#someone complained that he only does hallmark stuff now

[demisexualnathanvuornos]

Funny thing happened as I was checking Lucas Bryant's imdb page, as one does. Suddenly there was a new/old entry. Apparently he was in two episodes of a show in Australia in 2022.

He was in a show called Irreverent, an Australian one season show with Colin Donnell which is a remake/version of the sitcom Impastor with Michael Rosenbaum around 2016. I've watched one ep of that show (2x1) because an actor I like was supposed to be on it (she wasn't). Impastor was a straight up comedy with a Lutheran joke I still think about. So I thought I'd check this new imdb info out and the show. This time imdb was right.

So I checked Irreverent 1x4 which Lucas is credited for and sure enough he is right there from the start of the episode. It's a flashback where main character's shitty father (Lucas) almost let's him drown. Very different start than I expected based on Impastor. The rest of the show is an hour long comedy so the scene feels even weirder in context. Lucas is also briefly in 1x6. It's a very different role than the ones he usually does. The show aired on Peacock but can be found elsewhere.

Again, as someone who checks Lucas' imdb page quite regularly, it's weird I haven't heard anything about this in the year and a half since this would have aired in Australia/USA. It's odd that he did promo work for Five More Minutes Moments Like These without mentioning that he did some acting in Australia. He must not update his imdb much.

[chillinglyadventurous]

Got some Stanley fluff for ya (just an idea, I probably could flesh it out more but it’s a scene I’ve thought about a lot)

Old man Stan with his younger partner are curled up together on his old, yellow recliner. You’re sitting between his legs, side pressed to his chest while your legs fall over the armrest.

Stan is holding you so securely as he focuses on whatever shitty hallmark movie is playing, fingers rubbing against your hip stalling as he scoffs at whatever stupid decision the characters in the movie make.

But all you can do is laugh and kiss under his jaw while he complains, nuzzling your face into his neck when he stumbles over his words. Huffing now about how you’re throwing him off by acting how the characters in the movie should be acting.

I just wanna sweetly fluster the old man and make him feel loved.

The Duchess Approves

Thank you so much for request! I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to get to it. I’m just happy to get a Stan request. I’m a Ford girl, but I do love some Stanley. He’s the sweetest goober.

Tags: Fluff

You gave a relaxed sigh even as Stan talked over the TV. You were laid across him on his recliner. Your rear was between his legs , head on his chest, while your ankles were crossed over one of the arm rests. At first, you had hated that ugly, yellow chair. Now, it was the most comfortable place in the world.

When you had first started seeing Stan, he would take you out and show you off. However, the sugar baby allegations were too much for you to deal with. You loved this man. You didn’t care that he was forty years older than you. However, everyone else in town did.

Despite his assurances, it made you about uncomfortable. “Don’t worry, babe,” he had smirked, “they’re just jealous I get you all to myself.”

Still, you much preferred where you were now with your side pressed firm to his chest. You could tell he was trying to suck in the pudge he often hid behind a girdle. If only he knew how much you loved it.

Usually, his demeanor was so hard. His personality was gruff, but you knew the sweeter side, the softer side. That’s why you loved that little pooch that you could only ever full see when he was sleeping next to you.

“These idiots,” Stan grouched from above you. “Don’t they knew that’s not how you win a lady’s heart?” He bent you back in his lap and pressed a wet kiss to your mouth. When he pulled away, his face was covered in a smile. You blushed so beautifully. “Now, that’s how you win a lady.”

The two of you had watched The Duchess Knows a million times. Stan always said you loved it whenever someone caught him gabbing on and on. In truth, you couldn’t stand it, but it made him happy, so you would sit through it.

Lazily, his fingers drew shapes on your hips through your pajama pants. Your head rested on his chest, peppering kisses under his chin. He was so engrossed in whatever sleazy moves Count Lionel was making.

In a twist, the Count kissed the Duchess’s sister. Stan scoffed, his fingers on your hip stilling. He looked down at you. “You’d kill me if I ever did that crap! Who does he think he’s foolin’?” He shook his head, “He’s definitely not fooling me. I clocked him as a cad the moment I saw him.”

“Takes one to know one,” you snarked. You gave him another kiss.

He glanced down at you for a brief moment. “Listen here, toots, I may be a cad, but I’m your cad. Get over it.”

“Silly old man,” you sighed as you rested your head on his chest again. He pulled you in tighter. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

He nestled you deeper into his hold, body pressed flush against your side. He gave a huff. “Ya know, hot stuff, I’d fight any pantaloon wearing geek for you. Defend your honor and all that mushy stuff.”

[inchidentally]

just me flipping out over landoscar over the past 48hrs :)

ohhh GOODDDDD the way the commentary here is already perfect but just to add!! both shuffle about and seem to do a little of their creepy unspoken communication and then both immediately slip their arms around each other at the same time before they both look over to Max at the same time. bc the slightly scary bonded little McLaren creatures need to remember the rest of the grid exists sometimes ;__;

a-amvryllis

also the fact that Oscar's growth spurt over the winter really is visible when they're stood this close

and yet he's still the same awkward recent-growth-spurts young lad that got delivered to Lando's driver's room last season. he doesn't know what to do in front of cameras and his instinct is still to have Lando dancing and sparkling like the natural star he is so that Oscar can stand just a bit behind and fulfill his own publicity quota by reacting to whatever Lando is getting up to

mecachrome

THE CHEST TAP ohhhh the way that Oscar requires very little physical touch and Lando craves it and they've just… figured it out !! Lando squeezes Oscar's shoulder, taps his arm, initiates a handshake, shuffles back a little bc Oscar's always standing just behind him, snuggles closer to him when they're in cars for the drivers parade and it's remotely cold… and taps Oscar's chest as a 'thank you'

bc for Oscar, he gets his emotional fill through his eyes. while he's perfectly content with most people to do glances and hold eye contact when someone's speaking directly to him. but his eyes l i n g e r where he's especially fond or affectionate or in love. he watches Lily when she's looking at other people, he watched Logan for when he seemed lonely or when they were talking and Logan would stare out at the crowd, and g o ddddddd does he love to watch Lando. you can track his eyes as they trace Lando's features and the way his smile responds to watching Lando's mouth.

yet there's also the way they've learned each other's ways of expressing care/affection/checking in bc Lando can trust that Oscar will be looking to him when something is awkward or unsure, and Oscar can trust that Lando will come to him and let him know how he's feeling aaaaaaand I just think that's !!!

bc no bromance, no cultivating a dynamic or relationship by blending their social lives, no performing in any way. all of their little hallmarks are the most unplanned, unintentional sweet things like the nicknames Lando accidentally started and only continued bc it makes Oscar so happy, to Oscar's hearteyes that he absolutely surely must know fandom teases him about but doesn't bother to change. them being opposites in certain things and then eerily similar in others.

all of it comes back to the way they communicate in ways everyone else has to interpret to understand - and even then it's not like we ever get to see the stuff they think and talk about behind their little privacy door and in the downtime we know they have but that isn't documented. like, I don't want to stretch too far by implying something too intense or specific but there's definitely a Their Own World kind of thing happening. whether or not it's smth they've specifically knowingly cultivated or if it's just naturally how their dynamic shakes out.

bc we all love to joke that Oscar's jealous of Carlos or Daniel or Franco - but then he brings them up on his own in friendly ways and is a very definite carlando! and ppl wanted to make a lot out of Lando openly complaining to an audience that Oscar doesn't like enough of the same thing as him so they don't hang out as much as he does other drivers he knows. but then after that they immediately start playing padel and oh it's okay now! it literally was as simple as Lando not knowing Oscar was up for padel even if golf and regular partying won't be! and that shared activities are not a defining quality of a relationship and Lando said "spends the least time with off track" about Oscar and not "likes the least" or "has the least interest in" lasfgslajgfsalf

and like, I'm always saying how of course they'll have the usual teammate fights or spats or tensions at some point! it happens! Lando is deeply ingratiated into Max V's life socially - moreso than anyone else on the grid with Lando - but they're ever so slightly on ice at the moment bc they're too similar when it comes to competitiveness. but they'll be back to normal when the season - or the WDC race - is done and finished. and nobody likes to document it for good reason but Carlos and Lando have had plenty of challenging moments and many a 'see?? we're fine!!' golf excursions or fan service videos to smooth an issue over (including the worst gifs of all time that I can't find anymore where Lando straight up looked murderous). and then ofc the "I don't feel sorry for him" Lando/Daniel DTS stuff that caused such a fandom headache. and Oscar's always had a very simple, on track the job is to win unless instructed otherwise and then off the track we interact as people not drivers. so it's fully normal to expect situations where they're not happy w each other and it shows! but it hasn't yet and that's honestly kind of weird!! esp when they don't have the big broey type of friendship that Lando's had with his other two teammates - you'd honestly expect him to feel more at ease in showing it when he's pissed off with Oscar bc there's nothing to keep up for fandom/PR sake and no messiness with shared friend groups etc to worry about. but he's cultivated an exceptionally and very pointed approach of This Is My Team and My Job/I'm Established, He Is Not Yet/I'm The Experienced One where he sees the team unity as especially important for him to publicly present and assert. like, for all he hated the idea of being the older one and no longer baby brother, he's responded to Low Maintenance Watchful Oscar in the long run as someone's he needs to take care of and whose place in the team is partly his own responsibility. he's not just one of the drivers, he's The Guy at McLaren and Oscar's extremely painful induction into the team and F1 with basically the whole world praying for his downfall was so vastly opposite to his own gradual and loving introduction that it's clear he's taking their disparities into account. a LOT. this moment being a prime example of him correcting fans because of that. and probably also an uncomfortable awareness of the segment of his own fandom who are able to inflict a special kind of hell on anyone they view as not 100% serving Lando, the object of their unhinged obsession and bias.

like, it's a side note I'll prob never be able to go too deeply into for just that reason^^ but this viewing Lando as a permanent victim whose every good deed is seen as Not Necessary and ignoring the huge differences in position within this sport and within McLaren between him and Oscar - and simply slotting Oscar into a space Carlos and Daniel held - totally undermines Lando's real life growth as a man who does understand that disparity and does appreciate that Oscar inhabits a space totally his own and nothing to do with his older, experienced teammates - and also a man who is saying and doing these things about teamwork and appreciation for Oscar in a way that responds to those differences while not remotely expecting Oscar to mimic or parrot it back because they're not equals in the sport or with the team (which makes logical sense !!) and they're not what Lando was with Carlos or Daniel. and in all the insanity I feel like this coddling, constantly pitying and victimized approach that still hearkens back to Lando being The Baby on the team - completely fails to show him appreciation for who he actually has become and what he actually does and says that is so specifically commendable and shows such growth and strength that is so admirable. the constant expectation that he's saying and doing these things in any way that expects Oscar to copy or mirror him - when their positions could not be more different or imbalanced !!!! - and ignoring the way Lando actually doesn't expect that and that he receives gratitude and appreciation from Oscar in a way that is unique to Oscar bc everyone is different !! by viewing Lando as always perfection and never in the wrong and any good deed being automatically greater than anyone else's good deed, he is cut off from authentic appreciation and praise of the individual real life complex person he actually is and that such flat, default levels of adoration will ring meaningless to him compared to people who can objectively give him praise him as objectively as they see his flaws !! and that's why Max F is his lifelong best friend above all others ! anyway !!!!!

and like. idk. part of me feels a suspicion that this private little world Lando and Oscar have - that they cultivated around the time they decided to pull a lot of their relationship off of social media and not use it for PR (apart from the bog standard team media) - is also them wisely deciding to keep their negotiation of this new front runner craziness entirely to themselves. bc of course things aren't all sunshine and roses between them all the time, but what's clear is how mutually and maturely they've approached each new bout of drama. especially considering they're so young and everyone expected that to be the downfall to Zak's plot to have two young generational talents. and EVERY time it would make perfect sense for them to snipe at each other through the press or be caught feeling cold toward each other - or someone strategically edits or crops media to make it look so - they're huddled together somewhere giggling or playing board games or sharing junk food ;__; the brain rot of stan culture threatens to destroy fandom experience for everyone else but meanwhile the objects of their obsession are sharing a conspiratorial look and grinning at each other.

like… Netflix AND an F1 reporter have quite literally goaded and begged for them to fight and hate each other and each time Oscar boldly steps forward with that cool expression and undermines the effort, with Lando literally cheering him on <3 <3

[glisten-inthedark]

Stoncy Hallmark AU

Jonathan is a photographer that is hired by Nancy and Steve to be photograph their Christmas wedding

He hates Steve on principle at first because Steve is filthy rich, doesn't have to worry about where the money for his next meal will come from and doesn't seem to be good for Nancy at all

But likes Nancy on the spot because she's cute but also kind of terrifying

But as the time passes and he goes to all these things with the couple to take their pictures for the upcoming wedding, he starts to feel things and deals with it as well as Grinch does when his heart grows three sizes.

He starts getting close to them both, learns how much Steve and Nancy are devoted to each other, how much Stevs cares about Nancy and vice versa and everything starts to hurt because he loves them both and they'll never love him back

Both Steve and Nancy in fact do love him back and are polyamorous. They constantly date other people separate from each other but they never fell for the person before.

Steve thinks Jonathan is straight and it's only interested in Nancy and it's willing to let it go if she gets to have Jonathan even though he really, really likes him a lot (ok, it's more than like but he can't tell Nancy because she'll never be with Jonathan if she knows and he wants them to be happy more than anything)

Something something happens because it's Hallmark and there has to be some misunderstanding of some kind when Nancy tries to kiss Jonathan and he lashes out thinking they found out about how he feels and are playing with him.

Then Steve snaps when Jonathan is mean to Nancy and says to Jonathan how he has become complacent, how he rathers do shoots for stuff he doesn't give a shit about rather than branch out, how he pushes people way and then complains when they leave, how he can't accept that they both want him, they both love him because he's a fucking coward. And then obviously all three mope around until someone (probably Will let's face it) knock sense into Jonathan and convince him to do a grand gesture of love.

Now, who is the person that will write it for me pretty please with a cherry on top?

[unhingedhearties]

Sometimes A Photo Is Just A Photo

Erin and Ben are apparently back in Canada and were hanging out with Chris and his girlfriend/ fellow Hallmark actress.

Let's see how the infants handle it.

The "I'm Done With The Show" brigade is still stalking WCTH related posts.

"Damage Control". Boy, I hope a certain group of Hearties don't latch onto that phrase and repeat it over and over on this post like they tend to do when they can't come up with an independent thought.

This feels like it should be common sense, but don't ever "love" someone you've never met with "all your heart".

Oh look who it is. foxyinspiration right on cue to prove she doesn't have a thought in her head. Sadly I've already referenced the movie Screamers on this blog so I've got nothing besides hoping she ends up like Private Ross.

God forbid a woman do anything, right? Seriously, you're going to look at a photo where Ben's making a face like that but focus on Erin laughing "too hard".

Also, there are still people who don't believe Erin and Ben are a couple. Amazing.

37 freaking responses. Ugh… let's break these down. Without cheating, guess how many times they claim "damage control".

Private people are never allowed to go out with friends or show up in pictures on someone else's social media site. Are Chris and Julie actually private people or has the unhinged section of the Hearties fandom driven them to be more reserved and distant on social media? Just my opinion-thanks for your feedback though.

Some sanity prevails.

I try really hard to not make comments about people's grammar. I come from a large family of people who's first language isn't English. I learned English at a young age but it's still my second language. I get it. Having said that, what the hell are you trying to say? Also, judging by your profile picture, you're a middle aged woman. You are way too old to be speaking in hashtags. Grow up.

I don't know, maybe one of these two couples are new parents and have a small child at home that limits where/when/how they're able to go out? Maybe one of these two couples live in another country and only meet up when they have a movie that's filming near the other couple? Maybe… wait a minute. Hasn't Chris been in group pictures with Erin and the other actors? I don't obsess over the actor's personal lives so I don't know when he started dating Julie, but maybe they weren't together at the time so that's why she's not in those pictures. No that makes too much sense. Surely the reason Chris and Julie haven't been in a lot of photos with Erin and Ben is because… something to do with their character arcs from the last five seasons… but those seasons had different show runners… Look, none of this makes sense right now but I'll figure out a way to make it work. I'll start with my own conclusion and work backwards to justify it.

Stop making sense, you're upsetting the zoo animals!

Damn, I might be clairvoyant. markrymill said almost the same thing I said. Aaaaaaand of course she ignores all those points to accuse Erin of hiding comments. If Erin was actually wasting her time hiding comments, why are yours and all the other mindless parrots comments still visible? Maybe they got reported for being spam or harassment.

Say the line, Bart!

"a Governor's position that doesn't even exist in Canda!" Oh no! A historical inaccuracy in When Calls The Heart!? Wait, are we in favor of that or against it? Fans keep changing their opinion on that point. And like any of the people watching WCTH care about Canadian history. "Supposedly given a hero's arc yet he doesn't get the girl?" Women are just trophies for men to collect. Lucas is set up to maybe have an actual exciting storyline where his character does something for the greater good of society, but who cares. He didn't get the pretty decoration. It's amazing that these people will complain about the quality of the stories and writing but then say dumb stuff like this. Chris might have the chance to do something really good with his character besides look over a balcony and sip tea from a dainty cup but his own fans want to stop that.

Listen up Team Smooth-Brain. I want you to follow along so grab a safety pencil and a circle of paper: For this to have been set-up, Erin would have had to fly out to Canada, taking Ben with her. She would have then had to call up Chris and Julie, hope that neither of them were working that day, convince them to not only go out to lunch, but tell them to get a baby-sitter for their however many months old baby. Instead of picking a restaurant with decent lightning she picked this florescent nightmare for her staged photo. She then told everyone to smile, took the photo, and posted it to her Instagram page to… what exactly? What was her plan to control people's reactions? Because the people who are fine with WCTH were going to write the same generic "lol so cute to see you guys be friends" comments they were always going to write and the people who stomp their feet like toddlers who didn't get the toy they wanted were going to write the same "this is all fake damage control trying to control the narrative Chris is being forced at metaphorical gun point to smile in these photos" CSI bullshit they post on every one of her photos.

I hear Chris was offered a roll on a new show called Grease: Rise of the Pink Ladies. He should quit WCTH and devote all of his time to that instead.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! :D

"they are trying to manipulate us again. Not gonna happen 😢" I didn't know Hallmark had MKUltra agents on their marketing team.

#AnyoneButNathan

I hope When Calls The Heart gets another show runner and I hope they break Elizabeth and Nathan up and pair Elizabeth with a woman. Any woman*. I hope this show keeps going for however many seasons it takes to get a lesbian relationship with a major character.

*Except Fiona or Faith because those two are destined to be together and you can't convince me otherwise.

"Erin you're posting too many Kevin photos. It's rubbing salt in the wounds of heart broken Lucabeth fans who have PTSD just like those people currently in warzones and it's totally not tone-deaf of us to say that." "Erin you're posting all these photos of Chris to try and manipulate us into watching the next season. It's very cruel and sadistic of you." "Erin you're not fooling anyone by posting both Chris and Kevin photos. We're not falling for your damage control."

[anonymous-dentist]

I'm still thinking about this, so okay:

Willy has expressed interest in both casual arson and murder and in being a parent. He said the only way he'd start killing everyone like he normally would in a series is if something bad happened to his egg. He's also really fucking poor, as in I'm pretty sure his spawn point might still be the event place from Monday when he first arrived because he's been so busy gathering materials for explosives and pranks that he hasn't build himself a fucking house yet. He has a gun and three stacks of gunpowder and a stack of tnt and a goddamn projector, but he doesn't have a house.

He wants a house. He wants Things. He wants a sugar daddy, and who better to be your sugar daddy than the goddamn president of the island??

It'd give him materials for his bombs, and it'd give him the son he seems to actually want (for once.) If someone even looked at Richarlyson the wrong way, Willy would probably start chasing them around with a mine like he did to Roier yesterday when Roier jokingly stole a diamond chestplate from him.

But then... what about Forever?

Well, Forever only goes after men he thinks he doesn't have a chance with because he lowkey doesn't think he deserves love. That's sad, and it's why he won't accept Bad or Max's feelings for him but he will still (jokingly) "flirt" with Philza. He's still lowkey hung up on his weird ex-boyfriend. He's been actively closing himself off from everybody else except for the Brazilians + Phil and Phil's Eggs because he doesn't really feel valued or trusted anymore, especially since the election. He feels used, and he's tired of it.

So why would he accept Willy's feelings? Especially since he'd be pursued because Willy Wants Fancy Things, which is kinda why Forever has lowkey been isolating himself.

It's easy. He wouldn't.

But what he would do is hear Willy out. He's the president, after all, he's gotta help his citizens if they need help. (And, trust me, Willy needs help.)

It'd be something like: - WILLY: Hey what's up man, I'm broke and I need to make a TON of explosives, can I marry you? - FOREVER: Wtf no I don't even know you and also I'm going through a Personal Isolation Arc right now... - WILLY: Okay, but what if you got to know me? I definitely don't want to marry you just because you're the president and you've got a big house and a son and stuff, that'd be crazy - FOREVER: Whatever, man, but don't expect anything out of it

But then here's the thing, this is the perfect scenario for Forever to actually fall in love again. He's going in with zero-to-no expectations, and the only thing his romance partner here expects out of him is some gunpowder and a child. He isn't actually expecting Forever to love him, and that's the type of relationship where Forever thrives.

Because, remember, Forever only falls in love with men who won't love him back. This is literally a guy who won't love him back and who is in it just for the money and the egg. That's half the reason he fell for Phil back in April (besides Phil looking like his ex.) And Willy is blond...

So Forever catches feelings, because he is Forever, but he's content with the knowledge that Willy won't love him back because he's a very sad little elf of a president.

But q!Willy seems like a pretty go-with-the-flow kind of guy considering he joined the furry club within seconds of realizing it was a furry club and only complaining about it being free. And he wants an egg. And he wants to blow people up. But he has a certain amount of respect for Forever already, and he has a list of "bad people" to blow up. It wouldn't be surprising if he started adding the people the president doesn't seem to get along with to his list. Not even in a bodyguard sort of way, but in a these guys are gonna kill my future sugar daddy kind of way.

And if you've ever read a fanfiction or watched a Hallmark original movie, you can tell where this is going: the not-bodyguard falls for the president, who does Not want these feelings, but what choice does he have in the face of love?

(Not to mention Richarlyson, who probably heard Willy's plan to woo his Pai Forever yesterday and who immediately went home and pulled out a bullet journal and starting Scheming. Sure, he has Pac and Fit to take care of, but he's a very talented little matchmaker.)

Anyway I hope qWilly does try making qForever his sugar daddy like he seems to want to. He’s out here making tons of explosives and fucking block projectors but he literally doesn’t even have a house. He’s gonna marry Forever and not only get access to an actual bed, but then he’ll have an egg and thus he’ll actually have justification for blowing people up at random. And poor Forever will be so confused because since when is he the rich one???

[welcome-to-the-end-of-eras]

I’m keeping a log of my thoughts whilst reading The Half Life of Valery K for the first time because I think it’ll be fun, enjoy (and, of course, beware the spoilers ahead):

- HE’S A NERD YOUR HONOUR HE HAS A LIL PET RAT!!! NAMED BORIS!!! BE STILL MY HEART-

- “…he wasn’t in the habit of looking gift rats in the mouth” MS PULLEY YOU’VE DONE IT AGAIN WITH THE LOVABLE WEIRDO

- “…but lately he could feel his mind effervescing” ok Edward Cullen

- so he’s in a cold place losing his memories and forgetting how to think properly…inch resting… my theory brain is working overtime as you can tell (definitely gonna read this one back to myself and cringe at how stupid it sounds but that’s a problem for future me)

- STOP PLS HE GAVE HIS BUNKMATE BORIS TO HOLD BC HE DIDN’T WANT HIM TO BE ALONE THIS SWEET LITTLE MAN

- I am. 2 pages in. And I’m already in love with Valery. Finally, a pulleyverse main character who isn’t a cynical little prick off the bat. Not that I don’t love the others, but I’ve adopted Valery as my son so-

- Wait what’s this fucking tattoo, is it gonna be a good addition to my future pulleyverse sleeve??? (Edit: oh absolutely not that is a real life gang symbolism-)

- I would absolutely make a cigarette out of a cheese ad

- What or who tf is the Vory??? A gang??? A guard system??? Just one guard??? I’m intrigued. This is why Ms. Pulley’s use of paragraph indents is brilliant, because it actually DOES something; most contemporary authors I’ve read do it like every other page and it’s a pet peeve of mine

- Fun fact: my orchestra teacher all throughout high school lived in soviet Russia and served in their military for a while bc it was required by law, but he’s such a sweet guy and I can’t imagine him being as rough and ruthless as these fuckin guards, holy hell-

- WAIT IS VALERY ABOUT TO GO SUPER SAIYAN ON THIS BITCH OH F U C K YEAH

- Oh no he’s just doing mind tricks god damnit. Still, very cool he can keep his composure like that, very much like Joe could, and I really liked that about him so it’ll be cool to see in Valery

- THE WINTER KING THE WINTER KING THE WINTER KING THE W-

- THEORY BRAIN GOING ABSOLUTELY CRAZY RN!!!

