitting next to his food bowl. As soon as Greg noticed Ethan, he walked up to him and started screaming.

Ethan chuckled and walked over to the beat up fridge, pulling a can of Greg’s food out. He pulled the lid off of the can and emptied it into Greg’s food bowl. Greg stopped wailing and began to eat, his fur going flat against his back. Ethan gave him a pat on his head.

When he was sure Greg was content, Ethan walked back to the fridge and pulled the only thing left out. He sniffed the expired milk before taking a long drink from the gallon. Greg looked over with a face of pure disgust before going back to his food.

“Don't judge me.” Ethan spat back. Greg did not respond.

He shrugged and walked back to the couch after he put the milk back into the fridge. It had a week left before he really had to throw it out based on the taste. He flipped on the lifetime channel and pulled his jacket off.

He smiled when Greg hopped onto the couch and into his lap. Greg was the ugliest cat Ethan had ever seen. He had been walking home from the auto shop when he heard meowing. He had searched for the noise, even though it was coming from an alley and pelting rain.

He found a cat with a flat face, mismatched fur, and mismatched cross eyes. He hid him under his jacket and brought him home. He promised himself that he would bring the cat to the shelter the next day, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Instead, after a few vet visits, Ethan had a cat.

He fell asleep with the tv on and said cat in his lap. He woke up at around three in the morning with a start and sweat down his back. His stomach growled and flopped and Ethan took a second to calm himself down.

He didn’t have nightmares often, but they sucked when he did. He stood up, careful not to wake Greg, and walked into the bathroom. He looked into the mirror and admitted to himself that he looked like shit.

He turned the shower on as hot as it would go and stripped down. He stepped under the stream of hot water and closed his eyes as steam filled the shower.

He washed his hair first, using his favorite lemon scented shampoo. He kept his eyes closed the entire time, just enjoying the hot water that was no doubt turning his skin red.

Too soon for his liking, he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked to his sink. He ignored the fogged up mirror and brushed his teeth.

He walked out and back to his bedroom where he swapped the towel out for a pair of red boxers and a shirt he was given by his uncle. It was bright blue and had the title ‘Workin’ Boys’ in large print. He wasn’t even sure what that was, but the shirt was comfortable.

He looked at his uncomfortable bed and sighed before climbing under the scratchy blanket. He rested his head on the flattened pillow and attempted to sleep.

When Ethan woke up the next morning, he looked to see a new piece of artwork on his shoulder. He walked into the bathroom to get a better look at it, and his breath was taken away by how beautiful it was.

There was a picture of a beach with palm trees. The colors were bright and the sunset in the photo looked real. Underneath was the word ‘California’ in cursive. Ethan wondered if his soulmate lived in California.

He hoped not. While he planned to leave the state one day, he had barely made it out of Hatchet Field. He was living in the shitty part of Clivesdale, and he was already tight on money. He couldn’t imagine moving to California on his own to find one of the millions of people there.

He threw on a white shirt and a green flannel with jeans before walking out. Greg was still sleeping on the couch and only woke up when he heard the can of cat food being opened. Ethan smiled as his cat sat by while waiting by for his food, his tail swishing slightly over the floor.

Ethan left, making sure to lock the door on his way out. He made sure to remind Greg to hold the fort while he was gone. Greg seemed to understand.

The weather was a bit colder than Ethan liked, but it wasn’t too cold to walk. He walked into his flower shop and turned the ‘open’ sign on.

He sat, watching as people passed his window. At noon he saw Lex and her little sister walk by. Not even a minute later, the little sister walked in.

Ethan smiled at the girl. She had to be no older than nine. “What can I do for you?” Ethan asked.

“Lex said to give this to you.” She told him, holding up a ten dollar bill. She avoided eye contact.

“Well, can you do something for me?” He asked, and when she nodded he continued, “Would you please bring her this?”

He gave her a small pot with hydrangeas planted. Lex’s sister nodded and left to go back to the tattoo parlor. Ethan watched out of the window to make sure she got there safely. He was proud of his choice in flower. Hydrangeas could show thankfulness. They were also prominent in his ‘fuck you’ bouquets because they could also symbolize heartlessness. From what he had seen, Lex’s personality was somewhere in the middle.

He sat back and pulled off the flannel to look back at his arm. Whoever his soulmate was had an amazing artist doing their tattoos. He pulled out a marker and wrote on the arm with less tattoos on it.

‘Hello.’ he added a poorly drawn stick figure waving.

‘Hi.’ A response came fairly quickly.

‘I like your tattoos.’ He told them.

‘Thanks. I haven’t talked to you in a while.’

‘Stuff happened.’ He wrote.

‘What kind of stuff? Got a new pet stuff or lost a family member stuff’

‘Actually both.’ Ethan replied, biting his lip. He wasn’t really lying.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Who did you lose?’

‘Parents.’

‘Oh. I’m so sorry.’ They told him.

‘Thanks.’

The two of them chatted idly until there was almost no room on his arm left to write anything. He pulled his flannel back on and looked at the time. It was about two and his stomach felt almost painfully empty.

Ethan stood up and turned the sign to ‘be back soon’ as he locked up. He stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and walked to a pizza joint nearby. He was surprised to see Lex and her sister sitting at a table.

He walked over with his large slice of cheese and sprite, sitting next to Lex. “Well hello ladies.”

“Who told you you could sit here?” Lex asked, giving a pointed and defensive look.

“Well when I paid for your meal you sat at my table, just returning the favor.” He replied, giving a cocky smirk.

When her sister didn’t seem to object, Lex let him stay at the table as they ate. Lex was eating hawiian pizza, making him wish he had a few extra dollars to do the same. Her sister had mushrooms and peppers littering her pizza slice.

Ethan talked to Lex’s sister a bit. He learned her name was Hannah and that she was ten. She was really into spiders and collecting buttons. He filed the information away for later, sure that he would find a way to use it.

