#same thinking as a couch for my bedroom only a tablet seems a lot less trivial

[vodid]

i'm about to make a really poor financial decision this black friday.

[uncommoncold]

Come Back Home

Summary: Now that Yeosang knows Seonghwa's true feelings and has accepted his own, he finds himself helplessly attracted to Seonghwa. Seonghwa uses this opportunity to tease him mercilessly.

Word Count: 4.6k

Content Warning: Ass play, anal sex, dom park seonghwa, sub kang yeosang

Yeosang peeked over at Seonghwa as he drove their borrowed car back to civilization. They had spent the night talking and had just fallen asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. The waking up hadn’t been as pleasant, his back still had ample complaints about the position of being crammed in between Seonghwa’s body and the back of the couch. But he felt better than he had in a long, long time. Not only was Seonghwa not going to kick him out, they felt the same way about each other.

All of the sudden, Seonghwa pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road and unbuckled his seatbelt. Before he could ask what was wrong, he felt the heat of Seonghwa’s lips against his own. He reached up, his fingers sinking into his hair, lips parting to welcome the silken touch of his tongue. By the time he drew away, he was breathless and utterly without thought.

Seonghwa stayed close for a lingering moment, just staring into his eyes before smiling and giving a quick little lick to Yeosang’s lips. With that done, he settled back, put his seatbelt back on and started the car again, pulling back onto the road.

It took Yeosang a solid five minutes back on the road before he could summon up enough brain power to ask, “Wh- what was that for?”

“I kept looking over and you had this little smile, like you were thinking about something naughty. Since I couldn’t ask what you were thinking, I just had to kiss you.”

“Why couldn’t you ask what I was thinking?”

“Do you think I could handle you telling me you were thinking about something dirty while I was driving?” Seonghwa glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and grinned.

Now he didn’t know what to say to that. Yeosang hadn’t actually been thinking about anything particularly sexual but now he was. He was thinking that just maybe it wouldn’t be that bad if he did tell him that he was thinking something dirty. He was sure there was at least a little something they could do about it. He glanced over and saw the shape of Seonghwa’s cock in his jeans and just as quickly looked away and out of the window. Nope, he shouldn’t be thinking like that, this was his grandmother’s car after all. But when they got home … oh god. When they got home they would be all alone.

What would he do when they were all alone? No, that was just silly. They were alone all night the night before and apart from a lot of touching, cuddling, and a few soft lingering kisses, there hadn’t been anything for him to worry about. It would probably be the same once they were home. Seonghwa said something about giving him time and he was sure that was what he was doing. Now that he was thinking about it though, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. What would gentle, sweet, loving Seonghwa think of the dreams that he had of him? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He certainly couldn’t tell him. But that kiss … I’m not always so nice. What did he mean by that? He had literally thrown him against the wall and there had been nothing but raw hunger in that kiss. It hadn’t been tender in the slightest. Was that what he was like in bed? Was it just because he was angry?

He didn’t even know what he wanted. How could he? It wasn’t as if he had ever done more than dream about being with Seonghwa. Would it feel the same as it did in his dreams? There was no way that it could, there was no way that he would know what it felt like. What if it hurt? A little shiver traversed it’s way down his spine and into his stomach, straight to his balls. He shifted in the seat to try to hide the fact that he was hard.

“Cold?” Seonghwa reached to turn the heat up.

“No, I’m fine. My back is just still sore from the couch.” He made a bit of a show of stretching against the car seat.

“I know the feeling but we’ll be there soon and then we can head home. Yeosang?”

Yeosang looked over, “Yes?”

“Thank you for coming home.” He reached over and took Yeosang’s hand.

“Thank you for not holding my cowardice against me.” He squeezed the hand holding his.

They made it back to Yeosang’s grandmother’s house sometime after lunch. She insisted they eat before she put them back on the train to Seoul. Yeosang worried over introducing them, only to find they had already met. Of course they had, Seonghwa mentioned that she had loaned him her driver to take him out to the cabin. It was more than just that though because they seemed like old friends. When he mentioned it, his grandmother winked at him and said it was a secret and Seonghwa had merely chuckled. A secret? His grandmother and Seonghwa shared a secret? He wasn’t sure how successful he would be but he was going to have to try to get it out of Seonghwa.

They bid farewell to Yeosang’s grandmother and headed back to Seoul, the trip was uneventful and after a stop by Yeosang’s favorite chicken place for dinner they made it back to the house. He had been a little nervous about their being alone at home but it all seemed very normal. They ate dinner, Seonghwa took a shower and then Yeosang took one. Then they settled onto the couch to watch some television, the only difference was they curled up together to do it. When they said goodnight, Seonghwa escorted him to his bedroom, holding his hand. Then he kissed him, it was slow, sensual, and so very hot. When he drew away he whispered, “I have to go now or I won’t go.”

The way he said it as if he were almost in pain, his voice cracking slightly, sent a wave of desperate longing through Yeosang. In truth, he didn’t want him to go at all. He wanted to spend the night with him, he wanted … He wanted more. But he also knew that Seonghwa was being considerate of him.

After a week of it, he wished Seonghwa was a little less considerate. It was driving him crazy. At first he could appreciate it but what had largely been confined to his dreams had now entered his waking world and if he kept masturbating at the same rate, he would no longer have fingerprints.

Things he hadn’t given any thought to in the past were now intolerably sexy. Everything Seonghwa did was driving him completely out of his mind and he knew he could just tell him that he wanted him or make the first move himself but he just didn’t know how was he just supposed to walk up to him and say, Thank you for being considerate of me but if you don’t fuck me now I’ll die.

The bathroom door opened and Yeosang watched as Seonghwa walked shirtless across the living room toward the kitchen. He was still watching as he pulled out a bottle of water and drank deeply. As he pulled the bottle away, a little water spilled and hit his bare chest. The cold caused him to jump, his nipples hardening. Yeosang licked his lips and swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. Seonghwa ran his hand over the wetness and down over his stomach. The shape of his cock was just barely visible in the grey sweatpants he was wearing. How did he manage to make that so sexy?

Yeosang managed to tear his eyes away from those pants which hid everything and nothing, looking back up to Seonghwa’s face only to find the man himself looking back at him with an almost imperceptible smile and a mischievous challenge in his eyes.

Yeosang felt like the child who had just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. He looked away and tried to focus on what he had been doing. He couldn’t even remember what he had been doing, as such he looked at the television and after a couple of seconds, noticed it wasn't on. Nope not that. He looked around for his tablet and didn’t see it. Then he picked up the blanket he had draped over him to see if he could see his phone, no that wasn’t there either. What the hell had he been doing? He then saw the book on the arm of the couch. Oh yes! He had been reading for class. That was it. He picked it and hurriedly put it up in front of his face, realized it was upside down and quickly turned it.

His heart was hammering as after a few moments, he dared peeking up over the edge of his book. Seonghwa was out of the kitchen and nowhere in sight. He looked back toward the bathroom only to find Seonghwa standing right behind him, draped over the back of the couch, his face mere centimeters away. Yeosang yelped and made to jump off of the couch but made a hash of it, his feet tangling in the blanket and dumping him unceremoniously to the floor in a graceless heap. “You startled me!”

Seonghwa covered his mouth in a silent laugh, when he lowered his hand, he bit his bottom lip. For my sanity, please don’t do that.

“What’s the matter? You seem a little … tense.” His gaze was almost sultry and the way he lingered over the word tense.

“I- ye- yeah, a little I guess.” How was this somehow worse than torturing himself over the thought that he was having sexual dreams of his best friend? He knew that Seonghwa cared for him now. He knew that he cared for Seonghwa. But outside of the bounds of a few incredibly heated kisses, he had no direct evidence that he wanted him in the same way. That was making him doubt. It wasn’t as if he was a virgin but he felt like one, waiting for the right time, the right cues, but it all felt so foreign and he just didn’t know what the right time or the right cues were.

Seonghwa watched as Yeosang climbed back up onto the couch. This was far more fun than it really should be. He had noticed the way that Yeosang had been eating up his every motion and gesture and so he had been enjoying watching him work himself up over it. It had been so very hard to keep his hands to himself but he knew what he wanted, what he craved. He had inadvertently seen him jerking off that morning and the sheer frenzy and desperation had almost shaken his resolve. It might be a little cruel of him to keep him waiting but he wanted to hear him say it, in his own voice. He wanted to hear the words asking Seonghwa to be his lover, asking him to fuck him.

Seonghwa licked his lips and smiled, “Are you perhaps a little, frustrated?”

“WHAT?! NO!” Why was he denying it? He should just admit to it and let nature take its course. But what he should do and what he was doing seemed to be entirely at odds with one another.

“No?” Seonghwa canted his head to one side and brazenly looked Yeosang up and down. He had to fight back a smile as he saw Yeosang unconsciously draw the blanket up over his crotch. “It’s my mistake then. I guess I just like the idea of knowing that I’m making you… never mind. How much more do you have to read?”

“Read?”

“Your book?”

“Book?”

“The one you’re holding.”

Yeosang looked down and saw the book in his hand and jumped again, as if it were a snake. What the hell? He was not going to live through this. “I do-”

His words were cut off as Seonghwa leaned in and claimed his lips. He felt the book removed from his hand as the kiss deepened. Long fingers cupped his cheek and slid down over his neck and shoulder, pulling him forward. He gasped for breath as Seonghwa pulled away asking breathily, “Are you sure you don’t want me, not even a little?”

Yeosang opened his mouth to speak but he couldn’t think, all thoughts had fled. He just nodded. Was that the right response?

Seonghwa sighed and withdrew entirely, “Alright, I’ll believe you. I guess I’ll wait until you want me.”

Wait.

What just happened?

He watched as Seonghwa disappeared down the hallway and into his room. No! Come back! Yeosang grabbed a pillow and whined as he fell face first into it and then flailed, kicking at the couch.

The next day wasn’t any better.

Yeosang swiped his hand across the condensation in the bathroom mirror and looked at himself. Once he walked out of the room, he was going to have to begin his battle with Seonghwa. No, the battle wasn’t with his roommate. The battle was with himself. Why was he always fighting himself? He never had a problem giving Park Seonghwa his unvarnished opinions and desires but this was one desire he was having unending trouble voicing. Was he still worried about the gender of his favorite? He had sex before and he had frequently been the aggressor but this … why was he having such a hard time just opening his mouth and telling him that he didn’t just want him but he was desperate for him? He thought about little else, day and night to the point he couldn’t even think in class. If he kept this up, he wasn’t going to be able to graduate. It would be fair to say he was utterly obsessed.

“I want you.” he said to his reflection in the mirror. It was so easy to say here, why couldn’t he say it to Seonghwa?

He got dressed and walked out into the living room. He glanced at the clock, Seonghwa should be home soon. No sooner did he think it that he heard the code being entered to the front door. He hadn’t seen Seonghwa before he left, so it came as a total surprise to him when he looked up and saw him walking into the living room in a suit. The world went to slow motion, his eyes riveted on him as he ran a hand through his hair and then reached down to his collar and unfastened the button, hooked his finger behind his tie and roughly worked it open.

Park Seonghwa. In a suit. Hair slightly mussed. Suit ruffled.

Heaven help him.

His eyes glided down over his fit form in the no longer perfectly crisp suit. The fact that the perfection was slightly ruined from wear and the partial removal of the tie made it even sexier. It fit him so well, the way it accentuated his lean but muscular body, his powerful thighs. His gaze lingered on his thighs. When he looked back up, Seonghwa was watching him.

He’d been caught but he was too disarmed to care. He could feel his face flush, it was so hot all of the sudden. He knew he was hard but he made no move to hide it. He just stared back at Seonghwa.

A slow crooked grin curved Seonghwa’s lips as he realized that Yeosang was done with the little game they had been playing. He was done running and hiding from his desires. Slowly he stalked forward unbuttoning yet another button on his shirt. Instead of stopping, he walked around behind Yeosang. “You look hungry.”

Yeosang didn’t say anything, just half turned his head toward the voice that was now over his shoulder.

“But I don’t think it’s food you want, I think you want me.” He knew how ticklish Yeosang’s neck was. He leaned in so that his breath fanned against his ear and neck. Yeosang shuddered violently.

Still, Yeosang was silent. It was all he could do to keep himself upright. He was panting, his eyes glazed with lust. His cock was swollen to bursting.

“You want me to touch you don’t you?” Seonghwa slipped his arm around Yeosang, carefully not touching him. His hand ran over the length of his body, just far enough away for Yeosang to feel his heat but not the pressure of his touch.

“You want me to run my hands over your body, over your chest, your stomach, your …” His lips almost touched the shell of Yeosang’s ear, “Cock.”

His breath escaped him in a rush and he gulped, his hands fisting against his jeans. He was drowning, he couldn’t breathe.

“Is that what you want baby? Do you want me to touch you? Do you want me to kiss you? Taste you?” Seonghwa’s tongue flicked against Yeosang’s ear, “Fuck you?”

A small cry escaped him as he arched back, seeking the feeling of Seonghwa’s body behind him but Seonghwa kept his distance, only barely. He could feel his heat. He heard a low whine and realized he was the one making the sound. He would do anything for those words to come true.

“Just tell me how much you want it, tell me how much you want me to fuck you. That is what you want isn’t it? If I don’t hear you say it, I might think you don’t want me. Should I just go?”

“No! Please…”

“Mm, are you begging me now?”

Yeosang hesitated, “Yes.”

“What are you begging me for?”

There was so much he wanted, he wanted everything that Seonghwa said and more. He was greedy. He wanted everything. “Everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes. Please.”

“I’m a dangerous man to say that to, I don’t think you know what you’re giving me permission to do. What if I do something you don’t like? Would you leave me?”

“No.”

“What if I… hurt you?”

That gave him a slight pause. I’m not always so nice. The words floated through his mind again along with an image of himself dripping with sweat, body wracked with pain and pleasure twisted into a knot, indiscernible from one another. “Hurt me?”

“What if my desire turned dark and I needed to push you, to make you suffer for me? What would you do?”

A flutter of fear beat against his heart but at the same time, he felt his cock jump in the tight confines of his jeans. He was suddenly very confused by not only the words but his own reaction to them.

“Would you push me away?”

“Never.”

“Would you run?”

He was quiet for a moment and a sense of deja vu struck him as he heard himself say, “Only if you swear you’ll always chase me.”

This time Seonghwa was shaken. For several seconds they stood together like that before he slowly reached up and turned Yeosang’s face to look into his eyes. He searched his eyes, his face. An intensity of emotion rose, threatening to choke him. It was so much he nearly buckled beneath it. “Say it. Say it and I’ll give you everything.”

This time he didn’t hesitate, his words escaped on a sigh, “Fuck me.”

All of the sudden it seemed real, it wasn’t a game anymore. Yeosang had said the words he had been waiting to hear. He wanted him, not as a friend, not as a roommate but he wanted him as his lover, he wanted him and all he was - darkness and all. He kissed him, swallowing the frenzied need that threatened to overtake him. It was a kiss full of longing, hunger, and need. He needed this man, needed him to be complete, to be whole.

Yeosang turned in his arms, pressing his body against Seonghwa. Seonghwa drew away just enough to lean down and pick Yeosang up. Yeosang wrapped his legs around his lover’s narrow hips and wrapped his arms around his neck, leaning back into his lips as he was carried down the hall into Seonghwa’s room.

Together, they fell onto the bed.

Seonghwa drew back, his gaze intense and serious, “Are you sure?”

By way of answer, Yeosang lifted his hips and pressed his turgid length against his Seonghwa’s.

Seonghwa hissed between clenched teeth as he reached to pull Yeosang’s shirt up and off. He then shrugged off his suit jacket and reached to pull off his tie. Yeosang caught his hands and still leaving it knotted, pulled it over his lover’s head. Seonghwa looked on curiously as Yeosang slipped his hands into the loop and pulled it tight, lifting his hands up over his head.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was every fantasy he had ever had, watching Yeosang not just tell him it was okay but show him in the most provocative of ways. He didn’t know how he knew about the darkness he always tried so hard to keep hidden. He had never whispered a word, maybe that same darkness lived in this beautiful man who was so openly giving himself to him. He reached out and caught the tie, bringing it up to tie to the headboard. He knew in that moment that he would do as Yeosang had asked, he could give him everything that he was capable of, he would give him the world, over and over again until Yeosang sent him away. Then he would spend the rest of his life happy with and faithful to the memory of the man to whom he had given his soul.

Unable to fully restrain himself, he pulled at his shirt. Buttons flew as he ripped it open and discarded it. It was with the same impatience that he rid them both of the rest of their clothes. He wanted to be slow and gentle but his uncharacteristic eagerness was robbing him of his will.

He worshipped at the altar of his lover’s body, tongue laving his golden skin as he licked his lips, dragging down over his chin, chest, nipples. He loved how sensitive Yeosang was, how his nipples tightened against his lips. By the time he kissed down over his stomach, Yeosang was writhing and whimpering beneath him. His cock was pressed firmly against his stomach, each little move leaving a trail of wetness which Seonghwa ravenously lapped up before dragging his lips over Yeosang’s cock, down to his balls. He spread his legs wide and ventured even lower, his tongue flicking against the forbidden.

No matter how much he had felt in his dreams, they paled to the reality of watching the man he loved devour him whole. By the time he was done there would be nothing left. He almost wished he had the freedom of his hands because he wanted to touch him, return to him the pleasure that he was so freely giving. He felt more than a little lightheaded as Seonghwa rose over him from between his spread and trembling thighs to pull a bottle from his nightstand. He watched in restless anticipation as he slicked his cock and worked his long fingers into his already hungry body. He fucked back against those fingers, “Please, Seonghwa, please.”

He wanted to grab him and make him fuck him but he refused to rush, taking his time as he watched Yeosang growing closer and closer to losing control. There would be many times in the future when he wouldn’t take such care, too desperate to have him but this time, this time he wanted to make sure he was ready. Sweat made his pale golden skin glisten.

Just when he was sure he couldn’t take another second of this blissful agony, Seonghwa moved over him replacing his fingers with a thickness he was not expecting. While he knew his lover was not small, it felt so much larger as his body stretched to take him.

Seonghwa’s lips met his in an open mouthed panting kiss before moving to his ear. “I saw you this morning, kneeling on your bed, stroking your cock. I watched you. I heard you whisper my name. You said something, say it again. Say what you said this morning when you thought I couldn’t hear you.”

Yeosang was startled by Seonghwa’s admission, he had not just seen him but he had spied on him, watching him in his most intimate moment. But at the same time, the thought of his eyes on him as he came… it was what he craved at the time. “Seonghwa, fuck me. Destroy me.”

He wrapped his legs around him, wanting to feel him as deeply as possible.

Seonghwa groaned and hissed, “You’re so fucking beautiful when you cum. I want you to cum for me. I want you to cum on my fucking cock.”

He reached between them and wrapped his fingers around Yeosang’s leaking cock.

“AH! Se- ngah- Seonghwa!” Yeosang’s head pressed back into the pillow, lightning ricocheted through him. A strange feeling washed over him, it radiated from the small of his back, around his hips, shooting up his spine and neck before exploding outward, surging to his balls, tightening them, his cock swelling between his lover’s pumping fingers. With an agonized cry, he came, his cum shooting up between them.

The erratic tightening of his already tight ass around him, the sound of his impassioned moans, the sight of him cumming was all that Seonghwa could take. He grabbed Yeosang’s hips and slammed into him again and again. A similar strangeness overtook Seonghwa, radiating out from the base of his cock, over his hips, up his spine and neck. It was the purest essence of heaven and hell, of pain and pleasure. He hilted himself one last time, filling him completely before relaxing atop him. Still shaking, he nipped at Yeosang’s earlobe and Yeosang squirmed as Seonghwa’s breath tickled him.

Seonghwa laughed quietly and lifted his head to look down at the beautiful man who held his heart, his lust, and his life. “I love you, Kang Yeosang.”

Yeosang laughed in pure joy, “I love you, Park Seonghwa.”

They lay together like that, neither wanting to break their pleasurable connection. Seonghwa had never experienced anything like that. It was entirely unlike anything else he had ever felt, he had a hard time even putting a name to it. It was like an orgasm but multiplied, intensified, and… different. He shook himself and reached to untie Yeosang as he moved off of him.

Yeosang sat up to rub his bruised wrists that was when Seonghwa saw it. The mark that had been on the small of his back had changed. It was still there but it was no longer a small thing, the delicate silvery filigree reached up his spine, up the back of his neck and disappeared under his hairline. It was singularly one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. He reached out to touch it, running his thumb along his spine. Yeosang jumped and shivered beneath his light touch.

“What did you just do?” Yeosang asked. As he turned his head, he noticed the same tattoo-like silver filigree along Seonghwa’s spine, to the small of his back and over his hip bones, around to the base of his cock. The mark at the small of Seonghwa’s back was now exactly the same as the one Yeosang had been born with. He hadn’t explored Seonghwa’s body the same way that he had his own explored but he knew well enough to know that this wasn’t there when they began. There was a slow realization dawning.