- “But if someone complained about normal life, the overwhelming human instinct was to kick them in the head” if that isn’t me every day at work idk what is-

- I feel like the idea of the world and circumstances making a person “small” (to quote twofs) is a big thing with pulleyverse mc’s but it’s very interesting with Valery bc he seems the most optimistic about it. Idk, it’s just a funky lil thing I noticed, maybe I’ll make another post fleshing out my ideas about all four main characters at some point but for now I’ll leave it there

- Fucking FINALLY, a decent description of the mc off the bat!!! Only took 7 years-

- The specific lack of quotations around “Remember you like doing that, remember how satisfying it is when the ice breaks?” is so fucking interesting, it’s like someone else telling it to him instead of himself that, and it’s an odd place to have a break in the narration style unless it’s purposeful which of course it must be. That is another hallmark of Ms. Pulley’s writing that I just love, the way she can speak and create meaning in the style of the narration, it’s so unique to her works and so so s o fun to read

- Y’know it just dawned on me that Valery is very similar to Linus from The House in the Cerulean Sea

- Ooo chapter titles

- Nice and accurate portrayal of Russian driving skills (from someone who has been cut off while driving on multiple occasions by my Russian orchestra teacher)

- What in the fuckin dystopia is this town-

- Lord knows I am not Grace Carrow’s biggest fan, but her research in ether studies was the precursor to atomic theory, and I’m definitely going to feel like a proud mom if they mention the works of Dr. Carrow at any point in Valery’s research stuff. I have a love-hate relationship with her.

- “…something odd and dead about the lake” INCH. RESTING.

- I’m so intrigued by this dude and his sketchy past and I’m so glad it’s written this way but I’d pay serious money to figure out wtf is going on right this second

- I have a terrible habit of reading the last page of a book when I get antsy — which actually almost caused me to dnf the watchmaker the first time I read it — and I don’t wanna do that but it the urge is there

- Valery…buddy…the first thing you notice about a guy who may or may not kill you is the fact that he’s tall, dark, and handsome??? Really??? Yknow what he’s been in prison for 6 years he deserves it I’m gonna stop shitting on him

- THE LIGHTHOUSE??? I N C H . R E S T I N G .

- This man is autistic I’ve decided

- Pls let Elena and Ilenko be gfs I beg of you Ms. Pulley-

- Valery mathing in his head for a solid page and a half is both adorable and very helpful

- Damn okay Elena I was rooting for you a lil bit but clearly she knows something weird is going on and she’s just being a bitch about it (I’m getting defensive about her being passive aggressive to Valery excuse me)

- Call me crazy but like I’m 95% sure the scientists are also being experimented on. The cheese thing reminded me too much of feeding lab rats for good behaviour.

- I trust tf out of Ilenko now, she’s mean but she’s honest and I like it. Reminds me of Takiko.

- The room is bugged. I know it, you know it, we all know it. Bc they’re being experimented on. There’s no way they’re not.

- SHUT UP BC IF THEY’RE ACTUALLY HANDING OUT MORI’S WATCHES I’M GONNA CRY-

- Shenkov gives me very much Missouri Kite vibes. He clearly knows something more than he’s saying, and likely already has a soft spot for Valery somehow (which I do too but like. I’m reading inside his head so it’s a bit different)

- I’m seriously going to go insane with all the minute references to her other works. Like. It’s totally plausible that someone thinks of Peru first out of every South American country, but is it really a coincidence??? Really??? Especially after tlfop mentioned it so pointedly??? I’m gonna have to start wearing a tinfoil hat at some point.

- The fucking telescope thing I’m going to go nuts-

- Okay back on my comparing the pulleyverse mc’s bullshit, they all have a particular area of observational expertise, and Valery’s seems to be in logistics which is very fun

- Valery’s immediate switch from feeling safe and scared of it to being aware of imminent danger and comfortable with it will never not make me sad

- Why isn’t Ilenko there. Where is my girl.

- Finally in a time period where it’s normal-ish to recognise and call out racist shit hell yeah

- Absolutely love Valery and Shenkov’s dynamic so far, plus the way he interacts with the students is so fucking funny compared to how he interacts with everyone else

- I notice my observations getting less and less frequent the more I get wrapped up in this book, which is impressive considering I’m barely 70 pages in

- Am I crazy or do the radiated mice sound very similar to the people sent to New Bedlam??? Maybe the whole place was built specifically as a quarantine for radiation damage??? Inch. Resting. (definitely not true but a fun theory)

- DAMNIT THEY SHOT MY GIRL!!! FUCK!!! At least Elena is being less of a bitch

- He’s excited about his eyeball jar 🥺🥺🥺 and he is absolutely correct about the medical schools

- Ohoho his devious bastard side is showing now, immaculate

- “He loved children, but he knew he’d never have any” is this bc he’s queer or because of some sad secret medical thing??? Or both???

- …I’m sorry doctor W H O ? ? ? NOT THE FUCKING NAZI BLOOD PURIST WHO PERFORMED HORRIFYING GENETICS TESTS ON CHILDREN??? SURELY NOT??? RIGHT???

- This is…wow…I’m so glad Ms. Pulley made even the obvious bad guy recognise that human experiments and eugenics are inarguably awful but Jesus C h r i s t -

- “…he should not have trusted Shenkov to be above board purely because he thought the man was fascinating” sir you’re going to fall in love with him-

- HHHHHHHHH I LOVE THEMB

- Shenkov…buddy…stop being so incredibly endearing…istg…

- “He was in no state to cope with kindness” :(

- “He was going to have to avoid Shenkov as much as he could, at least until the triple shot had worn off” :((((((((((

- “…felt as though something Artic had come to look at him” ooo inch resting inch resting, very Winter King-esque

- Valery is such a genuinely nice dude who understands the reasons people do science I love him sm

- What is with these tattoos man I need descriptions!!! I wanna know!!!

- STOP PLS HE TELLS JOKES TO THE PEOPLE WHO BUGGED HIS ROOM THAT’S SO CUTE-

- God al-fucking-mighty I love this man. He really said “…don’t you find usually that the people who are most worried about seeming effeminate are the ones with a permanent Friday-evening appointment with a sailor?” I can’t-

- H e l l yeah Shenkov chapter!!! Oh wait no he had his ribs broken oh no-

- Wow there is some brilliant sensory descriptions from Shenkov, which is like. Oddly reminiscent of reading a chapter in Thaniel’s pov. I’m choosing to interpret this as him having sensory issues bc I think it’s fun, but either way it’s fantastic writing

- AGAIN WITH THE FUCKING WINTER KING, WHAT THE F U C K (also Shenkov and his kids are adorable)

- I am a big fan of Ms. Pulley making her female characters tough and morally grey as like a fuck you to the stereotypes but would it kill her to write a female character who isn’t borderline sociopathic??? Would it??? Bc I don’t know many people who can deal with 3 miscarriages, and potentially a fourth, and not feel any specific way about it

- “People think science is all specialists and expensive stuff, but it’s mostly made of kitchen rolls and fridge magnets and we just spray it black when anyone with a news crew turns up” absolutely love that

- Who tf is the medical doctor she seems cool af

- “I’m a funny harmless little science elf, people tell me things” F E L T

- Awweee cute winter-y description of Shenkov but ooo the “bonfires in the forest” thing is sus to me

- I like Nanya, she means business and doesn’t take any shit. T h a t ‘ s a good way to write a strong female character

- OH FUCK THE TRUTH ABOUT ELENA IS COMING OUT!!!

- He really said “I’m gonna be in prison for 10 years. Wanna play hangman?” Absolutely love this fucking nerd

- Oh my god I fucking love the octopus he’s so CUTE!!! And the way Valery just gets him bc he wants to!!! And the way the octopus is so protective of him!!! Ugh I adore him

- “How much more qualified do you want me to be?” GET HIS ASS VALERY!!! I’d pay serious money to see him interact with that phd guy he supposedly annihilated

- “Surely there were things even KGB agents didn’t want to hear.” MY GUY-

- I keep mistyping KGB as LGB and I think that is mildly hilarious

- Valery as a teacher is. Fantastic. Like genuinely such a good teacher. I know Ms. Pulley is a professor herself so I’m sure she’s a fantastic teacher too and that makes me happy

- …I may have misjudge Anna-

- I feel like if a pulleyverse man is going to be married to a woman (for more than like a day at least) she legally has to be the coolest person on the planet

- Oh my fucking g o d the gaslighting from Elena and the director is driving me NUTS

- I KNEW IT!!! I FUCKIN K N E W THOSE RANDOM “VOLCANIC” EXPLOSIONS WERE WEIRD!!! ANNA YOU BRILLIANT BASTARD!!! If she turns out to be a shitty person I WILL be crying myself to sleep

- Valera Valera Valera Valera Valera Valera Va-

- Brb putting my fOOT THROUGH THIS BOOK ISTG-

- THE ASYLUM??? UM???

- Very excited to add more to my analysis on asylums from that one post I made a bit ago even though I haven’t read the chapter yet, but I think it’s very cool that she’s adding that element into this book as well

- Every time the Winter King is mentioned/alluded to my ears perk up like a dog

- “My tools of the patriarchy are getting too long.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Okay I got too wrapped up in the rest of it to finish this but final thoughts:

- I fucking. Love Valery. So much. He’s such a sweet little man but also a complete bastard who blows people up and it’s genuinely the best character combination I can think of

- Shenkov is a gentle giant and I would give him my first born in a heartbeat (bc he would take fantastic care of them)

- Sincerely misjudged Anna at first and I regret it sorely, she is perhaps my favourite side character in the whole book

- I love the ending as well, it wraps up in the same way twofs does; could be a happy enough ending, but with enough unfinished business to make a good transition into a sequel, and I would be absolutely thrilled to have a sequel

- All in all, fantastic book, 10/10, will absolutely be recommending it to anyone who will listen

[let-it-raines]

What a Lie We’re In (1/3)

All Emma was doing was trying to be nice. Her roommate didn’t have anywhere to go, so she invited him home for the holidays. She thought it would be fine and Killian would be a good buffer for a week at home with her parents. That is until her ex-boyfriend showed up, and while she was freaking out, Killian told him they were dating.

That would have been fine except her parents overheard it.

(A Christmas Fake Dating AU)

Rating: Mature 

a/n: What? A holiday fake dating story? So original, you say? No one has ever done it before? Especially not me. lol. Forget all of that, and let’s jump into this trope-a-palooza of a holiday story!

Big thank you to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading over this and convincing me that I still know how to write ❤️

ao3: | HERE |

-/-

“Did you eat all of my candy?”

Emma opens another cabinet, looking inside to the wine glasses and tumblers, before closing it. She’s been keeping her bag of candy in the cabinet where they keep their plates and bowls, hidden at the very top behind some reusable water bottles. Killian is a healthy eater, always stocking the fridge with fruits and vegetables and food she doesn’t think is actually real food, so she didn’t think she had to hide her junk food that well.

Hide it, yes. Hide it well, no.

Until now.

“What was that, love?”

Emma slams another cabinet closed and turns to look at Killian. He’s walking out of the bathroom, chest still damp, and only has a white towel wrapped around his waist. When he first moved into the apartment six months ago after Ruby abandoned Emma to go live with Dorothy (live with, get married to, same thing), Emma was taken aback by the lack of clothes wearing Killian partakes in. He’s an attractive man. She’s not blind. He goes to the gym as often as she does, but mostly, he spends a lot of time doing heavy lifting at his job as a contractor since he apparently likes to be hands-on, literally. His body is toned, and the son of the bitch knows it. He also knows he’s got the face to be able to get away with a lot of…well, a lot.

At first, it was all disconcerting, but now, he could walk around with his dick out and Emma wouldn’t care.

What she cares about is where her candy is. That’s the real priority. But she knows Killian will try to use his lack of clothes to distract her. Never worked in the past, not gonna work now, bud.

“My candy,” Emma repeats. “Where is it?”

He wipes behind his ear with the small towel in his hand. “I wouldn’t touch the stuff. You don’t like the good candy.”

“Well, my good candy has been moved, and we’re the only two people who live here.”

Emma places her hands on her hips, staring him down hoping he will somehow be intimidated by her stare and fess up to everything. He won’t be, but Emma can try. They both have their tactics.

Killian clicks his tongue. “What about the fellow you brought home last week?”

“Do you mean the plumber?”

“Was that who he was?”

“You know I don’t bring guys back here.” Emma moves from the counter and opens the fridge, taking out a handful of grapes from the fridge. She probably needs to eat some of them and not candy anyway. As she pops one into her mouth, that’s when it clicks. “Your girlfriend ate my candy, didn’t she?”

He scoffs and keeps drying his hair, but she sees the way he scratches his ear. Gotcha, Jones. “I don’t believe I have a girlfriend.”

“What? Tink break up with you because you wouldn’t let her eat dessert on your dates? Wait, I heard it. Don’t make it dirty.” Killian walks toward her, getting in her space, and she knows him well enough to know he wants her to flinch, to move, to stop her line of questioning. That’s exactly why she doesn’t want to. Emma pops another grape in her mouth. “Did you eat my candy? Was it your way of wallowing? It’s okay if you did. I’ll take another bag for payment.”

“For your information, Swan,” he whispers as he places his hand on her hip, “we are no longer seeing each other, but it was mutual. She did, however, eat your candy when she was last here. If you really want to know, we used it to – ”

“Stop,” Emma groans, pushing him away and running to the other side of the kitchen. “Nope. Don’t take that any further. Some things should be left private.”

His head tilts back as he laughs, the underside of his jaw black with stubble, and then he’s reaching into the cabinet above the fridge and tossing her the bag of sweets.

Oh.

“I hid it after Will and Rob found it while we were playing cards last night. Will nearly went through all your milk duds before I realized what was happening.” He raises his brow. “You have something you want to say to me?”

Emma knows what he’s aiming for, and she isn’t going to give it to him.

“Yeah,” Emma says, “you need a thicker towel. I don’t think you want people seeing you when you look like…that.” She nods her head down and then picks up a handful of Kit Kats. “I gotta go to work.”

“Off to die inside at your cubicle, love?”

“Oh, you know it.”

Emma grabs her purse and unlocks the door only to hear Killian speak. “It’s December. How do you still have Halloween candy leftover?”

Emma shrugs. “I bought one bag to pass out to kids, two bags for me.”

“Bloody brilliant.”

“I do what I can. See you tonight. I’ll try not to wake you up from your nap when I come in.”

“That would be the least you could do.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but then she’s officially walking out the door of her apartment and down toward the elevator, a Kit Kat bar hanging out of the side of her mouth.

The thing about Killian Jones is that he’s simple to her.

He likes his friends, his job, his rum, and his women. There’s not much else to him, and Emma is okay with that. While her last roommate was her best friend, this one doesn’t have to be. He can just be a guy who pays the bills so she can keep living in a nice place and who, on occasion, talks shit about other people with her while they binge watch TV.

That’s all she needs.

And all and all, Killian Jones is a…fine roommate. Yeah, fine is an accurate way to describe him at least eighty percent of the time.

Even if she does get annoyed when he brings his dates home. But that’s only because it’s always on the nights she plans on going to bed early, and the noise of other people being around keeps her from catching up on sleep.

Emma is not one to mess around on sleep.

But yeah, he’s fine. Annoying as hell over half the time, but he’s fine in the small dosages she sees him in. He works odd hours, isn’t always on the job, and she is stuck with regular hours in her office. There’s not a lot of glory in working HR for a small engineering company, but that’s what happens when you make dumbass decisions like Emma did. She’s lucky she has a stable job. She’ll try not to complain too much about it.

That’s what she tells herself every morning when she sits in her car and stares at the drab brick building.

Money. She has to make money.

And hey, she gets almost an entire week off for Christmas next week, and that’s fucking incredible, even if she does have to spend it in her hometown with her parents and their Hallmark-like attitude toward the holiday and the events it puts on. Her mom is a teacher at the elementary school and produces the Christmas play every year while her dad is a vet and outfits all his patients in little holiday bandanas and bows. He even has a tree in his office decorated with bone ornaments.

It’s…a lot. But it’s family, and as Emma stares at this building that’s sucking the life out of her, she can’t wait to have a change of pace and some home-cooked meals, even if there are as many downsides as upsides to going home. Her Kit Kat bars aren’t giving her the nutrients she knows she needs.

Being an adult is not all it’s cracked up to be sometimes, especially when going home for the holidays is seen as more of a burden than a gift with a fancy bow on top. It’s more like that turkey that dries up and falls to pieces in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.

Well, that and the squirrel crashing every decoration in the house.

Happy holidays.

-/-

“Nah, mate, I don’t have any plans.”

Emma quietly puts her keys down on the table next to her front door, laying her purse down with it, and she kicks her boots off until they topple over each other and lay in the middle of the hallway. She can hear Killian talking, and it gets even louder when she walks into the kitchen and turns on the coffee maker.

“No, no, well, you know, I rarely do anything, not since Liam.” There’s a pause as the coffee begins to percolate and Emma grabs another Kit Kat from her bag. “I went home with Milah once, but that was years ago…no, mate, it’s alright. I don’t mind staying here by myself…yeah, I think Emma is going home to her parents.”

And that’s when she realizes what Killian is talking about.

Christmas plans.

He doesn’t have any. Emma didn’t know that. She didn’t really bother to ask. She doesn’t bother to ask much of Killian. She picks up pieces here and there, as she’s sure he does to her, but they mind their own business.

He doesn’t have a family to go home to? She knows he’s originally from England, but still. There must be someone.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Killian says. “I promise if I need anything, I’ll let you know. Alright, bye Scarlet.”

The coffee finishes, and Emma picks the pot up and starts pouring, filling her large mug halfway before getting hazelnut creamer out of the fridge and making the coffee drinkable. Killian joins her in the kitchen and perches himself on one of their stools.

“Good day at work?” he asks.

“Eh, it was a day. You?”

He shrugs. “The same. I’m finishing up on this house tomorrow, hopefully, so tomorrow will be a good day.”

Emma nods and sips on her coffee as Killian taps his fingers on the counter, the rhythm the same as the song he usually hums when cooking. “So, when are you heading for Storybrooke?” he asks.

“Monday after work.” Killian nods and keeps tapping his fingers, and Emma, stupidly opens her mouth because despite what her exes have told her, she does apparently have a heart. “If you don’t have any plans and have off work, you’re welcome to come with me. My parents are always thrilled to welcome more people. Just be prepared, it’s like a Hallmark movie up there.”

His eyes widen, the blue lighting up, and his upper lip starts to quiver, laughter very obviously waiting to break through. Dammit, why the hell did she decide to be nice? This is going to give him all of the wrong ideas.

“Why, Swan,” he smirks, leaning forward and resting his chin in his propped-up hand, “are you inviting me home for the holidays with you? You’ve been harboring a crush this entire time, haven’t you? I can’t say I’m surprised. I see the way you look at me when I finish up in the bathroom. Don’t be ashamed of it. Most women find me attractive.”

Emma flicks Killian’s forehead, and really, he should be thrilled she didn’t dump her hot coffee on his lap like she wanted to.

“I was just trying to be nice. You didn’t have to be an asshole about it.” Emma rolls her eyes and turns on her heels to walk away. She is going to her room. She doesn’t have to put up with his shit. “Forget I even offered.”

“Wait, wait, Swan.” Emma’s shoulders tense, and she doesn’t turn around. “Are you serious about your offer?”

“I mean, it would have some conditions in that you are a slightly less obnoxious version of yourself, but yeah, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, you can come home with me.”

“I’d like that.” Emma twists around, trying to size him up, and for once, everything seems genuine. “I have a condition as well.”

Idiot. “What could your condition possibly be?”

He winks, and she already knows this is going to have her eyes rolling so far into the back of her head they get stuck there. “Don’t go falling in love with me.”

What a cheesy ass sarcastic line.

“In your dreams, Jones.”

What the hell has she gotten herself into? This is absolutely the last time she lets her conscience guilt her into doing something nice. Emma was already going to be miserable, but now she’s miserable with a buffer.

At least her mom will be happy getting to go into hostess mode.

-/-

In the days leading up to them leaving for Storybrooke, Emma convinces herself Killian is going to back out of the trip. He’ll realize this is awkward and not a good idea. They live together, sure, but they don’t actually know each other. They’re not close friends.

But Killian never backs out. Instead he asks her things like what the weather is like there, if her parents drink wine, if he needs to bring his own bedding. He asks a million questions a day, and they continue when they’re in her bug making the drive from Boston to Storybrooke. He wants to know what her parents do for a living, what their hobbies are, pretty much everything someone needs to know when they’re about to spend half a week in the house of strangers.

Strangers who don’t actually know they’re having someone stay at their house to awkwardly sit on the sidelines as Emma’s family celebrates the holidays and has their usual holiday arguments.

Yeah, Emma didn’t ever tell her parents Killian was coming. She knows her mom well enough to know the moment Emma mentioned bringing someone home, her mom would have stopped listening before Emma could explain that it was just her roommate. It would have been this whole big thing, and Emma knows she can handle explaining it better in person when she can snap her mom out of getting excited about nothing.

Plus, who doesn’t want a Christmas surprise?

(Emma doesn’t.)

After Killian stops being one of those obnoxious kids who never stops asking questions, they sit in relative silence for the car ride, music entertaining them, and little by little, cities fade away and more trees pop up, evergreen forests surrounding them. It’s always the sign for Emma that she’s leaving her life and going back to her old one.

That and the “Welcome to Storybrooke” sign.

Everything about the town is the same. The buildings are small and kind of dingy downtown, and when she passes Granny’s, she bets those onion rings are the same too. God, she hopes they are. This is probably the only thing that can get her through this week. She should have texted Ruby and made sure her grandmother hadn’t changed any of the recipes. If she had, Emma definitely would have stayed home.

People walk down the sidewalk all bundled up in their coats and scarves, saying hello and chatting with others they pass. It’s the opposite of Boston where Emma can go her entire day without having to say hello to someone, and a little shiver runs down her spine at the thought. She needs to get out of here as soon as possible and to the isolation of her parents’ farmhouse, even if that presents her a new set of problems.

Storybrooke, Maine is, decidedly, not Emma’s favorite place for a hell of a lot of different reasons.

Killian, though, seems to be taking it all in with the wonder and confusion of someone who has never lived in a small town like this and who is a bit shell-shocked.

Get used to it, buddy.

“Oh, hey, one more thing,” Emma sighs as she pulls up to her parents’ street a few minutes later. “My real last name is Nolan. I changed it after high school, so my parents’ names are Nolan. The whole ‘Swan’ thing is a sticky situation for them even though it’s my mom’s maiden name.”

Killian’s eyes narrow, and she has definitely shared too much about herself now. “Am I allowed to ask or…”

“No. just try not to call me ‘Swan’ around them.”

“Whatever your heart desires, love.”

Emma slows down as the road turns from paved to loose gravel leading up to their driveway. There are several cars parked alongside it, and either they now own extra cars or her parents have friends over. Great. Just what she needed. Other people around when she’s coming home and surprising her parents with a guest. At least Killian will likely be that buffer she keeps hoping he’ll be.

They get out of her car, and Emma pops the trunk for them to get their bags. Killian grabs the bigger ones despite her arguing with him about it, but she’s fine to just carry her purse and the bag with presents. Emma closes the trunk, slamming it shut, and squares her shoulders.

This is fine. This is all fine.

Until ten steps later, it’s not.

Her parents have this incredible wraparound porch with swings and rocking chairs, and sitting in one of them is Neal Cassidy.

What the hell?

She doesn’t…she can’t…why is he here? He has no right to be here, no business being here, and seeing his face makes her want to vomit.

It makes her want to cry, too, but Emma can’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, she’d like to sink into the dirt and never emerge again.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles, stopping and turning toward Killian who is looking down at her with an arched brow. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What is it?”