They walked back to their shops together, all in a better mood than before because of the break for food. Before Ethan could walk back into his shop, Lex stopped him.

“Hey, um, thanks for last night. And the flowers. I guess.” She mumbled.

“No problem toots. Just what I do.” He smiled, walking back into his shop. Maybe if he didn’t meet his soulmate, he had options.

#black friday #starkid black friday #ethan green #lex foster #starkid

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221castiel · 4 years ago

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Let it Snow - Chapter Three

Master Post // AO3

December 5th 20 days until Christmas

He expected Jack's hockey game to go like every other. It would be an hour and a half, spent with Dean at the top of the bleachers, in the far corner where no annoying parents looking to make small talk could see him, and more importantly Cas couldn't see him. Then when the game would end he'd sneak out through the backdoors before he could be stopped and instead of seeing him in person call Cas so he could talk to Jack about his game. Though apparently last game of the year included an after party for the kids, an after party that before Dean could sneak out the back door was being dragged to by another parent he couldn't completely remember the name of, Hannah? Helen? Holly maybe? which was held in a far too small conference room for the fifteen kids, and a handful of parents and siblings.

Dean had immediately made his way to the back corner, as far away from Cas as possible, and instead talked to Garth who at some point had joined him. The other happily talking about his dentel clinic, while Dean hummed along, more focussed on watching Jack play with the other kids, then whatever the other was saying.

"And you're still working at the highschool?" Garth suddenly asked, Dean's gaze immediately darting away from Jack to the other who was leant against the wall next to him.

"Uh yah- I teach metals and mechanics," Dean replied. He raised a hand to his hair running it through the messy strands before he let it fall back to his side, and instead licked his bottom lip. "I've also been pickin' up some shifts at an auto shop."

Garth's lips spread into a grin, "that's really good for you." Dean hummed, gaze darting away from the other and instead once again across the room, looking over the crowd of talking parents and screaming children for the familiar mess of dark hair. A head of hair he wouldn't admit he was looking for, because why would he, it wasn't like he planned on talking to the other. "It's hard to move on and get back on your feet after a bre-"

"Do you see Cas anywhere?"

Dean's gaze once again darted across the room, an unease settling in his stomach as after the third glance he still hadn't seen the other. No ugly trench coat. No messy hair. Only loud parents, the noise seeming to bounce through the room.

"Uh no-" Dean heard Garth say from his left. He wasn't fully listening and instead glanced towards where he'd last seen Jack playing, the child still there with Garth's daughter. "I think I saw him leave."

Dean finally looked back to Garth, as he pushed himself from the wall they'd leant against. "Look man sorry to cut the conversation short but I've got to go."

He took a step towards the door, stomach still twisting, knowing the situation after being in it far too many times. "Me and some friends were going to get drinks tomorrow if you'd like to come," Garth offered.

"Sorry, I don't drink."

Garth began to say something though Dean couldn't hear him as he walked away, not carrying who he bumped shoulder with as he made his way out of the small room, and into the hallway. The silence he was suddenly met with almost defening, only lasting for seconds before his foots steps were filling it.

It took Dean little over five minutes to find the other, after checking the bathrooms, and the unlocked conference rooms, he found him in the back parking lot. Dean had pushed open a back door, his gaze immediately meeting Cas who was sat on a bench, facing away from Dean.

For a moment he didn't move, one hand holding the door open, while the other stayed at his side, his breath hitched in his throat. A year ago he would have walked over without hesitation, sat with the other until Cas's panic attack was over, and the other could properly breath. He would sit, and talk or let the other talk, whatever Cas needed. Everything would go smoothly, because they knew each other, because they were Dean and Castiel, they were best friends long before boyfriends, but now-

There was an ocean between them and Dean wasn't sure if he should have even looked for Cas.

They weren't friends, but they had been, and fuck Dean couldn't imagine leaving his friend, slowly his lips parted and for a moment he didn't think he could speak.

"Remember the first time we went ice skating?" Dean asked softly, his eyes immediately meeting Cas's as the other turned his head. His features sat emotionless, lips pressed in a tight line, and chin tilted up the slightest bit in a fake confidence; one that may have fooled anyone else, though after years of Dean sitting on bathroom floor with the other, holding his hand through panic attacks, he knew Cas's small ticks too well.

The way his blue eyes darted across Dean's face, instead of holding eye contact, his jaw locked, and hands clenched into fists, nails probably digging into the palms of his hands.

"You fell." Cas replied, his voice steadier than Dean had expected, loud throughout the silent night.

"Stumbled," Dean corrected, earning the smallest smile from Cas. He took a step closer to the bench where the other sat, followed by a second, then a third, heart hammering in his chest. Beating so fast he wasn't sure how Cas hadn't heard it yet. It was the only thing Dean could hear as he stopped next to other and slowly raised his hand to Cas's, brushing his fingers over the knuckles. Slowly and carefully, giving Cas the chance to pull away, though when he didn't Dean unraveled Cass fingers, gaze dropping to the palm of his hand where small scratches now marked.

Cas took a shaken breath before his lips parted, "You tried to do a jump." Cas finally whispered, as Dean moved his hand, unraveling the fingers of Cas's other hand. "You ended up with a concussion."

"Yah well- I thought the guy I was skating with was kinda cute and wanted to show off." That pulled another small smile from Cas, and for a moment Dean could feel some ease to the tug in his stomach, though Cas's eyes still darted across his face, wide under the distant glow of the building, still ticking with anxiety. Still squeezing at Dean's lungs as he knew there was nothing he could do for the other but wait until he was okay.

Dean lips parted and for a moment it was only to exhale, a small cloud of smoke appearing around him. "Too many people?" He finally whispered, receiving a small nod from Cas.

Slowly Dean took a seat, shoulder almost touching the others. He could feel how stiff Cas sat, posture perfect, and breathing uneven, as Dean could almost feel the anxiety ticking under his skin.

What would Dean normally do.

Hold the other's hand.