Seonghwa rocked back and stared at Yeosang, slowly coming to the same realization. It wasn’t Bo Seulhee that was Yeosang’s soulmate, it was Park Seonghwa.

NOTES: Other works are located on my master list. 

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 6

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

Monday

Rose hummed to herself as she started the kettle, waiting for her computer to boot up.  She’d woken that morning determined to arm herself with knowledge, as she struggled with the impossible decision.

“Morning.”

She yelped, jumping and spinning to find Malcolm standing beside her desk, watching her with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile, not fooling her for a moment.  Though his lips didn’t move his eyes brightened, a clear tell, not that she would ever admit to knowing it.

“S’okay,” Rose settled herself in her chair, typing in her password before peering up at him.  “Coffee’s on your desk, tea’s just starting. You’ve got a nine o’clock who should be here shortly.  Anything I can- Anything I should know?”

If he caught her change of phrasing he didn’t let on, merely shaking his head.  “No, thank you.  After I’m finished with Ben, let’s meet and go over the details for the Gala – I want to know where we stand, and I’ll let you know which of the samples I’ve picked.”

“Sounds good.”  Rose watched him enter his office before sighing softly.  Things were no less strange, and she missed the easy way they had once had, one that had vanished upon the reading of Wallace’s will.  Will getting married bring it back, or will we forever be so awkward around each other?

Turning her attention first to her emails, she prepared for their Gala meeting while waiting for Ben Jackson, who, with his wife Polly, ran a charity that oversaw more than a dozen orphanages spread throughout the Commonwealth.  Their organization was to be the main recipient of the Gala’s proceeds. Every year Malcolm (and Rose, by extension) tried to pick a different group with a different mission to benefit from the Gala, though most were annual grant recipients anyway.

An instant message popped up from Mickey stating BJackson on way, alerting her that Ben would shortly be arriving, and by the time the man himself buzzed into the office and made his way to Rose’s desk she had a mug of tea ready for him, already prepared to his taste.

“You are an angel, Rose Tyler,” he declared, grinning, taking a sip before sighing softly and closing his eyes.  “Perfect.  You ever get tired of working for Malc, come see me first, okay?”

“Yeah, all right,” she agreed readily enough, laughing.  “Though my dad might have something to say about that, and besides, I don’t foresee ‘getting tired’ of Malcolm, so don’t hold your breath.”

Taking his mug towards Malcolm’s office, he threw a wink over his shoulder.  “I can dream, though.”

Rose watched him go, smile slipping as she considered her answer.  It had been glib, said without thinking, but she realized it was true.  She didn’t want this to end, loved her job, her life.  From where she sat she could see the London Eye and Westminster behind it.  Everything she did went towards helping people, making a real difference in their lives with the grants the Foundation gave.  The only way to keep things from changing is to change them completely.

Turning back to her monitor, she bit her lip before sighing.  Opening a new tab in her browser, she hesitated only a moment before typing into the search engine Viscount Gallifrey, and clicking on the first link.

Let’s see what exactly that means.

-

Malcolm shook Ben’s hand and thanked him for coming in, waiting until the door swung shut behind him to sink back into his desk chair and close his eyes.  It was impossible to concentrate; the only thing his mind would focus on was the sticky situation with the will.  The only variation on that was the memory of Rose’s bedroom, how it had been such an authentic expression of her.  Soft pinks, solid cherry furniture, it was elegant and understated, and if he’d been given a hundred photographs of bedrooms and told to guess which was hers, he would’ve been right.

Shit, I’ve gone to mush, he lamented, unable to quite bring himself to care or feel guilty for it.  He’d truly accepted his feelings a year or two earlier, and was slowly losing the war against them.  You could just tell her, the insidious voice in his head whispered, as it had been doing for ages now.  It’s not her fault, and it’s not her problem, he argued back.  She didn’t ask for this, hasn’t done anything deliberate.  I can’t burden her with my feelings.  That was the last thing he wanted, her pity or apologies.  This was his personal hell to bear, loving her from afar.

“Malcolm?”

The tap on the door made him jump, and he looked up to see the subject of his thoughts in the doorway, holding her tablet and portfolio folder with an uncertain expression.  “Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, c’mon in,” he waved, and she did, letting the door slip shut behind her.  She settled at the chair across the desk from him, and he grit his teeth against the flare of annoyance at the change of behavior – when they’d had this same meeting the previous Wednesday they’d spent two hours sitting on the couch nearly hip to hip, his heart aching for her – now she was farther away than ever, both physically and emotionally.

Damn you, Wally.

“So, you made your selection from the samples?”

“Uh, yeah.”  Malcolm shook his head to clear it, finding the appropriate folder and handing it over.  “Here.  I appreciate you filtering the list down; if you disagree with any of my choices, we can discuss.  How is everything else coming along?”

Rose opened her folder organizer, sliding the manila folder he gave her into the back.  “I’ll take a look at those and confirm, though I’m sure it’s fine.  Venue’s good, we just sent the second deposit.  They handle the catering, and we signed off on the menu last week.  Same for flowers.  RSVPs are flowing in nicely, right on target.  Once I get these final selections to Monica everything should be settled.”

“Good, good.”  He’d expected nothing less, awkwardly twiddling his thumbs and wondering at how low he had sunk, making up a meeting just to see his own assistant.  “Anything else I should know about?”

“You haven’t said if you’re bringing a- a plus one.  For headcount purposes, of course.”  Her eyes were a little too innocent to be convincing, but he didn’t comment on it.

“Uh, no, not planning on it.”  That was truthful enough; the event was five weeks away.  By that time, either she would be his date as his new bride, or he would have no need of one, it being the last official event of the Foundation as they closed up, having missed the inheritance requirement deadline.  “Well, Clara’s on the guest list, right?”

Rose nodded.  “‘Course.  She’s already replied- she’s bringing Danny.  Our table’ll be them, my parents, the Jacksons… and us.”  She flushed slightly, and his ears reddened in response, embarrassed by how much he liked hearing her call them us.  Pull it together, Tucker.

“Sounds like a solid plan.  Anything else?”  Then, unable to resist getting confirmation despite her implication to the contrary, he asked, “Are you bringing anyone?”

She let out an unlady-like snort, shaking her head.  “Um, no.  I’m so busy the night of anyway, wouldn’t make any sense even if I had a bloke.  Nah, I’ll force you onto the floor if I want a dance.  Much less embarrassing than with my dad.”

“Okay.”  He took a moment to picture it, them swaying on the dancefloor together, having the excuse of the music to hold her close as he did every year.  It was, quite possibly, one of his most favorite nights of the year.  “That’s good.”

They sat in silence for several moments as he cast his mind desperately for a topic of conversation, before sighing.  “If there’s nothing else-”

“There’s not,” Rose leapt at the chance, rising quickly and picking up her folders.  “Lots to do, of course, but nothing for you to concern yourself with.  Don’t forget to call Ace – she’s having trouble with the billing, I told her you’d ring her to help.”

“Will do, thank you.”

“Thank you.”

And she scurried away, leaving Malcolm feeling terribly alone in his office.

-

“Thistle Foundation, this is Rose,” Rose answered the phone using her headset automatically as she hit send on her email.

“Don’t you ever answer your mobile?”

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to bite back a sigh.  “Hi, Mum.  What’s up?”

“You’d already know if you’d answer when I ring you!”

I do not have the time or energy for this bullshit.  “I’m at work, and it’s been busy.  What’s going on?”

Jackie huffed down the line, setting Rose’s teeth on edge.  “I wanted to remind you- and Malcolm- that we’re moving the cookout up to this weekend, since we’re away the next.  Your father expects him to bring some more of that special whisky he brought last time – from Gallifrey, or something, wasn’t it?  Doesn’t sound Scottish though, more Irish. Though why would a Scot have Irish whisky?”

Thanks to Rose’s earlier search, which had informed her of the whisky distillery on the estate she would soon potentially be Lady of, the name drop wasn’t a major surprise, though she did feel a little jolt at realizing Malcolm’s preferred brand was, indirectly, made by him.  “I’ll tell him,” she said, and if her voice was faint, her mother didn’t seem to notice.

“Good.  Tony’s requesting your special mac’n’cheese.  You’ll be there around eleven?”

“That’s the plan.  Um, Clara’s bringing Danny, by the by.  Hope that’s all right.”

Jackie clucked her tongue, but merely said, “Sure, we can squeeze him in.  I’m just waiting for the day you bring a bloke to these cookouts.  I’m not getting any younger, Rose, and I want grandchildren before I’m eighty.  You’re not getting any younger either.”

“Uh huh.  Listen I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you Sunday.  Say hi to Tony and Dad for me.  K, thanks, bye.”  And she hung up without waiting for a response, lowering her head to the desk and groaning.

“All right?”

“My mother,” she replied, voice muffled, not bothering to lift her head.

His ah perfectly encapsulated her own feelings on the subject, and she appreciated, as always, his understanding.  She loved her mother, she did, but God she could be a pain in the arse.

“She wanted me to remind you the cookout’s this Sunday since they’re away, and Dad wants more of that whisky.”  Her head popped up then, and she peered at him.  “You never mentioned it comes from your estate, by the by.”

Malcolm shrugged.  “Didn’t seem worth mentioning.  Besides, that’s only a technicality – it’s independently operated.  They use our name, our land, our river, and our barley.  In exchange, they harvest all the crop, not just what they use, pay ten percent of net profit in rent, and we get plenty of the final product for free.  Doesn’t sound like much, but they pull in a tidy sum, enough that our portion is more than we would get in rent from anyone else paying a straight fee on the land.  It’s mutually beneficial, and reasonably equitable.”

Rose nodded, processing that.  Free whisky – that’s worth a pretty penny.  Then she realized where her mind had gone, and swallowed hard against it.  Not that I’m actually considering this, or anything.  “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she said honestly.

His lips twitched almost into a smile before smoothing out again.  “Thanks.  Anyway, I can do that – might as well bring him a case.  I’ve got a few in transit, figure I might as well stock up while I can.  Though God knows where I’ll put it after- anyway.  I’m meeting Ace for lunch at half past noon at the place near- you know what I mean.  Can you make a reservation under my name?  I’ll probably be gone a few hours – her accountant’s gotten the billing all fucked up.”

“Can do,” she said, already half-way through placing the reservation by the time he finished speaking.  “I’ll let Graham know. Anything else?”

“That’s it, for the moment.  Thanks.”

And he was gone, disappearing back into his office, while Rose sank back into her chair and replayed his throwaway statement several times.

-stock up while I can.  Though God knows where I’ll put it after-

He thinks I’m going to say no, she realized with a jolt.  He’s already making plans to that effect.

But of course I’m going to say no, a voice argued in her mind.  I can’t marry him.  That’s absurd.

It was absurd, and yet the longer she thought about it…

I don’t know what to do.

She tried to ignore the whisper in the back of her mind that said yes, you do.

[thedistantstorm]

Keep On Rising (Until The Sky Knows Your Name) 06

Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation

A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.

(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05

This time: The foster family. They’re good people, but they’re not HER people.

-/

They're nice people, Amanda supposes, the first time she meets them. They want to see her do good things, to send her to a nice school for 'gifted' children like her. Wouldn’t make her change her name unless she decided she wants to.

Zavala said she needed to give them a chance. Said he liked them. Said he'd vetted them himself. Whatever that meant.

But she could tell something was wrong, the entire time. He didn't sound like it, didn't look like it, and if somebody asked, she couldn't really give them proof. She just knew. She'd been around enough people trying to convince others of things they didn't wanna believe themselves. Trying to inspire hope in others so they wouldn’t feel so hopeless themselves.

He had asked her to agree to it for herself. To give herself the best chance. It won't be permanent right away, he'd said. Not until you're ready.

Amanda knew she would never be ready, but she knew she had to give him - and Matron Karena and the houseparents who kept telling her this was what was best option she had - proof. That would be the only way to show them she was better off not adopted at all. So, reluctantly - but far easier than Zavala had been expecting, she could tell - she agreed.

-/

Mr and Mrs Baumsol - her foster parents - were kind enough. The mom was far less stern than Ma ever was, and the dad was a City worker who had long hours and was mostly tired and subdued when he was home. Their son, Benji, was their pride and joy. The two of them had lots of structured play time, but also had their fair share of chores.

Really, Amanda didn't mind doing the work. Kept her busy and out of the way. Mrs Baumsol kept asking questions about her Ma and Pa when she was in the same room, so she'd trade Benji for garbage duty, tending the garden and sweeping the walkways. He seemed to enjoy cleaning things better than being outside anyway.

He was a quiet boy, not mean like the boys at the orphanage, but not particularly nice, either. He didn't seem to mind her, so long as she didn't hog too much attention. Which was fine. It didn't feel right when they - her foster parents - showed their affection for her. It didn't feel warm or safe.

Didn’t feel like… well, no use thinking about that. That wouldn’t happen. Couldn’t. He’d been sure to remind her of that, the last time they’d seen each other. Sometimes, late at night, she curls up in a ball and thinks about what safe feels like to try and fall asleep. Tries to think of Ma and Pa, but it’s not the same. It’s not real. She can’t have that. But, when she lets herself think about kind blue eyes and a gentle voice, and pillows the blanket he’d given her under her head like it’s his sweater… 

It was difficult trying to sleep at night. With her bedroom near the front garden, she could hear everything that happened at night. Vehicles, people walking home or exercising their pets. She's always been a light sleeper. That was sometimes the difference between life and death.

Some nights, she heard things. The sound of old shows playing too loud in their neighbor’s living room: they’d fallen asleep on the couch again. Sometimes it was quieter, almost cricket-like chirping that reminded her of the wilds, of…

… Fallen, in the distance.

She started staying up, listening. Sure, she was tired, but there was no way she’d sleep easy without knowing. Kept an eye out during the day, listened, when she and Benji walked back from their primary school together. About a week into it, she’d heard a sound she couldn’t unhear: arc pulses.

Benji yells at her, flapping his arms when she drops to a crouch next to the storm grate, eyes narrowed on the pavement and both hands cupped around her ears. This was just outside the Baumsol’s house. No wonder she could hear it at night. She wasn’t wrong, she thought, the touch of pride at being right overshadowed by sudden fear that came with it.

Rising quickly, she clings onto his arm, dragging him away. “Is your mom home,” She asks him, when they’re a few meters away from the grate.

“She went shopping, she sent me a message on my tablet.” Amanda didn’t have one of those. Benji was three years older than her, and he’d saved up for his communications device all on his own. Amanda might be able to have one when she got older, they said.

Honestly, Amanda had been done with these people since the first time she met them. She knew they were nice and good, but they weren’t her people. “Look, there’s Fallen down there, in the sewer.”

“That’s insane.”

“There is!” She tells him, defensively.

Benji laughs. “Momma says you’re not sleeping at night. I think you’re losing your marbles.” He drops to his knees in front of the vent. “Helloooo, Fallen? Anyone in there?”

Amanda squeals and yanks him up, hard. “Don’t do that! They understan’ common-speak!”

His sandy brown hair sways as he laughs. “Oh, please. There aren’t any Fallen in the sewers.”

 “I can hear them at night, too!” She continues dragging him along, face pinched in frustration. “They’re definitely down there. I know that sound.”

“Is that why you’re not sleeping?” Benji looks a bit sad, almost. “If you’ll sleep better, you can have my room.”

“No, I - You don’t get it!”

“No,” Benji answers, exasperatedly, “You don’t get it. I’ve lived in this City my entire life. Momma and Dad, too. We’re safe here. I heard them say that you’ve never been safe before. But this is how it is. We’ve always been safe. We’ll always be safe.”

That doesn’t stop her from telling both of her foster parents, the very moment they return home. She explains the sounds in the night, tells them to come with her, quietly, they’ll be able to hear the movement in the drains. But both of them have the same kind of mindset. She can hear her Pa’s voice, soft but honest, his lessons loud and clear in her mind.

That kinda thinkin’s what gets people killed.

Those aren’t rats in the gutters, or the sounds of fruit bats that must be nesting in the rafters of some house nearby. She’s not just some ‘cutie’ with an ‘overactive imagination,’ like they say at first, or, weeks later, when she still won’t let it drop, ‘a poor, tortured soul,’ and ‘a troubled girl.’  

She is Amanda Holliday and she did not survive this long by ignoring clear warning signs.

[parkernotes]

new beginnings

also available on ao3

post-endgame / fix-it / irondad

word count: 1752

The invite is casual – spend some time together and have lunch while at it. Catch up on everything that happened in the last five years without having to worry about time or interruptions, or any life threatening situations. Just the Starks and the Parkers, gathered in the formers’ home tucked away from the city noises and chaos.

Even so, deep down it is anything but casual for Tony; it was imprinted on his brain that having everyone gathered like this again would never be possible for such a long time that, now that everything’s happening, Tony feels slightly overwhelmed. Still, he tries not to let it show, and tries his best to avoid panicking when it takes May and Peter more than the expected two-hour drive to arrive from the city, wild thoughts passing through his head of what might’ve happened for them to be so late.

At half past one in the afternoon, almost two hours before the agreed time they should be arriving at the Stark residence, there’s a knock on the door. Tony looks up from his seat on the couch, where he was pretending to work on something with his tablet, as Pepper crosses the living room towards the main entrance, out of Tony’s field of vision.

He hears a series of excited greetings, and he finally lets out a relieved sigh.

“Mo! Come say hi,” Tony exclaims when he passes by the stairs, making his way towards Pepper and their guests.

Soon enough he sees May Parker for the first time in five years – she looks exactly the same as he remembers, smiling at Pepper so that a few wrinkles appear on the outer corner of her eyes, which soon enough are focused on Tony when he enters the entrance hallway to greet them. Her tight grip on him when they hug briefly is a bit surprising, but welcomed. She pulls away, still smiling, and stares up at him with gleaming eyes. She doesn’t even need to say it – thanks for bringing me and my boy back.

“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Parker,” he says, mockingly formal, even though the words are sincere. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed,” she replies on the same tone, her smile morphing into something amused. “We’re sorry about being late, though. Pete drove all the way here from the city,” she adds with a tiny wince.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Peter says a bit whiny, catching up on her expression soon enough.

“It’s alright. We understand there must had been a few accidents,” Tony jokes, but still thinks about that one time where he taught Peter how to drive – he’d felt less afraid for his life in a few Iron Man missions.

“Mr. Stark,” he full on whines, but smiles when Tony ruffles his hair and pulls him for a hug.

They lead the Parkers inside, and soon enough there’s the soft thud of Morgan’s socked feet against the wood as she carefully climbs down the stairs. Peter and May turn to look at her, who in turn stops halfway down with her eyes fixed on Peter.

There’s a beat of silence.

Morgan squints.

“Are you really really Spider-man? Daddy said he was coming.”

After Peter’s revealed to be her long-lasting hero, Morgan doesn’t really leave Peter’s side. The boy doesn’t seem to mind at all, even when she begs Pepper to place her high chair near Peter’s seat during their meal – he even takes on her parents’ usual role on helping her to eat, cutting her beef into small little pieces before moving on to his own, while answering all of her questions and nodding dutifully as she speaks about her toys.

Tony saves him from a conversation about her collection of Spider-man plushies by asking about school and his friends – are they all the same?

“Well, Ned and MJ got dusty too, so we’re cool,” Peter starts, receiving a nudge from May from being so direct about it, but Pepper smiles at her reassuringly. “Well– uh, I’m happy about it, ‘cause it would be really weird if they were like old now, like twenty-something years old–”

“We get it, we’re all old,” Tony sighs.

“–but since we’re all back, it’s fine. I have a lot of new classmates and some people already graduated, but that’s fine. I mean–”

“Is that kid still there? What was his name?” Tony squints, trying his best to remember. “The one you said kept bothering you–”

“He doesn’t bother me–”

“You mean Flash?” May adds helpfully. “I’ve already told Peter to tell him to stop–”

“I don’t have to tell him anything–”

“Oh, so he’s still in your class? God–”

“May’s right, Peter,” Pepper joins. “You should talk back–”

“It’s really fine–”

“Petey,” Morgan calls quietly, tugging on his sleeve. Everyone quiets down and Peter looks down – she’s already finished her meal. “Can we play?”

He's taking the dishes from the table in the living room to the kitchen when he hears a thud coming from upstairs. He looks up, expecting to hear it again, but only May's and Pepper's voices fill the silence from where they're talking, still sat at the table.

Tony shakes his head to himself, leaving the dishes on the sink and making a beeline for the stairs. As he approaches Morgan's room, the sound of giggles and squeals get louder, and through the narrow slit of her open door, he can see a few brisk movements.

He peeks inside – his girl's bedroom is covered in toys as per usual, with building bricks scattered all around. Tony recognizes the set up right away; they've played this before. It's New York.