God, she can’t believe she has to tell this to him. It’s too many pieces of her past in too short a period of time. This isn’t something she ever wanted to talk about again and certainly not to Killian. She was really hoping she never had to see Neal’s face again.

Honestly, she never considered it to be a possibility.

If only.

“That guy sitting on my porch is an ex of mine. And I’m talking about a bad ex, not one of those who you can be friends with afterward.”

“What the bloody hell is he doing here then?” Killian looks over her head to look at Neal, but Emma grabs his hand and yanks on it until he looks at her. “What?”

“Don’t look at him,” she hisses. “I don’t know what he’s doing here, but I’m sure it has something to do with my parents. Just…I don’t know what to do.”

“Do we need to turn around?”

“No, no, that’s pathetic. Just…maybe he’s going to leave soon, and it’ll be a quick hello and then I never have to see his face again. Let’s get it over with.”

“If you’re sure, Sw – Emma.”

“I’m sure.”

She’s not sure at all. Mostly, she wants to take Killian’s suggestion and run far, far away.

Once more, Emma braces her shoulders, and she moves forward. If she stops and thinks too much, she’ll chicken out. It’s how she is. If she thinks about something for too long, it ruins every bit of courage she has. Now isn’t the moment for that when this week is one that makes her need courage.

Maybe, Emma realizes, she didn’t invite Killian here just to be nice. Maybe she needed that buffer to keep her old demons at bay, even if just barely, and that was her motivation all along.

That really makes her asshole of the year. Well, after Neal. She hasn’t seen him in years, but he still gets the asshole of the year award.

Neal sees her before she can get to the front steps. He rises from the rocking chair and moves toward her. He looks older now. He was always older than her, but she can actually see it now. There’s gray in his beard and more lines on his forehead. His features are similar, but she swears there’s an eeriness to his eyes and a lie to his smile. Maybe those were always there, but Emma imagines she was blind to it all when she loved him.

Amazing how opening her eyes to love blinded her to so much else.

“Emma? Is that you?”

No, jackass, it’s some other blonde woman walking into her parents house.

“Hi, Neal.” She forces a smile that she knows is awkward, but he was never good at reading her enough to know the difference between a real smile and a fake one. “What are you doing here?”

“You’ve just seen me for the first time in half a decade, and your first question is what I’m doing here? Nice to see you too, Ems.”

It’s illegal to murder, Emma, she reminds herself. You don’t want to end up in jail because of him.

“It’s my parents’ house. I’m supposed to be here. You’re not. So, again, what are you doing here?”

He shrugs and ignores her. “Who’s this?”

Emma turns to Killian who is staring ahead, his jaw clenched, and he speaks before she gets a chance to. “Killian Jones,” he begins, dropping a bag and reaching forward to shake Neal’s hand, “Emma’s boyfriend.”

Emma nearly chokes on her own air and possibly her own lungs and whatever else is down there, and she’s stuck. Her brain and her feet and especially her mouth are all stuck. What the hell is he doing?

“Emma’s boyfriend,” Neal repeats, his voice incredulous like the fact that she could have a boyfriend is ludicrous to him. “Really?”

“For awhile now,” Killian lies. Wow. Has he always been this good of a liar? “It’s nice to meet you, but I think Emma and I need to get inside and put our stuff away. It’s been a long drive.”

Neal nods, but Emma catches his eyes glance over at her. What was that? “I understand. I need to get my fiancée from inside, but then we’ll be on our way.”

Fiancée?

Neal has a fiancée? Who is in her parents’ house?

What kind of upside down hell has she walked into and how does she reverse time and get back to the place where things are normal?

“Nice seeing you,” Emma lies, but Neal is already walking inside, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him as if it’s his house to go into. She quickly turns to Killian and hopes her face conveys the “what the hell” look she’s going for. And in case it doesn’t, she hisses, “what the fuck was that?”

“Forgive me, love, but you obviously didn’t want to see that man, and I figured there wouldn’t be any harm in saying that. You weren’t planning on ever seeing him again, aye?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“So what’s the harm in him thinking you have a devilishly handsome new boyfriend?”

Emma rolls her eyes, ready to take the piss out of him, when her mother comes running out the front door.

“Emma, you brought a boyfriend home?”

Well, that’s the harm, Jones.

-/-

Emma tries explaining to her parents that Killian isn’t really her boyfriend, that he’s just her roommate who came home with her because he doesn’t have any family, but she never really gets the chance with Neal still hanging around. That would be mortifying, so she rolls with it, hoping that she can clear it all up sooner rather than later.

But Neal never seems to leave.

His fiancée, Tamara, apparently teaches with Emma’s mom, and from the looks of it, they’re great friends. She can’t imagine any other reason why her parents would let Neal Cassidy in their house, but then again, they have always been great at doing the exact opposite of what’s good for her. It’s torture, and as the night goes on, it seems like it’s never going to end.

When are they going to leave?

When can she stop listening to Killian falsify their life?

She’s got to say that he’s fantastic at taking truths and turning them into lies. According to him, they met when he became her roommate (true) and got to know each other as friends first (eh, a half-truth). Then, slowly, feelings started to develop in the little moments, and they decided to give their relationship a chance (unequivocally false).

He’s got this uncanny ability to make everything feel…not ridiculous. She doesn’t know the word she’s searching for, but she’s sure as hell that Killian could find it and incorporate it into a story to make everyone here think they’re in love.

Emma has no clue how they’re going to get out of this without her parents being heartbroken because Emma can see the hope and happiness in her mom’s eyes. She’s over the moon. Her dad, however, doesn’t seem to be.

Of course this is how it goes. Her mom is thrilled because she’s not a spinster, and her dad is upset because she’s not a spinster.

“So what do you do, Killian?” he asks. “You need a roommate apparently.”

“Dad,” Emma hisses, wanting to sink into the couch, especially because she knows she’s the one who needs the roommate and not Killian. “Don’t.”

“What? I’m not allowed to ask about the man who my daughter is dating?”

“You are, but you’re not allowed to interrogate him.”

Killian places his hand over Emma’s on her thigh, and God, this really is the worst night. Why do people have to go home to family on the holidays? At least she didn’t automatically flinch at the feeling of Killian’s hand on hers.

“I’m a contractor,” Killian tells her dad. “I used to work with my brother. It’s his business, but I’m the head on projects now. It’s hard and unpredictable sometimes when my job is to make it predictable, but it’s good work. There’s a lot of good new housing popping up in the neighborhoods outside of Boston. Beautiful new construction.”

“What happened to your brother?” her mom asks.

Killian’s hand tightens over hers while his other hand scratches behind his ear. “Liam passed last year. Car accident.”

Mary Margaret places her hands over her chest while Neal and Tamara look at each other, obviously ready to go. Emma, meanwhile, tries not to act shocked. She should know this. She should know that he had a brother who died. She’s heard him talk about Liam before, but she thought…she thought he was alive, just that he lived really, really far away or something like that.

“I’m so sorry, Killian,” Mary Margaret sighs.

“Thank you, Ms. Nolan.”

Silence falls in the room, and it feels like a lot of her time in high school when she got caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. At least now she can have alcohol or drive away. One or the other, though, obviously.

Or she can go back to that sinking into the ground thing. That seemed like a good idea.

“Oh, would you look at the time,” Tamara sighs with a clap of her hands. “Honey, we need to go.”

“Won’t you stay for dinner?” Mary Margaret asks.

What the hell, Mom?

“We really have to go,” Tamara insists. “It was nice seeing you guys, though.”

“Oh, it was wonderful seeing you, sweetie. Good luck in New York. You’re going to be great at your new job.” Mary Margaret hugs Tamara. “Nice seeing you as well, Neal. You’ll fit right in, but I know your dad will miss you.”

Emma is so busy trying to take in all of this brand new information that she doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation. Through blurred vision, she sees her mom hug Neal, and yeah, Emma wants to go home. She wants to go back to her apartment where she doesn’t have to put up with this kind of shit.

Where there’s no Neal and his fiancée and especially where her mom isn’t hugging her asshole of an ex and treating him like he’s a good person.

There’s a squeeze on her hand and suddenly, Killian’s fingers are wrapping around hers. That’s when everything snaps back, and she realizes Neal is telling her goodbye.

“Yeah, bye,” Emma mutters, putting on that fake smile again.

“Maybe we could go for lunch while I’m still in town,” he suggests.

Emma bites her tongue to keep from scoffing, but she can’t help the words that come out of her mouth. “Yeah, that’s not happening. Have fun in New York.”

Neal looks like a wounded puppy when Emma manages to look at him, but she doesn’t care. He shouldn’t have had the audacity to ask her in the first place, not after everything he’s done.

Happy holidays to them all.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret hisses as soon as the front door has shut and Neal and Tamara are gone, “that was so rude of you! You can go to lunch with Neal.”

“Oh my God, Mom,” Emma groans, letting go of Killian’s hand and standing up. “I am twenty-eight years old. I’m not going to go to lunch with the man who ruined my life because you don’t like being rude. Just…let’s eat dinner, and you guys can tell me what we have planned for this week. Killian is thrilled to go to the play. I told him all about it.”

“Emma, I still don’t think – ”

“Come on, Mary Margaret,” David sighs as he claps his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get these two dinner. They had a long drive, and I’m sure they’re starving. You like ham, Jones?”

“Love it,” Killian says as he stands from the couch. “Can I help with anything?”

“You can get a wine bottle from the rack.”

They’re all going to need it. Or at least Emma is going to.

Dinner is, well, awkward, which Emma expected, but she expected the usual awkwardness of having dinner with her parents after going a year without seeing them. This is an entire other level. Killian tries to ease it. He’s put on his most charming smile, his accent coming through thicker with each story he tells, and while her Dad seems put out, her mom is every bit as charmed by him as Emma would expect.

That makes it all fine and good until Emma’s reminded that her parents think Killian is her boyfriend, and his place would go down in flames if she told the truth now.

As much as she would like to spite her mom, that is the last thing she needs.

“So, Killian, you can stay in Emma’s room,” her mom says as they finish up dinner. “I’d have you stay in the guest room, but it’s currently filled with props and costumes for the play. But you're both adults. Who are we to keep you apart at night?”

“The couch would be fine,” Killian insists, holding his hands up.

“Nonsense, you are a guest here. You need to be comfortable. Let’s get you all settled and ready for bed.”

It’s almost like she’s in a trance as her mom guides them up the stairs to Emma’s old room. She vaguely hears her tell stories of different pictures hung on the wall by the staircase, but she doesn’t really notice. Instead, she hangs back with her dad who does not look thrilled at the whole situation.

For some reason that offends Emma. As far as her dad knows, she’s brought a man home for Christmas. A man who she loves enough to bring home, which is not all sunshine and roses for her. Once again, she’s jealous of the people who go home for the holidays and know it’s going to be a happy time.

“You know, you don’t have to act like I’m sixteen,” she tells her dad. “I live with this man. I think it’s okay for us to share a bedroom here for the week.”

“What makes you think I’m not happy about this. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Emma stops at the landing and turns to her Dad, crossing her arms over her chest and staring him down. Or up. She forgot how much taller her dad is than her.

“Try a little harder to make that believable.”

David laughs and leans forward to kiss her forehead. “Welcome home, kid. I’m glad you and Killian are here.”

-/-

-/-

Tag list (You can be taken off or added at any time): @qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @inth-trees @galaxyzxstark @galadriel26 @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @captain-emmajones​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @capthamm​

[macattackp]

Lies Chronically Ill/Injured People Tell Themselves:

1. I Am a Burden Who Only Takes From Others and Can Never Give Back

We all have things that we feel we SHOULD be able to provide. As a guy, it KILLS me that I can’t do things like shovel the driveway, help carry heavy items, or have a job that could make me a breadwinner for someone.

Don’t undersell what you do bring though! For one thing, chronically ill/injured people tend to be masters of empathy, not to mention we get pretty knowledgeable on the medical system. If you aren’t... don’t fret over it! If you can’t do something, then don’t! Focus on what you CAN do instead!

2. I Am Undeserving of Love Because Who Would Take on a Burden Like Me?

This one is another huge struggle for a lot of people. I know as a guy, I feel the added pressure of being worthless if I can’t provide financially for a girl. (No matter how progressive people may be, this progressiveness tends to vanish when their daughters’ well being are concerned), but I know just as many girls who say the same things.

“How can someone love me when I just am stuck in bed all day?” “Why would someone choose me if I could never have kids?” “Who would choose a spouse who may not be able to have sex?”

Look. I’ll be honest, I have no wise advice on this one as to find someone who is willing to support you on your struggles. Nor can I be dense and say “You’re just misreading people!” because let’s admit it... our lives are tough and there are many who would choose not to join us.... what I can say though... is I have had friends who had chronic illnesses. Some could never have sex. Some would require tons of medical expenses. Some were missing limbs or body parts. One was even pretty much guaranteed to die before she turned 30.... And they ended up getting married, and loved, and supported. I don’t know what the future holds for you, but I do know it IS possible! So don’t put yourself down or give up hope!

3. I Have to Work Harder to Keep Up With Everyone or Else I Will be a Failure!

This world has a main road, but that main road has a lot of cracks... and there are probably more people in this world who have fallen through the cracks, than walk on the main road. But we feel like everyone in this world is on the main road because once people fall through the cracks they tend to be overlooked even though there are so many of them.

It is not fair, nor is it doable to be expected to keep up with others when you are carrying a different burden. We have the Paralympics for a reason. Would you ask a man with one leg to race against the Olympic sprinters? Would you ask someone carrying a massive boulder to outrun someone without one?

And in all honesty, it is not always as cut and dry as “Accept you’ll get 4th or 5th place.” Our world tends to try to put us on rails. We make everything systematic and anything that doesn’t fit within our metrics is considered broken. We often judge people more by their process than their results! But the way laid out by others as the “Right way” isn’t always the only or even the best way! 

Learn how YOUR body works! I was a horrible student in school until I finally gave up relying on teachers and just studied the way I enjoyed it. I figured at that point “As long as I pass, what else matters.” but had the added surprise when I jumped from a 60′s-70′s student at best to my lowest grade being a 94! It doesn’t always work out this well, but your body is yours. No one else can tell you how it works. Learn from what people have done in the past but look for the way YOU work best! When you look back you realize, none of the biggest world changers really ever lived their lives by the book anyways!

4. I Have To Get Better So I Can Have a Life!

To an extent, this makes sense. Without energy, or finances, and with a schedule stuffed to the gills with doctors appointments meaning you can never go far from home... it is hard to feel like there is really much you can do... but... at the same time....

YOU ARE ALIVE NOW!

You may not have the finances to do what you want. You may not have the social life that you enjoy. You may not have an overabundance of time or energy... But you are alive RIGHT now! You are allowed to live!

Write that book you always wanted! Learn a new language! Cook yourself a big meal! You may tell yourself “BUT I HAVE SO MUCH OTHER STUFF I SHOULD BE FOCUSING ON INSTEAD!” 

Look! That stuff will be there whether you focus on it 24/7 or 12/5! Don’t let it get out of hand, but if you aren’t going to be able to solve it by worrying about it more then don’t! Spend your time doing things that will revitalize you, help you grow, and give you some interesting stories to tell once this is all over!

5. I Am Not Allowed to Be Happy or Have Fun Until I Am Better!

This one is a tough one as it ties into our impostor syndrome. That horrible feeling that we get every time we start to enjoy ourselves or smile in public of “Oh no! What if people assume I’ve been faking this whole time?!?!?!”

You are allowed to laugh. You are allowed to smile. You are allowed to have good things happen to you. Yeesh, there is no time in life that it is more important to have happy moments than through hardships!

Being happy or enjoying yourself from time to time through hardships isn’t a sign that your hardships were never that hard. It is a sign that you are fighting forward. That you aren’t letting this take over your life. And plus, as human beings we NEED hope and happiness... we die both mentally and physically without it

6. There is No Future After This

This is one that I personally struggle with... if we count the 6 years of trauma as a kid that originally gave me PTSD, and these last 7+ years of pushing as hard as I can only to fail harder and harder (including these last 2.5 years that have been giving me a whole new layer of trauma on top of my previous trauma) I’m reaching the point where more than half my life has been going through miserable, destructive times where I lose most things that matter to me and find myself alone at the start again in a dark place. It is hard... honestly... Anyone who follows my account and sees my tagless venting posts know that there are more than enough times I question why I even try anymore when I don’t even know what’s left of me...

But there was a movie I watched a while ago... another cheesy hallmark movie, but it was a good one as far as hallmark movies go. I remember they had this one line in it that really stuck with me.

“I’ve lost everything 3-4 times now! It’s the perfect place to start!”

Now I’m not as optimistic as that ambitious old man from the movie was... but I do know this.... You never know what life can hold. The same way you can lose everything that matters to you in a year, I’ve seen people gain more than they ever thought possible in a week. Not to say we are all about to win the lottery or by some miracle wake up completely healed of all afflictions... but I do believe that if it was possible to have things go this bad, it is also possible for things to go much better.

And let’s admit it. You might be thinking “Oh! But I’m not strong enough to make it happen!” and you’d be right... you aren’t. But honestly who is? We live in a world where tons of people succeed or fail... and very few I can say “earned it.”

Life IS unfair, but if it wasn’t, we’d all be dead! What we really get upset about is that it seems to be more unfair in some peoples’ favour than our own. But life is tough. The fact that any of us live is a miracle in itself. Don’t limit what the future holds for you based on what you feel you’re able to do. You aren’t a static person, and this world doesn’t rise or fall on your shoulders either! (even though it feels like that most mornings). Give it your best with what you’ve got every day, and realize even if each day feels like a year, this is still only a season of life. Personally I want to fight and survive long enough to see a day where this all seems like it was worth it!

7. I Will Never Be Self Sufficient!

The lie in this one isn’t that you will be self sufficient! The lie is that people assume ANYONE is self sufficient!

Look. Do you see people growing their own food? Even if they do, do they grow their own fertilizer? Even if they do, did they build their house from scratch, their car, their fridge, do all their electrical work, never once look up anything on the internet?!?!?! No!

We are NOT a self sufficient species. From the minute we are born we NEED people just to stay alive let alone to succeed! So you have to rely on people in a way you don’t see others needing to rely on people! Does an electrician complain that he needs to call someone to fix the backed up pipes when the plumber doesn’t??? No! That would be stupid! And to try and fix it on his own would be stupider! 

You are ALLOWED to rely on others. You are ALLOWED to ask for help. This doesn’t make you any less of a person! This makes you human!

8. I’m Not Worth It . . .

This is something I struggled with even before I realized just how much was stacked against me from the start... I remember one time, someone very precious to me sat down in front of me and for 15 minutes she said nothing else but “YOU ARE WORTHY!” She repeated it over and over again in different ways, not letting me talk and refusing to say anything else until I finally just accepted that I maybe was. Times change, and she may not be around to say that anymore, but those words still stick with me, and that moment still pops in my head every time I am feeling really down on myself like a planted warrior to fight against my internal self doubt...

There are many things in our lives that make us feel worthless.... “I messed up and hurt them.” “I have a lot of health concerns.” “I am not attractive.” “I have a perverted mind.” “I don’t fit with what society says I should be.” “My parents/people who I care about said I wasn’t good enough.” The list goes on... but YOU ARE WORTHY!

“But I don’t deserve to be happy!” YOU DO!

“But I don’t deserve anyone to put up with me.” YOU DO!

“But I don’t deserve a happy life” YOU DO!

“But I don’t deserve a second chance.” YOU DO!

Whatever you’re worried about

Whatever is bugging you

Whatever lies are bouncing around in your head right now saying you should just disappear and stop being a bother to others

YOU

ARE

WORTHY!

Don’t let anyone or anything tell you otherwise, LEAST of all yourself!

I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you’re going through. I don’t know what you’ve done or haven’t done.... but I can tell you this right now. You are a one of a kind beautiful life. You are allowed to exist in this world, you are allowed to flourish, you are allowed to enjoy your time with it and interact with others. What’s more, you aren’t just put up with, you are NEEDED! Because there is only one of you out there, and this world needs you. Treat yourself well, and let yourself know just how valuable you are. You are you, and that is beautiful!

[lovelyirony]

Stars with thorbruce

Bruce remembers his mother’s hand smoothing over his curls, telling him stories of how the constellations came to be. He remembers hearing soft words of using the Big Dipper for milk and cookies. He smiles as he remembers asking his mother who lived among the stars. 

They were beautiful, surely someone had to live there. 

His mother smiled. 

“You will find it out, my smart boy. None of us know yet, although some of us have a feeling that we’re not alone in this galaxy.” 

Bruce would look out his window every night and ask the stars who among them lived in what world. He asked how their world was. 

Thor knew others lived other places. His mother read Loki and he stories of other people, how they lived. 

His father said how Asgard ruled it all with a golden-hued hand. 

He asks of Terran people, Midgardians. 

“You don’t need to concern yourself with them,” Odin says. “Now go and train. A weak king serves no purpose on a strong throne.” 

- 

Bruce does not smile when he realizes that there are others out there, not when he’s been dragged in as a monster to help fight other monsters. Accepted, just this once. 

He looks up at beings who look like stars for one brief second. And then they descend with a roar, and he knows. 

He turns, letting Hulk take the lead. 

His mother knew they were not alone. 

But she could not have known this was the result.  

- 

Thor is…different. He returns from taking his brother back to…Asgard? And he is quiet. 

Bruce just quietly moves around him to get his tea or food. 

“Dr. Banner?” Thor asks, his voice impossibly soft. It does not fit a man who is as large and imposing as he is. “Can you…what can you tell me about Earth?” 

“It sucks,” Bruce answers automatically. 

Thor blinks. 

Bruce does not want to explain why earth sucks. So he takes his naan and goes back to his room. 

- 

The god cannot leave well enough alone. He is knocking on Bruce’s door at eight o’clock in the morning. 

Bruce answers in an old t-shirt that’s seen better days, old pants, and bags under his eyes. 

“Why does earth suck so much?” 

Bruce sighs. 

“Go to the kitchen. I’ll explain there.” 

Bruce goes into a long-winded tangent about how much human invented concepts suck and how policy makes everything slow and he can’t even fly in a plane because he’s deemed a flight risk and people keep trying to kill him and the unending guilt over his own mistakes will be his demise. 

“Do you guys have therapy on earth?” Thor asks. 

Bruce laughs. 

“Yeah, we do. I need to find a new therapist soonish. Just hard with my…issue. Earth doesn’t suck. It’s cool.” 

“Show me?” 

“Uh…yes?” Bruce asks, blinking. “What do you want to see?” 

“What’s your favorite thing about earth?” 

Bruce has to think. 

“Come with me tonight. On the roof.” 

- 

The stars are never as bright as they were in Ohio, which is about the only good thing Bruce can say about Ohio. It’s the only good thing anyone could say, really. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yes, never go there,” Bruce says. “Ever.” 

“…noted. Not even for one of your natural…reserve park things?” 

“Nope. Not even for those. You’re gonna get murdered there.” 

“I’m a god, Bruce.” 

“Ohio people only believe in one god, and that god is less jacked than you.” 

They laugh together. 

Bruce tells him all about his mother’s stories of the stars, what he learned from others. 

“Do you want to hear our stories?” Thor asks softly. 

They make a habit of going on the roof once a week, weather permitting. If it does not permit, they sit in the sunroom and have coffee, chatting that way. 

Bruce learns that Thor was alive when Nikola Tesla was, but never went to earth. 

“I was in training to become king, and Odin didn’t really want me venturing out too far,” Thor says. “But I heard that earth had some catching up to do. You definitely have us beat with food though. Damn.” 

They stare over at the stars. 

Bruce struggles to ignore his red cheeks or the fact that Tony keeps calling him “lover boy.” 

“Nope. I’m not that.” 

“Sure you aren’t, the rest of us spend time gazing into Thor’s eyes,” Tony says, batting his eyelashes. “Just ask him out already.” 

“Get therapy,” Bruce shoots back. 

“Are we talking about how we all need collective help?” Natasha asks. “I thought that was what Steve’s meeting was about tonight.” 

“Shit, I’m not going to that then,” Clint says. “Do you think he’ll buy it if I tell him that my dog has a son?” 

“I don’t buy anything, I grew up in the Great Depression,” Steve responds, coming down the stairs. “Also Clint, you have a dog? Since when?” 

“Since never,” Clint responds back. “I don’t have a dog.” 