Never touch anywhere else, that only made the anxiety worse.

Let his thumb trail Cas's nuckles

Try to keep his own breathing even as Cas's came fast paced.

Whisper soft nothings.

None of that could be done, it wasn't his place and Dean knew that, yet he coudln't bring himself to walk away.

"Remember the first time we took Jack skating." Dena continued keeping his voice as steady as he could. This time Cas didn't make any indication that he had heard Dean and instead his eyes stayed burning on Dean's, shoulders seeming weighed down by his trench coat. "It was at the outdoor rink, some saturday night when we were suppose to be at your parents for dinner."

"We skated for hours, I thought my fingers were going to fall off," Cas took a sharp breath, and Dean immediately leant forward, only just stopping himself from reaching out to the other, and instead squeezing his hand at his side. "Cas, breathe."

The other took a visible breath, followed by another shaken one, then when Dean was sure he'd gotten his breathing somewhat under control he continued speaking in the same steady voice as before. "And when we got home we drank hot chocolate and watched Elf."

"I liked that movie." Cas replied.

"It was alright."

"Dean," Cas said, tone flat and incredibly serious. "It had raccoon in it."

And with that simple statement Dena couldn't help the wide grin that spread across his face, or the way his heart seemed to leap in his chest as Cas replied with his own small smile. He could still feel his heart in his throat, and stomach fluttering as his gaze dropped from Cas's and instead to his hands, the tattoos that covered his arms just visible at the end of his sleeves. His gaze then went to Cas's hands.

The other once again had his hands in fists, nails definitely digging into the skin.

He wanted to lean forward, pull up the others sleeves to check for himself, to confirm his assumptions. He wanted to, to calm his own ticking thoughts, his twisting stomach and racing heart. Yet he knew he couldn't, and if he found what he expected he would, he didn't think he could leave the boundaries they'd spent months building since their break up, the boundaries that seemed to crumble with each passing second.

"How are you doing?" Dean finally asked, words coming out as breathless as he felt. He looked up to other, meeting Cas's intense gaze, his face covered mostly by shadows.

"Fine." Dean didn't reply, only raising an eyebrow. "I am a little-" Cas hesitated for a moment, "shaken."

"You should go home, I'll stay a bit longer and drop Jack off in a bit." Cas pressed his lips together, eyes still burning against Dean's so harsh Dean wondered if he'd even heard him. "Cas-"

"Are you sure?"

Dean gave a small nod, "get some sleep, I'll drop him off in a few hours."

Cas gave him another uncertain look before slowly standing. He was just turning away when Dean's hand raised, grabbing the other wrists before he could even think about it. "Dean?" Cas whispered, or maybe insisted, his gaze immediately meeting Dean's.

Dean didn't reply and instead looked back down to Cas's hand, letting his finger move to Cas's and once again unraveling them, revealing the small marks that now scarred his palms. "You're supposed to cut them short," Dean grumbled, his fingers still resting against Cas's. He should have moved them, and Dean knew that, yet the touch was so simple, so warm, so welcoming.

"Thank you."

Dean looked up, meetings Cas's soft gaze, "anytime," and with that Dean let his hand fall from Cas's.

#Destiel #Destiel fanfic #destiel fic #dean winchester #castiel #let it snow

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edxwin-elric · 4 years ago

Text

Darkest Roads - Ch.2

Chapter 2: Just Business

Rating: T

Pairing: Edwin/Edward Elric x Winry Rockbell

Disclaimer: I don’t own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Total Work Count: 15k

Chapter Word Count: 4.5k

Description: Edwin Street Race AU – A meeting is set for the part and new players are introduced in the Central City underground.

@fmabigbangs

ffn || ao3 || tag

previous chapter || next chapter

Winry

He never texted.

I didn’t really start hoping for him to until the fourth day, since it was supposed to be a business deal. Though, I’m not sure, but…I’m pretty sure he was flirting with me. Maybe not flirting but he seemed interested… Unless I made that up.

I rise from my seat at my workbench and walk toward my dresser.

But it doesn’t even matter if he was flirting or interested or whatever because it was supposed to be business. I paid that Donovan guy a hundred thousand cens, and Edward agreed to text me when my part came in.

That was a week ago. A week.

As in seven whole days.

And still nothing!

I’m starting to think he and Donovan played me.

…maybe.

I turn around and walk in the other direction.

I mean, I don’t know… He seemed really sincere at the time. He was definitely serious about me never going back to Sinners’ Lane again. That’s for sure. Could he really have conned me out of seventy thousand cens?

I spin around to pace back the other way.

But then why would he have helped me pay Donovan in the first place?

He probably forgot my number. God, that is so like a guy, to say “I’ll remember it,” like a douchebag and then immediately forget it. And, of course, he wouldn’t give me his number, for whatever reason, so now I’m just—

“Winry, are you even listening to me?”

“Huh? What?” I stop walking and turn to look at Paninya, who is sitting on my workbench frowning at me.

“I was talking to you about the upgrade, but I’m pretty sure you’re on another planet.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, moving to sit down on the edge of my bed. “I… What were you saying?”

“I was asking how much longer you think it’ll be. I mean, I don’t mind waiting, but I was kind of looking forward to my knees not hurting every time it rains.”

I sigh and flop onto my back.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “The guy said–”

“The hot one?”

Wow do I regret mentioning he was hot.

“More like the hotheaded one,” I correct, shifting my eyes to look at her. “But yeah, Edward. He said he’d text me when he had it, and so far…”

I cross my arms in the air as a big X meaning I have received nothing from him.

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

I was really hoping this upgrade would work out. I still haven’t told her I only asked for one double-hinged auto retractor and not two, so even if it did come in, only one of her knees would be fully upgraded. But I just can’t afford a second one right now. Not when they cost two hundred thousand cens each.

“It’s probably better this way,” she says quieter, and I lift my head to look at her. “I still haven’t told Dominic about it.”

“What?” I jerk into a sitting position.