There's a sudden movement right in front of the door which makes him startle, but it's just Peter hauling Morgan around making "flight" sound effects. The little girl has elastic bands around her tiny palms glued to old jar lids, imitating Iron Man's repulsors, but for some reason that Tony can't just fathom she's also wearing a bright red cape. She was kind enough to share with Peter though, because there's a similar, but dark blue one, tied around his shoulders.

When Peter lands Morgan on her bed, the little girl giggling madly as her body bounces up and down on the soft mattress, Tony feels like it's the perfect time to make himself known.

"Alright, so, you guys are saving New York and didn't bother to call me?"

Peter's senses probably sensed Tony as soon as he reached the second floor of the house so he doesn't look surprised, only turns around to laugh brightly at him. Morgan, on the other hand, gasps excitedly and stands up on the mattress, holding onto Peter to balance herself.

"Daddy! We won!"

"Of course you did," he says, kicking a few building blocks to the side as he enters the bedroom. "You're Iron Man, aren't you?"

"No," Morgan replies without a beat of hesitation. "I'm War Machine!"

Tony splutters – Peter laughs so hard that he bends forwards and falls on top of the bed, bringing Morgan with him who starts giggling again.

"Okay," Tony starts, offended. "What's so great about War Machine? You know Iron Man's the original one, so–"

"But, daddy," Morgan interrupts, suddenly sounding very serious. "If I'm Iron Man, I can't fight with Iron Man! So I have to be War Machine!"

Tony hesitates – Peter lets out an endeared aw, but his eyes are still shiny with tears from having laughed so hard at his expense.

"Alright, I forgive you," Tony sighs, approaching them to pat Morgan on the top of her head. "Not you, though," he then glares at Peter.

Said boy laughs again. "But she's the boss, Mr. Stark, I was just doing what she told me to do," he excuses himself, blinking up at him innocently.

"Yeah, right," Tony scoffs, but can't help the smile that grows on his face. "Go on now, you two," he says, patting the both of them on their backs to hurry them out of the bedroom. "We'll have desert downstairs."

He rolls his eyes when the both of them let out excited cheers on the way down, but still smiles fondly at the sight of Peter helping Morgan go down the steps.

Hours later, Pepper speaks up and invites the Parkers to spend the night with them when the weather outside gets gradually worse – it started raining around three in the afternoon, and after a while the storm and the fog are so thick that they can barely see anything when looking through the windows.

Morgan is eventually taken upstairs for a nap, and while Pepper shows May around the house as a whole, Tony takes Peter to his new lab. It's modest compared to the ones he had at the Tower or at the Compound; it looks more like a office than anything, but it still has all the toys Tony needs for whatever he wants to build. Peter is not disappointed, and soon enough is asking about anything he can set his eyes on.

"You can still come here, like we did back in the Compound," he comments quietly a while later, while showing Peter a new helmet design he's working on. "Work on suit updates and stuff, every weekend or so."

Peter turns to look up at him, eyes widening just slightly. "Really?"

"Of course, kiddo," Tony replies promptly, a bit confused that Peter's so taken back by the invite. "Why do you sound so surprised? We used to do it all the time."

"Um," the boy starts, looking away. He fumbles with the hem of his hoodie, hesitating for a moment before continuing, "I don't know, it–it's because you have Pepper and Morgan around and I really, like, I really don't want be a bother or anything now that you–"

"Pete," Tony interrupts him gently. "You wouldn't bother us. Besides, Pepper would be disappointed if you're not around anymore – you know, you managed to do it, you really charmed her into thinking you're a good kid–"

Peter lets your a breathy laugh, "You're the only one who doesn't think so, Mr. Stark–"

"And well, Morgan would be ecstatic to have you around regularly, you've seen it today," he continues. When Peter still doesn't look up, Tony places a hand on his shoulder and it does the job. "Don't ever think you're bothering us, yeah?"

You're family, he wants to say, but by the way Peter smiles at him, Tony's pretty sure he got the memo.

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Can’t Handle the Truth

Story Post

Since beginning to live with Camilo, Rheni had found himself quite the life on the internet. He studied, worked, played, socialised... He'd found that code script seemed to come naturally for him and programming had become a decent source of income. On the side, he ran a blog about himself as a human in an alien blog. There were disclaimers all over it saying it was fictitious and any videos of him where rendered in computer graphics but a lot of people liked to go along with it. APID knew about it but allowed it as a sort of experiment. He talked about himself, and his relationship with Camilo, though he didn’t ever show him or use his real name at Camilo's request. Some people asked a lot about him, saying he was fake and didn’t exist, but Rheni didn’t let it get to him just as much as Camilo didn’t let the same sort of comments affect him at school.

He hadn't really intended to talk about it, but he'd accidentally let slip that his boyfriend was pregnant. His followers already knew his boyfriend was trans so that wasn't a huge surprise but when he explained the circumstances, a lot of people were sceptical. Those who believed Rheni was real, or at least played along really well, were doubtful the baby was his. Some who didn’t play into the realism, figured this was foreshadowing to the big reveal and that the blog needed better writers so they weren't giving it away so easily. These comments all made Rheni very uncomfortable. Very few people actually believed the baby was his and it made him anxious. He started noticing little things about Camilo, the way he didn’t really talk about school much anymore, the way he wouldn't really wait for Rheni to come to bed anymore, how he didn't let Rheni touch his stomach. He was becoming more distant and less affectionate and it scared Rheni. So when Camilo came home late one night, Rheni was waiting with dinner. “Hey, is that Chinese?” Camilo asked, taking off his sweater and sitting to take off his shoes. He was half way through his pregnancy now and bending over was becoming a task and a half especially with an excited poodle trying to get his attention running around his feet. “That's great, I've been craving salty snacks all day... Pickle, Daddy can't play right now. Go lie down.” Pickle obeyed and ran off to the bedroom, likely expecting him to join her. “Yeah.” Rheni stood up from the couch. “You might want to heat it up. It's kinda late.” “Yeah, sorry about that,” Camilo said. “I had to go by work after class.” “Why?” “To get some stuff that I need for my class tomorrow.” “What stuff?” “Well, I grabbed my whole work satchel, but mainly I needed my tablet.” “What for?” “Some of my research could help my school project,” Camilo said, going and sitting on the couch. “What is this, Twenty Questions?” “No…” Rheni got up and went to get them some plates. “How was class?” “Oh, you know…” Camilo shrugged. “Nothing exceptional. We had a lab.” “What kind of lab?” “Engineering.” “How’d it go?” “I don’t really want to get into it…” Camilo said. “I’m home. I don’t want to think about school right now.” Rheni nodded and started portioning out their dinner. “How are you two?” Camilo smiled a little and rubbed his stomach. “We’re fine… I think maybe I felt them kick today, but I don’t know… It could’ve been gas.” “Can I feel?” “There wouldn’t be anything to feel right now.” “I’d like to feel anyway.” “Not right now, Rheni. I just want to eat in peace. And I think it’s bed for me. I’m so tired.” Rheni continued on silently. He watched as Camilo turned on the TV and looked through Netflix. He put his feet up and got comfortable. Rheni put Camilo's plate in the microwave first and then his own. Once both were done heating up, he brought them over to the coffee table. “Babe...” Rheni started, rubbing his arm. “Are you cheating on me?” Camilo was halfway bent over to grab his plate but he paused there and stared a Rheni. “What?” “I just... I need an answer,” Rheni said. “No!” Camilo sat up. “What the fuck, Rheni?” “Then how are we having a human baby?” Rheni asked. “Just how?” Camilo frowned. “I thought we were past this. You said you trusted me!” “I do... I did,” Rheni said. “But it doesn't add up. And...and you're not the same with me anymore. You don't open up to me, you don't let me touch you, you won't be intimate with me... You won't even talk about your day.” “Rheni...” Camilo bit his lip. “Maybe that stuff is true but... I don't feel like myself like this... I... I don't like my body as it is right now. It doesn't feel right, but I'm trying to push through it. But, yeah I don't want to be touched because I don’t feel comfortable in my own skin! I don’t even want to touch me. And I don’t want to talk about my day because it's hell! People stare at me all the time! They ask me questions, they stare at my stomach, they misgender me... I don't want to talk about those things. I just want to get home and relax!” “Babe, I'm sorry that you feel that way about yourself but how am I supposed to know how you're feeling if you don't talk to me about it?” Rheni asked. “It's just me! When have I ever made you feel like you can't talk to me? I'm here all day, all alone. The only way I know about anything is from the news or if you tell me! I am isolated! All I have is you! And I am always scared that I might lose you! I can't be sure where you go every day, what you're doing, who you're with... But if you share things with me, I can trust you!” “At this point though, I shouldn't have to earn your trust, Rheni!” Camilo retorted. “Look around you! I've provided so much for you! I've sacrificed so much for you!” “Sacrificed? Am I a sacrifice for you?” “Yeah, a little! I can't tell anyone you exist! I have to lie all the time about you. I can't go on dates with you. We can't travel, ride bikes, go hiking, et cetera. You only exist in my life in this condo. Outside of this, I am alone. I look like some...confused transgender single parent. You're not there. I don't have your support out there. So I'm sorry if I have shit after shit day in the real world and just need to put my feet up.” “This is the real world too, Camilo. I am here. I do exist,” Rheni said. “This is my whole world, and when you don't talk to me and stay out late, a big part of my world slips away.” Camilo looked down and sniffled before getting up and going to put his shoes back on. Rheni got up, panic rising in him. “Where are you going?” “My sister's,” Camilo hiccoughed, grabbing his work satchel. He stopped and glared at Rheni. “If you were really scared of losing me, you wouldn't accuse me of cheating!” He looked around. “Pickle? Pickle, c'mere girl.” The dog came running out from the bedroom and squirmed impatiently while Camilo secured here lead. “Come on, Camilo. Not the dog,” Rheni whimpered. “Let's talk about this.” “She's my dog and we just talked about it!” Camilo said, grabbing his keys. “I'm too tired, too busy, and too stressed to handle any of this right now. I'm going to my sister's and I'm going to go to bed because I need sleep.” With that he opened the door and left.

[randomoranges]

an au that has been neglected for a really long time

eh, you didn’t define what a really long time is/was….

advent calendar part 23

Day 17

Word: Home

Object: Anold key on a gaudy key chain

“And you’resure we can afford this?” Étienne asked, not for the first time, as they stoodat the bottom of the stairs of what could potentially be their future home.Beside him, Edward nodded and placed his hand on the small of Étienne’s back, “You can afford the down payment,” Edwardassured his boyfriend. Étienne looked at him incredulously, but Edward nodded;he knew how worried Étienne could get about money. He had crunched up thenumbers enough times to know that they could very well afford this place –hell, they could even buy out the entire building if they wanted and use theupstairs apartment as a rental, but that was another plan for the future – fornow they were looking into a new, bigger place of their own and Edward knewthat it was best not to overwhelm Étienne with too much – plus there wasalready a tenant upstairs.

“Shall wehave a look?” Étienne nodded and if he gripped Edward’s hand a little tightly,Edward wasn’t about to make a comment of it. After years of living in the sameapartment, Edward had finally brought up the idea of getting a place of theirown and even though Étienne had resisted at first, he had eventually comearound to it, since they really had outgrown the apartment, and he had beeneven more seduced with the idea when Edward told him that he could have his ownstudio space, something that Étienne had always dreamed of. They had made alist of everything they would like in this potential future home of theirs andEdward had made it his personal project to find places that fit their budget,their needs and that were in the same neighbourhood, since he knew how muchÉtienne liked it, (and quite frankly, so did he).

Étienneagreed to see five places that Edward found and the first place they werevisiting today was an old, early twentieth century home made of brick which hadrecently been gutted and refurbished back to its former glory. The place hadwindows on three sides, it was on the main floor and there was even a smallbackyard. There was space for a garden, if they wanted, a patio they could use,and all the rooms had access to balconies. There was a park across the street,it was conveniently located and they could easily access two major métrostations by foot. Edward knew this place had a lot of potential, but now he hadto make his boyfriend see his vision of the place.

“This herecan be the living room and main dining area,” Edward started when they walkedin. The entrance led to the living room, located on the left, and the large baywindows already let in a fair amount of natural light; beyond, there was thekitchen area which already had more space than the one they had back at theapartment, “It’s not a tiny galley kitchen!” Étienne gushed and Edward laughed,“Yeah, we can both coexist in the kitchen and not be in each other’s way,”Edward led him further down the hall to where the first bedroom was; he openedthe door and stepped in, Étienne right behind him, “This would be our bedroom;it’s a fair amount bigger than what we already have, but it’s not too much,”Étienne walked around, imagining what this room could look like; he opened thewalk in closet and marvelled at all the space there was, “You’ll actually haveroom for all your clothes,” Edward teased. Étienne made his way to the doubledoors on the other side of the room and opened one up; he gasped when henoticed that the doors led to a small balcony and a view of the backyard, “Wecan have breakfast outside!” Edward joined him and chuckled, “Yeah, I figuredyou’d like the idea; we could set up a little table and some chairs; there’s nobalcony above us, and the sun hits this area in the morning; I can alreadyimagine you spending all your mornings sitting here with a cup of coffee andyour sketchbook,” Étienne smiled at the thought and linked his hand withEdward’s, “That sounds lovely, actually.”

Edward gentlyguided Étienne to the following room, which was much smaller than the previousone, but it too had double doors that led to the same balcony from the bedroom,“This could be the guestroom and my “office” – I don’t need much space and Idon’t often work from home, but there’s enough space for a sofa bed, a desk,and a few bookcases; it also has a generous amount of closet space that we canuse for storage, if we need it.” Edward watched as his boyfriend walked around,touching the walls, as if he was imagining what colours they could paint themand how to best decorate the place, “This is perfect,” He murmured, and Edwardwas relieved, “And, if ever we need this room for… whatever, we can convert itto suit our needs,” They had brought up the subject of children a grand totalof two times and they had agreed that it was a subject for a much later time –for a time when they would feel ready, if ever they felt they wanted one, “Butit’ll be perfect for when we babysit your brother’s kids.” He recovered.

The washroomwas also much bigger than the one they had at the apartment and Étienne lovedthe fact that there was space for a washer and dryer and that the bathtub wasseparated from the shower, “It’s so big!” Edward laughed when Étienne sathimself in the tub, “I can take a real bath, Edward, a real bath!”

“And now, forthe pièce de résistance…” Étienne wondered what his boyfriend was up to, but hefollowed him to the last room which was right beside the washroom, detachedfrom the other two rooms. Edward opened the door with a flourish and letÉtienne walk in first, following him in, “This,” He started softly, “Would be yourstudio,” Étienne spun around to look at Edward, shock and surprise evident onhis face, “Really?” He asked, to be sure, and Edward nodded.

“Over here,right next to the door, you can have your double desk; you can have yourcomputer and your tablet and they can both coexist without being crammed. You canuse the rest of the desk space as a work table; there’s enough wall space thatyou can have a ceiling to floor corkboard and you can also have a drying rack,for your paintings and prints,” They had spoken of this – of what Étienne’sideal studio space would be – when Edward had asked him, sometime ago, whenthey had talked about their dream homes, and Edward knew that Étienne alwayswanted his own space where he could work and store his supplies without havingto constantly dig through boxes. Étienne had even toyed with the idea ofrenting a space, somewhere, now that his work was picking up and that he wasgetting bigger contracts, but with Étienne working crazy hours, Edward wasn’tkeen on him being out until three in the morning, only to be commuting foranother hour and then sleeping less amount of time. If Étienne had a space intheir home, then Étienne could get the rest he needed and Edward wouldn’t worryuntil he made it home – plus renting was expensive, as Étienne had found outwhen he had looked into it.

“And the walkin closet is quite big,” Edward added, opening its door so that Étienne couldsee, “You could store all your supplies and we can put in all the shelves youwant – you’d never have to look through a box for a certain brush or colour ofpaint ever again,” He stood back, giving Étienne the time to process andwatched as he walked around, murmuring to himself. “The light that comes inthrough here is also really good,” He said of the other set of double doors, “There’salso a balcony here!” Étienne exclaimed when he opened the door to see whatview he had from here, “I can see the park!” Edward chuckled and went to joinÉtienne, “You can paint out here if you want,” He stood behind him and wrappedan arm around his waist, “I measured your easel and it would fit nicely outhere,” He studied Étienne’s expression and marvelled at the mix of emotions onhis face, “This is too much,” Étienne said, blinking back tears, “This is perfect,”He laughed, and hugged Edward close, furrowing his face in Edward’s shoulder,as he tried to hide the fact that he was slightly overwhelmed by all of this.

“The room isbig enough that you can also have a couch and your easel set out at the sametime,” Edward led them back inside, while Étienne discreetly wiped at his eyes,“So what do you think?”

Étienne wasquiet for a moment, looking around, and Edward really hoped this wasn’t too much – the last thing he wanted wasto scare Étienne off, “This is amazing – I mean, I love it, but, you’re reallysure we can afford this?” He nodded and Étienne seemed a little more convinced,until he frowned, “Ed…” He started, “This room… it’s bigger than the one thatwould be the bedroom, isn’t it?” Edward had reallyhoped Étienne wouldn’t notice and the sheepish look on his face must havegiven him away, “Édouard! It is bigger! This can’t be the studio – it’s toobig! I can’t take the biggest room just because – that’s not fair!”

Edward hadbeen afraid this would happen – that Étienne would try and be noble about itand say something stupid along the lines that he didn’t deserve to have such aspace for himself or that they needed the biggest room for whatever reason, butEdward wasn’t letting him win this battle, “Listen, you said so yourself, thebedroom here is already much bigger than the one we currently have and we’vemanaged with our current one just fine. I wantyou to have this room as your studio. It has the best natural lighting and you’llbe able to work in a good environment.” Étienne opened his mouth to protest,but Edward wasn’t done, “You work from home more than I do; the second bedroomback home has proven unconducive due its size and you’ve been using the kitchentable and living room for enough years. You deserveto have a space where you can work freely and comfortably… please, let me dothis for you?” He reached out for Étienne’s hands and gave them a soft squeeze,“I can already picture you all set up,” He started softly, pulling Étienne tohim, “Standing by your easel, facing the doors; you’ll have them open to letthe nice summer breeze in and there’ll be some of your favourite jazz musicplaying…” He knew he’d won Étienne over when a smile cracked on his face and alaugh escaped from his throat, “I’ll bother you to come and eat something, ortake a break to get some sleep…” He grinned and Étienne laughed even louder, “Okay,you’re right, this does sound lovely, you win, but… you’re really sure this isokay? I can have this room? You won’t need it?” Edward nodded again, “We canmake an offer on it, if you’d like.” Étienne thought about it for a moment, butthen decided that he still wanted to see the other four places Edward hadfound. The last thing he wanted to do was rush into such a big decision.

Edwardagreed, but by the end of the last visit, all Étienne could think of was of thefirst place Edward had shown him and of the life they could build there.

They made theoffer from the inside of the car.

Quite honestly,Edward was convinced Étienne was the one who was more excited when it gotapproved.

“What really surprised us was that mygrandparents, who owned the apartment building where we were staying, had keptall the rent money we had given them over the years, and when my grandmotherfound out we were getting a place of our own, they gave us the money so that wecould put it towards the condo. I didn’t even know. She said she was going togive it to me either when I moved out, when I got married or if neither ofthose things happened, it was in her will. She admitted that she only started includingyour share of the rent after we told them we were dating. It was such agenerous gift… We were so happy here and we had so many good years; I’m gladyou never moved out.”

———–

PREVIOUS: XXII

CURRENT: XXIII

NEXT: XXIV

[secondgenerationnerd]

People Can Change

Author’s Note: HELLO MY LOVES! Sorry for the radio silence. I am in the middle of moving and life is crazy. But the wonderful @hauntedfishponyturkey requested this fic! It is very early so please excuse any spelling mistakes! Enjoy!

Warnings for swearing and underage drinking         

There are very few things that Irey West hates in her life. Brussel sprouts. People that look for misery. Bullies at school. Villains that try to kill her or her family. You know, the standard things in life. But probably right at the top is visiting the Watchtower with her father for Justice League business. At 12, she’s still too young to be in the meetings, but he brings her anyway. This usually leaves her on her own for a few hours. She doesn’t mind that. She minds that she can’t stretch her legs the way she really wants to.

         She jogs around the watch tower (well…her version of a jog…which is like an Olympic runner’s sprint). Irey’s bored out of her mind. Mar’I had dance class so she isn’t here. Lian and Jai are both grounded after a prank on Atom went wrong. Jon had chores. Milagro is on Oa. Colin in Gotham. There’s no one else for her to hang out with-

         “HEY!” Irey, lost in thought, hadn’t noticed someone come into her path. Too late, she tries to stop, crashing into him. He looks like her Uncle Dick…but younger and much…much shorter. With much angrier eyes. Eyes that are locked on her,” Watch where you’re going, carrot top.”

         “Sorry I was lost in thought.” They stand up. His eyes narrow at her bright red hair and dark green eyes. Irey knows she looks more like her father, almost to an absurd degree, but she’s never felt bad about it.