“Good, Tony said no dogs.” 

“For Steve,” Tony mumbles. “But we’‘re missing the obvious part of this discussion, which is Bruce’s love-life.” 

“I don’t have one of those in stock.” 

“Check in the back,” Tony snarks. 

Bruce rolls his eyes. 

“I don’t have a love-life guys,” Bruce says. “The only thing I love is dismantling huge corporations that are evading ecological law.” 

“And also hanging out a ton with Thor,” Natasha responds. “Wait, are you–” 

“If we have to talk about emotions then I demand we discuss Natasha’s thirsty tweet about Sharon.” 

“My cousin, Romanoff?!” Tony yells. 

Bruce takes this time to escape down to his lab, where Natasha is not allowed in. 

“I cannot say with full certainty that she will not break in,” Jarvis answers. “But I will try my best, Dr. Banner. Hell hath no woman like a woman.” 

“You’re just as bad as Tony with phrases,” Bruce says. “But thanks.” 

Thor is down there. 

“Why is Natasha locked out of the lab?” 

“She told me that she preferred wine from California, she was obviously banned,” Bruce says quickly. 

“I thought last week’s argument was you and her against Clint,” Thor says. “And I think you won? Clint thought his expired Kool-Aid was wine. That was a very sad night.” 

Bruce freezes. 

“Ha. Yeah. That was right. She’s still banned.” 

“What was the debate upstairs about? I heard snippets about it. Tony said something about checking in the back? Is he mad about the fruit again? He can’t expect to buy strawberries and them to still be there.” 

Bruce laughs. 

“Nah, Steve’s having a group talk about therapy options for us. I think Tony’s gonna try and con his way out of it by pushing Bucky in front of him. It won’t work.” 

- 

As it turns out, Natasha has swift revenge. 

She can’t break into the lab. 

But she can make sure the two of them can’t break out. 

“Until you confess the door is gonna be closed,” Natasha says over the intercom. 

“Confess what?” Thor asks, looking nervous. 

“Oh…you know. Stuff. Now you have to by six, otherwise Steve will break you out and then you have to say it as a duo. Do you want to tell all of us or just the two of you…alone?” Nat asks. 

“Fuck you,” Bruce says, flipping off the sensor. 

- 

Thor’s nervous. He…this is new. He hasn’t liked someone is what is probably about two thousand years. 

Bruce is…he’s different. 

He likes the small things and rants about how stupid the smallest things are (like his least favorite spoon) and also looks phenomenal when the sun is shining and he’s laughing about a new story and…

Thor wants a forever. He’s known forever. 

But he hasn’t known forever with Bruce. 

And now they’re locked in his lab. 

Bruce bangs his head against the table. 

“Think Steve will break us out?” 

Thor is about to answer when the intercom comes to life again. 

“No, he won’t be,” Tony says. “I’ve managed to convince him to share his PowerPoint on what kind of fork he wants to reorder for the kitchen. He got passionate about what design he wants on the handle.” 

There’s a muffled yell that sounds suspiciously like “no curvature on the handle!” and then silence. 

“God,” Bruce mutters. 

They sit in silence for a moment. Thor’s not exactly sure what to say. It’s not like they make Hallmark cards for “you’re the first person I’ve loved in about two millennia and I want you to be mine until the earth implodes.” 

Similarly they don’t make a Hallmark card for “I thought I was incapable of love but now I’ve fallen in love with you and you’re a god and I’m a near-indestructible chaos-bringer.” 

It’s a work in progress for the card-making interns, honestly. 

“What did Nat mean by talking to me?” Thor asks. “I know this is probably gonna be awkward. Wouldn’t be locked into a lab if it wasn’t.” 

If Bruce had had maybe ten minutes to himself, he would’ve come up with a good lie. One that he could say without shifting eyes or a stuttering mouth. But he can’t. Lying takes time. 

“So I’m pretty sure I like you. As in want to take you out on a date like you. And I didn’t tell you because you’re a god.” 

Thor blinks. 

“Bruce no offense but you calling me a god and also seeing me at my lowest in salmon board shorts? Hilarious.” 

Bruce gives him a face. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“And I was going to say that I like you, but you are a brilliant scientist who changed your world through discovery, not by force,” Thor responds. “You love helping others and you also turn into a giant green guy who likes food trucks and hates not smashing things.” 

Bruce blinks. 

“Did we–?” 

“Yeah, we did. I also think this means we have an excuse to miss both Steve’s presentation on fork styles as well as his call for therapy, which in reality was only for Clint.” 

The lab doors open. Bruce automatically flips Natasha off, but is met with Natasha flipping him off. 

“Tony wants to talk to me about my ‘intentions’ with his cousin because of you, Banner. This means war.” 

“Well now I have a guy who has a giant, unliftable hammer on my side,” Bruce says defensively. He grabs onto Thor’s hand, grinning. “Just try me.” 

Thor smiles too. 

“I believe I owe Bruce a few more dates, so we will regrettably be missing Clint’s intervention,” Thor says. “See you later!” 

Clint makes a groupchat with them in it only to send: 

:((((( guys :( 

They don’t check it until the morning, after Bruce rolls over and complains that Thor has way better pillows. 

[collecting-stories]

Love at Frost Sight

A/N: This is the Christmas fic that I wrote for my sister after she said “wouldn’t it be great if Jeffrey Dean Morgan was the love interest in one of these cheesy hallmark movies?”. I don’t intend this to be a ‘real person’ fic but I seriously can’t think of any other name for him so I’ve just been using Jeff. 

Christmas Mingle Masterlist

_* ◦ ❅ . ❄︎ * ∙ ◦ . _

Two Weeks Before Christmas 

Audrey rolled her eyes, practically into the back of her head, as she leaned against the monitor of her cash register, Jingle Bells playing for what felt like the fifteenth time since her shift started that morning. She hated Christmas and, even more than that, she hated Christmas shoppers. 

She knew that most people were preparing to celebrate the most wonderful time of the year but she was not. The only thing she was interested in celebrating was the finalizing of her divorce papers, if she could just get her ex-husband to sign. How many years could a person be separated before they took the hint and realized that it was over? She'd felt like she'd been waiting years to hear from her lawyer and with Christmas right around the corner Audrey had the sinking feeling that she was going to be waiting into the New Year. 

As customers neared her lane, she flicked the light off above her till and slipped out, heading for the customer service counter to let them know she was stepping outside for a break. She didn't smoke but if everyone else could get five minutes every time they "needed a cigarette" she should get at least ten for suffering through customers that would've been theirs. It was cold outside anyway, the fact that she was willing to brave the 30 below temperature should be indication enough that this third loop through Sliver Bells was three times too many for her nerves. Maybe she should take up smoking. 

"Cady, I'll be right back." She called, waving to the woman behind the desk. Audrey had been working retail for the last eight months, since the family owned home goods shop she'd been managing had closed down. Ten years with the same company and all she had to show for it was a couple sentences on her resume. It didn't matter now though, whether it was the home goods store or Target, it wasn't what she really wanted to be doing with her time. 

The only shining star in the entirety of her months at Target was Cady, her sometimes carpool and generally the nicest person she knew. Cady knew every Dolly Parton song from start to finish and she loved Christmas, far more than any one person should. She spent half her pay in the so-called Wondershop, obsessed with the glitziest, pinkest, most Christmas-y items there. Her apartment looked like an ad for the holiday and, if Audrey didn't desperately need a friend who didn't also know her ex, Cady's obsession would send her running for the hills. 

"You know what?" Cady's voice came from behind her and Audrey turned around to see her pulling her jacket on over her red Christmas sweater, "I saw this app for the Holidays."

"Oh god, not another holiday dating app scheme. Please, Cads, I really just came out here to be alone for a couple of minutes." Audrey insisted. She wasn't sure she had it in her to listen to some Project Christmas or Christmas Coupling app sell.  

"This isn't like those, don't be such a grinch." Cady laughed, pulling her phone out of her pocket and swiping it open to show Audrey the app she was talking about. It was exactly the Tinder for Christmas, 'meet fun people' nonsense, that Audrey suspected it would be. "You can meet people in your area who 'don't do Christmas' too...it's like a 'hey I need a date for this holiday party' deal." 

"I do Christmas," Audrey insisted, thinking immediately of her mother's impending Christmas Eve party and her brother's Christmas open house, "I just don't do 'cutting down my own tree to a montage of Santa songs'. And I don't need an app, especially a holiday one, to find a date." 

"You should give it a try, maybe you'll meet someone." 

"I'm not really interested in meeting someone." Wasn't it good enough that she'd given so much of her time and devotion to Chris? Did she have to find more of it and give that away too? She had been sincere when she told Chris that she was done. Done with relationships and love and everything that came with it. "Losing another 15 pounds or actually completing those yoga classes I'm paying for, sure, but not meeting someone."

"Maybe it'll shake you out of your funk?" Cady suggested, waving her phone in Audrey's face as if that would do anything to convince her that she should give the app another thought. 

"I'm not in a funk. I just don't like Christmas." Wasn't it enough that she didn't like Christmas? Did she have to have a reason? 

"Just give it a try." She pressured.

Audrey rolled her eyes, once again, at the peer pressure techniques of her co-worker turned friend. Cady didn't have much to complain about in the relationship department. She was dating a guy who acted like she had invented the wheel, he did everything for her all the time and their relationship felt like looking through life with an instagram filter. It was all 'no complaints' and 'everything's perfect'. 

"What's the app called?"

"Christmas Mingle." 

"I hate that so much," Audrey muttered as she pulled her phone out of her pocket and opened the app store. The things she would do to get her friends off her back truly astounded her sometimes. She swiped through selfies that she had stored in her phone, trying to find one that didn't look too tragic to make her profile picture. This was just what she needed at Christmas, a bunch of desperate guys eager to find someone for a couple of meaningless dates. "You might as well sign me up for the Bachelor or something."

"Don't think I haven't thought about it." Cady joked, walking beside Audrey as they headed back into the warmth of Target, the overhead speaker reminding them to do their holiday shopping in store or online. Audrey held her tongue, not wanting to give Cady any more ridiculous ideas about her love life as she finished filling out her profile. Was it too cynical to say that she hated cliche dating apps and holiday themed anything? 

Cady let out a squeal as she peered passed Audrey's arm, watching her best friend press the green ok button, "this is so exciting."

"Come on Cads, this stuff is trash and you know it. No one ever meets their soulmate on these apps." Audrey laughed, pocketing her phone as she returned to her station, shrugging off her jacket.

"Some people do. My cousin met a guy on Match and she loves him." She replied, "besides, maybe you'll get someone you can take to your mom's Christmas Eve party?"

"Oh yeah, 'hey I know we just met on an app where you could be cat-fishing me but why don't we go to my family Christmas party'. That'll be something." 

"That's what it's for." Cady pointed out. 

"Get your light on Audrey." Marci called as she walked by the register, disrupting the two women chatting. 

"It really infuriates me that she's a manager...she's like 12 years younger than me." Audrey huffed, flicking her light on and watching Marci circle back around, that bounce still in her step that Audrey had lost too long ago.

"I'm ten years younger than you." Cady joked. Audrey frowned, looking over at Cady as she smiled back. Everyone else her age felt like they were hitting milestones that Audrey wasn't anywhere close to and the fact that her closest friend was 26 years old just made her feel like she had failed somewhere along the way. Why wasn't she brunching with other moms after dropping her kids at the Y? 

"I know you wanna hang out here until someone swipes right on me or whatever but it's not gonna happen so, you might as well just head back to customer service." Audrey pointed out, knowing exactly why Cady was hovering around her till. 

"Fine...tell me the minute someone does 'swipe right' though okay?" 

"Okay, go...goodbye." Audrey waved her off as a customer stepped into her line, beginning to load their groceries as Jingle Bells started to play. 

Today was going to take a whole bottle of wine if Audrey wanted any chance at all of forgetting that she had given up the last shred of dignity she had left by uploading her profile to a dating app. And a Christmas themed one at that. 

_* ◦ ❅ . ❄︎ * ∙ ◦ . _

Though Audrey hadn't said anything about it to Cady, and she wouldn't if she could help it, she wasn't totally off the market. She had gone on a few dates, nothing serious, and nothing that had paned out so far. Mostly just guys that had her rethinking the divorce because, if this was the dating pool left, maybe Chris wasn't the worst guy on the market. She was so wary of stupid apps  like Match and Tinder because she'd tried them and they had been nothing but a disappointment. And still, she had caved to Cady. Maybe it was peer pressure or maybe there really was a small part of her that was ready to move on, even if she didn't want to admit it. And she really didn't.

Home was an apartment above a law office downtown. Once upon a time it had been in walking distance of the shop that Audrey had managed. A quaint little place on the main street of a town that felt so much like a greeting card. She had started renting the apartment the night after she told Chris that their marriage was over. Just four years into it, he was the same person he'd been when they'd married and somewhere along the line she had forgotten what about that person she actually liked. Was he funny? Kind? Intelligent? Did he tick any of her boxes? She honestly couldn't remember. It was like she'd been living in a fog and when it lifted she just up and left with it. But Chris didn't let go, just like she should've known that he wouldn't, and so she'd been waiting four extra years just for him to sign some papers. 

The little apartment that had been her home for the last four years was devoid of any Christmas decorations, an outward reflection of her inward feelings about the holiday. There was no tree, no lights, nothing to indicate that the 25th of December was more than just another day on the calendar. She kicked her shoes off by the door, sliding her feet into her slippers almost immediately as she padded across the hardwood floor in pursuit of the kitchen and the bottle of red that she had sitting on the counter. Cady had bought her a in-shower wine glass holder and she had never been more appreciative of it than she was tonight. Exhausted and annoyed and happy to be in a room that wasn't playing every Christmas song that she hated. Even the Chinese food place two stores down had a tree in their front window. 

She poured herself a glass of red and headed for the bathroom, happy for a hot shower. Just as she suspected, Chris' lawyer had never gotten back about the papers, which meant that, for a the fourth complete year in a row he was refusing to sign the papers. She knew that by now she could just file without him but something about that made her feel bad, even when she knew it shouldn't. Had it really come to that? Him holding on to nothing while she ran as far away from it as she could? She didn't owe him anything, she'd given more than enough and yet, somehow, she couldn't bring herself to go through the divorce proceedings without him. Maybe Cady was right, maybe she did need to meet a guy. The app had given no notification and honestly, she couldn't be surprised. Her life was not a movie, as much as she wished it was some Bridget Jones rom-com that could assure her that everything would work out. No one was going to immediately respond and be the perfect guy. Kiss a few toads, as she could imagine her cousin saying. 

In the four years that she had come to live in the apartment, even after the shop closed, Audrey had come to love the place. The first place she had ever lived outside of her parents house and a dorm room had been the house Chris had leased for them. It was an amazing feeling, uncompromising, to have a place that was just hers. Just her stuff, just her taste, she didn't have to cater to anyone or listen to anyone. She ate whatever she wanted, wore whatever she wanted, watched whatever she wanted. In all honesty she wasn't sure why she hadn't tried single life sooner. But she knew the one set back, the thing everyone always mentioned, especially around the holidays. Didn't she get lonely? Weren't there times when she walked through that door and wished there was someone to greet her? Didn't she long for companionship? She wasn't so sure she wanted to try companionship again, considering the way it had ended last time. She was afraid, every time she thought about it, that this was just the type of person she was...she would always enter a relationship with her rose tinted glasses and she would always be disappointed when she took them off. 

Her phone dinged from the sink and Audrey popped her head out of the shower and looked across the small bathroom, "And so it begins." She said to herself, leaving the shower running as she stepped out, wet feet soaking the towel she had laid down across the tiles. She walked to the counter and grabbed her phone, wiping the fog so she could see the notification on her screen. A message from Christmas Meet-Cute, someone had swiped. 

She hummed as she scrolled through the guy's profile. He was older, older than her. Single dad to a 7-year-old 'spitfire' named Charlie. Audrey backtracked to the shower, grabbing her glass of wine and taking a large gulp. A kid? Did she want to date a guy with a kid? It was nice of him to lay it all out there and damn, did he look amazing in his profile pic, and sure, this wasn't the start of the rest of her life but did she want to date a guy with a kid? That was not something she imagined for herself at this point in her life. Thirty-six and starting over felt a little too mature to be thinking along the lines of mom, even if there was a step in front of that. 

"Chill out," she muttered to herself, scrolling back through the app to read the message he had sent her. 

_* ◦ ❅ . ❄︎ * ∙ ◦ . _

"Come on Charlie," Jeff pleaded once more, looking away from his phone and the message that was waiting his reply. Charlie, the near spitting image of his father as a boy, was sitting at the kitchen table, eyes trained on his Nintendo Switch. The handheld gaming console sat on top of the notebook that Charlie was supposed to be doing his math homework in. The closer it got to Christmas the harder he was to reign in. "Homework before games."

"But dad...I'm almost done," he whined, eyes never straying from Animal Crossing. Jeff had cautioned his mom against buying her only grandchild a switch for his seventh birthday but she couldn't be persuaded and now he was the one paying the price. 

"We agreed buddy, school first, games second." Jeff insisted, "turn it off and finish your homework."

"Fine." He grumbled, saving the game where he was and pushing the device across the table away from him. As soon as Jeff turned his back Charlie would have the game back in his hands, they both knew it but Jeff pretended to have garnered a win as he looked back down at his phone and the message there. 

It had been almost seven years, almost Charlie's entire life, since Jeff's wife had passed away, and longer still since he had even thought about dating. But he would be lying if he said that he wasn't lonely. That once Charlie turned in for the night and it was just him, sitting up alone, that he didn't long for someone else there. A companionship that a son couldn't offer. He wanted someone in his life again, someone he could share every part of himself with. It was a little hopeful and far too cliche for a man his age but he couldn't help being that way. 

-Hey, how're you?-

It wasn't exactly the message of the century but he still mulled over his response. It felt so casual. Was he supposed to dive right in and ask her out to dinner? Should he even be considering dating a week before Christmas? He glanced back over at Charlie, craning his neck to look at the nintendo switch as he scribbled gibberish attempts at math in his notebook. Jeff took another look  at his phone and answered. 

-Doing alright, I'm pretending I know something about second grade math.-

-Sounds rough.-

Jeff smiled, shaking his head as he placed his phone down and headed back to the kitchen table.  "Alright Charlie, lets see if we can get through this math." He said, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to his son. 

"I got it." Charlie insisted as he snuck his hand across the notebook to reach for his nintendo. 

Jeff closed his hand over Charlie's, "no nintendo, remember?"

"I'm almost at the next part of the game." 

"The next part of the game will still be there." Jeff reasoned as he moved his hand, pushing the nintendo out of his son's reach. "Come on kiddo, homework first."

"Fine."

Charlie's homework didn't take as long as Jeff was afraid that it would and, as Charlie finished the last problem on the paper Jeff grabbed his phone off the counter to check the messages. The 'sounds rough' from earlier was still sitting there, alone, waiting for a response. He worried for a minute, as he typed one out, that the woman on the other end would have moved on. Life online felt like it moved a little too fast for him but he tried to keep up with it, at least in hopes that it would pay off. 

-Finally finished. Not as smart as I remember.- 

-I'm sure that's not true.-

He smiled as the text came right back. Even if this mystery person was talking to other people, and he was sure she probably was, it felt like everyone always was, he appreciated that it felt like she was only talking to him. 

"Dad!" Charlie slipped off his chair and ran into the living room where the tree was. On the record cabinet by the fireplace, the one that was playing an old jazz Christmas album, was Charlie's advent calendar. "We forgot to pick out the chocolate for today!"

"Oh man, what's today's drawer?" Jeff asked, pocketing his  phone again and walking into the living room where Charlie had grabbed a seat on the couch, advent drawer in his lap as he looked down at the two pieces of lindt chocolate. 

"Lindt!" He exclaimed, holding the pieces of chocolate up to his face like they were eyeballs. Jeff laughed as Charlie lowered them again, opening one immediately to eat it. "Lindt is my favorite!" 

"I know." Jeff ruffled his son's hair, "we'll pack the other for your lunch tomorrow, alright?"

"Okay, but don't put it in the front pocket or it'll get squished." Charlie explained, handing over the chocolate and the trash to his dad. 

Advent chocolate was followed by bedtime, changing into pajamas and reading a story, Christmas themed as per Charlie's request, before turning out the lights for bed. Once he was sure that Charlie was on his way to falling asleep Jeff headed back downstairs to finish cleaning up the kitchen. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and took his phone out as he reclined on the couch. These were the moments that he missed his wife the most. He knew it should've been at baseball games or birthday parties but it wasn't. It was once Charlie was asleep and he was alone again, not something he had ever really been accustomed to in his life and certainly not something he enjoyed. 

-Sorry, I had to put my son to bed.-

-No worries, I'm watching some cheesy Christmas movie my friend suggested and enjoying some Chinese food.-

-What's your order?-

-Why?-

Jeff took a sip of his beer as he texted, feeling somewhat like a teenager, staying up late at night to talk to a girl. 

-A bad Chinese order is a deal breaker.-

-Damn, so soon? Ok. S&S chicken and these like, rice noodles. Idk what they're called but they are AMAZING!-

-Thats all? Come on.-

-I'm one person! How much food do you want me to eat?-

-You gotta have leftovers.-

-I know this sounds gross but leftover Chinese for breakfast is like a weird comfort food for me.-

-How would you feel if I proposed right now?-

-Moving a little fast there Jeff? Lol, maybe a date first?-

-Name the time and place.-

_* ◦ ❅ . ❄︎ * ∙ ◦ . _

The mulling was somehow worse than Audrey remembered it being. That gnawing feeling on inadequacy as she stood in front of her closet and tried to piece together some sort of smart but casual outfit that didn't scream 'hopeless' when she put it on. She tried the black dress she'd bought two years ago but it felt too much like she was dressing for a funeral. Red felt too on the nose; a date at Christmastime in a red dress? How much more of a cliche could she make herself? She settled, after all that stressing, on a fairisle sweater that wasn't too loose and a pair of jeans tucked into her favorite chelsea boots. Maybe it wasn't exactly the vibe she was going for but in looked nice enough and she could get away with the french braid that she had resolved not to take out of her hair. 

She had called Cady in a panic. The only friend she could reach out to in her moment of anxious fear that she was making a terrible mistake. She'd been on other dates and she'd never felt like this, which was either a good thing or a terrible thing that she was dressing up for the sake of wanting something she wasn't sure she wanted. 

"What am I supposed to say? Hey nice to meet you, these are the parties I'd like you to date me for?" Audrey asked, walking to the door and then back again in search of shoes that ended up being in her closet. 

"You know he doesn't have to come to my party? I already know you're single." Cady pointed out. 

Audrey wanted to say that she hated Cady's dumb parties. A bunch of 20 somethings hanging onto their high school years, talking about bands that Audrey didn't care to listen to and trying to out  'counterculture' each other. "That's not even close to the point of my question." She replied.

Cady sighed through the phone, "just relax, drink some beers and have a nice night." 

Audrey stopped to look herself over in the mirror, checking her teeth for lipstick. The red popped against her skin and she leaned forward in the dim hall light, "I think my roots are coming in."

"So?"

"So I'm not 26 babe," Audrey replied, "my roots are already greying."

"You're so dramatic, you probably look amazing." Cady was always ready with a encouragement and Audrey chose to take it, promising to call her when she got home before hanging  up and leaving the apartment before she could change her mind about any part of herself or the night. 

Jeff had chosen the place. The brewhouse at the bottom of the hill, where the stores turned into the pike and the neighborhood was even less residential. She walked, which might not've been the smartest decision, especially when she got all the way to the bottom of the hill, slightly out of breath, bundled in the green coat her mom had bought her two winters ago to 'add some color' to her wardrobe. If it wasn't so warm she'd have regifted it. The coat lasted until she hit the inside of the brewhouse and then she was pulling it off, warm from the walk and the heat blasting at the entrance. She scanned the bar for a moment as she folded the coat over her arm, smiling when she recognized Jeff at the other end. He looked just like his profile picture, thick black glasses, the begins of a salt and pepper beard, he was taller than she thought he would be but she certainly couldn't complain about that. 

"Hi," she felt suddenly nervous. She'd been fine to text with him the other night but now, she was feeling like a teenager. But the nerves disappeared almost immediately as Jeff smiled, holding his arms out and wrapping her in a hug. It was warm and friendly and she couldn't help that brief moment of wishing that she could settle into the hug and never let go. But she had to so she did, letting go of him and stepping back just enough that she was still taking up his space just slightly. "How're you?"