Dominic is her primary automail mechanic, but more importantly, he’s her adoptive father.

“Paninya, he–”

“I know,” she cuts me off, rubbing her hands over her face. “He deserves to know. I just… I know what he’ll say. That it isn’t worth the risk and pain of changing out both joints when I’m not completely done growing yet especially for such expensive pieces, but… I haven’t gotten any taller in the last year! And it’s not like you’re going to build completely new legs, just knee joints!”

“I know.”

And I’m hoping to make them so they can be transferred to any new automail legs she might need in the future.

She exhales loudly and jumps down from my workbench to pace in the same place I just was.

“And it’s not that I don’t appreciate what he’s done for me,” she goes on. “I love my automail. I just…”

“You are still planning on having me reinstall your weapons when I do the upgrade, right?”

She stops and turns to look at me.

“I mean…if you’re still willing to do it.”

I nod, and pull my legs up, twisting so that I’m facing her fully, sitting cross-legged on my mattress.

Last year, when Dominic fitted her with new legs to accommodate her last growth spurt, he added a concealed blade in her right shin and a 1.5-inch tear gas cannon to her left for self-defense. Six months ago, new restrictions were passed on automail as part of a government combat automail control bill. All weapons are required to be licensed and registered, and no one under the age of twenty-one is allowed to have any at all. Dominic disagreed with the new rules as much as we did, but he removed the weapons anyway since Pan is only seventeen. By putting them back, I’ll be breaking the law, but considering the kinds of activities she gets up to in her spare time, it’s worth it to me for her to be safe. In truth, I’m more concerned about Dominic’s reaction to me helping her than I am about the legality of it.

“Can we just worry about it when the parts finally come in?” she asks finally.

“Sure.” I nod again. “But I really think you should tell Dominic. At least about getting your joints upgraded.”

She sighs loudly and falls onto the stool at my workbench.

“I know you don’t want to, but he should at least be sort of understanding when you explain how your stumps and joints bother you when it rains, right?”

“Maybe. But then he’ll question why I’m having you do it and not him, since he’s designed all my automail before.”

“You can tell him it’s for my thesis project,” I volunteer quickly. “That Mr. Garfiel is having me design, build, and install a completely original design as part of my apprenticeship, and before I do a full arm or leg he’s having me start with some joints.”

She blinks and her face brightens.

“That might actually work.”

“Thanks.” I feel a glow of pride in my chest.

Though, maybe I shouldn’t, considering how deceptive this whole thing is. Am I really proud of lying? Gah. My brain can’t handle a moral dilemma on top of everything else.

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. How about…”

My phone pings, and I blink, whipping my head around to look at it.

Paninya stands and grabs it off the workbench where I left it, scanning the screen.

“Princess, I have it,” she reads slowly before looking up at me. “What the hell?”

I groan and slide off the bed.

“It’s him,” I mutter, crossing to take the phone from her. “The guy with the part.”

“Really?” She raises her eyebrows. “He calls you ‘princess?’”

“Yeah. I can’t get him to stop.”

“Kinky.” She grins, and I smack her in the arm.

“Shut up.”

I text him back quickly, resisting the urge to tell him off for not messaging me sooner. And for calling me “princess” again.

“What is he saying?” Pan leans over my shoulder, and I hit send before turning off the screen. The last thing I need is her eavesdropping.

“We’re setting up a time and place to meet so he can give me the stuff, and I can pay him.”

“You should meet in City Park,” she announces. “Late, though, when there aren’t as many people around. Like nine pm. If you go too late cops start patrolling.”

I nod and send Edward her suggestion. I don’t have to ask her how she knows so much about secret rendezvous spots for underground trades. Before Dominic adopted her when she was twelve, Paninya grew up on Sinner’s Lane. She hasn’t shared all of the details with me, and I haven’t pushed, but from what she’s said I know she ran product for some of the local dealers on top of becoming a highly skilled pickpocket. (I have a feeling the accident that took her legs is related, but I can’t be sure.) It took six months to break her habit at school where I kept finding stolen items in her locker. Luckily, those items all found their way to the lost-and-found, and she never got caught.

Edward texts me back, confirming the meet, and I take a minute to add his number to my contacts.

“Tomorrow night,” I announce, sliding the phone in my pocket.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“Like I told you last time, it’s too risky for you. Dominic will catch you for sure if you sneak out, and I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Or raise his suspicions.

“Besides,” I continue before she can argue, “City Park is much safer than where I went before.”

“That’s true I guess.”

“It is. So, if that’s settled, wanna go find something to eat?”

“Sure.”

I instantly start for the door.

“Hold on,” she calls after me. “You’re not going solo just so you can be alone with the hot guy again, are you? I mean, you know he’s bad news, right?”

Crap.

“No,” I answer her calmly. “I’m going alone because it makes more sense. And just because he’s hot doesn’t mean I lose all sense of reason when he’s around. It isn’t a date; it’s just business.”

She gives me a knowing look, and I want to slap her. I mean, I’m telling the truth.

I think.

“What?” I frown when her eyes widen and shift to the side.

“Nothing, just…is that not exactly what you said about that guy you met online, Neil or whatever, when he was talking to you about cold weather automail?”

“No,” I sputter. “I mean, maybe, but only because it’s true.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously! Neil is just a friend. I was interested in his work. That was it!”

“You told me he almost kissed you.”

Oh my God. Why does she remember that? It was one time!

“Uh, yeah.” I roll my eyes. “The keyword being ‘almost.’”

He and I met up in Rush Valley for an automail convention and he asked me to lunch, and at the end, he leaned in, and…I leaned down to grab my purse.

“And if the hot guy almost kisses you?” Paninya continues.

“His name is Edward,” I snap.

“Fine, if Edward almost kisses you?”

“Why would he do that?” I cross my arms, still attempting to deflect her question. “We barely know each other.”