         “You’re a speedster. How much thought can you be lost in?” While Irey resembles her father, she is still very much her mother’s daughter. She notices his Robin uniform.

         “We’re significantly smarter than the bat family, even if it does take a second for them to catch up.” The other boy-Robin- scowls at her.

         “Whatever you say, Gingersnap.”

         “You’re a jerk!”

         “And you’re still an idiot!” Somehow this quickly devolves into them fist fighting. Her dad and Uncle Dick-who it turns out is the older adopted brother of this jerk- pull them off each other.

         “Damian!” Uncle Dick shouts.

         “Iris!” Her dad shouts. Irey glares at Damian,” Iris, you know better!”

         “Damian, you know you’re not supposed to hurt other people!”

         Nothing the older men helps. The two preteens glare at each other with venomous hatred. Irey can now add something else to the list of things she hates.

         Damian Wayne.

         17-year-old Irey can’t believe her brother is this stupid. And she tells him as much.

         “Do you just enjoy being grounded?” She asks, leaning against the doorframe. Her twin rolls his eyes.

         “I’m not going to get grounded! Mom and dad said they aren’t coming back until Sunday. It’s Friday. So even if they come back tomorrow, I can have the place cleaned up easily.”

         “Not the party, dumbass. Mom and dad will probably just be happy we didn’t blow anything up. I’m talking about breaking into dad’s cabinet and stealing the recipe for his speedster booze.”

         “Again, they’ll never know.” Jai gives his sister a charming smile. She rolls her eyes.

         “Who all is coming?” Irey reaches up, retying her ponytail.

         “Mar’I, Jon, Colin, Milagro, Lian- “Irey rolls her eyes when he mentions his girlfriend’s name, along with a few other young heroes,” And…Damian”

         “…I’m calling mom- “Jai grabs her before she can get to her phone.

         “It was the only way to get Mar’I here. Please? One-night truce? For your brother who you love so much?”

         “…You clean up the party by yourself. No matter how hung over you are.”

         Jai grabs her face and kisses the top of her head (damn genetics for making him four inches taller than her),” You’re the best sister ever!”

         “I know.” Irey goes to her room to change out of her pajamas. Normally for a summer party she’d go with high waisted shorts and a crop top with a hoodie over it, plus her trusty beat up converse. However, this is her house and she’ll be damned if Damian fucking Wayne thinks she dressed up for him. She decides on a plain yellow tank top and red flannel shirt unbuttoned over it. She searches for her favorite pair of skinny jeans, finding them in the laundry hamper. She decides to brush her long red hair out.

         I really should cut this she thinks. Chances are it’s going to get her killed eventually. But not tonight. Jai knocks on her door. She gags at the smell of his aftershave.

         “They’re all here!”

         To be fair to Jai, it took about an hour for things to devolve into madness. Mar’I and Jon, with similar metabolisms to Jai and Irey, are trashed on the speedster booze. Both are naturally happy people, so Jon laughs as Mar’I floats in the air. Irey keeps an eye on her, as Mar’I decided on a spaghetti strap tank top…which doesn’t exactly keep her tatas in place. Milagro and Colin are in the backyard with Suren and Sin, laughing and plaster on the normal booze.

         Jai and Lian had disappeared a while ago. Irey has no interest in walking in on them so she sits on her couch, ignoring her friends and playing video games on her tablet. The couch sinks and she looks up. Damian offers her an uninterested glance.

         “West.”

         “Wayne.”

         “I’ve been informed we have a truce. And you are the only one that isn’t inebriated.” He offers her a cup of whiskey.

         “I’m not worth the drink. Burn through it too fast to even get buzzed.”

         “I’m trying to be nice. Take the damn drink.” She sighs and takes the drink. She winces at the burn,” So what have you been up to?”

         “I suppose the same as you. Balancing two lives. Though you actually have school to go to. I prefer homeschool.”

         “No one to argue with you when you’re wrong?” She uses her super speed to get an actual drink. If she’s talking to her archenemy, she’s going to need it.

         “That’s part of the reason. The other is I tend to…find myself arguing with my administration about my grades…” Irey actually laughs at that. They talk a little more and both are letting down their guard.

         Irey won’t lie. The more they talk, the less she finds herself looking for reasons to hate him. And she also checks him out a bit. Since they’re first meeting, every time they’ve had to meet up, they have been on hero business…and there were too many other heroes to keep them from killing each other. When they’d met he had been skinny and didn’t wear much past his Robin Uniform. But now…She can definitely see the muscles under his button down. Irey isn’t sure if it’s the booze but she thinks he might be checking her out.

         “You know… Irey…” That’s definitely the booze. He doesn’t use her nickname ever,” …I never apologized for the day we met…when we fought…”

         “We were kids. Probably held a grudge about it for too long. I should have been paying attention.”

         “Still doesn’t excuse my behavior. I’m sorry, Irey.”

         “I forgive you. I’m sorry, Damian.” Damian nods. Jon and Mar’I are making out in their corner, which Irey isn’t shocked about. But Damian doesn’t seem happy,” Um… I don’t know if you care, but I have those designs you requested. I was going to email them to you later.”

         “Thank you.” They make they’re way into her bedroom. Irey pulls up the file on her computer. She’s very aware of his hand on the small of her back. They’ve gone from barely able to stand each other to him in her room, touching her back,” These are excellent. As always.”

         “You think so?” Irey’s shocked.

         “Of course. Just because I disliked you doesn’t mean I can’t admire your work.”

         “Disliked? Past tense?” His eyes aren’t as angry as she remembers.

         “Well…Things change. People grow.” She must be drunker than she thought…Or maybe he’s drunk…Maybe both of them? But Damian’s a lot closer than she thought.

         “And…how do you know if I’ve changed?” She’s very aware that his hands are on her hips. She’s also aware that she doesn’t want him to take them away.

         “Because…If you hadn’t…If I hadn’t…I would feel confident to try this…” He leans down and kisses her. Irey doesn’t even hesitate before kissing him back. Damian pulls back,” I’m sorry. I shouldn’t do this when we’re…not ourselves.”

         “You’re right…” Irey pulls back. “Talk about it tomorrow?”

         “Agreed…”

         Irey will admit she was wrong. Jai ends up cleaning up the party, horribly hung over. Irey keeps touching her lips, wondering if Damian would keep his promise. Jai has a little pep in his step after seeing his girlfriend and spends the day whistling. She grabs her jacket,” Be back later.”

         “Where are you going?”

         “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers too.” She runs to Gotham, thankful to stretch her legs. She follows the directions to the building Damian wanted to meet on. Irey smiles when she sees him, for the first time ever. He’s in a dark corner, with a dark jacket,” Hey…”

         “Hi.” He walks towards her,” Do you want to talk about last night?”

         “Yeah…But mostly, do you regret it?”

         To her surprise, he doesn’t hesitate,” No. I only regret not doing it sooner.”

         “Really?”

         “Of course. You’re beautiful.” Irey’s been called many things by boys, but beautiful hasn’t been one of them. She’s always been skinnier, meaning lacking curves.

         “How long have you regretted it?”

         “Not kissing you…about two years…being hateful to you…pretty much the first day.” He’s closer to her again. Irey looks up at him.

         “Me too…” Irey doesn’t realize she meant it until she says it. But she doesn’t regret it. Damian’s hands are on her hips again.

         “Do you regret the kiss?”

         “No…I was kind of mad when you stopped.” He’s leaning closer. Irey smiles, closing her eyes.

         “Let’s see if I can fix that…”

         He kisses her again. And Irey kisses him back.

         There aren’t many things that Irey West hates in this world.

         And Damian Wayne isn’t one of them.

[phoenixhrt22]

Bros and Bartenders part 2

"Soo let me get this straight" "Obi you aren't straight and we all know it" "Ahsoka zip it" Obi-wan rolled his eyes, he was desperately trying to cover up the fact that 1) he was not the one flirting this time and it was getting to him 2)he was being flirted at by a hot man who was practically a stranger and 3) that he was becoming flustered, Cody was making it very hard to focus, firstly he had complimented for almost 3 minutes about his taste in music when he had put the radio on and then defended him when Anakin made an attempt to undermine Obi.

“Anyway as I was saying" Obi-wan continued "You don't live downtown, but why did you want to go there?" he looked over at Cody who was staring out of the window and humming. Obi-wan couldn’t look at his face properly but he could see a brief flicker of panic in Cody’s eyes in the reflection of the window, he decided to let it drop, it was probably for the best right?

However his instincts were nagging at him that something wasn’t right, ‘damn his investigative instincts’ he thought the for now was left unsaid but he knew he was thinking it subconsciously.

His trail of thought was broken by Cody’s phone ringing “Hey Baby” Obi felt his heart deflate, of course a guy this perfect was dating. “Very funny......yeah I’m heading back now......No I’ve got a lift..... it’s fine can you tell Dad that they are staying the night......one of them has vomit all down him and the other two have passed out in the back seat.......quit complaining......blah blah blah...... that is where I was going to put them......zip it.....you love me really.....just give Buir some forewarning.....alright bye.....alright......ok Jesus....bye bye bye bye bye” Cody hung up and grinned at Obi.

“Don’t expect any warm welcomes at my place, my brother is an arse when he’s tired” god his smile was beautiful was the only thing Obi could think until a ball dropped in his head, “that was your brother?” “Yeah one of them, my twin to be exact, and to help with your clear confusion I call him baby to piss him off cause he is like 15 minutes younger than he” Obi nodded at his words but didn’t have the courage to respond.

After another 10 minutes of silence they pulled up outside of a very large house, “here we are, I’ll go get my bro’s and we can get your friends out without killing them.” And at that he got out of the car and jogged down the driveway and into the house.

“Holy Shit!” Obi turned to see Anakin wearily looking at the house, it was huge, it was made of some yellow coloured brick, probably sandstone, it had 3 floors whic was unusual for a detached house, there were 3 large windows on the front of the house and a garage at the bottom of the driveway. Each window had a light blaring out of it he could see movement on all floors, suddenly two identical faces appeared at the second floor window but it was so brief they disappeared before Obi could get a good look at them, however he could of sworn that one of them had a tattoo on his forehead.

Cody reappeared with a blonde man by his side, and oh my god were they definitely related to each other, they both had the same coffee coloured skin, sharp facial features and dark eyes. However he was blonde instead of black, his hair was buzz cut and his face wore a serious expression, which was a harsh contrast to Cody’s, who currently looked like Christmas had come early.

Obi-wan got out the car and the blonde held out his hand which he took, “Rex Fett I’m this fuckboy’s brother” Cody cackled behind him and Obi-wan could see a familiar humorous look pass over Rex’s face. “I’m Obi-wan Kenobi” Obi returned the handshake “And in the car is my half brother Anakin Skywalker and his best friend Ahsoka Tano”

“‘Right lets get inside before I freeze my balls off...” Rex opened the car door and pulled Anakin out, in one fluent move he picked him up bridal style and carried him inside, Cody meanwhile got Ahsoka out and echoed his brother’s movements with Ahsoka. Obi-wan followed him into the living room where the rest of the family seemed to be waiting.

Looking alike must of been a Fett family trait cause everyone had the same face except everyone had a slight variation. “Obi-wan, Ahsoka, Anakin this is my family.” Cody introduced, Obi sat down next to Ahsoka on the couch. “Hi and um thanks for having us” Obi-wan said, all his remaining energy had just left him leaving him completely exhausted. Cody smiled and turned.

“This is my dad Jango” Cody motioned to the older man who stood by the entrance to the kitchen, he looked exactly like Cody just without the scar “Please to meet you and you are welcome to stay as long as you like” Jango gruffly replied.

“This is Jesse and Kix there two years younger than Rex and I” Obi looked to the armchair on his right where Jesse was sitting, he was bald but had a tattoo of what he thought was the Republic symbol, Jesse was fairly muscular and athletic looking, Kix on the other hand was lean but he was no less athletic looking, he was looking Anakin over and was clearing up the vomit, he had light hair that was silver hair, he had an intricate pattern shaved in his hair it was mainly composed of lightning bolts which probably had something to do with his name sake. “Oh Kix is a trainee doctor and Jesse is a security guard for the chancellor so your in good hands but don’t try anything funny.” Cody elaborated “‘Sup” Jesse grinned “oh and ignore Kix he’ll probably go full doctor mode on all of you, we just learn to role with it” Jesse moaned “I’m just checking Jess, better safe than sorry.” Kix fired back.

“Then we have Fives, Echo and Tup who are 4 years younger than me” Cody motioned with his other hand, Obi looked to his left to the other armchair. Fives was the one he had seen in the window, he had a goatee growing that was the same colour as his hair, which was cut into military style, and the number five tattooed onto the side of his temple, his build was a lot like Jesse’s but smaller. Echo was more like Kix, he was lean and quite short, he didn’t particularly look very athletic either. He had a pair of weird goggles on his head, his hair was shaggy like he had been running his hand through it continuously. Finally he looked at Tup who was perched on the edge of the armchair, he had long dark brown hair and a tear drop tattoo under his eye, he probably had the softest facial features which echoed his physique, he was tall, he had long legs and a fairly muscular upper body. “There triplets and Jesse and Kix are twins like Rex and I” Cody explained “Fives in joining the army soon, Echo is planning on being marine biologist and is going to Coruscant city science university and Tup is a semi professional dancer he’s going to the Royal dance school in the inner city” Cody clapped his brother’s back, Obi-wan could see the pride in his eyes. “Hi” Fives said looking at Obi-wan “awesome facial hair by the way” Obi smiled “cheers, it’s a pain to keep in check though.”

Cody cleared his throat too stop them from diving any further into that conversation. “Then Bly and Wolffe are two years older than us but they aren’t here, Bly’s working the nightshift at the police station and Wolffe is currently in Dorin city at a photo shoot.” Ahsoka looked interested my this point “Really what’s he doing at a photo shoot all they way in Dorin city?” She asked, “Ohh Wolffe’s a model!” Tup answered “No way!” Ahsoka looked excited “You guys got pictures?” They all laughed and a friendly chatter started up between all of them.

“We can show you tomorrow, right now we should all get some sleep” Jango offered “You three can fit into Wolffe and Bly’s room. Rex, Cody can you take them up” . Rex nodded and lead the way through the kitchen and up a spiral stair case. Obi went up the stairs and walked onto a hall which was dark at the moment, Rex walked straight forward and opened the door. Obi walked into the room, it had a large flat screen tv on the wall to his right, the room had two small double beds, one bed faced the tv and the other faced the door. The bed facing the door had dark grey covers on it and a dark grey wall behind it. The other bed was yellow with a matching yellow wall behind it, both beds had a matching chest of draws and several bookshelf’s.

Rex put Anakin down on the grey bed and helped get him out of his unclean clothes and into fresh ones Cody had gotten them, meanwhile Jesse had put Ahsoka down on the yellow bed and Kix had all bought them water and tablets for the morning. Cody handed Obi some clean clothes and guided his upstairs to the bathroom.

“Your welcome to shower if you like, or you can tomorrow morning.” Cody leaned against the door, Obi smiled “A shower would be nice” he replied, Cody nodded and prowled over to the shower, however he didn’t take his eyes of Obi’s form, he had a predatory look about him. “There that should be the right temperature about now.” Cody said adjusting the shower, then he turned and walked towards Obi.

He felt his throat go dry at Cody stepped into his space, then he reached up with his hand and....... held up soap?

His face broke into a grin “Wash up” he said before walking out and shutting the door. Obi-wan breathed out and decided it was best to wash up and ignore the fact that he was slightly aroused by Cody’s display.

By the time he got back to the bedroom, the lights were off and both Anakin and Ahsoka were fast asleep. Obi-wan got into bed with Anakin and closed his eyes trying to get some sleep but all he could think about was Cody. Luckily eventually sleep washed over him and he drifted off.

[theliterateape]

Culture in Real Time

by Don Hall

“I have a surprise for you in honor of February!”

Dana and I have this thing we can’t quite find common ground upon concerning birthdays. She is a minimalist from a wholly unsentimental Pennsylvania family. I’m a materialist raised by a mother who calls presents “prizes” and gives gifts as a part of her love language.

While I’m old enough not to care, I still want my birthday to be a celebration of me. It’s small in spirit but, in that self-diagnosis we all attempt on our own psyches, I was the child of a beautiful woman who attracted men who wanted her but tolerated me. Birthdays were my mother’s way of reminding me that, at least to her, I was someone of note.

“I’m putting the blue in the toilet!”

Another unusual record skip in our marriage is those Tidy Bowl tablets you put in the tank and turns the water blue. To her, they are a sign of white trash, low culture, unnecessary expense. To me, they are an odd bluish signal of semi-wealth and extravagance. 

For the most part, the toilet remains clear. She likes it that way because she can then examine the color of her urine to see if she been hydrating properly (too yellow and she’s not). Once in a moon, she indulges me with a tab of unnatural blue with a hint of ammonia. It’s stupid but I love it every time.

We are both Aquarians which means we both are almost zealous in our personal independence and the sight of her in the bedroom and I on the couch, doing our separate things in the same space, is common. We do well together.

Our differences—in terms of how we view money, consumerism, art, reading, politics—are bizarrely cultural.

My DNA is mostly Irish. Some British, a bit African American, some Native American, but mostly Irish. I have the fair skin and propensity to addictive behavior of someone Irish but culturally I’m not one who embraces Ireland or her ways. Culturally, I’m a bit trailer trash, a dash biker gang, a sprinkling of Southern United States with a Midwestern sensibility.

I’m an American mutt.

A child of the seventies, a GenX guy who came of age in the 80’s, I’m the archetype of classic rock and slightly retrograde sexist attitudes that almost every Motley Crue and Scorpions song conveys. I still call women I meet “darlin’” and “honey” as a sign of friendliness. I prefer to throw the rock and roll horns to a thumbs up. I have tattoos but most are quotes from my favorite authors.

Culturally, I’m a fucking mess, man.

I have friends who live a more culturally identifiable life. I’ll admit to being somewhat envious of them.

Arlo is black. I mean, black black. He is originally from a tiny county in Georgia and laughs as I tell him how much he fits the stereotype of a sixty year old black man from Georgia.

"You could be played in a movie by Louis Gossett, Jr." and he cackles.

Arlo has a love/hate relationship with his cultural bedrock. He loves the food. "Barbecued pork, collared greens, black-eyed peas. My gramma's kitchen table was what I think Arab suicide bombers dream of instead of virgins." He loves the music. "Mississippi John Hurt, John Hooker, Buddy Guy? Sh-eee-it." He hates the drug culture which he was surrounded by growing up. He hates the idea that all black people can dance. "No one in my family had any of that. No dancing."

Jim (his Korean name is Junghoon but everyone who knows him calls him Jim) tells me he feels out of place when he sees his family. "I guess I'm like a self-loathing Jew in that I'm Korean but by way of Decatur, Illinois." Culturally, he is a "no zone" in that his parents tried to instill the cultural markers of a second-generation Korean kid but he was never really into it. "I always hated kimchi. Hot Pockets. Pepperoni. Keep your Bibimbap to yourself. Give me a bag of Doritos, please."

Culture is comprised of four things in increasing levels of significance: symbols, heroes, rituals and values.

What the three of us all have in common is comic books. All three of us claim to have learned to read courtesy of Stan Lee.

The Fantastic Four. The Avengers. The Amazing Spiderman. The X Men.

The difference between the DC world and the Marvel world was that the heroes in DC were gods and the heroes in Marvel (mostly) were humans with godlike power.

These were the legends and fables of growing up. These were the morality tales of my youth.

From Peter Parker I learned that with great power comes great responsibility. From Logan, his mantra that "The pain let's you know you're still alive" resonated. Daredevil showed that any liability can be overcome (with the help of some radiative waste). 

Bruce Banner instructed that anger can be managed. As an angry Irish-esque kid in Nowhere, Kansas during high school, I needed that lesson. Arlo loved Luke Cage ("But not the Netflix one. The one with the chains and the afro. I was country-black but he made city-black look cool.") and Jim was a huge fan of Ben Grimm ("He always felt like a freak but had his family to give him a purpose.").

I had girlfriends who had broken my heart but nothing I could compare to Peter Parker's grief from Amazing Spiderman #121-122 ("The Night Gwen Stacy Died"). Not only did he lose his great love, he snapped her neck trying to save her. Holy fuck! I was seven years old when I read that and the gravity of a beloved hero failing so horribly was traumatic and took me years to process.

Iron Man #120-128 has Tony Stark dealing full-bore with his alcoholism in "Demon in a Bottle." 

The entire early X Men storylines find an incredible synthesis of the civil rights issues of the late sixties. While the debates about discrimination, non-violent vs violent protest, and inclusion bypassed my ten year old brain, the ideological battles between Charles Xavier and Magneto set the groundwork for when I started reading James Baldwin in high school.