"Alright," He replied, "admiring these holiday specials," he tapped the cardboard sign that sat on the bar, advertising seasonal cocktails. 

"I think I'll stick to a beer." Audrey laughed, "I can buy a bottle of something cheaper and make my own cocktails."

"Nothing beats getting drunk at home." He agreed, flagging the bartender. 

"That's my life in a nutshell," she said. "So how does this work, we get drinks and then head upstairs to get seated?"

"Yeah, figured it was more casual that way," Jeff replied. He'd only been to the brewhouse a handful of times, usually with Charlie or with friends but the food was delicious and their beers were top notch so he figured, if nothing else went right, at least he could offer Audrey a nice meal. 

"Works for me," she replied, ordering the same beer as Jeff when the bartender asked what she wanted, "I don't think I've ever been in here, it's so cute. I'm not usually into Christmas decorations." 

"Not into Christmas decorations?" He laughed, taking a sip of his beer. 

"Is that your deal breaker?" Audrey asked, a slow smile lighting up her features as she watched him laugh and shake his head. 

"No, I'll let you off the hook for that one." 

"I appreciate it." Audrey replied. She took her beer from the bar, stepping away and letting Jeff rest his hand on her lower back as he walked them through the small crowd to the stairs that led up to the restaurant upstairs. "I feel like I should ask what deal breakers you do have?" She said as the host led them to a corner table near the window. 

"Not too many." He admitted, "I mean, I've got Charlie so...good with kids is pretty much the standard." 

"I'm not around too many but my brother says I'm a hell of a babysitter," She joked, "I could get you some references." 

"I'll take your word for it." Jeff had an easy laugh, like a wave crashing over her and wrapping her in the best kind of calm. 

Audrey tucked her hands into her lap, crossing her legs as she looked over the menu, "so why Christmas Mingle?" She asked, "who're you trying to get off your back?" 

"Family," Jeff replied, taking off his glasses. He pulled the hem of his undershirt out from beneath his sweater, wiping the lenses off and then holding them up to the light. "I could clean these a thousand times and they'd still be dirty." He huffed. 

Audrey smiled, "my dad does the breathing on them thing to clean them." 

"Breathing on them thing?" 

"Yeah," she reached her hand across the table, "here?" 

Jeff handed his glasses over, the tips of his fingers brushing against hers as she took them. He watched as Audrey took a breath, letting it out and fogging up the lenses. She used the sleeve of her sweater to clean them before handing them back to him. "What's the verdict?"

"Good as new," Jeff smiled. "So what about you? Why're you succumbing to the dating app world?"

"Cause my best friend is 26 years old and drinking in the shower is lonely." Audrey joked, earning another laugh from Jeff, one that sent shivers right down her spine and made her lean forward a little more. "Honestly, I separated from my husband four years ago and I'm just, ready to move on. Sorry, I know that's like-"

"Nothing wrong with that. People change." He replied, an easy sort of understanding that Audrey honestly couldn't remember experiencing before. 

When she had first told her parents that she and Chris were separating they had practically recoiled, the abject horror of their youngest child, their last to be married but seemingly their most in love, calling off the marriage that they had been so happy about. Friends had felt divided and still did, awkwardly dancing around the subject of Chris when they spoke to her, even now. It was a circumstance of that awkwardness that had Audrey ignoring her friends. Cady had only known her after. She didn't know the happiest moments of Audrey's life with Chris, it was easy to get sympathy and support from her. But this was different. The way Jeff said 'people change' made it seem not so taboo, not so horrible, not so worthy of guilt. 

"I was the one who did all the changing, I think." Audrey admitted. "Are you?"

"Charlie's mom passed away," Jeff answered. 

"Oh gosh," she took a sip of her beer, cheeks flushing just slightly. Here she was, feeling bad about being (almost) divorced and Jeff was telling her that he had lost his wife. "I'm so sorry."

"Charlie was, just a baby when it happened. So it's been almost seven years."

"Doesn't really seem like it makes it easier." Audrey replied. "People say it does, but," she trailed off and Jeff shrugged, taking a drink from his beer glass. 

The waitress came around to take their orders, a pleasant lull in conversation that seemed to have advanced too far for a first date. Audrey wasn't exactly sure what made good first date etiquette anymore; whenever she had dated in the past she had always let them lead the conversation and let herself drift off. Now, making an effort to actually talk to him, to ask intelligent questions that felt interesting but not too serious too soon, she felt a sort of pressure she hadn't since she was in her 20s. The last time she'd been on a first date that she wanted to be a second she had gone out with Chris and they were so young and everything felt so exciting. And  this was exciting, Jeff was exciting, but there was a comfortable sort of reality that set around her. A maturity, maybe, that hadn't ever been there before.

"Where do you work?" She chanced asking as they waited for their food. A happier topic; hopefully one less serious. 

"I work at the college, I'm an English Professor." Jeff replied, "you?"

"Well, now I'm embarrassed," Audrey laughed. She didn't feel bad when she was talking to Cady or anyone of Cady's 20-something friends but everyone her age or older had always made her feel unaccomplished. "I've been working at Target for now. I used to manage an art goods store here in town but it folded about a year ago." 

"Is that what you would like to do again, manage an art store?" He asked.

"I would like to actually use my art degree, maybe teach." Audrey replied honestly. "When, uh, when I was married I felt like I needed to be home, starting a family, and now I'm sort of...uh, sorry I'm like unpacking all this on you."

"Unpack away," he said, smiling. 

When the waitress came back with your orders Jeff moved his elbows off the table, leaning back a little to give the young woman room to put his plate in front of him. She asked about refills, promising to bring back two beers and a glass of water for you. 

"So what are these Christmas parties you're trying to rope me into?" Jeff asked, popping a fry in his mouth as he spoke.

"Well, friend Cady-"

"The 26 year old?" 

"That's the one," Audrey laughed, stabbing at pieces of her fish, "she has a party that is...something but I promised I'd go and then my parent's Christmas Eve." 

"I think a 26 year old's party is a little out of my wheelhouse." Jeff admitted, "Not quite sure I'll fit in there."

"I don't fit in there." She replied. Audrey had been to a few of Cady's parties since getting to know her and, if they were anything to go on, this party would be the same. "But I wanna...cut out early." 

"Well that I can help you with." 

"What are your holiday plans?" 

"Family party and work party for my department." He  said, "both boring."

"I don't mind boring," Audrey replied. She couldn't even imagine them having a boring night. Maybe it was a possibility in some world but he just didn't seem like the type capable of boring. "It's so odd to be negotiating this kind of stuff...I mean, I  know that's the point of the app but I still sort of, feel weird."

"Don't think of it that way," Jeff offered, leaning his forearms against the table again, "it can just be casual or we can see where things go."

"The latter sounds pretty tempting." 

_* ◦ ❅ . ❄︎ * ∙ ◦ . _

The lights along the main street outlined the buildings, a warm white glow of Christmas covering the small town. Audrey saw it every night on the way home from work, exhausted by the sight of the shoppers congesting the sidewalk and the lights glowing through her window in the evening when she was trying to relax. All she wanted those days was to find a parking space and get inside her apartment as quickly as possible. She didn't want to meander around the street or walk down to where the giant tree was always set up at the round-a-bout. She barely even wanted to hang a wreath on the glass door that lead to the tiny vestibule at the bottom of the steps up to her apartment. It was bad enough the neighbor she shared the entry way with loved to leave little gifts on her mailbox that she always felt obligated to reciprocate; the wreath was overkill in her mind. 

Tonight she wasn't in a hurry to get home and out of her uniform. She wasn't suffering through the traffic that accumulated on this street or desperately trying to find a parking spot that didn't force her to walk farther than she wanted to. Tonight she was walking down the street with Jeff, her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow as she invaded his personal space. Partially to avoid bumping into anyone window shopping as the stores closed and partially because she was finding herself enjoying the feeling of being close to someone again. Maybe it was just Jeff or maybe Cady was right and she was lonelier than she thought she was, either way she was enjoying the evening more than she had enjoyed any other date she'd been on in the last two years. 

"So, do you go all out with decorations for the holiday?" Audrey asked as they passed the window of a shop with a specifically Christmas display. 

"Oh yeah, we hit all the marks." Jeff replied, "biggest tree in the lot, lights everywhere, wreaths...Charlie gets really excited about the holiday and I've always tried to make it a special time of the year for him." 

"My dad is a big Christmas fan, he even used to dress up like Santa and put all the presents under the tree." Audrey replied, "I think I was ten when I realized that Santa looked a whole lot like my dad in a bad wig."

"I don't think I can pull off Santa...which is probably a good thing, Charlie already has a never-ending list, if he thought I was Santa it'd stretch into next Christmas."

"Smart kid," She laughed, "I just told my dad it was him...I should of thought of extortion." 

"I'll keep the two of you apart then." Jeff replied, "don't want anyone getting any ideas."

Audrey lingered at a window, looking in at the tree that was on display. It wasn't particularly special compared to any of the other window displays, the only real difference being that she was getting close to her apartment and suddenly had the urge to slow down. She didn't want the night to end, as silly as it sounded to say. 

"Any plans for the rest of the week?" Jeff asked, looking into the same window that she was. 

"I need to finish Christmas shopping...not that I have a lot to do, really, just last minute stuff." Audrey replied. "I seriously miss getting a stocking."

"It's not the same when you know what's gonna be in it." Jeff joked, "Charlie insists I hang one but I'm just buying for myself." 

"I buy for myself enough that putting up a stocking would just be overkill." Audrey said, "my apartment's up ahead...do you have to walk back down to get your car?"

Jeff had offered to walk Audrey back up the hill to her apartment after dinner and she had agreed to let him, happy to spend some extra time with him. Now that they were walking again, just a block from her apartment, she realized that he would have to walk all the way back down the hill if he drove.

"I took the trolley to the top of the hill actually," Jeff replied, "I live passed the park, in the row homes." 

"Damn, if I knew that I would've had you bring me some coffee." Audrey laughed, thinking of the coffee shop that sat at the end of the row homes. 

"Next time." Jeff promised. 

Both of them slowed again as they reached the door that led to Audrey's apartment, the evergreen and poinsettia wreath illuminated by the light above the door. Audrey pulled her arm away from Jeff, reaching into her coat pocket from her keys. "I feel like the 'this is me' part is always so awkward." She admitted, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face. 

"Only when the date's going well." 

"Are you saying it's not?" She laughed. 

"Oh, not at all, this one is going exceptionally well." Jeff replied, that easy grin on his face.

"Good answer," Audrey unlocked the front door, pulling it open and standing there, holding it with the toe of her boot, "I guess I'll text you." 

"Looking forward to it." He leaned toward her, placing a kiss just on the corner of her mouth, causing Audrey to smile as her eyes opened and she looked up at him. 

"Bye."

-

I don’t really know what to tag this but also...I’d love any feedback!!! 

[lady-divine-writes]

ACITW AU one-shot “Hidden Talents” (Rated PG13)

Summary: After the stress and pressure of wedding planning drives them out of the city, Kurt and Sebastian hide out in Sebastian's old room. Kurt starts cleaning Sebastian's closet while Sebastian flips through old yearbooks, being of no help whatsoever. While weeding through Sebastian's collection of clothes and shoes, Kurt stumbles upon something he'd never thought he'd find in a million years - Sebastian's long lost violin. (4613 words)

Notes: So, we all remember that in ACITW Sebastian plays the violin, that Julian claimed he was really good at it, and could have probably done something with it? Then it just never gets mentioned, not even once by Sebastian's parents, which leads me to believe there's a reason. This one-shot explores that reason, and whether or not Sebastian is really as proficient as his brother claims.

Part of ACITW AU

Read on AO3

“Donate or keep?” Kurt asks, holding up a fitted Marc Jacobs polo, fashionable despite its age. Then again, polo shirts are the standard, and designer never goes out of style. Like a fine wine, it matures, even if the shirt’s owner - sitting cross-legged on his bed, chuckling over photos in an old yearbook - has managed to remain perpetually sixteen.

His sense of humor pinging at a solid age twelve.

“Jeff, you bastard!” Sebastian snorts, flipping off a photo that Kurt can’t see from where he’s standing. Sebastian finds a block of sloppy text at the bottom right corner and runs a fingertip over it. He reads the slanted script, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, gatekeeper of another undignified snort. “Fuck, I miss you, man! See you at the wedding.”

Kurt clears his throat, aggravated by the amount he keeps losing Sebastian’s attention, but he can’t help smiling either. They don’t reminisce about high school often - too many mines left undetonated in those fields. But it’s nice to see Sebastian like this, especially considering the current stress they’re both under - a stress that’s driven them from their penthouse in the city back home to Westerville for the next few weeks.

Unfortunately, retreating to this sanctuary of family and nostalgia has caused that stress to amplify tenfold.

“Sebastian,” Kurt sings when even his most dramatic throat clearing doesn’t do the trick. “Oh, Sebastian. Eyes up here, please.”

Sebastian’s head snaps Kurt’s way, his brow pinched as if he only now remembered that Kurt is in the room with him, and that they have a job to do. “What?”

“Donate,” Kurt repeats in a syrupy tone (more like pine tar as opposed to maple - thicker, darker, more bitter), shaking the navy blue shirt on its hanger for emphasis, “or keep?”

“Keep,” Sebastian decides in an instant, then returns to his yearbook, snickering at another picture on the same page.

“Good,” Kurt murmurs, setting the polo aside. I intend on borrowing that one, he thinks, finding the silver lining since he’s the only one of the two of them taking this task seriously. He rifles through the closet and pulls out another shirt, one less style-savvy than the polo. That’s okay. At this point, it can be deemed retro. Regardless, Kurt has no intention of borrowing it. “How about this one? Donate or keep?”

Sebastian’s eyes flutter up from the page, barely focusing on the shirt before returning to the book in his lap. “Keep.”

Kurt rolls his eyes as he lays this shirt over the polo. He’d really hoped this one would end up in the donate box. If they hold on to it, there’s a chance Sebastian might actually decide to wear it, which puts the burden on Kurt to come up with something for himself that matches (provided they don’t want to run the risk of blinding anyone).

Kurt didn’t fall in love with Sebastian for his taste in clothes, which, to be fair, is decent - long lines; primary colors; simple, clean-cut elegance that pairs well with Kurt’s bolder, more adventurous choices. Sebastian can be quite the fashion plate himself when he has a mind to, one rogue t-shirt notwithstanding.

He lets Kurt style him more times than not so Kurt can’t complain.

Kurt goes back to the closet and selects a pair of shorts he knows don’t fit Sebastian anymore. They’re from Sebastian’s lacrosse days, when his thighs were bulkier, his glutes rounder. Not that Sebastian doesn’t have a gorgeous body now. His fitness regimen is impressive, even by Kurt’s standards. But spending hours on end running up and down a grass field does wonders for the buns and thighs.  

Kurt doesn’t want to banish everything from Sebastian’s Dalton days. Sebastian’s lacrosse uniforms were the first things Kurt slipped into the keep box without asking his say so. But these tan shorts are atrocious! He’s glad that after an hour of this, they’ll finally have a submission to the donate box, which has collected only dust so far along with one lonely copy of Mein Kampf - a relic from senior year AP European History.

“Donate or keep?” Kurt asks, dangling the garment presumptively over the donation box.

Sebastian glances at it, tilting his head and giving the matter a soupcon of thought. “Donate.”

Kurt removes the shorts from their clips with a sigh of relief. Finally! he thinks. Now we’re getting somewhere! But before he has the chance to drop them in, Sebastian recants (without looking up). “No, keep. Keep.”

“What!” Kurt stares at Sebastian, mouth agape. “Why? These don’t even fit you!”

“Are they too big or too small?”

“Too big! Plus, they’re cargo shorts, Sebastian! Cargo shorts!”

“They’ll be good for layering.”

Kurt’s eyes go buggy and wide. Sebastian hasn’t peeked, but he grins knowing what Kurt must look like right now, that vein in his head that throbs when he gets upset ready to burst. “When in the world would you need to layer shorts!?”

“I dunno,” Sebastian mumbles, eyes glued to a new page.  

Kurt growls, slamming the offensive item into the overflowing keep box, which might as well be labeled the Why are we wasting our time here? box. “Are you planning on getting rid of anything?”

“Uh …” Sebastian looks up and around. “Yes. That burrito wrapper over there.” He points to the corner of his desk where the trash from their lunch had been unceremoniously abandoned in favor of this. “That definitely needs to go.”

“Ha ha,” Kurt says, reluctantly cleaning up the mess. He objects to playing maid in his fiance’s old bedroom, but since he’s not currently doing anything of value, he grabs the stiff paper wrapper and crumples it in his hands - no, strangles it, using it as a stand-in for Sebastian’s neck. Sebastian turns to the next page, but looks up when he hears the wrapper succumb to Kurt’s crushing fingers.

“Oh, wait! I don’t think I finished …” Sebastian gestures repeatedly at the wadded wrapper, unable to think of a suitable end to his sentence, his brain sandwiched between curbing Kurt’s annoyance and processing the sentiments on the page without them bringing a tear to his eye. People say that if high school was one of the best times in your life, you were probably a privileged asshole. Well, he was. And it was … mostly. “I may want to hold on to that a little while longer.”

“Why!?”

“Dunno.”

“What the---!?” Kurt slams the balled up wrapper down with an irritated yawp. “Cleaning out your closet was your idea you know!”

“Oh contraire,” Sebastian retorts with maddening superiority. “All I said was that I may want to siphon out a few things while I’m here. You’re the one who came up with the brilliant idea of paring down my things and donating them to charity.”

“And why not? What good does any of this stuff do just sitting here in this closet? It’s not like you’re planning on moving any of it to our place and wearing it!”

“True, but if I get rid of it, what would my mother have in her later years to rummage through sentimentally, hold to her cheek and sigh when she misses me?”

Kurt shakes his head slowly, unamused on Charlotte’s behalf. “That’s just … horrible. Like the plot of a bad Hallmark Christmas movie.”

“There are good Hallmark Christmas movies? I sure as hell never seen one.”

“Hmph. And you say I watch too many cheesy chick flicks.”

“You do, but that’s entirely beside the point.”

“You’ve got tons of clothes here you don’t use,” Kurt presses with renewed vigor. “It wouldn’t hurt to get rid of some of it, make someone else’s day brighter by giving them the opportunity to purchase name brands for a bargain. I know that always cheers me up.”

“Weren’t you the one telling me that as much as you love Marie Kondo, closet purging is overwhelming the charity industry, and that most of the stuff we donate ends up on barges traveling the world, bouncing from port to port until they inevitably sink into the sea and devastate the aquatic ecosystem?”

“Yes, but at the time you were trying to get me to trim down my Jimmy Choo collection.”

“Because no one in their right mind needs eighty-six pairs of the same patent leather loafer, Kurt!”

Kurt tuts sharply. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“I do know you! That’s how I knew that if I came out against your plan, you’d get loud and yell-y! That’s what I was trying to avoid! I only went along with it because …“ Sebastian’s sentence cuts off when he clamps his jaw shut with a clack that shoots straight up Kurt’s spine. If Sebastian’s tongue had been anywhere near his teeth, part of it would have been chomped clean off.

“Because what?” Kurt asks, sore at being accused of acting ‘yell-y’ - a stone’s throw too close to ‘groomzilla’, which they’ve both accused one another of too many times in the last three months to count.

Sebastian sighs, rearranges his legs on the bed so that they’re spread and not twisted like a pretzel. “Asking you up here was an excuse to get you alone for five frickin’ minutes. We’ve been swamped since the second we got here! We left the city to escape your friends and my friends and the wedding planner’s incessant phone calls. But my mom and Olivia took over where everyone else left off.”

“They’re just excited for us,” Kurt says soothingly, not admitting yet that he knows exactly how Sebastian feels.

“I realize that. And I’m glad they’re excited but …” Sebastian thumbs the edges of the pages he has yet to read, watches them fall beneath his hand one by one “… who knew that deciding to get married would mean never getting a moment’s peace?”

“I guess they figure we’ll get enough of that after we’re married.”

“Then they don’t know us very well, do they?” Sebastian scoffs, venom lacing his words, so palpable it gives Kurt a rash.

Ever since Kurt moved up the ranks from Flying Monkey in the cast of Wicked to the more coveted role of Fiyero, he’s been in higher demand, and thus, less available. Even to Sebastian.

Kurt has dreamed of planning his own wedding for years. He’d started an idea book along the way, cutting out photographs from bridal magazines and gluing them into the pages, creating palettes and themes depending on current trends, potential venues, and time of year. But with both Kurt’s and Sebastian’s schedules so hectic, they had to weigh the importance of Kurt planning their wedding against the probability of them marrying before the turn of the century.

Getting married won, but only by a slim margin.

They hired the best wedding planner in the city, recommended by everyone in their tax bracket, whose artistic vision matched Kurt’s nearly beat by beat (according to the pictures on her website of ceremonies she’d helped bring to fruition). To Sebastian’s naive mind, that meant they would leave everything in her capable hands while they went on with their lives, drop in for the occasional consultation to check that the roses she chose suit Kurt’s vision or that the place settings have the right number of candles in them.

But Kurt literally hated everything their planner came up with.

So they’ve had to be present for every second of their wedding’s creation to ensure they’ll get the chance to celebrate the way they want.

They’re paying someone else thousands of dollars for Kurt to plan their wedding anyway.

The irony is staggering.

To that end, they’re having two weddings - one for their New York friends and associates, and a second intimate ceremony for their Ohio family.

Sebastian knew from go that Kurt’s pack of female friends from high school would descend upon them and monopolize Kurt’s time with the obligatory brunches and showers, which was understandable and therefore forgivable. What Sebastian didn’t factor in was the amount in which the theater company would use Kurt’s engagement as a PR instrument, slipping it into every interview, at every opportunity how one of their leading male cast members is months away from wedding his wealthy boyfriend, playing the whole thing up as some sort of fairy tale (with the term ‘fairy’ vaguely but constantly applied).

Broadway’s full of gays, remember! And this one’s gettin’ hitched!

Sebastian thought the whole thing vulgar but he didn’t sweat it … not until the side-effects of that exploitation began to bleed in to their every day lives.

Namely the celebrity.

Sebastian is accustomed to having eyes on him. He’s a handsome man and he knows it. He’s used his charm and his checkbook to open doors that weren’t already propped for his arrival his entire life. What he wasn’t used to was the sheer amount of eyes that would follow him everywhere. Letters addressed to Kurt showed up at his office. Paparazzi camped out on their doorstep. Admirers stopped him on the street to ask him every manner of question.

And Kurt’s fans knew no shame.

An unsolicited tide of attention chased them back home, along with an utter lack of privacy because everybody knows.

Everybody.

Even out here in backwater Ohio.

Checkers at the supermarket, cashiers at Target, the guy filling up the tanks at the gas station down the block, pretty much every single person they’ve come in contact with has congratulated them on their wedding.

How people found out Kurt and Sebastian had gone to Ohio, Sebastian has no idea. They left in the middle of the night and drove so they wouldn’t have to fuss with tickets. No one needed to be informed because time off for both of them had been arranged ahead of time. But someone found out they’d left early, and that person told because they’ve received everything from gift baskets to magnums of champagne at both the Smythe estate and Kurt’s father’s home.

The (now mildly - because that’s considered progress) homophobic country club that refused to let Kurt and Sebastian take dance lessons as a couple had the nerve to call and congratulate Greg and Charlotte on their son’s upcoming nuptials, offering them use of their main ballroom for the wedding, the reception, any accompanying shindigs they had planned - the same ballroom that hosted both Presidents Reagan and Carter during their administrations (they mentioned more than twice).

Olivia happened to be at the house the day they called, so Charlotte gave her the honor of the telling them where they could shove their offer.

It made Olivia’s day.

“If you’d told me from the beginning that you wanted to get me alone,” Kurt says, arching a suggestive eyebrow, “we’d be on your bed making out instead of doing mindless busywork on opposite ends of the room.”

“Ooo. Sounds like a plan,” Sebastian says, throwing Kurt a wink … then goes back to his yearbook, finger raised in a pause gesture. “Just … give me … one second.”

Kurt crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. “Wow. That’s just … that’s just … wow. Thanks a lump.” Ego bruised, he turns back to the closet. He pushes the clothes aside, giving up on that front for a while, and tackles the floor. He smirks when he sees Sebastian’s shoes, stored in their boxes, lined up in rows and stacked three deep. If he knows his fiance, the majority of them are boat shoes, each in the exact same style but different colors.