“You told me he was flirting with you,” she points out. “And I know guys from the Lane. Barely knowing a girl isn’t a deterrent to kissing her.”

Really? That’s… I don’t know what to do with that. I mean, what if he does try to kiss me? Do I want him to? Do I not?

Oh my God! This is nuts!

“He’s not going to try to kiss me,” I say with conviction. “We are literally only meeting to exchange money for automail parts.”

“Yeah. Sure. Okay.” She nods, sarcasm lacing every word she says. “Let me know how that goes.”

She walks past me out the door, and I glare after her, my mind spinning with her insinuation.

I mean, Edward wouldn’t actually try to kiss me, right? If he were interested in me as more than a…girl he met one time at a street race, wouldn’t he have texted me before today?

“Winry, are you coming?”

“Yeah. Yes!”

God. I can’t worry about this now. If he tries to kiss me when we meet…I’ll worry about it then.

Edward

Damn, she tastes like heaven.

“Ed…” she moans against my mouth. “Oh God.”

I kiss her harder, my fingers sliding under the hem of her top. She gasps at my touch, and I curse my automail for denying me the feel of her soft skin. Her knees go weak, and I lower her to the ground, covering her with my body. I tilt my head to kiss her better, her lips parting in surprise, allowing me just enough room to taste her tongue with mine.

“Ed,” she pleads this time, her fingers digging into my hair.

My palms slide over her sides—damn, her body fits perfectly in my hands.

“Oh!” She arches her neck, and I drop my lips to kiss the vein there.

And then lower to her shoulder where her top is slipping. It’s like kissing satin.

“Princess,” I whisper, kissing her again.

She moans my name, and I grab a handful of grass beside her head.

“Someone will see,” she chokes, her eyes opening wide. “We can’t!”

I kiss her cheek. Her jaw.

“No one is around,” I remind her, my thumb making tiny circles on the skin over her ribs. “City Park is abandoned at this hour.”

“But…but…” Her eyes flutter closed. “This was just business.”

I grin against her ear. “Says who?”

Her fingers tighten in my hair, and her knees open allowing my hips to fall through.

Holy shit. I could fucking howl.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I jerk awake and nearly fall out of my bed.

“Whada fuck?” I slur, squinting.

“Brother, what the heck are you doing in there!”

Shit! I was sleeping? I groan, rubbing my hand over my face. It takes a second for my body to wake up.

Well.

I grimace and throw my head back against my pillow. One part of me is definitely already awake.

“Brother!”

“It was just a dream, Al!” I shout back at him, trying to keep just how frustrated I am out of my voice.

“It’s almost noon,” he calls back. “Don’t you have to be places today?”

Shit. Shit. Shit!

Throwing the sheets off, I stumble out of bed and swing open the door, forcing Al to jump back as I move past him.

“I needa shower,” I mumble.

I’m supposed to be at work at one, and I was planning to go to the garage first to check on my baby. Now, I’ll barely be there on time.

“Don’t you have school?” I yell back to him.

“It’s Saturday.”

I hear his amused answer but don’t have time to flip him off because it takes at least five minutes to heat up the shower, so the sooner I get the water on the better. While I’m waiting for it to heat up, I grab my automail maintenance stuff, and wince at the bottle of antioxidant oil. I’m supposed to apply it any time I get my automail wet, but with an entire arm and leg of automail, it goes down really fast. And since it costs almost an arm and a leg to buy a new bottle, I’m stuck.

“Fuck.”

I bet there’s a dealer I can negotiate with on the Lane, but I don’t have time today, and funds have been tight since I helped Winry out with Donovan.

“Winry.”

Saying her name sends a rush of intense dream images flashing through my head, which I immediately try to forget as I strip off my shorts and step into the shower. It’s no use though, because I can’t get her out of my brain.

Her adorable smile. Her deep blue eyes. All that pretty blonde hair. It’s probably as long as mine, and hell if I don’t want to run my fingers through it. Not to mention her perfect curves and those legs that go on forever…

What I wouldn’t give to see her in a skirt.

“Fuck,” I hiss as I squeeze the bar of soap in my hand.

I tilt my head back under the steaming spray and grind my teeth. Soap is not the thing I want to have my fist wrapped around.

On the other hand, I shouldn’t entertain any kind of dirty thoughts about Winry. All my business with her is literally just business. I’ll see her tonight for the meeting and never again.

I turn and reach for the faucet. If I take a cold shower, maybe I can kill this stupid bodily reaction. Of course, then I would just be a different kind of uncomfortable.

“Bullshit,” I mutter, grabbing the shampoo.

All I have to do is not think about her, and I’ll be fine. No need to torture myself. She’s just some girl I met one time. It can’t be that difficult.

“You’re late, Elric.”

I wince at the deep voice from behind the meat counter as I rush to the back.

A cold shower did not help with my…problem, but it did make me late to get dressed, which made me late to catch the bus, which of course, got stuck in traffic somehow, so I had to run the last three miles, and ultimately, I was still five minutes late.

I think I might be cursed.

“Sorry,” I mutter pathetically as I grab an apron and hurry to the sink to scrub my hands before putting on gloves.

I steal a look at my giant of a boss, and quickly look away when I see the intense stare he has me pinned with.

“How much trouble am I in this time?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“You’re in luck,” he rumbles, crossing his arms. “She hasn’t come out front yet, so you’re in the clear.”

“Really?” I look up in surprise.

Maybe I’m not cursed after all.

“Just don’t tell her, and I won’t say anything either.”

“Got it.”

Mr. Curtis might be as big as a house with a voice of booming thunder, but it’s his wife who’s the scary one. She says she’s just a housewife, but I saw her fight off a mugger once, and… I’d bet my two good limbs she could take on the entire Devil’s Nest and walk away without a scratch. Not that she’s mean or anything, she can be really nice and sort of motherly when she wants to be. She’s just also really tough. And she’s strict about her rules for employees. Being on time is nonnegotiable.

“You two aren’t talking about me, are you?”