Even more pervasive in the Marvel Universe was the idea that heroes were as flawed as the villains. Doctor Octopus was the bad guy but not evil. Galactus was not evil but simply trying to survive and his means of staying alive involved eating planets. The crossover of villains to heroes was commonplace in the Marvel Universe cementing an ethic that anyone—even Magneto—could find redemption.

My friend has a kid who loves his superheroes. His introduction to them was the MCU and the films of the Avengers. One day, he and his kid were watching Captain America: Civil War and the child wanted to know if Tony Stark was a good guy or a bad guy. My buddy had a bit of a conundrum because in this case there was no easy answer.

This is a bedrock principle of Marvel: there are no good guys or bad guys. Every character is flawed and can make mistakes. Every hero gets to take turns being selfish, afraid, greedy, and enraged. Every villain has a tortured past and is only the villain out of misguided and traumatized perspective. Like the Netflix Daredevil series when Kingpin doesn't realize he's the bad guy until the thirteenth episode and then is astonished by it.

“Culture is how you were raised,” a friend tells me.

Comic books and the desire to be one of these flawed superheroes are culturally important to me. They are as defining of who I am and who I wish to be as natural hair on a black woman working in an office defines her or traditional prayer rituals are to someone raised in a church. These heroes have been a part of my life since I can remember having memories and I've been engaged with them since that nebulous time.

Isn't that culture? My cultural identity?

We GenX types were raised, in part, consuming pop culture in ways previous generations did not. Hours upon hours of televised stories infused into the soft tissue like an army of Manchurian candidates waiting for the buzzwords to activate our consumerist triggers. The advent of VHS tapes made viewing movies the ultimate babysitter. While a kid born and raised on the streets of Detroit might have very little in common with another born and raised in Idaho, both had cultural roots in their mutual boners for Jill Munroe and devastation over the death of Lt. Colonel Henry Blake. A black kid in Birmingham, Alabama could be as racially different from a white kid in Salt Lake City, Utah but both could bond over Star Warsand Nintendo.

As I read it, culture is comprised of four things in increasing levels of significance: symbols, heroes, rituals and values. By that quite academic frame, it seems that as we parse out our differences in our current multi-cultural war in America, it is a fixation on the symbols that trip us up. Skin color, hair, clothing and style, food, language, sexual proclivities and the presence of certain genitalia are all surface-level identifiers. They are the symbols of each human on display. 

I knew a (white) guy who grew up on the South side of Chicago, went to predominantly black populated schools, had mostly black teachers, and whose only friends were black. He dressed black, spoke black, acted black. Did any of that make him somehow less white and does that make any difference? I know a (black) woman—you'd know her, too, if I shared her New York Times Bestselling name—who, if you talk to her on the phone sounds like the secretary from Ferris Bueller's Day Off but looks like Weezy Jefferson from Good Times. Did her accent and nerdy mannerisms make make her less black and does that make any difference?

“Culture is how you were raised,” a friend tells me. “A lot of it is hidden in the back. It’s not just the food you ate growing up but why that food and not something else. It’s what your family decided to spend money on and what they wouldn’t spend money on. It’s those weird rituals you’d practice every holiday. It’s the clothes you wore but more deep than the fashion is why you wore those specific clothes.”

He tells me a story about clothes. His family didn’t have a lot of money so they saved cash by handing clothes down from one sibling to the next. It was frugal and smart with five kids. By the time my friend got the clothes (he was number four of the five) the strain of wear, the places his mother had stitched up, was obvious. And his little brother then got new clothes because four was the limit of the physical shirts and pants.

My friend spends a lot of money on fashion. He wears the latest trends and has a closet full of suits. He says he spends maybe a third of his take-home on shoes. “That’s culture in real time.”

I don’t dress up for much. I own no suits. I have ties but they’re mostly Marvel, Star Wars, and Beatles ties. My dress shoes are either decent tennis shoes or boots. When I was a kid, my mother wanted to please her aunt. Her aunt was a church-goer so we joined her church. I remember the day she told me I couldn’t go to church because my clothes weren’t up to snuff. “You can’t go to church dressed like that!” she guffawed.

I recall being embarrassed. I didn’t have anything nicer. She laughed at my best clothes. It obviously stuck because I still cringe at the memory. As a result, I bristle at the idea of dressing up for anything or for anybody and I do not go to church. “That’s culture in real time.”

While a follower of The Avengers as a kid, I was never a fan of Captain America. No good reason for that. Steve Rogers just never did it for me. That is, until Chris Evans portrayed the character in the MCU movies. Maybe it was my time to appreciate his retro-goodness; maybe I needed to be a bit older to fully appreciate his specific kind of superhero.

Perhaps I needed to live some life before the ideas that the “I can do this all day” persistence did me any good. The belief in something so strong that he’d go against all of his friends in a fight. His loyalty to Bucky despite the fact that his childhood friend had become a villain. His enduring love for Peggy Carter. His stalwart acceptance that he is almost a century older than he looks and most of his friends are long dead.

I didn’t need those values as a kid. I need those values today.

Dana is fourteen years younger than I am. No, I wasn’t looking for a third wife who was born when I was entering high school. It just worked out that way. The age difference feels sometimes like I was encased in ice for seventy-five years only to be resurrected long after the war was won.

The differences we have are bizarrely cultural. She is a free spirit. I am a worker bee. She is a poet in need of inspiration and subject to the mood swings of that breed of writer. I am an essayist who approaches writing like the laying of bricks to build a house who becomes more a follower of Stoicism the older I get. She grew up in the same house she was born in. I grew up moving from place to place with no true sense of a physical grounding. She is relentlessly frugal. I am an impulse buyer.

But we make it work.

Once in a while I wake up in the morning to take a leak and the toilet water is blue.

[withgraceandlight99]

Through the Eyes of a Child - Chapter 6/?

Teen + | My hiatus fic | Read on AO3 | 

A/N: This is my first prompt chapter! Hope everyone enjoys it!! As always, thank you so much for the support! And prompts are open, so send them in! I’m stocking up! :)

                                           Date Night for Three 

The bombs went off. One by one, each louder than the last. As each ‘bang’ sounded, someone screamed. First Felicity, then Thea, then his dad. Then his mom. She begged to live, saying that she wanted to keep her son safe for a little while longer. But Adrian didn’t care. The bomb began, louder and longer than the other ones.  

William jerked up, reaching for the light switch as he did so. Oliver had installed an alternate switch for him by the bed so when he had nightmares, he could be in the light right away. But he hadn’t screamed tonight, which meant that his dad and Felicity could stay sleeping. He kept his eyes open to keep from seeing Mom die again as tears ran down his cheeks. He stayed occupied during the day, sometimes sitting with Felicity, watching her work on her presentation for Palmer Tech. Sometimes he even got to give input. It gave him something to do, but at night…that’s when everything became a lot less happy. He cried a lot. Not around Oliver, because he would feel bad and try to comfort him, but it just didn’t seem right. His dad had gone through a lot too; why make it worse?

He glanced at the clock. Three. He wasn’t going back to sleep for a while and his stomach kept rumbling, so he grabbed a blanket and opened the door. They always left lights on downstairs—he still hadn’t figured out if it was for him or for Oliver and Felicity—so he made it down without smashing into anything. That would send both of the adults flying down here in likely not much clothing, one with a tablet and the other with a bow and at least a few arrows. The idea of that made him smile. Which was good, because he rarely felt happy at night. The dark bothered him. It always had, but now more so. Adrian had held him somewhere dark for a few days, with only a few glimmers of light.

So he turned the lights up brighter, and flipped the TV on. They had Netflix, but he’d watched most of the kid movies in the past month or so, and the adult movies were blocked. Oliver—he assumed it was him—put restrictions on anything and everything over PG. If he had Felicity’s skills, he could hack into the account and unlock the parental thingy, but he couldn’t do much. He put on Despicable Me and went to the kitchen to find food. Ice cream. They had that, so he scooped himself a bowl and sat down on the couch. After a few minutes of searching, he chose Cars, but kept the volume low.

“I miss you, Mommy.” He whispered the words so no one heard him. Maybe his mom did, up in heaven. Hopefully she did, because she deserved to know how much he missed her. “I like it here. My dad is really cool, and nice. And Felicity’s awesome. She’s a little crazy, but I like her. And I get to go to Oliver’s work sometimes. And I’m gonna convince him to let me get a dog.”

Something made a noise. William spun towards it, his heartrate jumping high. “Oh.” Felicity stood there, wrapped in a blanket. “I didn’t hear you.”

“You have the same reactions to everything like your dad.” She sat down on the edge of the couch. “I heard you down here, and made Oliver go back to sleep because he’s already woken up three times tonight. Anyways, are you okay? Obviously, you’re not totally fine, but…do you get my point?”

“Yeah. I had a bad dream, so I came down here. I do that sometimes.”

“I know. We know.”

“Oh?”

“We hear you every night. Sometimes we’re already awake, but we always hear you and one of us comes to check on you.”

Was this creepy or sweet? “I never hear or see anybody.”

“That’s because we’re good at being sneaky. Oliver is. I like to think I am. But we always want to make sure you’re okay.”

I really like them, Mom. He smiled and leaned against her, since she sat on the arm of the couch. “Thanks for that.”

“Always. Right now would be a good time to talk to you about something.” She took a deep breath. “Oliver and I are going out on a date tomorrow night.”

Should he react? Cheer? Say ‘yay!’? William steeled his facial expression and said, “Okay. That’s good, right?”

“Very good. We’ve held off going out because of a lot of things, but we decided tomorrow night would be good. The only issue is that we can’t find anyone to take care of you for a while.”

“I…I can stay by myself.” He might need to hold the bow the whole time but he could handle it. For an hour. Half an hour. Tops. Then he’d start panicking.

“Oliver doesn’t want to leave you alone, and I think that you wouldn’t like that much. But Thea is out of town visiting a guy named Roy, and Quentin and Rene are not suitable to babysit right now.”

“I-I can handle it.”

“William, honey. I’m very good at detecting lying.”

So much for that. “Okay, that sounds really scary and I don’t know if I’d be okay with that yet.”

“Which is why we are bringing you along.”

“What?” On a date? That included his dad and his…probably girlfriend? No. No, no, no. “Are you sure Quentin can’t babysit me?”

Felicity laughed. “Do you not want to come with? Oliver thought you’d enjoy it.”

“That sounds terrible!”

“What the heck is going on down here?” Oliver appeared at the balcony. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the light made it look like he had smudges on his skin. As William squinted, his dad took a few steps back towards the dark, which eliminated any chance of him figuring out why he was dirty.

Felicity put her hand on William’s arm. “We’re discussing tomorrow night.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Why not?” There must’ve been a basket of laundry on the table upstairs, because Oliver pulled on a shirt. “It’ll be a fun time.”

Filled with him sitting there watching people he loved talk mushy stuff and staring longingly into each other’s eyes. It sounded horrifying. Other kids didn’t have to do this. Granted, other kids hadn’t been kidnapped twice by scary people and hated being alone, and other kids had a babysitter of some sort. William glanced at Felicity, and then at Oliver. “Don’t make it awkward, okay? And remember that I’m there, because I don’t want to be traumatized.”

“We’ll be good.”

“Promise?”

Felicity brushed a kiss on his hair and whispered, “Promise. Would you like to go back to bed? One of us can sit in there for a bit until you fall asleep if you’d like.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m gonna have enough bad things to imagine about tomorrow night that I’ll be okay.”

“Don’t worry; nothing can go worse than our first date.”

He didn’t even want to know. But if it had been a while ago, and they still weren’t married, something terrible had happened.

“We got blown up, and that won’t happen this time.”

“Wow.”

“Felicity,” Oliver chuckled. “Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to share with him.”

“Sorry! It wasn’t a bad blow up. Minor injuries. Bad breakup afterwards.”

So they did break up. William looked up at Oliver, who winced. “Okay, well, I really don’t like explosions, so hopefully that doesn’t happen. I’m going back to bed.” No one had more nighttime drama than his house. Here. Not back in Central City. Star City was his home now.

He didn’t even get his blanket over himself before he fell back to sleep.

 He spent most of the next day doing school, passing the time as Felicity whizzed around the house, dusting things twice, and then again. After a while, she sat at her computer for an hour before she slammed it closed and let out a loud groan. William shot her a look, but she waved him off. “I’m fine. Just ignore me.” She made a cake that ended up setting the smoke alarms off because she started organizing the coat closet.

At five, Oliver arrived home, said hi, dropped his briefcase on the couch, and ran up to the bathroom. William timed the shower. It took thirty-five minutes. How long would Felicity’s end up being? They needed to be there by seven. At six, Felicity knocked on his door. “Hey, can I borrow your bathroom?”

He squinted at her. Mostly at her bucket of hair spray and whatever else that spilled over. “Is that going in my bathroom?”

“I’ll take it all out. I promise.” She shut the door and walked towards his bed, her voice quiet now. “I want to surprise Oliver with my hair and dress. You can stay in here, because I need you to tell me what time it is every ten minutes.”

“Just bring your phone in.”

“I’d text Thea too much.”

Speaking of texting…he grabbed his own phone but decided that there were better options. He hopped off of the bed and went to knock on the other bedroom door. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

“Hold on a second.” Oliver opened the door. “Did Felicity kick you out of your room?”

“Just my bathroom. But I can get ready in three minutes so it’s fine. Clearly you can’t. How do you get your Green Arrow suit on really fast?”

“I can shower, change, or do whatever fast. Just not this.”

“Put a suit on?”

“Go on a date with Felicity.”

“Oh.” Was he nervous too? Felicity clearly was; but Oliver? He hadn’t thought of that. “Are you…nervous?”

“No.” As he styled his hair. After it had clearly been styled already.

William let out a laugh. “You’re nervous.”

“A little. Or a lot.” Oliver rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed. “A year and a half ago, I proposed. We were a couple weeks away from the wedding when she broke it off. This is the first time we’ve officially gone out since then.”

No wonder Felicity spent the whole day freaking out. “Why’d she call it off?”

“We weren’t ready yet. I wasn’t ready, and she realized that.”

“So tonight is a big night, huh?”

“I guess so.”

“And I’m gonna ruin it.”

“What? No, you aren’t.”

He could suck it up and stay here by himself, right? It only seemed right. “You and Felicity deserve time alone. Not with me there.”

“Buddy, you are coming. We decided that, and it’s gonna help having you there. And this isn’t a typical situation. We’ve been engaged, almost married, and then spent a year trying to avoid each other which didn’t work so well. This next phase is just us getting things back on track.”

Had he watched too many PG romance movies lately with Felicity or was his dad talking about…“Are you saying that you’re gonna propose again?”

“Shhh.” Oliver glanced at the door. “Not yet. I’m gonna wait for the right time.”

There were times to be the sweet child, nodding along and agreeing with everything said, but there also came a time when he could be a pain in the butt. He’d been one the past few days, causing minor strife between all of them with the dog conversation, but now? He could take this and run with it. “You should do it tonight.”

“No.”

“Why not? You said it yourself that you’re just working through things. You were already engaged. You should just find a ring and propose.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I think it—”

“William!”

“Gotta go.” He ran to his bedroom, almost laughing at Felicity when he saw her. Did they realize how pathetic they were acting? She was sitting on his bed, wrapped in a towel and another towel on her hair, and when he came in, she whispered, “Help.”

“What’s wrong?” He shut the door and then raised one eyebrow. Something he discovered he could do after seeing Oliver do it a few times. “Nervous?”

“I’m terrified. I’m so happy you’re coming with, because I’m almost at the level of nerves that I was for our date three years ago. That was…I had to take calming pills. And I remember telling myself that I wouldn’t be that nervous until my wedding day, but it’s not my wedding day and I’m freaking out.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Oliver’s over there freaking out too.”

“I know he is. Which is what really makes me nervous, because Oliver is generally calm about things.”

“Except you.” He flashed her a grin, and she smiled back. “He told me about how you guys were engaged a couple years ago.” And if his math was correct, it was around the time when Oliver first showed up at his house, claiming to be a friend of his mom’s. Did he have something to do with the break up? “It doesn’t seem like you have anything to worry about.”

“There is everything to worry about. This is a date. The most official thing we’ve done since I went wedding dress shopping, and I’m freaking out.”

“I’m not really a love expert, Felicity.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” She brushed her fingers underneath her eyes. “It’s just that Thea said I can’t text her anymore, and my mom cannot know about this yet. She’d be on the next plane here. That would be…it’s scary just imagining it.”

“Is your mom crazy?”

“Crazy as in she wants grandbabies? Yes. And in other categories. You’ll see. Okay, I’m going to get dressed. At least I have my outfit picked out. Unless I throw up or something.”

William flopped down onto his bed and let out a loud groan. Is that what it was like dating? If so, maybe he shouldn’t keep trying to find a picture of Zoe. Or any girl, actually. Maybe he should stay single, because this sounded really scary. Or maybe they just made it seem like that.

Sometime he’d ask Oliver about the breakup. What if did have something to do with him? Felicity loved him now, but maybe she wasn’t ready for a child in her life. Or maybe it was something else. He didn’t want to ask now; what if it ruined the dinner? Tonight needed to be perfect.

At six forty-five, Oliver knocked on the door and yelled, “We need to go in a couple minutes. Are you guys ready?”

“Almost!” William stood on his tiptoes as he struggled to clip the latch on Felicity’s dress that she couldn’t reach. “Are you sure Oliver shouldn’t do this? Because I’m not doing a good job.”

“You got this.” Felicity looked beautiful, and it was almost hilarious how much time she spent on making herself look that way. All for his dad. And it was even more hilarious knowing how much time Oliver spent to look perfect for her. Adults. He got the latch clasped and stepped back. “All done. You look really pretty.”

“Thank you, William.” She smiled and reached out to fix his hair. “You look very dapper yourself. Let’s go before I have a heart attack.”

“Or before Oliver does.” William opened the door and scurried out so he could have a view of the reaction. Reactions. Oliver’s eyes widened, and then he grinned. Felicity fiddled with her hair for a split second before raising her head to show her smile. They came together with a kiss, and then a hug that lasted way too long for his liking. If they just made eyes at each other the whole time…

When they pulled apart, Oliver tapped his hand on his thigh. “Ready to go?”

“Uh huh.” William followed them down to the parking garage. Most of the drive, Oliver told Felicity about his day at the office, and then updates on the team. When Siri told them they would arrive at the destination in three minutes, they both went quiet. William watched their hands. They both did the same finger twitching thing, though Oliver’s moved at a more rapid pace. When they parked, Oliver opened the door for Felicity and helped her out.

They had a private area for the night, since his dad was the Mayor. William took the seat on the side to give the people on the actual date the seats so they could successfully stare at each other the whole time.

Felicity straightened out her dress and took a deep breath. “I keep telling myself that there’s nothing to be nervous about, but I can’t stop myself. Because we technically have less to be nervous about than the last time, and I’ve seen you shirtless even more since then. Just an hour ago, actually.”

“We don’t have anything to be nervous about.”

“But we are anyways.”

“Yeah.” And the stares started. Longing, loving…whatever other sappy words there were. William picked up the menu, and the movement caught their attention.

“Sorry.” Oliver cleared his throat. “We’re doing our best, which is terrible.” He caught Felicity’s gaze and shrugged. “We could tell him how we met.”

“I feel like we need to personally thank Floyd Lawton.” Felicity tipped her head towards William. “I was working in the IT department in Queen Consolidated, when he came into my office and asked me if I could pull data off a bullet ridden laptop.”

“Bullets?”

“Uh huh. And what was the excuse?”

Oliver chuckled. “I spilled a latte on it.”

“And I couldn’t help but think, as I stared at the body of his, that there is no way a guy who looks like this drinks lattes. More like…energy drinks.” That must’ve had a special meaning to it too, because she giggled. “But I helped him, and that was my first contribution to the team.”

“That wasn’t really a team yet. Felicity made it a team.”

“So let me get this straight. You brought her a computer that had bullets in it and told her you spilled a latte on it?”

“His excuse was that his coffee shop was in a bad neighborhood.”

William let out a laugh that was too loud, but he couldn’t stop it. His dad’s sheepish face didn’t help with calming himself down. “That…was your excuse?”

“Maybe.”

“And you believed him?”

“Not really. But I knew he was a good person.” Felicity’s eyes lit up when she talked about Oliver. He hadn’t noticed before, but tonight, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. “So I helped him.”

The adults ordered wine and William asked for Pepsi, since he never got to drink that. He asked for it once and Oliver said no. Tonight, he just shrugged and said, “Sure. It’s a special event.”

William leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “So. When did you guys…team up?”

“His mom shot him.”

Whaaat? “Your mom shot you?”  

“I showed up as the Hood and she understandably tried to kill me.”

Felicity laughed. “Too bad you weren’t in such a good mood when Barry asked that same question.”

“Who’s Barry?”

They shared a look, and then Oliver leaned closer to William. “Barry Allen is the Flash.”

The CSI. One of the cooler guys in Central City. “He’s…”

“Shhhh. We can talk about that later.”