Make fun of me for my eighty-six pairs of loafers, will you?

He reaches for the topmost box but gets distracted when his hand brushes something hard and canvas leaning against the wall. Kurt steps aside to let more light in since the object blends in with the shadows. Kurt gets a good look at it, realizes what it is, and his heart stutters in his chest.

“Oh my …” He grabs hold of the handle and tugs it out gently. “So here it is. The fabled violin.”

That succeeds in getting Sebastian’s attention. His eyes light up when he sees Kurt approach carrying the case in his arms. Kurt hands the violin case over and Sebastian takes it, bringing it to him like a sacred artifact from his own past - one he thought he’d never lay eyes on again.

“It’s been forever,” Sebastian gasps. “I forgot I put it in this closet. I thought my mother had it.”

“Why did you give it up?” Kurt asks, watching Sebastian open the case to reveal the sublime instrument, wood polished and gleaming, appearing deceptively brand new with the exception of a few tells that speak to how much Sebastian played it - light-colored wear on the fretboard, a cloudiness to the finish on the chin rest, scratches here and there on the veneer.

“It’s just one of those things that faded from my life, stopped bringing me joy … about the same time everything else did.”

“Do you think you’d ever play it again?”

“Possibly.” Sebastian removes the violin from its case and holds it lengthwise in front of his eyes, examining it from end to end. “I mean, it’s been a dog’s age. I’m not sure I’d be any good at it.”

“Any chance it’s like riding a bike and you never forget?”

“Only one way to find out.” Sebastian plucks the strings in succession and smiles. It doesn’t sound too far off pitch to Kurt. Sebastian adjusts the strings, checking them against one another to make sure they’re in tune. Then he removes the bow from its resting place and tightens it. “Don’t rag on me too hard if I completely suck at this.”

“I won’t,” Kurt says. “I promise. I’ll just, you know, bring it up subtly at special occasions and bank holidays, maybe find a way to fit it into my toast at the wedding.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Sebastian rosins up his bow. He fits the violin underneath his chin. From the second it touches his skin, his attitude changes. He simultaneously tenses and relaxes, reminiscent of the way he behaved during their first sushi date, when he dropped eel and flecked soy sauce all over Kurt’s clothes. Kurt refrains from laughing at the memory. He doesn’t want Sebastian to think he’s laughing at him. But he can’t help smiling. Yes, their past is riddled with landmines, but the memories hidden in the flat, stable ground between never cease to make him glad.

Glad that he and Sebastian got together in the end.

Sebastian runs the bow experimentally over the strings, the sound it produces warm and rich, like hot Godiva cocoa on a cold, rainy day. Sebastian leans into that tone as he runs through scales, drawing end notes out a full four beats before launching into the next set. The quickness in which he picks it up takes Kurt’s breath away.

If Kurt was thinking of making fun of Sebastian for anything, he surely isn’t now.

“Why don’t we start with a classic, hmm?” Sebastian suggests, cheeks starting to pink from the look of open and unabashed awe on Kurt’s face.

“Where do you want to start? Bach? Beethoven?”

“I think …” Sebastian sits up taller, corrects his posture “… Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

“Are you sure?” Kurt teases, but with less snark than usual. “I wouldn’t want you to set yourself up to fail or anything.”

“It’s good to go back to the basics. Limber up the old chops, so to speak.”

“Are they still chops if you’re talking about your fingers?”

“Don’t know,” Sebastian says with a shrug. “I didn’t invent it.”

Kurt settles in comfortably on the bed as he waits for Sebastian to pull something mid-range from his bag of tricks, like Minuet in G, a piece that millions of children have hammered out on innocent instruments since learning the recorder in middle school became mandatory. But true to his word, Sebastian starts with Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, picking the notes on the strings with his forefinger. But one verse in, he puts the bow to the strings, and starts a whole other story.

Kurt had expected Sebastian to be rusty, suffer a few false starts before he got into the swing of things. Scales are one thing. They follow a predictable pattern. It’s fairly simple to keep them smooth. But Sebastian sounds like he put his violin down for the last time yesterday. Kurt almost stops him to accuse him of having a secret violin hidden somewhere that he’s been practicing on this entire time, probably at his office where Kurt wouldn’t see. He considers pulling out his phone and texting Sebastian’s secretary, interrogating her to see if she’ll spill about any mid-afternoon practice sessions when the partners were out at lunch.

Though, in this particular instance, Kurt doesn’t know if Sebastian is more likely to hide his tremendous talent or rub it in his face.

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star ends and Sebastian melds it into a classical melody, one Kurt can’t name off-hand though he knows he’s heard it before. It’s slow, romantic - the kind of piece a director would use to cap off the credits on a bittersweet rom-com, one where the tragic heroine, diagnosed with a withering variety of late-stage cancer, dies after the love of her life proposes.

It’s sad.

So incredibly sad.

That sadness lingers in the air after the notes dissolve, becomes stronger, more powerful with every sway of Sebastian’s body. He’d closed his eyelids when this piece started and he’s fallen into the sadness, let it envelope him.

It’s become a part of him. Maybe it’s always been a part of him and he’s just now letting it out for Kurt to see.

Or he never intended on Kurt seeing it, and this is simply an accident.

Whatever it is, Sebastian finally notices it because he switches, keeps the same key but changes the song, seamlessly transforming into something more contemporary, slightly more upbeat.

Kurt’s heart stops when he realizes the song Sebastian is playing is from Wicked. Not only that, it’s a song Kurt sings as Fiyero.

As Long as You’re Mine.

Sebastian has never, to Kurt’s knowledge, played that song on the violin or any instrument, has never sung that song himself, hasn’t seen the sheet music. He’s heard Kurt sing it over and over, practicing it in their bathroom until the tile could sing it back to him. But now he’s playing it on an instrument he hasn’t picked up in decades.

Kurt swallows hard, heart swollen with pride but his chest hollow with jealousy.

That’s talent. True talent.

Even Blaine might not be that talented.

Kurt would kill for that kind of talent.

Years they’ve been together, they’re about to get married, and Kurt thought he knew everything there is to know about this man. But Sebastian is still such an enigma. What is Kurt going to learn in another ten years? After twenty?

On the one hand, it’s daunting the way these secrets pop up out of nowhere.

But more than that, Kurt is excited to find out.

Sebastian plays through the first verse again when the song ends, a twinkle in his eyes trying to coax Kurt into singing it while he plays. Sebastian plays with such emotion that, even though Kurt would love to duet with him, he can’t bring himself to - too transfixed to make his mouth move, or even hum the tune. But he hears the words in his head, hears their meaning ring in his ears. He’s never paid too much attention to the words outside of what they mean in the musical. Now he’s hearing them, understanding them, for a different reason all together:

Kiss me too fiercely Hold me too tight I need help believing You're with me tonight My wildest dreamings Could not foresee Lying beside you With you wanting me

Sebastian ends not on a note of completion, but open-ended, with the promise of more.

Longing for more.

“Julian was right,” Kurt says, clearing his heart from his throat.

“He’ll be ecstatic to hear that,” Sebastian teases, casually shelving the emotions his violin brought to the surface.

“You do play beautifully. You should have gone to NYADA.”

“That’s … that’s very kind of you, babe,” Sebastian says, flashing a rare shy smile, knowing how great a compliment that is coming from Kurt, how much NYADA has meant to him. “But being good at the violin and being a musician are two completely different things. And I’m not a musician. Or a performer. Not like you. I enjoy it … I definitely enjoy that you enjoy it … but it’s not in my blood. I mean, obviously, seeing as I could put this violin down for so long and not even think about it, hmm?”

Kurt wonders about that after Sebastian says it. It’s easy to believe considering Kurt found out about Sebastian’s playing not from Sebastian but from Julian (the night he devised a plan to break the two of them out of dance lessons no less). Other than that, he can’t remember for the life of him either brother bringing it up again. Even Charlotte, who praises in excess everything her children have accomplished, has never brought it up, not even to say that she misses it. The way Sebastian holds the violin to his chest reminds Kurt of the way Blaine held his favorite guitar - as if it, and not Kurt, were his soulmate. As with so many things in Sebastian’s past, Kurt suspects there’s a bigger story surrounding this violin and why he stopped playing it than he’s putting on.

It had faded from his life, he’d said. Stop bringing him joy about the same time everything else did.

The same time things went south with Julian and Sebastian moved away, which would explain why it seems to have been erased from family history.

“So what do you think? Donate?” Sebastian asks with a surreptitious sniffle. He doesn’t let go of the violin, doesn’t return it to its case. On the contrary, he seems to hug it tighter. “Maybe to one of those inner city performing arts programs you love to volunteer for so much?”

“No! Keep! A definite keep!” Kurt gushes. “Maybe you can put it down and never play it again, but now that I’ve heard you, I don’t think I can exist without your playing in my life!”

“But I thought you said I was keeping too much stuff.”

“Meh,” Kurt dismisses with a wave, done with the whole concept of cleaning Sebastian’s closet anyhow. “What’s too much stuff when you can fit half of Central Park in your penthouse? Plus, I have to think of your mother, right? Wasting away in this run-down, rickety shack with nothing at all to remind her of her youngest son? Especially not the thousands of photos and videos she’s taken over the years.”

Sebastian looks at Kurt through long eyelashes, a wicked streak creeping into his smile, turning it into a full-fledged smirk. “I guess we could always switch out some of my old lacrosse uniforms for it.”

“What?” Kurt sits up straight, the color draining from his face. He knew Sebastian would find out about that eventually (on their honeymoon, if not sooner), but he didn’t think he’d caught him when he did it. “No! No, no, no reason to do that. Who says I even … uh … weren’t we going to make out?”

[chyrstis]

I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you) 5/10

Here’s the halfway point, and it’s a bit of a whopper. I think this is probably my favorite chapter out the entire thing, with the first a very close second. The talk by the fire was one of the earliest scenes that gelled for me when planning the entire fic out, and I knew that if I wasn’t able to write much else, I at least wanted to get that part down on paper.

And if things go according to plan, I might have a little something extra to add to this tonight. ;)

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed Rating: E (but only for Ch. 10, the rest are a solid T) Word Count: 7.3K  

Link to AO3!

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10

(and there’s a bonus fic to go with this one too)

—

Sharky steals a boat. It just happens to be John’s boat, and when it’s damaged along with his boathouse, John proceeds to lay out a means of having Sharky pay him back. [No Cult AU]

———–

Maybe the work schedule wasn’t as ironclad a thing as it used to be.

John liked routine, sure, and had been real anal about it when Sharky had first started out, but there was a flexibility to it now. It was no longer always about when, so long as it was done, and he could work with that.

So, he took a morning off when he needed it. Took on a few more jobs around town for anyone willing to let him shoulder it, and if there was any overlap, all it took was one message to clear it up. John was willing to work with him now, and that alone was a relief.

...But if some nights lead to more chances to hang with him one-on-one without working, Sharky didn’t complain either. Got more time around John’s plane, and even got to pitch in when it came to working on his car too.

The real shocker for him on days when he did have to work, though, had been the fresh boards and nails set. The signs that someone else had been working down there when he hadn’t.

When he’d asked, John didn’t confirm it. He didn’t deny it either, but after ten minutes of standing around and talking with him, he grabbed a nearby hammer and took a spot right next to him. Went right to work, without even batting an eye, and Sharky couldn’t believe it. Grinned brightly at him as he punched him in the shoulder, and found he wanted John there for once.

This was starting to feel a whole lot like he’d made a friend.

One that was cagey in a whole lot of ways still, and one he couldn’t exactly pop down on the couch with for a weekend of pizza, beer, and porn to sort through, but close. And thinking it over, he didn’t find himself minding the change all too much either.

But some nights John needed to shift things around, and when Sharky woke up that morning nursing a hangover, he had a message waiting for him.

Family, John mentioned, the text sent at an hour that made his head pound harder. Have to reschedule. Sorry.

no bg deal he sent back, fumbling at his phone. hollar if you need me ltr no plns

Then went right back to sleep. With the day open, he spent the morning seeing how long he could go without pants before anyone else dropped by.  

All too quiet after that, he’d nearly gone stir crazy when Hurk called, wanting his expertise on a special job. One that was better suited to two heads rather than his one. Or better yet, four hands, each for holding a stick of their brand of high explosive. That’s how they fished, and sure, it stirred up every other critter in the area, but as long as they weren’t ambushed by bears or cougars, it was a risk worth taking.

Mid-throw was when his phone went off. Just a message, not a call, but it made his pipe bomb go wide, and nearly had the two of them go for a dunk themselves.

Change in plans. Come over.

No further clarification, no explanation from John; just those words. Not that he went off on long tangents through text, but it was the quickest turnaround Sharky had seen yet, and he actually pulled out his phone to call him.

Holding a finger to one of his ears to block some of the sound, he waited. Heard the echo of an explosion in one, and ringing in the other only to get nothing but John’s voicemail.

“Hey, I’m going to have to cut out on this.”

“Now?” Hurk asked, with a stick of dynamite in each hand. “Just when I was thinking of getting ol’ Sally out?”

Sharky never held up well in the face of his cousin’s disappointment, especially when he pulled out that tone of voice, but held strong. 

“Yeah, sorry. It’s…I’ve got this weird message to check out, and you can never tell if it’s gonna be the good kind or the bad kind until it’s hitting you in the face, and there’s not a whole lot to go on here.”

“Fine, get on out, go, go, go. I’ll be here for a while, but if I catch something cool you’ll be sad you missed out.”

Pulling up to John’s place, Sharky still hadn’t pinned down what the problem was. The boathouse catching fire wasn’t likely. He’d put out any cigarettes over by the picnic table, ‘cause he’d made too much progress there to blow it now.

Ticking off other options on his fingers, he narrowed them down as he made his way to the front, and was still down to two when he hit the doorbell.

The door swung open, but John wasn’t the one waiting on the other side.

It was Jacob Seed.

Ex-military. Private. Rocked the rowdiest set of scars he’d ever seen on a person. At least, judging from the ones he could see on his face. Probably hunted guys in the woods for sport, or at least thought about it, and had the training to do it if he wanted to.

Sharky could count on his fingers the number of times he’d run into the guy outside of the odd job in the mountains, but he knew he wasn’t the kind, friendly, approachable type. No, standing taller than most, Jacob didn’t trade more than a handful of words with anyone outside of Eli Palmer, and maybe the local hunters up north.

And if he thought John was bad, Jacob’s stare was a full-blown weapon. It made Sharky squirm on the spot. 

“Uh, yo.”

“Boshaw.”

“How’s it going?” he asked, smiling a little too wide to keep it casual.

Jacob shrugged. “It’s going. You?”

“Kinda. Something’s always going. it’s just not going much right now if you get what I’m-well, what I’m getting at.”

Get what I’m getting at? What the hell was that?

The longer Jacob kept him there, the more he was going to try and fidget his way out of there, and he knew he was being read. Maybe even being messed with at this point, but he didn’t cut and run. Not yet.

“Is John around?”

“You here for something?”

“Yeah it’s…you know about the whole working-with-your-younger-bro thing, right? How I’m down by the river, putting shit up, and trying to make that entire area pretty again? Well, he got a hold of me. Mentioned wanting to work, and thinks he can snap his fingers and I’ll jump or something.”

Jacob’s glance took on an amused bent. “Does he? How high?”

“Uh, I can jump up to three, maybe four feet, but that’s not…it isn’t-”

That was it. That was it in a nutshell, and joking about it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

Groaning, he crossed his arms and didn’t even bother looking Jacob in the eye this time around. “So, is he here, or…?”

Jacob moved his head, motioning behind him, and stepped aside. “He’s upstairs.”

With the path now open, Sharky took it a little faster than needed, not wanting to hang back too much or stay close to Jake. But that left him standing in the middle of John’s ranch house - and seeing the whole thing in full for the first time was a lot to take in at once.

Because when he’d mentioned loving nature shit, this was that on steroids. Like someone had told John this was what a cabin should’ve looked like instead of what one actually was. The antlers, the chandelier, the fucking bear skin rug? All surrounding one giant, roaring fireplace? It wasn’t even cold yet, and John had the whole thing done up to the nines.

That had him chuckling as Jacob took a few steps towards him. 

“Something funny?”

Jolting slightly, Sharky shoved his hands into his pockets.  

“I, uh…no. Okay, a little. You ever see those Hallmark movies? The ones set at Christmas, or just up in the mountains?”

Jacob craned his head towards him. 

“Y’know, the kind where two people are snowed in, having to wait it out and huddle for warmth and shit?”

“No.”

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t seen too many either, but he’d seen the one. Hadn’t even been one of those parody pornos dressed up as one, so he had some genuine experience there.

“Well, uh, the place looks like that. Like, John’s staging it for something along those lines. Just for cuddling, huddling, and uh…yeah. Holiday stuff.”

“Stuff.”

“Stuff and things, yeah.” That actually got a snort out of Jacob, and Sharky gave himself a mental pat on the back. “I’m serious. Like that couch is primed for mistletoe and some uh, ho ho-holy shit, I’ll stop now.”

There was the sound of a door being slammed, and Sharky jumped. Seconds after, he caught John on the upper level as he strode towards the stairs, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Sharky called up to him. “Yo, man. Thought I’d need to-“

That’s when he caught the dark look crossing John’s face for the first time. That, and the actual speed with which he was walking. Asking was a mistake, but it was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Uh, John? You okay, amigo? You want me to come back another-“

John grabbed his arm as he passed by, and dragged Sharky along with him. Right past a concerned Jake, and right past the front door, leading him down towards the dirt road.

“Whoa, hey, wait!”

Nothing clicked, not his words and not the way he tried to pull away. John was a man possessed, focused only on a single point, and that didn’t sit well with him at all.

“Seriously, dude, stop!”

Sharky planted his feet, and yanked his arm out of the grip. That brought John to a stop, and Sharky watched him slowly turn towards him. Breathing harder than he should’ve been, Sharky took off his cap and brushed a hand through his hair. 

“What the fuck, man?”

Tense, and with his jaw locked, John didn’t even bother giving him a response. Just a stare that would’ve killed any other person dead if he’d had the ability. Still, he wasn’t chasing him off, or leaving, and that made Sharky keep on trying.

“You wanna talk or something? You really look like…”

“What I want,” John bit out as he walked right up to him, “is to get as far away from that fucking house as possible. I don’t care where as long as it’s not here.”

Sharky sucked in a breath, not prepared for that level of venom or John’s sudden proximity, and let it out. “Uh, okay. Shit, let’s…let’s go then. Not like I was in the mood to work anyway.”

Shuffling around him, Sharky started back towards his car, and waved for John to follow.  The heat of his stare wasn’t as bad from this distance, but it didn’t let up until John dropped it to climb into the passenger side of the vehicle. He fired the car up after that, hoping the damn thing wouldn’t stall, and the two sped out of there before anyone could come calling.

“Now I know what works for me whenever shit like that gets me down.”

Sharky turned on the radio only for John to flip it off. Balking at him again, Sharky noted that this time the road was the one having to deal with John glaring at it, and he tried to keep as light a tone as he could manage.

“Anyway, you need an outlet. Something to kick all that negative shit in the balls hard enough to make three family lines regret it. So, you can shrug it off, get up, and go back to living life like you want to. Maybe this won’t be your thing every time, but I think you might like this.”

“…Like what?”

“Well, I’d explain it to you, but this is one of those things where it’s better just to give it a try. Not to spoil any of the surprise as we head on out, but it rhymes with…shit. What rhymes with burn?”

Urn. Turn. Learn. Yearn. That was a good one. Not that he needed it for anything, but it was good to know. Fuck. Did he say burn out loud too?

Swearing under his breath, Sharky shook his head. “Anyway, a little ‘Burn, Baby, Burn’ never hurt anyone. Least, not anyone worth knowing.”

John said nothing, leaving Sharky to listen to the sound of the road as it crunched underneath the car’s tires, but right as he’d started tapping out an uneven rhythm on the steering wheel just to break it up, he heard him sigh.

“Hey, I promise it won’t be lame. Yeah, it’s not for everybody, but…”

He stopped talking when he saw John place his head in his hand. Covering his eyes, Sharky heard the catch in his breathing, and wished like hell he had the right words for him.

Unable to offer anything else, Sharky shifted his eyes back to the road. “Yeah.”

---

“Now I know you’ve seen it once before, and it ain’t fancy,” Sharky said after pulling up to his house, “but I’ve got a place to sleep, a rocking sound system, and when I need it, lots and lots of storage space for…stuff. Like real fun stuff, but not the illegal kind, ‘cause I don’t want you thinking that. Well, not a lot of it, just some of it.”

John was looking around now, taking in the area as he and Sharky got out, and Sharky led him out across the lawn.

“My house is your house, so settle on in and pull up a chair. The show’ll start soon as I can get this all together, and make it one worth waiting for.“

He shoved some wood into the area designated for his bonfires, and patted himself down before heading over to where he kept his propane. Rooting through the items, he picked up the bottle of lighter fluid – he’d start small, no need to have a full blow-out right off the bat – and glanced over his shoulder to see what John was doing.

He had approached the firepit while Sharky was busy; still silent, but looking closely at it.

“You doing good there, amigo?”

John’s head angled towards him. “Well enough.”

That he’d said anything at all was an improvement, but Sharky didn’t believe it for a second. Not with his back towards him, as he walked back to the pit.

John watched closely as Sharky sprayed the wood liberally with the lighter fluid. Then added more after, and when he tipped it over to slap at the bottom of it to get the last few drops out, John finally spoke up. 

“You’re not serious.”

“Can’t have a decent barbeque without flames, man.”

“That many?”

The wry look he gave him stopped Sharky in his tracks. Or maybe it was the way the corner of John’s mouth was inching up. In spite of everything, he’d managed that at least, and Sharky felt his mouth go dry.  

“Uh, yeah.”  He held out a matchbook to him, and hoped he could keep it steady. His voice was a lost cause, but his next few words were better in line. “Kinda disappointing if you light it up only to have it fizzle out. Can’t get any perks out of that.”

“And this was your plan all along?” John’s odd semi-smile stayed in place, and only seemed to grow. “To invite me here to burn it off? Literally?”

He wasn’t wrong, but seeing as this was his usual go-to and yet not, Sharky really didn’t want to get into the nitty-gritty of it all. Not now, at least.

“You wanted out, and no other place in the county’s better prepped for this, so a quick ride to Boshaw Manor made sense. I know when shit’s gone south and there’s no hope of me shaking that feeling, this works, and I try to foster an environment here that’s all about letting loose when you need it. Pants-free preferred and encouraged, but by no means required.”

“Good to know,” John teased.

He hoped like hell John couldn’t clearly see what was happening with his face right now, but at this distance it was impossible not to.

“But you, uh… You seriously looked ready to rip a bear’s fucking head off, and I thought it’d help. So, here. Light it, and after we pop one off, maybe we can get more going. Kinda sad as is right now.”

Waving the matchbook in the air, he grumbled to himself as he dropped his eyes. But he felt John take the matches, and looked up again in time to see him light one.

John watched the flame dance in front of him for a few seconds, shielding it from the breeze with his hand. Leaning over to peek at it, Sharky nearly brushed shoulders with him, and wondered how long he was willing to hold onto it.

Pretty long at this rate, as the flames licked the wood and traveled towards his fingers.

“You gonna drop that?”

“In time.”

“‘Cause that’s going to get you if you let it stick around any longer.”

Not that he hadn’t let himself get distracted by the warmth of the fire before. How it flickered as it moved, wanting it all that much closer as it inched its way down towards him.

“Surely you don’t think I’m not paying attention to it.” Irritation crept into John’s voice, but he still wasn’t dropping the match.

“Seriously, man, I can treat a rowdy-ass burn if I have to, but that shit’s going to bite.“

“Charlemagne, I have it handled-“ John flicked his hand fast as he yelped in pain.

The match went out, leaving the two standing there in front of the neglected pit. Sharky tried not to, but there was no way he could keep the laugh from slipping out. John’s sharp look shut him up a second later, only breaking eye contact to keep on waving his hand.

“Yo, you okay?”

“Fuck,” John muttered, blowing on his fingers. “Everything’s fine.”

Sharky didn’t nudge him with his shoulder, but was tempted to as he watched John continue to try and sooth the burn. 

“Sure about that? I can be back in two shakes of a jackrabbit’s tail if you want.”

John didn’t waste time lighting the next match. “I’m fine.”