I flinch and try to hide it when Izumi comes out from the side room with her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised.

“Of course not, dear,” Sig says smoothly before his features crease with a frown. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine.”

She waves away his concern, but now that I’m looking, her face looks paler than normal.

“Edward,” she calls my name, and I straighten like a member of the military.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I have some delivery orders I want you to run today.”

“Oh.” I nod and shift my weight. “But you know I don’t have my car back yet,” I remind her.

“Right.” She frowns. “Well, I guess for now you can borrow the bike, but!” she says quickly when my jaw drops open, “if you scratch it…”

Her eyes narrow on me, and I swallow.

“I won’t scratch it,” I promise.

“Good.” She nods, her look softening. “The orders are in the fridge.”

“Great. Got it.”

Grabbing the insulated bag from under the counter, I go to the back room and start checking the orders against the form posted on the door to the refrigerator and packing the meat.

“Weird,” I mutter as I slide in the last one and zip up my carrier.

All but two of them are for regular customers. The other ones don’t have labels.

“Hey, Izumi,” I call as I walk out, looping the strap over my shoulder. “Where are these two going?”

I show her the blank orders listed on the official report.

“Ah.” She nods. “Those are for our friends in the Xingese District. You can stop by there last.”

“Right.” I turn and head for the alley.

She doesn’t have to elaborate any further than that. The only “friends” she could be referring to in the Xingese District are members of the Yao clan, a large and wealthy family that owns the Imperial, the fanciest hotel in Central City. Rumors of underground gambling and illicit drugs have surrounded it for years, but no one has ever been able to prove anything. Other, wilder rumors about the patriarch of the family being terminally ill with an extremely rare disease and obsessed with a search for a cure have also been floating around, along with some of the wild and untested methods he’s considered.

But I’m not really worried about that. I’m just trying to deliver some meat.

Strapping the carrier to the bike, I swing my leg over and adjust my helmet before flipping the kickstand and revving the engine.

“Fuuuuck,” I hiss.

After an initial roar, the engine quiets to a low rumble. Not as sweet as when my baby purrs, but the feel of the raw power between my legs is intense.

“What did I say about scratching it?” Izumi’s yell catches me by surprise, and I lurch forward before stopping.

“I won’t,” I call back as I whip my head around.

“That’s right. You won’t.” She gives me a final parting look and disappears back into the building.

With the threat of imminent doom hanging over my head, should I fail to keep her bike safe, I pull out of the alley into the road.

It only takes me forty-five minutes to get the regular orders delivered, and then I head for the Xingese District, being careful to avoid back alleys and side streets because, while I know these streets like the back of my hand, I also know main roads are safer during daylight hours, especially when I’m on a borrowed motorcycle.

When I reach the Imperial, I pull up to the front door, only to be immediately waved forward by a glaring attendant. His sunglasses hide his eyes, but his frown is impossible to miss.

“Where do I go then?” I ask, the rude edge clearly audible in my tone.

“This way,” a small girl with braids calls to me as she steps up to the curb and starts walking around the side of the building. “Deliveries are always taken in the alley, directly to the kitchen or storage rooms,” she explains when I stop in a loading dock.

“Sorry, but do you work here?” I frown at her.

“Essentially.” She shrugs. “I’m Mei Chang, and the head of the Imperial is my father,” she explains, “but he has a lot of kids so the only way for any of his children to inherit is to remain close to him, so I’m here to maintain that connection.”

“Aha.” I nod, totally not understanding how this family functions at all, not that my own is a great model anyway. “Well, where do I go now?”

“This way.” She leads me through a side entrance and into a kitchen. “Normally, you would leave the food in the fridge and sign here that you left it.” She points to a form by the counter. “However, since you’ve never delivered before, you’ll have to take the food to a senior staff member to inspect it first.”

Internally, I roll my eyes as I follow her out into the dining area with the packages of cold meat in my hands.

“Mei,” a male voice calls out as soon as we enter the room.

“Ling.” She starts walking faster, and I rush to keep up.

She stops at a table full of food where a lean guy about my age is dressed in all black from head to toe, except his arms which are completely bare due to his sleeveless shirt.

“And who is this?”

“New delivery person,” she announces. “You should check his meat. I’ve got to go back to the front.”

“Edward,” I introduce myself as the small girl walks off. “Call me Ed.”

“Ling,” he mumbles through a fresh bite of food. “Hungry?”

“No, thanks.” I shake my head. “I’m good.”

“That’s okay. Lan Fan can have some.”

He jerks his head back which is when I suddenly notice the stony-faced girl standing behind him, knives glinting in holsters on both of her hips, and despite her casual stance, I get the feeling she’s ready to spring into action at any moment.

“No thank you, my lord,” she says softly, and one of my eyebrows quirks.

“‘My lord?’” I echo.

“Is that a problem for you?” Ling squints at me, and I shake my head.

“No problem. I just have your meat.”

“Let me see it.”

Shoving some of his many plates aside, Ling clears some space and I set the meat packages in front of him. He opens one and looks at it for half a second before declaring them both good and reaching for another plate of food.

“Is this really all for you?” I murmur, still not sure what I’m seeing.

“I like food.” He shrugs. “And I have jet lag, so my stomach hasn’t caught up to what time of day is supposed to be mealtime.”

“Jet lag?”

“I just arrived from Xing last night. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve made a pretty significant discovery that could affect my father’s diagnosis.”

I blink at him.

“Master Ling, please tell me you aren’t sharing our family business with random strangers again,” an old man suddenly comes out of the shadows and steps between us, causing me to take a step back.

“Hardly, Fu,” Ling waves his hand. “I was telling my new friend, Edward.”

“Friend? Hold on, I barely even–”

“Well, he’s working,” Fu says over me, “so it’s probably time he got going, right Edward?”

He gives me a look that leaves no room for argument, and I nod.

“Yeah, uh, I’ve got meat to…do.”