“But he’s…?”

They both nodded. William put his hand over his mouth and let out a tiny shriek because if he didn’t, he’d have to keep that bottled up inside for a couple hours and that would suck. “That’s so cool! But I’ll stop talking about that. Continue with the other story.”

“I knew she was working, because I’d checked that night. So I found her car and waited for her to come in.”

“Scared the crap out of me when I went to back up and there he is. And he never paid for the blood stains in my car.”

“You got in trouble for that?” Oliver’s eyes widened. “You never said anything about it.”

“It’s okay. I only had to give them all of my paycheck for the month. Kidding. It only cost a little bit. Anyways, I took him to the place he wanted to be. Which was the old lair.” She leaned forward to whisper the last sentence.

They had a different lair before? He stocked that knowledge in his brain to ask about later when they weren’t surrounded by normal people. William listened to the censored version of her joining the team, and then the next couple years. There were parts when they gave him a look and said, “That’s for another time,” but he got the idea of their relationship. Lots of struggles and lots of staring at each other.

“We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?” Felicity’s lips formed into a smile as she looked at Oliver, who nodded. “And somehow, here we are. With an adorable little boy with us, because that’s our life now, and…”

“We somehow made it out stronger?”

“Yeah.”

William looked between his dad and Felicity, as they looked at each other. He didn’t know about adult love at all, but he was beginning to see why they ‘were in love’. Oliver was the Green Arrow, really tough and scary—at least that’s what he thought—but when Felicity started talking or literally just walked in the room, he got all sweet and turned into something that was anything but scary.

The staring started going too long, so he cleared his throat. Felicity responded first, sitting up straighter and covering her mouth to hide a giggle. “Sorry. This is really nice. To just sit here and not have to worry about the city, or saying the wrong thing. Mostly because I’ve already said all the wrong things and there isn’t anything else I could say.”

Oliver shifted. “I can’t say I’m done doing the wrong thing.”

“That’s okay. We all make mistakes.” Another thing that had to have a double meaning.

They got their food, which, for him, consisted of a weird, fancy looking steak that cost at least forty dollars. Good thing Oliver had money. Or Felicity, since he’d seen his dad carrying two of her credit cards in his wallet. William stared at his plate and fingered his fork. How was he supposed to cut this thing?

“Hey, bud?” Oliver pointed his fork at William’s knife. “Use that.”

“Oh.” He picked it up and spun it around. It slipped out of his fingers and clattered to the ground. “No one saw that.” Heat flamed his face as he sat back up. “I-I don’t think I know how to use this.”

“To spin it around like an assassin or…?” Oliver grinned as he spun the knife a couple times.

“Show off,” William muttered. But he almost felt like taking a video, posting it on social media, and saying ‘can your dad do this?’. Or maybe that would be too revealing. Most dads probably couldn’t do that. “Can you show me how to cut meat like a normal person?”

“Uh-huh. Hold your knife like this. No, never mind. It’s like this.” Oliver loosened his grip on the knife and moved his fingers up. William noted the place they’d been. Probably the way to throw one of these, which he wasn’t going to ask in a place filled with people who were already giving them weird looks. “You wanna hold your fork on the side of the meat so that it’ll hold it still while you use your knife to cut it. Like this.”

He copied Oliver’s movement, though it took him three more slices to get through the meat. “That was pretty good, right?”

“Yeah. It looks good. And now you know how to use a knife. In public.”

“Thank you.” And did that comment mean that eventually he’d learn how to yield a knife in a different way? Please, please. Throwing knives was cool. Really cool. He shared a smile with his dad and then started eating. It was good expensive food. Mom would’ve never brought him to a restaurant like this. Sometimes, they could barely go to a decent place.

“Hey…so who has all the money?” He should’ve chewed his food, because the words came out weird, but they understood.

“My family were billionaires.”

“What?” He choked on his piece of meat. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. We owned Queen Consolidated. My parents did, for the most part. When I took over, about three years ago, I ran it into the ground and now I’m broke.”

“Well, that sucks.” For him too. “But how can you possibly make that much money?”

“My parents did a lot of bad things to get that money.”

“So it wasn’t technically your money?”

“No. And there’s more to that story that I’ll tell you sometime. But now the only money we have is Felicity’s.”

“What’d you do when you weren’t together?”

Oliver shrugged. “Lived off my paycheck as Mayor. Felicity pays for all of the stuff we need when we’re…you know, and she regularly restocked the cooking area where I was living. Thankfully, things work better now.”

“Which means that I’m paying for dinner.”

“I could try, but my card would be denied.”

“Then you could at least say you attempted to pay, but I overruled you.” Felicity winked. Oliver let out a breathy laugh and looked down at the table. After several seconds, he raised his head to look at them. “Thank you for coming tonight. Both of you. After everything that happened this year…”

Felicity reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “A lot of bad things did happen, and I’m pretty sure I regret ninety percent of what I said and did the past several months, but I don’t regret this.”

“This date?”

“No. You. And you,” she tipped her head towards William and smiled at him, but then she looked at Oliver again, her eyes starting to water. “That’s not something I’ll ever regret, so you can stop worrying about me leaving, because I’m not doing that again.”

William watched as his dad stood up and went to Felicity’s side, his eyes bright with what he could assume were tears. Happy ones. She hopped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. They stood like that for a couple minutes, Felicity on her tiptoes, even in her heels. Oliver rested his chin on her shoulder.

They’d both been through a lot. It was halfway through the stories that he realized that those marks on his dad’s body weren’t mud or dirt. They were scars. Just like the scar he saw on Felicity’s shoulder when he latched her dress, but much worse. And Oliver clearly didn’t want him to see them. Sometime, he would mention the scar on his stomach from that time his appendix almost burst and he needed surgery. Scars didn’t bother him much; maybe his dad thought they did.

The rest of the night was spent talking about random things and eating dessert. With a smirk, Oliver put his credit card on the tray, but Felicity laughed the hardest when the waitress brought it back and said it didn’t work. She handed the woman her credit card and explained that they’d forgotten that Oliver had a fraud charge on his card and it was shut down for a little bit. When she left, William rolled his eyes and said, “You guys are bad.”

“Possibly.” Felicity twirled her finger through her hair. “But when there’s so much bad, sometimes it’s necessary to have a little fun. Like tonight. Obviously, I paid, but that doesn't really matter. This was so perfect. Thank you. Both of you. Because, bud, if you hadn’t been there for me when I was getting ready, we would’ve had this date in the hospital.”

When they arrived home, William yawned three times in a row, and declared himself too tired to do anything else. Plus, the adults needed some time without him. “Thank you for letting me come along. I had a lot of fun.” He gave his dad a hug, which seemed to surprise him. Oliver hesitated, but his arms came around him after a few seconds.

“Thank you for coming with us.” Oliver’s voice didn’t sound right. A little lower than normal. And quieter. “It was really nice to have you there.”

Next, he hugged Felicity, who saw it coming and even bent down—though she didn’t actually need to do that—and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you so much for coming, William. You have no idea how wonderful it was to have you there. Sleep tight, okay?”

He reached the top of the stairs before he turned around and grinned at Oliver. “And don’t think I forgot about that puppy that I’m getting.” Before he could respond, he waved and headed to his bedroom. “Goodnight!”

[allthevmff]

No Love like Your Love

by TheLastGoodGoldfish

Come back to me.

Veronica wakes with the words running through her head. Part of a dream, most likely, if she was sleeping deeply enough to dream. Something about Logan. It’s entirely possible; she checks the clock on the wall and sees that an hour has passed since she drifted off for an impromptu afternoon nap atop (a still out-cold) Logan.

Come back to me—her drowsy mind repeats, turns it over once, twice, then dismisses it as nothing. Logan’s right there, couldn’t possibly be any more back with her, except that he’s asleep.

Veronica stretches her neck to work out the kinks. Logan Echolls is, by and large, a first class mattress, but he’s a little bulky. Most importantly though, he’s a gracious mattress: he barely bitched about it at all, when she abandoned the other couch to curl up on top of him like a cat in a patch of sunlight, interrupting his reading before promptly passing out. Dubliners sits spine up on the living room floor beside them, and Logan’s breathing is deep and rhythmic beneath her.

They’re on vacation sort of. One of Logan’s friends from high school owns this place—a beautiful lake house at South Tahoe—but it’s understood that Logan can use the house whenever he likes. Veronica’s been up here half a dozen times in the three years since they got together. This weekend’s the first time this season, though: it’s January now, and snow’s been light, but there’s a nice dusting of powder, and Veronica has but to turn her head to watch the delicate white flakes drift down onto the deck. If she got up and crossed the room, she could see the icy water and a shoreline of frosted evergreens, almost too picturesque to process. She’ll say this for Dick Casablancas: he can pick a house.

Snow is still something of a novelty to Veronica.

She grew up in deserts: Tucson, Tulsa, Phoenix, Vegas... There was a summer in Ann Arbor and a few months in Minneapolis, but her mother (and her mother’s slew of unimpressive boyfriends) seemed to gravitate to the heat. Then college in sunny Neptune, grad school at Stanford, and a career that kept her moving in some of the world’s hottest climates, excepting that year in New York and the winter spent covering demonstrations in Moscow.

It’s the third in a five day excursion, just her and Logan in this vast, well-appointed house. There’s a fully stocked kitchen, TV, fireplace, and plenty of room for the dogs to wander. So far, it’s been two and a half days of bliss: they work and fuck and cook good food; take the dogs out and watch movies in the evenings. Logan will want to snowboard tomorrow.

Maybe their workaholic inclinations make it impossible for either of them to “disconnect” entirely, but slogging through a scientific journal on the newest super-virus for background is a lot more tolerable when there’s a view of the lake and a half-dressed ex-Naval aviator making lasagna within reaching distance.

Veronica shifts again. Pokes her chin into Logan’s chest, fidgets with the collar on his thick wool sweater, and waits to see if he’ll stir. He doesn’t.

Last winter when they were here, he asked her to marry him.

No, okay, not exactly that.

He asked her if she wanted to get married. He didn’t have a ring or get down on one knee or anything. He just asked her if she wanted that, like he might ask her if she wanted tacos for dinner.

Except no, he’d been more serious and earnest than that, asking. In the bedroom they always use here, after a really outstanding round of morning sex, with snowflakes on the window and coffee brewing in the next room.

“Would you want to get married?” Quiet and sweet, like he can be with her. His voice gets low, tender; it makes her ache. A husband, a dozen boyfriends, a roster of romances and flings who promised her the moon—no one’s ever loved her like Logan.

She was genuinely surprised, when he asked. “You want to get married?”

“I don’t know,” with a shrug of his bare shoulders. “Yes?”

“Why?”

He’d laughed; didn’t even take offense, which was almost enough to make her change her mind on the spot.

But they’d both been married before: marriages that ended as ignominious flops. Worse in her case—she understands that Logan and Lindsay parted on reasonably amicable terms—but all the same. She couldn’t picture going through all that again. She already did the big fairytale Church wedding with the puffy white dress and the tiara-veil (Jack’s family was very traditional). She’d felt silly dressing up like a virginal princess at the age of thirty-two; she’d feel downright comical doing it a decade later. Calling up her gal-pals and asking them to pause hectic careers and family schedules to wear generic teal dresses and be bridesmaids? Her seventy-year-old father having to walk her down the aisle again?

“I’m not saying we rent out the MacArthur and televise it, Mars,” Logan said, like he could read her mind, “But putting it on paper could make some things easier.”

“Well when you put it that way.” She traced a finger down his chest, trying to conceive of something tactful to say. She gave that up pretty quickly, though: “I don’t want to get married again, Logan.” She hadn’t been able to look at him when she said it, but she felt him go still beside her. Only for a moment, and then he resumed the slow, steady circles his thumb drew on the small of her back.

“Okay.”

And when she shifted to look up at him, he was relaxed and sincere. Okay. He pulled a face at her and it made her ache again, but happy.

“Still love me?” she’d teased.

He kissed the tip of her nose. Shrugged, beleaguered: “I guess,” and laughed when she bit him.

  She extricates herself from the couch and the slumbering Logan. Veronica has no recollection of pulling the soft plush throw-blanket over them—that must’ve been his handiwork. She arranges it back around him, then yawns, stretches, and wanders down to the basement level first floor to check on the dogs. Maggie and Goat are resting peaceably in their beds in the den, enjoying a vacation of their own. When the snow stops, Veronica will take them out.

The house is still, silent, as she heads back up to the kitchen. Puts on coffee and collects her tablet to work at the table.

She skims e-mails but is mostly unproductive. She holds a mug of hot coffee between her hands, habitually clinking her ring against the china as her attention drifts across the room to the giant window and the falling snow outside.

  Never again, she vowed the day she finally signed the divorce papers. Like swearing off alcohol during a hangover: never a-goddamn-gain. 

No more chasing picket fence fantasies. Normalcy, stability? Overrated, and mostly fake anyway.

She’d held pretty true to the promise, too. Took a nice freelance contributor gig in Spain and had two fleeting but lovely romances there. Then there was a year in London when she thought she might try photography-sans-journalism (till the boredom nearly killed her) and then back at the Los Angeles desk to be closer to her dad in Neptune. During that period, there’d been Jackson, Dan, and Mike in succession—each relationship ending when they started expecting serious progression. Mike got so far as to ask her to move in, and she had almost considered it. He would have made a good partner, but there was something painfully familiar about the relationship: nice at the beginning, comfortable. They had compatibility, a solid repartee. And yet after months and months, Veronica had never been able to engage with him on any level other than surface. They could banter, sure, but Mike never seemed to realize that was all they could do.

So they split and, a few months later, Logan happened. Just waltzed on into her life like he belonged there.

On their fourth date, she told him about the week she spent alone in a motel room in Vegas while her mom went on a bender. A month after that, he was tagging along for a four-day work trip to Paris. It hadn’t felt fast or serious. It just was. Abruptly, there was someone they each wanted to do everything with, and that was it.

  “I got married on the rebound,” Logan had told her, very early. It was always easy for him to talk about Lindsay. “Surprisingly? Not the best idea.”

“Yeah, I’m shocked that didn’t work out for you.” They were on a date, Dim Sum on North Broadway. Logan gestured a lot with the chopsticks.

“My ex and I had just had this long, exhausting break up. We had a lot of problems—both of us... there were substance abuse issues, and—we both worked too much...” (Carrie was unfaithful and a drug addict, but real conversations about Carrie—and Lilly—wouldn’t come till much later) “...so when I met Lindsay, she was the exact opposite. She taught yoga and fell asleep after half a glass of Chardonnay. I figured since there weren’t any of the problems I’d had with my ex, we’d be perfect. So we kind of rushed into everything.”

“Didn’t work, huh.”

“We had nothing in common.”

“I mean—half a glass of Chardonnay? You probably should’ve seen that coming.”

“Lasted less than three years, and I was deployed for about a third of that.”

  Tap, tap, tap goes the ring on the coffee mug. It’s almost four, and the snow has stopped. She’ll let Logan rest a little longer before she starts pestering him. They haven’t decided on dinner yet.

  There was no puffy white dress, no tulle, tiara, roses, or DJ, when she went ahead and married Logan. As predicted, it was mostly a matter of paperwork, but they did it at the Neptune courthouse, and her dad was there.

Logan never tried to talk her into it or anything. He didn’t even raise the marriage subject again. In fact when, last summer, Veronica had decisively stated, “Logan, I think we should get married,” he’d just rolled his eyes and carried on with his business, brushing his teeth. “What? I do.”

He spit into the sink and asked, “Is this about that stupid article?”

“No,” she said, defensive. She folded her arms and leaned against their bathroom doorframe, pleased with neither Logan’s accusation nor the overall lack of enthusiasm in his response. She had never proposed to anyone before and had expected to be taken a little more seriously.

Logan threw her a skeptical look, then resumed brushing.

“It’s not about the stupid article,” she insisted. “I don’t care about the stupid article.”

“So that wasn’t a heated e-mail I saw you writing to Bob Severino earlier?”

Robert Severino of Vanity Fair had written a profile on Veronica. It wasn’t anything groundbreaking, primarily focusing on her work following a recent senatorial campaign, except at one point, for no discernable reason, Severino included the line: “Mars, who was married to former CNN anchor Jack Roan between 2019 and 2023...”

“I don’t care about the stupid article,” she said again, and it was true. Kind of. She cared in the sense that it was an idiotic line—sexist, too, what did her ex have to do with the photos she took on Senator Gracio’s campaign?—but she didn’t truly care that they brought up her marriage. Her initial reaction had even been amusement: they might just as well have mentioned that Derek Keener took her to senior prom.

But then after a few days, the phrase started to grate on her. Jack’s name didn’t belong there. It was only there because of some piece of paper that said they’d been married, and the paper wasn’t even valid anymore. Frankly, Veronica was of the opinion that there didn’t need to be any other name included in an analysis of her damn career, but as long as there was going to be one...

Then the more she’d thought about it, the more she’d started to realize that there were all kinds of ways her and Logan weren’t linked. If he were to die tomorrow, would she even get a mention in the obit? And yes that sounded crazy and self-absorbed, but—what would they call her? Girlfriend? Partner? Dog co-parent? Their names were both on the lease, so they were at least legally bound roommates.

Logan finished brushing his teeth, rinsed, and dropped the toothbrush into the cup with a flick of his fingers. Then he grabbed the floss, all the while watching Veronica’s reflection in the bathroom mirror as he waited for elaboration.

Veronica wished she could elaborate. She wanted to explain that she didn’t care about a piece of paper—a piece of paper wouldn’t dictate how she felt or what she wanted—but other people cared, and that made it difficult to ignore.

“Mars?” he asked, after another long moment of silence. When she still hadn’t found the words, he tossed the dental floss container up in the air, caught it, and walked over to her. “It’s okay, y’know.”

“I know,” she said, annoyed with herself more than anything. “I just...” just what? Just wished that she could articulate the fact that in her entire life, four decades on this planet, she’d never been the first person to say I love you in a relationship before, and even though she maintained that he’d coerced it out of her by cooking Greek food shirtless, it still felt like a big deal for her. But the outside world refused to believe that it was a big deal until she put it in writing. “It’s just—hard to explain.”

“Yeah.” He reached her, brushed stray hairs back behind her ears. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere, Veronica. You’re it.” Fuck. Her chest felt strung tight. How was he so much better at this? “So if you figure out how to explain it, let me know.”

Veronica leaned in, pressed her forehead against his collarbone. “Sounds good.” She inhaled deeply, breathed him in, and when she trusted her voice, said, “I can’t believe you rolled your eyes at my proposal.”

“You proposed while I was brushing my teeth.”

“I thought you hopeless romantics appreciated spontaneity.”

“You must have me mixed up with someone else.”

  Anyway, they went to the courthouse about a month after that.

   Veronica is finishing her coffee when she hears Logan coming awake in the next room: his groaning and mumbling, then the creaking of the couch as he rouses himself. He ambles into the kitchen, wincing and stretching.

“I fucked up my back on that couch,” he gripes over a yawn, as he makes his way over to the counter.

“Did you check the cushions for peas, Your Highness?”

He throws her a look and starts rummaging through the cabinets. “Want some?”

“Hmm?”

“Coffee?”

“Oh. No, I just had a cup.”

Out of the side of her eye, she watches him fix his drink. He’s wearing grey sweat pants and a dark-red Henley t-shirt under his woolly green cable-knit. Vacation Logan, Veronica thinks and it makes her smile.

She wonders sometimes, what it would have been like if they’d been together when he was still in the Navy, still facing regular deployments. He consults now, works remotely as often as not, so there’s a certain freedom to their schedules. She wonders how she would’ve coped with months and months of absences, Skype as their only link, the steady dread of imminent danger.

She wonders what would’ve happened if she got to know him ten years ago, when she was married to Jack. Especially towards the end, when things were visibly falling apart—

It’s a grim and depressing speculative route, so she detours away.

Imagines instead meeting him when they were in their twenties. Imagines meeting Logan when he was an impulsive hotshot pilot, and she was a reckless aspiring photojournalist, eager to prove herself. She’s seen pictures, and—though an older and wiser Veronica appreciates the soft lines just beginning to appear on him, the warmth and calm in the version of Logan that grins up at her from her tablet lock-screen—she understands herself well enough to know that the twenty-five-year-old Veronica would have been all over the prior model. They would have driven each other crazy, undoubtedly, but would they have managed to stick with it? If they’d come together earlier, would they have tried their hands at the picket-fence fantasies too? Maybe some Logan-and-Veronica fucked up version of it, anyway—

Or, she wonders, if they’d met as teenagers... if her dad and mom hadn’t split up when Veronica was little, and she’d grown up in Neptune, like Logan did. Completely possible. Would he have liked the smart-mouthed middle school version of her? Would she have fallen for the round-cheeked, tanned and highlighted pretty boy she remembers seeing on magazine covers since childhood?