His hands went up, backing off completely. But at that point he had something else to focus on. The fire was dancing in the wind again, and when John let the match fall into the pit, Sharky didn’t take his eyes off of it for a second.

The warm glow took, then grew. Rising slowly but surely as the fire found its footing, and he let out the breath he was holding. There it was. The feeling that washed over him, one that sank down deep into his bones.

Like coming home, in a way. Every time.

Sighing in contentment, he gave John a quick once-over. His attention was on the fire too, locked onto it as he slowly rubbed his fingers together. No one ever seemed to respond to it like he did, but the focus was there, his eyebrows drawn together as he kept on studying it.

John still kept on rubbing at his fingers, though. He had to bother the singed one, even if he was too stubborn to bring it up again.

Sharky stepped back, and gave John a light tap to the shoulder. 

“Be right back. Gotta grab something.”

Jogging over to his house, he pushed open the door and made a beeline straight for his bathroom. Anything he had for first aid was scattered across the property if not left outside, so one minute became two, then became five as he rooted around the place.

Fishing the tube of burn cream out, he sighed in relief.

It had taken the edge off of some of his worst ones - the scars on his sides and back tingling as he subconsciously recalled them. Considering how often he tangoed with fire at all, he’d all but accepted it at this point, and was glad that John wasn’t rocking anything worse than what would be a light blister.

Band-aids were down to slim pickings, however. There were only five left, but he picked the best fit and made his way back out to the pit, taking a short stop by the fridge for beer and one hastily-filled glass of tap water.

Water was the last thing on his mind most nights, but John needed something out there, and Sharky tried not to stress over it too much as he rushed back out.

John started when he handed it over. 

“What’s this?” He took the glass, and eyed its contents.

“Water. You know, for drinking?” A sheepish grin inched across Sharky’s face as he made the motion with his hand. “Didn’t want to leave you hanging without anything, and my fridge’s full up with beer, so…”

“Ah. Thank you,” he said, losing the suspicious tone immediately.

He took a light sip of it and Sharky didn’t miss the way he wrinkled his nose. Probably better used to the fancy stuff they’d filter before bottling, but John still held onto it. Doing that instead of spitting it out onto the ground earned him a point or two on the ‘Don’t be an asshole’ scoreboard, but Sharky would never admit it to him.

“And those?” John asked.

“I know you said you were fine, but here.” Sharky handed the items to him, and John set his glass down. “Best stuff for burns around. Slap some of this on, and in a day you won’t even feel it.”

“Are those…dinosaurs?” John held the bandage up, flashing the green tyrannosaurus rex at him.  

“Yeah, man. Dinosaurs are badass. I don’t know if Jurassic Park was your thing or not, but I had that on repeat for a good three months after it came out. Solid gold right there, and great for hand-holding or grabbing during any tense shit.” He held his hand up as he leaned in, and waggled his eyebrows. “Guaranteed. Like sixty to seventy-five percent chance of getting some action too.”

John furrowed his brows, and kept the band-aid pinched between his fingers. Both unimpressed and unconvinced, which disappointed Sharky a little, but didn’t surprise him much either.

“Anyway, that was the first one I grabbed, but I think there’s another in there if you’re more of a triceratops fan. Or raptors?”

John slowly shook his head. “I’ve-I don’t have a preference.”

“Well, there you go. And I know you like blue and all, but green’s clearly the superior color here. Just saying.” 

He clapped him on the back, and John gave him a withering glance before putting it on.

Dragging over a couple of chairs, Sharky popped them close to the pit - but not close enough to catch any sparks - and settled in. He kicked back and wished he could’ve propped his feet up, but with the other chair in use he had to make do, and leaned as far back as the worn fabric would let him. It strained against the motion, but held, and he knew there was a still a fair chance he’d bust a hole in it, or topple over. Just not now, at least.

“…How did this start?”

Glancing over at John, Sharky sat up when he realized he’d asked him a question. “What?”

“How, or when did you start doing this? The fires? Or, whatever this ritual is.”

“Ritual? This ain’t anything fancy like that.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Sharky let out a long whistle. “But fuck, how many years has it been now?”

Well over twenty. Since that day when he’d had skating on his mind, that and Wendy. He had such high hopes going into the day only to find a whole other thing worth keeping on for.

“Would you believe my first time was at a skating rink? This old place that used to be down by Fall’s End. Neon lights, tricked out wallpapers, and all the oldies you could ask for?”

“Concerning you? Yes.”

John sounded so sure of it. Like he could see the memory just as clearly as Sharky did. That got a warm laugh out of him.

“Imagining that sticky carpet, the flat soda, and those tunes? Real nice, right? It was the highlight of my month. Getting invited out there, pulling off some of my finest moves out on the floor. But I had to set the mood before heading in, and had a roll of quarters ready and everything.”

A grin settled in, almost fond as he recalled the start of it. The promise had been there, all right. He’d finally get a chance to say something. Do something, instead of dreaming about it. Funny how he’d dive into so many other things without thinking, but this? This he’d thought about. Over and over. Wanted it right.

“So?” John’s voice cut through again, shaking him out of it. “What happened?”

“I really wanted to ask this girl Wendy out. Had some good one-liners going, and had watched plenty of movies beforehand that I knew she liked. Wanted to really wow her, and show her what’s what.”

That had been the first pass of the plan. It seemed foolproof. Then he’d reached the rink after he’d crammed one too many quarters in the jukebox. Took one good look at her as he skated up, and…

John’s growing frown mirrored his own. Maybe even too well.

“It, uh-it didn’t go like I wanted. Went with my gut once I saw her, and thought I’d just -my hands started going everywhere.”

Confused, John thought over his words, and Sharky hoped he wouldn’t have to spell it out.  “You grabbed her?”

“I…might’ve grabbed something.”

Realization hit John hard. “You groped her?”

“Like I said, it could’ve gone a lot better! Instincts being bad and all.” Dodging his eyes, Sharky held up his hands and faced the fire. “Look, it was a dumbass move, and I got a skate to the balls for it. Still, really wish I’d tried dancing instead. No way she would’ve turned down a date with a dude pulling off a solid moonwalk. On wheels.”

“Surely,” John huffed.

Flipping him off, Sharky sighed before continuing. 

“So, I head out back. Figure I could light up a cig or something. Take the edge off that way. Well, I decided I’d light a trash can on fire too. See if I liked it, and soon the whole damn back-alley’s on fire. Like burning high with no hope of stopping. It spread, took half of the place out in the process, and yeah, it sucked. But it sucked a whole lot less after seeing that too.”

“That was…not the story I was expecting it to be.”

“Lot of people say that after hearing it. And that’s all of like, three people that even bothered listening to me while I was telling it, but it is what it is. Sucks that it took out that place, though. Seriously, had a great sound system there and everything.”

John raised a hand to his mouth, eyes on the fire instead of on him, and smiled. “Thank you. You didn’t need to share that with me.”

“Eh, it’s nothing. You asked, and I told you what’s what.”

“Not everyone’s as comfortable doing that. And certainly not even half as honest.” John folded his hands on his lap, and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. “It was Joseph. Tonight, back at my ranch. He wanted to talk. This typically isn’t a problem, but he decided to do what all older brothers believe is their right, I suppose.”  

“What, like go over some fantasy football stats? Or more like rite-of-passage-type stuff, ‘cept the holy kind. ‘Cause he’s not gonna take you to a cathouse, or nothing.”

“Please never say that again,” John said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Uh, which part? The football, or the...er, the part where he’s trying to help you get laid, except not?”

“That one. You see, he wanted to talk expectations. My role in the family overall, and how he wants me to rise to them.”

“That’s uh, kinda harsh. Assuming he said some pretty rowdy shit to you.”

“Not all of it,” John admitted, “but it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Usually when talking about regrets and hopes for the future, not all parties will be on the same page. He was on one, and I the other, and…I didn’t handle it as gracefully as I would’ve liked.”

“But did you think he was right?”

“I don’t know. It’s too soon to say, and I’m still not inclined to agree considering how he presented it to me.”

“But you know why he did that, right?”

John’s eyes were still on the fire, but caught his when he turned away from it. “Do you have any siblings?

Sharky shook his head. “Uh, no. Parents never planned for any of that, and they sure as hell weren’t planning on me. I’m one of those miracle babies. The kind that defy expectation, if you will. They swore up and down they’d used the pill, bagged that shit, and tried damn near everything to keep from throwing a bun in that oven. Still, nine months and some change later I popped out. Was as meant to be as my Grandmama swore I was, and…it’s weird in a way. Knowing that, and still knowing the other end of it too.”

“That you weren’t wanted?”

John was looking at him differently now. Catching something Sharky wasn’t sure even he’d see after checking five times in the mirror for it, and didn’t seem as cagey as before.

“I had someone that did want me. Wasn’t the one that had me to begin with, but that’s alright. Family’s not always blood - not directly. I got Hurk, I got my Auntie. Maybe even Xander, if she plans on keeping him around, but they give a shit about what happens to me. Let me know at least once a week too if they ain’t too busy to stop by, so it’s gotta be nice in some ways. Having brothers. Having that, at least.”

Taking in a deep breath, Sharky didn’t know how to tackle this next part. Knew he was probably going to be like a bull in a china shop, but he’d try. He had to.

“Now I don’t know enough about you all to really say much, so tell me to fuck right off if you need me to, but…they seem like the caring kind. Even though Joe’s got his whole family unit going on - his weird, not-a-cult, but kind-of-a-cult aside. And Jake’ll always give me the creeps, but I feel like you’d also warn me if he was setting me up to head out into the woods and fight me - mano a mano, ‘Most Dangerous Game’ style - so I think we’d be all right.”

“They’re not one, and he’s not about to,” John replied. “And maybe it isn’t your place to say.”

That shut his mouth. “…Sorry.”

“But you’re right.” Shifting his gaze to the ground, John’s next few words were softer, almost too quiet to hear. “Both of my brothers are all I have in this life. The ones that I would do anything for, and for years we truly thought we’d lost each other. There was no finding our way back after being separated and sent to different families. Different homes.”

John flexed his fingers, stretching them out before tightening them into a fist.

“I…was not fortunate in that regard. While I now had many opportunities open to me, I would’ve traded them in a heartbeat. Because there was evil in that house, and it was regularly visited upon me. And to cope, I needed an outlet. A way to take away what I couldn’t fix. What I couldn’t change, or stop, and make it all disappear.

“So, I turned to other sources. Went well out of my way to open myself up to new experiences. Things to excite, to make me feel…something. Anything, and no price was too great. I couldn’t see it for what it was, and was content to let it all eat me from the inside out. Because that was what gave me relief, and if they hadn’t found me when I needed them most…” John shrugged a shoulder. “I would’ve let it.”

“Fuck, I-uh, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I didn’t share that to make you feel sorry for me, or to let it be an excuse. It was a little…honesty given, for honesty gained, if that makes any sense.”

Blowing out a breath, Sharky nodded. “Kinda. Think I get what you mean there.”

“And tonight, you were right. I needed an outlet, and you… You reached out to me without even thinking twice about it.” There was a sincerity there that surprised him. No dancing around it, no downplaying it. “You had no reason to open up your home to me, or do anything at all to help, but you did.”

“No reason not to.”

“Charlemagne. I haven’t given you much reason to do any of this, considering why we’re speaking at all to begin with.”

John had a point. One Sharky wasn’t going to argue, but he’d clearly overlooked a lot of the things he’d done to keep them on speaking terms. Or hell, even get friendly, because they were straddling that line, and had been ever since he’d stuck around to help him with the plane.

“Okay, so you did show up here on my doorstep. Used some strong words to get me to do some shit for you, and generally acted like a mega-dick. Admitting that’s the first step towards fixing it. ‘Cause my guess’s you wanna fix that, right?”

John pursed his lips, but said nothing. Just stared at him while his jaw tensed.

That had Sharky raising his eyebrows.  “Dude, you seriously aren’t even gonna pretend to say yes to that? Not even try it?”

Glancing away, John closed his eyes. Took in a deep breath, and held onto it before sighing loudly.

“What the fuck?” Sharky muttered, watching him reach for his back pocket. “There’re like baby steps, and then you come in with this whole twelve step thing you’ve gotta work through, like it’s just that hard not to be a colossal d-”

“Done.”

Sharky paused as he took in what John held up. It was his phone.

Rolling his eyes at his confused look, John handed it over to him and pointed at the screen.  “It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?” Sharky flipped through the folder John had pulled up, not sure what he was looking for. “Like the porn you knew I was gonna search for after taking this?”

“No, not that,” John replied, grinding his teeth. “The recording.”

“The…” Holy shit. “You got rid of it. Like, no back up, no nothing?”

“That was the only one.”

Gone. That weight - what was left of it - gone.

Sharky laughed. Laughed as relief settled deep into him, and it was the sweetest thing.

Sure, John could’ve been lying to him. Could’ve had three different places where he was stashing the file for a rainy day, but he found he believed him. He wanted to take his word for it, and found he didn’t have to jump through too many hoops for it either.

“That’s-that’s uh, thanks.”

“Thank you. For proving me wrong in a lot of ways.”

Proud motherfucker that he was, that statement nearly bowled Sharky over. But he seemed to mean it too, and he flashed John a bashful grin.

“So, uh going back to before. You need to be cool to others. Treat ‘em nice, especially if you know they’re in the middle of a rough patch, and you count too. You needed something to take the edge off, and with drinking out, there were only two options left. Sex, and burning shit, and seeing as I don’t even know what your type is, I went for the easy one.”

“Easy?” Giving him a curious look, John leaned towards him. “That arson would be the easier option at all’s fascinating to me, because then I have no choice but to ask.”

“…Ask what?”

“What is my type?”

He one-hundred percent felt John’s focus now, and might’ve felt his palms start to sweat. “You want me to guess?”

“I want you to try.”

That was a tougher question than it should’ve been, and all the answers Sharky thought he had promptly left the building.

“Uh…fuck. The ladies in the catalogs. Victoria’s Secret models. Sports Illustrated, but the swimsuit issue. Porn stars. Top dollar escorts,” he said, spit-balling for whatever a rich lawyer might like. Or Bruce Wayne. Same difference. “But the kind with nice shoes, and those big-ass fur coats.”

Or was he going more for what he’d like if he had boatloads of cash to blow? And a music video to make? Maybe. Judging by the look John was giving him, though, he didn’t agree.

“Jesus, I don’t know. You asked! So, I guessed. Thought I’d get something close if I kept on going.”

“Well, you weren’t.”

“Yeah, yeah. And you’re telling me you wouldn’t be dicking down every woman in the valley if they asked?” Sharky took a drink of his beer, and couldn’t help but grumble his next few words into it. “I know I would.”

“You’d what?”

He coughed, beer going right down his windpipe. That was the kind of shit that should’ve slipped out when he was buzzed, and he wasn’t even there yet.  And judging from John’s response, wasn’t great to hear out loud either.

“Aw, fuck. Uh, sorry. Didn’t…didn’t mean anything weird by it. Just that you’ve got a lot of women looking - er, wanting - some real one-on-one time with you, that’s all. And if I were you, I’d take them up on it.”

John snorted, “Is that so?”

“I’m serious!” Sharky insisted, flashing an awkward grin. “Not to do any ego-jerking or anything, but you’re a good-looking guy, dude. Who’d blame ‘em for trying?”

He’d meant to look away after that, but John held his stare. Gave him a look that was like a Rubik’s Cube, and the more Sharky tried to pin down exactly what it was, the more he kept on scrambling anything and everything just to match up a single side.

“I see.” John wet his lips, dropping his eyes to his bandaged finger as he rubbed it together with his thumb. “Well, I’d hate to keep them waiting any longer than I already have. Or to disappoint them, but a few may need to wait their turn.”

“Why’d you say that?”

“Because surely their male counterparts deserve a chance as well? Seems only fair.”

John lowered his lashes as he looked over at him this time around, and Sharky must’ve blinked at him fifty times before his words registered.

“Oh. Oh,” he said, watching John nod his head along with him. “Well, it’s uh, I’m a…I don’t think I got anything right there, huh?”

Face burning hot, he crossed his arms and felt like kicking himself. Mostly for the whole conversation leading up to this, but now was a close second.

“Hard to be right about something you didn’t know.”

“Saying weird-ass shit to you’s not cool to begin with. Expecting a pity pass for it’s worse, and then there’s whatever the fuck this is, so I’m sorry. It’s lame as hell, but I’ve gotta get an apology out at least. And it’s probably the last thing you wanna hear or talk about, but you do whatever the hell makes you happy, long as no one’s getting hurt or nothing,” he said, wanting to get the words out, even if they weren’t neat. “And, we uh, we can talk about something else now.”

John laughed; the sound lighter than he expected. “Uncomfortable?”

“No. Kinda. Just…I’m not a talker. If you need someone to head on up, make a speech using all of the right words,  making it pretty and all, you don’t go busting down my door. ‘Cause there’s ways of saying things, so it’s all meaningful and nice with no hurt feelings involved, and that ain't it. Shit, you’ve made a whole career out of it.”

Sharky tapped the bottle against his shin, and sighed.

“When I open my mouth, people usually start throwing stuff at me instead of listening. Beer, shoes, lawn ornaments, darts, you name it, I’ve dodged it. Or had someone try to hit me in the junk for it, so thanks for not doing that. And sorry again. Probably say that a couple more times before the night’s out.”

“…Hitting you would be the last thing on my mind. I promise you that.”

Dead serious, he wasn’t sure what to make of John’s tone, or the way he was looking at him.

So, after downing the rest of his beer, Sharky went for the next best thing. Nervous laughter, and more blushing like an idiot. He’d never stop at this rate.

Rubbing his hands together, he hopped up out of his seat after that. John was too intense to stare down for long, and he put some distance between them, set on hunting down the first major firework of the evening.

“Okay, so this one I usually save for the festies,” Sharky began, carrying it over in his hands. “It’s my own personal formula. Ran through it a few times trying to see if I could get the right amount of fizz, bang, and pop that everybody loves without losing a finger, an eye, or most of my hair again.”

“Did you now?” John snorted. “It’s a miracle it grew back.”

“More like both eyebrows, but yeah, ‘cause I need to keep this around,” Sharky replied, framing his jaw with his hand. The wink was extra, but that didn’t stop him. “Chicks dig guys with a little scruff to ‘em. The look’s ‘sexy renegade’, but the kind that’ll still treat you right.”

“No doubt.”

Looking him over, John tilted his head as he considered him. Let his attention focus in on him closely, until Sharky was on the verge of snapping his fingers in front of him to break the spell he’d somehow cast.

“It suits you.”

John could’ve slapped him, and it would’ve been less of a surprise than that. “Say what?”

“It suits you. Keep it to that, though. Any more and I think you’re guaranteed to lose more than an eyebrow the next time any of this backfires.”

In the back of his mind he registered John’s statement – an actual compliment which only confused him more – but didn’t get much further than that. That’s when he caught the smile John was now wearing. This one he’d earned for sure, and didn’t want to risk losing.  

Kicking his brain back into gear, Sharky blew out a breath. “So, uh…let’s see. Lighting this up, so we can have one kick-ass party. Just getting right on that shit.”

The red rocket was stabbed into the ground to the left of the pit, and Sharky held out his lighter to John. He still had the matches from earlier, but this way was easier.

When all John did was give him a questioning glance, Sharky flicked his eyes towards the rocket. “Yo, you know this whole thing’s for you, right?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. So, you kick it off. I’ve got a firework in every color, though you might want to aim them all over yonder. Nearly lit the field up straight ahead of here last time, and my PO and I ain’t gonna see eye to eye on this if another starts. Cool?”

Dropping his attention to the lighter, John reached for it. Turned it over in his hands as the corners of his mouth curved up, and eventually aimed some of that glance his way.

“Cool.”

[randomimperialcitizen]

The Tool For The Job An Ork short story

A small piece I thought would be a humorous example of Ork antics.

The thumping of artillery could be heard clearly in the distance. The Ork camp was far enough away to be safe from the reach of the guns, but only just. The wily brutes unwilling to be far away from the action. The Ork camp, or what passes for one amongst their kind, was a shoddy thing. A loose collection of scrap sheds and wilting tents. Their pattern was ever shifting as they were erected one day and cannibalised the next. Dirt roads were busy with traffic as scrap engines hauled mobs of Orks towards the next battlefield. On the edge of this mess was a two story structure making its home on the edge of the dusty wasteland. It was little more than an overgrown shack. Its walls were strips of an old tanker hull patched together and a roof of corrugated steel. Despite its slap dash appearance and rickety engineering, it was one of the most permanent structures of the camp. The shack was the main dispensary for grog. The main source of drink amongst their kind. To call it potable is generous, but the greenskins thrive on the caustic alcohol. Most Orks were smart enough to know that you don’t mess with the grog. And those dumb enough to start tearing down the walls got a belly full of bullets.

The shack was a riot of activity. The noise was deafening as each ork struggled to shout over the others. It was crowded as well, with every available space filled with a mismatched collection of furniture. In one corner a mek slouched on a dilapidated sofa nearly flattened from use. On the second floor, a freeboota captain is passed out, a stack of chipped shot glasses balanced precariously on a dainty coffee table made of fine wood and silver gilding. Gretchin ducked and weaved between the jam-packed tables. Grog sloshed onto their shoulders as they hauled overlaiden trays over their heads. There was little time for specific orders. The grots simply threw down their load on the driest tables and scooped up any loose teeth left out. If an ork wanted something fancy they could fight their way to the bar and pester someone in charge.

One group was having a particularly interesting conversation. With a table made from a train axel by the window, it was a good place for lunchtime chatter. Today they were having a particularly deep and meaningful discussion of orkish philosophy.

An ork in the colours of the speed Freaks drops his weapon on the table. A good three feet of pipe with heavy cogs welded on for the head.

“Dis is da only choppa ya need.” The speed freak declared, tapping his knuckles against his prized weapon for emphasis. “Ya zoomin along yeah? All ya need do is give em’ a wallop and pop goes der ‘eadz! Noth’n feels betta dan getting dem just roight.” The chair creaks dangerously as the red ork leans back. “Made dis beauty meself. Didn’t cost a single toof. Dats da best part, ya just need a stick wiff somethin ‘eavy and ya good to go!” 

“Bah!” another ork chimes in. This one was from the Snakebite clan judging from the tattoos and piercings. He leaned back in his chair with his arms folded, obviously unimpressed. “It doesn’t even chop,” he complains. He sticks his arm out, gesticulating with an upturned palm. “How can it be a choppa if it don’t chop?!” With this the snakebite leans forward and slams his own weapon on the table, spilling grog everywhere. It was the stereotypical axe of the orkish culture. A short steel haft with a brick of iron hammered out into the rough shape of an axe head. “Dis is a choppa, good an proppa. Any lad with some know-how can get ya one wiff just a pocket o’teef. Dis will kill anythin. And if it don’t, ya haven’t hit it enough! Every Ork should ‘ave one uv deez. If ya don’t, you’ze aint a proppa Ork!” He finishes his statement slapping the table.

Such a statement would typically end in a brawl to defend their Orkish pride. But the group had known each other for awhile now and were familiar with their friend’s puritanical rants. Now his inflammatory statement merely elicited a chorus of tired groans and a few eye rolls.

“Woah now, we all love somethin good an’ choppy.” The next ork in the circle chimes in, soothing the cantankerous Snakebite’s ire. This one was a Blood Axe kommando, his arms and face smeared with tiger stripes of blue and purple grease. “If you go at one o’ dem beakies or spiky ‘umies wiff dat, you gunna be hackin away for a day and a ‘alf,” the Blood Axe laments, waving at the axe at the table. He scoots forward on his improvised stool, leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner. “What you need is wunna deez.” The bloodaxe slides a broad machete out of a leather scabbard. A simple piece of hardened steel hammered out into a straight backed blade. “Don’tcha worry, it’s good an choppy. But it’s stabby too. Real good when face’n dem ‘ard humies. Da pointy end is wutchya want for finaglin’ past all dem ‘ard bitz.” The kommando wiggles the blade around in the air, pantomiming the act of sliding the blade between his invisible quary’s ribs. “It’s everyfin an Ork needs.”

The circle of Orks hummed and hawed. None of them wanted to agree. It was a good weapon. Lethal and flexible in its uses. But a kommando’s recommendation to quietly go for a kidney? Quite un-orkish. But none of them could really come up with a decent argument. There is one member of the table who didn’t seem fazed. He was full of confidence with his toothy smirk. He was a big Ork. His bulk exaggerated by the gaudy, yellow amour he was wearing. He rattles like a sack of coins from the obscene volume of stolen medals tacked onto him. All the hallmarks of a member of the Bad Moons clan.