“Well, at least leave your number,” Ling calls as I back away. “Give it to Mei. That way we can talk more sometime.”

What the heck?

Fu leads me back through the kitchens, and I sigh with relief as I quickly scan the bike for scratches and come up empty. Climbing back on, I hear footsteps behind me.

“Ed!” Mei says suddenly, “before you go, could you give this to your brother for me?”

“What?” I feel my eyes narrow at her as I frown. “How do you know my brother?”

“From school,” she answers jerking back, as if it should’ve been obvious, and…maybe it should’ve. “It’s his chemistry notes,” she explains holding a notebook out to me. “I borrowed them to compare them with some old texts I have here. We’re working on a project and–”

“I really don’t need details,” I murmur. “But I’ll make sure he gets them.”

“Okay, thanks!”

She beams, and I reach up to clasp the helmet strap under my chin before tucking the notebook into the carrier behind me.

“See you later then.”

She waves as I start the bike and pull out down the alley and head back to the butcher shop where people and things make sense.

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gumnut-logic · 5 years ago

Text

The Fate of Thundersub Two

Title: The Fate of Thundersub Two

Author: Gumnut

5 Jan 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: You can push it only so far. Episode tag to 3.19.

Word count: 1920

Spoilers & warnings: Spoilers for 3.19 and future episodes of season 3.

Timeline: Immediately after 3.19

Author’s note: This was quickly written with no brain and reflects the quality of my lack of cerebral functioning at the time. I literally killed off sleep to write this because I’m supposed to be writing my other fic. But we have an episode tag :D And hopefully I can sleep in a little tomorrow since it is nearly 2.30am at the moment. I hope you enjoy this anyway :D

Many thanks to my wonderful supporters, you know who you are. ::extra big hugs::

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Hiram Hackerbacker was a patient man. Science requires patience so it was to his advantage to have as much of it as possible.

However, having co-existed with the Tracy family for many years, that patience had often been tested, and today was another one of those days.

He had been in the midst of fuel calculations for the Zero-X. They had hit a snag in the weight and energy expenditure ratio and he was reduced to having to create a lighter, more energy efficient fuel. This required molecular calculation and design, something which involved a great deal of concentration.

To have John interrupt him to say that Virgil had taken Thunderbird Two for a swim yet again was enough to throw all the calculations out of his head. “W-what?!”

“I’m sorry, Brains, but Virgil needs your help. Two is on approach and her systems are experiencing intermittent failures.”

“Th-that’s because she is n-not a submersible.”

John shook his head. “Rescue called for it and you know Virgil. Whatever is necessary.”

Brains sighed. “V-very well.”

John smiled at him before switching the feed to Thunderbird Two.

“V-Virgil?”

“Hi, Brains.” There was considerable guilt in his fellow engineer’s expression. “I have VTOL failure in two out of four engines and I suspect her port rear thruster isn’t going to last much longer. I may need to crash land.”

Brains bit back on a curse. “Have you t-tried the auxiliary p-power relays?”

“Yeah, no go.”

Switching the feed to his phone, Brains strode out of his lab and ignored the door that slammed behind him. “Where are Gordon and Thunderbird Four?”

“FAB2.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t want to risk him. And, well, he had other concerns.”

Brains frowned as he stormed into the comms room. Scott was glaring at him and the duplicate hologram of Virgil hanging in the middle of the room. Brains ignored him and pulled up Thunderbird Two’s status.

He groaned.

“Virgil, you know as m-much as I that you c-can’t land her. Her secondary c-computer core is flooded, her p-primary core is well on the way to joining it. It is a m-miracle you are still air-borne. In fact, you should d-ditch her into the ocean as s-soon as p-possible before the decision is t-taken from you.”

The hologram of the second eldest Tracy sagged. “Where?”

“T-two hundred m-metres from the island m-minimum. We will r-recover her.” Virgil’s expression was tragic. “I promise.”

Beside Brains, Scott straightened. “Virgil, that’s an order. We can’t risk you. I’ll launch Thunderbird One and assist.”

Virgil glanced down before obviously steeling himself. “FAB.”

Scott’s lips tightened and he nodded at his brother before loping up the steps and disappearing into his chute.

Moments later, One erupted out of the pool deck and disappeared to the south in search of her crippled sister.

Brains shivered.

And waited.

-o-o-o-

Virgil Tracy knew how to swear and at this moment he was exercising every piece of profanity he could bring to mind.

Brains was right. Two was going to fall from the sky, it was only a matter of time. His dash was screaming at him, a new red light and alarm added every few minutes. This would make it the third time he would have to fish his ‘bird out of the ocean.

She dropped suddenly as her port thruster sputtered, her flight path skewing as her forward thrust struck out of balance. Shit. Goddamnit.

“C’mon, Two only a hundred or so kilometres and we’re home.”

She sputtered again.

And her port thruster died completely.

“Shit!” His girl swung around in an unbalanced turn, weight and thrust completely out of sync.

It was a terminal spiral dive. There was not a damn thing he could do.

Didn’t stop him from trying.

She ignored him.

The ocean and sky began to spin.

A solid thunk on her hull, a screaming roar, and her spiral slowed, her altitude and direction corrected...and the blue of auto took over her controls. “Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two, I have your control...what little you have. Compensating for your thruster failure. Virgil, bail out.”

“Scott-“

“Now, Thunderbird Two!” His brother’s voice stood for no argument.

Defeated. “FAB.”

He threw his chair back and yanked out his emergency jet pack from the overhead locker. He secured it to his baldric and harness, and with one last look at his beloved cockpit, stepped onto the platform and sent it up through the overhead hatch.

The roar of One assailed him through his helmet, the wind a buffeting aggravation.

“Virgil, move your ass, she’s about to hit!”

And the ocean was far too close for comfort.

He triggered the jetpack and shot up into the sky.

Just as his ‘bird hit the water.

It was spectacular.

And heart-breaking.