She imagines the years and years of each other that they never knew. But then again, she likes to tell him stories, and she likes to hear his. Maybe it all worked out as intended in the end.

  Logan has his coffee now and he sits down at the kitchen table, kitty-corner from her. “I don’t feel like dishes,” he says, “Let’s go out to dinner.”

“Okay.”

“The pizza place or the nice place?”

“Mmm,” she considers it. “Pizza.”

“Okay.”

He turns and looks out the window at the winter wonderland view provided to them. Veronica thinks snow is still a bit of a novelty for Logan, too.

“How’s your back?” she asks, and he smiles softly.

“Sore. You fucked it up.”

He smirks at her, and Veronica tries to muster up a little remorse. “Sorry. You made a comfortable mattress.”

“Mmm.”

She tilts her head in a way she knows he finds frustratingly irresistible. “Still love me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Always.”

via AO3 works tagged 'Veronica Mars (Movie 2014)' https://ift.tt/2EKIWsk March 20, 2019 at 11:36PM

[phyripo]

7 with EstLiet ?? :D

ANOn the fake relationship trope is one of my favorites! thank you c:

also featuring: an unnecessary subplot, Latvia being a shit, ambiguous Finland & Hungary pairings, and Orange Discourse™. really.

human names are pretty obvious, I think - Tuomi is Finland, should you be confused, and Liz is Hungary : D

also on AO3 because it got way too long

I call this

Moments of Gold

Eduard is singing Céline Dion.

Toris leans against the doorpost of the livingroom and watches the back of his bobbing head, his long fingers on the keyboardof his laptop. He’s a good singer, but Céline Dion is an unusual choice. She’sone of those artists he only listens to when something is wrong.

Putting his bag of groceries on the coffeetable, Toris walks into the room to tap his friend on the shoulder.

He jumps out of his chair, interrupting himselfin the middle of singing about how cold the wind was and clutching his heart.He slams his laptop shut with the other hand, cutting Céline off too.

“Don’t – do that, good god—”

Toris laughs. “Sorry. Don’t stop singing on myaccount. Big fan of Céline Dion.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, cheeks flushing.

“What’s up?” Toris asks, leaning against thedining table, rifling through today’s mail.

“Why would anything be up?”

“Céline Dion,” he says distractedly. He finds aletter addressed to himself, but when he opens it, it’s just a reminder fromthe library that his books are past due.

“You know me too well.” Eduard shoots him aquestioning look, and Toris shakes his head. “But it’s nothing serious, don’tworry.” He pauses, bites his thumbnail. Toris waits.

After a while, Eduard stands up and startsunpacking the groceries, putting them in neat piles on the table according towhere they should go. Their ongoing strife over whether to put oranges in therefrigerator or not is won by Toris this round, mainly because he is the oneputting them away. He does take one before he puts the rest in the vegetabledrawer along with the apples and the lettuce, and starts peeling it when Eduardfinally sighs, sitting back down.

“I did something stupid,” he admits.

“Yeah?” Toris focuses on his orange butlistens.

Eduard huffs. “You know my cousin Liz, right?She’s getting married next month.”

“Hmh. I met her on your birthday last year.” Heinspects an orange part against the sunlight and, satisfied that there are noseeds in it, puts it in his mouth. It’s good.

“And Tuomi, you remember him too?”

“Your other cousin? With the tattoos and thepokerface boyfriend?”

Eduard nods. Silently accepts the orange partToris offers him. “Pokerface boyfriend is pokerface fiancé now. And that’s kindof where the problem starts.”

Intrigued, Toris raises his eyebrows. He has ahard time imagining what the problem could be. When Eduard starts to chew on anail again, he thrusts another piece of orange in his direction.

“Thanks. I, ah… I might have told them I wasdating someone. Just because, you know… They like to tease me about being theonly one who’s still single, but lately it’s just been – hitting a little closeto home, I guess.”

Toris swallows thoughtfully. “That’s not thatmuch of a problem, is it?”

A nervous laugh. Eduard pushes his glasses upand looks at his closed laptop very intently.

“Is it?” Toris asks.

“It is when you know that –uhm.” He takes his glasses off, which is as clear a sign as theCéline Dion. “I told them it was you.”

Toris puts his orange down.

“What do you mean, you told them it was me?”

“Exactly that. I just… It was the easiest. Iknow you, and they know you, kind of, and it’s… I’m sorry.” He looks veryforlorn, even when he puts his glasses back on. Toris can’t help it. He startsto laugh. It doesn’t help when his friend starts to splutter.

“I’m sorry,” Toris hiccups, “but you have toadmit that even for you, that’s ridiculous.”

“Even for me—” he starts indignantly,but Toris interrupts him.

“It’s weird, but I don’t mind, not really. Whyis it a problem? Just tell them we – we broke up if you want to stop lying.” Hepushes his hair out of his face, still grinning.  Trust Eduard to dosomething like this. When the silence stretches on, the smile slowly slips fromhis face. “Ed?”

“No, I— Remember when I told you about Liz’swedding? She’s holding it here in town.”

“Ye-es?”

“Tuomi lives quite a way out…”

Oh. He understands what Eduard is referring to. “We said he could stayover here.”

Eduard smiles wryly. “So that means we’ve gotseveral options. You tell me I’m an idiot and I admit to my cousins that I waslying, we pretend we’ve just broken up when Tuomi comes, or—”

“Or we pretend we’re a couple,” Toris finishes,and the sentence sends an odd little shiver of anticipation through his chest.He picks up the last piece of orange and bites it in half thoughtfully. “Couldwe pull that off?”

Eduard’s light eyes suddenly have a familiarmischievous spark in them, a pleased little something that makes the corners ofToris’s mouth curl up because it reminds him of ill-advised midnight bakingsessions  in college and propositions that ended with both of themhurtling down icy streets in dressing gowns. It’s been a while since he’s seenit. They’ve both been weighed down by their jobs lately.

“I think we could definitely pull that off,”Eduard says.

“Only one way to find out.”

Eduard flips the lid of his laptop up, silencesCéline Dion when she starts wailing again, and opens up an honest-to-godspreadsheet. Toris doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

Eduard puts everything in his spreadsheet thathe seems to think is relevant for them to think of if they want to portray aconvincing couple. Apparently, he convinced his family that they have beentogether for a few months, since the beginning of the year. He’ssuitably bashful about that.

It’s weird, but Toris mainly thinks it’s reallyfunny and gladly teases him about it. The whole situation also makes for goodleverage to get Eduard to do laundry or feed the hamsters.

A lot of things on the list don’t require muchwork. The upside of them having lived together for most of the past of sixyears is that they are well aware of each other’s habits, idiosyncrasies andpreferences in many things. There are plenty of pictures with them both in it,or pictures of either one of them taken by the other. They have many sharedexperiences, and it’s pretty amusing to give what actually happened at certaintimes a romantic twist. It leaves them choking on laughter multiple times, justimagining themselves taking walks on the beach or things like that.

The most awkward thing is when they get to thepoint, about a week before Eduard’s cousin will be coming over to stay for afew days, where they realize that a certain degree of intimacy will be requiredto make the whole thing believable.

After Toris refuses to quit when Eduardsuggests so, the man sighs, pushes his glasses up nervously and says, “Then weshould practice.”

Which is how Toris finds himself trailing hisfingers down Eduard’s arm when he passes him by on the way to work in themorning, and that is actually rather nice. Grounding, in a way. It’s also whythey gradually shift closer together on the couch until Eduard curls his longlegs up and leans into Toris’s side as he reads a book on his tablet, and it’sodd, different, but not weird.

Neither of them are tactile people, but theyare comfortable with each other. And good thing.

They’re sort of avoiding the subpoint on thespreadsheet that says ‘kissing(?)’ – but, hell, if they don’t want to kiss,then that’s none of Tuomi’s business, is it?

The last point has them quickly moving some ofToris’s stuff to Eduard’s bedroom, because it’d be stupid to ask Eduard’scousin to crash on the couch when the two of them have supposedly been sleepingtogether for months.

They lie on the bed for a while, staring at thewooden slats of the ceiling, their forearms touching lightly. It’s a little narrowfor two grown men, but they’ve had worse – it was decided they would take twotents on holiday after the first camping trip.

“Are you sure you want to do this?�� Eduardasks. Toris turns his head to look at the man’s familiar profile, the steadymovement of his chest. His arm is rather cold despite the summer heat theycan’t quite keep out of the apartment.

“Sure,” Toris says. “It’ll be fun, Ed. Don’tworry about it.”

He props himself up an elbow so he can lookdown at Eduard, hair brushing his cheek. They both chuckle. Eduard pushes theoffending strand behind Toris’s ear.

“If you say so,” he says, still smilingfaintly. His hand is cool on Toris’s cheek when it slips back down.

Toris is quite unsure what he’s supposed tomake of that moment later, but he knows it felt nice, and for now, he’s contentto leave it at that.

Eduard’s cousin Tuomi is much the same as Torisremembers him from that one time they met, if less drunk. He also seems to haveaccumulated even more tattoos since then, which astounds Toris. He isn’twearing an engagement ring, but cheerfully explains that his fiancé, who’s outat sea right now, isn’t allowed to wear jewelry so he thought it would bestupid to get rings. Eduard lights up when the man places his guitar in theliving room, which makes Toris grin. He knows Tuomi is a professional sessionguitarist, so he looks forward to hearing him play at some point.

They’re a musical family, he realizes not forthe first time – their cousin Liz is a songwriter, and Eduard works in musicproduction himself. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’re going to come up withan embarrassing parody song for the upcoming wedding.

Toris and Eduard are in luck that none of theirfriends are in the habit of dropping by unannounced, though Toris does have tofield an awkward call from a very intrigued Raivis, their short-term collegeroommate, while Eduard shows his cousin around the apartment.

He finds the both of them on the crampedbalcony when he’s done, and grimaces at Eduard when raises his eyebrows inquestion. The man chuckles a little, but he doesn’t know that Toris instructedRaivis to send as many embarrassing texts as possible.

The three of them sit there for a while,talking amicably about this and that and nursing cold drinks. The weather hasbeen sweltering for the past few weeks; Liz picked a good time to get married.Toris is very conscious of the way he puts his bare feet up on Eduard’s chair,toes barely-brushing against his thigh. Eduard seems less conscious of how hekeeps brushing his fingers over Toris’s ankle, but perhaps he’s just better atacting.

For dinner, Toris goes and gets Thai down thestreet. Eduard steals even more from him than usual.

No one moves from the balcony until it’s pastmidnight, and Eduard might have taken some time off but Toris has worktomorrow, so he really needs to go to sleep. Tuomi yawns demonstratively anddeclares he’ll follow the example, so they all traipse inside and say theirgoodnights.

Toris and Eduard don’t look at each other whilethey shuck their clothes, a sudden awkwardness settling over the bedroom.Still, Toris is not going to wear anything more than his boxers and a t-shirt;he has no desire to get heatstroke. He sneaks a glance at Eduard when they’reboth lying on their back again, single sheet only pulled up to their hips. Healways looks odd without his glasses on, with his hair falling away from hisforehead. He looks at Toris too. Squints.

“Are your eyes that bad?”Toris asks. “We’re practically crammed together.”

Eduard huffs indignantly. “You know they are.Don’t mock my poor eyesight.”

“I’ll mock you all I want.” But he laughs,happy that the awkward moment has shattered.

“Shut up,” Eduard mumbles, but he can’t hidethe fact that he’s smiling before he turns on his side, away from Toris. “Goto sleep.”

“Night, Ed.”

“Goodnight.”

They’ll be fine.

Unsurprisingly, Eduard is already gone from hisbed when Toris’s alarm goes off. The guy always has been an insanely earlyriser. Toris goes through his morning routine without running into him, though;he’s probably out on the balcony already, maybe listening to music. He does,surprisingly, meet Tuomi, who wanders bleary-eyed but cheerful into the kitchenwhile he’s eating breakfast.

“Please don’t tell me your whole family is likethis,” he sighs.

“Like what?” Tuomi lifts a banana from thefruit bowl. “Do you have any oranges?”

“Early risers. Oranges are in the fridge.”

“The fridge?” he asksincredulously, but he does open it. “I’ve never met anyone who puts theiroranges in the fridge. Also… I don’t know. You’re up early too.”

Toris shrugs, mildly affronted that no oneappears to understand the proper method of storing oranges. He finishes hissandwich while Tuomi peels the orange, then goes to brush his teeth. When hereturns to the kitchen, he does run into Eduard, who’s winding his headphonesaround his phone and wearing a bathrobe. The balcony is chilly in the mornings.

“Hey,” Eduard says, both of them standing inthe narrow door opening, “off to work, hm?”

“Yeah.” Toris flicks a glance at Tuomi, whogestures with a piece of orange.

“Just pretend I’m not here,” he says, grinning.

Toris looks back at Eduard, momentarilyconfused, and then realizes the domestic picture they paint; he in his tackywork shirt and Eduard with his messy hair and bathrobe, hovering in the doorwayjust before he leaves. Tuomi thinks they’re shy. Eduard messes up his hair evenmore when he runs his fingers through it; Toris catches his bony wrist beforehe can start chewing on his nails again and meets his eye.

“I’ll see you this evening,” he says, softlybut probably loud enough for Tuomi to hear. “Have fun.”

“Yeah, no, we will,” Eduard stutters. “Have agood, uhm…”

Toris looks up at him steadily, searching thefamiliar light eyes until Eduard gives a minuscule nod. Then, trying not tothink about it, he leans up to press their lips together. It’s a little toohard to even be considered a kiss, and barely lasts a second, but Toris canfeel himself flushing, for once not from the heat, so he waves at Tuomi anddashes to the front door so fast he nearly trips over his own feet.

Outside, he leans against the wall and tries tocalm his heart. That was ridiculous. They should definitely get better at that.

Still. He touches his lips. Shakes his head. Hebrushes his hair away and rushes down to catch his bus. It’s going to beanother long day.

“You look tired,” is the first thing Eduardsays to him when he gets home. He’s in the kitchen, making dinner while hiscousin sets the tiny table outside.

“Well, I am.” He pulls his red workshirt over his head and throws it vaguely in the direction of the washingmachine at the end of the kitchen. The tank top he wears underneath is stickingto his back.

“Sorry.”

Toris grunts vaguely in reply, then hooks hischin over Eduard’s shoulder to look at the pans just in time for Tuomi’sreturn. Eduard smells like the shampoo he uses, which Toris belatedly realizesis a weird thing to notice, and he shivers when Toris’s hair, which has beenescaping from its ponytail all day, brushes against his neck. Tuomi only smilesand nods at them, taking some cutlery outside.

“That’s a good one,” Eduard says softly, movingthe shoulder that Toris’s chin is resting on.

“I know.” Toris smiles. “How long until this isdone? Can I take a shower before dinner?”

“Go ahead. It’ll simmer for a while.” Hegestures with his wooden spoon, which makes Toris laugh. He feels, more thanhears, the man huff, shoulder jumping.

He promises Eduard to be right out, and takes awonderfully cool shower, letting the water soothe his sore muscles. He wishes hewere as passionate about his job as Eduard is, instead of being stuck in thatstore day after boring day. It isn’t that he hates it, but it isn’t what hewants for the rest of his life either.

Well. This is not the time to think about that.

Dinner is pleasant; Eduard and Tuomienthusiastically share stories about their day, and Tuomi plays his guitaruntil the downstairs neighbor yells up at them to stop making so much noise.When Toris feels his eyes start to get heavy, he first lets his head drop on Eduard’sshoulder, which is actually not that pleasant at all, since it’s rather pointy,and then announces he’s going to bed. He stands up. Stretches. He looks down atEduard, whose glasses flicker with the reflection of the candle on the table.

“Goodnight,” the man says softly. He tilts hischin up, as if in question. Toris inhales sharply in realization.

“Night,” he returns. He puts his hands on thearmrests of Eduard’s chair and leans over to him until his hair brushes againsthis face, which makes him chuckle and push his fingers into it. Their legs aretucked together, Toris leaning against the chair. He, again, tries not to thinkabout anything, but his pulse has skyrocketed and he is very keenly aware ofTuomi sitting just there and how warm Eduard’s fingers are.

But his lips are even warmer, and this timeit’s a kiss for sure, a soft, short brush of their mouths. Toris swallowsheavily when he stands up straight, while Eduard clears his throat.

“Goodnight, Toris,” Tuomi says cheerfully, and itsnaps him back.

“Right, you too.” He scampers inside.

What in the world is going on here?It’s not even weird to kiss him, it’s just… Good.

Which is… Probably a bit not good,all things considered.

When Toris wakes with a start, it’s still dark,and he is shaking, breathing unsteadily. His heart pounds in his throat.

He can’t remember the dream – he hardly evercan – but he knows enough to have to sit up on the edge of the bed and put hishead in his hands. Try to calm his breathing. He can do this. In, out.

“Toris?” Eduard mumbles from the dark. There’sthe snap of his glasses opening. Toris doesn’t think he can speak withoutwheezing.

“Hey.” Rustling, then the mattress dipping nextto him. A hand on his back. Slow circles, ever larger.

Toris presses his fingertips against hiseyelids until the dark dances with sparks. Eduard tangles his fingers in hishair silently, and he leans back into the touch.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be. Do you want some water?”

Toris nods, but regrets doing so when Eduardleaves for the kitchen. He stares at the crack of light coming in from the opendoor until he comes back, then takes the glass of water with a small smile.Eduard sits back down next to him and resumes whatever he’s trying to do to hishair. He hasn’t turned any lights on, for which Toris is grateful.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Toris sayseventually, when he has drained his water. He looks at Eduard with one eye, andthe man shakes his head.

“You know I don’t mind.” He bites the thumbnailof his free hand. “I didn’t know you still had nightmares.”

Toris shrugs. “They don’t happen often anymore.Not like in college.” He studies his glass. Presses it against his wrists.“Usually when I’m sleeping somewhere new.”

“Some— Oh. You could have told me. We couldhave used your room.”

“I didn’t think about it.” Then, when he feelsEduard’s fingers tighten ever so slightly, “Honestly. That’s how seldom theyhappen. I guess I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Okay.” Eduard’s hand is slipping down to reston Toris’s neck. “If you say that, I believe you. Please talk to me if you needto, though.”

Toris half-laughs, “You wouldn’t be a very goodboyfriend if I couldn’t do that, right?”

“Right,” he breathes. Toris can’t help but lookup at him, and when their eyes meet, he becomes very aware of every part of hisbody that’s touching him all of a sudden. Their thighs and arms and Eduard’shand on his neck. They both just breathe.

“Thanks,” Toris eventually says. He soundsraspy.

“No problem.”

Again, Toris thinks, what in the world is goingon?

The next day, Toris sludges his way through amorning shift, and when he comes home, he find Tuomi arguing with Liz overthe proper storage method for oranges. He watches the two of them for a while,dumbfounded as to what she is even doing in his apartment, and where is Eduardanyway? They’re so engrossed in their discussion that they don’t even seem tonotice him. Much as he wants to chime in with his opinion, agreeing with Liz,he decides to back out to go and splash some water on his face.

Eduard is in the bathroom. He’s toweling hishair dry at top speed, and not wearing a shirt. Toris identifies a little wetlump of fabric on top of the laundry hamper as a familiar t-shirt.

“Toris?” Eduard squints at him.

“Yeah,” he says, faintly amused. “What’s goingon?”

“Liz is going on,” Eduard explains unhelpfully.He wrings his shirt out over the shower drain and throws it into the laundry.Then, he puts his glasses on and looks surprised about the fact that isactually in the laundry.

“Liz is going on?” Toris laughs. “She’s arguingwith Tuomi about oranges in the kitchen, so I suppose you’re right, but still.What’s she doing here?”

“Oranges? Nevermind that.” Eduard hobbles tohis bedroom, probably to pick out a new shirt. Toris wanders after him afterquickly splashing his face. He leans against the doorpost and doesn’t noticethat Eduard’s chest is still wet because is not looking at it. At all.

“She showed up for lunch,” Eduard explains whenhe has a clean shirt on. “Which is fine, it’s been fun, but she and Tuomi alsomanaged to get water all over me. Have you eaten?” he adds, as an apparentafterthought.

Toris nods.

“Good. How do you feel about going to the lakethis afternoon? I’m afraid Tuomi and Liz are going to break our house down ifwe stay here, and I don’t think Mrs Grumpy downstairs would appreciate that.”

Laughing, Toris agrees to a trip to the lake.No movement will be required at the lake; maybe he can even take a nap, as longas they take a parasol… Which they don’t have, he’s pretty sure. A tree willdo.

He did not anticipate the orange argumentlasting all the way through the car ride there.

Later, when the sky is already turning vaguelyorange and Eduard is, inevitably, turning vaguely red, and Toris didn’t take anap but he is covered in sand and Liz is wearing Tuomi’s shirt as a cape, thefour of them lounge around by the edge of the lake until Tuomi proposes to goget his guitar, which he insisted on bringing, from the car. He and Liz start ascuffle over his shirt. Eduard grins widely, and Toris has to smile at him.