He wags his finger at the table.

“I got a treat for ya,” he offers.

He reaches down beside him, coming back up with a bulky chainsword. It was short and bulky, with a chunky engine block and a fat guide bar with a gap toothed chain wrapped around it. A strip of scrap was folded over as a back plate and a spiked guard added to the grip. It was an oversized and unwieldy deathtrap of a contraption, all painted in garish yellows.

“Now dis,” he says while he hefted the weapon. “Is da killiest choppa a lad can ‘ave. It slices, it dices and all dat good stuff!” The Ork was hitting his stride now. Speaking with jovial enthusiasm and becoming more animated in his sales pitch. “Dis bad boy will chop anyfin! Humies, beakies, creepy crawlies, whateva! And da best part? It’s flashy too and every Ork haz gots to be flashy.” He pats his prized weapon likes its a prized fighting squig. “Worth every toof,” he finishes.

“Oh, zog off,” the blood axe cries out. “Does it look like we’z made o’ teef?”

“Wut? Not my problem you ain’t got da teef,” the bad moons Ork deflects casually.

“He’s right,” the speed freak chimes in. “If I got dat much teef, I’m gettin sum snazz for me bike.”

“Or a new squig,” mumbles the snakebite.

The bad moons ork was losing his patience now.

“If ya don’t wonna spend da teef, why don’t ya get a stick like that git?!” The yellow clad points an accusatory finger at the speed freak.

Like all ork communications the polite conversation was quickly turning combative. The piece was quickly falling apart and devolving into a shouting match. Angry orks began pointing fingers and denigrating each other’s choices in weaponry. The snakebite accused the blood axe of being un-orkish and the bad moon called the snakebite a backwards simpleton. Amongst all this the evil suns ork was of the opinion that they were all self important snobs.

As their endless bickering dragged on a new ork entered the shack. A giant shadow filled the doorway. Too large for the crooked frame the colossal ork had to enter sideways, shuffling his bulk past the threshold. Once through the doorway one could truly appreciate his size. It was a monster of an ork, easily a head taller than any other ork in there and twice as wide. This was an ork nob, the biggest and meanest of the orks. The floorboards creaked and faintly trembled underneath the tread of his boots. With armour bedecked in chequered black it was plain to see that he was a member of the Goff clan. 

Unfortunately for the squabbling orks the big goff heard their murderous debate. A discussion pertaining to combat? Of course a goff’s opinion was needed. He lumbered over to the table. Too busy arguing, the gang of ork didn’t noticed the mountain of muscle towering over them.

“You’z all wrong, ya gits,” the big ork growls.

The group all turn to look up at the giant brute. The black clad nob shouldered his way to the table. Leaning over, he drops his hand on the scuffed tabletop. More drinks are toppled over from the weight of the massive paw. It was a calloused mitt covered in a decades worth of scars, the smallest finger missing a joint.

"Dis. Is da killiest ting out dere." He spoke with a confidence born of experience. “Ya put anyfin’ in dis hand, it’s da killiest fing out dere’. No matter wot.” He looks around the table as his orkish pride infected the others. “It can be ‘ard. It can be choppy. It can be stabby or just proppa nasty! It’s all killy cuz you’z an Ork!”

The table cheered at the oratory skills of the orkish noble. He leans in, in a conspiratorial manner.

“Don’t you worry bout da teef. Cuz dis’ll get ya all da teef you need,” The Ork nob says while pointing at his fist. “Yeah just need a good buddy and…”

He whirls around and plants his meaty fist square in the bad moons’ face. Bits of ork ivory fly through the air as the yellow Ork tumbles to the ground. The big Goff scoops up the Ork teeth scattered across the table.

“Drinks for dese good lads. I’m payin!” He holds up the first full of teeth, yelling back to the bar. The tables cheers again, even the bad moons boy joins in groggily, raising a fist from the floor. 

Another long night filled with grog.

[yarn-ace]

QPR

(2,439 words)

What is attraction? What is romantic attraction? What is ‘normal’ among those things? If everyone experiences it differently, is there any real way to tell? Before high school, Aamia had never really considered any of these things or her place among them. What was her normal? She couldn’t honestly tell. She had never considered her lack of attraction to others to be abnormal. She’d thought she had been attracted to others at first. But then everyone at school and online started to share their experiences and she wasn’t sure if what she was felt matched. At first, it was just that she realized that her sex drive was…. low compared to her peers. Like really low. Like almost non-existent kind of low. She did occasionally feel something, but it wasn’t ever directed towards anyone and she generally chalked it up to monthly hormone changes. So then what was her normal there? She wasn’t attracted to women, and she wasn’t really attracted to men either, but she occasionally did feel that sort of “affection.” Her best friend, Alex, felt similarly.

Aamia wasn’t particularly motivated to find a name to put to her “normal,” she had no real desire to put her spare energy towards a relationship anyway; school was just too taxing, too busy.

Alex on the other hand had a stronger desire to figure out what was wrong with him. He was a boy, he was supposed to have a high sex drive he often complained. He had confessed to her during one of their monthly movie nights that he felt self-conscious about the fact that he hadn’t felt attracted to anyone yet. He set about researching exactly what this was. Was it normal? Was it safe? Was he sick? Why couldn’t he feel like all the other boys? This lack of certainty was giving him anxiety. Until he found it. While scrolling through LGBT info boards, he found one he hadn’t looked at yet. Asexual. Click.

Suddenly, the world was bright. The longer he read, the lighter his shoulder felt. He wasn’t sick. He wasn’t weird. This was normal. This was okay. He was okay. He was Asexual.

At their families’ joint Sunday brunch the following afternoon, Alex grabbed Aamia as soon as her family walked in the door, practically vibrating with excitement. He dragged her upstairs to see the bookmarked page on his computer and, after she read it, they happy danced together around his room. Aamia wasn’t quite sure what she’d read fit her, but she was glad Alex had finally found himself. She hoped he would be able to be happier now.

---

Aamia desired a relationship. She thought that was common. She knew the type of crushes she had were a bit odd. When she found someone she aesthetically pleasing, she’d automatically imagine what it would be like to be married to them and raise children with them. She didn’t want to have sex to get those children, though she did want to give birth to her own kids. But even with this desire and these in depth thoughts, she didn’t know if she entirely desired a relationship with any of the people she found aesthetically pleasing. Occasionally, she felt a desire to have a relationship with one of her close friends that was a bit more than what they currently had; she wanted to show the same close affection to her friends that she showed with her family, but most of her female friends didn’t want to hold hands or cuddle outside of a romantic relationship.

Alex had told her about a few different sub-types of asexuality that existed. She felt like perhaps demi-ace or gray ace fit her best, but the labels still felt uncomfortable. She didn’t feel at home in them like Alex did. Maybe labels just weren’t for her? Whatever. Maybe she’d have time to think about it after finals were over.

One day, while browsing Tumblr, Aamia stumbled across an asexuality post she’d never seen before. It said “Asexuality doesn’t necessarily mean no attraction, but could mean self-contained attraction instead.” Oh. That was it. So this was the feeling Alex was talking about. This fit. This felt right. This wasn’t what asexuality meant to most people, but this is what it meant to her. An itchy oversized sweater turned into the softest, best fitting sweater in existence. That was how she felt. Her skin no longer felt prickly when identifying herself as asexual; the label was no longer not quite right, but Goldilocks levels of just right. She still didn’t feel like labels were entirely necessary, but for how much one sentence made her feel at home in her own skin, she understood why some deemed them a necessity.

--

For college, Alex and Aamia decided on two different local colleges. They would both commute from home to save money. They desired different things from their college experience, but they both loved being only a driveway away from one another. Alex went to an environmental college for a double major in forestry and geology, and got a masters in environmental science. Aamia went to a liberal arts college for a major in construction management and a minor in business management, then attended a trade school for two years and gained an apprenticeship under a local master carpenter.

Freshman year of college, Alex joined his college’s GSA and discovered that romantic attraction was a thing and that it didn’t necessarily have to be the same as one’s sexual orientation. This was puzzling. Alex and Aamia had figure out that they were both asexual, but this meant that what Aamia was feeling could be romantic attraction, so she might be fully asexual, but some level of something-romantic. Hetero-romantic? Homo-romantic? Bi-romantic? Pan? Surely if she felt this way, desired such strong affection then she couldn’t be Aromantic, could she? They thought they’d been fully secure in their identities, but then this came along and forced them to think again.

Alex and Aamia discussed it at length during their monthly movie and takeout nights. Neither was romance repulsed, in fact Aamia desired it greatly, but it never seemed as good in practice as in theory. Alex settled somewhat into the bi-romantic identity. He found both men and women aesthetically pleasing, and didn’t think he would mind a relationship with either gender as long as they didn’t pressure him into sex, but again he was having better luck with that in theory than practice. Aamia felt romantic and aesthetic attraction to both, but was conflicted. She connected better with girls emotionally, but popular media was so full of heteronormativity that she wasn’t sure if she’d ever feel comfortable in a relationship with a woman; hallmark romances were especially bad in that regard. Aside from Alex, Aamia had difficulty connecting to men emotionally, and her asexuality meant emotional connection made up 90% of a relationship for her. She was lost as to what to do and how to identify once again.

In-depth self-reflection was once again put on the back burner as classes each semester got more and more difficult. Publically, they were perfectly at home in their labels or lack thereof. Privately, they felt their identities remained quietly incomplete. Until the summer after their undergrad graduation. Aamia was attending a trade school and Alex was completing an internship at a local state park before his master’s program started. It was during a dumpling and lo Mein take-out/movie night. A contemplative look had been crossing Aamia’s face every so often since she got to Alex’s house, but the comfortable silence reigned until the first movie ended and the takeout arrived. He raised an eyebrow at her. “So…”

“So, what?” she teased.

“So what exactly has had you looking at me like that all night?”

Silence. The contemplative look again.

“Well. I was thinking-”

“Always a dangerous pastime.”

She snorted. “Yeah, yeah, you’re soooo funny.”

He smiled and they laughed together.

“So. I was thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. About some homeowners I met today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah we went to observe their construction site. Our teacher made them some custom kitchen cabinets and a porch swing that he wanted to show us.”

“Ooooo. I know you love a good porch swing.”

She smiled fondly and sighed, “Yeah,” before continuing. “But that’s not what’s important here.”

“That’s a first.” He laughed

“Yeah, right?!” She replied humorously. “But anyway. The people that owned the house showed up to talk with my teacher and I noticed one of them was wearing aro/ace pride pins.”

“No shit? That’s cool.” He took a bite of lo Mein.

“Yeah! We got talking a bit and I asked if they were in a relationship and how it worked with being asexual and Aromantic and they said that they were in a ‘queerplatonic relationship’ with their best friend and that was why they got the house together. So they could share expenses and stuff.”

“Huh. That sounds interesting. What’s a ‘queerplatonic relationship’?”

“I didn’t know either so I asked them about it a bit before we left and then looked it up online. Apparently it’s like halfway between friendship and romantic relationship. It’s a deeper, more intimate form of friendship than societal norms usually allow outside of romance, but it doesn’t necessarily have to include all the other stuff that comes with a romantic relationship. So like you can cuddle with your best friend and hold hands in public, but you don’t have to kiss or have sex or anything if you don’t want to.”

“Oh my God, that sounds amazing.”

“I know, right?! Honestly, I don’t know if I feel like determining my romantic attraction anymore. This QPR stuff – that’s the abbreviation the homeowners used – honestly, this QPR stuff sounds like everything I’ve ever wanted in a relationship. Cuddling and hand holding and shared expenses without the sex and stuff that usually comes with it!”

“Man that sounds great!”

They ate in giddy silence, wrapped up in the pleasure of discovery and pork dumplings, before Alex spoke again.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “What does your discovery of queerplatonic relationships have to do with why you were looking at me weird? Were you just that excited to tell me about it?”

Aamia blushed. “Um. Well. I was kind of wondering … if maybe… you’d want to be in one? With me?”

“Sure? I don’t see why not. I mean we’re super close to begin with. We’ve pretty much started acting like that already. I think the only reason we aren’t technically in one right now is because societal norms of friendship had everyone teasing us about being together and because we didn’t know that such a thing existed. So like, yeah?”

Aamia guffawed at his drawn out answer and set Alex off laughing. It took them nearly ten minutes to calm down because every time they stopped and looked at one another, they started laughing again. The rest of the night, they watched movies and discussed comfort boundaries and dream homes and a platonic life together.

--

It was nearly ten years later when Aamia barged into Alex’s family home looking more excited than he’d ever seen her.

“Alex I found it!” came out in a rush.

“Found what?”

“The most beautiful house in the world!” She draped herself over the couch dramatically, sighing dreamily.

“Okay, and?”

“And I really, really want it but I can’t afford it myself and the crew can’t fix it up until it has a buyer and I want to make it gorgeous but I can’t because that would mean that someone bought it and I don’t want anyone else to buy it!” She pouted. After she finished trade school and her carpentry apprenticeship ended, she had started work with a company that fixed up old houses for new buyers. It was an ever popular trend because of a few prevalent television shows.

“So let’s buy it together. Assuming it has enough rooms to accommodate us both and that I also like it”

“Really?!” She jumped up excitedly to kneel on the couch, looking over the back of it where he sat at the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, why not?” His job as a conservation officer and part-time park ranger was going well. Living at home for the past decade had helped them both save money and they’d put enough of their salaries in the first five years of employment towards student loans that they were already almost fully paid off. They each had their own expenses, like insurance and Netflix, but they would likely be able to swing it.

“Great! I’ll go call the realtor to make an appointment to see the house!” She was practically bouncing off the walls. She jumped over the back of the couch and ran up to hug him tightly. Then raced back to her family house to grab her phone and make the call.

The House™ was a rundown farmhouse built in 1932 on 15 overrun acres of farmland and forest. It was falling apart. The roof was missing shingles, the floors were rotting, and the front porch was collapsed.

It was perfect.

--

They accepted! The sellers accepted their offer! The house was theirs!

They jumped around together in Aamia’s living room shrieking amidst their families’ congratulations. They fixed up the house exactly how they wanted. Over the next few years, they crafted paths through the woods so they could go hiking when they wanted. They transformed acres of farmland into food and flower gardens, sheep pastures, and solar panel power plants.

In year 3 they adopted three cats and a dog.

In year four, sheep.

In year 5, they added a pond.

In year six, an addition to the house.

In year seven, they started fostering teens in the local foster care system and taught them as many life skills as they were willing to learn. They offered all of them a chance to stay with them after their 18th birthday should they so desire. They took in a few LGBT teens from a local homeless as well. Their homestead was almost totally self-sufficient. They bartered with local farmers as much as they could to keep expenses down.

They still had a once monthly movie night, with lots of couch space and blankets for cuddling.

In year ten they got married. Not out of a desire to. They wanted to share health insurance. It was cheaper than paying individually. And it was practical as they aged to have access to one another’s healthcare.

Their life wasn’t perfect, but it was everything they wanted it to be.

They lived happily ever after.

[truthofherdreams]

24 Days of Dickkory-smas

2. Pretend boyfriend/girlfriend for family Christmas party (ao3)

“I need your help.”

Things never end up well when Dick pops his head into her cubicle with such words. Last time, they both almost got fired over one of his so-called brilliant ideas. Before that, she nearly flooded the staff bathroom to prove him wrong about something. Then there was that time they got locked out of the building at midnight with all their shit still inside and no mean to break in.

So, really, Kory should stop entertaining him. It’s assured to be a shit-show.

Which is why she sighs and turns toward him. Or, well, turns as much as she can while her feet are propped up on her desk and her keyboard is balanced on her stomach – what? She likes to be comfortable at work, okay! “What do you want this time?”

And thing is, Dick is half decent at his job when he feels like it. He’s also the most popular guy at work, with the majority of people-attracted-to-men lusting over his (arguably interesting) ass all day long. But Dick has about zero skills when it comes to socialising, and to relationships, and to basically acting like a normal human being. Which is funny as fuck most of the time.

Which also means he rambles. A lot.

“Well, see, my sister is organising a Christmas party this year after a few years of us not really gathering as a family – you know how it is, she travels a lot and Rachel isn’t always the best at family shit, and driving back to Gotham isn’t that practical to us. And, anyway, Donna is going all in this year, big dinner at her place with lots of people, food for days, even…”

“Dick,” she interrupts him. Puts him out of his misery, really. “To the point.”

He sighs, and frowns. Cute. Almost. “She was very sarcastic about it, all ‘Guess you don’t need a plus one?’ so, obviously, I had to argue back. And well, long story short, I told her we’re dating so, are you free next Monday evening because I need you to be my date?”

Her mouth has opened agape halfway through his speech, but it’s only once Dick is done that Kory actually starts laughing. And laughing. And laughing. Tears pearling at the corners of her eyes that she brushes away with a knuckles, even if her body is still shaking with silent giggles. Dick looks upset, quite obviously, but it’s hard to take him seriously when he apparently decided to re-enact a Hallmark movie, just because – well, because he’s a petty dude, apparently. Kory can almost relate to that.

“Are you out of your mind?” she asks with another peel of laughter. “Your kids know we’re not dating; they’ll snitch in a second.”

He looks… almost sheepish now, which is totally not what she’s used to when it comes to Dick. Like, yes, the guy is awkward as fuck when it comes to making small talk, but at least he has enough confidence about him that it almost looks like he knows what he’s doing at all times. Except now, apparently.

“That’s the thing, right. I told them, and they find it fucking hilarious. Even told me they want to see this shit happen, just to see me fail. I think there’s bets going on and all.”

Kory has met Dick’s kids a couple of times before. They’re both cute as buttons, even if they definitely give as good as they get when it comes to sass and wit. Definitely take after their foster father in that category. And, well, maybe it’s the sick part of Kory talking, but she kinda want to see that shit happen too. And she’d never say no to spending more time with Rachel and Gar, cause those kids are awesome.

Which is basically how she finds herself in Dick’s soccer mom van not even a week later, on her way to Donna Troy’s Detroit loft. Dick has been prepping her for days about this shit, so now she can only picture his sister as some kind of crazy helicopter sibling who believes vaccines are causing autism and everything is cured by essential oils. Why else would he put so much effort in this story, after all, if not because his sister is off her rockers?

Needless to say, ‘surprise’ barely covers how Kory feels when the door to the loft opens on a very beautiful, very put-together brunette. Donna grins from ear to ear at the sight of them, hugging the two teenagers first, then Dick. Despite knowing they are not blood-related, Kory can’t help but notice how much they look like each other – it’s the way they hold themselves perhaps, or how Dick’s rare smiles seem to mirror Donna’s.

“And you must be Kory,” Donna exclaims as she pulls Kory into a hug too. “I’d say I heard a lot about you, but this one never tells me anything.”

“Like you tell me everything about your girlfriends,” he replies, petulant.

Kory jumps in. “Girlfriend, singular.”

Donna is grinning even more now, and Dick throws her a surprised smile before he checks himself and pulls an arm around her waist. It’s stiff and awkward, and he’s obviously not used to acting like that, but muscle memory is a beautiful thing to Kory. It only takes her a few moments to relax, leaning into him just enough that soon his arm doesn’t feel so uncomfortable around her or his body so tense against her side.

“You’re doing great,” she whispers to him as they make their way instead.

“Shut up.”

Donna’s Christmas dinner is less of a family matter than a quick get-together with friends, and Kory is soon introduced to many people who all seem to more or less know Dick and whose names she forgets the moment they move on to another conversation.

Thankfully, both for Dick’s social anxieties levels and for Kory’s boredom levels, Dawn and Hank are quick to arrive too, and stay by their sides all through the evening. Kory does enjoy Dawn’s company – so peaceful and quiet, her voice soothing even when she tells a particularly funny joke – and is glad to see at least two familiar faces. It doesn’t take long until a biracial guy, who introduces himself to her as Wally West, joins them in their corner of the loft.

And it’s so interesting, seeing Dick outside of work. Yes, there’s been the odd night out at a bar here and there with their colleagues, and that one dreadful picnic their boss all forced them to attend. But it really is something else to see him surrounded by friends who’ve known him for quite some time now – he’s more relaxed than she’s ever seen him, more at ease. He’s smiling a whole lot more too, and perhaps Kory is starting to understand why everyone and their brother has a crush on him.

“You all look like a Benetton advert and a half,” Donna jokes as she walks toward them, beer in hand. “Kory, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Dick shares a meaningful glance with her – of course they were expecting Donna to go all big sister on her ass tonight – but Kory rolls her eyes at him before she stands up. He has nothing to worry about; they did make up a believable story and she does know how to lie flawlessly.

Donna asks her to help with the cheese cubes or some other bullshit, just the two of them in the empty and quiet kitchen, so Kory isn’t fooled. This is less of a nice chat and more of an interrogation, at this point.

“It’s nice that you could come tonight,” is how Donna decides to start the conversation as she takes some stuff out of the fridge. “I haven’t seen Dick that happy in a while.”

Well, he did promise Kory he would do all her annoying paperwork for two months if she agreed to this so – sure, he must be thrilled. “Thanks? I guess.”

They do set up to cut some cheese and put it into bowls, which proves more arduous than Kory had anticipated, what with her nail extensions and all. She’d rather not take an emergency appointment at the salon between Christmas and New Year, thank you very much.

“Don’t tell him I said that, but I worried about him. Between his jobs and the kids, I think he often forgets to just – live, you know? It’s good that he found someone.” Donna smiles at her, and it’s soft and loving. Not for the first time, Kory aches for her own family, halfway across the world. “Especially with the way he talks about you.”

Her eyes widen, just a bit. “He talks about me?”

“Oh, girl, I was only fucking with him earlier. It’s been going on for months now, every time I manage to have him on the phone. Always complaining about how your bonuses are bigger than his and how your boss likes you better, and Kory this, and Kory that. It seriously only was a matter of time before he realised how bad he had it for you.”

Kory finds herself grateful for her dark skin – it definitely helps hiding the blush on her cheeks and how warm her entire face feels all of a sudden. She has a hard time believing Dick would just rant about her to his sister if given the chance, even more so than she has a hard time believing siblings actually still call each other to gossip in 2018. But it’s – cute, almost? Definitely heart-warming. The thought of Dick complaining to Donna about her, over and over again, until it became A Thing, capital letters and all, doesn’t fail to make her smile.

“But seriously though,” Donna goes on as she gathers a bunch of cheese cubes before dumping them into a bowl, “not to be all ‘if you hurt him, I’ll hurt you’ about it but – he’s seen some fucking shit in his life. And I know he can be a pain about, well, basically everything but… be nice to him, okay? Cause I’m strong enough to break a few of your perfectly manicured fingers.”

Kory can’t help but smile at that, even though Donna is dead serious about it. It’s comforting, in a way, that someone is as protective of him as Dick is of his kids, that someone cares about him just enough to make threats about his happiness. It makes Kory long for something long forgotten, left behind in a country she no long calls home.

“Whatever she’s saying, she’s lying,” comes from behind them, the two of them turning around to find Dick standing in the doorway. He looks between her and Donna, before his eyes stop on Kory. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, we’re done. Thanks for the help, Kory.”

Donna grabs both bowls before she walks away, leaving them alone in the kitchen. Dick lets her go, before he moves closer to Kory. She pretends to focus on plucking bits of cheese from under her nails, just so she won’t have to meet his eyes; she doesn’t know if she’s quite able of such a thing right now, not when Donna’s words still ring in her ears.

“Seriously, though. You okay?”

He’s right in front of her now, hand curling around her elbow. Kory has no choice but to look at him, and witness the flash of worry in his eyes as he takes her all in. She feels stupid and childish – like a school girl who suddenly realised that the boy was pulling at her pigtails for months because he actually likes likes her. And she doesn’t know how to react, because maybe she was replying in kind all this time to hide the fact that she likes likes him too. What a concept.

“What are you doing next week?”

He frowns, just a little. “Next week is New Year’s Eve.”

“Yes.” Genius.

Dick frowns some more, looking into her eyes for – something. She doesn’t know what, exactly, but it makes her stomach fluttery all of a sudden with the way he takes a step closer, fingers tightening around her elbow. He’s so close she can see the specks of gold in his eyes, so close her red hair brushes against his face.

And he’s smiling now, one of those real but rare smiles. “Spending the evening with you?”

She might be smiling, too. “Good answer.”