One disengaged before impact, accelerating out of harm’s way. Scott had killed Two’s remaining thruster, but her speed was too fast and as her nose caught the water, the momentum differential between forward and back, flipped her head over tail.

Virgil gasped as her belly was exposed to the sun and she hit the water like a breaching whale.

His heart attempted to beat itself to death against his ribcage.

With little more than a bubbling sigh, his girl began to sink below the waves.

No.

“Deploying inflater bags.” Scott’s voice was protocol. Over comms specifically for Virgil, it was reassurance.

Yellow appeared in the water below and the bags rose, somewhat awkwardly as they were deployed from the now underside of the upside down Thunderbird.

But his girl was floating and not disappearing into the depths.

He let his breath go.

-o-o-o-

“Thunderb-bird T-Two is not a s-submersible!”

Gordon jumped as Brains’ angry voice hit him. He had hurried back the moment John had told him that Virgil had crashed his ‘bird. Of course, the Indian Ocean was a fair way away by sub, so it had taken him quite some time to make it back to the Island without the assistance of his cargo carrying brother.

After docking Four, Gordon had the unpleasant experience of discovering Two in her hanger. The puddle around her and behind her where she had been dragged in by the heavy duty pods punctuated her condition loudly.

Thunderbird Two wasn’t going anywhere for quite some time.

“Lives were at stake.” Virgil’s voice was strained.

“Yes, including yours.” Oh great, Scott was in on this. Though, to be honest, where else would Scott be in this situation? “You could have killed yourself, Virgil. Either in the water with the freighter or when you crashed your own ship.”

“You ordered me to ditch her!”

“She was going down anyway! You would have been killed!”

Great. There it was. Scott had had the shit scared out of him again. How many times had his eldest brother been faced with Virgil crashing his ‘bird?

Too many times.

Gordon sighed and took that last step into the comms room.

Someone had to save his brother from his big brother and the resident genius engineer.

“Hey, guys.” All three turned to stare at him. “Virg, you okay?”

A single nod. Well, as okay as a Tracy brother could be when their ‘bird is in pieces.

Brains’ turned back to Virgil. “R-repairs are going to t-take some time. Time we do not have l-leading up to the Zero-X p-project.”

“I will work on repairs.”

“V-Virgil, you d-do not understand. Th-thunderbird Two’s frame was w-warped in the collision. She is s-tructurally unsound. She n-needs a new hull. The plane in the hangar is only g-good for sp-spare parts.”

Gordon’s heart sank as Virgil stared at Brains.

“I-I’m s-sorry, V-Virgil. Thunderbird T-Two needs to b-be rebuilt entirely.”

Virgil was still staring.

Gordon was doing a little staring of his own. “How can International Rescue operate without Thunderbird Two?”

“I’m a-afraid, it will h-have to m-make do.”

Virgil was still staring at Brains, his expression caught in shock.

Scott looked a little stunned himself, but his eyes kept darting between the two engineers.

Until Virgil sat down hard on the couch behind his heels.

“Virgil?”

But Virgil had buried his face in his hands.

It was a matter of strides before Gordon was sitting beside his brother. “Hey, Virg. We will rebuild her.” His hand landed on a tense shoulder.

Virgil didn’t respond.

-o-o-o-

The next few days were quiet for Brains. Mostly because he was tackling the fuel design problem and not having much luck, so consequently had locked himself in his lab in order to focus on the problem.

It was the fourth day after the demise of their cargo carrier before he saw Virgil again. The pilot had disappeared into the villa and the few times Brains had surfaced for food or been physically dragged out of his lab by Sally Tracy, Virgil hadn’t be anywhere to be seen.

He did know that John arrived down from Five on the second day and late one night as he was stumbling to his rooms, Scott and John could be heard having a very loud ‘discussion’ in the comms room. Brains knew better than to interrupt that. When the Tracy’s argued, there was usually enough passion in the room to set the furniture alight, not to mention random engineers who might accidentally get in the way. So he went to bed and ignored it.

But on the fourth day, Virgil appeared in Brains’ lab, eyes a little bloodshot and demeanour tired. Brains didn’t realise he was there at first. It wasn’t until Virgil reached around him and asked him about the fourth variable in his equation, that he realised he was being watched.

“Oh, V-Virgil. H-how are you?”

“Fine. Just on the hunt for some J-12 threads for Four.” A frown. “What are you doing? Is that praeline oxide? Are you trying to bind it with neutrozine?”

“Yes. W-we need an increase in fuel energy with a r-reduction in mass.”

“Why?”

“The Zero-X fuselage is too large to b-be launched at current r-ratios.” He threw up the design hologram for his fellow engineer.

Those bloodshot eyes frowned. “You’ve based the design on the original Zero-X.”

“M-most certainly. It was the m-most efficient d-design.”

“But it is not working.”

“No. We have d-different mass require-ments to the original d-design and, so far, I have been unable to compensate.”

Virgil spun the hologram around on its axis. A slight frown and he pulled out his phone, stabbing it with his finger.

“Cahelium would lighten the load, perhaps enough to stick with the current fuel.”

“We do not have enough p-processed cahelium in store and n-not enough t-time to refine more.”

Virgil pursed his lips and stabbed his fingers at his phone again.

An undefined expression flickered across his face. Voice quiet. “Yes, you do.” A swallow and he held up his phone. “Cannibalise Two.”

Brains stared at the hurried calculations and his eyes widened. “Yes. That is perfect!” He scribbled down the numbers into his tablet. Within moments he had cross referenced the resources and added up exactly what he needed. Two would tip the scales. He could also possibly use her structure as it was. It would speed up production. Of course, with her damage, he would need to check her integrity thoroughly.

If only he could use Three as well, he could incorporate her strength here. That would require extra thrust there, but then Three had that strength already.

The calculations piled up in his head. By the time he had come up with a feasible design, Virgil was long gone.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #TAG Spoilers #tagspoilers #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Hiram Hackenbacker #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #episode tag

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