“You feeling alright now?” Eduard asks in anundertone. He pushes his glasses up on his sweaty nose, scrunching it a little.

“Yeah.”

Eduard nudges him with his shoulder. “Good.”

Liz, having won the battle for Tuomi’s shirt,flops down across from them, spilling sand everywhere when she shakes out herlong hair, wavy from the water.

“It’s good to be out for a while,” she says. “Ihad no idea so many preparations went into a wedding. Then again, I guess it’sonly as complicated as you make it.”

The both of them mumble vague confirmations.Eduard sags into Toris a little, like he does when they’re on the couch. Torisshakes his head at the weird tense of the thought; as if it’s a habit thatthey’ve had for a long time instead of a week-old one they forced uponthemselves. Even if forced is a big word.

“But look at you two!” Liz continues. And thento Tuomi as he returns with his guitar, “Aren’t they adorable?”

Tuomi just laughs, and Eduard makes anembarrassed noise, hiding his face against Toris’s shoulder. The sand scrapesunpleasantly between them. How did it get there, even?

“Aw,” Liz continues, grin wide, “don’t be likethat, Ed. We’re happy for you!”

“They’re shy,” Tuomi mumbles, plucking at hisguitar, gently tuning it.

“Only because you’re embarrassing,” Eduardretorts, though he’s still leaning on Toris’s shoulder.

He doesn’t move for a while, even as Tuomistarts playing, and Liz joins him in a medley of classics sung in terribleharmonies. Clearly, Eduard is the best singer in the family. When Liz asks toplay the guitar for a minute, Tuomi orders her to go wash the sand off first,which results in her pointing out how much sandier than her Toris is, which inturn, of course, results in all of them splashing into the water, even Tuomi.

While Toris is attempting to rinse the sandfrom his hair, leaning back into the lake, Eduard hovers nearby. He shakes hishair out. Raises his eyebrows at him in question.

Eduard smiles wryly and asks, “You wouldn’thappen to know why Raivis has been sending me texts with kissy faces in them,would you?”

“No idea,” Toris says, widening his eyes in anattempt at an innocent look, but he starts laughing at the same time, so it hasvery little effect.

“Sometimes I really don’t like you very much,”Eduard sighs. Toris only laughs louder, then gets a mouth full of water whenEduard pushes him over. When he resurfaces, spluttering, his friend isgrinning, the familiar sparkle in his eyes once again.

“What? You can’t dunk me,” he says,faux-innocent. “I’m wearing glasses.”

But these are old glasses, Toris knows that,worn specifically because they might get wet. And he’s not giving up a chanceat revenge. He lunges at Eduard, a battle cry that’s half laughter ripping fromhis throat. They both go under the cool water this time, and up again, andEduard splashes water into Toris’s face when Toris attempts to trip himunderwater. There are drops sliding down his glasses, but he’s grinning whilethey splash around like children.

After a short while, their battle dies down,and Eduard slides his glasses up into his hair. They’re submerged up to halftheir chests now. Tuomi and Liz are shouting in amusement from nearer theshore. Toris sees Eduard’s gaze flick over to them, though he can’t imaginehe’s seeing much of anything at the moment. They hover close together.

Eduard’s fingers are on Toris’s waist, andToris’s own hand floats somewhere near his chest. Fingers curling. He looksover his shoulder at Eduard’s cousins. Liz waves. Tuomi winks. He looks back atEduard. His eyes are sharp without the glasses framing them.

When Eduard leans forward to push Toris’s wethair away from his face, Toris expects the kiss. He touches Eduard’s chest.

He doesn’t expect it to last.

But it does.

It lasts long enough for him to wrap both hisarms around Eduard’s neck, pulling himself up so they’re the same height. Totaste the water clinging to his lips. Feel the long fingers slide down hisback. Eduard is warm. Toris feels overheated.

He can’t say how long it really was, but whenthey break apart, the hooting coming from the shore snaps them both back toreality.

“Get some, Ed!” Liz shouts. Tuomi breaks downlaughing.

“We’re, uhm…” Eduard starts, and doesn’tcontinue.

“We’re getting good at this,” Toris offersbreathlessly, looking anywhere but his face.

The only reply he gets is a weak, “Reallygood.”

By the time they’re back home, everyone isexhausted, so they take turns showering and crash. Toris is grateful for thefact that he doesn’t really have to talk with Eduard.

“Night, Ed,” he says.

“Goodnight,” Eduard replies. “Good dreams.”

“Good dreams,” Toris mumbles into the dark. “Ihope.”

Only two more days.

The next day, a Friday, dawns as sunny as therest of the month, and with Toris pinned in place by half of Eduard’s weight ontop of him. It is very uncomfortable.

“It’s too warm for this,” he mumbles,attempting to push him off. And, ew, they’re sticking together. “Why did youthink that was a good idea?”

“’Cause ‘m very smart, ‘s why,” comes theunexpected, barely decipherable reply, muffled into Toris’s shirt.

Toris has a hard time believing that at thisexact moment. He pushes at Eduard until he moves, looks at the clock and seesthat it is still insanely early – of course, or Eduard would have been up – butnow he’s awake, so he might as well go and take a short shower. With anabsentminded pat on Eduard’s head, he hobbles to the bathroom.

When he’s done, Toris finds Tuomi in thekitchen once more. He is trying to feed the hamsters.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi, Toris. Off to work again?”

“Hm, no. I’ve got the day off. Just couldn’tsleep.”

“It’s the heat.” Tuomi nods in sympathy.

Toris ambles down to the mailboxes after eatinga slice of bread with some honey, saying hi to their grumpy downstairs neighboron the way and speedwalking away from the overzealously religious gentlemannext to her. He has no desire to try to be converted today.

There is a letter addressed to him in the mail,his name and address printed on a neat label. His heart leaps into his throat.He quickly takes the mail back to their apartment, where Eduard is now alsofloating around in the kitchen. His fingers shake when he fumbles the envelopeopen. Eduard chews his disgusting cornflakes slowly, obviously staring at him.

Dear Mr Laurinaitis, Toris reads, and then he has to take a deepbreath before reading the next line. When he does, he presses his lips togethertightly to stop a loud yell from escaping.

“Toris?” Eduard asks softly. He looks up athim, clutching the paper. Grins so widely that his cheeks hurt, lower lipcaught between his teeth. Eduard’s eyes widen. He puts his spoon down and jumpsup.

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” Toris bursts, waving the letter back andforth. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Eduard utters a cry of triumph and throwshimself at Toris, nearly knocking him over with the force of his hug – andnothing about that is acted, Toris can feel it in his bones. Eduard knows howanxiously he’s been waiting for this message, was more confident than Torishimself that it would be a positive one. He wraps his arms around Eduard’sneck, burying his face in them.

“I told you,” Eduard mutters into his ear. “Ifucking told you, Toris.”

“I know, I know.” He pulls his head back alittle, and somehow it’s the most natural thing in the world to lean hisforehead against Eduard’s, their noses touching. Toris is still unable to stopsmiling, and his vision is slightly blurry beyond the turquoise of his friend’seyes, but it doesn’t matter. Eduard’s hands are on his back, barely-moving intiny circles. What part of this is acted, if any part, he can’t tell, and thatdoesn’t matter either.

“Congratulations,” Eduard whispers, his breathhot on Toris’s skin. He slides his fingers around his jaw slowly, and somehowthis is worse, and at the same time so much better than kissing him. They areclose without doing anything else, just breathing. Their legs touch, from kneesto hips. Never before have they done anything like this, but Toris wishes thatthey would. It makes him feel safe. It also makes him feel… Tingly.

A faint cough pulls them both out of theirweird stasis.

Tuomi looks amused, pretending as he is to bevery interested in the lock screen of Eduard’s tablet.

“Uhm,” Eduard says. He removes his fingers fromToris’s face and steps back.

“Should I go for a walk?” Tuomi asks, nowlooking up through his pale eyelashes. “It seems as though you two havesomething to celebrate.”

Eduard actually glances back at Toris as ifasking for an answer to that, but he shakes his head. If anything, he isn’tsure what’ll happen if they’re left alone now, when the warm air seems tocrackle between them. Whatever that is, it probably isn’t much good.

“Sorry,” Eduard just tells his cousin, butTuomi waves it away.

“And congratulations, on whatever that is,” headds, at Toris.

“Oh, well.” He starts grinning again, unable tohelp himself. He catches an undeniably fond look on Eduard’s face. “I’ve got anew job! The historical library in town is – was, I guess – looking for a newcustodian. And it’s me!” He waves a little, awkwardly. Someone like Tuomi, withhis tattoos and his guitar, probably isn’t that interested in old books andwould think it is incredibly boring to hang around them all day, but Toriscan’t imagine anything better. He loves history, as much as Eduard loves musicand his freaky computer codes and the disgusting cereal.

“Congratulations!” Tuomi repeats, moreheartfelt this time. Shaking Toris’s hand enthusiastically, he adds, “That doescall for a celebration! How about I make dinner tonight?”

Eduard makes a strangled noise. Tuomi rolls hiseyes at him.

“I promise I won’t burn down your house. You’ve got tolet that go, Ed, honestly.”

Burn down their house? Alarmed, Toris looksover at Eduard, then back at Tuomi.

“It was only the kitchen,” the man assures him. Not veryreassuringly. “I was fourteen! I panicked!”

“I don’t think Uncle Daniel ever forgave you,”Eduard muses.

With a bright smile, Tuomi says, “I don’t thinkhe did! That’ll be fun at Liz’s wedding tomorrow. Toris, care for some groceryshopping?”

Even when he’s in Eduard’s car, Toris is unsurehow he got roped into this.

Grocery shopping with Tuomi is fun, butexhausting. He bounces through the supermarket, pointing out things he likes toToris from time to time, talking about his fiancé and who he has played guitarfor lately and the song he and Eduard have made for Liz’s wedding. He actuallysings a few bars of that one, which results in an employee giving him a verystrange look indeed, but he seems not to care. Toris is vaguely impressed.

“You know,” Tuomi says, when they’re finallyback outside, the heat slamming into them like a wall, “I really amvery pleased about you and Eduard.”

“Oh?” Toris asks faintly, feeling a trickle ofguilt settle in his stomach.

“Yeah!” He shoves their shopping bag into thetrunk of the car and wipes his messy blond hair out of his face. “You’re goodfor him, I think that’s obvious. Whether as a friend or, you know, a boyfriend.Ed deserves to be happy.”

“That he does,” Toris can’t help but agree.

Tuomi nods slowly, opening the driver’s sidedoor.

“I think you make him happier.” The words aresoftly spoken, but Toris has to lean against the scorching exterior of the carfor a few seconds when they seem to hit him square in the chest like an evenbigger wall.

When he thinks about it – imagining the future,he’s always pictured Eduard there, in some undefined role, but next to him.What if he wouldn’t be? The thought makes him shiver.

“Toris?” Tuomi asks from inside the car.

“I think he makes me happier too,” Toris tellsthe shimmering air over the parking lot.

They spend the afternoon in a nearby park.Tuomi plays the guitar and Eduard refuses to sing until Toris goads him intoit. He really is very good.

This leads to Tuomi telling Toris that the bothof them used to be in a choir – Eduard looks mortified to have this revealed,especially when Tuomi turns out to have a picture saved on his phone of Eduardas a little boy in a frankly adorable purple outfit. The cousins scuffle overthe phone. Toris laughs and doesn’t complain when Eduard flops over his legs afterthe inevitable defeat.

Later still, Eduard anxiously chews on hisfingernails while Tuomi putters around in the kitchen, having shooed him outminutes before.

Without looking up from his book, Toris reachesout and tugs his hand down. He lets his fingers linger on the warm skin of hiswrist and reads the same paragraph three times without parsing a single word.Eduard is still.

Tuomi’s spaghetti tastes delicious. Toris makessure to compliment him profusely until he breaks down laughing and Eduard pushesat his shoulder in embarrassment.

A cool wind rolls into the city by nightfall,so they move inside and play some cards. When Tuomi proposes to turn it into adrinking game, Toris grits his teeth and breathes slowly. He’s trying to starea hole into the tabletop when he feels Eduard’s long fingers curl around hiswrist, then down to his palm and between his own fingers, tangling their handstogether.

“I don’t drink,” he tells Tuomi, who shrugs andtilts his head curiously, but doesn’t ask anything. Eduard squeezes his handslightly.

That night, when they’re both crammed intoEduard’s bed again, Toris finds his friend’s arm and runs his fingers down thewarm skin, feeling goosebumps rise under his fingertips.

“Night, Ed,” he says.

“Goodnight.” He sounds hoarse.

How will this end?

The next day, Tuomi and Eduard put thefinishing touches on the embarrassing song they created for Liz in the morning,and before the afternoon, all three of them walk through the heat to where thewedding will take place, which is just around the corner of the street. Torisfeels slightly guilty about coming along, since he has only been invited as‘Eduard’s boyfriend’, but he can’t very well voice that thought while Tuomi isstill right there, can he?

Toris is caught, for the first time that he canremember, by the thought that Eduard looks good. He has gotten abit of a tan lately, and the top buttons of his neat white shirt are undone,revealing the dip of his throat. Objectively speaking, Toris knows he’sgood-looking, if a bit dorky most of the time, but he’s never… Noticed.Never looked at Eduard and thought, yes, now that’s someone I want to—

He shakes himself. He doesn’t really thinkthings like that anyway, not often.

Not until he really knows someone.Until he’s learned to care about their personality and oddities and the waythey bite their nails or sing along to Céline Dion when they’re stressed.

Oh, god.

How long has he been falling in love with hisbest friend without even realizing it?

The wedding is beautiful; Liz looks gorgeous,and she seems so happy that Toris feels himself get a little emotional too.Although that might also have something to do with Tuomi blowing his nose nextto him. Eduard can’t quite hide his laughter.

Eduard’s parents arrive later in the afternoonto congratulate Liz and her brand new spouse. Toris and Eduard share one lookand bolt.

“We forgot about my parents!” Eduard hisses,while they’re hiding behind the cake, which is a giant thing in several shadesof green. It tasted great. Toris wonders if he can get away with taking anotherslice.

“No, really?”

“What if she tells them we’re dating?”

Toris tugs Eduard’s hand down from his mouth.“I don’t know! Let’s just play along? At some point we’re gonna have to pretendto – to break up. Right?”

They look at each other again, longer thistime. Eduard pushes his glasses up, averting his gaze.

“Right. Okay.”

They needn’t have worried, because Eduard’sparents leave quickly after saying goodbye to Eduard, apparently having morepressing matters to attend to than their niece’s wedding.

“Ah, well, you’re a Mets or you aren’t a Mets,”Eduard shrugs, which makes very little sense to Toris, but he lets it slide. Hegenerally doesn’t see much of Eduard’s parents; he thinks he’s only met themthrice in all the years he’s known Eduard. His own mother used to come overevery weekend in college until he wanted to impress a girl and decided to beembarrassed by it.

He smiles down at his soup. That girl never didlike him very much.

Afternoon weddings are good, he has decided.Even if they are very hot. You don’t have to mess up your entire sleepschedule, people are less inclined to get drunk, and you can actually see thenewlyweds scowl at their cousins(-in-law) when they perform their embarrassingsong.

After dinner, there is some more dancing, thetraditional speeches from friends, and by ten, things are winding down. Nodoubt they’ll go on for a while, but Toris really doesn’t feel much for hangingaround with people he barely knows, who thinks he’s his best friend’sboyfriend. He seeks out Eduard, who’s talking to one of Liz’s new in-laws, andasks him for the keys to the apartment – since they gave the spare set to Tuomi.

“You’re going?”

“Hmh. If you don’t mind.”

Eduard bites his lip. “I think I’ll come withyou, actually. I’ve got to take Tuomi to the airport early tomorrow morning. He is flying out to see his fiancé.”

So he says goodbye to the woman he was talkingto, waves at Liz, who’s dancing with Tuomi’s dad, and walks home with Toris.The cool wind is back, rolling through the street and ruffling his hair, tintedred in the light of the setting sun. Toris catches himself thinking beautiful,and his heart clenches, because it’s nearly over. Their little charade.

But then, does either of them really want it toend? He’s uncertain about the answer to that question. Uncertain if he wants toknow, really.

They laugh about the parody song all up thestairs and into their apartment. Toris pulls his hair out of its half-upponytail and stretches. Yawns.

“It’s not that late yet,” Eduard says, clearlyamused. It is barely half past ten, but Toris is knackered.

“Your family is very tiring,” he jokes, combinghis fingers through his hair. Eduard huffs.

“I can’t say you’re wrong.”

Toris smiles. Looks up at him. The tip of hisnose is a little red, and so are his cheeks. A button or two more of his shirthas come undone. Toris tilts his head thoughtfully.

“Toris?”

Then he decides not to think about it any more.He hooks his fingers into the shirt, fingertips touching hot skin. CatchesEduard’s widening eyes, the familiar-unfamiliar flicker in them. He catches thetiny nod. So he kisses him.

This time, he does expect it to last, and itdoes. Eduard’s hands are in his hair, tangling in the messy strands, keepinghim close. Like Toris was going anywhere. He closes his eyes tightly, presseshimself as much against Eduard as possible. Hands on his shoulder blades – helets his fingers curl into the shirt – and legs tucked together, and his lipsare searing against his own. They are sweet and full and Torischases after Eduard when he pulls back ever so slightly, because he doesn’tthink he’ll ever get enough of this.

And then the front door opens, and Eduardsprings back, pressing himself against the opposite wall in the narrow hall.His lips are red and his breathing hard, and he looks dejected when he seesTuomi standing in the doorway, holding his hands out apologetically.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he grins. “I wasright behind you, I guess I should have known.”

Toris swallows. Eduard pushes off the wall.

“Good catch,” he mumbles at Toris, and then hedisappears to the bathroom. Toris stares after him.

“Sorry?” Tuomi says again. Toris can’t help buthate him a tiny little bit at the moment.

Eduard is pretending to sleep, and Torisdecides not to say anything to him. They’ll figure it out in themorning.

Of course, Eduard is gone when Toris gets up togo to work, which is much more enjoyable knowing he won’t be doing it for muchlonger.

He still isn’t home when Toris gets there inthe late afternoon, and he doesn’t respond to his texts either.

Well, fine. If he wants to be childish, Torisisn’t going to argue with him about that. He’ll have to come around.Eventually.

When Eduard does show up, he brings dinner andlooks suitably bashful. Also weirdly apprehensive.

If Toris was waiting for him to say anythingabout last night, he is disappointed. Eduard seems content pretendingeverything is back to regular. He even sits on his previously-normal spot onthe couch. All of it makes Toris feel unsettled, and vaguely angry. He knows thatwasn’t nothing. Both of them know that. Eduard can’t possibly think it isn’tlike that for him, can he?

All in all, it makes for a rather tenseevening.

“I’m going to go to sleep,” Eduard announces atabout eleven. It occurs to Toris that he could have moved his stuff back to hisown bedroom, but he just…

“No,” he says, standing up.

“What?”

“No, you’re going to listen to me. Please. Iknow you read my messages, and you didn’t respond. I was worried. And nowyou’re acting like—” Toris makes a vague hand gesture.

Shrugging, Eduard says, “I’m sorry. It’s been aweird week, you have to admit.”

“Yes, I’ll grant you that.” Toris steps up tohim, inserting himself into his space. He tucks his hair behind his ears. Biteshis cheek. Sighs. Eduard swallows visibly.

There it is again, that crackle between them.Toris tries to catch it.

“Eduard,” he says, and the man in questionparts his lips, “I swear to you, I didn’t know Tuomi was right behind us lastnight. For all I knew, he was still dancing with some aunt or uncle or godknows who.”

Eduard’s eyebrows crease. He opens his mouth.Closes it. His eyes are bright.

“Then why did you kiss me?” he whispers.

“Why did you kiss back?” Toris returns. “Youobviously didn’t know.”

It’s silent for a long time, but neither ofthem breaks away from the other’s gaze. Toris can feel his heart beating in histhroat like a drum.

“Because I wanted to,” Eduard eventually says.

“Yes?”

“And I want to. And I know… Iknow things have been weird, but I just…” He sighs. “I don’t know, Toris. MaybeI’m getting it all wrong, you know? Maybe we’re both confused.”

“If we were…” Toris thinks for a few seconds.“If we were confused, then we still ought to figure it out. But I don’t think Iam.”

Eduard leans forward, almost touching theirforeheads together, and whispers, “Why did you kiss me?”

“Because I wanted to, Eduard.Because I realized that I’ve never imagined my life without you in it, and whenI did, it scared me. Because it felt right. What more do you want?”

A huff, and a smile edging around his lips.Long fingers on Toris’s jaw. He curls his own hands into Eduard’s shirt.

“Nothing, really,” Eduard says, and he kissesToris.

It lasts.

[droesslervalente1996]

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